Enough with the spam!

spam with cheeseOk, I can take a joke.   I don’t mind recieving 1001 different spellings of the words Viagra or Cialis.   I am happy with them poking fun at my lack of hair, ever increasing belly or decreasing penis size.

I don’t mind King Abdul Jameers son contacting me about how he has gone underground, hiding from rebels trying to kill him, and the only way for me to save his life is to accept 10% of a gazillion euros.   I am always happy to hear that I have won yet another lottery that I didn’t enter, and that various banks that I don’t have accounts with are concerned and want me to verify my details with them.

All of these people are just showing an interest.   But today, enough is enough.   Honestly, they crossed the line here.   Frankly I am astounded as to how they thought anyone would be interested.

I ask you!!!!

Well Alan or Ian (don’t you know?) of Prestige, let me tell you.   I am reporting this to the highest authority.   You know what they say…or at least the well coiffed Lionel Richie says….When the going get stuffed.   Or was that gets tough?   I forget.

Is nothing sacred anymore?   I would have preferred to have received Anthrax in the post…and inhaled…than receive this.   I mean, this is the guy that sang “Hello, is it me you’re looking for” and then goes and puts a   blind girl in the video.   Hello…one insensitive bastard right there.

What next?   A singing Take That O’gram at my door…Neil Diamond does The Red Hot Chilli Peppers? (Although that just conjures up the idea of the weirdest porn site ever…admit it, you thought that too).

I am going to fight back, as I type this, I am also typing (yes ladies..I multi-task) a reply.   I am considering inviting them to the new Joe Joe Concert…Joe Dolce and Joe Pasquale singing the hits of Milli Vanilli.

Thinking about it, that might just have legs… has anyone got the number of the Burger King that Milli Vanilli are working at these days?

Gotta go, I got me a concert to promote.

Take my eyes…please!

O?­che Shamhna / HalloweenIn honour of yesterday being Halloween, I thought I would recount for you a tale of abject terror, horrifying intrigue and no small amount of toilet activity.     I would like to say that there were no animals harmed during the events of this fateful night, but quite frankly…anything is possible.

It was a entertaining night at the bar, the locals were enjoying themselves and partaking of many delicious beverages.   Much merriment was being made and the barkeep was in good spirits.   As with all Halloween stories, the tranquility and merriment were to be replaced with horror.   Our heroes were not to know what was to transpire.   Noone could know, if they had…people may have been spared, the bar could have been closed and signs painted on the doors to ward off the evil that was about to leave a trail of destruction through this almost spiritual bar.

When the beverages had started to take hold and peoples guards were well and truly down, she arrived.

Much has been made of witches in childrens tales and moving pictures, but nothing could truly prepare us for what we saw.   Some likened her to golums ugly sister, but our heroes instinctively knew her for what she was…the Sick-ed Witch of the North.   Rumour has it that she was once a beautiful woman, known throughout the land for her beauty and ability to charm young knaves into acting out her every whim.   This storyteller, dear reader, knows better.

She began her trail of destruction and debauchery by beginning what I believe the the modern, liberal person would refer to as a Swingers Party.   Wife swapping a’plenty, with nary a wife to be found.   Entranced by this, certain young knaves were taken in by her witchly ways.   Our heroines, KH and MK were able to resist and sought sanctuary with myself, good reader, for I was there this fateful night.   I offered little protection beyond kind words and the elixir of forgetfulness, but know this my friends, this can be enough.

Whirling through the bar like a sex fuelled hurricane, the witch would stop, grab herself a new knave and suck the life from them through their lips.   Her spells were short lived fortunately, leaving a path swept with the bodies of confused knaves wondering just how that happened.   Her fateful cry of “I want to f*ck you!” will haunt me to my deathbed, and beyond, of that I am sure.

After some time it seemed to quieten, perhaps she had gone, left the revellers to continue her destructive ways somewhere else.   The patrons relaxed once more and all seemed well with the world.

Until the scream.

