Category Archives: Humour

An Announcement.

The other day while perusing the interweb I discovered a claim that I had endorsed an imbecile!

Following the endorsement of Democrat US Presidential candidate Hillary Clinton

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by The Simpsons,

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the Republicans were desperate to find a cartoon character to endorse their own Presidential candidate, Donald Trump.

 (AP Photo/LM Otero)

(AP Photo/LM Otero)

trump; vulgar. to fart.

fart; an emission of noxious gases from the anus.

In early August it was announced in Newsthump that the Republicans had found such a character. Dick Dastardly.

W.T.F.!

While I have never met the bloke, I consider the Trump to be a complete looney toon and there is no way I would endorse this man. Further investigation was needed.

Can you really believe this shit? The Presidential candidates for the most powerful and richest nation on the planet have to be endorsed by cartoon characters. God help us all!

It quickly became apparent that there is more than one Dick Dastardly! Who’d have thought it?

There is me, the cool, sophisticated, handsome, debonair chap of the World and then there is this other bloke who is a cheat, a liar, a thoroughly nasty egg who frequently tied up Penelope Pitstop, the lucky dog filthy pervert

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and a ruffian of the worse order. He has been accused of war crimes whilst the leader of The Vulture Squadron and is wanted by British police for contravening the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 (as amended) for cruelty towards pigeons. Us Brits don’t mind you taking pot shots at pigeons with a shotgun but machine guns are so dreadfully unfair. Bang the blighter up for 10 years I say!

However, there is a fundamental difference between me and the other rascal.

The other Dick Dastardly is a cartoon Dick.

Whereas I am a real Dick!

So there you have it. It wasn’t me so you can all rest easy in your beds.

As a by the by, When the Trump was informed of the other Dick Dastardlys endorsement it is claimed he exclaimed; “I love Dick!”

Why am I not surprised?

Have an outstanding day.

More Dick soon.

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Beard Update.

It’s gone! Shaved it off. No more beaver sanctuary. Poor old Clit Eatswood!

With the milk chocolate colour of the top of my head, the strawberry pink colour over my nose and cheekbones due to wearing sunglasses and copious quantities of factor 15 and now the pale pink lower half of my face, my head looks like it’s been carved from a large block of Neopolitan ice cream!

I look ridiculous!

Bollocks!

Never mind. We go on holiday on Friday so by the time we get back it should have  all blended in. No one will see me like this.

Except……

Thousands of people when I go into town later. Thousands more at the airport terminal. 200+ more on the aircraft we’re travelling on. Plus the hundreds of people at our holiday destination!

Bollocks!

Have a great day. Where’s my hoodie?

More Dick soon.

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The Day I Lost My Hat.

I have this slightly bonkers theory that Western Civilisation starting going down the toilet when men stopped wearing hats. Not baseball caps and such like but proper “Foyle’s War” type trilbys and fedoras.

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A long time ago, I had the most fantastic fedora. It was such a dark grey that it looked almost black. It was beautiful. I loved that hat. It was a Christmas present from my girlfriend at the time. Lynn. Smashing girl. I remember one evening we were in her flat in Vauxhall when I suggested that we should go and watch the sun come up. She sighed one of those sighs that women sigh when you suggest something they consider so romantic you just know you’re going to get laid! Anyway, we jumped into my MGB GT sports car

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and drove to Ramsgate on the Kent coast which was the most easterly point I could think of, bearing in mind that my thought processes were under the complete control of my penis at the time! We arrived in Ramsgate in the early hours, just before dawn. We parked up on the sea front and saw absolutely nothing. It was foggy and we couldn’t see a bloody thing! Still, it was the thought that counts and we had a lovely time although I do still have a bad back. A MGB GT is not a large car. Unfortunately we broke up soon after but I kept the hat.

Back to the hat.

I wore that hat a lot. I wore it to work. I wore it nearly every day and every night. I cared for it.  I may have slept with it on from time to time. I certainly bonked a girl or two while I was wearing it. It was the smartest piece of clothing I owned. My default dress code is called “scruffy”. Still is to this day. If I was to wear an expensive Hugo Boss suit I wouldn’t look like Gerard Butler.

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More like his Irish mate, Sac O’Shit. Within half an hour of donning any smart clothing I would look like I’d been in several brawls. My hat though just looked the dogs danglies all the time. At weekends I would don my 501s, my Rolling Stones tee shirt (or the Led Zep one or the Frank Zappa one cos he had a moustache just like mine), put the coolest ever black leather jacket on, put my hat on my head and I thought I looked the bollocks. Probably most people on the planet thought I looked like a right whelk but I didn’t care. I was wearing my hat! Girls loved it. I would approach a young lady at whatever club I was in, doff my hat to them and say,

“May I have this dance?”

