100 Not Out

Local man Elbert Dickyleg turns 100 on June 25^th. His family in the hope of cashing in on the old geezer, is planning a secret celebration in his honour at the nursing home where he has lived for the past 40 years. Well, it was a secret. Hopefully he won’t be reading this until after the event. His eyesight isn’t so good so maybe if they just hide his glasses until the 26^th he will be none the wiser. They have ordered a Dora The Explorer bouncy castle and an up and coming young mc/rapper/comedian by the name of F. YoMomma from the local art collective to be the compere. The day promises to full of surprises for Elbert and his friends in the Chateau Requiem Home for Unwanted Relatives and the day will end with a mud wrestling competition between the male care nurses who work there.

I first met Elbert on Monday when I stopped by the home with a donation of old Hustler magazines that I no longer needed. I had torn out many of the better pictures and at some point, probably while very drunk, had drawn crude images of genitalia and written disjointed sentences like "Cunt fuck ice cream...." in felt tip pen over many of the pages that remained. As I’m always thinking of those less fortunate than myself, I had decided to give them to people who needed them more than I.

As I passed a high backed wing chair in the TV lounge (which strangely did not appear to have a TV in it) my arm was grabbed by gnarled bony fingers and I was pulled down into the chair opposite. It was Elbert and he immediately began to regale me with tales of his youth. I didn't want to appear rude and the old lad seemed like he needed someone to talk to so I listened. I was amazed by the story he told and I feel it only deserving of a man of his years that someone should document his story for posterity, after all, if I don’t do it, who will?

Here it is, to the best of my recollection. I may have added some bits here and there to spice it up a bit because he was quite hard to understand at times and would whisper softly to himself now and again. Hopefully it is an accurate account of days gone by.

“We used to ride the box cars on the trains into Dodge City, me and my brother Sarah. He would be in one box car with the cows and I would be in the next with the horses and the elephants, big buggers they were, shat turds like big, giant round things. It used to get real lonely on those box cars and I used to watch my brother Emily having his way with the dairy cows through the cracks in the side of the car. The hours used to fly by and before we knew it we would be in Alasky digging for clams in the frozen dirt. People said we were crazy to be digging for clams in Alasky as everybody and their three legged mule knew that all the best clam digging was to be had in South Dakota but we had been there and never saw a clam not never. Sometimes we would get off the train in the outskirts of a big city like Chicagy and find us a hobo jungle where we could have a good time and my brother Sissy would sell his mouth for a few cents so’s we could by us some vittles. I never did it cause I didn’t care for the taste of other men’s manfat, just my own or my brother Hannah’s if I was hungry enough. Sometimes we couldn’t afford any food so we would have to steal a turnip from the onion vendor outside the moving picture house. A rare treat was a raw parsnip and if we made it back to the hobo jungle without eating it we would throw it into the big pot of hobo soup that the other hobo’s would be cooking up. If we didn’t have a cabbage we would throw in a boot for flavour or one of the elephant turds we had been saving for a rainy day, the worst thing about them was the bits of grass that would get stuck ‘twixt my wooden teeth. I had to have wooden teeth cause all my real ‘uns were stolen by Injuns when the box car was hijacked one time by the suckacoq tribe outside of Dreadlock City. Anyways I took good care of my wooden teeth I did, I would polish them twice a day, sometimes three or four times if I got tired of watching my brother Zsa Zsa having coyeetus with them darn dairy cows. I can still hear his screams of pleasure, mostly at night when the lights go out, he has the room next door to me see y’see. I bang on the wall to tell him to stop but he’s deafer than a deaf matchstick salesman so he is. I’m going to outlive him, we joke about it sometimes. We laugh and laugh until the big nurse comes and punches us and then we stop, or I do, my brother Agnes just keeps laughing. He’s madder than a toasted banana he is. Anyways after the war, we joined the navy as a ships female impersonators cause women weren’t allowed on ships in them days. Bad luck y’see. So they would take hobo’s off the street, men of little morals they called us and would use for the cooking and all the womanly duties like cleaning and sexual acts. We were sailing round the Cape of Halibut one time when we passed the wreckage of a ship and in the wreckage was a young lad with a violin that had no strings. We rescued him and learned from his sign language that he had been raised by sea otters and couldn’t talk although he could play air violin like a riot. When we got back to shore we sold him to a circus man for $20 which was a kings ransom back then. Soon after we deserted and went back to a life of riding the box cars and having our way with animals. It was a different time back then sonny, but we were…….”

