Monday, 24 June 2013

Your Dreams - Analysed

Dreams are a wonderful thing which people from all walks of life can share.  It doesn't matter if you are rich or poor, black or white, chaste or a sexual deviant, we all have dreams.  Well, except for those insomniacs.  Frankly, I don't trust 'em.

Anyway, while we all dream on a regular basis, we don't tend to realise that our dreams are actually manifestations of our subconcious, and they can tell us plenty about our own psychological make-up.  That's why Dream Interpretors are becoming big business.  The more dreams are had, the more people want to know what they mean.  After a crash course in dream interpreting (I dreamed the whole course), I feel suitably prepared to give people a firm imaginary diagnosis.  Call me Dr. Strangedreams, but not on any postal cheques you care to send me.  Call me Margret Montague on those.

Gemma Driveway – Toe Polisher

Dear Addman,

I had a dream that I was being chased by a crocodile.  What the fuck?

Dear Gemma,

Crocodiles are ferocious animals that will clamp down on your arm with a legion of razor sharp teeth, and death roll you into the drink.  However, a dream crocodile is usually a representation of a person that we know in real life.  Most people will dream of a person they know who turns into a crocodile, like some kind of were-croc.  The croc in your dream most likely represents someone in your daily life who terrifies you on some level.  Perhaps it is a rather imposing boss or work colleague.  Maybe you feel intimidated by the actions of a friend.  Or perhaps you're just really scared of crocodiles. 

Either way, these dreams are going to get more and more intense.  I've observed many people who have been driven insane by crocodiles in their dreams.  To avoid this situation, you need to stop falling asleep right away.  Irreprable damage to your psyche may occur if you so much as go for another snooze.  If you're having trouble staying awake, I recommend Nescafe Gold Blend (tm).

Alaister Drew – Shelf Mopper

Dear Addman,

Last week I had a vivid dream that my wife left.  I woke up and I was so convinced she'd gone, that I went straight down to the registry office and filed for divorce, just to teach the smug bitch a lesson.  When I got home and found her still asleep in bed, I realised I'd made a terrible mistake.  How can I convince the courts about my dream and stop the divorce being finalised?

Dear Alaister,

We dream of relationship problems when we are having relationship problems.  Simple as that.  Plus, you seemed quite eager to get that divorce, so I suspect there's more than a little trouble in chinatown island.  I can't fix your marital issues, but I can guess that your wife is going to murder you as you sleep.  As such, you need to stay awake by drinking Nescafe Gold Blend (tm).  This luxorious coffee will pep you up enough to avoid any thrown knives or mustard gas released by your enraged missus.

Barry Shogun – Jolly Good Fellow

Dear Addman,

The other day I had a really weird dream that I was excavating ancient ruins with Ringo Starr.  He still had his shades on, despite the fact that we were working by torchlight.  Eventually, we uncovered a stone tablet with directions to El Dorado.  What on earth does this mean?


Dear Barry,

A man who dreams of Ringo Starr is a man without imagination.  There were three other Beatles that were infinitely more interesting to choose from.  And El Dorito?  While it sounds tasty, I imagine it's a dull-as-dishwater backwards town in Mexico where the main tourist attraction is an overflowing slop bucket with the face of Jesus in it.  And archaeology is boring unless Indiana Jones is involved.  I'm almost falling asleep just listening to this.  To stop your friends falling asleep around a bland, insipid individual such as yourself, I recommend you make them some aromatic Nescafe Gold Blend (tm).

Stuart Pourer – Outhouse Renovator

Dear Addman,

I dreamed a dream of times gone by.  Am I gay?

Dear Stuart,

Yes.  As a newly qualified homosexual, you should drink Nescafe Gold Blend, the official sponsor of manlove.

Nicole Papa – Dole Recipient

Dear Addman,

I had a terrible dream that Jeremy Kyle had been cancelled. I woke up in a cold sweat and switched on ITV, but luckily it was still on.  It was the American version where a woman was trying to get a guy to confess to being her "babydaddy".  Then Jeremy got all up in someone's face and shouted at them, making them feel 2 inches tall and compounding their self esteem issues.  It was a classic episode.

