Sunday, 22 November 2009

A visit from the doctor - Dr. William Dembskijones.

Beneath the sheets of Cnwch-y-craig, above the mattress of Llangoedmawr, west of the stain of Bryn-y-mynach, the Discovering Institute lies continually, and therefrom today we reap a very special and important thinker-harvest - the pioneer scout ranger master debater of the local no-IDer movement, extinguished feelogian and mathemagician, Dr. William Dembskijones. Dr. William Dembskijones began life as a fully-formed adult. One thing he certainly did not do is grow gradually from less complex beginnings. He struggled for quite a while to get a job at our very own Glanwern college, being rejected at first, but in the end after years of trying, he finally failed. However, like a catbutnotliketoast he certainly somehow landed the right way up on his feet and smelling of rosehips and now drives a P reg Ford Escort Ghia Deluxe Sedan. Where did I go wrong?

Now today is even the more exciting for the introduction of our new interactive electric text phone live debate chat feature. Listeners and readers alike will be enabled to - if Sioned has it right - submit their own questions to Dr. Dembskijones from their MPpodplayers. This is a first for Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun, and almost certainly a last too as Glenys the baps says the text-mast makes her children eat cheese erratically, and she wields a certain influence over Councillor Phillips. What's that Sioned? Two influences? Beth? Never mind....

REJ:- Dr. Dembskijones! A very warm Llanfihangel-y-creuddun croeso to you indeed!

WD:- Thankyou very much.

REJ:- Now Dr. Dembskijones - before we go to the text lines - could you just quickly explain to us what exactly a mathemagician is?

WD:- Certainly Richard. A mathemagician is an expert in a very special variant of the discipline known as mathematics. I like to call what I do Mathemagics -

REJ:- Mathemagics?

WD:- Yes Mathemagics. Don't be embarassed - I often have to explain. Basically Mathemagics is mathematics that noone else can follow, that noone else can see -

REJ:- You mean like invisible?

WD:- Yes! That's it! Oh you're much quicker than that Shallit fool! Yes I'll give you an example:- What is 1 divided by 3?

REJ:- I'm afraid I don't have my difference engine in this room -

WD:- *whisper* say 'a third!' -

REJ:- *whisper* a third! -

WD:- Pardon?

REJ:- A third! Is it a third?


REJ:- But you said -

WD:- Wrong! one point to me! You gave the typical blinkered answer propagandised so successfully by the mathematics community. 1 divided by 3 is 1.

REJ:- I did? is?.....wha -

WD:- In Mathemagics 1 divided by 3 is 1 - You know - like three persons but one essence. Now in information theory, specified complexity -

REJ:- Yes. Indeed. No - what? er - I think we'd best be getting along to those text lines...SIONED! - IS IT WORKING?



Sioned:- WHAT?

REJ:- Hang on a minute....I know! TEXT THEM THROUGH TO MY PHONE!

WD:- Hum te hum....dum de dum....Jerry Coyne is Herman Munster...tee de ho...

REJ:- That's it Willie! Singsong while we're waiting...I'll just stand on one leg by the window to get a signal......*Beep!* Oooh! got one! Ready?

WD:- Ready!

REJ:- William Dembskijones....Would you like a competitive cash loan? refused elsewhere? credit history no problem...Oh -

WD:- Well Richard, I've gotten used to this kind of vitriolic personal attack from the neo-Darwinist fascists, but the short answer is no, I don't think it's a violation of the establishment clause of the first amendment to the U.S. constitution.

REJ:- Er - yes - let's have another one...Here's one from Sir Allan of W:- Dear William Dembskijones, in the Kitzmiller vs Dover area school trial, Judge John Jones - no relation! -

WD:- No species are related! -

REJ:- er...Judge John Jones wrote 139 pages saying you were wrong. What do you say to this?

WD:- Well Richard you may know I invented amongst other things, the law of conservation of information. This is an absolute, unbreakable law - and I should know because I'm the one that made it up. So basically, no! he didn't. There is no way that more than one page of information could have been written.

REJ:- Is that true?

WD:- I cannot lie.

REJ:- Well what did the Judge say when you told him that?

WD:- Unfortunately I could't be there to crush him with my superior intellect as a Darwinist saboteur had turned my satnav upside down, and the law of upsidedownsatnavs states quite clearly -

REJ:- Let's take another one! Oooh! One from Dr.Laurie Fraser of Buggermaroo university, luckyland. 'Dear William Dembskijones, How many Intelligent Design papers published for peer-review have there been to date? You lot are nothing but...- er yes that's the end of the question -

WD:- Well that's an easy one. The answer's zero!

REJ:- Zero? Hang on a mathemagics zero is really lots yes?

WD:- No. It's zero Richard - that's why it's called zero -

REJ:- But -

WD:- This is another common misconception, Richard - don't feel that you are alone! The law of conservationofpeerreview clearly states that without exception, if there is an exception, then that exception is excepted. Now as an - if I may be so modest - exceptional person of great and crucial insight, I am indeed peerless. And so peer review is impossible. Well I do have one peer actually - onethree peers...

REJ:- You mean God?!

WD:- Not necessarily God! I didn't say that! It could be aliens. But yes, God.

REJ:- Hmmmm. Well we've one more text - the interest has been underwhelming. It's from Polygenetomathic pyrobrum Dr. Steve 'the hat' Zara, and he's texted the rather cryptogrammic 'Ha ha ha! Bee Hee Hee! Irreducible Com-plex-it-y!' - does that mean anything to you?

WD:- Indeed it does. It means I am right. When opponents stoop to such childish mockery I think their argument is lost for all to see. He probably looks like Herman Munster. With a hat. I bet he's flatulent too like that 'Judge'. There's only one that can judge me, Richard. I think I'll do a cartoon for my blog. And troll some Darwinismist sites. And -

REJ:- Careful Dembskijones! Watch out for that wedge! Don't step -

WD:- Wha wha - What wedge? There's no wedge! What do you mean? -

REJ:- Oh that was little Ethan Emmanuel Jones! Quite the mischief maker! He took apart the mousetraps we set for a certain biscuit burglar - and do you know what? He's made 7 of incrementally increasing complexity - that's what he said - Look! that one's just the snappy bit -

WD:- Well, forgive me if I correct the little....person, but the law of unincrementallyincreasingcomplexitymousetraps clearly states - *SNAP!!!* JESUS H CHRIST!!! the little fucker! I'll have him!!! I made up a law! a fucking law! Not a guideline! My toes! my toes!...etc

Thursday, 19 November 2009

Prayer for the day

Y Parch Hosanhir has asked my good self to enpublish an exhaustion list of prayery to uplift and ennoble the youngsters of the villages and to prevent blindness. But I think one should be enough for now. And here is that one for now, a bedtime prayer for boys:-

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John
Bless the bed that I lie on
And if I die before I wake
Please get my hand off my trouser-snake.

Words of wisdom Parch, words of wisdom. Yes.

Wednesday, 18 November 2009

A regrettable holiday to Dinbych-y-pysgod and back and the teletubbies.

Bore da pawb! I have regrettably been away on a little holiday to Dinbych-y-pysgod and back. Less on that later. Now many people haved lived and died in llanfihangel-y-Creuddun. In fact so far everyone's died - it's quite an unlucky town in that respect. Of the four thousand two hundred remaining residents, the vast majority are alive and ill but they do have one other thing in common. And that is that they are not farmers - unlike I seamlessly linkly say today's front-room guest Mistar Ifor ap Jones, Glanwern, who farms at Glanwern farm and is as we say in these parts, a farmer.

REJ:- Jones Glanwern!

