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Inane Banter

Childhood Etiquette

I was watching some programme or other on the telly the other day and it had children on it. At the end the kids waved goodbye. They were doing the kiddie two hand wave thing where both hands wave maniacally.

Its a wave that only kids do. Adults wave with one hand. If an adult waves with both hands it usually involves the whole arm and it’s a way of getting urgent attention. If it’s not urgent then it tends to be a brief one handed wave of recognition. Young kids wave both both hands from the wrist.

What I can’t remember is what the cut-off age for two hand waving is. Other childish things have clear cut off points and anybody who crosses them gets punished. Woe betide the last boy in class to pee standing up. I still remember when clapping went from both hands together to one hand across the other. Anybody still doing the symmetrical clap got humiliated for, and I’ll warn you now the phrase used wasn’t very PC, spacker-clapping.

As far as I recall the twin waving didn’t have a humiliation stage so I’m not sure when the move to one hand waving came. All I know is that if you think you know someone and start waving then realise you don’t know them it’s far easier to turn the one handed wave into a nonchalant scratch of the head than the turbo twin hander. Maybe that’s the tipping point? Or maybe it’s when you reach pub age and the other hand is occupied with a drink?

Anybody out there have a school tease name for the two handed wave? Any adults still enjoying the two handed wave? How do you recover from it if you realise you’re waving at a complete stranger? Is there such a thing as an incomplete stranger? So many questions.

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Inane Banter

Food Poisoning Nanny State

We’ve had a very unusual run of hot weather lately and as every British man knows hot weather = BBQ. The perfect combination of alcohol and primitive cooking methods.

Off I toddled to the supermarket. First stop to get some charcoal. It’s very important to note I said charcoal not gas. Using gas isn’t having a BBQ that’s just having a crap cooker outdoors. The time it takes charcoal to light is very important for getting a few beers down your neck whilst looking busy.

Then it was time to get the meat. I fancied a change from the usual sausages and burgers so I perused the other meats and was quite taken by marinaded lamb chops. “I’ll just make sure you can barbecue them,” I though and turned the packet over. Sure enough after oven instructions I found the barbecue instructions. They read as follows:

Cook as per oven instructions then place on the barbecue to achieve the barbecue cooked taste

I’m sorry but the way to achieve the barbecue-cooked taste is to barbecue something. You don’t claim to be Hugh Hefner just because somebody with breasts and a vagina bumped into you once.

Disgusted I moved onto a rack of pork ribs. Surely these must be okay on a barbecue. Cavemen cooked with fire and they liked ribs. It must be true I saw it on the beginning to the flintstones and those things were massive and must have been harder to cook. I flipped the packet over

Cook as per oven instructions then place on the barbecue to achieve the barbecue cooked taste

The red mist started to descend. What is the world coming to when a man can’t create a small fire in his own garden to feed family and friends whilst also getting drunk. I headed to the burgers, surely they wouldn’t let me down. Standard barbecue fare since fire began. Beef the safest of all the meats, if you forget all about BSE, you can even eat the stuff raw if you like.

Cook as per oven instructions then place on the barbecue to achieve the barbecue cooked taste

When did it become supermarket law that you could never have a barbecue ever again? I noticed the supermarket even sold barbecues. What are we supposed do with a barbecues if we can’t cook food on them? Dance round them like Arthur Brown?

I bought the ribs and I cooked them on the barbecue. They were lovely, I didn’t get worms and I’m still alive.

IN YOUR FACE JOHN SAINSBURY AND YOUR GIRLY OFFSPRING!

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Inane Banter

Hoooorrrppp!

If somebody came up to me in the street and said “John Prescott has a disorder, guess what it is?” I wouldn’t have been able to get it.

If somebody came up to me in the street and said “John Prescott has an eating disorder, guess what it is?” I still wouldn’t have guessed it.

If somebody came up to me in the street and said “John Prescott has an eating disorder beginning with B, guess what it is?” I still would have gone for binge drinking first.

