Profile for rnuk:
I'm a photographer now.
See?
I'LL HAVE YER!
Me - Actual size
Here's a terribly dark picture of me underneath a massive foot.
This is me. Really. No kidding.
Something I just knocked up last night:
http://looklikeatwat.blogspot.com/
Pipe-smoking and the art of Verbal Sparring
After the post-meal BRANDY is served, and a roaring fire is left to illuminate the room, the mood turns to rose-tinted memories of yesteryear, and of course, the return to the gold standard. A deathly hush.
"Return to the gold standard? Are you blinking mad, man?"
Immediately, the women-folk exit the room. This is an argument; no place for a lady.
Your friend has made it explicitly clear that he has a point to make. He has sent out his messenger to declare his terms. Bide your time. Listen to what he has to say. Schopenhaur says that in an ideal world, a true debate should be a quest for truth taken by both sides; but this is not an ideal world, and in any debate there is no truth to be sought but that which has already been decided in the mind of the victorious party. This is not a case for truth, but a case for your gentlemanly honour.
The pipe should be at rest between the lips, gently supported by the hand near the base. Do not bite on the pipe; this is a sign of aggression and weakness. If you need to use both hands, take the pipe from your mouth.
As your opponent speaks, take note of the meter of his speech. His rhetoric will arrive in the form of a few citations and opinions, punctuated by a final sentence stating his (or part of his) case. Listen carefully for this punctuation. As he pauses for breath, quickly bring your hand across your body (ie. if your pipe leans out of the left side of your mouth, reach with your right hand and vice versa), and bring the pipe across to the opposite side of your mouth.
This is defensive move. You are clearly stating your disapproval of his ideas by shielding your body with your arm; but are also displaying an air of contempt by seemingly paying more attention to your pipe than your oppponent. You may choose to light your pipe as your opponent reaches his denoument; a great insult to those who crave attention for their ideas. The more advanced warrior may compliment the first draw of a freshly-lit pipe with a short quip, in the vein of "A very amusing notion, old boy..." before launching into an attack.
Attack.
Sun Tzu says in The Art of War: The clever combatant imposes his will on
the enemy, but does not allow the enemy's will to be imposed on him.
It is now that you draw your pipe from betwixt its labial sheath. State your initial points. State them quickly, with sticcato and good humour, win him over before battle has even begun. All those time, gently bandy your pipe about in your hand. Use small but confident arm movements. Should you wish to stress a point, bring the pipe toward your head (a subliminal implication to use the brain to consider your point) and thrust it downward on the final beat of your meter. Hammer it home.
If you are doing things right, your opponent will be agitated. Not content with still subscribing to the ideas you have just demolished in front of him, he will be concocting more absurd rebuttals. Hold strong. Do not let him interrupt. It is now that you run him through, holding up his carcass for all and sundry to see as the vanquished party.
He will undoubtedly attempt to interject. Those with an ear for timing will know precisely when to shoot him down; as his quivering voice chimes out, thrust the pipe toward him, swiftly revolving your hand so as to point the narrow mouth-piece at him. Stab at the air in front of him as you time and again destroy his argument before it has even been realised.
As a parting shot, offer your opponent some quarter in the form of a dram of your finer BRANDY, remarking that he looks "tired".
NB. How to win an argument and smoke a cigar at the same time.
1. Light cigar
2. Voice your opinion
3. Blow smoke into opponent's face.
4. Walk away.
Cakes and such
As those of us who can proudly cite "philandering" as a hobbie or pastime will no doubt be unaware, we have more than our mortal mistresses to keep in check, for there is a fair crueller Lady we must obey. She stands relentless, all-consuming, ever-watching. She is invisible, yet she sees everything. I am of course talking of Time. Some may purport adultery to be immoral, devious and vile, but to them I say it is a far greater crime to compromise the hours spent in a good lady's company for the sake of decency and piety. If I am to choose one woman over another, who am I deceiving but myself?
Should you wish to argue, I will gladly meet you at dawn, outside the boundaries of London town with my good friends David Hume, John Stuart Mills and Epicurus by my side.
