Skimpy Scrawlings

Sunday Roast on a Thursday Night

2007-01-31T06:05:00.000-08:00

At a risk of my blog entries getting all samie,
I’m writing a poem for my girlfriend Jaime,
A few weeks ago, this chick of mine,
Turned the venerable age of twenty something,

She gave me some jip; twas no ode in her card,
I said, Pet, I’m no performing bard,
I don’t always know if the Muses are there,
But right about now, I’ve got oodles to spare.

She walks the earth on gorgeous pins,
And next to her other girls smell like the bins,
There is no compare; she is like no other,
But right about now, the funk soul brother.

She’s got luscious hair and is fair of face,
With a slender body like a young Lorraine Chase,
Throw in a bum like the Taj Mahal,
She’s as hot as a vindaloo, even a phal.

But the truest of beauty comes from inside,
And her heart is big and long and wide,
She is generous to a bloody fault,
Of this earth she is the salt.

Once you’ve known her for a while,
You start to miss her beaming smile,
She’s as clumsy as a baby giraffe,
But always follows with a laugh.

I never worry ‘bout worldly harms,
When I hold her in my arms,
And though there is much more to say,
I’ll keep it simple; Happy Birthday!

See you very soon, babe X

50 Years Ago Today

2006-11-12T12:21:00.000-08:00

A sunbeam fell down from the sky
The apple of her father’s eye
A tiny angel with legs of oak
Arrived to bless us mortal folk

And thus the life of Jean began
Proudly begot of Vera and Stan
Their little daughter was so gracious
But her appetite alarming, and voracious

She ate with the gusto of a health pony
Pilchards, peas and pepperoni
Nothing escaped our little Jeanie
From leftover dog food to fettuccine

The siblings arrived, one by one
Helen, Philip then John and Joanne
She bathed us all in love and embraces
Feeding us biscuits and washing our faces

With Scamp and Paddy, Pip and Sam
In her warmth we all happily swam
And when down our faces, tears did stream
We’d always run to our Jean

But our little Jean is no ordinary girl
Amongst us swine, she is a pearl
There are no bounds to her love and compassion
Only our food she has attempted to ration

Never upset her while she’s grazing
She’ll turn on you with eyes a-blazing
And what can cause that halo to slip?
Having the temerity to pinch a chip

Throughout this life our Jean has shown
A tendency to be accident prone
An incident with a Bunsen burner
Left her looking a little like Tina Turner

She finally left the family bed
And went where angels fear to tread
With her dazzling smile and backpack full
Jean descended to the depths of Hull

She travelled wide, and we all missed her
Although often shadowed by her sister
The world is most certainly a better place
Blessed by Jean’s bi-lingual grace

Jean supports us, loves us and doesn’t judge
And never been known to hold a grudge
Knowing Jean is to be enriched
Which explains why Gary was so bewitched

Yes, the handsome Gary arrived on the scene
And it soon became obvious he was keen on Jean
It was also clear, the longer they dated
That Gary’s love was being reciprocated

But Gary was not the very first love
Of our beautiful cherub from above
Two came first before this elegant beau
Mr Smirnoff and Pinot Grigio

The stork flew by and it was no folly
That it dropped off Katie, then our Ollie
And in the eye of Jean, as ever fair
Was not an apple, but a perfect pair

A final thought for her proud father Stan
Whom the beautiful Jean made a happy man
A few this night may shed a quiet tear
But I have a feeling, he might just be here.

Written by Philip & John in celebration of Jean’s 50th Birthday on the 12th of November 2006.

A Wedding Celebration

2006-11-03T03:44:00.000-08:00

I was honoured recently to be the right hand man of Sean Francis Conroy at his nuptials and as such, it fell to me to ensure that his day went smoothly and without a hitch. This was, quite frankly, a vain hope and it didn’t take me long to stamp my mark on proceedings. As we milled around outside the church it suddenly hit me that the two giant button-holes that should have been adorning Sean and my good self were in fact adorning Sean’s kitchen table. Rachael kindly lent me her car keys and with a cool head I haired out the church, through the car-park where the car was handily placed and onto the streets of Hebburn. I then scampered ineffectually up and down the same patch of road for a while, in the vain hope that the car would miraculously spring up through a hole in the ground. Were it not for a passing saviour, (Thank you Sarah), I might still be there now.

