It's finally happened. My brain has gone AWOL leaving me unable to think of anything entertaining to post about which explains yesterday's silence.
I'm sure I'll be back on track soon, but in the meantime, I've decided that you lot can have a go at making things happen and as I haven't done this for ages, I'm going to let you ask me questions again.

Yep, you can ask me anything, but please remember that anything smutty or lewd will be edited to make you look like a total arse.

So.

Over to you then.

And have an excellent weekend while you're at it.

tootles, x

And as surely as Winter follows Spring, Double Entendre Day follows the Tuesday Choose-O'ed tale, hup-hup, huzzah!

As any regular reader with an IQ higher than that of a whelk knows, Double Entendre Day means it's time to getcha ya-yas out, let it all hang loose, shimmy down low and slip a good, hard, throbbing big'un to who ever is standing closest to you when the feeling hits ya!

But today, before we get down to the nitty-gritty, I have an extra special treat in store for ya'll, being this wot was sent to me by my good friend, Mr. de Sade, and wot made me larf like a stupid until a little bit of wee escaped* -
(clicky to embiggen)
I swear, you could make this stuff up, but when truth is stranger than fiction, why bother?!

Anyhoos, being Double Entendre Day means it's also time for this week's Caption Competition, and today's photo to get your grey matter working is -

Your reward for every entry is a delicious Blini with sour cream, and if anybody gets me up to the dizzy delights of a 69, I'll whack a dollop of caviar onto one, akay?

So.

That's it.

Ya'll know what to do from here, so get to it.

And if you don't entertain me, I shan't get the whip out, so there!



*The medikashun may be to blame for that though.

Oops.

Everybody's had something really embarrassing happen to them at some point in their lives, right? If anyone says that they haven't, they're either extremely lucky or lying through their teeth, or, just maybe, they don't embarrass easily.
I have had an embarrassing moment.
Akay, I've had quite a few embarrassing moments, but I don't have time to list them all.
The most embarrassing moment wasn't when I went spleepwalking out of a flat I was staying at stark naked at 3am, neither was it when I walked into a lamppost while I had my nose in a map as (apart from the two police officers) there wasn't anyone else around to witness the moments, same as when I nearly left the house minus a skirt.
A really embarrassing time was when I was going out to meet some friends for a night out. It was a gorgeous summer's evening and I'd dressed up in a lovely, floaty white cotton number that really did need the incredibly strappy, high-heeled sandals to finish the ensemble.
I set off to meet my friends with a jaunty spring in my step, and to my delight a couple of rather nice looking chaps on the other side of the road kept glancing in my direction. When I caught their glances they smiled at me and I smiled back for a second, and next I knew there was some pretty decent flirting going on as we walked along the road.
Until the moment when I caught both heels in cracks in the pavement and fell flat on my face.
I did the only sensible thing and stayed where I was hidden by a parked car and pretended I was looking for something in my handbag until they'd gone.
But that wasn't the most embarrassing time, oh no.
There was an occasion when I had to deliver some papers to the local police station which is closed to the public which means you have to ring a bell to attract attention.
Said bell is at the top of a small flight of stairs leading up from a pavement which is right on the main thoroughfare in Hanwell.
It was another lovely summer's day and I'd decided to wear one of my favourite long skirts. The embarrassment occurred when a police officer opened the door and a gust of wind caught the skirt, and swirled it up around my shoulders to reveal a seriously embarrassing pair of knickers* to not just the police officer, but everybody that was stuck at the traffic lights which included two, full bus loads of people. I can still hear the parping of car horns to this day.
But that's not the most embarrassing moment in my life.
Quite a few moons ago I was going out for a thing called a 'date'.
I'd decided to wear a really gorgeous new dress which was red, short and strapless, and although tight enough to stay up on it's own, not so tight I couldn't breathe. To accessorize I wore some rather snazzy, red kitten heels and a black bolero top. I thought I was looking pretty darn hot, and judging by the looks of some male passers-by, they reckoned I did too.
I'd arranged to meet my date up in London which meant I had to travel via the Underground and I settled down on the train with a book to pass the time.
The carriage was nice and peaceful until a woman with three small brats children got on and sat down in the seats next to me. I tried my best not to join in as the anklebiters started fighting and screaming, and only glowered threateningly at them when they got too close and bounced on me. One little shit tot in particular decided to get engrossed with something on the seat right next to me and I was about to 'accidentally' hit it with my elbow when the mother called it off and made it sit in the pram.
A short time later they got off the train again and the journey continued in peace once more. At last I arrived at my stop and I got out of the station as fast as I could as I am not over keen on being stuck on London Transport, especially the Underground bits.
I'd got to where I was due to meet the chap when I realized something was rather amiss. I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong, but I felt decidedly different from when I'd got on the train. Something was somehow... looser.
At last, the chap arrived and I went to give him a hello hug which was when everything went wrong and I realized what had happened.
The little shit that had been on the seat next to me had not been playing with the seat, oh no. The little bastard had been tugging at a loose thread on my dress which meant that as I put my arms out to greet the date, my dress slid down about six inches, just enough to reveal the lack of bra.
The look on the chap's face was priceless as I grabbed at the dress and tried to pull the bolero top closed and luckily I caught the fabric before the entire thing hit the ground.
After the date stopped laughing I managed to explain what had happened and I paid a very swift visit to the nearest public convenience armed with a rapidly purchased packet of safety pins.
The rest of the date was rather stilted as every now and then the chap would look at my cleavage and burst into fits of barely suppressed giggles.
I didn't see him again as I just couldn't face him after that, and I thank all known gods that that happened in the days before CCTV.

