TOADLY WHIMSY by Birdy
Whimsy is flimsy
Toadly
And if
Ya don't
Believe
Me
Just ask
Dave
***
AND IN UDDER SNOOZE...
A 60ft man was found cowered under gold leaf yesterday just outside Harrods. When asked by PC Plodder what he was up to, he replied, "Just call me Whimsy."
An outbreak of utterances was registered on the Whimsy Scale in the South Atlantic late last night as a wayward polar bear discovered a message in a bottle washed up on a plank which read. "I may be whimsy but I'm certainly not flimsy!"
The first single to be released by The Flimsy Whimsies generated even less interest than the latest U2 album, which has been universally condemned as "an insult to whimsy in the rear"'.
AND SPEAKING OF REAR...
One tried and trusted method of cleansing one's whimsies is 100 grams of vodka and a page 34 from Pride And Prejudice.
AND FINALLY...
If you feel the urge, then feel it some more. There's nothing worse than unfelt whimsy.
COMING SOON...
The flimsy whimsy that couldn't say no to the billy goat and the laughing Chihuahua.
Arf, arf!
“Eaten
away” doesn’t convey much by way of an explanation.
Eh?
Monday, October 06, 2014
Saturday, April 26, 2014
JOE BLOGGS AND THE IRREGULAR SHAPED CONFECTIONERY SQUAD
NOT MANY PEOPLE KNOW THIS BUT JOE BLOGGS HAS FINALLY BROKEN HIS SILENCE. HERE'S WHAT HE TOLD BIRDY AT A TOP SECRET LOCATION:
BIRDY: Are you ready?
JOE BLOGGS: Er, I think so.
BIRDY: Tell us about yourself.
JOE BLOGGS: Er, well, my name's Joe Bloggs, and contrary to popular belief I do exist, although I'm thinking about changing my name because everybody keeps taking the piss.
BIRDY: There are a lot of ignorant people in the world, Joe. Just turn the other cheek. So, tell us, what do you do?
JOE BLOGGS: Well, I'm a detective, undercover.
BIRDY: Wow. Now, that's really interesting. I would never have guessed. What operation are you working on, Joe?
JOE BLOGGS: Well, Birdy, it's to do with biscuits.
BIRDY: OK. Price fixing? Illegal manufacture? Fake ingredients? That sort of thing?
JOE BLOGGS: Sort of. I'm investigating why so few of them are round, actually.
BIRDY: (suppresses a snigger) Oh, for feck's sake. You know, you nearly had me going back there. I really thought we'd found the one and only Joe Bloggs.
JOE BLOGGS: What's so funny? I am the one and only Joe Bloggs and I am investigating why biscuits are seldom round.
BIRDY: WTF! OK, well, I'm sorry, folks, for wasting your time. Joe here seems to think that we're all a bunch of gullible todger wodgers who believe the cops go round checking on the shape of biccies, innit.
JOE BLOGGS: I do wish you wouldn't trivialise this issue. An unround biscuit has consequences for all of us.
BIRDY: Yeah, right!
JOE BLOGGS: And somebody needs to get to the bottom of it.
BIRDY: What a fecking wacko backo. Again, folks, please accept my humble apologies.
JOE BLOGGS: Why does nobody believe me? Don't you care if you never eat a biscuit again?
BIRDY: (guffaws) That's a good one. OK, just say for argument's sake I do care, what the feck are you going to do about it?
JOE BLOGGS: You're just like the rest, you know? So rude! You obviously wouldn't know what a proper biscuit was if it jumped up and bit you on your silly little dirt box.
BIRDY: Listen, pal. I know my biscuits. I've eaten thousands of them, hundreds of thousands of them. I know what makes a good biscuit.
JOE BLOGGS: Really? No offence, but you look like the kind of twit that shovels biscuits down your throat without letting them touch the sides. I bet in a blind tasting you wouldn't have a clue which biscuit was which.
BIRDY: A blind tasting? Bring it on, mate. I guarantee that I can distinguish between any biscuits you care to plonk my way.
JOE BLOGGS: You probably don't even look at the ingredients. You're a biscuit ignoramus. People like you are a threat to national security.
BIRDY: (smirks) You little jumped up squirt. Now you've done it. Now, I'm going to close my eyes and open my mouth and if you don't give me a fecking biscuit right now you'll be in deep shit, my friend.
JOE BLOGGS: Don't you threaten me. I came here in good faith.
BIRDY: Maybe, but that's not how you'll be leaving. One biccie in the gob now!
JOE BLOGGS: Certainly not!
BIRDY: A-ha! Running scared now, are we? All mouth and no trousers. I've pricked your balloon, ain't it?
JOE BLOGGS: Not at all, and the only biscuit you'll get out of me is an extremely soggy, very unround one that's been in my pocket for over a week.
BIRDY: OK. Soggy doesn't bother me. 20 quid says I can name that biscuit in one!
JOE BLOGGS: Bet you can't.
BIRDY: Bet I can.
JOE BLOGGS: Can't.
BIRDY: Can.
JOE BLOGGS: Can't. And anyway, I can't let you taste it.
BIRDY: Why not?
JOE BLOGGS: Because it's material evidence.
BIRDY: Material evidence?
JOE BLOGGS: That's what I said.
BIRDY: Of what?
JOE BLOGGS: Of a highly unround biscuit.
BIRDY: Oh, you don't say! This gets more bizarre by the minute. You'll find others, I'm sure. Just give me the flipping biscuit.
JOE BLOGGS: What, and blow my cover?
BIRDY: Eh?
JOE BLOGGS: Lights on in your head, dipshit. I work undercover. D'uh!
BIRDY: Allegedly. And one mouldy old biscuit that probably tastes like rabbit piss is going to take you out of the game? Bollox!
