Posts filed under 'Shut up'

The Noble Art of Conversation

Me: Hello?

Pig: You f*cking b*stard, I am going to find you and f*ck you up good and proper sunshine. You will find me at the other end of the boot that is going to be kicking your a*se good and proper.

Me: Is that Kev?

Pig: When you wake up you will f*cking fear me. I will be the first f*cking thing on your mind, son. You will sh*t your pants at the veru sight of me and I will be on your case twenty four seven you just watch.

Me: In that case I’m gonna need to buy some more pants.

Pig: You what?

Me: If I’m going to be cacking my pants every, what, hour or so then I’m going to need much, much more boxer shorts and they aren’t cheap.

Pig: No you don’t seem to…

Me: And I don’t get paid for another fortnight so is there any chance you might be able to hold off until say November sometime? Actually no that’s a busy month for me. And then there’s Christmas, ooo it’s all adding up. Could we possibly I know you were hoping for like now but would you mind waiting until the end of January?


Me: I’ll have to pay for Christmas and then there’s the boy’s birthday and he wants a party and everything. I’m not the richest man in the world and then having to save up for a sudden onslaught of terror brought on by a mysterious caller who is threatening to make me empty my bowels several times a day, well it’s a bit of an inconvenience.

Pig: Look just forget it, alright?

Ian: No come on, don’t be like that. I’m totally up for it however you just have to give me a little more time.

Pig: It’s not worth it. If your hearts not in it.

Ian: My heart is in it. Don’t be like this

Engaged tone.

Ian: This is why I never answer calls after, on or before 9pm.

October 25th, 2011

Sock Cannibal

That’s me. Yeah. You can scorn with your piercing, angel-like eyes but deep down I know what I did and I am more than comfortable with it. There is not one drop of guilt in this frail old body, no sir. I was like a boxer and I pummeled those socky wocks good and proper. You would have done the same, possibly, probably, about fifty or so years ago. Maybe.

I wear a lot of socks, who doesn’t? With wearing comes tearing, so the saying goes, and I have come across a lot of holes in my time. Nobody likes holes. I refuse to back down when it comes to holes. I refuse to admit defeat and move onto the next pair of socks, so what did I do? I looked those suckers in the eye and gave ’em what for. That’s right.

I took one of their kind. I took one that had a hole in itself and cut that sucker up to pieces. Then I sewed the remains to the insides of the other socks with holes and all the while I was laughing, laughing, laughing like a happy chicken. It was a lot harder than I thought it was however I persevered and in the end I came out with some odd-looking socks. Yes, I now have some strange-looking apparel for my feet. Luckily they spend most of their time in shoes so I don’t need to make excuses.

If only I could mend shoes, now there’s an idea…

September 14th, 2011

Gravity Bash

Gravity. It’s a funny old thing. Having to explain the idea of gravity to a six year old is very hard work, that is until he decided he’d had enough and walked off, waving me away like a fly on his ice cream. Here’s me hanging from a swinging trying to explain why things have to go down with nobody to listen to, so I started singing a song about it which instantly upset the aforementioned six year old even more. Kids hate it when their parents sing.

I’ll slap some ukulele to it later when I’m not as sweaty and not listening to the Eels. So here, enjoy some music-free assorted lyrics:

Gravity means a lot to me
Gravity won’t set me free
Gravity has a lot to answer to
I can’t fly and that makes me blue

Gravity means the rocks and trees
Won’t fly away in the morning breeze
I can cough and I can wheeze
Gravity makes me very displeased

Gravity won’t listen to reason
Gravity isn’t affected by seasons
It can’t be bought, beaten or bribed
It’s hollow as fuck and has no insides

Gravity, gravity, gravity
Grab my neck and let go of me
Let me sink to the top of the sea
Let me swim to another galaxy
Of course there’s no air in space
So I’d more than likely asphyxiate
I’m doing it on my own time though
It’s my decision I hope you know

Gravity. Take a poke at me.
I’ll poke back, just wait and see.

Yeah, take that science. You’ve just had the full force of musical harmony dangled in your chops. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Jim!

July 3rd, 2011

Man Musk

As I walk, she walks with me.

As I play, she plays with me.

I look back and all I can see is her, everywhere, like a French sunset of brilliant colours. An obsession writhing on the beach.

I am with one with her and myself.

You will never know it but you can feel it. Feel it every day.

Man Musk by The Saint King.

December 13th, 2010


Ladies and gentlemen (mainly gentlemen) of the Beans,

I am sure you are as saddened and horrified as I am about the state of things and how stuff is generally very bad in various ways at the moment. It is high time we stopped talking about whatever is not quite right and turned our words into action. That time is now.

I have started by launching a new CAMPAIGN to deal with the many pressing issues facing us all in this modern world in which we live in. The campaign is called STOP, which stands for Sort This Out Please.

You can help by donating all your money, taking all your posessions to a STOP charity shop, resigning from your job in order to spend your every waking moment volunteering in STOP’s many projects and having your friends and family culled so that when you die there is nothing to prevent STOP from taking all your remaining money and worldly possessions.

You can also display the new bumper sticker on your car, train, helicopter or face:

I’m sure you will agree that STOP represents the first vitally important step in fixing whatever problem it is that we’re obviously very worked up about. So it’s time to make your pledge. What will you do to get STOP started?

1 comment July 21st, 2010

I Want To Destroy Everything

I’m confused. I’m mystified. I’m dragging myself all over the place and not settling on any sort of sane or reasonable explanation.

