Friday, November 16, 2007
Another Ton Up, Guys n' Gals!!
Urgherurgherurgh!! Now then, now then, guys n' gals, Sir Jim'll here! As it 'appens, it's Mick's two hundredth post! Urgherurgherurgh. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Now then, now then, now then, I, Sir James of Saville, as is traditional, 'ave fixed it for young Michael to go back in time, as it 'appens, and pick out the best bits of posts 101-199. As if I've got the time, what with me being attacked and 'aving my glasses stolen by a young lady! Stoke Mandeville! I used to be a wrestler, as it 'appens! I could kill people with my bare feet in the old days! These days, I can't get my trainers off, guys n' gals! Women, give you brain damage, they do. If I was thirty years younger, I'd have had her in a Boston crab before you could say 'Jingle Jangle!' Urgherurgherurgh! This first excerpt is from November last year:
"Last night was the launch party/exhibition for the MC2 book . I say party, but unlike every other party I've been to, I didn't vomit."
Hows about that , then, guys n' gals! Vomit! Lovely, lovely, lovely! Next up, from the same month, young Michael treats us to his views on the latest incarnation of Jim'll Bond, as it 'appens:
"Daniel Craig is excellent as 007. The fact that he is not physically the stereotypical Bond means that you don't automatically compare him to Sean Connery, as you do with every other actor who has wielded the Walther.(Like the hair colour was that important anyway. Roger Moore's hair was a kind of sandy brown and Connery's hair depended on what shop he bought it from.)"
Now then, now then, Sir Jimmy 'as never had much time for hairpieces. I've always preferred wearing my hair like Prince Valiant, only longer and whiter and more scruffy, as it 'appens! I reckon toupees give you brain damage, like women do. Urgherurgherurgh! In this next post, also from last November, he has a go at a colleague. Sometimes in your life, young Michael, you have to work with people you hate. Like the Hairy Cornflake, as it 'appens! Beardy get, he was!
"This annoying colleague is a fat bastard. I'm not against overweight people (I'm one myself! It cost me the Bond gig!) but he is fat, and he is a bastard. He substitutes shouting for personality, he substitutes repetition for wit, and he substitutes repetition for wit. He likes bullying the temps, and grabbing other colleagues in bear hugs or half-nelsons. I won't stand for any of that shit. He's an arsehole. A fat sweaty, lazy gobshite whose father should have pulled out early. When he was aimlessly making annoying noises and shouting that same afternoon, I told him to "stick a pie in it" to which he threatened to knock me out. Ooooohh, I'm scared! He's like a fucking pelican ie. all beak. With a flapping bag attached. I'd like to see him try and knock me out, because a)He'd get the sack and b)he'd get my toecap right under his third chin.
Sounds like that young chap needs to lose weight. Now then, now then, it just so 'appens the best way of doing that is to run a marathon. Jingle jangle jewellery! Just ignore the Mars bar they give you afterwards, guys n' gals! Another way of losing the pounds is to avoid meat, as it 'appens:
"Last night I went to a vegetarian curry house. It was full of the people I expect to see at these places. Old hippies. Men (and probablywomen) with beards, sandal wearers, those people with ridiculous Lapp reindeer herder-type wooly hats,and ill-looking young couples who are probably only in there because they were born too late to go on CND marches. Vegetarianism needs to get trendy if it's going to convert people. For every Joaquin Phoenix making it cool you've got a Carla Lane bringing it down again.It was a buffet affair which meant you can have as much sick as you like. The after-effects today were startling, with my stomach being bloated up with gas which has been seeping out in cabbagey bursts every five minutes or so. So further proof to myself, should I need it, that I'm definitely a carnivore."
Tofu gives you brain damage. As do women, as it 'appens. Spend any time with a vegetarian woman and you'll end up wired up to a machine at Stoke Mandeville. Just look at Heather Mills, guys n' gals. She's unbalanced. Sir Jim'll knows how to fix that, four beer mats under the other leg! Urgherurgherurgh! This next excerpt is from December last year, as it 'appens:
"John Barrowman thinks he's the new Tom Cruise but he reminds me of Grandstand's John Inverdale. The direction is also annoying. All those panoramic shots of Cardiff, like it's cool! All those bits where it's slow motion for a few seconds before it returns to normal speed, just to make the gang look cool when they're getting out of their van. Which, incidentally, just makes them look a bit like Scooby-Doo and the Mystery Machine gang."
