You know how people say stuff like 'I like your shoes', 'That's a nice shirt', 'your new haircut is awesome', or some such nonsense?
What are you supposed to say to that?
I believe the normal response is to thank your admirer. But that doesn't seem right to me.
It's not like most people made their own shoes or designed their shirts or anything, so they can't really be admiring the cobbling or textile design skills of the wearer.
I suppose, perhaps they must actually be complimenting the excellent clothes choosing skills of the wearer.
So rather than saying 'I like your pretty dress,' perhaps we should say something like: 'Well done for picking an item of clothing that doesn't make you look like a tramp!'
But then, some people choose their clothes simply because they have a particular company's name on or because an advert or celebrity told them to. So it seems a bit pointless to compliment their clothes choosing abilities.
My own method of choosing clothes is mostly to assess it's blackness and therefore my likelihood of wearing it. I'm not much interested in the the cut of my jeans or the pointyness of my shoes. Mostly I'm just interested in their blackness.
On that basis, perhaps my response should be along the lines of: 'Thank you for noticing how black my clothes are.'
It's a bit strange when people compliment me* when I'm wearing blue or green or brown clothes because it just means I've run out of black ones. I think they must be confused.
( * which, for the record, never happens! )
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Two-Way
Today I thought I'd share this photo that we snapped in Thornbury.
Have you spotted the problem? Answers on a postcard, please!
Have you spotted the problem? Answers on a postcard, please!
Friday, July 29, 2011
The Secret Of My Handsomeness
It is no secret that I am very, very handsome.
What is a secret, however, is why, exactly, I am so handsome.
Is it genetic handsomeness? Have I inherited my handsomeness from my parents?
Obviously not, because neither of my brothers are even nearly as handsome as me. In fact, by comparison, they have a very ordinary level of handsomeness. (I'm being kind... At least one of them is really quite ugly.)
Is it because of Photoshop? Photoshop is very clever and can do many things, but sadly, making a person as handsome as me is not one of those things. I did a test on some photographs of Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and George Clooney, but I simply couldn't make them as handsome as me.
See? This handsometer measures two different types of handsomeness, and those other guys don't even come close to my top notch handsomeness.
Could it be clever lighting that makes me so handsome? No. I'm handsome in the dark too. Doubly so, Dr K tells me. Look, here's a picture of me that illustrates this perfectly:
I really am very handsome in the dark, aren't I?
I'll wait a moment before I continue while the ladies finish swooning.
Finished?
Excellent. I shall continue.
No, the reason I am so very handsome is quite simple. It's my beard. My beard makes me handsome.
I mean, I'm quite handsome without it, but the beard really does an excellent job of making me extra handsome.
And recently, I have been getting even handsomer.
'How?' I hear you ask. 'How can you get even more handsome?
I could tell you, but I think the following picture illustrates it perfectly:
That's right. I have more beard. I don't want you to think of it as a beard, though. I want you to think of it as More Handsomeness. Because that's what it is. Somewhat patchy handsomeness, I'll grant you. In places, it's quite sparse handsomeness, and some parts of my face are more handsome than others, but it is, nonetheless, plenty of handsomeness.
Good night.
What is a secret, however, is why, exactly, I am so handsome.
Is it genetic handsomeness? Have I inherited my handsomeness from my parents?
Obviously not, because neither of my brothers are even nearly as handsome as me. In fact, by comparison, they have a very ordinary level of handsomeness. (I'm being kind... At least one of them is really quite ugly.)
Is it because of Photoshop? Photoshop is very clever and can do many things, but sadly, making a person as handsome as me is not one of those things. I did a test on some photographs of Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and George Clooney, but I simply couldn't make them as handsome as me.
See? This handsometer measures two different types of handsomeness, and those other guys don't even come close to my top notch handsomeness.
Could it be clever lighting that makes me so handsome? No. I'm handsome in the dark too. Doubly so, Dr K tells me. Look, here's a picture of me that illustrates this perfectly:
I really am very handsome in the dark, aren't I?
I'll wait a moment before I continue while the ladies finish swooning.
Finished?
Excellent. I shall continue.
No, the reason I am so very handsome is quite simple. It's my beard. My beard makes me handsome.
I mean, I'm quite handsome without it, but the beard really does an excellent job of making me extra handsome.
And recently, I have been getting even handsomer.
'How?' I hear you ask. 'How can you get even more handsome?
I could tell you, but I think the following picture illustrates it perfectly:
That's right. I have more beard. I don't want you to think of it as a beard, though. I want you to think of it as More Handsomeness. Because that's what it is. Somewhat patchy handsomeness, I'll grant you. In places, it's quite sparse handsomeness, and some parts of my face are more handsome than others, but it is, nonetheless, plenty of handsomeness.
Good night.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
A Limerick Instead Of A Post
There was a blogger called Daz,
Whose post lacked a certain pizzazz.
It was nearly time for bed,
So he wrote a limerick instead,
But he couldn't think of a last line.
Shit.
Whose post lacked a certain pizzazz.
It was nearly time for bed,
So he wrote a limerick instead,
But he couldn't think of a last line.
Shit.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Boxes
Every week, Dr K receives a box. It's made of cardboard and it's about he size of a video cassette case.
I've been getting a bit of box envy recently, so this week, I ordered one of my own.
Here they are. They're very similar, I think you'll agree.
Dr K's box has a discreet and tasteful logo in the bottom corner and not a lot else. Not vey exciting.
Mine, on the other hand has 'Om Nom Nom Nom' emblazoned on the leading edge. Based on that alone, it's clear that my box is going to be so much better than Dr K's!
Let's open them up.
Cor. That's pretty exciting. Dr K has a lovely pair of coconuts on display when you lift up her top.
My box, isn't nearly as pretty inside.
But let's not get hung up on that. Take a look at the contents of Dr K's box:
How peculiar.
It seems that Dr K's box is full of twigs and birdseed and floor sweepings. Well, they look positively... delicious.
Oh well. I suppose one has to be disappointed every now and again, so that you can appreciate the more awesome things in life!
You know, like the contents of my box!
Wow. It's only a brilliant selection of weird foreign sweets!
I'd like to end with a little maths lesson:
my box > dr k's box
Yeah.
I've been getting a bit of box envy recently, so this week, I ordered one of my own.
