I know the vast majority of the people on this website are American, and chances are a lot of the people who are reading this will therefore be American as well, on top of this you have people from mainland Europe and the other continents as well. This post concerns a British concern, that of the British National Party, but I will be addressing people of other nations at the end of the post.

For those of you unaware of who or what the BNP is, the fact that they have been dubbed the British Nazi Party should give you some idea of what it is they stand for. They are a political party who state that they are British nationalists and are trying to protect Britain from outsiders (immigrants ) and bring back a sense of British Pride.

To anyone who on reading this thinks that doesn't sound to bad, allow me to extrapolate on the description:

Members of the BNP have been arrested for violating race laws by disseminating racists literature in the heart of one of Britains major cities.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/mer seyside/7744332.stm

Members of the BNP have been arrested for possesion of weapons that are illegal in the UK, including RPG launchers and grenades.

I have sadly lost the link to this news story.

The BNP are a vile and disgusting political party who are usurping what it means to be British. Whether by hijacking the Union Flag and the flag of St George, or by trying to invovle themselves and claim traditional activities and music by claiming they are trying to help them be revivied or protect them, the BNP have been working their way into becoming an accepted face of British Politics.

This can not be allowed to happen.

They're tactics of trying to take over and support and protect folk traditions is one utilised by the Nazi's under Hitler.

They have set up a youth movement in the same vein as the Nazi Party.

I'm writing this today after I stumbled across a link on the BBC website which detailed that some of my favourite folk artists were having their albums sold by the BNP as a means for them to raise money against their will.

I am now asking you, as a decent human being that i am sure you are, that you take a few actions to try and help stop the spread of these demonic individuals who claim to represent ' the best of what is British'

1) If you haven't already done this, then Sign the Hope not Hate 'Not in my name Petition'. This has already been handed into the European Parliament as a declaration of the distaste that the British people have for the fact tht Nick griffin and his coleague were elected to the European Parliament, but the more signatures it gets, the stronger the message is.

BRITAIN DOES NOT ENDORSE FASCISM OR RACISM

2) If you want to get involved a bit more then I suggest looking up United Against Fascism and looking for their campaigns that might be taking place in and around your area.

3) Use your right to Vote and do not let the fascists in by default. This is how the BNP were able to win seats in the European Elections.

To those of you who aren't British, or for whatever reason don't want to do any of these things, then there's a very simple thing you can do. Whenever someone mentions the BNP, or Fascism to you in conversation, mak your dislike known and state *why*!

The only way to defeat this is through education and there is no stronger force on earth when it comes to altering personal opinion than word of mouth.

Through education we can end ignorance.
Without ignorance we are free of hate.

Thanks for reading.

Regards,

Steve ( Tri-Nitro-Toluene)

Train ticket to Bournemouth: £18
Food for Journey: £10
Money Spent on Girlfriends Birthday Present: £30

Breaking up with your girlfreind due to her feelings changing and you then not having a way home for 5 days: Priceless

So yeah. Girls suck >= (

<To be updated as and when I find soemthing interesting to put here>

1) Shiny Shiny Barmaid

This is a pub game in which all competitors must choose a woman in the pub/bar/club to chase after and get there phone number. The girl must be ranked from 1 to 10 based on their looks. In order to make everything fair the lower the attractiveness of the woman a more ridiculous forfeit must be done ( Example a rank 4 woman you would have to get their number by making sexist comments to them) this is done on the idea that the less attractive a gal is the easier they are to pull as they dont get as much attention. the more unnatractive a woman is the more surreal and stupid the forfeit is. A Rank 1 woman would have to be pulled by being sexist, racist, arrogant and just a general twat whislt looking like they have wet themselves.

2) Manly Garlic-off

Take two ( or more) drunk people, give them 8 bulbs of garlic and then watch them try and eat them all in the name of proving who is the more manly. First person to take a drink loses and is forever labelled a woman.

3) Obese men dressed up in drag that is far too revealing.

This is not a good thign to see. Pray you never have to be a victim to this crime against humanity. Man thongs should not be sold to anyone weighing over 13 stone.

4) The Penis Game

The penis game. You go out to a very crowded public place, and someone starts saying penis. The next guy has to say it louder, until people give you very odd looks.

5) The Pants Game

Take well known film titles and replace one word with the word pants.

Example:

Raiders of the last Pant ( raiders of the lost ark)
Star Pants ( Star Wars)

unless you decide to make something of it. This occurred to me the other day. Just thought I'd let you all know.

This story was originally written for GumonShoes Writing contest a while back but, for various reaosons wasn't completed in time. Instead of just letting it sit idle I decided to finish it off ( Still not happy with the end) and post it here. Enjoy :)

Hippies, Communes and Death? Oh My!

