ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Noted for:
Being one of the greatest Presidents of the United States of America (though he’s not as good as the one who wrote Peaches), leading the Union through the Civil War, passing the Emancipation Proclamation and head of the Ill-timed Theatre Visits Society.
What might have happened if he was born sans balls?
Lincoln was a staunch opponent of the expansion of slavery, and was a major factor in the North winning the civil war. He also diffused a war scare with the United Kingdom in 1861 and really popularised the top hat.
So what might have happened if he was born Abby? The prospect of Ol’ Abe’s being elected in 1860 can be regarded as a fairly significant factor for the start of the secession of the confederated states. So if Abe was born with a taste for soap operas, it can safely be assumed that she would not have stood as the Republican candidate in the 1860 elections and thus, the Southern state’s vaginas might have contained slightly less sand at the beginning of that decade.
Chances are that the country would still have slumped into war. The two likeliest men to have filled Lincoln’s shoes both held strong anti-slavery views. Rebellious rumblings would still have been stirring in the South – throughout the 1850s it was becoming increasingly obvious that a pro-slavery south and anti-slavery north could not peacefully co-inhabit. Throw in the other reasons civil war historians always harp on about so they can pretend that slavery isn’t the sole cause of the war but no one else remembers them, and you have a country that would still be on the road to punching itself in the crotch so hard the ache would take decades to leave.
So a Lincoln with tits wouldn’t have made any difference?
Of course it would. Lincoln narrowly halted a war with a harrumphing Great Britain in 1861 who would, almost certainly, have sided with the Confederated States. This would have given the confederates a huge boost – the were estimated to have almost half the manpower of the Union, but with Britain’s help, with both men and technology, the war could have been very different because Britain at this time was the pre-eminent nation in the world. It was not the crumpet eating, petticoat wearing land of poor dentistry it is today. Well, it was, but it also had millions of guns). Maybe a stalemate would have occurred, and the Union would have had to have recognised the Confederated States as a separate country or, even worse, the South could well have triumphed. Don’t forget, Lincoln was a great war president, and his leadership skills and his policies (especially decisions such as the selection of Ulysses S. Grant and other top generals) were fundamental in the Union winning. And if the Confederated States were victorious, then the whole political, social and economic landscape of America, and the world, would be markedly different.
Good Lord. So without him, the whole USA could well be the CSA?
Yep. And all those rich bastards who own summer houses in New England would be out in their pickups, wearing dungarees and shooting at road signs. Still, it wouldn’t have been all bad. We might not have had the Pussycat Dolls thrust upon us.
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
Monday, 22 October 2007
What if he was born a she?
WINSTON CHURCHILL
Noted For:
Being British Prime Minister from 1940 to 1945 and again from 1951 to 1955, grimacing in photographs and being one of the best war leaders of the twentieth century.
So if he had been born with breasts and unpredictable mood swings, what would have happened?
If he was born a woman, Churchill would most likely still have been heavily involved in politics. By 1920, women were just beginning to become a presence in the British Parliament, after the huge suffragette movements of the late 1900s and 1910s. If his brash and independent streak surfaced in his womanly body, then we can assume that Churchill would have been at the forefront of the handbag waving women’s rights activists and thus would have been one of the first women to run for parliament. And she may well have scrambled in as well.
Mrs Churchill sounds like a she’d have been a roaringly good woman, and probably would have been mucking about in Westminster. So I guess you were being a total dicks when you claimed that the world would have been different, except for maybe we’d have a Churchill Saucepan instead of a Churchill Tank.
Pipe down. True, by 1940, when Churchill was elected Prime Minister for the first time, there were a few female MPs, and some had held their seats for years, but women were yet to hold powerful seats, or be given powerful roles in government, and they still faced a great deal of prejudice from within parliament itself. We suspect that many of the old boys poking around the House of Commons still thought of women as some whacky alien creature whose sole job was to bake delicious cakes and do something about those little pink people who spent their days crying and crapping themselves. Indeed, Churchill himself, in a sparring match with female MP Nancy Astor, claimed that having a woman in parliament was like having one intrude on you in the bathroom (to which, she replied “You’re not handsome enough to have such fears”). Thus, we confidently claim that although Winnie Churchill probably would have been a Member of Parliament by 1940, she would not have been anywhere near powerful enough to run for party leader, or win a general election. Besides, nearly all of the first female MPs joined the socialist Labour party, and in 1940, the right-wing Conservatives were in power, and Churchill had stepped into power after Chamberlain’s resignation without having to win a general election.
Well that’s a bit shit. So how would the world have looked if the Good-Housekeeping-reading Churchill hadn’t have been able to gather her skirts and dash for power?
Well, without Churchill taking over after the resignation of the appeasement loving Joseph ‘ooh, let’s give Hitler what he wants and hope he doesn’t then bend us over the dining room table and ravish us’ Chamberlain as PM, who knows what other kind of soggy napkin Great Britain could have had as a leader? Churchill is regarded as one of the best wartime leaders of all time and it’s unlikely that a similar character could be found in the British cabinet. In fact, power was almost handed to Lord Halifax, who was pre-eminent in the House of Lords (the higher body of British parliament), but the Lords were, and still are, more out of touch with the populace than the ministers in the Commons.
Halifax, whilst a practiced politician, shared a lot of views with Neville Chamberlain, who, as history can attest, was an arse. Halifax was also one of the main architects of appeasement, claiming that Adolf Hitler’s massive rearmament scheme and Germany’s remilitarisation of the Rhineland was not only of no threat, but to be welcomed. And when Halifax, as foreign minister, visited Nazi Germany in 1937 to meet with Hitler (who he assumed was footman upon their first meeting, and tried to present the dictator with his coat) ignored commands from his then-Prime Minster, Anthony Eden, to warn Hitler against attacking Czechoslovakia, and instead, went hunting with Hermann Göring.
Eden resigned in 1938, exasperated by Halifax’s general dickheadedness, and Halifax continued to mine this rich vein until the outbreak of war whereupon he was nearly handed the reins of power, presumably by ministers even more idiotic than he. In fairness, Halifax declined, and the reins were handed to an eager Churchill, but if Churchill had not been there, we can only think that this aristocratic boob would have taken the reins, and galloped Great Britain to an inglorious decline, whereby they would have continued to appease Germany until Adolf was shacked up in King George’s bed and the citizens of the Western Europe were all suddenly eating a lot of sausages and Woody Allen films would be doing brisk business on the black market.
So we probably dodged a bullet there then.
Damn straight. Thank Christ for Churchill’s testicles.
Noted For:
Being British Prime Minister from 1940 to 1945 and again from 1951 to 1955, grimacing in photographs and being one of the best war leaders of the twentieth century.
So if he had been born with breasts and unpredictable mood swings, what would have happened?
If he was born a woman, Churchill would most likely still have been heavily involved in politics. By 1920, women were just beginning to become a presence in the British Parliament, after the huge suffragette movements of the late 1900s and 1910s. If his brash and independent streak surfaced in his womanly body, then we can assume that Churchill would have been at the forefront of the handbag waving women’s rights activists and thus would have been one of the first women to run for parliament. And she may well have scrambled in as well.
Mrs Churchill sounds like a she’d have been a roaringly good woman, and probably would have been mucking about in Westminster. So I guess you were being a total dicks when you claimed that the world would have been different, except for maybe we’d have a Churchill Saucepan instead of a Churchill Tank.
Pipe down. True, by 1940, when Churchill was elected Prime Minister for the first time, there were a few female MPs, and some had held their seats for years, but women were yet to hold powerful seats, or be given powerful roles in government, and they still faced a great deal of prejudice from within parliament itself. We suspect that many of the old boys poking around the House of Commons still thought of women as some whacky alien creature whose sole job was to bake delicious cakes and do something about those little pink people who spent their days crying and crapping themselves. Indeed, Churchill himself, in a sparring match with female MP Nancy Astor, claimed that having a woman in parliament was like having one intrude on you in the bathroom (to which, she replied “You’re not handsome enough to have such fears”). Thus, we confidently claim that although Winnie Churchill probably would have been a Member of Parliament by 1940, she would not have been anywhere near powerful enough to run for party leader, or win a general election. Besides, nearly all of the first female MPs joined the socialist Labour party, and in 1940, the right-wing Conservatives were in power, and Churchill had stepped into power after Chamberlain’s resignation without having to win a general election.
Well that’s a bit shit. So how would the world have looked if the Good-Housekeeping-reading Churchill hadn’t have been able to gather her skirts and dash for power?
