Just sit back and enjoy... http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/13UR5qh
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/13UR5qh
Monday, 22 December 2014
Dogs With Human Hands Eat Christmas Dinner Because The Internet Is Excellent
This is surely proof that Father Christmas, Jesus, or some kind of higher power exists.
In light of the season, Freshpet brings you this incredibly cute Christmas dinner party, where a cat (also with human hands) has invited a few dog pals over for a festive feast.
Just like a human Christmas, things start sophisticated but soon descend into chaos, with the Bulldog pulling out his hip flask and a louty Labrador refusing to put his phone down.
As things start to wind down, the cat is looking over the table as if thinking "what have I done?". http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/1APy3vF
In light of the season, Freshpet brings you this incredibly cute Christmas dinner party, where a cat (also with human hands) has invited a few dog pals over for a festive feast.
Just like a human Christmas, things start sophisticated but soon descend into chaos, with the Bulldog pulling out his hip flask and a louty Labrador refusing to put his phone down.
As things start to wind down, the cat is looking over the table as if thinking "what have I done?". http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/1APy3vF
Brain Teaser 12/22/2014
1. WHAT DOES ? THIS EQUAL BELOW
12=DD + 11=PP + 10=LL + 9=LD + 8=MM + 7=SS + 6=GL + 5=GR + 4=CB + 3=FH + 2=TD + 1=PPT = ?
2. True or False -- One Indiana town is called Santa Claus?
Solution
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Car & Vehicle Electronics
from A Daily Brain Teaser http://ift.tt/1t0Afld
3d wooden brain teasers from craftypuzzles.com
12=DD + 11=PP + 10=LL + 9=LD + 8=MM + 7=SS + 6=GL + 5=GR + 4=CB + 3=FH + 2=TD + 1=PPT = ?
2. True or False -- One Indiana town is called Santa Claus?
Solution
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Car & Vehicle Electronics
from A Daily Brain Teaser http://ift.tt/1t0Afld
3d wooden brain teasers from craftypuzzles.com
Today in History for 22nd December 2014
Historical Events
795 - Leo III succeeds pope Adrianus I
1465 - Peace of St Truiden: Louis van Bourbon becomes bishop of Luik
1935 - Yaeko Iwasaki, student of D S Harada Roshi, 1st awakening in Kamakura
1939 - 99 die in 2nd wreck at Friedrichshafen Germany
1984 - Madonna's "Like a Virgin" single goes #1 for 6 weeks
2001 - Richard Reid attempts to destroy a passenger airliner by igniting explosives hidden in his shoes aboard American Airlines Flight 63.
Famous Birthdays
1787 - Rasmus Rask, Denmark, language scholar
1867 - Frantisek X Salda, Czech writer/critic
1868 - John Nance Garner, Texas, (VP-D-1933-41)
1903 - Barbara Moore, doctor, walked across US in 86 days in 1960
1925 - Lewis Glucksman, American financier (d. 2006)
1974 - Heather Donahue, American actress
Famous Deaths
1828 - Rachel Jackson, wife of 7th US President Andrew Jackson, dies of heart failure
1913 - Menelik II, King of Ethiopia (1896-1913), dies at 69
1923 - Arthur H Bird, composer, dies at 67
1974 - Richard Long, actor (Prof-Nanny and Professor), dies at 47
1980 - Dick Kallman, actor (Hank Dearborn-Hank), murdered at 47
1993 - Don DeFore, actor (George Baxter-Hazel), dies of cardiac arrest at 76
from Today in History | HistoryOrb.com http://ift.tt/VW4L8a
Sunday, 21 December 2014
X
X
I am an American living in London. Aside from the obvious differences - we spell it color, soccer is football, it is tidbit and not titbit (you perverts) - the flagrant, haphazard, and frankly over abundant use of the ubiquitous 'x' (a kiss) sign-off in written correspondences leaves me baffled. What are the rules? Who deserves an 'x' over someone who doesn't? Is it a degree of platonic closeness you feel to that person? Do you reserve the 'x' for someone you respect? Can you send an 'x' to a colleague, a client you are close to, or even your boss? Can you sign off with an 'x' to a woman if you are a man, and vice versa, without sending a weird message?
