I am the news...

So, yeah, I was news this week. Nothing important or anything, just mocking the world's most famous vicar (after Father Dougal)...

Click this here ----> Linky

Oh yeah. Take that Popey. That'll have him crying into his funny hat.

To be fair, I've tweeted much funnier tweets. Still, you gets what you pays for, and I've not been paid. They should pay me.

Oh, and no, the pope didn't reply. Not even a LOL. Miserable sod.

Stick that in your Pope and Smoke it
Fudge vs Pope Round 1
Mass Effect IV
Don't Stop Bibleieving
Pwned the Pwpe
Pontifex cakes are not liquorice


Fudgenam Style!

And here's a funky little treat for all of you...

Mistletoe and Wine. With wine.

Let's play the Mistletoe and Wine drinking game!
Down a big glass every time young Mr Richards sings wine!

The child is a king
the caroller sing

The old is past
there's a new beginning.
Dreams of Santa
dreams of snow

Fingers numb
faces aglow
it's -

Christmas time
mistletoe and WINE!

Children singing Christain rhyme..
With longs on the fire and gits on the tre

A time too rejoce in the goo that we se.

A time for living
a time for believering

A tim four trustig
no deceving.
Lov an laufghtr and joy never affter

Houurs for the talking
just folow the masterr.

Chrismas tme
misletoe annd WINE!!!!!

ChIdden siging Chrisanin rind..
With lobs on fire and giraffes up trees

Time toe something in the good that we seee.

Shhhh night
holy cow mooooo Hahaha-

It's a time for bed I not go bed rarr
a tim for get a kebab

A time forr forskinhahaha an fuor sgimhllllll.
CHRISMARS!!!!! is looove andd
CHRISTMSA is penis
A time for hatting nd fightering too please.

Chrimas ti
mtoe and WINNE!!!!

Chuffingn sigging Chrining rimpe..
Who loops of te fired an shi1ts on the treee

Tim Vincent to r5ejoin in the where's mg kebab that weeeeee

Christleas tiiiiime
mibgletoe nd WWW1ne!haja
Just sigggun same bit adgain
And tije top rrjoon im goon day ilk jhfd rarr
Kringkas tiomhsip.  Vsh
mishhyhbgletoe and WINE!!!11!1
Pod jjjjjjjjjjhbhbbbhh


No mo win win badd fele poorly
Shoow me yor bra.

Sleeping Beauty, Cheese Toasties.

Right then, story time.
Are you sitting comfortably? No? Well see a doctor and he should be able to prescribe some lotion. Now I'll begin.

Once upon a time there were a King and Queen and they were having issues having kids and that. This was the olden days before IVF and folk didn't understand ovulation and cycles and all the other stuff that you have to know about if you're a broody woman. Anyway, eventually the King got his willy in the right hole and the Queen did a wee on a stick and found out she was pregnant and everyone was happy, despite the pisspoor medical technology available at the time.
So, the pregnancy went off without a hitch, the Queen probably had a craving for extra strong mints dipped in peanut butter and the King spent most nights sleeping on the sofa because his wife slept like a concrete starfish that had swallowed a lawnmower engine. The baby was born, maybe on a Tuesday, I'm not sure, it doesn't matter, I doubt the historical authenticity of this tale anyway. Let's just say it's a Tuesday and get on with it. This is probably the last time I'll mention a specific day anyway, so you really have no point of reference. Tuesday. There. Shut up.