But I digress. Time is of the essence to polygamist and monogamist alike, we have only one lifetime in which to make a lasting impression on a good lady, right boys? And so I offer you this, that it might benefit mankind in some way.
First of all, you will need to bring together the ingredients of a cake. What type of cake is irrelevant, as are the precise ratios. No one will be eating this. Construct something that crudely resembles a pudding, shape it, and place in the oven. You will be letting it burn until it is naught but a charred block, not fit for swine, so take a nap; you'll need the energy later on, chaps.
Open a window, turn the oven off and remove the abominable "dessert". Allow it to cool. It is IMPERATIVE that no one is privy to your actions, so after it has cooled, hide it.
Now, to the evening. Invite a ladyfriend around. Of course, this will mean investing in some fine wines, Belgian chocolates perhaps. A main course of corned beef and mashed potatoes would be advisable, but this is at your own discretion.
Casually distract your lady with a photograph album, or some such object that extolls a contrived, rose-tinted view of yesteryear. Secretly place the pre-prepared "cake" in the oven and place on a low heat. Return to your ladyfriend, champagne bottle in hand.
With practice, you should be able to hone your timing to perfection; turn to light conversation, and at the climax of a particularly amusing, yet poetically romantic anecdote, the aroma of burnt cake should reach the room. The smell of crushed dreams, broken hearts and lost loves will fill the room. Now is the time to draw your sword and offer to honourably fall upon it.
Stand up, startled. Look bemused, saddened even; mutter something about "special surprises", and rush to the kitchen. Bring out the offending pudding and stare into the good lady's eyes. You made her something special, as a surprise, of course, and you have ruined it.
Your ladyfriend will be overcome with a mixture of flattery and maternal melancholy.
Gentlemen; she will be putty in your hands. Treat her well. You sly dog.
Why Deal or No Deal is Crap
Chance transcends skill and human understanding; be it karma fashioned by one's own actions or the remorseless, unconditional hand of fate, Luck is measured by consequence, not cause.
So why, Mr Edmonds, do you continue to spit insincerity in the faces of the hopeful? Why do you tell contestants on your Deal or No Deal that they "are playing a good game"? What observable successes can there be until end game? None, Mr Edmonds, there can be none.
Yet you allow the poor fiends to delude themselves into thinking that their choices are somehow integral steps in a game of causality, that their initial flapping of a butterfly's wings will cause a hurricane; that they are elevated above the invisible workings of the cosmos!
Confusion is a state for those who will not take their time. Of choices, Lao Tzu says "Colours can make us blind!...Racing can drive us mad and its rewards obstruct our peace!" Mr Edmonds stands in scorn in front of his victim, who sits slavering like a dog at the prospect of the next taste of the money pie; he conditions them into subhumanity in the space of 45 minutes!
Schrodinger would be turning in his grave at the witchcraft Edmonds professes to endow his contestants with. Is the cat alive, or dead? Will you win big money, or merely large amounts of money? Can you have any possible effect upon this sham of a game?
The fabric of reality is at once both terse and fragile; only the gods themselves can weave it and you, Mr Edmonds, are no god.
Here I am in sunglasses looking totally cool.
Here is me circa summer 2004 at alton towers. I got very wet on the log flume and smelt of log flume for the rest of the day.
I work for the World Service. I service the world.
this could be me dressed as a mexican bandido
Recent front page messages:
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I'm a photographer now.
See?
I'LL HAVE YER!
Me - Actual size
Here's a terribly dark picture of me underneath a massive foot.
This is me. Really. No kidding.
Something I just knocked up last night:
http://looklikeatwat.blogspot.com/
Pipe-smoking and the art of Verbal Sparring
After the post-meal BRANDY is served, and a roaring fire is left to illuminate the room, the mood turns to rose-tinted memories of yesteryear, and of course, the return to the gold standard. A deathly hush.
"Return to the gold standard? Are you blinking mad, man?"
Immediately, the women-folk exit the room. This is an argument; no place for a lady.
