Tuesday, November 25, 2014

"Sir Chengine" is my Steampunk name

We get mail!
My name is J****** and I'm an independent web strategist. While doing research I came across your business website and found several issues. Specifically, it is not fully Penguin 3.0 & Panda compliant with Google's new search engine rules and I see there are toxic links pointing to your site. You have the potential to do much better!

Whenever I find good companies with online issues I tend to reach out and let them know, In 20 minutes I can show you how you could fuel your brand and generate more revenue from search engines and social networks. These are tactics we've used to help over 300 clients grow their business and we are currently "The Leading Internet marketing Company in New Zealand"!

All I'd like to do is follow up about this with a quick phone call.... Can I call you this week to discuss some proven strategies that can help your business grow? Looking forward to your positive response.

Kind Regards,

J******* E*****
Grow Business Rankings
21 Paraite Road
New Plymouth

Hi Scuzzy Internet Grifter! You seem to have left the 's' out of your street name, inviting confusion with with the actual business based on Paraite Road, which sells animal fodder.
Engine, summing not searching
But J******* is right that our website is clearly not optimised for search injuns. I checked the logs and it appears that we are attracting searches for the following term combinations:

  • crucified women
  • st leonards church shoreditch old magazine advertising sketches
  • vowel trapezium
  • aircraft floaters
  • bobbit worm gif
  • egg drop cage with straws
  • eunicid worm
  • i remember lemuria
  • is there such thing as a 2 legged amphibian
  • "oppositional defiant disorder" rudolf steiner
  • muscle wrestling chloroform submission
[which according to the Riddled research team is probably cheating].

Conversely, there is no sign of incoming traffic from searchers for terms corresponding to the Riddled core activities of "My Little Pony" apotemnophila; vat-grown godmeat; Minotaur hentai; and of course Smut Clyde feet banana. This is very discouraging and speaks of a weakness in the website design, such as must be addressed before we invest further effort in on-going projects. What a tragedy it would be if we finished our Renaissance-woodcut animated adaptation of Return of the Sorceror and no-one came to it!

Yes, J*******, please call us this week to discuss some proven strategies that can help our business grow! Though you should probably call the palatial Riddled offices rather than trying to contact me through the university e-address. Don't be deterred if you find yourself speaking to Another Kiwi, he's quite harmless.

In the meantime, here's a little møøse trying to escape from commenter ITTDGY. Or maybe it's trying to catch up with #22, but the numbers keep resetting.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

Extraordinary Meeting of the Time Machine Authorisation Committee.

Spacetime Eddie announced that a special request had been made for extensive use of the Time Machine.

Mr. Another Kiwi vouchsafed that if it was about the Pope swapping thing, no one noticed once they worked out that an Orang was a vegetarian. He said that even then people had said it was quite funny and actually progressive.

Spacetime Eddy said it was not the Vatican. He said that the arrangement they had come to with the Vatican and a planet made of diamonds had resulted in a good relationship with them.

Mr Smut Clyde opined that the instantly aged Riddled Dry White wine project had been a success and if it was people moaning about excessive Terpene content they should realise that phylloxera free wines tasted like that and too bad.

Spacetime Eddie said no it bleeding well was not the Remuera Wine Club who would be first against the wall when the revolution came. He said it was the government.

Evangeline van Holsterin enquired about was it the Internal Revenue, because she thought she had arranged things in that silly old episode which was a simple oversight.

Spacetime Eddie said could people shut up, it was always like this, people wittering on. 

Mr Another Kiwi said that if he didn’t like democracy he could bugger off back to the 1930’s.

Spacetime Eddie said no. The request was from the Prime Minister’s Office because the Prime Minister needed to “fix up history” a bit.

tigris said ho ho ho. He’s a bloody fool.

Mr Another Kiwi opined that time travel was for science and not politics and we couldn’t be mucking about with timelines if there wasn’t compensation.

Smut Clyde observed that the compensation would have to be bloody enormous for the amount of jiggery pokery needed to cover up the Prime Minsters blundering around.

