Can I write a pleasurable story? After They Were Famous: The House Robots from Robot Wars Special.

Matilda had a book written about her life as a young girl before her accident turned her into a steel-skinned merchant of robot death!

Okay my patience with Paint is finite so I'm just going to ask you to close your eyes.

- now open them again so you can read what you're supposed to be imagining.

- Sergeant Bash in Vietnam.
- Sir Kill-a-lot getting knighted by the Queen.
- the rest I have yet to think of anything for.





So another thought I've had for a good story recently would be to have Scooby Doo and Mystery Inc. investigating the gunge pool that was made infamous in the hit 90s kids show Get Your Own Back, with Dave Benson Philips "being-cool"-ing his way into the nation's hearts. Anyway the idea is that the gunge pool is haunted by a ghost. It's a solid idea.

Only became aware of the song by Quindon Tarver: Everybody's free (to wear sunscreen) (2007 mix). In one word, I find it absolutely amazing! The only downside is that on iTunes it's 'Album Only' and the rest of the album is the shit. In a bad way.

Also massively enjoying the music video to Move by Little Mix. I have a feeling if I was kidnapped and forced to appear in a music video, I would happily choose that one to star in. Or I would be Katy Perry in Roar...but this is all based on the assumption that my kidnappers let me choose what music video I got to star in anyway. And why would they do that? Why would they want me to perform a music video for them in the first place? Well, if we're talking about 'in the first places' why have they kidnapped me at all? And where are their music video studios located? But yeah the reason I would choose Move to perform is cos it looks extremely exhausting and it would be one intense workout, especially the bit near the end where the group and all their backing dancers are all doing sort of bent knees arms moving all in sync phatty moves. Also the camera is all like in and out on a diagonal axis and I think it really adds a sense of motion (I could be a professional with this banter).

Speaking of which I saw an N-SYNC (don't know if that's even how you spell the band name and not about to press Control and T to open an investigative tab)...anyway saw an N-SYNC video the other day. Before I get into that I have a feeling that N-SYNC would be an amazing name for a backing robot-dancer for C-3PO and R2-D2 in the upcoming Star Wars film. So I watched this video and the main thing I took away from it was 'they're all very good at synchronised dancing'. That's a positive thing. I enjoyed the song.

Actually robots could be even better synchronised dancers than mere humans. If you programmed them all to throw some amazing shapes then how could they fail? Also let me point out that Justin Timberlake stars in The Social Network, which features computers...that are like robots! #conspiracry

I also thought up over lunch the other day the idea of a Swedish Detective called Nestlé Stockholm, and she (or he, I haven't thought this through with much depth) will solve gruesome murders and the like. I hesitate to call it a spoof of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, more like a brave re-imagining.

It's late.

I'm just saying sometimes a bit of junk in the trunk is a good thing!!

I've fallen in love with the song 'Cowboy Boots' by Macklemore (the entire album is GOLD!) but it's kind of half country, half rap, and an extension that is almost sea-shanty in it's sound! It's my song of the moment and I recommend it as much as I recommend Gold-dust by John Newman, which is also the shit!
Another massive tune I've gotten to know (inpersonally) is Stay by Rihanna. The music video of her in the bath has almost inspired me to start a vlog.

So someone I know used the term 'metaphorical short-sightedness' the other day, I heard 2nd-hand. I'm guessing what they meant was 'a lack of foresight' but it turns out what the person is failing to get across is being socially inept.

Apparently that was also wrong, I'm now being told it was something to do with - no now I'm being told I'm not allowed to write anything about this person. I'm literally being censored.

So on New Years there was a party but I'm not allowed to mention any names, so I will just give them animal names.
So there was this whale, and it was having casual physical relations with this water buffalo, who in turn fell deeply in love with the whale, but the whale just wanted 'some love in her blow-hole' so just wanted to remain sex-partners.
Anyway so this was a couple of years ago and the whale was seeing someone else, and so was the water buffalo.
So like I was saying they were at this New Years party. By 'they' I only mean the whale, and it's friends the Okapi, the Gnu and the Eye-eye...and "Rogga". The whale stupidly wanted to 'get off the bus' in a drinking game, so it had to accept a dare and the Okapi, Gnu, Eye-eye and Rogga got to take it in turns sexting the Water Buffalo. Below, are some of the texts (from memory).

"I enjoy the whale's tight squeeze". "Remember when we had sex on a bookshelf?". "I may be with another animal right now, but I would still come round and have consensual intercourse with you behind my current 'squeeze's back". "I remember how you used to enjoy it in the mouth". "I also enjoy sexy times in an open field".

At this point, Rogga cried "OH GOD! BOOKSHELF!" and weeks of therapy was undone in an instant, as terrible images of whale's blowhole came flooding back to her.

