Things I have been pondering today
- Is Barry Scott real?
- Should I write to Adam Buxton having found his address?
- If Raspberry Beret is my third favourite song of all time then what is in the top two positions?
- Whether the Pussycat Dolls are actually transvestite hookers as appearences would suggest.
I recieved a chain email the other day about 'if you grew up in the 90's you'll remember all these' etc etc... and item 24 said about a cartoon called Sharkey and George. I have no recollection of this AT ALL. Why is everyone always going on about this show? (and by 'everyone' I mean 'one person once'). On further investigation it seems exactly like the sort of thing I would be enraptured by as it combines my love for all things aquatic with some crime-busting. You all know my opinions on crime-busting - and they are of a decidedly positive nature. So I've been forced into two conclusions
Either
1) It's some sort of elaborate practical joke played by nefarious shady characters upon my good self who are looking to undermine my confidence in the knowledge I posess of 1990's cartoons
or
2) A piece of classic pop-culture passed me by!
Neither of these senarios is particularly apealing to me but considering my whole state of being is based around superior pop culture knowledge then I'm going to have to assume the truth lies with option 1. But which of my mortal enemies is out to get me this time? I'm going to have put Bunny Diamond P.I. on the case.
I had the singlularly most awesome dream I've had in... ooh.. about two weeks last night. It didn't start off too well. I was staying in a house that had a colony of guinnea-pigs. But when I went to gaze upon these delightful animals I found that they were being kept behind a curtain on some bunk beds. Thie minute I pulled back the curtain a few of them made a run for it and when the rest realised they could escape they all just sort of poured themselves off the bed and into a nearby sewer. I felt bad but it wasnt exactly my fault. Bunk beds are not really regulation guinnea-pig homes. Plus, it sort of leaves open the possibility that some guinnea-pig superhero's would emerge at a later date, perhaps naming themselves after Italian Renaissance painters.
Small was driving me mad AGAIN on Big Cook Little Cook. He was taking the piss out of Big Cook Ben's hair which was apparently all 'messy' after he'd been swimming. I was shouting 'FOR FUCK'S SAKE SMALL HAVE YOU SEEN YOUR OWN SORRY EXCUSE FOR A SO-CALLED FUCKING HAIR 'STYLE'?!?' but he didn't seem to hear me. All he does is fanny about when Ben is making the food and then takes the piss out of him the rest of the time! I have no idea why he's still got a job at that cafe. Although, I don't expect he gets paid very much. They only have one customer a day and even then they dont even ask that customer what they want to eat! Today they served a Mermaid 'Mermaid Soup' which - even to me - seemed a little harsh. You wouldn't go to a cafe and then be pleasantly suprised when they offered you 'Human Soup' would you? Oh you would? My mistake.
Finally I feel I have to lay to rest the conjecture surrounding my 'personal trainer/poshness'. I dont have a personal trainer. I was supposed to have one 45 minute induction which has now been spread out over three sessions and I'm not sure when they'll stop... This is really annoying. The only explanation for this that I have been able to come up with is that I'm some sort of list for the exercisingly deficiant so they're getting a Government grant to give me all they help they can. As for the 'poshness' thing. I'm decidedly middle-class; I don't like it when people are rude or late, I read The Guardian, eat olives and drink red wine. No, I'm not Ice Cube brought up on the mean streets of Compton but neither I am Penelope Keith. Although sometimes I wish I were. She seems cool.
 |  |
No comments:
Post a Comment