With the 'x' are you saying in an exaggerated air-kissing style 'mwah, mwah, thank you darling,' or is it more 'hello sailor, I am imagining you in my boudoir at this very moment, come and get me.'
It is very baffling. In America we use 'xo.' This is the equivalent of a kiss and a hug. By inserting the 'o,' and the gentle platonic hug, we have taken away any misconceptions of the 'x' being inferred to its not-so-distant cousin 'xxx;' which turns the platonic email about last night's antics in to something much more X-rated.
Perhaps that is the hang-up for any American ears, as an X-rated film in the US is called NC-17 in the UK. So, in a sense, the translation of the 'x' as a sign off for Americans can be seen as this for the Brits: "Great to see you last night, it was a lot of fun. See you soon, Bob NC-17." It changes the meaning of that innocent 'kiss' in to something much more graphic.
Like most Brits seem to, my wife sends an 'x' to anyone. Her mom, brother, me, my mother, her friends, and even to the lucky Sky cable delivery man who sent a text to confirm a time for his service call. In one sense, I suppose it is a very friendly sign-off, and the guy did fix our sports package for us. But for a nation so stereo-typically reserved with your emotions, you Brits certainly don't mind throwing around the X-rated love in texts and emails to any old schlub.
At the very least, it might be worth following these loose rules in the office.
'Dear Colleague (someone of the same age and corporate position): Last night was sooo much fun! I am so hungover! Jill x'
(The 'x' here is perfectly acceptable).
'Dear Colleague (someone more senior in age and corporate position): You were hilarious last night. Thanks for staying out past 9pm! I am so hungover! Jill x'
(It still seems moderately acceptable).
'Dear Boss (someone of a boss like age and, well, your boss): The team had a really fun night. Thanks for the great dinner and drinks. Best wishes, Jill x'
(It is now on a sliding scale towards inappropriate).
'Dear CEO: (the CEO): You gave a great speech last night and the team was very pleased you came. Sincerely, Jill x'
(You are a ridiculous ass-kisser angling for a raise, or you are having a scorching affair with the CEO).
Aside from the fact Jill seems to be emailing far too many people about the previous night's antics, perhaps my puritanical American mind-set simply needs to accept the endless kissing you Brits enjoy.
However until I can get a better handle on this, and were we to meet over email, I advise you to keep a modicum of formality in your sign-offs. Until then.
Sincerely yours,
XO http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/1AO7XsW
I am an American living in London. Aside from the obvious differences - we spell it color, soccer is football, it is tidbit and not titbit (you perverts) - the flagrant, haphazard, and frankly over abundant use of the ubiquitous 'x' (a kiss) sign-off in written correspondences leaves me baffled. What are the rules? Who deserves an 'x' over someone who doesn't? Is it a degree of platonic closeness you feel to that person? Do you reserve the 'x' for someone you respect? Can you send an 'x' to a colleague, a client you are close to, or even your boss? Can you sign off with an 'x' to a woman if you are a man, and vice versa, without sending a weird message?
With the 'x' are you saying in an exaggerated air-kissing style 'mwah, mwah, thank you darling,' or is it more 'hello sailor, I am imagining you in my boudoir at this very moment, come and get me.'
It is very baffling. In America we use 'xo.' This is the equivalent of a kiss and a hug. By inserting the 'o,' and the gentle platonic hug, we have taken away any misconceptions of the 'x' being inferred to its not-so-distant cousin 'xxx;' which turns the platonic email about last night's antics in to something much more X-rated.
Perhaps that is the hang-up for any American ears, as an X-rated film in the US is called NC-17 in the UK. So, in a sense, the translation of the 'x' as a sign off for Americans can be seen as this for the Brits: "Great to see you last night, it was a lot of fun. See you soon, Bob NC-17." It changes the meaning of that innocent 'kiss' in to something much more graphic.
