Liam's write-only LJ

From JOHN CLEESE [allegedly]

The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent events in Syria and have therefore raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved." Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to "A Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.

The Scots have raised their threat level from "Pissed Off" to "Let's get the Bastards." They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.

The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide." The only two higher levels in France are "Collaborate" and "Surrender." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France 's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country's military capability.

Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."

The Germans have increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose."

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

Australia, meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She'll be right, Mate." Two more escalation levels remain: "Crikey! I think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!" and "The barbie is cancelled." So far no situation has ever warranted use of the last final escalation level.

Regards,
John Cleese,
British writer, actor and tall person

And as a final thought - Greece is collapsing, the Iranians are getting aggressive, and Rome is in disarray. Welcome back to 430 BC.

(Yes, it's an internet joke. However, I thought it was well done and rather amusing.)

Dear Mom,

Our Scoutmaster told us to write to our parents in case you saw the flood on TV and got worried. We are okay. Only one of our tents and 2 sleeping bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for Adam when it happened.

Oh yes, please call Adam's mother and tell her he is okay. He can't write because of the cast. I got to ride in one of the search and rescue Jeeps. It was great. We never would have found Adam in the dark if it hadn't been for the lightning.

Scoutmaster Ted got mad at Adam for going on a hike alone without telling anyone. Adam said he did tell him, but it was during the fire so he probably didn't hear him. Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas will blow up?

The wet wood didn't burn, but one of the tents did and also some of our clothes. Matthew is going to look weird until his hair grows back.

We will be home on Saturday if Scoutmaster Ted gets the bus fixed. It wasn't his fault about the crash. The brakes worked okay when we left. Scoutmaster Ted said that with a bus that old, you have to expect something to break down; that's probably why he can't get insurance.

We think it's a super bus. He doesn't care if we get it dirty, and if it's hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the bumpers. It gets pretty hot with 45 people in a bus made for 24. He let us take turns riding in the trailer until the policeman stopped and talked to us.

Scoutmaster Ted is a neat guy. Don't worry, he is a good driver. In fact, he is teaching Horace how to drive on the mountain roads where there aren't any cops. All we ever see up there are huge logging trucks.

This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and swimming out to the rapids. Scoutmaster Ted wouldn't let me because I can't swim, and Adam was afraid he would sink because of his cast (it's concrete because we didn't have any plaster), so he let us take the canoe out. It was great. You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood.

Scoutmaster Ted isn't crabby like some scoutmasters. He didn't even get mad about the life jackets. He has to spend a lot of time working on the bus so we are trying not to cause him any trouble.

Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When Andrew dived into the lake and cut his arm, we all got to see how a tourniquet works.

Steve and I threw up, but Scoutmaster Ted said it was probably just food poisoning from the left-over chicken. He said they got sick that way with food they ate in prison. I'm so glad he got out and became our scoutmaster. He said he sure figured out how to get things done better while he was doing his time. By the way, what is a pedal-file?

I have to go now. We are going to town to post our letters and buy some more beer and ammo. Don't worry about anything. We are fine and tonight it's my turn to sleep in the Scoutmaster's tent.

Or, movies that transform your mind into mush. Or toys that transform children into customers.

So ednun took me to see Transformers 2 in Camden tonight. He wanted to go to a showing with audio description, which is fair enough, and as his helper, I got in for free, so that was cool. Thanks, man.

It was interesting to watch an audio-described film. I've never tried it before.

They don't broadcast the audio description; you wear headphones. These are big heavy battery-powered wireless ones that clamp over your ears, but quite deliberately don't have padding to block out the sound, because they don't carry the soundtrack. That you get from the cinema speakers.

They're a little odd. They have multiple controls - an on/off switch, another for people with hearing aids (we think), and not one but two volume wheels, one for each ear. The narration isn't in stereo, but this way, you can adjust the sound balance for yourself, in an odd slightly-clunky way, like trying to steer a tank in Battlezone with 2 joysticks.