IJG:- Richard Emmanuel Jones! Duw, we've got the same surname. I must buy a lottery ticket. I'll call you Richard -

REJ:- Please do -

IJG:- And I'll call me Jones Glanwern. You can too -

REJ:- Indeed. Good, that's settled then. Now Ifor, you are as we say in these parts are you not a farmer you are aren't you isn't it?

IJG:- Well almost right Richard, the actual word is custodianofthecountryside -

REJ:- Oooh that's quite an impressive word there Ifor -

IJG:- Diolch! but it's the NFU's word not mine, chwarae teg -

REJ:- Credit where credit's due fairplay chwarae teg -

IJG:- And can you tell me Ifor what exactly a custodianofthecountryside actually does?

REJ:- er - you're in my chair -

IJG:- Sorry -

REJ:- That's alright. And can you tell me Ifor what exactly a custodianofthecountryside actually does?

IJG:- Indeed I can.

REJ:- Well would you please?

IJG:- Well at the moment Richard, but not this exact moment - I'm mostly just talking now - I am planting hedges. Two rows of Radnorshire weave, one metre apart, two metres high, twelve hectares a -

REJ:- Planting hedges...

IJG:- Hedges, yes. You know what hedges are Richard don't you? The stitching in the patchwork, the -

REJ:- Why to good God are you planting hedges?

IJG:- Well fifty thousand reasons really! -

REJ:- But twenty years ago you ploughed up all your hedges. What was that in aid of?

IJG:- Well that was in aid of the two new RangeRovers - you see grants were different then -

REJ:- They were?

IJG:- Yes back then I got paid to plough the hedges up - look Richard - I know what you're thinking -

REJ:- You do?! Iesu Mawr! How do you know what I'm thinking? This is beyond! This is magic! What am I thinking now? Go on Ifor! What am I thinking? Are you one of those magic voodoo men like Derren Randi off the telly? What am I thinking now? I'll give you a clue - it goes woof! - no that's too easy, I'll think of something else - er - dammo! I can't get the blasted dog out of my head now - it was a dog you see -

IJG:- Really? I thought it was a horse -

REJ:- Oooh! close! Right number of legs....a tail....two eyes...a mout -

IJG:- Yes. One in the eye for Dr. Blackmore eh? Anyway we were talking about windfarms -

REJ:- Oooh! You mean talking in our minds don't you? mind-talking!......let me see.......windfarms......windfarms.....Sioned's pants......Glenys the baps.....windfarms?......ah!.....Glenys the baps.....Teletubbies! Yes! I was mind-thinking -

IJG:- And what a mind. Yes I get £1200 a year a prop and I've 200 so far. Do you know Richard, that's enough electricity to power 50,000 homes!

REJ:- Well we've only got 4000 -

IJG:- It's not about that Richard, it's more about making up the money I lost during footandmouth -

REJ:- How much did you lose?

IJG:- Minus a million, Richard, minus a million!

REJ:- Minus...

IJG:- Yes. Losing minus a million left me with a net +£million payout from the ministry. My whole herd was destroyed and I was forced to accept full market price -

REJ:- That must have been hard -

IJG:- Tears were rolling down my cheeks Richard, they still do whenever I think about it -

REJ:- You're shaking now -

IJG:- Well - I didn't get into farming to kill animals for money - it goes against every farmer's nature - excuse me a moment....

REJ:- Oh but you're sobbing! It sounds like you're sobbing! Poor Ifor bach! And such bad luck that your herd was the only one infected in 200 square miles! - those bubbly blisters on those poor creatures...ooooh they must have hurt!...reminded me of when little Ethan scalded his leg....when the kettle...

IJG:- Well thanks Richard, I think I should go now -

REJ:- And all the time you kept such an outwardly cheerful demeanor! Such a brave face you put on it all! -

IJG:- Well you have to try and keep the spirits up -

REJ:- And you kept singing! What was that song you kept singing? Sosban fach yn berwi ar y tan, Sosban fawr yn berwi ar y llawr! -

IJG:- I really must go, Hwyl fawr Richard, ooops I've dropped some money -

REJ:- What did that song mean again? Sosban fawr yn berwi ar a llawr.....big sospan boiling on the that right? Sioned! SIONED! What does that sospan song mean again? -

Thursday, 12 November 2009

Thought for the day

Well raise my rent! We have a new feature. Making this a triplicate, tripartite, trinitarian blogulition. I have always thought of plagiarism as the highest form of theft. And who bigger to theft from than the 'big G' Himself? Why the BBC of course! So here then starts the new enthefted feature complete with stolen title:- 'Thought for the day'. Today's thought is a prayer I think. See if you can recognise the 'influences'.

'Our absent, unnecessary, impotent, undetectable Father, who art ‘elsewhere’, creator of the damned planet, creator of the laws and constants of physics that assuredly guarantee the earth’s future destruction, the earth’s final solution, creator of the unspeakable cruelty of the natural world, creator of the sentient brains that must know the nightmare life-in-death from without by lacerating predators, from within by rasping parasites, Lord of boundless pain, misery, disease and death, your laughably flawed creations with the feeble minds you gave them in your image kill each other in interpretation of your ambiguous texts, your tinsel miracles, Lord, vomitous God, have mercy on yourself, forgive yourself, for we humanity never can, Amen'.

Tuesday, 10 November 2009

Poem for the day

What do you call a donkey with three legs? - A surprisingly good darts player. I don't get it either. Now a lot of person say to me 'Richard! If you're so clever how come you can't dress yourself? Why can't you change your socks weekly, as is the local custom, whether you really need to or not? Why can't you put those bloody shelves up like you promised LAST AUGUST!!! Why can't you take the rubbish out for a change? Why can't you cook dinner? - women aren't magically born knowing how to cook dinner! Why can't you pick the children up from school? they are half yours? Why can't you take me out once in a whileisthattoomuchtoaskyoutookyourlastfattartout lotsandlotsbutnoImnotgoodenoughisthatityoubastard?!'

You've guessed who it is haven't you?! Why yes! - it's William Blake from beyond the grave! disturbing my dreams with division of labour domestic chore political correctness gone mad! Last night he appeared in full physical manifestation and directly challenged me:-

WB:- Richard!.........RICHARD!!!

(I was pretending not to hear at first!)

WB:- Richard! I can't rest! I muffed one of my poems up! Got it all back to front sort of thing! Please can you update it in the light of the new Physics! I have chosen you! wooooooooooo!..........WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

REJ:- Yes, I heard you the first time.

Alright then, I will:-

William William burning bright
Not quite rhyming through the night
What immortal symmetry
Framed thy fearful hand and eye?

Why, the immortal symmetry of four-dimensional spacetime of course!

There. That wasn't difficult was it? Now piss off.

Sunday, 8 November 2009

A 'bonzer' day in Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun

Dr. Laurie Fraser of Buggermaroo University is 70% water yet rarely freezes, and is married to a 30% metal wife, who rarely rusts. Surely matchsticks are made in heaven. Dr. Fraser is an expert in critical thinking, philosophical hermeneutics, propositional epistemology, some other things off Wikipedia, and drinking. But today he's here with his linguistical hat on, dangling rosetta corks of wisdom that swat away the flies of translatory ignorance with every shake of his once magnificently maned brain-case.

REJ:- Dr. Fraser, croeso i Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun, and I believe Sioned has a little surprise for you in the shape of a Fosters Australian lager can of embeerment. SIONED! do the honours love!


REJ:- A-hahaha! Bit of a domestic goings on. It looks like I might have to get it -

DR.F:- Strewth Richard! I'll save you the trouble. I'd have to have a throat as dry as a dead dingo's donger to drink that piss.

REJ:- er - I'll take that as a 'dim diolch' -

DR.F:- No wuckers mate! Reckon your nan could skull a slab of that with no danger of a liquid laugh. Love yer jumbucks by the way, some real beauts.