Like most Brits seem to, my wife sends an 'x' to anyone. Her mom, brother, me, my mother, her friends, and even to the lucky Sky cable delivery man who sent a text to confirm a time for his service call. In one sense, I suppose it is a very friendly sign-off, and the guy did fix our sports package for us. But for a nation so stereo-typically reserved with your emotions, you Brits certainly don't mind throwing around the X-rated love in texts and emails to any old schlub.
At the very least, it might be worth following these loose rules in the office.
'Dear Colleague (someone of the same age and corporate position): Last night was sooo much fun! I am so hungover! Jill x'
(The 'x' here is perfectly acceptable).
'Dear Colleague (someone more senior in age and corporate position): You were hilarious last night. Thanks for staying out past 9pm! I am so hungover! Jill x'
(It still seems moderately acceptable).
'Dear Boss (someone of a boss like age and, well, your boss): The team had a really fun night. Thanks for the great dinner and drinks. Best wishes, Jill x'
(It is now on a sliding scale towards inappropriate).
'Dear CEO: (the CEO): You gave a great speech last night and the team was very pleased you came. Sincerely, Jill x'
(You are a ridiculous ass-kisser angling for a raise, or you are having a scorching affair with the CEO).
Aside from the fact Jill seems to be emailing far too many people about the previous night's antics, perhaps my puritanical American mind-set simply needs to accept the endless kissing you Brits enjoy.
However until I can get a better handle on this, and were we to meet over email, I advise you to keep a modicum of formality in your sign-offs. Until then.
Sincerely yours,
XO http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/1AO7XsW
Your Year in Review
It's the time of the year in which we're inundated with lists or reviews; The best song or the best show or the most heart wrenching celebrity break ups. Well, you can scrap all that because with a kind of wisdom to rival Lorde I have the definitive guide to your year right here. You can just apply it to your life for years to come.
January. New Year and it's a new you. Or is it? January is the financial equivalent of spinning plates. "If I move this from here and that to there then I should be fine..." but then without fail something horrendous will happen like a toothache or your car needs new wheels and before you know it you're back to your old self because it's too expensive to be anyone else.
February. Slap bang in the middle of February lives a day of dread. If you're single Valentine's Day is a reminder that cats are more independent creatures than you would like. I mean in terms of affection okay? If you're taken then you're Arnold Schwarzenegger in "Jingle All the Way" trying to find your loved one that coveted gift but in the end you'll probably realize that "Turbo Man" was always within you.
Get your filthy mind out of the gutter.
March. It's Spring and rebirth and we Brits see a bit of sunshine and convince ourselves that we're going to have a decent Summer.
April. Showers.
May. Bank Holidays! You're starting to wane at work and now you just have to cleverly manipulate your annual leave to coincide with Queen's decision to bestow us with a Bank Hol Jol...ly. I tried to make that a thing.
June. You're sweating with anticipation for your summer holiday by this point not because it's hot because let's face it it's not.
July. Schools out for Summer and suddenly kids are everywhere. Especially if you're a parent.
August. If you haven't gone away already you spend a big chunk of August talking about how you're going to catch some "Late Sun". This is a polite way of saying "I don't have a penny to my name please stop asking me if I'm going away and just cut my hair".
September. School is back in session and TV is going to start improving again. What? It's important.
October. It's dark now. Dark, cold and wet and people have started letting off fireworks already and you have no idea why. All the chocolate in the shops is Halloween themed as well. I mean have you seen a green Creme Egg? I can't even. So by the time it gets to the actual date of Halloween you can't be bothered to dress up and lock the door because the only thing you can offer "Trick or Treaters" is some penny toffees.
November. Fireworks are still going on and people are airing Christmas adverts on the TV and you're stunned and convinced it starts earlier every year. Then someone at work has already bought and wrapped their presents to "You know just to get it out of the way". You hate that person. We all do.
