Her Majesty The Queen in,
More Tea, Vicar?
Prrrpt!
“Ey say,” pronounced The Queen from her end of the dinner table, “ey’m sure there was no need for thet!”
“Sorry m’dear,” replied the Duke of Edinburgh, fanning the air about him with his special Duke’s hat, “I’m afraid that dinner tonight was rather rich.”
The Queen had to agree. Although born and bred as royalty even she had to admit that tonight’s turkey stuffed with goose stuffed with swan stuffed with pheasant stuffed with chicken stuffed with bantam stuffed with spatchcock stuffed with quail stuffed with finch ( a turgooswaphechbaspatquanch) had been particularly filling. As she delicately dabbed at her cakehole with the royal napkin, she gave a little belch.
“Aha!” cried Prince Philip and the Duke of Edinburgh at the same time, being as they were the same person and all, “that wasn’t me this time!”
Parp.
“And neither, m’dear, was that.”
“Ey say, ey em most terribly embarrassed,” said The Queen, giving the royal wave, “still, et least this doesn’t look et all suspicious.”
“While you’re at it, wave this one around,” retorted the Duke, curling out a blinder that made the corgis leave the room.
“Oh ey say, you are most terribly awful! One must remember not to layt ey metch!”
“Yes,” said the Prince, leaning back and contentedly enjoying his own brand, “I’d give it about ten minutes if I were you.”
It was at this inopportune moment that the doorbell to Buckingham Palace rang.
“What?” cried The Queen in alarm, “whomsoever could thet be, end et this taym of neyt?”
Quickly The Queen leapt up and ran to the throne room, returning with a can of Glen 20 which she liberally sprayed about the place, finishing just as Jock, the royal retainer, strode into the room, kilt a-flapping. “Ma’am, you have a visitor,” he intoned, “The Archbishop of Canterbury”
“Oh no!” cried The Queen, “How unlucky ken ey get? Just when mey husband end ey get ey dose of the parping great trumpets, the vicar comes to tea!”
One of the few advantages inherent in being The Queen was that rather than hobnobbing with the ordinary clergy, your local vicar was the Archbishop of Canturbury. This came in particularly handy in The Queen’s case as she’d been working on the Archbishop for months, trying to arrange to have Fergie excommunicated. The Archbishop had been pretty firmly in the negative camp at first, but a few evenings of nude Twister at the Palace with Zara Phillips had soon sorted that out and The Queen suspected that tonight was the night and he was ready to sign on the dotted line, as it were.
“Show him in,” The Queen told Jock, then whirled around and shot a warning glance at Prince Phillip, “End ey would strongly edvayse you to put a blummen cork in it.”
“Why?”
“He’s en Erchbishop,” The Queen replied gravely, “he has been raised only on the faynest of things. Were he to ever smell one’s botty-coughs the shock could very well kill him, and thet would be you-know-who’s excommunication up the Swannee, wouldn’t it?”
“But m’dear,” reasoned Prince Phillip, “I’ve been chuffing them out constantly for the last five minutes! I can’t hold my nipsy for that long! My ruddy council gritter will explode!”
“You’ll hold it,” replied The Queen cooly, “until I tell you to stop. Ey’m related to Henery the Eighth, ey em. Besayds, ey’m in the same situation as you.”
At that moment Jock returned, with the Archbishop of Canterbury in tow. “Delightful to see you, The Queen,” the Archbishop began. The Queen hustled him to a seat and began to shovel Albert Cake into him. The Archbishop liked Albert Cake a lot, even thought it took him days to comb all of the crumbs out of his beard.
The evening went well. The conversation began with the latest Formula One gossip, then headed around to the ever-popular subject of Zeppelin design, before The Queen was able to get it around to the red-headed strumpet.
Down below, however, things were not going quite so well. The turgooswaphechbaspatquanch was not sitting well, and the royal ringpiece was taking quite a hammering. The Queen looked across the table to where Prince Phillip sat with his legs and eyes crossed and his face all red.
“And so you see,” mumbled the Archbishop around his third slice of Albert, “I’ve given it a lot of thought and I’ve decided to…”
He was cut off in mid sentence by the loudest cutting of cheese that he had ever heard. Long, deep and sonorous, it sounded like nothing so much as a funeral dirge played solely upon the tuba. On and on it went, reverberating around and around the royal dining room like a sparrow that had gotten in through the window which the Queen was madly chasing with a broom. All up, it lasted for about 35 seconds, with aftershocks. These followed an acute silence.
