Just a very short one thoughtful and enthusiastic reader, to advise that on Sunday 16 November Albertus Zwier Mangels, beloved of all of us, celebrates his 60th birthday.
What a pity if such an occasion were to go unmarked in these shadowy cyber pages.
I have made some researches into the proper rendering of his name, as there are those who suggest that it should be Zwier Albertus Mangles rather than the other way ‘round if you take my meaning.
Leading the way in their traditional, odious fashion are the nauseating desk jockeys of the Civil Aviation Authority, a curse on their houses.
It seems that our smug friends at the CAA foolishly sought to impose on our favourite iron thewed titan the fatuous restrictions of sub regulation 202.225 (5) of the Civil Aviation Safety Regulations 1998.
How he must have laughed.
How I wish I had been there.
Anyway, the upshot seems to be that they deregistered his little home made helicopter in about July of 2006. Why there was not a howl of protest from the Civil Libertarians about this I don’t know. Surely there are many among us who felt just a little safer to know that in our hour of need this super man might appear from the sky in his kit copter and dispense justice on all sides.
Dare I say Deus Ex Machina?
Yes, I dare say.
Of course his dog may have been happy, if he did get another one.
Still, the happy occasion of his birthday this Sunday should not be sullied by our petty ruminations. We wish him well and hope he has many more.
November 14, 2008 at 4:45 pm |
Well I am afraid that one was a bit cryptic. It was meant to be a hearty “Happy Birthday” to Albertus, but descended into an attack on the CAA. Those fellows always make my blood boil, but there is no reason that the readercatalina should have to put up with that.
Apologies.
Love
Big Olly
November 14, 2008 at 9:39 pm |
Yo, fellow sexagenarian! Respect!
November 14, 2008 at 9:41 pm |
What’s this ‘N’ business?
“His Royal Highness The Prince Charles Philip Arthur George, Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, Prince and Great Steward of Scotland, Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Great Master and First and Principal Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, Member of the Order of Merit, Knight of the Order of Australia, Companion of the Queen’s Service Order, Honorary Member of the Saskatchewan Order of Merit, Chief Grand Commander of the Order of Logohu, Member of Her Majesty’s Most Honourable Privy Council, Canadian Forces Decoration, Aide-de-Camp to Her Majesty.” That’s me. Tsk.
November 16, 2008 at 6:18 am |
Thanks, Your.
I should also mention that I meant to call the item “It’s not easy being Judy Green” but I somehow forgot.
Again, apologies. I should have taken a couple of deep breaths and bathed the temples in the old Eau de Koln.
Love
Big Olly
November 16, 2008 at 9:12 am |
Happy Birthday Alby! If you want people to know which is your house for the party, tie some balloons to the front gate. Uncle Brett tied some funny shaped ones to his gate when he had his party. Mum said they were too big to fit on his prick (I think she meant they would burst if he pricked them with a pin). Anyway, Olly why don’t you give a present, to Alby, of a little puppy with a parachute tied to his back. He will love it.
November 16, 2008 at 8:24 pm |
If you are a great Australian adventurer there is only one way to deal with CASA when they try to clip your wings- get your mates to make you the boss then sack them all!!!! Moo ha ha ha!!!
Of course it helps if you are a multi-millionaire.
November 17, 2008 at 5:34 am |
Welcome aboard, Mr Smith and thank you for that interesting insight coupled with sinister laugh. Plus all those jobs you have given to Australian biscuit makers.
As for you young George, thank you for the suggestion. I searched high and low for Zwier on the happy day but didn’t find him.
Anyone want a dog and parachute?
Love
Big Olly
November 17, 2008 at 6:51 am |
The happiest of birthdays to you, Alby, Old Fish.
Of course, George was the best Beatle. He shared my name. And was nearly as talented as me.
But don’t get me started on the CAA.
November 17, 2008 at 11:18 am |
I have only fond remembories of Alby M, mainly from his “made for overseas” shows that after a sufficient elapse of time, they’d use as filler for a Sunday afternoon, replacing the ferociously and unwaveringly unfriendly Malcolm Douglas and his pan pipes which signified impending trouble. “Dooooooo do-do-do-do loooodle loodle…” But I digress, Mr Lillee, we’ve covered that ground.
Alby’s shows were a hoot for my dearly threatening to be departed father and I!
