Dear Sir,
Firstly, fuck off.
Secondly, why on earth are you advertising IN CHINESE on a blog which, to my knowledge, has never displayed any Chinese text? If it weren't for translation software I wouldn't even know what it meant. While i'm not sure of the exact demographics of this blog's readership i'd hazard a guess that getting off their arses to translate a comment isn't among their strong suits.
In conclusion, Ho Chi Minh: a) fuck off; and b) WTF?
Yours,
D C White.
P.S. Fuck off.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The President frowned as the aide walked into his office. "Well?" he barked. He liked barking at aides. Barking at aides wasa what being the President was all about, frankly, as far as he was concerned.
"S...sir," replied the aide, a small man in an ill-fitting brown suit, "NORAD have managed to track the radar contact, sir, and they've managed to extrapolate it's transit vectors both previous and future-"
"The friggin' what?" bawled the President, "I ain't got time for all this crap ya goddam fruit!"
"S...S...sorry sir. What I mean was, we think we know where it came from, and we're sure that we know where it is now."
The President leaned back in his chair and puffed on his cigar. "Better," he drawled, "Talk."
"We're fairly sure that it's an extra-terrestr...an alien craft, sir. We have several shots of it. It came from somewhere around the orbit of Jupiter."
"Hooooollllllleeeeeshit!" cried the President, jumping to his feet, "Aliens! Well, we ain't gonna have any of that Roswell Area 51 shit this time. Roll out the welcome mat, boys, and show the scaly green suckers in."
The aide looked doubtful. "Um, sir, they're not here."
"Not here? Where in the sam hill are they then?"
"Norad tracked them to a small island in the South Pacific," the aide said, "Home to the Umbutu tribe."
"Umbutu? Who the hell are they?"
"A small tribe of headhunters." The aide gulped.
"Headhunters?"
"Yes sir, headhunters. And," the aide paused, "cannibals."
The President nearly fell out of his chair. "Why the heck are they goin to a buncha cannibals?" he roared.
"We've got some sattelite imagery sir," the aide said, "and that's the bad news. THey appear to be swapping recipies."
"S...sir," replied the aide, a small man in an ill-fitting brown suit, "NORAD have managed to track the radar contact, sir, and they've managed to extrapolate it's transit vectors both previous and future-"
"The friggin' what?" bawled the President, "I ain't got time for all this crap ya goddam fruit!"
"S...S...sorry sir. What I mean was, we think we know where it came from, and we're sure that we know where it is now."
The President leaned back in his chair and puffed on his cigar. "Better," he drawled, "Talk."
"We're fairly sure that it's an extra-terrestr...an alien craft, sir. We have several shots of it. It came from somewhere around the orbit of Jupiter."
"Hooooollllllleeeeeshit!" cried the President, jumping to his feet, "Aliens! Well, we ain't gonna have any of that Roswell Area 51 shit this time. Roll out the welcome mat, boys, and show the scaly green suckers in."
The aide looked doubtful. "Um, sir, they're not here."
"Not here? Where in the sam hill are they then?"
"Norad tracked them to a small island in the South Pacific," the aide said, "Home to the Umbutu tribe."
"Umbutu? Who the hell are they?"
"A small tribe of headhunters." The aide gulped.
"Headhunters?"
"Yes sir, headhunters. And," the aide paused, "cannibals."
The President nearly fell out of his chair. "Why the heck are they goin to a buncha cannibals?" he roared.
"We've got some sattelite imagery sir," the aide said, "and that's the bad news. THey appear to be swapping recipies."
Monday, April 19, 2010
Exciting Opportunity
I am available to assume monarchial duties in your country.
Yes, that is correct. If your country is currently lacking a titular head then you need look no further. All applications will be considered*.
As well as a commanding presence on the world stage and a prodigious sense of self-worth, installing me as your monarch will ensure that all ceremonial duties will now be more than adequately fulfilled with a minimum of fuss but a maximum of pomp and circumstance. Thanks to my background in the Public Service you may be assured that all duties of higher government will be carried out. I am able to supply my own monocle.
Applications may be sent via this website.
