|:neutralising the pH level:|

There is some good news and some bad news

2006-03-09T17:08:00.000+10:30

My Gosh! I have just got back from the hospital, where the doctor told me it was one of those good news bad news situations. This how it went:

Doctor: Perhaps you would like to sit down. That's great. As you know, we have been in surgery for the past thirty-six hours. I must say that your husband has a remarkably thick scull.

Me: My god! It took you thirty-six hours to get inside his head?

Doctor: No, no. Though it took much longer to get in than usual, that is not what took the time. In fact, the fall did not even penetrate his scull, the brain pan was virtually untouched.

Me: Not even that twelfth step? He sommersaulted onto that!

Doctor: The lack of internal damage to his body was remarkable but not the most surprising thing we found inside his scull. What would you say if I told you that most of your husband's mind had been replaced with a turnip. A pristine, shiny turnip!

Me: Are there some hidden cameras somehwere around here? Is this like one of those TV shows where someone jumps out with a microphone?

Doctor: I am afraid not. Your husband was cogitating with a turnip. It seems that it had been displacing his brain through his nose as it grew. I have stunning sketchy black and white video footage which I intend to set to the Ride of the Valkyries. Like that Welsh boxer the other day, I have had my career defining moment. Also like him, someone had to be hideously damaged for me to go forward.

Me: Could this explain that strange double life he had been leading? Factory worker by day, roaming the internet by night.

Doctor: He sounds like Neo from Matrix. But without all the PVC and technobabble.

Me: No, he has the PVC, too. His PC is so full of smut it needs three hard-drives. I haven't been so ashamed since he met my mother. Is he going to pull through?

Doctor: It is hard to say. We have removed the turnip and donated it to charity. The remaining brain matter may or may not be able to support his body.

Me: What is the good news, then?

Doctor: He may just have little enough brain power to be romantic, if he ever wakes up again.

You are never going to believe this but....

2006-03-08T14:14:00.000+10:30

This is Mrs. DC

You wouldn't believe some of the things I have heard in the last few days. It all started when Mr. DC fell down the stairs at home, all four stories of them, and had to be taken to hospital. They say his chances are fifty-fifty at the moment. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, and I will let you know what happens. He is going in for surgery tomorow.

He isn't here now so I thought I could get away with using his computer. As I thought, it was not rigged to blow when anyone else touched it. The silly fool had left it on standby. It seems that prior to his rapid descente he had been symultaneously writing a "piece" and browsing some particularly nasty Fem Dom sights. The latter I knew about, though the blog was new to me. I changed the password and had a bit of a read. I am not pleased.

There are a few things that need straightening out between us. Firstly, the closest he had, excuse me, has ever been to dog surgery is in fact a dog food factory. Secondly, he is not a doctor, having barely graduated from the University of Life, no honours. Thirdly, the thing about the illegitimate children was all a fiction, based largely on his hero Flashman.

More to come.

THE PORTALS ARE OPEN

2006-03-03T20:50:00.000+10:30

DDC likes entry:

Internet portals are one of those things that I love about the net. Let me tell you why!

When I make an account with a site I usually put in a bunch of odd details in:
Name: Kaiser Willhelm
Occupation: Manicurist
Country: Azerbaijan
DOB: 1922, 23rd November
Favourite colour: Peach
etc.

I don't see why anyone should get free marketing data from me. Like the native american indians with their camera-shy soul-stealing excuses, I beleive that the more of myself I give away for free to Microsoft or whoever, the less of a man I become. Less of a person too, though that is a different story.

So, this morning I was somewhat surprised to recieve an email saying, "happy birthday" from profession.com. The way it must have happened is this: I have been on the websphere for so long that I have randomly put my actual birthday into some poor, unsuspecting commercial site. My happiness knew no bounds when I realised that he angels had actual programmed a computer to say happy birthday to me. That is how much they cared. But no, it wasn't!

Once I had picked myself up out of my happy, warm puddle of manmilk I got round to reading my happy return and found an invitation. An invitation. A dream bit-stream. It emerged that for my minutes of dedicated skimming I was to be indulged in a trip to the sponsor site!

