Manifestations of Mind

Why is it called CORNED BEEF? It has no sodding corn in it. If it had those foul little bits of corn in it then I wouldn’t eat it.

One of the least known facts is that there has only ever been one ton of corn discovered?

Yes, it is true, corn is rarer than gold.

The reason why it appears so common is that it passes untouched through the body, so when you are giving birth to an otter the said otter drops out of your spam fritter and goes straight down the dung trumpet.

As soon as it reaches the sewage works your Mersey trout is pushed through a filter which collects all the sweetcorn. This is then rinsed and half is sent back to the cannery, the other half is glued onto pine cones that are stuck together and sold as “fresh” sweetcorn.

See, you never buy sweetcorn, you only rent it.

Dogging.

A member of a website that I am a moderator for asked for suggestions as to what he should do to amuse himself at the expense of the local doggers.

For those not in the know dogging is the term for making the beast with two backs in a public place for the entertainment of, or to encourage participation by, anyone else who is around.

Many suggestions included blank rounds, flares, fireworks, joining in, etc. After reading this and references to watching flabby, hairy buttocks moving up and down I had a thought. Being an inventive chap my thought was to charge from behind on a mountain bike with the business end of a bass broom like a Victoian lancer.

Once it is up his hoop just let go and the wrist strap will do the rest. He should flick across the carpark with manfat shooting out of his wallnut whip as it wrenched his prostate gland out with a force similar to teeing off at St Andrews.

I don’t know why but some thought this a little extreme.

My next thought was that if you did this every night for a week you could collect the wrenched out hoops and make a game of deck quoits with them.

I must write more often.
I must write more often.
I must write more often.
I must write more often.
I must write more often.
I must write more often.

I thought I would write a few lines in the blog.

Arf arf.

The spousal unit is doing a play at the local theatre this week and so MiB is OIC Children.

By the end of the week I will have them standing to attention and saluting at the end of meals.

I think I may invest in a bosun's whistle like Christopher Plumber in the Sound of Music.

A military thought occurred to me today. As a young NCO I was always being rubber dicked by the RSM or one of the other senior NCOs.

About five minutes ago, whilst giving birth to an otter, it dawned on me that no rubber dicking has taken place for about 15 years. In recent years I have been f*[£ed over, stitched up and a**e raped but I miss the old days of rubber dicking.

Does anyone still get rubber dicked or is that out of fashion now?

It is interesting how the language of a trade or job changes so quickly.

So, the latest improbably named book has been released, the queues have gone and the wife has read it from cover to cover within 23 hours.

Whilst she was out yesterday I had a conversation with the kids about which of the main characters would be the next one to die in the saga. We decided that it must be either Mrs Weasley, Dumbledore or Hagrid. As they could add to the story by snuffing it whereas Mr Weasley is destined for greater things and Ron and Hermione are too central to lose.

This made an interesting half hour diversion.

Later in the day, as I was starting to read the book the kids burst into the room shouting, “It’s #### who dies, we looked at the back of the book.”

Well, thank you, that saves me six hundred pages of reading.

Kids, can’t live with them, can’t bury them under the patio.