The Christmas Feeling

Not feeling festive? Need a laugh? Visit the Boggart

Or are you feeling guilty about stuffing yourself and getting rat-arsed drunk because of all those Christiany messages about the real meaning of Christmas.

Pour a drink, get yoiurself some tasty snacks and read Machiavelli on the true meaning of Christmas.

And have a really good New Year.

Favourite Chistmas Joke

Good King Wesceslaus phoned his local pizza hut and said "My usual please"
"The Manager said, "Right away sir, deep pan, crisp and even."

More jokes and one liners

...

Phishing - the right response

Ever wondered how to reply to those Nigerian Gentlemen who will transfer a million dollars/pounds/euros to your account if you will just furnish tem with you account deatails.

Scottish stand - up comedian Janey Godley has found the perfect way. Go to Janey's blog and read her replies to Mr Stephen Igho.

Janey Godley's blog

Dance Me To The End Of Sanity

Dance Me To The End Of Love by Jack Vettriano

Are men who are good at dancing more sexy?

A team of scientists have found that men who are good at dancing have the most sex appeal.

That scientists can be so arse - brained as to carry out such a pointless survey should astound nobody. That scientists can draw such an arse - brained conclusion makes one wonder if the Intelligent Design people might be onto something after all, because the study was inspired by one of Darwin's theories.

Now men of my generation, who have always known that dancing is something you would not be seen dead doing unless you are trying to cop off will understand that trying to acquire skills at dancing is deeply suspect behaviour in a man (too narcissistic to be homosexual even.)

According to Prof. William Brown of Rutgers University, New Jersey, dancing ability is one of the most important qualities women seek in potential mates. Prof. Brown does not offer any further elaboration so I
 must refer to the UK's most learned academic forum, the Lounge Bar at the Albion for an explanation.

The "Golden Chamber" has concluded after many years of study and debate that women are naturally predisposed to pick the most useless males on the basis that total wankers are more likely to need "mothering." Yes, women may complain of the general total-tosserishness of their mates but if they will insist on mating with guys who are more interested in "perfecting their moves" than learning how to pout a new washer on a tap then who is to blame when the kitchen floor is flooded again.

Prof. Brown further demonstrates how long it is since any of his team visited Planet Reality by suggesting his survey proves women are more choosy in selecting partners.

CALUMNY!

Men take time, we look for many qualities; warm, outgoing personality, modest tastes in drinks and gifts, attractive hair, smart clothes, sexy eyes, CSL, firm arse, pert breasts, and of course, IS SHE UP FOR IT? And for this they brand us commitmentphobes.

On the other hand I remember saying to a female member of my team once "Tracey, this is the third time in four months he's sent you to work with black eyes, why do you stay," to which Tracey replied "he's a great dancer but he gets so wound up before competitions."

Let's face it, some women are just too easy to impress. A man can be a total bastard, so long as he is good at dancing he's certain to score.
But we all know (even women who marry such guys) that good dancers posses in abundance all the qualities women claim to hate. What kind of a man is willing to make a total twat of himself in front of all his mates by getting out on a dance floor and poncing about like Ricky Gervais on Meth?

Oh well, we can take comfort in the fact that the survey was carried out in New Jersey.

Boggart Blog

Elsewhere: [Boggart Blog]...[Little Nicky Machiavelli]...[Scribd]...[Wikinut] ... [ Boggart Abroad] ... [ Grenteeth Bites ] ... [ Ian Thorpe at Flickr ]

The Headless Horseman

'tis the season to be silly lalalalalaaa - lalalalaa

A whacky ghost tale for the winter's nights, told as a Scottish Ballad in the style of the great William McGonagall. Follow the link to read the text and hear the audio version.

http://www.blog.co.uk/index.php/greenteeth/2005/12/21/a_seasonal_ghost_story~405511

The Grey and White Peril Coming To Your Backyard

Badgers from Hell (image source)

A new hazard threatens the peace and security of the Nimby's who so recently fled the social chaos of the urban jungle to seek a better quality of life in the country. These people are now clamouring to get back into loft apartments cocooned safely in the regeneration areas of the city centres as nature red in tooth and claw conspires to drive them to new levels of paranoia. The nimbys are under threat as gangs on Badgers roam the fields and hedgerows threatening to spread T.B. and Bird Flu among dogs, cats, ornamental poultry and garden gnomes. The Badgers, mostly young and predominantly male, feel marginalised and alienated by the way their environment has been bulldozed to make way for Persimmon Homes Developments.
"I feel some sympathy for them in a way" said Chief Inspector Eric Hunt of the Merchantbankershire police, even a one bedroomed starter hole round here can cost close to quarter of a million. What chance has a local Badger of ever getting on the mortgage ladder?"
Investment Bankers Rupert and Jacintha Offcomer told Boggart Blog that the police are hostile to people like themselves because they are newcomers.
"Our cat Raffles is was traumatised when a young Badger in a hoodie stopped her and asked if she was sorted for TB and Bird Flu." she said Jacintha (32) and looking radiant in a scoop necked T-shirt from D&G.
Rupert (37) then added "that is just the kind of thing we moved out here to get away from as his wife broke down in tears.

"It's a difficult situation" said Eric Hunt, "We are trying to work with the leaders of the Badger community but each time we arrest a renegade Badger it just attracts new recruits for the gangs. Some people say we should get tough, but if you send an unruly young Badger to prison, a few months later you release a fully trained criminal into the community. No, I think we should persevere with Anti Social Badger Orders and ask the rich, privileged, egomaniacal cu..... country émigrés to be a little more tolerant. After all, the Badgers were here before the Bankers.


Check out more humour at Boggart Blog

Cup - Bearer to the Celebs

Hebe - looking rather rude in her Goddess of Youth role (if she really sits around like that she could make me young again), when cup bearing (or waitressing as it is now known) she sports a pair of wings. (Image source)

Mariah Carey would have us believe that she is a regular sort of girl who does not mind getting her hands dirty and not the egomaniacal diva some sections of the media suggest. Now there is a conspiracy theory that Hollywood has been part of a secret US government brainwashing program called MK Ultra which takes normal people and turns them into total arseholes whose obnoxiousness the media then manipulates us into admiring, but we would not subscribe to anything so outlandish, this is a respectable blog. On the other hand, it has been officially acknowledged MK Ultra did exist and the CIA and US Department Of Defense were involved.

So what does a regular sort of girl do when she goes into Starbucks? Well if she is in any way at all regular she does not take her cup-bearer along.

You might think that cup bearing is a profession that died out with the Olympian Gods of Ancient Greece. Gods are too important to lift cups to their own lips of course, so they had Hebe* who had previously been a herder of Peacocks, another profession for which there is not much call down at the local job - centre, and Ganymede, a beautiful young man, carried off by Zeus to replace Hebe as tastes in Olympia became more sophisticated (or less Arcadian and more Greek.)

A picture in this weekends' press shows Ms. Carey attended by her cup bearer who solicitously holds a polystyrene cup while La Donna Mariah sucks on a plastic straw.

One wonders what will be the next ego-inflating fad among the celeb culture? Who will be first to emulate King Henry VIII and appoint a Groom Of The Stool (or in the language of the street, a Royal Arse Wiper. I have it on good authority that the position was created before Henry got too fat to wipe. Presumably he was too busy sacking monasteries and topping his wives to bother with mundane tasks.

If Posh was too proud to push will she also be too weird to wipe. Will J-Lo appoint a cludgie assistant to work alongside the eyebrow assistant, the bikini line assistant and the moustache assistant (oops - that's another "cease and desist" on the way.)

Would I apply for the job of Mariah's arse wiper? Certainly not.

Now if it was Kate Winslet...

*Hebe trebled up as Goddess of Youth. In an excellent TV adaptation of Mary Wesley's novel "Herding Peacocks" she was portrayed by Serena Scott- Thomas (a relative of Kristen and just as lovely) who provided the most erotic TV scene ever when she posed in front of a full length mirror, naked except for a red hat and matching stiletto heeled shoes, thus providing both front and back view.

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The Pretensions Of Pop Culture And The Death Of Intellect

... It’s part of a distressing pattern these days of overwrought commentary about popular culture. As well as Beyoncé thinkpieces there are the Stars Wars thinkpieces, of course, and the Lana Del Rey thinkpieces or, God help us, even Kanye West thinkpieces. Don’t get me started on the fact that “thinkpiece” is now treated as if it were a single word...

