Tales of nonsense and items of little interest, sometimes true, always poorly thought through. Less sophisticated than most newspapers and magazines.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Where's Waring?

The Waring Family has relocated. The last three months have been busy and stressful to say the least. The Bay Area real estate market is fuckin' astronomically expensive and we are finally moving into our new home in about a week.

I will be back in a week or two. Until then, continue to blog amongst yourselves.

Friday, July 4, 2008

This Little Piggy Went To.....?

As you know, I loves me a tale of the unexpected. An oddity, something or someone, an event or happening of such singularity that many might find disturbing or just not worth their time are things upon which I waste most of mine. A story in today's weird news section caught my eye and is worthy of mention.

First off, if I was going to go get me a dog, I think I would be going to get me a miniature dachshund. I'm not someone particularly attracted by the cuteness factor of animals but these little buggers are as cute as they come. Known as "sausage dogs" in England they appear to be the ideal dog to torment while they sleep. Small and not particularly agile, they look like they would be a good dog to tickle and poke with straws without fear of being savaged if they got angry.

Anyway, there is one less miniature dachshund in the world today after an Illinois woman had hers put down because it ate her big toe while she was asleep. Roscoe, the dog, was euthanized because of safety concerns when the woman awoke after a nap on Monday to find her big toe missing. The 56 year old diabetic had no nerve feeling in her toes and slept soundly while Roscoe nibbled away. The dog it seems had been attracted to the toe which had been bandaged due to a healing hangnail.

Cute but don't fuck with them while they eat

So I have questions. Once they had offed Roscoe, where they able to retrieve the toe from his little tummy and re-attach it to it's owner? Did they find the toe in one of Roscoe's little turds out in the garden and re-attach it? I don't understand why they had to put him down. It's not his fault, he must have been hungry. Perhaps there were no kibbles and bits left in his little bowl and in an attempt to wake his sleeping owner he began licking her toes and just got a bit carried away. He didn't know that she had no feeling in them and since she didn't kick him away why would he not eat the toe?

Diabetes isn't funny but dogs eating the toes of diabetics while they sleep is. Precautions should have been taken like wearing socks or slippers which might have prevented this from happening. Also it might be an idea to find a food that you dog does not like (this can be challenging) and use it to keep the dog away from your nerve damaged body parts. For instance, our dog, although he enjoys most foods, does not like the chips from McDonalds so if I had nerve damaged toes and were intent on napping barefoot I would probably place a chip between each toe and scotch tape some to the soles of my feet, thus preventing him from eating any part of my foot.

Another victim. This man's toes were eaten by his hamster, Ice Cube.

Lastly, I can only imagine the shock of waking from a nice restful nap to find that your big toe has gone missing. It would take a moment or two to sink in. What reasonable explanation could there be? It just fell off and rolled under the bed? Had the high value of big toes on the black market sparked an increase in theft? I'm not sure that "the dog ate it" would be the first conclusion I would jump to.

This lass has the right idea. If you must eat toes,
eat your own....topless (does not apply to dogs, blokes or kids.)

Further research on this story has found that the woman also suffered from neuropathy, was legally blind in one eye and cannot walk had returned from a camping trip (?) with her family the previous day and no doubt shagged out by the ordeal of being fetched, carried and pushed around in a wheelchair for 3 days decided to take a nap. She awoke to see the dogs head moving up and down and upon realizing what was occurring called her daughter.

"It's hard to take in when you walk in a room and there's a dog eating your mom," her daughter said, sobbing. ".... I didn't think when I went in there I was going to see that." Well... who would?

You can read the story, if you wish, here.

I am developing an idea for a whole new line of doggie treats.

Saturday, June 28, 2008

More Smoothness

It has become apparent to me that airports and airplanes are popular hunting grounds for single man trying to find a mate. In my last post I told you about the sad bastard hitting on a poor female on a plane. Last night I was witness to yet another attempt to by a man to "get him some." This time it was much less painful for the victims as this guy had no game whatsoever. It was over in a matter of seconds. I did feel a bit sorry for the lad, a middle aged black fella who I had earlier seen talking to three cops by the security checkpoint. Either he had aroused their suspicions and was being questioned about his behaviour or he was simply trying to preempt any possible suspicion they may have by being cordial to them. I don't know.

Anyway, I'm sitting at the gate trying to get through some emails and I notice the girl sat opposite me is reading a copy of Einstein: His Life And Universe. The black lad has noticed her too and sits down two seats away from her, leans across and taps her on the shoulder. "Excuse me" he says, "how is the book?" She seems a little surprised but smiles and replies "oh....it's quite good, I haven't read much yet, only got it yesterday."
"Hmmm....really? I almost bought it you know. I'm fascinated by great minds like his" he says. "Yes, he really was incredible. I couldn't make my mind up but eventually I bought Sting's autobiography instead." !!!!!!!!!!!!
What the fuck? He is fascinated by great minds yet has trouble deciding between Einstein and Sting??? I had to bite my lip to stop myself laughing.
The girl looks horrified and excuses herself to go to the shitter, no doubt to read in peace until the boarding call.
The lad then looks around and see's an older lady sitting a couple of seats to the other side of him. "Hi" he says. "I see you have a medical pre-board pass there........"

Poor bastard.

The Original Line Up of The Police. Not enough
room for two genius'. Albert left for an unsuccessful
solo career.

Friday, June 13, 2008

A Proper Smooth Bastard

Have you ever been witness to the feeble attempts by one of your fellow humans to pick up a member of the opposite sex? It can be amusing, sad, infuriating, uncomfortable....many things. I choose to look upon these situations as life lessons. Where did the lad go wrong? What did he do that worked? Was it his body language? Was it the overpowering scent of his Brut 33 or the overpowering scent of desperation? I often want to provide feedback, not that I am an expert - I have been out of the game for too long but as a man of science I feel that I have something to offer. Sometimes I would simply like to shake his hand and congratulate him on a job well done or offer a knowing nod and a wink. Other times, it's hard to even look him or his choice of mate in the eye such is my shame at being a man.

