Tag: FIGHT

7 Reasons Not To Have An Argument With A Cactus

As anyone who has ever crossed an inanimate object will know, you can rarely win. And as for a cactus, well you can never win. Ever. Ever, ever, ever. It’s like a rule.

1. Pain. Let’s start with the basics. Cacti hurt. Get physical with one and it’ll prick you, get verbal with it and it will blank you. A cactus is indestructible. You can never win.

2. Madness. If you do decide to persist with the Steve Waugh mental disintegration tactic you will go mad. It won’t snap. It won’t wilt under the pressure. It will just stand there, Rahul Dravid-like, and make you look like a complete numb nuts. Your only option will be to out live every single person on the planet. Only that way will people never know that you lost the one-sided argument. You can never win.

3. Arnie. No, this is not a strange fact about Arnold Schwarzenger and his collection of cacti. It is simply a philosophy shared by both a cactus and the Terminator. It’ll be back. Always. You can attack it with a saw, try and drown it in molten aluminium, urinate on it, whatever. The simple truth is that it will always come back. It’ll grow again. It’ll break out of its metal shell. It’ll thrive in your urea. The cacti will never die. You can never win.

4. Terminator 2. Say you do take a junior hacksaw to it – or a pair of jeans falls down from where they are hanging, knocks the cactus off the table and causes the impact with the floor to snap it in half – not only will the cactus regrow, you’ll then have to deal with the cactus owner. And if the owner received the cactus from her grandparents some ten years ago and has been growing it without any problems since, you may just wish you were arguing with a cactus at the Chelsea Flower Show. You can never win.

5. Appearances. As anyone who has met Marc can testify, the image of him on the 7 Reasons sofa defies just how big his feet actually are. In other words, appearances can be deceptive. The small, furry looking cacti may look small and furry, but they’re not. They’re like packs of Persil. Small, but mighty. You can never win.

6. Keep Your Friends Close, But Your Enemies Closer. As demonstrated above, some cacti have friends. It is clear what has happened here. Some bright spark has thought about taking a cactus out with their car. (As in they tried to destroy it with their car, not they were taking it for a ride down to the local shops). Big mistake! Suddenly, out of no where, he’s surround by dozens of FOCers (that’s Friends Of Cacti). One sets you on fire and the other uproots said cactus and runs after you determined to turn you into a porcupine. You can never win.

7. Be Cruel To Be Kind. In my experience, arguing with the cactus did little to help me but did an immense amount of good for the cactus. All it needed was for the cactus owner to see me growling at the thing and a small watering-can was thrust into my hand. “If you’re going to stand there all day then you can water it. And when you’ve finished that you can do the others.” See, you can never win.

September 29, 2011
7 Reasons Cushions Are Evil

Today is National Cushion Day in Oman! No, not really. We just needed a hook to get you reading. A sly move we admit, but one that worked. Assuming you did your good deed for the day yesterday, you’ll no doubt be going to the shops later to buy a pet Kim Jong Il. Have you thought about where you are going to put him though? The reason we ask is that you may well seat him on a cushion. Today we want to warn against this practice. You see, cushions pose more danger that admitting you like croissants.

1. Zip It. If you look at your cushions, you’ll probably notice that the cover is zipped on one side. This is so you can remove the cover and wash it. A practice we have to do every Sunday after our Saturday guest writer has thrown coke all over the 7 Reasons sofa. Putting the cover back on the cushion is where the danger begins. Zipping it up is never effortless. The zip always gets caught on a loose thread and causes minutes of straining and swearing. Then it suddenly gives way. It flies straight to the end, zipping everything in its path. Fingers, cat tails, lemons, penises*. Everything.

2. Vision Impaired. There is no doubt that a cushion cover can make a very good headdress when you are indulging in a little fancy dress. Or role-play. They are particularly useful if you want to be a cheap version of Robin Hood. The Maid Marian And Her Merry Men version, not the Russell Crowe version. The problem comes when it drops down over your eyes. Especially if you’re driving the mini-bus at the time. Bumping into things, like rivers, is quite common.

3. On Display. If the 7 Reasons sofa lacks anything, it’s display cushions. For a very good reason. What is the point in them? Are you supposed to move them? Are you allowed to move them? What will the owner say if you move them? If you do move them, where do you move them to? Are you even sure that is a display cushion? What’s the difference between that cushion and that cushion? Display cushions cause trauma.

