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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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- EVENSONG, THE WELL-TEMPERED UKELELE, MORE JAKE.
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22 comments:
No flowers please.
Donations may be made to the Campaign for Truth and Reconciliation (UK).
As with all of these evil, lying, treacherous fuckers it is my fervent wish that an open coffin would not be an option.
I think his will require blacked out windows for his own personal safety.
Wow. A Leyland Austin Princess hearse.
No single product in UK manufacturing history better chronicles Ruin than the Leyland Princess
The Allegro surely was worse, Mr YAIC, but we'll not fall out over it.
Mr Byers is the Austin Allegro of British politics. A filthy fucking folly, and now he is finished, fucked, forever. Let the joy-bells ring.
And Beckett too. ANd The Hoon!! Laugh? I may die of it.
Hewitt, of course, not Beckett. I have managed to make a disappointment out of even this. Go back to your caravans and prepare for oblivion.
Mr jgm2 - it hez to be an open covvin as ve need to be quite zsuuurrre zey are in it and ze stake iz firmly hammered through zeeir chestz, jah.
As someone pointed out on Mrs Dale's, I think, it's not really the dishonesty that keeps on kicking, it's the utter crapness of the people that inhabit the Labour Party (and, surely, all parties).
Oh, good grief, how many deaths is that cunt Hoon responsible for and ..... ah, fuck it, in Ruin anger or fury is just a pin prick in the arm of devastation. Ho hum - may go and get a doughnut.
Stick to the jam-free variety, Mr dtp, for your health. And sugar free. And ideally fat free; remember Patsy Leatherface was Secretary of State for Health. And she knows where you live. They all know where you live.
Anybody notice all that sub-conscious vanity grooming she was doing, with her hair and her glasses, the horrible old boot?
Ignore mr ishmael's anti-doughnut propaganda, Mr DTP; nothing more scrumptious hot from the pan with home-made jam and just a dusting of sugar. Proper chips too, though not, perhaps, both at the same meal. And real butter on baked potatoes never did anyone any harm, compared with horrible artificial 'spreads' and nassty fake sossidges made out of god knows what. Or is 'doughnut' code for something distasteful and uncalled-for? I am always simpling myself about things like that.
Anyway, Hoon. My dear the former mr narcolept had to meet him once on some official visit; said he was without doubt the stupidest person he had ever met, lights dimly on but everyone out, not a blind bit of notice taken of anything he was told and not a shred of interest in anyone he was introduced to. I did ask mr n how it was that politicians in large groups of squaddies never ever got accidentally shot in the leg a bit, but he just stared into the distance and changed the subject.
Dear Mrs Narcolept
A Goebbels award for literary style to our dear host in his denunciation of the hearty doughnut - quite right too in my opinion.
As per how come no one's ever shot the Hoon, well, it's a funny one that. My colleague and I were speculating on the very subject earlier today and also noted that no PM has accidently and repeatedly walked into a hail of bullets. One would suspect that war weary squaddies view life in a certain abstract fashion and that the accidental & repeated shots to the head of a complete ejeet would seem just an act of minor dischord, of triffling importance when fellow squaddies, chums and brothers in arms have been blown to kingdom come for reasons unknown to any bugger in theatre or in Londonistan.
Hey ho. If you weren't in 'nam, guess you don't know about 'nam.
Mr jgm2: re Campaign for Truth and Reconciliation. Am keen on the Truth, not so much on the Reconciliation.
Humiliation now, yes. Hoon and the others being stripped to their undercrackers and paraded through the streets. Sorry if the thought of that has ruined anyone`s dinner.
Dear Mr. Ishmael,
It is amusing how quickly your readership defaults to chatting about foodstuffs - especially heart attack food stuffs. Doughnuts and chips this month. I fondly remember last year's extended reminiscences about sweeties. You were away at the time, and I don't know if you've caught up with all that went on, but the sweeties discourse was headed by Gone But Not Forgotten, ably assisted by WOAR and PTBarnum. They all joined in by the end, though. Never heard from Gone But Not Forgotten since; it was probably only sweetie reminiscences that rang his bell.