JOE BLOGGS: You wouldn't say that if my superior were here.
BIRDY: Oh, yes, I would. Now are you going to give me that fecking biscuit or not?
JOE BLOGGS: Not. I'm not going to ruin an investigation that's taken 10 years on the whim of a rather mediocre interviewer who never did find out what it means to be the one and only Joe Bloggs. We are THIS close to cracking the case, you know. I can't let anything jeopardise that.
BIRDY: What case? So biscuits aren't all round. Big deal! Who gives a flying fudge cake?!
JOE BLOGGS: You will if you get poisoned by one. A sure sign that a biscuit has been tampered with is if it's clearly out of shape, ie not round.
BIRDY: Ah, so that's it. You're afraid that the nutters are going to try to infiltrate our democracy by poisoning our biscuits.
JOE BLOGGS: Exactly.
BIRDY: (guffaws) Well, I've never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life.
JOE BLOGGS: OK, well, chew on this. Did it ever occur to you that this infiltration has already begun, that millions of our fellow citizens are already being poisoned slowly and that within the next year whole cities will be wiped out due to the consumption of poisoned biscuits of the unround variety?
BIRDY: Well, er... Screw a boogaloo! You mean...
JOE BLOGGS: That's right.
BIRDY: But I've been eating unround biscuits for months and thought nothing of it!
JOE BLOGGS: Then, Mr Birdy Wirdy, I suggest you have only days to live.
BIRDY: But... but... I don't want to die. I've got too much to live for.... Well, maybe not all that much now that I've finished watching the box set of Breaking Bad, but still...
JOE BLOGGS: Well, if I were you I'd tie up all your loose ends and get ready to make your peace.
BIRDY: I will, I will.
JOE BLOGGS: Not so nutty now, am I?
BIRDY: No.
JOE BLOGGS: You won't forget Detective Joe Bloggs of The Irregular Shaped Confectionery Squad in a hurry, will you?
BIRDY: No, I won't. There's just one thing.
JOE BLOGGS: What?
BIRDY: Is there any chance of an antidote?
JOE BLOGGS: Apparently Benadryl and lots of prunes can help slow the progress of the attack, but it's ultimately fatal.
BIRDY: I see. Well, thanks, anyway, Joe. Joe Bloggs, everyone! And if you've got any seriously unround biscuits in your cupboard, flush 'em down the fudge shoot ASAP. So long, farewell, and thanks for all the mammary!
JOE BLOGGS: Arf, arf!
****
SHORTLY AFTER THIS INTERVIEW WAS RECORDED DETECTIVE JOE BLOGGS WAS DISMISSED FROM THE IRREGULAR SHAPED CONFECTIONERY SQUAD FOR CAUSING WIDESPREAD PANIC AND BRINGING THE NAME JOE BLOGGS INTO SERIOUS DISREPUTE. BLOGGS EVERYWHERE HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO A REWARD OF 1.5 MILLION DOLLARS FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO JOE'S QUICK DEMISE. THE MAJOR BISCUIT MANUFACTURERS ARE PRETTY FECKED OFF ABOUT IT, TOO.
BIRDY: Are you ready?
JOE BLOGGS: Er, I think so.
BIRDY: Tell us about yourself.
JOE BLOGGS: Er, well, my name's Joe Bloggs, and contrary to popular belief I do exist, although I'm thinking about changing my name because everybody keeps taking the piss.
BIRDY: There are a lot of ignorant people in the world, Joe. Just turn the other cheek. So, tell us, what do you do?
JOE BLOGGS: Well, I'm a detective, undercover.
BIRDY: Wow. Now, that's really interesting. I would never have guessed. What operation are you working on, Joe?
JOE BLOGGS: Well, Birdy, it's to do with biscuits.
BIRDY: OK. Price fixing? Illegal manufacture? Fake ingredients? That sort of thing?
JOE BLOGGS: Sort of. I'm investigating why so few of them are round, actually.
BIRDY: (suppresses a snigger) Oh, for feck's sake. You know, you nearly had me going back there. I really thought we'd found the one and only Joe Bloggs.
JOE BLOGGS: What's so funny? I am the one and only Joe Bloggs and I am investigating why biscuits are seldom round.
BIRDY: WTF! OK, well, I'm sorry, folks, for wasting your time. Joe here seems to think that we're all a bunch of gullible todger wodgers who believe the cops go round checking on the shape of biccies, innit.
JOE BLOGGS: I do wish you wouldn't trivialise this issue. An unround biscuit has consequences for all of us.
BIRDY: Yeah, right!
JOE BLOGGS: And somebody needs to get to the bottom of it.
BIRDY: What a fecking wacko backo. Again, folks, please accept my humble apologies.
JOE BLOGGS: Why does nobody believe me? Don't you care if you never eat a biscuit again?
BIRDY: (guffaws) That's a good one. OK, just say for argument's sake I do care, what the feck are you going to do about it?
JOE BLOGGS: You're just like the rest, you know? So rude! You obviously wouldn't know what a proper biscuit was if it jumped up and bit you on your silly little dirt box.
BIRDY: Listen, pal. I know my biscuits. I've eaten thousands of them, hundreds of thousands of them. I know what makes a good biscuit.
JOE BLOGGS: Really? No offence, but you look like the kind of twit that shovels biscuits down your throat without letting them touch the sides. I bet in a blind tasting you wouldn't have a clue which biscuit was which.
BIRDY: A blind tasting? Bring it on, mate. I guarantee that I can distinguish between any biscuits you care to plonk my way.
JOE BLOGGS: You probably don't even look at the ingredients. You're a biscuit ignoramus. People like you are a threat to national security.
