Boggartblog

Omar Butt, a Muslim dentist who worked at the Unsworth smile clinic like Muslim women to be “modestly dressed” when they turned up to have their teeth done. We don’t know if Omar was ever a member of the boy scouts but he was certainly prepared for secular Muslim women who turned up niquabless and said, “Ayup, I fergot me effin’ veil, ferget me ‘ead if it weren’t screwed on, me. (That’s how Muslim women in Bury talk.) Omar you see kept a box of spare veils in his surgery and would ask unveiled Muslim women to one on.”

Mr Butt has also been accused of asking patients if they prayed three times a day and performed their ritual ablutions diligently before deciding what treatment he would ofer people. We have not heard of any instances where he has pulled out all somebody's teeth because they fell short on their religious obligations. Nor has there been any suggestion that he removed the teeth of infidels with rusty pliers.
Omar also had signs in his surgery reminding Muslims that sharia law still applies even when they are having teeth pulled. He says he is not an extremist but wanted people to know he is a Muslim. Well that’s very nice but what about women patients who didn’t want people to know they are Muslims.

As a result of his bizarre behaviour Omar, having already served one suspension after being found guilty of serious professional misconduct in 2007 is facing another disciplinary hearing. If he is judged guilty on the current charges he will lose his job.

We would like to know how can you work on somebody’s teeth when they are wearing a veil? Would a surgeon try to do a hear transplant without taking the patient’s shirt off?

Muslim dentist found guilty of discrimination

More humour every day at Boggart Blog

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot
Ian at Authorsden

Did men really walk on the moon forty years ago or was the whole moon landing an expensive hoax as conspiracy theorists have said.

Whatch this video of what really happened on the moon and then make up your own mind.

Moon Landing Video

I was looking for something easy today, a link to something funny maybe. It seemed like Father Christmas, The Easter Bunny and The Tooth Fairy had all arrived at once when I found an item that promised to link to an advert for Microsoft's new web browser. The Ad featured PROJECTILE VOMITING the technologiser blog post Microsoft's Odd and in one case revolting ads. Projectile vomiting revolting? These people have obviously not seen Little Britain.

On looking closer I was disappointed. Of a series of four ads for the new product two are cheesy, one is just stupid and the fourth, the big one..................wait for it..................has been pulled from U Tube.

You can see the other ads here The one that has been pulled shows a still of a woman in a blue shirt looking at a screen features the title O.M.G.I.G.P. which the web website says stands for Oh My God I'm Gonna Puke but which the Boggart Blog editorial team decided really means Oh My God It's Goat Porn.

Diligent as ever in our efforts to entertain our readers Boggart Blog has scoured the web looking for a copy of the vomit video but everywhere we look it has been pulled.

Nice to know though that Microsoft are as out of touch with reality and insensitive to their customers feelings as ever.

In all the furore over the death of old putty nose which has dominated the news we completely overlooked the passing of poor Farrah Fawcett. It's a pity she was overshadowed because a famous wall poster of her, much loved by adolescent males for helping them through a certain rite of passage that involves getting pyjama pans stuck to bedsheets. We should remember.

When her beauty faded and with it her fame Farah made a career for heself as a stage actress and also did a lot for charity, working with deprived children. She was still thinking of underprivileged kids after her death which took place a few hours before that of Michael Jackson. Our netherworld undercover reporter Soft Mick tells us in this exclussive:

I was hanging around the Pearly Gate hoping to pick up a bit of juicy netherworld gosspi from St Peter when Farrah's soul ascended. As custom demands Peter asked the new arrival: "have you any last wish for the dimensions of time and space before you become an angel again?"

Farrah replied "yes, I would like all the children in the world to be safe."

This is Soft Mick, Pearly Gate Cocktail Bar, Another Dimension.

More humour every day from Boggart Blogvptcj82f2m

It had to happen. Afer the Boggart Blog exclusive last Saturday that brought you news of how and why Michael Jackson faked his own death because tickets for the Take That tour were selling faster than those for his O2 gigs, people are jumping on our bandwagon with crackpot conspiracy theories about Jacko's faked death In Michael Jackson Is Alive, Derek Clontz claims Jacko has gone into hiding in Eastern Europe.

