Tag

I'm not good with these things but here's my effort;


7 things I plan to do before I die.

1. Journey to the centre of the earth.
2. Wrestle a giant Panda to the death.
3. Eat a Unicorns heart.
4. Travel back in time.
5. Turn lead into gold.
6. Grow wings.
7. Invent a machine that will simultaneously implode every silicone implant.

7 things I do now.

1. Pole dance.
2. Smuggle diamonds from South Africa.
3. Act as Paris Hilton's body double.
4. Train cats to kill people who don't stop at zebra crossings.
5. Turn lead into silver.
6. Read minds.
7. Drive a lorry on the ice road.

7 things I won't do.

1. Cross pollinate vegetables with dolphins.
2. Sit in a bath of baked beans.
3. Spin around in circles for an hour and thirteen minutes.
4. Learn Mandarin.
5. Travel on the Titanic.
6. Walk to Australia.
7. Eat my toenails.

7 things that attract me in the opposite sex.

1. A pulse.
2. Hair.
3. At least 50% of their limbs are not prosthetic.
4. Sober(ish)
5. An ability to dress themselves.
6. An amiable carer.
7. A lisp.

7 celebrities I admire.

1. Holly.
2. Bridget.
3. Kendra.
4. Busty Heart.
5. Terry Gene Bollea.
6. Duane Chapman.
7. Homer J Simpson.

7 favourite foods.

1. Barbecued Dolphin steaks.
2. Deep fried kitten.
3. Black olives stuffed with ground White Rhino horn.
4. Freshly clubbed baby Seal on a bed of boiled rice.
5. Sauteed puppy offal.
6. Shark fin soup.
7. Chimpanzee sweet and sour ribs.

Well there are a couple of things of the top of my head. I guess if I really thought about it I could find a few more!

Recent Keyword Activity!

Recent Keyword Activity!

• Black woman face with bull superimposed.
• Sex after seventy.
• Hole in the bed by mister completely.
• Liver blunt spoon.

I had no idea my posts were so interesting!

I saw some great graffiti today on an advert selling a golf bag and clubs it went something like; Golf bag and clubs for sale, would suit beginner, includes driver, putter and sand wedge. Someone had tagged on the end (think it's cheese and onion). Made me chuckle anyway!

Re-cycle!

On the way to pick up #3 son from school I decided to empty our box full of jars and bottles in the garden and take them for recycling. I wanted to empty the box and was rather over zealous with the amount I crammed into the large carrier bag. Never-the-less I picked up the bag, grabbed his scooter and left the house. It was about halfway across the zebra crossing that the handle on the bag started to break! Managing to get to the other side of the road without smashing anything I had to sling the scooter over my shoulder and carry the bag in two arms as if I was carrying a baby. This is when I noticed that there was a small hole in the bag. A small hole that all the excess liquid from the bottles was using as an escape hatch, the escape hatch that was now next to my sweatshirt.

To try and distract myself from impending disaster I looked in the shop windows as I hurried past and was amazed to see some of their great offers.

In the greengrocers they were now selling 'eating' plums. Now I much prefer 'eating' plums to the ones you bring home, leave in the fruit bowl for show then throw out before they get rotten.

In the clothes store they were selling 'ladies' tights. Now is it just me or is there any other kind? Surely men who wear tights wear 'ladies' tights don't they?

In the hairdressers they had a 'walk in service, no appointment always required'. Now call me old fashioned but when I have a haircut (I did today as it happens) I always walk inside for a haircut. I don't really see much of an alternative unless I got someone to scalp me and sent the top of my skull in by special delivery.

My brain was wandering now but not to far to notice my chest was getting cold and wet and when I finally got to the bottle bank I had a lovely stain up my front. A lovely stain that smelt like the old boy sat on the steps outside the library begging for 'a couple of quid mister'.

I decide when I get to school that I'm going to stand as far away from everyone as possible so no-one can smell me.

WRONG!

The gate into the school hadn't been unlocked and I found myself in the middle of a load of mums sniffing and pointing. There was really no point in protesting my innocence as I have now been tarred with some old alcoholics brush so tomorrow before the school run I'm having a pint of ale with a whisky chaser!

Oddfellows

I think I'm a magnet for some of the stranger members of our society, either that or it's the uniform. The uniform probably does have something to do with it because 'Joe Public' thinks if they spend a few pence on a stamp they own my soul. Its obvious from the fact they don't know me but still have a pet name for me like 'Postie' or 'Pat' or if I don't deliver their Giro 'Useless Cocksucker'.

