nobby proudly fuowned by kins no sorry m's blog: "Letters"

Well after a pretty long time out of the game i finally managed to get privacy, an internets connection and bored enough to drop back over to teh internets' favourite bar/pointz thingy. The problem is I can't figure out what the hell is going on and have no idea if any of my buddies are still here or have 'changed' and gone and done something stupid like got a real life. I think I'll just drink through it, that seems to solve most of lifes little puzzles. Oh and if you have a job or lots of money, call me

I is offski. To a new office. The problem is it is open plan and we have proper IT and all those other problems that nsfw was invented for, so I might not be about much. Bummer. Or woo hoo, I don't know. :-( is there one of these for crying? (b) no I lubs you all and hopes to be mumming some time soon nearer to home, ie in my bedroom where I can mumm naked and not worry about sexual harrassment issues. xxx

OKey Dokey. Need your help, who is who? So far I got Link Hogthrob as Bo$$

Woo Hoo! I'm off to the mountains to ride the frozen waves and jam at the park with my dudes. It's gonna be gnarly, with boned out indys and broadway tricks. I'm shreddin the gnar, fu-barians. Laters

You can be part of the biggest film of the year for just £5! (at current exchange rates, that's about $2,000 I think) Its the project you've been dreaming about ever since you lost your fuginity; kins and nobby join for their first movie collaboration. We guarantee that your money will make at least one person actually roll on the floor laughing, two people will possibly piss themselves laughing and I will hopefully laugh my arse off. Script summaries will follow but there will be nudity, jokes off of teh internets, darts and absolutely no cats with bad spellnig.

There are always MuMMs about what to eat for breakfast and the answers are always wrong. So to save time I am writing down the recipe, so I can ctrl+c and ctrl+v it later (yes I am the keyboard shortcut king as well as the html king) nobby's Breakfast Stew Ingredients: -Pack of good quality Pork Sausages -Pack of good quality streaky bacon, smoked back bacon will do (possibly called canadian bacon) -1 Onion -Some mushrooms -A few spring or salad onions -2 cloves of garlic -1/2 pint boiling water -1 large can of baked beans, Heinz preferred -A shake of bisto instant gravy (other gravy powders are available) -1 tasty duck egg -2 slices fresh bread of your choice Method: Chopppity chop everything up into slices and stuff, preferably bite size and fry the onion, oniony bits of the spring onion, garlic, bacon and sausages in a mahussive frying pan until browned, adding the mushies half way through. De glaze the pan with the water. Add the gravy, boil up. Then mix in the beans and simmer. Toast your bread. (instructions for this can be found on any commercially available toaster) Poach your egg (too hard and controversial a subject to cover cooking method in this blog) Spoon said Breakfast Super Stew into a big enough bowl to make you sick after you've eaten it from the swelling, careful sprinkle the green bits off the spring onion on top and place your poached egg on top. Serve with the hot toast and the option of grated cheese. Perfection. Eat. Die happy. Note: No responsibility can be taken for inaccuracy of amounts, nor can responsibility be taken for readers choice of quality of ingredient.

So here is the whole diatribe from kins deleted video mumm, some of you may have read the serialisation in previous mumms: i was just talking about Bennett - he was the crazy man in the village when i was little, suspected kiddy fiddler, mental age of about 3 who was a farmer basically walking round in his wellies and bright red face, grunting like chewbacca cos he got 'run over by a tractor or something when he was a baby'- his attraction to younger kids was increased by his incredible badge collection, pinned all over his farming blazer(i have no idea why he farmed in a blazer either) scary mary Tourette Bag Lady - she hangs about outside the supermarket with one of those shopping bags with wheels, full of old plastic bags mainly screaming swear words at passers by. Once I jumped so much that I almost got run over. the my personal favourite 'Big Ben' - he was big, and thought he was the town crier. ˆ he stood in the town square ringing a bell and reading stories from the local paper, most of which were editions from a year or so previous that he found at the bottom of his bed, correction they were the bottom of his bed. the most famous crazy I am aware of "the Jesus man of Bradford". He's been walking around the city for years dressed like a monk. He turns up all over the place and is always happy to give you a wave or pose for a picture. He doesn't seem to age or anything and as you can imagine with someone that no-one really knows about there are LOADS of stories floating around about him. www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zo12saK5M1U

