Monday, April 30

The Competition; Final Countdown

What a month it's been, with you all linking to me and favouriting me. Fools!

I've gone up to an average of 49 unique Visitors a day, the amount of time people spend on my site has increased and I almost had an orgasm when I realised my Google page ranking had gone from 0 to 4 overnight.

Truly you have done well.

The winners of the BlogExplosion Credits will be announced tonight. Here are your entry numbers.

  1. Dale
  2. Randolph
  3. Angelika
  4. Angelika
  5. Etain Lavena
  6. Ally
  7. 100 Words
  8. WebMiztris
  9. Imogen
  10. Bobbarama
  11. Mr Fab
  12. Pickled Olives
  13. Angelika
  14. Ally
  15. Hearts
  16. Instant Loser
  17. Mr Fab
  18. Skittles
  19. Getting Vocal
  20. Polliwog
  21. Stuart
  22. P.I.Frederick
  23. Simone
  24. Simone
  25. This Eclectic Life
  26. Angelika
  27. Coaster Punchman
  28. Lord Matt
  29. This Eclectic Life
  30. GayGeek
  31. GayGeek
  32. Angelika
  33. This Eclectic Life
  34. Angelika
  35. Angelika
  36. Reflecting Pool
  37. Coaster Punchman
  38. Words, Words,Words
Tickets number 38 to 65 will be automatically assigned to the people who favourited the blog as listed here.

There is still time to enter, simply link and leave a comment, or add Freelance Cynic to your Technorati Favourites.

Results will be announced before 00:00 GMT.

Sticky Post - Win Hits and Join the Meme!

Time is running out to Win BIG with 250 free blog hits

And I'd love some more feedback on my meme idea- Grinds my Gears

Saturday, April 28


I’m leaving this behind.

This blog is a greedy mistress, demanding more of my time than I am prepared to give. She pulls me away from my family, from my friends and from the rest of my life, with addicting claws that dig into me like spurs into my flesh. There is a reason after all, that I don’t date women.

The page views fluctuate wildly, the comments vary massively and the only stable factor is the wasted time and effort it takes to update this page. It has come to the point where I begrudge having to update it, where I loathe trying to be funny at half-past six every morning, and where I detest the lack of interest, and reward, my effort receives

And so, after much consideration, I have decided to regain my life.

I am taking a break from The Freelance Cynic.

I’ll be back on Monday, hope you’ll can cope without me…

(Almost had you worried then, didn’t I?)

This is your Last Chance to win 250 Free Blog Hits! Click here to find out how. Results will be revealed on Monday.

Thursday, April 26

Wheels on Fire


I was walking past the construction site.

A man was leaning against the wall. He stared at me as I went past, then walked to his car, a Peugeot 205, old and grey, parked up on the opposite side of the car park. I paid him no attention. My thoughts were tired. I was nearly home and looking forward to getting out of the bluesy rain that tapped on the streets like a lazy Fred Astaire.

The car started its engine, and I moved towards the side of the road, closer to the building site, to let it pass. It pulled out of the parking space, and crawled towards me, moved to be just behind me. But it didn't go past me. Instead it kept pace with me as I walked, always just a few feet behind.

I turned to face the driver. He was staring straight ahead, dressed in an old grey suit, his hair balding. He seemed not to have noticed me.

I stopped; the car stopped tool as if it was attached to me be some unseen force.

The driver was still looking straight ahead, immobile, as if he were just another part of the vehicles mechanics. The engine was running, but the wheels was glued to the ground as if they had never had any intention of moving. I waved him past. He didn’t notice, or at least made no effort to drive on. So I started walking again.

I’d got about five steps when the headlights on the car flickered on, illuminating me in a circle of light, like an actor under the spotlight. The engine was revving into life. I turned, squinting against the lights and saw the driver head on. A flash of recognition ran through my skull and tried to find something to link too.

The car was growling, the engine roaring. He reached down, released the handbrake and the rear wheels began to spin.

I jumped out of the way just in time. The car crashed through the metal fences around the building site and skidded to a halt. The driver, fuming with rage, threw the car into reverse. There could only be one reason he was here. I checked my coat pocket, making sure the PDA was safe. He would never get the files.