Well, without Churchill taking over after the resignation of the appeasement loving Joseph ‘ooh, let’s give Hitler what he wants and hope he doesn’t then bend us over the dining room table and ravish us’ Chamberlain as PM, who knows what other kind of soggy napkin Great Britain could have had as a leader? Churchill is regarded as one of the best wartime leaders of all time and it’s unlikely that a similar character could be found in the British cabinet. In fact, power was almost handed to Lord Halifax, who was pre-eminent in the House of Lords (the higher body of British parliament), but the Lords were, and still are, more out of touch with the populace than the ministers in the Commons.
Halifax, whilst a practiced politician, shared a lot of views with Neville Chamberlain, who, as history can attest, was an arse. Halifax was also one of the main architects of appeasement, claiming that Adolf Hitler’s massive rearmament scheme and Germany’s remilitarisation of the Rhineland was not only of no threat, but to be welcomed. And when Halifax, as foreign minister, visited Nazi Germany in 1937 to meet with Hitler (who he assumed was footman upon their first meeting, and tried to present the dictator with his coat) ignored commands from his then-Prime Minster, Anthony Eden, to warn Hitler against attacking Czechoslovakia, and instead, went hunting with Hermann Göring.
Eden resigned in 1938, exasperated by Halifax’s general dickheadedness, and Halifax continued to mine this rich vein until the outbreak of war whereupon he was nearly handed the reins of power, presumably by ministers even more idiotic than he. In fairness, Halifax declined, and the reins were handed to an eager Churchill, but if Churchill had not been there, we can only think that this aristocratic boob would have taken the reins, and galloped Great Britain to an inglorious decline, whereby they would have continued to appease Germany until Adolf was shacked up in King George’s bed and the citizens of the Western Europe were all suddenly eating a lot of sausages and Woody Allen films would be doing brisk business on the black market.
So we probably dodged a bullet there then.
Damn straight. Thank Christ for Churchill’s testicles.
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
Thursday, 3 May 2007
Saturday, 28 April 2007
So, You’ve Bought Yourself A Telephone
Society’s moving on in the world, and there are new technological advances around every corner, most of which are baffling and exciting to the modern Gentleman. One such device is the newly patented Telephone. Created by some astoundingly clever types, (rumour has it a Scotsman was involved, but this has since proven to be laughably false) the Telephone allows the modern Gentleman to speak with other Gentlemen outside what can be considered a close proximity without having to leave the comfort of one’s own expensive yet tasteful Afhgan armchair.
No doubt upon announcing your desire to purchase the Telephone, you were bombarded with negativity by well-meaning friends and family. Don’t worry about that, it is all part and parcel of buying terrifyingly exciting new devices. It is believed there were even detractors when a prehistoric Gentleman decided that meat slowly roasted over an open fire was considerably tastier than when eaten raw, or when an early Victorian Gentleman suggested that not crapping in your drinking water might just be better for your health. I expect that when you told your peers that you wished to communicate with Gentlemen a London borough away, they suggested merely shouting louder instead of opting for the purchase of this new fangled piece of claptrap machinery. And your good Sir father no doubt informed you that back in his day, if he wished to converse with Gentlemen in another country, then they simply invaded it and made the Gentleman in question a colonial subject. Then they could tell him whatever the bloody hell they wanted and the Gentleman in question would have to accept it double quick.
Well, you should give yourself a round of applause for ignoring the warnings and going ahead with the purchase anyway. It was a noble and brave choice, and you ought to be proud of yourself. But now I expect you’re asking yourself “So how the bloody hell do I use this thing then?” Well, fear not, for your Handbook For The Discerning Gentleman will unravel the mysteries of the Telephone and deliver the information into your brain like your manservant delivers your slippers to your bedroom first thing in the morning.
What’s This Then?
Telephones, like all new inventions, are dastardly complex things. They operate via science, and as every modern Gentleman knows, science isn’t to be trifled with. Telephones allow a Gentleman such as yourself to communicate with other Gentlemen, sometimes over distances of miles. It’s a jolly clever device, and one that the manufacturers clearly stress is not suitable for use by women. It’s understandable to think that the fairer sex just would not be able to wrap their pretty little heads around the concept – indeed, in early tests, many a lady in London’s High Society fainted dead away when they realised the tinny voice in their ear was coming from a manor in Oxfordshire.
The manufacturers of the Telephone also wish to stress that the device isn’t to be owned or operated by poor people for fear they would sully it within moments, like they did with musical theatre, Gin or dysentery.
How The Bloody Hell Does It Work Then?
To operate your new Telephone, simply pick up the receiver (this is the loose wobbly part that bears a passing resemblance to a banana) and place one end to your ear. Via the medium of swivel, and remembering to keep one end pushed against your ear, manoeuvre the receiver until the other end is by your mouth. The part of the receiver by your ear should be emitting a low buzz. This is entirely natural. Now you must decide which Gentleman you wish to call. I suggest you call my good friend, Lord Oliver James Wenceslas-Grangethorpe III. I assure you, he won’t mind, and may even invite you over for a hand of whist after the Telephone call is completed. To Telephone Lord Wenceslas-Grangethorpe III, you must dial his number. This is achieved by mashing your face into the dial of numbers situated just beneath the area the receiver until recently resided. The amount of times you need to mash your face into the dial equates to the amount on letters in the name of the person you wish to call. So in our case, it’s three hundred and ninety-seven letters, so that’s three hundred and ninety-seven mashes. This may hurt a little, but as with all new technology, there are early discomforts. If you wish, you may place a small cushion over the dial, but this is viewed as bad Telephone etiquette.
When you finish face mashing, you should hear a ringing sound in the part of the receiver pressed against your ear (you may have dropped the receiver to facilitate your face mashing. If this is the case, pick it up and replace against the lobe). Don’t be alarmed by the ringing noise, it is meant to happen and simply means we enter the next stage of our exciting journey into Telecommunications!
What Happens Next?
The ringing may continue for an indeterminable amount of time, as it first has to traverse through a series of semi-cut wormholes which have been spliced through the medium of space matter, and will be scouring the edges of the chaos void that exists in the multiverse separating both you and the Gentleman you are Telephoning. There is no telling how long it may take the telephone call to make this journey, but whilst the journey is being made, you yourself, as the source of the call, will slip outside of time, so even though it may seem like the ringing has carried on for three or four months, it will, in reality, in our reality, have only been a few seconds and, naturally, as you slip back into our reality, memories of your adventures out of the time loop will quickly fade, leaving an uneasy feeling in the lower intestine, followed by a clenching of the buttocks. This feeling may well manifest into something more urgent, and you may need to relieve yourself at the next possible moment.
It is because of this reason that The Handbook For The Discerning Gentleman suggests you set up your new Telephone in close proximity to a Water Closet, if not actually within the closet, so as to allow easy access to the Pony Express.
The Final Step
After the telephone call has traversed the complex, clandestine shadow worlds which cling to our realities, and has fought its way back through a wormhole into our world, it will have arrived at the Telephone in the WC of the Gentleman to whom you wish to converse. That Gentleman’s phone will emit a high pitched ring which will inform the Gentleman that something has gone horribly wrong during the Telephone call’s epic journey through Space and Time and will likely explode at any given moment. The Gentleman whose phone is pealing out joyous rings will thusly have to dive out of his Water Closet to avoid the explosion fallout, and also to avoid contact with any extra-dimensional, demonic ‘hangers on’ the Telephone call may have inadvertently picked up in it’s journeys.
Though it is possible hitch-hiking transdimensional horrors have not latched onto the Telephone Call, a prudent Gentleman will always send his manservant into the Water Closet first, in case he needs to deal with the beast. If the butler perishes, it is up to your discretion if you offer the now manservantless Gentleman a new butler. Etiquette suggests you might, but if you do not, many members of London’s high society will view the Gentleman you attempted to Telephone in a harsher light, as he had not sufficiently trained his butler to deal with extra-dimensional demonic terrors.
And That’s It!
That is how a Telephone call is made! If you practice these methods, you will soon be highly accomplished to using a telephone and may be able to make upwards of three calls a week. Given time, you may not even need to don the protective headgear and biohazardous suit that comes free with all new Telephones purchased!
No doubt upon announcing your desire to purchase the Telephone, you were bombarded with negativity by well-meaning friends and family. Don’t worry about that, it is all part and parcel of buying terrifyingly exciting new devices. It is believed there were even detractors when a prehistoric Gentleman decided that meat slowly roasted over an open fire was considerably tastier than when eaten raw, or when an early Victorian Gentleman suggested that not crapping in your drinking water might just be better for your health. I expect that when you told your peers that you wished to communicate with Gentlemen a London borough away, they suggested merely shouting louder instead of opting for the purchase of this new fangled piece of claptrap machinery. And your good Sir father no doubt informed you that back in his day, if he wished to converse with Gentlemen in another country, then they simply invaded it and made the Gentleman in question a colonial subject. Then they could tell him whatever the bloody hell they wanted and the Gentleman in question would have to accept it double quick.
