"So let me get this straight," Goodtime Slim told Captain Doobie, "it turns out that your grandmother was incredibly rich?"
"That's right."
"But she was also certifiably insane."
"Yup."
Goodtime Slim pondered this. "You know, technically that makes her a supervillain," he said.
This time it was Captain Doobie's turn to think and eager to show that he was up to the task, he ploughed right in. "Wow," he said, "I suppose she was. Who knows, she might have gone around wearing a stupid costume and trying to kill Jesus."
Goodtime Slim sighed. "We've had this conversation before," he said wearily, "Jesus was not a superhero."
"Pig's arse he wasn't! He could fly and everything!"
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Merry Christmas To All My Readers
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
and after the movie,
not a creature was stirring,
except Captain Doobie.
Goodtime Slim had long gone to bed,
With visions of sugarplums lodged in his head,
Or something otherwise suitably twee,
That kept him asleep at a quarter to three.
But the good Captain stood in anticipation,
Waiting for Santa to stop at the station,
Marked ‘Doobie and Slim’, that he’d put up on the roof,
Whilst spreading the araldite to trap every hoof.
But after a while Santa didn’t appear,
Captain Doobie doubted he’d ever get here,
Then just as his head it started to nod,
There came from the roof, “You stupid old sod!”
With a gasp Captain Doobie rushed out to the rope,
(that had led to the roof since their brush with the Pope),
straight up to the roof he struggled to climb,
and when he got there, what should he find?
There was Dasher and Dancer, Donner and Blitzen,
And Santa himself, who got quite the shits when,
He spied Captain Doobie climbing over the gutter,
So he started shouting and yelling and being a nutter,
“I should have bloody well known it was you!”
he cried, “when the reindeers landed in all of this glue!
Then one of the reindeers started to yell,
“Don’t tear strips off of him, it’s your fault as well!”
“Who’s the smart bastard who decided to stay,
For an hour and a half at that beachhouse in L.A.?
Don’t stand there and blame it all on some slacker,
When you’ve been off chasing little miss Christmas Cracker!”
Well old Santa blushed crimson right down to his beard,
Then sighing he mumbled, “it’s just as I feared,
I suppose it’s my own fault for planting the seed,
But you’re well out of order, this is mutiny, Queeg!”
But then Captain Doobie excused his involvement,
And pulled out a tin of industrial solvent,
And got down to work to unstick the hoofs,
Hearing several muttered “Wanker”s and a couple of “Poof”s.
When he was done he went over to Santa,
And said, “Well, they’re free, now they can gallop and canter.”
But the merry old fellow just shook his grey head,
“It’s no bloody good now, we’ve lost it,” he said.
Naturally Captain Doobie asked him why,
And when he told him there came a gleam in his eye,
And he dashed off downstairs to look in the cupboard,
While Santa and Co stood and recovered.
When he returned Santa looked a bit glum,
But the Captain smiled and whispered, “Don’t worry, chum,
I’ve got something here that will do just the trick,
You’ll finish the job off particularly quick.”
And with that he walked behind every reindeer,
Who nervously shouted and whinneyed in fear,
Then Santa jumped on his sleigh and flew off like a rocket,
And Captain Doobie slipped something back into his pocket.
The very next morning, ‘midst Coco-pops and Milo,
As Goodtime Slim was admiring his new Christmas biro,
They saw on The Advertiser the heartwarming sight,
Of Santa (with reindeer) photographed in full flight.
“It says here that Santa was very late on his round,”
read Goodtime Slim as he shovelled his cereal down,
“And they say he might even have not made it through,
except for the last hour when he really flew.”
Goodtime Slim wondered aloud, “but how could it be,
When reindeers already fly magically,
How could anything possibly hurry them up?”
But Captain Doobie simply kept his mouth shut.
For it was a secret known only to him, you see,
(and some in the greyhound racing industry),
but as he looks across the room we know what he sees,
the jar on the mantle, half full of chillis.
and after the movie,
not a creature was stirring,
except Captain Doobie.
Goodtime Slim had long gone to bed,
With visions of sugarplums lodged in his head,
Or something otherwise suitably twee,
That kept him asleep at a quarter to three.
But the good Captain stood in anticipation,
Waiting for Santa to stop at the station,
Marked ‘Doobie and Slim’, that he’d put up on the roof,
Whilst spreading the araldite to trap every hoof.
