The British Club Worldwide

Brits and Pieces Newsletter

Examples

We started Brits and Pieces on the morning of September 11th 2001 around 9am. We were watching breaking news on CNN of a plane which had crashed into the World Trade Center.

We immediately emailed all club members along with the opinion that it was a Terrorist Attack likely of Middle East origin. It wasn't until a half hour or so later - when the second plane crashed - that the general news media began to mention the word "terrorism". Some time later we were looking at George W Bush looking dazed sitting in a childrens class room holding a book upside down.  We knew right then and there that we were in trouble bound to radically change things all over the world.

And so our motto became 'To inform, to amuse, to entertain, and occasionally alas to infuriate.  But above all else to seek the truth and make us think.' 

We've never since stopped doing that for more than 10 years....... The repercussions from that fateful day are still with us today and likely to be so for some considerable time.

One thing for sure - Brits & Pieces will be there in your EMail, covering events and trends, bad news and good, cheering you up and keeping you posted. 

Twice a week or so.............

 

Brits and Pieces - September 11th, 2001 - 9am

Stop The Press TOP PRIORITY

What appears to be a large jet passenger plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City. On CNN television I see fierce flames and lots of black smoke, heavy damage to floors high up the skyscraper. Certain to be heavy loss of life. I feel sure this must be a terrorist type attack though CNN is calling it an accident.

Stay tuned.
Arnold Parkinson
The British Club Worldwide
www.britishclubworldwide.com
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Brits and Pieces - September 11th, 2001 - 10.10 am

Catastrophe in New York City

As you probably know by now, a second plane has hit the other tower of the World Trade Center, a third plane the Pentagon in Washington DC, and breaking news of a fourth plane crashed in Pennsylvania (though this may be unrelated). Both towers are now burning seemingly out of control. There is no doubt now that this is a terrorist attack and presumably carried out by Middle East terrorists - though how they did it is as yet unclear. President Bush has not been heard from as yet. There is chaos in New York of course and certain to be heavy loss of life and damage. This event will be the defining moment of the 21st Century affecting all of us all over the world in ways impossible to foresee. Terrible sights on television and so sad for mankind.
 
I'm at home in Washington DC glued to the television. We'll be keeping you posted as things develop.
Arnold Parkinson
The British Club Worldwide
www.britishclubworldwide.com
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Brits and Pieces - December 17th, 2011

MV 'Pisces' is currently docked at Lambs Marina in North Carolina



But I have plans for some badly needed changes......





I've already built two huts on my foredeck - one for me and one for Meg (Ryan). I snitched them one dark night from a local Tiki Bar. They will have half naked Zulu warriors wafting us in incense with peacock feathers and belly dancing at 4pm daily. A 22 speaker 68 decibel sound system will play heavy metal, making any conversation about trips to WalMart almost impossible.

Nearby spigots will offer the choice of ice cold Newcastle Brown, cola or tonic with gin, rum or vodka - sometimes all mixed together. Free massage, pizzas, movies with full frontal nudity, limbo dance training, and a plastic surgeon will be on 24 hour call.

In confidence I can tell you that Barack Obama has agreed to be Head Waiter - and Mrs Obama taking the role of Aphrodite, Goddess Of Night, in our pagan induction ceremonies. We are trying to find a celebrity appearance for ex President Berlesconi of Italy (in charge of the capochino machine possibly). In the event of inclement weather or sinking, guests will have signed a pre-nuptial agreement giving the first right of Coastguard rescue to the Captain and any person he chooses, for a small fee of course determined by cash only auction. We accept jewelry and gold bullion.

The jacuzzi will be open to any bevy of starlets who should happen to drop by. There will be a convenient public platform with an adjacent incinerator into which they can drop their burning bras. I'd invite Hugh Hefner except he's probably too old to climb the steps from the small boat dock. The water slide is being carefully designed so that any woman over a certain weight would just hurtle over the lip of the pool into the shark infested sea - no need for an old fashioned plank.

Mildred: Hold it! Is this not yet another example of your male chauvanistic prejudice against full figured ladies of maturer age?

Myself: No - it's simply a technical problem beyond the comprehension of the fairer sex. One of the design priorities of a boat of this nature is the question of weight. We are already pushing the envelope with the estimated tonnage of 2400 magnums of champagne, 13,000 pre-frozen 2 lb lobsters and hot and cold water tanks for the high pressure 16 nozzle group shower. Add to that my Emperor size bed made of solid 24 karat gold, and the white vintage Rolls Royce Silver Cloud Convertible once owned by General Tito, and you can see we must be ruthless on this issue. Crew quarters are already pared to the bone with light weight hammocks, no chandeliers, and plastic beer crates for rudimentary tables. I've already done away with the dodgem car track and may even have to cancel the elephant for ceremonial occasions when visiting Sri Lanka.

Mildred: Have you any concept as to what all this will cost?

