Tag Archives: funny

XXXMas

6 Dec

Women; are you struggling to think of a present to buy your man this year?  I might just be able to help you as I’ve come up with 10 ways to please your lover over the festive period.

1) Chocolate Starfish: The star on top of your tree doesn’t have to be just for decoration. Use your imagination; this five pointed anal probe will have your man’s toes curling all the way into the New Year.

2) Away in a minge: ‘No crib for a bed’? Well he has now! Simply let him inside you, for the whole night! He won’t want to sleep anywhere else once he’s comfy in your mutton pocket of love. Try not to roll over in the night, and keep refreshments close to hand.

3) Christmas Cracker: Hide small gifts and treats in and around your body for your partner to find as he explores you. Leave the jokes and party hats to one side on this one. Go one step further and treat his gutstick like a cracker; pull it until it explodes.

4) The Turkey Dinner: Turn over, bend your elbows upwards, and let your man give you all the stuffing you’ll both need this Christmas.

5) The Mummy: You may need a friend to help you with this one. Wrap yourself up, head-to-toe, in wrapping paper. Once the paper has been ripped off, your partner is greeted with a naked treat.

6) White Christmas: If you feel brave enough, invite a few of his mates round for a bukkake session.

7) The Mistletoe: Give your partner a sensual foot job. Use you toes to stimulate his prostate.

8) Tinsel Tease: Tie your man up to the bed with tinsel, then slowly tickle his body with it. He’ll beg you to let him enter you. See how long you can go on for. For added Christmas naughtiness, encourage your man to shout, “I am Santa and I’m emptying my sack” once you finally give in and let him roger you senseless

9) Naughty Fairy: Dress like a fairy and piss all over his chest. Guaranteed to make him rock hard! Feeling adventurous? Try doing this with a broom handle up your arse.

10) Frosty the Snowman: Try trailing ice cubes over each others bodies, then warm each other up anyway you want. He’ll love those rock hard ‘midget gem’ like nipples.

The Alternative Do’s and Don’ts of the Office Christmas Party

5 Dec

The Christmas party; the one time where the company can give something back to you for all the hours you’ve put in during the year – the hours spent perusing the internet all day, annoying work colleagues and making tea, as well as getting paid to use the toilet.

However, there are a few golden rules that should be adhered to, to ensure the Christmas party doesn’t turn into a nightmare scenario for you; whether it be on the night itself, or in the week afterwards. With alcohol flowing freely, usually paid for by the company, it is easy to get carried away and end up calling your boss a twat, or French kissing the slapper from sales in front of everyone else, whilst you try forlornly to slip her a finger on the dance floor. But isn’t this what everyone wants to see? Course it is!

Here are my do’s and don’ts for the office Christmas party. Honestly, follow these rules and you’ll go down in office history.

DO – Act like you’re not really fussed about the fact there is a Christmas party. You’re in for trouble if it’s the only thing you talk about leading up to the party. If you get completely hammered and go on to insult a fellow employee, everyone will say, “I knew it would happen. He was so looking forward to it.” You won’t have a leg to stand on. Instead, adopt the ‘couldn’t care less’ approach. If someone asks if you’re going, say. “Umm, not too sure at the minute. I might do.” Not only will you not look as desperate as your co-workers to spend a night with them, but girls love a bit of mystery. You’ll be like the Fonz.

DO – Dress flamboyantly. Your aim for the Christmas party should be to drink as much as possible and draw as much attention to yourself as you possibly can. Ask the other people in your office what they are planning to wear and go against the tide. If all the blokes are wearing suits, opt for the Hawaiian shirt your mum bought you three Christmases ago. You’ll immediately stand out and thus will be remembered as ‘the hero who wore that Hawaiian shirt’. Similarly, girls, opt for something that you usually ware to the Litten Tree on a Saturday night, that still has vomit stains on it from last weekend’s shenanigans. Wearing a ball gown comes across as a bit ‘fuddy-duddy’ and will restrict any movements when you try and pole dance towards the end of the night  If possible, have both your boobs and legs on display. Nothing screams ‘PROMOTE ME!’ like this.

DO – Take advantage of the free drink. This is your chance to shine, and alcohol gives you courage, so you want to make the most of the night. Think of the following Monday when everyone else will be waiting eagerly at their desks for you to stroll in so that they can tell you what a ‘legend’ you are. Try and get everyone else up and dancing on the table. Be the life and soul of the party. Why not bring in your own karaoke machine from home in an effort to get everyone up and having a good time? Also, nothing says ‘Office Joker’ like being sick down your own shirt.

DON’T – Photocopy your arse. That is so 1990’s. Scrotums/tits are the way forward.

DO – Try and sneak a few drugs into the party. We all know the people in accounts are boring, so why not try slipping them a pill in a bid to heighten their enjoyment of the evening, as well as your enjoyment of them as a human being? Is there a buffet? There is?! Excellent; lace it with ketamine. Everyone will thank you for the wonderful time they had.

DON’T – Bother to say thank you to your boss or whoever organised the party. Act like it’s nothing special, and feel free to tell them so. If you tell them it’s a great night, they’ll immediately question the other nights you’ve had out in the year and will think, ‘If this is a good night, he must a very dull and boring person’. If possible, suggest venues that would have been a better option, maybe even drop in, “If i’m still here next year, perhaps we could do that?”. Your boss will think you’re ready to move on, and may offer you an improved salary.

DO – Bitch and spread rumours about fellow colleagues. This can be started a week in advance so you can enjoy the fireworks on the actual night, once alcohol starts to take its toll. Invent affairs that people are having, or say that Jim in Marketing keeps children in his shed. People may question the accuracy of these statements, but once fuelled with drink, they’ll actually ask the people in question if it’s true. You can sit back smugly and watch the confused looks, tears and tantrums.

DON’T – Keep your clothes on. You want to try and get naked by the end of the night. A good method is to go to the toilets and strip naked there. Then, you can emerge naked and streak across the dance floor, whilst all your fellow employees are sat dancing to ‘Oops Upside Your Head’. Run down the line, legs akimbo, either side of the people sat on the floor. Be sure to leapfrog the tall woman from HR so that you don’t catch your privates on her head. A move like this is instantly memorable.

DO – Talk about yourself as much as possible and try not to let other colleagues get a word in. Remember, you could all be competing for the same promotion, so you need to try and big yourself up as much as possible. Tell everyone about your hobbies, and by all means exaggerate. If you usually like ‘listening to music and socialising with friends’, tell everyone that you’re into ‘kayaking, saving rare breeds of bird, moonwalking, tantric sex and ice sculpture’. Possibly even drop into conversation about the novel you’ve penned but ‘can’t be bothered to send to a publisher, because it’s just a hobby really’. If someone tries to interject and chip in with their own hobbies, loudly say, “I HEARD YOU LIKED TO PLEASURE YOURSELF WITH FRUIT”.

DON’T – Be the office bore. Try and say at least one shocking statement that will spark a bit of debate around the dinner table before the dancing takes place. Something along the lines of, “Was Hitler really that bad?”

