Baby Bonding and Viagrantacids

There are people out there on the web who have strong feelings about successful parenthood and the importance, in the bonding process, of changing diapers full of liquid green poop and getting covered in foul smelling projectile vomit. The first time it happened to me I decided right there and then that there were better ways to do it, like buying Mrs B a new apron.

And now there are intelligent degree people telling me it's fine for me to breastfeed a baby. Well excuse me but I don't think so. In fact you have got to be joking. If you think I'm going to unbutton my blue, Ben Sherman, natural cotton, button-down collar shirt in public to pop nine pounds of hungry infant onto one of my miniscule, male, nipply things.. Well you've got another think coming is all I can say. I'd rather just let it holler and howl a while if it's all the same with you.

Second World War Ends

Set me straight about this Mr Rip Van Winkle or even put me out of my misery for good if I'm wrong, but aren't we in the middle of 2005 here and didn't WW2 end in 1945?

So why is the end of the Second World War only now being celebrated at Walsall Town Hall over there in UK? I know late is better than never but a sixty year delay is just plain ridiculous.

Memory Meeting

Things which people routinely forget is the subject for discussion at the next meeting of the Bogsville Family History Group. Guest speaker is Mr A.M.Nesiac. Doors open July 13 from 7 to 9pm. Think I'll forget about that one.

Air Your Concerns

Bogsville residents will be given the opportunity to air issues of concern when the town's next community forum is staged on Tuesday.

The event takes place at the Silver Slipper Ballroom down there on Hospital Street. Residents wanting to raise an issue can call Joy Hand toll-free on the usual number. Be warned. Last time I raised something with Joy it took me three days to recover enough to go home. Must have been those extra strength viagrantacids she gave me.

New Job

I just spotted this tale of woe. There really is no justice out there.

Go On You Deserve It Again.

If you are still reading, take yet another look at this happy little clip. The guy is a star.

Excavating Expertise

Pa was well known for his hole digging skills. He'd start digging on a Saturday morning and when he'd got down about four feet, he'd stop, climb out, fill it in and then start again in another section of the yard. The neighbours would look out of their windows and marvel at his excavating expertise.

That's why the lady from next door came round one afternoon at about five o'clock and asked if Pa was in.

She explained that their corgi dog had died and that her husband was too upset to deal with it himself. He was all heart that guy. He loved that little dog so much he used to take it in his garage and give it a walloping whenever he was in a loving mood. Used to wallop his wife too but not in the garage as I recall.

"I'll do it for you," said Pa, "just give me a minute or two to finish my meal."

He set off with his shovel at about six and was back by half past eight.

"Easy," he said, "no problems at all except that it got dark before I'd finished."

He went off to have a wash and then sat down to read his paper. He searched around in his pockets.

"Anyone seen my glasses?" he asked.
"You hadn't got them on when you came back in." Ma said.
"I remember. I took them off while I was digging the hole. I'll be back in a minute."

It was just before midnight when he got back.

He'd found his glasses. Three feet down next to the little corgi.

Excavator extraordinaire, my Pa.

Is this a design masterpiece or what?

I keep going over to Zazzafooky.com just to stare at it. I could sit and stare at that page for hours. I think it's the green eyes... The lady writes well too. Had a real go at someone today.

Three or four days ago B. at Age Ventures wrote that my page was "like a gentle belch". Nicest thing anyone ever said. I was deeply moved.

Flesh And Fornication

We're pretty straight-laced out here in backwoods Bogsville. Whale-bone, ribbed corsets and Damart thermals rather than thongs.

Round here thongs are what the thingers thing at the Thursday karaoke thessions.

So we tend to be uptight rather than upright if you know what I mean. Most of the local folks frown on flesh and fornication, which I think is a great pity. That is why I like to get away every once in a while.

Unfortunately I haven't been managing much getting away recently what with Dog's expensive illness and subsequent reluctance to let me out of his sight.

Don't get me wrong. I'm flattered by his loyalty but it's cramping my style.

I suppose it could be worse. I have now fallen in love with the local grocer's wife. When I go in there she puts her book down, straightens her spectacles and we share a moment of romance as she hands me a pack of cigarettes and I hand over my money. She advised me to give up smoking so she obviously cares. Last year I fell in love with the grocer's sister. Happens to me a lot.

Return To Black Poplar Falls

This is the third day running that the white stuff has been falling from the Black Poplar tree. The irony of those words has only just struck me - Listen to the lyrics of Strange Fruit and you'll see what I'm rambling about.

