Monday, 30 July 2012

My Olympic Flame

2012 was the year of the London Olympic games.  As a result, London was heaving with a large proportion of muscular, god-like beings.  Regular plebs the world over descended on our country in order to witness these champions lift heavy things, throw heavy things, and leap over high things.

Due to this vast increase in tourism, I saw an opportunity opening up.  I rounded up a whole bunch of old t shirts, scrawled an Olympic logo on the front, and headed down to London.  This was the best money-making scheme I’d had since I decided to make my own money.  Sure, the Olympic organisers sent me a cease and desist notice, but I figured that because imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, that would be an airtight defence in the event that it turned into a court case.

I arrived in the Olympic village the day after the opening ceremony.  I ran hither, thither and yon, holding up t shirts in people’s faces and screaming “YOU BUY!  YOU BUY!”  I managed to complete a few transactions, enough to justify the trip anyway.  I’d even bought some luminous key finders and sold them as official Olympic torches.  Business was modest.  Not booming, but decent enough.

That’s when I saw her emerge from the crowds, standing out like a goddess amongst mortals.  She was a finely tuned ebony statuette wearing a Team GB strip.  Her abs were so defined they could define the word abs in the Oxford English Dictionary.  I could sand down a banister with that stomach.

Now, who wants toasted marshmallows?

I can honestly say that I’ve never seen a woman like that before.  In fact, most of the girls I know have .jpg in their name.  Regardless, this sighting opened my eyes, my mind, and my testes.  I knew, in that instant, that she would have to be mine.  In comparison I was but an ant.  A pasty, spaghetti-armed nancy boy who struggled to lift his own head in the morning.  She looked like she could lift a Mini and play it like an accordion.  Still, I knew that I could make this matchup work.

I pushed my way through the sweaty crowds, stepping on an old lady who was trying to purchase my official Olympic rings (Frisbees), and tried to catch up with the divine beauty in front of me.  I shoulder-barged a couple of Asian tourists out of my path, only to run straight into a huge chunk of a man who probably could have been a weight lifter.  Or a professional lardarse.  Either way, I was helplessly caught in his hefty frame.  All I could do was look longingly at her back as she headed towards the Olympic village exit.  I made a mental note of the registration number on her back; 1042.

From that day forth, 1042 would be my lucky number.  I prioritised that set of digits in my memory and my brain cached the information over my PIN number.  I wouldn’t need it anyway; who needs money when you have love?

I floated to the Information centre and asked them for more information on the enchanting Miss 1042.  I learned that her name was Vicky Holmes, and she was a javelin thrower.  That made sense.  She’d thrown a cupid’s javelin straight into my chest cavity.  Looking at the timetables, I learned that the javelin throwing would take place at 15:00.  It was 14:43 already.  I had to be quick.

Just in case you didn't know what javelins look like

I sprinted through the village towards the stadium, dodging through the crowds.  I leaped over a child, ducked under the legs of an entertainer on stilts, and slalomed through a school party who were in formation near a gift cart.  I’d never ran this fast in my entire life.  Usain Bolt can eat his cock off.

I reached the stadium with a couple of minutes to spare.  The security guards patted me down rather thoroughly.  They could probably feel my pulse racing and the sweat dripping off of me.  Exercise wasn’t exactly my speciality.  They asked me a couple of questions because I seemed so agitated, and they pulled me to one side in the name of security.  I must have seemed a little like a terrorist because they whipped out their handheld metal detectors and began to run them over my body.

I waited impatiently for them to finish.  Could they not see that I wasn’t a terrorist?  The nearest I’d been to an explosive device was a scented bath bomb.  As they made me raise my arms to check that I hadn’t concealed large quantities of C4 in my armpits, I started to get antsy.  My eyes darted around; when I noticed a tunnel just off to the right with a sign above saying “athletes only”.  Surely my warrior princess had gone that way.  In my excitement, I shoved one of the guards out of the way and made a break for it.

They gave chase, shouting something about lethal force if necessary, but their speed couldn’t hope to match a man in love.  I sprinted down the tunnel as fast as possible.  I could hear the overwhelming roar of the crowd outside.  It was getting louder.  I flew past several changing room doors.  I didn’t know if she was in them or already on the field.  I decided to wait near the entrance to the field and see if I could spot her.

As I approached the final stretch I could see the tunnel open up in front of me, revealing a vast array of cheering faces.  Many were flying flags, throwing streamers, and waving in that curious fashion that is commonly associated with Mexicans.  I was standing at the entrance to the field.  The atmosphere was buzzing with the anticipation of the games ahead.  That’s when I noticed her.  Miss 1042, I mean Vicky, was heading out, about to take her place in history.  It was her turn to throw.

My pounding heart could contain itself no longer.  Through a mixture of desperation and fear that the guards would catch me if I waited any longer, I strode out onto the field.

This was the bravest thing I’d ever done.  In fact, I’m sure this was bravest thing anyone had ever done in the history of everything ever.  If I asked her on a date in front of 100,000 people, surely she couldn’t say no.  I mean, it’s such a romantic gesture.  Legions of sweaty sports fans whooping, hollering and playing the theme from The Great Escape would make an ideal backdrop to our blossoming love story.  What woman could ask for more?

A romantic hotspot

In a moment I was behind her.  She towered over me like a plinth.  I know that’s not a particularly romantic comparison, but you understand the size difference in play here.  I was nought but a skinny breadstick when next to her.  She was still going through a few warm up stretches, preparing that phenomenal physique for the athletic task ahead.  This gave me a few more seconds to invite her to join me in this whirlwind of passion.

“Excuse me, would you like to-ERK!”

