The Truth About Everything

Another of my theories (see Superheroes in the Scunthorpe posting below).

This one came about by spending so many hours of every day stuck on a train. After the crossword, there's only so much you can do before you give in and start masturbating furiously to relieve the boredom (I refuse to stoop to Sudoku).
So I found myself doing anagrams.
As I walk past the Houses of Parliament every day I started with them and, lo and behold, a veil was lifted from before mine eyes and the TRUTH revealed in all its glory!

The Houses of Parliament IS (are?) The House of Rampant Lies!

Holy shit!

A couple more anagrams confirmed my suspicion and my new theory was born:

The Truth About Everything is hidden in its name!

The first proof of my theory came a few minutes later, when it revealed that Monica Seles makes Camel Noises.
I then discovered that Roast Beef produces an Obese Fart, and that Cauliflower gives you Awful Recoil, and I knew that I had stumbled upon the basic truth behind the universe.

What parent could deny that Christmas Day is Mad Scary Shit?

Of course there are billions of anagrams (and some very rude and amusing ones - I am forever indebted to whoever discovered that footballer David Ginola becomes Dildo Vagina); some of them may not seem to reveal much, but keep searching and the TRUTH will be revealed … no matter how surreal …
For instance, any teenage boy would be delighted to learn that Baked Beans give him Naked Babes (though his choice of crisps may (or may not) be influenced by the knowledge that Prawn Cocktail flavouring derives from Pliant Raw Cock).

Who could look at Jimmy Saville and not think of Evil Slimy Jam? Or see Michael Portillo and not realise that he's a Limp Tool Charlie?

Will The United States Of America's foreign policy result in it becoming The Emaciated Ruins Of State? Only time will tell, but The Truth Is In There.
You'll also find there (among many others) The Tedium Of A Racist Senate; and with Bush still in power, The Destitute Maniac Of Arse, and The Taint Of A Rectum Disease.
Having said that; whatever deranged holocaust the Halliburton Gang have unleashed on the people of Iraq, at least wretched twat dictator Saddam Hussein is reduced to Sad Hand Misuse in his cell.

On a lighter note, anyone who - like me - has a thing for Anna Friel will be cheered by the news that she gives Finer Anal, while poor old Patsy Kensit produces only Stinky Paste.

Of course, those of you with dyslexia may not enjoy anagrams so much until you realise that Dyslexia gives you Daily Sex.

As with any theory, there is an exception that proves the rule. In this case it turns out to be Rolf Harris. He has no anagrams whatsoever.
After much head-scratching, Mike and I deduced that this must mean he is The Perfect Being; which, when you think of Rolf is fairly self-evident anyway.
The fact that we've since found several others with no anagrams doesn't diminish Rolf's status one jot. The Small Glass Planet is Our World and We make the rules! So Rolf remains The Perfect Being and the others are his disciples.

There are hundreds more examples (including the ruder and more defamatory ones) of the Truth on my website (or at least there will be when the builders have finished drinking all my tea and let me have it back).
I'll leave you today with a real creepy one: surreal childrens' TV favourite The Magic Roundabout is actually a Dream About Touching …

Oh, and this weekend is August Bank Holiday, which is where we get Yak-Labia Doughnuts. I just thought you ought to know that in case you get hungry.

Right. Homework:

Today's phrase you must use in your next telephone conversation: Tachyon particles.

Today's track to track down: Golf Girl by Caravan. Whimsical British Psychedelia at its most daft.

Today's reading assignment: Tarantula by Bob Dylan. The fact that my treasured 1971 copy is wrecked and tattered from being carried about all through my teenage years probably explains a lot about more about me than I'd like to admit.

Today's fact: Shoes are an invention of the Devil.