oh my god i feel awful…where am i?

wait a minute; it’s all coming back to me now.

bloody hell, there are people still here…i guess as the feminist of size hasn’t sung yet, it ain’t over..well i might just have a bit of a sharpener..hmmm..interesting, frothy *sniffs* spar’n baileys – the new ‘in’ cocktail for the season

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhshitshitshit – lazza tried to cop off with sheila jeffreys


56 responses to “oh my god i feel awful…where am i?

  1. SW?
    Here go mate, nice big plate of fried eggs, sausages, toast dripping butter…………

    Big mug of strong coffee?

  2. mmmm….


  3. Smudging, incantations of my Hopi Indian prayer and other energy clearance seemed to have worked. No ghostly apparitions, spontaneous levitating wotsits or banshee shrieks what so ever.

  4. Fair trade coffee for you WW? Milk and sugar? Home made biccie? Left over ginger cake?

  5. Fair Trade’ll be fab 🙂 strong, black, 1 sugar please. And a biccie, ta.

  6. Coming up, in the biggest mug I got….. Bourbon or home made ginger bic?

    Anyone else? Tea? Coffee?

  7. Tea please and ginger cake sounds real nice…ta!

  8. Um….

    both, please 😉

  9. sarah – i love you and wish you were my mum – any more bacon? that sagey stick thing tasted funny…burp; where’s the diampod white?

    errr…west india quay was it?

  10. Hah! I could never compete with WW, I wouldn’t dare!

    WW – come and get em? I’m in the kitchen, kettle’s just boiled.

  11. oh my god i feel awful…where am i?

    At the aftermath of the Special Olympics for Desperate Housewives . Luckily there were no fatalities this year, and the short bus got everyone back to the droolery on time!

    The pinhole cameras you requested were all installed on time, so you can have an interesting few months playing “whose ~~~~ is this”?

    DeVito and Clooney said they had a swell time!

    Thanks for having us in, and rest assured that BBC-1 will cover this event again next year.

    Yr o’b’d’t & etc.

  12. [Speaking to Schrodinger’s Guest] …

    Qui vive …

    Good morning, mate. They say you’re in a box, but in my imagination your spirit is indomitable and you yourself are uncontainable. You appear far too solid to be an undifferentiated waveform phantasm.

    There is the suggestion this may be a week-long party. I hope people pace themselves. It takes discipline and considerable self-knowledge to last such a duration. This is the kind of wisdom that one can easily discern you have.

    [A pause while watching the beautiful sunrise over an exquisite English garden … a long sip of a refreshing morning beer … a few bites of scrambled eggs and thick toasted bread slathered with blueberries.]

    For what it’s worth, I don’t think you are a racist, a sexist, or even a “creepy white pervy indophile” who is “scard of brown men.” I’m embarrassed we threw that at you after declaring you should not defend yourself (and noting that you honorably did not). My own sense of fairness does not allow me to stand silent too long when anyone is put in a box that says “bollocks to free speech.” I don’t know what it means, but I’m certain it can’t be good and must be resisted to the end of the last lonely proton’s decay.

    You remind me of my friend Cyrano. Yes, the wise Frenchman with the long nose, piercing wit, and the quick sword. The worst we might say of him is that he’s an “intellectualist” with little patience for those a bit casual with the tools of thought. Well, actually, I think someone once called him a “malevolent malapert ” — but be he’s no longer with us. Anyway, I thought Cyrano might be here by now.

    [Musing over a bite of freshly cut pears and another sip of my matutinal medicament … ]

    Perhaps he was delayed at a different celebration by my other friend, the Don Quixote. You may have heard of us as … [bowing briefly] … “The Quinquagenarians.” We may be old, but we’re slow.

    Anyway. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Any friend of Madam Curie is a friend of mine. And when you meet him, do tell Cyrano your tale of how we are the quintessence of star dust. As a fellow maven, he will bask in the poetry of that. He always told me Joni Mitchell was right. We are stardust, we are golden.

    [Looking around at our beautiful surroundings …]

    And here we are. Back to the garden.

    I think I’ll find our host, tip my hat in gratitude, and have another beer.


  13. Richard, I’m so sorry I missed your party. I was extremely busy this past week and by the time I got ’round the cops had come and everybody had gone home and there was nothing but spilled fruit juice and crushed Doritos on the floor.

    I promise to make it to the next one.

  14. To ehj2:

    Sir, for you are obviously that, I do not recall ever having read a more well penned or beautiful work than your composition in ode (it seemed) to malaprops.

    At the risk of sounding gauche, may I recommend sliced peaches in champagne for breakfast if fresh pears or strawberries are not in season.

    Thank you for the wonderful start to my day.

    -Paul Tergeist,
    in awe

  15. i can’t believe nobody offered me a bloody dorito at my own party…
    ehj2 “My own sense of fairness does not allow me to stand silent too long when anyone is put in a box that says “bollocks to free speech.” – not when there is a perfectly good box to sit on anyway…

  16. i can’t believe nobody offered me a bloody dorito at my own party…

    Everyone was too taken with the guests: Clooney, walking around looking down dresses; DeVito, up them.

  17. there were some dorito packets next to a box…

  18. I gave them to Dottie. (snicker)

  19. Dear Paul,

    In my mind, peaches and champagne is not a gauche combination, nor is consuming this delectable comestible a gauche act. I perform the act with flair, or to appropriate and proffer as an alternative term one that Cyrano may actually be guilty of overusing — “penache.”

