Star Crossed

I'd like to put HMV in room 101 for having their foreign language section and adult film section together. I always feel as if people are thinking I'm a pervert and all I'm doing is seeing if The Commissar is available. Quite how ANYBODY could possibly think that you were a perv is quite beyond me H!! Having seen some clips from The Commissar on YouTube today, I'd like to put perverts like H into Room 101. Then jump right in after them

Je crois que vous avez raison! Merci! Continua com o bom trabalho, HCW!! I concur, hcw! As they say in Argentina, el hombre es dueño de su silencio, pero prisionero de sus palabras - words to live by, especially on a forum. Or, as german technopopsters Trio once sang, "Ich lieb' dich nicht, du liebst mich nicht. Da. Da. Da." etc.

I really really hope not. Not considering what I usually dream about. You know, Handrejka, there are certain websites you can visit to cater for those sort of tastes. I think you'll find a link or two in the "Bill Clinton's Cat Socks" thread

Oddly enough, 'arry, I too had a DL moment in my dreams last night (not the first one). I was talking to CarolAnn and her son about something. I can't remember what exactly, but I think it involved money, or numbers or something. I often recall dreams later in the day, so I'll update if it becomes clearer. Usually, my DL dreams involve me being on a train with Lord Fellatio Nelson; a train which seems to enter an unusally high number of tunnels. Often, the train carriage morphs into the missile-room of a submarine, which "floods its tubes" and launches a missile or two. Sometimes, just occasionally, I'm piloting a zeppelin, easing its way slowly but surely into a hangar... Croquet? Hmmm.... maybe that's what Fossett is doing, scouting a decent site for a long-distance-croquet-shot record attempt. Or maybe he's just dead, having died instantly on impact with a dried-up creek bed; his ghastly, putrid remains wrapped in the mangled wreckage of his stunt plane, sundry maggots eating what little flesh the vultures and coyotes didn't scavenge.

Welcome back from (insert rumour here), Hein! It seems like only last night that the possibility of your untimely demise was discussed in chat. Oh, hold on... yes, it was last night!

Cheers for posting that, DttG. An interesting debate. I feel, however, that Professor Kellehear and Dr Richard Nicholson may be over-complicating things a tad... That would be why we have doctors. The major difference, imho, would be that brain-dead people can never be woken up. I suggest the time-honoured "Wake up and pass the biscuits" test, as used by countless stoned students throughout the ages, to determine whether someone is actually dead or just dead to the world:- 1) Make everyone a cup of tea. 2) Place a packet of biscuits on a table next to the patient (Ariel Sharon, for example and to stay roughly on-topic). 3) Ask the patient to pass you the biscuits. "Ariel, could you pass me the biscuits, dude..." 4) Repeat stage 2, only slightly louder. "ARIEL. Get with the programme, man, pass me a biscuit please." 5) Repeat stage 2, more forcefully: "ARIEL! DUDE! WAKE UP and pass the biscuits, maaan..." 6) Throw something (probably a cigarette lighter) at the patient's forehead. 7) If there is still no response, and you have to get the biscuits yourself, Ariel is, I'm sorry to say, dead. Ok, fair enough, there's a 1/1000 chance of them being able to wake up and pass the biscuits, apparently, so... 8) Switch off any life support machines which happen to be attached to the patient. If the patient still appears to be breathing; 9) Repeat stages 5 and 6. If there is still no chance of the biscuits being passed, proceed to stage 10. 10) Harvest his organs. I would argue that the decision should be solely a medical one, to stop people needlessly keeping corpses alive for reasons which are purely social. There has never been a "serious national debate", Richard, because most of the nation are not trained medical practitioners. I suspect it would create real problems if everyone were allowed to keep dead relatives "alive" on "life-support" machines, just so they could go and visit them every so often. It conjurs up visions of huge warehouses full of brain-dead but "alive" people, sort of like a "living" cemetery, being visited by relatives and friends. If someone's spouse, for example, were to be declared brain dead, maybe the living partner, still finding their loved one attractive, could have the odd "conjugal visit" now and then; I would imagine, however, that this may be rather awkward for the other relatives in the ward. In conclusion, if x) There is no meaningful electrical activity in the brain, and y) They can't wake up and pass the f*****g biscuits, they're dead. Accept it. I had more to say on this subject, and was going to draw a flow chart to simplify the test process for you, but I have some work to do. Not much, but some.

You're a cheap date, 'arry. Good news for all those attending DLCon1!

Suharto receives a "Time"ly windfall... If only someone would falsely accuse me of embezzlement...