Myself: As my bookeeper, don't bother me with details - that's your job. Try Miscellaneous Contingency Expenses or whatever other imaginative accounting methods are available today.

Mildred: It's not the Costs that are as important as the Revenue. From where will come the money for all this foolishness?

Myself: Well I'm confident that just about every male boater I know will be prepared to sell their house and other assets such as their motor driven lawnmower in order to spend a few days being massaged in coconut cream by the Tahitian hostesses. They may even rob a bank or sell their IPods. One friend, who shall remain nameless because he's married to a rich woman with four children, has already committed to the Maiden Voyage - so named for obvious reasons. I cannot divulge the amount of the deposit though it is in the eight figures.

Mildred: I haven't seen that amount in the Sales Ledger?

Myself: You never will. I paid the cash received straight for a black market Hawker Harrier jet expected to arrive tomorrow. I do hope the pilot doesn't mistake the trampoline for the landing pad. Anyway our principal sponsor, the gargantuan Lady Cabstanleigh, Marchioness of Tewksbury, will not of course be keen to use the water slide when she realises with horror that the bottoms of naked commoners will have preceded hers down the chute. She will be content at the baccarat table named in her honour. Oh - and one more thing before I forget.

Mildred: And what is that pray tell?

Myself: Check if we can rent the Band of the Fourteenth Huzzars for pre-dinner cocktails. There may be Royalty involved - if only Prince William would return my calls. But he's probably on one of those Greek shipping tycoons yachts at Monte Carlo which I regard as traitorous behaviour. One never knows what national secrets might be divulged after two bottles of ouzo. Make a note - call Melina Mercouris grandaughter for some cheap ouzo.......

The only problem still unsolved - will I be able to squeeze her up the Manchester Ship Canal?

Pisces I mean not Meg Ryan.

Best wishes everybody

Arnold Parkinson
The British Club Worldwide
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Brits and Pieces - October 10th, 2011

What is the little known secret of this painting?


You guessed it. Neither Queen Victoria or Mr Brown are wearing underpants on a cold misty day near Balmoral Castle. Or the three legged horse for that matter. Hence the expression "A tad cold in the nether regions - what say you Brown?".

They both look rather ticked off about something - probably sick and tired of cold porridge.

Prepare now for shocking news.........



A pair of white silk bloomers once worn by Queen Victoria was sold at auction today for over $15,000 - part of a collection belonging to Steve Forbes of Forbes magazine from his London home at Battersea House. I doubt if the chick holding them is wearing something similar but one never knows until after closing time.

Now I have no idea what Mr Forbes is doing with Queen Victorias knickers to begin with, though they are about his size and girth. But why would he sell them now when his hopes for Republican election are over? Is he a reformed cross dresser? Could he be short of money? Are they fake? Or are they really Queen Elizabeths?   Hard to say.

In any event, the main point of interest to all club members is that I am now offering a comprehensive collection of my old Y front underpants and boxer shorts on E Bay, under the heading Seldom Used Male Lingerie.

They are of durable fine grain polyester, a few with holes, but the artificial rubber waistbands seem as good as new and preshaped for anybody with a 33 waist and 45 beer belly. Some are still white to half white and the boxers are a delightful selection of colourful motifs, suggestively reminding one of a floral patterned stair carpet en route to the boudoir. Bidding is limited to three per person and no returns.

Historically they are crucially important. There's the pair I wore when I took Penelope Briggs- Withers to the Chelsea Flower Show and still was unable to lure her to my one room bed sitter in Croydon. The time I sat on a camel in front of the Great Pyramid and it bit me on the behind while getting on - you can still see the teeth marks in my mirror. Avid fans will detect the faint lingering odour of the rear double seats at the Savoy cinema in Heaton Moor, Stockport, featured in my memoires Chapter 19 - Stockport or Rio De Janeiro?


Take your pick.

At this point I must give credit to my sponsor Clorox Bleach, even though it pretty much destroyed my "Take Me Tonight Doris' boxer shorts I had specially printed at the T Shirt store just behind Blackpool Tower.

Ah the memories! The fire ant nest I sat on near Grimsby when protesting cruel cod fishing techniques. The torn and tattered pair grabbed by my rugby captain trying to stop me running gloriously for the winning try, unhappily in the wrong direction, (I am the only person in history to score a try while streaking). Felicity, the male impersonator at the Windmill Theatre, who was always throwing a pair of my borrowed underpants to the businessmen in the front row - possibly Steve Forbes being one of them.

No wonder I am anticipating at least $20,000 each. Queen Victoria wore hers only once - they changed them daily to avoid the risk of foot and mouth disease from sitting on damp Scottish horses. I wore mine many times in many countries sitting in economy on some plane which could crash at any moment over Greece and melt the rubber waistband. I hope I don't sell all of them. If I do I will soon have a half bottle of Clorox for sale to the highest bidder in any currency.