DO – Be the last to leave. By the end of the night, you’ll be in just your pants, all going well. You want to be doing Tequila Slammers at the bar with Fat John from I.T whilst he cries about the fact the girl in sales doesn’t love him. Watch everyone else leave and shout ‘BORING!” as they slope off into the night. Being the last one to leave means that you’ll be able to invent something amazing that happened that everyone else missed, like the DJ invited you back to his house and there were 4 supermodels, all gushers, that took it in turns to pleasure you.

Follow these steps, and you’ll be first on that promotion list. Good luck!

A Guide to Princes Risborough Part V – Graffiti

30 Nov

Gang culture is making a comeback in the quaint town of Princes Risborough, and the increase of hoodlums in the area has also brought with it the graffiti tags normally associated with large cities such as London and Nottingham.

The graffiti on display opens up an interesting insight into the minds of the younger generations in the town, who choose to express themselves by daubing graffiti wherever they can. The town is a blank canvas, ripe for decorating, and I have noticed a few pieces of fantastic artwork cropping up. Here are some of the finest examples on display.

The first example I have is a bold statement in itself. ‘Dick’ is the chosen tag, sprayed eloquently onto a rubbish bin. I think the artist is trying to say that he has a rubbish cock. Either that, or it was the first word that popped into his head. Notice how the bin leans to one side, almost poetically, as if it, like the artist, has all but given up hope on the town ever progressing.

DICK!

Eloquently put, this tag is pure genius. Well, almost.

Next up, this fine example which was probably done by someone from the Chinese community in the town. Translated, ‘Herro Darling’ actually means ‘Hello Darling’. The artist in question was probably off their head on ecstasy and feeling the love massively when they wrote this. The fact that this has been done over two fence panels so to cause maximum damage, is admirable.

Hello Darling!

The graffiti is high on the fence, indicating a person with long arms did it.

 

Shock, Horror! A spelling mistake next. The artist has put ‘Like’ instead of ‘Lick’, but it can be forgiven because of the use of such a bold coloured paint against the dark fence. The other patterns and swirls are incomprehensible, but it doesn’t detract from this marvellous piece.

Peck, peck, peck

Who doesn't like battery hens? They are much more reliable than wind-up ones.

My final example is probably my favourite. Such a simple phrase, but the artist is expressing himself and really getting his point across, quickly and efficiently. You know where you stand with this artist, there is no messing about.

I just love the cock

Possibly written by a female. Or a male.

 I will be taking my camera out to capture more masterpieces in the coming weeks. I’m not sure how visitors to the town will react to the above items, but surely they won’t see it as a bad thing?

The Life of a Bag For Life

11 Oct

In theory, if the government issued 10 Bags For Life to every household in Britain, there would no longer be a need to produce any more. The Bag for Life could get passed down through generations in each family, like a treasured heirloom, and fines could be imposed for any bags that get lost.  However, it is not that easy, because as everyone knows, a Bag for Life is never valued as it should be. On average, the life span of a Bag for Life is three weeks, with the oldest bag on record living to an extraordinary 4 months. This is a look at the brief life of a bag for life:

Birth – A Bag for Life is born; sprouting from a machine that has no feelings towards the bag, and is not willing to bond with it in the slightest. The bag, manufactured from fabric such as canvas, woven synthetic fibers, or a thick plastic that is more durable than disposable plastic bags, has no parents as such, so born an orphan, it sets out on its life journey. Little does it know it yet, but the Bag for Life will have a very short life span.

School Years – The Bag for Life meets other bags as they are sandwiched into tight boxes. It is here that they get to know one another. The bright slogans and positive messages printed on each bag lull them all into a false sense of security, as they all wonder what is in store for them. ‘Maybe we’ll be famous? Maybe we’ll live in a lovely household?’ they all think. Never has one bag guessed its true purpose in life at this stage; slavery. The bags will shortly be sold to the public and then be forced to carry extremely heavy objects around.

Adolescence – After a week in transit and storage, the Bags for Life are released from their cage and put onto display like some sort of freak show. Hanging from metal poles, they are paraded in front of the public. Plastic bags point and laugh at them; “What the Hell are you supposed to be?”, they sneer, and they have a point. A plastic bag never gets forgotten. It becomes part of its occupant’s family, dwelling in drawers and cupboards, often with numerous plastic bag friends. It has a happy life. Yes, some may be used as a makeshift poop-a-scoop, but they have been bred for this purpose and so are undeterred by this. The bullying toughens up the Bags for Life, and they get a bit of a backbone, standing up for themselves and making an effort to find a home. “USE ME FOREVER!” they shout at shoppers, “I’LL BE YOUR BEST FRIEND”. It is a mistake that every Bag For Life makes. It is during adolescence that some Bags for Life even turn Emo, trying to not blend in with the bag crowd. ‘I’m not another plastic bag’ they tell people, in a desperate attempt to be different.

Graduating –  The Bag for Life is snapped up by a member of the public. It has a new home, and it is time to start work.

Working Years – As soon has a Bag for Life has graduated, its world gets turned upside down. Fooled into thinking that they would be starting a new, happy life, they are forced into work almost instantly. Their new owners burden them with shopping, almost to the point where the Bag for Life gives up on life. It is strained, pushed to its very limits as a bag. Their new owner doesn’t care, all they care about is getting their shopping home. The Bag for Life tenses every muscle in its body; it will die instantly if it doesn’t. Very soon, they arrive at their new home. ‘Maybe this was a test?’ the bag thinks. ‘I’ve got the shopping home, now I’ll be part of this person’s life!’. Once again, the Bags for Life are deluded. They are simple creatures, bless them. No sooner has the shopping been unloaded, they are folded up and pushed into a cupboard.

Retirement – Blinking, and trying to see in the dark cupboard, the Bag for Life comes to terms that his working days are already over. His time is up. Every Bag for Life wonders at this stage, ‘maybe my owners will use me again soon?’. Once again, they are wrong. The Bag for Life is then set upon by up to 50 plastic bags. They jostle for space and inevitably force the Bag for Life to the back of the cupboard. It only gets worse for the Bag for Life;  the plastic bags breed. There are soon more of them, pushing the Bag for Life further and further into the background, further into the darkness, the wilderness of the back of the cupboard. “We’re the main men around here, you ponce”, yell the plastic bags, hiding themselves inside one another to make a large fearless ball of plasticky madness.

Death? – No one quite knows if the Bag for Life dies, or simply disappears forever. This is still being investigated. All we know is that the owner of the Bag for Life will one day remember that they have it in the cupboard. This usually occurs between two and three weeks after the purchase of their bag slave. ‘I need a sturdy bag for this junk’ they think to themselves, ‘and I’m certain I have one in the cupboard’. But when they got to look for the Bag, it is gone. No search will ever result in the Bag for Life being found; it has moved on to somewhere new. Instead, the plastic bags once again get used, often doubling up with their mates. It is a sad end to the life of the Bag for Life. They die alone.

The Illuminati

5 Oct

I have always been fascinated by the Illuminati. Do they exist? What are their aims? Do they possess magical powers that I could perhaps borrow? For centuries, the world has speculated if they do actually exist and I am pleased to confirm that they do. ‘How do you know?’ I hear you ask. Well, I was lucky enough to catch a member of the Illuminati ordering a pizza from a phone box the other day. At the end of the call, he pressed a sequence of numbers, (which I later found out cancelled the payment the other end; in essence – free pizza). The man saw me gawping at him in the phone box, and I cajoled him into revealing all about who he was, and the Illuminati. It took quite a lot of negotiation skills, as well as a Pot Noodle. Yes, I went hungry that lunch time, but the things I found out amazed me.

