Archive for March 2016

4.1: The Jaws Theme

March 28, 2016

Passing by a guitar shop, Jeff said to his friend, “Hey Ralph, aren’t you learning to play the guitar just now?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Did you know that in these guitar shops they let you try before you buy?

“I don’t want to buy another guitar. The little cheap one I’ve got does me fine.”

Jeff shook his head and said, “You dummy, you don’t need to buy it. You get a free shot of a good guitar and then tell the salesman, nah you don’t like it.”

The penny dropped and Ralph said “I like it. A free shot on a good axe. Let’s go in”

Ralph’s eyes lit up as bright as a sunburst Stratocaster. It was an elephant’s goldmine of guitars. Almost immediately a salesman, sensing a sale, accosted our twosome. After a short discussion Ralph decided to try an expensive Les Paul Gibson. The salesman hooked him up to an amp to try out his instrument.

“I don’t have much of a repertoire. The Ralphy set list is bare” he said

Jeff helped him out. “Do the Jaws theme. You’re good at that.”

“Yes, that’s right. The two note menacing tune. watch out. The Great White Ralph is about.”

Jeff shouted to the staff and customers. “You’re gonna need a bigger guitar shop.”

Ralph played the opening bar.

He was surfing the fretboard with his two notes. Gradually getting faster Ralph swung the guitar neck in the air so that it was impersonating a shark fin. Jeff, seeing his cue to join in, did his best Sheriff Brody impersonation, by shouting at everyone “get out of the water”. Now completely lost in the dramatic piece of music he was playing, Ralph chased the salesman around the shop. Unfortunately, he forgot he was wired up to an amplifier that was rocking back and forth. The amp wire had reached it’s stretch limit and snapped. The coil smashed into one of the glass shelves while the amp fell onto a stack of guitars.

The guitars swayed from side to side like a wave…until their banks burst.

Ralph and Jeff could only watch in shock! horror! as an almighty gathering of Fenders and Epiphones flew through the air. The people in the shop had to duck and dive for safety. The store was like something out of Sharknado. And when the dust settled it was an elephant’s graveyard of guitars.



A Road full of Robots

March 26, 2016

My old pals, the Google mob, not content with taking over the world wide web with their various online applications- maps, calendars, books, blogger (I used to play there)- are now taking their stock on the road. Literally. They have devised the Google self-driving car. This automobile runs autonomously from human input. It is a robotic car. The true essence of hands free.

Now I am not going to mock this machine for the teething problems it has had in testing. It’s crashed a few times and there weren’t even any dummies behind the wheel. It’s just that so many new laws will have to be written up to accommodate this vehicle as it jams up the highway. And who will be responsible for any accidents? Me, your honour? I was but a passenger reading the last copy of The Independent when I suddenly stopped. So the little dinky google car will have to sit in the dock (it would probably fit). It won’t pass Go, it won’t collect $200 and it will go straight to jail.

And there are other areas where it will fall flat.

Can it spot a pothole at fifty paces?

Can it repair a puncture?

Clean the dirt from the wheels?

Wave at the nice lollipop man?

Will it be able to use the petrol pump at the garage? And if so, how will it pay? A google express card, maybe.

What about road rage and malfunctions? Could the driverless car morph into HAL from 2001: a Space Odyssey. He would drive you round the bend forever while singing Daisy, Daisy…

So it’s a no from me. Sorry google. Try something else. What’s that, you say? Google are at the advanced stage of making anonymous google generated blogs. Good grief, they’ll put us all out of business.

The songbook of sweet molars

March 21, 2016

The little stranger didn’t take kindly to bullies. All his childhood he’d been picked on by older, tougher, bigger boys. He was regularly beaten and had black and blue scars on his back as a reminder of those cruel days. Nowadays, he was a feared one-footed street fighter and gunfighter.

He roamed from town to town, went thru life without a care, happy as a clown, with his two fists of iron going nowhere. Until he went to Nowhere. The little town of Nowhere.

In this little ramshackle one dog town there was injustice. The Belgian boys were the kings of Nowhere. They took what they wanted and handed out beatings to any one that dared look their way.

The little stranger came across a little girl crying along the way. Said she’d been hurt so bad that she’d never love again. The Little stranger said “Someday, your crying , girl, will end.” She pointed the finger at the Belgian boys and without further agadoos the little stranger confronted the Belgian boys.

He ran at them.