BIRDY: (smirks) You little jumped up squirt. Now you've done it. Now, I'm going to close my eyes and open my mouth and if you don't give me a fecking biscuit right now you'll be in deep shit, my friend.
JOE BLOGGS: Don't you threaten me. I came here in good faith.
BIRDY: Maybe, but that's not how you'll be leaving. One biccie in the gob now!
JOE BLOGGS: Certainly not!
BIRDY: A-ha! Running scared now, are we? All mouth and no trousers. I've pricked your balloon, ain't it?
JOE BLOGGS: Not at all, and the only biscuit you'll get out of me is an extremely soggy, very unround one that's been in my pocket for over a week.
BIRDY: OK. Soggy doesn't bother me. 20 quid says I can name that biscuit in one!
JOE BLOGGS: Bet you can't.
BIRDY: Bet I can.
JOE BLOGGS: Can't.
BIRDY: Can.
JOE BLOGGS: Can't. And anyway, I can't let you taste it.
BIRDY: Why not?
JOE BLOGGS: Because it's material evidence.
BIRDY: Material evidence?
JOE BLOGGS: That's what I said.
BIRDY: Of what?
JOE BLOGGS: Of a highly unround biscuit.
BIRDY: Oh, you don't say! This gets more bizarre by the minute. You'll find others, I'm sure. Just give me the flipping biscuit.
JOE BLOGGS: What, and blow my cover?
BIRDY: Eh?
JOE BLOGGS: Lights on in your head, dipshit. I work undercover. D'uh!
BIRDY: Allegedly. And one mouldy old biscuit that probably tastes like rabbit piss is going to take you out of the game? Bollox!
JOE BLOGGS: You wouldn't say that if my superior were here.
BIRDY: Oh, yes, I would. Now are you going to give me that fecking biscuit or not?
JOE BLOGGS: Not. I'm not going to ruin an investigation that's taken 10 years on the whim of a rather mediocre interviewer who never did find out what it means to be the one and only Joe Bloggs. We are THIS close to cracking the case, you know. I can't let anything jeopardise that.
BIRDY: What case? So biscuits aren't all round. Big deal! Who gives a flying fudge cake?!
JOE BLOGGS: You will if you get poisoned by one. A sure sign that a biscuit has been tampered with is if it's clearly out of shape, ie not round.
BIRDY: Ah, so that's it. You're afraid that the nutters are going to try to infiltrate our democracy by poisoning our biscuits.
JOE BLOGGS: Exactly.
BIRDY: (guffaws) Well, I've never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life.
JOE BLOGGS: OK, well, chew on this. Did it ever occur to you that this infiltration has already begun, that millions of our fellow citizens are already being poisoned slowly and that within the next year whole cities will be wiped out due to the consumption of poisoned biscuits of the unround variety?
BIRDY: Well, er... Screw a boogaloo! You mean...
JOE BLOGGS: That's right.
BIRDY: But I've been eating unround biscuits for months and thought nothing of it!
JOE BLOGGS: Then, Mr Birdy Wirdy, I suggest you have only days to live.
BIRDY: But... but... I don't want to die. I've got too much to live for.... Well, maybe not all that much now that I've finished watching the box set of Breaking Bad, but still...
JOE BLOGGS: Well, if I were you I'd tie up all your loose ends and get ready to make your peace.
BIRDY: I will, I will.
JOE BLOGGS: Not so nutty now, am I?
BIRDY: No.
JOE BLOGGS: You won't forget Detective Joe Bloggs of The Irregular Shaped Confectionery Squad in a hurry, will you?
BIRDY: No, I won't. There's just one thing.
JOE BLOGGS: What?
BIRDY: Is there any chance of an antidote?
JOE BLOGGS: Apparently Benadryl and lots of prunes can help slow the progress of the attack, but it's ultimately fatal.
BIRDY: I see. Well, thanks, anyway, Joe. Joe Bloggs, everyone! And if you've got any seriously unround biscuits in your cupboard, flush 'em down the fudge shoot ASAP. So long, farewell, and thanks for all the mammary!
JOE BLOGGS: Arf, arf!
****
SHORTLY AFTER THIS INTERVIEW WAS RECORDED DETECTIVE JOE BLOGGS WAS DISMISSED FROM THE IRREGULAR SHAPED CONFECTIONERY SQUAD FOR CAUSING WIDESPREAD PANIC AND BRINGING THE NAME JOE BLOGGS INTO SERIOUS DISREPUTE. BLOGGS EVERYWHERE HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO A REWARD OF 1.5 MILLION DOLLARS FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO JOE'S QUICK DEMISE. THE MAJOR BISCUIT MANUFACTURERS ARE PRETTY FECKED OFF ABOUT IT, TOO.
Monday, January 06, 2014
MISTA FINGAS FINGERS ME LIKE AND DA HAPPY NEW YEAR
BIRDY HAD DA MOST EX-KER-ROO-SHEE-AY-TING PAIN OVER DA OLLIDAYS SO HE WENT TO DA FIZIO, INNIT, MISTA FINGAS. HERE'S WOT OCCURRED, LIKE
So... Mista Fingas asks me to get off me undies then stand up
straight. Then he says me hip's out of alignment – in udder words, one of me
legs was longer than the other because of a muscle spasm in my left hip. “Now,” he says, “there are two ways of doing
this. I can go in there with my thumb
and release the muscle, which will be extremely painful but only lasts six seconds,
or I can put a magnet on it for 20 minutes.”
So I says, “Well, um,
how long have we got?” He glances at his
watch. “There’s probably just enough
time, but I won’t be able to do anything else today. I see you’re worried about the pain.”
“Er, well, yeah, a
bit, like just how painful is it?”
“Very, but as I said,
it only lasts six seconds, and then you’ll be fine.”
