Yeah, we're still here, and I don't mind saying that it's getting a tad uncomfortable.
The three of us - Geoffrey, me, and the Tupfinder General, are crammed in here together and once we get out we're going to have shocking criss cross net imprints on our backs. Mind you that's the least of our worries while we're still stuck up here like a right bag of lemons.
Everyone's nerves are strained to the limit.
"Get your foot out of my face, Tuppy," asked the T-G through gritted teeth. "I'm asking you nicely this time. Next time might well be a different matter."
"Oh you'd be no fun at Twister. You're sounding about an eight on the tension scale T-G," I snickered rather unpleasantly, not moving my foot an inch.
"Make that a ten,"he growled, and I heard a distinct "click" as he released the safety catch on his pistol.
"Now now chaps. Let's not start turning on each other like a pack of wolves just because we're trapped in a net above a fiery pit with no apparent means of escape. Let's all try to keep our sanities shall we."
*Oh stop being so flaming sanctimonious Geoffrey. If I want to lose my mind I'll flaming well - "
KER-B-O-O-O-O-M!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
more later.
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
Monday, 6 December 2010
Muckfast Abbey
(first off - apologies for the brown thing at the RH side of the bottle - there's something stuck in my scanner)
...there we were, suspended in a net, hundreds of feet above a fiery pit.
Far below, we saw thousands of rats scurrying around with lengths of tubing, attaching them to bubbling, smoking test tubes.
"What's going on?" we gasped in unison.
"Welcome to Muckfast Abbey," shrilled Tuppence, removing a pistol from his belt and twirling it in a devil-may-care fashion.
"He's only extracting Mindmuck and distilling into a rather lethal tonic wine!" whispered the T-G.
"I heard that!" snapped Tuppence, giving the net a shove with a pointy stick and making us swing out further over the fiery pit. "Yes. I'm making Muckfast, and it will be available in a range of flavours in Speedispend hypermarket and compulsory screening centre for Christmas. For example - Greed, Jealousy, Spite, Envy (that's a bit like Chartreuse), Bile, Hatred, Lust (not that that applies to you lot), Foot-picking, and Arse-scratching. There will be more. And for that, I need more source material."
Tuppence lifted a megaphone to his lips. "Lower the net! get them into position, then begin the MindMuck Removal procedure IMMEDIATELY!"
"Oo-er Tuppy," quavered Geofrey. "Hadn't we better ought to DO something?"
"Anyone got a pair of scissors," I asked feverishly. "Maybe we could cut our way out of the net."
"Don't be stupid Tuppy. We'd only plummet into the fiery pit. We'll have to think of something else."
more tomorrow.
...there we were, suspended in a net, hundreds of feet above a fiery pit.
Far below, we saw thousands of rats scurrying around with lengths of tubing, attaching them to bubbling, smoking test tubes.
"What's going on?" we gasped in unison.
"Welcome to Muckfast Abbey," shrilled Tuppence, removing a pistol from his belt and twirling it in a devil-may-care fashion.
"He's only extracting Mindmuck and distilling into a rather lethal tonic wine!" whispered the T-G.
"I heard that!" snapped Tuppence, giving the net a shove with a pointy stick and making us swing out further over the fiery pit. "Yes. I'm making Muckfast, and it will be available in a range of flavours in Speedispend hypermarket and compulsory screening centre for Christmas. For example - Greed, Jealousy, Spite, Envy (that's a bit like Chartreuse), Bile, Hatred, Lust (not that that applies to you lot), Foot-picking, and Arse-scratching. There will be more. And for that, I need more source material."
Tuppence lifted a megaphone to his lips. "Lower the net! get them into position, then begin the MindMuck Removal procedure IMMEDIATELY!"
"Oo-er Tuppy," quavered Geofrey. "Hadn't we better ought to DO something?"
"Anyone got a pair of scissors," I asked feverishly. "Maybe we could cut our way out of the net."
