I love the BBC's new iPlayer. You can watch the best of the BBC's programs from the last 7 days on demand and you don't have to sign in, log on, or download anything. And right now they seem to stream without any hitches. I've just enjoyed the Christmas day episode of Doctor Who. I missed it on Christmas day because 'drunk uncle' wanted to watch Emmerdale. I didn't complain then and God rewarded me with the iPlayer.

However I do not like the way everything has to have a lower case I in front of it. To that I say iFuck iOff!

Have you read the story about the new heart operation thingy which goes inside you and does stuff independently? It's called the iSnake. The I has spread to surgical procedures where will it stop, will we be having iHeart by-pass operations? I’m looking forward to the day when I wake up in my iBed, have a cup of iCoffee and get on the iBus to read my iPaper . . . what’s that, oh you go the message iO.K. no iProblem. iBye for now.

Today I found a page showing pictures of people’s irises in close up. Link

I also found an article showing and describing some really interesting graphs. Did you know Florence Nightingale was really good at graphs! Screw the lamp, get me Powerpoint.

Link

OK so maybe this is a bit specialist, but I love the graphic showing the mortality rate for the Grande Armee during the 1812 French invasion of Russia. Spoiler Warning: this is a significant part of the plot of War and Peace, but the graph doesn’t convey all the nuances of the book, so I’d still recommend reading it anyway. (If you've got forever to spare).

I also found this list of cool music videos from 2007, of which this was my favourite:

Much of this came from Kottke

Just in time to celebrate the birth of Baby Jesus a story to have him spinning like a Catherine Wheel on his Crucifix. The setting, Bethlehem’s Church of the Nativity in The West Bank, which, in the style customary for this part of the world, is divided into three sections each administered by a different Christian faction: the Roman Catholic, Greek Orthodox and Armenian Apostolic orders, so while cleaning, if the broom of one sect were to stray into the territory of another's what would Jesus have done?

a. turned the other cheek
b. started a fight
c. built a wall with a demilitarised zone administered by the UN

What did the 'Holy Men' do? The battle of the brooms as reported by the BBC.

Oh and they've got form:

"The punch-up began after Greek and Russian Orthodox believers took offence at a door left open. . ." This time The Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem's Old City. Story on BBC.

Said by Andy Millman, proven by:

Just seen the Extras Christmas special, really excellent.

"One of the few good things about modern times: If you die horribly on television, you will not have died in vain. You will have entertained us" - Kurt Vonnegut.

Update: It will be possible for a few days to see the Extras Christmas special on the BBC iPlayer. Otherwise you might just have to get the DVD.

I had a cold over Christmas which was crap. When I tell people this I seem to keep getting the same sympathetic reaction 'oh everyone seems to have had a cold this year'. Now this could be that very English habit of talking about virus vectors, or it could be something allot more sinister. Is it a coincidence that everyone got a cold at Christmas or could there be a common cause?

Christmas Turkey: Bird Flu. Except Bird Flu doesn't exist it is something that your parents make up to make you be a good boy at Christmas.

Santa: he goes to every house with Children where he will eat their food and in many cases drink from their glass wear. He comes into regular contact with livestock in the form of reindeer; this may be the original source of the pathogen. Santa's penchant for children may sound threatening, but in a pandemic it is the old that are the most vulnerable. Therefore it is reasonable to hypothesise, knowing what we do about Santa's behaviour, that in an outbreak of Santa Flu we would see a lower than expected mortality rate.

Eastenders: miserable fucking soap watching makes everyone attempt to commit suicide by willing themselves to contract a mild case of the sniffles. (You won't be surprised to realise I lost faith in this theory before I even finished typing it).

So there we are then, it looks like Santa is the only credible theory for the spread of cold like viruses during the Christmas period. Looks like the old maxim was true never trust immortal, benevolent, man bearing gifts with a beard.

This year I bought one of my brothers the B3ta book of Sick Jokes for Christmas. Unfortunately this came with us down to my Nan’ house. Early in the day some subtle sniggers were had between me and my brothers over such gems as:

What were Rod Hull’s last words?

Emu grab that fucking gutter!

And

What do you call a black man flying a plane?

A pilot you racist.

It was liberarily thumbed throughout the day. Almost everyone picked it up and had a little chuckle, or accused me of being wrong, or both at some point, but it wasn’t until around 11.30 that my drunken uncle picked it up.

Like everyone else he read it, but instead of reading it to himself, or reading out a select few of the more suitable gags he pissed himself until he was almost crying and started spouting a stream of filth. At first pushing the boundaries went well, I wouldn’t have read this, but I wanted too:

What’s yellow and feeds of dead Beatles?

Yoko Ono

Then:

Why don’t black people dream?

