Okay, so again, I’m not wanting you guys to get the impression that TheChoad.com has been reduced to a record of dreams, but I’ve got to say what happened this morning.

First of all, my alarm went off. At that moment, in my semi conscious/unconscious state, the first thing to pop into my head was “Isn’t it amazing that there’s a baby that’s been born and I’ve been asleep longer than it’s been alive?” to which someone replied with “Yeah, wow. And it won’t shut up.”

Now please don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not a violent person. I love children - especially babies. They’re cute and fun and hilarious and I used to be one and I would never ever ever punch one - but in my dream I inexplicably did so repeatedly and it wouldn’t shut up! Then I lifted up its head and pressed the button underneath (also known as opening my flip-phone and pressing the button to shut up the alarm).

Silence.

I fell back into a deep sleep. But thankfully, I’m able to [rarely but sometimes] outsmart my subconscious. Because I’m aware that I do stupid stuff like turn off my alarm without being consciously aware of it, I set more than one alarm on my phone. So whilst I had gone back to sleep, my phone was yet to wake me up again.

Suddenly I became Mexican.

Me and my friend (who’s name I can’t spell, but is pronounced ‘”Vel-ahh Man-when-ehz”) had a problem with the alarm. “We can’t get awee from it Señor.” So we went next door to Dave’s house and spoke to his Dad.

We then spent the next 15 minutes trying to come to a deal with him. We spent ages pleading with him to help us, but he refused to because of the legal and moral implications. We offered him money. He turned it down, as 0.001% wasn’t enough for him. After a while of bartering, we reluctantly raised our offer so that he could have a whole 2% of everything we earned, and he agreed to help us cross the border.

What’s weird is that the moment he said “yes” my alarm went off and ‘Vel-ahh Man-when-ehz’ shouted “Jurst in ze nick of tyme Señor!” Dave’s Dad then quickly helped us across the border from Sleep-land into Wake-land and I awoke in my bed, turned off my alarm and got out and proceeded to download the latest episode of Scrubs, had a shower, watched scrubs and then went to work where I am now writing this post (naughty naughty).

So that pretty much covers this morning.

I was also reading a newspaper last night that I bought the other day (I tend to buy a paper and not read it till a couple of days after. If anyone can fill me in as to why then that would be greatly appreciated as I don’t have a frelling clue). I started reading the agony-aunt page and the main story of them at first seemed like the usual, run-of-the-mill “I caught my girlfriend cheating on me” story. But no, this one was slightly different. The headline read;

I found bride-to-be in bed with my mum

Well, what can you say to that? Apparently he came home early, found lights on that he wasn’t expecting, had a sense that something wasn’t quite right and went upstairs to find both his fiancée and his mother completely naked in bed with their arms wrapped around each other. Sunday dinner’s going to be weird…

Talking about awkward moments after sex, my friend Pete posted a bulletin on MySpace entitled “3 Words Post-Sex” and I responded to it with my own submission. Take a look;

Have a sense of humor and make up any 3 words you can say after sex.

(try not to use what someone else says…)

Put your name and the words below and then repost this.
Lets see what we end up with…

Stephen - Wana go again?
Kerry - That was shit!!!
Emily - I’ve had better
Phil - Now get out…
numpty - im really shaking
prison boy - put kettle on!!!!
Laura B - was that it???
Woody - Who are you???????
sade - quick ur girlfriend/boyfriend
Nay Nay - Thanks, cum agen!
lil Bex! - I wanna do it again!
Oli - Is that poo?
Charl - get off now!
Gaskell - Oops, it broke
Pollard - Thats 8 inches?!?!?!
Pete - you finished yet?
Alastair - I have aids…

Okay, two obvious things to point out, firstly I don’t actually have aids, and secondly ‘lil bex’ can’t count. Please feel free to add your own suggestions to the list on the comments of this post if you can think of anymore, although I do think that 3 words is pretty restrictive in what you can put. I was almost tempted to go with “Like a glove” but wasn’t sure if everyone would get the Ace Ventura 2 reference.