Here they are. They're very similar, I think you'll agree.
Dr K's box has a discreet and tasteful logo in the bottom corner and not a lot else. Not vey exciting.
Mine, on the other hand has 'Om Nom Nom Nom' emblazoned on the leading edge. Based on that alone, it's clear that my box is going to be so much better than Dr K's!
Let's open them up.
Cor. That's pretty exciting. Dr K has a lovely pair of coconuts on display when you lift up her top.
My box, isn't nearly as pretty inside.
But let's not get hung up on that. Take a look at the contents of Dr K's box:
How peculiar.
It seems that Dr K's box is full of twigs and birdseed and floor sweepings. Well, they look positively... delicious.
Oh well. I suppose one has to be disappointed every now and again, so that you can appreciate the more awesome things in life!
You know, like the contents of my box!
Wow. It's only a brilliant selection of weird foreign sweets!
I'd like to end with a little maths lesson:
Yeah.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Homeopathy
Homeopathy is brilliant, despite what all those silly closed-minded, Big-Pharma-loving, baby-eating, unthinking toadies say.
I think that people just don't understand the benefits provided by alternative remedies and Mother Earth.
For example, my homeopathic zebra warding treatment, which is achieved by having a very reputable specialist place the essence of one small natural, aerobically fermented, allium cepa bulb as close to my root chakra point as possible, has been very, very effective.
I have not been killed by a zebra. Nor have I developed zebra-like stripes on my skin. Ever. You can't argue with results!
I started seeing an aural manipulation technician a while back and I can honestly say that my aura has never been better. My qualified aural manipulator tells me that it's a lovely calm blue, which is much better than red. And she would know because she has a Certificate of Attainment from the Aural School of Natural Healing which is on the Internet!
Many alternative remedies use magic to cure ailments, which has repeatedly been proven in non-clinical, unscientific studies by at least one unqualified, self certified expert to be very, very effective at separating patients from the cause of their ailment.
The most common cause of ailments, in case you're wondering, is money. Usually in multiples of £29.99. By divesting you of the cause of your ailments, your karmic balance is restored, your chakras are stabilised and, most importantly, your con-ma... er... holistic consultant gets paid!
I think that people just don't understand the benefits provided by alternative remedies and Mother Earth.
For example, my homeopathic zebra warding treatment, which is achieved by having a very reputable specialist place the essence of one small natural, aerobically fermented, allium cepa bulb as close to my root chakra point as possible, has been very, very effective.
I have not been killed by a zebra. Nor have I developed zebra-like stripes on my skin. Ever. You can't argue with results!
I started seeing an aural manipulation technician a while back and I can honestly say that my aura has never been better. My qualified aural manipulator tells me that it's a lovely calm blue, which is much better than red. And she would know because she has a Certificate of Attainment from the Aural School of Natural Healing which is on the Internet!
Many alternative remedies use magic to cure ailments, which has repeatedly been proven in non-clinical, unscientific studies by at least one unqualified, self certified expert to be very, very effective at separating patients from the cause of their ailment.
The most common cause of ailments, in case you're wondering, is money. Usually in multiples of £29.99. By divesting you of the cause of your ailments, your karmic balance is restored, your chakras are stabilised and, most importantly, your con-ma... er... holistic consultant gets paid!
Monday, July 25, 2011
An Appeal
I'd like to draw your attention to a terrible situation.
Innocents from far off lands are being forcibly taken from their homes, from their families.
They are crammed into shipping containers or lorries in their hundreds, with no space to move or breathe. And then they are transported, against their will into enforced bondage, right here in England!
Once here, they are displayed like wares in a supermarket and then sold, like mere possessions.
They are forced to submit to horrible, cramped conditions - often made to live in cupboards or other dark spaces.
And when their new masters decide that their time has come, they are tortured beyond endurance before being murdered.
Their bodies are cast away like rubbish into mass graves and buried forever.
This atrocity should be stopped once and for all. It simply should not be allowed to endure!
On the other hand, tea is bloody lovely. I ain't giving it up for anyone!
1216, by the way.
Innocents from far off lands are being forcibly taken from their homes, from their families.
They are crammed into shipping containers or lorries in their hundreds, with no space to move or breathe. And then they are transported, against their will into enforced bondage, right here in England!
Once here, they are displayed like wares in a supermarket and then sold, like mere possessions.
They are forced to submit to horrible, cramped conditions - often made to live in cupboards or other dark spaces.
And when their new masters decide that their time has come, they are tortured beyond endurance before being murdered.
Their bodies are cast away like rubbish into mass graves and buried forever.
This atrocity should be stopped once and for all. It simply should not be allowed to endure!
On the other hand, tea is bloody lovely. I ain't giving it up for anyone!
1216, by the way.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #6: Germany (or possibly Austria)
Today I have sampled a German sweet. Which might be Austrian. But I am assured that it was both made and purchased in Germany, even though it has Mozart on it.
As you can see, it is a very attractively wrapped Mozartkugel. Shiny foil wrapping just can't be beat!
Inside was something that looked like a chocolate doorknob. I suspect that doorknobs made of chocolate would be a little impractical. For one thing, I would keep getting stuck in rooms on account of eating all the doorknobs.
Moving onto the sweet interior:
Inside the chocolate doorknob was some delicious marzipan.. And some tasty brown stuff that reminded me of Nutella. This sweet is awesome! I love this sweet.
As a special bonus, when the shiny foil wrapper is flattened out it makes an attractive miniature wall-hanging, as presented here by the lovely Dr K:
This sweet has it all and is easily is the best I've tried since starting this whole foreign sweet malarkey. It has earned itself a well deserved FIVE OUT OF FIVE!
Here's an update to the sweet map of the world:
In related news, I found a website that will send me a whole bunch of foreign sweets. Woohoo!
As you can see, it is a very attractively wrapped Mozartkugel. Shiny foil wrapping just can't be beat!
Inside was something that looked like a chocolate doorknob. I suspect that doorknobs made of chocolate would be a little impractical. For one thing, I would keep getting stuck in rooms on account of eating all the doorknobs.
Moving onto the sweet interior:
Inside the chocolate doorknob was some delicious marzipan.. And some tasty brown stuff that reminded me of Nutella. This sweet is awesome! I love this sweet.
