Everybody get ready for the first ever Surerandomality Mad Night Out, sponsored by Stella Artois and Red Rooster, and a chance to meet A-list Surerandomality stars like Squirrel, G Man and Hopalong, and a fair smattering of B –list stars like Ricky Organ. It’s coming to Manchester on Friday April 25^th, starting time and location still to be finalised, but final destination is going to be 5^th Avenue, strictly Jeans and Trainers, no fucking townie poncy smart shit. So save your pennies and get your arses to Manchester, other events to be organised for the remainder of the weekend.

Then on Saturday 14^th June, there will be the first ever Chez Didsbury Sports Day, Barbeque, Disco and late night drinking session, so clear your diaries, hone your Frisbee, football and saucepan throwing skills, get your sleeping bags aired and bring plenty of alcohol.

With the reigning champion being off for most of the week (4 days is a hell of a lot more convincing than 1) the new Blonde of the week winner was Garden.

Happy birthday to Percion who was 7 on Thursday.

Mutation has ceased and the original form has been returned.

Welcome to this week's letters, and it would appear that there are lots of disgruntled readers out there this week for one reason or another, so I will try and deal with all your complaints and points as fairly and objectionably as I can.

First up a letter from a Bert Merriweather from Woolston, Warrington, who puts forward the following interesting argument. "Consider the following; Squirrel appears indifferent to the word of Ron. When was the last time you heard Squirrel pointing out an example of a nice change ball? Then there was the disgraceful attempt to hide the good book of Ron from the house, something to hide? Further more think of the obvious similarities in physic between the two. Then there's Squirrel’s jewelry, rings and necklaces. And I'll tell you what those new gold rimmed sun glasses? Finally there's Ron's well documented love of the Midlands. This coupled with Squirrel’s caginess about his past. Squirrel is one of Ron's long lost love children. Think about it!" Ron of course being Ron Atkinson (more in Editor’s Rant later on). Having spoken to Squirrel, he seems upset by this and quotes "I fucking well hope I’m not related to that cunt." Furthermore, the sum total of the value of Squirrel’s jewelry amounts to less than one of the flashy bangles that Ron wears. With his fake tan and love of the sun it would also appear that Ron is at the opposite end of the spectrum from Squirrel, who seems to avoid the sun at all costs. All in all it is an interesting theory, but seems to lack any tangible credibility.

A number of readers wrote in to question the use of the Surerandomality mailing list. One such person was a Miss Fiona Harvey, from Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, who wrote, "It would seem that someone has managed to get hold of your mailing list and is sending out random fake news articles to it. Surely this shouldn’t be allowed under the principals of the Data Protection Act 1998, unless of course you have sold the list." First of all, I have not sold the list, and no one who isn’t supposed to have the list has it. The e-mail in question was sent out by Surerandomality’s North East of England Correspondent, who is entitled to have the mailing list. However he does forget that he’s supposed to clear any issues with myself, and seems to have difficulties with how many times any particular e-mail is sent, but that's what you get when you employ IT staff.

Moving on, a Miss Tina Greatbach, from Poole, Dorset writes, "I am appalled at the falling standards from Surerandomality, and am particularly disappointed to see that the web site hasn't been updated for the last three weeks. Pull your fucking finger out and sort it." Yes bitch, you told me, however it's not as simple as that. The hosting company's login server hasn't been working, and therefore I am unable to log in to update the files, plus they have no ftp access, which means until such time as they fix the problem, there's absolutely fac all I can do about it. In fact it would help if they answered their e-mail as well.

It would appear that the Second Coming of plagiarism time last week didn't go down too well in certain circles. Unbeknown to me that after the first plagiarism time, my solicitors came to an arrangement with the 5 artists, whose copyright I'd infringed that they would drop their cases on the condition that I didn't infringe their copyrights again. However those solicitors really are useless shites and forgot to pass this somewhat vital information on to me, and therefore I am now facing legal action from both Erik Schrody and Joseph Saddler for infringement of copyright. My accountant's going to be well pleased with that. NOT!

