Great Bender Bars

This week we visit the weirdest village on the planet. Sheep chasing, in-breeding and wife swapping are the norms around this area, and this pub earns its entry on past glories, rather than what goes on now. Don't get me wrong, it is still a mighty fine place to get shit faced, but with most of the bender squad having moved more than a £10 in a taxi trip away, it is difficult to get everyone over there at once, even though Andy the landlord is a good lad. I am of course talking about the Villager in Wilsden. For those of you old enough to remember, it started out as Wilsden working men's club, a.k.a. the Strugglers. It's heyday was the late eighties/early nineties, when well known knob head The Duke held forth as the landlord. A true eccentric, he was hit and miss, staying open all day Sundays, when pubs were supposed to close for the afternoon, and constantly on the look out for signs of drug use. One of the greatest moments was the mini riot started by some knob head during the first England game of the 1998 World cup, which ended with Dutch in shackles, being carted off in a fluorescent jam sandwich. Sadly this resulted in his banishment for life, well at least until the Duke left. King of the Pixies, Helmet, Jamon, Mad Ad, Mallky and Grande Queso have all served suspensions, for various misdemeanours, mainly the fighting variety. Lobon used to spin the wheels of steel every Saturday, and Sundays were drink yourself stupid day. Memorable moments include the Funky Pedestrian gipping on the floor after trying to drink 6 pints in one hour, the time I knocked some kid clean out the door, and then tossed him his crying girlfriend as he lay on the floor. There was the time me, the boy and Gster managed to plow through three bottles of Jim Beam in one session, and Grande Queso kicking off with several people, including on one occasion himself. Lobleys bird busting into the place and calling him out as the father of her child, the Duke hitting the panic button whenever a fight broke out and his drug testing trick of all of a sudden leaning over the bar to pry open your eye's and stare into them. It was after a session in the Villager that Jamon went back to San's and managed to puke and poop all over the bathroom. This lead to Crespo's immortal line of "Here, this puke smells like shit!" after the aforementioned Jamon made a break for the exit. It was also poor old Crespo who had to sort out Caroline after she landed on a flowerpot and cut open her arse. Funky P crashed his car on two occasions after too much booze, the first time taking out his neighbours car and wall, after responding to my put down of his driving. When I told him his fast driving was impressing nobody, he sped full throttle down his street, panicked, and drove straight in to a parked car pushing it through a wall. His second mishap nearly resulted in him becoming the Funky Angel, after his car burst into flames when he hit a wall. Ironically a passing pedestrian rescued him. Skidley now sports a fetching vagina on his head after Ropey took out several motors after one to many Guinness's. It was here Beaker tried to glass me with a pile of minute pieces of glass, and Spunky Monkeys then girlfriend took him out with a bottle of Budweiser. Gster dished out the clothes line from hell, and nearly killed some punk who was hassling the boy. One New Years Day, when Kev Osbourne had become landlord, we decided to pass the time by playing stupid drinking games, and we set up a swear jug to pay for a round of shooters at the end of the night. After four hours of binging a drunken Dazzler shouted out "Arse, shit, fuck!" threw all his money into the swear mug and passed out, whence Jamon put him in a corner to sleep it off and left a trail of dry roasted peanuts back to the bar so he could find his way back when he awoke. These are just the drunken japes and shenanigans that spring to mind, there are countless more that have passed into oblivion. Safe to say the last bender I had in there, on Saint Pats day earlier this year with Crespo and Shouty, Young Paul kicked off and smacked some geezer twice his size. Some places never change. Location

Thrice as Nice

Harr harr, ye noodle headed half wits, it seems me treasure be safe from all ye salty seaman snatchers. It be ood that none of ye spotted I be in the land of the Funky Pedestrian, McKeighley, West Yorkshire. And don't be given me any of your snivellin' "But it was dark" nonsense, and take it like a man. So this week Mc marks the spot for three shiny doubloons, if that is, ye can be guessin',

"WWWWWhere be McEEEEEuro?"

Discoverd...Dagerous Pete's Lovechild

It would appear the Dangerous one has sold his secret love child to Butlin's.

Went to see the Simpsons Movie

Me and the kids took in the new Simpsons movie on Sunday afternoon. It gets off to a good start, the first half an hour containing some great gags, in particular Bart's skateboarding stunt, but I have seen better episodes on the TV series. The problem is after 45 minutes or so it begins to fade, and I have to admit my interest waned, as did the kids. The Lisa thread is as dull as dishwater, and apart from Flanders, all the other characters are underused. The fact that's all I can really say about it tells you all you need to know. My eight year old daughter thought it was better than Transformers.