When the scream came it stopped everyone, rooted them to the spot with fear and panic.   Surely no human could make such a bloodcurdling sound.   Z emerged from the “little knaves room”, but he did not seem himself, something was clearly wrong.   When approached it was clear, that aswell as being made to vomit repeatedly, he was blind!

The witch had trapped her final prey and had begun her incantations to allow her to live for another year, there was nakedness, there was fumbling, groping and dare I reveal to you …. sexual organ movement.   Z may never be the same, although we quickly rallied Mr Jager and Ms Meister to heal him as rapidly as possible…time will tell if his recovery is successful.

To this day, mention of the witch causes fear and panic induced bowel movements.   Others simply weep for what they were forced to endure.

What of myself dear reader?

I simply visit my private “little knaves room” upstairs….and no, I did not ask for her number.

Isn't it ironic?

IronySo my exercise bike turned up last night…in a million pieces (it seemed).   My initial urge was procrastination, so it is a testament to my own desire for getting fit that I managed to persuade myself a little later to actually build it.

The irony is that by the time I had finished making the feckin thing, I was too knackered to use it.   This does not bode well for my upcoming attempts at fitness.

That said, I will begin tonight and see how I get on…the aim being that I will start seeing a difference after Saturday when I have given up the cigarettes.   Apparently after a mere two weeks, you are already mostly clear and your lungs repaired….cool.

This time next year I will have written my own infommercial and be a star of the talk shows.   Weight watchers and Slim fast will all try to bribe me to be their spokesperson.     Additionally, both MV and AE have decided that I will become a womaniser and SP will be consigned to his cycle of failure.

A man can dream I suppose.

Not sure why I entitled this post the way I did, other than the exercise thing.   Is it ironic that the exercise bike was delivered at the same time that my Pizza delivery arrived?   What about my decision to get healthy, lose weight and give up smoking…just after recieving clothes that will (hopefully) soon no longer fit me and an ornamental lighter as a gift?

I am just scrabbling around for ironic things now…I will probably think of more later.   In the meantime, here is the real definition of irony..as told by a goddamn genius.


SP comedy gold..

A typical American Marine?So, whilst SPs decline from the dizzy heights of casanovadom continues at a rapid rate of knots….he does still have his moments.

This report was submitted to LW headquarters by our roving field reporter GF.

The location:   Daves living room (AKA the Anglo Irish)
Those present:   SP, GF and a random American Marine

Details are sketchy as to how the introduction came to pass, but before I start, let me give you a little back story of the inimitable SP.

SP is a former member of the British Paratroopers, largely considered to be a Special Forces Unit in their own right, even though they are regular army.   Now, over various “visits” to the worlds hotbed of arsehole activity, SP has encountered many American Marines, and has formed his opinion based on these many encounters.   Now, in an effort to avoid the inevitable death threats…I need to point out that I am sure that not all American Marines conform to the stereotype that SP places on them…that said, he has his experiences.   I won’t drink fizzy water for example….case closed really.

So, back to the introduction…

The SP is introduced to a random American that looks like he overdosed on steroids…referred to as your typical person of this type.   On discovery of the random Americans profession, SP makes the following statement:

“Oh are you?   A Marine?   All Marines are gay”

Cue rapid ascent to the heavens and cartoon’esque steam coming out of the guys ears.   He starts to rise from his seat in a, dare I say it, slightly aggressive manner.

At this point our roving reporter GF decides to intervene…

“hahahahaha – He is only joking around…. hahahahahah – Just kidding man”

SP, without batting an eyelid, responds thusly.. “No I’m not, Marines are all homos…admit it, you suck cock” and then walks away.

Genius I tellsya.

When questioned about this almost pavlovian response by me later… I discovered part of the reason for this *ahem* opinion of the American Marine.   SP tells of being on tour, I think in Kosovo (he will no doubt correct me) and meeting up with a number of American forces.

During one of these meetings, an interesting discovery was made.   The American forces were all presented with a small credit card sized information card that said the following:

DO NOT drink with the British
DO NOT gamble with the British
DO NOT fight with the British

You will lose!

