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Showing posts with label hilarity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hilarity. Show all posts

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

An episode...

Looking for a phone charger.

[Russian Accents]
Me: Is NOKIA?
Dee: Look somewhere else then?
Me: NO, IS NOKIA?
Dee: It's not here?
Me: NOKIA. [waves nokia charger]
Dee: IS HERE!
[dissolve into lolz]

Banter.

Monday, 14 February 2011

Ye Olde V Day.

I find Valentine's day eminently amusing. Not only is it a commercial reason for people to avoid romance the rest of the year round (because how else would such a day remain special?) but it also allows me to amuse myself with various Scrooge-esque activities. An example of this is sitting listening to music very loudly and being entertained by the number of songs which fit today perfectly. For example, Eros' Entropic Tundra by Of Montreal which I have just spammed my dash with. :)

It also gives me something to complain about - being British this is an essential ingredient of my life blood, along with tea, rubbish public transport and emotional repression etc - which is excellent. For example, the fact my padre marched into my room this morning with brazen cheerfulness and announced "I am taking your mother out for a curry later. Have fun on your own." or that, as I was given 3 roses by my chum Esther, a girl gasping at the sight of them and going "She's got three roses!" as though the extra pound spent on three instead of one meant I was quietly cheating the system.

I love what a big deal people make of today, but for all the wrong reasons. I have never been a romantic person, and so taking a holiday like this ironically is probably more fun than any other approach I could take. This view culminated in a Soppy Romantic Tale of Sop which I wrote for Ellie. It was one of those stories which is so sticky and sickly that you might wish to vomit just looking at the title (soppy is not repeated for no reason!) and told the tale of how Ellie got together with Mr Collins from Pride & Prejudice as they wept over Lady Catherine's jugs. There were rose petals, hair touching, tears, gasping and lots of pretentious imagery. Or at least, there was until it was cut off in its prime by the end of lesson bell. Gutting.

So with that, I shall leave you and return to my soon-to-be-free house, where I shall be happily tucking into chocolate, television and a romantic dinner for one, cooked by my own fair hand.

To approach the end of this blog in the style of my friend Anna: what are your views on this corruption of the martyrdom of a Christian chap? How have you spent your day? Tell, tell!

And I shall leave you with some nice, fitting tunes for you to enjoy ironically. :)


Saturday, 5 February 2011

This evening...

has been quite honestly one of the most hilarious of my life thus-far. Death by choking on laughter nearly occurred. That is how amused I was. I am giggling at the mere memory of it.  Anna came over for a delayed Pub Therapy Sans Pub, and we had a great time being silly. Here are some quotes to illustrate:

"Milo is the son of Gelamen's sex-mayor."
*
"I am in shock, look I have a boner - I MEAN BLANKET."
*
"Ezra's voice gives me weird hand cramp..."
*
"Saving your Boo."
"If I was ghetto, I would say get off my woman."
"But we're not ghetto, we're fucking ETON."
*
"WHY WON'T IT LOAD?"
"OHHHH GOOOOOOD, I'M AAAAAAAAAAGING."
*
"Roland! You bastard! Stop putting your cock in that socket, my friend. You are in some serious trouble."

That is not half of it.

Thursday, 27 January 2011

Haggis, to rhyme with 'tongue'

I went to my chum Esther's Community Haus this evening, and we had haggis. It was one of the most amusing meals of my life, from failing to serve sensible portions of 'tatties, to innumerating the possible, mostly fictional, ingredients of haggis to Esther who didn't know anything about them.

Good times, good times. Happy belated Burns Night. :)

Monday, 17 January 2011

The Cress Dilemma

I am dying; quite literally dying. I have not laughed so much in such a long time.
I just received an e-mail which said, and I quote:

Graham’s doing navigation, I’m doing sharpening tools and we’ve got growing cress for you. The idea is to sow cress seeds onto paper plates through a cut-out paper mask – in a shape.


It tickled me so much. Firstly because the other chaps are doing something vaguely constructive while I have been delegated the position of Head Gardener, but also because of the way it's worded all imperatively, and the way 'in a shape' is tacked on the end like an added challenge.

As Nat says: "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to grow cress. IN A SHAPE."

I am up for the challenge, I accept the mission, and if I do not return, please make my funeral wreath out of cress (in a shape).

Monday, 29 November 2010

Eugh, you're such a shower.

Me: What a douchebag.
Dee: What does that actually mean?
Me: Well, it's like a dick, isn't it? Let me google it.

Here is what wikipedia informed me:

Douche usually refers to vaginal irrigation, the rinsing of the vagina, but it can also refer to the rinsing of any body cavity. A douche bagis a piece of equipment for douching—a bag for holding the fluid used in douching. To avoid transferring intestinal bacteria into the vagina, the same bag must not be used for an enema and a vaginal douche.

Cheerful stuff, I hear you cry. It goes on to explain that:

Slang uses

Douchebag, or simply douche, is considered to be a pejorative term. The slang usage of the term originated in the 1960s.[5] The term usually refers to a person, usually male, with a variety of negative qualities, specifically arrogance and engaging in obnoxious and/or irritating actions, most often without malicious intent.


This, I read out with gusto. And, as my father agreed, it was 'suitably edifying'. We had a good lol at 'a variety of negative qualities'. Gotta love Wikipedia's wording.


