Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Crayola-Gate

My love of stationary is almost pornographic. Which is good, as my love of pornography is nigh-on religious fervour.

But let's thankfully concentrate on the pens this time around: who cannot gain a little sliver of joy from a new ballpoint, popping the lid for the first time, and cry out in elation as the ink - so new, so viscous! - comes thick and fast over your virginal page? Or seeing a rack of new pencils, sharpened to a stiletto point, lined up so? Oh, I look at those pointy pencils and pity any passing vampire.

Which is why the following is proving to be such a difficult dilemma: someone has been 'let go' from our company. This someone was working alongside me when it came to promotions. And this someone gave me three whole boxes of brand-new, not-out-of-the-box Crayola crayons to look after.

(sneaky look left and right)

And now they could be mine.

No-one knows I've got them. I could easily sneak them back home, taking each one out of the box and run them under my nose like a fine cigar. I could spend hours rubbing them against my naked body, laughing like a stoat.

But the Big Question is: should I? Should I sneak these little slivers of joy out of the building? Should I rekindle my life as Raffles, Gentleman Thief? Here's your chance to be my own usually-absent moral compass!

Do leave your thoughts below, poppets.
 

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Stupidity Is...

...Absent-mindedly wandering into a communal gents toilet while not wearing any shoes.

(wrings out socks)

(gags)
 

Monday, November 28, 2005

New Favourite Story!

While carousing down the local tavern, glass of port in one hand and waiter in the other, I came across my old chum little Timmy in the corner. I apologised profusely and offered him a hankie, and while he dabbed himself he offered to tell me a story that 'I would love' in exchange for a beer.

Well, I let go of the waiter and ordered him to the bar, poste-haste, for I was all ears for little Timmy. He spins a good yarn, and isn't bad-looking to boot. His story went thus:

Some years back, he went to an all-access Sheryl Crow gig. He subsequently got chatting one of Old Shazza's roadies, who toured with (get this) Cher a few years back.

So, as part of this tour, Cher was to be lowered from the sky on a big glitter ball - as all Elderly Women Who Are Playing To Gentlemen Who Are Good With Colours are want to do. And all this while wearing a glittery leotard/frock. Imagine the adulation from the pink throng beneath her. Why, I'm nearly fainting with pure Gayness at the thought!

Unfortunately. Oh yes, unfortunately, the winch holding Dame Cher aloft over the doting pooves broke slightly, and she got stuck in mid air. She was arse up, and the glitter ball continued its decent, banging away at her as it continues toward the stage.

Apparently, when they did manage to wangle the old crone free she later referred to herself as some "fucking drag queen PiƱata."

Oh yes.

Are you still laughing? Because I am.
 

Friday, November 25, 2005

Sport Billie

I think the first major inkling my parents had about me being a Gentleman Who Adores Shopping was when I got an A+ for a sponge cake in class. The second was that there was never any need to wash my PE kit.

Oh, how all we Gentlemen hated PE, and I certainly did with a passion. And while it would be years until I came to appreciate lithe teenage bodies pressed together in a shower room, the thought of being sent outdoors to get kicked, dirty and wet simply made me clutch my hand to my pearls and whisper for protection from the Goddess Streisand. Although after five years of squealing whenever the ball came near me, I did discover several ways of Getting Away With It. For the most part, the art was to pretend to be taking part without exerting any energy whatsoever, and here's a quick guide of how to do it:

Football: oh, always go in Defence. The ball would come near the goal, you could run a little way out, do a faux-kick in its general direction (think chorus line, but without jazz-hands) and shrug apologetically when it zips past you into the goal area. For at that point, it's up to the goalie to sort. Hurrah! Absolved of all responsibility, and go back to pretending to be Kate Bush in the Wuthering Heights video when teacher's back was turned.

Rugby: Even easier to avoid the ball! In fact, it's positively encouraged for people to spread about the pitch in case they have to pass the ball to you. Fortunately I was fumbling all balls at that age, including that of several boys in the same year. So you could wander up and down, affecting to take part - although I discovered that if the ball came near you, you should at least pretend to make a play for it. Squealing, and skipping away leaves you to be found out very quickly.

