concepts for a buntiful world
Friday, May 21
100 useless trivia facts
Did you know that:

1. Ryvita actually contains Danish soil

2. Snooker balls used to explode if they collided hard enough

3. You can make napalm from petrol and polystyrene

4. Polar bear skin is black

5. There three people alive who can claim to have shaken Hitlers hand (at
time of compilation 21/05/04)

6. Copydex is one of the last glues still to use bones in its manufacture

7. Chemically, the purest water in the United States of America is New York
tap water

8. McDonalds milkshakes are made of chicken fat

9. Cheese is made with rennin, which comes from the lining of cows stomachs

10. A raw chickens egg can survive being thrown over my house (20 metres
high) and landing on the lawn without breaking, and without breaking the

[but I still can't fry eggs without breaking the yolk.]

11. The internet is approximately one hundred million times more complex
than it was ten years ago

12. Quentin Tarantino's fetish for feet is, more specifically, a fetish for

13. If you roll two dice and add the top two figures, then lift the dice and
add the two figures on the bottom, the total will always be 14.

14. If you feed a piece of paper into a shredder while it is still in its
plastic wallet the shredder will shred the paper, but only stretch the
plastic. (Will depend on type of shredder. Don't try this at home. Author
accepts no responsibility for anyone feeding babies into paper shredders.)

15. It is surprisingly difficult to come up with 100 interesting facts off
the top of your head, especially when you have got other things you should
be doing.


- posted by Buntifer @ 5/21/2004 04:41:00 pm
Tuesday, May 18
I don't know which is more disturbing
This or this
- posted by Buntifer @ 5/18/2004 07:53:00 am
I watched the world float to the dark of side the moon
I didn't do my daily pages this morning so i thought I would do a blog instead. I am blogging less and less frequently, and it is because I have less and less time, and yes I do still spend inordinate amounts of time playing utopia, but that is less effort than blogging.

At the moment I am working sixteen hour days which is amusing. I am stage managing after work, which is clashing with things left right and centre but is still pretty good fun. The company is Canadian, althought the cast is all English, and all white, which is bizarre given that it is set in British Guyana.

Saw my brother, who has a mohican now...good lad. And my parents, who seem pretty much the same as ever.

I have found my way onto MirC which is interesting to say the least, the sheer number of chat channels you can join. The only one I am on is Utopia related needless to say, but the subjects and shit you can chat about, theoretically. I suppose there might be shitloads of empty ones and only a few full ones, but still...

Irritated about having to be working so hard at the same time as lots of films are coming out.

When I was at home I spent a few hours tidying my old bedroom and throwing stuff out. My mum wants to be able to put guests in the room if she has to, so I was just going through stuff throwing shit out to clear the floor. Since I have been away from home it has become a dumping ground for all my brothers shit he doesn't want in his room. Little tosser keeps his room tidy by putting all the crap from his floor onto my floor. It is quite cool to find stuff that I didn't know I still had. The first review we got when we went up to star/page of shame, and my only ever review, which is a good one, except for the fact that the cretin writing it describes me as "cowering over the audience" when he meant "towering"...fucking typical. Rusting knives I thought I had lost and photos of old cast members. I still have the backdrop we painted from when we did Blithe Spirit, which was four years ago. All good fun anyhoo.

In other news I hate the tubes, and I like the nude picture of Britney that has been "leaked"
- posted by Buntifer @ 5/18/2004 07:23:00 am
Friday, May 14
Photocopier training

Did you know that photocopiers can be lethal is used inappropriately?
Only last week thirteen illegal immigrants perished while trying to use one as
a life raft.

