Thank you Jill, I have never laughed so hard and that is not hyperbole. Take a look at Karate Party

This is a list of the 100 worst names for karate films from 1960s onwards. The dry humour of the list compiler just cracks me up. And they keep coming as you scroll down. As a sampler I give you Number 73.

73 – Hard Way to Die
This title is beautiful. It’s not that it’s hard to kill the hero, the hero has just found a really difficult way to go about dying.

There’s also The 100 worst horror movie names

Have you ever wondered about sex change in animals? When there is an overwhelming imbalance of males to females, in some species the issue is resolved by some males turning into females. Now, this in itself is remarkable, but I wonder even more about the process by which the decision is made which of the males undergoes the chop, so to speak. 

If it’s voluntary, then I imagine the discussion goes something like this:-

Chopper:- Ahem, it looks like one of us had better do the right thing.

Choppee:- Well, it’s no secret that I’ve always fancied a bit of rough-and-tumble with the guys. Many’s the night I’ve lain awake hopping to get buggered. If this is what it takes…

If it’s involuntary, then the person who gets the chop is perhaps the one with the least to lose. (There had to be a joke about penis size. I had another one about the shortest straw drawing the shortest straw)

As you all know, this Sunday was the first day of the Chinese New Year, the Year of the Pig. So the usual suspects (Jill, Jessy, Kaitlyn, Tracy, Sha, Adam, Dmitri, Gareth, Ioannis, Paulo, Simon & moi) gathered at Jill’s luxurious and well-appointed (two microwaves, three fridges) penthouse flat to celebrate. Some of us cooked, some brought booze, and some sponsored dessert.

My imaginative and amazingly spiced chicken chilli went head-to-head against Simon’s more conventional, staid, traditional, boring beef chilli. Let’s just say that there were no losers. And let’s also remind Simon that no-one remembers the second guy on the moon.

Ioannis made a ham n shroom bake, Tracy brought prawns and special sauce, Jessy had a beef dish, Jill made dumplings and sticky sweet, and Sha brought a wonderful cake. We even had fortune cookies!

It was nice to have an good old ISOM bash and as usual it was a rip-roaring success. Reflecting upon which, I realise that a full SIX of yesterday’s revellers were outsiders, successful infiltrators of our close-knit community. What is the world coming to??

Happy new year guys and gals!

I realised there’s a lot of material for moaning about, so here’s the first of a series of many in which I shall explore the ills of British terrestrial telly.

It seems that nowadays no program can be made without the ubiquitous narrator present. At best, Narrator Person (NP) attempts to provide continuity to a change of scene by linking the two. As if we couldn’t make the jump by seeing the same faces in the two scenes. The telly producers are so scared of making something unintelligible to their hypothetical “Least Common Denominator” person that they lump all the viewing public in with that stereotype. I regularly see BBC programs (which have no ad breaks) with NP saying “Coming up next, so-and-so will such-and-such” Lo and behold!! in the very next scene so-and-so does such-and-such, but not without NP first saying “Previously, we saw so-and-so doing such-and-such and now we catch up”!!

At the worst end we get the Idiot NP who goes “Who will win?”, “But will the voters know that?” or “I wonder whether they will share or shaft?” at which I literally scream “If you shut up you’ll find out you flipping orangutan!”

Another example is “Lily is looking sad” when indeed Lily is looking sad, the operative here being ‘looking’, as in we are watching what she fucking looks like!

 

My site was down for a while and I panicked. I can’t find any of my regular blogbuddies through Google except for Boudica. The rest of you are so ornery that you don’t show up, whereas I’m top of the pile for “nazmania”.

I was thinking last night (I know, I apologise and will not be making a habit of it) and realised, the year 2007 is on its way!! What this means is that God hasn’t got his leg over in about Two Thousand Years, if you believe the news. How people are going to respect a God who doesn’t even get a bit of action every now and then, only God knows. But He seems to be quite busy interfering with reptiles and amphibians, producing “virgin birth” after “virgin birth” with no end in sight, nor indeed any talk of child support.

I then imagined what the conversation would go like today:-

Cuckolded Husband:- You what?? But we didn’t even….

“Virgin” Wife:- It was God’s act.

Cuckolded Husband:- Not again?!

God:- Sorry, you know, it’s actually been quite a while…

Cuckolded Husband:- You could’ve been more careful God! This is the 20th century you know. There are things you can use to prevent…

God (mumbling):- Sorry..

