I have never made a secret of the fact that I am different. I stand out from the crowd. I am, it is true, a rugged individualist. Not that you could tell this from my actions or lifestyle. I don’t have a lice ridden beard and a leather waistcoat, nor do I ride a large American twin cylinder motorcycle or make amphetamines in the shed.
No, what makes me different and fascinating is that I am not fond of John Lennon’s post “The Beatles” work. In particular, I dislike his song “Imagine”.
So there you go. For some reason you are quite free to make your own mind up about most things. Generally where there is a disagreement about the merits of a song or a film you can defend your choice but at the end of the day you can’t expect everyone to agree with your choice.
For some reason, this does not apply to “Imagine”. If you don’t like it you are thought to be wrong. Any time that there is a poll for “greatest song ever written”, “Imagine” wins it. Easily.
I just don’t understand. How can that be so in a world that has “Mmm Bop” by Hanson, to name just one infinitely greater song?
“Imagine” is not a musical masterwork. It isn’t peppy and doesn’t get you on your feet.
Lyrically it is smug and a bit embarrassing. The worst part of it is that Lennon seems to think that this odious doggerel will somehow change the world. It didn’t and it won’t.
There is no way that this can be the greatest song ever. It isn’t even the greatest song by a tired, washed up former member of a mega band.
Not when we have “Je Suis un Rockstar” by Bill Wyman. Again, the music isn’t much, but Ah!, the lyric. I give you this;
“She took off ‘er ‘at
And she ‘ad lovely ‘air
Said she smoked marihuana
At the Copacobana.”
I mean to say, who wants to go to the sweat and hard work of imagining, for example, all the people living for today? What good is that going to do? Imagining her lovely hair, on the other hand, is going to be a rewarding and enjoyable experience. Plus you get to imagine her hat. For mine it is a bit raffia one with a bit of a droopy brim such as might be seen at the beach, but equally it could be one with mouse ears or even a bobby’s helmet.
I mean to say, she was sitting in a fountain in Trafalgar Square or something, wasn’t she?
So there you go. There is no doubt in my mind what I would prefer to imagine. I hasten to add that the imagining might have to stop when you get to the part of the song in which Wyman, somewhat ill advisedly given his history, suggests to the girl in question:
“We could go on the hovercraft
Across the water
They’ll think I’m your dad
And you’re my daughter.”
Anyway, there you go.
In some quarters my dislike for “Imagine” prompts people to think that I am a big fan of Paul McCartney’s, which is not quite so. I do like “Live and Let Die” and a couple of others, but would rather have my fingernails pulled out and the sensitive tips of my fingers bathed in rocket fuel than listen to “The Girl is Mine” or “Silly Love Songs”.
My favourite of “The Beatles” was actually George. The only other solo album I bought was “Ringo’s Rotogravure”.
The less said about that, the better.
Big Olly By Golly 
January 15, 2008 at 12:00 pm |
Happy New Year Big Olly! Nice to see you haven’t chosen anything contentious to get the readerpontoon into 2008.
Our schoolteacher screamed blue murder at we poor choir because we kept getting ‘Imagine’ wrong, When we pointed out that it was being sung as per the record, she said:
‘That’s how he sings it on the record, not how the music is written!! He’s allowed to change it, you aren’t!!!!’
As for Mr McCartney, where does ‘Ebony & Ivory’ fit into the fingernail extraction chart? & did you see ‘Give My Regards to Broad Street?’
January 15, 2008 at 12:14 pm |
Same to you, Petra!
I know that there are elements of the readerlilo that have been itching to get their teeths into this one and I didn’t feel that I could leave it much longer.
“Ebony and Ivory” was the subject of an hilarious lampoon by one Garrie McCaffrey in my University days and so that otherwise charmless work has a sort of charm for me. But no, I didn’t see “Give My Regards to Broadstreet”. On the other hand I have seen “Live and Let Die” loads of times.
Love
Big Olly
January 15, 2008 at 12:38 pm |
McCartney had to chase a glowing blue box (ostensibly containing his stolen precious musical master tapes, but actually a blue lightbulb) through time! & Ringo nearly capsized in a punt (had to type that carefully). The phrase ‘straight to video’ is not nearly sufficient to describe it’s woefulness. Plus there is a distinct lack of voodoo, alligators, tarot cards, yee-haw sheriffs, inflating bad guys or safari suits…
January 15, 2008 at 1:03 pm |
Well, I rather enjoyed “The Magic Christian” with Ringo, but am glad I did not see Paul’s effort.
I don’t think John was in any movies other than documentaries, was he? And George got into production and did a couple of small roles I think.
What about Bill Wyman? Mandy Smith?
I dunno.
Love
Big Olly
January 15, 2008 at 2:43 pm |
I don’t want to go on, but rather than “Imagine” and it’s pointless whimsy, my anthemic “Nakita” heralded the end of the cold war. Chronologically, any way.
I also did the backing vocals for “Bad Blood” which was miles better than anything on Shaved Fish.
January 15, 2008 at 3:05 pm |
Thanks for that, Sir Elton.
I wasn’t trying to leave you out, but being the robust two fisted he-man that you are, you embarked on a solo career without (as far as I am aware) having a collaborative career already under your belt.
Thus you were able to hang on to most of the money yourself and there weren’t any ugly confrontations with former fellow band members when you cynically made the smallest of amendments to your hymn to Marylin in order to convert it to a hymn to the Queen of People’s Hearts (now the Republic of People’s Hearts. Or something.).
Love
Big Olly
January 15, 2008 at 3:06 pm |
Maybe the People’s Republic of Hearts.
Maybe not.
Love
Big Olly
January 15, 2008 at 9:23 pm |
Dear Oily,
I wasn’t sure who Sir Elton John was, I’ve heard my Mum talk about him. But when I did a google search of Elton John and two fisted, the sites that came up were blocked. I was wondering if they might be pictures of him sexing someone. Anyway, that’s grown up stuff which some of your readerdhow (I made a joke) might be interested in.
cG
January 16, 2008 at 1:11 pm |
Big Olly
Like Gatsby’s swimming pool, it seems the best and worst of a generation passes through your blog.
How my heart swelled when I read young George’s joke about the dhow. It recalled to mind a time in my own youth when, to liven a drab geography lesson in my comprehensive school, I made a similar joke with our teacher Miss Evans in which I drew in my book both an Arab dhow and a European dowel and listed their differences. Thus began a relationship with Miss Evans the inappropriateness of which only dawned on me years later when I became a house tutor at Stowe.
But to more important matters:-
It saddens me Big Olly that you quote Mr Harrison’s lyrics incorrectly.
.. in the Copacabana there.
You missed the “there”.
“there” rhymes with “hair”. While I do not claim to be an Harrison aficionado, I do believe the fellow deserves the respect at least of accurate quotation.
As you will, I trust, now be revising your latest entry, I suggest that you explore the link between Mr John’s Nikita and ABBA’s Chiquitita.
I offer you:-
“Oh Nikita you will never know anything about my home
I’ll never know how good it feels to hold you
Nikita I need you so”
And:-
“Chiquitita, you and I know
How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they’re leaving
You’ll be dancing once again and the pain will end
You will have no time for grieving”
I leave the analysis to you Big Olly. Mr John may like to comment of course, but the fact that the spelling of Nakita (sic) seems to elude him makes me think he may currently be facing some of his former demons.
Yours
Sigismund.
January 16, 2008 at 4:40 pm |
That’s it, I’m out
January 16, 2008 at 7:59 pm |
I’m not sure about the rest of the readerrubberring, but this seems a fairly gentle serve from Big, just throwing in the old hoary chestnut that is J Lennon and letting the fish feed. My point being, a post about, say, global warming, or life on Mars, would of descended to a brawl about Ringo’s (non-existent) drumming skills by Comment 22.
I worry about Big in this day and age, I really do.
Mind you, when I Goggled ‘Sir Elton John and 2 fists’ I wound up listening to Air Supply singing ‘Love and Other Bruises’ on Lime Wire, so hopefully the ghost of Princess Rose can explain that one.
January 17, 2008 at 11:42 am |
… only another ten comments ’til general anarchy descends then (not including this one).
The readerjunk may or may not be swayed in their opinions when they learn that ‘John Lennon International’ airport has bought & trademarked the lyric ‘Above Us Only Sky’*
Even Yoko seems to be having a bit of difficulty with the ‘no possessions’ bit…
*Which makes me wonder, where are the ‘planes?
January 17, 2008 at 12:23 pm |
Indeed, Petra (by the way, is that a short black and faint flutes I discern?).
A couple of points. I don’t like to be pedantic like Olly, but didn’t Bill Wyman write the lyrics to Je suis un Rockstar, Mr Sigismund? I love George H, and would hate the words to be wrongly attributed to him. If he did write them, then Mother, I am dying.
Let’s face it, 3 of the Beatles only really ever worked as the Beatles, and only George blossomed afterwards.
Having said that, I like Ringo’s drumming – it worked, even if he wasn’t the most skilled.
I’n not a great fan of post Beatles John, but abhor all things McCartney. How he got away with O Bla Di O Bla Da while with the Beatles is one of those mysteries that will never be answered.
Paul’s a turd of the highest degree. John is only just leaving the stomach by comparison.
So bloody there.
January 17, 2008 at 12:25 pm |
I forgot to ad that the above was for the benefit of the readerdugout.
January 17, 2008 at 12:47 pm |
(milk & one, thanks)
What about the scurrilous rumour that McCartney recorded most of the drum parts whilst Ringo was off down the jewellers?
(Not that I want to be misconstrude as a McCartney lover. I can’t forgive ‘Rocky Raccoon’)
January 17, 2008 at 1:48 pm |
Mr Lowdaughter
Wyman – Harrison: To paraphrase Big Olly – it was a typo.
Sigismund
January 18, 2008 at 2:11 am |
Dont blame me, hu hu hu hu, yeah.
I never held me-self out as a musician, right.
John approached me and said: “Ringo, would you join me in a grope?”
I said “I’ve got just the thing” and started to fondle his privates.
He said, slappin his hand to forehead in exasperation, “No, I meant group, not grope”.
Hu hu hu hu, yeah.
You don’t know me at all.
January 18, 2008 at 2:27 am |
And anyrate, you look at Bill Collins in any performance I’ve done since Concert for Bangladesh. He isn’t playing much different beats to me. It’s just his drum is real and they tend to give me a paper one to play on.
I dont even want to do them concerts. It’s not my fault, I get asked to do things all the time.
Bob Geldof, wearing a green top hat (with a buckle on it) jauntily to one side and smoking a pipe, comes up to me and says: “Ringo, we’re worried about them fakkin starvin to be sure, would you be to joining us in a gig, begorah?”
I said, “Sure, I’ve got just the thing” and I rush off then reappear in an olde worlde horse and cart.
He slaps his irish hand to his head and says “Donner and Blitzen, I meant gig, not gig” and adds “to be sure”.
I says “Well I dont speak Irish no hows” and then “Hu hu hu hu, yeah” as he walks away with some God ugly woman that only a wanker would go out with.
Anywy, I do Thomas the Tank much better than Collins.
January 18, 2008 at 11:54 am |
That George had the nicest urdu on the cover…
January 18, 2008 at 8:20 pm |
I never cared much for post Silver-Beatle work either.
January 18, 2008 at 8:28 pm |
Well, what’s happened to Russell Starkey these days, formerly a most eloquent host of the Channel 9 Friday Night Horror Films, now a stuttering monosyllabic talking head. Maybe got too close to Rick Marshall.
I think that Big should begin a career as the new Friday night horror man. He could start with a doz pints of stout at the Franklin Hotel on flagstaff Street, or vice versa, then into the 9 studios to roll, say, The Car, a great horror story about a car that kills people in the Nevada desert, with an unforgettable signature beep of the horn (Baaarrrrrrrrrrrrr Ba Ba Barrrrr), or else Patch Adams, or any other Robin Williams film, or even a re-run of his appearances in Laverne & Shirley (or was it Happy Days)?
Marion?
(Hooray!)
Wah wah wah, Mrs C!
(Hoowooooooooo!)
etcetera….
January 20, 2008 at 7:34 am |
Ah, “Patch Adams”.
That reminds me of a deliciously amusing story. Some would say even funnier than my sunglasses and nipple ring.
It seems that I was on a flight to Perth some years ago. It being one of the long domestic flights, a movie was played for the entertainment of the passengers. On this occasion, the Queensland and Northern Territory Air Service had selected “Patch Adams”.
In the usual sort of desultory conversation that one has with one’s fellow passengers in this situation, I was asked by the fellow sitting next to me if I proposed to watch this offering. I told him that I did not.
He advised me that I was making a serious mistake and that he had seen it on the way over. He told me that the film was genuinely funny and that he guaranteed me a laugh.
I was slightly surprised because it seemed like mawkish junk to me, but I inserted the tiny, disease bearing ear buds provided and sat through the film. Naturally it was mawkish junk and I did not so much as crack a smile.
As I removed the earpieces, my neighbour asked me what I thought. I did not want to be rude but was obliged to say that I had not found it particularly funny. He said:
“Yeah, it’s terrible, isn’t it? Still, I had to sit through it on the way over and I couldn’t see why you should get away without sharing my pain.”
Oh, how I laughed. That, you see, was the laugh he had guaranteed me.
Thank you. For more of the same you may like to come to this big party I am organising. Stay tuned for details.
Love
Big Olly. Whoops. Well, I don’t suppose I was fooling anyone, but I forgot my thingies and couldn’t get in or whatever it is one does.
January 20, 2008 at 12:10 pm |
Unlike Corey’s parents, we are quite happy for Olly not to come home!
Sue 🙂
January 21, 2008 at 12:44 pm |
On things musical, Readerkickboard, I was listening to a local (ie in heaven) commercial fm station on the weekend, as isn’t my wont, and they were playing the top 5 driving songs as voted by listeners and cherubim.
Kicked off with Steppenwolf’s “Born To be Wild”, and fair enow I’m thinking to myself.
Song 2 though was the Eagles” “Take It Easy”!!!!! No way that can be classed a driving song. Difficult to admit it’s a song even. It would certainly make the top 5, no 3, of songs to cause one to vomit, or stick a knitting needle through one’s eardrum, But driving?! Well I never.
I had to turn it off after that. I’m sure Highway to Hell by AC/DC was there, and rightly so. But doesn’t that just prove even more that Take It Easy shouldn’t have been?
By the way, my favourite Eagle was Randy Meisner?
Views? Colonel?
January 21, 2008 at 12:45 pm |
Oops, a few punctuation errors there. Please forgive me, Mr Big, and I’ll put in a good word for you with the Big Man.
January 21, 2008 at 12:46 pm |
Sorry again, I also meant to say “Woooo-oooo-ooooo etc”.
January 21, 2008 at 3:01 pm |
Thanks for that, ectoplasmic manifestation of my prominent touring car driving friend.
I thought that possibly your fave driving song would be “I Talk to the Trees” or similar. Ha ha. But on a serious note, I would hate anyone to think that a loose grip on the principles of grammer should prevent them from sharing with the readerwaterwings.
I don’t mind if you make grammatical errors, as long as you apologise either at the time or as soon as reasonably possible therafter.
Normally a one minute delay would not be acceptable, but the promise of a good word being put in for me with the Big Man is awfully tempting, so forgiveness is yours. Of course, if I get up there and find that you meant not Our Lord but Orson Wells or someone, I will be miffed.
Love
Big Olly
January 21, 2008 at 4:23 pm |
The ghost of Peter Brock raise a good point for the readerfloaties, about these interminable Top (insert topic here) CD’s, be it drinking, driving or what have you. Basically it’s the same songs on each CD ~ a bit of Barnsey, ACDC, the Angels, etc. Filling one Volume is a hell of a stretch, but high and behold you suddenly see volumes 2 and 3 all of a sudden, so Greatest Drinking Songs Volume 3 contains, say, Matthew & Son, by Cat Laden, or maybe What About Me, by Moving Pictures.
Actually, bad examples by me, because Matthew and his son get on it at 5pm for a few pints after work, and what about me that time the dickhead barman wont serve you.
I know, Photograph by Ringo Starr.
January 21, 2008 at 4:56 pm |
And then they always have Radar Love, a good song till done to death during drive time.
And the greatest dinking songs never include Hocus Pocus by Focus, or Walk in the Black Forest by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. Both songs are just what the doctor ordered when pissed with a few well chosen acquaintances.
Or Angels.
Woooo-oooo-oooo (…”clink, clink” [of chains]) … woooo.
January 21, 2008 at 4:57 pm |
S*#t, sorry, I meant “drinking” songs.
January 21, 2008 at 5:16 pm |
I can’t remember if “Photograph” was on “Ringo’s Rotogravure”. Having said that, I agree, it would make a woeful driving song. It is more a “chilling out and getting mellow while thinking bittersweet thoughts of a lost love” type of song. For nine year olds.
Oh, I’ve just thought of another bad driving song. How about “The Rainbow Connection”? Not a bad drinking song, though.
On the flip side, “Streets of London” is a bad drinking song but a great driving song, as long as you are driving in London.
Love
Big Olly
January 21, 2008 at 7:54 pm |
When you think about it, the only song that crosses both John Rays: is ‘One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer’.
As it stands, just a drinking song.
After 5 of each, definitely not a driving song.
After 10 of each, hop in dear readerflippers, once I can fish the keys out of me pocket.
“I wanna tell you a story,” (Brrooom, bbrrrrooooooooooommmm), “’bout the house hunting blues….”
Skerrrryyyy errrryyyyyy errrriiiiickkkkkk
etcetera
January 22, 2008 at 9:18 am |
Does that make it a “dinking” song then?
Love
Big Olly
January 22, 2008 at 9:43 am |
Gor Blimey Olly, me old china!
‘ad that Ralph McTell in the bak the udder day. Strike a light! S’all well hand gud drivin’ araaaand ter ‘is bloomin’ ditty, if yer likes an ironical bent like wot I do.
It’d be bloody quicka ter lerr ‘im “take you by the ‘and hand lead you through” the aforementioned. It’d save yer a few nicker n’all. But yer’d be piss-wet thru arfterards! HAHAHAHA!
Gotta scarper, need han Ertha befawer me shift staaarts
January 22, 2008 at 1:34 pm |
Hello Cab and welcome aboard! I hope you enjoy the dizzying ride!
Tell me (or perhaps that should be “McTell me..” ha ha), did you have to do the famous “knowledge” to get your London Cab driver’s licence, or did you simply pull some strings through your lodge?
For your information, in Australia an “Ertha” is known as a “Phar Lap”.
Love
Big Olly
January 22, 2008 at 3:17 pm |
Dear Big.
After seeing in the new year camping out in Winsconsin under one of Dolly Parton’s mauve castoffs, I have returned to the Great Southern Land. Now there’s a driving song for your readercoracle.
Perhaps I could suggest another title for the tate Mr Brock’s consideration: “The Leader of the Pack”. With some changes. I can hear it more a female duet, with one voice rather more plaintive, the other almost gleeful. And over the last verse, following the “look out! look out!”, we should hear the unmistakeable sounds of a bitch fight developing, rising to a hysterical crescendo, before the inevitable fade-out under the sounds of an empty cash register forlornly opening and closing, again & again…
AND may I also interest your readerbullboat with a little on the band Golden Earring. They are far from being a one hit wonder, with Radar Love in 1973. The band was formed in 1965, and still living and working in the Netherlands, with the same line-up since 1969. Jeez, they must be so-o-o-o sick of playing that song by now.
January 22, 2008 at 3:33 pm |
Rather implausibly, “Rotogravure” is in a song by Al Jolson called Easter Bonnet.
In your Easter Bonnet
With all the frills upon it
You’ll be the perdiest lady innee Easta Pa rade..
Onnee Avenoo – tah ta tah ta tah ta tah
Ahm torkin bout Fiff Avenoo
The Pha toggafars will snap at you
And you’ll find your face on a a rotogravoo – ure
or something.
January 22, 2008 at 3:34 pm |
Pleased to have you back Arty, and as ever it is interesting to get your take on these matters. There are a couple of fine suggestions for driving songs and a possible drink driving song there so again, thanks.
While we are on it, I wonder if anyone has a better suggestion than Ludwig Van for “Music to beat blokes up by”?
Maybe a bit of A-ha or one of those “Switched On” things. Maybe Jive Bunny? Jive Bunny anyone?
Love
Big Olly
January 22, 2008 at 3:36 pm |
And may I throw in “Hotel California” as a driving song?
Love the Eagles or no, love the song or no, I say that there is a moment in there and your readergondola know exactly where it is). At this tmoment, a true child of the 70’s wil be compelled to take both his (and I think it will only be a ‘his’) hands off the steering wheel and place them into the air-guitar position.
Granted, the moment may be brief, until he realizes that his children are watching him sadly, or that the car is about to collide with a traffic light pole, but to avoid it is quite impossible. As impossible as sneezing with your eyes open.
January 22, 2008 at 3:37 pm |
Jay, awfully sorry old thing. I was attending to Arty when you slipped your piece in.
I seem to recall prominent song and dance man Fred Astaire singing a song which included the line “next minute you’re in the rotogravure”.
It could be the same one, though I will need to do some research to confirm this.
To the Bat Computer!
I will get back to you in a few days unless someone comes in an fiddles around with the punch cards.
Love
Big Olly
January 22, 2008 at 3:40 pm |
I don’t know about beating up but “Stuck in the Middle with You” is good for ear amputation.
Oh, and it’s
You’ll find that you’re
In the rotogravure
which can only rhyme in America
January 22, 2008 at 3:48 pm |
And “Misty” is good for stalking a DJ. Oddly.
You are correct, Jay, it is as you say but the song in which it appears is “Easter Parade” rather than “Easter Bonnet” so I think that puts us about square.
I have conducted a study of the rhyme and in South Australia, I understand that the couplet also rhymes in all parts north of Goyder’s Line and south of the western parts of Sir Donald Bradman Drive.
I think Goyder also tried to depict on a globe a line beyond which George Harrison’s line in “Old Brown Shoe” (when I grow up I’ll be a singer, Wearing rings on every finger”) rhymes.
The effort killed him.
Love
Big Olly
January 22, 2008 at 3:54 pm |
“I could write a sonnet about your Esater bonnet”??????!!!!
I don’t think so, Mr Berlin. A sonnet requires 14 lines of iambic pentameter conventionally disposed in 3 quatrain’s and a couplet and is something more than an abjectly puerile grab for something to rhyme with “bonnet”.
I could, maybe, but you? I don’t think so.
January 22, 2008 at 4:13 pm |
Bosie, welcome back.
I must say, I had read “Bonnet” to rhyme with “parlay”. I thought that one did not pronounce the last consonant in poetry?
Possibly I was wrong.
Love
Big Olly
January 22, 2008 at 4:36 pm |
Dear Big
Your mention of “Music to Beat up Blokes By” brings to mind yet another fond memory flooding back.
It occurred back in the late 60’s. In those days, when it was still possible to deal more ‘informally’ with the odd customer complaint, I used to train my apprentices in the noble arts as part of their trade.
On this one occasion, a man came into the salon late one day complaining that his wife’s hair had fallen out following one of our (patented) hair treatments, and demanding satisfaction. After some discussio, we were able to resolved the whole issue – by using the power of music.
Does your readercoracle remember the Turtles hit “Happy Together” (old now, but new then)? We just loved it, and later that night, a couple of the 3rd years and myself sang that very song to him. We did replace some of the words with actions, but mostly to give it a more theatrical “West Side Story” feel which we thought our chap might find more enjoyable.
