24/02/2012

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)

06/02/2012

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,
SPONSORED BY THE BRICK MARKETING BOARDS.