CoTW Good afternoon, parasites. I expect after a long hard week of aggravating wittering on the Reg threads you'd like nothing better than to sit back and enjoy a nice hot drink and a bit of a blowback of said burblings, eh?
Well, don't say I never do anything for you. Here is the inaugural Comment of the Week, with the promised trinket of a delicious oozy Camel Ball care of Lester 'Dubious Confectionery' Haines to the least rubbish of all your expectorated gobbits of think.
It was a difficult task to choose a winner, chiefly because days frequently pass without a single authentic witticism occurring across the entire site, and because I am so wearied by my Sisyphean endeavours that most days Dylan Moran himself could cavort across my desk reading from History's Most Laughingest Hilarities and I would not be able to summon a smile. But these were alright, I suppose.
The sorry tale of one Tory's dismissal of an entire county's Googling abilities gave rise to a faintly amusing back'n'forth. Gianni Straniero confidently asserted:
This is a simple linguistic problem. The verb "to google" beans [sic] "to throw stones at the moon" in the dialect of Norfolk.
Which not entirely idiotic if slightly hastily posted tidbit in turn provoked this impish combined typo-snook and outrageous pun-stretch from TeeCee.
Are there lots of wiggly roads there too? I'm just wondering if the bends justify the beans.....
Very good, TeeCee. You win nothing.
The Science Museum's pedestalising of the X-ray as the best invention ever of all time (of all time) inevitably found you making your own suggestions. Because you always know better, don't you? This was N2's succinct if not unpredictable response explaining his own top three inventions:
It was something about the Lycra, y'know? Remarkable subtlety for these parts. One thumb up - momentarily and not very far up in the scheme of things, but up nonetheless.
Now let us get down to it. The Friday-tabulous 'dirtiest PC' story is where we find our comment heaven, or at least a slightly less icky square foot of purgatory.
Christopher P. Martin, seer, was quite correct in suggesting from the off: "Brace yourself for the 'That's nothing, I once saw a PC that...' style replies."
There did indeed follow a self-aggrandising barrage of cat hair, a torrent of nicotine, a sprinkling of turmeric, some bits of old sandwich and a metric fuckload of dead skin, dried bodily fluids and finely powdered cow dung. But the one comment which succeeded in wringing a smirk out of the assembled Reg toilers belonged to our old friend Anonymous Coward, whose way with a story twist is worthy of early M Night Shyamalan:
In the distant past, I repaired a desktop PC from a brick works, it had a thick layer of brick dust completely covering the motherboard!
Thank you, AC. You are a true artist. A delicious Camel Ball will be on its way to you.
What have we learned this first week, all ye preparing to open your mouths in mewling outrage? That busting a gut in attempts to impress me with any amount of linguistic high-wire unicycling will get you nowhere. But it will amuse me to see you try. Go on, dust off your harlequin bodysuit and silly hat. There is unappetisingly-named bubblegum at stake. ®