The Common Donkey is the only member of the big cat family still at large in the UK today. This is due to their ability to thrive in seaside resorts, in which they have dwelled since the pre-Jurassic period.
The Common Donkey is the only member of the big cat family still at large in the UK today. This is due to their ability to thrive in seaside resorts, in which they have dwelled since the pre-Jurassic period.
Donkeys can carry up to 10x their own bodyweight on their backs. The same ratio as that of their cousins, the ‘tiny donkey’, or ‘ant’. This ability is perfect for carrying back things useful for building nests.
On addressing multiple Donkeys:When faced with donkeys, take note that the amount of Donkeys you see in front of you increases by one, for every one donkey present.
This calculation works to a maximum of 19 Donkeys. Once another Donkey is added, their minds merge (*See ‘On Donkey Hive-minds’) and they become one Donkey, with 20 independently moving bodies. The Donkey hive-mind is the reason that no one has ever seen more than 19 Donkeys in one place.
On Donkey Hive-minds: When one (19+1) Donkey(s) is in its hive-mind state, they channel all their energy to be commanded by a Queen Donkey (*See ‘On Queen Donkeys). While there have been anomalies, the Queen Donkey nearly always commands the hive-minded Donkey to carry on acting separately and of their own accord, to which they obey willingly.
On Queen Donkeys: Queen Donkeys are up to 4x larger than the Common Donkey. They have grey leathery skin, huge floppy ears, a trunk and some ivory tusks. Sometimes people give Queen Donkeys other names.
Queen Donkeys are a different species entirely to the Common Donkey and are not even part of the big cat, or even the ant family. Some zoologists have speculated why a hive-minded Donkey bother obeying the Queen Donkeys at all. One theory is that they haven’t realised the species difference, due to their close genetic likeness to ants, which also have a larger Queen. This would mean that the Common Donkey presumes that the Queen Donkey can only over give birth to another Queen Donkey and vice versa.
Common Donkey: Have you ever thought that the Queen Donkey looks a bit different to us? I mean, we don’t even have tusks. The baby Queen Elephant doesn’t look like us either.
Common (hive-minded) Donkey: Who are you talking to?
Common Donkey: All of you.
Common (hive-minded) Donkey: Oh, okay. No it’s supposed to be like that. Queen Donkeys only give birth to Queen Donkeys.
Common Donkey: Have you ever heard of an Elephant?
Common (hive-minded) Donkey: What?
Common Donkey: Never mind.
If the Common Donkey were to realise their lack of actual connection to Queen Donkeys, there would probably be all out war, as the Common Donkey has a lot of hate (*See ‘Things Donkeys hate).
Things Donkeys hate: Apples - The only reason they eat them is to encourage diarrhoea they can spread over seaside resorts to put off human tourists, who constantly and mercilessly threaten this natural habitat.
Humans - For making them eat Apples.
Try and Google ‘Big Marmite People’ or ‘Marmite People’, maybe change ‘people’ to ‘person’. No luck? Truly, they are an evasive race. The same as ‘Big Scary-Movie People’, ‘Big Fantasy People’ or every other race your family and friends regularly have to tell you they’re not.
I have wondered if they shape-shift, as it’s usually people you know quite well. My friend told me last week that they’re ‘not a Big Marmite Person’. I already knew this and if you met him you would know too, as he looks just like a normal person and he is incredibly average in size.
I think that one day we should travel the world in search of the Big Marmite People and all the other mysterious races described in similar sentences. Lapland is quite out the way and I’ve always wanted to go there, so that’s first.
It would be foolish to not consider that they don’t exist. Perhaps they are myths, like the yeti. All it takes is one slightly large person covered in Marmite and then Chinese whispers do the rest.
The probable root of the ‘Big Marmite People’ myth.
It sounds like a weekend name for the BNP. Or better yet, a term made up by an anti-gay rights movement in an attempt to make homophobes sound less…phobic.
‘Now listen kids, we aren’t homophobes, we’re toffee dodgers and we want you with us to help more people dodge toffee.’
Little do they know, but as the kids grow up they will be brainwashed into chasing down the adversely names ‘Jammy Dodgers’ and beating them into biscuit crumbs, or perhaps a completely different yet also hugely suggestive name of confectionary.
Ironically, if that monkey were a person, he would at very least be Hispanic and I’ve never seen a straight monkey with a collar that big and frilly.
Hello! I’m Brett and I am an avid cereal eater. I eat cereal avidly and at least three times a day. I have done this for many years. Weetos are my favourite. Sainsbury’s had a deal on for ‘Weetos VS Alien Invaders’, which was ideal as my wife and I enjoy trying new things.
