'Heike & 'Tina' turn on!

Hi Swipe-fiends!


OK, OK, I know - this should have been posted a few weeks ago as the winner of the reader's vote (that even the, er hem, reader couldn't be bothered voting for...) I know you all think this is a cynical move aimed at trying to boost a flagging readership - and, yeah, you'd have a point (I've looked at this week's ratings and these are real tears I'm crying, guys...) But dang it, it's been a slow week and Jeez, I'm still getting used to y-fronts and terry-towel socks and everything...and satire's such a slow, lonely art, isn't it? So, rather like the current occupants of the Oval office and Downing Street, you may think it sucks, but it was the recipient of the largest number of votes (one...) and, try as I might have to keep it under wraps, my democratic impulse (as always) has ultimately prevailed.

There's another issue here aside from my site turning up on the google search everytime someone is looking for smut. I feel that in the current climate, where our leaders are good enough to want to try to protect us from violent pornography and such like, it is only right and proper that someone such as myself should give them something suitably obscene to limber up with. So, George, Tony - please stop unremitting filth like this from entering the homes of good, solid citizens the world over. Please, it's really quite sick, actually - and those of a delicate constitution really ought to steer well clear. Everyone else, please stick with me on this, OK? This is real high quality stuff - not quite Belle de jour, obviously - but one or two notches up from Pussy ranch and several even more despicable sites that even I won't look at. It's certainly a whole lot more literary than www.dwarfcracks.org, for one thing...

So, make sure there's no one looking over your shoulder and get a load of this cracking short story. It's hot stuff!:



'Heike' & 'Tina' turn on.

Easter Sunday. 'Heike' calls around to the flat. Charlie is away at his sister’s. I’m still in my dressing gown. She says she is here to ‘punish’ me for my sins. I judge from the attire beneath the long overcoat she is peeling herself out of – spiked collar, PVC cat suit, thigh-length leather boots, monstrous gothic cross - and a little doctor’s case, that it may be an interesting chastisement. She strides through into the kitchen on her skyscraper heels and clears the table, sweeping away the domesticity of my half finished cereal bowl and the newspapers with a contemptuous clattering and clanging. Pieces of cracked crockery rock and spin on the floor as she opens up the little black bag and takes out what unfolds as a black velvet sack. ‘Confession time’, she intones, at once inviting and professional.
Before I can confess - or protest - she has pulled it over my head and I can feel something heavy, thin and dimpled tightening around my neck, chafing at my collarbone. My desperate breathing sucks the silk lining up against my tongue. She straddles my head on the kitchen table pinning my ears to my skull with her booted thighs, the shiny groove of her crotch rubbing up and down my velvet hooded crown. The weight of her cross jiggles sharply in my navel as her studded tongue journeys downward over my now moist folds. Thin pain from the pricking of my belly by her collar is drowned out by the blissful, bloated agonies of her oral flagellations.
I am moments from my climax, when she leaps off me. I pant out, ‘where have you gone? Where have you gone?’ and hear the fridge door open and gently thud shut, her muffled, mocking parodies of my helpless pleas are barely audible above the hum. The sharp pins of her heels slowly pace up and down, I imagine the linoleum's pock marked with the machine gun fire of her steps as she pauses to grind shards of ceramic to exquisite powder with her platform sole. Her slow march ticks like an insufferable metronome whose insistent rhythm keeps me delicately poised, panting, awaiting my end. A numbness on my left nipple as an icy block swells my erect teat into a permafrost hillock, then a frozen hot dog. Slowly, barely perceptibly, a transit occurs, a tunnel blasted through its saveloy core, throbbing heavier as the numbness thaws it into a pulling, piercing ache spreading across my bap. Her lips and sharp teeth lash and bite and tease, balled tongue gliding along the length of whatever she has pinned me with, gentle drops felt by my breast. She wrestles me on to my front and grips me in a half Nelson, as I glide furiously up and down her shiny thigh. I feel faint and dizzy. Sensing my limpness, she lays me on my back and, through the rhapsody of her rippling fingers brings me through crescendo to my diminuendo.
I lie limp and in heaven, a martyr in her arms as she removes the hood, my eyelids a flimsy barrier to the sheet of bright light above them. She kisses my lashes, catching small, stinging tears on her lips. I look up at her, faint specks of dried blood dot her lips and cheeks. The spiked collar is now pushed up on her forehead to form a radiant crown of silver pins. She pulls a large Havana from the doctor’s bag and lights it, taking a long, self-satisfied lug that turns the brown ellipse into a glowing, orange-tipped beacon at the tip of her out-stretched arm. Her exhalation fills the room with pungent fumes as she stares out impassively into the middle distance from her stiletto plinth, as if surveying a mighty ocean of sauce and sleaze. She places her cigar-free hand on her side and dips a hip to thrust a knee towards the water, balancing her angled leg on the very tip of her chunky stack sole - a burlesque dominatrix towering over me. ‘Heike’ flicks the brown roll of leaves and frees a delicate shower of ash over my punctured, still moist breast and drawls, ‘Happy Easter, Tina’.

For further extracts, please go here.

Okay?????????

Swipesters,

Can the person who left the "Okay" rating please contact me. If you'll recall, I expressly asked for you all to click on the red box - "the worst" - and now when I look to see how badly the blog's doing I get an orange and a yellow peaking out at me! I mean, what is this? The Sound of Music? OK, own up - who was it?

Alrighty, if the culprit won't own up, then I'm afraid the whole class will have to suffer. I want you all to sit there with your hands on your heads until the baaaaaaaaaad pupil who rated the site "Okay" steps forward. In silence, please! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some papers to mark.

(mutters:)Okay????

Okay????

Give me a break here.


............Okay????
















OKAY?????

Richard Helle de jour

The diary of a Voidoid and founder member of Television.

lundi 22 août

I was a child who wanted love that was wild, though tight as slow motion but crazed with devotion - insane with devotion. A whole other notion. I was fourteen and a half
and it wasn't no laugh. Love comes in spurts (oh no it hurts). I used to be in Television, you know...




// posted by helle @ 12:20 PM



Love on ya,


Bob

Morton Shadows' A-Z of Rock 'n'Roll Music!

Howdy Swipesters,


The Robert Swipe Show is proud to introduce a new feature brought to you with the kind assistance of station W-KRUD out of Doom, Missourri. What this guy doesn't know about Rock 'n' roll music just ain't worth knowing! And now, thanks to our generous sponsors, Simian's Choice Monkey Pomade, we'll have the chance to dip our cans in his fantastic pool of knowlege. So, ladies and gentlemen, will you put your hands together and give a fantastic Swipe Show welcome to the one, the only, your very own.....Mr. Morton Shadows!!!!




Yo-di-doo-di folks,

This here week we gone start our 'lil jaunt back down the ages o' rock at that 'lil biddy ole letter B.


B is for.......






Betty Boo.

Betty Boo (Realname, Elizabeth Boo) began life as a cartoon character but had pretty soon wowser dowsered her audiences by transforming into a boo-ty luscious sex goddess. With her quirky musical sound and feline-erotic image, Boo was set for international acclaim as the hits ("My boo-merang won't come back", "My boo-merang still won't come back", "My boo-meringue won't come back", "My Boo-mer-ooooooowwwwww-dang-it-ta-hell-my boomerang just came back") kept rollin' off the production line. The only way was up for space cadet Betty until her career nosedived in 1990. Tragically, Boo's world collapsed when, poised to sign for Celtic, she failed a medical and has been languishing in the Scottish 2nd division ever since.


Keep on Rockin'!!!




Morton

Wyckham Porteous Beatles cover

Yo Swipesters!

This is not just a shameful attempt to pick up on the zillions of google searches on the word "Beatles" that go on everyday. I gen-you-wine-ly love Mr. Wyckham Porteous' C&W flavoured reworking of the early Beatles toon, Please Please Me. You may still be able to hear it here on Jonathan "Tarby" Ross's netcast Radio 2 show. If you can't get hold of it, never fear, I'm onto it! (Don'tcha just love the sitar break in the middle?)

Stay tuned music lovers for Morton Shadow's A-Z of Rock 'n' roll - coming to a http://rswipe.blogspot.com near you in the not too distant future!



Rock on, y'all,



Bob!

