I almost went to Harrods today, to point and laugh at the world's most pukably kitsch and tasteless statue.
But I really couldn't be arsed to get out of my chair.
Apparently some crappy, self-serving, deeply nauseating bulimic bint of a celeb died a few years back and they're cocking up Westminster's traffic system to celebrate it.
There are concrete roadblocks and armed police everywhere.
There's no point walking up the road to the service to throw rocks and jeer; I'd only get lynched by screaming old ladies …
… and Lynn …
Other than watching Elton John's sad decline into a gay Fat Elvis, there's not much to see there anyway.
Some Kraut Helen Mirren lookalike and a grumpy old Greek with a gun, a jug-eared twat upset because he had to leave his camel at home and a couple of spoilt brats in Nazi uniforms.
And who're they kidding? They didn't allow gingers in the Hitler Youth.
The Pariah Club has waited ten years for the Diana backlash and it looks like we'll have to wait a while longer yet. Hey ho.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Justice Without Vengeance
So …
Who was hiding under that rainbow-coloured cloth in this morning's post?
Let's have a look at some of the people who turned up to find out, shall we?
The party started with some great music - as all good parties should.
Then poet Benjamin Zephania kicked off the main proceedings with a splendidly rousing speech.
This is Benjamin.
Anyone younger than me should go check out his poetry. He's awesome.
Next up came the London Baptist Gospel Choir, who truly rocked.
Unfortunately, the press stand was between me and them so I couldn't take a photo. But this is their phenomenal lead singer, belting out a version of Labi Siffre's "Something Inside So Strong" that had everyone singing along at the tops of our voices.
Wonderful. I love gospel choirs.
Seen skulking below the rostrum was sad Tory-boy Dave Cameron, seemingly miffed that right-wingers were not (for obvious reasons) allowed on the stage with our honoured guest.
Then the main event got going.
Sir Dickie Attenborough was our MC for the duration and introduced a documentary on the big screen outlining the life of the man we were here to honour.
Next, he introduced veteran anti-apartheid campaigner Wendy Woods, widow of Donald, whose idea the statue was.
Their family was thrown out of apartheid South Africa in appreciation of their tireless campaigning for justice and democracy.
Her beautiful speech moved old Dive to tears.
Another hero; our wonderful Mayor of London, Red Ken.
A true Socialist and the man who led the campaign against Tory-led Westminster Council to allow this statue to be erected.
His speech was the finest of a day of great speeches.
He finished with this:
"Long after we are forgotten, you will be remembered for having taught the world one amazing truth: that you can achieve Justice without vengeance."
Then it was our Gordy's turn.
The first British Prime Minister in thirty years worthy of applause gave a great speech, not just praising the Man, but talking of the work they are both undertaking in their Make Poverty History campaign and their ongoing fight against AIDS.
I like Gordy. He's managed so far to avoid using the words "War on Terror" in any of his speeches, including those he made with Bush.
Then came the unveiling.
Wendy Woods, Gordon Brown and Ken Livingstone reveal the Man …
Mister Nelson Mandela.
Back in 1962 - his last year of freedom - Nelson Mandela and Oliver Tambo, then regarded by Britain as "the face of terrorism" walked across Parliament Square and joked that they hoped that one day a statue of a black man would be erected here.
Not only is he the first black man so honoured, he is the first living person to have a statue here.
His speech again brought tears to my eyes, but he also made us laugh and cheer. At eighty-nine, he is still an awesome presence and his voice is as strong and passionate as ever.
Then the party started …
By the way; for his ninetieth birthday, next June 27, he has invited us all to a free concert and party in Hyde Park.
I'll see you there.
And hopefully, so will he.
This was the statue on my way home this evening.
Nelson Mandela … the great man … forever caught mid-speech, facing the Houses of Parliament.
He joins the pantheon of great men and women dotted around Parliament …
My pal, Oliver Cromwell, facing out toward Buck House, still guarding the country against the tyranny of absolute monarchy …
Craggy old Abe Lincoln, freer of slaves and no mean speech-giver himself …
Winston Churchill … hero to curmudgeons everywhere and our greatest war leader …
and Boudicca; warrior queen …
Revolutionaries … warriors … visionary leaders.
Now joined by probably the most universally loved and respected man of our time.
Revolutionary, warrior and visionary leader, Nelson Mandela.
Who was hiding under that rainbow-coloured cloth in this morning's post?
Let's have a look at some of the people who turned up to find out, shall we?
The party started with some great music - as all good parties should.Then poet Benjamin Zephania kicked off the main proceedings with a splendidly rousing speech.
This is Benjamin.Anyone younger than me should go check out his poetry. He's awesome.
Next up came the London Baptist Gospel Choir, who truly rocked.
Unfortunately, the press stand was between me and them so I couldn't take a photo. But this is their phenomenal lead singer, belting out a version of Labi Siffre's "Something Inside So Strong" that had everyone singing along at the tops of our voices.Wonderful. I love gospel choirs.
Seen skulking below the rostrum was sad Tory-boy Dave Cameron, seemingly miffed that right-wingers were not (for obvious reasons) allowed on the stage with our honoured guest.
Then the main event got going.Sir Dickie Attenborough was our MC for the duration and introduced a documentary on the big screen outlining the life of the man we were here to honour.
Next, he introduced veteran anti-apartheid campaigner Wendy Woods, widow of Donald, whose idea the statue was.
Their family was thrown out of apartheid South Africa in appreciation of their tireless campaigning for justice and democracy.
Her beautiful speech moved old Dive to tears.
Another hero; our wonderful Mayor of London, Red Ken.A true Socialist and the man who led the campaign against Tory-led Westminster Council to allow this statue to be erected.
His speech was the finest of a day of great speeches.
He finished with this:
"Long after we are forgotten, you will be remembered for having taught the world one amazing truth: that you can achieve Justice without vengeance."
Then it was our Gordy's turn.The first British Prime Minister in thirty years worthy of applause gave a great speech, not just praising the Man, but talking of the work they are both undertaking in their Make Poverty History campaign and their ongoing fight against AIDS.
I like Gordy. He's managed so far to avoid using the words "War on Terror" in any of his speeches, including those he made with Bush.
Then came the unveiling.Wendy Woods, Gordon Brown and Ken Livingstone reveal the Man …
Mister Nelson Mandela.
Back in 1962 - his last year of freedom - Nelson Mandela and Oliver Tambo, then regarded by Britain as "the face of terrorism" walked across Parliament Square and joked that they hoped that one day a statue of a black man would be erected here.Not only is he the first black man so honoured, he is the first living person to have a statue here.
His speech again brought tears to my eyes, but he also made us laugh and cheer. At eighty-nine, he is still an awesome presence and his voice is as strong and passionate as ever.
Then the party started …By the way; for his ninetieth birthday, next June 27, he has invited us all to a free concert and party in Hyde Park.
I'll see you there.
And hopefully, so will he.
This was the statue on my way home this evening.Nelson Mandela … the great man … forever caught mid-speech, facing the Houses of Parliament.
He joins the pantheon of great men and women dotted around Parliament …
My pal, Oliver Cromwell, facing out toward Buck House, still guarding the country against the tyranny of absolute monarchy …
Craggy old Abe Lincoln, freer of slaves and no mean speech-giver himself …
Winston Churchill … hero to curmudgeons everywhere and our greatest war leader …
and Boudicca; warrior queen …Revolutionaries … warriors … visionary leaders.
Now joined by probably the most universally loved and respected man of our time.
Revolutionary, warrior and visionary leader, Nelson Mandela.
Who's Hiding Under Here?
As if you didn't know.
I snapped this in Parliament Square on the way in to the office this morning.
I'm off to the unveiling later and will try to elbow my way close enough for some photos.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
London Fashion Weak
It's been a moist summer in Olde London Town.
I snapped this bevy of sartorially challenged lovelies on the Mall last week.
Pink, shiny and see-through is NOT the new black … unless you're a condom.
And in Norwich on Saturday, things were even worse.
Thanks to Phil for having the presence of mind to capture this gnome on its way to City Hall for a gay Smurf rally.
Repeat after me:
Pink is not the new black.
Got that?
I snapped this bevy of sartorially challenged lovelies on the Mall last week.
Pink, shiny and see-through is NOT the new black … unless you're a condom.And in Norwich on Saturday, things were even worse.
Thanks to Phil for having the presence of mind to capture this gnome on its way to City Hall for a gay Smurf rally.
Repeat after me:
Pink is not the new black.
Got that?
Monday, August 27, 2007
I enjoyed Groover's Lyrical version of Fracas Monday Melee so much that this is now my third crack at it:
Sing along, now …
1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).
"Ah, mercy, mercy me,
Ah, things ain't what they used to be, no, no.
Where did all the blue skies go?
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east.
Mercy, mercy me,
Ah, things ain't what they used to be, no, no.
Oil wasted on the ocean and upon
our seas fish full of mercury,
Oh, mercy, mercy me.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be, no, no, no.
Radiation underground and in the sky;
animals and birds who live near by are dying.
Oh, mercy, mercy me.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
What about this over crowded land?
How much more abuse from man can she stand?"
Marvin Gaye: "Mercy, Mercy Me"
… from "What's Goin' On", the second best album ever made after Miles Davis' "Kind Of Blue".
No arguments.
2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).
"Hoover: he was a body remover
I'll give ya a dose
But it'll never come close
To the rage built up inside of me
Fist in the air, in the land of hypocrisy
Movements come and movements go
Leaders speak, movements cease
When their heads are flown
'Cause all these punks
Got bullets in their heads
Departments of police, the judges, the feds
Networks at work, keepin' people calm
You know they went after King
When he spoke out on Vietnam
He turned the power to the have-nots
And then came the shot …"
Rage Against The Machine: "Wake Up."
3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).
"War, huh, yeah
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again, y'all
War, huh, good God
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
Ohhh, war, I despise
Because it means destruction
Of innocent lives
War means tears
To thousands of mothers eyes
When their sons go to fight
And lose their lives
I said, war, huh
Good God, y'all
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again
War, whoa, Lord
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, it ain't nothing
But a heartbreaker
War, friend only to the undertaker
Ooooh, war
It's an enemy to all mankind
The point of war blows my mind
War has caused unrest
Within the younger generation
Induction then destruction
Who wants to die
Aaaaah, war-huh
Good God y'all
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it, say it, say it
War, huh
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me"
Edwin Starr: "War"
4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).
"She's a woman who understands,
She's a woman who loves her man"
The Beatles: "She's A Woman"
For my girl … yet again.
5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).
"Lately I find myself out gazing at stars
Hearing guitars like someone in love
Sometimes the things I do astound me
Mostly whenever you're around me
Lately I seem to walk as though I have wings
And to sing like someone in love
Each time I look at you I am light as a cloud
And feeling like someone in love
Sometimes the things I do astound me
Mostly whenever you're around me
Lately I seem to walk as though I have wings
Bump into things like someone in love
Each time I look at you I am light as a cloud
And feeling like someone in love
Like someone in love
Like someone in love"
Ella Fitzgerald (and Björk, too): "Like Someone In Love"
6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).
"I want candy,
I want candy,
I want candy,
I want candy."
Bow Wow Wow: "I Want Candy"
Hey. Groover. Is it the Movie Melee next week?
Sing along, now …
1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).
"Ah, mercy, mercy me,
Ah, things ain't what they used to be, no, no.
Where did all the blue skies go?
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east.
Mercy, mercy me,
Ah, things ain't what they used to be, no, no.
Oil wasted on the ocean and upon
our seas fish full of mercury,
Oh, mercy, mercy me.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be, no, no, no.
Radiation underground and in the sky;
animals and birds who live near by are dying.
Oh, mercy, mercy me.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
What about this over crowded land?
How much more abuse from man can she stand?"
Marvin Gaye: "Mercy, Mercy Me"
… from "What's Goin' On", the second best album ever made after Miles Davis' "Kind Of Blue".
No arguments.
2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).
"Hoover: he was a body remover
I'll give ya a dose
But it'll never come close
To the rage built up inside of me
Fist in the air, in the land of hypocrisy
Movements come and movements go
Leaders speak, movements cease
When their heads are flown
'Cause all these punks
Got bullets in their heads
Departments of police, the judges, the feds
Networks at work, keepin' people calm
You know they went after King
When he spoke out on Vietnam
He turned the power to the have-nots
And then came the shot …"
Rage Against The Machine: "Wake Up."
3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).
"War, huh, yeah
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again, y'all
War, huh, good God
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
Ohhh, war, I despise
Because it means destruction
Of innocent lives
War means tears
To thousands of mothers eyes
When their sons go to fight
And lose their lives
I said, war, huh
Good God, y'all
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it again
War, whoa, Lord
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me
War, it ain't nothing
But a heartbreaker
War, friend only to the undertaker
Ooooh, war
It's an enemy to all mankind
The point of war blows my mind
War has caused unrest
Within the younger generation
Induction then destruction
Who wants to die
Aaaaah, war-huh
Good God y'all
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Say it, say it, say it
War, huh
What is it good for
Absolutely nothing
Listen to me"
Edwin Starr: "War"
4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).
"She's a woman who understands,
She's a woman who loves her man"
The Beatles: "She's A Woman"
For my girl … yet again.
5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).
"Lately I find myself out gazing at stars
Hearing guitars like someone in love
Sometimes the things I do astound me
Mostly whenever you're around me
Lately I seem to walk as though I have wings
And to sing like someone in love
Each time I look at you I am light as a cloud
And feeling like someone in love
Sometimes the things I do astound me
Mostly whenever you're around me
Lately I seem to walk as though I have wings
Bump into things like someone in love
Each time I look at you I am light as a cloud
And feeling like someone in love
Like someone in love
Like someone in love"
Ella Fitzgerald (and Björk, too): "Like Someone In Love"
6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).