"Don't be stupid Tuppy. We'd only plummet into the fiery pit. We'll have to think of something else."
more tomorrow.
Sunday, 5 December 2010
The Mind Muck Removal Kit
God almighty! what a night.
After some debate Geoffrey and I decided to attend both "functions" i.e. despite the sub zero temperatures we sat on some rusty old sun loungers on the Fulmars decking and watched X Factor on their 62" telly through their panoramic French window style doors, warmed by their patio heaters and our tartan knee rugs.
We'd brought some crisps and a flask of purple peril and plenty of black bogey to keep us going.
UnFORtunately, there was a bit of a drama when Simon Cowell smiled suddenly just as the cameras were zooming in for a close up. The resulting glare from his teeth ricocheted off the cliffs opposite the Fulmars, setting off a terrible din - a sort of clattering, rumbling noise.
Apsley and Cherry heard nothing due to their octuple glazing, but pretty soon we heard the tippetty tap of the Tupfinder general's cane rattling off the ice as he hurried along the cliff tops towards the source of the sound.
"It's Tuppence! he's up to his old tricks again!" he shouted. "Ive been keeping watch as usual, and now I'm off to intervene!"
With difficulty we heaved ourselves off our sun loungers and headed after the T-G. Geoffrey was still in bits after watching Mary cry at the end of "Memories".
"She sang it for her dead mother, Tuppy!" he sniffled as we hurried along the cliffs.
"Oh shut up Geoffrey and stop talking such a load of old cock. Dead mother nothing. She was just thinking about how she'd feel if she had to go back to working in Speedispend - and I can't say I blame her."
"Oh you're so hard hearted Tuppy. Can't you...oh!"
Geoffrey halted suddenly as the clattering, rumbling, sucking noise grew louder and louder.
We were nearing the source.
"Be careful lads. Look!" said the T-G, beckoning with his pistol. (we had caught up with him).
We found ourselves at the mouth of a gigantic cave. Inside, illuminated by an arc light powered by rats on several bicycles, was a chair. Sitting on the chair, was a female sheep with what looked like a metal colander on her head with some tubing coming out of it and going in to a bucket (see diagram above). Behind the chair stood Tuppence, directing a solar-style panel.
What had happened was this.
The glare from Simon Cowell's teeth, magnified by the Fulmars' octuple glazing, had ricocheted off the solar panel, which in turn set off the "Mindmuck Removal Device, or "kit"".
He was testing it on the poor ewe.
"Oh, she's got a very clear conscience," said Tuppence. "How tiresome. No muck to remove, at all. We need to find another victim to experiment on. Aha! Visitors! Perfect!"
Oh no. He had spotted us...
"We're armed," said the T-G.
"Yes, I can see that you've got a pistol ASUSUAL," smirked Tuppence, "but ASUSUAL it's half-cocked, just like you. Mwah ha ha!"
And with that evil guffaw, he yanked a lever in the wall and a giant net dropped down on top of us. In a trice we were whizzing through the air, suspended above a bottomless pit of fire...
More tomorrow...
After some debate Geoffrey and I decided to attend both "functions" i.e. despite the sub zero temperatures we sat on some rusty old sun loungers on the Fulmars decking and watched X Factor on their 62" telly through their panoramic French window style doors, warmed by their patio heaters and our tartan knee rugs.
We'd brought some crisps and a flask of purple peril and plenty of black bogey to keep us going.
UnFORtunately, there was a bit of a drama when Simon Cowell smiled suddenly just as the cameras were zooming in for a close up. The resulting glare from his teeth ricocheted off the cliffs opposite the Fulmars, setting off a terrible din - a sort of clattering, rumbling noise.
Apsley and Cherry heard nothing due to their octuple glazing, but pretty soon we heard the tippetty tap of the Tupfinder general's cane rattling off the ice as he hurried along the cliff tops towards the source of the sound.
"It's Tuppence! he's up to his old tricks again!" he shouted. "Ive been keeping watch as usual, and now I'm off to intervene!"