December. A month of reflection and winding down towards Christmas which depending on your workload can seem both near and far. Before you know it you're donning Christmas jumpers, heading to your work do and loosening your belt because you've eaten too much. Elsewhere Reality TV shows are wrapping up. Simon Cowell is deciding who will be Number One and you don't really care as long as you win the sweepstake. This is all in time for a heavy dose of some dramatic Soap Operas with your loved ones on Christmas Day. Christmas' less popular cousin New Year's Eve is the Marmite of holidays. Nevertheless you'll need an excuse for whatever you're doing.
I don't know about you but I'm really looking forward to a fresh start in the New Year... http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/1vfzgIV
January. New Year and it's a new you. Or is it? January is the financial equivalent of spinning plates. "If I move this from here and that to there then I should be fine..." but then without fail something horrendous will happen like a toothache or your car needs new wheels and before you know it you're back to your old self because it's too expensive to be anyone else.
February. Slap bang in the middle of February lives a day of dread. If you're single Valentine's Day is a reminder that cats are more independent creatures than you would like. I mean in terms of affection okay? If you're taken then you're Arnold Schwarzenegger in "Jingle All the Way" trying to find your loved one that coveted gift but in the end you'll probably realize that "Turbo Man" was always within you.
Get your filthy mind out of the gutter.
March. It's Spring and rebirth and we Brits see a bit of sunshine and convince ourselves that we're going to have a decent Summer.
April. Showers.
May. Bank Holidays! You're starting to wane at work and now you just have to cleverly manipulate your annual leave to coincide with Queen's decision to bestow us with a Bank Hol Jol...ly. I tried to make that a thing.
June. You're sweating with anticipation for your summer holiday by this point not because it's hot because let's face it it's not.
July. Schools out for Summer and suddenly kids are everywhere. Especially if you're a parent.
August. If you haven't gone away already you spend a big chunk of August talking about how you're going to catch some "Late Sun". This is a polite way of saying "I don't have a penny to my name please stop asking me if I'm going away and just cut my hair".
September. School is back in session and TV is going to start improving again. What? It's important.
October. It's dark now. Dark, cold and wet and people have started letting off fireworks already and you have no idea why. All the chocolate in the shops is Halloween themed as well. I mean have you seen a green Creme Egg? I can't even. So by the time it gets to the actual date of Halloween you can't be bothered to dress up and lock the door because the only thing you can offer "Trick or Treaters" is some penny toffees.
November. Fireworks are still going on and people are airing Christmas adverts on the TV and you're stunned and convinced it starts earlier every year. Then someone at work has already bought and wrapped their presents to "You know just to get it out of the way". You hate that person. We all do.
December. A month of reflection and winding down towards Christmas which depending on your workload can seem both near and far. Before you know it you're donning Christmas jumpers, heading to your work do and loosening your belt because you've eaten too much. Elsewhere Reality TV shows are wrapping up. Simon Cowell is deciding who will be Number One and you don't really care as long as you win the sweepstake. This is all in time for a heavy dose of some dramatic Soap Operas with your loved ones on Christmas Day. Christmas' less popular cousin New Year's Eve is the Marmite of holidays. Nevertheless you'll need an excuse for whatever you're doing.
I don't know about you but I'm really looking forward to a fresh start in the New Year... http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/1vfzgIV
An Antidote to Karl Pilkington - An Idiosyncratic Abroad
With the emergence of a week when I was free to do as I pleased, Mrs Pickwick suggested I take a short holiday on my own as the other members of the family were occupied by the great hamster wheel of life. Aware that these opportunities come about rarely and the alternative was to empty the garage of unwanted belongings an activity which is like digging a hole with one hand and filling it in with the other, I purchased my flight and off I went.
Being alone with oneself for a period of five days is a shock. It is like going on a blind date organised by Match.com - you know you are well-matched but there is no guarantee you will have anything to talk about and you may decide to go off with someone else.
I was first aware of the joy of self in the seminal work "One is fun" by Delia Smith which I had acquired in my youthful prime. I had initially thought that this book was in praise of self-abuse, a topic which was close to my heart given my age. After the initial disappointment, I embraced what Delia did best although still wondered whether I was missing a base message amidst the ingredient lists. And to this day, Delia's Chicken in Mushroom sauce has become one of my signature dishes.
