Thursday, May 01, 2008
01/05/08
Dr Manasa smiled as she peered at the microbes wriggling around on her petridish. After years of painstaking work, she was about to change the course of history. Since graduating from Bengal Engineering and Science University in 1986, she'd devoted her time and effort to developing a biochemical solution to benefit mankind - proof that, in the right hands, science would always be a beacon for hope and liberation. As she turned from her microscope, she considered the sacrifices her family had made to enable her to pursue her studies, and she wished they could see her now. As she prepared to receive a delegation drawn from the global scientific community and selected members of the world press, she paused to consider the incredible announcement she was about to reveal. After 22 years of obsessive testing and research, Dr Manasa had developed a safe, side effect-free and permanent cure for AIDS.
However, her lab assistants, Terry Brickwell and Pat Winkle, were far from impressed! "I hate Dr Manasa!" spat Terry. "Stupid old cow! The only substance she should be allowed to handle is Fairy Liquid - washing up after she's cooked her husband's dinner!"
"She's so ugly and boring, she probably hasn't got a husband!" Pat growled. "Bloody woman! Coming down here and putting male scientists out of work! If it wasn't for her, we could have used this lab to manufacture our own speed pills, we'd have made a fortune selling whizz to teenagers at the summer festivals!"
"Interfering old bag!" Terry spluttered. "I wish we could get rid of her, I'd love to teach her a lesson."
Pat cackled. "I know what...she's developed some strand of super-microbes that kill AIDS on contact, and she's unveiling it to the press tomorrow...let's draw male genitalia all over the lab, then she'll look a right prat!"
"I've got a better idea," sniggered Terry. "I've got some rabies in a jar...how about I mix it up with her microbes and create a lethal virus?"
The assistants high-fived and went down the pub in good spirits - both men anticipating the opportunity to get rid of the meddling Manasa... and to abuse the principles of science by turning the research laboratory into an illicit drugs factory!
Oh shit, wrong post...anyway, today's blurb marks a very special historical occasion. For a start, it's the last BTI post ever to emanate from the stinking shithole sewer that's the Blackstock Road. Heed me, GOSLINGS: I'm off to more leafy surroundings. Long-time readers may remember that during this blog's 'amplic phase' (ie-heydalek.blogspot.com), I complained about pigeons nesting in my flat's gas flue, and Islington Council's reluctance to either a)) send pest control to shift them or b)) grant me a permit to kill them with a hammer.
Well, that was October 2005; now it's May 2008, and the flying rats are still there, cooing and natterng and pissing and fucking and whatever pigeons do. So, glad to say, I must be on me way - fuck you Blackstock Road. Fuck your morbidly obese community support officers, your charity bookshops for hairless dogs, all the septic grease in your junk food joints...and, most of all, that football team. Oh, and Jeremy Corbyn too.
Anyway, cheer up! If you live in London, you can vote for the mayor today. I'm very disappointed in Garry Bushell, he was meant to be running for the English Democrats, but apparently dropped out due to "work commitments". The EDs' website has headlines like "ST. GEORGE'S DAY POPULAR CHOICE FOR NEW BANK HOLIDAY BUT WILL THE SCOTS AT NO. 10 LISTEN?" Red Ken I used to like, but I find him a bit boring and desperate now, he's lost his spark. I'd just like to give a big shout out to the fuckwits who dissed me eight months ago when I said Boris Johnson has a really sinister agenda, and that, for all his buffoonery, he's deadly serious about class cleansing in the capital; well, if he wins, tough shit, cos he's not going to look after creative account directors who dig baile funk either.
Brian Paddick's a no-no because the only thing worse than a hippie is a hippie cop; the Green Party, if elected, will ban working class people from flying overseas from Heathrow ((and probably build 'greenhouse camps' to gas objectors with deadly tomato fumes)). Is George Galloway standing? I saw him mouthing off on the top deck of the Respect bus in Tottenham Court Road on Tuesday evening. The boogie bus was pumping out really radical anthems like R.E.S.P.E.C.T and Bryan Adams' Summer of '69.
