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Surerandomality Issue Neuf
Welcome to the Surerandomality issue Neuf, first of all a big thank you to my random piece of Yorkshire countryside correspondent for his appendage last week. Just to clear up any misunderstanding it was signed off as Spav, and it wasn’t a case of him missing the G just above the V, based on the rest of the spelling I know it was difficult to tell. Another bumper week of chaos and mayhem, some good and some that was not quite so tip top. Friday saw Squirrel out on his work do and at the same time trying the dusk till dawn effort on the longest night of the year. Starting early at home, he made a quick stop (finally) at Scubar, before meeting up with a couple of work colleagues in Fat Cat on Deansgate locks, a few there, then stops at Rain Bar, Paramount and the New Union before arriving at the meal. After the meal with quite a few others it was on to Jumping Jaks, Jar Bar, and finally Infinity, before getting home just after the trio of G Man, Hopalong, and Ricky, who had been out to the Slug and Lettuce on Stella and Tequila before heading into town and on to the Champagne in Bar 38, on exit Ricky managed to puke twice, before getting home. The dusk till dawn effort failed by some three hours. Saturday brought an early afternoon start for Squirrel while the other 3 were shopping, on the way out from town he got dropped off in Fallowfield where he was going to meet up with Wes, but Wes had already moved on so Squirrel had himself a mini pub crawl before hitting the off license and getting spirits to drink at home. Wes in the meantime managed to get involved in a little scuffle in Jabez and got thrown out and got a beating from the bouncers as well. Sunday was Chez Didsbury's Christmas party, which started with watching the football and beers, but after the opening of presents, a drinking shots game was started using two of Squirrels presents, porno playing cards and a spin the wheel shots board. Needless to say it got messy from there, just before 11 it was out to Fallowfield to the Orange Grove, and then into town to Jumping Jaks, then to the casino (Viva Las Vegas), where Hopalong managed to blow £190 in two hours, before wandering off home at 3. G Man and Ricky went home on Monday and somewhat surprisingly Squirrel went to XS where he met up with Becky and Wes for a few beers. Hopalong and Wes both went home on Christmas Eve, only leaving Squirrel floating about in Manchester. Into the Friendship at 6 where Becky and all the XS regulars were, out at closing time then home where Squirrel and Becky carried on drinking. Christmas day dawned and the spirits started at 10 and were all gone by 2. Malc came round and cooked Christmas dinner (lamb) and he and Becky went home in the early hours. Boxing day brought lounging at home watching football and crap films, and saw the return of G Man. Yes mate you told us, BUT, Basically here it is.
As stated last week we have the names for Percion and Treisesla’s 24 little snails. Maaerok, Mrarrek, Mhiokee, Kaervoinn, Wreas, Mealrrtoinn, Breacikly, Mrallic, Feraeid, Draevie, Neilc, Kraeraeln, Mriecehherlelie, Mhaerik, Kroal, Mraigigeile, Mearrlk, Praeull, Cahireiss, Cehereies, Nriecik, Arnediy, Amnadry, Rhiecahralred.
Congratulations to Mark Gill who it has emerged this week is an Uncle.
Commiseration's to Mrs Jemima Meier of Crewe, Cheshire, who has just discovered that she is related Tony Blair, and now feels suicidal. Just remember Jemima, that you can choose your friends, but you can't choose your relatives.
One Sunday a pastor asked his congregation to consider giving a little extra in the offering plate. He said that whoever gave the most would be able to pick out three hymns. After the offering plates were passed, the pastor glanced down and noticed that someone had contributed a $1,000 bill. He was so excited that he immediately shared his joy with his congregation, and said he'd like to personally thank the person who had placed the money in the plate. A very quiet, elderly, saintly widow shyly raised her hand. The pastor asked her to come to the front. Slowly she made her way to the pastor. He told her how wonderful it was that she gave so much and asked her to pick out three hymns. Her eyes brightened as she looked over the congregation, pointed to the three handsomest men in the building and said, "I'll take him and him and him."
