Spam - a new twist.

And no, not with lemon.

The exciting story has now finished, to be replaced with this little gem, under the heading of 'woodlot suggestible', from my old mate Rodolfo Thong (shortly to be appearing in an upcoming episode of Kats PI).

The scythe ran into a stone. Till the cows come home. The stronger the breeze the stronger the trees. Up a tree. A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Strong as an ox. Rough as a cob. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Sweet as apple pie. Tastes like chicken. We'll hand you out to dry. Sour as a green apple. She's a nut. Till the cows come home. Up one side and down the other. Weed out. There is always next year. A tree does not move unless there is wind. So hungry I could eat a horse.
Wait and see. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Sick as a dog. Timber! Rough as a cob. Raking in the dough. Rough as a cob. Survival of the fittest. Sow much, reap much; sow little, reap little. Some like carrots others like cabbage. That's water under the bridge. The silly season. Wait and see. To gild refined gold, to paint the lily. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.Up one side and down the other. She's a nut. Welcome to my garden. Stop and smell the roses. You can't squeeze blood out of a turnip. She's a mother hen. Thick as a brick. Sour as a green apple. That's a real stem winder. Schools out for summer. Stand your ground. Watered down. A weed is no more than a flower in disguise. Tools of the trade. Wrinkled as a prune.

Nice. I particularly like the bit about sticking it in my pipe and smoking it, though I'm slightly confused as to why anyone would ever want to gild gold. Surely it's gold enough already? But of course, I may just be a hopeless innocent when it comes to these things.

Nice of him to welcome me to his garden though. The sly dog.

Spamarama

The story of bizarrospam continues apace. I'm hoping that at some point all the disparate elements of this magnificent opus merge into one fantastic ending.

The neighbors were regaled with music, but it did not harmonize with theprimitive background.
Desire ate four curlews, and, I enough crab fatto make six civilized men violently ill.
She is wise enough to take charge of the menage when I am reverting to type. When Bones held out his hand it meant only one of two things: food or woman.
Every pig and fowl on the island dashed for the bush! Is my little bird well, or is my little bird ill?
Your big manowar hawk is well,he is not ill.
Desire and I, back in the shadows, snickered sardonically.
Luckily only I among the whites could appreciate the exquisite humor of the neighbors.
In the pools were scores of blue parrot fish.
Now that the Reverend Horatio has gone it wont be wicked, I told her.
Thats the way we are on the outposts of progress.
I have eaten it for so many years that I can assimilate little else. Oh well, the startling occurrence that I intended to narrate will have to wait till tomorrow. Your big manowar hawk is well, he is not ill.
Ah, a coconut contains everything necessary tosupport a man from the cradle to the grave. But there the sharks kept at a healthy distance, asthey generally do when one is in deep water. And the little realist, throwing herself back on the sleeping mat, screamed with laughter. Youll be worshiping in a golden church before ten years are up. Then we left the point to walk along the dry brick-red reef toward the far islet. Who makes the taro grow; I ask you, who makes it grow?
She and her sister Tangi were sitting on the back balcony. But I was tight enough to laugh off his sour looks.
At the last labor pain she, Samson-like, pulled down the two posts and pushed over the third one.
She said later that she had been afraid I would fall over backward like the man inthe comic paper.
Half the deaths are due to it; I have never known of an arrested case.
Only a few of them had been broken by gnawing thighbones and cracking coconut shells. His teeth were a full inch long from gums to tips, yellow-brown, as big as aboars tusk. Then Lingutaimoa knew that Yina had killed her fish. Never had such a spectacle been dreamed of. Down the road of Central Village marched a military band! A finecavalla waited on the table to be fried, but Tangi was still in the arms ofher gift-boy.
Thusmy feet were on either side of the bole while the belt held them firmly against it.
When Bones held out his hand it meant only one of two things: food or woman. I cried, as though I had not asked her to meet me for sheunderstands such whimsies.
You are lovely, Desire, I said; but next Sunday I want you to be Miss Memory. Dont forget to ask them for some banana extract!
It looks like a puffball but is more oily and palpable.

Spam, the saga continues...

I was right. Another exciting episode in my inbox today.

