Musashino Musings

Probably seemed like a good design at the time . . . . 

This is an absolute classic! Apparently genuine reviews posted on Amazon. Click the link to visit the Amazon page for a real hoot

The most helpful critical review

2,048 of 2,065 people found the following review helpful:

Very good if you need to write on paper
Since taking delivery of my pen I have been very happy with the quality of ink deposition on the various types of paper that I have used. On the first day when I excitedly unwrapped my pen (thanks for the high quality packaging Amazon!) I just couldn't contain my excitement and went around finding things to write on, like the shopping list on the notice board in our...

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Published 23 months ago by M. Williams

Amazon.co.uk: Customer Reviews: Bic Crystal Ballpoint Pen, Medium Point, Black

Left handers beware...
Worked fine with my right hand, but when I came to use my left hand my writing came out looking like the work of a complete imbecile. I can only assume Bic have created a right-handed only pen, and would caution left-handers to "try before you buy".

Published 12 months ago by Disappointed user

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“It’s all very well being enlightened, but what I really wanted was a sports car."

Ross Noble

In deference to The Archbishop of Canterbury and The Royal Commission for Political Correctness:

It was announced today that the local climate in the UK should no longer be referred to as .''British Weather.' Rather than offend a sizable portion of the population, it will now be referred to as 'Muslim Weather.'

In other words - 'partly Sunni, but mostly Shi'ite.

Spotted scrawled across the back of a grubby van on the M40 - "Cleaned by the NHS".

At the height of the gale, the harbourmaster radioed a coastguard and asked him to estimate the wind speed. He replied he was sorry, but he didn't have a gauge. However, if it was any help, the wind had just blown his Land Rover off the cliff.

A bloke goes into the Job Centre in Newcastle and sees a card advertising for a Gynaecologist's Assistant.Interested he goes to learn more. "Can you give me some more details about this?" he asks the guy behind the desk.The Job Centre guy sifts through his files and replies, "Uh - yes here it is... OK, the job entails you getting patients ready for the gynaecologist.You have to help them out of their underwear, lie them down and wash their nether regions.Then apply shaving foam and shave off all their pubic hair then rub in soothing oils so they're ready for the gynaecologist's examination.There's an annual salary of £45,000 but I'm afraid you'll have to go to Oxford.""Oh why, is that where the job's based?""No - that's where the end of the queue is"

This is a quick story about the bond formed between a little girl and a group of building workers. It makes you want to believe in the goodness of people and that there is hope for the human race.

A young family moved into a house next door to an empty plot. One day Joe, Steve and a gang of building workers turned up to start building a house.The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next door and started talking with the workers.

She hung around and eventually the builders, all with hearts of gold, more or less adopted the little girl as a sort of project mascot. They chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had tea and lunch breaks, and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important, They even gave her, her very own hard hat and gloves.

At the end of the first week they presented her with a pay envelope containing two pounds in 10p coins. The little girl took her 'pay' home to her mother who suggested that they take the money she had received to the bank the next day to start a savings account.

When they got to the bank the cashier was tickled pink listening to the little girl telling her about her 'work' on the building site and the fact she had a 'pay packet'.

"You must have worked very hard to earn all this", said the bank cashier.

The little girl proudly replied, "I worked all last week with the men building a big house."

"My goodness gracious," said the cashier, "Will you be working on the house again this week, as well?"

The little girl thought for a moment and said...

"I think so. Provided those wankers at Jewson's deliver the fucking bricks."

Twelve of the finest double-entendres ever aired on British TV & Radio.

1. Pat Glenn, weightlifting commentator - "And this is Gregoriava from Bulgaria. I saw her snatch this morning and it was amazing!"

2. New Zealand Rugby Commentator - "Andrew Mehrtens loves it when Daryl Gibson comes inside of him."

3. Ted Walsh - Horse Racing Commentator - "This is a really a lovely horse. I once rode her mother."

4. Harry Carpenter at the Oxford-Cambridge boat race 1977 - "Ah, isn't that nice. The wife of the Cambridge President is kissing the Cox of the Oxford Crew."

