Posts by Philip Challinor
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Ben Gracewood is almost a perfect anagram of WE ARE BORG
It's also an anagram of RACE ON, WEB GOD.
Jolisa Gracewood, on the other hand, is an anagram of GO, AIR COOLED JAWS.
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A Vision
I saw, as in a ghastly dream,
An ice-cream man with toothy beam
With which he beat a thousand bats.
I saw, amid the ghastly hats
A Werewolf in a horrid hood
Who fought and fouled where'er he would.
I did my best to quench my fear
By drowning it in quarts of beer;
Then dragged my laptop to the bogs
So I could check their bloody blogs. -
Still, it probably did wonders for those unsightly protruding hairs (assuming he is such an exception among respected journalists as to have unsightly protruding hairs; take a bow, English libel laws). Whether the wonder consisted in cosmetic cauterisation of the nasal follicles, or in making the hairs protrude in a fashion more unsightly than ever before, is something we can only hope never to find out.
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Don't just judge a book by it's cover.
Surely its cover
I'm beginning to be rather fond of the tone of this discussion myself.
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I remember the days when a font was something you could wash a book cover in, provided it happened to be washable and at risk of blasphemy and damnation, rather than something on the book cover. Sometimes when I'm alone I find myself whispering the word "typeface" to myself in secret, illicit defiance.
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Since a heath is something flat, inhospitable and uncultivated that's been allowed to go to waste, I should have thought the Mental Heath Sector covered most of civilisation and the Antipodes.
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All this sweetness and light is for boors;
Give me darkness, death and the moors.
Concluding on happy
Is frequently crappy -
A trick of hacks, hucksters and hoors. -
You mock, sir, the English orthography?
If not for your Huttite geography
You'd not get away
With such caddish display:
'Tis a blot, sir, upon your biography. -
So long I've been able to lark it
Because of my trust in the market;
But now I'm betrayed
And lost and afraid,
I'm off to a hermitage, fark it. -
Recessional
The gleamers have turned into rusters,
The boomers decayed into busters;
I'm under an onus
To pay back my bonus;
I think I've been fucked in the clusters.