“Um, er, OK, let’s try
it, see how I get on.”
“Roll onto your
stomach and poke your head through the rest.”
“Er, OK.”
So I roll over and he begins to
dig into the side of me left buttock, as you do.
“I think it’s this
one,” he says. “I’ve got to be
sure or the whole session’s been wasted.”
He digs deeper. “Yep, this is the
one.”
I brace myself for
the pain. He digs even deeper,
then suddenly I wail like a bear that's had a bow anchor shoved up his arse. I begin the slow count to six. And it's over.
“That wasn’t so bad,”
I says, thinking that perhaps it would’ve been kinder on me if he’d given me a
gag.
"Right, let's do that again," he says.
"Whhaa..."
Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!
"Got it," he says. "Now let's do the other side."
Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!
“Oh, yes,” he says,
“yes, this is bad. You’ll need more
treatment on this. I won't be able to do
much today, except this.” He digs in again.
"Jesus! Stop!" I says.
"Right," he says, "that's enough for now. You'll find it quite tough to walk, eat, sleep, drink, fart, for the next week or two, maybe even for a month. And you may even have sustained permanent injury, but I've done my best. Oh, well. Run along now. Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
"Cheers, Mista Fingas," I says.
I'm not sure how I fell over. Maybe I was dazed, confused, bereft, forlorn, dopey. But several hours later a very nice road sweeper helped me up and into a taxi and I've been flat on my back for the last six days, so maybe tomorrow the pain will pass. Anyhoo, HAPPY NEW YEAR, one and all. It can't get any worse... Can it?
Birdy
Monday, October 21, 2013
Uberwaltigend! Yeah, Mon! PLUS... Help Fur Da Buffters Innit
Uberwaltigend! Yeah, Mon! (Winner of the Plasterung Gescholssen International Poetry Competition 2013)
by Birdy
Birds, buffaloes, sights and sounds
Uberwaltigend!
Memories, chances, ups and downs
Uberwaltigend!
Nudges, winks, blinks and sighs
Uberwaltigend!
Whispers, pauses, shouts and cries
Uberwaltigend!
Pain, longing, loving and losing
Uberwaltigend!
Wanting, hoping, praying and musing
Uberwaltigend!
Touching, caressing, groaning and smiling
Uberwaltigend!
Strolling, crawling, drawling and styling
Uberwaltigend!
Standing, falling, holding and dropping
Uberwaltigend!
Catching, throwing, starting and stopping
Uberwaltigend!
Pumping, popping, ducking and diving
Uberwaltigend!
Gasping, drooling, fading and thriving
Uberwaltigend!
Agonizing, wondering, despairing and caring
Uberwaltigend!
Fumbling, stuttering, crumbling and daring
Uberwaltigend!
Yeah, mon!
***
AND IN UDDER NEWS...
BUFFTERS REFUSED EXIT VISA FROM BOUVET ISLAND
Quoting government sources, APN were reporting late last night that the Government of Bouvet Island has refused the man they call Buffters an exit visa on the grounds of diminished inflammability. Mr Bo, a spokesman, claims Buffters is being held at a secure location where his Freddy is being examined for physical abnormalities and Locked In Boudoir Syndrome, a rare disease that can lead to involuntary recitals of long-lost Outer Babylonian sheep herders. The US State Department in an entirely separate utterance has indicated that it might be willing to transport Buffters to Guantanamo Bay for an undisclosed fee, providing he never sees the light of day or night again.
This blog hereby declares the establishment of a fund to be known henceforth as the SAVE BUFFTERS FROM GUANTANAMO BAY FUND. Lobby your governments, your local representatives, your family, your friends, your enemies, and even those who truly whiff around the edges. Act now. Before it's too late. You might regret it, but Wot Da Fook, like.
BUFFTERS, WE LOVE YA!
Arf, arf!
by Birdy
Birds, buffaloes, sights and sounds
Uberwaltigend!
Memories, chances, ups and downs
Uberwaltigend!
Nudges, winks, blinks and sighs
Uberwaltigend!
Whispers, pauses, shouts and cries
Uberwaltigend!
Pain, longing, loving and losing
Uberwaltigend!
Wanting, hoping, praying and musing
Uberwaltigend!
Touching, caressing, groaning and smiling
Uberwaltigend!
Strolling, crawling, drawling and styling
Uberwaltigend!
Standing, falling, holding and dropping
Uberwaltigend!
Catching, throwing, starting and stopping
Uberwaltigend!
Pumping, popping, ducking and diving
Uberwaltigend!
Gasping, drooling, fading and thriving
Uberwaltigend!
Agonizing, wondering, despairing and caring
Uberwaltigend!
Fumbling, stuttering, crumbling and daring
Uberwaltigend!
Yeah, mon!
***
AND IN UDDER NEWS...
BUFFTERS REFUSED EXIT VISA FROM BOUVET ISLAND
Quoting government sources, APN were reporting late last night that the Government of Bouvet Island has refused the man they call Buffters an exit visa on the grounds of diminished inflammability. Mr Bo, a spokesman, claims Buffters is being held at a secure location where his Freddy is being examined for physical abnormalities and Locked In Boudoir Syndrome, a rare disease that can lead to involuntary recitals of long-lost Outer Babylonian sheep herders. The US State Department in an entirely separate utterance has indicated that it might be willing to transport Buffters to Guantanamo Bay for an undisclosed fee, providing he never sees the light of day or night again.
This blog hereby declares the establishment of a fund to be known henceforth as the SAVE BUFFTERS FROM GUANTANAMO BAY FUND. Lobby your governments, your local representatives, your family, your friends, your enemies, and even those who truly whiff around the edges. Act now. Before it's too late. You might regret it, but Wot Da Fook, like.