A Tennessee hillbilly farmer from back in the hills walked twelve miles, one way, to the general store. "Heya, Wilbur," said Sam, the storeowner. "tell me, are you and Myrtle still making fires up there by rubbing stones and flint together?" "You betcha, Sam. Ain't no 'tother way. Why?" "Got something to show you. Something to make fire. It's called a 'match'." "'Match'? Never heard of it." "Watch this. If you want a fire you just do this," Sam says, taking a match and striking it on his pants." "Huh. Well, that's something, BUT that ain't for me, Sam." "Well, why not?" "I can't be walking twelve miles every time I want a fire and borrow your pants."
What do you call a midget clairvoyant on the run? A small medium at large!
A concerned husband goes to see the family doctor and says, "I think my wife is deaf because she never hears me the first time I say something, in fact, I often have to repeat things over and over again." "Well," the doctor replies, "go home and tonight and stand about 15 feet from her and say something. If she doesn't reply, move about five feet closer and say it again. Keep doing this so we can get an idea about the severity of her deafness." Sure enough, the husband goes home and does exactly as instructed. He starts off about 15 feet from his wife in the kitchen and as she is chopping some vegetables, he says, "Honey, what's for dinner?" He gets no response. He moves about five feet closer and asks again. No reply. He moves five feet closer. Still no reply. He gets fed up and moves right behind her, about an inch away, and asks again, "Honey, what's for dinner?" She replies, "For the fourth time, vegetable stew!"
A guy visits his doctor complaining of a really sharp headache along the left side of his brain. "Hmmm," the doctor says, ruminating on the problem. "Let me ask you this - do you masturbate?" Somewhat taken aback the guy replies, "Uhhh, well . . . uhhh, yeah." The doctor grins and says, "It's great, isn't it!"
A father and son went fishing one day. While they were out in the boat, the boy suddenly became curious about the world around him. He asked his father, "How does this boat float? The father replied, "Don't right know son." A little later, the boy looked at his father and asked, "How do fish breath underwater?" Once again the father replied, "Don't right know son." A little later the boy asked his father, "Why is the sky blue?" Again, the father replied. "Don't right know son." Finally, the boy asked his father, "Dad, do you mind my asking you all of these questions?" The father replied, "Of course not, you don't ask questions, you never learn nothin'."
A little old lady goes to the doctor and says, "I have this problem with gas, BUT it really doesn't bother me too much. The farts never smell and are always silent. As a matter of fact, I've farted at least 20 times since I've been here, and I bet you didn't even notice!" The doctor says, "I see. Take these pills and come back next week." The next week the lady goes back. "Doctor," she says, "I don't know what the hell you gave me, BUT now my farts - although still silent - stink terribly." The doctor says, "Good! Now that we've cleared up your sinuses, let's work on your hearing..."
A couple of items that have caught my eye this week.
Amanda Webster, 34, of London, England, couldn't get her car to start. "I noticed that part of the key was missing," said Keith Scott, who was dispatched by the auto club to help. He figured out that the missing bit was the transponder -- a security device that won't let the car start unless it's detected near the keyhole. Webster's toddler, Oscar, had been playing with the keys. "Mrs. Webster told me that he had been sucking the key and we realized he might have swallowed part of it." Scott had her hold the baby up to the steering wheel to get the transponder near the detector and the car started right up. The transponder was "recovered" later. - Obviously not a childproof lock!
A police officer on patrol a few blocks from the Fox Valley (Wisc.) Metro Police Department headquarters saw a car speed by him. He chased after the car, which ran a stop sign, and saw the driver bail out and run. A passenger in the now-stopped car claimed he didn't know who the driver was. As backup officers started searching the area, they heard someone call, "Over here, officer." It was the driver, Joseph Delongchamp, 18, asking for help. Police say that after jumping out of the car, Delongchamp tripped in the dark and broke his leg. Officers visited him in the hospital to give him citations for a second offense of drunken driving, a second offense of driving on a revoked license, running a stop sign and underage drinking. BUT they spared him a felony charge of fleeing an officer. "It just wasn't his night," an officer said. - Why am I seeing visions of Vice City mixed with Tony Hawk’s?