5. US PGA Commentator - "One of the reasons Arnie (Arnold Palmer) is playing so well is that, before each tee shot, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them . Oh my god!!!!! What have I just said?!!!!"

6. Carenza Lewis about finding food in the Middle Ages on 'Time Team Live' said: "You'd eat beaver if you could get it."

7. A female news anchor who, the day after it was supposed to have snowed and didn't, turned to the weatherman and asked, "So Bob, where's that eight inches you promised me last night?" Not only did HE have to leave the set, but half the crew did too, because they were laughing so hard!

8. Steve Ryder covering the US Masters: "Ballesteros felt much better today after getting a 69 yesterday."

9. Clair Frisby talking about a jumbo hot dog on Look North said: "There's nothing like a big hot sausage inside you on a cold night like this."

10 Mike Hallett discussing missed snooker shots on Sky Sports: "Stephen Hendry jumps on Steve Davis's misses every chance he gets."

11. Michael Buerk on watching Phillipa Forrester cuddle up to a male astronomer for warmth during BBC1's UK eclipse coverage remarked: "They seem cold out there, they're rubbing each other and he's only come in his shorts."

12. Ken Brown commentating on golfer Nick Faldo and his caddie Fanny Sunneson lining-up shots at the Scottish Open: "Some weeks Nick likes to use Fanny, other weeks he prefers to do it by himself."

For enraged computer users everywhere - help is at hand in the shape of these handy computer haiku for every eventuality. Sigh...breath deeply and count to 10

Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A file that big?
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Web site you seek
Can not be located but
Countless more exist
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chaos reigns within.
Reflect, repent, and reboot.
Order shall return.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
ABORTED effort:
Close all that you have worked on.
You ask way too much.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Yesterday it worked
Today it is not working
Windows is like that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
First snow, then silence.
This thousand dollar screen
dies so beautifully.

The Tao that is seen
Is not the true Tao, until
You bring fresh toner.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Stay the patient course
Of little worth is your ire
The network is down
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A crash reduces
your expensive computer
to a simple stone.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You step in the stream
but the water has moved on.
That page is not here.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Out of memory.
We wish to hold the whole sky,
But we never will.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Having been erased,
The document you're seeking
Must now be retyped.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Serious error.
All shortcuts have disappeared. Screen. Mind. Both are blank.

I phoned the local gym and I asked if they could teach me how to do the splits.
He said, "How flexible are you?" I said, "I can't make Tuesdays or Thursdays."

This great piece comes from the pen of "Curmugeon" who writes in the obscure "Magnet" - a magazine circulating in Kent & Sussex. The author is a writer of rare wit that never fails to amuse.

On my birthday Mr Blair finally announced that he was leaving. It seemed over generous, a card or a pair of socks would have done. After all, I am so obliged to
him for what he has done for me over the past decade, I hardly know how to express my gratitude. Perhaps I’ll start with the Millennium Dome. Remember how it kept us amused for so long trying to guess what it was for; well worth the best part of a billion spent on it and the couple of million a month it’s cost us since. I’ve heard it’s going to be sold to some nice American friend of Mr Prescott who is going to have some chums around for a little roulette. I do hope so. I wonder if anyone ever did guess what it was for. Tony has given me such pleasure over the years. The endless game of musical ministers was always a delight. As soon as one minister was eventually forced to resign in disgrace, he or she would run around to the back door, come in again and before you could say ‘Grace and Favour’ be back as a minister once more. The eventual loser would be the one who couldn’t find a ministerial desk and was shunted off to a million pound sinecure in Brussels. I don’t think there was one minister in the original 1997 cabinet who didn’t join in - what a lot of sports they all were. They certainly showed up the last lot who could only manage a few brown envelopes and a freebie weekend in the Paris Ritz. Tony left that lot at the starting tape, with free holidays all over the world, especially with that hospitable Mr Berlesconi, who I’m told did so much for Italian democracy and Italian actresses.