Munich Reminder

Quick reminder to those who still owe for the hotel in Munich. Believe it or not, it is only 59 days till we take off for the Oktoberfest. All flights are paid for, but I could do with getting some more brass in for the digs. Cheers.

Went to see Transformers..

Me, the kids and even Elster went to watch the new Transformers movie I have been waffling on about yesterday. First off, to fully appreciate this movie I reckon it needs to be seen on a big screen. It starts off at a fair old lick, the first robot is kicking tail within the first ten minutes. From here on in it kicks ass at regular intervals, and the main female character is well fit. It is all going just right until they decide to try and crowbar in some kind of storyline, about good and evil and courage. If I wanted plot I would have stayed in and rented an Alfred Hitchcock DVD. All I wanted from this movie was metal robot aliens that can change into cars and shit, to beat the be Jesus out of each other, and to be fair it does deliver for the most part. But the dialogue between Optumus Prime and Megatron is straight out of some piss poor He Man like kids cartoon. That is apart from one called Jazz, who they have given a jive talkin' down in the hood voice and attitude that made me cheer when the bad guy ripped him in half. All told this does kick ass, even the Elster liked it, but when they make the sequel I would suggest mute robots and less story. My seven year old son thought it was the greatest movie ever made.

Post Pirate Day Round Up

Sorry there has been no postings since Thursday, it was Shotguns birthday Friday, so it was beers a plenty, and couldn't be arsed yesterday. I promised to round up the pirate shenanigans when I had seen most of the participants, but before I wrap it up, I would like to say what a top set of geezers Dangerous Pete's and King Dave's pirate posse were. I look forward to swiggin' rum with them again. First casualty of the day was Mad Ad, who after a display of binge drinking that would shame a 14 year old, was toast by around 7 P.M., and was last reported to be in the brig of the evil M.R.S. member Madam White The only other casualty in Skipton proved to be Ropey Mark, who in shall we say a "confused" state, challenged Dangerous to a duel. After some light hearted fencing, Pete busted him the chops and split open his mouth. The last Ropey sighting after this was around 5 A.M. by Pete's dad. The only other close call was Skanks, who JohnnyM mistook for a pinata, and was nearly busted open for the sweets he thought were inside. The pub trail we took from the barge was the Narrow Boat, Rose and Crown, Cock and Bottle, Woolly Sheep, Breeze, back to the Cock and Bottle (so we think, nobody can remember to much about it) and finally the hotel across from the train station whose name no one can remember. After this it was time for the last train, Pete and Dave's pirate posse headed for Bingley, Dangerous even managed to secure entry to the Suburban bar dressed as a buccaneer, something that usually denied to him when dressed as a civilian. The rest of us tootled off for grub and home. The Shoutster, as always being the only one to brave a night club, the young scally wag. We are already making plans for next years voyage of piracy, and I will post the options we have, possibly even later today. Yarrrrggghhhhh!

JMF Clogged by Six

The first sorties fired last night were, as usual, by the JMF, who shot to a five goal lead early doors. It was down to the usual woeful defending by the Euro boys, a Young Gaz own goal being reminiscent of of Paul Robinsons Croatia howler, his back pass catching a daydreaming Shotgun off guard. All seemed lost as the smug arse bandits of the MoFo seemed set to stroll to certain victory. But they had not not figured with the kidnapped by aliens Clogs, who had been replaced by an extra terrestrial who had assumed his human form. The Funky Pedestrian was soon choking on his earlier taunt of "Come for your spanking have you?" to the cosmic Clogs. Not once, not twice, but time and time again did meteoric shots rain into the MoFo goal from the boots of super Clogs, to re-address the balance. Then came the moment the MoFo were to spend the rest off the night crying about, as Dead Eye scored a goal ruled out as the ball was not officially in play. The Funky P went into melt down, and even the mild mannered Dead Eye seemed to lose some of his legendary cool, as Euro, Two Scoops and Youg Gaz joined in the scoring to gain a four goal lead. Crespo gave the JMF a slim glimmer of hope, hauling them back into the game, before the efforts too find an equaliser left to many gaps at the back as the Euro E strolled to a six goal win. I love making the Funky Pedestrian cry.

