A Stencilled Rat Writes

Okay, dweebs. The Blue Rubber Cat has hijacked Dive's blog again and asked me to keep an eye on the dork while he's shopping in London.
"Not only does he stick his hand up my arse" the Cat told me, "but he's done a post on going shopping! SHOPPING! … First it was Tiffany Lamps, then fucking spice racks, then ironing, ferChrissakes! Keep an eye on that fucker. I don't want him coming home in a dress."

So here I am, Banksy's Rat. Your guest blogger for today. Dive has walked past me thousands of times over the years, but this time I'm following the fucker.

So what's the first thing he does? Goes to see Big Gay Alex for a haircut.
Big Gay Alex likes to giggle and say "Going down, sir?" when he pumps that stupid hydraulic chair of his. Today we learn that Alex is thinking of getting married.
Holy Crap! I pity to poor bastard who marries him. I mean he's BIG! Like American Fat! (Note from the Blue Rubber Cat: I'm gonna have to trademark that phrase after all the hilarious whining the Yanks did after Dive first used it) That guy wears his mumu skin tight. If he rolls over in bed it's Goodnight Vienna. One "Squish" and it's all over.

So anyway, when he comes outta there he heads over St.James's Park. We're having some serious weather here; floods, storms, tornados, plagues of locusts, the lot. So this is St.James's Park at lunchtime in July.
Note to Robyn: Bring a brolly when you come over.

Even The Mall ain't exactly thronged with tourists. Though the "fucking huge flag" salesman seems to have had a good day.

So then Dive disappears into the Royal Academy to look at the Summer Exhibition, which he says is seriously good fun except the stupid bastard checked his camera with the security folk instead of smuggling it in so all we get to see are Jake and Dinos Chapman's outsized Kiddies' Dinosaurs in the courtyard. My money's on the T Rex.

And then he emptied a couple of Japanese supermarkets of all their stock for his party tonight and staggered back across the city, just in time to get caught in this huge thunderstorm.
Boring fucking shopping.

Bring back the ranting I say.

A Blue Rubber Cat Writes

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.

We Have a Winner

… And it's MB, from sunny Adelaide.
Congratulations, MB. Your prize is to be able to wear a smug grin all day.

Sassy almost got there (two guesses is kinda cheating), but the rest of you were way off. Shame on you.

Okerly Dokerly.
Let's go through the answers. Swap papers and mark the person's sitting next to you so there's no more cheating.

1. When I was little, I used to feed cheese to my toy cars.

Damned right! For a toddler, it's a logical leap: I like cheese, therefore my toy cars will like it, too.
So I stuffed their little engine compartments full of stinky yellow goodness to make them go faster … or so I've been told.

2. I know how to get cattle to follow me anywhere.

I kinda hoped this would throw you, but it didn't (other than Sassy).
Hey, I'm from Norfolk farming stock. It's easy (though sadly, not rude).
Just wet your hand and stick it in a sack of milk powder, then jam it into a cow's mouth.
Said cow will follow you ANYWHERE, and the rest of the herd will tag along to see what the fuss is about. Be warned, though: your hand will receive a serious and yucky slobbering (she won't bite you).
The hard part, once you've got 'em where you want 'em to go, is getting your hand back.

3. My dining room is guarded by a blue rubber cat.

Meet Stouffer, my blue rubber cat (below, in Dive's rather familiar dining room).

click the pic for a bigger scary blue rubber cat

He's a hand puppet from Harry Hill's stage show and is great for frightening children.
For a bet with Mikey, I once travelled all the way to work wearing him. Right across London in the rush hour and everyone ignored me except one woman on the tube who cracked up when Stouffer gave her the eye.

4. In my guitar collection is a limited edition "Hello Kitty" Fender Stratocaster.

Bingo!
I was dicking around with one in a music shop yesterday morning and ALMOST bought it. It's so cool! Bright pink, with a big Hello Kitty right across it, and pink fret markers. I just want to take it on stage and freak the band out.
So, as I was too damned sensible to buy it, this one's the false answer.

5. I own a collection of Marxist crockery.

For starters there's a Che mug on the table by Stouffer.
I've got lots of socialist mugs and other crockery knick-knacks. Why Robyn should think there's no such thing as Marxist crockery is something only an American could answer.
I've got Marx and Lenin and Trotsky of course, through China, Nicaragua, Cuba, European Marxists, South and Central American, like Paulo Friere and good old Augusto Sandinho (mad as a chocolate hat and a useless revolutionary, but he kicked Yankee butt, so he gets my vote … The Sandanistas are named after him and Woody Allen used him as an inspiration for "Bananas", as the ultimate crap revolutionary). Shedloads of Cuban stuff; the list goes on …
WHY I should accumulate all this crap is anybody's guess.

So. Congratulations once again to MB.
Bonzer, cobber!

Tagged By A Guitar-Playing Dyke

Dammit!
I knew one of the Aussies would wreak revenge for my Australia Day comment on Old Knudsen's site.
Thank you, Vic. I am duly tagged.

It's the classic meme of:
"Five Things You Don't Know About Me (Only Four Of Which are True) … and Which One's Not True?"

1. When I was little, I used to feed cheese to my toy cars.

2. I know how to get cattle to follow me anywhere.

3. My dining room is guarded by a blue rubber cat.

4. In my guitar collection is a limited edition "Hello Kitty" Fender Stratocaster.

5. I own a collection of Marxist crockery.

So: which of the above is NOT true?

And I know that memes are corny, so I'll save Robyn and Sassy the embarrassment (actually, I think Vic has tagged Sassy already), and I shall tag those two overexcitable children, Lynn and Ame. Go for it, girls.