Ode to the World Cup in South Africa

Ode to the World Cup in South Africa

I have written an ode to the World Cup in South Africa, which I believe captures the cut, thrust, sights, sounds and sporting spectacle of the planet's greatest sporting event. I have called it:

Ode to the World Cup in South Africa

Oh, poetic ballet of sporting delight
Proud gladiators doing battle o'er the Veldt
From the corners of the world you have come
To fight and play with sporting grace
While the world applauds your ev'ry move
And honnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnk HONNNNNNNNNNNK
PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRP that tart Rooney
HONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK!
Till all is over and the victor PAAAAAARRRRRRRRRP!
HONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNK wears his laurels
FARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP

I know what you're thinking: "Back of the net!"

LENNY HENRY

LENNY HENRY

"Is that Lenny Henry?"

"Wait... What? Where?"

"On your T-shirt. Is that Lenny Henry?"

"No. No, it's Pele."

"Oh. Who?"

"Pele. The Brazilian footballer."

"Nope, lost me."

"Brazilian footballer and ...err... stand-up comedian. Married Dawn Frenchinho. Yes?"

"No."

"Yeah, fuck it, have it your way. It's Lenny Henry."

On The Fail Whale, again

On The Fail Whale, again

Yeah, I know what you're thinking: "Oh-ho! That truly EXCELLENT car in the new Specsavers advert - it looks just like Scary's Fail Whale."


That's mainly because it is.

Fetes, public appearances, Bar Mitzvahs. Just ask.

Weekend Video

Weekend Video

Public Image Limited - Rise



And now he's advertising butter, the great knob.

On Scaryduck Junior Doneing a Joke

On Scaryduck Junior Doneing a Joke

Scaryduck Junior done a joke:

We were having a keyboard fight at school, bopping each other over the head with various bits of IT equipment.

However, the teacher soon put a stop to that bit of tomfoolery.

"It's all fun and games," he said, "It's all fun and games until somebody loses an 'I'."

B'dum - Tish!


And while you're here

And while you're here... my oldest school friend Graham is canoeing 96 miles for the charity which provides vital help for his son George.

Local news report HERE

Leave a donation HERE

Graham's a little short of his target, so do what you can.

And while I am at pains to point out that I Am Not Mad, Graham says he is exactly the opposite. Good man.

FAIL WHALE

FAIL WHALE

Introducing the new Scaryduck car of DOOM

And, shit, yes. One thing has led to another and I've found myself driving a Nissan Micra, the former property of a little old lady from Hampshire.

I did a bit of digging, and found that little old lady isn't dead, so I am pleased to report that I haven't accidentally purchased a curs-ed Nissan Micra, forever haunted by a spirit that screams "SLOW DOWN! You'll kill us all in our beds!" every time you take it above 40 mph.

For the petrol-heads, the petite exterior hides a massive 6.2 litre V-12 engine, twin warp coils, pan-dimensional temporal drive and phased plasma rifles. Group 2,392 insurance.

And I suppose it must have a name. No more cars-of-DOOM. This one shall be called The Fail Whale.

It is blue.

It looks like a whale.

And it is built on FAIL.

The Fail Whale.

You may use the comments facility to congratulate me on my choice of motor. Or point and laugh.

HOMEOPATHIC JAMES BOND

The Homeopathic James Bond Gag What I Wrote

Homeopathic secret agent James Bond walks into a bar after a hard day killing Her Majesty's enemies completely TO DEATH.

"Good evening, sir" says the attractive young woman behind the bar, already slipping out of her clothes in damp anticipation, "My name's Randy. Randy Orgasms. How may I be of... service?"

Bond raises an eyebrow, used to such forward behaviour from the female of the species in his long, hard years in the Service. But tonight, he is on duty, evil is at large in this very establishment.

"I'll have a homeopathic Vodka Martini, if you would be so kind."

"How, " she asks, her voice laden with innuendo, "would sir like it?"

"Diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, diluted, shaken but not stirred, please."

Bond slept alone.

HOMEOPATHIC GOLDFISH

HOMEOPATHIC GOLDFISH

Homeopathy.

Some people think it's shit.

But what do these so-called "scientists" know with their high-fallutin' college degrees and peer-reviewed, evidence-based studies? Bugger all, that's what.

It stands to reason that if you take a poison, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, dilute it then shake it, and then put the memory of it in a pill, it's going to be the best medicine EVER.