Well, you should give yourself a round of applause for ignoring the warnings and going ahead with the purchase anyway. It was a noble and brave choice, and you ought to be proud of yourself. But now I expect you’re asking yourself “So how the bloody hell do I use this thing then?” Well, fear not, for your Handbook For The Discerning Gentleman will unravel the mysteries of the Telephone and deliver the information into your brain like your manservant delivers your slippers to your bedroom first thing in the morning.
What’s This Then?
Telephones, like all new inventions, are dastardly complex things. They operate via science, and as every modern Gentleman knows, science isn’t to be trifled with. Telephones allow a Gentleman such as yourself to communicate with other Gentlemen, sometimes over distances of miles. It’s a jolly clever device, and one that the manufacturers clearly stress is not suitable for use by women. It’s understandable to think that the fairer sex just would not be able to wrap their pretty little heads around the concept – indeed, in early tests, many a lady in London’s High Society fainted dead away when they realised the tinny voice in their ear was coming from a manor in Oxfordshire.
The manufacturers of the Telephone also wish to stress that the device isn’t to be owned or operated by poor people for fear they would sully it within moments, like they did with musical theatre, Gin or dysentery.
How The Bloody Hell Does It Work Then?
To operate your new Telephone, simply pick up the receiver (this is the loose wobbly part that bears a passing resemblance to a banana) and place one end to your ear. Via the medium of swivel, and remembering to keep one end pushed against your ear, manoeuvre the receiver until the other end is by your mouth. The part of the receiver by your ear should be emitting a low buzz. This is entirely natural. Now you must decide which Gentleman you wish to call. I suggest you call my good friend, Lord Oliver James Wenceslas-Grangethorpe III. I assure you, he won’t mind, and may even invite you over for a hand of whist after the Telephone call is completed. To Telephone Lord Wenceslas-Grangethorpe III, you must dial his number. This is achieved by mashing your face into the dial of numbers situated just beneath the area the receiver until recently resided. The amount of times you need to mash your face into the dial equates to the amount on letters in the name of the person you wish to call. So in our case, it’s three hundred and ninety-seven letters, so that’s three hundred and ninety-seven mashes. This may hurt a little, but as with all new technology, there are early discomforts. If you wish, you may place a small cushion over the dial, but this is viewed as bad Telephone etiquette.
When you finish face mashing, you should hear a ringing sound in the part of the receiver pressed against your ear (you may have dropped the receiver to facilitate your face mashing. If this is the case, pick it up and replace against the lobe). Don’t be alarmed by the ringing noise, it is meant to happen and simply means we enter the next stage of our exciting journey into Telecommunications!
What Happens Next?
The ringing may continue for an indeterminable amount of time, as it first has to traverse through a series of semi-cut wormholes which have been spliced through the medium of space matter, and will be scouring the edges of the chaos void that exists in the multiverse separating both you and the Gentleman you are Telephoning. There is no telling how long it may take the telephone call to make this journey, but whilst the journey is being made, you yourself, as the source of the call, will slip outside of time, so even though it may seem like the ringing has carried on for three or four months, it will, in reality, in our reality, have only been a few seconds and, naturally, as you slip back into our reality, memories of your adventures out of the time loop will quickly fade, leaving an uneasy feeling in the lower intestine, followed by a clenching of the buttocks. This feeling may well manifest into something more urgent, and you may need to relieve yourself at the next possible moment.
It is because of this reason that The Handbook For The Discerning Gentleman suggests you set up your new Telephone in close proximity to a Water Closet, if not actually within the closet, so as to allow easy access to the Pony Express.
The Final Step
After the telephone call has traversed the complex, clandestine shadow worlds which cling to our realities, and has fought its way back through a wormhole into our world, it will have arrived at the Telephone in the WC of the Gentleman to whom you wish to converse. That Gentleman’s phone will emit a high pitched ring which will inform the Gentleman that something has gone horribly wrong during the Telephone call’s epic journey through Space and Time and will likely explode at any given moment. The Gentleman whose phone is pealing out joyous rings will thusly have to dive out of his Water Closet to avoid the explosion fallout, and also to avoid contact with any extra-dimensional, demonic ‘hangers on’ the Telephone call may have inadvertently picked up in it’s journeys.
Though it is possible hitch-hiking transdimensional horrors have not latched onto the Telephone Call, a prudent Gentleman will always send his manservant into the Water Closet first, in case he needs to deal with the beast. If the butler perishes, it is up to your discretion if you offer the now manservantless Gentleman a new butler. Etiquette suggests you might, but if you do not, many members of London’s high society will view the Gentleman you attempted to Telephone in a harsher light, as he had not sufficiently trained his butler to deal with extra-dimensional demonic terrors.
And That’s It!
That is how a Telephone call is made! If you practice these methods, you will soon be highly accomplished to using a telephone and may be able to make upwards of three calls a week. Given time, you may not even need to don the protective headgear and biohazardous suit that comes free with all new Telephones purchased!
Monday, 26 February 2007
I hate asking for days off work.
Hello Heather
How are you? I hope you are well. Please accept my commiserators on your recent loss - I know you enjoyed the company your pet rabbit, Flufty, offered you very much, and shall miss him terribly in his absence. I feel I must apologise also, because I cannot help but feel slightly to blame for the whole, sorry affair, for as you know, it was I who reversed my car over Flufty as he scampered free as a bird on your gravelled driveway. I admit, I saw the young scamp gallivanting around, and could have halted my car in time, but, as you may recall, relations between Flufty and myself have been somewhat soured as of late, ever since the 'Jewellery Heist' experience of last summer. Whilst I don't wish to go into detail over the experience, and uncover old memories, I would like to remind you that it was Flufty, not I, who tripped the alarm system, and again, it was Flufty, not I, who failed to remember to fill the tank of the getaway car. Whilst I was still sprinting down the vault corridor, trying to dodge the security guard's bullets, Flufty had, for want of a better word, already fucked off. Now, call me a sceptic, but I do not believe Flufty's tale of him being transported to a Lord Of The RIngs-esque middle earth world, inhabited by Elves, Orcs, Goblins and well-respected gentlemen proudly bearing gigantic beards - you know the type, the kind of man who just looks like a man. A man a man can call a man's man and call on when he needs a man who can fit a man shaped hole where only a man's man can fit. A man who can be called on when a man needs a man. You understand what I'm trying to say.
As we all know, Flufty returned with far-fetched tales of such men, but to my knowledge , he was telling an enormous porky pie. Flufty had not been to Park Lane Royal Gentlemen's Club, which, as all who keep an eye on current events, is the only place where such men can be found. The esteemed gentlemen of the Club wouldn't be seen farting around, fagging up the air with their beards and pet elves, dropping their rings into rivers of fire and embarking on an adventure laced with intent and homo-erotic undertones. No, of course they wouldn't. They would be discussing the stock market, drinking brandy, and betting their newspaper businesses on the outcome of a race around the world between Rear Admiral Lord Henry St. Staffordshire Johnson Hadely-Smythe III and Field Marshall Sir Anthony Charles James Beresford M.B.E, Duke of Norfolk and godson to his Majesty Edward VI.
But that's neither here no there. Basically, Flufty was talking shit. Two policemen spotted me holding the stolen jewels, and chased me into an alley whereupon I was forced to dickwhip them into submission. However, one had time to call for backup, and it was only due to my quick thinking and impressive groin that I was able to escape, albeit without the jewels, and have been in hiding ever since, whilst that rabbit of yours has grown fat on freedom. Thus, when I furtively appeared at your Somerset mansion last weekend, to attend the barbecue celebrating your ascension into the House of Lords, I spotted Flufty in the driveway, a fat cigar hanging from his mouth and a meat pie in his paws, I accelerated rapidly towards him. The little cunt ducked underneath my wheels, cigar and pie forgotten, but was not quick enough to escape my almost stunt-man quick reversing manoeuvre. I also drove over him a second time, just to make sure.
So, please accept my sincerest apologies for killing your beloved rabbit, though it was a total shit. And I also regret my following decision to turn up at your house drunk, as I fear this may have speeded my decision to run Flufty over, and it almost certainly had a helping hand in my following decision to strip naked and wear the flattened body of Flufty as a makeshift hat. Again, I apologise for this. And I must apologise further for making rather forward advances on members of your family. If/when your grandfather comes out of his coma, would you please forward this apology to him.
By way of repairing the strained relations between us, I would like to take Monday 12th March off work, so I can prepare a suitable burial for Flufty at my Lancashire house Cholmondesley Manor. I will hold a small memorial service, followed by a respectful wake. There will be party sausages and pineapple chunks and cheddar on sticks. There will also be jelly and rumour is, Gary The Musical Clown may make an appearance.
