Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road

The customary answer is: to get to the other side.
But I wonder if there’s more to the story than that. Was there something more sinister in the chicken’s journey from one side of the road to the other?
While it’s not beyond the realms of possibility for a chicken to cross the road, it’s not very likely, is it? How often do you even see one walking down the street? I will say, though, I did see one wandering around a Toy’s R Us car park once, and I found myself wondering if he’d lost his car.
Anyway, if you can suspend disbelief long enough to imagine a chicken walking down the street – maybe doing a bit of shopping, paying some bills, drawing money out of the bank – we can break this down.
So, there he is – our chicken. We’ll call him Dave for convenience.
So, Dave’s walking down the street. The dirty bastard’s looking up all the women’s skirts as they pass. He throws some shit at KFC’s windows before laying a wreath on the path outside. He once brought a marker pen to vandalise the picture of the Colonel, but then he realised he already had glasses, a beard and a moustache.
Okay, the scene’s set. It might not be great but I never said I was William Shakespeare, so bugger off.
Right, so Dave’s walking down the street. I like to imagine him striding along like John Travolta at the start of Saturday Night Fever with Stayin’ Alive playing in the background.
‘Well you can tell by the way I use my squawk…’
Now, for some reason, Dave now decides to cross the road. Why?
Actually, before we get to the why, maybe we should look at the how. Does he just dart across and hope for the best? Does he do the Green Cross Code and wait away from the kerb and away from parked cars until a sufficient gap appears in traffic then walks – not runs – across? Or does he go to a pelican crossing?
There’s the how…now for the why.
All the stuff I’ve been babbling about before is just nonsense; mere whimsy. Of course there’s no reason why a chicken should be walking down the street – they’re domesticated birds, bred for food. So, there’s no reason why they should be crossing the road either. That is…unless they’re up to something.
Think about it – what other reason can they have? They must be up to no good.
They can’t be going over there to do some shopping – we’ve already established that. They can’t be going to do some charity work. They can’t be helping an old lady cross the road.
So, why did the chicken cross the road…?

Think it through!!!

I just saw that advert where the voice-over bloke says, “If you give a man a fish, he can feed himself for a day. If you give him the means to catch his own fish, he can feed himself for a lifetime.”
What a load of bollocks!
Correct me if I’m wrong, but most of the world’s hunger problems come from a lack of water, and unless evolution has taken a quantum leap forward that’s just about the most important thing needed for fish to survive. I’ve never seen a famine appeal where they say the crops have failed because the fish are hogging all the water. Or one where they say, “This little girl has to walk 5 miles every day to get clean water…because the fucking fish keep shitting in the river next to her house.”
I can just imagine some bloke who’s just been given a fishing rod hurrying off to the river. He casts out and sits himself down on a rock as he waits for the fish to bite. His mouth waters as he imagines the magnificent banquet to come. He’ll make Cod a la Mornay, Trout with a fennel and butter dressing, maybe even fish and chips.
The fact that his fishing hook is lying on a cracked, sun-baked riverbed that hasn’t seen water in months doesn’t really register with him.
Five hours later, he’s still waiting for his first bite. His culinary ambitions have become more modest now. If he catches a fish now, he will just bite into the bastard as soon as it’s out of the water.
His mate, Tom comes along and says, ‘Hey, Steve – how’s it going?’
‘Crap,’ Steve replies. ‘Fucking fish aren’t biting.’
‘I know what you mean, mate. I was here all day yesterday and didn’t catch a friggin’ thing.’
‘You’ve done all right today though, mate,’ Steve says, noticing the large fish in Tom’s one hand and the fishing rod in the other. ‘Where did you catch that one? It’s a beauty.’
‘Oh, this?’ Tom says, holding up the fish. ‘Some charity bloke came up to me and asked if I wanted the fish, to feed me for a day, or the rod, to feed me for a lifetime. So, I just twatted him and took them both.’