"I want candy,
I want candy,
I want candy,
I want candy."
Bow Wow Wow: "I Want Candy"
Hey. Groover. Is it the Movie Melee next week?
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Inducing Knudsenesque Apoplexy
Hokay.
I've managed to get a good enough connection to load a blog page.
Now what shall I do with it?
I know …
It's been a long time since I've induced apoplexy in Old Knudsen.
First it was my spice rack, then my Tiffany lamps, then my ironing.
Now …
Knitting patterns!
Woohoo!
Hey, I was over at Mum's yesterday, helping her load a couple of her sweaters onto Peahen's "Stitchin' Bints" blog.
Anyhoo, Mum got out her big book of old knitting patterns and I just cracked up at these gems from the sixties.
Dolly birds!
Woohoo!
Note the Jack Jones album in the first photo.
A sophisticated and sensual young lady with discerning musical taste.
hehehehehehehe …
Groovy hair, baby!
When you look this good, gay men will listen to your legs.
I don't think this one even needs a caption.
Now there's a fashion that could do with a revival.
Whaddya say, girls?
Hee hee … OW!
I've managed to get a good enough connection to load a blog page.
Now what shall I do with it?
I know …
It's been a long time since I've induced apoplexy in Old Knudsen.
First it was my spice rack, then my Tiffany lamps, then my ironing.
Now …
Knitting patterns!
Woohoo!
Hey, I was over at Mum's yesterday, helping her load a couple of her sweaters onto Peahen's "Stitchin' Bints" blog.
Anyhoo, Mum got out her big book of old knitting patterns and I just cracked up at these gems from the sixties.
Dolly birds!
Woohoo!
Note the Jack Jones album in the first photo.
A sophisticated and sensual young lady with discerning musical taste.
hehehehehehehe …
Groovy hair, baby!
When you look this good, gay men will listen to your legs.
I don't think this one even needs a caption.Now there's a fashion that could do with a revival.
Whaddya say, girls?
Hee hee … OW!
Friday, August 24, 2007
The Year Of Living Rantily Pt.XII
Bugger.
I've reached the last month of my first year retrospective and now I'll have to start thinking of things to write about.
First up from July comes the finest picture I have ever found on the internet:
Jesus riding a dinosaur. How cool is that!
July also saw the end of year party for my Japanese class.
こんにちわ guys! See you in a couple of weeks for next year's 日本語 fest.
As I'm stinkingly busy today and cannot really justify sitting here blogging I'll make this mercifully quick.
Other July lowlights were a sweary rant about jumpers, the "laughing at Diana's death" meme which resulted in the launch of The Pariah Club, Groover's photo melee, the armies of good and evil descending on my town, and of course, the wonderful Robyn invading London and touching my bum.
A quick trawl though your comments bring us:
Robyn:
"The party looks like fun, even WITH the dead guy."
"Hey!!!!!!!!! I wear cut-off trousers, and I think I look darn cute."
"Deanna Durbin? Seriously?"
"I'll be careful to shave my beard before I arrive."
"Hey, who's the fat chick in the white shirt?"
Vic:
"I love stuffing."
"Masturbation is fun."
Kate:
"Robyn googled bukake?"
"Can I watch? Or can you get pics?"
"I have a secret fear of fat ankles."
"I laughed my arse off when the queen mother died, she was an evil cow."
"I have the best pic of my mother with her hand up a chickens bits."
Terroni:
"We Americans are too busy with YouTube porn to care."
"Bum toucher."
Maria:
"I giggled uncontrollably and have since been labeled by the rest of my family as the cold hearted woman who laughed when Princess Diana died."
"I also find clitoris to be a very tasty snack."
"What's not to enjoy about mincing mice into the pork cheese mix."
"If Jesus had a dinosaur, I bet he called him Zippy."
"I am one of those Americans who find British accents to be almost an aphrodisiac."
Lynn:
"Every time I pop back here, you seem to be recommending some sort of filthy activity Dive."
Monsieur Benaut:
"Never met Molotov but the corsets set me thinking."
"The mind boggles !"
Ame:
"I NEED a good dose of Baps and PeePees right about now!"
"Let me TWEAK 'EM!"
Sassy:
"OK, enough of the America Fat already, or I'm going to start making lots of comments about British teeth."
"Sandals are a gift from the heavens."
"Oh, that's tasteless, Dive. Hee hee."
Dear Prudence:
"Dive, I am just wondering.... where's your pants? "
"I spend every possible minute neked."
"Where does he hide those dangly bits when he is dancing!"
Rich:
"Get yourself a Japanese maid uniform."
"Ahhh those guys in white hoods -reminds me of my youth."
Peahen:
"Just one gripe about the rotten trick of giving me the 'Old Labour and Proud of it' coffee mug!"
"Now everyone knows what cute feet you have."
Fresh Hell:
"I laughed when Diana died as well."
"I jumped out of a DC3 once … I was really glad about the parachute when I got out. It's the little details that put a shine on the flying experience."
"You are so touching each other's bums in that last shot!"
Old Knudsen:
"I laughed after the Tsunami and the Oklahoma and Omagh bombings. I didn't really you lot are cunts."
Thank fuck that's over.
I've reached the last month of my first year retrospective and now I'll have to start thinking of things to write about.
First up from July comes the finest picture I have ever found on the internet:
Jesus riding a dinosaur. How cool is that!July also saw the end of year party for my Japanese class.
こんにちわ guys! See you in a couple of weeks for next year's 日本語 fest.As I'm stinkingly busy today and cannot really justify sitting here blogging I'll make this mercifully quick.
Other July lowlights were a sweary rant about jumpers, the "laughing at Diana's death" meme which resulted in the launch of The Pariah Club, Groover's photo melee, the armies of good and evil descending on my town, and of course, the wonderful Robyn invading London and touching my bum.
A quick trawl though your comments bring us:
Robyn:
"The party looks like fun, even WITH the dead guy."
"Hey!!!!!!!!! I wear cut-off trousers, and I think I look darn cute."
"Deanna Durbin? Seriously?"
"I'll be careful to shave my beard before I arrive."
"Hey, who's the fat chick in the white shirt?"
Vic:
"I love stuffing."
"Masturbation is fun."
Kate:
"Robyn googled bukake?"
"Can I watch? Or can you get pics?"
"I have a secret fear of fat ankles."
"I laughed my arse off when the queen mother died, she was an evil cow."
"I have the best pic of my mother with her hand up a chickens bits."
Terroni:
"We Americans are too busy with YouTube porn to care."
"Bum toucher."
Maria:
"I giggled uncontrollably and have since been labeled by the rest of my family as the cold hearted woman who laughed when Princess Diana died."
"I also find clitoris to be a very tasty snack."
"What's not to enjoy about mincing mice into the pork cheese mix."
"If Jesus had a dinosaur, I bet he called him Zippy."
"I am one of those Americans who find British accents to be almost an aphrodisiac."
Lynn:
"Every time I pop back here, you seem to be recommending some sort of filthy activity Dive."
Monsieur Benaut:
"Never met Molotov but the corsets set me thinking."
"The mind boggles !"
Ame:
"I NEED a good dose of Baps and PeePees right about now!"
"Let me TWEAK 'EM!"
Sassy:
"OK, enough of the America Fat already, or I'm going to start making lots of comments about British teeth."
"Sandals are a gift from the heavens."
"Oh, that's tasteless, Dive. Hee hee."
Dear Prudence:
"Dive, I am just wondering.... where's your pants? "
"I spend every possible minute neked."
"Where does he hide those dangly bits when he is dancing!"
Rich:
"Get yourself a Japanese maid uniform."
"Ahhh those guys in white hoods -reminds me of my youth."
Peahen:
"Just one gripe about the rotten trick of giving me the 'Old Labour and Proud of it' coffee mug!"
"Now everyone knows what cute feet you have."
Fresh Hell:
"I laughed when Diana died as well."
"I jumped out of a DC3 once … I was really glad about the parachute when I got out. It's the little details that put a shine on the flying experience."
"You are so touching each other's bums in that last shot!"
Old Knudsen:
"I laughed after the Tsunami and the Oklahoma and Omagh bombings. I didn't really you lot are cunts."
Thank fuck that's over.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The Year Of Living Rantily Pt.XI
Oh, dear.
It had to happen.
Our little retrospective of the past year has reached the cum-eating meme.
Those of a squeamish disposition, please don't click that link.
Say hello to the month of June.
This month also saw me gatecrash my own blog and wrest it from the sweary grasp of Dive just long enough to post a nice, non-ranty piece on Edward Hopper and light.
I liked that one. It was pretty.
Which is more than can be said for this:
Under the title "Students, Drugs and Arse-Gravy" came:
"Hokay.
It seems you lot are fixated on laxatives today (see the comments to the last post and Robyn's reply), so I'll take this opportunity to add my own (true) tale of arse-gravy mayhem.
This one involves V……, now a prominent local Architect who will never forgive me if he finds me relating this sorry tale on the interweb, but hey ho.
Way back in the mists of time, in celebration of completing our final Architecture exam, V……, Bruce and myself found ourselves in the shabby gloryhole that was Norwich's Golden Star pub (their proud boast: "Not so much a pub, more of a bucket"). It has since been cleaned up and "theme-pubbed" but back then was the real 'spit and sawdust' experience … except without the sawdust.
After a couple of pints of the finest effluent from their own backyard brewery (from memory it was called Royal Flush and had a cartoon of the Queen on the loo on the beer pump - classy), V…… was up for further celebrations.
Nigel - one of the local dealers - was in the house and V…… decided it was about time he discovered just why the rest of us liked the occasional spliff.
So … a quick chat with our Nige (my band played his wedding and the bride's father got out of his tree on hash cake but that's another story) and, suitably grassed up we sashayed down to the river to relax.
I'll get to the point eventually but let me set the scene a little first.
The riverside walk at Norwich is extremely pretty and as this was midsummer was crowded with holidaymakers. Alongside the river is a mediæval defensive tower called Cow Tower, a bloody great circular ruin. We lounged beside this and skinned up.
A few puffs later and Bruce and me lay happily on the grass watching the little fluffy white clouds. We passed the rest of the joint to V…… to try.
I have since discovered that it has this effect on a small number of people. But the first we knew of it, however, was when V…… leapt up, yelling at us that he needed to crap, REALLY urgently.
There are no toilets anywhere near there so I told him to go in the tower.
Panicking, he yelled "But what can I use for toilet paper?"
"Just grab a handful of leaves." I said.
So …
Roused somewhat from our reverie, we watched in mild amusement as V……, in a stoned panic, tore along the footpath to the nearest bush and yanked the whole thing out of the ground, roots and all before dashing into the tower, screaming at us not to look.
Well, what would you do?
We gave him a few seconds and wandered in … to find poor V…… squatting in an alcove, moaning loudly in the throes of a most impressive display of explosive diarrhoea.
Of course, we did what any true friend would do and grabbed his shrub and high-tailed it out of there.
We certainly learned a few new words and descriptive phrases from V…… as we rolled about on the grass in hysterics. Only to have to get up and run as V…… emerged from the tower, brandishing his trousers and informing the world - including a crowd of passing holidaymakers - that he had been forced to wipe his arse on his underpants.
Naked from the waist down he realised his predicament and dashed back inside the tower, followed (absolutely true) by the holidaying family's dog which was in turn followed by their little girl, who was inevitably followed by the bellowing father. V…… caught up with us as we ran, which was a difficult thing to do when you're laughing so hard you can't breathe and one of you is trying to put on his trousers.
Ah, shadenfreude.
Bloody students, eh?
Let that be a lesson to you."
Plus an equally revolting post on revenge that will put you off chocolate for life.
Brrrr …
And of course, not a month can go by without a custard pie in the face of the religious right.
But my personal favourite post from June has to be the one on Sex With Morloks, which included the line about "fat like an American", provoking the most hilarious splatter of apoplexy in my comments box.
Oh, you sensitive colonial souls, you.
Here are some of your other comments from the month's postbags:
Robyn:
"I can't stand Lorraine, at my window..."
"She doesn't sweat much for a fat girl."
"Once at work, I sneaked into the men's bathroom and left a copy of a book for women--a girly thing with flowers and poetry and crap."
"Hams?"
"Is this Profanisaurus something you have written yourself, or can just anyone buy one?"
"I like the Eagles, so there."
"OH MY GOSH! I had such a crush on Doug McClure. "
Sassy:
"I steal chocolate."
"Talking about dog poo makes you frisky?"
"Dive, you sound like a very old man."
Kate:
"Kinda loving the evilness."
"Apparently there's a parasite that lives in human faeces that can attach itself to your olfactory glands so that all you ever smell is well, shit."
"We don't really have socialists over here, at least not so you'd notice, it must be a European thing."
"That vagina has teeth. "
Vic:
"I had a boyfriend that would read a whole chapter at a time while he coaxed it out (sorry to be crass, but it's true). He got hemmorhiods."
Maria:
"Cheese makes the earth move. Any idiot knows this fact."
"Walking along the busy city street, kids honking, horns crying …"
"I am almost unbelievably tempted.... "
"The mother of a friend of Liv's who called to ask me if I kept "lesbian sex toys" in my house before she let her daughter come over to play with Liv. (I told her no...said we just kept guns...that shut her up."
"Somebody get me a drink. Fast."
"I saw my FIRST porn movie about a year ago. That is the sort of pollyanna lesbian you are dealing with."
Terroni:
"I can't even afford cheese right now, let alone books about cheese. If the financial aid check doesn't come soon, I'm going to have to eat the cat."
"Bakers have, so far, enjoyed entirely too much impunity."
"Any post that begins with "Let's start the crap-fest" makes my Monday worthwhile."
