Want to wipe your soiled rectum on an England flag? How about this:
Yes, you can now buy a roll of St. George flags for anus wiping.
Who the shitting Science* thought this would be a good idea?
Anyway, get them from play.com, if you really want to.
(The play.com domain name is registered from the island of Jersey. The Admin contact is UK based, but the Tech contact is in France.)
*oh go find the South Park episode.
Oh dear, The Sun must be at the barrel scraping stage if they fall for lame rubbish such as this:
(See the story at 
http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/2960673/Ghostly-figure-of-a-weeping-girl-in-mirror-of-hotel-room.html)
This little girl gets about a bit. Sometimes she appears in kitchen door glass (http://www.ghostsandstories.com/little-girl-ghost.html).
But this is hardly surprising considering this iPhone App: http://www.appstorehq.com/ghostcapture-iphone-79452/app
But it isn’t just the outrageous fakery that annoys me. Just read the story for all the signs of Sun Bullshit:
Honestly, if they want some made-up bullshit they should contact me. A copy of my CV should proove fictional enough for them.
I’ve been watching a lot of Star Trek recently, mainly Voyager, and something has been niggling at my mind.
Space, as they say, is big. Really big. Frank Sidebottom also says that Space is ace, and we can’t really argue with that, can we? Space is also, by its very nature, three dimensional.
This seems to passed by the writers of Star Trek. Events always seem to occur within a set plane. For example, Star Trek: The Undiscovered Country begins with the an explosion on the Klingon Moon Praxis producing a shockwave which only seems to travel in two dimensions.
The Praxis Wave
This wave progesses through space until it is encountered by the USS Excelsior and Captain Sulu, who turn into the wave rather than dodging out of its way. Surely the former helmsman of the Enterprise should remember about Up and Down?
The Excelsior, not going up or down.
Ok, I’ll concede that the Praxis wave is a pretty effect, but that is no excuse for ignoring the third dimension.
Time and agin, when ships rendezvous or do battle, they do so sharing a common idea of up and down.
All the right way up!
Now maybe this should be the case during diplomatic meetings, but it does seem a mite strange for a battle situation.
Klingons on the, erm, Port Stern!
In fact, the only instances I can find where ships are not aligned like this is when one of the ships is either out of control or has been disabled.
Can anyone actually give me a valid reason why this always happens, or alternately find an example that contradicts this?
More ships, just for good measure.
Already this year I’ve travelled more rail miles that in the preceeding ten years. Two Stafford/Preston return trips has reminded me why I avoid the railways like the plague: The Virgin Voyager.
A Voyager at Stafford
Some people might say that they represent a giant leap forward in train technology. These people are probably short, have no sense of smell and enjoy rollercoasters. And are probably clinically insane.
Myself, I’m of above average height, can still smell despite a good few years chain-smoking and hate all fairground rides. I’ll neatly sidestep the sanity issue (I’m typing this on a Datawind Ubisurfer – I must have been bananas to buy it).
My first major moan about the Voyager concerns the piss-awful seats and lack of legroom. Now when I say that I am of above average height I mean that I am abiout six foot four. This doesn’t put me into the realm of basketball players or circus freaks, but it does stop me sitting in most of the seats on a Voyager. Table seats are fine, if you want to share a table with a drunken Scottish squaddie (are they all AWOL and hiding on the trains, or is it always the same one?), and the priority wheelshair users’ seating has sufficient room, but the majority of the seating would require me to undergo a leg-ectomy for me to use them. I suppose I could sit sideways across two seats, but that is uncouth, yobbish behaviour for the sort of folk who play their music loud in public.
Yobbish behaviour
When Charles Darwin designed the human olfactory organs he must have had quite a chuckle to himself when he put in the bits that enable you to smell the unique aroma of a Virgin Voyager. Is a whiff of flatulence combined with a hint of smoke? A solid leavening of used toilet with a dash of electrical burning? Or is it,as I suspect, a full blown massive turd secreted directly on to an electric heater full of cat hair? The reason for this is apparently that the toilet effluent tanks vent into the bodywork, and that the wiring is prone to going shonky. Not even the APT had these features!
An APT, not on fire.
But these are just minor nit-picking flaws, I can almost hear you say. Surely the superior ride quality makes up for them? Well, yes, of course, assuming your idea of a nice journey involves lurching from side to side, up and down, and occassionally backwards and forwards. During the course of typing this, by netbook as been dislodged from the little wanky tray-table no less than three times. I’d have a smoother ride in a Land Rover. Across a bomb site. Under shelling.
The Next Generation Voyager will have more comforts.
And let us not forget, the government spent millions between 1959 and 1974 to electrify the West Coast Main Line, and now Captain Beardy is pissing all over this by running diesel trains on it. Money well spent! Its like buying the entire run of Star Trek Voyager on DVD, and copying them on to ropey old VHS tapes, then scrubbing the tapes with magnets before watching them.
But never mind. Just watch a video of better times.
As Jon at Crackerwax seems to have started spouting poetry, I thought I’d join in.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Recognise it? It was used as the closing monologue of the Heroes episode “The Second Coming”.
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