Firstly, Alby would tried to build the danger of Little Jimmy the nephew not knowing the Land Cruiser’s brakes had failed that morning. Indeed, no-one knew, not even Alby, but somehow it worked. As my sage Atticus Finch-like father would point out, “they were bloody lucky that 5 strategically placed bloody cameramen happened to be in the right place when the brakes failed!”
Then Alby would wind up the show from from say, The Bungle Bungles, with a comment about wanting to see one more Coorong sundet, so off he faded into the distance in his little home made helicopter, pre 2006, at about 4.00pm in the arvo.
For the Petra Fides of this world, the distance between those two localities is about 10,000 miles.
Anyway, good segue by me ~ Petra, love, kettle’s on.
November 17, 2008 at 11:25 am |
Cheers, Some. (I didn’t know there was more than one of me. Oh hang on, yes I did. Big sussed out my blood sample was purloined to make clones to give our junior doctors something to do yonks ago. Rather spoils the pedantry, but what the heck, I’ve typed it now).
Do we have to raise our cups to Reg Varney? Surprised he hasn’t popped along yet. Must be a problem at the depot…
November 17, 2008 at 11:35 am |
Alby Sixty! And such a major spunk! I can scarce believe it. Still, look at me…
November 17, 2008 at 9:51 pm |
I am reliably told that Alby filmed all of his adventures on the Yorke Peninsula, S.A.
November 18, 2008 at 3:22 pm |
Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Bored! Like I’m sooooo totally glazed over here! Hell-ooooo!
Where is wit of yesterday? Where is the spanking repartee? Or even just the spanking!
Remember the days when Olly’s blog was brim-full of interest and delight? – a veritable gin-and-it for the times!
And when making love was just for fun?
Well, it seems those days are gone.
Now, it’s just me –
ALL BY MY SE-E-ELF – dont’ wanna be ALL BY MYSELF – anymore…
I wish Oscar were here… He was never blue.
God, I wish Doujon were even here…
November 18, 2008 at 3:29 pm |
Here folks. Enjoy.
I’m goin out to get hammered.
Again.
November 18, 2008 at 5:43 pm |
…very reliable source, one that would make David Richardson blush.
November 18, 2008 at 7:19 pm |
Could be worse Bosie, you could be doomed to hang out with Dave Lee Travis, like those poor unfortunates on ‘The Pops’…
November 19, 2008 at 7:19 am |
Bosie, I am sorry to hear that you are feeling down. I was going to try to cheer you up with a joke about Aunty Mabel being very pleased about getting her left something or other caught in the Alby Mangels, but I forgot how it goes.
Love
BIg Olly
November 19, 2008 at 10:28 am |
Sorry, Basil. My pique wasn’t directed at you. I was just screaming at the void.
Quite right, dear Petra. David Lee Travis – like yucksville! David Lee Roth, now that’s a different matter. And look – he almost joined us awhile back!
When did cops start accepting pathetic excuses for petty crime? As I recall, the old metropolitan scuffers were a particularly sceptical lot – especially when it came to standing a round at the Savoy for a couple of stable-hands and a footman.
November 19, 2008 at 12:29 pm |
I think some of those medals on HRH Prince charles were those ones that HRH Prince Phillip hung on him for murdering his ex-wife and getting away with it. Some other ones were for the prescience of buying that florist chain a week defore the murder. And the others were for going for a helicopter joy-ride at Aldershot while the Falklands War was on. Mind you, he’s that old it may have been the Boer War.
November 19, 2008 at 12:30 pm |
Heyyyy, wait a minute all of a sudden….
Speaking of which! Big, what ever happened to Fruity, now that I mention it? I notice no-one else has mentioned him, least of all himself! Has he gone to the Great Polly Waffle in the sky?
November 21, 2008 at 6:27 am |
Jeez – it doesn’t get any easier writing haikus!
I’m happy with this one, though; the rhyme just sort of came to me. I know some people think haikus aren’t supposed to rhyme, but tell me where it says they can’t, eh?
Belinda Greenie
String bikini
Does a nice thing
For my weenie
Better than that crap about frogs and ponds, anyway.
Yo later
Ash
November 21, 2008 at 8:44 am |
There’s nobody here to take your call at present. Rest assured your call is important to us, & will be dealt with swiftly & efficiently as soon as one of our staff is free to attend to you. Please continue to hold…
November 21, 2008 at 3:31 pm |
What?… What’s that?…
Ah, it’s you, young whippersnapper! Zounds! Must’ve dozed off! Bloody matron put m’ bath chair too close to the electric fire!
