Jesus CHRIST. Today is not Halloween, it is "Bang Your Head Repeatedly, You Fucking Cretin" day. 1. Bend over with head in fridge to see if the smell is the cheese from Friday (yes); rear up in horror as cheese stench hits; whack head on half-open cupboard door above.
2. Bend over to empty washing machine. Discover have put one of those stupid foot-covering 'gym socks' in a dodgy shade of pink in with white wash. Curse. Leap up. Bash head on half-open cupboard door above.
3. Bend over to remove 'trainers' from feet, smelling slightly like an enormous hamster. Unfold self, bash head on open locker door above. Shout FUCK, then SORRY. Realise no-one in changing room. Start singing along to Neil Diamond in a sarcastic voice, thinking am still alone. Turn round and see changing room suddenly full. Two observations here: 1) I cannot sing; 2) I was singing along to Neil Diamond.
4. Open car door. Try and execute elaborate twist 'n' turn entry move due to car parked 5 inches from my own. Somehow wrench ankle, stumble, hit head on door.
However, being a cretin has its advantages. I have been able to change the time on my mobile telephonic device and radio alarm clock (stuck on Radio 4, the only other choice being Bangin' Drrrrrumandbass FM, broadcast from a shed two doors down). My computer, which is in fact Alive, adjusted its own clocks. But I have so far been unable to change the time on Blogger, the TV, the oven and in my car, and have been slightly Panicked all day, thinking it was (for example) 3, when it was in fact 2.
Now I find myself with a whole hour in which to rub my head and adjust my clocks. And also ponder the following question, raised this weekend: if you were going to produce a grapefruit-flavoured fizzy pop in a can, would you think Creskin is a good name for it? We're still not sure.
PS: The monkeys you see above adorning this delightful clock are squirrel monkeys. This Is Not A Joke.
18 comments:
You need a hardhat liner for the fez. K. Spacey is a good actor but the ego is rather over the top. What bugs me more is that weird method of speech that Madonna has developed. Not English/not American and totally put on. I have never lived in the UK longer than two weeks at a time but must say that I can do a better English accent than her.
It is A Well Known Fact that in order to change the clock in your car you have to press every button you can find in the car 50 times.
In a random fashion.
And even then, all you will succeed in doing is changing the minutes bit, rather than the hour.
Thus rendering the car clock Useless.
Having done so you will bang your head on the dashboard repeatedly.
So at least you have been getting some practice in.
Hope that helps.
Was in danger of doing Option 1. myself in respect of himself's frightful Camembert in our fridge... It smells like half decomposed cauliflower... No wait, the smell might actually *be* half decomposed cauliflower.
Approx a dozen clock thingies in our house still remain to be changed.
I blame technology: In Happier Times™ each household would have at most one clock which could be changed in either a trice or a jiffy by the MAN of the house at two clearly-marked points in the year.
Now everything has to have a clock on it. Why? We have a nice radio which insists on telling us the time as well, a microwave that seems to be constantly reminding us that it's time we reheated something AND a clock in the kitchen alone. Add in a radio thingummy for getting me out of bed in the morning, a washing machine (why has THAT got a clock on it?) my lovely but temperamental hard disk TV recorder and and ever-growing pile of differently-abled laptops which are all steadily drifting out of sync with one another and the whole situation rapidly becomes untenable.
That's why everyone's so short of time these days - too many clocks.
Might I suggest closing the cabinet and doors that seem to be left open everywhere? Just sayin' tee hee hee (I'm clumsy as hell myself)
If you got a midget, you wouldn't have to bend over for anything anymore.
what a super day. anyway, don't worry about all the clocks you haven't changed; they will be correct again in about five months' time.
and yes, spacey is a knob. end.
bloomin' merkans in uk.
Oh Christ don't get me started on Madge and her toff geezer/twat.
NWM rub your poor noddle with Arnica, it'll get rid of the smeel of cheese and bring out your bruises, so you'll look like a bit of Stilton on legs.