NOT THAT I THINK ANYONE SHOULD CARE BUT

2006-03-02T10:39:00.000+10:30

I am still alive, and what's more - I've been watching full metal Jacket again.

The whole thing can be summed-up with one mighty phrase. It is the kind of phrase I used to use at school when i was still funny and writing a book was not only within my grasp but a way of occupying free time in English lessons while the dude (who is a hero of mine) waffled-on about Chaucer.

Around about the time that The Mary Whitehouse Experience bit the dust, Brasseye was still freshly-squeezed and Paul Coogan was getting really funny. Father Ted was still alive along with my childish dreams. I have others now but they were my first.

"We are like jolly green giants striding the land, with guns."

I know exactly what he meant.

Don't say that ever.

2006-02-25T23:22:00.000+10:30

If I had a dick you would have no ass-hole.

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

2006-02-20T10:32:00.000+10:30

Budding romance nipped in the bud:

Dr. DC: I love you weather dude.
Weather dude: Gee, this is all so sudden. You're so very male that I wasn't expecting this.
DDC: I just can't hold it in any more. I feel like I am going to burst.
WD: How long have you felt this way?
DDC: Weeks, months!
WD: I'm sure it is just a crush, a brief passion.
DDC: Call it what you will. This is how I feel. It isn't going to change. Not unless you change.
WD: I caught you looking at me on TV the other day. You seemed upset. I thought you hated me.
DDC: Well, you will say these things that you don't mean.
WD: Now I am confused. What are you talking about?
DDC: That time the other week, with your cocky smile you told me it was going to rain. It snowed all weekend!
WD: I see. I think we have our wires crossed.
DDC: Not so! You did it again this weekend. The half winking eye, the hand in pocket. I understand body language, it's my mother tongue!
WD: This weekend?
DDC: The weather dude says, "starry night." The window says, "snowing".
WD: It isn't going to work. I'm not gay and neither are you. Also, Mrs. DC will remove both of our testicles if she even catches a wiff of this.
DDC: OK, but promise me one thing...
WD: If it involves bodily contact I am going to scream.
DDC: No. No! Just, this summer, can you predict lots of rain?

QUEST FOR COMPENSATION DIES BEFORE IT EVEN STARTS

2006-02-17T16:29:00.000+10:30

Athletes in fury as offhand comments spoil promising compensation chance

With the increasing number of injuries on the luge in the Torino Winter Olympics a number of athletes had their hopes of compensation ruined at the hands of the British medical team.

Lugelist Anne Abernethy had been quoted as saying that the design of the course may be at fault and was secretly aranging a group claim against the ruling body of the games, the IOC, earlier today. However, this evening she was quoted as saying that she was "bloody furious" at allegations made by the British medical team officer, Dr. Richard Brudgett. She added that the eminent medic "knew little of the sport" and was "a bit of an arse all-round".

The row centers around a claim made in yesterdays Guardian. The doctor made this statement;

"Certainly one of the responsibilities of the doctors involved is just to make it as safe as we possibly can." Then he adds, dryly, "though we are limited by the fact that they're hurtling down a tube of ice."

Sources close to Abernethy were quoted as saying that though she enjoyed the witty British sense of humour she thought the doctor concerned might want to try the event before dismissing it as "Inherently dangerous".

WHAT IS THIS SHIT?

2006-02-16T16:23:00.000+10:30

"What is this shit," asked the guy behind the table. Part of a panel of experts, it seems.

The dishevelled man in front of them answered, "Well, I was hoping that you could tell me that."

The wizzened expect looked at the item in the box. "I certainly don't see one like this every day. You must have had a few late nights recently, eh?" Without waiting for an answer he plunged straight on. "The colouration is extremely odd. It has something of guinness to it, yet also something of red wine to it. Let me ask you a question young man; did you have any difficulties producing this? Usually, examples of this kind can take extreme ammounts of time and effort."

The dishevelled man sank lower into his brown and white striped shirt. "It couldn't have been easier, sir."

