Archive for the ‘Answer Us Back! Your time to opine’ Category

don’t try this at home. Or anywhere. Please.

July 29, 2010

** Click here for Episode 142 **

In response to last week’s question about walloping someone, Mark from Glasgow advises:

Hi guys 😀

I do lots of martial arts and just to let you know, the best place to hit someone is the chorotic nerve. It’s situated on the left hand side of the neck behind the ‘big muscly, tendon thingy’.

Thanks, Mark, for both the lessons in violence and in anatomical terminology.

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best man (well, best of three)

July 27, 2010

** Click here for Episode 142 **

Nearly a year has passed since we gave advice to Ahmed from Leicester, but at last we’ve heard the outcome:

Hi! Way back in episode 108, you helped me decide if I should let my flaky friend Rav be joint best man at my wedding.

Well, I’m pleased to let you know that I got married a couple of weeks ago and Rav did his job admirably! I think that his public humiliation made him step up his game a notch, and “New Rav” has been (relatively) reliable ever since.

I did, however, start my speech by thanking “My best men – Darren, Joe and to a lesser extent Rav”, which everyone in on the joke enjoyed.

A person redeemed, a friendship saved, and a happy ending at a wedding! How pleasing.

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vanilla phone death

July 14, 2010

** We’ll be back on July 15th; meanwhile click here
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Answer Me This! **

Here’s a long, sad story from Andreas in Sweden, but it’s a good one, so strap in:

Last week, while doing my job involving making food colouring, aromas and being cooked alive because it’s 30 cunting degrees in Sweden, you destroyed my phone and made my day shit overall.

I was going to produce something called “Vanilla Extract” to be sent off to a ice cream company for them to make vanilla ice cream. To get the obvious flavour of this concoction I needed to, through a tap mechanism, pour a undiluted mixture of ethanol and vanilla seeds into a bucket as an ingredient. This ingredient is kept in a big, cylindrical tank that holds 200 litres of the shit. To check if there was enough left in the tank for me to finish my assignment, I took the lid off of it and put it aside. Pleased with what I saw, I knocked off for lunch.

Upon my return I did what I always do when my boss is on a business trip (he’s a right shit, by the way): I got out my phone and put on some Answer Me This! To hear it better I put it on top of the tank. Instead of your funny banter streaming into my ears, I heard a splash, a gurgle and my phone hitting the bottom of the tank.

I hurried to find something to stand on. I got up on an empty cardboard box and from there climbed onto the tank and shoved my entire arm into the alcohol and vanilla. Having a bunch of tiny cuts on my hand did not make this a more pleasant experience.

I finally got the phone out of the tank and had by now sort of lost my footing on the side of the tank. I quickly put one foot on the box I had used to get up there. I had forgotten it was empty and put my big, fat foot right in the center of it. I fell onto my knee, hitting the shitting corner of the rig the tank rests on.

Long story short, you destroyed my phone and ruined my day.

We’re terribly sorry, Andreas, that your phone died in the effort to manufacture the most boring ice cream flavour. But we don’t feel directly responsible for your calamity, therefore will not be buying you a new phone. Or knee. Also, worse things have happened in the name of vanilla, viz:

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rate my eggs

July 14, 2010

** We’ll be back on July 15th; meanwhile click here
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Answer Me This! **

Here’s a frontline report from a bona fide turkey egg eater, Deborah from Camden, to crack the ovine mystery of Episode 139:

I had a turkey egg for the first time recently – my mother got it from some absurdly posh farmers’ market in Kent that sold stuff like quince trees alongside the usual foreribs and heritage carrots.

They looked fantastic – like very large hen’s eggs dusted with cocoa like Mini Eggs – and tasted good too (though maybe because I fried them in a pan I’d just used for bacon?).

I’d say they came third in the seven birds eggs I was tasting for my blog, below quail and ostrich but above hen, duck, goose and pheasant. The shell was very hard – probably because turkeys are so massive they’d crush them otherwise.

Full write-up of the 7 different eggs HERE.

Thankyou, Debbie, for your tireless eggy quest, saving us from having to rustle some turkey eggs from a poultry farm in the dead of night. Now, who can tell us what crocodile eggs taste like?

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So good they named it twice – and sang about it more than twice

July 14, 2010

** We’ll be back on July 15th; meanwhile click here
to listen to past episodes of
Answer Me This! **

In Episode 140, Karen in East Grinstead expressed her desire to compile a New York-themed megamix. Turns out she’s been pipped to the post by Chris from Cambridge:

Approximately a year ago, for reasons beyond my recall, I put together a playlist of songs (tenuously) about New York City. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that a fellow listener was doing precisely the same thing!!! Perhaps they would be interested in what I came up with…

The East River – Jeffrey Lewis
You Said Something – PJ Harvey
Survival Car – Fountains of Wayne
New York City Fuck Off – Matson Jones
Me & Julio down by the Schoolyard – Paul Simon
New York Times – Bobbi Humphrey
Old Soul Song – Bright Eyes
Union Square – Tom Waits
Take the A-Train – Duke Ellington
Just because I’m Irish – Jonathan Richman
Living for the City – Stevie Wonder
New York, I love you, but you’re bringing me down – LCD Soundsystem
Frank Mills – The Lemonheads
Across 110th St – Bobby Womack
NYC’s like a graveyard – Moldy Peaches
Fairytale of New York – Pogues
Summer in the City – Regina Spektor (I always assumed it was about NYC, but admittedly have no proof…)
Harlem Shuffle – Bob & Earl
Tennessee Blues – Steve Earle

That looks like it would fill up almost an entire C90, but if you feel Chris has failed to include a copper-bottomed NYC classic, admonish him in the comments.