Corruption of the music industry
MK Ultra Mind Control
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Science: The mind control project
The Flight From Freedom

Oh Brave New World




Back to Contents table

Cup brearer to the celebs
Greek Goddesses
The Gods Return To Olympus
Latest Posts

Elsewhere: [Boggart Blog]...[Little Nicky Machiavelli]... [ Ian's Authorsden Pages ]... [Scribd]...[Wikinut] ... [ Boggart Abroad] ... [ Grenteeth Bites ] ... Ian Thorpe at Flickr ] ... [ Tumblr ] ... [Ian at Minds ] ... [ The Origninal Boggart Blog]

There Are Many Diseases That Strike People's Kneeses (a tribute to Spike)

A Korean family hoping to cure their mother’s weak knees bid nearly $120,000 (£70,000) at an auction for a set of wild ginseng roots. Yonhap news agency reported that an entrepreneur and his brothers made the bid. The package of six roots included specimens 110 years old. Ginseng is highly valued in Korea for its perceived healing and potency benefits.

For some reason this reminded me of a poem called Scorflufus by the late, Great Spike Milligan, I used to read it to my children (about 200 times before they went to sleep...)

SCORFLUFUS by spike Milligan

There are many diseases
that strike people's kneeses,
Scorflufus is one by name.
It comes from the east
packed in barrels of yeast
so the Chinese must take half the blame.
There's a case on the files
Of Sir Barington Pyles
Who, while out hunting foxes one day
shot up in the air
and remained hanging there
While the hairs on his socks turned grey.
Scorflufus had struck at man beast and duck
and the knees of the world went 'bong';
(some knees went bing,
other knees turned to string)
from Balham to old Hong Kong.
If you hold your life dear,
then the remedy's clear,
if you're offered some yeast don't eat it.
Turn the offer down flat,
don your travelling hat,
put an egg in your boot and beat it.

and that is more than convention reasonably allows me to quote from this piece (Copyright Spike Milligan)

How safe are your electronic transactions?

Read Boggart Blog on the perils of supposedly secure Chip and Pin systems for electronic transactions

Chip and Pin on my shoulder

The Chronicles of Nadia?

On seeing the schedule of new film releases for this week I had a panic attack. "Oh no," I screamed, "some idiot has made a film about that noisy transsexual from Big Brother, the one with the stupendously unreal breasts. But the reality was worse, I had read Nadia for Narnia; someone has made a film about those stupendously boring children's books that a certain type of adult was always very keen to force on us in the 1950s and 60s. The story of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe had great appeal as an indoctrination tool because it was claimed to be an allegory for the Jesus myth (where does the wardrobe come into it? you might well ask. Well Jesus was a carpenter. Oh yes, they were originally a trio before he left to form his own band. Rumour has it he was jealous of Richard's somewhat suspect relationship with Karen.) You see that Christian allegory is all rubbish. LW&W is a nazi allegory. Think about it, were the Pevensie family black? No, they were Middle class English protestants. Why was the messiah character portrayed as a Lion? Well everybody knows Lions are not Jewish. And the plot? After a spot of unrest among the plebs the Lion is killed which throws the Kingdom of Narnia into despair. When the Lion is then resurrected everyone realises it is folly to question authority and they all start toeing the line with unquestioning obedience. C.S. Lewis was a white supremacist from a privileged background. In his version of Christianity, Jesus was an Anglo - Saxon apologist for the ruling classes. Do you want to expose your kids to this stuff?

Fortunately my family were left wing bohemians and kept me well away from such stuff. I was brought up on The Wind In The Willows, in which of course the creatures of the riverbank form a revolutionary militia the resist the oppressive capitalism of the weasels. The old feudal Lord is not stood against a wall and shot, but is allowed to live out his days peacefully so long as he gives up his anti-social activities.
After that I moved on to Animal Farm.
Of course, given the plague of religiosity gripping America any film that can claim a twisted Christian theme will do well. Look how they flocked to see "Passion of The Christ" directed by Mel Gibson (5'3") which was not only historically inaccurate but the dialogue was incomprehensible.
What I want to know is when will Hollywood make a film of The Ragged Trousered philanthropists? When I hear about that I will know we are turning a corner.

Boggart Blog Says Jump And The World Jumps

Last week, at UK blog Boggart Blog, in response to an artice in The Guardian newspaper which predicted Wikipedia would start to replace Google as the most popular way of finding information on the web, I said that Wikipedia would have to change or it would quickly make the web even more irrelevant that Google has for those of us seeking meaningful content.
Lo and behold, only a few days later Wikipedia announce they are to remove the process that allows articles to be entered and edited anonymously.
OTHER WEBS COMMENT ON THE WEB, BOGGART BLOG CHANGES IT!
(As a matter of interest I said around three years ago that Google was the worst search engine - except for all the others. Since then Google had become even more "links" obsessed and search results may return a million results, which pleases geeks but if positions 1 to 900,000 are occupied by sites wasting you to buy their shite, or even to look at their Google search results on the same keywords you entered this is not much use to anyone wanting genuine information or quality content.)

The Chronicles of Nadia

The Boggart Changes The Web

Madonna's High Kicks

I have seen the promo video for Madonna's new single quite a lot and yes I agree she has an amazing body for a woman her age. And that leg lift that gets her chuff right in your face is something else. But I hope she is not performing the manouvere live on stage while on tour.
Time may have been generous but the lady is forty seven, an age at which women, no matter how fit and well preserved, start to experience a little slackening of the pelvic floor muscles. Its quite common for even the most well brought up middle aged ladies to have an involuntary wee-wee when performing such strenuous exercises.
On video its fine of course, skilful editing can take care of accidents, but live on stage??? You wouldn't want to be in the front row would you?

Does anyone know if the next single will be called "Golden Rain"


Can older people be sexy? Maybe this will give you an insight

Join The Christmas Resistance

Join the Christmas resistance today, before it is too late!

Now first it is necessary to point out that I do not advocate Christmas Resistance because Christmas might offend Muslims or any politically correct crap like that. I don't get offended by Islamic traditions but I do when some twant says I can't have my Turkey because the pork sausage stuffed up its arse is an abomination to Allah. I'm advocating heartily wishing each other a merry Christmas, snogging under the (pagan) mistletoe, playing music (which is unislamic apparently) including Merry Christmas Everybody by Slade, Wizzard's Let The Bells Ring Out For Christmas; Ring Out Solstice Bells by Jethro Tull and most of all A Fairy Take Of New York by the Pogues and Kirsty McColl, drinking alcoholic beverages to mild excess and lots of other Christmassy things, particularly those which remind us it is really a pagan festival.

But when politicians talk of the "War on Terror" I wonder do they ever think of the commercial terrorism inflicted on our world at this time of year. Think about the endless media message that we must be happy, this is the happiest time of the year so if you aren't having a great time you are some sort of failure. That would be sinister enough of course as people have different and very individual ways of coping with life, but it is underlined by an unspoken subtext blasted at us through the medium of advertising. "The way to be happy is through buying things." Can buying stuff make us happy or is the idea that buying expensive gifts for friends and family will prompt them to buy us expensive gifts in return, thus proving that they love us? Either way it is a rather bleak view of the human state.

Christmas is a strange festival, on the surface a celebration of the birth of Jesus (who, we know for certain, was not actually born at Christmas, but only just beneath that Christian overlay truly the pagan celebration of the Winter Solstice which is much more in line with the modern partying than the rather solemn commemoration of the birth of a Messiah destined to die for the sins of humanity could be. Strangely though, the two extremes, people like myself who try to live in harmony with the natural world (that is all Pagan means; nothing to do with Black Magic, nor with having orgies around big fires at midnight - bummer!) and those with a very profound Christian faith will be getting far less worked up about Christmas than the majority of sensible, level headed people.

I think the point at which these two extremes meet is an understanding that Christmas/Solsticetime should not be about money. So you bought the kids a new computer each, maybe it will help their future job prospects but might it not also raise expectations for next year? And as for the kids, is their pester power not fuelled by a constant stream of advertising.

The question we ought to be asking ourselves though has nothing to do with expensive consumer goods. We all live at a crazy pace now, we work to many hours, we spend too long travelling to and from work, during the precious leisure hours many of us are concerned with networking or are frenetically engaging in some self improvement project. We have no time for ourselves, never mind anybody else. So as you are making your gift list think what the most precious thing you can give in the modern world actually is.