Antelope (v): to run off with your mother’s sister. Assassination (n): an arrangement to meet a donkey. Baptist (n): a junior hamburger chef. Basket (n): a short nap in the sun. Circumstantial (n): circumcision on a really big baby. Collonade (n): fizzy enema. Defence (n): something to sit on for people who can’t make up their minds. Diarrhoea (n) a very unattractive bottom. Dictator (n): hilariously shaped, edible tuber. Dipthong (v): to wash a lady's undergarment. Diversion (n): Princess of Wales' version of the events that led to her divorce. Dumpling (n): small lump of excrement. Gastronome (n): small person prone to excess wind. Harbinger (n): hard drinker. Hatchet (n): small, bird droppings that fall from the sky. Headband (n): top of the bill at a rock concert. Hormone (n): the sound a prostitute makes when she's not been paid. Hobnob (n): cooking accident often suffered by nudists. Homophobe (n): strong dislike of The Simpsons. Honeydew (n: women who regularly arrive late for appointments. Induction (n): induced labour in a duck. Innuendo (n): Italian suppository. Intercontinental (n): person who has wet themselves all over the world. Labiate (v): perform cunnilingus. Laminate (v): to artificially inseminate a sheep. Limpet (n): male who has trouble getting an erection. Lobster (n): colloquial term for a female who ejaculates during orgasm. Mantrap (n): sexual favour used by women to obtain money from men. Mastiff (n): mass erections induced by watching pornography. Menopause (n): break in conversation to allow men to get a word in edgeways. Minjita (n) (slang): an Indian lesbian. Misfit (n): an attractive young woman. Mislay (n): a brazen or promiscuous young woman. Morbific (n): excessively violent. Multilingual (n): engaging in cunnilingus with multiple partners. Negligent (n): cross-dresser. Ostentatious: make and model of a pre-war British luxury car. Outage (n): process of exposing a Gay politician. Portent (n): The Millennium Dome. Propaganda (n): a wooden support for one-legged male geese. Rapscallion (n): Black, American spring onion. Rectitude (n): Precise angle at which a rectal thermometer should be inserted. Reflex (v): renew wiring to an electrical appliance. Restitution (n): sanatorium for lactating women. Skulduggery (n): archaeological excavation. Snuff box (n): slang term for a coffin. Spade (n): small surgical tool for removing ovaries. Testator (n): a male who is constantly adjusting his genitalia. Titillate (n): delayed onset of female puberty. Titular (n & adj): busty woman. Vagrant: (n): confused insect. Willy-nilly (n): male who continually catches their penis in their zipper.