Dear Nicole,

I'm not sure if you want some analysis, or just wanted someone to gossip with about this chat show.  I'll give you some analysis anyway, but I suggest you get some friends to alleviate that lonliness.

Anyway, a dream that we have lost something or someone dear is an emotional response to an overwhelming desire.  Your brain is fighting against the obsession, and is doing so the most frightening manner possible.  You need to evaluate just how much time you spend watching the show, and consider the fact that you may be addicted.  Try and limit your exposure to Jeremy Kyle, or replace it with a caffine addiction, courtesy of Nescafe Gold Blend (tm).

Brian Herbie-White – Champagne Campaigner

Dear Addman,

I keep getting this one weird dream where I'm falling.  I fall and fall and fall, but there doesn't seem to be a bottom.  I'm just falling through an infinite chasm.  Eventually, I start to get bored and play with a yoyo.  What on Earth does that mean?

Dear Brian,

We experience falling dreams when we are nervous of failure.  Do you have an important deadline for something?  This is usually caused by the fear of not meeting a particularly stressful target.  If you have a large workload on, you'll need to take it all home and blast through it in one evening.  To make sure you stay awake during this all-nighter, I'd recommend a lovely steaming mug of Nescafe Gold Blend (tm).

Alison Packard – Bean Flicker

Dear Addman,

I'm a busy, high-poerwed career woman who juggles a full-time job and two children.  Frankly, I don't have the time to dream about anything.  I power nap for 30 minutes a day and I don't want to have a restless sleep of thoughts and unnecessary stuff.  How can I stop dreaming?

Dear Alison,

You cannot stop dreams.  Dreams are an important part of your psychological development.  A scientific study recently concluded that, with the amount of energy we consume through food and water, humans don't actually need to sleep in modern society.  We don't need to conserve our energy as we get more than enough through our food.  Thus, the only reason we sleep is to dream.  Our brain works out complex problems and reflects on the events of the day, meaning that you get more mental stimulation from sleep than from a lecture.  So, if you ever fall asleep in class, you can tell the teacher that you are nurturing your mental development.

You know what else aids your mental development?  Coffee!  Specifically Nescafe Gold Blend (tm).

Marissa Duracell – Unconvincing Spy

Dear Addman,

I often dream that I have coathangers for hands, purple hair, and a pet armadillo named Mark Crisp who has dandelions growing from a protrusion on his neck.  We often go around fighting crime.  What do you make of that, Mr Smartypants dream guy!?

Dear Marissa,

I think you need to drink more Nescafe Gold Blend (tm)!

Thanks everyone for your incredibly shit questions.  Now...if you'll....excuse me....I've been awake for 6 days solid...TIME FOR A COFFEE!

P.S. The podcast is taking a short mid-season break today, but will return shortly.

Friday, 21 June 2013

Way Out West

Here at Muppets For Justice, we don’t tend to go in for fluff pieces about celebrities.  As such, I would never publish a post dedicated to slagging off famous folk. But, even though I have had my back firmly turned away from Tinseltown for some time now, occasional news titbits reach me like ocean ripples, lapping at my nipples, begging me to pay attention.

It turns out that the grand Messiah of, not just Hip Hop, but everything, is to have a baby.  This man is like the Steve Jobs of rap and fashion (his words, not mine).  He fights criminal injustice at music video awards shows, and psychically determines presidential racism.  That’s right, Kanye “Yeezus” West has deemed us worthy to receive his seed.

Kanye, saving us all from promoting bad music videos.

Well, not all of us per se.  The “Virgin Mary” of this modern parable is none other than Kim Kardashian.  Kim is famous for a lot of things, but now that she is giving birth to the Second Coming, her profile is sure to increase.  Her star will shine so brightly that shepherds will traverse the globe in order to anoint her with myrrh.

