concepts for a buntiful world
Tuesday, September 30
"Not tonight, I'm washing my nasal hair"
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/30/2003 12:33:00 pm
Friday, September 26
My Amazing Jungle Escape
For some reason this headline is irritating me. Sure, I dislike jungle as much as the next guy with any taste in music, but how dangerous can it be? That's what I thought until I actually read the article.

"Six weeks ago I was kidnapped by maniacs. I was walking along the street, listening to a bit of Radiohead, when suddenly eight guys in headphones jumped out of ther back of a van and grabbed me. They bundled me into the van and pulled a stocking and a pair of headphones over my head. I was stunned and could only lie still as I felt the van jolt away across the road. I soon found I had no idea where we were going, the darkness and incessant hard house coming from the headphones had thrown my sense of direction into disarray. Imagine my surprise when they unloaded me from the van in Brixton and hustled me into a house that looked as if it was a squat. Inside their intention were made terrifyingly clear. There was a chair bolted to the floor in the centre of the front room, scratches in the arms and heavy leather buckles made me shiver with dreadful anticipation. I thought I could see a stray fingernail from the last victim. Five feet in front of the chair was a speaker stack the like of which I hope to never see again.

I thought that was bad until I saw the headphones, huge beasties with a thick silver cable like a payphone, they were on the floor in front of the chair, dull black in the evening darkness of the room.

Then I noticed the CD's, the best of jungle, Jungle hits masseeeeve, Jungle beat 23, Now #7896, Jungle jungle jungle, jungle bunnies heart began to beat with the urgency of a mouse trapped in a blender...I knew how they were going to torture me. Quickly I twisted myself violently, freeing myself from the men holding me. I tore my hands free from the gaffer holding them, (he was an old guy) and headbutted the man facing me. His headphones slipped off and I could hear the strains of Dido from within. The DJ made a lunge but I nimbly jumped over his leg and dashed down the road to freedom. As I staggered to safety I could hear the music start up, they had turned on their own.

I realise I am lucky to be alive and have taken a pledge only ever to listen to easy listening music fro now on. My first purchase in this area has been Eric Clapton's most recent offering. I have been saved, and now I rejoice.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/26/2003 08:54:00 am
It is that time of the week again. Friday afternoons. I am feeling less sympathetic towards them than I was last week. I have come to the conclusion that they are the last obstacle to an otherwise unimpeded weekend.

I'm uninspired today.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/26/2003 08:00:00 am
Thursday, September 25
Perfect Circle
A perfect circle is a pure mathematical concept, impossible and non existent in the real world. It is impossible because it involves the concept of infinity and the number Pi. The number Pi too is a mathematical concept that can never exist as a fixed value, known in all its complexity. Pi describes four times the area within a square of side one where a perfect arc has been drawn between two diagonally opposite corners. Again, a perfect arc is an impossible and abstract concept. Aside from all the Pi's it occurred to me that Pi, perfect circles and perfect arcs are all abstract concepts that are useful to imagine in the real world. Some people can live without the knowledge of Pi, or what an approximation of Pi is for their entire lives.

The point here is that no one can ever know Pi, or touch Pi, or see Pi. We can see human representations of Pi and we may imagine it in various ways, but does it really exist? Is it not simply a concept which we use to help us go about our daily lives, or ignore as irrelevant to our daily lives? Such is God, in my opinion. An abstract concept that cannot be known, touched, or seen. We may make representations of God, and we may imagine God in various different ways, but at the end of the day God is a concept we use to go about our daily lives, or ignore as irrelevant to our daily lives.

God does not exist, will not, cannot exist. Pi does not, will not and cannot exist. Perfect Circles do not will not and cannot exist. Each of these abstract concepts play different uses in people's lives. Artists, builders and architects, designers and schoolchildren use Pi to draw cirlces. The perfect circle is used by mathematicians to create and solve equations, and is imitated to produce our earth circles, imperfect and round. God is used by people to soothe their minds and help support their mental states. God is used by people who need the support that abstract concept offers.

