George the Collie jokes and puns 130

Flipper off.


I met a woman on a dating site for dolphin impersonators….

The minute we met, we just clicked.

George the Collie reviews ‘stretchy harness thing’ for running with Dad. Verdict just in.

Run, Forest.

‘It’s alright’

Westworld 2 – A short story of little risk.

To live and die (of boredom) in the West.

Following the horrific events that occurred in Westworld, I was worried my holiday was going to be cancelled. I’d get my money back but I’d been waiting for this trip for a long time.

I honestly thought the place would shut down after the machines went crazy but they managed to get it back open relatively quickly, like any good theme park I guess.

Apparently, I should still expect to have an ‘authentic experience of America’s West heyday’ for a safe, relaxing break. I chose Westworld over the other worlds, I think, from growing up in fully constructed world and the desire to see something ‘natural’ – I get the irony of my statement with it being a constructed theme park but give me a little licence, please.

After landing and going through the checking in service I head to store to turn into a cowboy.

This is an experience I can only imagine is like being in a really high end restaurant and going out the back to find a horrific slaughter house. Going from the ‘now’ to the ‘then’ is a very odd feeling.

I am stripped of the modern world, wallet, phone, jewellery- it all goes in my security box.

Eventually, after selecting a pistol and holster, getting my outfit (I’d decided to be ‘The man in black’) and heading into town, I collected a horse, some supplies and then out to the great wide open.

I had a movie playing in my head, a mush mash of all the westerns I’d ever seen. The lone rider. The lone ranger of the plains. Freedom like i’d never felt before. I could go anywhere in this land. The land of the free. The brave. Anywhere.

Saddles are uncomfortable. I can see why we moved on to cars. Not just for convenience but for comfort too. Two hours later, with a backside that felt like it had been kicked for a week, i stopped and set up camp for the night. I can build this riding up, a few more hours tomorrow.

I had imagined spending a couple of nights this week sleeping under the stars next to a fire, roasting my own coffee, jerky and beans.

I don’t think I slept at all. Bugs. Everywhere. Ants, spiders, whatever, EVERYWHERE. Not that I got bitten, that wouldn’t happen, but they still get ON you.

I know it’s supposed to be authentic but this is dreadful. You think they could have turn the bug count down. Not everything has to be authentic.

It did educate me on why people live in town and, after packing up, that’s where I went, taking a room just behind the stables and headed for the saloon.

It was on entering, it was almost empty except for a couple of whores. Robots probably (I assume they’re robots. Do people come here to be a whore?!). This was your cardboard cut out western bar. Solutions and saw dust in the floor. Wood everywhere.

There’s a man sat at a card table so I grab a bottle of Red Eye and join him. We are joined by a couple of other players and the saloon soon fills up with the piano man in the background playing a jaunty tune.

I realised the next mistake I’d made, a fashion mistake, as there were at least ten other ‘men in black’ present, dressed identically to me. I didn’t realise I was such a cliche. It was like being at a Wild West funeral.

As we played through a couple of hands, I managed to win a few dollars. I’m cheating a bit but I didn’t think anyone had noticed until, what turned out to be, the final cards were being laid down.

At this point, there were 3 aces down, 4 kings and 3 tens. Clearly, a few more pictures than there should have been and then one of the characters seemed to be going into a predetermined sub-routine when he challenged my hand.

In your classic western, this would be the trigger for a gun fight, or a bar fight. ‘Here we go’ I think…….

‘I’d say you’ve been carrying extra cards mister’ came the challenge directed at me. Piano man stops and the bar stares over in anticipation of what is about to happen. The accusation is from a large set, balding stereotype. I think I saw him earlier in the butchers, maybe? Certainly not the priest.

I’m initially weighing up wether or not I can beat this guy to the draw when I remember the challenge.

‘You calling me a cheat?’ I ask, trying to sound like a bad guy.

The balding guy suddenly changes track.

‘N n n no, no, not at all’ he stammers. ‘I would never do that. I just thought your hand seemed oddly weighted but don’t worry. Ignore me. I’m sorry if I offended you’. He then turns and leaves.

I’m stood, hand on the hilt of my pistol waiting for someone, anyone, to draw on me but nothing happens. Piano man starts playing again and the bar resumes business like nothing happened. Because nothing did happen.

It is at this point I realise that, ever since I arrived, nothing has happened.

It seems, in reactions to last years killings, anything risky or likely to caused injury has been turned ‘off’ and your authentic visit to the old west is nothing but a sight seeing tour.

Hell, I’ve probably got to visit the parents of a local whore before I can get any action that way as well.

I should have just gone to the Caribbean for two weeks.