“More tea, vicar?” asked the Queen to no avail.
The Archbishop had fainted.
“Quickly,” cried the Queen, “Get the embulence!”
“Don’t be silly,” replied the Duke of Edinburgh, “we haven’t got an ambulance.”
Under the sensible guidance of Jock an ambulance was called. As the Archbishop was loaded into the back like so many sacks of spuds, he motioned to Prince Phillip. “Now I know,” he whispered in a scratchy voice from underneath the oxygen mask.
“Know what, old chap?”
“Why you call her ‘cabbage’…”
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
A Tip-off...
Jimmy Carter's bicycle has been stolen from a sports centre in Atlanta, Georgia. However, as horrific as this may be, this is not the first time something similar has happened to President Carter.
During the last days of the Carter Presidency, if I recall correctly, the Presidential Limo made an emergency stop in the small Georgia hamlet of Hazzard, so that the driver could have a jimmy riddle. Whilst the limo was stopped at the Boar's Nest, an inhabitant of Hazzard, one 'Cooter' was seen making off with the car, which then took 45mins (plus ads) to retrieve.
'Cooter' then went on to become a United States Senator, but has since retired. If I were the FBI or the Department of Homeland Security or whoever is searching for the Carter Bicycle, i'd be checking the barn out on the old Duke farm, just quietly.
During the last days of the Carter Presidency, if I recall correctly, the Presidential Limo made an emergency stop in the small Georgia hamlet of Hazzard, so that the driver could have a jimmy riddle. Whilst the limo was stopped at the Boar's Nest, an inhabitant of Hazzard, one 'Cooter' was seen making off with the car, which then took 45mins (plus ads) to retrieve.
'Cooter' then went on to become a United States Senator, but has since retired. If I were the FBI or the Department of Homeland Security or whoever is searching for the Carter Bicycle, i'd be checking the barn out on the old Duke farm, just quietly.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Just A Thought
Why don't they name more cars after rocks? The only one that I can think of is the Triumph Dolomite. I mean, I know thaat 'Monaro' is supposed to mean 'a pair of small hills' (nudge nudge wink wink) and I seem to remember the HSV Avalanche, but I don't think they count.
Likewise, the Suzuki Ignis and the Lancia Stratos: close, but no banana. Why don't we get some cars named:
Scree
Malachite
Chert
Boart
Hornblende
Likewise, the Suzuki Ignis and the Lancia Stratos: close, but no banana. Why don't we get some cars named:
Scree
Malachite
Chert
Boart
Hornblende
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The History of Stuff, an ongoing serial
Tea.
The earliest traces of tea have been found in an ancient mineshaft in Mbekegwanaland, Nairobi, dated to 7000bc. It was here that scholars believe that the first raw tea ores were mined. These ores were the first tea consumed. It is believed that the first teas were made by dumping the ores in a river and then drinking from downstream, as the earliest known teapot has been dated only to Ancient Sumeria.
As the process of tea-drinking refined, so too did civilisation. Eventually the peoples of Babylon found that adding bauxite to the tea ore at the smelting stage resulted in an entirely different beverage that we know today as coffee.
Tea spread throughout the world, becoming an important commodity in many ancient civilisations. Rome traded tea with India to such an extent that tariffs had to be placed on kettles.
The next real step forward in the world of tea came in 1764, when Earl Grey married Sir Thomas Lipton. Their third child, Dilmah, patented the world’s first teabag. Weighing in at twenty five kilos and only available in 25-bag packets, teabags soon became the number-one cause of hernias during the Regency.
Today, tea is consumed the world over. Tea refineries can be found in many countries, but the massive stripmines of India and China still dominate the industry. The importation of Tea to the west is strictly controlled by cartels headed up by the controversial ‘tea barons’. These callous profiteers carefully control the supply of tea, always ensuring that demand is slightly greater than supply. While the UN has called for greater freedom in the distribution of tea, it is rumoured that the Tea Barons are contolling supply to shield the world from the reality of a dwindling supply. A British company, TeaCo, has recently set up the world’s first undersea tea dredging operation in the North Sea. While returns are small at present, this advance may see a return to the cheap and plentiful tea of the British Empire.
The earliest traces of tea have been found in an ancient mineshaft in Mbekegwanaland, Nairobi, dated to 7000bc. It was here that scholars believe that the first raw tea ores were mined. These ores were the first tea consumed. It is believed that the first teas were made by dumping the ores in a river and then drinking from downstream, as the earliest known teapot has been dated only to Ancient Sumeria.