BUFFTERS, WE LOVE YA!
Arf, arf!
Monday, October 14, 2013
FROM DA ARCHIVE... BUFFTERS IN DA FIX
SOME TIME IN THE DISTENDED PAST...
DAT'S MAH BOY! COME BACK, BUFFTERS! WE LOVES YA! WE REALLY DO-O-O-O!
Arf, arf!
Just got
home and it is very fooking spooky here. There are like 14 cars parked
outside.... I have NEVER seen so many cars parked here. This building is only
about half occupied - and the whole building is eerily quiet. It is never
this quiet -- no traffic next door, no parties in progress, nothing - and
yet I can still smell smoke.
I have Old
Betsy loaded and by my side. I don't like this one bit and am of a mind
to call 911 and voice my suspicions. Sparky's apparently in bed, I hope,
not murdered in his sleep by the crack heads. So, did the raid take place?
Don't know. Who the fook belongs to all those cars out front? Undercover drug
agents? Crack heads? Drug dealers? Not a clue. I am afraid to go to bed,
seriously... and yet I don't want to call 911 and sound paranoid or nutters....
last thing I need is cops showing up here at my door tipping off the crack
heads that I blew the whistle on them. Also, it was like a bake oven when
I got here, had to turn the heat off.
Running on
fumes now, but still afraid to sack out in case the crack heads are planning to
break in and dust me.
Hunter S.
Gonzo
Fear and
Loathing, New Mexico
DAT'S MAH BOY! COME BACK, BUFFTERS! WE LOVES YA! WE REALLY DO-O-O-O!
Arf, arf!
Sunday, October 13, 2013
THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE MISSING BUFFTERS WITH THE MOST UNSAVOURY FREDDY
READ ALL ABOUT IT! BUFFTERS SPOTTED ON BOUVET ISLAND BOFFING HIS WAY THRU THE LOCAL LADY STOCK! WORLD EXCLUSIVE! UN URGENTLY RECALLS SECURITY COUNCIL TO SEND TROOPS, BOMB, EXTERMINATE, DEFUMIGATE, ASSURE, REINSURE AND UDDER IMPORTANT STUFF! HOLMES AND DR WATSON SENT TO INVESTIGATE...
SAY VRAY - DAT'S FRENCH TO YOUSE ET MOI. THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF OUR DEAR OLD BUFFTERS FROM DA MICHIGAN AREA CAUSED WIDESPREAD CONCERN AND MANIC TWEETING FOR SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE AN INNOCENT BYSTANDER HOLIDAYING ON BOUVET ISLAND HAD A MOST UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER WITH A BONE-EH-FIDAH REPROBATE ANSWERING TO BUFFTERS' DESCRIPTION, AND NAME EVEN, AND IN SHEER PANIC JUMPED OFF THE NEAREST CLIFF AND SWAM FOR IT, LEAVING BEHIND A BOTTLE FOR DEXTERITY CONTAINING THE FOLLOWING NOTE: "He says he is Buffters. Gawd help me and Gawd help da whirled. Get Sherlock Holmes, pleez! Tiz our only hope."
BELOW IS ALL THAT REMAINS OF A DIARY ENTRY MADE BY WATSON PERTAINING TO THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF THE MISSING BUFFTERS WITH THE MOST UNSAVOURY FREDDY...
WARNING: EXCESSIVE DOSES OF ALCOHOL AND OTHER SUBSTANCES SUCH AS BENADRYL REQUIRED TO MAKE ANY SENSE OF THIS STORY.
THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE MISSING BUFFTERS WITH THE MOST
UNSAVOURY FREDDY.
WATSON: I say, Holmes, what what what?
HOLMES: Yes, Watson, what?
WATSON: Terribly awful business about that inveterate reprobate, what what what?
HOLMES: Yes, Watson. But as with any other degenerate, one must square up to this reprobate, look him squarely in the eye and encourage him to mend his ways.
WATSON: Yes, quite. Damned rough crossing from the mainland. Feeling rather queasy, what what what?
HOLMES: Indeed. Most regrettable, but we have arrived in one piece and we must get to work. There's not a moment to lose. We must find this Buffters fellow and deal with him in the most humane way possible.
WATSON: But how are we going to find him, old thing, when we don't even know what he looks like?
HOLMES: O ye of little faith, Watters. Finding him is the easy part. What to do with him is the real challenge.
WATSON: Sorry, I don't think I follow you, Holmes.
HOLMES: Do you see these footprints in the sand, Watson?
WATSON: Well, yes, but what of them?
HOLMES: They are those of a white man, with a slight limp, a reasonable IQ but base desires and hedonistic tendencies.
WATSON: Why, you don't think...
HOLMES: Indeed I do.
WATSON: Good grief, Holmes, how could you possibly tell all those things from such innocuous footprints?
HOLMES: Elementary, my dear Strudel. Because he is over there, if I'm not mistaken boffing one of the local maidens.
WATSON: Oh, I say! Has the man no shame?!
HOLMES: Evidently not. Thankfully, he is so preoccupied with "giving her a good seeing to" as modern parlance would have it that we may sneak up on him with the greatest of ease.
(HOLMES AND WATSON APPROACH BUFFTERS WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE. THEY OBSERVE WITH HORROR AS BUFFTERS POUNDS AND PUMPS AWAY WITH RELENTLESS JOY, THE LOCAL MAIDEN MOANING WITH GREAT RELISH.)
WATSON: (whispering) I say, Holmes, it does appear as if the young lady is a willing participant in this overtly degrading copulatory act, what what what?
HOLMES: (whispering) Affirmative, Mein Herring. One can but admire his technique, no doubt honed over many thousands of sleepless nights with countless maidens.
