timboblog

Le Competition!

I've gone all stupid in the head (Mrs Timbo will tell you this is nothing new) and fancy a bit of blogger vs blogger action, therefore I have hereby decided that it's competition time for one and all. Well, all six of you that skim-read this blog. Here's the score:

All you have to do is decipher all (or as many as you are able; this is highly dependant on your mental capacity and/or how many cups of typhoo you just necked) of the assorted personalities, riff-raff, and, err, other stuff. Whoever gets the most right is a) a fucking genius, and b) gone in the head. That person will also win... something. Balls, time to think of something...

So! There are sixteen things/peeps/objet d'arts (okay, no objet d'arts - I just wanted to say it), and I await your entries with glee. That sounded wrong.

FYI - No. 8 is the bloke to the left of the number 8, and not the Gay Pride chad thing above it. That's there because, well, it just is. Goes well on the leg dontcha thunk?

Also, FYI (whatever FYI bloody means), I'm proud of my hirsute legs. In case anyone was considering bringing that up at any stage.

AND, FYI YET AGAIN, click on the photo for a mahoosive version that will boggle your mind right out! Whoooo!

Bogeys and Gary Sinise

You wait and wait, and then when you're about to fuck it all off, and in a way not dissimilar to London buses, two come along at once. At least these were worth waiting for, whereas buses are generally dirty, smelly, full of weirdos, crying babies, crap parents slapping their crying babies, and at least one total lunatic who picks his nose with his feet.

Exhibit A: One fresh new Björk video, unopened, free to a loving owner:

And Exhibit B: Stone the crows! It's a new Rufus video too:

I'm not 100% convinced by either of the videos, but the songs are great. And there isn't a nose-picking loony anywhere to be seen.

Competition Result!

On to the important stuff. Well, I have to say that there was a particularly poor turnout for this, especially considering the fact that all you bloggers are supposed to be creative writery types, I thought this sort of thing would be right up your rear orifices, but sadly I appear to have been mistaken. Either that or you all hate me! I cry!

But there were at least a couple of entries, so I at least get to make a decision of sorts.

There was Marcos' mini epic:

denise the piece bakes a mean cherry pie
yeah, she's learnt to respect the cock
and she's easily taken in by the nice and caring guy
but will she still hang around when things get tough
and frogs start to rain from the sky?

And Midnight Caller's jaunty little ditty:

Denise. Denise the Piece.
She's no Gary Sinise,
but she looks good in a fleece.
When she holidays in Greece,
she never burns her crease.
Denise. Denise the Piece.
A caring woman with a love
of Geese.

Brom also kind of entered the race, but not really:

Oh Denise the Piece, I'm in love with you
Denise ohh be doo...

I don't know whether it should be included or not. Ah fuck it, why the hell not.

So, on the grounds that a fair bit (well okay, some) thought went into it, the grand prize, whatever it may be, is hereby awarded to Marcos. Well done chap! I shall be forwarding a prize to you as soon as I can work out what it should be. Any ideas?

Only kidding, I will think of something. I will, I really will. I really really will. Really really.

And I can only hope that we get a slightly higher number of entrants for the next competition. More news on that as and when. Now I'm off to scratch my bum and watch some incredibly boring snooker.

UPDATE 1: A couple of new(ish) pics for you all to gawp at in wonderment/spit your mouthful of steamingly hot freshly brewed  filter coffee made from the finest Columbian beans all over your filthily expensive Macbook Pro in a fit of uncontrollable convulsions as a direct result of gently moving your eyes in their general vicinity - delete as applicable - over at timbofoto.

UPDATE 2: And Marcos, as you can see you now have pride of place in my sidebar. Just below Charlotte too, and that there is primo real estate. You know how Coke and McDonald's pay shitloads to get their adverts in between the Superbowl halftime show? Well this is like that. Except advertising space in my sidebar  is something money can't buy. Plus, you know, if you want some raisins, or a Mars bar, or anything else in particular just ask. I'll see what I can do. I would give you a Swampy but I can't just start dishing them out willy nilly or else they may lose their mystique.

Everyone else, see what you could have won? Advertising space for free and a Timbo at your beck and call. Oh how you all must be regretting not taking part in the competition! Well, you live and you learn.

A bag of guff AKA Denise The Piece

I'm pleased to say that even though I'm still not yet in full working order, bits of me are, as of this morning, feeling a fair bit less shit. The main issue is, touch wood, on the way out (Thank. God.), and the sprained/fucked ankle is healing well. The RSI has also buggered off due to me stopping playing Stick Cricket. How I will miss thee. I'm still on the antibiotics and the hefty painkillers, so hopefully this is the home stretch. I bloody hope so, because I'm sick to death of sodding daytime telly. I've managed to avoid This Morning, but I can only take so much Cash In The Attic, Flog It, Car Booty and especially Homes Under The Hammer, before my lower intestine tries to climb up through my body and strangle my brain à la Hitchhikers Guide. One of these days it is going to happen. The number of times that I've seen a random statement get linked to a totally unsuitable piece of music in the last week quite frankly boggles the mind. Example 1: A bloke manages to get a house on the cheap, which is 'lucky', gets mixed with The Verve doing Lucky Man. Example 2: A couple buying their first house are accompanied by David Bowie's Absolute Beginners. The researchers for these shows obviously don't have a lot of imagination either; in one show a presenter uses the statement "faded seaside glamour" and so, obviously, we get The Delays playing in the background. These people get paid to use Google. Badly. I think using their brains might produce greater results, and I wouldn't have to sit there watching this crap with my head in my hands.

But enough of this toss. This week has seen a whole bunch of hoo-har going on in the bloggy world, hoo-har I really couldn't give much of a buggeration about as so far in my interweb career (can I call it that?) I haven't been attacked, stalked, trolled, sworn at, given a dirty look or maybe even just abused slightly in the comments. I mean, there's a always a first time, and considering the amount of rude words I use maybe it will happen eventually. Plus there was that time when I talked about Stewart Lee and his Gaping Anus of Christ joke. That's had a few Google hits, yet so far no backlash. But apparently people have had this sort of nasty thingy happen to them, which would clearly be rather shit. However, I think trying to write up a Code of Conduct for bloggers is a bit dramatic. And who's supposed to police the thing? Anyway, there are some much more lucid, funny, lengthy and pisstakey posts about this on the web, so I recommend going there instead because you're not going to get anything even vaguely thoughtful or interesting here.

I particularly like the last link (cheers Gordon for the fabulous linkage), and their Defcon style blog advisory system. Totally genius idea. I've stapled the html into my sidebar and lo and behold! it appears that my site is just begging for abuse. See here:

I think I love that I have an ASSHAT blog.

In other news, the Flaming Lips DVD trailer that was so helpfully deleted from YouTube within about three hours of it being posted a few weeks back, has now been resurrected and is available for all to see here. Or, well, just below this sentence.

And here is a link to my Architect of the Week, the beautifully monickered FAT. They design fantastical buildings, homes and interiors, and seem to have their imaginations firmly switched into overdrive. I particularly like The Blue House (which is in Hackney, of all places) and Meal's Restaurant in London. Gorgeous stuff!

And lastly, it's Competition Time!!! I love Denise The Piece. She's great. BUT! What film is she from? And for extra credit please invent a short poem or song involving Denise.

The prize will be riches untold! And various and assorted loveliness of my choosing. Come on, it's me! You know it'll be good.