All this was forgotten when the beautiful Kerry glided into the church on the arm of her father. Is there ever a happier sight? I could see the awe in Sean’s face as he gazed at the vision before him and it wasn’t lost on me either – Her auld man did look great in a suit. But it was Kerry who was the fairest blossom that day, the rest of us mere weeds starving in her shadow. I have to admit that my usual stoic, stony-faced demeanour crumbled as I saw Sean imperceptibly rest his hand onto the hand of his new wife as the service was drawing to a close.

One of my tasks was to ensure that a special gift (bought by Sean for Kerry) was transported to the reception hotel after the service. It was as we approached this hotel in our reet posh old Bentleys that I realised that the prezzie was safely holed up in Sean’s house. I slumped back in the seat, reflecting on the prescience of Kevin’s telegram as it nestled in my pocket.

“Best Wishes to you Sean and Kerry on your special day. Hope Sainty doesn’t mess it up”.

Happily the day was perfect. A real humdinger of a wedding, choc-full of great people. As the night drew to a riotous close, I reflected on it all and was filled with a massive feeling of warmth, partly due to the fact that one of my oldest friends had honoured me by making me his best man and partly due to the fact that he’d bought me an i-pod nano for doing it.

In return, I give this…

Yes Sean he is my pal of old,
A man you cannot measure,
And now his story must be told,
So listen at your leisure.

Brought together by our Mams,
I wish you could have seen us,
But as we gurgled in our prams,
A barrier lay between us.

It loomed above and stood so tall,
A presence so entrenched,
It wasn’t quite the Berlin Wall,
More the Bamburgh Fence.

But Sean he had two evil twins,
Yes each one was a bugger,
They armed us both with lolly-sticks,
To dig for Dougal’s sugar.

And so a bond in stone was hewn,
Through rain and hail and thunder,
From the foggy banks of Castle New,
To the merry Land of Sunder.

Through most our lives we were good lads,
And rarely played with fire,
But Mr. Conroy saved my back,
In a fight with a black Maria.

Yet man can’t live on bread alone,
Or even syrup and marge,
And when Sean first saw Kerry Maine,
She filled him with a charge.

And so it came their marriage day,
In October, on day seven,
Upon an angel we did gaze,
Near Martha’s Vineyard, Hebburn.

Yes Sean he is my pal of old,
A man you cannot measure,
And now the story has been told,
He has his Dougal’s treasure.

See you both soon, Conroys. X

Linus's favourite track of all time..

2006-10-20T20:16:00.000-07:00

is "Fingal the Llama's stripey beret".
SIZE LARGE

Sean and Cam

2006-10-05T15:23:00.000-07:00

Two old friends about to embark on new journies (not together, like). A very significant weekend awaits us. My love you and yours, Kerry and Lisa.

Will speak more of this very soon.

X

Back for good

2006-10-05T12:26:00.000-07:00

So I disappeared for a while. Mam’s birthday, although geographically only a few inches away, is actually months ago now. It was Kathy Bates. She’s had me holed up in her shed in Penge and threatened to Chinese-burn my ankles if I didn’t carry on writing chapters of “Mr McJumper’s Jam Factory”. I had originally killed off a character that was close to her heart and she took severe umbrage. Not really sure why. He was a minor character called Funt who spent most of his time hanging round the bins dressed as Louis Pasteur. Anyway, she seemed to think that, “the book’s plot progression is intrinsically hinged on Funt’s disengaged refuse-orientated activities”. I couldn’t see this link personally and so escaped by sneaking out, bit by bit, through my own nose while she wasn’t looking.

Also I am forced to answer the withering comment left by my esteemed blogging compatriot, Kevin Chicken Feet III regarding an the meeting of my sister Joanne and web usability stud, Jakob "The Fonz" Nielsen. He is in no way overrated and I would go as far as saying that he is the sole reason must of us haven't all had our eyes poked out by bad internets. Anyway, our lass ensured that future generations will surf in safety by laying a big fat hug on the man himself, imbuing him with such an enormous sense well-being that he vowed a new and holy crusade. Amazing guy. Amazing chops.