I look forward to hearing from you, or if this has forwarded on to your lawyers, from them.
Yours
Captain Otis Koln Weathersley Pervical-Jivefunk O.B.E., Commander-in-Chief of the Royal British Mediterranean Navy, Her Majesty's Lord of the Admiralty and First Sea Lord of Portsmouth.
How are you? I hope you are well. Please accept my commiserators on your recent loss - I know you enjoyed the company your pet rabbit, Flufty, offered you very much, and shall miss him terribly in his absence. I feel I must apologise also, because I cannot help but feel slightly to blame for the whole, sorry affair, for as you know, it was I who reversed my car over Flufty as he scampered free as a bird on your gravelled driveway. I admit, I saw the young scamp gallivanting around, and could have halted my car in time, but, as you may recall, relations between Flufty and myself have been somewhat soured as of late, ever since the 'Jewellery Heist' experience of last summer. Whilst I don't wish to go into detail over the experience, and uncover old memories, I would like to remind you that it was Flufty, not I, who tripped the alarm system, and again, it was Flufty, not I, who failed to remember to fill the tank of the getaway car. Whilst I was still sprinting down the vault corridor, trying to dodge the security guard's bullets, Flufty had, for want of a better word, already fucked off. Now, call me a sceptic, but I do not believe Flufty's tale of him being transported to a Lord Of The RIngs-esque middle earth world, inhabited by Elves, Orcs, Goblins and well-respected gentlemen proudly bearing gigantic beards - you know the type, the kind of man who just looks like a man. A man a man can call a man's man and call on when he needs a man who can fit a man shaped hole where only a man's man can fit. A man who can be called on when a man needs a man. You understand what I'm trying to say.
As we all know, Flufty returned with far-fetched tales of such men, but to my knowledge , he was telling an enormous porky pie. Flufty had not been to Park Lane Royal Gentlemen's Club, which, as all who keep an eye on current events, is the only place where such men can be found. The esteemed gentlemen of the Club wouldn't be seen farting around, fagging up the air with their beards and pet elves, dropping their rings into rivers of fire and embarking on an adventure laced with intent and homo-erotic undertones. No, of course they wouldn't. They would be discussing the stock market, drinking brandy, and betting their newspaper businesses on the outcome of a race around the world between Rear Admiral Lord Henry St. Staffordshire Johnson Hadely-Smythe III and Field Marshall Sir Anthony Charles James Beresford M.B.E, Duke of Norfolk and godson to his Majesty Edward VI.
But that's neither here no there. Basically, Flufty was talking shit. Two policemen spotted me holding the stolen jewels, and chased me into an alley whereupon I was forced to dickwhip them into submission. However, one had time to call for backup, and it was only due to my quick thinking and impressive groin that I was able to escape, albeit without the jewels, and have been in hiding ever since, whilst that rabbit of yours has grown fat on freedom. Thus, when I furtively appeared at your Somerset mansion last weekend, to attend the barbecue celebrating your ascension into the House of Lords, I spotted Flufty in the driveway, a fat cigar hanging from his mouth and a meat pie in his paws, I accelerated rapidly towards him. The little cunt ducked underneath my wheels, cigar and pie forgotten, but was not quick enough to escape my almost stunt-man quick reversing manoeuvre. I also drove over him a second time, just to make sure.
So, please accept my sincerest apologies for killing your beloved rabbit, though it was a total shit. And I also regret my following decision to turn up at your house drunk, as I fear this may have speeded my decision to run Flufty over, and it almost certainly had a helping hand in my following decision to strip naked and wear the flattened body of Flufty as a makeshift hat. Again, I apologise for this. And I must apologise further for making rather forward advances on members of your family. If/when your grandfather comes out of his coma, would you please forward this apology to him.
By way of repairing the strained relations between us, I would like to take Monday 12th March off work, so I can prepare a suitable burial for Flufty at my Lancashire house Cholmondesley Manor. I will hold a small memorial service, followed by a respectful wake. There will be party sausages and pineapple chunks and cheddar on sticks. There will also be jelly and rumour is, Gary The Musical Clown may make an appearance.
I look forward to hearing from you, or if this has forwarded on to your lawyers, from them.
Yours
Captain Otis Koln Weathersley Pervical-Jivefunk O.B.E., Commander-in-Chief of the Royal British Mediterranean Navy, Her Majesty's Lord of the Admiralty and First Sea Lord of Portsmouth.
Tuesday, 6 February 2007
How To Woo A Lady
Some things over the last few decades have changed, either for better or worse. Things like the internet, the price of oil or the quality of Steve Martin films. Some things, however, have remained the same, like Brian May’s hair or Heather Locklear’s face. And, of course, the noble art of wooing a lady.
Wooing a lady is a daunting task, and has been for many centuries. Some Gentlemen have the innate ability to woo born into them. Some develop an ability to woo, whilst others have no idea and are desperately seeking a handy guide to help end their lady solitude. If you belong in the third category, then this guide is for you!
PART 1: MEETING A LADY
When meeting a lady, you need to consider a location, a location where ladies are typically found in abundance. Places such as a haberdashery store, a hair salon, a laundrette or a maternity ward are fine examples. These are all places where you can be guaranteed to find many ladies and critically, not many gentlemen. An abundance of gentlemen is a bad sign when trying to woo a lady as many of the other gentlemen will be trying to do the same thing. Too many Gentlemen often scare ladies and the ladies will then retire to the nearest lavatory, leaving nothing but Gentlemen in the vicinity. The result is what historians call a ‘Sausage Fest*’.
When you have located an ideal spot full of ladies, approach carefully. Ladies are skittish creatures, and when approached by a Gentleman, will close together in a defensive huddle. An experienced wooer can break into the huddle and reach the young, healthy ladies, but an inexperienced wooer, such as yourself, will have better luck if they pick off the old, crippled or sick who were too slow to enter the huddle. These ladies can easily be rounded up and cornered, and your wooing assault can now begin.
When approaching your selected lady, do so slowly; any quick movements will send the lady scurrying for cover. Also, be careful of your body language. Be open and confident and do not look shifty, or look straight into the lady’s eyes. This can spook them, and make further wooing tricky. Instead, keep your eyes on her breasts - on no account must you stop looking at the breasts. Furthermore, do not keep your hands where you usually keep them. Instead, remove them from the front of your trousers and slip them into your trouser pockets. This way, you can achieve a nonchalant look and still massage your balls and also keep any resulting erections in check.
SPEAKING TO THE LADY
So, you’ve located a lady to woo, and have approached her without her taking flight. Well done, but that’s only part of the challenge. Next, you have to talk to her. This is tricky, and must be done with great care. A large part of wooing a lady is the initial contact, and if this goes badly, it can be hard to recover.
Ladies expect the Gentleman to initiate a conversation, so when you are within talking distance, introduce yourself by giving a short exclamation on how the day has been, and then give your full name, followed by any titles, qualifications and nationally recognised awards you have. Follow this with your current no-claims bonus on your car insurance, your foot size and finally, your preference of bacon. This may seem needlessly excessive, and it is, but ladies enjoy excess, because excess is two-thirds of success, and that’s what ladies really crave.
The lady may or may not give her name back. It doesn’t matter. However, what you must next do is comment on a feature you find acceptable, features such as her eyes, breasts, hair or tennis elbow. Ladies are shallow beings and a compliment is to them what a nice pair of trousers or good electric powertool is to man. As such, compliments are the lifeblood of wooing, and a gentleman must get used to delivering them with gusto.
Thirdly, you must ask the lady out on a date. This is the deal breaker. If your delivery of your name and your compliments were good enough, she will accept the offer of a date, and you will pick her up at seven accordingly. When asking the lady on a date, you have to specify where you wish the date to take place. Make sure you take her somewhere she will enjoy. Be careful though, as even though your lady enjoys places such as a kitchen, supermarket, bingo hall or Gynaecology Clinic, she will not want to go on a date there! Instead, I suggest going to a fancy restaurant, as a lady gets pleasure from eating, and will thus be amenable to further wooing.
To give you a complete example of how to talk to a lady, I have recorded what I, a master wooer, would say to a lady. I would approach a lady, and say “Isn’t it a Good Day? I am Lord Admiral Sir Charles Geoffrey St. Gloucestershire Cholmondesley-Taylor, O.B.E. I have seven years no-claims bonus, thus proving I am a more than adequate driver. My foot size is12, and my favourite bacon is applewood-smoked thick back slices. Your thighs are very impressive. They have a solid, trunk-like quality about them and you must be able to scoot up a ladder jolly quickly indeed. I’m going to my mother’s house for tea. You are to come and meet her.” If delivered with the aplomb only a master wooer has, this would devastate a lady into next week.