Sir Jimmy reckons young Barrowman's got the right idea. He doesn't knock about with women, as it 'appens, and he hasn't got brain damage! Sir Jim'll is vindicated! These next few posts are all about Christmas, guys n' gals. Sir Jim'll's been a good lad this year, as it 'appens, and I'm hoping for a brand new shell suit and a few big cubans. The cigars, I mean! Give you lung damage! Urgherurgherurgh!
"I did some Xmas shopping today, and the bastard who first coined the phrase 'goodwill to all men' obviously never tried to buy any presents in Argos on any Saturday in December.
"Like most things, I blame my indifference to Christmas on my parents. My Dad would not let me and my brothers believe in Father Christmas. He said, and I'm paraphrasing; "I work fucking hard all year to pay for your presents, and I'm not letting some imaginary fat cunt from Lapland get all the glory!" He's got a point, but I reckon it took a little of the magic away from the festivities."
"Christmas also has other pitfalls, i.e. relatives. There are the ones that don't make any contact at all and upset you with their indifference to you at this time of year. At the other end of the scale there are those who you wish would just fuck off and leave you alone. Those people you are related to because your partner is related to them, and even she doesn't particularly like them, either, but we feel obliged to either go to their houses or let them come to ours. I know it sounds ungrateful, as they do want to see us and give us our gifts, but I could really do without listening to my Mother-In-Law fart loudly on Boxing Day. Saying that, I could really do without listening to my Mother-In-Law at all. "
No mother in the world could hold a candle to the Duchess, god rest 'er. Still, young Michael is bein' a bit cheeky, guys n' gals, having a go at his family, specially at Christmas time. In his next post, from January, Mick tells us about his New Year resolutions. My resolution is to get a new pair of glasses, because that brain-damaging bitch pinched mine!
"Every year I make the same resolutions ie. Eat less pies and pack up the fags (cigarettes, if you're American) but I'm still a 20-a-day man, and I smoke like a chimney. So this year, I'm making some resolutions I can keep."
Sir Jim'll is thinking about giving up the Cubans, but I reckon I'll just give up the cigars instead! Jingle Jangle! This next post is again about a weird colleague. Did I tell you about DLT? Urgherurgherurgh! Pipe smoking bastard! Pipes give you brain damage, as it 'appens!
His name is John, and he has this habit of suddenly breaking into song for no reason. He's not just singing along to the shitty radio. He's singing African songs. Out loud. Which is unsettling, because it means he is enjoying himself. Yesterday, I was putting my water bottle back into my locker after lunch, and, unbeknownst to me, John was right behind me, and , unexpectedly, started shouting ANC-type chants. It scared the living shit out of me. The last thing I need at the moment is a member of Ladysmith Black Mambazo with dreams of a solo career practicing down my earhole."
Now then, now then, as it 'appens, this next post is about women. You know what I think about them:
" Still, I suppose it gives us something new to argue about, other than the usual money and sex disagreements. I think she charges me too much."
I told you, young Michael, they give you brain damage! You want to stay sane, you be like me! Urgherurgherurgh!! Jingle jangle jewellery! Lovely, lovely, lovely! This is the age of the train!!
"I might have mentioned that I'm in a book called MC2 , which is out now in most bookshops of quality. You just have to look very hard for it. It was weird seeing it in Waterstone's the other weekend. A story I've written and drawn is on sale in Waterstone's! It was tucked in between a history of Wonder Woman and a book on old Commando comic strips, but even so, it felt nice. I wonder if Salman Rushdie feels the same when he's in Waterstone's with his bodyguard and sees Midnight's Children? I bet he has a wry smile under his fake beard."
As it 'appens, Sir Jim'll tried reading Midnight's Children, but it just so 'appens it wasn't about some geezer called Midnight who fixes it for boy scouts to eat ice-cream on a roller coaster, so I binned it before it gave me brain damage. Staying on the literary theme, Mick reflects on his losing the Jane Eyre comic gig:
"I'm thinking of doing a sequel to it, called Eyre 2: Bertha's Revenge, when the mental woman in the loft comes back as a zombie and starts eating the household staff, until Rochester trips her up with his white stick and then Jane dashes her brains out with a copy of Gulliver's Travels.I think it's got legs, that idea...."
Less chance of brain damage if they've been dashed out! Jingle jangle! In this next post, guys n' gals Mick again goes on about his bloody colleagues. He should just wrestle 'em, like that time I got DLT in a half-nelson and knocked that pipe out of his bearded gob! Urgherurgherurgh!
