The All New Adventures Of...

Go team

Sat, 19 Nov 2005 01:28:39 GMT

Steve has longer hair than usual. This shall be commented on. Not.

Uncle Quentin is back and rocks more than ever. More than Mick Jagger. But not Billy Bragg. No-one rocks more than the bard of Barking.

Uncle Quentin has undergone some radical changes since his last post. He's become a member of the Liberal Democrat party and has hardened his socialist outlook on life. He has certainly turned his hand to songwriting. He's now a "singer/songwriter" (hand action quote mark thingys). He was slightly over-amorous but has now settled down with a lovely hybrid.

Time for the word nourishment.

Farmers like cows. Cows do not like farmers. How do you reconcile these two things I hear you ask with baited breath possibly smelling of fish. We don't know but we like your style. It's funky.

Children in Need. What do they need? Limbs? Maybe they just need hair implants. Children are going bald faster than ever. It used to be that you didn't go bald until you were 40, but now - 10 year olds. Knackered. Look at the 60s. Mick Jagger and George Harrison et al, long hair. Kids these days have none at all. Buzzed off. With the razor. The question is - what has led to this phenomenon?

Let's start by thinking about this as A Team (not THE A Team, that would be silly, fool). As A Team we must consider many factors such as the pro's and con's of hair loss in relation to the younger generation. How has this hair loss affected British society up until the present day.

In todays modern culture hair has an important part to play. Uncle Quentin believes longer hair is beneficial to learning capacity. Why does he believe this? Let us look at our longer haired fellows.

Bill Bailey and Ross Noble and Noel Fielding (who has the best nose)*. This shows longer hair induces comedic... effects. Jonathon Ross shows how some types of hair can cause speech impediments. Peter Stringfellow shows how hair can turn you into a randy old man. Mick Jagger. George Harrison. Roger Daltry*. These show that long hair can induce good music. However, Billy Bragg and Mr Robert Dylan and Joe Strummer (and more and's) had short hair showing that good music can be created regardless of hair length therefore this point is completely irrelevant.

Are these people good role models? If you are Mick Jagger, George Harrison and Roger Daltry you will turn into a large-lipped-hindu-loving-quite-violent men but if you are Bob Dylan, Billy Bragg and Joe Strummer you will turn into a highly left wing big-nosed-punk who likes to play folk music. Neither of these seem particularly pleasing as role models. Therefore this point is also irrelevant.

So what have we concluded about long hair? We have concluded that cool people have long hair. To the same token, some people with short hair are also cool. This means that we are all cool in our own way regardless of hair length. Skinheads have not been taken into account.

The end.

Have a hat to hide your lack of hair, baldy.

PS stands for Please Stand. This is irrelevant to previous topics of conversation and therefore must be struck from the register even though this could have made an important and interesting topic of conversation which would raise many interesting points.

The second conclusion is that Steve shouldn't poke Emma with empty bottles.

*And possibly Steve, although this is up for debate.

Tue, 27 Apr 2004 11:42:36 GMT

Bzzzzzzz undergraduate prospectus for Liverpool 2004..... guess who's planning on going back to his home town! But seriously...

A picture of the locusts is in the process of being found and then we shall write a comprehensive message. Now that we've found the picture this shall be a comprehensive message.

Comprehensive messhage = Umbilical chord - a baby playing an instrument on exit, possibly in the key of E. It tried to play an F barre chord with it's tiny baby finger but couldn't stretch far enough and played an E instead.

Terrorists are anyone with huge beards, possibly wearing balaclavas to disguise their hairy faces. These tend to be those of a middle eastern style as opposed to those of a Northern Irish upbringing who choose the more "lets pretend to be a real political party and then blow stuff up" approach. Imagine Liam Gallagher and his amazingly huge sideburns as a terrorist. This should be coupled with a partnership with Gaz Coombes, also of huge sideburn fame and all of the landed gentry around the 19th century who also had huge sideburns as a mark of their general rankage and ultimate hairy superiority.