Cricket: a deathly boring game that was blissful for Gentlemen Who Bowl From The Pavilion End like me. In this case, you had to stand in a field, ready to catch a ball. Oh yes! They did try a couple of times to get me to do that. Do try and seize the approaching ball like a passenger from the Rainbow Special Bus trying to clap. You were often consigned to the edge of a field on your own completely unsupervised. Or, in my case, singing to myself while I planned how to hide Craig's towel while he was in the shower.

Volleyball: Oh they tried. Once. It was hilarious.

Cross Country Running: Now this was a hard one to fudge, and often depended on how exasperated your PE teacher was with you. If, like mine, he'd given up after a term of trying to get you to hit anything with a bat, let alone a moving ball. So we were able to plod off for a bit, hide around the back of the school while trying to sculpt our hair into that of Spandau Ballet, and return 30 minutes later, puffing away like a knackered steam train. Brilliant!


And no, after all these years, not much has changed. I'm still employing very similar techniques at work. Only with considerably more jazz-hands!
 

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Christmas Comes Early!

Apologies for not being around yesterday - we spent most of the day rolling around the floor, laughing our cocks off in glee after we'd accidentally caught a glimpse of the new Girls Aloud Special Edition album cover. Look upon it! Look upon its fantabulous garishness, and wonder why we love them so much!

T'is Better to Give Than Receive!

Well, all bar the ginger one, naturally. Despite being packed up with what appears to be three bottles bottle of Caffeine-Sodium-Benzoate in this shot, Nicola still retains the dead-eyed stare of one of those robots from Battlestar Galactica.

Doesn't it look festive? And I'm sure at least one or two readers can see a jolly nice bird on there who deserves a good stuffing... What a marvellous Christmas chez The Aloud it would be! Can you imagine, them getting a little tipsy... maybe a little lesbionic as the night wears on? Just messing around...


INT NIGHT: Girls Aloud Kitchen

Cheryl: Wahey!! Wooo!!

Nadine: Oh Cheryl!! Mind the brandy butter!!

Sarah: Oh, Kimberley!! More!! More!!!

FX: Giggles, slapping noises. General fun.

DOOR OPENS

Cylon eye noise.

Silence.
 

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Any Port And Lemon In A Storm

I was meant to go to three birthday parties this Saturday. All important.

In this inclement weather, one must forgo a little glamour to keep warm. And as the night was as bitter as a lesbian who's Life-Partner had run off with a man, so out goes the sensational cocktails, and in is wheeled a little something to warm my cockles.

Oh yes, I've taken to drinking port in my dotage - a good hardy drink to fend off the bad weather. So I started the first party off with a good couple of glasses. Just to warm me up, you understand.

After some time, I went back to the bar:

"Same again sir?
"Oh, I think I'll have a double."
The Bar Functionary stopped cleaning his glass for a second.
"Sir, you've been drinking doubles all evening."
"I have?"
"We only serve port in doubles."
I narrowed my eyes, waiting for a reaction from him. A grin or something to give the game away.
Nothing.
"Well," I said leaning a little too reliantly on the barstool. "In that case, I'll have a triple - no wait. What's the double of a double?"
"A quadruple."
"A quadruple is a double of a double?"
"Yes sir."
"You're very good at maths."
"Thank you, sir," he said, genuinely pleased. "Here's your, ah, quadruple. And have another one on the house."

Oh yes. I was meant to go to three birthday parties this weekend. By the end of the night, I was barely there for one.
 

Cold Update

Last night, while I slept, my nose ran.

It ran with such volume and viscosity that, when I woke up to kick my alarm clock into submission, the left side of my face had bonded to the pillow.

'Ew' indeed.
 

Monday, November 21, 2005

Bleh

I've finally succumbed to the office cold. Snot everywhere - which is no fun whatsoever when you have a beard, let me tell you. Lets just say the words 'matted' and 'shiny' are good adjectives for my chin at the moment.

