[this post is dedicated to our last remaining reader]

i created the “challenge the diva” competition so long ago that i don’t remember even why but what the hell, it’s a new year. so here goes…

1. to cheat; mislead
2. to confuse
[of unknown origin]
bamboozler n
bamboozlement n

i want to make a philosophical observation with this post (because that’s the kind of diva i am). life is weird. yep, that’s it. life is weird. as you know, dear reader, i am a working person now. strange as it might sound, i have joined the milling masses and now spend a 1/12 of my life (don’t forget the name of the band) on public transport, a 1/3 of my life slaving away for pocket money and another 1/3 asleep (well, that’s an exageration but i can’t do fractions). that leaves… about an hour a day to do things i enjoy.

people. we have been misled! we have been cheated. all the films we watch tell us to “seize the day”, to “embrace life”, to “live life to the fullest”. and how the f*@%ing hell are we supposed to do this in the one hour we have between the washing, cooking, cleaning our teeth, getting ready to go to work, winding down after work, shopping (boring grocery shopping not the good kind), staring into space unsure whether we’re actually still breathing and worrying about all the things we failed to do by not “seizing the f*@%#ing day.

life is a big fat bamboozler and i am full of bamboozlement.

there. it’s done. the silence is broken and i can breathe a sigh of relief that i’ve returned to the blog. and now i’ve used up 15 minutes of “seizing” time and you’ve spent 2 and half minutes of yours reading this nonsense.


and by the way…

a very happy new year.


thank you, shooshoofication, for today’s word: divalicious

as anyone who is anyone knows, the word was actually invented to describe me. and i was pleasantly surprised and rather flattered to see that it has made an entrance into the urban dictionary. i was, however, somewhat dismayed at the references to beyonce in relation to being divalicious. i will be contacting my lawyers, if they ever recover from their seemingly endless hangovers, in the very near future.

being divalicious is not as easy as you might think. much thought and endless pampering goes into this state of being. one does not wake up in the morning looking as fabulous as a hot fudge sundae. no, dear four readers (my goodness, this blog is getting popular!), i am old mature enough to admit to having risen from my bed looking as if i’ve been dragged through several hedges. backwards and forwards. on more than one occasion. as you ab fab fans will know already, it’s not easy to maintain a divalicious life when you don’t actually do what the peasants call “an honest days work”. vodka and fags don’t come cheap.

celebrities are always whining about the paparazzi who follow them around wherever they go. they should be thanking their lucky, lucky stars. imagine being the original fabulous diva, spending hours getting ready for a trip to the supermarket, opening the front door and finding not a single photographer or screaming fan lying in wait. how far the mighty fall. i blame the publicity department for this obvious and devastating case of extreme laziness. you’d think that they could find one national newspaper, or even a local rag, who would be interested in my rubbish bin.

on the one hand, i can honestly say that i do enjoy the fact that i can now leave the house in plastic flip-flops and tracky bottoms that are a tad short but i would appreciate a little interest when i’ve spent 5 hours and several thousand pounds on myself. is that too much to ask? i think not.

i leave you with the words of patsy stone, who sums up the problems faced by us divalicious beings, who have been cast aside for the younger, talentless, gaudy versions of everything we hold dear:

she tried to crowd surf and the tide went out


thank you, ruby diamond for today’s word: perspicacious

i have heard it said, usually by the academically challenged, that it’s just as good to be “street smart” as it is to be “book smart”. what a load of twaddle. obviously, most people on the planet poccess brains the size of a small waterbiscuit (as in “your brain’s so minute, baldrick, that if a hungry cannibal cracked your head open, there wouldn’t be enough to cover a small water biscuit” for all you black adder fans out there) so the concept of having any kind of mental capacity is well beyond them.

we, on the other hand (i include you three who are reading at this very moment) fall into an entirely different category. we are able to engage our grey matter and use it to to enhance our lives. how dull life would be if we didn’t have the ability to sit about and wax lyrical about the shortcomings of others. how frustrating it must be to be unable to use big words to befuddle the peasants. how boring is must be to be incompetent at making elaborate excuses and reasonable arguments not to do any real work.

my understanding of the world goes far beyond the “get up, do an honest days work, put food on the table, go to bed” kind of attitude that pervades most people’s life. yes, it’s a little unfair that i have more resources at my disposal but i’ve worked very hard for them. at least an hour a week thinking about my next project. some might even say that we talented diva type people are a bit of a waste of space. i laugh in their general direction. my days are filled with thinking about the world and how to make it a better place. granted, i do not actually do anything to achieve world peace or end poverty, but it’s the thought that counts.

to prove that i am extremely perspicacious (and proud of it) here’s a very perceptive and highly amusing account of the world:

Why did the chicken cross the road?