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or

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Couple of friends having a round of drinks

or

“Fancy a shag?”12222107-censored-stamp

Worked every time.You know what they say; ‘You need a head to wear a hat’ or something like that.

One day I went to visit my brother. I put my hat upon my head and left my place to go to his. (I was wearing other clothes!) My brother lived in Brixton which is in South West London. In the 18th and 19th centuries, Brixton was a very expensive area in the suburbs. The houses were huge. The first road in London to get electricity was in Brixton and it was renamed Electric Avenue and that’s where my brother lived. Eddy Whatshisface wrote a song about it. As time went on though, Brixton started to fall on hard times, the houses were split up into flats and the whole area became a bit shabby. A lot of Irish families moved there and during the 1960s and 70s, a large proportion of the population were from the West Indies. My brother loved living there and I admit I loved to visit. It was always alive, the market was great, the pubs were brilliant and we had a good time whenever I visited.  The hostility between the police and the local population didn’t really register with us although the presence of large numbers of police officers was always a topic of conversation. On this particular visit, unknown to both of us, the SPG (Special Patrol Group) were present and Operation Swamp was in full swing with the police stopping a multitude of young people, mainly black, under the “Sus” laws. The atmosphere was tense and you could feel it so we decided to go back to my brothers flat which he shared with 2 Irish lads. Shortly after we returned, we noticed black smoke rising from nearby Railton Road known as “The Front Line” to the locals. Rioting had broken out and the rioters had set fire to a pub.

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Police arrived in my brothers road and all the shops shut, the street market closed and the whole road very quickly became deserted. All four of us were hanging out the windows of the top floor flat trying to see what was going on when, quite suddenly, a mass of people appeared around the corner like a huge tidal wave. They filled the road completely. There were thousands of them. The jewellers across the road had pulled their shutters down over the windows but within 15 seconds the rioters were in and looting the place. Every shop was broken into and looted. We looked on in total amazement.riot

Just down the road was a Curry’s electrical store. The rioters went through the plate-glass windows and stripped the place bare. Some of them hid their loot under the market rubbish but someone set fire to it. Others took their stuff to what appeared to be a wedding reception a bit further down the road. The newly weds had more fridges, freezers, washing machines and microwaves than they could shake a stick at. We heard people coming up the stairs so we went out into the hall to see what was going.

“We’re taking stuff up to the roof.” they said. This “stuff” was a bloody great washing machine and a fridge.

“No you’re not.” said my brother.

“Oh yes we are.” they replied.

“Not happening mate.” I said

Then they looked again and saw four burly blokes blocking their way. My brother and his flat mates played rugby and were built like outhouses. I’d been a canoeist for donkeys years and had very broad shoulders and a narrow waist. (Sadly, these have now swapped places). So they struggled back down stairs again and shortly afterwards one of them came back with an Easter egg for each of us. How nice!on-this-day-brixton-riots-136397487029803901-150410143414

We went back to watching the scenes below us. Gradually, the crowd moved away and the road was deserted again. Devastated but deserted. We saw an old guy on a moped riding past and picking up pieces of jewellery discarded by the mob. Then, in a scene that could have been from Shaun of the Dead we saw a guy walking down the road. He was looking around in total amazement. I think he lived nearby and after a heavy session the previous night had just woken up and gone out to the shops to be met with the most incredible scenes of destruction. His mouth was wide open and he was looking around trying to compute what on earth had happened and what had he missed. He stepped into the now empty Curry’s store and with unbelievable speed a police meat wagon screeched up, four huge coppers jumped out, grabbed the guy, threw (and I mean THREW) him in the back of the meat wagon and screeched off again. Been and Gone in 60 Seconds!Brixton-Riots-In-London-I-015

It started getting dark. From the roof we could see little groups of people sitting on all the roof tops with their loot, waiting for the whole thing to ease off so they could take it home or sell it. There were more people in the road again and as we hung out the windows, my hat fell from my head and floated ever so gently to the ground below. Some random bloke picked it up. I shouted out to him;

“Thanks mate. That’s my hat. I’ll be straight down to get it.”

Whereupon he stuck MY hat on HIS head and called out;

“Cheers mate.”

and he walked off!

 

With my hat!

 

On his head.

 

What an absolute bastard!

 

I have been traumatised ever since. I never got a replacement. It just wouldn’t be the same. I miss my hat and I often wonder what happened to it. I guess I’ll never know. I do hope though that the bastard who took it suffered a terrible fate. How could anyone take another mans hat?

Have an amazing week.

More Dick soon.