I was stopped short as she reached behind and grabbed me by the neck.  She lifted me above her head without even noticing me, holding me aloft like a trophy.  She took two steps, and suddenly, the pressure around my neck had gone, although I was hurtling through the sky at an alarming pace.  Considering my flailing limbs, I was surprisingly aerodynamic.  The sensation of flying was wonderful.  I didn’t care that the object of my affections had tossed me like a disposable piece of sporting equipment.  That was, until gravity took a hold of me, and the inevitable, bone-shattering crash happened.

And that, kids, is how your mother and I broke an Olympic record.

----- Submitted for this week's Dude Write.

Friday, 27 July 2012

Feral Living

Your boss stops at your desk. He informs you that you are to present your plans for Project Poseidon in ten minutes, then walks away. You stare at your monitor. The whiteness of the empty spreadsheet burns through your bloodshot eyes, onto you retinas, and into your soul. You’ve got nothing. How can you present this to the board? After hours of brainstorming, days of meetings, weeks of research, you've still got nothing. Project Poseidon is unworkable. What is Project Poseidon anyway? Is it water-based? Why is that relevant to a credit company?  You don’t even know anymore. You can’t go in there and tell them that it was all a complete waste of time. This was supposed to save the company millions. How can you tell them that? You haven’t even understood what you were doing in the first place.

A blind panic begins to swirl around your gut.  There are only two options available.  Firstly, go in there, embarrass yourself, look like an idiot, and get fired immediately.  Alternatively, you could run away, eschew society altogether and live out the rest of your feral days as a mountain goat.

Phwoar!  Look at the neck on that!

There’s one brave soul out there who chose the second option (see article here). Appropriately dubbed “Goatman”, a man has been spotted in the wilds of northern Utah trying to blend in with a herd of mountain goats. To complete the illusion, he has made himself a goat outfit, a face mask, and some crude antlers.

Officials are powerless to stop him in his quest for goatish glory.  Phil Douglass of the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources said that Goatman wasn’t doing anything illegal, so they can’t force him to leave the herd.  However, he wants Goatman to understand the great risks he is taking.

"My very first concern is the person doesn't understand the risks," Douglass said. "Who's to say what could happen."

Well, here’s a scenario for you.  Let’s say that Goatman succeeds in his mission and becomes a fully fledged member of the herd.  Let’s also say that Goatman has managed to bully his way up the female pecking order (because his antlers aren’t big enough to challenge the males).  Then, baby season comes around and the males begin fighting for mating rights with the herd’s prize female, Goatman.  Once battle dies down and a victor is chosen, the champion will want his sexual spoils.  Would that be illegal?  Or, like any nature enthusiast or documentary film maker, would Goatman have to let nature take its course.

Goatman on location

But Phil Douglass has other concerns. "They may get agitated. They're territorial. They are, after all, wild animals," he said. "This person puts on a goat suit, he changes the game. But as long as he accepts responsibility, it's not illegal."

This is especially worrying considering that goat hunting season is coming up soon.  Can you imagine hunting a prize winning goat, mounting it’s head on your wall, only for the mask to fall off and revealing a human head?  I wouldn’t want to be held liable for that.

My favourite part of the article though has to be the eye witness account:

‘He said he pulled out binoculars to get a closer look at the herd about 200 yards away and was shocked. The man appeared to be acting like a goat while wearing the crudely made costume, which had fake horns and a cloth mask with cut-out eye holes, Creighton said.
 "I thought, 'What is this guy doing?' " Creighton said. "He was actually on his hands and knees. He was climbing over rocks and bushes and pretty rough terrain on a steep hillside."
 Creighton said the man occasionally pulled up his mask, apparently trying to navigate the rocky terrain. The man then appeared to spot Creighton.
 "He just stopped in his tracks and froze," he said.’

How sinister.  There you are, out for an afternoon stroll on your hands and knees with the herd, when some creepy fuck like Coty Creighton starts taking photos of you from behind a bush.  No wonder Goatman froze.  He was probably considering whether to gore this foolish boy, or allow him to live like the magnanimous creature he is.

To all the Goatman haters out there, I implore you, leave Goatman alone.  He’s living the dream of trapped office workers everywhere.

UPDATE:  Since I wrote this, Goatman has turned out to be hunter preparing for the upcoming hunting season.  We can rest assured that no goats will be molested any time soon.

Wednesday, 25 July 2012

Good Deed Feed

Thank you to the tall, dark, handsome stranger who picked up my handbag when I dropped it on the Tube.  You didn’t need to run off with it though.  Perhaps we can meet for coffee and you can bring it back to me? ~ Infatuated

Thanks to the person who handed in my wallet at lost property.  I was glad to see the condoms were still in there, but did you really have to use them and put them back? ~Disgusted

Cheers to the man in Poundland who didn’t hold the door for me and let it swing back into my face.  That broken nose eventually lead me to an epiphany about the futility of human existence and a desperate suicide attempt. ~Depressed Philosopher

A big shout out to my beautiful girlfriend who rides with me in the carpool lane every morning to avoid the rush hour traffic.  Polythene Penny, you are the perfect woman. ~Early Joe

Thanks mum for your wonderful aim when you gave me an adrenaline shot directly into my heart.  I’m glad you were around when I nearly OD’ed in the living room.  Now I’m glad I didn’t sell your reading glasses for crack. ~Revived

I want to say thanks to the kind lady who does my home help.  I apologise for the loud queef during my last sponge bath. ~Ashamed Granny

Don't queef near me again, or it's tumble time!