Finally, many of you wrote in to ask where the application form for the job was, the explanation to which has already been given in the introduction. However Mr. Perrin wrote, "Where is the application form, this is my opportunity to get a decent job, and put my creative writing skills to use." A few things, there's not a hope in hell I'd ever give you a job, secondly, your creative writing teacher's doing a lousy job, and most publications would refuse to employ you. Thirdly, you're still in prison, and even with time off for good behavior you won't be out for another 3 months. Finally, there is no job.

That's it for the letters for this week, but there will be more next week.

A couple of items that have caught my eye this week.

Carl Wiley, 36, on trial in Lubbock, Texas, for aggravated assault, couldn't keep his mouth shut. Ignoring orders from the judge -- and his own mother -- to be quiet, Wiley ranted for at least 20 minutes. "The judge gave him lots of leeway," said the prosecutor, but "he continually bad-mouthed and mouthed off to the judge" and his own lawyer. Finally, District Judge Jim Bob Darnell had enough and ordered deputies to use duct tape to seal Wiley's mouth closed. - Duct tape, Ricky Organ, what a great idea.

Leonard Garland and David DeCristofaro, both 20, saw a lot of cars parked on a street in Ashland, Mass. Figuring it was a party they "crashed" it. Indeed there was a party and, witnesses say, Garland asked one of the hosts if he wanted to "get high". The host asked if he had something to get high with, and Garland and DeCristofaro produced psychedelic mushrooms and cocaine. They also chatted about a local "jerk" narcotics cop, Matt Gutwill, who the duo didn't like because he was so effective at arresting drug dealers. It was about then that the host identified himself -- as narcotics officer Matt Gutwill -- and arrested them. "The look on their faces was like they saw death knocking on their door," said Gutwill, who was wearing a sweatshirt emblazoned with "Burlington Police Academy" at the time. It wasn't difficult to detain the two men: most of the 20 people at the party were cops. "I've met a lot of dumb drug dealers," Gutwill said later, "but none this dumb." - It would appear that neither of them were exactly Mr Current Affairs, and that the police seemed to know quite a lot of things that they didn’t.

After the mentalist tip top weekend last week, follows the quietest week ever. No going out, and hours spent doing nothing except watching the box, and that’s about it.

Quite a few donations this week, but I will have to ask that no more are sent after this weekends escapades. The grand total for the appeal now stands at £684.79, 12 Guinea, 58 second & 51 First class stamps, 199 euros, $39.99, 9 Irish Punt, 12 drachma, 71 French Francs, 23 Swiss Francs, 34 Belgium Francs, 1756 Andorran Pesetas, 44 Yen, 301 Australian dollars, 666,666 Italian Lira, 2,056,179 Turkish Lira, 7 Krugerands, 28 Luncheon Vouchers, 124 Green Shield Stamps, £221.50 in postal orders, 14 Esso tokens, £30 worth of Circus Casino (Viva Las Vegas) chips, 71,000 WH Smith club card points, 18,000 Nectar points, 4 Car wash tokens, 5 Milk Tokens, £15 worth of Argos vouchers, £2.50 worth of Mothercare vouchers, £20 worth of Specsavers vouchers and £1420 worth of out of date HMV money off vouchers, thanks to all those that have contributed, and please No more contributions. Some figures may be reduced since last week, but this is due to expenses incurred in the search for Rex at the weekend.

We met up with Benjamin Andrew Daniel Slice, at Brampton Golf Club in Cumbria at 7am last Saturday morning, an hour before the day's first tee off time, which thankfully he had arranged with the club's committee. We therefore had a clear window of opportunity to dredge, what turned out to be a little pond, which would have been a hell of a lot harder to hit than the fucking fairway. The dredging team got to work, and within half an hour had cleared the bottom of the pond of all it's contents, and it's surprising to see just how many crap golfers there really are. By this time a large number of Rex appeal supporters had turned up to watch the proceedings. The many golf balls were sifted, until finally a Titleist Pro V1 was found amongst the multitude. It wasn't necessary to search any further because it was obvious to everyone in attendance that this was Rex. The way he looked as proud as a golf ball could, knowing that everyone was there because of him, was a sight to behold. The gathered throng made their way back to the car park, where it was agreed that Rex could be passed around so that everyone could get a close up look at the object of all our thoughts during these long dark months.

