Now it’s come to my notice that the cowboys aren’t to enamored with the fact that the Indians had a right result on their first moon shot.   The yanks must be gutted with the thought that they’ve been visiting the moon [apparently] for God knows how many years, and all they’ve managed to do is play pitch and putt, and returned with a few bags of rocks and dust.  The Indians however, went straight up and practically landed on a frozen swimming pool! 

Undeterred, NASA were quick to react.  Can you imagine the meetings they must have had to come up with something to redress the balance of being had over by another country.   The trouble is I think they may have rushed into a new scheme to find water on the moon.  That bugger’s been up there for quite some time now, and as far I know, it seems its relatively important that it stays where it is for as long as possible.  Not content with fucking up our planet by exploding nuclear bombs under ground, what did the yanks do?  I’ll tell you.  They lobbed a bomb up there, aiming it at Creator!  And, bloody and, they sent another pod up there to film it, and collect some samples from the after shock, in the hope they might run into a chest-freezer en route!  Bunch of planks.  

How desperate have you got to be to save face?  Have they not thought about the consequences of such drastic actions?  We are a planet with a rough dimension of 12,756.3 km.  The moon’s diameter is just a stripling by comparison, coming in at a teeny-weeny 3,476 km.  BOOOOOOOOOOOOM!  Let’s hope the scientist’s calibration are correct when they weighed up the Semtex before they slapped in the nosecone.   It’s been a few weeks now, and so far I haven’t seen a media frenzy with the news that NASA have discovered the equivalent of the Nile river or and ice cap.

So let’s cover the the problem we might face.  Well, for a start you can kiss goodbye to your tidal systems, and don’t worry about all that global warming malarkey, sponsor a polar bear, that’ll see us through!  Twenty-five percent of  Britain’s pubs will have to change their names.   There won’t be anymore pubs called, The half moon, because there will be no more moon!  There might be a run on a signs marked, The moon in two,  or The two halves of the moon, but really I think that’s as far as it will go.  Oh, and Pink Floyd will have to change, and re record their best selling album too.  You won’t be able to buy a copy of, Dark side of the moon for love nor money, you’ll have to wait until they produce copies of, Dark!  All of which has prompted me to come up with a new quotation aimed at mankind…      

“Just because we can – doesn’t mean we should.”

Tell yer muvver ninepence, I’m off!     BB

Now it seems while I’ve been away, a country not usually associated with all things lunar has had a right result during their first moon shot.  How embarrassing it that for the all-singing-all dancing, roughty-toughty NASA boys.

As far as I can remember the Ruskis have popped up there, and the yanks have been up there so many times it’s wonder there isn’t a McDonalds up there.   Which makes me think, what the hell were they doing on the moon.  They must have spent billions upon billions of dollars looking at the surface, but had no one thought of looking underneath it?  Call me old fashioed but drilling might have been the way forward!  The Indians went up in nothing more than a bunch of tin cans welded together and five gallons of four star, and returned with the news that everyone was hoping for, there is a water based substance on the moon.

True to form, I think, the yanks weren’t testing samples at all, I mean, how many tests can you run on a bone dry material for God sake.  No, no, I think they were looking for new areas to build real estate on just to beat any on coming recessions, or slap a stars wars base up there without anyone knowing.   The water rubbish, well that could be sorted out at a later date.  If you were really cute you could open your own shop up there selling all kinds of bottled H2O, you’d make a swift killing alright.  How about a long pipe which could siphon water from here on earth.  Or, bloody or then, pull the moon into our atmosphere and see how long it takes to fill up with rain. 

Hey, it’s as plausible as thinking that people could land on the moon, but deep down we all know the footage was shot on a film set somewhere in the Nevada desert, and everyone is sworn to secrecy or death.  Why do you think  they always land in the same place for.  Why haven’t any women gone up there?  Cos they can’t bloody reverse into a tight space, that why.  No, it’s all bollocks as far as I can see, and a waste of green backs.  Let’s worry about how much water there is on earth, and how we can spread it about before we start getting ahead of ourselves.  My proposal, find away of producing water from a different source.  I’ve been working on a few experiments myself you know.  Oh yes, I don’t just sit here writing old toot all day.  I’m testing a new formula today in fact.  It took some lengthy operations, two minutes in some cases, but I’m satisfied with the trials so far.  I boiled a kettle, let the steam enter a cardboard box, and let it dry.  Then I repeated the procedure until the box was full.  On Tuesday it goes on sale in Tesco’s, it’s called, Walton’s all new dehydrated H2O.  Just add water and you’ve got a refreshing drink!

Bipolar Bill hath returned (“,)

PS  You remember I mentioned pulling the moon into our atmosphere… catch next weeks edition to find out how we’re doing on that score.

Now, call me cynical but, what chances do the Brits have of winning gold in the 2012 Olympic games? 