Yes, the mating ritual can be frustrating. Unlike many of our animal friends, there is no set way of doing it. No brightly coloured under wing feathers to display as we strut around, our heads cocked slightly to one side while we produce a low rumbling sound in our throats. I have on occasion tried the strutting around, head cocked/throat rumbling method myself but with very limited success. It turns out that this kind of behaviour is not really welcome at the local "Thai Relaxing Spa & Massage" and I was asked politely but firmly to "reave". Obviously the brightly coloured under wing plumage is the key.

No, it isn't that easy for us humans. Our females are, in most cases, a little more sophisticated. Generally it takes more than puffing out our chests and dancing around on one leg to attract a woman. Put another way, any woman who is attracted to men who puff out their chests and dance around on one leg is probably not the most alluring or desirable. She has probably been fooled by such displays before, only to find that although a man who can puff out his chest and dance around on one leg is, in his own way, talented. It is a talent not generally exhibited by a caring lover or a companion for life. Nevertheless, she has failed to learn and in an attempt to find a father for her young, returns every Saturday night to the local mating ground known as Xenon to check out the talent strutting their stuff.

Dancing though, can of course be a powerful factor in the science of attraction. Lads who can dance are more likely to tap off with a watching female than those operating on the bar - toilet - bar principle. I prefer to take elements of the two and when combined with my charming and witty conversation, the results can be effective but only if the 'bar' part of the equation is <= the charm and wit, dancing can be equal to or greater than the charm and wit although MUST be greater than but not equal to the toilet piece in order to prove my point. Are you still with me?

I was recently witness to a very determined effort to pick up a female of the species on a Southwest flight. First of all, despite the limited dancing room and a restricted supply of alcohol there is an unfair advantage to the male, this is not a level playing field. The poor victim really has no way to escape, especially on a full flight such as this. The only respite from his advances would be a trip to the toilet and that can only be stretched so far. Any longer than 5 minutes in an aircraft shitter and the flight attendants will come to make sure you are not tampering with the smoke detector. So, I'm sitting in my usual seat and this fairly attractive lady in her 40's (I would guess?) sits next to me in the middle seat. This is a rare event (as I have spoken about before) but next to me she does indeed sit. I smile and before I can say "Hi!" this lad says to her "Mind if join you for the ride?" Now I had seen him already take a seat a couple of rows away and so he had obviously been waiting for her to choose a seat so that he could pounce. She says "Umm, well no I don't mind..." What else was she to say? So he sits down next to her in the aisle seat. Straight away I notice the tatty, dog eared paperback in his hands entitled "The Art of Loving". JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!! I'm not sure if I should applaud this tactic or laugh. He should have gone the whole hog and worn a t-shirt that said "Only Animals Wear Fur" and a pink breast cancer ribbon on his lapel. By the way, he fucks around with this book the whole flight, flicking through the pages, finger drumming on the cover until she finally gives in and asks what he is reading. I would guarantee that he has never read beyond the synopsis on the back but he replies "Oh...this, yeah a fascinating book. I took a psychology class and was supposed to read this but never did. I finally decided I should at least check it out. It really helps you understand what love is all about, not just between a man and a woman but between friends and family too." Well what a sensitive, beautiful human being you must be.... how can any woman resist a man sooo in touch with his feelings that he is willing to read a book about how to express love. I spent the flight trying not to appear to eavesdrop but silently repeating his lines so as not to forget them. Who knows, some day I might need them? Here are the ones I can remember:

  • Oh you're Jewish? You know I was the only Jew in my high school...
  • Do you like theater? Me too, what was the last play you saw?....Oh, I don't know that one...Oh community theater, well yes, community theater is the best. They are all excellent....Well no, not all of them, some are excellent and some are just good, I would say its about 50/50....
  • Hey look at that cloud...doesn't it look like an angel?
  • So, you have family in East LA? I lived there for a time, I had a choice, I could either be a cholo or get out so I got out....
  • Me too...I love yoga, I was taking classes for a while but I had to stop because I was becoming obsessed with it and decided to start Tae Kwon Do instead....I might start again though. Where do you take classes?
  • I'm divorced and thank god we didn't have kids....You're divorced too? Was it difficult?....Well yeah, we are still friends too, that's important because you never know....
  • To the flight attendant "Is the water still or sparkling? Still? Hmm....can I get a slice of lemon with it? No lemons? Okay, then a diet coke....no ice. You're the best! Thanks! Turning to the victim "I just have to have lemon in my water - it helps my skin... go on feel my face..."
  • What's your name? Ahhh Olivia.....The Twelfth Night..... You know?....Shakespeare?
  • Oh Redwood City? I drive by there every night....sometimes if the traffic is bad I stop off for coffee....
On and on it went, this poor girl politely indulging him with the patience of a saint. Maybe she was flattered or just glad to pass the time. Finally as we landed and taxied to the gate he told her she had been a lot of fun to talk to and asked if she had a business card. She didn't immediately answer him as she was pulling her bag out from under the seat and all of a sudden he seemed to panic. Time was ticking and his chances would be few. He asked her again, a little more impatient this time and she said she was sorry but no she didn't. He looked completely dejected for a moment but after getting his bag out of the storage bin recovered his composure and tried a full on attack "Do you have a ride home? I can give you a ride if not, I'm going that way anyway." I noticed he was tapping his car keys on his bag, no doubt to display the somewhat fanny magnet-ish Audi key ring. She politely declined saying that her father was picking her up. Again he looked like he had seen his own arse. This time I think she felt sorry for him and said "Why don't you give me your number?" His face lit up and he stuttered his name and number along with some lame 'Don't be afraid to leave a message if I don't answer.." Obvious call screener..