Do I hear an opening bid? To you madam - 11 cents. Do I hear 15? 14 do I hear? Err - 13?

At this rate I may have to offer my one time close knit, now string, vests once so popular in the musical "South Pacific". "I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair", sang Mary Martin cheerfully, a personal friend.  Well actually a friend of a personal friend - the doorman at the Savoy Hotel who knew her hairdresser assistant. Any man wearing these will look like Marlon Brando in "Streetcar Named Desire" - only his were Calvin Klein not Marks and Spencer made in China. No matter - they're still good for wiping spaghetti stains off the fingers.

One final suggestion. Why not do away with the need for crass materialism and start an Underwear Exchange program? You send me yours and I'll send you mine? Postage Collected.

Please - no corsets. I have enough trouble trying to tie what's left of my 19 year old sneaker laces. Shortly by the way to be offered on Craigs List - along with the never opened tin of foot powder given to me by Grandma Moses. Well actually by Grandma Moses morticians assistant, a strange young fellow called Harold who had a serious twitch over his left eye every time someone said "Beware for whom the bell tolls - it tolls for thee".

Forbes? Are you reading this? Queen Victoria will not be amused.
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An Easily Understandable Explanation of Derivative Markets

Heidi is the proprietor of a bar in Detroit. Business has been dropping off and Heidi realizes that most of her customers are unemployed alcoholics and, as such, can no longer afford to patronize her bar. To solve this problem, she comes up with a new marketing plan that allows her customers to drink now, but pay later. She keeps track of the drinks consumed in a ledger (thereby granting the customers loans).

Word gets around about Heidi's "Drink Now, Pay Later" marketing strategy and, as a result, increasing numbers of customers flood into Heidi's bar. Soon she has the largest sales volume for any bar in Detroit.

By providing her customers freedom from immediate payment demands, Heidi gets no resistance when, at regular intervals, she substantially increases her prices for wine and beer, the most consumed beverages. Consequently, Heidi's gross sales volume increases massively.

A young and dynamic Vice President at the local bank, recognizing that these customer debts constitute valuable future assets, increases Heidi's borrowing limit. He sees no reason for any undue concern, since he has the debts of the unemployed alcoholics as collateral.

At the bank's corporate headquarters, expert traders transform these customer loans into DRINKBONDS, ALKIBONDS and PUKEBONDS. These securities are then bundled and traded on international security markets. Naive investors don't really understand that the securities being sold to them as AAA secured bonds are really the debts of unemployed alcoholics.

Nevertheless, the bond prices continuously climb, and the securities soon become the hottest-selling items for some of the nation's leading brokerage houses.

One day, even though the bond prices are still climbing, a risk manager at the original local bank decides that the time has come to demand payment on the debts incurred by the drinkers at Heidi's bar. He so informs Heidi.
Heidi then demands payment from her patrons, but being unemployed alcoholics they cannot pay back their drinking debts. Since Heidi cannot fulfill her loan obligations, she is forced into bankruptcy. The bar closes and the eleven employees lose their jobs.

Overnight, DRINKBONDS, ALKIBONDS and PUKEBONDS drop in price by 90%. The collapsed bond asset value destroys the banks liquidity and prevents it from issuing new loans, thus freezing credit and economic activity in the entire community.

The suppliers of Heidi's bar had granted her generous payment extensions and had invested their companies' pension funds in the various bond securities including DRINKBONDS, ALKIBONDS and PUKEBONDS. They find they are now faced with not only having to write off her bad debt but also with losing over 90% of the presumed value of the bonds. Heidi's wine supplier claims bankruptcy, closing the doors on a family business that had endured for three generations, and her beer supplier is taken over by a competitor, who immediately closes the local plant and lays off 150 workers.

Fortunately though, the bank, the brokerage houses and their respective executives are saved and bailed out by a multi-billion dollar, no-strings attached cash infusion from their cronies in Government.

The funds required for this bailout are obtained by new taxes levied on independent thinking, employed, middle-class, non-drinkers who have never been in Heidi's bar!

Now, I think you understand derivative financing.

Keep on truckin' everybody
Arnold Parkinson
The British Club Worldwide
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Brits and Pieces - December 19th, 2011


Darth here.
Oh I know you're wondering what the heck I'm doing as a WalMart greeter but Hey - it enables to me to see what kind of crap you people are buying for Christmas. Our gifts are far superior.......


As you no doubt read recently in the Vampire Digest, we, Darth Vader Extreme Pestilence Corporation, have aquired Santa Klaus Inc. in an extremely unfriendly takeover, effective the first full moon in January. The board meanwhile has kindly invited me to give you a taste of the products we will be delivering to children - and those young at heart alike - next year. I'm sure you'll be as excited as we are having such gifts delivered by our heat seeking drone fleet rather than the old fashioned sleigh nonsense.

 
I asked famed commentator Dave Barry to review them and stress the marketing strategy - principally that if you don't buy any by St Valentines Day, there will be "severe consequences". No that's not a threat but just keep it in mind........