And studies of homeopathy by some of the world's richest homeopaths have shown that this is EXACTLY what happens, and it is a cover-up by Big Pharma on the scale of the Kennedy assassination, the moon landings and - bless her - Princess Diana that keeps these essential and proven remedies in the realm of quack medicine.

That is why we at the Scaryduck Labs have decided to jump on the homeopathy bandwagon ...err... join this important and growing industry with our own development.

Homeopathic Pets

What happens is this: You take some goldfish. Then you dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, dilute them and shake them, then put the memory of the fish in a bucket, and it's going to be the best pet EVER.

What's even better for busy people living their modern lives is that because the bucket contains only the memory of fish, they require very little actual maintenance. In fact, just feed them a pinch of Scaryduck Labs Homeopathic Best Fish Food EVER (diluted and shaken etc) once a day, and replace the water with Scaryduck Labs Best Memory of Fish EVER Water once a month, and that's it.

We're also working on Homeopathic Kittens, but The Man's come along, put a stop to our diluting-and-shaking and slapped us with an Asbo. SCIENCE CANNOT STOP THE MARCH OF ...err... SCIENCE!

Homeopathy: There's nothing in it

World Cup Poetry Corner

World Cup Poetry Corner

I wrote a poem on the occasion of England's 0-0 draw against Algeria in the World Cup, which, I believe, sums up the nation's angst at the paucity of the performance of our national side. I have called it:

Lines on the occasion of England's 0-0 draw against Algeria in the World Cup, which, I believe, sums up the nation's angst at the paucity of the performance of our national side

In a hedge:
An England wig,
A spatter of vomit
Neither are mine.
The useless,
Overpaid,
Under-achieving
Twats.

Have at that, Mrs So-called Poet Laureate.

The ideal gift for Father's Day

The ideal gift for Father's Day*
Not available in any shops!

* If your father was deaf, or a git

Weekend video

Weekend video

Blur - The Universal (Live at Glastonbury)



I LIKE BLUR.

On something evil lurking in the kitchen

On something evil lurking in the kitchen

"What – in the name of all that is holy - is that smell coming from downstairs?"

I hesitate to tell her, but the truth must out.

"You know dogs?"

"Yes. Yes we have one."

"And you know that Jackson Pollock?"

"Yeeeesss…"

She sounds suspicious, and I do not blame her. Poor, dead J. Pollock – he has so much to answer for.

"Well, imagine he had what you might call a 'brown period'. And instead of paint, he squeezed poor, sweet, shat-all-over-the-kitchen Lucy Minogue like a set of bagpipes."

"Right. And how much is 'all over the kitchen'?"

"Further than you think possible. I didn't notice until I was halfway to the fridge."

"Bare feet?"

"Slippers. They are burning outside. That's the other smell."

I flee.

On vuvuzela

On vuvuzela

Ah, the vuvuzela, musical instrument of the Gods. Who can forget Mozart's Vuvuzela Concerto in B minor that took polite society by storm in eighteenth century Vienna?

Many have seen the horn favoured by South African football fans as a bit of a nuisance in the World Cup, but these people overlook the instrument's pivotal role in world history. For example, Samuel Pepys wrote:

17th July 1660: Rous'd from my slumber before dawn by the sound of ye verye gates of HELL be'ng thrown open. Discover'd to my dismay it was but myne Lord Downing, very muche in his cups and play'ng but a single note of a long, red trumpet of the lyke I have never seene before.
"Tally Ho England!" he shout'd up to me at length, "And that Robert Green is a verit'ble useless cunt!"
Then, he continu'd his cacophony, which went on for some hours until the watch shov'd the accurs'd thing up his bottom.

In modern times, Katie "Jordan" Price is about to storm the charts with her new single, in which she plays a virtuoso vuvuzela solo. She has, readers will be interested to learn, had years of practice on the instrument.

Of course, many people cannot afford the huge prices these instruments command. However, you may recreate the authentic vuvuzela sound in the comfort of your own home by slamming a cow in your car door.

Or, invite 10,000 wasps round for tea, before making them buzzing mad with a barrage of "Your Mum" jokes.

On fighting the law and the law winning

On fighting the law and the law winning

Dear the Police

I've had one spunker of an idea for dealing with anarchists, lefties and people who like a good old riot against THE MAN.

