Tag Archives: childish humor

Smemtogis, so much more than a poem.

I’d like to begin this post by explaining; it wasn’t my idea, it was Ellen’s. In fact, Ellen made me do it. Yup. Not my fault; Ellen’s fault, and if you want to know who Ellen is, you’ll have to go to her blog, but I warn you; once you get there you may have trouble tearing yourself away. However, that’s another matter entirely. I’m not here to publicise Ellen’s blog, hilarious though it may be. No, I’m here to tell you that I’m not responsible for this post.

Great! I shouldn’t have added the link. Now all my readers have wandered off to read a better blog, and I’m left all alone, talking to myself like an idiot. They won’t be back. Once they’ve discovered that blog, they’ll forget all about me. Huh; I ask you, where’s the loyalty? Not that anyone’s here to answer my question; they’re all lapping up the words of somebody  else, which is what I’d rather be doing, instead of sitting around on my own, talking to myself.

It’s probably for the best – I don’t really want those two or three halfwits my host of magnificent friends who think I’m sensible and level headed – and not at all obsessive – to know I went back to that silly ‘I Write Like‘ site, to carry out further experiments.

So, gather around, everybody. If you want to read about my previous experiments, you can find them HERE, and THERE.

Not that there’s anybody left, they just couldn’t wait to run off and check out Ellen’s… wait a minute, there’s one… hi! HI!… I see you… tucked behind that chair at the back of beyond… poor thing… what’s that?… you want a wee?… Oh. You want to leave. . . . . .It’s OK, I won’t be offended… you can go and join the others… go on… I won’t mind… here you are, have the link >>>>>>to Ellen’s blog<<<<<<

…Yeah,  that’s fine… you go off and have fun… don’t mind me… waffling away to myself… ALL ON MY OWN…

…oh, no, I did it again. I should never have mentioned that other blog… should’ve known this would happen… next time I post a link to a blog, I’ll make sure it’s one of those niche blogs where the posts all show photos of blank sheets of foolscap paper, or describe different methods of cooking pebbles, …

As I was saying, someone else is to blame, for Making A Suggestion – it’s true it was only a Suggestion, but everyone knows that I’m a sucker for a challenge, and to be fair, I did my best to hold out.

The Suggestion: Try feeding the ‘I Write Like’ analyser something in a foreign language, or something written in gibberish.

I said I’d managed to give up my ‘I Write Like’ habit.

My tempter came back with, “Surely just one more won’t hurt.”

ice-1089622__340I’m not made of stone, and I’m no angel.

Perhaps you can imagine how it feels to be confronted with such wicked temptation. I attempted to write something witty and clever like, “Shan’t”, but as my fingers reached for the letters S and H, I heard the algorithmic sirens singing sweet music in my ears, calling me home to them, and as I touched those two keys, a shock ran through me, paralysing my whole body… and my teeth all fell out, and my hair stuffed itself down my throat and a big dog a huge lizard a giant dragon swallowed me whole and then I cut my way out of it’s stinky old stomach with a key that I sharpened with my teeth a toothpick that I didn’t need any more because I didn’t have any teeth, and then it breathed fire all over me and I went up in flames and I had to throw my last two 6 packs of extra strong lager over myself jump in the bath and then I decided I’d had enough of all that malarkey, and p’raps I should just go with the flow.

See? I can say anything I like, as there’s nobody here – you’re all reading some other blog… huh… just ‘cos she’s funnier than me… 

 I chose the nonsense option, and stuck it in the ‘I Write Like’ postbox.

The more sensitive of you will divine that if my gibberesque poem had a meaning – which it doesn’t – it would be an impassioned plea from a woman whose lover has forsaken her, in order to live out his dream of collecting discarded toenail clippings circa 1960. He takes up residence in a disused railway carriage which has been discarded beside a rubbish dump that’s been derelict since November 1969. However, he meets a professional sand sorter who had to take early retirement – since there was little call for his services in the UK (or any where else for that matter). The sand sorter believes him to be the reincarnation of his beloved dog, and starts feeding him lids from dog food cans – which he claims Rover enjoyed, though in fact it was the cause of his demise. I’ll leave you to figure out the rest for yourselves.

It’s a tragic tale – or it would be if it wasn’t gibberish. Even written as it is, it may move you to tears – except you’re all at some other blog, mopping tears of mirth from your laptop keyboards.

