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..

The long slide towards totalitarianism starts here!

Hi Swipe fiends,

Once again my attempts to draw a discrete veil over this site and allow it to join the Hall of Fame of "had their fifteen minutes, what shall we talk about over the water cooler today now we've stopped reading Belle de Jour" blogs have failed (yes, I can so do long sentences with extravagant clauses etc.) A bulging post bag (Cheers the Stridster) has made me recant my avowed intent to send this site sinking to the bottom of the virtual swimming pool in a bizarre Wim Duisenberg/Brian Jones-type fashion. So, you'll both be pleased to know that I am returning to the fray, sleeves rolled up to take on...hmm, let me see - what's the big issue de nose jaws ?(as we say on Capitol Hill)

I guess it's got to be an wanted return to that beastly old War on Terror schtick. Now, you all know me - a more reasonable and tolerant kinda guy you couldn't hope to meet. But - like the Britisher Observer - I gotta say you guys have just gone a teeny bit too far in bowing down to those who would have us circumcise our daughters and think a 80,000 virgins per self immolation is some kinda attractive deal. Now, don't get me wrong - I could use 80,000 virgins myself (although I'm not too sure what for...) - but this is precisely the kinda warped logic that's meant that our guys have had to dispense with our centuries old penal codes and human rights legislation (and, I admit, this has also involved occasionally urinating on your Holy book) in order to keep our society safe from....blah blah blah - you know the drill by now. So, brothers and sisters of the book, I implore you- think very long and hard about the pleasures you are being offered (I mean, 80,000 is just inconceivable, right? I mean, where would you ever find the reserves?) Try Playboy/Penthouse/Forum/Escort - any of the above are available from most reputable newsagents - heck, they don't even wrap them up in brown papier no more. So, give the old guy a tug - sure, you can dream on those 80,000 honeyz all you like, brother - if you feel the frustrations of those all too brief spin around the sun are getting too much for yo' ass. But guys, will you do us all a favour and play with the nail boms somewhere that doesn't include my chums from Swipe Towers UK (Inc.) having to pick pieces of your robes out of their lacerated stomachs?

OK, I hope that's cleared things up.

I have to get a cup of coffee. Back later.

Love on y'all...


Bob

The good old days

30th April, 1997. It almost seems like a different century now, doesn't it? (Well, it was a different century, actually - ed.) You know, cricket on the village green... warm beer and stale Melton Mowbray pies... old maids cycling through the mist to communion... Irishmen being shot on sight for having green items of clothing on... How things have changed since those Halcyon days. It almost makes you wish for a return to those good old British values - decency, honesty, integrity - you're out of sugar Mrs. Wilberforce? Come in and fill your boots me old son, we've more than enough to spare. Am I alone in wishing for a return to that more gentle era with its reassuring certainties, family values and value family packs of bourbon biscuits. Come back Mr. Major - all is forgiven!

But now look at the place. Innocent Guatemalans being machine gunned down in the streets of Hemel Hempstead, a crazed lunatic at number ten sending the nation's youth off to torture and abuse the innocent people of Iraq, crazed lunatic imams preaching their distorted gospel of hatred and violence to a willing audience of alienated youths who see the land which protects their right to religious freedom and allows them to live without the fear of limb amputation should they transgress sharia law as depraved and decadent...and is if that wasn't bad enough, Chelsea are bloody champions...

I realise that this article contains sentiments that could be interpreted as inflaming religious hatred and consequently, I will be closing down this blog for good and handing myself over to the authorities. I would like to thank everyone who has ignored this site over the last year or so and would just like to apologise for any offence caused to anyone at anytime by anything I may have said or considered saying on this site. I realise now that I am a misguided individual who should do society a favour by shutting up and committing myself to the care of the state where I know I will be looked after by that nice Mr. Blair and his lovely wife Cheerie. Thank you Emperor, I really don't deserve you.

Goodbye. I'll miss you.

Mardin Antlers extract the third

Cut to Rio de Janeiro.

Behind the wall is a fan. In front of the fan is a block of ice. In front of the block of ice is a man. A shrewd and manipulative man who wears his white linen jacket with its slug-slime pits the way some men wear a frown. His socks are worn similarly, although he is relatively light trousered and has a nice tie. His face, if that inadequate word could be stretched to encompass the sagging corsetery of the varied jowls and bags that drip down over his skull cheeks, is full of menace and made slack jawed by too much bad hooch and a bad dentist.