I'd also like to know how the wireless transmission works. It's some kind of line-of-sight system; turning your head sideways, or holding hands over the 'phones, introduces static, and Ed tells me that when people walk in front of you, the signal is blocked. Infra-red headphones?

They just carry the extra narration. It's pretty detailed in places - they describe the animated production-company logos and things before the titles, for instance. In places, especially if not a lot is going on, they describe the character's expressions and small movements. Entertainingly, the description was very English, too, with words like "knackered" in it. This pleased me quite inordinately. It's not intrusive, but you do have to turn it up loud, because sometimes, he's talking right through very loud action. And oddly, in places, it's rather under-descriptive: when a hot student girl straddles our hero, mounting him as if to screw him, the voice merely says "she sits on him". That ain't what I call "sitting", my friend.

The thing about this film is, though, I am not a Transformers fan. I did not expect to hugely enjoy the film. And I didn't.

Ed, however, is. He's a massive fan. He even bought the book of the movie, scanned it page by freaking page, and then OCRed the whole thing so he could read it. That is dedication.

I could talk about the film. I could talk about its bizarre disjointedness, about how it not only depends entirely on special effects but, oddly, in this one, of effects of military hardware and explosions almost more than giant battling alien robots. I could talk, for quite some time, with feeling, about Megan Fox. OK, so, in real life, she's a tattooed slapper, total trailer-trash, but in the movies, when they cover up all the tats with heavy-duty makeup, well, damn she is decorative. She couldn't act her way out of a wet cardboard box, but she doesn't need to.

Michael Bay is deranged for getting her to put on some extra weight for the film, but I am aware that my tastes in this regard are not the everyman's.

But still, after everything, even now I know the difference between an Autobot and a Decepticon, hypothetical gods help me, I still think the whole damned concept is a load of utter toss.

So it is something of a relief to know that I am not alone.

So I recommend, for the idly curious, The 10 Most Confusing Things in 'Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen', followed by the greatly more cynical and thus more amusing Bonus! Rob's Transformers 2 F.A.Q.s! from Topless Robot.

Example:
Can you explain Megan Fox's appeal?
Yes. She looks like a porn star and has the same acting talent as one, yet for some reason she makes mainstream movies. This tonal disconnect is what's so appealing about her.

... and...

Could you sum up the film in one line of its dialogue?
"I am standing directly beneath the enemy's scrotum."

Conclusion: skip the film, read the summaries. Some of the reviews are also recommended for amusement value. Metro's one, for instance, entitled "Just skip these robot wars": blank, wet-lipped super-hottie Megan Fox, who looks like she'd scoff LaBeouf for breakfast before spitting him out and moving on to Cheryl Cole". Excellent.

How I Met My Wife

It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate. I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way. I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make bones about it, since I was travelling cognito. Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be peccable. Only toward and heard-of behavior would do. Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata or sung hero were slim. I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion. So I decided not to rush it. But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make heads or tails of. So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings. Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous. She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory char- acter who was up to some good. She told me who she was. "What a perfect nomer," I said, advertently. The conversation became more and more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour. I asked if she wanted to come with me. To my delight, she was committal. We left the party together and have been together ever since. I have given her my love, and she has requited it.

- Jack Winter, Shouts & Murmurs

---

A Very Descript Man

I am such a dolent man,
I eptly work each day;
My acts are all becilic,
I've just ane things to say.

My nerves are strung, my hair is kempt,
I'm gusting and I'm span:
I look with dain on everyone
And am a pudent man.

I travel cognito and make
A delible impression:
I overcome a slight chalance,
With gruntled self-possession.

My dignation would be great
If I should digent be:
I trust my vagance will bring
An astrous life for me.

- J H Parker

---

Both from the A Word A Day newsletter

Not Always Right

A brief example:

Me: “**** Library, how can I help you?”

Caller: “Yes, I have some books that are due tomorrow, but I need to keep them longer.”

Me: “Okay, ma’am. I’ll need your name so I can renew the books.”

Caller: *scandalized* “You need my what?”

Me: “Your name, ma’am. So I can call up your account on my computer.”