Spacetime Eddie said that the statement in question was the PM saying that in his view the settlement ofNZ was peaceful 

tigris said oh just a quick job, then.

Smut Clyde opined that getting rid of 1860-1880 might cause a few problems.

Mr Another Kiwi said would Mr. Key like unicorns and rainbows as the original inhabitants of NZ

 Space Time Eddie said that he was getting a negative vibe from this meeting and wondered if anyone had thought of the political kudos. 

Another Kiwi said the PM could bog off.

 This was greeted unanimously favourably around the table.

Evangeline van Holsterin said that it was time for the Apple brandy blending day and Throgmorton was delivering the apples because Old Williamsons apples had matured sufficiently. 

The meeting was adjourned to prepare barrels.

Welcome back Another Kiwi

Imagine his surprise when Evangline van Holsterin (head barmaid at the Old Entomologist) awarded him the first prize in last night's Grumpy-Cat Lookalike Competition, which he had not heard of or prepared for due to his long absence and being "out of a loop" as the kids like to say.

He will have to give back the coveted keys to the Old Entomologist gents' toilet once his name has been engraved thereon, but he gets to keep the Observer's Guide to Strepsiptera.

Second prize was the Yellow Book -- the 2010 edition which doesn't have the appendix on Triungulin larvae, only blank pages for pressing specimens. I also get to wield the Poky Stick of Lamentation. Yay me!

Note our shoelessness. Skyclad feet is part of the Paleo lifestyle -- the gnarly toes are a side-effect from walking into concrete medlars left lying on the ground. No-one would be foolish enough to buy cheap shoes from the vile Throgmorton which he allegedly procured from "A load of old cobblers", only to have them fall apart on the first drop of spilled Spiced Parsnip Scrumpy, so it certainly didn't happen to us.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

The die is cat

Mrs Spat's cunning disguise would perhaps have been more effective if more sides of the cube had been non-Cyclopean.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Honest, she just walked straight into my outstretched fingers and hit the ground like an Italian soccer player. No way was I practicing my Vulcan nerve pinch

Let's get outa here, lads. These ladies look dangerously inbred; the trees are melting; I can hear banjo music in the distance; and there's a bunch of library pixies down in the lower right corner, which always means trouble.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

A Play With Words.

The Riddled Amateur Dramatic Societies Christmas Special this year is "Any Fule Knows or Ye Merry Adventures of Fule Not Luking Bak in Angre" by John Osborne
Here we the see The Fule (Smut Clyde in an award winning hat) talking to Mr Sausage Maker (myself ) and pulling a groat out of his ear. This sets up the first major joke of the evening when Mr Sausage Maker says "Do not nanny me sir, it's my groat and not yours, groper!" There will be an intermission to allow the laughter to subside. Yes, they are nice rocks on the ground. Evangeline van Holsterin's vile cousin Throgmorton got them from a man he knows. 

 Then in a largely allegorical episode the Fule takes up Nordic skiing and getting one leg stuck in a warp in the fabric of space and time. He escapes from the grip of space time whatsit by shouting "Hawk Nax" which becomes an audience interaction thing for when The Fule is in trouble.

Moving on to the sing-along section of the play The Fule wanders the streets playing his bagpipes trying to earn money but people just throw more musical instruments at him in a post-modern sort of thing than John Osborne is full of it about  has as a theme in many works. The second big laugh of the night happens here when someone yells "You can't play that, try this!"

After he has sold the instruments The Fule tries to set up a hairdressing salon where the clients are not impressed by having to be blindfolded. See Miss Dainty (Evangeline van Holsterin) saying "Not a short back and sides or I'll have your gizzards and weigh them out ". "Ooer missus" says The Fule in his trademark saying. Evangeline enjoys the sword aspect a little too much for my liking.

Then in a hallucinatory episode The Fule sets up a fashion advisory business which seems to consist of persuading people to carry dead rabbits. Ms Upright (tigris) is complaining that the rabbit is a bit elderly. "It's a bit of a hairy hare" she says. Ha ha ha we all say.  