Staying with my current theme of women, beauty and complaining, I've penned a short list of my top favorite things about women, without resorting to booty, boobs and lady areas.
First thing I love is a beautiful smile! I've decided on beautiful instead of pretty because according to something I read "“Pretty” is putting her on a shelf. It’s putting her in a box and closing the lid. That’s it. She’s done. It’s all she’ll ever be. It’s dismissing her. It’s telling her that’s all she’ll aspire to, something for others to look at, maybe even pity. It’s telling her she only matters until she’s no longer what you deem “pretty.”
So yeah this gorgeous girl gave me a dazzling smile and it was a good time to be me! Until then there had been a rumour she was a 'closet rude girl'!

Next is good old-fashioned sass! I like having a lady who can take my general rudeness and through it back in my face. I am such an emotional sadist I love it. That's all I have to say on the matter.

My female friend says it's OK to say a guy's muscles (especially mine) look grrrrreat but another male friend argues that by that logic is it alright to compliment a woman on her large breasts/booty? Because that apparently makes you a creepy pervert! I told him to stop being such a sexist dinosaur! Am I right, ladies?

Then my female friend told me a story about being left to cry by her cruel mother, so she smeared shit on the walls. True story.

For Dry January I've taken up downing energy drinks and let me just say my guts have never felt more like I'm gonna shit them out my ear. But it does taste yummy. My female friend has been drinking some anti-oxidants drink called Naked. It's got 73 blueberries, 5 blackberries, 3 apples, and a banana in it! Sounds disgusting!

So recently I joined tinder (as an experiment OBV) because I was feeling lonely. Anyway like I was saying I was feeling lonely and unappreciated. Most days I would wake up in a gutter caked in shit and shame. My life was a mess. I couldn't even make enough money off my 3rd-rate blog to feed my ailing wife and children (Shaniqua, Maruffin and Bruce Willis). I ended a lot of evenings snorting sherbet and experiencing bizarre hallucinations.
Anyway so I joined Tinder and chose a lovely picture of myself out with friends, not looking a mess and with a big, woman-attracting smile. Anyway so my mate says to me he goes you dont want to show off any chest hair because it's very marmite! As in, women either hate it, or loathe it!
So I changed my picture, and then he says ur bio is far too long. I was like it's quite short and non-threatening, but he's like no no no change it. So I just put "All parts included, free p+p" and though I 'liked' several hundred girls in the area, I only got 2 matches in 2 months, and neither returned my messages. I was left feeling deeply self-loathing. Anyway so then I uninstalled it and just decided to spend my time on candy crush and crying deeply over my emotional turmoil.
But I do have some points to make! So many women have random pictures of them with elephants as their profile picture! Also a lot of women have all their pictures of them with the same group of friends, so you have no idea who you're actually 'liking' or 'disliking'! It's frightfully confusing! There was also some girl who's profile said she was 23, but her bio simply said 'I'm really 13'. Creeeeepy!

On an unrelated note my mate at work came into my room today and bragged about how many tinder matches he got! But I'm not bitter! Then he said one of his heroes was Justin! I said Beiber?! He looked at me with deep revulsion and said no Timberlake! I was like well when I'm talking about Justin Timberlake I refer to him simply as JT! He felt very schooled by a white boy.

An Okapi

Going through my friends list on facebook and asking who I would and would not drag from a burning building. (Feat. Turnstyle)

So I was at the gym today (no surprise there, it is that time of year again!) and as usual I was listening to my iPod whilst watching the music videos on the tv screen! That is unless a truly banging beat comes on, like Pitbull ft. Ke$ha! Anyway so this song oft' comes on, called Animals by Martin Garrix. Got nothing against the song itself, but more than half of the music video is just DJ Garrix standing behind some decks, entertaining crowds by pumping one outstretched hand up and down repeatedly. I'm like that's not exactly what I'd call a performance! I'm being about as active here typing at my desk! Not that there is any eccentric arm-pumping going on at my workspace!

Simon Cowell calenders? What is the point. The moron has only one 'look' and it's something only someone with access to the most basic clothing could recreate.

You know that feeling when two of your friends from different circles socialise? Well i don't even know how to phrase how it was explained to me, but the words 'two of my worlds colliding' and I say that 'woman I got many worlds, and they are welcome to collide as often or as little as they please. I AM THE STAR AROUND WHICH MY WORLDS ORBIT!"

Why is the entire London Rap scene based around greyness, concrete, and shit?! Also Royals by Lorde is such a load of donkey shit I cannot even begin! The vocals are very annoying and too slow, and there's hardly any musical-ness (real word) to give it any excitement! And the music video is really bland and grey, like all "youth" videos! bloody hell enjoy life u miserable sods! You're making plenty of money so please stop acting so downtrodden!

The rest of this blog is being written in January, so is being composed without any alcohol being consumed before/during/after publication. But don't worry the quality will not differ! In fact it might be of an even poorer standard!