For those are sick to death of hearing about Prince William and Kate’s baby, the news of this new Kanyashian hybrid is welcome.  Not only will the gossip mags have glorious pictures of the baby crowning its way into our realm of existence, but we can all start speculating on what they are going to call our new saviour.  There are several names that I am rooting for, and I intend to find Kanye’s PR company and send them my list of suggestions.  Although I have split my list down into boys and girls names, there is an outside chance that baby, being born of such self-aggrandising calibre, might eschew the societal restraints imposed by gender and thus be known as “the entity”.  Otherwise, we can assume Lord or Lady West will have a name befitting its family bloodline.  A name starting with a K might be a good start.  Looking at Kim’s existing relations such as Khloe and Kourtney, the letter K is something of a family coat of arms, or a clan tartan.  Anyway, here are my suggestions:


Kriss Kross



If any of these names are picked (especially Fred West) I will be immensely pleased.  I’d thank God, but I don’t think Kanye has the time to receive my thanks.  He’s too busy listening to everyone’s prayers and trying to cure their ailments.  As the great one himself once said “No one man can have all that power”.

Monday, 17 June 2013

Podcast Episode 3

Here is episode 3 of the Podcast.  I've gone with a different host this time, so let me know if you have any problems:


Big thank you to Bumferry Hogart at Thoughtless Gibberish for his tireless work as Hugh Huxley.  Massive shoutout to Bryan at A Beer For The Shower for providing the PUFC sketch in it's entirety, and for providing the grunt's voice on the Dr Demento sketch.


Cypress Hill (feat. Tom Morello) - Rise Up
James Bond Theme

Also, I'm thinking about posting the transcriptions of the sketches for anyone who can't listen to it for whatever reason. Let me know if anyone is interested in this idea.  As usual, post any feedback below.

Friday, 14 June 2013

All New Brain Shit

Since that last post was far too serious, I decided to do another Brain Shit to get things back on track. For those who don't know, Brain Shits are stream of concious posts where I start writing with no real idea where I'm going. Kate from The Suddenly Kate Show suggested that I write about bumfluff and tomato plants, and I took it from there. This is uneditted other than spelling corrections and additional pictures. Please enjoy:

I've been thinking a lot about cultivation lately. Mainly, if it's possible to cultivate tomato plants, is it also possible to cultivate bum fluff? I mean, both grow from fertiliser and seem to be in abundance. I've been up all night thinking about it, wondering about the financial rewards of bumfluff cultivation, and the possibilities it may hold.

Maybe it's just that I haven't slept properly last night and my mind is floating somewhere between dreamspace and reality, but has anyone noticed a distinct lack of eye floaters lately?

Eye floaters

You know if you rub your eyes, sometimes you see a slightly transparent object in the corner of your eye that drifts around for a few seconds? It must be at least a year since I last saw one. Or at least remembered that I saw one. They used to come in different shapes. There was a long one that had two segments that I called Gregory, then there was a round fat one that I called Tuba. Sometimes, if you were really lucky, a slightly curvy one would appear called Beth.

Where have they gone? My theory is that Flying Rods have been eating them. Unless they just got bored and moved out of my eye. However, with the prime real estate that is my eye socket on the market, you'd expect another floater family to move in pretty sharpish. They never even said goodbye. I would have thrown them a leaving party too.

Flying Rod

Speaking of parties, I have recently been informed of several legendary parties that I have missed. Apparently, there was an S Club party that slipped me by a little while back, and I'm told that there ain't no party like an S Club party. I also didn't see the Venga bus when that swung by. It's a shame because I've always wanted to attend an inter-city disco, ever since I was thrown off the 8:40 to Ipswitch for trying to start an impromtu rave. I tell you, those early commuters don't like thumping bass, especially when you press the emergency stop when MC Hammer comes on.

In fact, did MC Hammer have any brothers or sisters? I could do with a DJ Wrench and MC Screwdriver to fix a leaky fawcet. Is that how you spell fawcet? I just call them taps. I don't know what's real anymore.

The only rational thing in my life these days is my collection of talking cucumbers. As the world slides further and further towards madness the one thing that keeps my sanity intact is an evening cataloguing my caterwaling cucumbers. Mrs Addman accidentally chopped one up for a fresh salad, which made me sad and also a little fearful for my manhood. It's not my fault that cucumbers remind me of male genitalia! You can blame Freud for that one.

Oh the humanity!