The air is full of it, my eyes, throat and nose are reacting badly. I don't get hay fever but Hell, there's only so much human that flesh and blood can tolerate. I'm wearing my best Florida shirt and my old, sun bleached, Barbados shorts and I'm stuck in the damn house. I know that should have read "human flesh and blood" but I liked it the way it came out.

If anyone is still here I'm listening to the music that loads when you go to Ron Carter's site. Give it a listen.

Black Poplar Falls

It snowed all day today. Snowed Black Poplar tree cotton. The air was thick with the stuff.

What we needed was a strong South Westerly wind to blow the cotton away from us. What we got was a gentle breeze from the North so the white stuff filled the garden and the house. I'll have to get the tree out and the diggers in and build a development called Black Poplar Falls so that people remember what it used to be like in the old days.

I'll try to explain. Every day I used to pass by a field with horses in it. Nice little field, green grass, daisies and all that natural stuff. Horses were nice too, standing there chewing away, big eyes staring out as I went past.

One morning the horses had gone. Next day the diggers moved in and the grass disappeared. Six months later there was a development there. Cramped houses you could just about squeeze between if you turned sideways on. They named the development Lark Rise. Lark Rise - so that people would remember what it used to be like in the old days. My tree's staying put.

One of the boys came to visit for a couple of hours. First and second stop, the bathroom! We have that effect on people who visit.

When I first met him he was very small and about as house trained as a new puppy. He's bigger now and has bathroom skills. If he reads this he will probably never visit again.

If anyone is interested in taking him off our hands, feel free to contact me through the usual channels. He's a fairly recent model and has relatively few miles on the clock.

Buck Nekkid Appeal

I would point out that the Buck Nekkid Appeal is still very much alive. What's the matter with you people?

A Basket Of Fruit For Ma

When I was a kid I used to get real bad nightmares. Tell you the truth it was only one real bad nightmare because it was always the same one and it came round every year. Never missed.

In the dream I'd be running through a long dark rail tunnel. Running right over the sleepers in the middle of the track. I was always carrying a basket full of soft fruit for Ma and getting close to the blue sky at the home end of that darn tunnel.

Every time I had the dream I'd think I was going to make it, then I'd hear the sound of the steam train thundering along the rails behind me. It was always one of those Casey Jones jobs with a cow catcher on the front and a big round lamp in the centre of the boiler. It was always travelling fast.

I'd start to run and the faster I ran, the faster it came up behind. The ground would got boggy underfoot so that my feet sank in and eventually stuck fast. I always woke up bathed in sweat just before the train hit.

The night before the last exam paper I ever took, the damn train hit me. I remember expecting to wake up just before the big bang but I didn't. It just kept on coming. Ran me down, mashed me and the basket of soft fruit I was taking to Ma so you couldn't tell where plum and strawberry ended and little Milt began. I remember hovering up there somewhere, looking down on the scene and thinking that we were a real mess, me and that basket of fruit.

I never had the nightmare again, and Ma never got the fruit.

I've been hovering around up here ever since, just watching you all struggling along in all the boggy bits down there.

Gran's Bidet

There's a highly informative piece on bidets over on Gran's site today. The only bit that worries me is the perching with your back to the mixer bit. I always get hot and cold, left and right, on and off mixed up if I can't see the twiddler thing. Up and down for some reason doesn't cause a problem.

Also..

I'm not certain about this but I suspect that Cheryl at Mad Baggage has been tweaking her template. Looks to me like she's given it a purple rinse.

I was brave enough to ask the lady at Widow's Walk for her telephone number but she has, so far, ignored the request. I can only take so much rejection!

Gabbi's got a really nice little dog with "magnitude".

Finally, Seize The Night is a girl. She likes shiny things, words...and ninjas and I like what she writes very much. STN - you need a publisher.

Life Begins At Forty

"Come in and sit down," he said. "You're not allergic to dogs are you?"
"Not as far as I know."

I stared at the two bulldogs lying by the corner of his desk and they stared back at me.

"What seems to be the problem?"
"Catarrh," I said. "I'm completely bunged up. I have been for about two weeks now. Can't seem to shake it off."

He came out from behind his desk with a flashlight and peered into my nostrils.

"You certainly are," he agreed. He didn't bother looking in my ears or throat.

"How old are you?"
"Forty two," I said.

He shrugged. "Well what the Hell do you expect? If you have got a car that has done 42,000 miles you've got to expect things to go wrong and bits to start dropping off."

I was shocked. The bulldogs weren't.