Widespread alarm in Welsh Village The Inquisitive fish dragon descended upon the small Welsh village of Llanddofurffaddas yesterday, threatening to burn the villagers out of their homes, steal their crops and incinerate their sheep. A meeting was hastily convened on the outskirts of the hamlet, for fear that stray sparks might well lead to a premature conflagration. Walking towards the dragon, Jones the Law, Chairman of the Parish Council, said to Jones the Learning, the Parish Clerk, who had reluctantly agreed to accompany him to the meeting, "Couldn't we gather a force to defend the village from this fiery monster?" "Gather it from where?" asked the clerk. "Our young people, isn't it?" suggested the chairman. "Why can't they defend us?" "Too busy with their sheep, boyo, they need a lot of looking after." "No they don't." "Well, they spend a lot of time up on the hills," replied the clerk. "What on earth are they doing then?" "Don't ask." After a lengthy discussion, during the course of which the dragon suggested a variety of alternatives, the two burghers finally came to an agreement with the monster. It would not steal their crops and livestock or burn the village to the ground in return for being allowed to drop in twice a year and invite a virgin to lunch. Reaction to the agreement was varied when Jones the Learning broke the news to the assembled villagers in the local pub — 'The Wizened Sheep Fancier'. "We really had no choice," he blustered defensively. "As none of you spineless buggers would help us, we had to agree to the dragon's demands, isn't it?" Jones the Bread rather smugly stated that he wasn't worried about the agreement as he only had sons, until Jones the Death pointed out that sons can be virgins too. Whereupon the baker choked on his pint of 'Olde Scruffy Yokel' and beat a hasty retreat. The Wizened Sheep FancierThis led Jones the Coal to remark derisively: "He's been reading too many fairy stories." Jones the Learning, who was something of a philosopher, reflected that nobody could do anything about it anyway. He then began to speculate on the dragon's insistence on virgins. "Do they taste better?" he mused, "saltier, sweeter, more juicy, perhaps? And does he savour them slowly or swallow them whole?" "I'd swallow their 'oles," interjected Jones the Video, smacking his lips. "Shut up!" shouted Jones the Law, soundly cuffing the shopkeeper. "You wouldn't know how, boyo." As I was now on my third pint of 'Sheep Fancier's Woolly Willie Warmer', I rather lost track of who was who, especially after Jones the Organ sat on my lap. Fortunately I was wearing stout, woollen bloomers at the time and hardly felt a thing. The conversation continued around me while I fended off the attentions of the nimble-fingered keyboard player. "There's no way we can get rid of him," complained Jones the Death. "His thick scales make him virtually invulnerable. Best give the beastie the virgins, isn't it?" "What we need is some brave knight to come along and slay him for us," reflected Jones the Fruit and Veg. "The dragon would melt his armour," objected Jones the Coal. "Seven Samurai might have a better chance," suggested another Jones — Jones the Post, I think — or it may have been Jones the Garage, my memory had become a bit hazy by this point. "Oh and where are you going to get seven samurai in Wales?" snorted Jones the Death. "Poke his eyes out," suggested Jones the Post. "Try it and you'll be sorry." "No, not yours, the dragon's," explained Jones the Post, or possibly Garage. "What with?" "A pointed stick of course." "It would have to be a pretty long stick." "He'd burn it," objected Jones the Video. "Not if were made of metal." "Then it wouldn't be a stick, isn't it?" "It'd still melt. Dragon's breath can melt anything." "If he ate enough virgins he may become too fat to fly, that would make it a bit easier, wouldn't it?" proffered Jones the...Jones the — well another Jones anyway. "Oh and how many virgins are you prepared to let him barbecue to do that?" "What if there weren't any virgins in the village?" suggested Jones the Organ brightly. "Wouldn't that be breaking our agreement?" asked another Jones. "No, we never said we'd supply a virgin, the dragon said he'd invite one to lunch with him every six months," explained Jones the Law with a wink. "You mean send them all away? We couldn't afford it." "We don't have to send them all away, just ensure they're no longer virgins, smirked the Jones who was attempting to remove my bloomers. "How do you do that?" asked a very naive Jones; the School, I think. "Don't be bloody silly," exclaimed my would-be lover. "Just you leave it to me, boyo," said Jones the Meat. Welsh DragonLeaving the bounds of the alcohol purveying establishment, swaying only slightly, I came across three charming young ladies from the village. One of the trio, whom I shall refer to as Cerys Jones, although her real name may be Raglan Jones, gabbled something garrulously in Welsh, which was roughly translated into passable English by her sister, whom I shall refer to as Morfydd Jones, although her real name may very well be Megan Jones. "I'm dead scared of dragons," said Cerys with a shudder. "You would be too if you were still a virgin round here. Being eaten out by Jones the Organ is one thing, providing lunch for a bloody great, fire-breathing dragon is quite another, isn't it?" "We're not naive, you know," added Megan, whose real name may be Morfydd — or possibly Cerys. "We've all heard the dirty songs and seen those filems with explicit scenes in them, isn't it? I've even played shepherd and milkmaid with some of the boys. Oh, and I know all about those women with their vibratin' pink toy jackrabbits, thank you very much." At this point Cerys and Morfydd's other sister, whom I shall refer to as Megan Jones, although she is almost certainly called Cerys Jones, took over the translation. "Quite honestly it doesn't matter to me whether or not I am tastier, I just don't want to be flambéed to death by a bloody dragon to leave a greasy spot or two behind. If I'm to be eaten I'd rather be eaten by some young lusty shepherd. It seems to me that being deflowered is rather better than being eaten alive by a dragon." Cerys, Morfydd and Megan (who of course are really Megan, Morfydd and Cerys) are all the daughters of Jones the Something-or-other.