It would be nice to say that there was much happiness, but, as is wont to happen on these occasions, things didn't quite go to plan. While being passed around a Mr M Taibi dropped Rex, and as the gathered crowd held their breath, we watched as it bounced away across the tarmac, before coming to a halt in a small puddle. This would have been fine, if it hadn't been the exact moment that the Green Roller returned to the clubhouse, and ran over Rex, completely crushing him, and causing his innards to spill over the car park. Thus the tale of Rex comes to an unhappy end, never has one golf ball meant so much to so many. We shall remember you always.

I shall deal with the remnants of the appeal in next week's issue, when I have had time to step back and collect my thoughts.

Out of respect for Rex, the first ever occupant of Story Time, Story Time has been suspended for this week, there will be further stories from next week onwards. Sorry.

When opossums are playing 'possum, they are not "playing." They actually pass out from sheer terror.

The Main Library at Indiana University sinks over an inch every year because when it was built, engineers failed to take into account the weight of all the books that would occupy the building.  

On a Canadian two dollar bill, the flag flying over the Parliament Building is an American flag

And if you are born again, do you have two bellybuttons? (See John 3 for the answer; yes, that too is in the Bible)

If you try to fail, and succeed, what have you done?

Are there Seeing Eye humans for blind dogs?

Right Hand Cream (n).

Hand and face moisturizer made from a special blend of nut oils.

A little boy came home from the playground with a bloody nose, black eye, and torn clothing. It was obvious he'd been in a bad fight and lost. While his father was patching him up, he asked his son what happened. "Well, Dad," said the boy, "I challenged Larry to a duel. And, you know, I gave him his choice of weapons." "Uh-huh," said the father, "that seems fair." "I know, but I never thought he'd choose his big sister!"

A police officer in a small town stopped a motorist who was speeding down Main Street. ''But officer,'' the man said, ''I can explain.'' ''Just be quiet!!!'' snapped the officer. ''Or I'm going to let you cool off in jail until the chief gets back.'' ''But officer, I just wanted to say...'' ''And I said KEEP QUIET! Now you're going to jail!'' A few hours later, the officer checked up on his prisoner and said, ''Lucky for you the chief is at his daughter's wedding. He'll be in a great mood when he gets here.'' ''Don't count on it,'' said the prisoner. ''I'm the groom.''

After her sixth child, Jane decided that she should have some cosmetic surgery "down below" to restore herself to her former youthful glory because her bomb doors were dangling a bit too low and looked like a ripped out fireplace. Time and childbirth had taken its toll and she reckoned that, with six children now being the limit, she'd tidy things with a nip here and a tuck there so it looked more like a piggy bank slot rather than a badly packed kebab. Following the operation she awoke from her anesthetic to find three roses at the end of the bed. "Who are these from?" she asked the nurse, "They're very nice but I'm bit confused as to why I've received them." "Well" said the nurse, "The first is from the surgeon - the operation went so well and you were such a model patient that he wanted to say thanks". "Ahhh, that's really nice" said Jane. "The second is from your husband - he's delighted the operation was such a success that he can't wait to get you home. Apparently it'll be the first time he's touched the sides for years and he’s very excited!" "Brilliant!" said Jane. "And the third?" "That's from Eric, a patient in the burns unit," said the nurse. "He just wanted to say thanks for his new ears."