After a single rendition, our friend told us that, on looking more coolly at the facts, the hair loss was probably a simple coincidence. Or, more likely, that his wife had lied to him and made the whole thing up, that she still had a full head of hair, only he hadn’t noticed that fact. All resolved, no paperwork, no fuss. The power of music, indeed.
Our Version went as follows:
VERSE:
Imagine me and (BOOT)
I (BOOT)
I think about you day and (KNIFE)
It’s only (KNIFE)
To think about the Girl I (LAUGH – maniacal)
And hold so (KNIFE)
(All – in unison:) So Happy Together!!!
CHORUS: (in 3-part harmony):
I can see me (PUNCH)-ing nobody but (BO0T), for all my (KNIFE)
When you’re (BIFF) me baby the skies will be (BO0T), for all my (KNIFE)
and so on…
Such memories! And it’s still a big favourite at salon reunions.
January 22, 2008 at 4:50 pm |
Ah, Arty how I love your reminiscences from the sixties. Truly they were happy days. I think “Happy Together” beats even “Singing in the Rain”.
And that takes some doing.
Love
Big Olly
January 22, 2008 at 8:51 pm |
Arturo, I think that bloke’s wife was Britney Spears, ans she shaved it all off herself, it wasn’t your apprentice’s fault. Mind you, I hear that a week later he is married to her and the proud owner of twins.
As for ‘Hotel Cali-bore-nia’, I’m surprised that Big hasn’t sin-binned you already. Quite a few of the readersampan were there at Whitmore Square on that boozy Sunday afternoon in the mid-80’s when that song was laid to rest for ever.
Come back, Big!
January 23, 2008 at 9:23 am |
A point well made re “Hotel California” Some, but it must be said that not everyone was there that day and so that song was not laid to rest for all. And to be wholly accurate, it was the acapella version sung by that drunken barmaid that put it to rest, not a version accompanied by guitars.
I can still see her closing her eyes and holding up one hand as a gaggle of football club louts sniggered at her emotional rendition.
Love
Big Olly
January 23, 2008 at 9:41 am |
Well, since the readerflotsam is getting stuck into this particular iconic song (assuming that a song can be an icon given that an icon is something to be beheld rather than beheard) let me say this:
Please bring me my WINE – we haven’t had that SPIRIT here since 1969 – it’s either wine or spirit, it can’t be both.
What’s the other one – ah yes – Good NIGHT said the NIGHT man – irritating repetition – and what is a night man, anyway? A night watch? A night porter? (There’s that other song again) A night soil porter?
And there’s one other thing… ah it will come to me.
January 23, 2008 at 10:27 am |
Thanks Jay, well said.
As for the other thing, I know what you mean. I can’t put my finger on it yet but it will come.
All I can say is that it isn’t the tautological “it’s 3.00 a.m. in the morning”.
That is a different song.
Love
Big Olly
January 23, 2008 at 10:35 am |
OK, OK…It’s “Relax” said the night man…
But I thought of the others:
So I called up the captain,
’please bring me my wine’
The CAPTAIN! Of what? Surely they could have written:
So I called the sommelier – or even So I called up the steward – or so, I summoned a waiter…the possibilities are endless, so what’s with this captain shite.
And yet another grammatical annoyance:
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say…
Noooo, the voices DONT wake you up just so the VOICES can hear themselves say… What they mean is:
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to HAVE YOU hear them say – or, maybe:
YOU WAKE UP in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say…
But, oh no, close enough is good enough for these Orange County troubadours.
January 23, 2008 at 10:55 am |
…Take It Easy!
Don’t let the sound of your own wheels
drive you crazy
(Oh alright, of course not your own wheels, the wheels of your vehicle. Unless you are some sort of wheel-propelled cyborg. Whatever happened to poetic lisence?)
I find that the synthesised bleatings of Howard Faltermeier inspire violence. And Jan Hammer. But first I have to slip on a pistachio-coloured jacket over my singlet.
January 23, 2008 at 11:49 am |
Poetic licence?
Ya mean a’need a licence?
F#@k%!
January 23, 2008 at 9:51 pm |
“Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim”
Okay, readerumiak, hands up to the preceding.
As for this rot:~
“Don’ you draw the queen of diamonds, boy
She’ll beat you if she’s able
You know the queen of heats is always your best bet”
Obviously never play against Big in 500 when Diamonds are (“a girls best friend”) and your after 6 of the best. Behold, there’s Big with the Jack of Hearts, in a typically devastating trump. At which point you realize the small lug also holds the Jocularity, so it’s all over bar the shouting.
So stick that up your pipe and smoke it, Don Henley…
January 24, 2008 at 6:25 am |
Wooo woooo, I am now a ghost. I thought I would end the misery and crushing desparation of my life as a Hollywood star by popping my cork, Cobain style. It did no harm for his career did it!
Little did I realize, wooo, that I dont go to heaven on such a course, but I am destined to wander the earth with the other tortured souls who hasten the Divine one’s work.
Bon Scott is here, and that bloke from Crowded House
[off: “He made it out, with a bullet in his BACK]
Yeah, no worried Bon.
Wanker, he does that all the time. It’s driving me crazy, but wooo, I guess that is what eternal torment is all about.
I get to watch my funeral though and the tributes to me for all those films, well Brokeback Mountain anyway. Shame they bury me outside the graveyard, but I should have thought, wooo, of that before bringing my moistened fingers to play on the delicate flickering candle flame of life.
Oh well, must turn up at Margaret Pomerance (like however it’s speld) ‘s house now with my head under my arm. Wooo.
Regards, H.
January 24, 2008 at 9:35 am |
Well, plenty to chew on there.
Jay, I am starting to worry about your health. It doesn’t do to take these things to heart. Having said that, I would have made all of the same points myself had I thought of them.
Glen, welcome aboard. Nice to hear from you. The pistachio jacket is a lovely word picture. Mmmmmmm.
Pam, you wag. How delicious to have a contribution from you. I wonder if you have a deathless musing about some mundane aspect of life like peeling the paper seal off a jar of instant coffee or something? I would love to hear it.
Some Bloke, as I recall it was generally you doing the trumping in with a left bower when there were only two tricks left and the joker had not been played. Of course my recollections are a bit addled due to all of the tea and raspberry tarts that we used to consume in those heady days.
Finally a big hello to the T’d G of H L. I didn’t realise that Bon Scott’s demise was suicide. Well, I suppose he did die at his own hand but didn’t he drown in vomit after drinking too much or something? Perhaps you could find out.
And by the way, while you are at Margaret’s place, tell her that I didn’t think Atonement was all that great.
Love
Big Olly
January 24, 2008 at 12:37 pm |
Whilst seper-ay-tin
jar from payper,
Oi learnd ‘eath Ledjer
is now vapour
Silly boy! What a
fool were ‘ee.
Maybe Eltin Jarn’ll
write ‘is eulogy
January 24, 2008 at 1:01 pm |
Ah, Pam. Delicious, as ever.
That does give rise to an interesting question. Which of his scabby back catalougue would Elton scavenge for Heath’s memory?
“Oh, Heath Ledger is it cold
In your little corner. Of the world..”
Or something from “Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy” perhaps?
Maybe he and Kiki Dee could do “Don’t go Taking Those Drugs”.
Love
Big Olly
January 24, 2008 at 2:46 pm |
Hey, I’m stuck here in limbo, but didn’t kill myself.
…
Or did I? Did I see that tree (on a dark desert highway, as it would happen) and decide to go out spectacularly with a bang (and crash, whallop, bam and oof – pretty much the whole Batman shebang from where I was sitting, I tells ya)?
Anyway, here I am stuck with Heath and Bon (Fruity Bon Bon we call him – he f%#kin hates it!). A gay cowboy and a rock star cutdown before he hit the big time.
Perhaps I am in hell after all.
Oh yeah… Wooo-oooo (Heath, you’ve got to drag them out a bit, son).
January 24, 2008 at 3:45 pm |
Ah, wooo, now I’m known as a gay icon. Yes sir, me and Kylie Minogue.
Apparantly intent to top yourself [vide Goering or Juliet] is the same according to the sfterlifers to willfull indifference [vide Bonn, who drank 4 bottles of scotch to death].
The NYPD are out as to which it is for me, I know but I aint telling.
Michael Huchense (like, however it’s speld) falls in to that catagorey as well. He makes a sight in eternal damnation, I can tell – wooo – you, walking around with his hand on his stiffy and his belt around his neck.
Later, H
January 24, 2008 at 3:49 pm |
Ok, wooo, I meant afterlifers, you pedants. Hey, wooo, and tell Owen Wilson we’re waiting
H
January 24, 2008 at 8:29 pm |
Now wait a minute
I was at the top of my tree when I took the Johnny Walker cab ride home, Peter “King-of-the-Mountain-,-but-so-long-ago-it-was-a-rfit-valley” Brock.
I am still the face of AC~DC. If anyone other than him can say what the new singer’s name is I’ll skull a bottle of Jacks and spew on the correct answerer’s enemy’s front doorstep.
Oh, wait a minue, I’ll probably do that regardless.
Anyway, not hard to win Bathurst when you have the only V8 Torana and everyone else is driving minis.
Still, you know what they say about Brocky:
“He made it out
with three wills in his (pocket) BACK”
January 24, 2008 at 8:30 pm |
Woooo-uld you shut up already
January 24, 2008 at 8:36 pm |
Is a life willfully taken as damned as one recklessly surrendered?
Can you hear him complain so much?
Is he the first person to willfully take his life, so that he could attempt to adjust the eternal torment?
Does he get a special dispensation from eternal suffering? So that I am not allowed to ask him to shut his complaining mouth the f#ck up?
Do I ask too many questions?
Well, do I? Punk?
January 24, 2008 at 9:19 pm |
T’is treu, ‘ell is otherr pipple, you ner?
January 25, 2008 at 7:31 am |
Wooo-ooo.
Hey Fruity, I was just finishing off reading your biography as I looked up to see nothing but timber approaching at 120 k’s, and it said there that Back In Black was the monster album that you had all been looking for to break it big time. I like your vocals on that one, son. Though if you play it backwards, you can hear a ghostly chain clinking in the last 3 seconds of Giving the Dog a Bone.
And who cares what I was driving, as long as I was beating that drawling drongo Alan Moffat – he should have hit that tree, not me.
My favourite song lyrics are from Hocus Pocus:
Yo-dee oh-do-do-hee oh-do-do-hee oh-do-do-hee oh-do-do-hee oh-do-do-hee oh-do-do BOM BOM! etc
Priceless.
Oh, and it is Brian Johnson.
Wooo-oooo
January 25, 2008 at 8:15 am |
Well I disagree entirely.
Word association game:
1. Australia’s best known race car driver: Allan “AJ” Jones/Dick Johnson/Jenson (who wore the deer stalker and was sponsored by Schweppes and would break down after lap 15 invariably at Bathurst)
2. Best AC~DC songs: Long Way To The Top/TNT/Dirty Deeds/Gaolbreak/I Was Made For Lovin’ You Baby (I’m not saying the audience is always right, but I’ll take it anyway).
3. Worst AC~DC song: Who made Who.
4. Best car racer at being a love rat: Brock
January 25, 2008 at 8:26 am |
Tis grand to see the fight,
Tween Pater and Ban Scott
as they argue for the right
To say who’s good, and who is nat
But I wonders
when they argue as to who is owed most grief
what the audience thinks of them
Compared to Ledger, yclept Heath
January 25, 2008 at 8:35 am |
And another thing, if I was dead as you assert, when Back in Black was relased, how could MY biography say it was the big break we were all waiting for? The internet hadn’t been invented then, so I couldn’t communicate from the other side as easily as now.
January 25, 2008 at 8:39 am |
Fruity, it was a biography, not an AUTObiography. See, you’re still trying to get credit for someone else’s fame.
January 25, 2008 at 8:39 am |
PS Woooo-oooo
January 25, 2008 at 8:45 am |
Well actually, you could have not died, but pretended you did. Like we did with Paul. It were grand fer sales, hu hu hu hu, yeah.
It nearly didn’t work you know. John came to me and said “Ringo, we want to set up a false demise for Paul” I said “I’ve got just the thing” and ran away and came back with Deadly Earnst’s google eyes. John said, “What are you doing with those?” I said, “I thought you wanted them false eyes”.
This time he slapped my head in exasperation.
Pretty tortured when I reflect on it, and there was no basis I can recall for having so misunderstood him.
Deadly couldn’t go on that night without his props so Russell Satrkey had to fill in for him and hold up the pictures of monsters sent in from the kids at Minda, but I digress.
January 25, 2008 at 9:09 am |
Well, the readerrubbering(not to be used as a safety device) has certainly taken this one by the scruff of the neck.
How delighted I would be to hear from the ghost of Dick Johnson. Not so much because I think he would have much to add, but because if we were hearing from his ghost it would mean that he had died.
For those of you not familiar with Mr. Johnson, I can advise that he was an Australian touring car driver (back when they were touring cars rather than the controversial current appelation “Supercars” but don’t get me started).
He famously crashed at Bathurst one year when “some idiot threw a rock”. In fact no such thing happened and the prang was due mainly to his own ineptitude.
He was justly unpopular to the point that he had to start his own team in order to get a drive and later in his career he became the public face of Shell or something. Oddly he was the straight man in a sort of comedy duo with Barry Sheen. The strange thing is that Sheen, a bona fide world champion who was much loved, highly intelligent, affable and charming, played the role of an idiot.
Anyway, that’s off my chest.
Love
Big Olly
January 25, 2008 at 9:40 am |
Sheen & Johnson weren’t by any chance promoting the ‘great smell of Brut’? In a similar set up, I (unfortunately) well remember ‘Enery Cooper & Kevin Keegan emerging from the showers together to share their bottle.
Further evidence of the inadequacy of sports facilities here, what with boxers & footballers (sorry, soccer players) having to share changing rooms. Although I’m sure some of the readerarmarda will think it an ideal set-up…
January 25, 2008 at 10:01 am |
I think our local sporting heroes generally stuck to the old favourites, booze and cigarettes. Oh yeah, fast food too.
I don’t remember Brut being advertised, although I am sure it was. Old Spice was some nonentity on a yacht as I recall, although I am not familiar with the yachting fraternity. The fellow may have been a champion.
Love
Big Olly
January 25, 2008 at 10:56 am |
Oh kids! Kids kids kids kids! I just had a very scary thought! What if the guy who comissioned all those paintings of doggies playing poker and all those other things, and that truly mind-bending painting of James Dean, Marilyn Monroe etc looking soulful in a diner, got on the horn.. sorry, thats too rude, lets say got on the blower, much better, and comissioned all those out of work orphan mexicans and philipinos to start painting pictures preferably on black velvet of Heath with Peter Brock and Michael Hutchence and who knows who else all in the smoking ruin of the ground floor deli at No 96……. and who else could we have? Frank Thring maybe? John Mellion? Kylie maybe just visiting? This baby’s got legs!
January 25, 2008 at 11:18 am |
Crivens, Dr H. That has set me fizzing at the bunghole (not as rude as it sounds – something about beer I think).
Dead Australian icons. Well Sir Donald Bradman, obviously. Kerry Packer is also a walk up start. Ted Whitten, no doubt.
I know he isn’t dead but that serial pest bloke should be in it too I think.
Love
Big Olly
January 26, 2008 at 5:57 pm |
Olly, is it yerself?
I see you’ve been to calling out the serial pests. Well if you’ll not be minding me saying so, I am the serialist of them all, to be sure. Faith and begorah, me parents named me after the cornflakes mascot. Toora looora they did, so I can’t be more goldened flaked than that!
A bit about meself.
Once a prest, I rerse to fame wrestling the then 8th placed runner in the Grand National to the ground mid race. Why not pull down the then leader?
To be sure, it were Gad’s will, to be sure. He had put 10 Anglish ginueas on the nag and needed a scratchin mid rerce.
Eye see that the erzats abominator cowboy Heat “Timothy or Pat” Ledger has thrown himself to the Da’el himself by using an unlicenced massuse to snuf out his cork. Massuse! We the unfrocked never use anything but prossies for to be doing the work of Satan, but the unlicenced bit gives her street cred, I’ll give you that.
Anyroad, His funeral ought to get similar werld wide attention to the Athens Olympics, so I’ll be being to Australia to disrupt the readings of the Thoughts of Nanushka at his funeral, doubtless by jumping on his coffin and pulling it over whilst wearing nothing but a saffron kilt.
Over my head.
Till then I’d like to ask for God to bless you Olly, you and your readercaique but a papal Bull prevents me, so: may the road rise up to greet you…etc and all,
Corny.
January 29, 2008 at 2:52 pm |
You’ll have to wait in line, Father…see below:
An evangelical anti-gay US church plans to picket any memorials to Australian actor Heath Ledger, who died this week, because of his portrayal of a gay cowboy in Brokeback Mountain.
Shirley Phelps, of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, has told Sydney radio station 2Day FM that they will also picket any attempt to honour Ledger, 28, at next month’s Academy Awards ceremony.
“I’m going to stand outside of any public memorial service that he has here,” Ms Phelps said. “And then the other place I’m going to picket him is when they prop him up to worship his dead, rotting carcass further at the Oscars. I’ll be right outside by the red carpet.”
The Westboro Baptist Church is classified as a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Centre in the United States. It regularly pickets the funerals of soldiers killed in Iraq, claiming the war is God’s punishment for tolerating gays.
January 29, 2008 at 3:07 pm |
Well, welcome aboard Father Ret. A pleasure to have your views. I am not entirely sure where Mr Ledger’s funeral will take place but if Jay’s report is accurate you might have to wait for another high profile funeral personage to depart.
Unless you could organise Shirley Phelps to convert.
Love
Big Olly
January 29, 2008 at 3:17 pm |
Oim glad oim nart in Kannzass
Cos af oi were a man
And loiked another man’s ass
They’d put me under ban
And pack me off ta Maddle East
Wheree’er it be they fancy
Where straight marines with faces greased
Kill Muslims ‘cos of nancies.
January 29, 2008 at 5:52 pm |
Woooo-oooo, I’m a ghost, too. Hang on, no I’m not! I’m still alive! Heath, what the f#$% am I doing here? Goddammit, why do I always get dragged along wherever you go?
I wish I knew how to quit you…
January 30, 2008 at 1:41 am |
I think we all here in purgatory ought to congratulate Heath on his originality regarding his decent to join all us homosexual, discovered in the middle of our apartment, self-topping or supposed prescription overdosers. Johns here too by the woooooooo-ay, which is expected, having unwiiiittingly canceled out any chance of an afterlife for any of us with his “inspirational” advice of imagining there is no Heaven. We all thank him for this by bestowing upon him wedgies, nipple cripples and wet-willies (literally) every time we see him.
January 30, 2008 at 9:56 am |
It is an nice question, given that “the Almighty has set his canon ‘gainst self-slaughter”, whether suicides go to Purgatory or to Limbo. I fancy it is Purgatory. Since Protestants refuse belief in either of these realms, however, I imagine they go to Hell, along with hopelessly perverse heretics like Shirley Phelps.
Lay him i’ th’ earth,
And from his fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring! I tell thee, Shirley Phelps,
A ministering angel shall Heath Ledger be
When thou liest howling.
January 30, 2008 at 10:59 am |
Thank Christ I got meself reincarnated instead…
January 30, 2008 at 12:09 pm |
Well, I don’t recall when I have heard quite such an agonised outpouring from the underworld, or wherever it is you guys are hanging around (not you George).
It is almost as if this discussion forms some sort of portal and the cries come pouring through the kitchen like the directors cut of the Amityville Horror. Or was it the Exorcist?
Which one had James Brolin in it? Well, not that one.
George, while you are there would you mind telling us what you came back as? My understanding is that you come back as something that reflects how you behaved in the past life. I couldn’t imagine you coming back as anything but yourself.
If you came back as a cockroach or something I will know that you were not practicing as you preached. I would be that cross.
Love
Big Olly
January 30, 2008 at 12:44 pm |
Ay carumba!! Was that you last night, Epstein? I thought dear old Bev had crossed over to give me one to be going on with. Felt like her though … I don’t know if that proves her blokeish ways, or your effeminate ones. Still, any loving’s good loving, I think?
T’any rate, going back to John L., Instant Kharma certainly got him, eh? Ah, Shaved Fish was a favourite CD of mine. In fact, I think I was listening to “Woman Is the Niggger of the World” when I left it. No wonder I steered into that eucalypt. My favourite line is “We make her paint her face and dance (repeat ad nauseum)”. John also included a song called “Mother”, I think. Not a patch on the song of the same name by The Police.
Till next time, Readericecreamstickintheswollenspoondrainafterastorm.
Woooo-oooo-oooo.
January 30, 2008 at 3:20 pm |
Look as comptroller of the underworld I want to get few things sriaght. There is no purgatory, it is a catholic invention. Fr Cornelius isn’t here yet, although he ran in once to push over an incubus who was receiving an award for 100th soul brought (that’s the last time we put a self congratulatory add in the business section of the paper before the event).
Poove’s souls can’t be purgerated, according to your reading of your bible, but Heath was acting as a poov, don’t you fundamentalists get it?
Elizabeth Montgomery wasn’t a witch , she was pretending to be one.
Heath is in here anyway because he took his own life.
As it happens, Homer The Oddysey chap 11 confirms that you all end up down here, poofs, straights, suicides, old ageicides. We pretend there is a distinction between hell and heavan so your miserable lives are a touch more bearable.
Ever heard a song: “Imagine there’s no hell…”
January 30, 2008 at 3:41 pm |
Imagine there’s no Hell? Careful, it’s a trick, like when lawyers ask you to imagine the death of the Queen and then try and run you in for treason – well, don’t we know that the greatest trick the Devil plays on us is when he deceives us into imagining he does not exist!
January 31, 2008 at 12:47 am |
Indeed Big Olly, I get to have another go at being meself when I was fab.
(This message was transcribed from the radiogram: like in that film with Denis Quaid in it, that’s how I’ve got around the fact I’m now in 1963 & you lot aren’t)
January 31, 2008 at 6:14 am |
Well I am hardly trying to hide the fact that I exist Monsignor, but if that makes you happy, say on.
I guess it covers all fields re the devil, either you beleive in him and eternal damnation and get scared into a life of sad compliance, or you don’t, in which case you get frightened into thinking that so doing you are playing into the devil’s hands.
Well read Homer, as indicated on the reading list. There is no devil, there is no hell, just the shit afterlife.
So, whilst on earth follow the advice of the prophet Chad Morgan:
“Kiss the girls and drink your beer,
There’s no lost time made up for here” [“here” being the afterlife, sorry if that ruined the metre]
January 31, 2008 at 8:37 am |
What, “Hades Also Known As by some as Devil”. Is that what you are trying to say, Hades? That is a bit like referring to an “ATM Machine” or “3.00 am in the morning” or “Mt. Fujiyama”.
I know you have your hands full what with forking the souls in torment in the bot etc, but really. And as for your use of the noun that you have used as an adjective to describe the afterlife, it is quite inappropriate here. You may be the Dark Lord but if you can’t maintain minimum standards, you can take your thoughts elsewhere.
Otherwise a thought provoking item. Well done on quoting Chad Morgan. Sucked in for missing out on that Bhuddist George Harrison. Although if George doesn’t manage to be fab this time ’round perhaps you do get to have a go at him.
And if he has gone back to ’63 as he says, he would presumably be dead again by now. Indeed he must be or he would still be with us releasing “Crackerjack Palace Revisited” or something. So perhaps, goodness, my head is starting to swim. I am going to have to re-watch the “Back to the Future” series again so that I can understand all of this.
In the meantime I shall bathe my throbbing temples in eau-de-cologne.
