'Can you identify your assailants?' Yes, they were pixelated! I'd know them anywhere! Stop that uterus! It stole my wallet! What do you mean, "Can you identify the uterus in question?" It looked like a uterus! Or, as we've been singing it all through Christmas, a wooooom*. Talk about getting the new year off to a bad start – I've just been robbed by a delinquent reproductive organ. Yet the all signs were there …
"a team of plumbers, electricians, interior decorators, plasterers, architects, stone masons, ironmongers, seismologists, stage illusionists, tap dance instructors, steel drummers, and celtic swordsmen"
What have carpenters ever done to you Mr Dabbs?
No mention of a chippy and you will need one for repairs after the tap dance instructors have finished with the celtic swordsmen.
My least favourite wallet forgetting moment was leaving it in pair of jeans that, by the time I remembered where I last had said wallet, had been swirling around in the washing machine for 30 minutes.
Once, many years ago, I put a shirt through the wash that had my work's building access card still in the top pocket, which was one of the old-school credit-card type ones with a magnetic stripe.
Fortunately, the card still worked afterwards. Unfortunately, the edge of the card sliced through the door seal of the washing machine and flooded the kitchen; thankfully replacement door seals aren't expensive...
sigh... i still have a replacement seal for our machine. not fitted it yet, as i rotated the seal through 90 degrees to put the small tear at the top of the door. it's been 100% effective, aside from the drain holes no longer being at the bottom so some water gets trapped there.
Seal was less than 20 quid, but ugh, it requires 2 hrs to strip the machine almost entirely to pieces to get the inner spring off and on!
The Mozartkügel is no more ?
That's it, life is no longer worth living. Unless . . somebody picks up the recipe and starts anew (no, not you, Nestlé, nor Mars, Hershey's or Ferrero).
We need an icon that represents pure, abject terror. I'm sure there's some of painting that could do.
They were my mother's favourite chocolate, always on the wish list when someone was travelling and a given for Christmas. She passed away almost two years ago now. I'm not saying there's a connection, but...
(Anon since I'm not really proud of using my mother's passing for comedic purposes; though I have a feeling she might have appreciated it. Miss you!)
"By the way," she calls, "you left your wallet on the kitchen table so I locked it in the filing cabinet."
They say you get (more) wise with age. But when Mme D has to remind you of your stuff's whereabouts, then you may want to analyze the MRI of your brain, not Mme D's uterus. However, the revealing nature of MRIs can be intimidating and might give the impression you are going to die. Hell, better be prepared. In a hundred years you will be a goner.
What no telephone sanitary engineers?
They're on a long trip in interstellar space, as are a number of public relations managers and management consultants.
Unfortunately however, there are still quite a lot down here, waiting for the B Ark Mark 2 with its greatly enhanced carrying capacity.
... At least your toilet is now fixed, eh? Non?
And you've a nice CD/DVD to add to your home movie collection. Maybe you can put it in a display cabinet?Along with any framed Xray images you've been given by French medical imaging professionals over the years.
(The ones I got of my foot came in a fetching commemorative folder with a lovely colour image of a local tourist view on the front.)
invention that claims to be able to mix any of 300 cocktails in half a minute
Remarkable.
My experience of making cocktails is that for any given recipe you will lack at least one ingredient. Granted, this is true of recipes in general, but in the case of cocktails most missing ingredients require an outlay in excess of twenty quid. That's a lot for a bottle that will linger at the back of a cupboard* for the next five years, occasionally being sampled when there's nothing left in the house.
*cocktail cabinet, for the retro-posh
My worst recollections are:
The killer for me was choc-mint liqueur. The only way to save everyone else was to drink it all myself - not a pretty sight in the morning. Also avoid anything that is in an overly fancy bottle. If you are offered any kind of drink from a glass bottle shaped like a galleon under full sail, a grinning skull, or an AK47, then you should only use the contents for stripping paint.
"[...] then you should only use the contents for stripping paint."
That reminds me of the bottle of Poire Williams brought back from Luxembourg. The USP was they put the bottles on the tree and let a pear grow inside. Possibly I should have bought the more expensive version.
"My experience of making cocktails is that for any given recipe you will lack at least one ingredient"
There's a cell phone app that will take a list of liquor, mixes, etc. and produce cocktail suggestions that can be created with the supplies at hand.
I don't have that app, I drink beer, wine, or whiskey. Keeps things simple.
Two friends were quite experimental in their youth. Their verdicts were:
Beach = abrasive sand gets everywhere
Sea = no lubrication
Cornfield = stalk stubble is like a fakir's bed
Top deck of a bus = cramped
On a small boat tthey had the cabin - which only had single side bunks. So they turned the mattresses sideways to bridge the gap - but then needed something to support the area over the aisle. A hefty plastic water container was just the right height. As it was only partly full it made some interesting noises with changing movements.
I did some shopping, and put the results in the topbox on my bike.
I used the flat top of the box to rest the phone while I tapped away at Google Maps to find the way to the next store.
Once that was done, I hopped on and was riding away down the expressway at a good rate, when I did the usual patting of the pocket to make sure I had my phone.
Which was empty.
I was in the middle of a major coronary when I realized the phone was now clamped in the holder not 3 feet in front of my face.
I was in the middle of a major coronary when I realized the phone was now clamped in the holder not 3 feet in front of my face.
Its called "getting old". I regularly check all 6 pockets on my jacket, as I am going out, to find my phone. Only to then find it in my back pocket where I NEVER put it because I know that is the guaranteed way to make a working smartphone into an unworking foldable phone.
I was in a French hospital recently for a CT scan following an encounter with an imperfection on one of their ski slopes. Didn’t give me a CD, but a link to an online portal where you can view it every which way. Offered the link to my GP when I got home, but she confessed she wouldn’t be able to make head nor tail of it. Seems a waste — perhaps I should sell tickets.
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