Lightning goes by many names. In Spanish it is called "relámpago", which translates literally to "Did you see that? What was it? Let's call it lightning from now on." In Croatian it is called "munja", which isn't even a word.

Because lightning is made out of electricity, it can carry information; just like a computer. Lightning carries this information at such incredible speeds that during a single strike, you can transmit the entire telephone book into the clouds. However, because lightning is one-way, it will simply have to stay there until it rains.

A Professional Lightning Handler

The opposite of lightning is rubber, so if you find yourself getting struck by lightning, try to surround yourself with rubber objects. Tyres, condoms - even a small scented eraser balanced on top of your head might be enough to persuade the lightning to strike the person next to you. Watch out for televisions; lightning can live in them for up to a month, and will often change the channels if a programme comes on about how to get lightning out of your telly.

In Wes Craven’s documentary Shocker, a man who was made out of electric went into a telly and appeared in a Western with John Wayne. Most people now agree that this wouldn’t be possible, because John Wayne wouldn't have stood for it.

There are three kinds of lightning. The most famous is Forky Lightning, pictured above. Then there is Hairy Lightning, which has a luxurious cashmere “feel appeal”, and Sunken Lightning, which happens underwater and is eaten and immediately shit out again by eels.

Lightning is extremely proud, so if you suspect there is some hiding in your house, the best way to flush it out it to walk around with a spider in your palm,  saying "what, are you scared of spiders? Big bit of lightning like you? Scared of a spider?". Lightning will come out and say "what do you mean, there wasn't even a spider around when I started hiding, so that doesn't even make sense".

Tame lightning can be used as a ladder, in lieu of a Beanstalk.

In the abscence of openly gay gaming characters, video game culture is playing catch-up with wider society. So, until 10% of all video game plots include a scene where gay characters triumph over a homophobic mini-boss before going on to murder everyone who bullied them, we’re basically stuck in the 80s. And what did we gay people do in the 80s to push sexual diversity forward to the point where Suede could exist? We outed people!

Think of me as your gay mechanic on this voyage of gaming sexuality. And for those of you frail bendy woofters who have no idea what a mechanic is or does because it doesn’t involve cupping a pair of balls, remember: Kylie Minogue played one, in Neighbours! They basically get oily and carry tyres and babies around. Or, to put it in terms that gay people can really understand, it’s like anal sex - but with cars.

Think of me as a fat hairdresser, letting my dick and nuts press against your arm while I talk about the weather. I'm gaying you up, and you love it. Don't complain - that's just showing how repressed you are. The  more you complain,  the more you love it. In fact the only way to not come out of this looking really gay is to prove you're comfortable enough in your heterosexuality to let me ejaculate onto your shins.

Please let me ejaculate onto your shins

Woo! I wouldn't say no to this greasy slab of hunkpapa! I'd certainly be pro-tossing HIM off, if you know what I mean (I mean I'd like to masturbate him). I'd definitely let him "terran" new one for me, by which I think I mean I'd let him have sex with a wound. But lets consider the evidence:

He is frequently seen smoking a cigar and wearing a helmet. Could he be any more blatant? All you have to do is replace cigar with DICK, and draw spunk marks on the helmet visor, and you've got a pretty compelling case for the prosecution.

Calm down Jim! Whew! That guy is SPUNK-CRAZY

What other evidence do we have?

1. Raynor rhymes with Gaynor
2. His girlfriend got turned into a monster, maybe because she saw him bumming in the showers
3. I really want him to be gay because I fancy him so much and it makes wanking more exciting if you could realistically imagine him saying "yeah let's do it - but I must warn you I'm extremely into you in a way I've never felt before" with his big hands all over you

VERDICT: DEFINITELY GAY PLEASE

CASE TWO: DUKE NUKEM

Yeah I mean he's probably gay, something about hypermasculinity and denial, something something. Oof. I can't actually do this.  What's next? Something about how Tingle is a bit fruity? How can anyone write this fatuous shit without jamming pencils into their tear ducts?

No, seriously. How do you do it? It seems like a valuable skill

The Fast & The Furious

An undercover cop infiltrates an underworld subculture of Los Angeles street racers looking to bust a hijacking ring, and soon begins to question his loyalties when his new street racing friends become the prime suspects.

2 Fast 2 Furious

Former cop, Brian O'Conner is finally arrested after letting his leader escape the law. To avoid the consequences, he must now work with an old college friend and help the police arrest a local drug exporter.

The Fast & The Furious: Tokyo Drift

In order to avoid a jail sentence, Sean Boswell heads to Tokyo to live with his military father. In a low-rent section of the city, Sean gets caught up in the underground world of drift racing.

Fast & Furious

Brian O'Conner, now working for the FBI in LA, teams up with Dominic Toretto to bring down a heroin importer by infiltrating his operation.

