Guardian: 'Pregnant man' gives birth to baby girl
The Guardian should be ashamed of itself with its punctuation: that this person was pregnant cannot be doubted, whether they are a man most certainly can be. The headline should read:
Pregnant 'man' gives birth to baby girl
Or, more accurately:
Pregnant transsexual gives birth to baby girl
(No need for disclaimer quotes at all, you see.)
What on Earth is the point of fried tomatoes?
Seriously. You take a perfectly nice fruit like a tomato, you cook it until it's a gooey mess, then you dump it on top of your breakfast so the juice and seeds flow all over the place and make your toast all soggy.
All you're left with is a tough, leathery skin with a few clumps of flesh hanging to the underside. And, if you are stupid enough to pop it into your mouth, you immediately scorch your tongue and end up speaking with a lisp for the rest of the day.
A cheese and tomato sandwich is a wonderful thing. A freshly plucked tomato still warm from the greenhouse is a one of life's great pleasures—especially if eaten. But fried tomatoes are seriously overrated.
Give me a baked bean any day of the week.
Forgot to mention: when I was at the Radiohead gig the other week, I went to powder my nose before the show, only to be confronted by the sight of several men standing at urinals drinking beer whilst pissing.
And women have the nerve to say we're no good at multi-tasking.
Many, many years ago, Hitchin and I sat in his flat in London, playing the following Alexei Sayle sketch over and over again on his VCR. It was from Alexei's TV series Stuff—which was rather appropriate, as that was exactly what kept coming out of our noses.
You had to be there, I suppose.
Jen and I spent the morning rounding up cows with our farmer friend.
At one point, I found myself walking along a track, talking with the farmer's four-year-old grandson:
Farmer's grandson: [Waving blue drain-rod around his head] I've got a walking-stick!
Me: That's not really a walking-stick. Do you know what it's really for?
Farmer's grandson: Hitting cows with.
I must say, he's a very observant young lad.
True story: I heard someone refer to 'the Prime Minister' on the radio yesterday, and I suddenly went blank. For a whole 15 seconds or so, I couldn't remember who the Prime Minister was.
Jesus! It's finally come to this, I thought.
But, reflecting on it afterwards, I think this little tale says more about Gordon Brown than it does about me.
At least I hope it bloody well does.
Managed to get a photo of Stense's fanny with my 300mm zoom lens this afternoon.
Writing this from my parents' house, so don't have the wherewithall to publish the photo from here, but watch this space…
More photos from yesterday's 2008 Open practice round here.
[P]rior to the nineteen-twenties, history was not even aware of the non-existence of ley lines as they had yet to be identified and named as such
Yes, Fitz (the tosser) is back with his freshly relaunched blog, Fitzroy's Red Lion Corner…. His early posts include the one cited above about ley lines (which contains some startling revelations about the unremarkable alignments of Beaverbrooks stores in South East England), and some links to some truly remarkable videos of his own making.
In the unlikely event that you have nothing better to do, why not go over there and taunt him?
Ann and Bill just sent me the following:
For the record, I was trying to look like Little Steven at the time. I don't usually dress like that.
Honestly.
A very big thank you indeed to the Gruts reader (you know who you are) who has just sent me George Johnson's The Ten Most Beautiful Experiments from my Amazon wish list. Much appreciated—although you really shouldn't have.
Just imagine my disappointment, however, on flicking through the book, to discover that the hatescope had somehow been overlooked.
Story of my life.
A horsey woman rode past our house the other evening. You get quite a lot of them round here. Either that, or it's the same one going round and round again. To be honest, it's hard to tell because:
- they like to look down on you from their horses, but I'm damned if I'm going to give them the satisfaction of looking up at them
- if you do sneak a sly glance, they all look the bloody same: jodphurs, funny teeth, plaited hair, pokers up their bottoms
I must admit, I find this women riding round on horses malarkey a bit distasteful. In the olden days, people rode horses to get to other places. Fair enough, I'll have that. But we've got cars nowadays; what possible reason could they have for riding around on top of a huge horse? I think it's rather sordid.
And, if they're just doing it for a bit of fun, why do they look so utterly bloody miserable all of the time?
BBC: Vorderman 'forced' to quit quiz
Presenter Carol Vorderman felt forced to leave Channel 4 quiz show Countdown after she was told to take a 90% pay cut, her manager has claimed.
As ever, Carol did the maths.
You should see Fitz's latest YouTube video:
For other hilarious YouTube, leg-related musical frivolity, see Ivor Cutler's Pickle Your Knees.