*Think Bridget Jones style, but with a hole in the back. The only reason I was wearing them was because the rest of my underwear was in the wash.

Greetings my lovelies!

Once again, sorry for the delay in posting today, but after a fabulous weekend that involved going to see The Guv'nors at the Ealing Blues Festival on Saturday night and getting some very good news yesterday, I woke up this morning feeling not so fabulous.
The ex-partner-in-crime popped by to say hello and pick up some stuff, and when I told him I was feeling hot, achey(er that usual) and nauseous, he promptly diagnosed Swine Flu.
I told him not to be so daft and to call by later as I had to go see my solicitor to sign some bits.
I managed to get there without throwing up or passing out, but was still feeling really grotty and when the solicitor asked how I was doing, I explained that I wanted to get home asap as I was not so hot. Or rather I was hot. And nauseous.
My solicitor promptly diagnosed Swine Flu as well and told me she knew many people who have it nowadays.
The EPIC called me on my mobile while I was there and I told him what the solicitor had told me.
All I could hear on the phone after that was laughter so I hung up.
I am now safely back at home and am planning on staying lying down for as long as possible, but afore I sign off, I have some options for today's Choose-O being -

• Bike
• Oops
• Wine

And don't fret, they're not all the same tale this time, I promise!
Choose wisely my cherubim, and tell me all about your adventures out in the big, wide world while you're down there.
Ooh, and if you've got any jokes about Swine Flu, please share!

Happy thingies, and many of them!

Wayhey, it's Friday again, woo!

And for your delectation and delight I have a selection of video clips* for you, starting with this -
(Train gets a surprise)
carrying on with this -
(Dilbert)
and finishing off with this -
(Surreal Ducks)

Also, as I haven't doned one in ages and ages and ages, I've sorted another 'Spot the Difference' competition for you. It's very difficult, but please have a bash.



And most importantly, I hope you all have a fabulous weekend!

ttfn,



*Cheers Nigle!

Dear America,

I would like to point out some regular mistakes that you make regarding your use of what you laughingly call 'English'.

First of all, why do you persist in saying 'Horseback riding'? It is simply 'horse riding' as where the hell else on a horse are you going to sit, it's head?
Stop it.

Secondly, when you refer to low-fat milk, it is called 'skimmed milk', not 'skim milk'. 'To skim' is a verb, therefore 'skim milk' is an instruction whereas skimmed milk, is milk that has been skimmed.
Got it?

Next, what the bloody hell do you think you mean by saying 'Write me'? You may think you are asking a person to correspond with you via letter, but in fact you are simply asking the person to write the word 'Me'. It is 'write to me.
Capishe?

As to your use of the verb 'Spit'. Yes, it is a verb, also known as a 'doing word', and 'doing words' have different tenses, ie: Past tense, present tense, future tense &c. Therefore, you must conjugate the verb. If you are remarking that some one has spat on you, you do not say "Hey, you spit on me!" but should use the past tense, which is 'spat'. If a person is in the process of spitting on you, it is again, not "You spit on me" but 'you are spitting on me'. The future tense however, is when you can use 'spit', as the conjugation of the verb leads to "I will spit on you".
Understood?