As we deplaned, I was right behind her and he was a few people up ahead, she turned to me with a smile and said "You know....you could have jumped in at any time there..." I laughed and said "I didn't think he needed my help."

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Is There Anybody Out There?

I have neglected my blog of late. I'm surprised (and somewhat disappointed) that the squatters haven't moved in and turned it into a dirty porno site or something. I also thought Blogger might take it away from me since it was apparently abandoned, but I don't get away that easy. I'm going to try and be a better blogger. By "better" I mean post more often, not actually be better at blogging. No, like as not you are stuck with the same old poo jokes, stories of misfortune and sometimes foolish bravado. It's been a long couple of months, if you have any sense you left long ago, never came back and so are not even reading this. Ready? Comb your hair, pull yer pants back up and stick th'kettle on....

Now I have always been wary of the Swiss and their claims of neutrality. If they are so neutral why do they need to arm themselves with multi-functional knives? It may be one of the richest countries in the world but it is hardly rich in the natural resources an enemy might covet. Admittedly, I know little about Switzerland but I do know that I cannot remember ever hearing about the price for a barrel of crude cuckoo clocks or toblerone's reaching all time highs and affecting the global economy. One thing that I will give the Swiss is they know how to make a good Swiss Cheese, my 15th favorite cheese (I will post about the other 14 another time).

If I were that way inclined and were looking for a good piece of cheese to have sex with, Swiss would be the one since it already has the holes, half the work is already done for you. True, you may need to do a little modification and enlarge the holes slightly (yet another use for your Swiss Army knife) but all in all there would be considerably less mess to clean up afterwards. I'm wondering if there is a name for people who like to have it off with cheese. There must be one for food fetishists although I have no idea what it is, why would I? I don't mess with cheese although I was once slightly aroused whilst peeling some carrots in the nude and who doesn't get embarrassed when eating a banana in public?
I do have to admit that I can see how someone might get drawn into this kind of thing, the excitement of shopping at the supermarket, browsing furtively for just the right piece, not too many holes - it might crumble, good weight, nice firm feel to it. Adrenalin pumping you take a quick look around, has anyone noticed? That fat bald twat of a deli manager seems to be watching you out of the corner of his eye. Does he know? No, he can't....Maybe he does it too? Can't be the only one, must be millions of us.... Right, nice bottle of wine....Have the right change ready for the girl at the checkout for a quick getaway...Why is she smiling like that? Shit, she's onto me...What if I do buy a lot of Swiss Cheese? It's nutty and delicious and a treat to eat....Getting nervous, blushing, sweating, hard on, can't stop thinking about it....lovely cheese, me and you alone, fuck 'em, I don't care if they do know, I'll shop at Whole Foods from now on... Fuck though, it's much more expensive and kind of out of my way and there's always a long line but I must have you.... The wife, the kids, the job...all gone, all for you....See what you are doing to me? I'm gonna learn ya, ya dirty little fucker. Wait 'til I get you in the car.....

Then you get spotted with your dick in a piece of cheese by the young retarded lass that Safeway gets to use for free ('cause it's "work experience") to collect the trolleys from the car park and she starts screaming 'cause she's confused and a crowd gathers round, the bobby's come and take you away with the cheese in a zip lock bag, exhibit A. You make the front page of the local paper and have to register as a sex offender although no one got hurt and all the local kids throw Dairylea triangles at your house and call you Mayor McCheese.... Was it really worth it? Ostracized, an outcast, a pariah, it's all over.

I bet you love it in every hole don't you, you filthy slut

You can see all that happening right?
What were you expecting after almost 2 months without a post?

Saturday, April 12, 2008

It's Official....

Sweaty arses are IN.... They must be given the number of people looking for them on the internet these days. So far this year "Sweaty Arse" is the number 1 search term used by visitors to the LB.
No fewer than 25 people you would not want to have coffee with have found this blog by using "sweaty arse" in their Google search. LB comes in at #6 on Google and it is my aim to make it #1, hopefully by mentioning sweaty arse as much as possible in this post.

Russell Grant - Makes His Own Soup

It's not just the 25 hits that I got from "Sweaty Arse" though, it's all the related searches that confirm the current frenzy over musky moisture in the crack region. Here they are to back up my argument...
Arse Sweat
Avoid Crack Sweat
Sweat Arse
Sweaty Arse Crack
Big Sweaty Arse
Help For Crack Sweat
Stop Sweaty Arse
Less Sweating On Arse
Hot Sweaty Arse Crack
Sweaty Arse.Com


How To Stop Crack Sweat
How To Stop a Sweaty Arse
Sweat Crack
Sweaty Arse Fucking
Sweaty Arse, Cunt
Sweaty Balls Sweaty Arse

Wear Yer Wellies....

Now as regular readers will know, I am no hypocrite. I would not make fun of nor mock the afflicted in a desperate attempt to hide my own sadness or mask my own shortcomings. For most of us who are honest and married with no need to try to attract members of the opposite sex, a sweaty arse is an occasional irritant. There is no point hiding it or denying it. We all know because we suffer too. Every labourer, every desk jockey sat in a shiny vinyl office chair, every hardworking doctor, nurse, pizza delivery person and plumber, pregnant housewife and peanut vendor, politician and panty thief gets the odd sweaty arse. Especially when the weather warms up a tad (like today). And what about the humidity? Talcum powder sales in Tennessee must go through the roof in summer. Chafing must be rife. Don't hide from it people, be loud, be proud, stick your bare sweaty arse out of the window and yell "I itch like hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" Don't worry, the cops will understand, in a recent US Weekly survey cops were named as having the sweatiest arses amongst all of the emergency services. Border Patrol agents in New Mexico were second, Coastguard helicopter pilots third.

Finding the cure for a sweaty arse is like trying to find a pube in an afro or a funny joke in a Larry The Cable Guy special. It's never going to happen. Get real. Don't waste your time, go and sit in the kid's inflatable pool with a six pack and a copy of The Enquirer, educate yourself. Live a little, treat yourself to some silk undies, sateen if you are poor, avoid cotton and spicy foods.