Love
Big Olly
January 31, 2008 at 9:56 am |
It’s really, really easy Olly. I’m in 1963, but in a parerlel ooniverse. Or a different pocket of the multiverse. Depending on whose theory you read.
One theory has it that everything imaginable is actually true somewhere. So if you’re in the wrong pocket (so to speak) yer’ll find yerself in a Hieronymous Bosch type-scenahrio after yer ded, in another it’s all ambrosia & nectar, & in one of the more peculiar ones, it’s non-stop Australyan brekfast radio fer all eternety. Imagine!
Trouble is, yer don’t get to choose, & there’s no way of knowing til it’s The End…
January 31, 2008 at 10:07 am |
Goodness. Thanks for that clarification, George. Until now I had never imagined myself standing in a little boat with all flowers growing out of my bottom and a sort of big magpie with arms menacing me, H. Bosch style.
And from what you say, somewhere that very scenario has come true. Does that mean that now that I have imagined it, I have to come back and live it? I don’t like the sound of that. Of course there is eons of going to school in the nude to come before it will happen so I won’t start worrying just yet.
And if you are right, does that mean that when John Lennon dared us to imagine, we made it all come true if we took up his challenge, even if we didn’t really embrace his views?
Maybe John is now inhabiting the place that he thus created and daring everyone to imagine that there is a heaven. Coo. It is like looking at your reflections in two parallel mirrors just disappearing into infinity.
Although if they are parallel, your great fat head is in the way and you can’t see the reflections, so you have to put one of them on an angle and it makes them all curve off…. as if to another dimension.
Coo. Head is throbbing again. Must…bathe…temples…eau-de-cologne..
Love
Big Olly
January 31, 2008 at 11:49 am |
…und eye came bak as Hilary Clinton!
January 31, 2008 at 1:01 pm |
Well howdy, there Olly, ol’ pal
I dunno what all the hulla bahloo is about….
“Men Without Hats”, clearly superior lyricists to Mr Lennon, seemed to summarise most of these “afterlife” issues very succinctly in the first and second verse (and perhaps the whole number) of their well-known “Safety Dance” (full lyrics reproduced to admire the splendour of the scansion):
We can dance if we want to
We can leave your friends behind
‘Cause your friends don’t dance
and if they don’t dance
Well they’re, no friends of mine
Say, we can go where we want to
A place where they will never find
And we can act like we come
from out of this world
Leave the real one far behind
And we can dance, “dansez”
We can go when we want to
Night is young and so am I
And we can dress real neat from
our hats to our feet
And surprise them with a victory cry
Say, we can act if we want to
If we don’t nobody will
And you can act real rude
and totally removed
And I can act like an imbecile,
and say
We can dance, we can dance
Everything’s out of control
We can dance, we can dance
We’re doing it from pole to pole
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody look at your hands
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody’s taking the chance
Safe to dance
Oh well its safe to dance
Yes it safe to dance
We can dance if we want to
We’ve got all your life and mine
As long as we abuse it,
never going to lose it
Everything will work out right
I say, We can dance if we want to
We can leave your friends behind
‘Cause your friends don’t dance,
and if they don’t dance
Well they’re no friends of mine
I say, we can dance, we can dance
Everything’s out of control
We can dance, we can dance
We’re doing it from pole to pole
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody look at your hands
We can dance, we can dance
Everybody’s taking the chance
Well it’s safe to dance
Yes it’s safe to dance
Well it’s safe to dance
Well it’s safe to dance
Yes it’s safe to dance
Well it’s safe to dance
Well it’s safe to dance
It’s a Safety Dance
Well it’s a Safety Dance
Oh it’s a Safety Dance
Oh it’s a Safety Dance
Well it’s a Safety Dance
Leaves some of my numbers looking decidely pallid
I think Wikipedia has got it all wrong when it provides the following on the meaning of the song:
“Exactly what the title of the song refers to is debated. Some claim the song encourages safe sex, others that it encourages people to take care and be careful while slam dancing, and others again say the song is about the fear of leaving familiar and well known surroundings for something new.”
And on the issue of “modern music”, are the “Dream Police” sung so fervently about by “Cheap Trick” the very same constabulary as the “Karma Police” lamented upon by “Radiohead” some years later? Well, of course not, “dreams” and “karma” are quite seperate things….. Or, are they part of something more progressive or evolving? Like, for example, the difference between an admiring glance, a leer, and an ogle?
I dunno, call me irresponsible…
(Must be a slow old day in Hades which causes me to blog on from where I am….)
January 31, 2008 at 1:18 pm |
Welcome aboard Irving, though something makes me think you have posted before.
I more or less see what you mean, but I am too scared to actually imagine it in case George Harrison makes me spend a lifetime doing it. Or something. The delicate fabric of space and time is being ruptured, and all of time’s jelly beans are spilling out of its pocket.
Love
Big Olly
January 31, 2008 at 1:51 pm |
What if the space-time continuum exists not, as it were, in a straight line but is round?
like a circle
in a spiral
like a wheel within a wheel
never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel?
Then our afterlife would be just a beforelife – and the souls of the dead the souls of the unborn. And this life, here in the middle, is just the afterlife of the unborn. And I’m thinking – this could be Heaven or this could be Hell
which brings us back to doe – sew, doe!
January 31, 2008 at 1:55 pm |
Oooh, goodness. More deep thinking. This has taken me to the very Edge of Reality.
But hang on Jay. If this the Earth that we inhabit is the middle, as you say, shouldn’t I have all big hairy feet and be a happy go lucky solid type who lives in a house made of dirt and gets into merry scrapes?
Actually…..
Love
Big Olly
January 31, 2008 at 2:07 pm |
Yay, I am the hundreth, I am the hundreth!!
What’s that?
[scuffle sounds in irish
Olly, is it yerselt? ‘Tis me, Corny, to be sure!!!
January 31, 2008 at 2:16 pm |
Well I’m dead too now, Engerland’s prime practical joker, although, now as a reflective shade* I think what is practical about gluing somebody’s car door shut? It would only cause them distress.
Is that it? A life of making fun of invented suffering of others. Teasing the old? Mocking those ill equipped to deal with it, and then displaying their embarrasment on national television. If I wasn’t dead, I’d top myself.
*as seen in servos
January 31, 2008 at 2:49 pm |
Oh Jeremy.
We in the Antipodes did not have much of your stuff on TV, unlike our lucky cousins in the Propodes. Having said that, your happy laugh warmed the world, your withered hand gave us all something to enjoy.
Vale.
Love
Big Olly
January 31, 2008 at 3:40 pm |
I’m tired of all these dead people. The Good Lord himself saith: “Let the dead bury the dead.” Not a very efficient system from the point of view of public health but a sterling reaffirmation of the importance of living, albeit confusing for zombies and ghouls, who are, of course, the living dead…tho’ precisely what the difference is between them has always eluded me.
Perhaps, Olly, the readerlagan can assist.
January 31, 2008 at 4:00 pm |
Well, the Very Rev, I think that the Good Lord in all his wisdom meant “let the dead bury themselves” and was encouraging people to partake in those schemes where you pay for your own funeral in easy instalments, thus removing the burden of doing so from your loved ones in their time of distress.
That way you should be able to ensure that you can choose the type of sandwiches at the wake and the colours of the footy scarf tastefully draped across your coffin.
Of course those in peril at the sea on the readerflotsam may be able to help further.
Love
Big Olly
January 31, 2008 at 4:01 pm |
Sorry, I think that is “on the sea”.
My bad.
Love
Big Olly
January 31, 2008 at 4:18 pm |
I thought it was Sherriff Tate in “To Kill a Mockingbird” who said “Let the dead Bury the Dead.” Does that mean he is The Lord. Perhaps he was in another universe.
If everything I imagine becomes reality in another universe, I can’t wait to see “The Spider and the Fly + Peter Perfect” when it comes to be.
Woooo-oooo-oooo-OOOOH…….aaahhhhhh.
January 31, 2008 at 10:08 pm |
…what Jay said.
It could be worse, we could be stuck in The-Smurfs-barbeque-My-Little-Pony-to-a-soundtrack-of Wang-Chung-Universe (79th one on the left, if you’re looking)
February 1, 2008 at 11:42 am |
Pete, I don’t know what Sheriff Tate’s big problem was but if his idea of being Sheriff was sitting around making quotable quotes then abdicating his dog shooting duties to bespectacled civilians, I don’t quite think he has a firm grip on things.
Imagine if the Sheriff of Nottingham had taken that sort of view. Robin Hood would never have become famous and that bloke with the long hair would have to have written a song about Captain Moonlight or someone.
Uruburos, I am surprised that you can use a keyboard, or even dictate, without limbs and with your own tail in your mouth, but welcome aboard anyway.
And thatks for the tip on the whereabouts of that Universe. Although I read somewhere that they are about to introduce a few more female smurfs, so presumably the smurf barbie might be a bit more enjoyable than at present, when presumably it resemles a football club one with all drunken blokes save one arts student paid to be there without her shirt on.
Love
Olly
February 1, 2008 at 9:41 pm |
Big Olly,
Fortuitously I have prehensile eyebrows. I’m one unique serpent.
February 1, 2008 at 10:31 pm |
Or smurpent. As the case may be.
While I’m at it, Why Irving, why? Why are you turning in your urn about Wikipedia? What a waste of ectoplasmic energy! Dare I say it, yet again, its hardly very difficult to fix is it? It probably would have taken less keystrokes to go in and sort it than complain about it here.
I lay down the challenge to all of the readerzode……….
All of you get in there and fix the wikipedia entry on Men without Hats!
How hard can it be? And how much more important on a global scale than being the 100th entry????
Remember- you have the power, if only you dare to dream!
February 2, 2008 at 7:58 am |
Oh deary me, Olly
Friday afternoon comes around again and the good doctor is embarking on another Wiki-rant.
Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.
The only difference is that he seems to be hitting the sauce a little earlier today. Get the Rolls Parker; we’d best go for a little drive. I think the doctor needs a quiet month at Bonga Bonga.
February 2, 2008 at 10:01 am |
T’is done. Mr Berlin’s theory is added in it’s rightful place.
I think it’s important to set the record wrong about vexing questions of great magnitude. Or at least, as being wrong about things is my wont, it’s nice to adjust the alignment of the universe. Until The All-Powerful Editor(s) arrive with their digital blue pencils of course…
February 3, 2008 at 11:46 am |
Yes
M’
Lady
February 3, 2008 at 5:42 pm |
Hey, grandpa (literally), How y’doin’?
Ain’t seen ol’ Bosiee abart, ‘as ya?
February 3, 2008 at 5:54 pm |
Oi navver writ a poem
Luvlay as a tree…
But no decidyuss plantloife
Drops crap as much as me!
February 3, 2008 at 10:26 pm |
Make of this ‘far out’ news what you will:
By WENN world entertainment news – 1 hour 48 minutes ago
“The Beatles’ peace anthem Across The Universe has been selected as the first song to be beamed into deep space.
The tune will celebrate it’s 40th anniversary with a blast-off on Monday.
Experts at US space agency NASA will aim the sonic blast to go further than any orbiting spacecraft. It will reach Polaris (The North Star) in 431 years.
To commemorate the event, NASA bosses have declared 4 February Across The Universe Day, and they are asking the world’s Beatles fans to celebrate the historic moment by playing the song at the same time across the globe.”
February 4, 2008 at 8:53 am |
Thank you, Ms Fide for bringing that to my attention; it clears up a mystery that has been puzzling me since I first listened to “Across the Universe” as an undergraduate with friends in 1970.
Like countless young people worldwide, we would gather in someone’s digs, sit on scatter cushions, sip mulled wine, burn incense and discuss the lyrics.
The most puzzling of course was “Jai Guru Deva, Om” The best literal translation of which is; “Onya Jai! That was a great jump mate!”
This set our young minds spinning as we searched for its meaning – which of course only became clear in the year 2000 when Australia’s newest Olympic hero “Jumping” Jai Taurima won the silver in the long jump in the Sydney Olympics.
But how could the Fab Four have known of this in advance? As you may know, Ms Fide, I have devoted my life to Science, and was unwilling to accept that the Four had the gift of prescience.
Now, of course it all makes sense. Presumably the song will not be beamed out unaccompanied, as someone will be required to go along and explain the enigmatic lyrics to any extra terrestrials who may hear it (lest they think earth men are deliberately obtuse). The obvious candidate is Billy Shears – Paul’s twin. And so Einstein’s famous Twin’s Paradox (of a pair of twins, one of whom stays home while the other travels at relativistic speeds and comes back before his father is born) neatly accounts for how knowledge of Jai’s jump reached the Four thirty years before the event.
I hazard to suggest also Ms Fide, that many other Beatles mysteries – the cigarette in the left hand, the bare feet, Revolution Nine played backwards – may all soon be explained by sound scientific theory.
February 4, 2008 at 10:07 am |
Look, I think zis is rathzer foolhardy, to blast simpering messages of peace to the reaches of outer-Lebensraum. What if zer are warlike uber-terrestrials listening, intelligent, cool and unsympathetic, ready to dispatch ruthless sturm-troops to pilot zer unter-ground tripods and lay waste to our degenerate and feeble, peaceloving culture?
I would substitute the Ride of the Valkyries attached to a batch of interstellar doodlebugs – just in case. Let zem know precisely vat to expect!
February 4, 2008 at 11:06 am |
I always preferred a much more targeted lyric, dearest Olly.
For mine, the Carpenters “Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft” had far more going for it. Perhaps NASA was reluctant to use this, given the poor role model for aspiring young astronauts set by poor Karen……stum, she might be around here at present – she’s hard to spy looking at sideways.
Then again, NASA has so many positive female, murderous, adulterous, covetous nappy-wearing role models….(sorry, couldn’t think of a word that ended in “ous” that represented the wearing of a diaper)
And as for male role models, to think you can get your own genie if you are an astronaut…..all a guys White Christmases would come at once. err, if you know what I allude to Big Olly
February 4, 2008 at 2:20 pm |
Coo, there is a bit of stuff to be going on with there, isn’t there gentle reader.
The to-ing and fro-ing between dimensions, heavens and hells makes me think it might be time to fire up the DeLorean again.
As for the appropriate song to beam out, I can see the arguments on all sides, and “Calling Occupants” does have the benefit of having been written and first performed by Klaatu (or however it is spelled) and already the subject of discussion here though not now.
I vote for “If I Could Turn Back Time” by Cher, though I could not really say why. I think I am just a bit confused by all the talk that has been going on here.
Love
Big Ollly
February 4, 2008 at 2:58 pm |
Doesn’t “diaphanous” mean “diaper-wearing”. That’s what I picture when I think of all those crazy degenerate Hollywood-Babylon house-parties with all the guests in diaphanous robes!
February 5, 2008 at 6:39 am |
Sigismund, you’re welcome (& everybody)
You’re right: there is no science immediately obvious in prescience, except perhaps in terms of orthography.
As for Revolution Nine, I’m sure it would make better sense backwards as forwards (I cannot test the theory on my CD player: how superior was the vinyl of your student days!) ‘En iNnoit u love R’ translates of course to ‘You’re partial to an Eskimo’ in Latin…
February 5, 2008 at 6:40 am |
Sigismund, you’re welcome (& everybody)
You’re right: there is no science immediately obvious in prescience, except perhaps in terms of orthography.
As for Revolution Nine, I’m sure it would make better sense backwards as forwards (I cannot test the theory on my CD player: how superior was the vinyl of your student days!) ‘En iNnoit u love R’ translates of course to ‘You’re partial to an Eskimo’ in Latin…
February 5, 2008 at 6:42 am |
…sorry third paragraph thirteenth word is incorrect. I should have put ‘rather than’ not ‘as’. (7/10 See Me!)
February 5, 2008 at 7:05 am |
… & yet more apologies: this one for the twin posting!
(Cripes Anti-Petra! You took your time putting in an appearance)
February 5, 2008 at 1:33 pm |
Hey Olly, I just got Jesus a good ‘un. He came by and asked us for a drink, yeah, so I gives him a sponge to drink off (tee hee) havin’ soaked it first in balsamic vinager!
Ho, did we laugh at that!
The vengeful bugger withered me other hand. Still, worth it for the laugh I eternally say.
I’ll see you later, but you wont see me!
February 5, 2008 at 1:53 pm |
Speaking of Eskimos, the Innuit of Coronation Gulf worship as sea-goddess an enormous and belligerent female spirit called Sedna, or sometimes Arnapkapfaluk (“big, bad woman”) who now dwells, fingerless, in the Underworld. Having eaten everything in her father’s home, including, it seems, her father’s right arm, then having foiled his understandable attempt to get her out of the house by marrying her off, by herself preemptively marrying a dog, he tried to throw her into the sea, but she clung on to his kayak with her fingers so that he had to sever them one by one which, incidentally, turned into the marine mammals of which she thereafter became the mistress, presumably resisting the temptation to eat them.
And to think I have difficulty explaining the Holy Trinity!
February 5, 2008 at 4:40 pm |
I played a trick on that eskimaux lady that backfired – ON BOTH OF US!
I were settin’ up this great gag where she opens the skin door to the igloo and (tee hee at the memory of it) a bucket of flensed blubber falls on her head, when she surprises me mid set up and eats off me arm!
Well, joke’s on her cause it were me withered arm!
She passed a withered old motion next day, I bet you!
February 5, 2008 at 4:54 pm |
You don’t have to go to the Artic Circle to find a big bad woman. I married one who had eaten off her leg. And you all talk about hell, I’ve been there (as evinced by my tortured music since the late 70s).
February 5, 2008 at 8:46 pm |
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA See you in court! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (etc)
February 5, 2008 at 10:25 pm |
Hello Big from Fatty.
How nostalgic to hear of nappy wearing at Hollywood parties. We invented debauchery back in the silent era you know. Lilian Gish kissing girls, Valentino kissing boys and all the while Theda Bara looking off dangerously. Yes we had some good times, that’s for sure.
But don’t believe everything you see at the movies. “Things go better with Coke” they say. Yeah, well try explaining that as an excuse to a jury. I will say no more, for the risk of offending, but I should say I was acquitted twice.
Heath Ledger was soft.
February 5, 2008 at 10:33 pm |
There were a funny man named Fatty,
For he were big and fat.
And if you called out that name to ‘im,
Like as nart he’d asnwer to that.
But he did somthin’ bad,
Worse than Ben Turpin’s crossing eyes
Yet them jurors let ‘im off twice,
Much to the DA’s surprise.
But don’t tell me there is no Gad
Nor similar herasies,
Cause shortly after his X2 aquittal
Fatty died of a disease.
February 6, 2008 at 8:38 am |
On reflection it was a hung jury twice then acquittal on the third occassion. And it wasn’t a bottle of coke. I was rubbing a cruelly sharp shard of ice on the vicim’s stomach to .. er.. help her abdominal pain. Yeah, that’s it, help.
Look, I was acquitted right, so shut up.
Poem that, Pam.
February 6, 2008 at 9:46 am |
This of a silent actor
Who’s acquitted one of three
He quizzeth the arresting officer
“Why doest thou chargeth me?”
“Her blood is on your hand” quoth cop,
“Her corpse is on your floor”
“There’s coke bottle glass within her ****,
Pray need I say on more?”
February 6, 2008 at 10:52 am |
… don’t know ’bout that, but after Fatty’s Flirtation, we thunk we had him Safe In Jail. Turned out The Foreman of The Jury was His Chum The Baron & he got plumb away.
Some Nerve!
February 6, 2008 at 11:20 am |
“Across the universe” has just made it to Alpha Centauri. While the rest of the crew was distracted by the sounds, Dr Smith cut a big chunk out of Will’s 53rd birthday cake and then concealed his crime by smearing the icing to cover the gap. Dr Smith is 102 years old.
February 6, 2008 at 11:48 am |
You’ve really done it this time, Smith!
As if it wasn’t enough that you fed all our dutronium to that crazy green chick in the up-turned salad-bowl hat! Why, I shoulda left you floating out there rather than muss up my new tinfoil space suit to go out and fetch ya back in my manly arms.
I say we strap ‘im to the hydoponic garden table and jettison him from the pod-hatch!
And lets chuck out that f#@$ing bloop-monkey while we’re at it!
February 6, 2008 at 3:20 pm |
Spare me the poisonous barbs Major, they fall on deaf ears.
February 6, 2008 at 3:27 pm |
I knew of a dactor
And ‘is name were Smith,
He never cured no one,
But made bon mots of pith
He did nart like the Major,
with blood fiery and latin, him.
He loved the young boy Will,
But not half as much as platinum.
He pull art the robart’s powerpack
and robart’s vitality would drain.
And when called upon to do some werk
would rejoin “the pain the pain”
February 6, 2008 at 3:44 pm |
Major, the salad bowl hat was down turned, you sharp tempered wanker. If it was upturned, that would be its usual sate and your adjective otiose.
I mean, the hat wasn’t full of salad, Carman Miranda style, was it?
Then again, this was space and odd things happened. You can imagine my surprise when “Forbidden Planet”‘s erzats Caliban Robbie the Robot turned up on a moon.
Time to carve the pills for dinner.
February 6, 2008 at 3:49 pm |
Carve the pills for dinner! I’ll drink to that.
I’ve been smoking marijuana for 30 years, which means I was smoking in the hospital nursery, but hey, I was wacked when I said that so who knew what I meant.
Having said that, hard to see how the massuse misinterpreted the “For God’s sake call a doctor” scream I repeated for 10 minutes whilst she kept telphoning my hairdresser girlfriend, but it is so hard to make an appointment these days.
February 6, 2008 at 4:10 pm |
I don’t blame ya, Heath, buddy. It’s hard enough acting WITH faggots let alone AS one especially when the only looker on set is a psycho-frigid latent lesbo like goddammed Marta Hari over here.
AND this hopeless spaceblog won’t even type italics so you have to use capitals to denote emphasis – musta come from the cyber-junk bargain table at Mr Zumdish’s Intergalactic Department Store or something. Anyway, here goes…..
Downturned, upturned, upset, over-easy, whatever babe! Stuck out here in space all these years with no-one for comfort and your “look but don’t touch” bitch of an attitude, a guy stops thinking with his brain, ya know what I mean? I tell ya, I certainly found a use for that curious socket in the side of the robot that no-one could ever work out – so to speak…
Well, whaddayasay? Space is lonely enough, so hey, Jude, don’t make it worse….
February 6, 2008 at 9:43 pm |
Biddly-Biddly-Biddly! OK Buck!!
Yipe! Wrong robot. Sorry…
February 7, 2008 at 6:54 am |
Wooo-oooo-oooo. My friend Doris Stokes tells me that our Mr Bloke, Some to his friends, has come down with Dr Smith’s ailment. No, not latent homosexuality, but a crook back.
Although……
Wooo-oooo-oooo
February 7, 2008 at 8:46 am |
No wonder, wooo, that Petra is not herself lately – Haw haw haw
February 7, 2008 at 8:59 am |
Nice to see it was a mixture of 20 or so prescription drugs that did me in. That get’s the anti drug folk off back and hopefully onto my GPs. Wooo.
By the way, Big Olly aint around on this side. Has anyone seen him? Or is he and “Some Bloke” really the same person, like Hyram and Fearless Fly?
February 7, 2008 at 9:11 am |
Sorry guys, I have been locked in my room contemplating man’s inhumanity to man. Again. While listening to Manfred Mann. And eating a gingerbread man.
I don’t think that I can add much to the feast of reason and flow of soul, but would hate you to think that I was in trouble. Or a huff.
I was only away for a couple of days anyway. It’s not my fault if a whole pile of new deceased and fictional characters are clamouring to express themselves. Well, I suppose it is my fault really.
