Friday, March 17, 2006

Unlocking The Inside

What to write about when you're blocked? Anything, I suppose would be one answer. Anything that unblocks you would be a more sensible one.

A very wise person once said:" If you can't think of anything to write about, give up." A wiser person counteracted with: "or you could write about the searches on your blog." And already this is sounding like a lie, and it is. But I have a theory that I'm prepared to put to the test.

Writing about searches and searchers is the blog hack's equivalent of a plumber's blocked drain buster fluid: "Carefully pour 300 ml of HG liquid drain unblocker in the blocked trap. Wait about 30 minutes for the substance to work and rinse thoroughly with cold water." Could easily be adapted to: Carefully pour over about 30 recent search words found in your stats box. Wait about 30 seconds for the substance to work and then rinse through them with some thoroughly wordy nonsense.

"A picture of a man falling on his arse."

Although providing a small lexical clue as to its searcher's provenance: "arse" being the Brit's preferred quick and simple slang term for the rear end, as opposed to "ass" and "butt" the more likely choice of 'clumsy gentlemen unable to maintain their footing' Internet searchers from the USA, it's a bit of a mystery. We can however disregard the Australians as, although they favour arse over ass, as opposed to the difficult to understand and therefore probably apocryphal 'date' as in " git off your fat dite," doesn't seem to invest enough casual strine wit as in the likes of: " it stands out like a shag on a rock," or "it's as dry as a nun's nasty;" and in case, any decent Aussie would have typed: " A picture of a pommy bastard falling on his arse."

"Crapping Dog Background."

You know I lie awake and wonder about some of these. Who in the name of all that is holy could wish to see a picture of a defecating dog. I remember some years ago, on one of the hottest days of the summer, walking along the beautifully manicured lawns of Bancroft Gardens on the banks of the river in Stratford Upon Avon, marvelling at the multi-coloured barges gliding silently through the water whilst giving due deference to graceful swans and bobbing ducks looking like miniature tugs pulling giant green liners. And people, self-consciously picnicking from wicker boxes whilst sat on tartan blankets just in front of the Royal ShakespeareTheatre which was displaying dramatic billboards of the evening's productions. When suddenly a cretinous youth appeared with a rotweiler the size of deer, galloping ahead of its owner causing awkward anguish amongst the little circles of people trying to enjoy their alfresco lunches.
Lots of unwanted snufflings and 'get aways! could be heard as hampers were hurriedly closed and small children were drawn into the bodies of their adult protectors - this was no doggy-woggy, this was a slavering killer which might just not settle for a cucumber sarnie since there were so many small children on offer.

Perhaps we should all have been grateful that the worst that happened was that in between causing mild panic and alarm - this was all before the dangerous dogs acts and muzzles and fines and things - the beast took one of those heart dropping straight front leg, arch back crouches and produced a lustrous, gnarled and triple brown shaded - all the way from liver through mahogany tipped with ochre - nearly foot long turd, which sat malevolently, standing out against its crew-cut grassy background, 'like a shag on a rock.' It ruined just about everyone's day. The smell wafted in unseen ripples around the lawns as picnics were gathered as if storms were approaching. People swooned from their barges into the canal, the swans and ducks took flight and the doors and windows of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre were angrily slammed shut by rehearsing actors wearing Elizabethan dress.

So there you are. 'Crapping Dog Background!' You ask, I provide.

Comments:
Maybe they were looking for a crapping dog picture for wallpaper for their computer screen.

It beats Robbie Williams, anyway.
 
Eurgh. A good job that scratch 'n' sniff blogging hasn't taken off yet.
 
Lovely writing. Strange that anyone can still do it with all that television. Cheers.
 
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