Would it be unfair to fake a heart-attack after sex to see if you could freak out your partner? I suppose if they call an ambulance then that’s a good sign that they care about you - because alternatively if they shout “WOOHOO!” or “1 down, 3 to go” then it’s probably best never to reveal to them that you’re still alive. In fact, just to be on the safe side, if you’re going to have sex with someone who you don’t know very well, it’s probably best to check that your passport is still valid, that you still have enough money for a one-way plane ticket and that you’ve settled your affairs (unless it’s the affair that’s causing you to have to run to another country - in which case you probably deserve whatever you’ve got coming).

How pissed off would you be though if no-one told you that the sea existed? Imagine if you lived in England and you wanted to literally run away to Mexico with your imaginary friend ‘Vel-ahh Man-when-ehz’ because you’d had sex with a psychopathic serial killer (which probably happens far more than you’d expect). You could end up running all the way from one side of the country over to the other and then you’d be like “WHERE THE F*** DID THIS COME FROM?!? And then you’d get a little wet followed by a large chance of drowning.

But if you lived in Shanghai, well they have some of the cheapest cabs in the world - they’re something like 1 pence per mile. It’s probably cheaper to get a cab from there to Mexico than it would be to get a cab from Manchester to Liverpool, which probably makes Shanghai one of the safest places to have sex in terms of an escape-plan unless you know for certain that your partner isn’t going to kill you. In fact, even if you know that for sure, it’s probably best to emigrate there once you’ve gotten married anyway, just in case….

As you’ve probably been able to discern, if something’s happening when I’m starting to become semi-consciously aware of what’s going on around me then it’s likely to enter my dreams. So, based on that line of thinking, if I end up living with a woman at some point in the future then I wouldn’t even like to hazard a guess as to;

1. What they do in the morning
2. How my mind is going to interpret it and incorporate it into my dreams
3. If she’s likely to have an affair with either my mother or my friend ‘Vel-ahh Man-when-ehz’

So if I ever get into a long-term relationship, I’ve decided to prepare myself for every possible eventuality. This doesn’t appear in the guidebooks, but it really is worth doing - depending on the situation and my physical state, either pumping myself full of morphine so that I’ll never be conscious enough or doing the exact opposite - infusing caffeine directly into my bloodstream. I’m not entirely sure how I’d infuse caffeine into my bloodstream other than by stabbing my arm with a screwdriver, inserting a drinking straw and allowing my arm to drink directly out of a Pepsi bottle.

I wonder if ‘Vel-ahh Man-when-ehz’ likes Pepsi?

At the risk of turning this blog into a record of my dreams, I’ve been having nothing but weird dreams lately - Many of them involving such weird things as actor Rob LaBelle as a con artist on a beach who manages to make people believe that when someone’s stood on a small stage he’s built, he’s able to turn them into a fountain (without revealing that he’s just putting a kink in the hose when no-body’s there). Then I found myself quoting myself from our Road Trip episode of The Choad Show as a way of arguing with Rob LaBelle to convince his “followers” after he started his own human-fountain religion that it was all a con; “IT’S NOT A FUCKING FOUNTAIN!!!”

I somehow managed to start a religious war by saying that. Weird.

I’ve also had to fight for my life on a toilet….

I entered the gents bathroom, went over to the cubicle, opened the door, and proceeded to sit on the toilet. Everything seemed fine and normal and as far as I was aware, I’d taken the correct “Approaching a toilet” procedure. But what was different about this particular toilet was that it was about three times larger than a regular toilet. I began to slip. I fell backwards and my hands that were grabbing ever so tightly to the rim of the seat lost their grip and I fell head-first into the toilet.