"I am surrounded by Christians."
"At least you can get inside out of the rain and wander around looking at vagina shaped openings."
Lynn:
"Why don't the men's shorts get any shorter? and their grunting oh their grunting..."
Monsieur Benaut:
"Mate, You have two choices.
Rock with this chick or become an Amway rep."
Rich:
"Sounds like the time I almost got caught by a jealous husband."
"Jeeez!!! hahaha heeehee."
"I had a collection of Playboy Magazines when I was a kid."
Ame:
"I'm kooky and strange and in the stratosphere!"
"After I go change MY trousers (incontinence IS a friend of us OLD folk, ain't it?) I'll come back here and comment!"
"How 'bout just eating "sausage" in the car?"
Dear Prudence:
"I have seen the remnents of ex-lax brownies and it isn't a pretty sight!"
Fresh Hell:
"Mine was a guy we called 'Peter Peter Guano Eater' after an incident in a bat-infested lava tube cave. Heh!"
Old Knudsen:
"You are the antichrist."
It had to happen.
Our little retrospective of the past year has reached the cum-eating meme.
Those of a squeamish disposition, please don't click that link.
Say hello to the month of June.
This month also saw me gatecrash my own blog and wrest it from the sweary grasp of Dive just long enough to post a nice, non-ranty piece on Edward Hopper and light.
I liked that one. It was pretty.
Which is more than can be said for this:
Under the title "Students, Drugs and Arse-Gravy" came:
"Hokay.
It seems you lot are fixated on laxatives today (see the comments to the last post and Robyn's reply), so I'll take this opportunity to add my own (true) tale of arse-gravy mayhem.
This one involves V……, now a prominent local Architect who will never forgive me if he finds me relating this sorry tale on the interweb, but hey ho.
Way back in the mists of time, in celebration of completing our final Architecture exam, V……, Bruce and myself found ourselves in the shabby gloryhole that was Norwich's Golden Star pub (their proud boast: "Not so much a pub, more of a bucket"). It has since been cleaned up and "theme-pubbed" but back then was the real 'spit and sawdust' experience … except without the sawdust.
After a couple of pints of the finest effluent from their own backyard brewery (from memory it was called Royal Flush and had a cartoon of the Queen on the loo on the beer pump - classy), V…… was up for further celebrations.
Nigel - one of the local dealers - was in the house and V…… decided it was about time he discovered just why the rest of us liked the occasional spliff.
So … a quick chat with our Nige (my band played his wedding and the bride's father got out of his tree on hash cake but that's another story) and, suitably grassed up we sashayed down to the river to relax.
I'll get to the point eventually but let me set the scene a little first.
The riverside walk at Norwich is extremely pretty and as this was midsummer was crowded with holidaymakers. Alongside the river is a mediæval defensive tower called Cow Tower, a bloody great circular ruin. We lounged beside this and skinned up.
A few puffs later and Bruce and me lay happily on the grass watching the little fluffy white clouds. We passed the rest of the joint to V…… to try.
I have since discovered that it has this effect on a small number of people. But the first we knew of it, however, was when V…… leapt up, yelling at us that he needed to crap, REALLY urgently.
There are no toilets anywhere near there so I told him to go in the tower.
Panicking, he yelled "But what can I use for toilet paper?"
"Just grab a handful of leaves." I said.
So …
Roused somewhat from our reverie, we watched in mild amusement as V……, in a stoned panic, tore along the footpath to the nearest bush and yanked the whole thing out of the ground, roots and all before dashing into the tower, screaming at us not to look.
Well, what would you do?
We gave him a few seconds and wandered in … to find poor V…… squatting in an alcove, moaning loudly in the throes of a most impressive display of explosive diarrhoea.
Of course, we did what any true friend would do and grabbed his shrub and high-tailed it out of there.
We certainly learned a few new words and descriptive phrases from V…… as we rolled about on the grass in hysterics. Only to have to get up and run as V…… emerged from the tower, brandishing his trousers and informing the world - including a crowd of passing holidaymakers - that he had been forced to wipe his arse on his underpants.
Naked from the waist down he realised his predicament and dashed back inside the tower, followed (absolutely true) by the holidaying family's dog which was in turn followed by their little girl, who was inevitably followed by the bellowing father. V…… caught up with us as we ran, which was a difficult thing to do when you're laughing so hard you can't breathe and one of you is trying to put on his trousers.
Ah, shadenfreude.
Bloody students, eh?
Let that be a lesson to you."
Plus an equally revolting post on revenge that will put you off chocolate for life.
Brrrr …
And of course, not a month can go by without a custard pie in the face of the religious right.
But my personal favourite post from June has to be the one on Sex With Morloks, which included the line about "fat like an American", provoking the most hilarious splatter of apoplexy in my comments box.
Oh, you sensitive colonial souls, you.
Here are some of your other comments from the month's postbags:
Robyn:
"I can't stand Lorraine, at my window..."
"She doesn't sweat much for a fat girl."
"Once at work, I sneaked into the men's bathroom and left a copy of a book for women--a girly thing with flowers and poetry and crap."
"Hams?"
"Is this Profanisaurus something you have written yourself, or can just anyone buy one?"
"I like the Eagles, so there."
"OH MY GOSH! I had such a crush on Doug McClure. "
Sassy:
"I steal chocolate."
"Talking about dog poo makes you frisky?"
"Dive, you sound like a very old man."
Kate:
"Kinda loving the evilness."
"Apparently there's a parasite that lives in human faeces that can attach itself to your olfactory glands so that all you ever smell is well, shit."
"We don't really have socialists over here, at least not so you'd notice, it must be a European thing."
"That vagina has teeth. "
Vic:
"I had a boyfriend that would read a whole chapter at a time while he coaxed it out (sorry to be crass, but it's true). He got hemmorhiods."
Maria:
"Cheese makes the earth move. Any idiot knows this fact."
"Walking along the busy city street, kids honking, horns crying …"
"I am almost unbelievably tempted.... "
"The mother of a friend of Liv's who called to ask me if I kept "lesbian sex toys" in my house before she let her daughter come over to play with Liv. (I told her no...said we just kept guns...that shut her up."
"Somebody get me a drink. Fast."
"I saw my FIRST porn movie about a year ago. That is the sort of pollyanna lesbian you are dealing with."
Terroni:
"I can't even afford cheese right now, let alone books about cheese. If the financial aid check doesn't come soon, I'm going to have to eat the cat."
"Bakers have, so far, enjoyed entirely too much impunity."
"Any post that begins with "Let's start the crap-fest" makes my Monday worthwhile."
"I am surrounded by Christians."
"At least you can get inside out of the rain and wander around looking at vagina shaped openings."
Lynn:
"Why don't the men's shorts get any shorter? and their grunting oh their grunting..."
Monsieur Benaut:
"Mate, You have two choices.
Rock with this chick or become an Amway rep."
Rich:
"Sounds like the time I almost got caught by a jealous husband."
"Jeeez!!! hahaha heeehee."
"I had a collection of Playboy Magazines when I was a kid."
Ame:
"I'm kooky and strange and in the stratosphere!"
"After I go change MY trousers (incontinence IS a friend of us OLD folk, ain't it?) I'll come back here and comment!"
"How 'bout just eating "sausage" in the car?"
Dear Prudence:
"I have seen the remnents of ex-lax brownies and it isn't a pretty sight!"
Fresh Hell:
"Mine was a guy we called 'Peter Peter Guano Eater' after an incident in a bat-infested lava tube cave. Heh!"
Old Knudsen:
"You are the antichrist."
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Year Of Living Rantily Pt.X
With the inexorable inevitability of Mondays and toothache comes the next installment in Dive's "first year of blogging" retrospective.
The time has come to rummage through May's posts and see if anything worthwhile sticks to our furtively fumbling fingers.
Let's get the pretty stuff out of the way first. I posted this typical view from my neck of the woods to refute Mister Dickens' libellous assertion that Norfolk is … er … flat.
May also witnessed old Dive's spectacularly public car crash which provoked the biggest round of applause at that year's Knobworth Festival.
And Rich's relentless happiness sparked off an inevitable response, which neatly encapsulates "The Tao Of Dive":
Read and learn, my droogs.
"Let's just clear up a few things here:
Numero uno: Life sucks.
It sucks huge hairy arse.
A positive mental attitude just gets you shat on.
Every fucker is out to get you.
Helping others just makes you look like a pervert.
Every cloud is a fucking cloud.
Smiling makes you look creepy.
You really do look fat in that.
And ugly.
All the work you do simply enriches other people.
See? They are laughing at you.
Life is a big fat box of fucking misery.
And don't you forget it."
Some mornings I'm just little Mister Sunshine. I feel so damned perky I can light up the world with my happy smiles.
And a month with Dive simply couldn't go by without me taking the piss out of some poor religious group.
In May, it was this, followed by this and this.
May also saw the birth of Blogville (thanks to Maria), Willy Wonka's French Whore and Peter Gabriel taking the stage with my piss on his hands and his boots.
You lot were your normal sweet and delectable selves.
Here are some of your out-of-context comments from May's postbag:
Robyn:
"NO there is never an appropriate time to use "party" as a verb."
"The thought of anything being beaten with bagpipes is so ridiculously funny."
Kate:
"I was taught by a Mrs Dickman and a Mr Cox in the same year."
""Foetid pismire" even more inspirational than clusterfuck."
"I got my revenge, I made shrinkies out of her Evie records."
"Refreshingly fuckety."
"Disco is definitely not dead!"
"Pretty and witty and bi"
"I'm sitting here in a towel with hunks of foil in my hair pretty much impersonating sputnik."
"Fuckity fuck! Oh Yeah!"
Lynn:
"I would bend over for the spanking but yes you're right, it'd be far too enjoyable."
"He makes me want to give money to an animal sanctuary."
Dear Prudence:
"Dive, I forgive you for being a blind to the truth, pinhole informed Marxist."
"You NEED TO BE MOIST!"
"Mr. Ranty Pants! Oh how we love you!"
"We had a Congressman here and his name is (I swear) Dick Sweat!"
"Titties and beer!"
Vic:
"I saw this guy a couple of years ago - he's about 87 yrs now and he was on stage at a local park singing a very pathetic song with tight pants and looking like he had a codpiece or a penile implant."
"Good finger vibrato."
Mme. Benaut:
"My neurosurgeon's name was Mrs. Deadman!"
Maria:
"I think it is all that talk about ironing. It just sends me."
"Feeling very moist and beery today."
"I have these two joints in the box on top of my dresser."
"Let's see...in 1978, I was a sophomore in college and the biggest thing I did was to get stoned and go see Bob Dylan with my lover."
"Prosthetic genitalia...it just sort of floats right off the tongue, doesn't it?"
"Shit...I KNEW I looked fat in that. God damn it!"
"Bollocks, you ninnies."
Sassy:
"I'll leave the whole "moist" thing alone."
"Wow. He was young once. How strange."
"Sigh... Sonny Chiba."
"The Mafia are in cahoots with the US Postal Service."
"That warms the cockles of my heart."
Terroni:
"Party, party, party, paaarty!"
The Lovely Betty:
"I've got an uncle who's a Mr Goodhead."
Rich:
"White Punks on Dope!"
"I always try and invite these women in for coffee."
Old Knudsen:
"Does this dancing make me look like a fruit?"
"See you in hell commie boy."
Peahen:
"You're as happy as a dog and you've got two cocks?"
My favourite comment that month has to be Kate's simple and elegant "Fuckity Fuck! Oh Yeah!"; a splendid sentiment if ever there was one.
I feel a teeshirt coming on …
The time has come to rummage through May's posts and see if anything worthwhile sticks to our furtively fumbling fingers.
Let's get the pretty stuff out of the way first. I posted this typical view from my neck of the woods to refute Mister Dickens' libellous assertion that Norfolk is … er … flat.May also witnessed old Dive's spectacularly public car crash which provoked the biggest round of applause at that year's Knobworth Festival.
And Rich's relentless happiness sparked off an inevitable response, which neatly encapsulates "The Tao Of Dive":
Read and learn, my droogs.
"Let's just clear up a few things here:
Numero uno: Life sucks.
It sucks huge hairy arse.
A positive mental attitude just gets you shat on.
Every fucker is out to get you.
Helping others just makes you look like a pervert.
Every cloud is a fucking cloud.
Smiling makes you look creepy.
You really do look fat in that.
And ugly.
All the work you do simply enriches other people.
See? They are laughing at you.
Life is a big fat box of fucking misery.
And don't you forget it."
Some mornings I'm just little Mister Sunshine. I feel so damned perky I can light up the world with my happy smiles.
And a month with Dive simply couldn't go by without me taking the piss out of some poor religious group.
In May, it was this, followed by this and this.
May also saw the birth of Blogville (thanks to Maria), Willy Wonka's French Whore and Peter Gabriel taking the stage with my piss on his hands and his boots.
You lot were your normal sweet and delectable selves.
Here are some of your out-of-context comments from May's postbag:
Robyn:
"NO there is never an appropriate time to use "party" as a verb."
"The thought of anything being beaten with bagpipes is so ridiculously funny."
Kate:
"I was taught by a Mrs Dickman and a Mr Cox in the same year."
""Foetid pismire" even more inspirational than clusterfuck."
"I got my revenge, I made shrinkies out of her Evie records."
"Refreshingly fuckety."
"Disco is definitely not dead!"
"Pretty and witty and bi"
"I'm sitting here in a towel with hunks of foil in my hair pretty much impersonating sputnik."
"Fuckity fuck! Oh Yeah!"
Lynn:
"I would bend over for the spanking but yes you're right, it'd be far too enjoyable."
"He makes me want to give money to an animal sanctuary."
Dear Prudence:
"Dive, I forgive you for being a blind to the truth, pinhole informed Marxist."