As offices go, there were certainly more enjoyable environments to be in. All there was in the room was a single table directly in the middle of the room, and a potted plant in the far corner. The table was arranged in a manner that bespoke a great deal about its owner. Each pencil was meticulously placed in order from biggest to smallest, the coffee mug, bearing the insignia, Tidily Winks world championship 1964, was positioned so that when someone was sitting at the desk working, it was at the optimum distance to allow for easy access to its contents, but far enough away so that if it were spilt said contents would not damage the papers which were in a neat pile at a comfortable distance to allow for the neatest hand writing. The inclusion of a name plate at the front end of the desk indicated that the owner took great pride in his clients knowing exactly who they were dealing with. It also indicated that the owner of the desk was named 'G. Reaper' who, at this very moment, by some fortuitous circumstance was walking through the door located behind the desk on the far side of the room, right next to the pot plant.

He was a small man though he walked with the purposeful stride of someone who was...well lets be honest, trying to compensate for their lack of height by pretending they're more important than they actually are. Mr Reaper was the sort of man who, upon hitting middle age, would purchase a sports car thinking that somehow this made up his unattractiveness and the continuation of the aging process...well, he would have been the sort of person who'd have bought a sports car if he existed on the material realm. As it is, he doesn't, for Mr Reaper doesn't exist. Not physically at any rate...not entirely. He is but the personification of an idea, an anthropomorphic entity if you will. The more astute among you upon hearing this will be thinking that if he is an anthropomorphic entity then what idea does he personify? Let me tell you...

As Mr Reaper walked into the room he reached behind the potted plant, which I must add, as potted plants go was an unusual colour as it was totally black, like everything else in the room for that matter. He pulled out a scythe seemingly from nowhere and as he strode forward his suit seemed to extend to his feet, and a hood rose up over his head. His eyes began to glow a dark red, throbbing, as it were, in the darkness that now concealed his face. It truly was a menacing sight...or it would have been if he hadn't tripped up on the hem of his robe and fell flat on his face.

'Dress code be damned!' he murmured to himself as he lay their on the floor.

Suddenly, the robe, the scythe and the hood all vanished leaving Death, to use his official title, lying on the floor wearing a ruffled shirt and breeches. It was a somewhat unusual combination by modern standards, but when you exist beyond space and time itself following fashion can be quite difficult. As such Death had long ago reverted to utilising the form of dress he felt most comfortable in. The days of appearing before people in the aforementioned robe had long since past. Nowadays when appearing on the material world he had to appear in his suit anyway. Apparently it set a good precedent for customer service. Death had never bought into the idea that the customer was always right. When you work with those who have recently died and they absolutely insist that they can not move on into the afterlife due to a pressing engagement with their dentist one tends to develop a degree of cynicism towards the customer. Sadly for him however, the owner of the company for which he worked, Universe Inc, had recently got into the whole customer service deal. This wouldn't have been that bad, God didn't tend to get involved with the little details and was happy to content himself with smiting unbelievers every now and again. Satan however...

As it so happened, it was at this very moment that Death was pulling himself up off the floor and the door behind him swung open again. In the door way there now stood a tall man wearing a well pressed suit with the label sticking out of the back, undoubtedly purposefully placed there so those walking behind him could see the designer branding. His shoes were polished to the point where you could use them as a mirror. This was probably a symptom of the mans own arrogance, for he walked with a small smile curling up on the corner of his mouth as though he was about to enjoy some despicable act of torture. Quite frankly, he probably had just come from a despicable act of torture, his favourite at this moment being to tie up TV executives and force them to watch Barney the Dinosaur to let them know EXACTLY what they have unleashed upon the world. Truly, this man was pure evil.

'Grim!' he cried out in insincere excitement. He spoke with the cheery tone that made most sane people go...well...insane. There are very few words that are capable of describing just exactly what was wrong with Satans persona but thankfully all that is required to be said is that Grim's day was not getting off to a good start.

'Grim! Grimmy grim grim grimgrim!' joked Satan as he pulled his employee up by the arm, jerking him to his feet in one swift motion.

'Hows it going Death?' he inquired with a toothy grin plastered onto his face. His teeth sparkled. His teeth always sparkled.

'As well as can be expected,' replied Death somewhat uneasily. Satan was only ever happy when he had bad news to deliver, so Grim decided to grab the bull by the neck so to speak and find out exactly why he was here.

' Have you got some new orders for me? Is God finally putting a stop to this customer relations nonsense?' he enquired, knowing fully what the answer would be.

' Grim! You know better than that! The big man upstairs likes to give all new ideas a good period of time to work themselves out.'

Satan sat himself down on the edge of Grim's desk and picked up a pen. Grim visibly winced as he watched his orderly system of placement crumble apart in Satan's clawed hands.

' Grim,' said Satan in a rather more serious tone than before whilst still playing with the pen, ' I'm sure you're aware that recently the entirety of the companies workforce has been under surveillance to determine the quality of the product available to the consumer...'

'What?' interrupted Grim, ' Nobody told me this!'

'Didn't they? Well, I wouldn't worry about it. Though I will say Grimmy boy, a one man conga? Most inspiring,' chucked Satan finally putting the pen down, not in its correct position of course.

