Sunday, 27 April 2014



Good evening this is me, Kay Dog, 

with the six o clock news, here at skymadeupnewsandfilth. 
And at the top of the hour,
is this the missing flight recorder, the famous BlackBox from Malayasian Airlines, Flight wossaname, 370 something?  Over now to our Scottish correspondent. Angus Thug, who has some breaking news for us. Angus, what can you tell us?

Yes Kay, and thank you, well here from the north of Scotland the news is that I am joined by a man who was out walking his dog.........



I wasn't out walking my dog.

But you do have a dog?

Yes. Harris, he's my dog, well, he lives here.
 Dunno if he's exactly mine....


Well,  the house is mine,  the land, the cars, all that stuff's mine...if you believe in property, that is,  I'm never too sure, myself, about ownership. Of anything. Never mind ownership of somebody else, like Harris.

But if you own that other stuff  you must own Harris, too...surely?

Well, I dunno what he'd think.  About being owned.  I mean, he does do thinking, I've seen him do it. Sure, he lives here. And we care for him. Even though he doesn't do fuck all.  We work for him, he doesn't work for us. I pay his bills, he doesn't pay mine. Who owns whom, you tell me. I don't own anybody.  Harris is  the blogbog.

But can we tell the viewers that you have a dog?

Yeah, I guess so. Tell them  he's the dogbloke.  I mean, equally, equally to me having him, he has me but that's OK, tell 'em that.  Tell 'em what you  want. I don't care.

About what?

About your viewers.


About your viewers. You don't care about them either, do you?  In fact, you probably don't care about them more than I don't care about them.  I just don't care about them, one way or the other but you must hate them.  I know I would.  If I was you.

Well, be that as it may...

It is.

It is what?

It isn't may, it's is.  That's how it is.  You hate them.

Well,  we can edit all that, let's get back to the interview.

OK. If you like.

And so, mr ishmael, it is mr ishmael, isn't it, so  how did you and Harris find the BlackBox?

We didn't.

Didn't what?

Didn't find the BlackBox.

So how come you have it?

Whaddayamean, How come I have it?  It's mine.

But surely it belongs to Malaysia Airlines.  Are you saying you stole it. As in stole it by finding it.  On the beach?

No, I bought it.

Who from, was it terrorists?

No, it was from the local stationers.

Well, did they find it washed-up on the shore?

Dunno where they got it.  Where do stationers get stuff?  Stationery warehouse, I guess.

But what would a stationery warehouse be doing with the most sought after BlackBox in maritime history?

It's not.

It's not what?

It's not a BlackBox.

Course it is.  I can see it, there. In front of my eyes.
It's black and heavy and it's made of immensely strong,  steely material

No, that BlackBox, there, that's not a BlackBox.  BlackBoxes are orange.

BlackBoxes are orange???  So what's that then, if it's not a BlackBox?

Oh, this BlackBox IS a BlackBox.

So why isn't it orange, if it's a BlackBox?

Because it's a BlackBox, I told you.

For fuckssake, why are you telling me that this BlackBox, here,  isn't a BlackBox because it's not fucking orange. Are you people up here insane.  I have covered stories about you all being inbred?

Well, everybody's inbred.

Whaddayamean, everybody's inbred ?

Everybody's related to everybody else.  I'm related to David Cameron, y'know, WisteriaBollocks Cameron.  We come from the same Norman French lawyers who came to England, moved up to Ayrshire and became McAmbroses and Camerons.  See?

But your name's Smith.  Not Cameron.

No, it's not.

'Snot what.

It's not Smith, my name.

So you're not Ishmael Smith?

Oh yes I am.

But you just said you're not.

No. I didn't.

Yes, you did.

No, I didn't.  I said my name's not Ishmael Smith.  But that doesn't mean I'm not Ishmael Smith. What's in a name? My name isn't stanislav, either, a young polish plumber. But I am.

You are what. Whom?

stanislav, a young polish plumber.  I am he.  Inasmuch as anybody is he. I used to be he, anyway.

But I thought you said you were related to David Cameron.

I am.  We're not close.  Just related. Like most families.  Y'know, blood's thicker than brains.  That nonsense.

Does he know you have the missing BlackBox which isn't the missing BlackBox?

I never told you that this BlackBox wasn't a BlackBox, just that it wasn't an orange BlackBox.  Obviously.  If it was an orange BlackBox it would be orange, wouldn't it?