But suddenly, at the last moment my feet managed to get a foot-hold on the toilet seat and the plummet to my death had been averted. Although, I was left hanging upside down inside a giant toilet. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I suddenly realized that my nose was bleeding - and not just a little either.

Blood was dripping down into my hair and also down my throat to the point that I couldn’t breath. So not only was I trapped, upside down in a giant toilet, but I couldn’t breath either. With my final gasp of breath, I reached up and managed to grab a hold of the rim and pull myself back up.

This left me with a slight problem. I returned to a large group of people with blood, mixed with thick mucus, all down my front - and it had solidified like thick candle wax. Nice.

In another dream I found myself in my car. I tried to overtake someone on a road and I can’t remember clearly why I shouldn’t have done it, but I know that I shouldn’t because a couple of days later the police tracked me down and it turns out that there was a police car who witnessed it. For overtaking when I shouldn’t have, I was fined something like £3,000 and my drivers license was revoked. I took it to court but I got fined more and thrown in prison for not being able to pay the fine.

They’re even bigger bastards in my dreams than in real life!

Another night I dreamt about being cryogenically frozen. The weird thing is that when I woke up I still believed I was cryogenically frozen. Suffice to say, by the time I’d thawed I was late for work.

I’m quite often half-awake like that. When I wake up in the morning, my alarm manifests itself as all sorts of things. Sometimes it’s a bomb that needs to be defused, at other times it’s a warning alarm to tell me that my ship is under attack, and there’s even been once that I’ve been a robot and it was my robotic mother shouting at me.

What I find worrying is that these are just the ones I can remember - there have been many more that have freaked me out but as time goes on I’ve forgotten what happened in them.

This next one didn’t happen recently, but I’ve once had my alarm go off and I’ve woken up in a state of massive panic because I dreamt I’d ended up in hospital and I thought it was my heart monitor reporting that I was dead.

It’s not always bad things though. Sometimes my subconscious completely ignores it or converts it into something nice like a singing bunny of sorts. Thankfully not like the bunnies outside that they have in the south - they were evil! I’m surprised I haven’t had a dream about a war between the bunnies outside and the bears outside - but I think that it’s because it would probably be so scary that I’d end up in a coma.

I think it would be great to be in a coma. Think about it, you don’t have to do anything, you can spend all day relaxing in bed and people always come to visit and talk to you, and if you’re lucky you have some sort of trippy experience where various aspects of your personality manifest themselves as people you know. And as far as I’m aware, I think it makes you exempt from having to complete your tax returns…

In regards to The Choad Show, things are progressing probably faster than we expected. As you may or may not know, in addition to our short intro-sketches we’re wanting to have full sketches in some of our episodes. We’re wanting to have a minimum of five scripts completed with a couple recorded before Season 2 starts. To give you an idea of where we’re up to (and why posts still aren’t daily on here like they used to be), I’ve written one script, I’ve almost finished a second, Dave and I have both collaborated on one of his scripts which is now complete and he’s just starting his second one which brings us to a grand total of 4.

We’re also getting a number of bands to provide music for the show so that there’ll be a greater variety to listen to - but we’re still looking so if you’re in a band or know anyone in one and you’d like to have your/their music featured on the show then please get in touch.

And with that all said and done, I’m going to leave you with this short message;

Waffles may be made out of potatoes, but that’s no reason to decapitate your land-lady with a pitch-fork (unless of course your waffles have rabies).

:)

Okay, I just had the weirdest dream last night. Not weird in the sense that I was having a tea party with rabid goblins, but more weird in that I thought it was so real that I started to panic.

I was at home and I’d watched everything on my computer and I was feeling a bit bored, so I decided to go for a drive (it’s not uncommon). Although, on my travels I noticed signs to the airport and I decided to go take a look-see.