He reversed the car out of the fences at a suicidal speed, skidded the vehicle around to face me and slammed it back into drive. He was revving the engine again, playing with the accelerator like a volume control, building my fear with a crescendo of noise.

I began to run, not daring to look back. The brake was released; there was the screech of rubber on tarmac as the tires hit the road. He was accelerating towards me. The door to my flat was suddenly in front of me, a few feet away. I reached for my keys, fumbling to find the right one. The car was getting closer, biting at my feet like a dog on my trail.

I hit the door running, forced the key in the lock, and turned. The car sped towards me, as if he intended to bring the whole apartment block down. Then the flat door flew open, I fell into the hallway and he turned the wheel sharply right. The car went into a skid, its left side bouncing off the building spitting off stale sparks into the night. The sound of shredding metal went ripping through the air. And I was safe.

And then I was inside the hallway, out of breath, panting. The car that had pulled out of the parking space was driving slowly past my front door, undamaged, the driver careful and slow. From behind the wheel the late-middle-aged man, a normal person coming home from a normal day job, looked at me in confusion, trying to work out why I’d just ran to my front door in a morbid fear the second he started his engine.

Sometimes I let my imagination run away with me.

And so I entered my flat, changed out of my wet clothes and spent another night living my sleepy little existence.

And outside the skies burst open and the rain poured down in its torrents, drowning out the drama of the world around me, and washing the smell of burning rubber out into the night.

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Wednesday, April 25

Thank God I'm a trained counsellor

In small doses, the memes are fun. They give me something to post about, challenge my humour and slowly warp me into the everyman personal Blogger I am petrified to become.

The Interview was ok. I asked for it and dealt with the consequences. The Music Meme was bearable although I would have preferred a subject I had some knowledge on, like Particle Physics. But this is too much.

Shelly of This Eclectic Life has given me A Thinking Blogger Award.

Now it was only a matter of time before this meme was thrown my way. As each nominee has to nominate 5 others, the whole blogosphere will have been nominated three times over after just 12 recursions. However, I didn't expect to receive it just yet. I imagined more last ditch desperation, with a remark like “Freelance Cynic, ‘cos it’s the only thing left in my blogroll.”

Instead, this Iceberg I call my blog got a lovely write up and an early nomination. There are only 2 conclusions to reach from this. Either Freelance Cynic is a deep blog full of profound ideas and secrcet truths, or Shelly is a nut-job.

I’ll leave you to decide which one is true.

Here then are the poor blogs that make me think.

The Japing Ape
I never believed a gorilla could be so eloquent and deep until I find this blog. He has a profound understand of much of human life, and I have learnt a lot from him

Words, Words, Words
Fellow Atheist and like minder thinker, I always leave this blog thinking, sometimes about intelligent things.

Coroner Stories

Seldom updated but morbidly intriguing stories from a person whose day job really is death.

This Eclectic Life
Even though she nominated me I’ll nominate her back, partly because every post of hers conjures up new thoughts in my head, and partly because I’m running out of thinking blogs. Don't worry though you don't have to do the meme again.

Coaster Punchman
Normally this guy hammers out the funnies, but occasionally he really makes me think, like this post about homophobic homosexuality.

Here are the rules:
  1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
  2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
  3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote.
Have you claimed your stake at 250 free blog hits yet? Link to the Freelance Cynic or add it to your Technorati favourites now to take part. Click here to find out more.

Reader's Caption Competition 6

"Oh Daddy! And you gift wrapped it for me too..."
Previous Caption Competitions
1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Enter Now to win Free Blog Traffic!

Tuesday, April 24

Grinds My Gears

I’m thinking of creating a new Meme.

All of us like to moan, or grumble, no matter how much we may deny it, and our blogs seem the ideal place to do it. And yet we often worry more about making our online persona's ‘nice’ than making them real.

It’s been proven that human beings bond more over gossip and backstabbing than over anything else. Grumbling makes people like us! Indeed, in the UK it’s our national pastime.

And yet all the memes I’ve seen are for ‘nice’ things. Cute pictures, shared blessings, personal dreams etc. It’s time to change all that.

