Lies

Lies

A long time ago, long before I was z-list famous, I had a website. In fact, there were a number of websites, which were, in the main, not very good. The one I spent most time and effort on, and the first time I used my waterfowl-related nickname, was a sprawling number I sited in the pop-up hell of Tripod called Scaryduck’s House of Lies.

It was a website filled with nothing but the finest lies, untruths, exaggerations, falsehoods, bare-faced porkies and the empty promises of politicians. All for laughs, like. There was also, for some reason to do with needing somewhere to park my bike, a picture of TV’s Judy Finnegan with her tits out. One of the twelve people who read it must have enjoyed it, because it won minor, no-actual-cash-value awards.

One thing led to another, and the House of Lies eventually bit the dust because I enjoyed blogging rather more than the simple gag-writing that it entailed. Stupid boy! Didn’t I realize, thanks to the power of Blogger, I could do both?

So I am.

Scaryduck’s House of Lies LIVES.

Your daily source of low quality nob gags just got worse.


Not Lies

Real words I never knew existed until pointed out to me by a colleague wielding and English-Indonesian dictionary:

Pontang-panting: (Indonesian) The act of running away in blind panic, not caring where you end up.

So, I looked it up on google, and got a cricket page “Flintoff leaves Ponting panting.” Yeah, right, run back to Australia, losers.