Still plenty of snot here. And here. And a bit here, too. Very sore throat. I've been suffering from a general malaise all evening. Everything is too much effort. Also, I am too hot. No, wait, I'm too cold. No, I'm hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. Hot.
Snotwatch Thread Level: STILL RED!
Monday, October 31, 2011
Dr K's Magical Mystery Tour Part Three
We're home, which means I can provide you with that awesome photo extravaganza that I promised!
Here's our whole weekend in graphic novel form! As usual, you can click on each image for a larger version!
Snotwatch (8)
Spent most of last night with sinuses full of snot. Don't you just love it when you turn on your side and all of the fluid drains out of be side into the other? And then you roll over and do it all again!
Well, I'm all drugged up and ready for the next envelope!
Snotwatch Threat Level: RED
Well, I'm all drugged up and ready for the next envelope!
Snotwatch Threat Level: RED
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Snotwatch (7)
I thought it had gone away, but I've spent most of the day with a throbbing headache and painful sinuses. Lots of snot, too!
Fortunately I'm a big strong manly man and did not let my obvious swine flu stop me having am awesome day.
Snotwatch Threat Level: RED
Fortunately I'm a big strong manly man and did not let my obvious swine flu stop me having am awesome day.
Snotwatch Threat Level: RED
Dr K's Magical Mystery Tour Part Two
Today's magical gold envelope took us to Hack Green Secret Nuclear Bunker, where we learned many Nuclear Secrets.
Also we walked all the way round Chester on the City Walls, had a cream tea and then visited friends for pizza and jam.
Unfortunately, technical problems are preventing me from posting more than one picture per post, however when I get home tomorrow night I will post a photo extravaganza for your perusal!
Also we walked all the way round Chester on the City Walls, had a cream tea and then visited friends for pizza and jam.
Unfortunately, technical problems are preventing me from posting more than one picture per post, however when I get home tomorrow night I will post a photo extravaganza for your perusal!
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Dr K's Magical Mystery Tour Part One
It's Dr K's birthday this weekend and she's being taken on a three day magical mystery tour!
We left home at nine and headed North. After a couple of hours, we pulled into Keele Services so she could have her first surprise of the weekend.
She was presented with three shiny, gold envelopes. In each envelope was a mystery destination, one for each day. The tension was palpable as she tried to decide which envelope to choose. It was more exciting than an episode of the X Factor!
And for her first day out, Dr K picked... Chester Zoo!
Expect more photos soon!
We left home at nine and headed North. After a couple of hours, we pulled into Keele Services so she could have her first surprise of the weekend.
She was presented with three shiny, gold envelopes. In each envelope was a mystery destination, one for each day. The tension was palpable as she tried to decide which envelope to choose. It was more exciting than an episode of the X Factor!
And for her first day out, Dr K picked... Chester Zoo!
Expect more photos soon!
Snotwatch (6)
Just destroyed a tissue with my snot. Sneezed four consecutive times. One of my eyeballs nearly fell out.
Very sore throat.
Snotwatch Threat Level: RED
Very sore throat.
Snotwatch Threat Level: RED
Friday, October 28, 2011
Snotwatch (4)
Left nostril about 60% blocked. Annoying whistle in right, but otherwise clear. No more blood.
Snotwatch Threat Level: AMBER
Snotwatch Threat Level: AMBER
In Which Dazza Discusses The Perils of Prejudice In Sport.
We live in a world in which we're not allowed to be prejudiced. We have to give the same opportunities to people no matter what their gender, race or disability may be. The only demographic that is routinely discriminated against these days, is the able bodied, white, straight male.
Thinking about it though, there is a particular walk of life that, amongst other evils, is horribly prejudiced and, rather than being reviled for it, is actually celebrated.
I'm thinking sport.
Take the Olympics, for example. You never see big lardy people taking part in the 100 metres or the triple jump. The level of discrimination against fat people in the Olympics is, frankly, disgusting.
'Yes,' I hear you counter,'but it's not discrimination. It's just that with the best will in the world, a 25 stone heffer just isn't going to be as quick over 100 metres as Hussain Bolt. They just don't perform well enough!'
'You're an idiot,' I say in response. 'The events at the Olympics are clearly geared towards people with a particular body shape. A thin, muscular body shape. Not a body shape that looks like a dumpling.'
'I see your point,' you reply. 'So what sort of events might a big fat bloater excel at?'
'I'm glad you asked.'
Olympic Sitting. Yeah, that's right, sitting. No-one can sit quite like a fat person. They're really good at it. It's one of the reasons why they're so fat. It's almost a self perpetuating sport.
Olympic Eating. This is one of the other reasons why us fatties are so fat. We're very, very good at eating. I bet Paula Radcliffe couldn't put away as many doughnuts as me!
Olympic Rolling. Lets face it, fatness and gravity will work together to make this one a sporty dominated by plumpers. The fatness makes them nice and round. Thin people are far too angular to excel at this sport!
Olympic Jock-Squishing. If Robert Wolski sat on you, you would probably just bat him away. If I sat on you, you would die. And I'm not even that fat.
Sport appears to be more about advertising than about athletic achievement, anyway. Maybe I can get sponsorship from Pukka Pies or Krispy Kreme to fund my new found career.
I have to go and train, now. I'll be by the fridge if you need me.
Thinking about it though, there is a particular walk of life that, amongst other evils, is horribly prejudiced and, rather than being reviled for it, is actually celebrated.
I'm thinking sport.
Take the Olympics, for example. You never see big lardy people taking part in the 100 metres or the triple jump. The level of discrimination against fat people in the Olympics is, frankly, disgusting.
'Yes,' I hear you counter,'but it's not discrimination. It's just that with the best will in the world, a 25 stone heffer just isn't going to be as quick over 100 metres as Hussain Bolt. They just don't perform well enough!'
'You're an idiot,' I say in response. 'The events at the Olympics are clearly geared towards people with a particular body shape. A thin, muscular body shape. Not a body shape that looks like a dumpling.'
'I see your point,' you reply. 'So what sort of events might a big fat bloater excel at?'
'I'm glad you asked.'
Sport appears to be more about advertising than about athletic achievement, anyway. Maybe I can get sponsorship from Pukka Pies or Krispy Kreme to fund my new found career.
I have to go and train, now. I'll be by the fridge if you need me.
Snotwatch (2)
Not so snotty today although I do have some inflammation of the sinuses which is making breathing through my nose annoyingly tricky.
Slight headache and mild site throat, but I have it under control.
Snotwatch Threat Level: AMBER.
Slight headache and mild site throat, but I have it under control.
Snotwatch Threat Level: AMBER.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Snotwatch
You can't help but notice that your Facebook feed is almost always littered with people telling you how awful their minor ailments are.