The problem we have here is that this chicken won’t realize that he must first deal with the problem on ‘THIS’ side of the road before it goes after the problem on the ‘OTHER SIDE’ of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he’s acting by not taking on his ‘CURRENT’ problems before adding ‘NEW’ problems.

Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I’m going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.

We don’t really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road…

We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.

Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken’s intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.

That chicken crossed the road because he’s GUILTY! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.

To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer’s Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.

Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I’ve not been told.

To die in the rain. Alone.

Because the chicken was gay! Can’t you people see the plain truth?’ That’s why they call it the ‘other side.’ Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media white washes with seemingly harmless phrases like ‘the other side. That chicken should not be crossing the road. It’s as plain and as simple as that.

In my day we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

Isn’t that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its life long dream of crossing the road.

Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.

It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

I have just released eChicken2007, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your check book. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken. This new platform is much more stable and will never cra…#@&&^(C% ……. reboot.

Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?

I did not cross the road with THAT chicken. What is your definition of chicken?

I invented the chicken!

Did I miss one?

Where’s my gun?

Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens

Because the chicken is free to cross the road if he wishes. It is not up the federal government to tell the chicken where to go or make him show a National ID Card when he gets there.

I deny that my son hurt that chicken. The fact that he now has no head proves nothing. But then the chicken said that he wouldn’t vote for me so I shot him.

Because George Bush hates chickens!

Over 40 billion chickens die in the United States every second. Their combined mass is slowly causing our planet to rotate closer to the Sun….and Republicanism. Occasionally, one of them crosses the road, escaping from the clear Fate of serving on a plate. A plate that scoops up the best of our young chickens, dropping them into a fiery cauldron of death. Everyone agrees that the only ones profiting from these deaths are large corporations, yet no one does anything about it. When your from the wrong side of the road, no one cares. I wanna deep fry Republicans.

And God came down from the Heavens, and He said unto the Chicken, “Thou shalt cross the road!” And the chicken crossed the road, and there was much rejoicing.

You saw it cross the road with your own eyes. How many more chickens have to cross the road before you believe it?

The chicken did not cross the road. I repeat, the chicken did NOT cross the road.

Why does anyone cross a road? I mean, why doesn’t anyone ever think to ask, “What the heck was this chicken doing walking around all over the place, anyway?”

The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road reveals your underlying sexual insecurity.

The question is not, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” Rather, it is, “Who was crossing the road at the same time, whom we overlooked in our haste to observe the chicken crossing?”

Chickens, over great periods of time, have been naturally selected in such a way that they are now genetically dispositioned to cross roads.

The road, you will see, represents the black man. The chicken ‘crossed’ the black man in order to trample him and keep him down.

I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question.

The point is that the chicken crossed the road. Who cares why? The end of crossing the road justifies whatever motive there was.

Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road moved beneath the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.

Asking this question denies your own chicken nature.

The chicken did not cross the road; it transcended it.

Because the Bush Administratin obviously left the gate wide open otherwise the chicken wouldn’t have been in the road in the first place. When I am president all chickens will be sure to get a proper education so that they’ll know better than to try to cross a busy road!

The chicken crossed the road because he wanted to do it his way…thankyouverymuch

Lense Flare

Go ahead make my day and cross that road!

I swear when the chicken crossed the road to my fantasy Park for a sleep over in my bed that there was no fowl hanky panky play of any kind!

One small step for mankind… one giant leap for the chicken!

to break on through to the other side
break on through…to the ooootheeer siiide

the diva:
sod the chicken. where’s my coffee?


thank you franco, for today’s word: bold

many things sprang to mind when i saw this word. being an intellectual, my first thought was (of course) washing powder. my mum has always extolled the virtues of a good detergent, usually meaning expensive and smelling of mountain flowers or some such nonsense. i am more of the school of thinking that desires clothes that smell as if they have been hung out on a mountain on a blustery day. remember that smell ? i think it’s called fresh air.

my second thought was “oooh, i can do lots of fun things with fonts” like

this is bold

this is bold
this is bold

and so is this

but that’s just silly.

bold was also the name of:

  • an american thoroughbred racehorse that is best remembered for winning the 1951 preakness stakes in a long shot victory and for being struck by lightning at the age of four while pastured at his upperville, virginia farm (1948-1952)
  • a late 1980s youth crew hardcore band from upstate new york,, which along with bands like youth of today and side by side were a part of the youth crew, and an influence in the late 80’s straight edge hardcore scene. the band progressed to a more rock-oriented sound in its later years.
  • a fictional character from the animated children’s television series “the animals of farthing wood” based on the books of the same name by author colin dann. bold is a fox

don’t say you never learn anything useful here on the blog.

