Month: March 2012

A substandard Into Your Head podcast Blog or something from whenever.

The Australian music artiste Kylie Minogue said it best, I think, when she said “Cast not a clout for he for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee. And unless I’m greatly mistaken, thee are a “she”, not a “he”. So let’s be accurate here”.

In a way, I suppose we all have our own individual bells tolling for us. Mine is operated by the Hunchback of Notre Dame, who chimes it every twelve hours, or sometimes at pre-arranged extra times, from his majestic bell tower in Paris.

Of course it isn’t really his, but he does live there and therefore derives much personal enjoyment from his job. I’ve been trying to find some way of deducting this from his wages as “benefit in kind”, but alas to no avail.

I’ve always had a major problem with my avails. I think it’s because I’m not from a seafaring family. We have always preferred to travel by land, no matter what the consequences. This can be an awful nuisance when travelling overseas, as we have to drive along the ocean floor in a submarine, and we get seahorses and things all over the windscreen.

Not that I have anything against seahorses, you understand. It’s just that I’ve never appreciated their obsession with remaining wet all the time, while their land cousins are happy to run about in a dry wind and risk breaking their legs and being put down, all in the interests of having fun. That’s what’s missing from today’s exotic sea creatures, you know. No sense of fun.

Just yesterday I performed an (admittedly unrehearsed) trampoline act for a group of them at my local aquarium, and not one of them could be bothered even to applaud.

Not that I do these things for applause, you understand. No. I do them for money. I find that money is a much more liquid asset than recognition, and it comes in especially useful when you’re hungry. I prefer not to spend money. I consider that to be rather common and vulgar.

Instead I have joined a local barter system, where we exchange assets such as cash or chequebooks for other assets such as food and clothes. For example, I might have a collection of one Euro coins, which I would “barter” for a couple of pints of milk. It works much better than simply buying things.

You know, there’s a lot to be said for the way things used to be done. In the old days, if you wanted to light a fire you didn’t have to go out and buy matches. Instead you simply got a couple of old matchsticks and rubbed them together until they started to burn. Then you used the resulting heat to power a small portable matchstick factory  producing, at it’s peak, a couple of hundred boxes of matches a day.

Of course nowadays the politically correct anti smoking lobby is at the throats of the small matchstick producer. Many of us have had to diversify and instead of making fire we now convert our matchsticks into crude drawings and hangman games and the like.

But that’s not the point.

You are greatly mistaken if you think it is. Unless I’ve got this all wrong and you are right, in which case my humble apologies to you and to all of your family who must feel greatly humiliated. I really am most dreadfully awfully sorry for all of the pain and distress that I must have caused you.

Anyway, two cats break into a matchstick factory. One of the cats smells bacon and immediately hides behind the cafeteria door, because if there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s roasted pig.

The other cat notices a policeman nearby, who appears to be rather deviously roasting a pig on a spit, in order to scare into hiding any cats who might be trying to break in to the factory. This approach, which has been adopted by the police in recent years has of course got it’s advantages and disadvantages.

On one paw it prevents cats from going ahead with such robberies. On the other, it scares them into hiding so there is no chance of them being caught red-handed, not least because they don’t have hands.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, the end.

An IYH Podcast blog from 2012

If there’s one sentence by which I live my life, it is “Espedianta eluminum agraphobia”. I swear by it, and thereby cause quite a great deal of offence to those for whom it forms the basis of a religion.

Here in Ireland , it’s now once again illegal to blaspheme, because apparently god has a bit of a fragile ego and we don’t want to offend him. This legal thing though, is a bit of a problem.

Those of you who frequented my old websites will know that I once hired god to do an occasional article, and in it he made frequent references to his late son, Jesus Christ. Each time he did this, I had to issue a formal warning to him for taking his son’s name in vein. The people who write these laws really need to tighten things up a bit.

I recently had a go at writing some legislation, and it was surprisingly easy. I composed a flawless bill that, if passed, would outlaw the use of the symbol @ in inappropriate places, such as cinemas and night clubs. It was so easy I ended up adding one of my old “two cats walk into a bar” stories, from the pre-podcasting days, as section four, subsection three.

It stands very little chance of getting passed of course, since I am not a member of any legislative body. I’ve never held any great ambitions toward politics. I’d far rather continue in my current role as part time househusband, full time podcaster, or failing that become an astronaut.

I’ve always admired astronauts, with their ability to live for several months without going to the toilet. They put camels and llamas to shame. You wouldn’t see an astronaut going round with an unsightly hump on his back, yet they still get the job done.

That hunchback in Notre Dame feels the same way, I’m sure. Not that I’ve asked him. I really have no right to be putting words into people’s mouths, but on the other hand he can’t speak very well, and somebody has to act as interpreter. And since I have something to say, it may as well be me. So anyway, the hunchback of Notre Dame says “Hi”.

Personally I think the (now deceased) Australian guy who does that crocodile thing on the television, said it best when he said “Laugh not at those for whom the bell toll. It tolls for thee”. Well, I’d certainly go along with that. I’ve never found bells to be very funny at all. They just repeat the same old line over and over and over again, and we’re supposed to laugh every time.

It’s so repetitive. Anyway, two cats walk into a bar. One of them asks for a “Jesus is an asshole” cocktail, and promptly gets arrested for blasphemy. And quite rightly if you ask me. The other cat, on seeing his friend being dragged away in handcuffs, exclaims “Jesus Christ”, whereupon somebody taps him on the shoulder and whispers in the ear, “Yes, but if you don’t mind, it’s my day off and I’d rather not have the autograph hunters and things breathing down my neck. And if I have to do that loaves and fishes thing one more time, I swear to god I’ll kill myself, and not rise for at least five days. Besides, I still haven’t paid the fine for my last miracle, when I produced a couple of buckets of wine without the appropriate liquor licenses.

So the other cat replies, “Well, nice to meet you anyway. Can I buy you a damp spong- …oh..sorry. Didn’t mean to be insensitive”