Photocopiers have many uses:
door stops
ass cameras
cup stands
slow moving vehicles
staple eaters
paper shredders (needs practice)
food storage devices (pizzas in paper trays)
ovens (takes a while, but 1800 sheets of a ten inch pizza normally cooks
it fairly well)

Photocopiers can harm small children (if aimed correctly)

Photocopiers should never, under any circumstances be used in the
following manners:

for milking cows/sheep/cats (painful for all involved/nasty pictures)
as sex toys (tasteless/cliched)
as replacement engines in aeroplanes (just doesn't work very well)
as childrens toys (bad for teeth)
as blutack (impractical)
in sandwiches (tasteless/bad for teeth)
as canapes (bad for waiters back)
as intoxicants (difficult to snort/smoke/ingest)

Some common misconceptions:

Photocopiers do not breed with one another
Photocopiers are not your friend
There is not a photocopier in the suitcase in Pulp Fiction
Photocopiers cannot copy photos
Colour photocopiers are a myth, they do not exist
The saying, "when three photocopiers meet, there is a good place to eat."
is not factually correct
Abduls kebab houses do not manufacture photocopiers during the day.
In fact there is NO link between bad kebabs and photocopiers.
PJ and Duncan aka Ant and Dec do NOT live in your photocopier (they live
in mine)
Margaret Thatcher lives in yours, so be afraid.
Photocopiers can NOT swim, they can NOT walk and they most certainly do
NOT drink whisky
They can however fly for short periods of time.
Their average speed is 9.82 meters/second/second downwards

----- Original Message -----
From: "Claire Botfield"
To: "HO Users"
Sent: Friday, May 14, 2004 10:20 AM
Subject: Photocopier training

Just another reminder that photocopier training will be in ten minutes
on the first floor photo copier.
Please make sure the delegated person from each department is there.

- posted by Buntifer @ 5/14/2004 12:29:00 pm
Friday, May 7
Having completed the crossword in "Chemist" at work while I was supposed to be filing
I found this:

A mosquito was heard to complain
That a chemist had poisoned his brain;
The cause of his sorrow
Was para-dichloro

Hee hee hee

I think it's funny, but then I think "Be discrete, use quanta." is absolutely hilarious...

I once learnt to spell paradichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane as a bet when I was pre GCSE...Won it too...
- posted by Buntifer @ 5/07/2004 12:26:00 pm
Back to the attempt
to write daily pages I go. This time more worried about it and more bothered about actually doing it. I can't start this weekend really cos I am going away to Mcr for rehearsals of Technically Speaking, so i am not going to be near a computer, but I shall perhaps try to do it long hand. I have been reading Ms Brandts book, not Jo, but Dorothea, who writes abouyt wqriting and she says that you have to do this up to a certain amount, jin order to train your unconscious mind to write when you want to make it write, so here I am. The next thign i have to do is to tell myself to write for fifteen minutes at prticular timjes oif dsay, and go ahead and actually write then This again will be a pain in the balls, cos I don't have a huge amount of time. But enough excuses, other than having to ask ther Brunette to bear with me on this and not distract me while I am trying, I am a little irritatyed by Ms Brandts attitude, having said that she isn't going to discourage people in her book, becuase she feels that writers are unfairly discouraged early on she then posits that if one can't keep daily pages and write whenh one affords the time then one might as well give up becuse the unconscious/subconscious prt of you doesn't really want to write anyway.

Now I understand where she is coming from, and I think she might be right, which is probably why I am worried, because my unconscious is an unruly bugger at the best of times, and I don't particularly want to get embroigled in a knock down drag out sort of thing over this. I know I want to do this, and therefore I know that my unconscious wants to do this, but I also know that it is going to be hard work, and that is what my unconscious is revolting so hard against, because not only is it going to be hard work from a physical point of view, simply the discipline, but it is also going to be hard work from a mental and unconsciuos point of view. I can do stage managemenet, because while it is hard work physically and mentally, it rarely calls into play the unconscious, who can just enjoy being inside a theatre, so here we go, becuase now I am gonna have to make the little bastard do some work, and I also realise that I might have jumped the gun, and prematurely exposited all over the place. Brandt warns about that too, and I think i might have made the criminal mistake of letting epople know enough about the plot that my unconscious feels as if the story is told. But fuck it, Freud taught us that what can't be overcome by the will of the ego, can usually be dominated by vast amounts of speed and concaine. SO BE IT...