I cannot close this post without mentioning my two favourite search terms this week, they are "Hot balls, frequent urine" and "See her tits in funkytown". I'm ecstatic that these folks found my site in their search for masturbatory pleasure and hope that before they quickly left the site, they at least scratched their heads and said to themselves "What the fuck....?"

The question I have is are their any of you still out there, reading today who found this blog by way of your search for info on your perspiring posterior and stayed? It's unlikely as the bounce rate was 89% and most visitors to LB don't come back ever again....fucking quitters.

One final thing, how can I do a post about about sweaty arses without this.....

You Know You Want It........

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Superhero Streetfight

Once again, our filthy Hollywood "street entertainers" in their ragged, stained and in all likelihood stolen costumes are keeping things real down on the boulevard. Many millions of tourists hit Hollywood Boulevard every year expecting to see movie stars and/or be discovered by a director out scouting for the next big thing. It's more likely that they will see a mentally ill, piss soaked specimen who claims to be Clark Gable and yells at traffic and/or be offered some free "headshots" that it turns out, require you to be naked and an animal lover.

I have written before about the anti-climax that is Hollywood Boulevard. Store after store selling the same cheap, tacky t-shirts that shrink after one wash, plastic Oscar statues that proclaim the unimpressed receiver "World's Best Tea Drinker" and postcards with pictures of stars taken 10 years ago. To the credit of the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce, they have spruced it up a bit but if you ask me, the best thing they could do would be to get rid of the star impersonators. The impersonators themselves, like to be called '"actors", what they really are is "out of work actors". I was there last week and there were no less than 3 Capt. Jack Sparrow 's all vying for the tourists money by having their pictures taken with a very confused kid. I did not see Chewbacca, he has not been there the last few times I have been by, quite possible incarcerated due to his antics recorded here and here

The latest incident that I am aware of, and I don't know when this was recorded, has Spiderman and Batman attacking some guy for reasons that are not clear. This video has given me an idea for a new attraction down on Hollywood Blvd. Rent one of the many shuttered and closed down stores, put a wrestling ring inside and some seating and charge tourists to come in and watch Ultimate Celebrity Fighting. I am sure that I could easily get $10 per person, maybe 50 people per show, 8 shows per day. That's 4 grand per day, open 7 days...28 grand per week minus rent, wages and operating expenses ( a mop, some disinfectant and band-aids) I could probably clear about 15k a week. Not to mention the merchandising, tacky t-shirt sales, dvd's and plastic Oscar statues.... This time next year Rodders we'll be millionaires...


Just What The Doctor Ordered....(me not to eat)

Lovely.... What a great start to the day. Nothing says Sunday morning like a frying pan full of sausages. Not the weak Americano kind, no, Farmer John can kiss my hairy English arse. These are the kind of sausages that made Britain Great. It's a little documented fact that Sir Geoff Hurst ate a plateful before scoring a hat-trick to defeat the Germans in the 1966 World Cup Final and what did he do right after the game? That's right, he had some more but this time on toast with Daddies Sauce.

It's no wonder that the European Union tried to restrict the contents of British sausages. Several of the other member nations reportedly filed a complaint that the sausages gave us Brits an unfair advantage in the marketplace. The UN have so far refused to intervene, mainly because Kofi Annan enjoys 2 or 3 with some Heinz Baked Beans and a slice of fried bread for his tea on Fridays.

I like to think that eating sausages has made me the strapping, virile man I am today, few who know me would argue. Even Mrs. Waring admitted, before rushing out of the kitchen (presumably to masturbate) that she was extremely turned on by the sight of me, in my string vest and best Sunday boxer shorts standing turning the sausages in the pan. I made a mental note that the next time our sex life gets a bit stale to throw a few in the pan and suggest doing it in the kitchen while they cook. On second thoughts though, that might not be such a wise decision, I might begin to associate the smell of cooking sausages with sex. It's hard enough not to be self conscious while eating one, olfactory stimulation might just be a bridge to far... Maybe the answer is to cook them in advance then just pretend to cook them while she watches through a hole in a piece of plywood.

All this talk of sex is making me hungry....

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Dinner For One

Tonights choice of curry house turned out to be a poor one. After getting off work at 7pm, I was hungry and didn't fancy the old stand by, a bag of Funyuns and some big cans of beer.
I have been trying to eat well and lately have been stopping by Safeways to pick up some salad or some cooked chicken. I didn't feel like that though and since I am still 0 of 8 towards my free deli sandwich (0 of 8 what? Million dollars?) I am boycotting them until they lower the bar on their BS free sandwich gimmick. I must have been in that fuckin' store 10 times over the past 5 weeks and I still only have 0 of 8 towards my free sandwich. They don't even specify what 'kind' of free sandwich you get. Is it pimento loaf? If it is I don't want it as I don't care for pimento loaf. Jam would be preferable but it probably wouldn't be that good. I have been tempted to call the 800 number to clear things up but I'm not sure it would be worth the hold time listening to some shite soft jazz version of Love On The Rocks. Do I actually have a choice of free sandwich? I wouldn't think so. They have, I am sure, a large pile of ready made sandwiches piled high with the end bits from a loaf of processed, compressed chicken parts that they couldn't sell. In fact, I'm not sure I even want my free sandwich, should I ever atain the "Diamond Elite" level of Safeway Club membership that allows me to claim it. Maybe the cash equivalent (0.0001 cents) would be more edible.