Fast & Furious 5: Rio Hiest (aka 5ast 5ive)

Dominic and his crew find themselves on the wrong side of the law once again as they try to switch lanes between a ruthless drug lord and a relentless federal agent.

The Fast & Furiou6: Transylvanian Plunderstorm

When a heroin importer gets into Brian O’Conner’s car and refuses to get out, he drives as fast as he can in a misguided effort to teach him the error of his ways. But the faster Brian drives, the more ruthless the drug lord becomes, forcing O’Conner into an unprecedented loop-the-loop.

Fas7 And Fu7iou7: 777

Under the terms of the mayor's Last Will & Testament, Sean Boswell must drive up the Matahorn, using the summit as a ramp to land on a passenger jet carrying 200 drug lords to an illegal conference,  and do do-nuts on the wing until the FBI arrive.

Furious & Fast: Swans Alive

Low budget  series reboot set entirely on the plastic swan ride at Alton Towers. Will Brian O’Conner be stranded overnight, or will he manage the short wade to shore?

9ast & 9urious: Hair Trigger Trip Switch

Pan-ballistic deboot. Brian O’Conner and Jeff Patarken (Rupert Everett) must do one last heist to pay off their debts to a ruthless drug lord. Unfortunately Patarken has acute gastroenteritis, leading to some memorable Dutch Ovens.

Fast Ten: Your Seatbelts

Addressing concerns that the series glamorises dangerous driving, Brian O’Conner embarks on a high-octane road-safety course, where he meets a woman whose breasts inflate when travelling at or just below the legal speed limit.

The Fast & The Furious, Part 11: Dopplerdocus

Brian O’Conner gives a drug lord a cow in exchange for an enchanted muffler, only to discover that it has poor aerodynamics. He joins forces with Dominic to perform one last heist in a parallel dimension where fast things are used as currency, only to accumulate immense debts by driving in the wrong direction.

Furiast 12

Sean Boswell is shrunk to the size of a pint of milk. Stowing away conspicuously in Jordana Brewsters hair, he offers constant and increasingly pessimistic appraisals of his own mental health.

Furiast 12, Part II: The Fast & The Furious 13

The attempt to bring  Sean Boswell back to full man size backfires, when only his testicles are restored to their original stature. Boswell quickly learns that a full compliment of semen being emptied through a urethra no wider than a human hair causes unimaginable pain, and velocities that are internally injurious to his lovers. Boswell is inconsolable until he notices that the laser-like ejaculations can shear through glass, and he decides to carry out one last heist.

The Fast & The Fur14us: Hawaiian Hairpins

Dominic Toretto is forced into a flatshare with a furious lance corporal and a shapeshifting robot, neither of which seem keen on helping him perform one last heist. That is, until a ruthless drug lord begins drinking the milk they’ve left out in the back garden, and shows his gratitude by laying a gigantic egg containing a Lamborghini Countach.

Fast and Fifteenius: The Final He15t

They saved the  most audacious heist for last!  Brian O'Conner, The FBI, Sean Boswell, and six thousand druglords (each more ruthless than the last) travel to the rings of Saturn, where they encounter a rare microbe that reacts to pure-grade heroin by travelling at 230 miles per hour. Building a car out of the foul-smelling bacteria and stealing enough heroin to fuel it from the drug lords in a series of tiny last heists, Sean Boswell returns to Earth. In a state of irrational euphoria induced by a lack of oxygen and an abundance of heroin, Boswell places second in the bloodiest Tour De France on record - then, in the first musical finale, Brian O'Conner sings "I Like Bread And Butter" to the drug lords and learns the spirit of true self-sacrifice when he leads them all, in a goose-stepping drug baron conga, through a smoky door and into the sandworm desert from Beetlejuice. As the door slams shut, the credits roll, and the audience are invited to look inside their hearts by an out-of-character Vin Diesel, who confides that he and the entire cast have been dead for nine years, but their pact with Satan means that they cannot be at rest or stop making these movies until people stop coming to fucking see them for Christ's sake.

Don't panic, and don't give up! Having sex all over the house (or "trans-residential knicker romps", to use the scientific name) is terrific fun, and great news - it counts as one of your five a day!

I'm going to tell you about the times I've had sex all over the house, so you can avoid some of the knee injuries and accidental summoning rituals that we've had to deal with!

1: PREPARATIONS

Nothing kills the mood like sucking on a big rosy nipple, and catching sight of a beefy week-old stool dominating the porcelain in the corner of your eye. So, here's my pre-sex to-do list that you can print out and stick to the fridge:

• Flush the toilet
• Pick the biggest bogies out of  your nose and put them somewhere you won't be having sex
• Pull your trousers down and put your hands on your hips to signify the unlikelihood of it sucking itself

2: START IN THE KITCHEN

I always start having sex in the kitchen, because the checklist is on the fridge, and I can go over it one last time before the sex begins.