Grim looked about the office nervously. He knew that he hadn't been keeping up with the customer satisfaction program. There were still reports on his desk which needed filing about incidents in which certain customers had found themselves on the sharp end of a scythe due to factors that were totally beyond his control...mostly. Well some of the factors were in hi control. The speed, velocity, angle of the strike, for instance even the verbal insults that were delivered after the scythe had been removed but this is not important however, what matters is that Grim hadn't been doing his job according to how the management wanted it done. Grim knew this, and now, apparently, so did they. Satan was grinning. Things were going to get worse...

' I can tell from the look on your face that you know you've been a very naughty boy Grim. But, you know me, I'm a kind hearted individual. God was one for transferring you to another department where your lack of people skills wouldn't be a problem. I hear the Ouija Board division is really going places Grim. You'd like it there.'

That final sentence sent shivers down Death's spine. This was due firstly to the manner in which it was delivered. Satan had a gift of making any sentence sound like an insult by adding only the subtlest of intonations. Secondly, the Ouija Board division was where they sent all the no hopers. Once you were there you were doomed to spend the rest of eternity dealing with little kids who thought it would be fun to try to contact their dead uncle and ask pointless questions, or dealing with Psychic medians. He was unsure which was worse...

' Clearly the prospect of serving in that particular division isn't appealing,' sneered Satan, his grin seeming to grow wider with each passing second, slowly revealing more and more of his sharp, pointed, yet always sparkling, teeth. ' Don't worry Grim! I got it covered! I managed to persuade the G-man upstairs that you don't belong in that section. Hell you've been serving this desk since the dawn of time more or less, and you can't find experience like that! So, I managed to persuade him to give you another chance. Only problem is it comes at a price.'

' Anything! Please! I'll do anything,' blurted out Grim, ' Just don't send me to the Ouija Board Division!'

' I knew you'd see it my way,' chuckled Satan getting up off of the desk. ' Now, what you've got to do is quite simple really. We're sending you away to learn more people skills. Simple as that. Nothing else to it.'

'Really?' replied Grim somewhat cynically, knowing that nothing was ever simple where Satan was involved.

' Of course!' exclaimed Satan, ' Well, I do have to warn you that, to begin with, you may find the course teachers a little...shall we say...irksome? But that's what you get when you go to a Hippy Commune anyway.'

A hippy commune? Grim's heart skipped a beat. If there was one set of people he despised in all the universe it was hippies. It was a trait he shared with God who's hatred of Hippies was so great that he Rigged the 2000 Presidential election to ensure that Gore didn't get into power and start listening to Hippy pressure groups.

Satan was still smiling....

' How...how long do I have to be there for?' asked Grim the dismay in his voice clearly audible.

' Now lets see...well, you need to be there long enough for it to have an affect...but we don't wanna keep you there too long...so...shall we say a month? Or until we feel you've become a people person' said Satan with a very false look of sympathy on his face.

' An entire month...' Grim let the sentence trail off as his mind began to wander with exactly what a month living in a hippy commune would be like.

' Only if necessary! Oh and one more thing! Whilst you're on the mortal plane of existence you will be physical, and well...subject to the same problems that they have. But don't worry! If you die, you'll just end up back here and we can put you straight back down again. Now if you'll excuse me I have an appointment with Octo-Jesus. Apparently the jellyfish don't take too kindly to the prospect of a fishy messiah! So off you go!'

Grim opened his mouth to reply, blinked, and then shut it again. He was no longer in his office. The tiled floor had been replaced by grass which was in need of mowing. Where the pot plant had once stood was now a tree.

' Bugger,' Grim thought to himself as he examined his surroundings further. In the distance he could make out what appeared to be some form of encampment. His ears twitched slightly as they heard the words 'Kumbaya' repeated over and over again. Grim shuddered. If there was thing he detested more than hippies it was hippie who fulfilled stereotypes.

' Well,' Grim mused, ' I suppose I had better get this over with'

It wasn't a long walk to the camp, but for Grim it felt like eternity. This was primarily due to the fact that as an anthropomorphic entity, the idea of time was a unique phenomena that he did not have to deal with on a daily basis. Let me explain dear reader for from the bemused look upon your face I can tell you haven't got a clue of what I'm talking about.

Within the universe anthropomorphic entities inhabit a place which is beyond the physical realm. Throughout history human cultures have tried to define this place with a number of terms. Valhalla, Heaven, Hell, Nirvana. Oddly enough, despite the myriad of religions in the world, not one of them has ever successfully managed to get the right name of this place, all though it is rumoured that L. Ron Hubbard did once come very close. I digress however, for the name of this place is not important. What is important however is that within the patch of reality that Grim calls home time does not exist. Well, it does, but it does not move in a linear motion. It does not progress forwards in a march resembling a communist display of military strength, but rather it loops back on itself. Time, is circular and enjoys forming knots. This peculiarity results in Grim's office building as being in not just a singular place, at a singular time, but in all places, at all points in time. As such as Grim walked towards the encampment he could physically feel the change in time around him, pushing at him as it marched past determined to get to wherever it was that it was going.

Eventually Grim arrived at what appeared to be the edge of the encampment. Inside tents were pitched in a haphazard manner. Clothes were strewn about in a way that suggested sexual promiscuity. Grim took a deep breath and walked into the camp.

