Vox Populi, Vox Dei
E-Fun for the Attention Starved, the Small Minded and the Socially Inept
Chummy Popples is cool! It’s like you’re a character in a soap, and not a boring, paranoid loser any more. It’s hyper-real. The white noise needn’t stop with phone calls, emails and text messaging. It’s a sandbox. [...]
Willo is leaving for Berlin soon, and Peter and I bought him a travelling companion: an 80 year old “Reliable Doll” ventriloquist’s dummy from Canada. The night before he was presented to his new owner, I found myself holding him tenderly, grasping his tiny wooden paw and instructing him to take good care of [...]
When I worked at a geriatric hospital I heard about a senile out-patient who tried to cook frozen food on his electric bar fire. How his face must have glowed orange like a setting sun in the darkened flat, as he knelt on arthritic knees to reverentially proffer a single stiffened string bean to [...]
It pays to increase your word power. But you must prune the deadwood before the shrub of your vocabulary can grow.
“It goes without saying that…”: Let your flimsy generalisations rot in paralepsis.
“It’s what I like to call…”: Don’t pollute my impressionable mind with your radical world view.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.
So spake Blake in his Marriage of Heaven and Hell. The Marriage of Heaven and Earth spawned Kronos, deity of Time. Kronos devoured his sons so that they could not dethrone him. Try it. Keep your friends close, your animus closer. [...]
The back of a number 31 bus, 5.30 pm on a Tuesday evening. ROSY is sitting on the back corner seat of the bus, with her bag on the adjoining seat, doing a crossword. In the opposite rear corner is a PRETTY GIRL in a camel coat, with a rather sharp face. [...]
Found this. Old Spoilt It Island fanzine excerpt.
Here are some early attempts at LOTP trumps: Pisser on the Turd and Rosy Rockets.
I just resurrected the second half of the Monkey Chews entry. I had hidden it partly because I thought it was rubish and partly because I couldn’t decide how to report the fracas with the required sensitivity.
Niki sits cross-legged like a Turk, on the dead-end landing at the top of the short flight of stairs outside Mrs Crosby’s room. He is surrounded by a massacre of plump, thick-lashed baby dolls lolling on the mince coloured carpet in various states of undress.
“What next?” I ask him.
“I lurrve to lick dawg poo,” [...]
DID YOU KNOW?? Will Self’s fave cold brunch is smack-topped jacket potatoes (served cold; like revenge, or a lolly). He sold the rights to this phrase to his twin brother Chilly Gonzalez, who used it in a rap composed especially for the Royal Variety show.