Piperkitty

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Piper has a long, pretty tail.
When she gets mad, she growls and swats at it. I suppose this is better than her swatting and attacking the other cats. Or me.
If she’s about to pounce on something, she wiggles it before she leaps.
She sticks it in her mouth and walks in circles when she wants attention.
She’ll do this on top of the fence every so often, even if it is raining.
As I type this story, Piper is sitting on the back of my chair, gently tickling my ear with her tail.
Tails are very useful things.

Scat

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On a site that’s full of crap, Andrew Ian Dodge talks about scat…

In politics one expects to get shat on every now and then. It is expected that the excrement will strike the ventilation device at times. Mark Oaten MP likes it; quite literally. He is not humiliated enough to be in party that will never be in government. No doubt some of the more curious of you hearing this have opened an email or “stumbled” on a scat site. Oaten used to be a shadow cabinet member and very recently a candidate for the leadership of the Lib-Dems….now he is bringing the shit down on his own party. Well; shit happens.

Kinda makes you wonder about Scatman Crothers.

Mutiny

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Palmer killed the captain, knocked out gravity, fried the radio, and nearly blew the drive core before we stopped him.
The crew wanted him dead, but I insisted on a trial. Procedure is procedure.
It didn’t take long, though. Guilty of murder and mutiny.
Minor problem: the lawbooks were seriously out of date.
Punishment was still death by drop-hanging.
“Can we yank on his legs to choke him?” asked Victor.
“Nope,” I said. “No weights. Free drop.”
Palmer laughed at us. “String me up and leave me there for a day,” he said. “That’s the law.”
So we did.
Outside.

Kill Your Own

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Andrew Ian Dodge does a Dear Diary in his latest…

Last night I attended the CD launch of the new 100 Reasons CD Kill Your Own at the rather nice HQ of V2 Records in Holland Park. The record company is housed in a lovely large house with its own bar in the basement. The new CD was produced by the guitarist and is an interesting mixture of modern heavy rock and old school metal. Its not released until March; but I was generally rather impressed. It was nice to hear some of the fellow rock journos recognised my band name when I mentioned it. An early evening well spent.

Where can the CD be bought online?

Dammit

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Old wives tales say The Moon is made from green cheese. Apollo missions proved otherwise: rocks and dust.
But it turns out that there’s really one moon out there made from green cheese. We were out by Saturn,farming ions in the ring bands, when we lost control and crash landed on it.
Got my picture taken with my thermal underwear on a post, claiming it in the name of Queen Elizabeth.
Astronomer’s Guild gave it a serial number. I wanted to name it Dammit. Because that what we said when we crashed.
Among other things. But Dammit’s fine by me.

Liquid sin in a St. Arnold’s glass

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Just keep pulling Guinness for me, and if you’re busy Christine, I’m not worried. The longer it takes you, the warmer the beer. And the warmer the beer, the better it is.
Nobody loses, everybody wins. I’m okay with it.
Running out of cold pint glasses? Not worried about that none, either. Same reason. Wouldn’t be right to think otherwise.
World would be a better place if all the little stuff stayed little.
I used to get riled up about that stuff. Forgot I was in Texas.
Everything’s big here. Little stuff is that much more little by comparison.
Amen.

The Wacky Adventures Of Abraham Lincoln 46

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Grant nearly choked on his flask. “What do you mean he wants to know what brand of whiskey I drink?”
“I’m not sure,” said his secretary. “Someone in the press called you a drunk, and Lincoln asked what brand you drink so he can give it to his other generals.”
“So they’ll run out of it?” asked Grant.
“No,” said the secretary. “He’s saying he doesn’t care if you’re a hopeless drunk.”
“Well, it’s about time,” said Grant. “Coming to bed?”
The secretary nodded, and wondered if Lincoln would order his other generals to engage in violent bestial sex, too.

Massively Multiplayer

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Andrew Ian Dodge tells a little tale from his experiences reviewing some online games…

There’s a type of person who inhabits MMORPGS: the ganker or griefer. These types, who are generally male, use every possible exploit they can to make sure they can bully other players; primarily those of a lower level. Any criticism is met with cries of “whiner” or “go play something else”. What these fools don’t care about is the fact they ruin the game for others and in many cases kill off the game they are playing. You see they don’t care that game companies need players to keep a game going. Like bullies; all that matters is their fun.

Me, I stay away from them. Because there’s no reason to pay ten bucks a month to hear others whine.

For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow, The Doctors Say

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Everybody raised their glasses in a toast to me.
“Happy birthday, Willard,” they said.
“No hard feelings about the funny farm thing?” asked Albert.
“None at all,” I said, smiling.
They drank, and the cake was brought out.
By the time the song was over, I learned over the cake and said “I wish you’d all just die.”
Sure enough, as I was blowing out the candles, each guest was either dead or holding their throats, dying.
“How?” choked Albert, the last one alive.
“Poisoned wine,” I said. “It’s a very good year. No hard feelings, Al?”
He didn’t answer.

The Radio Show

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Andrew Ian Dodge looks in his crystal ball and tries to read the swirling tealeaves within…

It is January 17th 2007 at 10pm in the east. A long-haired rocker awaits his cue calmly; while a certain Jewish Texan quips methodically and amuslingly in a studio in Houston. The co-host twitches like a cat in heat in anticipation of launching into his latest rant against Iran. The pair are counted in…5,4,3,2.1…
“It’s the Dodge & Simon Hour from Houston, Texas and the centre of London.”
Andrew and Laurence launch right into the chat they were having off radio; now with a large radio audience.
“So the attack on Iran is imminent?”
“Imminent takes too long…” retorts Simon.

The correct time to remove any warmongering dictator bent on genocide is yesterday.