In and out of Africa

Hi Swipesters,

Well now, many apologies for those of you who checked in over the last couple days expecting the usual melange of satire, comedy joke type things and violent pornography. I had hoped to post up a couple things while I was away, but I couldn't get near a computer. Still, whaddaya expect when you go somewhere third world-like Africa for a lomg weekend? Yep, you heard right. I just hot rubberlegged it back from Malawi where I had been invited by a company called World Learning to help build up the infrastructure there - well, the poor honeys have no internet and not much food, so how could I refuse? Well I know, I could easily have refused, but they were offering several thousand big one smackeroonies and all expenses paid too. So I was at the Air Malawi checkin counter before you could say "the Department for International Development gravy train has just come in, be quick and fill your boots Bob". But it's not all fun and junketing out there, oh no! In fact, these guys are seriously short of laughs at the moment and that's without factoring in the effects of the current drought. And that's where I come in. You see, as part of the US organization, the National Democratic Institute's efforts to establish strong democratic roots in the country, I was asked to bring my experience and expertise to the party. Can I be frank here for a second? This is not very PC, but I'm gonna say it anyway: those guys over there just don't know the meaning of the word satire, do they? To rectify this appaling state of affairs, I was asked to act as a consultant, helping young Malawians to set up their own amusing, topical weblogs where they could rant about the state of the world, put up pictures of scantily clad maidens - possibly even assume the identity of a female persona - and generally goof around at the world's expense. Because these poor people have been deprived of even the most basic forms of irreverent humour for so long that some of their senses of humour are quite visibly fading away. I know, it really is terrible. Indeed, the situation had got so bad that some people hadn't read a sledgehammer subtle deconstruction of the war on terror for several days!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I arrived at my hotel, put my feet up after clearing out the drinks cab and was just about to get the little fellow downstairs out and start searching for the adult movie channels when I get a call saying, "sorry Bob, there's been a change of plan". Seems that the dang drought has bit in so deep that they have had to reluctantly let a few consultants go, including, more's the pity, your humble servant. So there you have it, the cause of Malawian web satire has been set back a few years. Still, on the plus side, I get to pocket a nice 5 figure consultant's fee and had a pleasant 35 minute stay in the world's 10th poorest country - even if I couldn't get the security lock off the porn channel! Oh, and my airmiles are looking fairly healthy too!



Love on y'all,


Bob


P.S. Silverton watch:

Spotted being wheeled into a cool and shady spot in BBC Television Centre: THIS

A personal message from Roberta Swipe

Hi Swipesterettes,

As you'll have noticed, things have been - to say the least - a bit frenetic of late. Frankly, I've had lots of issues to work through and I'd like to thank all of you for your patience and for sticking with me through all of this. However, I've been doing a lot of reflecting and I think I'm beginning to get a handle on things.

My childhood, I now realise, holds the key to many of my recent travails. As is common for people of my background and class, I went to a miner public school (that's not a typo - it was a public school for miners. I come from Wales, remember?) With hindsight, I can see how this has had a big bearing on my life since then. On my last day at St. Scargill's, my form tutor took me down from his knee and after I had put my clothes back on, took me aside from the rest of the form and whispered these words to me to prepare me for the big wide world outside the school gates:

"There are some chaps out there who just aren't like us old sport. They don't wear trousers. They're called women. Steer clear of 'em."

And God knows I’ve tried. But it would take more than the ramblings of a mysogynistic old fruit with a moustache, wearing a Marlene Dietrich costume to prevent my interest blossoming into an obsession. Which brings us to the events of the last few days.

Regular readers will be aware that my flirtation with transvestism has led me into the shady netherworld of the counter-culture. Sure, it seems all fluffy and safe from the outside. But once they've got your mules under the table, you become prey to a dangerous and subversive minority bent upon turning innocent curiosity into full-blown femininity. You see, for some of these people, it's just not enough to slip into some prettily patterned pantyhose and a flimsy, see through microdress. No, these guys have to go a bit further. They can't just stick a couple rolled up socks down their chest like the rest of us. No, they gotta have real breasts! And the hardliners have even dispensed with the little fellow downstairs and replaced him with something quite unspeakable... Some of the real extremists even go as far as to indulge in a monthly ritual that culminates in severe blood letting and a week or so of quite alarming grouchiness. For some even further from the mainstream, even that is not enough. No, these ideologically motivated guys skip the period ritual altogether and - wait for it - in 9 months time, your holding their little brat, going coochie-coochie coo and getting splattered with cow and gate all down the front of your best frock.

It's shocking, I know - but that's the dark secret at the heart of this femininity business. If I could just take the lingerie and the heels, I'd be OK - but I'm just not that sort of girl. And a word of warning here, these crazed lunatics - Tit girls, as they are known within the largely moderate and acceptable majority of transvestites - are on the rise. In fact, you may not want to believe this, but I can almost guarantee that there is one in your office - possibly even lurking somewhere within your own home...

So, with heavy heart, I shall be going back to being plain old Bob again.





This is especially sad because, as I 'm sure you'll agree, I made a much better woman than I do man. But, hey! That's show business. But fear not - I shall return from time to time with tales from the other side. And just to take the edge off of the pain, I shall leave you with one last lingering look at my luscious pins before I hand you back to dear old Bob. I gotta say, this week’s been a real experience – I’ve learned a lot and I’ve had a real blast and I’m sure I’ll be ‘taking a long, slow walk on the wild side’ again soon….


Love on y'all,


Roberta

More Washington Blah-di blah-di blahs

Howdy Swipesters,

Well, overwhelmed as I was by your requests for more mindless word games, how could I refuse?


G.I.T.T.: unco-operative, unlikeable signatory to the General Agreement on Trade and Tariffs.

Peroxide blind(e): you really should have paid more attention to those how to apply instructions...

Fix hunting: red coated toffs on horse back with packs of dogs chasing frightened, exhausted syringes over open country. Now illegal, apparently.

Terence Trent D'Arcy: dreadlocked hero of Victorian romance.

Chaptering classes: media high flyers who painstkingly divide their output into smaller segments, thus easier to absorb - often with seperate headings.

Galpacho: cold, Spanish, garlic heavy spoup beloved of young ladies.

Garpacho: cold, Spanish, garlic heavy spoup beloved of fictional John Irving character.

Gaypacho: cold, Spanish, garlic heavy spoup beloved of homosexuals.

Gaspacho: astonishigly good cold, Spanish, garlic heavy soup.

Fiberace: lying bastard, gay piano showman.

Bono marrow transplant: 50% are succesful and allow patients to live as normal a life as possible when you wear silly compound eye glasses, leather trousers and can afford to have your favourite trilby flown halfway around the world, first class.

Grumpian: particularly miserable part of Scotland

Shitheed: when standing near the fan, be alert at all times.

Love on ya,



Bob

Fan male

Hi Swipesters!

Apologies for the lack of posts today – I have been unable to put up any pictures and as the next posting is of a particularly important (and highly erotic) nature, I just couldn’t compromise the artistic blah-di blah-di blah by not having any visual content. So, really just to fill up space and try to keep my hit rating up I am forced to take the unusual step of posting up a piece of fan mail. Some of you may have read this on the site already, but for those of you who haven’t, here it is:

Just thought I'd let you know that I emailed the "Britisher Guardian" guide (the one that comes out with the Saturday edition) trying to get them to do a write up on your excellent blog.Well, I thought your luck was in when I got a nice reply from one of the guys there that said "This really is an excellent blog..." Closer inspection, however, revealed that I was reading part of the original message I'd sent raving about how good this blog is. Above it was the actual reply and it just said "URL?"Looks like I'd forgotten to add the most important part of the message! I don't know, sometimes I wonder if I really have got shit for brains...


Well John, I’m not an expert on neurology, so can’t comment on the molecular make up of your brain. I’d say your ability to construct sentences would suggest perhaps they are not excrement based – but what do I know? I really don’t know what to say. It’s sweet of you to say such kind things about the site and I really do appreciate your efforts. The thing is, we Swipesters really don’t want to spoil the whole damn thing by this thing getting out of hand, now do we? The site’s viewing figures have already spiralled alarmingly over the last two or three weeks – over 1,700 hits in that space of time alone – so I think we oughta be a bit careful here about getting over-exposed…That said, if someone were to come at me with the proposition of giving this space up to commercial use for a shitload of moolah, obviously I'd have to give it very serious consideration....

But, I’m sure that our usual content of offensive opinion, gratuitous pornography and excessive quantities of shoes will keep most sensible browsers at bay! If you are new to the site and finding it all a bit much, all I can say is – count yourself lucky you only have to read the stuff!

I will try to post up some more Washington post type word change thingies if there is any interest out there for it – you can use the comment button, you know!!

Otherwise, I wish you a fabulous weekend and leave you with the perplexing thought that this weekend I will be forced into the horrible position of being a temporary Tottenham fan. Sucks, huh?

Love on ya,



Bob

A personal message from Roberta Swipe

Hi Swipesterettes,

As you'll have noticed, things have been - to say the least - a bit frenetic of late. Frankly, I've had lots of issues to work through and I'd like to thank all of you for your patience and for sticking with me through all of this. I've been doing a lot of reflecting and I think I'm beginning to get a handle on things.