Mardin Antlers novel extract 2

Candace Lipsalve-Bagwallader has just earned the easiest roll of monkeys she will ever retrieve from her cleavage. A top Tory minister has just paid her a sackload of reeking moolah to get her all nude and buttery in the sack. But what the Rt. Hon member for Shipton-by-the-Leem-Wold doesn't realise is that he may just have, by jumping into this particular sack with this particular sylph-like khazi stalker from the Betty Ford escort agency of hand relief, got himself tangled up in a whole other sack. And a far less stimulating and fragrant one it is too. This is the kind of sack they heave you out of office in saying p. off dolt breath and shaft your poll tax you burgling bugger, dumping you in the cruddy grime of the Embankment without even a lame duck Fourth assistant junior minister to the Secretary of State for Meadows and Fields portfolio to snuggle up with. It's cold, dank and abject down among the dossers and bag ladies and gentlemen, the other failed supremos spewed out by the careless Whitehall rubbish shute into the scary bristles of the Londinium evening. Ms. Lipsalve-B may have taken him halfway to paradise and back home the slow way in a fur-lined rickshaw , but Archie Krugerpistol never counted on washing up in this particular postcode of Wandsworth, tied up with cellotape and reeking of bisto in a home fit for cowards on a sunk estate with a head like a bashed weasel's gonad for his trouble. And light of a few thousand bob to boot, "the scheming udder pinching bint bag" he curses with miffed disdain all over his gistening chops.

CLB hot heels it to the offices of the Daily Murk where, dealing out the saucy snaps like a crap game wizardess on borrowed time and mescalin, she teases a ruefully impressed smile from patrician editor and cat flogger, Piss McFlaphound-Brevity. He knows a funked up Tory arse quivering when he sees one - and this has all the hallmarks of a crisis-meltdown-vote purge, if ever there was one. The hootenanny might just have cooled down a calvin or two by the time they've tippexed the old scrote off the birthday honours. McFlaphound-Brevity chortles, squeezing a bug like a pussy bottom boil. He hates the lot of them and still hasn't forgiven the Tories for the penny in the ponce hike on tabloid gutter-blood-red ink that's sliced a cool several hundred beavers worth of loot off his personal estate. He'll bring the slimey slag dudes down if it kills him in the process. They don't call him the Brisbane bastard crunch for nothing. He cackles like a villain and drags Candace and her unfeasible double barrel down the Naughty Fleshgizard and Scampi to get very very drunk on strong beer.

Back on the banks of the wet trench of drizzle that trickles warmly down the leg of the boss town of England, Krugerpistol lies bound and augmented like a poove from a sexslave catalogue pointing pointlessly at another man's crutch to highlight item 44576/D. Gurning like a marmitey pleb, he hears a piglike snuffling emanating from the kitchen that makes him feel all blotchy like a sweatmonger. "Shitting sandballast", he scoffs and tugs up his lederhosen like a startled goatherd on a rutting splurge in the Ionians. In the dark, with only the light of his digital radio alarm anklet watch to go by, the soon to be dishonourable member sees the fragile glint of a Stanley blade scything through the darkly dawn. "Cobblers", he realises "they really mean it this time. "


To be continued......

New Mardin Antlers novel - Extract 1

Hi Swipettes!

Great news - world famous literary giant and avant-garde nose-saxophonist Mardin Antlers has signed up with the Swipe agency!! Wowarooni!!! That means your humble scribe will be representing the great man universally - in ALL territories, globally, planet wide. And Canada too. I can't tell you how much this means - not least financially. I mean, there are only so may things you can rustle up from a Farley's rusk.

So, the deal secured, last night, over a nice Chablis and one or two marmited kippers, I said to the great pensmith, "Hey, Mardee, why don't we give the loyal Swipe-ophiles of the world a sneak preview of die neue meisterwerk? How about it, you rummy old sleazebag?" As you can guess, no one, not even Mardee, can resist the old Swipe sweet talk schmoozola. So, for your delectation, I proudly present England's finest welder of words, the veri tale - or even veri table lion of the literary luminaries - the one and only Sir Mardin Antlers with the opening paragraphs of his block-bluster in waiting, City of Phlegm: A crime thing :

