Well, I didn’t think that there’d be such a good selection of entries and while no-one discovered such classics as “I Killed My Lesbian Wife, Hung Her on a Meat Hook, and Now I Have a Three-Picture Deal at Disney“, “Assault of the Party Nerds II: The Heavy Petting Detective” or the classic “Hell Comes To Frogtown” there were some great suggestions. I almost don’t want to have to choose one!
But I do, so the run down is:
In joint 3rd place we have Lyle and Not That Adrian for “The Hunchback Hairball of LA” and “Oversexed Rugsuckers from Mars” respectively
In a very close 2nd place, Eliza with “A Nymphoid Barbarian in Dinosaur Hell”
But just pipping it to first place is Mike with “Can Hieronymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humppe and Find True Happiness?” (largely due to the fact that he found a film title featuring the word “merkin”)
So if he’d like to come up to the stage to collect his prize (or alternatively, email me)… and congratulations once again to all who took part.
That’s all folks!

INT. THE SAUSAGE AND CUCUMBER FREE HOUSE – EVENING

The pub is quiet for a Friday night and only a few of the regulars are in.

In the corner, PIX huddles over an empty table and pulls her coat tightly around her to conceal the some slightly dubious and embarrassing Ann Summers lingerie she’s wearing after a series of improbable and highly unlikely events left her locked out of her flat.

She is joined by the eccentric PROFESSOR WINSTON YEVGENIY-SMITH who has just kindly bought her a welcome hot toddy. He raises is own glass, a pint of Black Russian made, as the weary clientele were repeatedly informed, from a traditional nineteenth century Ukrainian recipe. Little does Pix know that he too is wearing slightly dubious Ann Summers lingerie too.

DR LEGG, sits at the bar, nursing his third pint of Absinthe, crying gently. He is consoled by ALF TUPPERWARETHWAITE.

ALF
There there, Woody. It’ll be alreight in the mornin’. Jus you wait an’ see.

DR LEGG
What? I can’t understand a word you’re saying, you northern piece of dirt.

ALF
There’s no need for that sort of language.

DR LEGG
You don’t understand. I loved her and she loved me. And now she’s gone, run off with her half brother who turns out was actually the long lost son of the local vicar by his second marriage before he discovered he was gay and not the illegitimate son of the butcher who was died in a tragic accident involving a meat grinder and a length of sausage skin.

ALF
You’re better off without her, I reckon.

They are interrupted by MR D. who’s looking after the bar in the absence of the barman who has rushed down to the local crematorium in a fruitless search for his son’s life savings which inadvertently got mixed up with his great uncles ashes.

MR D.
Leave it Alf. Have another pint of Olde Northern Muck on the house. And what’s happened to your accent? Dr Legg – aren’t you meant to be in theatre now. Didn’t you schedule that risky but pioneering operation to save that young girl you knocked over shortly after you found out your third wife had left you?

DR LEGG
You’re right

He downs his pint and makes to leave to find the door opened by SGT. KAREN UBORKA.

SGT UBORKA
Right, nobody move. I’m here investigating the disappearance of one Snowgoon.co.uk. And I have reason to believe that one of you may be responsible.

MR D.
You ain’t got no evidence!

SGT UBORKA
We have evidence. We believe the murder took place in the forest. And we’ve got a tip off that we’ll find the guilty party is one of you. It’s someone who will have been acting very suspiciously but none of you will have noticed or had any idea of their terrible secret.

DR LEGG
Who could do such a thing?

SGT UBORKA
None other than that man there, playing darts by himself and drinking a suitably noncey but nevertheless telling Murder in the Forest cocktail.

MR D.
Oooh! You sounded just like Taggart when you rolled the R in Murder. Say it again!

SGT UBORKA
Shut up. You, GordonMaclean.co.uk, can you account for your whereabouts at 2300 hours last night.

GORDONMACLEAN.CO.UK
I don’t have to. I was with your mother.

SGT UBORKA
What? You mean….

GORDONMACLEAN.CO.UK
That’s right!

SGT UBORKA
Dad?

GODONMACLEAN.CO.UK
‘Allo Princess!

Cue End Credits

Fade Out.

You ain’t seen me…

…roight!

And now on Channel Uborka, we bring you the stunning new documentary from controversial investigative reporter, Richard Lesse. Viewers are warned that are some scenes in the following programme may contain people talking. Younger viewers may like to know that tonight’s programme has a breast occurrence rating of 2 and the video timecodes are 03m17s and 17m29s. And for older viewers WHY DON’T YOU HAVE A NICE CUP OF COCOA AND GO TO BED? GO ON, THERE WE GO. YOU DON’T WANT TO BE WATCHING THIS RUBBISH DO YOU, GRANDPA? NO, IT’S ALL ABOUT COMPUTERS. NO, YOU WON’T UNDERSTAND IT. THAT’S RIGHT, TIME FOR BED.

Greetings. Tonight, we’ll be taking you on a journey into the dark underbelly of a seedy, explicit and dangerous pastime that hundreds, maybe thousands of people have been unwittingly sucked into. My name’s Dick Lesse, and I’ll be your guide as we explore the depraved world of EXTREME BLOGGING

Meet Randy, not his real name, a 31 year old programmer from London. He first got introduced to Extreme Blogging by his girlfriend. “At first it just seemed like a good way to kill a few minutes. But the more I did it, the more I wanted to do it.” Randy has been into Extreme Blogging for 11 months now. He and his girlfriend split up 6 weeks after he started. “I blame it on Extreme Blogging. Before I got into that, we were planning to live together and, who knows, maybe even get married. Extreme Blogging tore us apart. It ruined my life.”

