Artist’s Impression: The Faxe in action. Quiver at its unholy genius! Bask in the glory of its potential!
We’ll begin by stating this has nothing to do with fax machines, faxing, or anything electronic. No, it’s on a different spectrum. Now, you’ve probably heard of forks and spoons. Good, then you’ll no doubt have heard of sporks – spoons with a fork attached to the rear end of whichever implement you desire at that moment. This was a brilliant invention, so we got to thinking: what other useful implements could be attached to each other for maximum usefulness? Naturally we decided on the fork as one, and an axe as the other. You have to agree, this is simple but ingenious; the brilliant simplicity of a fork matched with the ruthless, psychotic efficiency of an axe.
The Faxe is suitable for specific professions. These include: solicitors, MPs, farmers, taxi drivers, mountain climbers, postmen/women, philosophers, and cheese makers. We are prepared for an influx of requests from one profession in particular, though, and have braced ourselves for the fiscal onslaught. Think for one second: this would revolutionise the lumberjack industry! Your average lumberjack can be eating his hearty beans on toast lunch as he stands by a tree, and between bites can slug his axe one against a tree. As a productivity boosting tool we believe this invention has it all. Workers will NEVER need to take a break with this product. Faxes are the future – the future of business. The future of the world.
Our company motif will be as follows: “Where there’s lunch, there’s money. Where’s there’s a fork, there’s an axe. Where there’s a Faxe, there’s working class scumbags.” Our company slogan will be this: “Faxe: Productivity, Oppression, Money.” If you’re a rich businessman, drop us an e-mail and we’ll sell you the rights for a cool million. Pounds.
Find your ideal wom-man here today with our highly professional dating column!
Right, so yesterday we got the men’s section out of the way. Today is the women’s turn. Didn’t see that coming, did you? Now psychologists and biologists have noted over the years the key difference between men and women. Men tend to have short hair, and women wear it longer. There are notable exceptions, such as Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall and/or World War Z. Plus, Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans. Then there are women with short hair, such as Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings, and Leonardo Da Vinci in Titanic. The general rule, though, is men wear it short, women wear it long. Remember this as your key rule to finding a match, as if you approach a weight lifting, steroid pumping, burly 7ft male with an epic mane of hair, the chances are he isn’t a woman.
Now what can we say about today’s batch of lovely ladies who contacted us? Most of them aren’t too odd. This is always a bonus. If your jaw, literally and/or figuratively, hits the floor through swooning whilst reading about your ideal wom-man, then drop us an e-mail with the Box number and we’ll set you up! Huzzah!
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We all know the famous quote: “Love is like a padlock. You can lock it away, but a hefty wrench or pickaxe will ultimately do away with it.”
Once a year the Professional Moron staff brace ourselves and prepare for our Lonely Hearts column. Today is the day. Frankly, we only do one per annum as the responses we get from our readers tend to be utterly terrifying. Indeed, WordPress warned us the entire blog would be shut down if we ran some of the Lonely Hearts forms we received. Thusly, it takes around four months to vet (as one would vet a senile, braying donkey) all the responses and choose relatively sane ones. Thusly, here we have the remarkable results! Oh, we should WARN you we decided to split the results over two days. Today is the MEN’S SECTION! Tomorrow, women. Why men first? As men are stupider.
Our First Dating Column was in March 2012. The second April 2013. We’re happy to report we’ve had highly positive results during this history of match making. From the feedback we’ve received we’re aware our benign efforts have resulted in: 7 marriages, 14 divorces, 5 estrangements, several broken limbs, 361 outraged and/or humble bragging messages on Facebook, 12 cases of blackmail, four black eyes, several death threats, an ingrowing toenail, and several hundred screaming matches. Romance will never die, and we’re here to set you all up once more. Should you come across a Box of interest, note the number and send us an e-mail. Happy searching – the human being of your dreams is buttermere click away!
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The city of Sheffield apologised to Professional Moron for the lack of chefs. In fields.
It’s one of the great philosophical, and metaphysical, questions of our age. It hit Professional Moron’s esteemed editor like a rusty earbud whilst out and about in his usual manner. We lie, actually, for t’was far from usual! Mr. Wapojif enjoyed a pleasant sojourn in Sheffield today, but he was left perplexed by one mighty gaping hole in the grand scheme of things. Where were all the chefs? Plus, where were all the fields? We’ll come to this in a moment, but first the thorny issue of Sheffield itself. We understand many of our billions of daily readers may be from areas of the world unfamiliar with this noun. It’s not too complex – Sheffield is a city in the North of England. It’s kind of near Manchester and Nottingham and acts as the jam in the sandwich between these two famous cities. Manchester’s famous for Robin Hood, and Nottingham’s world renowned for Manchester United. Sheffield is famous for Michael Palin. London is famous for Freddie Mercury and the perpetual stream of sushi restaurants. There’s a dose of English culture for you; a didactic day, eh?
