Radio Rabies

A 22 year old bank worker from Greater Manchester fell asleep whilst he was cooking bacon recently. After an hour or so he woke up to find himself surrounded by smoke as his frying pan of what was bacon was on fire.

As he was removing the burnt remains he found something that looks like Jesus’s face burnt into the bottom of the pan. Toby Elles told the Sun “It’s a mircale. But for the smoke it could have been a very bad situation. I’ll never clean the pan, I’ll keep it forever”.

This isn’t the only time that Jesus has appeared in a strange place, he’s appeared on a brain scan, tree trunks, rocks and more commonly on pieces of toast which just conjures up all kinds of fun imagery.

It turns out that “idle chit chat” or “small talk” just isn’t great for depression. Or so it says here in this article I found.

The basic gist is: they put these little unobtrusive recording things on participants so they can hear what they were talking about for a while and categorized conversations as “trivial small talk or substantive discussions”. The happier people spent 25% less time alone and 70% more time talking than the unhappiest.

But it also turned out that the happiest people had twice as much meaningful conversations and only a third of boring small talk than the unhappiest people.

More or less in a nutshell if someone is talking to you about Hollyoaks try to steer the conversation to something more like QI or something. You’ll both feel better for it :D

In a blatant bit of stolen news, I was reading my latest issue of geeky magazine WIRED (it’s also covers it here too) and it said that in a recent study of 5000 divorce papers around 20% of them cite Facebook as a factor of the divorce. How insane is that? That’s 1 in 5…

I’m going to go out on a limb and guess it has something to do with people talking to their exs and being found out by a friend who then tells their friend what is going on or it’s because a girlfriend or boyfriend has been snooping around their significant others page, which is never good as it obviously shows that they don’t trust their spouse and that being found out is never good. Especially when they’re innocent.

Do people really care about Facebook that much? It was originally a fun place to find and keep in contact with your friends and family and now it’s a tool to keep tabs on people anonymously.

I recommend that if anyone reading this has contemplated deleting their Facebook page DO IT NOW! Send a message to all the people you want to keep in contact with to give them your email address and delete that page! You will feel cleansed and can confidently say “I don’t have a Facebook page so don’t try and add me!”

It’s been announced that social media site Twitter has managed to break the 10 billion tweets threshold. It’s not bad considering that it only broke 5 billion 4 months ago (according to Mashable)

Just think, us Twitter people have posted that many updates to our profiles. It’s crazy to think that we have all shared what we’ve been doing that many times. I don’t think in my life time that I’ve ever done 10 billion things. What is fascinating is that all those updates we’ve made are all there for us to read at our leisure potentially in the coming years.

“Hey, remember that time I ate a muffin whilst drinking a cup of tea?… says here I did that quite a lot”… or “why the hell did I TwitPic a roadkill hedgehog?”

It’ll be our equivalent of an autobiography

A lady recently got thrown off a bus for breast feeding a baby. The lines of the legalities of breastfeeding in public places are quite blurred. It’s pretty much legal but there are some that still believe it’s public indecency.

The woman and her baby were thrown off the bus because another passenger complained about it to the bus driver. Either way, someone was going to be unhappy.

I remember once I was on the bus and this lady was breastfeeding. I complained and I was the one thrown off the bus. Probably a good thing. I’m not being funny but I don’t want to travel with a bus company that condone a 48 year old man still suckling from his elderly mother. Turns your stomach.

Football: the only profession where being thick helps

From a very young age I never really understood why it was I just couldn’t get into football. It never interested me. I thought that maybe one day, my time will come and I could be as passionate about it as that guy on TV crying because his team didn’t win some sort of cup. As of yet it’s not happened and I’ve got a feeling it never will.

It all boils down to this: it’s a game where you have to try and put a ball into a net by only using your feet. Obviously there are other rules but at this point, it is just what I said.

I don’t understand how it gets taken so seriously. When teams are paying millions upon millions of pounds to try and get all the best players so they can beat teams who are doing the exact same thing as them.

I don’t understand how it’s ok for football scouts go to schools to try and find the best footballers of the future and then tell them that one day they’ll be great and teach them the ways of football but in the process neglecting them to function as a normal human being.

