Weird stuff

Miracle Berries

Miracle berriesFlavour-tripping parties...they sound fun, if a little illicit, don't they? They're a recent fad as seen is such fashionista parts of the US as New York and San Fransisco. The deal is you turn up, eat some "miracle berries", and then go through your host's fridge eating even the most apalling sort of edibles relying on the afore-mentioned magic fruit to make them taste like sweet sweet nectar.

Sounds suitably implausible, the Poorhouse agrees. But it seems to be true...miracle berries do have a ridiculous name to be sure but they're nothing new. Documented a few hundred years ago and with a slightly more scientific name of Sideroxylon dulcificum or Synsepalum dulcificum they have been used for centuries by Africans native to the part of the world they traditionally grow in.

How to hide your emails from the police

Big stories here and there for a while about John Darwin, a guy who faked his own death, even to his kids, in the name of future insurance fraud. But the most useful thing that the Poorhouse learnt from this came from an article in the Independent.

The jury was told that Cleveland Police accessed John Darwin's Yahoo account and found a total of 1,012 emails, of which 923 were unread. Police rules meant officers could only look at the 89 opened messages.

Social breastworking

Social networking, dotcom profitery and boobies. These are cornerstones on which the modern web is built. So imagine the Poorhouse joy upon discovering myfreeimplants. Ohmygod. Leveraging bits of the Facebook et al. model of chat, pictures and fantasies of all sorts of poking but repackaging it in a way that has an undoubted profit model for itself, the site exists to let women get bigger breasts via surgical implants for free. And men get...erm..."interaction with real girls".

Best scam ever?

There are a lot of nasty bad evil scammers out there, more than happy to take money of desperate vulnerable people. This is of course A Bad Thing. However now and then one comes along with such a incredulous, and perhaps even genius, scam that you have to admire them for their sheer boldness if nothing else.

The Poorhouse's favourite scam along these lines in recent times was that that Stacey and Brent Finley pulled to great success - $US 989,898 no less.

The offensive ho

In the eyes of the Poorhouse, on many occasions the cry of "political correctness has gone mad" is apparently used to prefix some overt racist / sexist / homophobic or other similar statement. Now and then however a silly example does pop up showing some probably well-meaning idiot's attempt to remove offence where none was likely to be taken anyway.

For example, there's the current regulations for Santas (oops, yes kiddies, there is actually more than one Santa! But don't worry, they all love you very much) in Sydney. It seems that the traditional "ho ho ho" Father Christmas greeting is in danger of cultural removal, because it is in danger of being offensive to hos women who like to make money without even getting out of bed.

Physical spam

The Poorhouse is constantly disappointed by only receiving a few hundred emails a day offering either "enlargo" or better yet some intricately complex - yet plausible - offer to give him a billion pounds in return for ooh, a mere few hundred of them or so. In advance. Yes, the money hasn't come through yet, but it's only a matter of a few more sendings of identity and moderately large sums of money to Nigeria away I'm sure.

Luckily, the physical doormat was also crammed with spam the other day - the finest of which is portrayed below.

Negativity surrounds new scratchcard

The Poorhouse is no stranger to the odd flutter, laying down bets a plenty around the place and more recently playing a decent amount of casino blackjack - however, that's fine when you can use mathematics to guarantee a profit. Scams such as the UK National Lottery are held in much lower regard - there being a reason why it is often termed "a tax on the stupid".

Some, it might seem, more stupid than you might even expect.

The legitimisation of workplace naps

The Poorhouse is no stranger to the sneaky afternoon (or morning for that matter) nap at work, but has always felt that that is one of the many, many features rendering him unemployable for anything that could be described as high status and even somewhat deserving of the odd berating. Perhaps this was a mistaken assumption.

That bastion of society, the judge, apparently has a fair enough chance of being allowed to snooze in the workplace. The precedent was perhaps set with an Australian Judge Ian Dodd who was the sentencing judge in a drugs case, where the two defendants were sentenced to 13 and 10 years respectively, whose attentive nature was somewhat akin to the Poorhouse's workplace demeanour after "two pint Tuesday".

Blue Peter in pussy scandal

Media empires and their hard hitting scandals huh? Unlike, it would seem, much of the rest of the blogosphere, the Poorhouse quite likes the BBC now and then. However, it turns out that it too is rotten to the core. Yep, in recent times flagship wholesome children's sticky-back-plastic send-us-milk-bottle-tops lovely programme Blue Peter is mired in scandal.

Take a look at that cute-as kitten on the right. Ahhh. Who would have thought that its very existence would have caused Richard Marson, ex Blue-Peter editor, to be sent home and suspended from his job. And all because the 8th Blue Peter kitten (favourite toy: plastic drinking straw) there had the wrong name.

Smelly pubs

The UK indoors smoking ban has been going on now for a couple of months and, believe it or not, pubs and clubs over here do still exist, and one assumes in a reasonable profitable manner. The Poorhouse thinks life within these venues is now more pleasant as a rule - with just annoying drunks getting now in the way of a pleasant friendly time, dentists are apparently loving it, and hey, lives might even be being saved.

Another bonus is that the Poorhouse can go for a cheeky lunchtime pint without coming back with the obvious giveaway of reeking of fags. However, it must be said that whilst the local Wetherspoons doesn't smell of smoke any more, it does smell of something, and not something pleasant.

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