Sometimes when you register a domain name the fact that the letters are all together can lead some unintentional, and humourous words. For example, domains like The Pen Is Mightier can become The Penis Mightier: thepenismightier.com.
Gas Heating.co.uk was something the owners really should have thought about, as GashEating.co.uk is the way it looks.
More domains like this can be found here.
I pity the fool that doesn’t enjoy this.
It was suggested by some work colleagues that I should record my phone conversations and offer them as downloads here. You see, they have to listen to me during lunch arguing with Direct Line, Royal Sun Alliance, the Inland Revenue, the CSA and loads of other morons on a daily basis, and my phone calls provide much amusement for them.
Well, having a HP Smartphone I thought I might as well do it, so I’ve just downloaded the software from here and will be recording my phonecalls over the coming weeks, then offering them here as podcasts. You lucky, lucky people!
Just heard that Paris Hilton has been banged up again after being released from prison. Thank shite for that, if that bitch can get away with it what hope the rest of us?
I do think that if that Nicole Ritchie bird goes down as well they may as well just film another series of the Simple Life in the jail. I had to review the first season on DVD, and after watching that awful bollocks they both deserve to go down.
Does going to a beer festival on a Thursday night seem like a good idea to you? No, me neither. Still we went. After much deliberation on who was going to drive we agreed the best option was to take a taxi and work out how we’d get home afterwards. Seemed to make sense.
The beer festival itself was just what you’d expect. Lots of fat, old bearded men drinking stout while talking about ‘ale’. Hardly any women in sight, and those that were there were… well, you know.
Myself and Paulie consulted our catalogues to decide which of the finest beverages we were going to sample, and by that I mean which had the highest APVs. Sadly the Skullsplitter wasn’t in today, and I thought the beer from the Cwmbran brewary was best avoided. So after sampling brews such as the Firebox and the Old Tom we were well on our way to becoming ‘happy’. You can see from the photos how the ale effected our ability to speak, see and hear.
It shouldn’t have effected our common sense though (he says stupidly) as for some reason we decided to WALK home from Stockport to Manchester. This was over 5 miles, at 2 in the morning. What the sodding hell were we thinking?
I didn’t get to bed ’til about 4:00am, and had to get up for work at 7!
Next year I’m doing what one of the fine patrons we met did this week, and taking the week off. Now that’s dedication to your ale.
I just heard on the news that an 11 year old boy from Alabama has shot dead the world’s biggest wild boar.
I’m staggered. We have the world’s biggest something and some yank kid shoots it, then gets applauded for it! How can killing something make this kid famous? Surely he should be arrested and publicly ostracised for shooting a living creature, not least of which the world’s biggest of anything?
This is the American way though isn’t it? See something unique, marvel at it and then shoot it dead.
Now if the world’s biggest wild boar had eaten an 11 year old boy from Alabama I’d laugh, maybe next time.
So last Thursday I took a day off work, not to relax, or to organise personal affairs or to simply enjoy life, no. I took a day off work to participate in a drinking contest in Leeds University; The Ultimate Banjo Warrior no less.
Rules were simple, 25 minutes to drink each drink in a pre-determined order. 4 ‘warriors’ had special cards that could be played once during the game, giving every player 2 minutes to finish their drink. Failure to finish in the time limit led to star jumps, and the inevitable act of throwing up led to a Sambuka shot forfeit.
Naturally with such a contest I fancied my chances, but my lack of preparation became my undoing. Firstly I arrived 25 minutes late, so was forced to tackle the first two drinks in the time everyone else had for one. Luckily the first two were both lagers, San Miguel and Staropramen. These were dispatched with comparative ease, though left me with no time to line my stomach. In fact, I hadn’t eaten since the sole Jaffa Cake the preceding night following the Champions League Final.
This was destined to end badly, and my confidence was very misplaced. Some Cider, Red Wine then Malibu and Pineapple later and everything was simmering nicely. One of the warriors decided to play his card during the Kronenberg Blanc round, which he’d tipped me off in advance of – yet the bar staff had a surprise. The Blanc was off, and the carefully written rules stated that any drink unavailable had to be substituted for Snakebite. Oh crap.
Rose followed, and another warrior’s card, then I threw up. Lovely.
My forfeit played, and a Vodka and Red bull – Bacardi and Coke double later and I threw up again. Notice a theme here?
I was a beaten man. Though perhaps my defeat came at the right time as tales of the game’s conclusion carried a foreboding message; it appears one of the mighty warriors started a fight with a bouncer, and was ejected. A second warrior vomited where he sat, into his own drink, and then drank it.
The final warrior was last seen staggering towards a casino in search of his final drink. Whether he made it, we may never know.
Respect to the Banjo Warriors.