And while I am at it, Mr Kevin's mother, Philip, hypnotised me into bidding for a three-foot high brown gorilla at a local auction. I went in there with specific instruction not to go anywher near it but after a seemingly innocent discussion with Mrs O'Mall, I felt a strange yearning rising in me. My fate was sealed. She is by day a salve for the tortured mind, a cooling balm for stricken soul as she pursues her angelic vocation, unselfishly giving of her time and sweat so that others may traverse the assault course of life with a hand at their shoulder. At the weekend she makes you buy monkies.

Keep safe amigos X

75

2006-07-18T16:14:00.000-07:00

My Mam is 75 on friday. Also my brother Phil's Mam is 75 as well so we're taking her on a trip to Prog in the Czech Reprobate with Phil's new-world family (Rachet, Eye-sac and Is-it-a-bell). This trip will be glorious celebration of Vera's life so far and once we decide the mode of transport to the airport, all will be well. I'd prefer to take the hydrofoil but everyone else wants to walk there on mountian bikes.

Mam was etched out of the finest North East granite in 1931. You can actually still make statues of her by dropping molten copper into the reconstructed cliff wall left over from her creation. Mere physical frailties and ailments bounce and perish as they attempt to enter the Fort Knox that is her constitution. She has a shock of hair which generates so much static electricity that it has the Bermuda triangle looking on enviously as U-boats and guillemots fly headlong into its deadly gravitivity. Poems of Veronic celebration write themselves unchecked, leaping into life from same potent ether...

Oh happy birthday Vera,
True image like no other,
Everyone can here 'er,
Especially me and my brother.

Florence it comes next year,
For Beany, Bags and wor Pigs,
Though I heard it smells of dog hair,
A dump that is just like Stig's.

And so let's raise a glass,
I'm sure she won't be miffed,
Happy Birthday Mother,
On your seventy fifth!

All our love, Mam, as always

X

Something to brag about

2006-07-16T16:14:00.000-07:00

I've got a really fit bird with long legs and a great ass.

Speak soon babe. X

Ballycastle to Pompey

2006-07-16T11:52:00.000-07:00

So I went to two weddings in two days the other week. The first was the grand union of Clodagh and Martin over in Northern Ireland. The actual marrying part of the gig was in a fantastic church in Ballycastle and the reception was in Ballymena. I asked my co-travellers what 'Bally' meant, local boys as they are with brains like steel-traps and tongues as sharp is stanley knives. Not one of them knew the answer. It's a anglicisation of the gaelic word 'baile' which means 'town', you thick fecking eejits!

The wedding was great and anybody who's remotely interested can check out Murphy's totally undistorted collection of piccies here. It's difficult to sum up the how brilliant the whole thing was when there are so many verbally gifted gobshites over in Belfast who can do it so much better, so I suggest you ask one of them. If you are from outside of N. Irelend, record the answer on a dictaphone and play it back again and again until the batteries begin to wear down and when this happens, the voices will slow down to a speed and tone understandable to the human ear. Patience is required but it will be worth the trouble.

For my part, I offer this...

And so they got married, Martin and Clodagh,
She looked gorgeous, you should've seen her
They went together like whiskey and soda,
As they Bally'd from Castle to Mena.

I felt so honoured, as grand as it sounds
Of this day we'll all talk often,
They both make you feel like a million pounds,
And that's the wonder of them.

Thangyouverymuch and my warmest wishes again to the Cassidys.

I gate-crashed the other wedding the next day and instead of rambling, will hand over to Young Omal Speaks for a description. Naomi and Brad kindly enivited me to the evening do and all I had to do was send a tonsilitis bug to Liverpool and Bob's yer uncle, I wangled a seat for the speechies and eaties.

A message to both of you; I can tell already that you will be together for life so all I can say is that I look forward to a sharing another camping trip with you, near a housing estate round the corner from wherever Kevin is living at the time.

Goodnight my sweets.

Ze Germans!!!

