Not all units of measurement are for polite company

Posted: November 12, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Actually, I’m not just talking about genitals.

I’m going to (I’m always going to), but not right now.

Genitals are wonderful things, inspirational even, but there are indeed alternative units of measurements.

One of which is inches.

Then you have ‘feet’ – which are also inspirational, despite being gross.

‘Miles’ is most common, but no-one seems to mind ‘miles’ much at all.

“How many miles to the discotheque?” – we used to ask each other in French at school, and despite the obvious moral issues of speaking French, no one could question the integrity of the unit of measurement.

This measurement, and many others, are always fine.

Some aren’t.

Some units of measurement are simply not for Sunday tea-time.

“One lump or two” when proffered sugar is as vulgar as things should get when we’re talking about spoonful’s of anything.

But there are worse, and Sunday tea-time can become an event with more Effing and Jeffing than fucking Jeffrey.

“How many racial slurs to the vicarage?” we’d ask in the old days, and people would answer – awfully. Racistly (racist slurs are really, really racist!). And most importantly – we’d know how far away the vicarage was.

And things would only deteriorate from there (Sunday tea-time).

Some people prefer feet (perverts, but whatever).

Some, miles.

Most, don’t like units of measurement being racial slurs.

Just ask the vicar.

The vicar, such as he is, prefers to know just “how many knobs to the bank?” and he gets his answer too.

The discotheque, the vicarage and the bank are all within reach, with a variety of units of measurement applied and all manner of folk deeply offended, none the less informed as to the distance that matters to them.

I’ve only one piece of advice now, and it’s not to know your audience (yuk).

My advice is – just say and do something.

Yes it might be deeply offensive, but, well – who needs to be employed really?

More importantly, who really needs to be unoffended?

I don’t.

But I do need to know how far away the bank, discotheque and vicarage are.

Because I’m planning one hell of a a Sunday tea-time.

Sam

(P.S Sunday tea-time might in fact not be that great. But you’re invited!)

Claivoyance: my new side-racket

Posted: July 17, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I am not clairvoyant in regard to any supernatural ability or actual belief in communing with the dead.

But I am prepared to say similar things for money.

Some people need a side-hustle in today’s (and yesterday’s) economy, and other’s – like me – need a side-racket.

Blogging will only take you so far and frankly the criminality just isn’t worth it anymore.

So why not lean into the supernatural, and why not be openly honest about it being both completely nonsensical and something out of which I’m looking to make the most?

For example, right from the get-go:

“Oh it’s your deceased grandmother and she’d like to say hello.”

Possibly (I don’t know – I’m not clairvoyant)…

“Not the living one, the other one. The deceased grandmother that without question died and that we can’t prove isn’t telling me to tell you that everything’s going to be alright and that you should leave a considerable tip.”

And it is at this moment that, with no morbid disrespect meant, I truly do hope you happen to have a dead grandmother.

“By the way, this might not resonate, but your great-great-great-great-great grandfather is exceptionally proud of you. You might not know his name or what he looked like, but he’s pleased as punch as to how you’ve turned out and he’d also recommends a significant tip.”

I can even be vague if you’d like.

“Also, that thing that happened at that particularly non-specifiable time that you might recall…we’ll I’m aware of that.”

I could get a little wooden caravan, or…just a car (perhaps a wooden one)…and could host clairvoyance get-togethers amongst those that are looking for hope from someone distinctly unqualified to provide some, albeit at remarkable value for money.

Bargain hope – you need crystal balls to dish that kind of humanity out.

“Now, let me deal my tarot cards.

“Will it be Death, will it be Love?

“Ah, the Pick Up 5 Uno card. That’s worse than Death and Love, but at least Napoleon, Caeser and Alexander the Great can relate – they’ve had similar bad draws, and they’re all playing it in the corner. They can’t find the Risk box.“

Napoleon would make a tremendous ghost, being of average height in the corner and French – very spooky. Very French. Very average-height for the time.

People might flock to me to hear my relayings from the afterlife, inspired by 100% fiction (maybe 97% fiction, since I believe Napoleon, Caeser and Alexander the Great have all died at some point).

Actually, maybe just one flock, filled with those quite prepared for me to miss-guess their dead cat’s name from 1992 after multiple attempts, or to miss-diagnose your financial worries as gout.

Being honest and open about my lack of belief or particular supernatural powers, might ease their frustrations about the fact people die, including – eventually – them.

They’re just looking for a little bit of hope after all.

And I’m willing to give them that, at any price.

Discount wonder, half-price divinity and “I’ll knock a bit off since it got wet” belief.

Maybe even Bring and Bless in Bulk.

Sam

P.S – I also bend forks. You just grab them and bend them, and then you have that bent fork you really, really needed. Possibly some hope too.