This Is Not A Blowjob

My podcast setisoppO has a fun and loyal audience, and we play lots of games over on our Facebook page. Yesterday, I posted this.

We had a number of good responses, including some Pop Art references, and Gabe even suggested correctly that it does indeed have a natural opposite, which is a pipe.

This got me thinking though. And I posted the following comment.

A fair question I think.

Except Facebook decided that my post needed to be translated, and this is how it translated it.

Filthy.

(With thanks to Jamie)

The Day The President Fell

It started like most days that year.

Horrifically.

But as the day unfolded, and revelation followed bombshell, it felt like the sun had come out from a year long hibernation, spreading its heat and glow, and thawing everyone’s cockles just enough to feel a warmth in the world again.

No-one really knew why they had elected a man with a massive orange for a head as the President of the World. It had started off as a joke. Lots of hilarity was spent on working out how he was talking without a mouth. Anatomically speaking, there was no way he could be making sounds, until we all realised he really was talking out of his arse.

That accounted for the noxious odour that accompanied each and every one of his utterances.

No-one really knew how he had ended up with a massive orange for a head either. The rumour was it had something to do with a rusty, dusty old lamp and a series of wishes, though it had never been proven. He wouldn’t release his wish returns, no matter how hard he was pressed. Curious behaviour for an orange.

Every day the news was bleak. Some scandal or another, slowly unfolding like a slow motion origami flattening, followed some heinous outburst that made the last one seem like a fragrant fart.

And still the man with the massive orange for a head remained President of the World.

It didn’t seem to matter what happened, he just sat there, a massive orange atop a black suited moron. And we all watched on, horrified, unable to look away.

And then he fell.

It happened so quickly that the news channels weren’t actually sure it had happened at all. They kept going over and over it, moment by moment, calling on experts and pundits to analyse ever detail of the event. And still no-one quite believed what was happening. Even the most gleeful opponents had to take a few moments to process it, while the most fervent supporters clasped their chests and wailed about the inhumanity of it all.

It took a few days for the fog to lift, and things started to get back to normal. No-one really mentioned the man with the massive orange for a head again, except tangentially, and with a rueful smile.

We all remember the moment that the President fell though.

The way he stumbled on the bottom step.

The way he toppled over.

The way his head burst.

The way the juice exploded everywhere.

The way to pulp flew through the air.

It was glorious.

Fall Back

Having an extra hour in the day really appealed to Larry. He always seemed so pressed for time these days, and things were getting forgotten. The house needed a lick of paint, some of the pipes were rumbling, the dog needed to be fed, and it was all getting overlooked.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen the dog for weeks. No wonder he was neglecting to feed the damn thing. It’s not like the cat ever let him forget to fill up the bowls.

The plan was simple.

Convert to a twenty five hour day.

And if that worked, more time could be had by implementing an eight day week.

What to name that extra day would be solved later. For now though, the extra hour was easy. Ish.

Should he put it at the full end of the day, and have 13 o’clock? He wasn’t sure that made sense. There wouldn’t be a 13 o’clock in the afternoon then. Though, as he thought about it, that would negate the need to differentiate between the two clock cycles. And on the twenty four hour clock, having it at the end would make it easy. It’s just a twenty five hour clock. It’s not like he could put the extra hour anywhere else. It couldn’t go from 1300 hours straight to 2500 hours.

Decision made.

The extra hour goes at the end of the day.

He’d had the idea when the clocks went back, giving him the extra hour in bed. Having that extra hour every day though, now, that would solve all his problems. He might even be able to figure out what that weird smell was.

And he wouldn’t just spend that extra hour in bed, he was determined.

What’s more, he realised he wouldn’t have to build some weird time dilating machine – he could just add the extra hour himself.

The new regime was working well, aside from a few extra lie-ins. He’d even used those twenty fifth hours to good effect at least once. Another episode of Star Trek had been watched, leaving him a good extra fifteen minutes to nap.

Sure, he’d been late for work five times and they’d fired him, but that just freed up more time to do other things.

The plan was working.