"You NEED TO BE MOIST!"
"Mr. Ranty Pants! Oh how we love you!"
"We had a Congressman here and his name is (I swear) Dick Sweat!"
"Titties and beer!"
Vic:
"I saw this guy a couple of years ago - he's about 87 yrs now and he was on stage at a local park singing a very pathetic song with tight pants and looking like he had a codpiece or a penile implant."
"Good finger vibrato."
Mme. Benaut:
"My neurosurgeon's name was Mrs. Deadman!"
Maria:
"I think it is all that talk about ironing. It just sends me."
"Feeling very moist and beery today."
"I have these two joints in the box on top of my dresser."
"Let's see...in 1978, I was a sophomore in college and the biggest thing I did was to get stoned and go see Bob Dylan with my lover."
"Prosthetic genitalia...it just sort of floats right off the tongue, doesn't it?"
"Shit...I KNEW I looked fat in that. God damn it!"
"Bollocks, you ninnies."
Sassy:
"I'll leave the whole "moist" thing alone."
"Wow. He was young once. How strange."
"Sigh... Sonny Chiba."
"The Mafia are in cahoots with the US Postal Service."
"That warms the cockles of my heart."
Terroni:
"Party, party, party, paaarty!"
The Lovely Betty:
"I've got an uncle who's a Mr Goodhead."
Rich:
"White Punks on Dope!"
"I always try and invite these women in for coffee."
Old Knudsen:
"Does this dancing make me look like a fruit?"
"See you in hell commie boy."
Peahen:
"You're as happy as a dog and you've got two cocks?"
My favourite comment that month has to be Kate's simple and elegant "Fuckity Fuck! Oh Yeah!"; a splendid sentiment if ever there was one.
I feel a teeshirt coming on …
Monday Melee With Crap Rhymes
Yikes!
So now we have to do a rhyming version of Fracas Monday Melee?
Whoo. That's a tough one. I'm crap at rhyming stuff.
Oh well; here goes nothing (story of my life) …
1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).
The phrase "I'm not a racist, but …
We're overrun by immigrants."
You hypocritical fuck-nut
Your brain is in your pants.
2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).
Politicians "going green".
The lying bastards are obscene.
3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).
I broke my glasses Saturday,
My iPod froze, I've got a cough,
My back aches and I think I may
Just tell the world to fuck right off.
4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).
J. Arthur Rank's
Getting my thanks.
(A joke for the English,
But not for the Yanks*).
*"Yanks" … geddit? Oh, please yourselves.
5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).
I hate my face, I hate my tum,
The time has come to praise my bum.
6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).
At times like this I'd wish for
The ability to rhyme,
Though that would be too tragic
If it happened all the time.
I'd lose my job, I'd lose my friends,
They'd all think I'd gone bats.
I'd have to work for Hallmark
Writing doggerel for twats.
Next week: the Movie Melee.
Miss it if you dare.
So now we have to do a rhyming version of Fracas Monday Melee?
Whoo. That's a tough one. I'm crap at rhyming stuff.
Oh well; here goes nothing (story of my life) …
1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).
The phrase "I'm not a racist, but …
We're overrun by immigrants."
You hypocritical fuck-nut
Your brain is in your pants.
2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).
Politicians "going green".
The lying bastards are obscene.
3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).
I broke my glasses Saturday,
My iPod froze, I've got a cough,
My back aches and I think I may
Just tell the world to fuck right off.
4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).
J. Arthur Rank's
Getting my thanks.
(A joke for the English,
But not for the Yanks*).
*"Yanks" … geddit? Oh, please yourselves.
5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).
I hate my face, I hate my tum,
The time has come to praise my bum.
6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).
At times like this I'd wish for
The ability to rhyme,
Though that would be too tragic
If it happened all the time.
I'd lose my job, I'd lose my friends,
They'd all think I'd gone bats.
I'd have to work for Hallmark
Writing doggerel for twats.
Next week: the Movie Melee.
Miss it if you dare.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Pride And Prejudice
In case any of you have missed it, Blogville's resident and admirably boobed historian, the wonderful Kate has been delving into Australia's murky past to satisfy her passion for interesting dead guys (a lot less trouble than the live sort, as she points out).
Kate mentioned the fact that bushrangers such as Thunderbolt and Ned Kelly were seen by poor tenant farmers as heroes fighting against oppression and injustice, to the extent that ordinary families would offer them shelter, food and even horses to keep them from the hands of the magistrates and the gallows.
It's difficult these days to understand why a lawbreaker should be regarded as the good guy until you delve a little deeper like Kate has done.
Let's have some boring historical perspective, shall we?
Once upon a time, way back before even old Dive was born, when Terra Australis was "uninhabited" (hokay, so for the purposes of this post we'll conveniently ignore the 900,000 people already living there), good old Britannia was going through a bit of a transition.
Before that time we revolting peasants only had a parasitical and tyrranical aristocracy to fight against. But then came the industrial revolution and the opportunity for capitalists to make obscene fortunes from the labour of the rest of us.
The urban populations started to swell; the rich got richer and the poor … well, nobody was poor … at least nobody who mattered.
With the golden dawn of capitalism, the children of the labouring poor could be put to work at age six, slaving fifteen hours a day in mines and mills, beaten and whipped by overseers whenever they slacked and mangled in the whirling metal mill machinery when they dropped from exhaustion.
The Georgian era was indeed a golden age for the top one percent of the population. For the rest it was the filthy, miserable Hell of Hogarth's Gin Lane and abject poverty ruled working people's lives.
Little wonder then that starving families, crammed thirty to a room in damp, unheated cellars with no rights of tenancy were reduced to thieving and beggary and took the odd loaf of bread to stay alive. And in that age a loaf of bread could cost you your life.
There was no effective police force back then; just the thuggish private armies of the landowners and mill owners and the venal "thieftakers"; bullying bounty hunters who would denounce anybody for the fifteen shilling reward, while at the same time extorting around ten pounds a head not to denounce the innocent.
The result of this explosion of penniless and mercilessly exploited working families forced into choleric urban slums was that the privately run gaols were overcrowded way beyond breaking point.
To save capitalism from anarchy and revolution a solution had to be found.
Much as they would have liked to, it was impractical to hang everybody who broke the rules so in George the First's reign they had the bright idea of sending the buggers to the colonies as slave labour.
Now I'm not talking Australia here. Oh, no…
For the past couple of centuries, Australians have been haunted and stigmatised by what they called "The Stain"; their "shameful convict past".
Around 160,000 convicts were transported to Australia, but before that, at least 40,000 convicts were sent to America.
Modern America has done a pretty good job of brushing its convict past under the carpet and has replaced it with a rosy fiction where just about everybody is descended from a shipload of incompetent Puritans in Massachussets.
"Oh, no! We had "indentured servants" but there are no convicts hiding in the branches of our family tree."
Listen up:
In 1611, 300 "disorderly persons" were dragged from English gaols and shipped as slave labour to the plantations of the Virginia Company.
That worked so nicely that a new policy was drawn up: "all offenders out of the common gaols condemned to die should be sent for three years to the Virginia Company".
Which worked even more splendidly, with the result that after 1717 "minor offenders" sentenced to flogging and branding were shipped over to America for seven years of slave labour, while those under sentence of death were to serve fourteen years.
Every state from Massachussets on down to Florida gladly took 'em. Over forty thousand of the buggers. A lot more than the tiny Plymouth colony that seems to have (incredibly fecundly) founded every WASP family.
And what happened to them when their sentences were served?
Where the Hell were they going to find the money for passage back to England?
And who wanted to go back to Gin Lane and the workhouse anyway?
No.
They stayed and became Americans.
After the Revolution, all that changed, of course. There were plentiful black slaves to be had and they worked a lot harder than the poor white folk shipped over from England.
So George III had to look elsewhere to ease his overcrowded gaols and hulks.
He looked at Australia.
Uninhabited (HA!).
Unimaginably distant.
The unwanted dregs of society's underclass could take a one way ticket to Botany Bay.
And so it was that between 1787 and 1868, some 160,000 men, women and children were transported to Australia, Tasmania and Norfolk Island to provide slave labour to grow cheap wool and meat for England.
Convicts.
Felons.
Scum.
But were they?
Like those sent to America, these people were simply ordinary folk, trapped and made desperate by bitter and unjust circumstance.
The theft of a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, or a "gentleman's" handkerchief could lead to your being hanged (even children) or transported to Botany Bay.
To a life of servitude, slave labour, beatings, floggings, rape … and at the end of your sentence, "secondary punishment" (as you had no money for the passage home) of farm labour for brutal landlords … the same people who sent you down there in the first place.
The children of those transported, known as "currency lads and lasses" were used as forced labour by "settlers" - usless younger sons of the aristocracy sent to the new land to exploit the captive labour force (what became known in America at least as "old money" … a term that should rightly be tainted with shame and ignominy and be without honour).
And a brutal regime of vicious armed police and venal magistrates under a sorry series of corrupt and incompetent Governors kept the people in their place.
Bushrangers - Kate's heroic and romantic dead guys - were seen quite rightly as desperate men standing up for their rights against "The System" (our government's delightful euphemism for forced penal labour until death) , by a people burning for social justice.
Decent people, who had been oppressed and victimised in England and were now being oppressed and victimised in this new world aided the bushrangers as best they could and as much as they dared, risking brutal punishments if discovered.
And gradually, over the bodies of the beaten and the hanged, the decent people beat "The System" and it was closed down.
Which begs the question why has Australia been so long ashamed of it's "convict" past?
It is England who should be ashamed for creating such a system.
Australians (and any Americans with enough balls and honesty to face up to the truth) should be proud of having survived such horrors and from their experiences forged their own fiercely independent identites and their sense of justice.
Kate, I'm afraid we kept the real criminals; the people we sent you were our very best.
On the behalf of my crap country, sorry, cobber.
Kate mentioned the fact that bushrangers such as Thunderbolt and Ned Kelly were seen by poor tenant farmers as heroes fighting against oppression and injustice, to the extent that ordinary families would offer them shelter, food and even horses to keep them from the hands of the magistrates and the gallows.
It's difficult these days to understand why a lawbreaker should be regarded as the good guy until you delve a little deeper like Kate has done.
Let's have some boring historical perspective, shall we?
Once upon a time, way back before even old Dive was born, when Terra Australis was "uninhabited" (hokay, so for the purposes of this post we'll conveniently ignore the 900,000 people already living there), good old Britannia was going through a bit of a transition.
Before that time we revolting peasants only had a parasitical and tyrranical aristocracy to fight against. But then came the industrial revolution and the opportunity for capitalists to make obscene fortunes from the labour of the rest of us.
The urban populations started to swell; the rich got richer and the poor … well, nobody was poor … at least nobody who mattered.
With the golden dawn of capitalism, the children of the labouring poor could be put to work at age six, slaving fifteen hours a day in mines and mills, beaten and whipped by overseers whenever they slacked and mangled in the whirling metal mill machinery when they dropped from exhaustion.
The Georgian era was indeed a golden age for the top one percent of the population. For the rest it was the filthy, miserable Hell of Hogarth's Gin Lane and abject poverty ruled working people's lives.
Little wonder then that starving families, crammed thirty to a room in damp, unheated cellars with no rights of tenancy were reduced to thieving and beggary and took the odd loaf of bread to stay alive. And in that age a loaf of bread could cost you your life.
There was no effective police force back then; just the thuggish private armies of the landowners and mill owners and the venal "thieftakers"; bullying bounty hunters who would denounce anybody for the fifteen shilling reward, while at the same time extorting around ten pounds a head not to denounce the innocent.
The result of this explosion of penniless and mercilessly exploited working families forced into choleric urban slums was that the privately run gaols were overcrowded way beyond breaking point.
To save capitalism from anarchy and revolution a solution had to be found.
Much as they would have liked to, it was impractical to hang everybody who broke the rules so in George the First's reign they had the bright idea of sending the buggers to the colonies as slave labour.
Now I'm not talking Australia here. Oh, no…
For the past couple of centuries, Australians have been haunted and stigmatised by what they called "The Stain"; their "shameful convict past".
Around 160,000 convicts were transported to Australia, but before that, at least 40,000 convicts were sent to America.
Modern America has done a pretty good job of brushing its convict past under the carpet and has replaced it with a rosy fiction where just about everybody is descended from a shipload of incompetent Puritans in Massachussets.
"Oh, no! We had "indentured servants" but there are no convicts hiding in the branches of our family tree."
Listen up:
In 1611, 300 "disorderly persons" were dragged from English gaols and shipped as slave labour to the plantations of the Virginia Company.
That worked so nicely that a new policy was drawn up: "all offenders out of the common gaols condemned to die should be sent for three years to the Virginia Company".
Which worked even more splendidly, with the result that after 1717 "minor offenders" sentenced to flogging and branding were shipped over to America for seven years of slave labour, while those under sentence of death were to serve fourteen years.
Every state from Massachussets on down to Florida gladly took 'em. Over forty thousand of the buggers. A lot more than the tiny Plymouth colony that seems to have (incredibly fecundly) founded every WASP family.
And what happened to them when their sentences were served?
Where the Hell were they going to find the money for passage back to England?
And who wanted to go back to Gin Lane and the workhouse anyway?
No.
They stayed and became Americans.
After the Revolution, all that changed, of course. There were plentiful black slaves to be had and they worked a lot harder than the poor white folk shipped over from England.
So George III had to look elsewhere to ease his overcrowded gaols and hulks.
He looked at Australia.
Uninhabited (HA!).
Unimaginably distant.
The unwanted dregs of society's underclass could take a one way ticket to Botany Bay.