Go go gadget von bondies only 3 days away!!!!!! Ha you all suck except you all that read this.

Thu, 22 Apr 2004 14:04:22 GMT

Welcome to the Team Quentin posh translator. 'ere we take posh words and general la-di-da terminology and turn it into how we normal people speak innit.

Garage = Car Hold A place to store your car
Pantry = Fridge House A place to keep your fridge and make wonderous culinary delights
Spiffing = Wikkid Cool A term describing something good
Cordially = A Throat Washer Warm and sincere
Cocktail = Snakebite (nothing else) A mix of drinks
Commoner = Tramp One of a common nature - often referring to those on council estates
Politics = Them From Poland The art of government
Mother = "Tracy" Parentage of the female variety
Father = Who? Parentage of the male variety... sometimes unknown
Polo = Mint A game played by posh people on horse back
Backhanders = What "Tracy" Gives Me Innit The art of taking money that has not been legally aquired
Bedford = Where I Sleep The Queen's back garden
Dictionary - Word Book A reference book by which words and their meanings can be discovered
Good = Bad Something that emphasises the positive
Trousers = Tracky Bottoms A piece of attire for your bottom half

In conclusion u iz da minga posse 'n' we iz da Quentin Massiv. 2 u we b demi-gods innit. Peace out, check yaz l8az. We b bad mofo innit.

Wed, 21 Apr 2004 14:15:20 GMT

The penultimate week before Team Quentin outing to see The Von Bondies has been fraught with excitement. We laughed at a fella who couldn't breathe.

The Plan: To tease ticket touts through repeatedly shouting 10 and seeing how far we can take the price down, then waving our tickets in their face menacingly and running away.

Also, to get slightly* drunk on a train and the aftermath of said journey. May or may not involve a public house.

*a lot.

Mon, 19 Apr 2004 10:55:35 GMT

Glasses help us to read, this is why when placing glasses on our faces we remember that books are often a pleasant passtime.

Monacles are a clever variation on glasses that help posh people to read out of one eye, possibly whilst winking.

Contact lenses are a way for people who feel glasses are foolish to pretend that they don't look foolish and gain a severe amount of red-eye therefore making them look constantly stoned.

Binoculars are useful for making things that are far away appear to be near. These can also be adapted for use at night with the aptly named "night-vision" setting, which allows mad people to see cats at night and stalkers to work more effectivly.

Pins are a particularly unpleasant thing to stick in your eyes as they would be quite painful once applied. They do however serve the purpose of being a handy torture technique, possibly to be used on people who have a similar likeness to rats.

RE: Internet, Milkmen, Lingerie, Monkey, Mutated Stickleback.

Wed, 07 Apr 2004 19:39:47 GMT

Being a 'hip' Uncle, he's 'down with the kids', he get's his 'groove on' every now and then, and he's exceedingly proud of his new found abilities to 'surf the web'. This doesn't stop him from being lonely though. No matter how many sixteen year old girls he talks to in such chatrooms as lycos chat, yahoo chat and even msn (when conversation has progressed so far that he feels the need to pass on his e-mail address), it never quite fulfills his desire, his hankering, for real love of a sexually explicit nature.... with a woman!

Spending so much time on the internet is not good for a person. It strains your eyes, strains your fingers, strains your neck and removes your people skills until you can't go out of your own home without trying to turn someone on and press their buttons... the list is endless.

