Gods Rest Ye Jerry Mentalmen

Those of you that are on Facebook will no doubt, at one time, have been the victim of one of those chain message things.  You know the story… Where one of your 4 billion friends updates their status to be their favourite flavour of sandwiches, or tells you how the nearest object to their left hand is their only weapon for the entirety of the coming zombie apocalypse.

(My iPhone headphones, should you be at all interested)

Normally, I would run away from such shenanigans with such speed as would emasculate a ferret, but my friend, and fellow celebrity blogger Tattooed Mummy has ‘nominated’ me to answer some questions about myself, and since I once used one of her nipples for something for which it was not originally designed, I feel that I somehow ‘Owe her one’.

It’s all very festive.

(Hey girlie, if you’re reading this, We’re even now… Actually, come to think of it, you still owe me for that whole ‘thing’ with the 99p Store)

Here are the questions that she asked, and my answers.

1.       Favourite Festive Food.

Well, I’m a sucker for a goose-fatted Hasselback potato… What? You’ve don’t know what one of those is? It’s… It’s… Well, it’s sort of like a roast potato, but cut into the shape of a woodlouse.  It’s better than it sounds, here’s a picture.  Mmmm – Tasty. Moreso even with bacon.

2.       Favourite Reindeer.

Favourite… Reindeer…? Who has a favourite reindeer? – Maybe a Laplander? And then I’d have to looks at them pretty askance to see exactly why they’re the favourite one.  So, what are my choices?

Dasher – No, I don’t like animals that move too fast.

Dancer – No, I’m all Strictly come Cottaging’d  out.

Prancer – Seriously? Who even prances?

Vixen – Hmmm… Vixen’s a contender.

Comet – At Christmas? Electrical goods? Hardly.

Cupid – Little naked fat baby? My favourite? Not in this day and age thank you very much – Not to be confused with Cherubs, which is short for ‘cherubim’ which are described in the Bible thusly: “Each of them had four faces and four wings, with straight feet with a sole like the sole of a calf's foot, and "hands of a man" under their wings. Each had four faces: the face of a man, the face of a lion on the right side, the face of an ox on the left side, and the face of an eagle”

Donner – Thunder? No.

Blitzen – Lightning? See above

Rudolf – Added to the list over a hundred years later by the nice people at Montgomery Ward as an advertising character.  Now, I’m all for ceaseless consumerism… But at Christmas? That’s probably toevah or something.

So, I’m going with Vixen, Because the word reminds me of shiny PVC, which can’t be a bad thing.

3.       Favourite Day of Christmas.

The fifth, because who doesn’t like yelling ‘FiIIIiIiiiiIiiiIIIIIIiVe Go-OOoOOoOooOOooooLD RiIIIiiIIIIiiiiIiIngs!’ every thirty seconds at the top of their voices?

4.       Favourite Christmas Song.

Erm… I’m not aware that I’ve actually got one, but if I were to be pushed, I’d have to say the Bowie/Bing version of ‘Little Drummer Boy’ – I’m a softie, leave me alone… Although I still say it’d be better if he’d done it as ‘The Man who fell to Earth’ (You were expecting me to say that Pogues one weren’t you? Admit it)

Parup-pa-pumpum!

5.       Favourite Present.

Obviously, this is going to be from my dim and distant youth. So I’m going to say, from about 1979… ROM the Spaceknight – In fact, I got two of these, one each from my Dad and my Brother (Yes, the one that lives in the hollowed-out volcano in the Med) They were brilliant, like armoured robot Action-Men (GI-Joes) that had flashing lights and beeping and everything.  I remember swinging one around my head once and cracking myself in the temple with it… Good times

6.       Favourite Festive Film.

Scrooged, with Bill Murray – If you’ve ever seen it, you’ll know why… If you haven’t, the line ‘Well, I'm sure Charles Dickens would have wanted to see her nipples.’ Will tell you all you need to know.

(I’m sensing a theme today, is anyone else sensing a theme?)

7.       Favourite Festive Cracker Toy.

Easy, Bottle opener, I currently have on my keyring a bottle opener in the shape of a fish skeleton.  You’d be surprised how often people ask to borrow it.

8.       Favourite Cracker Joke. 

What do you get if you eat Christmas decorations?


Tinsilitis!

Last Christmas, my son used to tell this joke about every 7 nanoseconds, right up until the point where we bricked him up in the cellar.

9.       Favourite Christmas Decoration.

There’s a star that we have on top of the tree that’s sort of made of silver fretwork… Not sure where it originally came from.  But it’s hollow, you can put a few of the twinkly lights from the tree inside it.  When that gets turned on for the first time, it’s officially Christmas.

10.   Favourite Christmas Candle Scent.

Well, I just haven’t got one of these… Because I don’t know how to co-ordinate scatter cushions and I do not recognise ‘puce’ as a real colour, but my least-favourite is vanilla, the smell of it makes me boak in a projectile fashion.

11.   Favourite Christmas TV Advert. 

I don’t got one of these either, but last year’s John Lewis one was quite cleverly done.  Was there a bear and a donkey? Possibly a rabbit? Or am I thinking of a different DVD all together?

