Merkan-English Dictionary - Part I've Totally Lost Count
Long-haired Scotch cows are better known as Weegies on Buckfast, although the Scotch Government has announced plans to rename them as Trumps after receiving a
Words with a 'T' in the middle.
British Person: What's the name of that Merkan Country singer with the big boobies, Dolly...
Merkan: Pardon?
BP: DOLLY...
Merkan: PARDON.
BP: DOLLY...
Merkan: PARDON!
You can keep this going all day if you work at it.
Those things made out of flour, eggs and milk, then baked in a very hot oven for twenty minutes? They're called Yorkshire Puddings. Pop over to Little Red Boat if you don't believe me.
When Grandson number two comes to stay overnight, he always asks me to make French Toast for his breakfast. I'm guessing Merkans call that Freedom Toast. Anyway, this is what I use to beat the eggs.
News Roundup
Still considering whether to dip my toe into journalism. In the meantime, here's what I've seen going on in and around the webz.
Some little 11-year-old spoiled brat shot and killed his dad's pregnant girlfriend with a gun designed especially for children. What. The. Fuck? No prizes for guessing which country.
PM Gordie Broon has been caught with his troosers in a conflagration, when he claimed that he only found out this week about Fat Cat Freddie's humungous pension. M'lud, may I present in evidence The Daily Telegraph from October 14th, 2008? "Sir Fred Goodwin blah blah blah reportedly stands to benefit from a pension worth more than £500,000 on leaving the group." Perhaps Gordie was reading that article with his blind eye?
It looks like we shan't be saying "Farewell to the Torrents"1 anytime soon. Liars for the RIAA had the temerity to question the credentials of an expert witness in the Pirate Bay trial, aaaarrrrr, Professor Roger Wallis, PhD, from the Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm, when he testified that artists who market their own material over the intertubes (e.g. Esmeé Denters) were making the very concept of copyright a thing of the past. Read about it in Wired. I like the bit about the flowers.
Ryanair has decided to start charging customers a pound to spend a penny on their planes. Remind me next time I fly Ryanair to wear a kilt. I plan to make a sit-down protest 2.
The spoilsport brigade are up in arms again, this time over the return of the circus elephant. This animal has already been driven to extinction once, during the 20th century, by fuddy-duddy do-gooders, and it has taken a decade of DNA cloning, genetic modification and that to bring it back to life. Returning it to its natural habitat in the centre ring of a big-top circus has been a painstakingly slow business, involving beating the fuckers with sticks and chairs, electric cattle prods and in extreme cases shooting them for their own good.
Basically, they're like wild elephants without the jungle.
Wild 
Just a bit miffed 
Yep. No difference.
Twitter ye not. I'm on Twitter. WTF that is. I dunno, techno-something or other. It's a bit like blogging, except there's a limi
1 © Robert Burns.
2 Read Misssy's blog from "So my brother".
Some little 11-year-old spoiled brat shot and killed his dad's pregnant girlfriend with a gun designed especially for children. What. The. Fuck? No prizes for guessing which country.
PM Gordie Broon has been caught with his troosers in a conflagration, when he claimed that he only found out this week about Fat Cat Freddie's humungous pension. M'lud, may I present in evidence The Daily Telegraph from October 14th, 2008? "Sir Fred Goodwin blah blah blah reportedly stands to benefit from a pension worth more than £500,000 on leaving the group." Perhaps Gordie was reading that article with his blind eye?
It looks like we shan't be saying "Farewell to the Torrents"1 anytime soon. Liars for the RIAA had the temerity to question the credentials of an expert witness in the Pirate Bay trial, aaaarrrrr, Professor Roger Wallis, PhD, from the Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm, when he testified that artists who market their own material over the intertubes (e.g. Esmeé Denters) were making the very concept of copyright a thing of the past. Read about it in Wired. I like the bit about the flowers.
Ryanair has decided to start charging customers a pound to spend a penny on their planes. Remind me next time I fly Ryanair to wear a kilt. I plan to make a sit-down protest 2.
The spoilsport brigade are up in arms again, this time over the return of the circus elephant. This animal has already been driven to extinction once, during the 20th century, by fuddy-duddy do-gooders, and it has taken a decade of DNA cloning, genetic modification and that to bring it back to life. Returning it to its natural habitat in the centre ring of a big-top circus has been a painstakingly slow business, involving beating the fuckers with sticks and chairs, electric cattle prods and in extreme cases shooting them for their own good.
Basically, they're like wild elephants without the jungle.
Yep. No difference.