*No riff-raff. Yes, i'm looking at you, Iceland.
Yes, that is correct. If your country is currently lacking a titular head then you need look no further. All applications will be considered*.
As well as a commanding presence on the world stage and a prodigious sense of self-worth, installing me as your monarch will ensure that all ceremonial duties will now be more than adequately fulfilled with a minimum of fuss but a maximum of pomp and circumstance. Thanks to my background in the Public Service you may be assured that all duties of higher government will be carried out. I am able to supply my own monocle.
Applications may be sent via this website.
*No riff-raff. Yes, i'm looking at you, Iceland.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Bloody Hell
Last weekend I was over in Perth, in Western Australia, making the enity currently known as D C White into a transnational. I am now, indeed, nationwide.
Perth was quite good. I launched Scary Kisses (I had to sign autographs!) and generally had a ball. I took a trip to Fremantle which now brings the number of oceans I have immersed myself in to 3*.
As good as Perth was, however, strange things happened to me there. In the first instance I had a yiros (as is my wont) and while delicious I found it far too small for my tastes. I'm used to the sturdy, robust yiroses of Adelaide: thich as Popeye's forearm and with as much stopping power. While the ingredients in a Perth yiros (note: doner kebab) are identical to Adelaide, there are far less of them. The whole thing is about the same diameter as a Chiko Roll! And the pita bread was barely toasted. I found the whole experience deeply unsatisfying. So far, the official scorecard stands as follows:
1. Adelaide (Yiros)
2. Melbourne (Souvlaki)
3. Auckland (Kebab with *ahem* 'garlic yoghurt')
4. Perth (Doner Kebab)
5. Brisbane (Kebab)
Once this obstacle had been overcome I picked up a book in a Perth discount book store entitled "The Leather Nun and Other Incredibly Strange Comics". It is in essence a listing (with pictures) of some of the retarded crap people in the comics world have managed to publish in the last 100 years. My personal favorite however, is "Mr A". Written and drawn by Steve Ditko (ex-Stan Lee inker at Marvel), Mr A was born after Steve read Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" and decided that the world needed an Objectivist superhero. I've since looked this up and it's quite true. Not only that, but Ditko later produced a second, less trigger-happy Objectivist: The Question. Alan Moore has stated that Mr A was the inspiration for his Watchmen character Rorschach. Ditko has described Rorschach as "Mr A, but insane". Alan Moore has made no such concession.
*Southern, Pacific and Indian. So there.
Perth was quite good. I launched Scary Kisses (I had to sign autographs!) and generally had a ball. I took a trip to Fremantle which now brings the number of oceans I have immersed myself in to 3*.
As good as Perth was, however, strange things happened to me there. In the first instance I had a yiros (as is my wont) and while delicious I found it far too small for my tastes. I'm used to the sturdy, robust yiroses of Adelaide: thich as Popeye's forearm and with as much stopping power. While the ingredients in a Perth yiros (note: doner kebab) are identical to Adelaide, there are far less of them. The whole thing is about the same diameter as a Chiko Roll! And the pita bread was barely toasted. I found the whole experience deeply unsatisfying. So far, the official scorecard stands as follows:
1. Adelaide (Yiros)
2. Melbourne (Souvlaki)
3. Auckland (Kebab with *ahem* 'garlic yoghurt')
4. Perth (Doner Kebab)
5. Brisbane (Kebab)
Once this obstacle had been overcome I picked up a book in a Perth discount book store entitled "The Leather Nun and Other Incredibly Strange Comics". It is in essence a listing (with pictures) of some of the retarded crap people in the comics world have managed to publish in the last 100 years. My personal favorite however, is "Mr A". Written and drawn by Steve Ditko (ex-Stan Lee inker at Marvel), Mr A was born after Steve read Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" and decided that the world needed an Objectivist superhero. I've since looked this up and it's quite true. Not only that, but Ditko later produced a second, less trigger-happy Objectivist: The Question. Alan Moore has stated that Mr A was the inspiration for his Watchmen character Rorschach. Ditko has described Rorschach as "Mr A, but insane". Alan Moore has made no such concession.
*Southern, Pacific and Indian. So there.
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