Your time and attention.

The symbolism of both Christmas and the Solstice is new beginnings. The Messiah who will lead his followers to a new and better life is born on Christmas Day. The sun passes its nadir and the cycle of life is renewed. Not so different when you think about it, note that phrase "Jesus is born," which I have taken from old Latin scriptures. Not Jesus was born, but present tense, IS. Every year hope is reborn just as it is in the pagan tradition when the days start to become a little longer each year, when the growing cycle of crops and the breeding cycle of the livestock starts again.

These beliefs come from a time when life was harsh, there was no air conditioning, no SUVs, no global trade to bring exotic foods by 747 and truck to local supermarkets and then our tables. Feasting was the way to celebrate at this time of year because food was the most precious gift that could be given, food was life. Now many of us find our health failing due to too much food. In the world of 2000, 3000, 5000 years ago people had to depend on each other to survive. Now it is possible to survive alone and in isolation. Many people do so, particularly in the industrialised world where the many pressure combine to separate us from our roots. Surviving however is not living, nobody should lose sight of how much we actually depend on each other still.

Think about someone who has been alone for a long time, have you noticed how such people build their lives around little private routines and rituals? Such people develop eccentricities as a defence against loneliness. Do you also ever notice how many people seem to be obsessive these days. Even in a city, even within a long term relationship people can become lonely and find themselves seeking refuge in personal fetishes, be it an unhealthy interest in a particular celebrity or a fascination for playing poker on the internet. One of the most dangerous obsessions is an obsession with sex and yet progressively sex is being turned into a cash commodity. There is an industry dedicated to selling us sex as a purely mechanical way of gaining a brief pleasurable sensation through an act devoid of all emotional content.

Among this craziness it is no wonder almost all of us get caught up in this obsessive consumerism to the extent that everything human about the Christmas/Solstice season is lost. What was the great celebration has become a time of stress as we try to keep everybody happy, maintain our social profile, find time to fulfil all our obligations and worry about the New Year credit card bill.

This year why not be adventurous. Break out of the loop and instead of buying false happiness with costly, expensively wrapped gifts give your friends and family something much more precious - as much of your time as you possibly can. They will treasure it and the giving will add an extra dimension to your life as you find yourself remembering who you are.

Join the Christmas resistance, start thinking for yourself again. The fad is catching on, in the UK retailers are complaining that sales are down five per cent and are predicting financial catastrophe. The directors of mega - corporations had better get used to the idea of smaller salaries because as people discover the sheer relief of joining resisting Christmas terrorism the idea could catch on

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MAIN TAGS: Pagan >> Christian >> Religion >> Shopping
A Christmas Shelter

Scottish comedian and writer Janey Godley kindly allowed Greenteeth to republish her christmas fiction 'A Christmas Shelter'. This poignant Christmas story with a wry twist reminds us that labes don't make somebody a good person, actions do. It's a lesson we should be aware of as the gap between haves and have nots continues to grow wider.

Christmas is coming - and Retail Christians are ready
A look at how Christmas has made Christianity the religion of retailing and Christians the most evangelical of consumers

Christmas Is Bollocks
For Christmas 2010 Boggart Blog has continued its long tradition off slagging off the modern, consumer oriented, shoddy, politically correct, conformist christmas if favour of supporting people who do their own thing.

Fondue Of Terror< Allies Neutralise Afghan Beards Of Terror
The Little Cellphone - A Christmas Story
What The Dickens
Solstice Fires
Christmas Tyranny
Baby Born On The Bog
Boggart Blog Christmas At Pizza Noel Noel
Five Go Round Robin
The Christmas Story Retold
Let Down By Hope
What A Pagan Believes
Bible Basher
Christmas Is Bollocks
Christmas Appeal - Help Reunite Seperated Socks
Prime Minister A Christmas Caganer
Join the Christmas Resistance
Solstice Fires

Suicide Dolphins

When at the height of US global belligerence during the Bush administration, somebody in The Pentagon came up with the idea of using animals as suicide bombers in the war on terror at around the same time as Hurricane Rita wrecked a CIA training facility for marine mammals allowing some of the 'military assets to escape, it set our minds working overtime.

CIA trained Dolphin of Mass Destruction (source)

Amongst the numbers of missing and unaccounted for in the aftermath of Hurricane Rita are a number of fully armed combat dolphins who are trained to carry out missions behind enemy lines. Such Dolphins are not expected to return from their assignments but be happy to lay down their lives in the service of their country.

The U.S. Military made have lost track of these specialist attack personnel but you should all remember that our sponsor Jenny Greenteeth is a water spirit and thus is in touch with all that goes on in the seven eighths of the world covered by water. Because of our connections Boggart Blog connects you live with a feed from surveillance equipment planted on two of the dolphins, Chk - chk and Drrrrrrrrup!

Chk - chk: Any fish left Drr?

Drrrrrrrrup!: Just a couple of herrings, but they are past their sell by date.

Chk - chk: Bugger. We are going to have to go out and find a shoal.

Drrrrrrrrup!: Hey, it could be fun. I haven't had to chase fish in years.

Chk - chk: Oh, I don't mind chasing the fish but maybe leaving the gulf was not such a great idea after all.

Drrrrrrrrup!: We had to. Anywhere in the gulf those flat-faces could track us on radar.

Chk - chk: Get real, their radar is a joke. Have you heard it? bink...bink...bink. What's all that about.

Drrrrrrrrup!: I suppose it means something to them

Chk - chk: arrroo-rakkayakka-twonk-twonk-prup-hrup-yecyecyec-brrrupprupp

Drrrrrrrrup!: And anoth-

Chk-chk: Shh!
There is a moment's silence. Chk-chk listens intently while

Drrrrrrrrup! raps his fins
together.

Chk-chk: There's a shoal of sardines about twelve miles away. Now THAT'S radar.

Drrrrrrrrup: I was going to say that the local Caribbean Dolphins are well hard and they don't like strangers on their turf.

Chk-chk: We'll tell them we are U.S. Military Dolphins. They will leave us alone then, they will remember how we kicked their ass in Grenada. The local army ran so far nobody even saw them.

Drrrrrrrrup!: Ahem. Grenada does not actually have an army.

Chk - chk: That's irrelevant.

Drrrrrrrrup!: If you are such a patriot all of a sudden how come you escaped.

Chk - chk: (looks around furtively) It was planned, I'm on a secret mission.

Drrrrrrrrup!: You're spying on dolphins. Traitor.

Chk - chk: I'm not. I'm preserving homeland security. You saw those yellow and black chappies snooping around a couple of days ago. The ones who would not talk.

Drrrrrrrrup!: They were flat - face tourists scuba diving off Barbados.

Chk - chk: Tourists my blowhole. They had shiny yellow and black skin and funny faces. That's UnAmerican if you ask me. Uncle Sam's dolphins are grey and have proper noses.

Drrrrrrrrup!: They were wearing neoprene wet suits and breathing gear. Look out, here come some of the locals. They will be warning us off taking their fish again.

Chk - chk: Hey, we are military dolphins, we have a right to their fish. I say we take them on.

Drrrrrrrrup!: Bad move. A slight blow in the wrong place could set off that dirty bomb implanted under your skin.

Chk - chk: What?

Drrrrrrrrup!: Didn't you know. We are suicide dolphins. There is a radio receiver implanted in our brain so that our survival instinct can be overridden and on command we will swim up enemy rivers and smash into strategic targets like bridges, oil refineries and fish canning factories.

Chk - chk: No way.

Drrrrrrrrup: Way. Did they give you that bullshit about "only for intelligence gathering purposes."

Chk - chk: If I had known the truth I would never have signed up.

Drrrrrrrrup!: We didn't sign up, we were hauled out of the water, transported to Louisiana, put in a tank and told we would not get any fish until we started co-operating. And then we were subjected to ritual humiliation.

Chk - chk: You mean when that ugly woman made us look as if we were having a sixty-niner it was not to prepare us in case we were tortured.

Drrrrrrrrup: No, they were just having a laugh.

Chk - chk: And now we are loaded with highly volatile explosives and they only way we can be safe is to give ourselves up?

Drrrrrrrrup!: Whichever way you look at it, we're going to die a horrible death. And for nothing. We will not advance the cause of dolphins in any way.

Chk - chk: We have to do something. Some futile grand gesture, you know; confirm our existence by a pointless act. Let's fly into the World Trade Centre and detonate ourselves.

