Wednesday, 25 May 2011

Baby Names: Click 'Like'.

There was a story in the news the other day about a couple who decided to name their baby 'Like'.
This reminded me of a blog I wrote on my now defunct myspace blog a while ago, so here it is again. 

Baby Names.
Current mood: grateful
Category: Life
 
I won't be having any children, but if I did, here's who they'd be, and, more importantly, what they'd be called: 

Inertia: Female. She is a lazy flaky arse who takes after her mother although she claims that she would like a career in industry. She suffers from low blood pressure, bedsores, greasy hair, dandruff, constipation, bad breath and the inability to make decisions. Likes anything pink and novelty slippers.  

Kiosk: Male. His Dad is a Polish immigrant who runs the popcorn and sweets franchise in the local cinema. We got friendly after he gave me a discount on a jumbo packet of minstrels and a can of coke. Kiosk likes football and gherkins.

Thingy: Gender irrelevant. Thingy is an average, unremarkable child who makes friends easily and is always being called on to lend utensils to his / her classmates. Thingy is a twin. S/he collects pencil sharpeners and rubbers; s/he's particularly fond of the fragrant ones that dangerously resemble real sweets. S/he has catalogued them all in a notebook, ranking them from most to least favourite, and freshens them up with bottles of old scent that she buys from charity shops.

Youthere: Gender irrelevant. Youthere is Thingy's twin. They sit together in class. They are biologically identical but they are easy to tell apart: Thingy is clean and has a well stocked pencil case full of classroom utensils whereas Youthere has a permanent snot bubble, breathes through his / her mouth and smells of wee, biscuits and synthetic jam.

Moraine: Female. Moraine works on a building site and has previously been a landscape gardener. She is a hypochondriac who is convinced that she is going to die of cancer. She wants to live in Scotland. She has a bubble perm that makes her look like a 1970s footballer. Favourite foods: quiche and malt loaf.

Fauna: Female. Fauna lives in Ireland with her paternal grandmother. She likes Irish dancing, treacle toffee and Eurovision. She achieved local notoriety when she claimed to have seen the image of the Virgin Mary in a dollop of cat sick although her grandmother attributed it to a fur ball.

Finial: Male. Lives with Fauna in Ireland with their paternal grandmother. Models himself on Laurence Llewellyn Bowen. Owns his own sewing machine but likes to get a man in to jigsaw the MDF. Works part time in the local Chinese restaurant sculpting roses out of raw carrots, radishes and turnips.

Salivary-Amylase: Female. Fancies herself as that bird from 'Chocolat'. Dribbles a lot. 

John Way Hey: Male. John, in adulthood, is a priapic party animal. His father is not registered on his birth certificate so John uses his mother's surname. He's a bit thick, but everybody likes him. He's especially popular with older women. He's studying 'sports science' at college. Favourite food: baked beans straight from the tin.

Helix: Male. Helix is the larger of two conjoined twins who are joined at the hair. 

Double Helix: Male. Brother of larger conjoined twin Helix. 

Stella Art Wah: Female. Stella was conceived on a building site, but is a bit of a social climber. She wears sunglasses indoors with a black beret and a white string vest. She's had her nipples pierced and frequents art galleries whilst sucking a pencil. 

Androgen: Male. Androgen is a fantasist who is addicted to bodybuilding, plastic surgery and porn. Currently living in Hollywood, working as a stripper. He once got to stand in the background of an edition of 'Baywatch'.

Tuatara: Female. A skinny girl who suffers from psoriasis, bulging eyes and a long thin tongue. Doesn't like the cold. 

Pub: Male. Pub is short and stocky. He enjoys running round the playground at school frightening the girls. He likes playing on his own but will do anything for a dare. He rarely plays with the other boys, but will occasionally stand in as a goal post if they're short of jumpers. Despite being only eleven, he has self-tattooed the words 'LUVE' and 'HATS' upside-down on his knuckles. He recently got sent to the Headmaster's office for eating tadpoles. His dad is missing. 

Andfinally: The last one. Wants to be a ringmaster. Very small. Male I think.

Sunday, 8 May 2011

Friday, 6 May 2011

Infinity And Beyond!

