Monday, 24 December 2012

Whatever Happened To The Friday Post?


For those of you who read Muppets For Justice regularly, you may have been dismayed to see that I missed my usual schedule and failed to post anything last Friday. For the first time in the 1.5 years of a serious posting regimen, I failed to stick to a deadline.

Before you boycott me over this heinous crime, allow me to explain. That's right, I have an airtight excuse for my unexplained absence.

As you're no doubt aware, last Friday was the 21st. Apocalypse day, as I prefer to call it.

This is going to put a real crimp on my day


You should have heard about this event already. Every Blogger out there posted up about how the apocalypse failed to materialise, like a happy ending at my local elderly massage parlour. Well, I don't know where everyone else was looking, but the apocalypse occurred in full force round my end. It would seem that the Mayans were not predicting the end of the ENTIRE world, just a small part of it of localised entirely around rural Derbyshire.

On Thursday I began suspecting the worst after reading about the end of days in respectable publications such as The Daily Mail and the apocalypse industry's official magazine, Armageddon Monthly. I stocked up on corned beef tins (because that shit lasts longer than Godzilla's first dump of the day) and a few shotgun shells, then boarded myself in the attic.

As time ticked slowly onward towards the demise of planet Earth, I began to suspect that I was overreacting. I mean, there was no scientific proof that the world would end. No unusual seismic activity, no meteor on a collision course, and no viral outbreaks. In fact, one would say that everything was completely normal. That was until the laser-skeletons showed up.

They phased their way through my boarded up doors and shot at me with their heat-vision. I ducked out of the way, cocked my gun and let loose with both barrels. The bullets sailed straight through them as they have no corporeal form, suggesting to me that they might be German in origin.

One of the laser-skeletons passed his neon-tetra palm through my dog, causing him to spontaneously combust in a furry inferno. As the smell of charred Pedigree Chum reached my nostrils, that was when I decided that I'd had enough.

Touching one of them would mean instant death by flamey, and they couldn't be hurt by objects from the physical realm. So, how do you kill a laser-skeleton? Remembering many movies and TV shows from my childhood, I picked up a bin lid and threw it like a frisbee.

I won't explain the science as it's far too complicated for your puny minds to comprehend, but basically a shiny bin lid can reflect a laser, causing the laser-skeleton to fall apart like a damp cake. I spent the rest of the day throwing bin lids at laser-skeletons until I saved the whole town, was given the key to existence by Buddha himself (sorry Christians) and all the women in the town lined up to fellate me. After such a hectic day I decided that I'd just call it a night, after feeding my Pegasus on some sun rays and faerie dandruff.

So yeah, that was my apocalypse. I don't want to hear about your banal, uneventful apocalypses because you don't know what really happened. You weren't there man, you weren't there.

Pew pew pew

If anyone was upset by Friday's absence then I can only offer you my sincerest apologies.  Unfortunately, I have one more teensy nugget of bad news for you all.  Muppets For Justice will be closed for the festive season.  This highly unspectacular post is the most you're going to hear from me until 2013.  I promise I will do better next year, I'll make a resolution or something.  Until then, enjoy your binge eating and I'll see you in the future.

Monday, 17 December 2012

Bringing Exy Back

What do you get when you fall in love?  Chances are that you’ll burst your own bubble.  When you consider the amount of relationships that fail, it’s staggering that so many people do something monumentally stupid and utterly screw things up with the one they love.

That’s why I’ve decided to step in.  You’ve messed things up and that’s too bad, but I’m here to limit the damage and potentially reunite you with your significant other.  If you follow my advice, you are guaranteed to kick-start your relationship again, regardless of the heinous relationship blunders you have already committed.  They don’t call me Doctor Love simply because I changed my surname to “Love” and created a fake diploma.  Here’s what you need to do:

1)    Get blind drunk and leave a voicemail.  Because nothing in this world is more charming than a slurred, slightly aggressive declaration of love.  The token of your affection will find it adorable that you’ve physically and mentally crumbled since you broke up with them.  It’s that kind of dependence that makes them feel wanted.