And not black?

That's right, BlackBoxes are orange.

 Then why are they called BlackBoxes?  If they're fucking orange.

That's two questions.

How's it two questions?

Well, it's two answers.  So it must be two questions.  And anyway, that's what people say, these days, politicians, filth like that, they say, well, Andrew, there's two questions, there, Andrew, and I'm afraid that as ever, the devil is in the detail and so if you don't mind I'll answer the one you didn't ask me.

I'm not Andrew.

I know you're not.  But he is.

Who is?

Andrew is.

Andrew who is?

Andrew Neil is.

Andrew Neil? Does he have the BlackBox?

The PBC's senior political journalist relaxing.

Shouldn't think so.

So why are we talking about him?

I'm not talking about him.  You're talking about him. I only used him as an example, coulda been anyone  of those fuckers, Christ, there's fucking hundreds of them.

You what?

Look, I said it was two questions...

What was two questions?

The two questions you asked me.

What two questions?

Well, you asked me why it was called a BlackBox.


And then you asked me why it was orange.


So that's two questions, then.

I suppose so.

Do you want me to answer them?

I'm not sure...

You're not sure? But you're supposed to be interviewing me....

It's just's just that I came up here on a report that you had a BlackBox.

That'll be the neighbours.

 What neighbours, you don't have any neighbours.

Well, look, there's Shotgun Johnnie, over there, across the bay and there's Keith GooGoogaJoob up on the hill, he sells eggs, from his hens, he's the Eggman.  And then there's Antoine Frog.  He's a Frenchman up on the other hill,  but he talks just like he'd been here ten thoosand years, d'ye ken, mon ami.  There's lots of distant neighbours and they all watch me with binoculars.

They all watch you with binoculars?

Not just me. Everybody.


Yeah.  Everybody watches everybody else. With binoculars. Apart from me. I couldn't care less.

So, the neighbours anonymously tipped me off that you had a BlackBox?

'Swhat they're like.  'Swhy there's no crime up here.

What's why?

Everybody's so fucking nosey.  You couldn't pick a blade of grass without some bastard scrutinising you and getting on the 'phone about it to his cousin,  Yon Englishman in the big hoose, he's been chewing grass from yon field, aye, that's right, you tell the others.

But you said you weren't English.

I'm not.

So why do they call you English?

Fucked if I know.  I'm more Scottish than any of them. 
D'ya ever see that numptie film?

Numptie film?

Yeah, the one starring Harrison Wood, numptiest actor in Hollywood ...

You mean Harrison Ford?

Nah, you mean Harrison Ford.  I mean Harrison Wood, I got lumps of pitch pine and oak and mahogany, stacked up in the byre that can do better acting than him. Cops, presidents, CIA blokes, archaeologists, space warriors, he just does that same stupid wooden stupidness acting.  Fuck me, Star Wars was the luckiest day of his life. Anyway, he was wooding his way through  a film which was set among the Amish people in,

 I dunno, Pennsylvania, one of those North Eastern states.  And the Amish, see, are stone fucking mad, ride around in horses and carts, have singsongs and picnics, read the Bible a lot, build barns at the drop of a hat,  

tut-tutting all day long and hate every other bastard on Earth so much that anybody who's not one of them - an inbred, technophobic, barn-building, hymn-singing, joyless, beardy,  proto-Nazi,  judgemental  hypocrite - they call English.  Don't have to be English.  Just like here, just like me, here; I don't have to be English to be English.

Ah, I'm beginning to see what you mean.

What I mean?

Yes, it's starting to make sense.

Nah. It's just because of the italic.  You'll never understand what I mean. You don't do understanding.  You're part of skymadeupnewsandfilth.  Fuck me, understanding isn't in your job description.  Did I say job description?  I meant knob description.

Well, can you at least tell me about the amazing technicolour BlackBox?


Well, go on then.

Whaddayawannaknow about it?

Well, which aircraft is it from?  Is the data still intact?

It's not from an aircraft, I told you, it's from Rognald Thorfinn's Stationery Supplies.

What, they sell submersible data recorders alongside the staples and sellotape and A4 binders, how so cool is that?

It's not cool.  It's just a BlackBox.

Which turns orange.

No it doesn't turn orange.

Well how do you find it, then?

I don't have to find it.
It's just there, on the bottom shelf of a bookcase. 
Where it always is.

