Laugh? I nearly read Dostoevsky.

I had an email today (I sure know how to grab your attention with a dynamic opening statement, don’t I?), which reported that the sender was “LOL”. I get nearly as many of these as I see people “Lolling” when they see me in the street. Amusing as I undoubtedly am, I am suspicious of the literal veracity of the statement. It is probably nearer the truth that in this case and many others, the sender had just been mildly amused by something that I had written, and wanted to convey the information that they had at least noted the attempt at humour, if not actually found it funny.

“Lol” aside from being ubiquitous and therefore annoying, is hardly the best description of the activity, in particular, “out loud” seems a tad redundant. I cannot recall laughing in any other way. Maybe if Margaret Thatcher were to be publicly beheaded, I would laugh so much that my vocal chords would cease functioning, but that is only speculation. There seem to be two other variants of abbreviations to convey finding amusement – roffling and lmaoing. I have, in the past, roffled, albeit on not many occasions. I now, on medical advice, try to avoid it, indeed, very little gets me out of my chair. I find it a very comfortable place to loll and lol (geddit?). I have never lmaoed, and do not believe that this has ever been done by anyone else. I am not sure whether lmaoing is higher on the scale of hilarity than roffling. I suspect that the amusement induced by lmaoing would be very short-lived, and quickly transmute into an expression of incredulity and distress.

I think that we need new expressions to describe degrees of amusement. Perhaps some of you would like to come up with suitable abbreviations to replace lolling and lmaoing, leaving roffling to be pretty much the ultimate accolade, short of dropping dead of laughter, or excreting all of your internal organs in merriment.

Can you suggest shorthand for the following:

• “I read your email and detect that you were attempting to be humorous. While not finding anything note-worthily funny, I acknowledge that you did your best, and will not, on this occasion, report you to the laughter police for underachievement”.
• (This one is really for use when meeting someone in the world outside of the internet). “I am making a noise, which I would be embarrassed to hear if it were played back to me, that may cause you to think that I found your comment to be funny, but is actually an attempt to discourage you from further communication because I find you crass and boring, please go away.”
• “Yes, that was funny and caused me to smile. It did not cause me to “l”, or “lol”, but please do not be discouraged by this.”
• “I am laughing, but at you, not with you.”
• “That was so funny that I have excreted all of my internal organs. Do you have a bag that I can use to keep them in, please?”

He's back! He's back! It's the same one!

Today marks a special day in the UK blogging calendar - the annual posting by Watski. One day each year, the stars align, electricity is restored to Nottinghamshire, flowers bloom, young maidens strip off their clothes and skip happily through the streets of Sutton-in-Ashfield, in Mansfield houses are decked with bunting spelling out the traditional message of "Sod off you southern poofs" and Watski dusts off the paper tape punch and composes a message to be fed into the Normantebbit 8700 supercomputer in his wardrobe which then updates the internet with all the latest news from Mansfield, usually bugger all.

Go over there and greet him, drape yourselves round his muscular body and festoon him with kisses (no tongues) and with joy in your heart, tell him "keep your fucking blog up to date, you idle twat".

Dearly departed

Just a quick note to report that I have been catching up with my television viewing, and have only just seen the programme where Trevor McDonald said he did not view Bernard Manning as a racist, just a "fat white bastard".
Yes, it was uncaring and racist, but on the other hand bollock numbingly funny.
I have disabled comments on this thread because I don't want to get into arguments.
love and peace.

Muntjacs

What a strange few days it has been. I was mindful of the advice to be wary of those that one had only met on the internet, but am delighted to report that the 3 fellow bloggers I have met this week lived up to all of my expectations and were exactly as I had imagined them.

Has it really been a week? It seems like only a couple of days ago that I was with Tom in his Torquay penthouse. We didn’t get to spend much time chatting, as he was negotiating deals to expand his mining interests in Ecuador, and to reunite the Joe Loss Band for a world tour – you will be sad to note that he failed to do this in time for Glastonbury. I found the high powered business environment a little speedy for my taste – always some lackey or another dashing in with questions or documents to sign, but Tom, despite the frenetic pace at which he lives his life remains cool, without a crease out of place, and always wearing the trademark Armani gold tie.

Mark’s lifestyle is equally bewildering to me – we called in during one of his exotic dance routines at the “Pole to Pole” nightspot in Cambridge. I have to say that he is exceptionally supple for an octogenarian, and he gets away with those costumes in a way strangely reminiscent of Peter Stringfellow. We made our excuses and left before the finale – I don’t mind what people do, but don’t always want to watch it.

Then this afternoon Dave fell over my threshold, kicking a passing cat, pausing to vomit on the godetias, and complementing one of my neighbours on “her rack”. The street was then entertained by his pointing out a young lady who was, apparently, only a roadbuilder’s daughter, but she liked her asphalt. I was not aware that it was possible to obtain alcoholic beverages in North East Hampshire of a Sunday, but Dave obviously has a nose for that sort of thing. This is not a personal comment – his gigantic crimson proboscis is due, he assured me, although in a slurred manner, to hereditary factors.