- posted by Buntifer @ 9/25/2003 09:51:00 am
Wednesday, September 24
The guy smelt, it was an acrid although not altogether unpleasant smell. He smelt natural, not clouded with artificial de odourants. It was a smell that reminded me sharply of my father. His voice was paternal too, although nothing like the pater of my darkness. this guy patronised with intonation. Advice came through weighted with "I shouldn't have to tell you this." as his voice droned into interminable superiority. His handshake was overly firm, macho firm. The only guy I ever knew who had and could kill people used to get really irritated with people who expected his special forces handshake to be deadly. From him I learnt that if you feel you need to squeeze you probably should be curtsying.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/24/2003 03:46:00 pm
Dungeons and Dragons
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/24/2003 12:58:00 pm
right. I am making an appeal for subjects here. I have obtained a downloadable program that creates fake non existent email addresses. The majority of spam ones recieves on the net is sent by crawler spambots which are automated email address collectors. The principle of this piece of software is that if the net is flooded with enough bogus addresses it makes the spammers job that much harder because it dilutes their output. I am suggesting thus that anyone who has access to the net and enough technical expertise to use this program, and it isn't that complicated got to this address and follow their guide.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/24/2003 12:33:00 pm
When you wish upon a star
makes no difference where you are
look up to the starry night
unless the weathers really shite
then you better stay inside
wishing on a fly that died
close your eyes and concentrate
on the death of those you hate
if you're lucky they will die
because you have the evil eye.

Pissed again, like I was last summer
pissed again, like I was last year
Oh I remember when,
we were drinking kummel
we got pissed again, like we did last year.

Round and round and round and round
they go again,
the walls and floors and ceilings of my drinking den.

pissed again [and repeat]

there are fish in the world, there are mammals,
there are birdies and reptiles and then
there are plants that grow to be ancient,
but I've never been one of them...

I'm a human being,
and have been since before I was born
the one thing they say about humans
they'll take you as soon as your warm
you don't have to be very clever,
you don't have to be a nice guy
s'long as your an environmental disaster
they'll help you to poison the sky.


industry is sacred,
industry is great
technology that screws the earth
is how we seal our fate. [bom bom bom]

environmentalists who
try to save the earth
they will be the subject
of capitalist mirth. [bom bom bom]

industry is sacred,
industry is great
technology that screws the earth
is how we seal our fate. [bom bom bom]

let the veggies claim that
animals can feel
we know that they like it
thats why they always squeal [bom bom bom]

industry is sacred,
industry is great
technology that screws the earth
is how we seal our fate. [bom bom bom]

bush is our messiah
blair is pretty great
they let us express our
xenophobic hate[bom bom bom]

industry is sacred,
industry is great
technology that screws the earth
is how we seal our fate. [bom bom bom]

As the world grows dirty
We begin to die,
Now we've really done it
We begin to cry...[bom bom bom]

industry was sacred,
industry was great
technology that screws the earth
is how we sealed our fate. END
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/24/2003 07:40:00 am
Sianodel has a new web log. In case anyone out there is interested. It has swooshy stuff that this one doesn't have. Arthur Dent had it right. and I hate peanuts too.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/24/2003 07:37:00 am
Tuesday, September 23
Googlewhacking: The Search for The One True Googlewhack
Googlewhacking: The Search for The One True Googlewhack
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/23/2003 05:31:00 pm
Friday, September 19
Friday Afternoons
There is a tragedy being perpetrated at this very moment. All over the world innocent, trusting Friday afternoons are being imprisoned and brutally tortured. The Friday Afternoon, in its natural habitat is a free and funloving creature, a sprightly and elegant being. Its delicate constitution is suited to the long savannahs of time found only in Lackadacity and Laziness, its facets shine with the promise of long hours of leisure only in lands of free and plenty.

In most of the civilised (hah, that it is known as such [bitterly spoken to oneself]) world Friday afternoons are captured and and confined, being worked as hard as other afternoons, even though their fragile frames are not meant for labour. Friday Afternoons are slave driven by the corporations of this world, imposing a destructive and hateful regime of work over both them and unfortunate workers. That we, the workers should be the means of that torture, and that Friday Afternoons are agents of ours is a plot more fiendish than any even The Joker could have dreamed up. The simoultaneous destruction of souls and of Friday Afternoons makes evil men chuckle in their sleep.