The first time I had sex in a kitchen, I got my foreskin snagged on a whisk. Reeling from the shock, I put my hand in the waffle toaster where it sizzled for some minutes, before I careened wildly into the knife pantry. But with practice you will learn not to stick your dick in a whisk, and maybe close the waffle toaster.

It's important to create  a sexy kitchen mood. For example, one thing in this photo isn't sexy. Can you tell which one it is?

If you said "cooked sausage grease", deduct ten degrees from your erection. Re-heated for thirty seconds over a low flame,  it's nature's savoury lubricant.  Miniature dominoes are also sexy, as they can be placed next to your penis to make it seem larger. It was the oven mitts. The oven mitts.

3: THE AIRING CUPBOARD IS OPTIONAL

Don't make the same mistake we made! We wasted a good half hour trying to find a position that worked, and at one point she queefed onto a damp flannel I'd covered in cress-seeds as part of a work project. (I'm not sure if I should include this queef in my report - I mean, the guys in the lab might think I'm not taking the project seriously. But if the cress is particularly nice, they'll want to know why, and I can't suddenly say "oh it got queefed on").

In the end I just bundled her in there like a witch into an oven, and slapped her bum a few times. She made the most of it, saying "ooh!" a couple of times, but we both agreed to leave it out next time.

4: THE LIVING ROOM

The biggest pitfall in the living room is if the thumping motion of your man's penis into her vagina causes one of your  bums to land on a remote control, changing the channel in such a way as to create an unexpected sentence. This one time, Maury was giving the results of a paternity test, and he said "I'M SORRY TO SAY, YOU ARE NOT..." and the channel changed and an advert finished by saying "...CONSOLIDATE YOUR DEBTS TODAY". I was like "that doesn't even make sense" and my girlfriend also expressed some dismay that such an easy set-up had been squandered.

5: THE NELSON ROOM

The Nelson Room is the most difficult room in any house to have sex in. It is knee-deep in aniseed-flavoured water, and is filled with those fish that know when you're pissing and swim into your dick.

Two mechanical suits of armour operate a wave machine at one end of the room, and you must have sex on a podium that shrinks as you approach orgasm. At the precise point of climax, the podium disappears, and you must launch your partner into the chandelier. There is a basket of coconuts in there, that she can use to knock the ravens out of the air, while you use mounted machine gun to shoot a) the fish, and b) the giant's eyeball as it appears in the windows. When the door unlocks, you may leave.

And that's how to have sex all over a house. If you have any questions, please do ask. I'm pretty much the authority on this.

Gird yourself, monkey sisters - you and me are going to have some fun!

Wow. They must be pooped from a late night Gorilla Party! I wonder... I wonder what food they serve at a Gorilla Party? Haha! I love a funny list!  This is going to be fun!

1. Bonobo Twiglets
2. Ape Biscuits
3. Orang-Utan Doritos (with Chimpanzee Salsa!)

Hahahahahaha! Hoo!

Don't let those sad, empty faces fool you - they've got MONKEY MISCHIEF on their minds. Once, I saw a monkey planning a bank heist using a quill on a sheaf of ancient papyrus. But he wasn't breaking into a vault full of money... it was a pile of bananas! What are you guys up to, eh?

Oh, you're off to look out the window. I... bet you think you're going to see something amazing. Like... a... I dunno,  a space rocket or something. God, I hope they're wanking in the next room.

No! You're doing monkey wanking all wrong! You're supposed to sling it around with a shrill chattering bark! You're supposed to bare your teeth like you're horrified by what's coming out! Most of all, you're supposed to make me imagine a world where my mates come around and we chat and wank to whatever's on the telly. You're not supposed to have an embarrassing twiddle with yourself that's so listless and unfancy that you fall asleep.

Oh, for fuck's sake. You miserable pricks are getting right on my tits. The only thing this picture needs to be more hamfistedly poignant is some kind of clumsy symbolism  relating to captivity

Fuuuuuuck.

I just cried for the seventh time at this:

(Not an original C&H - linked to the author's site)

And I've just made myself get a little bit wet in a Google Chat about my first dog, who died after I told him to get off my bed because he was whimpering, and I wanted to sleep. "Oh, I'll get off your bed," he said with a glance. "And then, I'm going to die. Eff you." The fact he self-censored, even in that angry glance, is perhaps the saddest thing of all.

So, hearing people talk about Toy Story 3 was thrilling. These are the Top 5 things people said to me about Toy Story 3, that made me think I was going to weep myself dry.

