Rikaitch: King of Excellent (according to Scaryduck)

The last lazy blog for a while, I promise!

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 17:00:00 +0000

Two women friends had gone for a girl's night out. Both were very
faithful and loving wives, however they had gotten over-enthusiastic on
the Bacardi Breezers.

Incredibly drunk and walking home they needed to Pee, so they stopped in
the cemetery.

One of them had nothing to wipe with so she thought she would take off
her panties and use them.

Her friend however was wearing a rather expensive pair of panties and
did not want to ruin them.

She was lucky enough to squat down next to a grave that had a wreath
with a ribbon on it, so she proceeded to wipe with that.

After the girls did their business they proceeded to go home.

The next day one of the woman's husband was concerned that his normally
sweet and innocent wife was still in bed hung over, so he phoned the
other husband and said:

"These girl nights have got to stop! I'm starting to suspect the worst.
My wife came home with no panties!!"

"That's nothing," said the other husband, "Mine came back with a card
stuck to her ass that said 'From all of us at the Fire Station. We'll never forget you.'"

Today's Blog Brought to you By the Letter P

radmamblings@yahoo.co.uk (Pseudonymph) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 12:22:00 +0000

Actually, that's 12 shades of wrongness. But Rik is on the road with TDT, so I've rattled through my archives (NOT a euphemism) to find a Friday post.
We've done it here in the Antipodes. We have finished winter and sent it zooming around the globe to you. I personally endured my son's school closing *cough knee jerk cough* over it. For the weekend, let us laugh in the face of all things porcine! Your favourite (or not so favourite) Swine Flu songs/books/films.
Kicking it off like the MEDIA BEAT-UP it is:
Red, Red Swine - UB40
One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest
H1N1 Heart -Billy Ray Cyrus
Don't go bacon my heart - Elton John
Stylence of the Lambs
Prosciutto the Runner - Kasabian

Over to you.

Diarrhoea is hereditary...

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 12:07:00 +0000

I'm a bit of a black sheep in my family. The male side of the family all shares the same traits, so let me give you some examples. First and foremost, we all look the same for the first couple of years. Blonde hair, chubby cheeks, and the bestest blue eyes ever. Then, as we get older (normally mid teens) the hair goes dark. We're also fairly small for our ages. By the time I was 14 I was full height, full fat, full on scary sized bloke. Whereas John is only now starting to show the signs of a growth spurt. He has up until this point been one of the smallest in his year, something I could never have eluded to (at one point I was the third tallest in the year). I have also not gone dark. Don't get me wrong I have gone darker, but not black or brown hair. I have a sort of dirty blonde hair that looks like it'll be staying put for the time being (grey not withstanding).Also, most of us male degenerates are quite small for the rest of our lives. Again, I'm the exception to the rule.
But, and in my case it's a big but, we do have some traits that do carry on regardless. Now BLS and my Dad won't thank me for mentioning it on here, but the main one is the necks. Where the collarbones meet, none of us can be touched. It's not ticklish, it's just unfeasibly sensitive. My father pulls up a jumper or whatever when he has a kip, a sort of security blanket on the chest. I do the same, and so does John. None of us can be tickled there, and in the past all of us have had a jerk fest where we've all gone for each other's necks. This, for an outsider, is incredibly funny.
See, Diarrhoea is hereditary, it runs in your genes...

Recent events

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 10:01:00 +0000

We've been having bad weather here. On Saturday, the whole of the south of the UK saw winds near 100mph and flooding. I know it's the norm now for October and November, but it's still both exciting and depressing. Sunday was a very quiet day, and then Monday saw the same weather system move over us again, only now a lot weaker. 40mph winds were whipping up the sea, and whilst the weather was like this, a pair of bright sparks decided they'd pop over Worthing Pier, on the south coast. Literally. This week's video is a "'kin 'ell" video of the two of them kite surfing over the pier, by jumping 250 feet into the air. First of all, why? And secondly, are they mad? Meanwhile, the news showed the clip and urged others to not try to imitate the stunt (!). Just imagine if they'd got it wrong however, but fortunately they didn't, and what entails is amazing, if not mad.
Enjoy.