12.   Favourite Festive Tradition.

When the Dandies became their own family, we decided to start all new traditions… They’re pretty normal for the most part – Home-made mince-pies, shooting at the kids riding past on their new bikes with our bows, trying to get an arrow to stick in the spokes of their front wheels etc.  But my favourite is that the adults get to open one present each before they go to bed on Christmas Eve.  It can be addressed to anyone, but it becomes yours (which reminds me, does anyone like Hexbugs?)

13.   Favourite Place to Spend Christmas.

I suppose the stock answer should be ‘At home, with my loving family’ – So I’m going to say that… I’m certainly not going to say ‘Somewhere hot, on a beach, surrounded by morally corrupt ladies who are allergic to clothes.’

14.   Favourite Christmas Fact.

The German word for ‘Mistletoe’ – Mistelzweig, literally means ‘Crap on a twig’

15.   Favourite Snowman Accessory.

In our house, some sort of heavy shielding… (You thought I was joking about the bows and arrows, right?)

So, finally, happy Yule to you all, this probably won't be my last post of the year (although it might be - I'm the first person to admit that I've not been hugely prolific recently, You know, real-life and all that) but if I don't see you before next year let me leave you with this thought...

The price someone paid for your Christmas present corresponds directly to how much that person likes you.

This is why I never seem to get very much.

Your starter for ten...

I watched the end of University Challenge last night (Stop laughing at the back, I sometimes answer as many as half a dozen questions... Sometimes - And I say 'Oh, of course it was,' many times, after the question has been answered) and whilst I was not exactly 'upset' about forgetting it was on, I certainly wished that I'd Sky+'d it because it would have provided a pretty endless stream of material for the Blog.

For those of you of a foreign disposition, University Challenge is a quiz program that pits two teams of  four university students against each other in an action-packed trial by combat / Fight to the death.  Bizarrely, one team sits directly over the other, (Sort of Hollywood Squares style for our American readers) and this leads to a plethora of bodily fluid related shenanigans. Where the 'top' team tries to put off the 'bottom' team by trying to convince them that it's raining.

As you can see in the still from the final episode of the original 1987 series, the northern universities (In this case Scumbag College, from the University of Sunderland) were often given the top row to handicap their southern opponents and obvious intellectual masters, (In this case, Footlights College, from Cambridge University) a nod to political correctness, empowerment and the provision of effective affordable education for all.  You'll notice however that there are no racial minorities represented, as this was the BBC and racial minorities were only allowed in comedy programming at the time.

Anywho, back to the episode in question. if I remember correctly, last night's show was between two Cambridge Colleges, I forget which ones, and it really doesn't matter if I'm being honest.  But there was this one chap, sat in the top-left hand corner, all alone and unloved, like the last brace of over-hung partridge in a recently repossessed butcher's shop during the Easter Holidays.  He had everything going for him that a modern male university student could wish for.  His head was, as Mike Myers once opined, 'Like an orange on a toothpick', his ears could, completely unaided, pick up Danish pornography from a badly positioned satellite floating over the opposite hemisphere of the planet and you could tell that, every time the announcer said his name, expecting him to answer a question, he copiously soiled himself.  He was that over-educated that when he purposely mis-pronounced things with such faltering confidence, It made me question whether I had been saying these things wrong for all these years.

And I remember thinking, 'That boy has never, and probably will never see, never mind put his over-sucked thumb on, a real, live naked member of his chosen distaff sex... Not without a truly staggering sum of money changing hands first at least.

So I got to thinking, because I'm notorious for thinking about things that other people, quite rightly, choose not to. 'I wonder what he does to release his tension? How does he let loose his undergraduate tadpoles? What possible thing could he think about whilst polishing his barking trombone?'

Obviously, as one does, my mind turned to paraphilia. which, as you probably know, is the word for getting aroused by things that are... How should I put it?... atypical, unusual, and downright odd - (But who am I to judge, right? To this day I'm not allowed to buy toilet brushes without being accompanied by a responsible adult) It seems that this is such a common condition, that there are different names for the different ways that these people like to get their freak on, as Missy Elliot might say.  They include, but are not limited to:

Agalmatophilia - Having an attraction to things like statues and shop mannequins, sufferers of this tend to steer clear of sculpture gardens during busy periods and cannot walk past John Lewis' at Christmas without their eyes rolling back into their heads.

Autagonistophilia - To derive carnal pleasure by appearing on stage or camera, often called 'Chronic Ant & Dec Syndrome'

Autoandrophilia - A heterosexual person of the female gender enjoying her special alone time by imagining that she is male.  So presumably claiming that the referee is blind, urinating all over the toilet floor, breaking wind from both ends simultaneously and giving herself a round of applause after the event is successfully concluded.

Autogynephilia - The polar opposite of the above, which often consists of a lorry driver called Brian from Wigan, holding a delicate glass of Chardonnay in one hand, desperately trying not to spill it on the new carpet whilst he reads the good bits of a Jilly Cooper novel and has a good, hard, think about some firemen.  Then cutting it depressingly short when he realises that he has to pick the kids up from school in ten minutes.

