An adventure on the high roads.

Hello once more you faceless fiends, it is I the Doctor, on this most holy of Sundays. After my misadventure with the ‘internet’, one has decided to go to the streets instead of sitting in a gloomy other-person house. The owner never leaves it seems.
The adventure began as the last ended. This previous adventure was that of narcotics and electronic fighting hijinks which ended with a messy slam of the head on soft mounds. My eyes opened to the call of a frightening beckon. I shot like a dart to the source; it was a telecommunication device (this I use to hunt those that wrong). On the receiving end was a Turk. He belched and grunted an instruction that we were to meet; he would show me wonderment and all this with no memory of the agreement the night previous. Suddenly realising the Turk was coming I ran for my nearest baton, and then I remember it was I whom had proposed the trip.
I awoke my man-idiots to inform them of the arrival of the Turk. The slow one never arose, the quiet one jumped up and atom. Without any time to even dress, the Turk was upon us. I sent the quiet one at him; he was thrown asunder by this shaded beast who thrust his mitt toward me with a “How do?” I quickly humoured him with “you’ll never take us alive!” this just seemed to amuse him; we then sat for tea.
I used all the customs to subdue this man-giant, banter, food, treats and even bribery but he was not to calm so easily. With all else failing I dashed to ask the smarter of the idiots (the one that had not arose). I asked him how to at least guide the Turk away from the best china; he informed me that Turks love smoking and even the suggestion would calm his temperament. With this I set about instructing the quiet one to build him a hookah in the rear of the house.
With the hookah complete we sat with the Turk to gauge his mannerisms and see if he was trustworthy. The Turk spouted endlessly about simple games and sports, it was intriguing at first but was soon to be a bore, then a nuisance. After banter by the hookah, I and the quiet one had befriended the Turk; we talked of the slow one, whom arising from slumber was always a challenge. With the Turk now in our stead I suggested that the Turk must awaken the slow one. Without hesitation, the Turk set his frame upon the sleepy slow one. Well what happen in that room, I wish not to write, as it seems to be some odd custom from the East and not part of Christendom.
With all provisions and personnel accounted for we embarked on our voyage. The catch being, that this voyage was not to involve boats or in fact water, but roads, high roads at that. We boarded an auto-mo-bus filled with unwashed and smelly gentlemen; the sight was ghastly, this with the added insult of ‘no smoking’ and ‘no whoreing’ what is a man to do to pass the time in this modern age? Gamble his children away?
After a gruelling ordeal of no refreshments or public fighting we arrived in a bustling market town. The streets were littered with scantly clad females of all creeds, a sight not told of in papers or journals. The slow one as usual didn’t notice a thing.
The Turk informed us that he was to attain monies from a vendor situated in a wall. The strangest thing happened when he approached the wall, he put what seemed to be a flat sheet into the wall, mash his hand on the front and out popped bank notes, real bank notes! I was astonished and set about conning the blight out of enough for some liquid refreshment. The local taverns and public house held men of ill repute and hussies that did not respond to money but rather abuse, what sort of whore wants beatings? These strange peoples and their backward customs of total disregard for logic. In alternative we found a large indoor market filled with goods I don’t think most civilised men would purchase. I did though find a drink that seemed familiar, an invigorating tonic for only the bravest of men. With ourselves refreshed, we left the establishment. Once outside my man-idiots uttered there departure prematurely. Leaving the scene, me and the Turk discussed what was to be seen on this fair afternoon.
The Turk was to fight in a paid brawl in the coming months so he suggested a trip to the sport emporium. The journey involved many stares not only on my exquisite dress but at the Turk. These people were either afraid or mad or possibly a mixture of the two. The store was guarded by two meat-mountain fellows with shaved heads, they stared me down. I didn’t shudder as this would have meant they could have attacked without warning based on there displeasure in my attirement (bloody heathens). Unaware to myself, I was completely out of place. This was due to my strange foreign custom of making lots of noise and throwing the equipment to check for faults. This was picked up by the owner and we were escorted to the door by aforementioned topside hill-like blokes. This whole affair had made me weary of the planned activity, so I mentioned abandonment of the schedule and return post-haste to my homestead. The Turk agreed as the attention brought by the sporting-ware shop had caused some stir with the local population.
If ever visiting strange lands with a Turk or indeed the Turk I would strongly suggest a weapon or dress in the manner of a maniac to appease their sensibilities.
So again on this day of rest I bid you good night.
Your Medical Advisor
Dr D Populus MD

Fishing with electricty

Over the evening I have tried to fathom for the life of me, what is all this internet lark? Its literal meaning brings no comfort as the inter connection of ‘nets’ provides diddly squat in relation to a computing device. Nets are for fishing you stupid web people; I questioned some of these intertypes within chatting parlours they simply spouted gibberish with what seemed to be a confounding code. I enquired on the connection of these nets and would a trailer vessel be involved. They again belched silly comments at myself such as ‘wot?’, ‘what the hell u on bout?!’ and ‘f**k off’. I quickly responded with vile and temper only to be electronically put to the door and banned from said ‘room’.