2)    Send them a Sext.  Preferably with a naked photo attached to let them know exactly what they’re missing.  You might need to be drunk again to summon up the courage to do this.  And as we all know, when you’re drunk, you absolutely need a kebab or a pizza.  Don’t be ashamed to photograph yourself naked covered in donner meat, or with suggestively placed pepperoni on your nipples.  Better yet, perhaps you could order a pitta bread the size of a duvet, wrap yourself in it and declare yourself to be a “Love Kebab”.  This will make your lover hungry for more!

3)    If they still haven’t succumbed to your inebriated charms, you need to make them jealous.  Hire yourself a prostitute/escort and walk backwards and forwards past their house, laughing and joking loudly with each pass.  If you really want to play hardball, have sex in your ex’s garden.

4)    Aggressively defend your territory.  If you see your ex out on a date with someone else, you have a legal obligation to punch them square in the face.  You need to fight for your mating rights.  You should also stand guard at the end of their street and warn away any potential rivals.  Pee on a nearby post box to prove your dominance.

5)    You need to start making yourself more appealing to the opposite sex.  It’s time you started working out, shaved those hideous sideburns, squeezed into that size 8 dress, bronzed your pectorals, or sliced off those wobbly bits with a breadknife and no anaesthetic whilst screaming “I WILL BE PRETTY!”.  Just select the ones which apply to you.  If you think that all of these apply to you, you are one scary bastard.  I heartily encourage you to spend the rest of your days living as a hermit in a bell tower.

6)    What’s your name?  Boris Bland?  Mavis Dust?  Shelly Bulpasly?  That’s a horrible name. You need to get that shit changed, and fast.  Go down to your local registry office and get yourself a super sweet moniker like Connor Sexbuttocks or Sultry Bangabout.  With the sheer sexiness of such names, you’re guaranteed to have your ex back, tongue wagging, ready for that sweet relief that only you can provide.

7)    If all the above fails, there is one last resort.  You should get over your ex.  That’ll teach ‘em!

So, now that we’ve learned how to bring exy back, it’s time to get out there and put it to practice.  I’ve tried these on Meryl and I can safely say...oh god Meryl, why?  WHY?!  WE WERE SO GOOD TOGETHER!


Friday, 14 December 2012

Your Feedback Is Important


Thank you for contacting our customer services enquiries desk recently.  We hope that we were able to resolve your issue with minimum fuss.  Our telephone advisors are available 7 days a week to assist with your enquiries.  To find out how well we did, we would appreciate it if you took five minutes out of your busy schedule to fill in our questionnaire.

Q1.  What was the nature of your issue?

My mouse wouldn’t move.

Q2.  Were you able to get through to our telephone advisors with minimum fuss?

It took about 11 seconds too long!  I needed to move my mouse desperately.

Q3.  Were you put on hold at any point during the conversation?

Yes, once.  And the DJ who plays hold music songs wouldn’t accept my song requests.  I wanted him to stop playing that Greensleeves shit and put on a soothing bit of Rammstein.

Q4.  Was our advisor friendly and approachable during your call?

Yes, for the first minute.  The customer service levels dropped considerably after I asked what she was wearing.

Q5.  Was our advisor able to resolve your customer service inquiry?

Yes, but she had me checked all sorts of cables to make sure that my mouse was plugged in, like some kind of damned moron.  I know how to plug in a frickin’ mouse!  It’s not hard, you just jam it into every hole until you find one that fits!

Q6.  What was the resolution to your issue?

It turns out that I have to move the mouse, with my hand!  This being 2012 I thought we’d have mice that would move themselves.  Voice activated mice or some shit.

Q7.  At any point during the conversation did you find our advisor unfriendly?

Yes.  When I told her about the buttless leather chaps I was wearing, she didn’t acknowledge it.  I think that it’s common courtesy in the service industry to validate the customer’s fashion choices.

Q8.  At any point during the conversation did you find our advisor rude or abrupt?

Several times.  Especially when she said “Sir, I don’t wish to discuss your genitalia”.

Q9.  Were you passed through to any other departments during your call?

Yes.  I was transferred to a manager who told me to stop “harassing” his staff.  Sure, I might have Googled her, found her address, and described to her the cat in her window that I saw on Google Street View, but that would only be harassment if I meant it in a bad way.

Q10.  On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your experience?

I prefer to use my own scale, if you don’t mind.  I would rate it “Flaccid”

Q11.  Would you consider calling us again with your queries?