For some reason, when I arrived there I ended up playing the role of Shawn in the TV series Psych. If you’ve not seen it, it’s about the son of a cop who’s been trained by his father all throughout his life to notice the smallest of details. As an adult, he pretends to be a psychic to get out of being arrested and goes on to liase with the police. Instead of being really psychic, he just uses his powers of memory and deduction to solve crimes - and one of the police officers pretty much hates his guts.

The cop that hates me suddenly showed up there as he was taking a flight on police business and hated the fact that I was there too. I started joking around with him, just to piss him off.

Then he disappears and I’m back to being myself. I started looking around and then randomly decided that it might be cool to book a flight to the states. I looked around and found one. There were two lines - one was full and one was empty, so I went in the empty one. It turned out that that was first class. I almost went through, but then asked what the price difference was between the two. The guy at the rope letting people through told me it was about £99 difference - at which point I decided I’d go queue up in the coach line.

I waited. And waited. And when I got to the end of the queue I asked for a ticket. Whilst it was being processed, I was charged £1,389 for a return flight.

Now, bare in mind that I don’t really have that much cash. Upon hearing how expensive it was, normally I’d say “no way” but for some reason on this occasion I didn’t. I guess I was just being impulsive?

So I paid with my card and walked away with my ticket. I looked at the time - it was Friday at about 2pm and the time of my flight was 6:45pm, with a return flight on Sunday morning.

I drove home.

On the way I suddenly remembered that it’s my brother’s 8th birthday party this weekend (Every day for the last couple of weeks I’ve known that and it’s only in my dream that I was able to forget such an important event. I’m such a bad dream-brother). I suddenly panicked. I’d spent far more than I could afford, and with his party being on Saturday and me supposed to be travelling there later the very same evening…. I couldn’t really fly to America.

I drove home as fast as I could.

When I got home, I sat down, placed my hands on my head and started rocking backwards and forwards like a crazy man who’d just randomly bought expensive plane tickets when he should be going to his brother’s party instead. Then I had an idea!

eBay.

I looked at my watch. It was 5pm. There’s no way I could place the tickets on eBay, get someone to bid for them and give them the tickets in time. So no, that plan was out of the window.

Then I called my mate Matt who loves New York. Granted, this ticket doesn’t take you to New York - it takes you to some random place name that I’ve forgotten (for the sake of argument, it was something weird like “Yeebik”). Basically, it’s a name of a place that doesn’t exist in real life and if it did - I highly doubt that they would have their own airport.

Matt wasn’t interested. Especially at that price.

He’s a good mate, but I was also looking at the fact that I’d maxed out my card and wouldn’t be able to feed myself anymore. I offered him the tickets for £300. He still refused to accept them because he was afraid of the lepers. (I guess he’s heard of the place before?)

Time was getting on. I still had the tickets and no money, so I raced all the way back to the airport.

It was 6pm.

I went around, seeing if I could sell the tickets for £1,000. I couldn’t. So I started shouting at the top of my voice that I had return tickets to Yeebik to leave in 45 minutes for a discounted price of £1,000.

Guards escorted me out of the building. One of them was wearing a skirt - and before you as it was definitely not a kilt as kilts don’t come in pink. I’m not sure what scared me more - the fact that these guys had tazers or the fact that one of them was in a pink skirt and that seemed to pass as regulation uniform?

I suddenly had an idea. With no time to spare, I asked to use my one phone call to call the police department. I said that if they wanted a discount flight to America to send one of their officers on on police business then they could buy it for a “discounted” price of £2,500. They said no.

I offered them it for £1,500. Again, they said no.

“£1,000?”

“No!”

I cried. I think I may have wet myself in the process too over the seriousness of how screwed I was - in debt, about to be thrown in prison and in either scenario going to end up missing my brother’s party.

“£800?”

“Sold.”

They came to pay and collect the tickets. I saw them - three guys and a woman. They walked over to me with a large briefcase.

“Do you have the stuff?” they asked.

“Do you have the money?” I replied.

“We do. Now lets get this over with as quickly as possible.” She winked at her colleagues. I wondered what the hell was going on.

