BABES! LOTS OF BABES!

A cynical, but necessary attempt to get more hits.

Captain America and the Neo Con Plot.

....Continued from page 30.

Which was all the more relevant. As we can see from the study below,
the subliminal messages were already showing up in various comics. The logic being that if young men were encouraged away from active procreation and into acts of self abuse, the alien takeover would be all the more acceptable. Of course, this meant extreme care had to be taken that Marvel comics.........
.........continued on page 34.

Testosterone.

Testosterone is supposed to be the thing that puts hairs on a mans chest, and stops him from knitting. This is because the hairs get tangled up with the wool. Since the invention of the jumper, which roughly conincided with the invention of knitting, this should not have been a problem. However, testosterone is also the stuff what makes a man a man.

How to be manly.

In this day and age, the best way to be manly is to not shave for a couple of days, take off your jumper and get photographed in black and white holding either a kitten or a baby. This is a development from the days when being manly meant posing with a tiger or crocodile, and I think it sets back manliness by years. It's very easy to look manly when compared with a baby or a kitten, not so easy when wrestling a crocodile. Infact, when wrestling a crocodile, it's easy to look very un manly indeed.

How to wrestle a crocodile.

Presentation is everything. Before embarking upon any crocodile wrestle, it is important that you go down the gym for a few years first. This will prepare your chest and bicepts for the engine oil, which you must smear in streaks. Another important thing to remember is your hair. It must either be extremely short, or messy. A neat mop-top, or quiff just simply won't do. Shorts are a no-no, you must wear jeans or, better, overalls folded at the waist. Footwear is not important as real men don't worry about their shoes. All you need now is someone to take the photograph. Victory is only necessary if you feel the photographer didn't get your best side, otherwise dying like a hero is completely acceptable.

How to die like a man.

The best way to die like a man is to save somebody who is more important than you. These include: High ranking officials, Women, Children, Royalty, People with a detailed knowledge of the geography of volcanoes and Dogs. Nothing is more manly than dying to save a dog. In circumstances where you need to die like a man it's best to keep your goodbyes short, otherwise people get bored. Something like 'My Lord, tis an honour.' will usually do. The last thing you want is for the people who are more important than you to feel in any way indebted to you. If you can combine dying like a man to save someone more important than you with crocodile wrestling, then you can safely assume that any poor displays of crocodile wrestling will be overlooked. As long as you don't wimper.

They Fuck You Up.

Warning: The following is completely true and accurate, so look away now if you secretely suspect that you are one of my parents. Oh, and keep sending the crack, it's really helping me to come to terms with my childhood.

These are the parents I requested whilst waiting to be born:
These are the parents I got:
My first words were "May I please speak to the manager?" Seeing as the warrantly only covered my first six months, I couldn't get a refund. To those of you who knew me, this is why I learned to speak after only seven months. One month too late. After this, my development tailed off somewhat as I resigned myself to my fate.

Parents are funny things. They bring a life into the world, roughly in their image, then spend the next sixteen years or so trying their hardest to make you as little like them as possible. In the process, they not only fuck you up, but themselves aswell.

From my early history, I can only assume that my father was something of a troubled genius and that my mother wanted me to become a cross dresser. I will start with my father, and one of his crimes.......

One of the first school projects I was given was on the Wright brothers and the first airoplane. The mind of a six year old is simple, but logical. I decided that the best course of action to take would be to ask my father. The conversation went as follows....

Me: Dad..... how did the Wright brothers make the first errplane?
Dad: They used chewing gum and string son.
Me: (For even in those days I was extremely clever.) Wouldn't that be too weak?
Dad: No son, in the olden days they had very strong chewing gum, now pass me the um....... Oxo cubes.

I learned a very important lesson the next week when my project, which I had worked very hard on the presentation of, if not on the research, was not displayed with the other kids projects. They all got it wrong. They said that the first airoplane was made out of canvass and stuff like that.

Me: Why isn't my project there?
Teacher: Because it is so crap, all the other kids will laugh at you.
Me: They already laugh at me.
Teacher: That's because you are wearing a girls school uniform and not a boys one. (This comes under crimes of my mother.) This time they may laugh at you for being thick, which is something you have no control over, and would be more insulting.
Me: But they're all wrong! The first Airoplane was made out of chewing gum and string. My Dad told me.
Teacher: Oh really? I suppose you'd jump over a cliff if he told you it were safe as well!
Me: That reminds me, is the school nurse in? I need to get my dressings changed.

You'd think I would have found solace in the warm bossom of my mother.....

Think again!

