Hey Ignacious
You know how I haven't been getting any since we arrived? Well, just as I was about to relieve myself yet again nothing but an old sock and some olive oil, along comes this news item about some guy getting off by humping his pushbike. Apparently he made the mistake of letting other people invade his privacy. But I checked the Book and couldn't see anything about it being illegal, so I thought why not? These Brits sure have some novel solutions to their sexual problems, and if we're going to integrate then we need to test them out, yeah? And besides, I needed a change from the norm. That sock is getting mighty clogged.
Where to find a bike, I wondered. The woman next door keeps one in the corridor, but she chains it to the radiator and I couldn't break the chain. I figured someone must have left one untethered somewhere, so I set off on my quest about lunchtime. Boy, the air was cold. I could feel it shrivelling up down there, and cursed myself for going commando. Couldn't be swayed though, and I soon found a bike by a field. Some blokes were just getting ready to play football - and I remembered that it is a game of two halves of 45 mins each, so I reckoned I could just borrow the bike and get it back to them before they noticed. Piece of piss, my friend - and I'm wasn't breaking any laws, to boot.
I was just cycling away when one of the players noticed and left the field to give chase. I couldn't believe someone would just abandon a game like that and risk his team's chances of winning, and told him to get back to the footy and leave me alone. Funny thing, he was - started shouting and swearing as if I'd just taken away his favourite toy!
Anyway, got back to the flat and dragged the BMX up the stairs. My balls were aching by now, and the sight of the bike's fat tyres, spinning slowly as I wheeled my new love-toy into the flat were beginning to have the desired effect. I couldn't wait. But then I had a mental seizure. How was I supposed to utilise the bike to maximum effect? The news article mentioned something about humping the saddle, so I tried it but nothing happend and then my member started to wilt! I thought I had deen duped.
What else could I try? There was a load of metal tubing making up the frame, and I thought that if I poured some olive oil inside it would do the trick. But I couldn't get into the frame with my penknife. Then I remembered the inner tubes! Ignacious - you can be proud of me. I used my head. All I had to do was prise off the tyre and cut out a section of the inner tube. It was soooo tight. I tell you my friend, I've never had it so good. It's just a bit of a shame that my foreskin is sensitive to bike rubber, and it's gone all red and painful - well, it was alright for the first few times but then the inner tube started to chafe after I ran out of olive oil and I think I've removed the top few layers of skin with all that rubbing.
I also forgot to take the bike back. Igancious - tell me what I should do with it would you, there's a good chap.
Mungo
Thursday 15 November 2007
Saturday 10 November 2007
I believe in Christmas
Ignacious
For Granny Toads sake. I nearly had a heart attack this morning. I woke up and put on the telly to catch some adverts. Stone me - there were half a dozen one after the other proclaiming it was Christmas already! I was just thinking how odd it was that I'd just lost six weeks of my life when it hit me - I'd not bought you anything. Ok, so I panicked. Ran out of the flat without checking my flies were done up. Correction - I didn't even check I was wearing anything. Well, I wasn't. So of course when I got to the shops I didn't have any money to pay for your present 'cos my purse was in my jeans which were still by my bed. The bastards wouldn't even let me in the shop and said they were going to call the police. What is with the British? They seem to think I'm some kind of public menace. Told them I was good for credit and I'd come back within the hour. Ran back home and realised I'd come out with out my keys - guess where they were? That's right, in the pub. I was so pissed when I left last night that I forgot to pick up my jacket. I'd had to smash a window in the flat to get in but then I'd remembered about these emergency services you told me about so I'd phoned them and said I'd broken my window and I needed an emergency repair. They told me to get lost and hung up.
So when I get back from the shop I crawl back through the broken window but as I wasn't wearing anything I couldn't protect my balls properly and, well, they sort of got a bit scratched. Actually, I lost some blood and it won't stop and now I'm beginning to feel a bit faint. And I still haven't got you a present. So sorry if you are having a shit Christmas, but I'm not enjoying it much either. Shouldn't we be stuffing a turkey together or something?
RSVP, before I expire in total confusion.
Mungo
For Granny Toads sake. I nearly had a heart attack this morning. I woke up and put on the telly to catch some adverts. Stone me - there were half a dozen one after the other proclaiming it was Christmas already! I was just thinking how odd it was that I'd just lost six weeks of my life when it hit me - I'd not bought you anything. Ok, so I panicked. Ran out of the flat without checking my flies were done up. Correction - I didn't even check I was wearing anything. Well, I wasn't. So of course when I got to the shops I didn't have any money to pay for your present 'cos my purse was in my jeans which were still by my bed. The bastards wouldn't even let me in the shop and said they were going to call the police. What is with the British? They seem to think I'm some kind of public menace. Told them I was good for credit and I'd come back within the hour. Ran back home and realised I'd come out with out my keys - guess where they were? That's right, in the pub. I was so pissed when I left last night that I forgot to pick up my jacket. I'd had to smash a window in the flat to get in but then I'd remembered about these emergency services you told me about so I'd phoned them and said I'd broken my window and I needed an emergency repair. They told me to get lost and hung up.