The last one that had a dream got shot

Here things started to go a bit wrong and my mother started desperately trying to change the subject while clearly silently cursing the day I was born. (I don’t think everyone actually go the subtlety in that joke, which didn’t help). We went through almost the entire Stevie Wonder section which went OK, but when we got to the misogynistic ones the mood went a little sour.

We spirited the book away while my uncle was distracted with a bottle of Jack Daniels. We had a lucky escape, the book has sections on Aids vs. Cancer, dead babies and cruelty to animals. Believe me the ones he read out weren’t even the worst. But even if he had read those out I’m not sure if they could be much worse than being misogynistic at Christmas. My Mother's got five sisters and it is those six women that hold the family together. When it comes to family women rule.

P.S. I'd just like to say I also bought my bro a Mighty Boosh DVD as the book is only about 3 quid and I'm not stingy, honest.

Please take the time to complete my new survey in the side bar. Whoop, MGFGTG always bringing you new content, whoop!

This is just like democracy, the illusion of choice, but I choose the question and your choice of answears. Hmmm political.

Well the knickers went down very well as it turns out. They got passed around most of the department! No one really got why I'd put the name of the department head on, even I didn't get that (I think it was meant to be a non sequitur). It was just taken as part of the general jest. After all he was the man who bought a married man gay porn one year. My gift was some micro penis condoms, standard joke shop stuff; I don’t know where they’re getting their information from!

The party was the best one I’ve been too since I started working at the company. A few fun people have joined in the last year and as a veteran I know everyone. I’ve been with the company for almost three years now. There is a pattern in my life of three years being roughly the length of time it takes before I start to feel like I’m fitting in anywhere.

I can’t thank enough the beautiful blonde who plucked me out of a gaggle of colleagues at the bar and dragged me to the dance floor. (She was with another company; we were in a restaurant, a restaurant with a dance floor.) You made me look and feel great. Ego explosion!

Could it be my art that attracted you to me? This is what I created on my plate with a micro penis condom, a chipolata and piece of rare steak. The red thing is cracker toy and is meant to be a cock ring, but it looks like the penis is a bit too micro! (The chipolata features in numerous pictures of the night).

I put the other two micro condoms on my little fingers, which makes a brilliant ice breaker and can break up any awkward conversational moments very effectively.

I even got home OK, without falling asleep and ending up in Sidcup or anything, I rolled the whole way with a large G and T in my hand. Merry fucking Christmas, God bless us one and all.

P.S. did anyone see this article in this morning's Sun.

Clearly that is hardly readable, read it here.

Tracey wouldn't use teeth when eating bananas, she’d lick them, suck them and sometimes just swallow them whole.

Leave a caption, go on!

Mr Splashy Pants free to splash without fear, the world rejoices!

I’ve finished work for the holidays, the city breaths a sigh of relief!

Yesterday I discovered the Bucky O'Hare DVD I'd ordered would not arrive in time for the Christmas Party and that I'd need another Secret Santa present. I'm buying for one of our young attractive administrators, probably about 19 years old, maybe 20, so it occurred to me to buy her a thong and print on the front the text and the logo from the site that appears every time you try and access a restricted internet site. This is the message that appears below our company logo when you try to look at porn, or if you don't wank in the office Facebook.

Warning Message

Access to this site is not available. If you require access to this site for business reasons please submit a request to the IT Help Desk

Except I replaced IT Help Desk with the name of the head of the department. I delegated the task of making the it (got my mate to do it)as I was at a party last night and now it's done wrapped up with the rest.

The very first thing I thought when I woke up this morning, bleary eyed, was oh shit. Why the fuck, why, why do I always have to go one step to far. Right now I'm expecting it go down in flames. (Think Paul Danan at an abortion clinic - 'make some noise Mother Fuckers'). The thin veil of secrecy that the 'Secret' in Secret Santa has won't protect me, I got someone else to make it for fucks sake! I'm screwed I'm now the one who publicly suggested that the Head of the Department was bonking one of the administrators in a slightly pervy way!

The director in question is a good laugh and the suggestion that they are having an affair is so absurd that it should be funny, but you know what office gossips are like and all I need is one little machiavellian arse wipe to start shit stirring and I'm in Danan land Mother Fuckers.

I got today's question in the office football trivia challenge. A rare occurrence indeed. The question was Who scored a hat-trick against England for Holland in the 1988 European Championships, I think everyone knew, but I got in there first, Marco van Basten.

I remember it well (It was the 15th June 1988, the Internet told me). I was seven years old, I wasn't allowed to stay up to watch the match, so I recorded it. Someone told me the result at school, I think it was Graham Lindsey, when I got home I remember watching the game and I still thought England might win right up until we were 3-1 down.