Today a young lad (late teens?) walked up to me and asked me where the nearest post box was. Now it being my first day on the delivery and having not got my bearings yet I had no idea and told this to you young lad. He looked at me like I was an idiot but said nothing then he turned on his heels and ran away from me until he got to the end of the street where he stopped and carried on walking as if nothing had happened.

This was definitely odd behaviour, well it was to me but not as odd as the elderly gentleman who stopped to talk to me as I was entering my house. By the time I get to my front door I like to think I'm safe but not today. I was chaining up my bicycle when the old boy walked up to me and started to fondle my saddle. Not a normal occurrence but hey, each to their own! I have a gel saddle apparently (he seemed to be some kind of expert) it was a spare one DJ had in the shed (no I don't know why she had a spare saddle either) and I put it on when mine split. This is when the old boy started telling me that he'd been looking at all different sorts of saddles because he was worried that the one on his bike was too hard and was damaging the tube that ran from the end of his penis.

Now he'd need to spend more than a first class stamp to keep me there listening to that so I left him admiring my saddle hoping he'd be gone before I had to do the school run!

Ivana is back!

PRESS RELEASE:

Ivana Chopski was notified today that her erotic short story 'WHACK!' will be published in a book coming out next month.

More details soon on this blog!

Book launch

We are having a book launch!

There will be:

• Books
• Drink.
• Books
• Music.
• Books.
• A short talk from a very nice lady.
• Books.
• A bit of reading from another very nice lady.
• Books.

OK, you get the picture and you can get the full (proper) details from DJ's blog post or there are details on my sidebar that I put up prematurely, earlier this week.

There are two reasons behind this book launch, one is obviously to sell some books the other is an opportunity to raise some money for charity. (All the profits from the evening will go to charity.) We have a target which we would love to achieve.

Now, those of you who actually know me will know that I'm a miserable fucker. No sorry that was kind of a harsh word to use! Try again; those of you who know me will know I'm an unsociable fucker and these sort of events to me are akin to cutting out my liver with a blunt spoon. But, but (deep breath) for this occasion, to support DJ and the very worthwhile charities I am going to get fully behind it. Shit, where did I put my asthma inhaler?!

So, to show my commitment to putting bums on seats this is what I intend to do. Isn't it hard typing with sweaty palms? We are taking payment in advance for the tickets if or when we reach the allotted target for the charity donation I will get up and read the prologue to my book. If we don't there will be an awkward 10 minute silence!

Due to limited computer knowledge I've managed to put up a dodgy target monitor thingy in the sidebar to show our progress.

So............... in Big Brother speak "Who reads? You decide!"

Candid Camera?

It's been an odd week this week and I'm quite glad that I have a day off today.

Ever since I changed offices to move nearer home I've had to move back down the rung of the ladder by about 10 years and instead of having a fixed duty I do a different job every week. I don't mind really but it does mean some weeks are much better than others.

This week I'm working in an area that has quite an eclectic mix of people; from 'slum' flats to huge mansions and from an old peoples home to a lap dancing club. There is a main road that seems to divide the area in two though oddly the old peoples home is on the side of the 'slum' flats and the lap dancing club is on the side of the mansions. I'm not sure if there is some hidden or not so hidden message there.

It may be more enjoyable to work on the mansion side of the road (no dog shit, vomit or rotting 3 piece suites to avoid on the pavement) but it's not necessarily easier. The huger the house, and some of these are the size of a small fort, the smaller the letterbox. Some of these houses can only have mail if it is written on a postage stamp that can be folded up half a dozen times then stood on for half an hour. The flat side of the road has no such problem as most of the doors have been kicked in and the letterboxes are subsequently redundant. All I need to do is push open the door and drop the mail in the hall trying to avoid the puddle of urine and leftover take away cartons.


This week I seem to be a magnet for the stranger element! I already mentioned my experience on Monday but I've had two others since then, one from each side of the street.

