None shall pass

Oh crap. I’ve forgotten my password. A random group of words, numbers and symbols stand between me and a document full of stories I wrote a year ago. The drafts were clumsy, rambling and a tragedy of English grammar, but they were going to polish up and be absolute crackers, I’m sure. But they are all doomed due to my absent-mindedness.

At first I didn’t panic. The ‘password incorrect – try again’ message that popped up didn’t worry me. I use the same password for pretty much everything, including bank accounts, Twitter and Tinder (which I tried once, got scared and forget about), but no, that wasn’t it. It must have been a variation on My Beloved Password. By adding an extra # or $ I was sure I’d crack the code and be crafting my precious drafts in no time.

Password incorrect – try again. Try again. Try with a capital. Try with a spelling mistake. Try again. Try again. No, that wasn’t it. Bollocks. Had I decided to change my password to something completely new on that fateful day? I cast my mind back to one year ago, like a detective returning to the scene of a crime in the desperate hope a clue has miraculously appeared.

So, one year ago I was sitting at the same table, in front of the same laptop. No revelations there. I recall

 Nope.

David Bowie had recently died and I was working my way through his albums again. Maybe in a moment of misguided inspiration, I’d changed my password to RIPStarmanFuckImSoSad in tribute?

I had not.

Maybe I’d written the password down somewhere. Although the web is heavy with articles by tech boffins warning against jotting down those precious codes, for those of us who suffer from password amnesia, it can be the difference between leading a relatively normal life and never being able to access our bank accounts again. Or ever tweet again, which is marginally worse. I scurried through my collection of old notebooks and a pile of sticky post-it notes, but not even a hint of the rogue password was discovered.

computer nerd

Me, yesterday (reconstruction)

In desperation, I googled ‘how to break Word document passwords’. I felt like a friendless teenage hacker attempting international cyber fraud. Google rewarded my treachery with a string of forum posts from other innocent password amnesiacs (or were they???) also locked out of their work, and who had resorted to creeping about the darker alleys of the internet for help.

The news wasn’t good. It can’t be done. It’s a password, that’s the fucking point. People password-protect their work so it can’t be accessed. If a thief stole my laptop, googled ‘how to break Word document passwords’ and was sifting through my word-salad drafts within the hour I’d be apoplectic.

Mark my words, one day I will remember that elusive bastard of a password. Perhaps I will awake at 3am after the cryptic code magically appears to me in a dream. Or I’ll remember it five minutes after I’ve deleted the file forever. The world will be culturally poorer as my wonderful stories remain imprisoned inside that damned file. At least I can tell that to myself… if I’m honest can’t bloody remember if they were any good or not.

And I saved this draft without a fucking password.


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Gone fishing with Meat Beat!

Hey there meat maniacs, it’s time for another Meat Beat!

Bob: Welcome to another edition of Meat Beat! Today, we’re not in the woods at all. Or even at the zoo. Can you guess where we’re hunting today? But I warn you, Monty’s feeling a little rough, aren’t you sir?

Monty: Holy ham no, I’m fine there, boy. Jus’ gettin’ used to the ole sea legs. And sea guts.

Bob: That’s right folks, today’s Meat Beat is coming to you from a small fishing boat in the Atlantic ocean! Having conquered the land, Monty has decided to become King of the Cod, Master of Mackerel, Sultan of Snap…

Monty: Yeah that’s enough, quit yer yappin’. Now I’ll be tha first to admit I don’t know gizzardy-spit about fishin’. If I ain’t zippin’ a bullet thru some critter’s guts it ain’t worth ma time. But Bobby here thought it might do me some good to get some fresh sea air. Dunno why, nothing wrong with that musty forest smell. Like a man should smell Bobby. Not like an ol’ halibut, like ma wife when she’s….

Bob: Anyway Monty, that’s probably enough background to our trip. So, the first thing we have to do if we want a tasty fish supper is to bait our rods! For that, I bought a big bucket of what anglers call ‘chum’. It’s around here somewhere. Have you seen the bucket, Monty?

Monty: Ya mean the lunch bucket?

Bob: No Monty, our lunch is in the cooler. I’m talking about the white bucket.

Monty: You mean tha white lunch bucket?

Bob: There isn’t a white lunch bucket, Monty.

Monty: Yeah they is, the white bucket with the lunch! What I ate.

Bob: Oh my God Monty, that was bits of old squid and fish guts! I packed ham sandwiches for lunch.

Monty: Ham sammiches? Jeez Bob, ya ain’t gonna steel ya belly for the sea with piddy-biddy lady foods! Them squids was real nice. Kinda maggoty, but it’s OK they full of protein and all good stuff.

Bob: Good grief… OK, well I guess we’ll use the sandwiches instead. I hope the fish don’t expect me to cut the crusts off though Monty, eh? Haha, imagine if fish didn’t like crusts!