A large tear splashed on the solitaire board, and with the small handkerchief she wiped it off. Upstairs in the drawing-room there was grave silence. Aunt Juley was at once charmed and horrified. It will spoil the carpets, said Aunt Ann, and bark at night; weshall have no peace.
Between his Dundreary whiskers James was telling a story.
The little dog slithered forward, humbly wagging its entire body,just out of reach. It doesnt belong to us, Cook; and your master would never permitit.
I had such a pleasant walk in the Gardens, she said painfully,after church. He would not go home, but walked to the Inn. Well, said Aunt Juley, you do it on your own responsibility,Smither.
Jolyon will give me the money; he will never let you bully me.
Hell send you away with a flea in your ear.
If one cant take care of ones things, one is not fit to have them. No one said thirty; and the picture was knocked down to James,whose mouth had opened slightly.
The dog looked as if it would let her love it, and sensation increased beneath her corsets.
On no account did she mean to be the first to speak; and she said, suddenly: There you sit, Ann!
It doesnt belong to us, Cook; and your master would never permitit. A curtain had been pulled aside; in the lighted window-space stood the figure of a half-dressed man.
Aunt Ann said: Give dear Swithin his chair, Hester; we want your advice, Swithin.
They might talk as they liked: Finding was keeping; and if Timothy didntlike it, he could lump it!
A Hondekoeter; picked it up, a bargain, at Smelters sale.
The traffic was really getting beyond bounds.
The little dog slithered forward, humbly wagging its entire body,just out of reach. Aunt Juley repeated, suddenly: He followed me, Ann.
They only get in the way and spoil your trousers.
Cook spoke:Ive brought it up, miss; its had its dinner, and its beenwashed.
The little dog slithered forward, humbly wagging its entire body,just out of reach.
He got up with a sigh, the scent of nettles, burdock andthe carted hay deep in his nostrils. Better the day, better the deed, muttered Timothy; and Aunt Juley trembled.
He got up with a sigh, the scent of nettles, burdock andthe carted hay deep in his nostrils. Lightning flashed all round, he wanted it to strike. Ive been walking from the Temple; got a touch of liver now.
Im sick of peace, said Aunt Juley, rattling the board. Youought to know that, at your age, Juley; now that were alone, I can talk to you plainly. Five pounds for this genuine work by a master of domestic poultry! His friend answered: You look bobbish enough. The traffic was really getting beyond bounds.
Cook spoke: Ive brought it up, miss; its had its dinner, and its been washed.

My word! Sensations beneath corsets? That Juley's a bit of a one isn't she? As for Swithin, he's not better than he ought to be. I did notice that the little dog seems to be doing a lot of slithering, perhaps they ought to take it to the vet. All this and a master of domestic poultry. Otherwise known as a cock.

Bizarrospam strikes again!

Marvellous. No, really.

They were to come in the afternoon and have dinner at night . To sit here and munch apples with Pat while Judy thumped and kneaded her bread was all he asked.
Sure and didnt I bring all of yes up on witches and are ye inny the worse av it? They were to come in the afternoon and have dinner at night . Im not wanting inny sawed-off girls at Silver Bush.
I used to be after knowing the McClenahans rale well years ago. I'd jump out of my skin if she looked cross-wise at me. Oh, oh, its the quare one she was and the foolish things she wud be saying. Its the quanes own cloth Im waving and sour enough her Majesty'll look if its not finished on time.
And if itwas left without any one to live in it it would break its heart. Dear God, please bring McGinty back to Jingle. Judy was of opinion that the dog had been stolen. Oh, oh, she isn't called a witch for nothing, that one, said Judy, when she had heard the whole tale.
And how lonesome the Long Lonely House looks. Sure now I'd an idea she'd know where McGinty was.
She didn't like it as well as her red one but itwas its turn and it mustnt be neglected. They would talk of politics and pigs and finally drift into family histories and community tales.
THAT was her and Sid's secret just as Happiness was hers and Jingles. You've always said there was a bit of a witch in you. I wish she didn't have to live so far away, said Jingle chokingly. They were large and grey and steady with a twinkle somewhere behind their steadiness.
Thewhite-washed walls of the old kitchen re-echoed to their laughter. The man turned and opened a mean little door at his right.
Judy was of opinion that the dog had been stolen. But hewent on and said the thing that spoiled it all.
Jingle put up a notice in the stores offering a reward of twenty-five cents.
Every car or buggy that drove up or down the road made Pat squirm with fear that it was Aunt Helen. Judy concocted and baked, and Cuddles tasted everything that came her way, including a frosty latch.
Dear God, please bring McGinty back to Jingle. It was lovely to sit there, so cosy and warm, with that eerie wind moaning without. And a shears-and-basin cut av hair niver improved inny one.
No, Judy might give her castor oil, as she had done the last time Pat had a cold.
Sid likes her, said Pat, a bit forlornly. And you havent got a Poets room or a round window, went on Pat still more tauntingly.
Her untidy hair was black too, coal-black, although she must be as old as Judy.
I dont think shes half as pretty, she said. How she hoped Aunt Helen wouldnt choose her! YOU look awful nice in that blue scarf, Pat, said Jingle admiringly. Jingle arrived speedily and so got his Christmas invitation by the skin of his teeth.

It's like having my own personal serialisation. I can't wait for the next episode. I'm hoping that Jingle and Pat finally get together in the barn, that McGinty arrives in one piece and that Judy wins a special prize for her baking at the WI Winter Fair.

cue end title music...

Bizarrospam

I just received this most amazing piece of spam in my work email inbox, not five minutes ago.

