Your Space, My Pass

You Are 0% Addicted to Myspace

Your Myspace addiction factor is: Very Low When it comes to Myspace, you don't know what the big deal is. Frankly, you think it's over hyped.

Are You Addicted to Myspace?

Oh and a big AMEN to that.

LIMITED TIME ONLY: 22 posts on this front page - because - guess which jerkoff managed to stop her site feed being published, what, 21 posts ago......... If you've only just returned - welcome back!

Snippets

"It is a human right not to have to sit down (to pee) like a girl."

"It is an illusion that the small dried fish cures impotent male” says Dr.G.Raja

"The longer the ring finger, then the more butch you are. But also you are more likely to die from heart disease."

"Dog starts car after eating chip"

Athletes complained of "big women with Adam's apples"

"He believes the bear, which was dressed in a yellow raincoat and hat at the time, is the first to have caused fatalities at the fish farm."

"Women don't come here so often, and they shouldn't eat testicles," says Nancy solemnly.

The Onion Of Confusion

You know all about the Onion of Confusion, Allium Dumfukium, surely. It turns up in all sorts of dishes regularly on the menu (if you happen to be me), such as the humble Stew of Humiliation or the more spectacular, crowd-drawing (crowd demanding) Credibility Flambe.

Sometimes it is a meal in its own right, but is mostly proferred as Possibility Surprise; a delicacy set upon a bed of desperation, that involves slowly peeling and consuming your very personal and large onion of confusion one pungent, eye watering layer at a time, in the sure knowledge that the entire thing is steeped in a marinade of faint hope and therefore may just contain a possibility. Possibilities are like fortune cookies; mostly hollow, more usually containing trite philosophies than anything remotely complimentary to said marinade; highly unlikely to come close to soothing the passage of the vicious root, and generally, if approached too swiftly, leave you with nothing but the taste of cheap paper (and lost possibilities, of course), and another good reason for chronic indigestion.

This is what is known to the gods of perplexity and mortification as a double-triple whammy with a cherry on the top*. It is a riddle more demonic than the whole chicken and egg thing and therefore pleases them immensely, even though it is based entirely on a stupid pun. See one might feel like a dumfukium having consumed said delicacy. One might also feel like a dumfukium having conversely been consumed by it, 'it' being confusion, after all - in other words between you and the onion, it doesn't matter which consumes the other, you still get to feel really incredibly stupid.
*No, there isn't really one at all. It just pleases them if your mind ends up so fried that you actually ask why you never got your cherry.

After all that (or more precisely before it), one has to take into account that free will exists, that consumption of such a meal (or, as established, consumption by it**) is a matter of choice, so that one could be said to 'feel like a dumfukium' , just as one might 'feel like a bite to eat', before actually coming into any sort of contact with the damnable bulb.
**Highly unlikely, which makes it inevitable. I mean, that's confusion for you.

It has to be said that one must surely be either mortally stupid or terminally confused to contemplate such an action, ergo the onion wins, having you in its grasp before you even know of its existence. In other words, confusion is a temporally resistant state which afflicts us all from the first moment of awareness. This would be a comfort if not for those who spend their lives trying to hide their condition through massive consumption of the Cola of hot air, the caviar of groundless superiority***, or cow pie.
***Of course groundless; this is fish eggs, people. I accept caviar as a symbol of gentility if you accept pigs trotters for the same reason. Q: If the trotters were also groundless, would they have to come from flying pigs?

My day today was one huge allium experience; one delicacy after another (although I think I just avoided the flambe on a technicality due to a deficiency in spectator numbers), each gulp drier than the one before. I'd like to say that's another story but it isn't, it's exactly the same one. I'm just too confused to tell you about it; OK?

See Me Play

I had fun!

I had fun HERE, thanks to a link I found via some lunatic alien egglayer. Honestly.

What would yours say?

Free Association #190

I Lurk at Le Laquet.

Thanks to Jo, there, I was reminded of Luna Nina's unconscious mutterings, which
I used to play every week, before this summer decided to sidetrack me.

Time to start again, I think. I am rusty. Blame the heart attack for making me that way, or if you resent me starting back up entirely, then blame Jo! Muahahahaha

Week 190


I say ... and you think ... ?

