http://20six.co.uk/lemonsquash
powered by
20six.co.uk
|
|
stuff that isn't
Are you
...at a loss as to what to get your loved ones for Christmas ? Are you struggling to find that perfect present ? Don't be a flange! Let LemonSquash Diversions Inc provide you with gifts that are guaranteed to temporarily distract your family and friends from your other failings! This year's range includes : - Totopoly - become a property magnate down in Africa! If you can place a hotel on Kilimanjaro (which rises like Olympus over the Serengeti), then you'll be quids in!
- Bin-It Extreme 2 - another infuriating noisy piece of junk that you will be wrenching from your wretched offspring's hands within twenty minutes! *All parts guaranteed recycle-bin friendly!
- Frictionary - highlight other players' shortcomings and issues to advance along the board! Extra points can be gained by triggering angry swearing/walkouts/physical assault!
- i-Crabs - your very own virtual pubic infestation!
- Connect Two - Connect Four for the MTV generation!
- Scatz - JUST IN! - Muddy Makeover Jade, 'Salò' Dinnertime Yasmin, and Glass Coffee Table Sheridan.
- Hungry Hungry Children - neglect to make Christmas dinner!
- Fuckaroo - the game popularised Down Under! You'll have to be quick to stand a chance of dumping your entire load on this angry kanga!
- ...and lots more!
So don't just stand there, scratching your head and looking gormless - make this Christmas an LSD Inc Christmas!
|
|
|
Hello, and welcome to
...Relationship Blog. This week, I shall be making the following entries :
- a thousand words of capering prose, detailing how happy my ladyfriend and I are that we have each other;
- a sonnet describing the parts of my soul that ignite when I gaze into her eyes;
- an exhaustive list of potential children's names;
- digitised works I have recently painted, entitled 'Paradise Found', 'Fuzzy Love', 'Cherished Angel', and 'Fountaining Jubilance';
- links to mp3s of myself and my lady calling each other our respective pet names in baby voices;
- picking my much-beloved fellow-20Sixers' collective brains over where I should be buying a dazzling finger accessory.
All the while my adulating readership can bask in the putrescent glory radiated from my perfect and gratifying newfound kinship, and gather extra delight from the knowledge that it's only going to get better and better, merrier and mushier.
|
|
|
A young picture editor is
...woken up from sharpening an out-of-focus photograph of a group of elderly women gathering asymmetrically around a small cheque made out to The Stroke Club, and finds himself being questioned by the news editor. She huffs to his desk like a rusty old tank and asks him about the late Mrs Williams. The news editor's disquiet is catching. Her ankles bulge above her high-heels. It's not possible to tell her that - despite her sense of urgency concerning every aspect of her work - no-one's life depends on it. It seems she's prepared to challenge that theory by staking her own. Everyone in the office prays they won't be in on the day she dies at her desk. "Mrs Williams ?" he asks.
"Yes, Mrs Williams. Obit. Here's her picture, but I don't know who she is."
"Um... It rings a bell. I think it was a scan. I'll try and find out for you."
In the background, one of the subs asks the deputy editor what he had for dinner last night. She asks him this every day. There seems to be little else in his life to ask about. Just work. He had tuna sandwiches.
The picture editor finds the write-up of the obituary and prints it out. It is passed on to its author, a reporter who typed it up not one week before. He looks at it as if it's written in Cyrillic text. He has no recollection of Mrs Williams whatsoever.
The picture editor considers making a coffee, but is loathed to as he can see seven people whose turn it is to do so. At the same time the realisation that - though not in such an advanced state - he is no different from Mrs Williams insidiously takes a bite out of the marrow of his spirit. Outside the sun blazes, and life goes on.
I wake up.
I feel the clutch around me tighten, and a dulcifying voice sleepily asks "you ok ?"
"Er... I think so," I reply.
"You jumped."
"I was having a really weird dream."
"Don't worry... You're here now. Now go back to sleep. In a couple of hours you can make me breakfast."
"I'd love to," I mutter as I drift back off.
|
|
|
I have just come in from
...a surf on three-foot glassy waves, with my two girlfriends - Nooma and Scarlet Johansson. We choose to unwind on our private beach with some Mojitos.
'Busted' are in my employ, building a second luxury beach hut. Matt calls over :
"Sir, we've been working solidly for fourteen days. We're so, so hot. Charlie has just collapsed. I think he may be dead."
"Do you think I get the midgets to put the hose on you every so often just for my own amusement ? Now, break's over - back to work."
Yet in my mind I am elsewhere. I wonder if some Provincial Rag somewhere needs my image processing skills. As I throw a stone somewhere into the bullseye of my thousand-yard stare, I wonder if I should go to them. Then I shake my head.
"What's that you said, pumpkin ?" asks Nooma.
"I'm not sure I said anything, did I angel ?" I reply.
"I think you muttered 'pipe dreams'..."
"Sorry... I was miles away," I say; and pour her another cocktail.
|
|
|
The last time we did
...limericks, it was a roaring success. And as what was once a good idea is a good idea forever, it's clearly time to revisit. So I'll start us off, shall I ?
There once was a lady called Heather,
Who felt a bit under the weather;
She thought she could win
With medicinal gin -
But woke up with a pygmy called Trevor.
|
|
|
I can't get enough of
...being stuck in a town you desperately want to skip, because your lift's car's broken down. It's like sex. Only much better, as this happens to me far more often.
|
|
|
Write
...a limerick. About other 20sixers.
I'll start us off :
There was a young lady called Gamba
Who favoured ballet over samba;
Even though her instuctor
Claimed that he'd fucked her
With some jam and a massive black mamba.
Go filth.
|
|
|
My have some
...new friends. They are tiny insects that are impossible to spot, and they're biting me to ribbons. I love them. I want to keep them forever.
|
|
|
I live
...in Barbados, where I run a bar on the beach with my two wives - Cute Li'l Art Girl and Kirsten Dunst. Occasionally Hugh Hefner drops by to ask us to do some 'quality control' tests on his models. David Hasselhoff is in my employ, doing tasks. A sample dialogue :
"Go and sweep the beach, David."
"But sir... I'm never going to be able to get it completely clean."
"Look David - I don't pay you a dollar an hour for your fucking opinions... I pay it for you to get stuff done. Now hop to it."
Yet I grow weary of my lot.
|
|
|
I got
...millions of Valentine's Day cards this year. The Post Office called me and asked me if I didn't mind picking them up. They suggested I bring two trucks.
|
|
|
|
