Open Wound – the drink

I see there’s a cocktail called an ‘Open Wound’.You fill a shot glass with Everclear Whiskey, drop a dash of Tabasco sauce in it, plus some around the edge.  Put an olive on a cocktail stick and drop it in.

Everclear is a brand of grain alcohol that can be up to 95% alcohol (for comparison; most vodkas are 40%).  This makes it about the strongest drink you can buy and illegal in some American States.  If you really must drink Everclear you dilute it with a mixer.

The cocktail is called an ‘Open Wound’ because once you’ve started drinking it there’s a pretty high chance of the cocktail stick piercing your nasal passages when you raise the glass towards your mouth.  Because of the numbing effect of Everclear you will not notice your injury and will continue to stab the open-wound that you’ve created until one of your friends feels enough pity to stop you.  The Tabasco is to mask the colour of any blood that drips in.

Here are some other genuine uses for Everclear:
Fuel in alcohol stoves. Hand cleanser. General disinfectant. A painkiller. A cleaner for tobacco and marijuana pipes to dissolve the residual tar and resin. A lubricant for brass instruments.  Anti-freeze.

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Gravy wrestling

The Rose ‘n’ Bowl pub in Stacksteads, Lancashire, recently hosted the World Gravy Wrestling Championships.  The contest was won by Joel Hicks, a 30-year-old barrister wrestling under the name of Stone Cold Steve Bisto.

“The final was really tough and it is much more difficult than you think. I had to employ the techniques I’ve learnt in the High Court.”

“You mean tenacity and perseverance?” our reporter asked.

“No, I got behind them and grabbed their testicles.”

 

“This is a great advertisement for our product,” said a gravy splattered gravy spokesman. “Bisto can be used for many things, such as waterproofing flat roofs, killing mosquito larvae and scabbing over gunshot wounds.  The fact that most people only use it to deaden the taste of their meals is a shame.”

 

“Yes, it’s certainly versatile,” agreed landlady Carol Lowe, “Now that they’ve finished wrestling in it we’ve got enough for our restaurant lunches until this time next year.”

 

“But what about the dirty scum?”

 

“We don’t let them in the restaurant; they have to stay in the public bar.”

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Sacrilege = Desecration, profanation, misuse, or theft of something sacred

The most valuable catalogue in pop music is finally open for business after the Beatles invited offers to use their hits in advertisements. 

Now the guardians of the Beatles’ songbook have said the catalogue may be licensed for selected “brand partnerships” that enhance the original music’s reputation. One of the first deals, a campaign for Procter & Gamble’s Luvs nappies that proclaims “All You Need Is Luvs”, has raised concerns that the group’s legacy may be trampled in a dash for cash.

Mr Bandier defended the nappy deal. He told Billboard: “The thought and the song were ideal for morning TV when young mothers are watching. We thought it was very tasteful.” A Procter & Gamble spokeswoman said that classic songs helped to “connect with the consumer and drive emotion for a product or brand”.

Rumours that further nappy adverts are being planned with the backing tracks of “Within You Without You”, “Baby Its Poo”, “The Stool on the Hill” or “Happiness is a Warm Bum” were strongly denied by marketing idiots.

Babyliss Hair Products may also jump onto the literal bandwagon by using Beatles songs in their adverts such as “You’re Going to Lose that Curl”, “You Really Got a Hold on Me” and “While My Henna Gently Seeps”. 
On the other hand, they might not.

Whatever nonsense we write here – you know the marketing guys will do worse.  Yeah, you do.

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Trigger’s Broom

 Down at the “Slug and Philosopher’ we had gotten through the first couple of quick pints and were working our way through the later, slower ones.

“You know, I don’t even remember my first Guinness,” said Old Ted, wiping some froth from his top lip.
“It was a long time ago, Ted,” I replied, “probably about fifty years”. 

 “You weren’t even the same person then,” said Wayne, “not one cell in your body has survived since those days.  They’ve all been replaced several times over.”
“So I’m like a different version of myself, then?”
“Yeah, like Trigger’s broom in ‘Only Fools and Horses’ on the TV.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“The joke is that Trigger claimed that he had his road sweeper’s broom for twenty years, but then he adds that the broom has had seventeen new heads and fourteen new handles.”

“Yeah, but I can remember other things, like my first pushbike when I was seven and that was before my first Guinness,” said Ted, “so it’s not like my brain has been wiped clean.”