So when I get back from the shop I crawl back through the broken window but as I wasn't wearing anything I couldn't protect my balls properly and, well, they sort of got a bit scratched. Actually, I lost some blood and it won't stop and now I'm beginning to feel a bit faint. And I still haven't got you a present. So sorry if you are having a shit Christmas, but I'm not enjoying it much either. Shouldn't we be stuffing a turkey together or something?
RSVP, before I expire in total confusion.
Mungo
Monday 5 November 2007
Eureka!
Hey, Ignacious
When you said the other day I should get clever, I took it to heart. But what could I do? I'm never going to be as clever as you - or so I thought....
As luck would have it, old bean, a solution has revealed itself by pure chance. I was catching up with my televisual viewing last night when I came across a documentary program called 'Little Britain.' Most of it was uninteresting, but there was one item that caught my attention. They were filming a wedding in a church when suddenly someone shouts 'Bitty', and falls on his mother who hoiks out her baps and starts feeding him!
This scene played havoc with my preconceptions, because - as you will no doubt recall from your own upbrining, we expect breastfeeding to be over within the first few years of life. But here it was, clear as day, happening in modern Britain between consenting adults.
In isolation, this would present nothing more than a mere blip of cultural re-alignment, but then last night I came across a report which linked breastfeeding with intelligence. Not surprising, you might say, as when a child is breastfeeding it is interfaced to the brain of its mother and can therefore absorb her alpha waves. But there was a catch. Apparently, it only works in people here if you are carrying a gene called FADS2.
Ignacious my friend, you might not know this but I carry FADS2. It was given to me by Granny Toad before we left, with strict instructions only to use it when I knew what it was for. Glory be, my friend, I now know. It was, what they call, a 'Eureka' moment.
There was no time to lose. I injected the gene with my DNA gun and set out to find some 'Bitty'. A couple of lactating women refused to give me any milk, and I became despondent. But then, as if it were pre-ordained, I came across a kit in a shop called 'Boots' (oddly, it didn't sell shoes), which allows women to pump their own breastmilk into a bottle for swigging later. Why lactating mothers would want to drink their own breastmilk I have no idea, but the kit was ideal for my purposes.
I went back to the lactating women and offered them the kit. One refused, but the other accepted, saying that she'd been thinking of trying it for a while. I waited for her to fill the bottle there and then - for I was impatient by now, but she refused, saying it was something she would try at home and not on a park bench. She then said thanks for the kit and left.
Igancious, what could I do? I read somewhere that women who say no only sometimes mean yes, so I was confused. I followed her for a bit but then the woman spoke to one of their policemen who chased me and I had to become invisible quickly.
Not smarter then, yet, Igancious, but I am trying, honest.
Mungo
When you said the other day I should get clever, I took it to heart. But what could I do? I'm never going to be as clever as you - or so I thought....
As luck would have it, old bean, a solution has revealed itself by pure chance. I was catching up with my televisual viewing last night when I came across a documentary program called 'Little Britain.' Most of it was uninteresting, but there was one item that caught my attention. They were filming a wedding in a church when suddenly someone shouts 'Bitty', and falls on his mother who hoiks out her baps and starts feeding him!
This scene played havoc with my preconceptions, because - as you will no doubt recall from your own upbrining, we expect breastfeeding to be over within the first few years of life. But here it was, clear as day, happening in modern Britain between consenting adults.
In isolation, this would present nothing more than a mere blip of cultural re-alignment, but then last night I came across a report which linked breastfeeding with intelligence. Not surprising, you might say, as when a child is breastfeeding it is interfaced to the brain of its mother and can therefore absorb her alpha waves. But there was a catch. Apparently, it only works in people here if you are carrying a gene called FADS2.
Ignacious my friend, you might not know this but I carry FADS2. It was given to me by Granny Toad before we left, with strict instructions only to use it when I knew what it was for. Glory be, my friend, I now know. It was, what they call, a 'Eureka' moment.
There was no time to lose. I injected the gene with my DNA gun and set out to find some 'Bitty'. A couple of lactating women refused to give me any milk, and I became despondent. But then, as if it were pre-ordained, I came across a kit in a shop called 'Boots' (oddly, it didn't sell shoes), which allows women to pump their own breastmilk into a bottle for swigging later. Why lactating mothers would want to drink their own breastmilk I have no idea, but the kit was ideal for my purposes.