Glastonbury? I have pissed better.

Scurra productions is proud to launch the exciting supergroup "The Chair". Described as a fusion of rock and blues, and combining the best of the Grateful Dead, Zappa, Janis Joplin and Des O'Connor, a UK tour will be announced shortly.

Iraq and other warzones

It would be the height of ingratitude to turn upon my hosts for last weekend and in any way criticise them on this public forum, so please understand that the following is written with my usual care and compassion.

Many of you have been concerned about the absence of dear Tom from the blogging community these few weeks. I am happy to report that following my visit he is on the mend and may appear here again one day. I cannot divulge the methods and techniques that I used upon him, but suffice it to say that when I left, I think I detected the return of the smile to his wizened face, and we can all pray that he will soon be able to return to sophisticated society.

The highlight, at least from Tom’s point of view, of my visit to Dartmoor, was the visit to "the chair". I will return to that shortly, but for those folk from foreign climes who read this stuff, if you substitute the word “Alabama” for “Devon” or “Dartmoor”, you may get some sense of how those parts differ from the rest of the country.

It is very nice that the people of the moors are able to show their progress into the modern world in such quaint ways. Many of us would feel that we were vacationing on Craggy Island should we be offered a trip to “the chair”, but I recognise the importance of fostering positive self image in those less fortunate. I did not even mention that I have several chairs in my house, and some of them have been there for quite a long time. I am not one given to promoting my own achievements.

I can confirm that someone in their attempt to improve upon what God has created has put a chair in a field in Dartmoor. I refer you to the title of this journal.

*******

Many of you will be familiar with the kind of spam illustrated below:

Good day to you,
I am Mrs. Silifat Al-Fayadh , wife of Late Sheikh Dhari Ali Al-Fayadh (Prominent Member, Iraqi House of Assembly ).
I have a business obsure for you.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Silifat Al-Fayadh

I, however, am tempted to reply. The lady should be told about the cruel trick her parents played upon her. She must have avoided the playground and probably found no solace until her marriage. Then her husband dies. I am not sure what obsure means. I hope she does not mean obese.

Tripping with Colours

"You can put your hand down, you great useless ponce, I told you last year that there is no part of the ceremony called 'Grabbing the royal tit'."

William is fearful for his eyesight. Either he will find his retina impaled on the barbed hat, or he might accidently get a glimpse of stepmother.

The shadows cast by the household cavalry endorse their awesome reputation, and explain the reasons for the rejection of so many applications.

Inspector Knacker and his men are as vigilant as ever. "Have any of you fuckers seen a tall geezer in a silly hat?"

"I'll give you a legacy, you dull twat. This is the third time this year you have insisted that it was fancy dress and left me looking like a tit. I just hope you didn't expect to get laid any time soon. "

Provide your own fart caption here.

Standing up in court

Back at home briefly on my world tour of deserving causes, I have to report on my sadness on the ending of the recent indecent exposure trial in London.
Every day a double entendre.
For example, on Monday they reported that they "hoped to wrap it up tomorrow". This is the BBC, mostly Radio 5. I hope they do all of this deliberately. At least the defendant, who was found not guilty did not have the bad grace to say that "it had been hanging over my head".
Another victory for justice. I cannot understand these laws. What kind of a democracy are we living in when a chap can't balance an aubergine on the end of his knob on the Hammersmith and City Line without someone taking offence?

Thank you for your continued support here at these times of sparse output. I will be back refreshed and verbose in due course.

A few things to gladden your heart.

Firstly, my old pal Ken Livingstone, Mayor of London, does not take kindly to people who do not pay their taxes, in this case a gentleman who thinks that he is exempt from the traffic congestion charge in London. According to the Grauniad, Ken has demonstrated his CSE grade 4 diplomacy by describing the American ambassador to the court of St James’s thus:
"What is sickening in this world is people who are venal little crooks like Tuttle, who gets treated with respect just because George Bush has rewarded him with an ambassadorship as a big kickback for contributions to his campaign."
I would not necessarily agree with this. I have difficulty with the word “little”.

Whole Foods Market has opened the first UK branch. You can read about it here. It is not without its critics, but is pretty high up on my list of acceptable faces of capitalism. I’ve been to the Austin branch, and I liked it. We should all pray that they overtake Tesco and Sainsburys as the leading supermarket within 5 years, and give us a sensible alternative to Hollocks and Bollocks as a place to buy good stuff.

And finally, here is the next prime minister.Isn’t he lovely. Proof, were it needed, that in a true democracy anyone can succeed. I do not wish to be accused of judging people by their appearance. It may be that there are pictures of me out there that do not present me as the charismatic Adonis with which you all associate me. And it may be true that unlike our colonial transatlantic cousins we do not go to the greatest lengths to find the biggest bloody idiot to be our leader, we do, at least, make some effort.