The holiday season is a time of traditions. Here in America, the most popular holiday tradition, observed by millions, is to celebrate the birth of Jesus by going to a Walmart at 4 a.m. on the day after Thanksgiving and getting into fist fights over steeply discounted TV sets.

But many other nations around the world have equally colorful holiday traditions of their own. For example:

 

In Britain they gather around a Pole - or sometimes a Czech - and do a lot of juggling with fruit cakes found in the 11th century BC (Before Canasta). One is the foundation corner stone of Westminster Abbey.

 

In British Commonwealth countries - I can't keep up these days which are in it and which are not - they still build inventive tableaus with stuffed dogs and horses wearing funny hats reminding one of the true purpose of Christmas - to feed the animals as did their forefathers, to be found also stuffed in the nearby farm house.

 

In Spain, on Christmas Eve, children traditionally fill their parents' best shoes with yogurt, then hide in the woods for two to three weeks.

 

In Austria, instead of Santa Claus they have "Father Wurmwerfer" -- a man dressed in a duck costume who rides a unicycle around tossing earthworms to everyone he sees. Legend has it that if you catch one, you will soon wash your hands.

 

During the holiday season in Finland, people get naked and sit around sweating in hot little rooms. They do this the rest of the year also, so it might have nothing to do with the holidays. It could just be that they get hammered a lot in Finland.

 

But the point is, there are many fun holiday-season traditions. And one of the most traditional of all is our annual Holiday Gift Guide, now in its 856th year. The Holiday Gift Guide is a collection of truly unique gifts that we have acquired via a painstaking process of personally visiting a wide range of prestigious locations on the Internet. Every one of these gift items is an actual product that is for sale. We know this because we actually purchased them, although not with our own money, because we are not complete idiots. We have, however, picked up each of these items and held it in our own personal hands, and we can assure you that, in every case, we immediately put it back down.

 

That is why we are able to offer you our Holiday Gift Guide Pledge of Guaranteed Quality Assurance Warranty, as follows: If you purchase one of these items, and you are not completely satisfied with it, simply give it to somebody else, and maybe that person will be completely satisfied with it. Although quite frankly we would be surprised.

 

But enough with the legal disclaimers. Let's get to the items that "made the cut" for this year's Holiday Gift Guide. And remember - people do buy this stuff - or there will be "severe consequences". To quote your Fearless Leader - all options are on the table.....

 

Best Wishes

Darth Vader - oh - and Welcome to WalMart. Tasteless products at Low Low prices. Did I mention before? Ours are far superior, starting with the:

POCKET TONGUE SCRAPER

$2.95 plus shipping and handling from Archie McPhee, P.O. Box 30852, Seattle, WA 98113, 425-349-3009, mcphee.com

Suggested by Chuck Cody, of Columbus, Ohio

Ask any dentist after he has had a couple of shots of tequila, and he will tell you that one of the most vital elements of oral hygiene is scraping your tongue. And yet the tragic fact is that only 9.4 percent of Americans even own a tongue scraper, according to a statistic appearing earlier in this sentence. Why is this? Probably because tongue-scraping is not considered "cool."

But that is about to change, thanks to this product made, believe it or noet, in North Korea. This is the first tongue scraper we are aware of that harnesses the glamour and "star power" of Kim Jong-IlI, the new supreme ruler of North Korea, often called "Dear Leader" by North Koreans in recognition of the fact that any time he wants, he can have them executed.

The Dear (but new) Leader Tongue Scraper comes packaged on a cardboard display card featuring an image of a smiling Kim Jong-IlI sitting in a pool, holding a tongue scraper in his hand and being pursued by three young women in bathing suits, their arms open wide and their faces expressing the Christmassy message: "We want you carnally, Dear Leader, because your tongue is devoid of crud!"


PORTABLE WINE RACK

$29.99 plus shipping and handling from Kotula's, 2800 Southcross Drive West, Burnsville, MN 55306, 800-685-4845; kotulas.com

Suggested by Jeff Berkowitz, of Coral Gables, Fla., and Maine

For the true wine connoisseur, there is nothing more enjoyable than sucking body-temperature wine from a tube connected to a polyurethane bladder concealed in a tatooed woman's undergarment.

That, in a nutshell, is the appeal of the Wine Rack, a sports brassiere equipped with a bladder that holds 25 ounces of wine or other beverages. According to the manufacturer, you can wear the Wine Rack to "movies, concerts, ball games -- anywhere you can imagine" and drink through "a drinking tube long enough to route as you wish." And here's a bonus: As your wine rack empties, your bosoms appear to shrink dramatically.

You will definitely want to give this product to all the classy women on your holiday list, as well as any men who for whatever reason -- and far be it from the Gift Guide to judge -- wear sports brassieres. Remember: This is the only wine-concealment device personally endorsed by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, who never goes anywhere without it.


