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It'a amazing what constitutes a news story these days. Normally the news is a drab affair. "Fighting broke out in the Gaza Strip today leaving hundreds dead and thousands injured," and "So and so tragically died today aged 80."
But every now and then you get one of those classic news stories that can't fail to make you giggle. Stories like this one-http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/7772902.stm
This quote from a Doctor is classic:
"The kiss reduced the pressure in the mouth, pulled the eardrum out and caused the breakdown of the ear."
What the hell was she kissing, a Dyson vacuum cleaner? Or more to the point what the hell was the guy doing to suck so hard as to destroy her inner ear?
OK, I'm no kissing expert, but even someone with my limited knowledge surely couldn't get it so catastrophically wrong as to leave my girl semi deaf.
I bet this girl is petrified of kissing now. While most would normally crave a passionate smacker on the lips, this girl will now probably break down in tears at even the sight of someones lips. Poor girl.
But what other injuries could be sustained by kissing? We've all heard of the classic tongue stuck in the braces, but up until now that's the only snogging injury I'd ever heard of.
But I wonder when we'll hear the story of the poor girl who sustained a broken nose when her over enthusiastic boyfriend headbutted her when attempting a kiss, and I bet someone has cricked a neck during one of those kisses where you keep moving your head around. What would you do if your jaw locked open during a kiss, that would be pretty annoying, and I wonder if anyone has ever bitten someones tongue off? I can see it happening somehow.
I did a bit of research on the interweb, but the only injury I found was someone who lost their lips when they kissed their Rottweiler. I mean that's just asking for an injury.
But anyway, the funny thing is that the Chinese media is now being swarmed with warnings of the dangers of excessive kissing.
Just the image of a Chinese guy meeting a woman in a bar, having a really good time, and taking her back to his place before convulsing in horror when she goes to kiss him, the thought of having his eye sucked out by an over exuberant kiss proving too much to bear.
Thankfully for the girl involved in the story, her hearing should return within two months, but that's two months of whispering sweet nothings into her ear that she'll miss. Then again, she'll probably never want to hear them again anyway.
I, like many of my friends here in leafy Redditch despise the current trend of modifying cars. If anyone can give me a genuine reason why a Citroen Saxo needs a two metre long rear spoiler, skirts and ridiculously styled front bumpers, without suggesting it 'looks good' frankly, deserves a knighthood-for they will display more genius quality than Albert Einstein, Islambard Kingdom Brunel and myself put together. And anyway, aren't skirts meant for girls?
They just have no point. On top of the ridiculous aesthetics, the engines are normally loudened, and exhausts are opened wider than the Thames Barrier.
They say you can hear some cars, Aston Martins, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis for example from over a mile away, and that's fine. I want to hear the glorious whine of a mighty V12 engine, singing to its hearts extent. But I swear the other night I was awoken by a Saxo pulling off a drive somewhere in Sutton Coldfield. And it wasn't the engine, it was the damn popping noise the exhausts make every time the things change gear.
How the 'yoof' see this as cool is beyond my cranial capacity. Frankly, if I ran this country I'd have them banned.
And here's another thing. Some of these 'yoof' will claim that making these modifications will increase the speed and handling of their cars-forgetting that each modification made will increase weight, thus hampering BOTH speed and handling. Then, a rear spoiler will add drag, again drastically slowing down the car. Putting a parachute out the back of the car wouldn't slow it down as much.
To think of it another way-it's like plastic surgery. If you were an average looking person, naturally you will consider some sort of cosmetic enhancement. But you wouldn't want to make yourself look worse would you? Car modification is the equivalent of saying to your Surgeon "Ah yes, Brad Pitt, I'd like to look like him, but before you do that, why don't you move my nose onto my forehead, my mouth to where my nose was, my right eye to where my mouth was, and my left ear to where my right eye was. And then you can replace my voice box with a device that artificially changes the sound of my voice, and widen my mouth so that every time it opens it pops. And once you've done that is there any chance you can tattoo my forehead with the slogan 'I'm a pillock'?"