Autoplushophilia - Imagining ones-self as an animal, or a plush, or stuffed toy.  It seems that we finally know what the Fox says... In this case, 'Yes... Yes... Oh God... Yes... Oh, I'm so sorry, that's never happened before.'

Frotteurism - To rub yourself against a stranger... So, pretty much every tube journey I have ever taken, ever. And the reason I am on first name terms with a number of members of the British Transport Police.

Macrophilia - Having thoughts about inappropriate relationships with Giants.  Which is the main cause of men in gaberdine overcoats getting thrown out of the Fairy Tales section of bookshops, it renders any imprint of the famous British Folktale 'Jack and the Beanstalk' virtually unreadable, especially if it's printed on those thick cardboard pages... Very absorbent, thick cardboard pages are you know.

Mechanophilia - Now this is the one that tends to make its way into the gutter press with some regularity.  Popularised by a Roger Taylor track on the 1975 Queen album 'A Night at the Opera.' It's about people who are in physical love with their cars.  Well, honestly, who can blame them, a warm, welcoming exhaust pipe and all that - Who amongst us can say that they've never been tempted by that? Not at all helped by the 2003 Renault Megan advert.

Oculolinctus - Pleasuring yourself whilst thinking about, or actually, licking someone's eyeballs... And that's quite enough about that thank you very much.

Toxophilia - Arousal from, or during, the act of archery.  Well, presumably it gives you something to lean your arrows against, should you be of the male gender.

And finally (Yes, I know it's strictly out of alphabetical order, but I wanted to finish on this one, so ner!)

Pogonophilia - The completely reasonable sexual attraction towards men with beards Every woman has this, some of them just don't know it yet...


Stay classy my Chimping Dandyites,  remember, if you are touched by any of the issues raised in this Blog, please feel free to contact me at the normal address, especially if you have photographic or video evidence

(Unless it's about Oculolinctus... Then, Just... No...)

What? All of my clothes?

Professional strippers feature fairly heavily in the backstory of The Chimping Dandy, I mean... The still burgeoning time-bending powers of my super-villain alter-ego were initially  forced into being in a strip-club in Birmingham.  I was even one myself once, briefly...

But in general, there are two kinds of people where strippers are concerned, those who REALLY like them, usually people who drink cheap lager and wear three-seasons old football shirts, and people who can take them or leave them.  Me? Believe it or not, I'm firmly in the second camp - I mean, I like naked ladies as much as the next big, hairy, chock full o' testosterone, bloke - But I can't see the point if you're not allowed to... erm... You know... How should I put it?.. Have a go on them (OK, some some ladies who class themselves as strippers will let you 'have a go' for a medium to large financial consideration, or so I've heard, but they are the exception rather than the rule.)

I know that sounds mercilessly objectifying and terribly misogynistic, but while those ladies are happy to portray themselves as commodities for (as I understand it) large sums of money, as exotic dancers, I'm happy to watch them without knowing their personal motivation and / or lifestory.

Right, before this turns into a discussion of the human trafficking of sex workers from Eastern Europe, let's drag it back on track... Strippers are nice people with attractive bodies who make money by showing them to people.

I knew this guy, many, many, years ago, who had his own business and would often entertain clients in pole-dancing clubs (For those who are unaware of the difference, the young ladies in the pole-dancing clubs tend to keep their underpants on - There are all sorts of health and safety issues otherwise - I'm not going to explain this, you should be able to work it out for yourself. Especially if you have prior experience of ladies front-bottoms) - He used these places so regularly that he became 'known' to the girls and they would say hello and give him a peck on the cheek if they saw him in the street.  This was only fair as he was probably single handedly putting all of their children through private school (Yes Katie Hopkins, Ex-Apprentice Harridan and Wholesale Bigot, a fair proportion of strippers send their children to private school because they make more money than you and I put together).

Anywho, he took me a couple of times, there was free beer and naked ladies, as you'd expect and whilst I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the lewd and lascivious behaviour of some of the professional ladies there, it was far more entertaining when they weren't 'performing' and would just sit down next to you and chat... It took a little while to get over the novely of talking to a pretty lady wearing just a sparkly thong about how they used to get bullied at school for having one ear slightly higher than the other - And I also admit that I sometimes had to work fairly hard to maintain eye contact, but I'm a bloke and to an extent, we're hard wired to be attracted to stuff like that, sorry ladies - But it's true - Ongoing continuation of the species and all that.

Then I told another friend of mine about this chap and he said

'I've never been to one of those places you know.'

Now, I was genuinely shocked, I'd assumed that it was sort of a right of passage for young men, everyone had done it, like kissing a girl then running away when you're eight years old, or tipping a cow over when it's asleep or thinking you look cool and then only realising some years later when you look at photos that you in fact looked like a complete cock.

So we went to a local strip-club that provided both kinds of entertainment.  There was a pole in the middle of the dance-floor where a rota of young ladies performed every fifteen minutes or so and there was also a... not sure what the correct group noun is... A flirtation perhaps? of honest to goodness, will take it all off in three minutes or less and position themselves two inches from your nose, strippers.