Due to Uncle Quentin being a veritable hotbed of internet love he's finally felt the need to spread himself out among real people, those who live in the world of.... well, outside the house really. In order to reach his full masculine potential, shown up through years of neglect by staring at a computer monitor browsing the internet, Uncle Quentin has decided to become a milkman. Why a milkman? A number of reasons have led to this decision. Firstly, it was whilst browsing the internet that Uncle Quentin came across a website advertising for milkmen. This being what first grabbed his interest in becoming a man of dairy delivering fame. Secondly, Uncle Quentin realised he had the two main qualifications essential to milkmen (for that is the plural) world-wide. He had a license to drive! Like James Bond, only more milk. This Electrically Powered Vehicles license (EPV for short, milkmen are often illiterate but learning) was also coupled with his Phd in flattetorial techniques. Not to be confused with flatulence. These flattory skills were put to great use in the third reason why he decided to become a milkman. Months of internet based research led him to the conclusion that husbands tend to go out to work early in the morning. Whilst being common knowledge to you or I, you must remember he doesn't get out much. This would give him the opportunity to deliver milk to many a lonely housewife. He also figured that if 1 in 2 marriages were failing nowadays, according to an internet based survey he found whilst browsing the "Marie Claire" site for 'research on lingerie', his milkman-age duties could be most rewarding as the resulting divorce could lead to a re-marriage, this being the ultimate goal!

An exciting new job prospect for Uncle Quentin finally began all thanks to a boredom with the internet and a general annoyance with housewivesforyou.com, who claimed that whilst the ladies were ready to undress on camera, they were not willing to leave the Phillipines in the hope that a nice gentleman would meet them at the airport with a £10 note. Due to his new career move, Uncle Quentin bought himself a monkey to take with him on his rounds and he often got the monkey to ring the doorbell for him as he had lost his left hand in a nasty and bizarre boating accident involving a propeller, a fishing rod and 5 different forms of mutated stickleback.

The question is, did Uncle Quentin ever find himself a wife? This question may well be pondered in a later posting!

Or it may not, it really all depends on whether we forget, look for a site actually called housewivesforyou.com, or can't think of something appropriate.

Readers may note the inclusion of a monkey. This primate is in no way linked to Fez Monkey or any associate of said fez wearing monkey type thing.

Fri, 12 Mar 2004 12:01:17 GMT

Uncle Quentin and the ferocious talking pie story

Hail thy story of woe! The story of a man who must maketh a cruel desicion as to whether his best friend liveth... or dies! His best friend is a talking pie that goes by the name of Cedric! Cedric (it) was used in a experiment by a wise old wizard, namely Mustapha. O how Mustapha wished for himself a friend, little did he realise that he would create, through his magic, a pie powerful enough to take over the world!

Twas indeed a problem that perplexed Mustapha and his Hamlet, which was infact under village status, for some time. Cedric, the pie, was seemingly a pleasant young pie but soon became involved in the black arts *if televised, evil music to be played*.

Mustapha cleverely worked his way around the problem of Cedric joining the black arts group (held on a wednesday in hut number 2) by summoning, telepathically, Uncle Quentin from the nether regions of the globe (namely Birkenhead). Uncle Quentin was, at present, fighting an evil gang of scallies armed with matches on the Ford Estate (now renamed the Beechcroft estate. Fact!). Uncle Quentin quickly finished up his work by talking in his posh Berkshire accent and merely perplexing said scallies with his eloquent English, to which they all replied "dey do dough don't dey dough!" at which Uncle Quentin decided it was a lost cause and left them to continue burning houses and stealing cars.

Once summoned by Mustapha, Uncle Quentin arrived in a Volvo to the land known as Llanfierpwllgwynllgogerechwyndrobllllantsilioggochgochgoch in Wales, shortened to North Cardiff, twinned with South Wigston, during the war (may not be historically accurate). On arrival, Uncle Quentin traded in his posh Berkshire accent for a West Country accent and some Pirate get-up, all of which was happily supplied by Mustapha, stolen from the cast of the Pirates of Penzance!