Seriously, the only time a modified car will be cool is when James Bond pulls up outside a pretty Brunettes house, winds the window down (with some kind of drum and bass booming out of the 20-inch-subwoofer hidden in the boot for good measure) and yells out "Wot up bitch. I got me a bangin Saxo" and then shoots off into the distance in a cloud of smoke (probably created by some kind of smoke machine normally found in a night club).
And even then I doubt he'd convene outside McDonalds with 20 others to show off his latest random bit of plastic glued to the side of his car.
I wonder when all this came about-I certainly never noticed them when I was younger. And I seriously doubt this culture existed when my parents were young. I can just imagine it though, someone driving round the corner in their 1965 Morris Minor having just passed their test, only to reveal, much to his friends disgust, that the car is now adorned with an oversized rear spoiler, full length skirts and a bumper that would't look out of place on Leslie Ash's face.
But I fail to see the trend ending anytime soon, so I will send out a plea. If anyone out there has an un-modified Saxo and wishes to sell it, send it my way, and I will modify it in the most creative of ways. No, I won't add a spoiler, I won't even think of adding a bumper. There will be no need for Subwoofers, Alloys, Skirts or flashing lights.
I will simply push it off the edge of the Rotunda in Birmingham and let gravity do the rest. It will still look better than half of them do now.
I’m a strange sort of fellow. You would have thought that after 14 straight hours of hard work I’d be knackered. But to be honest I’m more awake than an insomniac after their fifth coffee of the day.
Anyway while at work today I was reading the paper and saw that Joe Cole’s fiancée had been voted off ‘I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here,’ and it got me thinking-I have every right to be on that programme-and here’s why.
Some of you may know that in 1998 I was actually in a movie. And by 1998 I mean 1999-as that is when it was first shown. And by movie, I mean an extended TV drama-but sod off its near enough a movie dammit. And by ‘in’ I actually mean ‘was an extra who only appeared on screen for five seconds.’
Hands up all those who saw ‘Goodnight Mister Tom.’ I bet more of you out there watched it than who know what Joe Cole’s fiancée looks like.
So tomorrow I shall pick up the phone, dial ITV and scream ‘I’M A CELEBRITY GET ME OUT OF HERE!’ demand a cheque for £1million and then slam it down again. And I’d eat one of those Witchetty Grubs, honestly, I would.
I shall then phone the BBC-inform them of my celebrity status and then request to take up John Sergeant’s now vacant place on Strictly Come Dancing. In fact I’d be rather good on that-you should see me at work. I move with more rhythm than Brendan Cole, pirouette quicker than Erin Boag, and shift my arms with more vigour than Vincent Simone dancing the Paso Doble. I look a complete prat, but heck I bet with a few hours of dance training I’d have Len Goodman shouting his iconic ‘seveeeen’ (following Craig Revel Harwood’s rather harsh ‘two’ and Arlene Phillips’ sympathetic ‘five’).
And why stop there? I’m more than capable of being on Celebrity Big Brother too. I’d be useless at cooking, would create a guitar out of nothing but cereal boxes, old toilet roll tubes and lengths of string, and scratch something far more interesting into the table than Vanessa Feltz ever did. And I’d probably win it too.
And as a single man, I’d jump at the chance to star on Celebrity Love Island, though mainly to gawp at the lovely Fearne Cotton. But put Katie White down there and I’d get her ‘tingin.’ Ho ho, I’m the worst Joker ever.
Following my heroics on I’m a Celeb, my lunacy on Strictly, my victory in Celeb Big Brother, and my engagement to Katie White on Celebrity Love Island, I’d cap it all off by appearing with Katie on Celebrity Who Wants to be a Millionaire, and become the first celebs to win the jackpot. I’d invest the winnings in Woolworths, heck they need all the help they can get at the moment.
So to all my friends on Facebook, consider yourself lucky to be friends with a real celebrity. For I’ve actually done something far more worthwhile than a desperate, concrete faced, stuck-up, 24 year old from Rhyl. I’ve starred in a Hollywood blockbuster, and never, ever bragged about it. Not even once.