Anyway, I can probably hang it on the fact that I ran out of vitamins this very weekend and was too lazy to go and get some more. So it's my own silly fault.

(thinks)

Hey! I'm a homosexual who thinks vitamin pills are the answer to everything!

Look at me! I'm Tom Cruise!
 

Friday, November 18, 2005

It's All About Meme, Meme, Meme

A chance to talk about moi? No, really I couldn't!

No, wait! Come back! I was only joking! Of course I will.

This comes via the handsome tornwordo at Sticky Crows, and you're meant to put the first thing that comes into your head. Alas, my first thought is usually the noise a BBC Micro used to make when you turn it on, I had to go for the second choice. Read on. And feel free to pilfer it for your lovely selves, you gorgeous things.


1) My mother once: killed a goat. Not in a ritualistic manner - she just tied it too close to the coal bunker and it ate all the coal. She told us it 'had gone back to the farm', despite being clearly seen taking something wrapped in a coat that was the size and shape of a dead goat up the back of the garden as we were coming home from school.

2) Never in my life: have I regretted 'going commando' more than that day in 1996.

3) When I was five: I covered my hands in glue and pretended to have a skin complaint to piss off the kid with excema.

4) High School was/is: dangerously close to being like the 'Beauty School Dropout' from Grease, in retrospect...

5) I will never forget: my first pay packet. I lay on my bedroom floor and rolled around in ten pound notes for two solid hours.

6) I once met: royalty. We had no idea who each other were.

7) There's this person I know who: used to believe it was 1912. He refused to travel on the tube lines that weren't around then as he was convinced they didn't exist.

8) Once, at a bar: in Barcelona, I jumped on it and danced all the moves to 'Can't Get You Out of My Head' in front of all my work colleagues. The horror, the horror...

9) By noon I'm usually: throwing a shoe at our useless PA. Ten points if you get her on the back of the head while she's eating a sandwich.

10) Last night I: danced around in my pants to the new Girls Aloud record. I got so excited, I burped falafel.

11) If I only had: more dignity.

12) Next time I go to church/temple: I'll flush when I've finished.

13) Terri Schiavo: sounds like someone who advertises their own brand of nasal hair trimmers

14) I like: making people laugh til they cry.

15) When I turn my head left, I see: The rest of the office.

16) When I turn my head right, I see: My lifesize Condoliza Rice.

17) You know I'm lying when: I compliment you enthusiastically.

18) In grade school: I used to sniff cleaning powder.

19) If I was a character written by Shakespeare: I'd be poorly-spelt and use a lot of exclamation marks.

20) By this time next year I: hope to have found a use for those six months we wasted on learning 'the crop rotation cycle' in third-year History.

21) A better name for me would be: Flipsy the Christmas Weasel.

22) I have a hard time understanding: emotion. I had my tear-ducts lasered shut in 1957.

23) If I ever go back to school I'll: be too big for the desks.

24) You know I like you if: I haven't complimented you outlandishly.

25) If I won an award, the first person I'd thank would be: whoever I'd blown to get the award.

26) I hope that: I wasn't really serious with the above answer, but I'm beginning to question it...

27) Take my advice: camels are NOT to be trifled with.

28) My ideal breakfast is: a bottle of chocolate syrup. Brought to me by a naked Ben Browder. Hilarity ensues.

29) A song I love, but do not have is: 'Shirley Bassey Sings Charlotte Church.'

30) If you visit my hometown, I suggest: bringing a bulldozer. No, really. It's hideous.

31) Tulips, character flaws, microchips & track stars: I'm more of a pansy.

32) Why won't anyone: tell Madonna.

33) If you spend the night at my house: you'll have to be careful on the turnstile I had installed instead of a bedroom door.

34) I'd stop my wedding: if the dress wasn't big enough.

35) The world could do without: women in front of you stopping suddenly at clothes store windows, beguiled by New Fashion.

36) I'd rather lick the belly of a roach than: watch any more CSI.

37) My favorite is: the button marked 'Destroy Celine Dion'.

38) Paper clips are more useful than: BBC Breakfast News.