For those of you unaware of what the Illuminati are, this is a brief extract from Wikipedia:

The Illuminati is a name given to several groups, both real (historical) and fictitious. Historically the name refers to the Bavarian Illuminati, an Enlightenment-era secret society founded on May 1, 1776. Since the publication of Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson‘s postmodern science fiction work The Illuminatus! Trilogy, the name has been used to refer to a purported conspiratorial organisation that masterminds events and controls world affairs through governments and corporations to establish a New World Order.

Basically, the Illuminati are bigger than the A-Team and more powerful than Rupert Murdoch and President Obama put together. They run the world.

Here are some interesting facts about the Illuminati which I found out from the stranger I met:

– The symbol of the Illuminati is the owl. Most Illuminati owned buildings resemble an owl in some way; if you look closely, you’ll see it. All Illuminati members have an owl tattooed to the sole of their right foot, with the words ‘we see everything’ underneath. The owl was chosen as a symbol because like the Illuminati, they are rarely seen, they can see all around them and they hunt down their prey with chilling accuracy. Many of the Illuminati have owls as pets, treating them better than most normal household pets. Indeed some member have let their owls sleep on the end of their bed, and give them roast dinners most days. Once a year, the Illuminati hold an Owl Appreciation Day in the underground bunker of the White House. As well as having a fair amount to drink, they all dress as owls, sing songs about owls and shoot anyone that they catch on their highly sensitive listening devices that seems to be slagging off owls in general. It really is a great day.

– As well as the symbol of the owl, they also have the symbol below. The glowing segment at the top represents the Illuminati; top of the world governing pyramid, there is no one above them. The eye, like the owl, symbolises the fact that that can see everything. The phrase as the top of the badge, is Latin for ‘Anal Trauma’. This is because the Illuminati will inflict anal trauma on anyone who crosses them if the offence is not serious enough for them to kill the offender. This can be done in various ways; infiltrating laxatives into every single thing the person eats, sending a small microscopic flying robot into the person’s anus whilst they sleep so that they can control his or her bowel movements and by using a small gun which fires air pressure powerfully into their bum-holes which causes them to instantly soil themselves. The gun method is extremely popular as air pressure is of course invisible, so it’s hard to trace back, unlike a bullet. The motto at the base of the symbol merely reads ‘Houmous, Owls, Cider’; the three favourite things of the Illuminati.

The Governing Pyramid

– The main leader of the Illuminati is a seventy-five year old American named Bobby Gargoyle. His idol is Cyril Sneer from the Racoons, so much so, that Bobby also has a huge pit filled to the brim with money that he swims around in. Bobby’s father and grandfather were both Illuminati members, but unlike Bobby never actually ran the organisation. Bobby got to the top of the Illuminati hierarchy through sheer hard work and desire, but he is also a very intelligent man with a high IQ. He is trained in seven various armed combats and an expert at Sudoku. Some members say it is down to Bobby that the Illuminati are where they are today and he seen as a God in a lot of their eyes. Bobby has dated a string of the world’s most beautiful women; notably Joan Collins. He once also scored twelve 180s in a row when playing darts. He is an all-round super human being.(I haven’t been told to say this).

– Some of the most famous faces in the world have been welcomed into the Illuminati inner sanctum. Past members include JF Kennedy, Elvis Pressley and Michael Jackson and current member include Obama, Marilyn Munroe (yes – she is still alive), Prince Charles, David Jason, Des Lynam, Nelson Mandela, Robson and Jerome, Natasha Kaplinksy and Dog the Bounty Hunter. It was rumoured that Justin Bieber was going to be asked to join to help control the minds of millions of young girls, but it was unanimously decided that he is in fact a massive twat. Instead, they plan on putting a mind control powder into the air vapour trails on aeroplanes, which will float to the ground and control the way people think and act.

– The group believe that they are roughly 75% of the way to achieving New World Order. When they are in full power they believe that freedom of speech will be eradicated and the whole population of the world will have to learn to trade with one another. Money will become obsolete. It’s a scary thought. They hope that people will learn trades or other skills which they can swap with people who grow food or breed livestock. The also hope to abolish France as a country, and sink the Isle of Wight.

– Every Tuesday, the Illuminati erradicate at least 2 members of the public who have spoken badly about them. Every single phone call ever made is tracked, with a highly complex machine being able to detect any calls that mention the word ‘Illuminati’ or ‘New World Order’. As soon as wither of these words are mentioned, alarm bells ring in the Illuminati headquarters, and the call is then saved and relistened to. Anyone making a detrimental comment is traced and terminated, by an Illuminati member dressed as a baboon. This person is known as ‘The Baboon of Justice.

I was not told much more than this, but it was enough. I for one am rather sceptical about if they want to use their power for good, but we’ll soon find out.

Classic Game Shows

27 Sep

They don’t make game shows like they used to. The fun factor seems to have been replaced by greed, with huge prizes now on offer in programmes such as Red or Black and Deal or no Deal; without the contestants actually having to have any common sense whatsoever. Here, I take a look back at some of my favourite game shows that I can remember:

 

Eggs and Bacon – Hosted by Richard Bacon and CJ from Eggheads; Eggs and Bacon was a homo-erotic quiz show based on knowledge of cottaging, docking, buggery and denim shorts. Three contestants would compete over five rounds, amassing points depending on how quickly they could answer the questions. At the end of each round, there would be a bonus round, hilariously renamed the ‘Bonar Round’, in which the contestants could try and double their points tally. The Bonar Round was different in that it was down to a physical challenge and contestants were put though tasks such as ‘How many condoms can you slide onto a cucumber?’, ‘Guess the todger by touch’ and ‘The Jack-off Jive’. The contestant with the most points at the end of the show would have the chance to win a holiday in the final round, ‘The Big One’. There were only ever 3 winners.

Eggs and Bacon ran for 2 series from 2010 to 2011, with the BBC refusing to commission any further shows due to the obscene number of complaints sent in to Points Of View. Most of them centred around the incessant flirting between Bacon and CJ, with many viewers calling it ‘uncalled for’ but the questions and physical tasks didn’t escape criticism either. With its lurid pink set and constant innuendo, many saw the 8pm prime time slot as a mistake by the BBC, and as such, was the kiss of death for the show.

The Crystal Catch Maze – When funding was cut for the producers of two of the most popular shows in existence, The Crystal Maze and Catchphrase, they decided to take drastic action. Rather than lose one and keep the other, they decided to merge the shows into one. The result saw the creation of The Crystal Catch Maze. Five contestants, working as a team, would be sent to various zones, where they would have to guess catchphrases acted out in 2D on a projector screen whilst being put off by various swinging objects and obstacles. In some cases, they were made to smoke crystal meth before a round to make it even more difficult. If the selected team member guessed the catchphrase correctly in the allotted time, host Roy Walker (who agreed to wax his head and learn the harmonica for the role), would shout ‘You’re Right!’ and they would win a crystal. The more crystals the team won, the longer time they would have in the final round.