Much love for my wonderful lady friend. You always stick with me through thick and thin.  I love you more than words could possibly describe.  If we were in a human caterpillar, I’d be right behind you. ~Snuff Fan

Hearty thanks to the fellow at the coffee stand at the train station.  You put urine in my frappe, just how Martha used to make it.  The foam moustache was simply to die for.  Same again tomorrow? ~Secret Lemonade Drinker

Thanks to the producers of Magic Mike.  That movie made my ovaries clang like a Newton’s Cradle. ~Yummy Mummy

A massive thank you to the masked vigilante who stopped the baby carriage just as it was about to roll into the path of a speeding car.  You handed me the baby safe and sound.  Now, if I could just find its actual mother, perhaps I could be a superhero too.  Seriously, when you start a job, see it through!  Don’t just palm it off on me and expect me to sort it all out. ~Adoptive Mother

Kudos to all the cultists who put their time and effort into last week’s mass suicide.  Sorry I didn’t join you, but the poison was in the punch, and I hate punch.  By the way, the nibbles you all bought were tremendous. ~Pact-Man

Thank you very much.  Thank you very much.  That’s the nicest thing that anyone’s ever done for me. ~Scrooge

Monday, 23 July 2012

I Like Big Cuddles And I Cannot Lie

In my perpetual search for a viable vocation, I tend to come across a lot of crazy ways to make money.  I’ve seen some really nutty stuff in my time, such as people delivering slabs of paper-based news directly to people’s doors.  Or those smelly guys under the bridge who think they can make money by standing around an open fire in an empty oil drum.  As I’ve witnessed so many people getting it utterly wrong, by learning from their mistakes, I believe I know what a decent business plan looks like.

I come to you today with my award-winning idea.  I noticed that a lot of people meander through their emotionally derelict lives in a loveless state of constant banality.  The average person on the street is sad, and only a fleeting glance can tell you that they’re hurting on the inside.  Therapy is expensive, and handjobs are out of the question, especially since I picked up that wrist injury.  Luckily, I’ve figured out a way in which I can bring joy to the masses in exchange for money.

Basically, I’ve started a Hugging Parlour.  I have bought a disused warehouse downtown in which people can come to me for a therapeutic hug.  The first few customers have already started to trickle in, which is great news, but I’m trying to expand my business.  There are three tiers of hugs available, all part of an aggressive pricing structure:

An example of our service

Silver Hug - £10

This gives the client a real quick fix.  It is pretty much the espresso of the hugging underworld.  Clients can get a short, 5 minute maximum hug from one of our trained hug-ologists (currently just me, but I intend to train more as the business grows).  This type of service is perfect for people who need a quick pick-me-up during their commute, and will click perfectly with clients who have a busy lifestyle.

Gold Cuddle - £25

The Gold Cuddle is for the savvy client who knows how to get bang for his or her buck.  With a Gold Cuddle, clients can have a 15 minute session, and get to choose from a variety of different Cuddle Aspects.  These include the strength of the cuddle, hairiness of arms, positions, and the hug-ologist will promise to wash his/her hands first.  Clients may also select a phrase to be whispered into their ear during the cuddle.  Popular phrases include “Shhh, mummy kiss it better”, and “There, there, my sweet”.

Platinum Snuggle - £50

The Platinum Snuggle is the premium package, offering a range of aspirational aspects.  The package includes everything the Gold one does, but lasts for up to an hour, can include more than two people, and will take place in a room with a pre chosen projection of a location on the back wall.  Want a three way cuddle on a beach in Acapulco?  Fancy a life-changing snuggle in the Australian outback?  Need a soothing hug during the shelling of Homs?  All catered for.

As you can see, we aim to offer the widest range of spooning opportunities to suit all needs and lifestyles.  For those of you who need a little more information, refer to our Q&A below:

A pet service is available

Q. What if I become aroused during the cuddle?

A.  Don’t worry.  This is part of a natural response to such stimulation.  Although sexual acts will not be performed under any circumstances, we’re willing to work around minor arousal.  Requests for anything further will not be tolerated.

Q.  Are there any rules regarding gender?

A.  Male and female clients are accepted.  Male and female hug-ologists are available (although, it’s just me at the moment.  I will dress up until female hug-ologists can be hired and trained).

Q.  Does it matter if I smell?

A.  Yes.  We reserve the right not to serve clients who are unclean.  Minor discrepancies can be overlooked, but we ask customers to observe appropriate levels of hygiene.  As a guide, try not to arrive with more than a 2-day old funk going on.  Clients who are on their way home from working in fish factories and abattoirs will be required to change first before coming to us.

Q.  Do you do home visits?

A.  Not yet, but if demand for this service is high, we may expand into this area.  For now, you’ll need to come to us.

Q.  Do I need to bring anything with me?

A.  Just your wallet!  Haha!  Seriously though, we do have storage lockers available if you happen to bring any lumpy, uncomfortable items with you.

Q.  What psychological effects can I expect from the treatment?

A.  A feeling of self worth will follow you around for at least 24 hours.  I know that sounds like fortune cookie shit, but trust me, as I have studied the effects of hugging on people’s brains.  Your brain will release liquid love that makes you feel the tingly sensation of feeling wanted or special.  This effect will last all day.

Q.  Would it be a problem if I started sobbing?

A.  Not at all.  Consider the hug as a type of physical psychiatric workout.  That statement makes complete and total sense, trust me.  Anyway, we always have a box of Kleenex on standby for such situations.

We hope that answers all your questions about our service.  On behalf of everyone at The Snuggle Shack, we look forward to seeing and hugging you soon!

----- Written for this week's Dude Write.

Friday, 20 July 2012

Classic Intercourse

Sex!  Sexy sex!  Sexual sextasy sex!  Now that I've got your attention, I'd like to talk to you about sex.