1. I don't normally cry at films. But I cried at this.
2. I do normally cry at films, but this was different. It was like having your childhood ripped out, and stuck back in with the wide end first.
3. I'm an emotionless sociopath, but Toy Story 3 in many ways unlocked my soul. I've since been able to empathise and interact properly with my child, who no longer fears me.
4. I'm a very emotional person, and this drove me to such irrational extremes of wild sentiment, that I'm scared to open my mouth, for fear of screaming.
5. I didn't cry at Toy Story 3, but it seems that stifling the emotion affected my semen. For a while, I thought I was infertile, but when my wife finally became pregnant we immediately became concerned by a small but constant vaginal discharge. It seemed like water, but on fabrics we didn't immediately wash, it left behind a salty crust. After nine months of increasing flow, she eventually gave birth to a football sized eyeball. It couldn't blink, having no eyelid. And it couldn't cry in the conventional way, having no tear duct. It just span around wildly in its mothers arms, shooting a narrow jet of tear water from its pupil. Once we severed the umbilical cord, it immediately began to deflate. We're not sure if it's still alive - or if it ever was. But in future, I am never going to not cry at Toy Story 3 again.

Naturally, I thought something MASSIVE was going to happen. I thought we were going to confront innocence with death. I imagined a right-wing Family Concern storyline in which the toys were handed down across generations, until a childless gay relationship left them with nowhere to go. Then I imagined a series of coded jokes and eye-rolls about getting stuffed up a bumhole, culminating in Buzz ejecting his wings in ano, during the filming of a video that consequently goes viral.

I wasn't expecting what I got, which was a pretty standard trickle down one cheek - not even a two-cheeker - and some uneven breathing when I realised that the tears were on my boyfriend's side. The idea that he might see the trickle of tears, and gently touch my forearm nearly made me shudder a bit, but the moment was broken by the knowledge that his real reaction would have been "pfft".

The same thing happened watching The Orphanage. I'd read a review, and knew that the child was going to go missing. So I spent the first fuck-knows minutes of the film thinking "I bet this is the bit where he goes missing! I bet an EAGLE does it and he's in a NEST." By the time he'd actually disappeared, after all that fannying about in a spooky cave, I was exhausted.

And getting old would be much more fun, if someone hadn't spoiled it by telling me I was going to just die.

So, everyone. Stop talking about stuff. Stop writing about things. Stop having opinions and exposing them to people. Stop communicating ideas and thoughts unless they're in perfect isolation from everything else. Stop all trailers and publicity campaigns. This kind of teaser campaign for psychological thrillers like Who Put The Bomp is OK:

As long as you don't follow it up with anything that explains:

a) what BOMP is

b) who the prime suspects for putting it in the BOMP BOMP BOMP might be

c) how Barry Mann's left hand exists in the yellow cartoon dimension, while his left thigh does not

Finally, never compare things to each other. Saying "you smell like a rose" might ruin the surprise for anyone who's never smelt a rose, but is kind of meaning to get around to it someday.

The only exception to this is video games, because I quite like writing about those. And it's not like I've ever said anything informative.

I reckon I should get paid £200 or something for this

When you or I first see one of these Leggera pizzas, we think one of these two things:

1) I wonder what they do with the bits in the middle? Like polos, and records! I wonder what they do with all the middles of all these things?

Stupid question. They're made into little skull caps, and worn by a Jewish man. On hot days these "jew-dough" caps react with the natural oils and sweat of the beautiful Jewish scalp to create a delicious Bruschetta. The wearer can then eat it directly off his own head, or allow it to slide onto a chopping board and present it to someone he is intending to marry.

2) How does this affect my overall ratio of crust to topping?

This, on the other hand, is a good question, and requires the use of scientific words to properly answer. The Leggera pizza effectively creates a new CrustZone. This innovative inner crustmantle leads to a significant increase in crust:topping ratio. Say the diameter of the inner hoop (or "Neocrust") is just one third of that of the entire pizza's traditional, and backwards compatible Legacy Crust - that's still a 33% crust increase, or "incrust", in the crust circumference, or "circumfcrust". I also did a few doodles about surface area but it just looked like a Pokéball and I'm not sure the numbers I wrote on it were right.

Anyway, the worry is that this is the first step towards a hypothetical fractal crust, which will have an infinitely long crust, eliminating not only pepperoni, but all toppings, both real and imaginary. And forever.

These are the concerns of us, the mundane. But other people are more spectacular and worthy than we (are). These people, after a good meal,  write a letter of enthusiastic congratulations to the holding group, or venture capital company who ultimately owns the franchised outlet they visited. And sometimes - just sometimes - that restaurant prints out their letters in a promotional pamphlet.

It's been a while since I wrote for a publication with the circulation and demographic reach of Pizza Express's in-house promotional pamphlets, so I've written them a few letters myself.

