A Public Safety Announcement

Today is Hallowe'en, and we all know what that means: dressing up. Now, i'm as liberal-minded as the next man, but when I see a man in a dress I feel a bit uncomfortable. Fun is fun, but enough is enough. We've all done it, i'm sure, but for most men trying on your wife's frock in the confines of your own home while she's out shopping is just a normal part of life. Unfortunately, some people don't know where to stop. The point has been exacerbated by the actions of our legislature. These actions have given it a mystique. It is now, in some quarters, 'cool'. Gangs of befrocked teens can now be seen roaming the streets late at night, deliberately flouting the law in sequinned off-the-shoulder numbers and heels. This madness has to stop.

Transvestitism: it's not clever and it's not funny.

Random Doobings

"Are there any questions?" asked the tour guide.
Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim raised their hands immediately.
"Right," sighed the tourguide, "Are there any questions from people who aren't complete retards?"

On An Otherwise Normal Day.

This morning, whilst buying a healthy breakfast of chocolate and Coke* from my local shop, I saw a sign out congratulating 2 people (presumably connected with the shop in some way) on the birth of their new baby. Nothing wrong with that, is there? Yes, there is, when the baby's name is, apparently: Jaxon. Jaxon???? Is his (her?) middle name 'Fyve'? Sheesh. Some people are schmucks.

*'Coke' is a registered trademark of the Coca-Cola Corporation of Atlanta, GA. The author's use of the term does not serve as an endorsement or disparagement of their fine product.
Even if it is part of his own special Breakfast of Champions**.

**'Breakfast of Champions' is a registered trademark of General Mills Inc. The author's use of the term does not serve as an endorsement or disparagement of their fine product. Chewie is my Co-pilot***.

***Fuck off George Lucas.

Ernest Farknagle, Atlantologist!

New novel idea:

Ernest Farknagle is a paranormal investigator looking for proof of a pre-historic civilisation in the mid-atlantic, who solves crimes in his spare time! He and his trusty sidekick (the sassy, feisty Annabel Rubicon) are investigating a dig on the isle of Knossos, when a suspicious murder unearths a clue as to the whereabouts of the actual tablets upon which the Ten Commandments are written! From here they uncover a conspiracy as old as the Christian Church itself that leads deep into the heart of the Vatican and the Conspiracy Of The Black Pope. To Ernest's suprise, however, it turns out that the conspiracy is as old as Atlantis itself, and the final showdown between Ernest, Rubicon and the Black Pope takes place on top of Ayers Rock, which we dioscover is all that is left of Atlantis' old enemy, The Lost Continent of Mu.

Interested publishers please form an orderly queue.

Upcoming Books By Jeremy Clarkson

Clarkson On Cars
Clarkson On Fire
Clarkson On Acid
Clarkson On A Bull Ant Nest
Clarkson On Kirrin Island

Rubber Soul

The Advertiser today claims that the McCartney-Mills divorce will be "the ugliest ever." This suprises me, as I wouldn't have thought that Heather Mills would have a leg to stand on.*


*some people may see this as a cruel joke about a poor crippled woman. However I would remind you that according to the guidelines of the WTO, by having an artificial leg Ms Mills is technically a pirate (that's why there are so many pirates in south-east asia: landmines). If Ms Mills wishes to take exception with the above she can do so in the usual pirate manner, and pass me the black spot. Arr.

Random Doobings

With a groan, what was left of the roof caved in. As Goodtime Slim cowered underneath the sofa, Captain Doobie waited paitiently inside the now-in-the-livingroom Torana until the dust died down. When it had he got out of the car via the window, as the door was prevented from opening by the remains of the television and a small occasional table.
"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Goodtime Slim, picking himself up and dusting himself off.
"Its not my fault," sulked Captain Doobie.
"Not your fault? I was sitting here reading the paper and you decided to drive the car in!"
"I thought it was the garage."
"Does this look like the garage?"
"It does a bit. Well, ish."
Goodtime Slim looked around at the now-destroyed room. "And what am I supposed to do now?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"What? You've just driven the car into the living room and you know perfectly well that the vicar is coming to tea!"
"Well," remarked Captain Doobie, "that certainly turned into a British sitcom in a hurry."

A Brief Moment Of Levity

Whee! I'm a helicopter! thwokketa thwokketa thwokketa thwokketa

In Search of... the Big Truth

Has anyone ever noticed how science has neatly taken the place of religion in our society? Not as a gradual thing, but just for everything. Think about it: back in the olden days if you asked how you were made and what made you, you got told that a man who lives on a cloud made you. If you asked to see the man you were told that you couldn’t, and that you were very naughty for not believing the story. Now of course, it’s all changed. Today, you’d be told that your body is composed of atoms and held together by quantum physics. Should you ask to see an atom, you’d be told that you can’t, and that you’re stupid if you don’t simply accept that they are there.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t doubt that today’s science has a lot more sensible answers than religion. But the place of science in our society has meant that it has become a belief system in itself. Why do things happen? Science. Atoms and stuff. There’s no need to know how or why past that. A simple belief in science and we can all walk around no more enlightened than we were before, but feeling much superior to those who choose a religious answer.
This situation has probably fuelled the Evolution vs Intelligent Design debate quite a bit. I know many people who weigh in quite heavily on the side of evolution but have no real explanation or even rudimentary proof that evolution actually occurs in the real world (anyone see the awful Penn & Teller episode?) It is, on the timescale of human life, an unprovable theory. As theiories go, for my money Evolution is closer to the mark than the old-man-on-a-cloud theory, but I at least have the sense to realise that it’s got a few holes that need to be plugged before it can become fact. The Intelligent Designers have latched onto these holes and we have another religious war on our hands, fought on one side by people who believe blindly in ‘God’ and on the other by people who believe blindly in ‘Science’.
I’ll leave you with this thought: there is as much evidence in the world to back up the Theory of Evolution as there is that Atlantis existed. In the case of Evolution we have Darwin’s book. On Atlantis, we have Plato’s dialogues. Why is one taught in schools as fact and the other treated as myth?

