Tiggy’s Thought For the Day – Google Image Search

Is it possible to perform a Google image search without finding a dirty picture? Yes, I know Google search has a filter. But turn that bugger off and you should prepare yourself for a journey of unimaginable sexual discovery.

I’m proposing a new game called Google Fuck Bingo. To play, enter a really innocent word like ‘bicycle’, or ‘pigeon’ in Google image search.

So much for little Jenny's science project!

Count how many images are displayed before the inevitable double-penetration/cumshot/naked transsexual photo appears. Player with the most fuck-free images wins.

In the unlikely event you tire at looking at pictures of fake tits and multiple naked gay pile-ups, you could also try Google Bingo with the following variations:

* Dead Cat
* Motorcycle Crash Leg
* Car Bomb
* Hideous Facial Disfigurement
* Foreign Object in Rectum
* I Can’t Quite Tell What I’m Looking At But I Think It’s Dead

In the event this game scars you for life or gets you fired, you didn’t hear about it from me, okay?

Thought over!


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Tiggy’s Shopping Bizarre – Sticky Butter Butter Stick

It's butterly friggin' brilliant!

Gourmet chefs! Working up a sweat to earn another Michelin star for your restaurant? Too busy sculpting carrots and flambéing guinea pigs to tackle that pile of unbuttered bread? Banish your kitchen nightmares with this handy Sticky Butter Butter Stick!

Top shouting chef Gordon Ramsay would probably be even more successful if he had this powerful grease gadget in his f*#*ing kitchen!

* Sticky Butter’s computer-designed ergonomic shape means it can tackle even the most exotic bread shapes – and rolls too!

* Don’t stop at bread! Butter Stick can also be applied to crackers, asparagus and as a soothing balm for insect bites.

*Collect the whole range of great kitchen accessories including Ketchup Rifle, Spray Can Jam and Lard Pen!


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Geoff Brown Eats Sandwiches: A Ferry Odd Mystery

Geoff Brown: A mystery. An enigma. A sandwich eater.

A seat. A ferry. A mystery.
An unknown scribe carves a strange message into the plastic seat of the Halifax to Dartmouth ferry, and disappears back into the shadows.

Who? What? Why?

“Geoff Brown eats sandwiches”.
Who left the message? What could it mean? Would Tom Hanks be interested in starring in the movie adaptation? I decided to investigate.

1. Who was Geoff Brown?
I asked around my fellow ferry passengers, but no-one knew of this man. I spotted an overweight, scruffy-looking guy eating a sandwich on the upper deck. “I am not Geoff Brown,” he declared. “Please go away, you are spoiling my lunch.” This investigation was going to be harder than I thought.

There was only one thing for it; summon the God of information, Google. In its wisdom, it responded that Geoff Brown could be a website developer, a snowboard instructor or a stand-up comedian. None of them fitted the profile of a mysterious cross-ferry sandwich muncher. Google, you let me down!

I called the local police to ask if they could check their records. The police lady on the other end of the phone wasn’t very helpful. She just kept repeating “Look madam, is this an emergency or not?” How the hell was I supposed to know? Supposing Geoff Brown was stealing baked goods from Halifax-area cafes, and consuming the evidence on the ferry ride home? This message could be a cry for help from an out-of-control ciabatta criminal, like those serial killers who leave calling cards on their victims’ corpses. Honesty, I try to help the police, and all I get is abuse…

2. What was significant about the eating of the sandwiches?
The identity of Geoff Brown, be he friend or foe, remained a mystery. In the interests of wild speculation, could the next part of the message provide any clues to his identity… and what was so great about these ruddy sandwiches?

Like the idiot who scrawled “TIGGY IS GHEY” on my office’s washroom wall, perhaps the graffiti artist was trying to spread nasty rumours about poor Mr. Brown. But why would his love of sandwiches be such a shameful secret?

Just shut the fuck up about the sandwiches, alright?Maybe Geoff Brown was a kung-fu wrestling smackdown champ. Rather than gorging on raw meat and tree trunks for lunch, he secretly consumed delicate cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. For a guy who spent his days grappling with sweaty semi-naked men, any claim of effeminacy would be pretty hurtful. Maybe his opponent was conducting a dirty-tricks campaign of psychological torture… by scrawling insults on a ferry seat. Well I don’t frigging know, wrestlers are a strange bunch.

Then I had a breakthrough-supposing the message was incomplete? Perhaps the scribe was caught in the act, and thrown overboard before he could finish his carving. This opened up lots of new possibilities. Maybe it was supposed to read “Geoff Brown eats sandwiches from Tubby Jack’s Sandwich Shack! Try their Beef & Bacon Mega-Sub today!” So the graffiti was nothing more than a cunning advertising campaign? Or perhaps it was one of those stupid subliminal ads, which never actually tell you what it is you’re supposed to be buying.
I think Tubby Jack should ask the ad agency for a refund, to be honest.

3. Why was I spending so much time thinking about this?
Well, aren’t you wondering now?

Despite my thorough investigation, the mystery of Geoff Brown and his sandwich fetish remains unsolved. The scribe will take the secret to his grave, Geoff Brown will continue to consume/steal/advertise his beloved lunchtime treat, and Tom Hanks hasn’t returned any of my phone calls.

I think I might take the bus in future.


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Guest Poster – Eddie McMayonnaise On the Telephone!

The Lunenburg County Bugler’s top columnist shakes his fist and rants about all the things that would get him fired if he wrote about it in the Lunenburg County Bugler.

Ring Ring! Ring Ring! Bugger Off! Bugger Off!I hate phone calls! Sometimes I pick up the phone and the first thing I hear is some guy chirping “Hi! How are you?” Not “Hello, Randy here!” or “Can I speak to Eddie McMayonnaise please?” like normal people do. He doesn’t even introduce himself. A stranger has called me to enquire about my well-being. Is he a stalker? I hope it isn’t that stinky guy that sat next to me on the bus yesterday. I was hoping my stalker would be female. Or at least use deodorant. Pah!

So I’ve got this nameless weirdo on the phone asking me how I am. I guess I’m supposed to be polite and say “Fine! And you?” and then we can finally get on with the conversation. Supposing I’m not fine? Or feeling sarcastic? Maybe I should say “I’m feeling really horny right now…” and see where that gets me. If the caller is the tax office or my new editor, even better.

Why don't they call me when I'm out?The phone always rings just as I’m sitting down to eat dinner, of course. The other night, I received one of those ghastly telemarketing calls. Some idiot who called himself “Jeff” but sounded more like “Sanjeev” started droning on about reward cards and overdrafts from some dodgy-sounding bank…

“We offer a fixed term low interest loan and sir we just need your date of birth and car registration number to set up an account right now sir and we also offer a high interest fixed savings account for your cat and we just need your social insurance number and a list of your freezer contents and sir we can set up this account now…”

Jeff/Sanjeev wouldn’t take no for an answer so I put the phone down on him. He called back five minutes later and continued his pitch as if nothing had happened! I put the phone down again. He called back again to enquire why I had put the phone down on him! What?

So I moved house. Ha!

Ohhhh I’m so angry! I’m off to tear down to a child’s treehouse. CYA!


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