He scribbled on a pad. "Look," he said, digging deep into his vast reserves of bedside manner, "anyone who tells you that life begins at 40 is either an idiot or, if you'll pardon my language, a f***ing liar."

He handed me the prescription. I thanked him. On the way out I looked over at the two bulldogs. They were still staring at me.

One of them winked.

A Long Hot Summer Night In Bogsville

Don't know what it is about hot weather but it sure brings out all the local assholes. Gets so an old bogger like me starts to worry about his personal safety.

Take last night for instance. There I was propping up a corner of the bar at the Tulip & Tiara with Merl and Raul, puttin' the world to rights, discussin' meaty matters and peerin' at the girls in their loose summer dresses, when Vesuvius erupts right in the middle of the bar.

Five or six big guys tryin' to get at one another, a whole load of screamin' and hollerin', prancin' and posturin', pushin' and shovin', threatenin' and cursin'.

Seemed to be about a woman they had with them. There's always problems when you've got a whole bunch of drunk guys and just one woman.

There they were prancin' around like ruttin' stags except they never got to the headbutt stage and the woman was screaming, "Get the police! Get the police!" but nobody did. Then - they all went home.

We walked off home too.

Ten minutes later I'm turning into my road in one of Bogsville's leafy suburbs when I happen upon a young guy with a beer can in his hand proving to himself that he's tougher than any damn fence or refuse bin in Bogsville. He's destroying fence panels and overturning bins like there's no tomorrow.

We exchanged a few pleasantries, he stripped off his shirt and announced that he would smash my head in with the beer can. I was impressed. He explained to me that he wouldn't hit a woman. I was totally confused. He explained that he'd had a bad night and as he wouldn't hit a woman he'd got to take it out on something.

The chat seemed to have done him good. He put his shirt back on and walked away. A few minutes later he got into a car and was driven off by some helpful buddies.

I went in the house and phoned the police.

The beer can is still outside. It hasn't been opened. It's dented. The beer can was a lot tougher than he was.

MP Letter Explains Disappearing WMD

I now know why no weapons of mass destruction have been found in Iraq. The UN weapons inspectors destroyed them. I know this because one of my moles has sent me a letter dated 03/25/03, in which a UK Labour M.P. wrote,

"The UK government has not been able to locate the arms caches of the paramilitaries in Northern Ireland, despite looking for 30 years. Iraq is many times the size of Northern Ireland. Without the full co-operation of Iraq, the UN weapons inspectors would never, ever have got the proscribed weaponry located and destroyed."

To be fair to the guy, he meant the exact opposite because he went on to write,

"The UN's Chief Weapons Inspector Hans Blix submitted a report to the UN on 7 March 2003. From that report, two things were clear to me. Firstly, Iraq has weapons of mass destruction. Secondly, Iraq is not going to co-operate fully with the UN inspectors."

Yes Mr MP I guess it's all a question of semantics but I reckon you got it smack-dab right first time. Fact remains that after your first paragraph, the second one really didn't matter.

Enough of that.

First woman:- My husband is like a Porsche. He's consistently set up for peak performance.
Second woman:- Mine is like a Jaguar XK. He's very powerful and always responds with a dramatic release of energy.
They turn to the third woman.
I'm afraid mine's more like a model T - limited to two rallies a year and then he has to be started by hand.

Antigua Taxi Drive

The roads in parts of Antigua are full of holes but that doesn't seem to bother the taxi drivers.

The hotel was on the windy east side of the island. It wasn't a bad spot but wasn't in walking distance of anywhere except the beach. I was there to watch some cricket. Everyone in the place was there to watch some cricket.

A group of us found Rodney, a mini-bus driver, who agreed to collect us in the morning and return us to the hotel in the evening. These games are supposed to last for five days. For three days, all went well. Rodney took us and he brought us back.

On the fourth day we had two spare tickets. Rodney decided that he would have them. At 11.00am I spotted him inside the ground carrying two bottles of rum and a bottle of whisky. He had a buddy with him who was carrying a large plastic sack full of ice.

By 6.30pm Rodney could barely walk but said he was, "Just fine to drive man."

The roads back to the hotel were pitch black, no street lights, just holes everywhere. The bus bounced from side to side, from one hole to the next. The radio was blasting out the latest Soca sounds and Rodney sang along. The night got darker and darker and we suddenly realized that we didn't have any lights on.

"Lights Rodney - Lights!" someone shouted.
"What man?"
"Lights Rodney - Switch the damn lights on!"
"Oh sorry man," he mumbled apologetically. Then he reached up and switched on the taxi's interior lights.