For a start it’s in our country.  And right there is the first hurdle.  [Did you see what I did there, Olympics, hurdles.  Oh please yourselves]   The budget is, at the moment, set at 9.3 billion but there are worrying signs that this figure will overrun due to formidable circumstances.   No, no, not the credit crunch no, it’ll all go tits up because of the English way of competing, we’re rubbish at it.  We say, sorry, when someone bumps into us!  What chance have got on the track?  “Oooh sorry, no after you.”   And that’s just the tip of the big floaty thing that sunk the Titanic.

Forget about the cash for now, that’s the least of our worries.   So far no one has mentioned our inclement weather.  Can you imagine the opening ceremony if there’s an early shift in the global warming figures!  Somewhere out there is the iceberg that sank the unsinkable ship, and if that’s on the melt, the eastend will be nothing more than a boating lake.  Which is a shame really, because no one in that part of London can afford a boat.

Another problem I can see occurring is the vital link between the competitor’s event sites and their Olympic sleeping quarters.   How the hell are they going to and from an event on time using London Transport for God’s sake.  In fact that should be the new sport, pick a route, and the last person to arrive at the stadia is the winner!   And, bloody and, what a stroke of luck for anyone planning a strike in the future. 

If it’s none of the above then we can always rely on the cone fairy to cock up transportation times.  Somebody, somewhere, in a civic office has already agreed to pull up the High Street at the most inappropriate moment, with out telling anybody.  “Sorry mate, this bit of paper says, up it comes.”  I can just see it now, it’ll be the greatest bollocks up in the history of the games.   Personally I can’t wait to miss it on the television, it’ll be a waste of money and electric, and it will  up the carbon footprint 10 fold, and for what?  A soppy bloody gong made in Taiwan for thruppence…   

I THANK YOU… Bipolar Bill will on holiday for two weeks, gotta recharge the old batteries guys…

So this poof come up with a wizard idea of how to beat the Hun by devising a computer the size of Bletchly, and the government back his plans.  It takes a while to cobble it together but eventually he cracks it.  The Bosch are confused and we won the second world war 3-1.  Alan Turing was presented with the OBE and was asked to be a Fellow of the Royal Society, he did, and they all had a party to celebrate the fact that he was one of the top 100 chaps in that century. 

However, once them in charge of the country discovered that he was a lifter of shirts things started to get a little out of hand.  Back in those days being a packer of fudge was considered to be most unwholesome and unBritish don’t you know.  It was classed as a mental illness can you believe?  And bloody and then, you could be banged up for being a homosexual.  Now I don’t know about you, but where might be the best place to pick up a bit of rough trade, if you were a player of the pink oboe, on a regular basis?   Lummy lorks – a prison by jingo!    

So, how was Alan Turing treated after the news of his pillow biting days hit the headlines?  Well I’ll tell you.  He was hounded by the government, hence Gordon Brown’s apology in the media recently.  Then he was arrested and subsequently a trial took place and he was convicted of taking part in lewd acts.   He agreed to have eostrogen injections which would have reduced his libido, in short it was a form of chemical castration.  And somewhere down the line he topped himself with cyanide, and even that story is under question.     

Well I’ll go to the foot of my stairs, if I had some.  If that’s the way your treated when you assist the country in winning a war, imagine what they’d do to you if you lost the war for them???  Hmmm, not impressed I have to say.

Bipolar Bill can’t swim in water!  

 The only fly in the ointment was the inventor of the machine was a lifter of shirts.

The Bipolar Disorder Network Research team dropped in last Thursday all the way from Cardiff, isn’t it?  I’ll tell you more about that on Saturday, but in brief they’re looking at researching 6,000 cases of people with this disorder to see if they can improve the treatment.  So I’m now running late with this weekends blog update…

I’m rubbish at this aren’t I?  Sorry guys, although I had a result when looking for a subject for the blog this week.  It suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t chosen a subject to ridicule, and I turned on the coloured flashing box in the corner of my front-room and from comedy heaven, there it was.   So look out tomorrow for:  The shirt-lifter enigma!  

This is me saying, “I’ve got three knees and a kipper called, Frank, for no apparent reason..  BB

First of all I’d like to start with a name check… 

When Arthur met Doris they were already in the ‘plumb in the mouth’ brigade, and an established part of the British back-slapping society.  “Aaah, you have cash, come an join our crowd.”  They married and produced a daughter who, not only started life with a plumb in her gob, but was also given a set of silver spoons too.  Jean was privately educated you’ll be surprised to here.  As the daughter of Major Arthur Cambell-harris and Doris she was given so many ridiculous honours over the years that she was afraid to leave the house.  So to coax her back into the society fast lane again the powers at be thought that a change of name would do the job.  So she began life as Jean Alys Barker (conservative) and ended up as, Baroness Trumpington of Sandwich!  I wouldn’t mind, but for two years she was a – wait for it – wait for it, a  Baroness-in-waiting!  What the hell was she waiting for exactly???     

Okay, let’s have a quick shufty at the old bollocks that is, Scientology.  I’m not a great believer in the ‘big boy’ in the sky and skimming through the Scientology malarkey it is on balance as far fetched as the stories in the ‘good book’  And then you see Tom Cruise making a complete arse of himself, on national television both here and America, you can’t help feel that someone, somewhere is ripping of the mega rich to bolster their insecurities.   

