Aliens, Black Friday, 40 inch Televisions, Conspiracies and Professor Quatermass.

After many years it appears the so called Black Friday chaos finally arrived here in Britain yesterday, a place not used to Black Friday. And it has come to my notice thanks to the very informative Bumferry Hogart that all was not as it might appear from a distance. You see Mr Hogart or Mr H as we like to call him was brave enough to venture out into the wilds of sale land and found folk acting normally and even smiling. To those of us watching the news this was a shock as on the BBC news we got to watch massed crowds fighting in the playing fields of England . . . sorry I mean the aisles of Tesco as they fought to the last man over 40 inch television sets. This is interesting because (as I have already discussed with Mr H) a couple of years ago when the good folk of Britain in certain places (cities) rioted one of the main items targeted by the looters was 40 inch television sets.

In fact 40 inch television sets seem to have a strange effect on the public and the people who own them. So I have had to conclude from all the evidence that has been placed in front of me that the minds of man has been subconsciously manipulated by Aliens of a higher intelligence many millions of years ago to desire a 40 inch television.  Of course the Aliens have been waiting quietly for us to get to the stage where our own intelligence is good enough to develop the mass produced 40 inch Flat Screen Television. Which means mankind has now finally reached a point where we now sit and worship these 40 inch large shiny black monoliths in our living rooms. Now ask yourself does this remind you of something, a film maybe called . . . 2001 a Space Odyssey. 

You see these large black 40 inch screen technological devices are more than a simple television set they are the incubators of the dormant offspring of the Aliens who will at some point leap out of the screen and into the body and mind of the humans who have been sent into a comatose state by watching hours of talent shows and minor celebs doing stuff like dancing and eating armadillos or Dads Army. 

And once the humans have been assimilated and genetically realigned they will join the army of existing aliens who insist those of us who do not yet own 40 inch televisions should get one because it’s a must for every modern home. This way it is only a matter of time until we are all taken over and Mankind as we know it is changed forever becoming Aliens just like the ones you see on the TV. . . . . . .

I blame that Professor Quatermass. . . . 

The Big Questions I Can't Answer (or a Quiz Night)

I am off at a quiz night tonight to very possibly be asked to answer questions, as that is the general nature of quiz nights. I am not a silly unknowledgeable chap, however I am not good at answering questions at random out of the blue, it is not what I do.  Also Quiz nights tend to have questions about popular television, I do not know much about popular television except most of it is rubbish and my poor old brain is confused by the fact it is popular. Quiz nights also have questions about sport and football, a game involving a round ball and played by chaps from abroad who earn huge amounts of money; one of whom once said something about Seagulls. . .  And popular music is in general another subject that tends to crop up at such events. . . I am also not good at popular music which these days seems to involve boy bands and folk who have won TV talent shows . . .  I have decided to answer all these particular questions with either  . . . Tiny Tim or Country Joe and the Fish . . . that way I stand a small chance of getting one question right.

The good news is this quiz night is to be held of Big Bills Greasy Fur Ball Café, the home of the greatest food in the world and at midpoint in the proceeding we all stop for chicken pie and chips unless you are a veggie in which case it’s the veggie option. This makes the humiliation of being last by several hundred points behind a mad old granny and her team of cats acceptable.  Sometimes a man has to do what a man has to do in order to consume the delights of great pies.

Of course this years blog theme which I keep departing from on an almost daily basis is The Big Questions, so it is more than a little ironic that I will be sitting blank faced, drinking orange juice shouting TINY TIM TINY TIM TINY TIM at my fellow team mates as they ponder on the question  . . . . Who was the last Governor-General of the Belgian Congo? and for a bonus point what was the name of his dog . . . . While they try and think if Baron Théophile Wahis was the last one or not because he was not that keen on dogs only to find out after that rather ironically (there will be much irony) he did have a small dog called Tiny Tim. . . . .  At which point I will look smug and nod with a knowing nod.  As I have said Tiny Tim must be the answer to something. I have a feeling he sang a cover of that famous Charles Dickens song . . .  Santa in Red. . . .  

Steven Spielberg, Jurassic World and certain investment concerns about dinosaurs

As my few but loyal followers will know I have been cooking up brilliant ideas for the very nice Steven Spielberg now for about four years and in that time have thought of hundreds of them. Some of them probably even good ones, yes the law of averages states that I Rob Z Tobor is capable of thinking of good ideas, a bit like all those monkeys writing Shakespeare in the infinite voids of infinity.  So am I annoyed that the nice Mr Spielberg is doing a sneaky and churning out yet another dinosaur film, this time called Jurassic World well the answer is . . . . . . . . a bit.