' Wooah! He's here!'

Grim turned to face the direction the voice had came from. In front of him stood four hippies. He would have tried to distinguish them, but their faces and forms were concealed a heavy haze of smoke which could have come from any number of illegal substances.

' Thank god I don't have a respiratory system' mumbled death as he walked towards the group.

' Ah, good afternoon,' said Grim holding out his hand to the closest hippy. ' I believe I'm expected? My name is Grim.'

' Woah!' replied one of the hippies, the pitch of the voice giving it away to be a woman, ' This is so totally radical! The prophesy came true!'

' Prophesy?' inquired Grim with one eyebrow raised

' Yeah dude! Like ...a few hours ago Jim here,' he pointed to the hippy next to him, ' had like...a vision, and in it a man called Stan, with red skin said that you would arrive and that we had to teach you to how to be like...mellow and more people person like.'

' Ah, I see,' sighed Grim wishing that he did in fact have a respiratory system as then he might be able to inhale the fog of smoke and be in a state of mind where he wouldn't be driven into a homicidal rage by the stoners standing in front of him.

It was at this point that Grim remembered that as an anthropomorphic entity his entire being was shaped by the power of belief, or as you might like to put it, if people wished it upon him, it was so. Allow me to illustrate. At this point in time our dear friend Grim is wishing he had a respiratory system, if a normal being were to wish such a thing, the universe would in fact not alter their very physical make up to allow them to have it. However, due to a flaw in the universal coding, Anthropomorphic entities are changed by such wishes. As such, upon the very instant where Grim wished he was in possession of a respiratory system, he found himself suddenly breathing in enough drug filled smoke to make even the Canadian party for the legalisation of cannabis think twice about drug use.

They say there is nothing life like your first high. For Grim this was certainly the case. The feeling of his head being filled with helium and wanting to float away was not something he'd ever experienced before. The rumbling within his digestive system, which he swore hadn't been there a moment ago, was something new as well.

' Woah! You look....like more totally mellow already!' said one of the hippies, ' Dude! Just wait till you try this new stuff from Jamaica! It's called Tropical Envy. You're gonna love it!'

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag filled with what looked like oregano, a lighter, and pack of cigarette skins. Opening the bag, he pinched some of the contents out and sprinkled it gently into one of the skins before quickly, and skillfully, rolling it up into a usable joint. With an audible click form the lighter, it was alight, and Grim found himself inhaling yet more drug filled fumes. This...was different though. The world was changing around him.The grey clouds that hung in the sky were suddenly of a purest white with happy smiling faces, swaying from side to side to the rhythm of the whistling wind. It was a happy tune, a song of pure joy indicating that all was right in the world.

' It's...beautiful...' mumbled Grim as he staggered forward past the hippies towards the forest behind them.

' Yo, dude! Wait up!' cried one of the hippies.

' No man!' said the hippy carrying the drugs. ' I believe it was the holy prophet John Lennon who once said: ' If you love them, let them go.' He is at one with the universe, he will use this as a way to reach his inner chi and fulfill his earthly potential.'

All the hippies, stunned by this pearl of wisdom that had just struck their ears stood and watched Grim stagger awkwardly into the forest.

To the casual observer it was a normal forest. To those high on hallucinogenic drugs it was magical. The gum drop trees swayed in the wind, their fruits singing out a counter melody to the blue tits warbling songs of love and spring. A squirrel ran down a tree and jumped onto Grim's shoulder. It started to play a harmonica. The forest was singing. All was well. As Grim walked through this magical paradise his eyes fell upon giant sign on the outskirts of the forest. He skipped towards it as the sounds and songs of the forest faded into the distance.

It was a big sign. On it was a giant pig in a chefs hat with a fork in one hand and plate of bacon in the other. Grim stopped skipping and stared at the giant pig. He wondered if the pig understood the concept of cannibalism as it's arm moved the fork up and down by a magical force known to humans as electricity and engineering. Undisturbed by his thoughts Grim moved closer to the sign. The ground beneath his feet changed in texture, gone was the grassy earth that had been underfoot in the forest. Here the ground was hard, rocky almost. He paid no heed to it and continued to stare at the sign.

A sound in the distance, a rumble of thunder perhaps? No matter, Grim continued to stare at the sign. The sound grew louder and louder until finally its distraction forced Grim to turn his head in it's direction. Heading towards him was a large object. It was moving at high speed. The square box at the front seemed to be being propelled by...yes...there were wheels attached to it. The square box was in turn attacked to another larger box, also moving on wheels at quite a speed. It was a very nice shade of red. Such a nice shade of red that Grim stood there staring at it for a brief period of time as it got closer and closer. On the front of the box at the front was writing of some sort. Squinting slightly Grim was able to make out what it said.

' Warning: I intentionally run over small, furry animals'

Grim slurred his words slightly as he read aloud the writing. His mind filled with a number of thoughts. Top of which was the fact that he was glad that he was a small furry animal and that because of this clearly the box on wheels would avoid him. He then started to think about what it would be like to be a small furry animal. He then promptly changed into a small furry animal as the laws of Anthropomorphism kicked in.