My childhood, I now realise, holds the key to many of my recent travails. As is common for people of my background and class, I went to a miner public school (that's not a typo - it was a public school for miners. I come from Wales, remember?) With hindsight, I can see how this has had a big bearing on my life since then. On my last day at St. Scargill's, my form tutor took me down from his knee and after I had put my clothes back on, took me aside from the rest of the form and whispered these words to me to prepare me for the big wide world outside the school gates:

"There are some chaps out there who just aren't like us old sport. They don't wear trousers. They're called women. Steer clear of 'em."

And God know I tried. But it would take more than the ramblings of a mysogynistic old fruit with a moustache, wearing a Marlene Dietrich costume to prevent my interest blossoming into an obsession. Which brings us to the events of the last few days.

Regular readers will be aware that my flirtation with transvestism has led me into the shady netherworld of the counter-culture. Sure, it seems all fluffy and safe from the outside. But once they've got your mules under the table, you become prey to a dangerous and subversive minority bent upon turning innocent curiosity into full-blown femininity. You see, for some of these people, it's just not enough to slip into some prettily patterned pantyhose and a flimsy, see through microdress. No, these guys have to go a bit further. They can't just stick a couple rolled up socks down their chest like the rest of us. No, they gotta have real breasts! And the real hardliners have even dispensed with the little fellow downstairs and replaced him with something quite unspeakable... Some of the real extremists even go as far as to indulge in a monthly ritual that culminates in severe blood letting and a week or so of quite alarming grouchiness. For some even further from the mainstream, even that is not enough. No, these ideologically motivated guys skip the period ritual altogether and - wait for it - in 9 months time, your holding their little brat, going coochie-coochie coo and getting splattered with cow and gate all down the front of your best frock.

It's shocking, I know - but that's the dark secret at the heart of this femininity business. If I could just take the lingerie and the heels, I'd be OK - but I'm just not that sort of girl. And a word of warning here, these crazed lunatics - Tit girls, as they are known within the largely moderate and acceptable majority of transvestites - are on the rise. In fact, you may not want to believe this, but I can almost guarantee that there is one in your office - possibly even lurking somewhere within your own home...

So, with heavy heart, I shall be going back to being plain old Bob again. This is especially sad as I 'm sure you'll agree, I made a much better woman than I do man. But, hey! That's showbusiness. But fera not - I shall return from time to time with tales from the other side. And just to take the edge of the pain, I shall leave you with one last lingering look at my luscious pins



before I hand you back to dear old Bob.


Love on y'all,


Roberta

More Washington post humourous word things

Hi Swipesters,

You remember the deal? You take a word, substitute a letter and blah-di blah-di blah...


OK, here goes,


Gondoleeza Rice: US secretary of state takes up new post as a Venetian waterboat pilot.

Brie Pop: 1990s British pop music genre made entirely from soft French cheese.


OECD: exhaustive compendium of words in the English language, obsessively/compulsively arranged in strict alphabetical order.

Defunestration: windows with all the fun taken out of them.

Promenstrual: it's the other three weeks that really suck!

Spand up comedy/comedian: e.g. Axl Rose on stage at the Comedy Store.

Canvivial: a pleasant evening of idle banter, a couple of guiness perhaps, with Holgar Czuskay and his experimental avant garde colleagues.

Non vivant: dead.

Glamdular fever: Sweet, Slade, Alvin, T-Rex, Bowie all bring you out in a hot flush and leave you incapable of performing the simplest task.

Binter: girl talk.

Binteresque: girl talk interspersed with lots of lengthy, enigmatic pauses.

Tandouri: particularly unappealing curry dishes, especially unpopular in Yorkshire etc.

Petribillionaire: one who has made his/her fortune through the sale of considerable numbers of kidney-shaped laboratory dishes.

Farse: Brian Rix-style sex comedy, only with even more bottoms.

Keep 'em comin' in!!


Love on y'all,


Bob

Just say no!

Swipesters,

Never let it be said that I do not have the moral interests of my flock at heart. At last, someone else has come out - and I use the term advisedly - and said what needs to be said! I'm right behind you guys - sorry, t-girls - (and I must say the view is particularly pleasant) and I am urging all right-thinking Swipesters to put one of these in their window ASAP:




I will also be organizing a "Transformer" burning session just as soon as I can scrape the change together for some lighter fluid and an oven glove (although, where am I gonna find one that goes with this dress? And before any of you start getting the white sheets and hoods ready, that's the famous LP by fabled American gnome, Lou Reed - not any persons known to engage in the art of cross dressing - or, if you're a hip Washingtonienne like me, Decepticons.

Keep our streets free from this type of threatened minority who could all do with our support!

Love on y'all,


Roberta

Exam Helpline

Hi Swipesters!


I know it's a bit late for all those of you who took exams this year, but don't be too upset. Just pass on this number:

0808 100 8000

...to your little brother or sister and they'll reap the benefit when it's their turn to sit those awful GCSEs!

Basically, the new helpline is being introduced to help the push for ever-higher pass rates. Despite this year's improvement of the pass rate by around 6% There are increasing fears that despite the best efforts of pupils and teachers, next year there may still be some pupils who will fail some of their exams. To this end, the new Exam helpline is being introduced from next June. The system aims to tap into contemporary pupils' keen interest in new technologies - particularly portable phones - and will allow students to speak directly from their mobiles to those best placed to help them. It is hoped that any students having difficulty during an exam will take the opportunity to call - or even text - the helpline. Examiners are bracing themselves for a deluge of enquiries along the lines of "I dunno wot da ansa 2 nummer 6 is, innit? Is it a,b,c or da uvver one, or whatever".

In an unrelated development, a statue of the Schools Minister, Lord Adonis, is due to be unveiled in Whitehall today.


Love on y'all,


Bob

NEW!!!!!Rate me, rate me, rate me!!!!!!!

Hi Swipesters,

Please check out the Blog hop rating doodad at the end of the sidebar. Please, please, please, please, please give me the worst rating you can - well, where's the fun in competing with all these corporate arselicking sites like Wankette and Delle de jour? So that's the red button to the right for all those colour blind viewers - I know you're out there!!

OK, Swipesters - do your duty.


Love on y'all,


"Roberta"


p.s. that should read "rape" in the heading...

Cack-handed b******s complain of "alienation"

Yo Swipesters!

News today in a leaked Home Office report typed up by Hazel Bleeeeuuurrrggggghhhhs, suggests that there is increasing alienation and militancy within Britain's left-handed minority. The report identifies several areas of concern within the left-handed community, which is estimated to make up around 12% of the population, some 6-7 million people, depending upon how many illegal aliens you include in the population count:

1) There are are more right-handed people than left-handed and this tends to generate feelings of isolation and a feeling of being "overwhelmingly outnumbered" in some, though still fortunately a minortity, of more extreme left-handed people.

2) Doors, scissors, musical instruments and a whole host of other everyday implements and tools are by and large designed with the right-handed majority in mind. This has helped to create a feeling that society is fundamentally unfair and discriminates against the left-handed.

3) Comments from the majority such as "sort yourself out, yer cack-handed slob" and "southpaw arse bandits" are frequently levelled at innocent left-handed people and this is breeding an atmosphere of resentment and anger - especially among young lefties who have even been referred to as "shitty handed arsewipes". This is believed to be a derivation from the French term for the cack-handed, main de merde. There are fears that the relationship between the left and right handed may soon become as bad as it is in France where the left-handed frequently endure tortures such as having their 'good' hand tied behind their backs before being burned at the stake.

Though still not quite reaching French levels of awfulness, the situation has got so bad in some areas of the country that young lefties are threatening to take the law into their own, persumably left, hand. A spokesman for the Association of Serious-minded Left-handed People said, "We are a peaceful movement but, quite frankly, the time has come to stop all this and fist it up the back passages of these b******s calling us shit-handed kerb-crawlers. We would much prefer to use peaceful aims to reach our goal of converting the whole of Europe to left-handedness by the year 2012. But in the current climate, we are becoming more and more desperate and it's only a matter of time before something big goes off and we snap. This is not a threat or anything, but you lot will soon find out that you get a lot better at using your left hands after we've chopped the other one off.."

In response to this worrying situation, the Home Office has set up a special task force and has already brought forward plans to change all doorknobs in the UK's public buildings so that they are easier to open from the left than the right. There are also moves at hand (although which has not yet been revealed) to make left-hand drive cars compulsory by 2009. It will also be an offence to say to someone, "why don't you give it a rest you shit-handed c**t - although it will still be permissable to beat them repeatedly with sticks and keep them imprisoned for years without charge before deproting them - or even deporting them - to a state known to be a serial human rights abuser.