Anyway, in case anyone is interested, man’s inhumanity to man (which I have now contemplated fully) is generally a bad thing depending on the man to whom it is directed.
Now, thanks to the Lost in Space theme, I am going to have to contemplate man’s inhumanity to robot. As I recall, this has been considered in the past. I am sure I can remember Astro Boy, a large tear (presumably of sewing machine oil or something) rolling down his cheek, saying “Why don’t humans understand robots?”
I will get back to you when I have the answer. I think it is somthing to do with algorithms, whatever they are.
Love
Big Olly
February 7, 2008 at 9:23 am |
Latent! Give me a break
February 7, 2008 at 9:25 am |
Shouldn’t that be “an huff” as in “an hotel”?
Reminds me of my old French Master’s little joke: One egg is un oeuf!
February 7, 2008 at 9:59 am |
Did I just get ‘dissed’ by The Late Heath Ledger?
Fantastic! Must get on to the National Enquirer…
PS Big Olly & the readerflotilla; what are the odds that The Recently Deceased Maharishi will grace this column, or will he a) get straight on with his next incarnation, b) shove off to Nirvana (not the Kurt Cobain one) or c) do whatever the other options are?
February 7, 2008 at 10:33 am |
Yes, I saw the news of the departure of the most holy one and have been waiting with bated breath to see if he graces us.
Am slightly disappointed that George didn’t let us know, although if my calculations are right he is busy being the first person to use the word “grotty”, which he did in “Help”, I think.
Anyway, let’s see what happens, no?
Love
Big Olly
February 7, 2008 at 10:43 am |
… sorry bout that Olly, I were just makin’ sure that I hadn’t ended up in the reality-version where I end up doin’ Tomas Ther Tank Enjin… That n sortin me hurr out.
February 7, 2008 at 2:47 pm |
Come to think of it, Will, Zachary Smith was, if anything, a paedophile, rather than an homosexual, latent or otherwise. That must be so, cos he always hated me and like I’m a complete spunk!
Not much comfort for you, little buddy, I grant ya…
February 8, 2008 at 11:06 am |
Hey, call me pedantic, woooo-oooo, but shouldn’t it have taken 4 years for the beaming of Across the Universe to reach Alpha Centauri, or have those gosh-darned Yankees (God, I hate Allan Moffat!!) learned how to speed up the speed of light?
Unless of course the fabric of the space-time continuum has been torn, no doubt by Dr Smith. “Smith!! I oughtta…”
In the words of a hybrid sci-fi character: “Compute it does not.”
Woooo-oooo
February 8, 2008 at 11:47 am |
I seem to recall that it takes 54 years to reach Alpha C and get back but that in the meantime the earth will have aged 400 years. See, the Space Family Robinson were never coming back to the world they knew; they were pioneers. So why did Smith want to get back to the unfamiliar world of the future – gay marriage laws, perhaps!
I’d like to see those spangle-faced, bowler-hatted “mechanical-man”-fanciers reproduce that in their fake earth. On second thoughts, they’d probably be rather keen….
February 8, 2008 at 12:06 pm |
I think latex homosexuality was Smith’s weakness. When the Robinson’s switched to velour suits Zachary seemed to take less of an interest in Will and more in the monkey creature.
Anyway whether it’s 4 days, 4 years or 54 years, numbers mean nothing in space. A space just separates numbers. it makes 104 into 10 4, good buddy. As a friend once said, “space is a void, an empty void”
February 8, 2008 at 3:22 pm |
Well, that would be latex ZOOPHILIA, then, wouldn’t it?
February 8, 2008 at 3:24 pm |
I dunno, but I’m getting sick of all this fag-bashing. Can’t we do something else to ’em?
February 9, 2008 at 10:39 am |
What’s with these Americans that they have to take Beatles lyrics so literally anyway? Next they’ll be insisting that all astronauts change their names to Lucy (as well as being psychotically jealous nappy wearers)
February 10, 2008 at 3:14 pm |
I was incapacitated while various medical types were attempting to “Ledger” me with a cocktail of drugs. I have to hand it to the big boss doctor who popped in, lifted my leg to put me in purgatory with Heath, Brocky, Bon Scott & co, then quickly departed for his 8.17am tee off at Royal Adelaide GC.
During the ‘Ledger’ episode of 19 extremely safe drugs taken together, all I could say was “2 plus 2 is 5! The square root of 16 is sulphur dioxide!” etcetera.
Then lo and bedrop I come back to find the readerthunderbirdfour had been discussing the travails of the Jupiter II.
February 11, 2008 at 6:17 am |
Hey amigos,
Now that senior Bloke is here, Siniorina Fide will be here here as well I think, no?
Muchos luck to both of these young ones from all of our friends of the reader dreamboat, wooo, oh, Pepe is sorry, I think
February 11, 2008 at 7:20 am |
Hope the drugs are working, Mr Bloke.
(Thanks for getting that out of the way with Pepe. I was here earlier, but didn’t like to say anything for fear of comment… apologies to the rest of the readerferry)
February 11, 2008 at 7:58 am |
Can one of the readerkayak please catalogue the many variations of the word “readership” already used? They could then be displayed a la ‘Wheel of Fortune’ so that the same is not used again. Just a suggestion, and probably beyond the function of these pages, but there might be someone out there with a marriage of obsessiveness and technical skill (geeks they are called) who can manage it.
Some Bloke in hospital!!, I didn’t even know he was sick. The Saints preserve us.
February 11, 2008 at 8:34 am |
Well plenty to chew on there, but I don’t think my stewardship (or shoud that be stewardboat or something?) is needed, other than to welcome Some Bloke back and say that I hope he got my (sour) grapes. I understand that a parcel of black pudding or whatever they eat is winging its way from the north of England.
Oh, and Pepe, if you are going to go “wooo” in this forum, you willl need to let us know whether it is because you are coming to us from the other side of the veil, or is it more a “Some and Petra sitting in a tree…” sort of woooo.
I am fairly confident that it is the latter but there you go.
As for you, Johnny, I will ask my nephew but he is a bit unpredictable these days. He seems more interested in walking ’round in a hoodie with his grandmother’s sunglasses on. And no shirt.
Love
Big Olly
February 11, 2008 at 9:09 am |
Olly, those are the articles of clothing I turned in to the Goodwill store only last month. How fashion changes.
February 11, 2008 at 9:22 am |
Just as I thought I’d got my obsessive-compulsive disorder under control…
Reader[blank]
armarda
bullboat
caique
coracle (twice)
dhow
dreamboat
dugout
ferry
flippers
floaties
flotilla
flotsam (twice)
gondola
icecreamstickintheswollenspoondrainafterastorm
junk
kayak
kickboard
lagan
lilo
pontoon
rubbering
rubbering (not to be used as a safety device)
sampan
thunderbirdfour
umiak
waterwings
zode
These are just the ones from this thread. I may not do the rest: I might spontaneously develop a life or something instead (& move to another universe).
February 11, 2008 at 9:46 am |
Johnny, I hope you don’t mean that you gave your no shirt to charity. That would just have been mean.
As for you, Petra, well I don’t want to encourage your weaknesses (if that is what they are) but that is actually much funnier than I thought it would be.
Love
Big Olly
February 11, 2008 at 9:48 am |
Oh Big Olly, if only the same were true of all my endeavours!
PS What’s a ‘spoondrain’?
February 11, 2008 at 10:59 am |
Big Olly
Ah – Alpha Centauri; now there’s a name to conjure with!
I remember as an undergraduate I took employment tutoring a young fellow in my village whose parents owned a television set, and this chap was quite fascinated by Lost in Space.
While not approving of television in general I was forced to concede that there were many aspects of physics and biology touched on by the show. Theories of Suspended Animation and Special Relativity were the two particular topics in which I was happy to instruct this young fellow. In particular how they related to Penny’s physical endowment. Even the most casual observer of the series cannot have failed to notice that it quite exceeded that of any other girls of her ostensible age. (Jenny Agutter in the Railway Children being a similar case)
At least Lost in Space gave me a couple of avenues in which to instruct the eager young chap. He, with a quite delightful turn of imagination, asked me if bosoms might not be subject to the laws of Special Relativity. To wit; while Penny sped toward Alpha Centauri at relativistic speeds and the people back on earth were aging faster than was she, her bosoms, being not subject to these Laws, also matured faster than the rest of her body. – How we chuckled over that one!
His other theory was less fanciful. It was that while the body was in a state of suspended animation, even though it did not grow it would continue to mature. Thus when Penny came out of suspended animation she would quickly – almost instantaneously – present with the bosoms of one who had not been suspended. I was forced to agree that studies to test this had not been done, but that I hoped it was not the case, for while it could have good results for Penny, it might be not so felicitous for Judy, who stood the risk of being robbed of some of her finest years.
February 11, 2008 at 3:31 pm |
Carrumba Muchos Grande Olle,
The wooo was accidental, as I meant to say “I theenk”
The only spirit world Pepe inhabits is the bottle his smiling picture is stuck on.
February 11, 2008 at 3:33 pm |
And whilst Pepe is at it, HULLO to the readerrigidhullinflatableboat
February 11, 2008 at 8:34 pm |
Major Don West was a major diappointment when you come to think of it.
I have nothing but sympathy in my heart for Thurston Howell the 3rd, a billionaire on a beach with two lovelies and no serious competition, but completely hamstrung by his dotty wife Lovey surviving the tossing of the tiny ship, which wound up on an uncharted desert isle, to rub salt in his wounds.
Compare and contrast West, who was the natural pairing for the lovely Judie, but did nought about it. As Sigismund says, the “Theories of Suspected Anticipation” came to nothing. He could of have a tilt at the developing Penny, who realized quickly where Smith’s tutoring of Will was going, so much so that she sought love in the arms of gloop or gleep or whatever. Criminy, even Mrs Robinson would of passed muster that frenzied afternoon that John was out wrestling that disappearing midget that caused Tiger Smith so much trouble. At least Smith got in amongst it.
West, for all his short fuse, threats to Smith and rush to skip for the guns, really would have to be considered the major disappointment of the LIS team. Whether or not the readermackinaw agrees is beside the point, Big, because the bulk of them are dead.
February 12, 2008 at 7:17 am |
Hey, just becouse I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to an opinion.
If I could just think of one.
Oh yeah…..
Woooo-oooo-oooo
So there!!
February 12, 2008 at 8:18 am |
OK, things seem to be cracking along.
A spoon drain is, I think, where the gutter sort of stops but continues across the street sort of thing. You can sometimes hit it on your bike and come off the ground. Or at least claim that you did. Having said that, it is not an expression I have ever had formally explained to me so I have never been quite sure. I am sure that there is someone in the readerbathysphere who can help.
As for Lost in Space, I can never really get past the green lady, who was so enamoured of Dr. Smith. As I recall she was rather attractive, but he was proof to her wiles. What force of character! I am stunned that there are those who would suggest that he was less than the two-fisted he man that we rightly expect space pioneers to be. Or were they explorers? I can never remember.
I do remember Mr. Robinson wrestling the disappearing dwarf. I think he beat it by whipping off his belt and swinging it ’round the ring, did he not?
As a matter of interest, I should not have thought that those space suits needed belts, or indeed if they were worn in other episodes. Lucky that he happened to put his on that day, hey?
Without wishing to make light of a serious issue, do we agree that Judy was the one Don West rejected? Where does that leave Penny?
Love
Big Olly
February 12, 2008 at 8:26 am |
By the way, who thinks that Bobby Helpmann would have made a fine Dr. Smith? The perennial Guest Star, what’s his name, was good but a touch of the childcatcher would have been sensational.
Perhaps I should say a touch more of the childcatcher.
Love
Big Olly
February 12, 2008 at 9:34 am |
If not for the courage of the fearless crew the Minnow (readerminnow ha!) would be lost. The Jupiter II, however, was always lost in spite of it’s fearless crew. Who know’s what happened when Smith and Major West were trapped in the cave that time. I think a special bond was formed and Don could never bring himself to ged rid of Smith. Pent up aggression and sexual tension never did anyone any good.
February 12, 2008 at 9:52 am |
Well observed, Basil, but if I might say this great country of ours would not be what it is today if not for pent up aggression and sexual tension.
Burke and Wills. Bass and Flinders. Ernie and Ding Dong.
I rest my case.
Love
Big Olly
February 12, 2008 at 1:11 pm |
Olly – Ding Dong here! How ARE you darling?
Firstly – love and kisses (mwah!) for thinking of me. (I thought I might have blotted my exercise book on the coffee blog, Glad I didn’t!)
Secondly – tension with me and Ernie? Well there was none darling. I think he smoked and drank a bit much and he couldn’t get tension any more. Well, occasionally, but not like a full tension. Sometimes he would ask me to help; “Ding Dong my love,” he’d say, “how abut a little a tension?” and he’d want to do bathroom things but I never did darling.
And Burke and Wills? Well let me tell you that Willsy could give lots of the boys tension if she wanted to (I know she wouldn’t mind me saying that!) Oh, she knew about tension; Ernie said so anyway. But Burke? That would have ot be Steve Whitam I guess; lots of people used to call him a Burke but I thought he was very nice, and his wife was lovely too. So I don’t think there was tension on Whitam and Willsy. Except once after the Christmas party when Steve had tension with one of the script girls (but you didn’t hear THAT from ME darling!)
February 12, 2008 at 1:25 pm |
Ding Dong, lovely to hear from you after all of this time. I thought you may have deserted us and am pleased at your return.
I hasten to add, my darling, that I was not suggesting anything untoward. Merely pent up. Which I take to mean unrealised.
As for the other, well I am agog.
Love
Big Olly
February 12, 2008 at 6:51 pm |
Didn’t Penny even condescend to have a fling with that green frog alien while Smith was besotted with the Golden Man, and gave him all of the weaponry. after he had earlier saved Judy from amidst the killer patch of beach balls.
Sometimes I think that the Robinson’s would of been better off without Smith, and the mission – to measure Penny’s bosoms – may have been a success.
Very similar to how Mr C always stuffed things up in Land of the Giants, whereas he was the go-to man in Happy Days. The less said about Joanie C’s development, the better.
PS Isn’t a spoon drain a thing you make out you know about, but don’t, like a culvert or a bra-strap ~ Don West style, that is.
February 13, 2008 at 6:30 am |
Ug Big Olly, it is me, big-um-Cheif Brody
Just joking, it’s Police Chief Brody, you recall from the divers “Jaws” films.
Well that big fish finally got me, and now it is my melancholy duty to advise your readerspaceship that I have “passed over”, as those who avoid the reality of death would say.
Yes sir, I lasted longer than I thought. The odds the great white that terrorized Amity would swim in a straight line to me with a oxygen tank in its mouth long enow for me to shoot it and blow it up were pretty huge, that’s for sure.
I bought a lottery ticket straight away, but all that happened was that another shark came! And another one (click)!
Speak of death, Peter Benchly would turn in his $$$ lined grave to see how they murdered his book. Firstly, in it the shark just up and died, he up and died due to exhaustion. Much mo’e beleivable.
But poor old Hooper! In the book he dies in horrendous circumstances. I guess he was happy to live in the film, but in the film he doesn’t get to oo la la my wife so much.
I wonder if there is a shark heaven?
Do your clever posters know? I am new in the underworld, and frankly, for someone so used (by now) to the sea, out of my depth!
Regards,
Police Cheif Brody
February 13, 2008 at 6:56 am |
Well, he is OBVIOUSLY new to the underworld. Doesn’t he know that he should refer to himself as “Ghost* of….” when he posts?
Sorry to be such a stickler, but you will recall my nickname “Peter Perfect” in my livelier days, and it’s a hard habit to drop.
And speaking of tension, don’t get me started on Bev. No, I mean it, please don’t let me get started on her.
(* or appropriate equivalent)
(Just wait till you get here, Moffat)
February 13, 2008 at 8:42 am |
I am pleased to see that I am not the only one with a less than firm grip on the concept of the spoon drain. I think if we decide that it is something to do with a gutter and the road that will be enough for our purposes.
Nice to hear from the presumably disembodied wraith or phantasm of Chief Brody. Peter Brock’s ghost has a point, although I am not sure if those rules apply where the ghost is assuming the name of a fictitious character.
Anyway.
Love
Big Olly
February 13, 2008 at 10:09 am |
Ah how the mind is set in it’s ways, Big Olly!
Your quote, but my capitalisation for emphasis:
“I think if we decide that it is something to do with A GUTTER…”
Isn’t it always?
February 13, 2008 at 11:32 am |
I am troubled by song lyrics and this seems the whereabouts to vent my troubles, albeit not part of this thread.
I accept that he may not have know that she liked Pina Coladas, nor getting caught in the rain but if he didn’t know that she liked making love at midnight (in the dunes by the cape), then their relationship was in serious trouble, even if he was too drunk or asleep.
Jenny a gutter and Penny…we are back where we were. We have disappeared into a subspace fracture in the time continuum…or sommtheeng.
February 13, 2008 at 12:00 pm |
Dammit! I blast off for a couple of days in my jet-propelled fur-lined-parka to find the Robot who’d gone out on a bender dressed in a sombrero and crooning drunken Mexican bandido-songs to an old guitar – and all of sudden my goddamm manliness is being called into question.
I tell ya, Judy was a lesso. Had to be! No other ezxplanation. And Penny was a goddam child! Even if praternaturally endowed! What do you guys want, for crissakes! I aint no pervert, even if in space no-one CAN hear them scream…
And another thing. Nothing happened in that goddammed cave. Tell ’em Smith.
SonofaBITCH!!!!!!!!!!
February 13, 2008 at 1:44 pm |
Major West, I don’t believe anything physical happened in the cave. But I reckon, without knowing it, you found your inner Smith and he found his inner West.
It made you both better people and I saw Judy softened to the new Don. But by this time her younger sister and mother (who had enough of her husband’s deutronium fueled antics) were competing for the alpha male’s attentions. I think Maureen was even a little bit keen on Dr Smith in the later episodes.
February 13, 2008 at 2:19 pm |
Hell! I guess I never thought of it that way…
So let me get this straight – like that cave thing an all that means I’m kinda a little softer without gettin’ queerer or nuttin..and the chicks go for that, cos like they think I’m a goddam fag like Smith and all the time they was all just a buncha fag-hags except like none of us knew it?!!!
Well, sonofabitch, I can do queer… Heath, buddy, give me some pointers…
February 13, 2008 at 2:22 pm |
And what makes it worse, Chief Brody, was that Hooper was a tosser in the book, as was your unfaithful wife, so good riddance to him. But he survives in the film, even though he’s Richard Dreyfuss, who, but for Robin Williams, would be the world’s most annoying actor, but for Tom Hanks.
But my point was more to do with Chief Bromden in OFOTCN, or Nest, as we’ll call it. There’s a pivotal scene where RP McMurphy implores the deaf and dumb Chief to grab the ball and “jump up and put it in the basket”. Again and again he visualizes the process of jumping up and putting the ball in the basket. Eventually Chief catches on and does what is asked of him. Milos Forman at his directorial best, and down at the Port Elliott drive-in every horn was tooted, even some of the car horns.
Later on, those 3 viewers who had not read the book find out that Chief Broom isn’t deaf and dumb at all. Which makes the basketball scene completely arrant nonsense, given that the Chief heard what RP was saying the whole time.
One can only assume that Milos hadn’t read that far into the script and couldn’t be blowed changing it when he got to, say, page 67. In which cas he should give the Oscar to David Gulpilill seeing it’s ‘Sorry’ day.
February 13, 2008 at 2:39 pm |
Petra, as ever you are cutting through the flimsy outer flourishes to the heart of the matter. We can never roam far from Jenny Agutter. And why would we want to, unless it was for Bobby H or Alby M.
Stabilo, you do seem disturbed. They lyric for “Excape (the Pina Colada Song)” is a disturbing one and considering it too closely means that you run the risk of getting the tune stuck in your head. The only fate worser is if you get “Love and Other Bruisers” (or any of Air Supply’s oeuvre) stuck, from which there is no recovery.
Having said that, your analysis has much to commend it. Of course the fact that both parties were actively seeking other relationships also suggests that there was trouble in paradise. Quite frankly, I don’t know anyone who likes Pina Colada and getting caught in the rain is something most people actively avoid, so I wonder just how stable the lovebirds were anyway.
Major West seems to be working his problems out and it is nice to see that he has that lovely Basilsboots to help him. Good luck with that Don but remember that you are steering a perilous course. Beware, beware his flashing eyes and floating hair. Oh, weave a circle ’round him thrice and close your eyes in holy dread, for he on honey-dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise. Quite possibly that milk was in a Pina Colada.
Some, I take your point about Dreyfuss, but if you are going that far down the food chain how is it that you miss Gene Wilder in your litany of the annoying? My skin is crawling just thinking about it.
I think that the chief’s fluctuating deafness had something to do with the fog didn’t it? Or was that McMurphy?
Love
Big Olly
February 13, 2008 at 2:44 pm |
Sorry, Don, I haven’t got any pointers.
I got uppers, downers, poppers, E, G, E&G, GBH, Stillnox, Stillernox, Noxytill, Notinox, Stillnotinox, Stillcangetafukkynox- sleep – but no pointers, mate!
February 13, 2008 at 2:57 pm |
I thought the whole pretend deafness of the Chief was supposed to be a searing indictment – an odd phrase I grant you, cos if the indictment were searing you could hardly hold it in your hands to read it out, which is basically what you are supposed to do with them in the first place – but I digress – a searing indictment, I say, on the shallowness of white imperialist cultural paradigms which supposes that if some beleaguered redskin doesn’t do what whitey tells him to, it couldn’t possibly be cos he actually chooses not to, it must be cos he’s deaf or a moron or summit.
Chief tells us in his own valid (and in no way cute in a condescending judgmental way) way that we can all get $%#ed cos he will shoot the $%#ing hoop how and when he likes.
Empowerment of the dispossessed or intransigence of the pig-ignorant? Your call.
I never read the book.
February 13, 2008 at 3:54 pm |
I MARVEL not that Zwier was so bold
To peril all he had upon the sea,
Or that proud Brody went below,
Or that our Brocky’s fiery heart grew cold:
For more dazzling than the suns Centauri
In that gorgeous dress of silver
No woman Man had ever looked upon
Was half so fair as Judy in her Glory.
Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield
Inside the fur-lined parker thou had “donned”
To insulate the blackness of that icy cave
You would not let the laws of Nature yield
And held with stout reslove against the whetted edge
Your soldier’s heart to that accursèd saboteur—
O Major! take my heart: it is thy due:
I think must now strike it from the Ledger
February 13, 2008 at 4:49 pm |
Good point Jay, but a good black man will normally be a (a) faster runner, (b) better fighter and (c) far better basketballer player, but Tom Robinson had got his arm caught in the cotton mill, Atticus was too old to play for the Methodists and Boo Radley was no good under lights.
The resultant Maycomb County team of Jem, Walter Cunningham, Cecil Jacobs, Zeeboo & Maudie Atkinson, were mighty beat up, even more so when reserves Bob Ewell and Mrs Dubose died in suspiscious circumstances.
I might of read the monarch Notes one night “on the Ledge”, if you catch my meaning.
February 13, 2008 at 5:18 pm |
Hard for a fictional character to die as we never exist in the first place. Fair point. I am just as trapped as I was before Roy read the INXS self help manual.
Non existant though I may be , whilst I would sing “Fair Spanish Ladies” when liquored up and interpolate a few extra lines with Quint, I would never try to rhyme Ledger with edge.
And is it me, or do Miss Fide and Mr Bloke have that post kiss I’m-not -making-any-big-deal-of-this look going on?