From out of nowhere the one dog town let loose its kennels. There were dogs and people and fanfares everywhere in Nowhere. The Belgian boys were ran out of town. The little stranger was feted and the population wanted to know more about their hero.

All heroes have feet of clay, a weakness in their seeming invincibility. Iron Man has a weak heart. Mr Fantastic has stretch limits. Black Bolt must not talk. The Hulk has anger management issues. The townsfolk of Nowhere asked the little strangers if he had any weakness.

“Sugar” he said. “I have a sweet tooth”

My Kingdom for a Hat

March 9, 2016

My old man had good locks of hair as did my grandfather. This worried me as I feared a baldness gene was due. It can’t skip three generations, can it? Well, apparently, it has. The author of this website has hair to dye for. (Thank the Lord for Just for Men). The fourth generation, my sons, are at the worry-worry stage. Sorry lads, been there, done that, bought the wig.

One reason for my avoidance of baldness could be my refusal to ever wear a hat. Hats stop the hair breathing and thus stop it growing. I’ve never wore a hat or hood, even when it’s raining I don’t cover up. It’s only H2O, innit. H2O is so titled because the substance that falls from the sky has two Hydrogen atoms and one Oxygen atom. It is commonly called water. How about that? Not content with giving you the latest business news we also provide scientific data.

Now that I am getting on a bit, just a wee bit, the thought of wearing a hat has crossed my head. Losing hair at this age is no big drama. Therefore, I am in the market for a hair suffocating device.

The Stetson is popularised by the cowboys in the west. Much as I like big Clint and Lee Van Cleef I don’t want to go down that gulch. This gringo would go the whole hog and buy a horse and all the accoutrements. A lasso and all that. It’d be much better just to have a game of Buckaroo.

The Bicorne would make me stand out in a crowd. This two-horned headdress also has a dual purpose and can be used in two ways depending on who I wanted to be on any particular day. Width-wise I can be Napoleon, Long-wise the Grand Old Duke Wellington. After a good few drinks when I’m welleon I would have it drunkenly perched criss-crossly. Daigonals aren’t pleasing on the eye. Bye, bye, Bicorne.

After many deliberations and after going up lots of dead-ends,  no bunnets no skip caps no Darth Vader helmets, there is a victor. The Fedora. I plan to bombard Fedora makers with slogans for their product.

You’d never get fed up with a Fedora on your napper.

Bah Homburg! Make mine a Fedora.

Just one Fedora, give it to me-a.

J’adore Fedora.

So if I’m going to strangle my hair the deed will be done by the Fedora. Famous Fedoreans include James Spader in The Blacklist, the coolest man on TV. Humphrey Bogart with his oft-misquoted saying “Play the game, Sammy Boy”. And lastly, Indiana Jones. I could be the new Indy. Trouble is we have an accoutrements situation again. Need to buy a bullwhip.


New York Groove

March 1, 2016

This is London. Da-da-ra-da, dat-dara-da. Da-rat-da-da-da-da-dee.

Couldn’t believe my ears when I heard that the strike at Whizz from Bizz was the first item after the pips on the World Service.

The industrial action by the staff is over and we’re back in the New York Groove. It was a Wapping strike right enough and now the facts can be told. As is well known at Christmas time I give the workers a fortnight off to enjoy themselves. But this wasn’t enough for them they wanted two months!

And they wanted more.

The sub-editor, fed up with doing corrections to my dodgy facts and figures, demanded that I use Google to check my information. Sacrilege! Use a search engine. Where’s the fun in that? He was being Tom Petty and wouldn’t back down. After lengthy discussions a compromise was reached. No google but I had to Bing. He’s turned me into a crooner.

Hillary, the hard working secretary, forever climbing the paper mountain on my home page. she wanted a raise. I told her you’ll reach the top eventually and bought her a set of ladders.

Barry the brontosaurus was a pain in the neck with his constant moans about not getting enough scripts. I tried to tell him dinosaurs went out with the cavemen. (that’s not true, you never Binged, I’m going on strike, sub-editor comment). Anyway, to stop Barry turning into a carnivore he will feature in more editions.

After all this I needed a long rest. Then it dawned on me. These men, women and sauropods don’t exist. They’re a figment of my imagination. Or are they real…? Oh well, no matter, I  got a two month break because of their strike. But now I’m back. We’re back. All the staff are now pulling in the one direction. Hello, once again.