Archive for the tag 'funny'

If I ruled the internet

NS October 16th, 2011

People would use grammar and spelling in a largely correct, coherent manner but, likewise, overwrought pedantry about the misuse of words and the digging in of heels against the evolution of language would be punishable by being forced to eat sweaty socks.

Those who sprinkle apostrophes everywhere in a mistaken belief that they indicate plurality instead of possessiveness would be dipped in wet, gluey newspaper strips, stuffed with sweeties and flogged by errant toddlers with large sticks.

Continually posting pictures of cats doing cute and hilarious things and expecting everyone to lap it up (particularly if you’re a woman and a feminist), while simultaneously berating those who post pictures of kids doing cute and hilarious things and expecting everyone to lap it up, would be seen as the giant hypocrisy it is.

Complaining about changed Facebook settings, while continuing to use Facebook, would result in one’s automatic demotion to Bebo. Repeat offenders would be dropped into the bowels of MySpace, haunted by a never-ending loop of emo music on automatic play.

Cowardly commenters who make disgustingly offensive remarks on forums and news websites under the cover of anonymity would be taken out of their miserable jobs and/or mothers’ basements  and given the attention and cuddles they obviously never received as children. If the cuddles didn’t work, their pockets would be lined with stones and they’d be tossed in the nearest river like a sack of unwanted kittens.

Anyone using the phrases ‘full of WIN’ or ‘epic FAIL’ would be reincarnated as the bottom of a nappy bin in summer.

Porn, in its current misogynistic form, would largely disappear. All at once. I just hope the energy shift resulting from 5.7 million solitary handjobs ceasing mid-stroke isn’t enough to spin the Earth off its axis.

The Daily Mail’s website would be hacked and taken over by immigrant lesbians, fat liberals, paedophile benefit scroungers and French-speaking EU bureaucrats, with a few drunk tarts and feral teens thrown in for good measure.

Defining or qualifying women’s capabilities based on their parental status (like ‘mummy blogger’ or ‘mumpreneur’ or ‘mummy track’), while trying to make it sound cheerful and hip, would result in a 2-year mandatory sentence at Camp Patronising, where all the tables and chairs are 10 times as big as the adults and giant children talk down to them while patting them on their pretty, tiny little heads.

All of the following ‘debates’ would cease to exist: breast v bottle, SAHM v working mother, breeders v childfree, kids in restaurants, babies on aeroplanes, and whether getting drunk or walking home alone is an invitation to get yourself raped by hapless, horny passerby.

No one would ever blog about not blogging.

Tweeting about your ‘homemade’ this and your ‘organic’ that, along with continual photographic evidence of said meals and craft projects — to broadcast to the world how healthy, clever, trendy and environmentally-conscious you are — would be illegal in 39 states and Canada. The punishment for breaking this law would be a diet of foie gras, veal and dolphin-unfriendly tuna served with PLAIN, UNORGANIC VEGETABLES. Yeah, that’s right, bitches. I’m that cruel.

I would be able to accurately convey my intentions and emotions without the use of smiley faces, LOLs or ‘just kidding!’ disclaimers.

I would always end a post with a zingy one-liner or memorable moral instead of just allowing my fingers to fall away from the keyb

Walking with carnivores

NS September 30th, 2010

Every night this week, the four of us have piled onto the bed to watch an episode of Walking With Dinosaurs. Tonight, as we watched a dinosaur tear bloody chunks out of its freshly-killed prey and I worried that it might be too much for Noble Girl, she suddenly said: Mmm mmmmm. That looks tasty!

No salad for lunch tomorrow then, eh?

My DNA done proud

NS August 29th, 2010

Noble Girl’s friend was at our house the other day when  he picked up a small finger puppet from our toy box. The puppet looks like a black top hat and inside is a white rabbit. When you push your finger inside, up pops the rabbit to complete the ‘magic trick’.

NG’s friend to her: “Hey, guess what’s in this hat!”

NG: “A rabbit.”

NG’s friend: “No, you have to pretend you don’t know. Guess again!”

NG: “A rabbit.”

NG’s friend: “No, pretend. Pretend you don’t know what’s inside.”

NG: “It’s a rabbit.”

NG’s friend, getting a bit upset: “I want to do this magic trick. Now ask me what’s inside the hat properly, please!”

NG, after seeing me silently urging her to comply, looks bored and sighs: “Okay then. What’s inside the hat??”

NG’s friend: “It’s a rabbit!”

NG, completely monotone and unimpressed: “Wow, that’s amazing. I had no idea.”

So cynicism is hereditary. I’m so proud.

The assassination of Iggle Piggle

NS June 4th, 2010

My sister, who is here visiting from Chicago, had Noble Boy on her lap yesterday, trying to keep him entertained by showing him clips of In The Night Garden on her phone. What she didn’t know, as most parents have already discovered if they’ve searched YouTube for clips of favourite children’s shows, is that some people like to take said clips and mess with them, making them rather dark or, um, adult.

So it was to Noble Sister’s horror when, a few seconds into the clip of Iggle Piggle bouncing around to the soothing music and nonsensical narration, something rather unexpected happened. [Warning: May not be suitable for viewing if young children are present]

Woe betide the therapist coaxing NB through this repressed memory in 30 years.

The definition of reflex

NS April 19th, 2010

Sitting on the toilet, mid-flow, when your child starts to tumble backwards towards the steep stairs just off the bathroom. Immediately springing forward, trousers round ankles. Catching an arm in the nick of time, thus preventing disaster, all without spilling a drop.

I knew those pelvic floor exercises would come in handy one day.