In this final round, the team were put into a huge crystal (later found to be heated well over health and safety regulations) in which silver and gold tickets would flutter around, propelled by a huge fan installed inside it (which also blew hot air). The aim was to collect 100 gold tickets, with any silver ones collected deducting a point from the tally amassed. It was made even more difficult as two crew members would dress up in Mr. Chips costumes and hit the contestants with rubber mallets. The Crystal Catch Maze ran from 2002 to 2005, always attracting a large audience, and so it was a surprise to many when the show was dropped. In fact, it wasn’t until this year that The Crystal Maze was rumoured to be making a comeback, with this plan for the new format leaked on the internet:

Leaked on the Internet, much to the embarassment of channel 4 producers.

(image by @QuantumPirate – follow him on Twitter)

That’s Not Yoghurt! – Contestants on That’s Not Yoghurt! were either brave or stupid. Six contestants would start the show, and once blindfolded, would have to guess if the item that they were tasting was yoghurt or something else. Host Floella Benjamin revelled in her new TV role, revealing a mean streak that she was not able to show on Playdays (apart from the time she gave one toddler a backhand for being lippy). That’s Not Yoghurt! was not as easy as it sounds, with most of the show’s budget spent on creating new and unusual flavours of yoghurt in an attempt to trick contestants, who would shout “THAT’S NOT YOGHURT!” when in fact it was. In particular, the cheddar cheese, the bacon and the semen ‘n’ garlic flavoured yoghurts fooled many contestants. Memorable items fed to contestants in the hope of them thinking that it was in fact yoghurt were lard, chlorine, mouthwash, various out of date soups and in one case, petrol.

At the end of a round, the contestant who had either called the foodstuff correctly or incorrectly as yoghurt the most times would have to drop out, until there was one remaining. The final round was called ‘Now That’s What I Call Yoghurt’. In this, the last remaining contestant would be dunked into a bath of yoghurt, and they had to eat it all within a 6 minute period. Only one person ever achieved this, and they won a life supply of yoghurt. During its later years, the final round was spruced up a bit in a bid to keep it modern. One stand out series included an addition of a ‘Fruit Corner Final’ in which a bidet was placed next to the bath, filled with fruit. The finalist had to scoop this fruit out of the bidet and into the bath, before jumping in and consuming it all. That’s Not Yoghurt aired from 1991 – 1997 but has recently made a comeback in Japan.

Cat, Mouse, Dog, Chicken – Take the mental tests from the Krypton Factor and make them twice as hard, and then take the physical challenge from the same show and sprinkle it with the toughness of the Total Wipeout course, and you are just some of the way towards visioning the fantastic game show that was Cat, Mouse, Dog, Chicken.  The show itself was a complex production, with a colossal 100 contestants competing over 64 rounds on every show, and it was for this reason that it had to be shown over the course of three evenings every week. The show spanned an impressive 15 years, from the first ever screening in 1970, to the last show in October 1985. Les Dawson watched over proceedings, often barking out questions through a loudspeaker to the contestants, who would be gunged for every question that they got wrong.

The ‘buzz’ round was always comical, with all 64 contestants attempting to buzz in first to answer questions and would often lead to Dawson shouting his now famous catchphrase, “One at a time, my little chickens”. Due to the sheer mental and physical strength required to win the show, the prize for winning was often substantial, ranging from speedboats and scooters to top of the range ovens and camping gear. No one actually knew why it was called Cat, Mouse, Dog, Chicken and it remains a closely guarded secret. There have been no plans to bring this show back as a full series, although there have been a few Celebrity Christmas Specials.

The Barking Spider – Hosted by a different member of the public every week, The Barking Spider was a light-hearted game show which did take a lot of inspiration from the Generation Game. Two families would compete over six rounds, aiming to score as many points as possible, with the victorious family winning a holiday of their dreams to anywhere in the north of England. Different rounds included painting, clay modelling, yodelling, go-kart racing as well as good old fashioned question answering.

What made this show stand out was the banter between the two competing families each week, with the selected host often having to step in when things got a bit heated. Sometimes, audience members would also have to step in the help diffuse the situation, and admittedly is was this excitement that helped The Barking Spider hit peak viewing figures of 7.5 million in 1995 when it was on every Saturday evening.

The main event that everyone watching looked forward to was the final round where the family with the most points would face The Barking Spider; a huge robotic spider that would spin round quickly. 8 huge legs aimed to knock the family members off bar stools on which they had to balance, and then jump as the legs approached; and if at least one family member was still on their bar stool after 90 seconds, they would win the prize. There were often serious injuries during this final round; 12 broken arms in total, 4 ruptured spleens and sadly, in 1998, a decapitation.

Things I Found In My Attic Part 2

22 Sep

Part 1 – https://kylejwilkins.wordpress.com/2011/09/21/things-i-found-in-my-attic-today/

I continued to look through the large wooden chest that I discovered in my attic yesterday, and once again I came across some fascinating items:

Leonard Corby’s Pumice Stone – Leonard is an old school friend who would impress us during lunch breaks by performing self-fellatio, which was remarkable to witness. He also had rather bad eczema, in particular around his ring-piece, which he took a great deal of delight in showing us. It was down to one of his friends to help him remove the dry skin that accumulated on his buttocks as Leonard would say it was out of his reach. We made a rule where the last one out into the playground at lunch would have to be the one to rub the pumice on Leonard. One Thursday, I was last out; Peter Barnwinkle had tied my shoelaces together without me realising, and it hampered me when trying to get to the playground. As usual, Leonard was behind the bike sheds waiting for us all to arrive, his cock already out. He handed me the pumice stone, sat down, and took his helmet between his lips. It turned out to be a fateful day. Leonard choked on his cock and we all thought he was taking the piss so neglected to help him. We scarpered when Mr. Davis saw the commotion and came running over. I still had the cold pumice in my hand and I kept it as something to remember Leonard by. He was quite a guy.

 

A Trumpano – This is a very small musical instrument I got given as a gift from the Dhag-hi-hi-hi Tribe on a visit to Gambia. It’s a cross between a trumpet and piano; impossible to play because every time you blow into it, the keys fly off. It is however, the only one of its kind, so I am in no rush to get rid of it. There is a very small message carved into its base saying, ‘Kwadayo Gladdio Beardiet Linzuano’, which translated means ‘Bearded Gladiator Blow My Lizard’. I’m not sure of the relevance of that.

 

A Receipt – I have the first receipt ever issued. It was produced by a London company called Broomsticks, who used to manufacture and sell various witch paraphernalia during the medieval times. Up until the idea of a receipt, an agreement, usually verbal, was kept between the customer and the shop selling an item; meaning an item could be returned and refunded if it did not meet customer’s expectations. Broomsticks found that some of their customers, buying items ranging from hats, cauldrons and broom accessories to black cats, stick-on warts and cans of canned cackled laughter, were returning them after using them for about a year, just to get a new product. They decided to issue some sort of paperwork whereby they could trace the date the item was sold and to whom it was sold. This later became known as a receipt. I have the first one issued, for a bag of mixed snail guts and frogs legs, and sold to a Miss P. Groaner. I’d rather not go into how I came to have this item.