4. Trip Hazard. At least 50% of the 7 Reasons team can’t stand cushions. They’re always in the way. Preventing him from sitting down. They seem to multiply in number every day. As a result he places them neatly on the floor. Of course, then he goes flying when he’s taking the empty plates through to the kitchen. Which could explain the broken handle on the front of the oven.

5. Expense. It’s not just physical abuse a cushion will hand out, it’ll abuse your bank account too. When you redecorate the house, you need to buy new covers for the cushions. Which means you need to buy storage for the old cushion covers. And then you need to buy storage for the storage that’s storing the old cushion covers. And on it goes. And goes. And goes. Until you hear from your bank manager for the first time ever.

6. Illegal Entry. A cushion to a pillow is like a rugby league ball to a union ball. You might think they are interchangeable, but they are not. Particularly so when a pillow fight is taking place. Pillows are soft and their cases softer. Cushions are hard with pointy corners. Bringing a cushion in to a pillow fight, apart from being illegal, could very easily result in eye pokage. Naughty.

7. Suck Up. Most of the guest writers who spread themselves across the 7 Reasons sofa do so with the elegance and grace that you would expect. Some, however, see the sofa as a piece of apparatus. Which is why they leapfrog over the back, cartwheel over the armrests and generally treat it as a bouncy castle. It is lucky the 7 Reasons cushions are not decorated with beads or sequins. If so, a few of our guest writers may well have ended up in hospital with a button shoved up their backside. Not pleasant. And a reminder to all that cushions are evil. Even more so than dolphins.

*Why Marc was washing the 7 Reasons sofa cushions in the buff is something we have never discussed.

June 3, 2011
7 Reasons To Love The Statesman!

Apart from waking up to the news that it is both International Women’s Day and Pancake Day, you may have also heard that 28,000 Police jobs are – in all likelihood – going to be cut. If your reaction to this news is one of fear, you need not worry. A new crime fighting force is out there. The UK’s answer to Kick-Ass is a real-life superhero. Let me introduce you to… The Statesman!

This powerhouse of a man is out there, right now – in Birmingham – protecting us. Protecting us all. Do we need 7 Reasons to love him? Of course we don’t. Are we going to give you 7 Reasons anyway? Well, obviously. Here they are:

1. Costume. The last person to try and spread a little love by wearing a Union Jack outfit was Geri Halliwell. The Statesman, though, has the eye mask to go with it. Which in my opinion makes all the difference. Everyone likes a superhero who can effectively combine fierce loyalty to his country with a bit of camp mystery.

2. Utility Belt. Savlon? Check. Plasters? Check. Maglite? Check. Swiss Army Knife from that Christmas cracker? Check. Let’s be honest, Superman was great, but he never took a strip of Elastoplast with him. The Statesman does. And a tube of Berocca to help the inebriated among us.

3. Moustache. The last time I saw something like this it was Movember 2009 and I was looking in the mirror. I scared people that month. Which only leads me to believe that The Statesman must scare baddies 24/7/365. Awesome man, just awesome!

4. Persuasive. Until the identity of The Statesman was splashed all over The Sun, his girlfriend thought he was off playing poker every night. Whether she ever questioned his choice of attire is, at present, unknown, but I suspect she did. I can only conclude therefore that The Statesman is a very persuasive chap. And let’s be clear about this, when you are faced with two bad men, each with a crowbar, the best way of unarming them is the mighty skill of persuasion.

5. Allies. That’s right, he has friends. Possibly in high places. Possibly in phone boxes. Possibly in the back of the Satesmobile. It doesn’t really matter where they are, the fact is they are out there. Fighting. Fighting for us. So go out, wear your bling, leave your car doors open, nothing bad will ever happen.

6. Weapons. There’s no gun, taser or baton sticking out of The Statesman’s trousers. He is unarmed. Well, except for his quick wit and boxing mitts. Given that gangs have ready access to a variety of kitchen utensil you have to applaud The Statesman’s ‘no violence’ approach. If only wars were fought in such a way.

7. Heart. Many superheroes are pre-occupied with fighting, not The Statesman though. If there is no crime to be fought, he’ll happily help the drunk across the road or give a blanket to a homeless person. A clever villain would probably try and use such a scenario as a diversion tactic, but I just have a sneaking suspicion that The Statesman will be ready for such an eventuality. He’s a superhero after all.

March 8, 2011
7 Reasons I Ended Up Appearing Quite Mad Yesterday (Even Though I’m Not)

Sometimes, when you’re sitting around, minding your own business, an event occurs. An event to which you are compelled to react. And, while your reaction is brilliantly conceived and perfectly rational, a chain of events ensues that eventually makes you appear irredeemably, unutterably, stupendously mad. Like yesterday.