A man went to a little local restaurant the other day and ordered a tuna fish sandwich on white bread. "I'm sorry, sir," the waitress said, "but we're all out of white bread. Can we put that on wheat for you?" Sure, what the heck. You know how you get when you just crave something? He was in a tuna mode all that week, because he was back at the restaurant the next day, again ordering the same tuna sandwich. Got the same waitress as the day before. He told her, "On white, please." "Gosh, I'm sorry, sir, can we put that on wheat for you? We're out of white today." Hurm. Sure. Go ahead. The craving didn't subside. For the third day in a row, he was back at the local cafe. This time, he thought he'd save himself and the very same waitress some grief. "A tuna fish sandwich, please, on wheat bread." The waitress looked up from her pad, "Aren't you the guy who usually orders it on white?"

Amanpreet was down at the local police station wanting to talk to the burglar who'd broken in his house the night before. The desk sergeant was adamant. "No. You'll get your chance in court, sir." "No, no, you don't understand," Preet said. "I want to know how the hell he got into the house without waking my wife. I've been trying to do that for years!"

A man had been holding off getting a medical check-up. He didn’t want to pay a doctor $150 just to have him tell him he’s got to quit doing everything he likes. Anyway, he’s lying on the examination table, and the doc's got a stethoscope on my chest. He's moving it around, telling him to breathe in and out. He's got a puzzled look on his face. He said, "Well, Doc, how do I stand?" He shook his head and said, "Give me a minute. That's what I'm trying to figure out."

An airline captain was breaking in a very pretty new blonde stewardess. The route they were flying had a stay-over in another city, so upon their arrival, the captain showed the stewardess the best place for airline personnel to eat, shop and stay overnight. The next morning as the pilot was preparing the crew for the day's route, he noticed the new stewardess was missing. He knew which room she was in at the hotel and called her up wondering what happened to her. She answered the phone, sobbing, and said she couldn't get out of her room. "You can't get out of your room?" the captain asked, "Why not?" The stewardess replied, "There are only three doors in here, "she cried," one is the bathroom, one is the closet, and one has a sign on it that says "Do Not Disturb!"

A retiree was given a set of golf clubs by his co-workers. Thinking he'd try the game, he asked the local pro for lessons, explaining that he knew nothing whatever of the game. The pro showed him the stance and swing, then said, "Just hit the ball toward the flag on the first green." The novice teed up and smacked the ball straight down the fairway and onto the green, where it stopped inches from the hole. "Now what?" the fellow asked the speechless pro. After he was able to speak again the pro finally said, "Uh .. . you're supposed to hit the ball into the cup." "Oh great! NOW you tell me," said the beginner in a disgusted tone.

An old man was in bed with his wife when suddenly he let out a loud fart. He yelled, "7 points!" His wife looked at him and said, "What the hell are you doing?" He simply replied, "Just playing bed football." Ten minutes later the wife let a loud one and said, "Tie game - 7,7." The husband's competitive side kicked in and he started starting straining... when suddenly he crapped his pants! His wife looks over and said, "Now what's the score?" He said, "Still 7,7. End of quarter switch sides!!!"

Two Alabama State Troopers were chasing a Camaro East on I-20 toward Georgia. When the suspect crossed the Georgia line, the first Trooper pulled over quickly. The rookie Trooper pulled in behind him and said, "Hey, sarge, why did you stop?" The sarge replied, "He's in Georgia now. They're an hour ahead of us, so we'll never catch him."

When a man went to get his driver's license renewed, his local motor-vehicle bureau was packed. The line inched along for almost an hour until the man ahead of him finally got his license. He inspected his photo for a moment and commented to the clerk, "I was standing in line so long, I ended up looking pretty grouchy in this picture." The clerk looked at his picture closely, and reassured him, "It's okay. That's how you're going to look when the cops pull you over anyway."