 

A Rhino’s Heart – Picked up by my auntie who used to work in the rhino enclosure at London Zoo; the rhino’s heart means a lot to me because it was given to me as a present on the day I left my virginity. I must stress, I did not lose my virginity to my auntie and it was merely a coincidence that she gave it to me on the same day. An elderly male rhino had passed away, and due to funding cutbacks, the zoo was unable to get the body collected and disposed off, and the ground was far too hard to dig a grave big enough (this occurred during the hosepipe ban of ’86). There was only one other option; cut the rhino up into smaller chunks, and leave in public bins around London. My auntie was part of a 5-strong team that carried out the task. She kept the heart as she thought it was the right thing to do. I get funny feelings, and sometimes erections, looking at the heart, when I think back to what I was getting up to  at the same time that my auntie was slicing and dicing the rhino.

Jimmy Nail’s Cowboy hat – I saw Jimmy Nail on a night out in Newcastle a few years back. He was rather drunk and pushing a girl about, calling her a ‘frigid twat’ and telling her to ‘suck his marvellous penis’. I was quite taken aback by this so went over to see if the girl was ok. As she sobbed, Jimmy asked me what the fuck I thought I was doing. “I have no time for bullies like you”, I replied, and this seemed to tip him over the edge. He went or me, almost spilling my drink, so I thumped him hard in the face. As he dropped to the floor, I put the boot in. Jimmy was shouting all sorts of obscenities at me, so I got him in a half-Nelson and gave him a noogie until he surrendered. After some time, he relaxed so I loosened my grip. The northern bastard tricked me though, and as soon as I had I let him go, he was starting again, spitting at me whilst waving his flaccid cock in the now hysterical girl’s direction.

I gave him a swift boot in the balls, and Nail collapsed again like a sack of shit, but kept kicking out at me. “I’ll take those”, I hissed, removing his footwear.

“Not my crocodile shoes, please man!”, he begged.

I took pity, and took his cowboy hat instead, tossing the shoes back in his general direction. I keep the hat as a reminder not to be horrible to women.

Things I Found In My Attic Today

21 Sep

I’ve just been cleaning out my attic and to my delight I found an old trunk which I had forgotten about for some time.It contains many of my most treasured possessions. Amongst them;

A Stuffed Camel – This was given to me by my Grandfather before he passed away. It was one of his most treasured possessions and the story that goes with how it came into his hands really is quite remarkable; he stole it off of Adolf Hitler’s bed. During the second World War, he was part of a little known squadron that happened to infiltrate one of Hitler’s many hideouts. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to capture the evil tyrant as he was out at the time. Instead he, and the other soldiers with him, feasted on food that they found in Hitler’s cupboards until they were fit to burst. My Grandfather told of the juiciness of Hitler’s grapes and would always add “Not his haemorrhoids you cheeky buggers!” when we stifled our laughter at this part of his story. He would also go into great detail about the ornate decor in the hideout that they had infiltrated, in particular, the naked woman on all of the ceilings that had been hand painted in fascinating detail. My Grandfather would say, “You could make out every pubic hair. That’s how impressive the paintings were. Of course, back then, all the ladies had hairy vaginas”.

It was in Hitler’s bedroom that the stuffed camel was stolen. My Grandfather spotted it sat on one of Hitler’s pillows and couldn’t resist the urge to take it. In its place, he squatted and defecated onto the pillow, then stuck a cigarette in the fresh stool, along with two Smarties for eyes. Giggling, a few of the soldiers then put Hitler’s pants over their trousers and pretended that they were army superheroes, running all over the house and throwing fruit at each other. My Grandfather placed the camel in his backpack and it was there it stayed until his return to English shores. He kept the capture of the camel a secret from his superiors, and it was only once the war was over that he showed the rest of the family just what he had found in Germany. We named the camel, unoriginally, ‘Adolf Humpler’.

 

A Signed Copy of the Bible – I’m not sure how genuine this is, but I refuse to throw it away despite the fact I’m an atheist. It’s quite tatty, and it is now stored inside a smaller wooden box to prevent any further damage to it, and I have been advised by my mother to wear gloves when handling it, (not that I ever read it). On the inside front cover of the copy I own are the words ‘All the best, Jesus Christ’ with a little smiley face which has a beard. I have no reasons to doubt that this could be a fake. It might be worth something in a few years time, so I am trying to take good care of it.

 

Lucky Packet of Chewing Gum – This means a lot to me because it was given to me by my Dad, even though it has bought him so much luck over the years. He came up to me one day with it, pressed it into my hand and told me to keep it. “I’m getting old, son”, he said, “You have this now”. The chewing gum is an unopened packet of Wrigelys Extra; spearmint flavour. My Dad first discovered it was lucky when he was rubbing it in his trouser pocket during the 1966 World Cup Final. He claims it is because of this rubbing action, it was responsible for England winning the World Cup, as well as his substantial win on the Pools, the fact he met my Mum and numerous other fortunate events. Each time something good happened to him, the chewing gum was in his pocket. I took the lucky qualities of the chewing gum with a pinch of salt; I was just grateful to be given something that meant so much to my Dad. However, after he gave it to me, it bought me one stroke of tremendous luck.

I was in town a few years ago with friends, and a mugger came up and tried to steal my wallet. A tussle ensued, but he managed to prise it from my hands. As he attempted to run off, I went for him, and he pulled a gun and took a shot at me. The chewing gum was in the top pocket of my denim jacket I was wearing. Usually, I wouldn’t take the chewing gum out with me, but for some reason I’d decided to take it with me on this particular day. I was so fortunate that day; the bullet missed me and hit one of the friends I was with instead.

 

A Wooden Replica Elephant’s Penis – On my gap year I decided to do a bit of travelling. I ended up, by mistake, in Kenya, having hid inside my own suitcase for a laugh as I wanted to give the baggage handlers a bit of a fright. This backfired somewhat when the movement from me inside the case caused the baggage label to fall off, along with that of a case that was resting alongside the one I was in. The labels were replaced, incorrectly, by the handlers and I ended up in Kenya instead of Prague. I decided to make the most of the mishap and stayed with locals for a few days, playing Frisbee, teaching them English swear words, shooting animals and eating all sorts of exotic meats such as tiger and zebra. They adored me out there, and when it was time for me to leave, they presented me with a huge wooden penis. They explained that the elephant was seen as some sort of God in their country, and that I had reminded them of a God. The penis was carved as a gesture of goodwill, and is supposed to ward off evil spirits.

 

Charlie Chaplin’s Kidney Stone – Stolen from Chaplin’s toilet by my wacky uncle, the kidney stone has the aroma of fame and the texture of success. My uncle was a stagehand back in Chaplin’s heyday. One evening before a live performance, my uncle heard Chaplin in the toilet, shouting loudly and making a great deal of fuss, which was unheard of. He hid and waited for Chaplin to go on stage. Once he had, my uncle rushed to the loo and it was here that he was greeted with one solitary kidney stone that hadn’t been flushed away. He delved into to water to retrieve it (later claiming to have caught syphilis from the toilet seat) and he gave the stone to me on my 18th birthday.