Rodney didn't arrive at the hotel the next morning. Someone else turned up in a different bus. There was no sign of wreckage anywhere at the side of the road so I guess he was still sleeping it off somewhere. I hope so. He could have killed us but he was a nice guy.

The Lost Poet

The only poet whose work I could ever memorize was the obscure but memorable F.J.Beasley whose work came to my notice in the late 1950s, round about the time I discovered writers like Jack Kerouac, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Gregory Corso and Allen Ginsberg.

I had climbed up to the school roof to sit in the sun when my attention was caught by an inscription painstakingly etched on a grey, slate roofing tile. It read :-

"If wine and women hold no joys,
Try bottled beer and little boys,
And if for these you have no use,
Try lemonade and self abuse."
F.J.Beasley.

Some years later the building was demolished and Beasley's words lost for ever - until now that is.

Father's Day Foibles

So far this year I seem to have missed out on Christmas, New Year, my Birthday and Father's day. To be honest I didn't know there was such a thing as Father's day until I got an email. It read "Happy Father's Day - Cialis ... 67% Off - Viagra ... 79% Off"

Foibles

To help fund my whole host of foibles I have decided to become a professional soccer player in UK. £45,000 (82,097 USD) a week sounds good to me.

I'll have to learn how to spit first - or should that be dribble? Both probably. I'm off to google me a spit dribbling coach.

Too Tactile Playleader

A father of six with eight grandchildren lost his job as playleader at an after-school club for four-to-11-year-olds. He was never accused of abusing a child, but was judged to be "too tactile". I reckon anyone, male or female, with six children could be judged "too tactile".

Militant Pacifists

Big guys tend to be easy going. I guess they don't feel they have anything to prove.

I'm not a big guy. My physical development went on at a time when people ate what they could grow in their gardens. Powdered egg and potato, coffee made from chicory and the occasional tin of spam seemed to be all that grew in our garden.

So compared to today's high protein, high fat, high carbohydrate, high additive dieters, I have the stature of a garden gnome.

That doesn't mean that I'm not easy going. I wouldn't admit to being curmudgeonly or that I've ever set out to cause trouble but I was once invited to "step outside" by the president of the local Pacifist Society.

I hate those Militant Pacifists.

What's a taqueria?

What's a Taqueria? We haven't got one in Bogsville - just a McDonald's and a Kentucky Fried Salad place. I'm waiting for a Paris Hilton to open up. Now that looks like a real bun.

I read a piece where the writer said that she wouldn't read anything that hadn't been dressed up with fancy graphics - sod the contents just give me graphics - kind of thing. Ok - fine. I like graphics and some web pages look wonderful. The Paris Hilton bun looks wonderful, but when you analyze it it's just full of mince.

Crab Lice And New York

The plane was a twin engined Dash Q100. I suppose it carried about 40 passengers and island hopped between Antigua and San Juan.

The only seat left when I got on was next to a guy wearing Union Jack shorts and a football shirt. Judging from the frenzied crotch scratching that was going on he had a serious infestation of crab lice.

The plane took off and banked steeply WWII Spitfire style. The seat shifted on its mountings and a couple in front of me held hands across the aisle and began to pray for the plane's deliverance. I prayed that the guy next to me would stop scratching.

Somewhere behind me a young Antiguan was telling those not deep in prayer what to expect when they reached New York.

"It's much bigger than St. John's," he explained knowledgeably. The plane nodded. "When you first gets there you will catch a cold. Everyone does catch a cold first time in New York but you only get it de once. You never catch another one. You becomes immune."

Reassured, the whole plane grunted appreciatively. "Mind you," he added, "you sure got to watch the traffic."

Crap Psychologist

I shared a flat for two years with a crap psychologist. We used to go to dances to try to meet up with single females who were on the pill. I forget why.

Half way through one of these dances the crap psychologist announced that he would prove to the World that it was possible for the human male to defecate successfully without lowering either trousers or underwear. The experiment proved a total disaster.

The following day he refused to leave his room. As it was my turn to take the washing to the local laundermat he asked if I would take his suit to be dry cleaned. Reluctantly I agreed.

I remember the woman asking if there were any stains that needed individual treatment. I lied to her.

Go On You Deserve It.

If you are still reading, take another look at this happy little clip. The guy is a star.

Old Boggers And Battery Powered Buggies

There are too many old boggers in Bogsville. As soon as the roads are clear of work traffic, out they come, clogging up the roads, clogging up the supermarkets and clogging up the shopping malls.