WRAP-A-NAP

$14.99 plus shipping and handling from wrapanap.com

Suggested by Patrick Cahill, of Rockhampton, Queensland, Australia

Has this ever happened to you? Your eyes are closed, and you're trying to sleep. Just when you start to drift off, you hear the annoying sound of people talking. You open your eyes and say, "Can you people please keep it down??" Then you get in trouble, because you forgot you were in a staff meeting at work.

If that sounds familiar, you need the Wrap-a-Nap. This revolutionary product combines, for the first time ever that we know of, a pillow, a blindfold and earmuffs. You simply wrap it around your head, and suddenly you can't see or hear. And the best part is, your boss and co-workers will never even know that you're wearing the Wrap-a-Nap! We're assuming here that they are blind.

But the Wrap-a-Nap isn't just for office workers. It can be used to grab a quick "40 winks" in many environments -- museums, funerals, State of the Union Addresses, the cockpits of commercial airliners -- any place where oblivion is welcome. It is our understanding that the New York Metropolitan Opera sells these babies by the crate full.


CANDWICH -- THE SANDWICH IN A CAN

$10 (per four-pack) plus shipping and handling from MarkOneFoods, Salt Lake City, Utah, markonefoods.com

Suggested by Larry Martell, of Santa Fe, N.M., and Scott Grant Smith, of San Diego, Calif.

It's a known historical fact that the sandwich was invented in 1792 by the Earl of Sandwich, and the can was invented in 1802 by Sir Harvey Can. So both of these inventions have been around for more than two centuries, yet for some reason nobody ever thought to combine them -- until now. Now we have the Candwich, which combines the convenience and durability of a can with the tasty wholesome goodness of sandwich ingredients that have been stored for some time in a can.

The Candwich we purchased was a peanut-butter-and-jelly model. When we opened the can, we found a small foil packet of peanut butter, a packet of jelly, a plastic knife for spreading, and a wrapper containing a bun that, according to the Candwich manufacturer, is "made from a special military developed formulation." Yum! We're sure it tastes every bit as good as it sounds. Unfortunately we did not get around to personally assembling and eating the Candwich, because of a sudden loss of appetite.


MORPHSUIT

$49.95 and up, plus shipping and handling from International Marketing & Logistics, Fao Morphsuits, unit 11c Stephenson Road, Gorse Lane Industrial Estate, Clacton On Sea, CO15 4XA, United Kingdom, morphsuits.com

Suggested by Chuck Cody, of Columbus, Ohio

Wouldn't it be great if you could be invisible? That's the idea behind the Morphsuit, which is a one-piece suit made of thin, stretchy Spandex fabric that covers your entire body and head, thus rendering you completely invisible!

We don't mean "invisible" in the sense of "not visible to others." We mean it in the sense of, "causing people to avert their eyes in hopes you will go away, because you are wearing a creepy full-body stocking that does a poor job of concealing your various bulges."

According to the manufacturer, you can see through Morphsuits "and drink through them." However, the manufacturer warns that "they do impair the vision of the wearer," and "should not be used as protective clothing, near naked flames or whilst driving."


GAME ON GLOVE

$29.99 plus shipping and handling from Game On Glove, 19 Tiffany Court. Montville, NJ, 07045, 904-GET-GOG1 (904-438-4641), gameonglove.com

Suggested by Andrew Hoenig, of Rockville, Md.

Here is the ultimate gift for the "sports fanatic" on your list who wants to support his team in a way that makes the unmistakable statement: "I'm a better equipped dork than you are!"

The Game On Glove is a piece of soft plastic about the size of a head of lettuce, shaped sort of like a hockey glove and painted in the colors of a sports team. There's a hole where you stick your hand in, and another hole where you put your beverage, so you can use your Game On Glove to ... hold your beverage! Of course you could also just hold your beverage in your hand, but that wouldn't look nearly as dorky.

But holding your beverage is only one of the things you can do with your Game On Glove. You can also ... OK, let's take a peek at the official Game On Glove website. .......

OK, it turns out that holding your beverage is pretty much what you do with the Game On Glove. So if you know anybody who would be excited by the prospect of receiving something like this, then this is definitely what you should give that person.


TOAD PURSE

$34.95 plus shipping and handling from ToadShop, P.O. Box 1233, Greenville, ME, 04441, 877-855-3442, toadshop.com

Suggested by Angie Mansfield, of Madison, S.D.

Imagine this holiday scene: A fashionable woman unwraps a gaily wrapped package and finds ... What's this? A dead toad!

Sound too good to be true? Well it could be a reality for some lucky lady on your holiday gift list, if you give her this toad purse. That's right: This is a real, functioning purse, made from a real, formerly functioning toad. It has a cord so you can carry it on your shoulder, and there's a working zipper in the toad's butt, so you can open it up and put small items inside the toad. Smelling salts, for example.