I am still writing now, she says there is usually a cut off point where people stop writing, and that youi have to try and extend that point. I teell you what I need to improve my typing as well cos this is fucking cripplingly badly typed. However she also says that if you can't think of what to type that you should just type I don't know what to type over and over, now wioth the advernt of copying and pasting that could be interesting, but kind of pointless, she was writing in the time when the prtable typewrite was about as swish as you got, the problem nowadays is that on a prtable typewriter you couldn't plat games, it wasn't connected up to the internet, but this is, in fact what I am writing is, whether it be worth readin or not is another matter, since I believe it probably isn't as it is fodder form the unconsciuos. To ber fair I should probebly keep these ravings locked up between covers in the future, because my typing is shit, and I don't have anything to say that is worth readin really, and also because apparently they can come in useful in the future, and so perhaps I shouldn't be giving away what is going on inside my mind, it could give way to massive mind domination form someone who has worked out how my miund works from my mo of p[osoting here on this site, and then is able to hack in somehow into the inner cores and deep desires of my mind and control me and what I do, or maybve I'm just getting paranoid, why do paranoids alwasy wrap thier heads in tin foild, don't they know that they best materila for absobing orgone, which would be the connosseurs choice for mind control is wood, prefereably hard wood I think, never mind, I suppose they are probably mostly crazy anyway, oh shit I have to go to work int ...fuck NOW,. sory got to run
- posted by Buntifer @ 5/07/2004 07:56:00 am
Wednesday, May 5
I didn't think people actually said this...
"A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips"

or to quote it in full

"A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips, now feed me my own liver before I kill myself for being such a f*cking prick."

I'm not particularly nothered by it, not being the one eating at the time, but I felt really sorry for the lady who sits next to me, at whom it was directed...what a fucking prick...
- posted by Buntifer @ 5/05/2004 04:46:00 pm
Tuesday, May 4
Nick's Story
A tap on the shoulder awoke me instantly. "End of the line" the conductor said.

"Oh fuck." I thought.

My narcolepsy was becoming unbearable. I could remember, just before I nodded off a girl, drunker than most, and unaccompanied, had begun a strip tease, she had pulled her halter top off, and I had promptly gone to sleep.

I knew why I was on the tube. I had run away from home, half way through the row I was having with my parents, the moment it got too heated I had fallen asleep. They had left me sleeping where I was, which they knew irritated me more than anything, I wanted to be woken and to continue the row, when I woke, I had been so incensed I had fallen almost directly asleep again.

When I finally calmed down enough to get to my room I decided to run away from home. The thought elated and excited me, with predict table consequences. It had taken me three days to actually make it out of the doorway, between feeling excited, scared and angry I did a whole lot of sleeping.

But now I was packed. Free and on my way to Scotland. I had missed the train I was aiming for. Having nearly missed my stop on the tube I had panaicked, fallen asleep and completely missed my stop. I had presumably missed it again. There was nothing for it, I had to bite the bullet and get a taxi. I pulled myself up from the tube seat and slung my bag over my shoulder and slouched out of the carriage.
It was midnight, a fact that slightly worried me, since in London there were better times to collapse on the street than midnight, especially in Morden. I needed to find a taxi rank, and I had to find it before anything exciting, dangerous or surprising happened to me. All it would take would be some drunk idiot jumping out on me and shouting "BOO" and I would be dead to the world till morning, when I would be lucky to wake up with my trousers still on me. I had had this sort of thing happen before, and the worst part of it was, it made me soo angry…

I found a taxi rank soon enough, dodging a few zombie-like pissheads and remaining impressively calm and collected when a drunk driver mounted the kerb towards me. I'm not so good at diving desperately for my life, I tend to snooze frantically towards the floor on most occasions. there was one driver in his cab, a cross between a gorilla and Michael Caine.