"Right now I need the sugar.
A dead cat with a cute name.
It seemed deliciously funny.
It was the gotta, wasnt it?
For the last time, he hoped.
Now Paul could see his eyes.
Ralph Dugan from Anne Dugan.
Ralph Dugan from Anne Dugan.
""Just three times, I swear.
"She shrugged, then laughed.
He would have some of those.
She put it in his numb hand.
Youve been working so hard.
He would have some of those.
Just one week and one bitch.
The pattern was inescapable.
"I dont know what you mean.
She put it in his numb hand.
It was the gotta, wasnt it?
"But would you want to stay?
Blood pattered on the floor.
"Right now I need the sugar.
At least strongly suspected.
For the last time, he hoped.
"I gotta know will she live.
He thought he would be okay.
She looks at the old people.

There was an attachment, but I'm certainly not daft enough to try opening it. Of course, the fact that I use a mac at work means that it was probably formatted for viewing on a pc. What a shame.

But even so, it's remarkable. I have absolutely no idea what it's trying to sell me. There's no mention of herbal viagra or penis enlargements or even an offer to put me in touch with single women in my area (for the last time, I really don't need any more of them cramping my style, OK?)

Sent by a 'Raymond Scott', which was a bit of a let down. Such a normal name, for such a weird email. Of course, if it had come from Rodolfo Thong (one of my all time favourite spam-names) I wouldn't even have raised an eyebrow.

Birthday fever!

Birthdays, love 'em or hate 'em, they're with us to stay. So, it's with great pleasure that I proclaim that my most recent birthday (last week) is without a doubt one of the best and most fun birthdays I have ever had.

Naturally, there would be no appreciation of the good bits without a bit of rubbish. This came in the form of work, i.e. I was at work and they appeared to be doing their best to annoy the crap out of me. Not only that, but it also appeared that not one person actually remembered that it was my birthday. Despite it being on the list. I've signed the cards and contributed to the collections for each and every one in the department. The only person who remembered was my boss. Who very kindly left me a bunch of flowers on my desk, so they were there when I arrived. And they are gorgeous - lovely white lilies with the most gorgeous fragrance. But still, it was a little bit upsetting and I did feel a little hurt.

However, that was just a minor blip. Everyone else more than made up for it. I think it's fair to say that the phrase 'embarrassment of riches' wouldn't go amiss here. Thursday (the day itself), I woke up to several cards and a present to open, the present being a Sanctuary Hand Care set. Gorgeous smellies so well chuffed there. I got to work and there was another card or two, plus two presents - firstly, the most gorgeous silver and amethyst earrings and a fab beaded bookmark, and of course, the flowers mentioned earlier. Then, mid-morning, I got another card (from my mum this time) and a bunch of flowers. These ones were lovely too - all purple and green. After lunch, yet more flowers. This time, a potted arrangement of white and corally-pink coloured flowers. I have no idea what they are, but they're lovely.

I ended up cabbing it home that night. No way was I leaving anything at work, damn them all to hell. And look, more cards on the mat when I arrived chez me.

The next day (the day of my planned celebration with friends and colleagues) I got to work and faffed about for most of the morning, interrupted only by a delivery of a birthday balloon. Balloon! I was absurdly cheery at this point, because I adhere to the Pooh philosophy on this subject: No-one can be uncheered with a ballooon. It's so true.

The afternoon wasn't nearly so busy as the morning, mainly due to not being able to log in to my computer. Quelle dommage, as they say in the posher suburbs of Rotherham. As you can tell, I was beside myself with frustration, I very nearly tutted.

Then came the celebrations. And oh my, what celebrations they were. The nicest folks were there (though a few notables were missing, they had already sent apologies etc..) and I was laden down with goodies. 4 BAGS FULL, to be precise. A signed book, a squishy cushion, scented candles, butter tablet (oh the sugary goodness), a handbag, gorgeous smellies from Molton Brown, an amethyst geode (sparkly!) and many more items besides. I'd already planned on cabbing it home that night, but it was a case of necessity rather than just being a lazy cow. Which makes a nice change, I must say.

I'm still in a bit of a state of shock, astonished at people's sheer generosity - not only did I get tons of giftage, I didn't have to buy a drink all night. And it does rather give the lie to my rather too well worn opinion of myself. Frankly, if all these people think I'm nice enough to shower with pressies and stuff, then I've got to be doing something right. Wow.

And now, the final word on this one. And one of the most talked about items on the groaning table of gifts. I'm now the proud owner of the Deluxe Librarian Action Figure. Truly a thing of wondrousness. And SO me. Look...and envy.

Yahoo! Mariah's at it again

I've just been to check my email, and blow me, if it isn't Mariah Carey in her skimpiest underwear (lingerie, if you prefer that kind of thing) in an advert on the side of the page. Apparently advertising her new perfume. (As an aside, I recently saw a tv advert for this and was convinced that the perfume was called Ham. Turns out it's just called 'M'. Pfft.)

Now I know that it's not possible to tailor these things to suit everyone's delicate sensibilities, but heavens above! All I wanted to do was read my emails, not stare in thinly disguised astonishment at a half-nekkid laydee.

Where will it all end, I ask myself? Pictures of a topless Tony Blair, exhorting us to vote Labour? Peter Stringfellow clad only in a Noddy posing pouch, advertising the dubious charms of his clubs? (Though, to be fair, I've seen worse than that in heat magazine)

It just doesn't bear thinking about, does it?