The next morning I sat at our cereal bar with a bowl of ‘Weetos VS Alien Invaders’, poured on the milk and began to eat. They tasted like gone-off milk! As I said I have always loved Weetos and had faith in them, so I tested the milk separately and sure enough the milk had in fact gone-off. Luckily we have a milkman who had just dropped off some fresh bottles. I’m glad we still have a milkman, or else this wouldn’t have happened. Anyway, I poured some fresh milk over another bowl of ‘Weetos VS Alien Invaders’ and started again.
Now, I don’t intend to sound mean but they tasted damn awful! Not like gone-off milk this time, more like when you can smell someone else’s sneeze (no one around had sneezed for weeks). It was definitely not the bowl, spoon or milk either as I tried the cereal on its own.
It is ‘funky’.
I never thought I would say this. but right now I prefer Kellogg’s. I can only hope that you cease to sell this funky cereal thus regaining your integrity as a brand suited to the avid cereal eater.
Yours with sadness and a funky taste in his mouth,
It ached a little to be away from tumblr this weekend, although I did have fun. I had to go here…
…to interview people doing this…
…and occasionally this…
…for these guys. I used to interview for these back in Australia so it was fun and a bit nostalgic, but also extremely stressful and I thought I was going to have a heart attack most of the time. I’ll no doubt be shouting when the interviews and pics are up there.
Having been away from the Bretty Filous Derby HQ all weekend does however mean that I have a huge to-do list for the day!! I have already scared the daylights out of a child this morning, so I know today will be productive:
The first one will take the longest! Toes crossed.
Hmm, maybe I should leave this alone…nope.
Today I picked up a pamphlet that my little brother and sister brought home from school, basically saying that the kids can pay 50p to come to school, dressed in the colours of the Ugandan flag. This is because the school is attached to a charity that sponsors Ugandan children. This is fine – this is better than fine – this is marvellous.
What isn’t marvellous is the political timeliness of it. If you didn’t know, Ugandan parliament has been in the public eye quite heavily these past few days. The point of concern being a bill that would apparently criminalise ‘attempted homosexuality’, leading to prosecution or even execution [avaaz].
Read more here: Guardian
Supporting the children with things/money is fantastic, but this isn’t the children’s flag, it’s the government’s. This is terrible timing, however ignorance is bliss and probably quite common on the Lego estate, so let’s just hope people that care don’t notice and more importantly that there is nothing in the curriculum about Ugandan new Government policy.
Alternatively of course we could really get into the mood of the day and send the children out to execute men wearing any shade lighter than a ‘Raspberry Bellini’ [Dulux].
Here is the petition mentioned in the Guardian article - Avaaz
Meet the mini Jaffa Cakes. They just appeared in the ad break of the L’Oreal National Movie Awards.
I was impressed.
The thing that impressed me was the slogan that went with them:
blah blah Jaffa Cake minis ‘perfect for on the move’.
Pause for thought…
Meet the Original Jaffa Cakes
I did a little working out and concluded that the weight of an Original Jaffa Cake is around 12.2g. I will confess that I wasn’t a massive fan before they decided to offend my brain anyway, so I’m not sure how many Original Jaffa Cakes the average Original Jaffa Cakes eater carries on their person at any given time. However they must usually carry enough Original Jaffa Cakes for them to have become weighty or cumbersome in some way.
This is where my mathematics become speculative, but I estimate for me to consider something cumbersome to take round with me it would have to be upwards of 5kg:
5kg = Brett’s consideration of something being cumbersome for everyday life.
0.0122kg = one Original Jaffa Cake
= 409.8 Original Jaffa Cakes
If you haven’t got my point yet, it’s that while Jaffa Cakes mini may not be a completely useless product. The slogan for them is beyond ridiculous.
My conclusion had to be in the target audience for the L’Oreal National Movie awards. My original thought was that they thought the main demographic would be people with tiny and or missing limbs, or even long sufferers of OCD where they can only ever pick food up using a combination of their moustache and nasal hair…This fits perfect, I thought. But then it’s all too easy to pick on real people you don’t know and I would risk getting labelled a bully, therefore, Jaffa Cakes mini are clearly designed for thalidomide mice.
This is all based on information from Keith Rushforth’s The Mitchell Beazley pocket guide to Trees. which an absolutely adorable little book that looks like this:
I decided to write about trees because I put it on today’s to-do list (for reasons I cannot recall) and because everything else I have written today is very silly. Trees are lovely so maybe this will balance things out and calm me down.