With his new found accent and clothing, Uncle Quentin set about detaining the evil beast that has become said talking pie. His first port of call - the cutlery shop! Uncle Quentin purchased himself a knife, a fork and a spoon (only if there was desert). The second part of his plan was to arrange a meeting with the evil Cedric. It was a meeting of a David and Goliath type (with the pie being Goliath, just in case you weren't sure). Uncle Quentin took his knife in one hand and his fork in the other and proceeded to cut into Cedric. The berries with which Cedric had been baked poured out like blood (but it wasn't, just berry juice) and Uncle Quentin began to feast upon its nutritional goodness as he forgot to eat breakfast! The fight seemed to last an eternity, but with one final gulp, the beast was quelled. Uncle Quentin had his fill of pie, however, a rather unfortunate slap of congratulations on the back brought a somewhat digested Cedric out into the open for one final attempt to reclaim his crumbly pie type throne, namely a giant pie tin lined with gold, flour and a non stick base. This attempt was quickly foiled (excuse the pun) by Neil Browns, the local road sweeps, quick thinking. He saw the escape attempt made by Cedric and had the foresight to cover it with cat litter, hence neutralising Cedrics powers for a whole half an hour, allowing Mustapha to undo his secret spell that allowed Cedric to come to life in the first place. Regardless of this act, Uncle Quentin was the hero of the day (largely because Neil Brown was just someone we made up to fill up space). As is the way, Uncle Quentin's final speech gave us a moral to the whole story. Don't do drugs kids or else a giant pie will come and take over the world that can talk and reappear in someones sick. Don't mess with magic!

Fri, 12 Mar 2004 10:49:56 GMT

Thu, 11 Mar 2004 14:15:42 GMT

Jeffrey Archer! LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR

But seriously.... accelerate your mind, how can this be done in Southampton? By cutting open your head and adding super bouncy elastic to the sides and putting it on wheels. Steve is a big wanker (not public opinion - merely the musings of an overly turkish delighted Emma)!

Apparently it would seem that we have nothing to say today. I suppose comical observations would be funny. Sam's dinosaur Kinder Egg toy wants to eat my face (me being Emma). Aren't I the lucky one? Apparently it also sucks. And is crawling up my arm. And it spits. I think you can see where this is going.

RE: E Numbers

Wed, 10 Mar 2004 14:11:11 GMT

Milky and full of Calcium.

Chocolate these days contains many a gay innuendo. Everyone loves monkey sex! Monkye are great, sex is great so by logical conclusion GO GO GO MONKEY SEX!!!!

But seriously.
Chocolate these days contains many a gay innuendo. For instance: Fudge bars. To take an example from our rather eventful day (Baron Von Chickenpants fell over. Twas a sight to behold) [I just gained a Pot Noodle - Emma] a fudge bar was purchased [and eaten by me - Steve]. Pickles taste like they sound - green! Oranges are of a more orange variety as are apples just with a tint more greenage. Pies taste like the things they come in - pastry! Monkey sex rules the world!!!!!!!!!!!!! Kill Neil.

Moral of the Story - Tooty Fruities contain many E numbers and make Steve talk bollocks. Fin.

[Steve just put something in my hair. He's high. On E Numbers. - Emma]

RE: Various

Mon, 08 Mar 2004 14:48:29 GMT

bdfdfvsdfagnh... but seriously, are you a master of the Black Arts?

Effort = doing a shit in the morning. Special needs. Pushing round disableds (especially them fat ones. Lazy fuckers - do some excersise!).
Dictionary definition - The use of physical or mental energy to do something; exertion.

If a pork pie and a chicken pie had a fight, who would win? On one hand, there used to be Cock fighting. (Not the liberal version). This therefore gives the chicken pie a headstart. Pork pies contain pork. Which is a piggy type meat. And a piggy type pig could sit on the chicken. Gives them a headstart too. Therefore, they are both on the same level of headstarts.

Can pigs grow sideburns? Not namby pamby sort of sideburns, and to the same token, not Jane Austen type side burns. Which suck. To varying degrees. OH NO, sideburns that are 'wikkid cool', just like Steve's. Unlike Uncle Quentin, who was too namby pamby to have any at all. Apparently Steve's suit his face down to the ground. Only not in the literal sense. That would be silly. Maybe people should have sideburns that DO go down to the ground.

Milky bar buttons can be like little eyes. You could carve things into them. Like the Easter Island statues. As we speak, Steve looks like he's trying to poke his eye out. In fact, he's trying to see if he can see anything up his sleeve. The answer is: his fist. Now he's jammed a milky bar button down his sleeve and is trying to see if he can, perchance, see it. Answer: No, you can't. He still ate it though.

