Bird Guano’s
SAUSAGE LIFE
The column where news is still a science as yet unproven
MYSELF: I’m changing my name
READER: To what?
MYSELF: Toby.
READER: Why Toby??
MYSELF: In honour of St Patrick’s Day
READER: St Patrick’s is on March 17th surely? Perhaps you were thinking of Blessed Bartola Longo, a former Satanist who became an Apostle of the Rosary?
MYSELF: It wasn’t the Satanist. And anyway I’m sure Saint Pat, the owld snake-charmer himself, would have wanted us Brits to cover ourselves in shamrocks and pretend we are WB Yeats or Brendan Behan anytime we feel like it. I’ve always had a soft spot for the Gaelic so I’ve decided to become Irish permanently.
READER: Well I’ve never heard of either of them lads but I suppose there’s no harm in having a grand owl craic at this time of year when everyone’s getting depressed for Christmas. But let’s face it – we’re all going to know it’s just you waving a shillelagh, wearing a giant floppy green hat and pretending to like whisky and playing the accordion and not a genuine Celtic Blarney Stone kisser at all (at all). And Toby? That’s not even Irish! What’s your new surname then? O’Reilly? Finnigan?
MYSELF: Shaw.
READER: Oh come on….Toby Shaw?
MYSELF: Indeed, Toby Shaw, so it is.
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DICTIONARY CORNER
PCWorld (n) Parallel universe featured in the graphic novels of Ruud van Smoot where no-one understands how computers work.
Wikipedia (n). Having a dyslexic sexual interest in New Zealanders
READER: I don’t get the second one.
MYSELF: Don’t worry, we’re here all ewek.
READER: Is that a Star Wars reference?
MYSELF: If you like.
MUTTON DRESSED AS SLAB
Speaking of New Zealand, a mouth-watering full colour tourist brochure popped through my door last Thursday urging me thus:
COME TO NEW ZEALAND- WHERE THE STREETS ARE PAVED WITH LAMB.
More than intrigued, I decided to investigate. As it turns out, a sleepy village on the North Island of our former colony turns out to be the source of this unusual slogan.
The rural hamlet of Whatuwhiwhi, (pop: 988), with its tiny whitewashed wooden chapel, cosy communal pub (The Lamb), and 10,935,000 acre sheep farm, was first catapulted to notoriety in 2021 by its forward thinking mayor Wilf “Woolly” Walloon. With local budgets being slashed and municipal belts being tightened, this outspoken sheep farmer had the radical money-saving idea of repairing the town’s potholed roads and revolting dog-fouled sidewalks with thick slabs of preserved lamb rather than expensive imported concrete paving. I decided to make contact.
“It came to me in a dream one afternoon” Woolly told me over a crackling short-wave radio, “The solution was literally staring me in the face. I realised that by taking advantage of our vast annual sheep surplus, we could save a lot of cash and cure both of Whatuwhiwhi‘s urgent municipal problems in one go, so I………” His explanation was suddenly interrupted by a long burst of static and when it eventually stopped I thought I heard him conclude “…One, the roads get fixed, and two, everyone knows dogs won’t shit on meat.” Then it cut out completely.
LATEST SOCCER RESULTS
Hobson’s Denture Fixative League (south)
Upper Dicker Macaroons 5 Maidstone Beehive 2
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Balls Cross Tabernacle 5 Uffingham Rubbernecks 7
Eastbourne Lemmings 11 Lower Diddling Intellectuals 11
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FC Dumbledore vs Yapton Spoonbenders (Late Kick Off due to supermarket trolley on pitch)
SHOWBIZBUZZ
Celebrity tattle from the tittlesphere
Perusing Facebook the other day in the vain hope of seeing something useful, I noted a post stating that Mr Dene Betteridge, frontman of 80s novelty band Black Lace had been forced to perform Agadoo for fellow inmates while serving a prison sentence. “When these terrifying criminals tell you to do something you do it.” he is reported to have said.
I must say I’ve never heard it called Agadoo before.
