Thursday, November 10, 2005

In which the author is not sorry at all

The Thursday vote-o

An explanation for new readers: Each Thursday, I hold a vote in which you may choose - in the "spicy brains" section at the bottom of today's post - which tale of mirth and woe appears on this site the following day . More fun than wrestling radioactive robot snakes, and as degrading as admitting your Condi Rice fetish, this is the kind of thing you end up with if you're not careful. A collected print version is due "soon", for which Mr Gaiman – who I am not blackmailing, at all – is writing the foreward.

This Thursday vote-o also comes with an advance warning: Next week, I shall be in Tunis, being a real journalist, so there will almost certainly be no Friday Scary Story. I will publish when and where I can, but if you don't hear from me, you can safely assume I'm off somewhere wanking myself stupid into a fez hob-nobbing with Kofi Annan and the rest of my world governance homies.

So, for this week, you must choose, and choose well, because African Bum Disease is rife, and I may never done a poo again. This week's quotes come from special guest publication, the TV industry magazine "Broadcast", and of course, bear no relation to the actual story contents:

* The Eyes have it – "And as Carol, her tongue already dancing involuntary spasms, placed the last consonant on the rack to form A N A L I N G U S, it was clear that everybody was going to get a nine letter word. Des quietly wished he too was with poor, poor Richard Whiteley"

* Pole-Dancing – "Michael Winner remembered the exact moment that his dream job in broadcasting disappeared forever – the second Jade Goody opened her mouth in his ill-starred, all-naked version of Hamlet on Channel Four"

* Gullible Twat – "Talk about miscalculating the mood of the British public. As he sheepishly zipped up his trousers, and slipping like a fool in the puddle that was his own mess, Bruce realised that his Strictly Come Dancing days were well and truly over."

* The Operator – "As the programme aired, it became abundantly clear to Jonathan Ross that the show's entire output had not contained a single reference to bizarre sexual practices. He vowed, there and then, never to broadcast again"

Hint: "The Eyes have it" is by far the best one, and is a classic tale of mirth, woe and vomit. Not that I'm trying to force you into anything.


Scott Adams, creator of the Dilbert comic strip now has a blog, and rather good it is too. He writes about things that are not necessarily Dilbert, which is no bad thing, and has open (moderated) comments, which shows good faith in his readership. It is also pleasing to see that he is also: funny.

Adams manages to come up with the one phrase I've been struggling over for the last three years – the entire raison d'etre of this entire site. And it is this: "The only reason I dare write this blog is because I have absolutely no sense of embarrassment." Thank you, Mr Adams, you have exposed me for what I am, and I feel so dirty.

I have wrecked the internet for you, wasted the century's greatest invention, and for that I am truly sorry*. As Cochese told me in no uncertain terms: "That makes me want to shit on Charles Babbage's cold, dead chest." Poo away, fella.

* Not sorry, at all

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