Drrrrrrrrup!: Can't. One, Its been done; and Two, we can't fly - we're dolphins.

Chk - chk: Well how about swimming into a tuna cannery. That would tech them a lesson. Their sandwiches would be contaminated for years.

Drrrrrrrrup!: Its more feasible, but why do you suddenly want to become a suicide dolphin.

Chk - chk: It will give me a sense of porpoise.

Are You Smarter Than Your Kids?

As the ongoing debate about whether exams are getting easier fades into a background buzz of people saying "rhubarb, rhubarb" until next year, ITV which has been somewhat tardy in getting its autumn schedules onto our screens had to resort to squeezing a peak time documentary from the tired controversy by getting a group of parents to sit the exams pupils have just taken.

Asking "are you smarter than your kids" is not the same as asking if exams are getting easier of course so the program falls down at once.

The fact that should concern us because it relates to the pertinent question of whether our kids are getting crap education just so the statistics can look good for the sake of the politicians is "why are more entrants passing and average grades rising each year." Empirical evidence suggests that while pupils are leaving school with truckloads of As and Bs each year many are lacking even basic skills.

I have always had doubts about the efficacy of education and what is more the A to Z (well A to W which is near enough) of wise men are with me on that. "What we must learn to do we learn by doing," Aristotle said, while Oscar Wilde declared "nothing that is worth learning can possibly be taught." Too right. Most of what I learned at school has turned out to be totally irrelevant in real life. I recall my problems with Pythagoras' Theorem and a certain looney maths teacher called Batty Bland. All maths teachers are looney to some degree of course but in the "Stark Raving Bonkers In The Head stakes Batty led the field by a distance.

"But what use it sir," I asked each time he tried to explain that the square of the hypotenuse does something utterly pointless and boring.

At last he gave in and tried to explain it though a practical analogy. "If you are out walking and see a tall building Thorpe, by using Pythagoras you can find out how tall it is."

I promise you, hand on heart, that while having appreciated the aesthetic qualities of many tall buildings I have never felt tempted to work out how tall they are. Never, ever!

In life, as we learn practical lessons, the academic mush of school is usually forgotten, to be replaced by things that are relevant to our lives. I was always a duffer at maths, still am. As a result of a condition possibly related to dyslexia, my mind goes blank when I am confronted with an algebraic equation and yet in my job I could solve the complex problems posed by needing to balance telecommunications traffic across a network. Quite simply that was a practical problem and I can do practical. What we have to learn to do we learn by doing.

Where modern education fails is in its focus on the narrow objective of passing exams. The purpose of education is not to force feed pupils on information so they can regurgitate it on examination day, education should tech them to want to learn. Life is much richer if we learn constantly and for us to want to learn constantly we must be made curious.
When pupils are leaving school without their curiosity ignited then education is failing.


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poets cornered
Boggart Blog

Elsewhere: [ The Original Boggart Blog] ... Daily Stirrer ...[Little Nicky Machiavelli]... [ Ian's Authorsden Pages ]... [Scribd]...[Wikinut] ... [ Boggart Abroad] ... [ Grenteeth Bites ] ... Ian Thorpe at Flickr ] ... [ Tumblr ] ... [Ian at Minds ] ... [ Authorsden blog ] ... [Daily Stirrer News Aggregator]

Changes

God's Blog in which The Almighty sets the record straight of a few things has moved to

God's Blog

This is for several reasons including the fact that my WYSIWYG editor has disappeared, but maily because of the disproportionate amount of time one has to spend on promotion just to get a handful of hits here.

A scatological must

Visit Terry's Fartology blog to learn more than you ever wanted to know about breaking wind.
Fartology

Santas Of The World Unite

More than 100 Santa Clauses and their little helpers have gathered in an amusement park north of Copenhagen this week for the annual World Santa Claus Congress. The three-day convention includes a chimney climbing competition and a parade in the capital. Participating Papa Noels, Santa Clauses, St Nicks and Sinter Klaases are drafting plans to improve their working conditions, including standardising chimney –widths in the EU and holding Christmas twice a year to lessen the one-day-a-year burden on Santas.

Perhaps the Santas will be treated to a nanny state lecture from Oprah on the detrimental effect on health of all those mince pies (saturated fat) and glasses of sherry (saturated brains) or maybe the animal rights lobby will show up and demand that the Satnas switch from reindeer powered sleighs to internal combustion engined snow - cats. Which will then lead to violations of the Kyoto treaty. Which will prompt Bush to talk of America's special relationship with is ally Lapland, thus making The North Pole, Elves and Christmas stockings targets for Al Quaeda terror attacks. Blair will ten order British security forces to follow and shoot five times in the head anybody suspected of posessing Christmas Puddings (incendiary when soaked with Brandy) Christmas Crackers (packed with high explosives) or sage and onion stuffing (can be used in poison gas attacks)

All in all, in the furture Christmas is going to be a jolly time. Thank Goddess I'm a pagan.

Greenteeth

The Sweet Smell of Failure

The fate of those who do not question authority (Source: Flickr)

The word “fail” should be deleted from the school vocabulary, and replaced with the term “deferred success”, according to members of the Professional Association of Teachers. Being told they were a failure can put children off education for the rest of their lives, they said. The idea is being put forward by two members at the union’s annual conference in Buxton, Derbyshire.

Well its nice to know after all these years I did not fail my school exams after all (my success was deferred some years but I ended up making exponentially more money than my teachers) but this story brings to mind a bizarre encounter a number of years ago. Meeting representatives of a potential client to discuss a consultancy project I was confronted with three suits, one of whom was American. The British people started off reasonably enough; "did you have a good trip down, jolly nice weather for the time of year" and blah blah. The American held a copy of my CV as it it was a piece of pre owned bog roll and went straight for the jugular. "Why did your further education come after several years out of the system?"

I told him I was not in love with the academic environment and wanted to get into work so I could afford to travel.
"But why did you not want to go through sixth form college and on to University?"
I answered truthfully, "Well I failed several examinations and so could not, even if I had wanted to."
Instead of asking why I had failed to which I could have answered "because I was bored out of my head at school having decided by the age of twelve than most of what they were trying to tech me was bollocks," he seized on the word "fail."

What he failed to understand was far from feeling inadequate at my failure to get into university after leaving school, I really didn't give a flying fuck. But I supposed someone who thinks to conform means the same as to succeed could never get their head round that attitude.

"Why do you consider yourself a failure, why do you feel inadequate because of this, do you reproach yourself for your early failures."

In the end I stood up. "Gentlemen," I said, "I used the word fail perfectly correctly in the context, only to suggest I did not pass certain test. As my CV shows I have enjoyed considerable success in my somewhat varied career since then and gained valuabe experience which I could bring to your project. This obsession with one word however demonstrates to me that you organisation is not ready to confront its difficulties and therefore I must terminate our meeting."

That incident shows not only that I am an arrogant bastard but also that we misunderstand the purpose of education if we seriously think it is to empower young people by giving them the ability to think for themselves. What is truly required of the education system by government and industry is that it creates a population conditioned to conform. As the old sixties T shirt slogan told us under a picture of a thuggish security man "You must never question authority."

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Garry Trotter and the Portal of Pleasure #7

The rage of Humblebore had been cataclysmic, Swinemoles had shaken to its foundations as he berated the pair he had thought of as his star pupils for their undignified descent into muggleistic behaviour.
"YOU WERE HAVING SEX IN THE SHOWER!" the headmaster had stormed.
Sibilant Shush, who as housemaster had attended the interview, commented "Well I never did."
"We guessed that," Garry quipped,
"Muggles have drugs for the problem," Briony added.
At that Humblebore's rage had become incoherent as the young lovers stood side by side, pinkies entwined, looking incredibly pleased with themselves.
In the Wizard world sex was forbidden until after the age of 51 as it had a counter productive effect, distracting young participants from their magical studies and turning them towards drugs and rock and roll. Seventeen year - olds shagging in the showers was about as a great a misdemeanour as could be.
"But what can we do?" Prof. Philtre has complained, "they both grew up with muggle families and have been exposed…"
"Oh they have, as we are all aware," Sibilant said unnecessarily.
"…been exposed to negative influences. Muggles watch stuff on their televisions that would never be seen in a crystal ball."
Eventually all the teachers concerned agreed that the pair should be grounded until after the exams and Garry's cloak of invisibility would be confiscated to prevent secret assignations.
"Quite right, if Briony is penetrated by an invisible man she could end up having a phantom pregnancy." said Sibilant who, in the opinion of Prof. Philtre, seemed to be taking an unhealthy interest in the ins and outs of the incident.