40) And by the way: that outfit? *Fabulous*.

41) The last time I was drunk: I stuck my hand in a birthday cake.

42) My grandmother always: watches over me. Bless her.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

The Gayest Cake Disaster Imaginable

This Saturday was Aunty Drama's birthday! Jubilate all! And to see her into her glorious third century, we decided to smash a bottle of champagne against her hull and bake her a cake. Oh, but not just any old cake - it was to be The Gayest Cake Imaginable!

In retrospect, we should never have played with such primal forces.

Why not join us on a whirlwind of baking discovery to ascertain what you can - and cannot do - with three gallon of fondant and a rolling pin!

17:10pm (2 hours 50 before the party)
Step 1: Grease Your Pans!


Ta-da!

In order to have to optimum baking requirements, every surface should be coated in flour. Including the inside of your pants, just to be on the safe side! And remember - baking goods also respond well to music. So if you're baking The Gayest Cake Imaginable, why not start off with the new Madonna album? Oh, you can taste the glitter in the air!

17:15 (2 hours 45 before the party)
Step 2: Beat Yourself Into A Froth


Beat away!

Look at that hand action! Look at that effort! Who else is getting flashbacks to 'Showgirls'?

17:30 (2 hours 30 before the party)
Step 3: Spread Your Load


Pink!

As a jaunty chorus of 'Mr Sandman' was sung, the pink colorant added. As you can tell, the mix is already starting to glitter and glow. We're having to wear goggles with Condoliza Rice painted on the lenses in order to stop the Fabulous permanently searing our retinas!

17:35 (2 hours 25 before the party)
Step 4: Lick It Out


Suck!

A brave move from the Wife there. That much Gayness taken in its pure form can lead you to think that highlights are a Good Idea or, in extreme cases, believe you are Liza Minelli...

17:40 (2 hours 20 before the party)
Step 5: Plan Your Attack


Speccy!

With his Special Thinking Glasses on, Lee plans exactly what is going to grace the top of the Baked Glorious. You should also consider such fastidiousness - simply putting 'You Are Old' on the top won't win you any friends, no matter how fancy your buttery swirls!

18:20 (1 hours 40 before the party - and seconds from disaster)
Step 6: Spread 'Em For Daddy


It got everywhere!

It's time to start oozing your sticky love all over the soft, receptive area. But a WORD OF WARNING: do not, as we did, put jam down first, and then try spreading the icing on top. The top part of the cake started to break up and started sliding down the icing like tectonic plates! It, like Britney Spears, was collapsing under its own weight!

No matter how much patching up with icing, the cake was sliding apart!

By 18:25, the cake was ruined.

18:30 (1 hours 30 before the party)
Step 7: Always Swallow


Chomp!

The cake had buckled under its own mass. But the Wife is never one to let anything go to waste! In the meantime, we were distraught. Not only were we without a cake, but we also had to safely dispose something that produced so much background Gay Radiation that people's hair was being done whenever they came close!


19.15 (45 mins before the party - Lee is 30, The Wife is 37)
Step 8: The Second Coming


Madge!

Bereft and cakeless, that clever spark Lee suddenly remembered that he had a gay cake at his home! Why it was in the fridge, ready to celebrate the release of Madge's new album on Monday! Hurrah! So everyone trapsed over to his FabulousLondonBridgePad, their icing bags banging together!

19:50 (10 mins before the party)
Step 9: Eat Me Out


Chomp!

The icing is finished! No-one would ever know that it was meant to be for her Madge-esty! Why, it even looks good enough to eat!
Quick boys! Hie thee to Old Street, fast!

02:15 (5 hours 15 after the start of the party)
Step 10: After Glow


Eaten!

A semi-success! And it contained so much sugar that people who had it didn't have a hangover the following day! Brilliant!


Alas, this wasn't the Gayest Cake Imaginable. Here is our previous effort, which was even GAYER.
 

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

The Door Bulges

Well, wasn't it nice of Daniel Powter to re-release his first song for those who had missed it the first time around, now with the new name of 'Free Loop'? It's that kind of charitable thought that makes us glad most of his playdoh head is almost completely encased in wool.