So since, I started showing the symptoms of a cold this morning, I thought I'd keep you up to date with ongoing reports of how my cold is progressing. That's right - until I've shaken this terrible man-flu, you are going to get a daily SNOTWATCH alert on this blog.
I wouldn't mind if they were serious or interesting ailments, like a prolapsed spine, but I currently have no less than three people with a cold keeping me updated on how ill they are. So very ill. There's also one headache and a possible food poisoning victim. And someone on there has a poorly child that I have to know all about as well.
I'm not sure why.
Maybe they think I'll run round to their house to get in on the snotty, headachy, pukey action.
Perhaps it's designed to put my own life in perspective. After all my problems won't seem so bad if I know that someone in Bournemouth is suffering terribly from a runny nose.
When I have a cold, I just... well, have my cold. As a rule, I don't try to advertise it to the world. I just get on with blowing my nose and
So since, I started showing the symptoms of a cold this morning, I thought I'd keep you up to date with ongoing reports of how my cold is progressing. That's right - until I've shaken this terrible man-flu, you are going to get a daily SNOTWATCH alert on this blog.
And here is the first one:
Started the day a little sniffly. Ran out of tissues, so blew my nose with bog roll. Bog roll just isn't the same as I blew a hole right through it and got snot all over my hand. I've got progessively snottier throughout the day and now, just before bed-time, I have a mild ache in my sinuses and I'm making soggy papier mache out of every tissue I blow my nose in. I'm also starting to get a slightly sore throat.
Snotwatch Threat level is AMBER.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Everything Is Better Than Pop Music
I have decided that everything is better than pop music. Everything.
No really, I mean it. Look, here's a list of nine completely random things, off the top of my head that are better than pop music:
1. Finding out that the milk on my cereal's gone off one mouthful too late!
2. Progress bars that lie.
3. Chuggers.
4. Flies.
5. Filler posts.
6. People that stand right behind you while they're waiting for you to finish at the urinal.
7. 'Sparkling' water.
8. Prejudiced, bigoted people.
9. Foreigners.
You may have got the impression from this post that I have a strong dislike of pop music. That simply isn't true. I bloody hate it. All the way to my bones.
No really, I mean it. Look, here's a list of nine completely random things, off the top of my head that are better than pop music:
1. Finding out that the milk on my cereal's gone off one mouthful too late!
2. Progress bars that lie.
3. Chuggers.
4. Flies.
5. Filler posts.
6. People that stand right behind you while they're waiting for you to finish at the urinal.
7. 'Sparkling' water.
8. Prejudiced, bigoted people.
9. Foreigners.
You may have got the impression from this post that I have a strong dislike of pop music. That simply isn't true. I bloody hate it. All the way to my bones.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
A Really Hard Day
Oh man, I've had a really hard day.
I mean, it's just been long, and difficult and really, really busy.
I don't think anyone appreciates just how difficult my job is and how hard I have to work at it. I mean, they just sit at their cosy desks with their disgusting latte mochaccinos pressing random buttons on their rubbish computers, while I use my awesome skills to do all the difficult stuff for them.
And do I get any thanks for all the hard work I put into it? Not on your nelly.
No one even made me a decent drink today. I mean sure, I got some crappy watery stuff that tasted like muddy puddles, but nothing that you could call a proper drink.
I had to leave the house at half past six this morning and I didn't get back 'til nine in the evening. That's a fourteen and a half hour day, people.
And I got rained on at least twice. I was soaked through.
It just ain't right.
And the pay is a joke. I put all of my anazing skills to work every day and the pay is shit! Not even peanuts.
I was so exhausted when I got home this evening, that I just collapsed into bed and went to sleep!
More of the same tomorrow I guess. I'll be using my prowling skills and my jumping skills and my slinking skills and my stalking skills and my pouncing skills and my eviscerating skills and my sauntering skills and my running skills and my hiding skills and my looking damn sexy for the ladies skills all day.
Do you have that many skills? No, I thought not.
My job is bloody exhausting. But someone has to do it and it sure as hell ain't gonna be you people.
I mean, it's just been long, and difficult and really, really busy.
I don't think anyone appreciates just how difficult my job is and how hard I have to work at it. I mean, they just sit at their cosy desks with their disgusting latte mochaccinos pressing random buttons on their rubbish computers, while I use my awesome skills to do all the difficult stuff for them.
And do I get any thanks for all the hard work I put into it? Not on your nelly.
No one even made me a decent drink today. I mean sure, I got some crappy watery stuff that tasted like muddy puddles, but nothing that you could call a proper drink.
I had to leave the house at half past six this morning and I didn't get back 'til nine in the evening. That's a fourteen and a half hour day, people.
And I got rained on at least twice. I was soaked through.
It just ain't right.
And the pay is a joke. I put all of my anazing skills to work every day and the pay is shit! Not even peanuts.
I was so exhausted when I got home this evening, that I just collapsed into bed and went to sleep!
Do you have that many skills? No, I thought not.
My job is bloody exhausting. But someone has to do it and it sure as hell ain't gonna be you people.
Monday, October 24, 2011
It's Harder In The Morning
About ten times harder, in fact.
What? No! Not that! You lot have disgusting filthy minds.
No, I mean simple tasks like combing your hair or making breakfast or brewing a nice cuppa. It just seems like so much more effort than the same tasks later in the day.
I suppose it must be something to do with rubbish early morning co-ordination and that foggy, cotton-wool effect that waking up has on your brain. Everything you do is ten times heavier and ten times more complicated.
I mean, when I get up, I follow pretty much the same routine every morning. And almost everything I do in the morning, I also do later in the day. Going to the bathroom, going down the stairs, feeding the cats, making Dr K a cup of tea, making myself a little something to eat and so-on. But it's all very difficult.
Later in the day, when I go to the bathroom, come down the stairs, feed the cats, make tea and prepare food, it's all pretty simple.
I have a little theory. It's still in development, so it's subject to change:
Basically, I'm a lazy son of a bitch and barely do anything around the house. In fact my only regular tasks are focused around feeding. I feed the cats and I prepare our meals. Dr K does all the rest - cleaning up, taking the bins out etc.
But the reason I'm so lazy is because it's all so difficult in the morning. Those three or four tasks are actually like thirty or forty tasks.
And that is why that be cup of tea that I make Dr K every morning means that, by rights, she should make me loads of tea for the rest of the day. Hop to it, lass.
What? No! Not that! You lot have disgusting filthy minds.
No, I mean simple tasks like combing your hair or making breakfast or brewing a nice cuppa. It just seems like so much more effort than the same tasks later in the day.
I suppose it must be something to do with rubbish early morning co-ordination and that foggy, cotton-wool effect that waking up has on your brain. Everything you do is ten times heavier and ten times more complicated.