WATSON: (whispering) Is it just me, or do you feel that we are intruding on something which nature always intended to come to pass?
HOLMES: (whispering) Watson, if I told you otherwise it would be a lie. Clearly, it is incumbent upon us to wait for nature to take its course before confronting this shameful reprobate who has become a horrendous blot on the landscape and an intolerable nuisance to the world community of decency and decorum.
WATSON: (whispering) Oh, jolly well put, Holmes. You have such a way with words. But, um, well, he doesn't show any signs of letting up, you know. We could be here for some time, what what what?
HOLMES: (whispering) Patience, old chum. Patience. He'll tire soon enough.
(TWO HOURS AND MANY GRUNTS AND WAILS LATER)
WATSON: Quite incredible. This repugnant reprobate knows no limits. Why, you'd think by now his Freddy would have dropped off, what what what?
HOLMES: I fear we are dealing with a phenomenon which transcends the boundaries of what we, science and Encyclopaedia Britannica think of as human. This man's energy and strength of purpose are truly remarkable, a testament to Quakers Oats and English Morning Breakfast Tea.
WATSON: Yes, and even though we are no longer whispering, in fact almost shouting, he refuses to desist.
HOLMES: With every beginning there must be an end, Botty Watty. And if I'm not mistaken, he will finish right...
(BUFFTERS YELPS)
HOLMES: ..now!
WATSON: I don't believe it! How could you know?
(THE LOCAL MAIDEN, HORRIFIED AT THE ONLOOKERS, GATHERS HER THINGS AND FLEES INTO THE JUNGLE, BUFFTERS COLLAPSES IN A HEAP, SIGHING CONTENTEDLY)
WATSON: You disgusting reprobate!
BUFFTERS: (looks up) Huh? Who are you?
WATSON: I am Doctor Watson, and this is the world famous Sherlock Holmes. And who, may I ask, are you?
BUFFTERS: I am but a simple man of simple means and simple pleasures. They call me by many names but you can call me Buffters.
WATSON: You see, Holmes? He's admitted it. He is Buffters, the incorrigible reprobate which we seek.
HOLMES: He really couldn't be anyone else, doc. Now, tell me, Mr Buffters, is it true that you arrived a few months ago on this fair isle and immediately set about corrupting as many maidens as you could lay your hands...
WATSON: And your Freddy!
HOLMES: ..on?
BUFFTERS: Well, it's like this, Sherlock...
HOLMES: Don't call me Sherlock.
BUFFTERS: All right. It's like this, Mr Holmes, they was gagging for it, I was gagging for it after a prolonged period of abstinence and, uh, well, we came to a mutually satisfying agreement.
WATSON: Why, you filthy blackguard, you!
HOLMES: Watson, please. I'm trying to interrogate the revolting reprobate here. It will all go a lot smoother and quicker if you put a sock in it. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. So it is your contention that you have committed no crime nor compromised any maiden's virtue without permission?
BUFFTERS: Nope. And I can prove it. Ask any of them and they'll tell you. Since I arrived on this island, they've had the time of their lives. (pulls out a diary from his pocket) You see? Full up with assignations. If it carries on like this, I will literally bonk meself to death, innit. Not that I'm complaining, like.
WATSON: Holmes, permission to cut this degenerate's balls off right now and release these poor maidens from their carnal servitude.
HOLMES: Permission denied!
WATSON: But... but...
HOLMES: Shut it! Now, Mr Buffters, I must conclude from all you have told us and all I have observed that we have been dispatched here under false pretences.
WATSON: What?! Have you taken leave of your senses, Holmes?!
HOLMES: Watson, I won't warn you again. One more word out of you and I'll deck you! Now, Mr Buffters, I really must apologise for detaining you any longer when you have such a busy schedule.
BUFFTERS: Most thoughtful of ya, Mr Holmes.
HOLMES: There is just one small matter that I need to impart to you before we leave you to continue your life of orgasmic abandon.
BUFFTERS: Go on.
HOLMES: A lot of people have been worried about you since your disappearance without so much as a postcard. Perhaps you'd be good enough to give me a message which I can convey to all those back in Blighty and in the US of A who are convinced you have been abducted by aliens and are in fear of being vaporized for misdemeanours to the universe?
BUFFTERS: OK. Tell 'em not to worry, I am possessed by the gods. Go figger!
HOLMES: Thank you. I shall make sure they get your message.
BUFFTERS: Oh, and one more thing.
HOLMES: Yes?
BUFFTERS: Film at eleven.
HOLMES: I beg your pardon?
WATSON: How extraordinary...
BUFFTERS: Arf, arf!
HOLMES AND DR WATSON HAVE NOT BEEN SEEN OR HEARD OF SINCE THEY DEPARTED FOR BOUVET ISLAND. THIS DIARY ENTRY WAS TORN OUT AND SENT IN A BOTTLE WHICH WASHED ASHORE ON THE SOUTH-WEST COAST OF BLIGHTLY. SOME SAY THEY HAVE BEEN BEWITCHED BY THE EARTHLY DELIGHTS OF BOUVET ISLAND AND HAVE TAKEN TO A LIFE OF UNBRIDLED DEBAUCHERY. OTHERS SAY THEIR BOAT CAPSIZED AND THEY WERE SNATCHED BY PIRATES, PUT IN CHAINS AND SET TO WORK IN THE GALLEYS. STILL OTHERS SAY THEY ARE SLOWLY MAKING THEIR WAY BACK TO BLIGHTY VIA FINLAND WHERE THEY HAVE FOUND THE PEOPLE TO BE UNIQUE, THOUGHTFUL, WISTFUL, PLAYFUL, PATRIOTIC AND TOTALLY INSANE. OR IT'S JUST POSSIBLE THAT THEY CAN'T BE ARSED TO TELL US WHERE THEY ARE AND WHAT THEY'RE DOING. GO FIGGER!