In answer to suggestions that the Home Office is full of lame brained t*ss**s who don't know what the f**k they're doing, a spokesman said, "this has all been taken out of context. We are just trying to apply sensible measures in order to stop a few hotheads from hurting innocent people. Obviously part of this involves acceding to their every demand as if the rest of society doesn't count, but to suggest - as some have - that it's akin to introducing Sharia law because a small proportion of the country's 1 million Muslims are unhappy living in a free society, is absolute Tommy-rot!"

In a completely unrelated development, Home Secretary, Charles Clarke and Minister Hazel Bleuuuurrrggghhs are set to reprise their roles as Hattie and Corky in a filmed version of acclaimed West End version of Sykes. The part of Sykes will be taken by Michael Fabricant who replaces the star of the original stage production, the late Eric Heffer.

RE: yesterday's post. Well, Rock Mother is putting the rest of you to shame, as usual. An excellent selection - thanks babe!:

roncid - any man called Ron that smells bad

sluttern - well, the same as slattern but a bit more disgusting

expadiency - a really quick way of chucking your pad around in meetings when you are cross or want to make a point or just simply want to get things done

tramphone - a phone that can be used on a tram of course

calonic - a healthy calorie burning colonic

toble - a common piece of furniture fashioned to resemble Tobermory from cult kids tv animation The Wombles


OK, I'm outta here,


Love on y'all,


'Berta

Washington post amusing word competition blah blah

Morning Swipesters!

And what a morning it is! Wowerooni. I haven't felt this good since late September 1963 - Oh What a night!! I feel like a new butterfly wing, drying in the sun, like a new born lamb gambolling over the lush green valleys. My heart is as light as a feather on springs - I feel like if I were to leap up in the air, I'd never come down again. Boy, that was some party. And Thad, if you're reading this - I meant what I said last night...it's real!!

OK! News has reached Swipe Towers that in the midst of my little breakdown back there, The Post was running a little humorous word competition (see link above) Well, dang it to darnation if I didn't miss the deadline. But I figure that nothing is beyond me and my growing little band of Swipesters so I figured - why not just dang well make up our own? Whaddaya say? So, to start the ball rolling, here are a few examples. Please, please, please send in any others you can think of and we'll make that Washington Post look like the Grimsby & Cleethorpes Gazette late edition real estate supplement wrapped around a large rock salmon and chips with extra vinegar or my name's not Roberta Cecilia Swipe!

So, the idea is to take a word and then add or subtract one letter and provide a definintion of the new word. Here's an example:

Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

But we can do much better than that! OK, so here goes:

Tintinadulation: excessive fondness for beige faced, button-nosed, Herge-created Belgian comic hero.

Primiscuity: wanton and indiscriminate displays of affected, precise, formal propriety.

Caninization: elevating dogs to the status of martyred beatification.

blaséhemer: person who is indifferent to the point of causing religious offence.

ponce-nez: even more effeminate and dandified form of eyewear than a pince-nez.

Clangestine: trying to be secretive but spoiling the effect by knocking over an assortment of pots, pans or other noisy kitchen implements.

Botux: very smart, all over skin treatment akin to a plastic surgery equivalent of that Jerry Lewis sketch where he transforms his sneakers, t-shirt and jeans outfit into an evening suit.

Crapuscule/crapuscular: a voiding of the bowels, normally engaged in during the twilight hours of the day.

Blancminge: now surely you don't need it spelt out??

Bolocks: exactly the same meaning, only a lot easier to type with only one 'L'.


OK Swipesters, I know you can do it and I'm counting on you. Let's hope those crazy mixed up word-game entries come flying in!


Love on y'all,


Bob


p.s. Thad - maybe you could try being a little gentler next time?

Brel de jour

Hi Swipettes,

We here at Swipe Towers can't contain our excitement at having procured a sneak preview of the blog that's about to set the www on fire. It's sexy, it's innovative and it positively reeks of moules marinieres. Please, give up your hearts and incomes to:

BREL DE JOUR: DIARY OF A BRUSSELS CHANTEUR

dimanche 29 février
Last night I dreamt about

dead mussels,
a pregnant, dwarf-eared rabbit being stewed in Chimay,
giant moustaches called Adolphus flying over Utrecht.


Then I was lying in bed with a grizzled old whore who wore too much makeup and smelt of haddock, blancmange and beeswax. We made love like lemmings in mid air, spiralling through the ether, falling, ever falling down the cliffside, plunging towards the jagged, splintered rocks until, just as I was about to come to my climax, I died.

I woke up with a headache. What can it all mean?


// posted by brel @ 3:28 PM



jeudi 26 février
I've had so many women - I lost count at 7,476. After a bit of time passes it can be difficult to remember how, why, when you liked someone - if at all - and nice to revisit it from a safe distance. Sometimes as far as several thousand kilometres. The girl with no breasts I felt up in the public swimming pool at Schaarbeek when I was 15. The relationship at school that ended because of her aversion to mussels - although I suppose, looking back, she had a point. I suppose the shells are a bit sharp. The much older woman whose skill in manipulating my body was as funny as it was frightening - I had never been folded in half before. I can still lace my boots with my teeth to this day, you know. As long as there's not too much damp in the air and I haven't eaten any sausage. Curse this lumbago. Then I recall the first time with someone I can still think of fondly, someone I fell quickly and hard for, and the thousand or so times we were together after that, and the last time with her too. Christ, that Pam Ayres was some woman.

The few whom I could not get enough of - Danielle Steele, Nana Mouskourri, Brenda Blethyn, Blossom from Eastenders, Wim Jonk. The way they smelled - haddock, carp, bloater, with a soupcon of emery board. The way they felt - like farting in a vat of linseed oil. Or tasted - mushy peas sprinkled with Ovaltine. The number of times I was with the Special Girl and wished she would just shut up and fuck me already, becuse I had never come with anyone that way, ever - apart from Clodagh Rodgers, of course. But she kept on and on reciting the shipping forecast for the whole of 1957 until I had to bludgeon her with a kipper. The times sex felt as much like appearing on Celebrity Who Wants to be a Millionaire as a spiritual calling. And how those moments kept me going for weeks afterward, like mussels dotting the cord of our moribund relationship.

These are nice, these little sketches of people I have enjoyed. It passes the time while I'm having a dump.
// posted by brel @ 1:13 PM

Boolean Logic #4665

Hi Swipesters,

Hope the weekend was cool for y'all.

Regular readers will be aware of this feature, my little old celebration of the joys of random blog browsing. This week's trawl through the world of weblogging has revealed a veritable cornucopia of interesting/entertaining blogs. Here, for your delectation is a sample of the best:

First up is Evil Beaver/Ride the Beaver: the official site for Evil Beaver

Sorry if some of you are disapointed that this one doesn't live up to the billing, but I think it's great. I'll leave you to pick sides in what appears to be one helluva dang slanging match. I'm completely neutral in all of this, you understand. All I will say is this: Evie, you are one helluva sly old Beaver, you! My eternal thanks are owed to all those good folks at The UN Security Council who first alerted me to this sorry site.

Next up

Old radios


Not really much to add, so definitive is this site. A must!


Stalinism is less a blog and more a portal to a whole world of cyber leftism. Hey guys - what gives? Are we talik' 'bout a revolution here?

Nest up is Toffeewomble

Lots of good comedy type jackjapery goin' down on novelist and hamster baiter Sean's blog. Keep it real, Seanny boy!

And finally, Once-a-pon-a-time

Click on this baby if you want to enter the mind of one seriouly disturbed individual. Maybe it's just me, but I think this guy's looking at a very long stretch in Belmarsh if he ever acts out any of those saddo teen-angst poems. Or does he really want everyone to die? Go figure...


STOP PRESS:

Just coming through to Swipe Towers on the wires:

THIS

Well, I've been scratching my head on this one for a while, so a big Bob Swipe thank you to Jay-dub for giving such a sensible and reasoned explication of our current occupation of Iraq. Yep, apparently it's all happening so that tedious middle class American nerds can have a hard-on about going out and killing as many Arabs as they like. Well, Jay-dub, I wish you luck out there and I'm sure that your decent American family values will go along way towards winning the battle for hearts and minds.

a browse around this site, written by the people you have so kindly liberated, should give you some powerful motivation to continue the good work you are doing in bringing freedom and democracy to the country.

God bless you, Jay dub.


And love on y'all.





Kaplinsky watch: No 1,453 Monday, 15th August

Attire: Lilac power pants/suit type thing.

Shoes: (?) Matching SMERSH stillettos

Hair: 8.8 on the PCMS (Post-coital/Mussing Scale)

Eyes: Removed? Possibly borrowing someone else's smaller pair?