And another thing, not on the subject of the English language, but basic first aid. I notice that in many of your television programmes (yes, programmes) if a person has a nosebleed you insist on making them tilt their heads back. That will make blood run down their throats which could lead to viewers of your programmes copying them and chocking on their own blood.
Actually, forget I just said that.

As I explained to an American friend of mine some years ago, "It is our language. We started it!", only to be met by the rejoinder, "Yeah, and we're gonna finish it!"

Thank you for listening,

Best wishes,

Misty.

'ello peeps!

So sorry I'm so very late with the Caption Competition today, but things happened that were beyond my control and I couldn't get to my 'puter until now. (18:24 hours)

But better late than never* so here's today's piccy -

There's a silver medal available for every entry and a gold going should anybody get me to a 69.

Over to you then.

*Maybe. I reckon so anyways.

Citroën presse

Before I begin this tale, I must explain a few things for any readers from foreign parts, those who have never been to London, and persons with no knowledge of dodgy, European cars.

First of all, in London is an area known as Hammersmith that has been famous for it's Palais, the old Odeon, and a plug from Motorhead in the song 'No Spleep Till Hammersmith'.
It also has one of the most terrifying roundabouts in England.
Thanks to some development, the roundabout is now slightly less scary than it was twenty years ago, but not by much.
Twenty odd years ago the whole area went through an 'upgrade' which included demolishing some wonderful old buildings such as The Clarendon, and for a while the whole of the roundabout was left without many (if any in parts) clearly marked traffic lanes, despite it being a rather major and seriously busy intersection.

The second important thing I must explain, is the Citroën 2CV.
The 2CV, also known as the 'deux chevaux', is a car that was first bred in the 1920s and has become widespread throughout Europe where they are either loved (mostly by hippy types who decorate them with paintings of rainbows and peace signs and would love more than anything to pretend that their car is the auto equivalent of 'The Rainbow Warrior') and hated by anybody who would like to own a car which gets you from A-B without breaking down or jeopardizing the life of those inside.
If you are in Germany and see one of them in green, it is traditional to shout 'grüne ente' which translates as 'green duck', and the object of the game is that the person who spots the most 'grüne entes' during the journey, is the winner.
Another little play on words about 2CVs is 'Citroën presse', which translates as not only 'lemon juice' but 'lemon in a hurry', but that joke doesn't really work unless you know how to speak French.

This story involves Hammersmith Roundabout and a Citroën 2CV. Oh, and a door.

Many moons ago I was staying at a flat in Fulham for a while. The flat was above a kebab shop at the far end of the Fulham Road, the other end of which was at Hammersmith Roundabout.
Back then, I had yet to pass my driving test and either relied on London Transport, or friends with cars to get me about town.
One fine day I was at the flat and had to get back to my home in W7, but was rather stuck as good old London Transport had chosen that day to go on strike, so I got on the dog and bone to try and get a lift from a friend with wheels.
After a few calls I managed to track down a mate who lived in Earl's Court who very luckily for me was heading towards Heathrow at the exact time I wanted a lift as he was dropping of another friend at the airport. Also, he would have given me a lift even if he didn't have to go to the airport as he informed me he'd just got himself a new car and was itching to take it out for a proper spin.
'Hurrah!' I thought, and went to wait patiently at the bus-stop across the road for him to come and get me.
'Ah...' I thought, as an ancient, pink and rust coloured 2CV driven by my friend pulled up at the bus stop a short while later in a cloud of acrid smoke.
As the fumes cleared, I got into the front passenger seat and promptly lurched backwards as it gave way.
A short while later, we'd managed to fix the seat and off we lurched up the road towards Hammersmith Roundabout.
At the roundabout of doom, we were due to take the first exit, but found our way blocked by one of the few buses that were not on strike and too large to play chicken with, so around we went again.
Thanks to my friend not being able to get the car into gear and missing the faint line of paint marking the correct traffic lane, we had to go round once more and thanks to the fumes and very bumpy journey going round and around, I began to start feeling just a tad ill.
Once again my friend managed to miss the right exit and we were on our fourth lap, when all of a sudden the door next to me fell off the car.

