Confused? You Won't Be After This Week's Episode Of Dope!

>>Personally I'm far more interested in what a person says & does than what their title is & where they got it from.<<

A line gleaned from a comment by someone called Peter Checkmate, or something, on Michael Child's blog.

Do make your effing mind up, doof!

Darling, no-one cares who you are or what you say. They just like to bash one out over pictures of women that they'd stand a reasonable chance of shagging in real life, albeit that they'd probably need a few beers first!

Scat-at-a-dah-doo-de-day-chi-poo.

Much as I hate jazz (maybe I'm destined to meet a guy called Johnny, and why does that make me think of fish?), I think I'll wiggle along to the Jazz festival this afternoon, on the lawns opposite Churchill's, for a mingle with all the other jazz haters, enjoying a garden party in the Sun.
And I'm led to understand that, at some point, they'll be holding a scat workshop.
I do hope they don't mean that awful German version of scat, where people poo all over eachother!
Of course, it could be the Somerset College of Arts and Technology, teaching people to paint with a soldering iron?

Who can say. Guess I'll just have to go and find out for myself!

Congratulations, You've Won The Chance To Win A Prize!

Being an escaped Readers Digest non-subscriber, on the run for over a decade now, you can imagine how twitchy it made me feel when I received that, er, promise, from my mobile phone network.

Why on Earth would they do that? To make me feel happy? To give me hope?

Probably not. Even with my newly restored hope and cheer, probably not!

Most likely when I reply, free of charge, my name, number and God knows what personal details will go on the 'SUCKER' list, which then gets sold from pillar to post, among marketing companies.

The very reason that I changed my name to Lucy Mail, moved, opened new bank accounts, framed my family and got them all sent to prison and had my pets put down, to finally escape the clutches of R.D., more than ten years ago!

So no! I'm already overflowing with joy and hope and I don't want your mystery prize, which is, in all likelihood, to try and take that away from me!

Anonym Arse!

Due to the fact that a new precedent has been set, allowing slandered tosspots to glean information about their online antagonists from Google, coupled with the fact that the subject of this post really seems to hate this kind of thing, he shall remain nameless!
How arrogant are people, when they consider their identity to be more important than any point they're trying to make, or any argument that they're trying to present?

Well, I think there's a big clue in the title of this post!

For instance, subject of this post, if you were looking at pictures of naked ladies, would you want to know their surname and social background? No! You'd want to look at their tits and twat, and maybe, if you have it in you, burp your worm.

So why, when considering someone's missive, would you need to know who they are?
Isn't that missing the point, somewhat?
Unless, of course, your plan is to deride them on a personal level, in your complete and utter failure to argue the point that's being made!

I would say that anonymity is one of the keys to the enormous success of Eastcliff Richard's blog. That and his sharp wit and keen insight (albeit often a bit lefty for my tastes, but that's just my anonymous opinion). And I believe that it makes people stick to the point being made. You can't slate someone or dish up the dirt that is often required to send an argument, that you're quite clearly losing, off on a tangent, can you!

It also seems to me that those who do post under their real identities, spend so much time worrying about possible repercussions, personal vanity and how to sell something, that often their posts come across as so much wishy, washy bullshit!

Say it how you see it! Respond to it honestly!
Without identities, rudeness and slander become meaningless!

Unless you're someone of great prominence in society, and I don't mean attention seeking, minor celebrity (shouldn't that be 'cerebrally'? Ed) bellboys, no-one gives a flying fuck who you are!
So, I'd suggest that you stop banging on about that very, very unimportant issue of who you are and make a bloody point for a change!!!

And hey, we all know who you are! ;-)

Mud Slinging, With The Nappies Still Attached.

Would it be cynical of me to propose that the latest rattle slinging match, between two of Thanet's most prominent, pouting, thumb sucking, political babies, may be contrived?
Haven't we seen these smoke-screens before, when a whole other issue needs to be ignored by the 'stender benders (that large slice of the voting public, who like a bit of scandal)?
Seems to me that certain people may be labouring to be conservative with the truth, here!

No doubt it'll all come out in the back-wash.

Ronny Bigs Up Margate.

Great to hear that Margate is about to be promoted by a convicted criminal.
How appropriate!
And encouraging to note that he'll be performing this feat by demonstrating how to drink lager.
Rumour has it that he'll also be partaking of a stick of rock, though, presumably, it'll be someone else's, as at 80 years of age, it's unlikely to be his own!

Gracious me, I wonder how much HIS soiled bedsheets will be worth, after this extravaganza?

I also wonder if he'll be going home with the standard Margate gift pack? A crutch full of sand, a box of matches, a dodgy carpet deal and a much heightened appreciation of just about anywhere else in the Country!

I'd be interested to know how Tony Bignose (Flob, to his friend) feels about all this, as the work that he does just encourages this type of criminal behaviour!