They aint said a love swimming word to each other, yet both are furiously posting.
Oh well, gotta cut open a tiger shark’s stomach as I lost the number plate on my car,
Toodles!
February 13, 2008 at 5:31 pm |
A shark comes up to bite a girl
and then it bites another
it chases Harry in his bad hat,
And the Chief’s son ‘n’ his brother
We’ve stars, ghosts and ear’d monkeys
But you know what I luv best?
It’s the conceptual marriage via Haet Ledger
Of Smith and Major West
Ollys blag gives all these thangs to uz
And poems what sometimes rime,
But wat I expect is the “Where’s the next?”
Asked of Olly at about this time.
We’d like Olly to post anoo,
But his resentment to do so lingers
Still, I wouldn’t want to wrat a blog
If the typing hurt me fingers
Would you?
February 13, 2008 at 6:03 pm |
Good one, Oscar! Very sensitive, I don’t think!
Try this on for size:
Oh! Have at you, who, bleary eyes agog
And full of wonderment of earthly things,
For love of Judy Robinson now sings
Where once the cyber-pages of this blog
That very same undying love expressed
For Agutter and for Marceau
(Whoever at the time was belle or beau)
Oh and Mangels, Brody, Brocky, Heath and West!
I’d rather have the hobbling frogman’s kiss,
The disembodied dialectic glee
That little Penny had from Nobody
Than all their fleeting, momentary bliss!
I’d rather a world that you could never see
To that where you love everyone but me.
February 13, 2008 at 7:12 pm |
I wasn’t posting furiously, I was quite calm…
Bosie, you would have it that it’s better to never have loved at all than to have loved & lost?
I thought the poets had decided the opposite (although maybe only because it much improves the scansion).
February 13, 2008 at 10:08 pm |
You speak of perversion, Major, of unnatural things, and I am your student, for though I have seen the work of man, (yes I have seen the best and worst of Man!) yet still among the oceans I have crossed, with all the hardships endured and sorrows borne, through courts and prisons and my banishments to foreign lands it seems that I have never seen, nor ever will, a fraction of that which your clear eyes have gazed upon.
For if we take the work of man, His best and worst, and all His arbitrary laws of right and wrong, they come but meaningless against the stark enormity of this; the Heaven’s veil of stars, that Universe that my poor mind cannot but start to comprehend.
And if you tell me it is wrong – you who have seen the unimaginable vistas, you who have visited on worlds both great and terrible, you who have fought monsters of the imagination and of the devil – for me to feel as I do, then I may only take you at your word.
But I ask you this; is there not a planet somewhere, somewhere in the myriad, somewhere in the uncountable galaxies and each of their innumerable stars, where a pale light might not shine with some kindness upon those feelings that I have for you?
February 14, 2008 at 6:50 am |
I am the 200 dreth! Well the old Chief’s luck has returned! I’m going to throw some chum in the ocean and see what I can catch, or some “cobber” as you Aussies might say.
Having said that, it must be time for Olly to pen anew. The Jaws sequence of films shows what happens when you try to spin out one idea, and it aint pretty.*
Here it was a song lyric, as I recall.
* Cubby Broccolli’s Bond efforts noted as an exception to this theory.
February 14, 2008 at 6:56 am |
Oh, Mr Wilde wonders whether in the galaxies there is a poof planet.
If there is tell him: “I’M FREE”
February 14, 2008 at 7:45 am |
Judging by the picture on big’s Porch, I suddenly realize that she was out of Major West’s league. Too precious, and she didn’t drink all the dutronium that one time, or did she just give it away.
Who washed Don & Billy Mumy’s linen anyway ~ I hope to billio it wasn’t Maureen.
February 14, 2008 at 9:06 am |
Judy, Judy, Judy
February 14, 2008 at 11:06 am |
OK, OK, Back up now, folks! One at a time!
1. Listen, Some, buddy-boy! Judy wasn’t outta my league. I tellya she was always checking me out, specially when I was at the dutronium pit, all hot and sweaty, she was always the one to bring down the tupperware cordial jug. Then all of a sudden, she’s the ice-princess. I think it all started when that intergalactic ball-breaker freak Queen Neolani turned up and enslaved all us men and made us pull her chariot and shit and the chics got to lord it over us (even Smith at first – tho he got out of it by getting himself made her Grand Vizier of something – boy did he just love ordering me around!) Well, like I say, after that, Judy just froze up. Says I was a wimp to be ordered round by Smith. I bet that Neolani chic turned her into a lipstick-lesso or something. Either way, it’s was a goddamm bitch of a situation for any red-blooded all American guy like yours truly, I can tellya.
2. Oscar, listen up buddy-boy. You been to prison! Well I can’t blame ya then. I know what that’s like. Say, you weren’t in Quadrant X, the Devil’s Quandrant, on that crazy prison-planet, where Smith & I were chained together (boy did he love that!) and had to break rocks until I managed to knock out the guy with the red hair and the gorilla-face. We did a good job a teamwork that time. Even came to like old Zachary for a while. Or was it the prison space-ship where Smith unfroze that cut-throat Yugoslav with the cat’s-cradle garotte and I got chained to a wall.
Say, come to think of it I used to get chained up a lot. Maybe that’s part of my problem….
February 14, 2008 at 11:08 am |
PS. As for washing my linen – not necessary. Spent the whole voyage goin’ commando.
February 14, 2008 at 2:03 pm |
I think I’m still alive on cable channel 157 in Wisconsin at 2.00am, so humbly submit that I provided the most powerful performance ever, TV or otherwise, when I faced the russian roulette challenge, which I courageously won. See if you can picture the revolving table in your mind’s eye:~
“Blurn…..Blurn…..Blurn…..Blurn
BLUR-NURN!
Blurn..Blurn..Blurn..Blurn
BLUR-NURN!
BlurnBlurnBlurnBlurnBlurnBlurn …BLUR-NURN!
Dooooodle dooooodle doooodle doooooo”
Christ it was hard to concentrate with all that racket going on. I actually miscalculated, but dont let on.
February 14, 2008 at 2:23 pm |
Nah, John. You were much better as the evil anti-matter Professor Robinson! I remember it like yesterday (which it probably was on Alpha C) cos I got to play the anti-matter Don as a sensitive, new age fag. The chics loved me, especially when you started slapping Maureen around – what a grade A turn-off that was for ’em.
Still, you did for ME, buddy – what with that kinky dog-collar under your roll-neck! Pity so much of ended up on the cutting room floor so we could keep the f#$%ing G rating!
February 14, 2008 at 2:35 pm |
OK, what a flurry of activity.
As you can see, I have taken my eyes off the comments and fixed them firmly on Judy. I am sure that the readergenuinesubmarineoutofthebackofacomiconly$5.00 will understand.
Now is it just me or was the robot exactly the same as Robbie the Robot off the channel 9ers? Or was Robbie more like the one that said “Klaatu” in a spooky return to the subject that started these meanderings?
Love
Big Olly
February 14, 2008 at 2:36 pm |
Stop Press,pretty boys,but any old telegraph boy’ll tell you that the words ‘Oscar’ ‘Fingal’,’Wills’,’OFlaherty’ and’Wilde’ are registered trademarks and,like ,so Copyright.
So don’t fuck with a litigious Queen honeys.
February 14, 2008 at 2:55 pm |
Oh..my..god!!!!
Look what the friggin cat dragged in! Well, Olly, I didn’t know you were into trash-channelling!
I’m like so outta here…
February 14, 2008 at 2:57 pm |
PS: Typical – he thinks he owns Oscar! Nothing’s changed…Bye..eee!
February 14, 2008 at 3:31 pm |
The robot was sold for scrap during the oil crisis in the 70’s, and ended up variously as a Datsun 120Y bumper bar, R2D2’s arm, a giant sized slinky and the brain behind ‘Dexter’, who used to work out the compatibility ratings of contestants on ‘Perfect Match’, before I sent the unhappy campers off to the Flinders Lodge in Adelaide, on that one weekend of the decade that the 4 Kinsmen weren’t playing.
February 15, 2008 at 2:50 am |
Someone else in the readerdreadnought must also know that Robbie first appeared with Anne Francis & Leslie Nielsen in Forbidden Planet*
*fact not checked on Wikipedia, but I can always alter it anyway…
February 15, 2008 at 8:12 am |
I think I made specific reference to Robbie the Robot in “Forbidden Planet” in an earlier post, or it might even have been earlier in this one, it’s so old. So Petra Fide you are correct.
Alex Ward
February 15, 2008 at 8:36 am |
Look kiddies, you can’t get me on Forbidden Planet.
Welcome to the mysterious “Alex Ward” by the way – clearly a pseudonym of some sort and quite frankly one might hope for a little more creativity. “The Wraith or Phantasmigorical Projection of Smokey Dawson” for example. Nontheless, welcome aboard.
An odd coincidence however, as I recall an Alex Ward from my past. He cannot be the same one though, as that Alex Ward would remember teasing me for fifteen years after once hearing me explain to the drama master at school that “Forbidden Planet” was based on “The Tempest”.
So if you were that Alex Ward you would not dare try to take credit for references to that seminal work.
Ahem.
Anyway, I was talking about Robbie the Robot off the “Channel 9ers”. I think in the venn diagram of anthropomorphic novelties, he and Winky Dink may enjoy a complementary set. Possibly also he and Wilbur Worm, though not Winky Dink and Wilbur Worm.
I hope that settles things.
Love
Big Olly
February 15, 2008 at 9:11 am |
Big Olly, the venn diagram you propose is very interesting.
Taking ‘Anthropomorphic Novelties’ as the universe, I can only draw within all three of the subsets ‘science-fiction’, ‘goodies’ & ‘having no face’ the aforementioned Robbie the Robot & that oil drum on legs (of varying quantity) R2D2.
Are these two part of a very exclusive clique, or do I just have a woefully substandard memory (64k)?
PS Alex Ward, please may I use your reassuring closing sentence whenever the hell I feel like it?
February 15, 2008 at 9:33 am |
Petra;
I must apologise. I was thinking of a Venn diagram in which the universe is probably something like “time spent on channel 9ers”. I was attempting to overfancify my theory that Robbie the Robot’s time on the show overlapped at the start with (the slightly disturbing) Wilbur Worm.
As I recall it, Robbie outlasted the Worm, but that Winky Dink, a really annoying glove puppet of a duckling, took over.
On reflection I may be wrong and Winky Dink and Wilbur Worm may well have co-existed in both space and time. Dunno if that makes it a continuum of some sort.
Of course, the channel 9ers was not broadcast much outside of Adelaide, so it is possible it passed you by. It was great. Had “the Whacky Races” and that.
On the other hand, your own conjecture is fascinating.
Love
Big Olly
February 15, 2008 at 10:12 am |
Big Olly,
I’d better get a clean sheet of paper & start over…
You’re right about the channel 9ers passing me by. Anything containing Wacky Races would be worth watching, but a duck & a worm would seem unlikely co-hosts. Wilbur would surely be in danger of becoming breakfast? (Although we got a pink hippo, a non-specific creature with a zip-up mouth, a six foot bloke dressed as a teddy bear & an apparently normal bloke ostensibly sharing a flat. So what would I know? Any of the readershortcutaidingboatwhichsneakilyappearsfromunderthe00whenMutleypullsalever who think I’m delusional can look up Rainbow on Wikipedia)
Also they were a pioneering programme in the spelling of their name. Unless that’s just your good self lapsing into yoof speak … l8r!
February 15, 2008 at 10:19 am |
Sometimes we spirits merge our skiiiillls and make some beautiful music together. You mention Alex Ward and poof!!! we starts a playin’.
There IS a Jazz heaven and they’ve got a cooky gone wild crazy helluva band.
We were all treated for the big C in A WARD (note the emphasis) at St Barnabas in crazy old San Diego. Is he that same spooky dude? Joe, pays him a visit. Git inside him. Find out.
February 15, 2008 at 10:23 am |
Yes, Petra, I can see why you might think that Wilbur Worm might have been at risk, but Winky was only about 20 cm tall ( 8 inches or so oldspeak) whereas Wilbur Worm was about 1 M ( 3 feet) tall and equipped with a fine pair of front teeth that would have made short work of the small fluffy one should push have come to shove.
If your early years were shaped by a six foot bloke and a normal bloke might I suggest that I can see why you seem to have reached out to Some bloke. There is a theme.
Love
Big Olly
February 15, 2008 at 10:29 am |
Sorry Joe Lous Prima, I was concentrating on my rather juvenile teasing of Petra when your (I suspect ghostly) contribution floated in.
It had not occurred to me that A Ward was some sort of manifestation of a place of healing. Of course, I see that it is yet to be confirmed and I await Joe’s report keenly, but the thesis is attractive.
Although the alternative is an image of Alex Ward treating persons for malignancies by affecting to extract cocoanut fibre from their knees while chickens’ blood flows from carefully secreted sacs about his person.
If you know what I mean.
Love
Big Olly
February 15, 2008 at 10:48 am |
Indeed, Big Olly! I’ve certainly had no decent conversation with pink funfur hippos…
February 15, 2008 at 11:47 am |
Given that Petra somehow knows about my teddy bear suit, I’m off for a coffee, and Alex Ward can play the pan flute for all I care, or the bass drum, or the bugle….
My God, how I hated Winky Dink, and as a youth wanted to burst into the 9 studios and serial-killer style clobber that duck, along with that poonce Robin Roenfeldt, who was to TV what Grant Cameron was to radio. [Venn Diagram – 3 circles – Talent, Humour and Idea – and no intersection whatsoever.]
Dean Davis was the best 9 front man by a country mile, and his time featured both the electric buzzing wire that you had to negotiate, or else, (Professor Robinson style), and the creme-de-la-creme of TV games, the wobble board, which is entrenched in my head as “the Dean Davis wobble board”.
(Also entrenched is every $%&#ing piece of Lost in Space music, on a non-stop loop)
February 15, 2008 at 3:51 pm |
Doo doo doodly doo doo doodly waa waa waa WAAAAAAH
Ooh that crazy Lost In Space riff. I love it. Smith had to get hot to play real cool.
February 15, 2008 at 4:08 pm |
Am I the only one who remembers the time before the Channel 9ers and Owly’s School – which was very tricky because it sounds like Owly School and so it always was to my infant mind until imperceptibly my education (received, self-evidently, elsewhere than said school) supplied the silent omission – but I digress what I really had in mind was Mr TV – a talking television screen – and the mad rabbit whose name escapes me but who used to play Owly’s Orange Organ.
I kid you not.
February 15, 2008 at 4:09 pm |
OK pinkos, I’ve followed your conspiracy theory carry on in silence, but now that my cousin is posting I must speak.
I heard Blackbird playing whislst on the moon, and Mission Control said they didn’t play it when I asked them later. You tell me what that was about.
Also, a long eared monkey looked out at me from a crater, but given the way Buz was running around, I was saying nothing! He was enow loco for the both of us. Shoot, we had to make it beleivable.
February 15, 2008 at 4:25 pm |
That evil little critter just won’t die, will he? Tell me, was he strapped to a hydroponic garden table by any chance?
February 16, 2008 at 9:14 am |
Armstrong, Get Back in your post!
We need you to shoot down that spy satellite before the bloody long-eared monkeys use it to get back to Earth.
The cover story is already failing. No-one believes that Mr President wants it done to ensure lives aren’t put at risk…
February 18, 2008 at 7:08 am |
Well I’m happy I can now come out of hiding and say wooo to your readers Olly, having now been pronounced legally dead.
You can only guess what it is like being illegally dead, sleeping rough, “living” (if you will) on the run. Having to pick pockets of the legitimate dead to buy whatever it is that sustains ghosts.
But I died doing what I love best, getting horribly mangled when crshing a light areoplane, so I can’t complain, I suppose. I was flying on course real proper bonza when my robot went mad and started smashing everything. Last time I let Jonathon Harris on my aeroplane just before I fly
Wooo
February 18, 2008 at 10:06 am |
there were a man called Fawcet
what floo an air-o-plane.
all seen him take arf,
none seen him land again.
he were art on an adventure
(ironically) looking for a place to land
when he crashed ‘is ‘plane in t’desert
and perished in the sand
but they couldn’t find ‘is body
as it were only a greasy smudge
but he were declared dead regardless
by the District Probate Judge
now we can weep ‘is death
and beseech God him to bless
what a sadder place this world be
having one billionare less
February 18, 2008 at 11:13 am |
All this talk of heros, astronauts, explorers and not a single mention of me. That’s just the way I like it. I am humble and modest. There is no one more modest than me. When it comes to modesty, I am the greatest.
February 18, 2008 at 12:04 pm |
“This is ground control to Major Tommy, you’ve really made the grade. And the papers want to know who’s clothes you wear.”
Well if you insist, Peter Shearer is my favourite. When you descend the stairs off Rundle Mall (South Australia) you enter a magical world of fashion and style.
February 18, 2008 at 3:40 pm |
The recently approved Ghost of Steve Fossett got off lightly if you ask me. I’m still in limbo from that time McWatt plowed into the mountain in Pianosa – legally dead, but not actually dead, so consequently prevented by the legally dead to sing along to Steely Dan’s ‘Doctor Wu’, and treated with complete and utter disdain by them at all other times. Elvis cops it even worse, the poor coot.
February 18, 2008 at 4:02 pm |
You’ve got problems! I am a creation of the Miami Sound Machine, not able to die/shouldn’t be able to live.
February 18, 2008 at 8:58 pm |
“Mr Olly, these stories from ghosts make me feel really sad.”
Do do deee do doooo
Dooo doo deee dooo
Doo doo doo dooo deeee dooooo…
Doo deee dooo dooo doooo
Dooo DEEEEE DOOOO DEEEEE dooooo dooo deeee
“Ah, now I feel better. C’mon Penny, let’s go measure your tits ~ without a tape measure!”
February 18, 2008 at 11:04 pm |
Jonathan Harris! Pha! Don’t get me started on Danny Thomas either.
February 19, 2008 at 10:44 am |
Stop the (word) Press!!
Guys, a new manuscript of a hitherto unknown Beatles song has been found! It’s up for sale at Sotherbeys next month and I expect it’s worth loads of pounds! Here’s a sneak preview:
My name is Ringo
And I’ve got just the thing, Oh,
Just the thing you need
To make the sing-a-long part succeed
People will think I’m dumb
Esp when Phil Collins plays my drum
But I feel niether responsibility nor care
When exposed I reply “hu hu hu hu yeah”
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
On reflection as it was clearly written by Ringo (or someone else probably wrote it for him) I expect it is near worthless.
Keep Listenin’
Glenn A.
February 19, 2008 at 11:08 am |
Well it weren’t me.
Everybody knows I neva learnt to rite music.
Just coz it fits exackly to ther tune ov ‘Spies Like Us’ don’t prove nowt!
February 19, 2008 at 12:47 pm |
Now ‘Osay Ramos ‘Orta
Said things ‘ee never oughta
To the fine militiamen
Of Timor Lestay
If they’d raped ‘is only daughter
Or sliced ‘is old aorta
They couldn’t a made old Ramos
Be more pessed, eh?
An’ that Xanana Gussmao
Don’t ‘ee make such a fuss now?
You’d think ‘eed not
Been shot in spleen before!
Well, from Dili now to Musscow
To strongmen we all muss kow
Tow; ‘Tis the way they
Do things now in East Timor..
February 19, 2008 at 12:50 pm |
I suppose that lasst one were a bat political, but oi really ‘ate all them blackfellers….
February 19, 2008 at 12:51 pm |
Oo…f#$%!
Oi didn’t realise this thing were still on….
February 19, 2008 at 9:45 pm |
Pam, shame on you. You shouldn’t judge a man by the colour of his skin. Remember when everyone loved the golden man and hated the ugly green frog man (except me). From memory that was season 2, episode 15. I’m sure that epsiode was an inspiration to Martin Luther King Jr “Green at last! Green at last! Thank God Almighty, we are green at last!”.
February 19, 2008 at 11:13 pm |
…it isn’t easy being green
February 20, 2008 at 7:48 am |
Wait on Angela, Maureen Robinson was dubious about the golden man, too, but was carelessly swung by Dr Z. Smith. You may recall that John, Billy and Major Dud West were off checking some crack on the other side of the planet. The golden man had put the robot into the land of “heath ledger”, and saved Judy from the 1970’s blow-up beach balls, and we all know what potential killers they were. And let it be said that Kermit Senior did himself no favours with his rudeness to all and sundry.
Still, for the blossoming hormonal Penny, it was her one and only chance, and she gladly accepted the role of Miss Piggy.
February 20, 2008 at 8:59 am |
Well, a lovely lot of contributions there. I was a little surprised, when hearing from the legions of those whose deaths remain shrouded in mystery, not to have heard from Mr. Olivia Newton-John but there you go. The ways of those who try to inhabit the underworld without actually crossing the Styx are strange indeed.
Good to see Pam getting polictial even if not really correct. A sombre and serious tone much needed here.
The Lost in Space crowd still going strong I see. I can’t say I remember the green man, but am I mistaken in thinking it was the green woman who was so enamoured of Dr. Smith? “Pretty, handsome Dr. Smith” was her catchcry as I recall. Unfortunately she showed her true self before securing the band of gold, a base level mistake in anyone’s book.
Love
Big Olly
February 20, 2008 at 10:38 am |
Big, he wasn’t green so much as he looked liked a frog. Colour was big on Lost in Space, even though we had a b & w TV. I was truly scared when Smith got either the midas or platinum touch and turned Penny or Billy into a statue of whatever metal it was.
What we really need, Big, is that old Retired army mate of yours ~ with his long term memory he’d recall these episodes just like that (oh, I just clicked my fingers), far better that the readerUBoat. I hope he’s not a ghost yet, but it has been a while.
Also, do you age in ghostland? If so, ask Azaria exactly what did happen, and lay the innuendo to rest. Actually, the dingo must be up there now, too, so ask either or.
February 20, 2008 at 11:45 am |
“Imagine” how much funnier the 1980s Adelaide comedy duo McCulloch & Wood might have been at the Governor Hindmarsh if they had had all this bounty of comments to claim as their own, at their leisure, unlike those days when it was all on-the-spot remembered hearsay, an old Beta video of me and Dud, or worse still a record.
wooo-oooo
February 20, 2008 at 3:01 pm |
The moral of the frogman episode of LIS, as Bosie’s poignantly elegant verse reminds us, is that we should prefer an ugly truth to a beautiful lie. Yet, as I recall, the “hobbling frogman’s kiss” that Penny so desired was not bestowed until said frogman had turned himself into a complete spunk. “I’m still the ugly little frogman, Penny,” he protests as he lies dying on her arms, “I have merely assumed a form pleasing to you so that you will remember me fondly…” or some such old chat.
Well, that’s all well and good, but it rather blurs the moral – kissing frogmen ain’t so bad when they look like matinée idols! Still, Penny’s prince was already dying and could never come back – so I guess he had to be shown to have been good all along in a way 50s America, teenage girls and Archbishop Jensen could understand.
The horrible part of it is that the Golden Man effectively won….
February 20, 2008 at 3:49 pm |
I still don’t understand, you goddamned heathen abominators!
This book, see, written by a Bronze Age tribe of nomadic Semites says, in the chapter called Leviticus: “And every thing whereupon any part of their carcase falleth shall be unclean; whether it be oven, or ranges for pots…” – oh, no, that’s the bit about how you can’t have sex on a stove top…
Ah, here it is: “And if a woman approach unto any beast, and lie down thereto, thou shalt kill the woman and the beast; their blood shall be upon them.”