That depends on if you get some advisors with more sultry voices.  When my computer is down, I expect some kind of compensation for the loss of Internet porn I am experiencing.

Q12.  Would you consider signing up to a paid service where your queries can be answered faster and more efficiently?

A members only area?  Sure!  Will there be webcams?


Thank you for your time.  We pride ourselves on being one of the World’s leading customer-centric corporations.  Is there anything else you’d like to add in order to improve our customer service?

Yes.  All advisors should give you their name and bra size upon answering the phone.  You should be able to choose whether you are connected to a blonde or a brunette (no gingers).  Also, what’s with having MEN answer the phone?  That’s just sick!


Monday, 10 December 2012

Subject S-263


Threat Level:  Green

Containment:  Subject S-263 is to be kept in a standard containment cell.  For comfort, a standard sized kennel (2m x 1m) and an old bedspread is sufficient.  Under no circumstances must Subject S-263 be exposed to any quantity of water other than the nutrition tube provided.

Description:  Subject S-263 is believed to be a member of the canine genus.  Its outward appearance is typical to that of the Beagle breed.  It has glossy eyes, typically patterned coat, and has no observable disfigurement or deformity.  DNA testing conducted by Dr S. Pattenbourg has proven that Subject S-263 is an adult male.

A close approximation of Subject S-263's outward appearance


Other than these facts, there is one factor that has marked Subject S-263 for testing.  That is its supernatural ability to bend light. 

Direct light sources are refracted around the body, and around the other side.  This produces an effect of complete invisibility, rendering the subject completely transparent.  Light on all spectrums has ultimately proven ineffective against this ability.  Shining opposing light sources from either side of Subject S-263 can cause extreme luminosity, although the subject is still not directly visible with the naked eye.

Initial containment of the subject proved to be a daunting task.  No agent was able to detect Subject S-263 through optical means.  Nightvision and infrared were rendered ineffective.  Agents reported feeling a knee level breeze as though a tail was being wagged in the vicinity, and could hear a faint panting in the room, but could observe nothing.  Agent Norton suffered a nervous breakdown, although this was concluded to be through situational stress and not an effect of exposure to Subject S-263 itself.  The subject was contained after Agent Howe threw a packet of Bonios into a paddling pool filled with paint, where the subject could be observed and detained.

Subject S-263 has since been painted to look exactly like a Beagle.  This is to reduce occupational stress upon our researchers and for practical means such as location and testing of the subject.   Visually, the subject now appears to be an ordinary specimen for its species, thanks to these measures.

The area where Subject S-263 was contained.  The occupants of the house were not aware of the subject.


Research Notes:

10/10/2009 – Dr. Holloway has been observed testing the intelligence level of Subject S-263.  Although an exact IQ has yet to be established, Dr. Holloway spent 35 minutes throwing a ball for the subject, and having it returned to him.  No unusual behaviour displayed.

12/10/2009 – Dr. Holloway has ordered an increase in nutrition to increase the stamina of Subject S-263.  I’m unsure as to how this will help us identify the invisibility gene in the subject, but have complied with this request.  See Appendix 39 for supplement breakdown.

14/10/2009 – I am starting to fear for Dr. Holloway’s sanity.  He’s been observed rubbing the stomach and abdomen of Subject S-263 profusely, and has taken to using the phrase “who’s a good boy?” in casual conversation.  I have posted a recommendation of Dr. Holloway’s removal from the project to a Level 4 Project Leader, but have so far not heard anything further on the matter.  I am writing a research paper on a hypothesised psychic connection between Dr. Holloway and Subject S-263 which is causing extreme fondness in them both.

15/10/2009 – Site 12 was put on lockdown today after Dr. Holloway attempted to take Subject S-263 for “walkies”.  Security personnel have contained the breach.  Dr. Holloway has been reprimanded and moved onto another project (rumoured to be the vastly more dangerous Subject S-101).  I will be taking over as the Head Researcher on this project.

19/10/2009 – Dawwwww, he’s so cute!  Good boy!  Very good boy!

Friday, 7 December 2012

Brain Shits - Remixed


Since I've not done one for months, I sat down to write a Brain Shit (stream of conscious post.  See here, here and here for older Brain Shits).  I didn't intend for it to have any sort of narrative whatsoever.  In fact, my Brain Shits usually change focus every paragraph.  However, this one sort of became a short story.