And so it was that between 1787 and 1868, some 160,000 men, women and children were transported to Australia, Tasmania and Norfolk Island to provide slave labour to grow cheap wool and meat for England.
Convicts.
Felons.
Scum.
But were they?
Like those sent to America, these people were simply ordinary folk, trapped and made desperate by bitter and unjust circumstance.
The theft of a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, or a "gentleman's" handkerchief could lead to your being hanged (even children) or transported to Botany Bay.
To a life of servitude, slave labour, beatings, floggings, rape … and at the end of your sentence, "secondary punishment" (as you had no money for the passage home) of farm labour for brutal landlords … the same people who sent you down there in the first place.
The children of those transported, known as "currency lads and lasses" were used as forced labour by "settlers" - usless younger sons of the aristocracy sent to the new land to exploit the captive labour force (what became known in America at least as "old money" … a term that should rightly be tainted with shame and ignominy and be without honour).
And a brutal regime of vicious armed police and venal magistrates under a sorry series of corrupt and incompetent Governors kept the people in their place.
Bushrangers - Kate's heroic and romantic dead guys - were seen quite rightly as desperate men standing up for their rights against "The System" (our government's delightful euphemism for forced penal labour until death) , by a people burning for social justice.
Decent people, who had been oppressed and victimised in England and were now being oppressed and victimised in this new world aided the bushrangers as best they could and as much as they dared, risking brutal punishments if discovered.
And gradually, over the bodies of the beaten and the hanged, the decent people beat "The System" and it was closed down.
Which begs the question why has Australia been so long ashamed of it's "convict" past?
It is England who should be ashamed for creating such a system.
Australians (and any Americans with enough balls and honesty to face up to the truth) should be proud of having survived such horrors and from their experiences forged their own fiercely independent identites and their sense of justice.
Kate, I'm afraid we kept the real criminals; the people we sent you were our very best.
On the behalf of my crap country, sorry, cobber.
Friday, August 17, 2007
The Year Of Living Rantily Pt.IX
Trudging on through the impenetrable, treacly morass that is Dive's first year retrospective, we collapse in a sticky heap on the month of April.
The month that Knudsen turned nice (thankfully a temporary glitch), and that Dive shot a kitten …
Most of the month was taken up with my picturesque but tedious "look up" photoseries. The one shining exception, drenched in bile and filth, was the following post by Stouffer:
"Viddy well, my droogs.
For it is I, Stouffer, the blue rubber cat who guards Dive's dining room.
Dive is stinkingly busy this week and unlike most of the blogworld he carries on some pretence of having a life. So life comes first, work second, then blogging trails in somewhere after ironing and picking his nose.
While the dork's away, the cat can play.
Not that I'm a vicious, vindictive überbitch, but while he's off gazing into some woman's eyes and mooning over her like a soppy twat, I've got hold of the sucker's password and have taken over his stupid blog.
Now how the hell do I type that "mad scientist cackling laugh" thing?
So … Let's spill the beans on this tit you call Dive:
- He once had a ponytail and a goatee! … HA!
- Until last year when I burned 'em all, he thought Hawai'ian shirts were "cool".
- He cried at the end of Edward Scissorhands … Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!
- He lost his virginity in a car park in Lowestoft.
- With a farmer's daughter … Ah, the age of romance is not dead.
- He likes to be the big "rock star", but he once ended up supporting Freddie and the Dreamers at a fucking holiday camp. HA!
- He irons his boxer shorts.
- He likes lamps. I tell him "You like lamps! Your house is beautifully decorated! It's full of books and paintings! What the hell are you doing mooning after a WOMAN? Face it, you twat, you're gayer than Waylon Smithers!" … Does he listen? Does he fuck!
- He once did a post on his fucking spice rack! What kind of dicksplash posts his fucking spice rack? I despair sometimes. I really do …
- He's got a big box of Lego in his attic. He waits for friends to bring their kids round then gets it out and plays for hours. Totally ignores the fucking kids. What a world class wanker.
- He never posts photos of the back of his head, does he? Ha! Bald patch! Hahahahahaaaaa!
That'll teach him to stick his hand up my arse … Bastard!
Right. I'm off for a saucer of moloko."
Other than that, and Prudence's Rhyme-It Challenge, and "Cock", and Japanese maid's uniforms, it was a pretty dull month, blog-wise.
Your comments, on the other hand, were up to their usual standard of confused depravity. And we welcomed Terroni and Maria to Blogville, too.
This is what you reprobates had to say for yourselves:
Terroni:
"I'll never forget the look of that dead pig sitting in our bathtub full of ice."
"These freaks just want an excuse to watch the puppet sex over and over and over again!"
"The little black buggers stain my white sheets!"
"Utterly beautiful but absolutely useless"
"Not as amusing as a dead mime, but close."
"Did Lynn just say that her clitoris is flourishing?" She did indeed.
Dear Prudence:
"Lindsey Buckingham-OH FUCK!"
"Soppy Twat."
Robyn:
"Well, here's to a sillier world."
"Hooray for useless beauty."
"Everyone needs a tiny room with a gold pheasant on the top."
"I will NOT click on it to make it larger."
"What are grumpy trousers?"
"I hate to interrupt the frisky exchange here, you two, but...."
"Flutteringly Favorite."
"Rich, SHUT UP."
"Listen to you. What a cranky old fart."
"OH! OH! Now you've just gone too far."
Kate:
"I love producing the stiffy effect in a male."
"Monkeys flying out of your arse."
"I'm wearing thigh high leopard skin boots."
"Would have thought raw pussy would be something you'd be dining on frequently lately."
Sassy:
"I'm not Sassy Sundry. My real name is Lulu, and I'm shacked up with a guy named Hank."
"Words like "penis" tend to trigger things."
"I look like a junkie who has been beaten with sticks."
Maria:
"There is nothing scarier than having your doorbell ring at 2 a.m. and finding a clown standing there."
"I am just so stuck on the word "smegma"."
"I want whatever you're having. Two."
Gaijin Girl:
"I spend most of my time walking around in circles coz I can't remember which arrows make me go which way."
"My best plan is to get beaten up by the fundamentalist, head to the men's room to get electrocuted and slashed by the clown, then incinerated by the microwave in kitchen, then shark and weasels upstairs."
"Cheesy peas."
"Oh feck. I just dobbed myself in."
Peahen:
"… the goatee and pony tail. I'm afraid that I liked them both very much."
Lynn:
"I'd love to know the story worthy of stretching the man's penis then carving it out in all its glory."
"Yoko's wonderful."
"We must have a giggle and a sexy old wriggle."
"Men are still a bit of a mystery to me."
"Okay then, I'll put it on and serve you coffee, Rich. Once. Then we'll never speak of it again."
"The pink pig would be the one with poo popping out of his arse would it?"
"Oh Dive. Dive what have you done?"
"Yes cult, Dive. Careful with that one!"
Rich:
"Gee dive, you'd make someone a good wife."
"I'm just kissin' your ass to get off your "wanker list"."
"This is right up my alley, Dive. Playing dress up."
Ame:
"You need your arse SPANKED!"
"You lost me at twat!!"
Monsieur Benaut:
"We should set up a booth a few yards back and sell shanghais, replacement rubbers and old priest's habits."
"Are German knobs as shiny as British ones?"
"It's hard to think about dicks"
Fresh Hell:
"Whores! Every last one of them."
Old Knudsen:
"Freddy and the Dreamers? You are the coolest person ever."
"I'm so happy to get boners."
"I love kittens, they make me smile."
"I once got into a fist fight on how you pronounce clematis."
I pronounce it wrongly.
The month that Knudsen turned nice (thankfully a temporary glitch), and that Dive shot a kitten …
Most of the month was taken up with my picturesque but tedious "look up" photoseries. The one shining exception, drenched in bile and filth, was the following post by Stouffer:"Viddy well, my droogs.
For it is I, Stouffer, the blue rubber cat who guards Dive's dining room.
Dive is stinkingly busy this week and unlike most of the blogworld he carries on some pretence of having a life. So life comes first, work second, then blogging trails in somewhere after ironing and picking his nose.While the dork's away, the cat can play.
Not that I'm a vicious, vindictive überbitch, but while he's off gazing into some woman's eyes and mooning over her like a soppy twat, I've got hold of the sucker's password and have taken over his stupid blog.
Now how the hell do I type that "mad scientist cackling laugh" thing?
So … Let's spill the beans on this tit you call Dive:
- He once had a ponytail and a goatee! … HA!
- Until last year when I burned 'em all, he thought Hawai'ian shirts were "cool".
- He cried at the end of Edward Scissorhands … Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!
- He lost his virginity in a car park in Lowestoft.
- With a farmer's daughter … Ah, the age of romance is not dead.
- He likes to be the big "rock star", but he once ended up supporting Freddie and the Dreamers at a fucking holiday camp. HA!
- He irons his boxer shorts.
- He likes lamps. I tell him "You like lamps! Your house is beautifully decorated! It's full of books and paintings! What the hell are you doing mooning after a WOMAN? Face it, you twat, you're gayer than Waylon Smithers!" … Does he listen? Does he fuck!
- He once did a post on his fucking spice rack! What kind of dicksplash posts his fucking spice rack? I despair sometimes. I really do …
- He's got a big box of Lego in his attic. He waits for friends to bring their kids round then gets it out and plays for hours. Totally ignores the fucking kids. What a world class wanker.
- He never posts photos of the back of his head, does he? Ha! Bald patch! Hahahahahaaaaa!
That'll teach him to stick his hand up my arse … Bastard!
Right. I'm off for a saucer of moloko."
Other than that, and Prudence's Rhyme-It Challenge, and "Cock", and Japanese maid's uniforms, it was a pretty dull month, blog-wise.
Your comments, on the other hand, were up to their usual standard of confused depravity. And we welcomed Terroni and Maria to Blogville, too.
This is what you reprobates had to say for yourselves:
Terroni:
"I'll never forget the look of that dead pig sitting in our bathtub full of ice."
"These freaks just want an excuse to watch the puppet sex over and over and over again!"
"The little black buggers stain my white sheets!"
"Utterly beautiful but absolutely useless"
"Not as amusing as a dead mime, but close."
"Did Lynn just say that her clitoris is flourishing?" She did indeed.
Dear Prudence:
"Lindsey Buckingham-OH FUCK!"
"Soppy Twat."
Robyn:
"Well, here's to a sillier world."
"Hooray for useless beauty."
"Everyone needs a tiny room with a gold pheasant on the top."
"I will NOT click on it to make it larger."
"What are grumpy trousers?"
"I hate to interrupt the frisky exchange here, you two, but...."
"Flutteringly Favorite."
"Rich, SHUT UP."
"Listen to you. What a cranky old fart."
"OH! OH! Now you've just gone too far."
Kate:
"I love producing the stiffy effect in a male."
"Monkeys flying out of your arse."
"I'm wearing thigh high leopard skin boots."
"Would have thought raw pussy would be something you'd be dining on frequently lately."
Sassy:
"I'm not Sassy Sundry. My real name is Lulu, and I'm shacked up with a guy named Hank."
"Words like "penis" tend to trigger things."
"I look like a junkie who has been beaten with sticks."
Maria:
"There is nothing scarier than having your doorbell ring at 2 a.m. and finding a clown standing there."
"I am just so stuck on the word "smegma"."
"I want whatever you're having. Two."
Gaijin Girl:
"I spend most of my time walking around in circles coz I can't remember which arrows make me go which way."
"My best plan is to get beaten up by the fundamentalist, head to the men's room to get electrocuted and slashed by the clown, then incinerated by the microwave in kitchen, then shark and weasels upstairs."
"Cheesy peas."
"Oh feck. I just dobbed myself in."
Peahen:
"… the goatee and pony tail. I'm afraid that I liked them both very much."
Lynn:
"I'd love to know the story worthy of stretching the man's penis then carving it out in all its glory."
"Yoko's wonderful."
"We must have a giggle and a sexy old wriggle."
"Men are still a bit of a mystery to me."
"Okay then, I'll put it on and serve you coffee, Rich. Once. Then we'll never speak of it again."
"The pink pig would be the one with poo popping out of his arse would it?"
"Oh Dive. Dive what have you done?"
"Yes cult, Dive. Careful with that one!"
Rich:
"Gee dive, you'd make someone a good wife."
"I'm just kissin' your ass to get off your "wanker list"."
"This is right up my alley, Dive. Playing dress up."
Ame:
"You need your arse SPANKED!"
"You lost me at twat!!"
Monsieur Benaut:
"We should set up a booth a few yards back and sell shanghais, replacement rubbers and old priest's habits."
"Are German knobs as shiny as British ones?"
"It's hard to think about dicks"
Fresh Hell:
"Whores! Every last one of them."
Old Knudsen:
"Freddy and the Dreamers? You are the coolest person ever."
"I'm so happy to get boners."
"I love kittens, they make me smile."
"I once got into a fist fight on how you pronounce clematis."
I pronounce it wrongly.
The Year Of Living Rantily Pt.VIII
Whacko!
Time to dredge the crap out of March's postbag.
Quite apart from a brief history of astonishingly pervy British kids' TV from my childhood, March brought us the classic "Vibies Are A Girl's Best Friend" post where you all - very bravely - fessed up your amusing vibie true stories.
I just re-read your comments and laughed half my lunch out my nose.
Here is my personal favourite, from Lynn (though it was difficult to choose):
"My parents were staying. They use my room and i move into spare room as it's more pleasant for them with bathroom attached. Went in to get my clean knickers (keep it in knicker drawer) for following morning and to say goodnight. Feeling around and talking to them, wasn't paying attention and set the over-sensitive (one of the design faults) button off. BZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Quizzical looks from them, flustered look from me. Felt for it, pressed a button which turned out to be a further buzzy one, with whirly movement bashing against bottom of drawer. Finally switched thing off. Turned to them and said simply. "Neck massager. Tut. Thought we'd go to the antiques fair tomorrow, okay? Night then." Exit. Lay in bed cringeing."