1. Bell :: School dinners. Over boiled cabbage. Please Sir. Ribbit ribbit (UK middle-aged 'in' joke)
2. Abuse :: a privelige (as in abusing a privelige, not abuse is....). Take the piss, basically.
3. Relief :: After mentioning piss, what else would I think off?
4. List :: mania. OK so its spelt wrong.
5. Concern :: Age. Age concern - they do great work in the UK but the image the name gives off is of insipid 'always had it easy' drippy socialwork types, holding their chins whilst making cooing noises and looking..... concerned. The sort, if I was old and in a wheelchair, that I would purposely run their toes over. DOUR.
6. Absolute :: beginners. I never saw the movie. I think that might be what is termed a 'good thing', possibly even a 'lucky escape'?
7. Cling :: Film. Thats UK ceram wrap. I wish they had to declare the thickness or the elasticity on the outside of the box. Some seem like a bargain until you open them and realise you might as well have bought a soap bubble or a wet paper bag.
8. Dump :: after two references to widdle, its just unfortunate that I have to explain that in the UK 'dump' is the term for a really large, heavy, satisfying, waistline reducing poop.
9. Terminate :: Seems to mean the same as exterminate, these days. It ought to mean end, like where the train line terminates, but now it gets used to mean destroy. God bless scriptwriters.
10. Wine :: squashed grapes. Whaddya want, a romantic association? The damn stuff is just too commonplace these days. Oh there you go, my associated word is: commonplace.

Wee Wee All The Way Home

Or piddle-I-fo.

Or Weeee, bang. Yup that's probably it.


Sorry, I am laughing myself silly at this article, even though I am a whole week late finding it.

See, what do you do (at least if you believe the movies), if you feel you will fail an essential urine test? Why, you scrounge a clean sample from someone else.

What do you do if said substance was handed over hours before you need to appear to produce? Obviously you find a way to warm it up to blood temperature.

However, asking the clerk at the roadside store to shove it in the hot food microwave is thoughtless and unhygeinic.

Hiding the liquid in a soft rubbery casing and microwaving the lot is plain stupid, and asking for a big mess.

When that 'casing' just happens to be a dildo/fake penis, then that's just begging for international mockery, (and it has to be said that hiring a defence attorney with a name like something out of the Rocky Horror Show smacks of looking for a book deal).

I have questions; I mean, are all fake do-wanglers toys, or are there also ornamental ones? Why would there be ornamental ones? (Don't answer.)

Why would a woman take her male friend's urine and smuggle it in to a clinic in a mock trouser snake? Was she aiming to waggle it from her fly and pretend, or was this just her idea of fun? Why am I asking these questions?

Iew.

Anthem for the Ordinary!

Rachel North has hit the nail on the head with a ditty that I feel is set to become an underground anthem.

Oh my dear God - The Underground Anthem - that's a WAY better title than the one above, don't you think? It is properly named by the chorus, 'The Rules Of The Game Have Changed'; see here where Rachel is encouraging people to contribute verses or a tune or suggest more links.

So, if anyone musical out there feels inspired to the point that the tune is itching to jump from their fingertips (and believe me, I am certain the tune already exists, it simply hasn't been written yet), then play your part! Join in!

Here we go:

We won't talk of causes, we'll talk of effects.
We'll whip up a horror of radical sects.
(We don't want to talk about why they are vexed)
The Rules of the Game Have Changed.

We'll tell you we're listening, but we don't want to hear.
We'll trash civil liberties, ramp up the fear,
(And, if after the PM's job, go up a gear)
The Rules of the Game Have Changed

You can march in your millions, protest if you dare -
As long as you don't go near Parliament Square
(The cries of your anger might be heard by us there).
And the Rules of the Game Have Changed

If we think you're a bomber, Osama's recruit
There's no time for questions, Jean Charles, we'll just shoot,
And the ''misinformed'' officers won't get the boot.
The Rules of the Game Have Changed.

We don't condone torture - 'least, not on our lands
For ''unlawful combatants'' / ''terrorist bands''
Though some say rendition leaves blood on our hands,
But the Rules of the Game Have Changed.