As a special bonus, when the shiny foil wrapper is flattened out it makes an attractive miniature wall-hanging, as presented here by the lovely Dr K:
This sweet has it all and is easily is the best I've tried since starting this whole foreign sweet malarkey. It has earned itself a well deserved FIVE OUT OF FIVE!
Here's an update to the sweet map of the world:
In related news, I found a website that will send me a whole bunch of foreign sweets. Woohoo!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Nine Things I Like
2. Curry
3. Dr K
4. Cottage Pie
5. Rochester
6. The Cinema
7. Batman
8. Charts
9. My iPad!
Friday, July 22, 2011
Nine Things I Don't Like
1. Finding out that the milk on my cereal's gone off one mouthful too late!
2. Progress bars that lie.
3. Chuggers. I thought begging was illegal. Maybe someone should tell them that. Whilst punching them in their condescending, self righteous, little hippie faces.
4. Flies. especially especially on my feet!
5. Filler posts on blogs that are supposed to be funny.
6. People that stand right behind you while they're waiting for you to finish at the urinal. Man, do I make them wait.
7. 'Sparkling' water. Firstly, the word you're looking for is 'fizzy', you pretentious dickhole. Secondly, water isn't fizzy. That's just wrong. WRONG! (Although a small part of me wants to know what would happen to the goldfish if I filled their tank with fizzy water...)
8. Prejudiced, bigoted people. They're just wankers!
9. Foreigners. Oh, wait...
2. Progress bars that lie.
3. Chuggers. I thought begging was illegal. Maybe someone should tell them that. Whilst punching them in their condescending, self righteous, little hippie faces.
4. Flies. especially especially on my feet!
5. Filler posts on blogs that are supposed to be funny.
6. People that stand right behind you while they're waiting for you to finish at the urinal. Man, do I make them wait.
7. 'Sparkling' water. Firstly, the word you're looking for is 'fizzy', you pretentious dickhole. Secondly, water isn't fizzy. That's just wrong. WRONG! (Although a small part of me wants to know what would happen to the goldfish if I filled their tank with fizzy water...)
8. Prejudiced, bigoted people. They're just wankers!
9. Foreigners. Oh, wait...
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Shopping: An Abuse Of Human Rights Or Just A Plain Old War Crime?
Recently, I went to the lovely city of Bath with Dr K*.
Unfortunately, we had forgotten that it was sales season. Bath was packed with sale-fevered females hauling their long suffering, shopping bag laden male companions along behind them. Honestly, why do so many women insist on dragging their men out on shopping trips when they know they hate it!
After witnessing defeated and despairing men in their hundreds traipsing around behind their wives, being berated for not sharing in the retail enthusiasm, I saw one particularly horrific example of ritual humiliation of a man by his wife involving a pair of furry slippers and I began to wonder if there was a law against subjecting them to such treatment!
It turns out there is. In fact there's a couple:
Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights states that:
"No one shall be subjected to torture or to inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment."
Being forced to go shopping is the very definition of inhuman and degrading treatment.
In fact if one were to accept that there was, indeed a battle of the sexes, then it becomes obvious that men are being effectively held as prisoners of war in the shops by their female captors and subjecting them to this torture is, in fact, a war crime under the Geneva Convention:
"Persons ... shall in all circumstances be treated humanely, without any adverse distinction founded on race, colour, religion or faith, sex, birth or wealth..." and "...the following acts are and shall remain prohibited at any time... cruel treatment and torture... outrages upon personal dignity, in particular humiliating and degrading treatment;"
So basically, if your woman drags you out shopping, you should suggest going to the shopping centre at Nuremberg, where justice can be meted out.
( * To clarify - we were not there to go shopping. Dr K has considerably less tolerance for shopping than the average female. )
Picture: I was only following orders.
Unfortunately, we had forgotten that it was sales season. Bath was packed with sale-fevered females hauling their long suffering, shopping bag laden male companions along behind them. Honestly, why do so many women insist on dragging their men out on shopping trips when they know they hate it!
After witnessing defeated and despairing men in their hundreds traipsing around behind their wives, being berated for not sharing in the retail enthusiasm, I saw one particularly horrific example of ritual humiliation of a man by his wife involving a pair of furry slippers and I began to wonder if there was a law against subjecting them to such treatment!
It turns out there is. In fact there's a couple:
Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights states that:
"No one shall be subjected to torture or to inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment."
Being forced to go shopping is the very definition of inhuman and degrading treatment.
In fact if one were to accept that there was, indeed a battle of the sexes, then it becomes obvious that men are being effectively held as prisoners of war in the shops by their female captors and subjecting them to this torture is, in fact, a war crime under the Geneva Convention:
"Persons ... shall in all circumstances be treated humanely, without any adverse distinction founded on race, colour, religion or faith, sex, birth or wealth..." and "...the following acts are and shall remain prohibited at any time... cruel treatment and torture... outrages upon personal dignity, in particular humiliating and degrading treatment;"
So basically, if your woman drags you out shopping, you should suggest going to the shopping centre at Nuremberg, where justice can be meted out.
( * To clarify - we were not there to go shopping. Dr K has considerably less tolerance for shopping than the average female. )
Picture: I was only following orders.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #5: Nederlands
Namecheck time again: Rachael!
A few weeks ago, Rachael went to the Nederlands and she bought me some sweets there.
Unfortunately, she lost them and has only just found them! Here they are:
Interesting mix, this lot.
First up is this suspicious looking treat. It had a chewy cola flavoured coating and a soft, sugary interior. It tasted a lot like it looks. Yuck.
The giant cola bottle was promising, though. I like cola bottles, so a giant one should go down well. Unfortunately, it didn't taste of anything, so not much to report there apart from lots of chewing. Lots of chewing. To be fair, this could be a symptom of being hidden in a suitcase for a month!
Finally there was the Toxic Waste sweet. Described on it's wrapper as a 'hazardously sour candy'. This little powerhouse actually caused my face to turn inside out with it's extreme sourness! Brilliant.
Based on a disgusting sweet, a suitcase flavoured sweet and an amazingly awesome face-melting sweet, the overall score is 3.5. the sour sweet really brought it up.