Problematic pussies

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 12:23:00 +0000

The cats are doing my head in. Recently I've been having a visit from the local farm cat, who comes in, eats Shallot and Turvy's dinner, takes a leak somewhere new in the house, and then leaves. This has to be sorted out, and the easiest way (I thought) is to get a controlled catflap. You know the sort of thing, the type that requires the cat wears a little magnet on their collar, and this magnet allows them in and out of the door. This means that apparently according to the delightful Debbie that they come in with rusty nails, bolts and small Japanese cars attached to their necks. That and when they try to eat or drink from a metal bowl, they get stuck. (Am I evil for finding this funny?) This also means the little ~~buggers~~ darlings have to wear collars, something Turvy in particular has never been keen on. So, last week I got them a couple of cheapo flea collars, with added fur and irritating bell. Shallot's not impressed. He conveys this by sitting looking at me, and scratching his neck. The eyes say "get this fuckin' thing off of me," and the affection seems involve him rubbing his new addition on me as if to say "go on, just take it off a minute."
Turvy, however, has done his usual trick and without the aid of an opposable thumb has managed to remove the collar. Yesterday I found it on the floor, so I tapped a can of cat food, tempting them to both come running in. I then collared (bdum tish) Turvy. The first 30 seconds we got one well, then his dark side came out. In a scene reminiscent of Taz from the looney tunes, he went "'kin berserk" (technical term). Me, not taking any shit, grabbed hold of him and tried again. This time, in the frenzy to escape, he wrenched his own head side to side, meaning that I accidentally pulled the collar completely tight. He looked at me as if to say "See? I told you it wasn't a good idea," gulped, and started to pass out. I immediately managed to loosen the collar and he came bouncing back within seconds. All was well again.
Then last night, Turvy was on my bed. I took a closer look. The collar's gone. If I find it, I shall staple it to his neck. And then knowing my luck, the magnet will get attached to the staple!

Not enough hours in the day

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 10:56:00 +0000

And to think, in excatly a month's time, we'll be airbound to Ireland. How will I ever find the time???

So, more lazy blogging I'm afraid. Here, courtesy of my father, are a few brain teasers (so blame him)

The priest (Lazy blogging)

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 10:57:00 +0000

A little boy got on the bus, sat next to a man reading a book, and noticed he had his collar on backwards.
The little boy asked why he wore his collar backwards.
The man, who was a priest, said, "I'm a Father."
The little boy replied, "My Daddy doesn't wear his collar like that."
The priest looked up from his book and answered, "I am the Father of many."
The boy said, "My Dad has 4 boys, 4 girls and two grandchildren and he doesn't wear his collar that way!"
The priest, getting impatient, said. "I am the Father of hundreds', and went back to reading his book.

The little boy sat quietly thinking for a while, then leaned over and said, "Maybe you should wear a condom, and put your trousers on backwards instead of your collar."

Have a good weekend y'all

News update

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 12:50:00 +0000

First, and foremost, I had an appointment with the Advisory service yesterday regarding suitability for John to live with me or his mum. The meeting was very late, very rushed and very interesting. In short, to be told that what I have done so far is "admirable" says that I already have the person dealing with our case on side.

Secondly, I have a new photo. Most of you that did look last week were disappointed at what you saw, so this week I thought I'd give you a view of what you were expecting.
See it here
Again, no responsibility will be accepted by vomit inducing clicks. The yellow stuff is iodine, not "goop" (TDT's lovely description of what has been coming out for weeks). In the meantime I have been seen by a doctor regarding my much bloatedness (as much as 8" extra around my waist from one day to the next), and expressed my concerns regarding sleepiness. This also set off warning bells and I was sent for a blood test, where a young nurse who obviously previously worked at Dewhirst (the butcher's) made a right mess of my left arm. To say I felt a prick is an understatement.

Big cats in the neighbourhood

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 10:36:00 +0000

Back in the land of the South Londoner, imagine my surprise to find out that a black puma/panther has been spotted not two miles from where I was dragged up. Then, more surprisingly, it made it into that local paper that another (presumeably same) black cat had been seen not only in the locality, but in the woods where I played as a child.Then the hysteria started. NewsShopper reported on it (with artist impression), London Lite, and apparently even the Sun (but I can't find the link for this).
Then, some bright spark posts a video. It follows the path from the top of the woods right down to the bottom, and as you get near the bottom a big cat can be very clearly seen. Meanwhile, both me and BLS will be screaming with glee that someone's actually filmed where we were regularly caught lighting fires or playing man hunt.