I mean, when I get up, I follow pretty much the same routine every morning. And almost everything I do in the morning, I also do later in the day. Going to the bathroom, going down the stairs, feeding the cats, making Dr K a cup of tea, making myself a little something to eat and so-on. But it's all very difficult.
Later in the day, when I go to the bathroom, come down the stairs, feed the cats, make tea and prepare food, it's all pretty simple.
I have a little theory. It's still in development, so it's subject to change:
Basically, I'm a lazy son of a bitch and barely do anything around the house. In fact my only regular tasks are focused around feeding. I feed the cats and I prepare our meals. Dr K does all the rest - cleaning up, taking the bins out etc.
But the reason I'm so lazy is because it's all so difficult in the morning. Those three or four tasks are actually like thirty or forty tasks.
And that is why that be cup of tea that I make Dr K every morning means that, by rights, she should make me loads of tea for the rest of the day. Hop to it, lass.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
The Great Clothing Expansion
Dr K has been suffering from a serious problem of late. Her clothes have been expanding. It's very worrying for her.
A few months ago, most of the clothes that she wore on a day to day basis fitted her just fine.
But now, they're all baggy and shapeless. She has even had to buy some new, smaller clothes in order to counter the problem.
We haven't been able to work out what the problem is, for certain, but I have been able to narrow it down to the three most probable root causes:
Anti-Moths: Moths have a bad reputation when it comes to clothing. Apparently they eat fabric and leave big holes in your shirts. But maybe there's something else hanging around in the wardrobe. Some sort of anti moth. A winged insect which, rather than eating clothing actually weaves extra clothing using a rudimentary loom.
Dark Matter: scientists claim that 90% of the matter in the universe is undetectable by our current technology. Obviously this means that as scientific gadgetry gets better, we'll be able to see more an more of it. Dr K's clothes were always too big for her. We just couldn't detect it before!
Radiation: This is my personal favourite. We live near a nuclear power station. Everyone knows that radiation can have all sorts of unexpected effects. Just look at the Incredible Hulk or the Amazing Spider-Man. Perhaps an exposure to radiation has triggered an uncontrollable increase in the size of Dr K's clothes.
That's it. I simply cannot think of any more plausible explanations for this strange expansion of Dr K's clothing.
A few months ago, most of the clothes that she wore on a day to day basis fitted her just fine.
But now, they're all baggy and shapeless. She has even had to buy some new, smaller clothes in order to counter the problem.
We haven't been able to work out what the problem is, for certain, but I have been able to narrow it down to the three most probable root causes:
Anti-Moths: Moths have a bad reputation when it comes to clothing. Apparently they eat fabric and leave big holes in your shirts. But maybe there's something else hanging around in the wardrobe. Some sort of anti moth. A winged insect which, rather than eating clothing actually weaves extra clothing using a rudimentary loom.
Dark Matter: scientists claim that 90% of the matter in the universe is undetectable by our current technology. Obviously this means that as scientific gadgetry gets better, we'll be able to see more an more of it. Dr K's clothes were always too big for her. We just couldn't detect it before!
Radiation: This is my personal favourite. We live near a nuclear power station. Everyone knows that radiation can have all sorts of unexpected effects. Just look at the Incredible Hulk or the Amazing Spider-Man. Perhaps an exposure to radiation has triggered an uncontrollable increase in the size of Dr K's clothes.
That's it. I simply cannot think of any more plausible explanations for this strange expansion of Dr K's clothing.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #20: Scotland
Today we head up north to the Bonnie highlands of Scotland to see what horrible sweets they have to offer.
And apparently, what they have to offer is something called a 'butter tablet'.
The tea was an excellent idea, because the butter tablet was rather sweet. And when I say 'rather sweet', I mean sweeter than two hundred and ninety eight sugar cubes compressed into one little bite sized chunk. Surely, man was never meant to taste this much sweetness all at once!
It really can't be overstated just how sweet this little mofo is.
Well, okay. It can. Two hundred and ninety nine sugar cubes compressed into one bite sized chunk may have been slightly sweeter than a Scottish butter tablet.
Fortunately I had my tea to wash away the incredible sweetness. And anything that gives me an excuse to drink tea gets at least 4 out of 5.
So... it's a green for Scotland!
Friday, October 21, 2011
Home Baking
I like cake.
I especially like home made cakes. They're (mostly) delicious. Especially when they have 'lemon' and 'drizzle' in the name and are brought into the office for me on Tuesday. Ahem.
Something I don't really like though, is when people bring me home made cake made by their six-year-old kids.
In my experience, children of that age basically pick their noses and scratch their bums 24/7. This means that any cakes that they make almost certainly have a couple of extra ingredients: Snot and poo.
I don't want a cake that has been fitted into a routine that basically goes: bum, nose, bum, nose, bum, nose, bum, cake.
Unfortunately the mums that offer me the snotty poocake made by their six year old sprogs are so blinded by the pride they have for this great juvenile achievement that any attempt to decline the cake is seen as a personal insult. Quite often, they stand over me and watch me eat their child's bodily excretions.
Yuck.
With that out of the way, I'm making a cake. Anyone want some?
Thursday, October 20, 2011
427 Months
There's been some discussion in the office of the respective ages of my workmates young children.
One of them declared his sprog to be 12 months old. Another announced that her kid was 25 months.
I don't get it. Surely these children are 1 and 2 respectively. I can understand the months thing when the kid is under a year, but after that, surely we should be referring to them with the standard unit of measurement?
No?
Well in that case, I'm 427 months old. And Dr K is getting dangerously close to 468. Man, she's old!
One of them declared his sprog to be 12 months old. Another announced that her kid was 25 months.
I don't get it. Surely these children are 1 and 2 respectively. I can understand the months thing when the kid is under a year, but after that, surely we should be referring to them with the standard unit of measurement?
No?
Well in that case, I'm 427 months old. And Dr K is getting dangerously close to 468. Man, she's old!
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Dazza Vs The Chilli
Here's a bonus post for you.
Dr K brought home a chilli grown by her workmate. Then she made me eat it. I nearly died.
The Great Cheese Puff Robbery
Take a look at this picture:
Having cooked and eaten dinner, I was still a little hungry, so searched the kitchen for something tasty. What I found was cheese puffs. I put them on the sofa and went off to make Dr K a lovely cup of tea.
When I returned to the lounge with her tea a few minutes later, I found her eating my cheese puffs.
Look at the malevolent glee on her face. Hmph.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Yet More Things That People Say
"I didn't see the point in carrying on sucking it when it was horrible and all." Kaz trying a liquorice lolly.
"I'd rather be a geek of tea than a geek of men running around playing with their balls." My response to a member of the football cult after being accused of geekness.
"I had mushy peas instead of a drink." Dr K really knows how to live it up!