Last thing I remember was trying to make sense of a rather queer piece on the Owen Stanley Ranges. Extraordinary!
Ah, well! There you have it. Is it Armistice Day, yet? Special year this. 90th anniversary. Ye Gods, what age that makes me I daren’t venture to think! Anyway, this year, I said, come hell or high water, I’d be over the seas again to Flanders.
To see her, of course. To see Polly again.
Left it far too late. Been meaning to go for ages now. Bloody daft bloody Matron keeps saying no! And I, bloody stupid bloody know-naught, keep listening to her!
Not this time. Too important. Can’t stand her up again! They don’t understand, fish-faced busy-bodies! They don’t understand! But it simply wouldn’t do.
You see, Olly old stick, I’ve stood her up these twenty years – and she only ever stood me up… once.
November 24, 2008 at 8:44 am |
I always found it quite a simple life being Green – speaking in a titular sense here
And in my day, the cowboys on “Bonanza” were real men – Hoss, Little Joe…..errm, let me rethink that
November 24, 2008 at 11:59 am |
O-oh! Here we go again…
Where’s my benzohydrohypnol martini?
November 24, 2008 at 12:14 pm |
……well what about “Battlestar Gallactica” – that was a manly type of sci-fi movie wasn’t it?
or was it a TV series? Hey Heston, can you help me with my memory of these things? Yeah, you, Charlton, not the other one
November 25, 2008 at 9:34 pm |
I always liked Lorne Green. Much more effective than ‘Weed ‘n’ Feed’ at any rate. Isn’t it quiet in here? Cylons is golden…
November 25, 2008 at 9:37 pm |
I always liked Lorne Green. Much more effective than ‘Weed ‘n’ Feed’ at any rate. Isn’t it quiet in here? Cylons is golden…
November 26, 2008 at 8:00 am |
Well, yes it is pretty quiet here Petra, except for that echo.
I think everyone is still a bit tired after the big birthday bash for Alby.
Love
Big Olly
November 26, 2008 at 10:49 am |
“Weenie”? Since when is that acceptable slang this side of Brooklyn? I’ve heard of “wang”, but not “weenie”. I expect it’s a corruption of “wiener”, the German for Viennese and, by extrapolation, the vienna sausage, which the Americans insist on pronouncing in pig-ignorant disregard of the well-known Germanic eccentricity of pronouncing “w” as “v”.
November 26, 2008 at 9:34 pm |
Sorry about that, how did that happen? I thought your nephew would have sorted it!
No wonder the ‘girl’ in the yellow polka-dot bikini song ‘was afraid to get out of the water’ if ‘weenie’ means what Ashley thinks it means…
November 27, 2008 at 6:23 am |
Jay, Jay, He’s OK
He’s a FUCKWIT
So I say!
Hey – It’s the Doujemeister here, and about fucken time, Eh?
Er… excuse me… did somebody say fuck?
Goodness gracious it must have been fucken ME!
Yes, you’re right. I am somewhat peeved. Et pourquoi you ask? Well I’m sure you saw the GQ Man of the Year awards last night.
“Oh, we are so sorry that Douje was taken from us at the apex of his talent.” (says my dear old dad)
“Yes, Douje had a great career ahead of him as a pissopt aresehole – a noble calling of which the country sadly lacks exponents at this sorry time…”
NO – Instead it’s Heathy’s dad making the fucken speech.
And why? Because Heathy was such s great gay fucken cowboy! Jesus fuck. I’m sure we all agree that one thing we need more of is gay fucken cowboys. I wish there was more so I could fucken kiss em all. Give me fucken strenght!
But I digress –
Hey Jay – what’s with the weenie shit? Like who gives a fuck? Like, wake me up if it ever gets vaguely fucken interesting.
You want a poem about Belinda Green?
Belinda Green
Real obscene
Munch her minge
Have a binge
Screw screw
Spew spew
Go again?
Na – I’m through!
(happy with the scansion, dicknut?)
Douje
November 27, 2008 at 7:11 am |
Yes, yes, that’s it!! Then we bring the strings up on “Screw screw”, backwards tape of the guitar solo at “Spew spew” and end, of course, with the lingering dramatic piano chord on “through!”.
Anthology 4 here we come, then Cirque du Soleil etc etc.
By the way, how are John and George going?