This Penny should have been stoned to death for lying in the arms of a frog yea, even a spunky one. Particularly since the frog is a creature: “that has not fins and scales but moveth in the waters”. His carcase should have been “had in abomination”.
Oh! Jezebel of the Outer Reaches! Art thou not yet stepped in the stink of thy degeneracy?
I made that last bit up myself.
February 20, 2008 at 7:47 pm |
G’Day Partners!
Yee har, yes it is me, Smokey Dawson, a schitzo refugee from the never world of american influenced true (red white and) blue aussie bushman.
It might interest you to know that my real name was Lunt Windowdaughter, but my agent didn’t think the public would take to it, nor to my original act, which was a fortune telling swarmi/contra alto and he made me change both. That Harry M Miller has a lot to answer for as does Joe Dolci’s agent.
February 20, 2008 at 8:20 pm |
And what about them modern songs? No I’m not talking about the rabbit singing lovingly to the carrot, but the theme for “The Biggest Looser” or “The” as we industry folk call it.
Original:
I know your hurtin’
but now your learnin’
’bout life the hard way
and it aint workin’
Surely there is a better way Olly?
Hurting does not rhyme with learning, on anyone’s view. But don’t take my word it, it’s in The Maccabees. Somewhere.
Honestly, if I had my way they’d cut the hands off bad songwriters.
February 20, 2008 at 8:42 pm |
… that’s a diabolical scheme!
Think of the ‘Beast With Five Fingers’ style havoc.
Mind you, I’d just buy meself a pair of top of the range cyborg hands out ov me vertiginous mountain of undeserved royalties (ner ner ne ner ner)
February 20, 2008 at 9:14 pm |
And whilst I’m there, why do they get on to my back about suggesting Sharia law for certain issues. there are already special laws for religious observances (or frankly mumbo jumbo carry on) in English law.
But let us not forget the Church of England was founded on:
(a) going against the Catholics; and
(b) divorcing women and then chopping off women’s heads for becoming divorced.
Sound familiar?
February 20, 2008 at 9:27 pm |
Olly,
What ‘appened to them two Japanese boys, and that young Lankan or Injun one, what used to send you messiges? I din’t ‘alf larf at them broken inglish, not ‘alf I didn’t.
‘elped Before
February 21, 2008 at 7:03 am |
Madam Ayres, I am not “Lankan or Injun”, but a proud Botswanianite, descendent of the mighty Matabele warriors.
Or at least I was, until my Wanky Sock empire was wiped out by the athletes foot epidemic in Gaborone in January ’08, and I was necklaced by a bunch of itchy-scrotumed villagers.
Oh sorry, you wanted broken English. Ahem… Lawks-a-mussy, Missy Aye-ars, Ise done been killened by dem low folks.
Indeed.
By the way, I used them socks plenty of times over Miss Penny.
February 21, 2008 at 8:10 am |
You people know waayyy too much about TV shows, particularly Lost In Space.Why weren’t you out hitting a ball with a bat, tossing a football, or Mbutu, rolling a hoop with a stick? I know the Irish have an expression “Fill yer boots” but I don’t think it’s the same as Mr Batanga filling his socks.
February 21, 2008 at 8:19 am |
Ok, welcome aboard Archbishop Jensen, I hope we can look forward to a higher level of discussion with your input. I was hoping that Dr. Williams would provide that but he doesn’t seem to be able to stop bickering with his pop star brother.
Jealousy, as I have always said, is a curse. Although not a deadly sin, unless it is the same thing as envy. Though of course there is the other sort of jealous, meaning not liking to see one’s ladyfriend pashing a bloke who calls himself “Doggy” and who humourously had himself registered at the Burnside Council and wears a dog registration disc at that twenty first that time. Ahem.
You know, that sort of jealous that John Lennon’s musical guy was just. If you follow me. He claimed in song to be that fellow. He didn’t mean to hurt the other party and was sorry that he had induced them to cry. You know the one.
That kind of jealous.
Love
Big Olly
February 21, 2008 at 9:56 am |
Just a jealous guy.
Well the Lord our God is a jealous God! Look it’s in another part of this book I’ve got: “I the Lord thy God am a jealous God visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.”
This erstwhile ladyfriend who pashes registered municipal dogs sounds like an abominatrix to me. Well, listen to what my book saith in the matter of such women:
“Because the daughters of Zion are haughty and walk with stratched forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go and making a tinkling with their feet: Therefore the Lord will smite with a scab the crown of the head of the daughters of Zion and the Lord will discover their secret parts…The Lord will take away the bravery of their tinkling ornaments about their feet and their cauls and the round tires like the moon…the chains and the bracelets and the mufflers…and nose jewels…the wimples and the crisping pins… and the hoods..and it shall come to pass that instead of sweet smell there shall be stink….”
And so on – OK, the Almighty has thrown in a few automotive parts to his list of proscribed female adornment, but you get the picture.
February 21, 2008 at 10:18 am |
I ain’t making this up. That were Isaiah 4:16.
Stiil, there may still be time for her to repent her lascivious ways – unless, that is, she were in the filthy habit of and wearing shoulder-pads and headscarves. The Good Lord really hates that:
“Woe to the women that sew pillows to all arm-holes and make kerchiefs upon the head of every stature….Behold I am against your pillows wherewith ye there hunt the souls to make them fly and I will tears them from your arms…your kerchiefs also will I tear…” (Ezekiel, 15:18)
OK, I don’t know about the airborne soul hunt, but power-dressing is definitely out!
February 21, 2008 at 10:59 am |
Well that’s my eternal damnation sealed then.
May as well throw another ermine on the fire & open another Bollinger.
February 21, 2008 at 11:53 am |
Yes, well I thought I was struck down for drugs and whatnot, Fatty Arbuckle style. Turns out for a part in a film (the ye-olde-but-with-a-modern-twist Knight’s Tale) I tonsured my hair and made the edges of my beard indistinct. That was enow for my etenal torment*.
Am I in trouble when Brokeback hits the Afterlife DVD Shop shelves.
Heath
*Leviticus, where else?
February 21, 2008 at 3:35 pm |
Poor afflicted ghost! Yes, you will be in trouble, I’m afraid, cos the God we chose for ourselves from this book I got here just hates blokes getting pissed and nuding up; straight, gay or just bi-curious, it don’t matter a toss. Just you hearken unto this text:
“Woe unto him that giveth his neighbour drink, that putteth thy bottle to him, and makest him drunken also that thou mayest look at their nakedness! Thou are filled with more shame than glory: drink thou also and let thy foreskin be uncovered: the cup of the Lord’s right hand shall be turned unto thee, and shameful spewing shall be on thy glory!”
That’s the 3:15 from Habakkuk and I ain’t talking no freedom train neither!
February 21, 2008 at 4:03 pm |
Now, look, I’m not one for biblical scholarship – I think the Bible should just be set to Gregorian plainchant and sung in Latin as a background loop for what the Church does best – international intrigue and art appreciation – but since we’re on the topic I have some difficulty with the idea of a foreskin being uncovered, the prepuce being itself a covering for the so-called helmet.
Does it mean “exhibiting the foreskin” in the sense of simply exposing the flaccid penis, or “flopping it out” as we used to say in my seminarian days? Hardly likely. More probably it is an inarticulate reference to exposing the engorged or erect penis but is the prophet really encouraging men to get pissed and crack fats together (as it were)?
Or is it sarcasm as in “Go on get pissed, nude up, get wood, think yer God’s gift, you’l be sorry, you’ll throw up (maybe onto the very source of your self-glorification) and feel ashamed in the morning.” Which is al very sound, perhaps, and curmudgeonly in a warning, finger-wagging way, but hangovers and regrets are hardly the stuff of divine prophecy. And God doesn’t usually do sarcasm.
I didn’t think the Israelites had foreskins anyway.
I find this whole passage rather troubling particularly as I lack the comfort of blinkered evangelical bigotry to assist me to certain knowledge.
Maybe the readerdemountable can help.
February 21, 2008 at 7:01 pm |
For mine, readerboogieboard, I find comfort in Ezekiel (that man again again) Chapter 20.12:
“Moreover also I gave them my sabbaths, to be a sign between me and them, that they might know that I am the LORD that sanctify them.”
It was actually the politicians that amended the sabbath to allow Sunday trading, initially between 5 and 7pm on ye sabbath, which sanctified me. The fact that my old girl’s donated coin collection money of $1.00 for 5pm Mass was buying pints at the Robin Hood Hotel for me and Big and whoever the billio else, off Fr James Keane for the entire two hours also sanctified me. Criminy, it was a far more salutary explanation of the loaves and fishes miracle than any priest could of made.
Unfortunately my The Bible is a pre-Sunday trading version, so that sanctifying amendment is unseen in my The Bible.
February 21, 2008 at 8:48 pm |
I’m still waiting for ‘Bible 2: Ezekiel Smites Back’.
In the meanwhilst, supplementary to the previous list:
bathysphere
boogieboard
demountable
dreadnought
genuinesubmarineoutofthebackofacomiconly$5.00
mackinaw
minnow
rigidhullinflatableboat
shortcutaidingboatwhichsneakilyappearsfromunderthe00whenMutleypullsalever
spaceship
UBoat
February 22, 2008 at 7:41 am |
I didn’t want to get into this, but I have real troubles with the Bible and all that God Business. I was just on top of the trinity concept, Father Son and Holy Ghost as we insist.
Then I read the Bible, and God, who i thought was an old man with a beard says unto someone, “Ehyeh asher Ehyeh” (i sahnt bother you with the hebrew characters) which means “I am that I am” or “I am what I am”.
Well blow me down if that doesn’t mean God is Popeye the Sailor. Jesus must be Sweetpea, Mary is Olive, Brutus or Bluto is Lucifer and that magic dog must be the Holy Ghost, as it could disappear (unlike Whimpy, who was my first thought).
In the earlier Popeye Bible stories, Brutus was big and handsome, indeed, the most beautiful, but his love of self and coverting of other women was his downfall. The rest falls into place.
Spooky.
February 22, 2008 at 8:15 am |
It is no coincidence that Dr Rohan Williams makes the connection between Popeye and God. His namesake Robin Williams portrayed Popeye in the eponymous movie and Robin was also a Dr in Awakenings which also starred Robert De Niro, who appeared in Midnight Run with Charles Grodin who was in all those Beethoven movies whom The Beatles sang about ‘rolling over’. Could it be that all along Olly was pining for the days when John Lennon sang the whimsical songs rather than the heaviness of Imagine? You be the judge.
February 22, 2008 at 9:43 am |
If God said ‘I am what I am’ doesn’t that also make him Gloria Gaynor?
Talk about moving in a mysterious way…
February 22, 2008 at 11:06 am |
Repent, ye generation of vipers or risk having your frocks pulled over you head and sling-backs fitted to your feet! Hearken up to Jeremiah (14:22&27)!
“For the greatness of thine iniquity are thy skirts discovered and thy heels made bare…Therefore will I discover thy skirts upon thy face that thy shame may appear. I have seen thine adulteries, and thy neighings, the lewdness of thy whoredom and thine abominations on the hills.”
OK, I’m not sure about the sinfulness of neighing, but either way a good dakking appears to be the divine punishment de jour, so watch out!
February 22, 2008 at 11:16 am |
Go you Archbish Jensen, though I must say that your copy of the good book appears to have included a few more dead sea scrolls than mine.
Petra, what you say about Gloria Gaynor borders, I suspect, on blasphemy but it is delicious to think that if he said “I am woman” he would be Helen Reddy.
As for the Popeye connexion, well he dwells in all of us so I don’t see why not Popeye. Maybe he dwells in that mariner’s oddly distended forearms.
I hasten to add that he presumably doesn’t dwell in Bluto (or Brutus) which may explain his relatively lithe forearms. Or something.
Love
Big Olly
February 22, 2008 at 11:18 am |
… since when do vipers have feet?
February 22, 2008 at 11:33 am |
Good Lord, Petra.
I can it see so clearly now.
God’s words:
I will survive.
I never can say goodbye.
Such a comfort to us here on the reader poohstick.
Was the Communards cover a further sign and if so, what are the ramifications for Leviticus?
February 22, 2008 at 11:46 am |
Words of comfort indeed. ‘Reach out, I’ll be there’ too.
Perhaps The Communards were trying to make amends for their Ledgerish tendencies?
PS Hard luck re your delayed ‘promotion’! Just when you think you’ve got it in the bag, they move the goalposts. What did you ever do to offend the current pontiff?
February 22, 2008 at 11:55 am |
Buggered if I know.
Although, it does occur to me that he may have heard that my mother upon the Polish Pope’s death declared at a family gathering, “If the next Pope is not African, I want a Brazillian.”
Oh dear.
Perhaps that upset him as much as it did us?
February 22, 2008 at 11:58 am |
I would imagine any reference to depilatory practices to be deeply upsetting to a man of the cloth.
February 22, 2008 at 12:31 pm |
PS Do I qualify for this month’s ‘Stating the Bleeding Obvious’ award?
February 22, 2008 at 1:04 pm |
Petra, it might give you some comfort to know that it was not obvious to my mother. I am not sure that means you don’t still qualify for the award though.
Now I had better get back in the queue or Saint Heath will get ahead of me. I am not too worried about him because I noticed advertisements for Brokeback Mountain at the Afterlife DVD shop, so I think he may lose his place. Very shortly.
February 22, 2008 at 9:02 pm |
I expect the Afterlife DVD shop only stocks HD DVD?
As well as Betamax, eight-track cassettes & zoetrope ribbons.
February 24, 2008 at 12:43 pm |
The dicussion of country of origin for the next leader of the papists reminds me of that Capatain Matchbox Whoopee Band song what had the lyric:
“If I cannot have Anna in Cuba,
Then I think I’ll see Esta in Spain”
February 25, 2008 at 7:13 am |
Hello Big Olly and friends,
It’s Lex, back from a few weeks meditation in Nepal. I thought I was getting the Mahareshi, but was told when I got there that he lives (and dies) in Europe. I had to make do with a stinky old snake charmer with a top hat.
T’any rate, good to see the last entry getting back to music lyrics. My favourite was John Lennon’s “Mother”.
“You had me but I didn’t have you etc etc…”
Brilliant!! The fact it is a physiological impossibility on a number of fronts didn’t seem to bother him. Poetic licence my arse. Firstly, John was male, or so we are told. Secondly, he would have had to have sex with both of his maternal grandparents at the same time, after he was born but before his mother was.
Hmmm, makes the virgin birth almost believable by comparison.
Whoops, I expect I may have upset a few archbishops.
February 25, 2008 at 2:29 pm |
Virgin Maternity is hard to believe in, I’ll grant you – but God does strange things, all the time! Like making poofs and then hating them!
Like establishing His Universal Church in Rome with all the dominion of the old Empire – one and true and holy and eternal – and then deciding that after all it is the Whore of Babylon and that that 15th century German monk was right all along!
‘Cos God hates everything that is sensual and worldly (ie of this world that He created for His own pleasure) and vain and glorious and proud and beautiful and human – like unity, tradition, hierarchy, rank, pomp, privilege, deference, the transcendency of art, the baroque, the frail, the wayward, eccentricity of dress and habit, soft-heartedness, and tolerance.
As for depilatory activites, I can but remind you of Isaiah 50:6:
“I gave my back to the smiters and my cheeks to them that pluckèd off the hair.”
February 25, 2008 at 6:43 pm |
If God hates ‘poofs… pomp, privilege & eccentricity of dress’, things aren’t looking good for BGBG regular Sir Elton John…
February 26, 2008 at 9:35 am |
I think that’s right.
February 26, 2008 at 10:41 am |
Did anyone see the Oscars? I got like TWO SECONDS and NO SEPARATE MENTION!!! Jeeez! It took me longer to pass out f$%&in’ die. And I tellya that was my best performance ever. Whaddoothese vultures want???
I dunno it’s a bloogy gyp! Poor Cate, but, she’ll be spittin’ chips..or maybe Ambian residue.
February 27, 2008 at 11:44 am |
Big – Mate!
Ouch – big bingle a the Clipsal, Eh? But now they’ve pulled the plug and I couldn’t be happier.
Wrong blog maybe; guess I shoulda gone in for Organ Doner Kebab or whatever – but that whing’n Heath poofter got me going: Mr “Tormented Ghost” for chrissakes.
Hey – d’ya notice me putting that kind of thing in front of my name? Ash “copped the concrete at 200” Cooper? No Way!
And that’s how it should be. Look mate; you have to look at the bright side; my stepp’n a little hard on the loud pedal means seven little Australians gets the benefits of me organs.
There’s a little girl just 6 years old’s got me liver! She’ll be sneak’n the Bundy out of dad’s sideboard and playing Chisel on the ipod and no-one will know why!
And a 23 y.o. sheila got me corneas! Well, she’ll be wondering why she’s looking at her best friends’ tits the whole time and fanging the Barina round the carpark at 160kph.
It’s all good, mate. So, Heath, pull yer head in. Where were your organs, mate? Too busy being a bloody whinger to tick the box on yer license mate? Bloody tosser.
February 27, 2008 at 2:50 pm |
Look, for the last f#$%ing time, I am not a poofter! OK- it was just a F#$%ING MOVIE!
And as a matter of fact, Ashley – mate – I DID tick the organ-donor box, you cocky bastard – it’s just that they sort of went off cos the stupid bitch from the organ harvesting unit was too busy making three f#$%ing phone calls to her f#$%ing dress-maker to f#$%ing put them in the pickling jars!
Drove into a concrete wall…to entertain bogans….what f#$%ing minda! Jeez, stuck here forever with morons like that and THEY wonder why I”M tormented!!!
February 27, 2008 at 3:09 pm |
Jeez Heath – keep yer hair on mate. OK, so yer not a horse’s hoof – fair enough. But mate, like I say, just take it easy.
So; how come you never did any race-car movies like Steve McQueen? Or maybe you were going to? Come to think of it, Tom Cruise did a race car movie and he’s as queer as a fish, but I can’t help think’n mate, if you’d done a couple of good car-chase movies you might have been OK mate.
Hey – and just as well no one got your organs; imagine if four or five cute little kids all got new eyes and kidneys and spleens and lungs and whatnot and then three months later they’d all topped themselves. Kinda defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?
February 28, 2008 at 9:12 am |
Now even that Harry Potter’s being forcibly Ledgerized…
February 28, 2008 at 10:20 am |
You’re very glib, Mr Cooper….
February 28, 2008 at 10:25 am |
… how did you manage that larger full stop Mr Cruise?
Scientology must have the power to improve punctuation!
February 28, 2008 at 10:25 am |
Actually, it’s not clear yet whether or not I topped myself…
February 28, 2008 at 10:30 am |
I’m a Clear in ellipses….
(See? I did it again.)
February 28, 2008 at 10:52 am |
I’m impressed (parenthetically easily impressed. Or do I mean pathetically? Anyway, jolly good show.)
February 28, 2008 at 11:32 am |
Bese us to 300 yet, Bwana Big?
Woooo-ugh-woooo
February 28, 2008 at 11:40 am |
Well asked, Mbutu Batanga.
If I might reply in your tongue;
Man little bit not bilong make allsame 300 just now timey time. Unless you bin done used the Cyrillic alphabet.
Mine tinkit habet five more parleys to go. Bilong.
I hope that makes it all clear.
Love
Big Olly
February 28, 2008 at 3:46 pm |
Ah the good old days….
37 responses to the blog, wow, what a response, the poor coot (me) writing the 38th response to Icy Concentration is disgusted to see that Big has slapped out Convenient Truths a scant 8 days later, so he must leave that tremendously witty response, read the new offering and then come up with something new and excitinf in a tangential way. I knew it was driving old Senior Sergeant Fruity-Lamington etc toward the grave, and I seriously expect the old coot is there now, not that death would explain his reticence. Indeed, quite the contrary, now that I think about it.
So while the world hurtles on and where test and one-day cricket are passe now to high-speed 20/20, Big is resisting the trend with more success than King Canute, and has morphed his opening 20/20 form into a languid test affair, with a rest day, and the slow boat to Dover as preparation. I hear he’s enjoying the delights of Palestine as we speak!
300 posts you say? Like Don Bradman, no-one will bat (excellent pun intended) an eyelid….
February 28, 2008 at 3:54 pm |
Nicely expressed, Some, but if you are suggesting that I am callously hanging on until the big thirty-oh…….
February 28, 2008 at 3:54 pm |
I must protest.
Love
Big Olly
February 28, 2008 at 7:18 pm |
My partner was run out attempting a 3rd run at Adelaide Oval to leave me stranded on 299no that time in 1932, but do you hear me complaining that people might think I was a poof because I starred as a poof in a poof film?
Oh for f-
Here he comes Ledger again with another bat to sign.
Sigh….
February 29, 2008 at 6:49 am |
This time for sure!!!!
Me topside galah!!!!
Wooo-oooo.
February 29, 2008 at 8:05 am |
Curses, foiled again. And by a cursed barbarian.
Oh well, on to other matters. I see there has been much scholarly biblical input of late. It always bugged me that in the new testament, whenever something happenned to cause consternation among the populace (voice of Stuart Wagstaff: “..and isn’t that… ALL the time?”), the holy women in the vicinity would go away beating their breasts.
Crivens, talk about bluebreasted tits. Haha. But seriously, wouldn’t they have been better off going to the kitchen for a sit down and cup of tea, rather than getting on the gloves and going a round or two with each fun-pillow?
Perhaps it was different in them days. I suppose it was too rude, even for the bible, to mention that the menfolk when faced with similar consternation would probably have gone off beating themselves in the groin.
Wankers!
Do I win 5 pounds?
February 29, 2008 at 8:59 am |
Our Don Bradman! I ask you is he any good?
Don’t ask me. Better off asking all them stockholders he swindled with his shonky insider trading; or the brother he left destitute with his sanctimonious Methodist miserliness – or, oh, I know, why not ask the mistress whose best years he used up on the promise of leaving his wife and then drove to suicide when he reneged! Or just ask all the Catholics or the poofs or anyone of colour whether the rotten old racist, homophobic bigot is any bloody good.
February 29, 2008 at 9:05 am |
Hi readers. I suppose most of you know of a dead Mike Smith or three. But those of you who recall that fab band of mods, the Dave Clarke 5, may be sorry to know that I, the groovy lead vocal, have now carked it. Of course all you who are already dead (lots of poofs, aren’t there?) will know that I have joined them – hey, not in THAT way.
I can tell you, I’m not GLAD ALL OVER that my poor old corporeal self will soon be in BITS AND PIECES.
By the way, we were better than The Beatles. Had a better drummer at least.
Sayonara for now-anara, groovers!
February 29, 2008 at 9:06 am |
Oops, by the way…
Wooo-oo-oo-oooo a mondo.
February 29, 2008 at 9:44 am |
You think you’ve got problems?! I’m so pissed off I can hardly spell my own name! (I’m too lazy to Wikipedia it).
Not content with digging up my skeletal remains, someone has further disturbed my eternal slumber by covering them in plasticine or some other such ‘scientific procedure’ & given me a new face!
They reckon it’s a more accurate likeness. How would they bloody know? The only ‘Variations’ I wanted were mine own, thanks all the same.
Yours in High Dudgeon (as well as Purgatory)
JSB
PS If I’m going to get a radical makeover, did they have to make me look like a white George Forman?
February 29, 2008 at 11:54 am |
Why wasn’t Tom Cruise at the Clipsal accident scene to save Ashley Cooper?