With difficulty we heaved ourselves off our sun loungers and headed after the T-G. Geoffrey was still in bits after watching Mary cry at the end of "Memories".
"She sang it for her dead mother, Tuppy!" he sniffled as we hurried along the cliffs.
"Oh shut up Geoffrey and stop talking such a load of old cock. Dead mother nothing. She was just thinking about how she'd feel if she had to go back to working in Speedispend - and I can't say I blame her."
"Oh you're so hard hearted Tuppy. Can't you...oh!"
Geoffrey halted suddenly as the clattering, rumbling, sucking noise grew louder and louder.
We were nearing the source.
"Be careful lads. Look!" said the T-G, beckoning with his pistol. (we had caught up with him).
We found ourselves at the mouth of a gigantic cave. Inside, illuminated by an arc light powered by rats on several bicycles, was a chair. Sitting on the chair, was a female sheep with what looked like a metal colander on her head with some tubing coming out of it and going in to a bucket (see diagram above). Behind the chair stood Tuppence, directing a solar-style panel.
What had happened was this.
The glare from Simon Cowell's teeth, magnified by the Fulmars' octuple glazing, had ricocheted off the solar panel, which in turn set off the "Mindmuck Removal Device, or "kit"".
He was testing it on the poor ewe.
"Oh, she's got a very clear conscience," said Tuppence. "How tiresome. No muck to remove, at all. We need to find another victim to experiment on. Aha! Visitors! Perfect!"
Oh no. He had spotted us...
"We're armed," said the T-G.
"Yes, I can see that you've got a pistol ASUSUAL," smirked Tuppence, "but ASUSUAL it's half-cocked, just like you. Mwah ha ha!"
And with that evil guffaw, he yanked a lever in the wall and a giant net dropped down on top of us. In a trice we were whizzing through the air, suspended above a bottomless pit of fire...
More tomorrow...
Saturday, 4 December 2010
Spockfingers warms up for a gig
'#...black is black
Ah wunt mah baybee back...
'S grey is grey
Der ner ner ner ner...MOOO!#'
"Oh do bog off Spockfingers!" I was becoming a little tetchy after hearing Spockfingers' umpteenth rendition of Black is Black.
"Don't be so uncharitable Tuppy. After all, it is in a good cause."
"What is?"
"The fundraising gig, tonite at 7pm at the Puff Inn. Spockfingers is doing a fundraiser to raise funds for ...erm...something or other. Don't tell me you'd forgotten?"
"Forgotten? Hardly! I didn't get the chance! Nobody thought to inform me. Now I'm going in a massive huff and you can all sod off."
"For God's sake Tuppy. Take one of your special pills and pull yourself together. Here - " Geoffrey seized the medical chest and threw it open " - take several. Take them all!"
"Well! if THAT'S the way you're feeling..."
"It is. I'm pig sick of you and your huffs Tuppy. I want to be able to sit down this evening in front of Apsley and Cherry's 62" telly and watch X factor and enjoy myself. Even though Wagner's out. I don't want you ruining it with an atmosphere."
"WHIT ABOOT MAH FUCKIN' FUNDRAZER?" demanded Spockfingers, front legs on hips.
"Oh, my! Language! a bit of decorum, please, if you don't mind and all that."
"AH DINNAE FUCKIN' CARE ABOOT THAT. FUCK THE LOT O' YEZ. IF YER NO CUMMIN TAE MAH FUCKIN' FUNDRAZER YEZ CAN A' DAE YIN."
Geoffrey and I exchanged glances and I quickly put my huff on the back burner as Spockfingers began drumming one of his feet in rather a tense manner.
"Erm..what are you raising funds for, Spockfingers? what's the cause?"
"COZ? COZ?? the coz is sick kiddies in erm...Africa. Aye. That's richt. Sick kiddies in Africa. They're awfy needy an' that. Yez cannae deny them your dosh you stingey bastards. Sick kiddies in Africa. Noo kin yez?"
