Pimp-Stick Good, Geopolitics Bad

by Purple Wyrm on August 31, 2015

And while we’re on the subject of my execrable music taste and Russia, how about this offering from cane-wielding 80s poison-king (not my phrase, but too good to pass up) Andrew Eldritch and the Sisters of Mercy?

The second half of the song is apparently about Eldritch’s conviction that West Berlin should be abandoned and handed over to the Soviets, which, as the song was released in 1987 only two years before the fall of the Berlin Wall, shows that however good he was wielding a pimp-stick he really wasn’t so hot on geopolitics. Or keeping his band together for that matter. In fact about the only member/former member of Sisters who doesn’t loath Eldritch with a passion is Doktor Avalanche, and Doktor Avalanche is a drum machine. Oh well, the music is good. In my opinion.

Throw your glasses at the wall!

by Purple Wyrm on August 30, 2015

You know those days when you’re in the mood for nineties style techno house and cheesy seventies disco at the same time? Well DJ Tstar has you covered!

That is all.

Not at All Nace

by Purple Wyrm on August 24, 2015

I’ve been having fun and games with migraines of late, most of them likely down to work stress. On Thursday afternoon however I was sitting at my desk when I was hit by the most intense headache I’ve ever had. Horrible, blinding pain in what I presume to be my left frontal lobe, just above my eye, so bad that I had to struggle not to burst into tears.

I’d had a mild headache all day, but this was something else entirely. It wasn’t preceded by the entertaining visual disturbances that usually herald one of my migraines, and it felt entirely different anyway. My immediate thought was that it was some kind of aneurysm, so I spent a few minutes making faces, sticking out my tongue and waggling my arms around testing for any kind of weakness, which must have looked quite odd to my co-workers. Then, entirely without warning, it went away. Bang. Gone. leaving behind the same mild headache I’d had since that morning and some general spaciness and dizziness.

I considered my next move. I could assume it was an atypical migraine, complete my work day, go home and go to bed. Of course if it was some kind of brain bleed I would then most likely expire in the middle of the night. On the other hand if it wasn’t some kind of brain bleed I’d lie awake all night in sheer terror of expiring, which would be almost as bad, if not – from a personal perspective – worse. Alternatively I could head a couple of blocks over to the emergency department at Charlie’s and get prodded and poked and be fed interesting drugs for a few hours at the government’s expense. So that’s what I did.

Now, the annoying thing about public hospitals is the time it takes to get everything done. Don’t get me wrong, the doctors and nurses do an amazing job dealing with dozens of patients, and when a choice has to be made about treating a guy who had a nasty headache which is kind of gone now and someone who’s spraying blood all over the wall from an arterial bleed, the bleeder is definitely the one you should be concentrating on. But it is frustrating being shoved in a bed in the corner and then – after your initial examination – being ignored for several hours, short of a nurse occasionally coming by and checking your blood pressure, especially when you’re trying not to think about important parts of your brain getting metaphorically lost in a field in Hampshire.

Eventually however I was sent off for a CAT scan of my head. Which was interesting, since I’ve never had one before. They strapped me down onto a special pillow and shoved my head into a giant plastic doughnut which made some strange noises and flashed red lights at me for a bit. Then they wheeled me back into the emergency department and ignored me for another hour or so.

Eventually someone materialised and informed me that they were taking me to an observation ward. I was wheeled out and across the hall to a somewhat quieter room when I didn’t have to listen to intermittent screaming and the woman in the bed next door demanding to talk to her doctor, be given food and be sent home – despite being told repeatedly that the latter two actions would result in her kidneys messily self-destructing.

After what seemed like another eternity in the limbo of the observation ward a rather attractive doctor with the remarkable surname Vlad wandered over and informed me that the CAT scan had found nothing (great potential for jokes there I must say) and that as soon as a letter was written up for my GP I was free to go. Knowing the hospital system of old however I knew that such letters are written when the doctors have a bit of down time, sewing people back together taking precedence over paperwork, so I prepared myself for another lengthy wait, reassured at least that my brain wasn’t about to do me in, and that I could get properly dressed rather than continue to lounge about in one of those gowns that don’t quite tie up properly at the back.

But, surprise! My original doctor popped back up and explained that the CAT scan had shown that my lymph nodes and parotid glands were swollen, and so they needed to do a chest X-Ray. Exactly why was not really explained, I presume it was to ensure that I didn’t have some kind of very stealthy lung tumor. After some muttering it was decided that my t-shirt was light enough not to intefere with the process, so I at least didn’t need to get changed again. After a surprisingly short wait I was whisked off to the radiology department (again) where they took a bunch of glamour shots of my ribcage. Then it was back to observation. Again.

Finally, after more interminable waiting, I was presented with a clean bill of health and a doctor’s letter. I was free! Free! I stepped out into the cold night air after a good seven hours of taking up a bed that could probably have been  better used by someone who was actually sick.

But I didn’t come here to talk about that. Came to talk about parotid glands.