There was a drawback however. If Mr Grumpy Pants taught me one thing, it's to check my references and on the back of the Toxic Waste was the name and address of the manufacturer:
Lancashire, huh? So it seems that the Nederlands import their sweets from Lancashire.
I'm sorry, Rach. I'm not sure I can accurately rate a country's sweets based on self-confessed sweets from a different country. You're just gonna have to go back the and buy me some more!
A few weeks ago, Rachael went to the Nederlands and she bought me some sweets there.
Unfortunately, she lost them and has only just found them! Here they are:
Interesting mix, this lot.
First up is this suspicious looking treat. It had a chewy cola flavoured coating and a soft, sugary interior. It tasted a lot like it looks. Yuck.
The giant cola bottle was promising, though. I like cola bottles, so a giant one should go down well. Unfortunately, it didn't taste of anything, so not much to report there apart from lots of chewing. Lots of chewing. To be fair, this could be a symptom of being hidden in a suitcase for a month!
Finally there was the Toxic Waste sweet. Described on it's wrapper as a 'hazardously sour candy'. This little powerhouse actually caused my face to turn inside out with it's extreme sourness! Brilliant.
Based on a disgusting sweet, a suitcase flavoured sweet and an amazingly awesome face-melting sweet, the overall score is 3.5. the sour sweet really brought it up.
There was a drawback however. If Mr Grumpy Pants taught me one thing, it's to check my references and on the back of the Toxic Waste was the name and address of the manufacturer:
Lancashire, huh? So it seems that the Nederlands import their sweets from Lancashire.
I'm sorry, Rach. I'm not sure I can accurately rate a country's sweets based on self-confessed sweets from a different country. You're just gonna have to go back the and buy me some more!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The Church Disco
Before you get comfortable, may I suggest that you go and read the update to yesterday's post, which is both witty and informative.
I had an excellent blog post planned for you tonight. I was literally about to sit down and write it when the doorbell rang. When I answered it, a whole new blog post was standing there begging me to write it.
'I put a notice through your letterbox a few days ago,' said the new blog post. 'for the church disco next week. Did you see it?'
'I'm afraid not,' I replied, guardedly. 'I usually put all the leaflets straight in the bin.'
'It's to raise money for the church, you see,' said the new blog post. 'We're having a disco and we'd like you to come.'
'I'm afraid discos aren't really my thing,' I told him, meaning in a non-verbal way that I was actually afraid that churches aren't really my thing and would he please fuck off now, thank you so very much.
Sadly, the new blog post didn't take the hint and utterly failed to fuck off, explaining at great length as he did so that if I didn't want to dance, I could always pop in to watch and listen. And even if I didn't want to pop in to watch and listen, I could always pop some money in an envelope to help the church out.
When I non-committally agreed that those were all things that I could do, he produced an envelope.
'Look,' he pointed out helpfully, 'If you put your money in here, you can get gift aid with it.'
'Thank you,' I said, taking the envelope, 'If we are free, we will certainly pop in.' meaning, again, non-verbally, I'm going to put your stupid envelope straight in the bin. Now fuck the fuck off.
This time, I think he heard me.
I had an excellent blog post planned for you tonight. I was literally about to sit down and write it when the doorbell rang. When I answered it, a whole new blog post was standing there begging me to write it.
'I put a notice through your letterbox a few days ago,' said the new blog post. 'for the church disco next week. Did you see it?'
'I'm afraid not,' I replied, guardedly. 'I usually put all the leaflets straight in the bin.'
'It's to raise money for the church, you see,' said the new blog post. 'We're having a disco and we'd like you to come.'
'I'm afraid discos aren't really my thing,' I told him, meaning in a non-verbal way that I was actually afraid that churches aren't really my thing and would he please fuck off now, thank you so very much.
Sadly, the new blog post didn't take the hint and utterly failed to fuck off, explaining at great length as he did so that if I didn't want to dance, I could always pop in to watch and listen. And even if I didn't want to pop in to watch and listen, I could always pop some money in an envelope to help the church out.
When I non-committally agreed that those were all things that I could do, he produced an envelope.
'Look,' he pointed out helpfully, 'If you put your money in here, you can get gift aid with it.'
'Thank you,' I said, taking the envelope, 'If we are free, we will certainly pop in.' meaning, again, non-verbally, I'm going to put your stupid envelope straight in the bin. Now fuck the fuck off.
This time, I think he heard me.
Monday, July 18, 2011
The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #4: Portugal (Updated)
Today, I had Portuguese sweets.
They were, allegedly, toffees.
Indeed, they came wrapped in a shiny toffee-like wrapper. And, when opened, looked a lot like the toffee that we all know and love:
At this point, you're expecting me to say that they tasted like someone had eaten three kilos of sugar and then shat it out in my mouth, or perhaps that they tasted rather like an elderly badger's groin.
I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. They tasted like toffee.
As such, I give them a solid 4 out of 5. Well done, Portugal.
We interrupt this fascinating discussion of the relative horribleness of foreign sweets to bring you this update to the Onion Threat Level: We have now officially downgraded from Moderate to Low.
UPDATE
Oh my, my assessment of Portugal's sweeties has been formally challenged!
They were, allegedly, toffees.
Indeed, they came wrapped in a shiny toffee-like wrapper. And, when opened, looked a lot like the toffee that we all know and love:
At this point, you're expecting me to say that they tasted like someone had eaten three kilos of sugar and then shat it out in my mouth, or perhaps that they tasted rather like an elderly badger's groin.
I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. They tasted like toffee.
As such, I give them a solid 4 out of 5. Well done, Portugal.
We interrupt this fascinating discussion of the relative horribleness of foreign sweets to bring you this update to the Onion Threat Level: We have now officially downgraded from Moderate to Low.
UPDATE
Oh my, my assessment of Portugal's sweeties has been formally challenged!
Mr Grumpy Face said...
How can you rate Portugal 4 based on toffee? Toffee that probably isn't even from Portugal. Go on, check the bag they came in ... if it says "made in the UK" then ... then .... then .... grrrr.
If you'd been basing your thoughts on marzipan piglets such as these ... http://www.travelsignposts.com/Portugal/files/2009/10/dsc_6395.jpg ... then maybe your arguement would carry more water ... but you weren't ... so it doesn't.
Charletan.