And so I’m suggesting ‘Grinds My Gears’ – The moaning meme

Once a week I’ll give you the chance to moan about anything you want, just have a good old rant, and other moaners can read it, add their comments and grumble along with you. We’ll bond more, make more friends and get a little bit further inside peoples heads. Plus reading about others grumbles puts ours in proportion and makes us all feel better.

What do you think? Would you play along? Do you know someone who might? What day should it be on? What should the artwork look like? Should it have themes? Is it the most stupid idea I’ve ever had, apart from that one that involved a squirrel, two snakes and a tube of Pritstick?

I’m opening this up to the floor, so feel free to give me your ideas, comments and your criticism. Or alternatively, just write a good old rant about me in the comments and get it off your chest.

My Rants
Grinds My gears
Linky, linky, linky. Winny, Winny Winny! Click here to find out more.

Monday, April 23

I'm not much of a runner...

I knew inviting memes onto my blog was a bad idea. Now people are tagging me left, right and centre. And I never was any good at Tag Chase.

This ones from Etain Lavena. A music meme. Yay.

What's your 'desert island' album?
According to my iTunes most played it would include, Westlife, Sandi Thom and the Cast of Les Miserables amongst others. Of course the best bet for a desert Island would be something really loud. That way the next island along would get fed up with the noise, and come rescue me.

What's your favorite album/song title? (the *title* which is your fav, not the actual album or song)
'The Show Must Go On' - Queen
And 'Piano Sonata No.14 in C-Sharp Minor, Quasi una fantasia' - Beethoven. Catchy huh?

What's your favorite album art (include an image of it if you can)?
Anything with (half) naked men on it. But unfortunately x-rated album art is lacking in HMV.
So The Masterplan - Oasis. My favourite band, their best album and a great image to boot.

Ideal choice for a karaoke song?
'Science fiction, double feature' - Rocky Horror Picture show. I've got the lips for it.

Song you don't like that WILL NOT LEAVE YOUR HEAD if you hear it?
Thing is that once I've heard anything three times I like it. So if it's stuck in my head chances are I'll end up liking it anyway.
That's how I learnt to put up with my Boyfriends singing.

Which is cooler? -- Vinyl? CD? Cassette? 8-track?
You didn't mention Minidisc! I'm insulted!

Bloggers I'd like to tag?
Angelika, and Dale 'cos he's loving the music memes at the moment...

Sunday, April 22

The interview

When I first saw the 5 Question Interview on Angelika's blog I decided to make fun of the whole thing, and so asked for some questions. But, being the sneaky insomniac she is, she asked 5 brilliant questions and forced me to put some effort into answering them. Women...

So here is my first ever interview. You may want to bookmark this entry and read it again when I'm on Parkinson's. Or when I've got Parkinsons Disease. Whichever comes earlier.

1. If you could have a £5000 shopping spree to one store, which store would it be and how long would it take you to spend the £5000?
That'll be $10,000 as the pound is kicking the dollars butt at the moment. In fact, it’s giving the dollar's butt a pounding!

Half the money would be spent in Waterstones Bookstore, half hiring a fleet of lorries to get the books home. As for time, drop me off and come back in a few months. I can never decide how to spend money in Waterstones; I never want to leave any of the books behind.

2. What song best describes you when you wake up in the morning?
Olsen Twins – Hugged by You (apparently they have had a single!)
Oasis - What’s the Story, Morning Glory

3. What place in the US would you most like to visit and why?
When I was 14 I toured L.A. with my school Choir. I couldn’t sing but it was the only way a geek like me could find friends.

As a treat, on one of our non theme-park days, the aunt of one the American families I was staying with took us to see a reservoir in construction, and we spent an hour staring at a hole in the ground. I imagine most of America outside the theme parks is like that and so have no desire to visit any of it.

I would however like to visit New York, New York to find out why the hell they named it twice, and also to go to Broadway so I can point out that the plays are better on the West End.