I’ll take a look at anything once, and as we know first impressions count, so we’re already one down as Cruise thought it would a great piece of promotion for his group of idiots, by jumping up and down on Oprah Winfrey’ssofa!  Not his beat move.  Then I looked up who started this bizarre troupe, keen to know how he came to be head of a made up cult.  And surprise surprise, Mr L Ron Hubbard was a science fiction writer!  I was going to write more but I believe that’s case closed! 

Bipolar Bill strikes again!  Have a chilled out weekend guys and if you fancy a laugh, look up scientology on the net and let me know what you make of it…

Well this week it’s the turn of football.  I used to play it and mostly enjoyed the game, but around the early seventies things started to change and I gave up the sport when what began happening on the professional pitch spread to the game in the park, and I think it started with the referees.

I was brought up to respect other people and have a sense of fair play in all games, cheating wasn’t, and still isn’t, an option.  So when I was playing for a six-a-side team one afternoon and a member of the opposing team pulled my shirt I got a tad annoyed.  Then it happened again the following week and the ref did nothing about it, so I muted my dissatisfaction and still no action was taken.  I complained to my coach and he informed me that this is how the game was being played now – so I left the side and stopped playing.  And the game is even worse now.

There’s a right bunch of namby-pamby tarts prancing around on the pitch today, and they’re all overpaid, they practise diving in the penalty area and have a month off, with full pay, when they’ve got split ends!  Forget the shirt pulling, its gone way past that now.  Cheating on a huge scale to the point where it affects the teams positions in the league, even in the world cup!  The Maradona incident, caught on film, and knob-all was done about it, even when he admitted to the handball months later – absolutely disgraceful.  No wonder the kids think it’s okay to cheat nowadays.

Then crowd violence escalated and away day punch ups were organised by anyone who enjoyed four hours on the piss and a fight afterwards.  The last straw for me was when people started dying at a simple game of footie.  Bloody ridiculous.  Yip, it’s all got far to silly for my liking and I don’t care what anybody says, no human being is worth 20 mill on the transfer list.  I’d go to a game now if I could afford 45 quid to get in!  Actually no I wouldn’t, it a waste of money.  And there’s no doubt about it, there’s far to much money in the game now and it’s ruin the sport as a whole.

So what can be done to bring the game back into some sort reality and up the moral standard in the process?  Well, for starters there should be a block ban on players having the own agents, they’re not musicians or actors, except maybe the ones that wear hairbands!  I think they could get away with not getting sick pay too, I mean, how much can you spend in one week if your stuck at home with an ingrowing toenail?  Lastly, pay the players 500 quid a week, but give the whole team 50,000 grand each if they win, that will get the little jumped up sods running about a bit, and put a halt to time wasting over night!    

 Yeah, I hate football…  Enjoy your weekend, I’m off to watch three bouts of swan boxing!  Bipolar Bill (“,)

Well bloody well then, just when you thought there couldn’t be another Jackson court case, it seems that there might be one more after all.  It’s enough to send ya bandy! 

Michael Jackson’s ex physician, Conrad ‘Propofol’ Murray, who is keeping God in his heart, gave what I can only describe as a farewell speech on YouTube.  Shortly after this it’s understood that LA law-enforcement officers jumped all over him and mentioned in passing that manslaughter charges, not womanslaughter charges as was first thought, would be aimed in his direction.  I think if you look closely at his video you can actually see a small case in the background, so I think he already knew he had to pack a little going-away-bag.  I’ve heard some old bollocks in my time but this mush of a video was the mushiest.  He thanked the legion of well-wishers for their supporting emails and telephone calls, and then said he was ‘afraid’ to reply to them!  Why?  If he was that worried why didn’t he just drive round and thank them in person? 

You wanna hear my take on the story?  Of course you do.  Well it’s obvious isn’t it, and trust me this has taken me minutes of dedicated research and nano seconds of tireless editorifying.  So far no one has work out that his nibs was costing his record company a packet, especially with a little less than four fifths of fuck all squared return in last 15 years.  “What’s the answer,” said a company account?  “Well,” came the reply from a darkened room, “He’s worth more six feet under than he is on top of it…, if you get ma drift.”  “All we gotta do is find an Oswald.”  “A what?”  “A patsy.”  “Aaah gotcha.”  “See to it will you Finklestein.”

Well Finklestein thought about it for a while, and his first choice was going to be the gay mafia, but changed his mind when he discovered that their idea of a ‘hit’ was to visit the victim in the small hours and criticise their wallpaper!  Instead he chose Jackson’s doctor, so it’ll be interesting to see how long it is before the trail of Michael Jackson untimely death backtracks its way to his record company…  And while he’s got some time on his hands, some TWO MONTHS after his death, Michael Jackson will put in an appearance as a character witness!                  

Right, that’s that sorted out, I’m off now, I’ve got a futtock strut that needs filing down…

The Spaz has gone to the fridge to get a cold one…BB