Your sons and your daughters must be under your gaze
Lest their young minds be fuddled by martyrdom's haze.
(Extremism's causes? Debate's been erased.)
The Rules of the Game Have Changed.

We're watching and logging you all, can't you see?
It's for your own good, it will keep you all free.
The cameras, wiretaps, biometric ID...
The Rules of the Game Have Changed

You think this sounds scary? You're starting to cry?
Armageddon is coming! The End Times are nigh!
We're ready for Rapture, to heaven-ward fly...
The Rules of the Game Have Changed.

So bring on the horror, the fear and alarm.
We won't rest til infidels all buy the farm,
God willing. Bush said so. 'Twil work like a charm!...
The Rules of the Game Have Changed.

And you think I'm joking? And well so you might.
You won't give up liberty without a fight?
Check our track record - we'll soon see who's right.
The Rules of the Game Have Changed.

RN 2006

I can do puzzles, me.

You Are Incredibly Logical

Move over Spock - you're the new master of logic You think rationally, clearly, and quickly. A seasoned problem solver, your mind is like a computer!

How Logical Are You?

Yeeee Ha!!

If you seach for Cheryl, UK only (on Lycos UK), I just happen to be the very very top number one search result, which is pretty unbelievable, so here's the link to prove it (for as long as the situation lasts.)

I also happen to be the 10th top answer if you search my name on Yahoo UK.

I'm tickled pink, I am. Look, pink.

Blim Blim Innocence

One of Daughter's presents for her recent tenth birthday was a very decent Ministry Of Sound CD player.

Another was a compilation CD of chart hits.

I'd forgotten a huge chunk of childhood.

I'd forgotten that every girl gets to a stage in life where she enthusiastically locks herself away in the bedroom to spend hours playing her favourite track(s) over and over, section by section, until she has written down all the words.

Here are the rules:

• If you don't entirely understand a bit (frequently the case) you just guess.
• You are not bothered about best handwriting, proper punctuation or best spelling.
• The whole point of the exercise is to end up with a scrawl that allows you to sing the track all the way through with some air of confidence; as if this guarantees entry into some secret elite.

I found Daughter's exercise book today. She left it out here in the living room and it flops open naturally at the words to her most favourite song.

I adore her innocence - all things are pure, still.

I adore her stabs at missing words, the guesses she has used to fill the gaps.

I find, against my conscious preference that I have spent half of this afternoon quietly muttering the song to myself, specifically including the errors in the chorus. I honestly don't know why, but they bring such a lump to my throat and make me so proud.

From paris to blim blim every Disco I go in, my heart is pumping for love....

Blame the tablets, ok?

I wasn't going to post this at all until Atyllah commented on my previous post, said a connected sort of thing and tied it up to a brilliant bit of deep thought over on Zilla's blog.

So.

Today I received the following quote in a promotional email:

Thought for the Day: "Loving people live in a loving world. Hostile people live in a hostile world. But it's the same world. How come?" Dr. Wayne Dyer

Does 'world' mean community, or are we meant to assume it means everything, right down to health and the weather?

Still its a great quote, brilliant even, but then none of us are perfect so its not that black and white.

What if you are feeling run down and sick, fed up and miserable, only because you live in a loving world invaded by hostile people? What if the hostile things in your world are attracted to someone else's sphere of influence, just one you happen to sit too close to until attrition takes its toll?

How do you tell? Just because hostility is contagious, it doesn't always mean you are the carrier.

You can only eat good food if good food is there - whether thats physical or spiritual - so this quote addresses only those in the state of plenty, those whose disaffection and sense of forboding comes from having access to everything they need, including free will and the goods and finances to be able to exercise it. I suspect it is targetted at those who want what they see, just because someone else has it. (If you think I'm wrong then imagine quoting Mr Dyer to a starving war orphan.)

The interconnection of all things comes into play so obviously and beautifully here - as if we are all little brain cells, and good things and bad things are viral. Its a giant war zone, a battle between good and evil, peace and torment, played out like the dance of oils in a Lava lamp.

Yes, you can do the best or the worst with your outlook within the constraints of what is available in your area, but your success or failure affects the people around you, and vice versa. How else can I put this? If you live in the Sahara, don't hold out for rain.

