Wednesday, March 27, 2002

Scary's Favourite things: Part the Second: Films. Despite Hollywood sucking on the devil's nipple, the following are deemed worthy of Scary's praise. See these films. NOW! NOW! NOW!

The Best
Blazing Saddles: "Mongo only pawn in game of life"
The Matrix: "Woah!"
The Truman Show: "Good morning! And in case I don't see you: good afternoon, good evening and good night!"
The Shawshank Redemption: "His first night in the joint, Andy Dufresne cost me two packs of cigarettes. He never made a sound."
The Man Who Would be King: "Keep looking at me. It helps to keep my soul from flying off."
Life of Brian: "I have a vewy good fwiend in Wome called Biggus Dickus."
Monty Python and the Holy Grail: "And what do we burn apart from witches?" "MORE WITCHES!"

The Rest
American Psycho
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure
City of Angels
You Only Live Twice
Star Wars Episode IV
Das Boot
This is Spinal Tap
Groundhog Day
Shakespeare in Love
Raiders of the Lost Ark
LA Story
Stand by Me

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Monday, March 25, 2002

Hey! I can see my house from here!: Seeing as the pics of my beachside residence have timed out from the crappy photo server, here's an aerial photo. Swivel on those breakers, you dogs!
And now, some words from our sponsors: I've installed a commenting wossname to this blog. From now on, I can depress myself at the big bunch of "Comments [0]" on this page.

Go on. Say something. Speak your brains. Anything. Please. Not that I'm desperate. At all.

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Sunday, March 24, 2002

Let the Train take the Strain: I've started taking the train to work. It was a no-brainer really. I now live 110 miles from the office, and it costs GBP 30 to struggle across country and up motorways in my car, only GBP 22 to sit on my fat arse and let someone else do the work. The trouble is, you have to share the train with... people.

There are some people you just can't get away from. Every trip I've made so far has been in the same carriage as The Family From Hell, quite possibly related to The Munsters. Additionally, my morning train is also the same one Her Majesty's Prison Service uses to cart all their ex-cons back to London after they've served their time in one of the five prisons withing ten miles of my house. You can spot them a mile off - crew cuts, their best going-to-court suit and a black rubbish bag full of their stuff. They're also the ones who spend the entire trip up to .London in the buffet car...

You have one mission while on a train, best explained by Ben Elton before he sold out to The Man and became crap. "Find a double seat, spread out, and refuse to let anybody else sit near you." Everyone has their own way of achieving this, and I'm getting particularly good at filling up as many seats as I possibly can. Here's a few hints to try at home:

* Arrange your luggage well. I've seen with my own eyes people take up four seats, the entire aisle and the toilet cubile by strategic placement of a few cases. With enough luggage, you can actually build a small den and live there for several hours.

* Body odour. Not one I'd try, but questionable personal hygiene guarantees a seat to yourself even on the busiest of trains. You will, however, blow what little chance you've got if the Australian Women's Soccer Team gets on board.

* Walkman. Mine's rubbish. It's horrible, tinny, and held together by a rubber band. The headphones are the cheapest imaginable and leak sound like a very leaky thing. I only ever play one tape on it, while banging my head furiously. It works.

Yeah, yeah I know it's anti-social. But at least it's better than the bland middle-of-the-road dross they pump to your seats on Virgin Trains these days. I was only on one of their sleek orgasmatrons for twenty minutes today, and that was enough. At least no bugger sat next to me.

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Sunday, March 17, 2002

SpamSpamSpamSpam: Isn't spam brilliant? Not the tinned meat stuff that comes from square, pink animals (ever wondered why your office helpdesk gets through so many staff?), I mean junk e-mail. And I get *tons* of it.

I've got an e-mail account that gets nothing but spam. I can get up to 100 invitations a day to "INCREESE YOUR PEENIS SIZE" or "SEE BRITTNEY BUTT NAKID", and I dip in and out (as it were) whenever I need a bit of a laugh.

For example: "INCREESE YOUR EJACULATION BY 581%". Point one - note the rubbish spelling and rampant use of caps lock. This is a) grabbing your attention and b) stupidity at work. Point two - who the hell came up with 581% ?!?!?! Did they get someone in with a tape measure? And naturally, point three, how much will it cost me to get (if I'm really lucky) a jar of pills made out of shepp's poo that'll keep me up all night farting.

And that's the beauty of the internet. Only two things make money. Ripping other people off, and porn. Or both. When His Holiness logs onto he has to wade through "DIRTY ASS BITCH NUNNS DOING IT FOR YOU!!!" before he gets to anything useful. On the other hand, I've always wondered why he always looks knackered out these days.

But the spam mails I really look forward to getting are the Nigerian 419 scams. They're fantastic, and appeal to the one base instinct that the internet runs on - pure unadulterated greed. If you've never received one, you obviously haven't tried hard enough. You get an unsolicited e-mil claiming to be from someone in a position of power in Nigeria or Sierra Leone. They've come across/stolen/embezzled millions of dollars and need it get it out of the country quick, and can we use your bank account please? If you're stupid enough to be lured by the promise of 25%, they set up a series of meetings to gain your confidence.

Then they start robbing you blind. There's taxes, charges, unexpected fees. And they've probably got your bank details by now. Oh dear, you've paid thousands up front, there's no sign of your 15 million dollars and those nice Nigerian men have strangely disappeared. Welcome to Scamsville, population: you. I got one from the Nigerian President's wife. No, it really was her. Honest.

Public Serivce bit: if you do get one of these mails, and you want to do something about it, contact your local Law Enforcement Agency in the US or in the UK. Remember kids, Just Say No.

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Friday, March 15, 2002

Some thoughts for today: The War Against Terrorism. Makes an amusing acronym.

The guy who writes the music for Buffy the Vampire Slayer is Thomas Wanker. And I bet he's proud to be a Wanker, too.

Now I've got to find something to do for the next three days now that FARK!, Popbitch and Yahoo Groups are all closing for the weekend. Ah! It's St Patrick's Day on Sunday. And knowing that the pubs are always empty Sundays, the're pushing (get this!) St Patrick's EVE on Saturday night. I'm at least one quarter genuinely Irish, so I get as pished as a little beetle, authentically.

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Hi honey I'm home!: Roooight, I'm back from moving house, and apart from being buried ten feet under cardboard boxes filled with the kids' toys, I'm fine. And if anyone can find the ignition knob off my cooker, I'd be much obliged. Ta.
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Saturday, March 02, 2002

Hey! You can see my house from here!: Right, the house move is actually going to happen this week, so right after I've slapped up this Blog, the computer's going in a box and won't be coming out for another two weeks. Normal service will resume on March 15th. In the meantime - here's a picture of the new Scaryduck Mansions. It's in there somewhere. Near the top. On the right. Honest.

And here's a close-up. OK, it's a bit of a dump right now, but as soon as we've got windows and dumped the camel, we'll be just fine.

Just to really rub it in, I get this every day. If I want it.

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Friday, March 01, 2002

Look-a-likee: You don't see that Father Ted around much these days. Now, people are telling me that's because a) he's an actor and b) he's dead. That's a big pile of crap if you ask me, and at last the truth is out. Bishop Brennan finally caught up with him over "That thing with the crippled children's fund and the holiday in Barbados" and he's on the run. He was last seen masquerading the evil dictator of a small, roped off area in South-western Europe at this mugshot proves....

Father Ted -------- Radovan Karadzic

And that's all the proof I need thank you very much. By the way, if you do see him, these very nice, yet heavily armed people would very much like to have a word.

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