My next port of enquiry was that of a forum. This seemed more applicable as I am aware of a forum from Ancient Greek times. I set about asking varying questions of intrigue on what this interfishingnet structure truly represented. Again I was bombarded by abuse I wish never to repeat, at least not in the presence of a priest, but possibly a lady of the night (those sort seem to say anything foul).

I then ventured toward one of these sites of ill repute to gauge whether this was the reason for these connected-seafarers. On arrival I was agasp at the ludeness that was there, and may I add, how no one had informed me. I was amazed by the sheer vulgarity and crept in further. Again I found one of these interweb speak-easys and lurked upon the side lines. To my dismay the only converse was of biscuits and fat woman arguing. On this occasion I hastily retreated, ashamed and disappointed on my lack of knowledge.

A thought of despair crept in as I was stumped for answers. Luckily there was a filthy boy outside my home and I quickly accosted him, “young boy!” I said “what is this internet?” I again spoke with my voice. He was quite perturbed as I had taken him approximately 4ft in the air, recognising my folly I lowered the crane. After a hefty bribe with the lawmen, I have decided to take to asking the readers of this journal entry.

What is this internet I hear of?

A shining penny for your answers.

Yours Faithfully

Dr Populus MD

sundays contain approx 100%...

dear the internet

how are you? Have you been doing anything interesting lately?
I will get to the point

Sundays contain many things, one of them I'm afraid is the phenomenon of been rudely awaken then your head crammed with the thoughts of yesteryear. only to be confronted my my idiotic fridge with its exclamation of "there's no fucking milk in ere!". A mind could fall apart when tortured by the awful notion of U.H.T. or Ultra Heated Typhoid milk. Coffee really should have the texture of the local dog track going down the throat. After this hounding event designed to disappoint my fair frame went straight for the Gulliver or sink to you types. dishes broken and left on the floor it was time to leave the house.
I went into the bedroom having not even explained that I wasn't leaving for sometime, this was due to having a jolly good argument with 'me ol man ('my' for the people who can't read colloquialisms)' father. We argued about everything, it was so magical... "No!" and i would reply "but why" and other classics like "where did you get that from?", only to be shot down with "Muuurrgghhh (sound of a groan with a up curled lip)".
Anyway back to the boudoir.
I went toward the computer and switched it on.
Many tapings' were had, looking at all the pretty colours I found a trap, covered with the face of children and moral outrage. with this in mind it was off to the merry shops wearing a cunning coat (how else will I get past security?). Inside there were good of every kind, double eggs, leaf pie, danish bacon, the lot and even blatent disregard for safety (my personnel favourite). with my grocery in tow it was off back homestead eager to bore slowly into a gentle lull. so here's to the weeks end and all that sail on her.

your friend
Dr Populus M.D.

my first blog

hello interweb,

this is Dr David Populus speaking directly from the discomfort of a wooden chair. i have decided to try one of these blog efforts in the hope that it may be read by people, thus in turn make me beyond stuck in the bedroom. if you do choose to read this and find a distinct lack of capitalisation (english spelling thank you), this is due to sheer laze on my part.
having never written about anything at all personal, i imagine one should start right smack bang in the middle of the start, thats right the beginning (thought you could evade my little grammar trick, but no i have you hanging asunder upon a tree, tears streaming from your eyes). in the beginning there was clouds and postman pat, these were mixed with anger and an ever approaching floor. much time passes, at this point i am me, a small boy feverish for life's prospects. these hopes are dashed in favour of the drilling of root vegetables into my youthful gullet twinned with "NO" (looks like capitals are here, may as well use them) . The third stage if there was one was a great shame which was very banana-like in scent, on inspection could be banana yoghurt but i can't say in any certainy. fourthly there is some more but this exercise could take all day.
All you fiends need to know is that I am a doctor, yes a medical doctor. if I were to tell you in what I may not be bothered, to be honest I am working as a consultant (no details sorry, these web fellows are doubtful to say the least. i'm afraid this is only short, mainly because of the unwanted attention from the neighbours cat. Away moggy or it may be dinnertime and knocks on my door "have you seen our cat?" and I say yes he's eating dinner and say that it is terribly rude. so to all you on this network of idiots and people with nothing to do.


your friend
Dr Populus