Suddenly viewing the world from a much smaller vantage point, and also a vantage point with paws, seemed to clear the drug filled haze of his mind. Why it wasn't a box on wheels that was hurtling towards him at high speeds that were probably in excess of the speed limit, but rather a truck. This made so much more sense of the situation, but it did not however help solve the problem which was now dawning on Grim that he was now a small animal in front of a truck being driven by a man who was less than 10 seconds away from him and likely to run him over for fun.

Without vocal cords grim was unable to express himself in any verbal way, but as the truck successfully squashed his head to the tarmac a look crossed his face which in human terms can be translated as meaning ' oh shit!'

In the gap between realities where Anthropomorphic entities live Satan was sat in Grim's office with his feet on the table conversing on a phone.

'Yeah. I understand boss. I understand. You know as well as I do that Mohammed will not like that plan. Sending him to save the souls of Anchovies is a bad idea. If they didn't like Octo-Jesus, do you honestly think they'll latch on to Islam? I know you like the idea of an aquatic messiah, but is it strictly necessary? I've been looking at the account and....hold on a second. Grim is back. Why are you looking at me like that? Where did you get that Knife from? Ah, Grim lets talk this through buddy! It can't have been that bad!'

Grim's eyes were cold as he stared at Satan who slowly began to remove his feet from the In Tray. slowly he began to walk forward, the aforementioned knife gripped tightly in one hand, with an even pace which each step acting as an exclamation point to the word he spoke.

' I. Was. Run. Over. By. A. Truck.'

' W...well that's hardly my fault Grim!' stuttered Satan as he stood up and back slowly toward the door, ' I didn't know that was going to...'

' I. Don't. Care! I am not going back down there for love or money. If you must send me on some stupid course then send me somewhere else!'

' Ok. Ok. Just calm down buddy! Put the knife down! Thats it. Now, we did have some other ideas so we'll jsut send you to one of the contingency plans. And you're gone in three, two, one!'

Grim blinked. Gone was his office. In front of him was a mass of young faces all under the age of ten. All holding pea shooters. All aimed at him.

' Oh god!' he moaned under his breath ' Here we go again...'

Chapter 2:

' Nitro!' chuckled Staff as he bench pressed the forklift truck with one hand and held the phone in the other. ' How's it going scrawny?'

' Look Staff, I'm not in the mood for this. I need your help.'

' No change from usual then?' said Staff as he put down the forklift.

' Oh haha,' replied Nitro, the edge in his voice indicating he was getting annoyed.

' Relax already. What's the problem?'

' RG has switched. He's trying to bring down England.'

The barbell Staff was curling dropped to the floor. RG? Switched? Surely that wasn't possible? Staff's mind filled with questions. How? Why? When? Why was he asking questions like these when there was 50lb weight on his left foot? He shook off his confusion as quickly as it appeared.

' Where are you Nitro? You need to fill me in with everything that's happened up this point'

' I'll send you my coordinates...and...can you bring some clothes with you?'

' Sure thing I'll be...wait...what?'

________

'I'm not even gonna ask...'

Staffs voice was a mixture of amusement, bemusement and horror.

' Look, it involved Jack Daniels, a Death ray, fifty feet of rope and a very bad joke about a rabbi.' snapped Nitro as he did up the buttons on his jacket.

' Sounds like a wild night out. So tell me weedy, what exactly is he planning?'

Nitro straightened his tie and walked over to the blackboard.

' It's all written down here.'

Staff's eyes wandered over the blackboard assimilating all the information presented to him. The plan was simple really:

Increase Co2 emissions
Stop production of tea
Take over English media so they don't realize tea is no longer growing
Teach English to spell realize with a Z and not an S
Pick up milk from shops
????
Profit!

Staff fell silent for a moment. The absence of point number six had to mean something. What was supposed to be there...

' Oh, and he's heading to Fort Lauderdale.'

' What? Why?'

' No clue, but there's a brochure on the table with a resort circled. It's the onyl clue we have at the moment so we're going to have to act on it.'

'Shit... any where but Fort Lauderdale...'

' What's up Staff?' inquired Nitro.

' It's just...Seven is in fort Lauderdale now...with Proteas. If anyone down there knows anything it'll be them, but I'd rather not go see them if I can avoid it. Far too awkward if ya get what I mean.'

' Yeah, I can understand that. We don;t have a choice though.'

' True. We had better make a move. RG has a huge head start. By the way, Nitro?'

'Yeah?'

' You're flying low,' Staff said as he walked out of the basement.

Blame Reviewer General for giving me the ideas for this...

Chapter 1:

It was cold in the basement. Nitro wondered what turn of events had led to him being tied up naked in RG's basement with a large laser slowly moving towards his genitalia. He then remembered how he had got there and cursed himself for even mentioning the idea that he could stop RG's plan to bring down might of England.

