Hi Hi Hi! Yes, I am Marta and I am from Norway.
No calling me the Judy please – that was an actor and a long time ago. As you can see my English is sometimes causing me trouble. On the L.I.S. we had a speaking coach and my English is very good, but now I am happy that I am just Marta so no questions please. And no questions like “How big was Major Don West’s johnson?” because I will not answer. (Q: How big? A: very small.)
So sitting on Olly Santa’s knee for a long time he is always, “Hey Marta – can you feel that? I’ve got a dick like a baby’s forearm.” And I say, “Yes Olly – just like the baby’s forearm; it is perfectly formed and it is tiny.” And he says “fuck off.” And then I say, “Oh yes, now I feel it. I am the princess with the pea, no?” And he says “fuck off.” and we laugh ha ha. He is a funny man. But really I am very happy that he has gone – to where? Well, I don’t know. On L.I.S. we used to say he’s frotting the Gloop when sometimes Mark and Billy would have a funny look and go to the trailer together. Maybe Olly is doing the same? But they were the happy times. Many times in the shower I would touch Angela but that was just because she missed her family a long way away.
So – to make the post for Olly I need the funny word. Here is the word. I am thinking of this verb that you use the verb – to dust? What does it mean? You dust your houses, but you also have the crop dusters for your fields. So this is very difficult for me. Does it mean putting the dust off or taking the dust on?
1: You dust the cake with icing sugar (put dust on).
2: You dust the furniture (put dust off)
You see this? Perhaps some times in English the word has two meanings, but these are the opposite! So what is it? I hope you will help me please.
Takk!
April 3, 2009 at 11:47 am |
Dear Marta
I’m afraid I can’t speak to the psycho-sexual issues which you seem to happy to vent with, let me say, a refreshingly Nordic candour. However, I do sympathise with your tortuous grammatical conundrum.
It reappears in the verb: to cleave and its derivatives, which means both to stick together and to split apart, as in the marriage ceremony where it saith that the woman shal – ahem – cleave to the man and they shall become as one flesh – yet a meat-cleaver does quite the opposite to flesh of any kind.
And a then there’s a cleft palate and a cloven hoof. And in the Dark Ages your bloody Viking ancestors were forever raiding England where they clave the Saxons with their big swords etc.
And the real spinner, of course is the – ahem – cleavage – technically a point of divergence, yet conventionally best achieved by pushing together!
April 3, 2009 at 11:47 am |
George Harrison was the best Beatle, for mine.
April 4, 2009 at 10:12 pm |
Si bella signora. In Italian we also have the confusion. Take for instance my name. Cappello means hat, cappelli means hats. But capelli means hair. So when my cousin he copies my name he call himself Johnny Two Hairs. Testa di cazzo.
I correct him so he does not disgrace our family.
Ringo my favourite, with a name like that dovrebbe essere Italiano.
April 4, 2009 at 10:22 pm |
Blues man Robert Johnson added to the muddle with is song “Dust my broom”.
“I’m gonna get up early in the mornin’, I believe I’ll dust my broom…”
So, the implement used for dusting is itself being dusted.
Anyway, Lennon, of course.
April 6, 2009 at 7:27 am |
Hey Marta; cheers, I’m glad you’ve taken over from Olly.
Quick note as I don’t have much time at the mo; there’s of lots of new blokes joining me up here lately and I have to show them round. But yeah – some things can mean the opposite – like when I say bugger it means bugger – like Oh shit, I hit my thumb with a hammer, but if a chick says bugger off it really means she thinks I’m a stud and she wants a root.
April 6, 2009 at 8:53 am |
Not wishing to be churlish – heck, I’m as cut up as anyone that Olly has passed – but why does Marta Kristen get to take over from him? I mean, there are any number of candidates whom the casual observer might have assumed would be more suitable. It seems that her only qualification is that she sat on his knee in a bikini for three months before he died. She certainly could not have been chosen for her wit or command of the English language. Last time I checked English was still the language this blog is written in (no offense Gianni and Ashley) but all she can do is mangle it and talk smut. Anyway, hotness? Excuse me, but my work in Walkabout puts hers in “Space” in the shade. Oh, and does anyone remember Logan’s Run? So, who will they get to write the next one – Marcel Marceau?
April 6, 2009 at 9:31 am |
… do you suspect foul play? “Fatal compression of the anterior cruciate ligaments caused by continuous pressure from a monochromatic Nordic beauty over an extended period (Þorri, Góa & Einmánuður)” is a more common complaint than the general public would like to suppose…
April 6, 2009 at 2:24 pm |
Ahem! Bugger off, Ashley!