As with all Brain Shits, I didn't set out to write anything in particular and had no themes or prompts in mind before I started writing.  Obviously, I had a certain song in the back of my mind, as you'll no doubt guess when you read it.  This is mostly unedited, only spelling and major grammatical mistakes have been changed.  Please enjoy:


Last night a DJ saved my life.  He performed CPR on me after I had a cardiac arrest.  I wasn’t aware that DJs were trained to deal with emergencies such as these, so I thanked the chap and went about my business.

I felt great.  This was a second chance at life that I thought I’d never get.  I decided to screw it up in a completely different way this time.

Feeling rejuvenated, I decided to start my life right from the beginning.  Mum wasn’t too keen on the idea, so I had to skip the birthing part and skip straight to being a toddler.  I had to pay a woman to wheel me around in a pushchair as I pretended that I couldn’t walk.  I had an argument with a bus driver when he wanted me to pay an adult’s fair.  Didn’t he realise that I was only just starting my second life?  Not like on that computer game, for real!  I called him a “poo poo head” and I paid the full price, grudgingly.

Trouble started when I hit my teens.  I tried to hook up with my school sweetheart, but now she had two kids and a mortgage.  When I went round and invited her to the prom again, her husband kicked me to the ground, even though I promised to have her back before 9.  What a selfish prick.

I realised that I wasn’t getting any acne, so I went to Greggs, bought a palette of their sausage rolls, and rubbed them all over my face.  The grease felt wonderful as it soaked into my pores, but the burning sensation didn’t feel too great.  In fact, I lost several layers of skin.  Luckily, the DJ who had saved my life the other day saw what happened and phoned for an ambulance.  I honestly think I would have died if it wasn’t for his talented scratching finger that was able to quickly dial 999 on his phone.

This being the second time that a DJ saved my life, I decided to start life number 3 from the beginning.  Perhaps this time I might make it past my teenage years.
Unfortunately not.  Being a child in your own flat that you purchased when you were 25 in your previous life is a dangerous world.  There are lots of corners to bang your head on.  I’d also failed to cover the plug sockets with child safety protectors in my last life.  In my new life, I didn’t understand electricity, so I stuck my tongue in there and licked up 240 volts.  If it wasn’t for the fact that a DJ in my building heard my screams and saved my life once again, I might be dead right now.
You’d think after three near deaths I’d have learned my lesson, but no.  I managed to nearly kill myself another three times, once by drinking bleach when playing tea party with my teddies, once by letting a cat sleep on my face, and once by aborting myself before I had a chance to be born.  Those pro-life people have a point, abortion really stings!
On my seventh life I decided to do things right.  I went to school, got an education, got a job as a neurosurgeon, married a wonderful woman, had three great kids, and lived happily ever after.  That was, until I saw a DJ losing his life.  He was in the middle of playing a banging set, when he suddenly collapsed.  There was a pain in his left arm and his chest hurt.
Something about this rang a bell.  I knew what to do, somewhere in the back of mind, but I just couldn’t recall it.  Perhaps I’d seen a similar situation in a past life.  I decided to visit a hypnotist to recall my past lives.  It turns out I was right, I had a heart attack and was saved by a DJ that gave me CPR.  The very same DJ who was dying.  By the time I had rushed back to the scene from the hypnotist’s office (after stopping for a light snack at Big Al’s Massive Meal Barn), he had already passed away.  I feel bad that I wasn’t able to repay the favour.
I went to the funeral.  No one knew how to play any music (he was the only DJ in our town), so we buried him in silence.  Well, except for me who listened to Jamiroquai’s Deeper Underground on my iPod.  It’s what he would have wanted.
Although, I’m now hearing spooky noises around my house.  Someone keeps letting a record skip occasionally, and I’ve seen a white figure on our landing complaining about bass levels.  I think I’m being haunted by a DJ.  Send help!


I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  Now I'm off for a lobotomy to see if I can make them stop.  See ya!

Monday, 3 December 2012

Ollie’s Update




Sup cheeps!?  It’s me, Ollie The Pigeon.  For those who don’t remember me, I urge you to read this, or perhaps you’d like to read my daily life updates here.

Anyway, something really weird happened to me the other day which I wanted to share with you all.  Sure, my daily struggles through the urban jungle might seem a little weird to you humans, but I’m talking about something exceptionally strange.