They are encouraged by mall managers who provide them with rest benches, tea and coffee stations, escalators and most worryingly of all, battery powered buggies.

These electric powered machines are virtually silent, and lethal.

Ask the relatives of 86 year old Jim Carpenter who died in hospital four days after being knocked down by one.

Jim was leaning on his wheeled walker when he was hit from behind by a Ferrari red, electric buggy, complete with prancing horse decals and the name Schumacher emblazoned on the seat. The buggy was being driven by Ferrari cap wearing, 66 year old, survivor of three heart attacks, Peter Jenkinson.

The coroner, in recording a verdict of accidental death, said "It may have been difficult to work out a route through the pedestrians, but at the time Mr Carpenter was struck, he was not facing the buggy and did not see it."

Peter Jenkinson said, "I think I may have started again because I thought there was a gap. It was in a controlled manner. I felt sorry for the bloke."

Well that's something. I was going to write something about an insensitive shite but I've already used that this week.

Confusing Comments.

The point of the final sentence in yesterday's post was that I didn't think Jimmy would be able to read it himself. I hoped that someone who could read it would tell him I was sorry I got him wacked. Yes the story is true and no I'm not a teacher. If I was a teacher I wouldn't be posting confusing comments.

If you're still here.

If you are still reading and feel in need of light refreshment, take a look at this happy little clip. The guy is a star.

How To Lose A Kid's Trust

Jimmy was a scrawny little bag of bones whose nose dripped like a faulty faucet. He couldn't read or add up and wouldn't do anything unless he could bring it to show to me. He followed me around everywhere. For some reason I was to be trusted.

I'd feel a tug at my sleeve, look down and there would be Jimmy staring up. He'd grab my hand so he could walk with me. It wasn't always a pleasant experience because what dripped out of his nose ended up on the backs of his hands and sleeves.

He was sent to me one morning break with a helicopter he had drawn. Helicopters were his speciality. He always drew them upside down.

I told him it was so good he should show it to the Principal. I took him down to the Principal's room but the guy wasn't there. We were told he would be back in a few minutes. I wrote a note for Jimmy and left him standing outside the door with his book and the note in his hand.

At the end of the morning break the Principal found Jimmy standing outside his room, assumed he was there for disciplinary reasons, hauled him inside and beat him. Jimmy never spoke to me again.

If you read this and know Jimmy - tell him I still feel lousy about it.

Jackson Innocent On All Charges.

If I admitted sleeping with kids here in Bogsville I would be lynched before the case ever got to court.

Just shows how magnanimous the law in USA is - if you are rich and have celebrity status.....

Forget it you guys in Guantanamo.

News I Missed

Spent Sunday morning catching up on the news stories that failed to reach Bogsville last week.

Stowaway's Leg & Torso Fall From Plane.

A severed human leg and a torso, fell from an airplane on Tuesday morning and crashed onto a garage roof before ending up in the back yard of a Long Island home.

Home owner Pam Hearne, said she heard "a loud crash" a little before 7 a.m. as the leg slammed into the roof of her garage, then fell to the ground. "I noticed something that looked like a human or animal part. My first reaction was maybe it was a horse’s leg but there was a sneaker on it."

The plane, a South African Airways Airbus 340, had taken off from Johannesburg and made one stop in Dakar, Senegal.

Other body parts were found in the plane's wheelwell after it landed at JFK.

Pam Hearne's comment "I am very glad I live where I do, so I don't have to run for my life like this man probably was doing," contrasted sharply with the report posted by some insensitive shite under the heading, "It's Raining Men."

Next time you decide to take a day off work.

Next time you decide to take a day off work remember Thomas L. Stefanelli, 37, from Tampa. His dedication to Hungry Howie's Pizza kept him delivering pies even after he sustained a bullet wound to his left leg in a struggle with an armed robber.

When Thomas L. finally noticed the wound, his cell phone wasn't working. He drove to his next delivery address, dropped off the pizza and called his boss to ask him to call the police.

He went on to make three more deliveries. "It bled a little bit, not much," he said.

The story elicited this response from one hygiene minded guy. "Granted, the pizzas were in boxes. The pies probably weren’t affected. But there’s a principle involved here. Basic cleanliness and safety ought to rule the day."

There's another principle that ought to rule the day. You ought to be able to go about your day's work without getting shot in the damn leg.

Read the Tampa Police Department Report.

Hell Of A Way to Start Retirement

Joe lived two doors down until he sold up, moved to a smaller place and put the money he'd made out of the deal into the bank for when he retired.

I met him last week. He looked just same as ever but he didn't sound too good. He said that he'd just retired.