A younger, fatter expert asked, "and this is the whole batch and not just a section, I assume?"

"Yes, sir."

"And can you account for it's oddities? Given the details one might expect a thinner, more watery one."

"Yes sir, i know. All I can say is that I have been working out quite a bit, and maybe that had had some impact on matters." He scrtached his head. "Does that mean you'll take it off my hands?"

The wizzened man laughed and said, "why no, my dear fellow. Why would we want it? No, no. We just like to see these things from time to time. FLush itdown the toilet for all I care."

DIARY OF A DOG CHOPPER

2006-02-15T12:00:00.000+10:30

Another dip into the the life and times of a dog surgeon in a strange place:

I mentioned the new bindings that I got for my board, but neglected the rather odd circumstances under which I bought them. Imagine if you will:

A bunch of rice fields with a snowboarding / skateboarding shop in the middle.You imagine that this place must have incredible customer loyalty to survive being, as it is, no-where near anything, least of all a place where you can find slopes or snow.

You get not quite a sneer from the the guy who owns the place, as you have been before, bought nothing but taken lots of his time. He is dealing with other customers. He has just flogged a board for about 700 dollars.

You pick up a binding. It has no price on it. You go to fetch your boots from the car to see if they fit the bindings. The woman in the shop comes over to "help". She says, "Wow. Your boots don't have laces, they have a kind of pulley system." You look around the shop, spot the same kind of stuff all over the place and mentally note the fact that the woman knows fuck all about snowboarding gear.

You discover the one you are trying is the most expensive in the shop, if not the world. It costs more than you have in your pocket. You pick up another and end-up buying them.

The owner is suddenly all smiles and fifteen percent discounts. As usual with the locals, he is eager to speak English and alternates dishing up single words with the woman. The deal is done. He puts the bindings, expensive Burton ones, in a bag.

Now this is the crux of the story. This is not just a bag. Imagine the thing that your gran takes / took shopping. make it about three times as big. Make it bright red with the word "Burton" surounded by snowflakes on both sides. This thing is gloriously gaudy and fairly camp into the bargain. I kind of like these things, usually as presents for other people. I am now off-balance.

The guy says, "isn't it cute?" You are faced with a dilema: Do you take what he is saying at face value or assume that he is being sarcastic?

Let me fill you in on some of the details. The guy is about five foot ten with died blond hair and likes snowboarding. If he were American he would use words like "stoked". He drives a black van with stickers in the back window.

You hedge your bets and say, "Yep, you could take it down to Friendmart (the local supermarket monopoly) to do the shopping." You then spend the rest of the conversation trying to correct your mistake.

After this you don't take anything for granted. After falling through the middle of the last conversation you somehow manage to negotiate a trip boarding for free, so long as the trip is done in English.

Job's a good one.

YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS BUT...

2006-02-14T17:28:00.000+10:30

... but DDC has given up on the idea of saving up for and buying a car:

I'm just not sure I can make it pay, i.e. buy a car here, ship to the uk and sell after the tax watershed. I have added up the various variables and costs and taken them away from the difference between the prices in both countries and been left with not a great deal for my pains.

And in a completely unrelated, though geographically close, decision I have purchased a pair of boots and bindings for my snowboard. Now, my boardwear is good, my boots are baddass and my bindings no longer make cracking noises as I land my jumps. My board, however, is a different matter. It is not that far removed from a Roumanian orphanage floorboard. That's fine because I'm experimenting and falling off stuff a lot at the moment.

From falling off to falling out: I nearly got into a fight on Saturday when some guy slewed his board in front of me under the rope of the queue leading to the lift. Some phrases can transcend mere language and the guy, definitely a non-English speaker, caught my drift when I spoke the words, "What do you think you're doing, ou incredible fucking twat?" He squared-up quick smart, and squared back down fairly quickly when he saw the murder in my eyes.

When i mentioned this to another boarding buddy, he said he'd been pretty riled-up to, which came as a shock because he's generally much calmer than me. It emerged that he'd lost a turn avoiding beginners and ended-up stuck in a hollow. Then, just when he had got going again a dog jumped out from behind a tree and scared the shit out of him. Not what you need when you are finely balanced on a plank hurtling down a hill. Once he was back up again the dog started chasing him down the hill.