 

Samantha Littleslot’s Goggles – Samantha was a girl with breasts like udders that I used to date in secondary school. One night, we sneaked into the local swimming baths, where she proceeded to give me the most satisfying blow job of my life to date. I had warned her before we started dating that it had been a long time since I had been intimate with a lady, and as such, she took precautions by wearing her swimming goggles whilst my todger was in her mouth. As I ejaculated (I saw stars I may add), my semen gushed forth and Samantha was unable to contain it in her mouth. Her head moved away from my penis, and I covered her face in teenage gooey mess. Fortunately, her goggles saved her eyes from my stinging jism. She gently removed them from her face and left them on the changing room floor. I pocketed them in secret before we left, as a memento of the occasion. They were cleaned as soon as I got them home.

 

A Pickled Finger – When holidaying in the Maldives, I spotted a glass bottle floating in the sea towards the shore. I ran over to it, intrigued, and was surprised to find a severed finger inside, preserved in vinegar. Attached to the neck of the bottle was a message, stitched into parchment. It read ‘To whoever finds my middle finger: Up Yours’. I have done a little research into the owner of the finger but have had no real success in finding out who it belongs to. My local Pirate Museum valued the finger at around £5000 a couple of years back,  so it was a good find.

 

Coleen Nolan’s Tambourine – It’s a little known fact that Coleen Nolan is a tambourine enthusiast. In fact, she used to busk in my local area with a tambourine before she hit the big time with her sisters. It was my young child’s inquisitive nature that blagged me her tambourine when she came back to her old stomping ground for a rare tambourine medley last year. My daughter asked to have a go, and loved bashing Coleen’s tambourine with great vigour, so much so that she didn’t want to give it back. Coleen was good about it though, and agreed to swap in for two Cheese-strings, a Curly-Wurly and an orgasm.  It was all I had on me at the time to offer her in return. I of course obliged, and left her exhausted with a smile on her face, and her tambourine in my hand.

 

A Match Ticket – Not just any match ticket, this is a ticket to the first ever Swan Twatting Championships that was open to the public. In 1974, the Swan Twatting governing body allowed non-ST’s (Swan Twatters) to attend the championships. My father, a big fan, managed to win a ticket to the event. He was disappointed as he had missed out when the tickets had gone on general sale, but to his enormous surprise, he won a golden ticket in a breakfast cereal that was sponsoring the event. More surprising to me, is that he didn’t have his lucky chewing gum at the time.

 

There are still plenty more things to look through, I’ve been pouring over so many objects and remembering so many great stories. I’ll note down the others soon.

The Tadpole Wrenching Phenomenon

20 Sep

About 5 years ago, a late night drunken post on a popular football forum started a new craze. The poster was I, and the subject of the post merely read ‘Tadpole Wrenching World Championships’. Quite why I decided to start such a thread is still unknown to me, but I never expected Tadpole Wrenching to grab the attention of many internet users in the way it did. Anyone who opened the first ever Tadpole Wrenching post would have been greeted with the following text:

Yes, it is that time of year again when the fiercely competitive Tadpole Wrenching Championships start all over again, this year in the inbred town of Mablethorpe. An estimated 25,000 spectators will flock to the quaint sea-side town, where most the shop windows are bi-focal and sea-gulls come as standard, to see 64 contestants aim to become World Champion.
Last year saw 15/1 outsider Bert Tee win, wrenching 6 more tadpoles than his nearest rival, the Spaniard Jose-Jose Tomton Jose, and with 4 gullets left to spare. He goes into this competition as hot favourite, having won the European Championships in Marbella last September.
Winning will not be easy though. 7 wildcards have been chosen for this year’s event, including the first all-woman competitor, Mary Mann. She sneaked through despite only averaging a wrenching total of 4 for the season, as well as a gullet rating of 4.7. She hopes to put in a good performance for the TV cameras at Mablethorpe come Sunday.

“Obviously it was a huge shock to be chosen. My seasonal averages have been far from impressive and my twine-slinger was letting me down. I have been practising for up to 6 hours a day, I feel privileged to be the first all-woman participant”.
The African champion, a Moroccan dwarf named Dave is also expected to feature in the final rounds, as is Mr. Grey, this year’s oldest contestant at a ripe age of 102.
Expect it to be an event of highs and lows, and get your tickets booked and head to Mablethorpe, it’s going to go down in history as one of the greats, I can assure you.

Taken from the Official Tadpole Wrenching Championship site……

The draw has been made for the first round at Mablethorpe this year . 64 competitors will battle it out, the best of 3 sets progressing to the next round. The seeded competitors are all drawn out of pot A (left hand side) and other entrants from pot B.

The draw is as follows

ROUND 1;
Bert Tee v Dave McFarlane
Jose Jose Tomtom Jose v Bill Mates
Lydia Fursappel v Martin Bell
Dave ‘the dwarf’ v Mary Mann[wc]
Mr.Grey v Lombardo Robeiro
Curly Loughlin v Paddy Fence
Julian ‘the minature’ Evans v Lucy Ingram
Mike Spilligan v Zebedy Doodar
Junior Laywood v Harry Henly[wc]
Ruttle O’Toole jnr v Serena Clark
Sandy Stilton v Clark Cooper
Marco Dingalong v David Llewelyn[wc]
Remington Chizwissle v Pete Bingo
Xao Hioc Cock v Bruno Le pippin
Biily deBum v Horace Nelson
Dexter Mendes v Leitish sha
Fred Fridge v Lard Crumpet
Mike Screw v Dean Giles[wc]
James Jameson v Shirley Kingham
Mo Marsh v Damien Brown[wc]
Rory Nish v Damon Sullivan
Lucy Smith v Dwane Carr
Costa de la Apple v Mrs.Goggins
Ash Avery v Tom Roper[wc]
Paul Eacott v Mark Williams
Melon McCoorkel v Lame Regis
Farrison Hord v Trumpet Man[wc]
Gill Fisher v Keith Robbins
Phil Russle v Santiago Lopez
Giles Farmer v C.N JackMan
Mo Kaine v Paddy Tremble
Leroy Lazenby v Katherine Hate

This was followed up by a quick glossary of terms, for authenticity:

For those of you unfamiliar with the sport here’s a glossary of the terms and sayings used:

Taken from Wikipedia, the on-line encyclopaedia – Tadpole Wrenching, the terms and sayings, a brief glossary

Backhand Hook: A technique used by some competitors in hope of achieving a last gasp wrench. This term is used when a competitor first misses a tadpole, but recovers on the backstroke to capture the target
Bamboo Shooter: A device used by competitors, similar to a pea-shooter. The shooter is a hollow device used to shoot small pebbles to stun the target and can only be used twice in one match.
Girdle: Similar to a twine-sling, but more in the shape of tongs. The competitor must use the scoop on the end to aid capture of the target, using one-hand on the device only
Girth Reacher: A long thin device that a competitor can use to prod rocks and coves in the underwater cabins in hope of finding more targets
Gullet Rating: An average from either the season or a single match, based upon tadpoles wrenched, and gullet methods left over from catching them
Pickle Wedge: This is used in turn with the bamboo shooter.A small capsule used to aid the capture of the targets. Together they must not exceed the weight stated in the competition rules. Competitors can only use thumb and a finger when using the pickle wedge.
Tad-Wrench: The main method used for catching the target. Using a twine slinger (see below) the competitor achieves a tad-wrench when a tadpole is caught. A one-off tad-wrench, merely describes a game of three sets.
Triple-Snatch: This is achieved when a competitor achieves capture of tadpoles in three successive turns, one of which must be an underwater capture
Twine-Sling: A device made from two bamboo cane ‘runners’ which act as a sort of chop-stick, held together with twine. The most common method of using this is to hold between thumb and forefinger. It’s the oldest and easiest method in the history of Tadpole Wrenching
Snatch-Off: When the winning wrench is possible and achieved, this is called the snatch-off. A snatch-up described failure to produce the winning move when the chance is there. Many competitors have their own signature snatch-off.
Wrenching: The term used to describe the way in which the tadpole is plucked from the water, a number of methods can be used to do this.

