I like this one. Now you can delete the Burger Kink one :)
PedroHin Come along & ride on a Flantastic Voyage,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 14:18,
archived)
hehe, you wouldn't dare go near the guyYou go through a pub were the windows are painted black, with pics of boxers on the walls, down an alley, behind a garage door, that's bolted with an axe - True story
(
Q4nobody,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 16:39,
archived)
Dr. Notgotsleevesrolledup seems like a burden to have as a nameespecially on hot days :,(
(
mediocre ha ha ha, you're reading this,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 11:37,
archived)
Not having one's sleeves rolled up is bit of a no-no to some doctors(
Tribs 🦇 ↓ dn ʎɐʍ sᴉɥʇ ↓🦇,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 16:10,
archived)
These doctors coming over here and covering up their sleeves!Have a pea
( Q4nobody,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 16:28,
archived)
Look at the size of that pround, upright... rooster Tribs 🦇 ↓ dn ʎɐʍ sᴉɥʇ ↓🦇,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 11:08,
archived)
That's not milk!
Didn't compo the pea, as there's too many letter changes
Q4nobody,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 16:22,
archived)
![[challenge entry]](/images/board_posticon_c.gif "Challenge Entry: Letter Change Companies"){kind=small}
NEW IMAGE CHALLENGE - LETTER CHANGE COMPANIES
We're playing with company logos and names again this week.
See what you can come up with by just changing/adding/removing one letter.
God - smiting mortals since 4004 BC,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 7:23,
archived)
Great for stuffing
urbane legend i have known the inexorable sadness of pencils,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 19:49,
archived)
Let the little bots do the work!
RonnieBint This is no umbrella to take into the wind!,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 9:58,
archived)
Meanwhile, chocolate mousse is fun for everyone except, of course, the moose.
LS18,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 3:19,
archived)
Informalities we weren't allowed to see:"Thanks for the flowers, Bro!"
"What it is, Liz"
("What it is, Liz"
LS18,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 3:26,
archived)
I started writing a complaint letter to Brewdog and got carried awayDear Mr Brewdog,
You will be aware from your no doubt comprehensive customer records that I am the recipient of one of your monthly “BottleBox” beer deliveries. You may also be aware that this was a Christmas gift from my dear wife. Now I’m no Christian - and neither am I an alcoholic - but it was a thoughtful and considered gift, so I accepted it with my customary good grace, developed whilst acting as an intermediary for the Burmese ambassador during the last war.
I must grudgingly admit that the regular receipt of said aforementioned “BottleBox” has become something of a highlight in my otherwise tawdry life of lawnmowers and marmalade. The ecumenical range of flavours and thankfully occasional wit of your packaging designers shines a little much-needed morning light into my twilight years.
Notwithstanding the minor satisfaction engendered by the receipt of the “BottleBox”, I was initially baffled by the inclusion in the most recent consignment of what is presented as “gourmet popcorn”, apparently manufactured by a duo going by the names of “Joe” and “Seph”.
I admit to being somewhat out of touch with the latest fashions in nomenclature, but in my days working the tundra in Siberia, a man who omitted to share his surname might expect to be met by a rum bar full of raised eyebrows, and would certainly not be offered the chance to choose a cigar from the incumbent humidor. Were such a man to then introduce himself as “Joe” or “Seph” and produce a range of savoury snacks, I imagine there would be a fair amount of harumphing and moustache-stroking.
Let me make myself clear: a man of my advancing years has no need for “pop” corn. Such frivolous culinary gewgaws serve no purpose in a civilised and robustly practical homestead such as mine and my dear wife’s. Standard corn will suffice.
However, if negotiating the manifold dangers of the Amazon rainforest taught me anything, it was to welcome novelty with an open - if cautious - mind. Attentive to this, I asked my dear wife to fetch me my scope that I might inspect the unanticipated wares with due attention.
Let me tell you: this scope is one of the finest, manufactured by the most highly respected Swiss optical engineers. It was gifted me by the Prince of Khartoum following my successful procurement for him of an amount of rare Polynesian beeswax. It is an instrument of the most exacting precision and a most faithful companion to a day’s examination of Mesoamerican illuminated manuscripts at the British Museum.
Anyway, enough about my scope, sufficing to note that it is of the very highest quality and more than capable of rendering coherent the whimsical typefaces of modern-day “pop” corn packaging.
On detailed examination, the packet in question alerted me textually to a quite specific proposal: that I should combine my eating of this “pop” corn with a specifically named article selected from Messrs. Brewdog’s beverages, an article I should hope to find included with the "BottleBox" in question.
Having spent seven years in the snowy heights of the Himalayas eating calves brains stewed in yak’s milk with a stubbornly derisive sherpa, I am no stranger to combining foodstuffs. As such, the mildly diverting conceit of “pairing” the hops with the corn appealed to my playful and devil-may-care nature.
Consequently I bade Montague - my tamarin monkey, a souvenir of my Ecuadorian excursion and a most loyal and attentive servant - fetch the specified bottle in question. He scampered off to the scullery with the haste to which I have become accustomed and I sat back in my armchair with a sense of pleasant apprehension.