When I was about eleven I got sick. Not dangerously sick, just running a temperature and feeling miserable. Mum dragged me off to the doctor who diagnosed a generic virus, drew some blood, and sent me home to take a few days off school. A couple of weeks later the blood test results come back and it turned out that I’d actually had the measles – but such a mild case of the measles that it wasn’t even identifiable as the measles without the very blood tests that had, in fact, identified it.

I was of course immunised against the measles as a kid and I put the disease’s inability to cause me any serious problems down to that fact.

While there are various viruses that can cause swelling of the parotid glands the most common is the mumps. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve picked up a case of it somewhere and my pre-prepared immune system (since I was immunised against mumps as well) has kept it down to a mild inconvenience. No way to tell short of blood tests of course, but I’ve been wandering around humming The Song of the Jollyrock Light for several days anyway, just in case.

Over and out.

Stand by the JAMS

by Purple Wyrm on August 3, 2015

It’s Monday morning, the sun is shining and it’s a Mu Mu kind of day…


by Purple Wyrm on July 12, 2015

I was musing on the historical origins of the rod of Asclepius in the shower this morning (as you do) and suffered another one of those attacks where my brain produces something completely awful and then won’t let me rest until I inflict it upon a candid world. So it is with great sorrow, regret and apology that I present the following vicious and unjustified attack upon the musical legacy of the Beach Boys. I am so very sorry…

Worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Guinea worm, worm, worm, I gotta worm!
I gotta worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Gotta worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Messing with my brain! Worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
I’m in real bad pain! Worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
I’m sick of all the healers with their same old tricks,
I gotta find a new Doc with a twisty stick!
I gotta worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Guinea worm, worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
Messing with my brain! Worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!
I’m in real bad pain! Worm, guinea worm, I gotta worm!


Pros and Cons

by Purple Wyrm on July 9, 2015

Was almost gassed on the way to work today. The bus was so full of exhaust fumes that everyone was throwing open the windows despite it being only 5 degrees outside. Frostbite is, after all, mildly preferable to carbon monoxide poisoning.

On the plus side I got to see the dolphins playing in the river along Mounts Bay Road, which was nice. Unless of course they were gas induced hallucinations…


by Purple Wyrm on July 7, 2015

So, Dawn Fraser has outraged the nation by saying that Nick Kyrgios and Bernard Tomic should go back to where their parents came from.

It’s a pretty bloody objectionable thing to say – no doubt there – but it reminds me of something I thought back in 2007 when Sir Patrick Moore made some similarly unhinged comments about women. The thing you have to remember about Dawn (and Sir Patrick) is that she’s old. Practically ancient.

Dawn Fraser is 77. By the time a person gets to 77 the world has changed. The society they grew up in has gone, morphed into something wildly different several times over. So it’s only to expected that sooner or later they’ll do or say something badly out of step with the modern world.

So here’s my idea. Once someone – be they a public figure or a private citizen – reaches 75 we give them permission to say whatever crazy crap they want to, and in turn we completely ignore it. We don’t make a fuss, we don’t create a scandal. We just say “Good old Dawn” or “Good old Sir Patrick”, give them a pat on the back and move on. And if anyone feels offended we simply remind them that the person in question is old, set in their ways, and frankly not worth the bother.

Such a policy would benefit us all I think.

It does not matter which way you vote. Either way your planet is Doomed! DOOOOOMED!!

by Purple Wyrm on July 6, 2015

You know, it’s pretty much impossible for me to put into words how much I enjoy spam emails like this…

The massive downfall that will wipe out 49 out of 50 American states… If you didn’t watch this INCENDIARY broadcast yet, then it will take you by complete surprise. And unfortunately you won’t make it out alive, because what’s coming has the devil sign on it. And it was predicted in the BIBLE! Before the church managed to HIDE the tormenting prophecy. But 14 days ago this leaked video went viral, exposing how Obama and the unofficial church leaders fought long WARS to keep this information hidden. Until it was too late for anyone to do anything about it. This is the 18th link they put up in 14 days, and most definitely this site will be taken down again shortly. Watch this shocking video now This is an email advertisement that was sent to you by End Days Survival. If you wish to no longer receive messages, please click here to unsubscribe or write us at 44 main street, Douglas, South Lanarkshire, U.K.

Sure, they’re just trying to sell you food packs, or gold, or trying to get you to visit a site loaded down with viruses, but it’s so damn entertaining!

Too Soon!

by Purple Wyrm on July 2, 2015

Q: How do Reavers clean their battle harpoons?

A: Put them through the Wash

Questions from my Toilet Paper

by Purple Wyrm on June 19, 2015

1: What is the best way to identify a frog species?
Stop it at the border and demand its papers

2: Some frogs can change the colour of their skin, why would they do this?
To keep up with the latest fashions

3: What is the biggest threat to our frogs?
Frog eating aliens from Tau Capricorni

4: True of False? Frogs can leap higher than a house.
True, for a sufficiently small house and a sufficiently large frog.

TP, why you question me?

TP, why you question me?