Next week: we compile the ultimate playlist about Swindon! Who’s in?

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duped!

July 4, 2010

** We’ll be back on July 15th; meanwhile click here
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Answer Me This! **

Gulling the gullible is a jolly good wheeze, as we found out in Episode 139, and M from London found out many years before that:

I might have one of the best dupes…it was delivered with scathing sarcasm, but the poor girl was so dense that she has never figured out the truth!

In 2004, I was working for the Red Cross and was coming back from an education session deep in the American South. A woman (aged 29ish at the time) I was working with began musing philosophically in the back of the van. After wobbling about for a bit, she asked me that she’d always wondered what black people were called outside of the USA…

I informed her that Africa was actually a country in South America, so there was no difference and all people of African origin could safely be called African American as they were all from the American continent. She said “Oh! That’s great. It totally makes sense. Thank you!”

Well…fast forward 6 years. She still believes this and reports from friends still working with her confirm that she regularly tells the snickering public about this. It’s so generally ridiculous that no one has ever corrected her. Who misses an entire continent and hundreds of years of the slave trade at school? I guess that question has already been answered.

Good work, M from London. If any of the rest of you have done a dupe as good and as long-lasting as that, please share it with us in the comments. We’re a bit dim, so will probably swallow it whole.

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Love thy mother-in-law

July 4, 2010

** We’ll be back on July 15th; meanwhile click here
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Answer Me This! **

The voice of experience emanates from Cher in Kentucky in response to Andrew in Australia’s question featured in Episode 140:

A fellow listener asked about ways to suck up to the parents of one’s significant other. Having been married three times, engaged seven times before that, I have significant experience in that department.

Rule No. 1: Choose your battles. When the parent presents as an intractable bitch, leave it and go for the other parent. At first sight of my, my first husband’s mother’s first words to me were, “Jesus, you’re not a Catholic, are you?” She said it more to the crucifix at my throat (at which she bared her fangs) than to me.

I promptly ignored her and asked his father to tell me about the Battle of the Bulge. He pulled out maps, memorabilia, and held my ear for hours. When the bitch’s boy turned out to be gay and a tree-worshiping Pagan (bit of your own back, Ma!), I missed his dad more than I missed him.

Rule No. 2: To thine own self be true; they’ll figure you out eventually. Prior to the Bitch, for several fiances I converted to their religion (to impress the parents), one Protestant faith being the same as any other. Eventually I would get found out, though. What was I thinking, you ask? I was quite young, and it was Mississippi.

Rule No. 3: Find the deal-breaker, and don’t break it. With my mother-in-law, “living in sin” and pre-marital sex were a huge deal breaker. Let me add that she’s 90. She nagged my husband and his brother into their prior marriages so that they would discontinue living in sin. Forearmed with that knowledge, when I visited before our marriage, I was prepared when she asked me whether I would sleep in the guest room with my then fiance or on the couch. “I can’t sleep with him, ma’am. We aren’t married yet.” BINGO, we have a winner!

Rule No. 4: Take care of them. His people are my people. If you want them to like you and care about you, like them and care about them. It might not work, but it’s a good place to start. When you marry a person, you marry into a family, like it or not.

In that case, Cher has a MASSIVE extended family. I’m trying to picture how one can find oneself engaged as many as seven times, not even counting the ones that culminated in marriage, but it turns out I simply do not have sufficient imagination. She offers very sensible advice though, so we can all benefit without enduring the hassle of ten engagements.

Incidentally if any of you readers have managed to be betrothed more times than that, let us know in the comments! The first one to notch up twenty fiance(e)s wins a prize.

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Human Centipede

June 29, 2010

** We’ll be back on July 15th; meanwhile click here
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Answer Me This! **


Uh oh, Kat from London is angry. At us. Must’ve been something we said in Episode 140:

Dear Helen and Olly – or, as you shall be known hereafter, you utter bastards.

There I was, happily walking to work and enjoying the double chocolate-chip goodness of my breakfast cookie treat, when suddenly Helen starts talking about mouth-to-anus films.

I haven’t been able to look at a double choc-chip biscuit OR get that horrible image out of my head since, and I can’t even listen to the podcast in case Helen strays from her usual topics of classical education and word games and starts dissecting Two Girls one Cup instead.

So answer me this: how the fuckety balls do I get the image of a human centipede out of my head? Is a lobotomy really the only way?