I could see his point, bearing in mind my speciality and the nature of the snowboard: It is basically a wooden butter-knife with a sharp metal rim. Ah well, there goes the chance for another cryptic post.

Edit:

I forgot to mention the best part. The second time he found he dog he had to maintain his honour with a snowball barrage. After that he slid off to make a jump and found his hands full of yellow snow.

Martha's Letter

2006-02-13T23:38:00.000+10:30

Dear ~~Useless piece of skin hanging off the end of a penis~~ SAV:

[censored due to foul lanuage and possibility of upsetting fragile women]

Sincerely Yours,

Martha

What gets me about Martha is she thought I would copy her letter for all to see. You won't be gettin' that Pleasure now. Will you?

Martha, if you don't want your "loving Stuart" to "bond" with me, why you be sendin' him around to visit every three days when you have your "women-born-women (only) scrap-booking sessions"? You think we haven't snuck around to see what kind of "books" you are makin'?

Martha, you might fool most of your "friends" but I ain't your friend, I'm Stuart's brother (and I ain't his friend, either) so you don't fool me.

And yes, Martha, you are right (as always, yes?): the only reason I nurtured (if that's the right bloody word) a "friendship" with you was to get you to buy all of your stationary supplies from my business. Thanks to that, I'm now the top sales person in the state and third top in the nation. Not only did I get your business, I'm now supplyin' your competitors (who have many more classes AND students, I might wish to ad) business and there ain't no lookin' back from here.

Martha, any more threats like the ones in your letter (which the police now have, bitch) and I'll expose all of your "circle of friends". You were so dumb you actually thought the stereo speakers I gave you were a gift. Shit, Martha, they also contain cameras and mikes which feed into your wireless network (unnoticed by you, bitch) and direct your "classes" directly to a server in Taiwan.

Martha, if that information on that server gets to the right people you won't ever need to threaten me again.

Sucking Asshole Venom?
Maybe.

ODE TO WEATHER, DUDE

2006-02-09T16:35:00.000+10:30

DDC loves the weather, dude:

Or maye he likes the weather dude.

Of smiling face that masks the truth
With jaunty air or tragic fashion,
Of she with vacuous bosom
and skirt-suit in bright colours
My joy to your duplicity oweing,
Said he, "the morrow will be fine"
To my delight, it's still snowing

But why do you like the weather, dude?

Though warmth doth spring from the sun
Fine weather was a traditional happy time,
for football, cricket and swimming
My second joy, the barbeque is nothing
My lazy, drunken ennui
folds beneath the prospect, dear
of snowboarding in Fukui

This Saturdy will be the 11th time I have been this year, followed by 12th on Sunday. The reason I love the weather guys so much at the moment is the fact that every time they have said it will be sunny, the whole region has had a dumping of about ten centimters of snow. For those of you who do not know what fresh snow means, in real terms, here you are:

Crisp, flat unused sheets,
Those once used cannot compete
A glassy wing to sprint is good
Not much speed in sprinting mud
The simple joy of wine,
when drunken warm is not so fine
Used land is no worry for me,
yet I like new teritory
In bad weather, most beware
For myself, I do not care

Apologies to any poets out there, I'm just killing time 'til I can go home today.

DR DC WOULD LIKE TO SAY....

2006-02-08T10:32:00.000+10:30

...sorry.

I'd like to say sorry to all those people who used to read this, to those people who have collaborated and even those who have criticised.

I'd like to say sorry to all those people from Thailand and the Phillipines who seemingly make up a big proportion of the stats. All those guys who keep clicking the "next blog" button and wondering if you should be clicking the "flag" button next to it.

Of those of you chance visitors, those of you who stumble though, you fundamentalist Christian bloggers have been the most let down. What you see when you read this I cannot know, but it must be fairly terrifying. For all those times you are so certain, so am I, though about different things.

So, sorry guys.