Twitter ye not. I'm on Twitter. WTF that is. I dunno, techno-something or other. It's a bit like blogging, except there's a limi
1 © Robert Burns.
2 Read Misssy's blog from "So my brother".
Slow News Day In Scotchland
Embra tram passengers reacted with fury today after yet another delay hit the council's plans to mend over 200,000 miles of track in and around the city.
"I'm furious," moaned passenger Jock McTavish, 94, of Niddrie. "I've been sitting here in this tram, patiently waiting to get home for 53 years now and I'm pretty sure my tea will be burnt to a crisp. The driver won't tell us a thing, but that's probably because he's afraid to speak up in case he loses his job."
When approached by reporters, the driver, Mr Angus Bogle, deceased, refused to answer any questions on the grounds of having died of old age 15 years earlier.
It is believed the contractors, Mr T Gypsy & Co, are asking for an extra £100,000,000,000 to cover the cost of spreading low-grade tarmac on the roads and fly-tipping the waste into the nearest garden.
TIE were unavailable for comment. The next tram is due to leave Princes St in 10 minutes. Honest.
Hold The Front Page!
There is a brand new online news service, tailored to the British audience but also available to foreign Johnnies. It is informative. It is funny. It is wildly inaccurate. It is NewsARSE.
That is all.
That is all.
St Jade of Bermondsey
Idea for a Viz-style cartoon strip to be published shortly after the highly publicised death of reality tv sleb Jade Goody Tweed. Or possibly before. Meh.
On arriving in Purgatory, Jade is told by St Peter that they can't decide whether she should be sent to Heaven or Hell. On the one hand, she's a well-known racialist, having insulted Shilpa Shetty on Sleb Big Brother, but on the other, her televised battle for survival has raised wareness [sic] of the need for young women to get themselves screened for cervical cancer.
Eventually St Peter makes up his mind and clips a pair of wings onto Jade's back, telling her that even though she's not from East Angular, he's decided to make her an angel and allow her to sit up with the baby Jesus and that. But he warns her to watch her language or she'll be evicted from Heaven.
Up she flies through the Pearly Gates and lands between St Diana and Mother Theresa. Baby Jesus is there with a halo and beard. Yeah. After sitting playing harps, chatting and such, they feel a bit peckish, so they pick up a menu and phone the Heavenly takeaway. St Diana orders the roast unicorn, Mother Theresa only wants chick pea soup (which arrives with real baby chicks swimming in it) and Jade settles on the Passenger Pigeon and chips.
Just then, Jade spots Mahatma Ghandi fasting in the corner and asks, "Who ordered the Indian?"
At this point, her wings abruptly fall off and she plummets through the clouds and down into Hell. Landing with a splash, she finds herself waist deep in lava, flanked by Saddam Hussein and Margaret Thatcher 1, whilst demons prod her with burning pitchforks. Glumly, she starts picking at a plate of food before her.
Reader's voice: What are you eating now, Jade?
Jade: Rats' cocks.
1 Still alive at time of writing, but I can wish, can't I?
On arriving in Purgatory, Jade is told by St Peter that they can't decide whether she should be sent to Heaven or Hell. On the one hand, she's a well-known racialist, having insulted Shilpa Shetty on Sleb Big Brother, but on the other, her televised battle for survival has raised wareness [sic] of the need for young women to get themselves screened for cervical cancer.
Eventually St Peter makes up his mind and clips a pair of wings onto Jade's back, telling her that even though she's not from East Angular, he's decided to make her an angel and allow her to sit up with the baby Jesus and that. But he warns her to watch her language or she'll be evicted from Heaven.
Up she flies through the Pearly Gates and lands between St Diana and Mother Theresa. Baby Jesus is there with a halo and beard. Yeah. After sitting playing harps, chatting and such, they feel a bit peckish, so they pick up a menu and phone the Heavenly takeaway. St Diana orders the roast unicorn, Mother Theresa only wants chick pea soup (which arrives with real baby chicks swimming in it) and Jade settles on the Passenger Pigeon and chips.
Just then, Jade spots Mahatma Ghandi fasting in the corner and asks, "Who ordered the Indian?"
At this point, her wings abruptly fall off and she plummets through the clouds and down into Hell. Landing with a splash, she finds herself waist deep in lava, flanked by Saddam Hussein and Margaret Thatcher 1, whilst demons prod her with burning pitchforks. Glumly, she starts picking at a plate of food before her.
Reader's voice: What are you eating now, Jade?
Jade: Rats' cocks.