First of all the answer to last week's question. What kind of fucking child do you think I am, what the fuck do you think I'd be doing with an advent calendar, do you think my name is Hopalong (Sindy calendar), though judging by the response from you all there are a hell of a lot of you out there that did actually have a celebrations advent calendar. Two words for all of you GROW UP!
For this weeks question you're all going to need to be psychic, have a very good source of information, or have a lucky guess. What film did I watch on Christmas Day? The first correct answer out of the bag will win the Santa hat from last week's issue. The address is in the usual place.
BUT, this isn’t a continuation. Yes mate, you told us, BUT it is writing of a sort, it will be back to the terror of a hijack next week, so apologies to those literature junkies that were waiting for your next fix, the wait will have to go on, BUT the pleasure will be heightened by the anticipation. Apologies as well to the 6 unfortunates, who have seen this piece of random word association earlier in the week, BUT it does need a more public airing.
He was bored, any more bored and he could pass himself off as a MDF kitchen work surface.
Nothing worked any more, the more he tried to get things to work the more frustrating it became, he was being left with his thoughts again - dangerous ground for a man with a mind like his, there would be no limit to what kind of devastation he could cause given time alone with his thoughts. No target would be considered too sacred, no miniscule detail would be considered too trivial.
The portal was open and there was no known force in the universe that could stop the flow in and out of his mind. It was like traffic flowing through Spaghetti Junction, occasionally become log jammed, BUT nothing that decent colonic irrigation couldn't fix.
The colours all came at once, right across the spectrum from black to white, like an acid trip in full Technicolor, and along with them came the sounds, from the sounds of silence like the high pitched frequency of the dog whistle, to the low hypnotic rumble of an earthquake, with sudden violent bursts of volume that offended the ear drums like a Garth Brooks greatest hits CD.
And now he was at peace, with all senses working at the very limit of their own existence, his nose smelling everything, from the particles of sweat on his forehead, cooling the fever he was feeling, to the remnants of Stella on his breath from intake the night before, he felt hot, cold and somewhere in between, not quite sure which was which.
In this peaceful trance he had induced it became very clear that the meaning of life that everyone had searched so hard for was within reach. It was so simple as well. To reach that plain of nirvana all he had to do was give up working, give up sleep all together and take up drinking as a 24/7 occupation, the only thing that prevented this was finding a sucker to sponsor this new life opportunity.
Back to reality, back to life, back to the feature on a Friday night. Things had by some strange miracle of fate started working again, which meant by the definition set down Richard Laymon in Beast House that nothing would ever be the same again. Or sane again for that matter. The portal had collapsed on itself like a card house on a table that had been kicked by a baby elephant.
He would now have to work at a pace set by a sadistic whipmaster on a Roman Galleon in order to escape to the pub before happy hour had finished, or he would never maximize the drinking capabilities of the money that he didn't have in his wallet.
Such is life BUT on the less shitty side of the stick it wasn't death, and you can't be MDF if your busy, just a little bastard.
Why do you press harder on a remote-control when you know the battery is dead?
Why do people without a watch look at their wrist when you ask them what time it is?
Why do banks charge you a "non-sufficient funds fee" on money they already know you don't have?
Butterface (n).
A woman with a great figure, but the face of a darts players' wife. From the phrase "A good body, but her face...".