Well, Mr Grumpy Face. You raise some excellent points, which I am happy to address.
You're right. My research into the origins of these sweets left a lot to be desired, so here goes:
First up is an additional photograph of the packaging. It doesn't really help my case, but it does have some happy looking cartoon children dressed as pirates on it!
Now to address your 'not Portuguese' point. And I will address it with an address:
Senhora Da Hora. Hmm... Now where might that be...? Oh, yes. That's right. Portugal. Sorry, dude.
On the other hand, those marzipan piglets look absolutely amazing and, had I received those, Portugal would have had a solid five! You need to either send me some or tell me where I can get them!
Until then, I'm afraid I can only base my opinion of a country on what I've put in my mouth! Four is good, anyway. You should be proud!
Sunday, July 17, 2011
How To Make Fast Food Staff Explode In One Easy Step
Dr K and I were in a burger restaurant the other day.
The menu said she could have salad instead of chips with her chicken burger, so she asked for one.
It blew their minds!
Still a bit oniony, by the way!
The menu said she could have salad instead of chips with her chicken burger, so she asked for one.
It blew their minds!
Still a bit oniony, by the way!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Fat Hitler
Last night a waitress called me 'Fat Hitler' by accident. At least I hope it was by accident. It's not like I'd done anything to upset her.
There were four of us at the table: me, Dr K, Scotty and Gayle. None of us can quite remember how it happened. There was some talk of my handsomeness (mostly be me) and then some mention of the tolerance of English people and the friendliness of Scottish people and then someone mentioned that small people could be tolerant and friendly, too unlike Hitler who was quite small, but neither tolerant or friendly.
And then the waitress commented that the key difference between me and Hitler was that I was much bigger than him.
To cut a long story short:
So that was nice!
I'll finish with a brief update on the onion fingers situation: they still smell. I've stayed clear of hand driers though, so hopefully all will be well!
There were four of us at the table: me, Dr K, Scotty and Gayle. None of us can quite remember how it happened. There was some talk of my handsomeness (mostly be me) and then some mention of the tolerance of English people and the friendliness of Scottish people and then someone mentioned that small people could be tolerant and friendly, too unlike Hitler who was quite small, but neither tolerant or friendly.
And then the waitress commented that the key difference between me and Hitler was that I was much bigger than him.
To cut a long story short:
So that was nice!
I'll finish with a brief update on the onion fingers situation: they still smell. I've stayed clear of hand driers though, so hopefully all will be well!
Friday, July 15, 2011
Onion Boy
A couple of nights ago, I made a curry. It wasn't horrible.
As part of the preparation process, I chopped an onion. Nit was a really strong one and made me weep onion tears. Those, I find, are the best ones, despite the hell they put me through.
But there's another side effect to chopping onions. It's not one that anyone else seems to suffer from. At least not as dramatically as me!
My hands smell of onions. Not just a bit. A lot. I may as well have onions for hands. And the smell won't go away for days. No matter how much I wash them, they just continue to stink of onions.
Yesterday at work, Rachael* tried to mask the smell with the liberal application of her moisturising hand cream, which smells of old ladies. The net effect of this was that my hands smelled of old, oniony ladies.
Then I used a hand drier in the gents (no, not like that - to try my hands!). It was catastrophic. Not only did I fail to smell less oniony, but the strength of the odour increased by a factor of ten!
I am fated to suffer this affliction forever. Nor at least for the next few days until it wears off.
Dr K, who is a scientist**, has a theory. I am actually made of onions.
Perhaps I was the result of a crazy interbreeding experiment between man and vegetable. Maybe there are other people out there who smell of cabbage or parsnip.
When I come into contact with my fellow onions, my inherent onionness comes out of me. Literally, oozes out of my pores.
Maybe if you cut me open, I would have layers!
Whatever the answer, the fact remains that if I ask you to smell my finger, it's probably because it smells of onion!
( * There's your long awaited name-check, Rach. You're famous now! )
( * And quite, quite mad. How else do you explain her reasons for putting up with my nonsense? )
As part of the preparation process, I chopped an onion. Nit was a really strong one and made me weep onion tears. Those, I find, are the best ones, despite the hell they put me through.
But there's another side effect to chopping onions. It's not one that anyone else seems to suffer from. At least not as dramatically as me!
My hands smell of onions. Not just a bit. A lot. I may as well have onions for hands. And the smell won't go away for days. No matter how much I wash them, they just continue to stink of onions.
Yesterday at work, Rachael* tried to mask the smell with the liberal application of her moisturising hand cream, which smells of old ladies. The net effect of this was that my hands smelled of old, oniony ladies.
Then I used a hand drier in the gents (no, not like that - to try my hands!). It was catastrophic. Not only did I fail to smell less oniony, but the strength of the odour increased by a factor of ten!
I am fated to suffer this affliction forever. Nor at least for the next few days until it wears off.
Dr K, who is a scientist**, has a theory. I am actually made of onions.
Perhaps I was the result of a crazy interbreeding experiment between man and vegetable. Maybe there are other people out there who smell of cabbage or parsnip.
When I come into contact with my fellow onions, my inherent onionness comes out of me. Literally, oozes out of my pores.
Maybe if you cut me open, I would have layers!
Whatever the answer, the fact remains that if I ask you to smell my finger, it's probably because it smells of onion!
( * There's your long awaited name-check, Rach. You're famous now! )
( * And quite, quite mad. How else do you explain her reasons for putting up with my nonsense? )
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The Making Of "L'udmilla" or "In Which I Try To String Together German Football, Asteroids And The Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield And North Plainfield, New Jersey In A Plausible And Vaguely Entertaining Way"
Did you enjoy yesterday's post?
What?
You thought it was nonsense?
It's a fair point. It was pretty nonsensical!
See, I though I'd challenge myself to take three unrelated subjects and see if I was capable of cobbling together an interesting post out of them. So I asked Dr K to give me the titles of the first three articles she came across on Wikipedia. Here they are:
Southern German Football Championship;
3636 Pajdušáková;
Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield and North Plainfield, NJ.
I started with Pajdušáková. It's an asteroid which can be found in that rocky bit between Earth and Mars; and by that, I mean the asteroid belt, not the pavement between my garden and the sweet shop.