So, after some deliberation, I just thought, fuck it, and voted BNP. No, I didn't really. Or did I? None of your business, you nosey trulls. Men died screaming in rat-infested trenches for my right to a secret ballot. Oh for Cthulu's sake, Boris is going to win, isn't he. This is London's hour of darkness, as alluded to by the ill-fated whale in the Thames two years back.
However, her lab assistants, Terry Brickwell and Pat Winkle, were far from impressed! "I hate Dr Manasa!" spat Terry. "Stupid old cow! The only substance she should be allowed to handle is Fairy Liquid - washing up after she's cooked her husband's dinner!"
"She's so ugly and boring, she probably hasn't got a husband!" Pat growled. "Bloody woman! Coming down here and putting male scientists out of work! If it wasn't for her, we could have used this lab to manufacture our own speed pills, we'd have made a fortune selling whizz to teenagers at the summer festivals!"
"Interfering old bag!" Terry spluttered. "I wish we could get rid of her, I'd love to teach her a lesson."
Pat cackled. "I know what...she's developed some strand of super-microbes that kill AIDS on contact, and she's unveiling it to the press tomorrow...let's draw male genitalia all over the lab, then she'll look a right prat!"
"I've got a better idea," sniggered Terry. "I've got some rabies in a jar...how about I mix it up with her microbes and create a lethal virus?"
The assistants high-fived and went down the pub in good spirits - both men anticipating the opportunity to get rid of the meddling Manasa... and to abuse the principles of science by turning the research laboratory into an illicit drugs factory!
Oh shit, wrong post...anyway, today's blurb marks a very special historical occasion. For a start, it's the last BTI post ever to emanate from the stinking shithole sewer that's the Blackstock Road. Heed me, GOSLINGS: I'm off to more leafy surroundings. Long-time readers may remember that during this blog's 'amplic phase' (ie-heydalek.blogspot.com), I complained about pigeons nesting in my flat's gas flue, and Islington Council's reluctance to either a)) send pest control to shift them or b)) grant me a permit to kill them with a hammer.
Well, that was October 2005; now it's May 2008, and the flying rats are still there, cooing and natterng and pissing and fucking and whatever pigeons do. So, glad to say, I must be on me way - fuck you Blackstock Road. Fuck your morbidly obese community support officers, your charity bookshops for hairless dogs, all the septic grease in your junk food joints...and, most of all, that football team. Oh, and Jeremy Corbyn too.
Anyway, cheer up! If you live in London, you can vote for the mayor today. I'm very disappointed in Garry Bushell, he was meant to be running for the English Democrats, but apparently dropped out due to "work commitments". The EDs' website has headlines like "ST. GEORGE'S DAY POPULAR CHOICE FOR NEW BANK HOLIDAY BUT WILL THE SCOTS AT NO. 10 LISTEN?" Red Ken I used to like, but I find him a bit boring and desperate now, he's lost his spark. I'd just like to give a big shout out to the fuckwits who dissed me eight months ago when I said Boris Johnson has a really sinister agenda, and that, for all his buffoonery, he's deadly serious about class cleansing in the capital; well, if he wins, tough shit, cos he's not going to look after creative account directors who dig baile funk either.
Brian Paddick's a no-no because the only thing worse than a hippie is a hippie cop; the Green Party, if elected, will ban working class people from flying overseas from Heathrow ((and probably build 'greenhouse camps' to gas objectors with deadly tomato fumes)). Is George Galloway standing? I saw him mouthing off on the top deck of the Respect bus in Tottenham Court Road on Tuesday evening. The boogie bus was pumping out really radical anthems like R.E.S.P.E.C.T and Bryan Adams' Summer of '69.
So, after some deliberation, I just thought, fuck it, and voted BNP. No, I didn't really. Or did I? None of your business, you nosey trulls. Men died screaming in rat-infested trenches for my right to a secret ballot. Oh for Cthulu's sake, Boris is going to win, isn't he. This is London's hour of darkness, as alluded to by the ill-fated whale in the Thames two years back.
# posted by Martin : 12:57 PM <%=MakeComment("8606921704755039223","beyond the implode:01/05/08","http://seagullscreamingkillherkillher.blogspot.com/2008/05/010508.html")%>