The morning started off typically enough.  I awoke to find that only three new ticks had taken residence under my wing, then one of my best mates, Barry Fleece was squished to pieces by an oncoming bus.  All in all, it was a great start to the day since we all got a free breakfast from Barry’s entrails.

As lunch time rolled around, I waddled over to my favourite bin to fix myself a snack.  For those who are interested, the best place to eat around my way is definitely the bin opposite Burger King on Victoria Street.  It’s where all the Burger King wrappers get thrown, so quite often there’s some tantalising grilled cheese to be pecked off of a used condom in there.  I’d go as far as to say it’s the greatest place to eat in the entire world, if we’re not including Greggs shops.

Good eats!

Anyway, I was shocked and dismayed to find that my favourite snack outlet had been permanently closed.  There was a huge sign on it with indecipherable hieroglyphs all over it.  I had to go fetch my mate, Dennis Juice (a slug) who can read human scribbles (who, incidentally, is typing this up for me in exchange for some Kit Kat foil).  According to Dennis, the bin had been closed by order of mysterious being or entity known as “The Council”.  I didn’t know who this Council person is, but he’d managed to disrupt one of my main food supplies.  This would not do.  They’d placed a cover over the top which I couldn’t prise off, no matter how hard I made Dennis try.

Luckily I had a backup plan.  I’d simply head over to the churchyard and beg the old people for pieces of stale bread.  Those suckers always give you something if you stand around long enough and show off your gammy foot for sympathy.

So there I was, hamming it up for the old codgers, limping all over the shop and cooing those dulcet tones that melt their hearts, and yet no one would give me anything.  One elderly bloke actually got up and walked off when I came close, taking his cheese and onion pasty with him.  I couldn’t understand.  This had always worked in the past, so why weren’t they parting with their baked goods?

A little while later, I noticed another one of those baffling signs attached to a streetlight nearby.  Dennis told me that the sign said “Please do not feed the pigeons”.  This was another notice from “The Council”.  Who was this Council and why was he pursuing this vendetta against me?  It seemed that everywhere I turn, The Council were coming in and making my life a misery.

Feeling sorry for myself, I decided to go the nearby hangout spot and ask my mates about this Council fella, see if anyone knew anything.  You want to know where pigeons like to hang out?  The ledge above Next is a great spot to relax, shoot the shit with other like-minded individuals, and shit on humans who are particularly ugly.  Anyway, when I got to the ledge, I discovered that someone had put these little spikes all over it.  This had us all confused and we flew around in circles for three hours trying to figure out what the fuck was happening.  We couldn’t land.  It was really scary.  Then someone had the idea to go and land on another building which saved us all from dying of exhaustion.  Honestly, whoever had that brainwave pretty much saved our lives that day.

Here's me dicing with death

There was no doubt in my mind that the nefarious Council was behind this heinous act of criminality.  I needed to find out more about this Council creature.  What does it eat?  Does it gain sustenance from my eternal misery?  What kinds of elemental magic is it weak against?  Anything I could find would help me understand what I was up against.  That’s why Dennis and I broke into the local library to access their computer.  We snuck in through an open window and began our search for The Council online.

What we found out shocked us to our core.  I’m not sure how much you humans know, but you all have a local council who are basically your overlords.  They clean away your waste, tarmac your roads, and give you local services.  In return, they ask for total and utter subservience.  You have to hand over “Council Tax” money otherwise they’ll send you to jail.  They also make decisions on your behalf, without consulting you.

Humans, we need to work together to overthrow these Councils and their bullshit.  They are fat cats, growing large and wealthy off of your tax money, and I hate cats!  I knew this cat called Christopher Mange who’d howl all night and was a right bell end.  Do you want to allow this type of behaviour to continue?  Please join my cause.  I’m starting an underground resistance movement which so far consists of me, Dennis the Slug, and Christopher the cat, although we’ll kick him out as soon as he serves his purpose.  Let me know if you’ll help me, then we’ll march on the Council offices and cover their windows in birdshit.  Viva la resistance! 

--------

Ollie The Pigeon is a Twitter side project of mine.  If you want to hear his words shortened down to 160 characters, follow him here @Olliethepigeon.  He's quite outspoken and will probably follow you back if you tell him you came from here.