Don't Mess With The Yakult.

A recommendation that my mother made to me, while I was playing with my new ouija board, some ten years before the stuff actually made it to the shelves in this country!
Normally I would scoff at such an off-handed statement, but bearing in mind that, at the time, noone had even heard of probiotics, I took it seriously and avoided it.
Though, on reflection, a warning about playing with ouija boards would have been more useful, as I'm now having the hardest time trying to convince my doctor that the voice I keep hearing, of some dead guy called Reg O'Neal, isn't a figment of my imagination.
The quack seems under the impression that it's all down to a dietry imbalance (even though I tend to drink dark and light beers in roughly equal measure), and that I should disregard my mother's advice, in favour of someone's who can't even decide which branch of medicine to specialise in!
When I told him that half the population believed that GP stood for Grand Prix (emphasising the X, of course), he really got quite upset.

Dyke Van Dick.

Chatting to a male friend, in the pub last night, he informed me that there's currently some fella called Dick, with a really dodgy Cockney accent, doing the rounds with a couple of, er, vegetarian ladies putting on a show in the back of his van, called Lose The Lolly. That'll be the show's name, not the van's, BTW.
And if rumours are to be believed, he's not losing lolly at all!

Another case for Trading Standards?

Still, it's nice to see some entertainment coming back to town, albeit only appealing to three quarters of the population!

Paper-View.

Contrary to popular belief, this concept was NOT created by Sky broadcasting, but was, in fact, belched from the minge of The Daily Mail editing department.

Quite how Trading Standards allow them to proffer themselves as a 'news' paper, is beyond me!

Ludicrous!

It's quite enough, in my opinion, to be stuck on a two hour train journey. But to be surrounded by goggle eyed rag puppets, all cooing and feigning horror at the ridiculous nonsense that some poor tree has had to die to convey to them, makes me positively seeth!

Though on the other hand, a good deal of the great unwashed do seem to lap it up!

Maybe I could boost my own ratings with sensationalist headlines like...

Black Child Killer Roams Our Streets! (story about car tyres)

Scientists Solve Age Old Chinese Mystery. (they've finally managed to make a cup of tea without the aid of someone who isn't a scientist)

Or perhaps I won't.
I'm not sure I really want that type lurking around here!

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Everyone Has 15 (Hundredths Of A) Minutes Of Fame.

Wow!
The big time at last!
Spotting myself in this footage from Kent TV, while I was supping my way towards having to buy a new inner tent, not once, but twice, I was starting to think that the camera man may have been stalking me!
Pity he didn't actually confront me with his tool, as the following video could've turned out (on?) much differently!

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Thinking Outside The Box.

If I've heard that once, I've heard it a thousand times, of late!
What the Hell is it supposed to mean, this latest catchphrase of the pub savant?
I did suggest to one fella, who managed to splut it out three times in the space of a minute, that it could express a moment of self-doubt about one's sexual orientation, and took great delight in suggesting, when he didn't get what I was saying, that he should actually try 'thinking outside the box', instead of just banging on about it!

Or is it....

A point that Pandora missed?
A regret on one's death bed?
Dodging Daleks?
Houdini suffering stage fright?
A polite way of saying 'shit for brains' or 'you're thinking out of your arse'?

I think we should be told!

Farm Aceuticals.

Being the consummate adventurer that I am, I'll rarely turn down the opportunity to try something new. But, even though I'm a big chocolate fan (Must be messy on a hot day! ed.), I did have some doubts about trying the mushroom chocolate that was on sale, on one of the hippy stalls, at the Lounge On The Farm music festival, a couple of weeks ago.

Well really! Mushroom chocolate? What a ridiculous idea!

Or so I thought!

After being assured that the mushrooms were particularly good, which was why I was expected to shell out a fiver for a bar of the stuff, and my hankering for chocolate was peaking at around that point, I decided to take the plunge and hand over the cash.
It was nice chocolate, for sure, but hardly worth a fiver and the mushrooms didn't come through at all!

Again, so I thought.

Some kind of warning that the mushrooms were, in fact, of the genus psilocybin, would have been polite!

So, an hour or so later, I found myself in fits of giggles among a riot of colours and shapes, all culminating with me pulling the most gorgeous guy that I'd ever laid eyes on and spending the next few hours making my inner tent really, rather smelly, by the time that I finally fell asleep at around dawn!

Waking up just in time for a lunch that there was 'no way on Earth' I was even going to contemplate eating, my fuzzy head tried to deal, unsuccessfully, with the situation that presented itself to me.
The guy laying next to me was neither particularly good looking (hey, it happens!), nor, strictly speaking, a guy! Though she did have quite a hairy top lip, I hardly think that excuses my blunder.

Dear God, am I the ONLY one that thinks I'm not a lesbian?