Your friend has made it explicitly clear that he has a point to make. He has sent out his messenger to declare his terms. Bide your time. Listen to what he has to say. Schopenhaur says that in an ideal world, a true debate should be a quest for truth taken by both sides; but this is not an ideal world, and in any debate there is no truth to be sought but that which has already been decided in the mind of the victorious party. This is not a case for truth, but a case for your gentlemanly honour.
The pipe should be at rest between the lips, gently supported by the hand near the base. Do not bite on the pipe; this is a sign of aggression and weakness. If you need to use both hands, take the pipe from your mouth.
As your opponent speaks, take note of the meter of his speech. His rhetoric will arrive in the form of a few citations and opinions, punctuated by a final sentence stating his (or part of his) case. Listen carefully for this punctuation. As he pauses for breath, quickly bring your hand across your body (ie. if your pipe leans out of the left side of your mouth, reach with your right hand and vice versa), and bring the pipe across to the opposite side of your mouth.
This is defensive move. You are clearly stating your disapproval of his ideas by shielding your body with your arm; but are also displaying an air of contempt by seemingly paying more attention to your pipe than your oppponent. You may choose to light your pipe as your opponent reaches his denoument; a great insult to those who crave attention for their ideas. The more advanced warrior may compliment the first draw of a freshly-lit pipe with a short quip, in the vein of "A very amusing notion, old boy..." before launching into an attack.
Attack.
Sun Tzu says in The Art of War: The clever combatant imposes his will on
the enemy, but does not allow the enemy's will to be imposed on him.
It is now that you draw your pipe from betwixt its labial sheath. State your initial points. State them quickly, with sticcato and good humour, win him over before battle has even begun. All those time, gently bandy your pipe about in your hand. Use small but confident arm movements. Should you wish to stress a point, bring the pipe toward your head (a subliminal implication to use the brain to consider your point) and thrust it downward on the final beat of your meter. Hammer it home.
If you are doing things right, your opponent will be agitated. Not content with still subscribing to the ideas you have just demolished in front of him, he will be concocting more absurd rebuttals. Hold strong. Do not let him interrupt. It is now that you run him through, holding up his carcass for all and sundry to see as the vanquished party.
He will undoubtedly attempt to interject. Those with an ear for timing will know precisely when to shoot him down; as his quivering voice chimes out, thrust the pipe toward him, swiftly revolving your hand so as to point the narrow mouth-piece at him. Stab at the air in front of him as you time and again destroy his argument before it has even been realised.
As a parting shot, offer your opponent some quarter in the form of a dram of your finer BRANDY, remarking that he looks "tired".
NB. How to win an argument and smoke a cigar at the same time.
1. Light cigar
2. Voice your opinion
3. Blow smoke into opponent's face.
4. Walk away.
Cakes and such
As those of us who can proudly cite "philandering" as a hobbie or pastime will no doubt be unaware, we have more than our mortal mistresses to keep in check, for there is a fair crueller Lady we must obey. She stands relentless, all-consuming, ever-watching. She is invisible, yet she sees everything. I am of course talking of Time. Some may purport adultery to be immoral, devious and vile, but to them I say it is a far greater crime to compromise the hours spent in a good lady's company for the sake of decency and piety. If I am to choose one woman over another, who am I deceiving but myself?
Should you wish to argue, I will gladly meet you at dawn, outside the boundaries of London town with my good friends David Hume, John Stuart Mills and Epicurus by my side.
But I digress. Time is of the essence to polygamist and monogamist alike, we have only one lifetime in which to make a lasting impression on a good lady, right boys? And so I offer you this, that it might benefit mankind in some way.
First of all, you will need to bring together the ingredients of a cake. What type of cake is irrelevant, as are the precise ratios. No one will be eating this. Construct something that crudely resembles a pudding, shape it, and place in the oven. You will be letting it burn until it is naught but a charred block, not fit for swine, so take a nap; you'll need the energy later on, chaps.
Open a window, turn the oven off and remove the abominable "dessert". Allow it to cool. It is IMPERATIVE that no one is privy to your actions, so after it has cooled, hide it.