Silly string for riot control

I know what you're thinking, and I'm sure you can pay off the unemployed Canadian seal clubbers you've got lined up for next May Day. For satisfying that the sound of Canadian seal club against a crusty's skull may be, it's not good PR.

Rioters hate having their skulls crushed by Canadian seal clubbers, and they're not too hot on being doused with water cannon filled with battery acid either, so that's why I recommend arming your officers and riot trucks with silly string.

Everybody loves silly string, and a good, hard squirt smothering the great unwashed will be enough to defuse any tricky situation and turn even the most violent of riots into a street party.

Then, when the silly string sets rock hard, you can bundle the curs into the back of a van and send in the Canadian Seal Clubbers.

I will, of course, share the profits from this venture 50-50 with the Boys in Blue.

I am not mad.

Your pal,

Albert O'Balsam

On the death of the Renault Scenic of DOOM

On the death of the Renault Scenic of DOOM

"Here," said The Fragrant Mrs Duck, "I've bought you an air freshener for your car."

Not just one - no less than eight pine fresh "Come on ENGLAND!" air fresheners.

The world smiles upon me.

I hang one of the pine fresh "Come on ENGLAND!" air fresheners from the mirror of the Renault Scenic of DOOM with a certain amount of national pride.

"Bloody hell!" says The Fragrant Mrs Duck, "That smells like a pub toilet."

I drive away, the world still smiling upon me, the Renault Scenic of DOOM smelling of a pub toilet from its brand new pine fresh "Come on ENGLAND!" air freshener.

And just outside Winchester there is a sudden "pinnnnng!" as the head end of the Renault Scenic of DOOM goes, and the Renault Scenic of DOOM meets its actual DOOM.

I stand for an hour on the hard shoulder of the M3 motorway, the pouring rain dripping off my Highways Agency-issue poncho considering my predicament.

So.

SPECIAL OFFER: Get yourself a FREE pine fresh "Come on ENGLAND!" air freshener. Limited stock. Guaranteed not curs-ed at all*.

Poor the Renault Scenic of DOOM. May she rust in peace**.

* Might actually kill your car to DEATH

** Sorry.

On visiting the doctor, again

On visiting the doctor, again

Yet another visit to the doctor's surgery, where my over-cautious nature means I have arrived twenty minutes early.

As luck would have it, the piles of out-of-date, dog-eared lifestyle magazines have been supplemented by a TV channel specially created for people trapped in the waiting room of their doctor's surgery.

Instead of repeats of Top Gear and Topless Darts, it caries three-day-old news reports and health-oriented public service films.

And the film I saw was this: "Is your child too hot?"

I know what you're thinking, and I thought it too. Those bloody pedlos get everywhere.

Weekend Video

Weekend Video

Elbow - One Day Like This, in which some other people turn up and sing in the background.


When I am world president, ALL bands should be named after body parts. My first decree will be to rename Simply Red to the more meaningful Bell-End.

World Cup FACTS

World Cup FACTS

Football supporters rejoice, for here comes the 2010 FIFA World Cup! Non-football supporters - tough shit. Go shopping, or something.

And what better way to mark the occasion than with a list of completely and utterly 100 per cent true FACTS about the world's favourite sporting event.

FACT: "Some people are on the pitch!" cried Kenneth Wostenholme on that day in 1966, "They think it's all over!" Amongst the people on the pitch were a youthful Prince Charles, seperated from his mother during the half-time crush for the toilets, caught up in the excitement of the hour. He is still banned from all football grounds for life for his behaviour

FACT: Who wasn't moved by the sight of Paul "Gazza" Gascoigne's tears during Italia 90? He wasn't crying over his booking which meant he would have missed the final - the sensitive young man was the victim of the first recorded "Your mum" joke. The culprit? Step forward Gary Winston Lineker.

FACT: It's now widely known that the World Cup 78 was fixed to ensure an Argentine victory. We should have noticed at the time, as the world completely failed to notice an entire troop of heavily-armed riot police in the key centre midfield role alongside Ossie Ardiles.

