Monthly Archives: November 2012

A Rather Childish Tongue Twister

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Try this. It’s both impossible AND amusing.

You know the wee tune that goes, ‘Ole, ole ole ole. Ole. Ole!’ You know the one. But instead of saying ‘ole’ say ‘cockbag’, but really fast. And no cheating and slowing it down to achieve perfect diction.

Or just forget the tune and say ‘cockbag’ again and again, over and over, as fast as you possibly can. Unless your tongue’s from The Matrix you won’t be able to do it.

Because my girlfriend and I are very childish, and very possibly mentally retarded into the bargain (and because it’s better than actually talking to each other) we’ve been doing this for a good thirty minutes. Do try it. You’ll sound like the guy who records Donald Duck’s voice when its dubbed into Albanian. Or Popeye after a massive head injury.

Please feel free to email recordings of your attempts to theotherjamie@hotmail.co.uk, if you’re really that much of a fuckwitt.

MSN Picture Editor’s Last Day of Employment

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Somebody at MSN news is going to get their balls footed for this moderately amusing mix-up.

If these mis-matched pictures are to be believed then Obama’s got involved in the Jimmy Savile sex case, Clive Dunn was an impersonatory paedophile and David Cameron is a schoolgirl.

Pack Your Bags, Obama

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Obama – looking cool as fuck.

My girlfriend is eagle-eyed. And not just any old eagle. Or indeed any old eyes. This is an eagle that’s had its eyes experimented on, reconstructed and augmented by boffins in a secret government lab six-miles underground, using technology harvested from the Roswell space-craft. The eyes cost £6 billion, and can zoom in on an alien tramp scratching his arse, up an intergalactic alley-way, at the opposite end of the universe. In case you missed the subtle allusion: these are some top-notch eyes, people.

Pat: he’ll put his Sharp-est tool in your box.

Oh, and she’s sharp. But not any old sharp. She’s Pat Sharp. You dig? Pat Sharp who’s been turned into Terminator 2, melted down and then used to forge the sharpest sword in the history of the universe, a sword so sharp that even God himself put a big impregnable finger on the end of it to see how sharp it was and went, ‘OW! That’s one mother of a sharp-ass sword.’ Anyway, you get the idea.

We can be watching a movie, and she’ll turn to me and say: ‘That tiny scratch on the main character’s third finger was on his second finger in the previous frame.’

She’s like some sexy Rainman, pointing out plot absurdities, black holes of logic and blink-and-you’ll-miss-them continuity errors that Stephen Hawking himself would struggle to spot.

‘The T-shirt on that extra in the crowd scene was a slightly darker shade of mauve in the previous shot.’

What the fuck! How did she notice that? I’m in awe of her.

But sometimes, just sometimes, she comes out with something that’s so brain-damagedly beautiful – such a delicious, impossible blend of cleverness, stupidity, innocence and cunning – that I just want to mulch her down into a smoothie and drink her into my soul.

Bags packed.

We were talking about Obama’s second term, and she scrunched her face up into a serious little ball of thoughtfulness and asked: ‘So, if Obama had lost would they have evicted him from the White House? Did he have to pack his bag the night before, just in case, like they do in Big Brother?’

BOOM! Amazing, right? She’s like my very own little long-locked, sexual Karl Pilkington, who also cooks a mean sausage casserole.

And now we’re all imagining Davina McCall on the White House lawn, microphone in hand, screeching: ‘Barack, I’m coming to get YOOOOOOOOOO!’