Chapter One


Stanley Scrape stared out over the grey cack of water that trickles down from Oxfordshire to blight the limestone basin of the lower lands of Angleterre. Clouds like weeping pustules blossomed against the snot green sunset, bilious as a hungover wino after a metholated slurping binge as stupid seagulls pestered the breeze, arguing over scraps and refuse like militant traffic cops rubbed up the wrong way by a 45 degree park. A strop of agile teenagers angled past him, their mutant, sexless bodies a heaving nest of mesh, bullets and psychedelic brain vom. One of them, her lemur eyes fixing Stanley in a cold, black-ringed, drug abandoned stare, gives what approximates a smile from her razed, lifeless lips. A noughties come hither look from a nipper not old enough to remember Boyzone, thinks Stanley, agitating his Coffee Republic hand cooler between his gnarled and frozen fingers. Nice looking tart mind, he calculates, fingering the criss cross handle of his stanley knife and feeling a slight twitch in the bubbling acid tub that is his guts - shame about the boat race, he ponders, rubbing his nuts and inexplicably picturing Malcolm Muggeridge and a bar of soap. Nothing that a year's free Pilates and a Max Factor focus group couldn't straighten out. A daft old bag with a highland terrier and fish and chip wrapper stuffed down her sagging breast front walks past muttering to herself about Sir Anthony Eden and how all would be well if she could only tell Marge Proops. Stanley scowls and gets back to his task. He is casing a joint and there will be nicking galore to come when the coast and his head have cleared. It's good to be back, he nods to himself like a pompous twat, Shit, it's good to be back.

A blousy bird all done up and dusted down for the working day clip clops down the path on her 14 inch elevator mocassins, legs as horny as a toad with a devil's tail. Looks like a drug house or broken house or a failed house, thinks Stanley eyeing the syringes and the rubber johnnys in the path way as the hooker in the tight fit clip clops down the path, refusing at the gate before eventually breaking out into the street like a borstal day trip. Or perhaps this is a house that never tried in the first place, he reconsiders, popping a soluble aspirin into his Irn-bru and swigging down a jawful of the jizzing potion. A house that didn't even have the balls to take a stab at having a go for fear of falling flat on its gables in abject, dismal, deadend defeat, thinks Stan, poncing up and down like a weeble on a spring in the cold November air. The blousy bird gone, Stan nipped round the back, rumbled the window and sprang into the slimy, damp interior of number 47. The caper was on.

...to be continued.....

Valentine's Day

Hi Swipesters!!

Apologies to all you lovely vixens out there obviously distraught at not having received a valentine's card from me today. As you are no doubt aware, security concerns here in Washington have caused enormous delays in our postal service (well, you try opening 500,000 envelopes every day and reading their entire contents!) Consequently, patriot that I am, I have refrained from sending out my annual missives of suggestive artwork and erotic prose. Let's just hope Dubya can bring a speedy end to this war on terror so that normal service can be resumed ASAP.... In lieu of a card, I'd like to send out my heartfelt throbbings to the following sweet little chickies in the hope that their day will be brightened by the knowledge of my febrile sexual yearnings for them:

Melissa Etheridge

Bette Midler

Scarlett Johansson

Kate Moss

Anna Massey

Condoleeza Rice

Penny Smith


I could go on - there are just so many lovely ladies out there. But I'm sure you'll agree that the list of names above would brighten up anyone's Valentine's Day.....esp. if you could get them all in the same room!

Regular readers will be aware of my annual "Ministry of Swipe" compilation of love songs and tired old MOR standrads. You'll be pleased to know that this year's effort will be available online. Just click on a title for a superb MP3 sample, remastered from pristine vinyl source. Happy Listening!!


Always Somebody Who Cares - Paul McCartney

Tuxedo Junction - Manhattan Transfer

San Miguel - Roger Whittaker

War Dance - Killing Joke

World Without Love - Peter & Gordon

Exploited Barmy Army - The Exploited

Miss You Nights - Cliff Richard

I Feel Love - Donna Summer



Love on y'all!


Bob

Booleian logic #2: Heike's Heels

Hi Swipesters!

Second in an occasional series in which your humble scribe scours cyberspace for the pick of world wide web.

This week, a real gem. OK, you all know I was born in 'dear old blighty' and even though I now consider myself a fully paid up member of "Team America", there are still few things that mark me as a true Brit and run through me like the writing in a stick of rock. One is a love for a 'decent cup of tea' - I can't abide the paltry piss-water you yanks throw down your gullets in the mistaken belief that you are drinking tea. The other is a profound and deep seated dislike of the Germans and all things teutonic (this is mainly football related but there are a few war-related themes too). So, imagine my surprise when I found my icy English breast melted by the work of one of the 'master race'. For it is a cold and ignoble heart that could not be charmed by young Heike's lovingly tended homage to all things elevated in the footwear department. I can't really add anything in words but to thoroughly recommend that you totter over to the link opposite and feast your eyes on some of the nicest feet (and legs) this side of Munchengladbach. Oh, and Heike - if you're out there - please feel free to contact the site and maybe we could....you know, hook up and .....if the mood was right and you felt there was something going on between us.....you could.....you know.... walk all over me???

