The Word Cloud

Wailing Wall in Jerusalem...



Wailing Wall in Athens.

An old German Shepherd starts chasing rabbits and before long, discovers that he's lost. Wandering about, he notices a panther heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch.

The old German Shepherd thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep shit now!"

Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the panther is about to leap, the oldGerman Shepherd exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious panther! I wonder, if there are any more around here?"

Hearing this, the young panther halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees.

"Whew!," says the panther, "That was close! That old German Shepherd nearly had me!"

Meanwhile, a squirrel who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the panther. So, off he goes.

The squirrel soon catches up with the panther, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the panther.

The young panther is furious at being made a fool of and says, "Here, squirrel, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!"

Now, the old German Shepherd sees the panther coming with the squirrel on his back and thinks, "What am I going to do now?," but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old German Shepherd says...

"Where's that squirrel? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another panther!"

Moral of this story...

Don't mess with the old dogs... Age and skill will always overcome youth and treachery!
Bull Shit and brilliance only come with age and experience.

Twas several weeks before Christmas….

 

 

So here we are then, just twenty-one drinking days left before Christmas….

 

Soon we will have the inevitable blogs by people who probably eat nut roast for Christmas dinner, about the commercialism of Christmas, the follow-on blogs about how Christianity is now just a mass marketing tool and actually based on myths and that in our multicultural community, Christmas is actually prejudicial and insulting to those living here legally or otherwise who ascribe to other faiths and cultures and have come here to inflict (share) their customs on us.

 

The nativity plays will once again be morphed into some politically correct crap and our youngest grandson will be asked to play Bin Laden in their playgroup play.

 

Joy….to the world.

 

But I will ignore all of that and pursue Christmas on my own terms. And if anyone attempts to express their right of freedom of speech and tell me I am insulting their culture I will invite them to fuck off.

 

And now… to the prezzies,   Her-indoors will take some thought this year. Last years gift of a £200 voucher at Ann Summers was not exactly received with enthusiasm. I am thinking perhaps a case of Crater Edge Riesling from South Island New Zealand.  Who knows….I may get the same results…….

 

The daughter will be getting a book on personal finance and perhaps a self help book on finding a decent spouse. If either of these books have any positive effect, my life will be improved.

 

Son will be getting one way airfare to Columbia with a t shirt saying “Hostage” in Spanish.  That will hopefully give him a new adventure to pursue for the next several years…..

 

And now the grandsons…Number one will get a holiday with his mates in Magaluf. Travel insurance and private medical on his return….

 

Little one wants the old Massey Ferguson out the back. I will also get him a set of Calloway pro irons which I will look after for him until he is old enough……..

 

 

 

And what will Father Christmas put in your stocking?

Now moved on good advice to the Forum section. I will remove this from Blogs later today...... Part of my book, presently being edited.

The setting is French East Africa in a remote 130 man post  of the French Foreign Legion near the frontier with Ethiopia and Somalia.  We had just returned from several weeks of patrols for refit.  

Along time ago...in a land far far away?

CHAPTER SEVEN

GARRISON LIFE JIM

...but not as we know it

 

     We had settled back into garrison life at Oueah. Most days would start with some sort of Physical Training, a run, the obstacle course, or on more relaxed days, football, volleyball or basketball.  It all sounds relaxed until you take into account the idea of playing football with serial killers.  Almost every event ended with a punch-up of some degree.  After the morning sport, those not on a guard or service commitment would usually descend to the maintenance bays to work on repairing and maintaining platoon equipment. This was very relaxed and the drill was to get all of the work done quickly before it became too hot and then drift off until the mid day formation.  Weekends were adjusted to living in the Middle East and Friday was the new Saturday.  Weekend passes were available and baring any major incidents in the week, usually given freely.

     One of our two platoon medics, Radic, was on the weekend pass list and he shared a taxi with us all down to Djibouti City (DC). He had his own plans and we would not see him again during the rest of our stay.

     DC had several areas off limits to Legionnaires and one of those was the diplomatic zone where the embassies were all located. This area included nicer bars and restaurants as well. We had no interest in these areas and we found our amusements that weekend in the main district of DC.  Our weekend passed without incident and we returned to camp forty-eight hours later skint, diseased, happy and hung-over.

 

Dinner for one....