So it’s fair to say I was somewhat shocked to discover that Prescott suffered from bulimia. How do you get to be that size and chuck up a lot of what you eat? I can picture him dressed in a skimpy toga reliving the excesses of a Roman emperor stuffing his face with pies. Actual just imaging that has made me sick up a little in my mouth so I can see how it could happen.

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Inane Banter

Very Fishy

I see the other week that an Irish swimmer had tested positive for a banned substance.

What sort of substances are banned for swimmers? I mean things like propellers and flippers are going to be easily spotted. Even subtle things like gills will be easy enough to spot when he starts to flap around on the winners rostrum.

My bet? The guy’s on plankton.

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Inane Banter

Gym Slip-Up

I was at the gym the other day that upset me somewhat.

It wasn’t the notice pointing out that the gym was stopping filling the shampoo dispensers right next to the shiny, new machine selling shampoo that just happened to spring up about the same time they stopped filling the dispensers.

It wasn’t the ripped pair of pants that seem to be discarded in the changing room on a weekly basis. I’m not sure if lots of men are wearing pants that are dangerously close to collapse and that a vigorous workout is a sufficient tipping point. Or it might be one man whose ball sweat has the chemical structure as concentrated acid. Whoever the owners of these pants were they had decided, as always, the best place to put broken pants isn’t in the gym changing room bin, or to hide them in a sports bag to be disposed of at home but to leave them in a crumpled heap on the floor so others may gaze on their sweaty, broken majesty.

It wasn’t the men who don’t have that little voice inside their heads. The little voice that says, “we all like chatting with friends, who doesn’t, however most of us don’t do it less then one foot away from said friend, talking loudly, naked, hands on hips with cock thrust proudly forwards.”

That man was there, mid-way between the abandoned pants and the shampoo vending machine but he wasn’t the problem either. The problem was on the bench right next to where I had placed my bad. Here in the middle of a busy men’s changing room was an empty box. The box itself wasn’t worrying, the words on the box however were.

“Sports Bra”

My mind raced with the possibilities. Somewhere in this building could well be a very short-sighted women. A women so short-sighted that she hadn’t seen the large, rather torn, pants or seen the man’s cock despite his best thrusting efforts. She had managed to get changed without noticing any of this and had then gone training. Worse, still she could now be showering and about to return to right next to where I was standing.

Even worse, it could be a man. A man so large his body required the support of a sports bra while exercising. A man of that size coming back from a run, dripping in sweat, pulling back his shirt to reveal his moobs straining at a bra was not a sight I wanted to see.

Worse still was now the possibility that someone would come and get changed next to me, see the box and assume I like wearing bras. I don’t and if I did I think I’d go for a lacy little number with a pretty bow on it, but I don’t and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.

I was tempted to use the camera in my phone to capture proof of this box. I then realised the one thing worse than all of that would be a man taking a picture of a box with a bra on it whilst a man stands in the background thrusting his cock about.

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Inane Banter

It’s him, the one with the pig

There not really a lot to say about this news story, it’s superb.

Next week I hope to see a story regarding a coyote found unconscious by a tunnel drawn on a cliff with a huge rocket on it’s back and wearing roller-skates. Come on real world, don’t let me down!

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Inane Banter

RantStar

Recently for no apparent reason I’ve become incredibly intolerant to nearly everything and everybody in the world. There have always been things that upset me but in the past I’ve been able to control the feelings and get away with thinking “tit” in my head. Now I don’t know if it’s my age but thinking in my head moved onto muttering under my breath and has now become more of a stating out loud accompanied by looks of daggers. I am going to get hit one day.

This will do nothing to improve my mood. Last week was especially bad and culminated in me literally screaming at my monitor in a bid to stop my head exploding like that bit in Scanners. I needed a release valve. I settled for explaining this to Mrs Fatuous and asking if she would mind being everything that was wrong with the world for 20 minutes. I then proceeded to rant and rave at her until alcohol took the edge off my temper.