But then it all gets a bit odd and The Fule ends up sailing off to Fule land because as he says "This place is too foolish for the likes of me". He shouts "Hawk Nax" and is rescued by the Fule Navy who are out sailing in circles for no reason that is ever given (Plothole Spoiler). This is an artists impression since we only have one stage rowboat and it will just be manned by Greenish Hugh and Space Time Eddie who may or may not arrive at all.

I remain unconvinced about the flooding of the stage but Smut says it will be fine. I think we should give umbrellas to the front row people but this did cause trouble when we did "Moby Dick." The play's the thing, though eh?

Sunday, November 16, 2014

After Murgatroyd Falls

The Innkeeper of the Murgatroyd Falls Cafe and Coprolite Museum paused and looked up as someone collided with the front door.

"It sticks!" he yelled "It bleedin' sticks. You have to do short, sharp repetitious bangs on it"

The stranger entered, the front of his hat flattened into a pirate hat shape. "I'm not Keith Moon" he said.

"That's interesting" said the innkeeper "neither am I"

 "I shouldn't have to memorise click tracks just to come in"

"It's the waterfall" said the innkeeper "bleedin' 'umidity keeps the wood all warped."

"Perhaps" opined the stranger "you could invest in aluminium frames and door jambs" he paused as his mind flitted to the ironic juxtaposition of the words jamb and jam " And then people wouldn't rupture their wrists just coming in".

"I have never had this conversation before" said the innkeeper "perhaps you could tell me more about aluminium whilst I pour you a pint of Jimkin Bearhugger's Olde Watchamakallit" 

"Indeed" said the stranger "the history of aluminium is as long and exciting as that of the salted pineapple trade" He stopped at the sight of the massive eye rolls he was getting from the innkeeper. 

"But enough of the warp and weft of history" he said "Is it true that this evening, the Quarter finals of the Voltinism of Calopteryx Haemorrhoidalis and World Cup Finals Interpretive Dance Competition are here this evening?"

"Yuss" said the innkeeper "they do say as how the crew from the Olde Entymologist has it wrapped up this year on account of their " The sending off of Plácido Reynaldo Galindo Pando  versuses Romania in 1930"

"A sad business and Pláco never properly recovered from it" said the stranger. The innkeeper nodded while wondering how becoming the Peruvian Minister of the Interior, looting the place and retiring to Florida was "never properly recovering from it"

The innkeeper reached up to pull the draught handle for the pint of Olde Watchamakallit, only to have his hand seized by the stranger "Hold there good fellow"  said that person "ist there perhaps some Riddled Christmas Ale on the premises?"

"Ist?" thought the innkeeper but said "we has a bottle or two for discerning patrons” and he tapped the side of his nose.

Two hours later the stranger sat in a corner of the cafe near the Coprolite display and looked at the Christmas Ale bottle. It seemed the usual 750 ml size and yet he had been steadily drinking from it and the level had not moved and he felt no ill effects from drinking it. He had had an interesting and, he had to admit, erotically charged tussle with the table that the bottle stood on when it had tried to make a run for the door but he felt no hint of drunkenness. Well, no lasting drunkenness, at the end of each glassful he was roaring,  'I've always loved youse all, " drunk but the next sip took him straight to sobriety. An interesting brew whose label boasted that it was now free from eels. 

But the evening was drawing in and the teams for the event began to arrive, carefully unloading their equipment, handing their entry forms to the innkeeper and greeting the opposing teams in an edged but sportsman-like manner.

Then with 2 minutes to go the door opened, crashed shut, opened half-way, jammed and finally swung violently against the wall with a crash.

"This door is a bleedin' danger to shipping" announced a woman for whom the word statuesque was a mere signpost on the way to a full description.

"Miss van Holsterin" said the innkeeper "how charming to see you.'

"Wotcher, Arthur" said Evangeline van Holsterin, head barmaid of the Olde Entomologist "Oi!" she yelled out through the door "get a move on you lot!"

The rest of the troupe filed in; Smut Clyde carrying a  duck costume, tigris with an enormous gold coloured whistle, Swearing Bob carrying a wooden mallet, wearing a Uruguayan football shirt and offering the hammer to people "if they *****ing well wanted it". Then at the end of the procession, Greenish Hugh and Spacetime Eddie dressed in motley and twittering to each other like sparrows on mescaline. They climbed the staircase and with various gestures towards the other teams were gone.

