300th Post: Nonsense Special

What better way to celebrate my 300th post than by making stuff up?

Here are ten  dubious "cut out and keep" facts that you can use in any of those strained silences you may find yourself in, surrounded by idiots at parties/job interviews/being questioned by the police etc...

You are very welcome.

1) Barack Obama has no knees. This is why you never see him going up stairs.

2) Dwarves are genetically disposed to never ever get hiccups. one in seven will suffer from sneezes though.

3) British Airways always lists an extra passenger on each flight called "Mr Prickly-Whiskers". Business class passengers are well aware that one seat is always occupied by a pipe smoking Hedgehog.

4) 5 AAA batteries contain enough Goblin blood to allow one wish of your dreams.

5) All butterflies are left handed.

6) Despite popular belief, Les Dawson is alive and well and working as window cleaner at the O2 arena.

7) No member of the British Royal family has ever seen a belly button.

8) Jaffa cakes were given the freedom of Lincoln in 1987 after a packet of said sundries were attributed to saving the life of Roy "say what you see" Walker in a freak glider incident.

9) None of the pets featured on the BBC's Blue Peter program were real. They are all first examples of high definition CGI. A close look at Shep from the 1970's shows some extra pixels around the ears.

10) Before the invention of garden flower, buttercups, in the mid 1950's, nobody had an answer to the question "Do you like butter?"

So there you have it. Ten very interesting ponderables for you to use next time you are stuck for something to say on a long train journey/first date/funeral speech.

The End?

On the 25th of December this year millions upon millions of people will get together wear paper hats, eat too much food and share unwanted, ill thought out gifts that will undoubtedly end up in the bin/local charity shop.

Many believe that this is due to the birth of a child who would grow into a man that change the world.

Others chose to celebrate a winter festival of Pagan origins but will still wear the paper hats and pull crackers and watch the Queens speech and fall asleep on the sofa after eating all the After Eights (before 8pm).

Those people are welcome to think what they want, but they are all wrong.

The REAL celebrations will be held in the Hogart household as this very blog reaches a milestone in it journey or nonsense and jibber jabber.

Indeed, as Christmas morning dawns and young children run downstairs at four AM screaming "He's been! He's been!" and the adults of the house are startled into conciousness with feral thoughts that the local nutter has broken in and done a turd on the carpet in the middle of the night before realising what the date is and have to drag themselves downstairs for a day that promises to be as headache inducing as it will be long, very few will realise JUST how important this day is.

For the 25th of December 2014 is the very same day that THOUGHTLESS GIBBERISH turns 1500 days old.

296 posts full of random words, a couple of songs and a few badly made videos clumped together with no order, logic or final destination now make up a four year journey that has seem my life change in many ways.

When I first started this little project of mine, I began with a name. 

BUMFERRY HOGART was what I chose (and it only took two weeks before I realise I had spelt it wrong).

I began writing as a way to stop myself going insane.

At the time, I was living in a small 16 foot caravan, as I had left my job in the big city and decided to join the family business of running a holiday site.

The local area had just taken part in the big DIGITAL SWITCH OVER (remember that?) and the tiny TV wouldn't pick up a signal, and so me and the dog and the laptop had to amuse ourselves in other ways.

With a spark of ill thought out inspiration - THOUGHTLESS GIBBERISH was born.

It was only supposed to last a year... but it festered.

Like the mould growing in a cup, long forgotten behind the sofa of time, it grew and changed colour and began to smell a bit.

But it never really evolved. It reached it's full potential.

It's my fault. I'm not very good at writing, deadlines, communicating or self promotion.

All the things that you are supposed to do with your blog, I didn't.

It's a good job I don't have kids.... they'd be ruined.

But 1500 days have gone by and although I have shared my ideas on a number of subjects such as: dwarves, the weather, Stephen Hawkins, football, gambling, the dog, how to save the world, and lots of examples of my own stupidity, I feel that this blog may have run its course.

I have had fun writing this and on the rare occasion somebody has commented (thanks Rob and Lily) it makes it seem less like I'm talking to myself in a padded cell and more like I am communicating with the outside world.

I just don't know if I want to carry on with it.