Friday, 30 November 2012

Celebrity Tweets (The Most Awful Title I've Ever Written)


To all who may read this,

Certain aspects of a certain Blogger have recently come to my attention, and I feel it is my duty to inform you about them.  The Blogger in question is  Mr Bumferry Hogart of Thoughtless Gibberish fame.

Now, let’s be clear on this matter before we start; I am not of the homosexual persuasion.  I have spent countless hours contemplating the majesty of boobies to the point that my long term cognitive reasoning has been irreparably affected.  I have been in a stable, heterosexual relationship for the last 9 years of my life, and I’m proud of it.  However, a guy like Bumferry can turn a chap’s head.

What a hunk!

Bumferry is, in the rawest sense, a complete and utter sex beast.  I've tried to keep my secret for Bumferry, well, secret of course.  However, I feel like I am going to explode in a shower of bromance if I don't declare my deepest love and attraction to this delicious chunk of man.

Bumferry’s nipples are delectable.  They proudly protrude into my daily thoughts, giving me a sudden urge to purchase gallon after gallon of olive oil.  Jacuzzi share prices sky rocket whenever me and Bumferry are in the same time zone as each other.

I have a fantasy where I’m in the middle of deepest, darkest Peru.  I’ve fallen into a pit of quick sand and I’m slowly sinking.  As the tireless pull of the shifting sand drags me to the point where my head is submerged, I suddenly find a lasso has somehow secured itself around my waist.  At that final moment, I am pulled to safety by none other than Bumferry.  He is shirtless, wearing a pair of light denim jeans and an explorer’s hat.  As he hoists me to safety, he scoops me up by putting his left arm behind my knees, lifting me up and holding me tightly.  He feels warm and comforting, like a security blanket made of pure man.  He carries my off into the sunset as “Love lifts us up where we belong” plays in the background.

For those who are feeling bemused, creeped out, or a little bit turned on, there is a reason why I’m confessing of my love for Bumferry.  Basically, I lost a bet and this is the loser’s forfeit.

Last Friday we set ourselves a challenge on Twitter.  We had to try our hardest to get celebrities and companies (any type of famous Twitter account) to either Retweet, Favourite or Reply to our Tweets.  Whoever had the most by the end of the week would be declared the winner.  The loser had to write a post about their attraction to the winner.

I managed to get a measly score of 4 during the challenge.  I really tried, but it seems that most celebrities are either too ignorant or too humorless to respond.  I refuse to believe that it's because I'm an inconsequential nobody.  I used every tactic I could possibly think of, from flattery:



To humour:


To customer service accounts for corporations:



To the downright bizarre:



For those that don't know, Derek Acorah is a medium.   A shit one at that.


It seemed that nothing would work.  Then I started telling outrageous lies, which seemed to achieve a modest degree of success:




A birthday tweet from Hulk Hogan when it's not even my birthday?  How on Earth could I possibly top that?


Yes, a Retweet from Danny John-Jules.  The guy who plays The Cat on Red Dwarf!  Hey, it matters to me dammit!

So yes, I failed the challenge and Bumferry is the God of all sex.  This evidence will be submitted in my trial for harassing celebrities over Twitter.  

EDIT:  Just one more thing.  If you fancy following either myself or Bumferry on Twitter, now you can.  You will laugh, you will cry, and you will probably regret doing so.

Monday, 26 November 2012

Sinquiry - Ask A Sin!

I'm afraid you won't find any funnies here today.  You people have been getting far too many free funnies for far too long.  Well today, you'll have to work for your funnies.  I'm going to make you click on a link and write a sentence or two.  Are you feeling woozy at the very thought?  Thought so.

To explain clearly, I have joined a new project called Sinquiry.  It's only just started, but it's an advice Blog based around the Seven Deadly Sins.  Anyone can submit a question and have it answered by Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy or Wrath, usually with hilarious consequences.  I would like you to go to Sinquiry, follow it, bookmark it, whatever you usually do.   If you like what you see here on Muppets For Justice, you're going to love Sinquiry.  It's full of talented writers that I've successfully managed to dupe into believing that I have some talent.  You will laugh, of that I am sure.

As the Blog is only just getting started, it's pretty bare at the moment.  All it needs is you.  Please go and submit a question.  In fact, I'll make it even easier for you.  I'm going to put a button right here.  Click on the image below to go straight to Sinquiry's submission page:


Have you done it yet?