"Just watched the finale of Torchwood. It's like the TV just got up and shit in my eyes!" I had just watched the finale of Torchwood and it was like the TV had got up and shit in my eyes.
"I think she has a whole camel down her trousers." Dr K.
"I've worked on magnum for ten year. I did Solero for a few year. All in, I been here 25 year." Kate at the Wall's ice cream factory.
"Dazza is my second favourite vegetable." Dr K really knows how to compliment a chap.
"You'll get what you're given and you'll be grateful." Carol the dinner lady responding to some helpful advice on how to butter my bacon bun.
"Getting the arthritic pussy injected again ." Dr K makes a pussy joke... about the cat and his arthritis. You lot have filthy minds!
"I'd rather be a geek of tea than a geek of men running around playing with their balls." My response to a member of the football cult after being accused of geekness.
"I had mushy peas instead of a drink." Dr K really knows how to live it up!
"Just watched the finale of Torchwood. It's like the TV just got up and shit in my eyes!" I had just watched the finale of Torchwood and it was like the TV had got up and shit in my eyes.
"I think she has a whole camel down her trousers." Dr K.
"I've worked on magnum for ten year. I did Solero for a few year. All in, I been here 25 year." Kate at the Wall's ice cream factory.
"Dazza is my second favourite vegetable." Dr K really knows how to compliment a chap.
"You'll get what you're given and you'll be grateful." Carol the dinner lady responding to some helpful advice on how to butter my bacon bun.
"Getting the arthritic pussy injected again ." Dr K makes a pussy joke... about the cat and his arthritis. You lot have filthy minds!
Monday, October 17, 2011
ROFL, PMSL & LMAO
Okay, remember yesterday when I said 'Just don't get me started on 'LMAO', 'ROFL' or 'PMSL''? Well, someone did.
M'colleague, Rachael, who's also my dealer, didn't know what ROFL, PMSL and LMAO meant, so I had to explain. And then we had a discussion about the order in which these acronyms should be used - you know, which is the more extreme reaction and so on.
This is what we came up with:
<-- LOW ------------- HIGH -->
LOL ROFL PMSL LMAO
Now, I realise that placing LMAO at the top of the scale might be controversial, as it is commonly used as a relatively tame reaction to humour, however, I believe it should be much higher. I have illustrated each phrase. I think you'll see why once you've seen them (as usual, you can click on each picture for a larger version):
This is a standard LOL or Laugh Out Loud. Nothing dodgy here, just a laugh along the lines of 'ho ho ho', 'har de har' or somesuch.
Next up is a ROFL, or Roll On Floor Laughing. Again, nothing particularly extreme. Just a laugh that's so good that my legs have buckled out from underneath me and I'm having a good old roll on the floor.
This is here it starts to get a bit icky. PMSL, or Pissed Myself Laughing. I mean, yuck. Loss of bladder control. Who does that? Someone who needs clean trousers, that's who!
Are you disgusted by this one? Appalled? Hmm? You should be. In this picture I have LMAOed, or Laughed My Arse Off. The consequences of laughing one's arse off are twofold: Shit and gore. Never laugh this much, I beg of you!
And that is why LMAO is clearly the worst one.
Finally, a little ironic anecdote: Dr K and I were at the local shopping Mall to eat chicken and we popped into a shop. In that shop was a jumper, which Dr K tried on especially for your entertainment:
M'colleague, Rachael, who's also my dealer, didn't know what ROFL, PMSL and LMAO meant, so I had to explain. And then we had a discussion about the order in which these acronyms should be used - you know, which is the more extreme reaction and so on.
This is what we came up with:
<-- LOW ------------- HIGH -->
LOL ROFL PMSL LMAO
Now, I realise that placing LMAO at the top of the scale might be controversial, as it is commonly used as a relatively tame reaction to humour, however, I believe it should be much higher. I have illustrated each phrase. I think you'll see why once you've seen them (as usual, you can click on each picture for a larger version):
And that is why LMAO is clearly the worst one.
Finally, a little ironic anecdote: Dr K and I were at the local shopping Mall to eat chicken and we popped into a shop. In that shop was a jumper, which Dr K tried on especially for your entertainment:
Sunday, October 16, 2011
LOL
In general I wouldn't type a word or turn of phrase that I wouldn't use aloud.
The major exception to this rule is the word 'negligible' which I can't say aloud properly, no matter how hard I try. It's a ridiculous word. It's also a very useful word, though, so I use it every now and again in written form, but hardly ever in speech.
So, to the eponymous* word: 'LOL'. It's actually a pretty useful word, too. It fills a spot for which there is no other single word in the English language. In normal use, it acknowledges that a humorous statement or event has occurred and indicates approval of said humorous statement or event.
So in general, I have no issues with the word. 'LOL'.
Well... Okay. I do have a teeny tiny, itsy bitsy problem with it.
You see, it's actually an acronym for the phrase 'Laugh Out Loud'. And, more often than not, the humorous statement or event did not actually induce laughter of an 'out loud' type. Most of the time, I would suggest it induces an 'Internal Appreciation Of The Humorous Statement Or Event' (IAOTHSOE) or, at best a 'Small Chuckle' (SC).
My good pal, Mr Berry once told me a short anecdote about a guy ( I don't know his name, so lets call him Eugene) who sat at the next desk in his office, to whom he forwarded an amusing email. Eugene responded with an email that consisted of the word 'LOL' and nothing else.
Mr Berry would not have had a problem with this, except that he was sitting right next to Eugene and knew that he had not laughed out loud. In fact Eugene had shown no physical signs of amusement at all. Which meant that his 'LOL' was a dirty, stinking and outrageous LIE!
How can you trust someone that is prepared to lie outrageously to you, hmm?
Anyway, it's probably society's fault. Either that or Eugene's parents, Bartholomew and Gertude**.
So anyway, although I have my reservations about it, I'm prepared to accept that 'LOL' does not mean that I've induced fits of laughter but that someone has noticed that I made a funny. (Just don't get me started on 'LMAO', 'ROFL' or 'PMSL'.)
I wonder what would happen if I started saying 'LOL' out loud. I suspect I would get some pretty strange looks. Stranger than normal, I mean!
Those excellent gags were supplied by Dr K, by the way!
While writing this post, I began to wonder what people around the world use instead of 'LOL'. I checked with my only properly foreign friend, the Fish Lady, who told me that in Poland, they use 'LOL' as well, although a direct translation of 'Laugh Out Loud' would be 'Umierac Ze Sheichu' which would be 'UZS'. Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue.
In France it might be 'Mort De Rire', which would be 'MDR', which is a little close to 'Murder' for my tastes...
( * 'Eponymous' is much easier to say aloud than 'negligible'. )
( ** I didn't know their names either, so I made them up. )
The major exception to this rule is the word 'negligible' which I can't say aloud properly, no matter how hard I try. It's a ridiculous word. It's also a very useful word, though, so I use it every now and again in written form, but hardly ever in speech.