Carless is wearing a plastic cup on his head and dancing like a monkey. It was the best bit of our day. The important thing about this: he did it at Steve's command. Next time: shall be done waving pickles.

Munchkins live in Steve's wardrobe! Fortunately, rather than undernourished, small, disabled children, these turned out to merely be a jumper. Interesting, wasn't it?

Wine Guns. Imagine a wine gun. A gun that fires wine. Think of the stains. Wouldn't it be great though. For the discerning gentleman that only has two seconds to get pissed. Maybe even two tenths of a second, depending on how much of a rush they're in.

Crisps should be renamed. Chooglecrunchers. Uncle Quentin suggests that this will take off. In a similar way to renaming peas - Ground Spunk. (Steve suggested that one. He says he was merely musing on it, apparently. I don't believe him, myself).

Team Quentin will, one day, invest in three cats. Colin, Geoffrey, and Terry Wogan. Maybe a dog to terrorize them. Vinnie Jones. Or maybe not called Vinnie Jones. Maybe just a dog. With no name. [Untitled] the dog.

Steve doesn't believe he would make a good biscuit. Or a pirate. I, being Emma, happen to believe that he should just go into a remedial establishment now. He could hurt himself with the big plastic stick-type-thing he seems to have grown attached to in the past 20 mins. His request for placement is in Bristol. So he gains a West Country accent. (I, being Emma, Frown upon this idea. Stupidity in it's entirity)

WE HAVE AN IDEA (it's a rare occurance).

Seen as We, (Emma and Steve), are Uncle Quentin, we have decided that we are God. Or sharing a God-like status. A Semi-God each. Ish. Therefore, we need followers. To follow us wherever we may go. But not literally. That would be silly. Anyone wishing to join said groupage (namely - Team Quentin) this means you, Ratboy, should do the following:
1. Purchase one camera of the video variety.
2. Purchase one robe. Colour of your choice. Possibly white with a colour hem of your choosing. But not like The Polyphonic Spree.
3. Film oneself doing one of the following: Dance like a monkey with a plastic cup; Make a pie, filling of your choosing; terrorising old ladies with sticks; ressurrect the dead (must be dead for at least 4 weeks. We suggest this one highly). Mummification/pickling acceptable.

If you ressurect the dead, you are 100% assured of a promotion (Not a guarantee).

Alternatively, just give send us the completed application form.

THE MORAL OF THE STORY: Brown is the colour of poo. Unless it is infested with sweetcorn. And perhaps carrots, in which case, its more a yellowy/orangy colour.

(Mood may not be accurate)

