What Song Are You Listening To, Right Now?

Smooth Jazz

signalmankenneth music of choice is smooth jazz!

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lyUqQobK48"]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lyUqQobK48[/ame]
 
[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc0mxOXbWIU&feature=player_embedded#"]YouTube - Cee Lo Green - FUCK YOU (Official Video)[/ame]!
 
charver said:
I'm sitting here, white as a sheet and trembling, in a state of abject shock after hearing the news this morning that Barack Obamas has failed to retain the Nobel Peace Prize for a second time. Apparently he didn't even make the play-offs, which must be a crushing disappointment.

Despite employing his army of peace-bringing robot extermination drones to blow up hordes of Islamic mentals and saving the UK, France and Germany from the prospect of wild terminator Muslims wreaking havoc on the streets of London, the boulevards of Paris and the linden-lined strasse's of Berlin, he was cruelly snubbed by those cold hearted Norwegian fucks.

Instead they gave it to some Chinese bloke, who, rather than bringing universal peace and happiness to the world, like some people we could mention, is apparently a criminal, in prison for subverting state power by writing a particularly frightening leaflet. He's called Liu Xiaobo although god knows how in the world you pronounce that. A lot more complicated than, say, Barack Obamas.

I'm sure you too are disgusted and i urge you all to launch an immediate boycott of Norwegian pornography, trolls and Ibsen plays. From this day forth i resolve never to allow another fjord in the house.

'Not a Second Time' - The Beatles
Click to expand...

Oh I missed these.
 
Good Morning.

There may be some gentlemen among our number, and possibly some ladies, who, before the dawn of the internets age of global pornography, indulged their sexual curiosities through purely paper based means. The specialist magazines kept under the creaky floorboard of a furtive father's bed. Or, those discarded dog-eared copies of down-market grumble mags - Knave, Fiesta or the holy grail - Razzle chanced upon in hedges. Anyway, as kids we were always fascinated by those adverts for pheromone sprays making any man, or pre-pubescent child, irresistible to women. And the sheer weirdness of lady's clackers, of course.

While i'm extremely doubtful those sprays contained anything more than foul smelling liquid and delusion, i have come to the conclusion that my body does indeed emit a pheromone-like substance which attracts every crazy motherfunster in the immediate area. Whether it's in the street or, more usually, in a public house they are guaranteed to come and talk to me.

Friday's encounter involved two odd looking chaps - a rather hyper fellow sporting a vest and his quiet chaperone dressed in a rather more orthodox fashion - challenging myself and an associate to a game of pool. Both were utterly abysmal. Mr Vest seemed more preoccupied venting his work-based frustration at his supermarket supervisor - finishing each complaint with one of two sentences "i would have punched her in the face but she's a woman" and "it's not because she's a lesbian".

The quieter one took every shot within a millisecond of touching the table and said hardly a word until, in a quiet moment, he suddenly announced, out of nowhere and with no emotion on his deadpan face - "I used to own a guitar but i smashed it over my dad's head. Went down for a two-stretch and i'd do it again". Taking more notice now of the pint glass in his hand i edged toward the bar, pursued by Mr Vest who wanted my number and to renew our acquaintanceship the next day. Despite my self-confessed louche European attitude, this was clearly a step too far. I made my excuses and left.

This is merely the latest in a long line of encounters with the deranged. I fear this will be my legacy.

'All The Weird Kids Know' - Built By Snow
 
charver said:
Good Morning.

There may be some gentlemen among our number, and possibly some ladies, who, before the dawn of the internets age of global pornography, indulged their sexual curiosities through purely paper based means. The specialist magazines kept under the creaky floorboard of a furtive father's bed. Or, those discarded dog-eared copies of down-market grumble mags - Knave, Fiesta or the holy grail - Razzle chanced upon in hedges. Anyway, as kids we were always fascinated by those adverts for pheromone sprays making any man, or pre-pubescent child, irresistible to women. And the sheer weirdness of lady's clackers, of course.