So, to the eponymous* word: 'LOL'. It's actually a pretty useful word, too. It fills a spot for which there is no other single word in the English language. In normal use, it acknowledges that a humorous statement or event has occurred and indicates approval of said humorous statement or event.
So in general, I have no issues with the word. 'LOL'.
Well... Okay. I do have a teeny tiny, itsy bitsy problem with it.
You see, it's actually an acronym for the phrase 'Laugh Out Loud'. And, more often than not, the humorous statement or event did not actually induce laughter of an 'out loud' type. Most of the time, I would suggest it induces an 'Internal Appreciation Of The Humorous Statement Or Event' (IAOTHSOE) or, at best a 'Small Chuckle' (SC).
My good pal, Mr Berry once told me a short anecdote about a guy ( I don't know his name, so lets call him Eugene) who sat at the next desk in his office, to whom he forwarded an amusing email. Eugene responded with an email that consisted of the word 'LOL' and nothing else.
Mr Berry would not have had a problem with this, except that he was sitting right next to Eugene and knew that he had not laughed out loud. In fact Eugene had shown no physical signs of amusement at all. Which meant that his 'LOL' was a dirty, stinking and outrageous LIE!
How can you trust someone that is prepared to lie outrageously to you, hmm?
Anyway, it's probably society's fault. Either that or Eugene's parents, Bartholomew and Gertude**.
So anyway, although I have my reservations about it, I'm prepared to accept that 'LOL' does not mean that I've induced fits of laughter but that someone has noticed that I made a funny. (Just don't get me started on 'LMAO', 'ROFL' or 'PMSL'.)
I wonder what would happen if I started saying 'LOL' out loud. I suspect I would get some pretty strange looks. Stranger than normal, I mean!
Those excellent gags were supplied by Dr K, by the way!
While writing this post, I began to wonder what people around the world use instead of 'LOL'. I checked with my only properly foreign friend, the Fish Lady, who told me that in Poland, they use 'LOL' as well, although a direct translation of 'Laugh Out Loud' would be 'Umierac Ze Sheichu' which would be 'UZS'. Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue.
In France it might be 'Mort De Rire', which would be 'MDR', which is a little close to 'Murder' for my tastes...
( * 'Eponymous' is much easier to say aloud than 'negligible'. )
( ** I didn't know their names either, so I made them up. )
Saturday, October 15, 2011
9 Things I Have Not Enjoyed Recently
A five day week. I've managed to get away without doing a full week at work almost all summer, what with booked holidays and Freaky Fridays. I had to do a full on this week though. Man, it was hard.
Rochester's bad breath. Awesome though he is, my cat is an old man, now and his breath smells like a badger shat in his mouth and then died in it's own excrement. Yuck.
Bridge Valley Road. This road has been closed for 18 months. Since it's been closed, the traffic flow in and out of Bristol has been brilliant. It opened again about 2 weeks ago. Chaos. Shit.
Updates. Everything wants to update. All the time. My phone, my computers, my PlayStation. Even the damn TV.
Own Brand Muesli. I bought the wrong muesli. I should have bought Alpen, but instead I bought Tesco's own. It's like someone was sweeping the floor and decided to mix the contents of the dustpan with some hard raisins (that could be rabbit poos) and extra dust. I expect Dr K would love it.
Off milk. It keeps trying to trick me into drinking it. It succeeds about once a week.
This headache. I've had it for three days.
Getting up at stupid o'clock the other morning to take Dr K to the station for a 5am train. That sucked a big one.
Writing this post. It was actually much harder than I anticipated, considering it was supposed to be a filler. The other one was easy. Things I liked we just spilling out of me like an unholy tide. Apparently I enjoy more things than not.
Rochester's bad breath. Awesome though he is, my cat is an old man, now and his breath smells like a badger shat in his mouth and then died in it's own excrement. Yuck.
Bridge Valley Road. This road has been closed for 18 months. Since it's been closed, the traffic flow in and out of Bristol has been brilliant. It opened again about 2 weeks ago. Chaos. Shit.
Updates. Everything wants to update. All the time. My phone, my computers, my PlayStation. Even the damn TV.
Own Brand Muesli. I bought the wrong muesli. I should have bought Alpen, but instead I bought Tesco's own. It's like someone was sweeping the floor and decided to mix the contents of the dustpan with some hard raisins (that could be rabbit poos) and extra dust. I expect Dr K would love it.
Off milk. It keeps trying to trick me into drinking it. It succeeds about once a week.
This headache. I've had it for three days.
Getting up at stupid o'clock the other morning to take Dr K to the station for a 5am train. That sucked a big one.
Writing this post. It was actually much harder than I anticipated, considering it was supposed to be a filler. The other one was easy. Things I liked we just spilling out of me like an unholy tide. Apparently I enjoy more things than not.
Friday, October 14, 2011
9 Things I Have Enjoyed Recently
Rochester. After a long absence, my cat has started sleeping on the bed again. It's nice to have him back. Mostly he's sleeping on Dr K's head, which is nice.
Many, many episodes of How I Met Your Mother: What a great show this is. It has Barney Stinson in it. He's legen... wait for it...*
Many, many episodes of How I Met Your Mother: What a great show this is. It has Barney Stinson in it. He's legen... wait for it...*
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larson: This turned out to be a rather excellent book, contrary to all my expectations.
Curry with Dr K, Mr Berry and The Fish Lady: Yum. And I don't just mean the curry. Mr Berry is a very handsome man.
Curry with Dr K's Workmates. Yum. I mean the curry this time.
Curry with Jo and Kinger. Yum. All of it. I've had a lot of curry in the last week or so!
My new iPhone. Yeah, I keep falling out with Siri, but it' part of why I love it! I hurled a bunch of abuse at it. Then it sounded upset so I felt the need to apologise to it. It accepted my apology. I still feel bad. But I feel good about feeling bad about it. Then I remember it's just a phone.
Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. It's an album by My Chemical Romance, who I used to thing was a load of emo tosh. Lots of it still is, but this album is kinda awesome. Also, one of my literary heroes, Grant Morrison, has a recurring cameo in their music videos. Killjoys: MAKE SOME NOISE!
DC: The New 52. DC Comics recently rebooted their entire comic line. I was skeptical, but there's a whole ton of really great new comics!
( * ...dary! )
Curry with Dr K's Workmates. Yum. I mean the curry this time.
Curry with Jo and Kinger. Yum. All of it. I've had a lot of curry in the last week or so!
My new iPhone. Yeah, I keep falling out with Siri, but it' part of why I love it! I hurled a bunch of abuse at it. Then it sounded upset so I felt the need to apologise to it. It accepted my apology. I still feel bad. But I feel good about feeling bad about it. Then I remember it's just a phone.
Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. It's an album by My Chemical Romance, who I used to thing was a load of emo tosh. Lots of it still is, but this album is kinda awesome. Also, one of my literary heroes, Grant Morrison, has a recurring cameo in their music videos. Killjoys: MAKE SOME NOISE!
DC: The New 52. DC Comics recently rebooted their entire comic line. I was skeptical, but there's a whole ton of really great new comics!
( * ...dary! )
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Butter Up
I have noticed a disturbing trend in the catering industry. Dinner ladies are skimping on butter (or spread).
For example, when I ask for a bacon sarnie in the canteen, it is assumed that I do not require butter (or spread) on my bun.
A bacon sandwich without butter (or spread) is a dry, disappointing travesty.
After five years of frequenting the same canteen, I have just about trained the dinner ladies to butter (or spread) my sarnie. If however, I do not properly supervise the buttering (or spreading), I end up with a stingy micron thick scraping of butter (or spread) on just one side of the sandwich. Not even enough to taste.
I have therefore decided that some sort of formula is needed for the discerning dinner lady so she can calculate of the optimum thickness of butter (or spread) to put on a given slice of bread.
Obviously, any guide should be backed up with complicated mathematics. (I should point out that before I started this process, Dr K declared off hand that the butter (or spread) should be about half a millimetre thick and that all this effort was unnecessary, however in order to support my endeavour she was happy to assist me and, afterward, eat the bread and butter).
With a little bit of help from Dr K, I came up with this formula (you can click on it for a larger version):
Complicated stuff, huh? Who'd have thought algebra would come in handy? Fortunately, quite a lot of this data is available to us.
I started by calculating the weight of the optimum amount of butter (or spread).
Here's the bread before the butter (or spread):
And here it is afterward. It's not perfectly spread, I know. I am not a trained professional!
As you can see, the difference, and therefore the weight of the butter (or spread) is 8 grams.
According to my good friend Wikipedia, the density of butter (or spread) is 0.959 grams per cubic centimetre.
The bread is 13cm long and 12cm wide.
Let's populate that formula, shall we?
So all we have to do is work out the value of X. Easy peasy!
It's just over 0.05cm, by the way. That's half a millimetre.
And let's have it in a more scientific sounding measurement: the butter (or spread) should be 500 microns thick!
So, now we know how to order a bacon butty:
(Dr K whipped the bread and butter (or spread) off the scales the moment I finished weighing them. It was gone in moments!)
UPDATE 14/10/2011: I brought up the formula and the required amount of butter (or spread) with Carol the Dinner Lady in the canteen this morning whilst ordering my bacon bun.
'You'll get what you're given,' she declared, sternly. 'And you'll be grateful.'
I did. And I was.
For example, when I ask for a bacon sarnie in the canteen, it is assumed that I do not require butter (or spread) on my bun.
A bacon sandwich without butter (or spread) is a dry, disappointing travesty.
After five years of frequenting the same canteen, I have just about trained the dinner ladies to butter (or spread) my sarnie. If however, I do not properly supervise the buttering (or spreading), I end up with a stingy micron thick scraping of butter (or spread) on just one side of the sandwich. Not even enough to taste.
I have therefore decided that some sort of formula is needed for the discerning dinner lady so she can calculate of the optimum thickness of butter (or spread) to put on a given slice of bread.
Obviously, any guide should be backed up with complicated mathematics. (I should point out that before I started this process, Dr K declared off hand that the butter (or spread) should be about half a millimetre thick and that all this effort was unnecessary, however in order to support my endeavour she was happy to assist me and, afterward, eat the bread and butter).
With a little bit of help from Dr K, I came up with this formula (you can click on it for a larger version):
Complicated stuff, huh? Who'd have thought algebra would come in handy? Fortunately, quite a lot of this data is available to us.
I started by calculating the weight of the optimum amount of butter (or spread).
Here's the bread before the butter (or spread):
And here it is afterward. It's not perfectly spread, I know. I am not a trained professional!
As you can see, the difference, and therefore the weight of the butter (or spread) is 8 grams.
According to my good friend Wikipedia, the density of butter (or spread) is 0.959 grams per cubic centimetre.
The bread is 13cm long and 12cm wide.
Let's populate that formula, shall we?
So all we have to do is work out the value of X. Easy peasy!
It's just over 0.05cm, by the way. That's half a millimetre.
And let's have it in a more scientific sounding measurement: the butter (or spread) should be 500 microns thick!
So, now we know how to order a bacon butty:
(Dr K whipped the bread and butter (or spread) off the scales the moment I finished weighing them. It was gone in moments!)
UPDATE 14/10/2011: I brought up the formula and the required amount of butter (or spread) with Carol the Dinner Lady in the canteen this morning whilst ordering my bacon bun.
'You'll get what you're given,' she declared, sternly. 'And you'll be grateful.'
I did. And I was.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Adventures In Updating
Regular readers of my blog will know about my special relationship with Bill Gates and the late Steve Jobs.
Well, today was update day and they seemed determined to continue their campaign against me!
I got home from work eager to go out for the curry that Dr K had promised me.
Knowing that it would take a couple of hours to download, I got ready to connect my iPhone into my laptop ready to get it's shiny new update from Apple. As I was about to plug it in, however, I noticed that Bill was pestering me about urgent updates to windows. He was threatening to restart my computer at any moment.
'Aha,' I thought to myself. 'I don't want to fuck everything up by letting my computer shut down mid-update. I shall let Bill do his thing now, so I don't have to worry about it.'
So I allowed my laptop to restart.
Unfortunately, it appeared to be an important update to the startup functionality on my laptop. Specifically, it added an exciting new error message to the usual routine:
How frustrating. And that is how it remained until it was time to go out.
I had a delicious curry. Murg Jalali, I think it was called. Quite hot and very tasty. Band yes, I did bring home the naan bread.
Anyway, by the time I returned home my laptop had completed it's thrilling journey around cock-upsville and it was time to download my update.
That was two hours ago.
This is now.
See, Bill had his fun with me and then tossed me to Steve like sloppy seconds.
(It's a Star Wars joke. The cool kids will get it!)
Well, today was update day and they seemed determined to continue their campaign against me!
I got home from work eager to go out for the curry that Dr K had promised me.
Knowing that it would take a couple of hours to download, I got ready to connect my iPhone into my laptop ready to get it's shiny new update from Apple. As I was about to plug it in, however, I noticed that Bill was pestering me about urgent updates to windows. He was threatening to restart my computer at any moment.
'Aha,' I thought to myself. 'I don't want to fuck everything up by letting my computer shut down mid-update. I shall let Bill do his thing now, so I don't have to worry about it.'
So I allowed my laptop to restart.