I believe our American cousins use a phrase 'Like a kid in a candy store' that aptly describes my friend's first reaction as he stepped through the door.  His eyes were like dinner-plates, as the popular simile goes, as he realised that even fully clothed strippers didn't wear a huge number of garments.  We had a pint, and sat, and watched a couple of poledancers whilst he tried to get a hold of himself (No... Stop making your own jokes up please, I'll do the humour thank you very much).  All was well until an attractive, naturally pneumatic, auburn haired lady approaced my friend (We'll call him Albert, but that was not his name) and spake thusly:

Lady: Would you like a dance?

Albert: Erm? [Looks at me in panic]

Dandy: [I shrug] Do you? She seems very nice.

Lady: Come and have a dance, it'll make you feel better, help you relax.

Albert: I... uh...

Dandy: It's his first time

Lady: Really? - Oh! - Well in that case I'll take special care of you. [She holds his hand]

Albert: [In a daze, stands up] Well, I'll have a go, but I'm not a very good dancer.

Now the young lady in question, because she was a consummate professional, just smiled and led him into the 'private' area - I however dissolved into that type of raucous laughter normally reserved for Hyenas drawn by Disney animators.  In fact, I think I may have even given myself hiccups.

They emerged five or so minutes later, her with a broad grin, him with a dazed expression and an air of unfulfilled tumescence.  They sat and chatted for about three quarters of an hour - It seems that they'd gone to the same school as each other (her starting some years after he'd left, obviously, otherwise it would have been weird)

Small world innit?

-oOo-

THERE FOLLOWS A DANDY SAFETY NOTICE ON BEHALF OF THE 'KEEPING HOLD OF YOUR GENTLEMAN PLUMS' PARTY.

If you should ever feel the need to ask your wife if you are allowed to go to a strip / pole dancing club - Do not bother, her answer will be no... Even if she says 'Yes', she means 'No', it is a trap of Admiral Ackbar proportions.

-oOo-

Some while ago, whilst the current Mrs Dandy was still the prospective Mrs Dandy, we had arranged to go and see (IIRC) a Bon Jovi tribute band called Blaze of Glory at a medium sized venue in her home-town.  We went seperately as I was still an unknown quantity to her dear Father and wasn't allowed to just pull up at her house on a large motorcycle and whisk her away to parts unknown. (He loves me now of course, I'm like the free IT support guy that he never had)

So, we met there, in the club.  She had arrived early with her mates, and I had rode there.  I parked the trike right outside, OK'd it in a doorman to doorman stylee with the frankly gigantic Afro-Caribbean bouncer who was really rocking the Crombie coat / Dreadlocks combo and went inside.  It was heaving, there were wall to wall people and it was virtually impossible to find my 'date' - So I thought the best thing to do was get a beer, and circle the room like a leather clad vulture until one of us spotted the other.

Yeah, the leather, maybe we should take a second there to explain... I was wearing a black leather bike jacket and leather jeans, combat boots, a tight, white cotton t-shirt and wrap-around shades - I was also a few stone lighter than I am now, my chest was bigger than my waist, and could still, just about, pick up a 3500 V8 Rover engine on my own (Yes, I've let myself go, yes, I'm suitably ashamed)

It only took five minutes for someone to grab my backside and shout, over the noise of the DJ,

'You're Late! where have you been?'

I turned, and looked down.  It wasn't who I'd expected, it was someone's Mother, I'm not sure whose, but she was certainly someone's.  I looked confused and took a sip of my beer.

'We're over here.'

She grabbed me by the wrist and started to drag me across the room, shoulder barging people out of the way like a miniature Norwegian Ice-Breaker, until we got to the bar - I'd assumed that she was one of my soon-to-be-wife's work friends.

'Have you got your music?'

'I'm sorry? I don't know what you mean...'

'Your music? a CD? that you dance to?'

'Dance? I.. erm?'

Now, the next two things happened almost simultaneously, My now-wife had seen me being dragged away and had followed, she was now standing directly behind me, and the other woman asked...

'You are the stripper, aren't you?'

It seems that replying 'That depends on whether you've already paid or not.' was not the reply that the Mrs Dandy in waiting was expecting... And resulted in the first of many 'Paddington' style hard stares.

We made our excuses and left.

-oOo-

So fair readers, I hope that our swift foray into the world of paid clothes taker-offerers has expanded your horizons a little, and always remember...

You CAN keep your hat on.

And, having writ, moved on...

Yadda - Yadda - Yadda... Authoring, Yadda - Yadda - Yadda... Empowerment, Yadda -Yadda - Yadda... Worthiness, Yadda - Yadda - Yadda... I'd like to thank the Academy... Boring Boring, Boring...

You get it by now, I'm sure - I bang on about it all the time, I consider myself a writer, not just because I am completely up myself, but because I write stuff.  Since November 2012 I've written this, my semi-daily funny / ranty Blog - Which attracts on average maybe 50 hits per day.  Not brilliant, but I don't think it's bad for one that doesn't have any particular theme, doesn't get asked to endorse anything and doesn't have (very many) naked pictures of the author and his friends (For which you should all be truly grateful, trust me... OK, I looked pretty hot in the Beard Blog, but other than that, you'd want your eyes bleaching afterwards.)