That was going nowhere (well, except around the sun at a speed of one revolution every three and a half earth years). So I decided to take a look at the lady who found it. She was actually quite interesting, but I cast all that aside in favour of fictitious New Jersey and football aspirations. The bit with the Nazis was a bonus and one of the only truthful parts of the post.
I hope you enjoyed it!
I did, especially because I managed to string it out to two blog posts, which means that this evening I can relax and take Dr K out to drool over Johnny Depp.
What?
You thought it was nonsense?
It's a fair point. It was pretty nonsensical!
See, I though I'd challenge myself to take three unrelated subjects and see if I was capable of cobbling together an interesting post out of them. So I asked Dr K to give me the titles of the first three articles she came across on Wikipedia. Here they are:
Southern German Football Championship;
3636 Pajdušáková;
Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield and North Plainfield, NJ.
I started with Pajdušáková. It's an asteroid which can be found in that rocky bit between Earth and Mars; and by that, I mean the asteroid belt, not the pavement between my garden and the sweet shop.
That was going nowhere (well, except around the sun at a speed of one revolution every three and a half earth years). So I decided to take a look at the lady who found it. She was actually quite interesting, but I cast all that aside in favour of fictitious New Jersey and football aspirations. The bit with the Nazis was a bonus and one of the only truthful parts of the post.
I hope you enjoyed it!
I did, especially because I managed to string it out to two blog posts, which means that this evening I can relax and take Dr K out to drool over Johnny Depp.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
L'udmilla
Here's a little history lesson for you. It's mostly true. Ish.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl called L'udmilla Pajdušáková, who was a Slovak with an unexpected apostrophe in her name. This little girl grew up to become a young woman.
Even though she was a young woman, she sadly did not qualify for membership of the Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield and North Plainfield, NJ on account of being from Slovakia and not from New Jersey which, one assumes is a basic requirement for membership of the Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield and North Plainfield, NJ.
This was unfortunate, as every young Slovakian girl dreams of growing up to be a member of Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield and North Plainfield, NJ.
So instead, at the tender age of 18, L'udmilla set out to travel the world - or a least a small part of Europe and, as it was her back-up ambition, tried to join the Karlsruher football club, only to find (and I think you'll like this bit) that the Nazis had banned the Süddeutsche Fußball-Verband, otherwise known as the South German Football Championship, the year before! Goddamn Nazis!
So she became an astronomer instead, and, with her new friends, Minoru and Antonin, discovered a comet and an asteroid which were named after them!
And they all lived happily ever after. Oh, except L'udmilla died in in her sixties, which isn't very old, really. But she has an asteroid named after her, so it ain't all bad!
Once upon a time, there was a little girl called L'udmilla Pajdušáková, who was a Slovak with an unexpected apostrophe in her name. This little girl grew up to become a young woman.
Even though she was a young woman, she sadly did not qualify for membership of the Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield and North Plainfield, NJ on account of being from Slovakia and not from New Jersey which, one assumes is a basic requirement for membership of the Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield and North Plainfield, NJ.
This was unfortunate, as every young Slovakian girl dreams of growing up to be a member of Young Women's Christian Association Of Plainfield and North Plainfield, NJ.
So instead, at the tender age of 18, L'udmilla set out to travel the world - or a least a small part of Europe and, as it was her back-up ambition, tried to join the Karlsruher football club, only to find (and I think you'll like this bit) that the Nazis had banned the Süddeutsche Fußball-Verband, otherwise known as the South German Football Championship, the year before! Goddamn Nazis!
So she became an astronomer instead, and, with her new friends, Minoru and Antonin, discovered a comet and an asteroid which were named after them!
And they all lived happily ever after. Oh, except L'udmilla died in in her sixties, which isn't very old, really. But she has an asteroid named after her, so it ain't all bad!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Cars
I was in the car with a lady yesterday and she was shocked when I announced that I quite liked the Mini Clubman. In fact she said that she'd lost respect for me because of my vehicular preferences.
What surprised me most about her claim was that she had any respect for me in the first place; also that she felt able to judge me when she declared her love for her Corsa which she loves 'because it's round'.
Mini Clubmen and their awesome rear doors notwithstanding, I don't really care much what my car looks like. I drive a Focus, after all. But I do think that Bmws are aggressive, predatory looking cars and if I wanted a car on which I was going to mount machine guns, it would probably be a BMW.
And if there was a car that I was going to paint pink and use as a pretty, flowery garden ornament, it would probably be a Corsa.
What surprised me most about her claim was that she had any respect for me in the first place; also that she felt able to judge me when she declared her love for her Corsa which she loves 'because it's round'.
Mini Clubmen and their awesome rear doors notwithstanding, I don't really care much what my car looks like. I drive a Focus, after all. But I do think that Bmws are aggressive, predatory looking cars and if I wanted a car on which I was going to mount machine guns, it would probably be a BMW.
And if there was a car that I was going to paint pink and use as a pretty, flowery garden ornament, it would probably be a Corsa.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Life Is Good
It occurs to me that life is good. Much better, in fact, than the 'good old days' which as far as I can tell, weren't that good at all (although I imagine that back in the good old days, there were still old people who reminisced wrongly about the even better, older days).
So, here are nine things that are definitely much better than the good old days:
Toilets
Start with something obvious, why not. Toilets used to be rubbish in the good old days. They were buckets. Or holes in the ground. And they were often in a freezing cold outhouse. And they stank. In the good old days, you certainly wouldn't want to sit on the bog checking Facebook on your iPhone for long. Which brings me nicely to...
Smartphones
Phones in the good old days were really really dumb. The only game you could play on them was a really rubbish version of swingball, only worse because the cord was really short and they tended to break if you hit them with stuff. You could talk on them, I suppose, but you couldn't, say, put a blog post onto the www with them. That conveniently leads me to...
The Internet
Oh the internet is absolutely fricking awesome. Back in the good old days, if you wanted to see a hilariously captioned cute kitten, you had to start by finding a kitten! And then you had to make it do something awesome, capture the (several) moment(s) with your pinhole camera and then develop the film and make up your own hilarious caption. Or hope to hell that one turned up on the clumsily linked TV...