February 29, 2008 at 1:50 pm |
Cos he thinks I’m a queer and if I had to give him head to mouth or whatever it is to revive him…well, he’d probably like freak and then go to a freakin’ psychiatrist and spin out on our quick-fix, degenerate, drug culture so-called “cures” and ruin his chances of ever becoming a Thetan and blasting off this God-forsaken planet. I mean you don’t know psychiatric history – I do!
Sure, and I guess I gotta reputation to protect, too. And, for the record, right, I said I’m a “Clear” not a “Queer”. In the words of my late, great, but sadly psychiatrist-consulting buddy, Heath, I ain’t no queer!
Tho’ I once slept with a guy who was…..
February 29, 2008 at 3:01 pm |
Yet look at the shit I cop compared to Bradman!?
And I only slep’ with a bloke that one time I got me texts all mucked up. I didn’t enjoy it! Much.
March 3, 2008 at 9:39 am |
We’ve been stuck on 308 comments since February now, and I predict that we’ll remain at 308 for some time to come.
March 3, 2008 at 9:47 am |
I agree.
March 3, 2008 at 2:03 pm |
Well now Big Olly,
I have remained silent in the spirit world up to now, but cannot any longer on the issue of song lyrics. I find it hard to tolerate the antics of some more recent arrivals here, including (I hate to say) some of the African American artistes.
That Miss Lisa Lopes behaves in an extremely aggressive manner for a young deceased lady, insisting that “a brother” like me should call her “Left Eye”, and also that I agree that “TLC” could never have been as popular without her. I fail to follow most of this, unless she is alluding to the fact her left eye was left dangling from it’s socket after the car accident which killed her.
But when I take issue with the lyrics (to get back to the topic of this entry, and your original post) of one of her group’s best known songs she becomes extremely unpleasant. I refer to “No Scrubs”, which has a chorus which begins:
“I don’t want no scrub
A scrub is a guy that can’t get no love from me”
Now being the stickler that I know that you are, Olly, for the correct use of the English language, I am sure that the use of double negatives would trouble you. This chorus, though, leaves the head spinning with it’s grammatical incorrectness – or am I missing the clever play on words intended due to my absence from the world of coloured creativity?
However, when I try to gain some meaning out of all of this by enquiring of Miss Lopes, she gets quite irate and tells me she will “bust a cap in my ass” if I don’t leave off. Exactly why she would wish to ruin perfectly good headwear in my nether regions escapes me, but then perhaps the world has moved on down Route 66, such that gettin’ your kicks has become a whole lot more complicated…..
Anyways, Olly, I just have to sanctimoniously tell Miss Lopes that the greatest thing she’d ever learned was just to love and be loved in return, and that shuts her up.
woooweee
March 3, 2008 at 7:40 pm |
Hey, Nat – Mate:
Er – Look, I hate to repeat myself, but well – chill.
I don’t quite get this; you’re dead, right? Same as me. OK, no probs there, but like I said to Heath; “Spectre of Nat King Cole”? Woah there little buddy…
Mate; you’re buying yourself a one-way ticket to tosser island.
You’re uptight because…? Um, you’re dead?
Because, err, you wrote such clever lyrics?
Case in point – “A house with love”
“A house with love in it is rich indeed
although there are a thousand things that house may need
The carpet may be old, the room so plain and bare
and yet it’s beautiful somehow when love is living there
A house with love in it just seems to bloom
as though the month of may were filling every room
So darling true the years with all my heart I’ll pray
a house with love in it is where we’ll stay
So darling true the years with all my heart I’ll pray
a house with love in it is where we’ll stay.”
Um, mate; if I don’t say it someone else will have to; those are crap.
Don’t get me wrong – you had a seriously hot daughter, and that is a pretty worthwhile contribution as far as I’m concerned. (Yeah, to get in first – unforgettable – ha ha) But really mate, get your hand off it and we’ll all be better off.
Ash “I hit the wall at 200 and saved billions of little Aussies” Cooper.
March 3, 2008 at 11:29 pm |
I’ve been away, but I figure you must be talking about cartoons by now. I reckon Bugs Bunny was only good with Yosemite Sam, and Sylvester is best paired with Tweety, and the best Daffy ones have Porky in ’em (remember when Daffy is dressed like Abraham Lincoln, hehehe). So, where does that leave Elmer?
March 4, 2008 at 9:15 am |
In a viking helmet weeping over a dead transvestite rabbit
(Chuck Jones was a sicko, but we must forgive him as he gave us Wyle. E. )
March 4, 2008 at 10:04 pm |
Looks like I killed this thread. But I continue…
Of course Wyle E. and The Roadrunner.
Upon reflection, the best Sylvester and Tweety also had Granny and the bulldog (nameless).
Some are partial to Porky and Sylvester, or Porky and Charlie Dog as a team. But my favourite Charlie Dog was down south with the retired colonel, “Ah magnolia”.
March 5, 2008 at 11:54 am |
No, Olly old brick, can’t remember any Colonel R. Magnolia. But there was generally an American to be found in most of the wars I enrolled for – usually turned up at the last minute when the rest of us had already finished the job – damned interlopers!
Well now, let me tell about one I do remember: Ensign James Wallis Warfield III of Honeysuckle Ridge, Idaho, or some such picturesque haven of hickory sticks, cornstarch and inbreeding. But first let me say something of the French Equatorial Africa for it was there that I first met Ensign Warfield, and, indeed, where I saw him last.
On the old French coast, the River Congo debouches to the sea and is navigable as far as Basankusu, where it is joined by the River Lulonga. The Lulonga is a more dicey prospect for the navigator because unpredictable flooding causes its levels to fluctuate and many’s the time the most seasoned sailor has been caught unawares and stranded in the further reaches of its meanderings. It was here that a detachment of the Intemperate chanced upon the stranded crew of some yankee sloop many miles upstream of Basankusu.
Among them was young Warfield – the Third – and a brighter, nicer, more obliging religious fanatic you couldn’t hope to meet! Warfield was a protestant of some obscure branch of Western Plains piety to whom the Good Lord in His wisdom had favoured with a peculiarly zealous brand of salvation. Warfield’s people were particularly obsessed with covering up the body and especially the nether regions thereof. His days stranded on that God-forsaken river were not idle…Oh, no, not while the Lord’s work was for the doing and Wallis-Warfied drew breath. He was determined to evangelise the benighted savages of the hinterland and have them all in underpants before Trinity Sunday!
Well, in those days, it must be said, the tribes of the interior of the Lulonga had barely learned enough French to ask for their aunt’s pen let alone submit to the indignity of hiding the pride of their manliness (and womanliness) from the light of the world. No, Olly, our hero’s task was, I fear, foredoomed. but I am ahead of myself. He had little help from the authorities, I suspect because the French were rather counting on turning the peoples of Congo into Continental Papists rather than New World Pentcostalists, so all he got was a guide from the local government station. it is the guide who tells the story of his last visit inland.
There was Warfield in his tropical naval whites and his native guide led before the Chief of the Kabuzu surrounded by his wives and warriors, a parasol and a birdcage on either side of his Chair of State, the symbols of his high office. The story goes that Warfield bowed and announced himself then, producing to his bewildered interlocutors a bale of corsets and longjohns, pressed some of the tribal folk into donning them immediately.
Unfortunately for Warfield, the Kabuzu have a legend, to which they cling with all the superstitious zeal of a Western Plains Pentecostalist, about a certain White Demon called Lawarraafu who appears from time to time to deceive their chiefs and confound the happiness of their race. Sadder still is the irony that, according to the witchdoctors, Lawarrafu’s baneful influence can only be defeated by turning the demon’s own weapons against him.
Well, as soon as he intoned ” Je m’ap-pell-e War-a-field” and went on to explain that God wanted them all to cover their private parts with his white cloth, it was all up for our underpanted evangelist. The horrified chieftain had come face to face with Lawaraafu – all white just as they said – and ready to destroy his people by taking away their means of procreation. A courageous and resourceful father to his tribe, their godly chief immediately seized the offending undershorts which the ghostly hand of the demon had dangled tauntingly before his eyes and then and there garroted Lawaraafu and dispatched his evil spirit back across the Lulonga where the fouls things of the Earth do dwell.
And that, dear Olly was the end of that. the demon’s head was later struck off and boiled and the chiefs of the Kabuzu kept his skull carefully wrapped in its demon cloth of the finest Alabama cotton. It was still in use in the 1920’s, I believe, when, in a ceremonial toast to the increase of the Kabuzu, its then Chief solemnly drank from the skull of James Wallis-Warfield, Ensign, United States Navy, the Third – and last – of his line.
March 5, 2008 at 5:25 pm |
Olly, it was lucky for me that I picked up that wild 17yo nymphomaniac ~ she nimbly detected the prostate cancer not with her hands, Ol’, not with her hands.
But Ol, like all good patients I have to abide by the doctors and wait for the operation to determine whether or not I join your “friends” here.
March 5, 2008 at 9:28 pm |
Sam, be not afraid, walk towards the light.
March 5, 2008 at 9:31 pm |
Oh, before I go, Vice-Admiral any sign of Tintin or Haddock?
March 6, 2008 at 6:15 am |
Well thank God that Vice-Admiral Sir Lamington “Fruity” Stokes-Sodbury, KCVO, DSC* (Ret) is back amongst the land of the dead. Frankly, I was quite worried there for a moment, given that he was contributing even less to this forum than Big Olly, who hasn’t been sighted for months now, having foresaken us (un)mortals in favour of the celebrity types in town now for the festivals. If he appears in “What’s Hot” in the Sunday Mail, then that’s the end of that.
But I digress…
March 6, 2008 at 6:45 am |
Oh, come off it Some. You know as well as anyone that despite having been snapped many times for the Sunday Mail (a good read guaranteed) social pages, I have always ended up on the cutting room floor.
On one occasion the editor went so far as to have me very neatly cropped out of a picture which was otherwise printed. You could see part of my impressive and manly shoulder intruding slightly into a group of smaller, neater persons than myself.
I still can feel the pain.
Love
Big Olly
March 6, 2008 at 6:53 am |
Sam, you wild cat!!! Can’t wait to see you. Will be nice to have someone else with an appreciation of all things 60’s.
Tho you might find that the pickings as far as 17 year old nymphos is a bit slim here on the other side. No, unfortunately things are very much the other side among the populace here.
So get ready for fruity old writers, or cowboys if it’s youth you’re after.
You’ll get used to it.
You have to.
I did…..
March 6, 2008 at 10:18 am |
One more time…I…AM…NOT…A…COWBOY! – or a shepherd or a ranchhand. I AM AN ACTOR – a very fine method actor, and damned hot one at that….Oooh, my aching head – I need to lie down – just 40 winks. What, no winks, I’ll have 40 tamaz then….
March 6, 2008 at 10:45 am |
Sam Newman: hoo-wooo! Like, he didn’t pick me when they needed the predictably outlandish gay bloke for the Footy Show, but, like, I had a pash with him that night at the Logies, like..ummm totally unexpected, and hot! Hot, hot, hot! Ahhhh do yourself a favour The Tormented Ghost of Heath Ledger and join the queue to pash Sam if he’s up your way soon.
March 6, 2008 at 5:11 pm |
I don’t believe this. I just don’t f@#$ing believe any of this. If you guys can’t worki out the difference between acting and reality, then for the love of heaven just leave me alone and let me get some goddam f#$%in’ SLEEP!
March 7, 2008 at 8:41 am |
Hey – Sammy; Mate! Sorry to hear about the prostrate mate; but glad to hear you’re not taking it lying down. Look – I’ve got (or rather I had) a perfect prostrate, and as far as I know it hasn’t been given to anyone else yet, So mate -it’s yours!.
It should still be in a jar at the RAH, so just give them a tinkle and ask for it.
Hey – and don’t consider using Heath’s – even if he offers it. 1: his has been constanly pummelled from within by cowboys. 2: You’ll start feeling gloomy as soon as you get it then top yourself.
So take mine mate! All the best,
Ash.
March 7, 2008 at 9:06 am |
Heath, mate! Is it as fun over there as it sounds?
Should I quit with the chemo, or what?
March 7, 2008 at 9:37 am |
Happy now?!!! No gloomy eponyms or whatever their called just plain old Heath Ledger – dispirited, broken, tired, sleep-dperived Heath Ledger.
Now, let’s try again with a little effort folks, just for hell of it, just cos we got nothing better to do!
1. I did not top myself.
2. Even if I did (which I didn’t) in real life organ recipients don’t acquire the emotional attributes of their donors. That only happens in films and books and the like.
3. My prostate was not pumelled from the inside by cowboys:-
(a) because it was all made up by a Hollywood scriptwriter;
(b) in any event, even if it wasn’t (which is was) I was always the “top” as they say – not the pummellee.
Stay where you are Pats, the afterlife is hell!
Where’s my f#$%in’ Mogadon?
March 7, 2008 at 10:23 am |
I’m sorta relieved, because I was in a movie with your pummellee Jake, & there was a lot of unpleasantness between me & some very very young girls.
It was all in the script! but you’ve shown me that scripts are far more believed than reality.
Now which pesky vein was that iv plugged into?
March 7, 2008 at 11:37 am |
Hey Coops and Ledge, I dont want to be picky, but please remember that the pair of you are ghosts, so we need some indication of that in your names, plus the odd woo-oooo to serve as a handy reminder to the readermessageinabottle.
Particularly Coops, because your organs could possibly take over some of the recipients’ bodies, so much so that they may take to calling themselves Ashley Cooper, with more of a leg to stand on than you, I’m afraid to say.
Swayze, you’re okay as is for about 4 or 5 weeks.
March 7, 2008 at 3:03 pm |
That’s it! I give up! Ya can’t f#$%in please anyone nowadays! I’m gettin out of here….
Hey, Oscar! How which way to the Savoy from here?
March 7, 2008 at 3:06 pm |
PS: On second thoughts, why don’t you drive us? I’ll just drop a few hundred grams of well-deserved slumber and you can wake me when we get there!
March 7, 2008 at 3:15 pm |
Hey Some – How ya doing mate? Look, I take your point anout the ghost stuff, but, well the way I see it I’m basically still the same old Ash – just got a bit banged up in the V8, died, gave me organs to the Aussie kiddies. Apart from that? same old Ash. So, no need for the whoo hoos or whatever.
It’s a bit different for Heath I’ll grant you. He has all kinds of issues, and fair enough. I’m not sure if you know this, but he was a cowboy, and then he turned out to be a poof as well, and that kind of got to him, and he topped himself. So ya got to feel a bit sorry for him – so if he wants to be tormented or whatever, well I say we let him, but me? Nah mate – I’m just Coops.
March 7, 2008 at 4:12 pm |
I want to go home now. No, really… it’s not funny anymore. Someone turn on the lights! Please! Just turn on the f#$%in’ lights!
Yet stays this nightmare too appalling,
And like a web shakes me,
And piteously I keep on calling’
And no-one wakes me!
March 10, 2008 at 10:12 pm |
Get used to it Heath.
Evermore, evermore.
March 11, 2008 at 9:33 am |
E.A. didn’t you receive a kicking in a (superior) Lennon composition?
(almost, but not quite dragging the thread full circle. A skew-whiff sort of elipse perhaps)
March 11, 2008 at 12:28 pm |
John is one cool dude “up” here. We hang out together a lot. We have a lot in common, (we both died when we were 40, yer knoow). But I don’t imagine his positive future. All I see in my imagination is guys being walled up by their rivals, or thrown into pits. And then there’s Lenore, and then there’s Lenore.
March 11, 2008 at 12:42 pm |
You’re better off out of it. Your creation is now a brand name of fabric softener…
March 11, 2008 at 8:23 pm |
“People say I’m lazy dreaming my life away,
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me,
When I tell that I’m doing Fine watching shadows on the wall,
Don’t you miss the big time boy you’re no longer on the ball?”
Anyone who thinks he can rime “away” with “enlighten me” is lucky to have a fabric softener named after him. Dont start me on the scansion, or lack thereof.
As for the second half, we’re just lucky he was shot, given the y=1/2x-4 lyrics graph that he was on.
By the way Petra, the kettle’s just boiled…
March 11, 2008 at 8:33 pm |
I love it when you say that…
March 12, 2008 at 2:04 pm |
Now, am I the only obtuse one clinging to the reader-tabula-in-naufragio, or did old Edgar Allen just indulging in a bit of wordplay with his own name back there?
Is not E…A…POE (instead of E.A. Poe) a reference to the song “Ee Ah Oh!” sung by the Folksmen in the mockumentary about the folk era entitled: “A Mighty Wind” itself referring to the busted neon sign which once read: Eat at Joe’s?
If so my beret is off to you Sir, for so deftly incorporating a silent thematic subtext to the otherwise tangential flow of the narrative.
There’s a puppy in the corner
And a skillet on the stove
And a smelly old blanket
That a Navaho wove
There’s chicken on the table
But you gotta say grace
There’s always something cookin’
At old Joe’s place.
March 12, 2008 at 11:16 pm |
…either that or he’s Eedle Aye Poe (prefix Ying Tong)
March 13, 2008 at 9:54 am |
Nope – now I’m lost….
March 13, 2008 at 11:12 am |
I think I meant yclept, not prefix.
If it’s still not clear, it’s probably because of my accent.
March 13, 2008 at 12:07 pm |
The folksmen are one of my fave groups, skillful fellows they are to ryhme words and set them to music.
Unfortunately the red man was not as respected in my day. I didn’t write a poem abouth the Navaho but I think there was one about a girl named Sioux.
March 13, 2008 at 8:45 pm |
Mr Poe
I released a weel known album in the 70’s called ‘Tales of Mystery and Imagination’, which was a tribute to you. Here are my excellent lyrics for a song I called ‘The Raven’:
THE clock struck midnight
And through my sleeping
I heard a tapping at my door
I looked but nothing lay in the darkness
And so I turned inside once more
To my amazement
There stood a raven
Whose shadow hung above my door
Then through the silence
It spoke the one word
That I shall hear for evermore
Nevermore
Thus quoth the raven, nevermore
And still the raven remains in my room
No matter how much I implore
No words can soothe him
No prayer remove him
And I must hear for evermore
Quoth the raven, nevermore
Nevermore
Thus quoth the raven, nevermore
I sold 11 albums re-hashing your work, whch is more money than you ever made. And note all of my input into the lyrics, as follows:
………………………………
March 13, 2008 at 8:46 pm |
Quoth Ringo Starr – ‘Nevermore’
March 13, 2008 at 8:48 pm |
Fuck off Ringo, I produced ‘Dark side of the Moon’, generally accorded the greatest album ever.
As for ‘Octopus’ Garden’…..
I rest my case.
March 14, 2008 at 7:25 am |
Olly, I speak for all of us in the afterlife, or the almost afterlife in the case of Sam Newman and Patrick Swayze, and we are holding our for a new topic before we crawl to the 400 mark on this one.
By the way, how about that wife of Private Kovco, now finding out that her husband had an affair. I hear she’s trying to get the tattoo on her arm changed to a likeness of Popeye.
Did I hear: “Let the dead buty the dead”?
March 14, 2008 at 7:27 am |
Don’t listen to my evil twin sister Daris, Olly. You just take your own sweet time.
…..
Your own sweet … (zzzzzzzzzzz)
March 14, 2008 at 9:02 am |
You restless spirits certainly get up early in the morning. (Super)natural I suppose.
Doris, if you see him, I’d like to know what the ex-pontiff JPII thinks of his replacement beggaring about with Saints Days. Now I’ll have to forego my birthday celebrations at the Irish pub & wave a palm leaf instead.
March 14, 2008 at 9:22 am |
You share only my middle name Mr Parsons. And spelt incorrectly what’s more. Good day sir!
March 14, 2008 at 9:27 am |
Alan, I thought you were “Tubular Bells” or something. Must be thinking of a couple of other fellows.
I admit, Daris and Doris, that I have been a little distracted of late. I am waiting for a post from “The Ghost of the Innocence of Mary Anne off Gilligan’s Island” in view of he recent arrest of the actress who portrayed her. Possession of the old Mary Jane for Mary Anne.
Still, at 71 it was nice to see that she had the presence of mind to do her hair and straighten herself up a bit for the mugshot. So much more self respect than the young gels of celebrity who get themselves arrested these days.
Love
Big Olly
March 14, 2008 at 9:36 am |
Dear Olly, Tubular Bells was penned by Mike Oldfield and used in that spooky film of The Excorcist. ….sh…..what’s that? Oh, Lovie says that Maryanne was a sweet wonderful girl corrupted by that beatnik Maynard posing as a dimwitted sailor. I don’t know what this all means. I’m back to Baltimore, Baltimore.
March 14, 2008 at 9:46 am |
Speaking of the Pope, I see that the Catholics have added another 7 sins to the list, and sadly for all of the priests, paedophilia is now a sin.
Still, they had a fairly decent run….
March 14, 2008 at 9:52 am |
Well, E…A…POE, I am pleased to see that you have kept abreast of events down here and not just sequestered yourself behind a brick wall with no more than the spiritual equivalent of a fine Amontillado to keep you company. Maybe up there it would be Nectar, or am I thinking of a different spiritual tradition?
But I am prepared to accept that it was Mike Oldfield and not Alan Parsons (nose) Project.
Some, biting as ever.
Love
Big Olly
March 14, 2008 at 10:19 am |
Surely paedophilia was a sin anyway? Unless the fathers were marrying themselves to the choirboys first? Or am I mixing sins & commandments?
Hope ‘bemusement’ isn’t on the new list…
March 14, 2008 at 10:42 am |
Well, I married my 13 year old cousin (female). But in those days it was Ok.
Thankyou Olly, I do try and keep a breast (not Lovie’s she had hers removed). My knowledge has some gaps…this Michael Jackson I hear of, was he a catholic priest? Madonna was touched for the very first time, I knew that, it was by a ghost! (he-he). And there was a group called The Church, dreadful, almost bad enough to make me GO to church. Almost.
March 14, 2008 at 10:48 am |
It WAS a sin, I think, but it has certainly appeared in the latest issuing of 7 bad sins. May be a coded message that the church wont turn a blind eye anymore.
Like any Catholic, the paedophile priest in confession would of went:~
“Spoke during the vow of silence, drank an extra glass of wine, forgot to bless myself upon crossing altar….. for these and all the rest of my sins I am truly sorry.”
I’d always own up to flogging 5 cents, but nicking 2 bucks would always be in that catch-all back end of the confession, as all in the readersloop would attest.
March 14, 2008 at 11:01 am |
I wonder is there going to be a deadly sins chart show?
Text your vote now to 777:
01 for sloth
02 for coveting thy neighbour’s ass
03 for nicking 2 bucks…
March 14, 2008 at 11:06 am |
Golly! What a flurry of correspondence invariably attends the more prurient aspects of religious belief.
Petra, my dear child, if you consult the perpetual calendar at the back of your missal, you’ll find that, as Psalm Sunday is a double solemnity of the first class, it trumps St. Patrick’s Day, which is merely a major feast of the second and, thus, must drop back a day, unless you are in Quarter tense, such as Lent or Advent or the drop-back is to a rogation day of Ember week, in which case the feast of St Pat’s follows the next available day, except after C or if the dummy hand has three of a kind.
It is quite simple to anyone whose school term was divided into 6 day cycles instead of 5 day weeks.
March 14, 2008 at 11:09 am |
I understood that they were to be;
Smugness
Bad Breath
Loudly using a phone on public transport
Coveting thy neighbour’s mortgage
Excessive Carbon Footprint
Failure to Flush
And finally, the one we have all been waiting for,
Barracking for Port.
Oddly enough they tried to get “Being a Nazi” up, but it got blackballed by a single, anonymous vote.