If he could just move his arms...nope. No good. They were tied tight. Apparently RG hadn't been joking when he had said that he didn't expect Nitro to get out alive. It was probably why he had actually taken the time to explain, in full detail his plan. It was quite ingenious really. By increasing the amount of C02 in the atmosphere he would disrupt the globes weather patterns thereby affecting the areas which grew England's supplies of tea and prevent the tea from being grown. This, on its own, was devilishly clever, but RG, in typical evil genius fashion, was going one step further. He was going to ensure that the English media didn't stop discussing the change in weather patterns, thus keeping the population and government distracted long enough for them to not do anything about the lack of tea and render them powerless to stop RG's ultimate aim of...well...come to think of it he didn't actually say what his ultimate aim was, regardless, he still had to be stopped!

Nitro struggled with his bonds. He knew that if he got out of this then he was going to have to take some escape artist lessons. Glancing down at the laser he found himself looking at his legs. The bond RG had used to tie his legs together had been severed by the laser, and judging form the position of the laser they had been severed a good 5 minutes ago. Feeling slightly sheepish he angled himself round so that he could use the beam that was intended to be the device of his death as a means to break the bonds cuffing his hands together.

Rubbing his wrists from where the bonds had dug into his skin Nitro examined the room. As basements go it was a nice one. There was a carpet, a number of games consoles, a series of instruments used to mutilate and deform whomever was placed in them in a variety of interesting and extraordinarily painful ways, and a rather attractive potted plant standing in the corner of the room.The main focus of the room though was the blackboard on the far wall on which the words ' EVIL PLANS TIO DESTROY ENGLAND' was scrawled in haphazard writing as though the hand writing it had been drunk at the time. It wouldn't have a surprise if RG had been drunk when he wrote his plans. Anyone who knew him was aware that he was the most creative when he'd been out all night with his good buddy Jack Daniels.

After examining the Blackboard for a minute Nitro's eyes fell onto the desk locate dto the side of it. In the letter holder was a brochure. Reaching out to pick it up he noticed that his armani suit had been torn.

' Well, looks like the boss will be charging me for another uniform' he thought to himself as he thumbed through the brochure. It was a bog standard travel brochure offering trips, deals and packages to a wide variety of places. one package deal caught Nitro's eye, although it wasn't because of the 5 star hotel, or the sites nearby. No, it caught his eye for a very different reason. Someone had circled the name of the town the resort was in with thick red marker. ' Fort Lauderdale' ... Nitro pondered the significance of why RG would want to go to Fort Lauderdale. Sure, it was a nice place to go on holiday, he'd been there once, but what could be there to interest a villainous mastermind like RG?

As Nitro stood in contemplating the significance of RG's choice of holiday locale his mind began to wonder back to when they had been partners...before RG had grown disillusioned with the low pay, the being treated like crap by their superiors and indeed, the being forced to pay for ridiculously expensive uniforms. That was the life of a secret agent though. There was a high drop out rate among secret agents, this was not shocking, it was a tough job. What was shocking, and rather more worrying was the recent trend of agents not just tending their resignation, but also switching allegiances and joining the international agency of evil villains

RG had been one of the best. Top of the class when they had graduated, but for some reason he'd turned his back on it all. It had started when he and Nitro were on mission in Argentina meeting up with an informant from within the Argentinean secret Service. The weather had been stifling, and the warehouse where the meeting was taking place was a nice change. The cool air had been circulated by an ancient air conditioning system which rattled worse than a diamondback.

The informant was already there when Nitro and RG arrived. He was pacing around the warehouse half a cigarette stuck out of his mouth. His suit was old and scuffed. This wasn't at all surprising. It was common practice for the agents from more wealthy nations to pass off their used uniforms down to agents from more poorer countries. His name was Der-Lowe, Nitro had worked with him once before when the agents of E.V.I.L had tried to corner the nations soybean market to try to force everyone in the world to stop eating soy products, get fat and die of obesity. He'd changed since then though. He looked older, his eyes were tired, his face unshaven and his hair unkempt...

Nitro shook off the memories that had just come flooding back to him. Now was not the time to reminisce and work out what had happened to RG. All that mattered was that he ahd to be stopped.

Reaching into his pocket, Nitro withdrew his mobile phone and examined the screen intently.

' Bastard!' he exclaimed, 'The batteries have bloody well died on me!'

He smacked the side of the phone in some vain attempt to make it work. Not much to his surprise it had had no effect. Putting the phone back into his pocket he walked over to the door his eyes darting around for any trace of a phone he could use. it wasn't often that nitro called in back up, but that was because RG had always been there at his side for the most part so he hadn't needed it. On his own Nitro was next useless, he knew it, but luckily for him he knew exactly who to call. He didn't want to do it, he knew exactly what would happen as a result, but dire times called for dire measures. As much as he disliked the constant ribbing and the put downs about his lack of muscle, there was only one man he could call on now. Nitro was going to have to call Staff. First however, he needed to find some clothes.

I quite enjoy writing kids poetry, and as such, thought I'd post one of my more succesful poems on my blog. Comments are appreciated if you have anything to say on the poem.