"Hmmm..."
X factor down at the Fulmars' place, sitting outside on their decking eating crisps with the super-powered patio heaters blasting away full-tilt, or a dodgy fundrazer down at the Puff Inn, featuring Spockfingers and his dreadful, nightmarish screeching, off key voice.
We'll see how we feel nearer the time...
Friday, 17 September 2010
Enough dullness - back to the Outcrop
Right I'm fed up so it's back to business as frigging usual.
Me, Geoffrey and the T-G were all sitting round a roaring driftwood fire last evening, puffing on our Meerschaums and working our way through a barrel of madeira, when suddenly the door burst open and in came Razor Bill, clutching a telegram.
"I think it's bad news!" he blurted, before throwing himself exhausted on the couch and fanning himself with a copy of the Speedispend Christmas catalogue.
"Open it then, Tuppy," said the T-G in his serious voice.
"We've to start paying rent!" I said shakily, after reading the awful news.
"Rent! what's that?" asked Geoffrey.
"And council tax," I added.
"But why? and who to, exactly?"
"What for, you mean," said the T-G. "This isn't on, lads. Not on at all. We'll have to take action. Where's me pistol?"
"Can we not have a bacon sandwich first," I asked in an outraged voice. "Surely..."
"Stop thinking about your stomach for one second, Tuppy. There are more important things afoot. Grab a packet of smokey bacon crisps and let's get cracking."
Me, Geoffrey and the T-G were all sitting round a roaring driftwood fire last evening, puffing on our Meerschaums and working our way through a barrel of madeira, when suddenly the door burst open and in came Razor Bill, clutching a telegram.
"I think it's bad news!" he blurted, before throwing himself exhausted on the couch and fanning himself with a copy of the Speedispend Christmas catalogue.
"Open it then, Tuppy," said the T-G in his serious voice.
"We've to start paying rent!" I said shakily, after reading the awful news.
"Rent! what's that?" asked Geoffrey.
"And council tax," I added.
"But why? and who to, exactly?"
"What for, you mean," said the T-G. "This isn't on, lads. Not on at all. We'll have to take action. Where's me pistol?"
"Can we not have a bacon sandwich first," I asked in an outraged voice. "Surely..."
"Stop thinking about your stomach for one second, Tuppy. There are more important things afoot. Grab a packet of smokey bacon crisps and let's get cracking."
Friday, 10 September 2010
He is.
He is. He's doing one of his so-called "gigs". He found the remains of the moog at the bottom of the cliffs (see previous posts if you're that curious - I can't remember which ones but click on "moog" in the post labels and it might take you there) and managed to reconstruct it, adding some extra poo-foo valves and di-lithium crystals.
God knows what he's going to challenge our eardrums with - some foul "mix" of his own, doubtless involving Rick Wakeman and a cloak somewhere along the line.
"Geoffrey! medical chest! quick-style!"
I'm definitely going to need the laudanum.
Off to the Puff Inn now - might be back sometime tomorrow.
God knows what he's going to challenge our eardrums with - some foul "mix" of his own, doubtless involving Rick Wakeman and a cloak somewhere along the line.
"Geoffrey! medical chest! quick-style!"
I'm definitely going to need the laudanum.
Off to the Puff Inn now - might be back sometime tomorrow.
Free at last
Well that's me safe and well back at the Outcrop. I'm sitting in my favourite chair by a roaring driftwood fire and I'm settling down with my fifth mug of madeira and a multi pack of salty snax.
Geoffrey's got sausage rolls in for our dinners so all's right with the world.
How did I escape? well - the smell of frying fruit pudding wafting under my nostrils made me desperate so I breathed in as hard as I could, expanding my chest and stretching the gaffer tape to snapping point - when suddenly -
"What the frigging heck's going on here then?" a familiar voice boomed. "I'll be having some of that. ALL of it actually. IF you don't mind."