I'm going to take the rest of this year to contemplate the future of this blog and indeed the name of Bumferry Hogart.

Being housebound (by choice - long story: read the rest of the blog for more info) the internet is my main interaction with the outside world and I feel my presence should be a little more uniformed on the various platforms.

Of course, this news would have shook the bloging world to its knees if it were not for the fact that it seems most people have already jumped ship and announced their departure in the past couple of weeks... Addman and Lily Jo I'm looking at....where you used to be(?)

Anyway, That's just some THOUGHTLESS GIBBERISH from me to wrap the year off.

Merry Xmas!

I will still be working hard on the SINKINGSHIP BLOG which, for those that don't know, produces the finest, bestest comedy gold every Wednesday....

Euro Rats, UK pets and Master Chef.

A very quick post this week.

In fact there isn't much to say as real life has become uncomfortably busy of late, but that's a tale for another day.

Instead I would like to take this opportunity to wish GOOD LUCK to all those fellow bloggers out there who are taking part in this years A to Z challenge.

I too am doing the Challenge and hope to get through to the semi-finals..... (what? there isn't a prize at the end.....Ah DAMN)

There won't be anything on here of any value during the event but the new SINKINGSHIP BLOG will be up and running.

You can join the journey in many ways including TWITTER (right side of the page), GOOGLE PLUS(down at the bottom of the screen) and the BLOG itself (bloody hell, do I have to do everything?!?!?)

Anyway. That's it.

I have nothing else to say apart from the fact there appears to be a lot of news about giant Euro Rats, UK pets giving humans Space AIDS (I've really been paying attention) and Master Chef is back on.... I'm sure there is a theme to all this but I'm knackered and going to bed.

Bugger off.

A Good Old Rant - February 2014

The following is a brain fart. That means I starting writing and didn't stop until I couldn't think of anything to write.
The whole post took less than 10 minutes to write(it shows) and is presented here as it was created, baring some minor spell checking and font readjustment.

Enjoy - or not....


Everyone seems to be having a go at rich people.

For some reason it is seen as being wrong to have lots of money.

I don't have any money at all (Mrs H has seen to that!) but I do not think badly of those with more than me.

I find it quite odd that we all go out to work to earn money so that we can have nice things, we read papers and watch TV shows and more often than not think "I wish I had a car like thingy-me-bob," or "She is very nearly wearing a lovely dress made of unicorn silk, I want one" and then order a dozen online, squeezing the last drops out of our credit cards so that we feel just a tiny little bit better about our pathetic pointless lives.

However, those that can afford to buy a whole desert island are seen as evil and bad and we are told by politicians and the many faceless voices of panel shows that the rich should be forced to pay more tax than everyone else for no other reason that they have more money.

But let's put this into some sort of perspective that may or may not make sense.

The rich usually get rich because they or their partners or parents have MADE a lot of money working hard.

Maybe they built up a business from nothing like that Richard Branstons or invented a thing like Billy Gates. Sometimes they have more money than they know what to do with by being talented and entertaining like Paul McCartney or Bono or Peter "it's spitting!" Kay.

Regardless of how they managed to get lot's of money, they have it and often spend it wisely.

They might hire butlers or personal assistants as they now know, or they will order massive houses to be built and buy nice clothes and cars and ... things.

Idiots like you and me wouldn't know what to do if we were stupidly rich.

That's why most people don't play the lottery anymore. 

"Money doesn't make you happy!" so says the saying that people often say. And it seems to be true for those unprepared.

Take Michael Carroll for example. Here is a guy who won the best part of £10 million in 2002 and pissed it up the wall on drugs cars baseball caps and all sorts of nonsense.

To paraphrase the National Lottery - "That could have been YOU!" 

Okay probably not you. You would buy a house and a car and have a nice holiday and.... then what would you do?

That's right. You would live off the interest. You would be rich. And everyone would hate you.

Much in the same way that people hated Mr Carroll for wasting all that money.

I don't.

Mr Carroll did what he did because he knew he would never have the chance to spend £10 million again and he thought - "Sod it!"

Sure he is now working in a biscuit factory, but how many people love biscuits and say "I'd love to work in a biscuit factory!"?