The joy of self is fraught with difficulty. Being stuck with oneself for five days is stark - what if you don't get on with yourself. I decided to manage this risk by keeping busy as I did not fancy sitting in a bar declaring to the weary barman "my ying is not talking to my yang" - that's way too philosophical for me.
I did not stop moving for five days - I consumed touristic experiences like an American embraces food albeit knowing my onions, I concentrated on the prime cuts only. So when it came to curling up with myself at the end of the day, this was easy as I was asleep in seconds.
My chosen exile led to a welcome discovery. I did not have to think about anything, my cerebral processing unit having only to react to my surroundings. The steady chatter of deadlines, worries and infatuations was made up of the latter only. This was liberating causing the feeling to return to my shoulders and the level of infatuation confirming to me that I was a fully functioning human being.
I discovered a new type of spooning with my "self bromance". It involved a spoon and anything I could find in the kitchen cabinet of the apartment I was in. And the beauty of this was that you could replace the spoon with a fork or go commando. I concluded that spooning, forking or using my hands can make you fat and decided to return to the original concept where no cutlery is required on my return to the bosom of my family.
Apart from my feverish investigation of my surroundings and excessive consumption with or without utensils, my fellow human beings provided me with my entertainment for the period. Daily games included awarding myself a beer every time I counted ten priests, monks or nuns. This was more difficult than it sounds as although I was staying in a Catholic country in a town from which a recent Pope had emerged into this World and whose picture was everywhere, it was cold. I discovered that the religious community like polar bears tend to remain in their lairs when the weather is inclement eating fish whilst swaying from side to side. As they say, cod moves in mysterious ways.
And when I engaged with someone fluent in English, I fell on them as if a member of a Silent Order of monks being given the night off having won the Monastic lottery jackpot. Thus, an increasingly alarmed Brazilian on a tour I was on become the recipient of interrogation, confession and counsel whether he liked it or not, before I returned to my continued hunting members of the religious community to justify my nightly allowance of grog.
Beyond this, I have never been the sort who routinely strikes up conversations with strangers in public places like my father in law can. Occupying the position of probably the best Catholic in the World, he is a man with the bloodhound like ability to sniff out strangers who are in some ways linked to nuns or priests interrogating them mercilessly until they confess. In contrast to him, I kept out of conversations with those I met concerned I may run out of words, topics to discuss or the will to live.
The principal conversations I had were with myself, inanimate objects I was grateful with or was trying to cajole to do my bidding or vistas and works of art which had caused me to rejoice or recoil.
The television too was my nightly companion. There was a choice of channels in every imaginable language and for every persuasion, the more interesting channels being guarded by a PIN Number. Regrettably, out of the entirety of these, only two were in English, one populated largely by wildlife programmes, the other Russia Today. Despite priding myself as being a lover of all creatures that grunt and smell, I developed a loathing for bears, the furry which received blanket coverage on the wildlife channel as well as for Fiona Bruce presenting the Antiques Roadshow who was the human equivalent on the same channel. The elephant in the room however not addressed in both cases was whether they do it in the woods.
Aware that foreign television channels often contain fruitier material, I went off-piste on a number of occasions before concluding that the only beaver I would find would be the type adept at building dams and bringing down small trees.
When the holiday came to an end, there was an element of relief at being able to escape from the enforced furries. I concluded that I was not my preferred holiday companion although if I was the only choice, I would do. The Pickwicks were very relieved when I returned, the Pickwick pooch in particular communicating his delight in the usual way before wiping his jowls on my trousers. Mrs Pickwick, thankfully jowl-less, did the same. http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/1vfzgIS
Being alone with oneself for a period of five days is a shock. It is like going on a blind date organised by Match.com - you know you are well-matched but there is no guarantee you will have anything to talk about and you may decide to go off with someone else.
