Results for: banger
bang‧er /ˈbęŋər/
1. a person or thing that bangs.
2. British.
a. Informal. a sausage.
b. a firecracker.
Results for: firecracker
fire‧crack‧er /ˈfaɪərˌkrękər/
a paper or cardboard cylinder filled with an explosive and having a fuse, for discharging to make a noise, as during a celebration.
So lads. What you are telling me is that bangers are small uncontrolled and dangerous explosions that make BANG noises. Back in my day, we were content with a sledgehammer and a few old blocks: all the noise, 28% less danger. This nation's fascination with fireworks is just ABSURD. We are a society of NITWITS and imbeciles.
So in the spirit of the Hallowed Eve pagan festivites, I carved my first pumpkin today! I wasn't expecting the inside to be so stringy. It is of course possible that my pumpkin was a miserable rotted specimen: not having done it before I wouldn't know. But my resulting Jack-O-Lantern was a glowy marvel to behold. I ran around the housing estate showing it to strangers and discussing its creation with all who would listen. I even brought my study notes with me. Everybody was so interested. One neighbour listened to me discuss the carving process for almost ninety minutes. Now we are best friends.
Now I abandon the children who have been a-knocking all evening (well, a-ringing would be more accurate, although there was the one child who screamed in the window, "I CAN'T REACH YOUR DOORBELL!!") and celebrate Hallowe'en in the traditional way by going to an Italian restaurant with my prayer square. We used to be a prayer triplet and then another one joined. I HATE THAT ONE.
neuro-praxis -- The Biggest Banger In Town
Well, I've been putting this off. You know it and I know it, and those of you who understand my fickle nature have been checking back here every day to see if I would return. Well, I did. Are you HAPPY now? I am. Zoomtard plied me with beer so I am back to say some things. Those things are, at the moment, as much of a mystery to me as they are to you. A DRUNKEN mystery! No, I am not drunk. Could a drunk person ever have such good grammar? Now excuse me while I read and re-read the previous paragraph, save what's legible of it and continue this post tomorrow.
Back. No! That was a hastily prepared joke. I am not writing this tomorrow, I am writing this tonight, as I was when I began. I apologise for messing with the time space-continuum. I should leave that until Sunday night when we ARBITRARILY CHANGE THE TIME ON OUR CLOCKS in order to gain an hour. I don't CARE if it gives us more daylight - messing with clocks will bring on the RAPTURE ! I think the question on all of our minds tonight is, are you rapture ready? I know I'm not. For one thing, my bathroom, the limescale.
I went away from the blog for a number of reasons:
But now that I have gotten a job and you have given your life to the Lord, neuro-praxis entries may resume. Now. NO TALKING. Just let me get on with this.
So. Having gone through the long and demoralising process of job hunting and interviews, I can safely say that I have not grown as a person. I remain at the embarassing stature of five feet and eleven inches. Although, one of the more torturous interviews did involve a good stretching on a rack, all I was left with was a little pain, extra suppleness and zero dignity. Which does not the bills pay. See how I altered the syntax there for effect? I'm telling you - this woman* will go far.
Well then. I am experiencing an unorthodox feeling of contentment, and not just because it is a lazy Friday night spent watching trashy movies, eating pizza, drinking beer and setting the world to rights with K. I like my job. It is an unusual feeling. I don't even mind the commute. I haven't been paid yet, but they promised to pay me, so I am hoping that they are not liars, or that this is not a pretend company where they set up for a few weeks in your locality to trick you into two months free labour. I am also hoping that this job that I enjoy is not a candid camera scenario of some kind, where soon a man (perhaps Ashton Kutcher) will jump out at me and announce that I have been PUNK'D (evidently these Hollywood types are too busy to add that silent E). These things would be bad, and there is no guarantee that I am safe from such outcomes. I deal with these fears by keeping the head down as my old mother never did say.
More to follow. For now, I rest. It has been a relaxed and pleasant week and I need to recover.
neuro-praxis -- From Death Arisen; From Life Abducent
*me