And now for the Educational part of the post———–

As for virgin births, they are brought about by a process known as parthenogenesis. This is obviously from the Greek “Parthenos” meaning “milkman, or any other such door-to-door tradesman” because in those Early Greek Days of Aristotle and Democracy and Nana Moskouri all such people came from a region called Parthena. I think the “Genesis” part we all understand. If not, I can recommend a couple of top-notch movies.

Yesterday Homer Simpson was the muse for Bart’s comic creation “Angry Dad”. Apparently Homer has an anger management problem. He says:-

I’m a rage-oholic. I need my rage-ohol!!

Haha!

I must say, this is a sub-type of the human race that I wasn’t aware existed. I haven’t really noticed their heaving breaths, their bouncing breasts, and as for those lycra pants…. 

But this article in the BBC says that jogging can lead to sagging breasts in women (presumably in men too; I’m reminded of Homer Simpson discovering the joys of sports bras). Apparently, as a woman runs a mile, her breasts bounce 135 metres. Presumably they take a taxi the rest of the way to catch up with her later. With the average breast weighing 200-300 grams (figures that match independent reseach on my part) this puts a lot of stress on the connecting tissue, leading inevitably to sagging breasts. The solution is to wear a sports bra, preferably made by the company that sponsored this research (do I see a self-interest angle here?).

I have dreamed up a new Superhero!! Forget Batman, Spiderman (and especially forget crappy Hellboy), this marks a new era in Superheroicalitism…onomy…whatever. I call him Womanman, and I presume he was once minding his own nerdy business in a very alter-ego kind of way when he was caught by a radioactive blast of womanly pheromones from someone on a bus (I was similarly attacked recently; it smelt of hairspray). This transferred to him the powers of a woman; namely he can get into a terrible berserker rage thanks to the power of PMT. Of course, he wouldn’t have a superhero car or boat or plane or anything; you know what women are like, it’d take him ages to park in Womanman mode, and the rearview mirrors would all be used to check out his make-up. (I pretty quickly realised this brief piece could play host to all kinds of woman jokes ). Of course he’d need some symbol, some shortcut to memory like Batman’s bat logo, so I suggest
/ WO \
| 2x |
\MAN/
be emblazoned across his ample chest (did I mention it grows and fills up?)

Does anyone have any more suggestions for this character? Like superpowers and whatnot?

Sue Townsend’s fake diaries are something. I’m reading “The Wilderness Years” where the hero turns 24. Here is an excerpt from his diary.

Norman Schwarzkopf was on television tonight, pointing a stick at an incomprehensible map. Why he was dressed in army camouflage is a mystery to me:
a) there are no trees in the desert
b) there were no trees in the briefing room
c) he is obviously too important to go anywhere near the enemy; he could go around dressed like Coco the Clown and still not be shot at

Anally retentive persons are so funny.

..but as some of my closer (better, nicer, etc.) friends will know, I have been quite busy in recent times. Or shall I say, I have been, ahem, kept busy. But let me talk about more mundane things. My driving lessons with me mate Ben are going well; he’s a remarkably good instructor, drawing a fine line between having a laugh and getting a lesson drilled in. Or is it I that is (am? are?be?) the remarkably good pupil?? In fact, the only complaints I get are “Heh heh, we were going a bit fast there, weren’t we??” and “Heh heh, you weren’t checking your mirrors there, were you?” and “Heh heh, you really didn’t see that little child you knocked over, did you?”
Only Kidding!!! Of course I checked my mirrors!

I’ll now take a purfunctory look at your blogs and leave some random remark to lead you guys into believing that I actually read the stuff you moan on about, thereby awakening your guilt feelings and forcing you to visit MY blog!!

AAAHHH! Refreshingly Honest! tm

A new telly program due on Channel Four is called the IT crowd. And I thought it was the I.T.Crowd as in Information Technology. And the telly rushes show loads of gorgeous people having a party, and there I’m thinking “Oh, yeah baby, that’s us I.T. guys alright. Down to a T”

A little wordplay I heard somewhere that made me laugh. Instead of saying psychiatrist, someone pronounced it Sky-high-atrist. Hmmm, I seem to know some people like that!

Well, for you there’s the Homeless World Cup, a mega extravaganza involving 27 teams and 60,000 spectators. Sounds like the average crowd I see around my neighbourhood Netto supermarket that! But guys, it’s for a good cause, raising awareness about poverty. And all by the good guys at ‘SuperConglomerateSportsManufacturing Corp.’ “Impoverished is nothing” “Just eat it”

There used to be a time when I had friends all around, laughing and whatnot. Then they found out I had a deadly disease called “Disso”. I guess it’s true what them song says, ain’t nobody knows you when you’re down and out. (SIGH!!) I’m gonna have to deal with it myself now. The lord god he knows I could’ve done with a helping hand. But it’s my bed and it’s what as I’m gonna lie in. Truth be told, I never trusted them fair feathered fair weather folk anyhow.

