Is Spelling Important

I see lots of arguments in threads, particularly on writers’ sites, that say spelling is not important and a lot of people are too fussy. Now though I’m quite good at spellings I do admit to being less than meticulous in proof reading my work for errors.

So is spelling important or something only pedantic people get worked up about. Look at the picture then answer my question below it (apparently it is from a short story posted online) .

Did he fart a lot in bed or were there skidmarks.

A Fairy Tale Of Rekjavik

Civil Rights campaigners in Iceland have joined forces with environmentalists and elf experts in an attempt to force the transport agency to abandon a new road project that they claim will destroy a traditional elf habitat, including an elf church,” Associated Press reports.

Elves in Iceland are as much part of Iceland’s heritage (and tourist industry) as its volcanoes and smelly old geysers, and it is no surprise that the protection of elves has become a matter of Iceland’s Supreme Court.

The route being opposed by Iceland’s powerful public elf lobby concerns a road that would provide a direct route from the Alftanes peninsula, where Iceland’s President Legolas has a home, to the capital Reykjavik.

The road would cross land that Iceland’s elf enthusiasts say is a currently habitat that elves alias huldufólk or “hidden people” have occupied since before humanity arrived, including an area that is especially important because it contains an elf church (and an elf centre?).

the elf centre on Alftanes peninsula
The Elf Centre on Alftanes peninsula

You may laugh but elves are a serious political issue in Iceland, around three percent of Icelanders say that they have had a personal encounter with a pointy eared creature which is about the same in percentage terms as the number of scrumpy cider drinkers who claim they have been abducted by aliens and the number of Californians who claim they have had sex with Nephilim.

Eight percent of Icelanders believe in elves without any doubt, and 54 percent of Icelanders do not deny the existence of elves, according to a 2007 study conducted by the University of Iceland.

“For many Icelanders, elves don’t just live in fairy tales. They dwell in hills and valleys, rocks and flowers, and even houses. Some reside on Álfhólsvegur (Elf Hill Road), a street in the town of Kópavogur. Others live at the Icelandic Elf School, which offers a nonacademic diploma in Elf Studies and leads an elf hunt in the nation’s capital, Reykjavik,” a spokesperson for the Pippi Longstocking Foundation for the Betterment of Elves

Even those sceptical of Iceland’s elves go to great lengths to protect “the hidden people” that might reside in grass patches. According to a Psychology Today report, “to avoid removal of inhabited ‘elf stones,’ the general public can petition to divert roads and halt construction of buildings.”

With more than 65 percent of its population not denying the existence of elves, it is no surprise that Iceland’s Supreme Court does not take the matter of elves delaying a road construction lightly.

On the other hand, anybody familiar with the legends of Birka would not risk messing about with elves either.

More on Icelands Road Blocking Elves

Snacktools flipbooks – Doubtful bride (erotic fiction) flipbooks (click snackflip on the front page menu) are a good way of putting or writing online and creating hooks to lead potential readers to the works we are selling.

The Doubtful Bride, a 4000 word erotic (well sex sells) short story tells of a girl who is having major doubts on the eve of her wedding. A change encounter with an old flame brings things to a climax. Or two.

Usual methods of promoting pages are available.

Doubtful Bride (v2) is a reformatted version which is more easily read than my first effort with this format.

Did A Fart Change The World

Did a fart shape the development of western culture?

A story on te BBC’s environment science page today suggests that may have been the case.

In The Bible’s Book Of Exodus there is a story everyone knows of how Moses parted the water of the Red Sea so the Israelites could escape from Egypyt and the Pharoah’s army.

Most of us dismiss this as “just a story” by the time we grow up but an new expercise in mathematical modelling says it is feasible that an unusually strong burst of wind caused the waters to part.

Not being convinced I looked up a literal translation of the story from the ancient scriptures according to Mike Harding. It tells of the incident like this:

Moses stood on the beach and said “Thank God for beans, get ready to follow me lads and lasses”

Then he turned his back to the water, hoisted his kaftan, bent low and ripped off a stupendous shirt flapper causing the seas to open up for his people to cross.

