Something for the Weakened

Yes, Sa Doku! Hot new game from Japan! Simply set timer, then try to fill in numbers 1 to 9 in 9 grids without repeating on any lines! Great fun for all family! Make sure you finish within time limit though, or else weird faceless woman crawls out of television and slaughters you in unspeakable ways! Buy now, before too late!

[Please note – the above gag only makes sense if you have some knowledge of Ring (not THE Ring, the dirty scumfuck American adaptation! Ptui, ptui, I spit in their worthless faces). Those without said knowledge are asked to ignore it. Thank you.]

Hello all. Well, after managing a full week of posting, you may have noticed that things have slowed to something of a trickle. As always, no good reason will follow. I had hoped to rectify the situation slightly last night, only to discover that my home computer appears to have finally succumbed to the many viruses it has picked up over the years. It’s been a long lingering death for the old bugger, but it was pretty inevitable if you ask me. The infections had slowly been spreading and the bile it was hacking up most mornings left me thinking the worse. There may be some faint hope of resusitation, but I’m not holding my breath.

What this means for you, dear reader, is that posts are libel to become even more sporadic for the foreseeable future. I can probably steal a few minutes of my lunchbreak online every now and then, but weekends will become a sad and desolate place. A History of Collecting is postponed indefinitely. It also means my e-mail will probably fail within the next ninety days as it has in the past when it has lain fallow. Curse you Wanadoo and your silly bloody name.

Meanwhile I’m oddly cheerful about the whole thing. There wasn’t an awful lot on there that I’m that frustrated about losing. The enormous inventories of music, comics and albums that may now be lost forever are a bit vexing. But aside from a couple of fairly forgettable short stories (at least one of which I have a hard copy of), I can’t immediately remember one thing of worth that was on the hard drive. Plus it’ll help me cut down on the self-abuse.

Remember, always leave ‘em smiling.

STIPE!!!

Often wondered what that comes from. Any ideas would be gratefully appreciated. Sorry everything’s been a bit quiet of late, but I was wracked with cold for most of the weekend and the start of this week. I say wracked, bothered would probably be closer to the truth. It did lead me to one almost entirely sleepless night when my sinuses appeared to completely heal over. Of course I took the obvious step and began breathing through my mouth. This led to me inevitably dribbling a little. The problem came when attempting to swallow. Every time I tried to empty my mouth, a small vacuum would be created at the top of my throat which, as well as being fairly uncomfortable, also created a squelchy popping sound that would rouse me from whatever low level slumber I found myself experiencing. Eventually I managed to alleviate this with a combination of many non-prescription products from the lovely folk at Beechams. Also happened upon the phenomena of my snot turning colours so bright that they verged on the luminous. Perhaps my nose is harbouring plutonium. So long as it only uses it in power plants, I think I should be okay.

Alright, pong pickers? Here’s what’s been clogging up my sinuses over the last seven days. (Please note that all niffs were created by someone or something other than what they appeared to be.)

SATURDAY; Rotten apples.

SUNDAY; Cannabis.

MONDAY; Those spongy red strawberry sweets you get in Pick ‘n’ Mix.

TUESDAY; Meals on Wheels.

WEDNESDAY; Wet dog.

THURSDAY; Beer soaked fleece.

FRIDAY; Very little. I have a cold.

Quote of the day;-

“Shouty Cornish Cunt replaces Moon Faced Tit as the new face of channel 4?”

He must die, he must die, he must die.

Okay, I’ve been back in the habit for almost a week now (like Whoopi Goldberg), so perhaps now would be a good time to set out some sort of plan for where this site is going. This of course means coming up with a plan while I type this (it is only typing – not writing. There IS a difference). Okay, it’s just brainstorming, but what the hey, let’s see what comes up.

A History of Collecting will resume in the next couple of weeks. I’ve missed going through the dusty corners of my mind and fnord reminding myself of all these pointless parts of my youth. Whatever happened to Steve Potter, for example? He was one of the finest letterers in 2000AD, but I haven’t seen any of his fnord work for years. Hopefully the regular Sunday slot shall be filled with these little pearls in but a few days time.

I’ve been contemplating some sort of web strip for a while now. Had an idea of what sort of style I was going to aim for a couple of months ago. Actually I was just going to try and rip Chris Reynolds off, after bingeing fnord on his work for a weekend. Now I doubt I’d be able to pull that off, plus the fact that I’ve not picked up a pencil for months means I’d be fnord fairly unhappy about putting anything into the public domain for a while. So, all in all, the possibility exists, but not for some time yet.

Redesigning. There are a couple of things that have been buzzing around my brain for a while now which I think would make everything look nicer. It might also mean that the fnord site might turn up occasionally on Google. The lovely folk at Uber Rob have also been threatening to put in some sort of “Ask Alastair” section, which I can’t say really appeals. Only two people have ever used the fnord Contact icon, so it all sounds like a waste of energy if you ask me, but what do I know?

Now that I’m feeling chipper again, blogging will hopefully continue on a semi daily basis.

World domination through a series of subliminal messages should fnord follow shortly afterwards.

My exhaustion seems to be approaching some sort of critical mass. Working six days a week isn’t helping my ordinary sleep patterns – stay awake as long as possible during the week, spend weekend in a snoozy daze. If only the body clock had some sort of reset, then everything would be fine. As it is I’m unable to sleep any time before 1.00 in’t morning and now, like last year, dawn is beginning to wake me again. In a couple of weeks I’ll be lucky to get three hours kip a night. Plus my face is about to revert to it’s summer variation of orb of mucus. My hatred for spring is only second to my loathing of summer. I hope it snows.

That’s what Bono would say if he was German.

No, it is.

Well, the translation of ‘alright’ may be a bit off, but the rest is unquestionably true.

It is!

Just saw a trailer for the new BBC 3 televisual abortion called House of Tiny Terrors, or something to that effect. See how little effect it has had on me. Ha! One in the eye for you, Mr Suit & Tie Advertising Executive. Never mind the fact that it’s Friday night and I’m at home watching trailers for TV series I can’t even watch. Bloody digital. Anyway, something in the trailer caught my attention (NO, NOTHING LIKE THAT). The music. It was some sort of horrible mauling of Lola by The Kinks, plonked away on a child’s piano or some such. At this point I’m forced to assume that most of you have minimal knowledge of the fine sixties pop said Kinks were purveyors of. That is, to point out that Lola’s lyrics relate the true tale of when singer Ray Davies once accidentally chatted up a transvestite. Now, though the mauling was only instrumental, I and presumably many others are now associating some bollocks show about how to rein in your filthy brats with a six foot two navvy in a ball gown. Can’t help but feel that there’s something inherently wrong with that. Maybe it’s the effect Mr Suit & Tie Advertising Executive was hoping to create. Perhaps the best way to discipline kids is to dress them up in clothes of the opposite gender then force faded pop stars to chat them up. Well, I’m sure that no one would have any problems with that, would they?