December. Prime Panto season, right? So why is it that every year I am forced to watch posters of these two knob jockeys crop up around Newcastle?

The poster boasts that the two main actors, and I use the term loosely, Danny Adams and Clive Webb are returning again for what seems like the fifth year in a row due to, and I quote, “overwhelming public demand”. Overwhelming public demand? Who are these people that their lives are so devoid of any life or sense of purpose that they go into the Theatre Royal on a regular basis to enquire when those two lovely lads Mr Adams and Mr Webb are returning? Do they have an “Overwhelming public demand” voting box and whoever gets the most votes they get the moniker to appear on their next poster?

Bring back the Chuckle Brothers. All is forgiven.

15 comments November 23rd, 2009

What Single Men Do (those that can’t meet women)

This made me weep hot manly tears of dismay:

Then this sealed the deal and I lost four days:

I wish I had a box that told me when things were going to get deleted or disappear so that I can go out, buy all the suckers, and then join the rip off ebay crowd so I can make a packet too. Plus… I want them. I don’t particularly want to build them but owning them would make me smile like a Jabberwocky. Is that wrong of me?

8 comments September 9th, 2009

Mr Cockall’s inventions: Beef Rays

Mr. Cockall interviews tomorrows geniuses (using song)

Who are you? Cathy Partslammer

What’s the idea? Beef Rays

What is it? So often we try to enjoy beef or beef-based products as part of our busy modern lifestyle. But we are hampered by the difficulty of obtaining delicious beef. Once it has been extracted from the cows, it must be manhandled and jerrymandered before it arrives on our teeth. With Beef Rays, all that is in the past.

What does it do? The consumer Beef Ray takes up no more space in your kitchen than a washing machine or chest freezer. Plug it in, hook it up to your satellite dish and away you go. At the meat processing plant, beef is packaged and then transmitted via satellite live into your home. You simply select a channel on your Beef Ray receiver – diced, minced, roasting joint or entire cow – and it is beamed to you directly. You are billed an extortionate amount at a later date.

What are you gonna do about it? Nothing! Mr. Cockall, it’s all in my head >:)

7 comments July 20th, 2009

Beans Health Report

Greetings. Doctor Humphrey Bumfrey, MD, here. I have come to deliver a report on the state of Da Beans. My findings are as follows.

Slump in posting figures
The early days of Da Beans saw exceptionally high posting volumes, with up to 30 posts per month. In the last year this has tailed off. I used science and chemicals and that to find the following causes for the tailing off in posting volumes.

  1. Chris’s maudlin state of mind. Finding himself involuntarily in a much changed and confusing personal situation Chris was in no mood for hiliarity for large parts of last year, and found his creative mojo somewhat lacking.
  2. Kev’s business plan. Swapping his future career path at short notice from low-key IT professional to something modelled more on Sir Alan Sugar, Kev’s keen desire to flog bit of wire and plastic IT peripheral tat to the masses reduced the amount of time he could devote to the site.
  3. Something to do with Ian, though he’s a bit of a constant really isn’t he.

Recovery in postings

April 2009 has been one of the healthiest months on record so far and it is safe to say that Da Beans is now off the critical list, though it shouldn’t remove the bandages just yet. This graph (shown right, right?) shows how the red line has gone up from left to right over a period of time. Through psychic assistance and with a bold pioneering spirit within my heart I divined the following reasons.

  1. Chris’s increasingly upbeat posture mentally speaking.
  2. Kev’s guilt for not having been around much lately.
  3. Ian’s keenness to write new stuff, starting with bits and pieces of Beansness.

I am therefore delighted to award Da Beans a Certificate of Hooray Well Done. Congratulations!

16 comments April 7th, 2009

Love Don’t Live Here Anymore

Dear the 1980’s,

                         How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while. Come to think of it you haven’t been in touch for at least, what, nineteen years now? That is quite a long time. Being only twenty-five that’s most of my life. Have you been up to much? Occasionally something will come up and I’ll think of you: Thundercats, Transformers, A-Ha and the likes of school boy memories that I have since forgotten about or shunned for much more up-to-date stuff like the fact that you can now buy mobile phones that do almost anything. You tried those didn’t you 1980’s? You tried so hard but it was such a brick you can’t help but look back and laugh. Some things were acceptable in the 80’s, according to some berk, however that clearly wasn’t.

You also tried games consoles too. I had to wait ten minutes for my brother’s BBC Master to load up Ziggy and by then I had to go for my bath. It was pretty pathetic. Rubbish even! Now you can crack off some inane RPG online like World of Warcraft within minutes and play with people all over the world, can sneak around in realistic environments in Metal Gear (do you remember that? Your version had dodgy colours) or play Mario Kart on the shitter. Such things were just a dream to you 1980’s.

I don’t mean to be mean but when you keep away this long I cannot help but feel bitter, like you couldn’t even be bothered to write or leave a message or anything. Occasionally something like ‘We Love 1980’s’ would come on and I would get excited thinking that you were coming back. Nothing. Monster Munch and Whispas were returned to our shops. Nothing. It’s just not good enough and I can’t just hang around every day waiting and expecting the same thing we had nineteen years ago. So it’s over, 1980’s. Just go and don’t even try any snivelling apology. Stay away and never come back.

Yours Sincerely

Ian McIver

P.S. Although if you do have some Lucky Charms left I’ll take some. I’m not paying to import the mo’ fo’s from the US – they can whistle dixie for all I care!

7 comments February 3rd, 2009

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