Unfortunately, it appeared to be an important update to the startup functionality on my laptop. Specifically, it added an exciting new error message to the usual routine:
How frustrating. And that is how it remained until it was time to go out.
I had a delicious curry. Murg Jalali, I think it was called. Quite hot and very tasty. Band yes, I did bring home the naan bread.
Anyway, by the time I returned home my laptop had completed it's thrilling journey around cock-upsville and it was time to download my update.
That was two hours ago.
This is now.
See, Bill had his fun with me and then tossed me to Steve like sloppy seconds.
(It's a Star Wars joke. The cool kids will get it!)
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
The Relative Horribleness Of Foreign Sweets #19: France
Ahh... France. The strange country that lies just south of the British Isles. Based on my sweet haul so far, it seems to be a really popular holiday destination.
First up are two very similar packages from my brother and my boss respectively:
These are the ubiquitous generic bags of sweets that often come back from overseas vacations. They're quite nice in and of themselves, but not enough to raise a country's score to the revered green status. I won't review the individual sweets, except to say that they're a mixture of fruity boiled and chewy sweets with a few 'milky' ones thrown in for good measure.
What really makes France stand out, though, are these gorgeous little beauties:
Nutty chocolate always goes down well. And when it's the size of a golf ball, it goes down even better!
So... for it's delicious golf-ball sized chocolates, France gets a solid 5 out of 5 and an emerald hue!
Well done.
I'm slowly getting through my backlog of sweets. Hopefully, now the summer's over, people will stop going on holiday!
First up are two very similar packages from my brother and my boss respectively:
These are the ubiquitous generic bags of sweets that often come back from overseas vacations. They're quite nice in and of themselves, but not enough to raise a country's score to the revered green status. I won't review the individual sweets, except to say that they're a mixture of fruity boiled and chewy sweets with a few 'milky' ones thrown in for good measure.
What really makes France stand out, though, are these gorgeous little beauties:
Nutty chocolate always goes down well. And when it's the size of a golf ball, it goes down even better!
So... for it's delicious golf-ball sized chocolates, France gets a solid 5 out of 5 and an emerald hue!
Well done.
I'm slowly getting through my backlog of sweets. Hopefully, now the summer's over, people will stop going on holiday!
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Big Long Post That Dr K Forced Me To Write
Dr K has forced me to write a big long post because she feels that if I just post a few pictures or knock out a foreign sweet review, I'm just cheating.
So, even though I need an early night because I'm getting up at obscenely early o'clock in the morning in order to drive Dr K to the station for a 5am train, I'm having to sit here and write this big long post instead of a quick, concise little post that would allow me to spend a good portion of what little evening I have left to me watching telly, reading a book* or playing video games.
I like doing those things. Mostly because they involve sitting down. Sitting down is one of my favourite things. Tea is another of my favourite things. I've had 1615 cups of tea so far this year. I've been counting.
What? I'm getting off topic? Tough noogies. This is what you get when I'm forced to write a big long post against my better judgement. You get steam of conciousness nonsense that goes on for ages. Rambling gibberish.
I was having real trouble coming up with a decent topic to write about today. I'm just not inspired. I thought about it really hard for nine whole minutes before settling on this passive-aggressive topic. You can't blame me though. I voted against it. I knew it would be a bad idea. It's all Dr K's fault. I wanted to post a picture of me doing jazz hands and maybe write a few amusing sentences underneath it. But Dr K wanted a big long post, so this is what you get instead.
I wonder if people actually want to see a picture of me doing jazz hands. I think my jazz hands are pretty good. Tell you what, if you want to see a picture of me doing jazz hands, post in the comments below. I could collect a bunch of pictures of me doing jazz hands in a bunch of different places. It would be awesome.
Enough about the jazz hands. They're distracting me from my real purpose, which is to write a big long post about absolutely nothing at all to spite Dr K. The jazz hands are too specific. If I go on too much about jazz hands, then everyone will remember this as the post in which I went on about jazz hands rather than the big long passive aggressive post that I'm being forced to write by Dr K who specifically doesn't want me to write about (or illustrate) jazz hands. And that won't do at all.
(Incidentally, whilst typing those last two paragraphs, I accidentally typed 'i' instead of 'a' in the word 'jazz' more than once. That bring a whole new image to mind. I probably shouldn't have mentioned that, huh?)
Here's a dull, space filling fact for you. Up until this point >.<, I have written 487 words. And I did it with 2572 characters.
It's probably taken you just over two minutes to read this far. I just read it back while timing myself and it took two minutes and seventeen seconds (although I did correct a typo along the way. Can you guess which one?) Anyway the point is that you just wasted a little bit more than two minutes reading this big long post, when you could have spent 10 seconds looking at a picture of me doing jazz hands. That's two minutes you're never going to get beck.
Imagine the things you could have done with those two minutes. You could have ordered a pizza, boiled the kettle, read nearly 500 words of a better blog, gone for a wee, washed up a few plates, pleasured a woman or transformed my Optimus Prime toy from a robot into a truck. Basically, all of those things, even the washing up, would have been a better use of your time.
I'm going to stop soon, because I worry about you getting brain damage from to much exposure to my unfiltered brain excretions. They're starting to take a bizzare turn for the worse, unless, of course you want to hear about Optimus Prime riding Grimlock like a little pony or which part of my body is itching right now.
No?
Right, I'm off to bed then. Bye.
...jazz hands...
( * who am I kidding? I read comics, not books. Comics with Spiderman or Batman in them. Because Spiderman and Batman are the best superheroes. )
So, even though I need an early night because I'm getting up at obscenely early o'clock in the morning in order to drive Dr K to the station for a 5am train, I'm having to sit here and write this big long post instead of a quick, concise little post that would allow me to spend a good portion of what little evening I have left to me watching telly, reading a book* or playing video games.
I like doing those things. Mostly because they involve sitting down. Sitting down is one of my favourite things. Tea is another of my favourite things. I've had 1615 cups of tea so far this year. I've been counting.
What? I'm getting off topic? Tough noogies. This is what you get when I'm forced to write a big long post against my better judgement. You get steam of conciousness nonsense that goes on for ages. Rambling gibberish.
I was having real trouble coming up with a decent topic to write about today. I'm just not inspired. I thought about it really hard for nine whole minutes before settling on this passive-aggressive topic. You can't blame me though. I voted against it. I knew it would be a bad idea. It's all Dr K's fault. I wanted to post a picture of me doing jazz hands and maybe write a few amusing sentences underneath it. But Dr K wanted a big long post, so this is what you get instead.
I wonder if people actually want to see a picture of me doing jazz hands. I think my jazz hands are pretty good. Tell you what, if you want to see a picture of me doing jazz hands, post in the comments below. I could collect a bunch of pictures of me doing jazz hands in a bunch of different places. It would be awesome.