The Battle of the Final Crumpet

There once was a battle, of which there's a tale,
Where a fight broke out 'cause the bread was all stale.
Let me tell you this story, and trust me it's true,
And pray this event never happens to you.

In the middle of May, when the weather was nice,
A group of friends went out with enough to suffice
The needs for twenty and ten. T'was such a shame
There were fifty of them, and they all had their names.

There was Hare, Duck and Gerbil, Rabbit and Mouse.
Cat, Dog and Weasel, and of course the Wood Louse.
Bear, Bat and Ferret, Crow, Magpie and Budgie,
And then there was Mole, who was a little bit funny.

They sat themselves down in the forest glade
Laid out the picnic in the cool summer shade.
Out came the jam tarts, the doughnuts the crisps,
The butter, the marshmallows and the liquorice sticks.

The friends started eating, they had so much fun
And before they all knew it, the picnic was gone!
But the friends were still hungry, which was a problem
As the only food left was a crumpet between them.

'That crumpet shall be mine,' snarled weasel the thief
Who swiftly nicked it and tried to hide in the heath.
But a stone knocked him over, with a curse and an oath,
He dropped the crumpet which was picked up by Stoat!

Stoat ran a mile, the friends they gave chase!
Budgie flew up, took the crumpet, slapped Stoat in the face.
Crow tackled Budgie, crumpet dropped to the floor,
Sat there a while, as the best friends all played war.

Then Mole wandered up, as he wasn't fighting,
Ate the crumpet and gave a smile that was delighting.
'This Crumpet is lovely,' he called as he scoffed!
The friends stopped and cried 'He's gone and eaten the Lot!'

'Now chums,' pleaded Mole, as his friends all advanced,
'How about we forget this and all have a dance?'
His friends paid no heed to his cries and his pleads,
Surrounded him quickly brought him down to his knees!

'No friends, my apologies! I was just hungry'
'Oh bother' cried hare 'He just made me feel sorry.
Come along chaps lets all go home to bed and for tea
Now how do we explain to our ma's just where we've been?'

So all the chums went home, back to their families,
To regale them with tales of friends and camaraderie.
The lesson they learnt? Friends will be friends
And stick with each other straight to the end.

Well there you go, one kids poem. Hope ya liked it, if ya didn't leave us a comment on what you think I can work on. If ya did like it leave us a comment saying that as well :P

A story I wrote quite a while ago. Thought I'd post it here just to keep the blog updated somewhat.
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Don't Fear the Reaper

"Next"

The nasal voice echoed out around the room. It was quite a large room, though there was hardly anything in it. A desk, a chair, a door and a potted plant. It was a very nice potted plant, made from the highest quality plastic. It spoke wonders about the sort of person who worked in the office. Namely that they liked the colour black. Almost everything was black. The table, the chair, the plant and the ceiling were all black. The only thing that wasn't was the floor which alternated between tiles of black and a very dark shades of blue.

The door swung open and an elderly gentleman, wearing an Armani suit stumbled into the room.

"Ouch!" he yelped as he landed directly on his backside.

"Mind the step," said a voice from the other end of the room.

The man, who had just entered, struggled to his feet and looked across the room at the desk. Behind it was a middle aged balding man scribbling furiously into a large book which covered over half the table.

"Don't just stand there gawking," said the man behind the desk, "I don't have all day...well, actually I do, but that's no excuse to just stand around being idle."

Without thinking the elderly gentlemen began to walk across the almost, but not completely, black tiled floor towards the desk. Suddenly he stopped.

"Wait a second...what the hell is going on here? Where am I?" asked the elderly gentlemen, seemingly slightly confused.

The man behind the desk looked up and peered over his glasses.

"You mean he didn't tell you?" he said as he arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"Who didn't tell me what?"

"I really need to talk to that young man. It's one thing forgetting to file the reports, but not telling the clients what's happening to them...well..." he drifted off into silence for a few seconds before continuing to scribble notes into his book.

"Talk to who?" shouted the elderly gentlemen, his face turning pink with anger, "What the hell is going on. Where am I?"

"You're dead sir," came the reply from the clerk without even looking up from the book.

"Oh, right then, well...wait... I'm WHAT?" yelled the gentlemen as he took a few running steps towards the desk before regaining his composure.

The man behind the desk placed his pen down next to the book with the meticulous precision found only in pedantics and Feng Shui consultants. He pushed his glasses up to the top of his nose before speaking.

"You're dead sir. You have...how do they put it? Ah yes. You have kicked the bucket, you are six feet under, you have choked the proverbial chicken," he paused for a second as though thinking, "No...wait...you haven't choked your chicken. That's something completely different."

The gentlemen, now standing in front of the desk with a look akin to that of exasperation on his face, let out a stream of expletives.

"Please watch your language sir. Imagine what your mother would say if she could hear you."

"But my mother's dea..." the colour from his face drained, "She's...she's not here is she?"

The man behind the desk smiled slightly.

"Not here sir, but she may be where you're headed next. Tell me your name and I can find out."

"G...Gareth. Gareth Roberts," stuttered Gareth, the thought of his mother hampering his oratory skills. Being dead might not be that bad, but being dead with HER around, most certainly would be.

