Moon Seeks Independence

Following Scotland’s bid to split from the United Kingdom, the Moon has decided to follow in their footsteps and seek independence from the Earth after 4.5 billion years.

Speaking via Skype, the Man on the Moon (otherwise known as the First Minister) commented:

“Honestly, what do you expect? You Earth people haven’t visited us for over 40 years – you haven’t so much as sent flowers or Christmas gifts. Even an Amazon gift card would have meant something…”

He continued:

“The last time you came over, in your weird-looking suits, you barely said a word to us and just strolled around taking photographs, eating our cheese and planting down flags as if you owned the place. Well, enough! We’ve decided to move to Mars, where we feel we will be better appreciated. And you can manage your ocean tides yourselves, you bastards!”

Support is said to be high for the move, with 100% of the population of the Moon in favour when a recent straw poll was conducted. Notably, tennis player Andy Murray has come out in support of the move, although suggestions that he might go and live there have been quickly rebuffed…

Anyone For Soup?

Now, you’ll probably appreciate it when I tell you that I’m no expert on kitchen utensils. Until recently I believed that Pestle and Mortar was a U.S. crime drama tv series from the 1980s.

However, I think that if I use this Tesco ‘ladle’ to serve [cream of hedgehog] soup at my upcoming dinner party (which is entirely fabricated to make the joke, so please don’t expect an invite) you’ll all be going rather hungry…

The Ladle...

Still… “every little helps”…

I Am Stupid – Pointless Letter #6

Today I received an email reply from someone that I had previously had correspondance with (he sent an enquiry to me, I replied). However, this particular email from him was less than kind about me, so I felt obliged to respond in my own way. It’s number 6 in my collection of pointless letters

His Email

The email to me

My response

Jim,

Thank you for your reply – your kind comments are more than I deserve. And thank you for your fabulous range of natty images – I found myself smiling and chuckling at them for seconds on end. Just to confirm – in the photo below your name, are you the human or the cat? I’ve never received an email from a cat before, so I’m understandably excited. :)

I have to completely agree with you – I am officially the most stupid person in the world and I have a certificate to prove it (I made it myself using the back of a cornflakes packet and some felt… the only problem was that I had an accident with the glue and now it’s stuck to the kitchen floor). With regards to my education, I like to think that I proved my teachers wrong when they said that my brain was smaller than the salad section in a Scottish supermarket. I left college with two GCSE certificates – in mouthwash gargling and plug-hole hair removal – before spending 15 years at university, eventually graduating with a degree in wok polishing.

For years I’ve yearned to be a Grounds Keeper, but sadly the only job they would give me was answering enquiries from cats such as yourself. This job and the part time job counting toe nail clippings for the local chiropodist (he likes to collect them for his world record attempt) earn me just enough to fund my heating bills, keep my cupboards stocked with spam and baked beans and feed the pet zebra that I keep in my bathroom (toilet trips are a safari all of their own).

Coming back to your enquiry, you gave me a simple question and I gave you three simple answers. Here is another one – we have a collection of 250,000 medical abbreviations and you can search either by individual abbreviation (EG: “BID” – Twice Daily) or by definition (“twice daily”, in this case). As you are aware, there is more than one abbreviation for frequency of medication and we do not have a page containing a set defined list. If we did, we would probably call it “Abbreviations For Medication Frequency” and include some animated images such as a cat wagging its tail and a weird blinking Star Trek Klingon with a hand that looks like a man’s bottom.

I hope this clears things up for you. I’m going to close this email now as it’s becoming longer than Rapunzel’s pubic hair.

Have a wonderful day – don’t get too high on catnip.

Alastair
P.S: If you would like to come around and look at my certificate at any point, you’d be most welcome. Also, if you have a wok that needs polishing, I’m your man…

E-Love – Pointless Letter #5

Pointless Letter

This morning I received an email from Sage that tugged at my heart strings and begged to be replied to. However, me being me meant that my reply had to be one of my, now infamous, pointless letters.

Here’s the conversation thread, with her email appearing first…

Her Email…

Subject: Hello, stallion! Stop killing your time surfing the Web and come to me!