Enjoy!

The Beast of SE19 from Andy Pontin on Vimeo.

A nice easy quiz

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 10:45:00 +0000

Apparently my quizzes are too difficult, so here's a nice easy quiz for you.

How long did the Hundred Years War last?
What was New Mexico named after?
Which country makes most Panama Hats?
In the story "1001 Arabian nights" what nationality was Aladdin?
What nationality were the original Pennsylvania Dutch?
From which animal do we get Catgut?
In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?
What material was used to clad the sides of the US warship "Old Ironsides"?.
What is a Camel hair brush made of?
The Canary Islands are named after what animal?
What was King George VI's first name?
What color is a Purple Finch?
Where do the Cuban Lily and Confederate Rose come from?
Upon what hill was the Battle of Bunker Hill fought?
Who is buried in Grant's tomb?
What bird has the scientific name Puffinus puffinus puffinus?
What is another word for Thesaurus?
What color are White Rhinos?

Answers please, as normal, in the comments box.

Blame

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 17:26:00 +0000

I blame TDT (the delightful Tania) for lateness again. Up at silly o'clock last night ("I don't want to go to bed, it means the weekend will be shorter"), and then up at silly o'clock this morning to take her to Bristol Airport. I returned home at lunchtime, and fell asleep.

So, it's all her fault. Talk amongst yourselves.

Apologies for lack of post...

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 20:11:00 +0000

Today I have mostly been driving to Bristol to pick up the delightful Tania (stopping on the way to drop the Johnaitch at school and to see my old boss and have a cuppa), driven home again (stopping on the way to have lunch), visited the doc (seeing the surgeon next Tuesday), gone shopping (booze), made dinner, eaten it, fired two fireworks, typed my blog, watch TV and a film, and finally gone to bed.

Normal service service etc on Monday, at some point.

In the meantime, why does time see to fly when TDT (the delightful Tania) is here?

OK, Health update time...

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 11:12:00 +0000

I know that some of you will want to know how things are going in my belly button department, so it's time for an update. First of all, what they actually did. I found this out yesterday, when Paul the nurse at the local surgery told me the notes from the operation had finally arrived. 5 Hernias. Yes, 5. The belly button itself was the worst one (obviously) but the other 4 were spread across the area, which is why so much of my belly was distended (that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it). The operation went to plan, with major reconstructive surgery on the 'umbilicus' (note: why can't they just call it the belly button?). Successful with the hernias, they then placed in the large titanium mesh that now sits behind my whole belly, by sliding it in rolled up and unrolling it. Unfortunately, this required a large 'pocket' to unfold, and this is why they filled me up with so much air, and also required that they cut through my abdomen muscle. They then tried to sew me shut. It was at this point that things started to go wrong, hence why it went from a 30-40 minute op to 2 hours. Sewing the area shut was, in Paul the nurse's words, like "sewing wet tissue." It was disintegrating as soon as anything pulled on it, meaning that in the end they sewed my belly to the front of the mesh in pockets of 3 dissolvable stitches (9 pockets in total = 27 stitches). They also glued the whole kit and caboodle into place, which will explain why I now have a fetish for superglue (just kidding Tania). They then sewed and glued the incision across the belly button itself, with two very large and complex stitches. Job done.
Now for the past 2 weeks things haven't gone to plan. A week after I came out, I had a haemotoma (see: pocket of blood) on the front of the belly button. This should have been reabsorbed back into the skin, but wasn't and is now dying. This means I have a large black lump at the front of the belly button. I say large, but Paul the nurse keeps cutting it away. This amuses BLS immensely, who has asked repeatedly if she can a) have the lumps or b) at least have a picture. Here you go sis (I must warn you, do NOT open this link if you are even slightly squeamish, or like Pork Scratchings. I accept no responsibility for messy vomit contained woe.) This also means in the meantime they have to repeatedly clean and redress the wound, and yesterday another 4 chunks were debrided (I'm learning all the terms). I even mentioned how we could dry them out, add a little salt and sell them in a pub. Even Paul the nurse was green at this. The dead stuff is obviously rotting whilst still attached however, and the smell is completely unique. Take something slightly sweet, chocolate is a good example, and then mix it with the smell of the worst feet you've ever known (Remember Ian Susan?) and then multiply the whole thing by 10. Yes, that bad. It has also lead not surprisingly to an infection, so I'm back on the no alcohol anti-biotics.
Now the other problem is when I saw the surgeon, he said that the distension will pass after the surgery, meaning my not insignificant belly would get a lot smaller. Following the op I was put on Anti-inflammataries (Diclofenac = Man's Ibuprofen) and sure enough, the swelling was reduced significantly. I even got me a new jumper and jacket. Then the Diclofenac ran out, and now the jacket no longer fits properly, and the jumper makes me look like Eamonn Holmes. This is not good, and I have expressed this several times, hence the post on Tuesday. Tuesday afternoon saw me seeing the doc again and he had a good poke around and thorough examination. His conclusion was "it's one of those things," which wasn't the answer I wanted and also upset the delightful Tania immensely. Knowing this, I went back yesterday to see Paul the nurse again, and taking a leaf out of BLS and the delightful Tania's books, I banged my spoon a little. I made light of it, and Paul the nurse can see how frustrated I am. He also was shocked when I mentioned the fact my jacket fitted 3 weeks ago, and doesn't any more. So, not wanting to tread on my Doc's toes, he booked my new dressing appointment and noticed that my GP wasn't in at the same time. This means he has a legitimate reason to ask another doctor what his opinion is. This is a good thing. The delightful Tania meanwhile was more then happy that I'd done this. Even better is the fact she'll be with me when I go.
So, there you have it. I have had a hard time about what to do. In all fairness, I can't complain too much. Complications are to be expected, but all they can do is combat them as they appear. The disdain shown by my GP on Tuesday has upset me admittedly, but at least I might get a result tomorrow. I just can't wait until the day I can stop taking pills and wearing large plasters (see elastoplast if you're from the US).