It's been roughly 14 months since I started writing this blog, and we've had high points and low points, but here are a few things I've learned in the meantime.
1) This blog is not and will never be as popular as anything that contains anything about beauty products.
2) People would rather read about someone moaning about shit then bigging up things they love.
3) You get a bigger audience if you're a slender, attractive woman, because men are easily led!

So, using this information, I've decided to reinvent my writing style in the following ways.
MORE beauty products!
MORE complaining!
MOAR good-looking women!
And if I can get in a segment about good-looking women complaining about shit beauty products all the better! I conclude that these changes could increase the reading figures by almost infinite percent.

Now that we're in 2014 I think I'm finally ready to tell you about my new adoration and admiration for Gomez Addams from the Addams Family. What a man! If I could in any way be like him I would be so much happier! He dances, he speaks French, he wears a cummerbund! What more could anyone want?!

Also this month I'm taking part in the January Planking Challenge, you gotta take care of that core! It truly is much harder than it looks, but I always look forward to the bit at the end where I can lay face-down in the carpet. Always a treat. (Optional).

When did the term 'British Comedy' come to stand for little more than endless scenes of social awkwardness? You will only get people to laugh so many times at a stuttering, shy, closed-off (yet surprisingly handsome) British man thrust into an encounter with an equally beautiful woman who is more familiar with social etiquette than him! In RL (Real-Life) he would be a weird, unattractive internet troll who would never win the hearts of the heroine if his life depended on it! *breaks down in sobs*.

Young bands who are owned by record-labels who write them a song pertaining to deep emotional feelings/messages that they clearly have never felt/thought about. Enough said. Would like to see less of this in 2014 please.

OK I've also decided to operate the next few issues with a celebrity co-writer ("writer") who will be able to write ("write") a short piece about a topic chosen by me. This time the topic was 'the relationship between sharks and skateboards'. I hope you enjoy it.

By Matt "Turnstyle" Turner

“Hey man, you ever think about-“

I shot a dirty look over, with suspicion and doubt at the forefront of my mind. The cook, a habitual drunkard, was slumped over the poop deck railing. I caught a sharp tang of rum – no, wait, stove fuel – on his foul breath as he slurred:
“You ever think about the two most dangerous things in the universe?”
“Let me guess.” I replied acidly. “You’ve looked at the view through one of the gaping plot holes in the hull, and decided to organise your own orgy?”

“Nah, man! Sharks! Skateboards! Like… What if they were UNITED!?!!”

Before I could suggest he walked the plank for his jibber-jabber, Max the cook had fallen loudly asleep. I was beginning to find the odour of the poop-deck more than mildly offensive anyway, so I clambered up the frayed rigging barely holding this tale’s structure in place to reach the crow’s nest.

The crow, fortunately, wasn’t in, or I’d have had some explaining to do. It had been a hard voyage so far aboard HMS Cornish Winter Hater, and the crew had been restless ever since we’d cast away from Cheltenham in search of supposed greater treasures.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, scanning the telescope with my horizon as the wind buffeted our little vessel this way and that. Every day we sailed north and every day, the horizon grew a little greyer. Supplies were running low. Since the death of Maurice, some of the men had even taken to reading wacky conspiracy theories on the internet. (I really ought to change the Wifi password, on reflection.) It was surely no time for an attempted discovery of… MANCHESTER ISLAND. Yet what choice did I have?

Suddenly, a white whale appeared ahead. “GIVE ME ALL YOUR SHARKATEBOARDS”, she roared with all the wrath Bedford could muster, and before I had time to think “shit Emily’s eating this unfinished tale!”, it was all over.

Well that was lovely. Not nearly as poor as I was expecting.

How creepy were/are cabbage patch kids? I could show more affection to a real-life (or RL) cabbage! They look like a messed up Dr Who creation. But what is the obsession with dolls who can piss themselves anyway? Also if Weebles wobble but they don't fall down, how do they lay down to go to sleep?! Or drive cars?! They don't have legs!!!
If I'm ever a Dad one of the hardest bit will be when they see something they want in a toy shop and not responding with "But it's clearly a piece of shit!" or if it's a girl just telling her to get some respect for herself #dadoftheyear.

So that's the end of that. I hope you've learnt a thing or two, but remember I promise three things from now on. Beauty. Complaints. Women.

Goodnight!

PS this blog was written mainly to Rihanna songs "Stay" and "Diamonds". I suggest you read it to the same songs. I know you won't be reading this bit until after you've already read it, but if you want to experience the blog as it was meant to be experienced, re-read it to these songs. Do it. You deserve it.

Beauty!
Complaints!
Women!

What?!

I'm riding on a wave of fury and so I think tonight it's possible to finish this story once and for all time (until the inevitable film).