This is not my neighbour's cat, nor is it my cat, nor is it my wall. This cat on a wall is from the internet.

While I was writing, a cat appeared on the six foot high wall at the bottom of my garden. One of next door’s cats. Now, I don’t want any of next door’s cats in my garden, because it’s where my cat lives. I want him to be able spend his time in the garden sleeping, licking, and staring at the gate unmolested by other cats. So I had to let the other cat know that he wasn’t welcome in our garden. Now I know how to scare a cat; it’s easy. But going outside and hissing and shouting at this cat wasn’t going to convey the right message. I needed to let the interloper know he was in another cat’s territory, and that he should stay away.

1. Plan A. I went and fetched my dozing cat from the sofa. My cat didn’t want to know. I showed him the intruder through the dining room window. He saw the other cat and ignored him. This was disappointing. This isn’t going to scare anyone I thought, as my cat fell asleep on the windowsill. This wouldn’t even scare mice. Nervous mice.

2. Plan B. Right, I thought. If the sight of my cat asleep on the windowsill isn’t enough to strike the fear of god into the intruder, I’ll have to escalate things. I’ll have to send my cat out to deal with him. I woke him up, reminded him of the presence of the other cat and carried him into the utility room. I placed him on the floor, next to his cat-flap; I delivered a rousing speech to him and then opened it so that he could sally forth to dispatch his foe. He didn’t move. He sat and purred at me. I tried to usher him through his flap, but he clearly wasn’t going to go. My cat, I thought, is a disappointment.

3. Plan C. I know, I’ll open the back door really loudly. If I can’t scare him away with a cat, then at least opening the door loudly will make the intruder run; and my cat might conceivably think that he’s the one causing him to flee in terror and emerge with feline dignity intact and be that bit braver next time. As loudly as I could, I unlocked the door and, with as much speed and force as I could muster, I heaved the door open. I was rewarded with the sight of a terror-stricken cat, fleeing for its life. Bugger, I thought, as I went to retrieve him from behind the sofa. This isn’t going well.

4. Plan D. I picked him up, returned to the utility room and carried him through the back door. “Look”, I said to the other cat, “I have a cat here and I’m not afraid to use him”. The other cat was not as moved by our presence as I had hoped that he would be. Impassively, he licked his paw and turned his head away.

5. Plan E. Okay, I clearly wasn’t being terrifying enough. I raised our cat above my head so that he was higher up than the cat on our wall. This will do it, I thought, there are only two things that can possibly go through the other cat’s mind. One: “Blimey! What the hell is that hideous giant cat/man hybrid creature over there, I’d better run for it”. Or two: “ Blimey! Look what that man’s doing to that feckless fat-cat from next door. I’m probably next. I’d better run for it.” But if these things went through his mind, he didn’t show it; unless this cat instinctively displays abject terror by blinking slowly, that is. I was going to have to get nearer.

6. Plan F. With my arms fully outstretched, cat held aloft, above my head; I charged toward the other cat. It didn’t move. I was closing quickly and when I got to within eight feet it still hadn’t moved.

7. Plan G. Realising that my charge wasn’t unnerving enough, I decided that I needed a war cry, and I began to roar (at a volume which surprised even me) as I charged through the garden. But the other cat still hadn’t moved, and I was almost upon it. I realised it needed a little more time to realise the desperate situation it was in, so I pulled away at the last moment to run a lap of my garden, still roaring and, as my cat and I rounded the top of the garden and turned to face the enemy once more I saw him react, startled, jump down from the wall and run. My jubilation was short lived. I also saw…

…My neighbour emerge from her back door, the sound of which had presumably – unbeknownst to her, as she couldn’t possibly have seen it – scared the other cat away. I slowed to a halt and stopped roaring. “Hi”, I said, breezily, realising I still had the cat above my head, and that I probably looked quite foolish.

“Er…Hi”, she replied.

I felt self-conscious, and it occurred to me that some sort of explanation of my behaviour was required. “I was just scaring the cat”.

“I’m not surprised”, she replied.

November 11, 2010
7 Reasons To Become A Superhero

1. With Great Power Comes Great… I know it’s supposed to be, ‘With great power comes great responsibility’, but quite frankly they are missing the bloody obvious. With great power comes great power. Sometimes you get lucky and get even more than one. I.E.: Two. Anyway, the point is that I can have great responsibility by becoming a milkman. What becoming a milkman won’t give me is power. Especially in a milk float. So given the choice between becoming a milkman and becoming a superhero, I recommend the latter. Although if we all became superheroes, then we wouldn’t have any milkmen. I might have to come back to this later.