Enough about the jazz hands. They're distracting me from my real purpose, which is to write a big long post about absolutely nothing at all to spite Dr K. The jazz hands are too specific. If I go on too much about jazz hands, then everyone will remember this as the post in which I went on about jazz hands rather than the big long passive aggressive post that I'm being forced to write by Dr K who specifically doesn't want me to write about (or illustrate) jazz hands. And that won't do at all.
(Incidentally, whilst typing those last two paragraphs, I accidentally typed 'i' instead of 'a' in the word 'jazz' more than once. That bring a whole new image to mind. I probably shouldn't have mentioned that, huh?)
Here's a dull, space filling fact for you. Up until this point >.<, I have written 487 words. And I did it with 2572 characters.
It's probably taken you just over two minutes to read this far. I just read it back while timing myself and it took two minutes and seventeen seconds (although I did correct a typo along the way. Can you guess which one?) Anyway the point is that you just wasted a little bit more than two minutes reading this big long post, when you could have spent 10 seconds looking at a picture of me doing jazz hands. That's two minutes you're never going to get beck.
Imagine the things you could have done with those two minutes. You could have ordered a pizza, boiled the kettle, read nearly 500 words of a better blog, gone for a wee, washed up a few plates, pleasured a woman or transformed my Optimus Prime toy from a robot into a truck. Basically, all of those things, even the washing up, would have been a better use of your time.
I'm going to stop soon, because I worry about you getting brain damage from to much exposure to my unfiltered brain excretions. They're starting to take a bizzare turn for the worse, unless, of course you want to hear about Optimus Prime riding Grimlock like a little pony or which part of my body is itching right now.
No?
Right, I'm off to bed then. Bye.
...jazz hands...
( * who am I kidding? I read comics, not books. Comics with Spiderman or Batman in them. Because Spiderman and Batman are the best superheroes. )
Sunday, October 09, 2011
A Wholemeal Post
Dr K has a thing about wholemeal.
If there's a wholemeal alternative to a product, then she's drawn to it like a moth to a lightbulb. Wholemeal bread, wholemeal pasta, wholemeal muffins. Hell, if there was a wholemeal iPhone available, that's the one she'd pick.
The problem is that 'wholemeal' appears to be a code word for 'horrible'. In fact I think it may be a label that food manufacturers put on food in which they have replaced the nice, tasty ingredients with dust.
Yuck.
I suspect, although I can't be sure, that whenever Dr K guffs, she lets out a little cloud of dust. That would explain the little dusty patches in her spot on the sofa...
If there's a wholemeal alternative to a product, then she's drawn to it like a moth to a lightbulb. Wholemeal bread, wholemeal pasta, wholemeal muffins. Hell, if there was a wholemeal iPhone available, that's the one she'd pick.
The problem is that 'wholemeal' appears to be a code word for 'horrible'. In fact I think it may be a label that food manufacturers put on food in which they have replaced the nice, tasty ingredients with dust.
Yuck.
I suspect, although I can't be sure, that whenever Dr K guffs, she lets out a little cloud of dust. That would explain the little dusty patches in her spot on the sofa...
Saturday, October 08, 2011
A Field Guide To Dazza's Expressions
Sometimes it's really hard to work out what people are feeling. One person's screwed up face could mean disgust while another's means concentration or maybe they're half way through a massive coronary.
At least I know what my face means. Here's a guide for the rest of you:
Poor Dazza. Doesn't this photo make you feel sorry for him? Look at that bottom lip. This is a face he might pull when a close friend dies, or someone refuses to make him a cuppa. It could also indicate extreme disappointment in the quality of a recent fart.
If Dazza is making this face at you, he probably doesn't care what you're saying to him. Or more likely doesn't understand. You can get rid of this face by waving something shiny in front of him. Of course, it may also mean that someone has farted and he's holding his breath so he doesn't have to smell it.
So here's a face that often comes out when you wave something shiny in front of Dazza. Or suggest that you might like to take him out for a curry. Or offer him tea. It's cute isn't it? Or is it the precursor to a really loud seam splitter?
You probably see this one a lot. Dazza isn't the sharpest rock in the box, so the things you say to him will probably just go over his head and, while he thinks about it, he'll pull this face. Either that or he's trying to figure out how which a tiny little guff smells so bad!
On the rare occasion that Dazza is lucky enough to be right, he might pull this face at you. It's supposed to be a smug contemptuous sneer, but it mostly looks like he's smelling something. Like a fart, maybe.
Oh, no. Dazza's really cross now. Did you take his tea away? Or his curry? Or is he just trying really really hard to squeeze out a fart? Just hope that he never follows up this face with surprise.
Sometimes Dazza is surprised and this is the face he pulls. It's equally possible that he just followed through. Oops.
Did you just give him a cup of tea? Or a curry? Because this is the face he reserves for cups of tea and curry. Oh, and really brilliant farts!
So there you have it. There are a few other expressions, but these are the ones you need to worry about.
It might be a bit tricky to refer to this blog every time you have to speak to him, so here's a cut out card that you can print and keep in your pocket:
At least I know what my face means. Here's a guide for the rest of you:
Poor Dazza. Doesn't this photo make you feel sorry for him? Look at that bottom lip. This is a face he might pull when a close friend dies, or someone refuses to make him a cuppa. It could also indicate extreme disappointment in the quality of a recent fart.
If Dazza is making this face at you, he probably doesn't care what you're saying to him. Or more likely doesn't understand. You can get rid of this face by waving something shiny in front of him. Of course, it may also mean that someone has farted and he's holding his breath so he doesn't have to smell it.
So here's a face that often comes out when you wave something shiny in front of Dazza. Or suggest that you might like to take him out for a curry. Or offer him tea. It's cute isn't it? Or is it the precursor to a really loud seam splitter?
You probably see this one a lot. Dazza isn't the sharpest rock in the box, so the things you say to him will probably just go over his head and, while he thinks about it, he'll pull this face. Either that or he's trying to figure out how which a tiny little guff smells so bad!
On the rare occasion that Dazza is lucky enough to be right, he might pull this face at you. It's supposed to be a smug contemptuous sneer, but it mostly looks like he's smelling something. Like a fart, maybe.
Oh, no. Dazza's really cross now. Did you take his tea away? Or his curry? Or is he just trying really really hard to squeeze out a fart? Just hope that he never follows up this face with surprise.
Sometimes Dazza is surprised and this is the face he pulls. It's equally possible that he just followed through. Oops.
Did you just give him a cup of tea? Or a curry? Because this is the face he reserves for cups of tea and curry. Oh, and really brilliant farts!
So there you have it. There are a few other expressions, but these are the ones you need to worry about.
It might be a bit tricky to refer to this blog every time you have to speak to him, so here's a cut out card that you can print and keep in your pocket:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)