2006-07-11T12:21:00.000-07:00

My new favourite people. Had nothing but friendliness from them on my world cup trip, apart from that bunch of neo-nazis we encountered during the Argentina match but they were an exception and actually added a delicious edge to the proceedings. Anyway, I met up with the boys; Sean 'Mish Moneypenny' Conroy, Johnny 'Super' Mac, and 'Sixty Hours Of' Phil Reynoldinho. We hopped on the boat to Berlin and checked into the Hotel Loudy-Hot on Oliver Platt Square. The room was great. It was the penthouse suite on the top floor of the building and had these huge art decor style windows flanked on either side by two gargoyles. One was traditional but the other had the head of Harold Lloyd and was hanging off the ledge for dear life.

It was all very impressive but ridiculously hot which I could understand because our room was the closest to the sun. It was however really really loud as well, like we were sleeping by the side of the road outside. Why? I'll tell you why I will, and for nothin' boy. Rogue Portugal fans had installed a road-winch at the bottom of our hotel which they cranked up to our floor when we weren't looking out of the window and down again when one of us strayed too close. Presumably to make sure we would be so tired that we wouldn't have the energy to cheer England on to victory.

Well we showed them boys! Anyroadup, I took this picture of brother Reynoldinho. What the devil is he doing?

A) The Patrick Duffy Man-From-Atlantis stance
B) Landing on the bed after falling through the roof.
C) Trying to leap towards the window to catch the Portugese out.
D) Sleeping.

To be honest, there were a lot of things Reynoldinho said and did which immediately created in internal list of ridiculous ABC options in our minds eye, a bit like in Robocop. The man is a walking legend.

I can't finish this entry without mentioning Johnny Mac, who specifically asked for a reference. Nobody has ever mentioned him in a blog before and this seemed to vex him so I will do him the honour by describing his antics. He didn't actually leave the hotel room for the entire holiday, choosing instead to watch every episode of 'The Good Life' on his portable DVD player whilst wearing a Cameron Diaz mask. He did occasionally ask the score but seemed happier when talking about "that one where Margot fell over in the mud".

At least Seany left the room and watched the games although he would sporadically bolt off into the nearby forest, returning half an hour later with a wild boar carcass draped over his shoulder.

All in all, a fantastic trip and I would jump at the chance to do it all again the next time the World Cup is in Germany.

Laters Babe X

Moved up North

2006-06-29T04:37:00.000-07:00

I've moved up to the North East of England at least for the summer. The reason for this is because as opposed to the South of England, we have an abundance of water up here. Down south, a serious drought is sweeping the land. People are only allowed to drink water between midnight and 3:30 in the morning. The environs are slowly transforming into a strange post-apocalyptic nightmare as man turns on his brother for the smallest drops of the precious elixir of life. Old women with swollen ankles are being kidnapped and tapped dry. A new strain of lizard people are evolving from the firey landscape while others are burying themselves deep below the desert, immersing themselves in a subterranean stasis in an attempt to hibernate through the infernal horror.

Up North, we have water coming out of our ears. Soooo much water we don't know what to do with it. There's not a day goes by without a new water feature being erected for the sole purpose of haemorrhaging away the excess. The latest is a 600 metre high rendering of a water molecule made entirely of ice.
Entire towns are being built entirely out of water, completely serviced by aqaubots who work the traffics lights and run the library and that. In contrast to the south, strange new breeds of creatures are emerging from the watery oasis. Not five minutes ago, a mersparrow hopped and paddled its way through the garden, singing and gurgling like a heavenly cherub. We live in a beautiful paradise.

On another note, I am going to Berlin today to join in the festivities surrounding the greatest marbles competition in the world. Sven Gordon Bennett, who must surely be acclaimed a the most swedish England manager of all time, has astutley guided his team to the quarter finals and I will be there to cheer them on, albeit 320 miles away as England are actually playing in Gelsenkirchen. The main game in Berlin is Germany vs Argentina. I am currently boning up on my irish accent and will be calling myself Bradlaw O' Skimp. Just in case the, "Hope we're all cool about that war thing" line doesn't cut it.

Here is a poem what is about that.

Me and my mates are going to the football,
We'll drink in the bars and eat in the food-halls,
Our arms we will wrap round the German and Argie,
Our smiles will be wide, our hangovers largie.
And when we are done, with new friends well met,
We'll shout from the airport,
"Auf Wiedersehen, Pet!"