Creskin??? It's a bit near Cretin, but maybe that's the target audience? And for some reason, probably fucking Spacey's fault, I'm hearing a bit of Henry V:
"And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day"
Yet again I am enormously irritated by the fact that all the comments on my post are better than the post itself. This means either:
1. everyone who reads this blog is jolly clever and that
2. everyone who reads this blog is jolly clever AND also kind, in that they are trying hard to raise the overall standard of bloggage on this page because they fell sorry for me with my sad little monkey face
3. none of the above.
It is ALWAYS Spacey's fault. End of story. Also Mist I have to say I am very Taken with the idea of the midget, although I fear he would not be tall enough to adjust many of my clocks. Agree with you Mikey re. clocks on everything -obviously if I had a clock on my washing machine I would be checking it interminably by walking into the bathroom, opening a cupboard and letting a box of Persil flying saucer things fall on my head, which is what happened shortly before going out earlier.
I ALREADY look like a bit of Stilton on legs. It is TOO LATE.
Creskin though. Say it out loud. VERY strong work.
Wendy - also found three courgettes that have been there since 1953. Half soggy and completely brown, in a pool of their own mire. Super!
Katie - if only life were that simple.
Jude - oh God, if only you knew how very, very right you were.
MARTINA! Sorry just saw yours. Hard Hat Fez. Sweet monkeys. I am Delighted by this idea and will have one made immediately.
There already IS a grapefruit flavored soda, and it is called Fresca.
As to the head banging, I , myself, have ankles that are decorative rather than useful, and so I fall down. A lot. With virtually no provocation. It is sad, disturbing, and also funny, provided you are the one watching me fall down.
I agree with Mikey - why do we have to have so many clocks?
We have an oven which doesn't even work if you don't set the bloody clock on it! So every time there's a power cut, we have to work out how to set the clock. I know you have to hold down some buttons and press some other buttons, but can never quite remember which ones...
It's an oven, not a timepiece!
Oh Anxious I have that cooker too, and an overly sensitive RCD system, which trips if you have static on your jumper, thus switching the cooker off.Then when you put the switch back up the cooker bleeps like a reversing juggernaut. I'm afraid I often resort to the Basil method and beat and just beat everything in sight with a stick.
PS the drink thingy. I was in the shower and the name "Sharp In't" came into my head, it probably sucks, but then that's what you want them to do, and your logo could be a musical sharp.
PPS see the mannie from the "Sssh you know who..." ads has died. Wonder if that will be his epitaph?
OK enough genuis for one day, off the argue with the garage people, again....
Not convinced by 'Creskin'. Reminds one a little too much of 'foreskin' and is therefore manly in the wrong way.
As we know that women are too clever to be swayed by a mere name and make all purchasing decisions based entirely on calorie count (even for electrical goods) we need only devise a label that will appeal to the gentleman beverage enthusiast.
Which is why, I put it to you, the only choice is Citrus Fist
I thank you all, and goodnight.
TL ah yes you see, this is the Problem. The name 'Fresca' was forgotten, and someone went "yes, it's called CRESKIN", which is wrong, but very amusing. I have also had it pointed out recently that Creskin is an anagram of knicker, which is a Splendid Fact. Also I had EXACTLY the same problem with my ankles - just fell down a lot and friends would stand in the street going OH GOD WHAT DO I DO NOW? Laugh your tits off, was the usual answer.
Mikey - have you been drinking pop with vodka in it? Citrus Fist not bad as it goes. Bottle or can?
Apprentice and Anxious: I recommend a SMEG (hoorah!) gas stove top, an AEG electric oven, and Bosch dishwasher and refrigerator. None of these items has given me a second of trouble in nearly 6 years.
Flagon?
I think there is an Amazing Kreskin, as well, who claims to be a psychic. Of course, that's with a K and he's probably not grapefruit flavored. Sounds fizzy, though.
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