REJ:- Indeed. um. er -

DR.F:- cssssssssssstch! I brought my own amber fluid - just incase - you having one? I don't like drinking with the flies.

REJ:- The flies yes. er - cssssssssstch! - I see you've opened did Sioned go out?

DR.F:- Strewth! You're under the thumb mate! That stands out like the dog's balls.

REJ:- The dog's balls yes -

DR.F:- Listen Richard! You've got to have a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock to let a Sheila keep you from the grog - fancy a durry?

REJ:- er...Sioned says -

DR.F:- Pig's arse! I'll open a window. How about that? Cunning as a dunny rat, me. FIGJAM! mate, FIGJAM!

REJ:- er yes fig - er yes indeed. Now Dr. Fraser -

DR.F:- Call me Laurie mate! cssssssssstch! skull that, catch this ya two pot screamer! Cab sav next...Catch!

REJ:- Howzat!

DR.F:- OUT! You little ripper!

REJ:- Now Dr. Fraser Laurie, there was something you were here to talk about -

DR.F:- There was? Strewth Richard, you've got me stonkered there -

REJ:- I'm sure there was.....was it linguistics?

DR.F:- Fair suck of the sav! You duxed it mate! It was the Catholic Church!

REJ:- The Cath -

DR.F:- Richard, *-pop!-* I'm glad you reminded me - gluglugluglug - the Catholic bastard Church! As useful as tits on a bull! Worse! That Ratzi's as mean as cat's piss! grinning like a shot fox while his priests are buggering choirboys flat out like a lizard drinking -

REJ:- er I'm not sure exactly what you mean -

DR.F:- Don't come the raw prawn with me Richard! That Church should be cactus!

REJ:- Prickly? adapted to arid conditions? -

DR.F:- *-pop-* Catch! -

REJ:- The finger's raised!.....he walks!...

DR.F:- The Gabba's gone wild! -

REJ:- Ooooh let's do Geoffrey Boycott! -

DR.F:- Good line and length...pooer footwork, pooer! -

REJ:- Pressure?! That's not pressure! Having a Messerschmitt up your backside, now that's pressure! - these boys have a job to do and they're not doing it - as I once said to Curtley Ambrose -

DR.F:- And then Goochie gave his wicket away cheaply for 333...

REJ:- Eee wouldn't get in the starting line at Yorkshire -

DR.F:- That Botham never did what I told him...

REJ:- gluglugluglug - aaaaaaaah! - where were we?

DR.F:- That bastard Ratzi! Acting like he hasn't got a brass razoo while half the world starves and he's got his finger in the pokies!

Sioned:- Richard! RICHARD EMMANUEL JONES! Are you drinking?! You'd better not be drinking in there! -

REJ:- Shit! We're sunk! Do some linguistics! Quick! hide!

DR.F:- Ok - you behind the sofa, me behind the curtains -

REJ:- Strewth Fraser! You stand out like a shag on a rock mate! The Sheila'll be spewin'like a Taswegian on turps! If she finds out I've got a gutful of piss I won't see her white pointers for a month! - etc etc

Saturday, 7 November 2009

Poem for the day

Well it's later than it earlier was and I still haven't managed a poemical writing. I have tried, honest to God, but it's harder than it looks. I think four lines is the maximum extent of my stanzitational field. In addition as well to this I am emburdened in extra with the added weight of a request indeed from Sir Allan of W, a noted econosportsman, decbankthlete and shouting-sideline proxyhooligan. It reads like thus:- Dear Richard Emmanuel Jones.....something about Idris.....blablabla........god he waffles doesn't he?........can you do us a poem about about he drunk?.....saltwater/freshwater economics.....he's on something this boy......preferably one about imperialist exploitation of leeward French Polynesian islands containing one profundity about the relative nature of wealth, and ending with a pun on the original Tahitian pronounciation of the aforementioned. In four lines. Please, Thankyou. Sir Allan of W.

Well Sir Allan of W! As I said I couldn't earlier, indeed I can, for counter-intuitively perhaps, the greater the specified rules, the lesser the work for the hand of the creator.....

In search of wealth, he went in stealth
By sea to Bora Bora.
He lacked the itch, to make him rich
So made the poorer poorer.

There you are Sir Allan of W. £12.50. Tenner for cash. Dilys the tax - only joking!

Thursday, 5 November 2009

Poem for the day

Nom d'un pipe! Nous nearly Oublied the poem encore! That would have been a domage n'est-ce pas? Perhaps you can guess from some subtle encryptions pre-sentencing this that today's poem will be in English. The trouble is the villagers are so busy with their anti-nazi-eugenics inbreeding programme - (there's no such thing! - not officially - that was a little joke from Richard!) - that the number of poems submitted has fallen to an all-week low. The quality's the same though - more's the pity. Idris Jenkins the television has sent in today's doorstep mouse corpse offering and I publish with a heavy heart and sagging soul if this be the best the town that won the 1923 county eisteddfod is reduced to. And they say global warming is a tragedy....

A Slave Rejoices.

I'm free! said the slave
Now what can I do?
'You can stand over there
In the jobcentre queue

You can beg for your work
On the free market stage
And can peddle your soul
For the minimum wage

You can live in a house
Paying rent to the hilt
'Pay for the house?
Why it's already built!'

You can keep all your money
For now you are free -
Just minus outgoings -
Twice earnings you see!

Whereas once you had nothing
You now have your debts
And this my free friend
Is as good as it gets.

Hmmm....Well again, it rhymed Idris, so that shows a commendable lack of imagination, but I don't think the London School of Economics will be calling any time soon. Perhaps you would do better to watch 'It's a wonderful life' to get a proper grasp of how economics works in the harsh reality of the real world.

I think I might write tomorrow's poem myself. If you have to ask why then you'll never know.

Bonfire night in Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun

Good evening my dear camp followers. Many people ask me 'Richard, what is bonfire night like in Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun?' I then answer. Unless I'm too busy or need to concentrate on something else that is. Perhaps I might be driving along a particularly bendy bit of the A4170, say that bit passing the rock that bepainted enseeches:- 'Cofiwch Dryweryn', and I am distracted by a frantic effort to cofio what happened in Dryweryn. Perhaps a goose has strayed into my garden and I must rush to defend my slugs. There could be all sorts of reasons not to answer. But if I were indeed to answer I would say something like this:- It's the same as bonfire night everywhere else, but a bit wetter.

For the benefit of any foreign transponders, bonfire night encelebrates the failed exploding of London's parliament in 1605. Owain Glyndwr's Welsh parliament in Machynlleth of 1404 was largely unaffected. The incompetent Guy Fawkes - who couldn't torch a Snowdonia holiday home off-season to save his life - was hanged, drawn and quartered and given a severe telling off he wouldn't forget in a hurry. Four centuries later and we reenact this punishment by setting fire to him. Not literally, no! - he's suffered enough. Instead a life-like cereal packet with a pen-drawn face atop some pallets from behind the back of E.T.James & Sons Ltd.

It could be said, with little to no danger of a successful charge of deceitfulness being brought to provition, that bonfire night's biggest fan - of it's Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun fanners - is Hywel Edwards the taxi. And he's here with me now, or yesterday if you are receiving tomorrow's repeat seedcast:-

REJ:- Hywel! How are you? Nice of you to drop in! Would you like a cwpaned o te?

HEthetaxi:- Lovely! Have one yourself!

REJ:- Thanks, I'll put one behind the bar. Now then Hywel, sense now! How is it that a big grown-up and muscular man like yourself is happening to be manifestualised as Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun's biggest bonfire night fan and enthusiastic isn't it?

HEthetaxi:- Wel Duw Richard! It's the taxi isn't it? Arian in the sky-rocket!

REJ:- I'm sorry?

HEthetaxi:- The plant bach! They go up like torches the little ones - and someone has to take them to the hospital. The ambulance parks in the layby at Rhayader isn't it?