Television
Oh my god, television was shit in the good old days. It was tiny and fuzzy, badly acted and sounded like it was made of baked bean tins. Now, it's HUGE and colourful and has explosions and boobs and swearing and even though we have reality TV, we also have The Sopranos and The West Wing and Dexter and that's at least 900% better in my view! And what else can you do with your telly?
Video Games
They didn't have video games back in the good old days, did they? Billiards, maybe. A few card games, perhaps. But there aren't many opportunities to shoot the living shit out of fourteen year old American kids with high explosive, hollow point rounds spat out of your awesome mini-gun at 200 rounds per second in the average game of Snap. EAT HOT LEAD, YOU SPOTTY LITTLE MOTHERFUCKERRRRR!
And we can pretty much thank Science for video games!
Science
How cool is science? There's so much more of it now than in the good old days. They didn't have String Theory or the Hubble Telescope in the good old days! Where would you see amazing pictures of deep space? The internet, maybe? No, wait! It's the good old days! They don't even have robots. Even giant ones...
Transformers
This one doesn't even need an explanation, does it? Transformers are brilliant. None of them in the old days. You just had to play with rocks!
Rock Music
Put simply, rock music rocks, an the heavier the better! It's so much more awesome than all the other music. In the good old days, you'd never burst an eardrum listening to crackly old doo wop nonsense or crooning bollocks. Now you can experience the internal injury of your choice by turning up the volume! And it's all okay cos we can fix you...
Medicine
Medicine was really crappy in the good old days. If you went into hospital, chances are you weren't gonna come out alive. And people died from 'wasting illnesses' and bloody hankies. And now people live twice as long as their great granddads because we can cure or mend almost anything. Cos it's not the good old days any more!
Thank God, huh?
So, here are nine things that are definitely much better than the good old days:
Toilets
Start with something obvious, why not. Toilets used to be rubbish in the good old days. They were buckets. Or holes in the ground. And they were often in a freezing cold outhouse. And they stank. In the good old days, you certainly wouldn't want to sit on the bog checking Facebook on your iPhone for long. Which brings me nicely to...
Smartphones
Phones in the good old days were really really dumb. The only game you could play on them was a really rubbish version of swingball, only worse because the cord was really short and they tended to break if you hit them with stuff. You could talk on them, I suppose, but you couldn't, say, put a blog post onto the www with them. That conveniently leads me to...
The Internet
Oh the internet is absolutely fricking awesome. Back in the good old days, if you wanted to see a hilariously captioned cute kitten, you had to start by finding a kitten! And then you had to make it do something awesome, capture the (several) moment(s) with your pinhole camera and then develop the film and make up your own hilarious caption. Or hope to hell that one turned up on the clumsily linked TV...
Television
Oh my god, television was shit in the good old days. It was tiny and fuzzy, badly acted and sounded like it was made of baked bean tins. Now, it's HUGE and colourful and has explosions and boobs and swearing and even though we have reality TV, we also have The Sopranos and The West Wing and Dexter and that's at least 900% better in my view! And what else can you do with your telly?
Video Games
They didn't have video games back in the good old days, did they? Billiards, maybe. A few card games, perhaps. But there aren't many opportunities to shoot the living shit out of fourteen year old American kids with high explosive, hollow point rounds spat out of your awesome mini-gun at 200 rounds per second in the average game of Snap. EAT HOT LEAD, YOU SPOTTY LITTLE MOTHERFUCKERRRRR!
And we can pretty much thank Science for video games!
Science
How cool is science? There's so much more of it now than in the good old days. They didn't have String Theory or the Hubble Telescope in the good old days! Where would you see amazing pictures of deep space? The internet, maybe? No, wait! It's the good old days! They don't even have robots. Even giant ones...
Transformers
This one doesn't even need an explanation, does it? Transformers are brilliant. None of them in the old days. You just had to play with rocks!
Rock Music
Put simply, rock music rocks, an the heavier the better! It's so much more awesome than all the other music. In the good old days, you'd never burst an eardrum listening to crackly old doo wop nonsense or crooning bollocks. Now you can experience the internal injury of your choice by turning up the volume! And it's all okay cos we can fix you...
Medicine
Medicine was really crappy in the good old days. If you went into hospital, chances are you weren't gonna come out alive. And people died from 'wasting illnesses' and bloody hankies. And now people live twice as long as their great granddads because we can cure or mend almost anything. Cos it's not the good old days any more!
Thank God, huh?
Sunday, July 10, 2011
The Bodies Are Piling Up
Yesterday, there was a small collection of corpses on the driveway:
While my more rational side tells me that these are trophies left over from Dexter's latest killing spree, my slight less rational side insists that this is what happened:
While my more rational side tells me that these are trophies left over from Dexter's latest killing spree, my slight less rational side insists that this is what happened:
Saturday, July 09, 2011
WHOMMMM! (or 'A Beginners Field Guide To Lightsaber Pretensions')
It's a well known fact that if you hand a long, thin object to a man, he will almost certainly wave it around making a 'whommmm' sound. Men who don't do this suffer from a mental illness called 'having no soul*'.
The world provides endless opportunities for pretending one has a lightsaber and I present here a brief selection of ideas for beginners:
In The Home
The home is an excellent location for practicing your lightsaber skills, with many many items that can be used.
The hoover attachment is a good choice as you can easily make out that you were simply engaging in household chores if you are caught at it. The downside of this is that you might end up actually having to hoover in order to maintain your cover.
Meanwhile, in the garden there is a huge assortment of bits and bobs for you to choose from. Here, I have picked the parasol from our patio set. This has the dual advantage of extensive reach and shade from the hot sun!
DIY Stores
Not much can match the DIY store for lightsabering opportunities, which will allow you to combine your interests in power tools, laser based fencing and, indeed, actual fencing.
You might not think that the shelving and bracket department would provide much in the way of lightsabers. But you'd be wrong.
Plumbing yields a fantastic array of long, thin things for you to wave about. The longer, the better, I say!
Car Parks
Even the humble car park can afford an unexpected opportunity to 'whommm'.
Here, I came across a discarded fluorescent tube from a strip light, which made an excellent lightsaber!
Garden Centres
Oh, the hated garden centre. How we dread the moment when our significant other declares that it's time to pay a visit to the land of petunias and terracotta pots. But never fear, my friends. There are a myriad of lightsabers here, too!