Dear Gondola Holdings,
My retarded son has great difficulty saying the phrase "let's get a pizza". I, however, believe in the value of clear communication, and will not respond to any demands that are not properly pronounced. So, thank you for your "Leggera" range of pizzas, which are phonetically similar enough to my son's semi-coherent burbling that he has had his first meal in three months. Sadly, he was infuriated by the absence of a middle, and has since had to be put down.
Yours sincerely,
Judith Chivers

You're Robin Hall my love

Dear Cinven,
I'm a long-term fan of your leveraged buyouts and Italian cuisine. Until recently, I thought I was completely happy with your range of pizzas and international healthcare portfolio. However, it wasn't until you "imagin-reated" the Leggera range of pizzas that I realised that I have NEVER been happy. In fact, last evening's meal threw my entire life so far into shocking relief: 36 years consuming the "dead calories" of  pizza middles! I intend to live the rest of my life the Leggera way - in fact, doubly so, that my life might average out to be, on balance, Leggera. PS I never wrote to say at the time, but congratulations on your 2007 buyout of Gondola Holdings. Those guys were cunts.
Yours sincerely,
Alison Harper

Dear Pizza Express,
My friend and I have differing interpretations of the phrase "The Italians certainly know how to enjoy life". My friend thinks that you're trying to imply that they fill their spare hours with productive hobbies. However,  I'm convinced you're saying "they'll dry hump anything that's concave". Could you settle our argument?
Yours  puzzlingly,
Horus Patterson

Live Leggera, folks
Jon Blyth

It's not always genuine Damien Hirsts - although you'd be surprised how often it is! - more often than not it's just a scab that fell off onto a teaspoon, or a bit of soup that got flicked out of the pan when they did a sneeze.

Do you turn around when you're cooking, and you have to sneeze? I don't. It's like I always say: the cooking process will kill the germs, and since I started my non-stop risotto diet, I don't have the time to stop stirring. (Besides, the last time I turned around while sneezing, I whipped a trail of snot into a bridesmaid's face, and she didn't see the funny side for six years)

ANYWAY

I read this article in ladybible Cosmopolitan about a girl who went on 21 dates in 7 days. Talk about sisters are doing it (with 21 men) for themselves! So I've set myself a mission. I am going to go on 21 real dates with men and write about them, like a big slutty journalist with both tits out.

DATE 1: JULIAN SANDS

The first thing you need to know about Julian Sands is that he's NOTHING TO DO with the pre-legalisation homosexuals, Julian and Sandy. This was my icebreaker, and it went down worse than a bra bomb in a synagogue. I'd even made up this story about the first time I masturbated, where I called my fingers Julian and Sandy, and I'd written  a sketch to make it seem more fun (fun is very important to me)

Well, I'd learned the story by heart, so I told it to him anyway, just to get it out of my head. I also had to get Lady Gaga's Bad Romance out of my head, because I'd heard it on the radio that morning, so after I'd sang that I went into my Julian & Sandy masturbating fingers sketch:

"Hello, I'm Julian, and this is my friend Sandy"
"Bona to vada your dolly old eek"
"Do you want to join me inside this meaty old mess?"
"I don't know, it's pretty crispy in there"
"How many different coloured fluids do you think the human body can produce?"
"I don't know, but that swirl of translucent pink-tinged lime mucus, looped around what I hope for her sake is a labia majora, is almost hypnotic"

I love telling a story, I really get into it. But, you know when you're telling a story, and you do the mimes? Well... I'd only hopped onto my back and started fingering myself! Julian was nowhere to be seen. YOUR LOSS, JOR-EL. Or should I say BORE-SMELL

DATING RATING: SIX SNOOZES OUT OF TEDIUM

DATE 2: DANNY WALLACE

The most excellent thing about Danny Wallace is his ability to pretend to live his life according to a set of arbitrary rules, and write a bestselling book about it.

Before I started kicking him under the table to let him know I was in a sexy mood, we got talking about some of the rules he had pretended to live by, until it looked like he might not get a book out of it. It was such an exciting insight into the Dannysphere that I forgot to eat my bagel! I've still got it in my pocket as a memento of that night. I'm not sure where the salmon's gone, but who wants salmon in their mementos? NOT ME

2004 - Danny communicated entirely through Post-It notes left on the fridge
2005 - Danny shat in a hot air balloon and encouraged millions of housewives to do the same
2007 - Danny promised to accept and fulfil every sexual offer made to him, in a legally dubious mutual contract which he insisted meant that no-one  could legitimately withhold consent from him, either
2008 - Danny speared one of his nuts with a fork, and tried to pitch it to a hen party as a brand new game show
2009 - Danny mentally embellished every mundane experience with shocked and disapproving  reactions from imagined onlookers, and wrote about it in Shortlist