Drunks and Gibbons

Fri, 05 Mar 2004 22:47:26 GMT

Emma:
drink?
Steve:
love one
Emma:
what perchance, is your tipple?
Steve:
drink anything really
Steve:
as long as it's not vodka or whisky I'm happy enough
Emma:
deal. its... stella. is that hunky dorey?
Steve:
sure. it'll do
Steve:
lager me up!
Emma:
lager lager lager
Steve:
I love lager - drink of the tramp
Emma:
haha
Steve:
I like it because its cheap and I never have money so that suits me down to the ground!
Emma:
we have looooooads
Steve:
Why am I a biscuit?
Emma:
haha. it was the best insult i ever heard, so i had to use it
Steve:
its not really much of an insult - more a crumbly compliment
Steve:
how am I to get hold of said stella?
Emma:
ah. therein lies the problem
Steve:
ohhhhhhhhh
Steve:
my hopes of another beer have been shattered
Steve:
well I suggest on the way to Von Bondies gig we begin drinking on yea train
Emma:
oooh. an excellent idea
Steve:
I don't care how early it is!
Steve:
as long as I'm not razzed for the gig - I will fix that situation afterwards
Emma:
yes. i am liking said idea
Steve:
very good
Emma:
damn this drink and my weak constitution
Steve:
only problem with drunkeness - hugs on demand
Steve:
problem arises with said tramps
Emma:
poor tramps
Steve:
they love it!
Emma:
im sure they do, doesnt stop me calling them poor though, for that is what they are
Steve:
very true
Steve:
however, a hug off a clean drunken man (being me) cheers them up no end
Steve:
and I get to laugh at their funny scraggly beards
Steve:
or their pet dogs - whichever they happen to have
Emma:
lol
Steve:
I like to think I'm a happy drunkard
Steve:
but who knows, maybe because when i'm not in a mood (which is most the time) I'm happy, I get real angry when drunk? who knows? ezcept me and all witnessed
Emma:
ha. well i would like to say i was a happy drunkard too. although it all depends on said walking abilities
Steve:
well I'm sure we will be able to lean on each other and that way 4 legs will become the equivalent of 2
Steve:
bagsy the right leg!!!!!
Emma:
damn you and your right leg
Steve:
well it'll include use of my left leg
Steve:
and possibly my arms and kness depending how much I have drunk
Emma:
arms good. knees not so
Steve:
well if I'm honest if I'm standing up it's difficult to use my arms to aid walking ability. My arms don't stretch that far!
Steve:
unless I was a gibbon! Then that would solve all my problems! I wouldn't need to wear trousers or anything, it'd be great!
Emma:
indeed it would. indeed it would. damn those gibbons. they dont get drunk that often though
Steve:
argh but thats only because they have a lack of breweries - I could bring them that amenity
Emma:
aha. quick thinking to save the gibbon race from...promiscuity
Steve:
or becoming nuns and monks
Emma:
i doubt they would fit the habits
Steve:
ah but they would sow them up to size
Steve:
using vines and needles from pine tree
Emma:
AHA. like little spinsters, sewing all day long

May include slight alterations, copying or public performance strictly prohibited.

Today

Fri, 05 Mar 2004 13:14:35 GMT

Team Quentin has just booked Von Bondie tickets. This took a surprisingly long time, as the female personage of the team is seemingly incapable of not fucking up with order forms. She clicks on buttons at the wrong time. It's like a spaz attack, only whilst filling in forms.

This is, so far, the highlight of the day for both members. I vote we make member cards. And a secret handshake. And a protection racket. For Baron Von Chickenpants.

How this works: We protect him from others. Others being Uncle Quentin. He pays us, we don't prod his kidneys, everything ends fairly and as it should.

Do you know drug dealers end lives? Rat on a rat. Call crimestoppers anonomously on 0800 555 111. However, do not call RE Uncle Quentin. We don't "sell" drugs. They were merely "resting" in our account.

Baron Von Chickenpants will soon be drinking floor polish. It gives all the symptoms of being dead. No pulse, no heartbeat, decomposition, however he is merely resting in a perpetual state of sweet smelling floors.

Standard size Co-op chicken pie-test. Featuring London Phone Box of the week

Wed, 03 Mar 2004 14:35:07 GMT

How many Co-op chicken pies 10 inch (standard size) can be fitted into a big red Telephone box (London stylee)?

Guesstimate = 1728

Where:
Pie Size: 10 in x 4 in with a height of 2 in
Box size: 3' 4'' x 3' 4'' x 8'

Therefore one layer of pies = 36 pies
If one layer = 36 pies and each pie is 2 in, in 1' (of height) 6 pies are fittable.

If the box is 8' high, 8 x 6 pies = 48 pies (in height).

With a square pie base (not to be confused with the squaring and pi-ing of numbers) of 36 pies and a height of 48 pies, the timesing of 36 and 48 will result in total pie fillage of said communicative boxal device.

36 x 48 = total number of pies in communicative boxal device = 1728 Co-op standard 10 inch chicken pies.

(This does not take into account actual pie or box size. Neither does it harm chickens. They are already dead and in said pie.)

IF ANYONE CAN SUPPLY DIMENSIONS OF PHONE BOX IN LONDON AND/OR STANDARD SIZE CO-OP CHICKEN PIE (VEGETARIAN FRIENDLY OPTIONAL) PLEASE WRITE TO THE EDITORS. THANK YOU FOR YOUR CO-OP(eration)

"Alas for that old chicken.
She shortly had to die;
The following day for dinner
We had a chicken-pie. "

- J. M. Cavaness.