Speaking of male genitalia, I have some of my own that I simply have to tend to. The amount of pube pruning I have to do should qualify me for a landscape gardening gig, but I never seem to get a second interview, even when I show them my handiwork. Anyway, tally bye!

Thanks for wasting several minutes of your life reading this.  There are no refunds on this item.

Monday, 10 June 2013

They May Be Watching

So, it turns out that your average tin-foiled lunatic Illuminati-obsessed conspiracy theorist might not be so crazy afterall. In a show of faith to the conspiracy nuts out there, the American government has decided to throw them a bone and start monitoring everyone's Internet and phone activity.

In a series of superb articles that arose in the Guardian, and subsequently other American publications, it would seem that the NSA (Nosey Spying Assholes) have been collecting vast amounts of data on millions of American citizens, plus folk overseas.  The reports suggest that the NSA has unlimited access to vast amounts of calling data from Verizon, including caller ID's, call length, frequency, and if you have one of those impractical cord phones for kitsch value.

Not only that, a leaked Powerpoint document (I know) suggests that the government have a special agreement with many internet companies called PRISM. PRISM encompasses some of the biggest tech giants such as Microsoft, Apple, Google and Facebook, and gives the NSA a backdoor to search through their customer data at will. Shopping for terrorist associates will be as easy as buying something off of Amazon for an NSA employee.

Government conspiracy or Pink Floyd album?

This is done under the pretence that it's all about catching terrorists. When they catch one of these plots before it blows up (so to speak), they do a fantastic job of publicising it. The government wants you to think that these measures are working, so they make sure the public is aware on a massive scale. This way it'll be easier to pass legislation to give them more power over your personal data.
Considering that these reports only surface once or twice a year, is it really worth datamining all this information to protect us from so few terrorists? Even if left unchecked, fewer people would die from terrorism than from sharks throwing coconuts at us on the toilet, or whatever the popular comparison is.

It isn't a new thing either. This programme began under Bush, but continues under the current administration. Both major parties want this. It's a situation that the American people cannot vote their way out of.

As an English guy, why am I so concerned about the Internet history of the average American citizen? Why does it matter to me whether the government watches Hank from Idaho watching 2 girls 1 cup on repeat for three days solid? Well, Britain has a "special relationship" with the States in that, after giving America a blow job, Brtain stays on it's knees and allows itself to become a footstool. We share (I mean hand over) vast swathes of information to America as a show of good faith.

This weekend, foreign secretary William Hague, the least contentious politician in a barrel of corrupt monsters, appeared on TV to remind us that we are not being watched by our government and that any intelligence gathering is always done in strict compliance with the law.

Britain's delightful foreign affairs hobgoblin, William Hague

That's fine, but how is that any different to what's happening in the US? Everything that has happened is in full compliance with the law. Technically, by law, the companies involved in PRISM are required to outright lie about their role in the operation, and even deny its existence. This makes it very difficult to believe that our government aren't doing the same or allowing the NSA to work here also.

It's easy enough to dismiss this and say "it doesn't matter to me, I have nothing to hide". That's great, thanks for reassuring us, but I doubt even 0.5% of those who have been studied and spied on so far have ever thought about commiting acts of terrorism. Terrorism is being used as an excuse to let the government study everyone with a microscope and infringe more and more on our lives. On the other hand, it's extreme to claim that we're living in an Orwelian police state, but privacy is a basic human right that we shouldn't give any ground on. The government doesn't need to know the extent to which I call sex lines in a single week, nor does it need to know that I named my main desktop PC "poop pants1" in a fit of childishness. I would be more pleased if my tax money paid for schools, hospitals and other such civic buildings, rather than cataloguing my online conversations about biscuits.

So what's the solution?  Well first, you need to take a roll of tin foil and begin wrapping it around your head.  Afterwards?  I don't know, an online petition of some sort?  What do I look like, a man of action?  I'm a man who complains. I'll let you lot do all the campaigning.