So, what does 2010 hold for Danny Wallace, I asked, my big hands forcibly milking the tips of my tits. His face lit up when I mentioned his name! "I'm pretending to go on loads of dates with fat bitches, to show how deep I am and learn a lesson about inner beauty. Fat bitches like you will lap it up, I reckon"

I'm well ahead of you, Danny Wallace! LAP LAP LAP

DATING RATING: TEN DANNIES OUT OF WALLACE

DATE 3: JENNIFER ANISTON

This was more of a dinner date, because neither Jennifer Aniston nor Jennifer Tolstoy (me!) are gay. But as famous Jennifers, we both have terrible luck with men, so we met up to swap tips. Needless to say we both learned a lot, so this is a powerful personal journey as well as a bunch of purposeless lies (AM I DOING IT RIGHT DANNY? PVT ME)

So, here's some tips you can live your life by if you want to be famous and totally sex

JENNIFER ANISTON'S TOP THREE LOVE TIPS

1) Have secret late night phone calls that only a close friend who talks to women's magazines knows about

2) Refer to your womb as a "biological timebomb" and draw families standing in front of a house during sex

3) Learn how to use the walls of your vagina to remove a condom

JENNIFER TOLSTOY'S TOP THREE LOVE TIPS

1) Smile though your heart is aching

2) Smile even though it's breaking

3) Slash his coats up and put posters around saying he touches kids

DATING RATING: You can't rate girl friendships, they are priceless and can even endure death if you are vampires

So, that's three dates down! Who's next? Will it be Laurence Olivier? The Archbishop of Canterbury? Maybe it'll be you. Look at the reflection in your monitor. I'm standing behind you. WE'RE ALREADY ON OUR DATE

1) We are undercover in a honey-trap sting operation, or something else to do with bees and paedophiles.

2) We are looking for our adopted son in a thrilling multi-part episode of Two And A Half Dads

3) We were trying to recapture a lost sense of youth (an experiment that failed, because our understanding of water has developed in thirty-plus years to the point where we no longer see it as thrilling per se)

4) Simple masturbation has long become a jaded and mechanical process, and I now require a sense of danger to feel anything at all

5) We were taking part in a treasure hunt, this photo was one of the treasures, and the kids all ran in after us. That's actually how it happened, if you'd just stop chasing us and listen

answer: 4
no wait i mean 5

I ordered the Cheezy Bites, because I'm something of an explorer. There was something about the Mini-Angus Burger from the kids menu that stank of pedestrianism, and I fancied something a little more... recherché.

My hopes have rarely been higher, so you can imagine my disgust when I unfolded my greasy paper pouch to uncover these hopeless fingertips. "I can't bite these," I wailed internally. "I could pop them in my mouth, but that's chewing, not biting"

"Oh, I'll eat them," I thought defiantly, popping the last two in at the same time, "but I'm not happy."

I glared at the backlit poster of the Three Cheese Double Angus, while the young lady behind the counter looked at me like I was pretending to act out an internal monologue.

"Yes, I'm aware that bite can correctly be used to mean small amount of food," I continued to think. "But I maintain that these would be better called Chew-Chooz, Cheesy Pop-ins, or Masticatory Curd Baubles."

It was at that point that I saw, out of the corner of my eye, another fat man staring sadly at a tiny golden ball of fried cheese, and silently mouthing angry words at it. I woofed at him, and he woofed back at the same time, so I jumped onto his back (see, it wasn't a mirror) and steered him home using his ears. We've now been married for six years. Which brings me onto:

THE ROMANTIC MANOEUVRES OF FAT MEN

From Maximum Awesome's indispensible bear FAQ
Q: How does one bear greet another bear?
A: Easy! One just says "woof", and/or growls.

This is true, but not terribly refined. You woof first, and if they woof back, you may growl. Growling without an answering woof could be seen as aggression, and if you are on the fat man's home territory he might attempt to devour you. This operates on the same scoring system as conkers - if an eighteen stone man eats a superior 21-stone man, he becomes a truly awesome thirty-nine stone bear, and is entitled to some sweet disability benefits.

Once you are both growling, you should retire to the nearest pub's toilets, and spoon in a cubicle until Spring. In an attempt to spread understanding of fat gay bears, I have written Wooftard Rendezvous. It is a short play about fat gay bears.

INT. NIGHT. A BEAR BAR.

JEFF
Woof

STEVE [looking around]
Woof?

Steve spins around on his stool really fast. When he stops he is facing Jeff.

STEVE
WOOF

JEFF
Grrrr

They rub their hands all over each others shirts, their heads tilted backwards and their mouths open.