“What ‘appens,” said Wayne, “is that each version of Ted passes the more ingrained memories on to the next version of Ted.  Imagine a whole string of Teds passing a bowl of spaghetti.  Each Ted adds a bit more spaghetti to the bowl but it can only carry so much and some of it gets pushed out.  Some of it remains from the original Ted and each of the Teds will be responsible for at least part of it.”

We all sipped on our beers and imagined a whole string of Teds of increasing age struggling with bowls of spaghetti.

“Of course, that’s the situation if you’re using the classic Time Is a Straight Line scenario that we’re all familiar with.”  Wayne persevered.  “If you imagine the broader picture, that Time is like a ball of water, then all the Teds exist as a single numerical object and all their memories exist instantaneously.  It’s only Ted’s brain that carves up the memories like slices of bread along the Time line that’s his life.”

“So let me get this straight; I’m not the same Ted as the one who you bought a pint for five minutes ago?”
“That’s correct,” replied Wayne.
“In that case I won’t be buying the next round, it’s that past Ted who owes you a drink and he’s gone,” said Ted triumphantly.

“Listen pal,” said Wayne menacingly, “I’m going to the loo now and if I come back and find that the current Ted hasn’t found his way up to the bar to repay the past Ted’s debt there won’t be no future Teds!”

Lucy the barmaid was collecting the empties.
“If you lot drink much more tonight you’ll not remember any of your yesterdays tomorrow and then where will you be?”

“If she starts talking about brooms, I’m out of here,” said Ted.    

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Smells like Xmas spirit

For Robert Schoff, this Christmas stank.

That’s because the 77-year-old spent a large part of his Christmas Eve stuck upside down in the opening of his septic tank.  Schoff, of Des Moines, Iowa, reached into the tank Monday in an effort to find a clog, but he lost his balance and got wedged into the opening.

‘Once the sensors inside my nose became seared and useless things weren’t so bad,’ said Schoff. ‘I once worked in a fast food restaurant so I have experienced similar smells before.  Also, I knew my wife would be watching ‘American Idol’ and it couldn’t be worse than sitting through that.’

‘I just saw his little legs waving,’ said his wife, Toni, ‘and as soon as I had finished hoovering the carpet and fed the cat I rushed to get him help.’

‘Unfortunately, the odour has permeated into his skin,’ she continued from behind the locked door of the Schoff’s suburban home, ‘the budgie fainted when Bob first came home from the hospital and we haven’t seen the cat since.  I daren’t let him back in the house in case he bleaches the wall paper.’

‘Despite everything, it’s still better than last Christmas when her mother came to stay,’ smiled Schoff.

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Down on the farm

You will see that supermarket giant and champion of healthy produce Tesco are sourcing  many of their goods from British farms. Amongst their suppliers they now have Rosedene farm for fruit, Redmere farm for vegetables, Willows farm for poultry and Animal farm for meat.  After conducting absolutely no research, I can tell you that all these farms exist on Shire Park Estate in sleepy, self satisfied Hertfordshire.

Several thousand workers travel in every day to Shire Park from the neighbouring villages in a sluggish river of shiny Audi Q3s to pick apples, pluck chickens and vacuum pump cows. The Shire Park Estate has a gymnasium, a social club and all the other facilities needed by today’s busy farmhands , even a canteen or Human Dietary Fulfilment Area as they like to call it.

My first job was on Recombinant Farm in the laboratory or ‘dairy’ as we were asked to call it, where intense academics frowned over the formulae and recipes for Tesco’s milk based products. Management scum, as we were asked to call them, popped in occasionally to check on the progress of our milk scum or ‘resultant test product’ which nobody asked us to call it. Like all the other Assistant Scum Operatives I was given a white coat to prevent the dangerous milk scum from damaging my clothing and making me sterile or terribly fecund, depending on that week’s blend.

One day I asked my Farm Labourer Group Team Shepherd why everything had to be dressed up and labelled as something more than it really was.  Why couldn’t we just put a decent bit of poultry in a recyclable plain packet with the text ‘British reared chicken’?

Mrs Shepherd looked angry for a moment but then she said, “Because we don’t want to scare people. We want our customers to believe that their food comes from beautiful serene farms where natural products are untouched by filthy foreigners. There is no dirt and shit, no pain or blood on our farms. The plants and animals throw themselves happily into the choppers and blenders because they only exist so that one day our customers can scrape them off their overloaded plates into black plastic bins (landfill only, every other Tuesday)”.

I realised at that moment that Redmere farm and all those other idyllic, sun washed farms don’t really exist. They were invented to deceive us, to hide the us from an unpalatable truth.  Like Soylent Green and God and the Champion’s League.

Farm

 

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