As humans, we love a bit of sex every so often.  This fact was scientifically proven by the sales figures of 50 Shades Of Grey, which was now sold more print copies than The Very Hungry Caterpillar (a rather depressing fact, I know).  Before this "50 Shades" book was written, women were physically and mentally incapable of having a wank.  Now, in this post-ladysex reality we are currently inhabiting, women simply refuse to stop strumming themselves stupid over the erotic thoughts of millionaire men who dupe them into signing rape contracts.  Or at least, that's what I've gathered from the media.  I've also gathered that these books are very badly written.

As you can tell, I've not read 50 Shades Of Grey, or any of the trilogy.  I can't comment on their content very much.  As an outsider, I find it difficult to imagine how the concept of legalised rape can take up to three novels to fully explore, but I guess I'm not the target audience.  It appears that there is an audience for this type of thing though, as the novels have single-handedly proven that there's a real market out there that not even Mills & Boon managed to satisfy.

However, I have come across an astonishing new trend.  Publishers are intending to rewrite classic novels in a more sexual format.  In the wake of this tidal wave of literotica, the bandwagon has formally rolled into town, stopping just long enough for publishers to shove a bunch of classics onto it.  The funniest part of that article is that Sherlock Holmes is being rewritten to include a homosexual romance with Dr Watson.

Here's where the trouble started

Of course, many purists are outraged that such classic literature is being desecrated by what is essentially bad fan fiction.  Their criticisms are well founded, as fan fiction is always 90% awful and 10% confusing.  The surprising thing about fan fiction is that it can spring up around any type of media.  For example, who on Earth would write fan fiction for the poorly received video game, Kane and Lynch?  I won't link you to it, but I assure you, it exists.  Even more surprising is that this type of fan fiction is about to hit the mainstream, and will be available in print.

But this got me thinking (I know, it's a rare occurrence).  Perhaps these stuffy old novels really do need to be sexed up a bit.  I've come up with a few ideas of my own, so publishers, if you're reading, I'm available and willing to write any of  these "mummy porn" novels for a modest fee:


Follows the struggles of pilots during World War 2 and their attempts to escape the pitfalls of an excessive, contradictory bureaucracy and numerous examples of STIs.

Nineteen Eighty-Whore

A young woman travels the dystopia of Eurasia whilst engaging in constant erotic liasons under the watchful eye of "Big Brother".

Of Pubic Lice And Men

The story of a man taking sexual advantage of his mentally disabled friend across the farmlands of depression-era California.  Includes many references to "petting soft things" and gloves "full of vaseline".

To Thrill A Mockingbird

A moving account of race relations in America, and how to sexually satisfy avian wildlife.

Lady Chatterley's Growler

Exactly the same as the original.

Anyway, why should I have all the fun?  I'll open the floor to you, dear readers.  What sexy classics would you to see?


As a bonus this Friday, I'd like to present another spam exchange.  I received an email from a Rachel Grey (50 Shades Of...hahaha!), and I had absolutely no idea what it was about:

I'll take this opportunity to introduce myself, my name is Rachel Grey,very nice to meet you. I work as a SEO manager for Optimized SEO.
I'm making a research for one of my partners and while doing soI noticed and I have few interesting suggestions for youand I would like to tell you more about them.
If you are interested I will be happy to send the additional informationand all the SEO details needed.
Thanks alot,
Rachel Grey

See?  What the hell does that mean?

Hi Rachel Grey,
I too am always making research.  The other week, I made an astounding research in the toilet.  I had to invite my neighbours over to look at it, it was such a research.
I hope you don't think I'm stupid, but what is an SEO?  I think I saw something about that on the Internet once.  Doesn't it stand for Sexy Erogenous Orgasm?  If so, I'd be very interested in more information, especially in Optimised SEOs.  Perhaps we could do a research on it?

This is is her response: are right have won 1 million dollars for your sense of stupidity :D..gaga

Ouch.  Not cool Rachel, not cool at all...

Monday, 16 July 2012

My Marriage To Miranda Prez

Here at Muppets For Justice, we're used to having a lot of fun.  We take life with a pinch of salt, laugh carelessly into the cavernous void of the Internet, and take very little of it seriously.  In fact, There are very few topics left non-ridiculed by these pages.

However, today I come to you with a message.  I received a heart warming email from a Miss Miranda Prez.  She's a Kenyan heiress to a massive fortune, that is being kept back from her by her evil step mother. I'll let her explain:

My Dear,
I know that we haven't known or come across each other before considering the fact that I sourced your email contact through the internet in search of trusted person who can assist me urgently and save my life.
My name is Mirinda Prez John 24 years old female from the Republic of Kenya, the daughter of Late Mr Prez John. My late father was a Kenyan lawyer and human rights activist who was the Chief Executive Officer and Communications and Advocacy Officer of the Oscar Foundation Free Legal Aid Clinic Kenya (OFFLACK). My Father was brutally shot dead on Thursday 5Th March 2009 after a government spokesman accused their group of aiding a criminal gang. What led to the cold blood killing is still unclear but I know that my father life was the target. You can read more about my father in the bbc link below. 3.stm
I am constrained to contact you because of the maltreatment which I am receiving from my step mother. She planned to take away all my late father's treasury and properties from me since the unexpected death of my beloved Father. Meanwhile I wanted to travel to Europe, but she hide away my international passport and other valuable documents. Luckily she did not discover where I kept my father's File which contained important documents. Now I am presently staying in the Mission in Burkina Faso. I am seeking for long term relationship and investment assistance. My father of blessed memory deposited the sum of US$ 5.7 Million in one bank in Burkina Faso with my name as the next of kin.
I had contacted the Bank to clear the deposit but the Branch Manager told me that being a refugee, my status according to the local law does not authorize me to carry out the operation. However, he advised me to provide a trustee who will stand on my behalf.I had wan ted to inform my stepmother about this deposit but I am afraid that she will not offer me anything after the release of the money.
Therefore, I decide to seek for your help in transferring the money into your bank account while I will relocate to your country and settle down with you. As you indicated your interest to help me I will give you the account number and the contact of the bank where my late beloved father deposited the money with my name as the next of kin. It is my intention to compensate you with 40% of the total money for your assistance and the balance shall be my investment in any profitable venture which you will recommend to me as have no any idea about foreign investment. Please all communications should be through this email address only for confidential purposes.
Thanking you a lot in anticipation of your quick response. I will give you details in my next mail after receiving your acceptance mail to help me.
Yours s incerely,
Miss Mirinda Prez John