That's nonsense of course. Although we did not think it worth reporting because everybody already knows, Michael Jackson is holed up in a cave in the Hindu Kush with Osama bin Laden.

Michael Jackson Death Faked - We Reveal All

More humour every day with Boggart Blog

Cleo Hart tells us of the wallabies high on opium, but what are the suirrels doing these days?
I don't know if anyone else has noticed but they do seem to be falling out of their trees onto busy roads rather a lot lately.
There were at least six on a two mile stretch of the A628 this morning. And they didn't appear to be squashed.
I suppose there could be some vigilantes cruising up and down the road, armed with air rifles taking pot-shots at the little buggers, but I don't really think that's the case.
Or perhaps the squirrels that don't make the leap from the trees on one side to the trees on the other are inferior in some way.
Seconds squirrels.
Myopic, dodgy knees, clawless.
A demonstration of Darwinism at work.
On the other hand, it's not that long ago that some walkers noticed a bit of a funny whiff in the air as they walked down a lane from the main road.
Police were called in and they found a substantial mound of marijuana plants dumped in a field...

"Wagwan! Rusty, how you goin'?"

"Hey Tufty, look what I've found.
A whole load of shit, man!
Give me a hand and we'll drag a couple of these plants back to the tree.
Wow, we is going to have us a good time!
Man!"

"Wow, like, crazy, man.
We gonna dry it or are we jus' gonna chew it?
It sure do smell good."

"Well I think we ought to test it out y'know.
Make sure it's okay.
Then we can sell it on to the brothers at, like, a few acorns a gram.
Hee hee, we is gonna be two rich squirrels."

Later....

"Oh, man, Tuft, this is just soooo gooood."

"Too right,Rustman, this stuff gives you wings.."

"Hey yeah, just like those flyin' squirrels man..."

"Yeah, flying squirrels.... I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky..."

"Yo, man, I'm flyin... hey look at me fly... I'm flyinnnnnn..."
Thwack.

"Aw shit man, it look like you come down to earth with a bump. Watch meeee..."
Thwack.

Later still.

"Shame old Tuft and Rusty bought it. Funny how they both fell out of a tree.
Still best get on and clean out their nest.
Hmmm, wonder what this is, smells a bit funny.
Maybe it's one of those exotic herbs, they were into all that stuff, liked to spice up the acorn cutlet.
I'll just take some home and try it out, maybe put some on those old horse chestnuts..."

RELATED POSTS:
Drunken Moose They're big, they're short sighted and they are inclined to turn nasty when they've had a drink. Drivers in Gothenburg were terrorised by a drunken moose blocking the road and challenging Volvos to "come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.

Getting Shrew Arsed Again The Malayan Tree Shrew is not an agresive drunk but they are pissed for much of the time and they fall out of their tree a lot. You might find one sleeping it off in your hair.

Grey and White Peril They're the chavs of the animal kingdom, aggressive, destructive and in your neighbourhood. ASBS for badgers have proved worthless as a deterrent, they tend to regard the punishment as a status symbol.

Bloggging gets to be more fun day by day. It's entirely coincidental that Cleo today posted a report on Wallabies in Tasmania making crop circles while being controlled by aliens but sometimes the blogosphere can be very serendiptitious (is that a word or have I been inhaling hallucinogenic pollens out in the garden?)

My post today concerns the end of the world which according to people who claim to know about these things will happen in December 2012. The muder will be committed by an aliens with an asteroid strike in the Drawing Room.

Some time ago I posted an article, So Little Time - So Much To Do, about the cosmic event that will, according to scientists, end the world.

EXTRACT:
...forget the economic apocalypse, a more terrible, more final apocalypse is on the way and it is nearer than we think. A frightening study by a team of scientists suggests that our galaxy, The Milky Way, will collide with the neighbouring Andromeda galaxy much earlier than was previously thought...Oh no!” we hear you cry, “oh shit, so little time, so much to do.”
Very likely you will start thinking of all the things you should have done in your life, that you would have done had you not been so busy working to pay your mortgage, service your credit card debts, the things that you swore you would get to one day……..one day.