1 Still alive at time of writing, but I can wish, can't I?
Computer Terms Illustrated #22
It seems that even the simplest terms sometimes need a thorough explanation, sigh.
Hover your pointy thing over any image for more info.
Right-Click 
Cut 
Paste 
Hour glass(sp?) 
Variable 
Constant 
Save 
Run 
Play 
Cyberspace 
Account(sp?)
Hover your pointy thing over any image for more info.
There Is So Much To Tell You
Was it just me or did my blog disappear for a bit when my stat counter hit 40,000? Hey, my stat counter just hit 40,000! Yay!
Apparently what's-his-name has been compared to a dead monkey and the Merkan people are up in arms about it. Hello? Anyone remember Dubya "monkeyface" Bush? Monkeyface. That still kills me. Ask Tired Dad if you don't get it.
Do you think anyone will notice if Darling Alistair updates his blog? Hmmm, better not diss the boss. I, for one, welcome our new political paymasters.
Something in the Grauniad online about the King Kong Defence. I would have thought the only defence KK would need was a giant fly swatter.
See Golden Shpleem for more Lego scenarios.
Slapheads are wondering why Geordies (people from Newcastle) don't wear coats in cold weather. Answer: They don't want to look soft compared to Aberdonians, who don't even bother with a t-shirt until the mercury has frozen in the thermometer.
So the French ran into one of our submarines with one of theirs. The official excuse is that "they can't see each other in the water", but I prefer to think that our cloaking technology works and their anti-cloaking technology doesn't.
Kids are so ignorant these days, it's almost as if they're being fed misinformation deliberately. Case in point:
GS#2: "Grandad, who said 'religion is the opium of the people'?"
Me: "Groucho Marx."
Honestly, I thought everyone knew that. All that knowledge right there at their fingertips, sigh.
Favourite Niece phoned earlier to say that her Sunday afternoon at work had been interrupted by her boss turning up and telling everyone in the office all about his recent trip to Tie Land, whoop de fucking doo.
Me: Is that like Tie Rack or World of Ties? I mean, I like ties but an entire store given over to them does seem a bit excessive.
FN: No, Tie Land the country.
Me: You're shitting me, right? A whole country given over to tie production?
FN: Bang cock.
Me: Tits and - oh, you mean Thailand!
FN: Yes, silly.
Me: So did he bring back any ties?
FN: Just the one he married.
I ♣ seals.
PETA is running a campaign to save the sea kittens. That's fish, to you and me. Mmmm, tasty kittens. Well, not for me, obviously, I prefer baby sheep with mint sauce.
Toot toot!
Apparently what's-his-name has been compared to a dead monkey and the Merkan people are up in arms about it. Hello? Anyone remember Dubya "monkeyface" Bush? Monkeyface. That still kills me. Ask Tired Dad if you don't get it.
Do you think anyone will notice if Darling Alistair updates his blog? Hmmm, better not diss the boss. I, for one, welcome our new political paymasters.
Something in the Grauniad online about the King Kong Defence. I would have thought the only defence KK would need was a giant fly swatter.
See Golden Shpleem for more Lego scenarios.
Slapheads are wondering why Geordies (people from Newcastle) don't wear coats in cold weather. Answer: They don't want to look soft compared to Aberdonians, who don't even bother with a t-shirt until the mercury has frozen in the thermometer.
So the French ran into one of our submarines with one of theirs. The official excuse is that "they can't see each other in the water", but I prefer to think that our cloaking technology works and their anti-cloaking technology doesn't.
Kids are so ignorant these days, it's almost as if they're being fed misinformation deliberately. Case in point:
GS#2: "Grandad, who said 'religion is the opium of the people'?"
Me: "Groucho Marx."
Honestly, I thought everyone knew that. All that knowledge right there at their fingertips, sigh.
Favourite Niece phoned earlier to say that her Sunday afternoon at work had been interrupted by her boss turning up and telling everyone in the office all about his recent trip to Tie Land, whoop de fucking doo.
Me: Is that like Tie Rack or World of Ties? I mean, I like ties but an entire store given over to them does seem a bit excessive.
FN: No, Tie Land the country.
Me: You're shitting me, right? A whole country given over to tie production?
FN: Bang cock.
Me: Tits and - oh, you mean Thailand!
FN: Yes, silly.
Me: So did he bring back any ties?
FN: Just the one he married.
I ♣ seals.
PETA is running a campaign to save the sea kittens. That's fish, to you and me. Mmmm, tasty kittens. Well, not for me, obviously, I prefer baby sheep with mint sauce.
Toot toot!
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