Elbert had drifted off and I spied my chance to escape, leaving the box of Hustlers at his feet. I can think of no one more deserving. Happy 100^th Birthday Elbert, you old roisterdoister you. Keep on rockin’ my man!

Elbert "Weather Ear" Dickyleg
Man of The World

Fashion Victims

Fashion is a funny thing. What seems super cool and trendy to one person or group is fuckin' maddening to another. I don't really have a problem with most of today's fashions. I'm quite tolerant and respectful of people's right to dress how the hell they want to as I know what it is like to be laughed at in public, pointed at by small children as they tug at their mothers sleeve and say things like "Mummy, that man scares me."

I don't think that my personal choice of attire is particularly offensive. Day-glo orange lycra cycling shorts go just fine with a chiffon shirt and sheepskin waistcoat, knee length argyle socks and rubber wellies. It's a statement that I am making that says "I am my own man so fuck off or I will hurt you." It seems to work as most people cross the street to avoid me and rarely make eye contact.

One of today's fashions that mystifies me is the saggy pants worn around the thighs exposing the boxer shorts underneath. Mostly worn by, lets call them African Americans, and people who wish they were African Americans, talk like they are African Americans but are definitely too pale to be African Americans, the fashion is to say the least, irritating. Just like me, they would probably argue that they are just making a statement and I would agree. I hear it loud and clear and it is telling me that they are twats.

I have questions. Burning questions that I need answers to and would be happy to ask one of the subscribers to said fashion if they would not keep crossing the street to avoid me:

1. How do you keep the pants half way down your thighs without them constantly falling down? I tried to recreate the experience in my bedroom while the wife was out yesterday but they wouldn't stay there. Are you using braces or is that considered cheating and if so doesn't that make you unfashionable?
2. Given that you can mysteriously make your pants stay put half way down your thighs, how do you manage to walk more than 3 steps without falling over. It is like running a three legged race with a one legged man as your partner, impossible.
3. I say you are a twat. What are you going to do about it, twat?

"Oi......Pull yer pants up you twat!"

In Jamaica, there is a movement afoot to outlaw the wearing of saggy pants in public. Similar attempts in the Worlds 2nd greatest country, the USA, fell flat last year when officials in Dallas proposed a $50 on the spot fine for wearers of low riding pants. The American people were once again defeated by their own constitution amid concerns about civil rights and personal freedom.
Luckily, in Jamaica, these things are less of a concern and the movement is gathering steam.

Public opinion seems to be swayed against saggy pants, many people believe it to be a sign of homosexuality and they may have a point. 43 year old street vendor Robert Stuart told The Jamaica Observer "That is a sodomite principle, because your pants supposed to be up at your waist."

Shaneek Sewell, a 19 year old student doesn't find it attractive and said "I think the persons who do these things are mostly like the uneducated people in society."

"It's not appropriate, it doesn't look right, it's not gentleman-like. It's definitely unacceptable for most of the population," said Deanroy Edwards, a 23 year old technician.