No warning, no creak, no chance of making a grab for it, it was simply there one second and gone the next.
Thanks to the momentum of the car I suddenly found myself facing the road and thanking every God and Deity I could think of that the safety belt was working. I suppose in one respect it was a good thing that I was leaning out of the car as it was then that I seriously felt nauseous and copiously vomited my breakfast all over the surface of the middle lane, and a BMW that was trying to overtake.
My friend told me to hold on and I thanked him for his words of wisdom before undoing my seat belt and clambering into the back seat as I didn't want to be in the passenger seat for a nanosecond longer.
His other friend told the driver to go round one more time, climbed over into the passenger seat, and as we went round for the fifth time, managed to pick up the fallen door and hang on to it.
Finally we managed to get off at the correct exit and as soon as we could, pulled over.
Thanks to the design of the 'deux chevaux', it was very simple to re-attach the door and after a half dozen or so calming ciggies, we slowly set off once more, although we planned the rest of the journey avoiding any more roundabouts.
I have never since set foot in a 2CV, or 'Death Car' as I now call them.
Can you blame me?

Hi honeys, I'm home again! And this time, relatively bruise free, woohoo!

I had a fabulous time; killed more times than I got killed, found loads of interesting fungi in the woods, and scoffed far too much at the banquet before falling aspleep and having the best night's spleep I've had in ages, rah!
I'm still sorting out the clickage but it should be up on my Flickr later on today if anyone's interested.

So that's my weekend in a nutshell, please tell me all about yours while you're down in the comments box placing your vote for this week's Choose-O for tomorrow's entertainment, akay?
Your options are -

• Roundabout
• Citroën presse
• Door

Over to you then, and have a wonderful Monday, y'all!

Aw'right me darlin's? All set for another weekend? I certainly am because in a few hours time I shall be heading off to the wilds of Hertfordshire to hit people again.
I have my fighting and feasting kit packed, Mr Pointy's been given a polish, and the camera's set to shiny, so 'Woohoo!'
By the way, if anyone's interested in what I get up to on my weekends away, the re-enactment society wot I belong to has set up a Flickr page and some of us have posted up a variety of piccies, so if you fancy having a look-see, click here.

Anyway, before I head off, I reckon it's time for another rousing round of Mornington Crescent*, this time to be played in the style of 'Cockney Rhyming Slang'.
I shall start you off in the comments box then get back to the last bits of packing, so in case I forget I shall say 'ttfn' now and wish you all a jolly marvelous weekend as well.

So.

ttfn then.



*For those that still haven't figured out what Mornington Crescent is and how to play it, firstly click on the link above, then if you're still confused, click here, and here and read the pages. Then go to my comments box and join in the fun, akay? Good.

Some people say the stupidest things. A few examples that have stuck in my brain over the years are -

When a girl I knew got her first credit card and was about to go on a shopping spree. I noticed that she hadn't signed the card and she told me that she wasn't going to because if the card got stolen, then the thief wouldn't know what her signature looked like, and therefore wouldn't be able to forge it.

I was visiting London Zoo with some friends and we stopped to look at the lion enclosure. A lion was walking around and one of the blokes bent down and began staring intently at the underparts of the animal.
He'd been staring at the lion's private area for a couple of minutes before one of the girls asked him what he was doing.
Came the reply, "I want to know if it's a male or a female lion, but it's difficult to see from here"

The other day a couple of friends were visiting when once again, all the power went off. As I'm on an electricity meter and am living way below the poverty line, I'm used to being left in the dark and always have a candle switched on near me after sundown, so taking the candle I went to see if the money had run out, or if were were having a power cut.
The lack of life on the meter told me that for once, putting the emergency credit on wouldn't do anything as it was a good old fashioned power cut, so grabbing more candles and clockwork lamps, I went back to my friends and told them what was happening.
My female friend looked out of the window and commented on the lack of lights everywhere, but my male friend 'poo-poo'ed' me and said that no way could it be a power cut as he could still hear the trains running on the nearby lines.

I have many more examples of stupid things I've heard people say, but they can wait for another time, as now it's your turn, my gorgeous readers to reveal everything to me!
As always, everything to tell me will be held in the strictest confidence, I promise, so over to you, and see you in the comments box.

PS. Certain persons reading this may recognize parts of the above tales. Please to leave the cash in the usual place before 15:00 hours, or I'll fill in the names, akay?
Cheers!
*mwah*

A quick glance at my calendar informs me that a) my social life is practically non-existent, and b) It's Wednesday, woohoo!