Today I saw a new comment on this post:

Get car insurance quotes from many of the nation’s top auto insurance companies who supply automobile insurance rates online. It’s a fact, only by shopping around and comparing auto insurance quotes will you find the cheapest car insurance rate available. Compare each insurer’s rates, features and coverage to get the best car insurance policy for your needs.All the states in the United States have the right to impose regulations regarding various aspects such as health insurance, car insurance etc. The state of Michigan is no different. Michigan state laws impose several restrictions on its citizen with regards to their needs to be covered

To which I was able to reply:

Thanks for that timeley reminder of the benefits of being well insured in preparation for the end of the world but to be honest in the final days before asteroid impact I will probably be too busy shitting myself to worry about my car being adequately insured.

Isn't it brilliant when spammers feed us like that. Makes my job easy.

More humour every day from Boggart Blog

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot
Ian at Authorsden

Crop circles have been making headlines again this year, with a new series appearing in Wiltshire. Now, of course, you and I know that crop circles are created by extra terrestrials from outer space, and this is their way of communicating with us. The latest series in Wiltshire, when decoded by experts, tells us that the world will end on December 12 2012.

However, there are people in the government and certain areas of media that pooh-pooh the idea of alien activity, and suggest that the crop circles are made by artists, farmers trying to make money, and pissed students on the way home from the pub. Tales of this kind have been said to have been created to 'throw us off the scent', and that the people behind this propaganda are protecting the members of government and the media that actually are from outer space. But we all know that aliens are of a higher intelligence than the average human, therefore there couldn't possibly be any working in government or mainstream media.

The Tasmanian government has come up with a novel way of explaining their recent crop circles, though. Being the largest supplier of legally grown opiates for use in the pharmaceutical industry, they are having a few problems with stoned wallabies. The marsupials are alledgedly eating the poppy crops, getting high, and hopping around in circles. For up to 12 hours. Sheep and wild deer have also been spotted behaving oddly, sheep walking around in a large circle for hours on end.

Personally, I've always thought wallabies are controlled by aliens; I mean how else would they have worked out that those pretty flowers in the next field would get them high?

Boggartblog learns that Michael Jackson's last wish was not to be buried or cremated, but, because he was 90% plastic, to be melted down and turned into lego blocks so the younger generation could play with him for a change.

One of the top attractions listed in the tourist guide for the small American town of Austin, Minnesota is The Spam Museum.

Oh well, I suppose its as good a place as any to fritter away and idle hour.

More humour every day at Boggart Blog

RELATED POST:
Spam - a lot As in "we've gorra lorra lorra pink pork related meat product not the musical.

It is inevitable that people would quickly start to claim Michael Jackson is not really dead. It happened with Buddy Holly, Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin who all found it possible to be dead, dead famous and at the same time evade the all seeing eye of the media. But at Boggart Blog we like to go a step further and so we will reveal why Whacko Jacko and his handlers decided death was the only way left to salvage the singer’s stalled career.

For many of the superstars who have become more successful when dead, embarrassing revelations about their private lives that would have damaged them in life only enhanced their reputation in death. Did we care that Elvis liked to eat fried banana sandwiches while sitting on the lav? Did the knowledge that Marilyn did not change her knickers every day diminish her sex appeal. In death and in the fantasies of millions Elvis was always the slim, hip swivelling teenager and MM’s panties were always pristine. Jim Morrison; in reality fat dead guy in a bath: in public perception always the slender, beautiful rebel. See what we mean.

Most of the evidence we have to back up our allegation is circumstantial of course but just apply logical reasoning and you will understand why Jackson’s death had to be announced now. We are not saying the hospital where he was treated or the Los Angeles coroners office were complicit in the deception, there were people in Jackson’s entourage who were so skilled in administering medication they had managed to drug up the star enough to have him declared clinically sane on several occasions. The drug that put him into a deep coma and slowed his heart rate to one beat per minute was administered by a member of the entourage and the authorities had no way of knowing what had really happened.