We're sure this item will make a huge impression on whomever you give it to, based on the reaction of Holiday Gift Guide staff member Judi Smith, who refused to touch the toad purse with her bare hands, and had trouble even looking directly at it.


THE 'PHUBBY' WRIST PHONE CUBBY

$12.99 plus shipping and handling from Whatever Works, P.O. Box 3339, Chelmsford, MA, 01824-0939, 800-499-6757, whateverworks.com (Search for: 'Wrist Cell Phone Holder'.)

Suggested by Carol Ann Byrd, of Nashville, Tenn.

How important is this product? Here's a quote from the packaging (and if we can't trust the packaging, what can we trust?):

"Until recently, conveniently carrying a cellphone was this millennium's greatest challenge."

That's right: This millennium's greatest challenge. Not terrorism. Not global economic collapse. Not figuring out why people watch "Jersey Shore." No, our greatest challenge was conveniently carrying our cellphones.

And finally, that challenge has been met, thanks to the "Phubby" brand wrist phone cubby. This is a brightly colored stretchy fabric sleeve with a pocket in it. You wear the sleeve on your wrist and slide the phone into the pocket, and there you have it: a phone attached to your wrist! It's incredibly practical and convenient, assuming you don't mind having a phone attached to your wrist all the time.


CHRISTMAS STOCKING FULL OF KNIVES

$39.99 plus shipping and handling from Smoky Mountain Knife Works Inc., 2320 Winfield Dunn Parkway, P.O. Box 4430, Sevierville, TN, 37864, 800-251-9306, smkw.com

We're not going to beat around the bush here: This is one of the most exciting items we at the Holiday Gift Guide have ever encountered. It comes from the folks at Smoky Mountain Knife Works. Apparently they were sitting around one day, wondering, "What can we here at the Smoky Mountain Knife Works do to help people get into the true spirit of the holidays?" And then somebody -- let's call him Bob -- said, "How about we sell a Christmas stocking filled with knives?" And then everybody had a good laugh and took away Bob's crack pipe.

No, seriously: They actually did it. We know because we bought this item. What you get is a cheap mesh Christmas stocking with a cardboard picture of a happy ho-ho-ho Santa on it, and this stocking is completely full of knives. And these knives are not small, either. A couple of them are the size of Justin Bieber. Talk about the holiday spirit!


MARTHA STEWART ANIMATED SNAKE WREATH

$14.50 (was $29) plus shipping and handling from Grandin Road, 5566 W. Chester Road, West Chester, OH 45069, 866-668-5962, grandinroad.com (Search for item No. 45465.)

Suggested by W. von Papineau, of Gloucester, Ontario, Canada

Nothing says "Welcome to my home!" like snakes. And when it comes to choosing an animated snake wreath -- whether as a gift, or for your own personal use -- what you're looking for, above all else, is quality. That's why we here at the Holiday Gift Guide strongly recommend that you ignore all the cheap "knockoff" animated snake wreaths on the market and go with the Martha Stewart model.

This is a beautifully crafted wreath festooned with realistic rubber snakes, which are connected to a battery-powered motor and some kind of electronic thing, so that when visitors approach your door, your snakes vibrate in a menacing rubber manner. Your guests are bound to be delighted, assuming they do not go into cardiac arrest.

This is the only animated snake wreath endorsed by both Metallica and the National Council of Churches.


COW AND HORSE DROPPINGS

$4.64 to $5.12 plus shipping and handling from Reynauld's Euro Imports, Inc., 122 N. Main St., Elburn, IL 60119, 888-762-6872, reynaulds.com (Search for: 'cow piles' or 'horse piles'.)

Suggested by Steve Roberts, of Cleveland, Ohio

The holiday season, above all, is about bringing joy to children. And nothing makes children happier than receiving a truly special and unique gift -- a gift that none of the "other kids" have.

We can guarantee you that this is exactly the kind of gift you will be giving if you give these model-railroading cow and horse piles. These are tiny but realistic replicas of cow and horse excrement that model railroading enthusiasts place amongst their model cows and horses to add realism to their model railroads. Really, they do this.

But children don't need an elaborate model railroad to enjoy these piles; all it takes is some imagination. And you can join in the fun! Simply place the piles around the floor and tell your children, "Come on Bobby or Suzy or whatever your name is! Let's pretend these are piles of real poop that were excreted by real cows and horses, and there's a train going around them!" Then just sit back and watch their little faces light up with excitement, or something very much like it.


GIRLFRIEND PILLOW

$18.50 plus shipping and handling from amazon.com

Suggested by Rebecca Dill, of Scottsdale, Ariz.

This is the perfect gift for that "special guy" on your holiday list. (We are using the term "special guy" in the sense of "loser.") The Girlfriend pillow is a soft pillow with a single "arm," and what the manufacturer describes as "2 round shape cushions on the surface that gives you a breast-like sensation."