RE: Fez Monkey and Ferret Face

Tue, 02 Mar 2004 23:11:46 GMT

As with anything involving characters, we decided to involve them somewhere in ye olde journal. What better place to start than where Old Man Fred and Baron Von Chickenpants both met their respective sidekicks, Ferret Face and Fez Monkey.

Baron Von Chickenpants
Baron Von Chickenpants met Fez Monkey in rather a more conventional way than you might first expect. Infact, Fez Monkey is much much more than just Baron Von Chickenpant's sidekick. That's right, Fez Monkey is the spawn of Baron Von Chickenpants! The major giveaway is the similarity in looks, the mass of fur over each one and most importantly, the very lengthy arms. Whilst Fez Monkey is the offspring of Baron Von Chickenpants, he did not know this (in a very similar way to Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader) as he was given away at birth to the evil circus ringmaster, AKA Jimmy Saville. (See Fig 1) and his minions, (see Fig 2)

Fig 1. Fig 2.

The ringmaster made Fez Monkey (or as he was known then, "monkey") wear a big red fez which gave him the name 'Fez Monkey'. In disgust, Fez Monkey stole an accordian, chose to keep the fez and went in search of his father. Fez Monkey and Baron Von Chickenpants both met at 'The Evil Dictators Convention 1993' where sidekicks go free of charge (Fez Monkey was hoping to join a super-villain). Baron Von Chickenpants spotted his amazing monkey type powers and hired him, only finding out later this was his long lost child. They have since attended father-son football matches.

Old Man Fred
Old Man Fred's story is very much different to the one of Baron Von Chickenpants. On discovering that the Mystic Hari Christnas (see Fig 3) had been resized to relatively minute proportions and rehoused in his beer can, Fred inadvertantly discovered that his hat had gained Magical Mystery Powers to aid his guardianship.

Fig 3

These magic qualities were first discovered when, searching for what few coins Fred had scraped together that day, he reached into the hat (not to be confused with the fez) and pulled out Ferret Face. Ferret Face was summoned to Fred by the Great God of Barnados, not only to help him protect the Christna's through whatever means possible, but also to help the Old Man raise funds through the act of passing around the Magical Mystery Hat. Together, Ferret Face and Old Man Fred have used the powers of the Magical Mystery Hat to guard the Hari Christnas and fight the forces of Baron Von Chickenpants.

Tardii, Tramps, Phrases and Elton John, Rats, Posters, Bananas

Tue, 02 Mar 2004 17:40:27 GMT

Is the plural of tardis, tardii?
And also, would a tardii (tarred-eye) be hard to see out of, because if your eye had been tarred, (tarred-eye), I would imagine it to contain at least a slight problem when trying to visualise objects, although it could have been worse, maybe turd eye whereby you can’t see anything but brown - therefore making things sepia.What about the tramps? Do they contract diseases that give them the squits, get splashback, then contract diseases that gives them a slightly brownish sepia vision?

Imagine the occupational hazards of a tramp!
Fleas, lice, squits, cholera, beards, being eaten by your own beard and/or Baron Von Chickenpants. Imagine being eaten by your own beard! Would it hurt, or would it just tickle? That is, after all, the question. If, by some strange coincidence, you happened to have a razor on your personage, would you be able to shave it (the beard) off while it was eating you? If you could, would it stop, because it was dead, or would it carry on eating you with its tiny beard mouth?

Phrases and Elton John
The phrase 'on your personage' is what the police say. “Do you have a knife on your personage?”, not that the police have ever said that to us, but that’s not the point. Speaking of pointing, Simon has a magic touch which enables him to break things. This begs the question, is he related, in some minute way, to Gandalf or unfortunately just Adman, who will one day make a great husband, possibly to Elton John.

