Study and alcohol

Yea and verily, dost not it seem that the weddage of these two finest examples of human endeavour be foretold e'en unto the very heavens?

It's a very traditional combination, at least. It doesn't seem that long ago I was writing my thesis on a bottle of Jamesons. (Not literally on a bottle of Jamesons, that would have required a somewhat greater sense of balance than that of which I was possessed, particularly after a couple of shots. Neither was the subject of the thesis a bottle of Jamesons. At least it wasn't intended to be. Though that would explain the final mark.)

And yet, now, when I try to get the study muscle going with a quiet glass of red, instead of hours of profitable learning, I end up asleep on the couch.

I can think of a few possible explanations for this:

• I should be using whiskey, not red wine
  
  
• The study matter is so boring I would fall asleep regardless of the study aid
  
  
• All this going to work nonsense has made my study muscle flabby - I need to spend less time in the office and more time in the pub
  

In the interests of scientific rigour, I intend to thoroughly investigate each of these hypothoses, in order to arrive at a conclusion of some sort.

Yea and verily.

Goldilocks and the heater

Once upon a time in the world there lived a girl.

She was a sensible girl, and when winter set in, she would put on a jumper to keep warm. But as the chill of winter made its inevitable way through the flesh and bones of her home, she would turn on a heater to increase the ambient temperature and thus reduce her bodily shivering.

But, alas. The heater would increase the ambient temperature to an uncomfortable degree. Not only would she end up removing her jumper, but she often would find herself perspiring.

As a sensible girl, she would then turn the heater down. And in due course the ambient temperature would drop enough to put the jumper back on. Unfortunately, the ambient temperature would continue to drop to the point of somatic discomfort, and the heater would have to be turned up again.

Poor girl! Sensible she may have been, yet she was unable to regulate the ambient temperature. The room was either too hot or too cold.

Oh! If only there was a way it could be just right!

Sausages are forever

Sausages are forever

They are all I need to feed me

They stink up my fridge and tease me

Their smell won't leave in the night

I've no hope that it might desert me

Sausages are forever

Hold one up and then sauce it

Smell it, bite it and devour it

I can eat every part

The smell stays in my fridge to taunt me

I don't need smells

For what good will smells do me?

Sausage smells never leave me

For when sausages are gone

Their smell lingers on

Sausage smells are forever

Lingering round my little fridgidaire

Unlike sausages, the smells lingaire

Smells are vexatious things

Which stay longer than is fair

I don't need smells

For what good will smells do me?

Sausage smells never leave me

For when sausages are gone

Their smell lingers on

Sausage smells are forever, forever, forever

Sausage smells are forever, forever, forever

Forever and ever

Less is

LESSS.

Pain

hurts.

Pontiflagration

Pope pontifficates

in flagrante delicto -

confabulation.

Base model

Recently I saw a Lamborghini. A real one, on the road, not in a poster.

It took me a while to figure out what kind of car it was, and then I realised why - it didn't have a naked woman lounging all over it.

I guess the owner decided against the base model.

Original Lamborghini Of The Day:

Started out as a tractor.

Still doesn't explain the naked women.

Stationary stationery

Today I went looking in my home office for a stapler. I know I have one.

No stapler. But I did find four hole punches.

Sigh(n)s of insanity

SCENE: Interior, day

TIME: Yesterday

LOCATION: 

A seemingly normal office kitchen, newly fitted out. Rubbish bins have yet to be installed, two large cardboard boxes lined with black bags are overflowing under the counter.

Rubbish-bearers are cheerfully chucking all kinds of rubbish onto the ever-increasing mounds.

SCENE: Interior, day

TIME: Today

LOCATION:

The same kitchen, this time with rubbish bins installed:

• One freestanding, pedal-operated double bin under the counter with one yellow pedal, one green. Presumably yellow for general rubbish, green for compost.
• One in a cupboard under the sink, with the word WASTE stencilled on the cupboard door. Presumably for half-eaten meals.
  
• One in another cupboard under the sink, with the words RECYCLED WASTE stencilled on the cupboard door. Presumably for rat pooh.

Stuck on the door of each cupboard containing a rubbish bin, obscuring the stencilling, and also stuck onto the freestanding bin, are large notices about combining recyclables.

Rubbish-bearers appear to have no idea which bin to use, or whether they can even discard non-recyclables. And they are slightly worried about the rat pooh.