     Radic did not make the first formation the next morning and it was soon announced by the Sergeant Majot that Radic was en Taule (Jail) for crimes committed over the weekend.  It seems Radic was lonely for the company of western women and after a few beers he staggered off into the prohibited embassy area in search of True Love. Radic had avoided all of the PM  (Military Police) patrols but had blown all his money by the time he bar-crawled there.  Not being the materialistic sort to let lack of funds get in the way of a good time, Radic blagged his way into a fine Chinese restaurant and ordered himself the banquet set meal for three.  He washed it down with several large whiskies and two bottles of fine red wine. 

 

     By the time the bill arrived Radic was a catatonic drunk and a total mess.  The management soon realized they had something they couldn’t handle and they called the PM’s.  The PMs arrived and were led to Radic’s table. Radic was by this time on the floor with his uniform trousers around his ankles, his knob out, and was pissing on the carpet while entertaining the rest of the customers by singing “Le Boudin” at the top of his voice.  The PM’s got him on his feet and began to drag him out when the head waiter pointed out that the bill has yet to be paid.  The corporal-chef of PM’s had to stump up the funds for Radic’s jolly. They were not amused and by the time Radic was returned to us in Oueah he was sporting a broken nose and a black eye.

I never heard if they left a tip.

A few weeks later...

The Great Dope Deal.

     Radic drew his pass and this time was accompanied by the platoon buffoon and chief stuntman, Gorgh, on his trip to DC. They had a fair bit of money, and a forty-eight hour pass so they decided to get a couple of rooms in a shitty hotel near an off limits area known as Quartier Deux.

 

    The Gorgh and Radic emerged from the lobby of their hotel after just arriving and a PM(Military Police) jeep pulled up to them and asked to see their IDs and passes.  They duly showed down their documents and the PMs could find no cause to pull them in.  Just as the PM’s jeep drove off, a large envelope dropped out of it at Gorgh’s feet.   Gorgh picked it up and opened it and showed the contents to Radic. There in the envelope was large amount of cannabis.  They couldn’t believe their luck. They were thinking they will get stoned, sell the rest and have a great weekend for virtually nothing.

 

     Just then the same PM jeep rounded the corner having circled the block. The jeep pulled up in front of Gorgh and Radic and the sergeant of PMs asked them “What’s in the envelope, lads?”.  Gorgh’s reply that the envelope fell out of their jeep a few moments before was met with a truncheon to the head for resisting arrest. Gorgh and Radic were arrested twenty minutes into their forty-eight hour pass and driven off the Gabode military police station.

 

     They were put in the cells and tortured/interrogated for the next two days.  They were repeated asked about whom their connection for the drugs is and their reply that it was the sergeant of PMs was met with even more torturing.  Gorgh and Radic being men of Eastern European origin are not fazed by the injustice of torture for no reason.   These boys were weaned on electric shocks.  The PMs became bored after a few days and they were released without charge.  Radic was reminded on his way out of the cells that he still owes the PMs for a Chinese meal. It dawned on him that this whole episode was probably in retaliation for his previous fuckup, that or it was a slow day down at the dungeons in Gabode.

Radic, a true Legionnaire of the ER, invited them to go fuck themselves.

When Radic and Gorgh return to our unit and relate their misfortune neither of them can understand why we are all laughing hysterically at them. I conclude that ironic humour is not common in Eastern Europe.

Mental note to self….Don‘t go on pass with Radic.

 

Q: Doctor,  I've heard that  cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. 

 Is this true?  

A: Your heart only good for so many beats, and that it.....don't waste 

on exercise.  Everything wear out eventually.  Speeding up heart not 

make you live longer; it like saying you extend life of car by driving 

faster.  Want to live longer?  Take nap.  

Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?  

A: You must grasp logistical efficiency.  What does cow eat?   Hay and 

corn.  And what are these?   Vegetables.  So steak is nothing more than 

efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system.  Need 

grain?  Eat chicken.  Beef also good source of field grass (green leafy 

vegetable).  And pork chop can give you 100% of recommended daily 

allowance of vegetable product. 

Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?   

A:  No, not at all.  Wine made from fruit.  Brandy is distilled wine, 

that mean they take water out of fruity bit so you get even more of 

goodness that way.  Beer also made of grain.  Bottom up! 

Q: How  can I calculate my body/fat ratio?  

A: Well, if you have body and you have fat, your ratio one to one.  If 

you have two bodies, your ratio two to one, etc.

Q: What  are some of  the advantages of participating in a regular 

exercise program?  

A: Can't think of single one, sorry.  My philosophy is: No pain...good! 