Now, if I remember my fairy tales correctly, it's that evil step mothers are to be avoided at all costs.  I felt touched by the appalling predicament Miranda was in, and decided to help:

Dear Miranda,
I am shocked to hear about the sudden death of your father, Elvis Prez.  I can empathise with you as my father was also killed while standing up for what he believed in.  The hospital told him that if he kept drinking bacon grease, he wouldn't last 6 months.  He refused to give in to the reaper and he persisted with his passion.  It was both horrifying and inspiring to watch him fill up his Batman glass with pig grease every morning.
I am also sorry to hear about your wicked step mother.  No doubt she tried to lock you in the cellar and force you to do chores while her and her ugly daughters went to the royal ball.
Anyway, as we have a lot in common, I'm willing to help you.  What would you like me to do?    Do you need to send me the lock combination to your safe so I can collect the money?

She responds:

Hello Dear

I am very happy that you have replied my mail. Everything I told you is my true life history and the real truth.  I do not dout what you said. My own father,s name was used but the cannot get my father bank information. Also I have identified myself in person to my father, bank.

Please, I need your help to stand as my trustee so that you will transfer the money into your bank account and assist me for investment in your Country. At the moment, I am staying in the Church mission herein Burkina Faso. If you wish to speak with me on phone, I`m sending to you the telephone number of Apostle Jerome Kakumar because he is in charge of all the refugees seeking to secure asylum through the Church mission. The telephone number is +226 74 09 04 13. Please If you call, tell him that you want to speak with Miss.Mirinda Prez John. I am staying in female block No. 15A.

On my arrival here, I met the branch manager of the bank in person and I explained to him that I have come to clear the money in father`s Bank account. But, he told me that my refugee status in Burkina Faso is not authorized by law to transfer the money because of the procedures involved. He advised me to provide a trustee who would be representing me so that he or she can transfer the money into his or her bank account. I wanted to present my step mother as my trustee. But I am afraid that she will betray my trustee. My reason for being afraid of her is because after the burial of my father, she and my uncle arrange secretly and sold my father`s estate in Monaco. They shared the money among themselves. I confronted them and my uncle told me that the tradition and custom of our land forbidden me from sharing my father`s estate because I am still single.

Since my father died, they have been maltreating me and I took them to Court to seek for justice, but the case is still pending in the Court before one of my step mother`s confidant advised me to leave for another Country. She revealed to me that my step mother is planning to kill me so that the case will also die. However, this is the reason why I left my Country. I am alone and always in pains. There is hunger and Suffering in place. But I am trusting in God. All my hope of survival lies in this money. Beside, the mission is only catering for my accommodation and making sure I am safe from any harm. Concerning the issue of expenses during this transaction if there be any, I map out 10% to cover the expenses while 40% is your commission for helping me. Bringing it to 50% which you will deduct as soon as you receive the money into your bank account

Please, send me your full contact information:
Your full name:
Contact address:
Direct telephone numbers to be reached:
Your age:
Your Occupation:
Marital Status:
Your Nationality
Your ID Card

As soon as I receive your contact information, I will submit it to the bank and inform them that you are my trustee and we have concluded arrangement that you will transfer the money to your bank account for investment in your Country. Also, I will send you the contact of the bank and you will contact them as well to give you the procedures of transferring the money to your bank account. Immediately you receive the money into your bank account, you will send me some amount to process my traveling documents which I will use for my traveling to your Country where I have chosen to settle in life and further my academic studies.
Thanks a lot in anticipation of your quick reply and I wish you a peaceful and lovely day. Attached are my photos

Yours truly
Miss Mirinda Prez John

If you don't want to read that wall of text, the basic gist is that her step mother is trying to kill her to get her money, so she needs to transfer it to me instead.  The highlight of which was the wonderful picture she sent me, as above.  I wanted to help her, if only to rally against evil step mothers from across the globe:

Dear Miranda Press,
I was pleased that you sent me your picture. You look like a trustworthy person. In fact, you look rather glamorous for someone living in a hostel. Women in refuges usually let themselves go.  Their tears usually wash away the makeup quite quickly, so it's a nice change to see someone who's a bit more glam.
I am very willing to help you.  Your step mother sounds like an evil cow, pardon my French.  I want to help you if only to stick it to evil step mothers everywhere!
Here are the answers to the questions you questioned me about, wanting answers:
Name:  Adam "ThunderThighs" Pancake (maiden name: Jones)
Address:  123 Fabrication Way
Direct telephone numbers:  02011-793020
Age: 24 and 12 months
Occupation:  Self employed (I sell fire extinguishers at the side of the road.  I just find them lying around in glass cabinets on trains).
Marital Status:  Green
Nationality:  British (although I am planning to emigrate to Sealand).
ID Card:  I don't have one.  But I can send you a photo of me on a drunken night out if you like.
I would like to call you on the number you provided to talk about our business dealings further.  I could also tell you which universities you can study at while in my country.  Our glorious leader, David Cameron, would welcome your money and non-EU status.

