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?

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 1^st. 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.

Ooo-Arrr

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.....

Chipmunk Fever

First of all, Merry Christmas to you too, especially MJ, Ellie and Bock who despite my extended absence took the time to wish me well. Knudsen too, who even though his traditional celtic upbringing forbids even the mention of the C word, I know was quietly thinking it as he toasted the winter solstice with his glass of goat blood.

Where have I been you may ask? What have I been up to? Who was I doing it to? Is it true that I recently made out with Florence Henderson and Neil Patrick Harris on the same night?
To answer those questions in reverse order..... No. Innocent bystanders. Messing with folks heads. Work, home, bed, weekend in the Bay Area, back home, back to bed, back to work.

I have found that it's mentally harder on me not to blog than to actually sit down and blog. I'm not a quitter. Sometime over the last month this blog quietly turned 1 (Happy Blogday FH!). I celebrated by getting drunk on Jameson, poking a hole in a picture of Nigella Lawson and making love to it while Mrs. Waring slept soundly next to me (note to self: get more rohypnol).

Me Love You Long Time

So yesterday, in a blinding moment of insanity, I decide to take the child to the movies. Now several months ago, when the evil film studio started to put out trailers and advertising for the movie, the child, being 6 years old fell for it hook, line and sinker and has been waiting for it to come out ever since. I had told her several times that her mum had promised to take her to see it. That was never going to happen though as Mrs. W knows a turd when she sees one and steadfastly refused. So I took one for the team and wearily coughed up the $16 the bastards had the cheek to charge. I like Jason Lee and I love David Cross but this film was SHITE. I have always hated the fuckin' chipmunks with a passion thanks to the ultra shite cartoon that was on telly when I was a kid. Turns out that they had been around since the late 50's when the creator inhaled bug spray by mistake, wandered into the forest and was lost for three days. I can understand the initial appeal of the chipmunks to the people of the time, they could sing, dance and were not at all black. I can understand people saying "Ya gotta hear this! Singing chipmunks!! How cuuuute!!!" I cannot understand how anyone would not want to smash the record to tiny pieces after just two or three listens. It's the kind of evil that MUST be destroyed before it takes over your entire existence, as it is trying to do to me now. I have had the stupid fuckin' chipmunk Christmas song in my head since I left the movie theater yesterday. Even the usual "I Dream of Jeannie" trick isn't working. I am going to try and get drunk today, fall and hit my head hoping that will cure me.

I love my daughter and will do anything I can to make her happy but she owes me big time for this. A stupid, stupid, stupid fuckin' film that should never have been made. How these people sleep at night is beyond me....

DIE MUTHAFUCKAAAAA!!!!

Goodbye Old Friend

This week has been a rough week for me and probably not much fun for our dog either. The week started badly for both of us. We have both suffered, although me more than him. He got sick at the weekend, apparently after eating something that did not agree, and spent the next couple of days in what you can assume was a fair amount of discomfort. It can't have been very nice for the poor animal. There was one slightly amusing moment when one morning I woke at 3:00am to the sound of running water. It seems that Mrs.W, upon smelling dog shit in the house had gone to investigate, apparently in the dark and barefoot, and having inadvertently stepped in said shit was now attempting to wash it off. She only had herself to blame, it was foolish and shortsighted to embark upon such a treacherous mission in darkness. In fact, a largely overlooked and little known paragraph from the private, personal diary of Thomas Edison confirms that one of the motivating factors in his research and subsequent invention of the electric light bulb was a similar experience involving his beloved Great Dane "Morris" and the non too coincidental disappearance of a three week old leg of mutton that Mrs. Edison had been nagging him to throw away for several days.
Anyway, to cut to the chase, our dog has been shitting like a goose. Normally this amuses me as I am not the one who cleans it up since I had a line or two added and notarized as an amendment to our marriage vows, but this time it was not quite so amusing. My blue leatherette beanbag, after which this blog is named, is a total loss. Quite what it was doing out in the living room anyway, I don't know. I didn't put it there. We had some friends staying with us recently and I assume that it was removed from it's usual home in the record/spare room to make way for them and just did not get put back. Whatever the reason, it's irrelevant, it's gone, history, the bin men took it on Tuesday.
To be fair, I hadn't used it in quite some time. It may surprise many of you to learn that I have at various points in my life used, but rarely abused any number or combination of illegal (or at the very least illegitimately obtained) substances. Not that I condone or advocate this behaviour, especially if you are a teenager or a minor, but me and the beanbag had some good times. Many an enjoyable evening was spent with the beanbag (not counting that night I found out that we had rats - that wasn't pleasant at all). But, like that old worn out pair of undies that serve no purpose other than comfort, or the sweat and curry stained t-shirt that you sleep in (removed only for sleep naked night), it's hard to say good-bye.
The shit, if it can be called shit for it had no texture, it was really just foul smelling water with a fine sand like grit in it, had penetrated the seams of the leatherette and undoubtedly tainted the small polystyrene balls contained within. The purpose for which it was intended, relaxation, was no longer attainable. Any future use would be ill advised. All I have is memories. The first time I listened to The Verve's Urban Hymns, Radiohead's Kid A, that fuckin' killer Droog mp3 that I downloaded. Good times.