Fortunately, Kat, we have found another way. Stare for long enough at this cheerful chap, and all thoughts of horrible mouth-stitched-to-anus-until-everyone-chokes-on-faeces movies will be banished from your mind.

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Swimmers vs. trumpeters: the sexual battle royale

June 22, 2010

** We’ll be back on July 15th; meanwhile click here
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Answer Me This! **

Katy from south Wales wades in on the age-old quandary we considered in Episode 140:

I wanted to give you my insight to the question ‘Would you rather sleep with a swimmer or a trumpet player?’ I was rather, um, slaggish in uni and slept with a trumpet player AND a few swimmers (swimmers are rather slaggish too! Could have been why I joined the swim team) and I would definitely say that swimmers are much better. They have the hip action and are not as shy!

Informative, but a one-woman survey needs corroboration if we are to solve this question scientifically. So please, consider very carefully, then answer us this:

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Turkey eggs: the inside scoop

June 22, 2010

** We’ll be back on July 15th; meanwhile click here to listen to
past episodes of
Answer Me This! **

Rowena from New Zealand is fully qualified to put to bed the turkey eggs question from Episode 139. Why? Because she grew up on a turkey farm, that’s why:

Turkey eggs are slightly larger than chicken eggs, their shells are a bit harder to break and their yolks are larger and more yellow than orange.

Ironically I don’t actually eat eggs so couldn’t tell you first hand what the taste is like, but I know my family prefer them to chicken eggs and when I asked my mum she said, “They’re more wholesome and heaps better for you because the turkeys are happy (I think she was just saying that because our turkeys are free range!) and the yolk is a little thicker and richer.” So that’s straight from the turkey farmer’s wife!

We don’t usually sell our eggs as we use them all for hatching more turkeys but do sell the cracked ones that we can’t incubate locally if people want them.

Thanks for assuming the yolk of responsibility, Rowena. I think we’ve finally cracked this mystery. We shell wonder no more. Etc.

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Making up muck-up day

June 15, 2010

** Click here for Episode 139 **

Thanks everyone for sending in your tales of muck-day, to fill Olly in on what he missed at his happy hippy school. This one from Alice tickled us particularly:

The best school prank I have heard of was at a friend’s sister’s school: they stole 4 sheep and labeled them 1,2,3 and 5 and set them loose in the school, causing mayhem as the teachers tried to find the elusive sheep no. 4!

“What a hoot!” we thought.

Until we ploughed further through our inbox, and found the very same story from nigh a dozen different sources! And we know they’re not all regaling us about the same sheep jape, as the different versions were geographically diverse, took place at various points over the past decade, and sometimes starred goats rather than sheep. Further lighting the gaslamp of suspicion was the fact that none were first-hand accounts, all being as indirect as Alice’s friend’s sister. So:

HAVE ANY OF YOU ACTUALLY DONE THIS PRANK?

REALLY?

We’ll believe you only if you provide supplementary evidence. As Luke has:

I attended Christ’s Hospital school in the 80s – you know the one, where Gene Simmonds did the Rock School shit for Channel 4 some years ago, with the daft uniforms and grandiose architecture.

Here are some photographs of the final day of the year and the japes that were performed by leavers. Always unsanctioned, rarely punished, they were an early introduction into anarchy lite.

The Waller Bus pushed by leavers into the main quad, where these events usually occurred overnight, thus affording the entire school a view of the efforts as we marched (yes, marched) into breakfast.


Toilet doors removed and stacked elegantly.


Bread crates.

See? That is how you get us to believe in your pranks. Love your work with the toilet doors, Luke.

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transcontinental breakfast

June 9, 2010

** Click here for Episode 138 **

As a good example of a multinational listener, Brett, 18, from Caithness but born in America, is well-placed to comment upon last week’s consideration of the term ‘continental breakfast’:

I was always taught that it was named as such because it was what George Washington’s army ate during the American Revolution. This army was called the continental army, and its popularity spread from there – at first as a patriotic thing, then as just a standard name for a meal.

Not sure how true this is, but its makes a lot of sense when you think that a continental breakfast consists of mostly cold food – heating food would require a fire, meaning tinder etc (which wasn’t always available in the season of the war), and would also result in being spotted by the enemy.

The cold food sounds about right, but we’re having trouble imagining George Washington’s army eating defrosted croissants, stewed prunes and toffee-flavoured yoghurt in the field. Anyone else with a suggestion? Oh, hello there, Vasco:

In your last episode you were talking about breakfasts, and funny enough you compared a Portuguese with a Danish one. Funny because I’m Portuguese and my girlfriend is Danish.

I can tell you first hand that the breakfasts of both countries do overlap quite a lot, just like the majority of continental Europe.
Both are based on fresh bread or pastry (croissant) with butter, cold meats, cheese, accompanied by fresh juices, some milk or yoghurt with cereal, and lots of coffee. The only distinct difference is that Danes also like to have liver pâté on their bread.

Aaah. Two nations, so different in geography, culture and climate, united by breakfast. No wonder it’s the most important meal of the day.

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