November 27, 2008 at 3:16 pm |
Well, I am always pleased when the muse takes one of the contributors and can happily accept that Belinda Green in a bikini may be a stirring sight to behold, but I feel contstrained that it was her namesake Judy Green off Sale of the Century who went off with Alby on a World Safari.
Belinda Green was the first Australian Miss Universe I think. Something like that, anyway.
Love
Big Olly
November 28, 2008 at 8:16 am |
Hey Ollster –
Fuck Off
November 28, 2008 at 11:45 am |
Doujon Zammit
Fucken jam it!
Jesus damn it!
Else I’ll cram it
Wif my knob,
Fucken slob!
Better job
For your gob!
Anyroad…
Rather think I’ve rather got the hang of this haiku caper, n’est-ce pas?
November 28, 2008 at 12:05 pm |
Well, I am sure that Basho is glowing with pride at this outpouring of poesie.
I suppose if it can’t be frogs and water, this rather more earthy theme is the best we can do.
I was partway through drafting one about a little kitten playing with a ball of wool, but I might wait now.
Love
Olly
November 28, 2008 at 8:44 pm |
Speaking of the draft, Big, that reminds me of the day that mum and dad and Wynney (28) saw the passing out parade at Puckapunial, it was a long way from cadets.
The talented John Schuman fashioned a song from that incident, and maybe the readervessel could discuss the merits of his writings and museseses….
November 28, 2008 at 10:15 pm |
An old pond;
the kitten jumps in —
The sound of drowning.
Is that along the right lines?
(mocha no whip)
November 29, 2008 at 8:03 pm |
Judy Green
That Birdy num-num
I got quite keen
on her pert bum
when she dashed
across the velt
then Albie crashed
the end was spelt
her lovely world
it went to pieces
and gave her bum
some brand new creases……
Dammit, I’m all choked up now. I’m going off to launch a new line of peanut butter after her.
November 29, 2008 at 8:33 pm |
All right you little ratbags, its translation time again. Turn to page 24 of Casterman editions and ecoutez et repeatez!
Le tour d’un jeune cheville ci-dessous une paire de plus-Fours est toujours un vieux marins des impulsions de course.
The turn of a young ankle below a pair of plus-fours always gets an old sailors pulses racing.
Mon nom est Tintin et vous mon amour albâtre fesses.
My name is Tintin and you will love my alabaster buttocks.
Capitaine Haddock, vous semblez étonnamment engorged ce soir.
Captain Haddock, you seem surprisingly engorged this evening.
Je ne pense pas que c’est sage. Vous Snowy mettre hors de sa nourriture.
I do not think that is wise. You will put Snowy off his food.
Mettez sur votre petit vieillard Tintin masquer de nouveau, ça me va.
Put on your little old man disguise again Tintin, it really gets me going.
Thompson Thomson et l’exécution d’un soixante-neuf sans enlever leur chapeau? Impossible!
Thompson and Thomson performing a sixty nine without removing their hats? Impossible!
December 1, 2008 at 10:58 am |
I thought it was “mum and dad and DENNY”.
December 1, 2008 at 12:09 pm |
No, it was Wynney – Johnny Wynne (No. 28), prior to arriving at the Parade to captain the Redlegs. Schumman used the name Denny to protect the innocent, though he did name mum and dad, which was curious… I didn’t know my parents were there that day, but the lyrics prove it.
December 1, 2008 at 12:55 pm |
Bored I am with the work of Robert Schumann – his Scherzos were piano dominated dross. SchuBERT on the other hand, now you’re talking
I am more interested in songs in which I had always believed I was named
For instance, “Computer Games” by Mi Sex – I think, and correct we if I am wrong, already discussed in this forum for the belief that the line “the matrix grid don’t care” was “the mteric squid don’t care”.
Well, call me egocentric, but I had always thought the line “advance one level on green” was (obscurely) “advance one level, Lorne Greene”.
One could blame the anti-establishment and (frankly) non-sensical lyrics which abounded at that time (eg Ca Plane Pour Moi, Grand Olly), but given the Battlestar Gallactica role, and the preponderence of the video game “Galaxian” in Fish & Chip shops in those days, I did not see it as too much of a stretch.
