Look! A new website has appeared, and it's all about the Frictionless Man! As if this blog was not enough.
There will be news and gig dates and all sorts of things there eventually. It is a bit sparse at the moment, but that won't be the case for long. You can also go to the Frictionless Man Forum where you can post even more of your witty, amusing, fatuous, facile, dull, pointless, sorry, wonderful thoughts.
So go over, sign up for the mailing list, register on the forum and download the MP3 of "Night" which is on there.
Now onto the business of Blog. Last night I had a dream that I met Michael Moore in the street on the way to the mastering of the Frictionless Man album. He walked up to me, shook me by the hand and said:
"It's not the worst thing I have ever heard."
He then wandered off and I was left calling after him:
"But I haven't recorded an album!"
I awoke in a half eaten buffet at a wedding reception in Brighton. How odd.
22 comments:
I had the same dream, except I was Michael Moore!
Does the advent of the new website mean this blog is going to disappear? I was worried for a minute there as I thought we wouldn't be able to talk bollocks anymore, but I suppose as long as the website has a forum there will always be an outlet for our bollocks(so to speak, if you will, as it were etc)! It will be like a trouser zip in website terms..
This blog will still be going strong, don't worry. Lots of places for you bollocks.
Why would I stop anyway? I quite enjoy this, it makes me feel popular.
I never thought I woudl use this sentence:
"I like both of your bollocks".
Oh God... I FEEL SO DIIIRRRTTTYYY!!!!
Boo hoo
(sound of broken sobbing; fade to black)
I realised that my comment implied that you are all actual bollocks.
An implication I have decided not to deny. You bollocks.
Was it a buffet where only half the vol au vents etc. had been eaten or a buffet where all of the vol au vents etc. had been half eaten? it's important
My recollection is hazy and my fraction assessment skills have always been suspect, but I would say that between eight sixteenths and eighteen thirty sixths of each item had been consumed.
On reflection, I should have found that more unusual than I did. Instead I stood up, announced that I had come to play the piano, made my apologies and left.
It is strange, when we think about fractions, exactly ummm what are they fractions of ummmm like when the builders came round and one of them didn't like the look of he electrics and he said 'i don't like the look of the electrics' so we thought dash it all, in for a penny in for a pound and stripped the whole roof off. Well as it turned out I spelt it wrong and he wasn't a builder but a BURGLAAAAH and he ran off with my roof and sold it to some somali businessman who had already bought
a) one wall from Richard Branson pube weaving factory
b) a punnet of socks that if you stretch them over your head you can do elephant foreskin jokes and
c) Shirley Assey's all important B.
all he needed was my roof to be able to live in harmony with his fellow man and then it was all yellow. and then he had it and it wasn't such a bad summer apart from Maureen's turbulence. and then we thought 'getting a bit chilly, time for the roof to be put back on'. Went into the cupboard under the stairs couldn't find it anywhere, perhaps because we live in a bungalow.
No roof, no stairs, no ballet shoes, what's the bloody point?
As i am dyslexic I often become confused between bears and bars. This caused great amusement in a Spanish zoo once when I mnbvfhjg asfgau uhauasbsvah muyhytffv and eventually he was put down.
Dyslexia is an anagram of Dailysex. Technically it should be posisble for a dyslexic to cock the word up and write that he / she suffers from Dailysex. Doesn't sound too daunting, really.
Winston Churchill was a monkey, as was his mother before him. Many was the time he had to stop writing a speech or planning the invasion of the Dardanelles to hang from a chandelier by one leg and peel a nana. That's short for banana, not grandmother. He never peeled grandmothers. Ever. Apart from that time in Tonypandy wuth the miners and all that. Not minors. He never peeled minors, apart from that time in the Chelsea Hotel when he was giving him head on an unmade bed. I was watching as well, but because my dictaphone wasn't working I had to rely on a thousand monkeys. I'm still waiting for my monkey-typed gay expose of Churchill to arrive, delivered by a monkey pedalling a cycle with a little red trailer attached. He will probably wear a blue uniform and salute.
Why was the monkey selling a cycle?
And why was his uniform unhappy?
These are the questions we need answering.
Monkey was one of the characters in the West Indian Anansi myths. Monkeys have traditionally been viewed as amusing when crammed in large numbers into barrels. Monkeys are often viewed as good friends (they're prime mates).
On the downside, people would often prefer to speak to the organ grinder. Also, spanking the monkey in publis is considered obscene.
It's an odd world.
That should, of course, read 'public, not 'publis'.
'Publis' is what the illiterate call pube lice, and that's a whole other story.
Oliver Reed and Keith Moon used to spend their Thursday afternoons firing Monkeys at the grave of Siegfried Sassoon.
Siegfried Sasson was in the Royal Welch Fusiliers, whose mascot is a goat. Goats naturally prey on The Monkees in the Jovian atmosphere, swooping on great herds of Mickey Dolenzes.
Mickey Dolenz started his showbiz career in the show Circus Boy, which started in 1956 and ran for three years.
In 1959 the streetcar service in Montreal was discontinued; in a chilling coincidence A Streetcar Named Desire opened on Broadway exactly 11 years 8 months and 58 days before.
Here the monkey trail runs cold but in 1953, a full six years before the cessation of streetcar services in Montreal Brando played Marc Anthony in the motion picture Julius Caesar. This roll was reprised by sweaty Charlton Heston in the 1970 film of the same name and plot.
Amazingly Heston had somehow returned from the future where he had found that the planet Earth would be ruled by "Dirty Apes."
The seductive monkey future lured him back and he later travelled beneath the Planet of the Apes.
Mike Nesmith and Charles Dance were unavailable for comment.
I remember jumping up and down in the trees shouting "I'm Gor!, I'm Gor!"
I've always enjoyed the delights of the simian (or was that the delights of the semi-on, a penile state that always reminds me of the motto 'be prepared'... not because of anything dodgy to do with cub scouts, I hastily clarify, but simply because it's nice to be ready to stand to attention at a moment's notice).
After several traumatic hours, I finally managed to pass a tennis ball.
It had been moving quite quickly as it was in a police car.
I thought i'd tune in to my locomotive TV (choooo choooo) to watch a program on simians. Imagine my distress when I found out it was a program on sybians, sexy machine to make girls cry and wet themselves.
They're thinking "Jordan's tits! Jordan's tits! Jordan's tits!" over and over again whilst wanking themselves silly.
(Not because they find Jordan exciting, but because the ratings her tits bring to them get them very aroused).
Was the program called 'I felt monkeys'?
No you're thing of "1 Felt Monkey", the story of the Fuzzy Felt murderer who held Staines in a grip of terror for a fortnight in 1986.
Even smaller Roger,
are you taking the piss?
I felt monkeys. Often with a nail gun and some roofing felt. I'm wanted by the RSPCA in 4 countries.
By a bizarre coincidence I too was listening to No Jacket Required by young Phil Collins. I got me to a-wondering whether or not the donkey jacket was so called because it was original made for donkeys. WAIT! I hear you say. That would be stupid as they only have two arms. TRUE I reply, but these were special donkeys with the power of walk and speech and dance and primitive mechanics. Where are they now? If only we could harmess them to carts, they could pull us along, tell us the news, dance us a song and fix escalators in shopping centres on the way home, and all they'd want would be a floppy hat with earholes cut out of it, a carrot and the occasional lead in a porn film. And they could speak in it too see, see. That's why they're different to normal donkeys who are, let's face it, shit.
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