I'll tell you how many - LOADS.

Michael Carroll put £10 million BACK into the UK economy in one form or another. 

There have been more instances of winners NOT spending their money and in some cases continuing to work in their old jobs!

This is the real evil. These people DON'T have to work but do, therefore stopping someone else from having a job they actually need to put food on the table.

Nor do they spend their money, instead it sits in a bank account collecting interest for the greedy bankers (remember them?) to invest badly and the so called winners take a wet weekend holiday in a rented mobile home off the coast of Cornwall.

Think of how much TAX they are not contributing to society. Think of that Job somebody could have. Think of the fun that none of us are not having because of their lack of imagination.

God I'm Angry now.

I want to be rich. I'm not ashamed to say it. I want to win a stupid amount of money that has far too many zeros at the end that it just boggles the mind.

The thing is, I won't be. Even though I still play the lottery, the prizes are starting to look like I am the only one bothering to buy a bloody ticket.

Don't for one second sit there and think - No, not me. I'm happy as I am.

If somebody offered you an oversized cheque from the postcode lottery you'd snatch their hand off, push the camera man out of the way and take a great big dirty shit on your bosses desk before snogging the receptionist you have had a crush on for the past six months and then sod off to somewhere with less rain and more cocktails by the beach before you could say "Derek? We're going to Bendirom!"

end.

50 Lampshades Of Grime - a mucky novel of sorts

It seems that anyone can write a best selling novel these days.

All you need is a boy wizard, a vampire and/or a bit of smut and you have a sure fire hit on your hands.

With that in mind here is part of the first chapter of my half-hearted attempt to join the ranks of people who have done the least amount of work to gain notoriety in their field and free tickets to the latest box office smash.

I expect my invitation to appear on This Morning with Philip Schofield any day now…

50 lampshades of Grime.

Ada had been on her knees for most of the afternoon. Being a scrubber was no laughing matter for her as she was often found pounding away on all fours, working up a sweat and getting all breathy.

Her ample bosom heaved to and fro in an almost hypnotic fashion that stood Mr Chumley-Horton-Weaverly by surprise as he entered the bedroom chambers.

“Good grief!” he exclaimed.

Ada stopped cleaning the carpet and pushed herself up to meet Mr Chumley-Horton-Weaverly’s eyes.

“Cor Mr Chumley-Horton-Weaverley. Oi never not even sawed you comin’ in that there door and no mistake.” Ada was a very badly written cockney.

“Forgive me Ada, I had no idea that this room was currently occupied.” Spoke Mr Chumley-Horton-Weaverley in a manner of somebody who was also very badly written indeed but spoke in a manner more accustomed to that of gentry.

Ada found her eyes wandering from his gaze.

“Ah.” Said Mr Chumley-Horton-Wearverley. “I see you have spotted my massive sausage.”

“It is a huge piece of meat and no mistake sur.” Gasped the innocent yet somehow mucky minded serf.

“It is isn’t it.” Replied the man of the house who was not very good at innuendo or chatting up the ladies.

“yes.”

“hmm. I’m going to ask cook to heat it up for my tea.”

A very large and uncomfortable silence entered the room.

Neither of them could exactly remember what happened next but there was some undressing of clothes followed by fondling, some heavy petting and rather a lot of apologies and uncertainties. At one point Ada lit a woodbine she always kept handy for these situations whilst Mr Chumley-Horton-Weaverley exited himself after a rather clumsy moment of over excitedness followed by a brief and completely unnecessary amount of mashing of flesh.

“My my Ada. That was a thing without a doubt.” He said in place of anything dramatic or romantic.

“Suppose it was sur.” She mumbled. “looks like I’ll have to scrub that bit of the carpet again.”

“yes.” Mr Chumley-Horton-Weaverley blushed. “Sorry about that. It’s never happened to me before.” He quickly added.

Ada shrugged and got back down on her knees and 

continued to clean the floor.

Mr Chumley-Whateverhescalled walked out and was never seen again… because…. Um… he was eaten by a wimpy vampire? Or an evil wizard cast a spell on him or whatever.

I can’t believe you are still reading this rubbish.