Emsabee has politely requested that I make a list of ten people I would like to have sex with.

One cannot refuse a top ten blogger, so I've humbly obliged.

1/2 The two eastern Europeans who work in the Cafe at the top of Chancery Lane
2 The girl unloading her shopping from her car in Bath on Sunday. (She was blonde and had no bra on; lets just say she had dropped a couple of dry roasted down her top, know what I mean.)
3 Astronauts
4 My Monkey Butler, the cheeky swine.
5 The Earth
6-7-8 Numerous miscellaneous woman I see when drunk. (Each one accounts for 0.2 of a real person as I've learnt not to approach them. I have attributed 3 places to these pseudo women, accounting for the 15 sexy unobtainable women I estimate that I saw at the w/e.)
9 Dolphins
10 George Bush, one night with me and he will be under my love spell so deep he won't know if God told him to do it or me. (It was me George, it was me)

This is from my mate Joe who got it off his dad. It's worth a read.

A man and a woman, who have never met before, but are both married to other people, found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a transcontinental train.

Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, they were both very tired and fell asleep quickly, he in the upper bunk and she in the lower.

At 1:00 a.m., the man leaned over and gently woke the woman saying,

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket? I'm awfully cold."

"I have a better idea," she replied. "Just for tonight, let's pretend that we're married. "

"Wow! That's a great idea!" he exclaimed.

"Good," she replied. "Get your own fuckin blanket!"

After a moment of silence, he farted.

I watched the ten O'clock news with my house mates last night. The BBC led with the harrowing story of the Haditha massacre. As the reporter described how the harrowing events of that day had unfolded she grabbed the attention of everyone in the room. My flatmate Tom stopped showing off his movie ipod and turned instead to the watch the horror on the screen unfold.

The reporter described how American Marines had killed twenty four people on a murderous rampage. In the first house they killed a whole family, in the second two four year old children were shot in the head, in the third house a child of two was shot in the head and killed.

At this exact point our mate let out a great big belly laugh. For just a moment we all thought we had misjudged Johnny's character utterly, then we all realised he was watching the sit-com Spaced on Tom's ipod. The tension melted and we all had a good old laugh.

In comedy timing really is everything.

The front page of today’s SUN features a fantastic piece of punnery. Unfortunately the pun was so clever it had to be relegated to a footnote of the main headline. The main headline is 'Roo Fury at Doc Shock'. This is a story about the sacking of the Man Utd. team doctor Mike Stone. Dr Stone was treating Wayne Rooney's famous broken metatarsal (foot). Pay attention, here comes the pun.

He's [Rooney] stunned by Stone axe

Shear brilliance, it's great punnery. Just thinking about Rooney's gormless face with cartoon stars twirling round it makes me smile, the joke is a bonus. When will they invent newspapers with moving images.

I've changed my avatar. I feel this image more accurately reflects my aspirations. The previous one was a painting by Henry Rousseau, I think, a French fella who painted jungles (though he never actually went to one). I now have a buxom Brazilian footy fan. Look at her happy face; look at her face you perv! She is better than Rousseau because she is revered in her lifetime as well as being highly successful in her field. (by association with the Brazilian football team and as a fan)

This picture is from the BBC sports page. I had felt inspired to change my avatar to a female footy fan from different nations every day of the World Cup, that was until I did a search for 'female footy fan' on Google image, all that came up was this (?)

I went to a burlesque comedy gig last night. The compare was a Bristolian called Russell Howard, he was very good. He told a story about a tramp with a magic dog that really amused me and warmed my heart. This is exactly what he said it would do, so he knows his stories. It's about a tramp and his magic dog that sleep in a skip. He described the dog as a hairy scrotum with sick on it. I won't try and do the story here as I would have to jump around and do funny faces and be a comedian, so just go see him.

The other acts were also good there was a jazz band and dancing girls that sang Morrissey and Kate Bush songs in a cabaret style; there was a stripper who I'm afraid was crap, I think she may have been pulled off early to make way for the headliner Russell Brand.

He's on the telly at the moment doing something with big brother which is a bit crap. He was good though more than typically shambolic. He has been linked to Kate Moss in the press so we had hoped she might have showed, of course she didn't. He was late and made some kind of apology as he arrived. I shouted fucking Kate Moss at him, a heckle (or something like that) he clearly enjoyed, he replied with 'I will not involve myself in idle title tattle' with a smug grin. Perhaps I should have tried 'Kate said you were shit' a more traditionally derogatory heckle which may have gone further over the heads of everyone than my actual attempt; plus it's 8 hours too late.

The other act were a comedy duo called dirty fan mail. They were actually my favourite act. They read, as poetry, and sing the dirty letters sent to a number of soft porn stars from pervy blokes. The letters are excellent and the way they sing them is hilarious. They also had some slides of girls with there titties out which made up for the failings of the stripper slightly. Apparently there is a book which I will have to get for the toilet. (I actually don't read on the toilet, but we seem to have a great collection of amusing books in there for anyone who does)

Why does the sports presenter on BBC News 24 say after her 1am bulletin:

"That's all the sports news for now, but I'll be back in half an hour with all the latest sports headlines."

Will you really; the latest sports news at 1.30am. What sporting event would that be, the Weatherspoons sprint vomit?

I can imagine it now.

"News just in: easy Tracy from South London has broken her previous record for blow jobs given in one night by sucking of five different guys in various pub toilets around Islington. Over to our reporter on the scene."

- Sound of drunk man being orally satisfied -

Another triumph for British sporting endeavour.