Like the lady says: "UMFRAGE!!"

ENJOY!!


OW!!!!

I'm back and I'm proud!!

Hello Swipesters!!

I would love to be able to say that my long absence from your world has been caused by a lengthy sojourn fighting the forces of imperialism in Eye-rack; or in infiltrating the Old Trafford canteen in order to attempt an audacious coup to overthrow "Sir" Alex Ferguson by adding poison to his vat of vintage methylated spirit; or siphoning of profits from U2's multi-million seeling "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" CD in order to redistribute the profits with a view to ending global poverty. I wish any of the above were the case. Sadly, the reason for my lengthy silence is more prosaic: I forgot my Password!

So, without further ado - or in Arsenal's case, Edu - what's been happening at Swipe Towers over the last few months? Well, to be frank, not an awful lot. I've been putting a lot of time into my pornographic, anti-Iraq war novel, "Get Your Cock Out of my Face, Condi" - to the extent that I have lost quite a degree of wrist flexibility and have developed a most unsightly blistering between thumb and forefinger. Sadly, despite the obvious commercial potential of a novel set in the Abu-Gharaib detention centre, tracing the Fanny Hill-like journey of sexual discovery embarked upon by the book's heroine, I have received no positive feedback from any of the publishers I have emailed the text to. Regular readers will know the short shrift I give to the currently prevalent conspiracy theorits' mumbo jumbo. However, though it pains me to say it, I'd say that this concerted effort to impede my self expression has 'censorship' written all over it. I will be relentlessly pursuing my White House contacts with a view to having this sad besmirchment of the democratic ideal condemned from the very top.

Worse news from the football pitch. Hank and I coptered it over to the UK to watch the match of the season as our beloved Arsenal played their make or break tie with United of Manchester. Sadly, after a promising start, 'The Arse' capitulated to a spirited United performance in the second period and with those three dropped points went all hopes of our retaining the title. Oh well, short of covering the Red Devil's manager in post-match refreshments, what can I guy do?

More later - and sorry it's been so long. I will update you further on the battle to end third world poverty a little later - beware fans of Ms. Siead O'Connor, Mr. Paul Bono and "Sir" Robert of Geldof - it doesn't make pretty viewing!!


Love on ya!


Bob

p.s. Three cheers for the plucky Crawley Tigresses. I note that they won their first game in 18 attempts this season! I knew that bad run had to end soon. Here's to the next 18 unbeaten!! Way to go, girls!!!

Impulse Goddess - an apology

After consultation with my attorney, I have agreed the following statement:


"It has been pointed out to me that recent comments in my blog concerning the launch of the Impulse Goddess campaign to aid the Teenage Cancer Trust are liable to cause embarrassment and unnecessary harm to the reputations and feelings of some of those who have unselfishly come forward to aid a very good cause. I hereby apologise unreservedly for any harm or upset I may have caused and would like to state that such an outcome was never my intention. I am also aware that celebrities such as Tamara Beckwith do not enjoy being refered to as "Tamara Fuckwit" and I would like to state an oath to the effect that I will never publicly refer to her as such again, ever. Similarly, I accept that she does play a very useful role in society and deeply regret having suggested that she be euthanased. I would also like to take this opportunity to state, categorically, that none of the following people have offered their services to the campiagn with anything but the highest and most noble motives:

Kelli from Liberty X
Holly Valance, singer
Leah Wood, Ronnie Woods's model daughter
Tamara Beckwith, LA celebrity it-girl
Gail Porter, TV presenter
Lisa Scott Lee, ex Steps
Hayley Evetts of Pop Idol fame
Fearne Cotton - TV presenter
Sam Taylor Wood, artist
Beverly Knight, singer
Margherita Taylor, Capital Radio DJ and TV presenter
Beth Orton, US singer
Elize du Toit, Izzy from Hollyoaks

Furthermore, I would also like it to be recorded that my offer to buy Ms. Gail Porter a property in Thailand was made in jest and that my comments were not, are not and should not be taken to be in any way legally binding. Equally, I am now aware that Hayley Evetts performed with distinction in the television series Pop Idol and can now see that this is indicated clearly by the use of the phrase "of Pop Idol fame". Lastly, I would like to clarify that I have never shared sufficient intimacy with Ms. Fearne Cotton that she should be able to know what I look like first thing in the morning and I will unreservedly agree with her attorneys' contention that such an occurence would not be likely "in a million years or when hell freezes over - whichever is the longest". And, yes, I do know that cancer is an awful illness and yes I am trying to find more constructive ways to put my free time to use." The statement ends.