March also spewed up the second best meme ever. A mind-buggering two-parter from the fecund brain of the Groover.
Here's Part One, which set me up in a particularly cruel way for …
(perhaps a little too predictably), the monumental confessional Part Two.
Other March lowlights included Dive slapping Hallmark yet again:
"Oh, crap. Another Hallmark Holiday.
Fuck Hallmark.
Every day is Mothers' Day.
Stop buying their crappy cards right now. It only encourages the bastards.
Actually, "Fuck Hallmark; Every Day Is Mothers' Day" would make a pretty good teeshirt. I think I'll make one for Mum …"
Plus Groover's Haircut Challenge, The One-Armed Man, spurting blood and concussion, origami food, my arsenal of Apple Macs, the street where I was born and the arrival of Australian food in my studio.
March also brought forth a whole month's worth of disturbing, amusing or just plain weird comments from the disturbing, amusing or just plain weird residents of Blogville.
Robyn:
"I am shocked and appalled."
"OH, baby Dive!!"
"Woohoo. A one-armed man!"
"Shoot the donkey."
"I'm so confused."
Ame:
"Knice Knobs!"
"I'll sleep with you in a heartbeat!"
"I could hear that grunting all the way to CALIFORNIA"
"Love you and your big pants."
"PMP! (Peeing my PANTS!)"
Rich:
"SHUT UP Ame!!!!"
"Dive are you sure that "she" wasn't Knudsen in a dress?"
"I recently visited a store in Portland Maine that sold nothing but women's pleasure toys."
Sassy:
"Step away from the Lolitas."
"Good luck with the wobbly goo."
"Good morning, Dive. You do look wonderful from across the ocean."
"I was absolutely convinced that she saw me in that pinwheel … Like I said, drugs."
"You are so cute. Why not pay a visit?"
"You won't respect me in the morning."
"And you'd have to get me over your knee."
"Can I have ten points anyway? I'm nice."
"You smell nice, but your evil monkeys stink."
Dear Prudence:
"She was naked at the time, she F'd up from that!"
"Well, there is just something sexy about a man diddlin' …"
"Now you know what women think of while they watch your fingers stroking your strings..."
"I was having a rather heated discussion with my oldest and when I ripped the bottom sheet off the bed... out flies my vibe and bounces across the floor and lands at his feet."
"It doesn't look like a tongue it is made out of kind of wiggly stuff so it feels soft and pliable like a tongue."
"Isnt' it funny how many men don't realize just how often women "rub it"?"
Fresh Hell:
"A horrifying glimpse of my middle aged body"
"Particularly fun was a glow in the dark jobbie that looked just like a male member, silicon textured and the whole bit"
Gaijin Girl:
"It's the year of the pig - revel in it."
"It's still green, though."
"Oh, feck"
Dick Headley:
"Deep-fried in batter might be nice?"
Peahen:
"That was me ringing your phone just now btw - answer, will you!"
"There's just not enough sculptural facial hair in the world."
Kate:
"Furniture wrestling used to be my favourite sport."
Vic:
"So are man-boobs one of the first places where the weight comes off or is that just something that happens to women?"
"Old Knudsen is right about the lemurs."
"Fucking monkeys weren't such a good idea after all."
Lynn:
"I too have an interloper who lives in my mirror."
"Dive consider yourself admonished and spanked by two of your ladies on here."
"… emerging giggling hysterically whilst throwing up on the field."
"Boo hoo now i'm thix again and in a tantrum. Waaaaa..."
"I remember that night, in bed, cuddling P or P i'm not sure who and ending up throwing him noisily on the floor. Our relationship was over. Yuk."
"I'm behind the sofa... BOO!"
"The rabbit is overrated and full of design faults."
Monsieur Benaut:
"Roll on Springtime, when little gurls' minds turn to LERRRRRVE."
"Bugger the Reef."
"Looked a bit like an Ottoman testicle adjuster, mate."
The Lovely Betty:
"I was never as disturbed by Johnny Morris or Glaze as I was by Pinky And Perky. My vile and twisted parents decorated my room with Pinky And Perky wallpaper and I had feverish dreams in which they came to life. Brrr."
"Cruising for little boys in tutus"
Old Knudsen:
"They thought I was mad you know so I bit off their faces."
"I think yer a right cunt but thats just me." (Ever the shrewd judge of character, Old K.) "Bloody sex mad aliens and their dumb questions."
"I was searching for little boys in tutus and I found yer site. I must say I'm disappointed."
MJ:
"What is that stain above Peter Glaze's finger?"
"I just come here for the freaks."
We got 'em in spades!
Time to dredge the crap out of March's postbag.
Quite apart from a brief history of astonishingly pervy British kids' TV from my childhood, March brought us the classic "Vibies Are A Girl's Best Friend" post where you all - very bravely - fessed up your amusing vibie true stories.
I just re-read your comments and laughed half my lunch out my nose.
Here is my personal favourite, from Lynn (though it was difficult to choose):
"My parents were staying. They use my room and i move into spare room as it's more pleasant for them with bathroom attached. Went in to get my clean knickers (keep it in knicker drawer) for following morning and to say goodnight. Feeling around and talking to them, wasn't paying attention and set the over-sensitive (one of the design faults) button off. BZZZZZZZZZZZZ! Quizzical looks from them, flustered look from me. Felt for it, pressed a button which turned out to be a further buzzy one, with whirly movement bashing against bottom of drawer. Finally switched thing off. Turned to them and said simply. "Neck massager. Tut. Thought we'd go to the antiques fair tomorrow, okay? Night then." Exit. Lay in bed cringeing."
March also spewed up the second best meme ever. A mind-buggering two-parter from the fecund brain of the Groover.
Here's Part One, which set me up in a particularly cruel way for …
(perhaps a little too predictably), the monumental confessional Part Two.
Other March lowlights included Dive slapping Hallmark yet again:
"Oh, crap. Another Hallmark Holiday.
Fuck Hallmark.
Every day is Mothers' Day.
Stop buying their crappy cards right now. It only encourages the bastards.
Actually, "Fuck Hallmark; Every Day Is Mothers' Day" would make a pretty good teeshirt. I think I'll make one for Mum …"
Plus Groover's Haircut Challenge, The One-Armed Man, spurting blood and concussion, origami food, my arsenal of Apple Macs, the street where I was born and the arrival of Australian food in my studio.
March also brought forth a whole month's worth of disturbing, amusing or just plain weird comments from the disturbing, amusing or just plain weird residents of Blogville.
Robyn:
"I am shocked and appalled."
"OH, baby Dive!!"
"Woohoo. A one-armed man!"
"Shoot the donkey."
"I'm so confused."
Ame:
"Knice Knobs!"
"I'll sleep with you in a heartbeat!"
"I could hear that grunting all the way to CALIFORNIA"
"Love you and your big pants."
"PMP! (Peeing my PANTS!)"
Rich:
"SHUT UP Ame!!!!"
"Dive are you sure that "she" wasn't Knudsen in a dress?"
"I recently visited a store in Portland Maine that sold nothing but women's pleasure toys."
Sassy:
"Step away from the Lolitas."
"Good luck with the wobbly goo."
"Good morning, Dive. You do look wonderful from across the ocean."
"I was absolutely convinced that she saw me in that pinwheel … Like I said, drugs."
"You are so cute. Why not pay a visit?"
"You won't respect me in the morning."
"And you'd have to get me over your knee."
"Can I have ten points anyway? I'm nice."
"You smell nice, but your evil monkeys stink."
Dear Prudence:
"She was naked at the time, she F'd up from that!"
"Well, there is just something sexy about a man diddlin' …"
"Now you know what women think of while they watch your fingers stroking your strings..."
"I was having a rather heated discussion with my oldest and when I ripped the bottom sheet off the bed... out flies my vibe and bounces across the floor and lands at his feet."
"It doesn't look like a tongue it is made out of kind of wiggly stuff so it feels soft and pliable like a tongue."
"Isnt' it funny how many men don't realize just how often women "rub it"?"
Fresh Hell:
"A horrifying glimpse of my middle aged body"
"Particularly fun was a glow in the dark jobbie that looked just like a male member, silicon textured and the whole bit"
Gaijin Girl:
"It's the year of the pig - revel in it."
"It's still green, though."
"Oh, feck"
Dick Headley:
"Deep-fried in batter might be nice?"
Peahen:
"That was me ringing your phone just now btw - answer, will you!"
"There's just not enough sculptural facial hair in the world."
Kate:
"Furniture wrestling used to be my favourite sport."
Vic:
"So are man-boobs one of the first places where the weight comes off or is that just something that happens to women?"
"Old Knudsen is right about the lemurs."
"Fucking monkeys weren't such a good idea after all."
Lynn:
"I too have an interloper who lives in my mirror."
"Dive consider yourself admonished and spanked by two of your ladies on here."
"… emerging giggling hysterically whilst throwing up on the field."
"Boo hoo now i'm thix again and in a tantrum. Waaaaa..."
"I remember that night, in bed, cuddling P or P i'm not sure who and ending up throwing him noisily on the floor. Our relationship was over. Yuk."
"I'm behind the sofa... BOO!"
"The rabbit is overrated and full of design faults."
Monsieur Benaut:
"Roll on Springtime, when little gurls' minds turn to LERRRRRVE."
"Bugger the Reef."
"Looked a bit like an Ottoman testicle adjuster, mate."
The Lovely Betty:
"I was never as disturbed by Johnny Morris or Glaze as I was by Pinky And Perky. My vile and twisted parents decorated my room with Pinky And Perky wallpaper and I had feverish dreams in which they came to life. Brrr."
"Cruising for little boys in tutus"
Old Knudsen:
"They thought I was mad you know so I bit off their faces."
"I think yer a right cunt but thats just me." (Ever the shrewd judge of character, Old K.) "Bloody sex mad aliens and their dumb questions."
"I was searching for little boys in tutus and I found yer site. I must say I'm disappointed."
MJ:
"What is that stain above Peter Glaze's finger?"
"I just come here for the freaks."
We got 'em in spades!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Snog This Bloke (Form An Orderly Queue)
We interrupt the monstrously self-indulgent Dive retrospective to respond to a comment from Maria that almost made me miss my train this morning.
After yesterday's bout of splattery logorrhoea, Maria wrote:
"I love your blog because I always come away with new little phrases to shock my family.
And, since you are going on about words, I have run across a few in my Harry Potter readings to my daughter that I find interesting and maybe you could enlighten me?
The term "bloke" for a man? Where does that come from?
A queue? That is a line?
Snogging? Is that like what we Amuricans call "sucking face"? Because I think snogging sounds just a little more risque and sloppy.
Harry and his bloke friends (when they aren't snogging or in a queue) often use the word "reckon" when they speak to each other. As in "I reckon we should tell them we are running late..."
Now, reckon, as Americans use it is kind of a redneck slang....
So, care to enlighten this wee widget of a woman? Or we could just go right to the snogging...
But..even the word "snogging" just comes out of me with a raised eyebrow. Makes me feel so royally and haughtily naughty.
As if I were not feeling a sense of normalcy and calm....
(Sorry, it just slipped...I HAD to say it.)"
Hee hee. I can forgive "normalcy" when used with such delicious sarcasm, Maria.
Hokay …
So at ten to five this morning when I checked my comments, this one sent me hurtling downstairs (still moist from the shower, ladies … ick!) to rifle my OED for the derivation of the word "bloke".
The OED, by the way (for the benefit of my dear readers in the colonies) is the Oxford English Dictionary; the definitive repository of English (as opposed to American English, for which you have the esteemed Mister Noah Webster).
Digression time:
I have a great deal of respect for old Noah. He made an admirable attempt to render the horrifically complex and arcane juggernaut that is the English language more easily comprehensible to children and to the huddled masses of non-English speaking immigrants yearning to be free.
Inevitably he was forced to simplify spellings and - here's the bit that always makes me shudder - to standardise (or standardize as he would have it) suffixes.
It is this last which has just obliged Blogger to put a red line under the correct spelling and leave Webster's abomination unscathed and my teeth gnashing.
This simplification and standardisation of suffixes - as ranted about in yesterday's polemic - has deprived Americans of a great part of the essential beauty and poetry of the English language as well as the ability to look at a word and to surmise from its Greek, Latin, French, Norse or Germanic - or other - structure, its underlying meaning.
And "color" (sorry, I had to shudder again) is not a word; it is a spelling mistake.
While I hate to appear pompous and patronising (HA! You know I LOVE IT! … and that's "patronising", NOT "patronizing", he patronised), I feel that these days, Webster's simplified spellings should be confined to teaching young children and non-English speaking immigrants, and that - once they have achieved a decent grasp of the basics - they should then advance to the correct spellings and meanings (much as Japanese children - and Japanese students such as myself - are first taught using the phonetic alphabets of ひらがな and カタカナ before moving on to the complex and beautiful Kanji which show the true meanings and concepts of what is being written).
An unfortunate consequence of US "Websterisms" (Websterizmz?") is the natural tendency of the English to speak slowly and clearly to those who use the simplified spellings, and sometimes to draw them little pictures, too.
Sassy's going to slap me around the head with her Masters Degree for that one but regrettably it is true; we do tend to equate simplified spelling with simple minds.
Getting back to Maria's comment, I am so glad she reads Harry Potter with Liv; introducing children to books is probably the best thing anyone could possibly do for them.
And whilst I've never read the Potter books I confess to enjoying the movies, if only for the delicious sight of so many Brit thesps gleefully hamming it up.