I'd just like to take a moment to apologise to some people who've found me accidentally via Google, especially those people who were trying to find the popular, and incredibly naked Cam-Girl 'Dandy' - on a website whose address involves the word/s 'Ishotmyself' and got a story about Me, The Dandy, shooting myself one day by accident.  And the many, many gentlemen (I presume) who were searching for the same lady, but were concentrating on her mammary protuberances, and accidentally loaded a page about my love of shopping at ASDA / WalMart.

If you follow my Twitter or Facebook, (And if you don't... I'd be genuinely interested to know how you got here - Unless You're Russian of course, then you'd have probably searched for 'The Internet Saying', 'I sit here on the verge' or 'The Doors Lock' - Leave a comment, we're all friends here, I'd really like to know.) then you'll have heard that since May 2013 I've been trying to write Britain's next, greatest, youngish brother / sister / male / female protagonists, aspirational, Airship Pirate novel of the 21st. Century - It's going pretty well, 40,000 words (as of 10/7/13 - That's 10th July, not 7th October for the unusualy colonial types).  It's had some good WiP reviews, it's been mercilessly torn to pieces by proofers and it's been re-written more times than a Conservative Party list of Election Promises.  I'm sure you'll all buy a copy if I ever manage to have a meaningful relationship with an agent / editor / publisher.  I might even sign it for you if you send me gifts of cake, or compromising pictures of yourself that I can use to blackmail you in the future, should you ever become even slightly famous.

Then there's my published work, perhaps the most currently meaningful part of my portfolio as far as serious writing is concerned.  At around the same time I started this Blog, I also started submitting Flash Fiction stories to the august institution that is The James Josiah Flash Project (This was the first one I ever had published)- You should all be visiting this site regularly.  Short stories that you can quite easily read which performing many kinds of bodily function. JJ has published a couple of anthologies too (Of which I am perpetually honoured to have a couple of my stories feature in each), which you can download for your Kindle - Go to Amazon, do a search for 'James Josiah' and you'll find both of them. Then buy them, because they're only 77p each - In fact, buy all three of his books - Right now! - 'Stories I Shouldn't Tell' will make you cry, and if it doesn't I'll happily kick you in the shins, repeatedly. (Oh, and should you REALLY be interested, I'm credited as the Illustrator for volume 2 of the Flash Fiction Anthology under my real name... Bit of insider knowledge for you there. *wink*)

We're even going on a kind of Project Outing on Saturday, Well, some of us are attending the 2nd (Hopefully) Annual Edge Lit Festival in Derby.  It's an opportunity for authors and lovers of SF, Fantasy & Horror to get together and have a bit of a mingle.  There are writing workshops, guest speakers, book sellers and competitions, you should definitely go... I mean, we'll be there and everything.  OK, it's £25 a ticket, but you could learn something - And you get to hang out with creative people (And probably some geeks, and maybe some fully grown people who still live with their parents  - But who are we to judge?) - I intend to enjoy it immensely, and take pictures (if such shenanigans are allowed) and bore you with them next week

So be warned.

-oOo-

So, as the Top Ten of most popular Posts has taken a bit of a beating recently, I thought I'd provide an updated countdown.  Remember, these are voted for by you, you only have yourselves to blame.


10: An eye for an eye - Tales of Horror, inflicted by my Mother (When she was still alive) on a small child, using her own false eye.

9: Second contact closing fast, bearing 076 - A story about the time when, working as a glorified delivery driver, I caused a lorry driver to spontaneously combust and a motorway to be closed.

8: A discussion of pornography, do not read - A treatise on sexism, erotica and the popularity of soft-core pornography.

7: Then I posed, and he took my picture - About the time I may have had accidentally posed for a photospread published in a German Gay porn / Fetish magazine.

6: I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle - A guide to the etiquette of fancy-dress parties and how to teach children to field-strip a .50AE Desert Eagle.

5: Barnaby Wilde (Pt. 1) - The first installment of my three-wheeled motorcycle memories.

4: Boobs, Melons and Jumper-Lumps - It's not what you think... It's about My enduring love of shopping at ASDA / WalMart.

3: One more rusty nail - A serious one, (Apart from the farcical bit in the middle) about how many people confuse the word 'Muslim', 'Terrorist' and 'Psychopathic Madman'.

2: Thermodynamics, it's the law! - This little beauty had been at number 1, since it was written, back in January 2013 - This story involves my Father, a cryogenically frozen bird and the trapped, screaming spirit of a mentally compromised secretary.

1: Pogonophilia is for everyone, even the young - The new number one, only a few days after it's publication, it had received three times as many hits as the last number one had ever had in it's sad little life.  Pimped by semi-professional Bloggers, promoted internationally by the real live famous and hooptiously wonderful comedians Rufus Hound and Al Murray - My diatribe on all things bearded and how you are more likely to be considered manly by a modern female if you can grow a luxuriant facefull of fluffy fly-catcher.

Have a read with a chocolate digestive, see what you think, let me know, ask me questions, pop in and say hello on Saturday, I'll be the one in the green kilt (If it doesn't need ironing)

Just to prove that I do actually, write a Blog

OK, some of you will know that I'm currently in the process of writing a book.