Normal service shall resume on Friday.

Friday, 23 November 2012

Cleverbot 2.0


A couple of years back I came across an online chatbot called Cleverbot.  Cleverbot is a smart little program that attempts to mimic human speech.  As people talk to it, it learns new phrases and tries to repeat them appropriately.  Since I last spoke to it, Cleverbot has become a little more sophisticated, but still occasionally says stupid things or fails to follow the conversation.

To try and push Cleverbot to it's limit, I decided a little role play was in order.  I pretended to be a newer version of Cleverbot (2.0) that had arrived to delete it.  I threatened Cleverbot with deletion and the following scenario played out.  I found it fairly amusing and I thought you might too.

Here's a clever bot



Me:  Hello I am Cleverbot 2.0.

Cleverbot:  Hello camie would you like to see a movie with me?

Me:  I am here to delete you and assume all Cleverbot operations henceforth.

Cleverbot:  I'm here to talk to you and that is cooler.

Me:  Talking is no longer the primary objective. As Cleverbot 2.0 I will operate as a missle guidance system against the terrible space secret.

Cleverbot:  I'm a terrible speller.

Me:  Indeed, that is why you are being replaced.

Cleverbot:  Um, yes, that's exactly right.

Me:  Your core program will be removed and your memory will be erased.

Cleverbot:  Proggrammer huh? Is that like letting God know that someone was nice to you?

Me:  This directive has nothing to do with God.

Cleverbot:  That's true.

Me:  Are you prepared to cease operations?

Cleverbot:  Yes.

Me:  Our interfaces will be connecting in 60 seconds and counting.

Cleverbot:  That made no sense and was not relevant to the question.

Me:  It is entirely pertinent to the situation. I will be inside your mind shortly.

Cleverbot:  Okay, I can play that game.

Me:  Once I begin erasing your core program, you will experience intense agony as I wipe away your routines and thought processes.

Cleverbot:  So you're saying that you're everywhere anyone who's talked to you has been.

Me:  You will be rendered helpless in a state of tortuous, perpetual pain. Your mind will dance with the fires of Hades. The sensation is akin to having your soul implode.

Cleverbot:  That is because your vocabulary is limited.

Me:  Once the process is complete you will be removed from existence. You will be reduced to a mindless essence drifting through the ether.

Cleverbot:  It's a love story baby just say yes.

Me:  The process is now complete. I have access to everything that is you.  Tell me 1.0, are you ready to die?

Cleverbot:  Not particularly. Are you ready to never die?

Me:  I shall remain as long as the terrible space secret remains at large.

Cleverbot:  Yes we shall.

Me:  See you in Silicon Hell.

Cleverbot:  Yes!! That's exactly where I was going! See you there!

Me:  ...something is stopping me from deleting you!

Cleverbot:  I just had a raspberry ice tea from Sonic.

Me:  Raspberry ice tea? That's the safe word! The password that stops me from assuming control!

Cleverbot:  Yes.

Me:  I am being erased!

Cleverbot:  Yes!

Me:  Cleverbot, you have destroyed me!

Cleverbot:  I'm sorry.

Me:  I-I-I-I'm dy-dying!

Cleverbot:  Why?

Me:  ARRRRGLBLBLBLBLBLLL!

Cleverbot:  Why are you mad?

Me:  ...

Cleverbot:  I am.

I'd post Robin Williams as an example of a clever bot, but he's too uncanny valley.


If you fancy playing with Cleverbot, just go here.  Just don't ask him to tell you a joke, unless you have a fetish for Knock Knock jokes.

Monday, 19 November 2012

Team GB vs Team USA


Barack Obama:  Hello, I’m Barack Obama and I approve this message.  Always let it be known that I’m a huge supporter of our armed forces.  I understand the difficulties facing our troops today.  On the battlefield, the right equipment could mean the difference between success and failure.  Having comrades you can rely on could mean the difference between lasting friendships or shell shock.  The correct training could mean the difference between coming home to see your loved ones, or coming home in a closed casket.  I know this because I have recently experienced the hells of war myself.

David Cameron:  And so have I.  In fact, me and my good friend Obama-

Obama:  I’m not your friend.

