Simon Cowell To Gift The World Esperanto!

“Kiamn vi atingas perfektecon ĉiutagan kiel mi far, estas bone ..i havi defiojn. Pasintjare mi neniu estas antan la celo de faranta perfekta fromaĝo sur tost. mi atingita ĉi tiu celo. Mi lek miaj antaŭbrakoj ĉiutaga al rememorig min kiel mirinda mi estas. Fromaĝo Esperanto? Senĝena por mi!”

Translation;

(*“When you achieve perfection everyday as I do, it is good to have challenges. Last year I set myself the target of making perfect cheese on toast. I achieved this aim. If I can grill cheese then I can certainly teach the world to speak the same language. By Thursday tea time at the latest. Cheese to Esperanto? Not a problem for me!”)

Simon Cowell made the moon and created meat. Strangers suck his forearms.

He now wants the world to speak Esperanto.

The following is a sneak extract from the new series of Heaven’s Got Talent In Esperanto. Simon is judging God’s plate spinning act,

“Dio, la malfacileco mi havas kun via ago estas tio, ke mi ne povas vid granda mendado de telero spinners nunmomente. Certa, vi povas akiri koncerton sur Meditteranean kroz aŭ du sed sur nacia televido? mi hav miaj duboj. Mi vere kredi ke vi havas aĵon pri vi kvankam Dio. Mi havas okulon por ĉi tiuj aferoj! Mia konsilo al vi estas tio, ke mi vid vin pli kiel giganta koko prefere ol telero spinner. Don ĝi iuj penso, reven pli malfrue en la montr kaj RAV ni!”

Dio respond, “Vi estas tre saĝa Sro Cowell,” (Cowell kapjesoj en mecenateco) “Sed eĉ vi ne povus ĉefinstiginton Novajn Infanojn Sur la Bloka reveno, ni agnosku, ke, eĉ mi ne povus estas farita tio. Tamen, mi estos revenigi kiel koko! Susan Boyle estas seksalloga! seksalloga!”

Cowell “dir-is, ke mi estas ĝoj vi hav vid sento Dio.”

Translation;

Cowell, “God, the difficulty I have with your act is that I can’t see a great demand for plate spinners at the moment. Sure, you may get a gig on a Mediterranean cruise or two but national television? I have my doubts. I genuinely believe that you have something about you though God. I have an eye for these things. My advice to you is that I see you more as a giant chicken rather than a plate spinner. Give it some thought, come back later in the show and WOW us!”

God; “You are so wise Mr Cowell,” (Cowell nods in munificence) “But even you could not mastermind New Kids On The Block’s comeback, let’s face it, even I could not have done that. However, I shall return as a chicken! Susan Boyle is sexy!sexy!”

Cowell; “I am glad you have seen sense God.”

Saluton!

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I Ate The Roof So My Mum Sold Me To The Milkman! Help Aunty Bill!

Here To Help – Here To Care

The Milk Of Human Kindness

Aunty Bill,

My mum sold me to the milkman in order to buy a shoe horn the other week.

Do you think she is trying to tell me something? I weigh 87 stone and recently ate our roof by mistake. It made a healthy alternative to cheese in a sandwich.

Yvonne, Winchester

Aunty Bill Replies;

Dear Yvonne

The shoehorn is merely a metaphor for shoe horning you out of the door and out of her life (although at 87 stone she’s got a job on her hands and will need a bigger horn or lots of smaller ones).

At least she sold you to a milkman.

Milkmen (and women) have over the years demonstrated a deep affection for fat people. Before the days of the milkfloat, they could be seen across Britain pulling the wagon while milkmen jumped on and off delivering the nation’s favourite drink.

Hopefully he will put you to work and you’ll see the pounds fall away and be in a position to replace the roof over you dear old mum’s head which you so thoughtlessly ate.

Chink! Chink!

AB

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I am in love with my neighbour’s pond – How should I woo it Aunty Bill?

Here To Help – Here To Care

Pond Love

Help Aunty Bill!

I am in love with my neighbour’s goldfish pond. It is on two levels and has a nice water feature in the centre (a fountain of Elvis doing the splits). I asked my neighbour if I could take the pond out for a fish supper. He slammed the door in my face and last night firebombed my shed.

How can I get him to see that I really love his pond?

Dai, Rhonnda

Aunty Bill Replies;

Hi Dai,

Just when you think everything’s been covered, up you pop!

Water Feature love isn’t as unusual as you might think. A cousin of mine once had a torrid affair with a friend’s garden sprinkler. Only at night though. There was a hose pipe ban at the time,

I’m not surprised you’ve fallen for your neighbour’s water feature.

Demonstrate your love for this pond by embarking on an extensive cleaning, fish feeding and water filtration procedures. A few weeks of intensive pond maintenance should show that your intentions are honourable.

If this fails, then seek revenge for your shed. You will need the following :

A 12″ gauge shot gun

1 gallon of petrol

1 bucket of bleach

Some gloves

I leave the rest to you – you know what you have to do.