The baby was a girl and was named Aurora,  because her parents were actually involved in a complez sting operation to expose and arrest all school bullies and giving their daughter a silly name was the best idea they could think of. Well, that and they were going to make her learn to play the oboe.
A great celebration was held and all the fairies in the land were invited to the party. The meaning of fairy in this sense referring to little floating witches with wings, not as an offensive term referring to homosexual men. I'm not sure which would have been the better choice for the better party. There'd probably be about as much glitter. I'm allergic to glitter, it makes my hands go all swelled up and itchy. It's bloody horrible. Anyway, S Club 7 hadn't been invented yet, so the king and queen decided to settle on the little witches.
Oh, and you know I said they invited all the fairies, well they didn't invite one bad fairy, probably because she was a racist or maybe it was the time she tried to give the king a drunken blowjob in the kitchen last August at the annual barbecue. For whatever reason, she was blacklisted and didn't get an invite to the party.
Rather than giving the baby traditional presents, the fairies all decided to give her magical presents. One gave Aurora the gift of beauty, implying that without her gift she would be a right munter. Another gave her the gift of song, and so on. There were loads of fairies with gifts, and not one iTunes credit voucher amongst them, much to the despair of the king, as he was looking forward to downloading the new War of the Worlds album.
The bad fairy showed by just as the last fairy was about to give Aurora her gift (free wi-fi access in all Beefeater gastropubs). Angry at not being invited, and quite drunk on a mixture of sherry and Dooley's toffee liquer, she gave the baby her own gift, promising that on her 18th birthday she would prick her finger on some sort of old fashioned knitting robot and would die. Probably of tetanus or something, general hygiene and antibiotics not being of a passable quality at this time.
The bad fairy then got a taxi and buggered off back to Russia or whatever, leaving everyone else a bit annoyed and probably horny, because bad fairies always dress the sexiest, fishnets and corsets and that.
Now, there was one fairy left who had yet to give the princess her gift and seeing as the Wi-Fi at the Beefeater is pisspoor slow at best, she instead used her magical gift to change the bad fairy's spell a bit. (Why the fairies only get to give one gift each is beyond me, possibly they didn't have enough virgins or goats to sacrifice in order to perform their magical rituals, or maybe they were just tight)
Anyway, the spell was changed at a small print level so instead of dying from the knitting robot accident, Aurora would instead fall asleep for ages and ages, and could only be awoken by a kiss from a passing Prince.
So, anyway, all that happened.
There was a dragon and that too apparently. Turns out all right at the end I gather, the bad fairy dies and there is a wedding and that. Some nonsense with colour changing dresses and that.
Never got to watch the end of the film, ironically I fell asleep. Didn't wake up getting kissed though. Next door's car alarm went off and I thought it was an Zombie Warning Alarm or something. I'd just had a fair bit of cheese. A cheese toastie actually. It was really nice. Dipped it in ketchup and that. Tasty. You should have a cheese toastie. Just remember to butter the wrong side of the bread because of reasons.

The End. Sorry.


Two Seasons Later...

So, yeah, hello. Been a while, you've lost weight, changed your hair,  a smashing blouse, etc.

It was pointed out to me yesterday that I haven't updated my blog for two seasons, having hit a Mojo-draining chasm following some damn good Olympic rambling. So, now I'm bored and guarding coats while the kids do their dance classes, and I might as well splurge some words before I get declared dead, in an internetting ranter type way.

So, the blog continues/plods along... I am writing this instead of getting a cup of overpriced manky coffee, made by the grumpy cafe lady here, which as well as showing my commitment to writing something, also means I have £3 to spend at the shops later (£5 if I had decided to have a croissant).

So, what have I been up to, besides not updating this here generally ignored piece of interweb? Well, I have been working, doing the old locksmith thing, fixing doors that have been destroyed by months of drenching in tramp urine. I've also been playing the Facebook game, Marvel Avengers Alliance, which despite being incredibly dull, is incredibly easy to play and only a tad less addictive than cigarettes laced with heroin and sellotaped onto free hardcore porn.

Apart from that, well nothing much. I've not been giving twitter the attention it deserves of late either, not sure if that's because I'm bored with it or if I'm scared that i'll end up making a joke that offends the wrong person and I end up in jail for a million years or paying a fine of over £35. Because I only have £35. And I probably won't have that for long because it is nearly Christmas and the girls need so much money spent on absolutely nothing that I am spending most nights eating a Goblin Curry Pie with my eyes closed, pretending it is an extra value meal at McDonalds. Kids and spouses are expensive, if you're out looking for one, I'd recommend you save your money and buy a reggae reggae chicken panini from Panini Shack instead. Sure, you won't get the love and affection, but you'll at least be able to play Lego in the nude on the kitchen floor whilst eating micro-noodles with a flip-flop.

