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)

Tired

A restless night last night, scared that the Shrek dream would return to haunt me, I spent the night tossing (yes, very funny) and turning. It's strange though that only the bad dreams are really memorable. I can't remember the last good dream that I had beyond the Olympic shitting dream of a week or so ago (still no reply from the IOC by the way).

Somebody should invent some kind of dream capture device, possibly a hard hat lined with tin foil wired to an old Polaroid camera. On second thoughts, a Polaroid may not be practical due to the cost of the films, although you could probably pick up the camera from a charity shop for next to nowt. If anyone is interested in working on such an invention, I am willing to split the proceeds. We could perhaps apply for some kind of grant from Richard Branson or Prince Charles. Free money is the best kind of money and ideal for gambling with as you don't incur any personal losses. The hookers don't seem to mind either, money is money to their sort. We could use our winnings from the gambling to buy the hat and the tin foil. Email me if you are up for it.

Speaking of twats (Branson, Charlie), I'm extremely annoyed at my dentist for failing to do a filling when I first told him about it over a year ago. I told him again six months ago and he told me not to worry, then on my last check up a couple of weeks ago he decided that it finally needed doing. So I go in yesterday and after the normal pre-dentalwork routine (cough and drop etc.) he starts to drill away. After a minute or two of poking around (ha-ha!) he informs me that I now need a fuckin' root canal, the sadistic bastard. This will be the 2nd one this year and comes at a time when I can ill afford the expense.

I have always had my suspicions about dentists. They can tell you practically anything, and just like plumbers and car mechanics, they more or less have a license to print their own money. Up until a couple of years ago, I didn't go to a dentist for about 7 years and when I finally got over the fear and went in for a check up, all I needed apart from a good cleaning was one filling to replace an old one that had fallen out. So why then, in the two years since I started going again have I needed more work done than in the 7 previous years of not fucking going? Call me a cynic but I think he's taking the piss. I will be removing him from the xmas card list if he's not careful.

Never Going To Sleep Again....Ever

I really don't feel all that comfortable talking about it but need to get it off my chest. It's quite disturbing. I've been thinking about it all day and not in a good way.

I mentioned it to Mrs.W when I got home from work. She laughed at first but it seemed like a rather nervous "you scare the shit out me sometimes" type laugh. She has good reason.

Another odd dream last night. I've been having a few lately. I have not been taking my medication as prescribed because it was making it hard to wake up in the morning. I was taking it right before bed so I wouldn't forget but decided to try taking it in the morning instead. I'm always rushing in the morning though and sometimes don't take it. I am blaming the dreams on this change as the alternatives are not acceptable.

Last night, or rather this morning right before I woke up in a cold sweat, feeling very very ashamed indeed, I dreamed that I was giving Shrek a blow job........ There I said it. Laugh all you want to, you callous bastards. Just put yourself in my shoes.....It's a very uncomfortable feeling waking up knowing that you just fantasized, albeit unwillingly, about blowing a cartoon ogre. I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not fuckin' gay!!!!! I don't have a thing for green ogre's with Scotch accents either.

Shrek wielding his weapon....the brute.

This is bad. How the fuck do I ever sit with my daughter and watch Shrek 1, 2 or 3 ever again???? What do I tell her when she asks to watch the fucker? I will have to lie to her. I can't tell her the fuckin' truth can I? Why couldn't it have been Princess Fiona? Or even the donkey for fucks sake? At least then I could laugh about it.

I was going to blog about my weekend in San Diego. Took a couple of nights off from the club as the day job had thoughtfully organized a meeting in SD and was paying for the weekend in a hotel for the family. Nothing much happened though outside of me getting rat arsed on Friday night and feeling extremely poorly on Saturday. Besides, the Shrek dream this morning took the shine off things.

Dream A Little Dream

The other night I dreamed that I was an Olympic gold medal winner......in shitting.

It was a new competition that was causing quite a stir. Competitors were strapped, pant-less into some kind of bondage harness on the end of a rope swing. On the ground below the swing was a bullseye like target with 3 rings, the outer being worth 50 points, the next worth 100 points, the inner ring was worth 200 points and in the center was a bucket worth 500 points. The object of the competition was for the "athletes" to swing from one platform to another and to poop whilst in mid-swing. Needless to say, your score was determined by where the turd landed. I won by nailing three straight buckets for a perfect score, a world record.

In the cold light of morning, it seems fairly unlikely that this kind of thing would ever be accepted into the Summer Olympics as it is way too exciting for them. There may be a chance in the Winter Olympics but it might be too cold for it.

The more I think about it, the more it intrigues me. It would require a great deal of skill, muscle control and mental preparation. Timing would be paramount, meals would have to be carefully planned and the use of performance enhancing drugs such as stool softeners and laxatives would have to be stopped....... I'm obviously going to have to put some serious thought into this before presenting it to the IOC.

Okay, so you waited for over a month and all you get is another post about shite. You have a right to be disappointed but admit it....you missed me.

I have lost about 23lbs, missed a dental appointment, read zero books and have so far failed to find an acceptable alternative to bacon. Enough of me, what have YOU been up to?