In other words, sleeping with this pillow is exactly like sleeping with a real, biological woman who happens to have only one arm, and no lower body, and no head, and is covered with fabric. Think of the advantages! For one thing, the Girlfriend Pillow will never buy shoes, or demand that you share your innermost feelings when you have no innermost feelings more complex than, "I want another beer." Speaking of which: If you spill your beer, you can use the Girlfriend Pillow to mop it up. Try THAT with a biological woman!

The Girlfriend Pillow is the official girlfriend pillow of the National Football League. Also Donald Trump owns two of these, although they have not yet met.

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Though our good friend Darth Vader didn't mention it, a gift bound to please would be to buy a friend or relative a 2012 Membership. And , if that were not enough, we send it to them as a Christmas Gift Certificate cashable in any of our ATM machines located at critical roundabouts on no stopping highways.

 

That way they too can be the life and soul of the party with our hilarious if provocative coverage of world events plus instant access to the steadily falling rate of of our local currencies.

 

Just tell us their name, their Email address, and your preferred message - and we do the rest (with a copy sent to you). There are no "severe consequences" should you not do this - except at club meetings you will be miserable entirely alone in a corner wondering if it's you or your toad purse costing $34.95.

 

Happy Gift Giving Y'All

Arnold Parkinson

The British Club Worldwide

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Brits and Pieces - July12th, 2004

When I'm a tad down, I always read again my favourite humorous authors, James Thurber of New Yorker Magazine being one.

Thurber actually, especially in his senior years when he became blind, was a bit of a bad tempered grouch causing many an unsettling incident with fellow writers and staff. He also, according to a colleague, had a tempestuous and long lasting love affair with the company's chief accountant who was also much feared and not exactly a ravishing femme fatale by any standards. Thurber, being blind, presumably didn't know that. Writers had to somehow meet their deadlines amidst loud cries of passion and the crashing of overturning furniture emanating days and nights from Thurbers office. :-)

 

But then he had a strong delightful wit - as shown in this famous piece below. Nobody knows if the story were true, but he certainly makes it appear so.

 

The Night The Bed Fell On Father

By James Thurber

I suppose that the high-water mark of my youth in Columbus, Ohio, was the night the bed fell on my father. It makes a better recitation (unless, as some friends of mine have said, one has heard it five or six times) than it does a piece of writing, for it is almost necessary to throw furniture around, shake doors, and bark like a dog, to lend the proper atmosphere and verisimilitude to what is admittedly a somewhat incredible tale. Still, it did take place.

It happened, then, that my father had decided to sleep in the attic one night, to be away where he could think. My mother opposed the notion strongly because, she said, the old wooden bed up there was unsafe - it was wobbly and the heavy headboard would crash down on father's head in case the bed fell, and kill him. There was no dissuading him, however, and at a quarter past ten he closed the attic door behind him and went up the narrow twisting stairs. We later heard ominous creakings as he crawled into bed. Grandfather, who usually slept in the attic bed when he was with us, had disappeared some days before. (On these occasions he was usually gone six or seven days and returned growling and out of temper, with the news that the federal Union was run by a passel of blockheads and that the Army of the Potomac didn't have any more chance than a fiddler's bitch.)

We had visiting us at this time a nervous first cousin of mine named Briggs Beall, who believed that he was likely to cease breathing when he was asleep. It was his feeling that if he were not awakened every hour during the night, he might die of suffocation. He had been accustomed to setting an alarm clock to ring at intervals until morning, but I persuaded him to abandon this. He slept in my room and I told him that I was such a light sleeper that if anybody quit breathing in the same room with me, I would wake Instantly. He tested me the first night - which I had suspected he would by holding his breath after my regular breathing had convinced him I was asleep. I was not asleep, however, and called to him. This seemed to allay his fears a little, but he took the precaution of putting a glass of spirits of camphor on a little table at the head of his bed. In case I didn't arouse him until he was almost gone, he said, he would sniff the camphor, a powerful reviver.

Briggs was not the only member of his family who had his crotchets. Old Aunt Allessia Beall (who could whistle like a man, with two fingers in her mouth) suffered under the premonition that she was destined to die on South High Street, because she had been born on South High Street and married on South High Street. Then there was Aunt Sarah Shoaf, who never went to bed at night without the fear that a burglar was going to get in and blow chloroform under her door through a tube. To avert this calamity - for she was in greater dread of anesthetics than of losing her household goods - she always piled her money, silverware, and other valuables in a neat stack just outside her bedroom, with a note reading,: "This is all I have. Please take it and do not use your chloroform, as this is all I have." Aunt Gracie Shoaf also had a burglar phobia, but she met it with more fortitude. She was confident that burglars had been getting into her house every night for four years. The fact that she never missed anything was to her no proof to the contrary. She always claimed that she scared them off before they could take anything, by throwing shoes down the hallway. When she went to bed she piled, where she could get at them handily, all the shoes there were about her house. Five minutes after she had turned off the light, she would sit up in bed and say "Hark!" Her husband, who had learned to ignore the whole situation as long ago as 1903, would either be sound asleep or pretend to be sound asleep. In either case he would not respond to her tugging and pulling, so that presently she would arise, tiptoe to the door, open it slightly and heave a shoe down the hall in one direction, and its mate down the hall in the other direction. Some nights she threw them all, some nights only a couple of pair.

