Pictures Of Jap Girls In Synthesis
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Clearly the time has come for us to look again at those pictures of Jap girls in synthesis. I have made mention of them several times over the years. Zane, zane, zane, ouvrez le chien.
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Cocking A Snook
Cocking a snook is an age-old custom in Pointy Town, harking back to the days of Bruno La Poubelle, or even earlier. It is unrelated to the snook-cocking practised elsewhere in the world. That is not the same thing at … Continue reading
Mantelpiece
A letter plops onto the mat from Tord Grip. I wondered if this was the same Tord Grip who is something of a luminary in the world of foopball coaching, but apparently it is a different Tord Grip altogether. Anyway, … Continue reading
Madge Strudwick
Madge Strudwick, Madge Strudwick, where goest thou? I’m going to the barn for to milk me a cow. Madge Strudwick, Madge Strudwick, what will you do then? I’ll read the hot entrails of a fresh-slaughtered hen. After studying this verse … Continue reading
The Rubbish Dump
Note well the co-ordinates of the rubbish dump. Lit lantern, hand-held, visibility Stygian. Pebbles underfoot. Buck collar snug at the neck. Distant incomprehensible keening. The mighty pyramids of Ancient Egypt. Satyrs cavort in the forest. A galumphing peasant with a … Continue reading
Leper Messiah
There is a fictional character named, somewhat foolishly, “Ziggy Stardust”, the creation of a one-time student of mime named David Bowie. Among the attributes of Mr Stardust, we are told that he is “like a leper messiah”. I wondered if … Continue reading
On And On And On
One of the most unlikely stars of the golden age of the variety theatre was the monologuist Zoltan Jiffy. His monologues, delivered in a booming, robotic monotone, were notorious for going on and on and on and on and on … Continue reading
On First Encounters
I remember the first time I saw the Beatles on television. It was a studio performance of “We Can Work It Out”, which the Wikipedia tells me was filmed on 23 November 1965, so presumably I saw it a few … Continue reading
Writer-In-Residence
The people of Pointy Town were once asked, in a referendum, if they wanted William S Burroughs as their writer-in-residence. Sensibly, they rejected him, arguing en masse that he was a gun-toting drug-addled nincompoop who took himself far too seriously … Continue reading