Anyway. This Saturday morning, he graced the couch of some garish pop show, gaily chatting away while the Wife and I read the papers. We've had, uh, 'Concerns' about young Mr Powter for some time. So it was with interest that we watched him answer the question 'Name three women you fancy'.

"Gwen Stefani," stated Powter after a nervous smile.

"Ding!" said the Wife. He peered over the top of his 'Environmentalist', ear cocked, pausing in his bookmarking things about The Evils of Teflon.

"Er," Powter squirmed. "Er.... Madonna "

"Diiing!"

"One more," urged the presenters.

The Wife leaned forward.

"...And, er, Diana Ross."

"Ding-ding-ding! You are OUT! my friend," said the Wife.



Well. There you have it.
 

Monday, November 14, 2005

Confessions on a Toilet Floor

Well. Thanks to us taking the piss out of pop's very own Mrs Overall on Friday, we had a call from 'her people' over the weekend. Apparently, Madge wanted to put the record straight to all we accused her of, and could fit me in for a quick interview between Smash Hits and The Lady if we wanted. Well, who could refuse talking to an icon? Here's the transcript:


(Door slams open)

MADGE: ARE YOU FUCKING READY, GLITTER FOR BRAINS?!!!

G4B: Good lord. Do sit down. A woman of your age really shouldn't... you know.

MADGE: What, motherfucker?

G4B: I was going to say 'high-kick' but I'll settle for 'be wearing a leotard'.

MADGE: I've still gorrit.

G4B: Now Madge, thank you very much for coming in for an interview. Cynically, we only thought you'd agreed when we said the magic word.

MADGE: 'Kabbalah'?

G4B: 'Gay'.

MADGE: Insert something positive and uplifting about The Gays.

G4B: But it would be fair to say that this new album panders a little to Gentlemen Who Admire Curtains. Or is it a natural progression after being inspired by dance music for 'Ray of Light' and country and western for 'Music'...

MADGE: Do you want me to be a cowboy? I can be a cowboy for you...

G4B: Madge, please. Sit down.

MADGE: I can do anything, you know. Cowboy, cop, Indian, construction worker. Anything.

G4B: Shall we talk about your new album, 'Confessions on a Dance Floor'? Releasing two versions of it seems like a bit of a desperate attempt to get a bit more extra cash, wouldn't you say?

MADGE: Are you going to finish that pastry?

G4B: Yes, why?

MADGE: No. No reason. I've never stolen anything in my life. All my ideas are perfectly my own.

G4B: Hey! Give that back!

MADGE: I think you'll find it was my pasty all along. In fact, Gwen Stefani has been trying to nick all my baked goods for ages.

G4B: Er. So. Regarding your album, and lyrics in general. I think I have them written down here...

MADGE: Ooh, so do I... It's at the bottom of my handbag...

G4B: Here we are! Now, please explain these lines 'I don't like cities but I like New York / Every other city makes me feel like a dork'.

MADGE: These ones here?

G4B: Yes. Oh - your version seems to be written in crayon! Have you been letting Lourdes to write these for you again?

MADGE: No.

G4B: Are you sure?

MADGE: I did them. They're wholly my idea. I didn't steal anything.

G4B: It says 'Wot I Did In My Hodilays by Lourdes' at the top!

MADGE: Lourdes? No. That's just my new logo. You see the mirrorball in the 'o'? That's me, that is. Yes.

G4B: Madge! You've been nicking things off your own children! Haven't you?
Well? Haven't you?
And why are you pulling that face?
Hmm?

MADGE: You're... standing... on... my... saline... drip...

G4B: Oh, sorry. I didn't realise.

MADGE: See? I'm still in good shape for my age! I can get my leg right over my head.

G4B: It's fine, really. And I'm hoping that grinding noise was the builders outside...

MADGE: You see I'm so versatile, I can do anything. Watch me! Look at me. You want me to be a belly dancer? I can do that. Or what about a sailor? I could do that for you! I can be anything you want!