April 7, 2009 at 6:22 am |
Bosemeister! Hey, that’s bad luck mate, did you hit your thumb with a hammer? Youch! Been there, done that, Eh?
Well, I wrote a haiku for you – hope it puts down the throbbing.
Bosie in the shed
tinkers with exhaust manifold
the hammer falls, ouch
Coops
April 7, 2009 at 9:05 pm |
Hi Marta,
I know you don’t like to talk about L.I.S. but what can you tell us about Billy Mumy’s Mummy? Was Guy Williams a Guy Guy or a Gal Guy? Was Jonathon Harris a pain, a pain?
JohnnyTwo
April 7, 2009 at 9:33 pm |
ON SEEING THE YOUNG LORD AT IT AGAIN:
To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear
This paltry age’s gaudy livery,
To let each base hand filch my treasury,
To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,
And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom,–I swear
I love it not! these things are less to me
Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
Less than the thistledown of summer air
Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.
April 8, 2009 at 3:48 pm |
REVERIE
An Admonition against Daydreams
See, in the glimm’ring twilight of the shed,
Where sheds sweet sweat of honest labour’s dues
None more, nor none more handsomely endues
Art with such artless grace, yon Cooper’s red
XV and, underneath, his hard limbs spread
Across the greasy undercarriage slide
With louche neglect and unassertive pride
As easy as on any harlot’s bed!
I kneel, by manifold desire enforc’d
As he repairs the manifold exhaust
His sinews strain upon the makeshift couch
At last his mighty hammer falls, when – ouch!
I suddenly recall the fateful crash
And wake to find my mouth is full of Ash.
April 8, 2009 at 6:59 pm |
I am most dreadfully sorry to see the passing of Mister Olly, or Orry as the white devils call him. Still, he was getting on and not doing too much and since his passing we’ve had some really beautiful poetry, as beautiful as the crane on the skyline in the morning.
And the inscrutably hot chick on the Stout Club verranda shelling out the musings! But for heat, you cannae beat the lady fron the Green Dimension, no? I’d like to hear Judy’s take on her, and the deleted adult Gloop scenes.
Actually, Judy posts less often than Mister Olly did, and that fraction is only possible in space.
Must go now, I just chipped my finger on the keyboard.
China
April 9, 2009 at 12:07 pm |
Yeah well I hope you are all happy with your poetry and that, but no one seems to care about what would be my 100th birthday. Where is the spectral cake? The astral candles? The ectoplasmic funny hat and squeaker?
You are all beastly. It’s enough to make me pine for the Jenolan Caves or whatever they were. I’m off to steal some children.
R. Helpmann.
April 9, 2009 at 12:26 pm |
Now Mr Two Hats and Mr China Man you must look here.
I have told you now before I am Marta, not Judy, and I will answer no questions on L.I.S.
I also am the new Olly so of course I am not posting here. I have to make no posts so Mr Bloke can say “Oh, Marta makes no posts, she is in love and goes to buy the dream catcher from the craft shop and then takes the long bath with almond oil and lies on the big soft animal rug without her clothes.” (Olly tells me he before he dies that he is doing this mostly on the weekends).
It is a little bit like with Athena from the Green Dimension when we split a joint and take the relaxing bath together and then have a pillowfight which turns naughty.
I am reading the beautiful poem of Mr Bosie and it reminds me of Major West when he is working so hard with no shirt mining for the deuterium and his face becomes all sooty. When my hand is touches his face to take away the smudge of soot – bingo – then in four seconds I am riding him like the mechanical bull.
April 9, 2009 at 2:20 pm |
Sorry, not the Jenolan Caves. I meant the terraced gardens of the Upherstone Sinkhole.
A silly little mistake that anyone might have made.
Love
Bobby Helpmann, ghostly centenarian.
April 9, 2009 at 4:10 pm |
Bobby Helpmann! Bobby Helpmann!
I am seeing in you the ghost of Big Olly!
Can you bring him back to us?
Come back Olly!
April 9, 2009 at 8:52 pm |
This topic is quite hot in the net at the moment. What do you pay the most attention to while choosing what to write about?
April 10, 2009 at 8:37 pm |
Olly schmolly, what is this Stout club? Does the Irishman use it when crossing the fen? He – he Olly is dead so we can steal his jokes.
April 11, 2009 at 7:19 am |
Oh stout?! Hope I can get a refund on half a gross of ferrets…
April 15, 2009 at 8:23 am |
Am I 100th yet? 20th? Blimey.