Then again, it could have just been the vocal characterisations of that dead wanker who sang the song……
I give you the lyrics again, because if you go down the “Only 19″ path again, I will have to disembowel myself
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I fidget with the digit dots and cry an anxious tear
As the XU-1 connects the spot
But the matrix grid don’t care
Get a message to my mother
What number would she be
There’s a million angry citizens
Looking down their tubes at me
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter, puter games
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter-puter-puter, computer games
There’s safety in numbers, they say
‘Cause the figures never lie
No perfect persons ever noticed one computer die
I’m programmed to a schedule
What will the answer be
Is it suicide run till the work gets done
‘Cause the matrix grid don’t say
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter, puter games
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter-puter-puter, computer games
Jammed up tight by red traffic lights
Advance one level on green
These opportune commuters
They’re blasting on thier hooters
I fidget with the digit dots
Frustration rules out there
As the XU-1 connects the spot
But the matrix grid don’t care
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter, puter games
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter-puter-puter, computer games
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter-puter-puter, computer games
Com-pu-pu-pu-pu-puter-puter-puter-puter, computer games
Com-put-er Games
December 1, 2008 at 12:57 pm |
sorry for my typographical error
METRIC squid
December 1, 2008 at 1:09 pm |
As I recall my salad days, I’m sure we used to sing
“Praise to Al Ward, the almighty, the king of creee-aaaaaaaa-shon!”
He fell from those lofty heights to become the kooky sidekick in McAskill and Warren, or whoever they were
December 1, 2008 at 2:28 pm |
Well, I always thought that song about Superman ended thus:
I’m only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things and sodomy
And sodomy
And sodomy
Yeah, and sodomy
Ans sodomy.
Listen to it and tell me I’m wrong!
December 1, 2008 at 6:06 pm |
Yo iz daffinately rong
December 2, 2008 at 4:23 pm |
All of this talk of that rogue, Alby. Although I’ll grant you that he was popular with bikini tramps like that Ms Green, and those who frequented the local Leagues Clubs when his “adventure films” were screened.
But what about my Joe? No-one ever seems to credit him for being the rugged knockabout individual that every female on Ramsay Street pined for…..
December 2, 2008 at 6:11 pm |
As soon as Joe left, Dr Karl and Paul Robincon were able to move in on all the young scruff on the street. A bit sus, I say. But who would have thought that Harold turned out to be Lou’s gay lover, I say.
December 2, 2008 at 8:25 pm |
Why Mr TwoHats, I say…..young “scruff” indeed. Away with you.
And poor Harold was always a gay troubador of sorts – very eager to impress with his musical and “artistic” pursuits.
A little too eager, I’d say.
I’ve not seen more try-hards at impressing people since young Shane McShitleaf and Albert Waugh were in Footlights productions at Adelaide University in the early 80’s
Not that I would want my observance of such things to age me, mind
December 3, 2008 at 8:21 pm |
I remember a pairing called, ooooh, it was McCauley and Walton, if memory serves me, from the same period, but these two ‘performed’ at The Governor Hindmarsh hotel.
Mind you, I was fooled badly that one time I shed a tear when Madge let cry with that heart-rendering cry of “HAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR-OLLLLLLLLLLLLDDDDDDDDDDd!” that time he drowned on the beach (Harold Holt style, which shades of Dame Zara).
Neither she, nor I, realised that he had merely washed up on the shore, amnesiac, trotted off to Tassie and joined the Salvos, which with hindsight makes perfect sense. He came back a year later, Toadie simply unable to carry the show alone.
December 3, 2008 at 9:28 pm |
In my book Toady couldn’t carry a shoe alone. And what is the back story of his new lady friend of late? Did she get lost after a Dawn French look-a-like contest and end up in the Vicar of Ramsay St. Bring back crazy Izzy! or that other one with the big mazoondas.
December 8, 2008 at 8:13 pm |
Looks like it’ll be Alby’s 80th before another message is posted – I haven’t seen nor heard from Ronald Biggs since November 28, 2008 at 12:05 pm, when he boarded Alby’s conveyance for dinner at the Galapagos Islands, with pre-dinner drinks in Nova Scotia, to see a total eclipse of the sun…
December 8, 2008 at 9:49 pm |
He’s so vain, he probably thinks that post was about him.
December 9, 2008 at 9:58 am |
Thanks for that I was wondering why the closing line was familiar!
December 9, 2008 at 10:30 am |
Ah, yes! Total Eclipse of the Heart.
Bonnie Tyler and some homoerotic flying choirboys romping round an old mansion breaking things in slow motion – Ah! The Eighties music phenomenon.
Enjoy!