REJ:- I believe so

HEthetaxi:- Now you can either be extinguished in Aberystwyth or Hereford. But that's a long walk when you're on fire -

REJ:- 40 miles.....either way.

HEthetaxi:- And Jim the gutter will be in the ambulance having his stomach pumped -

REJ:- If it's after nine, yes -

HEthetaxi:- 8:30 on bonfire night, Richard, 8:30 tops.

REJ:- He's a one isn't he?! Remember that time with the monks and the mead -

HEthetaxi:- Broke a few -

REJ:- vows that night! hahaha!

HEthetaxi:- hahaha! yes so the littluns has to go to the quacks in the old taxi isn't it? Fifty quid a pop! Makes it all worthwhile. I calls myself 'The Fourth emergency service'.

REJ:- That's the coastguard -

HEthetaxi:- Well you go with the bloody coastguard then you dull -

REJ:- I could go with the coastguard -

HEthetaxi:- How the fuck could you go with the coastguard you -

REJ:- I could. I could get my dinghy out of the garage, go down the park - not the one with the slide - river's a bit choppy there -

HEthetaxi:- Ok. Never mind. Here's some sparklers for the boy. And some rockets. And a box of lighter fluid. And -

REJ:- Well that's a nice note to end on! You're always so generous to the kids Hywel -

HEthetaxi:- Well they's the future aren't they Richard? I loves kids I do. £40 more if they're sick in the car isn't it?

Wednesday, 4 November 2009

Poem for the day

Dear Richard. - that's all it says - no surname or nothing - Please could we have a poem about anatomy. Perhaps a silly one. Yours Faithcerely, S. Milligan ItoldyouIwasill.

Why certainly S.Milligan ItoldyouIwasill. Glad to oblige. Noblesse oblige indeed. The versed man's burden etc

Skin, Skin, lovely skin -
It keeps your outsides out and your insides in
A sack of snot makes lovely lube -
The toilet tells you you're a tube.

Is it worth going on? I suppose it can't get worse....

A stretchy hole for stools to pass
The other end eats dead cow's arse

Oh - I think that is enough really - a bit crude don't I think? - the image of God etc? Come on now -

The dangler's purpose not quite clear -
But not for bottoms! God's not queer!

No - I'm sorry - I'm going to have to stop me there - this is getting offensive now -

The furry -

Right! That's it! Go to my room Richard Emmanuel Jones! And no supper until evensong.

Tuesday, 3 November 2009

Llanwrtyd wells:- a town less ordinance-ary

Llanwrtyd Wells is host to many world famous events noone outside of Powys has heard of:- the world bog snorkelling championships, the man versus horse marathon hill race, and for the first time this year, the Llanwrtyd Wells pro/celebrity mine clearance televisual special, or LLWPCMCTS for short. Town criersmith Matthew 'the voice' Jones is very excited to have secured the talents of Rolf Harris, Bruce Forsyth and thatguyoutofeastenders for the event and next week they will be lining up against the Royal Engineers elite explosive ordinance disposal unit. I can't wait.

REJ:- Now Matthew Jones, excuse me - hello -

MJ:- Hello! -

REJ:- Yes, what do you want?

MJ:- I want to do my OYYYEAAEAAAY thing, but you haven't got big enough letters.

REJ:- Well Matthew can you tell me - and I'm sure you can - just how excited you are to have secured the aforementioned A-list celebrities for your event?

MJ:- Moderately, I think Richard

REJ:- Indeed. Best not to go overboard now isn't it?

MJ:- Yes - that way disappointment lies

REJ:- Well that's a sensible attitude to take -

MJ:- Thanks Richard

REJ:- Now Matthew, we must be getting on. Sioned will need a servicing later or she will be out 'running with the bull' as we say in these parts -

MJ:- er - noone said anything about that - Mair from the Post Office just said to come and talk about -

REJ:- Can you explain to us the format of the televisual special?

MJ:- Well yes I can indeed. Fifty mines have been buried in cae mawr - Dai Edwards' setaside - and Rolf, Bruce and thatguyoutofeastenders have ten minutes to defuse as many as they can. Each safely defused mine is worth 10 points to their team. And points mean prizes. What do points mean? -

REJ:- PRIZES! hahaha.

MJ:- Good game!

REJ:- Good game!

MJ:- Didn't they do well?

REJ:- Let's have a look at the old scoreboard!

MJ:- Here they are they're so amusing, ok Royal Engineer explosive ordinance disposal elite unit and A-list celebrities - do your defusing!

REJ:- Ooooh good one! I bet that catches on. Ok what happens next?

MJ:- Well it's the pilot show. If it goes well the BBC -

REJ:- No I meant what happens next in the game?

MJ:- Oh but you'll have to tune in and see Richard! It's on S4C Saturday 6:15pm for the dinner time audience

REJ:- Well indeed we all will. And Matthew I wish you every success and hope the show goes with a -

MJ:- bang. Yes. I saw that coming Richard -

REJ:- Did you now? Well did you see this coming - ooof! - you did. How abou- aaaargh - Iesu mawr! that's enough now! - Sioned! SIONED!

Poem for the day

Indeed to goodness yes well mind you isn't it? This by electric text-phone from beyond the border yesterday:-

Dear Richard Emmanuel Jones, How come all your featured poems are rubbish? How about a Haiku? Mr A.C. Omputerprogrammer, Bracknell.

Well, well, Mr Omputerprogrammer. I'm sorry to hear of your predicamentistress. I believe I can most immediately help you by revealing that roads are often bi-directional and there may in fact be a way out of Bracknell as well as in. As for the suggestion for a change in poetic form I can only agree! But the sophisticated form that is the haiku has not yet blessed even Cnwch-y-Craig with a manifestation. Perhaps if you could pick words at random from your 'C ++ for dummies' then that would suffice. Instead we can only manage a limerick from Dr. Williams who today we find in much uplifted spirits and intravenous methadonic enspangledment:-

There once was a nutter from Merthyr
A 9-11 truth 'bama birther
Now her kids are all dead
From the vaccines she said
And not at all because they didn't present until the social worker brought them in unconscious in comas due to her preference for alternative medicine treatments from a homeopathic retarded flat-earther.

Very good Emrys! I suppose you're not paying for the syllables so you might as well inject some extra ones. Inject! Geddit! Are you alright Doctor? You're drooling...

Monday, 2 November 2009

Poem for the day

Well, well! I just had the funniest dream! I'm going to see my financial adviser later today - but that's not a poetical ride on the iambic tetrametricycle is it? But here tinkling his versi-bell and kicking down his odular-leg-stand is Llanfihangel-y-creuddun's very own but not really one of us Walford Jenkins, who has a moustache. Walford is a resting lunatic on loan from Aberwristwatch-on-sea. The Lead and Silver mines at Nant-yr-arian have long leeched lunacy into the lives of the Aberwristwatchians. And Walford was well irrigated indeed if you get my meaning. The famous Gwent ward of the North Road hospital is the traditional holding bay for these kind of moon-barkers and I think this may be what Walford's poem is going to be about. But I'm not getting too close.

The sun went out, the sky went dark
The world collapsed around me
The stars they fell, and me as well
By soulfelt gravity

Some time to rest, it would be best
For all concerned and me
They made it clear, I'd volunteer
Or go on Section III

I climbed the steps, took one last breath
Of air so fresh and free
The satellite, throughout the night
Transmitting E.C.T.

