Does Not Compute

Mesopotamia Car-Crash suffered an irreversible nervous breakdown when instructed – on pain of death – to “procrastinate now!”

“It can’t be done! It can’t be done! It can’t be done! IT CANNOT BE DONE!” she wailed, screamed and generally screeched at her tormentors. “And anyway, what am I supposed to be procrastinating about?!”

But there was no answer, only a growing sense of unease, and a rather scary metallic whirring noise which seemed to be coming closer… (cue sinister corduroys).

An Extreme Case of the Vampires

It was all very well and good being immortal, possessing devilish good looks and killer charm, but century after century pursuing the ideal vampire lifestyle had led to boredom for Nautilus, son of Vlad; and besides, of late, he had developed squeamishness.

Having bought the latest self-help book and hypnotic CD, “I Can Make You Want to Be a Vampire Again”, to deal with his unfortunate psychosomatic aberration regarding a certain fluid, Nautilus, son of Vlad, waited to be similarly struck by inspiration for how to deal with the tedium of infinity.

The answer arrived one morning at three of the vampire clock via the “Discover Something Useless Which You Could Have Read in a Book” Channel; it was a programme about “Extreme Ironing”, which followed the exploits of similarly bored housewives, who had given up the day job, so to speak, in order to iron their laundry in a succession of stupid and dangerous places: on top of a mountain; in the middle of a street in the Helmand Province; in a Year 9 citizenship lesson.

This simple and dim-witted programme represented an epiphany for the jaded Nautilus, son of Vlad.

Revitalized, if that’s not too much of an oxymoron for a vampire, Nautilus, son of Vlad, set about thinking of suitable situations in which he could do some extreme vampiring.

Thus it was that he found himself biting maidens’ pretty white necks in a variety of locations which had little or even nothing to do with gothic castles: on top of a speeding TGV train in France; whilst waterskiing on the Dead Sea at midnight; whilst out hunting for sharks off the Isle of Wight (some girls proved very gullible); even backstage at “Strictly Come Dancing”. It was all very rewarding, and what with the planning required to pull off such vampiric stunts, Nautilus worked out that this little ruse could keep him busy for at least the next two hundred years; and with the planet’s population hitting the 7 billion mark, he was, so he told himself, simply being environmentally friendly.

News of Nautilus’s extreme escapades eventually reached the pointed and very clean ears of the wider Vampire Community… and caught on, leading to a craze for extreme vampiring which is still gathering pace.

So, all you fair maidens out there this Hallowe'en, when some devilishly handsome and fatally charming young man asks you out on a date to go bungee jumping from the Clifton Suspension Bridge at three o’clock in the morning, you may want to check his dental records before accepting.

Aristocratic Non-Rhyming Slang

Thanks to my great friend, Nautilus Beanfeast, Professor of Quantum Antiques at the University of Westphalia, for introducing me to the intellectual playground of Aristocratic Non-Rhyming Slang, which pre-dates Cockerney Rhyming slang by some seven centuries.

Below are some commonly used examples of ANRS. The meanings are somewhat shrouded in mystery, so I haven’t given them.

Nouns:

 “working class”

soda-syphon

brown shoes

that man

“smoking” class

Timothy Teapot

yesterday’s shed

Verbs:

to sell another Reubens

to Roger de Floor

imitating the Germans

shooting rabbits with Aunt Dahlia

to leave the back door open for Reginald

to “Australia” Mrs Hatpin

irritating the ffrench

Adjectives:

scrumbly

bunty-m’a-cnunty

fribberish

torque de lammity

walletty

candleabry

If you want to fit in with the chinless Nigels of this world, then being au fait with the above is a must, even if you don’t know what they mean.

The Seven Secrets to a Successful Life

1.       It’s a secret.

2.      It’s also a secret.

3.      Third secret in a row.

4.      Guess what? It’s a secret.

5.      It’s not a secret. Actually, it is a secret.

6.      Hooray! Another secret.

7.      (drum roll) It’s a secret!!!!

So there you have it; the seven secrets to a successful life are all secrets. Obviously.

I Spy

I spy, with my little eye, something beginning wi…

No, no, let me guess! Is it Nothing?!

Er, no. It’s not Nothing. And I was going to let you guess anyway; the entire concept of “I Spy” is predicated on you guessing.

Oh. Is it Nautilus Beanfeast?

