Bins latest offering claims "it is your duty (youth of Islam) to join the caravan of martyrs"

I didn't know he was such a big Housemartins fan.

-Every muslim whose a man... join the caravan of martyrs... blow up, ka boom, gann bang! 

Well Pavorotti's deed! Renowned world wide for his stirring rendition of "Nessum dorma" which literally translates as "none shall sleep".

Well I beg to fuckin differ fat boy! You've got the sleep of all sleeps ahead of ya. But good luck with getting the new wings fitted chunk. 

"Who man"

tentatively "Me"?

"Here man"

unsure "Yes we are"

"How man"

informatively " At some stage of pre-natal development some embryo's develop male sex organs"!

I've been off work for a while (stress) and recently had an appointment made with my company's occupational health. The day before my appointment I started thinking "I'm gonna have to make this look convincing", so I set to work.

 That day I didn't bathe. Not ideal as I was hummin anyways, but I thought the lingering stench of funk and the aroma of stale sweat might influence said Occ health professionals opine. I decided not to eat also as this would make me genuinly weak the following day, ergo lessening the strain of faking the feign. Continuing the nutritional method method I steadily drank a moderate two bottles of red throughout the course of the day giving me a slightly glazed vacuous look.

The eve of my doom was upon me so I decided to stay up all night and watch sign-zone, thereby nailing the somewhat non complus mentos behaviour. Come morning I decided to go with the same clothes I'd had on for the past day, with some stylistic and cosmetic enhancements. I took off al my outer garments scrunched them up in a ball and trodd them as if grapes in a barrel, then put them back on. Using an old tea bag, ketchup and some fag ash I suitably wife beated my attire, the tea bag also proved usefull for overly staining the middle and index digits on my smoking hand. I made the bold decision to wear odd shoes (even though of the same colour and manufacturer this has been described as flamboyant), I had thought about lining a flat cap I wear with tin foil but realised the hallucanogenic state I was in was causing my imagination to run wild.

After nearly being hit by a car, because I was scratching some dirt into my fingernails out of the gutter, I arrived 20 mins early for the appointment. This was just enough time to cram in four cups of coffee x4 in sugar. By the time I twitched my way into the interview I was ratteling like the bastard love child of Whitney Houston and Professor Steven Hawkins.

And I quote: "Mr Cramb I have to give my honest opinion I am not convinced you are psychologically fit for work"

I dunno, what do yo think?

Has anyone else spent the day getting all excited and coming on Tim? The strawberry munchers of SW19 filled the new centre court to come on Tim. Tims wife and mother taking ring side seats to see this national wave of the lower class masses coming on Tim from Henman hill and no doubt being aware of the millions of fans at home having to come on Tim via their tv's.

So if you want to prove your citizenship, nationalism, and allround British love of an underdog you'll come on Tim like the rest of us.

In the steely grip of her left hand your mum holds both ankles of the dangling, though bolt rigid, hands clasped at side, petrified infant. In a singular motion twisting her powerfull forearm outward and curling her mighty bicep she effortlessly raises the seemingly mummified child horizontal to the floor. With delicate ease the back of its head is brought to rest on her right shoulder as she nestles her broad chin in the soft groove of the youngsters throat.

Having been previously obscured from sight, behind her sturdy thighs, she brings to view her right hand. Its holding a curved rod, the length of the infant, making taught what appears to be wire fixed at either end. The strong grip of her large hand is gently employed to hold one end of the impliment, as at the same time, with precise sensitivity, she brings down the drawn tight cable across the childs abdomen.

Suddenly with sprightly vigour she begins to jab the bow erratically over the youngsters midrift, jauntily hopping from left to right leg and repeatedly reciting an incantation "Diddle-ee-fii-di-dee-di-dum, dee-dum-de-diddle-ii-dii" using infinate different combinations each time.

Yes it would appear your mum is indeed a kiddie fiddler.     

I asked a girl I'd just met what she did for a living the other day and she told me she was a "Secretary". I then attempted to somewhat knowledgeably ask if she was a "Legal Secretary", to which she replied rather tartly "No, Para-legal actually". My believed funny and absoulutely non-sarcastic reply of;

"What does that mean? Do you go to haunted houses and ghost trains saying (in a spooky voice); Have yOOOuuu..., been injureeRRRdd..., in an aCCCideennnttt..., at work recentlYYY"!!!

was met with more tart for tea.

WHY THE FUCK is this my advertising blurb at the rear of my page! How much do they know!! This is the type of thing that could tip an Alien over the edge!!! I never really saw myself as somebeing who would totally flip their lid one day and get caught fucking swans at the local pond, but then... with their huge angelic wings, the smell of.., of.., of... bread! and the rumour that they mate for life(important for a man of my integrity, loyaltie and poor spelling).

 Go forth all other Swan-fuckers and take back the park lands. No longer be it for tennis players, kiddies and duck-feeders, let the mentally ill have their platform, a public area to roam, rant and rave, fight with pigeons and frighten the norms. WOULD YOU LIKE A PONY NUT?   

I have to do a piece of material on "gardening" for an upcoming gig. But for the life of me all I can think of is "green-fingers", the slightly strange term used to denote a degree of skill at gardening implying that because hands are used so much the greeness of the vegitation has permanently rubbed off onto them.

Now! Is this colour coding of the digits applicable to other passtimers with a talent for their chosen activity? What about the Vagrant, I'm not talking about your every day beggar or wandering hobo, I'm talking about your 350 a day fag-end habit, piss their pants, food in their hair career tramp! would they warrant the classification of being "yellow-fingered"?

Or the Proctologist? Thats bum-doctorfor any males under prostate check age. The ladies in the audience will ofcourse immediatley recognise their favourite medical practitioner, I think you'll agree ladies that theres nothing quite like having a cold spoon shoe horned into your toilet parts to endear you to a complete stranger. They used to warm it first by breathing on it, I think thats terrible, you'd get it much warmer by putting under your armpit! Anyway, so Dr Proctor has got a digit up your poo-pipe, you'd hardly tell him:

" Ooh Dr thats the spot! You've got a real brown finger"

I was gonna do one about victims of domestic violence being "black-eyed", but I think thats a bit near to the knuckle, as was Dr fuckin Proctor last time I got checked out!

"Fuckin hell doc what you lookin for me teeth! I hope you've taken your fuckin watch off"