Humor Magazine

The Sunday Rumble: 24.02.13

By Davidduff

First, a bulletin from the Home Front:  Apologies for the quality and the quantity, as in 'lack of', posts on the blog this week.  I am still trying to get to grips with running the house single-handed.  I am learning, the hard way, that planning is essential but being a bit of a 'spur-of-the-moment fella' I'm finding that hard.  However, to paraphrase the good Doctor, 'an empty plate for dinner concentrates the mind wonderfully'!  Still, I am proud to tell you all that having qualified as a 'whites washer', I have now passed with distinction the test as a 'coloureds washer'.  Amazing what those white boxes that stand around taking up space in the kitchen can actually do!  Equally, my cooking skills have risen above the tin-opening stage they had been stuck at since 1959.  Today is a big test though - roast chicken for Sunday dinner!  Will it fly, I wonder - no, no, not literally - oh, you know what I mean!  My vegetable cooking tends to extremes.  Either they come out of the saucepan sodden, or as hard as when they went in, there is no soppy 'Lib-Dem' middle for me, I am an extremist!  Shopping was tricky to begin with because of my inability to find anything but then I discovered the solution - I simply stop one of those obliging ladies who rush around stacking shelves, compliment her on how attractive the uniform looks on her, and with one of my modest, winning smiles (it always gets 'em - well, it used to, back in the day), own up to being a total male dunce and ask if she could point out to me the actual difference between the meat counters and the vegetable racks. Being nice ladies they invariably end up doing most of my shopping for me!

Must go now, 'er upstairs' is banging on the floor with her crutches, however, I will be adding to this 'Rumble' during the course of the day so please do keep looking in if your social life is utterly bereft!

A legal wet dream:  My, how the lawyers must be rubbing their hands at the thought of the fees likely to accrue over the legal niceties involved in the, er, 'aquisition' and sale of the 'mural' by 'Banksy', the so-called 'street artist', which disappeared from the side of a shop in north London and re-appeared at an auction house in Florida.


Not for sale: A Banksy mural which was ripped from the wall of a north London shop has been withdrawn from an auction in Miami

I have only just seen this photo of the original in situ, as it was, and already that has added yet further legal complications.  Hitherto, I had thought that 'Banksy's form of art was in the creation of murals, that is, painted directly onto the walls of buildings, but from this picture one can see that it must have been painted on some sort of board and then attached to the wall.  At which point, m'Learned Friends, rubbing their hands with glee, will ask who owned the board?  And who gave 'Banksy' permission to paint on it; and who gave permission to fix it to someone else's property; and most important of all, who actually owns the bloody thing - 'Banksy', the artist; or 'John Doe', the owner of the board; or 'Mr. Landlord', the owner of the building - or, possibly, the bloke who thought that 'free art' meant it was free and helped himself to it?!  "M'Lord, I would be obliged if the court could adjourn for several days so that I may consult with m'Learned Friends and thus clock up a few more billable hours - know wot I mean, Judge?!"  As for the 'art', well, in my opinion it is a very highly effective and skilfull piece of agit-prop and anyone taken in by it needs their brain cells rejuvenating.

More rumbles later, as and when . . . !

Dave's song: 

And now, the end is here
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I'll say it clear
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain
I've lived a life that's full
I traveled each and ev'ry highway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way
Regrets, I've had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way
Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way
I've loved, I've laughed and cried
I've had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing
To think I did all that
And may I say, not in a shy way,
"Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it my way"
For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way!
Yes, it was my way.


Well, yes, perhaps the greatest hymn to selfishness ever written but therefore entirely suitable for our prime minister, to say nothing of his chancellor.  The only thing is that I suspect "Regrets, I've had a few" is a great exaggeration!  Of course, he frequently expresses regret, for example, over the Amritsar massacre which happened nearly 100 years ago and for which he cannot be blamed, but that should not be confused with actually feeling regret.  Equally, he 'regrets' nearly four times that number of British people being allowed to rot to death in NHS hospitals over recent years but cannot bring himself to sack the man who was in command at the time, instead he promotes himNo doubt his chancellor regrets boasting about Britian's AAA-rating from the international credulous credit agencies, one of whom has just stubbed its toe on 'the bleedin' obvious' and downgraded us.  This appeared to have as much effect on 'smoothy' Osborne as a 75mm shell glancing off the glacis of a King Tiger tank!

There will be more . . . later  


'Elf 'n' Safety' warning: Beware Falling Jaws!  I will simply re-post a comment I left over at Deltoid, the High Church of the Global Warming Scientology cult:

Oh, no, say it ain’t so!!!

Even Mr. Pachauri, the well-known ‘dhobi-wallah’, ooops, sorry, I mean railway engineer, in charge of the IPCC has admitted that there has been no global warming for the last 17 years! 

Even worse, this rascal had the temerity to suggest that people have the right to question the science, indeed, that questioning was good!


All I can hear over at the Deltoid site is the sound of severe spluttering which I can't help feeling might, in some obscure way, increase CO2 levels and bring about the end of the world as we know it, or rather, as the HAFs think they know it!  Read more at Anthony Watts' excellent site.

So, are the LibDems a bunch of DOMs?  Well, not all of them, perhaps, but given that they are a political party in receipt of what turned out to be stolen money and which they adamantly refuse to surrender, one is not too surprised that one of their 'grandees' may be a Dirty Old Man.  Still, one must be grateful that this miserable bunch of muesli-eating, sandal-wearing flower-people are able to provide a good laugh from time to time in these frozen Isles as we all shiver under relentless global warming!  The Lesbian-straightener was a class act and one can hardly wait for his final curtain.  True, the smile fades at the thought of that old fatty, Cyril Smith, who was a perve of monstrous proportions.  Now we can all look forward to the sight and sound 'Chubby-cheeks' Clegg dancing on the hot coals of press scrutiny as he rapidly changes his story and tells us that after all, God bless my soul, he did actually know just a teensy-weensy bit about the complaints from those ladies.  In the meantime, the biggest loser in British politics, 'Call me Dave' Cameron, who couldn't land a knockout punch on Gordon Brown, now has the easy task of taking the Eastleigh seat formerly held by a proven liar and law-breaker from a party of perves and DOMs.  Surely, even he couldn't lose that one . . .  could he?

More later

In which the Duff cafe-brasserie-bar-restaurant is awarded 16 Michelin stars:  Yes, well, I'm not one to boast but may I say that tonight's poulet rôti avec les légumes mélangés et des saucisses et pommes de terre au lard were, and I can find no more exact description of this gourmet delight - the dog's wotsits painted gold!  True, the chicken was a little on the tough side which is perhaps why my stars came from the Michelin Tyre Company.  The vegatables were only slightly soggy and the baked potatoes were, well, really baked, if you know what I mean.  The 'Memsahib', with typical British pluck, smiled sweetly all the way through - bit like our sex life now I think about it.  Anyway, my re-education continues!

And now I'm off to read a book and then go to bed because I'm knackered!


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