Last time we saw PC Geist he was in a alcohol-fueled daze following Big Chief Hairyback's curious incident in the strip club. With Big Daddy's, and now Big Chief Hairyback's wives missing, presumed hilarious.
Geist got ahold of the chief and dragged him out into the street. His mighty viking helmet was badly askew. His mighty war-axe had had to be abandoned, wedged in a street sign that "LOOKED AT ME FUNNY". His mighty horse, Chonsy, was similarly inebriated, so Geist dragged the immobile Chief to the nearest airport and booked them a flight to JFK airport, New York City. It was time to wrap up this tale.
While they waited for their flight, Geist called the police force in NYC to let them know he'd need a couple of rooms for a few nights, he couldn't think straight with all this alcohol in him i mean I'm njot a bloody travel agent wtf? Anyway they picked up the phoen and the bloody story continues...

"Yee haw this is the NYPD, this is Officer Rachel Prejudice, how can I help you?"

He hung up.

The rest of the police force arrived within the hour. PC Panto had finished whatever he was doing (insert something hilarious later, sure I won't forget) and had booked enough room in a NYC travel inn for him and his supporting players as well as the stage and sound crew and a pantomine horse. Officer Chuckles wasn't allowed on flights for safety reasons, so he would have to fly his way across the Ocean on a single balloon squeezed into the shape of a nice doggy. Also along for the trip were the other two characters in this story, making a grand return from early editions of Let Thy Words By Furious were Big Daddy and his assistant Pissingham, who had luckily already booked a flight. The mighty host was assembled. Next stop: The Sequinned Rim.

OH EM GEE it's liked over a year ago the author planned this to be an amazing return to the beginnings of the entire blog.

After 8 hours of flight-banter, the police force were thoroughly sick of one another. And life. #Standardflight

"Who did you leave in charge of the village police department, Chief?" asked Big Daddy, reasserting his position as a main character.
"Well, young man", replied Hairyback, in between throwing up his guts over the stewardess, Sarah. "It was either Captain Morgan or my song, Hot'n'Cold Running Water"
"...Did you say song?" queried Big Daddy, raising one monogrammed eyebrow.
"Yes, but I am quite drunk so forgive the bad typing....I mean talking" replied the Chief. "Anyway as I couldn't decide I just in the end set fire to the police station and let mob rule take over!"

They arrived at JFK without further incident. When they landed all the people without respect for themselves clapped loudly, proving what muppets they were. They were soundly jeered by those fliers who were better than them. Morons.

Anyway so all the people got off the plane and went to the Sequinned Rim to look for clues. Big Chief was very glad to get to a drinking establishment as by then he was vaguely starting to remember who he was. As he helped prop up the bar, Geist floating around asking the patrons questions pertaining to the plot.
"Wanna buy some deathsticks?" asked one shady character.
"Fuck off".

"Officer Geist!" called a gruff voice from across the room. Geist was perturbed, as he had adopted a careful disguise as Nearly-Headless Nick from Star Trekk.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The person who talked threw back his hood and cackled insanely, showing gnarled teeth and a manic look in their distant eyes.
"Chief Hairyback? Why are you here? I thought Panto had taken you back to the Premier Inn to get some sleep?"

Suddenly, something plot-relevent happened!

"Hey you, the ghost policeman over there!"

GASP

"How did you know I was a policeman?" asked Geist, holding the ruffian by his beefy neck.
"There's no time for that!" he replied with a cry, as the window behind us exploded into a storm of glass shards. The man in Geist's grip was cut to pieces by the blizzard of glass, but luckily Geist was left unharmed because, for those who have been paying attention, he is a ghost.
The popular nightclub was transformed into a scene from a horror movie as several other patrons were thrown from their feet by the exploding window-pane. I heard the sound of a car speeding off into the night, but as I was the narrator there wasn't much I could do about it! I let Geist and the other coppers know about it though.

Geist, Big Daddy and Pissingham burst out into the street just in time to see the perpetrator's speed off in what looked suspiciously like a car.
"How are we going to catch the kidnappers now?!" cried Big Daddy.

That was when something amazing happened.
Officer Chuckles tumbled from the sky on the end of a poodle-shaped balloon. Geist had never seen such a beautiful, avenging angel of death. He fell like a metiorite and luckily landed in the back of his custom-built clown-Lamborghini and the quiet New York evening was split by the round of it's banging engine erupting into a million-horsepower pursuit! Then the inevitable happened. After about two seconds the clown-Lanborghini's wheels fell off and Officer Chuckle's seat ejected into the air with a no-doubt hilarious clown-noise.

But the chase continued as the trusted drunk, Captain Morgan, returned from previous-blog-obscurity and gave chase through the streets in his customised Pirate Ship, the 25A to Chiddinsburgh! Such an exciting pursuit I cannot even describe (due to laziness) but needless to say it ended in the 25A to Chiddinsburgh firing a harpoon at the kidnapper's car and running them to ground!