So, that is 375 words. Should I write more? According to this Writer app on my phone you'll have finished reading it within 90 seconds. Is that long enough to convince you that I'm back to being awesome. I could really do with getting a cup of coffee. Especially as the grumpy cafe woman has gone and been replaced with the one with freckles who always gives me too much change. Yeah, I reckon it might be coffee time.

Have fun, might see you soon.

Or in April.


The Fudgetastic Guide To The London 2012 Olympics Thing.

Hello. How are you?

This is my guide to the London 2012 Olympics Thing. Look how shiny it is. OooooOOOOOH.

First things first, London is a city on the arse end of the UK, and is where all the fun stuff, visits by Bono etc happen so it is called The Capital City of England. This year, a travelling talent show called The Olympics (named after the Greek God Olly Murs) is visiting and people from all over the world get to take turns trying to run faster than each other, throw shit about and that.

To get to London, you have to travel there by bus or tram or car or aeroplane or boat or train or by walking, as any other methods of travelling are frowned upon.
London is signposted well in advance, so if you are in Leeds you know which way to go.
Travelling in the centre of London is easy, you can use a bicycle if you don't mind people swearing at you, or you can use an underground train, or you can catch a bus or a taxi or even drive your own car.
If you do decide to drive your own car around London, you have to pay what is called a Congestion Charge, this is a good thing, as it is a mandatory donation to the Vics Vaporub Foundation for Congestion relief.
Catching a taxi in London is an exciting experience as all the taxi drivers are legally obliged to tell you a story about a wizard as a free service on your journey. This is called 'The Knowledge' and if the taxi driver fails to entertain you sufficiently then you are legally allowed to run from the taxi without paying. Perhaps, whilst doing a jaunty dance.
The Underground train network in London is a brand new invention, introduced in 2005 to fill the unused sewage pipes that are underneath the city. The train stations are named after characters from popular 90s TV serial Neverwhere as well as animated children's show Chuggington.
Eating in London is an expensive business as all food in London has an additional cost called a 'London Price'. This is used to pay for the upkeep of the beefeaters, as well as the maintenance on Big Ben. I recommend native foods such as the Big Mac, Chicken Kebab and something called a BLT.
Sights to see in London include -
The Tower of London
A big HMV

The Olympics first began in 1974 on the back of a beermat, and is a combination of the following three activities -
Checking stuff about.
However, to fill the time and give people plenty to do, they add different subcategories and novelties. For example, running in a paddling pool, known to the fans as 'swimming' named after the actor who plays Ross on Friends; 'Gymnastics' which is just fancy jumping and 'Archery', which is chucking stuff using a piece of wood, named after the Radio Four Ongoing Soap Opera.
If you do well at one of these events you are invited to stand on a bit of wood and sing a song based on where you live. You also receive a special Jim'll Fix badge in either yellow, grey or brown. Yellow is the best colour, grey is second best, and brown is obviously bad.
Drugs are a major no-no at the Olympics thing, as apparently it makes you run faster or whatever, although obviously these are different to the types of drugs you see scruffy scary people taking. As they would just sit there giggling, maybe eating a pasty. Actually, they should allow that, as it would be funny to watch.

The Olympics thing opens with a ceremony called the Opening Ceremony, and basically you have to watch it and look confused. By law. Or you get shot in the pancreas by a taser.
This law doesn't apply to the closing ceremony, mind, as usually everyone is bored by then.

So. That is the 2012 Olympics guide that I wrote. Yay me.


Robin Fails At Twitter

Because everybody has a timeline full of 'Robins'...