I went back to the lactating women and offered them the kit. One refused, but the other accepted, saying that she'd been thinking of trying it for a while. I waited for her to fill the bottle there and then - for I was impatient by now, but she refused, saying it was something she would try at home and not on a park bench. She then said thanks for the kit and left.
Igancious, what could I do? I read somewhere that women who say no only sometimes mean yes, so I was confused. I followed her for a bit but then the woman spoke to one of their policemen who chased me and I had to become invisible quickly.
Not smarter then, yet, Igancious, but I am trying, honest.
Mungo
re: Bananas
Mungo
That Gorilla has rumbled us. I know what he's up to. They use stats to find out where you are. Have you been putting comments on their blogs? Let me check.
Yes, you have. I told you expressley not to do it. He's already pinpointed your ip address.
I hijacked the wrong computer. He's one of them. I'll set up the proxy later. Until then - keep your head down. We don't want to attract any more attention, got it?
You'll have to deal with the ape yourself. I'm going on a date.
Ignacious
That Gorilla has rumbled us. I know what he's up to. They use stats to find out where you are. Have you been putting comments on their blogs? Let me check.
Yes, you have. I told you expressley not to do it. He's already pinpointed your ip address.
I hijacked the wrong computer. He's one of them. I'll set up the proxy later. Until then - keep your head down. We don't want to attract any more attention, got it?
You'll have to deal with the ape yourself. I'm going on a date.
Ignacious
Sunday 4 November 2007
re: King Tut's new head
Mungo -
When I said we must be cleverer, I meant it, OK? Stop being a deliberate arse and keep your eyes peeled. Not literally.
You might be onto something though. They clearly ressurected the poor man to retrieve some of his DNA, probably so as to make a new Pharoah for the 21st century. My own investigations suggest that the uncovering of his tomb was orchestrated by a little known organisation determined to bring back the old order. Watch them carefully, my jesting companion. This could be deadly serious...
Ignacious
When I said we must be cleverer, I meant it, OK? Stop being a deliberate arse and keep your eyes peeled. Not literally.
You might be onto something though. They clearly ressurected the poor man to retrieve some of his DNA, probably so as to make a new Pharoah for the 21st century. My own investigations suggest that the uncovering of his tomb was orchestrated by a little known organisation determined to bring back the old order. Watch them carefully, my jesting companion. This could be deadly serious...
Ignacious
King Tut's new head
Hey, Ignacious
You'll never guess what I just saw. They've only gone and got all excited about showing some dead ex-king's body to the world. Why bother? It's not like he's suddenly going to blink and come out of a 2000 year long coma, is it? What would he have to say, anyway...
Tomb-raider: Hey, Tut, we're all busting to know - what was it like in there all that time?
Tut: Well, you know, it was dark.
So why bother? Huh. Ignacious?
Before you answer, let me tell you what I think. Look at that picture above. Now, they're claiming that the picture on the right is a 'reconstruction' of the dead-guy's head on the left.
IT DOESN'T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE HIM!
The nose is wrong, the eyes are missing, the hairline is too far forward. And he's got black skin. The guy from the tomb is wearing make-up. They haven't even bothered to draw some lips on the model's mouth. I mean, who did they get to do this? I could have done a better job with my head turned inside out and the modelling tool in my butt crack
Mungo
You'll never guess what I just saw. They've only gone and got all excited about showing some dead ex-king's body to the world. Why bother? It's not like he's suddenly going to blink and come out of a 2000 year long coma, is it? What would he have to say, anyway...
Tomb-raider: Hey, Tut, we're all busting to know - what was it like in there all that time?
Tut: Well, you know, it was dark.
So why bother? Huh. Ignacious?
Before you answer, let me tell you what I think. Look at that picture above. Now, they're claiming that the picture on the right is a 'reconstruction' of the dead-guy's head on the left.IT DOESN'T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE HIM!
The nose is wrong, the eyes are missing, the hairline is too far forward. And he's got black skin. The guy from the tomb is wearing make-up. They haven't even bothered to draw some lips on the model's mouth. I mean, who did they get to do this? I could have done a better job with my head turned inside out and the modelling tool in my butt crack
Mungo
Saturday 3 November 2007
re:re: don't worry sir
Ok Ignacious, you got me there. I'm just kicking my knees so hard I can't get over my stupidity. My head hurts already. Give me some paracetamol.
So you ask questions. Is this how we are supposed to do it? Ok, whatever. I don't have the answer. Deal with it, brother. Get some feedback or something. I need to sleep.
Mungo
So you ask questions. Is this how we are supposed to do it? Ok, whatever. I don't have the answer. Deal with it, brother. Get some feedback or something. I need to sleep.
Mungo
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