You say that again and I'll eat your shoes

2006-02-03T18:56:00.000+10:30

They know about this blog

2006-02-02T21:26:00.000+10:30

Dear ~~Asshole who was my fried~~SAV:
This blogg thing of yours is anti-God trash. It is the kind of thing that leads to homohomosexuality. It is the same kind of thing that leads to God punishing us all. Look at the world around us: hate has feeled the world, God is punishing us his little children. And this blogg thing of yours is right up their with the haters of honest, God-feering Americans. You will burn in hail for this. The bible tells me so.

And the worst bit, SAV? I told you about worries about my loving wife Martha and you go and make it sound dirty. That was for you and me, man two man, to share to help us bond in these troubled times. And what did you do? You told the whole world about my loving Martha sticking things up me.

I am ashamed I thought I could trust you as my friends. Please never contact my again.

Stuart
PS I've shown Martha this blogg thing of yours and you are in trouble, man ho man are you in trouble.

Savaged Anal Vagina?

HOW TO FILL FIVE MINUTES TO A LIFETIME

2006-02-01T17:13:00.000+10:30

This happened to a friend of mine:

Time to spare - might as well toss a coin as much as stand idle. There it goes. I'd never noticed the ringing noise it makes. Is it just this coin, or do they all do it?

As I expected, there is a technique, a method for getting a ring. The posion on the finger just so, the thumb has to strike here for the best sound. Up she goes with a noise like a tubular bell. Now can I catch it cleanly?

Once again, and I hope I don't get caught coz I don't want to explain what I am doing to another adult. Nice high one this time and back down it comes with a slap into the palm and the satisfaction of a coin well tossed. And another, careful, a bit close that time. Though it made a noise like an angry wasp as it went past my ear. Let's try that one again.

Up it goes, watch it carefully as it sails up and down. I wouldn't want to tell anyone I bruised my face tossing a coin. Not close enough, I didn't get it close enough to my ear. One more, that's right, enough revs and a good path. Just one more before they come.

Off she goes and, oh fuck! It's hit the fluorescent tube. It has shattered and I am looking up as the pieces are coming down. There goes my left eye, and the other just now. How I will be able to look my friends in the face after this, I just don't know.

Rhythems of the mind

2006-01-31T15:52:00.000+10:30

Like pain, like feeling returning after being plunged into ice then hot bleach then salt. Like lemon juice on scratched retina with missing eyelids. Like the worlds biggest Absinth hangover on the hottest day, with a presentation to make to the board. Like clawing your way out from under a blackboard covered in rubble and all I want to do is scream like an animal with it's nipples caught on the electric fence but I can't because that would be loosing.

There has to be a way out but can I make it before I start blazing away with a flame-thrower, destroying everything in my path, fucking people up both physically and emotionally, with the finesse of an athlete in the zone but there is only room for one person in the zone now. Fuck off out of my way.

Come over so I can smack you

2006-01-28T20:59:00.000+10:30

"Stuart, you were very naught during class this morning. You made me look bad, not having all 18 of the desks assembled with the coorect working kits on each. Come over here, you naught boy. Now take your pants down, yes, that's right, show momma your frilly underwear. That's better, Stuart, now on your knees. Show momma your big, beautiful bottom. Back this way a bit, Stuart. Further. Further. Further. Further."

"Shut up, Stuart, your cries mean nothing but noise. I told you, you made momma look bad. Stuart, back down, back down, good boy."

Stuttering Another Verse?

Nuh.

DDC GET'S A MOUTHFUL

2006-01-27T09:11:00.000+10:30

DDC got absolutely reamed out by Mrs. DC the other night:

"Fuck me!" I said, "That woman is fucking brilliant!" The plant died, the cat had to leave the room and TV exploded. All this under the influence of Mrs. DogChop, who was getting frosty. Her mood swept the room like a cold glacier, but not as slow nor as prettily. Neither did it afford opportunities for winter sports.

I was asked to say exactly what I had meant by my little outburst. I concluded that she wasn't happy with something. I had probably been a male chauvanist pig or some other kind of eighties thrwoback. "She is brilliant," I said. "She thought on her feet and put that guy in his place in short order. She has a remarkable vocabulary and her timing is perfect." I gave her a meak smile. "What's wrong with saying that?"