Last night's motto: "you're hurting my arm" - think Peter Lorre.

Demeanour: Post-coital Sudoku'd to death.

Smile effort estimate: 9.6 %

Turnbull annoyance factor: Full-on.

Kaplinsky watch is a non-profit organisation. To make a donation call 0898 288 666 3777 2666. Together we can stop this degrading, barbaric and pointless blah blah blah.

Islamofascists - an apology.

Hi Swipettes,

And before I get on to the proper apology, apologies for the delayed post. I was briefly detained and unable to break away from the free-porn and caviar kindly laid on for me by the British tax payer (thanks again Human Rights Convention - where would we be without you?) to blurb my daily blog. Still, there are worse ways to spend a day than encsconced in a warm cell with The New Age Harlot and a fellow jihadist for company. Belmarsh: What's all the fuss about?

Anyway, with typical Swipean duh-ness, I have, as we used to say in the valleys, got it all completely arse about tit again, is it? You'll remember my pathetic rantings at Home Office Mistress Hazel Bleeeeeuuuugggghhh the other day? OK, well, seems I've goosed up badly again. It's been revealed today that among the men suspected of attempting to overthrow western liberal democracy is one who, for some reason best known only to himself, goes only by the name of 'P'. Now, P suffers the grave misfortune of being a double amputee. Consequently, far from being a militant jihadist who will not rest until he has eradicated the infidel and brought our legal system into line with that of the 7th century Caliphate, he is instead someone who just needs that little extra help and understanding from the rest of us. Yes, he is a disabled and, as anyone who has travelled on the London Underground of late will know, he is not some hideous monster from the depths of a 19th century gothic horror story, but a useful and valued member of society (provided he doesn't want to get off the train anywhere between Ealing Broadway and Stratford, of course, in which case he is a "how are we going to get that bloody thing up all those flights of stairs?"-type nuisance) So, under new Disability discrimination legislation, he is due to be released in a Care in the Community style gesture aimed at integrating the limbless, hate-fuelled Islamofascist community into mainstream society which is, of course, to be warmly welcomed by us all.

Under the provision of the act, 'P' will be allowed special access to buses via a ramp that will invariably not work and the operation of which will necessitate a variety of impatient watch-checking/heavy sigh responses from driver and passengers alike. Once on board the bus, 'P' will be able, to remonstrate with any passengers who appear younger than him about how they have no respect, should be ashamed of themselves and aren't they blind, he has a disability don't you know and how they should bring back the birch for people like you etc. etc. until the bus finally reaches its destination. Whilst his seven children, all of whom are under ten and verbally incontinent, are allowed to run unsupervised along the length and breadth of the vehicle, kicking fellow passengers and smearing mucus on the seats at every turn, 'P' will turn on his cap-with-a-built-in-radio- receiver and treat those journeying with him to interminable renditions of 'I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world'. In between verses 'P' will be permitted to grab the handles on the doors of the bus and needlessly slam them together in a violent fashion, causing much alarm to his fellow passengers, and forcing the driver to allow him to alight from the bus at an unauthorized spot - in flagrant contravention of the Highway regulations and to much alarm from other motorists. Once he has disembarked, 'P' will join colleagues outside the nearest tube station where he will sit on a disgusting, vomit stained tartan blanket swigging from a can of Tennents Super and shouting things like, "Arf geddang bazzflipp shazzbolad reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeem ker" until he is arrested by the constabulary and detained at Her Majesty's pleasure under HARSH NEW TERROR LAWS. Finally, after much cost to the tax payer and enormous repair bill for TFL, he will be deported back to the place of birth described on his forged passport and locked up, gagged and bound, in a very small space at the expense of the Algerian tax payer. Keep up the good work, Hazel!



Kaplinsky watch: #587 - Friday 12th August, 2005

Sian Bloody Williams!!

Kaplinsky watch is brought to you by Blist-eze "for the insane jogger in your life".

Jihadist bags sexiest Lawyer in the world - exclusive

Hello Swipettes,

News just in from Rome:

Reuters report that Britisher police have finally been allowed to question the suspect being held in Rome in connection with disturbing the peace in London on 21/7 of this year. The suspect, Hussein Osman, was tracked down in the Italian capital some weeks ago and he has been linked with a suspicious device found in the environs of Shepherd Bush, Londinium. The device, a very large tape player of some description with very large stereo speakers, woofers and tweeters etc and a carrying handle, capable of what Police are calling "a seriously loud racket". Detective Inspector Ian Someone (no relation) opined: "it's fuck off loud. If my kids ever come home with one, I'm having their nuts off. Little toerags." The machine contained a full set of batteries and a tape, playback of which revealed a recording of several very loud explosions and what may possibly have been a blown raspberry or buttock fart. The device, known in some circles as a Caliphate-blaster, was primed for use and detectives investigating the incident have reported that it was only through sheer good fortune that the tape had not played. Police suggest that were it not for the tape having been badly mangled,possibly by a canine, or similar sized mammal - although they're not ruling out an unwitting kiddy sabotage, there would almost certainly have been a major incident. Police projections suggest that the capital was seconds away from being rocked by a very loud noise or possibly even exessively booming urban groove, R & B or gangsta rap - although they are ruling out a Raggamuffin revival in da hood. Such a scenario could have caused no end of alarm and provoked unprecedented levels of road and cycle rage in an already spooked and resentful capital.

Hussein denies the accusation, claiming to have been intent upon maiming and killing as many people as possible in a senseless act of carnage and self-mutilation, but it is widely assumed that he will be made an example of under TOUGH NEW TERROR LAWS aimed at removing restrictions on Britisher police gunning down innocent Brazilians in cold blood and removing the last vestiges of individual freedoms from the zombie-fied and witless populace. In an unrelated and totally spurious development, Hussein's lawyer, the stunning Anonietta Sonnessa, has been announced as the latest recruit for Celebrity Mullah baiting - Channel 4's new moronic mind-mangling format-spazz. She joins Shimon Peres, Joan Bakewell, J.K.Rowling and Shami Chakrabhati in the house on Thursday.

Friends Reunited blurb #367

Hi Swipettes,

I've had a lot of requests to put up some of my witty Friends reunited comments. (OK, that's bullshit - I haven't had a single request - I'm just bored and have too much time on my hands and need to get a life and recentre myself after the re-surfacing of my old problem...etc. etc.) But anyways, here's the most recent. This will be a sort of on going mini-series over the next few decades as per usual. I will post up here so there's no need to look at that silly (and expensive) site anymore. Here goes:

What I'm doing now:

Just about to be deported for inciting racial hatred and spreading my vile and pernicious interpretation of Buddhism through the Temples of London. Yes, that is me dangling an effigy of Jose Mourinho outside the Rada Krishna Temple and no, I won't take it back - he is still an arrogant Portuguese Arse.

I will be moved to Malmö, where I will be under house arrest with 70 nubile virgins (yes, you heard right - I WILL be getting my heavenly reward on earth!) God's a bastard, isn't he?

Go to:

http://rswipe.blogspot.com

for more about ethnic cleansing and a serialization of my novel: CITY OF PHLEGM: A CRIME THING. There really is some very high class pornography up there now and, well, it has been paid for, so what are you waiting for? I've had to remove the tapirs though. Bloody RSPCA...

Carol Kirkwood: a national disgrace!

Heavy hearted hellos Swipesters,

Why the crinkly mouth? Well, news is filtering in from over the pond that Radical Meteorologist/early morning sex kitten Carol Kirkwood faces expulsion from Britain. Under new Sharia-type laws imposed by Prime Minister Blaaaarrgggghh, Ms. Kirkwood was smuggled onto the Tarmac at Gatwick airport in the early hours of this morning. Her head covered and walking a respectful distance behind two members of the constabulary, she was ushered to a waiting plane and, once on board, securely handcuffed to a business class seat. Police were unable to confirm her destination, although she is believed to have been returned to her native Inverness-shire where she will be held under house arrest, quite possibly in a very large box, awaiting removal to an unconfirmed Islamic Republic currently occupied by British and American troops. It has emerged that Kirkwood's arrest was prompted by a series of mildly flirtatious exchanges with BBC Breakfast presenter, Bill Turnbull. This unseemliness was compounded by Ms. Kirkwood's attire - a salmon pink trenchcoat (yes, quite)- and the lewd absence of a veil. Her generally perky and provocative demeanour could not possibly be construed as anything other than gross indecency - especially within the context of an early morning weather bulletin which may be witnessed by young children and several retarded adults. Turnbull, who is married with three children and supports Wycombe Wanderers, has denied that the two were engaged in an affair, saying "Carol Kirkwood and I are not, repeat not, having an affair. Now piss off". But his comments that "Carol's a smashing, bubbly lass and I have a lot of time for her" have done nothing to pour water on the rumours that the two have been engaged in an elicit affair for the past 10 years which has involved a number of perverted acts and a welter of obscene sex aids. Should this prove to be the case, Kirkwood could be punishable by the ultimate penalty - being buried in sand and having stones rained onto her skull until she dies of a rock-induced brain battering - although the doubts surrounding her offence may see this commuted to a severe flogging - under harsh new measures introduced by Premier Bllaaaaauuuuurrggghhh-ck-ck. These have been rapidly introduced by edict in the absence of Parliamentary democracy/interest and represent an attempt to mollify the increasingly militant wing within his own party. Senior New Labour figures like David Bllluuurrgghhhhnkett and Jack Sreuuthmyarse-aw feel that the recent security clampdown has not gone far enough and are pushing for a series of dawn raids aimed at flushing out other known Radicals such as Helen Willetts, Isobel Lang and Penny Tranter. Speaking from his Presidential Bunker, President Barf attempted to reassure Ms. Kirkwood's anxious family:

"Men are the maintainers of women because Allah has made some of them to excel others and because they spend out of their property; the good women are therefore obedient, guarding the unseen as Allah has guarded; and (as to) those on whose part you fear desertion, admonish them, and leave them alone in the sleeping-places and beat them; then if they obey you, do not seek a way against them."

Meanwhile, in an unrelated incident, Television presenter Richard Madeley has had his right hand removed at the wrist following further allegations of shoplifting.



Kaplinsky watch: No 130 Tuesday, 9th August

Attire: Linen-belt-wrap-type-thing (stretch pants?)

Shoes: (?) The Big Slipper?

Hair: 5.8 on the PCMS (Post-coital/Mussing Scale)

Eyes: Almonds under lids - Last night's motto: "no-sleep-'til-Carlisle".

Demeanour: Bored shitless

Smile effort estimate: 6.3 % Factor in Raworth envy rating of 7.8 = Seriously insincere.

Kaplinsky watch is a non-profit organisation which aims to outlaw this degrading, barbaric and pointless sport.

Rebrand UK

Morning Swipesters!

Well, strange as it may seem coming from an ex-pat Welsh-American who doesn't know one end of batsman from a wicketkeeper's box, but isn't Cricket just a great game? So much better than silly old Football! Just have the dang trophy Chelsea, will ya? I have resolved to follow the rest of the series if at all possible - those Ashes are right up for grabs now, right Australia?

But on a more serious note, I am pleased that at long last steps are being taken in the old country to forge a similar feeling of nationhood and comradeship as exists here in the U.S. of A. How many times have I driven past an American-Indian reservation and marvelled at the way we integrate immigrants into this country, whilst allowing them to preserve their own cultures and traditions (sans buffalo, obviously). At long last, my own country of origin is about to introduce a similar approach. And about time too!

Yes, Home office Ministeress Hazel Bleugh has outtlined proposals aimed at ending the divisive impact ethnic difference is having on the old country. Fearful of attempts by Asian Islamofascists to undermine national unity by blowing up citizens of every hue and creed, it has been decided that a rebranding exercise could stress the commonality of all UK citizens and establish a more cohesive society. Sounds fair to me. Thus, I am no longer Welsh, but British-Welsh, Asians are now British-Asian and so on. This will be particularly useful in bridging the divided communities of Northern Ireland. How will they be able to fight their fellow British-Northern-Irish men and women? Exactly, it just doesn't make sense, does it?

So, a jolly good thing if you ask me. It will surely take no time at all for the newly-named British-Asian-Islamofascists to reintegrate themselves into our wonderfully free and tolerant society so that they too can begin to enjoy the pleasures of warm beer, cricket on the green and chicken tikka massala.

Well done Hazel!


Kaplinsky watch: No 129 Monday, 8th August

Attire: Subtle pinstripe-skirt-suit-type-thing (racy-lacy trim - or exposed under garment? More research needed)

Shoes: Strappy, sluttish. No Crimson disco? Generally preferred with p/s.

Hair: 4.8 on the PCMS (Post-coital/Mussing Scale) Has acquired hairbrush? More research required [No styling mousse. Running late?]

Demeanour: Smug, shag serene.

Smile effort estimate: 0.7 % (Still buzzing? Ball bearings?)

Kaplinsky watch is a non-profit organisation which aims to outlaw this degrading, barbaric and pointless sport.



Love on y'all,


Bob

Zoe Telford revisited

Well, the boffins here at Swipe Towers have done what they can, but having hunted high and low for a photo of the Lovely Zoe Telford dressed up as a policewoman, they've drawn a big old zilchy/nyet/blank kinda thing. The good news is that we've been able to track down the next best thing - only a head and shoulders cameo, I grant - but better than nixes, I'm sure you'll agree. So, here for your delectation and delight is a photo of UKland's finest actress and the future face of L'oreal (if we here at Swipe Towers have anything to do with it, at any rate)...Ladies and Gentlemen, please give a good old fashioned third reich welcome to...

Miss Eva Braun!

English Cut

Hi Swipesters!

How's it hanging? I trust you've all dressed on the right side this morning (or the left - whichever is your preference...)

I was recommended to look at the site above by an old school chum who's over here in DC at the moment. It's a really nice reminder of the old country and I'm starting to regret having let silly old picky Miss Joan Collins and her prophecies of imminent apocalypse scare me off from a little old visit.

So a big thanks to Tom Mahon for this lovely site, so redolent of all those lovely afternoons spent sipping lemon tea and nibbling cucumber sandwiches on the lawn. In fact, it's brought back so many pleasant memories that I almost don't have the heart to point out that they've missed out a letter on the heading....Ah - no one'll notice Tom!



Kaplinsky watch: No. 128: Friday 5th August, 2005

Attire: Stiff creme safari number, ( think "Woman at Roger Whittaker" (jodhpurs??) and dwarf Anne Robinson specs (hmm)

Shoes: Ostentatious flip-flops, no socks (real rubies -or [prob] faux?)

Hair: 6.8 on the PCMS (Post-coital/Mussing Scale) Drool/yoghurt traces? [New styling/sickle-like side extensions perhaps]

Demeanour: Unfeasibly frisky.

Smile effort estimate: 15.7 %


Oh, sorry - someone has correctly pointed out that it was Kate Silverton this a.m. Kate rocks.

Kaplinsky watch is a non-profit organisation which aims to outlaw this degrading, barbaric and pointless sport.








Love on ya,


Bob

Joan Collins is being destroyed from within

Evening Swipesters!

Apologies to all of you still awaiting the runner up in the Interactive Bob vote. That will be posted next week. I know, I know - I did promise, I know, but this is meant to be a topical blog and I just had to comment on the very disturbing developments in the land I once called home.

(P.S. Check out the link at the top - You'd think that they would consider re-wording that "enter Joan Collins" spiel, wouldn't ya?)




OK. I can't find a link to this, so I've had to paraphrase - I will post a link if/when available. And, that should read "My Country is being destroyed from within" - My typing is as bad as ever!

As you may remember, I've been complaining of having itchy feet of late (metaphorically, of course) and had been thinking of having a holiday - a short European break, perhaps? And where better to pitch up to than the land of my fathers? Or so I thought. Well, I was all set to call a cab for the airport - UK bound - when I was emailed the gist of Joany's recent piece in the Britisher Daily Mail. Seems the place is falling apart - quite literally. Joan paints a shocking picture of a land overtaken by foreigners and anarchists all bet upon dragging the country back into the dark ages. But that's not all. Apparently the little kids are being taught that their country is (please excuse my language here, ladies) an utter craphole and that the whole of British history should be a source of shame for all of us unfortunates who were cursed to have been born there. The polite hordes of thoughtful and considerate white people with whom Joan huddled in the subway during something called WWII has been replaced by an uncaring and anarchic mass who only look at you to see if you have something worth vandalising or are weak enough to stab repeatedly with a sharpened copy of the Socialist Worker/ To cite just one of many examples, Joan tells of 'horse-faced' six footers standing on the hem of her lovely ball gown in the rush he was in to steal the cab she had booked, leaving her isolated on the street to be spat on by the ungrateful 'derelicts' asleep in the doorways. See, this is what we get for giving them a doorway and a cup-a-soup?? Are ya happy Now??

Joan goes on to pinpoint the reasons for this civilazation-crumble overload scenario, as experienced between her leaving the stage door and jumping into the waiting limo:

"The whole scene evoked the image of hordes of inebriated vikings sacking devastated towns. Even during the day, feral mobs roamed the cities with absolute disregard for anyone else's property or well-being. The traditional virtues of male chivalry and female propriety were very far from view"

She goes on:

"Why have we allowed our mores and values to be whittled away by moronically blinkered liberal do-gooders who seem to hate England and being English as much as the Islamist terrorists do?"