Firstly, here are the nine different types of Willow tree:
See where this is going? No, Neither can I. Honestly this was just as uninteresting a topic as I expected, however now if you happened upon this piece, at least you will know a little more about willows.
I got my hopes up a little when I saw the words ‘Crack’ and even ‘Corkscrew’. Unfortunately salix Fragilis is not the source of crack cocaine and salix matsudana ‘Tortuosa’ doesn’t make corkscrews, or even corks. In fact, looking through the rest of this guide, most trees have rather misleading ‘common’ names; I wonder what Freud would have to say on the person (I was going to say man because it was obviously a man but #feminism) that named them.
The Cricket-bat Willow does however make some cricket bats, nay, it ‘is ideal for cricket bats’. This willow stands out and should be commended for its honesty. Well done Cricket-bat Willow.
The only other one I wanted to mention was the Weeping Willow, which does not weep but is still the one that everyone has heard of. Keith Rutherford thinks that they are ‘Attractive beside water towards which its foliage tends to bend’. I have never noticed this but next time I see one I will check.
I think that will do…I hope everyone finds this informative and sensible.
Dear Mr Bolton,
Thank you for your purchase of my Haynes Morris Minor and 1000 Restoration manual. I’m sorry to have to tell you this after you have paid for it, but it is possessed by a horrific, murderous demon.
At first I thought it was just the car (as Morris Minors are quite old. Mine ’57) breaking down as usual, until the breakages started getting more regular. It took me a while to notice that the occurrences started since I bought this book. Added to the breakages was an incredible sense of pain in the lower stomach whenever I chose to read it, but this I passed off as an excessive consumption of Cherry Coke…until two weeks ago.
It was a dark Monday night – about 02:30 when I heard a tremendous bang from inside the garage which woke me quite abruptly. I own a Labrador pup called Aragorn and he sleeps in the garage next to the car (and also the bookshelf), he is very boisterous so I shouted ‘be quiet, Aragorn!’ and rolled over to sleep again. Not 5 minutes later and there was another massive bang, followed by a yelp. I was worried so threw on my purple, crushed velvet dressing down and ran down to investigate the disturbance.
What I saw next would change my life forever. Now may be a good time to say that I named Aragorn so due to his great strength and unyielding resolve.
I opened the door quietly and slowly in case the noise came from a burglar, but as soon as the gap opened, a devilish red light shot through the door. The light was being emitted from this very book, which lay open on the floor. Directly above it was Aragorn, lifeless and spinning around like a child’s mobile. I screamed and slammed the door shut. My heart was pounding so fast that I almost didn’t think to call my friend Criss who is a witch-doctor from Liverpool. As this was urgent he overlooked his hourly fee to advise me, telling me to cast the book into the fire.
The book was hot to touch and I could barely concentrate on the task anyway with Aragorn spinning above my head. It took all my strength to push the pages together and force the light back inside as the demon within fought against me. I could hear whispering of death and chaos echoing through my brain as I struggled towards the fire in my living room hoping to destroy this terrible thing.
I cried out the name of our Lord Almighty as I cast the book into the flames. The pages burned a fierce green and in the smoke I am sure I could see the shape of this thing; slender and snake-like, like Voldemort but with horns. I crawled along the burning cover of the book until it had nearly burnt away completely, then suddenly the shape lashed out at me and everything went black.
I woke up at lunchtime, dazed and confused. The fire had long gone out and there were no remains of the Haynes manual. Phew, I thought, maybe it was a dream. Slightly calmed I walked to the garage and opened the door. I assure you Mr Bolton, it was not a dream. The Haynes manual had returned to the bookshelf, just as it was normally, but Aragorn still spun around, suspended. I inspected the book closer and sure enough the red light still remained inside, waiting to be unleashed again. It was that very moment I put it up for auction on ebay.
The only time I have dared touch the book since that night is now, just to wrap it and send it away. Today is also the day I move house, as Aragorn still spins, elevated in the middle of the garage. Thank you so much for buying this Haynes manual off me, I am very grateful but also sad as it means you are doomed.
If you do manage to purge the demon within this book, please email me at email@example.com. I would love to hear how.
Seeing as I’m unemployed I thought I’d try my hand at inventing:
My name is Brett, I have been an inventor for 1 year(s) and I live in Derbyshire (UK) which I like because unlike many, more coastal areas of England, is not too windy.
6 months ago I was preparing my morning toast while trying to think what really would be the best thing since sliced bread. It has been said before, but far too often and about far too many different things; I don’t think people truly understand the gravity of the statement anymore. It was shortly after this moment (for reasons I shall not disclose) that my mind combined your lovely Lurpak butter (full fat), cheese slices and cat flaps. The rest of the working out is obvious, hence the realisation of ‘Butter Flaps’.
