Tuesday, 29 May 2012

Money grabbing Gob Doctors and mouthwash hogwash.

Ahhh, dentists.
The scholarly 'Tooth Doctors', greedily sucking cash from the dry, withered tit-wallets of the gormless grateful.

Dave has the teeth of an 'oss.

I speak from experience as I spent 18 months working as a rather brawny dental nurse in the late Eighties.
I saw many sharp practices, one being Mr X who liked to show off by flossing his patient's teeth and unearthing great lumps of ripe putrescence which he wiped on their sleeves as a punishment.

Fair enough, but he kept the same length of 'demo floss' for weeks on end. I'd never seen brown floss before that gig. He used to rinse it under the tap and leave it on the radiator to dry.
It stank like a scrofulous tapeworm that had been squatting up a dead horse's shitter.

Well, they're in the news again, charged with fleecing the public of their hard earned coconuts.
What a surprise.
Are you dutifully paying into your Denplan scheme and going for 6 monthly check-ups because that's what the dentist said you should do?
WELL THEY WOULD DO, WOULDN'T THEY?

Stop it.

Right, this brings me onto today's subject.

Mouthwash. What does it do?

I'll tell you what it does. It makes a huge dent in your bank balance and makes your mouth all minty for about 30 seconds. Forget all this 'Fresh breath guaranteed for 12 hours' or 'Kills all bacteria dead for 6 weeks' rubbish.
It's utter gunt.
Five minutes after using it your breath is back to it's default setting-'decaying crabs on a hot day'.

Ever the public servant, I have been researching common household alternatives that still do the job, but at a fraction of the cost of commercial gum swill.

Dave didn't tie his mouth up properly, but luckily chips are at hand.

1. Sour milk. Yes, it's true, plain old sour milk makes your breath smell milky, like a tiny kitten. It also makes your mouth feel furry, like a tiny kitten, and adds a creamy white glow to your teeth, like a foal.  Swill and gargle, chew any remaining lumps and swallow.
Incidentally, sour milk contains 97% of the Earth's Strontium reserves, thereby providing round-the-clock protection against Phossy Jaw.

2. Tomato Ketchup. Yep, plain old Tommy K. You've seen how it brings up your loose change haven't you?
Well it'll do the same thing for your teeth.
Put 10 tablespoons of ketchup into your gob before going to sleep.
Tie some string round your mouth to minimise leakage.
When you wake, what's left of your teeth will be all bright and shiny.
Obviously, keep the sauce for chips.


3. Butter. Melt 250g of salted butter, pour into your mouth and have a good swill. This will leave you with toast breath and very glossy teeth.
I recommended securing your tongue with a clothes peg to stop it slithering down your throat and being partially digested.
Don't smoke for at least an hour.
You can swallow the butter or save it for visitors. Your call.

Yet another use for Postie's Rubbers. Technique requires work. 

4. Vinegar. A good two hour session of sloshing your yap with neat malt vinegar will dissolve every speck of the tartar, enamel and dentine that is lurking in the bat infested folds of your filthy mush.
DON'T SWALLOW IT or your arse will drop off.

Obviously, keep the vinegar for chips.

There. Who needs the Gob Doctors?




Saturday, 26 May 2012

Shoeconomics: Full Foot Intercourse and The Half-Stepper.

Shoes. Extravagant luxury or basic necessity?
Whichever way you look at it they're an expensive piece of kit.

Dave, having descended from Botswanan Camels is very 'heavy' on his feet. Add to the mix his 'sweating issues' and it's all too apparent why he gets through his 'creps in superquick time.
They literally rot on his feet.
In one memorable week we were actually spending more on shoes than on swedes.
The alarm bells were ringing and it wasn't a tinnitus flare up.
We had a Shituation on our hands.

Dave, demonstrating the Half-Stepper.

Luckily, inspiration came my way.

I was in the library looking for books when I noticed a besuited chap trot up the stairs, like a big, snazzy gorp.
He was wearing ridiculously long, curly, shoes which looked to be custom made by the Broadmoor Leathercraft Group, as part of their 'Sutcliffe. Peter Sutcliffe.' collection.
Hand tooled and pricey.