Rowling is smart enough to use subliminal linguistic messages in the naming of her characters, such as Draco Malfoy … "Draco" being Greek for "dragon" and also having the meaning "harsh and cruel" from the "draconian" laws laid down by the aptly named Draco in Greece around 620BC, and "Mal" from the French for "bad".
Tolkien was the master of this, being a professor of Middle English and a scholar of Middle and Old English, Saxon, Norse and Icelandic, enabling him to use the same subliminal messages in a far more complex and subtle way.
Of course, subsequent "fantasy" writers, lacking his linguistic facility have made a mockery of this art. Thankfully we have Douglas Adams to deflate them and he parodied their ignorance so brilliantly in the Hitch-hiker books where we discover that the Earth was created by an old bearded man with the splendid monicker of Slartibartfast.
So …
"Bloke"
Originally from the "Shelta", which the OED tells me is an ancient and secret language used by Irish and Welsh tinkers and Gypsies, based on altered Irish and Gaelic words.
Basically it has come to mean an ordinary, decent working man.
If you're not working class, you're not a "proper bloke"; you're a git and a tosser (excuse me, I'm a proudly proletarian Marxist and class warrior).
"Blokey" and "bloke-ish" are also used to describe typically working class behaviour, such as watching football and drinking beer and swearing.
"Snogging" is indeed "sucking face" as you so piquantly put it, Maria.
Considered slightly derogatory: nice people kiss; slags and teenagers snog.
It is very much Harry Potter's age group - the chlamydia generation - who use the word, binge-drinking themselves into a stupor before glomming on to one another's faces and jamming tongues down throats with all the subtlety of the "face hugger" out of the Alien movies.
People our age (yikes) should stick to kissing.
I was raised in a more innocent age of crap sci-fi movies like "Amazon Women On The Moon" where a crew of middle-aged men would land on a planet populated solely by unfeasibly pretty nineteen-year-old girls with huge blonde hair, silver micro-skirts and boobs like Sabrina (you remember her? The fifties starlet who looked like she'd been shot in the back with a couple of guided missiles), who said such things as "Tell me more about this Earth custom you call "kissing"" … So much nicer than snogging.
"Reckon" is from tallying up; deducing numbers, and has come to mean roughly the same as "estimate" or "guess", I reckon.
And "Queue" is indeed a line, Maria.
From the Latin "cauda" (tail), via the French usage as a plait of hair.
Queueing is an essentially English pastime. If we're not queueing for something, then we are moaning about the weather or taking tea with the Queen.
This has been a public service announcement on behalf of patronising Brits.
After yesterday's bout of splattery logorrhoea, Maria wrote:
"I love your blog because I always come away with new little phrases to shock my family.
And, since you are going on about words, I have run across a few in my Harry Potter readings to my daughter that I find interesting and maybe you could enlighten me?
The term "bloke" for a man? Where does that come from?
A queue? That is a line?
Snogging? Is that like what we Amuricans call "sucking face"? Because I think snogging sounds just a little more risque and sloppy.
Harry and his bloke friends (when they aren't snogging or in a queue) often use the word "reckon" when they speak to each other. As in "I reckon we should tell them we are running late..."
Now, reckon, as Americans use it is kind of a redneck slang....
So, care to enlighten this wee widget of a woman? Or we could just go right to the snogging...
But..even the word "snogging" just comes out of me with a raised eyebrow. Makes me feel so royally and haughtily naughty.
As if I were not feeling a sense of normalcy and calm....
(Sorry, it just slipped...I HAD to say it.)"
Hee hee. I can forgive "normalcy" when used with such delicious sarcasm, Maria.
Hokay …
So at ten to five this morning when I checked my comments, this one sent me hurtling downstairs (still moist from the shower, ladies … ick!) to rifle my OED for the derivation of the word "bloke".
The OED, by the way (for the benefit of my dear readers in the colonies) is the Oxford English Dictionary; the definitive repository of English (as opposed to American English, for which you have the esteemed Mister Noah Webster).
Digression time:
I have a great deal of respect for old Noah. He made an admirable attempt to render the horrifically complex and arcane juggernaut that is the English language more easily comprehensible to children and to the huddled masses of non-English speaking immigrants yearning to be free.
Inevitably he was forced to simplify spellings and - here's the bit that always makes me shudder - to standardise (or standardize as he would have it) suffixes.
It is this last which has just obliged Blogger to put a red line under the correct spelling and leave Webster's abomination unscathed and my teeth gnashing.
This simplification and standardisation of suffixes - as ranted about in yesterday's polemic - has deprived Americans of a great part of the essential beauty and poetry of the English language as well as the ability to look at a word and to surmise from its Greek, Latin, French, Norse or Germanic - or other - structure, its underlying meaning.
And "color" (sorry, I had to shudder again) is not a word; it is a spelling mistake.
While I hate to appear pompous and patronising (HA! You know I LOVE IT! … and that's "patronising", NOT "patronizing", he patronised), I feel that these days, Webster's simplified spellings should be confined to teaching young children and non-English speaking immigrants, and that - once they have achieved a decent grasp of the basics - they should then advance to the correct spellings and meanings (much as Japanese children - and Japanese students such as myself - are first taught using the phonetic alphabets of ひらがな and カタカナ before moving on to the complex and beautiful Kanji which show the true meanings and concepts of what is being written).
An unfortunate consequence of US "Websterisms" (Websterizmz?") is the natural tendency of the English to speak slowly and clearly to those who use the simplified spellings, and sometimes to draw them little pictures, too.
Sassy's going to slap me around the head with her Masters Degree for that one but regrettably it is true; we do tend to equate simplified spelling with simple minds.
Getting back to Maria's comment, I am so glad she reads Harry Potter with Liv; introducing children to books is probably the best thing anyone could possibly do for them.
And whilst I've never read the Potter books I confess to enjoying the movies, if only for the delicious sight of so many Brit thesps gleefully hamming it up.
Rowling is smart enough to use subliminal linguistic messages in the naming of her characters, such as Draco Malfoy … "Draco" being Greek for "dragon" and also having the meaning "harsh and cruel" from the "draconian" laws laid down by the aptly named Draco in Greece around 620BC, and "Mal" from the French for "bad".
Tolkien was the master of this, being a professor of Middle English and a scholar of Middle and Old English, Saxon, Norse and Icelandic, enabling him to use the same subliminal messages in a far more complex and subtle way.
Of course, subsequent "fantasy" writers, lacking his linguistic facility have made a mockery of this art. Thankfully we have Douglas Adams to deflate them and he parodied their ignorance so brilliantly in the Hitch-hiker books where we discover that the Earth was created by an old bearded man with the splendid monicker of Slartibartfast.
So …
"Bloke"
Originally from the "Shelta", which the OED tells me is an ancient and secret language used by Irish and Welsh tinkers and Gypsies, based on altered Irish and Gaelic words.
Basically it has come to mean an ordinary, decent working man.
If you're not working class, you're not a "proper bloke"; you're a git and a tosser (excuse me, I'm a proudly proletarian Marxist and class warrior).
"Blokey" and "bloke-ish" are also used to describe typically working class behaviour, such as watching football and drinking beer and swearing.
"Snogging" is indeed "sucking face" as you so piquantly put it, Maria.
Considered slightly derogatory: nice people kiss; slags and teenagers snog.
It is very much Harry Potter's age group - the chlamydia generation - who use the word, binge-drinking themselves into a stupor before glomming on to one another's faces and jamming tongues down throats with all the subtlety of the "face hugger" out of the Alien movies.
People our age (yikes) should stick to kissing.
I was raised in a more innocent age of crap sci-fi movies like "Amazon Women On The Moon" where a crew of middle-aged men would land on a planet populated solely by unfeasibly pretty nineteen-year-old girls with huge blonde hair, silver micro-skirts and boobs like Sabrina (you remember her? The fifties starlet who looked like she'd been shot in the back with a couple of guided missiles), who said such things as "Tell me more about this Earth custom you call "kissing"" … So much nicer than snogging.
"Reckon" is from tallying up; deducing numbers, and has come to mean roughly the same as "estimate" or "guess", I reckon.
And "Queue" is indeed a line, Maria.
From the Latin "cauda" (tail), via the French usage as a plait of hair.
Queueing is an essentially English pastime. If we're not queueing for something, then we are moaning about the weather or taking tea with the Queen.
This has been a public service announcement on behalf of patronising Brits.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The Year Of Living Rantily Pt.VII
Baps and Peepees!
Yaaaaay!
Old Dive's self-indulgent amble through the first year of the Small Glass Planet reaches February, 2007: Crazy Ame Hits Town!
The Santa Clara Tornado hit Olde London Town and a splendid time was had by all.
Check out the link above to see the sights with our sunny California Girl.
I also posted a pretty travelogue of my lovely old home city.
Part 1 and Part 2 if anyone's thinking of visiting.
So let's kick off this nostalgia-fest with some good old ranting.
Dive was feeling particularly vituperative on Valentine's Day.
Here's the result:
"Ugh!
Yet another Hallmark Shareholders' Smirk Like A Twat Day.
A day when I'm filled with hatred and bile toward a disgusting capitalist shithole of a company that thrives on people's guilt.
Every year sees yet more spurious Hallmark Days where we are suddenly made to feel like uncaring or uncharitable asswipes unless we cough up and pay the cock-faced Hallmark tax.
Fucking hypocritical, profiteering, wank-brained, manipulative, thieving, shit-headed, emotionally blackmailing cocksuckers!
I make no apologies for the swearfest as it's been thirty years to the day since I received a genuine Valentine's Day card and I'm in a right strop.
I'm going to go home and slam all the doors."
My other favourite post from that month was another of my über-pedantic harangues on the abuse of the English language, which included:
"… Which brings my somewhat addled, Sunday-morning brain round to etymology. To the derivations of words. And way back in time to the first person who pointed to a hippopotamus after a long night's drinking and named it.
As my long term blog-sufferers know, I have a real bug up my ass about the use of language.
This resulted - some years ago - in the only letter of protest I have ever written to the BBC.
I was watching the news one night and the BBC's Washington correspondent (at that time the windmill-armed, jug-eared buffoon Andrew Marr) uttered the non-word "normalcy".
NOT IN THE CONTEXT OF A QUOTE!
I recall leaping off the sofa, spuffling and sputtering with indignant rage.
This was the BBC for goodness sake! We expect standards! We expect BBC English! What we do NOT expect is a BBC news correspondent speaking gibberish! The BBC's motto is NOT "Nation Shall Speak Gibberish Unto Nation".
At least it wasn't the last time I looked …
And so I rattled off a furious epistle to the Beeb, explaining the derivation of this obscenity and demanding summary execution for Marr (a course of action regrettably not followed).
This linguistic excresence had first tumbled clumsily out of the mouth of one Warren Gamaliel Harding, twenty-ninth President of our lamentably lost colonies and the man who started the appalling avalanche of ignorance that has culminated in the present incumbent of that office being unable even to pronounce his middle initial: namely the monumentally incompetent George Walker Bush.
Even in Harding's own day his call for a "return to normalcy" was derided; not for its intent, but for its linguistic gaucherie.
Here is e.e.cummings on Harding's passing in 1923:
"The only man, woman or child who wrote a simple declarative sentence with seven grammatical errors is dead."
And H.L Mencken:
"He writes the worst English that I have ever encountered. It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash."
Splendid!
The thing that most bugs me about "normalcy" however, is that the word itself encourages ignorance; it actually forces human intelligence to take a step backward.
"Normality" - the word Harding's floundering mind must have been groping for - is of course derived from the French "normalité". Not much of a leap there.
After the Norman conquest, a vast word-hoard of French was absorbed into the English language; already a melting pot of Celtic, Breton, Saxon and many others, with Latin as the written norm.
Language is a living thing and it evolves with usage, but the basic meaning of any word is revealed through its etymology. You can trace its roots back through English, French, Latin, Greek, whatever; eventually - in our case - to Indo-Aryan (I won't go into essay-length expostition here as you'd all bugger off down the pub).
When a word such as "normality/normalité" is altered, through ignorance or design, it loses part of its meaning. It has taken a step toward becoming a mere abstract symbol. An arbitrary amalgam of sounds to which nobody other than the person who produced it can attach any meaning.
This is the road to chaos. And it would render the Times Crossword even more mind-buggeringly difficult than it is.
The first words were felt as much as spoken. Burroughs posits that the first words were "sex" words and he could well be right. Some were undoubtably onomatopœic; hunter-gatherer words echoing the sounds of the world around them. The Indo-Aryan word "Ma" for mother occurs in almost all languages, whether they are connected or not. What I'm trying to put across here is that words that have evolved and adapted naturally still retain their essential meanings.
Neologisms: new words for new concepts are continually being brought into existence; the common example being John Logie Baird's coining of the term "television", from the Greek "tele" for "distant, and the Latin "visio" for "seeing". Some people even more pedantic than me insist that neologisms should only be formed from the same language roots, but even - like television - if they are not, then, like all naturally evolved words, some idea of their meaning can be still gauged from their roots.
The French suffixes "…ité" and "…cy" have historially derived and separate usages. Confusing them merely creates confusion and the nuance of meaning is lost.
Having said that, dicking around with language is great fun. It is what writers and poets do. It is what the kid down the street does.
Language moves forward; meaning is refined and even redefined. This is a good thing. I myself have even been party to linguistic debauchery, having once been caught using the word "party" as a verb (yikes)!
"Normalcy" when used by a bumbling President is funny; when used by the BBC - arbiters of the English Language - it is a crime against reason. An irrevocable step down the path to ignorance. They now use it with alarming frequency; proof positive that accusations of their "dumbing down" are well founded.
Twats.
Okay. Mister Pedantic can go back in his box now. Just don't use "normalcy" around me unless you want a slap."
And sticking with the subject of language; I've said it before and I'll say it again:
English.