They took my things, I signed the form
They took my blood from me
Before I'd rest they'd do the test
For drugs and HIV

And all about the ward I saw
Bodies parted from their souls
Some nightmare force that ripped through arms
Through cigarette shaped holes

It was the will that climbed the hill
And leapt unto the sea
It held the knife that took the life
Of Gavin in room three

Some wept remembering the pain
The terror that suppresses
But some no longer felt at all
And these - I came to know - were the successes.

er - yes. Da iawn Walford. Haven't you got to be getting somewhere? Shame you messed up the last line there - doesn't quite scan does it? Not that I'm being critical! You write what you like all good therapy for a moon-barker! er - I'll be having to go now......let yourself out....I fancy a bit of a jog actually.....I'll just start sprinting.....

Saturday, 31 October 2009

Nos Calan Gaeaf and an interview with y Parch.

Well continuing our theme today - what was it Sioned? - Oh yes - was it? I'll dechrau eto. I see from the Gregorian clockwork calendar Phil the Rimmer kindly inventuallised for me that hasn't changed since this date last year that it is indeed today and half night Nos Calan Gaeaf, or as you cultural imperialist usurpers would have us say - All Halloween's evening. Tonight is the night the children of the gorsedd dress gaily and enskip the towns with a horse's skull astick beribboned Mari Lwyd. Or whatever it is they don't do anymore. I can't remember, but it was definitely better than the new things they do. And we had no sweets. There was a war on you know indeed don't you know isn't it? But is there more to this make-believe than pretend itself? Y Parch. Hosan Hir believes there very much is! He believes the Devil himself walks among us scaring drunks and devouring babies and the like. - What's that? - Yes he does Sioned! - He told me the other day! - He said if I were to say Diawl! Diawl! Diawl! the Devil himself would appear before me. - What? - Well it's 30 miles from Devil's Bridge so it should take half an.. - haha very funny. I've lost my thread now. Oh yes, Y Parch Hosan Hir is here with us heno to speak a little talk about the dangers of the occluded front.

REJ:- Parch! Ble wyt ti? Parch Hosan Hir! Sioned! Check the Talisker! Where's he gone now?

Sioned:- Beth? Speak up I'm in y gegin.



REJ:- Well boys bach what a twpsyn. Sioned! SIONED! check the....CHECK THE THERMOSTAT WOULD YOU LOVE? the hea...THE HEATING'S GONE FUNNY AGAIN!


REJ:- Well I'm very sorry seems tonight's interview is off - Wha - Wai - What! Mr Davies! Where did you come from? Owain Davies of Davies & Davies letting agents!

OD:- Hello Richard!

REJ:- er – Hello Owain. Um I seem to be in a bit of a fix if you know what I mean. I was going to talk about -

OD:- The dangers of the occult. The eternal battle between the profane and the sacred. The dark forces bey -

REJ:- the dark forces beyond the horizon of direct experience that control and enslave us -

OD:- You mean the English! Tee-hee! No I musn't stir things up, I really mustn't! But what a wit! You see how I had to say it don't you? Keep the fingers pointing the other way! Oh it really should be harder! - I couldn't do it on my own you know.

REJ:- er - yes. I'm sure you meant something. Now about this halloween stuff and nonsense isn't it. For some reason I suddenly think you have something to say on the mattress.

OD:- Tee-hee! Double-the-rent-keep-the-deposit-throw-the-kidsinthestreet! I can't stop these tics! Well yes Richard, I think it's all harmless fun really. I've never really got on with Y Parch. I heard he drinks too much - and there's not much worse than that is there?

REJ:- er - I suppose not now you tell me to think it. So all this evil walking amongst us nonsense is nonsense then is it?

OD:- Oh! Quite clearly! You've got it! I didn't realise you were so clever! tee-hee! monthinadvance-dontfixtheheating-mouldinthekidslungs-buytenmorehouses mmmnnnsk! tic! tic! Yes landlords and bankers are very poor Richard. I'm so glad you told me that! The government should give them more money I thought I heard you just say? Fifteen percent for me! tic! tic!

REJ:- Yes indeed Owain. Are you sure you're alright? Your eyes look a bit odd -

OD:- - We weren't looking this way were we Richard?!

REJ:- No indeed, please forgive me -

OD:- Tee-hee! - ask me something else! -

REJ:- I think I will indeed. But I'm having some trouble remembering. What was it - I had a point to make and it was so obvious -

OD:- Ignore the little voices Richard! Don't worry about -

REJ:- Ah yes! That was it! A lot of people say that when the Abercreuddun council estate was sold off and the 110 houses ended up owned by three people and the rents doubled and the families could be thrown on the streets with just three months notice -

OD:- Two I believe -

REJ:- With just two months notice - diolch - and the working poor families had in effect an extra 50% tax on their income but no security at all and the poorer poor families could be not even housed in the first place -

OD:- Or evicted! -

REJ:- And the three people got the money from the poor workers or from the government that once paid half as much and to itself instead of to the three people who did nothing -

OD:- they signed some papers! -

REJ:- they did nothing but sign some papers yes. And keep the money that could have gone to the Bronglais children's ward. Well a lot of people say that this is wrong.

OD:- Right!

REJ:- No, Wrong!

OD:- Yes Right! Wrong they are! We agree. A lot of people say that this is right. Things are much better for these worse off people. Do you watch the news Richard?

REJ:- er - I'm ashamed to say I don't have a TV at the moment -

OD:- Shame?! Well that's a start! - something to work on later! tic tic! I'm disappointed Richard! You see why you're confused don't you? I have some friends who make some super TV programmes! I'm sure you'd like to pay them -

REJ:- Would I? Is that what I was saying?

OD:- I'm sure it was! tee-hee! you see y Parch is one for telling scary stories to children isn't he? Evil is abroad indeed! tee-hee! I did a pun! A tripler! Evil is abroad! Richard listen! Would you like to kill someone you haven't met before?!

REJ:-What?! Have you gone loop-a-loop loopy?

OD:-Would you like to come with me hundreds of miles to kill someone you haven't met before?

REJ:- What? You're nuts! Sioned! Owain's here and he's gone nuts! Call the cops! CALL THE COPS!!!

OD:- Oh bollocks. I forgot. I must get you a present for Chri.....mnnnnnsk! xmas! tic tic! Have you got an aerial? What a funny dream you're having! I must be off now. What a funny dream!

Sioned:- Hello Owain! What's he shouting about now? Fallen asleep on the sofa again isn't it?

OD:- Why Hello Mrs Jones! I've been meaning to talk to you! Mortgage rates mean buy-to-let is a very prudent investment at the moment. And with little Ethan going to College in 12 years time....

Poem for the day

Well today's poem for the day has been brought into my attentions by young Emyr Penlan of Cwm duad. In fact he's going to read it out himself as it must be heard to be seen apparently. Two words for you Emyr:- recite it!

And when her eyes shine
All life's stars lose their radiance
As the moon and the stars when the sun brings the day
And when her smile fades
All my heart feels it's absence
As the close of the day brings the dark of the night
For a flower is more than the sum of it's petals
And love is the power eternally bright.

Well that was nice Emyr. No need for tears - I've heard worse. I don't think you can start a sentence with 'and' though can you boy? And you said stars twice, three times really - because the sun's a star too isn't it? But well done anyway. What was it about?

Friday, 30 October 2009

Poem for the day

Today's poem is a Satyr's pasty of the saucer-eyed opprobrium eater Samuel Tailless Coalbridge. That's according to my notes here. Bryn's writing is not very good. His handwriting I mean - Mae'n ddrwg gen i Bryn! God rest his soul! - his poem writing is unclassified. Bryn lived in a one-roomed bedsit above the mynach where for twenty-seven years he enjoyed shamelessly and without toil, the generous benificements of a modern western classless meritocracy. Mair the papers says he had two cars and she saw one once - parked half a mile away - and he got in the passenger side! Well, well, boys bach, if he could afford a chauffeur then I think 'hounding him to his death' was a bit strong wasn't it Mrs Bryn's mam isn't it? The lazy scrounging bugger! Indeed.

