Nothing (much) To Report

I immensely like this, for some strange reason, it's from last week's b3ta newsletter:

#3 Testicles
'Got a bloke drunk and bet him that he couldn't
get both his bollocks into a standard Marmite
jar. This is an easy feat: one simply pops
them in, one at a time. Unfortunately there
isn't room for both a plum and a digit,
negating the chances of removing said testicles.
Nothing makes Lord Manley happier than watching
a grown man's face as he holds a claw hammer
and contemplates smashing the glass jar which
houses his gonads.' (Lord Manley)"

With the combined joys of Marmite and testicles, I ask you all two, who needs Womble porn?

I have about 5 or 6 embryonic posts currently running amok in my head. They're causing all kinds of grief, mostly to my sleeping pattern. The trouble I have is turning these ideas into meaningful, coherent, structured prose. I should jot down these disjointed thoughts when they're running freely about the emptier parts of my brain at 2 in the morning, but I can't be arsed to get out of bed and scrabble about finding pen and paper, for I don't possess one of the mythical objects oft called "laptop". But that's something I want to write about in a proper post, once extracted.

In other news, tis 3 (count 'em, three!!) days till my wee sister's wedding. She'll stop being a Little Miss and become a Respectable Married Woman. She was the first to fly the roost, is the first to get hitched, and will probably be the first to make me an aunty. Unless, no the unless is too horribly painful to even imagine.