G4B: Would you kindly-

MADGE: Love me.

G4B: I'm sorry?

MADGE: Love me. Please.

G4B: Madge, I think I shouldn't keep you any longer. Thank you for your time. And please - keep the chair that you're trying to stuff into your handbag.

MADGE: It was my chair all along.




(The new album is really good, though. How vexing.)
 

Friday, November 11, 2005

The Stars Are Closer To Home

We always like a bit of celeb-spotting here at Glitter for Brains - why, only two days ago did we wander past the lizard-skinned homosexual from 'Star Trek: Enterprise' in the street. But we reached a personal zenith the other week when we noticed an Awful Lot of filming equipment just up the road from our fabulous bijou home. And some security guards appeared to have hi-jacked a slack-titted, gap-toothed bag-lady, who was being escorted to the set.

It transpired that dear Madonna was filming her video for 'Hung Up'.

For those of you who haven't seen this latest Madge-num Opus, the plot of the video appears to be thus:

Three black street-dancers (remember children, Madge's music is all-embracing) who dress like Wal-Mart shelf stackers dance at each other, then get into a cab and flee from their run-down neighbourhood. It is clearly America (remember children, Madge's music is all-encompassing).

Meanwhile Madge is gyrating in a leotard. As you do.

The three dancer then arrive in our fair London Bridge area. In a London cab.

Yes, dear readers. It seems these street-dancing homies are independently wealthy - not only to have caught a plane on what seemed to be a whim when they heard Madge's Pied Piper siren call, but also taking a cab from Gatwick when the Tube is clearly cheaper and quicker.

Now this narrative jump is what we call a 'segue' in the business, a bit of a cut to join two bits of story together. Although dear Madge, never one to let any spare pence slip through her wizened claws, is rumoured to be releasing the version where you can hear all the shenanigans in between these bits of action. Oh yes -

Marvel! As the sounds of a disinterested check-in official slowly allocates seats over a disco beat!

Embrace! As the safety demonstration is weaved into the middle eight!

Spin! As the Spanish woman in the seat behind them keeps putting her feet up on the seats, much to their annoyance, but they don't want to say anything so just put their headphones on and try to watch 'Madagascar' again!

Carousel! As they have to wait until last to get their bags out through customs -all to a purloined ABBA beat!

It's fourteen hours long and perfect to do the housework to. But mostly the hoovering.
 

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Live DVD - And Two Dead Eyes

Now available in the shops for you to keep and keep again (and keep on keeping) is the second DVD in which I grace the contents. Hurrah! I shall exist eternal in the digital medium, immortalised in a soon-to-be-defunct format! Er, oh.

Anyway, you're probably wondering what it was, aren't you? Actually, some of the clever ones of you out there are wondering what the first DVD I was on, but I'm not going to tell you. I shall merely say that I needed the cash and thought it was a genuine advert for a builder's mate.

This second DVD, whereas, will be no surprise to discover is the new Girls Aloud DVD, Live (ha!) at Hammersmith Apollo. I'm in the audience. Cheering my little gay ass off as the Four Songstresses of Pop (plus Nicola) dance and sing (while Nicola hoofs it over the stage, visibly counting her dance steps).

Oh, I know. We shouldn't be so cruel to poor, ginger, band-member Nicola. She can't help it if she thinks looking out of the DVD packaging with eyes of a stunned gazelle actually equals 'sultry'. You can see evidence of this on the cover - she's the one on the far right who appears to have just been for electroshock therapy:

They were live. No really

Bless.

And here's what HMV are cunningly doing to increase sales:

No dead eyes!

Poor Nicola. Poor, poor Nicola.
 

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Unfortunate Moments of My Life #3193

In those dubious days before I fully discovered boys, I did toy with the ideal of finding a nice ladyfriend to wile away the rest of my life. Though, as I look back, I very much doubt the lucky girl would have to have been wholly fulfilled with a life of baking cakes and spending long weekends getting her hair platted.