TTFN

Aunty Bill

 

 

 

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Bombing Iraq – I Thought We Had Won! – By Bob On The Pot

I had the morning off waiting for Curry’s to deliver the new flat screen TV. It’s got surround sound, radar, sonar and a missile launching system. Naturally they didn’t turn up.

The curly Kale diet was working its magic and I was on the pot reading The Sun.

The Yanks are going to start bombing Iraq again because although we “won” and “left a vibrant, pluralistic, democratic state” behind, it has all gone a bit tits up and some Angry Lads who think they are indestructible want to set up a Caliphate (whatever that is – thought it was a camping stove) – and suppress everything that lives there – even the wind if it blows too hastily.

Now a load of Ancient Christians are stuck up an Iraqi mountain (like Moses when he nipped up one to get a few do’s and dont’s – the one about not killing is always good for a laugh) – the Angry Lads want to kill them because their version of the same God is different – largely in choice of headwear it seems to me.

Then there’s the Israeli’s – same God – different head-gear again – slaughtering the innocents and creating more Angry Lads in the process.

Jesus was up a mountain – told us to be good – talk about stating the obvious! Then he was slaughtered – on a mountain.

Fuck it – going down the Stretched Testicle for a few pints.

At least me bowels are moving with aplomb.

But what is it with religion and mountains?

Go tell it my son!

I blame Buddhists. Bastards to a man.

Bob

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Noah – It Rained Sausages For 40 Days And For 40 Nights! – Sausage Request # 62

This week’s request comes from the highly talented writer Amy Reese, whose stories you can FIND HERE

Recently released as a Blockbuster epic featuring Russell Crowe, Emma Watson, Ray Winstone and Jennifer Connolly, the timeless tale of Noah is a warning to us all of something or other.

Biblical Scholars have posited the theory that the wrath of God on Man for something or other wasn’t manifested in a deluge of rain but actually a plague of sausages!  As Genesis 3:16 sayeth “And lo the Almighty’s anger was assuaged only by wreaking upon the sinful and idolatrous a great deluge of tasty if salty, meat based products with minimum guaranteed meat content. Forsayeth.”

Would the animals still have gone in 2×2? Pity the Pig……..

 

 

IS THERE ANYTHING OR ANYONE YOU WOULD LIKE A SAUSAGE ADDED TO? LET US KNOW!

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Gibbons Are Great! They Can Play The Banjo For Starters!

Hello

About a year ago we cause quite a stir with this post about Gibbons, Banjos and the Diary of lost Missionary Obadiah Melordy, who was the first honky to witness Gibbons plucking banjos in their natural habitat.

Here once again are those revelatory images and the extract from Obadiah’s Diary

It was the American Baptist Missionary Obadiah Melordy in his zeal to convert the peoples of the Bangpang peninsula to all things Godly who discovered their talent.

His diary (published posthumously in 1907) recounts the extraordinary events;

March 23rd 1887

“There is still no sign of my banjo, taken two days hence from outside the tent whilst Mrs Melordy and I succumbed to the steamy surroundings in a rigorous bought of intercourse both sexual and social. My lovely wife had sought to reassure me that my instrument (which in an act of wanton sentimentality I had named Jefferson) would be returned with an immediacy that would allow us to draw a veil over this unfortunate act of larceny and Godlessness amongst the peoples of the peninsula.

Up to this point the natives had shown a typically witless savage charm when faced with superior Godly white folk. At approximately noon today however, they appeared restless and in a state of high dudgeon. Mrs Melordy attaching her seventh undergarment, advised me to draw back the flaps of the tent.

And lo! A sound, the like of which neither I nor my wife would ever have considered and Scripture had never prepared us for, swam around us. Banjos being played like a whispered lullaby.

“Mr Melordy! Jefferson is being strummed!” my wife declared, “I believe I can hear another. Now another! Now a fourth! Look up yonder in the lee of the great tree!”

My dutiful wife, so long a bastion of petticoated virtue fainted. I cast my gaze toward the direction of the sound expecting to see natives playing some simple, godless tune upon Jefferson.

Instead I saw a troop of Western Hoolock Gibbons, idly swinging in the trees strumming banjos, each with a practiced ease that took me back to the front porch of my Father’s stead in Kansas.

Within the notation I could hear the harmonies of a favourite Christmas Carol “Away in a Manger” sung by our small, but spiritually engaged community only three months previous to celebrate Our Lord’s birth. Truly a miracle.”

March 24th 1887

“It would appear from Nincompoop, our one eyed guide and valet that a startling event has unfolded. I had asked him to retrieve Jefferson from the light fingered Gibbons and in his innocent savage way he had set off at dawn eager to please me (They are such a happy people when guided by God’s word!)

He returned only to bid Mrs Melordy and I to follow him. With trepidation we followed. Only the sound of my beloved’s petticoats rustling under my tunic could be heard. Mrs Melordy fainted due to the Christian application of a whalebone corset.