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The Garden

The front garden, which has been my project for the last 12 months is coming along nicely. It needs more plants in it and I got another dozen to plant up on Sunday. Typically, since then the weather has been foul and I’ve not had a chance to actually put them in the soil. I’ve got Astilbes, Lupins, Freesias (my mums favourite if I remember correctly), Anemones and a couple more Geums. I also got several ferns for Eeyores place down one side of the house that is particularly gloomy. I think that once they’re in it will begin to look more cottage gardeny although I suspect more plants will be required to get the desired effect but I’m pleased with it so far. 20160531_113633

The tulips out there did very well on long, straight stems but didn’t last as long as I had hoped mainly due, I think, to the wet weather. The alliums are looking particularly good at the moment as do some other plants I put in last year but have no idea what they are now.

I have been disappointed with the foxgloves though. After writing about how easy they are to grow and how they self seed everywhere, this year, despite having loads growing previously and possibly a billion seeds falling to the soil, only half a dozen have started to grow. What a bummer!20150612_100703

I like foxgloves for their height, their attraction to bees, their beautiful flowers and how easy they are to grow (usually). I can’t help thinking that the extremely wet winter we had has caused the seeds to rot away or, knowing my luck, the seeds floated off and one of my neighbours has a beautiful display.20150612_100842

Having said that, apparently it’s one of the joys of gardening insofar as you never quite know what each year will bring. I’m inclined to go along with that although the sense of disappointment when something doesn’t quite work out how you planned is a pain in the neck or, in my case, a pain in the lower back. Still, very soon now the front garden will be looking splendid and it will be time to contemplate the back garden which is looking more than a tad neglected. We (by ‘We”, I mean PIL) have plans for the back garden. Just about any plants we put in the beds last less than a season due to being flattened by youngsters playing, in no particular order, cricket, football, basketball, tennis, trample dads plants and take off the flowers with a frisbee (the last two being particular favourites with our kids). Once the front is finished, all the plants in the back garden will be transferred to the front to fill in any spaces there and the ensuing space planted with shrubs.2004_OND-BELL-HEBEVI4

Shrubs tend to be more resilient to the kind of abuse my kids hand out plus they don’t seem to be so sensitive to being pissed on by the dog (and by me from time to time when I can’t be arsed to come in). The additional bonus of having shrubs there is that they quickly grow large enough to devour all kinds of balls, frisbees and water pistols. Either that or shrubs have some kind of portal to another dimension where stuff like that disappears for all time. A bit like washing machines and socks.

Now that I have made my sister Boo

Boo. My sister. She often looks like this

Boo. My sister. She often looks like this

happy by writing about gardens and my toiletry habits I am going to go and dig some holes to put our new plants in cos it’s stopped raining. I just hope there isn’t any cat crap out there.

Have an outstanding day. They are the best ones to have.

More Dick soon.auto

A Change of Pace

PIL often leaves me a list of things to do when I’m at home. Today I made up my own. I have a ton to do but this is a good start.

badass day

Now please excuse me. I have a badass day to get started on. But first, where’s that coffee?

coffee!!!

Now that’s a coffee!

Have a great day.

More Dick soon.

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What did I say Lily?

 

hello pervert

 

why aren't we friends

See what I mean?

Sorry about this. Slightly the worse for drink and it follows on from an on line conversation I had with a special person.

Have a great day and normal service will be resumed shortly.

More Dick soon.

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2015

There were three things I wanted to do in 2015.

To be able to drink proper blokes coffee every day and not be subjected to that big girls blouse drink known as “white chocolate mocha”.

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Continue to scratch my balls as and when I wanted to.

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Make love to the most beautiful woman on the planet.

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Achieving two out of three in a year can’t be a bad can it?

Wishing you all a tremendous, happy, healthy and prosperous 2016 and that your dreams become reality.

Thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to read this kak!

Have a great day.

More Dick soon.

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Shrinkage


This dieting malarky seems to have had some unfortunate side effects. Not only have my belly and arse shrunk but other parts of my anatomy have too. I understand that parts of a blokes body shrink in the cold. I was doing a”proper bloke” thing earlier and was scratching my balls and remember thinking,

“Hmmm. Smaller than I recall.  I hope it’s cos it’s cold. I could do without testicular shrinkage right now.”

My work colleague, Banzai, was able to confirm it was the freezing weather rather than my age or diet. Thank God for that!

I hasten to add that much as he would have liked to, Banzai didn’t actually physically check me out.

No, it wasn’t that problem that concerned me.

I took some selfies the other day for reasons I no longer remember. I looked at them today and on looking at one I thought

“Bloody hell! My ears are big! I’m sure they were never that large.”

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I concluded that my ears aren’t really that big but rather, due to my rabbit and guinea pig food diet allied with the chimp food for lunch, my bloody head has shrunk as well as well as my gut! Bugger!

Just for a change I thought you would like to see a more realistic photo of Dick Dastardly.

Have a brilliant day.

More Dick soon.