So, I decided on the other old stand by, a curry. Foolishly I passed up a curry house that I know to perfectly good in favour of an untried establishment which I failed to notice until I left, was located next to a feed store. In I go, it looked okay, it was clean and didn't smell much. There was nobody else there which is always a good sign because it means that the service is quick. I order a big Kingfisher and some lamb dish, taar something or other. When it arrived, quickly, the first couple of mouthfulls were rapidly washed down with the Kingfisher. This was going to be a long meal. I usually don't mind spicy, hot flavourful food. This however was the hottest, sourest, stuff I have ever tasted. I sat there with sweat running down my brow as I ate. I looked like a dog chewing a caramel. I know because I caught sight of myself in the classy mirrorred wall that I was facing. While watching myself eat, I noticed that behind me was a bar with a TV in the corner. The waiter was watching a show on Animal Planet in which a dog appeared to be having it's spleen removed. Nice! I don't even know for sure if dogs have spleens. If they don't, maybe that's why this one was on telly and the waiter was so interested in watching it. It may have been a miracle dog....

So, it was a tough meal and the first time in my life that I have been unable to finish a curry. I think that I should be okay to retain my membership of "Hard Man Curry Eaters of America" as it was the dog's fault, not mine.

I'm not going to lower the tone of this post by getting into the goings on in the bathroom suffice to say that it could do with a coat of paint. I had barely closed the door of the van when the pressure valve opened and overpowered even the smell of rotting fruit (that's where that apple went to...) and sour milk (don't know where that came from.)

As this week's random act of kindness and in the interest of serving the community, I shall be leaving a note inside the microwave in my hotel room. "Avoid The Heritage of India", hopefully somebody will find it before they go.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Saints On A Plane

I usually do not get many takers for the middle seat next to me on airplanes. Maybe I look intimidating, maybe I stink, maybe people take one look and think “fat bastard, no way am I sitting there”, maybe it’s the joke plastic dog turd that I place strategically on the seat next to me to ward off would be invaders of my space. I don't know, but whatever the reason, I'm not complaining.
For those who don’t know, Southwest Airlines do not have assigned seating, fine if you are one of the first on board, horrid if you are one of the last. I make sure I am always one of the first and usually get lucky with two seats to myself. Every now and again though, on a full flight I am forced to try and make myself small so that somebody can squeeze into the unlucky middle seat. Yesterday, it was an elderly Hispanic woman who smelled like she had recently taken a bath in pine sol floor cleaner, shake ‘n’ vac and a whole bottle of highly concentrated ‘Eau De Auld Lass’ perfume. The shit she was wearing had to be toxic, it made my eyes water and my nostrils itch. If Bin Laden got his hands on a bottle of this stuff who knows what damage he could do.

So she gets settled in and after rooting around in her ridiculously oversized handbag for a while, pulls out a tatty paperback entitled “The Miracles of The Saints”. She immediately turns to the index and I notice that several words have been highlighted, one of which was “skin rashes.”

Now I have never claimed to be a good catholic, to do so would have been a lie and would therefore have nudged me a little bit closer to hell. I stopped going to church when I was about 10 and never paid attention in Religion class at school (although I wish I had), and so only know very little about the saints and the various causes to which they are patrons. I know all I need to know to get by in a casual conversation about St. Christopher, St. Francis and St. Patrick, should I ever find myself in that position. If the conversation was to turn to even a slightly more obscure saint, I may as well get my coat.

So, sitting next to this overpoweringly perfumed old lady turned out to be an edumacation as I tried to read her book without her noticing. I learned that St. Jude is the patron saint of impossible causes. I learned that St. Bernadine of Sienna is the patron saint of people with respiratory problems. Naturally this aroused my interest and has led me to research further. What surprises me most is that many saints patronize multiple causes. I did not know this. I also learned that the patron saint of skin rashes, amongst many other things is St. Anthony the Abbot. In fact I learned that no fewer than 5 saints patronize skin rashes, so if you have a skin rash you are somewhat spoiled for choice when it comes to choosing a saint to pray to. You can pick from Anthony the Abbott, George, Marculf, Peregrine Laziosi or Roch. A tough choice! It can be hard to think about anything else though when you have an irritating rash that won’t stop itching can’t it? So to assist those of you who may be afflicted, I am happy to provide you with a quick rundown on the candidates….

  • Anthony the Abbott – Also the patron saint of Swineherds, Basket Weavers and Amputees. Lived alone in an abandoned fort in the desert for 20 years. Was a good fried of St. Paul the Hermit and is often depicted with a pig which he used to rub against when his rash acted up. Marks out of 10 – 5
  • George – Also the patron saint of England, Syphilis, Leprosy and Boy Scouts. A popular saint, supposedly killed a sheep eating dragon but was tortured and beheaded by Palestinians. May have been homosexual, often depicted holding a huge lance. Marks out of 10 – 3.
Swallow My Lance...Filthy Animal

  • Marculf – Also the patron saint of Scrofulous Diseases and Hot Pockets. Little is known about Marculf but apparently if you touch his relics your scrofula will go away. Invented microwaveable pastry snacks and founded the Hooters chain of restaurants. Marks out of 10 – 7.
  • Peregrine Laziosi – Also patron saint of AIDS sufferers and open sores. Got into a fight with St. Philip Benzini after spilling his pint and calling him a queer. So-called hard man who claimed to have cancer of the foot but it got better all of a sudden the night before they were due to amputate it…soft bastard. Marks out of 10 - 5.
  • Roch – Also patron saint of Diseased Cattle, Knee Problems, Tile Makers and Dogs. Supposedly born with a birth mark shaped like Elvis on his chest. Caught the plague and went into the forest to die where he made friends with a dog after eating a big red mushroom with white spots on it. Was arrested and jailed in France for being a spy. Often depicted with a dog licking his “plague spot”. Marks out of 10 - 6.
Come on lad...Give it a quick lick. Good boy....

Hopefully this helps make your choice easier. I know many of the regular readers of LB suffer from a nasty rash every now and again, if praying to your choice of saint from above doesn't work for you, try applying some spray on "I Can't Believe Its Not Butter". If that doesn't work either, take a leaf out of Roch's book and have the dog lick it off.