SAY VRAY - DAT'S FRENCH TO YOUSE ET MOI. THE MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF OUR DEAR OLD BUFFTERS FROM DA MICHIGAN AREA CAUSED WIDESPREAD CONCERN AND MANIC TWEETING FOR SEVERAL MONTHS BEFORE AN INNOCENT BYSTANDER HOLIDAYING ON BOUVET ISLAND HAD A MOST UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER WITH A BONE-EH-FIDAH REPROBATE ANSWERING TO BUFFTERS' DESCRIPTION, AND NAME EVEN, AND IN SHEER PANIC JUMPED OFF THE NEAREST CLIFF AND SWAM FOR IT, LEAVING BEHIND A BOTTLE FOR DEXTERITY CONTAINING THE FOLLOWING NOTE: "He says he is Buffters. Gawd help me and Gawd help da whirled. Get Sherlock Holmes, pleez! Tiz our only hope."
BELOW IS ALL THAT REMAINS OF A DIARY ENTRY MADE BY WATSON PERTAINING TO THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF THE MISSING BUFFTERS WITH THE MOST UNSAVOURY FREDDY...
WARNING: EXCESSIVE DOSES OF ALCOHOL AND OTHER SUBSTANCES SUCH AS BENADRYL REQUIRED TO MAKE ANY SENSE OF THIS STORY.
THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE MISSING BUFFTERS WITH THE MOST
UNSAVOURY FREDDY.
WATSON: I say, Holmes, what what what?
HOLMES: Yes, Watson, what?
WATSON: Terribly awful business about that inveterate reprobate, what what what?
HOLMES: Yes, Watson. But as with any other degenerate, one must square up to this reprobate, look him squarely in the eye and encourage him to mend his ways.
WATSON: Yes, quite. Damned rough crossing from the mainland. Feeling rather queasy, what what what?
HOLMES: Indeed. Most regrettable, but we have arrived in one piece and we must get to work. There's not a moment to lose. We must find this Buffters fellow and deal with him in the most humane way possible.
WATSON: But how are we going to find him, old thing, when we don't even know what he looks like?
HOLMES: O ye of little faith, Watters. Finding him is the easy part. What to do with him is the real challenge.
WATSON: Sorry, I don't think I follow you, Holmes.
HOLMES: Do you see these footprints in the sand, Watson?
WATSON: Well, yes, but what of them?
HOLMES: They are those of a white man, with a slight limp, a reasonable IQ but base desires and hedonistic tendencies.
WATSON: Why, you don't think...
HOLMES: Indeed I do.
WATSON: Good grief, Holmes, how could you possibly tell all those things from such innocuous footprints?
HOLMES: Elementary, my dear Strudel. Because he is over there, if I'm not mistaken boffing one of the local maidens.
WATSON: Oh, I say! Has the man no shame?!
HOLMES: Evidently not. Thankfully, he is so preoccupied with "giving her a good seeing to" as modern parlance would have it that we may sneak up on him with the greatest of ease.
(HOLMES AND WATSON APPROACH BUFFTERS WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE. THEY OBSERVE WITH HORROR AS BUFFTERS POUNDS AND PUMPS AWAY WITH RELENTLESS JOY, THE LOCAL MAIDEN MOANING WITH GREAT RELISH.)
WATSON: (whispering) I say, Holmes, it does appear as if the young lady is a willing participant in this overtly degrading copulatory act, what what what?
HOLMES: (whispering) Affirmative, Mein Herring. One can but admire his technique, no doubt honed over many thousands of sleepless nights with countless maidens.
WATSON: (whispering) Is it just me, or do you feel that we are intruding on something which nature always intended to come to pass?
HOLMES: (whispering) Watson, if I told you otherwise it would be a lie. Clearly, it is incumbent upon us to wait for nature to take its course before confronting this shameful reprobate who has become a horrendous blot on the landscape and an intolerable nuisance to the world community of decency and decorum.
WATSON: (whispering) Oh, jolly well put, Holmes. You have such a way with words. But, um, well, he doesn't show any signs of letting up, you know. We could be here for some time, what what what?
HOLMES: (whispering) Patience, old chum. Patience. He'll tire soon enough.
(TWO HOURS AND MANY GRUNTS AND WAILS LATER)
WATSON: Quite incredible. This repugnant reprobate knows no limits. Why, you'd think by now his Freddy would have dropped off, what what what?
HOLMES: I fear we are dealing with a phenomenon which transcends the boundaries of what we, science and Encyclopaedia Britannica think of as human. This man's energy and strength of purpose are truly remarkable, a testament to Quakers Oats and English Morning Breakfast Tea.
WATSON: Yes, and even though we are no longer whispering, in fact almost shouting, he refuses to desist.
HOLMES: With every beginning there must be an end, Botty Watty. And if I'm not mistaken, he will finish right...
(BUFFTERS YELPS)
HOLMES: ..now!
WATSON: I don't believe it! How could you know?
(THE LOCAL MAIDEN, HORRIFIED AT THE ONLOOKERS, GATHERS HER THINGS AND FLEES INTO THE JUNGLE, BUFFTERS COLLAPSES IN A HEAP, SIGHING CONTENTEDLY)
WATSON: You disgusting reprobate!
BUFFTERS: (looks up) Huh? Who are you?
WATSON: I am Doctor Watson, and this is the world famous Sherlock Holmes. And who, may I ask, are you?
BUFFTERS: I am but a simple man of simple means and simple pleasures. They call me by many names but you can call me Buffters.