So now you know, as I know, that being a Douchebag is quite similar to being a dick in its use, and therefore, to avoid the awkwardness of ever discussing this again, I declare 'like a dick, isn't it?' to be the official definition.

What do you get when you combine a Catholic, a procrastinator and a book shelf?

Abridged conversations are all the rage, so here's another one between myself and Miss Considine. The below is not for those of a weak, homophobic or tasteful constitution. A rude-imentary understanding of Harry Potter is also handy. Let's go!

Rachel: I need to pick a new book to read. mhmhm.

Anna: Read this book, it's well deep, by some bint call Rolling, it's about a child called HP, who's gay, and he has to adjust to a straight world.

Rachel: “You're a wizard, harry.” “I know, I know, I like wands, okay? Just take it. Get over it, Hagrid, God. Eugh.”

[flounces out]

Anna: Harry... they took my wand off meh. Snapped it in half.

Rachel: D: ... holy shitting fuck, Hagrid. I knew you were only half-man, but this isn't what I thought you meant.

***

"No, Harry... I'll set my house on fire if we do."

http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/hs478.snc4/50101_1141451438_6423904_q.jpg

"Better setting the roof on fire than your pubes!!!!!! Dobby just wanted to be helpful, Harry Potter, Sir. Dobby just wanted to make sure Harry Potter was safe." [gives Condom]

"Where did you get this, Dobby? You're not allowed clothes!"

"You gave me a sock, sir."

"That wasn't a sock, Dobby! Waitup, Do house elves even have pubes?"

***

Anna: :DDobby only wishes to keep Harry Potter SAFE sir! An evil is lurking at Hogwarts! http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/hs861.snc4/70374_1087282893_5791663_q.jpgIt lurked and killed 50 years ago sir... Ever wondered why it's called Slytherin sir?! It is named after its greaters weapon sir... Syphillis....

Rachel: [gasp] Holy Hufflepuff Turd, Dobby!

http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/hs861.snc4/70374_1087282893_5791663_q.jpgAnna: So you see, HARRY POTTER MUST GO HOME!

http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/hs478.snc4/50101_1141451438_6423904_q.jpgRachel: Is this true? You mean... that's what happened to Voldemort's face? DDDD8

But... But... Dobby - I can't miss the Halloween Orgy. It's the greatest opportunity to carve pumpkins naked for miles around. Last year, Ronny Babes had a squash instead of a pumpkin, and he decided to store his wand in it, all night long. Great times, Dobby, GREAT FRICKIN TIMES. I must go to Hogwarts.

Anna :Oh BUT SIR you are too GREAT, too GOOD to be hunted so sir! You are famous... the whole wizarding knows your name and wants to touch your wand sir!

http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/hs478.snc4/50101_1141451438_6423904_q.jpg

Rachel: And with good reason, Dobby. Who am I to deny the people what they want? It would be cruel, Dobby. CRUEL. You saw what it did to Quirrell. He could barely say 'fellatio' after a year with me. No, I just can't do it to them.

***

"Do you think the werewolves were a metaphor for AIDs?"

The story of Wizard AIDs or How It Was All Kreacher’s Fault.

Once upon a time, in a land where wizards gallivanted about and lived in invisible houses with grotesque creatures who, in their pillow-case garms (rep your creps, kids, rep your creps!) inspired no other name but Kreacher, there was a Moste Ancient and Noble House of Black. That is not racist, kids, it’s their surname. Don’t be racist. Ever.

The Regular Black Child had ‘one lonely, unprotected night’ with the household slave (aforementioned elf with a bedding fetish) which he was to regret forever. Little did he know that elves are the main carriers of Wizard Aids, a disease which only presents real symptoms in half-bloods – this is the real reason pureblood is the Dolce and Goblin-Armour of the wizarding world. Unknowingly, Regulus had contracted the disease in Kreacher’s kitchen cupboard bed.

The next day, just before lunch, Regulus was chopping beets in order to prepare a salad for his rather more serious brother. Sirius was a greedy little doglet, and decided nothing could beat some stolen beets so he made to grab for Regulus’ big, reddish fruit. Naturally, this took him by surprise, causing Regulus to slip and cut himself with the culinary light saber, and began to bleed profusely.

Sirius knew this was serious. A spurt of blood caught him in the face before he could dodge, and sure enough, the Wizard AIDs virus crept into his eye. After much arguing, it was decided that they should never speak again, especially when Kreacher began to tend to the wound in an overfriendly manner. Sirius took bestiality seriously – seriously. He later told his mother about his discovery, starting a lifelong fuel which eventually resulted in a very pissed off portrait.

Later, Sirius decided that Beastiality and School had nothing in common – the only thing he could take seriously was his feelings for a particular Penis Lupin. Even his name wreaked of manliness and enigmagnetism. One night, after a particularly steamy Halloween Orgy, things got steamy in the dorm room.

The result of this was that poor old Penis managed to catch Wizard AIDs and, being a half-blood, was forced to face the long-awaited consequences of that cold night back in Grimmauld Place many years before. (Kreacher was later to put it down to Stockholm Syndrome, when Dobby liberated him by burning his pillowcase and gifting him a bra.) From then on, Penis Lupin was a werewolf.

Gives a whole new perspective to Fenrear Gayback...

***

And I leave you with one final, harrowing thought.

Arthur Weasley – he just loves plugs.