Ardent fans of mine (go on, admit it, you know you are one) will recall that I intended to watch Herzog’s film yesterday. But plans change, and none change as inscrutably as mine. Unless they’re plans made in Kyoto, that is. So I decided to see saw. Saw the film. I mean what I saw was saw the film. (Haha, can’t resist) The film ‘Saw’ is what I decided to see, and saw. (After some more jokes in this vein…) Real scary film in some parts, although you can’t help comparing it to an all-time great, ‘Seven’ with Morgan Freeman, and Prat Bidd (try saying his name properly after reading this out loud. I couldn’t). See, the problem I have with ‘Saw’, and a lot of movies of this genre, is that once they have a little character called “Psychopath”, they don’t bother explaining why he goes to all that effort to snuff a few random souls. The psychopath folder becomes a kind of hold-all, wherein any inexplicable acts can be stuffed and justified. e.g. “Mommy, why did the bad guy bother to cut the guy up and fry the steaks with tarragon sauce and a dash of lemon (including the rind, don’t waste the rind) when he was going to toss him to the sharks anyway?” “Weeell, he’s a Syko, innit? Stands to reason he dunno whats he doin’, innit? he’s just a fookin’ Syko. You complete set of bahstads, you” (No reason why Mommy talks like that, just giving more to the character to prevent it from becoming flat and two-dimensional. Avid readers might note the heavy borrowing from Mel B of ‘Spicy Girls’ fame. More avider readers might even notive the pun on ‘avid’, as in Avid Merrion, ginger-haired creator of the Mel B character). Seven (or Se7en, as it is also known) has the invaluable scene with Kevin Spacey (my mind keeps telling me it’s John Malkovich, for some reason. But you can’t argue with God. Especially God in google form) in the back of the cop car explaining his actions. If you see ‘Saw’ (it’s just pathetic now Naz) the (un)character of the killer is justified by some shots of a guy lying in bed with a tumour in the frontal lobe. That’s all folks!
Okay, deep breath…and….
I also saw ‘Wasabi’, from Luc Besson of Leon and Fifth Element fame. Basically we have Jean Reno again, with some young girl again (dunno what it is, but there seem to be a lot of young girls as co-stars who have crushes on him. Hmmm…), with some hilarious scenario again. I was too tired to pay much attention near the end, but there was some shooting and stuff. And $200 million. And a half-rabbit, half-hippo creature with fifteen foot tentacles growing out of its nose. Or maybe not.

I watched TSA Mary again. Great comedy, one of the few such films that I really like, although I must say it’s not typical in its storyline, only in the way it’s shot, if that makes sense. I mean that it’s not often you see a comedy about three stalkers, but the gags are pretty standard. I love the cheesy acting of Matt Dillon, whose part I think is extremely well-written. He loves retarded kids, as evident from-
“Those goofy bastards are about the best thing I’ve got going”, and
Matt: “I work with retards”
Mary: “Isn’t that a little politically incorrect?”
Matt: “Yeah, maybe, but hell, no one’s gonna tell me who I can and can’t work with”.
Cracking!!

Those of you who know ginger-haired Avid Merrion (this includes you, Deutsche Boy) from Bo’ Selecta and A Bear’s Tail, must have watched yesterday’s great one. The bear and family go to the cinema to watch “Star Wars: the empire strikes black”. And there’s Michael Jackson “Shamon, mother fucker” as Michael Moonwalker, Craig Dayyyvid as Princess Leia and Mel B as Mel B Wan Kanobi. What a hilarious sketch that was. They’re in a glove-shaped spaceship, and then they spot the death star, and Mel B goes:- “That’s no moon, that’s a fookin’ Death Star. You complete set of Bahstads, you!” I love it!!!

My friends will testify to the fact that I really hate to blow my own trumpet (I tried once, but I couldn’t reach it ) but I had a couple of good ones in this conversation with cherryfairy today

Away with the fairies says:
I have but I’m putting it off. Sound familiar?

Cogito, ergo dumb (new mob no.079200xxxxx) http://naz.isom.org.uk/ says:
I’d love to procrastinate, but I guess I’ll have to do it tomorrow

Cogito, ergo dumb (new mob no.079200xxxxx) http://naz.isom.org.uk/ says:
Actually, that’s my new line now

Away with the fairies says:
Slick.