In this picture, an unconventional twirly, metal garden stake, commonly used for growing flowers up becomes an unconventionally twirly lightsaber, commonly used for chopping bits off stormtroopers!
And look how much more fun this ordinary looking broom has become. These things are totally wasted on the likes of Harry Potter!
Eating Out
Lightsabers can be found in the most unlikely places. The most boring of dinner dates can be made more exciting with the addition of a lightsaber.
Look at this chip. Now look at it again, because it's not a chip, it's an awesome miniature lightsaber!
Not even posh restaurants are immune to the lightsaber influence. One word: Breadstick!
I hope that this article has helped you see that no matter where you are, you can make the place at least 109% more brilliant by pretending you have a lightsaber.
If nothing else, just remember these three words:
Lightsabers are everywhere!
( * This is also sometimes known as 'not liking Star Wars'. Unlikely, I know, but some poor people really do suffer from it. )
The world provides endless opportunities for pretending one has a lightsaber and I present here a brief selection of ideas for beginners:
In The Home
The home is an excellent location for practicing your lightsaber skills, with many many items that can be used.
The hoover attachment is a good choice as you can easily make out that you were simply engaging in household chores if you are caught at it. The downside of this is that you might end up actually having to hoover in order to maintain your cover.
Meanwhile, in the garden there is a huge assortment of bits and bobs for you to choose from. Here, I have picked the parasol from our patio set. This has the dual advantage of extensive reach and shade from the hot sun!
DIY Stores
Not much can match the DIY store for lightsabering opportunities, which will allow you to combine your interests in power tools, laser based fencing and, indeed, actual fencing.
You might not think that the shelving and bracket department would provide much in the way of lightsabers. But you'd be wrong.
Plumbing yields a fantastic array of long, thin things for you to wave about. The longer, the better, I say!
Car Parks
Even the humble car park can afford an unexpected opportunity to 'whommm'.
Here, I came across a discarded fluorescent tube from a strip light, which made an excellent lightsaber!
Garden Centres
Oh, the hated garden centre. How we dread the moment when our significant other declares that it's time to pay a visit to the land of petunias and terracotta pots. But never fear, my friends. There are a myriad of lightsabers here, too!
In this picture, an unconventional twirly, metal garden stake, commonly used for growing flowers up becomes an unconventionally twirly lightsaber, commonly used for chopping bits off stormtroopers!
And look how much more fun this ordinary looking broom has become. These things are totally wasted on the likes of Harry Potter!
Eating Out
Lightsabers can be found in the most unlikely places. The most boring of dinner dates can be made more exciting with the addition of a lightsaber.
Look at this chip. Now look at it again, because it's not a chip, it's an awesome miniature lightsaber!
Not even posh restaurants are immune to the lightsaber influence. One word: Breadstick!
I hope that this article has helped you see that no matter where you are, you can make the place at least 109% more brilliant by pretending you have a lightsaber.
If nothing else, just remember these three words:
Lightsabers are everywhere!
( * This is also sometimes known as 'not liking Star Wars'. Unlikely, I know, but some poor people really do suffer from it. )
Friday, July 08, 2011
Where's My Cake?
The other day, I made a fruit cake. It had cranberries in it and it was delicious.
The next day, I made a cup of tea and decided to have a delicious slice of cake with it.
But could I find the delicious cake? Not on your nelly.
Although she denies it, Dr K had hidden the delicious cake from me.
Where do you think the delicious cake was?
In the cake tin? In the whimsically cat-shaped biscuit jar? Maybe in one of the two Tupperware boxes next to the excellent purple kettle? Nope. None of those places.
I even looked in the fridge. If I can't find food, it's often because Dr K had put it in the fridge. My delicious cake, however was not in the fridge.
When I eventually found it, I was very impressed with Dr K's (alleged) cunningness. She had (allegedly) hidden my delicious cake in the last place I was likely to look. In a ryvita tin.
Fortunately, my cake was far more delicious than ryvita and it complemented my cup of tea perfectly.
The next day, I made a cup of tea and decided to have a delicious slice of cake with it.
But could I find the delicious cake? Not on your nelly.
Although she denies it, Dr K had hidden the delicious cake from me.
Where do you think the delicious cake was?
In the cake tin? In the whimsically cat-shaped biscuit jar? Maybe in one of the two Tupperware boxes next to the excellent purple kettle? Nope. None of those places.
I even looked in the fridge. If I can't find food, it's often because Dr K had put it in the fridge. My delicious cake, however was not in the fridge.
When I eventually found it, I was very impressed with Dr K's (alleged) cunningness. She had (allegedly) hidden my delicious cake in the last place I was likely to look. In a ryvita tin.
Fortunately, my cake was far more delicious than ryvita and it complemented my cup of tea perfectly.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
A Terrible Disease
Recently, the following internet meme has been making it's way around Facebook. At the time of writing, an enormous number of people around the world have set it as their status!
Look, here's my Facebook feed:
If you click in it, you can see that not only four people have it as their status, but that at least two others have admitted that they suffer from it!
This seems to be a big problem, so I did a little bit of research.
Apparently the first case of Darren Morrissey was diagnosed about 35 years ago in a hospital in Devon. It started as quite a small irritation, but has got bigger and bigger and, in recent years has become a very large problem for it's sufferers indeed.
During my research I discovered the following public awareness poster:
From what I know of Darren Morrissey, I would agree that the advice shown on this poster is sound. Wash your hands. You don't know where he's been!
"Set this as your status for an hour if you or someone you know suffers from Darren Morrissey, a horrific blight that afflicts over 132 people around the world. He is incurable and very contagious. By setting this as your status, you can show your support for all those people affected by this terrible, debilitating disorder. Many people won't set this as their status because they are basically twats."
Look, here's my Facebook feed:
If you click in it, you can see that not only four people have it as their status, but that at least two others have admitted that they suffer from it!
This seems to be a big problem, so I did a little bit of research.
Apparently the first case of Darren Morrissey was diagnosed about 35 years ago in a hospital in Devon. It started as quite a small irritation, but has got bigger and bigger and, in recent years has become a very large problem for it's sufferers indeed.
During my research I discovered the following public awareness poster:
From what I know of Darren Morrissey, I would agree that the advice shown on this poster is sound. Wash your hands. You don't know where he's been!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)