Why was this done now, in the days leading up to what meeja talking heads predicted would be a triumphant comeback with a season of 50 gigs at London’s O2 arena? The clue is in the venue. O2, Oxygen – the Oxygen of publicity was what was needed to kick start record and DVD sales and make some money for the parasites and hangers on who had lived off Jacko for so long. To die would be sad but to die on the verge of a comeback would be tragedy worthy of Grand Opera.

And why would the singer agree to such a course. Consider the dichotomy of Michael Jackson. Certain aspects of his lifestyle forced him to become a virtual recluse, he spent weeks on end closeted in Neverland with only little boys, cartoon characters and Jesus Juice for company and yet this was a man lived for acclaim, craved adoration, fed on the adoring attentions of his fans. He even liked to cast himself as Jesus, an unfortunate habit which led to that infamous Jarvis Cocker moment. So how was it possible to earn a living, be adored and indulge in certainly lifestyle options that do not bear close scrutiny?

Be dead of course?

Yes Michael had for more to gain from being dead than either Elvis or Jim Morrison before him. Once dead he could be a publicity shunning control freak and a publicity seeking fame junkie simultaneously. And whatever he was getting up to in his secret hideaway, in the public perception he would ever be that cute squeaky voiced kid with a normal nose.

It was not in Michael’s make up to slip away quietly, to have an empty plane flown into a mountain, pay a fat tramp to sit in a bath eating speed, to have six burly henchmen and a crane lift him off a golden toilet. No, Jacko had to go out big. A million tickets sold for the O2 gigs, a million people wailing and gnashing their teeth at news of his death (most because they were worried about not getting their money back) would appeal to Jacko’s sense of occasion.

There was no way the concerts could ever go ahead of course. Apart from what abuse of prescription drugs had done to Michael’s heart there was the question of dancing. While the fans would be expecting to see the old dance moves that resembled a spazza on speed the weird one’s body had deteriorated to such an extent due to excessive surgery bits would drop off if he stood up too quickly.

We understand the original plan was for a lot of headline grabbing showboating, concerts cancelled, postponed, will he, won’t he rumours flying around, pre publicity shots of Michael looking frail but bravely insisting the shows would go on. Then the dramatic collapse twenty minutes into the first concert. Shock, horror. Tsunami of sympathy. Diana moment, spontaneous outpourings of grief, mega record and DVD sales, the posthumous autobiography dictated to a psychic, the Bubbles the Chimp reveals all expose syndicated to Murdoch owned publications around the world.

Unfortunately something happened that made it all go pear shaped. While many of Michael Jackson tickets languished unsold in the safes of agencies that had snapped them up and other were being given away as competition prizes news started to filter through that the Take That tour had shifted a million and a half tickets and the boys were playing to packed houses and rapturous reviews. And furthermore Take That’s clown faces were only painted on.

Michael Jackson could just not face the fact that he was not as popular as four has beens from Manchester. In a fit of pique he brought his death scene forward to try and steal attention from the boy band.

NOW CHECK the top comment. Kudos to Jack Frost who save me the trouble of linking the conspiracy theories.

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot
Ian at Authorsden

...but instead, he opted for the route signposted 'Nut Job'.

I am, of course, talking about Michael Jackson, although I'm not suggesting he was a bum...just a nut job. At the risk of upsetting members of my family, immediate fellow bloggers and potentially everyone in the world, I feel compelled to write about this today. This is as much of a suprise to me as it may be to anyone.

I am 31 years old and Michael Jackson has been making records/being a nut job for as long as I can remember (technically longer, but I can't remember that). He started well, he achieved so much in his early years; his first 4 singles with The Jackson 5 reached number 1 in the States; his extended Thriller-video dragged MTV kicking and screaming into a new era of diversity, moving from being predominantly white spandex-clad rock music and power ballads to including more and more black artists; his music combined rock, dance, pop, and soul to make a sound that sold records like no other artist ever before. He worked with greats such as Qunicy Jones, Paul McCartney, John Landis (director, 'Thriller' video) & Martin Scorcese (director, 'Bad' video), and has been a major influence on many an musical performer over the last 20-30 years.