In England we speak English.
It is our native language.
We do NOT speak "International English" as the ignorant twats at Microsoft are deluded enough to think.
Listen up, Gates, you fucking moron:
There is "English" (spoken in England),
"American English" as mangled in the colonies,
and regional varieties such as "Australian, Kiwi, Indian or Canadian English".
As an Englishman I become apoplectic with rage when my fucking computer puts a red line under the word "colour".
Cease and desist or old Dive will get mediæval (that diphthong is called a 'ligature', you dumb fucks and it is required to correctly spell 'mediæval') on your asses!
Just so you know.
Also I love the word "diphthong".
Like all old folk I love complaining.
Today I'm complaining about "American English"; back in February I was fulminating about old ladies' wee and a whole lot more.
Including this …
February was a stunningly good month for strange-o comments from you bunch of reprobates. Here are some of my favourites:
Robyn:
"Chicken Pussy?"
"I kind of like having the image of Daphne Ellis Rubbernoids in my head."
"You know how much I love it"
Sassy:
"Here are mine. They're kind of silly."
"I'm a sleeze ball. Wanna see my gold chain?"
"Fuckity fucking fuck"
"My stomach just flipped."
"Of course, I had blisters like you wouldn't believe."
Rich:
"Ah, the broken heart of a man can only be mended by the soft hands of a young woman handing him a free latte."
"I absolutely LOVE Hillary's pant suits"
Vic:
"What about learning accordion?"
"I'm just rubbing it now."
Kate:
"Aussies are strange."
"Earrings and pants suits and cock rings - oh my."
"London has pink cabs? I want one."
"We have the big penis, you have its testicle."
"I'm such a blonde sometimes, aren't I?"
Ame:
"SHUT UP, RICH!"
" SHUT UP, DIVEY BOY!"
"DIVEY BOY...you're FULL of it!"
"I really should be polishing my fur-lined sink! "
"HEY! You forgot the handcuffs!!!!"
"LOVIES & KISSIES and Baps & Pee-Pees!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
"BAPS and PEEPEES you never looked so GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"
"SHUT UP, KNUDDIE!"
Lynn:
"You clicked on Dive to make him biggy? Disgusting."
"Nobody but nobody is called fucking Rubbernoids (yes Lynn said fuck)!"
Old Kundsen:
"I only expect a ring from you, a cock ring."
"The Greeks … A dirty people."
Gaijin Girl:
"Bring on the hatred and bile."
"We so need to sort you a shag."
"Hahaha, that's the funniest thing you've ever said."
"Baby, you made me burn. I'm Green and Black all over."
"You big spunk."
Fresh Hell:
"I named a dog Cooder after Ry Cooder" Now THAT's cool!
"I can talk to some aquaintences about selling your soul..."
The Lovely Betty:
"Who needs to visit Thailand or New Zealand when you can go to Norwich?" er … Me?
"What is it that men do when they've got a bit of spare time to themselves and they're at home alone?"
Peahen:
"What are you doing to me, Dive?"
"What do you call 30 chavs at the bottom of a cliff? A start."
"Chav: lots of running gear, but not much running going on"
"The pic of Ame bending down to photograph the horseshit is a classic!"
Monsieur Benaut:
"What ever happened to the bloody von Trapp family and the lonely goatherd?"
"That's MY tiara and I won it fair and square!"
Mme. Benaut:
"Crikey!"
Dick Headley:
"French people and faggots."
Spinsterella:
"That's the best bit of swearing I've seen"
For sheer volume and outrageousness, this month's comments prize has to go to:
Dear Prudence:
"Harem huh! That would indicate you would chose one of us each evening to be your companion for the night. Now go ahead Dive, step in the middle of that big cat fight! Hee Hee!"
"Mix your own and peddle them to weemen!"
"Robyn, put the fork and spoons down and back away from the counter!"
"I downloaded Chicken Pussy."
"Everyone needs a firm hand now and again!"
"Rubbing in a circular motion!"
"A tall girl is always worth the climb."
"Did you get a big tent in your pants?"
"Cupping the peepee!"
Over and out.
Yaaaaay!
Old Dive's self-indulgent amble through the first year of the Small Glass Planet reaches February, 2007: Crazy Ame Hits Town!
The Santa Clara Tornado hit Olde London Town and a splendid time was had by all.Check out the link above to see the sights with our sunny California Girl.
I also posted a pretty travelogue of my lovely old home city.
Part 1 and Part 2 if anyone's thinking of visiting.
February also saw my lovely and very personal assistant, 外人ガール inveigle me into experimenting with wasabi chocolate. Yikes!
So let's kick off this nostalgia-fest with some good old ranting.Dive was feeling particularly vituperative on Valentine's Day.
Here's the result:
"Ugh!
Yet another Hallmark Shareholders' Smirk Like A Twat Day.
A day when I'm filled with hatred and bile toward a disgusting capitalist shithole of a company that thrives on people's guilt.
Every year sees yet more spurious Hallmark Days where we are suddenly made to feel like uncaring or uncharitable asswipes unless we cough up and pay the cock-faced Hallmark tax.
Fucking hypocritical, profiteering, wank-brained, manipulative, thieving, shit-headed, emotionally blackmailing cocksuckers!
I make no apologies for the swearfest as it's been thirty years to the day since I received a genuine Valentine's Day card and I'm in a right strop.
I'm going to go home and slam all the doors."
My other favourite post from that month was another of my über-pedantic harangues on the abuse of the English language, which included:
"… Which brings my somewhat addled, Sunday-morning brain round to etymology. To the derivations of words. And way back in time to the first person who pointed to a hippopotamus after a long night's drinking and named it.
As my long term blog-sufferers know, I have a real bug up my ass about the use of language.
This resulted - some years ago - in the only letter of protest I have ever written to the BBC.
I was watching the news one night and the BBC's Washington correspondent (at that time the windmill-armed, jug-eared buffoon Andrew Marr) uttered the non-word "normalcy".
NOT IN THE CONTEXT OF A QUOTE!
I recall leaping off the sofa, spuffling and sputtering with indignant rage.
This was the BBC for goodness sake! We expect standards! We expect BBC English! What we do NOT expect is a BBC news correspondent speaking gibberish! The BBC's motto is NOT "Nation Shall Speak Gibberish Unto Nation".
At least it wasn't the last time I looked …
And so I rattled off a furious epistle to the Beeb, explaining the derivation of this obscenity and demanding summary execution for Marr (a course of action regrettably not followed).
This linguistic excresence had first tumbled clumsily out of the mouth of one Warren Gamaliel Harding, twenty-ninth President of our lamentably lost colonies and the man who started the appalling avalanche of ignorance that has culminated in the present incumbent of that office being unable even to pronounce his middle initial: namely the monumentally incompetent George Walker Bush.
Even in Harding's own day his call for a "return to normalcy" was derided; not for its intent, but for its linguistic gaucherie.
Here is e.e.cummings on Harding's passing in 1923:
"The only man, woman or child who wrote a simple declarative sentence with seven grammatical errors is dead."
And H.L Mencken:
"He writes the worst English that I have ever encountered. It reminds me of a string of wet sponges; it reminds me of tattered washing on the line; it reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it. It drags itself out of the dark abysm of pish, and crawls insanely up the topmost pinnacle of posh. It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash."
Splendid!
The thing that most bugs me about "normalcy" however, is that the word itself encourages ignorance; it actually forces human intelligence to take a step backward.
"Normality" - the word Harding's floundering mind must have been groping for - is of course derived from the French "normalité". Not much of a leap there.
After the Norman conquest, a vast word-hoard of French was absorbed into the English language; already a melting pot of Celtic, Breton, Saxon and many others, with Latin as the written norm.
Language is a living thing and it evolves with usage, but the basic meaning of any word is revealed through its etymology. You can trace its roots back through English, French, Latin, Greek, whatever; eventually - in our case - to Indo-Aryan (I won't go into essay-length expostition here as you'd all bugger off down the pub).
When a word such as "normality/normalité" is altered, through ignorance or design, it loses part of its meaning. It has taken a step toward becoming a mere abstract symbol. An arbitrary amalgam of sounds to which nobody other than the person who produced it can attach any meaning.
This is the road to chaos. And it would render the Times Crossword even more mind-buggeringly difficult than it is.
The first words were felt as much as spoken. Burroughs posits that the first words were "sex" words and he could well be right. Some were undoubtably onomatopœic; hunter-gatherer words echoing the sounds of the world around them. The Indo-Aryan word "Ma" for mother occurs in almost all languages, whether they are connected or not. What I'm trying to put across here is that words that have evolved and adapted naturally still retain their essential meanings.
Neologisms: new words for new concepts are continually being brought into existence; the common example being John Logie Baird's coining of the term "television", from the Greek "tele" for "distant, and the Latin "visio" for "seeing". Some people even more pedantic than me insist that neologisms should only be formed from the same language roots, but even - like television - if they are not, then, like all naturally evolved words, some idea of their meaning can be still gauged from their roots.
The French suffixes "…ité" and "…cy" have historially derived and separate usages. Confusing them merely creates confusion and the nuance of meaning is lost.
Having said that, dicking around with language is great fun. It is what writers and poets do. It is what the kid down the street does.
Language moves forward; meaning is refined and even redefined. This is a good thing. I myself have even been party to linguistic debauchery, having once been caught using the word "party" as a verb (yikes)!
"Normalcy" when used by a bumbling President is funny; when used by the BBC - arbiters of the English Language - it is a crime against reason. An irrevocable step down the path to ignorance. They now use it with alarming frequency; proof positive that accusations of their "dumbing down" are well founded.
Twats.
Okay. Mister Pedantic can go back in his box now. Just don't use "normalcy" around me unless you want a slap."
And sticking with the subject of language; I've said it before and I'll say it again:
English.
In England we speak English.
It is our native language.
We do NOT speak "International English" as the ignorant twats at Microsoft are deluded enough to think.
Listen up, Gates, you fucking moron:
There is "English" (spoken in England),
"American English" as mangled in the colonies,
and regional varieties such as "Australian, Kiwi, Indian or Canadian English".
As an Englishman I become apoplectic with rage when my fucking computer puts a red line under the word "colour".
Cease and desist or old Dive will get mediæval (that diphthong is called a 'ligature', you dumb fucks and it is required to correctly spell 'mediæval') on your asses!
Just so you know.
Also I love the word "diphthong".
Like all old folk I love complaining.
Today I'm complaining about "American English"; back in February I was fulminating about old ladies' wee and a whole lot more.
Including this …
February was a stunningly good month for strange-o comments from you bunch of reprobates. Here are some of my favourites:
Robyn:
"Chicken Pussy?"
"I kind of like having the image of Daphne Ellis Rubbernoids in my head."
"You know how much I love it"
Sassy:
"Here are mine. They're kind of silly."
"I'm a sleeze ball. Wanna see my gold chain?"
"Fuckity fucking fuck"
"My stomach just flipped."
"Of course, I had blisters like you wouldn't believe."
Rich:
"Ah, the broken heart of a man can only be mended by the soft hands of a young woman handing him a free latte."
"I absolutely LOVE Hillary's pant suits"
Vic:
"What about learning accordion?"
"I'm just rubbing it now."
Kate:
"Aussies are strange."
"Earrings and pants suits and cock rings - oh my."
"London has pink cabs? I want one."
"We have the big penis, you have its testicle."
"I'm such a blonde sometimes, aren't I?"
Ame:
"SHUT UP, RICH!"
" SHUT UP, DIVEY BOY!"
"DIVEY BOY...you're FULL of it!"
"I really should be polishing my fur-lined sink! "
"HEY! You forgot the handcuffs!!!!"
"LOVIES & KISSIES and Baps & Pee-Pees!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
"BAPS and PEEPEES you never looked so GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"
"SHUT UP, KNUDDIE!"
Lynn:
"You clicked on Dive to make him biggy? Disgusting."
"Nobody but nobody is called fucking Rubbernoids (yes Lynn said fuck)!"
Old Kundsen:
"I only expect a ring from you, a cock ring."
"The Greeks … A dirty people."
Gaijin Girl:
"Bring on the hatred and bile."
"We so need to sort you a shag."
"Hahaha, that's the funniest thing you've ever said."
"Baby, you made me burn. I'm Green and Black all over."
"You big spunk."
Fresh Hell:
"I named a dog Cooder after Ry Cooder" Now THAT's cool!
"I can talk to some aquaintences about selling your soul..."
The Lovely Betty:
"Who needs to visit Thailand or New Zealand when you can go to Norwich?" er … Me?
"What is it that men do when they've got a bit of spare time to themselves and they're at home alone?"
Peahen:
"What are you doing to me, Dive?"
"What do you call 30 chavs at the bottom of a cliff? A start."
"Chav: lots of running gear, but not much running going on"
"The pic of Ame bending down to photograph the horseshit is a classic!"
Monsieur Benaut:
"What ever happened to the bloody von Trapp family and the lonely goatherd?"
"That's MY tiara and I won it fair and square!"
Mme. Benaut:
"Crikey!"
Dick Headley:
"French people and faggots."
Spinsterella:
"That's the best bit of swearing I've seen"
For sheer volume and outrageousness, this month's comments prize has to go to:
Dear Prudence:
"Harem huh! That would indicate you would chose one of us each evening to be your companion for the night. Now go ahead Dive, step in the middle of that big cat fight! Hee Hee!"
"Mix your own and peddle them to weemen!"
"Robyn, put the fork and spoons down and back away from the counter!"
"I downloaded Chicken Pussy."
"Everyone needs a firm hand now and again!"
"Rubbing in a circular motion!"
"A tall girl is always worth the climb."
"Did you get a big tent in your pants?"
"Cupping the peepee!"
Over and out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)