"One moment sir," said the clerk as he buried his nose in the book in front of him. The office was quiet, with only the sound of turning pages filling the vacuum of silence.

Gareth watched the pages of the book with awe. Every page seemed to be dedicated to a different person and their life. When the clerk stopped for a few seconds he glanced at the name at the top of the page. It read "Genghis Khan" and as he watched, he saw words scrawl across the book describing what he'd eaten for breakfast.

"But...Genghis Khan's dead," said Gareth, giving voice to his thoughts.

"In a manner of speaking sir, yes he is." replied the clerk whilst continuing to search the book.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, he's either dead or he isn't...isn't he?"

"Not exactly sir, this place exists between time. Here everyone is both dead and alive at the same time." He didn't look up from the book.

Gareth was confused. Here he was, apparently dead, and yet Genghis Khan, according to the hook nosed man sitting in front of him, was still alive....sort of. Gareth hadn't felt this confused since he'd woken up one morning to discover he was in bed with his sister-in law after a night out on the town. But despite this, there was a question burning on his tongue he needed to ask.

"I'm sorry...but, I have to ask. Just who are you?"

The clerk looked up.

"Me sir? Why I am the collector of souls. The eternal watchmen. I am one of the two certainties in life. I am...what is it your reality calls me? Ah yes. The Grim reaper! I sir, am Death."

Death? Gareth couldn't believe his ears. This middle aged balding man with glasses was claiming to be one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse?

"Could you repeat that? I need to make sure I didn't mishear"

"I sir, am Death." responded the Reaper, "and I do believe I have located you in the book. I'm afraid your mother will be with you also. Now then let's see...how you died...huh. Apparently you were killed in a car crash with a ten tonne lorry. Nasty business really. Miraculous that your suit survived without a scratch, though it's a good thing really. You'll need clothes where you're going. They won't offer that much protection, but every little helps, or so they say at least. I personally have no personal knowledge of what goes on in hell, I just send people there..."

Gareth wasn't listening. Something wasn't quite adding up. Had Death just said he'd died in a car crash?

"Er... I'm not quite sure how to break this to you, but I haven't been in a car crash.'

Death dropped his pen.

"I beg your pardon? Did you just say you HAVEN'T, been in a car crash.

"No. I wasn't....haven't" said Gareth, unsure of which tense to use. Something had obviously gone horribly wrong. Strangely enough, he wasn't worried. The prospect of not having to spend the rest of eternity with his mother made any mistake that was made entirely forgivable.

"Well it would certainly explain the suit." mumbled death as he walked towards the door and opened it. "Excuse me a second," he said as he walked out and closed it behind him. A second later the door opened again and Death re-appeared.

"Is everything ok?" asked Gareth.

"No, not really," replied Death, "I'm afraid one of my staff has screwed up big time. I'm sorry for the trouble that's been caused with you being brought here. If you'd just step through the door you'll be returned to where you were before...without memory of what happened here of course."

"Oh...alright" muttered Gareth as he walked towards the door, and slowly opened it. It was dark outside. This wasn't the kind of dark that consisted of an absence of light however. This was the kind of dark that consisted of an absence of everything. Just pitch blackness. It matched the décor perfectly.

Gareth was about to make a comment about the darkness, but found himself pushed forward, directly into it. The darkness enveloped him. For a brief second he felt cold and then heard the door slam shut behind him.

Death wandered back to his desk, sat down and turned the hourglass that was on his desk. His eyes remained fixed as he watched the grains of ebony coloured sand fall through into the bottom half of the hourglass. As the last few grains seeped through he raised his finger and pointed at the door.

3...2...1...

Click!

The door opened and in stumbled an elderly gentleman, wearing a somewhat battered and beaten Armani suit that looked like it has just been involved in a car crash.

'Good evening Mr Roberts!' greeted Death as he offered him a seat. 'If you'll be kind enough to just sit down and wait whilst I get your files in order we can see you off to your pre-destined afterlife in no time at all.'

Gareth sat there bewildered with strange sense of Deja-vu...

As cliché as it is to start off this entry with the following sentence, I can't think of any other way to do it.

Women: Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.

I have come to this conclusion due to the fact that over the past month or so I've been seeing a girl who I quite liked, and we got on really well. So, as you can imagine combination of liking girl + getting on well with her on date = win. At least that's what i thought...

Today however, I received a message from her after asking if she was busy on Saturday, and if she wasn't did she want o go see a movie or something ( I suck at thinking about where to take girls on dates). Her response was...less than encouraging to say the least. In short I received the giant spiel of ' I'm not ready for a relationship, it's not you it's me' yadda yadda yadda to the point of ad nauseaum.

So, yeah, whilst as of last week I was on the brink of what I thought could be a serious relationship, I am now thrown back into the depths of singleness.

Huzzah for contrary women who feel the need to string you along and then play with your head and heart. At last count this is the third time something like this has happened to me, if things continue like this I'm just going to turn Gay. Saves me the problem of dealing with women = \