It's an extension of the Edward Teach stories that I occasionally regale you with - But don't let that put you off.

I've found that it's a scary old thing, writing a book... Along with the standard 'Can I actually write a book?' and 'Will I get bored and give up and hate myself until I drink myself to death in an old bathtub on that bit of waste ground down by the gasworks?' questions that you constantly beat yourself up with, you release a second level of torture on yourself, and that goes 'But what if I can't get an agent?' and 'What if I get an agent, but no-one likes it?'

You can literally (See what I did there?) worry yourself into a premature Bisto.  It's best to just shout 'Buggrit' and let the literature flow when it will (Now do you get what I did?).

It might be rubbish, it might be twaddle, it might be the sort of high-camp space opera that would have EE 'Doc' Smith running for the air-raid shelter with a cuttlefish in both ears - But I still think we should all have a go, including myself.

So, in my constant endeavours to improve the quality of service I give to you people (my adoring readership) I decided to join a real Writers Group.

Now, before we go any further, I'd just like to assure any members of the Group that may happen to be reading this, I am not going to make the group itself, or the members that I have so far met, the subject of a full Blog post... I don't 'Do' current affairs - I'm going to wait until I can give a more in-depth view once I've been to a few more meetings.

So, why did I mention it if I wasn't going to Blog about it?

Good question... Good, good, question.  As part of my introduction to the group I said,

'Hello, I'm the Dandy and I write a daily humour Blog'

And then realised that I hadn't written a Blog today, and that struck me as rude.  So, as I'm a bit strapped for ideas (Don't judge me I've written some Flash Fiction today AND I'm going to be chunking away at the book in a sec), I thought I'd fling together a quick Top 10 Most popular Blog posts ever, as voted for by you guys, list.

Enjoy!

-oOo-

Dropping three places, at Number 10 is - Waiting for God-Oh! - A fictitious treatment of a drunken, Kebab-shop conversation between two Gods about the initial construction of the Duck Billed Platypus - Caution, one of your number actually tweeted The Pope about this post (No, really, someone did... They asked for my immediate excommunication).

Straight in at Number 9 is - This is why I'm smiling, how about you? - This is quite an earnest post about making small changes in your life that have large consequences, your own, personal Butterfly Effect. (Not that bloody awful Ashton Kutcher thing - The Edward Lorenz thing)

Another new entry at Number 8 is a DogBlog - It was like the Somme, only with more protein - Four (IIRC) stories of how one of my lovable pets managed to sequester food from various sources, without the prior knowledge of it's previous owners, and all the hilarity that ensues.

Our previous Number 6, drops a place to Number 7 - An eye for an eye - Describes, in haunting detail about how my Mother (Before she died) tried to turn me into a gibbering wreck via the medium of the false eye... It is a wonder that I'm so well adjusted.

The Current Number 6 (or, more correctly, Equal Number 5) - Second contact closing fast, bearing 076 - Is a story of inclement weather, explosively defecating truck drivers, and the possible closure of the M40

Our other Equal Number 5 - A discussion of pornography, do not read - Is just that, a diatribe that explores the difference between erotica, pornography, page 3 girls, firemen and dusty old harridans.

The highest new entry, straight in at Number 4 is - Then I posed, and he took my picture - Where I 'accidentally' have a photoset published in a German Gay-porn / fetish magazine... Yes, you heard me right...

At Number 3 - Boobs, Melons and Jumper-Lumps - Tales of my Hi-Jinks in Asda, including the internationally acclaimed 'Running down the aisle throwing a watermelon to myself' story.

The penultimate plethora of poorly phrased pulchritude is - Barnably Wilde (Pt. 1) - My first collection of my slapstick motorcycling memories.  A collection of reasons why I should never be allowed to ride a motorcycle, or be allowed out on my own, ever.

You all know what's at Number 1 right? It's been stuck there since the beginning of February and it's lead is fairly unassailable - Thermodynamics, it's the law! - The story of my Father and the descent of a young secretary into permanent mental distress, and a bird - Don't forget the bird.

Normal service should be resumed tomorrow... Yeah, everything should be back to normal by then... I should think... Probably

Top of the Blog Parade

Well, time for my first (and last) Friday post for this week.

I've noticed over the past few weeks that I've been getting hits on the 'older' pages of the Blog, some of the stuff that I originally posted on Facebook last year. Gave me a warm, glowy feeling in, what I like to call, my nethers.

I like some of my older stuff to have new life breathed into it, that's why I put all the hyperlinks in the new stuff (You see, you thought I was just a needy, self referential gitbag, whose only empty joy was pretending that people thought what he wrote was worth reading? - Oh! the irony!)

So I include below, the top ten most popular posts, starting at number 10, in a Smashy and Nicey stylee, as picked by you, the readers - There are no real suprises, but if you're bored and find yourself with a few spare minutes, these are the posts that you guys think are funniest, or most interesting, or... Oh, I don't know why you like 'em. You're the ones following a bald fat bloke with questionable personal hygiene and an over-willingness to share, you're obviously all deranged.