WATSON: You see, Holmes? He's admitted it. He is Buffters, the incorrigible reprobate which we seek.
HOLMES: He really couldn't be anyone else, doc. Now, tell me, Mr Buffters, is it true that you arrived a few months ago on this fair isle and immediately set about corrupting as many maidens as you could lay your hands...
WATSON: And your Freddy!
HOLMES: ..on?
BUFFTERS: Well, it's like this, Sherlock...
HOLMES: Don't call me Sherlock.
BUFFTERS: All right. It's like this, Mr Holmes, they was gagging for it, I was gagging for it after a prolonged period of abstinence and, uh, well, we came to a mutually satisfying agreement.
WATSON: Why, you filthy blackguard, you!
HOLMES: Watson, please. I'm trying to interrogate the revolting reprobate here. It will all go a lot smoother and quicker if you put a sock in it. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. So it is your contention that you have committed no crime nor compromised any maiden's virtue without permission?
BUFFTERS: Nope. And I can prove it. Ask any of them and they'll tell you. Since I arrived on this island, they've had the time of their lives. (pulls out a diary from his pocket) You see? Full up with assignations. If it carries on like this, I will literally bonk meself to death, innit. Not that I'm complaining, like.
WATSON: Holmes, permission to cut this degenerate's balls off right now and release these poor maidens from their carnal servitude.
HOLMES: Permission denied!
WATSON: But... but...
HOLMES: Shut it! Now, Mr Buffters, I must conclude from all you have told us and all I have observed that we have been dispatched here under false pretences.
WATSON: What?! Have you taken leave of your senses, Holmes?!
HOLMES: Watson, I won't warn you again. One more word out of you and I'll deck you! Now, Mr Buffters, I really must apologise for detaining you any longer when you have such a busy schedule.
BUFFTERS: Most thoughtful of ya, Mr Holmes.
HOLMES: There is just one small matter that I need to impart to you before we leave you to continue your life of orgasmic abandon.
BUFFTERS: Go on.
HOLMES: A lot of people have been worried about you since your disappearance without so much as a postcard. Perhaps you'd be good enough to give me a message which I can convey to all those back in Blighty and in the US of A who are convinced you have been abducted by aliens and are in fear of being vaporized for misdemeanours to the universe?
BUFFTERS: OK. Tell 'em not to worry, I am possessed by the gods. Go figger!
HOLMES: Thank you. I shall make sure they get your message.
BUFFTERS: Oh, and one more thing.
HOLMES: Yes?
BUFFTERS: Film at eleven.
HOLMES: I beg your pardon?
WATSON: How extraordinary...
BUFFTERS: Arf, arf!
HOLMES AND DR WATSON HAVE NOT BEEN SEEN OR HEARD OF SINCE THEY DEPARTED FOR BOUVET ISLAND. THIS DIARY ENTRY WAS TORN OUT AND SENT IN A BOTTLE WHICH WASHED ASHORE ON THE SOUTH-WEST COAST OF BLIGHTLY. SOME SAY THEY HAVE BEEN BEWITCHED BY THE EARTHLY DELIGHTS OF BOUVET ISLAND AND HAVE TAKEN TO A LIFE OF UNBRIDLED DEBAUCHERY. OTHERS SAY THEIR BOAT CAPSIZED AND THEY WERE SNATCHED BY PIRATES, PUT IN CHAINS AND SET TO WORK IN THE GALLEYS. STILL OTHERS SAY THEY ARE SLOWLY MAKING THEIR WAY BACK TO BLIGHTY VIA FINLAND WHERE THEY HAVE FOUND THE PEOPLE TO BE UNIQUE, THOUGHTFUL, WISTFUL, PLAYFUL, PATRIOTIC AND TOTALLY INSANE. OR IT'S JUST POSSIBLE THAT THEY CAN'T BE ARSED TO TELL US WHERE THEY ARE AND WHAT THEY'RE DOING. GO FIGGER!
Monday, July 01, 2013
DESPERATELY SEEKING BUFFTERS
BIRDY HERE. I FOUND THIS HASTILY WRITTEN EMAIL LATE LAST NIGHT FROM DA BUFFTERS AND I IS WELL ANXIOUSIFIED:
NO NOOSE IS GOON GNUS. IF ANYBODY KNOWS DA WHEREWITHALS OF DA BUFF AND HOW TO GET 'IM BACK, SPILL DA BEANS, COS DIS BIRDY CANNAE LIVE WIDOUBT HYMN, LIKE!
AND IN UDDER GNUS...
BUFF, WHERE ARE YA? AIN'T NO SUBLIME SINCE YER GONE. A-HA... A-HA
Arf, arf?
Been up all night - couldn't sleep
and now am totally strung out, heart pounding, probably on the verge of a heart
attack or a stroke... ironically I'm supposed to see the shrink at 1PM
- if I'm still alive. My greatest fear NOW is that he'll put me in the
snake pit.
For the past hour or so I've either
been hearing mice scurrying around inside my bedroom
walls or I've slipped into sleep deprivation psychosis, or I'm trapped in
an Edgar Allen Poe story.
If I suddenly stop posting, it most
likely means:
a) I am dead (heart attack, stroke,
or suicide)
b) I'm in the hospital (regular or
mental)
c) I've gone catatonic (and Sparky
may or may not notice)
NO NOOSE IS GOON GNUS. IF ANYBODY KNOWS DA WHEREWITHALS OF DA BUFF AND HOW TO GET 'IM BACK, SPILL DA BEANS, COS DIS BIRDY CANNAE LIVE WIDOUBT HYMN, LIKE!
AND IN UDDER GNUS...
BUFF, WHERE ARE YA? AIN'T NO SUBLIME SINCE YER GONE. A-HA... A-HA
Arf, arf?
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