But after a while Santa didn’t appear,
Captain Doobie doubted he’d ever get here,
Then just as his head it started to nod,
There came from the roof, “You stupid old sod!”
With a gasp Captain Doobie rushed out to the rope,
(that had led to the roof since their brush with the Pope),
straight up to the roof he struggled to climb,
and when he got there, what should he find?
There was Dasher and Dancer, Donner and Blitzen,
And Santa himself, who got quite the shits when,
He spied Captain Doobie climbing over the gutter,
So he started shouting and yelling and being a nutter,
“I should have bloody well known it was you!”
he cried, “when the reindeers landed in all of this glue!
Then one of the reindeers started to yell,
“Don’t tear strips off of him, it’s your fault as well!”
“Who’s the smart bastard who decided to stay,
For an hour and a half at that beachhouse in L.A.?
Don’t stand there and blame it all on some slacker,
When you’ve been off chasing little miss Christmas Cracker!”
Well old Santa blushed crimson right down to his beard,
Then sighing he mumbled, “it’s just as I feared,
I suppose it’s my own fault for planting the seed,
But you’re well out of order, this is mutiny, Queeg!”
But then Captain Doobie excused his involvement,
And pulled out a tin of industrial solvent,
And got down to work to unstick the hoofs,
Hearing several muttered “Wanker”s and a couple of “Poof”s.
When he was done he went over to Santa,
And said, “Well, they’re free, now they can gallop and canter.”
But the merry old fellow just shook his grey head,
“It’s no bloody good now, we’ve lost it,” he said.
Naturally Captain Doobie asked him why,
And when he told him there came a gleam in his eye,
And he dashed off downstairs to look in the cupboard,
While Santa and Co stood and recovered.
When he returned Santa looked a bit glum,
But the Captain smiled and whispered, “Don’t worry, chum,
I’ve got something here that will do just the trick,
You’ll finish the job off particularly quick.”
And with that he walked behind every reindeer,
Who nervously shouted and whinneyed in fear,
Then Santa jumped on his sleigh and flew off like a rocket,
And Captain Doobie slipped something back into his pocket.
The very next morning, ‘midst Coco-pops and Milo,
As Goodtime Slim was admiring his new Christmas biro,
They saw on The Advertiser the heartwarming sight,
Of Santa (with reindeer) photographed in full flight.
“It says here that Santa was very late on his round,”
read Goodtime Slim as he shovelled his cereal down,
“And they say he might even have not made it through,
except for the last hour when he really flew.”
Goodtime Slim wondered aloud, “but how could it be,
When reindeers already fly magically,
How could anything possibly hurry them up?”
But Captain Doobie simply kept his mouth shut.
For it was a secret known only to him, you see,
(and some in the greyhound racing industry),
but as he looks across the room we know what he sees,
the jar on the mantle, half full of chillis.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Things Willis May Have Been Talkin' 'Bout.
1. The time Mr Drummond tore off his false moustache in front of the slapper he'd picked up in a bar.
2. The time Arnold shaved his head to look like Mr T.
3. The kickass Cleopatra Jones-style bodyguard that Mr Drummond once hired.
4. The time that he and Arnold pimped it up and their friends from Harlem got the shits.
5. Pearl.
6. Adelaide.
7. Mrs Garrett.
8. The frankly rather tiresome crossover episodes with Mclean Stevenson's stupid sitcom family.
9. The time that Dudley almost got rooted by the guy who owned the bike shop.
10. Kimberley in a bikini.
2. The time Arnold shaved his head to look like Mr T.
3. The kickass Cleopatra Jones-style bodyguard that Mr Drummond once hired.
4. The time that he and Arnold pimped it up and their friends from Harlem got the shits.
5. Pearl.
6. Adelaide.
7. Mrs Garrett.
8. The frankly rather tiresome crossover episodes with Mclean Stevenson's stupid sitcom family.
9. The time that Dudley almost got rooted by the guy who owned the bike shop.
10. Kimberley in a bikini.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Trouserial Mysogyny.
It's not often that i'm given to bouts of introspection these days, but one such bout recently overtook me.