However, all was not as it should have been, because he returned empty-pawed, communicating to me by means of subtle eyebrow movements that he had been unable to locate the beer named on the packet of “pop” corn. Clipping him around the ear, I took the rarely precedented move of venturing to the scullery myself, an impressive effort in light of the injuries I sustained defending the Ngarabana peoples of South Australia from a mob of inconsiderate kangaroos.
I am a very tall man, a consequence of my mother’s insistence on daily tinctures of trout liver oil with vinegar. As such, entering the scullery was something of a challenge. However, it was a challenge I chose not to shirk and, crouching down, I inspected the contents of the room. With a pang of guilt, I realised Montague had been right and his behaviour had not warranted the clip around the ear that I had so wantonly delivered: the beer in question - that very beer named on the packet of “pop” corn - was not present.
I returned to my armchair in a state of bafflement. Why would a beverage company recommend an included packet of “pop” corn with a specified beer, when that very beer had not been included with the accompanying consignment?
My bafflement soon turned to indignation, and then to anger. The beverage company - a beverage company, I might add, that is managed and administrated by you, the recipient of this letter- had clearly spent too much time composing needlessly lexiphanic descriptions of their beers, and too little time attending to the logistical intricacies of ensuring that the relevant beer be consigned with the relevant “pop” corn.
Ever since my years in the monasteries of Perigueux painstakingly transcribing abstruse Aramaic texts from dawn ‘til dusk, I have harboured an aversion to needlessly wordy communications. It is for that reason that this epistle you hold in your hand displays such brevity and concision of wording. As such, the thought that your management spent more time composing the descriptions on their products than attending to their logistical commitments stuck in my craw. And believe me, my craw - being generously proportioned as it is - rarely succumbs to such a complaint.
My demands are twofold: that you take the requisite steps to ensure such an outrage does not reoccur, and that you render unto me such apology that you deem appropriate, in the form of words.
I trust that you do not consider my requests to be onerous, and receive this missive in the manner in which it is intended.
I beg to remain, Sir, your most humble and obedient servant,
W. Commander B. Dog BA Hons
PS. Please disregard the above, it transpires I did in fact have the beer in question; it was simply stored on a different shelf.
PPS. I must admit that the combination of the beer and the “pop” corn was excellent.
PPPS. Please forward my compliments and very finest regards to all those responsible for the conception, manufacture, design, and distribution of your beverages, and to Messrs. “Joe” and “Seph”.
(,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 21:39,
archived)
You will be aware from your no doubt comprehensive customer records that I am the recipient of one of your monthly “BottleBox” beer deliveries. You may also be aware that this was a Christmas gift from my dear wife. Now I’m no Christian - and neither am I an alcoholic - but it was a thoughtful and considered gift, so I accepted it with my customary good grace, developed whilst acting as an intermediary for the Burmese ambassador during the last war.
I must grudgingly admit that the regular receipt of said aforementioned “BottleBox” has become something of a highlight in my otherwise tawdry life of lawnmowers and marmalade. The ecumenical range of flavours and thankfully occasional wit of your packaging designers shines a little much-needed morning light into my twilight years.
Notwithstanding the minor satisfaction engendered by the receipt of the “BottleBox”, I was initially baffled by the inclusion in the most recent consignment of what is presented as “gourmet popcorn”, apparently manufactured by a duo going by the names of “Joe” and “Seph”.
I admit to being somewhat out of touch with the latest fashions in nomenclature, but in my days working the tundra in Siberia, a man who omitted to share his surname might expect to be met by a rum bar full of raised eyebrows, and would certainly not be offered the chance to choose a cigar from the incumbent humidor. Were such a man to then introduce himself as “Joe” or “Seph” and produce a range of savoury snacks, I imagine there would be a fair amount of harumphing and moustache-stroking.
Let me make myself clear: a man of my advancing years has no need for “pop” corn. Such frivolous culinary gewgaws serve no purpose in a civilised and robustly practical homestead such as mine and my dear wife’s. Standard corn will suffice.
However, if negotiating the manifold dangers of the Amazon rainforest taught me anything, it was to welcome novelty with an open - if cautious - mind. Attentive to this, I asked my dear wife to fetch me my scope that I might inspect the unanticipated wares with due attention.
Let me tell you: this scope is one of the finest, manufactured by the most highly respected Swiss optical engineers. It was gifted me by the Prince of Khartoum following my successful procurement for him of an amount of rare Polynesian beeswax. It is an instrument of the most exacting precision and a most faithful companion to a day’s examination of Mesoamerican illuminated manuscripts at the British Museum.
Anyway, enough about my scope, sufficing to note that it is of the very highest quality and more than capable of rendering coherent the whimsical typefaces of modern-day “pop” corn packaging.
On detailed examination, the packet in question alerted me textually to a quite specific proposal: that I should combine my eating of this “pop” corn with a specifically named article selected from Messrs. Brewdog’s beverages, an article I should hope to find included with the "BottleBox" in question.
Having spent seven years in the snowy heights of the Himalayas eating calves brains stewed in yak’s milk with a stubbornly derisive sherpa, I am no stranger to combining foodstuffs. As such, the mildly diverting conceit of “pairing” the hops with the corn appealed to my playful and devil-may-care nature.
