The Onion is possibly the best publication in existence, and this article, sent to me by Nats, shows exactly why:

Girls Gone Wild Released Back Into Civilization

This message is directed at all the tongue-rollers in the bar last night, and in fact to every self-satisfied tongue-roller out there: STOP BEING SO SMUG!

What is it that makes people so insufferably happy about being able to roll their tongues? Let’s face it: it’s an absolutely useless skill. OK, I could see the point if you became quadraplegic and had to hold a pen with your curly little appendage, or if you had to cling onto a twig to prevent yourself from falling off a cliff, but it just isn’t a skill to get too proud about.

I am a flat-tongue and I can do everything you can: lick stamps, talk (which is considered by many to be a bad thing) and make faces at small children.

So why did the nurse at school feel it necessary to come into class and make everybody see if they could do it? Couldn’t she have perhaps done it in a private room? She didn’t have to suffer the indignity of being taunted for her inability to curl. She didn’t have to sit quietly in the corner at playtime while all the other kids ran merrily around with their curly little tongues in the air. She didn’t have her tongue stapled to the desk when teacher wasn’t looking.

If you are reading this Nurse Twaddle, I hope you feel very, very ashamed of yourself.

I only hope the day will come when flat and curlies can live in harmony together without this elitist hierachy. Until then, I’m keeping my mouth shut.

This message is directed at all the tongue-rollers in the bar last night, and in fact to every self-satisfied tongue-roller out there: STOP BEING SO SMUG!

What is it that makes people so insufferably happy about being able to roll their tongues? Let’s face it: it’s an absolutely useless skill. OK, I could see the point if you became quadraplegic and had to hold a pen with your curly little appendage, or if you had to cling onto a twig to prevent yourself from falling off a cliff, but it just isn’t a skill to get too proud about.

I am a flat-tongue and I can do everything you can: lick stamps, talk (which is considered by many to be a bad thing) and make faces at small children.

So why did the nurse at school feel it necessary to come into class and make everybody see if they could do it? Couldn’t she have perhaps done it in a private room? She didn’t have to suffer the indignity of being taunted for her inability to curl. She didn’t have to sit quietly in the corner at playtime while all the other kids ran merrily around with their curly little tongues in the air. She didn’t have her tongue stapled to the desk when teacher wasn’t looking.

If you are reading this Nurse Twaddle, I hope you feel very, very ashamed of yourself.

I only hope the day will come when flat and curlies can live in harmony together without this elitist hierachy. Until then, I’m keeping my mouth shut.

Today I have the perfect opportunity to get in a great headline.. Four party leaders debated on TV last night, so I thought we could go with “Party leaders mass debate”

Unfortunately my nasty editor won’t let me do it.

Today I have the perfect opportunity to get in a great headline.. Four party leaders debated on TV last night, so I thought we could go with “Party leaders mass debate”

Unfortunately my nasty editor won’t let me do it.

My little néni next-door neighbour was admiring our new plants the other day (we planted new ones after leaving two dead trees to rot outside for several months), when she told me that she had measured our trees.

Apparently ours are 80cm and her single specimen is only 40. I know our neighbours have a bit of a plant war going on, but I was a bit surprised by this. I’ve heard of penis envy, but never tree envy.

I’m now worried that she is going to sabotage our efforts, either by hoiking up her otthonka and spraying the plants with paprika-laced old-lady pee, or by swapping them when we aren’t looking. I’m wondering if we should set up some kind of guard system: man-traps or some such device to catch her. She has thick ankles, so it shouldn’t cause any permanent damage.

There are quite a few old women with nothing to do in our building. When Pollock was visiting last year, he came out the shower in his boxer shorts to find the ancient old woman that does balcony circuits on her zimmer frame cupping her hands and peering in the window.

Lucky for her she’s very short-sighted, or the sight of Pollock’s beer-belly overhanging his skiddies might have caused her frail wee heart to burst (with sexual excitement, obviously).

I’m hoping that when I get to that age I have something a bit more interesting to do with my time – perhaps smelling of piss on public transport or holding up post office queues by refusing point-blank to understand the new stamp system.

Sometimes I think Logan’s Run was onto something, but then I’ve already passed the cut-off point and would have been bumped off five years ago.