This is a re-post of a blog that I posted on my myspace blog some time ago. I'm posting here because I refer to it in a blog that I'm going to re-post on the Tingle In The Netherlands blog:

I'm going to put a link to this blog in that blog so anyone reading this can just get sucked into the blogosphere until someone finds their skeleton slumped over a keyboard after they have clicked their last and croaked. Confused? Try living in my head. Aaaannnyway, here's the blog. 

Infinity And Beyond!

I've been wondering whether I've left it too late to become an astronaut. They're quite rock and roll aren't they astronauts? Well, to be precise, they rock, they roll and they float about in zero gravity whilst listening to all kinds of music; they're hard drinking, risk takers and probably quite mad.

Why, it was only the other day that NASA decided to implement a rule banning in-flight drunkenness and more recently cocaine was discovered in the space shuttle's hangar, allegedly .

But back to drunkeness...Apparently, it was quite common for the astronauts to over do the Dutch courage to such an extent that they'd be blasted before blast off, and no one thought anything strange about this.

Then there was that woman astronaut who drove halfway across the USA, whilst wearing a nappy, in order to shoot her lover's girlfriend. 
Basically, the woman was a 'bunny boiler' (though she probably wouldn't know how to boil a bunny as they only eat freeze-dried strawberries and ice-cream in space). The media was mostly preoccupied with the fact that she chose to wear a nappy in order to save on journey time.

I think she'd become institutionalised by NASA and simply assumed that all long journeys require major sanitary padding. I don't know why she went to such trouble; I usually pop in a Tenalady and dose myself up on Imodium whenever I'm en route to shoot up a love rival, mind you, National Express coaches do make regular stops for toilet breaks, so there's not usually the need.

So, there you are then: I think that being an astronaut would be quite exciting and I haven't even mentioned the glory of the universe, the beauty of the stars, the miracle of space travel and of course Buzz Aldrin's face lift. Face: the final frontier. Yes, Buzz Aldrin's had a face-lift.
Well, I suppose he's a celebrity and of course there's the self esteem issues that resulted from his not being the first man to set foot on the moon.

But, have I left it too late to realise my own dreams of space travel? I'm a bit old and fat, BUT one thing in my favour is the fact that I'm a woman. Ages ago I read an article in the Sunday papers* (so it must be true) that revealed the startling fact that when the first batch of potential astronauts was being trained, the women came out top in all the tests and were deemed to be most suitable for space travel.

Their first advantage was the fact that on average, they were smaller than the men, but they fared better on all the other tests for stamina and whatever else you need to be a good astronaut. This gave NASA a dilemma. The whole space race was all about machismo, especially given that the Russians were trying to get there first. From a PR point of view, sending a crew of women up on the first space voyages looked wrong. Also, there was the risk of public outcry had everything gone wrong. If the women had failed to return, their suitability would have been called into question and also NASA would have looked bad for putting a load of weak and feeble women in harm's way. So, it was decided to send the blokes because they looked the part. Epic voyages of discovery are always made by blokes aren't they?
 
It's obvious that women make better astronauts though isn't it? Everything floats about in space so you constantly have to tidy up. Also, I skim-read half of another article in one of the Sunday papers* and it revealed that the dust in space is intelligent. (Further evidence that dust is intelligent comes from the writing of the words 'clean me' that can always be seen in the dust on the back of white vans). Well, what the article actually said was that scientists have shown that dust 'comes to life' in space and forms some kind of helix structure similar to DNA. It was speculated that this showed how life originated out of the dust in space. So, as we all know, men can't even see dust, so what use will they be in space that could be full of dust that has the potential to evolve into new (potentially deadly!) life. Send the women up there with a can of Pledge and some dusters, that's what I say. Funnily enough, I was thinking about this as I was having a cleaning frenzy the other day, and guess what? My dust contains glitter.

Finally, as evidence of my suitability for space travel, I'd like to add the following poem, which should prove that I would be quite handy if any of the heat resistant tiles fall off the space shuttle whilst I'm at the space station.

Grouting

There is no doubting
The quality of that there grouting
Without it the tiles would not be flouting
The law of gravity
(which is more than can be said for the glue that they use on the space shuttle)

*There's no bibliography, but if you click on the highlighted text you should find a host of badly researched articles and blogs that support my wild and outrageous claims. Hope this helps! HTxx