Line-ups;

JMF- Jamon, Funky Pedestrian, Dead Eye, Luklear and Crespo

EURO E- Shotgun, Clogs, Euro Bri, Two Scoops and Youg Gaz

2007 Season

• JMF wins -15


• Euro Elite - 12


• Draws - 2

Great Bender Bars

If you are a muscly geezer with a moustache who has stumbled across this posting, hoping to find an alternative to the Blue Oyster Bar, be gone. This posting is a new series to my blog in praise of my favourite bars, clubs, drinking holes etc. to hold a BOOZE bender, ya cheeky monkey. Well I thought long and hard which tavern should be the first entry on this new thread, which is not in any particular order of preference, so I decided on the closest I have to a regular local. It is a place I have, with the odd exception, visited every Friday for the last six years, and has been responsible for many a Saturday spent ligged on the sofa. It is of course the Upper George at Wibsey. From the first early afternoon thrashes with Paddy, G Spot and JohnnyM, to new regular Shotgun it has become an institution. I have crawled out of the place on several occasions, lost my phone, had a snow ball fight once and it has been the site of at least five leaving shindigs. Notable incidents have included Paddy trying to kill his best mate, me beating the landlord at pool for a tenner (he was playing whith a broom), G Spots Xmas abduction, The Boy Dazzlers fall outside the pizza place across the road and Mr Singh challenging a Gypsy to a bare knuckle fight for a hundred quid. The beer isn't great, happy hour finishes to early and it is harder to get there in time for grub, but a true drinking bar it be. Standards have slipped recently, the beer doesn't seem quite right, and they started playing the music to loud, but nobody gives a monkey's about how drunk you get. A sneaky trick for the whiskey lovers, some of the younger staff seem to think Bushmills is some kind of wine, and pour out huge measures. Get it while you can. Is packed for Rugby League games featuring the Bulls, and has a minimal chav factor. On the down side, seats get taken early. This Friday we will be saluting Shotguns 35th year on the planet, so another bender episode awaits. We are there most Fridays, so if you're passing pop in for a pint.

Double Yer Treasure

Yarrggh mateys! None of ye pilchard sniffers guessed I be McDrinkin' in McLincoln, UK. This be meanin' there be double the doubloons to be winnin' if ye can be guessin'

"Where Be McEuro???"

Shouty Sea Shanty

After a hard day plundering the canals of North Yorkshire, there be nothing like unwinding with a flagon of ale, whilst bein' serenaded by the salty tones of the bucaneering Shoutster. Yaaaargh!!

Pirates of the Leeds/Liverpool Canal, Curse of the Curly Pube

Yarrggggh me hearties!!! The first annual pirate shindig is now history, and although the turnout was lower than anticipated, it was indeed a success. As if proof that buccaneering helps alleviate global warming, it rained all day, so all objectives were realised. A big YARRRRGGGH to the good folk of Skipton who were also receptive to our swashbuckling sea shanties, and nautical nonsense. Ale and rum flowed freely all day, we even managed to stick together for most of the day, until we caught the last iron horse back from Skipton, when we a split up through drunkenness and necessity. Buffoonery was on an epic scale, points all round, but alas there isn't one single incident that comes to mind, although whoever laid the log that blocked the canal boats toilet will get special mention. I will post a fuller report when I am not as hungover, when more of my memory returns and when I round up the other pirates to get their tales of debauchery. I have uploaded pictures and video clips at http://bendersquad.smugmug.com/gallery/3189695#175670543

It Be Pirate Eve

Yarrgh, today be the day before we weigh anchor and sail off into the treacherous dales of Yorkshire. Some of ye land lovers were not up to the task, so there be spaces left if ye can find any soul hardy enough to be undertaking the serious bender mission ahead. To the rest of the crew, I raise a keg of rum in ye honour. We set sail around eleven o'clock in the a.m., if ye need to be catchin' the iron horse, check me earlier post for times. I'll be seein' ye down the docks.

Unexpected Gaylord Lifts JMF to Victory

The Elites three game winning streak was brought to a shuddering halt last night, as the JMF scrapped their way to a 4 goal victory. The match was not a classic by a long shot, poor finishing on both sides meant the game was decided in a five minute spell when a flurry of goals from an unexpected source gave the MoFo's the breathing space required to prevail. All that walking has paid off, as a usually spent after three minutes Funky Pedestrian, waltzed through the Euro rear guard to score on several occasions. Apart from that, there isn't really a whole lot to mention, Young Gaz was off the boil, and although Clogs Ahmed played well as a late replacement, he sadly lived up to his nickname in front of goal, Shotgun and myself not being much better either. So the cock munchers snap our losing streak, but with no two scoops on their side next week, we believe this to only be an aberration. I hate those knob botherers.