If you are a first time reader of this blog, you may be curious as to why the 'woohoo!' after the rather mundane information that it is Wednesday.
Even if you aren't curious as to why, I will still tell you that here in this little corner of the blogosphere, Wednesdays are also known as Double Entendre Day which gives folk the opportunity to slip a big one to a friend/colleague/member of the SAS.

Also, a regular feature on this day is the Caption Competition wherein I post a photo which you study for a while, and then think up as many catchy/funny/smutty comments and witticisms as you possibly can and then proceed to stuff my box until it's fit to burst.

Your reward for your endeavours this week are a spam fritter for every comment left, and a delicious portion of spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, egg and spam should you be the person lucky enough to get me to a 69.

So without any further preamble, your photo for today's Caption Competition is* -

So...

Get.

In.

There.

Akay?



*Also taken by my own fair paw!

Reverse

Some moons ago I was staying at a friend's place in Southall. Their flat was on one of the quieter roads in the locale, and was at the top part of a lovely old large Victorian house from where if you looked out of the window, you could see pretty much all of the road, which if you wanted to see what was going on outside was rather useful.
Most of the time nothing very exciting would happen there. Apart from a few nutters moving into a squat in the house next door and the time a neighbour decided to trash another neighbour's BMW with a rubbish bin, it was a very peaceful road to live in.
One of the very few downsides to the area was that occasionally it was difficult to get as parking space close to the house as people that didn't live in the road would take advantage of the free parking when they went to do their shopping, and several times my friend would get blocked in on their driveway by some inconsiderate twunt who'd parked their car there, despite the dropped kerb and polite 'Please do not park here!' signs.
But as I said, generally all was peace and quiet in the road, so one day I was surprized to hear shouting from just outside the house.
I had a look out of the window and saw that two people were engaged in an altercation over whose right of way it was and neither party looked like they were going to back down.
Now, one of the cars was driven by a fairly rough looking chap, and the other was driven by a woman.
Both cars were at stand-off because in order for either of them to pass each other, one of them would have to reverse into a space.
The chap would have had to reverse about three car lengths to get to a space big enough, whereas the woman only had to reverse about one car length into a space big enough for about three cars, but for some reason she was refusing to shift.
I tried turning the volume up on the TV, but the shouting began to get even louder so I decided to go and see if I could possibly placate the situation so that I could get back to watching a rather interesting programme in peace.
By the time I got there, there were another couple of cars waiting behind the man's car which meant that they would also have to reverse in order to let the woman pass, but still the dozy bint was refusing to budge, which IMO, (and it seemed to be the general consensus) was being really fucking bloody inconsiderate.
I dazzled both of them with my best smile and asked the woman why she wouldn't simply just reverse her car into the very nice and very large space that was right behind her, as then, the rest of the cars would be able to get passed, and also she could then get on her way too.
I was met by the rejoinder that apparently it was the man's job to reverse as she'd been there first and it was her right of way.
I explained the bleeding obvious to her that was that it would be far more time consuming and awkward for the man to reverse his car, and not only would he have to reverse far further, but the other cars (five of them by then) would also have to reverse as well, and again asked her why she wouldn't just simply reverse her car.
This time I got a whole spiel about 'women's rights' and how women should not be treated like second class citizens or idiots by men such as the other driver.
When she'd finished the chap looked as if he was on the verge of shunting her car into reverse for her and was threatening to call the police if she didn't move.
The other drivers were also starting to join in with the shouting and I honestly couldn't blame them.
I tried talking some sense into the fucktard woman one last time and said that if the police were called, then they would make her reverse her car and might also charge her with obstruction.
At that, she burst into tears which I was not expecting.
I asked her why the feck she wouldn't just reverse her car as it would save all the hassle and meant I could also get back to my very interesting programme which I was missing.
In a very small voice she told me why she couldn't just simply reverse the car.

She didn't know how to reverse the car as she'd only had it for two months and hadn't needed to reverse it until then.
At that I told her to get out of the car, took the keys from her, got in and reversed it into the space to a huge round of cheers and applause from the other drivers.
My parting comment to her was to take some driving lessons or get a refund on the car as she was too stupid to own one.
It's women drivers like that, that give the rest of us a bad name.
And yes, she was blonde to boot.
Stupid bint.