And in order to understand just how improbable this film is it is important to go back to the beginning when some bright spark comes up with the idea of Jurassic World in the first place. So let us reflect on a man as he walks with purpose along the busy streets of Gotham City clutching his neat leather executive case heading towards the Gotham City Central Bank.

Hey hello Professor shouts a voice in the crowd as Professor Frankenstein busily pushes his way through the throng into the huge marble hall way of the Central Bank, its magnificent classical columns twinkling with the light of the halls chandeliers.

O hello Clark I am a bit late for an appointment at present so will see you later, I could have a great story for the paper. With that he waves and heads off towards the manager’s office, it is not good to be late when you want to borrow several million Dollars.

Professor Frankenstein you are on the dot please come straight in it is always good to see you. Says the banks Manager

Ah Thank you . . . you are very kind

Please take a seat and tell me how I can help you, although I have to warn you banking has changed in the last few years it is not like it was back in the good old days.

Yes I have a new plan. One greater than any of my previous plans and one that will make us all very very rich it’s a brilliant plan if I say so myself. But I will need to borrow several million dollars.

Well as I have said Banking is not what it was, but we are always keen to support good ideas tell me all about it.

Yes I want to build a world full of living dinosaurs and breed them in captivity it will attract millions of visitors and scientists from all over the world. . . . I thought I would call it Jurassic World.

AH . . . . Well Professor it sounds a bit like Jurassic Park to me and we know what happened with that and more than once I may add.

Yes OK it didn’t entirely work out as planned but this time it will be dead exciting . . . no pun intended. . . and entirely safe. . . . . Sort of.

You said that last time Professor and you told me that they would be small dinosaurs not huge things

Well they were smallish . . . . they just had big claws

Indeed and just how big will these dinosaurs be this time.

Welll mmmmmm maybe 70 to 90 feet long or so but with smaller claws.

Look I’m sorry Professor but the bank can’t afford to invest in more monsters we are not thought of well at present and your track record is a bit dodgy to say the least. I mean what happened to that chap you made with the bolt through his neck. And we invested in that King Kong which turned out to be a bad move, as did that bloke Indiana Jones and his Pyramid Scam. And if anyone mentions the creature from the black lagoon again I will hit them.

So it sounds like you are saying No

O what the hell we will give it a go what can really go wrong. . . . Sooner or later someone will get the hang of these dinosaurs, they cant all be super intelligent killing machines. I mean just how realistic is that,  After all even that nice Steven Spielberg would not be foolish enough  to make yet another of those films would he.

AH DAMN funny you should say that

THE END. . . . . . . . . . .   

A Harry Potter Christmas Poem (almost like the original but not quite)

Was the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Santa for Wizards would turn up there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of muggles danced in their heads.

And Hermione waving her wand, an eye in her lap,

Had just settled her brain for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

Ron sprang from his chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the window Ron flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to Ron’s wondering eyes should appear,

But a Drunk Harry Potter, with eight tins of strong beer.

With a little can opener, so lively and quick,

Ron knew in a moment Harry must be feeling quite sick.

Then into the night a voice suddenly came,

And it whistled, and shouted, and called Ron by his name!

"You’re my best mate Ron you cute little Vixen!

I’ve had a great doner kebab at a party in Blitzen!

but I’ve been sick on the porch! and the top of the wall!

but must dash away! Dash away! because I might be sick in your hall”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up on the house-top Ron he just knew,

With a sleigh full of Toys, was Hagrid drinking Homebrew.

And then, in a twinkling, Ron heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As Ron shook his head, and then turned around,

Down the chimney fell Hagrid with a terrible sound

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bottle of gin he had tied on his back,

And he looked like a madman, about to attack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how scary!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose rather hairy!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like Banshees in the heath.

He had a broad manic face, was incredibly smelly,

And he shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was grumpy and plump, spitting bits of food on a shelf,

And Ron cringed when he saw him, in spite of himself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave Ron to know he better watch what he said.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

Giving a nod, out the window he then chose!

He sprang to his sleigh, and to Harry Potter gave a whistle,

And away they both flew like the down of a thistle.

But Ron heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

"Here Harry I know of this bar that is open all night!"