Recently, at my shitty job, we've had half-a-dozen Poles and a Czech start work, and so far, I've got no problem with them. They work hard, don't annoy me and keep themselves to themselves. If only my English colleagues were the same. One of my old (English) colleagues said to me :"We're being invaded by Poland! It's supposed to be the other way round!"I told him that it wasn't us that invaded Poland, it was the Third Reich, but, judging by his comments, he was probably on Hitler's side. "
Hitler, he was a bad fella, guys n' gals. Probably brain damaged, as it 'appens, now in this next post, young Michael has a go at the Holy Roman Empire:
"If it wasn't for the Roman Catholic stance on contraception, there wouldn't be so many unwanted children in the first place, and if you ask me, getting vulnerable children away from the Catholic church can only be a good thing. Remember, the current Pope tried to hush up all the claims of sexual abuse in Catholic institutions.They say Homosexuality isn't natural, yet they deny Jesus had any kind of sexual relationship with women. they forbid their Priests from having sex or getting married. This tells me that they think men having sex with women is bad. You'd think they'd be all for homosexuality.Think about it. Jesus knocked about with twelve geezers who were all 'fishers of men'. The only woman Christ loved was Madonna. If all that washing of feet stuff doesn't have a gay subtext, then my uncle wasn't Mr. Gay UK!"
Sir Jimmy's thinking about becoming a priest,as it 'appens, if it keeps you away from ladies. I wonder if they'd let me wear a shell suit? Jingle jangle! Archbishop Sir Jim'll of Saville MBE! Urgherurgherurgh! This next post is from February, where he kinda sticks to the theme of contraception. Not for Sir Jimmy! Like having a bath with your socks on, guys n' gals!
"My rubber (Eraser, if you're a Yank. Rubbing prophylactics on my artwork is not something I've tried yet, but some people might say it can't make it any worse. I hate those people.) decided to eat big chunks out of the bristol board and leave grey smears all over the place. I changed rubbers (the new one wasn't ribbed.) and this wouldn't get rid of the smears."
Now then, now then, Mick is on the subject of romance:
"Yesterday, as you all know was St. Valentine's Day, a day made famous by a massacre. Me and the missus don't generally make much of a fuss on Valentine's, but this year I thought I'd treat her, especially after the care she took of me during my illness, so I bought her a nice new bag and a new belt. When I gave them to her, though, she went mental and didn't speak to me all day. Still, the hoover works a treat, now.
How's about that then! I know I sound like a stuck record (you'd get a few of them on a certain beardy DJ's amateurish radio show, as it 'appens!) but women are bad for your brain. Sticking on the subject of brain damage, guys n' gals, young Michael next goes on about those brain damaged people who want to contact the dead. Not like me, I just sit in the Duchess' room for a bit!
'Psychics' are shysters. You've just got to look at Derek Acorah. They never tell us anything good, like the winning Lotto numbers, or the winner of the Cheltenham Gold Cup, they just tell us sub-horoscope "you'll meet a tall dark stranger" cobblers, and pretend it's not them making it up, it's your dead relatives telling you a revealing truth. Which is a load of shit. I can't believe in an afterlife , and if there is one, I don't reckon it's full of spirits desperate to tell their living relatives that the lamp found on the skip is worth a lot of money. Why otherwise intelligent people want to waste their money on this crap is beyond me.
Is there anybody there? No, just Sir Jim'll! Urgherurgherurgh!! This next post is from March, where Michael has a go at charity, as it 'appens!
"I thought the humour on this year's Comic Relief was in very bad taste. Those sketches based in Africa just weren't funny. What we want is more Mr. Bean!"
Now then, now then, it just so 'appens raising money for charity is hard work. How many marathons has young Michael ran? Exactly! If he starts mouthing off like that round me, guys n' gals, I'll give him brain damage! He's not listening to me, anyway, as this next post is about his attempts to meet women! Urgherurgherurgh!!
"Having a nose around this dating site, all the people on there have a list of their qualities on their profiles. Nearly all of them say 'Confident, Outgoing, Intelligent', the usual bollocks. If that is the case then, why do they have to use online dating to meet people? Some people are that confident that they don't even post their picture on their profile! The rest of their profile is so astounding that I was already in love with them, so seeing what they look like is irrelevant.Bollocks. What they probably look like is an elephant. (See what I did there? Rhyming!)"
Now then, what they probably are, is brain-damaged. This next post is about the end of Lent, as it 'appens!
"Happy Easter. The time we remember the pain and suffering and violent death of Jesus as he sacrificed himself to save us by eating Creme Eggs. "
I prefer marathons! Urgherurgherurgh!!! Oh, hang on, they're called 'Snickers' these days, aren't they? This next bit, as it 'appens, is from May, and young Mick is reflecting on how attractive he is to the ladies. What does Sir Jim'll keep saying to you, Mick?! Urgherurgherurgh!!