He'd been down to the Doc's, had a couple of tests and been diagnosed as in need of heart surgery but first they'd got to drain the fluid from his lungs. After they'd drained the fluid and done a biopsy on this and that the poor guy picked up the MRSA bug and was transferred to another hospital where they could treat what he'd been infected with at Bogsville's finest.

"I nearly died" he said.

To add insult to injury, they'd also detected blood in his urine and decided to check his prostate. The results came back clear but according to Joe, "It didn't half make my willy sore for weeks afterwards."

He's due back in hospital any time now for the heart treatment. They like to wait until everything is just about clogged up before they do anything. "They stick a little umbrella in and wiggle it round to clear the blockages," he said.

I told him I hoped everything worked out fine. He flashed a broad smile and held up two crossed fingers.

That's a hell of a way to start your retirement.

Apologies to the lady who wrote this - "I know what it is to need. I was the oldest of three and my mother was a single mother who never could quite get on her feet." When I read it I was convinced that it was a joke.

Leave A Ladder In The Yard

I sleep with the bedroom window open to let cool air in. Sometimes, even in winter, I overheat and have to walk around until I'm cool enough to get back in for the rest of the night.

During one of these cool down jaunts I decided to look out of the window. As I opened the curtain there was a movement. My reflection I thought until I realized I could only see the top of a head and that I didn't own a beanie. To get a clearer view I cleared the condensation with the heel of my hand and the glass squeaked. For a second or two I was face to face with some guy who had climbed 15 feet up a drainpipe to get to the open window. Then he vanished.

He jumped backwards off the drainpipe and there was a thud as he landed in the front garden. Luckily he landed on the rain sodden lawn rather than the rose bushes. He ran off down the sidewalk and disappeared.

The poor guy must have been to a party, drunk too much, mistaken my house for his own and lost his key. He'd obviously decided to climb in through the open window rather than ring the bell and risk the wrath of his sleeping wife and he must have got the fright of his life when he saw me peering out at him from what he thought was his own bedroom.

At peace with the world and pretty well cooled down, I closed the curtain and ambled back to bed.

A week later I got home from work to find that the tv, the video recorder and a leather coat had gone.

His wife, sick of his late nights, must have thrown him out and the poor guy had come back to collect some of his things.

You've got to feel for these guys with unsympathetic wives. I leave a ladder in the yard now. It's a risky business jumping off drainpipes.

Hobart Private Recovering From Burst Pipe.

What a let down. Turns out that Hobart Private is the name of a hospital.

Phys. Ed. Course

"I've been on a course," she said. "It's for people who want to teach Phys.Ed. in schools."

"How did you get on?"

"Not too good," she said. "Had problems with the warm-up session. Had to pair off and wheelbarrow the length of the sports hall. I couldn't do it."

"What was the problem? Weak arms?"

"No," she said. "No knickers."

Another Evaluation Comment

"His men would follow him anywhere, but only out of morbid curiosity."

Ceiling Gig And Nelson Algren

Seems like all the travelling Graham Elderson has done on London transport with his drums has started to pay off. I got a mail today announcing a gig in the salubrious surroundings of the Grey Horse Pub in Kingston Upon Thames on 20th June.

If anyone's in Kingston on June 20 - get in there and send me a report.

Nelson Algren

Been reading Nelson Algren's Who Lost An American? Dedicated to Simone De Beauvoir, it's made up of pieces originally published in Harlequin, Rogue, The Kenyon Review, Playboy, Atlantic Monthly, Contact, Nugget and Cavalier magazines. The pieces would have made a great blog.

"I must in all modesty point out that the quarter of a century that I've been writing I've learned a few tricks of the trade myself; such as making a dot over the i and adding an s when you want to show there's more than one of something.I was born in the same week that Stanley Ketchel fought Philadelphia Jack O'Brien and to this very day no one knows which one won.
I stood up and looked over at the next roof to see why the woman over there had stopped singing but she had just gone inside to cook something. It smelled like chicken with rice. I looked around for the rooster and he was gone. He should have stayed on his own roof."
The Bride Below the Black Coiffure - Rogue magazine 1961.

The Ketchel - O'Brien fight was on March 26 1909.

I started hunting down my copy of The Man With The Golden Arm but have only come up with Never Come Morning so I guess that'll have to do for the moment. I did find The Revolt Of Gunner Asch by Hans Hellmut Kirst and that was a bonus because I thought I'd re-read all the Kirst novels. Most of them are out of print now. If anyone's got a copy of Party Games ....