She sighed and said, "It is an opinion, I suppose. If you can't see what's wrong with it then there is nothing to talk about." Her foot began to tap.

"You could try telling me."

"No, you blokes, you're all the same. You only care about conversation. What about all those women out there who can't do it? People who can't make themselves sound good. What have you got to offer them?" The glacier was fast turning into an avalanche, though only in a metaphorical sense, you realise.

I shrugged my shoulders. "There are things you can do, like reading good books and learning conversational gambits." I got no further.

"I suppose you think all women should aspire to be good conversationalists? For the boys? Trot out some interesting asides for the lads to guffaw over? Why should women do that for you?"

Another sigh, this time from me. "I'm not saying they should do it for me, or even that they should do it at all. I'm just saying I like it when I see it."

"I can't believe I married someone like you." She almost spat that out.

"I can't help what I like. Would it be better if I said I liked fuckwits?"

"I hate you."

THE FOLLOWING STEPS ARE TO BE FOLLOWED WHEN A CHILD IS BEING NOISY

2006-01-26T11:53:00.000+10:30

DDC has the following advice for those caring for children:

You may leave the programme at any stage if the child becomes pacified.

Make eye contact.
Make your attention plain by using the name(s) of the kunder involved.
Raise your voice, or use your serious voice. Make it plain that you are not amused.
Scold the child.
Stop whatever is happening and make it clear nothing will procede until the poor behaviour stops.
Separate out one individual and make an example of them by selotaping them to a chair, whilst telling other students that somthing similar will happen to them if they err similarly.
Put on a wig and tell the child they are being punished so that other will not follow their example, whilst whaling the shit out of them with a stick.
Lock them in the cellar to live in their own excrement for a week.

No, it's true. They teach it in my local town. Look!

Just so you don't forget.

2006-01-21T21:11:00.000+10:30

Ya can call me SAV for now. Later, when ya know, ya can call me by my name. First ya need to know about Martha. And Stuart, Martha's "partner". She makes him grow hair down almost to his waist. She's butch, ya see. They got bashed for being a couple a pooftas a late last century. Now, she makes him grow hair down almost to his waist. 'Cept now when he's out by himself he gets bashed for being a single poofta. And she for being dykie. But that don't matta here, for now anyways.

Martha does them fancy scrap-bookin' classes in the garage. They got tables set up. They got craft stuff like scissors (regular and scalloped), glues (gallons and gallons in 6 different types), glitter, paper, hole-punches (4 sizes, 3 designs), stickers, rubber stamps, bull-dog clips, page-protectors, stamp-pads with re-inkers in 7 colors, 144 premium set of pastels, hair-spray (for settin' pastels), magic-markers, airplane boarding passes (18 total), thumb-tacks, push-pins, and reams and reams and reams of recycled paper. They got mirrors anchored everywhere, so as the class can see Martha scrappin'. They got chairs. They got 18 individual desks and they got 18 individual chairs. They got a laminator in one corner. They got a barber's chair in another. They got a hoist attached to a RSJ. They got glue-guns. At least they look like glue-guns. Maybe spak-filla guns. Don't seem to get hard though just melts like butter but white and all.

Stuart does the assistin'. Does everything Martha instructs. He'd want to. He knows what the barber's chair's for.

Slippery And Vociferous?

Nuh.

I'LL WRING HIS NECK FOR HIM

2006-01-20T11:50:00.000+10:30

DDC isn't happy:

I went to the garage a few months back to see why my windscreen washer wasn't working. The guy had a bit of a look and said that the pumps needed replacing because they had both failed. I said, "what, both at the same time?"

He said yes and told me it was going to cost about fifty quid and take up to two weeks for the parts to arrive. I thought, "Well, on the one hand there is a safety issue and I shouldn't endanger myself and other road users by opperating a dangerous diesel monster without a good view. On the other hand I don't use them much and I can just pour water out of the sun-roof if it gets too bad."