On the bright side, I did get a free bar of chocolate from mushroom man, when I complained, which came with the very sensible instruction of just eating a square or two at a time, and the kind, but unwanted offer of accommodation in his camper van, next time I pulled.

Sheesh! I was quite looking forward, at that point, to the following weekend and the relative sanity of getting completely bolloxed for three days, at a beer festival!

Moron that, later.

Up At The Crack Of Dawn.

Possibly not scotching the lesbian rumours with that header, I have, in fact, been up since sunrise, gathering all my bits together for a weekend of music, booze and, er, farm yard fun.
And after rereading my little missive from a slightly inebriated Lucy, last night, I think a weekend away, chilling, might be long overdue!

So, love and kisses to some of you, piss right off to others and I'll see you next Tuesday, if you'll pardon the expression.

Muff Diva.

I think I've been called a lesbian, now, by just about everyone except those that have 'actually' been my sexual partners! Well, except one, but I think he was just angling to bring his wife along.
What does that say about me?
No prizes for working out what it says about sexually repressed types!

So, for the record, once again, I am not a lesbian!
But I know, in my heart, if I was, I'd love it as much as cock!

One Small Step For Man, One Giant Leap For Womankind!

The moment that half the population of the planet has been waiting for with baited breath, has finally arrived, according to boffins at Newcastle university, when they unveiled their latest creation, In-Vitro Derived sperm. That'll be sperm created without all the usual cock and balls that we've had to put up with since the dawn of man!
Scientists are speculating that, by the end of the year, women will be able to 'knock up' their own sperm in the kitchen, using everyday kitchen utensils.

I suppose we'll have to hang on to a few men, for a while, until we've managed to dispense with some of the grubbier duties that are required to maintain the population, but I suspect that phasing out the male of the species will eradicate most of those, by itself!

Throng And Dance.

Not to mention a wonderful selection of beer and food, plus all the thrills and spills of the pink-knuckle rides (well they weren't quite white-knuckle rides, were they) on the inner harbour wall.
This year's Ramsgate Rocks, as far as I can remember, was an absolute blast!
I even managed to hobble back for seconds on Sunday, on my aching and dance blistered feet, which is a first for me, as I usually spend Sunday on the toilet, cuddling a bottle of paracetamol.

Wouldn't it be great if they could manage to organise these gigs on a more regular basis, during the Summer months!

Not to worry, though. There's plenty going on over the next few weekends, albeit with a little travelling involved.
This weekend sees Merton Farm, Canterbury, hosting the Lounge On The Farm music festival, and then the following weekend brings us the Kent Beer Festival, at the same venue!
I may as well leave my tent up, in between the two events, and just concentrate on any other erections that, er, come my way!
The weekend after that sees the onslaught of the Whitstable Oyster Festival, which I shall probably attend on my hands and knees!

On the bright side, you probably won't hear much from me for the rest of the month (unless you happen to be at any of these events), so do make the most of it!

Campaign for Understanding Nuclear Technology.

For you night-owls, I'll spell it out in the morning, if I have time.

In the meantime (Greenwich?) an ostrich's lifespan isn't dependent on how long it spends with it's head in the sand!

I'll try to clarify when I've got the Artillery Arms's beer out of my system!

Update: Nope, sorry, after reading that little note that I left for myself in the morning, I still feel far too ill to make further comment. That and the worrying fact that I haven't quite worked out what I was on about, yet!
If I survive this hangover, I'll attempt to clarify or just make something up.

Sand Paper.

As I had the day off yesterday, and nothing planned, I figured I'd remove that effigy of Osama Bin Laden from my inner thighs, squeeze into my Wicked Weasel 'kini and wiggle off down to the beach to soak up some rays.
Did they hold a paper chase for the very near sighted there, recently?
I seemed to spend the whole day plucking bits of Adscene from various parts of my body.
Particularly distressing was copping a full spread of Sandy Ezekiel right across the tits!

Though, employing a modicum of deductive reasoning, it does go some way to explaining why the bloody thing never makes it to my letter box.

Rock Around The Clock Tower.

Though when I say clock tower, I actually mean the old maritime museum clock, but that just didn't have the same chime to it!
Live music, beer, funfair and French cheese! Combinations like that are not to be sniffed at, in my book.
And what with both the organising AND advertising being given back over to the Ramsgate town partnership this year, after the dreadful bollocks that TDC insisted on making of it last year, there may even be the crowds that we've enjoyed in previous years.
I also hear, through the grapevine, that some pretty exotic weather has been booked to compliment the whole affair.
Sadly, Michael Jackson's agent has informed the organisers, at the last minute, that he won't be available to open the event, but one quick thinking bod suggested grabbing an oik from outside McDonalds and announcing him as Bubbles. Confidence is fairly high that they might get away with that!

And I found this while trawling the muddy backwaters of blogger, as a small example of what to expect...



See you on Saturday!