Dear Mr Dyer, some people are near death for lack of a good thing. Some are nearer death from too much of it. Just a thought.

I believe that sometimes illness is a good thing, sometimes, if we drew it to ourselves, (big bloody if) then we have a lesson to take from it, which means it is also a blessing.

Or, to quote my youngest son who does an even better impersonation of Yoda than I ever could,
"Hungry, am I. Buy sausages, you must."
Wow, like, inscrutable, man.

Scary Meme

Thanks guys for the interestingly diverse reactions to my last, somewhat narcissistic post.

No I will not be using the photo here - yes its nice to look half my age, but I see it as line free, character free, false and vacant, plus I don't do hedonism. Well not on a permanent basis, God forbid. Maybe just on a rare post that will slide off the bottom of the page if I can just keep writing.

Steg: My first husband was so derogatory about my smile that I offered to put my teeth in a brace. His answer, in public, to the amusement of some of his less sulubrious acquaintances, was that I might as well put them in the back of a lorry instead. Since that time I have also developed the 'lucky' (yeah right) gap as seen on Jilly Cooper and Madge. I don't do smiles, especially not for the camera. Ever.

Atyllah - I love your writing style, I love your observations (including ones where the whole alien species motif doesn't even factor) and considering I let this blog go to pot over the last three months (minor matter of a teensy blocked artery - did you know? I hate to ask incase I am becoming an infarction bore) - ahem - considering that, I am really very pleased and flattered that you see it as having any style or direction at all. Bugger it, I am entirely happy that you ever even stopped by and commented. You are top of my list of new finds.

~~~

Zilla tagged me for a meme last week when I was mired in a different kind of self involvement altogether. At that point I had no answers to many of the questions.

Zilla, sorry I'm late. Here goes:

1… Things that scare me

* Everything. I keep feeling like I am outside the Headmaster's office in deep shit and theres so MUCH I should have done but didn't, that I don't even know which sin I'm gonna get fried for.
* Any sorts of aches and pains. I had a heart attack that gave me sore arms and sore gills, no pressure in the chest at all. Funny, I've had more odd twangs in the chest area since then than ever before, so its almost certainly hypochondria (says she, measuring her pulse).
* That I am not doing enough to change the world and have a life, that I am treading water in a back corner somewhere and squandering every talent and chance I might have had. That I missed my cue. That one is probably true.
* That my two youngest are nearly teenagers and that I have lost my babies and wasted my chances to enrich that, to develop good memories and to build them up as much as I could. Thats another one thats true, its just facing it that sucks.
* The likelihood that some well meaning but crass know-it-all will with a fetish for being Wanda the good witch of the West will comment here, try and throw sparkly platitudes at me, but end up contradicting what I just said. If I say I have dog-doodoo on my shoes, don't tell me its ice cream, because I'm the one thats wearing them. Do not pat me on the head (unless you didn't really need that arm anyway.... LOL)
* Me. I scare me (not that I can imagine anyone wishing to disagree with THAT statement)

2…People who make me laugh

* My kids
* you lot ( I do love blogsurfing)
* Nope, thats all at the moment......

3…Things I hate the most

* The word 'sumptuous'. Yuck, yuck, yuckety yuck - you are allowed to think I am nuts. Its just so sickening and slathering and slimy; especially when used in relation to food. Reminds me of Robert Morley as the poodle-packing Mr Merridew in Theatre Of Blood. It sets my gag reflex off and makes the back of my throat all cold and extra wet and - uhoh, yuck. I guess I was too young when I first saw the movie. 19, I think....
* Teensy tiny little fonts used on large blocks of text.
* Manipulators
* Liars and being lied to
* People who try to pat you on the head
* People who keep looking for a pat on the head.
* People who like to be too personal. I mean, I don't want to know about your sex life any more than you want to know about the huge dump I took last night. Go on, play with a Mars Bar, enjoy yourself with my blessing, just dont expect a round of applause. I'm not your mummy. I don't want to know all about it when you come home from school, and I'm not going to stick the pictures on my kitchen wall. This sounds a lot like the previous point, now I think about it.