INT. DAY. KITCHEN, THREE YEARS LATER

Jeff is looking pleased. He is holding a jar of mayonnaise and parading up and down the kitchen. Steve is rummaging in the bacon drawer.

JEFF
Woof. Woof woof. Woof. Woof...

There is a knock at the door.

STEVE
Wu! Wuwuwu!

Jeff rolls his eyes and answers the door. It is Damien.

DAMIEN
Woof! Woof!

JEFF
Wooof!

Steve looks down at the heart he has made from strips of crispy bacon, and slams a pawful of angry mayo onto it. Instantly regretting what he has done, he eats it all and goes to sleep, standing up.

INT. EVENING. BEDROOM.

Steve checks all the windows, locks the door.

STEVE
Why did you woof with three o's at Damien?

JEFF
I... I didn't. I... was doing a French woof. You know, like wurf. Stretches the vowel sound out.

STEVE
Oh. Well, why were you woofing in French?

JEFF
He's just come back from a trip to Paris.

He holds up an official document with the word WOOF and a paw print at the bottom

STEVE
Oh, that's interesting. Because it's not what this sworn affidavit says.

JEFF
Have you been issuing subpoenas to my friends?

STEVE
You didn't leave me any choice. I had to subpoena something

JEFF
Look Steve, what do you want me to say? That I've been spooning Damien in toilet cubicles until Spring? Because for the last three years it's always been you. Just you, Steve.

STEVE
Well, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was such a chore.

JEFF
This is pointless. I'm opening this door and we're going to go out there, and we're going to woof at each other like this never happened.

Jeff opens the door

STEVE
I'm going to eat Damien. Perhaps then you'll love me again.

PASSING JOURNALIST
I didn't know fat gay men could talk. Or that they ate each other. What a scoop!

JEFF
Oh nice one, Steve. Way to give us away to the Muggles. We're going to be in shit with Dumbledore now. And it's double potions tomorrow.

END

That's pretty much all I know about how fat men do it. If the gay bear lifestyle appeals to you, you can become fat simply by eating more food than your body needs, and you can simulate hair by asking a doctor to implant a powerful magnet in your guts, and rolling around in iron filings. This will have the side benefit of aligning your chakras, which should allow you to fly.

Steve: do you think cockatiels enjoy singing like we enjoy singing

Log: I wonder if they're trying to impress us into having sex with them. I thought that's what birdsong was all about. Or territory. Perhaps they're telling us to get out

Steve: well, when we sing we are trying to impress people on to our cocks/into our vaginas

Log: I suppose. Singing in the shower, we might as well be saying "i am naked, i couldn't be more ready for sex"

Steve: nobody sings during sex as it is redundant

Log: Unless the other person begins to look bored

Steve: then you might hum something

Log: Personally, I'd bring out the big guns. Belt out a couple of verses of nessun dorma, right up em

Out of interest, it is Steve's 23rd birthday today, and he's having it at a karaoke bar. Girls - if his eyes land on you when he sings "and it's as big as a whale!" from Love Shack, cross your legs immediately.

Happy Birthday, Steve!

People talk of the playground being divided by a huge tennis net, and long lunch hours spent with their faces pressed against the mesh, their snarling maws hungry for the flesh of the enemy. Geography lessons dominated by the constant slinging of sharpened 45 records, like saw-wheel shuriken. Midnight atrocities committed on the all-weather pitch, atrocities that still replay themselves in the dreams of the victims.

Well, here's what you can do with your old pop rivalry. You can take it, and you can fold in into a paper aeroplane. Then you can hop onto your back, thrust your legs into the air, and stabilising yourself with your left elbow, launch  the paper aeroplane directly upwards. Then - quickly, you don't have much time - put your hands on your hips, and manouevre your bumhole into the path of the plane, so it goes right in (hint! You can tear little rudders into the rear of the wings, and it'll make it look like you have a superior understanding of aerodynamics).

Fuck 'em. The real battle for the hearts and minds of British schoolchildren (by which I primarily mean me) was between Jennifer Lynch's tale of amputation beyond the call of medical duty, Boxing Helena, and the moral comedy Eating Raoul, in which a pair of "straights" invite dogfucking dwarves into their home and kill them.

To say I've never seen the films until this week, they've had a lifelong disproportionate hold on me. It's the titles. Even though Eating Raoul is a bit of a spoiler, what with the killing and eating of Raoul being the punchline of the entire fucking film, and even if Helena spends close to no time in a box (and even spends the first forty, long minutes of the film with all four arms and legs), that didn't stop those two titles sitting in the spit on the tip of my tongue.

PAUL: What do you want to do tonight
ME: Well at 7 we'll be Eating Raoul, but after that I'm free if you want to pop around Helena's, she needs boxing.
PAUL: Dirtboxing?
ME: Don't be childish.