Bleeding Emergency

Dog has not been well. He chose 8.00pm Sunday evening, when the vet's is closed, to start bleeding heavily from his mouth.

Loaded him into the car and rushed him to the nearest dog emergency unit where they sedated him to slow his pulse rate. That stopped the bleeding.

Monday he was transferred to the local vet who was going to send him home until he noticed that dog was producing black stools. He immediately diagnosed a stomach ulcer.

I pointed out that the emergency vet assured me the bleed was from the gum round the left lower canine, that Dog had been swallowing copious amounts of his own blood, had been eating heartily before the bleed developed and had left perfectly normal coloured stools all over the emergency vet's table when I took him in on Sunday.

I don't think the vet was listening.

Dog is back home today and fast asleep. He has pills for this and pills for that and doesn't seem any the worse for his experience. I have explained to him that in future he should arrange to be ill Monday - Friday 9.00am to 6.30pm.

I don't think he was listening.

Fluffer

Zazzafooky has a good piece on phone sex. I enjoyed reading it and have now decided to set up one of those lines here in Bogsville. I know a few guys who would subscribe and make me a fortune.

Had to research one of the words in the piece though. Have to admit "fluffer" left me for dead. One of the drawbacks of living in Bogsville or Skunksville as someone renamed it the other day.

I now know all about fluffing so go here to share my knowledge. Can't imagine how an "off-stage person hired to keep a male porn star ready to unleash the beast" would use that.

Most of the fluff round here seems to end up in my belly button.

Sick Of Reading The Word Gay

I get totally pissed off reading stuff by gay guys who keep pointing out that they are gay and that their best friends are gay and that they go to gay bars and gay clubs. I expect they travel together on gay buses driven by gay drivers too. Are they testing me to see if I hit the zap button or hoping that I'll write them a lurrv letter?

It doesn't matter a damn to me if they are gay or downright miserable just as long as what they write is interesting.

Homophobic

Mind you, don't get me wrong - I've got every reason to be homophobic. Back in 1975 I ended up best man at a gay guy's heterosexual nuptials.

I was the only person there who didn't know which side the guy buttered his bread. Turned out that he asked me because I was the only straight guy he knew well enough to ask.

I couldn't work out why the bride was so unfriendly and why the jokes about his cooking skills and making someone a good wife went down like a ton of bricks. Turned out his wife thought I was the latest competition.

Would I have agreed to be his best man if I'd known? Who cares? He was just about the most interesting guy I ever met. He died about 4 years ago - the day after he got back from holiday in New Zealand. The Doc failed to diagnose peritonitis and gave him indigestion pills. He died 12 hours later.

Straight Merl just sent me this picture.

We need one of them there machines right here in Boobsville.

I'm planning a straight trip to a straight bar with a couple of straight guys tonight. See - it gets really boring so just leave it out.

Is this you?

Management assessment - "It's hard to believe that he beat out 1,000 other sperm."

Rescuing Maidens Poach Salmon & Ping It

Decided to give rescuing maidens a miss today. You can't do a good maiden rescuing job when you're not feeling your best. Must be something I ate. Can't think of anything else that could have caused it.

I've been forced to pass the time playing with my singing magnets. You just toss them into the air and listen to them sing. I guess they also sing if someone tosses them for you.

Culinary delights

I was going to try poached salmon today but I don't have a dishwashing machine. Not sure if you can make it in a tumble-dryer but the way I feel today I'm not convinced I could make it anywhere. If you feel up to it and want to give it a go - here's the recipe.

Ping it and Link

I can't read black text on a red background. As far as my eyes are concerned a red page with black text on it is just a blank red page. I found a page where all I could see were three white words - "Ping it" and "Link" - I must have sat there for half an hour trying to guess what the page was about.

I may post a blank page myself. I would of course include "Ping it" and "Link" just to see what happens.

There's a problem with Blogger comments. Any comment that's added, throws the validation for that page. A line return in the comment shows up as <B/> and that generates the error in W3C. I've looked at the template but can't see where the default is set for a line return. Any ideas out there?

GoogleAds Pixies & Preverts

There's a GoogleAd sitting next to this piece - "Need Blog Content?". That's an insult.

Pixies

Read a piece last night by a guy who'd been to a Pixies' gig. When he looked at the kids round him it made him feel old. "Last time I saw the Pixies, those kids were in diapers". Hell's teeth - last time I went to a rock show the Pixies' parents were in diapers.