I may buy a new one, one with real beans inside it, the kind that do not absorb the odour of dog cack, or one with a washable cover. It's not the leatherette that was the problem. Normally you can't go wrong with leatherette, you can wipe off most spills and accidents. It's the seams and the stitching that you have to worry about, or whatever is underneath. I don't know, the time may not be right, maybe give it a month or two, try and find the right one for me. I shouldn't just rush out and get a new one just to help me cope with my loss, wouldn't be prudent, might be under filled or not as durable. No, I shall wait for the right one to come to me. I'm not interested in someone else's cast off either, I want my own, one that I can mould and shape, make it my own. A beanbag is for life not just for xmash. I'll probably go with leatherette again. There is something about it, looks like the real thing, feels like the real thing and from a distance or in a photograph could easily be confused for the real thing.

The wife suggested that I change the name of the blog. I don't think I want to do that but am open to suggestions. I know that readership has dropped lately due to lack of posts, but the ones that are left are the ones that matter. Anybody?

Waring a Bit Thin

Getting back into blogging after taking a bit of a break is like squeezing yourself into a new pair of latex undies, one would think. You have to ease yourself in bit by bit, take it slow, easy does it. On the other hand, a liberal sprinkling of talcum powder doesn't seem to help much and once in, it's hard to get back out.

Three poor quality posts this week equals my output for the past three months, a barren spell by anyone's standards. I was suffering a period of creative dullness, barely bothered to even notice what was going on in the mad, mad world around me let alone sit down and think about it. One thing that I have noticed is that the historic Pantages Theater in Hollywood seems to be having electrical problems, specifically with their neon sign. Over the past few weeks it has spelled all of the following:

ANTA ES
PANTAG
P NTAGES
TAG S
P T ES
PISSFLAPS

Funny how nobody noticed.

Okay, I made the last one up but the others are true. It's interesting to note that the only letter that seems to work consistently is the letter 'T'. I have made a mental note to document any further problems with the sign with pictures which I will submit to Museum of Neon Art for an exhibition of poorly maintained signs.
I have also observed that the smell of piss in the rear doorway of the old KFWB studio on Yucca has become so bad that even the homeless have abandoned it. The smell is due to a floor mat that was left there when the building was vacated and has subsequently been urinated on by the entire homeless population and full contingent of passing clubbers in Hollywood. If asked, most nomads would say that any port in a storm will do, but on a recent stormy Friday night the dry yet stinky doorway was noticeably free of unwashed vagrants. I've pissed in many a doorway whilst staggering home from the pub, usually Horace's Shoe Shop as it was recessed way back from the street and away from passing police cars, many other people did too and it smelled fuckin' terrible but this is far, far worse than the worst piss smell you could imagine. It is noticeable even across the street and with the right breeze, the other side of Vine St. So come on Johnny G Rant, Honorary Mayor of Hollywood ( I know you read this) get your act together and clean the fucker up, the cold nights are coming and the homeless need a home.

KFWPEE more like.....(childish giggles)