Egad, Homs! A Dinosaurus!

Hello.
I am Sarlog Homs.
My reputation precedes me, as always.
You know who I am.
I'm that fellow who put a slug on that child's face. Great Caesar's ghost, that was a good time. That woman was there. She threatened to put a child on my slug's face!
I said "Madam, if you do that," and here I looked her square in the eye, "I will gut you."
How we laughed and laughed.
And then I gutted her.
No one laughs at Homs.

The title of this short but sweet post, for those curious sputes among you, refers to a short exclamation made by my good friend Mistletoe Jack. We were just discussing how the ipod generation needed a good looking at, morally speaking, when all of a moment an enormous Dinosaurus began to chow down on his fleshy thighs! The exclamation was made at the point between spotting the beast and it beginning its chowing down.
Sadly, Misty J (as we friends called him) did not survive though I did keep his pelt for posterity. It's as I always say: If you can't do something for posterity, what can you do?

I told this to a person just before accessing the internet to preserve the information (for posterity) and he said to me, "A dinosaurus? I see two main problems with this story. Number one:" he said, "A dinosaurus is not a thing. Dinosaurs were a large group of lizards that died out 65 million years ago, which brings me nicely on to number two:" he was a smug young horse-assaulter, "they are now extinct!"
Needless to say, I gutted him on the spot but before I did I gave him this reply:
"A Dinosaurus is a particular species of Dinosaur which survived by hiding in a small wigwam when the meteor smashed ten bells out of this god forsaken ball of toss-pots we call a planet," I was implying, of course, that he was a toss-pot himself, "and survived for many millions of years initially by eating bugs and rodents and what-not and living on an island that NO-ONE DARETH ENTER! More recently he has made a living from Hollywood movies and special effects. He is particularly good at puppetry. He is considered a genius in the industry so when he ups and bites a soft and fleshy portion out of a good friend of yours and makes a wet crunching noise as he chews it thoughtfully and the sloppy gore drips from his gigantic mouth, splattering passers by, perhaps getting in their mouths by accident, YOU DO NOT PULL HIM UP ON IT!"

Now I believe I will eat an apple.
I will miss Mistletoe Jack. He always gave me money.
Well, I took it from his wallet, but he never minded.
Well, I'll be honest, he never knew.
But if he had known I'm sure he wouldn't have minded.
Well, he would have probably gutted me.
But that's what made him such a great man.

Awful taste in music though.
Simply awful.
On reflection I'm probably glad he's dead.

Write to me more, my postman keeps mentioning that he doesn't see me often enough.

Lots of Love

Sarlog

P.S. Do you owe me £17? Someone owes me £17 and I can't remember who it is. If you owe me £17 I'll get it back, you know!

Breathtaking: The gravitational pull of pepsi

Dear Lord Half-and-half,

It seems that rather than ask me to investigate what would make a good new logo for their drinking company, the Pepsi Cola Company seem to have consulted a magic druid from beyond insanity.

This secret document must reach no one but you and the rest of the internet.
Can I trust you with that?
You're too blasted right I can't.
That's why you're not allowed to look at it.
I've changed my mind.
This sort of absolute bleating nonsense is just the sort of thing that could put one off design, drinks and the concept of fizzing.

What is possibly more absurd is that the design alone cost Pepsi around a million dollars. I could have had that money! That's a lifetime of peanut brittle or crispy M&Ms!
It make you wonder what else they're spending their American coins on.

I'm looking at some of these men now through my spying eyes. Pepsi men. You are not looking at them so you must trust that what I relate to you is what is actually going on NO MATTER HOW INVENTED IT MAY SOUND.
They have remote controlled helicopters instead of ties and a selection of meats where one might expect to see a coffee cup. The meats are cold like their cold meaty hearts and their dead chilled meat eyes from the meat counter at Morrisons (Tesco is a bit cheaper but Morrison's is just down the road and they can't be bothered to walk the extra five minutes. LAZY FAT CAT MEN!).
Their office is tiled in what can only be described as tiles. Red tiles...possibly from beyond the stars. I think I saw some similar in B&Q but these may be different. A new technology perhaps where actually it is lino on the walls of the office but the lino looks like convincing tiles that one might find in B&Q. It is a new science invention that the Pepsi men have spent their American dollars discovering.
They are laughing. They are pointing at a picture of a pig and laughing.
Look closer, dear reader.
You are not there though, remember?
I will look closer dear reader.
The pig is dressed...
AS A DRINKER OF PEPSI MIGHT BE DRESSED!!!
Also the pig is saying "Duh..."
It's a visual metaphor!

They think they can hide their delicate tooting from the prying eyes of Johnny Detecterson (I, Sarlog Homs). But I am such a rambatulatory fellow that never will I quit until the full answers are in front of my eye sockets and, by definition, eyes.

I mostly hope this does not give you nightmares.

Yours in "brotherhood"

S. Homs (Det.)

Sarlog Homs and the case of the web log

Hello!
Guten tag!
Konnichiwa!
Rounda-the-flago!
Pork pork!
Just some examples of the many languages I know, there.

Welcome to a web-log written by a man who has the intelligence of a duck.
"A duck?", you might say, "That's not much to boast about."
Well shut your stupid mouth and listen to this more detailed explaination.

Imagine, if you will (and you will), a duck kidnapped by some kind of space alien. Maybe the alien has more than two eyes!!! The duck is subjected to 'mind tests' and 'injections'. The alien technology makes this duck the superior of all it's peers. The most intelligent duck who ever lived! The size of his brain! IT IS LARGE!
Large for a duck, anyway.
It doesn't make him Einstein or anything, but he can certainly hold his own in a pub quiz. Especially if that pub quiz is particularly duck-oriented.
Now you are starting to get a picture of this duck, with his Superintelligence and his human friends. Perhaps he gets a date with a human lady after wooing her with knowledge of nineteenth century industry, but she cancels the day before because she doesn't know if she could ever be comfortable in a relationship with a duck. He becomes dejected and bitter. What kind of life is that for a duck?
He finds living in an apartment difficult. He can't cultivate the algae and pond weeds he needs to keep himself sustained.
"Curse those aliens for making me Superintelligent!" he shouts at no one in particular.
The man below bangs on the floor of the aparment (his ceiling) "I've had enough of you cursing aliens all night!" he shouts, "It's four before breakfast!"
He will jump, he decides, from the window of his apartment into the street below.
What choice does the duck have but to end his own life?

There, you see! Now you feel less inclined to mock someone who claims to have the intelligence of a duck (as long as the claim is qualified with the word 'Superintelligent').

Now since I've started 'web-logging' (little more than a few nano-hours ago) I've had literally one request for an answer to the question, "Who the sh*t is Sarlog Homs?"
Well the easy answer is 'Me'!
I've adopted the mantle of the world's greatest interdimensional (and possibly fictional) detective because I felt that too long had the world been drifting askew without a Sarlog Homs for the ipod generation. Too long has this fantastical bombastical person been a void in the consciousness of the young people.
No more, I say, no more! I say it twice for emphasis and in case people weren't listening the first time. Also the second time is louder.

Here I return and here I shall stay.

Your most humble &c. &c


Det. Sarlog Homs