Well, after a weekend full of the joys of the the local neighbourhood garden party*, I return once again to the Blogosphere all relaxed and tickety-boo, whatever the hell 'tickety-boo' means.
I've often wondered about that, and if anyone can explain it to me, I'd be most grateful. Thinking about it, are there any weird expressions that you've often thought WTF does it mean, and how did it come about?
I think we should be told, so if you have an expression that Google can't help you with or you know more than the Oxford English Dictionary, please go play in my comments box!

And other than that, being Monday it's time for the Choose-O, and your choices for tomorrow's entertainment are -

• Roundabout
• Reverse
• Bike

Choose wisely my li'l chickadees, and don't forget to tell me all about your exciting weekends while you're down there, akay?

Happy everythings, everybody!

*Photos to follow soon.

Helloo, my lovelies! As the weekend beckons, I have decided to end the working days on a rant for a change.
More specifically, a rant about words and phrases that really piss me off annoy me.
For example; people who say 'Pacifically' instead of 'Specifically'. My response upon hearing that is to ask them if they were pertaining to an ocean, or trying to make a point?
The misuse of the word 'Ultimate' also gets my hackles up. If a drink is 'The Ultimate' then it is the last one. It does not mean that it tastes good.
If someone calls me sophisticated, I try not to take offence but on occasion I inform them that a 'Sophist' is generally one who uses rhetorical sleight-of-hand and ambiguities of language in order to deceive, or to support fallacious reasoning. The person's response is generally to stare at me as though I'd asked them for a lightly grilled stoat inna bun, but I'm used to that.
People who say things like 'The pain was like I had an elephant sitting on me' annoy me too. Have they ever had an elephant sitting on them? No? Well shut TF up then.
If I make a comment about say, how heavy the rain was earlier in the day and am met with the rejoinder 'Tell me about it', then I will, often to the confusion of the person that is caught in the middle of a meteorological report.
But right now, there is a phrase going around that is being used far too often and it's really getting on my tits nerves.
It is this - "At the end of the day"
I swear I hear it said about twenty times a day.
I went to meet a friend yesterday and stopped to talk to someone en route, and they used the expression three times in about three minutes.
If I have daytime television on as background noise and a programme such as Jeremy Kyle or Trisha comes on, then I can guarantee that every single chav or chavette will say those words at least twice. Watch the shows if you don't believe me.
Reporters on the news are also guilty. I lost count of how many times I heard them say that 'At the end of the day', Michael Jackson was the King of Pop, or a nonce, or whatever.
The ex-partner-in-crime started using the phrase until I used aversion therapy* to stop him.
I've just heard used in a weather report as well.
I think, it may be contagious.
There are many other expressions, such as 'When all's said and done', 'In the cold light of day', or 'When the fat lady's sung', so why the bloody hell is everybody using that same one?
It must be stopped, else every time I hear someone say 'At the end of the day' again, I will start screaming, and I won't stop screaming until the cows come home.

And now my cherubs, it is your turn. What phrase, expression or misuse of the English language gets your gander up? Tell me all in the knowledge that your secrets, as ever, are safe with me.
Oh, and I wish you all a wonderful weekend as well.

ttfn!



*I flicked him on the nose every time he said it.

Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, egg & chips

From: gnsbl1@inmail24.com
Subject: Hello
Date: Thu, 18 Jun 2009 03:55:02 +0200
Hi Friend,
I am Melissa Agnes Able, 25 yrs old girl in search of a man who understands love as trust and faith rather seeing it as a way of fun always but a matured man with sense of humour. I’m interested in having a relationship with you and I want to know more about you, let see if we can share common interest together.
I think we should be friends and get acquainted, cause you seem pretty fun, and cute! (It’s ever so hard to tell in this digital world :) anyway, I want to get a response from you...Then maybe we could chat sometime! You know what they say, appearance wins over the eyes, but personality wins over the heart...haha.
I believe we can start from here; if you don’t mind you can email me back with brief introduction of your self and I shall tell you more details that you will like to know about me including pictures of me so you can see how beautiful I am. Enjoy your beautiful day, talk to you very soon.
Cheers,
Melissa