Ipswich man, Norman House, tells of his shocking ordeal at the hands of aliens who transported him to another planet where he was subjected to merciless interrogation.. "Before we ask you about the alien experience, we would like to establish who you are and where you're from; what do you do, Mr House?" "I am a quality controller in a leading biscuit factory. It is my job to, er, um test biscuits for comestibility and I, er, do this by biting into them, tasting them for texture and flavour, and if the biscuit is satisfactory, I allow another four million to go by. I haven't tested this one by the way." "I think our readers will take that one on trust," we replied. "So, Mr House, where do you do this biscuit testing; where do you live exactly?" "Er, the Ipswich area; the environs of Ipswich. It's very quiet; it nestles in a little valley where we live. We're surrounded by um, countryside and we, um have a small garage." "I'm sure our readers will find that fascinating." "Yes, it's a very fascinating area, Ipswich, because it's where, the Romans first put down their um — their roman baths were first put down in Ipswich, you know," continued the Biscuit taster. "Did they really? Well, fascinating as the history of the Ipswich area may be, I think our readers would like to hear about your astonishing experience of being abducted by aliens. Where were you when this happened?" "I was out, er — with my wife Wendy— who also lives in the Ipswich area," replied Mr House," helping himself to another chocolate hob nob. "Remarkable." "Just above the garage we have a little flatlet, and we were out of an evening — I was out metal detecting." "Is that a hobby?" "Yes, I like to, er, I've got this, well, actually I found this metal detector years ago. I was very lucky because I borrowed a friend's metal detector and I was out detecting and suddenly I had a strong feeling that there was something metallic under the ground, and sure enough I dug away, and lo and behold there was this metal detector; all nice and as brand new." "Metal detectors are made of metal aren't they?" we asked. "They are made of metal and one of the problems with a bad metal detector is that if it's really poorly made it will start detecting itself." "You don't say?" "I do. A friend of mine had a detector which detected itself and started just curling up and trying to eat the handle." "But this is a good one?" we asked. "This is a good one, and we were out in the car, and, er, I got out of the car and started detecting —" "— And?" "And suddenly I saw this strange, glowing object hovering about one and half feet above the ground." "It wasn't your cars headlamps, or anything like that, was it?" "No, no, it was an unearthly object — non-metallic — otherwise the detector would have, er, detected it, and, er, I felt strangely calm, but at the same time, horribly terrified. I didn't know what to do. It just stayed there, glowing eerily. It was just hovering there and I felt something beckoning at me; a mental beckoning more than a physical beckoning and I suddenly saw a creature get out of the orb and begin slowly to suck me into it's orbit — mentally." I was abducted by aliens"Mentally suck you?" we asked. "Mentally suck me into the orbit and I fell into a trance and the next thing I knew I was elsewhere." "What did these creatures look like?" "Well, they're rather like, um otter-like in shape and sort of..blobby. The one on the right is the one who took me." "You could tell them apart, could you?" we asked, "we don't think our readers will be able to." "Er, em, mentally speaking, yes." "So how long did you spend on this planet?" "I was there for approximately four years, or it seemed to be about four years, but in fact it was only three minutes of our time." "We see.. Which planet were you on; was it Mars or Venus, or —" "— Ikea. They were people who arrived millions of years ago in cardboard boxes and were forced to assemble themselves." "We see," we replied. "That probably accounts for the strange shapes you've drawn." "Well yes, they had no instructions, you see," explained Mr House. "Why were they interested in you in particular, or us at all?" "I think they shared my love of metal but it was mainly because they have a museum up there devoted to rock and roll.." "Our rock and roll?" we asked. "Our rock and roll," repeated Mr House flatly. "The only rock and roll they've ever heard was Manfred Mann but they were unsure about the lyrics of one of his hits which was 'there I was a-walking down the street going doo wa diddy diddy dum diddy—', and that bit of the lyric was missing; so they only got up to 'doo wa diddy diddy dum diddy—' and they wanted to know what came afterwards." "And were you able to tell them?" we asked. "No, I didn't know that lyric at all. So they were most dissatisfied with me. They are dissatisfied with everything, really, up there." "So how did you communicate with them? Could they speak English?" "No, they, er, they think they can speak and they communicate through thought waves; through vibrations, timeless aeon vibrations." "And you could pick this up, could you?" "I could tell that they didn't like what they'd got," replied Mr House sheepishly. "What's the atmosphere like on the planet?" we asked. "Well, it's, er, very thin; a very thin atmosphere. If I hadn't had some air in my jumper and my socks with me I would probably have been stifled because it's just what I imagine being in Mexico City is like." "So what do they do for air or for food; do they eat?" we asked. "They, er..no. They've been on a diet for two million years because they, er, don't eat. They have no stomachs or mouths; they just have, er — well I showed you the drawing — they just have, er, the shape of an otter and two slit eyes. It's a good thing they don't eat because there's really no where for them to put the food." "Has this experience changed you in any way?" "Yes..it's.. An experience like that — in fact that experience — made me realise just how insignificant they were." "Thank you, Mr House. I'm sure our readers can empathise with that." "Can I tell you about my small garage now?" "Perhaps later."