It was none other than Mr Spockfingers. He seized the frying pan from the Grim Reaper and wolfed the lot in a oner.
"Hey! what about me?" I cried. "I'm starving!"
"All in good time," said Spockfingers. "I'm just waiting for..."
"Never mind him. What about ME?" crooned the Reaper, brandishing his scythe.
"AND me!" whined Wilson in the nasty whingey voice he uses when he's not in full control.
"...nature to take its course," continued Spockfingers.
"Oh NO!" we all screamed, as Spockfingers let rip with one of his "specials". And if you want to know about the damage THAT can do - please have a search through previous posts.
At any rate it's an ill wind as they say - the Reaper and the Ghastly Wilson fled for their lives, and I managed to place some Vick's under my nose and high-tail it back to the Outcrop.
And here I am. Later on Geoffrey and I will be heading off to the Puff Inn for the usual Friday lock-in. I can only hope that Tuppence isn't doing another of his "gigs".
Geoffrey's got sausage rolls in for our dinners so all's right with the world.
How did I escape? well - the smell of frying fruit pudding wafting under my nostrils made me desperate so I breathed in as hard as I could, expanding my chest and stretching the gaffer tape to snapping point - when suddenly -
"What the frigging heck's going on here then?" a familiar voice boomed. "I'll be having some of that. ALL of it actually. IF you don't mind."
It was none other than Mr Spockfingers. He seized the frying pan from the Grim Reaper and wolfed the lot in a oner.
"Hey! what about me?" I cried. "I'm starving!"
"All in good time," said Spockfingers. "I'm just waiting for..."
"Never mind him. What about ME?" crooned the Reaper, brandishing his scythe.
"AND me!" whined Wilson in the nasty whingey voice he uses when he's not in full control.
"...nature to take its course," continued Spockfingers.
"Oh NO!" we all screamed, as Spockfingers let rip with one of his "specials". And if you want to know about the damage THAT can do - please have a search through previous posts.
At any rate it's an ill wind as they say - the Reaper and the Ghastly Wilson fled for their lives, and I managed to place some Vick's under my nose and high-tail it back to the Outcrop.
And here I am. Later on Geoffrey and I will be heading off to the Puff Inn for the usual Friday lock-in. I can only hope that Tuppence isn't doing another of his "gigs".
Thursday, 9 September 2010
More horror
(Well at least it's not green - yet.)
"You'll have to eat it juiced," smirked the Ghastly Wilson, poking me with a stick.
"Not - ch-ch-chipped, or made into crisps - mashed, even?" I quavered.
"Juiced. Along with a couple of onions, some garlic and a handful of alfalfa sprouts. If you won't take it through the normal channels we'll have to put the tube down again."
How on earth had I come to this sorry pass? Strapped in a chair (with a hole sawed in the seat for my "convenience" in case you're wondering) with the Ghastly Wilson force feeding me vegetables.
"You couldn't bung a sausage in it, could you? I'll pay."
"Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the Ghastly Wilson, throwing his head back and revealing some rather poor dental work, if I'm honest. "But you haven't got any munny! besides - munny's worth nothing Hereabouts."
"You're not even doing this for my benefit. You're doing it for your own sadistic pleasure."
"So what if I am? I don't get much fun out of life. You can't begrudge me this."
And he switched on the juicing machine full blast. "Come on boys - I need more voltage - pedal for grim death!" he shouted at the rats (who were powering up the generator via pedal power - please see previous posts if you don't believe me)
"Not so fast, Wilson," said a suave voice. A claw-like hand reached out and yanked the plug from the socket. There was an overpowering smell of mothballs and half a dozen spiders scurried out from beneath his long black robes.
"Oh for f - "
The flaming Reaper again.
"We don't want him to live, Wilson. We want him to DIE!! I need to keep my quota up, remember? you did agree to help. And now I find you going behind my back and feeding people vegetables to make them healthy. Now stop all that nonsense and fire these under the grill quick-style."