Line-ups;

JMF- Two Scoops, Funky Pedestrian, Dead Eye, Luklear and King Dave

EURO E- Shotgun, Clogs, Euro Bri, Shouty and Youg Gaz

2007 Season

• JMF wins -15


• Euro Elite - 11


• Draws - 2

McTuesday

Yarrgh ye squirmy testicle munchers. Last week McCrepo figured I be stretching me pantaloons in McBarcelona, Spain. A shiny coin be his reward. This week I be given more of a teaser. So without further messin';

"WWWWhere be McEuro??????

Season Ticket

I am going down to Valley Parade this Friday with the Boy Dazzler to get our season tickets. Anybody else who is up for one I will gladly pick up at the same time, as long as they stump up the money. The only thing left to sort out is where we are going to sit. The obvious spot is the top tier of the Kop, which is the only area to offer any kind of atmosphere, but is murder to get a pie and pint at half time. The lower tier is a definite non starter, as its full of kids. The Sunwin stand lower tier has the family stand in it, which leaves the upper tier, if opened, the only alternative. It lacks in atmosphere, but provides by far the best view, is bereft of kids and is the easiest place to get served. As you can tell the last option is my preferred choice, but I will go wherever everybody else chooses. Thoughts please. Our first opponents are Macclesfield Town, who will be fielding a certain Richard Edgehill, headless chicken and former bantam, whom I look forward to heckling mercilessly.

Why Not?

Here is a picture of Jessica Alba that I am posting for no other reason than she is well fit.

Went to See the New Shrek Movie

Took the rugrats to see Shrek the third this weekend, and let me say what a pile of shite it was. Luckily the cinema played it loud, because I nearly fell asleep on three occasions. Unfunny, plotless, touchy feely, if we are ourselves everything will be alright nonsense sums up this turgid excuse to get your kids to pester you to part with your hard earned, for some new Shrek merchandise. I would walk through a thousand IKEA's rather than suffer through this tosh again. I dare anybody over the age of twelve not to cheer when it looks like Shrek has been killed. And it goes on forever, I break out in hives just thinking about the whinyness of Justin Timberlakes Arthur character brings me out in hives. Yet every cloud has a silver lining, and this trailer for Transformers was it. I asked Ike if Shouty could come with us, and his reply was, "Is that the one who looks like Harry Potter?"

Beer Tax!!! No!!

Just when you start to think the Tories might be worth voting for they go and announce something really stupid. To curb binge drinking Ian Duncan Smith has proposed a 7p per pint tax on beer. How the fuck do these people come up with such shite. Binge drinking is as English as losing on penalty shoot outs, getting stuffed by Aussies and wet summers. Who decided this was a recent invention? The country that gave us the eleven o'clock last orders ( 10:30pm weeknights, 10:00pm Sundays), which conditioned generations of drinkers to cram as much bevy down their necks as possible, now says it's all getting out of hand and needs to stop. Well let me tell these buffoons, you get less binge drinking in a local pub than you do in your Tesco strangled, pound shop infested, wetherspoon on every corner, two for one, happy hour chav populated city centres. It's their beloved supermarkets who churn out vast amounts of cheap spirits, that the knuckle dragging track suit brigade top up on before they even leave the house. You want to curb binge drinking, start cutting benefits. Ever wondered who is in the pub through the day while your at work? It's the workshy, bang three kids out before they turn twelve, housing benefit claiming, my stereo is in cash converters posse, that's the fuck who! So leave us hard working, still married/living with the mothers of our kids, tax paying non track suit wearing geezers alone. So what we like to drink more units than is recommend once or twice a week, get over it, when I need a new liver at least I will have more than contributed enough to the NHS.

Fantasy Football Time

Well a new footy season is almost upon us, and that means it's time for the annual Bender Squad Fantasy XI tournament, using the Sun's dream team format. Lobon will be looking to defend his title, won with considerable ease, although the Funky P did pick his team. The Pedestrian had to make do with second place, closely followed by Crespo. Winner of the wooden spoon was Jamon. There was a scare two months in though, when evil M.R.S. member SammyJ of the laddered tights, briefly took the lead. You can pick your side online now, and we will get the password details out to those interested when we have set up our league.