Oh, all this was quite a long time before That Fateful Incident In The Woods that set me anything but straight. So picture the poor unfortunate in my class that had recently become the object of my affection; she was quite attractive, slender, and more importantly had the longest hair - which is darned important with any foresight to platting, let me tell you.

Now I was a greenhorn boy with little or no social awareness - and certainly so when it came to matters of the heart - I decided declare my intentions by giving the girl in question my first ever Valentine's card. Do follow my dubious train of thought here: despite wanting to pronounce my affection to the world, I also realised that Valentine's cards were meant to be anonymous and secretive and all sorts of Cyrano De Bergerac-type things. I also madly figured this girl I'd never spoken to before would be able to figure out my handwriting at ten paces. And so I decided to disguise the entire creation.

Thus, I wrote the whole thing using clipped out letters from a newspaper.

And in no way did the whole card look like a scary ransom note whatsoever.

Sheesh. I never did live that one down.
 

One Sign You're A Middle-Age Gay

Slapping your forehead in the middle of a management meeting and saying "Damn! I forgot to buy Quorn!"
 

Friday, November 04, 2005

My Crotch Stiffened...

The marvellous thing about 'going commando' is the sly liberated feeling one gets in a supermarket queue. The downside is that well-worn hole - you know, the one that slowly widens with wear between ones thighs to show your breakfast - does appear a lot sooner than it really should.

Said hole recently appeared in my favourite pair of jeans, so it was off to Mr Mend-It in London's trendy London for a bit of a repair job.

Well, I was expecting a couple of stitches in there to prevent any sort of spillage, but they've gone and what can only be described as upholstered the seat. It's a stupendous job - you can't see the join at all, but out of nowhere, some sort of reinforced fabric has all but welded in place, and appears to be thick enough to survive atmospheric re-entry. It's like they've installed a drip-tray, a steel plate to weather the hardiest effects of three-bean curries from the night before!

Although it is most distracting walking to work with what feels like scaffolding in your gusset.

Suddenly, my trousers have doubled their weight, and one must resort to wearing a belt. Now I have a thing against belts; the Wife has a large collection of big cowboy buckles which do look marvellous, but are wholly inconvenient when it comes to oral sex. Oh yes, I could tell you of a whole host of times I've come into work with 'Texas Cowboy' imprinted in reverse on my forehead...
 

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Unfortunate Moments of My Life #3192

It is very true to say that I like a bit of hair on my men. Nothing too gauche, naturally - one does like a bit of 'grass on the pitch' when playing. But I do draw the line when potential gentlemen callers have to shave their foreheads in order to watch television

So it was with great delight that, upon returning from shopping one day, I saw a trio of hirsute gentlemen walking towards me with their tops off.

'Goodness,' I thought, catching one's breath. What fine specimens. Taught muscular bodies. A little grubby - let's say they've been rolling around in the mud while playing football. Oh yes. Together. Rolling around, playfully snapping at each other's shorts during half-time. Having to miss the bath because someone had run off with the one on the right's towel and all sorts of hilarity had ensued.

I skipped on towards them, happy with these thoughts.

And as they were getting closer, I started swinging my shopping in what I thought was a coquettish manner of 'Well, gentlemen, aren't you lovely!' It got their attention right away, and I shivered slightly as their gaze took me in. The one on the left, who looked positively rough, broke into a smile. A stained, yellow, broken-toothed grin. It looked like the tombstones of Highgate Cemetery.

"Spare some change, govn'r?" he asked.

I stopped skipping. Good lord. They were tramps.

I coughed into my silk hanky, pressed it to my nose and walked on by them, ignoring their pleas for monies.

Well. I ask you. Tramps. In my glorious area.

Although I probably still would have still done the one on the right.
 

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Lulu (Part III)

(Enter Lee, wiping his hands on a towel)

LEE: What a long night! Spending five hours delivering Lulu's bizarre offspring. I'm knackered.

(a beat)

What's in the bin bag? And come to think of it, why is it so quiet in here?

(a beat)

And what's with the brick?

JAY: Let's just say that, if anyone goes rifling through our bins to steal our identity, they're in for a bit of a shock.