On the flat side: I was happily going about my business and had just stopped to give a motorist directions to somewhere that was miles away (he's probably still looking!) when I heard a little voice calling me. I turned around to find the voice coming from a genderless person. I don't wish to offend anyone but this person could have been either male or female and the voice didn't help. I don't think they were speaking an English dialect I knew but I'm sure they were sucking a sugar lump because every time they paused for a breath they said "Sweet!". I think the gist of what they were saying between texting someone on a very expensive looking phone was they wanted their giro because they had to go to the job centre and if it hadn't come they would have to go back again. I wasn't exactly sure that was right as my attention was wandering a bit as I looked at the numerous piercings on their face.

"Could you look for it?"
"No!"
"Why?"
"I'm not allowed to hand out mail in the street I could be handing it out to anyone. It has to be thrown on the floor between the puddle of piss and the curry container!"
"Sweet!"
"But I'll have to come back!"

My heart pumps purple piss for you I'm afraid.

Listen, I wouldn't have handed over a giro to anyone in the street. Being they were the second cousins to a forth generation of circus freaks had nothing to do with it. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I was working my arse off while they sat on their arse all day texting on a phone much better than mine and could afford more earrings than Paris Hilton.

Anyway I digress, to encourage me to get to their flat quicker they stood at the end of the road staring at me and looking at their watch. That was going to work. Not! When I eventually got to their flat (I was sure they had to be somewhere?) they didn't have any mail! Sweet!

Mansion side: This was a touch of deja vu and I'd been there before.

A Middle Eastern looking gentleman was walking towards me brandishing a card and wanting to know where his parcel was. Well I assume that's what he was saying because his English wasn't very good though it was a touch better than my Arabic which consists of asking how his fasting is going and telling him his eyes resemble a penis! Not a great deal of help there so I'm left with the fallback solution, talk slowly and loudly while pointing a lot. That didn't seem to work either and he started pointing and shouting though his voice seemed to get quicker. He obviously didn't know the subtleties of talking to foreigners!

We were getting nowhere so I, using my usual amount of tact started walking off. He followed! This went on for ages until I got to my bike which I promptly mounted and rode off leaving him by the side of the road waving his card like a handkerchief to the passenger of an ocean bound liner.

To take the edge off the day I thought it would be a good idea to stop in at the lap dancing club (don't tell DJ) and that was the end of it for me. There was no Pole dancer! There were Estonians, Croatians and Russians but no Poles!

My am I looking forward to work tomorrow?

Lighten up!

I've not had a good day today.

It started badly when the cats started scratching at bedroom doors in the early hours and got progressively worse as the day wore on. Little things that shouldn't bother me were niggling under my skin and the more I tried to not let them get to me the worse they got. To top it all I have to do a small oration on Tuesday week and I have to learn all the words. I thought I knew them and was practising as I worked but I'd forgotten two important words and because I thought I knew it all I didn't have my prompt.

I was about ready to explode around now (I really should go back on my medication) when a gentleman got out of his car and marched up to me. Now he did say his name but I didn't quite catch it, something like Double-Barrelled-Plum-In-My-Mouth and he was waving a couple of cards in front of my face.

Him; "You put these through my door."
Me; "Nope."
Him; "You just did at number 6."
Me; "Nope."
Him; Getting a bit louder and redder "You did! I saw you!"
Me; "Nope. You might have seen someone but it wasn't me!"

Now he tries to open the bag on the front of my bike and look for the parcels I don't have.

Me; "You really don't want to be doing that!"
Him; "But I want my parcels!"
Me; "I don't have your parcels perhaps it was the van driver you saw?"
Him; "Van driver? Wheres the van driver?"
Me; Patting down my coat and shaking my head "Oh! I'm so sorry I seem to have left my crystal ball in the other coat!"
Him; At darker shade of purple "Name and number!"
Me; "What?"
Him; "I want your name and number so I can complain about you!"

I have a burning desire to tell him to 'take his face for a shit' but bite my tongue and show him my badge then leave him standing on the curb clutching his cards and looking for a pen.

By now I just about hate everybody and when I get home the cats can tell it's best to stay out of my way. I take off my coat and the phone rings. Great a tele-marketer who I can take my frustration out on. I answer the phone with a barked "YES!" and a little voice on the other end of the the line says "Hello it's Silly Scott."

Now Silly Scott is the magician who #3 son has coming to his birthday and cost a fortune but worth every penny because it made me smile. He rings up people and calls himself Silly then maybe I'm taking myself too seriously. When I get to number 6 tomorrow I'm going to post one of Silly Scott's flyer's through his door and maybe he'll phone him?

Maybe not!