ANYWAY RIGHT, I've just watched both films, and this is what I've learned:

1) I have rewritten my life to believe that Boxing Helena came out when I was in school. In fact, it came out in 1994. So that conversation wasn't me being a charmingly precocious twelve year old, it was me being a subnormal twenty-something. Then again, I just did this in Tesco, and the most remarkable thing about this is the fact I'm 36.

Also, what the fuck is Tarragon? It sounds like a robot from the seventies. Who buys this shit?

2) Because I'd been told the shock summary about Boxing Helena - "it's about a man who cuts off a woman's arms and legs, and keeps her in a box," I'd imagined a very different movie. The other line that people always said, to demonstrate a profounder understanding of human behaviour, was "but the thing is, she's always in control". Naturally, I imagined Helena riding her surgeon around the house, guiding him with the reins in her mouth, and being snippy with him.

3) Speaking of people pretending to have a deep insight into movies, my childhood friend John once told me that "Star Wars isn't a story of good and evil - it's cleverer than that. They let you make your own mind up". I see on Facebook he's joined the group "ENGLAND IS FULL - NO MORE IMMIGRANTS". I guess I should have seen that coming. This doesn't have much to do with Helena or Raoul, I'm a bit bored with the format though

4) It's OK to keep a woman hostage as long as a) she eventually likes it, b) any sex scenes have the limbs momentarily restored, and c) it was all a dream anyway so like what the fuck.

5) It's OK to kill and eat Hispanics as long as they're taken with a decent wine

Now to put my life lessons into practice - if I'm not back in three hours, split my possessions amongst yourselves.

1. Choose the colour that represents the thing you like.

2. If you like doing it, but the hanky in your back left pocket. If you like having it done to you, put it in your back right pocket.

3. Go to a gay bar. Press your bum against the bum of a man you find superficially appealing. If two similarly-coloured hankies meet, a small klaxon will sound. Stay perfectly still and a pride march will begin to happen.

It was invented in the 1920s, when web design looked like this, and we've invented loads of sex since then: so here's the July 2009 update, which you can print out and insert into your gay manuals immediately.

To best illustrate my changing relationship with Twitter, here is a conversation between 2009 me and 2008 me.

2008 Log: Twitter, I dont get it
2009 Log: That's because youre a fucking dick

Two weeks later

2008 Log: No hang on, I've thought of a reason now, it's a symptom of the pervasive whittling of thinks, the stupidification of humanity, the unstable egotism of anyone who can't keep a fucking thought to themselves
2009 Log: Oh yeah, I noticed they weren't making books any more, and every other communication channel has been legally limited to 140 characters, you fucking dick. And who's the cunt who thought it was worth telling the world that a he shit on his own dad?
2008 Log: That wasnt me, it was him
2007 Log: Dont bring me into this, I've never even heard of Twitter

With Twitter, I have watched my friends casually interact with celebrities, with my mouth right-angle agape. Like a dog who's watching some cats being naughty and wants to join in - but is too nervous about the possibility of human disapproval - I looked from the cats (my friends) to the humans (celebrities), and waited for the rolled-up newspapers to come out.

Then, when I saw the humans reach out and stroke (reply to) the playful kittens, I lost control and thundered in, sending ropes of drool flying up the walls. "IS ARDAL O'HANLON NICE, I BET HE'S A CUNT REALLY" I shrieked at Graham Linehan, in response to his link to a harrowing article about the Iranian Election. "WAS THAT MAN REALLY A PEEDO" I bellowed at Armando Iannuci, as he disclosed news of an arthritic toe.

So now, I'm fully in with the hip bunch, and it's all thanks to Twitter. And now, to my point.

Following back anyone who seems like they're a human, it's also introduced me to the poetry of a man called Mike. On Twitter, he's mikeisbrill, and when he used the phrase Carry On Wearing My Anus Like A Balaclava, I had to take ten minutes out of the day to imagine how the eyeholes in an anal balaclava would work.

Gouging out holes in the tract of a man wouldnt, obviously, help you see. Instead, it would allow the mans guts to press more directly against your eyes. If, gods spare us all, your eyes were open, the constricting pressure would prevent you closing them - your pupils swivelling helplessly against the liver of your host.

And then, theres the mouth-slot. A full anal balaclava, I'm fairly sure, would drive even a robust man to vomit. But that brought up its own set of logistical problems. Crafting a human anus into a gut balaclava, as desirable as that immediately sounds, is beginning to look like more trouble that its worth.

Sensing that there was unexplored beauty in this situation, I immediately demanded a poem - and that's exactly what I got. So, basically this is the longest link to a poem youll ever read.

THIS LINK WILL TAKE YOU TO A POEM YOU WILL LIKE