More on Crashing

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 10:12:00 +0000

Ever been in a crash at 30mph? You imagine what it'll be like, but you need to double the impact, or even more. It's surprising, and so when Top Gear did this back in the first series, I was shocked. I found the video of it this week, and it's as graphic as I remember.

Enjoy.

In the land of free healthcare

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 12:56:00 +0000

As British citizens, we're a lucky nation. One major benefit to living in these cold wet and windswept isles is that if we do get struck by a stray carved pumpkin in a force 11 storm on a Sunday morning, the trip to the hospital doesn't cost us anything.
Now, admittedly, there are some downsides to this system. Firstly, no one is excluded. This means that a visit to any Casualty department on a Friday or Saturday night will introduce you to the binge drinking culture, as one 15 year old chav after another is laid out in a cubicle, having their stomach pumped. Elsewhere, another bloke is sat there with blood dripping from a fresh cut in his forehead following a fight over someone "lookin' at his missus." But, in main, the NHS is a good thing.
People outside the system look in with scorn. Both BLS and the delightful Tania are an example of this. Following on from my sojourn nearly 5 weeks ago, I have taken to almost daily trips (4 times this week for example) to the local quack's to either see the doc, or the friendly male nurse. This is because the operation hasn't healed correctly, with parts of my belly button now blackened and dead, and other parts making a smell that even my cats find offensive. Both BLS and the delightful Tania say "Well kick up a fuss. They're obviously not looking after you. I'd move doctor if I were you, and make a point to the old doctor that he was incompetent and didn't treat your ailments seriously."
In an ideal world this would be possible, but the truth is rather starker. I can move doctor, but only to another one in the same practice. The whole area is covered by one surgery, incorporating some 15 or so doctors. So moving will mean you get a new doctor who's presumably a friend of the doctor you've just slagged off. Secondly, the doctor's doing his best. I could have stayed in hospital the past 5 weeks, making sure that all pain relief was administered correctly, any infections were combatted quickly and efficiently, and healthcare would have been second to none. The reality is a) this would have cost the NHS a small fortune, something that they just don't have, and b) I would have got MRSA, sleep depravation, aggrophobia and several other ailments from the long stay. So, what's the alternative? I go home, and they hope that the problem sorts itself. If there are complications, I can pop down to see my doctor, and if need be I can be returned to the hospital. Or, I can stay at home, kick up a fuss and demand that things are sorted, write to my MP and the Observer, and basically make their life hell. And then they put me on an 18 month waiting list.
Am I right?