Fining people may be a little extreme and difficult to enforce, especially when it comes to collecting the fines as most of these fuckers do not appear to have jobs and any spare cash they do have seems to be spent on clothing that is too big for them (a pet peeve of mine.) I would like to suggest Brazilian style government sponsored death squads cruising the streets in a Ford Transit van with blacked out windows and loaded to the gills with M-16 wielding federal agents. This would create jobs while at the same time alleviating some of the pressure on the welfare system. Although frowned upon by liberals and do-gooders, this is actually the answer to many of today's social ills and I think that pretty soon, these namby pamby, limp handshaking types would be benefiting from the very thing they seek to prevent. Besides, surely it would only take the discovery of a handful of saggy pant clad corpses before the rest of them got the message and pulled their fuckin pants up. I also contend that if you were to ask enough of them you would definitely find more than a handful who would claim to be willing to die for their right to wear their pants any way they choose so all you would have to do is find them and everyone would be happy. Well, mostly everyone. I'd be happy, that is all that matters.

Mark Your Calendars

You could be forgiven for missing it. It is easily overlooked, sandwiched as it is between the heady celebrations of Flag Day and the frenzy of excitement that is Fathers Day here in the World's 2nd greatest country. I almost missed it and if it were not for my boss having to cancel a speaking engagement at some wanky entrepreneurship seminar today because of it, I definitely would not have known until it was too late.

Next year, I will be ready for it. What the fuck is it, I hear you scream. Did we miss some major annual event? Are we in trouble with a family member for failing to send a card and token good wishes?

Not exactly, not unless you belong to a family of janitorial technicians, cleaning ladies, scrubbers, moppers or lavatory attendants. Today is Justice For Janitors Day. Yes.

Now I'm not about to belittle janitors or demean them or the work they do in any way. I will leave that for Knudsen. I agree that the work they do is super important and vital to the fabric of society and essential to the productivity of business and industry. Without them we are fucked. Every morning I go into my office and after a quick check to make sure they haven't stolen anything, I make sure that I take a moment to be grateful that they have emptied my bin and vacuumed the carpet. For if it were not for them, nameless and faceless to me though they are, I would have to do it myself. Being whiter than they, that just would not do and if my employees were to see me emptying my own bin it would not lend me much credibility in their eyes. So yes, I am thankful for the janitors.

Do I think they deserve their own day of justice? I'm not so sure. Where will all this end? Who gets a day of justice next? Who decides? Will Hallmark attempt to cash in on these "Justice Days"?

Don't Fuck With No Mild
Mannered Janitors

All I know is this. Stopping traffic on Wilshire Boulevard in the middle of the day is hardly likely to endear their cause to any non-janitors who happen to get stuck in the resulting traffic nightmare. Surely there is a better way to bring attention to the cause like maybe only emptying half a bin while leaving the rotting banana skins, apple cores and sour yogurt containers in the office for days on end. Wouldn't that raise just as many eyebrows? How about not replacing tired urinal cakes? The smell, especially during summer might cause questions to be asked.

I don't know. I'm not going to pretend to have all the answers. That is your job. What I do know is that anyone who is prepared to work, especially doing the jobs that many of us do not want or are lucky enough not to need badly enough to do them ourselves, should receive a decent livable wage and health benefits for doing it. I know it's a capitalist society but I also know how much the agencies charge companies for their services and that the percentage that is actually paid to the janitors is a pittance. It's a very competitive field, cut throat in fact but the owners still manage to do very well.

In my personal opinion, anyone who is able, let alone willing to scrub the skidmarks off the porcelain after I have been in the disabled stall deserves at least $10 for the hour it will most likely take them to get it clean.

Watch The Birdy

We got a new budgie at the weekend. For those of you wondering what the fuck a budgie is (yanks), it's a fuckin' parakeet which will henceforth be referred to as a budgie because that's what it is.

Anyway, we did have two. One went tits up a few months ago. That one was called LemonLime because it was green and yellow. The other one, the one still alive, never had a name because the kid could never decide on anything that she liked.

As a reward for behaving herself in school, Mrs. W promised her a new one to replace the deceased LemonLime. Of course it was I who had the pleasure of standing around for 1/2 an hour in fuckin Petco at the weekend while the princess decided which of the 50 birds in the cage she wanted, then another 15 minutes while the assistant caught the little bastard in the net.