Now, to the evening. Invite a ladyfriend around. Of course, this will mean investing in some fine wines, Belgian chocolates perhaps. A main course of corned beef and mashed potatoes would be advisable, but this is at your own discretion.
Casually distract your lady with a photograph album, or some such object that extolls a contrived, rose-tinted view of yesteryear. Secretly place the pre-prepared "cake" in the oven and place on a low heat. Return to your ladyfriend, champagne bottle in hand.
With practice, you should be able to hone your timing to perfection; turn to light conversation, and at the climax of a particularly amusing, yet poetically romantic anecdote, the aroma of burnt cake should reach the room. The smell of crushed dreams, broken hearts and lost loves will fill the room. Now is the time to draw your sword and offer to honourably fall upon it.
Stand up, startled. Look bemused, saddened even; mutter something about "special surprises", and rush to the kitchen. Bring out the offending pudding and stare into the good lady's eyes. You made her something special, as a surprise, of course, and you have ruined it.
Your ladyfriend will be overcome with a mixture of flattery and maternal melancholy.
Gentlemen; she will be putty in your hands. Treat her well. You sly dog.
Why Deal or No Deal is Crap
Chance transcends skill and human understanding; be it karma fashioned by one's own actions or the remorseless, unconditional hand of fate, Luck is measured by consequence, not cause.
So why, Mr Edmonds, do you continue to spit insincerity in the faces of the hopeful? Why do you tell contestants on your Deal or No Deal that they "are playing a good game"? What observable successes can there be until end game? None, Mr Edmonds, there can be none.
Yet you allow the poor fiends to delude themselves into thinking that their choices are somehow integral steps in a game of causality, that their initial flapping of a butterfly's wings will cause a hurricane; that they are elevated above the invisible workings of the cosmos!
Confusion is a state for those who will not take their time. Of choices, Lao Tzu says "Colours can make us blind!...Racing can drive us mad and its rewards obstruct our peace!" Mr Edmonds stands in scorn in front of his victim, who sits slavering like a dog at the prospect of the next taste of the money pie; he conditions them into subhumanity in the space of 45 minutes!
Schrodinger would be turning in his grave at the witchcraft Edmonds professes to endow his contestants with. Is the cat alive, or dead? Will you win big money, or merely large amounts of money? Can you have any possible effect upon this sham of a game?
The fabric of reality is at once both terse and fragile; only the gods themselves can weave it and you, Mr Edmonds, are no god.
Here I am in sunglasses looking totally cool.
Here is me circa summer 2004 at alton towers. I got very wet on the log flume and smelt of log flume for the rest of the day.
I work for the World Service. I service the world.
this could be me dressed as a mexican bandido
Recent front page messages:
this took far too long to make
bjorks greatest hits...thats how long
edit: should be slow enough now
(Thu 17th Apr 2003, 16:09, More)
bjorks greatest hits...thats how long
edit: should be slow enough now
(Thu 17th Apr 2003, 16:09, More)
Best answers to questions:
» Heckles
Leeds Festival 2001, The Comedy Tent, Mr Drayton's World of Quiz
I heckled the guy while on stage, standing mere inches away from him. I'd managed to win my way up to the final round, the inevitable "Wheel of Fortune" round. There I was, inside a huge tent (I've no idea of numbers....a thousand people in front of me maybe?).
"Spin the wheel you spunky young lad..."
Cue strange 'who are you calling spunky, chap?" look from me
"Yes, I'm the host, I can call you whatever you want, you cunt"
At which point I grabbed the mike and proclaimed "It's the nearest you'll get to a cunt tonight, you prick."
I was, for a few seconds, the most popular man in Leeds.
(Fri 7th Apr 2006, 19:02, More)
Leeds Festival 2001, The Comedy Tent, Mr Drayton's World of Quiz
I heckled the guy while on stage, standing mere inches away from him. I'd managed to win my way up to the final round, the inevitable "Wheel of Fortune" round. There I was, inside a huge tent (I've no idea of numbers....a thousand people in front of me maybe?).
"Spin the wheel you spunky young lad..."