I think that adequatly sums it up.   SP is actually trying to find me one of these cards as, let’s face it, they sound like the stuff of urban legend.

A special shout out to our newest field reporter GF….nice start sir :)

Normal failure based service will be resumed shortly on “The Life and Times of a Failed Casanova”


Alternative olympics?

Sorry about the last post being password protected anyone who might be reading this.   I needed to get some shit down and it’s particularly private.   I hope you understand.   Anyway, onto the random babblings…

Whistler's Olympic RingsWhen I am tired, I am known to ramble. People seem to find this quite amusing, although they could just be humouring the big, scary looking geezer…

I rarely remember these rambles, other than the general subject matter, but yesterdays ramble has stuck with me. I did a ridiculous amount of travelling at the weekend and am exceptionally tired, just to explain in some small way the dire nature of what I am about to vomit out here.

Basically, a few of us were stood at the smoking booth at work and all of us clicked our lighters in sync. Nothing strange there, until it was pointed out to us by a new arrival at the booth…this was amusing to this person and threw me straight into ramble territory. My ramble…as best I remember it:

“Ah yes well, we are in training for a new Olympic sport, the synchronised smoke. We hope to progress to more advanced and difficult 360 degree cough with a half wheeze..it’s difficult, but only the Swiss have managed it thus far, and as their smoking ban will hit soon, they will have difficulty in adjusting to having to practise outside. We are used to practising outside, so we should be ok…” and so on, and so on.

This got me thinking though, what with the Olympics just around the corner, what other “alternative” sports could there be for the unfit and non-dedicated. Things that require little or no effort and still allow you to achieve something. Let’s face it, in the current climate of non-competitive sports days at school, where everyone wins a prize…regardless of how they suck in actual competition, why not?

We could have “Remote control wrestling” – A mixed event where husbands and wives grapple in a ring that contains a TV, the remote (obviously), a 3-2-1 sofa setup and possibly a number of potted plants and possibly a small cat/dog. We could make it hardcore, anything goes rules too like in the WWE.

What about the “Change the cat litter dash (could also be the do the dishes, take the rubbish out dash) – where the first person to get successfully out of the front door of a mock house is the winner, leaving the loser to perform the chore.

Then there could be the “Get the key in the door challenge” – This would required the contestents to be drunk and the arena would need to be pitch black and recreating 4am. Bonus points would be awarded for opening and subsequently closing the door quietly and without waking up the sleeping referee within.

Crockery Discuss anyone? Where partner A launches various pots/pans and dinnerware at partner B (normally male), whilst screaming incoherently about how partner B never replaces the loo roll once it is finished. Points wouldn’t be awarded for distance, but for accuracy and damage dealt.

The Cat High Jump – Male event only – Participants would be made to step out of the shower whilst drying themselves off and deal with a playful kitty looking at the dangly bits.   Points awarded for height and damage avoidance.

I could go on….what would be your ideas for an alternative Olympics?


SPAMI know we are living in what closely approximates a “Big Brother” state. But some of the spam emails I recieve lead me to wonder if these spammers are not spammers, but people with access to cameras in my apartment that monitor my every move.

Some of the emails I have recieved recently:

Ok, so everyone gets these things with their clever useage of numbers and spaces to still adequately spell Viagra or Cialis. I wasn’t aware of any particular erectile dysfunction of mine…I still regularly recieve the “Morning Glory” that almost all blokes are plagued with from a tender age. That said, it has been a while, so maybe the pressure of performing would be too much for “Little Dave” (not an ironic moniker unfortunately). Maybe I really do need the benefits of either (or maybe both) of these wonder drugs.

Hair restoration
Ok, Ok, so I may be suffering a little (read..a lot) “early onset male pattern baldness” (I love that statement for some reason), but can these miracle cures really work. Is it wise to spread a mixture of elephant dung, lima scrotum and dodo vomit onto my increasingly glinting pate? Does the prospect of hair growing once more on the desolate barren wasteland of my head warrant smelling like a decomposing corpse for an indeterminate period of time? Sadly yes….