My name is Sage. In three words about myself – pretty, mad and free.
I get so lonely from time to time these days. Why a well-hung fellow like you shouldn’t call
a lustful queen like me to spend the most splendid time together?
Do you prefer to play hard or is it more enjoyable for you to make it slowly
dwelling on each moment?
I can realize every fantasy you have.
Look at my profile right now and let us fly away together! (link)

My Response…

Subject: Your stallion is here, my love…

Dear Sage,

In three words about myself – old, bald and flatulent.

Thank you for your delightful email. I have to say that I feel flattered and as soon as I read your email I knew you were the one for me. It’s lovely of you to say that I’m well-hung – that’s the first time anyone has uttered those words to me. Normally, I receive comments expressing shock, disappointment and disbelief… the nickname ‘pee wee’ has been uttered on more than one occasion.

For several years I’ve yearned for a lustful queen to spend splendid time with. So your timing couldn’t be more opportune… if also several years late. I won’t hold that against you though. I mean, they say that you happen upon love just when you least expect it. Well, imagine my surprise for it to arrive via an email this very morning. Lucky for you, I have recently become single following a split with my girlfriend. She was a nice girl… someone once said that if she had two more legs she could have starred in a Western. I’m not quite sure what they meant by that…

I would love to have a look at your profile before I decide to fly away with you. It’s a sensible suggestion because I don’t know what you look like (not that that matters, as we are certain to spend splendid time together). I should, however, like to check whether you’re a 6ft tall blonde with the features of a supermodel or a bald, 4ft dwarf with a big nose. It makes sense, you see – if it’s the latter then I can book you a child seat on the plane…

How lovely of you to enquire about my preferences. I have to say that I like to play hard, particularly when challenging my cat Geoffrey to a game of tiddlywinks. He’s a bad ass, you see, and he takes no prisoners. I initially gave him a home after finding him on the street at night, bullying beggars out of their hard earned change. I’m hoping that with time he will recover from his addiction to prostitutes, gambling and glue sniffing.

I must admit that I really love the thought that you can realise every fantasy I have. Indeed, if you have the connections to order me a unicorn, and get it to stand in a bath of custard whilst I eat my dinner off its back then that would truly make my day. Oh, and Geoffrey has requested a blonde call-girl, carrying a vat of UHU (he’s cutting down to a less-addictive form of glue).

Love and hugs always.

Onion
P.S: Let’s make stuffing together.

Alastair Versus The Mosquito

Let me ask you a question: Why don’t they make alarm clocks with a mosquito sound? I can’t think of anything guaranteed to get you out of bed swifter than that irritating, high-pitched whine… with the possible exception of your cat peeing on your head. However, I would speculate that alarm clock sales might decline with a cat urine spray as the featured wake-up call. One can only speculate on the consequences of hitting ‘snooze’ – perhaps you might be awakened 10 minutes later with a vomit-soaked fur ball.

Following on from that bizarre introduction, let me tell you a story about how one clever little mosquito’s big appetite ended up costing him dearly. If I was a super-villain then this would be a most timely moment to include an evil laugh. Oh what the hell… MUHAHAHAAAAAA!!!

For the purposes of this tale I have taken the decision to name the mosquito Colin, if only to add personality and dramatic effect when I kill him off at the end. I agree that ‘Colin’ doesn’t seem like a very ferocious name for a supremely despised, blood-sucking creature. But then you haven’t met my bank manager.

Colin The Mosquito

On the right is a picture of Colin – to add additional persona to his character. Obviously the picture isn’t actually of Colin. I didn’t have time to ask him to pose for a series of candid portrait drawings before sending him on his way to mosquito heaven. With forethought I’d have perhaps considered taking ‘before’ and ‘after’ photographs to publish on billboards as a warning to other mosquitos not to mess with me. Kind-of like the ‘Don’t Drink And Drive’ campaigns. A possible slogan off the top of my head: ‘Don’t Whine And Dine!’ I think it’s got legs… which is more than can be said for Colin – one of his legs is still dangling limply from my curtain. I’m leaving it there as a trophy.

Allow me to set the scene a little. It was a warm Wednesday night and I had just returned from a night of drinking, singing and merriment in a local Cancun bar… with the added entertainment of watching one particular young lady (Christine) chase cockroaches around the room with a mop, in a mild state of hysteria. Cockroaches are said to be the only creatures capable of surviving a nuclear holocaust – they’re “hard bastards” – so I can’t think that being chased by a stick with a wig (poor Christine needs to put on some weight) would have them particularly quaking in their little boots.