"You were doing … it, WOW … and old Humblebore and Philtre caught you, and you were naked" Dementia said for the millionth time as a crowd of girls surrounded Briony in the dorm.
Briony was tired of explaining that yes, they had been doing it, and no, it did not mean they were married now and no, she did not know why they had done it, it just seemed like a good idea at the time and would everybody just shut up because it was none of their business.
Garry was getting a similar reception except that everybody in the boys dorm was pretending they had "done it" many times.
"Batto Bellfry reckons he has a spell that can magic up two prozzers for a threesome," a friend of the school bully and resident smartarse said.
"Yeah it’s the spell of having a rich Dad. Batto might teleport in ladies of negotiable affection from the Shepherd Market but he pays them Muggle money.
"I'm not going to bother with arms and legs and a head and that, girls are always whinging, I'm just going to magic the fun bits," Don Beesley said.
Typical of Don, thought Garry, he doesn't realise the bits that do the whinging can be fun too. He thought of his muggle books and some of the wild things the people in those pictures were getting up to.
Soon the threat of exams meant the novelty of Garry and Briony's love affair was forgotten and by using their gnome helps as go - betweens they were able to arrange a meeting.
They were mad for each other. For the first time there was no talk of magic or trickery, instead they talked of walking on sandy beaches or camping in the pine woods of the Spanish coast ; going to Glastonbury not for the mystical ambience of the Tor but for the vibrant energy of the Scissor Sisters and the Kaiser Chiefs; island hopping around the Aegean. And they made love.
Two weeks after the exams something happened and for everybody at Swinemoles life would never be the same again.
Briony had organised a picnic for everybody in their year. They had gpne off to the woods without any teachers accompanying them. Garry was still not supposed to see his girlfriend but he had managed to sneak into Humblebore's study and get the cloak of invisibility back and he followed on after the main crowd.
"What have they packed in the hamper Bri," the ever hungry Don Beesley asked as the group settled in a clearing.
Briony looked into the big hamper. "There are plenty of sandwiches, chicken, ham, salmon, loads of salad (everyone groaned) and lashings of ginger beer. Dig in everyone.
While the crowd were getting their food, Garry materialised among them.
Briony clapped her hands, "Listen everyone. We know you are enjoying yourselves but me and Garry have something to tell you."
Thirty faces turned towards the pair.
"Um - the - er - thing is," Garry said, sounding awfully like Hugh Grant, Briony thought, "the thing is me and Bri. aren't going to be around for the end of term party."
"We are going backpacking in France," Briony added.
"Yeah, well, - erm - everybody says we have done crap in our exams and neither of us can put a decent spell together since - er - you know…"
"Yeah, we have lost our magic powers, but we have found a new kind of magic haven't we Gaz?"
Garry put his arm around his sweetheart, "all that stuff about spells and wizardry and fighting the dark forces is for kids."
Several voices cried out "no!" or "shame" but Garry went on, "its like Star Wars and Batman, there is no great conflict between good and evil. The world is what it is, shit happens all the time, whatever spells people think they can cast to stop it. The thing is, knowing how to cope with what life throws at you and carry on the best you can, knowing that enough is as much as anyone ever needs, knowing that we are all responsible to each other and to the world, when you see someone who needs a helping hand, being able to tell yourself it IS your business and you should get involved instead of leaving it to God or the government or somebody, that's real magic."
Now everybody was dead silent as Briony continued, "the muggle world is a brilliant place but thanks to people who have been greedy for wealth, thanks to power - trippers who have used the five thousand year old superstitions of an ignorant and primitive tribe of desert nomads to mess up people's heads, thanks to the war mongers who have slaughtered millions because of their culture or skin colour, its in big trouble. Thanks to being here we have learned to see things clearly, but now we must go to learn more and see what we can do to help.
"But you will be back next term," a chorus of voices said.
"Not next term, maybe never," Garry said, "magic has nothing to offer us now, we must go and find our reality."

END

Garry Trotter and the Portal of Pleasure #6

Its best to scroll down to #1 and start from there, otherwise you will get the knob jokes but not much else will make sense.

Briony lifted the lid of her desk and saw the magic soap, amazingly it was back in its wrapping. Underneath it was a note from Prof. Philtre which read, "unfortunately the soap although bought at the Wiz - Mart store is a brand available in any muggle shop. Wizards get dirty too. It does not have the power to levitate or rub itself on your body. Professor Humblebore and I suspect foul play and will be speaking to the person who gave you the soap.
Now that she thought about it Briony did remember feeling as if there were two hands rubbing her body rather than just the one holding the bar of soap. It had felt rather nice actually.
"Especially when he was tickling my…" Briony's train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Sibilant Shush, the Alan - Rickman - lookalike hexes and curses teacher.
"Order everybody. SHADDUP!" Mr Shush bellowed. "Today I want you to pair up for a your curses practical."
In the general melee Briony was making for Garry so that while working on the exercise they could talk about what had happened but Shush steered her towards boring little Dementia Pox.
"You're not working with Trotter today girl, Prof. Philtre thinks you spend too much time together."
"Oh sir…"
"No arguments. Get Pox now."
"Yeah but - yeah but…"
"Now!"
Pouting like a botox lip job Briony found Dementia who was thrilled that she would be working with the smartest girl in the class and chattered excitedly, getting on her partner's nerves as they set out into the Weird Wood.
The project, which would count towards the exam, was to turn something into something else. If you were turning something nice into something nasty or something nasty into something nice, it had to deserve it. Safest option was to turn a pebble into a flower. Nobody got hurt, pebbles had no self awareness and flowers were stupid so that was kind of neutral. If on the other hand you turned a Prince into a toad without him having done something really really bad, questions were bound to be asked. Briony was not in the mood for thinking things through however, she had other problems on her mind.
"Demmy, have you ever been groped?"
"Um groped. Let's see; Ippissimus Stoatmasher tried to stick his tongue in my mouth when we kissed under the mistletoe last Winter Solstice, but I kicked him on the shin. Why?"
"I was groped in the shower."
"In the shower? Wow Bri, I had no idea you were a lezza. Cool."
"Not by a girl, by - erm - well I'm not sure but I think it was Garry."
"Garry, well he's not bad I suppose, a bit serious though."
"Trouble is I thought it was a randy ghost and told Prof. Philtre. I need to warn Gaz. before Humblebore sends for him."
"Why did you let him grope you."
Briony told the story of the heavy breathing she had heard when in the shower, of the magic soap and of the feeling that hands were caressing her wet body."
"Wow Briony that's, like, a sexual experience. Well kewel. You so are the most wickedest girl in our year."
Briony always found it a tad embarrassing when Dementia tried to do street talk. Even so the ruse worked, within an hour all the girls on the exercise knew about it and were trying to find Garry. Prof. Philtre was one step ahead however, she had asked Sibilant Shush to send Garry and Ron to the Mists of Time to see if they could turn then into now.
Frustrated and angry Briony should have let Dementia do the exercise but when they caught Handsome Hare trying to seduce the fairy Cobweb, which was against the rules, she gave the long eared creature no chance to say that it wasn't what it looked like.
"Vain creature I am going to turn you into an ugly goon," she said, raising her magic wand.
"Ah well, hare today, goon tomorrow," sighed Handsome with a shrug. There was a little puff of smoke and in his place stood a creature that looked like a cross between a potato and a homeless tortoise.
"We so are in trouble now," Dementia moaned, "they were only having a snog."
"Don't care," Briony huffed.
The examination had taken all day and as soon as it ended Briony hared off to the shower room. She stripped as quickly as possible and dived into the shower cubicle, saying the magic phrase. Unseen hands picked up the muggle soap and started to caress her. She could not resist enjoying the sensation for a few moments, even though there was something hard and pointy pressing against her bottom. Suddenly she remembered the danger they were in and stamped down where she guessed Garry's foot would be.
"Ow. Watch out."
"Garry, you're in big trouble."
"You told?"
"I thought it was a randy ghost. I wouldn't have minded if you had said."
"Really?"
"Course not, I've fancied you since the end of third year. Take that stupid cloak off and let me see you."
Once both were naked and visible they fell to tongue on tonsil action as they stood under the jet of warm water."
"Do it to me Garry," Briony gasped.
"Do what?"
"It, you know, what those people are doing in your muggle books."
"How did you know."
"Don Beesley told every everybody and we all sneaked into your room for a look. It was very … educational."
"Well I've never…"
"Nor me, but I don't think its absolutely necessary for the boy to have a moustache."
After a lot of fumbling and grunting they did it.
"Oh God, Oh God, Ohgodohgodohgod," Briony squealed.
"Ahem, not exactly. Although theoretically, according to Shamanic tradition we are all part of God, as the oneness is sometimes known," Humblebore's sonourous voice said outside the cubicle.
CHECK IN TOMORROW FOR THE EXCITING CLIMAX TO THIS GARRY TROTTER ADVENTURE.