As the process of tea-drinking refined, so too did civilisation. Eventually the peoples of Babylon found that adding bauxite to the tea ore at the smelting stage resulted in an entirely different beverage that we know today as coffee.
Tea spread throughout the world, becoming an important commodity in many ancient civilisations. Rome traded tea with India to such an extent that tariffs had to be placed on kettles.
The next real step forward in the world of tea came in 1764, when Earl Grey married Sir Thomas Lipton. Their third child, Dilmah, patented the world’s first teabag. Weighing in at twenty five kilos and only available in 25-bag packets, teabags soon became the number-one cause of hernias during the Regency.
Today, tea is consumed the world over. Tea refineries can be found in many countries, but the massive stripmines of India and China still dominate the industry. The importation of Tea to the west is strictly controlled by cartels headed up by the controversial ‘tea barons’. These callous profiteers carefully control the supply of tea, always ensuring that demand is slightly greater than supply. While the UN has called for greater freedom in the distribution of tea, it is rumoured that the Tea Barons are contolling supply to shield the world from the reality of a dwindling supply. A British company, TeaCo, has recently set up the world’s first undersea tea dredging operation in the North Sea. While returns are small at present, this advance may see a return to the cheap and plentiful tea of the British Empire.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
An Apology
Those of you who read the comments upon this enblogment may notice that since my last post regarding 'Nuking the Fridge' it has been visited by none other than the creator of the phrase himself, a man named Jason.
Jason informed me that he was not 'an overgrown child' and I am inclined to agree. Where I blogged the phrase "overgrown child pining for a film to take him back to when he was 5 years old", I should have said "a callous entrepreneur willing to sacrifice an entire film crew's hard work to make a quick buck".
Ever made a film, Jason? Tried writing scripts, have you? Or would you just prefer to make fun of films in order to, as you say, "laugh all the way to the bank"?
Enjoy your fifteen minutes, Jason. It's all you'll ever get.
Jason informed me that he was not 'an overgrown child' and I am inclined to agree. Where I blogged the phrase "overgrown child pining for a film to take him back to when he was 5 years old", I should have said "a callous entrepreneur willing to sacrifice an entire film crew's hard work to make a quick buck".
Ever made a film, Jason? Tried writing scripts, have you? Or would you just prefer to make fun of films in order to, as you say, "laugh all the way to the bank"?
Enjoy your fifteen minutes, Jason. It's all you'll ever get.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Another Open Letter
Nuking The Fridge: The point at which a movie franchise becomes tired and unbelievable.
An Open Letter To The Genius That Thought Up The Phrase 'Nuking The Fridge'.
Dear Sir,
In your opinion, was the scene in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull in which the fridge gets nuked more believable or less believable than:
Indiana getting his father's book about the holy grail autographed by Hitler.
Sean Connery making a BF-109 crash using an umbrella.
The Nazis faces melting off when they opened the Ark of the Covenant.
The entire existance of both the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail in the first place.
Club Obi-Wan.
The wierd flying wing that the Luftwaffe had in Egypt.
The Luftwaffe even BEING in Egypt when it was a British protectorate in the 1930s.
I could go on, but I won't. You are clearly some sort of overgrown child pining for some movie to take him back to when he was 5 years old watching Raiders of the Lost Ark for the first time. Get with reality: it's not going to happen! And the same goes for everyone who didn't like The Clone Wars. Grr.
An Open Letter To The Genius That Thought Up The Phrase 'Nuking The Fridge'.
Dear Sir,
In your opinion, was the scene in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull in which the fridge gets nuked more believable or less believable than:
Indiana getting his father's book about the holy grail autographed by Hitler.
Sean Connery making a BF-109 crash using an umbrella.
The Nazis faces melting off when they opened the Ark of the Covenant.
The entire existance of both the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail in the first place.
Club Obi-Wan.
The wierd flying wing that the Luftwaffe had in Egypt.
The Luftwaffe even BEING in Egypt when it was a British protectorate in the 1930s.
I could go on, but I won't. You are clearly some sort of overgrown child pining for some movie to take him back to when he was 5 years old watching Raiders of the Lost Ark for the first time. Get with reality: it's not going to happen! And the same goes for everyone who didn't like The Clone Wars. Grr.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
An Open Letter
An Open Letter to the Keepers Of Public-Houses In the Fair City of Adelaide.
Stout Yeomen,
There has been a great deal of unhappy talk recently regarding the rise of glass-related crimes within licensed venues. I humbly venture within the confines of this enblogment a solution.