    Gauche is a very proper descriptive for what I’m actually doing right now, gobling my peaches from a large crystal snifter in which (we must honestly note) also resides a half-pint of very-nicely-aged Remy Martin.

    And I must say — and therefore do so now — it IS good.

    And SimplyWondered,

    That’s what I offered you last evening (upon arriving) as my gift to your party — a 24-decanter case of 40-year-old Remy Martin from a friend’s stock. (Captain Nemo if you must know — and he has a whole island hollowed out and stocked to the rafters with this kind of thing.)

    If I’d known you were actually hoping for an unopened bag of newly-minted Dorritos … well, I’m not certain I might not have fainted dead away. Since, as an experiment this has absolutely nothing to recommend it, may I please request that we don’t ever go there.


    p.s. who was the guest standing on the couch for hours last evening, spouting page after page of flawless Faulkner from memory? I think I may have a crush. Some of her words still echo in my brain …

    If there be grief, then let it be but rain,
    And this but silver grief for grieving’s sake,
    If these green woods be dreaming here to wake
    Within my heart, if I should rouse again.

    But I shall sleep, for where is any death
    While in these blue hills slumbrous overhead
    I’m rooted like a tree? Though I be dead,
    This earth that holds me fast will find me breath.


  20. Hey, we’re doing some serious drinking here. You can’t expect us not to misspell ridiculous foreign words like “panache.” Whatever.

  21. ‘penache’


  22. You are correct! It is a disgusting French word, and so there is no correct spelling.

  23. Okay, I’m laughing now. While I don’t spell well in any language, the irony here is that I’m French. But I do feel you were trying to cover for me. Thanks. And regards. Now I really need a drink, and to retire to a dark corner with a book of poetry.

  24. I’m French.

    Oh! …then you can certainly understand how easy it is to choke on horrid *Italian* gobbledegook like ‘panache’ and ‘capice’.


  25. Oh hello chaps, just wafted in to collect my Tulpic merging paraphernalia. I am pleased you enjoyed (it was you?) the Scottish landscapes that we import for our guests. Screel of bagpipes, drone, drone, screel, drone. Here have some paracetamol 1000mg should do it washed down with Spar’s finest courtesy of Sparkle* from next door you know.

  26. Sparkle, I can’t quite make out your avatar. And I can’t quite grasp what you are babbling about. Was it important?

  27. Yes very important, I need my merging paraphernalia to continue on my path of enlightenment. You can Google “Tulpa” but be warned there is a lot of nonsense on the net, I am fortunate that I have my Guru for assistance. My avatar states “God wants a piece of my ass” go figure babble babble babble we are not all as clear as you my dear.

  28. Clear, transparent, obvious.

  29. oblivious, in my case

    where did all the clever people come from?
    ehj2 – now that I’m better I’ ll have a bit of remy – tho at the risk of insulting the bringer of precious gifts, as an englishman i’m always of the opinion that the french drink their claret and port(o) too young and their cognac rather old…you would perhpas say the opposite about the english and vive la difference – as it means you tend to get all the claret first!

  30. Me and WW brought the clever ppl.

  31. “My avatar states “God wants a piece of my ass”

    OK, sorry I asked.

    “You can Google “Tulpa”

    OK, sorry I asked.

    “I need my merging paraphernalia”


  32. Me and WW brought the clever ppl.

    Possibly you mean “WW and I brought the clever people.” But it’s not true. You didn’t bring me, and I am MUCH clevererer than you think I am.

  33. Prove it.

    Easy! I saw a picture of an ice cream cone in the store window and I didn’t lick it.

  34. Neither would my 3 yr old…..

  35. OK, another time I saw a bus coming down the street and I didn’t step in front of it. Your 3 year-old would be raspberry jam…..unless it’s a 3 year old horse.

  36. Wait! I have a better one! I have NOT looked at Britney’s beaver.

  37. Two points deducted for saying “beaver”

  38. How many for saying “pussy”?

  39. No answer. I suppose you are all in church…..especially sparkle, who seems to be offering God an…aspirin. Damn, if I could just understand her outrageous accent!

  40. you have been book tagged 🙂

  41. I don’t know what that means. I certainly HOPE it means that I will never have to see another of your puerile comments.

  42. not puellile?
    and you haven’t been book-tagged, you aren’t important enough and probably read boring books about science and shit and you really do seem to have a problem with one of my guests; i haven’t seen you take on like this before…what’s it all about alfieeeeee?

  43. You need to ask, SW?

    Yer auld mam’s feeling a bit world weary atm. Giss a laff?

  44. **blows raspberry**

  45. Made you laff,
    Made you stare!
    Made you
    change your underwear!

  46. oh my god – my mum and her friends…wazza is so embarassed

  47. Yeah Friends! At least she’s got some…..

  48. he didn’t try to snog you, did he?
    and the less said about mum’s underwear the better…

  49. You just stay away from your mother’s underwear, you hear?

    Talking of underwear….has your shitty friend Tazza gone now? Even Lazza’s more personable – and that’s saying something 😉

  50. you wanna laugh, mum? just watch us try to bat…

  51. mmm…have to laugh or you’d cry.

    It’s painful.

  52. nope – i’m definitely crying.

  53. lost my avatar as well… what’s that about?

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