Thursday, February 19, 2009

Down to a T

Okay, it's Aunty Meme time here at the zoo.

Kath Chocklett has been throwing the alphabet about indiscriminately like a tennis ball machine gone nuts, and has clobbered me across the head with the letter T. I hate beingT'sed by the ladies but I'm loath to disappoint young Kath so I'll proceed.
I think the vague idea is that I scattergun ten random things related to or beginning with the letter T. Deep breath and off we go.

Tantric sex
I keep meaning to look this up properly but as far as I can gather, you just find a pyramid and climb inside it and you can shag like a trojan for hours on end. The trouble is finding a pyramid round these parts, due to the crippling lack of Egyptianess of the Irish race generally, going back centuries in fact. To bridge the gap, I will instead scatter my bed with pyramid-shaped tea bags and chunks of Toblerone and see if I'm still giving it the old Duracell bunny the following Tuesday. I'll let you know how I get on.

I have a ferocious tickly/hotspot bit around my appendix area that I discovered one day, years ago, when reclining on the couch watching TV. My mother's cat hopped up on to me and feeling charitable, I cocked an eye and ignored it until it repeatedly pushed a searching paw right on to the aforementioned spot, like he was testing the strength of ice on a lake before going skating or something. I flung the little fat bastard twenty feet over the room in shock - talk about a sensitive spot, Jesus it was like ice down my back.
Now if ever I'm getting jiggy with a lady, if she strays a hand that way I dissolve into a fit of giggles and once or twice, I've become such a chuckling untouchable the mood was totally killed entirely altogether. Why do you think I need the tantric sex?
As for the cat, I nailed the fucker to the bottom of the door and employed him as a draft excluder from that day thence. He's still there, content enough, if a little annoyed that he can't lick his groin any more and well, we can all identify with that I suppose.

Did you know that this word was coined because the Romans, when striving to indicate that they were telling the truth about something, would grab their testicles for emphasis?
But nobody was buying it with Michael Jackson.

I had grown to my full height of 6'1 by the time I was 13. I was a bit of a freak. Every time they'd see me, friends' parents would say:
"Jasus we'll have to put a stone on your head the rate you're growing. Sure if you fell over twice you'd be at home! I'd say you'll join the Gardaí, sure you have the height and all."
It was like the gift of not being small was enough to warrant a career in policing.
Hey, Terence, why not become a priest? You have a black shirt! Or a beautician? You have fingernails.

Et cetera.

I have trodden the boards in a few stage productions you know, comedy vignettes and the like, even did an evening course a few years back. Strictly amateur adventures; if it was porn, it'd be the readers' wives section like.
The most amateur, indeed, was the one where I forgot my lines and endured an excruciating silence of about sixty seconds before gathering myself and taking off again.
Yeah well, I'll have the last laugh when me and Caroline Morahan star in our very own Rom-Com. There will be nudity clauses however. As in, if she doesn't sign something agreeing to flash her boobtastics, she's not getting paid.

I ate a bag of crisps - KP mini chips - there on Saturday and dammit if one of the little fuckers didn't nick my tongue and dislodge one of the tastebuddy pimpley yokes that live there. So now I've a curious injury. I can't think of what you might call this injury but I know it's on the tip of my tongue, BOOM BOOM!

I'll get me coat.

Temper dance
My party piece, apparently, when I was about four. It seems that if taunted and annoyed in the correct way by a certain friend of the family, I would erupt in a paroxysm of stupendous rage and run around like a demented dwarf with one foot nailed to the floor, screaming and caterwauling to get my way. People pay good money for drugs to do that shit nowadays you know.

I eat fucking loads of turkey. At carverys - turkey please. At delis - turkey please. At travel agents - turkey please. It can be a bit dry, I'll warrant, but as the last joke shows, so can I, and therefore we are perfect bedfellows.
If you'll permit me a double entry, and if it's good enough for Linda Martin in the Eurovision it's good enough for me, Turkey is also the nickname of the ugliest girl in Cavan, who used to randomly start hormonal frustration cat fights with other girls at discos if she couldn't find some bloke willing to have sex with her. True story. And the trouty ould pus on her, sure the tide wouldn't take her out.

I never did, by the way. **Shudders and goes for a shower**

You just knew it was coming didn't you?

Anyway, I could issue forth poetically for hours on the all-round magnificence of mammaries - jugs in general, Morahan's in particular - but I'm trying to keep this short, so for all the fellas out there, I'll just say this.

Jamie Lee Curtis. Trading Places. That is all.

Train man
No relation to Dustin Hoffman, but equally odd.
There's this bloke on my train every morning who I hate getting stuck beside. He's about 50 and a good bit overweight with a big collar of walrussy blubber on the back of his neck and puffy cheeks like the fat one in the Gumi Bears. He chews gum audibly all the time, with his mouth hanging open.
It's hard to render the toe-curlingly annoying sound accurately, but it's something akin to "Sss-toh, sss-toh, sss-toh, sss-toh" all the fucking way into work.
Soon, I will kill him, and feed him to wolves in the forest.

C'est tout.

18 moos and woofs:

Radge said...

Yes yes. I laughed, I agreed, I disagreed and I tutted at yet another Caroline Morahan mention. Good work.

That crisp gag, on the other hand...

Baino said...

Erudite as ever and I'd go tea and toblerone rather than tantric any day! *tickle*

Susan said...

Any man that strews his bed with chocolate is King, where I'm concerned. Bravo with a most excellent list!!

Liking the new look, by the way.

Terence McDanger said...

Radge, what is with you and Caroline Morahan? Huh? What's your problem? WHY DO YOU HATE HER SO MUCH???????

Cheers Baino, I should have shouted you out for starting Kath off as well.

Thanks Susan, although nice to look at, the new template is causing a few problems at my back end - hur hur - and I fear it will have to be replaced soon again. After all my hard work. Sigh.

Anonymous said...

You forgot 'Tooth'... oh, sorry! Still hurts?
Parisian reader

PS: Are the pictured cows genuine Cavanistas?

Meadow said...

Great list!

'I never did, by the way. **Shudders and goes for a shower**'

Hmmm... The Moo-Dog doth protest too much, methinks.

hope said...


Kath Lockett said...

Terrific turn-out Terence.

Oh and you had me at YOUNG Kath, bless you.

Maxi Cane said...

Fancy new blog

Red Leeroy said...

is the cat facing the TV, and if so has it seen trading places?

Terence McDanger said...

Meadow! How could you! Seriously, not if I was on a deserted island with nothing to eat but viagra, would I ever entertain this person. Oh Jesus, you should SEE her. TOTAL FUCKING SEA HAG!

Kath - a confession. I wrote 'old' first of all - for no reason, just 'as you do' - and then thought that it wasn't very nice. I had a feeling you'd notice though.

You say so much when you say so little Maxi. Ta!

The Cat is Jewish, Leeroy, and therefore faces Mecca. Fancy not knowing that, tsk tsk...

Terence McDanger said...

Messing about with the furniture again. Don't mind me...

Maxi Cane said...

I recently watched that clip of Trading Places with Jamie Lee Curtis on Youtube and couldn't help but knock out a quick one.

I'm barred form that internet cafe now, but it was worth it.

Terence McDanger said...

Maxi, any judge or copper would understand. Just look at him and say "Jamie Lee Curtis. Boobs. Trading Places." They'll understand if they've blood in their veins at all.

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