Dysentry Is Fun!

Yesterday whilst I was out-and-about, I bought a bottle of water from my local store. The problem was, it was not a brand I usually buy. When I looked at the label, I found that it was spring water from the island of Java. That's right, Java in Indonesia.
My question is this: why did I buy water from a country where the first advice to travellers is "Don't drink the water"?
Malevolence. Bloody-mindedness. Thirst. Couldn't be bothered. Any of the above. Mmm, I can taste the crypto-spiridium...

Wouldn't you know it.

Well, it's Friday the 13th today, and what happens? I was being careful to avoid any unpleasant situations when I accidentally walked under a ladder to (unsuccessfully) stop a black cat from crossing my path, which caused me to fall into a mirror, breaking it, putting up an umbrella inside to cushion my fall, seeing a pin and not picking it up and spilling salt without throwing a pinch over my shoulder.
Boy, is it lucky that i'm not superst

The Ties That Bind

Being one of Australia's hottest, most critically-acclaimed young writer is not all beer and skittles. Many young ladies are completely overawed by me, and as such even I can sometimes find it hard to meet new people. As a result, I've been trying to think of ways to attract young ladies, and I think i've come up with a beauty.
Using Hollywood as my guide, i've decided that the best way to attract women is to rig up my car with the sound of a kitten stuck up a tree. I'll leave the car door open until a concerned young lady comes along to investigate. When she does, I hit the gas, putting the pedal to the metal, taking care to impress her with my CB-talking skills. Then we get engaged in a series of daredevil stunts and hot-pursuits with the po-lice, and we drive around in this fashion until she inevitably falls in love with me in the second act. Then we shake the po-po, head for Atlanta Georgia, and bob's your uncle!
The way I see it, it can't fail, especially if I wear a moustache (preferably my own) and a big cowboy hat. And i'd better think up a good CB handle, too.

My Humble Abode

For those of you who are wondering why i'm allowed to get away with such an amazingly anarchic site i'd like to let you in on a secret. While you may well be reading this post from the comfort of your home, office or cell, it is being written in less than auspicious circumstances. In order to keep the blog free from the constraints imposed by the military-industrial complex I am forced to write it from my fortress stronghold, location unknown. Obviously I know where it is, but for all intents and purposes you don't. The only people who do, in fact, are the Doubleday Book Club, and as i'm a member under an alias they won't be putting two-and-two together anytime soon. My humble abode (charmingly referred to as 'The Temple Of Doom' by my artificially-intelligent clockwork robot spiders who toil at the myriad menial tasks required on a daily basis) is ringed by the latest in SAM technology, as well as more conventional lasers, tripwires, RPGs and of course the spiders who spit hydrochloric acid through their eyes. To make doubly sure, however, the entire site has been placed under the magical protection of a Mayan shaman kept on staff for that very purpose. So, enjoy.

A swift punch in the cock.

Reasons that Kim il-Jong, dictator of North Korea, just earned himself a punch in the cock:

1. Being smaller than me
2. Wearing glasses
3. Detonating nuclear devices in secret underground locations
4. Looking at me funny

In Days Of Old

In days of old,
when knights were bold,
and paper wasn't invented,
they wiped their arse,
on blades of grass,
and walked away quite contented.

The Next Star Trek Movie

I had the best idea last night for the next Star Trek movie. The Borg time-travel back to the 1970s to assimilate earth but crash on the moon. A small scouting party land on Wimbledon Common, where they instantly assimilate a family of Wombles to be the spearhead of their invasion force. Meanwhile the crew of the Enterprise NCC-1701Z (or whatever one we're up to now) do that freaky time-slingshot thing around the sun. There's time for some fish-out-of-water gags in 1970's England before they team up with an insider (Paddington Bear) and phaser the bejeezus out of The Wombles, headed by a borg whose catchphrase is: "I am Great Uncle Bulgaria of Borg, resistance is futile!" The Federation win, but in a tender and poignant moment, Paddington has his throat ripped out by an enraged Tomsk in a hastily-prearranged barbed-wire cage match on board the Borg cube.

I call it "Star Trek 10: What The Everyday Folk Leave Behind".

Jerry Reed vs Henry Ford

Things That The Ghost Of Henry Ford Might Say To Jerry Reed, Should A Haunting Occur:

1. Whilst I appreciate your concern on the matter I fail to see, sir, how your financial state is due in any way to my adoption of the production line assembly process.
2. Further, I would in future appreciate you directing your comments to the relevant traffic regulatory body or financial institution concerned.
3. And stop calling me 'son'.