Geist was right behind the Pirate Ship, galloping along on Hairyback's faithfull horse, Choncy. Somehow, Big Daddy, Pissingham and Officer Panto were all on board the horse in a nice Pony-side-car. They drew up alongside the kidnapper's car where it had stopped, carefully parked. A shadowy figure leapt from the driver's seat and tried to make a break for it, but Geist used his Dream Eater attack and got a Critical! (He's a ghost) The figure collapsed in an untidy heap!

As Big Daddy prised open the boot of the car, he discovered his beautiful wife Shaniqua, as well as Chief Hairyback's wife Morag Bigknockers. What joy!

Geist approached the crumpled figure he had disabled and pulled off his terrifying mask (that until now I had not mentioned he was wearing)! It was none other that JASPER! FROM THE FLASHBACK!

"Why, Jasper?!" ejaculated Geist.
"Because I was cast as a mere extra in a flashback, that had no point to it!" retorted Jasper, the man from the lobby of the Travel Inn. "And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling police!"

Officer Panto and the Crew emerge to bow to the audience followed by encore

THE END.

There. I finished something. I feel all that bit more of a man. Hope you enjoyed!

It's all the bitches are talking about...Blog 29...and my muscles

I performed a live reading of my last post to an excited all-female audience the other day, and as I proudly re-read my work to her, it became apparent I made quite a few spelling and grammatical errors. I was thinking privately: what was I drinking?! I'll not make that mistake again!

This time I know exactly what I'm drinking.

I was very proud of the unfolding epic drama I began last time, but I'm not one to rest on my laurels (as my bed is much more comfortable). Looking back over all the posts I've written, the one thing I've noticed is that none of the little stories I write have satisfying endings! It's as if I just give up, as if I'm unable to finish what I begin, leaving my audience feeling dissatisfied and and unwanted...

No wonder I'm single :(

It's time to throw this record to the four winds and so without further ado I present to you Part 2 of...

PC Peter Geist and the Mysterious Carrying On of the story...

As you no doubt remember, PC Geist was just visiting the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland on a whim that his evil nemesis, Governor Tortilla, would use it to create a black hole even larger than one of the gaping holes in the plot so far. In the meantime Chief Hairyback and Officer Chuckles were fighting their way through October Hurricanes to Ghana, where Chuckles was hoping to be reuinted with his birth-parents, a couple of Giraffes. Before they could meet however, they were whisked away on an all-expenses paid trip to the Hubbel Telescope and after looking through it they glimpsed a vision that chilled their blood! They looked across the galaxy and on a distance planet many millions of lightyears away they were able to get a glimpse through the bathroom window of Mrs Regina Weatherly as she was taking a shower!
Meanwhile, Big Daddy and Pissingham, three years in the past, had just left the Sequinned Rim nightclub (or might have been a bar) and were trying to advance the plot with a much-loved flashback!

So where was I... So Big Daddy and Pissingham were on their way out of the Sequinned Rim and I vaguely recall they were looking for someone's brother. I really don't remember, but what I do remember is what's happened after this flashback so let's do less explaining and more plot-continuation!

They left the bar, with the words of whoever they'd been talking to still ringing in their ears (but it may well have been the phat beats being played in the establishment). The original plan had been to check out a number of other bars looking for whoever the fuck they were meant to be looking for, but Pissingham was feeling pretty unwell after the whole series of events that we all remember just happened, so Big Daddy took him back to their hotel and put him to bed, before running a bath for himself.
Shit!
They were out of Muscle Relax Bubble Bath. This day was going from bad to worse. Big Daddy cursed to himself that Smartphones hadn't been invented yet, and left the room and ran down to the lobby to ask a local where the nearest shop that sold Bubble Bath was.
"I'll tell you whatever you want to know", said the crazed New Yorker (not sure why he was crazed), "just please put some clothes on first!"
"I don't have time to get dressed", explained Big Daddy, "surely at this time of night the Bubble Bath emporiums are all closed!"
"What are you talking about? It's 3:00 in the afternoon!" said the confused local man, scratching his bonnet.
"Well where I come from it's 11:00pm!" replied our hero.
"Where's that?!" gasped Jasper. He's been given a name now because he's becoming the pivotal conversationalist in this chapter of the story. He might even accompany Big Daddy on his way to the shops! Fuck it, it's happening and you can live with it! But how to fit him in? Hmm -

"Say old man, want to come with me to the Bubble Bath shop?"  asked Big Daddy
"Sounds delightful!"

That was easy.

Big Daddy and Jasper decided to take a taxi downtown to the Bubble Bath capitol of the world....erm....Tubs'r'us. Predictably it was also a food outlet for plus-size women. Getting out of the taxi, Big Daddy regretted instantly coming out in nothing but a towel, as a gust of wind sent it fluttering away into a nearby tree. He turned to Jasper and apologised for his flatulence.

Ten excitement-filled minutes later they found their way to the bubble bath section. Unfortunately it was right between the ice cream section and the gossip magazines, so they had to force their way through several middle aged obese women to reach their target of the muscle relaxing bubble bath. Several outraged grunts and broken bones later, the pair got ejected from the establishment by the gruff, bearded, tattoed proprieter: Maude.

