it's _______ friday
In the Navy? No.
Armies they're great aren't they? No lot the things in your sleevies. THE Army. Full of young, virile men with large bayonets poking other young, fit men with bayonets. (Ed. - this is sounding a bit like Special Mens’ Videos Friday. It isn't. Or is it? No.)
...anyway, the point being that it is time we celebrated these brave young men. Especially the ones that put in that little extra bit of effort. You know, the ones who put bags over people's heads, attach electrodes to gonads and shoot children (Ed. - this is sounding a little bit like Cynical About The War In Iraq Friday. It isn't. Although…. No.)
...Anyway. We wish to celebrate those even specialer army types. The ones who do covert operations; the ones who wear special make-up that looks a bit like mud (actually you’d have thought actual mud would have been cheaper); the ones who risk life and limb before going home to roger the missus (or mister). A bit like the A-Team but… no actually not very like the A-Team at all.
SO ANYWAY... The point is that today is Commando Friday. I am sure you know what that involves. So go and get your combat uniform, find your swiss army knife and make a really quite basic rabbit trap out of a few sticks.
Alternatively scrap the above, and just wear no underpants. That's what we're doing here at It’s A Friday HQ. After all, the weather is improving and it is nice to air yourself once in a while. Get rid of any mustiness that’s built up over the winter months.
So let it hang free (men only we presume) and rejoice in a pantless day. Think how much fun it will be when you're in an important meeting and know that you're wearing no grunties. Quite naughty really. Probably more so if you forget to do your flies up. Error.
Blimey eh!! Do you remember when that elephant did a big poo on TV and somebody fell over in an amusing way? Holy Nads that was funny. And what about that time in that football match when the goal keeper accidentally threw the ball into his own net. What a twit! Eh! Yeah?!
Oh yeah. And remember the time at school when Keith Dobbs poured Tippex onto the desk, marched around on top of it saying "$hit, $hit, $hit" and then jumped out of the 2nd floor French room for £1.
Wouldn't be good if those sort of things happened more often? Well, actually, probably not. But sometimes it might be kind of fun. That's why today is Forget-Me-Not Friday. All it takes is a little bit of imagination. We just want you to go out into your workplace, local pub, shopping centre, living room or public square... and do something so unbelievably stupid that everybody will remember you forEVER.
Start planning now. There's not a minute to waste (well - maybe there's one, perhaps two).
Rumours are already circulating that one of the It's A Friday contributors will be getting his winkie out in the lift at work at 2:22pm this afternoon. Personally I have an annual work appraisal at 4pm this afternoon and I will be going to that naked and with an open can of baked beans strapped to my posterior. I shall only sit down when the word "Dogtanian" is mentioned.
Go on. Wear dungarees. Eat a worm for lunch. Draw boobies on ALL the office headed paper. The choice is yours; the memory is for all of us.
Jimmy Mistry Friday?
Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?
What? Where? Oh, those ones. Well I guess they just like me. Oh okay, I carry an assortment of old nuts and bread in my pockets. Asking for trouble I suppose.
Well I guess it’s all part of the mystery of life isn’t it?
Not really no. I just told you. I think it’s to do with the bread and nuts. Look - who are you anyway?
Who do you think I am? Don’t I remind you of somebody?
Well, yes. You look quite like Robert Nixon… but then you are wearing a Nixon mask.
Ah. Am I?
Yes. Who are you really?
Well you’ll have to work it out for yourself. Or ask Scooby Doo. You see my identity must remain a mystery.
And why would that be exactly? Are you trying to hide your quite blatant oddness from your employer? Or are you just ugly?
I’m afraid I really couldn’t comment. As I said. My identity must remain a mystery… however I suppose I could give you a clue of some sort…
A clue? What are you on? Look, perhaps I should just go. It’s lunch time and I’m quite hungry.
No. You can’t. You’ve got to try and solve the mystery of my identity.
Why? I quite clearly don’t want to know you. I bet you live in Camden and dress "eccentrically".
But you have to play. I might be Lord Lucan! He disappeared in Mysterious Circumstances.
Are you Lord Lucan?
I thought as much. Right, I’m leaving now.
Wait. I haven’t told you about Mystery Friday yet.
Mystery Friday? Oh, so that’s what all this tosh is about. I was beginning to get quite worried there. I suppose there are mysteries all around us. Why do tramps always have new shoes?
And why are Cornflakes always slightly disappointing….
I think it's to do with their Frosties like appearance combined with the lack of sugar but that’s the right spirit!
Okay. You’ve convinced me. Tell me more about Mystery Friday.
I can’t. It’s a myst...
Oldy & Moldy
Here Ye, Here Ye!
Gather round ye people of special-land. Taketh thy eyes and perform with them the reading act upon the notice:
Why doth it be that olde people always harpeth on about the things being better in ye past? It be because it was better. So there-eth. Gordon of Bennet this is a truth.
In ye (G)olden days, there be no drug problems, no global warming, no attendants of parking, no cars, no tubes, no good guns, no McDonalds, no insurance companies, no plastic, no computers, no stress, no food, no post-it notes... I could go-eth on...
No Bros, no staplers, no monies, no enchanted electric toothbrushes, no spoons, no capitalism, no Chopin, no Dr of Whom, no compact discs, no more, cease, stop thy inane rambling, it getteth boring.
In fact, it be a fact that, the only thing to exist in Ye Olde Friday is the quaffing of ale and the reading of Chaucer. It also be a fact that one of these be RUBBISH and it be not the ale (cue: INSERT FART JOKE HERE).
Letteth us rejoice in ye age of ricketts, unfortunate warts and ironically acquired syphilis. Letteth us revel in ye age of religious intolerance, torture, and middle-east crusades*. Letteth us celebrate the burning of witches because they smell slightly odd. Today, forever more (at least until it doth end tonight) will be known as: Ye Olde Friday.
NB: Letteth none of us confuse the above statements with ye cheap jokee concerning ye lisp-afflicted peasant discussing a green leafy vegetable of salad. Letteth us also not confuse ye mention of rickets with either a footballer neither an actor of the magic stage on Ye Olde EastEnders.
Commit thyself to participation with the following acts:
- talketh weirdly and like a git
- pray at least six times a day
- flagellate yourself with ye olde telephone wire
- eat mud and be merry
i t h a n k e t h y o u
* perhaps not revel in it that much mr bush.