Lose weight
I will admit to being of the “Fuller Figure” body type. And yes, I could stand to lose a few pounds (by few I mean of course a number to the power of something). Here was me thinking that I should exercise more regualarly and take care of my diet, when all I really need to do is take a course of tablets at the low low price of…well…my dignity really.

Shoot like a pornstar
I am not sure I like where this is going…I may be forced to place a call to the Samaritans at this rate. Lets see, I can’t get it up, have no hair and am fat. Now apparently, if I do manage to get it up, my “output” (so to speak) is not up to standard either. Holy crap, it’s a wonder I leave the apartment. Unless it is some kind of firearms training where an elite team of super spies operate under the guise of pornstars. Each with a new and interesting kind of gadget implanted into their bodies that turn them into super weapons. I can see it now, I should patent the idea immediately. I can see the merchandise now – The team from MI69. The possibilities are endless….although I would have to be careful with the PC brigade for the rights to the kids cartoon version…

Anyway, all I can say to these spammers is…how in the blue hell do you know this much about me??

I am going to be ok though, I was just informed that I have won at least 2 lotteries that I don’t remember entering, my long lost friend, Prince Kufti-Namba from Zimbabwe would like to pay me substantially for looking after some cash for him and someone has given me a surefire way to protect my new found wealth by investing in a recession proof business.

Oh, and I can get a matching summer bra AND thong for â??14

Good times.

Sky hooks..or the life and times of the galactically stupid

A spirit levelNow I am, like anyone, liable to fall foul of a practical joke or wind-up occasionally. It happens, maybe I am tired, maybe drunk…but I like to think that I can spot them fairly rapidly and more often than not during the delivery.

I am blessed with the ability to do “deadpan delivery” of jokes or wind-ups. This gives enough problems to native English speakers…but the fun you can have with non-native English speakers is great. Except Germans…..they simply think you are being serious and then insist on having you ruin the gag by explaining, at length, twice. Actually come to think of it, that may just be the greatest wind-up escape ever….fair play Herman, fair play sir!

Some of my faves are the ones where you have people going for a long time before you have to let them know it’s a wind-up. Now obviously, most people have used the old “long weight”, or “tartan paint” lines, or will have at least heard about them. There was a particular guy I worked with straight out of school and he was not the sharpest tool in the shed. We all, at various times, sent him to the local B and Q store to fetch:

  1. Striped paint
  2. Glass hammer
  3. Left handed screwdrivers
  4. Left handed screws for said screwdrivers
  5. Left handed spanner
  6. Rubber nails (for use with the a rubber hammer)
  7. Long weight (Over 2 hours before he returned to declare that they are out of stock, but would 2 short weights do?)
  8. Tin of elbow grease
  9. Replacement bubbles for the spirit level as ours was cracked

My favourite one for this guy though, was when someone had left a caravan in the main entrance, and we sent him to find the ignition keys in the lost key box… I would like to say that he got the jokes and was just playing along, but alas it was not the case.

I do remember phoning a friend a number of years ago and asking for his help. I explained at great length that I wanted to install a satellite dish, but the landlord wouldn’t allow anything to be mounted to the wall. I tried to use a pole in the garden, but the buildings were too high around it and I couldn’t get a signal. I seem to recall taking around 20 minutes to fully explain the dilemma, before I asked him for the favour.

Me: “I have just been to B&Q to get some, but they are out of stock….maybe the B&Q near you will have some”

CP: “What are you on about?”

Me: “Oh crap, yeah sorry – Sky hooks…I need them about 2 inch across and about an inch thick…can you check it out for me and call me back?”

