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Just fuck off.

Yes.

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The Master Control Program does NOT allow creases.

(Sun 6th Jan 2008, 18:58, More)

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» DIY Techno-hacks

The radio-controlled cat-flap-cat-box-cat-containeration device
We've got a kitten. He's a loon. He's also not yet safe to go out without experiencing instant death under the wheels of cars. He's a nippy little bugger so we'd have great difficulty getting out of the house without him racing through the door at the last minute, resulting in an hour or two chasing him about trying to get him back inside.

My solution was (not) simple:

Get one plastic cat box (the kind you take the cat to the vet's in).
Replace the little door with one of those catflaps that only open if your cat has an infra-red transmitter on it's collar.
Replace the electronics for the catflap's infra red receiver with the gubbins from a car remote central locking radio device.
Voila!


Put kitten in box (the catflap will open inwards but not outwards).
Leave house.
Close door.
Press button on central locking remote key fob.
Catflap then opens both ways.
Kitten gets out through catflap and runs up to window to shake paw at you through the glass.

Sadly, we've not managed to come up with any way of putting him back in the catbox prior to us coming back in, but usually he's too slow when we return.

Here is peanut, looking evil:

(Fri 21st Aug 2009, 16:29, More)

» The passive-aggressive guilt trip

My step gran
When my ma married Roger my stepfather, her new husband's mum (who was 90 at the time, now pushing up daisies) was not impressed at having to share her son with another woman again.

So on the day of the wedding she stood a couple of feet away from Roger in the registry office.

And shat herself just as the vows started.

She was wearing tights so she managed to shake it down her leg until it bunched up around an ankle, and piped up with 'Roger I've had an accident. You need to help me clean it up.'

And then proceded to mutter loudly 'No not you dear. HE has to help me.' as various relatives tried to bundle her off for a wipe down.

Funny thing is, she never lost the use of her arse at any other time before or after the wedding.
(Mon 17th Oct 2005, 17:05, More)

» Crap meals out

Orange Squash
As a kid we used to go to Abersoch in Wales every year for our summer holidays. Every year we'd stop off in the same godforsaken Little Chef for some wooden food.

When I was about 8 we sat down for our usual crap food. I had a glass of orange squash with a straw.

I sucked up a straw full of squash, and very carefully and surreptitiously placed the other end of the straw by my father's earhole.

And blew. Hard.

Apparently the dulcet tones of 'Arrgh you fucking little cunt' followed by a clout round the back of the head is frowned upon in Little Chef eateries and we had to leave.

Me and dad still don't talk about the incident, though my step-mum thinks its hilarious.
(Thu 27th Apr 2006, 21:06, More)

» Beautiful Moments, Part Two

Simmer Dim
I've recently moved to Shetland after marrying my beautiful wife.
We'd unpacked the boxes, marvelled at the view (miles and miles of unspoilt rolling hills right outside our window), been bowled over by the friendliness of those around us, then sat down exhausted with a beer.

It was just gone midnight, and this was the view from the garden. Hairs stood up on the back of my neck when I saw this, in the middle of the night, in summer. The birds were still burbling away in the back ground, there was a cow watching us from the neighbouring field, and there was beer in my belly. This was as dark as it got that night.

The Simmer Dim, is the local name, and it was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen:


(Fri 6th Aug 2010, 14:04, More)

» Have you ever seen a dead body?

I'm a doctor.
I've seen fucking loads.
You get used to it after a while (you have to, else you'd go mad), but never completely used to it (the moment I stop getting that lump in my throat every time somebody dies is the moment I leave medicine).

Certifying old people dead is momentous, because you are putting the final full-stop on a life that has seen so much. It is an honour to have that responsibility.

Being present at the death of a child is nothing short of devastating, and no matter how hard you try it is impossible not to be affected. I used to work on a cancer unit, and the utter unwavering bravery of children who were terminally ill never ceases to humble me.
Can you imagine helping a 14 year old choose songs she wanted playing at her funeral on a Saturday, and then being there as she takes her final breath on the Sunday? After she has told you that she was sad that she'd never go grey or have kids or get married?

A dead body is just a thing. An inanimate object. Such a contrast with the living, and when you are present at the moment when the living become the dead, you wonder how the fuck people can so willingly kill others.

Sorry, a maudlin post. I blame Friday and a lack of sleep. Tonight I shall have a beer, kick the cat, and rejoice in the company of those I love.

EDIT: Though the body I had for my dissection classes didn't feel like a human at all. The formaldehyde stinks and turns the whole body into a grey leathery clammy thing. The foot hadn't been properly preserved and had fungus growing on it. When we sawed the top of the skull off we all ended up with the gritty feeling of powdered skull in our mouths. We called him "Big Vern" because he had a monstrous penis (like a baby's arm). By all accounts he was quite a character when alive, and we raised several glasses to him when the dissection year was over.
(Fri 29th Feb 2008, 12:48, More)
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