Here is the poem, with the ‘I Write Like’ analysis beneath it:

Smemtogis,
florpangal seg flostus
kringle-bingle sot plerostus
pantsa bost e thinto tost
Smemtogis, roastie baestie clost

sa smemtogis,
retsi drostal yentiodalistiation
retsi retsi binkle em deigh
sa, sa smemtogis

sa de sa de sa smemtogis
sa de sa
de sa
de
smemtogis

smemtogis draapsetit ste grender toenail clippings turg foret tes voeru de glgogogin ind weorister pusk ste banglseje dogwim dg thretmacil would return ud stanstastive sairdostle quirdsit est di e sedit grrr doset ste fo fo stankle diddo vinkstew not a bloody dog renlex ada bo bo skiddle help dodedo ouch that hurts

smemtogis
sa de sa smemtogis
retsi

smemtogis oh oh oh

I write like James Joyce

Astounding.

I ask myself, “Am I really going to post this on my pretty little blog?”

“Yes”, comes the reply.

The End

~~~

….Oh, so you didn’t all desert me… well, off you go – there’s nothing left to see…

…….

…All right, if you must know, I conducted one last, final, terminal, ultimate, climactic swansong of an experiment. I copied and pasted everything that was written on the analysers home page, and this is what I learnt:

The ‘I Write Like’ site writer writes like Cory Doctorow

Try saying that quickly.

With grateful (I think) thanks to Ellen, who can be found at Notes from the UK.

©Jane Paterson Basil

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How to get invited to tea with the Queen

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If you’ve done something very brave – Maybe you caught a spider in your friend’s house, and put it outside for them, or rang someone’s doorbell to warn them that their house was on fire – and the Queen gets to hear about it, she may invite you for tea.

Her Majesty also likes to have tea with people who are very clever. You may think that so many clever things have been done that there’s nothing left for you to do, but you would be wrong. Here’s a sample list of things you could do if you want to enjoy the pleasure of the Queen’s company:

  • Make nuclear arms ‘armless.
  • Invent a really nice chocolate which doesn’t make you feel sick when you eat lots of it.
  • Make de-forestation stop.
  • Bring back the Dodo and teach it how to survive this time round.
  • Complete the difficult puzzle that’s sitting on my shelf – although I’m not sure it hasn’t been done before, it seems doubtful, as it’s really Very Difficult.
  • Make Donald Trumpelstiltskin go away.
  • Invent a new kind of knickers that are nicer than all the other knickers that have been made – it’s a well documented fact that the Queen likes nice knickers. More information on this subject can be found if you click HERE.

The other kind of people she likes to invite round to her palace are people who are very kind. Maybe you could Achieve World Peace. That kind of thing usually gets Her Majesty’s attention.

Just for good measure, here’s a list of things which probably won’t get you an invitation from the queen, either because they’re Bad Things, or because they’ve already been done.

  • Remembering to brush your teeth at least twice EVERY day.
  • Inventing a flower that never blooms.
  • Winning a Miss World contest. You may think it’s clever, but it’s not. It’s Just Plain Silly.
  • Helping an old person across the road when they wanted to stay where they were.
  • Baking a perfect souffle.
  • Telling the man with a pair of tights over his face and a bulging sack over his shoulder (who’s just run out of the bank and looks as if he’s in a hurry) that you’ll give him a lift to wherever he needs to go.
  • Travelling around the world in a one metre boat made of matchsticks.
  • Winning an eating contest at your local burger bar.
  • Inventing the wheel/telephone/internet/banoffee pie
  • Breaking into the palace to prove it can be done. Nobody likes a cleverdick.

Getting an invitation from the Queen is Very Exciting, but also a little overwhelming. You may feel rather nervous at the prospect of having a conversation with Her Majesty, but remember she’s good at talking to common folk like us. She can talk down to us and we don’t even notice – we just think she’s Being Nice, so there’s no need to worry on that score.

If you are unlucky, the date and time of the Royal Tete-a-tete may clash with a dental appointment, in which case the correct etiquette is to ring the dental surgery, and ask for an alternative appointment. Bear in mind that although the dental appointment was made before the invite to the Palace, the Visit to the Queen takes priority – after all, Her Royal Highness is a Very Important Person Indeed. Sending her a text saying “soz ur r.h.ness cant make this wed how about fri.” is considered a Very Poor Show, and is likely to Scupper Your Chance of a Cup of Rosie Lee in Buck House.