GETTING DRESSED FOR THE DATE
Ladies like a well turned out Gentleman, and you must be no exception. So put away your usual attire - those hotpants, rucksack, bum-bag and well-loved Wham! T-shirt just won’t cut it on a date. What you need to acquire is a suit – any kind of suit, double breasted, zoot, armour, you name it. Ladies go floppy at the knees upon seeing a man in a suit. The material you wish the suit to be in should be an expensive one, like silk, leather or a metal alloy. You will also need a pair of shoes so shiny, you could use them as a shaving mirror. Your clothing must impress your lady as well as be a display of your wealth, strength, and ability to dress yourself. And, of course, nothing impresses a lady like a man with half an iron foundry on him.
PART 2: ON THE DATE
THE FANCY RESTAURANT
Fancy restaurants are intimidating places, but they are a vital part in the wooing process. It is an ideal place to bring your date, and if everything goes swimmingly well, it is a good place to bring your date’s father a few months later, so you can apologise for impregnating his only child. There are many obstacles to overcome in a fancy restaurant, most of which must be negotiated with practice, patience, and guile. This part of the guide will help you through the most common stages, so you emerge the other end with your dignity, your wallet and your wooing intact.
Upon meeting your date, it is advisable to give her a present, something she will find charming and romantic. I suggest flowers, chocolates, a cream for a vaginal yeast infection, or some form of edible underwear, laced with intent.
You date may appear to be either pleased or displeased with your gift, but it doesn’t matter. It is the Thought That Counts, and not the number of toggles and straps on that expensive peephole PVC bra.
GETTING A TABLE:
The first thing to do in a fancy restaurant is get a table. You may not bring your own and put it in the middle of the room, or even in a corner. Getting a table can be achieved by approaching the maitre D and inquiring if he has a table for two. Sometimes you may be required to wait because there are no tables available. Do not panic, storm out, or blame your date. This is fairly common and often, the wait is less than an hour. If you are required to wait, simply take your date over to the bar area and order a drink. Enquire if your date wishes to have a drink, then order her a gin and tonic regardless. Ladies like Gin and Tonics, though often pretend to enjoy other drinks as well. This behaviour is not to be encouraged and it is your duty as a Gentleman to put your foot down.
If you do not have to wait, or if your waiting time is over, the Maitre D will show you to a table. This is your table for the night, but it is only on loan, so you may not take it with you when you leave. At this point, some people recommend you slip the Maitre D some money as a thank-you tip; I find money impersonal, and suggest a full kiss on the lips to be more appropriate. The Matire D will enjoy your more physical thanks a lot more than a handful of crumpled, sweaty dollar bills.
When seated, you may need to make Small Talk until the wine list arrives. Small talk is not as daunting as it sounds: Ask your date how her day has been. Any answer will not be interesting to you in the slightest, but you must appear keen. She will talk about what Jennifer said at the coffee machine at work about Timothy, or what Sebastian said at the tennis club about her serve, or what Rosemary said about racial equality whilst beating her new Puerto Rican servant. Just nod and agree when your date takes a breath. Hopefully, the waiter will soon arrive with the wine list and she will shut up.
ORDERING THE WINE
Ladies enjoy wine almost as much as a Gin and Tonic, and your date will be no exception. Men like yourself are not meant to enjoy wine, but we must pretend to in order to continue wooing a lady. Therefore, when the waiter arrives, take the wine list in a haughty, authoritarian style, and stare at it. Reading the list will not make sense as it is written in a style alien to most men. Nod your head knowingly at perplex terms like ‘full-bodied’, ‘fruity’, ‘earthy’ or ‘jockular’ but do not be alarmed when you see a wine referred to as ‘dry’. This is an impossible paradox and the wine waiter will have put it in to try and panic you. Do not fall for it – instead, after about fifteen seconds of staring, point at a random line, claim you wish to imbibe it and read out the description as if you know exactly what it means. Your date will be impressed.
The wine waiter will return with a glass bottle of wine, and he will pour a little bit into your glass. Swill the wine around, sniff it, and take a mouthful. Do not swallow it, as all taster wines are not meant to be drunk, else no one else can taste it. Instead, spit it out back into your glass, and offer it to your date to try. Don’t be alarmed if she refuses. Ladies always let men pick the wine so as to provide a scape-goat if the wine is not Good.
I know the wine tasted awful – that’s how wine is meant to taste. Even so, you must tell the waiter it is acceptable, and allow him to pour your date a glass. He will only pour half a glass of wine into your date’s glass. This is normal – ladies cannot drink more than half-a-glass of wine at once. If they do, they become giddy and unpredictable. The waiter will then pour you a glass of wine. If he attempts to stop pouring halfway, reprimand him with a raised voice and a two-fingered smack on the nose. You need to prove to your date that you can drink a whole glass of wine. As this proves you to be a virile man, who will be a fine candidate for mating. When the waiter has filled your wine glass to the brim, he will enquire as to whether you are ready to order food.
ORDERING YOUR FOOD
There is only one rule when ordering food at a fancy restaurant – meat, meat, meat! Make sure you order at least three courses of meat. If possible, have three steaks. Your date will be impressed that you can eat so much meat. Do not try and order any food with a foreign language in its name. You will not be able to pronounce it and your failure to do so will lower you in your date’s eyes. Instead, when the waiter enquires what you wish to eat, confidently hand him the menu and say you want meat. He will understand what you mean, and provide you with as much as you need.
Your date will order foods like salads and fish. This is perfectly normal as ladies can survive on such foods. Do not attempt to shove meat down your date’s throat in a misguided attempt to fatten her up in preparation for future pregnancies. This will not go down very well and your date may well end.
Some fancy restaurants offer a round of Sorbets in between each course. If this is the case, politely refuse, telling the waiter that there is no meat in a sorbet.
THE CUTLERY
The cutlery is the hardest obstable to face in any fancy restaurant. You may have up to six knives and six forks in front of you, with a variety of spoons hanging around the edge. When presented with your first course, whatever you do, don’t hesistate over the cutlery! Your daet may well take this as a sign of weakness.
Most of the items of cutlery are decoys placed there to test you. Any sensible Gentleman knows the only cutlery you may possibly need is a large spoon, and this is simply because they look amusing. Fingers will serve you just fine when it comes to eating your food, unless you have foolishly deviated from meat and ordered a soup. If this is the case, simply ask your waiter for a straw, or you can just place your face into the bowl of soup and suck. Ignore the burning sensation. You have already fouled up by ordering soup and you don’t want to lose even more respect, do you?
Put your spoon to one side, and offer the rest of your cutlery to your date. She will be impressed by your generosity. If your waiter replenishes your cutlery at any time, thank him, and when he leaves the table, offer the new set to your date. If she refuses, try giving it out to other diners. A lot of people like cutlery, and you will look generous in the eyes of your Date.
WHEN THE MEAL ARRIVES
With the clever elimination of cutlery, your food will arrive with only a spoon to distract you. You may use the spoon if you wish, but as you have ordered meat, I advise you to just shove your food into your mouth using your hands. And remember, like everything in life, eating in a fancy restaurant is a race. You must finish your meal before your date finishes hers. Don’t be alarmed when you see your date eating her food delicately with a knife and fork – this is a trap designed to make you doubt yourself and slow down. Nothing impresses a lady more than a Gentleman who can fit a twelve-ounce steak into his mouth in one go. If you think your date is catching you up, it is acceptable to distract her by throwing her food across the room. She will have to waste valuable seconds retrieving it and apologising to the other diners.
Periodically, your waiter may approach your table and ask if everything is okay. Common protocol is to have too much food in your mouth to answer coherently, so keep an eye out for any waiter approaching, and make sure you have enough food ready to cram into your mouth. If you are running out, try procuring food from the plate of your date or those of the other diners. They will do the same to you if you give them even half a chance.
If you behave as you should, you will finish your food before your Date. In such a scenario, it is perfectly acceptable to reach over and help yourself to whatever is on her plate. She would be doing the same right now if you hadn’t finished before her. She might put up a bit of a fight. If that is the case, use the ‘look over there, it’s a sale at Bloomingdale’s and it appears there is to be thirty percent of the price of skirts, blouses and undergarmets!’ Your date will be too eager for the chance to buy cut-price clothing to care how much food is filched off of her plate.
FINISHING YOUR MEAL
When your date puts down her knife and fork, the meal is over. You must declare in a hearty, booming voice how lovely it was, even if it tasted like battery acid. Phrases such as ‘that was jolly good,’ or ‘mmmmm’ will suffice. You must also ask your date if she enjoyed the meal, though this knowledge will be of no use to you whatsoever. It is all part of the Fancy Restaurant Dating Etiquette.
