Crazy Little Thing Called Love

While in China I met up with some old friends here and we went to the karaoke. One of my buddies selected a girl to "take away", and was obviously feeling pretty pleased with his selection. She spoke English well, although once she started speaking it seemed to be near impossible to get her to shut up, but by way of compensation she did have large breasts. Anyway, Roy was grinning at me as I looked over at them, as if to say "didn't I do well?"

At this point I felt it my duty to point out to him that she had teeth like Freddie Mercury. "Be sure to think of that when you're banging her. You'll be seeing Freddie Mercury looking back up at you. Don't let that put you off or anything."

His face dropped, he looked at her, then back at me, and muttered "Bastard." Then, like a true friend should, I started picking Queen songs on the karaoke machine.

"Hey, Roy, how about We Will Rock You?"
"Fucking bastard."

He ended up telling me that he was going to have to do her from behind. Yes, friendship is a wonderful thing...

Strange Pursuit

I thought I spent more than enough time looking at pointless crap on the internet, but I think Mrs Bison has me beaten. She informed me today that there is a site that lists (and shows) all the naked people to be found using Google Earth. That is to say, all the people who happened to be sunbathing in the nude when the Google satellite took its picture of their house, or whatever piece of land they happened to be naked on.

I am ususally the first to applaud any venture involving the hunting down and displaying of naked people but on the face of it this one seems to fall into the category of "why bother". After all, the figures are tiny and, in some cases, of dubious nudity (or even gender), so they hardly qualify as risque. Especially when you consider that the internet on which they are to be found is a "naked people paradise" where you trip over (as it were) voluptuous nude women with their flaps asunder without even trying.

I can only assume it comes down to "the forbidden", that same instinct that would make you look at a strange woman crossing her legs even were you to be accompanied by two or three fully naked ones of your own. This is something I generally support; forbidden nudity is just more fun. Nevertheless, whatever the motivation for searching out tiny naked people on Google Earth, the fact remains that it cannot possibly be a sensible use of time for anyone capable of moving from their chair. If you're one of them, cut it out, have a proper wank and get a life.

Get Stuffed

I generally avoid giving people advice unless they ask for it (in fact that's a pretty good piece of advice in itself) but new parents are probably the single group of people most in need of it. Normally my advice to potential new fathers would be just two things:

1. Of the hundred things that all your wife's friends tell her that she simply must buy and can't possibly do without, buy no more than three, unless you want a house full of plastic crap that you never use.
   
2. While in the delivery room, don't watch the baby's head come out, don't watch when they do the episiotomy and never under any circumstances look in the bucket.
   

One more thing to bear in mind, however, is that if you have a daughter you should avoid buying her any stuffed animals, ever. This is because the rest of the fucking world seems to see it as their duty to give them to her for at least ten years after the birth.

Bison Daughter already seems to have a thousand of them, everything from the standard bears, through an array of puppies and including a badger, a green hippopotamus, a pig, a penguin and a squirrel. And they keep coming. Why? Just what the fuck is she supposed to do with all these things. (I know teenage girls who line them up on the back shelf of their car, which is as good an indication as any, when you're driving behind one, that they are a vacuous airhead with zero motoring skills who will at any moment drive over the kerb and hit a tree/pedestrian/fire hydrant and then call her dad on her cell phone to come and take care of the problem.)

So if you're in the delivery room, and thoughtful relatives have sent any stuffed animals in expectation of the birth, I strongly suggest you drop them in the bucket whie the nurse is cleaning the gunge off the baby. Just don't look while you're doing it.

Nice Buns

I've bumped up against the upper end of my "usual weight range" again, so I was going to cut back on the unhealthy food, honest. But then I woke up to a surprise Father's Day breakfast which included home-made jammy buns prepared by Bison Daughter without assistance while I was still in bed.