Date: Tue, 23 Jun 2009 14:13:10
Subject: Hello to you as well!
From:mysti @yahoo.com
Dear Melissa,
I'm so very, very happy to get your email as it really, really makes me happy to know that I have a new friend, and one so pretty as well! And you guessed correctly! I am pretty fun and cute, yeah!
So, you asked for a brief description of myself!!! Oooh, where to start??? Haha! Well, I enjoy going to my local Church Group (of course!) playing with other girls at the pony club, dressing up to go out wiv my m8s!!! *LOLZ* and of course I absolutely adore kittens!!! (Dur! Who doesn't, a?!)
I'm also looking for a really good girl friend, especially one who's beautiful like you sez UR! Nobody wants to go out with the Grrrlz for a nite and drag a rite minger along with them, do they? *LOLZ* U no wot I means, a?
Anyway, listen to me going on and on again!? *LOLZ* I bet you have lots more intersting things to do that listening to me rabbit, aintcha!? (Dur!!!!!!!) Specially as your also looking for a fit bloke. I'm tellin ya, I no the feelin well, innit! The geezers round here are all right chavs who think taking a girl out for a good time is buying her a WKD and a KFC, then trying it on with you round the back of Sainsburys, innit! *LOLZ*
I'm really, really looking forward to hearing from you again and can't wait to have loads of girly chats wiv you, my new best M8! :-D
Enjoy your beautiful day too, and I pray that God doesn't give you a dose of the clap like he did to my m8 Lisa just coz she got off my my last bloke Wayne.
Luvz ya already!
Misty

Date: Mon, 22 Jun 2009 18:41:00 +0200
Subject: Hello,
From: edithpatrik@yahoo.com
Hello,
How are you today? I hope you are fine. If so thank be to God almigthy.
I found very interesting to write you and I am very happy to send this mail to you.It gives me great joy and happiness to say hi to you this day and i hope to tell you more about me and my family when next I write to you. My name is Edith Patrick , 24 years old single girl and I hope that we can be friends and keep contact with each other if God wishes and I hope to hear from you soon.
Edith Patrick

Date: Tue, 23 Jun 2009 12:27:40
Subject: Hello to you too!
From: mysti @yahoo.com
Dear Edith,
Thank you so very much for your charming email! I am very interesting to write to, yes, and indeed it must bring you great joy on this wonderful day to recieve an email written to you, by me! I would love to hear more about you and your family, I really, seriously would, but God just told me that he's very angry with you as you are not really called Edith, and neither are you a girl, but in fact you are a con-artist who deserves to have his nadgers cut off by a rusty penknife, and that I'm not to talk to you ever again.
Sorry about that, enjoy God Almigthy's wrath!
Misty.

PS. My email is working again. Woohoo!

And as Wednesday rolls around once again, this Double Entendre Day finds me feeling rather naughty and breaking the rules somewhat.

The reason being is that I was sent a link to a fab photo for 'the blog' by a reader and fellow Flickrite, but although the pic was fab, I didn't feel it quite right for today's post.
I thanked the chap muchly and went on to sniffing through his photos on Flickr and I found one of the funniest piccies I've seen in ages, and decided I simply must share it with you lot so that you can add your usual excellent and smutty funny comments.

But, as I type this post, it is 01:07 hours, and I haven't yet received the gentleman's permission to use said fab piccy here, but I'm going to take a chance and post it with a full credit and link etc, in the hope that he'll wake up and let the photo stay up.
If he says no, I shall remove the pic straight away and flagellate myself with a kipper as atonement.

So, this is the photo as snapped by Mr John Horsey.

You can peruse the rest of his lovely piccies by clicking here, pray that he lets me keep this post up, and also get straight into stuffing my box with as much as you can give me as I'm gagging for another 69.
There's a portion of bamboo shoots going for every entry, and a delicious Panda Pop available should I get me that soixante-neuf!

So without further ado,

Get.

Stuck.

In.