You are now expected to pay for the meal. This is tricky because, like all respectable Gentlemen, you will not have a job and therefore, you have no money. Ergo, when the waiter arrives with the bill, simply direct him towards your date, and she will have to pay. She will be angry, but this anger will be directed at herself because she didn’t think to direct the waiter towards you first. If your date continues to show anger, simply remove your napkin from your collar, place it delicately on the table, lean forwards and reprimand her with a firm, raised voice and a two fingered smack on the nose.
--
And that’s it! Your date is over, your lady has been wooed. After a date, you are not expected to ever see the Lady again, which is a good thing because any attempt to do so will often result in a slap to the face or neck. However, wooing ladies is all part of being a modern Gentleman, and you must continue to woo as many different ladies as possible. Ergo, you must stick to this simple guide, and hone your wooing skills and soon, you shall soon be a master wooer like myself and eventually, you will become a Gentleman other Gentlemen aspire to be! Good luck!
--
*This term dates from the German duchy of Hanover. It was first recorded in 1864 when the then ruler, Duke Earnest Augustus, a long time fan of meat, asked all the city’s butchers to display their wares at the first annual Fleischfeier, or Meat Festival, where he himself had intended to judge the finest meats. However when the festival started, the butchers, all big, bearded, very German men, noticed to their consternation that they had all bought sausages to show the Duke. When Duke Augustus arrived, he was heard to howl with delight. “Fleischfeier?” the Duke boomed, “More like a Wurstfeier! It’s a good thing I like sausages and enjoy putting them in my mouth, and am secure enough in my sexuality to make such a comment. Now, I’m going to go and hug my wife!**” Thus the name Wurstfeier, or Sausage Fest, stuck as a term used when a large group of men are together without female company, and are thus free to discuss meat products without fear of reprisal.
**Of course, Earnest Augustus was an enormous mincer, and instead of wife, he means another man. And instead of hug, he means go boating on the royal lake.
Wooing a lady is a daunting task, and has been for many centuries. Some Gentlemen have the innate ability to woo born into them. Some develop an ability to woo, whilst others have no idea and are desperately seeking a handy guide to help end their lady solitude. If you belong in the third category, then this guide is for you!
PART 1: MEETING A LADY
When meeting a lady, you need to consider a location, a location where ladies are typically found in abundance. Places such as a haberdashery store, a hair salon, a laundrette or a maternity ward are fine examples. These are all places where you can be guaranteed to find many ladies and critically, not many gentlemen. An abundance of gentlemen is a bad sign when trying to woo a lady as many of the other gentlemen will be trying to do the same thing. Too many Gentlemen often scare ladies and the ladies will then retire to the nearest lavatory, leaving nothing but Gentlemen in the vicinity. The result is what historians call a ‘Sausage Fest*’.
When you have located an ideal spot full of ladies, approach carefully. Ladies are skittish creatures, and when approached by a Gentleman, will close together in a defensive huddle. An experienced wooer can break into the huddle and reach the young, healthy ladies, but an inexperienced wooer, such as yourself, will have better luck if they pick off the old, crippled or sick who were too slow to enter the huddle. These ladies can easily be rounded up and cornered, and your wooing assault can now begin.
When approaching your selected lady, do so slowly; any quick movements will send the lady scurrying for cover. Also, be careful of your body language. Be open and confident and do not look shifty, or look straight into the lady’s eyes. This can spook them, and make further wooing tricky. Instead, keep your eyes on her breasts - on no account must you stop looking at the breasts. Furthermore, do not keep your hands where you usually keep them. Instead, remove them from the front of your trousers and slip them into your trouser pockets. This way, you can achieve a nonchalant look and still massage your balls and also keep any resulting erections in check.
SPEAKING TO THE LADY
So, you’ve located a lady to woo, and have approached her without her taking flight. Well done, but that’s only part of the challenge. Next, you have to talk to her. This is tricky, and must be done with great care. A large part of wooing a lady is the initial contact, and if this goes badly, it can be hard to recover.
Ladies expect the Gentleman to initiate a conversation, so when you are within talking distance, introduce yourself by giving a short exclamation on how the day has been, and then give your full name, followed by any titles, qualifications and nationally recognised awards you have. Follow this with your current no-claims bonus on your car insurance, your foot size and finally, your preference of bacon. This may seem needlessly excessive, and it is, but ladies enjoy excess, because excess is two-thirds of success, and that’s what ladies really crave.
The lady may or may not give her name back. It doesn’t matter. However, what you must next do is comment on a feature you find acceptable, features such as her eyes, breasts, hair or tennis elbow. Ladies are shallow beings and a compliment is to them what a nice pair of trousers or good electric powertool is to man. As such, compliments are the lifeblood of wooing, and a gentleman must get used to delivering them with gusto.
Thirdly, you must ask the lady out on a date. This is the deal breaker. If your delivery of your name and your compliments were good enough, she will accept the offer of a date, and you will pick her up at seven accordingly. When asking the lady on a date, you have to specify where you wish the date to take place. Make sure you take her somewhere she will enjoy. Be careful though, as even though your lady enjoys places such as a kitchen, supermarket, bingo hall or Gynaecology Clinic, she will not want to go on a date there! Instead, I suggest going to a fancy restaurant, as a lady gets pleasure from eating, and will thus be amenable to further wooing.
To give you a complete example of how to talk to a lady, I have recorded what I, a master wooer, would say to a lady. I would approach a lady, and say “Isn’t it a Good Day? I am Lord Admiral Sir Charles Geoffrey St. Gloucestershire Cholmondesley-Taylor, O.B.E. I have seven years no-claims bonus, thus proving I am a more than adequate driver. My foot size is12, and my favourite bacon is applewood-smoked thick back slices. Your thighs are very impressive. They have a solid, trunk-like quality about them and you must be able to scoot up a ladder jolly quickly indeed. I’m going to my mother’s house for tea. You are to come and meet her.” If delivered with the aplomb only a master wooer has, this would devastate a lady into next week.
GETTING DRESSED FOR THE DATE
Ladies like a well turned out Gentleman, and you must be no exception. So put away your usual attire - those hotpants, rucksack, bum-bag and well-loved Wham! T-shirt just won’t cut it on a date. What you need to acquire is a suit – any kind of suit, double breasted, zoot, armour, you name it. Ladies go floppy at the knees upon seeing a man in a suit. The material you wish the suit to be in should be an expensive one, like silk, leather or a metal alloy. You will also need a pair of shoes so shiny, you could use them as a shaving mirror. Your clothing must impress your lady as well as be a display of your wealth, strength, and ability to dress yourself. And, of course, nothing impresses a lady like a man with half an iron foundry on him.
PART 2: ON THE DATE
THE FANCY RESTAURANT
Fancy restaurants are intimidating places, but they are a vital part in the wooing process. It is an ideal place to bring your date, and if everything goes swimmingly well, it is a good place to bring your date’s father a few months later, so you can apologise for impregnating his only child. There are many obstacles to overcome in a fancy restaurant, most of which must be negotiated with practice, patience, and guile. This part of the guide will help you through the most common stages, so you emerge the other end with your dignity, your wallet and your wooing intact.
Upon meeting your date, it is advisable to give her a present, something she will find charming and romantic. I suggest flowers, chocolates, a cream for a vaginal yeast infection, or some form of edible underwear, laced with intent.
You date may appear to be either pleased or displeased with your gift, but it doesn’t matter. It is the Thought That Counts, and not the number of toggles and straps on that expensive peephole PVC bra.
GETTING A TABLE:
The first thing to do in a fancy restaurant is get a table. You may not bring your own and put it in the middle of the room, or even in a corner. Getting a table can be achieved by approaching the maitre D and inquiring if he has a table for two. Sometimes you may be required to wait because there are no tables available. Do not panic, storm out, or blame your date. This is fairly common and often, the wait is less than an hour. If you are required to wait, simply take your date over to the bar area and order a drink. Enquire if your date wishes to have a drink, then order her a gin and tonic regardless. Ladies like Gin and Tonics, though often pretend to enjoy other drinks as well. This behaviour is not to be encouraged and it is your duty as a Gentleman to put your foot down.
If you do not have to wait, or if your waiting time is over, the Maitre D will show you to a table. This is your table for the night, but it is only on loan, so you may not take it with you when you leave. At this point, some people recommend you slip the Maitre D some money as a thank-you tip; I find money impersonal, and suggest a full kiss on the lips to be more appropriate. The Matire D will enjoy your more physical thanks a lot more than a handful of crumpled, sweaty dollar bills.
When seated, you may need to make Small Talk until the wine list arrives. Small talk is not as daunting as it sounds: Ask your date how her day has been. Any answer will not be interesting to you in the slightest, but you must appear keen. She will talk about what Jennifer said at the coffee machine at work about Timothy, or what Sebastian said at the tennis club about her serve, or what Rosemary said about racial equality whilst beating her new Puerto Rican servant. Just nod and agree when your date takes a breath. Hopefully, the waiter will soon arrive with the wine list and she will shut up.