It’s a simple idea, using the same technology employed to wrap cheese slices, but instead of cheese it is butter. The idea being that when your bread is freshly toasted you just unwrap the butter, drop it on the bread and voila! No spreading needed, just bread and butter merged in hot but quickly cooling matrimony, ready to eat.
As soon as my prototypes arrived (see attached) I knew this was a big one. Who would have thought that the best thing since sliced bread would be its closest companion!
I hope you will agree with me. I will be ready to meet with the appropriate members of your company as of next Tuesday (16.5.11) to discuss production and payment.
*Amendment - As I cannot attach pictures, please get in touch ASAP and I will be able to forward them to a real email address.
The two digits I find most difficult to hand-write are B and 8.
B always looks like it wants to be a D and 8 just looks stupid.
My name is Brett and I was born 26.8.89.
I think this means I have self esteem issues.
You will use this information to try and steal my identity.
My name is Brett and I have no self esteem or identity.
My name is Nothing.
It is much easier to hand-write Nothing.
I think for a TV series to be contemporary now it has to feature graphic sex, incest and nudity at least once an episode. Don’t get me wrong - I don’t mind sex, I even have some myself occasionally, but if often intrudes on the story quite suddenly and without reason.
I’m thinking ‘Game of Thrones’ e2. Yes, we know he’s a very naughty dwarf, but must he be fellated throughout his whole (admittedly rather short) introduction? You may think this an obscene choice of diatribe for a 21 year old male , but when I stay with the ‘rents it’s becoming increasing difficult to watch anything good on the telly without my step-mother refusing to watch it because it’s ‘bloody rude’.
(Emilia Clarke - Daenerys Targaryen ‘Game of Thrones’ is completely exempt from the next paragraph. Emilia, I’m sorry and I love you.)
I have a minor solution. Although my step-mother may not share the same quib, I think I would be far less inclined to moan if they weren’t so ugly all the time. Okay, not all of them, but I definitely do not want to see John Hannah’s (Batiatus) - Spartacus) old willy! As the plot already seems to be taking a back seat to make room for all the sex, why not abolish any sort of character development and have everyone as heaven opening Goddesses dry humping each other - each different drama distinguished only by titles.
Let’s go back to poor quality violence and witty dialogue, then leave it there, eh!
p.s. When did Doctor Who start scaring the shit out of kids?
The shows that made me think this:
Every single take-away in Liverpool seems to be competing with the others to see how many different types of take-away food they can supply. We all expect the Chinese to do some chip and gravy based meal, for the Grandad who refuses to eat ‘any of that foreign muck’, but when I walk down London Rd to get my tea from the INDIAN/CHINESE/PIZZA/KEBAB/FISH & CHIP/BURGER AND LUXURY A LA CARTE TAKE-AWAY, I get a little spoilt for choice.
To be clear, my inability to choose things has nothing to do with my beef(/hoisin duck/chicken tandoor) with these take-aways. My problem is that they can’t do any of them right. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that you can’t possibly have a menu covering the entire globe’s cuisine and produce any of it at good quality.
This is fantastic for all those Utilitarianists out there, but I can only think of one and he doesn’t live in Liverpool. In fact he’s dead. Is it really such a bad thing - having to decide which one you want before you order it for the sake of nicer food? Unless your ideal meal is a lamb bhuna and plum duck served on a deep dish pizza base with a side of mushy peas - I think not!
I can’t think of any non-apocalypse bringing solutions to this problem. My only hope is that people empathise with my woe and make it a big deal.
I went really qiuet and heard two thoughts crashing together in my brain.
They had nothing to do with eachother.
They shattered into a thousand little pieces
which later on will crash again and make a thousand more.
A little Big Bang.
I will try and tell you that pieces of my brain keep crashing into each other,
that it’s shattering itself - You will smile.
You will want to know how I made the connection.
I hope that if my whole head shatters
from the crashes and the Little Big Bangs,
that you’ll continue to smile at the pretty colours and the sounds.
I’ve become oblivious to my phone going off.
It’s like it’s talking to a brick wall.
I’ve never seen a phone talking to a brick wall.
I bet the phone gives praise to really thick brick walls,
they give it a break from pissed off sisters and telesales.
Walls just want to whine about why/who/when and how they got pissed on.
The phone isn’t insured against piss, so it has to stop the conversation and leave.
One day I’ll change my ringtone.