Cue strange 'who are you calling spunky, chap?" look from me
"Yes, I'm the host, I can call you whatever you want, you cunt"
At which point I grabbed the mike and proclaimed "It's the nearest you'll get to a cunt tonight, you prick."
I was, for a few seconds, the most popular man in Leeds.
(Fri 7th Apr 2006, 19:02, More)
» I hurt my rude bits
Having had my appendix out, I had been subject to a rather inconvenient local anaesthetic
meaning I was unable to squeeze my bladder, and thusly, not piss. There reached a point where I couldn't take it anymore, and the doctors decided, in the interests of the ward remaining a quiet and polite place, to do something about it.
I have never felt so much pain as when a tiny, hairy bespectacled nurse pushed a catheter down my jap's eye and into my bladder. I winced, I screamed. I'm unashamed to admit it.
"Ow, christ! That really hurts!"
He looked at me and asked
"Where?"
He wanted to hear me say the word cock. I know it.
(Sat 15th Jul 2006, 17:39, More)
Having had my appendix out, I had been subject to a rather inconvenient local anaesthetic
meaning I was unable to squeeze my bladder, and thusly, not piss. There reached a point where I couldn't take it anymore, and the doctors decided, in the interests of the ward remaining a quiet and polite place, to do something about it.
I have never felt so much pain as when a tiny, hairy bespectacled nurse pushed a catheter down my jap's eye and into my bladder. I winced, I screamed. I'm unashamed to admit it.
"Ow, christ! That really hurts!"
He looked at me and asked
"Where?"
He wanted to hear me say the word cock. I know it.
(Sat 15th Jul 2006, 17:39, More)
» Mini Cabs From Hell
urban legend
but can you give it try:
man (we'll call him bob) gets a cab from a rank outside a train station, the driver is rude and pisses the man off etc. next time tbob is at the station, he spies the same driver at the back of the line and goes along each cab offering oral sex to the drivers in return for a free ride. each one is disgusted, until he gets to the driver at the end and just gets in and pays him. as he is driving past the rest of the cabs he gives the thumbs up sign to the parked drivers. hilarious.
(Thu 27th May 2004, 0:51, More)
urban legend
but can you give it try:
man (we'll call him bob) gets a cab from a rank outside a train station, the driver is rude and pisses the man off etc. next time tbob is at the station, he spies the same driver at the back of the line and goes along each cab offering oral sex to the drivers in return for a free ride. each one is disgusted, until he gets to the driver at the end and just gets in and pays him. as he is driving past the rest of the cabs he gives the thumbs up sign to the parked drivers. hilarious.
(Thu 27th May 2004, 0:51, More)
» The Police
having just bought a stylophone
off of that ebay, I felt it appropriate to accompany the arresting of half of the family across the road with the theme from The Bill from my doorstep.
(Thu 22nd Sep 2005, 13:29, More)
having just bought a stylophone
off of that ebay, I felt it appropriate to accompany the arresting of half of the family across the road with the theme from The Bill from my doorstep.
(Thu 22nd Sep 2005, 13:29, More)
» Useless Information
Dogs and arses
The reason dogs sniff each other's arses is quite simple. Back in the day when dogs ruled the world, they would have a weekly meeting in the town hall. Before they sat down, every dog would take off its arse and hang it up, collecting it on the way out. However, the last meeting they had was interrupted when the humans took control of the world. News spread, and in the ensuing panic, the dogs were forced to pick up which ever arse was closest, and since then have been trying to find their own arse by sniffing each other's.
Also, there is no definitive word in Welsh for yes or no.
(Fri 18th Mar 2005, 9:11, More)
Dogs and arses
The reason dogs sniff each other's arses is quite simple. Back in the day when dogs ruled the world, they would have a weekly meeting in the town hall. Before they sat down, every dog would take off its arse and hang it up, collecting it on the way out. However, the last meeting they had was interrupted when the humans took control of the world. News spread, and in the ensuing panic, the dogs were forced to pick up which ever arse was closest, and since then have been trying to find their own arse by sniffing each other's.
Also, there is no definitive word in Welsh for yes or no.
(Fri 18th Mar 2005, 9:11, More)