I had two older sisters. This has its' advantages, but they only become apparent later in life, and involve borrowing money. The disadvantages of having two older sisters, combined with a mother who isn't stifled by the norms of society, hit you hard when you emerge from swaddling clothes and into short trousers. Or, in my case, a cast-off checked school dress.
For the first year of my school life I used the girls toilets, played with the girls and payed no heed to the chants of "Boys are fantastic, Girls are just spastics.". This was not insulting as I didn't know what a spastic was and we weren't terribly politically correct in those days. We would reply "Girls are nice like puppy dogs tails, boys just smell and regurgitate quaills."

The crunch came when Terry in the year above took myself and Jenny into the corner of the playground to show us his willy. "That's nothing." I said when I saw it. "Everybody has one of those." Jenny ran home crying, thinking she was abnormal. Funny really that nobody on the school board though it unusual that there was a little girl called Monty running around in the playground.

A Poem.

MIRON BIALOSZEWSKI

And Even, Even If They Take Away the Stove
My Inexhaustible Ode to Joy

I have a stove

similar to a triumphal arch!

They take away my stove

similar to a triumphal arch!!

Give me back my stove

similar to a triumphal arch!!!

They took it away.

What remains is

a grey

naked

hole.

And this is enough for me;

grey naked hole

grey naked hole.

greynakedhole.

The 'I've done a poo and you're gonna find it.' look.

When I was a wee snipe we had a dog that used to go to the toilet in the house. Wasn't really his fault, we'd go out and leave him in there with nobody to open the door for him. His response on our return was always tragic. He would greet us at the door with a cursory wag of the tail, to show that he appreciated our return, and then look into each one of our eyes individually.

Now, dogs are very responsive to facial expressions, but humans often find it difficult to gauge what a dog is trying to say. It's a common misconception that the littlest hobo was showing concern when leading passers-by so some poor dimwit stuck down a mineshaft. If you read his body language, often what he is actually sayins is 'Ohmygod! You've gotta see what this fuckwits done! I ask you, and you lot have opposable thumbs.' So our confusion was understandable.

Often we would end up on a wild goose chase around the tin mines dotted around the local area. Meanwhile the dog would be getting more and more nervous, waiting for us to give up, go home and find the poo in the bathroom.

In light of this, and with the gift of hindsight, I wander what would happen if, say, a Mr Reid were to come back to Downing Street after a pleasent meal in Weatherspoons just up the road, and find a certain Mr Prescott waiting for him with that look upon his face?

Turnips.

I'm want to start leaving turnips outside police stations. Is there anything illegal about this?

It's probably better than leaving some corrugated iron and mud. Just two turnips left either side of the entrance.

Buttnuggets, Fartleberries and Dangleberries. (Guest Editor: Adam Hart Davies.)

Q: What do they all have in common?
A: They are the same thing.

Much research has been done into what causes buttnuggets. Modern consensus seems to suggest they are caused by a combination of the use of fine polmers in undergarment manufacture and low grade toilet roll. However, any perusal of a decent historical dictionary will show that buttnuggets are far from being simply a modern phenominum. The old English word 'Dangleberry' means simply 'Them little piecef of fhite that dangle from yer arfe.'*

Of course, in olden times dangleberries constituted a real health hazard. The pinnacle of anal hygene was the use of a dead swans neck to whipe. This, however, was limited to a group of Cistern monks who lived off the coast of scotland, so had nothing better to do with their time. Nobody else could afford to use a swans neck, dead or alive, so they had to make do with moss, or a handfull of leaves. The drawback being that if you accidentally picked up a thorn, sharp twig or discarded syringe in your moss/leaves, the result would be a not too swift, but just swift enough to make you feel it, death. Dangleberries didn't help matters at all as they itched causing the victim to rub great big fingernails full of shit into the wound. Ouch!

Clearly, something had to be done.

Now, the answer for the romans in Britain was something not dissimilar to the modern Bidet called the Gardena Sprinklus, I'm here in historic Bath town centre with Professor Marks from Bath University to try one out.

AHD: So you've rigged up this modern recreation of a roman Gardena Sprinklus using materials from the local B & Q and you want me to sit on it, is that correct?

Prof M: Yes Adam, but due to roman aquaduct technology, the mains pressure of water in those days was much higher. Luckily I've been able to borrow this water cannon from the local riot police, which from my calculations is set at exaclty the pressure that your average roman would have enjoyed.

AHD: OK, here goes! .....

..... WOW!

Clearly the roman Gardena Sprinklus had its drawbacks. However, on the up side it gave me a wonderful view of Bath and look, no buttnuggets!