While i'm extremely doubtful those sprays contained anything more than foul smelling liquid and delusion, i have come to the conclusion that my body does indeed emit a pheromone-like substance which attracts every crazy motherfunster in the immediate area. Whether it's in the street or, more usually, in a public house they are guaranteed to come and talk to me.

Friday's encounter involved two odd looking chaps - a rather hyper fellow sporting a vest and his quiet chaperone dressed in a rather more orthodox fashion - challenging myself and an associate to a game of pool. Both were utterly abysmal. Mr Vest seemed more preoccupied venting his work-based frustration at his supermarket supervisor - finishing each complaint with one of two sentences "i would have punched her in the face but she's a woman" and "it's not because she's a lesbian".

The quieter one took every shot within a millisecond of touching the table and said hardly a word until, in a quiet moment, he suddenly announced, out of nowhere and with no emotion on his deadpan face - "I used to own a guitar but i smashed it over my dad's head. Went down for a two-stretch and i'd do it again". Taking more notice now of the pint glass in his hand i edged toward the bar, pursued by Mr Vest who wanted my number and to renew our acquaintanceship the next day. Despite my self-confessed louche European attitude, this was clearly a step too far. I made my excuses and left.

This is merely the latest in a long line of encounters with the deranged. I fear this will be my legacy.

'All The Weird Kids Know' - Built By Snow
Click to expand...

This is so great, I have the same thing. All my life I've always felt like if there was a freak in the room, any room, he was going to take one look at me and make a beeline. 'that's the girl for me' i always imagine the freak thinks to himself. And I can always see them coming. Horrifying.
 
charver said:
Good Morning.

There may be some gentlemen among our number, and possibly some ladies, who, before the dawn of the internets age of global pornography, indulged their sexual curiosities through purely paper based means. The specialist magazines kept under the creaky floorboard of a furtive father's bed. Or, those discarded dog-eared copies of down-market grumble mags - Knave, Fiesta or the holy grail - Razzle chanced upon in hedges. Anyway, as kids we were always fascinated by those adverts for pheromone sprays making any man, or pre-pubescent child, irresistible to women. And the sheer weirdness of lady's clackers, of course.

While i'm extremely doubtful those sprays contained anything more than foul smelling liquid and delusion, i have come to the conclusion that my body does indeed emit a pheromone-like substance which attracts every crazy motherfunster in the immediate area. Whether it's in the street or, more usually, in a public house they are guaranteed to come and talk to me.

Friday's encounter involved two odd looking chaps - a rather hyper fellow sporting a vest and his quiet chaperone dressed in a rather more orthodox fashion - challenging myself and an associate to a game of pool. Both were utterly abysmal. Mr Vest seemed more preoccupied venting his work-based frustration at his supermarket supervisor - finishing each complaint with one of two sentences "i would have punched her in the face but she's a woman" and "it's not because she's a lesbian".

The quieter one took every shot within a millisecond of touching the table and said hardly a word until, in a quiet moment, he suddenly announced, out of nowhere and with no emotion on his deadpan face - "I used to own a guitar but i smashed it over my dad's head. Went down for a two-stretch and i'd do it again". Taking more notice now of the pint glass in his hand i edged toward the bar, pursued by Mr Vest who wanted my number and to renew our acquaintanceship the next day. Despite my self-confessed louche European attitude, this was clearly a step too far. I made my excuses and left.

This is merely the latest in a long line of encounters with the deranged. I fear this will be my legacy.

'All The Weird Kids Know' - Built By Snow
Click to expand...

Have you ever thought of writing a book?
 
charver said:
Do you reckon anyone would read my idle witterings?
Click to expand...
We all do.

You could write some holistic detective novels... except that idea was already taken. How 'bout The Holistic Supermarket Bagger series. It could include small vests and people without hats.
 
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