Boolean Logic - Google Search of the Month

Greetings Swipesters! Due to unprecedented interest in yesterday's posting, I've been literally overwhelmed with enquiries for more Fearne Cotton/fabulous TV sex goddess info. So, never one to shirk hours and hours of futile internet surfing even when there are a thousand and one more important things to do - most pressingly, stopping George W. Bush - I expertly tapped Fearne+Cotton+goddess into a google search and - lo and behold! I came up with this fascinating tidbit of information and a great idea for a new monthly feature all in one go:

Impulse, the UK's favourite body fragrance, is calling for all young women to summon their inner goddess with the launch of its new fragrance range: Impulse Goddess.
To celebrate the inner power and beauty of Goddesses, Impulse has joined forces with a number of female celebs - modern day Goddesses - and Teenage Cancer Trust to auction funky, limited-edition t-shirts emblazoned with empowering Goddess mantras.

Amazing what lengths people will go to for charity, non? The eye still moistens a little when I dwell on the efforts these real-life goddesses are making while you sit there at home surfing the net for soft porn titilation - Shame on you, George! So, I know you're keen to read on. Here are the poetic mots justes ripped from our heroines' heaving breasts (steady George!):

Celebrity Goddess Expressions

Kelli from Liberty X
Gorgeous
Original
Daring
Diva
Extraordinary
Sophisticated
Sexy!
Nice approach there, Kelli. Acronyms always catch my eye when paradin' down the high street.

Holly Valance, singer
"There's a funky Goddess in every girl..."
So true, so true. And she sings too, apparently...

Leah Wood, Ronnie Woods's model daughter
"Goddess - Smile and the whole world smiles with you"

You truly are a model daughter, Leah. Let's hope the Woods's appreciate you.

Tamara Beckwith, LA celebrity it-girl
"Every Goddess wears lashings of lipgloss"

Only an LA celebrity it-girl could have put it so...so...so .....dangit, I'm lost for words...

Gail Porter, TV presenter
"Love being a woman and you will be a Goddess"

Makes me want to buy you a holiday home in Thailand, you've moved me so Gail.

Lisa Scott Lee, ex Steps
"Every Goddess needs a God to worship her"

Or, a god perhaps, Lisa? We don't want those Christian fundamentalists taking you to task now, do we? Or you really will be an ex Steps.

Hayley Evetts of Pop Idol fame
"Go on be yourself, ignite the goddess in you"

Yes, "Go on, go on, go on", as Mrs Doyle would surely concur. Hayley seems to have her head screwed on - anyone have any idea who she is?

Fearne Cotton - TV presenter
"Hairy Legs, big pants, chipped nail varnish = Still a Goddess"

Ah, Fearne! How true, how true! I can almost believe that you've seen me first thing in the morning. Would that it were so....

Sam Taylor Wood, artist
"A goddess is not a bit of fluff..."

Point taken, Sam!

Beverly Knight, singer
"I think...therefore I am a goddess..."

Cartesian dualism has never seemed quite so sexy, Bev.

Margherita Taylor, Capital Radio DJ and TV presenter
"Only handsome princes need apply..."

It's in the post Margherita - Margherita? don't mind if I do! (I bet you hear that one all the time, eh Mags?

Beth Orton, US singer
"Live as you dream"

Asleep? Or in bed? Tell us which, Beth, pleeeaaaase!