Footballing is a good profession to get into if you’re a fucking dunce who is OK with women only being interested in them for their money. Least on the plus side when you inevitably cheat on them because the stupid bint isn’t there to give you love, it’ll be all over the papers and you’ll have to pay to keep all parties quiet. Luckily you have such a massive wage packet.

And then one day when you mow down a small child in your expensive sports car that you’re only just old enough to drive you’ll face the rest of your life getting buggered in prison by the fans of the opposing teams.

I also don’t understand how fans can be so involved with “their team”. You hear them on TV and Radio claiming that “we didn’t play so well today” or whatever. I didn’t notice their involvement from the stands. Were they telling them how to play or one of the players? Didn’t think so. I guess that’s another thing, being geeky about football makes you a blokey bloke, being a geek about anything else makes you less of a man.

On the plus least it stops people making brutal murders…

It’s that time of year where us English eat pancakes. I know in other countries that they eat them freely but we have our traditions to stick to.

We eat pancakes once a year, on Shrove Tuesday. It’s supposed to signify the begining of lent and using up all the fatty things that Christians are giving up by making pancakes. It’s one thing that can be said for us English people, we sure like our Christian traditions even though we’re not all practising Christians.

We have a more recent tradition and that’s the TV show Blue Peter and their annual “how to make and toss pancakes” episode. If you wanted to do it, the Blue Peter way, click here for their recipe. Don’t forget to toss them. It’s so much fun as a kid having to turn a pancake over my tossing it into the air like a scalding hot tea towel that may land one your hands or worse still your face, making you look like a screaming Leatherface

Do you ever find yourself typing LOL online. I am always doing it on instant messaging, Twitter as well as text messages to people. It means “laugh out loud”. You’re supposed to type it when you laugh out loud because you or the other person has laughed out loud.

I have been feeling recently that I use the term LOL too freely nowadays, mostly when I haven’t even laughed out loud. I use it now to illustrate that I agree with something someone has said that is a little bit humorous, even if I didn’t actually laugh out loud.

So from now on, I will only write LOL when I actually laugh. I will be using this new code:

• ;) = cheeky wink, you cheeky swine!
• :) = it made me smile
• :D = made me smile a lot
• LOL = I laughed out loud for reals

Everyone should adopt this system. Maybe everyone already does and I’m the idiot.

This may shock most people but I love Valentine’s Day. I love the way it brings out the cynical side of most people who make a big point of how it’s oh so very commercial and was invented by companies to shift crap from their stockrooms.

Well I’ve got a news flash for you all, Valentine’s Day is only as commercial as you make it. You don’t have to buy gifts to show someone how much you love them. It’s a lot nicer if you make them something, you know. Well it depends what you give them. I’ll give you a heads up right now, giving the gift of chlamydia really won’t go down well.

Personally where I live, we have a very unique custom that doesn’t appear to be that widespread. It’s the story of Jack Valentine, some guy who gives gifts to children (much like Father Christmas) on Valentine’s night. Norfolk’s very own personal present giver. The gifts would be wrapped in newspaper and left on the children’s doorstep. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized that this tradition was a strictly Norfolk affair.

I don’t see what the problem is giving gifts to the person you love. I must be missing something there. The sad thing is that in some cases that is the only day that lovers show how much they love each other.

There is a slight downside to it all though. The people who are single during this time go around getting their faces rubbed in the fact that they will be spending the day alone wanking into a flannel. It’ll become too much for some people that they’ll approach someone who they’ve fancied for a while, take the plunge and make it known that they want to put their hands down that person’s pants. For them to then get shot down into flames making their presence around that person very awkward for a little while.

Forgive me for this blatant voyage into indulgent pastimes but I really want to share with you the strange dream that I had. I swear that this dream was made in my mind subconsciously and is worrying as to the content.

My dream starts off with a memory of a man that has jogged most days for the majority of his life and he dies. So as a tribute to the guy I decide to do his jogging route. As I leave the house I was in I find that I am actually on the set of “Last of the Summer Wine”.

As I get going I hear someone shouting after me behind me. And it’s only Cliff Richard and he want’s to race me. I tell him I want none of it but still race him.

I wake up and no idea who won or why I was dreaming it.