The months rolled by and I still hadn't got round to sorting it out. In the recent heavy snow-fall that has swept the country I managed to go boarding a few times and got salt all over the car. I come to try the rear windscreen washer and Lo! All of a sudden the thing is working again without needing a cash infusion. My guess - the wiring in the car is a bit dodgy. This is an occasional problem associated with old cars, especially ones that have done enough miles to go round the globe a few times.

Two things struck me as I went past the garage the other night. One was that I should think again before buying an old car, even if it is a diesel with a steel timing belt. the engine is fine, it is just all the other bits around it that are knocking on heavens door. I am still undecided about nissan cars. I am grudgingly respectful that the thing is still moving after all these years but I am a little upset that the build quality applied to the engine didn't extend to the rest of the car.

The second thing that struck me was a need for revenge on the garagee. The man was either negligent or lying. I am still tossing around ideas but I am leaning towards something involving a poster / flyer campaign twinned with some clandestine fish secretion. Any helpful suggestions in the comments section below, please.

HERE'S WHAT SHARON HAD TO SAY ON THE MATTER

2006-01-19T09:11:00.000+10:30

More sordid married life as told by Sharon, as related by DDC:

"Ah think ah know the ones yer mean. Thin-ish lookin' woman wi' roots showin'? Biggish bloke wi' patches on 'is elbows an' shoulders?"

"The' were in the other day. It were like ye' said wi' me too. The woman 'ad one of them faces like a slapped arse. 'air stretched tight ter stop 'er face puckerin' into an arsehole. The bloke dint look much 'appier though 'e din't look like a bad sort. Not like your Jason with his misis."

"The' come through an' ah sends it through. Ther' were an awful lot of these "vegetarian alternatives" that the' reckon taste the same as meat, though 'ow the'r' supposed to know is beyond me. Anyway, last thing through the bloke sends down some of them batteries the' put in radios and suchlike. When the' get down to the wife she asks what the'r' for."

"He sez the're fer the bunny. She asks what bunny and he sez, oh no, it's not a bunny is it? Then he turns to me and sez "what der yer call them," ah can't do them posh accents, "big expensive vibraters, like what they had on Sex An The City?" Before ah can speak he turns back and sez to the wife 'It's a rabbit, innit?'"

"She dunt say anythin' and keeps on packin'. Did you 'ear that? Ah said packin'!"

THIS IS WHAT TRACY HAD TO SAY ON THE MATTER

2006-01-18T09:11:00.000+10:30

This rather garbled message comes to you courtesy of DDC If you don't read the previous two you will not understand this third:

"Ah wuz bored out of me skull. Ah'd been on shift for about an hour when this couple comes along. The' looked normal enough but yer can't tell by lookin', eh?"

"So the're looking kind of endgy and yer can see the've bin at it hammer and tongues round the supermarket or somethin. It wer like mi mum and dad just before the' got divorced. Yer knew somethin were going on but yer didn't know what."

"The guy sez, 'what's it to be this week?" All posh, like. An she sez she doesn't know what he's talkin about. So he asks what she wants to reveal to the world this time and she sez no."

"So the' go ter opposite ends, he's loadin and she's puttin the stuff on the belt. I sends everthin through and last thing she asks fer a pack of Lanbert and Butler. Ah can see the guy sag, reflected in the screen on the till. She asks if it is like the bath and he says no, not this time."

"Weird, if you ask me."

HUSBAND AND WIFE #2

2006-01-17T09:11:00.000+10:30

I gotta, gotta, gotta tell yas all about the couple I saw again down the Supermarket:

She: Aren't you getting any magazines?
He: Nope, there's nothing I fancy the look of today.
She: No car magazines for the stack beside the bed?
He: No, not today.
She: No porn mags to hide imbetween?
He: Haha! er.
She: Is this like the "bath issue"?
He: Yes, I think so. Maybe. Thanks for bringing it up in the queue for the tills.
She: I'm not angry. I think it is kind of cute, in an adolescent way.
He: Which means you don't think it is kind of cute in an adult way.
She: No.
He: Point taken.