bronzeboarder:

Well, I’m a little late for the Olympics, but just in time for the Paralympics. Given the quite frankly bizarre sports that are often included in the Olympics, and I use the term sport loosely here, I decided to come up with a few new sports that I think, nay, KNOW would improve the Olympic games…

This is something I wrote a while ago when bored in work (at lunchtime boss). It is an unconventional love story, but quite beautiful I think. Enjoy! Any spelling mistakes are purely intentional I assure you.

A Bills and Moon Short Story

The Policewoman and the Blacksmith
Or
Sex in the Workplace

Ever since Isabella had reached that most delicate of ages, when a girl awakens to the sensuous pleasures of a blossoming womanhood, when the heart yearns for a passionate love as deep as the ocean, she had wanted to do a blacksmith. So it was on that one fateful day in February when it was a bit chilly out but not dull or anything she met Chad. She rode on her massive steed (tee hee) to the the smiths forge which was on the edge of Cockermouth (tee hee hee), her long black hair silkily flowing behind her, her pale skin reflecting the sunlight. She had come to the end of a long day policing (busting bad guys, stopping litterers that sort of thing) and needed her horse shoes mended. She thought it fate that the new police chief had done away with police cars and replaced them with horses as she headed towards the forge, where she might finally meet her fantasy. The season was slowly changing and the rustic shack of Chad’s forge was accented with flowering ivy, roses climbing the pillars and a Ford Focus in the driveway.
As she walked through the smoke and steam billowing from the shack she saw Chad. He was at least eight feet tall and had muscles everywhere. She totally fancied him as soon as she saw him. Plus his hands were massive, as big as a bear’s, if bears had hands instead of paws. In his huge hand he was thrusting a huge metal rod in the fire. Isabella found this image a bit too suggestive and clichéd but she went with it anyway. He looked up and said “What do you want?” in a gruff manner. She thought he was a bit rude, but in a manly way which she liked. She spotted a copy of Sylvia Plath’s ‘Ariel’ beside the fire which meant he was sensitive as well, but not in a gay way. This made her fancy the eight foot blacksmith all the more.
She said in the sexiest voice she could muster, “I’m here to have my horse reshoed”.
As he looked at her standing there, her pale skin glowing in the heat of the fire, and her bosom heaving in her bodice (the police chief also replaced stab vests with bodices for some reason) he couldn’t help but think she was totally hot. As they stared into each others eyes they fell madly in lust and leapt like tigers into a passionate embrace.
“Oh Chad” she moaned seductively.
“How do you know my name, we only just met Isabella?” said Chad gruffly.
“It’s on the sign outside your forge, how do you know mine?”
“It’s on your badge”
“Oh, ok, now that that used up a few lines lets get it on” she said in an aggressively feminine way that totally turned him on.
As their lips met in a passionate embrace, he used his hands to rip her standard issue police bodice. The force of this sent her into a frenzy of overwhelming pleasure. Still snogging she reached down to grab his engorged p…”
At this moment a woman from Human Resources burst through the door and shouted “Stop! This is wholly unacceptable and inappropriate. I will not tolerate such rude language in the workplace. And having sexual relations with a member of the police force on an anvil breaks so many health and safety regulations the mind boggles!”
The author, annoyed at this interruption, decided that the most appropriate response to such a petty interruption was to make her trip on the bodice, which had been thrown so recklessly on the ground by Chad, and fall into the blacksmiths furnace burning her to death instantly.
Unfazed by this annoying interruption Chad and Isabella continued their love dance. Falling deeper and deeper into each other there again came an annoying interruption.
PLOT TWIST A man came bounding into the smithies saying “Stop this most disgustingly sexual dalliance. I am Isabella’s husband!”
Isabella, taking her lips from Chad’s massive nipples for just a second, said, “Maxwell! I thought you were dead in that plane crash and/or deep sea scuba diving expedition and/or tour of Vietnam two years ago!” (There was a time hole in Cockermouth meaning that all time merged together and was difficult to measure. A bit like the island in Lost)
“No. I washed up on a beach or was saved by a young Vietmese woman or something like that, and am alive to reclaim you as my own, and maybe do it in my Volkswagon”.
“But I’ve moved on Maxwell, if you haven’t noticed I’m currently in the middle of a blacksmith at the moment.”
“But I’m your husband. I know I used to beat you, and sold drugs to kids, and punched kittens in the face, but I can change, just take me back!”
Chad, growing annoyance at yet another interruption, and before you could say “Coitus Interuptus” hit him on the head with a hammer, killing him dead in a most unpleasant fashion.
Isabella was so impressed by Chad’s defence of her honour (which was more than she ever did) that she again became enflamed by such hot passion.
Chad said, “Isabella, we must make this quick as I am shipping out to Iraq/going to Africa to build houses for homeless children/going to the moon on a secret mission for the very top secret government agency to find a cure for cancer or something, so can I put on some music and we can get to it”.
“Yeah why not” said Isabella.
So leafing through his record collection, skipping past Barry White and Serge Gainsbourg he chose that most erotic of new wave country music stars, Garth Brooks. So while “Friends in Low Places” played melodiously in the background, they went at it. There was a sea of engorged members, heaving breasts, thrusting wigiwigs, bouncy boobs, doot doots and dingalings, their passions flowed over each other like a hot lava from a volcano, like a sea of mixed metaphors and confused similes. There was much bouncing, fondling, jumping, lying and moving about. They held each other both tenderly and raunchily at the same time, as Isabella hadn’t been getting any since her husband disappeared and Chad was busy with his blacksmithing which didn’t leave much time for intercoursing with the ladies. They grabbed and pushed, and flowed and heaved until the censor had to step in before it got to gratuitous. Needless to say they both reached the height of pleasure together and fell into each others arms, lying on a bear skin rug that was inexplicably placed in front of the fire.
Putting on their clothes they discussed their futures together, that they would run away together, maybe live on a farm and breed sheep, maybe go to the Bahamas and sit on the beach to escape the law (Oh didn’t I say, Chad was wanted for tax evasion and grand theft auto. The Ford Focus wasn’t his). They both knew in their hearts however that it wasn’t to be, that this was just a chance meeting, a fleeting event in the course of their separate histories. Plus Isabella was up for promotion and couldn’t move, and Chad was time travelling or going to the moon of something weird. So after getting dressed, they stared into each others eyes and without saying a word, they knew it was goodbye. Isabella left the forge without looking back, confiscated the focus and drove away. Chad, after texting his friends that he had totally done it with a hot policewoman and it was really cool, went back to his blacksmithing.
They both knew that they would remember that day for the rest of their lives. The horse meanwhile remained outside, shoeless and cold, and cursed their names with such bitterness that it could be heard throughout Cockermouth (tee hee).