CP: “Fine..hang on…let me get a pen”

CP: “Ok, go”

Me: “So I need 2 sky hooks…2 inches across and as close to 1 inch thick as you can get”

About an hour or so later he called me back and let rip with a combination of laughter and words that would make a sailor blush…

One? Theres bloody hundreds of 'em

A worried wife calls her husband who is driving home, to warn him about a news report of a lunatic driving on the wrong side of the road.   “A lunatic??!?!?!!” He says “There are bloody hundreds of ’em”

One of the problems with coming from England is that we drive on the left, in right hand drive cars.   Generally this isn’t an issue, but can cause problems from time to time.

I was in the car with my Dad many years ago, when I asked him if it had been difficult to get used to driving on the right.   He was in the process of explaining about how it becomes normal pretty quickly and that you get used to it etc, when we realised that Dad had pulled across a junction onto the left hand side of a dual carriageway.   A quick change of underwear later and we are back on the correct side of the road.   At the time, we had been in Germany around 3 years, so this sort of thing shouldn’t happen.

Similar things have happened to me recently.   Especially when borrowing my friends English spec car (right hand drive) and driving around Frankfurt.   Now that I can almost understand, however I have noticed and irresistable urge to do the same thing when driving large rental vans.

Maybe it is ingrained in the British psychy.   Like having vinegar with Fish and Chips, mint sauce with lamb, drinking tea, being bad at sports we helped invent, personal space and queueing.   Germans have absolutely no concept of personal space and think nothing of getting uncomfortably close to you when it is completely unnecessary.   Case in point is public transport over here.   If you are sat down on a train that has hundreds of empty seats, you still get people that will get on and sit next to you.   Same with queueing…now I know that this can be considered a British pastime, but if you leave more than 5 centimeters gap between you and the person in front of you, a German will get straight in there.   You certainly couldn’t pull the “Queue Gag” that we used to do in the UK.

Get 2 or 3 of your friends and walk up to a featureless wall and form a small queue.   After a while, start looking around and at your watch like something is due to happen or that something is late.   After a while, members of the general public will queue behind you.   When the queue is at a decent size, walk away and don’t look back.   If you circle around, you will normally see that the queue stays there for quite a while.   I know that this could be construed as an Urban Myth about Brits…but I have done it…..more than once.   The current record we have is 14 people joining the queue and the queue stayed in place for 15 minutes after we left.   If you are in the UK, try it – It’s so much more satisfying than the old look up in the sky gag.

So, whilst I can’t do that in Germany, I have to appease myself with mocking Germans general destruction of the English language.   Don’t get me wrong, my understanding of the German language is bordering on homicidal – But that shouldn’t stop me from having fun at their expense….not on my blog anyway.

Things I have heard today:

I have been here since four years.
We need to change the enWIREment settings
We have too many furnitures here
It can be happen that ……

My favourites:

I had wisitors for the veekend
The system is going life next week
It is paining me
I can borrow to you that

Now I have to go an make sure that I never attempt to speak German in public….or?

SP..The man, the myth, the…human being?!?

This is an unusual post as it isn’t about me. It is about a close friend. He will hereafter simply be referred to as SP. To those that know him, it will be abundantly clear who SP is, to those that don’t the moniker will retain some small measure of mystique.

Now SP has a reputation with the ladies. It’s a decent reputation (if you are male) and it seems to be something of a challenge to the female of the species. I am fairly certain there will be more posts about the inimatable SP, but this first excursion into SP territory is about the human side of him.

It’s a story of intrigue, romance, mature ladies and possibly a little vomit – How the man, the legend became mortal once more. He is not a machine – he is just a man….

…quite a strange man as it turns out.

For me, it all begins on a recent Friday morning with a message via Googlemail Chat:

SP: Jesus Christ, you will never guess what I just woke up next to
Me: Not again, go on, how hot?
SP: No, you don’t understand….oh my god, just thinking about it made me throw up a little bit in my mouth
SP: Not good… I just had to pretend I was going to work, I got the suit on and everything just to get her to leave
Me: What? No way…how pissed were you?
SP: Fairly pissed….she only had 2 teeth mate..and she was at least 45

The conversation continued in this vein (as only blokes can do) for some time.

Later that night as we are all out having a few bevvies in the wonderful pub that I can now call my living room ;) the topic moves onto the subject of the previous night.