I’d love to procrastinate, but I guess I’ll have to do it tomorrow http://naz.isom.org.uk/ says:
slicker than an Exxon-Valdez beach party

I found this gem in Rayk’s dissertation, and felt it had to be shared with the general public. I know this has appeared earlier in a comment I made on Jessy’s weblog, but given the miniscule amount of people that read that blog, I thought I had to put it here so that it could reach a much wider audience.

The focus thereby is on understanding, learning and finding new ways of doing things in order to innovate around these elements and leverage their strategic value contribution. As such, it challenges the status quo and fosters learning for competitive differentiation under strategic aspects.
(Grabosch, 2005)

A dream scenario:-
“I was acting in an advert for a stupid injury claims company when I fell off a ladder while attempting to imitate some stupid oaf claimant who fell off his ladder because he was too daft to make sure the legs wouldn’t slip. I injured my back severely, and wasn’t able to do any more wooden acting for 3 months. I called the stupid injury claims company, and they successfully sued themselves on my behalf. I got the grand sum of £3,540″
Only people with TV’s will get this (although ownership of a televisual apparatus doesn’t ensure understanding of this post). I hate these ‘injury claim’ ads, although I got 1000 squid claiming after I had an accident in my friend’s car and “suffered severe whiplash injuries to the neck” !

I was forced today to reciprocate the kindness of our isom ladies by providing dinner for them. I rose to the occasion! Managed to get Ali to drive me to ASDA, where I spent a long time considering my options. Jessy had made it clear that I could cook anything as long as it was chicken. So I got some prime cuts of beef…Nah, jus’ kiddin’. I got some pieces of chicken breast, a sachet of Chargrilled Chicken and one of Bombay Potatoes. Bought some ASDA ‘stimulating drink’ to wash it down with. So the dishes of the day were Pasta Conchiglie con Chargrilled Chicky, i Patata a la Bombay. Yummax! Managed to cook it in record time as well, especially considering how hungover I was in t’morning. (Neat link into a description of last night’s shenanigans) Rayk & I went to the Cornerhouse for a movie reckoned to be one of the “great mind-fuck movies”. With accolades like that, it was irresistable. We managed to smuggle in a 4 pack of Grolsch (although it’s not exactly Fort Knox in there) and proceded to merry the time away. The movie, ‘Primer’ was absolutley amazing, have to see it atleast twice. I have to take back all my snide comments about American cinema now. We then decided to sink a few sweet ones in the Grand Central. After another couple, Rayk was ready for home, but he hadn’t counted on my persuasive charm. Revolution it was then, and when Ali joined us to head for Ponana, Rayk hardly put up any resistance at all. All in all, we were on to getting well blathered! Um.. then we caught a cab, no no, there was this cow, no, it was a kebab,… Anyway, lights out.

Ah, let me kiss this sweet Mancunian earth. As I was waiting for my luggage, I commented on how I’d never experienced any of the hilarious incidents of missing luggage, stolen stuff etc. on all my travels. Lo! I find my rucksack split open, and phone missing As well as my headphones. So I’m temporarily out of contact with all the hordes who wish to welcome me back home.
(Later on in Naz’s day)
I bought some top qwality headphones, £3.99 for both ears. I finished reading Harry Potter’s (yes, I know he didn’t write it, he’s only a kid) Order of Phoenix this morn, apparently it’s either him or Lord Volvofort that has to be killed. Surprised me, I’ll say! Also, all the teachers know that some kids are bad ‘uns, so why keep teaching them Dark Arts? So they’ll grow up and the good ‘uns will have somebody to fight? Why not screen the students? As for the magic fights, if I was a wizard confronted by a snotty-nosed, self-centred brat like Potter n Co, I’d jinx him good and proper! Cruciatus Maximus Screamus! Rowling seems to confuse magic with Star Wars sometimes, what with all the dodging of red light and green light going on.

There’s only one Rijk’s Museum, and it was host to me! A warm sunny day ’twas today, so I slapped a ton of sunblock on my visage and headed off to spend the day indoors amongst crowds of strangers and smelling of Nivea 45 xg or summat. Unlike yesterday when I was lain on the roof of the NEMO building until cooked to a Naz Thermidor. Saw Rembrandt, Vermeer, Witte, amongst others. They said hi Delft plates and plaques, magnificant doll houses etc. A great big model of a Dutch galleon ( Oh, and they battered the British at sea, apparently) Busy day for Mr. Kodak Easy Share C340. I believe a new talent is going to burst onto the Manchester scene soon, with techniques honed in Amsterdam by studying the Dutch Masters. I’ve heard of United’s thrashing of Newcastle, and England’s humiliation of Ponting’s tourists.