Stupidly, I meant to ask her if she wanted my bank account number and sort code, but forgot to do so.  I intended to use this as bait into sending me another response.  As a result, I wasn't really expecting her to reply, since the answers I gave to her questions were obviously fake.  How wrong I was:

Hello Dear,
Thanks for your urgent respond to my mail and  please I want you to help me out from this suffering i fined myself  because i believe you will bring back my joy and happiness I have lost since the death of my parents which I prayed with the Rev.Father before contacting you and please  fill the remaining space also add your bank account information where my inheritance will transfer after you contact the bank and forward the below email to the bank now through their bank email address ( including your bank account information where the money will be transferred because the bank are waiting to attend to you as my appointed trustee since I have already written a letter authorization to them confirming you as my appointed over my inheritance.


I’Mr.Adam Pancake,
FROM: 123 Fabrication Way,
Nationality: British,
TELEPHONE: 02011-793020,
OCCUPATION:Self Employed,
AGE: 24years,
SEX: Male,
humbly apply to your bank as trustee to Miss Mirinda Prez John. The next of kin to your deceased customer, Late Hon. Mr.Prez John. Who past away. and I am taking this liberty to inform the management of your bank to effect an immediate release and transfer of my partner inherited fund valued at (USD$5.7 Million) Into my account because I will be helping her to invest the fund in my country while she will be here and further her education. Am wishing that my application will be given an immediate attention. Thanking you for your co-operation.
Yours faithfully

Wow.  Now, I was a little confused at this point.  I imagine that she wanted me to send my account number and sort code to this new email address she'd provided (which is totally trustworthy because it has the word "bank" in it).  Due to my confusion, problems arose:

Hi Miranda,
I tried to email that address you sent to me, but something went weird on my computer and now I am scared.  When I went to click the link, a laughing noise came of out the speakers.  It was an evil laugh, like a wounded seal in a rotating drum. 
Because I was scared, I went to see a policeman.  The policeman said I probably have a virus.  When I told him about our arrangement, he said it sounds like a scam and that I should be careful about giving bank details to strangers online.  I told him that you weren't a stranger.  I told him you were the great Miranda Prez, daughter of El Prezidente, and that the hardships you've overcome in your life mean that you'd never scam someone.  Besides, it's you who's giving me money, so there's more potential for me to be the scammer, right? 
Anyway, as I'm scared that the laughing noise may come back, can I just send you my details?  If I send them to you via a reply to this email, surely you could forward them onto the bank for me. 
Much appreciated.

I thought the involvement of the police might scare her off.  Wrong again!

Hello Dear 
How are you and your business I hope all is well? I received your letter and you said that you take my problem to police upon all my condition I told that am pacing through in the camp please if you need to help me forward the information to me so that I can help you to send the information to the bank I will like you to keep this thing secret between tow of us if the is anything which you don’t understand tell my so that I will explain to you to avoid any mistake because I want to come to your country to finish my studies so that I will do business with you and we can married each order please I need your help so that the bank will attend to you, Monday morning thanks for you care I hope to from you soonest. 
Your faithfully
Miss Mirinda Prez.

Wait, hang on, marriage?  How do I get myself into these things?!

Hi Miranda,
You want to marry me? I always knew I was a hit with the ladies, but I didn't expect that I'd be able to seduce a perfect stranger via email.
I'm starting to plan our wedding. The colour scheme will be green and brown. Your dress will be made out goose feathers, and my tux will be made from solidified goose fat. If you haven't noticed, I also own a goose farm. One of your wifely duties will be to attend to these geese. They do enjoy pecking new people though. Especially on the boobs. 
As for keeping this a secret, I don't think my mum would forgive me if I got married without inviting her. Don't you want your step mother to give you away? Sure, she's a bitch, but weddings are all about family. 
Anyway, let me know what kind of bank details you need from me. I don't know what details you need. I can tell you that the manager is named John, and that the building is grade 2 listed. Other than that, I don't know what the fuck. 
P.S. Is it a problem if I already have a wife? I said I was single before, but I forgot that I married a Nigerian Princess in similar circumstances last year. I really need to find out where she went.

I hoped that would put her off and make her realise that marriage wasn't an option.  Looks like I'm wrong for a third time:

Hello Dear
How are you and your business I hope all well? I received your email with understood that you didn’t understand my explanation I mean that you should not disclose the transaction to any body let it be between two of use, the issue of married I told you the is no any time you will do married me without you family being away of my marriage so I cannot told you to not tell you to not tell your family ok understand me now  do something fast to avoid me die hear in the camp because am suffering even to eat is a problem please let my condition touch your mined for my rescue I so believe I you I need your urgent reply soonest. 
Yours faithfully
Miss Mirinda Prez.

Looks like Miranda can't read.  Perhaps her reading comprehension is linked to her "suffering to eat".

Hi Miranda Pez 
Why is it a problem to eat? Is the food awful? I can remember once when I volunteered at the homeless shelter, they had some carrot and corriander soup which was disgusting. One of the other volunteers said that I shouldn't be eating the soup, but I considered it a perk of the job, since we weren't getting paid. In the end, I threw the soup all over him and stormed out. That's the kind of charitable guy I am. 
Anyway, I've been trying to find a way in which I can marry you whilst still having another wife. The only way we can do it is to convert to mormonism, but I'm not prepared to wear pastel slacks and give up drinking, not even to save your life. I'm sorry. Can't you just send me some money? I'm getting impatient now. 

Thanks for reading.  I hope this has encouraged you to marry Kenyan millionaires in order to help them escape their evil step mothers.  If we all work together, we can help to undo this evil.

Friday, 13 July 2012

The British Dream

We all know about the American dream. It's what the whole country was founded on and is often referred to in movies, TV shows, books, smoke signals, and carrier pigeons. The American Dream entitles all Americans to own their own property, live off the fat of the land, stroke soft things, and shoot your mentally handicapped friend when he becomes a burden (or so I've read).