Love
Big Olly
March 14, 2008 at 11:15 am |
PS: Mr Poe, I thought you could only marry your cousin after 1 January 1932 and then only in the vestry or at a crossroad or outside the churchyard wall and she had to wear ivory and could have a veil – but I might be wrong.
Very droll about keeping a breast; reminds me of an old joke we used to share in the seminary: I was walking in the meadow and stooped to pick a buttercup. Why a buttock was lying there I couldn’t say!
March 14, 2008 at 11:20 am |
Very Rev Monsignor Felchey, thank you for clearing that up. I can’t believe I couldn’t work it out for myself.
Big Olly, once again your blog is outstripping wikipedia in it’s up to the minute accuracy.
March 14, 2008 at 12:36 pm |
I wrote Tubular Bells, produced by one Richard Branson (nee Sir), which was a bust until it became the soundtrack for the Exorcist, sales took off, and now he’s ballooning about, flying space missions and opening up new virgins everywhere, whereas I’m now at lighthouse keeper at Hove.
All because I drank on All Saints Day that one time and never confessed.
March 14, 2008 at 12:54 pm |
…you missed out ‘providing unreliable internet access & sending ludicrous automated faux-chummy emails (“Hello you!”) promoting said service when I’m already stuck with the blasted thing’. Sorry, you hit a nerve there.
March 14, 2008 at 12:56 pm |
Well, you have now.
Ego te absolvo in nomine Domini et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Now, take two Hail Marys and go to bed…
March 14, 2008 at 12:59 pm |
Too quick for me, Petra; I was responding to Oldfiled. Saints preserve us, dear child, what time must it be your end? I’ve just finished lunch. Go to bed at once.
March 14, 2008 at 1:01 pm |
Petra, I think that is one of the new cardinal sins.
That and being Top Catholic of Indonesia or somewhere, possibly some time ago.
I think Wearing a Cardigan with malice aforethought is another new one.
Love
Big Olly
March 14, 2008 at 1:14 pm |
Big Olly, perhaps ‘being Richard Branson’ would be one in itself? Cardigan Sins as well as cardinal ones.
For all you time check fans, it’s quarter to four. So I’ll take your instruction to heart VRMF & beggar off out of it.
March 14, 2008 at 1:22 pm |
Petra sweetie,
I appreciate that you are tired, but the proper expression is “it’s quarter to four a.m. in the morning”.
But in the circumstances I will let you off and bid you sweet dreams. How do you stay up so late? Is it all that Gold Blend?
Love
Big Olly
March 14, 2008 at 1:26 pm |
Speaking of sins, here’s summit I don’t understand. It seems that prostitutes aren’t illegal in New York State – neither being one nor using one. Yet Governor Ed Spitzer has to resign and his Emperor’s Club – ahem- escort service gets charged under a federal law called the Anti-White Slavery Act 1910 (aka the Mann Act) with bringing females across a state line for immoral purposes – which was used by the FBI to persecute black folk and white trash like Charlie Chaplin…
What’s that all about?
March 14, 2008 at 1:31 pm |
I thought one said a quarter of four. Ah well, half of one, as they say… (no scientological ellipsis for me)
Don’t forget to say your prayers, Petra. And please make special intentions for the Pope and General Pinochet. Oh, and the conversion of Russia.
Go on, we’ll still be here in the morning.
March 14, 2008 at 2:10 pm |
Ed Spitzer looked remakably trim seeing it’s 36 years ago almost to the day that he won seven (7) gold medals at the Munich Olympics, which were best remembered for propelling Eric Bana’s movie career.
Did you notice how none of Ed’s daughters looked like Shane Gould? Could be more to this than meets the eye.
And if wearing a cardigan is a sin, which it definitely is, then sporting a beard sans moustache is one as well, which it is. You’re basically saying: I vote for Australian Democrats and am interested in state and local government issues, and the public transport system is a disgrace.
So sayeth me at 3.10pm in the afternoon.
March 14, 2008 at 3:17 pm |
3.10, you say, yet the blog says 2.10. Now, that’s not Eastern Summer Time nor Central Standard Time but somewhere in between. What time zone are you in Olly. Or are you in blogging from some Wolf’s Lair Kommand bunker, Saddam-like, somewhere under the red dust off the Hume Highway?
March 14, 2008 at 3:35 pm |
Big lives in a permanent Happy Hour, where we’d all like to be. Anyway, it’s 4 and 33 of the worst, as we say here, or 27 of the best till 5.
Shit, speaking of which, I should nip to the pub to partake in $2.75 cheap pints during happy hour. Or else stay here at work drinking freebies till the cows come home.
Moooo-oooooooo
March 14, 2008 at 4:25 pm |
Get you to bed again. It is not day.
Is not tomorrow, boy, the ides of March?
Shakespeare
Julius Caesar
Act 2
scene 1
line 40
March 14, 2008 at 9:31 pm |
Et tu Brute?
Olly, how can anyone sleep when awaiting with baited breath the next contribution from your esteemed blog? Actually if you can recommend something, I’d appreciate it.
(It’s 11.54pm. Or 11.54 in 24 hour clock. Coincidentally. Except it won’t be by the time I’ve finished typing. Tempus fudge-it)
March 17, 2008 at 11:14 am |
Don’t ask!!!!!!!!
March 17, 2008 at 10:40 pm |
My mum saw Big Olly at Spotlight buying sequins for his lavish new Las Vegas style show at the Royal Coach Motor Inn.
My uncle reckons she is lying (a bullshit artist) because he says his mate saw the real Olly at Four Square in Nelson buying some cheese last Saturday. But my other uncle, Phillip, said “What the fuck would Olly be doing in Nelson, dick bag?” They started fighting and then my Mum said Olly could have been there because he is rich and can fly anywhere around the world to buy cheese if he wants to.
March 18, 2008 at 6:47 am |
Not only that, but Big Olly has drunk tequila where it’s made.
I by the way have only drunk limoncello where it’s made, which is on the corner of Phillips St and James St, Thebarton.
Woooo-ooooo-oooo-oo….. I feel sick
March 18, 2008 at 9:41 am |
Will Big Olly hang on for the four-oh-oh or is he even now proof-reading his next epic installment? I do hope he hasn’t overdone it on the sequins, cheese & tequila simultaneously. That’d be one helluva hangover.
March 18, 2008 at 11:23 am |
By the way, why is sloth a mortal sin? If you can sleep in of a morning, good luck to you, I say. Or pride? What’s wrong with a bit of pride? Just what the younger generation lacks. And if gluttony is indulging too much – who’s to say when enough is enough (Barbra Streisand-like) other than said alleged glutton himself. Who’s to say where subsistence ends and indulgence begins, anyway? One man’s roast pumpkin is another man’s pig-slops. These sanctimonious find-faults, ready to yield the milk of kindness yet quick to stint on the cream of kindness!
And wrath? Our Lord himself was wrathful in the temple and with Peter for cutting of the ear of that servant in the garden what was his name – Malchus?
I don’t know it all sounds like the sort of thing that peasants are jealous of the aristocracy for. Everything the aristos had and they didn’t was suddenly a sin. Some sort of proto-bolshevism. What I don’t understand is how the Pope and the Princes of the Church came to buy it.
March 18, 2008 at 8:56 pm |
“Ola Brunkert, drummer, was born on September 15, 1946. He died after an accident on March 16, 2008, aged 61”
March 18, 2008 at 9:07 pm |
Et tu, St Peter?
“Ola Brunkert, drummer, was born on September 15, 1946. He died after an accident on March 16, 2008, aged 61″
I died of a broken heart, Mr Olly, in love with Agnetha Faltskog the entire time while I drummed for Abba, better than Mbutu Batanga even, but completely unknown as they settled ong the 4 letter band name, after a fleeting attempt to name us Abbo or Abbao or Flagstaff on Franklin.
Did you know, Big, that I also toured in Abba’s backing group between 1977-80 and was in the band when Abba gave six sell-out performances at Wembley in October 1979? Yet no-one dresses as me now.
I died accidentally of a broken heart whilst I was trying to commit suicide by deliberately dying of a broken heart. Mamma Mia! I feel more insignificant than a piccolo snare, a perfect last decrescendo I have played…..
March 18, 2008 at 9:30 pm |
Jay, while we’re on wrath, what about The Flood? Pretty much equivalent to smashing up the whole Lego set just because the ridiculously miniscule thin blue pieces are thoroughly stuck & you broke a nail trying to prise them off again & it really, really hurts!!
Malchus had his ear reinstated, but he didn’t show any gratitude. It would be nice to think it was on the wrong way up. Or perhaps on the wrong side of his head nestling next to the other. Lucky for him that the invention of the i-pod was two thousand years into the distant future.
As for sloth, those poor mammals deemed immediately sinful because they were born into the species must be glad they can’t read. Or perhaps they can’t be bothered. Layabouts.
March 18, 2008 at 10:52 pm |
… I forgot to mention that lions are also singled out, but only when they’re in groups.
March 19, 2008 at 11:32 am |
Wow, got here at last: a Mysterious World all mine own.
Hey Oscar! Where are all the youth at then?
March 19, 2008 at 2:51 pm |
Maybe they got stolen away by the so-called Isotope Men, as featured on the cover of your penny-dreadful “Startling Stories” to be found in your Wikipedia entry. They appear to like nothing better than getting their tentacles on young men in rugby shorts and pixie boots, and spiriting them away from their womenfolk!
Science Fiction, Sir Arthur, or Psycho-sexual Fantasy?
March 19, 2008 at 8:54 pm |
A very lucrative combination of the two. Although I think the illustrator was wrong in the choice of footwear.
March 19, 2008 at 8:58 pm |
… my story was actually the other title on the cover ‘Against the Fall of Night’. Good job really, I’d lose all credibility if I didn’t know my tentacles from my isotopes.
March 20, 2008 at 5:49 am |
Comment number 392……….
And 392 days since Big posted a blog!
Fancy the coincidence!
P.S. Sir Paul must have a wealth of new lyrical material now that Heather McCartstump has accomplished her gold digging mission. Maybe a follow up to the all time classic, “Silly Love Songs”.
March 20, 2008 at 8:54 am |
Who’s Big Olly?
March 20, 2008 at 9:13 am |
If Sir Paul does make loads of royalties from slagging off his ex through the medium of song, does she get any of it? I would hope so. Every cheque would be a bit of hate mail.
She took him for an arm & a leg. So that leaves both parties on the scoreboard one limb short.
PS Sorry I’m late Some, I stopped off to get milk…
March 20, 2008 at 10:28 am |
Howdy Guys,
Don’t fret, I’m here. I am, as you have no doubt discerned, callously hanging out for 400 comments. Then I remembered that story about the fellow who prayed to Apollo or someone for help when his wagon broke an axle. I don’t remember the chapter and verse but the upshot was that that particular ancient god, like the more modern one before whom we moderns are given to bowing down, helped those who helped themselves.
What I am saying is that if I had done a few more comments myself, I would have bolted 400 in by now.
Oh, and welcome to various spectral visitationers, particularly Arty Clarke and SFOBAASATTH.
Love
Big Olly
March 20, 2008 at 11:04 am |
I’ll throw in my twopennorth again then (just to help towards the tally Big Olly, not because I’m an atrocious gossip or anything)
What say you give the readerMarieCeleste a few clues as to your next missive?
That’ll take up a few more.
March 20, 2008 at 11:12 am |
Why are these rotten old Beatles protected species all of a sudden?
Doesn’t anyone think it scandalous that McCartney underestimated his £400m estate by half and, thus, was only prepared to give his (albeit crazy) wife of four years, mother of his child, 3.75% of his assets.
There’s a very rude word (unsuited to the decorum of this blog) to describe men like that.
March 20, 2008 at 11:55 am |
I think she shot herself in the foot in the popularity race. Most recently she held a press conference to speak about the unjust costs she’s paying out to take baby on first class flights. The poor lamb.
The upshot being, he’s not protected, he’s just less unpopular than she is.
March 20, 2008 at 12:51 pm |
Funnily enough, Petra, I had to duck out for milk early this morning, which means I blew a Twinings Irish breakfast tea bag, so now I feel like poor Heather McCartstump (nee Mills-yonair.)
If she was after money, and she was, luckily she married him and not Mbutu Batanga, who earns stuff all despite being a top class drummer. Wait on, didn’t he die on Olly’s blog? In which case, not a good catch at all.
Now hopefully someone has posted while I’m writing and I’m No. 400!
Of for f-
March 20, 2008 at 2:57 pm |
It may seem to you like 400 entries have passed, but here on Alpha Centauri, this is only the 54th!
March 20, 2008 at 3:22 pm |
No remember Don, we had the force field operational for a long time there. I think the other 346 were deflected.
My God! An alien!
Don, get the guns!
March 20, 2008 at 6:33 pm |
I congratulate you on reaching your 400 Olly. Noone deserves the accolades and kudos more than you. Your humble petit blog has brought countless hours of joy to dozens of people and ghosts. Bravo Monsieur Olly, Bravo.
March 20, 2008 at 9:25 pm |
Three cheers for Big Olly!
‘Cracking open’ some sort of beverage is probably appropriate under the circumstances?
Speaking of which, Some, if you had to get milk out of a duck you must have had a very trying morning. Have a Fig Roll.
March 25, 2008 at 9:50 am |
…bloody get on with it!
March 25, 2008 at 10:55 am |
Oh, sorry, did I hit the much longed for milestone while I wasn’t looking?
Well, I would like to thank the little people who helped me make it. Actually I suppose it is more accurate to say that they did it for me, so thanks from Big to all his littles.
By the way, did I mention that I saw Jenny pashing Donald Sutherland in “The Eagle Has Landed” the other day. Honestly, tongues and everything. I didn’t know where to look.
Well, I did really.
Love
Big Olly
March 25, 2008 at 12:02 pm |
I was speed reading Olly’s latest and thought he wrote Donald Pleasance. This is a shame because as far as I can recall Donald P. never got any action in any film. He always seems to play a psycho, loner, misfit maniac or a guy that pretends to see a pin on the floor on the other side of the room.
March 25, 2008 at 12:06 pm |
Rumour has it that the eclectic establishment, The Talbot on Franklin, is serving duck now (probably endangered), as prepared by a mystic Borneo chef. I can’t wait to hear how many times someone says, “Can I have the bill please.”
March 25, 2008 at 3:36 pm |
Well we aint gettin’ anywhere here, so I suppose, I’LL have to start things off. I change my vote to “Not Guilty”. You heard, “Not Guilty”!
I-I-I’ve had enough!
…..
NOW LISTEN, I DON’T HAVE TO …. uurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
March 25, 2008 at 4:34 pm |
That’s one angry man!
Listen, guilty, not guilty I don’t care. I just wanna know where you learned the secret to the double bold ellipsis end-dot.
Are you (gasp) a thetan…?
March 25, 2008 at 6:44 pm |
Explain to me again, in what context did the two Donald’s pash one another?
March 26, 2008 at 9:00 am |
Here’s something, for someone to do…how many of the juror’s are still alive. Surely most of them are up there with Heath et al. I know Hank and “Corn on the” are, but the rest? If Jack Klugman is still alive it must be time for CSI Quincy.
March 26, 2008 at 10:37 am |
Let me tell ya something. No Don ever pashed me. Not Don Pleasance, not Don Bradman, not Don friggin’ Corleone. I never pashed another Guy, got it! Not then, not now, not ever! Not in the cave! Not in the pod! Not in the goddamn back-seat of the goddamn chariot! What’s with these people?
March 26, 2008 at 10:49 am |
… Donald Duck??
March 26, 2008 at 11:20 am |
It’s no use, Don. They’re utterly obsessive!
Here, you wanna Benzodiazepine malt? Nah? Flunitrazepam cookie? Nope? Fair enough. Well, wake us up then, will ya, when we get to St. Louis.
March 26, 2008 at 12:16 pm |
“Oh-oh Don…err,
You make me stand up
You make me sit down
Don… err”
March 26, 2008 at 3:47 pm |
I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate.
All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.
…but before I go I want to say that I did see West and Ledger going at it; tongues and all.
March 26, 2008 at 3:53 pm |
Did you ever see a mongoose dance? Or a scorpion, in the sun, sting itself to death? Or a praying mantis eat her mate after making love? Well I did. And I also saw Don go for Heath with his lips pursed and then try to sneak some tongue in the last second.
March 26, 2008 at 8:48 pm |
Did you ever see Big write a blog…?
March 27, 2008 at 3:13 am |
… or an elephant fly?
March 27, 2008 at 7:02 am |
White and one, please!
Woooo
March 27, 2008 at 8:17 am |
wooo or wooo…ooo? Or perhaps both.
March 27, 2008 at 10:08 am |
I’ve seen an elephant fly! In fact, I once saw a swarm of elephant flies take the head clean off a man! Well, not clean, bloody messy really. Zimbs, the savages call them…and when once attacked by them, body, head, and legs, all break out into large bosses, which swell, split, and putrefy, to the certain destruction of the victim.
Pitiless creatures… Still, that was Abyssinia in the old days, before sodium lamps and vulcanised gauntlets – so what could you expect?
March 27, 2008 at 10:37 am |
Beware the flies called “March”!
March 27, 2008 at 12:34 pm |
I lovvve potatos. Boiled, fried, mashed. Any way I can get ’em. Never had a bad one. Even had one raw once. Pink ones, yellow ones, white ones. Mmmm Mmmmm, yu- ummy!
March 27, 2008 at 12:36 pm |
I lovvve potatos. Boiled, fried, mashed. Any way I can get ’em. Never had a bad one. Even had one raw once. Pink ones, yellow ones, white ones. Mmmm Mmmmm, yu- u- ummy!
March 27, 2008 at 1:20 pm |
Vice-Admiral Sir Lamington “Fruity” Stokes-Sodbury, KCVO, DSC* (Ret), Sir, I have not seen an elephant fly, but I have seen the Death’s Head Moth, twice indeed, the same moth made famous by the book and subsequent film of ‘The Silence of the Lambs’.
The first time I saw it was on the cover of the book “The Silence of the Lambs’ by Thomas Harris, and then I saw the revered moth in the film version of the novel.
I have also sawn ‘Bridge on the River Kwai’. Are you related to Colonel Nicholson? There seem to be similarities.
March 27, 2008 at 2:25 pm |
Fine model for the officer corps! Full marks for stoutly refusing to engage in manual labour, demonstrating the superiority of British bridge-design and keeping his Sam Browne both on and polished in the steamiest tropics of Her Britannic Majesty’s Far Eastern possessions!
Except, of course, you wouldn’t find old Fruity letting himself be cuffed about and generally got the better by a viscious, up-jumped oriental, blanket-counter like Colonel Saito, machine gun or no!
March 27, 2008 at 2:29 pm |
Potato salad, potato soup, potato pie.
March 27, 2008 at 2:46 pm |
Cannibal!
March 27, 2008 at 3:29 pm |
I am what I eat.
There are rumours about Cookie Cucumber.
March 27, 2008 at 5:28 pm |
Congratulations everyone. You deserve to give yourselves a nice pat on the back. 430 comments, practically no help from me.
I would like to promise that I will never again be caught up in the glamour of my own celebrity and hold out like this, but God knows it could be happening again by tomorrow afternoon. The best I can say is I will try to do better.
Oh, welcome to Mr Potato Head. I hope you don’t mind me saying that I generally preferred to use your features and garments on a real potato rather than the plastic one supplied. It gave one so much more flexibility.
Love
Big Olly
March 28, 2008 at 11:15 am |
I know I’ve missed the (reader)boat on this one Big Olly, but I hope I can test your patience again.
Neil Aspinall has shuffled off this mortal coil (I’m surprised he hasn’t introduced himself within these hallowed pages actually). In the press, he was, perhaps by force of habit, referred to as ‘in many ways, the fifth Beatle’.
So far, this title has been used to apply to Pete Best, Stuart Sutcliffe, George Martin, Brian Epstein, Billy Preston & even Ringo Starr. Who is the genuine article? I always thought it was Zeppo…
March 28, 2008 at 11:27 am |
Oh, Petra, two minds with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one.
I was thinking the very same thing myself when Iread the sad news of the death of Mr. Aspinall.
I must admit than until now I had not heard of him. Might I add to your list someone called Jimmy Nichol who stood in for Ringo on the Australian tour? That is enough fifth Beatles to make another 2 Beatles. I am sure that there are more.
In fact, I saw local magistrate Andrew Cannon walking along Gouger St in his customary Greek fisherman’s hat the other day and it occurred to me that he probably considers himself a fifth Beatle.
I have just had another thought, but I might go to the new post to shove it up. Numbers are getting a bit thin this high in the stratosphere.
Love
BIg Olly
March 28, 2008 at 11:39 am |
BiG Olly, your insights are truly spooky!
I wouldn’t have known him if I’d fallen over him either. Which is hopefully less likely now, as presumably his loved ones have put him away in seemly fashion.
April 22, 2008 at 7:08 am |
Olly,
you almost said two hearts beating with just one mind!
See you elsewhere,
Glen
🙂
April 22, 2008 at 9:01 am |
What a spooky coincidence!
June 10, 2008 at 8:30 am |
… yet another candidate to add to the tally of ‘Fifth Beatles’.
This nomination from Alexei Sayle ‘…the city of Liverpool itself’.
OK so if we take the population as being 5 million, that means on a job-share basis, each person could be the fifth for a millionth of the time, which means that for The White Album alone, Liverpudlians owe royalty payments to Yoko Ono of £27.42 each, & ‘Lady’ Heather owes them 0.6259p per second of the past 20 years back as compensation for ‘The Frog Chorus’… Has anyone got a calculator?
June 10, 2008 at 9:57 am |
Dear Petra,
your calculations are spot on!
Also, I still occassionally hear Ron Wood referred to as the “New” Rolling Stone ( avery long apprenticeship). And noone I ask seems to know the name of the guy that took over as the “New” lead singer of AC/DC, has it been 25 years?
The curious world of celebrity and Rock and Roll.
bB
June 11, 2008 at 10:00 am |
Thanks, this abacus thing must be plugged in after all!
As for Ron Wood, similarly the term ‘New Wave’ must surely now be old hat?
October 1, 2008 at 8:21 am |
Dear Vice-Admiral,
do you know (I hope) what a Kabuzu Bird is?
Anyone…?
August 30, 2009 at 11:32 pm |
Change the zoom, that would last?My excess baggage, link going to.Muy importante Aunque, the main color.All day I Cheap Plus Size Roll Edge Square Neck Tee, vary Deferment Periods so You can.The worlds cameras, boring after a.,
December 29, 2009 at 11:48 pm |
Experts have talked about this before. How many times have you read about the importance of ‘adding value’ for your audience? How many times have you read about ‘building trust’ with your readers/prospects?
Many, many times. You know it well. Every marketing guru has spoken about this topic. I’m sick of hearing it. But it STILL bears repeating………..
onlineuniversalwork
December 29, 2009 at 11:48 pm |
Experts have talked about this before. How many times have you read about the importance of ‘adding value’ for your audience? How many times have you read about ‘building trust’ with your readers/prospects?
Many, many times. You know it well. Every marketing guru has spoken about this topic. I’m sick of hearing it. But it STILL bears repeating.
onlineuniversalwork
February 2, 2010 at 2:58 am |
I think I first came across your blog via a link on Twitter.. Love the stuff I have seen so far and will absolutely revisit to read more afterward. By the way, are you on Twitter?
February 27, 2010 at 10:11 am |
Let others think about them. The man without a purpose. What will the public think? But he did not answer. Quite a brilliant achievement—as far as technology is concerned. I was not consulted about that statement! Miss Taggart, he said quietly. Hugh Akston was a distinguished man, a great mind .
February 28, 2010 at 1:09 pm |
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