FACT: This year's event will be the People's World Cup, where one member of the public is picked for each nation's squad by means of a lottery, irrespective of talent. England's representative: Emile Heskey

FACT: After Brazil won the original Jules Rimet trophy outright in 1970, FIFA commissioned a new trophy based on the penis of England legend Nobby Styles

FACT: The Vatican was kicked out of the 2010 qualifying tournament, after insisting on sharing the team bath with the ball boys

FACT: The result of the 1942 World Cup final has gone unrecorded for the best part of seven decades. Historians now recognise an extra time win for the Soviet Union over Germany in a brutal encounter in Stalingrad

FACT: North Korea have been caught out by FIFA in their attempts to use one of their goalkeeper choices as an outfield player. "Not fair!" rages Korean leader Kim Jong-Il, "We always had rush goalie in our school playground". Sadly for Kim, FIFA has told him it's their ball, and he can't take it home with him.

FACT: Attractive young ladies! If a police officer comes up to you in the street and tells you that it is illegal and racist to wear your England football shirt in public and that you must remove it at once, he probably isn't a police officer, and just wants to see your tits

FACT: At last, MATHS and SCIENCE can reveal that the ball really did cross the line for that controversial third goal in the 1966 final. Hats off to Professor Harry England and his team at the Department of English Studies at the University of England, in England

BONUS FACT: Scotland's World Cup song for 2010 is "Ah, bugger it, we cannae be bothered", written and performed by The Proclaimers. England's official song is called "Oh Christ, who let Heskey on the plane?"

BONUS BONUS FACT: Should England fail in their quest for World Cup glory, manager Fabio Capello will be able to fall back on his career as a Tommy Cooper lookalike

DEMO

DEMO

"I'm pleased to announce that after signing a £6m contract with the software developers, this IT project has reached a critical point.

"To this end, I have arranged a demo."



"This is going to be the BEST THING EVER"

On breaking the house rules again again again

"What did you have for breakfast?" she asks.

"Err... toast," I admit.

"Did you use a spoon?" she demands, in a tone that suggests the offending implement has been found jammed up the dog's bottom.

"Why..." I say, struggling to find the logic, "Why should I use a spoon for toast?"

"I hate seeing butter in the marmalade and marmite in the butter. Use a spoon."

That told me. New house rule.

And so, the next day:

"Where are all the spoons?" she asks.

"In the washing up"

"And why?"

I count off on my fingers: "Butter, margerine, marmite, jam, marmalade, tomato ketchup, brown sauce, barbecue sauce, Chicken Tonight, Ragu."

"Is that all?"

"And the one I found up the dog's bottom."

"You disgust me."

On visiting the doctor

On visiting the doctor

I have, for reasons involving the desire to be unspeakably rich, started work on the long-abandoned radio comedy script.

Unfortunately, I'm rubbish at keeping a good LOL to myself, so here's a gag I'm particularly proud of:

Story: Frank works on a market stall. He's depressed and takes a visit to his doctor to get to the bottom of his troubles.

Doctor Mills: So, you tell me you're suffering from depression, bouts of anxiety and panic attacks. Is there anything else?

Frank: If I'm going to be totally honest with you, I harbour violent urges against the bass player from Spandau Ballet.

Doctor Mills: Oh.

Frank: In fact, I want to kill him.

Doctor Mills: Have you considered drugs?

Frank: Actually, I was just going to stab him.

[pause]

Frank: But yeah - less messy. Nice one, Doc - I feel better already.

B'dum - and indeed - TISH!

On BLASPHEMY, again

On BLASPHEMY, again

A deity-curious atheist, I find myself inside a church for reasons far too complicated to explain.

Bored, and avoiding the crush for the magic wafers, I take a mooch around and find a pile of leaflets entitled "This Week's Prayer Points".

Now, I've never been much of a religious person, but it came as a bit of a bolt out of the blue to learn that knee-benders need a leaflet to tell them who they should be praying to on any given day.

This week's theme: Pray for the media.

Red rag. Bull.

"Monday: Pray about the influence of 'new media' and that blogs and other internet communications will be used responsibly".

Let's test that one out, shall we?

Nope. Pray harder.

Oh the huge manatee

Oh the huge manatee

Sorry*

* Not sorry at all

Weekend Video

Weekend Video

Here We Go Magic - Collector


Here We Go Magic are a group of very nice people from That New York who make nice tunes. This is one of them.

On Spaceballs

On Spaceballs

Bored, one Tuesday afternoon, I took myself to see the Mel Brooks turkey Spaceballs at the old, sadly demolished Odeon in Reading.

There must have been other - more exciting - ways to pass the time in Reading that afternoon, for, as the lights went down, I noticed I was the only person in the auditorium.