Lazy blogging

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 10:10:00 +0000

Due on a job about 10 minutes ago, so here's a quick post for you...

Confucious say "if you can't find book you want, you're probably shopping here."

Also

Not related, but nicked from QOTW on B3ta

I saw my mate the other day, asked him what he had been up to.
"Went to Port Talbot" said he.
"?" said I.
"Met this girl in a bar, bought her a drink, got chatting, anyhow we went to my car and was getting down to it when she said "kiss me where it smells", so I drove her to Port Talbot

A serious post

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 09:58:00 +0000

On October 12th, 2009, Sheryl Laird was murdered by her ex-husband. He shot her multiple times and then drove her body to the top of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. He set the car that contained her body on fire, and then jumped from the bridge to his own death.

The photo to the right was captured by a passing motorist. The man in the picture is Sheryl’s ex-husband before he jumped.

Sheryl leaves behind a 7-year old daughter.

BLS worked with Sheryl, and is collecting for her daughter's trust fund by selling wristbands in her memory. If you're interested in one, then please email her here. They're $3 each, plus postage.

Blogging the blog on the blog that blogged the blogdom.

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 01:15:00 +0000

Celebrating my blog's blogday, aka my 1000th post, I thought I should do some interesting facts and figures from the past 6 years (has it really been that long?)

I'm going to take an imaginary trip to all my long distance readers. First of all, how far is it?
Here to Ricardipus: 3400 miles (5473km)
Ricardipus to Sewmouse: 432 miles (695km)
Sewmouse to Debi: 313 miles (504km)
Debi to BLS: 713 miles (1148km)
BLS to Cuz'n Doug: 10 feet or so (1 metre)
Cuz'n Doug to Pseudonymph: 11303 miles (18191km)
Pseudonymph to Scaryduck (at work):9042 miles (14553km)
Scaryduck to my Dad: 69 miles (111km)
Dad to Bryn: 135 miles (218km)
Bryn to the delightful Tania: 183 Miles (295km)
The delightful Tania back to here: 228 miles (368km)
Total trip: 25818 miles (41556km)

Now, bearing in mind that Chemosaaby is averaging 32.9mpg at the moment, and petrol here is about 104.9pence per litre, this means that my wallet would be lighter to the tune of £3,737 if I drove it all the way. It would also take me at an average speed of 60mph only 17 days, 22 hours and 18 minutes. I would also need a quite a bit of waterproofing.

Now, if I decide I don't want to drive that far (can you blame me?) I might want to take the cheaper option and fly instead. So, flying from Cardiff first or business class where possible (I want to travel comfortably), and stopping at each and every location or as close as I can get reasonably (Sorry Bryn, no airline wants to go to Anglesey) would cost a comparatively cheap £22,514.

I have now posted on average once every 2.15 days, and have averaged 240 words per post. I have seen the MP3 take over the CD and Blu Ray take over DVD, which in turn took over VHS. I have seen companies come (google) and go (Rover), I have seen blogs become popular (Scaryduck) and less so (FJLathome). I have seen celebrities blog (Chris Evans and Stephen Fry), and I have seen social networking take off (goodbye Friends Reunited, welcome Facebook). I now read an average of 3.1 blogs a day (the 0.1 is down to my father or TRT), I have met 9 fellow bloggers, and I regularly appear on search lists on google. I have my own domain, paid for by advertising on my blog. I average some 23,000 unique hits a day (mostly from spurious search engines admittedly) and I regularly have someone solve a problem by reading my solutions posted on here.

I'd like to thank each and every one of you. Charge your glasses and let's toast to the next 1000 posts eh?

Cheers!

Armstrong and Miller.

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 10:26:00 +0000

This comedy duo are relatively new to the TV world, and yet in the short time they've been around, what an impression they've made on it. Ben Miller was fairly well known as Rowan Atkinson's sidekick in the Barclaycard Advert spin off "Johnny English," and Alexander Armstrong has also appeared in a straight role recently celebrating the great micro wars of the 80s as a certain Clive Sinclair. Well, recent times have meant they've teamed up with some great comedy writers and produced some unparalleled characters. Like Enfield and Whitehouse before them, you tune in each week to catch up on some inspired writing. A good example is from the BBC's own trailer for the show, but this isn't the video of the week because for some reason the BBC have slapped a ban on it being shown outside the UK so some of you won't be able to see it. So, instead, I have taken their most famous characters. Two chums from the RAF in the 1940s, in a typical film of that era. But, what would they be like if they spoke like teenagers of today? Well, the answer is very, very funny.
Enjoy.

