Radio Goo Goo

Have a listen - its terrific

http://haroldsatticradio.mypodcast.com/

Mon Spanked The Gay Out Of Me

Insane mutha fuckin shit people - check it

Rick Astley

.........and this

Trigger Happy

When this came out first I thought this was so freakin funny.

Lego Stephen Hawking

Fidel Castro Resigns

Fidel Castro resigned his position as Cuban president today but this was not due to his ailing health, with his brother Raul continuing to run the country this will allow Castro to pursue his first love - music. His first realeases were with RUN-DMC in the late 80's and early 90's, [which included the hits "street street street" and "on my corner". His gritty street style of rap brought him fans across the globe, he will be working on a new solo album and says he has high hopes of a European Tour.

4n1m4t3d wishes you all the best Fidel.

Ade

Ade23
Uploaded by nemici

Truffle Shuffle

Our Antipodean friends

So as I trawled through the world of internet television, I was flicking through some video content, one of the pieces was about an Australian girl, who got into smoking marijuana and it became an addiction, she woke up, did a bong, got up had a coffee and smoked a blunt at the kitchen table, then met up with her hippie friends and drove to someone's house and smoked until she came home at midnight. She continued to do this until one day she heard a voice telling her to jump out the window, then another few voices telling her to do all sorts of crazy, religious and dangerous things. She had developed schizophrenia. The girl checked herself into a mental hospital that deals specially with cases involving severe aural and visual hallucinations brought on by psychotropic drugs and where the average stay is 3 weeks. She was there for 6 months. Possibly because she was crazier than a shithouse rat, and the drug was the trigger for her mental breakdown. Or it was because she simply did smoke too much. I watched in horror as her life fell apart and she couldn’t even walk down the street as the buildings closed in and her father (in her mind) worked for the CIA and was going to have her "taken care of". I left the programme as I had decided to continue to apply myself to the project I had been working on the previous day, the complete ransacking, tidying and clearing out of my "office". So as I drew the task to a close, I found a small bag of grass on the table under my keyboard. Instead of immediately thinking of my Australian hemp smoking pseudo artiste friend, I plunged headlong into construction of a powerful mind altering joint. Having 12 personalities was low on my list of importance as I scanned the desk for a lighter and lit the top of the perfectly made cone. I sat for a moment allowing the smoke to fill my lungs and my mind to slowly empty of coherent thought as my body slipped into the chair. Quiet filled the room and sun shone in the window. For a few seconds I had complete relaxation, but my moment of peace, serenity and utter abandon was shattered almost immediately with the sound of a posh English voice filling the room, "are you going to paass that or must i have to aaask". I must have frozen in my chair for what seemed like an age and then slowly swivelled to face the voice. A well dressed middle aged man with a thin ginger moustache and a wide brimmed hat sat cross-legged on the couch facing me, his left foot bobbing up and down and his highly polished shoe dangling from his toes. I gazed down at my hand. The joint had gone out. I lit it again and leaned forward towards the man and extended my fingers towards him. He plucked the joint from my hand. "Splendid" he cooed. There was a long pause. "Hallucination" I finally replied. He reclined in the seat and moved the hat back onto the crown of his head, the joint pointing upwards from his thin fingers. "Well dear boy, I wouldn’t normally be an advocate of it, but you should have listened to the bloody Australians"

John Hughes, heed our call

For a while now I've been feeling that something has been missing from my life, a gaping hole where something warm and fulfilling should be. Couldn't put my finger on it for the longest time, until it came to me in a flash. John Hughes . . . . . where has he gone, why has he left us? The man hasn't directed a film since 1991, why is that? Has the creative well run dry?

He is still writing screenplays, it seems, but, by God, they are rubbish. What could have happened? Weird Science, Ferris Bueller . . . . how those films enriched my teenage years, providing me with much mirth and quotable dialogue when my underdeveloped conversational skills were lacking. I hope that he is not all washed up, that he can provide those that have grown up with him another masterpiece. Perhaps a vehicle for the greatest living comedian, Will Ferrell. Now that would be something - Hughes, heed this call. I command thee! Otherwise the world will be an emptier place.

The terrible shit stand off

Friends, I come to you in terrible times. What should have been a happy day has sadly taken a turn for the worst. I must lay bare before you - my "cubicle shit phobia". Cubicle shit phobia, a terrible affliction, suffered by many but spoken by few. Likened to anal warts, terribly painful but ultimately curable - but I digress.

I will start at the beginning. It all starts with dental hygiene, I decided that gum after each meal would keep my teeth free of food and my breadth minty fresh, so I bought myself a couple of boxes of chewing gum, you know the kind, flip top box and 50 pieces approx.

So with my new found dental hygiene plan firmly in place I set about chewing for all I was worth. But then it started to take over, it wasn't just after meals, it was after, tea, water, snacks, then it just became all the time. With all this chewing I was becoming unwell, my stomach was churning and I found myself with a severe belly ache. So I decided to read the chewing gum packet and to my complete horror and surprise - I find the following warning in tiny letters emblazoned on the underside of the box. "excessive consumption may produce laxative effects".

By the time I had read the sentence it was becoming unbearable, I rushed forward from the cubicle but keeping my paces to a minimum so as not to draw too much attention to my ever worsening condition. I walked through the hall to the "unused" toilet in order that I could relieve myself from the awful aching. I swung the door open and to my surprise, the two cubicle toilet had an engaged sign on one of the doors. My phobia, started to kick in, I mean the manly pursuit of shitting is all very well, why I can piss like a racehorse standing at a urinal but I cannot, I dare not, unload the watery chewing gum fuelled contents of my bowels while another gent, who's shiny shoes poked under the corner of the cheap wooden door.

And so it began......the terrible shit stand off. Dead silence less the drip drop of the tap. Not a movement from either man. My face grimaced, beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. This man was made of steel. "Oh god he could have a paper" I thought to myself. What if he has some sort of novel in there. I stared down at my shoes. The pain becoming unbearable. I would have to leave. There was another toilet at the other end of the building, but would I make it ? Suddenly as I was about to seize my pants and make a dash for it I heard it.......the slow recognisable tug of toilet roll. He was finished. This was it. I dreamed of bidets, waterfalls, andrex puppies, emptiness. I heard a belt buckle being fastened and a loud flush. Then water and soap and the whoosh of a hand dryer.

I waited, the door opened. My only fear now was the double pass, he would leave and someone else would enter, this surely would be my downfall. The door slammed shut.

Moments later my grimace turned slowly to a smile and my groans became a relieved sob, the sweat on my brow was replaced by a small tear from the corner of my eye. I sat for a moment in some sort of faeces induced nirvana.

The terrible shit stand off was finally over.