The Fudgetastic Lexicon - a New Language For the Unyouth of the 21st Century

The internet is constantly flooded with new words, acronyms and phrases, YOLO, Justin Bieber, etc, all of them seemingly invented for the youth of today. But what about the unyouth (see below)? Don't we deserve our own ultra-fancy lingo? No we don't, but here I go anyway...


A Barry is an angry vagina. The kind that bites.
Example - "my goodness, she had a Barry.", "Stop being a Barry"

Barry Sponge
A sanitary towel, other terms include Barry Mouse (tampon), Barry Carpet (unkempt pubic mop) and Barry Scott (Bang and the dirt is gone)

Ok, so I'm sure Justin Bieber is a lovely person and his songs are only shit because I don't have a prepubescent vagina between my legs, and i'm sure most of his fans are lovely, stable individuals with great taste in harmless fluffy music.
What this term refers to are the crazy ones, the ones who hijack the internet with their creepy stalkerish obsession with the guy. They enter a rabid state of anger, bursting into tears and misspelled swear words if you comment in a negative manner towards their icon.
The sooner they get eaten by bears, the better.

Get An Ears!
Originally used as an insult by a lithuanian, this is now the official greeting of the unyouth of today, and can also be used as an expression of disgust, pleasure or completely out of any context. Because we are too cool to make sense.
"that song is pisspoor."
"You can't do that with a wallaby!"
"Did you call David with regards to the Trampletech Account?"

A posh, milky coffee from Yorkshire.

Where My Keys and Ph- oh fuck off!
Used when you inadvertently get in a situation where you have lost your keys or your mobile phone and some uncanny wanker decides to start singing an out of date Britain's Got Talent song that is up there with Joe Pasquale's "I know a song that'll get on your nerves".

Just as the undead arent really dead, or alive, unyouth is the state most online folk seem to inhabit, ageing uncontrollably, but continuing to act like a child because its either that or turn into a miserable sod.
For example preferring cartoons to tv dramas, playing with Lego instead of smoking a pipe, or looking at boobs instead of reading the Independent.
Like the undead, most of society considers this repulsive and aims to wipe the unyouth from the earth by any means necessary. However, again, like the undead, they are an unstoppable force and will end up eating their brains.
Or maybe not...

Something that is so shit it deserves a WOW.
For example,
The movie 'Biggles - Adventures in Time'.
The music of Busted.
The in-between-rounds funny banter on Countdown.

You Only Live Twice.
Like YOLO, but for people who like James Bond.

And that's your lot. For now. Probably ever.



Seems that every time I write a new blog post I have to start with an apology for not blogging in a long time, so instead I shall apologise now, end the post and then when I finally get around to writing something (gonna try for tonight or tomorrow, but no promises) I won't have to apologise and I can get straight down to the dirty business of writing awesomeness.


That's it. Go on your way, I'm a very important person. Not really.


Bot Trumps!

So, Twitter is under attack from a rampant wave of horny spambots. What should we do about them? Bitch and whine? Be all grumpy and ask twitter to get rid of them? Or take the piss in a useful way...

Yeah, I went for that option. So, without further ado, I present BOT TRUMPS!
(On a serious note, you can use the cards to quickly identify the spam bots when they pop up on your follower list, if the garbled name and claims of slagginess aren't dead giveaways)

So, print them off, ideally onto some stiff card or if you're fancy onto paper then laminate them.
Usual trumpy card rules apply, split the deck between however many of you there are, first person names a category, whoever has the highest score wins that round of cards. Oh for fucks sake, if you can't play this game using whatever rules you learned as a kid, then you don't deserve to play.

I look forward to seeing all your messages saying how much fun you had playing, or how by playing strip-bot trumps you ended up getting a damn good soapy titwank from your next door neighbour.

(Right then, Copyright nonsense. If I've trod on any legal shoes making these Bot Trumps, or using unauthorised pics or whatever, and you're pissed off, let me know and I'll remove stuff. Cheers)


The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time,
Before pop stars they did mime,
Lived three little pigs,
On the hunt for adequate digs.