Beats me, Joany. But get this for spirit:

"It is possible to argue that Britain has done much more for humanity than any other country in the world..."


Well Joany, I'd put the good ole U.S. of A ahead by a short nose - but I'm hearing ya, lady.

So, with that, I promptly cancelled the E class flights and spent the money on Rebel Yell - Thanks for that, Joany.


Love on ya,




Bob.

Kaplinsky watch

No. 127: Thursday 4th August, 2005

Attire: Purple blouse, black slacks

Shoes: Not visible (sling-backs feared)

Hair: 4.5 on the PCMS (Post-coital/Mussing Scale)

Demeanour: Crabby/Listless.


More tomorrow.

Kaplinsky watch is a non-profit organisation which aims to outlaw this barbaric and pointless sport. 

You asked for it! Pornography it is!

Hi Swipe-fiends!


OK, OK, I know - you all think this was a cynical move aimed at trying to boost a flagging readership - and, yeah, you'd have a point (I've looked at this week's ratings and these are real tears I'm crying, guys...) But it rather like the current occupants of the Oval office and Downing Street, it was the recipient of the largest number of votes and, like it or not, that's what democracy is all about. So purr-leeeeaaasse stick with me on this, OK? This is real high quality stuff - not quite Belle de jour, obviously - but one or two notches up from Pussy ranch and several even more despicable sites that even I won't look at.

So, make sure there's no one looking over your shoulder and get a load of this:



Sunday 20th April, 2003

Easter Sunday. ‘Heike’ calls around to the flat. Charlie is away at his sister’s. I’m still in my dressing gown. She says she is here to ‘punish’ me for my sins. I judge from the attire beneath the long overcoat she is peeling herself out of – spiked collar, PVC cat suit, thigh-length leather boots, monstrous gothic cross - and a little doctor’s case, that it may be an interesting chastisement. She strides through into the kitchen on her skyscraper heels and clears the table, sweeping away the domesticity of my half finished cereal bowl and the newspapers with a contemptuous clattering and clanging. Pieces of cracked crockery rock and spin on the floor as she opens up the little black bag and takes out what unfolds as a black velvet sack. ‘Confession time’, she intones, at once inviting and professional.
Before I can confess - or protest - she has pulled it over my head and I can feel something heavy, thin and dimpled tightening around my neck, chafing at my collarbone. My desperate breathing sucks the silk lining up against my tongue. She straddles my head on the kitchen table pinning my ears to my skull with her booted thighs, the shiny groove of her crotch rubbing up and down my velvet hooded crown. The weight of her cross jiggles sharply in my navel as her studded tongue journeys downward over my now moist folds. Thin pain from the pricking of my belly by her collar is drowned out by the blissful, bloated agonies of her oral flagellations.
I am moments from my climax, when she leaps off me. I pant out, ‘where have you gone? Where have you gone?’ and hear the fridge door open and gently thud shut, her muffled, mocking parodies of my helpless pleas are barely audible above the hum. The sharp pins of her heels slowly pace up and down, I imagine them pock marking the linoleum as she pauses to grind shards of ceramic to exquisite powder with her platform sole. Her slow march ticks like an insufferable metronome whose insistent rhythm keeps me delicately poised, panting, awaiting my end. A numbness on my left nipple as an icy block swells my erect teat into a permafrost hillock, then a frozen hot dog. Slowly, barely perceptibly, a transit occurs, a tunnel blasted through its saveloy core, throbbing heavier as the numbness thaws it into a pulling, piercing ache spreading across my bap. Her lips and sharp teeth lash and bite and tease, balled tongue gliding along the length of whatever she has pinned me with, gentle drops felt by my breast. She wrestles me on to my front and grips me in a half Nelson, as I glide furiously up and down her shiny thigh. I feel faint and dizzy. Sensing my limpness, she lays me on my back and, through the rhapsody of her rippling fingers brings me through crescendo to my diminuendo.
I lie limp and in heaven, a martyr in her arms as she removes the hood, my eyelids a flimsy barrier to the sheet of bright light above them. She kisses my lashes, catching small, stinging tears on her lips. I look up at her, faint specks of dried blood dot her lips and cheeks. The spiked collar is now pushed up on her forehead to form a radiant crown of silver pins. She pulls a large Havana from the doctor’s bag and lights it, taking a long, self-satisfied lug that turns the brown ellipse into a glowing, orange-tipped beacon at the tip of her out-stretched arm. Her exhalation fills the room with pungent fumes as she stares out impassively into the middle distance from her stiletto plinth, as if surveying a mighty ocean of sauce and sleaze. She places her cigar-free hand on her side and dips a hip to thrust a knee towards the water, balancing her angled leg on the very tip of her chunky stack sole - a burlesque dominatrix towering over me. ‘Heike’ flicks the brown roll of leaves and frees a delicate shower of ash over my punctured, still moist breast and drawls, ‘Happy Easter, Tina’.

For further extracts, please go here.

"He do the police in different voices" - an extract

Greetings Swipesters,

It will have escaped none of your attentions (I trust) that today marks the 400th anniversary of the birth of England's finest American-born poet, Thomas Stearns Eliot.




To mark this momentous occasion, we here at Swipe Towers are proud to present a snippet from our forthcoming work-in-progress - "He do the police in different voices - the complete The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot ; hyper-text of a masterpiece". The work is almost complete and aims to give a full set of references to the Modernist masterpiece and hopefully provide plain and simple explanations of some of the poem's more obscure imagery. This will, we hope, enable scholars to gain an ever-greater understanding of perhaps the most powerful and innovative poem in the language.
So, sit back, mouse at the ready and click yourself through "He do the police in different voices":
THE WASTELAND



Extract from the first draft:"He do the police in different voices"

First we had a couple of feelers down at Tom's place,
There was old Tom boiled to the eyes, blind,
(Don't you remember that time after a dance,
Top hats and all, we and silk hat Harry ....


April is the cruellest month, breeding


Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee




Love on ya,

Bob.

Interactive Bob

Hi Swipesters,

Well, the response to the offer of choosing this site's content was quite overwhelming. A big Swipe thanks you to all of you who took part in this. Now, the votes were not also very numerous, but also, incredibly close. So, in order to ease the pressure on my mailbag, I've decided to post up the three most popular items in reverse order. Starting with today's entry - Stephen Hawking's revisited, his born-again Creationist account of the origin of the Universe - I will post up the runner-up and winner tommorow and Friday. In the meantime, enjoy!

(Bear with it - it works if you read it in the voice...)


A brief History of the Universe (Revised and updated by Rev. S. Hawking)