But do other countries have dreams too? If they do, they don't seem to talk about them very much. Maybe they're special night time dreams that cause you to dampen your special areas. I imagine that the Australian dream is to survive a pissed boxing match with a kangaroo, whereas the Japanese dream is to build a lifelike android with sentient thoughts and emotions, then rape it 'til it breaks.  Offensively misguided stereotypes aside, no other country claims to have a national dream.

An artist's rendition of the American Dream

If the British had a dream, what would it consist of? I'm British and I once dreamt that I was Jackie Chan's unlikely stunt double, but I doubt I'm representative of a national trend.

I believe that the real British dream is to own your own pub. Or at least, that's the male British dream. The female British dream is probably some unholy hybrid of Princess And The Frog and 50 Shades Of Grey, but I'm no female head doctor.

For all you British men reading this (I know some of you are, don't be shy, this is therapy dammit!) I defy you to claim that this is false. At some point, I'm sure you've imagined what it would be like to run your own pub. We've all fancied it, if only for the misguided illusion that we can drink beer all day long and get money for it.

I took this outside my favourite pub at the moment, The Rutland Arms.  They always put out a funny sign.

Back before the banking sector was devastated by Moneygeddon in 2008, there were tons of pubs around. There was at least 1 pub for every 5 people in the country. It was a simpler time where the smell of stale ale was an appropriate indoor fragrance. Now, most pubs have shut down, leaving British livers feeling healthier, but slightly redundant.

But this won't do much to dampen the dreams of men.  I've already decided on my pub's name.  Are you ready?  Here it comes:

The Cock And Bulls

That's right.  And it will have a picture outside of two bulls side by side with a cockerel balanced on their backs.  It will be the flagship in my chain of Pun Pubs.  Other pubs will include The Queen's Legs (so you would wait for The Queen's Legs to open to have a drink), and The Bear Arms (in which the locals will shoot at you if you enter).  They'd serve almost anything from the Wychwood Brewery.  When we finally open, I'll invite you all for a pint*.  Cheers!

*The pint will be priced at normal rates.


By the way, I won an award from the manly folks over at Dude Write!

Thanks to Dude Write and Youngman Brown!  Seriously, go and check them out for some great material written by great dudes.  And the best bit of this award is that I don't need to answer any questions!  Muahahahaha!

Monday, 9 July 2012

Helpful Notes From Your Roommate


Me again.  Sorry to leave another note, but could you please put the tomato sauce back in the fridge in future?  I had to throw it away and, I think I speak for everyone when I say that we don’t want our condiments budget to increase due to this kind of behaviour.




I know we all have to do our laundry, but if I find another pair of boxer shorts drying on the kitchen sink I will throw them away.  This is near the food preparation area and I’m sure none of us want a skid sandwich.




Now, I know we have a rota and everything, but I think it needs to be revised.  I don’t think the chores share out equally since someone managed to discharge their plant watering duties. By the way, cactus and orchid soup is not a nutritious meal.


So, this is a thing...


The front door was unlocked for most of the afternoon.  This might be acceptable in your own house, but as this is a student house, people could just walk in and take whatever they wanted.  I’m sure you all have expensive valuables too.  I would die if someone stole my collection of ladies toilet Polaroids.




Which joker thought it was hilarious to unscrew all of my jars of food and leave them on a hot windowsill?  Since my next loan instalment isn’t due for another 2 months, I’m going to have to beg my parents for some more beetroot and pickled onions.  If this happens again, I’m writing to student services, Or my MP.


A particularly tidy student house



To whoever left me a note calling me a “passive-aggressive sonuva bitch”, allow me to point out two things:

1.     “Sonuva” isn’t a word.  Whilst I don’t usually mind concatenations, “uva” is not a word either.  This renders your insult invalid.
2.    I’m not being passive-aggressive.  I’m being polite.  I leave notes because I have issues with direct confrontation.  I know you’ll probably take the piss out of me for that, but that makes you a bully.




I’ve applied to change residences and student services are considering my request.  You’ll all be rid of me soon enough.  In the meantime, please stop turning the temperature up when my clothes are in the machine.  My trousers have all shrunk and I’m starting to look like The Incredible Hulk’s pasty cousin.




Just wanted to say, I’m off.  No doubt you won’t miss me, just as I won’t miss any of you.  You’ve all held me back this term.  I’d have probably already passed this course if it wasn’t for your incessant meddling with my things.  By the way, did someone put Steroids in my hamster’s drinking water?  He’s looking a little buffer than normal and managed to break my finger like a Twiglet.

I hope you all die.


Friday, 6 July 2012

Guest Post - Chiz

-Hey everyone.  As much as I would love to bring you some Muppety goodness this Friday, I'm still on holiday.  As such, the wonderful Chiz has offered to fill in for today.  Now, I want you all to behave yourselves, since he's in charge while I'm away.  When you've finished reading his stuff here, nip over to his Blog for more awesomeness.  Anyway, take it away Chiz:

July 4th, Independence Day. It is a holiday that is dear to us Americans. It was on this day that Will Smith and his posse of nerds deterred the infamous alien invasion.

As ignorant Earthlings, this occasion serves as a reminder that we are, in fact, not the only inhabitants of this immeasurable cosmos. Furthermore, we have proven to be rather fragile creatures in the face of extraterrestrial plasma gadgetry. Without the heroic actions of Mr. Will Smith, this entire planet would be reduced to an intergalactic bar and grille where we’d be forever shackled to fryolators and flattops, forced to serve the unappreciative, extraterrestrial  families who ignore the high-pitched wails of their spawns while simultaneously leaving poor tips.

