Cats know best. If you have an itch, then scratch it.
If it starts to bleed, regret scratching it.
If you have dirty fingernails, probably best to not scratch it.
Generally though, itches are there to be scratched. Especially the non-physical itches.
Be wary of local laws and customs. Some itches must not be scratched. Feeling an urge to watch late night reality TV is not a scratch-worthy itch, nor is attending a Nolan Sisters revival concert.
Scratching other people’s itches can be exchanged against having your own itches scratched.1 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment hereMarch 19th, 2013drivel
Well known susok man and numbawan pikinini bilong Misis Kwin recently visited Papua New Guineau. The language there is fantastic, former “pidgin English” tickles the belly, which indeed might be bel hevi when travellers in magimiks bilong Yesus and/or smok balus visit these faraway isles.
Poor old numbawan pikinini was probably flat taia but not belhat when visiting, and didn’t bagarap nor require haus sik after listening to tunes on the liklik box you pull him he cry you push him he cry.
Bigfella iron walking stick him go bang along topsides may have been presented ceremoniously and the ladies had their pen bilong maus handy. Well I’ll scratch my gras bilong fes.
Please check following great linkage for comprehending and proper language reference so you can see I’m not an emti tin. Do read aloud, some of it is quite comprehensible if you think about it a bit. It’s English creole / dialect after all.0 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment hereNovember 6th, 2012drivel
Foreign chaps in suits, they can do unexpected things,
Foreign chaps in suits, they might even sing,
But Foreign chaps in suits, they like to surprise
Speaking flemish and English, in Belgium.
Were you expecting that? I wasn’t.1 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment hereSeptember 13th, 2012that is just brilliant
Somewhere off a dusty track in the rural backyard of the Stated United American land, Billy Bob waits for customers to his mercantile store.
For years, he wished he had ordered that neon sign to attract people from the nearby highway. Then his electricity went, and his hand-cranked dynamo got a bit difficult to turn what with his arthritis and all, so even his 40 watt bulb that shone several miles out on a good day wouldn’t do much but glimmer like a firefly.
Billy Bob still waits and hopes, and occasionally passing photographers click their shutters and shout a timid howdy. He wonders why his old 35mm film stock doesn’t interest them any more, it was the latest greatest Kodachrome shit when he got it in. Something about an information super-highway and digital (finger?) technology. He just sits back and listens to his old crystal set and wonders what a television might look like in his back room, if ever he could have afforded one and got a young lad to crank the dynamo real fast.0 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment hereAugust 30th, 2011drivel
This squirrel has perfected the art of lobotomy by Lambourghini. Look at his carefully prepared dash.
Now I don’t know about you, but the sheer guts to go for it as shown in the animal kingdom is an example to us all. What a turn of speed that little fella has. What a way to get your head truly sorted by a >100mph draft over the head.0 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment hereJuly 4th, 2011that is just brilliant
… without breaking some eggs.
Some eggs get ridiculously depressed about this, though it is their entire raison d’être. If they’ve made it as far as the kitchen they ain’t gonna hatch into chicks.
Too many people resist change, rather than fulfilling their real purpose in life. Go out and do something different, crack yourself into a hot frying pan. Go on.2 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment hereJune 21st, 2011drivel
A King’s a Ruler,
A Ruler’s a Foot,
And a foot stinks.
But not if you wear shiny new beacons with newly washed feet and keep very still in a temperature controlled environment.0 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment here
Every now and again, when you least expect it, you get shafted. You turn a corner and there it is, big and bold against the sky.
You can walk backwards, try to keep close to walls, wear your best clothes and keep your breath fresh and your oral hygiene impeccable. But you still end up shafted every now and then.
Techniques to avoid the predicament often lead to auto-shafting. You may become a hermit. You could accidentally-on-purpose throw away your watch as if that would help you lose all notion of time.
Best bet: be on your guard, be aware, and learn the tricks to avoid a good shafting.
May 17th, 2011that's gotta hurt
- Know your enemy
- Leave ample room when parking
- Learn your highway code
- Practice your times tables
- Learn a foreign language
- Eat plenty of fibre
- Frequently impose release of precious bodily fluids, to avoid them becoming polluted
Oh, to be a miserable old git.
Then you can wander around caressing your apathy without looking like you have no get up and go. You’re just disillusioned with life. You have to have the complaining banter to a tee though, but you’ve probably had years of practice.
A youngster cannot claim that asking good questions is better than finding answers. Undergraduate academia is all about answering, for a start. Or regurgitating other people’s questions, if you read philosophy.
Once you are old, venerable and miserable you can get away with it. Young and miserable can’t be done, unless you’re particularly gifted or adored already such as was the case with Jimmy Dean (looked kind of miserable) or Heath Ledger (kind of died in what seem to be miserable circumstances).
You can forget everything that was bad about the past and just cherry pick everything that was ostensibly better than today.
You can look wise when you are in fact still a fool; many an old fool is mistaken for a wise man. Just look at Obi Wan in part IV. (Hint: Yoda was the wise old one. Obi Wan fucked a lot of things up big time). Bonus points for being called Tom or Thomas or Tommy. Then you can get up to a right load of old Tomfoolery.
IN MY DAY THEY’D HAVE HAD A RIGHT HIDING. NOW GET OFF MY LAWN.1 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment hereApril 5th, 2011drivel
Oh yes. It’ll be my turn soon. You think you’ve seen it all? You ain’t seen nothing yet. When I go, it’ll be so mind-blowingly devastating, that you’ll regret having started this in the first place. When I go, it’ll be so glorious that ten dimensions won’t contain its majesty, words won’t do its wonder justice, even approximating its prodigious masterstroke will require a supercomputer bigger than the universe running for longer than time itself.
Of course, it’s not my turn yet. No. Not yet. Why is that? Because it’s your turn. Your pathetic, weaselly stinking pile of a turn. Your woeful attempt at some pitiful rotten shab of a turn. Your contemptible nanoscale waste of the word “turn”. Your wretched worthless insult to the rest of us.
Do you even understand how this works? Can you fathom even the basic rules? Do you comprehend? Is that why you struggle? Or is it just that you are overawed by what is to come. Petrified in the certainty of its bold magnificence. Maybe you can indeed grasp it, perceive a glint of what is to come when it’s my turn. My stunning turn. My shocking, glorious, bodacious tour-de-force.
When I get to go.
I’ll show you. Just you wait.2 of you lot has replied to this drivel - comment hereMarch 15th, 2011drivel