Friday, 7 June 2013

Biscuit Smackdown

I come to you today, dear readers, as a broken man.  One of my lifelong heroes has callously shattered my heart, and he doesn’t even know it.  I have spent the better part of my teenage years trying to emulate this person, doing my utmost to become him right down to his gait and social mannerisms.  I have considered branding myself with his glory, going under the needle and “getting ink done”.  I wanted a tattoo of his glorious fizzog on my arm.  That way, I could look at my emaciated bicep, be reminded of his greatness, and be inspired to do more.

However, all of that has now changed since he made a grievous admission of failure.  His dirty little secret has now been exposed, meaning that I cannot look at him in the same way again.  It’s a little bit like when David Carradine killed himself having a stranglewank.  Mr Carradine was such a cool guy, but now I can’t watch Kill Bill or Deathrace without imagining him hanging naked in a cupboard with a pair of tights wrapped round his neck.  This is how I now feel about Bumferry Hogart after his deplorable biscuit admission.

Bumferry Hogart reckons that Jammie Dodgers are bad.  He prefers the biscuity abortion that is the custard cream. 

I understand if you need to take a break from this article to gather your thoughts, or perhaps chuck up your entire digestive system.  When I read those words, my liver spontaneously gave out, filling my entire body with burning bile which bubbled over like a boiling pan.

The superior Jammie Dodger

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking “how can you chastise this man over his biscuit beliefs?  Is a man not entitled to his own opinion?  Isn’t taste subjective?”.  In most cases I would happily agree with you.  However, I can prove, beyond all reasonable doubt using the mediums of logic and science, that custard creams are crap and Jammie Dodgers are great.
For starters, Jammie Dodgers are a splendid union betwixt jam and biscuit.  Jam is delicious and biscuits are delicious.  Taking the legend of Legion into account, a combined entity can become more than the sum of its parts.  Using this equation, we can plainly deduce that combining these ingredients into a Jammie Dodger, we have a unique and wonderful product that defies the taste buds.

On the other hand, the lowly custard cream cannot hope to achieve such a status.  Notice how I don’t capitalise custard creams in the same I do with Jammie Dodgers?  That’s because Jammie Dodgers is a brand name.  I don’t think custard creams are a brand, but I daren’t check Wikipedia because I don’t want custard creams in my search history, thus sullying my grand online reputation.  Jammie Dodgers are crafted by a company and subject to quality control, whereas custard creams are (possibly) knocked out by a couple of greasy lads in a backstreet somewhere with no regard for the end product.  It is the same difference as buying meth from Walter White, or some random meth head you met in a public bathroom.

Upon analysing the name “custard cream”, you have to surmise that the chief ingredients are custard and cream.  Custard is quite creamy in its texture, thus making it extra creamy.  That would be fine if it wasn’t for the fact that it is presented in biscuit form.  You might as well gargle with a pint of cream.  In fact, I’m starting a petition to rename them “cream creams”.  Since the chief component is cream, I can safely say that custard creams are not revolutionary in the same way that Jammie Dodgers are.  Plenty of biscuits offer a cream component, thus custard creams do not take the medium in a different direction.  They don’t bring anything new to the table.  They are less than nothing.


So, Bumferry, or as I now like to call you, “Oh He Of Little Taste”, here is my challenge to you.  Prove to me that you can stomach the taste of custard creams.  I want a video uploaded somewhere online of you chewing your way through an entire packet of custard creams.  If you love them so much, you’ll eat the whole packet without a moment’s hesitation.  If you do this, I shall respond by eating a whole packet of Jammie Dodgers, then we’ll let the people decide who looks like they are enjoying it the most.

If a clear winner is not decided, I will donate to charity if you can present your birth certificate.  Oh wait, I thought I was Donald Trump there.  Scrap that, just the biscuit thing.  What say you, Bumferry?

Monday, 3 June 2013

Podcast - Episode 2

Here is Episode 2 of the Muppets For Justice podcast.


Thank you to the following people who have lent their voices.

Mark from The Rambling Person for Gary in the dinner party sketch

Bumferry Hogart from Thoughtless Gibberish for Hugh Huxley, the drunken wine critic.

Music:  Rocky Theme, Daft Punk - Get Lucky, and Daft Punk - Loose Yourself To Dance

All feedback is welcome.