And he produced a family sized BBQ pack of mock chops, Chinese-style ribs, Cumberland-style sausages, fruit pudding, black pudding, smoked sausage, and lard-burgers.
"Hope you've got soem brown sauce," I said eagerly.
Monday, 6 September 2010
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
the Winner of Name this Tune asks...
The winner of the latest Name this Tune has emailed in a query.
"I got the skratchings, k thx, but i don' like brissles, how do i get teh brissles out? soz kthx xxx"
May I suggest the following.
1. simply tweeze them out, like Les Dennis did with his nose hairs on Big Brother (I only heard about it, so if he didn't really tweeze his nose hairs on BB, I withdraw that comparison, of course.)
but if tweezing is too finicky and time consuming, try
2. sandpaper - fine grain.
Hope that helps!
"I got the skratchings, k thx, but i don' like brissles, how do i get teh brissles out? soz kthx xxx"
May I suggest the following.
1. simply tweeze them out, like Les Dennis did with his nose hairs on Big Brother (I only heard about it, so if he didn't really tweeze his nose hairs on BB, I withdraw that comparison, of course.)
but if tweezing is too finicky and time consuming, try
2. sandpaper - fine grain.
Hope that helps!
Answer to yesterday's name that tune
Anyone get it?
Last chance to try!
"Er er er
Er er er er
Er er er
Er er er...
DE-E-E-E-R (screech)"
Answer? Smoke on the Water!
and the prize is...a year's supply of pork scratchings made out of REAL PIG.
Last chance to try!
"Er er er
Er er er er
Er er er
Er er er...
DE-E-E-E-R (screech)"
Answer? Smoke on the Water!
and the prize is...a year's supply of pork scratchings made out of REAL PIG.
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Name this tune ( an exciting new feature!)
I'll give you a clue - it's a well-known riff.
"ER er er
er er er er
er er er
er er er."
Got it yet?
Right, I'll try it again...
"Er er er
er er er er
er er er
er er er."
Answer will be provided tomorrow.
(I'm in seapenguin mode at the moment - Tuppy is on a total detox in preparation for his new vegan lifestyle-type-thing. But he'll be back tomorrow.)
"ER er er
er er er er
er er er
er er er."
Got it yet?
Right, I'll try it again...
"Er er er
er er er er
er er er
er er er."
Answer will be provided tomorrow.
(I'm in seapenguin mode at the moment - Tuppy is on a total detox in preparation for his new vegan lifestyle-type-thing. But he'll be back tomorrow.)
Monday, 30 August 2010
A hierarchy of meat
A hierarchy of meat.
Cow - king of meats. Contains steak.
Pig - only good for bacon and sausages IMO.
Sheep and lambs - cannibalism - unthinkable.
Humanoids - supposedly taste like pig/chicken, but I've never tried one.
Birds/hens - too close to Geoffrey in the gene pool, so fall into the unthinkable category.
Processed meat. This purports to be okay, because it is heavily disguised and does not resemble "meat" as we know it. Sneaks under the wire of blood-free acceptability. A "wolf in lamb's clothing" you could say. Duplicitous. Which makes it the WORST of all.
Reasons to eat it - it tastes good.
Reasons NOT to eat it - it causes other sentient beings to suffer - appallingly.
Cow - king of meats. Contains steak.
Pig - only good for bacon and sausages IMO.
Sheep and lambs - cannibalism - unthinkable.
Humanoids - supposedly taste like pig/chicken, but I've never tried one.
Birds/hens - too close to Geoffrey in the gene pool, so fall into the unthinkable category.
Processed meat. This purports to be okay, because it is heavily disguised and does not resemble "meat" as we know it. Sneaks under the wire of blood-free acceptability. A "wolf in lamb's clothing" you could say. Duplicitous. Which makes it the WORST of all.
Reasons to eat it - it tastes good.
Reasons NOT to eat it - it causes other sentient beings to suffer - appallingly.
Does anyone need to milk a sheep?
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