Yes it’s that little lull between Christmas and New Year when the only busy little bastards are footballers, the table below is only upto and including Tottenham’s superb victory over Man City on Monday. It is time for transfers so get those real suggestions into me now, before it’s too late, it’s no use crying at 12.05 on New Year’s day once the first game has kicked off and you’ve missed your transfer opportunity. On a more useful note it would help most managers to have a good look at the team of Wednesday Wannabes, and pay especial notice to whoever they are planning to transfer in. This is for the simple reason that their manager is a fucking liability, and has already jinxed half a dozen players this season. Early indication is that he planning to kill off the season for Harry Kewell. Meanwhile it is quite satisfying to see that the tampons have been having a bit of a bad Cherokee hair day this month.
-Annual Table-
Position-Team-Points
1st-Free Transfer XI-885
2nd-The Cherokee Hair Tampons-855
3rd-Shhoooooottt!!!-843
4th-Relegated By Christmas-836
5th-Bonus F.C.-822
6th-Heald Place Harriers-800
7th-And Sergei Rebrov Wins The Golden Boot-794
8th-Nottingham Saints-763
9th-SMB Arsenal-759
10th-Wednesday Wannabes-747
11th-Steps Into Jansen's Ring-728
12th-Big Unit's Cherries-719
13th-Cartman's Heroes-716
14th-Geordies On Top-695
15th-Helen Chamberlain's Body Stocking-682
16th-Premiership Rejects-680
17th-Maine Road 1923-2003-666
18th-Banjo Wielding Strikers-580
-Upto and Including 23rd December-
The post bag was even less busy than I expected, and e-mail responses were down, as you must have all been out enjoying the festive period. The response to the Save the Golf Ball Appeal is still going quite well, with only a few donations this week. The grand total still stands at £214.12, 17 second & 11 First class stamps, 54 euros, $2.76, 10 drachma, 15 Yen, 5 Krugerands, 19 Luncheon Vouchers, £10 worth of Argos vouchers and £720 worth of HMV money off vouchers, thanks to all those that have contributed, and please keep those donations rolling in.
The Staffordshire against Redcar war of words has been rumbling on this week though it's not really a war anymore, it's more of a massacre with over 20 letters from Staffordshire and none whatsoever supporting Redcar, in fact there was one letter from Redcar that was agreeing with the general impression that Redcar is a shithole. I'm not going to print any more of these letters, as I've got plenty of other topics to deal with.
A number of letters and e-mails have arrived in response to my dig at Germans last week. I had over 70 requests from Germans asking to be removed from the mailing list, but due to the fact that their grasp of simple concepts is limited they all forgot that to be removed they need to supply the full list of the Earls of Leicester (as in the notes at the end of each issue), therefore due to the fact that none of them are exactly Mr current affairs their attempts to be removed have turned out to be spurious, not genuine and worth… fac all. In fact they only need to go through the back issues and look at the fate of Mr Perrin to see that it is a strict requirement.
I received an e-mail from BigShakyCross@Hotmail.Com, which reads, "I have been reading your publication for a number of weeks now, and I am writing to ask a favour. I have noticed that there have been quite a few mentions of Andy Wallace, and from what I have read I am wondering whether it is the same Andy Wallace that was in Hawaii just over 18 months ago. If so I was wondering whether I could make an appeal for him to get in contact with me urgently, as I would like him to undergo a paternity test, as I am sure that my little boy Jonah is his, as it's the only possible reason that would explain him being so ugly." Well I've printed the appeal for you and hope that you get the response that you deserve.
Well this week could bring absolutely anything, with very little planned anything could happen. Friday, Saturday and New Year's eve are all open dates, with about the only thing certain that after last Sunday's escapades that there will be no visit to the casino (Viva Las Vegas) this week or any other week for the foreseeable future. Squirrel is going over to Becky's parents along with her girlfriend on Sunday, which could be a nightmare, a squirrel on the loose in poshest Cheshire. Random drinking, fighting, puking, and eating will doubtless be the outcome of the week, but whatever happens you'll be the first to know, right here next week.
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TOTAL = 10
CUMMILATIVE TOTAL = 69