4. Who would you want to play you in a movie about your life? Early childhood, adolescence, and now since you're still a young whippersnapper.
I don’t do celebrity. In fact, unless they were carrying a sign with their name and films they’ve appeared in, I doubt I’d notice if a celebrity took me out to dinner. So I asked my boyfriend for help on this one

  • Childhood – The kid who played Elliot in ET
  • He's 36 now so he’d need some serious make-up effects
  • Adolescence - Zac Efron – Star of 'High School Musical'
  • So I’d look annoyingly American, act annoyingly American, and be in the annoyingly American school choir. Me to a T.
  • Now – Me!
  • I'm a good actor, providing I can use the George Clooney method. (Looks at the floor then looks back up at the camera squinting his eyes) See?
5. What's the most obnoxious/rude/sarcastic thing you've ever said to a person, and what happened after you said it?
I just don’t remember, there are too many of them. I was once told that I could only come to a party if I wasn’t too opinionated that night.

The most stupid conversation was with 3 kids, aged 15 or so, on their bikes by the river late one night. I walked past casting a glance in their direction.
‘What you looking at,’ one of them said.
Now this is a hard question to answer and indeed most people don’t bother. But I was in a quirky mood, and did something I normally avoid - I told the truth.
‘You.’ I said.
And that’s when it started raining rocks and loose gravel…
If you want to be interviewed, here are the rules:
  1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
  2. I will respond by sending you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
  3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
  4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
  5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
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Blow me - Please

It's good to feel in demand.

To be fair I always feel in demand. Having a boyfriend with an attention span on par with a 2 month old Goldfish, it's amazing I find time to fit in breathing.

But thanks to Shelly at This Ecelctic Life I now feel in demand for something other than keeping him occupied during the ad breaks. After threatening to twist my arm if I didn't (arms longer than the atlantic that girl, must make it difficult to type) I decided to enter her 'Blow My Dress Up' Contest and sent her a selection of funny articles.

There's some brilliant entries there already, most of them a very different humour than here (i.e. funny rather than cringe-inducing) so if you like to smile, go take a look, and mention that you came from the Cynic.

Or failing that, at least give me some ideas of fun things to do during a 3 minute ad break.

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Saturday, April 21

Warner Busers

The 20:02 Bus hates me.

I get out of work at 20:00. At least, I do if I’m lucky but working in a sales environment, luck is a highly objective word and can only be used it if I provide dates, times and a list of features and benefits. So it’s probably easier, and more factual, to say that no matter what time I get out of work, I still miss the bus.

I tend to get stuck on a sales call at around 19:55 most nights, so it’s not surprising the bus has gone when I get out at 20:11. But when I do manage to leave on time, even if I race down the stairs, fly out the door, dodge across the road and sprint to the bus-stop, I still reach it just in time to see the bus pulling out.

Of course, I can’t blame the bus for this, you might say, it’s leaving at the time it’s meant to. But, little miss know-it-all, that just doesn’t seem to be the case.

One day for example, I was stuck on a car insurance call with a geriatric lady till 20:03, and deciding that I must have missed the bus, I took a slow stroll out of work. When I left the office at 20:07 the 20:02 bus was still sitting at the stop. Happily, I dashed to the crossing, pressed the button and the bus pulled out from the stop the second the lights changed to walk. It was as if it was waiting for me, so it could shake its whored-out, ad-covered butt in my face as it drove away.

The same thing happened the next 10 nights. Every time I got close the bus would pull away, like a stripper in a nightclub. There would be something to delay me, a busy road, a chatting colleague, a desire for ice cream, and the Bus would sit there until I got near to it then speed off into the distance. I swear once or twice I heard it say ‘Meep Meep.’

Finally, I had a plan. With my trainers on ready, my work bag over my shoulder and my bus fare in my hand I logged off at precisely 19:58. (I’ll probably be fired when they find out.) Having peed ten minutes before, and avoided conversation by giving my colleagues evils, I paced down the stairs, and strolled out the doors at 19:59. The bus was at the stop, its lights turned off, idling, waiting.