Monday, February 18, 2008


Up until a few weeks ago I had never been in a taxi in the States. I don't know why I found this mind numbingly boring fact interesting, but it seemed odd that in 12 years I had never had the need for one. I have been very lucky in many respects, owning my own transportation is one of them. I had been in airport shuttles, which are kind of the same but with less pressure and stress. There are usually other people on board with you and it's easy to start up a conversation to pass the time, unless they are non English speaking types, in which case it's becomes more of a game.

So, I'm now working up in Northern California. As I live in LA, this involves weekly air travel and taxi rides. I have to say that the standard of hackney carriages in San Jose is woeful, every single one I get in stinks and many scare the shit out of me, the drivers are, perhaps unsurprisingly horrible and are possibly the source of the smells that seem have been absorbed by the headliner in every last vehicle. I usually like the smell of curry, as you know, but there is a time and a place for it. The backseat of an 89 Crown Victoria is not the one.

Monday morning. I get into a cab, not one of my own choosing though, you are directed to the first one in line by an airport employee, presumably to avoid fighting between cabbies. To disapprove of the chosen vehicle or it's driver is probably more trouble than it is worth so I just get in. Immediately the smell is like a punch, full in the face. A mixture of cabbage, socks and old bologna. A faded magic tree swings from the rear view mirror, it's pine fresh scent long since spent. I try to lower the window for fresh air but it's either broken or locked and I immediately start to feel ill. I give the driver my location and ask him how his morning is so far. "Very good, very good" he says. I decide to offer an observation on the weather, "A bit nippy this morning" I say. "Very good, very good" he answers again. "How is traffic?" I ask. "Very good, very good"......fuck! I give up.
As we approach the freeway entrance, someone cuts along the right side of the cab and makes a left without stopping, he bangs on the horn and yells "You are fucking cowboy!!" then he turns to me and repeats for the sake of clarification, "Fucking cowboy!!". I notice that his turban is not on straight, I am surprised and curious, I always thought that they took great care when applying turbans. I have never noticed a crooked turban on anyone before, but it was early on a Monday morning so I suppose he could be forgiven.
We get on the freeway and as we speed up I notice for the first time that he has a semi violent twitch which seemed to occur every 20-30 seconds and which caused him to pull the cab to the left every time one hit. Coupled with the smell, now amplified because he had the heater on full blast, the sudden lurches to the left were causing me to feel extremely car sick. How can they let this fucker drive a cab? I ask him if he could open a window, the fucker opens his window like two inches and tells me "broken...it is broken....will not go more down." Great....

Luckily, being a holiday for much of the country, traffic was light and the horror only lasted 15 minutes before we arrived at the office. Swallowing big gulps of fresh air I got out of the cab and shakily handed over the fare...."keep the change mate" I tell him, "have a good one, drive safely". "Very good, very good" I hear him saying as I slammed the door shut and on legs like snapped candles ,walked towards the building. I would be passing on breakfast....

Monday, February 4, 2008

A Room With A View

.....of the freeway.

Living in a hotel sucks. It's not a bad hotel, but it's not great. It's a Best Western which I found out today are all independantly owned and operated. Generally speaking that could be translated into 'some are okay, some are shite'. Happily this one falls under okay. The name however is slightly misleading.

I feel like Alan Partridge. I feel like dismantling things just to pass the time. I miss the missus, the kid and even the dog ( who still has not been forgiven for shitting all over my beanbag). Some of the good points and saving graces of this place are:

  • Close proximity to the freeway.
  • Close proximity to a shithole Mexican restaraunt.
  • Even closer proximity to a curry house (on the fuckin' premises no less - SCORE!!!)
  • Close proximity to a liquor store and a fridge in the room in which to store beer.
  • A fitness center (as yet unused)
  • Free cornflakes in the morning although the label on the dispenser claims they are Kelloggs but they are obviously not.
  • Super powerful fans in the bathrooms, needed due to the Indian.

Flicking through the channels I notice that there is no porn channel available. I can imagine how disappointing it would be if I was into that kind of thing. Luckily, if I were into that kind of thing I could buy myself a fine art magazine round at the liquor store while buying my beer, but that isn't me. There is something desperately lonely about buying a 6 pack and a jazzmag at the same time. It really makes a statement about the state of your life. I don't think I could do it, I would have to take a good long look at myself in the mirror if I found myself in that position. No, a sixer and a copy of Womens World is the way to go. Much less guilt....

I have already filled out the comment card they leave in the room. This week's comment, "In no way am I responsible for the stain on the underside of the mattress - it was like that when I got here." Last week's - "It wasn't me who put boogers in the cornflakes."

Christ I'm bored.....

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Put Yer Tits Back For The Lads....

There was a time when the NHS was the envy of the world, or so we were told as kids. Things have changed a lot since then, a population explosion of asylum seekers and immigrants, cuts in funding, rises in the cost of health care etc. Nowadays in the UK, if you have the money, you are okay, you can get whatever ails you sorted out relatively quickly and with only minor medical malpractice. If you happen to be a jobless male who suffers from gynecomastia - or manboobs - you are shit out of luck.

Love The Picture Of The Kid

Lee Jardine, aged 23 from Mansfield, Nottinghamshire claims that he has become a prisoner in his own home after suffering from moobs for the last 10 years. He tried to get the NHS to do a breast reduction on the taxpayers coin but they told him to fuck off as it would cost between 5,000 and 9,000 quid.

Mr.Jardine claims that because of his NGT's, he can't get a job and that just to leave the house he has to have several layers of clothes on and a belt tied around his chest.

"People that sort of know me will call me names. You don't know what strangers are thinking when they look at you. I don't know whether they think I have breasts or not." He also added "I got bullied at school but then I stopped going so that solved that."

Bollocks. He could get the cash if he really had too. He's obviously not that shy as he just got 'em out for the local paper, and now they are on the internet. If he was going to do that, he should have had the missus take some pictures of him in her bra and undies, set up a tranny website and charge punters to look at him. He really didn't think this through very well. He would have had the money in no time.