I can remember the Thriller video coming out, my mum got it from the video shop and brought it home for me and my brother to watch. It was a huge thing at the time, if you hadn't seen it within a week, you were to be ostracised by your entire school until you learnt how to do the moonwalk. I shared ownership with my brother the cassette albums of Thriller and Bad. Anyone who claims to have not danced to a Michael Jackson song at some point in their life is lying. Not that I was a massive fan, really. I lost interest after Bad; that's when I develpoed a love of spandex-clad rock, and when MJ started to suggest he might not be totally on this planet.

The only other artist who I can put in a similar bracket is Madonna, who has performed her own fair share of nut job behaviour, and is currently in danger of turning into Meryl Streep/Goldie Hawn in the film Death Becomes Her.

So. Where did it all go so horribly wrong? He bought a monkey? Well, he's famous and has lots of money and it all adds to the character profile, right? He sleeps in an oxygen chamber? Marketing ploy, or maybe just a tad eccentric, but that's allowed when you're an international superstar, right? He married Lisa Marie Presley. Enough said. He was probably the only person in the world to have had more cosmetic surgery than Joan Rivers, altering his appearance beyond recognition from his Jackson 5 self. In pictures I've seen of him today at his last public appearances, he looked more like Skeletor from the He-Man cartoon than the little black kid who sang a love song to a rat (the first sign of oddball leanings?)

But despite all the bad press, baby dangling, accusations of child abuse and subsequent court cases, and recent bankruptcy rumours and reclusive-ness, he is still regarded as a legend the world over. And that is the ENTIRE world. Even Azerbaijan and on through to the Hanging Gardens Of Babylon. And I will say that in all the footage I have seen today (which is probably not as much as the rest of the world as I'm in Mallorca with no telly!), he always made an effort to greet his fans, chat to them, shake their hands, and seem like he genuinely meant it, which so many actors and music stars aren't always so bothered about these days.

I'm not devastated like the uber fans who are holding vigil's arounds the world, but I am shocked, much in the same vain as I was when Diana died. He was only 50. He had young children, as well as his parents and brothers and sisters, who are all now left without a loved one.

My epitaph to him would have to read:

Michael Jackson, 1958-2009 - musically a legend - mentally a nut job

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot
Ian at Authorsden

As the media hype machine goes into overdrive and celebrity gossip talking heads witter vacuously about a "Diana moment" and a "spontaneous outpouring of emotion" the prize for the most tasteful early tribute to Michael Jackson, the man and his music, has to go to rolling news channel CNN.

To fill in the time between initial reports of Michael's death and official conformation that he had hung up his dancing shoes for the last time they reminded us of the erstwhile King Of Weird in his prime by showing the Thriller video in which MJ danced in full zombie makeup.

Nice one.

Were the rumours about child abuse true? Boggart Blog helps you decide for yourselves.

More humour every day from Boggart Blog

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot
Ian at Authorsden

Here in the Boggart Blog editorial office we love flipping through the public sector recruitment supplement that comes with The Guardian every Wednesday.

Some of the jobs on offer by public authorities, quangos and charities are hilarious and though the salaries are not great it’s easy to get the idea that not much work will be required from the successful applicant.

How is Domestic Violence Action Co-ordinator going to occupy their time? Co-ordinating domestic violence by scheduling the wife beating activities of thugs so as to spread the load on A & E departments and ambulance services? Or if some bastard is ill or just exhausted, perhaps these jobs involve arranging for someone else to go round and beat his wife up for him?

Jobs in Domestic Violence have come up a few times recently.

Another of this weeks vacancies that has us all baffled is an advert for a Singing For The Brain Co-ordinator. WTF is singing for the brain. It is something to do with teaching lousy singers to not make any noise, just sing a song in their head. Or something more sinister perhaps, are the government encoding messages the Fibbonaci series values of musical tones and employing pitch – perfect singers to brainwash us all?

Just as baffling is the requirement for a female prostitution action worker (they’re nearly all co-ordinators or action workers, sometimes even action co-ordinators. Anyway, a female prostitution action worker, isn’t that just a pretentious way so saying “prozzers wanted.” Maybe not because the job description said the job holder would be “researching and developing strategies for dealing with the causes of demand for prostitution. Well that should take about five minutes. Too many sex starved blokes, not enough prostitutes. Sorted, can I have my year’s salary please?