As I watched him ascend to 'Romantic Fiction' I noticed that he was only putting the 'toe' part of his shoe on the step. The 'heel' part was left hanging in the abyss.
He was obviously trying to save shoe leather but unfortunately he decided to flick his hair while executing his mid air balletics, and came a cropper mid-toss on a loose Jersey Mid.
Broken jaw, according to the Air Ambulance driver.

Anyway, it wasn't all bad as his floorshow had inspired me.

There is no sense in putting your whole foot down all the time.
Full Foot Intercourse is an extravagant frippery that should be saved for special occasions, like spending your Clubcard coupons or changing the sheets.

And the 'Half-Stepper' isn't the only shoeconomy option.

Walk only on tip toes. If challenged, say that you're under the doctor.

Or walk on your heels. This works well in crowded places as it makes others think that there's something wrong with the floor. Soon others will be copying your fabulous gait.

Then there's the old favourite, 'hopping', which was a very popular pastime during the war years, amusing young and old alike for hours on end.
Alternate your hopping leg for even wear.

Training, in his custom made 'Hopping Harness'.

Or walk backwards. This has been scientifically proven to extend shoe life due to aerodynamics and the Gulf Stream, but it only works in the Northern Hemisphere.

And then finally, there is the advanced 'Inny and 'Outy' method.

Dave, brushing up his 'Outies'.

Here, you choose to walk either on the inner rim of your footwear, or the outer rim. You can even do one of each at the same time, but this does tend to make you look like you've been stricken with some kind of traumatic brain 'event'.

It's definitely not one for the Beginner, but we all need a goal in life, don't we?





Tuesday, 22 May 2012

Trapped in the plughole? Shove it down the cakehole.

Okay. So you've tipped away the washing-up water and there's some food trapped in the plughole. What do you do?
Years ago, when we all had more money than sense, I would have either fished it out and put it in the bin, or sent it on it's way by pushing it through the holes.
Indeed, in the Nineties when I was a wealthy hedge manager, I remember employing a student to come round on a daily basis merely to flush out the plugholes and polish the aubergines.

Me and Henry Winkler. 'Whatchoo talking about Willis?'

Nowadays, it's not so straightforward.

Look at it. That is good, honest food down there. It's been bought and paid for. It's run the gauntlet of the 'baggage area', it's been transported home, it's been unpacked, cooked, served up, not eaten, and shampooed.

They way I see it, there's a reason that it hasn't gone down the drain.

It's a Sign from The Universe.

And the Sign says, 'Eat it, you Slag'.

If you're tall, you need do no more than nonchalantly lean into the sink, put your lips around the plughole and suck deeply, being sure to use your tongue in the manner of an anteater, to extract every last morsel.
Leggy sorts are in a very fortunate position as they can do this manoeuvre whenever the opportunity presents itself.
Dave has done the anteater while pretending to use the toilet in a Little Chef as well as during a rather fraught flight to Malta.
He almost got caught at the Little Chef, but got away with it by claiming that there was a little kiddy trapped in the 'U' bend and he was shouting encouragement to it.

Being rather short, I can't execute an anteater without injury, so I tend sit on the draining board and have a prod around with a winkle fork.

Dave, listening to kiddies.

Uncannily, the plughole somehow predicts your personal dietary preferences and in addition to much hair, usually contains foodstuffs that you eat on a regular basis.

I have conducted a global scientific survey and can confirm that the most commonly found plughole foods are pasta quills, slices of mushroom, tomato skin, sweetcorn, cooked egg white and carrot.  As you can see this covers all the main food groups except booze, thereby ensuring an almost perfectly balanced diet.

Occasionally you will find a surprise in your hole. Yesterday I found a chicken.
I haven't been able to run to a chicken for a couple of years, so it must have been a gift left by a wealthy benefactor.
I fished it out and boiled it up with a foraged pig mushroom and a potato I found in the road. It was delicious.

Suck it and see.

Don't waste the plug hole hair either. I carefully wind it around a pencil stub and use it as dental floss or as sewing thread for socks. Dave uses it for home fracking.

Poking around hopefully.