One pig, let's call him Jim McGraw,
Built a house made out of straw.
He settled down with his pipe,
Making sure the walls he did not ignite.

The next pig, his name was Andy,
With wood, his skills they were more handy.
His home he built from lots of sticks,
Using rope and twine and other tricks.

Pig number three, a clever dick,
He built his house out of brick.
His talents clearly well above those,
Of his fellow porcine bros.

So all the pigs were settled in,
Eating pies and drinking gin.
Their fates of which they were unaware;
The wolf, nearby, they should beware.

The wolf was know as big and bad,
Known as Paul only to his dad.
His favourite food was roast ham,
But he'd settle for raw, if in a jam.

To pig one's house, he did arrive,
I don't know how, he couldn't drive.
His deep dark voice came with a bellow,
"Come meet with me, you little fellow."

The pig put out his pipe and hid,
His head covered by a dustbin lid.
"Begone you fiend!" He squealed out,
His safety here, he did not doubt.

The wolf did laugh and with a blow,
A gust of wind began to flow.
The house of straw fell to the ground,
The pig was eaten, without a sound.

The wolf burped loud, but pined for more,
And noticed the house that was next door.
Pig number two's house of wood,
Thought the wolf to himself, "oh that's good."

Pig two had seen the bad wolf feast,
His brother, swallowed by the beast.
He composed himself and closed the shutters,
"not getting in here..." he tried to mutter.

But before the pig could show defiance,
The wolf was blowing like a garden appliance.
The house of sticks destroyed throughout,
And the pig was gone, save for his snout.

Pig number three was safe and snug,
Warm under a sheepskin rug.
The wolf approached and took a breath,
The house of bricks, he planned its death.

The bricks were strong and held out,
His blowing useless, the wolf did pout.
Seeing the chimney, he formed a scheme,
A bacon joint, his ultimate dream.

The wolf began his final descent,
The pig aware of his foe's intent.
He lit a fire using a barrel of oil,
And the wolf screamed as he began to boil.

In moments the wolf was truly dead,
And the pig made a trophy of his head.
The moral of this story, six words,


A to Z of Mostly Everything. A.

A is the first letter of my, and I'm sure your alphabet. It was discovered in 1886 by Herbert Prevert, of Leamington Spa when he was looking for a sausage he dropped. Before it was discovered, everyone referred to it as 'the first letter' or 'Postelmarton'. In fact, in many Eastern European countries, Postelmarton, B, C is still taught to many poor children, considered too common to use the such a fancy character.


ARMPIT... the bit underneath where your arm meets your torso. Once, on holiday to Scotland with my parents, Doctor Ruth, bonkers sounding sex doctor, was explaining on the radio how armpit sex makes a pleasant alternative to regular sex. I was 13. And locked in a car with my parents. I am still trying to dig myself out of the well of despair I dug inside my mind.

ANATOMIC... referring to the anatomy. Or a girl called Ann who has become irradiated.

ARSE... a bottom. Or an idiot. Americans spell this like Ass, which everyone knows is a donkey.

ABRACADABRA... the only magic word recognised by wizards and magicians as the summoning word for the Mistress Spectre Lady Pestalino, the patron spirit of trickery and hats. If these words are not recited during a magic show, or similar magical event, then a virgin must be sacrificed. By sacrificed, I mean she has to do the washing up. Because not all magic folk are monsters. You racist.

ALUMNI... is a fancy word to describe someone who has managed to escape university but didn't tick the box marked 'never send me shit through the post again you bastards' on the graduation form.

ANTEATER... an anteater eats ants. If an anteater doesn't eat ants then it has to be renamed accordingly. I use this knowledge to fuck up their lives by putting fake ants made of carrots, raisins, dog poo and glitter in the anteaters' dinner bowl. Serves them right for having silly long tongues.

ANACONDA... is another name for a bloody big snake, also a pisspoor movie in which Jennifer Lopez wears a vest that gets really wet but doesn't go see through. Very disappointing.