You can see a video of how it happened at Wind Makes Red Sea Water Part

Selfish Teetotal Bastards Cost NHS Billions



You know all those dire warnings we get from New Labour Thought Police agents, Doctors and medical experts in the pay of Big Pharma and a whole bevvy of whingeing, hand wringing do gooders about how much harm we do to ourselves and how much money we cost the NHS through our irresponsible drinking habits?

Did you ever suspect there was more to this story than meets they eye?

This is the news we have all beeen waiting for.

According to a report in Time Magazine new study from America, Alcoholism: Clinical and Experimental Research shows that heavy drinkers live longer than those self righteous, self obsessed teetotallers.

While Boggart Blog, being libertarians who fully support peoples’ right to make their own choices, would never suggest teetotallers should be compelled to drink or face penalties for abstaining we urge all non drinkers to think of the burden of expense your selfish and irresponsible behaviour is imposing on the NHS.

In these financially desperate times when budget deficit reduction is so important we urge non drinkers to think twice before ordering fizzy water. All you are doig is asking the taxpayer to pay for your self indulgence.

NHS failing the old

Michael Jackson Death Hoax – Boggart Blog Broke The Story First

As rumours of conclusive evidence existing that Michael Jackson faked his death and is in fact still alive go viral on the web Boggart Blog takes this oportunity to remind you we broke the story here first.
Boggart Blog 27 June 2009 Jacko death faked

Not only were we the first to break the story, while other downmarket news publishers concentrated on the tasteless media circus drummed up by the Jackson clan to commercially exploit the King Of Bubble Gum Music’s death our team of nvestigative reporters dug out the real story behind the story.

Jackson and Obama the same person!

Obama Releases Birth Certificate But It Will Not Save His Presidency

In The Future You Will Not Be Allowed To Die.

Logging onto Yahoo to check my mail today I noticed a Press Association story on the news page.


screamed the headline in that quiet, mumbling, self deprecating way Internet headlines have of screaming because they know they will never be able to match Screaming Banner Headlines of the tabloids.

On reading the story I learned The House Of Commons Environmental Protection Committee, with a title like that not a body one would expect to come up with a pzazzy headline, is concerned that Britain’s poor air quality is causing 55,000 early deaths every year.

If these self righteous idiots think air quality is bad now it just shows they have never looked at a Lowry paining or a picture of London or any of the big cities in the 1950’s. Or maybe I am misreading the whole thing and with “climate change science” discredited ( latest: sea ice loss science challenged) they are just looking for an excuse for a new tax to replace the carbon tax they were relying on to make us pay for their financial mismanagement.

When I read stories like this I’m always reminded of a story Jill, a friend of my wife, likes to tell. Jill used to live next door to a very old lady who would sometimes, in bad weather, ask for help with her daily shopping. She went to the shop about 100 yards from her house every day because it got her out of the house where she spent most of her time alone. The shopping list was always the same. Two tins of tomato soup, a small loaf, a half bottle of sweet sherry and ten cigarettes. At weekends she also bought butter.

When the woman died aged 87 it was Margaret, a nurse, who found her and called the doctor. With the death duly certified the Do. said “I told her many times to give up smoking. She might have had a few more years if she had listened to me.

Yeah, and maybe she would not have thanked anyone for those few more years.

The point these self righteous do – gooders always miss is that we all die of something, sometime. The alternative, living and ageing forever, is too horrible to contemplate. The powers that be don’t want us to drink or smoke because it might hasten our demise, they don’t want us to pollute because we will damage our hearts and lungs so no Barbies, bonfires, hot curries or things that involve industrial processes, they want to tax us off the road to stop us colliding with trees or driving off cliffs, they want us to give up tasty food because fats might clog our arteries. Risk (aka fun) must be eliminated from everything. For the sake of our own safety and longevity they want us to forswear everything that makes life worth living.

Meanwhile medical advances manage to delay death without delaying decrepitude to anything like the same extent.

So in the future when nobody is allowed to die because it will mean some civil servant has missed his target we will all have to commit mass suicide to avoid dying of boredom.

The most exciting pastime we will be allowed to take part in, at a safe distance of course, is Trainspotting.

Choose life.