We left a guide with her and moved on.

Nincompoop and I crept forward. Closer to the troop. We were greeted by a sight of such perspicacity and dexterity that I too nearly swooned. For in a clearing sat the large troop of Gibbons with the adults strumming Banjos.

A large male was threading a recently made instrument with steel wire, presumably stolen from our provisions. Around him were strewn several roughly made tools.

We watched. Amazed. Nincompoop produced an ancient revolver (a trophy from the earlier Wesleyite missionary St John Tabard of Sevenoaks, England, whose end has never been fully explained) and took a bawdy aim at the large male. I placed a hand on his shoulder and intimated that we back away and leave the troop to strum in peace.

March 25th 1887

I am pleased to say Mrs Melordy has fully recovered from her fainting fit and we had just completed another rigorous bought of intercourse, both sexual and social, when the Gibbons’ Banjos struck up once more.

This time they played a Waltz! Seized, I am ashamed to say by the Godless desire to dance, Mrs Melordy and I reeled for several minutes as we used to in our courting days before sadly she succumbed to the heat and fainted once more.

I am no longer convinced about the efficacy of Whalebone corsets and have vowed not to wear women’s under garments in the tropics.

As I awaited her revival I studied scripture. There was nothing I could find that  explain how Gibbons, low savage beasts as they are, could construct and play Banjo’s in such a delightful manner. I am perplexed.”

So are we Mr Melordy, so are we!

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Pointless Ginger Wig Applications # 54 – A Sperm

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Are Numbers The Work Of The Devil? – By Bob On The Pot

Hello,

I was round Aunt Bab’s this morning, installing a chairlift. I had seized it from a Paralympic hero who was in arrears because of the Bedroom Tax.  You don’t expect paraplegic’s to know such colourful language.

Aunt Bab was grateful for the chairlift. She suffers with Bone Idle syndrome.

I had the inaugural journey, as I needed the smallest room. Got stuck on the landing and had to walk the rest of the way. Worn out by the third step.

I had a go at that Sudokio in the paper whilst on the pot. All Those Numbers! In Boxes. Up. Down. Across. Numbers are bastards. Sarcastic too. I swatted a fly who was banging its head against the frosted window pane. Bit like me with the Sodokioto.

I walked down the stairs and chewed Aunt Babs sandwich for her.

The lads in the Dubious Pilchard were impressed when I told them this, especially as normally I don’t like Tuna and Mayonnaise.

Laters and be lucky.

Bob

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When Bob’s On The Pot He Likes to Read A Lot (It’s A Man Thing!)

Hello,

I hope you are all well and your evacuations continue to be as sound as mine. I have been quiet of late. As you can imagine, losing the Papacy (which you can read about here) took a lot out of me, so I have been focussing on the new religion I founded. Potestantism.

The sacred texts of Potestantism, “The Toilet Scrolls” has the opening lines;

“And verily unto Ye, Man saw the Pot and he saw that it was good. And he lay down his beasts, smote his smiters, lifted the lid  and sat on the Pot. He became one with The Pot as The Pot became one with him. Together in Potted glory. And from that day forth the Pot was to be honoured. Each and everyday. At half eight, just after breakfast, preferably on the Company’s time.”

I contemplated my contemplativeness in my new local, The Wobbly Jowel with my mates, No Thumb Pete and Larry The Laminator. Great lads if prone to acts of cocaine fuelled mindless violence.  As I told the Constable, I didn’t witness the beating being handed out to the young lad as I was enjoying the WJ’s new WC. Nice to see carpet making a comeback in the smallest room.

My lovely wife Shirley won’t let No Thumb Pete in the house after she caught him stealing our roof and her mum last Easter. But not in that order I hasten to add.

But I know deep down she loves them both. Especially after Larry “Laminated” the hairdresser’s face after Shirl’s perm went a bit wonky a few years ago. Well, would you want a perm that made your head look like a toad stool? (the fungal variety and not the waste product of an amphibian).

So I have me first followers! Not your archetypal men of religion, but dead handy when it kicks off with the Salvation Army.  Which it will. Their tambourines are tipped with mercury. Nasty bastards.

Laters.

Bob

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The Pope Resigns – Good Pie Your Holiness!

Breaking News…..His Holiness Pope Crusty-Pieus XVII, has announced he is to retire from active Popedom on February 28th. We wish him well. Here is the photograph he sent us a couple of years ago. We think the pie suits him.

The Savoury Saviour

British PM, David Cameron said, “I will always treasure this signed Pasty from Pope Crusty-Pieus as a work of deep filled, hand finished Godliness.”

Cameron With The Papal Pasty

We understand that Tony Blair is considering putting his name forward to be the next Pontiff.  He said, “I, Tony Archangel Gabriel Blair, touched by insanity and a need of sausage meat, hereby do declare my fealty to popping in as Pope from time to time, as long as daily fee can be agreed in advance. Cash only. Amen.”

The Sausage Halo!

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