ARTICHOKE... is one of those foods that exists but has never been eaten my anyone. Also in this category are Yams, Fennel and Bombay Bad Boy flavour Pot Noodle.

ACHTUNG... is something that Germans shout in war films. No-one has told them that it translates into English as 'herpes'.

AARDVARK... is the name that the aforementioned anteaters have now adopted in an attempt to escape my name/food game. I have foiled them however, by only supplying them with two 'A' magnets so they can't write their name on the fridge.

ALRIGHT... is a term used when someone asks how you are and you are in good health. However, be aware that it is a bad response when received from someone who has had a stroke. Because they would be happier being equally left and right, rather than all on one side.

ACCIDENTALLY... a term used to describe something you did, but not on purpose. Like eating the last of the kids' yoghurts out of the fridge. Or getting caught surrounded by yoghurt pots.

ARSEHOLE... the bit of an arse (see above) that the poo comes out of. Also a bloody idiot. Again, Americans spell this wrong, and Donkeyhole makes very little sense.

ALGORITHM... some kind of maths thing. Can't think of anything funny about that. Sorry.

ARACHNID... a group of creepy crawly things that includes spiders, scorpions and fish.

ARMADILLO... an inside out Dime (now Daim. fuck you Ikea) bar.

ARISTOCRATIC... a term used to describe someone posh with blue blood and a silver spoon in their mouth. Not literally. That'd be stupid.

AVALANCHE... this is what happens when a mountain gets bored and shakes all the snow off itself, killing skiers and knocking over trees. Mountains are dickheads.

ARMAGEDDON... basically, when everything goes tits up.

ALTRUISTIC... doing stuff for unselfish reasons. Don't ever do this, you'll be denying your natural human instincts and you will never evolve or be able to hover.

ANTHROPROGENIC... oh I don't know. Something to do with salt.

ARISTOTELES... to do with Aristotle, the Justin Bieber of ancient Greece.

ABOMINATION... some sort of big nasty mess. The baddy in the Incredible Hulk movie. What I look like first tying on a morning.

ALTERNATIVE... A secondary option. For example, as an alternative to a sandwich, I will eat three bags of Skips and dream of corned beef. Also, Alternative Comedy is like comedy but you have to think about it for an hour before it is funny.

And that is A. Woo.

Literature and that.

Suppose I should have mentioned this sooner, but I have written a book. Well, I say 'written', I mean I've been through this blog, copying and pasting the juicy good stuff, neglecting the self-indulgent shit, shoving it all together into a fancy bit of ebook.
It's been up on amazon (search 'fudgecrumpet' and it's the only result, which is cool) for just about two weeks, and after a brief spell in the bestselling kindle book chart (#96 for just over an hour, making it briefly more successful than Comedy Dave from Radio One) it now dwells around #11,000. But I suppose that ain't half bad considering I've self published and that.
Oh, regarding that, a fair few folk asked how to go down the self publishing on amazon route, you can find all the info, free apps for conversion and that at http://kdp.amazon.com .
So, yeah, I'm currently indulging in some nagging of twitter celebrities, which no doubt will have no effect. Which is annoying, as I need to sell at least another 240ish books before Amazon will send me a royalty cheque. y'know what, you've read this, maybe you could nag your friends to buy it. I'm not going to ask you to buy it though, you've already put enough effort in reading this bumph. Just tell your mates that it is awesome, promise them blowjobs and that if they buy the thing. Obviously don't promise to perform the act yourself though, perhaps help them to find a slag in a nightclub. Or, if they're a girl, promise them shoes. Shoes are like blowjobs for women.

And so, yeah, right, that was a bloody rubbish advert for my book, wasn't it. Sorry. I can assure you it is good. Really.

Here's a link if you find the "search amazon for 'fudgecrumpet' too bloody complicated. Or you're just skimming this post and not really paying attention...


PS. Reading my old blog posts instead of buying the book counts as cheating. Fortunately, nobody has worked this out yet. Don't tell them or I'll never sell another pissing thing.