Once the potential audience was captured and showed a vague interest, I began to post updates, as well as other snippets of information. I posted the results of each round, and tried to pull in more potential wrenching fans. (various excerpts below):

The results are in for Round 2 after some cracking matches last night

Highest Gullet Rating – Lame Regis 10.2
Most Exciting Snatch – Junior Laywood with a fantastic double scoop twine sling to complete a triple snatch, snatch-off. Unbelievable.
Triple Snatches – Mr.Grey, Bert Tee, Mo Kaine, Junior Laywood
Game of the Day- Mike Spilligan v Clark Cooper (review later)
Player of the Day – Mr.Grey

Game of the Day– Taken from the BBC sports desk.
Round 2 – Mike Spilligan 2v0 Clark Cooper
This game won’t be remembered for terrific comebacks, or a closely contested battle. This will be remembered for the sheer brilliance that Spilligan showed to win both sets by 3 legs to 0. Cooper had no chance, and no-one could fault the rookie because when Spilligan is in this form, there is no stopping him. His signature snatch-off left the crowd open mouthed, a quick snap-back on the bamboo cane wrenched 3 tadpoles alone and rounded off a flawless display. His average gullet rating for the whole match was 9, a very impressive score, and you felt that if this had have been a 5 set game, Spilligan would have broken the seasons’  best. Cooper was in awe of his opponent. “Wow, what a player. I think I’ve been beaten by a definite contender for the title. Some of the twine slinging used today was awesome. I’m disheartened, but I had little chance today. I’ll go home and think things through, and then get practising for Malmo next month.”

Game of the day – Taken from the BBC sports desk

Round 3 – Bert Tee 2v1 Ruttles O’Toole jnr

Reigning champion Bert Tee had to recover from 1 set down and an average gullet rating of 4.2 to win this match against a spirited O’Toole. The game looked out of his reach as he lost the first set by 2 legs to 1, and his wrenching was seriously off target; he captured three tadpoles in this set alone. However, experience shone through and Tee recovered to show the form that made him World Champion. The second set was won 3-0, and the gullet rating for this set was an impressive 8.6. O’Toole was clearly struggling at witnessing his opponents fightback and was poor in the deciding set. Tee achieved a triple snatch to win the game, his underwater wrench was truly impressive. He will need to be more consistent if he is to repeat last year’s result, but Tee showed glimpses of what he is capable of.

These posts paved way for other forum members to get involved and provide information about various Tadpole Wrenching competitors. It snowballed into something unexpected, with new posts appearing each day about the fictional characters involved in the fictional sport. Some of the posts (now long gone unfortunately) were a great read. A day before the ‘final’; this shocking news broke:

French Tadpole Wrenching Champion Bruno Le Pippin was found dead in a swamp in Rossendale by a man out walking his cat early this morning. Police have confirmed that they are not treating his death as suspicious and pending a post mortem, they can confirm that he drowned. The only other details they would disclose was that he had daubed the words ‘Je vous déteste crapaud’ across his torso, in a foreign language, with raspberry jam. (Thought to be a reference to the sport that he loved)
Le Pippin has been dogged for several years by a minority of supposed Wrench fans who have tried to drive him out of the sport, stating that he has a ‘stupid name’. He has also triumphed over adversity in the sport by having to cope with disability of being French.
Le Pippin, 55, was one of the leading lights on the French Snail Flogging circuit for 20 years before turning his hand to Tadpole Wrenching in 1994, gaining instant success as runner up in the 1995 Barnstaple Invitational.
But he will be remembered for his now infamous run in with a group of spectators at the Corby River Challenge in 1999, when after being tormented by a group of onlookers all week, he snapped and waded into them swinging a thermos flask.
He was the reigning French Champion, having won by default as the only other French competitor died a week before the competition of leptospirosis.

Then, it was time for the final itself:

WORLD TADPOLE WRENCHING CHAMPIONSHIP- THE FINAL

Mo Kaine 5 v 7 Lame Regis

Lame Regis is the new champion after a fantastic display of tadpole wrenching against the rookie Mo Kaine, who put up a spirited battle. Regis showed fantastic use of all his utensils, utilising his girth reacher and pickle wedge throughout the game. He was 4-0 up and cruising before the midway wrench break, after which Kaine fought back bravely. He produced a fabulous back hand scoop in the 7th set to pull it back to 4-3, and at the time looked as if he could cause an upset. Regis recovered though to go 6-3 up and despite losing the following two sets, managed to wrench 12 tadpoles in the final set to take the title.
Regis’ signature snatch-off was used as he wrapped up his first major title and he was obviously delighted at winning. Kaine can take heart from his performance, and Regis also described him as ‘a future world champion’.

Gullet Ratings for the match…….Kaine-9.2 Regis 11.4
Total Tadpoles Wrenched…….Kaine 46 Regis 57
Wrench of the Day……..Regis’ backhand scoop. Great technique.

Quotes of the Day:

“What a way to win and wrap up the wrenching world championships. Wonderful” – Davy O’Graham, radio Lincoln commentator

“I’m delighted, so delighted. Imagine a dog wagging it’s tail after taking speed. That’s how delighted I am” – Lame Regis after winning

“Sicko’s, the whole lot of them” – Animal rights activists outside the venue

“The better man won, but I’ll come back a better wrencher” – Mo Kaine

“The backhand scoop was a thing of sheer beauty- Random spectator

“Oi, Regis, you suck” – An angry spectating Remington Chizwissle, just before Regis completed a triple-snatch.

“My money is on Mo Kaine” – Kevin Keegan when he was trailing 4-0 at the interval.

“I thought this was Amarillo” – Another random spectator

“He’s turned the tadpole wrenching world upside down, via a twirly wirly whirlwind of brilliance” – Again, commentator Davy O’Graham.