But I am straying from the remarkable incidents that took place during the night that the bed fell on father. By midnight we were all in bed. The layout of the rooms and the disposition of their occupants is important to an understanding of what later occurred. In the front room upstairs (just under father's attic bedroom) were my mother and my brother Herman, who sometimes sang in his sleep, usually "Marching Through Georgia" or "Onward, Christian Soldiers." Briggs Beall and myself were in a room adjoining this one. My brother Roy was in a room across the hall from ours. Our bull terrier, Rex, slept in the hall.

My bed was an army cot, one of those affairs which are made wide enough to sleep on comfortably only by putting up, flat with the middle section, the two sides which ordinarily hang down like the sideboards of a drop-leaf table. When these sides are up, it is perilous to roll too far toward the edge, for then the cot is likely to tip completely over, bringing the whole bed down on top of one, with a tremendous banging crash. This, in fact, is precisely what happened, about two o'clock in the morning. (It was my mother who, in recalling the scene later, first referred to it as "the night the bed fell on your father.")

Always a deep sleeper, slow to arouse (I had lied to Briggs), I was at first unconscious of what had happened when the iron cot rolled me onto the floor and toppled over on me. It left me still warmly bundled up and unhurt, for the bed rested above me like a canopy. Hence I did not wake up, only reached the edge of consciousness and went back. The racket, however, instantly awakened my mother, in the next room, who came to the immediate conclusion that her worst dread was realized: the big wooden bed upstairs had fallen on father. She therefore screamed, "Let's go to your poor father!" It was this shout, rather, than the noise of my cot falling, that awakened Herman, in the same room with her. He thought that mother had become, for no apparent reason, hysterical. "You're all right, Mamma!" He shouted, trying, to calm her. They exchanged shout for shout for perhaps ten seconds: "Let's go to your poor father!" and "You're all right! " That woke up Briggs. By this time I was conscious of what was going on, in a vague way, but did not yet realize that I was under my bed instead of on it. Briggs, awakening in the midst of loud shouts of fear and apprehension, came to the quick conclusion that he was suffocating and that we were all trying to "bring him out." With a low moan, he grasped the glass of camphor at the head of his bed and instead of sniffing it poured it over himself. The room reeked of camphor. "Ugh, ugh," choked Briggs, like a drowning man, for he had almost succeeded in stopping his breathing under the deluge of pungent spirits. He leaped out of bed and groped toward the open window, but he came up against one that was closed. With his hand, he beat out the glass, and I could hear it crash and tinkle on the alleyway below. It was at this juncture that I, in trying to get up, had the uncanny sensation of feeling my bed above me. Foggy with sleep, I now suspected, in my turn, that the whole uproar was being made in a frantic endeavor to extricate me from what must be an unheard-of and perilous situation. "Get me out of this!" I bawled. "Get me out!" I think I had the nightmarish belief that I was entombed in a mine. "Ugh," gasped Briggs, floundering in his camphor.

By this time my mother, still shouting, pursued by Herman, still shouting, was trying to open the door to the attic, in order to go up and get my father's body out of the wreckage. The door was stuck, however, and wouldn't yield. Her frantic pulls on it only added to the general banging and confusion. Roy and the dog were now up, the one shouting questions, the other barking.

Father, farthest away and soundest sleeper of all, had by this time been awakened by the battering on the attic door. He decided that the house was on fire. "I'm coming, I'm coming,!" he wailed in a slow, sleepy voice - it took him many minutes to regain full consciousness. My mother, still believing he was caught under the bed, detected in his "I'm coming!" the mournful, resigned note of one who is preparing to meet his Maker. "He's dying!" she shouted.

"I'm all right!" Briggs yelled to reassure her. "I'm all right!" He still believed that it was his own closeness to death that was worrying mother. I found at last the light switch in my room, unlocked the door, and Briggs and I joined the others at the attic door. The dog, who never did like Briggs, jumped for him assuming that he was the culprit in whatever was going on and Roy had to throw Rex and hold him. We could hear father crawling out of bed upstairs. Roy pulled the attic door open, with a mighty jerk, and father came down the stairs, sleepy and irritable but safe and sound. My mother began to weep when she saw him. Rex began to howl. "What in the name of God's going on here?" asked father.

The situation was finally put together like a gigantic jig-saw puzzle. Father caught a cold from prowling around in his bare feet but there were no other bad results. "I'm glad," said mother, who always looked on the bright side of things, "that your grandfather wasn't here."

Best wishes to one and all.

Arnold Parkinson

The British Club Worldwide

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