A casual perusal of the crime statistics for the entire Viking era (650-980AD) shows no 'glassings' at all. This is because the Vikings, though reknowned for their drinking prowess, did not use glass at all. What did they use, I hear you ask? Something far more manly: cow horns.
As most vegetarians are wont to rabbit on about ad nauseam, cows bugger up the environment and give everyone herpes*. Thus, two birds may be killed with one stone. Lightly slay a few thousand head of prime beef, lop their horns off and use them instead of schooners. You could even use little baby horns for the poofter drinks.
*or something.
Stout Yeomen,
There has been a great deal of unhappy talk recently regarding the rise of glass-related crimes within licensed venues. I humbly venture within the confines of this enblogment a solution.
A casual perusal of the crime statistics for the entire Viking era (650-980AD) shows no 'glassings' at all. This is because the Vikings, though reknowned for their drinking prowess, did not use glass at all. What did they use, I hear you ask? Something far more manly: cow horns.
As most vegetarians are wont to rabbit on about ad nauseam, cows bugger up the environment and give everyone herpes*. Thus, two birds may be killed with one stone. Lightly slay a few thousand head of prime beef, lop their horns off and use them instead of schooners. You could even use little baby horns for the poofter drinks.
*or something.
Monday, January 05, 2009
Fun fun fun with piratical puns!
Q. Why are there never any aspirins on pirate ships?
A. Because the parrots-eat-'em-all.
Arr.
A. Because the parrots-eat-'em-all.
Arr.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
Random Doobings
"Right!" cried Captain Doobie, leaping forward, "we'll soon get to the bottom of this!"
While Goodtime Slim pinned the old man's hands securely to his side, Captain Doobie peeled off the latex mask to reveal none other than...
"Adolf Hitler!" both men cried in unison.
"Correct!" roared the Fuhrer, "I'm back!"
"Crikey," commented Captain Doobie, "it must have been a long road back, what with the Russians and escaping to South America and getting punched in the cock and all."
"What?" queried the nasty little man with the stupid moustache, "I conquered all of Europe, but I never got punched in the cock."
"Oh, sorry," replied Captain Doobie, punching him in the cock, "forgot."
The small figure writhed on the floor. "And that," Captain Doobie told him, "was for the Jews, and World War Two, and...and...and well, just bloody everything!"
While Goodtime Slim pinned the old man's hands securely to his side, Captain Doobie peeled off the latex mask to reveal none other than...
"Adolf Hitler!" both men cried in unison.
"Correct!" roared the Fuhrer, "I'm back!"
"Crikey," commented Captain Doobie, "it must have been a long road back, what with the Russians and escaping to South America and getting punched in the cock and all."
"What?" queried the nasty little man with the stupid moustache, "I conquered all of Europe, but I never got punched in the cock."
"Oh, sorry," replied Captain Doobie, punching him in the cock, "forgot."
The small figure writhed on the floor. "And that," Captain Doobie told him, "was for the Jews, and World War Two, and...and...and well, just bloody everything!"
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Year Of The Zeppelin
Its has been brought to my attention that this new, current year (2009) is not actually the year of anything. Usually every new year we're treated to a slew of tweely well meaning 'things' that the year can be, for example:
1997: The Year of the Volunteer
2002: The Year of the Environment
2003: The Year of Not Blowing Up Orphanages
2010: The Year We Make Contact
You get the idea. This year however (notwithstanding my not bothering to check in the slightest) this year appears to be the year of nothing. So i'd like to proclaim this year to be the Year of the Zeppelin. Let's face it, dirigibles have had a pretty bad run in the last century, what with the bombing raids over London and the Hindenberg Disaster and all, so I thought it might be a nice gesture if we all got together and let the old gasbags know we're still thinking of them. Lighter than air travel: it's the way of the future (and Nazi Germany).
1997: The Year of the Volunteer
2002: The Year of the Environment
2003: The Year of Not Blowing Up Orphanages
2010: The Year We Make Contact
You get the idea. This year however (notwithstanding my not bothering to check in the slightest) this year appears to be the year of nothing. So i'd like to proclaim this year to be the Year of the Zeppelin. Let's face it, dirigibles have had a pretty bad run in the last century, what with the bombing raids over London and the Hindenberg Disaster and all, so I thought it might be a nice gesture if we all got together and let the old gasbags know we're still thinking of them. Lighter than air travel: it's the way of the future (and Nazi Germany).
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