I was first aware of the joy of self in the seminal work "One is fun" by Delia Smith which I had acquired in my youthful prime. I had initially thought that this book was in praise of self-abuse, a topic which was close to my heart given my age. After the initial disappointment, I embraced what Delia did best although still wondered whether I was missing a base message amidst the ingredient lists. And to this day, Delia's Chicken in Mushroom sauce has become one of my signature dishes.
The joy of self is fraught with difficulty. Being stuck with oneself for five days is stark - what if you don't get on with yourself. I decided to manage this risk by keeping busy as I did not fancy sitting in a bar declaring to the weary barman "my ying is not talking to my yang" - that's way too philosophical for me.
I did not stop moving for five days - I consumed touristic experiences like an American embraces food albeit knowing my onions, I concentrated on the prime cuts only. So when it came to curling up with myself at the end of the day, this was easy as I was asleep in seconds.
My chosen exile led to a welcome discovery. I did not have to think about anything, my cerebral processing unit having only to react to my surroundings. The steady chatter of deadlines, worries and infatuations was made up of the latter only. This was liberating causing the feeling to return to my shoulders and the level of infatuation confirming to me that I was a fully functioning human being.
I discovered a new type of spooning with my "self bromance". It involved a spoon and anything I could find in the kitchen cabinet of the apartment I was in. And the beauty of this was that you could replace the spoon with a fork or go commando. I concluded that spooning, forking or using my hands can make you fat and decided to return to the original concept where no cutlery is required on my return to the bosom of my family.
Apart from my feverish investigation of my surroundings and excessive consumption with or without utensils, my fellow human beings provided me with my entertainment for the period. Daily games included awarding myself a beer every time I counted ten priests, monks or nuns. This was more difficult than it sounds as although I was staying in a Catholic country in a town from which a recent Pope had emerged into this World and whose picture was everywhere, it was cold. I discovered that the religious community like polar bears tend to remain in their lairs when the weather is inclement eating fish whilst swaying from side to side. As they say, cod moves in mysterious ways.
And when I engaged with someone fluent in English, I fell on them as if a member of a Silent Order of monks being given the night off having won the Monastic lottery jackpot. Thus, an increasingly alarmed Brazilian on a tour I was on become the recipient of interrogation, confession and counsel whether he liked it or not, before I returned to my continued hunting members of the religious community to justify my nightly allowance of grog.
Beyond this, I have never been the sort who routinely strikes up conversations with strangers in public places like my father in law can. Occupying the position of probably the best Catholic in the World, he is a man with the bloodhound like ability to sniff out strangers who are in some ways linked to nuns or priests interrogating them mercilessly until they confess. In contrast to him, I kept out of conversations with those I met concerned I may run out of words, topics to discuss or the will to live.
The principal conversations I had were with myself, inanimate objects I was grateful with or was trying to cajole to do my bidding or vistas and works of art which had caused me to rejoice or recoil.
The television too was my nightly companion. There was a choice of channels in every imaginable language and for every persuasion, the more interesting channels being guarded by a PIN Number. Regrettably, out of the entirety of these, only two were in English, one populated largely by wildlife programmes, the other Russia Today. Despite priding myself as being a lover of all creatures that grunt and smell, I developed a loathing for bears, the furry which received blanket coverage on the wildlife channel as well as for Fiona Bruce presenting the Antiques Roadshow who was the human equivalent on the same channel. The elephant in the room however not addressed in both cases was whether they do it in the woods.
Aware that foreign television channels often contain fruitier material, I went off-piste on a number of occasions before concluding that the only beaver I would find would be the type adept at building dams and bringing down small trees.
When the holiday came to an end, there was an element of relief at being able to escape from the enforced furries. I concluded that I was not my preferred holiday companion although if I was the only choice, I would do. The Pickwicks were very relieved when I returned, the Pickwick pooch in particular communicating his delight in the usual way before wiping his jowls on my trousers. Mrs Pickwick, thankfully jowl-less, did the same. http://ift.tt/eA8V8J
from UK Comedy - The Huffington Post http://ift.tt/1vfzgIS
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)