A truck driver stopped at a roadside diner for lunch, and ordered a cheeseburger, coffee, and a slice of apple pie. As he was about to eat, three motorcycles pulled up outside. The bikers came in, and one grabbed the trucker's cheeseburger out of his hand and took a huge bite from it. The second one drank the trucker's coffee, and the third wolfed down his apple pie. The truck driver didn't say a word. He simply got up, paid the cashier, and left. When he was gone, other motorcyclists snickered to one another and congratulated each other on being so "bad". As the cashier walked up, one of the motorcyclists growled, "He ain't much of a man, is he?" "He's not much of a driver, either," the cashier replied. "He just backed his 18-wheeler over three motorcycles."

How does Bob Marley like his doughnuts? Wi jam in.

How do Bob Marley's mates like their doughnuts? Dunno. But we hope they like jam in too.

Well at a rough guess, probably a lot more than last week, though to have less happen than last week would be harder than a coffin nail. It would appear that due to previous extravagances Squirrel is going to be doing absolutely fac all. Football and films would seem to be on the agenda, but in truth who know what is likely to happen, but it is unlikely to get messy. See y’all next week.

And the transfers.

Here’s this week’s random review

What have I been reading? Well quite a lot, but the review is going to be of Tom McNab’s book Flanagan’s Run. Set in 1929 it tells the story of an organised road race from LA to New York, organised by the somewhat less than sane, and distinctly dodgy Flanagan. It tells of the many thousand of runners that line up for the race, and focuses on a few main characters. Along the way there are financial problems, lunatic bets, clashes with unions, Al Capone and the FBI, and a hell of a lot of running. Who wins? To be honest it doesn’t matter, and that would be telling. Definitely worth reading. 5/5

First the answer from last week. Typically Tropical had a number 1 in the late Seventies with Barbados. This week’s winner was a Luke Emia, from Goatsbridge, Tayside, who wins a copy of Capricorn 1 on DVD. A special mention must go to Sarah Canning, alternately from Birmingham and Chesterfield, who manages to get the correct answer in first almost every week, but who, as yet hasn’t been fortunate enough to be the first out of the hat on a Wednesday afternoon. Keep trying, you just never know.

For this week’s competition, I want to know, on average how many years are there in a century? This week’s prize is a Waterford Crystal and Mahogany Hourglass. Send the entries to the normal addresses through the normal channels.

TOTAL = 13

CUMMILATIVE TOTAL = 244

The subject is Ron Atkinson. Now of late, there has been a deluge of admiration for the perma tanned former football manager turned commentary summariser. This has involved pressure to include some of his stranger sayings in this body of work, the daily trawl on the internet for more of his sayings, the hanging on his every word when he happens to be "working" on a match, and the purchase of his autobiography. For a while this may have been considered as mildly amusing, but it gets to the point where someone has to stand up and say no more.

That point has now been reached. Basically the man is a complete and utter fucking dick. In the history of the world there has only ever been one "expert" summariser who has been more inept than the perma tanned cretin, and that was Trevor Francis, who thankfully is now gainfully employed trying to be a football manager, something the gold jewellery pervert hasn’t managed for quite some time now. That’s hardly surprising when you consider the absolute fucking shit that he comes out with. He puts random words together in a vain attempt to make coherent sentences, and when he’s stuck for something to say, resorts to making up words that have never been part of the English language, or any other language for that matter.

There are people who think that this makes him some kind of genius, and have dedicated web sites to the utter shit he talks, yet, with the exception of the dementia ridden Murray Walker, no one has ever known so little of what is going on, yet talks so much about it. He speaks with the benefit of hindsight, proclaiming himself right, as if he was some first rate nostradamus, when all he ever does is sit on the fence to an extent that would make Trevor Brooking jealous, giving 3 answers to an either or question.

Well, it’s time for it to stop, the backlash starts here, no more shall the name of Ron Atkinson darken these pages, all e-mails bearing the verbal diahhorea from his fat miserable mouth should be printed off and used for toilet paper, and any matches that you watch where you are subjected to the inane ramblings of the balding baboon, should be watched with the mute button in effect. Help stamp out the misery of the moronic Muppet and boycott the buffoon.