Thursday, March 06, 2008

On taking 454 words to say absolutely nothing at all

On taking 454 words to say absolutely nothing at all

Oh, spoons.

I was a bit busy yesterday.

I did an eight-hour day in my job, which involved genuine, paying work.

Then a couple of extra hours of work preparation, because with nothing better to do, long evenings stretch ahead of me like a long, stretchy thing.

Then I conducted a number of IM conversations with friends and family, during which the word "Minge" was mentioned on several occasions.

After that, Kim Jong-Il wrote letters to the Dorset Echo (again), McDonalds and home improvement store B&Q, offering his expert advice and a range of floodlit, 300 foot tall statues of female celebrities he happens to possess in an aircraft hangar just outside P'yongyang.

Then, in a moment of blind panic at about 11pm, just after watching Bummy Jack kill a fat, carnivorous Nerys Hughes TO DEATH on Torchwood, I realised that I did not actually have anything to post on these pages.

Nothing. At all.

Except for this excuse, of course. And what good is that?

Nothing. That's what. And after the hi-jinks of the last few days, you'd have a right to feel disappointed. Angry, even. Angry enough to raise some sort of baying hate mob armed with torches, rakes and pointy sticks, descending on Weymouth to do me a mischief.

So, by way of apology, I shall leave you with nothing but a slim-line Thursday vote-o, and joke what I made up today for radio hams. It got a round of applause at work, for they are, in the main, radio hams:

Scary's rubbish radio ham joke

They played Bob Marley on the Voice of America last night.

I couldn't hear it that well, though, because there was Jammin'.
Sorry. And at the risk of even worse - I have set the bar. Beat THAT.

Now that awful bit of business is out of the way, vote, then, on the following tales of Mirth and Woe, one of which will appear on these pages tomorrow.

* Leaving James Behind: "You know what they say about men with big feet?" he asked, eyeing her lasciviously. Ann Noreen Widdecombe told him with a knowing smile: "Circus clown"

* Shandy: "I don't know what you're complaining about," said Captain Birdseye as the scrum of press photographers backed him into a corner, "Almost everybody in the fishing business has had sex with a manta at some point"

* Top Gun: "That David Beckham chap. Goldenballs. He's shit, you know," said his former manager Sir Alex Ferguson, "You do realise the name comes from a teenage masturbatory accident with a tin of spray paint?"

One of these quotes is 100% genuine, by the way. Only the identities have been changed to protect the guilty.

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