Apparently the NHS told him they would do the op if he lost some weight and got down to 11 1/2 stone. He currently weighs 14 stone and isn't willing to put the work in to meet their demands either, the lazy twat. He says that he doesn't believe them.
His girlfriend, Diane Cassidy aged 19 and mother of their 2 year old son (do the math) is standing by her man and claims to like him for his personality (yeah, his depressed, paranoid personality) and not his looks. "He could be 60 stone and I would still love him. It's not the looks that count" she said. How awkward was their first date? Notice that she refers to his weight, not his having tits.

She also added "I can't go out for a walk or do anything like go for a swim or go to the beach because people come up and say stuff about Lee." Go to the beach? There are no fuckin' beaches in Mansfield love and given that he is out of work and unable to pay for having his tits deflated you can't be affording to go anywhere near a beach anyway, can you? If yer off on a walk and anyone says owt, tell 'em to fuck off. Which is what he should do. Just scream "YEAH....I'VE GOT WOMENS TITS....SO FUCKIN' WHAT? YOU WANT TO LICK 'EM? DO YOU? DO YOU?" at his taunters. It might not give them food for thought and start to question their own sexuality because strictly speaking, they are after all, tits and the natural urge of every man when confronted by a tit is to lick the nipple, is it not?

Personal preference for tits - I'm not fussy, I like 'em all, small and perky or big swinging udders, it matters not unless they are on some ugly fucking bloke like this lad, in which case I will pass.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Undercover Jew

Inmate fighting for kosher meals

ST. LOUIS - A Missouri inmate once labeled a white supremacist is fighting for his right to be served kosher meals in prison.

Norman Lee Toler, serving a 10-year sentence for statutory rape, insists he is Jewish despite guards at an Illinois penitentiary catching him with photos of Adolf Hitler and white supremacist literature. He also has several white supremacist tattoos, including a fresh "SS," the name of a Nazi unit.

Toler argued in federal court that his soul will be in jeopardy if he is forced to eat nonkosher food.

In the lawsuit, Toler said prison officials repeatedly denied his requests for kosher food, violating federal law and his constitutional right of religious expression.

Missouri Department of Corrections spokesman Brian Hauswirth said the state might have to change the policy for verifying inmates' religious preferences - they currently do it by checking a box - if Toler wins the case.

They should give it to him, just the nasty stuff though. See how soon he gets sick of a diet consisting solely of Gefilte Fish, Borscht and Matzo Ball Soup with the smell of bacon wafting in from the prison kitchen.

Jewish Porn - Cheap & Edible

Thursday, January 10, 2008


When will this shite end?

I don't watch much network TV, especially quiz and reality shows, I don't have the time nor the desire. I am proud to say that I have never actually seen many of the most popular shows on telly. I enjoy participating in conversations about who really should have won Dancing With The Stars, I throw names in there of people who weren't even on the show. I ask the others if they laughed as much as I did when so and so ripped their pants or when you caught a quick glimpse of Martha Stewarts beaver when she did the splits. I'm not saying I'm a cut above, well okay maybe I am, but it's just not my thing. I don't enjoy them. I would rather watch an Oprah marathon than Big Brother or Survivor. Truth be told, I would rather be blind than see either.

That's a bit extreme. I don't want to be blind. Having womens tits described to me is just not an acceptable substitute for seeing them for myself. A life without porn is like a life without.....there is no comparison. I have three wishes, I don't want to burn to death, I don't want to drown and I would easily prefer deafness over blindness. They can fix deafness these days, or so I hear.

So, I just got through watching The Simpsons with the kid. Great episode, the one where Smithers goes on holiday and Homer takes over from him as Burns' assistant. As the titles rolled, I put her to bed, tucked her in and gave her a kiss. Mrs. W is out on the town somewhere, no doubt doing lines of coke off a rent boy's arse in some seedy motel room, so it is a rare night of peace and quiet for yours truly. I don't often get "me time", time where I can relax, put on the nipple clamps and offer up my sacrificial fluids to the weather girl on Channel 9. Tonight was one of those rare nights, so as I closed the kids bedroom door and slid across the deadbolt, you can imagine my excitement and anticipation of the pleasure to come.

I made my way back out into the living room where I was dismayed to see the face of stupidfuckinidiot Jeff Fuckin' Foxworthy no less. I'm not a fan of Foxworthy or any of those so called "Blue Collar Comedians". Fuckin' millionaire hypocrites that they are, did you know that Foxworthy has his own brand of beef jerky now? What's next? Larry The Cable Guy Lard? Bastards....

I have never seen "Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader". So you can imagine my shock and subsequent "deflation" at the sight of Shiteworthy (wearing glasses, to make him seem smarter than a fuckin' 5th grader no doubt) introducing none other than Billy Bush.

(left to right) Not Funny, Slightly Amusing

Yet Another Beady Eyed Twat - Not Clever or Funny (runs in the family)

I had only seen Billy Bush once before, I think it was the Oscars preshow or the Golden Globes or something last year, so I was vaguely aware of him being a presenter on ET or some such shite and I remember thinking what a cunt he was then. What I didn't know was that he was Prez G.W. Bush's cousin. When you know this and see the fucker, you can see the resemblance and it makes you hate him even more. I didn't leave the TV on long enough to find out if he was in fact smarter than a 5th grader or even G.W for that matter. I think it's safe to assume that it was a tie on both counts.

Finding blood in your cack - More laughs than a
barrel of Blue Collar Comedians

I'm so fuckin' mad I could write an angry letter to Rupert Murdoch....probably won't though. I'm too shitfaced so I'm going to bed.

Disgusted in Los Angeles

Sunday, January 6, 2008


What sick kind of person would be giving tainted vodka to mongs? I can understand them not giving them the good vodka, as that would be a waste.....