All Aboard the Pirate Express

As ye all be knowin' a week Saturday be the first annual pirate shindig. We be sailing the treacherous waters of the Leeds-Liverpool canal, setting sail from the land locked port of Skipton. We cast off at eleven hundred hours, and as none of us claim this town as our home, we need to be gettin' there by another form of transport. So it be the pirate express (also known as the Bradford-Skipton train) we be usin'. To arrive in plenty of time of drinking time we need to be takin' the 09:42 from Bradford Forster Square, which on route picks up at 09:49 in Shipley, 09:55 in Bingley, 10:22 in Keighley and arrives in Skipton for 10:17. For all ye sleepy heads there be on last opportunity to get to the boat in time, but it doesn't go from Bradford. It be the Leeds train, which calls at Shipley 10:002, Bingley 10:06, Keighley 10:12 and pulls into Skipton at 10:24. Any lolly gagger who be missin' any of these trains, will be walking the plank! Yarrrrrrgh!

Shout it Loud, We are Euro and Proud

The dark side continues to slump, as a Shotuy inspired Elite comfortably saw off a fast fading JMF. Early exchanges were tight for a change, the righteous not giving away their customary five goal start to the bumba clot MoFo. Things really began to change at the quarter hour mark, when the deadly Shotgun and back to full fitness Young Gaz, opened up a four goal lead that was never to be relinquished. As the JMF, who had the wall advantage, began to implode, the Elite serenely stepped up a gear to cruise to eventual victory by five clear goals. Every member of the Euro boys played their part, but special mention must go to the Shoutster, who confronted the Kung Fu Kick twins, Lukelear and King Dave, on his own, and prevailed. The lad ran himself into the ground, and also chipped in with some well executed goals. He even fooled Dead Eye with a devastating display of the infamous "Shouty Shuffle".

So all of a sudden it has gone decidedly quiet in the queer corner, as the mighty Elite slowly regain lost ground in a Herculean effort to right the travesty of 2006. It seems cock is not the only thing the JMF choke on.

2007 Season

• JMF wins -14


• Euro Elite - 11


• Draws - 2

BORED

It might be because I am suffering a touch of the man flu, or the fact that there is no decent football tournament on this summer, or even the shittiest summer weather I can remember, but I am bored witless at the moment. Nothing seems to be happening, work seems even duller than usual, and even Friday down the George has been a bit stale lately. I tell you this Skipton bender can't come soon enough. Footie season is also just round the corner, but that means winter isn't to far off. Anyway, pay no attention to me, just fancied a good old whine. Off to the coast this weekend with the the trouble and strife, plus bambinos, and then have a full week off leading up to the first annual pirate shindig, so hopefully will be in better spirits. Making a return to footie tomorrow as well, so a victory against the evil knob jockeys of the JMF could help cheer me as well.

McNemisis Strikes Again

I finally be shakin' that ricketts infested McCrespo when a blast from the past steams in to pillage me bulging booty. McMercenary reared his pin like head to correctly guess I be gorgin' me gut in the capiol of Scotland, McEdinburgh, and earn himself three shiny doubloons. I be a bit sickly this week, to much rum down the George, so this may be quite an easy McOddyssey, but hopefully ye'll be to busy to be guessin';

"WWWWhere be MMMMCEuro???"

A Strange Feeling

Over the past couple of days, listening to reports on the radio, a strange feeling that I have never encountered before came over me. I began to feel pity for the once mighty Leeds United. After years of putting up with their unbearable arrogance, and inane chanting of Super Leeds, I amongst many took great joy at their recent demise from Champions League semi final to the lower reaches of the English leagueand brink of extinction, but even I am beginning to feel something akin to sympathy. I know all you Leeds fans will say my footie team, the Mighty Bantams of Bradford City, are in a league below, and haven't won anything of consequence since 1912, but they miss the point. Being a City fan was never about winning anything, just about small glories and bigger disappointments. Alternatively the Leeds fan lived in some fantasy land, where they believed they belonged amongst the likes of Man Utd and Real Madrid. In fact the more I think about how unbearable they were under O'Leary and Ridsdale, and the cheating teams put out by Revie, and the walking penis that is Ken Bates I am re-considering my position. Fuck 'em, let them go watch Guiseley Town.

How Much!?!

There were plans on September the second to go and watch the one day international at Headingley against India. That was until I was informed the only tickets left were £55. This is a little bit on the pricey side if you ask me, especially as we are undertaking the Munich Oktoberfest later in the month. But this creates its own dilemma, we need to get in some beer drinking practise, so I am proposing we use the money that would have been spent on the cricket to go on a bender round Leeds anyway, after all it has been a while since we went for beers round the track suit capitol of the UK. All in favour say "Aye."