Caller: “You have my account?! How did you get that? Do you have my Social Security number?”

Me: “No, ma’am. I mean your library account. When you came in to get your library card, you filled out a form with your name, address, phone number, and email, so that we can contact you if you ever have overdue books. We don’t have your social security number.”

Caller: “Well, I’m not giving out my name to a complete stranger over the phone!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am. Perhaps you could give me the titles of the books?”

Caller: “Why do you need to know what I’m reading?! The books are due tomorrow! Just renew them!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no way I can look up books by the due date. Without your name or the titles of the books, I can’t help you.”

Caller: “You’re trying to steal my identity! I’m calling the cops.”

Me: *giving up* “You do that, ma’am.” *hangs up*

Co-worker: “You should have told her we put cameras in the books.”

You have two cows.

John Paulson borrows one cow so he can sell it for $100. He gives you $10 as collateral.

You buy your neighbors cow for $100, which you finance by taking out a $90 loan from the bank and use John's $10 to make up the rest.

You brag to everyone about your financial health. You have assets--two cows you own, plus one Paulson owes you--worth $300, and liabilities of just $100.

A third of the country goes vegetarian.

You thought your two cows were worth $200 and now they are worth $140.

You express confidence in your financial health. Your assets are now worth only $200--your two cows plus the one John owes you--but your liabilities are still only $100. If necessary, you could sell the assets at this distressed price and pay off all your loans.

You hold onto your cows because you are sure the market is "dislocated." Some day someone will want to eat beef again.

The rest of the country goes vegetarian. Your two cows are now worth $2 each to guys who want to make dog food.

John Paulson buys a cow in the market for $2 and he gives it to you as repayment of the loan. You now have three cows worth six bucks.

John wants his $10 back.

The bank calls. It wants its $90 back.

You call the Federal Reserve and ask for a bailout.

Nicked from here.

Not quite E.T....

E.T.A.

Some exceptionally fine Chinglish:

"May I take your order?"

Giant flying sperm!

Natural Harvest - a semen-based recipe book

God's Facebook page

Oh, yes, and from squiddity: Wikipedia's List of Common Misconceptions

Not only am I terribly taken with the new album, which is even more long-awaited than Duke Nukem Forever, but I've managed to work its title into the teaser for a story on Heise. Both the album, which I have on continuous play from Myspace, and this tiny silly trick, are pleasing me quite inordinately.

Gee and fuckin' R, baby. Hell yeah.

Or something like that. What do I know, I'm 41, I'm an olde pharte. Waaa!

P.S. I'm not as old as William Bruce W. Axl Rose, though. Something to be grateful for, I s'pose.

I currently smell very slightly of it. (I presume; I have almost no sense of smell, but I am on the waiting list for a nose job this summer, which should, I hope, fix that.)

But what, you ask, is Man Fire?

Well, it's one of Lidl's range of male shower/hair gels. They do a whole assortment of these, many of which are called something to do with Fire or Ice or Gold or something. Presumably these are seen as macho in Neckarsulm.

I rather like expensive shower gels like the frothy stuff from Imperial L(e)ather and the Essential Oils stuff that uon favours, but it does rankle a tad to buy this stuff for £3 a tin and then, well, wash it straight down the drain. So ladytg presuaded me to shift over to the really cheap stuff - the sort of 12p-a-bottle offerings from the big supermarkets.

Nothing wrong with this. It does the job. Doesn't smell of anything much, or perhaps very faintly of antiseptic or washing-up liquid or the like, though.

Lidl, on the other hand, have this range of entertainingly-named skin detergents FOR MEN, and they're something like 50 or 60p. At a quarter to a fifth of the price of something virtually identical branded RightGuard or Gillette or Brylcreem or something, well, it's not exactly an extravagance.

And it's purple. So dark purple it's almost black. Which is, of course, inherently cool.

What does Man Fire actually smell of, though? Does it smell like something manly to do with fire, like abseiling into a live volcano?

No. It smells of flowers, as far as I can tell.

I just hope they're MANLY flowers.