Pollution Causing Early Deaths

A Christmas Story…ahhh

Once upon a time there was a little mobile phone. He wasn’t particularly big or clever, but he could send and receive text messages and take photos as well as doing phone calls, and most important of all he was very well loved by the boy who owned him.

But this is a consumer dominated society, and some people simply don’t understand about old fashioned values such as reliability and loyalty.

Sure enough come Christmas morning when the young man woke up, there at the bottom of the bed was a heap of presents.
Leaping up excitedly he gathered the presents up onto the duvet and began to open them one by one.

There was a bottle of Jack Daniels, some stripy socks, a boxed set of Life on Mars…. oh the presents were fantastic.
And then the boy was up to the last present, a smallish box, what could it be? He surely had everything, and more, that he could wish for.
He pulled the paper off and there was a brand new, all singing, all dancing blue-toothed, silver-cased, app loaded mobile phone.
This phone could text, e-mail, send and receive photos, be an alarm clock, be a diary, connect to the internet, give you the football results, update you on the Test match, get the tasty totty at the bar to come over and join you for a drink, order up some condoms, light your post coital fag and probably make you a nice cup of tea the morning after.
The boy was overjoyed. He looked down at the poor little mobile on his bedside table and laughed and laughed.
The little mobile didn’t understand why the boy was laughing, so he slipped quietly into the sock drawer, and began to cry.

When the boy had gone, happily chatting away on his brand new phone, the little mobile climbed out of the drawer. Very quietly he found his charger and slipped it into his backpack. Then he wrapped himself in a bereaved sock and, going down the stairs, let himself out into he big wide world.
If the boy no longer wanted him then he would find someone who did, and perhaps the sock would find a new nearly matching partner.
Off they set into the cold frosty morning. Snowflakes fluttered down. The churchbells rang in the distance, the mobile phone marched on.
They passed houses where christmas lights glowed in the windows, they passed houses where christmas lights glared in the gardens, up the walls, from the rooftops.
Still the little mobile marched on.
The sky grew darker, the snow fell heavier, settling on the ground.
The little mobile eased the backpack on his shoulders, gave the sock a comforting tug and marched on.

But the snow was getting deeper now, it was harder to make his way. It dragged at his legs and settled in a little pyramid on his head.

He was cold, the snow came up to his chest, the backpack weighed him down. He couldn’t feel his keys anymore and he was oh so tired, if only he could rest.
Slowly he sank to the floor. The snow continued to fall and soon enough the little mobile was buried under a thick white blanket.

But back at home things weren’t going well.
The new mobile phone was good, but he knew he was good. He didn’t just want to send banal text messages saying MRRY XMAS.
The microchip inside him could probably launch a rocket into outer space, it could control the defense systems for western Europe as well as simultaneously chatting up the totty at the bar, getting her back for drinks, providing condoms and lighting the post coital fag. Indeed it could even book an appointment at the GUM clinic if he thought it was necessary.
So he bagan to play up. He mangled the text messages so they read, ” Wishing you, dearest friend, a very merry Christmas”, he cut off phonecalls halfway through if he thought they were boring, which he usually did, he changed his ringtone from Rage Against The Machine to Bach’s Toccatta and Fugue and his screensaver to The Master.

The boy was so frustrated. All he wanted to do was say “Hi” to his friends and find out who was going down the pub later on.
He flung the phone away and ran upstairs to his room.
But there was no sign of the little mobile. Despearately he loooked everywhere, but there was nothing, not even the charger.
Then he heard a little voice calling to him. It was coming from the sock drawer.
He opened the drawer and listened in amazement as the socks told him of the little mobile’s plan to find someone who would love and treasure him.
“But I love him!” cried the boy. He ran to the window, his heart sank, outside everything was shrounded in a soft, fluffy, freezing blanket of snow.

Quickly the boy pulled on his boots and wrapped himself up against the bitter cold.
He grabbed the new mobile by the throat.
“Little mobile is out there in the snow! It’s already 6 inches deep and he is only 4 inches tall! We have to find him before it is too late so you had better cut out the funny stuff and just do as you are told, capisc?”

So off they went into the blizzard, the new phone grumbling all the while, but every now and again he dialled little mobile’s number, and waited as the boy strained to hear in the gathering darkness and the swirling snow.