But what is Extreme Blogging? We asked an expert, Norman Normanson of Normanton University. “Extreme Blogging is akin to blogging on the fly. A sort of blogging with no constraints, if you will. It’s Dogme95 meets online journaling. There’s no plan, no structure and no editing. It’s very risky.”

So what are the side effects? We examined a couple of blogs that we suspected may have been put together by extreme bloggers to see if we could tell. It wasn’t hard. The blogs were rambling nonsense, full of spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, lacking in structure and often missing a conclusion. Some of the worst cases we saw were so awful, I can’t even begin to describe them and they’re far too extreme to be shown here.

But Extreme Blogging has got it’s supporters. One practitioner, who wanted to remain anonymous so we’ll call her Bob, claimed that there was nothing wrong with the activity. “It’s not a problem. It’s just easy to do. I’ve been doing it for several years now and I know I can give up at any time. I just have to want to stop.”

Randy, however, disagrees. “You get to the stage where you have a half formed idea that you think is going to bring the house down. You think you’re going to right something that is going to be so poignant or funny that everyone will come and read your blog. So you sit down and you just let it all come out. Sometimes you find yourself writing several pages of nonsense and you’re absolutely positive that it’s fantastic material and isn’t going to need any editing or proofing. But an hour after you’ve published it, sometimes a day maybe, you go back and read it again and realise that there’s just no structure and sometimes it doesn’t even make sense. But while you’re under the influence you believe that every word will be in its right place and that you’re good enough to be an A-lister. But it’s just not true.”

We wanted to ask the Government what they were proposing to do about this new threat to our nation but they declined to comment. We think the evidence in cases such as Randy’s speaks for itself. Extreme Blogging is wrong -just say no.

We’ll be back next week with an in depth report on the truth behind belly button fluff and where it comes from. This is Dick Lesse saying good night, sleep tight and don’t wet the bed.

Since this programme was filmed, Randy entered his blog into the Guardian Blog Awards where he was placed second behind “Menu de jour”, a possibly fictional blog, allegedly written by a sous chef working for Gordon Ramsay. Randy has since been sectioned under the 1983 mental health act.

And now for our weekly Channel Uborka competition. As we’re rapidly approaching the summer blockbuster movie season, we are offering a chance for you to go to a movie of your choice at a cinema of your choosing¹ if you can nominate the film with the most ridiculous, silliest or bizarre title.

Rules
1. All films must be real – use the IMDB if you’re stuck.
2. No pron films with rip off titles from blockbuster hits will be accepted. They’re all silly.
3. Nominating “Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones” is far too easy. Think of something else!

Nominations to the usual address.

UPDATE:
Would help if I added the footnote really! So if you want to play our little game, read on, Macduff!

¹Originally the prize was dependant on you stumping up the cash for the ticket.

But as I keffed up on the old footnote, I’m tempted offer the prize of a DVD from Play.com’s MGM £5.99 sale for the most amusing title on condition that
a) you DO come up with a good nomination for a silly title
b) the choice of dvd is approved by me – choosing “Charlies Angels 2: Full Throttle” for example, will forfeit you the prize no matter how much you like it!
c) you go to my blog and sponsor me – but more about that particular shameless self promotion later.

incidentally – normal rules apply, decision of the judge (i.e. ME) final, no cash alternative, yada yada yada. If you haven’t got a DVD player, then, well, there’s still the cinema!

Winner will be announced at Friday cocktails.

i wonder at the things i get myself into, sometime.
don’t even remember signing up for this.
hell, i don’t even write on my own site anymore.
you see, y’all speak English, and here i just talk American.
and my grasp on that is bout as tenous as a gamblers
on his last paycheck. cause i’m southron.
not a yankee, no, i’m so southron compasses don’t work round me.
the arrow points,true, and it points true. it comes to point like a
birddog at a chicken house, it comes to a point like cupid outside
a Georgia sorority house.
points its shaking accusatory finger. down.
i am bilingual, now. i can speak yankee with the best.
hell, i can make yankee stand up, sit down, and fetch the prettiest girl
in the room. but it ain’t my mothers tongue.
what we speak, it’s elastic. it’s a tool down here and we stretch it
to fit. everthing is subservientsive to the story.
and here i am, talkin to furriners.
girl i know says i shouldn’t expect anything i say to make it crosst
all that water. that my talents don’t translate to the written word , anyway.
i don’t know as she’s right, but she’s so damn pretty it’s hard not to listen to
her when she talks.
but with the heat, and the humidility, even sweet nothings are florid.
rostand would have to sit in the second row here, we could teach cyrano
how to spell charm. immune to normal amounts, here, girls are. and women. Lord.
makes it easy everwhere else we go, but here. on a hot summer night, just talking.
she’s got to feel a cool breeze on her neck, without lifting her hair. and then you got to
pull down the night sky for a blanket.
lead to gold, and thence to silver. alchemy.
they say pretty much anythang is combustible in the proper concentrations.
and then they say most words are common.
we know that it isn’t trying to make the words burn.
it’s trying to keep them from burning the whole damn town down