LEE: You didn't!

JAY: Beardface, the little things were lame anyway. And we wouldn't want the creation of another dead-eyed daytime presenter on our consciences, would we?

LEE: Aww. But the lank-haired one was so cute! I wanted to keep her. Her first words were 'Cubic Zirconia'...

JAY: We have bigger problems, Beardface. Listen. The assembled d-list divas have stopped attacking.

LEE: That's a good thing. Right? That is a good thing, isn?t it?

JAY: Not necessarily. They could be marshalling their strength for a bigger attack...

LEE: Oh my god. They're using Aretha Franklin as a battering ram!

JAY: Clever girl.

ARETHA: R! (slam!) E! (slam!) S! (slam!) P! (slam!) E! (slam!) C! (slam!) T!

LEE: They're coming out the goddam walls! THEY'RE COMING OUT THE GODDAM WALLS! Ow! What was that for?

JAY: Pull yourself together, man! We have to get out of this. Now think! Why would these d-list divas be hammering on our charming pied-a-terre?

LEE: Errr... I do a mean shepherd's pie.

JAY: That grey lump with the cheese?

LEE: That's the toad in the hole. The shepherd's pie is the brown stuff that looks like dog vomit.

JAY: Oh yes. That. Well, you're not having the divas around for dinner.

LEE: I know, they'll rip our heads off.

JAY: And we've only got six chairs. And two of those would be needed for the corpulent Dame Judi...

LEE: Of course, it's obvious - they're all after Lulu!

JAY: Why on earth would this army of semi-fabulous be after Lulu?

LEE: Well, look at her. She's three-hundred and nine and still got skin smoother than my peachy behind.

JAY: That grey lump with the cheese?

LEE: I could go off you, you know.

JAY: Well, there's only one way to find out. There! We! Go!

LEE: Oh! You can't throw Lulu out there! She'll make them more powerful! Oh I can't watch!

JAY: Oh. They've all kind of gathered around her.

LEE: And?!

JAY: They're kind of sniffing her a bit, and - oh.

LEE: What? What?! What's happening?

JAY: They've ripped her to shreds.

LEE: Ohgod. Ohgod. Ohgod. Lulu! And we're next!

JAY: We have to think why they're here. Why, Beardface! Come on - you've got a degree.

LEE: In needlework, you fool! Oh, heaven help me! I don't want to die at the hands of a former Coronation Street star!

JAY: That's it! Wasps!

LEE: What?

JAY: Wasps, you bushy buffoon! When you kill a wasp, it released a scent that drives all the other wasps to attack. It must be the same with divas. This all stated when Cher had her accident!

LEE: You mean you knocked her head off.

JAY: Details, details.

LEE: So all we have to do is create a convincing Cher for them to call off their attack!

JAY: I've got a mop!

LEE: And I've got two plastic cups for the breasts!

JAY: Strap a tape recorder to it playing 'Believe' and we're all done!

LEE: There. Throw it outside.

JAY: And it's gone!

LEE: What's happening?

JAY: They're sniffing it... and slowly approaching... shit! One of the breasts fell off!

LEE: It's alright. That always used to happen with the real thing all the time.

JAY: They've reached the Cher...

LEE: I'm scared.

JAY: They?ve picked it up...

LEE: And? AND?!

JAY: ...they are taking it with them.

LEE: They're going?

JAY: Every last one. Off into the night, probably to find the warmth of a Green Room to sleep in.

LEE: Aww. Brilliant. Well done, you. How did you know about the wasps?

JAY: People tell me things. I'm very approachable.

LEE: Like fudge you are.

JAY: Well, one thing is certain. No more pets for you, Beardface. Deal?

LEE: Deal!


(Exeunt Jay, whistling 'To Sir With Love')


LEE: I just won't tell him about little Cilla Black sleeping under my bed...


(the end)
 

Lulu (A Slight Aside)

Dear Canadians, etc,

If you are unsure of who Lulu actually is, we at Glitter For Brains have created a handy factsheet for you. It is 100% accurate and true. Oh yes.