Rats are funny.
Steve saw a rat in a village the other day. It popped out of its hole, ran around a bit and then popped back in. Alas t’was to be no ones animal companion. It would have required delousing. This is somewhat interesting as Delousing is a wicked cool ghetto in Reading. Its inhabitants are largely Funky Kids. They sit there and do funky wicked ghetto type things - like hardcore drugs, weasel popping and so on, as the Police would have you believe, God woot. Not mini gods (blasphemous), OH NO, THE God, Which might or might not woot. Depending on his mood. God woot that the funky kids would go around weasel popping. It’s a new funky fad that will take over Britain. West country accents are like the ghetto stylings of said funky kids who inhabit Delousing in Reading. “Am I bovvahed? No shut up, yeah but no but yeah”, as the funky kid type Jehovah’s witnesses would say, not to be confused with Jehovah’s bystanders or with the mystic society of Hari Christna's.

Posters placed in public conveniences.
“Oh, a Rat on a Rat poster, I’ll remember that now I’ve gone for a piss next to it”. Why put posters in public bogs? The only reason I can see is that if cleaners forget the bog roll, it’s a handy alternative and to pass the time, look for graffiti next to where the bog roll should be. Who’s with whom nowadays? Might as well keep up with the Ghetto gossip. 'Gary and Karen 4eva'. Next week Gary’ll be scrubbed out and replaced by Kevin, and so it continues, going round the cubicle wall.

Can you put a banana in your mouth sideways?
The curvature of your average banana is, say, between 180 and 260 degrees. Does this make it possible? Campinos, they’re like the funny sweets that taste of strawberry, and sometimes orange. So back to bananas, if the average curvature was whatever was just said, is it physically possible, or would you have to put it against your mouth and press it in the middle until it broke in two? And would that be considered a bending of the rules (bending of the banana)?

The beginning of a new era

Sat, 28 Feb 2004 00:36:00 GMT

Baron Von Chickenpants
This man is known as Baron Von Chickenpants though he has been known to go under the guise of a man named "Neil".



Baron Von Chickenpants' major flaw is his ridiculous hippie type hair. Although hard to see from his clever disguise, Baron Von Chickenpants seriously needs a haircut. Not only does the hair on his head need cutting, he does have a hairy face similar to that of a monkey, hence his other alias "monkey boy". He has a tendancy to either be incredibly angry or very understimulated. Both these symptoms can be treated by a simple sharp prod to the kidneys. One prod will either quell the anger of such a madman or will stimulate his otherwise very uneventful existence.

Fez Monkey (Baron Von Chickenpants' sidekick)
Known as Fez Monkey, also goes under the alias of "Tony".



Often seen about the town acting in a carefree yet reckless manner, Fez Monkey, the possesser of the Super Monkey Powers (much like the Power Ranges, only more fur) is sidekick to Baron Von Chickenpants. If Fez Monkey was farmyard poultry, he would be most likely choose to be a chicken. Failing that, a turkey.

Old Man Fred
Old Man Fred can often be seen hanging around town clutching his famous can of beer.



Few realise that whilst Old Man Fred seems to be little more than a grumpy drunk, he was inadvertantly chosen to be the mystic guardian of the shrunken Hari Christna's. His work first began when he chose to join in their dancing ceremony through the town streets and, for a reason unbeknown to Fred, the Christna's disappeared. On closer inspection Fred realised they had shrunk and were being rehoused in his beer can. To this day Fred still appears to be no more than an angry drunkard, little do people know he is merely protecting his Christna friends.

Ferret Face
Ferret Face is also known as "Frank" and is Old Man Fred's beloved best friend and helper to the safe keeping of the Hari Christna's.



Frank is often found helping Old Man Fred guard the sacred beer can around the back streets of the town. He has special ferret type powers which have allowed him to be trained as a cold blooded killer and will attack, on command, all who try and disturb the guarding of the Christna's. Not only does Frank serve as company and helper for Old Man Fred but he also helps him bring in money through the passing round of Fred's hobo hat, which serves the purpose of being a hat and also a clever coin collection tool.

More to come. Keep a lookout.

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