So I've go this mate called Tamalyn Jade

2006-06-12T17:13:00.000-07:00

She works on an enormous ice-breaking ship on the the other side of Australia. In recognition of the fact that a small section of the nearby poupulation have squirreled their way into a pan-continental marbles competition (of which I will speak more later), she decided to reconstruct the initial stages of this assault by unleasing a single kangaroo against a lethal but very polite horde of 101 dalmation ninjas. At the end of the contest only three kangaroos and one ninja were left standing. Before he disappeared into the night, the last ninja whispered this...

Tamalyn, Tamalyn,
Always pack your flannel in,
Jade, Jade,
You’ll always have it made.

At least that's what she told me, and you should bear in mind that this person is fully capable of driving the entire length and breadth of Melbourne with her eyes closed. Without a car. Using only the power of her voice and eye-lashes.

I know what your thinking, "Hmmmmmmm".
I know. I'm thinking it too.

Sorry I haven't posted for a while. Been putting my feet up...

2006-06-12T16:59:00.000-07:00

The broken charity band I sold on Ebay

2006-06-06T04:38:00.000-07:00

This crazy laptop guy. He copy me so much in this link ---> Laptop Guy

Hello. My name is Kevin ChickenFeet and I live in Bath. I am 19 but pretend to be a lot older and like to pretend I am a big eBusinessman when I'm not actually that clever. Do you like the picture of me I took with my webcam?

Recently I sold a charity band to a buyer on Ebay, proudly displaying the legend, "Make Wrist Bands History". although the buyer paid £375 within a few days, I waited 723 seconds before bothering to send it to the buyer. It turned out to a perfectly good band except for one thing - IT DIDN'T WORK. Let me explain.

The proclamation on the band asserts that it will make said charity bands history i.e. non-existant. It is a given assumption that the charity band itself should have been rendered non-existant on the basis of its own assertion. If this happens, then the band no longer exists and therefore, the assertion no longer exists, thereby creating an impossible paradox from which there is no escape. If the charity band subsequently winks back into existance, then the assertion returns and the band disappears again. Because of this inexorable cycle, we see the continuing proliferation of all other charity bands.

I claimed to have moved to Dubai and hoped he would forget about it but he didn't. He performed a DNA extraction from skin particles found on the band. He then processed his findings using Uncle Finbarr's Picto-Make machine. An ingenious device that extrapolates from the smallest sample of DNA, the last 300 pictures that the subject almost certainly took.

There was a lot of porn, like this...

And this...

What have we here...

Let this be a lesson to all, summed up I feel in this timely poem...

If you mess with paradoxical charity bands,
You're gonna have a heap o' trouble on your hands,
From someone with an unhealthy attraction,
To Deoxyribonuclei Acid Extraction.

Message to Kevin....
If you give the money to charity, I will publish an apology as well as that black and white picture of you looking really handsome on a camel. Or something. The choice is yours.

Madrid

2006-06-05T09:09:00.000-07:00

So I went to Madrid for a stag-do last week, the stag being Emperor Martin of Belfast. He is so influential that he had a replica of Big Ben built outside his city centre penthouse. The fiesta was fantastica. Of course I can't relay any other details otherwise men will come in the night and give me chinese burns. Anyway, in the Plaza Mayor there is a statue of King Phil the fourth on a horse. A discussion started up regarding the significance of the various stances of monumental horses.

It is generally accepted that people who are cast riding a horse have fought valiantly in battle. Next time you see a horsey statue, check out its feet.

If all four feet are on the ground, it means the rider died peacefully of natural causes.
If one foot is raised, it means the rider was wounded in battle and died later.
If two feet are raised, it means that the rider died heroically in battle.
If all four feet are raised, it means the rider is actually still alive and is living in a hot-air balloon from which the statue is suspended. They normally spend most of their time fishing for pigeons.

Right-so, here is a poem about Madrid.

I went to Madrid,
To buy me a Lada,
Muchas Gracias,
De Nada.

Hasta Luego, muchachos and nunchuckas X

Boothby Graffoe

2006-05-17T06:37:00.000-07:00

My mate, Joe Jim Joe Burly Burly Sven, has blog about the radio and that; It am here. He recently had a mud-wrestle with a well known Radio 4 mega-star comedian truffle hunter details here and you know what? Insanely psychotic thirty nine centimeter rap-artist, M.C. BlueKnuckles, decided to weigh in with some rhymes. He made me print them on pain of death.