In the be-gin-ning God cre-a-ted the hea-ven and the earth. And the earth was with-out form, and void; and dark-ness was up-on the face of the deep. And the Spi-rit of God moved up-on the face of the wat-ers. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God di-vi-ded the light from the dark-ness. And God called the light Day, and the dark-ness he called Night. And the e-ven-ing and the morn-ing were the first day.
And God said, Let there be a fir-ma-ment in the midst of the wa-ters, and let it di-vide the wa-ters from the wa-ters. And God made the fir-ma-ment, and di-vi-ded the wa-ters which were un-der the fir-ma-ment from the wa-ters which were above the fir-ma-ment: and it was so. And God called the fir-ma-ment Hea-ven. And the e-ve-ning and the mor-ning were the se-cond day.
And God said, Let the wa-ters un-der the hea-ven be gath-ered to-geth-er un to one place, and let the dry land ap-pear: and it was so. And God called the dry land Earth; and the gath-er-ing to-geth-er of the wa-ters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good. And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yiel-ding seed, and the fruit tree yiel-ding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in it-self, up-on the earth: and it was so. And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yiel-ding seed after his kind, and the tree yiel-ding fruit, whose seed was in it-self, after his kind: and God saw that it was good. And the e-ven-ing and the morn-ing were the third day.
And God said, Let there be lights in the fir-ma-ment of the hea-ven to di-vide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for sea-sons, and for days, and years: And let them be for lights in the fir-ma-ment of the hea-ven to give light up-on the earth: and it was so. And God made two great lights; the grea-ter light to rule the day, and the less-er light to rule the night: he made the stars al-so. And God set them in the fir-ma-ment of the hea-ven to give light up-on the earth, And to rule o-ver the day and o-ver the night, and to di-vide the light from the dark-ness: and God saw that it was good. And the e-ven-ing and the morn-ing were the fourth day.
And God said, Let the wa-ters bring forth a-bun-dant-ly the mov-ing crea-ture that hath life, and fowl that may fly a-bove the earth in the o-pen fir-ma-ment of hea-ven. And God cre-a-ted great whales, and e-ver-y liv-ing crea-ture that mov-eth, which the wa-ters brought forth a-bun-dant-ly, af-ter their kind, and e-ver-y wing-ed fowl af-ter his kind: and God saw that it was good. And God blessed them, say-ing, Be fruit-ful, and mul-ti-ply, and fill the wa-ters in the seas, and let fowl mul-ti-ply in the earth. And the e-ven-ing and the morn-ing were the fifth day.
And God said, Let the earth bring forth the li-ving creature after his kind, cat-tle, and cree-ping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind: and it was so. 25 And God made the beast of the earth af-ter his kind, and cat-tle af-ter their kind, and ev-ery-thing that cree-peth up-on the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good.
And God said, Let us make man in our im-age, after our like-ness: and let them have do-min-i-on o-ver the fish of the sea, and o-ver the fowl of the air, and o-ver the cat-tle, and o-ver all the earth, and o-ver e-ver-y creep-ing thing that cree-peth up-on the earth. So God cre-a-ted man in his own im-age, in the im-age of God cre-a-ted he him; male and fe-male cre-a-ted he them. And God blessed them, and God said un-to them, Be fruit-ful, and mul-ti-ply, and re-plen-ish the earth, and sub-due it: and have do-min-i-on o-ver the fish of the sea, and o-ver the fowl of the air, and o-ver ev-er-y liv-ing thing that mov-eth up-on the earth. And God said, Be-hold, I have giv-en you e-ver-y herb bear-ing seed, which is up-on the face of all the earth, and ev-er-y tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yiel-ding seed; to you it shall be for meat. And to ev-er-y beast of the earth, and to ev-er-y fowl of the air, and to ev-er-y thing that cree-peth up-on the earth, where-in there is life, I have giv-en ev-er-y green herb for meat: and it was so. And God saw ev-er-y thing that he had made, and, be-hold, it was ve-ry good. And the e-ven-ing and the morn-ing were the sixth day.

Tomorrow,

"He do the Police in funny Voices" - What T.S. Eliot really meant to say.



Love on ya,


Bob

The IMF

Good morning Swipesters,

Or at least it was until I looked at the news. I'm sure that many of you are aware of the awful crisis unfolding in Niger. I read the reports in yesterday's Britisher Guardian online and I have forwarded the very moving piece to all my colleagues and friends in DC. We all feel now is the time for the talking to stop and for urgent action on this. You've all seen the pictures and read the reports and now we have to join together to stop this awful tragedy in its tracks. I'm sorry to go all Saint Geldof on you, but this really is beyond the pale and we will be judged by history if we do not act - and act fast.

Just in case you've been avoiding the news, this is what is happening in Niger. Basically, our good friends at the IMF and the World Bank are trying to sort out this craphole of a nation - bringing in free market reforms, destroying the barbaric collectivisim that has struggled to keep the population afloat for centuries and replacing it with an efficient, civilised, western modus operandi. Now, as we all know, you can't just wave a wand at these things and sometimes things have to get a little bit worse before they get better - you know the drill... Iraq wasn't built in a day... Well, the long and the short of it is that as part of the modernising process, the price of grain has become a little bit steep and one or two people have struggled on the daily bread front, - blah blah blah. Hands held high, sure, that's not nice - it's BAD STUFF. But - and you don't need me to tell you this - bad stuff happens.

Cut to the last few weeks and we get a true picture of the horror that is unfolding. Mass media hysteria fuelled by the butting in of those meddlesome, we-told-you-so 'agencies' - Oxfam, MSF, UNICEF - has led to massive donations of money and food aid - the country is quite literally being swamped with food and medicine - and you don't need me to tell you where all this is leading... So now we have a ludicrous situation on our hands. Here we are, trying to create a decent infrastructure in the country so people won't have to queue for weeks to buy crap looking food from unglamourous outdoor markets and those silly do-gooding fools are undoing all our efforts. I mean, don't they realise what's going to happen to the grain market when we start artificially flooding the market place with subsidised US surplus? You got it - a healthy dividend turns into a big fat zero and the chances of finding a Subway within a fifty mile walk becomes once more a pipe dream. And how's any budding entrepreneur going to go about setting up an allnight drugstore or pharmacy when you can stroll to some surrender monkey in a tent and get a month's supply of any drug you fancy for diddly-squat? Sucks, doesn't it?

So, I hope you can all see the true extent of the problem? I mean what's with these Aid agency guys - what planet are they living on? You know, they might as well just take all our hard earned cash and give it all directly to the poor bastards who are starving and they can just stroll in to the local markets (which, incidentally, are all stocked with lots of nice looking food because WE are trying to drag these people up by the bootstraps) and they can pick what they want from the shelves themselves! Just try it, buster!

I hope you can all see how we really have our work cut out here. So, I want you all to click on the link at the top of the page and email your support to the guys at the IMF who are trying to salvage something from this awful scenario. Let them know you will not let a few do-gooders and hungry looking communists plunge Niger back to the days of food shortages and primitive statism. Still worried about what to do with all that disposable cash you've got on your hands? Whatever you do, don't give it to the agencies. Instead, how about a refund for the poor, hard working banks who've just had to swallow the cancellation of the repayments on all the moolah we loaned those guys before... Or you could always buy the new U2 CD....


OK, Let's get to work!


Love on y'all,


Bob

Maggie's dead

Sadly not the case - but click on this come the glorious day.

Puerile I know, but it doesn't rank with screwing an entire nation - so Allah will forgive....


Enjoy,


Bob

Zoe Telford appeal

Hello again Swipettes.

You wait months for a post and then 15 come at once, yeah?

But seriously. I have scoured the web for photographs of English rose actress, Zoe Telford, in police uniform for her role as Maggie in the BBC America series, Teachers, and can I find one? You got it - a dirty big nyet on that one. Zilcheroonie. So, it's over to you, Swipe-geeks over at cyber.dot.nerds. r-us.com - I await with baited breath. And remember; this is urgent - OK?

Full body shots are preferred, but if you can only find the legs, I guess I'll just have to make do.


Thanks for your assistance and co-operatioon on this,

Love on y'all,


Bob.


p.s. ...handcuffs would just so make my day....

Witty woman

Apologies to the thousands of you reading this post expecting the usual penetrating insights and humourous observations on the state of mankind etc. Sorry, but this is a personal message, so if you're not , repeat, not called Witty Woman, then please stop reading this right now, OK?

Right, where was I? Oh yeah. Witty woman (the kind I like to meet...?) Thank you for your very kind words concerning my version of the National Anthem (see 'My profile') I can't tell you how happy I am to know that I have made you laugh and thanks too for your website (I hope you don't mind me linking to it..?) I'd just like to say that I'm with you on the alarm clocks too (jeez, I can't stand those things! My one is from Japan and starts wrestling me at some un-Godly hour of the morning if I so much as turn over on my side...) and I too like the Kinks and Bob Dylan and ELO.

Before I go, I'd just like to let you know that I have come up with another version of the National Anthem just for you. I hope this gives you as much pleasure as the first one (fingers crossed) Here goes:

Miaow miaow miaow miaow miaow miaow
Miaow miaow miaow miaow miaow miaow
miaow miaow miaow miaow.

OK, I know it isn't T.S. Eliot but, who cares?!

Thanks again WW,

Love on ya

Bob.


OK. That's the personal bit out of the way. The rest of you guys can come back in now.

OK, all settled in? Good. Now, today being a somewhat quiet day here at Swipe Towers, I have decided to introduce an interactive theme to the blog over the next week or so. Quite simply, I just need your input on the subject matter of the next few day's posts. Put frankly, I'm shit bored with the whole dang thing and I've run out of ideas and my life and career are going nowhere...but that's another story. So, I will provide three or four options below and I'd like all of you to get back to me as to which you would like to see put up here. They're all written and ready to roll, so please feel free to be Robert Swipe's editor for a day and send those demands hurtling in.

Choose one from:


More Mardin Antler extracts

Why Bob Geldof should be de-knighted

My "fabulous" spoof of T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" set on a celebrity weight loss island.

My own "humourous" war on terror timeline (are you getting all this, spooks?)

A brief history of time revisited (Stephen Hawking's Creationsit revision of the famous text following his conversion to Christian Fundamentalism.)

Some pornography.


OK. I hope that offers an appetising set of options for you all - as you all know, my aim is to please. That and to make shitloads of moolah.

Lines are open now and will close on Thursday at 5pm (or more realistically, as soon as some one writes in to declare a choice ...if at all.....) If not, goodbye cruel world.


Catch y'all later.

Love on y'all,


Bob..