But what about when the sircraft crashes?

Which aircraft's that?

The one that you'd take the BlackBox on.

I wouldn't take it on an aircraft.  Why would I take it on an aircraft?

Because it's a BlackBox???

No,  I just call it a BlackBox because it's black and it's a box.  And it's indestructible.  Like a proper orange BlackBox is supposed to be.  Probably moreso, actually; they're shit, those BlackBoxes aren't they?  I mean, if they were any good they'd make the whole  fucking aeroplane out  of whatever it is they make the boxes from.  Wouldn't they?  Stands to reason.

So, this is not the Black or indeed the orange box from Flight Wotsaname, I forget, now... wossalthatabout, it drugs???

No. it's about visibility.  You know.  Can't see  much five miles down in the Southern Ocean, Didya ever read the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner? Nah, didn't think so. Wossitabout? 'Sabout guilt, remorse, redemption, penance - you wouldn't understand. But they're orange, anyway.  Mighta started off being black. Y'know, you can imagine the designer boffins, 

way back when, fag ash all down their shirts, saying, Now listen here, chaps, this recording box thingy is  a dashed serious piece of kit, dashed serious, pardon my French, and as we all know the right colour for Serious is, what, what's the right colour for Serious?  That's right, Smithers, good chap, Black is the only possible colour for a serious piece of kit like this.  Find it?  Find it?  Fucked if I know how they'll find it in the dark. I'm a fucking boffin, not a fucking crash-site investigator. 'Snot my fucking job to crawl through fish-eaten fucking corpses and soggy fucking luggage.

So they made them black, then?

Guess so. Why else would they be called BlackBoxes?

But then they made them orange but continued to call them black?

That's  what I've been trying to tell you.

But why have you got one?

I haven't.

Haven't what?

What I said.

Do you mean you haven't got one?

Well, I wouldn't put it like that .

How would you put it?

I'd say I don't have one.

That's just the same.

No. It's not. It's not just the same.
Not having one and not having got one are two different things.  But that's to do with English, which you neither speak nor understand, right?

Right. Why should I? I'm just a journalist. And as a journalist, I'm curious to know....



Just curious.  That's what you mean.

What's what I mean?

You mean you are curious.  Not curious to know.  The to know is redundant.  Do you know what redundant means?

Course I do.  It means workshy, the unemployed, a scrounger.  Everybody knows that.  Redundant people are scroungers.

I wasn't talking about people, I was talking about words, about words being redundant. More use pissing in the wind, than talking to you, eh, Angus?  It is, Angus, to satisfy your curiosity to know,  a deed box, mate.  I keep the deeds of the house in it, passports, that sort of thing, birth certifcates.

Keep them in what?

In my black fucking box, that's what, now will you fuck off out of here, before I set Harris on you?

Well, that's the breaking news here, a fascinating story, we'll keep you up to date on developments with the Orange I mean the Black Orange Box,  maybe it's the Orange Black Box.
 And now back to you, Kay, in the studio.

Thanks, Andy.  That was sky's Andy Thug for us there and over now to the Vatican where the late Jimmy Savile has just been made a double saint, not only by Pope Nazi but also by the current Nonce Protector General, Pope Frankie de los Fray Bentos, 

How do we get away with this shit?
Fucked if I know but don't knock it.

 the Morecambe and Wise of Holy Fathers. They are having a laugh, aren't they,  making saints of child molesting former CEOs?  Nil desperandum, as they say in the noncing business. Stay tuned.


Anonymous said...

That's better.

I'm now so happy I could drive into a truck whilst using my mobile.

callmeishmael said...

It ain't mobile.
What isn't?
Your mobile telephone.
Yes it fucking is, it's a mobile phone.
No, it's not. It's portable. it's you.
What's me?
It's you who's mobile. Not the phone. The phone's portable. Y'know? Never called a transistor radio a mobile, did we? And anyway....
And anyway what?
Mobile's an adjective.
You can't possess an adjective.
You're fucking mad, you are.
No, 'snot me.
Who is it, then?
Nearly all of them.
Nearly all of who?
The New People.
How would you describe the New People?
They're the ones who don't know that hopefully is an adverb.
But that's nearly everyone.
Yes, nearly everyone but me. That's what I mean.

Anonymous said...

I can now report that a mouthful of Whisky cleans a monitor to a high standard.

mrs narcolept said...

mr harris is looking very glossy and handsome.