I strode to the crossing and pressed the crossing-button. Nothing happened. Cars were speeding past, but the lights weren’t changing. Work colleagues gathered round me at the crossing and started talking to me. Across the street the bus’s engine roared to life, the lights flickering on down the aisle. And still the crossing wouldn’t change, still the cars drove past me, still work colleagues were talking rubbish to me, and I just wanted to get the bus. Finally, the lights changed, the cars stopped and I darted across the road, dodged around the old ladies who were moving slower than the laws of physics strictly allow, and headed towards the bus-stop. The headlights on the bus sprung to life. I sped up. I was closer than I’d been for ages, so close I could almost touch it, just a few feet from the stop. I was going to make it. I was going to catch the bus home. For the first time in days I could actually get home in comfort, in the warm bus surrounded by poor people. I didn’t have to walk anymore. I was going to catch the bus.

And that was when the bus started indicating.

And so I walked home. Forty five minutes through dark subways and dangerous streets wondering what I had done to invoke the torment of the 20:02 to St George. And slowly the rain began to fall, drop after drop until it hammered on the pavement and surrounded me with white noise. And soaked to the skin, water running down my face and falling to the ground, I dragged myself home.

Wondering, once again, why I was destined to spend my life staring at the back of a bus.

Recent Feature Lengths
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Thursday, April 19


Sitting in the park yesterday, avoiding the footballs and stray dogs flying in my direction, I tried to write.

I have a PDA I carry around with me complete with a wireless keyboard, so that if I write away from my computer, I can actually edit and reuse my creations later on without hiring a cryptographer to translate my handwriting. And so with the keyboard resting on the bag, which in turn was resting on my lap, I spent 30 minutes typing away in the green.

Undoubtedly I look like a ponce when I do this. Dressed in my office clothes, squinting at the tiny screen and tapping away on the wireless keyboard, I must look like a junior businessman trying to get a promotion so I can buy a real laptop, or, worse still, like a loner English student.

But lost in the thrill of the sloppily written word, and letting the heavenly rays of global warming tan my skin, I hammered away. And it was then that I found 20p lying on the floor.

Now I appreciate that some of you may not have the same dreams as me and may need some clarification as to the ramifications, the life changing, celebrity making, orgasm inducing ramifications, that this brought about. So let me explain.

I was writing. and I got money. Therefore, I am a paid writer!

Finally after all my years of thinking about maybe one day trying to work my way towards getting the chance to be considered for the option of being paid to write, it just happened to me in the middle of a lawn on a armageddonly warm April day.

I picked it up, thrilled that my dreams had come true so easily, and went to add it to my stash, because of course being a paid author I was incredibly poor and saving every penny. On opening my wallet however, I got the shock of my life; the change pocket was already open; some of my money must have fallen out. And yes, the 20p that had been in there earlier had disappeared.

It was my money I’d found. My own cash. No-one was paying me to write, I was merely a self-invested, self-absorbed, and worse still, self-published writer.

I couldn’t even call myself an ‘author.’

Drying my eyes, calming my breathing, and manipulating my painfully red limbs into movement, I gathered my loose silver together and brought a can of beer to help ease my woes.

Because at least then, like all real writers, I could say I wasted my royalties on booze.

Recent Broken Dreams
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Wednesday, April 18

A moral Pillar of Society...

I'm finding it hard to find funny things to write about right now, and so, instead of taking the micky out of George Bush - my usual stand-by, I'll let someone else be funny for me until I remember my wit.

It's the same technique Jay Leno built his career on.

George Bush does a similar thing, with speech writers and think-tanks, until he remembers not be an idiot. Unfortunately however, we're still waiting.

Today's joke is sponsored by the Internet. Have you tried it yet? God bless Far-Right Republican America . Afterall, no-one else will.
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Monday, April 16

Stick Humour

Friday, April 13

Deep Thinner

Encased in a pair of ear-phones that belonged to an 80's radio DJ before I brought them for £4.95 at Tesco, I laid back on the pillow, pulled the duvet up and pressed play.

All in all, there are more strenuous ways to lose weight.

It’s been noticeable for a while, even if only when I’m naked in front of a mirror, a situation I avoid as mirrors are expensive; I’m definitely gaining weight.

Now I’m never been slim, except maybe when I was born but I’ve repressed any memory of that, possibly because it involved female genitalia. Recently however, my waist line has been increasing faster than Bush’s Disapproval rating.

I tried to fight it. I went to the gym at least once a month. I drank diet coke with my McDonald's. I even gave serious thought to the prospect of considering the possibility of doing some sit ups.