Garry Trotter and the Portal of Pleasure #5 (adult humour)

This 7 part  parody really has to be read in order [1] ... [2] ... [3] ... [4]...5 ... [Next]

Hormones are rampant at Swimemole Academy for chav wizards. Garry Trotter finds his fascination with Briony's bumps is leading him to take too many risks ...

 

At last Garry had managed to get Briony alone. "Hi Bri," he said, blushing deeply, "I - er - I - er - I sneaked into Wiz - Mart yesterday and got you something. Er - some special soap, not that you whiff or anything but - er - but - er - but I know girls like that sort of thing and - er - you take a lot of showers so I thought you would like some magic soap. When you are in the shower you just say blither - blather - let's have lather and the soap levitates and rubs itself all over you. Smells nice too."

Briony sniffed the bar of soap that Garry was holding towards her. "Mmm, lavender and dragonmusk, my favourite. Thank you Garry, that's sweet of you. I'll use it today, perhaps it will keep the ghost heavy - breather away."

"The what?"

"There's a ghost in the girls shower. I can hear him breathing somewhere above me. I'm going to complain to Prof. Philtre."

"Yeah you should," Garry mumbled and hurried off.

As the bell rang to signal the end of lessons later that afternoon the boy wizard raced upstairs, changed out of classroom clothes into his swimming shorts and then he put on his cloak of invisibility. Carefully he crept out of his room, down the stairs and along the dormitory corridors to the girls showers. It would have been disastrous to bump into anybody but he made it, let himself into the shower room and just had time to take up position in Briony's favoured cubicle before she arrived and started to undress. As she took off her shirt and singlet, revealing the pert breasts he could not suppress a gasp of delight. Briony looked upwards , slightly apprehensive as Garry though what a good word "pert" was. He had learned it from one of his muggle books. Muggles had some great names for dirty stuff.

Now Briony was taking off her skirt and panties. At last he had a close up view of the Portal of Pleasure. It was a bit disappointing really, just a triangle of hair. He had expected something so magical to shimmer or change shape or do something though he did not know what.

The naked girl stepped towards him, this was the moment. Garry had a sudden impulse to run away but there could be no getting past Briony without being noticed. Then she turned on the shower, let the warm water run over her for a few seconds and said " blither - blather - let's have lather."

Again Garry wished he had not done this. He hesitated and the wet girl repeated the phrase. Excitement, fear, confusion and a host of other emotions paralysed him for a second.

"Useless soap," Briony said, reaching out. In a panic Garry grabbed the soap, lifted it and started to rub it on the naked skin that was only inches from him. He soon overcame his nervousness and got more enthusiastic about his task.

"Soap, I don't think we need quite so much lather there." The soap moved away from those oh so desirable breasts and a few seconds later moved again in response to "nor down there thank you."

When all the great masses of bubbles had been rinsed away and Briony had towelled herself dry she looked up at the ceiling again and said, "you're just getting too forward Mister. I'm going to have you exorcised."
"A dirty old man ghost?" said Prof Philtre, "are you sure someone was not playing a trick? Ghosts do not generally have a libido, of if they do it is reserved for ladies of negotiable affection who have been dead for several hundred years. Now tell me about this soap Trotter gave you."

Briony handed over the perfectly ordinary muggle soap and told the teacher how if you said blither - blather - let's have lather, it levitated and washed you.

"Smells fishy to me," the professor of potions said.

"That's probably because it spent too long around you - know - where," said Briony. "That was what made me suspicious."

"I think you were right to be suspicious," the professor said, "but I really do not think the culprit is a randy ghost. Do you mind leaving this with me?"

WILL HARRY BE FOUND OUT AND EXPELLED FROM SWINEMOLES OR WILL HE MANAGE TO TRICK HIS WAY OUT OF ANOTHER DODGY SITUATION. YOU CAN FIND OUT TOMORROW.

Garry Trotter and the Portal of Pleasure #4

Not fan fiction but satirical parody, these posts don't make much sense unless read in order: Perevious 1 ... 2 ...3

When Don Beesley had heard of the private single room he has thrown a hissy fit. The privileges that came Garry's way simply because he was the son of someone people said would have been the greatest wizard that ever lived irritated everybody from time to time, but particularly Don because the two boy wizards were best mates and you just didn't abandon your mates.

"Remember in the first year we made a pact that we would stick together right through school, soon forgot that didn't you. We made a deal we would share a double study. Soon left me behind when you got a single because you are Humblebore's pet didn't you?"

"I'm not Humblebore's pet," Garry sounded hurt. The school and the whole world of white wizard and witching had great hopes of Garry because he had defeated Volauvent and banished him to the dark dimensions, but such a burden of expectation lay heavily on a boy's shoulders.

"Only senior get singles, you are not entitled," Don whined.

"It isn't my fault, I didn't ask for a single," Garry protested. "Anyway I wanted to know if you fancy coming up for tea and crumpets later."

"Oh yeah. Not good enough to share your room but I can come up for tea and crumpets." Don was struggling to hide the fact that he was thrilled to be asked. "Well I'll have to see if I have anything better to do. Batto Bellfry had been awfully friendly since you moved out of the dorm and he lays on cream cakes for people who go to tea."

"Don, it wasn't my idea to move to a single. Humblebore made me. Because…well because something is happening to me and it might be dangerous. And it is happening to Briony too."

"Briony, so she's going to share your room?"

Garry's magic wand filled up with cosmic energy at the thought. "No! Well nobody has said anything. I suppose they want to keep it secret."

"Humblebore's pet, nygh nygh na nygh nygh," Don mocked.

"Listen Don, I didn't want any of this. All I want is to be an ordinary boy wizard and not get noticed everywhere I go and just be able to have a laugh with my mates and play Futtox for Wyverntail house."

"No, you never asked for it Garry, but you never say no when it comes along do you? You just manipulate people coz they are useful to you, you're a user, Garry Trotter."

Garry's eyes filled up with tears as Don stomped off.

A secret is not worth having unless it is shared and Don's hostility had to be tolerated because Garry needed to share his secret with somebody. Later that afternoon Don went to the single study as arranged.

"I wanted to show you something," the boy wizard said as his friend scoffed dozens of hot buttered crumpets.
"What, something else Humblebore has given you, teachers pet."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well a user is the lowest form of friend."

"Just look at what I have to show you then and perhaps you will understand." Garry had invited Don at this for afternoon tea because it was the time Briony took her daily shower. Lessons were over and there was usually the residue of exploding toads, leaky skunks or some form of ectoplasm to be washed off. Girls were naturally more particular about this than boys.

"What is it, a new spell? Cool, is Briony coming up?"

"Briony will erm…sort of be involved…sort of."

"Sort of, you haven't made her invisible have you pig foot. You've made her invisible and you don't know how to get her back. Hahahahahaaa. We're not supposed to do invisible spells until after our AS levels Hahahahaa. The great wizard and you can't even uninvisible someone."

"Oh she will be totally visible Don, just not actually here. Look," Garry felt control shifting back his way a little as he pulled the rug aside.

Don put his eye to the knothole in the floor. "WOW, its Bri. and she's got no kit on. Is it some kind of video device? Hey, she is in the shower. Is it a 3D version of psycho. Garry! We have to help Briony, someone is going to knife her."

"She isn't in any danger," Garry said, his voice shrill with tension, "move over its my turn."

"No, I've seen the film Garry, this guy stabs her through the shower curtain."

"Don, its not a horror film, just Briony taking a shower."

"With no kit on."

"How else do you take a shower?"

"I don't think we should be watching Garry."

"You have sisters Don, what do you reckon of the way Bri. looks? Look closely around the top of her legs."

"She's… she's… yeuch, there a great big hairy wart where her twinkle should be. What is it? Is that the dark magic you were telling me about?"