For this reason, I have brought it upon myself to erect the Institute of Future Will Smiths. Mr. Smith will not be around forever to combat the hoards of emotional robots, alien invaders, and mutated humans. So, what are we to do when one of these serious threats to humanity rears its unattractive, globular head in the future?

Big Willy Style

 The Institute of Future Will Smiths follows a strict curriculum in order to ensure the comprehensive transformation of ordinary citizens into an army of rogue cops and Martian murderers. The core curriculum is as follows:

Maintaining boundless strength and energy.

Will Smith exercises 25 hours a day. It is our ambition to uphold the same requirements for our students. We have an endless supply of government approved adrenaline that is easily accessible at any one of our drinking fountains. Apart from lifting copious amounts of weights above their heads, the students will be further challenged by being pinned against several hazardous military prototypes. If Will Smith could disable an army of menstruating robots, our students are expected to, at the very least, take down a meager heavy tank archetype.

Uphold a witty and charismatic persona.

It is said that The Fresh Prince could charm the socks off of a zombified Janet Reno with nothing but a quick quip and closing line. Our students will be put through rigorous lesson plans in order to hone their abilities. Courses will include: Locked in a Room with the Cast of Frasier 101, Woo the Queen 234, and the ever-infamous Make Kristen Stewart Smile Onscreen 403.

Perfecting that stunning and infectious smile.

Shiny Happy Incisors

Our students will be able to blind Apollo and his army of solar deities with a glint of their flawless pearly whites. Our cafeteria diet follows that of the original Will Smith, himself. For breakfast, our students can enjoy a fresh bowl of toothpaste crust with a tall glass of Listerine to wash it all down. Already sound too good to be true? Well, listen to just a few of the lunch and dinnertime selections to choose from: Desalted saltines marinated in a peroxide-based gel, stacks of roasted whitening strips, and plain spaghetti with a rich bleach sauce!

Our curriculum has been approved and partially funded by Will Smith, himself. No longer will humanity be wary of what unforeseen enemy awaits in the abyss. With the graduating masses of Will Smiths, our world will be safe from all future supernatural threats.

Not everyone is cut out to be the next Will Smith, but you will never know unless you try. In the boner-inducing words of Will Smith,“If it was something that I really committed myself to, I don't think there's anything that could stop me becoming President of the United States.”

~The Institute of Milla Jovovich opens this Fall~

Monday, 2 July 2012

Guest Post - Pickleope

-Unfortunately for you regular readers, I am on holiday this week.  However, it seems that things have worked out in your favour because, rather than trying to understand my usual inane waffle, you've got someone with talent to fill in instead.  The post below was written by the wonderfully marvellous Pickleope.  For more pickled goodness, go and visit

First and most importantly, thank you to Addman for this opportunity to share his space. I appreciate the generosity and the help in getting me closer to be a professor of bullshit. (If you write enough about stupid stuff, they give you an honorary degree, right?)

It was whilst reading Muppets for Justice that I read about Addman’s dream of becoming a Cryptozoologist. And I would like to help him. Though it’s not exactly cryptozoology, ghost hunting is a similar I’m not sure if ghost hunting is the same thing, but it’s a similar profession wrapped in bullshittery.  Perhaps he can start a new career as professional shoveller of nonsense if he can answer my paranormal quandaries.

By the way, “paranormal quandaries” would be a great, albeit confusing, name for a proctology office. “My poop is in the shape of an uppercase Q and whistles ‘Call Me Maybe’ when I flush. I think I need to see my proctologist over at Paranormal Quandaries.”
End tangent.

Here are some of the things I can’t figure out about ghosts despite watching Ghostbusters almost 90 times (almost because I was kind of drunk the last time and passed out before Dan Aykroyd gets a hummer from a ghost…weirdest scene in any movie ever).

No smoke without ghosts.

Do ghosts think Halloween is racist against ghosts? You know? Like is wearing a sheet the equivalent of black-face to a ghost? Like a ghost minstrel show?

How come there aren't any monkey ghosts? And would a monkey ghost be as cute and charming as a living monkey?

What's the appropriate amount of time to wait from when a spouse dies to try to have sex with his/her ghost? You know, rock that ectoplasm? “Til’ death do us part,” is a convention of the close minded. If my spouse comes a-haunting, I would like to make sure that we’re still simpatico. Maybe ghost/human sex is the best thing ever, but also, I don’t want to freak out the freshly dead. So how long should we give our dead partners to transition before lighting some candles, putting on some Luther Vandross, and letting nature take its course. Also, do I have to worry about pregnancy or STDs with ghosts? I don’t want ghost-Herpes.

If ghost-Tupac meets hologram-Tupac would that destroy the space-time continuum? (That’s a question from my mom. She saw that clip on YouTube while she was toking off a giant blunt.)

What's funnier, a ghost dressed like a wizard or a fat ghost in an ill-fitting shirt and Daisy Dukes? (That’s my mom asking again. She smokes a lot of weed.)

If I want to be a ghost should I just have a lot of unfinished business? Like maybe start a bunch of craft projects and leave them in a closet? I’m not sure if I’m righteous enough to go “up” so to speak, but I certainly don’t want to go to Hell, so maybe I should split the difference. (I just wrote that and realized I was okay with writing “Hell” but squeamish about writing “Heaven”. Sorry, just a weird insight into my madness.)

If there's a ghost in my bedroom masturbating, should I politely let him finish or is more polite to turn on a porno?

Do ghosts use the bathroom? Elvis died on the toilet, so is he locked in eternal poo?

If we get to keep your clothes when we die (you never see a naked ghost), should I start dressing like Spider-Man all the time just in case?

I think the idea of a ghost in a Spider-Man outfit is a perfect place to go out on. Thank you again to Addman, a gentleman and a scholar.