It was this recolection that was perambulating through Big Daddy's mind as, many years later, Peter Geist and Officer Panto knocked at his back door (oo-err Mrs!). He thought it was a flashback he might return to later, depending on how he was feeling at the time and whether he could think of an actual point to make it worth while.
Anyway the reason the police were knocking at his back door was because his front door had broken so he had to take it out of the frame and replace it with the back door which was in perfect working order. The fault front door was now lying on it's side in the back garden, which was now of course the front garden. Luckily not many people could see the front garden now as it was round the back of the house.

Big Daddy opened the door (back door, for reference) and Peter Geist and PC Panto could see he had been crying. All the signs were there: tears coming out of the eyes. That was it. He'd been a policeman long enough for that to be all he needed.
"Is this a good time?" asked Geist, "because if you're feeling emotionally fragile I'd rather come back when I don't have to deal with your anxieties".

To cheer up Big Daddy, Officer Panto struck up a rousing (and slightly A-rousing) verse or two of "If I were not in pantomine". After the song and dancing was over, Big Daddy sat the two officers down and a deeply tedious story about New York, but as it sounded like it contains a few important plot points, they were forced to listen. Officer Panto had to leave for a costume change and while he was out, Big Daddy leant across the table to Geist and whispered low in his ear "your flies are undone".
Giest nodded knowingly, and adjusted himself accordingly.

After leaving Big Daddy's handsome abode, Geist turned to Panto, glancing back once at the house. Panto was young and yet to secure even the most minor of roles on Broadway or in the West End, but he could tell something was bothering the ghostly detective. "What is it, sir?"
Geist looked him in the eyes for one second, then looked away, almost embarassed, as if the moment had never happened. "Never mind lad. I've just got a....feeling."

He floated away towards the busstop and Panto gazed after him, then whispered to himself (and the audience) "He's so....complex!"

That evening Geist was continuing to play the brooding detective character so he went to a bar full of lowlifes that he enjoyed to frequent. The barman eyed him suspiciously, while stereotypically drying a pint glass with a dirty rag as Geist entered. "We don't usually get many spirits coming in here!" he declaired in his deep manly voice as Geist floated onto a stool.
"Then get me a pint lager", replied the police officer sulkily. (Note. That was an effing clever joke there, so appreciate it!).
"Will water do? I have hot and cold running water. Only the best for my clientelle!"

Suddenly the bar door banged open with a bang!

"Did someone say they'd seen my son?!" bellowed Big Chief Hairback as he pushed his way through the mess he'd made of the door, as well as the couple of students who had been seated nearby sipping alcopops like a couple of nancy-boys.
"Chief! What are you doing here?" ejaculated Geist, spraying his lager all over the less-than-appreciative barman, who, thanks to being mentioned more than once, has been named Eoghan (pronounced Owen).
"I was pretending to look for my son, but since I'm here, time for a drink!"
"Right! So you do know where your son is then?"
"Absolutely!" roared Hairyback. "He's out looking for his mother and my wife" (name forgotten) 
"Why? Is she missing?"
"Absolutely!"

The plot thickens.

Get Ready with Big Daddy (Dedicated to Zoe Sugg) and Halloween Police and the Tale of Big Daddy

This edition I've decided to go for something different. Rather than tell 100% true stories from my life, and as a result of recently being introduced to the work of Miss Zoe Sugg on Youtube, I've performed my own Beauty-themed extravaganza for you all to enjoy! We hired a handsome model to pose for the shots so I was able to retain my anonymity. Prepare yourselves!

STEP ONE
First things first when I wake up, it's all about getting rid of that morning breath. If you've been necking back shots alone attending a private party then you're gonna wake up with some bare-bad breath and I find the best way to combat this is brushing them pearly whites. I favour Colgate. Also remember that if you brush your teeth you your dentist will give you stickers, which the ladies love!

No lady can resist a winning smile, and by flossing you can achieve this if you keep at it, but if you're about to go out and you need your hollywood smile in an instant, I also find Tip-ex works well! Plus then people can get high off kissing you, which means everyone's a winner!

Only a buffoon would leave the house without first applying some deodorant! Enormous sweat-patches go down as well as Jimmy Saville in a Paediatrics Wing, so lads make sure you apply that anti-perspirant!


I've decided to put "Getting Ready with Big Daddy" on hold whilst I take a look back at the roots of this blog. The rest of this post will be an omage to that exciting era in blogging, where no-one, not even myself, knew what was coming next!

I present: PC Peter Geist and the Case of the Mysterious Baggage Claim at Heathrow Airport.