I'm still infected with the same blind optimism every time England attempt to play in a major tournament and that's why I'm pleased England won't be playing in the Euro this summer. Optimism is a precious thing and England have proven my folly one too many times. I'd rather use my hope on more worthy causes (e.g. my love life).

So if you would like to be abducted into the cult (note how following her abduction/brainwashing the member/victim was quite subdued) use the following account number for all your money, you won't have to make a decision ever again, including the ones about who you have sex with.

A/C Number: 12345678
Sort Code: 12-34-77

I read allot of property leases, they are long, they are boring and they have very little, if any, punctuation. They are written not to be interesting, but so they can not be misinterpreted, so the meaning of the wording is immutable. Huge amounts of money are spent drawing these things up and people still end up in court arguing about 'the wording'.

The law is all about words and it is The Word that makes up the basis of all the monotheistic faiths in the world. The word is God's law and can be found in a number of journals: The Torah, The Bible and The koran are popular. The problem is God didn't have very good solicitors and there has been rather alot of dispute about the interpretation.

Thankfully for anyone wanting to live their lives by the example of Jesus Christ, John has done you a massive favour and slipped a sweeper clause into the Bible, right were all the best sweeper clauses live; the last verse of his Gospel's last chapter:

John 21:25*

And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written. Amen.

So you can imagine, Jesus managed a small vineyard, solved crime for a bit, had a Buddist phase, drew satirical cartoons for a newspaper, opened a manicures and pedicures salon, entered politics, became a sailor, was a cowboy, had a gay phase, did some voluntary work and was crucified. Amen.

*King James Edition

There are plenty of books in which a wealthy protagonist walks with beggars and realises that despite the gulf in status between them their shared humanity unites them and they can learn a great deal from one another. This inspires the hero to see the world and their own problems differently, to embrace life, to find that spiritual undercurrent that flows through us all.

Like this, but not like this, are my trips to the local Weatherspoons. Last weekend there was a wine festival. This meant that all
bottles of wine were the same price as the house wine, even the fancy smancy ones. 'So you drank wine with the less fortunate and experienced their lives bringing a new richer level of insight into your own.' No, I got really drunk and I experienced a range of new experiences:

First I lived like a Prince. I was Inspired by a story from one of our clients about a night out he had had with Prince William, my client had told me that when they arrived at the fancy West End club the Prince and his friends sat at their table in the VIP section and ordered countless bottles of Crystal champagne the most expensive thing at the bar. "You see for them money is no object" he said. That night I sat in the Waetherspoons and it occurred to me that here for a single man; earning average wages; with no kids to support; who lives in his mate's attic; in a Weatherspoons money is no object, so in a Weatherspoons that man is a Prince.

Using this logic I bought every bottle of their most expensive white, a Chablis darling, (well usually it's expensive that night it was the same price as the cheapest.) We cleared them out of Chablis and Châteaux Neuf De Pap. When I had got my wine and had coronated myself the Prince of Weatherspoons I began my decent from the lofty heights of a Prince to the lowly habits of the street urchin.

It was Monday morning eight thirty, at the bus stop, waiting to travel to work. My weekend is over what have I learned? Is it now that my epiphany will come? I didn't have it there though, because . . . I was shitfaced. I was still pissed at 8.30 on Monday morning. I had spent the previous night up until I, really have no idea when, shouting at my friend. Having a stupid pointless non sensical discussion/argument in very loud voices while we emptied the last bottle of cheap wine in my kitchen. The kind of voices used by the regular drunks in the Weatherspoons on a regular basis while they fall over bar stools and accuse each other of being the biggest pisshead. "I'm not going to bed until you stop feeling guilty about the death of your father" I slurred at about 30 decibels to my friend whose facial features were merrily swirling around her face, one eye, four eyes, no nose, two noses, hic.

So were the emotional problems resolved. Was a weekend in the gutter the very thing that we needed to learn how to reach out and hold on to that thing, it. No, I missed a days work and spent the whole day in bed feeling awful rapidly reducing my future earning prospects, but there is no need to worry because booze is clearly very cheap!

I currently can't gain access to this site from my home computer, this is a massive pain in the arse. This appears to be a problem with my internet service provider (ISP) because it also afflicts the other computers in my house (we have a shared wireless network). This does not effect any other websites and the site works fine on my work computer. Has anyone else had similar problems?

I've tried turning on and off my firewall and use internet explorer and Firefox, but nothing seems to get me access. The really strange thing is that it is only this site as far as I can see.

Update: fixed now!

I spotted this billboard outside Chancery Lane tube station yesterday. I thought to myself 'that has the distinct whiff of Mr Danan'. Well as it turns out, the TV Star is Alan Davies, the homeless man, well I think we can pretty safely assume, Paul Danan.