ORDERING THE WINE
Ladies enjoy wine almost as much as a Gin and Tonic, and your date will be no exception. Men like yourself are not meant to enjoy wine, but we must pretend to in order to continue wooing a lady. Therefore, when the waiter arrives, take the wine list in a haughty, authoritarian style, and stare at it. Reading the list will not make sense as it is written in a style alien to most men. Nod your head knowingly at perplex terms like ‘full-bodied’, ‘fruity’, ‘earthy’ or ‘jockular’ but do not be alarmed when you see a wine referred to as ‘dry’. This is an impossible paradox and the wine waiter will have put it in to try and panic you. Do not fall for it – instead, after about fifteen seconds of staring, point at a random line, claim you wish to imbibe it and read out the description as if you know exactly what it means. Your date will be impressed.
The wine waiter will return with a glass bottle of wine, and he will pour a little bit into your glass. Swill the wine around, sniff it, and take a mouthful. Do not swallow it, as all taster wines are not meant to be drunk, else no one else can taste it. Instead, spit it out back into your glass, and offer it to your date to try. Don’t be alarmed if she refuses. Ladies always let men pick the wine so as to provide a scape-goat if the wine is not Good.
I know the wine tasted awful – that’s how wine is meant to taste. Even so, you must tell the waiter it is acceptable, and allow him to pour your date a glass. He will only pour half a glass of wine into your date’s glass. This is normal – ladies cannot drink more than half-a-glass of wine at once. If they do, they become giddy and unpredictable. The waiter will then pour you a glass of wine. If he attempts to stop pouring halfway, reprimand him with a raised voice and a two-fingered smack on the nose. You need to prove to your date that you can drink a whole glass of wine. As this proves you to be a virile man, who will be a fine candidate for mating. When the waiter has filled your wine glass to the brim, he will enquire as to whether you are ready to order food.
ORDERING YOUR FOOD
There is only one rule when ordering food at a fancy restaurant – meat, meat, meat! Make sure you order at least three courses of meat. If possible, have three steaks. Your date will be impressed that you can eat so much meat. Do not try and order any food with a foreign language in its name. You will not be able to pronounce it and your failure to do so will lower you in your date’s eyes. Instead, when the waiter enquires what you wish to eat, confidently hand him the menu and say you want meat. He will understand what you mean, and provide you with as much as you need.
Your date will order foods like salads and fish. This is perfectly normal as ladies can survive on such foods. Do not attempt to shove meat down your date’s throat in a misguided attempt to fatten her up in preparation for future pregnancies. This will not go down very well and your date may well end.
Some fancy restaurants offer a round of Sorbets in between each course. If this is the case, politely refuse, telling the waiter that there is no meat in a sorbet.
THE CUTLERY
The cutlery is the hardest obstable to face in any fancy restaurant. You may have up to six knives and six forks in front of you, with a variety of spoons hanging around the edge. When presented with your first course, whatever you do, don’t hesistate over the cutlery! Your daet may well take this as a sign of weakness.
Most of the items of cutlery are decoys placed there to test you. Any sensible Gentleman knows the only cutlery you may possibly need is a large spoon, and this is simply because they look amusing. Fingers will serve you just fine when it comes to eating your food, unless you have foolishly deviated from meat and ordered a soup. If this is the case, simply ask your waiter for a straw, or you can just place your face into the bowl of soup and suck. Ignore the burning sensation. You have already fouled up by ordering soup and you don’t want to lose even more respect, do you?
Put your spoon to one side, and offer the rest of your cutlery to your date. She will be impressed by your generosity. If your waiter replenishes your cutlery at any time, thank him, and when he leaves the table, offer the new set to your date. If she refuses, try giving it out to other diners. A lot of people like cutlery, and you will look generous in the eyes of your Date.
WHEN THE MEAL ARRIVES
With the clever elimination of cutlery, your food will arrive with only a spoon to distract you. You may use the spoon if you wish, but as you have ordered meat, I advise you to just shove your food into your mouth using your hands. And remember, like everything in life, eating in a fancy restaurant is a race. You must finish your meal before your date finishes hers. Don’t be alarmed when you see your date eating her food delicately with a knife and fork – this is a trap designed to make you doubt yourself and slow down. Nothing impresses a lady more than a Gentleman who can fit a twelve-ounce steak into his mouth in one go. If you think your date is catching you up, it is acceptable to distract her by throwing her food across the room. She will have to waste valuable seconds retrieving it and apologising to the other diners.
Periodically, your waiter may approach your table and ask if everything is okay. Common protocol is to have too much food in your mouth to answer coherently, so keep an eye out for any waiter approaching, and make sure you have enough food ready to cram into your mouth. If you are running out, try procuring food from the plate of your date or those of the other diners. They will do the same to you if you give them even half a chance.
If you behave as you should, you will finish your food before your Date. In such a scenario, it is perfectly acceptable to reach over and help yourself to whatever is on her plate. She would be doing the same right now if you hadn’t finished before her. She might put up a bit of a fight. If that is the case, use the ‘look over there, it’s a sale at Bloomingdale’s and it appears there is to be thirty percent of the price of skirts, blouses and undergarmets!’ Your date will be too eager for the chance to buy cut-price clothing to care how much food is filched off of her plate.
FINISHING YOUR MEAL
When your date puts down her knife and fork, the meal is over. You must declare in a hearty, booming voice how lovely it was, even if it tasted like battery acid. Phrases such as ‘that was jolly good,’ or ‘mmmmm’ will suffice. You must also ask your date if she enjoyed the meal, though this knowledge will be of no use to you whatsoever. It is all part of the Fancy Restaurant Dating Etiquette.
You are now expected to pay for the meal. This is tricky because, like all respectable Gentlemen, you will not have a job and therefore, you have no money. Ergo, when the waiter arrives with the bill, simply direct him towards your date, and she will have to pay. She will be angry, but this anger will be directed at herself because she didn’t think to direct the waiter towards you first. If your date continues to show anger, simply remove your napkin from your collar, place it delicately on the table, lean forwards and reprimand her with a firm, raised voice and a two fingered smack on the nose.
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And that’s it! Your date is over, your lady has been wooed. After a date, you are not expected to ever see the Lady again, which is a good thing because any attempt to do so will often result in a slap to the face or neck. However, wooing ladies is all part of being a modern Gentleman, and you must continue to woo as many different ladies as possible. Ergo, you must stick to this simple guide, and hone your wooing skills and soon, you shall soon be a master wooer like myself and eventually, you will become a Gentleman other Gentlemen aspire to be! Good luck!
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*This term dates from the German duchy of Hanover. It was first recorded in 1864 when the then ruler, Duke Earnest Augustus, a long time fan of meat, asked all the city’s butchers to display their wares at the first annual Fleischfeier, or Meat Festival, where he himself had intended to judge the finest meats. However when the festival started, the butchers, all big, bearded, very German men, noticed to their consternation that they had all bought sausages to show the Duke. When Duke Augustus arrived, he was heard to howl with delight. “Fleischfeier?” the Duke boomed, “More like a Wurstfeier! It’s a good thing I like sausages and enjoy putting them in my mouth, and am secure enough in my sexuality to make such a comment. Now, I’m going to go and hug my wife!**” Thus the name Wurstfeier, or Sausage Fest, stuck as a term used when a large group of men are together without female company, and are thus free to discuss meat products without fear of reprisal.
**Of course, Earnest Augustus was an enormous mincer, and instead of wife, he means another man. And instead of hug, he means go boating on the royal lake.
Sunday, 14 January 2007
Using your telephone correctly
Hello Johnson.
Can you telephone call Miss James using the telephone please? If you have never used a telephone, here's what you do - pick up the handset, or receiver, and place one end to your ear. You should hear a low buzz. Then swing your face towards the concentric numbered buttons (you will see them numbered 1-0.with one in the top left, and 0 at the bottom). You need to mash your face into the buttons the same amount of times as there are letters in Miss James' name, so that's fifty nine face mashes. It'll hurt a bit, but don't worry. This is entirely natural.
When you finish mashing, you will hear a ringing tone (provided you still have the handset pressed up against your ear - if you have dropped the handset to facilitate face mashing, pick it back up and replace it against either lobe). The ringing may continue for an indeterminable amount of time, as it traverses through a semi-cut wormhole spliced through the medium of space matter, scouring the edges of the chaos void that exists in the multiverse separating both you and Miss James. There is no telling how long it may take the telephone call to make this journey, but whilst the journey is being made, you yourself, as the source of the call, will slip outside of time, so even though it may seem like the ringing has carried on for three or four months, it will, in reality, in our reality, have only been a few seconds.