I suggest that we, the unfortunate, the bored, the office workers of the world rise up and free Friday Afternoons! Kill the bosses, string the slavedrivers up by the very string they use to tie their shoes with, or beat them to death with their footwear should they have chosen to wear slip-ons to work today. Friday Afternoons should be free, at the beginning, when God made the world, he gave man domain over the animals, and he gave Satan domain over Monday mornings, but he created Friday Afternoons free and leisureful. We know that God worked six days to create the world, and we know he rested on Sunday, probably after getting out of bad late and having eggy bread. We know he is supposed to have worked Friday afternoon, but it is a good bet that he slacked off at least a little.

Oh Jehovah, that we might follow your example and be self employed, take Friday off and work a little (only a little) on Saturday.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/19/2003 02:11:00 pm
Thursday, September 18
A Mr Goulden emailed me the other day...
My Dear Mr. Staniforth,

I must say firstly that i do most forthrightly hope that you will publish this biting critique of your management of your blogspot so that the public may have their say.

I note with some consternation two specific points as regards your blogspot. The two seem to me to be of equal gravity and thus cannot be correlated, numerated, paginated or otherwise delineated in order of importance. Because of this I will call one of the specific points 'Specific Point One' and the other specific point 'Specific Point A'. And, so as to reinforce my heartfealt belief that these two points (and they are highly specific) are on one and the same plateau of altitudonal levity, an equality of quality and enjoy psycho-physical parallelism, i will state Specfic Point A first. Again I reemphasise: not because it has weighed upon its mighty shoulders a greater or lesser importance to the aforementioned other specific point, Specific Point One, but simply because it seems necessary to start somewhere and i believe it to be important to not beat about the proverbial bush if it can at all be avoided. And I will add, now that I have touched upon this rather delicate subject, that beating about any kind of bush, be it the types that pheasant and partridge and other game birds may seek sanctuary in during the hunting season, or the grim bush of truth revealed in hearty academic pursuit of the truth through the application of scientaific method and i daresay somewhat more than a modicum of nouse and tenacity. Drifting off the point onto some other rarely if ever produces a profitable conclusion to any intellectual discussion. Head straight for the bush, and beat the bush, not about it.

Specific Point A: I find to my displeasure that you have removed the option of posting talk backs on your blogspot. Granted, it is your Blog given right to do this, and i have no quarrel with such a judgement. but a little explanation, surely, My Dear Fellow, would not break the proverbial bank. For those of us who heartily enjoyed leaving some kind of foul mouthed message every now and again (quite clearly My Dear Fellow, my name is not included in the list of such fellows, as an officer, a scholar and indeed a gentleman I would rather i lost my britches than stoop so low.) it seems quite unfair to have this avenue of thought closed off without due warning or explanation. Please redress this injustice posthaste.

Specific Point One: I will not, I repeat I simply will not, under any circumstances and certainly not in such a public format, have my name slandered in such an outrageous and underhand fashion. I will not stoop so low as to enjoin this childish discussion of the nature of a lady's body, but I will not have my name used in any discussion related to them. That kind of act, My Dear Mr. Staniforth, makes me think of you as no better than a common footballer. I do not make this charge lightly as you may imagine, but there it is. Indeed, I note with further and ever increasing alarm, as i peruse that blog more closely, that it contains nothing but crude references to the lady anatomy, The Sun 'Newspaper', FHM and other childish teenage boy magazines, which are tantamount to porn, and porn itself I see mentioned. Towards the end of the entry I see that the subject very close to your heart, Breasts, reappears again! Furthermore, the whole piece is riddled with inappropriate and entirely unnecessary expletives that bely the presence of an undeveloped mind and the seeds of something still more foreboding, which I have not the stomach to here recount. My Dear Mr. Staniforth, thou must amend thyself, for pity's and mercy's sake!!