4…Things I don’t understand

* Everything in section 3


5…Things I’m doing right now

* Wishing I hadnt sat on one leg for so long because my foot has gone numb
* Fielding questions from the kids
* Feeling really hungry

6…Things I want to do before I die

* Scream and rail at the unfairness and futility of it all, from a mountain top, in designer rags, with a dramatic, lightning-filled sky and panoramic views and a whole camera crew to capture the event, OK?
* Work out what in my life is worth keeping/working at if anything.
* Get over this fury. I think thats the part of convalescence that people gloss over and never tell you about.


7… Things I can do

* Write a letter that will make its recipient feel extremely hurt, angry and defensive
* Choose to refrain from sending said letter
* Find humor in most anything
* Argue most people into exhaustion
* Forgive
* Take it apart and put it back together again, correctly
* Apologize, sincerely
* Be very scary

8… Ways to describe my personality

* I don't have a fucking clue, I mean where do you think I am, over there being a fly on the wall? You tell me.
* I guess that would mean I could safely guess at 'difficult'.
* points 3 to 8 open to suggestion.


9… Things I can’t do

* Kiss my own butt. Shame, that.
* Touch my head with my toes. Anymore. I'm going to correct that one.
* Get really angry or really happy or even really motivated - I think its these sodding beta blockers they've got me on. Its kind of made my whole life like reading a crappy magazine in a waiting room - 'something to do'.


10…Things I think you should listen to

* Anything you like except me.

11…Things you should never listen to

* Pessimists - that would be me, then
* MLM gurus
* People who want you to invoke angels, do magic, or even just to 'visualise stuff' like money or mr X falling in love with you. Change yourself for sure, but don't command angels, nature or other people to change for you - thats manipulation and setting yourself up as God and it can destroy you. Slowly. From the inside.


12…Things I’d like to learn

* How to precis
* How to smile and not give a shit
* How to enjoy my housework

13…Favorite foods

* No idea. I didn't have a high fat diet to start with so have been scared off pretty much anything that doesnt look like an ice cube, a lettuce leaf or millet. Except that all seeds are high fat, so easy on the millet. Can I do this bit when I've reprogrammed?

14…Beverages I drink regularly

* Decaff Coffee
* Water

15…Shows I watched as a kid (linked to mp3s)

* Follyfoot (The Lightning Tree)
* Andy Pandy (no mp3 available, so all together now; "Time to go home....." hic snivel)
* The Herbs (lyrics for Parsley The Lion)
* Banana Splits
* The White Horses
* The Singing Ringing Tree
* Catweazle
* Ivor The Engine
* Crackerjack!
* Jackanory
* Blue Peter
* Rent-A-Ghost

I Tag: Anyone who is still speaking to me after that - let me know in the comments!

Slap; Without The Tickle.

After a good reciprocal grumble with a dear blogging friend (by email, as it goes) I felt sufficiently cheered to try and put on a happy face.

Literally. With paint and polyfilla etc.

In my brazen youth I favoured four inches of slap (warpaint, makeup) around the eyes; no foundation cream because it always made my alabaster skin look pasty and my freckles look black. It was a bold look, and whilst I hate to rely on what works (in the way that some men have steadfastly worn sideburns since 1969), hell, it does work, and whats more, its coming back into fashion for this autumn.

How sad is that.

Shut up, because I don't care, OK?

So I was thinking I would update the profile muppet shot here, because hey, camouflage by colour has to be better than the hair tent method, right?

Wrong.

Extreme overexposure on the other hand, that covers just about every sin you've got going; like so:


Its official. I am going to become one of those Baby Jane style old weirdos who keeps dirty mirrors or none at all, just to live in fantasy land.

P.S. Someone I am irked by had a fit of play nice and volunteered to help by taking the shot. I did not trust the outcome. Can you tell? Like I said, no tickle. None whatsoever.

Oh NOW I'm Having Fun

Norman John Baker, may his tribe increase; is my local MP. The link is to his own website, but if you prefer, here's his Wikipedia page.

I watch his questions to Parliament by subscription through 'TheyWorkForYou' and have learned that he cuts to the chase; that there is always a whole lot more behind a question than the few words it is made of.

As an example, TheyWorkForYou quotes this:

Norman Baker: To ask the Secretary of State for the Home Department what the total value was of contracts entered into by his Department with Science Applications International Corporation in each year since 1997; and if he will make a statement.

Wonderful. Off I go then, to Google this company and discover that Science Applications International, aka SAIC is a massive, American intelligence corporation which, as soon as you visit its site, makes a big selling point of 'keeping America safe' and 'defeating global terrorism' in flash animated graphics over pretty shots of ports and people, in the first five seconds. Right, so, thats clear, then.

This doesn't mean they're bad. Not even with all that CorpWatch has to say about them.

The question is (and its a question dear Mr Baker has beaten me to by miles); what in Hell's name has Blair's Labour Government in dear old Blighty (or at least the Department concerned with internal affairs and law and order) been paying these people to provide?
Equipment?
Or services?
And for what?
And at what cost?

Norman Baker got half an answer - the breakdown, into years, of approximately £8 million in expenditure. It seems the biggest wodge of dosh by far went out of the coffers in 2002, way before we as a nation overtly stepped up the security measures. As there was no 'statement' to go with the figures; nothing to say what was purchased, I am left to imagine. The primary software for the damnable ID cards perhaps? Or the DNA profiling system the police now use?

This little quote from CorpWatch set me wondering:

Today two of SAIC's most valuable products are: TeraText and Latent Semantic Indexing (LSI) data-mining programs that are used by intelligence agencies to sift the immense volumes of data they now collect by monitoring phone calls, faxes, e-mails, and other types of electronic communications.

So there you have it. I remember a 'wind up' that went round about fifteen years ago, suggesting that if you had ever signed anything political then MI5 had a copy, but that if you also had a high IQ, you were completely screwed. It seems there are potential subversives, and then there are potential intelligent subversives; the latter being allegedly far more dangerous.

Right. I was so scared I nearly let my Mensa magazine subscription expire. I nearly stopped going on jolly days out with geeks flying kites and jolly nights out with geeks slurping real ale or repetitively and enthusiastically waving the ankle encased in the one green sock (you'd have to understand to understand; sorry). Nearly, anyway.

There was a concurrent whisper (for 'whisper' read geeky Mensan idea of a joke) that if you wanted to really screw with the Government then all you had to do was say the word 'Plutonium' at the end of a phone call, to have your phone tapped and your 'movements shadowed'. Yes, OK, we did ponder whether that meant someone dressed like Secret Squirrel was going to come over with a 5B pencil and add depth to poo.

All this was back in the days of Thatcher.

Then it seemed silly.

Now I am not so sure.

So I am asking you to help me experiment, by using as many different phones as possible over the next week and saying one (or all - whatever butters your bloomers) of the following words/phrases in each and every phonecall. Just in case:-

Plutonium
uranium
semtex
jihad
infidel
Blair is a ninny, na-na-ner-na-na
Bush is a retard, wobble wobble boing.

Are we on? :-)

But They Don't Mean Me!

Anyway I don't drive.

(And just cos me and Adam wrote emails like ages ago and he let me copy all his lyrics and I think Amateur Transplants are great and all that, it doesn't mean he doesn't know at least a million Cheryls and I would be a really really big head to think it was me and, so, um, well, so anyway. And so ner. OK.)

If the link doesnt work for you, then it's Sheila's Wheels, top of the list HERE.

Bloody Brilliant!

I want to play.

BTW, if you like (or think you might like) OK GO, then check out the official website and the blog.

Whichever site you go for, good luck to the boys as they appear (tonight?) on Late Night with Conan O'Brien.

BBC Test The Nation

Did you play?

What did you score?

Online or with the TV show?

I played online but wished I hadnt as the picture clues come up so small - something that might take up half of a 24" TV screen comes up 3" by 2" at most, on a computer because of all the other frames around it.

I cocked up on things like sequencing the storyboards - I saw the figure do soething at the fireplace but couldnt make out the fire until watching the rehash on TV.

Thats my excuse and I'm sticking to it. 4 more IQ points and I might have got a phone call, hic sob (haha) so I need to time my test around the TV show next year, or else get some really strong specs.

So mine, it appears, is 142. Yours?