2. The Film. Providing you are a half-decent superhero – and this means you don’t die before you’ve named yourself – you’ll have a film made about you. It’ll also be named after you. Oh, and it will star you. And that’s only the beginning of it. Superhero films usually do very well at the box office. Think of all those royalties. And the costume styled pyjamas. And the action dolls. You’ll be a multi-millionaire before you know it.

3. The Cape. Capes look daft. I know they are supposedly the fashion these days, but the French wear them. That means they must be daft. Unless, that is, you are a superhero. I know what you are thinking, ‘What happens if you are a French superhero?’. Well that’s a bit like saying, ‘What happens if you cross an OXO cube with an idiot?’ The answer is the same. It’s an Oxymoron.

4. The Soundtrack. You would have your own personal one. A soundtrack that would accompany you on all missions. You wouldn’t even need a sound system. The soundtrack is just there. Floating about. Ready to be turned up to loud as soon as you do something good.

5. The Girl. She’s generally the one next door. You’ve probably seen her. No, not her. She lives on the left. It’s the house on the right you want. Yes. Her. As a superhero you will always win her. She’ll probably think you’re a bit weird to begin with – probably something to do with you climbing up the drainpipe to her bedroom window – but you’ll get her in the end. Always. (Unless you are Batman. In which case you get Robin. Which is nice. I suppose).

6. Never ending wardrobe. All superheroes run down the road pulling their shirt apart to reveal their lycra superhero costume. They then go about their superhero business before returning home for the evening. At no point do you see them return to the original road to reclaim their shirt. Nor do you see them nipping down to Marks and Spencer. The only explanation is that they own a never ending wardrobe. Or their Mum lives with them. If your Mum doesn’t live with you, you are halfway there. Nice one.

7. The Fight. Superheroes never lose. Even if they have been strapped to the seabed. In a large microwave. With Jo Brand. It must be amazing to know you can get out of that mess unscathed. So amazing in fact that I am now calling myself Lee-man. He’s a bit like He-man, just with an L and an extra E instead of the H. Seems worth it to get away from Jo Brand.

April 9, 2010
7 Reasons David Slew Goliath (On Points)

1. Dizziness. Valuev spent the whole fight looking down at the top of Haye’s head. Haye had cleverly styled his hair with cornrows. Basically Valuez was looking at lines all night. Lines make you dizzy. Eventually it caught up with him and he wobbled all over the place in the final round.

2. Testosterone. Valuev’s levels were off the scale. This is proven by the fact that he had shaved his back before the start of the fight but by the end of the third round all his hair had grown back. It caused too much drag and meant he was unable to move around the ring as quickly as he had planned.

3. Tactics. Haye damaged his hand in the second round. This meant he didn’t throw any punches. Not throwing punches meant Valuev didn’t get hurt. Not getting hurt meant Valuev didn’t get annoyed. Not being annoyed meant Valuev didn’t have to flatten Haye. Haye won because he accidentally jabbed his opponent in the 6th round when he went to wave at someone in Row 16. It was enough.

4. It’s all in a name. Haye’s nickname is the Hayemaker. Clever. It sounds fierce. It sounds dangerous. It has ‘Champion’ written all over it. Valuev’s nickname is The Russian Bear. Everyone likes a bear. Bears are soft and cuddly. Hence the popular phrase, “Come here you big bear”.

5. Time difference. The fight was in Germany. It started at 11pm German time. This was fine for Haye. His body clock assumed it was 10pm. But Valuev’s said 2am. You only fight well at 2am after a few pints. And Valuev doesn’t drink pints.

6. Giants are nice. Valuev is a giant. Like the Jolly Green Giant. Or the Big Friendly Giant. Or, James Bond’s nemesis turned pal, Jaws. They are completely misunderstood and actually very nice people. Too nice to hit anyone. I strongly expect Valuev to go the way of Jaws and fall in love with an impossibly small lady on a spacestation.

7. It was scripted. This had Rocky IV written all over it. East versus West. Big Guy versus Little Guy. Vodka versus Caffeine-Based Hot Beverage. It was never in any doubt and shows the genius that is Sylvester Stallone was so ahead of his time.

Like Valuev, did I miss anything?

November 9, 2009