This is not fair on her and the only person who benefits is the local off-licence. What I need is a way to rant and for it to be acceptable. Then I had a brainwave. Singstar allows people to have fun doing the one thing they probably shouldn’t do in public and get away with it. Why instead of Singstar: 80s, Singstar: Emo and the like can’t we have Rantstar?

Rantstar would allow you to scream along with famous rants from TV and film. You would be scored on aggression, volume and possibly spittle.

Here’s an example of what Rantstar: Joe Pesci might look like

Fucking Clown

Come on, doesn’t that look like fun?

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Doodles

How Email Works

Here’s what most of my emails consist of these days

There’s no i in “blame culture.”

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Inane Banter

Super-sized Wrongness served on a bed of Wrong

I thought animal-human hybrids sexing up was wrong. It still is but this is far worse.

Sex with dead model ‘was wrong’

Mark Dixie claimed he did not realise she was dead until after he had sex with her body, the Old Bailey heard.

Did he not try the usual methods? Checking for a pulse, mirror in front of the mouth, watching for the chest raising and falling. The sort of thing they might teach you on a first aid course. If you turn up on a course and a friendly nurse suggests the best way to check is to stick your bits into someone at the very least leave the course. Preferably report them.

Giving evidence, he said: “I don’t know what went through my mind. I took full advantage of someone and I should not have done it.”

Let’s just take a quick look at what Mark Dixie classes as taking advantage of somebody is? Maybe it’s buying them a few drinks, lying about being interested romantic comedies, claiming to like cats?

Prosecutors allege Mr Dixie stabbed her seven times and raped her as she was dead or lay dying.

I’m sorry, that’s a bit more than “taking full advantage of someone.” That’s like claiming to sneak the odd shampoo out of a hotel whilst walking through the door with the shampoo, a bed, last night’s takings and a maid under your arm.

“All I saw was a pair of legs… shirt put down to the waist and I took advantage of her.

Anthony Glass, QC, defending, asked if he thought she was dead or unconscious.

If I was Anthony I would probably have pointed out to Mark that just so he knew, there wasn’t a “right” answer here.

Mr Dixie said: “I would not have expected to see anyone dead in that street.

I don’t expect to see Noel fucking Edmonds walking down my street. If I did my first thought wouldn’t be, “Wow Noel Edmonds, how unusual, I’d better have a piece of him as he’s here.”

But he admitted there was no reaction during the sex attack, even when he bit Miss Bowman.

Again, why not check the pulse. There’s usually some reaction to sex even if it’s just boredom or cramp. You still don’t just bite them.

So in summary he’s accused of
Stabbing some poor woman to death and raping her either while she was dying or after she was dead.

His genius defence is
I found someone unconcious lying in the street so I fucked her and covered her body in concrete dust.

Mark, if you are going to lie in court try and make your defence sound in some way less despicable than what the prosecution are saying.

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Inane Banter

Peadophant

Ah isn’t it lovely, the first Australian baby elephant is due to be born.

But wait, it’s not lovely because the mother is some dirty under-age slapper.

But the news sparked an uproar, with the RSPCA and the Greens MP Lee Rhiannon both accusing the zoo of recklessness by allowing an underage elephant to mate.

I’m sorry but if you ask me it’s reckless to stand in the way of two elephants about to get jiggy. It also neglects to mention if Thong Dee, yes even the name makes her sound like a stripper, is currently wearing her trunk in a top knot.

Mr Williams said the father, Gung, had been mating with all the females. “He’s at them all the time. He came on second flight [of elephants]. He got off the flight, had a drink, and mounted Thong Dee.”

Smooth bastard. It’s like the gang of lads landing in Ibiza, grabbing a few beers and then getting nuts deep in a nearby slapper before everybody else has collected their luggage. He probably back in the bar right now getting the other elephants to sniff his trunk.