Tadpole Wrenching was on the map, and a healthy number of forum posters contributed with news and views on the brilliant, yet entirely fictional, sport. Excerpts from famous Wrenching competitor’s autobiographies appeared, as well as information on the sport, with these being the only ones I can now find online:

There’s a preview show on tonight for anyone interested, on Bravo at 03.15 am.
It’s a look ahead to the World Championships on Sunday, with a portion of the program given over to a profile / tribute to the late, great Ruttles O’Toole.
For any of you too young to remember, O’Toole was a founding father of the sport (Along with other ‘Hall Of Famers’, ‘Castaway’ Phil Pollard, Syd ‘The Dredger’ Dennis, Ptarmigan ‘Paddy’ Flanagan and the first one-legged wrencher Keith Smith), and was the brains behind most of the innovations we see in use today. He was World Champion 11 times spanning 3 decades and won numerous other titles, some too obscure to record.
His battles against some of the other greats in the 70’s are amongst some of the pinnacles of sporting achievement of the decade. In particular, his marathon 9 set match against ‘The Dredger’ on October 4th 1976 at Loch Lach, ranks as probably the best match ever witnessed.
His son, Ruttles O’Toole Junior is a fine wrencher in his own right and is hoping to follow in his father’s footsteps at this Sunday’s final.
(Little known fact: Ruttles O’Toole Junior’s life coach and mentor is 80’s antipodean pop sensation and closet homosexual Jason Donovan, who will be in attendance)

And:

Extract from Bert Tee’s auto-biography, ‘A quick moment to pond-er’

“It was at that moment that I knew i had hit rock bottom. Not only had i been knocked out of the European Championships in the first round, but my drink problem had started to seriously hinder my play. That’s how I got the scar on my left hand. Too much drink had numbed my body, so I didn’t feel it digging into my hand. I knew I had to give up the bottle. I knew I could be the best Tadpole Wrencher if i did this. I knew much more as well. It was to change my life forever.”

Tadpole Wrenching had officially caught on. Indeed, a quick search on Google now turns up results for Tadpole Wrenching – it even has its own Facebook Fan Page. Alongside this, many members of social media sites list Tadpole Wrenching in their hobbies and interests, and the main thread was even linked on other forums (one example:  http://www.taintedmedia.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=11&t=77). Tadpole wrenching had caught on (on the Internet at least). I wish the original forum, with all of its post was still there (this would be it: http://www.talklfc.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=18318 but the forum has now been removed). It had hundreds of posts on it and was a great read.

It still amazes me how a random post sparked such a craze – it just shows how things can take off online.

If anyone has heard of Tadpole Wrenching, or indeed has other examples of it from the internet, please let me know; I would love to read back through any posts or people’s comments.

Pointless Sports Part 2

20 Sep

Part 1: https://kylejwilkins.wordpress.com/2011/09/07/pointless-sports/

This is the second instalment of the ten of the most pointless sports in the world. In the first part, I covered polo, water polo, the hammer throw, bowls and curling; all sports which really don’t have any point or substance to them. The next five are as follows:

 6) Pole Vault – I’m not too sure how this sport came to be. All that is involved is running along with a flexible pole, which is then used to fling the competitor as high as possible in the air, over a bar. It’s boring to watch, unless the bar they are vaulting over, or indeed their pole, happens to land on them once they are sprawled on the crash mat. The sport would be much more entertaining if it involved vaulting over Polish people; I’m certain this would attract more spectators. The one thing the pole vault has going for it is the fact the competitors stand on the start line and wait for the slow hand clap from the 10-strong crowd to start up, only starting their run up when the clapping has reached its climax. But that’s it. It’s not exciting in the slightest. In fact, all it really is, is a ‘will they or won’t they make it’ scenario; like a really shit version of Heads or Tails, or a slightly better version of ITV ‘blockbuster’ Red or Black.

 7) Cross-Country – The bane of many school children throughout the country over the last 30-40 years, cross-country is more a form of punishment than it is a sport. Invented by sadistic head teachers from some of the top schools in the UK, cross-country has seen many a child almost die through forced participation. It is an unwritten rule that cross-country can only take place in freezing, windswept conditions, and can only be participated by children under the age of 16. These children are rounded up and shown the course, usually 2 laps around a muddy track, with the most unfortunate competitors having to run in vest and pants as they’ve forgotten their sports kit.  More concerned with their pre-pubescent cocks peeking out from beneath their pants, or the wind and rain messing up their hair and make-up; the kids will then be bellowed at as they struggle around the course. “RUN! DON’T WALK”, the most commonly heard phrase, as the course stewards (teachers, dressed in thermals and waterproof clothing), make sure everyone is giving their all, despite their best efforts to go as slow as physically possible. The end result is always the same; a hundred or so soaking wet kids, cold and exhausted, standing at the finish line waiting for the last competitor to finish. This person is usually, and let’s be brutally honest, fat. There is also a high chance that they will be crying. However, every competitor is united in one thing; the hate of cross-country.

 8) Cricket – A controversial inclusion I know, but cricket just doesn’t do anything for me. Two teams of men, dressed head to toe in white, smashing a really rather hard ball about a field isn’t really my cup of tea. There are a few variations on the game too, in a bid to try and appeal to a wider audience. Test cricket is a longer game, played over a number of days, the result of the game can be decided by the weather (yes, I know!), and the 20/20 game is a rather frantic affair, with each side bowling an agreed amount of balls whilst the other scores as many runs as possible. Both games are still, for me, dull. It doesn’t really have much of a pace to it, and a lot of the time, the result can be foreseen by the halfway point in a game, so it’s rare that there is a huge twist in the game. 10CC famously sang “I don’t like cricket, I love it”. I might do a cover version of it called ‘I don’t like cricket, it’s cricket’.

 9) Skiing – Grown adults put on garish looking shell-suit like clothing, and go speeding down a mountain as fast as possible with small runners on their feet and a pole in each hand for balance. How enthralling! I am of course being sarcastic; quite why anyone would want to speed down a mountain with NO brakes is beyond me.  Again, like cricket, there are variations on the sport. Slalom, sees the competitor speed down the mountain, zig-zagging their way through various flags. I’m not sure why they can’t just go in a straight line. Then there is another version, which I am unsure of the name and can’t be bothered to look for it, where there are various bumps and mounds of snow that the skiers have to go over. They jiggle about like a fat girl on top of a washing machine and that’s about it. Then there is the ski jump, where they slide down a huge platform, jump off the end of it and high into the air, leaning forward with their hands behind their backs in a very nonchalant and quite smug manner. All very different versions, but let’s not kid ourselves: it’s still skiing and it still takes place on cold, hard snow, on a mountain. Mountain are high, people fall off them.

 10) Formula 1 – I think I’ve saved the most pointless sport until last. Formula 1 is THE most pointless sport in existence, but attracts a huge audience. Why? As I see it, 20 or so cars line up on the starting grid, based on how fast they have driven in qualifying (which people actually watch!). Now this itself is down to the actual car and not the driver; I’m certain that any driver that finished last in a previous race, would come at least top 3 if he were to be put in the fastest car. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Once the first corner is out of the way, which sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, will see a few cars spin out or get overtaken. After the first lap, the overtaking is very, very limited, with cars only moving up positions if the one ahead of them goes in for a pit-stop. There is an exception to the rule; a ‘fast’ car may have had to start lower on the grid, and as you’d expect, they soon overtake the other drivers in front of them, regardless of the drivers skill or capabilities. Not very exciting really.

Then there are the spectators, who flock in their droves to watch the cars speed past them in a blur, from a distance of about a mile, as they cheer for a split second every time their favoured team or driver whizz past. What is the point? Formula 1 – you are a terrible sport.

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