Now we’re clear on the subject, we wish you to don your thinking caps. Now, when one thinks of Sheffield the first images which come to mind for all of us are thusly: chefs in big white hats, rolling fields of greenery, and chefs with big white hats standing in fields of rolling greenery. Most alarmingly, this was not the case. The fields we did see usually had grass and cows in them, and there were no chefs in sights. Consequently, we can only derive this: “Sheffield” is a misnomer. Predominant greenery was (and were) hills. Lots and lots of hills. We presume the chefs were all in their natural working habitat – buses. A real shame. We weren’t disappointed by this revelation, nor were we angered. We were merely disappointed AND angered. There’s one thing to lie, but there’s two things to tell berserk fabrications. However, we will forgive Sheffield for Michael Palin. Thanking you.
ARGGGHHH!!!! It’s such a massive poster!
We don’t often behave in a sincere way on the Professional Moron blog. Today is an exception. We’re doing an honest cinema review of one of our top 10 favourite films. We’re surprised it’s taken us over two years to bring this film up, tbh, as, FYI, we do very much love it.
Ravenous is a 1999 dark comedy tale loosely based on the Donner Party incident of 1856. It stars Guy Pearce as an anxiety ridden army officer who is sent off to a remote army outpost in the Sierra Nevada. Here he meets Robert Carlyle, whose character has a rather intriguing story to tell. One involving… cannibalism! We’ll leave it here as we hate spoilers, but the film’s top notch entertainment. Pearce and, in particular, Carlyle (fresh from his remarkable turn as psychopath Begbie in Trainspotting, plus a James Bond antagonist run) are on top form. The film’s innovative, has a wonderful soundtrack, and a weird blend of violence, humour, and existential dismay. Time for a behind the scenes look, eh? Here we go, as Samuel El Jacksono kept saying in Jurassic Park, “Hold on to your butts…”.
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Marmalade, which can also be referred to as “jam with bits of peel in it.” Innit.
We’re not ones for madcap hyperbole or pointless sensationalism here at Professional Moron. Despite this, we’d like to cover the controversial topic of marmalade. As postulated so emphatically in Charles Darwin’s “On The Origin of the Bee Gees”, the nature of marmalade is oft disputed. Violently so. Wars have been fought, nasty things said, and even the odd outraged finger accusingly pointed. Why? There are some who say marmalade evolved from lowly, inferior condiments you’d find lying around in a pub (such as “The Turnip and the Shed”). Others believe marmalade is the demented offspring of a riotious, debauched night between strawberry jam and marmite. There are also those who believe marmalade was invented by humans merely as a source of orangey tastiness (known as Marmaleists). Finally, there are those who refute everything and state the god Marmalina created marmalade over the course of several days using a mixture of salt, aspic, and the earlobe from a working class scumbag from Wigan.
It’s impossible to tell what the truth to all this is, but one thing is fo’ sho': marmalade is mighty tasty. Not to be deterred by impossibilities, our very own Mr. Wapojif went on a fact finding mission armed with a pickaxe and sawn off shotgun (i.e. he took to Wikipedia in an exaggerated manner). He soon discovered several falsities, numerous inanities, and the odd half-truth. Marmalade is a “fruit preserve” made with at least 17 bags of sugar, a glass of water, and two oranges (with a bit of orange peel). Now apparently you can use mandarins, grapefruits, limes, lemons, cheese, haggis, lobster, and/or “kumquats” (we presume this is some form of nuclear missile) in this process of preserve procreation. It’s all very alarming, and a highly distressed Mr. Wapojif abandoned his search for meaningful information and fled out of the building screaming. He has not been seen since. We trust this has been edifying for all of you.
SpongeBob and Patrick having fun.
What is an adult man doing watching a kids cartoon? Having a trip into the escapist world of absurdity, that’s what! Yes, our esteemed editor Mr. Wapojif has been busy of late hurtling through episodes of this most joyous of shows. “WHAT’S IT ALL ABOOT?!” we hear you yodel. It centres around the relentlessly optimistic, largely idiotic eponymous character. SpongeBob lives in a pineapple house under the sea and works at a local fast food joint – The Krusty Krab. This is all set in the (fictional) town of Bikini Bottom. His neighbours include the brilliantly idiotic Patrick (a starfish), and the morose Squidward (who despises his neighbours). SpongeBob also lives with his pet snail, Gary, who behaves a bit like a cat and exhibits far superior intelligence to his owner. SpongeBob is also good friends with Sandy Cheeks, a squirrel from Texas who lives in a Tree-Dome and must wear a deep sea diving suit when outside.
That’s the fundamental set up. Episodes revolve around SpongeBob’s eccentric behaviour, and with partner-in-crime Patrick in tow all manner of chaos ensues. Pretty surreal, eh? Read on to find out more madness!
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