At the end of the evening, and having had rather enough of insects, I made my way home and into bed. All was peaceful. And then a few minutes later it happened… a whining sound coming from behind my ear. Being that I’m not married, I immediately twigged that I had a mosquito problem.

What happened next? Well I’m sure you’ve all been in this position yourselves, so I will quickly summarise the principles involved with solving a nighttime mosquito situation

  1. You react impulsively by swinging your arm. Lashing out blindly, and with the co-ordination of a stoned chimp, you slap yourself around the face, knocking out two teeth. If you weren’t awake 5 seconds ago, you bloody well are now!
  2. You reach around for the light switch, only to hit the snooze button on your alarm clock. A jet of cold cat piss shoots into your face. F*cking alarm clock!
  3. After wiping your eyes on your pillow case, you fumble around some more and finally locate the light switch. The room lights up, blinding you like a rabbit caught in headlights. With blurry eyes you glance around, as if expecting Dracula to be standing by your bed with a big smirk on his face and a small trickle of blood running down his chin. He’s not there. Shit… this is going to be more difficult than you thought.
  4. You engage in a game of insect hide and seek. However, you’re at a disadvantage because mosquitos are masters of disguise – they are the chameleon ninjas of the insect world. You try to hunt him out, but he’s craftily transformed into a lamp, a sock or the March 2012 issue of Playboy. As a result you can’t find him. Feeling wearier by the minute, you slump into a chair and wait for him to make the next move.
  5. An hour passes and he hasn’t made an appearance. In a desperate attempt to resume your slumber, you stumble around the room randomly hitting and moving things, hoping for some movement. He, in the meantime, is having a good old giggle at your pathetic attempt to find him. It’s a complete mismatch in size terms, but the little bastard is beating you.
  6. After a further hour of searching, and having enlisted the help of binoculars, you spot him clinging to a cupboard by the far wall. Grabbing something substantial (the February 2012 issue of Playboy), you tiptoe slowly towards him. As you reach striking range you take a big swing and… bang!!!! A colossal chunk of plaster falls to the floor. Sadly for you, the mosquito isn’t under it – he flew off a millisecond before Miss February’s ample cleavage had a chance to make contact with his tiny head. You’re now faced with a new challenge – focussing your eyes on where he goes next. You go cross-eyed as he does three circuits of the lampshade before heading towards the dark bookcase and then… he’s vanished again.
  7. You repeat steps 4, 5 and 6 endlessly until you collapse onto the floor with exhaustion. Beaten.

Back to my story now and, after waking to the sound of Colin’s dulcet tones, I discovered that he had cheekily tucked into an appetiser. He’d bitten me on my chin. Of all the delicious parts of me that he could have chosen to start with, he chose my chin. I deduced from this fact that he was either incredibly bright or incredibly stupid. Here’s the logic behind my thinking:

Incredibly bright – he lands on my chin, I go to hit him and knock myself out. He then continues to invite all his friends over for an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Incredibly stupid – of all the places to chow down into, the chin is surely the least appetising. It’s a bit like me killing a cow and then chomping on his buttocks. I’ve never eaten cow buttock, so I really don’t know how it tastes. However, I suspect that if it was truly delicious then cow buttock would feature prominently on steak restaurant menus. I feel I should point out that I’m not comparing my face to a cow’s arse and any resemblance is purely coincidental (and a little cruel if you ask me).

So what did I do next? Well I was tired, half-drunk and I couldn’t be bothered to start searching around for the little sod. Instead I sprayed myself with insect repellent and hid under the covers. I didn’t hear from Colin for the rest of the night. But, if I thought that that would be the last I heard of him then I was wrong…

Colin re-appeared the next evening. I can only think that he got a bad case of the munchies (having only sampled my chin the previous night) because he attacked me when the light was on. I saw his approach from a mile off, moving off the bed and goading him with a confident demeanour of someone who knew the game had changed in his favour. I waited for him to land on the curtain next to me and then, as he settled, I was all over him like a fat kid on a cupcake. Revenge was mine… MUHAHAHAAAAAA!!! (I’m beginning to enjoy these evil laughs!)

So it transpires that Colin wasn’t particularly bright after all. He certainly won’t be renewing his Mensa membership next year, let alone his Playboy subscription…