Did he leave a message?

Drunkest Man in the World

Myself and a number of good friends have just returned from a golf/stag weekend in the South West of Western Australia. The 4 day "tour" takes in 4 and a half rounds of golf , one 8 hour and two 12 hour drinking sessions, so requires a good level of stamina.

The only problem I have with these weekends is the total depression I feel at the conclusion. The school boy excitement I felt at 4am on Thursday morning when getting in the car for the 2 hour drive to the first tee has been replaced with a deep, dark, black dog depression. A confirmation, perhaps, of the endless studies on the effects of excessive alcohol on the mind and body. Whatever it is, I am struggling.

I did have a good laugh though whilst catching up on the emails with the video I present here. There are many versions out there with various mashups of sound, or trying to re-create what it would sound like (although generally the commentators repeat "oooo ... I shit my pants" a lot, which is actually not very funny) but I have selected the silent original version because, well, it speaks for itself.

All I can say is that I hope there were no CCTV cameras around the Dunsborough and Margaret River region over the last few days ... not that we achieved this level of pissedness (is that a word? It is now).

I dedicate this to the boys of the SCQT stag ... you know who you are!

Armstrong, Miller, Mitchell and Webb team up

Had to share this, one of my favourite comedy sketches is the WWII pilots from Armstrong and Miller ... if you have not seen this then look it up on youtube or some shit like that.

Here is the 2009 Comic Relief sketch ... isn't it

Standard

Royle Family vs Royal Family

Like many people I love the Royle Family, there is something very familiar to many of us, especially the English (and more specifically the Northern English). I love how the creators make sitting round watching TV so fascinatingly funny. If you have not watched the show then where have you been? Go out, this minute, and buy it.

It was inevitable that there would be some spoof take offs too. Without a shadow of a doubt the best and funniest is Alistair McGowan and Roni Ancona in the Big Impression.

Anyway, I won't go on ... I'll let them speak for themselves ...

The Royle Family - Red Nose Day Special 2009

The Royal Family - McGowans Big Impression

Living Statues

A lot has been said in the past about living statues. I hate them, not all of them. I have a healthy regard for anyone who can stand perfectly still for an extended period of time.

But there is one living "statue" in Perth which irks me. She can usually be found standing on a box painted silver in the Murray Street mall. Now I would like to take her to task on her "statue" skills

When I were a lad, "living statues" were to be amazed at for their ability to stand completely still. People focus mesmerised for 10-15 minutes trying to spot any slight movements. Not seeing any movement was worthy of a couple of bucks.

This one, on the other hand, feels that moving very slowly is a suitable alternative ... IT ISN'T

Then there are the tactics, she focusses on the kiddies, encouraging them over with a slow, deliberate finger movement (if I were the kids, I would reciprocate with an entirely different finger gesture). Then sprinkles some glitter in their hands and smiles slowly. That's it ... and people run up and pay for this shit?

So, if you want to make money in this manner, here is the basic receipe:

1. Paint yourself silver all over
2. Put on a silver suit and some silver wings
3. Fill a little silver bag with glitter
4. Stand on a silver box with a silver money receptacle
5. Move around slowly, blink often (but slowly)
6. Get money from gullible tourists

Maybe there is hope for us all when talentless bint like that can make a crust by doing nothing special but making a twat of herself in front of total strangers.

Men don't take advice

It's true, we don't ... I could go on about reading maps or instruction books like everyone else but I have a more personal experience to relay.

A few years ago on another enthusiastic but ill-fated health kick I purchased a proper racing bike ... not a Target cheapy, a proper one from a proper bike shop with biking people and everything. It is orange (I still have it, albeit in the garage covered in dust) and weighs as much as a hungry church mouse with three legs and no tail. It also has those pedals which require special shoes which make you walk as if you have a carrot stuck up your arse. You know the ones, the cube thing on the bottom that clips in.

Anyway, when I collected the bike the sales man gave me some advice ... practice on a quiet road first to get the hang of unlocking your shoes from the pedals. Then he tried to demonstrate, of course being a man I didn't need this demonstration, after all, I know how to get on and off a bike! How hard can it be?.