Two days later and the new cage mates seem to be getting on quite well considered the invasion of space and the trauma of being caught in a net and placed inside a cardboard box only to be shoved into a new cage with an unknown bird for company. I have to admit that if I were on the same perch, I would be a bit testy to say the least. Everything seems, for the moment at least, to be working out well.

One of the reasons we never named the other bird is because Mrs. Waring maintains that the moment you name the fuckers, they quickly become an ex-budgie after hiding under the newspaper at the bottom of the cage for a day or two. I'm not quite as cynical in this regard and even with my limited knowledge of ornithology believe that it is more of a coincidence but, being a man of science, am prepared to put it to the test.

I would be waiting all year if I were to leave it up to the child to decide and I don't have that kind of time so I am putting it to you, my loyal and trusted contributors, to come up with names for the two birds, with the kid having the final say in which ones are successful. If, upon bestowal of their new names, they survive, I will be proved right. Alternatively if they both take to hiding under the newspaper until death, I will admit that I was wrong and the lucky winners of this competition will have to deal with their conscience as having been an accessory to their demise.

So, have at it. What names do you suggest for them? The winner(s) will receive a prize (TBD) to the value of 10 American Dollars. To help you, here is a picture of the birdies.

New one foreground, old one rear. If only they could
talk. I would have them saying "You're a cunt!"

Yawn....

I've got a bit of a headache this morning, not had much sleep either so I forgive me if I am a bit cranky and take out my frustrations on some minority group or other as it's more than likely all their fault. Let's see, where is my checklist....? Ah! Here it is:

• The Welsh - Done & done.
• The Iranians - Done to death.
• The Israelis - Not finished with those bastards yet.
• Scousers - Done.
• Soft southern shites (possibly including Brummies) - Will never be done with them.
• Canadians - Not worthy of my time.
• The Gays - Perfect.....

I'm not a fan of reality TV at all, not unless by 'reality' you mean the news and the reality being covered just happens to be the death of George Bush or Paris Hilton, now that's what I call good television. So, I don't watch the likes of Big Brother or America's Top Model. Recently there seems to have emerged a trend of using the reality show to cast the leading role in some musical or other like Grease or The Sound of Music and is if they were not bad enough, the BBC has been turning this shite out for the last few weeks:

Like a trip to Disneyland for Graham Norton

It is called "Any Dream Will Do" and having never seen the show, I can't comment on the quality other than to say it has to be utter shite and possibly one of the gayest things I have ever seen and I have seen things which would have made Freddie Mercury blush. If there are any bum pirates reading this, don't worry lads. I'm a lover not a hater, well okay, maybe not a lover in your case but definitely not a hater. Let's say I am a tolerater shall we? Yes.

The premise of the show is to cast the lead role in a new production of Joseph And His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat with Graham in the role of an even gayer Ryan Seacrest and Webber playing the part of an "out" Simon Cowell. I can think of few things I would rather do less than spend an evening watching this. According to the BBC website, only 100 boys made it to the London callbacks of which 50 were chosen to enter 'Joseph School' were they were taught singing, dancing, mincing around and who knows what else by 'celebrity mentors' such as the not at all gay Jason Donovan.

I'm not much of Bible reader, but I'm pretty sure that is says something in there about God not caring for the gays, right after the bit about how he loves lezzies and threesome's are okay as long as the lads' balls don't touch (if they touch it becomes a sin). Anyway, I suppose what I am saying is that I don't really hold with all that nonsense but having chosen not to be gay it is rather confusing to me why anyone would choose to BE gay, but it's your life I suppose so go for it.

Anyway, back to the show..... It could just be me but doesn't it seem like the point of this show is really not to cast a Joseph but to cast new boyfriends for Graham Norton and Andrew Lloyd Webber but definitely not Jason Donovan?

And have you seen Andrew Lloyd Webber lately?

The only man who looks WORSE than
his Spitting Image puppet....