Finally however, I’d had enough. Holding onto my stomach to keep my balance, I waddled to the book shop and brought McKenna's, 'I can make you thin,’ A book and CD full of ‘simple techniques to help you lose weight.'

The first technique goes like this

'Imagine in your head a picture of yourself as a thin person.'

I have several problems with this.

Firstly, I don't have the slightest idea what I would look like as a thin person. I find it hard enough to remember what I looked like two minutes ago.

I can picture my face thin based on a picture of myself some years ago, but as to the rest of me I can only look at other role models and mix and match. I imagine myself with Peter Andre's chest, Steve Irwin's legs, (a simple transplant) and Barbie's waistline

As I find it impossible to imagine myself with a thin neck I leave that part out.

The end result suggests I cut body parts out of a magazine and put them together with split pins. The thin me has a strong, manly, pair of legs tapering to a razor thin waist. On the hips sits a rippled torso straining to balance an oversized, but thin, neckless-head on its shoulders.

The instructions continue,

'Now walk into that new you. How does it feel?' if I move too quickly my head will fall off...

'Imagine how you would go about your daily tasks at work.'

What? Are you suggesting that losing weight will mean I can enjoy my work more? Finally, I will be able to dial that phone without my 10lb of flab holding me back! Finally, I can make it to the water cooler without the use of two sticks and a forklift truck! A thin me would go about my daily tasks the same way the fat me does, perhaps with tighter trousers on to show off my firm 'Australianesque' butt...

'Take a moment to really enjoy this sensation...'

...then go back to your miserable little life you fat pointless drain on society. Stop sitting around cramming your face full of chocolate and day dreaming all day and get some exercise!

My mind tends to wonder during these exercises.

In the end I worry so much about getting the exercises wrong that I forget what I’m supposed to be doing and the mind programming fails. Instead of waking up feeling refreshed and alert I wake up feeling depressed and fat.

And so, to stop myself feeling that way, I nip to the kitchen and fix myself a sandwich.

I put the CD and book on EBay. The current bid stands at 29p. It's a good offer.

I'll keep the headphones for now. They have a good sound quality and are particularly good at bringing to life my substantial collection of internet pornography.

And all in all, there are more strenuous ways to lose weight...

Recent Weight loss Worries
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Thursday, April 12

Overheard in the Cynic Household

My Boyfriend and I were walking back from the shops when for some (no doubt perfectly understandable) reason he threatened to kill me with a bottle of Salad Cream he was carrying.

Me: You paid for that already. No way you're going to waste it killing me.
Him: Technically it came out of the food money, so you paid for half of it as well
Me: Oh yeah! Would that make it assisted suicide?
Still, wouldn't be the first time I've been covered in his cream.
Recent Overheards
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Wednesday, April 11

Readers' Caption Competition

'They make fudge too...'
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Tuesday, April 10

Darth Vader being a smartass

Saturday, April 7

Look After the Pennies...

Like many Coastal towns Dawlish is suffering from rising sea levels and may soon be lost to the sea.

But Dr Richard Mangrove of the Dawlish Investigation into Coastal Erosion (DICE) has a solution.

According to a paper published by him in the Church Newsletter scientists have been addressing the wrong issue. The problem is not global warming as normally cited.

“I first thought of it when I was walking past the wishing well in town,” Dr Mangrove told us in an exclusive interview, “and suddenly it all made sense. It was the wishes that were causing the damage."

He believes that trillions of pennies thrown by wishers into rivers, lakes and wells worldwide have been washed into the sea, causing water to be displaced.

"A single penny is only around 6.28 x 10-13 m3 so it may seem one wish is no more than a drop in the ocean. But over time, like interest, it begins to mount up." In 2006 sea levels rose by almost two millimetres.

“100 years ago people were poorer and a penny couldn’t be wasted,” he explained, sitting by the now boarded-up well that first gave him the idea, “But what with inflation, and an increased belief in Wicca, people are more eager than ever to throw coins, runes and magical amulets into flowing water than ever before. And that will be the end of us all.”

The World Governments are keenly seeking solutions based on this new understanding.