Don't feel like assuming, get some fact.

If God the Father the Son and the Holy Spirt are all the same thing, all equal parts of the trinity that is one God, does that mean the little Baby Jesus was the omnipotent creator of the universe, the prime mover?

What I’m getting at here is, omnipotent baby – what the fuck – babies are very demanding, imagine if you had an all powerful baby. This is the God that wiped out all the non aquatic creatures of the earth, bar Noah’s gang of inbreeds. As a baby he’d be liable to turn the whole planet into squished up banana.

Imagine going to all the trouble of creating the universe only to fuck up the whole thing by turning yourself into a baby. All I’m saying is that it’s a bit irresponsible don’t you think?

There’s a retard in the White House and our God’s liable to turn himself into a baby, what chance do we have.

I was just doing a bit of plumbing and I slipped and oops!

A while back I posted a link to a Greenpeace whale naming contest. Now if you haven't been to this site your missing out on the fact that one of the options, Mr Splashy Pants, is winning by a landslide. What did you expect, the internet is defined by videos of chimps smelling their own poo and falling off a log. So what? hooray for the internet, but wait there is a threat, someone is being all serious.

With trademark piousness several environmental blogs (here and here) are trying to avert the natural course of the whale naming ritual and have encouraged their readers to vote for some of the 'beautiful alternatives' such as Aiko, Shanti and Suzuki. This is frankly baffling, is a whale called Spirit Chaser, or some other bollocks, going to make waves in the mainstream press? To be honest I'm surprised that all Wales don't already have new age, ethnic, names.

I'm certain the mainstream news people are just waiting to pick up this story when the votes close on Friday and when Mr Splashy Pants has been imortalised in the 'and finally' section imagine the uproar should he end up as Japanese dog food. There is no need to worry though, the crusties have made a fatal error:

Even though there are 29 alternatives to Mr Splashy Pants and only one Mr Splashy Pants the blogs fail to show any kind of pragmatism and direct the efforts of their readers to a specific alternative (could this be a metaphor for the enviromental movement's lack of leadership) meaning they stand no chance of influencing the vote even if their readers agreed with them. And if the views of this commenter on Treehugger are anything to go by they don't:

You guys are fools! Mr Splash Pants will win on merit alone! All the other names are teh lamest! They're for people who want to sleep with whales, not save them!

Well said, Vote Here.

Update: Hooray for DA web, The Whale has been crowned Mr Splashy Pants and the Japanese have backed off. Coincidence, me thinks not.

I won today's caption competition on Cracked.com. This is especially good as I only entered it for the first time yesterday. I now have a 2 out of 3 record for caption contests. I won a bottle of champagne for my last win. Cracked.com didn’t even link to my blog, so I’ve nicked their picture (that’s if it is even theirs in the first place) and posted it, along with my winning witticism, grammar error corrected, here:

His patronus was far from ethereal but at least it wouldn’t blow anyone’s head off.

mjohnson

BOOM BOOM

STOP PRESS: it appears I did not win, but rather I was winning. There is a voting system and lots of people have since voted for

Run, O'Malley, run!!! All the forest in Alabama can't save you now!!! My father will be avenged!!!

It appears my grammar error has cost me dear! I have been outwitted, no idea what the fuck the O'Malley stuff is all about, but with a full 14 votes it must be fucking funny (it has pissed all over my 9 votes). Nine puts me on a par with "Police budget cuts lead to the development of trained attack chickens", which, I'm sorry, is pretty clucking awful.

But I now know that this is a daily contest and I shall eventually prevail; perhaps I’ll see you there. Link to Craption contest on Cracked.com.

The Queen - she does the speech and the casual racism.

Shane McGowan - the drunk one who doesn't pay attention to the rules of the board game, hilarious.

Tiny Tim - give a man a goose and he'll feed his family for a day, just make sure it’s Christmas day. 'God bless us one and all'.

The Three Wise Men - gold, wow you shouldn't have; frankincense great we need some new smellys for the toilet; myrrh, no I wasn't planning on embalming the dead any time soon, but . . .

The Cheeky Girls – you’ve got to lighten things up and the wise men bought gold, they’ll be expecting entertainment.

Jesus - wine anyone?

Monkey Butler - crack the nuts monkey, you gotta earn those bananas!

I am hungover, I want to put on these and play this on a loop.

The problem with those adult full body pyjamas is that the makers seem to think that a man of six foot two like me will have an accompanying waist of fifty two inches! It’s going to take a few more beers to make me that fat, but first I’m off to play the purrcast to our depressed cat, Tubs, she really is a grumpy moo. Lets hope it cheers her up.