One dark stormy night in the little town of Cricklebury, Police Constable Peter Geist (hilarious pun on poltergeist) was floating around the graveyard when a call came in over the radio.
"Hello? Can I do a shout-out for my wife Shaniqua, who's pregnant with our first child Ironica?" said the voice on the other end. "Also, can you play anything by Coldplay?"
"I've told you before, Big Daddy, please use this frequency for emergencies only - but I will do your shout-out! Where is your lovely wife this evening?"
"That's why I was calling Po-Po FM", replied Big Daddy, "I don't know where my wife is! She's been missing for the last week. Officer Panto came round this morning but all he did was shout "She's behind you!" and it wasn't all that helpful. I looked, but she just wasn't behind me! Then the Officer was chased away by a large pantomine horse and I never heard back from him!"

PC Geist's interest was instantly aroused. Big Daddy's wife Shaniqua was famous throughout the vallies of Wales and had once battled the great sorcerer Tom Jones on the hill of Trwnydyddlemukyilon for the much-coveted position of one of the judges on The Voice.

"I'll look into it, Mr Daddy", said the PC and told his assistant, Pissingham, to take over DJ-ing Po-Po FM (live from the Cricklebury Graveyard)  as he took the next bus to the police station. Ever since Big Daddy had incredibly solved the mystery of whatever he was doing in the first couple of stories I wrote about him (cannot remember or be bothered to check) and settled down to live the good life with the beautiful Shaniqua, Pissingham had begun living his dream as a character in a further blog of mine.

The next bus to arrive at Geist's stop was the notorious Dead Man's Hand, a creepy pirate ship captained by none other than the infamous alcoholic pirate - Captain Morgan! His was a crew of inebriates for which AA meetings were a faraway dream! They kept half the neighbourhood up with roaring laughter and off-tune karaoke parties that would have made Pierce Brosnan wince! When they weren't pissed as a fart, they openly challenged passers-by to freestyle disco dance-offs. Few of those challenged survived the experience without contracting serious dance fever.

"One single to the Police Station please, Captain!" declared the Constable.
"Certainly, officer!" replied the vicious rogue. "No officer Chuckles this evening?"
"No, sadly he was driving his ridiculously small car after a fleeing perp the other day, and when he pulled the fella over and the entire police force got out the car, the entire vehicle fell apart in a hilarious fashion. Luckily Chuckles was able to throw a bucket of glitter over the chief and and that difused the situation".
Captain Morgan raised one crooked eyebrow. "What about the other motorist? The one you were chasing?"
"Officer Panto gave chase offstage and we lost sight of both of them".

One pirate-ship ride later and PC Peter Geist (poltergeist remember! He is a ghost) arrived at Cricklebury police station and walked up the path to the front door. He cursed as he stepped in a puddle, ruining his shoes. He reached out to the door handle but his ghostly hand were straight through it! He sometimes forgot he was a ghost because as a character he'd only just been thought up, ain't continuity a bitch!
Luckily some well-established characters were just coming out of the police station, it was Ben G. Phresh and his life partner Mark Chubb!

*Canned Applause!*

"Well hello there fellas!" said Geist "last time the readers saw you two was many blogs ago in the swanky New York nightclub The Sequinned Rim. What have you been up to since?"
"G'day officer", replied Ben (of 'G. Phresh' fame), "Well quite frankly I could tell you what transpired in Quebec, and how I got my nickname 'meat-chimney', but the writer hasn't gotten around to thinking of why any of the above happened!"
"Well it's always a pleasure to see well-loved characters make a cameo in more recent blogs! Hope to see you two soon!"

Since Ben G. Phresh and Mark Chubb had opened the door, PC Geist could then float into the lobby. Going right through the lobby without stopping to talk to anyone (as there were too many distracting tangents to be caught up in), Geist floated along the corridor to the chief's office. Big Chief Hairyback had been Police chief for as long as his pet goldfish could remember.
"Ah, PC Geist!", bellowed Hairyback. If you need a mental image of what this guy looks like, this Brian Blessed but with a policeman's hat on. "Come in and meet my wife Morag Bigknockers and our son, Hotncold Running Water".

You get the idea.

What felt like hours later, but had in fact been a fortnight, our ghostly hero left the station on the hunt for Shaniqua. Having emerged from his dressing room after the intermission, Officer Panto was by his side. Geist would have preferred to have his old friend Officer Chuckles with him on this case, but apparently he had just had an accident after climbing all the way to the top of a rickety stepladder when he'd fallen into a hastily erected paddling pool.
"So we're searching for the beautiful Welsh prostitute, Shaniqua?" he all-but shouted to the audience.
"That's right, Panto", I replied.
Geist and Panto looked around, confused. That's because I, the writer, had suddenly spoken...


....carry on Geist!


"THAT'S right, Panto!" declared Geist. He wasn't in the best of moods.  Big Chief had kept him at the station until the wind had whispered the correct course of action to him (and with a woman as gassy as Morag Bigknockers around it was quite difficult what the wind was trying to tell us, except that she needed to consider a less meaty diet!). He also wasn't all that fond of Panto. Sure, the kid was a good enough policeman, but every so often he would stop to throw sweets into the audience or start singing "If I were not in Pantomime". Geist was starting to think his mind was too occupied with remembering his lines and not doing his...erm....LINE?!