A team of black and ethnic minority compact officers is needed in London. To compact black and ethnic minority people like they compact household waste? Isn’t that a tad racist? If member of ethic minorities are not compact enough they should only accept work permit applications from pygmies and Japanese. No Sumo wrestlers though. So pygmies, selected Japanese, San bushmen from the Namib desert. And Eskimos maybe, they are quite compact.

Pick of the week though was a full page dedicated to “careers in substance misuse.” That's drug abuse in p0lain English

How do you get into a career in Substance Abuse? Well being called Amy Winehouse, Pete Doherty or Keith Richards is a good start.

More humour every day at Boggart Blog

RELATED POSTS:
Skin Up A Toad
FESTIVAL! If you like to live outside the laws of time and space and can't get a career in Substance Misuse sorted out for yourself, the physical dimension can be escapes for three days every June at the Glastonbury Festival.

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot
Ian at Authorsden

We all know and love the weekly ritual of Prime Ministers Question Time in Parliament. You know the drill, David Cameron stands up and asks of Gordon Brown: “Does the Right Honourable Gentleman agree that he is a bastard and furthermore that his party are a bunch of bastards?”

To which Gordon Brown replies: “My Right Honourable colleague the leader of the opposition is mistaken as usual. To see what a bunch of bastards looks like he only needs to look over his shoulder.”

The thought of looking over his shoulder at the serried ranks of regicidal Tory MPs must make Cameron feel much as Julius Caesar did on his way to The Forum on the Ides of March.

Other than that we do not generally hear much about Question Times in Parliament but they have lots. Yesterday for example was Health Question Time and a junior minister, Ann Keen stepped up to the oche ready to face the slings and arrows of outraged Tories. The first question called concerned testicular cancer. This obviously required a delicate touch but Ms Keen fielded it deftly and widened the discussion to take in sexual dysfunction and prostate cancer too.

Parliament is heavily weighted in favour of men as the whiney faction of feminists never tire of telling us. There is nothing make politicians like better than talking bollocks so you might think talking bollocks about bollocks would be right up their street. Strangely there were few members (oops, pardon!) willing to talk bollocks about their own bollocks, bollocks in general or any of the many complaints that afflict male wedding tackle but that we are too shy and retiring to see a doctor about.

The debate on this very sensitive topic did not really get started and was would up with a simple statement that cancers of the crown jewels can be cured if diagnosed early enough. But that would involve going to the doctor to talk about your bollocks…

More humour every day at Boggart Blog

Just a reminder that as it is Glastonbury this weekend lots of our old posts on subjects that come up again and again are now online at Greenteeth Multi Media. Like This one for examplr: FESTIVAL!

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot
Ian at Authorsden

One of Boris Johnson's sidekicks has been forced to resign after being caught out claiming dinners with his lover on his London Assembly business expenses:

“Ian Clement, Deputy Mayor for Government and External Relations, has resigned from the Greater London Authority (GLA) with immediate effect. He tendered his resignation to the Mayor of London this morning following the discovery of further discrepancies in the use of his corporate credit card."

I reckon it's the lover that dobbed him in.

If only Mr. Clement had invested in a copy of my book "Ageing Roue's guide to playing away from home," Rule one states quite clearly; Never allow your lover to think you regard her as a business expense.

The book in mentioned the post is fictional but you can invest in The Best Of Boggart Blog, Vol 1 at our Lulu Publishing storefront.

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot

Anyone else see the television pictures from parliament of the election of a new speaker for the House of Commons? Tradition demands that the new Speaker, when his or her name is announced, makes a show of great reluctance and has to be dragged to the Speaker’s chair.

That was hardly the case with conservative MP John Bercow. As soon as his name was called he was off like a ferret up a drainpipe with one of his Conservative mates hanging on grimly and yelling “Johnny baby, you’re supposed to pretend you didn’t want the job."