I'm a fairly well-adjusted sort of a chap who, it must be said, has worn frocks on stage. On stage only, mind you. There was a valid artistic reason, and that was as far as it went. As Laurence Olivier once said, "it's a fine line between good natured horseplay and homosexuality. It's rarely crossed and when it is, it's only ever in the dressing room."
But I digress. Having established my red-blooded, beer-drinking credentials, I found myself wondering the other day what it would be like to wear a dress. Not so much the actual wearing as such, but what would it be like to wake up every morning to have the option of what to wear on the lower half of one's body?
It's a choice that I really can't concieve of. When I arise in the morning and Scrotum, my butler, has laid out my walking-suit, I never stop to consider the possibility that there may be other options out there. I am a man, and therefore I wear trousers. It's as simple as that. Imagine trying to make the choice every morning? You'd go potty in short order. Perhaps that explains the general behaviour of the female population.
Mysogyny is a great thing.
I'm a fairly well-adjusted sort of a chap who, it must be said, has worn frocks on stage. On stage only, mind you. There was a valid artistic reason, and that was as far as it went. As Laurence Olivier once said, "it's a fine line between good natured horseplay and homosexuality. It's rarely crossed and when it is, it's only ever in the dressing room."
But I digress. Having established my red-blooded, beer-drinking credentials, I found myself wondering the other day what it would be like to wear a dress. Not so much the actual wearing as such, but what would it be like to wake up every morning to have the option of what to wear on the lower half of one's body?
It's a choice that I really can't concieve of. When I arise in the morning and Scrotum, my butler, has laid out my walking-suit, I never stop to consider the possibility that there may be other options out there. I am a man, and therefore I wear trousers. It's as simple as that. Imagine trying to make the choice every morning? You'd go potty in short order. Perhaps that explains the general behaviour of the female population.
Mysogyny is a great thing.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Protocol!
Well, who'da thunk it? Today my short fan fiction 'Protocol' was published on theforce.net in their fan fiction archive. You can e-trundle along and see it at http://fanfic.theforce.net/ if you so desire.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Versus!
Versus!
Here on ‘The Impertinence Of It All’ it’s time for a new segment that I call “Versus!” in which everyday objects with similar sounding names are pitted against one another in an arena which is totally judged by me and yet is at the same time completely fair and impartial. Our contestants this week are:
The Digital Set Top Box “Versus!” The Tennessee Flat Top Box.
Well, the competition is open and either one of our contestants stand poised to win the Impertinence Crown. Let’s take a closer look at both of them:
The Digital Set Top Box is a device for converting digital television signals for use with an analog set. It was developed several years ago by people I neither know nor could care less about. It runs on electricity and has buttons.
The Tennessee Flat Top Box was developed even earlier by hillbillies, possibly named Jed and/or Chet. It is somehow involved in the making of country music.
Well, there they are. Let’s see how they go in a few simple tests…
Round 1: The ability to store and disperse digital media. DSTB 10/10; TFTB 0/10
A disappointing start for the Flat Top Box, with its total lack of pluggery. The first round goes to the Digital Set Top Box by a mile, as it enabled me to watch a rerun of The Nanny whilst cutting out every annoying scene. 10 seconds later, the Set Top Box was a winner.
Round 2: The ability to be played by Luther Perkins. DSTB 0/10; TFTB 10/10
Country guitarist and member of the Tennessee Two Luther Perkins was (I’m reliably informed by a Johnny Cash song) something of a virtuoso on the Flat Top Box. Sadly Luther died some decades ago, so it’s unlikely that he ever used a Set Top Box. Even if be had, the best musical sound I ever got out of a Set Top Box was when I dropped one. It’s hard to imagine ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ or ‘Jackson’ being made like this.
Round 3: Place of origin. DSTB 5/10; TFTB 5/10
Well, a real thriller here with both sides coming out neck and neck. The Digital Set Top Box was made in far-off Cathay, or Khitai if you’re reading this in the Hyborian Age. As I’m not altogether sure if this place really exists, the Set Top Box is forced to accept half-points. Then again, the Tennessee Flat Top Box originated in the Deep South; the land of talking rabbits, tar babies, Burt Reynolds’ moustache and the Dukes of Hazzard. As such, I’m going to have to mark it down as well.
Round 4: Ease of operation. DSTB 0/10; TFTB 10/10
A complete upset this round with the Set Top Box scoring zero as I don’t speak Engrish. The Flat Top Box, upon which I was able after a few scant minutes to play ‘When The Saints Go Marching In’, was a clear winner, although it seems to have attracted the attention of Michael Flatley.