He looked like me might have been the chap who just tried to run me over, but I hopped in anyway, it wasn't as though I had much choice.
"Can you get me to Euston?"

He snorted and replied "What time's your train?"

"It leaves at three." I knew all the train times, all night, I'd budgeted for this eventuality. this train is a sleeper. Appropriate for me.

"I'm not Shumacher mate…" The cabbie snarls, already pulling away.
"Just do your best, and can you wake me when we get there?" I knew this would wound his machismo, and I also knew that meant he would drive like a maniac. I'd be asleep when we got there.

"I don't think you will be asleep when we get there," He chortled, pulling a violent u-turn, "I'm gonna have to st…" but as a lamppost loomed into view all too close I was gone.

The Cabby was obviously most upset when he woke me. He had my bag waiting outside the car, and waved away the tip I offered him. He had done me proud on the timing, it was quarter to three. I waltzed in through the doors and lit a cigarette. I couldn't smoke in private in case I set myself on fire, but in public people would put you out. I needed to buy a ticket, so I popped over to the desk. I could see the ticket girl shaking her head at me even as I approached, when I arrived at the desk she tutted.

"I'm sorry sir, we've no tickets left on the sleeper."

I groaned, "I don't mind standing..."

The girl kept shaking her head. I couldn't believe it. The next train was in the morning, so I could sleep in the station, but it was the principle of the thing. I couldn't believe it was taking me the better part of a week to run away from home.

"Please. I am running away from my parents, I have to get on this train, they will be coming here tomorrow."

The girls face crinkled into a smile, she was beginning to go into some patronising spiel about something or other, I could tell.

"Look Lady, don't give me any crap about shouldn't have to run away at my age ect ect. I don't care. I have to get to Scotland tonight. Please, just let me buy a ticket. I could have done it over the net and I would have had to stand. Why is there a difference here?"

She laughed at me. I screamed at her, and blacked out.

When I came to I was still in Euston, in fact I was still in front of the ticket counter, the fucking girl hadn't done shit. It was morning. I cleared my throat, alarming the person who was buying a ticket over me and stood up.

"Do you mind, I believe I was first in this queue." He scuttled away, obviously rather scared to be in the big city. I turned to the counter. Different girl.

"Ticket to Edinburgh please." She smiled sweetly. She better not ask what I was doing sleeping on the floor. She didn't, just passed me my ticket and touched my fingers when I gave her the pen back.

I felt great, special, not elated, but awesome. I felt independent, I was on my way. I strode to the train, clutching a baguette and a bottle of coke. I had a last cigarette and jumped on the train, sitting down and cracking the coke. I had my headphones in and my nose in a book before the train left the station.

It takes eight hours, more or less, to get from London to Edinburgh on the train. I read most of the way, not having to switch music because of my mp3 player. I had my bankcard in my pocket, my clothes in my bag and my complete music collection in my pocket. I was a free man. I didn't know what I wanted to do in Edinburgh, but I was sure I would love it.

When I finished the book I was reading I stared out of the window at the scenery, greens and greys of foreign lands sped past me, sending shivers down my spine and joyous palpitations through my heart. I was careful not to get too excited, the last thing I needed to do was fall asleep at this juncture.

Barrow-in-Furness looked beautiful, Whitby looked fresh and windswept, and as I saw the mount appear in the distance, seeing for the first time what I had only seen before I pictures my heart leapt into my mouth. I heard the tannoy overhead.

"Ladies and Gentlemen we are drawing into Edinburgh Princes Street. Please make sure you leave no belongings on the train. We wish you a happy stay." I punched upwards into the air, my new beginning had begun.

A tap on the shoulder awoke me instantly. "End of the line" the conductor said.

"Oh fuck." I thought.

I looked out of the window.


- posted by Buntifer @ 5/04/2004 07:52:00 pm

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