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Diet Update

It has to be said that I’m the sort of bloke who considers a working lunch should consist of a piece of meat wrapped up in bread. PIL has known this for years. So what has been in my lunch box this week? Bananas! A bunch of bananas! So now she thinks I’m a chimp! I remain extremely grateful to PIL for getting my lunch prepared each evening for the next day. I really do appreciate it but Bananas?  I’m trying to see if there’s a trait here or if she’s trying to tell me something.

 

 

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There are certain things I know she thinks about me:

 

Plank

She thinks I’m a bit of a plank.

 

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She thinks I’m pretty useless at D.I.Y.. She’s not wrong

 

 

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She thinks I’m just a little bit pervy because I like to see her in her underwear but she actually quite likes that. (Yes chaps. This is what she wears. Who’s a lucky boy?)

 

guinea pig

She thinks I’m a guinea pig because she gets me guinea pig food for breakfast and tells me it’s really something called Mews Lee. (Don’t forget she thinks I’m a plank).

 

parrot

And sometimes the Mews Lee she gets is actually parrot food. For variety of course. (Plank again)

 

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Then there’s the stuff PIL calls “salad” and I call rabbit food. (Plank)

 

 

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And now she thinks I’m a chimp by only letting me have bananas for lunch. (Plank)

 

Just give me chocolate!

 

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Dear Father Christmas,

 

father christmas

 

I have been a very good boy all year. 

I have been quite good

Ok, I’ve been a bit of a bastard but it’s all this rabbit and guinea pig food I’m being fed. Now, it’s the chimp food.

Please, please, please can I have a chocolate fountain for Christmas?

 

chocolate-fountain

 

I promise not to dunk my head in it. Ok, maybe I will once or twice but no more.

Thank you very, very much you old bugger   old goat splendid chap.

Dick Dastardly.

Now it’s time for me to go get my lunch ready for tomorrow while PIL is wrapped up in watching soaps! Ha! I hope there’s some pig or cow that I can wrap up in bread smothered with butter.

Bollocks! No bread!

Curses! Foiled again!

Have a great evening.

More Dick soon.

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Diet? Me?

In July, the tribe and I went on holiday to Florida where we had a blast. We also scoffed huge quantities of food. Eating in America is an experience that’s for sure.Heart Attack Grill

Portions were enormous and the food itself was smashing. Now I wasn’t exactly slim went we went. I was bloody enormous when we left.

Me. Before and after. Yeah. Right!

Me. Before and after. Yeah. Right! Maybe the one on the right.

A small elephant springs to mind! What’s that? A very large elephant? That’s not very nice is it? What do you mean ‘It’s true’? (I hate it when PIL is looking over my shoulder reading what I’m trying to write and making comments – usually rude and derogatory.) What? Look, when I write in italics it represents my thoughts and you’re not supposed to read my thoughts! Yes I know you’re a woman. Ok so as a woman you can always read a mans thoughts? It helps when they’re on the screen does it? (Will you bugger off and let me does this?) Oh dear. PIL has the hump now. I won’t be seeing her naked any time soon!!!fat-ass

fatarse

Anyway, on our return PIL decided to put me on a diet and it’s not fun. Breakfast is guinea pig food. PIL calls it “Mews Lee” but I think that’s just a posh word that the residents of Chelsea, Shoreditch and Shad Thames use as, due to the plum in their mouths, they can’t say “Guinea Pig Food”. We have two varieties I have to eat.  One of them has lots of seeds in it so that version looks like parrot food. They’re both awful. All my other meals are chicken and pasta and every now and again I can have pasta and chicken for a change. Sometimes, when I’ve been really good I can have spaghetti and chicken and, on occasion, taglaitelle with chicken. It makes a change from pasta but as to whether it’s a pleasant change is open to question! Some days, PIL will add rabbit food to my meal. She calls it “salad”. Must be those people living in Shad Thames again who call it that. However, the upshot of this so called “healthy diet” is that I’ve lost a ton of weight and my trousers don’t fit anymore. That’s all well and good if you’re 18 like my son Greg, wear a baseball cap back to front and are happy with the waistband of your trousers sagging under your arse.bumtrousers2

However, for a middle aged man like me…. Look, I’m middle aged. I am NOT old. I haven’t even got a bus pass yet. (Will you please let me get on with this in peace and quiet?) Where was I? (No, it’s NOT dementia setting in woman. You just made me lose my train of thought). Bloody hell, this is hard work! Anyway, for a middle aged man like me, back to front baseball caps and trousers hanging on the wrong side of my arse is NOT a good look. Hopefully, I’ll get some new clothes for Christmas or, if not, it’s off to the sales for me. I hate shopping.

On that note, from a skinny Dick, have a great day.

More Dick soon.auto