I know these people. They're not average at all. Jon on the right is very interested in late 14th century metallurgy and owns a pet triantelope. Sheena (left) is a practising dervish and can name every world leader for the last three centuries who ever visited Zagreb.

And so Hollingworth bows out. They gave it six pages in the Herald. Six pages? Get over it, people, the man was a glorified usher.

This is much more interesting. Fried civets indeed. That'll teach Johnny Foreigner to munch on ferret-like cats. Perhaps in future they'll stick to healthy, civilised, Western fodder like cows fed with other cows. Wait a second, something seems to be growing out of my forehead.

My colleague again digs up matters of true importance:

How to Make Your Own Golem.

I never have purity of purpose so I'd better give this a swerve.

Ah, the Japanese. They take the time to stop and ask themselves the questions we stolid Anglosphericals won't, like: "Hey, why not take scores of pictures of dogs with a fish eye lens and put them on the web?"

There's cats there too. I want a dog that looks like this one in reality.



Found via Zellar: Open All Night (specifically here but the other stuff is interesting, too. Go ahead, expand your horizons, you close-minded pillock.)

Found this (this being OK/Cancel a series of artworks by Perry Hoberman) via Tiddly Pom. Now you've found it via us. Enjoy.

Click OK to agree to something you really don't understand.

I want that on my family crest.

Given there have been no contributions of any note from my fellow hellions (or, as I like to refer to them, "those tossers"), I guess I'll have to struggle on alone. Circuit_freak brings this to my attention: a weekly compendium of remarks overheard on the London Underground. The one for Mayday is particularly amusing (well, more amusing than the next week's, as I've only read two of them so far):

1. Picasso used to pay for meals by signing the napkins in restaurants.
2. I think perhaps I will die on the London Underground.
3. Oh, we've had a lovely time. Jamie's spent the morning kicking pigeons.
4. My apple turnover is dry and flaky.
5. I'm sick of men.
6. You are the only one who doesn't make fun of me.
7. I miss Saint Etienne.
8. Tomorrow I get my ears syringed...I know I won't sleep tonight.
9. Thursday is named after Thor, the Norse God of Thunder. I used to read the comic.
10. Beckham's moving to Milan. Trust me.

Ah, London, hive of the profound. I have no idea what that means.

Ok, so this is funny. But when this, this and this (below) are real, why bother with satire?



In fact why bother with humour of any kind? Why bother with anything - why not just choke on our own tongues? Sorry, what was my point again?

Incidentally, it seems that sweet little desert camo marine is no longer available for sale. They've got lots of other great crap though.

Those of you who enjoy the stupidity of others, particularly those of us who are aging rapidly, will be amused to hear that last night I took five minutes to work out whether someone's great uncle is the brother of their grandfather or the father of their uncle.