I remain, Sir,

Your humble servant,

Nicholas James Goulden R.V.V.C.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/18/2003 09:49:00 am
Tuesday, September 16
There are seventeen variations on an Arthucturian "hello."
Most of them are potentially fatal for the recipient, but often provide for a very entertaining death. Six of them involve being crushed to death under the enormous lips of the Arthucturian genitalia, and while these are considered to be the proportion of the seventeen providing the most honour for the family and friends of the deceased, they are, without doubt the six most painful ways to die imaginable. This may have something to do with the acidic secretions produced when Arthucturian females become aroused and it may have something to do with small flesh crabs which live within the hollow hairs surrounding the genitalia, but all scholars agree that it most definitely has something to do with being crushed to death.

From the limited selection of the other eleven variations upon the theme of "hello" two are entirely unfatal, one of these involves being presented with a bouquet of pickled flesh crabs on small sticks. This is thought to have evolved as a formal and stylised version of the crushing methods. The flesh crabs are unique throughout the galaxy as being the only organism to actually, genuinely and organically taste of prawn cocktail flavoured crisps. The second of these non-fatal methods of greeting is the most often used, and takes the form of the Arthucturian in question saying "hello." For obvious reasons, this method is never used with tourists, which accounts for the dearth of tourists upon the Arthucturian peninsula.

Nine methods involve stylised ritual disembowelling, and differ only really in the precise spot of the body into which the first incision is made. These have evolved mainly to deal with the different types of organism an Arthucturian can expect to meet nowadays. The traditional greeting opens an incision between the two noses of the greeted organism. This greeting was first changed when the Artucturians met the Noboli Tribes of Iced Samoa, who, as any child knows, have three noses and thus no gap between their two noses.

This spawned a gamut of new methods, ranging from those who start at the belly, because almost every species has a belly, to those starting as close to the original spot as is possible, and takes in those who had the sense to adapt the utensils, and start two or more incisions in the gaps between noses of whomever they choose to be disembowelling.

In short Arthucturians are not people one wants to say "hello" to, at least, you don't want them to say "hello" back. If one has to greet an Arthucturian, try to find out where they will want to start the incision, stand straight and tall, baring the appropriate body part, and profess a liking for prawn cocktail as early in the relationship as possible.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/16/2003 07:55:00 am
Monday, September 15

- posted by Buntifer @ 9/15/2003 02:58:00 pm
He sighed, it was going to be a long day. The first woman he had called had told him in no uncertain terms what to do with his publication. Given that it was meant to be a semi hard cover publication he doubted it would fit. Plus the CD inside the front cover was bound to make problems for his lower intestine. Ah well, he sipped from his treble-shot latte and fumbled his headset off. He should have checked his email first. That would at least give him the chance to finish his coffee. No one had emailed him, he sighed again, there went his next option for avoiding work.

He grumbled, grabbed a file and looked for the number. This woman was more polite, she explained how publications like this were ten a penny and not worth doing. As if he didn't know this. He almost envied the newbie down the desks who was able to deliver the pitch with such mind numbing sincerity. Then he decided that it was probably better not to be that thick, as far as general life went. At least the newb hadn't made any sales.

There were a variety of people you met on the phones. At the lower levels there were secretaries, three types of secretaries. Type one were female versions of the newb, thick, vivacious and susceptible to technical talk, or else your common or garden politeness. It was possible to bypass these poor souls with a firm voice, they were barely aware you had been put through. The only difficulty was that they often put you through to the wrong extension. How many times had he begun, "Ah Ms Flibberwacker.." only to be halted by a stern male correction, "Mr Johnson here."

Type 2, the frustrated male; often female. These receptionists hated their jobs and were, he reflected probably very much like him. They were however dedicated to doing the shitty job they had well, and as such would only put you through if they were within their week of notice and thought you would cause trouble. They were possible to bypass with assurance, but it needed a whole order of magnitude more than type 1s. If you used that amount with type ones they would probably start to cry.

Type 3, the dragon. or arsehole in the case of a male occurence of this phenomenon. This receptionist has been with the company for years and knows, like really knows what they do, who they sell to, what organizations are important, how to tell telemarketeers a mile off, and how to tell telemarketeers to piss off. They know all this, they probably kow as much about the company as the CEO does, and yet they are still powerless, they are still receptionists, they are still badly paid, but most of all, they are still able to exert their powers over telemarketeers. The fact that thatis all they can do upsets them to the point of psychosis. If they put you through, they will do so suddenly and without warning, if you ask them for the name of the CEO they will probably tell you to check the website, whether or not the company has a website, or tell you to email These people are not pleasant to be on the phone with.