Socks

Quite a lot of moons ago when I was about nine years old, my mother came home with a scrap of a pup who'd been orphaned as the girls who'd been looking after her weren't allowed to have animals in their flat. We already had one dog, Chips, and so my parents both agreed that we'd only look after the pup until a new home was found for her. Fifteen years later we still hadn't found a home for her, as I for one couldn't bear to give her up, and also Chips looked upon her as a pup of his own and taught her how to behave properly in and out of the house, bless 'im.
She was a Borderline Collie, we named her Sheba and within months her own personality began to shine through.
To say she was mad as a brush on occasion was an understatement, but she always kept everyone entertained with her antics.
One of her favourite games was to play on the slide at the local playground, and it wasn't one of those tiny little plastic slides you get nowadays in the Nanny State known as England, but one of those slides that towered into the heavens and gave you a nosebleed when you reached the top of the wrought iron steps. Many children were too afraid to climb the slide, but not Sheba the wonderdog, oh no. She'd scamper up the steps and launch herself down the slide with gusto, often to the surprise of children who were brave enough to wait in line to hurtle down the death chute.
Sheba also liked to climb things, once much to the surprise of a chap who was fixing the chimney when he turned round to find Sheba sitting beside him on the roof. We had to attach a chair to ladders after that else she'd be up them quick as a flash, but unable to get back down on her own.
There were also the times such as when we took her on a boating holiday, when she endeavoured to take home a branch, and caused a fight, and regular readers may remember the tale of Socks and Violence.
This is another tale of Shebie's obsession with Socks.
One fine summer's day, I was in the park with a friend, Sheba, Chips, and my friend's dog. We were about eleven at the time (Us humans, not the dogs) and had spent a wonderful time playing along the banks of the river.
We were wending our way home when we heard some very strange sounds coming from a copse up ahead, and after listening for a short while we wondered if someone was in trouble as to our young, innocent ears, it sounded as if a man was having trouble breathing.
We stood there whilst trying to work out what to do and unknown to us, Shebie had gone ahead to investigate.
Next thing we heard was a startled cry of "Oi, gerrof!" followed by a bark from Sheba.
Next thing we saw was a man trying to run out of the copse with his shorts and pants around his ankles after Sheba who was proudly carrying a trophy sock in her mouth.
A few seconds later, a woman also came out of the copse, looking rather nervous and hastily adjusting her attire.
We weren't stupid.
We realized what had been going on and we did the only thing we could think of in the circumstances which was to hoof it away, as fast as our legs could carry us, with the dogs following us, Shebie still carrying her new found treasure, and the angry shouts of the man interrupted still ringing in our ears.
We went to a different part of the park to play in after that.

Well, it's definitely Monday.

After a weekend of no electricity, I finally manage to get some cash together so that I can see at night and power up the 'puter, only to find that I can't get any emails. For some reason I keep getting told that my password or username is wrong, despite the fact that it isn't. If anyone can tell me how to persuade the machine that I am giving it the correct information, please do so in my comments box, and if you've emailed me recently, you now know why I haven't replied.

Anyhoo, also as it's definitely Monday, it's time for the Choose-O, your options for which are -

• Socks
• Reverse
• Roundabout

And before I go, here's a little quiz to brighten your day and to find out How Sane You Are!
It's good fun, and I reckon it's also fairly accurate as my result says that I am certifiable, yay!
So tell me your results which are totally secret as I won't tell anyone else except the voices in my head, akay? Oh, and tell me about your weekends as well while you're down there.
Happy Monday everyone!

Yesterday's comments got me thinking yet again, and also remembering a conversation I had with a most excellent friend of mine who suggested revamping the game of Cluedo.

My friend's version uses Gods and countries instead of the usual characters and rooms, which would result in murders along the lines of 'Jesus, in France, with a plague of locusts', or 'Thor, in Australia, with a fiery sword'. A most entertaining version in my opinion.

And as I already said, yesterday's comments are also somewhat inspiring for new varieties of Cluedo, such as 'Macauly Culkin, in the library, with the turkey baster'*, 'Macaulay Caulkin in the bedroom with a lead-pipe'**, and 'Miss Whiplash, in the dungeon with the nipple clamps'***
All fabulous suggestions which would surely make 'after Christmas dinner with the relatives' party gaming far more exciting than the original.

So today's question I put to you is, 'What Version of Cluedo Would You Most Like to Make?'

Simples, eh?

Over to you then.



*Thank you wild-seven.
**Thank you, Tzonar.
***Again, thank you wild-seven.

I've got a question for you lot today.

I've been thinking about it for a while now, well, ever since Wacko Jacko died and it was revealed that no-one knows who the real parents of his three children are.

Naturally, many mad women have claimed to be the mother of the kiddies, but 'those in the know' have said that they most emphatically are not, and although Debbie Rowe was the surrogate for the first two, she's now revealed that she was impregnated via the turkey baster method.

So, just whose spawn spawned Michael Jackson's sprogs then?

My money's on Richard & Judy.

So. Wesdnesday.

AKA Double Entendre Day.

Which mean it's Caption Competition time.



So erm...

Get in there then!

A chip for every entry, and a fishcake should I get me a 69!