For all those BDSM enthusiasts there is only one real story in today's papers. The Darlington sci-fi ‘sex cult’. A group of people inspired by the science fiction series the Chronicles of Gor, in which women are viewed as the natural salves of men, have set up a cult in Darlington. They are led by a 31 year old man called Lee Thompson who, according to the paper, is a self styled master; the only kind of master to be.

The Times runs a story about an 18 year old Star Trek fan and cult member called Zachary Nichodemus. This is a quote from the guys Dad.

He told his Mum that he had met the master of the Kaotians on the internet and decided to join his cult. It has made her hair stand on end because Zach is not exactly a man of the world he had never even had a girlfriend.

He still doesn't have girlfriend, but he does have a sex slave; what do you expect if you give the boy a sci-fi name.

The other story going around is about a Canadian woman who apparently has burned her passport and ticket home, so she can stay in Darlington and be the sex slave of an 18 year old Star Trek fan (this has worried her friends and family slightly). This story has been picked up by Boing Boing, who link to a Canadian news Channel, and the BBC. It seems everyone likes a bondage story.

In both stories the police have been involved but have decided to take no action as all those involved are consenting adults. Which is good news for 18+ sado cults but bad news for the Harry Potter cult in my basement, said M Johnson 25 self styled Dumbledore.

Tip 1. take up gambling. This weekend I had what I thought was a sure money maker. This is the story of how I took the bookies to the cleaners for £9.24. The idea is to take advantage of the £25 free bet that allot of internet bookies are offering new clients. To claim the bet you have to make a bet of £25. This was my plan:

You make a £25 pound bet on a sure thing. There is no such thing as a sure thing so I went for the next best thing a Frank Warren fight. Frank Warren hypes up his boxers with claims that they are the greatest thing since his last best thing at the same time as arranging enough fights with soft headed pensioners that his fighter's on paper record of KOs matches the hype and people start to believe that maybe they are as good as all that.

That's the reason my fighter, Kevin Mitchell, was 1/50 to win his fight (a £50 bet gets a return of £51). I put £25 pounds on him, he won, I got my twenty five quid of free bets my £25 quid stake back and winnings of. . . 50 pence. I'm 50 pence up, I've recovered my whole stake, I've got £25 quid to play and no more risk.

At this point I discover an even surer thing than a Frank Warren fight. Put bets on football matches that have nearly finished. I bet on Swansea v Brentford in the 85th minute, Swansea were 2-0 up and the odds of them winning were 1/66. I used £10 of my free bet and got a return of 15 pence. This is when the plan falls down. I don't get my stake back. If it was my money I would get the stake back, but as it's a free bet I keep the winnings but they keep the stake. So the plan is less lucrative than I thought but I've still got £15 of free bets and I'm 65 pence up with nothing to loose and I've learned a valuable lesson - read the small print.

So now I have to take some risks at horse racing. With the assistance of Jonny my friend / gambling coach and the Guardian online we pick favourites or second favourites and conservatively make small to medium each way bets. We weren't very successful and only picked one winner but the profit soared from 65 pence to £9.24 for no loss. If we had used our own money we'd have been nearly 6 quid down but as we were using free bets every win was money in the bank.

The whole M'larky took about three hours. That's a bread line income of around £3.08/hour. Better than the Philipino who made your trainers. To speed thing up you could simply put £500 on the Mitchell fight and get your tenner straight off but would you trust someone from Dagenham with £500 quid?

I've just harangued a man on the phone for not providing me with an adequate risk assessment for a construction job that has already been done. I told him he had to change the document as it wasn't site specific. The absurdity of this request didn't really settle in until after I had made the call. A retrospective risk assessment. Isn't that an oxymoron? The risk has been and gone. There is no more risk to assess. I am, unfortunately, required to do this.

I'm having to take some time out to contemplate the utter pointlessness of my existence.

Its finished, Byker Grove is over. After 17 years the show that taught us how to pretend to be Geordie and introduced us to the now iconic Geoff and Spuggy (Ah-Ha) is over. What is Geoff going to do now (The Bill probably) will he keep his unusual facial hair? What will happen to the youth of Newcastle? Will there be a lost generation of school children who have to learn their Geordie accent from the Big Brother voice over guy? Wey-ey man replaced by . . . is in the diary rooom.

The show has left a rich legacy in the form of Saturday night favourites Ant and, lets get ready to rumble, Dec. (Did Ant ever learn how to play the guitar?) Britain thanks you Byker Grove you have enriched us.

Oh my God I just checked out the Wikipedia Entry and discovered not only that the Sun had lifted most of their article from it (my previous source of info), but that Geoff died in a gas explosion. No wonder they closed the Grove, that man was the Grove.

Geoff R.I.P.

For those who missed it channel five achieved another televisual highlight last night when it screened, England vs. Germany: The Legends.

England's 'legends' were Paul Gascoigne; Chris Waddle; Graeme Le Saux; John Barnes; Paul Merson; Lee Sharpe; Jamie Redknapp; Ray Wilkins; Chris Woods; Neil Webb; Les Ferdinand and Matt Le Tissier (played for England once and was shit).

Rugby players Lawrence Dallaglio and Matt Dawson; boxing-ace Nigel Benn; cricket player Alec Stewart; musician Richard Ashcroft; actors Sean Bean, Rupert Graves, Leo Gregory, Danny Dyer and Jason Flemyng. and MP and journalist Boris Johnson. (Never played for England and is an M.P.)

It would seem Boris Johnson managed the highlight of the evening when he forgot he was playing football (well he's not a football player) and managed to half rugby tackle a German. Good man.

Someone could have told me the link wasn't working.

THE LINK