Aha! "The Sun says..." well, pretty much anything to sell a few more sheets of fish 'n' chip wrapping to the ill-educated, poorly-informed, lowest-common-denominator-matched masses, eh? So f*****g what if there's a DNA match? So what? I reckon, if the police scoured my house and garden long enough, they could still find DNA from the previous owners; it doesn't mean I offed them. I'm amazed, it being "9/11" and all, that Kate & Gerry haven't been implicated by this sh*t-poor excuse for a "news"paper in some heinous Al-Qaeda plot to overthrow the Israeli government, or some such twin-towering load of Rupert Murdoch-inspired bullshit.

BBC cnut guest beat me by a millisecond. thanks daveiain.

Unless he's playing (and playing well) some sort of perverse billionaire version of "Hide 'n' Seek", I think we can assume that Fossett is brown bread. Some bored chancer has decided to create a blog template specifically for the announcement of the death. I'm not sure how much mileage he'll get out of this blog; probably just one or two entries, with the occasional comment by a US president or someone...

How appropriate! Many Happy Returns, Mono. Did you get that AC/DC album you wanted?

David, I ... flew planes into several of few New York's most finest buildings ... The mind that organized it was this ... man who is responsible for the heartache of 9\11 ... he wants to hang out in ... U Tube ... if he is ever brought to justice ... Say what you like about Banshees, but any man who has the cohonas to fly in the face of public convention by using a back-slash instead of an oblique deserves at least some respect.

If the tranny is rocking, don't come knocking! If there are any Securicor-depot-type cash heists over the next few days or weeks in the UK or northern France, I think we have a clear suspect. Do the right thing and call Crimestoppers on +44 (0)800 555 111.

From that same idiotic-scouser-related article, a classic piece of schoolboy graffiti on the newspaper...

I had a few too many of Mr. Kipling's Brimley Apple Pies last night, mea culpa. I still contend, however, that there is a yawning chasm twixt the occasional drunken posting spree and the incessant, humourless, ditto-monkey postwhoring of which I am such an opponent. I just thought I'd post to let you all know that. Edit: Before anyone chips in with a joke about "spanking my ditto-monkey", I'd like to make that joke first. Thanks. I think I'm still drunk.

Hangovers.

Speakling as someone who's been ain a nfew alititude-related predicamtends, he;s f**ked. RIP Fossett. Shame it weasn;t his mate Branson...

HB LG! many happy returbd of the day to you! SC X Edit: make that tre revious 5, to delte, not thids one! Edit #2: Mortal Coil and Mortician, happy birthday too. ffs, speeling is improving. Edit #3 : *spelling

He;s fine. If he can handle a decnt reefer and some Stoli, os can I! Edit: on seond thoguhts, he';d s probsbly af fuked as i mam. RIP fiedel, see page 44.

f**k-all wrong with her that a decently-buil;t spoliff and a calm line of smack wouldn't cure. all back to mine, Amy>? Edit; there goes my 701 posting limit. blooody mary!

Pavarotti dead [sizxe]=1] I'm srunk. hjt made me dio ot[/size] [size[ f**k[ edit: ]f**k. i'm pissed. blody mayr[/size][ Edit: bloody mary. pissed. fidel's NOT dead! Wdity #2 : Mono sent me the link, that "bitch" (bloke)[/soiee] Edit 4: Off to Room 101 to deposit this hangover.

Pavarotti dead (link to follow)

Last night I watched the September edition of The Sky At Night, entitled "Black Holes & Black Magic" (which you can watch by following that link). Sir Patrick was looking in good health and good spirits, resplendent in his tuxedo (red bow tie, no less). He invited the Astronomer Royal for Scotland and amateur conjourer, Professor John Brown, to perform a few tricks whilst describing, with the help of Glasgow University astro-fox Fiona Speirits, the behaviour of gravity and space-time in and around black holes. Mega-boffin/protégé/sidekick Chris Lintott was on hand as usual, dressed like Sir Patrick's "mini-me", to help put the physics into context and generally laugh at everyone's jokes. I'd like to think that, after filming, 'Lucky' Lintott escorted the strawberry-blonde celtic boffinette back to his bijou pied-à-terre for a nightcap and a gander at his extending telescope... For me, the highlights of the show were when Prof. Brown's magic tricks made Sir Patrick chuckle; reminiscent of a mead-and-harlot-wearied medieval king being heartily entertained by his court jester. Brilliant viewing! For a cracking anecdote or two, visit Sir Patrick's "People I Have Met" page. Written in his own inimitable style, it's a good way to spend a few minutes whilst waiting for death (wrong thread, I know).

Far be it from me to engage in, or even give two flying f**ks about, salacious "celebrity" Gossip, but I saw Beth Ditto on telly last night, over-egging her considerable pudding at the Reading & Leeds Festival. I suspect, as does my better half, that Beth could well be on the road to cardiac ruin, screaming her way around the world's stages half-naked, sweating bullets and clearly high on a cocktail of those drugs that kids these days are wont to self-prescribe. She doesn't sweat much for a fat lass. Oh, yes she does.