In the haze of that initial excitement one always gets in the first 10 minutes of owning something new, I decided to take it for a spin, just a short one to start. If I had my time again I would not have chosen a popular beach.

Things started off brilliantly, the bike was very quick and easy to ride (something to do with the wheels apparently), I flew down to the beach, glided along the coast bike path until I reached my destination. The clock tower at Scarborough Beach. At this time the beach front area was being regenerated (it's very nice down there now if anyone is interested). By this time I was cocky, riding in that slow, swaying style they do in the Velodrome where they stare at each other then start pegging it.

Then it happened. I had to stop for a truck coming out of the building site, in my defense it did take me by surprise. I had to quickly brake and put my foot down, which of course I was not able to do. In the panic of the moment I could not connect brain to foot quick enough to tell it to twist. So I just frantically tried to lift it, but nothing. As I slowly started to keel over towards the tarmac, all I could think was, don't damage the bike, don't damage the bike, before deciding that the right shoulder region would be the best place to take the inevitable blow. By now it was like slow motion, which seems to be gods way of ensuring maximum embarrassment.

THUD! followed by a succession of sniggers and gufaws emanating from the throngs of workers who all conveniently seemed to be on a fag break at the time (do they ever work?). Picking up my bike, head bowed and directed away from any human being around I reflected on the advice given to me by the bike shop salesman as I limped away with my body and my pride hurt (but not a scratch on the bike!!).

So will I learn my lesson? Probably not ...

Expat Supporters

Why is it that when one moves to another country one all of a sudden takes an interest in sports which they (rightly) previously thought rubbish.

I am referring to myself in this case. I grew up in the north of England (Yorkshire), the extent of my sporting interests were restricted to, well, football (or, *shudders*, "soccer"). My school didn't even have a cricket team as far as I remember, Rugby League was frowned upon and only the school neanderthals played Rugby Union (the thought of someone using my face to plough the pitch was not overly appealing).

As soon as I moved to Australia I took an interest in any sport involving England which also has an Aussie team. Most notably Cricket and Rugby Union. How we rejoiced in November 2003 when England beat the Aussies in the Rugby World Cup Final (which Englishman didn't shed tears of joy when Jonny Wilkinson put over THAT fieldgoal?). We jumped with Joy as Freddie demolished the Australian batsmen in the 2005 Ashes and winced with embarrassment at the 2007 debacle which followed.

I have also become somewhat of an expert on the sports too. What looks like a bunch of yeti's piling into a bar fight is now referred to as a ruck. I even know what a wrong-un and a googly is. I can chat for hours about strategy and technique with the best of them and I even know that Rugby has rules.

So why then? Why do I get a lump in my throat for glorious victory? Why do I care about going to work the day after a thrashing? I have 3 theories here:

1. It's because I am English and I am sick of waiting for another 1966 to happen and just want to celebrate a win of some description in a World Cup (even though there is only one competition with the participation rate to be truly called "The World Cup" ... but don't get me started on that one :))
2. It's because I am an Englishman living in Australia and I want to see Australia lose at everything because they are such shocking losers and even worse winners.
3. I can't stand the stupid names Australians insist on calling themselves such as "Socceroos" or "Wallabies" (Not one of the Rugby team looks cute and cuddly)

Whatever the reasons ....

Come on England!!

Come on whoever is playing Australia!!

Andy Capp

Andy Capp ... my hero.

Silly Signs

Question: Is this the most pointless sign in the world?

Dress code madness

My experience with dress codes of late have been somewhat frustrating

I am neither goth, nor bogan, nor drag queen. I don't get into fights or grafitti "John sucks cock" followed by his phone number on the wall of the gents (sorry "Rest Room"). I even direct bar-staff to people who were clearly before me at the bar. Yet despite my obvious style and impeccable behaviour (Will you STOP underlining words that are correctly spelt for gods sake!) I have been refused entry twice of late. Yes I know ... ME!