Drunk as a skunk

On the way back with Raul from a night in the Tulip - must have been one of Merl's nights off - we found us a blonde teenage girl, trying to fall off a wall. I guess she was about eighteen. She was most definitely drunk as a skunk and as helpless as if she had still been in diapers.

We asked her if she wanted us to walk with her and if she was ok to get home. At first she said she was fine. A couple of minutes later she decided she wanted to walk along with us. She had been drinking with a girlfriend but her friend had gone off with someone and left her to get home on her own - some friend.

"It's ok guys. You're safe with me," she said,"I'm not a pedophile." Lucky for her we weren't looking to take advantage of the situation. She was a nice kid - except that she couldn't walk or talk straight.

Hope those semi-literate spammers don't scan this page and decide to hit me with a load of SPRM, 0rgsm, Eerctions like steel and prevert messages. Mind you I just love that Eerctions like steel - going to order one for Christmas. No wonder some of these kids get confused about words like pedophile.

How on earth does a wanadoo search for "dogging in caerphilly" end up in Bogsville's pages? I really don't know but Milt's there at number 7. Just hope whoever it was found what he or she was looking for.

Milt's Motorized Grinder & Trainer Vacancy

The Double Oven Lighting Course was a success and - hot dog! - I've now mastered sausage. Mind you if I carry on like this I'll soon be passing pure cholesterol.

Dog Huntin'

Dog got fed up with sittin' and whilin' and waitin' on the sausage and wandered off out the front door and down the road apiece. He was gone half an hour before I noticed he wasn't there. Mind you he moves so slow these days, what with his arthritis, his blindness and his hearing deficit that it only took a couple of minutes to catch up with him. I guess he thought he was huntin'. I didn't like to put him straight on that so I just gave him a biscuit and brought him home.

It's like me and the guys when we're down the local Bogsville bar - the huntin' bit I mean - well it's like me I guess. Mind you I had my chance back in October before they locked her away again and doubled up on her pill ration or lobotomized her.

I've found some notes on how to motorize my grinder so just as soon as I get the parts, I'll be off huntin' and a trappin' not just sittin' and a whilin'.

Trainer Vacancy

Hit a problem with the Bogsville Courses today - Merl and Raul say they have too much work on at the moment to help out with the tutoring so I've got to find us a couple of experienced Trainers in Information Technology Skills. Anyone know where I can get my hands on a couple of those?

Just drop me a line at Milt Bogs PM, ICQ, AIM, YIM, MSNM. The Bogsville online degree of your choice courses sure helped me come up with some impressive qualifications (no skills needed - just cold cash).

Whilin’ Weedin’ And Organizin’

Wish I could say I've been busier than a one-legged man in an uphill bike race but my brain’s deader than a Paris pissoir on a girls-only night out.

Mrs B has trekked to the frozen North to visit her Pa again so it’s just me and what’s left of Dog tapping our feet and whilin’ away - when I’m not pulling out these weeds she left.

Enough of this whilin’ I’m off to set up my next educational moneyspinner, a Course On Boys’ Behavioural, Learning and Emotional Response Statistics - really got to get some acronym helpers.

If we keep on setting up these courses me and Dog are going to be richer than a bowl of fudge sauce and happier than a wrestler in a freshly starched jockstrap.

Double Ovens

Another miracle of modern technology. You fire the oven up and put the pie in for 20 minutes on gas number 6. You cook the french fries and serve it all up on a plate. Another miracle?

Well no - it’s another disaster because the pie went in the wrong damn oven and it was still stone cold.

Start over. What could be easier? 25 minutes later the french fries had gone and the pie looked like it had been wrapped in charcoal. Oh well - undercooked it was not.

As from today me and Dog are organizing a short course on Double Oven Lighting Techniques - organizers to sample the end product. If it’d stop raining I’d cook outdoors.

Yes Dear

It's Percy and Florence Arrowsmith's wedding anniversary today.

Milt doesn't usually go big on anniversaries of any kind here in Bogsville but I guess this one deserves a splash or two.

Percy (105) and Florence (100), from Hereford UK have been married for 80 years and according to the Guinness Book of Records that makes them the longest marriage record holders.

80 years on and the couple say they are still in love. Florence puts this down to her ability to say, "Sorry" while former solicitor's clerk Percy recommends the words "Yes dear".

Back in 1925 England the guys had it made. After WW1 there were women all over the place and relatively few able-bodied young adult males to choose from, so those guys who managed to survive the War intact so to speak, were very popular. There just weren't enough men to go around. Well that's what I was always told when I asked why so many of my Aunts never married.

Maybe they just weren't any good at saying "Yes dear".