then i realised that my readers are much more discerning than the average bloke or blokette and would want to read an intelligent insight into the word as described in the dictionary:

1 a : fearless before danger  b : showing or requiring a fearless daring spirit

well, what a load of old bollocks that characteristic is for a human being. why on earth would we want to ignore the natural “fight or flight” instinct and do stupid things like jump out of aeroplanes or bungee jump? the proper reaction would be to cower in a corner until the person who was persuading you to do it had either gone away or done something really bold and was killed in the process. it’s a totally overrated “virtue”, not to be confused with being brave or courageous.

brave people can be scared pooless but go ahead and do things. like going on stage. crazy scary but you’re not going to die doing it unless there’s some lethally faulty wiring, you have taken a little too much of your secret stash or someone throws a cash and carry sized tin of tomatoes at you. normally, the worse that can happen is you get booed off stage. humiliating, yes. will make you feel like you want to curl up and die, yes. but you are not in mortal danger.

i’m sure all you bold parachutists and bungee jumpers will be screaming at your monitors right now and giving me all kinds of reasons why it’s ok to jump out of an aeroplane with a piece of material strapped to your back or leap off bridges with your legs tied to a bit of elastic. you’ll be seriously explaining the safety precautions and the extremely low risk of being killed. but i will remain steadfast in my opinion that doing such activities is against human nature and insane.

i am very happy to be somewhat brave and not remotely bold.

not to mention, alive.


so here’s the first word in the challenge the diva competition: schadenfreude.

the popularity of youtube videos showing people falling, smashing into things and generally being broken, indicates a steep rise in schadenfreude in the modern world of the internets. or perhaps we have always taken perverted pleasure in seeing people crash and burn but now we have access 24/7. some of these hideous clips are viewed millions of times. i was sent one once that i really do wish i hadn’t seen. i won’t divulge what it was because i would hate for you to have the image in your head too. i can think of nothing more sickening that seeing other human beings (or animals, my pet loving readers) actually being hurt.

having said that, i have been known to have a titter when celebrities have fallen flat on their faces. not literally you understand but when they have produced a particularly large brain fart and presented it as creative work. as in britney spears at the video music awards or amy winehouse’s sad drunken “performances”. but the rich and famous are fair game aren’t they? it’s the public that buy their bloody records and sit through their, sometimes, bloody awful films and made them famous. so i think we’ve earned the right to have a jolly good laugh when they fuck up.

i am sure there must be a fairly large contingent of people who have experienced large dollops of schadenfreude in my presence (or behind my back as the case may be). i distinctly heard my personal assistant cackle when she caught me in lidl a short while ago. i sacked her for being generally incompetent but she did know how to shop.

my ex-personal trainer must have split his sides at the last gig. well, it’s hard to get motivated when you don’t have a 7 foot totty yelling at you to do 50 more press-ups but i had to sack him for being cuter than me.

and my former maid is in a world of trouble for uploading pictures of me wearing rubber gloves and a pinny but that’s another story…

i find it particularly abhorrent and unacceptable that my current misfortune is the source of malicious enjoyment for some people. they should bear in mind that we, who are more worthy because of our unlimited talents, have resources at our fingertips to bite them back. and then it’ll be our turn for a bit of schadenfreude.

challenge the diva

a short while back, i was struggling to come up with a subject to write about, so i asked our demented delicious bass player and web master, aka the management™, also known as bmfru s3 (bad mathematics fast reaction unit, section 3), vishy to come up with a word for inspiration. in all his infinite wisdom, he gave me mendacity. i wrote a post and then thought, there’s an idea! i will challenge my three readers to come up with words as fodder for blog posts. of course, i see the immediate flaw in the idea. that this will be an ideal excuse for yet another descent into silliness and nonsense. but what the hell. life’s too short to sit here and do any real work. so here’s the challenge…

in the comments under this post, send me a favourite word or one that you think i couldn’t possibly write anything about and i will try and come up with a post. if you beat the diva, you win the fabulous prize of being on the guest list at the next gig and indulging in all the backstage frolics that is bad mathematics. your word will be the title of the post, so you can check in and read my drivel. i will set a few rules for myself for winning:

  • i must write the post within one week of the word being submitted.
  • i must refer specifically to the word and not simply write a diatribe about it being crap or not knowing what it means (that’s what google is for, isn’t it?)
  • the post must have an accompanying picture that has some relevance to the word itself. (again…,that’s what google is for, isn’t it?)

so get your dictionaries out and challenge the diva…