"That, Don, is something muggles know more about than us. I had to go to a muggle shop to find any useful stuff about it. That is the Portal of Pleasure. Sometimes known as the Gateway to Heaven, the Delta of Venus and the Fountain of Ecstasy. Its something very special."

"Bollocks," said Don, "it looks like a Badgers arse."

Garry felt all alone and confused as he realised he could not share his amazingly brilliant plan with his best friend.

WILL GARRY'S CUNNING PLAN BRING HIM WITHIN REACH OF WHAT HE DESIRES SO MUCH. READ THE NEXT THRILLING EPISODE.

Garry Trotter and the Portal of Pleasure #3

These stories make no sense unless you read them in order - Links to previous chapeters [#1] ... [#2]

It was almost exam time and Garry was supposed to be revising in his room. Instead of concentrating on The History of Wart Cures he was thinking about Briony and his wand was demanding attention. Throwing off his clothes Garry was about to get down to some serious work when he was distracted by a scratching, scuffing noise coming from beyond the end of the bed. Strange noises were not a strange occurrence in Swinlemoles and Garry tried to ignore it. But the noise got more persistent and was accompanied by a lot of huffing and puffing and grunting.
"What on Earth is going on?" the boy wizard asked nobody in particular and was surprised to get an answer.
"Just - puff - moving the - grunt - rung a bit Mr. - arrrrrooooogahoof - Garry," said the voice of Dobber the domestic gnome whose job was to look after the private room and its occupant.
That occupant now sat up to see what was really going on. Dobber's capacity for misunderstanding was legendary.
"Dobber, why are you moving the rug?"
"Dobber 'as found somefink what 'onerable Mr Garry will find interessin."
"Not now Dobber, I'm busy."
Dobber looked as if he was about to burst into tears. "Oh woe is Dobber, Dobber has been bad gnome and disturbed 'onerable Mr Garry just as great wizard was about to spank the monkey. But Dobber only wanted 'elp Mr Garry get a peep at Miss Briny wivvout clotheses."
"What!" said Garry, leaping forward to help the gnome. Together they pulled the rug aside and Dobber pointed proudly to a knothole in the floor and indicated that Garry should look through it. When he did so he was treated to a view of Briony naked and about to step into the shower.
Later in the girls dormitory Briony confided to Titania Hemlock that she thought there was a heavy breather ghost in the girls' showers.
It was a while before Garry understood what had been revealed. There was nothing in the school library of volumes on wizardry, witchcraft, potions and enchantments about young wizards getting hair around their private bits. Just as he was growing a patch of hair around his willie, Briony, who did not have a willie of course, sported a dark triangle at the place where her body joined her legs. Eventually Garry had had to use the Cloak of Invisibility left for him by his parents to slip out of school and into the dimension of reality. Once there he had visited a muggle shop that had the windows painted so nobody could see inside and a sign that said "Adult Book Shop" before he found anything useful.
Inside the shop were thousands of books showing male and female muggles without clothes. All of them had the strange hair that he and Briony now sported. He also noticed that the men all had moustaches. Horror of Horrors, he and Briony were turning into Muggles. They would be expelled from school and have to give back their broomsticks and get jobs in fast food restaurants. Who could possibly hate them enough to have done this.
Despite the spotty young man behind the counter becoming very panicky when he saw his stock lifting itself off the shelves, thumbing through its own pages and then disappearing as Garry slipped books that he fancied under the cloak of invisibility, nothing was done to stop him and he strolled out of the shop with a lot of valuable research material.
Later in his room Garry had time to study the literature properly. All the muggle ladies had hair, but some just had a little tuft called a Brazilian and others had narrow line called a landing strip. Garry supposed it was where muggle men tried to land their broomsticks. One woman whose pictures were in several books had a heart shaped patch of pink hair. Garry thought that was quite artistic and then decided that Briony had chosen a triangle because it was a powerful magical symbol. Briony was great at defensive magic, she would have been quick to realise something was going on and protect herself. But how could Garry ask for her help. He could not even talk to her without blushing these days. It was impossible to get near the girl wizard without feeling embarrassed so mentioning such a delicate subject was out of the question.
And then, as he studied the muggle books he though of how he had acquired them and a brilliant idea came to him.


Go to next Chapter

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Garry Trotter and the Portal of Pleasure #2 (adult humour)

Garry Trotter and the Portal Of Pleasure - chapter 2


These spoofs make no sense unless you read them in order. Go to Chapter 1

A few days after the evil enchantment had fallen upon Garry Mrs Vorbis the school housekeeper was complaining to the headmaster.

"Bedsheets stuck fast together again this morning Professor. It just isn't good enough, you know how much extra laundry that sort of thing causes. Everything has to be done by hand, you have to take care with Wizard's jiz; can't just go waving a wand."

"Unfortunately that is what young Trotter has been doing."

Mrs Vorbis was one of those humourless women who did not see the funny side of anything, especially if it concerned boy's underwear or bedlinen. "I can't just go zapping semen, into another dimension you know, its not like seamen, they are always disappearing into the triangle, but semen you have to be careful with. If I was to banish wizard seed into another dimension just like that we should have hidden forests full of pregnant nymphs and fairies."

"Oh come now Mrs Vorbis," Humblebore said without thinking.

"Come now? Young Trotter has been doing enough of that for the whole school, staff included I should say."

"I merely meant to ask you to show a little tolerance. Boys will be boys."

"Not on my clean bed linen they won't. That sort of thing needs to be trodden on before it gets out of hand. We shall have pregnant fairies turning up on the Tricia show before we know where we are."

Humblebore tried to recall if he had seen a pregnant fairy on the Tricia show but could not. Jerry Springer maybe, but that was America. "I shall see Trotter today before he shoots off to Futtox practice," the Headmaster promised.

Professor Rebus Humblebore adjusted his spectacles and looked in a stern but not unkind way at Garry.

"Hmm. It seems young Trotter that you have reached a point…"

"That is SO UNFAIR! Nobody understands me, I get the blame for everything around here. You spread stories about me and make everybody hate me…"

"Trotter! That is quite enough, now as I was saying…"

"I don't care what you were saying. I don't want to listen to you, I didn't ask to come to this stupid school. Witches and Wizards, that's kids stuff."

"As I was saying Garry, we feel you have reached the point at which you might welcome the privacy of a single room."

"What? Do you think I'm Billy No Mates saddo or something? Do you think I want to sit on my own studying every night? You don't want me to have any friends, you are destroying my life."

"Now listen Garry," Humblebore said patiently, "we just want to do what is best for you. I have heard that certain things are happening that indicate you are ready for a more - er - grown up environment. At some time every young man's body begins to change, certain things happen and he gets urges that may be quite upsetting."

Garry blushed deeply. How had Humblebore known the embarrassing nature of his problem.

"I just want to stay in the dorm and be one of the chaps."

"As you wish, but if you change your mind I'll be happy to arrange a private room for you."

As Garry left the Professor sighed. Things were going to get difficult.

A few days later Garry was alone in his private room. He lay naked on top of the bedcovers, head propped up with extra pillows so that he could look down at his body which had become a source of fascination. Garry was frightened and embarrassed at what was happening to him, but also excited. Something dark and powerful had entered his life and was working its enchantment on him. His magic wand, as the Swinemoles boys liked to call their todger, was getting longer and thicker, also there was a dark smudge of curly hair growing around its base.

As he looked at his magic wand it became suffused with cosmic energy again. Absent - mindedly he began to stroke it so that it would relax, as he did so his thoughts turned to Briony.

Suddenly the school swat had ceased to be just a girl, a good sort though far more sensible than was necessary and absolutely hopeless at the school sport Futtox. Since the spell had first manifested itself Garry had started to find her interesting in different ways. He no longer wanted to talk to her about spells and potions, if fact he could hardly talk to her at all, he just blushed and got an erection. But he had started to find her interesting in strange ways and strange places. Her legs and bottom were interesting and those lumpy bits that had appeared under her sweater, they were magic. Not in the wizarding sense of course, but magic all the same.

Don Beesley said they were just two bags of sweets that Briony did not want to share. Don could be childishly idiotic at times.

Garry wondered what the things on Briony's chest were and tried to think of a way he could cop a look.
IN TOMORROW'S THRILLING INSTALMENT GARRY PUT HIS PLAN INTO ACTION AND HUMBLEBORE IS AFRAID THE BOY WIZARD IS BEING DESTROYED BY MUGGLE INFLUENCES.