Everyone knows the famous saints: Valentines, Nicholas, Bernard, but there are many less famous saints that did great work. Work that should be recognised. Here is my tribute to those Saints:

Saint Rufus of West Over-there-somewhere-no-not-there-just-a-bit-further-stop-you’ve-gone-to-farington Patron Saint of Misplaced Carpets
Rufus was born the only child of two cousins with webbed feet. Rufus always loved carpets and hated when they were misplaced. He prayed for Divine intervention that his carpets stop being misplaced. God answered by making all his carpets stick to the floor quite stubbornly. It was a mixed blessing as although his carpets stopped being misplaced, he was unable to move them to a lighter part of the room. His miracles also included the curing of the overly hairy man and the blessing of the tree of slightly eggy odours. He has many churches named in his honour, all of whose carpets have been unable to be moved in centuries.

Saint Caz of Smeltingford - Patron Saint of Souvenir Chocolates
Being a master chocolatier was a source of great pride for Caz, so much so that through his doing for a short period Smeltingford became the chocolate capital of the world (Smeltingford was later stolen by giants and sold for 3 dragon eggs to the Czar of Russia and kept in a small glass jar on top of the mantelpiece. The Czarina used to joke that it looked like a “fetid S**thole” but smelled like a bounty bar). Caz would take great care to have the same amount of each picture on his novelty souvenir chocolates (In each packet there would always be: 3 of the Tower of Smeltingford, 3 of the Lord Mayor’s Wife’s Bum (The nickname for the twin domed towers of the castle) and 3 of the Laughing Goat of Narcissus). To his dismay one day he noticed a couple of German tourists eating their chocolates in the wrong order (they had eaten all the lord mayor’s wife’s bums but none of the tower or goats) He raised his hands in anger and the two Germans disappeared (local atheists claimed Caz had simply murdered them and hid the bodies). His later miracles include drawing pictures of ducks on the chocolate without touching them, and posthumously raising the price of chocolate (though sceptics say this was a result of inflation and not a miracle).

Saint Blarge of the 15th Sector of Alpha Metagon 1.3 - Patron saint of Cheese and Urine
The first saint to be canonised in Space (In the future) Blarge managed to save Space Pope John Paul Hermeticlese Version 2.1 from the space worms of Plarp by shouting at them really loudly to leave him alone. As space worms are notoriously stubborn, this was deemed miraculous. The Pope was so grateful he offered him canonisation. Blarge asked what the pay and hours were like, and also what holiday entitlement there was. The Pope agreed favourable terms, though Blarge always insisted he would have preferred the cash. He also turned sand into cheese and his urine was a useful alternative fuel source, thus deeming him worthy of canonisation. He had many floating shuttle churches in his name, though many of these were destroyed in the robot revolution in 10,051 AD. There were no survivors.

Saint Isaac Melnitz of the Upper West Side, New York. Patron Saint of Quality Tailoring and Jewish Wines
Isaac, who ran a tailoring business with a sideline in importing Jewish wines from Israel, was awoken one morning with a vision of Christ. Jesus told him that he would convert the masses with his intricate stitching and durable hem work. Isaac replied that being Jewish he found this a bit strange. Jesus said don’t worry about it, nobody would notice. His quality suits did indeed convert many people to Christianity which didn’t affect his tailoring business, but did affect sales of his Israeli wine. His wine however was found to cure anxiety (temporarily) and was his second miracle. His third miracle was his soft beard. Isaac, when being canonized said many of his friends and indeed family had soft beards and though he was thankful for thinking of him, he was still Jewish and could not be canonized. The Pope thanked him for his honesty, but due to an administrative error his canonization had already been processed and could not be reversed without the appropriate forms being filled in. Isaac, disliking unnecessary paperwork, chose to accept his Sainthood, thus becoming the first Jewish saint. His suits are still impeccably tailored.

blackwhiteandcolour:

thepenguinpress:

This is amazing. Zadie Smith’s younger brother, Ben “Doc Brown” Smith, rapping about the one thing that gets him fired up: tea. (Warning: His passion about tea causes him to use so not-no-nice language.)

This is so right. Just so, so right. 

This man knows his tea

This is a great website for all things weird and wonderful

The Lobotomy Kid has written something for his blog! *said like The Rock*. I have had this blog, or ones like it for ages but never bothered uploading anything. So now, I have! What follows (when I can be bothered to upload) are things I’ve written at various points, usually while bored or sleep deprived. They’re just random rubbishness that someone might enjoy. So, fellow Lobotomite (I’m trying it out, what you think?) enjoy!