Consequently I bade Montague - my tamarin monkey, a souvenir of my Ecuadorian excursion and a most loyal and attentive servant - fetch the specified bottle in question. He scampered off to the scullery with the haste to which I have become accustomed and I sat back in my armchair with a sense of pleasant apprehension.
However, all was not as it should have been, because he returned empty-pawed, communicating to me by means of subtle eyebrow movements that he had been unable to locate the beer named on the packet of “pop” corn. Clipping him around the ear, I took the rarely precedented move of venturing to the scullery myself, an impressive effort in light of the injuries I sustained defending the Ngarabana peoples of South Australia from a mob of inconsiderate kangaroos.
I am a very tall man, a consequence of my mother’s insistence on daily tinctures of trout liver oil with vinegar. As such, entering the scullery was something of a challenge. However, it was a challenge I chose not to shirk and, crouching down, I inspected the contents of the room. With a pang of guilt, I realised Montague had been right and his behaviour had not warranted the clip around the ear that I had so wantonly delivered: the beer in question - that very beer named on the packet of “pop” corn - was not present.
I returned to my armchair in a state of bafflement. Why would a beverage company recommend an included packet of “pop” corn with a specified beer, when that very beer had not been included with the accompanying consignment?
My bafflement soon turned to indignation, and then to anger. The beverage company - a beverage company, I might add, that is managed and administrated by you, the recipient of this letter- had clearly spent too much time composing needlessly lexiphanic descriptions of their beers, and too little time attending to the logistical intricacies of ensuring that the relevant beer be consigned with the relevant “pop” corn.
Ever since my years in the monasteries of Perigueux painstakingly transcribing abstruse Aramaic texts from dawn ‘til dusk, I have harboured an aversion to needlessly wordy communications. It is for that reason that this epistle you hold in your hand displays such brevity and concision of wording. As such, the thought that your management spent more time composing the descriptions on their products than attending to their logistical commitments stuck in my craw. And believe me, my craw - being generously proportioned as it is - rarely succumbs to such a complaint.
My demands are twofold: that you take the requisite steps to ensure such an outrage does not reoccur, and that you render unto me such apology that you deem appropriate, in the form of words.
I trust that you do not consider my requests to be onerous, and receive this missive in the manner in which it is intended.
I beg to remain, Sir, your most humble and obedient servant,
W. Commander B. Dog BA Hons
PS. Please disregard the above, it transpires I did in fact have the beer in question; it was simply stored on a different shelf.
PPS. I must admit that the combination of the beer and the “pop” corn was excellent.
PPPS. Please forward my compliments and very finest regards to all those responsible for the conception, manufacture, design, and distribution of your beverages, and to Messrs. “Joe” and “Seph”.
I'm guessing you haven't taken your meds.Edit: try /links
(
FeralCatMan Unusual disease collector.,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 22:08,
archived)
Brilliant. That told them.
(
@man move along, nothing to see here on,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 22:14,
archived)
Shit started playing in my head too :/ PedroHin Come along & ride on a Flantastic Voyage,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 20:49,
archived)
Well, it's kind of your fault too PedroHin Come along & ride on a Flantastic Voyage,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 21:39,
archived)
:D Scarily accurate.As he was overheard whispering to the Pope,
"First things first. Where's your shitter?!
I've got a turtle head poking out!"
(,
Sat 11 Aug 2018, 10:55,
archived)
"First things first. Where's your shitter?!
I've got a turtle head poking out!"
Donald and Melania stop off to see how construction of Space Force One is progressing.
HappyToast Groat froth,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 16:53,
archived)
President Путин is not as forgiving as I am
( mediocre ha ha ha, you're reading this,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 17:27,
archived)
Geez Ninj, a weathered member (fnar) like you should knowshopped pictures only!
( mediocre ha ha ha, you're reading this,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 17:28,
archived)
Balls, in space, with forceI think you're on to something here
( mediocre ha ha ha, you're reading this,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 17:31,
archived)
I guess it depends on the space you're forcing your balls into
(
WD-39,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 21:51,
archived)
Do Holiday Inns have closets? Or can one simply come out of a coat rack??
(
LS18,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 18:35,
archived)
The annoying refrain in a 2010 Willow Smith song: (7 words)
LS18,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 16:36,
archived)
mental moose tries to toss rabbit off ?
(
showrat I Fought The Law on,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 17:41,
archived)
Is this Watership Down? PedroHin Come along & ride on a Flantastic Voyage,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 22:24,
archived)
ummm, since I've never read that, I'll have to say, "no."(Unless Willow Smith is really a rabbit)
( LS18,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 23:10,
archived)
Trump's big space force idea has been leaked
HappyToast Groat froth,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 15:54,
archived)
Please don't let him stick it on a chain and re-enact "Wrecking Ball" Tribs 🦇 ↓ dn ʎɐʍ sᴉɥʇ ↓🦇,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 16:08,
archived)
and we're going to get the aliens to pay for it mediocre ha ha ha, you're reading this,
Fri 10 Aug 2018, 16:30,
archived)
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