December 9, 2008 at 11:12 am |
What a strange boys school. I’d forgotten Russell Mulcachy’s somewhat literal interpretation of the lyric ‘turn around Bright Eyes’. Still you can’t argue with a John Wyndham reference.
‘Bright Eyes’, that reminds me of another song… let’s not listen to Art Garfunkel! Fortunately she also mentions ’sparks’.
December 9, 2008 at 5:15 pm |
and old tune that comes to me from time to time, Olly is
“it’s a perfect day
and I feel good about the weather
it’s a perfect day
and I feel good about this T shirt
etc”
December 9, 2008 at 6:51 pm |
Today I was.. I was… at the barbers, yes! That should do it! And they had ABC 891 on the radio and it was drive time with Grant Cameron, so I couldn’t get out of it.
The key
I had to listen to his soppy drivel, and the key to today’s program was where were you when imprtant events happened, a la where were you when Princess Di died (at Keckle’s engagement, then Kramer’s engagement, then the kareoke bar and then home for a rare root) or 9/11 or the 1995 C Grade GF or that day when Big sideswiped the bus that day.
Emotion
Well, his intro to all of this was the day John Lennon was thankfully murdered, to put us out of our misery. Cameron was then a fill-in newsreader at Channel 9, so he big-notingly said, and said he was too overcome with emotion to read out that particular news bulletin on the hour, so someone else had to do it.
Meant
And I know what he meant, we all heading to the Robin Hood upon hearing the news, and getting boozed emotionally, singing such songs as “Imagine there’s no Lennon…” or “Nobody told me there’d be days like these” or “When I’m 6 feet 4 (under)” or even “Have you seen Polythene Pam.”
Occurred
We were too overcome with emotion to read the news, too.
And then it occured to me, he couldn’t be blind, Big Olly was blind, Mbutu too, but the $%&#wit Cameron…..! He was actually too overcome with weepy emotion to read out that John Lennon was dead. He didn’t think, as did we, that Mark David Chapman was a hero.
Tree-hugging
If any further proof be needed that Grant Cameron is the biggest wimpiest Combi-driving tree-hugging tool on the face of the earth, then this be it, dear gentle and voluminous reader.
#
What a %^&#wit!
December 9, 2008 at 6:58 pm |
The Sparks, one of my favourites (exclamation mark), I don’t mind telling you. Recently I was awaked by my friends who said that one of their film clips were being aired during RRRRR Rage. I leapt from my bed, but missed it. Just knowing it was on warmed my heart.
December 9, 2008 at 7:07 pm |
Yow! There I was being a Sparks fan and all, while Some is posting some dynamite right there and then.
Does anyone ever wonder where they were when Mother Theresa died? If you can’t remember it was 5 days after Diana so you were probably watching some crap about Diana which was pretty much 24×7 at least 5 days after she died. I remember the breakfast radio news announcement, “the world mourns the passing of ANOTHER great huminatarian.” ANOTHER!!! Indeed. I never was a morning person.
December 10, 2008 at 5:16 am |
I recall I was trying to rewrite ‘Crocodile Rock’ for a quick morbid cash-in… I mean heart-warming charity single. So called f#ing prima donna Bernardo Taupin refused to help! Said it was undignified! As if a man of my wardrobe needs lessons in dignity from that jumped-up hack, I ask you…
December 10, 2008 at 10:12 am |
I remember when Di was young
HRH and me had so much fun
Throwing tantrums
and herself downstairs
She had a husband
and I had no hair
But the biggest thrill I ever had
was when she was killed by her in-law-dad
and although you all think it crass
I got to sing an old song
At her requim mass
Laaaaa
la la la la laaaaa
la la la la laaaaa (etc)
December 10, 2008 at 10:58 am |
Whilst I anticipate non HRH Diana, Princess of Wales would need a requim or two in her later years, I of course meant requiem. Not that the old bald dud “Sirs” Elton John would have read the difference. Turd.
Now that’s fixed , I’m off to eat some red rosey apples in summer.
December 10, 2008 at 6:42 pm |
Some pap with a camera
Killed Princess Diana
Killed her in colour
On the countour of a downtown ’spressway
Killed her in motion
The flash he couldn’t handle
Tapped on the bumper
And cut short her life
And there’s not many knew her
The way Hewett did
Sure enough, she was a good root
But then aren’t most pin-cess-esss
whoa woa
whoa woa
woa…….
