Tuten Tiger (cont.)

I wish this was my own inspiration. In fact, it was an observation made by British comedian, Alan Davies. It made me laugh!

Here's back to Blogstream

Amen

Here in Heathen we play with our toys and dance The Potato. Our resident monkey writes poetry and does not wear a suit; nor gets off by telling everyone else how, or who, to BE.

Here in Heathen we put our heads together and say 'whizzy whizzy' in arbitary acts of irrelevance (which we know to be irrelevant, and are, therefore, amusing to us).

Here in Heathen we close our eyes and think wude thoughts. Sometimes, we allow ourselves to become lost in the swirl of our minds. We pity the Stiff Herberts who pretend to have answers to everything in the name of a 'God' or a creed.

Here in Heathen we like to swear and fuck about in all manner of ways. Now I go and eat a nice slice of Fickle cake... yum yum.

Clickerty click here to return

Beneath the SerFACES(cont.)

Back 2 Blogstream

Elvin & Cloth Sue (cont.)

Here's a cloth Dan. Dan with a cloth body. Doll Dan, the cloth body man.

Yikes! Where's the Way Out!

Monty's Transgression (cont.)

Completely out of the blue, Monty let out a cowboy cry of, "YEE-HAH!" There was silence... followed by further silence; which, after some considerable time, was crowned by... silence (of the stunned, not stoned[!!], variety).

I don't know how he summoned up the power of speech in the shadow of such an appalling transgression as this, but then Dan - still lying prone on the floor of The Shack (and bleeding from the corner of his mouth) - spoke.
"Oh no - no, no, no Monty. That won't do at all - not at all! We won't have that kind of thing here. You see, we are English and that kind of thing really isn't part of our cultural tradition. Isn't that right Wee Davy?"
We waited for a second as Wee Davy lay down his blood-stained hatchet and composed himself to speak.
"Click, clickerty click click clickerty. Cli-ick, clickerty click click click... clickerty!" (for, following our friendship dating back to days of school, the evil axe-weilding muchkin speaks in a language of clicks, which, strangely, only I understand).
The assembled folk looked to me to translate. So, lactating nervously, I did:
"Hmm, very true Wee Davy. He says that Monty's attempt at a rodeo shout is merely a pale cultural pastiche, akin to English white boys in rural Norfolk wearing baseball caps and speaking street jive in their country accents. He posits the opinion that, although we welcome diversity, it is important that this is done with integrity and authenticity. Furthermore, he feels that Monty's position is akin to that of the inflatable boy who, attending an inflatable school with an inflatable Head teacher, brings a pin into school. This scenario reaches its inevitable conclusion with the Head Teacher saying to the boy,
'You have let me down; you've let the school down - but most of all, you've let yourself down Son.'"

Suddenly going all dyslexic in a homage to Dan, let me say that all kinds of kayoss ensued in the wake of this here pronouncement - shear mayhum!
Such extraordinary scenes, my only remaining memory of this night are the cries of, "be true to oneself - true to the YOO!" which echoed long into the night from our Weedy Shack.

(I swear to you that I am not currently taking any drugs whatsoever. All of this is the fruition of a lifetime of applied irrelevance - the power of the MYND!)

Return to The Steam?

What a snorkel!

"It's as plain as the face behind my nose" - easy listening giant, Barry Manilow.

HEAVENS!

We're On Our Time Travels Again!!! (cont.)

There she is - our lovely Time Machine. Created by Dan, Wee Davy and I in a drunken outburst of unlikely inspiration, we chanced upon the key to Time itself. Quite a responsibility, yes; but trust us, we shall abuse it (at this point I recline on my couch, absinthe in hand, look out at the scrubby weeds and laugh like a Mexican bandit in a Spaghetti Western).

RETURN TO THE STREAM