Happy blogday, and other animals.

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 11:04:00 +0000

Thursday is my blog's 1000th post, so please to be commenting how you found me, when you found me, and why you stayed (or didn't, and are reading this in the past).

Also, been given some sort of good news in the land of my belly button. (Don't read on if you've just eaten, or are squeamish.) The front of the belly button has died, and is a very messy flap of skin still being fed by blood vessels. This explains the extra blood. They can surgically remove it, in which case another trip to Chez Morriston is required, or they can dry it out and it'll fall off. I'm tempted to put the remaining flap when it does fall off into a sandwich, and take a picture... Maybe not.

Thirdly, the bear puzzler last week. The bear is white with red bits. It's at the North Pole, so it's a Polar Bear. The red bits are where BLS quite correctly pointed out it had been shot.

And finally, in my village, we have a barber who shaves everyone who does not shave himself/herself, but no one else. Who shaves him?

Careering off course

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 11:05:00 +0000

Mr Vassell, the strangely camp music teacher and supposed career officer at the school called me into his office.
"We need to sort you out a placement for your work experience. What would you like to do?"
"Anything with computers" was the unsurprising reply.
"Do you want Anything or do you know what you're doing?"
"I know what I'm doing," came the cocky reply, "I want a proper job."

I was handed a slip of paper giving the name of a company in the centre of Croydon. Chrysalis Computer Services was a very professional sounding outfit. Run by two partners, to this day I don't know what they did. They had Steve, a salesman who was all aftershave and Burton's suit, and Madeline, the bimbo on the front desk. I went in a week early to introduce myself. They asked about what they'd have to do, and what I was expected to do. Most interestingly was the fact I was told "Don't turn up if you don't want to. We'll just say you're out on an errand." Tempting as it was, and with my track record for taking days off, amazingly I actually decided to turn up every day for the next week. I realised that maybe, if I played my cards right, I could get a real job out of it that would run after I left school in 6 months or so.
The following Monday (and only 4 days after the chaos caused by the Great storm of 1987) saw me report for duty with Steve, the salesman. Our first task was to make tea and coffee, and after an hour of bacon buttie and sitting around chatting, the two bosses appeared.
"What should you do?" they asked.
"I dunno," I replied. "How about something computer related?"
"I know," said one of them, "what about you format these new disks for me." And he hands me a fresh box of 5.25" floppies, in need of formatting.
It is at this point that I should point out I know how run Command.com. That was my sum total of experience of MS-DOS. I had an inkling of what to do, but not how to do. So, in the corner of the big boss's office, I sit down at his behemoth Apricot PC, insert a newly unwrapped disk into the drive, and type Format.
"This will format the disk in drive c:. Are you sure? (Y/N)"

Yes. Yes, I did. After 20 minutes, and much chugging from the antiquated drive inside the pc, which was now reporting "27% done" I ask "should it take this long?" The big boss takes one look at the screen, and starts to cry.
The other boss says "You haven't... That was over 9 years worth of work on there. This isn't good."
He was, of course, right. Realising I shouldn't be left unsupervised, they then get me to complete the task with a boot floppy. I get relegated to the front desk for the rest of the week with the young bimbo Madeline. By the end of the week, I'd learned to make tea and coffee, been shown the stash of their playboy magazines, and done a lot of typing. I had not, however, done much else on the PC.
I returned a year and they confirmed they still hadn't recovered fully from my faux pas. Another year later and another revisit showed they no longer existed. I'd like to say they were a victim of the 1990 recession, but I suspect my little mishap with all their customer's data going missing hadn't helped.
Start as I mean to go on?

On much lateness

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 12:20:00 +0000

Yes, I know it's afternoon. My day has been thrown into chaos with a visit to my quack to see about my still bleeding and oozing belly button. Much fretting by the doc, nurses and several other medical professionals later, and I'm home again but only after nearly ending up going back to the hospital. It is for this reason I shall post my chosen story of work experience on Monday. In the meantime, how about a quick joke courtesy of the delightful Tania?