From what we saw it would have taken the entire New Zealand All Blacks Rugby Team to slow Bercow down.

Nice to hear then that as soon as he was sworn in people were plotting to oust him.

More humour every day at Boggart Blog

I’m off to Guy Fawkes blog to find out more.

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot

In school we used to have our own version of that old northern favourite On Ilkley Moor Baht ‘At. The refrain went “All Yorkshiremen are twats, all Yorkshiremen are twats…” There is no truth in that of course, Yorkshire is full of very nice people, no more twats per thousand head of population than anywhere else. I still sing the schoolyard version, with a slightly changed lyric whenever I visit a redeveloped area in one of our major cities:

All architects are twats, all architects are twats, all architects are twats…”

That is not true either and would have remained a little private amusement had it not become necessary to write about one modernist architect whose outstanding twattery taints all other members of his profession. Just recently a row of epic proportions has erupted between HRH The Prince of Wales, defender of all that is traditional and worthy and fuddy duddy, patron of The Village Green Preservation Society and talker to trees and Prince of Architectural Darkness, Richard Rogers. Far from preserving the village green, Rogers would like to see the few that remain covered in concrete, glass and steel...

CLICK HERE to read full post

You would think nothing could come between a millionaire and his shiny new yacht, that one who had dedicated his life to the aquisition of money and material things whould cherish and protect those objects of desire that give him status and make us mere mortals envy him.

Oh yes.

But even a millionaire, a billionaire maybe must at some point put his trust in us plebs. And that is when revenge becomes as easy as not checking a couple of festentings......WATCH

Launching The Launch

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot

There are few plus points about being disabled but one of them is the bizarre stories that can be picked up by watching daytime television. This week one of the daytime shows has been running a series of features on irrational fears. The strangest case reported on was that of a woman who has a fear of soup.

?………………………………………..?

A fear of soup?

Yes, she starts sweating and panic breathing when she sees a tin of Heinz Cream Of Tomato and even gets twitch when shown a cuppasoup in its packet though technically cuppasoup is not soup but a chemical cocktail. So irrational is this woman’s fear there is not even a name for it. Pognophobia (fear of beards) dendrophobia (fear of trees) and claurophobia (fear of clowns) are all recognised and fairly common conditions and we think claurophobia will be a lot more common by the time Psychoville has completed its run.

Less well known perhaps are Aibophobia (fear of palindromes – I didn’t make it up, I’m on the level) A well known palindrome is Nun so a person with Aibophobia and Cloisterophobia (fear of Nuns will be in real trouble if they ever go near a convent.)

Competitive types may be at risk of developing Kakorrhaphiophobia, a fear of defeat. How great would it be if that came up as the tie break question in the pub quiz at the Meritocrats’ Arms?

We digress however. Fear of Soup does not have a name. We suggest Potageophobia or mulligatawneyphobia or cockaleekiephobia might be appropriate and slide off the tongue easily but this does not help us with our problem. How could anybody become afraid of soup, or how could any rational person be reduced to a state of fear and panic by food, and how could that fear be so indiscriminate. There is a world of difference between a bowl of chicken and sweetcorn at the local Chinese restaurant and a tureen of Brown Windsor at a formal dinner.

One soup I have often found disturbing but never frightening is Baxter’s Country Vegetable. This is perhaps because it slides out of the tin in a solid mass making a squelchy sound as it does so and then it lies in the pan like a dollop of congealed sick. It is the most ugly, repulsive food ever devised. Tripe looks better. When actors have to throw up in films or on TV it is Baxters Country Vegetable they use. Don’t let anyone tell you actors don’t deserve the obscene fees they are paid. The never know when the script will call on them to regurgitate mouthfuls of cold Baxters Country Vegetable soup. And yet, to the best of our knowledge none has ever developed a fear of soup.

After scouring my memory I can honestly say the only soup that has ever made me feel truly apprehensive was the Skink (fish soup) at the Slingerbulten Restaurant in Stockholm. Yes it is a real restaurant or at least was in 1997.