Then for some reason I said this; “So, is this from your donut fund, or…?” at which point a sniper shot me in the back, I fell to the ground, they pinned me down and all attacked me with tazers. One of them hit me in the face with the briefcase, my head was spinning, my body was going into spasm and I was wondering why I was still conscious and was screaming for someone to knock me out so that I wouldn’t feel the pain anymore. Then my watch alarm went off. I smiled at them, ready to use my super-strength that kicks in at precisely at 6:40pm!

But I must have done it wrong because that’s when I woke up.

Weird.

Even so, that being said, I still panicked because I realised I hadn’t sold the tickets and that they’d be far harder to sell in real life than in a dream. Then as I began to wake up more I came to realise that I hadn’t even bought the tickets in the first place.

I tend to find that my dreams don’t scare me, but what I must have done during the day for my mind to come up with messed up stuff like it usually does, does scare me.

Anyhoo, time to get my stuff ready for my brother’s birthday party this weekend. Do kids carry tazers around with them these days?!?

A while ago I got a nickname which didn’t really stick too well; “Coolbox“. Suddenly, Dave’s created two nicknames for me and he refuses to let them go away. They are as follows;

• ADD
• MonkeyFeet

Let’s examine exhibit A first, shall we? The dictionary definition for ADD is as follows;

Attention Deficit Disorder (also Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) (abbr.: ADD or ADHD)
noun
Any of a range of behavioral disorders occurring primarily in children, including such symptoms as poor concentration, hyperactivity, and impulsivity.

According to Dave, I suffer from all of those. Personally, I don’t think I have a poor concentration - I just don’t think that he can keep up with me when I jump from topic to topic or from task to task. As for hyperactivitiy, well, I’m just easily amused. And what’s wrong with being impulsive?

Exhibit B. The dictionary definition for MonkeyFeet is as follows;

No entries found.

Ahh. That would be a problem. Well, as you can see, things aren’t quite so straight-forward with this little word. I actually had to ask Dave for a definition for this one because as far as I’m aware I have, and always have had human feet. Turns out it’s to do with my ability to do things with my feet, such as picking things up (such as pens) off the floor and bring them to my hands so that I don’t actually have to bend over or anything - a skill which Dave will be jealous of if he ever ends up in prison, I’m sure!

Unfortunately, the best nickname I can come up for him is “Bunsen”. Why? Well everytime he comes over to watch TV, he sits on my leather chair. And the majority of his visits result in him farting on the damn thing and I swear that one of these days he’ll leave scorch marks and eventually leave a giant big hole in it. I told him that once half-term is over and I go back to work that I’ll march into the science department and ask if I can have one of those heat-proof mats that they use underneath bunsen burners for him to sit on, almost like a hard flat cushion.

Unfortunately, whilst I only have one for him, he’s got two nicknames for me (or three if you count it when he calls me “ADD MonkeyFeet”).

Maybe I’ll have to resort to drastic measures and buy some ‘My Little Pony’ figures off eBay and plant them around his room next time he finds himself romantically involved?

Talking of women, I found this picture as part of a banner ad on a website when I was looking for Battlestar Galactica stuff. The first thing that struck me was that not only are her breasts bigger than her head, but that you could probably fit her over a car’s dash as fully-functional airbags. But why are they so unnecessarily huge? Since when have women ever been like that naturally and why would someone get them enlarged to the point that they’d need to wear a harness around their waist with a large steel cable attaching them to a giant military tank to ensure that they’re ballanced correctly and therefore don’t fall over?!?

On the plus side, should she ever have quadruplets and then during the pregnancy have a problem with her womb, she could temporarily store them in her breasts - two in each - until they’re ready to be born. And if you think about it, there’ll still be slits from the last time she got them enlarged for the babies to be pulled from. She could even do it as a general way of carrying her children around (and the tank is what makes it possible to do so without the risk of injuring her children). All she needs is a hidden zipper running underneath and there you go.

