As Coldcut once said, "I've got a hot one for you. Can you take care of it?". One for the Bad Science geezer. There's a kids programme called Lazy Town that follows the faithful formula of good guys vs bad guy. In this case a black moustachioed villain who returns each week to execute some fiendish plan, only to be thwarted by the goodies or by himself getting unstuck by his own greed or laziness or some other such vice. Yes, teach dem kids a lesson; being bad just ain't no good.

Sporticus, the hero, is irrepressively jolly and full of beans due to his positive outlook on life, healthy eating and constant exercise (why walk anywhere when you can forward roll into an arab spring and star jump?) and in last weeks episode, was falsely accused of eating a massive three storey pink iced cake loaded with lollipops and candy canes - it was actually eaten by the villain. Sporticus's puppet friends managed to convince the retarded town Mayor that he, Sporticus, couldn't have eaten the cake because, drum roll, Sporticus loses all his energy when he eats sweet things......er, sorry?

Hmm, it seems as though, whilst the impressionable youth audience (3-8) were distracted with the candyfloss graphics, Steps-style dance routines, wacky puppet characters and comic villain, the programme producers managed to smuggle this subtle nugget of healthy living disinformation in through the back door. And that was just in the one episode that I caught. I wonder how many other clumsy attempts such as this are being delivered to the nation's youth in a misguided attempt to beat off the fat hands of obesity sweatily grabbing about their waistlines? When surely the better objective would be for them to be able eat sweets in moderation and then switch off the telly and go outside to play\exercise.

Following on from my last post, I have a solution to those blighted with over productive saliva glands; a blotting paper lollipop. "For when your mouth's just too wet"

And finally, seen in my local Thai restaurant was a very informative wall hanging describing the ethnic production of Chanthabun reed mats in Thailand. The hanging blew all my misconceptions regarding Chanthabun reeds, probably the same as yours, out of the water. They are not only used for making mats, no, they are also used for "kind such as handbag.......or placemat". So, just mats then really. The handbag I'm guessing is probably going to be mat shaped. And you roll it up, yes? Idiots.

But this really is 'And finally'; the funniest spam mail I've had to date. It's a fertility drug e-mail and here it is in it's entirety:

"There are flash of life when you are not fully positive in yourself. This can happened because of many many possible reasons work worry, body fatigue, bad mood or just a bad climate. And the poorest case is when you can not satiate the your sweetheart. This is when we come to help you and restore your sensual condition and your manhood confidence in our online shop

A uncomplicated covering will help your tiny john-doe because a real JOHNDOE making your colleague screech from a pleasure.

Easy to use with exact price (up to 30% discount comparing with similar crop). Shipped in subtle box with 1 day manner."

"Screech with pleasure"? Do they think I work in an Owl sanctuary?

Charlie Brooker has got me back into writing stuff. If you don't know who he is have a look here and then read some stuff here and here. Once you've been there I shouldn't have to point out that he's a funny man.

Just as Mr Brooker finds that he doesn't dislike TV, just bland TV, I have to say that, despite being a skinny wretch, I don't dislike food I just dislike dry food. Now I don't know what kind of slobbering troll you need to be to be able to eat something like a plain Danish sawdust crispbread or a bag of Snack-a-Jack Polystyrene Foam Bites, but I see people doing it all the time and I'm amazed. Roast dinners for example with no gravy, no bread sauce or cranberry jelly. Dry chicken breast abrading itself down your gullet anyone? I imagine these folk have something like a waterslide for an oesophagus; a constant flow of saliva down which the food rides into the splash pool of their gut. My work-pod neighbour Richy Billingsgate has just scoffed down an egg and bacon bap which, as well as having no butter or sauce in it at all, was covered with flour; basically dust. Why not wash it down with a mug of warm sand too?

False news. The current security practice in Iraq of separating traffic into queues containing cars of single male drivers and those with passengers to try and root out the car bombers is causing much local concern, and not just to those waiting in the 'single male driver' queue. Office staff are becoming increasingly more nervous when asked to car share by the loner, religious zealot types in the office that previously used to keep to themselves.