Now it’s all over Princess Diana
And Camilla is in
Dodi is dead, whoa woa woa
I guess the Jews won again
Now it’s all over Princess Diana
Let’s lay land mines again.
December 11, 2008 at 8:07 pm |
Bernie you twerp! We alread DID the Diana one. Don’t you remember, you were a bit huffy at spoiling Candle in the Wind, & I bought that gorgeous cerise Caddi with the mink interior with the proceeds… erm no I mean we single-handedly built a shiny new hospital for little blind kiddies, that’s it.
I was talking about remembering when dear old Mother Theresa, close personal friend of mine, I bought her a Versace headscarf for her birthday, I told her if she was going to manifest herself in currant bagels & suchlike she needed to be a bit more oomphed up, well anyway, when SHE carked it I said we could enhance our magnum opus to wring a few more pennies from the gullible & sentimental. You said I didn’t have any sort of opus, of any magnitude, so I said ‘Crocodile Rock’ & you said… Sorry must go, David is shouting me for my tea. Probably be fois gras & chips again…
December 11, 2008 at 8:14 pm |
That’s proper English chips, not crisps or whatever you call those things in packets. & I missed a ‘y’ out of the previous post, but I did it on purpose, don’t accuse me of making mistakes… Yes David I’m on my way now, don’t be so impatient! Yes, I know it takes me ten minutes to walk from my East tower study to the West wing dining room, but I’ll take the diamond-encrusted stairlift… right I’m hanging up now.
December 13, 2008 at 4:08 pm |
Oh yeah, “do one about Mother Theresa, ’cause she might die” says 4-eyes. Thats so easy. She helps the poor and likes chicken. That’s all I had to work with. And to Crocodile Rock of course, not Bennie and the Jets like I said.
I did one, it bombed, but who remebers her funeral, lucky for me..
Baby Theresa was crazy like mania
As young girl in Albania
She’d eat chicken
from the breast to the gizzard
Then she went to Calcutta
and she looked like a lizard
She’d treat the sick and help the poor
And pretend that them she would adore
She’d get money from the rich
and all the other nun’s
thought that she was a b#tch
Laaaa
la la la la laaaaaaaaa
la la etc
December 13, 2008 at 4:11 pm |
The apostrophe of possession was an error, but rug head couldn’t see it anyhow.
December 13, 2008 at 9:59 pm |
Four eyes,
Eltin’s got four eyes,
But I still get more
of the roy-al-teees
Haha just kidding, great stuff Bernie. Now I just need one for the Queen Mother & we’ve enough for a CD! David! Get de Beers on the phone, I feel an order coming on…
December 15, 2008 at 10:15 am |
I remeber when HRH The Queen Mother was young
She and the King had so much fun
December 15, 2008 at 4:08 pm |
I have started making my own movie about my personal battle to overcome my “demons”.
Perhaps following Alby’s blueprint and including a few girls in bikinis (or out of them, with a line of coke on their stomach
) might give me a future career, now that the AFL seems to have snuffed my out again
Ben
December 16, 2008 at 4:28 pm |
Now, that’s a travelogue worth watching!
December 16, 2008 at 4:33 pm |
Pass us the amyll nitrate, Bosie…….
But, sorry, looks like I’ll be leaving it to Alby boy – I’m off to Melbourne
A tiger for you, a tiger for me, if your not a tiger you’re no good to me….
December 16, 2008 at 6:44 pm |
Hey Guys!
Wow – I’m feeling like I’m a fricken haiku MACHINE.
It does take me a lot of time, but I reckon I’m kicking some haiku goals (ha ha, that’s for you Ben C – get it?)
Anyway, here goes with the latest:-
Princess Di
If you were bi
You and Camilla – thriller
So – OK or what?
Coops
December 16, 2008 at 7:53 pm |
The mention of the word ‘thriller’ reminds me of when Monkey Jackson appeared on that episode of the ‘The Simpsons’ and didn’t sing Thriller, but it remound me of Dodi’s parting song to Die Anna:~
She’s out of my l-iiiiiii-fe
She’s out of my l-iiii=hiii-hiiii-fe
And I dont know whether to laugh or cry…
I don’t know whether to – LIVE OR DIE, etc
He chose the latter, Ash Cooper style
October 6, 2009 at 10:48 pm |
PianoDraft…
Megacool Blog indeed!… if anyone else has anything it would be much appreciated. Great website Enjoy!…