Lobon Fires Last Shots

Opponents were today mourning the news that brother Lobon has retired forthwith from football on medical advise. The last Mick was officially thrown during last years title decider, Shotgun and Euro the unfortunate recipients. When in the midst of one of his epic wobbler's, he could destabilise any team, and in effect become an extra man for the opposing team. There was of course the infamous Dutch incident, when Keighley Tim walked from the court before he levelled the tantrum throwing Mick. Lobon himself walked on a couple of occasions, but his preferred method was to feign retirement from the game, when he would shoulder his sports bag head for the door swearing and gesticulating, then at the last moment return to the field of play. I have to balance this out with the fact that when he got his eye in, he could shoot and score with the best. Alas these nights happened as regularly as a leap year, where as the "Throwing of a Mick" seemed to happen on a fortnightly basis. All the same Wednesday nights down the Wood will be less colourful without him. Lobon we salute you, and are pleased to see you have found a suitable shirt sponsor.

Euro-less Elite Triumph

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Hands Off Me Booty

Yarrgh ye pickle dodging McDogs, fer the second week I be foolin' ye all with me location. I be bursting me belt in McDewsbury, West Yorkshire, so me booty remains mine. Of course this means I be staking three pieces of gold that none of ye boy harpooners can be guessin' where I be satisfying me burger lust. With no further fan fare I be askin'

"WWWWWhere be MMMMMcEuro???"

Concerned

I was getting a bit worried about the bantams lack of signings this post season, and now I am downright concerned. Have just checked the BBC website to see if we have signed anybody, and lo and behold we have picked up a couple of strikers. The term striker has been used loosely in the case of Peter Thorne, a 34 year old, who has accumulated TWO goals in his last 42 appearance's for Norwich. Division Two goalies throughout the land must be quaking in their boots. Barry Conlon looks to be a better signing, but appears to be no more than a lower league journeyman. Don't get me wrong here, I wasn't expecting Thierry Henry to pitch up at Valley Parade, but I was hoping for someone I had actually heard of..

The Tale of the Flaming Foreskin

The following tale is true, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. The stunts in this story were carried out by professional idiots, and under no circumstances should be tried at home.

This cautionary tale begins on New Years Eve some time in the late nineteen eighties. In the wonderfully weird village of Wilsden, there was at the time an annual old years night party held at the home of local matriarch Gwen J. With her house stocked full of booze, and the rest of the family kitted out in fancy dress, they took off to join in the local pub crawl, before having everyone back for a knees up. The youngest of her brood though, was not old enough to drink down the boozer, and was allowed to have a friend over to keep him company. Boredom soon set in, and the young scallys were soon helping themselves to the Gwensters secret stash. Suitably greased they soon needed to find an outlet for their brewing buffoonery. One of the older members of the clan had donned a Dracula outfit, and for effect used some glow in the dark blood to spruce up his costume. One of our heroes stumbled upon the bottle containing said liquid and preceded to put some on his hands and run round like an eejit. The other protagonist of this tale was highly amused and poured some over his head, to try and out do the other. To cut a long story short, before long both were running around with the lights out sporting glow in the dark penises. Now for those unfamiliar with the mechanics of glow in the dark blood, it needs recharging under light after a while, so it retains its glow. As our heroes knob began to loose its charge he ran to the nearest light bulb to refresh it. Alas he waved his tally whacker to close to the bulb, and succeeded in welding his foreskin to the bulb, leaving a flaming piece of his manhood attached. Can you guess who it was?????????

Went to See the Rise of the Silver Surfer

The Elster took off today to do mother daughter stuff, leaving me and the Ikester to partake in manly pursuits for the day. After having an ice cream breakfast in bed, we tossed a coin to see if we should go see Shrek 3, or the Fantastic 4-Rise of the Silver Surfer. Shrek won, but we decided it was far too girly and went to see the Silver Surfer anyway. Sustained by meatball subs from Subway, we went to the flicks. The movie was pretty good, not enough mayhem for our liking, and yes the Alba woman would get it all night long. It was just a bit slow in places, we had to entertain each other with an epic popcorn fight to get us through all the touchy feely bits. The Surfer was cool as, but our attention was grabbed by this trailer before the movie started. I am sold and can't wait, but see if you can guess wich film it is before it becomes blindingly obvious...