On and on they went, dialling every few minutes, but they never heard anything.
Tears rolled down the boys cheeks and turned to ice on his lips. His nose turned blue and his fingers grew numb. It was no good, they could not find litle mobile.
“We’ll have to turn back, I can’t go on much longer,” he sobbed, but new phone made one last try.
And there very faintly, the feeble do do do-do, do do do-do doo, do do do- dooo doo, the fading ringtone of the dying mobile.

The boy leapt forward and began scrabbling in the snow. Falling to his knees he searched the chilly waste with his bare hands and there, underneath the snow he felt the little mobile.
Frantically he pulled the mobile from the snow and quickly plunged it into his coat pocket.
Then they turned and hurried home, where the mobile was laid gently upon the radiator to thaw out.
“I’m sorry little mobile,” said the boy. “I won’t ever leave you again.”
And as his battery warmed through and the water evaporated from his system the little mobile warbled, weakly,but happily.

Internet Access A Right
Slutbot: The Internet Hooker
Christmas Is Bollocks
Christmas Is Bollocks 2
War On Christmas
Christmas Tyranny

It’s Official – Everything Is bad For You.

A Boggart Blog in depth analysis of recent news stories has thrown up some surprising results:

Having too much sex is bad for you; not having any sex is bad for you;

the recession is is turning us into comfort food guzzlers; the recession is causing some people to cut back on food so much they are becoming malnourished;

one or two alcoholic drinks contribute to a longer life; just one or two drinks a day will turn you into a rabid alcoholic with a liver the size of Siberia;

fat is evil, totally evil, any fat, anything in fact that you can taste will cause your arteries to fur up, your kidneys to burst, your brain to become custard, your knees to turn to jelly and your tongue to grow to big for your mouth, (Jamie Oliver eats way too much fat); fat is an essential part of your diet and even hard fats like lard and beef dripping if taken in moderation are not really harmful.

Fast food is bad for you, home cooking is bad for you unless you are fully conversant with all the bacteria that lurk in fresh food.

To understand what is a normal diet and lifestyle you must first learn New Labour Newspeak (NuLab Nuspeak), how can you be on message if you cannot understand the message. When we put it to a major fast food chain that their main product is just lips and arseholes, connective tissue, chemical colouring and flavouring and horrible greasy unhealthy shite a spokesperson for the chain asked Boggart Blog : “are you referring to our high quality, affordable meal options,”

Options? You can eat horrible greasy shite or horrible greasy shite in batter. Where’s the option to have a nice fillet steak with a butter drenched baked potato and salad? That would be an option in Boggart Blog’s dictionary.

The government of course would rather we are lentil casserole made without chilli or garlic so it did not taste good. Lentil casseroles are the epitome of healthy, joyless eating. As Oscar Wilde said (or nearly said) “An excellent cook is someone who knows how to make lentil casserole but doesn’t.

It is not just food, drink and ciggies the killjoys want to scare us away from of course. Indulging in dangerous sports can cause permanent injury resulting in people becoming permanently incapacitated and ending up a burden on society. And why should the National Health Service expend valuable resources on treating people who injure themselves in pursuit of a few minutes selfish pleasure.

According to the government which always has one eye on costs and the other on jollies and privileges taxpayers money could be better spent on, and their tame scientists who will say anything required of them to get their names in the paper, everything is bad for us.

What can we do?

Is it wise to shun all the advice and carry on as we are?

Well to put things in perspective, if the supervolcano under Yellowstone Park USA blows as it is threatening to any time now, the volcanic winter will probably wipe out must life on earth. We don’t know the volcano will blow and if it does there is damn all we can do about it.

So maybe we should just carry on making the best of our life while we have one.

Scare stories abound simply because “It’s the end of civilisation as we know it,” sells newspaper and attracts viewers to television programmes while “there really isn’t much to worry about” does not. If you want to see both sides of the argument presented objectively have a look at Panicology by Simon Briscoe and Hugh Aldersley Williams. With chapters on salt, fat, binge drinking, asteroid hits on earth, vaccines, the credit crunch and diseases of most kinds it is the best antidote to Fear and Panic you will find anywhere. Apart from Boggart Blog of course.

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A Tale Told By An Idiot