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Forget the chilly weather and come and warm your cockles in the Yap Shop, which is open for business as we speak.

"It's been nearly six years since we last asked about your worst vomit, so: Tell us tales of what went in, what came out and where it all went after that."

Question posed by Chthonic at b3ta.com here:  http://b3ta.com/questions/vomit2/

Some evidence does seem to point towards oil being a renewable resource that is being constantly created by inorganic chemical and geological processes deep within the Earth: 

http://www.wnd.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=38645

If this is true, then the Peak Oil myth is simply another trick by Big Business to introduce a perceived scarcity in order to keep prices as high as possible. Capitalism. Don't you just love it?

[Snow Fright (478w)]

Snow Fright  (478w)

Hello, my little darling Squaxx. Hop up onto my nerve centre and let me tell you a bedtime story. Don't mind that, it's just a banana I'm saving for my supper. All snuggled down and comfy? Good...

Once upon a time there was mean old, grumpy old, gruff old polar bear named Shako.

He was very happy as a polar bear, because it meant he got to eat lovely, juicy seals and take the piss out of the foolish walruses. But one day, Shako ate something he shouldn't have eaten and the CIA came looking for him to get it back.

What fun Shako had! How the CIA men screamed and burst so! That mean old, grumpy old, gruff old polar bear had never enjoyed himself quite so much in all his life. How he laughed as he popped the CIA men's heads between his jaws! How he chuckled to watch the CIA men with their legs chewed off still trying to crawl away! How he harrumphed at the way their fragile skin peeled so easily! Oh yes, Shako had never been happier.

Until they shot him dead and ripped his guts out. Shako didn't like that at all and thought it was jolly unsporting, but the CIA men were pleased even though the thing Shako had eaten was leaking a bit.

The walruses were overjoyed at this turn of events and had a great big party. The seals were invited, too, and also a contingent of completely lost penguins who had arrived in error due to the sketchy geo-biological knowledge of this storyteller. Even if it didn't happen, though, it was still a jolly good party.

But, out in the howling white vastness, something stirred. Something mean and grumpy and gruff. Stinky and white and dead, it slouched towards the party. The sounds of walrus merriment filled its frozen ears and enraged its beatless heart. The walruses and the seals, and especially the penguins, were astounded and more than a little terrified to see the zombie of Shako crashing their party.

Thereafter, the walruses held their parties infrequently – and whenever they tried the zombie of Shako would appear to break it up and maul the guests to death. All seemed lost until a lone walrus warrior arrived in response to the Walrus King's plea for help. But Beowalrus was no match for the zombie of Shako, and the ice ran red with little chunks of blubber and gore.

Now, my children, the zombie of Shako is still out there, howling mournfully in the coldest winds. Take care, my poppets, for wherever there is snow and ice and the sounds of a party, wherever the howl of the blizzard mingles with the songs of the merry, there will you find the zombie of Shako, waiting in the white, to chew your little head off.

Sleep soundly, my darlings.

That makes me feel so much better.


Thanks.

Reminds me of:

A sigh is but a gust of wind,
It comes straight from the heart,
It sometimes takes a downward path,
And then it's called a fart.

Oh, that it has come to this

I'm Popeye the sailor man,
I come from the Isle of Man,
I sleep with my granny,
And play with her fanny,
I'm Popeye the sailor man.

Somebody should write an anthropological paper about this.

My Auntie Fanny,
She made a treacle pud,
And when that it were finished,
She said that it were good.
But she made it in the kettle,
And we couldn't get the bugger out,
So we all took us turns,
Suckin'it through t' spout.

I was bored, so I've opened the room. Come and entertain me, dammit.

Old Puttyface.

How about just a drink, then?

I've tried bumsex a couple of times. I wasn't enamored.

On a slightly more disquieting note, I did go out with a deaf girl once. While she failed to teach me much sign language, her skill in "Talking to the General" was pleasing and disturbing in equal measure.

I know, I know. There's a special room in Hell with my name on it.

Speaking of psychological cost...

Not to mention the psychological cost.



*whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr*

Nice one again, guys - I especially liked the gift of Stacey Whittle. It makes all the difference having a genuine female woman involved. I really must get myself one of those at some point, but I understand they are increasingly expensive to maintain.

Maybe the unidentified background droid in the "Have a Zarjaz Xmas!" poster is C-MAT? Cyber-Matt? Matt Smith? No?

I'll get me coat.