The first occasion was at the casino, and was probably the most annoying ... I was meeting some friends who were visiting from interstate. I wore a pair of trousers, black leather shoes and a black turtle neck jumper (well, black is very slimming), I looked good, I looked better than good ... but no ... "Sorry Mate ... you have to have a collar after 6pm" ... what the fuck for? Does my lack of collar give me a competitive advantage at the Black Jack table? Is it offensive to certain cultures that frequent such establishments? Just to wind me up more they let in a bogan wearing jeans, trainers and a flannelette shirt while I was expressing my outrage to the muppets parading as bouncers. "What about him!" I excitedly pointed at the bogan monkey lurching in. "He's got a collar mate" ... bastards

The second occasion was the other day when I was refused entry on account of my shoes which apparently didn't have the required proportion of cow's arse to be worthy of drinking in such an establishment. The girl had got out of the car to get the beers in while I parked the car ... so she was already in ... after much arguing (I am surprisingly persistent when I have a pint waiting for me) he agreed to let me in, just this once. (Why did I feel so grateful?). When I got in I realised that about 80% of the current clientele were scruffy twats, but they came in before 6pm when the dress code started. Seriously, what is the point of that?

The issue clearly appears to be the focus on items of clothing in isolation, collars and shoes in this case, with no regard for the style and look of the overall ensemble. It is surprisingly possible to look stylish and smart (casual) without collar or leather shoes.

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iPhone Picture Messaging Horror

I love my iPhone, it's sleek and sexy. I love showing off the features, for example, how cool is the pinching the screen to make things bigger or smaller thing!

So when the new version 3.0 of the iPhone software was released I couldn't wait to try out the new features ... Landscape texting: Thought it was going to be better than it is (too used to the portrait keyboard) ... Cut and Paste, magic ... MMS capabilities ... thats where my problem lies.

For the first week or so (til the novelty wore off), wherever I was I thought about what cool and amusing pictures I could send to Aimee. This seems fine on the surface, but highlights a problem with the way the iPhone starts the messaging application. For those not blessed enough to have such a device, it always starts on the last screen you were on. Mostly the last person your texted so additional care is required before you send the message to ensure the correct person receives the message.

I have made this error before sending silly texts to friends and clients alike, but adding photos makes it sooooo much worse! So far I have sent a picture of a prawn cracker I was eating while waiting for a takeaway to one of my clients and worse still (by some distance) was the other day when I was in a particularly silly mood ...

We were getting ready to go out to the pub for one of our friends birthdays last weekend. While I was, erm, flushing the system out (so to speak) I took my phone so I could check the news and update my facebook status (who doesn't!). Then my great idea came to me ... Heeeeeeyy! I could send Aimee is picture of me on the loo ... she'll love that. So I proceeded to spend a good few minutes trying to capture a good picture of myself on the karzie (which meant taking several where I was almost not in the picture ... not great for self portraits the iPhone). Finally, when I was happy I proceeded to send the message with a cheeky chuckle to myself.

Then it happened ... I noticed WHO I was sending it to ... it was to one of my mates ... oh shit ... Queue pathetic attempts to prevent the text from going ... shake it to see if the undo function works ... nope ... cover the phone with my hands, hide it under my jumper, anything to make it loose reception ... improved if anything ... Swear at it ... no reaction ... Cover my own face with hands hoping the phone would take pity ... it didn't.

Below is the actual screen shot from the phone, the "O." is the only remaining evidence of my panic ... quite appropriate methinks!



Can I be the only one to have this problem?

Classic Comedy - Monty Pythons Flying Circus

This is the first post about comedy I find funny and inspiring ... there will be many more!

First cab off the ranks is Monty Pythons Flying Circus. It is clear to see how modern comedy has been inspired by this show (eg. "Fast Show" and "Little Britain"). They were the masters of silliness, characters changing mid-sketch and themes which flit in and out throughout the episodes. Their punch lines can still be heard around the world (think "nudge, nudge, wink, wink").

I am not going to go into massive and boring details about the history of Monty Python because there are millions of sites around where you can get that information so I will just tell you who's in it and,

"GET ON WITH IT!"

• John Cleese
• Eric Idle
• Michael Palin
• Graham Chapman
• Terry Jones
• Terry Gilliam

I could have included many sketches here including the most famous Dead Parrot sketch ... but I wanted to use 2 that particularly appeal to me, hope you enjoy!

