Magnum!!!!

That's Leslie Goddam Phillips To You.

For those of you who have no idea who this is in this picture here, it's none other than Leslie Phillips, star of Doctor In The House, Doctor At Sea, Not Now Darling and many other fine British comedies no-one under sixty has ever heard of.

Bunch of philistines.

Enough With The Goddam Literary Crapola Already

This afternoon whilst out shopping for cravats I espied the latest release in what appears to be a series now by Quirk Classics. Yes, "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" now has a stablemate: "Sense and Sensibility and Sea Creatures".
Which will tank. And i'm going to sit back and watch. For I well remember the heady days of this last autumn gone by when breath was held by all (yours truly included) in anticipation of the release of PPZ, and I remember even more the realisation ten minutes after buying it that i'd just wasted twenty-five smackers on a slightly-polished turd.

There were three phases associated with reading PPZ:
1. Real, actual laughter. This soon morphed into;
2. An appreciation of the cleverness of the concept, which in turn became;
3. "This is just one joke repeated over and over. I'm only ten pages in and I want to bin it. It's not funny any more and i'm so bored I could eat my own earwax."*

I don't often give up on books but I did on this. I've already read Pride and Prejudice, and I don't need to self-flaggelate by reading a dismal half-parody. I suppose a sequel was inevitable given PPZ's runaway (and quite unexpected) success but I can't help but think that the publishers have got their market research all wrong. A lot of people bought PPZ but not many finished it, and most people got pretty cheezed off with the whole concept. So my hopes aren't high for the success of SSSC. I might eventually buy it for the novelty of having it on my shelf, but only in a few months when it's out for $5.

*And we all know how horrid that tastes, right kids?

They were all there, gathered around the table. Madam Blavatsky, Pierre Medellin, Guru Shwami, all had come in response to the summons they had recieved.
Davenport Rockefeller, last scion of the Long Island Rockefellers, gazed cooly at each of them in turn while he chewed on his ever-present cigar. "Thank y'all for comin', " he drawled around the cheroot, "y'all know why your here, don'cha?"
Medellin was the first to talk. "You believe the house to be haunted," he replied in his exquisite Parisian accent.
"Darn tootin'!" Rockefeller replied, "and y'all is gonna help me. The feller that owned this house died right here, an' you folks are gonna help me talk to him, kapish?"
Medellin fingered his natty moustache. "That should be no problem," he replied.
Madame Blavatsky nodded, her fat jowls cascading with the rythym. "Mere child's play," she said in a lofty tone, "hardly worth our time."
"Bullpucky!" Rockefeller cried, "Listen lady, I didn't haul your fat Ruskie fanny halfway around the world to listen to you yap." He sized the three mystics up with an appraising eye. "I ain't got time for this shit," he declared, "damn well git on with it."
On with it they got. All three sat around the small occasional table, hands linked. They began to chant, softly at first and then louder, with greater intensity, until with a roar that sounded like thunder their heads snapped back with mouths open, an eerie blue light cascaring from their open mouths. From their mouths also poured steam, a heavy mist redolent of sulphur and decay. As Rockefeller watched the mist coalesced into the cruel, thin visage of a man cruelly pulled back from the very abyss of death itself.
"What do you want, Davenport?" the apparition sneered, "I had little enough time for you in life, what makes you think I have any more for you in death?"
"I moved into your old house in Boston."
The ghostly face seemed surprised. "Lake Street?"
"Fifth and Main."
"Oh, the Lloyd-Wright."
"Yeah, and I got a question."
The face nodded. "Ask what you will. You have summoned me, and I will answer."
Rockefeller smiled. "Good," he said, "What the hell is up with the hot tap in the upstairs latrine?"
"Turn it on and off quickly, then slowly turn it on again. It always was a bugger for banging."
"Thanks, buddy, i'll try that. Say, while you're here, what are those trees out back? I asked the gardener but he says he can't recall when they went in."
"Dutch elms," replied the face, "They'll need pruning in autumn and a good mulching in the early spring."
"Hot dog, thanks a bunch. You're a pal."
"Anytime," the face said, "was there anything else?"
Rockefeller thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Boy, i'll say, I plum forgot. When's bin day?"
"Thursday," the head intoned gravely, "Friday if there was a holiday Monday."

Day Without Cats

The creative team behind The Impertinence Of It All would like to state for the record that although this blog has never shown any cat-related content, they would like the organisers of the infamous 'Day Without Cats' to take that fucker of an idea and ram it where the sun don't shine.

Repeatedly.

We now return you to your scheduled programming.