Closer to home we owe Tony still more. He has advanced the cause of women’s rights enormously by raising up all those delightfully identical women ministers. It is a great pillar on his legacy. Despite their incompetence being only exceeded by their ability to patronise and the fact that they all appeared to have been cloned by aliens in an artificial limb factory, they have decorated the political horizon like stench pipes at a toxic waste disposal plant.

On a more personal level I owe thanks to my leader for the extra care I now take with my appearance. Now that I know I can be photographed and filmed up to three hundred times, as soon as I pop a metatarsal over my threshold, I never go out without a top hat, spats, plus fours and my malacca cane. You’ve probably seen me queuing in Lidls. It’s the least I can do to repay Tony for all the trouble he has gone to, to create his 1984 theme park throughout our country. There is so much else that I need to hank him for. No longer do I have to face overcrowded train journeys unable to find a seat, because now, I can no longer afford to buy a ticket. And I am far less likely nowadays to be stabbed in the street, because I can no longer go out, as I have to stay in to save up for the monthly council tax bill. But then again I do save a lot on my dental costs as I can’t find a dentist.

There are so many boons and benefits under Tone. I have been driving since just after the man with the red flag no longer needed to walk in front of me. Down these motorised decades I have never had an accident or committed a traffic offence. Well no more do I need to rely on my intelligence, now all I need is a roadside flashing eye to dictate to me. Another burden lifted off me by Tone’s compassionate hand. Oh and there was education, education, education. How excited we were with all the reforms, which were then themselves reformed, replaced, cancelled, reintroduced and reformed again. I know your tuition fees have cost me over £10,000 in the last decade, but it has all been worth it, as now nearly 75% of 11 year olds can almost read. You have also removed a great worry from my student debt-ridden children. Allowing people to borrow as much as they can stuff inside a pantechnicon, has meant that house prices are so far out of my offsprings’ grasp that they will never have the bother of finding a home. Neither will they be troubled by the crumbling family bungalow, when I have finally laid down my quill, as they will have to sell it to pay Tony’s Inheritance Tax. So many worries lifted.

You had such a skill at doubling our taxation and using our money Tone, that it left us gasping with admiration. Your ability to spend our money incompetently, inefficiently and prodigally could not be matched. Every time you computerised to modernise it cost us billions. From air traffic control and identity cards to the NHS and everything in between. Some say it would have been better if you had just stuffed our money down a sperm whale’s blow hole, or thrown it out of a Tiger Moth while looping the loop over the channel in a north westerly, or used it to make a papier mâché model of Hemel Hempstead, but not me. I was entranced by all the jolly capers.

The new licensing laws that cost licensees 10 times more to do exactly the same as they had done before, the pointless farrago of £600 compulsory house surveys (as if any buyer would rely on one) and 30,000 doctors without jobs to go to all kept me rolling with mirth. I seemed to be falling continuously down Alice’s rabbit hole. I can’t believe Tone, you won’t be here for me any more. As a parting gift you have so generously spent 10 million of my money on trying to stop me having my evening glass of Moldovan Claret.

I’ll always be here for you Tony. Even when they come to arrest you for taking money from wannabe peers, or when they drag you off to the International Court of Justice as a war criminal or when the truth comes out about that awkward Dr Kelly who knew too much, I’ll still be here for you Tony. I know there is absolutely no substance to any of these wild accusations. Even if there were Tone, I am sure you could spin your way out of them like a king size spider and get it all sown up with a friendly report from a hand-picked lord. And if the worst comes to the ultimate worst, I shall still be here for you Tone, contributing to your two grand a week pension, until for one of us, the joke is finally over.

By Curmudgeon

Commenting on a complaint from a Mr. Arthur Purdey about a large gas bill, a spokesman for North West Gas said, "We agree it was rather high for the time of year. It's possible Mr. Purdey has been charged for the gas used up during the explosion that destroyed his house."
(The Daily Telegraph)

A young girl who was blown out to sea on a set of inflatable teeth was rescued by a man on an inflatable lobster. A coast guard spokesman commented, "This sort of thing is all too common".
(The Times)