Total: Out of a possible score of 40, the Set Top Box has scored a lively 15, while the Flat Top Box scores a whopping 25! There’s no denying that in the years that follow, sales of Tennessee Flat Top Boxes are set to soar, while the Digital Set Top Box will become little more than a footnote in the history of human endeavour.
Here on ‘The Impertinence Of It All’ it’s time for a new segment that I call “Versus!” in which everyday objects with similar sounding names are pitted against one another in an arena which is totally judged by me and yet is at the same time completely fair and impartial. Our contestants this week are:
The Digital Set Top Box “Versus!” The Tennessee Flat Top Box.
Well, the competition is open and either one of our contestants stand poised to win the Impertinence Crown. Let’s take a closer look at both of them:
The Digital Set Top Box is a device for converting digital television signals for use with an analog set. It was developed several years ago by people I neither know nor could care less about. It runs on electricity and has buttons.
The Tennessee Flat Top Box was developed even earlier by hillbillies, possibly named Jed and/or Chet. It is somehow involved in the making of country music.
Well, there they are. Let’s see how they go in a few simple tests…
Round 1: The ability to store and disperse digital media. DSTB 10/10; TFTB 0/10
A disappointing start for the Flat Top Box, with its total lack of pluggery. The first round goes to the Digital Set Top Box by a mile, as it enabled me to watch a rerun of The Nanny whilst cutting out every annoying scene. 10 seconds later, the Set Top Box was a winner.
Round 2: The ability to be played by Luther Perkins. DSTB 0/10; TFTB 10/10
Country guitarist and member of the Tennessee Two Luther Perkins was (I’m reliably informed by a Johnny Cash song) something of a virtuoso on the Flat Top Box. Sadly Luther died some decades ago, so it’s unlikely that he ever used a Set Top Box. Even if be had, the best musical sound I ever got out of a Set Top Box was when I dropped one. It’s hard to imagine ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ or ‘Jackson’ being made like this.
Round 3: Place of origin. DSTB 5/10; TFTB 5/10
Well, a real thriller here with both sides coming out neck and neck. The Digital Set Top Box was made in far-off Cathay, or Khitai if you’re reading this in the Hyborian Age. As I’m not altogether sure if this place really exists, the Set Top Box is forced to accept half-points. Then again, the Tennessee Flat Top Box originated in the Deep South; the land of talking rabbits, tar babies, Burt Reynolds’ moustache and the Dukes of Hazzard. As such, I’m going to have to mark it down as well.
Round 4: Ease of operation. DSTB 0/10; TFTB 10/10
A complete upset this round with the Set Top Box scoring zero as I don’t speak Engrish. The Flat Top Box, upon which I was able after a few scant minutes to play ‘When The Saints Go Marching In’, was a clear winner, although it seems to have attracted the attention of Michael Flatley.
Total: Out of a possible score of 40, the Set Top Box has scored a lively 15, while the Flat Top Box scores a whopping 25! There’s no denying that in the years that follow, sales of Tennessee Flat Top Boxes are set to soar, while the Digital Set Top Box will become little more than a footnote in the history of human endeavour.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Harder To Get Rid Of Than A Bastard On Father's Day
By cracky, here we are again. Things have been a bit on the downside blog-wise recently. As followers of this humble enblogment will know, some time ago things got thrown cock-a-hoop by my employer's decision to block blogspot from the work servers. This was countered by my setting up some sort of email posting thingie that I don't quite understand. That said, it worked quite well until about two weeks ago when my employer abruptly became, well, not my employer. As I only had access to email and the net in general from work, this put the kybosh on things right sharpish.
However, in the space of four working days I had managed to secure employment once more, and have decided to bow to the pressures of the late 20th century and have the internet at home, from which I am now blogging. Hopefully this will mean a new era of teleblogual entertainment and increase the chances of my being sued by Lucasfilm. Only time will tell.
However, in the space of four working days I had managed to secure employment once more, and have decided to bow to the pressures of the late 20th century and have the internet at home, from which I am now blogging. Hopefully this will mean a new era of teleblogual entertainment and increase the chances of my being sued by Lucasfilm. Only time will tell.
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