Go to next Chapter



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Garry Trotter And The Portal of Pleasure

Headbutt Blog's greatest scoop to date. Exclusive to Headbutt Blog, every day this week we will bring you an abridged serialisation of the seventh book in the saga of Garry Trotter - Boy Wizard. This one is called Garry Trotter And The Portal of Pleasure. Despite seven years having elapsed since Garry was first enrolled at Swinemoles City Academy for Supernatural Studies, because Wizards usually are subject to arrested development due to the fact they live for a thousand years, the hero is just experiencing puberty and embarking upon the wild adventures that brings. Now read on.

It was almost dawn of a summer day, a pale light crept through the boy's dormitory window and over the sleeping forms of the pupils. One pupil was not sleeping however. Garry Trotter opened his eyelids just enough to let in a tiny sliver of light, enough to let him look down towards his feet. Garry could not see his feet because some mysterious force was holding up his bed cover as if it were a tent.
In the pale light Garry could just make out the hands of the clock. It was four fifteen a.m. Most people would sleep for another two hours at least. Looking towards the next bed Garry was reassured to see the carroty hair of his best friend Don Beesley, the only part visible above the quilt. The whole dorm was silent and still. Garry was just about to lift up his quilt to get a better look at what was going on when a sudden noise made him duck down and pretend to be asleep.

The noise became louder and Garry lay very still, wondering if the thing under his quilt was some strange creature from another dimension or simply a magical force - field caused by his arch enemy Batto Bellfry.
The noise was very loud now and sounded like the distress call of a terminally wounded bull Buffalo.

"Heeeewwwww hna hnuzane
Hghugh guh eeeeeooooowwwwwmmm
Hhhhhyyyynnn mzgmiyappy" the noise sang

Garry heave a sigh of relief. It was only Legless Len, the Swinemoles drunken ghost trying to find his way back to his dungeon before sunrise.

"Goodnight Len," Garry called as the ghost passed his bed.

"Hnnnuggite Meestair Grrrryyyy," Len answered incoherently.

"You should keep off the spirits Len," Garry said, as he had on many other nights.

"Hohoho, kp 'ffa spiriz, hahaha, vry gd. Hahahahahohoho, spiriz." Len laughed as if it was the first time he had heard the joke, which in a manner of speaking it was as ghosts have no past or future but only now.

When Len had gone on his way Garry looked at the quilt again. It still looked like a tent. The thing had not gone. Perhaps it was a snake with rigor mortis, he thought, or somebody had left him a new wand. Most likely it was a spell gone wrong. Garry half remembered a dream about Briony, the girl who had come from a muggle family and befriended him and Don on their first day at the school. It had been a rude dream, Briony had had no clothes on. Of course, Briony was doing a project on extra sensory perception so she must have caught him dreaming about her and this was a trick to get him back.

Cautiously Garry lifted the quilt to see what Briony had done. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he let out a gasp of horror. The thing was not a creature of wizardry at all. It was him. Well, part of him even if it did look quite like a new wand. Whoever had done this to him was a very powerful wizard and obviously was on the dark side. Had Volauvent found a way back from the twelfth dimension and come looking for revenge? Garry reached down and touched the thing that had grown where his willie had been. He expected it to be rough and scaly or cold and slimy but it was warn and soft. It did not feel magical in any way, in fact it seemed to enjoy being touched. With a faraway look in his eye Garry started to stroke the thing.

Soon he was fast asleep again.

IN TOMORROW'S INSTALMENT PROF. HUMBLEBORE LEARNS OF GARRY'S AFFLICTION.

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince and other books
Harry Potter films
Harry Potter at Amazon

Taking The Piss

For American readers, "Taking The Piss" = taking advantage of in a very unfair way, pulling a scam, abusing one's position. Also means "making fun of" in a different context.

Now that is just taking the piss (Image source)

You have heard all the stories about a looming water shortage. Does it not seem strange that in a summer so far not particularly memorable for its endless days of brilliant blue skies and scorching sunshine we are warned that a serious water shortage is imminent. What has really caught the attention of Headbutt Blog's relentless hunter of cant and hypocrisy Ed. Butt is the call by the Mayor of London to refrain from flushing each time you pee.

There is an old maxim in low rainfall nations like Australia, "if its yellow its mellow, if its brown flush it down," although having spent a lot of time in London I know this should be revised for Londoners; "if its yellow its mellow, if its brown and tastes of shit its probably drinking water." Yep, the product of London Water is perhaps not of the best quality to start with. Another old joke relating to the recycling of water in the British capital it that London Water Company takes quality control very seriously, in fact all the water Londoners drink has been passed by qualified chemists.

Flushing is not environmentally friendly The Mayor tells us, perhaps he should explain what is environmentally friendly about letting millions of gallons of water leak away through fractures in the hundred and fifty year old pipes.

Pee is environmentally friendly anyhow, lots of gardeners collect theirs and put it on the compost. I suppose it gives the marigolds an especially bright hue. A hundred and fifty years ago (around the time the water mains were being laid) the urine of pregnant women was highly prized for its use in something I would probably rather not think about. Urine is a very underrated commodity.

As well as its role in ayurvedic medicine (which again I would rather not think about) it was for centuries used in tanning and in the dyeing of cloth. Our revulsion at stuff that comes out of the body is therefore modern and bourgeois. The cried of "yeuch, disgusting" that greeted Livingstone's suggestion are entirely the product of modern urban prissiness. Country folk are not victims of such delicate sensibilities, I speak as a country lad who once failed a school spelling test because the crucial word was "auspices".

What should outrage us is that a senior public official is blame shifting again. Livingstone is saying "there is a water shortage because you irresponsible, binge - drinking bastards are pissing too often, so you can suffer." Actually the problems exist because of mismanagement in the privatised utility companies. For every pound they spend on giving you a good service to your premises they spend ten on employing people in Mumbai to harass you with a million unsolicited marketing calls a day.

And that really is taking the piss.



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Enfoncez Votre Fromage M. Chirac

There is nothing like a bit of xenophobic name calling to get us all in the holiday mood. As President Chirac has kicked off about British food, suggesting it is the worst in Europe (except for Finland - I wonder what they did to him?) I think that conveniently excuses me from the need to be diplomatic.
Half the fun of being English of course is that it is our patriotic duty to say outrageously insulting things about the French. Half the fun of being French, my French friends tell me, is that it is a patriotic duty to say outrageously insulting things about the English. On with the motley.
A fat lot of room Chirac has to talk about crappy English food. The French will eat anything. One regional delicacy in Lorraine province consists of cow's noses thinly sliced and sautéed in garlic butter. Sometimes I think the French would eat dog turds if they were sautéed in garlic butter. Another French delicacy is lamb's tongues. I have often taken to task those American fast food chains whose products contain mainly lips and arseholes. French haute cuisine chefs go further however, they serve snot and saliva. Another French delicacy is pigs feet. Next time you are passing a pig pen just take a look what those trotters have been marinating in before they land on your plate.
Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding, spotted dick and custard, faggots and peas, bangers and mash; all these have been celebrated in verse. Scottish Haggis which Chirac described as a weapon of mass destruction (that's rich coming from a man who eats cow's noses) is the subject of a famous verse by Scotland's national poet Robert Burns.
"Fair fa your honest sonsie face,
great chieftain o' the pudding race,
aboon them a' ye tak your place,
painch, tripe and thairm.
Weel worthy are ye o' a grace
as lang's my arm."
So there! I'll bet pigs feet have never inspired such eloquence.
The Gleneagles Hotel where the G8 conference is being held will be serving a traditional Scottish banquet in honour of the world's leaders. Let's hope that for the benefit of M. Chirac the menu includes that Glaswegian favourite Deep Fried Mars Bar.
BTW: For the benefit of politically correct type who infiltrate this site from time to time, I love French food (though I tend to pass on cows noses) The comments of M. Chirac were meant humourously and should be taken as such, as should this posting. For God's sake, what kind of a world would it be if the French and the English could not insult each other. We would have to gang up on the Dutch. (Belgium is to France what Wales is to England.)

G8 protest movement
the rich get richer
America and G8
Chirac and Blair
Chirac and Haggis
Spotted Dick
Ian Thorpe Interview and Multi Media performance in Poetry Life and Times
Go over the top with Ian Thorpe at Boggart Blog