Q:  Aren't fried foods bad for you?   

A:  YOU NOT LISTENING!  Food are fried these day in vegetable oil.  In 

fact, they permeated by it.  How could getting more vegetable be bad 

for you?!?   

Q:  Will  sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the 

middle?  

A: Definitely not!  When you exercise muscle, it get bigger.  You 

should only be doing sit-up if you want bigger stomach.  

Q:  Is chocolate bad for me?   

A:  Are you crazy?!?  HEL-LO-O!!  Cocoa bean!  Another vegetable!  It 

best feel-good food around! 

Q:  Is swimming good for your figure?   

A:  If swimming good for figure, explain whale to me.. 

Q:  Is getting in shape important for my lifestyle?   

A:  Hey!  'Round' a shape!  

Well, I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had 

about food and diets. 

And  remember: 

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of 

arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to 

skid in sideways - wine in one hand - chocolate in the other - body 

thoroughly used up,  totally worn out and screaming "WOO-HOO, what a 

 ride!!" 

AND.....

For  those of you who watch what you eat, here's the final word on 

nutrition and health.  It's a relief to know the truth after all those 

conflicting nutritional  studies  

1. The Japanese eat very little fat

    and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.

2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat

    and suffer fewer heart attacks than us. 

3. The Chinese drink very little red wine 

    and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.

4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine

    and suffer fewer heart attacks than us.  

5. The Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of  sausages and fats  

    and suffer fewer heart attacks than us. 

CONCLUSION:

Eat and drink what you like..

Speaking English is apparently what kills you.

Here’s a discussion that began on Facebook but really belongs here where the comments can keep running for longer. It began with me posting a song from Youtube: Spike Jones and his City Slickers performing Cocktails for two. This link should bring you to it quite easily - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvt4b_qwC_Q

 I asked, “Is it humanly possible to watch this and not laugh out loud?” – to which Brenda Woodford replied “No” whereas Tony said it hadn’t even raised a smile with him, although the hiccoughing sequence had been quite clever and the timing was excellent.

 My reply was: “Well, you can't analyse humour - but let's do it anyway. Surprise, contrast, invention, variation, slickness - all, of course, with straight faces. To a large extent humour is the forcing together of opposites - conformity and subversion, anarchy and control - speed often the crucial factor (although timing can depend on slowness too). I think that's why I find I find Spike Jones and his City Slickers hilarious - I may have missed out some factors, but I think that's most of them. None of which, of course, proves that anyone else should find it funny. But it proves I should.” 

John Taylor (ex Onceupon) then chipped in by giving examples of surreal musical humour, including Victor Borge, the Marx Brothers, the Bonzos, George Melly and, of course, Spike Jones himself.

 Tony then came back by agreeing about the surprise element in humour, acknowledging its effectiveness with Victor Borge but reckoning there was little of it with Spike Jones. (He said a lot more but I don’t feel entitled to quote people at length.)

After that I felt the debate had grown sufficiently to be transplanted to The Word Cloud. So here it is. Do you find surreal musical humour a delight? Do you feel Spike Jones succeeds in that way? And, for that matter, do you have any general thoughts on humour you’d like to share?

The talk at Coco Loco restaurant  was the arrival of two ladies. Probably, refugees from the flooded north. Here, in the south we have rain. Also, plenty of sunshine. Ideal for grass and weeds.

I met one lady  today. Tall, skinny, but a pleasant personality once the brown paper bag was in place.  She beckoned me to the beach-bar. I declined because the sky was black and a storm was brewing. She rode off on her motor bike.

Pooh, the restaurant cook and a Jill of all trades, told me 'she' is a LADYBOY.  I have it on good authority *cough* that the other is genuine.

'Ah,' I said, watching the wind rise and the rain descending. 'Another beer.'  
Which is what any sane, sensible, alcoholic, sexist, retard would do.

For want of anything better than rubbing my mosquito bites - bastards - I asked Pooh what was the Ladyboy's name.

I had to snicker. Memories of Shakespeare came to mind.
'Rose,' she said...

"The elements of the dinner-parties which Mrs Lennox gave, were beauty, men, and pedantic conversation. They talked in a sensuous way outside, lashed themselves when they were alone, and squandered their capabilities in the drawing-room."