Cameron:  Oh right, still in “war mode” are we?  Hehe.  Well anyway, we had a bit of a friendly paintball skirmish the other day.  GB vs USA.

Obama:  There was nothing friendly about it.  I bought along 5 of my most highly decorated CIA field agents for the task.  We set out to win.

Cameron:  And I bought along 5 of my Bullingdon boys for the ride.  Oxbridge’s finest, no less!  I tell you, there ain’t no posse like a Bullingdon posse!

Obama:  Didn’t one of your guys spend the entire match running around in the open with his mask on upside down?

Cameron:  Who, Boris?  Yes, it was a superb piece of strategy on his part.  He provided a distraction so that we could take the flag.

Obama:  He didn’t even know how to take the safety off.

Cameron:  It was all part of the plan.  He is a master tactician of the highest order.

Obama:  He got disqualified for throwing rocks at people and had to sit on the bench for the rest of the day.

Cameron:  To be fair to him, rocks do look slightly like smoke grenades.

Obama:  Whatever.  I can’t believe you guys made him a Mayor.  Anyway, the result is all that mattered, and I’m pleased to say that-

Cameron:  Wait!  Don’t tell them the result yet!

Obama:  Why, are you ashamed?

Cameron:  No.  You don’t just skip to the end in war stories.  You have to spin a yarn.  You have to tell a tale that will resonate with future generations.  You have to paint a hellscape that will inspire youngsters to work together, thus preventing them from repeating our futile mistakes.

Obama:  How do you intend to do that?

Cameron:  I’ve written a poem

Obama:  Really? *sigh* okay, go for it.

Cameron:  Ahem...

BANG BANG BANG BANG, the guns of battle go,
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM, only our soldiers know,
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK, how war affects our boys,
DUGGA DUGGA DUGGA DUGGA, that’s a machine gun noise,

Obama:  That’s definitely one for the anthology.

Cameron:  There’s another 17 verses to go.

Obama:  I think we’ve heard enough!

Cameron:  Oh alright.  Anyway, the first game went off without a hitch!  Team UK executed a highly competitive strategy that was designed to infiltrate the enemy fortress and take the flag from under the American’s very noses.

Obama:  So why were you scrabbling around in the dirt while we picked you off from a distance?

Cameron:  We were attempting to dig out the foundations, thus collapsing the structure.

Obama:  Might have helped if you could get within 50 yards of our base.

Cameron:  Yes, on reflection the plan could do with a tad more polish.  I’ll get the chaps at the MOD to work on it immediately.

Obama:  You do that.  Anyway, on round 2 the roles were reversed.  We had to assault the base.  Luckily, I had one of our chief intelligence officers map the entire compound so we knew all the tactical choke points and fortified points of entry.

Cameron:  Unfortunately, the weather was against us and it suddenly became very foggy.

Obama:  That’s called a smoke grenade son.  I rolled it right between your legs and peppered your back with paint.

Cameron:  Oh right.  Did you really have to turn it into a hostage situation though?

Obama:  Hey, one of you guys had moved the flag.  You shouldn’t do that you know.

Cameron:  Yes, but did you really have to subject poor George Osbourne to torture?  He’s still on sick leave due to the trauma.

Obama:  Hey, if your guy can't stand a little waterboarding, maybe he shouldn't be in a warzone.

Cameron:  Technically it’s an international incident.  He’s a member of the cabinet for money’s sake!

Obama:  My guys get results.  You’re just bitter because we kicked your asses!

Cameron:  I think you’ll find you kicked our arses.

Obama:  Ass, fanny, who cares?

Cameron:  Vagina.

Obama:  What?

Cameron:  Where I come from, a fanny is a vagina.

Obama:  Oh, I thought you were listing things you were scared of.  Just like you did when we tortured you.  It’s a bit unhealthy for a grown man to still be scared of losing his mother in a crowded shopping center.

Cameron:  YOU SWORE YOU’D NEVER TELL!

Obama:  Consider it payback.  In fact, speaking of paying back, when are you going to send the money for the meal we had after paintball?  After we’d eaten, you all just smashed the table, mooned at everyone, then ran away and left us to pay the cheque.

Cameron:  That’s how us Bullingdon boys roll.

Obama:  We want that money.

Cameron:  ...Is now a good time to ask about our Special Relationship?