Unfortunately,  when my invitation arrived it did indeed coincide with a dental appointment, and, unlike you, I had no-one to give me Practical  Advice. The Queen didn’t text me back. The dentist telling me that I didn’t need any fillings hardly compensated for missing out on a date with the Queen.

Being the first person to travel around the world in a one metre boat made of matchsticks had been a complete waste of time. Perhaps I’ll have a go at achieving world peace if I don’t get pipped at the post by someone else who wants to have tea with the Queen.

One last thing – If you recieve that Prestigious Invitation, dress formally, but do not try to upstage the Queen. Avoid pastel colours – it would be embarrassing if you wore a primrose yellow suit and walked in to find her in the same colour. Pay Particular Attention to your underwear, and particularly  your knickers. They should be attractive and Very Unusual – if the conversation flags, you can always revive it by showing them to her. I believe I mentioned that the Queen likes knickers.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Down the pan

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When surrounded by Chaos, a large Cardboard Box, if used in the correct manner, as described below, will generally Restore Order.

There are two methods of Order Restoration via a Cardboard Box. They are called Cardboard box Order Restoration Method (a) and Cardboard Box Order Restoration (b).* Don’t ask me why – they just are.

Cardboard box Order Restoration Method (a)

  1. Place every non-essential item you own in Cardboard Box.
  2. Take to charity shop.
  3. Go home to find Order Restored.

Cardboard Box Order Restoration Method (b)

  1. Take Cardboard Box and 1 set of clean underwear to remote woodland with freshwater stream running through it.
  2. Live in Cardboard Box. Keep spare underwear neatly folded in corner of Box.
  3. Forage for food.
  4. Regularly wash self and underwear in the stream.
  5. Climb trees. It’s fun and healthy.
  6. Make friends with the local cheesemakers. Offer them blackberries in exchange for cheese. Cheese is rich in protein and calcium, not that you care – you eat it because it’s delicious.
  7. If foraging doesn’t yield enough food for survival, ask the cheesemakers if they have any paid work available. Failing that, get a job in the local pub.
  8. Once you have a job you may choose to live somewhere that has room for you to stand up and walk around, with a roof that doesn’t fall apart at the first sign of rain.
  9. You may also require loads of cheap new clothes from Primark that you realise you don’t like as soon as you get them home.
  10. Buy an excess of kitchen equipment, furniture, ornaments, state-of-the-art electronic goods with lots of buttons and alarms and lights, and a rather unusual vintage item which is made of wood and painted with a coat of with flaking green paint. When you see it in the charity shop you will fall instantly in love with it, though you won’t know what it is. The vulunteer assistant will tell you she thinks it’s an excessively ornate hat stand, but you’ll have a feeling it’s an innefficient tool for removing mud from the underside of horse-drawn carriages, while your landlady may later claim her great aunt Maud had one, handed down from her father’s side, and she used it for milking the neighbours’ sheep at night, when nobody was looking.
  11. Have a good night out once in a while.
  12. Go on, put on those beer goggles. You know you want to.
  13. Spot a man you wouldn’t like if you were sober, in a nightclub you wouldn’t like if you were sober.
  14. Drag his attention away from a semi-naked pole-dancer by purchasing a triple Jack Daniels at the bar, wedging the glass between your breasts and inviting him to lap it up.
  15. As soon as you’ve reach the point where you can remember both his nickname (Pervy Pete, Dead-end Dan, Pongo…) and his surname, assume it must be true love, and invite him to move in with you. Don’t be put off by the fact that he never calls you by your name – it’s probably not that he can’t remember it, but everyone calls you Aisha and he likes to have his own special name for you. He calls you Boobs. Sooo sweet…
  16. Get a spare set of keys cut, and give them to him.
  17. Let him bring all his state-of-the-art electronic equipment, his three-wheeled atrocity of steel and rusty iron that he got from a charity shop (it could be some kind of prototype domestic robot, though it looks more like a commode with the recepticle fitted upside down and a blunt spike attached, or a  weird sadistic sex toy) his manacles, his whips, his – huh? Wait a minute.
  18. At this point it would be prudent to obtain a large cardboard box. This box can be used in one of two ways…

*It’s best to try Method (a) first, as Method (b) doesn’t work and is therefore more suited to those who are practicing for a chaos marathon. For more information about Method (b) click Here

©Jane Paterson Basil