Fair play to the management, they played all the adverts, all the trailers, and eventually the film itself.

But, God. I could see why I was the only person to part with my money that day. Brooks is a sporadic genius, and Spaceballs WAS as bad as the critics suggested. But - partially because I'd invested cold, hard cash in seeing thisw film, and partially through some sort of loyalty to the projectionist, I decided to watch it to the end.

Alas, midway through the film, the catering-sized fizzy drink caught up with mee, and I felt the urge to go to the toilet.

So, I crept out during a particularly unfunny set of gags, strained my onions, and sneaked back.

I returned barely a minute later, but the auditorium was completely dark. THEY HAD STOPPED THE FILM.

"OI! I shouted up to the projectionist's booth. What's going on?"

"Sorry mate," came a disembodied voice, "I thought you'd gone. And I didn't blame you, to be honest."

Having already started rewinding the film back onto its spool, it was too late to pick up where I left off, so they offered me free tickets to a later screening. I politely declined - I'd seen enough.

Later, that evening:

Mrs Duck: "We haven't been to the cinema together for ages. Why don't we go see that Mel Brooks film?"

Me: "I ...err... I... OK, then"

Inside, I die.

On succumbing to fashion

On succumbing to fashion

How – I ask – did my life come to this pass?

*PING PONG!*

"Thank you for shopping at Matalan!

"While you're shopping with us, why not kit yourself out with this year's nautical look with striped tops, shoes and headwear from our promotional section?

"Finish your look with the right accessories and you'll be ready to set sail!"

The following day:

"It's twelve o'clock on Dorset's Wessex FM and this is your local and national news.

"Police are appealing for witnesses after a number of sailors were founded naked and gagged by Weymouth Harbour in the early hours of this morning.

"All had been robbed of their clothes after befriending a stranger in a local public house, and police are baffled as to the motive behind the alleged incident."

The charming Mrs Duck eyes me with a quizzical he's- not-getting-away-with-anything glance.

"Is that a new outfit you're wearing?"

I cannot lie.

"You look TERRIBLE in stripes."

ARSE.

On saving lives in the workplace

On saving lives in the workplace

The problem: The single biggest killer in the workplace comes from people getting whupped in the face by the toilet door

You know how it goes: You've just had a relaxing fifteen minute rest on the throne. You've disposed of your copy of the Guardian sports section thoughtfully, and you've got half a mind to return to your desk. Or to the cigarette shelter. Whatever.

Coming the other way is a desperate colleague, making a dash for the can as fast as the John Inman walk will allow, throwing the door open just as you reach for the handle.

*SPANG!*

You reel around, blood spurting from a near fatal wound to the nose, your hand reduced to a gory stump as the door handle ripped through tender flesh and bone.

This grim toll on the office workers of this nation MUST BE STOPPED.

The solution: Laser rangefinders inside toilet doors

Using SCIENCE and MATHS, these devices detect movement on either side of the door, and warn users of imminent collisions, thus saving lives and an awful lot of paperwork.

Additional benefits can be obtained by the lasers detecting whether the user has washed his hands after flushing, and an exponential increase in power can vaporise these filthy curs completely TO DEATH before they can poison colleagues to death the second they grasp the doorhandle.

The lack of a body is clean and hygienic, and the only paperwork involved is a computer-generated letter to next of kin saying "He hates you, and wanted to say he's gone to live in South America and is NEVER COMING BACK."

I am not mad.

In other news: This evening, I will be mostly at that BBC showcasing another of my EXCELLENT inventions to the fantastic Mr Dave Gorman on his Genius programme. I'll show them who's not mad.

On making critical business decisions

On making critical business decisions

"Right – that's the new corporate strategy decided – how do we roll it out across the business?"

"Free fags."

"Wait... WHAT? Did you just say what I thought you said?"

"Yeah: Free fags. The only place where people actually talk to each other is in the smoking shelter in the car park.

"Give everybody a packet of tasty, tasty Bensons a day and watch productivity go through the roof."

"Good Lord – I think you're right. Action point for you: Day trip to Calais. Any more bright ideas?"

"And for the managers: Daily allowance of twenty ...uh... thirty notes behind the bar in the social club. Same reasoning. You guys only ever open up when you're hammered. Might as well make it official."

"This is turning out to be the BEST MEETING EVER."

Then I woke up and my pillow was gone.