In Aberystwyth Major did
A stately DSS decree
Where poor and needy people ran
And queued times measureless to man
To pawn their dignity.
So twice nine chairs of cerulean
With numbers tolling from red screen
Enfolded carpets bolted to the floors
Where blossomed electronic gadgetry
And here were glass screens thick
And time-locked doors
That gave the Social their security

But oh! that damned deep dividing chasm
Twixt rich and poor the seeds unfairly sown
A savage place! as soulless and degrading
As e'er before a counter girl was haunted
By woman wailing for her crisis loan!

A drunkard on a bender
In the office once I saw
It was a man of aged years
That wondered amidst present peers
Who really won the war
The homeless boy that needs the rent
The cripple needs the bed
The junkie needs to pay the man
A price upon his head
The single mother without fare
Her children cannot feed
She prostitutes her self-esteem
The State buys souls that bleed

And all did frightened see him there
Affix on each a mile-long stare
And all did cry Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
The DSS refused him thrice
And all can see he's better dead
For he on Special Brew hath fed
And drunk all earthly paradise.

Mair the papers says that's Bryn in the last paragraph! Haha stupid bugger isn't it?!

Thursday, 29 October 2009

Some complaints and an interview with God

Well diar diar! We've had a few complaints. Sioned says the electric text-phone is full to the sim-brim with helpful swearing and constructive death-threats. Duw, duw, beth sy wedi mynd yn wrong? Apparently a lot of you are owed money by Glyn the fags the radiographer, and you didn't think much of his poem, although it started off lovely and Tennyson. Also in extra, many persons have been overly upset by some misinterpretings of previous posts as being somehow ungodly and inblasphemous. There is only one way to make up for this, and I learnt it at the Pontypridd school of journalism. We must get the other side of the story so that balances are restored.

It is often said that one is closest to God in a morgue. The international embalming school of excellence award is no stranger to Abercreuddun. The funereal services parlour run and owned by Idris Williams - 'AberCadavers' has won the coveted title no less than three times, their closest rival being Andy Warhol who has the honorary title for achieving 100% chemical embalm-ment ten years prior to his death. Apprentice to the AberCadavers injector-general is a certain young Ethan Emmanuel Jones, aged 6. And Ethan has a special secret that only we all know:- He can talk to God! So now, in the balance of interest and fairyness, Ethan Emmanuel Jones asks the big G himself the questions we've all wanted to know, but were too afraid to ask. Or did ask but noone was in. Over to you Ethan bach!

EEJ:- Thanks Dad. Here's my report:-

We know what Richard Dawkins thinks of God, but what does God think of Richard Dawkins? In a rare interview via universal ether, I asked God what He thought about Life the Universe and Everything starting with His views on the celebrated atheist:-

'I find him impertinent and ungrateful in the extreme. I wish I hadn't made him like that in the first place. Inquisitive is one thing, but too many questions is just plain rude. At least that other fellow had the decency to grow a beard. But no, nothing's ever good enough for Dawkins - it's always 'badly designed this' and 'superfluous that'....well if Dawkins doesn't like his eyes wired back to front he can have some squid eyes I've got left over. Let's see him 'evolve' his way out of that.

Asked if Professor Hawking's work displeased Him, God replied 'Well he certainly doesn't help. That's another one who should stick to counting his blessings - think of the savings he's made on shoes alone. I can tell you he's laughably vague all the way back from the first nanoseconds to the absolute beginning. I'll put it this way - he's not getting up from that chair anytime soon'.

Of Adolf Hitler, God said 'Yes of course I've heard of him, I can speak German too you know. I'm God and I understand all languages, just like dogs'. Pressed further, He continued 'The lies, hate, genocide and the bit about eternal paradise were all a bit too familiar. That's plagiarism where I come from. We had words and eventually he changed the last bit to 'an empire that will last 1000 years' but I saw through that straightaway. He had to go - I had nowhere to put all the Jews. Thankfully someone else deals with the gays and gypsies' He added glancing downwards.

Asked why prayers never seemed to make any difference, God smiled and said 'I soon worked that one out. I get prayers all day and all night from all four corners of the world and overall they tend to pretty much cancel each other out. After a while I realised that if I stopped bothering and just ignored them, the net effect is much the same and I have more 'mysterious' time to myself'.

Finally, I asked the Almighty where He had come from and who had created Him. Here His mood swiftly changed. 'Listen sonny, that's one question too far. It's not my fault I made your brains too puny to work it out for yourselves. I've got a special place for people like you and you'll be there for a very long time. Eternity and then some. I'm God and I can be paradoxical if I want to.' With that He hung up.

God is author of 3 major books, the obscene cruelty of the natural world, and our planet's and universe's 'final solution'.

Poem for the day

Well heddiw we planned to have a more up-market poem from Glyn the fags the radiographer. And the best laid carpets of men and mice come to frenetic fruition in Llanfihangel-y-creuddun as in heaven, as Glyn the fags the radiographer enblesses us with a gem from his poetic jewellery box. Glyn says he is heavily influenced by both R.S. and Dylan Thomas. R.S. Thomas used to write his poetry in a state he described enigmatically as 'lucid orgasm'. Dylan Thomas used to drink a lot. Glyn spends many hours drinking in bed stimulating his creative juices. And as his nickname suggests, he can get you 450g of rolling radiography for £5.50 which is half the price it is in Wil's shop.


Look through the cloaked in misery
That die before mortality
The dreamers of the day see clear
And break the fix of present gaze
To seal their hope in future's glaze
Let not the dark that they may see
Hide dreams of all that which may be
Then turn emboldened, strong once more
To clean the vomit off the floor.

REJ:- Sioned! Are you sure you got the ending right? Where's Glyn wedi mynd?

Sioned:- He's wedi mynd adref. Back to bed he said. Working on an epic isn't it?

REJ:- Diawl Twp! He'll be red-raw rigid! I asked for inspirational! Iesu Mawr!

Wednesday, 28 October 2009

Culture in Abermawddach

Every nation has it's own uplifting phrases that help define the national character. The French have a term 'Joie de vivre'. The Welsh have a term 'Hwyl' .The English have a term 'Mustn't grumble'. There may be other nations too. Phil the Rimmer is a dream-weaving inventuallist and five-pint thespian Englandian who sought to bring culture to Abermawddach through the medium of Doris Stokes. Since she unfortunately passed over without the 256 character wireless encryption code, Phil switched to a different medium - that of the theatre. He has directed many successful productions over the years despite initial scepticism from the locals - mainly my father - who was also a big Hemingway fan, but had doubts about the upstart Rimmer's modern ideas such as representing every thought with an actor, all on stage at the same time. 'I don't think he can make it work!' said Emmanuel Jones senior to anyone who would listen. But the citizens of Abermawddach were in for a real treat, a performance that has rightly passed into legendhood. The reviewer in the 'Abermawddach advertiser' proclaimed:- 'I think it can be safely said that noone who was there will ever forget the look of at first surprise, then appreciative acceptance on the face of Emmanuel Jones Snr when in spite of his protestations Phil triumphantly pulled off 'The old man and the sea' - men ran everywhere - covering the whole stage to wild applause and everyone could see that Phil the Rimmer had also arrived on the scene.'

REJ:- Phil, I see the recollection of that newspaper article still brings a smile to your face -

PR:- I'm crying inside.

REJ:- Very funny! So Phil when you pulled off -

PR:- Pulled off the old man. Yes I get it. I whacked off your father in front of the whole village. It's still fresh after 37 years.

REJ:- Is it? I thought it died in 48 hours unless -

PR:- I'm a serious inventor. You've had your joke, the whole fucking town's had it's joke. For 37 years. It's the name of a book by Hemingway. I brought an original production to Abermawddach. I thought I could shine a light in the dark lives of the culturally bestarved. I was wrong -

REJ:- Because everybody only remembers -

PR:- Watch it! A man can only take so much...