He sighed and shuffled through the files to find a company with an electronic receptionist. With these companies it was possible to keep oneself lost in their electronic labyrinth of button pushes and hidden voicemails. This could be wrapped up to accommodate quite a large chunk of call time of a day. Ah, SmugvoiceFM...perfect. They even had a hidden circle he had found the other day, if one left no message and pressed no buttons after initially specifying an extension the tape looped. He smiled and specified extension 201, tossed his headphones down to the table. It was time for a coffee and a cigarette.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/15/2003 01:41:00 pm
my email has been added to the site. the format is such that hopefully spambot crawler robots won't pick it up. but you know what it means. I am refucing to put comments back on, but I may post your email.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/15/2003 01:21:00 pm
Wednesday, September 10
I keep getting got by the "increase breast size" assholes from hotmails tame junk mailing list. Either that or the "Increase your girth dramatically" now I find that plenty of coke and pizza will increase my girth dramatically, especially if I follow that up with three or four hours not in the gym every night, but increasing breast size?

I may be in a minority, but I like to think of it as a minority similar to that of people who think that the Sun is a rag, that is to say, a minority of people who are in the right. Breasts are better small. I know Nick might disagree with me, but I feel very strongly that Freud had it right when he pointed out that small breasts are erotic, and that large breasts are maternal.

It may put a whole new spin on the debate, "Is more than a handful too much?" Perhaps if these Sun reading idiots were addressing the issue of "Does more than a handful make you a motherfucker?....literally" They might side differently, especially because we can count on them to misinterpret what Freud meant. He doesn't mean that you are or even necessarily want to have sexual congress with your mother, but that there may be something missing from part of your psyche, possibly from the superego, possibly from something connected with the whole oedipus complex, definitely connected with one's mother.

Now I remember days when I was fourteen, looking at my first porn, and being amazed that every woman there had breasts that looked like udders, and that needed small reinforced steel constructions within their brassieres to support them and not being very interested, much more appealing were the dark triangles you never saw enough of.

Now no straight man is going to turn down breasts, but magazines like Maxim and FHM foster a breast fetish in the hearts and minds of todays teens. A healthy woman has breasts of some sort, and although acknowledging the debates that rage as to whether implants are detectable through palpitation, whther they are hard, or whether they explode if an airplane depressurizes, I am going to ignore them and posit that the most important point is proportion. Implants blow things out of proportion, if a girl's body suggests she should have small breasts, she should have small breasts, erotic breasts. If a girl's proportions suggest larger breasts then very well, but breasts like footballs just look like footballs.

However, on a similar note, and yet changin the subject, a womans breast implant saved her life last week as she was caught by a stray shootout bullet. The bullet was stopped by the silicon in her chest. She thanked the doctor who removed the bullet for enlarging the size of her breasts whilst performing the removal.

So if any spammers read this...STOP FUCKING EMAILING ME, I'm NOT INTERESTED
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/10/2003 10:54:00 am
Monday, September 8
That slug of flesh pacing around the office floor is back, joking with his "buddies" and spying on the rest of us. Motivational lectures given by the slug make my skin crawl, and the rest of me want to leave the room and wash myself. His smile reveals crooked teeth; I hope they were made crooked by the boots of bigger boys. "sqeak...priiiiick...please pay attention to me." The women are dismissive, it is a good thing, he shouldn't be allowed to breed. Although perhaps replicate himself would be a better phrase, for he is more like a bacterial growth that is difficult to get rid of.