Not at all, dear lady, I spring to my own defence. I am an avid reader of Mr. Ishmael, but, unfortunately I am intellectually ill-equipped to comment on many of our Teacher's insights. Sweeties and doughnuts are a different matter. As a matter of interest, dear lady, are you the Agatha Raisin who commented quite some time ago?
It is an appellation containing its own enigma, mr gone but not forgotten, isn't it, yours? And it often perplexes me, where people go to, whilst still being here, so to speak, I am grateful to ms raisin for smoking you out. I am glad you are still here.
Hi, Mr. Gone,
Don't mind if I abbreviate you, do you? And I'm never sure whether it is forgotton with an o or forgotten with an e. As to secret identities, I could say no - that was Clark Kent, but I'll admit it - I AM that Agatha Raisin - I just abbreviated myself. Anyroadup, I liked your gently nostalgic reminiscences about sweeties of your youth. Being brutally honest, again, sweeties of my youth, too. I remember the farthing tray at the sweetie shop, clutching my little brown coin with a picture of a robin on it and deciding between chews and sherbert things and wishing I had the other coins to buy the grown up sweeties. Do you think Mars Bars really were about ten times bigger then, or is it just that we were smaller? My mum, dad and myself used to share a Mars Bar - can't see that happening now. But then, they'd just won the war, liberated Europe and saved the world - so they were quite accustomed to privation.
Regards,
Agatha
And Aztec bars.
I can't bring Aztec Bars to mind, Mongoose,old bird, and, as we know, I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of historic confectionery. Thank you for being so kind about my sentimental remembrances of past times, Miss Agatha, but I do believe that the bird you recall on your farthing piece was a wren, not a robin. And, dear Teacher, how kind of you to remember me. I'm always here, gone but not forgotten.
They were the same size as Mars Bars but less sickly sweet. Three layers that you could peel apart. Put 'em in the fridge first and chip the choc off the outside... here.
"I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of historic confectionery. "
Are you, then, the eponymous mr Gone But Not Forgotten of the Gone but Not Forgotten website, linked to by mr mongoose, which describes a goodly handful of gone but obviously not forgotten Cadburys products and which is written in a style not entirely dissimilar to your own, might it be that you are also mr mongoose, or even everybody else who posts here, are you, possibly, even, me?
On a less mystical and more pedantic note, one feels that it is contradictory for you to say that you are here, although gone (but not forgotten) it is, in this universe, impossible to be both here and gone, innit?
Anyway, there is more to happiness than chocolate - liqourice, humbugs, sherbet, Sharps Toffee, Nuttals Mintoes, Aniseed Balls, Gobstoppers, Jelly Babies and Wine Gums, Fudge, Turkish Delight and Peppermint Creams. Chocolate is actually confectionery made decadent, addictive, laxative and it gives one a dreadful headache. And,as mr mongoose reveals with his refrigerated chippings, anally retentive and victim to obsessive compulsive disorder.
You have joined the sweetie club, Mr Ishmael. Rejoice!
I never join anything, mr mongoose, and as a Type 1 diabetic I could be but a visiting member of the Call Me Ishmael Confectionery Club, but I thank you, nevertheless, for your welcome.
There is, though, a wealth of nostalgia in SweetieWorld and one of my regrets is that they now wrap KitKats and Mars Bars and Dairy Milk in some fucking awful Gorilla condom material, and not proper paper, as they did Back In The Day, it is as though, with plastics everywhere, they would remove organic material from Consumerism because it is incongruous, heretical, even.
It's just called "film", Mr Ishmael, and it is efficient. But as you say, there is not the elegance of the band and foil of a KitKat wrapped properly.
And ponder if you will the wit and beauty of the machines that can wrap butter like they do.
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