After the call is made, the telephocommunication unit placed on Miss James' desk will emit a high pitched ring. This means that something has gone horribly amiss during the telephone calls epic journey through the multiverse, and the phone on Mis James' desk is likely to explode. Miss James will thus try and evacuate her desk and her office, for fear that the telephone call, whilst making it's journey, ahas picked up a 'hanger on', a kind of unwanted hitchhiking transdimensional horror, much like the one seen in Buffy The Vampire Slayer season 6 episode 3, when Buffy, newly reincarnated and returned from a heavenly plane, picks up a demonic hitchhiker on her way back, and unleashes it on the somehow still blissfully unaware town of Sunnydale. But don't worry, Buffy dealt with it. admirably.
So, I hope this helps! In no time at all, you will be a Telephone Master, and you will be able to make upwards of three calls a week, and you won't have to wear your protective headgear and biohazardous suit any more!
Congratuations, Cockwallader Merryweather Submersible Cholmondesley-Talyor Daddy-O Grooverider Johnson. You can now call yourself a woman.
Can you telephone call Miss James using the telephone please? If you have never used a telephone, here's what you do - pick up the handset, or receiver, and place one end to your ear. You should hear a low buzz. Then swing your face towards the concentric numbered buttons (you will see them numbered 1-0.with one in the top left, and 0 at the bottom). You need to mash your face into the buttons the same amount of times as there are letters in Miss James' name, so that's fifty nine face mashes. It'll hurt a bit, but don't worry. This is entirely natural.
When you finish mashing, you will hear a ringing tone (provided you still have the handset pressed up against your ear - if you have dropped the handset to facilitate face mashing, pick it back up and replace it against either lobe). The ringing may continue for an indeterminable amount of time, as it traverses through a semi-cut wormhole spliced through the medium of space matter, scouring the edges of the chaos void that exists in the multiverse separating both you and Miss James. There is no telling how long it may take the telephone call to make this journey, but whilst the journey is being made, you yourself, as the source of the call, will slip outside of time, so even though it may seem like the ringing has carried on for three or four months, it will, in reality, in our reality, have only been a few seconds.
After the call is made, the telephocommunication unit placed on Miss James' desk will emit a high pitched ring. This means that something has gone horribly amiss during the telephone calls epic journey through the multiverse, and the phone on Mis James' desk is likely to explode. Miss James will thus try and evacuate her desk and her office, for fear that the telephone call, whilst making it's journey, ahas picked up a 'hanger on', a kind of unwanted hitchhiking transdimensional horror, much like the one seen in Buffy The Vampire Slayer season 6 episode 3, when Buffy, newly reincarnated and returned from a heavenly plane, picks up a demonic hitchhiker on her way back, and unleashes it on the somehow still blissfully unaware town of Sunnydale. But don't worry, Buffy dealt with it. admirably.
So, I hope this helps! In no time at all, you will be a Telephone Master, and you will be able to make upwards of three calls a week, and you won't have to wear your protective headgear and biohazardous suit any more!
Congratuations, Cockwallader Merryweather Submersible Cholmondesley-Talyor Daddy-O Grooverider Johnson. You can now call yourself a woman.
Monday, 1 January 2007
Leclerq Reviews: Sam Taylor Wood - Exhibition at the Baltic
Good day my friends.
Today I review the powerful work of burgeoning artist/photographer Sam Taylor-Wood, a woman with art in her mind and thankless fans drinking her every word like the blood of Trevor Nelson at her feet. Sam Taylor-Wood has presented a selection of photographs at nouveau art-house The Baltic Mill and her season runs from 17th May until 3rd September.
Sam Taylor-Wood, who but yesterday informed me she insists on the name 'Mistress Overgrown' during all formal interviews, whilst we sipped Campari and Gin over Ice at Brian Sewell's house with Ivorian street-singer and wall builder Gilles Yapi Yapo, claims the photographs and moving art tore her soul like a mother tears the paper of a bastardised child's school report - full of callousness and hate, but with a mixture of happy inside. I did not believe her.
Taylor-Wood insists on a blasé approach to her synthi-photographicalistic imagery. Her whims take her like a small child takes a jam-tart from her mother's fresh-smelling baketray at seven every summer's morning. Her faults lie in not pinning down an idea, but instead, she places her brain at our mercy, fingering it like some devilish putty, shaping it to our ideas of hatred, compassion, honesty and lies. Her work screams of maturity left at the bottom of the garden whilst she treats her three headless dogs to a spot of lunch on a hill in Surrey. If I were to liken her work to one of the nineteenth century impressionists, I would most certainly do so to Constable, whose skills with the lithograph are not easily forgotten unless one has too much sherry. Both Constable's and Taylor-Wood's work give the impression of each artist facing east whilst the wind drives northwards. Both speak of unspeakable teachings in a wild world inhabited only by the nightmarish fantastical beings we all see deep in our nighttime slumber. Both artists display enormous balls. Or Taylor-Wood would do, if she had but the fortune to be born with a set.
The show itself is of a nautical theme, but with humourous overtones of a political nature, but without the politics. When I viewed it, a woman was heard to remark about the lack of boats, but was shushed into relative silence by a brute of a Mexican, whom I felt was there for the chance to wear his traditional sombrero without seeming foolish. It did not work for foolishness was on his face when all asked where the boats are. Of course, I spoke up and claimed that Taylor-Wood had meant the exhibition to be entirely metaphysical, that the photographs and cinematography were completed entirely by another artist, one Gerald Hughes of Bootle, near Liverpool, thus highlighting, Taylor-Wood claimed, the power of suggestion over the infinite practicality of the subtle cynicisms of the human psyche. All silenced after my proclamation and I breathed deeply, tasting the air of mystery, confusion and the hint of unwashed hoi-palloi in the air.
The artist, despite our acquaintance on the art circuit of London, Harrow, Eton and Swindon has refused to have her work shown here, so I shall instead show the true meaning and behind a selection of her work.
Photograph one: Self Portrait Suspended IV, 2004
In this photograph, Taylor-Wood shows herself levitating magically above the sparse wooden floor of a drug-den in London. I feel this was not meant as a release from the human form, but a statement against the corporalisation of Asia, and the desperation felt by the inhabitants of entire towns eaten up after the pursuit of money. I am sure you can see why, my depiction of this image is as man in a beret.
Photograph two: Self Portrait Suspended V, 2004
This photograph was pretty much exactly the same as photograph one, and, to be honest, I felt somewhat ripped off. As such, my interpretation remains exactly the same:
Photograph three: Bram Stoker's Chair VI, 2005
Taylor-Wood's third piece tore into me like a sword brandished by a man in league with Danny Glover. The shocking yet gentle image filled my head with the impossible infinity that art offers. I felt I was looking through a mirror into the centre of the world, where tunnels flocked into the head of every citizen of Oman and Papua New Guinea. I heard their life through a synthetic symphony played by a one handed George Formby wielding a Xylophone with the Middle 'C' missing. This photo gave me a reason to live until tomorrow, which is why I feel I can only interpret it as a man with a beret on.
Photograph four: Prelude in Air, 2005
A childish image of nausea, Cardiff city docks and homoeroticism balanced on a shonky chair. This is the height of Taylor-Wood's almost adolescent cry of wanting to be simultaneously ignored yet noticed across all of society, save, as is clearly obvious, the Quakers. I felt her childlike innocent reverberating off of an invisible air shield set up by a bucketfull of evil. With such feelings swirling around the photograph like a lavatory flushed on the equator, I feel the only fair way to interpret the photograph is as follows.
Photograph five: The Last Century, 2005
As these denizens of the past quaff their barbaric ales and meads, the chirpy smile of the right hand figure cuts a vicious contrast to the almost Gallic nonchalance of the bearded one, a clear comparison to biblical author Ian Fleming's alter ego, James Bond. The disparaging glances of the background cast merely advance this fact. My interpretation of this piece cuts through the quibble and pierces the heart of the matter like a art-fuelled dart fired straight from a cannon made from half-filled paint tins.
Photograph six: Still Life, 2001
This is a picture of fruit. I have farted out better photographs than this. I can only interpret this as one thing.
And there we have it. Art has been on display here, and analysed like the dead at a crime scene. Taylor-Wood fought the good fight, with a rapier made from angst and a shield from the sheet music for Lionel Richie's "Hello". She fought against a wall of oppression and inebriation the like of which has not been seen since the signing of the Magna Carta. Art took on art and I feel the real winner was us, the meagre peasants supping at the breasts of culture. I have been Romain Leclerq, you have been barely worthy of my presence. Another day of art ends - let us hope tomorrow will occur much like today, with time running in the correct direction and not disappearing chastise my father like it did yesterday. Gentlemen and women, I bid you farewell.
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