The beauty about this is that there are actual witnesses to the event. Not only that, based on description, Z recognises who the person is and proceeds to explain a number of previously missing details.

Age: Approximated at 45 by SP, actually 55+ confirmed by Z
Nationality: Guessed at Russian by SP, actually confirmed by Z as Dutch
Occupation: Guessed as retired by SP, confirmed by Z
Former occupation: Unknown by SP, confirmed by Z as prostitute
Spouse: Assumed to be none by SP. Confirmed by both AC and DS as present, chatty and none too happy when SP left with her

You can imagine the torment SP has been suffering since this happened. However, it gets worse (or better depending on your perspective).

So, SP decides to redeem himself. The other night he seems to be having some success, culminating in both SP and Z going back to the apartment of a couple of lovely ladies. Z goes into bedroom A with lady A and SP into B with B. So far so good.

At this point it started going wrong. SP decided to take a seat on a chair behind the door, where alcohol consumption, coupled with a rapid change in atmospherics (he was outside before :-p ), resulted in what can only be described as instant inebriation. Lady B rapidly exited the bedroom. SP believed that she would return shortly. However, somewhere between 15 and 20 minutes elapsed before Z appeared. Apparently lady B was a little unnerved by the erratic behaviour of SP and the 2 ladies thought it best if the guys made a retreat.

SP was at this point ejected from the scene.

2 strikes in rapid succession…it isn’t looking good for the hall of fame shoein.

To complete the fall from grace of our resident ladies man, SP was the target of a very hot air stewardess (as described by witnesses) and failed to spot a single subtle sign. Let me provide to you these subtle signs and see if you can pickup on them. I have to warn you, those of you not skilled in the art of the ladies may find this one difficult…..so I hope you are paying careful attention. I will give you the question posed by our lady of the sky, followed by the SP response and any comebacks. This information comes from our intrepid reporter TC and has been independently authenticated by our team of expensive lawyers:

We pick up the action mid-way through the conversation:

Hot Air Stewardess: Are you single?
SP: Yep
H.A.S: Good, I really don’t want to get slapped by a jealous girlfriend
SP: No danger of that happening

H.A.S: Do you live close to here?
SP: Not too far, about 10 minutes away, what about you.
H.A.S: I stay here around 5 days a week

H.A.S: Do you have a mobile phone?
SP: Yep
H.A.S: …
SP: I gotta go

Unfortunately, our intrepid TC was unable to get further comment due to the inexplicable actions of SP.

Now I ask you internets, are these the actions of a man with an almost flawless record over the past 2 years? I thought not. I am left distraught and in a quandry…being the somewhat overweight and unlikely to pull type myself, I have recently been living vicariously through this man.

What do I do now? Clearly he is suffering a major meltdown. But is he finished? Will he be able to recover from this or will he end up in the pick-up artists equivelant of non-league football?

More news as we get it….

Lee Evans tried to kill me!!

A very very short time after recovering from Meningitis, we got the opportunity of two tickets to see Lee Evans, live at the Manchester Evening News Arena.   We snapped them up obviously and the day duly arrived.   I think this was around 2 weeks after getting home from the hospital, so I was still recovering, but Lee Evans is Lee Evans and I had to go :-)

Sarah drove us there, we eventually find the place and get settled.   The seats are off to the side a bit, but close enough to the stage for that not to be a problem.

Mr Evans starts his act and the laughter begins.   So hard that my headache (pre-diagnosis) comes back, along with horrendous back pain and stomach pain.   Sarah does a double take and then starts to panic, some of the people around me try to edge away as far as the cheap plastic seating will allow.   I swear at least one person started to panic dial  an ambulance.

Fortunately the interval saves me and I am able to recover.

It’s normally at this point that I refer to the subject matter as bastards…but I can’t do that.   Lee Evans is a small bundle of sweaty comic genius and it’s not his fault I couldn’t stop laughing.

Still….he did almost kill me.   Bastard.