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The head on you

Copernicus avoids yesterdays riots, luckily as:

I have one of those heads which attracts the unwanted attentions of rioting scumbags, at whom I cannot help but look with frank bourgeois disapproval when I see fuckbaggery in progress

Nice bit of rump?

Irish Strangler isn't quite sure if the new PETA campaign is achieving its aim:

is it just me or does this photo actually make you look at Jodie Marsh and think “umm - her arse would be nice fried with a bit of butter and some garlic”.

Cat Brains...

Ursula V has a mousing cat. It's been keeping her awake with its murderous activities:

My mental vision of the inside of Athena's head is a kind of vaulted bone cathedral, columns of mandible and cheekbone soaring upwards to the arching buttresses of sinus cavities, cobalt light streaming in through two rose window eyes, the floor cleft by irregular stairways of palate and spine. It's an open, airy place, in which the lone brain cell, clad in tiny monkish robes, solemnly reads out the liturgy, and paces through the vast emptiness, lighting tiny synapse-torches and praying to the God of Cat Brains* and hoping in quiet desperation that some day they'll send him an acolyte.

And yet, somehow...she catches mice. Go figure.

*A deity which makes atheism easy

Excercies you may want to avoid

Kyknoord ponders the mysteries of pet-ownership:

I tried to call back, because I wanted to find out why he called in the first place and I was dead keen to discover the outcome of the bowel-blocking exercise, but his phone was off.

In advance of technology

Luke is having technology trouble, so FM offers an explanation (read the post for context):

Today's electronic equipment can sense this, they fear you, and so they spurn you

What you find, hanging around.

That Girl Who Writes Stuff meets the woman who is to train her in. Read on (click on the source) for more fun:

It just hung there.

A big, saggy, old lady breast the size of my head.

She hadn’t noticed.

And kept talking.

And talking.

And talking.

My co-worker finally coughed and the woman saw what we were looking at.

“Oh. That,” she said, and rolled it back up.

How big is your garden

Auds suggests this great line from Planet Potato:

I doubt any Irish farmer has ever looked into his back garden to see a dozen townies in brightly coloured raingear milling about in his shrubbery.

The Blunt

It is almost worth the pain of listening to james Blunt if we get to read comments like Forgottenmachine's:

In fact, I think he might have wet himself. Either that, or his balls have finally exploded from the constant straining of that ridiculous voice.

Bang, Bang, my VP shot me down

Crooked Timber on the Cheney shooting. Read the post(click on source) for more:

Cheney: Wanna know what I’m buyin’ Ringo?
Harry: What?
Cheney: Your life. I’m givin’ you that quail so I don’t hafta kill your ass. You read the Bible?
Harry: I’m a lawyer. What do you think?