(#mainstreetmedia)
Ed Sheeran has named his fifteenth child Stenna Sealink in honour of the ferry company which recently returned a mobile phone which in 2006 he had left on a ferry from Bruges, where he had attended a stag night. “To say I’m relieved would be an understatement” the Ginger Whinger told us, “some of the photos on there were irreplaceable – in a strictly sentimental-value way.” (#therealfakenews)
Lady Gaga the controversial celebrity muppet has confessed that the infamous beef wellingtons she wore at the 2017 Superbowl were not actually made from cows, but from Quorn Mince, carefully rolled out into workable sheets and sewn together in Albuquerque by environmentally sustainable Mexican migrants.
(#thetruthisouttheresomewhere)
SCIENCE IS GORDON
I popped round to Professor Thinktank’s laboratory the other day to see if the Hastings inventor had anything new up his sleeve. When I arrived he was demonstrating the prototype of his remote controlled Hoovadrone, a portable cordless device for vacuuming swallow’s nests, to a group of fascinated Chinese industrial spies. As they eagerly photographed the Hoovadrone blueprint from several angles, I spotted what looked like a new patent application pinned to the notice board.
After the Chinese delegation had left, the professor, sensing my interest, invited me to inspect his latest ingenious device, The Gordon Thinktank Combination Golf Putter and Metal Detector.
“This”, he explained, taking what looked like an ordinary golf club from a nearby bag “will enable the user to seamlessly combine two spectacularly boring hobbies into one.”
Indicating a cunningly concealed control panel on the handle, he said with a conspiratorial wink: “Lost your nine iron? Simple – just flip the switch and find it with your putter!”
ASK DR GUANO
The usual pot-pourri of postal puerility appears to have piled up on my desk this past fortnight, so I sprinkled them with grated cuttlefish and got my budgerigar Wensleydale to peck out a letter at random:
Dear Dr Guano,
We have examined your column with a very strong magnifying glass, and can find no mention of conjuring tricks, illusions, or anything relating to the ancient art of legerdemain. Why so? Is there some shameful incident from your childhood we should know about? Were you sawn in half by a drunken uncle perhaps? Or persuaded to peer up the billowing sleeves of a lascivious aunt, who then produced, out of thin air, a suggestively shaped vegetable? Sir, we sympathise, but surely deep psychological scars are no reason to ignore the fascinating world of magic?
Yours mysteriously
Mr Sinistro & Maureen
I took a deep breath and replied thus:
Dear Mr Sinistro & Maureen,
I would refer you to Magic, Illusion and Bedwetting by the Norwegian child psychologist Liv Ljernsennbjorg, a disciple of Jung. In it, she advances the highly plausible theory that the German invasion of Poland in 1939 which led directly to Great Britain’s declaration of War, was entirely attributable to an incident in Herr Hitler’s youth when he was given a Harry Houdini Junior Magic Kit for his seventh birthday which did not contain any instructions. Having failed to master that trick where you place a dove in a top hat, tap it with the magic wand and then produce a scale model of the Eiffel Tower, The Führer, as he was later to become, went on to subjugate all of Europe
Vanishingly yours,
Dr Guano & Brenda
READER: How do they do that trick anyway?
MYSELF: My Magic Circle oath forbids me to say.
Sausage Life!
Click image to connect. Alice’s Crazy Moon is an offbeat monthly podcast hosted by Alice Platt (BBC, Soho Radio) with the help of roaming reporter Bird Guano a.k.a Colin Gibson (Comic Strip Presents, Sausage Life). Each episode will centre around a different topic chosen by YOU the listener! The show is eclectic mix of music, facts about the artists and songs and a number of surrealistic and bizarre phone-ins and commercials from Bird Guano. Not forgetting everyones favourite poet, Big Pillow!
NB: IF YOU DO NOT HAVE A PAID SUBSCRIPTION TO SPOTIFY, THE SONGS WILL BE OF RESTRICTED LENGTH
JACK POUND: JESUS WANTS ME FOR A SUN READER aka PASS THE INSTANT YOGA
CHEMTRAILS ON MY MIND
MORT J SPOONBENDER
On September 11th 1958, José Popacatapetl, a retired tree psychologist who’s father was head gardener for the CIA during the cold war, was hitchiking through the Alberqueque desert when he was picked up by a black sedan driven by J Edgar Hoover’s ex-boyfriend André Pfaff head of FBI underhand operations and extra-terrestrial banking who once worked as a quantum mechanic for the KGB under the direct orders of the zombie reincarnation of Josef Stalin whose mummified corpse was kept in a secret underhand bunker in the basement of the Vatican.
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