Warning.
Don't try this anywhere but the kitchen, as other domestic plugholes are likely to contain mainly pubic hair, which is rubbish at flossing, and Ajax, which will dissolve your tongue in 10 seconds flat.
Happy hunting!

Friday, 18 May 2012

Eggshells, Mooncups, bollockcups and dog's ears.

Eggshells. What a waste. I've tried eating the shell along with the egg, but I've developed a low hobgoblin count and the quack reckons it's the shells wot done it.
I know they can be put on the compost heap or ground up to make egg coffee, but there must be other uses for this precious resource.
I have spent many weeks researching this dilemma and can confirm that there are.
Here are just a handful:

Dave attempting to Arsel an emu egg with total disregard for Health and Safety.

1. This is one for us gents. Take the half shell of an egg and make the edge smooth by expertly piping some silicone sealant on it.
Now the world is your oyster.
The shell can be placed over the Glansend after draining the lizard, thereby providing a discreet barrier and putting an end to those dribble stains that scream 'I SMELL OF PISS' to casual onlookers.  At the same time it will collect the urine for later examination.

The Bellegg Solution

Or slip the halves under your clockweights after you've put your pants on. This will provide much needed  support, which is especially welcome during the fraught and sweaty 'Yambag' phase of the Plum cycle.

Dave, in the throes of his Yambag monthlies.

This doesn't work with baggy boxer shorts, so get some proper pants.
For the less well endowed, most supermarkets sell unshelled quails eggs. If they are still too large, use the 'cup' bit off an acorn and join the circus.

2. Now one for the ladies. Find a chap and ask him nicely to expertly pipe some silicone sealant around the jagged edge of an eggshell. You may have to give sex.
Once dry, this can be popped into the Flinge Majorca area and used as a Moonpig. Make sure you wash it first to avoid contracting Fowl Pox or Egg Drop Syndrome.

If a hen's egg is too small I suggest that you use a duck, goose or emu egg. If that's still too small, join the circus with Acorn Man.
If you are a man you can still join in, but in trials, the muscles surrounding the ringpiece made the shell explode, causing shrapnel injuries. The Arsel muscle group is the strongest muscle group in the whole of the human body and even fractured nextdoor's gas barbecue, rendering it useless.
It's your call mate, but I'd wear some safety goggles at the very least.

3. If you have a dog, pop a shell over it's ears to prevent sunburn. Egg shells naturally have an SPF of 50+.

Grace demonstrating Eggtectors.

5. If you work with a load of wankers (statistics show that the average workplace wanker ratio is a staggering 67%), dot several shells around your desk and use them to store admin-related items such as rulers, pens and scissors. No one will come near you, leaving you in peace to browse porn and Tweet nonsense, to your hearts content.
I guarantee that nowhere in the Employee Tossbook does it say that this is unacceptable behaviour.
Result.

Tuesday, 15 May 2012

Mite riddled greasy fish muck, bacon and magpie chickens.

Smoked salmon.
It's quite expensive but as I'm not a fan of eating mite-riddled greasy fish muck, I'm not too bothered.

The Edge prefers this economical alternative to smoked salmon. 
But as ever, I am constantly thinking of others, and I have come up with a ripsnorting 'budget' alternative that will have all slimy fish-muck lovers yelping with delight.


Shop bought smoked salmon. 
Bacon.

You can buy 500g of the enigmatically named, 'Cooking Bacon' for 74p at Tesco. However before you make your purchase, be sure to weigh the pack using the scales in the vegetable aisle.

Even better, take your own scales, set up camp in 'Cooked Meats' and weigh the lot.
Make a note of the weights, and when curious shoppers ask you to show them a big one, oblige, making sure the punter pays up first. To avoid detection, pretend to be a member of staff by not making eye contact and openly scratching your hogpockets.

Dave, packing some meat.
Anyway, be sure to weigh it.
I got one last week that was a whopping 800g, and as sure as night follows day, you can bet that some unfortunate soul got a runty pack weighing a few ounces and containing mainly tails and toenails. Hopefully it was a so-called 'online shopper'. Serves them right, probably constantly whining about being 'money rich and time poor'. Now they're 'bacon poor' too. Good.
Meat packers need to pay more attention, as do shoppers.