Elize du Toit, Izzy from Hollyoaks
"A Goddess is...being yourself"

Wise words from one so young, Elize. Elize - now that'd make a nice name for a perfume, wouldn't it?
So, there you have it. I hope you all feel thoroughly ashamed of your selves for whacking one off over young ladies who have so much else to offer society than being plain wank-fodder. To make amends, you can help save lives by ordering a shed-load of the following from all good stockists:

Impulse Goddess product range will include:
- Goddess Body Fragrance - 75ml GBP2.19
- Goddess Aerosol Anti-perspirant Deodorant - 150ml GBP2.09
- Goddess Roll-On Anti-perspirant Deodorant - 50ml GBP1.59

Next month's google search: "suspender belt"+divas

Twickenham Fine Ales - an apology

Regular visitors to this site will be aware that I like to see the best in people. In this world of multi-national corporations and increasingly powerful agro-businesses, of fat cats and downsizing, I like to see a more natural, human scale encouraged in commerce and production. It's a big guys' world out there so, as many of you know from previous postings, I like to try to give the little guy a hand. That's why on my blog, you'll often see links to new businesses every now and then - I try to pick one at random from recently established business and website lists I get sent, if I have the time. It's an occasional service, informal and just one of those happy coincidentals of living in the global village that I can sit here in DC and help someone back in the old country. So, I was pleased to receive the following comment from the D.M. of Twickenham Fine Ales, one such company whose link has appeared recently on this site:

Bob,

Very off-subject I'm afraid.I just found your link to Twickenham Fine Ales on your main page. I'd like to thank you as I'm the MD of the company and we need all the publicity we can get. We hope to be brewing very shortly.

Cheers,[name witheld for legal reasons]

PS send me an email if you'd like to know more.


OK. Nice to have some feedback, thanks for the thanks and, in short, a good deed done and everyone happy. So you'd think. Now, this communication was fresh in my mind when I started to post yesterday, and as you may have read in that posting, I thought perhaps I could do a little bit more for the company - here I refer you to the words "and we need all the publicity we can get" and I'm quoting from the above communication from the company's D.M. So, in a spirit of gentle fun, I thought that anyone who'd read the above comment (as anyone reading this site would have been able to - I don't hide your comments away, this is an open page, God Bless America, land of the free etc.) would see the humour in the "we need any publicity we can get" followed by the immediate response in my blog, spuriously linking a site which anyone with a modem and a PC can click on, anywhere in the world without the need for a corporate sponsor, even one as omnipresent as TFA. I'm sure most of you stateside would have gotten the joke, n'est pas? Not very funny? Perhaps not. Maliciously motivated and desirous of impeding the development of a fledgling company? Most certainly not. Yet this is the response to yesterday's posting I've just gotten from TFA:

Please be aware the Twickenham Fine Ales does not sponsor this site or have any connections with www.TartyDoris.com

Please cease and desist from making these suggestions.



So, there you have it. I am and I will.

I would just like, for legal reasons, to reiterate the view expressed in the previous quotation by the D.M. of Twickenham Fine Ales and apologise for any misunderstanding which has been caused by my postings. It has crossed my mind to remove the link to TFA from my site altogether in order to completely avoid any further embarrassment falling upon the company through my well-intentioned, though seemingly misguided attempts to give them a little helping hand. This may still be the outcome - pending legal discussions - as I have no intention of wasting valuable posting time fighting a long and acrimonious courtroom battle over the respective rights to free speech and freedom to link which would obviously lie at the heart of any case. If it comes to that, I'll just delete it and act like the whole thing never happened - I have no pride, even when I am persecuted for acting decently and thinking of others. However, I feel that if we can return to the status quo anti, normal relations between this blog and TFA may resume. I would like to think that the interests of the large volume of my readers who would enjoy that company's products should be paramount. To this end, the link remains and this apology is tendered. The rest, TFA, is in your hands. As far as I'm concerned, the matter is closed.

One last point on this post. I'm getting pretty stirred up by the ingratitude of some of my readers. I mean, do you think it's easy coming up with this stuff? I'm just a regular guy, who works for his pay check like most of you guys out there. I do this to try and bring a little bit of fun and laughter into the world after a hard day's slog working for the man. And what do I get? Shit from you guys is what. "Ooh, not as funny as Wednesday's Bob"...."Hey, Bob...what's with all the Brit T.V. in-jokes and sexism shit?" "Oooh, I think you've gone a bit too far there Bob"....Like, Oooh, I'm real scared of offending people. Not. Do you think this stuff just magics up here? You know, I mean there's all this crazy stuff happening in the world and like our phones are getting tapped and we've got a genocidal nazi in the White House who's letting the National Guard take their truncheons to young women in NYC and you guys are like ..."Hey, Bob, what's the bitch about Lady Di...she was pretty cool" And I'm like - "Getthe****outtahere!"

So, you bunch of pathetic losers - f*** you! No more favours, no more leg ups, no more Mr. Nice Guy. F*** your petty middle class morals. You try to do the right thing and it get thrown back in your face. Well, not anymore...........