Four guys spend weeks planning the perfect backwoods camping and fishing trip.
Two days before the group is to leave Aled's wife puts her foot down and tells him he isn't going.
Aled's friends are very upset that he can't go, but what can they do.
Two days later the three get to the camping site only to find Aled sitting there with a tent set up, firewood gathered, and fish cooking on the fire.
"Damn man, how long you been here and how did you talk Pam into letting you go?"
"Well, I've been here since yesterday. Yesterday evening I was sitting in my chair and my wife came up behind me and put her hands over my eyes and said 'guess who'?"
I pulled her hands off and she was wearing a brand new see through nightie.
She took my hand and took me to our bedroom. The room had two dozen candles and rose petals all over. On the bed she had handcuffs and ropes!
She told me to tie and cuff her to the bed and I did. And then she said 'Do what ever you want.'
So here I am."

The revenge of the cat...

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 10:29:00 +0000

Debster, Dawn (wrath of) and Pseudonymph, this is for you...

I have a cat with a farting problem. Turvy has decided he's going to spawn the gases from hell from his back end. You know it's going to happen, and there you are watching TV when in he marches, king of his empire. Tail in the air, arse all on show for the world to see, he sits down in the middle of the lounge, cocks his left leg up like a ballet dancer, and starts to wash his bum as if to say "Hey world, I'm going to show you my weapon of mass destruction before I use it."
He then decides it's time for a cuddle. He'll climb up on your lap, and slowly edge up your chest until his nose is 6" away from your nose, and will pad you and purr like a mad dervish. He'll also stick out his tongue a bit, just to make himself look more cutesy and to lower your guard even further.
Then, gas impending, he'll decide he doesn't want you to hear the fart, so he'll sneeze to disguise it and immediately jump off and run out the room. "I've done a goodun'," he'll say to himself, "so I'm off!" to be followed by the rattle of the cat flap as he legs it out for fresh air.
Meanwhile, back at the scene of the crime, myself, John and Tania (when she's here) are all gagging. The air is green from obnoxious gasses, and blue from the swearing. What can only be described as faintly like cat food, crossed with strong cabbage and mouldy cheese is sitting well in the room like a mustard gas. The super concentrated aerosols for the automated Airwick Haze thingies are the only smells powerful enough to neutralise the chemical warfare, and within 10 minutes all is forgotten about.
Then Turvy appears at the door.

A nice quick video

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 08:15:00 +0000

Only a quickie this week... Can blind people play cricket? This proves they can (or they shouldn't),

Enjoy.

A bit of housekeeping...

noreply@blogger.com (Rik) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 11:41:00 +0000

First of all, apologies for lateness... I have just spent the best part of 2 hours trying to send 2 parcels. Couriers: Wankers, the lot of 'em.

Secondly, the answer to last week's question: 2519. I wrote a small program along the lines of

FOR n=1 TO 1000000
IF (n MOD 2 = 1) AND (n MOD 3 = 2) AND (n MOD 4 = 3) AND (n MOD 5 = 4) AND (n MOD 6 = 5) AND (n MOD 7 = 6) AND (n MOD 8 = 7) AND (n MOD 9 = 8) then print n.
Next

Simples. But, as the most excellent Audrey pointed out, just multiply them altogether, and take away 1 and you get the same answer.

Thirdly, No, I didn't laugh my guts out on Saturday night.

Fourth, and here's a nice easy brain teaser.

A fellow encountered a bear in a wasteland. There was nobody else there. Both were frightened and ran away. Fellow to the north, bear to the west. Suddenly the fellow stopped, aimed his gun to the south and shot the bear. What color was the bear?
If you don't know, this may help you: if the bear ran 3.14 times faster than the fellow (still westwards), the fellow could have shot straight in front of him, however for the booty he would have to go to the south.

(this puzzle was courtesy of Einstein apparently)

Fifth, the voting on the layout is over, and with a landslide 52% overall, the new layout stays. And no, some of the suggestions were not suitable. This includes Paisley, Pastry (?) and kittens.

And last, but by no means least, belated Penblwydd Hapus to Carys (Can Arsenal Ruin Your Season?), BLS's beautiful daughter, and poor poor girl to have an uncle like me. (Does anyone else think Uncle Rik sounds really seedy?)

"that's very clever Mummy, but when do I get to play with it?"

"Yay for smoke..." (spot the potential arsonist)