Once you've got your bacon home, sort out the smoked bacon from the unsmoked.
Smoked bacon is easily recognisable, as it is brown and smells of fags and pigs.

Cut the rind off the smoked bacon and 'drape' it artistically on a plate. Sprinkle with grass for colour.
Drizzle with something acidic like Lilt, vinegar or mint sauce, and enjoy.
If you want a more 'fishy' taste to your smoked Bacmon™, leave in the airing cupboard overnight. If you don't have an airing cupboard slip it in your bedsocks* before retiring.

We only need the smoked bacon for this recipe, but don't waste the unsmoked stuff. Magpies love it, so use it to lure them into the house. Once cornered give them a sharp rap over the mulligans.
A roast magpie is virtually indistinguishable from a roast chicken, and if you're quick enough, you'll save the bacon too, which is where this well known phrase comes from.

Bon Appetit.

* Or any other garment, as desired.
  

Sunday, 13 May 2012

Burning stubble, leaf nails and old people dribbling on your back.

Spa treatments.
What a waste of money.
There is no need, so stop it. No one had them in the 70's. Back then going to the Spar meant shopping for margarine, sterilised milk and some Squirmles, not a big ponce-fest.
And stop saying 'pamper' too.
Here is a list of my money saving alternatives to, so called, 'Spa Treatments':

If you have a hairy face, make a feature of it and try and earn some money with a live webcam feed.

Dave tackling a particularly stubborn nose hair.
If you are bothered about hairy genitals, pits or legs, remove with a strimmer, burn off the stubble and offer yourself up for geese grazing.

If you are pasty then you are washing too much. Stop flannel-bothering and you'll soon have a grimy glow. Or gorge on carrots-they'll turn you that attractive spray-tan orange within hours.

If you want false nails, bear in mind that they look rubbish, attract mites and worms, and there is no such thing as 'Nail Art'. Even Tracey Emin agrees with this and she doesn't know much about it. If you insist though, stick suitably shaped leaves on your fingers. It's no more daft than what you're doing already.

Finally ready-hairs burnt off, tanned and nails applied.
If you want a Hot Stones 'therapy', firstly, what are you thinking? If you insist, collect some stones, which are readily available free of charge. Pour a kettle full of boiling water over them (save water for tea) and find someone to place them on your back. If you ask at your local old people's home they usually have someone who will do it as part of their exercise regime, although they may dribble over you a bit.

'Cupping'. Just stop it, but if you must, suck yourself with the vacuum cleaner 'flange' attachment while having a fag.

Finally, Hopi Ear Candles- WTF?

I think you'll agree, a professional result at a fraction of the cost.  






Monday, 7 May 2012

Trouser comedy, dangerous belts and Nick Clegg.

Teenagers.
They get a bad rap but that's because they are responsible for most of society's ills, including obesity, drugs, babies, junk food, killing sprees, TB, debt, Fearne Cotton, unemployment, street dance, the DD recession, Hollyoaks, sudden heart failure, Cameron, Embarrassing Bodies, the Olympics and all things ur-ban.
Recently, however, I have noticed that young men are trying to get in our good books again by being 'sports' and wearing comedy trousers when they're not even being sponsored. 
Just being daft for daft's sake.

Dave and his 'Low Batties', being the Shiz. 
Yes, young men's trousers have really blossomed of late.

Once there was only the classic 'pull your bloody trousers up, your arse is hanging out' low slung jean to laugh at. Now there are at least two other New Slacks on the Block, both of whom are comedy gems.

But first, back to the low slung option.

It's been around for a long time now, but it's gotten a whole lot more extreme. Nowadays the waistband of the jean is purposely placed at the wrong end of the arse, that is, under the buttocks rather than around the top of them. The belt is then done up a couple of inches above the knees.
'Riding low' or 'sagging' apparently stems from the US prison system where belts are not allowed as inmates may try and hang themselves.
Fair enough.
But, young Jayden, you are not in the Supermax facility of Florida State Penitentiary, you are shopping in the Haverfordwest branch of Wilkinsons for Lynx and hair gel with your Gran, so pull your 'Batties' up and speak properly.