April 15, 2009 at 8:37 am |
Miss Fide – I am asking you please to make no more questions on L.I.S. Especially the ferrets. Poor June! Guy is a naughty man for that. Now we are all just waiting for the ghost of Olly to speak again through the voice of Bobby Helpmann. You can see his face up there? He is looking on us like a kindly father.
April 15, 2009 at 9:19 am |
Sorry Marta. I was just making a pun, but I suppose I can’t weasel my way out of it.
April 16, 2009 at 9:21 am |
Did Olly die and became Sir Robert Helpman…?! I’m just going by the picture, I don’t know much about the afterlife. Or did Sir RH take on Olly’s visage, bringing to mind the terrific movie “Face Off”, or did he kill Olly, skin his face and wear it as a mask a la Dr H Lecter in “S.O.T. Lambs”.
I wish Big was around to advise us, rather than Sir Paddleernie Assistlady.
April 16, 2009 at 9:42 am |
Some, surely if Big were dead (obeying previous grammar instruction) he’d be more likely to reply, being stuck here with the rest of them? Either he can’t get a word in edgeways, or he’s metaphysically drunk in a non-corporeal ditch with Coops.
April 16, 2009 at 11:04 am |
Hold on! Hold on! Everybody just back up a minute!
Frotting the GLOOP! What the hell is all THAT about, Judy???
April 16, 2009 at 11:56 am |
My point exactly, Westy! *
While Jimmy Hendrix is jamming with Beethoven and the 9/11 hijackers are coupling with 69 doe-eyed virgins, Big’s in heaven making out he’s Sir Argumentreynolds Aidfemale.
Each to their own, but ahhhhhhhh reallllly…..
* but nothing to do with your point.
April 16, 2009 at 1:43 pm |
So, Mark (sorry – you are big strong Major Don West I know) I tell you there are no questions on L.I.S. And now you have forgotten Debbie the Gloop with the cute ears? You say she is looking at you saucy and then take her away from Penny into the trailer. And you used to call her your little hairy wife and say she understands you much better than I am! Now you forget. Well I am not surprised.
April 16, 2009 at 3:05 pm |
Oh – Mr Bloke. You are talking with “Major” but you ignore Petra when you should be making coffee! Ha. No wonder she dumps you.
April 16, 2009 at 3:21 pm |
This is frickin’ crazy. Listen, Judy or Marta or Neolani, or whoever or whatever the hell you are. I can get all action I want from people, you know real human beings, without resorting to the detritus of some intergalactic menagerie to help me get over the frustration of having to be L.I.S. with some scatter-brained, Norscafide bimbo, and I don’t have to touch up my frickin’ sister in the shower to get it, either!
And my johnson never gave NO-ONE no cause for complaint…..
Hell! I’m off to the dutronium pit.
Coming Will?
April 16, 2009 at 4:12 pm |
There is a man called Mark and he is an actor. And there is a little chimp monkey with false ears to make it look like she is from space. The monkey is wearing a nappy. The man talks to the monkey like she is a girlfriend and he rubs hiself on the monkey (The man has parts just the perfect size for small monkey). The monkey is scared makes funny noise then it will not smile and play and the animal trainer takes her away. The man is told he must never touch monkeys or try to touch the actors in a bad way or they will write him off the script no buts.
April 16, 2009 at 4:27 pm |
I don’t know who this Mark guy is that you’re talking about, but he sounds like a real creep.
Perfect match for you, Judy, by the sounds of it.
April 17, 2009 at 6:16 pm |
Dear Marta
Jambi is interested in your comments regarding the feature film “Gemini Affair” (aka Jessica & Julie), which is summarised on your “fansite” as follows:
Julie (Marta Kristen), from Indiana, goes to Hollywood to visit her old school friend Jessica (Kathy Kersh), now a part time actress, part time hooker living in temporary high style. As both look in vain for acting jobs, they soon find themselves destitute and their dreams shattered. For comfort, love, and affection, they turn to each other.
Are copies of this film still available?
…..I know that this will be much appreciated by many correspondents to this blog – Jambi grants their wishes
Jambi has spoken. Long live Jambi!
April 18, 2009 at 6:51 pm |
Hello Mr Jambi!
I am very happy to have me asking the question not about L.I.S. Of course yes I am an actress and have roles to play. Of course too am now the Big Olly so it takes me so long to reply because I will drink beer at the green terazzo until I fall off and this takes all my vigor.
So I am very pleased that you write because sometimes people do not realise that actors are people and it does not matter that Pee Wee was touching himself in the film house. Many times we are touching ourselves but I suppose for you without hands you must make a wish?