But, self-admittedly, I’ve never come into contact with breasts before so I’m not entirely sure whether my theory would work. When I went to the cinema to watch ‘The 40 Year Old Virgin‘ I made a mistake. During the scene where they’re playing poker and asking Andy about what breasts feel like, when he responded with “like bags of sand” I honestly (swear-to-God on my brother’s life) thought to myself “Phew, nice save!”

So if anyone hasn’t seen it and doesn’t know themselves - apparently, they’re not like that. At all. I’ll tell ya what though - that’s a complete missed opportunity on God’s design plans. Think about it ladies - you’re out with a guy, he’s bought you drinks, taken you shopping and all that would make your date together absolutely perfect would be a walk along the beach.

But OH NO! You live slap-bang in the center of whichever country you reside in and there are no beaches for miles. Fortunately, you’ve got sand in your breasts. Just undo the zipper underneath and out comes all the sand ready for you to walk on. But what of the sea? Well, you’re sensible and don’t want to be taken advantage of by your date - so before leaving you got yourself a drink of water so that you can sober yourself up. But maybe, just maybe you’ve decided that being taken advantage of on a beach just this one time isn’t such a bad idea, and as such you haven’t quite finished your water yet. There’s still plenty left in your glass and so you just simply pour that water next to the sand and ta-da - instant beach!

But my question, which neither myself nor Justin could come to a conclusion on was, if you were to throw the woman with the breasts the size of King Kong’s testicles into the ocean, would she make the perfect floatation device or the perfect anchor for a ship?!?

If only breasts were full of sand then the answer would be simple. And men could build sand-castles whilst their wives slept.

Go on, admit it - and say it aloud so that everyone can hear - you’ve missed choad.

Man, I’ve been so busy. As I’ve mentioned in a previous post - I’m currently looking for work in London. It’s actually a lot harder than I expected when you’re not actually in London and instead are 176 miles away.

Bummer.

My friend marc (who you might remember from the final episode of Season 1 of The Choad Show) has now permanantly moved down to London.

This being said, he has accepted to become a co-host once I move down there. Don’t worry, Dave is not being replaced as he’ll still do a lot of shows both in person and over the net because, as they say, “the show must go on”.

So expect more of Marc later in the future. But what of the present?

Well, Dave and I have started pre-production for Season 2. Obviously, on a show that’s completely random and has no planning involved, it would seem a little hard to pre-produce anything for it, right?

Well, we’ve always wanted to do sketches (beyond the quick intro-sketches we come up with 5 mins before each show) but unfortunately, doing a script, recording it, adding sound effects if necessary can’t be done the same night as the show - and with Dave and I both being very busy it makes far more sense to do those first and then slot them into the show as they’re recorded.

So again, don’t worry as Season 2 should turn out to be bigger and better than ever and we believe that it will all be worth the wait for you guys.

By the way, I learnt a new thing today whilst link-hopping through Wikipedia. Apparently, whales don’t like bubbles. Seriously. I can’t understand why because bubbles are amazing (until they burst, at which point I cry). Maybe that’s it? Maybe they can’t cope with the emotional stress attached to the bursting of a bubble? Poor whales.

Anyhoo, this is the point at which I depart as I am completely shattered. Fortunately (it could be unfortunately, but as you’re reading this site I’m assuming that you’re not going with the latter) I’m off for a week thanks to the fact that I work at a high school and therefore have the perk of being able to have school holidays aswell. So expect a few updates over the next few days as I get back on my feet to posting on this site regularly like I once did oh so long ago.

I’m also at some point going to be repairing the site, especially with regard to how it delivers The Choad Show which are problems you may or may not have noticed (such as the huge error message in the window’s title bar on some pages).

So, good things to look forward to. And remember - don’t attempt to velcro a half-dead raccoon to your penis - it will only end in dissapointment.