Car Bomber: "Morning"
Car Sharer: "Morning. Er, why do you have 6 sacks of nails and a barrel of methylated spirits in the car?"
Car Bomber: "Oh, I just have some DIY-ing to do today. Bwah-ha-ha"
Car Sharer: "Okaay. Actually, I think I'll take the bus today, thanks anyway"
(at bus stop)
Bus Driver: "Free ride today, put your money away, Allah will provide for us now"
ex-Car Sharer: "Great, thanks."
(bus pulling away; doors closing)
ex-Car Sharer: "Er, why do you have 6 sacks of nails and a barrel of methylated spirits on the bus?"

Meanwhile, back to nature: what is the white stuff in bird shit? Who shits white stuff? A yeti maybe, but not a blackbird living off berries, seeds and worms. If I ate berries, seeds and worms for a week, my poo would still be mud-brown plasticine. With bits of berries, seeds, worms in it.

It's ONLY a co-incidence! Last Thursday I stupidly left my bike outside my house and by Friday morning it had been stolen. Oh well I thought "it's the vie". On Friday evening after work I had to pop down to the Post Office to collect my Scorch package from the US and on the way back, whilst stuck in traffic, I saw a bloke riding my bike. Unbelievable. The traffic sped up enough for me to drive about 10 metres behind him until he turned off into an estate and I lost him. I went home VERY, VERY annoyed. I'd come to terms with losing the bike, but then to be shown the thief riding it away down the pub or wherever to have a laugh with his mates about what a duck and diver he is, made my blood vaporise into a red mist that then came down fully over my eyes. I brooded and stomped round the house for the evening, woke up in a sh*tty and went to Oxford with Sarah and Toby. We came back home and had to pop into town for "two secs" according to Sarah. About 10 minutes later, wondering where Sarah was, I looked in the rear view mirror to check Toby wasn't too hot asleep in the back, and the bloke rode past on my bike! I leapt out, locked the car and ran down the road, up the precinct and stopped him by grabbing the handlebars. "Alright mate, that's my bike". He looked like a right thug and went on to spin me some bull about getting out of the river just now (even though I saw him on it the day before) and explained that the moisture on the seat was river water, rather than sweat from his arse. Anyway, I got my bike back and he'd not only fixed and oiled the chain, but he'd changed the saddle for a padded one as well, so it was in better shape than before. Sweet. But does anyone want to work out the chances of me catching sight of him for that half a second in the rear-view mirror at that specific point in the day when we should have actually been at home had Sarah been on time? I reckon they're probably sky high. It's ONLY a co-incidence!

And I'm listening to Angels and Airwaves on constant loop. Track 6, The War, is the pinnacle of a killer CD for me. Chattanooga Choo Choo, over and out.

Has Rome slipped into the sea again? Oh no, that was Atlantis wasn't it? Rome burned.

I was a bit bored today and started poking around for things to amuse me. I found around 10 calls in our support call database logged by the same engineer who had accepted the Spell Checker correction of "cretin" for his mis-spelling of certain, which he was spelling "certin". The calls read like so:

"Can you confirm that this issue is being seen by just one cretin student?"

"Does the program only fail for cretin students?"

"Is the issue being seen across the school or just on cretin stations?"

Just like Papillion on Devil's Island, it's these low-level cockroaches of humour that sustain me in my grim prison.

I've bought a mountain board and I'm busy throwing myself down any hill I can find round these parts, which is unfortunately a bit limited at present. Have only managed to sustain mild nettle and thistle injuries at present, but I'm working on it.

And I have learned to re-love 80s music - Level 42, The Cult, a-ha, etc (that's not a band, it just means etcetera. Not Pete Cetera, he was in Chicago. Not the city, the band. Well he left actually and had that Karate Kid hit. I don't mean that he paid someone to hit Ralph Macchio. You wouldn't have to pay anyone, they'd probably do it for free. Although you can't say "for free" according to Sarah, you can only say "free". So when Free sang "All Right Now" at the Isle of Wight 1970 festival, as well as doing it free, the compere would have asked you to, "put your hands together Free". Which is daft and, I think, proves my point that the 80s were better than the 70s.

By the way, this guy is very funny.