Concluding the abridged version of Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South - abridged on the principle of leaving out all the important bits. Margaret spends some time in Cromer. Dixon is either dead or blue. We finally learn what happened to Frederick; Mr Thornton is in difficulties; and his mother has had wind.

http://edwardpicot.com/and/

- Edward Picot

http://edwardpicot.com - personal website
http://hyperex.co.uk - The Hyperliterature Exchange

In the inner reflection I indulge in while driving a van full of snoring pipefitters along the M4 I pondered the various women who had infected and affected my life.

In the stretch past Newbury, I came upon the idea that they had been very similar to the cars I drove at the time. In my younger days, it was all about looks and performance. Zero to flat out in six seconds, five gears….power in the curves…… and looks more important than value.

Later, as I grew a bit older, I discovered that things like dependability and reliability became much more important. High maintenance costs outweighed outstanding performance. And I have discovered that if I run things up slowly and let the engine warm up a bit, the performance is just fine.

During my earlier years I managed to become married to a mate’s sister. She was a full on full spec Ferrari. She was daddy’s little princes, and had rarely been told “no” in her life.

She was educated privately and she could listen to Spanish and type directly in French. We met at a party and it was a case of negative charm, opposites attract I guess. We insulted each other into a relationship. The fact that I was in the Army at the time prolonged the relationship unnaturally by the fact that I was deployed for most of it.

She worked in Washington DC for a law office as a registered translator while she was working on her Master’s degree in cut and paste. I doubt if she ever had an original thought. The team I was working with at the time was scheduled for some briefings at a near by Air Force base and I looked forward to spending some time with her in the big lights of DC.

We agreed to meet at a hotel bar in Georgetown and then perhaps some drinks and dinner. I explained to my mates that I would not be making the traditional after class beer call on Friday as I would be meeting my wife.

My mates were their usual helpful selves and I arrived at the hotel bar almost an hour late and slightly worse for wear. My mates had decided that they would share my cab to Georgetown and see the sights themselves. We arrived at the hotel and I paid off the cabbie, waved off my mates, and checked my uniform before entering the hotel lobby.

Washington is a town full of uniforms but there are vast differences between the uniforms of the multitudes of staff and clerks and my paratrooper’s uniform. The doorman, an 82nd Airborne lapel pin on his coat, smiled and pointed me straight to the bar.

 She was sitting at the bar alone and she was stunning. I was expecting the worst as I walked up to her. I saw her notice me and caught no sign of recognition. I thought ‘here we go then, another attitude attack’ as I walked up to her.

The bar was crowded and although she was sitting alone, many people were near to her. And on closer examination, all of them were men. I thought a change of venue might bring a change of mood and I walked up to her an said directly to her, “How about a nice dinner and some nasty sex?” thinking humour can often defeat hormones. To my astonishment she grabbed her purse and replied, “Lets skip the dinner” and she walked towards the door.

 I walked slowly after her to the astonished looks of the men around her who had heard her. We walked through the lobby and the same doorman smiled at me as he held the door open for us and said “Nice one sarge” as he admired the view.

Outside in the street, she turned to me and we exchanged affections. She smelled great and was laughing through her kisses as she explained her choice of words in the bar.

It seemed that in the hour she had been at the bar waiting for me to arrive, no less than six men had tried to pick her up. She overheard one of them refer to her as ‘fridged’ and she wanted to get her own back by giving the impression that I had picked her up with the most basic of chat up lines.

“Right then, a cab to your place...” I said.

 “After dinner, I’m starved, I know a lovely little place near here” she replied still smiling. .

“Is it the place up the side street with the pretentious little gay waiters and over priced wine list?” I said. #

“Do you know it?”

“No, but I know you…” I said.

She laughed and put her arm through mine as we slowly walked along. It was a very good laugh...

.....and it was a good night for Ferrari drivers……….

A mate has asked me to edit his letter of apology to his ex wife:

Darling,

 I have now come to realize that all of the shortcomings in our relationship are my fault. I should have been more caring and considerate to your needs.

It was wrong for me to take the mick out of your friends when you invited them around, It is just that around you they do look fat, but perhaps I should not have said so....

It was wrong for me to describe your mother as a mean old trout and enter her in a fishing competition. That was wrong.

I should have been able to come to terms with your shoppign needs and offered you more room in the house to store your clothes. You are right of course that my stuff could easily go in the shed to make more space. I should have never compared your cooking to an Ethiopean diet cook book. That was wrong and I apologise.

So darling,  I have admitted all of my shortcomigns and I ask you to please, in your heart of hearts to please, please, please.....


....tell me where the Sky remote is.

your darling husband,

Steve