Tag Archives: Tinman

This Is Not A Blomance

6 Jan

Here I go, promoting another Tinman post.

You and the Hub* and Mrs Tin and even Tinman himself have nothing to fear: this is not a blomance on my part.

I am in love with Tinman’s words, not his scrap metal; his humour, not his funnel.  I believe he is the most underrated blogger in the sphere and ought to be read by everyone, everywhere, who loves a good laugh.

However, I am not re-blogging this particular post whereof I speak, for three reasons:

  1. He doesn’t use illustrations and I like my posts to have illustrations (see, I can be critical.  Just ask the Hub)
  2. I’m this close to being a stalker.
  3. It’s all about me!  

Tinman wrote a story about Aquatom which I loved so much, I demanded my own story.  Fearing I might visit my ancestral home (in Ireland, where he lives, not far from a smelly river) and not knowing if the Hub has any control over me (in this house, where he lives, next to a smelly bottom), Tinman obliged.

A wise decision.  

(Don’t you love how threatening italics can be?)

Click on this link to read all about my adventures with Captain Picard, the one man for whom I might leave the Hub* – despite the fact that he’s fictional – for exciting nights of reading Shakespeare, gazing sternly at the people around us and saying together, Tea.  Earl Grey.  Hot.

Here’s a sample of Tinman’s story to tempt you:

“Approaching the planet now,” said Data.

“On screen,” said the Captain.

“I see it, sir,” said Ensign Tilly Bud from behind him. “It’s a barren desert planet.”

“We haven’t turned the screen on yet,” said Picard. “You’re looking at the back of my head.”

*

*

*I would never leave a man who buys me nine boxes of Maltesers for Christmas as my main present, and socks, digital camera and laptop as stocking fillers.  

He totally gets me.

21 Dec

I promised Tinman that, if we were all still here when the deadline passed, I’d reblog this post.

Please do yourself a favour and read it – it explains everything.

Worth Doing Badly

It began with a boy band.

Cojonez, the teen sensations who made Mayan maidens swoon with their renditions of other people’s ballads, and especially with their song about human sacrifices being tossed into the volcano (“Flying Without Wings”) wanted to “give something back to their fans”, in other words find some sort of merchandise that said fans would pay a lot of money for.

They went to see young local artist Hotwotlbotl and got him to do a calendar for the coming year, 250 BC, with a picture of one of them on each page. By March they had all sold out, so they asked him to start on 249 BC (no, I don’t know either). Then, well aware that the popularity of boy bands can be fleeting they got him to do the next five years as well.

They had woken a sleeping dragon. Hotwotlbotl had been the kind…

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Happy Birthday, Tinman!

13 Dec

Here’s a quirky thing: a Tinman with a great big heart.

According to Oz Wiki,

With or without a heart, [Tinman] was all along the most tender and emotional of Dorothy’s companions.  

Judging by my favourite Tinman‘s posts about his beloved family, that’s still true.

*

Tinman has a heart so free
It’s filled with love for all to see
So proud of Tinkids 1,2,3
His posts are always full of glee
He’s also married, happily

The funniest man in the blogosphere
I really find him rather dear
But funnier than me, I fear
Hence this greeting (insincere)
Shame he can’t rejoice with beer*

*That’s the luck of the Irish

happy birthday, dad!

happy birthday, dad! (Photo credit: macwagen) I found this photo just for you.  Now you have to change your name to Rick.

Happy birthday, Tinman!

Dear readers, if you like laughing, visit Tinman.  Though it kills me to say it, he’s hilarious and I’m not a bit jealous.  Not one bit.  Not at all. Really.

11 Apr

This was posted back in 2010 but it has only just come to my attention.
If you don’t laugh out loud, there’s no hope for you.

Worth Doing Badly

Every now and then I use this blog to drag up some incident from the past that I’m not very proud of, then declare my shame to the entire world.

I think this process is known as exorcising one’s demons. In my case it feels more like exercising them, in that it lets them out into the sunlight, gives them a brisk workout and then sends them back, invigorated, into the dark recesses of my mind, from whence they can creep out into my dreams and whisper “boo”.

Anyway, yesterday’s post about Tinson1 sleeping through the night has re-awakened memories of one such dark event. To prepare you for the awfulness that is to follow, let me tell you that this post is called Bad Dad simply because there isn’t room for the real title, which should be The Night I Punched My Baby Son In The Face.

Here goes…(sigh)…

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