Man Turns Into Scotsman Sketch (Series 1, Episode 7)

I chose this sketch for a couple of reasons. First, cos it is piss funny, second because I have quite a few Scottish friends which adds that extra relevance :)

I particularly love how the inspector tries to determine any scottishness from the mans wife ...

He never got drunk at night or brought home black puddings?

Four Yorkshiremen

This video, recorded live at the Hollywood Bowl, shows the four rich Yorshiremen trying to out-do each other as to how poor they used to be with increasing silliness.

Being a proud Yorkshireman myself how could I not include this one? Enjoy ...

Feel free to share your opinions ...

Cheers ...

Jason

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Call a bog a bog

I am unsure why the word "toilet" is forbidden to say in public.

Women cunningly disguise their disgusting habit of going to the loo by instead visiting the "bathroom" ... I used to wonder what world of feminine bliss lay behind the grimy green door at the Prince of Wales. I had visions of plush carpets, dressing tables and, well, a bath! I can now going to expose that as a lie ... it is, in fact, a slightly less smelly version of the male "bathroom" (as I am trying to avoid toilet humour I will leave the comparison there).

Bowing to this female pressure shopping centres across the country (Australia) are increasingly referring to the little boys room as "Rest Rooms" How posh, and a jolly good idea I thought. At last, a male luxury sanctuary where I can sink into a chesterfield with the paper and a single malt while the missus goes "ooo" a lot at shoes . May read a book, watch the rugger or play Billiards with a chap who has a double barreled surname (might even have a piss while I'm at it, who knows). But wait ... in another exclusive Twaddle Factory expose we can bring you the truth about these so called "Rest" rooms ... they are ... in fact ... just a normal bog (Gasp).

So come on people, next time you are in the pub, or restaurant and you need to pay a visit, forget all the pretentious bollocks, stand up, puff out your chest and say in a booming, confident voice...

"Get the beers in ... I'm off for a slash"

A very witty birthday card

Selecting a card for someone can be such a struggle for me. Firstly, unless someone has died or is dying it has to be funny. Secondly there is often a severe lack of genuinely witty cards which appeal to my sense of humour (Random Whinge: Can Americans spell ANYTHING? There is a "u" in humour! I can see this is particular whinge will come up regularly).

This year for my girlfriends birthday I had the rare experience of finding the absolute perfect card for her, straight away ... how we laughed :)

Welcome to the Twaddle Factory

Hurray! My first blog ever. Seems like everyone is doing it these days so why not me ...

I am looking forward to reviewing this initial blog in months to come to see if any of my misplaced intentions for this blog are realised. (Random and inconveniently placed whinge: Why can't you include the PROPER English spelling of "realised" in the dictionary by default? And while I am at it, I don't appreciate your futile attempts to change my ways through the auto correction function). Right, where was I? ... yes, my blogging intentions.

I hereby declare my blog will include:

• Reviews and ramblings, good and bad, about comedy shows and movies I like and watch
• Funny stories which I have either happened, or not happened (except in my brain).
• Jokes, although I have to admit they will have to be VERY funny cos I don't normally like stuff like that
• Items which tickle my fancy.
• Sketches and ideas derived from drunken evenings in our back yard (thats mainly me at t'missus) which we mistakenly believe to be amusing at the time. This blog will hopefully prove to us that we are comedic geniuses and not (as we suspect) quite unfunny indeed.

I also promise (with my fingers firmly crossed) to blog on a regular basis and that all posts will be rather amusing or about rather amusing things.

In the mean time I am going to do some work, otherwise I will not earn any money and will subsequently not be able to pay for my internet connection and won't be able to blog (I am going to drop that word into conversations on a more regular basis from now on I have decided) therefore depriving the public of my total and utter twaddle ...

A Beintot (as they say in France, probably).

Jason

P.S Sorry French speaking people, but there are no options in this to add the funny line over the "A" or the hat shaped thingy over the "o". Therefore some imagination is required to ensure the correct pronunciation of the phrase.