Of course I had to accept, and they were excellent. She started from scratch, with flour and stuff, which explains why the entire kitchen looked like a cocaine factory right after a DEA raid. The old saying goes that "you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs". Well apparently you can't make fruity buns without breaking eggs, mixing them with flour, butter and sugar, and smearing the whole lot over every available surface.

But who cares? This was about the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I'll treasure the memory for years. Which is longer than I'll treasure the buns - they all went in one day. Bison Daughter helped out by eating half of them. Chip off the old block, that one...

Extremely Chocolate

It was time to get a new tub of whey protein last week as I finally finished the "cookies and cream" flavor that I tried last time, which ended up tasting revolting. That's the problem with new flavors - they seem like a good idea, and the flavor sounds OK, but now you've got it home and you're stuck with 80 servings of something that smells like the time the dog ate the birthday cake and puked on the carpet.

So this time I reverted to that old standard - chocolate. You can't really go wrong with chocolate - it can taste like crap, but at least it's just chocolate crap, and not some weird attempt at bananas, or strawberries and cream. However, the protein I wanted wasn't just labeled "Chocolate". On no, this was "Extreme Milk Chocolate". What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I know there's a widespread fetish for everything "extreme" when it comes to Generation Y sports, all that extreme skateboarding and extreme snowboarding bollocks, but how extreme can a chocolate flavor be?

For me, extreme chocolate would be that 80% cocoa solids stuff that's really expensive but tastes like bitter black shit. You know, the stuff that makes your mouth pinch up like a cat's arsehole. Fortunately, when it came down to it, my protein just tasted like chocolate. Not extreme at all really. Which is good, as I consequently won't turn into one of those twats in baggy pants riding skateboards down the steps in the car park while drinking Mountain Dew and saying "dude" all the time. Now that's an extreme fucking relief.

Look Over There

Today we had a small celebration at work for a colleague who had 20 years service with the company. This, almost inevitably, involved a cake, but being as this was a significant career milestone it was no ordinary cake. This thing was about three feet by four and covered in flakes of chocolate. In fact I'd go so far as to say it was not so much "covered" with chocolate as "mulched" with it, and it was also full of black cherries. However, in a display of self-control heretofore unprecedented I passed up the cake, along with the approximately three thousand calories it would have added to my daily intake.

I can do self-control when it comes to relatively unimportant things, like cake, but everyone has their limits. I would venture to suggest that most blokes (except for the blubbery ones whose buttocks hang either side of the chair) could resist cake without too much effort. However I challenge any right-thinking bloke to resist the temptation to look at the legs, arse and breasts of any pretty girl who happens to wander by. You could be driving down the street and pass by two girls in short skirts - as if by some magical homing instinct your eyes will be drawn to them. You may choose to surreptitiously glance in the mirror, or you may perform a full 180 degree neck-twist, nearly piloting your car into a ditch, but either way you're going to check them out, right?

Mrs Bison, being aware of this phenomenon, doesn't have to look at me in order to know where I'm looking in these situations. It's as natural as breathing, and just as hard to give up. However it's a very low calorie habit and fully defensible on that count alone, which is a good thing as summer is here and girls always look more naked in the summer. Just watch out for the whiplash if you're driving.

A New Friend

I did indeed go out to get some new whisky last night and although I said yesterday that I'd probably go for a strong Southern Islay malt, in fact I ended up getting a 12 year-old Bunnahabhain (pronounced Boona-hah-ven), which is a non-peaty, much less strong flavored whisky from the Bunnahabhain distillery on the North East shore of the island. I may go back in a week or so and get another, peatier whisky to complement it but in the meantime I have to say that I'm really enjoying this one. It's what I'd call "Very Drinkable".

The Bunnahabhain distillery goes back to 1881 so I'm drinking a bit of history here. I strongly suggest you do likewise - you won't be disappointed. Unless, that is, your idea of whisky is something you drink with ice cubes and/or coke, in which case stick to the "Happy Shopper" bargain stuff...

Cheers.