April 19, 2009 at 9:07 pm |
Martha my Dear,
When not travelling across the Americas under the passenger compartment of a railway carriage, I sometimes refresh myself with an alcopop or 17. Tany rate your cry from the heart about the cruelty of language made me reflect as I deftly necked and then polished off a Smirnoff and midori and Bo Bo, that soon the bottle of grog will be drunk and then so will I, yet noone took my spout to their lips and deftly emptied the contents. If only they knew I was loaded. Loaded of loot and lovin wiss as it happens.
But I digress, whom were the most drunk, the bottle of I self? Two drunk, one full one empty?
Did you learn the answer in you space travels?
April 19, 2009 at 9:23 pm |
Jambo Missa Marta
I bes a pirate from the Barbary Coast, and I plunder all de fat gold ships that steal de slaves, gold and ivory of de Ivory Coast. There is also a gold coast, but in all me travels on de 7 seas, I done never see a slave coast.
How can I bees a pirate in this day and age, you will be astin’.
Not hard to do for Blacky, as me arm was cut off by de Toot Toot Tootsie tribe, and me eye poped out by de Ugandan Secret police. I got a macaw to sit on me shoulder. So it’s hooks patches and birds, yeah man.
Was you be set upon by robot pirates in an episode of Lost in de Space? Or did I dream that after a cobra spat pison in me good eye and a scorpion bit me foot with his stingy tail after I didn’t have me medication that time?
April 20, 2009 at 4:55 pm |
Hey Hi Snuffie!
Yes you are right of course! The drunk and drunk; thanking you it is like L.I.S. When Major West is trying to make me drink the ethanol from solar still, (“Might loosen you up you frigid bitch”) but of course in Norway I am all the time having schnapps for breakfast, so I say “yes, I am drunk now, can I have more please?” and he thinks I am schmertlin, but really I am drunk the ethanol and am very refreshed, but he is ready to drive the porcelain bus home as we say, and his parts are gone so small they are no good even for Debbie the Gloop so he can just say, “tuck me in, Will?” and that is the end.
So I have to ask Olly on his knee “what is drunk?”, and he tells me he cannot remember what is drunk but often but he goes to lunch and then the next day there is a text message on his phone that tells him he was in the restaurant with some sick on his chin and he is trying to feel all the girls baloombas and that makes them laugh.
April 22, 2009 at 8:09 am |
Hello Mr Jacky
Yes, yes – the pirates are being a big problem in L.I.S. One times Major West and I are exploring the cave wearing the fluffy parkas when bang! The pirates are on us – alien goblin pirates! They say they will be doing very evil love things with us, and we are scared but Major West says he will save us.
But these pirates are pirates from the poof dimension, so they make me sit in the comfortable chair and then they plait my hair “so pretty, so pretty!” and then they paint my nails; but the poor major “we are goblin seamen” they say and they take him away and he is very quiet and does not tell me about it.
April 28, 2009 at 9:50 am |
Alright, alright! That’s enough. What the hell do you want, you psycho-norsca, frickin’ baltic-pinewood harpy? You’re the hottest chick in the whole frickin’ galaxy. I happen to be the only vaguely completely hot spunk in your neck of the space-time continuum. It’s not even rocket science (let alone inertial guidance system science) – and certainly easy enough for you to get your empty little blondoid brain around. We should be getting it on with the regularity of asteroid storms over Andromeda.
Instead! I keep getting verbally emasculated by your psychotic punishment fantasies!
Pirates from the Poof Dimension! Jesus-H-Christ! What is all that about? I’ll tell ya one thing, you Hagen-Daaz bimbo, you can’t stand the fact that you love me. That’s it, isn’t it? You want me so much, you hate yourself and, instead of just going for it, you have sadly chosen to project your humiliation onto the love-hated object of your desire by some serious weird confabulation.
Helga, you’re one sick pussy-cat!
April 28, 2009 at 12:03 pm |
Listen up Blacky. As a matter of fact, there was a Slave Coast once – just round the Gulf of Guinea on the bulge of Africa. There was also a Pepper Coast and a Grain Coast. Ah, yes! Guinea and Negroland! Just a happy memory now! Nowadays, of course, it’s all gone to the dogs. Pepper, grain, ivory – none of it to be had for love nor money, let alone decent slaves! Local population too busy governing and slaughtering each other (which, I fear, they rather take to mean the same thing.)
No, better off trying Haiti for slaves. The voodoo chappies there do a line in zombie slaves that wouldn’t set you back much more than a liberal lunch at the In and Out!