The Slingerbulten Skink was a thick creamy soup, more like a chowder really, and it was not unusual to see eyes staring up at you from the surface. Not just staring but rolling around and blinking. Nobody ever dared think about what monsters of the abyss might be lurking in the murky depths of the bowl.

It tasted absolutely delicious though.

Hard as it is to imagine how somebody might become afraid of soup the poor woman from daytime TV deserves our sympathy. Never to know the satisfaction of dipping a lump of crusty bread into a steaming bowl of oxtail or lentil and bacon after a brisk walk on a cold day is sad enough but the thought of missing out on an opportunity to sample Slingerbulten skink is too sad to contemplate.

Having said that, the Slingerbulten skink did often induce bouts of sweating and breathlessness. The chef had a rather cavalier approach to seasoning.

more humour every day from Boggart Blog

The Slingerbulten on Flickr

Read review of The Slingerbulten

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don't forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages...
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot

A New Yorker has been charged with dressing up as his late mother in order to claim benefits totalling £71,000.
Boggartblog sent a reporter to find out more about this bizarre story.

It was a dark and stormy night. (God bless Snoopy, I do love that opening line.)
A lone car cruises down the deserted blacktop.
The driver blinks the tiredness from her eyes.
At the side of the road a board looms out of the darkness.
MOTEL 1 MILE
Her hands tighten on the wheel and her foot presses down on the accelerator.
She needs a break.
The headlights cut through the driving rain, up ahead she can make out the turn, marked by white reflector posts.
A sign swings in the gusts of wind.
The Bates Motel

Even though the hour is late and the road deserted she indicates and turns off the highway.
The driveway twists towards the eerily gabled building at its end.
She pulls up in the parking lot.
The building is not inviting.
A single story row of rooms stands dark in front of her.
At the end a dim light advertises the reception area.

She could drive on, but she has already driven over three hundred miles, and it is very late.

She gives a little shiver and derides herself for being foolish.
A motel is a motel is a motel.
Apart from in Hitchcock movies.

She leaves the car and hurries through the rain to the glow of the dim bulb.
She pushes through the door.
The reception desk is deserted.
Behind the desk is a closed door. She can hear the mumble of voices.
She presses the bell on the counter.
And waits.

The clock on the wall ticks.
The door opens slowly, allowing out the flickering glow of a television set.
A tall, thin young man appears, shuffling forward on slippered feet.

"Good evening.
It's a terrible night.
Not a night to be out and about.
Would you like a room?"
His voice is a little too high for a man.

"Yes, thank you. Is there any place to eat?"

"We can provide breakfast, between 6.30 and 8.30.
There's a vending machine behind you, if you like candy bars."

"Oh. I haven't eaten since lunchtime. Never mind."

"Well I could ask Mother if she would make a sandwich for you?"

"Oh thank you. That is so kind."

He hands her a key and directs her to the end room.

"I'll have Mother bring down your sandwich."

She thanks him again and then turns and leaves, dashing through the rain.

The man returns to his room, closing the door behind him.

Alone in the room, the girl turns on the shower and peels off her clothes.
She steps into the cubicle and pulls the plastic curtain across.
The water is hot and she closes her eyes as it streams off her hair, down her face and onto her aching body.

There is a discreet knock, then the door is opened.

A little old lady, wearing a red cardigan, and trailing an oxygen tank on a trolley behind her, enters the room with a plate of sandwiches in her other hand.
She places the sandwiches on the bedside table.
She stand and listens to the sound of water in the shower.
Slowly she approaches the bathroom, silently pushing open the door.
Behind the curtain the girl is oblivious to her presence.
The old woman approaches the shower.
She reaches into the fold of her skirt and withdraws a knife.
She steps up to the shower and, raising the knife high above her head, plunges it down, through the shower curtain into the body of the woman.
Blood starts to flow.
The woman screams.
But the knife is withdrawn and plunged in again and again.
The water runs red around the drain, the screams diminish to a gurgle, the body slumps down in the stall. Then silence.

"Oh when will you people learn. If I want to dress up as my dead mother and claim rent allowance and disability payments and such like, I'm not going to put up with you guys coming snooping around am I?"

"Oh and perhaps we should change the name of the motel, from Bates to Parkin!"