Yes! I mean no, it’s not Nautilus Beanfeast.

Is it… Nevertheless?

Might be. Actually, der, no. What a stupid question.

Is it Nine?

Nine what?

Just the number Nine.

Nein.

Yes, nine.

Sorry. Bad joke. Have another guess.

Naval Architecture?

No.

Nessus, the centaur killed by Hercules?

Hardly.

Um… Noble Gas?

No.

Norwegian Wood?

No.

Nativity Scene?

This isn’t going very well, is it? Last guess.

Last guess?!

Yes. I’m getting bored; and besides, I need to go out and get a haircut.

Right. Word beginning with ‘N’. Do I get a clue?

Yes. It begins with the letter ‘n’ and you have to be able to see it.

I have to be able to see it? Why didn’t you say? Oh, look – I can see it. It’s Nicaragua, isn’t it?!

Nicaragua? You can’t see Nicaragua.

You can!

Not from here you can’t.

Oh. I get it now. Is it… Nigeria? Is it? Tell me. Hang on. Where's he gone? Sorry - back in a minute...

The Smash Hits In-Depth Interview, June 1983

Today, I’ve been down to Beggars’ Banquet HQ to interview the lead singer and microphone swinger with the fab new New Romantic band, “The Beautiful Spoons”. Jesus (like Madonna, Sting and Fish – no surname!), was buzzin’ after their first single, “Jewish Holiday, Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay!” made it all the way to number 2, where it stayed for seven weeks, kept off the top by the Bryan Adams double-A side weepathon, “Canadian Dork/Save the Badgers (or is it Pandas… no, surely chickens?”).

SH: So, Jesus – the question everyone’s dying to her the answer to: what’s your favourite colour?

J: Orange?

SH: Wow! You certainly know your own mind! Finally, do you have any advice for our readers?

J: Don’t try and fold a piece of paper seven times; it can’t be done. I’ve tried.

Wow! This is one band that’s sure to go to the top!

The Beautiful Spoons’ debut album, “We Are All Spoons”, will be released next Monday.

Thought on a Convoluted, Unpunchlined Joke

An Englishman, an Irishman, a Scotsman, a Frenchman, a Chinaman, an Iranian, a Welshman, an American, an Argentine man, a Spaniard, a cuckoo clock, a cheesecake, a fish, an Armenian hatter, a shoelace, a second-hand bookshop, a stolen cat, God, yesterday’s Sun headline and not much else, walked into a bar.

There was no punchline.

And the thought was: why are they always men? Apart from.

The Porpoise and the Harebrain

Harebrain was boasting about his running prowess. “I am the fastest animal around here!”

            All of the other creatures agreed with Harebrain. “You are indeed the fastest thing around here!” they chorused enthusiastically, as if being born with the I can run fast gene was somehow an achievement.

            Dave the Badger injected a note of cold reality into the conversation by muttering something about fast of limb yet slow of brain, but no-one heard him as he was eating a packet of Quavers at the time.

            Just then (yes, just then) Porpoise poked his head out of the sea (it was a post-apocalyptic fable where everywhere was near the sea, silver linings and all that). “Bollocks! I could easily beat you in a race!” yelled Porpoise, and swam off to kill a mackerel.

            Harebrain ran off to cry behind a small sand dune. “Don’t forget your dunce’s cap!” shouted Dave the Badger.

And everyone laughed.

Moral: Ooh, look! You can run fast! And?

Amnesia!

I woke up this morning (cue blues chords) with, for the first time in weeks, a brain free from the clutter of “Things I Must Do or the World Will End”, and discovered that I had forgotten how to write.

Music for Cakes

A common problem for housewives in these straightened times is this: what is the best music for cakes?

            Most cakes – and it is just a generalisation – prefer something upbeat, like Disco or Mahler (but not gangsta rap), although there are some who prefer Schonberg and von Webern’s 12-note atonal stuff.

            However, if you really want my advice – and that is, after all, why you are here (not existentially why you are here but specifically why you are reading this) – I would say that “Gimme All Your Lovin’” by ZZ Top would be near the top of most cake’s lists.

So, there you have it it: ZZ Top – music for cakes.

(NB Jumper cakes prefer Val Doonican.)

Fergusthepoet has been on holiday in an Al Q’aeda Training Camp in Ashton-under-Lyme (hence the beard).