REJ:- Yes I saw those films too. Was that a body double?

PR:- The dunces are in confederacy against me. That is the nature of genius.

REJ:- Indeed, indeed! Now before you go back to the ward, could you tell us about your latest inventuallistic conception, the clockwork wireless goat tickler.

PR:- I've been saving up the pills....I think now's the time.

REJ:- Sioned! Some water for the man!

Sioned:- Who is it?

REJ:- Phil the Rimmer - the one

Sioned:- the one who pulled off your old man!!! hahahahaha!

PR:- Right that's it! That's the last time I'll be hearing that. Down the hatch! Nos fucking Da!

Poem for the day

Well, well. We forgot to have a poem for the day yesterday and so to make up for this undersight we shall have one today instead. Today's rhymesmith is a young biglot from St. Harmon, Sara Jenkins. Sara says that English is a crude and sterile language, the bastard child of Angles and Germanians, and that it should not be on signposts. That's what happens if you send your children to the Welsh primary school, Mrs Jenkins. Sara claims her poems always sound much better in Welsh and I think there might be a touch of bias in her translations. Either that or she's rubbish.

The theist finds the heathen tragic:-
'You're all machine, but I am magic!'
The heathen smiles and says 'Let's see
Who first finds imm-or-tal-it-y.'

I don't know why she puts the dashes in - annoying isn't it? I think tomorrow we'd better have one from Glyn the fags the radiographer. Raise the bar a bit isn't it?

Tuesday, 27 October 2009

The Parch. and the fine-tuner

The tumescent priapic minds of Dr. Oyster Elgaroy (Norwegian spruce historical skyropractor) and Dr. Steve Zara-pearl (behatted polygenetomathic homosexuellist) float precariously within semi-permeable prophylactic head-bones. Rubbing together like a Venn Diagram mindgasm they ejaculate solutions to the mysteries of the universe:-

Y Parch. Owen hosan hir tells me they are both going to hell for eternity, Zara a bit longer - because - you know.

REJ:- Well Parch., very kind of you to come.. May I ask what is your opinion of this most splendid docuscription?

OHH:- My opinion is that I haven't read it.

REJ:- Neither have I. But what do you think about what it says?

OHH:- Ah! In this I am assuredly certain. It is twice wrong. Once in fact and once in sin. And I'm afraid two wrongs don't make a right. Jesus said that.

REJ:- Yes he did. So we are quite clear then, the universe is fine-tuned for life, and there is therefore a fine-tuner. Probably God.

OHH:- Well yes! Certainly God! That follows logically. Emmanuel Jones......I know that name from somewhere....

REJ:- It's mine.

OHH:- Is it? Duw! you were older when I buried you.

REJ:- That was my father. Now Parch. Owen, please explain for the benefit of the heathen hell-bound just how we know the universe is fine-tuned.

OHH:- Mrs Hosan hir's Sunday lunch!

REJ:- I beg your pardon me?

OHH:- Mrs Hosan hir's Sunday lunch. You see there is a certain number of calories required for living a live life. And that number is not known exactly, but it certainly is a number. Or one of a few numbers. Are you with me?

REJ:- I can hear the cries of the heathens already.

OHH:- True wisdom resides in one who can see the Almighty in one of Mrs Hosan hir's Sunday lunches. The pork chop, the potatoes, the peas, the gravy, the -

REJ:- Yes I can read the stains on your vestments -

OHH:- Now Emmanuel Jones bach! What do you think of this? What if each of those delicious bitements was in fact one of the fundamental constants of the universe! Eh?! What about that then?!

You see why I'm dribbling now don't you?!

REJ:- I see the dribble...

OHH:- Imagine if Rabbi Goldberg's pork crackling was the cosmological constant! You see it now don't you?!

REJ:- I see you're crackling.

OHH:- Concentrate Emmanuel Jones bach! Concentrate! The Almighty is about to reveal himself! On your knees boy! The Almighty is about to reveal himself through I, Parch Hosan hir! Imagine if Rabbi Goldberg's pork crackling was but 1 fourskinth of a mm less! Just 1 fourskinth!!! Do the equation boy! The total calories of the lunch would be different! And possibly not suitable for living a live life! You see it now boy! You see it now don't you! Iesu Mawr! Hallelujah! Gott in Himmel! I have proved God! I, Owen Hosan Hir! -

REJ:- Quick! Sioned! His medicine!

Sioned:- He's drunk it all and the offy's closed!

REJ:- Aw Dammo! He'll eat the goldfish again! Sioned! You try talking to him! I'll get the heddlu.

OHH:- I'm Coming Jesus! Rwy'n caru tu! Just 1 fourskinth! Hallelujah! I've done it! Haha hell-bound heathens! And the baptists! -

Sioned:- Parch! Sense now Chwarae teg! What if there were more peas instead? That would compensate for the fourskinth of crackling surely?

OHH:- Sioned. Fuck off.

Monday, 26 October 2009

Poem for the day

Well indeed we are blessed today with a choice of poems. The Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun eisteddfod harmonised the village in united hatrocity towards the philistines of Cnwch-y-craig. Sioned is womanning the electric text-phone and your votes have been counted in advance. Judging at an eisteddfod is of course subjective, and much influenced by mead. Perhaps this explains the success of Abercreuddun's two and lonely Parch. Owen hosan hir/God tag-team with his religiositepic entitled 'PSSSSSSST!'. Sioned says she won't type the title out twice. You'll have to imagine it. He's written it in English again, and it really doesn't suit him does it?

PSSSSSSSSST! (oooh diolch Sioned nice baps)

I'm omnipotent God, it was me! me who made
All Creation wherever you look
I just wanted to say, in an impotent way
Could you help me in writing this book?

For I'm tired now it's done, and in need of a rest
And your writing's much neater than mine
And I'm sure all the world will be greatly impressed
In a mere few millennia's time.

Please make haste! for there's millions hell-bound unsaved
And the brimstone is bad for the health
Oh if only telepathy charges were waived
I would tell them directly myself.

I omnisciently know - and that's knowing a lot -
I could tell them and not touch free will
But utility funds go on keeping hell hot
And not my telepathy bill.

My mysterious ways and the evil at large
Keep philosophers ever obsessed
But the truth is I'm broke - a celestial joke
And I don't want my clouds reposessed.

Sunday, 25 October 2009

The Pwll Crwn and the giant-insect park.

Three miles north of Aberwristwatch-on-sea, just east of blaennanerch, up a bit no too far back to me stop yes that's it, the Pwll Crwn is a sandless woodland oasis of Douglas Fir and East Anglican Pine, a waterless reservoir of peace and haven to the enstraggled, and the perfect site for a hyperoxygenated giant-insect dome park if Dr. Emrys Williams is to be believed. Emrys Williams' mother tragically died very young - about six years before his birth. It was a difficult labour and people say he never really recovered.

Dr EW:- Thankyou for that most generous introspection.

REJ:- Croeso. Let me help you with that Methadone drip. There we are. Now then, Dr. Williams, first let me thank you for the goat.

Dr EW:- Not at all! It was my mother's idea -

REJ:- um....yes indeed.....and may I take this opportunity to ask once more that you refrain from interfering with Mrs. Jones' laundry -

Dr EW:- You may. My mother wears it you see. For the Sunday best isn't it?

REJ:- She must have enough knickers by now? I mean....let's forget your mother for the moment...

Dr EW:- Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Mam! Mam! I'll never forget you! Emrys loves you! Emrys loves you forever! Mam! Mam!

REJ:- Aw dammo. Not again. Sioned! stop typing! This is not going in the transcripulation!

DrEW:- Mam! Mam! I'm coming Mam! Emrys is here! Emrys loves you! Don't go without me Mam! Don't leave me Mam!

