Can't help it

That last one sorta sucked. That’s what I get for stealing a joke. Actually on the radio they had a comedian and people could call in with jokes they’d written and somebody called in and mentioned that whistles are not actually clean, as part of a longer list of the did-you-ever-notice-? variety. There was no joke, just the concept of whistles not really being clean. I wrote the joke. I should not have written the joke. Jerry Seinfeld should have written the joke.

Jerry Seinfeld hardly ever jokes about lesbians. Americans are not allowed to. I, however, can’t help it. They are very interesting. Also I am afraid of them for they are awesome to behold with great and terrible wrath. Like Vikings. Vikings dressed like flannel-clad homeboys, or possibly in a nice white shirt with bolero string tie. I wonder if they sell special boob-strapping tape…

I’m doing it again.

P4: Hey dad dinner’s ready and I made it.
SJ: No way! You have to be at least 10 years old to make dinner.
P4: Uh, I am 10, remember?
SJ: No way man. You’re 8. When you were three we told you you were five. We wanted to start you in school early, ‘cause you’re so clever, so we lied. You are definitely 8.
P4: Then how come I’m tallest girl in my class?
SJ: Wait I got that wrong, you’re 11. You were dumb so we started you a year late. Yeah, that’s right.
P4: I’ve seen my birth certificate.
SJ: Which one?
P4: uh…
SJ: How old are you?
P4: Eight. Grrr, TEN!
SJ: Ten? You should have made dinner.
P4: I already told... I am 10. I made dinner. Ten. Dinner. Made.
SJ: Right, let's go then.

and it was very very good.

Give a little whistle

What does clean as a whistle mean? Coated in spit and pocket lint? Moldy old coagulated spit, festering forth germs like a North Korean breeder reactor within the dark dank bowels of the common whistle. A whistle kept in the sweat-crusted front pocket of an ex-jock PE teacher or hung between the non-descript breasts of a lesbian women’s volleyball coach.

Clean like that?

Ha ha remember that lesbian women’s volleyball coach in Porky’s? She had a whistle. You could go right ahead and dunk that sucker in a cup of hot water, make yourself a nice cup-a-spit. If you could get it off her that is, and if I remember my history that requires cunning, speed, timing and sticking your dick through a hole in a wall.

Not really the best bait for a lesbian. Just makes them angrier.

I’d let her keep the whistle, if I were you. Or at least offer to clean it for her.

worse, not better

What’s an unruly mob? A mob with irregular edges? Mob is bomb spelled backward incorrectly, that’s spooky. Unruly spelled backwards makes no sense whatsoever, like a Brittany life-choice or doing calculus on peyote.

Actually you probably could do calculus on peyote as long as nobody interrupted you by existing. You should NOT host a world-wide satellite link-up for Peace In Our Time with Bob Geldof, the Foo Fighters, special guest stars Dick Clark and P. Diddy, the Foo Fighters, Little Richard and the Foo Fighters on peyote.

The Foo Fighters suck.

In WWII American Navy pilots reported seeing little Dave Groels flying around over the Pacific and they called them Foo Fighters, which is Navy lingo for lame.

I Think.

Dave Groel was a drummer before he was lame. So was Dave Clark and he’s probably dead by now. David Lee Roth is not a drummer and is not dead though he sometimes threatens to be lame.

It’s confusing, I know. Worse on Peyote.

crack could beat up heroin, but heroin wouldn't care

7pm on a Thursday and it isn’t the first time. 7pm Thursday was invented over ONE HUNDERED years ago. Nobody knows who invented it, though some suspect monks or clock-makers. Maybe mildly retarded children, bless them.

That’s all I have to say about it. I may do a pantomime later if there’s time.

Life is a pantomime (with talking) and nobody knows the moves. Freestyle pantomime. Word.

Maybe if crack addicts put their crack in a tin can with a label that said “SPINICH – product of Honduras” and they whipped it out and cracked-on just in time to save their skinny crack girlfriend from certain train-running-over (!) by tearing up the tracks in a crack-fuelled frenzy maybe then people would be more understanding because they saved a precious life with crack and only wrecked one train. You can’t do that with heroin. Not cracky enough.

Cracky is not a word, apparently. Got a red squiggly line under it. There is no poetic license setting. Curse you cold and sterile future-world with your micro-chips and plastic tables!

I was thinking those people with that genetic mutation that makes them be covered in long silky hair from head to toe will do pretty good if there is suddenly an ice age. They don’t panic easily. Also they are hairy. Duh.

"Crabs got me where I am today" - Alaskan fisherman declared America's Next Top Model

All that guff back in 2000, everything was New Millennium this and New Millennium that. Try our new New Millennium french fries, exactly like the old ones except we’re selling them in the New fucking Millennium. Y2K was a complete disappointment, nothing important crashed, telecommunications ticked along, air travel continued unabated, toilet paper continued to come in regular or scented. Some people had to get new cheques issued that didn’t have “19__” in the date section but with teams of printers working round the clock this was soon rectified and old ladies were once again free to hold up check-out lines as they stubbornly continued to assert their right not to use an ATM card. 2000 was a complete non-event.

And here we are most way to 2010 already, ploughing headlong into a brave new world, one with iPods. A world where everybody gets a turn to be on TV, movie stars, hotel heiresses, Alaskan crab fishermen, George Bush, they let anybody on these days. The next pop-star/ model/ crab fisherman/ president of the united states is only a vote away, call now, only fifty cents. Hell, even Fiddy Cent is on TV and from what I can see he’s got all the charisma of dog turd with a bow on it. When you have nothing else, look stolid. Or guest-host Saturday Night Live, that’s still on. And still crap. That’s why.

But I put this injector cleaner stuff in my truck and it’s running really good now, so there’s that. Here’s to butoxyethanol!

Happy New Year.

SJ