Yo Mister Graffoe,
Betta do yo math-O,
Mess with my homie,
Your ass I'll Straff-O.

Listen up Boothby,
Y' know what the truth be,
Yo lame-ass show,
Has a 'Radio 2' feel.

Word.

Ode to Jon Bon Jovi

2006-05-17T02:59:00.000-07:00

You are the real thing, Jon Bon Jovi,
You are like some hot scone trophy,
As a soup, you're won ton groovy,
Can I direct you in a King Kong movie?

When I woke up this morning...

2006-05-12T09:01:00.000-07:00

There was two feet of snow in my garden.

I have a sister...

2006-05-12T05:09:00.000-07:00

...what do live in New Zealand. She is called Hgaaaameeb. Did you know there is a phonebox in Wellington which (using judiciuosly placed mirrors) pretends to be a portal all the way to the northern hemisphere. They've worked it out that if you did actually dig directly down from this phonebox, you would eventually surface in Paris. I guess I'm trying to get across just how far away from me my skin-and-blister actually lives because the existence of this portal tells me that the furthest point away from Wellington is Paris. But I live about 300 miles from Paris, so I live even further away!

Still, she has great life down there and has actually grown by 15 metres in both directions. She plays rugby every single day with a loyal bunch of gorgeous elephant-monkeys and then grazes on nearby Rimu trees and the odd norwegian tourist. She has a nice boyfriend called Fabulous who loves her so much that he sleeps on top of the house to stop it blowing away in the night. She works with very nice people but 90% of them are allergic to the floor so they have use a complicated system of pulleys and shopping trolleys to move around the office. It's a very big office because their job is to create and maintain Billy Zane's internets for him while he's out canoeing.

My Friend Kevin

2006-05-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

I have a friend, Kevin Peanut-Lick ChickenFeet III, who runs a Crocodile Geisha School in Bath.

Crazy feet, Crazy guy!

Stunt

2006-05-11T06:01:00.000-07:00

I am currently trying to see how many mice I can fit into a guitar. I've managed one so far. He seems to like it in there and he won't leave. I may have to lure him out with shoelaces and beer.
On another note, I have a baseball cap with a spoon on it.

Reasons for not posting my photo.

2006-05-10T08:07:00.000-07:00

The last time I posted my picture on a website (www.massive-dolphin-fingernails.com) I almost broke all of the internets in the world. Due to my illegal good looks, my image not only burnt out most of the screens it was viewed on but caused collateral damage to many of the more important internet tunnels. I have since consulted Sir Clive Spectrum and he says he's fixed them up again and fortified them with sand and crushed bananas. So far, everything seems okay. Good work Sir Clive, you big wanker.

Not sure if I should post my photo but here goes...

2006-05-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

This is not my poem...

2006-05-10T07:39:00.000-07:00

Kylie Kylie Kylie,
You are really ace,
Minogue, Minogue, Minogue,
Let's fly away to space!

Earth Defence

2006-05-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

The largest felt-tip pen in the world

2006-05-08T08:47:00.000-07:00

I am currently in the process of constructing a pen that you will be able to see from space. Then I could draw a scary face on the Earth so that if any aliens want to invade, they will be tricked into thinking that, instead of a planet, Earth is a big massive head who can bray them with ease. I was also thinking of drawing a big speech bubble coming out of the moon saying, "Go on Macca, Knack them all!".

More scarily, someone has climbed inside my computer and replaced all of my desktop items with half-eaten biscuits. Maybe they got in through my internet chimney. There isn't really a lot I can do about it. This is like the time they replaced my recycle bin with a swiss army knife. Sound much more useful than it really is. Try it and see.

Some Things you should all know

2006-05-02T10:53:00.000-07:00

I am the Monkey King of Wessex and I will bring down on thee a plague of raging primates if you do not start paying attention. I can also count among my dear friends, the Wolf Emperor of Bingley and for sure he will assist me in my quest, calling to arms his terrible family of hell-dogs.

On another note, I started eating my house today.