Monty: Bob, ya talkin’ bullbob again. I’ve heard the tha sea can make ya mad. Like that pirate ship that went all gay.

Bob: I don’t think that happened Monty. Anyway, I’ve attached the sandwiches to the line, and – woah – there it goes! We have now officially cast our Meat Beat rods into the briny! Now we wait.

*** time passes***

Bob: Well folks, it’s been four hours now, and not a single bite. We saw a dolphin though!

Monty: Yeah, but ya wouldn’t let me shoot it, would ya Bob!

Bob: Monty, how did you get that gun onboard? You were told by the nice boat rental man you can’t shoot fish. And we’re not going to get stormed by a gay pirate boat.

Monty: Dammit, that dolphin coulda cooked up real nice with bit a tabasco and pepper. Dolphins should be for eatins, not doin’ that namby-pamby Sea World stuff jumpin’ through hoops and makin’ splashies for the kiddies. Putta dollop a ketchup on a nice juicy dolphin steak and them kiddies will be chewin’ away at it like they having they best day out ever.

*** more time passes ***

Bob: Oh dear, it looks like we won’t be getting our fish feast as planned. Or even a dolphin burger! I’m kind of regretting we didn’t go for that option now. We’ve got no food and the weather is getting a little rough out here.

Monty: Holy hell Bob, I ain’t feelin’ so good. This boat is dancin’ around like a rabbit in a bonfire, and I ain’t had so much as a lick of blood all day. How you get this damn thing to drive home?

Bob: Well Monty, the boat rental man did explain it, but it’s getting dark and I can’t quite read the controls…

Monty: Well figger it out quick Bobby, I’m about a put them squids right back into the bucket they came from, and they won’t look so good second time about.

Bob: Oh for God’s sake Monty, just throw up over the side of the boat, and… Oh Monty, NO. No not in the cabin… OH NO Monty, that’s my cellphone… MONTY NO IT’S IN MY HAIR OH GOD

Sorry about this folks, hopefully Monty and Bob will get back to terra firma soon and do what they do best – shoot the shit out of our furry forest friends! See ya next time and don’t forget what Monty says – I TOLD YA MEAT IS USEFUL!


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Music fans! Pantin’ for a spankin’ soundtrack to get yo booty twerkin’ on the dance floor? You are? Well fuck me, you’re in luck. Tiggy’s Hit Parade has returned!

(Unfortunately, Tiggy doesn’t possess a turntable or any musical knowledge, so all reviews are entirely fictional).

Get on down! Then on up! If possible.

This record is solid gold and not shit at all!

12. Bjuder Up Till Stuffparty 2 – Larz Kristerz

GOLD!!! From King Midas to President Trump, those crazy rich people can’t get enough of it. But those lucky Swedes possess the most precious gold of all! Bling King Larz Kristerz and his troupe of shiny Swedish lovetarts have worked up a sweat and tossed gold stardust all over their hot new groove, Stuffparty 2! Dance away the pain of grinding poverty and imminent apocalypse with comely hits including:

* Fingerfahrt My Lovely Lady
* Sex Sex Sex Sex Sex Oooh Sex
* Mein Bag Hajr (Ist on Fire For You)
* Star-Spangled Gangbanger
* Shower Me Gentlisch Int Your Golden Love
* Sticky Stockholm Stocking Slutz
* Pump My Love My Starfish (David Guetta remix)

They say all that glitters isn’t gold – but those crazy people are just wrong! Or perhaps have a degenerative eye disease or something.

Next time on Hit Parade: It’s a bit like Snoop Dogg… but it isn’t Snoop Dogg!

No really, it isn’t Snoop Dogg.


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Music fans! Confused by the choice at your local record store? Want to get ‘with it’ and ‘hip’ like all the cats at the local Hop? Or something? Check out Tiggy’s Hit Parade!

 (Unfortunately, Tiggy doesn’t possess a turntable or any musical knowledge, so all reviews are entirely fictional).

Do the mashed potato! And gravy.

Ride 'em cowboy!

11. Uncle Bud’s Hospital Experience

After an unfortunate accident falling off a cowboy, Nevada Rodeo clown ‘Uncle’ Bud Bistoo was inspired to record this album about his hospitalization. Combining a dark style reminiscent of Leonard Cohen, with an atmospheric country soundtrack by that bloke out of ELO, the curmudgeonly clown offers a drip-tastic collection of intensive care classics including:

* A Gentleman Don’t Piss Through a Tube
* Bud’s Bed Bath Blues (A Nurse Called Bill)
* When the Medication Wagon Comes A-Rollin’ By
* I Can’t Piss In That Thing
* This Good Ol’ Boy Don’t Give No Samples
* Ain’t No Lady Doctor Touching That

A great gift for the sick and diseased!


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