-oOo-

In at number 10 is a little story I like to call HAVE YOU TRIED TURNING IT OFF, THEN LEAVING IT This is actually a set of three stories about my first job in IT (In 1985 believe it or not) detailing some of the wonderful, completely not mad as a badger calls people still get on IT helpdesks all over this wonderful Kingdom of ours.

Number 9 is the only work of fiction in the whole top ten. A dramatic depiction of two gods, sat in a kebab shop, on a Friday night, discussing the creation of the Duck-Billed Platypus (and Chicken Tikka) - Put your Atheism together for WAITING FOR GOD-OH!

For all you fans of mechanical mayhem, Number 8 shows us how the restoration of vintage vehicles can sometimes lead to personal injury, and a small amount of light vandalism. BUT WILL IT FLY SMICK? proves that it's really not possible to make a silk purse out of a rusty Ford Transit Van. - The only SMick story in the top ten! - What's wrong with you people?

Number 7 is the closest thing I have to required reading. You can't appreciate the Chimping Dandy as a being until you know how he was created. AS THE SUPERHERO SAID TO THE STRIPPER is a blow-by-blow account of the creation of your friendly, neighbourhood, Superhero - Before I realised I was actually a Supervillain of course.

Number 6 is our first trip through the looking-glass into my childhood. AN EYE FOR AN EYE tells of my Dear Mother's constant need to fill my formative years with fear (Warning, contains mild psychological terror and scenes of a surgical nature).

Starting our journey into the top five is SECOND CONTACT CLOSING FAST, BEARING 076! Where I warn Ford Galaxy owners about a possible fault with their cars, and almost bring the M40 to a halt by explosively showering it with smouldering wreckage.

Number 4 is a love poem (well, prose really) to my favourite grocery supplier. In BOOBS, MELONS AND JUMPER LUMPS I relate another three tales about why I love ASDA (Walmart) so much - However, only one of the stories is actually about the female mammary area, just so you don't get over-excited.

A fairly new entry at Number 3 is the 'Chock full o' shocks' story of my attempt at becoming a fetish model - AND THEN I POSED, AND HE TOOK MY PICTURE A comedic, but still totally true description of the pre-show party for the Skin-Two Magazine's Rubber Ball in (I think) about 1998. And the chain of events that led to me being a household name in Germany.

The second podium place goes to BARNABY WILDE (PT. 1) A set of three cautionary tales about the trials and tribulations to be had when your motorcycle has three wheels and you're a bit gormless. There's personal injury, electrocution and dancing on ice. What more could you ask for?

But the winner, the piece de resistance, your most loved post by quite a margin, is not actually about me. It doesn't mention me, it happened before I was born. But even so, it is bloody funny. THERMODYNAMICS, IT'S THE LAW! is the story of how my Father used the corpse of a fragile, beautiful animal to condemn a young girl to an eternity of torment, reliving her horror over and over again until the end of time itself. Probably.

-oOo-

The Blog gets a lot of hits Internationally. I can identify who some of them are, I know who the German, Cypriot and Irish contingent are. I also know the identities of a large proportion of the UK and USA readers. The couple of hits from Isreal were, I firmly believe, Jason Bradbury from The Gadget Show and some from Canada, I think, were the director Kevin Smith. But many others find The Chimping Dandy through the Random Blog feature of Blogger itself, and still more find us through a Google search.

So, what would you have to type into Google to find this happy community? The top ten Google searches, where people found us and clicked through, as I believe the youngsters call it are:

10: Kipper the Stripper

9: It was a bright, cold day in april and the clock was striking thirteen

8: I shot myself 2013

7: I shoot myself dandy

6: dandy ishotmyself

5: boobs melons show in car

4: boob melons photos blogspots (I guess whoever searched for this was severely disappointed)

3: what do you call Dandy with tattoo

2: dandy boobs

1: swing away merrill

I think that this little sampling tells you all you need to know about the populace of the Internet. It's pretty much full of people looking for breasts and shooting themselves.

And they say the Internet's not like real life!

But my personal favourite, the one that mostly twists my melon, but unfortunately only got used once and hence doesn't appear in the top ten is 'Tandoori Wombat' - Not only will you find this Blog by typing this in, we're the first result!

I'm so proud.

Then I posed, and he took my picture

Some of you, mainly the people who've known me a while, or worked with me, or attended a formal event that I've gone to, or helped me celebrate a birthday, will know that I occasionally make and wear kilts. Not for any real ancestral reason, although the Dandy line is almost certainly blessed with a bewildering array of Scottish blackguards and jackanapes.

I just like messing with people's heads, and, as has been mentioned in multiplicity before, I am a massive show-off - And there're few things more likely to get you noticed in public than having your knees out and not wearing any underwear - You ask any woman between the ages of 16 and 40.

However, there are times when even wearing a kilt sees you fading into the background, Highland events for instance, or weddings of whacky and/or self-important people. The thing to wear on these occasions, for the fashion concious Dandy at least, would obviously be something like full Roman Imperial battledress or the rear half of a pantomime horse. This situation vexes me greatly, the Chimping Dandy does not do 'fading into the background' easily.