"I think, when it comes to how I look, I'm kind of in the Coca-Cola championship in the English football league of looks, up there with the Ipswich Towns and Southamptons (also, quite aptly, those teams' glory days are long behind them!) not up there with the Man Uniteds or Arsenals, but not nearly as ugly as the Walsalls or the Leyton Orients."
Sir Jim'll's not a fan of football. All them hooligan guys n' gals with brain damage. Wrestling's my game! Jingle jangle! Now, this next post is about bloody dating again. I reckon it's too late for young Michael, the damage is irreversible by now, as it 'appens.
"I didn't have the time to tell you about the four or five really sexually explicit messages I received through a dating site from a mad woman from Worcester. She went into really graphic detail (it was almost like a biology lesson) about the things she was going to do to me. Seeing as a lot of it involved shoving things into my anus, I politely declined her advances.
Worcester's too far away, anyway! Can you imagine having to walk back with a sore arse?"
Worcester's about 25 miles away from where Michael lives, that's nearly a marathon. Sore arse or not, a foil blanket and a Mars bar'll sort you out! Urgherurgherurgh!! This next post was from July and it got him into a lot of trouble from middle-aged brain-damaged women!
"He is a national treasure and should be knighted forthwith. We knight tossers like Cliff Richard instead, a bloke who made a wet day at Wimbledon even worse!"
Cliff's a good bloke, as it 'appens, does a lot for charity, like me, guys n' gals. His bag stinks, but he's alright, as it 'appens. Much better than Dave Lee Travis, as it 'appens! Now then, now then, now then, this next post is from August, and young Michael regales us with tales from Wales: Jingle jangle! That rhymed! Sir Jim'll's not just a pretty face! Urgherurgherurgh!!
"Whoever said all brides are beautiful obviously didn't see some of the brides-to-be I witnessed. Bloody hell. In one bar, there was one extremely rough-looking obese woman wearing L-plates and a veil (so I assume she was the bride to be) carrying a giant inflatable penis, 'dancing' and singing 'Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?'. The irony was obviously lost on her. Unless she was genuinely too warm."
I'm getting the brain machine at Stoke Mandeville ready, as it 'appens! Young Master Trimble is too far gone! Urgherurgherurgh!! Now then, now then, this next post is from September, where he bangs on about his so-called sartorial elegance:
Maybe they should do another, similar documentary about another misunderstood minority in this country called He's A Thoroughly Modern Nerd, where I could talk about how society stereotypes me and thinks I'm oppressed, and think I'm forced to wear strange clothes, clothes like my rather cool Silver Surfer t-shirt.
You should stick to shell suits, like Sir Jimmy. Now then, now then, seeing as you're a nerd, Michael, I've got a suit with Superman all up the front of it, as it 'appens, if you want to borrow it. This next post is from October, and it's about an ironing room in Carlisle, as it 'appens:
"It has to be the most soul-destroying room in the whole world .(Actually, Birmingham City's trophy room is probably worse, but seeing as no-one has ever needed to go in there, we'll never know.)"
Apparently, shitting on the City gives you brain damage! Urgherurgherurgh!! This one's about chocolate, also from October, as it 'appens:
" One thing that's always bothered me is the fact that Cadbury's make a big deal of the fact that there's a glass and a half of milk in every bar, but exactly how much is a 'glass'? What recognised system of weights and measures are they using to quantify the amount of milk used? Maybe they should change it to 'a petri dish and a half of salmonella in at least 10% of our bars'."
Now they're not called Marathons anyore, I won't eat 'em, guys n'gals. My favourite choccy bar is now the Mars bar you get after the London marathon, as it 'appens. Tastes like victory!We're virtually up to date, now, this is from a post from this November:
"Many months ago, I did a strip for the Jonas Moore people (a comic strip, I must add. Me taking my clothes off will not impress anybody, especially potential employers)"
I had to strip down to my trunks when I was a wrestler. Never did me any harm. Urgherurgherurgherurgherurgherurgherurgh!!!! How's about that, then, I've fixed it for young Michael and yourselves to look over the last hundred posts. thanks for sticking around, guys n' gals! Hopefully it's not given you brain damage, but maybe the next hundred will! Jingle Jangle!
Now then, now then, If you're stuck for Christmas gift ideas, guys n' gals, why don't you buy 'em my Christmas single, 'Jimmy Jangle' which I've re-released as it 'appens, all profits go to Stoke Mandeville. Watch the video film for it below, guys n' gals! So until next time, Urgherurgherurgherurgh!!