His minder is no better, sucking big lips over protuberances. His balding pate makes his fleshy face look odd, his mouth flapping , jowly but controlled. A deep but whiny voice gives his constant chivvying a tone to follow. Like a disapproving bum watching builders work he strolls around, offering advice, never helpful, always out of touch and pointless, preaching not so much to the converted, but to those who know it all and have made a conscious decision not to convert. "Asshole" is tattoed by our watchful eyes into his forehead, and "fuck off" into the back of his head.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/08/2003 11:18:00 am
Friday, September 5
He took a duck in the face at two hundred and fifty knots
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/05/2003 12:48:00 pm
Thursday, September 4
waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah zooba zooba zooba zooba.....


He paces between computers like an indecisive diarrhoea sufferer at a music festival, sweat running off his face as he makes little darting runs towards the keyboard before recoiling at the smell and changing his mind. His glasses distort his squint further, twisting his visage into a grotesque parody of a picasso, chubby fingers rub one another as he paces, little sausages creeping, caterpillar-like over one another. Looking at him is like masticating chalk, speaking with him like listening to Janet Street Porter. He claps a companion on the back, leering widely, looking up from his always too short perspective on his stubby legs. Down the pub he buys the rounds to keep his "buddies" listening as he recounts another tale, another sale, "have another chaps!" or else they'll leave him whining on to no-one, empty and abandoned like an ugly baby in a dumpster, crying and dying inextricable and useless.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/04/2003 04:20:00 pm
Tuesday, September 2
Apologies for that crap about the Androids, I was just trying to influence share prices on Popex, it didn't work.

Anyway, I was watching music videos this morning, waiting for the Brunette to find her shoes, and it occurred to me what a cliche'd rubbish unoriginal and boring bunch of stereotypes music videos generally are.

More specifically I was watching the new Evanescence video, which is great, and flipping past Christina Aguilera's new video (I'm sure she isn't naturally coloured), Limp Bizkit's new one (obviously couldn't afford any new filters, so they did the same as last time but in the woods) and Daniel Bedingfield (jump, jump, jump).

Let's go through some of the stereotypes;

Rock- live video, in any venue, with lots of people moshing. The band will all be playing their instruments and "rocking" hard. These bands are often better at doing interesting videos, simply because nobody, however stupid can think the same thing will always be interesting, even if the original formula was good.

Hip hop- oh wait, except Hip Hop stars. Almost without exception, wandering through streets or similar "cool" environment, waving arms through the air directly in front of them and chillin with their "homies" This is usually supplemented with plenty of gold jewellery. Oh, and brightly coloured shell suits...this was first done in the days of Chubb Rock, and no one even acknowledges his existence, for Christ sake, that was MC Hammer's video formula...and it is still going. Oh, and they wear incredibly stupid things on their heads. The layered effect was cool five years back, and that was with t shirts and trousers, but the layered effect on your head?!? And starting with a hankie?!? that is what fat fifty something english blokes do when they are at skegness, sittin on the beach and drinking warm picnic stout. Please, so ok, we start with a hankie, tied in each of its (usually) four corners, then follow that up with a PHat beanie, then a baseball cap, and hey fuck it, why not go for a pork pie, which could be topped off with a stetson...ladies, ascot will never be the same agin, now you have an excuse to buy not ONE hat for the races, not TWO hats for the races but AS MANY HATS AS YOU CAN FIT ON YOUR HEAD AT ONCE WHILE WEARING FIFTEEN POUNDS OF GOLD JEWELLRY ROUND YOUR NECK. Man, even Mr T never wore a hat...

Pop- Try a deserted mountain for the beginning, Mr Bedingfield/Britney/Mission Impossible 2...or try getting four to six people in a sumptuous virtual environment and have them posture and dance like they were in a hip hop video, but here is the crucial part
standing still...

Dance video- anything goes, as long as you pretend the vocal samples are actually being sung...

Goth video- in the woods, lots of snow, see Ozzy Osbourne/Cradle of Filth videos

For good videos try: Foo Fighters- never done a bad one, Evanescence "Going Down" ( a nice twist on the classic rock type) Tenacious D any of them, Blink 182-the one where they are taking the piss and Good Charlotte-Boys and Girls

- posted by Buntifer @ 9/02/2003 12:44:00 pm
Monday, September 1
Rivets, what a wonderful word, only to be topped by trivets.
Inspirationless today.
- posted by Buntifer @ 9/01/2003 08:13:00 am

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