It's the End of the World

This Sunday will see the final edition of the “News” of the World published. I’m a bit upset, because it means I’m going to have to start buying proper toilet paper now.
For 168 years, this gutter-rag has pumped out bullshit and “exposed” scandals in the interests of profits and circulation. How fitting that it has been forced to shut down because it has been involved in a scandal of its own worse than any it has dug up or made up for its own ends.
In its pursuit of the salacious and vulgar, it decided it was above the law and any idea of morals or common decency, and started hacking into people’s phones. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it has also been alleged that they hacked into the phones of Milly Dowler, Holly and Jessica from Soham, and the families of dead war heroes. I can’t think of anything more vile and disgusting. It kind of gives you the idea that they would have actually filmed the murders of those little girls if it meant selling a few more papers. I use papers in its broadest term, and you’ll notice I didn’t include the word “news”.
News International, Rupert Murdoch’s behemoth of a media company, owns the News of the World, and they have decided that finally this piece of gutter press has gone too far. So, they announced that they will shut it down. Far be it from me to suggest that this action was taken because they want to keep people sweet while they’re involved in the whole BSkyB takeover.
The “News” of the World liked to set itself up as some kind of moral conscience by tricking people into incriminating themselves, such as the time they sent someone pretending to be a Saudi sheik to entrap Sven Goran Eriksson. They particularly liked scandalising the England football team right before major tournaments. So, they would kick the shit out of the players and manager’s psyche and then start wailing when they lost. Oh, and they used to love to print paparazzi shots of celebrity nip-slips, or topless sunbathing, or any other form of invasion of privacy.
I personally will miss this rag as much as I miss that really painful spot I had on my arse last week. I think the world is a shitty enough place without some bunch of media bullies walking all over everyone in the pursuit of higher circulation.
So, the tabloid equivalent of an annoying nosey neighbour will finally print its last piece of shit. I would like to say – on behalf of all the people this rag has needlessly embarrassed or hurt – “News” of the World, you will not be missed. If there is a newspaper hell, your seat at Satan’s right hand will be waiting for you. Your only use now will be as a lining for a bird cage – kind of fitting when you consider all the shit you’ve thrown at other people.

Favourite Headline of the Year?

From the BBC website:
THREAT OF VIRGIN STRIKE LIFTED
Ah, what an image that conjures up!
What would happen if Virgins went on strike? By going on strike you’re refusing to fulfil your job. So, does that mean that if Virgins went on strike they would all be shagging like rabbits?
The only “service” they could withhold would be being a virgin. So, by withdrawing that then surely they would be doing the sticky belly.
How would it work, though? Would there be picket lines, with women dressed in white waving banners like “No more chastity!”, or “Bye to abstention, Hymen.”
Would they chant things like, “What do we want? A right-good seeing to! When do we want it? Now!”
Ah, but once that first bloke had “crossed the picket line” they wouldn’t be virgins anymore, so, technically, the strike would be over for them.
I think I need to give this one more thought; I’m starting to get a nose bleed.

What's the Point of Jordan?

I know this entry is counter-intuitive, but I want to know – what is the point of Jordan? Why does this talentless, brainless caricature of a woman keep getting press attention?
The Sun newspaper has got to be the worst. She’s in that rag almost every day, and so desperate were they yesterday to find a reason to put her in there that they actually covered her taking delivery of a car.
Well whoopee-fucking-do!!!!!!! Oh my God!! My life is so enriched by seeing a picture of that non-entity having a car delivered. What would I have done without that news yesterday? There’s war in the world, famine, disgraceful behaviour by the press, so many important events taking place all over the world, and The Sun chooses to show some stupid tart jumping for joy at the delivery of her new Porsche while millions in this country are struggling to make it from one week to the next.
Jordan (real name Katie Price, as The Sun likes to point out, as if anyone gives a shit) got famous for showing her tits on Page 3. Then she got more famous for having various boob jobs and plastic surgery and showing her ever-growing norks.
It seems someone told her that getting your kit off means you have absolutely limitless talent and can do anything. So, she decided to spread her wings, and show us all just how talented she wasn’t.
She’s done a sex-tape, written books, gone on a reality TV show and had an incredibly public marriage to a bloke named Peter Andre who once had a chart hit in the 90s and has the gall to call that a musical career. She even went into singing herself. Who can forget the famous recording of the duet she did with Peter before the auto tune got hold of it and tried to make a tune out of it? She must have melted that poor friggin’ machine. It didn’t stop her having another go though, and she recorded a solo single that, thankfully, flopped. The high-point of this was a disastrous “live” performance during which she utterly failed to lip-sync properly and treated people to the sight of two zeppelins tied to a lamp post trying to dance. She later tried to defend this car crash by saying it was really hard to dance and sing at the same time.
Yes, it is, love. It’s even harder when you can’t do either!
So, I’m sending out a message to the media: Please, for the love of God, stop giving that nob-end the publicity she’s so desperate for.