I’ve been hearing reports over here about the severe threats posed by Asian birds. Apparently Asian Birds flew. So what, weren’t they flying before?
-Confused

There was a young schizophrenic called Struther,
Who, when told of the death of his brother,
Said “It’s true, this is sad
But it isn’t too bad
Atleast I still have each other”

I was browsing through some Dilbert comic strips rather than write my dissertation, and I came across this strip with a Dogbert’s definition of Karma:-

I believe in Karma. That means I can do bad things to people all day long and I assume they deserve it.

Students of any Management Science will be well aware of the truths in Dilbert’s apparently comic world. Quite naturally, I thought of Dilbert while nicking pictures from despair.com

A rich woman was reaching the age of 50, and decided to finally take a break from her hectic life running her businesses and get married. However, she had one firm stipulation; the man she would marry must not have had sex with a woman before. Out went her minions in search of such a suitor. The scoured the continent, then looked further afield, taking out advertisements in newspapers in a hundered different languages, running spots on television channels, etc. Finally reaching Australia, they found one such man who had lived his life in the outback and had never so much as laid eyes upon a woman.
The rich woman asks him to confirm that he had never slept with a woman, and then agrees to go ahead and get married to him. On the wedding night, she goes to the bathroom to prepare herself and then enters the bridal chamber, only to find her brand-new husband standing naked in the middle of the room with all the furniture piled up in a corner. Taken aback, she demands an explanation for his behaviour. He says, “Well, I’ve never had sex with a woman before, but if it’s anything like sex with a kangaroo, I’m going to need all the room I can get”

“Hello, and welcome to the mental health hotline …

If you are obsessive-compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.

If you are co-dependent, please ask someone to press 2 for you.

If you have multiple personalities, press 3, 4, 5 and 6.

If you are paranoid, we know who you are and what you want. Stay on the line so we can trace your call.

If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.

If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a voice will tell you which number to press.

If you are a manic-depressive, it doesn’t matter which number you press, no one will answer.

If you are dyslexic, press 9696969696969696.

If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the pound key until a representative comes on the line.

If you have amnesia, press 8 and state your name, address, telephone number, date of birth, Social Security number and your mother’s maiden name.

If you have post-traumatic stress disorder, s-l-o-w-l-y and c-a-r-e-f-u-l-l-y press 0 0 0.

If you have bi-polar disorder, please leave a message after the beep, or before the beep, or after the beep. Please wait for the beep.

If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

If you have short-term memory loss, press 9.

If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All operators are too busy to talk to you.

Ok, here the latest from our careers service. Why it’s so good should be self-explanatory.

Description of position:
You will work as part of a team responsible for maintaining a
high standard of cleanliness throughout the Centre, including
areas of the female changing room and showers while the centre is
open to the public.

Qualifications required:
Able to prioritise workloads, good communication and customer
care skills. Due to exposure to the female changing room and
showers while the centre is open to the public, a female
candidate would be preferred (as stated in section 7(2)(B) or the
Sex Discrimination Act).

Another gem from the career’s service. An e-mail advertises the availability of a job as a helper for a disabled writer who will be totally dependent on the help physically. But the e-mail details the skills they are looking for as “A lack of caring experience would be an advantage” I wonder why?

I’ve been reading a book (yes, I do that sometimes) called ‘Experiences’ by Martin Amis, kind of autobiographical. He says that Princess Di’s favourite poem contains these lines

Life is mostly froth and bubble,
two things stand as stone.
Kindness in another’s trouble,
courage in your own.

Which his father, Kingsley Amis, parodies as

Life is mainly grief and labour
two things get you through.
Chortling when it hits your neighbour,
whingeing when it’s you.

I saw this t-shirt, a geek look at the popular rhyme.

I’m seriously considering a separate page for him and his ilk. This from New Scientist today

According to a BBC online news item on 12 May, “After the hearing, Det. Con. David Ecuyer of Kent Police said that if the bomb had gone off it would have caused an explosion”

Anybody recognise the P of the USA saying “If we don’t succeed, we run the risk of failure”

“Never let the big things in life distract you from focussing on the inconsequential”. Which means I should be working on my dissertation at the moment, not wasting my time here.

Popular demand (well, just Pan) forces me to post another joke. Here it is…

You know you are an Internet Junkie when…

You can think of nineteen keystroke symbols that are far more clever than .

Three people are in a prison camp, and decide to compare reasons for being sent there.

Unfortunately, that’s the way things are sometimes.

A certain company to whom I am attempting to apply online for a job has the tagline under their name that goes “Quality in everything we do”. Needless to say, their online application form doesn’t work….

I really don’t think this is the place to be talking about it. But I can’t keep it inside me for any longer.