Which is bizarre really, because on one occasion, I was in a room with over a thousand, like-minded, people - And I was probably one of the most conservatively dressed people there, and I had a marvellous time.

Many, many, years ago, I used to work with a young lady, quite pretty, moderately shy, and very efficient at her job. If you looked up the phrase 'Butter would not melt in her mouth' in a dictionary of phrases (if such a thing exists) there would be a picture of her. After we both left the company, we kept in touch by eMail, as Facebook etc. did not exist at the time.

One day, I received an email from her that said something along the lines of, 'We're going to a show in London and can get you some cheap tickets if you're interested'. Now, not being blessed with children at the time, both Mrs Dandy & myself jumped at the chance and immediately started to prepare.

Prepare? I assume that you're asking, 'Why would you have to prepare for a London Show? Unless it was Rocky Horror? Was it Rocky Horror?'

No...

It wasn't...

The young lady in question, and her significant other of the time, had developed certain... erm... Shall we say 'Peccadillos'? that made them very popular with other, like minded, couples (Don't get excited, that's not where this story is headed - Not exactly anyway) - And the show in question was: Skin-Two Magazine's Rubber Ball.

Google it... But probably not at work...

It's a jolly get-together for people who enjoy dressing up and pushing the envelope, or being naked and being sealed in an envelope. And they really won't let you in if you're wearing 'Smart-Casual'. So I put on my Seamstress' head (The one I keep in the freezer for situations just such as these) And knocked up a couple of costumes. I made a PVC hobble-skirt for Mrs Dandy - Which was more zips than PVC. And for myself, I made a kilt, also out of PVC (Which, for those who wish to replicate the experience, is a right, royal, bitch to iron pleats into).

We booked a VERY nice hotel in London, a couple of First-Class train tickets, and waited.

On the night in question, we'd all agreed to meet in a pub around the corner from the venue in, I think, Hammersmith. Of course, when we got there, they were nowhere to be seen (Turns out that they'd 'bumped into some old friends in the hotel' - repeatedly, in several different positions, I'd imagine), but the place was full, almost to bursting, of clinically odd people. We found a table with a couple of spare stools and proceeded to wait.

We shared the table with three giant transvestites, I don't mean they were really, really, transvestite... I mean that they were all just shy of 7 feet tall. I really wish that I could remember their actual names, but I'm just going to have to make them up, they were great... guys?... And introduced themselves with both their male and female names - 'I'm Patrick-Mary, He's Brian-Fifi and that guy at the bar's Steve-Tracey'.

One was dressed in an outfit completely made of car-mats, which gave... him... a distinctly Female Klingon vibe, one was dressed as a bald Nun, with a PVC habit (the clothing item, not the lifestyle choice), but with the buttock area cut out, and the other was dressed in sort of a neon Flashdance ensemble which left very little to the imagination for either his male or female 'identities'.

We spent a happy couple of hours, swapping stories, such as we could with our limited knowledge of this type of thing - it turned out that we'd all turned up unfashionably early. And 'Patrick-Mary' was just telling us about the time his wife came home early and found him dressed in her wedding underwear and pleasuring himself with the toilet-brush when I felt a hand on my shoulder and a German voice said,

'Excuse me, may I haf a vord?'

I looked up and saw a bald, stocky gentleman, with a magnificent handlebar moustache, wearing a tight white T-shirt and a significant amount of rubber/leather.

'My friends unt I noticed vat ju are vearing vhen you vent to ze bar, ve vere vonderink if you minded us takink a few photos?'

I looked at Mrs Dandy, she shrugged, I looked at our new found friends, they grinned and excitedly gave me the thumbs-up. I stood, and then followed the German chap to the other side of the room, where a table of similar gentlemen, clad in various wipe-clean outfits were sat, along with a collection of suspiciously professional looking cameras.

'Ju stand zere und ve take a few photos, yes?'

I nodded, still not 100 percent comfortable with the situation, but did my best to strike a pose that didn't make me look like I'd stepped from the pages of the Littlewoods catalog.

'Nein, nein, nein... More... er... GRRRRRR!'

I did the 'Hulk-Smash' pose, you know where you grit your teeth, and sort of bring your arms into your chest and bend over (towards the camera, before you ask).

'Jah, Jah, ist gut... Now er... More sidevays!'

We were starting to attract a bit of a crowd, and if I'm honest, I was well out of my comfort zone, but it was all in fun and no-one seemed to be taking themselves too seriously (apart from one of the photographers, who REALLY looked to be enjoying himself) - It probably didn't take more than five minutes, it felt like a lifetime though.

'Gut, jah, I sink zat iz enough... Can ju just sign zis?'

They handed me what I assume was a model release form and offered to buy us all a drink, which we accepted. We were there for about another hour before we decided to head off to the event proper. As we left, the chap with the moustache waved and called,

'The magazine should be out next month!'

I might save the sights, sounds and smells of the actual Ball for another episode - I think it probably deserves one of its own.


So, if you ever find yourself rambling in the German countryside, and happen across a gentleman's art pamphlet, designed for one-handed reading, lying unloved in the bottom of a hedgerow, and think you recognise someone in a two-page photospread...

You might not be wrong.