a note for first-timers

If it's your first time here and you're new to blogs, the first post you'll see is the most recent so that's where you should be ending, rather than starting. Otherwise, carry on...

Please, feel free to comment - you know you want to.

adsenselessness

Imagine my surprise and horror to find the movie "Jesus Camp" being advertised on this very blog. Come on, Google - sort it out. Surely it should be apparent from my posts that I'm not the sort to fall for the line "God Wants You To Join His Army". What ever happened to contextual advertising?

Deary, deary me.

For anyone offended by the advert, I can only apologise. And for those of you that saw fit to actually click on the damn thing, you should be ashamed of yourselves. You won't get into Heaven that way, you know.

presents

Today, I'm no longer twenty-odd. Now I'm twenty-even again. But it's the last twenty-even I'll ever be, which is a bit of a shame. *sigh*

I did, however, get the bestest birthday gift I've had in, well, probably ever. First off, it arrived in an enormous red box. I mean, this thing was huge. When I was told of its impending arrival, I was warned it would be too big for the letter box but little did I realise it would almost be too big for the door!

So, in the living room sat this enormous red box throughout yesterday. It was delivered at 7:50am and I opened it at about twenty past twelve this morning at the express request of the gift-giver. You'll never believe what it is. I was - thanks to her teasing - half expecting it to be some sort of otter figurine (we've been there before, have we not?) but fortunately not. No, instead, it's a RoboPet. How damn cool is that!

I went out earlier and got a bunch of batteries to switch him on and within minutes he was on guard duty on my bedroom floor. Unfortunately, I've so far been unable to alert him to the fact that neither of my feet are intruders and just moments ago I once again had to rescue my left ankle from his clutches. Actually, thinking about it... he could just be like a normal dog and looking for something to hump. Perhaps I should point him at a table leg and see what he does. His name is Arti. For obvious reasons. I need to buy him a collar now.

Oh, and I should also point out if you're thinking of rushing out and buying one for yourself that you'll need a pair of wire cutters and forty-five minutes spare to remove all the packaging. I swear - there was more wire in there than in one of Jordan's bras. And none of the puppies were getting free in a hurry.

Thank you, Nu-Nu. I think Tilly would be most entertained by her very own Arti.

it's over

Me and Brad are no more. It turns out the photo's not really of him.

I guess I'd best go back to my *spit* hetero ways. I feel almost disgusted with myself for giving up so soon... but what can an otter do? I'm clearly not cut out for life as a glove puppet.

old (and haggard) flames

I had an email arrive today to confirm my registration on GayDate.com.

"Strange," thought I "I don't remember signing up to that. Perhaps I was sleep surfing and my latent homosexuality took over and I signed up."

Now, how many of you clicked on the above link and immediately regretted it? How many of you clicked on it whilst at work because you weren't thinking properly? Ha! More fool you.

Suffice to say, I never actually signed up to the site. And, initially, I thought it was just normal, everyday spam. However, I noticed the address in the "To" field and it got me thinking.

You see, I have a domain or two to my name and therefore all mail for those domains comes direct to me - apart from the one or two other redirects I have set up for certain individuals. Imagine for a moment that my real name is "Bob". And that the domain in question is "domain.com". The email was addressed to bobsuxcock@domain.com. Is it just me or is that a little too much of a coincidence? Yes, I thought so too.

I had a friend of mine log in to the account - I was at work at the time so obviously I couldn't log in myself - using the details that arrived in the aforementioned registration confirmation email. It turns out that the gay version of me speaks fifteen languages. I'm starting to think I should have been gay after all - "Mandarin" and "Urdu" would look great on a CV, don't you think?

Unfortunately, the rest of the profile bears no resemblance to me at all. I was naturally disappointed to find out that no mention was made of my enormous otterhood and equally perturbed that, in gay guise (no pun intended. Okay, so there was really), I live in Essex. Argh! How dare I!

You're still wondering why I've got the title I have for this post, aren't you? Well, let's just say that I can think of only one person with the wit and wisdom to sign me up to a gay dating site. Bless her cotton socks.

I suppose I should thank her really. Otherwise, I'd never have met Brad.