Yesterday's News

I'm usually a few days behind everyone else, except when it comes to fashion and haircuts when what I do today the rest of the world does tomorrow. When I say behind everyone else, I mean in terms of current affairs and events, so forgive me if this is old hat but I just learned that Charles Nelson Riley died the other day.

One of those aging luvvies who just delighted in being camp and gay before it was cool to do so. Back in the 70's he was a regular on Match Game, the yank version of Blankety Blank. Lately, he was the voice of The Dirty Bubble on Spongebob. Effete as he was, he was still no match for John Inman although he probably would have had him in a bitch fight......Pneumonia got him in the end and America, particularly gay America lost an icon.

R.I.P Dirty Bubble. The kids never knew how
gay you really were......

In other recently discovered news, I was just informed today that yet another excellent British Tv show has been bastardized and remade for American audiences, proving once again that they just don't get "us".
This time it's the excellent Creature Comforts which will begin on CBS on Monday. Fortunately they actually spent some money and remade the whole thing with new "real people" interviews and animation. They could have just cheaped out and done a voiceover with a new yank friendly script but didn't. I hope it's a success but will probably just settle for re-runs of the original on BBC America. I hear all kinds of good things about "The Office" but despite liking Steve Carrell just don't want to see it. Too many bad experiences with those that have gone before, "Men Behaving Badly", "Coupling" and so on. I can't stand Sanford & Son but will watch Steptoe & Son for hours on end. All In the Family is almost bearable thanks to Carroll O'Connor and Rob Reiner but not even close to "Til Death Us Do Part".

Why is it that US comedies make so much more sense to Brits than vice versa? Do we as Brits really have a much broader sense of humour or is it just that we have been saturated with American TV all our lives and have become accustomed to it? I would put Seinfeld up there in my top 10 shows of all time along with the best of British but how many Americans would put British shows in theirs (not counting Monty Python or Benny Hill)? Sadly, many British shows would never make it on to TV here at all due to content.

Bo Selecta! anyone?

Thank fuck for BBC America and even that stinks most of the time.

Is network TV's desperate search for a replacement
for The Simpson's over?

Filthy Habits

Like most men, no, like most people, I have the odd filthy habit.

Bless me Father........

Filthy by whose standards? I hear you ask. Well, usually by the wife's standards. She has her own peccadillo's which may be considered by some to be on the filthy side but, of course, I am tolerant and never say anything. I won't get into them here as I don't believe in airing my dirty laundry in public. Not that dirty laundry has anything to do with it. Mrs. Waring would never dream of wearing the same pair of underwear for days on end, not without turning them inside out at least once.....

Anyway, for the most part, she is pretty forgiving and tolerant when it comes to my filthy ways. The rubbing of the feet on the curtains, the fingers that smell like arse, the melon rinds and the old socks. I can't really complain, but being English I must.

There is nobody, and I repeat nobody whose opinions I trust more in this world than the people who read my blog. Yes, it's true that I have never met you, never spoken to you or even traded emails with you (at least nothing that made much sense at the time.) But I feel a bond with you people. You are on my wavelength, my frequency. So tell me.....

Is there anything wrong with a man coming home from work, after a long hard days graft, and enjoying a nice cold beer whilst sat on the shitter?

I think not.

Mrs. Waring does not agree, she thinks it's a filthy habit. When I get home from work, one of the things that is foremost in my mind is to enjoy a cold beer in a dark room. Given the shite that I eat on any given day, that room may as well be my own bathroom as it isn't going to be long before I am in there anyway.

There is something almost cosmic about a shit in the dark. It's very relaxing. Nothing to distract you or take your mind of the task at hand. As mentioned in a previous post, I don't spend much time in there when nature calls. It's strictly business. Not being a person who generally mixes business with pleasure, it is good for the psyche now and again to deviate from the norm. It could be argued that taking a crap is pleasure, not business. I'm not here to debate that, I prefer to think of it as both, especially if done on work time, so why not enjoy a beer while you do it?

I challenge any one of you to give me a good reason. It's not like I am going in there with a sandwich and a glass of milk......