Current plans involve installing magnets on the bottom of vessels to recover the coins from river and ocean beds, an idea which has rapidly gained popularity despite the fact that most world currency is not magnetic.

There is no agreement as yet as to what the recovered money, if any, will be used for. The Chancellor of the Exchequer however, has reported that it ‘will not be used to make dreams come true.’

England and parts of America will also be launching an advertising campaign urging people to ‘Wish upon a Bank.’

As for Dr Mangrove, he had but one wish left to make. “Every time people have a wish, every time they dream, and every time they just want to make a splash in a flowing stream, a little bit of Dawlish disappears into the sea,” he said. “All I wish is that people will stop making wishes forever.”

And taking a penny out of his pocket, he kissed it and embraced it tightly in his hand, before turning away and depositing it into his bank account.

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Thursday, April 5

Overheard in the Cynic Household - Part 4

Editors note: Greenflag is a car rescue and breakdown service in the uk
Sales associate talking to elderly pensioner about our car insurance at work this week.
Sales associate
Do you have any breakdown cover on your car?

Yes. I've got that with... who is it now... that one with a colour in it's name...
Oh yes, GreenPeace!
The only Breakdown company that fixes your car and protests against it at the same time.
Recent overheard posts
Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
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Wednesday, April 4

Readers' Caption Competition 4

"Bloody Women Drivers..."

Old Caption Comps

Tuesday, April 3

Moi 'otel

The Hotel my boyfriend and I stayed at last weekend was in Southwark (pronounced Suthfok rather than South-Wark as it obviously should be.)

Its website proudly declares that the staff speak “11 different languages,” which I imagined would add a touch of class.

However, It wasn’t till we went down for dinner that I discovered none of the languages were English.

“Table for two please.”
She looked at me, questioningly, counting in her head.
“But you are one no?”
I turned around to discover my boyfriend had wondered off to the reception desk, leaving me alone and stupid looking.
“No, I’m with him,” pointing vaguely in his direction.
“Ah, Your room Nuhmber?”
“And your Name?”
“Simon Hembra,’
“Simon ‘ampsell?”
“No! No, Hotel…Echo…Mike…”
“No-no ‘otel Novotel Southwark…”
Finally my boyfriend walked up to join us.
“And ‘is room nuhmber?’
“Oh it’s the same.’
“The same?”
"You are in the same room?"
She eyed us suspiciously, memorising our faces so she could ignore us later.
“Follohw me please.”
And with a French two step she led us to a table suspiciously far away from the other ‘otel guests…

Funny really. I had no idea my last name was that offensive.

Monday, April 2

xkcd - Keyboards

See more like this at

More Funny Links

Sunday, April 1

Freelance Cynic - Conspiracy Theorist

I'm not a believer in conspiracy theories having my own conspiracy theories about them, but recently I inadvertently proved one true.

There was a beautiful moon out, a Daz-white Crescent, set starkly against the darkest sky, served on a bed of stars, sparking like eyes in the heavens.

Struck by its beauty I took a photo.

No moon. No stars. Just black.

I tried again. The same thing. For a while I wondered if my camera-phone was broken. Then I remembered that the same thing happens when I take pictures of my TV. The refresh rate on the screen causes interference on the camera and the image comes out completely black.

What other explanation can there be? The moon is a fake - a projection.

There are various other conclusions to draw from this.

  • There must be something to project on. Therefore the entire night sky, instead of being a blanket of atmosphere around the earth, is in fact a large blank canvas sheet.
  • As satellite technology is a relatively new phenomenon the moon must be too. Therefore historic literature and records mentioning the moon are fake. Thus all history is fake.
  • Therefore the world has existed only for around 70 years.
  • Therefore anyone older than that must have been created by an alien race and pre-programmed to believe in a history that never was. This is why their stories never make sense.
  • Therefore Aliens exist and live among us.
  • If there is no moon then the Tides are not caused by its gravity. They must be caused by a pod of humpback whales breathing in and out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean
  • If there are no stars then space exploration is impossible. NASA is in fact the party headquarters of the American Government (Not Amazingly Sober Attorneys)
All of which brings us to our inevitable, earth shattering, conclusion.

The Moon Landings Were Faked!

To think that the American Government could lie to us like that…

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