REJ:- Aw shit.

Poem for the day

Last night I dreamt I could play the neigh-piano with my teeth and when I woke up I had eaten a zebra!

Today's poem is a grook. We are all familiar with the genius and great Dane, Piet Hein. Mari Llwyd-Evans is not a genius, but she is from the lowlands of Cnwch-y-craig. She is today's guest poet. I'm sure she could do better were it not for the womb-hysteria, poor dab has been under the doctor for years. This is what passes for profound in Cnwch-y-craig! Duw, duw, ble mae'r defaid?!

Sometimes I ponder in despair
Why can't I make my daughter share?
The toys upon her little shelf
Are only half her total wealth.

Saturday, 24 October 2009

An interview.

The short walk from Gwastedyn to Cwm Duad enshrouds the standing stone of Myrddin ap prytherch, third of the ap prytherch wizards, favourite colour green. Here etched upon a cedarn cover indent the words of Waldo Williams, poet, bard and rhymesmith.

Un funud fach cyn elo'r haul o'r wybren

Un funud fwyn cyn delo'r hwyr i'w hynt,

I gofio am y pethau anghofiedig

Ar goll yn awr yn llwch yr amser gynt.

Beautiful words indeed, but what do they mean? We don't know, for he has written in a strange and ancient tongue. One man does know however, and he's with me now. From the flat above Daisy's chip shop it's Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun's very own and onely Prysor Davies.

REJ:- Good afternoon and welcome Prysor Davies and many thanks for coming. Did you have a pleasant journey?

PD:- Troed mas o'r drws yw hanner daith.

REJ:- Indeed. And a watched clock never boils twice a day. Now Waldo Williams, perhaps the greatest of the romantic poets never to take opium, wouldn't you agree?

PD:- Saesneg! Iaith y Diawl! Iesu Mawr!

REJ:- The devil speaks many languages Prysor, a bit harsh of you to single out English. Now Waldo was popular with the ladies of Preseli, if I can put it delicately....

PD:- Fe fydd y Tywysog Glyndwr yn dod nol i lladd pob Sais yng Nghymru. Siwr o fod.

REJ:- Well there might be some difficulties with that approach. I have friends on the Abercreuddun council and in my honest opinion they would take quite a dim view of zombie princes killing our english friends. Even in Machynlleth. Back to Waldo Williams. It is often said of his poem 'Y Tangnefeddwyr' that he was seeking to express a yearning for the reestablishment of paradise lost through his Christ-like archetypes reminiscent of Twm and Marged in 'Yr hen allt'. What is your opinion on this perhaps contraversial claim?

PD:- Ffwrch y Diawl yffern!!! Rwy'n mynd adref!!! Nos da!!!

REJ:- to you too Mr Davies.

Poem for the day

Today's poem is a person. And you know who you are Bronwen Williams. Some people fall in love quickly. Some people never fall in love. Dai Penrallt once fell in love with a hole in a tree on the way to Chapel. But Bronwen Williams.....ah my blodyn bach.....easy under the apple bough I tried her for sighs. Indeed.

I read her like a blind man
The bluebells turned their heads
The river chuckled knowingly
The skies swirled blues and reds
And climbing now the stickward stairs
My bed's no longer heaven
For fifty years ago the tart
Fucked off with Jim from Devon.


Friday, 23 October 2009

A trip to Capel Abercreuddun

The sunday before sunday last week I ventured north on the B473 up hillwards in the footsteps of my ancestors previously before me to the jewel in the coren of mynydd Brychanycawr. I don't need to tell you my fanwys that Capel Abercreuddun stands magnificent atop a hill of doubt and atheistic devillement. It was with such delight untold I tell you that Y Parch Owen Hosan hir delivered the sermon of all mothers to amongst others dai the milk the postman and glyn the fags the radiographer. The atheists howled in their stupidity as Y Parch Owen befored them spake the many super reasons to pretend in god:-

1) The Somethingfromnothing and the genocide handbook

It must be hard to bother to make something from nothing, especially when there are no laws of Physics to prevent it happening without you. -1+1 is a tricky sum requiring a supernatural magic mind beyond our comprehension. What then if your fingers were invisible? If you couldn't see your hands? Why then even a book would be difficult to make. Not that it wasn't a super idea, to make a book when you can speak directly into people's minds – the whole world at once! - to make a book when noone can read? It was a super idea, and you could have managed it, but dictator seemed more your natural role.

2) The miracle of Life

Life from non-life takes scientists many hours, yet you needed only 1 god-day to do it! And you made more than a mere cell, which doesn't count at all. You made all the beasts of the land and the fishes of the sea. Each one sub-optimal even within the laws of physics and improvable with a moment's thought, but nonetheless a super day's work. And fun too! You know – when the teeth go in the zebra! When the worm goes in the eye! 0.01% species success rate! Although so far everything's died.

3) Absolute Morality and Forgiveness

Imagine life without God's absolute morality standard that lets us say torturing children is right! Without the God-given logic and morality that tells us torturing children to death with gruesome incurable diseases is a good thing! Why we wouldn't know what to think! And the blessing of forgiveness. No sin can't be forgiven – with God all is permissable – retrospectively! How would the priests have forgiven themselves on the choirboys without God's blessing? And the bombers on the planes – how would they have forgiven themselves?

4) Pretending it real and the Hitler/Stalin/Mao

If we go through 'Mein Kampf' striking out 'God' and replacing it with 'Darwin' then that makes it real. But are silly ideas always silly? I don't know – I'm mutilating my children's genitals! Is too much critical thought and not enough blindly following holy orders a bad thing? What if I heard a voice telling me to sacrifice my son? Why without God I may as well just ignore it! If History teaches us anything it is surely that too much rational enquiry and not enough belief in silly ideas has been the problem. Hitler! Stalin! Mao! Pol Pot! The other one! Too much clear thinking and not enough faith! Too much rational enquiry and not enough dressing-up! Not enough belief that they were right in spite of the evidence! Pretending it real! This is surely what God wants us to teach children and people who can't think very well.

5) Heaven and hell

We all yearn to go to heaven and meet God. Perhaps you are the indoors type who likes harps and angels and dreary organ music, or perhaps you are the outdoors type who prefers fields and badly drawn tigers – like the Jehovah's Witnesses. There is something for everyone! Everything is perfect like it would be back home if His representatives had a bit more of the Earth-money God needs! And don't they do an efficient job? Hardly a penny left for palaces! But perhaps the most super reason of all the super reasons to pretend in God is our blessed deliverance from Earthly worries. War, famine, disease and suffering, death itself – these are difficult problems to face with reason alone. And though we might eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge and become as Gods attempt to solve these troubles, how much better to instead turn the other way and face upwards, wailing to an empty sky?

Poem for the day

Bore da. It is pronounced the same way as the Russian for beard. And yet it's meaning could not be more different. Unless Russian beards mean 'good morning', which they well might, we don't know for certain what Russian beards mean because they are generally very reticent and keep their thoughts to themselves. Which is what reticent means. But I digest. Here is today's poem for the day, told to me by a one-legged dryad from monmouthshire. He didn't say what it meant, he only wee'd on my shoe and giggled a lot. I forget the title, but it was written in mescaline.

As one and minus one from nought
Was born the stellar nation
And after birth of Physics brought
New laws against creation.

And then before, with Time began
The coil of Life unwinding
Through simple chains eternal sang
The living watches minding.

And man made God of holy thought
And labelled land and sea
With verbal pledges vainly sought
To bind eternity.

As minus one and one to nought
So purpose reason shatters
Save paradox that binds the light:-
To mind that nothing matters.

For sharper eyes cut through the dark
To mark emotion's core
Then hope again, and strive to live
A life worth dying for.