Now for the n00bz.

Firstly, there is the really-tight-right-down-to-the-ankle comedy trouser, which looks ridiculous whether the wearer is fat, thin, 'ripped', flabby, hairy, bald, mental, or gay. I will call it the 'Clencher' and it's a great comedy look, especially when teamed with a belly top and long, pointy shoes, or espadrilles.

Dave in some well grimey Clenchers.
The other is the slim legged Chino with a low slung gusset, giving a discreet nod towards His Holiness, MC Hammer. I will refer to these trousers as 'Nappies'.
For some reason 'Nappies' always seem to be an ugly, tobacco brown colour. If you click on the link you will see just how funny these trousers are. They perfectly sum up my thoughts on fashion and so called 'fashion designers'. They are having a laugh at our expense. Don't give them your money.

One good thing about these three pieces of fine trouser comedy is that I have yet to see a man over 30 sporting them. A few years ago older men could get away with the 'Sagger' look, but now it's become so extreme that it even makes builders blush.

Having said that, I was in Morrisons the other day and I saw an elderly man in the foyer nonchalantly shaking a shit out of his trouser leg. He had 'Saggers' on but I think that was a coincidence.
He also had a carrier bag full of grapefruits.
At least it demonstrates that I do not go round all day looking at young men's trousers. I look at old men's trousers too. Especially when there's some newborn otters falling out of them.

Look no belt! The Clencher/Sagger hybrid-the Clegger.
I will finish off with my own contribution to the comedy trouser fest, which is a Clencher/Sagger hybrid that I have named the 'Clegger' in honour of our own Deputy PM.
They still achieve the Sagger look but without the need of a belt, due to the fierce grip of the Clencher.
I don't think Cleggie's too safe around belts just now, so they'll be just the thing for the weekend, and despite being the wrong side of 30, I think he can carry them off.
Shabba.


Thursday, 3 May 2012

Patrick Moore, not spending money on clothes and making your own 'sex pests'.

Spurred on by a picture Patrick Moore sporting some vertically generous trousers, I have been thinking about how to save money on clothes.

Dave, doing a 'Moore', while heavy with eggs.

I don't 'get' clothes at all. I hate shopping for them, and have only about 6 garments that I wear regularly, adding or removing layers according to the temperature.
I hate all things 'fashion' and believe it to be a big con. I have no time for 'fashion houses' such as Versace and Lagerfield, who furiously peddle their impractical and overpriced wares to the insecure and gullible. I have no desire to pay £300 for a T shirt.

But, don't get me wrong, clothes are required and I cannot think of anything worse than living with a 'naturist'.
No, Mr & Mrs Naturist, the human body is not beautiful, especially when it has spent half a century doing nothing but eating bacon in front of This Morning and doing word searches.

Yes, clothes are most definitely required, but for functional reasons only, such as providing scrotum support, thereby avoiding tripping accidents, or for the concealment of puppies, shoplifted goods or weapons.
And in these straightened times, I fully support Sir Patrick in his thrifty decision to extend the role of a pair of trousers to cover that of a vest...or a bib or something, in a kind of clothing BOGOF.

I shall name his vest/trouser combo a 'Vester', and we needn't stop there, as there are several other possibilities:

1. Long socks pulled right up and pinned together at the crotch-'Packs'-a pants and socks hybrid.
2. A large woolly hat, pulled right down to the shoulders, a 'Scat', half scarf, half hat.
3. A large pair of pants pulled over the chest, a pant/vest mix-a 'Pest' or a 'Sex Pest' if you insist on wearing 'alluring' undergarments i.e. 'Come round mine, I've got me Sex Pests on'.

For his Vesters, Mr Moore has splashed out on a special 13 foot long zip, which NASA made for him in a sterile cave in the Arizona desert. He's able to do this as he has paid off his mortgage and owns Jupiter.

Not all of us are in his enviable position though, so I suggest that you stick to the 'budget' option which is an elasticated or drawstring waist, as modelled by Dave. Either that or get catheterised. The NHS runs special 'Half Price Catheterisation' days on the last Tuesday of each month. Contact your local vet for details.
Frank the whippet, sporting a stainy 'Pest'.