The competition began and the stranger sat in the corner with his Christmas Ale in front of him and watched the various represenations of  Calopteryx Haemorrhoidalis and was impressed by the redness factor of their tail sections but found all of interpretive dances to be lacklustre and frankly, derivative. He swore that if he had to sit through another Zinedine Zidane headbutting incident he would go quite mad.

   Finally it was time for the Olde Entomlogist entry which began with an earsplitting feedback hum and then Greenish Hugh appearing alternately wringing his hands and flapping them. Then he went off and the show started.

The  Calopteryx Haemorrhoidalis section of the show was a trifle confused because of the red flashing lights that the players wore on their trousers. The frequency of the flashes and their retina scorching intensity seemed to set off reactions in some of the audience who were lying on the floor, catatonic by the end of the performance. However the second section comprising the sending off incident roused them as it was presented as part of the long history of colonial exploitation of South America. The stranger briefly wondered if Moctezuma, as portrayed by Swearing Bob, had actually told Cortés to "Sling it or get a ****ing jade axe where it would do him no ****ing good" Eventually brave revolutionary Pláco was sent off and with a short speech to FIFA about "I knows where the ****ing bodies are ****ing buried, too ****ing right" he was gone. The stranger was impressed by his explanation of the enormous golden whistle as  " it's a ****ing metaphor **** for brains"

The judges were unanimous in giving the winning prize to the Olde Entomologist team by 3.75 points to 2.78 points over The Puzzled Wombat team. The head judge said that he could remember very little of the first half of the OE performance but the Golden Whistle metaphor had sold him. Evangeline van Holsterin accepted the winners cheque and graciously held it up to the light to ascertain its veracity.

Some time later the stranger noticed tigris and Smut Clyde sitting at the bar and made his way over to them. Glancing back he noticed the bottle of Christmas Ale had resealed itself. He got to the bar and heard tigris say "...if it says Chocolate Hob Nobs on the tin, people don't expect it have honeyed locusts in it"

"Mighty fine acting" said the stranger in his best cowboy voice.

The two turned to look at him "Hello AK" they said

"What?" he said and took off his Stetson "how did you know"

"The neon sign saying 'This is Another Kiwi' on your bottle of Christmas Ale was the first clue" said Smut. 

"Also" said tigris "the shouting during the soccer match dance"

"The referee was a blithering idiot" explained Another Kiwi "bleedin' Romanians were offside all night. I expect that you are both surprised and maybe even a little angry to see me, what with thinking I had drowned in this waterfall".

tigris and Smut looked puzzled. "No" said Smut "you went up North to see you Aunty Grizelda. Has she recovered?"

"No" said Another Kiwi "the specialists say that, as a newt, she just needs water and rocks and such. Difficult to have morning teas like that unless your friends are amphibians. But did you not find my broken body in the falls?"

"Throgmorton bought in a wicker thing, that had your name on a note saying that I ATE'NT DEAD but we thought it was one of his jokes"

"He sold me the tailor’s dummy thing".

"Next time" said Smut "I'd get legs too".

"Why, and I may regret asking this, did you go to the trouble?" asked tigris

"Because terrorism" explained Another Kiwi "New Zealand Prime Minister John Key has warned us" he pulled a newspaper clipping out of his jacket "To beware of the evil terrorists lurking , lurking ready to rain carnage*  on us. I wanted to throw the terrorists off the trail".

"It was odds on that you would regret asking" said Smut to tigris.

Evangeline van Holsterin appeared before them and said that it was time to go.

"It is good to be back" said Another Kiwi "I have some Muddy Bay Toheroa Stout for you to try, Smut" he said.

"Oooh" said Smut "the one with extra vitamins for health?"

"You are both loonies"  Evangeline vouchsafed. 

* Prime MinisterKey has in really truly time warned New Zilders of the possibility of carnage raining upon us. Fainting couch sales have tripled.