Tainted vodka kills 11 in Mongolia New Year's celebrations

ULAN BATOR, Mongolia (AP) -- At least 11 people died and another 21 were hospitalized for drinking tainted vodka during New Year's Eve celebrations in Mongolia's capital, a government official said Tuesday.

An emergency has also been announced for Baganuur district of Ulan Bator where the deaths happened, city governor's office announced.

That means all shops were closed and further celebrations were banned, said Ganbold Khurlee, an official in the office. New Year's Day is also a holiday in Mongolia - a largely poor, landlocked country sandwiched between China and Russia.

He said tests showed that the vodka was made with methanol spirits normally used for nonfood purposes like cleaning.

"Relevant government agencies have determined that various vodkas produced by this company contained up to 30 percent methanol spirits," he said.

New Year's celebrations where vodka is widely consumed is a holdover from the days when Mongolia was a satellite state of the Soviet Union.

Saturday, January 5, 2008

Fake It 'Til You Make It

I was checking my shatcounter earlier today and, as I always do, making notes of intriguing searches by way of which people find my blog. Today there was only one of interest and I wrote it down on a piece of paper to remind me to research further later. I don't know what time this was but I was still tired so I went back to bed and slept some more.

When I sat back down at the PC a few minutes ago, this is what I found:
Apparently Mrs. W had seen the note and not for the first time, being filthy of mind, had jumped to conclusions. I thought I had better explain and did so. She seemed unconvinced though and simply said " I thought you were just being, you know....yourself."

Why the fuck would I be writing something like "fake spunk mixtures" on a piece of paper other than for blogging reasons? It's not like there were also ingredients and a "how to" list attached. Besides, my spunk is perfectly fine, sure it might be a bit spicy right now due to the beans and hot sauce, but colour and texture wise it looks fine to me.

Who the fuck would be searching for this? A pre-pubescent teenager trying to impress his friends? A prankster looking to surprise his girlfriend? Early preparations for Halloween? An aspiring porn actor? Knudsen?

Not that I would know, but I think that the following would be an acceptable substitute:

  • Clear corn syrup
  • A bit of milk
  • Salt to taste
Anyone else have any ideas now that future searchers are bound to find this?

Thursday, January 3, 2008

A Treat To Eat

Like millions of people all over the World, I too made the same old New Years resolution to lose weight and start yet another diet on January 1st. The first day went well, mostly due to the fact that I slept all day, woke for an hour or two to drink a couple of Stella Artois then went back to bed and slept through the night. Yesterday started well, I went to the store and bought some green leaf salad, cooked chicken breast and some cherry tom-ah-toes and ate a very healthy lunch.

It was my turn for late night coverage at work and so I didn’t get home until after 7pm at which time, like many millions of people all over the world said “Fuck it!” and opened a bottle of wine which I then drank quickly. So you know how it goes, you have a drink or two and get the hunger. I will eat practically anything at that point, generally the spicier the better, but in the absence of frozen curries or cans of chili, improvisation is the key.

I am no culinary genius. I can cook, pretty well in fact given that I am a) male, b) English, and c) a proper lazy fucker when I’m at home. When I put my mind to things, plan and buy the ingredients I can actually turn out something that is both edible and tasty. Mrs. Waring is a much luckier woman than most of you probably think.

So last night, looking through the cupboards and weighing up the options, it became obvious that I was going to have to employ my talents and creativity if my hunger was to be satisfied. I threw the ingredients in a saucepan and just 5 minutes later was sitting in bed next to the wife with a tasty bedtime treat.

“What the fuck are you eating?”

“I’m hungry. I made it myself.”

“Jesus Christ! A bowl of beans….”

“Not just any beans. Baked Beans a la Mexicano. It’s fuckin’ ace.”

“Shit….I hope you took some Beano.”

“No, we are out. I would have though if we had any.”

“For fuck’s sake, open the window….”

Happily I ate my beans, mopping up the sauce with 2 slices of bread. It was one of the most enjoyable meals I had eaten for quite some time and it was barely 10 minutes before the magic began to work. A series of long, loud ripsnorters tore through the silence of the bedroom, scenting the normally stale sweaty sock (hers) air with a most unsavoury miasma. How I laughed as the punches rained down on me….. for anyone interested, the recipe is as follows:

1 Tin Heinz Baked Beans

1 Teaspoon Garlic Powder

8 Dashes Tapatio Hot Sauce

Empty into pan, heat until hot. Add more tapatio to taste. Enjoy with your partner. Serves 1.

Food Of The Gods

Like I Have Nothing Better To Do......

That bitter auld cunt Knudsen tagged me for a meme. This is only the second one that I have been hit with and after the first one I said that I would never do another 'cause they are shite. I'm going to play along though but I'm not playing by the rules and I'm not tagging anyone so if I suddenly stop posting then it means that I was killed in some freak meme related accident so don't bother coming looking for me 'cause I will be dead.
Here are THE RULES:

Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog. Share seven random and/or weird facts about yourself. Tag seven random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a notification on their blog.

1. I always sniff my fingers after scratching my arse, just to see how much it stinks.

2. Whenever I produce a turd in the work bogs that is one single log measuring longer than 4 inches in length I don't flush it but leave it for the next user to marvel at.

3. I have never been stung by a bee.

4. I once kept a large scab from a big cut on my knee for 3 years wrapped in tin foil.

5. I consider yellow Opal Fruits to be the work of Satan.

6. I once had a wank over a picture of Una Stubbs as Aunt Sally from Worzel Gummidge.

7. I once dressed as Aunt Sally and had a wank over a picture of Worzel Gummidge.


Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Wheels On Fire

Disabled woman set fire to hair

A disabled woman was treated for burns after setting her hair on fire while trying to light a cigarette.
The 57-year-old wheelchair bound woman was treated for burns to the right side of her face and head at Bolton Hospital after the accident at 8.45pm on Boxing Day.
The woman from Warwick Street, Leigh, had leaned forward in her wheelchair to light the cigarette but the lighter had been set too high.

I needed that.....