Geist and Panto decided to get the number 128 bus to the Burley Estate, where Big Daddy and Shaniqua lived. As they were waiting at the bus stop, an evil-smelling old crone appeared from the shadows, cackling insanely and holding out a rosey red apple. Geist wouldn't have seen her approach were it not for the audience of children booing and hissing, as well as shouting out "She's behind you!". Panto whirled around, his face the picture of shock and surprise!
"Mother!?" he gasped.
"Yes dear", soothed Mother Panto, "You left this apple behind when you left the house this morning. You know what they say: an apple a day keeps the doctor away!"
"But Mother, that's only because he's traumatised from when his wife was run over by a greengrocer's lorry!"

If Geist had thought Captain Morgan's foul ship of sorrows was a hell on earth, he hadn't prepared himself for the grim reality of public transport. As he drifted into a seat, a mad old woman who'd chained herself to the railing in a Suffragette-esque protest to Robin Thicke's music career, shouted "ONE TWO EIGHT, BURLEY ESTATE!". Clearly this was some kind of macabre pilgrimage they had embarked upon. A gang of urban youths at the back were making battle with an epic-beard-man. The bus bent in the middle like some daemonic acordeon and I was pretty sure the driver was being assisted by some form of Wookie. Panto and I knew we were in for the ride of a lifetime, so we both disguised ourselves as escapees from an insane asylum, and blended into the crowd.

As the bus neared our destination, the Daddy Household, I nodded once to Panto and we executed our well-thought-out escape plan. I simply stepped through the window of the bus (after shattering it with the safety hammer). Panto didn't have my ghostly powers, but luckily he did have at his disposal a fully-trained stunt crew and a stage support rig so he was safely able to jump out of the open door of the moving bus, lifted by wires...and land on the other side of a nearby block of flats.

We arrived at the front door of Big Daddy's abode. Something reeked of evil, but to be honest Geist was pretty sure it was one of Morag Bigknocker's lingering woofters. Big Daddy himself opened the door and from the look on his face, I could tell that this case was only just beginning...



Next time on Getting Ready with Big Daddy....



You'll have to wait and see!

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My recent thoughts:

My children's names are going to Ironica, so I can say everything she says is ironic; and Bruce Willis.

I want to make a television show called Keeping up with Big Daddy. Kind of in the spirit of Keeping up with the Kardashians but also a mashup of Catch Me If You Can. The only bit I've worked out is how the Police will eventually catch me (for illegally high levels of handsomeness). They'll have to hire Gillian McKeith as a kind of evil sniffer dog. My diet of pizza and energy drinks unfortunately will be easy to track for a manure-expert like her! 

Why can't people just bloody drive properly? I mean it's not diffcult to stay in the lines and indicate where appropriate, whilst at the same time drive at a sensible speed! AND by sensible I do NOT mean <40mph on a country road! When will the driving-law-makers make it acceptable for someone stuck behind a slow person to beep and flash them until they speed up or pull over?! 

So as it's October, people this year have been brainwashed by the media or some hippies into giving something up...and I'm always one to jump on a bandwagon! I've decided to give up pizzas for the month. It'll be tough but my bowels will, I'm sure, be glad of the rest! I've rather buggered myself as I'm going out to an Italian restaurant that does excellant calzones tomorrow night! Truly I am being tested!

After being put down my whole life (by people who, I now realise were just jealous) I've decided to start my own singing career! I was singing to 'Up There' from the South Park Movie (a very moving song) in the car on the way home yesterday and my 'friend from the neighbourhood' secretly recorded it and played it back to me today and I thought at first it was the actual song! I'm not just blowing my own trumpet (especially not at this hour!) as she also said it was excellant singing. I've been told in the past my kareoke skills are off the rail. I was belting out some Wrecking Ball in the shower and think I may do a cover of it.

Speaking of people, the last two days driving into work, we passed the local primary school and my 'friend from the neighbourhood' was literally gobsmacked by the ugliness of one of the mums. She was literally like 'oh my god look at that dog!' and other things to that effect. We need to roll on by with 'Who Let the Dogs Out' blaring next time. 

Also been introduced to the term 'fail whale' this week. If you want to use this yourself, just wait until someone fails, and go 'ooh did you see that fail whale swim by?' Reminds me of the great time I was in New York and was introduced not only to some lovely ladies from Chicago but they brought with them the exotic phrase 'awkward turtle' which me and my 'friends from the neighbourhood' brought back to England. Official. It's basically a way for you to tell someone silently that a moment is awkward, and multiply the awkwardness by ten because everyone else knows what it means.

That's enough to be getting on with!

Gillian McKeith