April 28, 2009 at 12:37 pm |
Thankyou Mr Fruity!
Is very nice to have to you ask the questions, but please, I am saying to all the people not so questions about the L.I.S. I am an actress with many roles as Mr Jambi says, often in the shower with my friends.
So there were some slaves on L.I.S. on the very hot planet where Major West and I become lost – walking, walking, and then the slave catcher sees us! Oh No! We are slaves too now! Major and I are tied together with the rope – but the catcher makes a mistake and ties me behind the major facing his back so I am presses into him, close against the major with his body against me and his neck is right by my mouth. “I’ll get us outa this Jude,” he is panting and we have to wriggle with each other to try to make the ropes of loose, but our bodies are too hot and slippery from the hot planet, and the clothes are torn and some are slipping off. “Reach round the front Jude, grab it – the thick part right in the middle; yeah, easy does it, Oh Yeah!” So I have the thick rope in my hand and I grip it tight to make us free, and I am feeling the major there tied up close but yes! The knot come undone and the tension slips; we are free from the slave catches and we fall together on the ground.
April 29, 2009 at 10:58 am |
Jeez!
April 29, 2009 at 3:50 pm |
Erm..
Another coffee, Petra Fide…?
April 29, 2009 at 6:58 pm |
That’d be lovely, thanks.
April 29, 2009 at 7:28 pm |
It is very funny on the Jupiter II with sometimes many science things to make the life on planets far away. But still we have the big pot and in it there is coffee with in the morning. June will bring it and the lovely smell and then there is the look from Guy “Ah!” and each of them is looking at the other with the small twinkle in the face; it is someting very special and sometimes the music of the pan pipes will be starting.
April 29, 2009 at 7:38 pm |
Marta, coffee in space would be like coffee in a vacuum flask, so could it stay hot forever? That would be cool (or rather the opposite). Although there’s no sound in a vacuum, so no accompanying instruments…
April 29, 2009 at 7:39 pm |
… yet my vaccum cleaner makes a right old racket. Another of the mysteries of the universe that you could perhaps shed light upon.
April 29, 2009 at 10:34 pm |
Dear Marta,
One of my foes was also called Marta, Marta Hairi (we were secretly in love). Why don’t they make Chimp TV shows anymore? I have been out of work for 37 years and eating food from the rubbish bins. Maybe I’m dead. Re-live the great times on the YouTube link (no pun) I have included here. No royalties to me of course, bastard YouTube ape haters.
Lance
April 30, 2009 at 8:50 am |
Hi Lancelot!
Thankyou for writing to me, because I am knowing it is not so easy for the chimp to type unless you have the special big keys. I see you are the fine actor – perhaps you are able to play more than one part in your show? And congratulations to also have your show named after you – that did not happen for me. It is like the Patty Duke show perhaps? But I know she is not a secret agent and perhaps also not a chimp.
I am sorry that you have no work now. It is the same for poor Debbie who became famous as playing the space creature Debbie the Gloop on L.I.S. After there is no work and she makes one movie without clothes where she has shower with the other girl chimp, but not like my movie because hers was sometimes rude, and after that it is more difficult for finding work also, so she is married for a short time to the actor Mark Goddard even though she does not like him, But he leaves her at home and he will not go out with her to the restaurant or the premieres, so they split but I think money is OK now for her because she has the clever lawyer and makes a good divorce settlement. But still there is angry and will not go with Mark on the 30 yr L.I.S. reunion.
May 1, 2009 at 8:07 pm |
Thankyou for your compliment Marta.
Did you know that we are related? Distantly. I knew Debbie, she was a lovely primate but sadly her career took the turn as you describe. The lowpoint I think was her film “Debbie does anything”. Repulsive. Anyway she has left those days and is now happily married to that chimp that was in “Cobby what’s your hobby”.
May 2, 2009 at 2:50 pm |
Hi Lance!
I am glad it is working out for Debbie now. Yes, sometimes is best for the chimp to marry the chimp. Even though Mark has small parts and the very hairy back it is not the same, no?
May 5, 2009 at 10:05 pm |
Well Marta, just you and me , eh.
Getting dressed as a human, jetting around the world, spying, hookin’ up with gorgeous babes was great, and I thought it would never end. But then those fuckers the Banana Splits came along, and that was just humans dressed as chimps and other animals. No talent required. Fuck ‘em.
May 6, 2009 at 2:58 pm |
If this Mark guy knew all the sicko things you’ve been saying about him, Judy, I reckon he’d have to spank you hard!
As it is, I guess you’re thinkin’ you’re damned lucky you’ve got me around.
Bitch.