This is an extract from my REAL web pages. Its original location is here : http://www.somethingstupid.plus.com/20060812-04-psychoanalysis-and-soccer-comic-song-animation-featuring-sigmund-freud-carl-jung.html

THAT site is rich with hyperlinks, videos and multimedia and, if you have Adobe Flash installed, you may PRESS THE PURPLE PLAY BUTTONS to hear the site read to you ; and NOT by Microsoft Sam.

This is an extract from the third page of a web discussion of the writing and content of an original comic song about Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung and the 2006 FIFA World Cup.

The page is HERE (at my REAL WEBSITE) : http://www.somethingstupid.plus.com/20060812-03-psychoanalysis-and-soccer-comic-song-animation-featuring-sigmund-freud-carl-jung.html and can be read or LISTENED TO (should you have Flash on your device)
by pushing the PURPLE PLAY BUTTONS.

Some of the rhyming lyrics from the ABBA song “Hole in Your Soul” read in the style of the (unhappy) hippie character Neil (as portrayed by Nigel Planer) in the 1980s British television comedy series – The Young Ones.

This has been excerpted from the 18th page of my web discussion of Psocker PsychoAnalysis – the Jung Juans’ Fraudian Slip on the Skip.

HERE is that page : http://www.somethingstupid.plus.com/20060812-18-psychoanalysis-and-soccer-comic-song-animation-featuring-sigmund-freud-carl-jung.html

You will need Adobe Flash Player to listen to the Audiographs at that site by pressing the PURPLE PLAY BUTTONS.

Please visit this at MY REAL WEBSITE HERE
Subscribe to my YouTube “Ewechewb” Channel [HERE]

How NOT to read the poem Gunga Din (it SHOULD be Gunga Deen – hence the rhyme schim :^)) – and as, you can see I muffed up a couple of other words and scuffed my microphone wire in my excitement.

GUNGA DIN by RUDYARD KIPLING

You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ‘ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ‘im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin’ of ‘Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was “Din! Din! Din!
You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.”

The uniform ‘e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ‘arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ‘e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ‘eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted “Harry By!”
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ‘im ’cause ‘e couldn’t serve us all.
It was “Din! Din! Din!
You ‘eathen, where the mischief ‘ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I’ll marrow you this minute
If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!”

‘E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ‘e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
‘E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.
With ‘is mussick on ‘is back,
‘E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made “Retire”,
An’ for all ‘is dirty ‘ide
‘E was white, clear white, inside
When ‘e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was “Din! Din! Din!”
With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
“Hi! ammunition-mules an’ Gunga Din!”

I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ‘a’ been.
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.
‘E lifted up my ‘ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ‘e guv me ‘arf-a-pint o’ water-green:
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was “Din! Din! Din!
‘Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ‘is spleen;
‘E’s chawin’ up the ground,
An’ ‘e’s kickin’ all around:
For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!”

‘E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.
‘E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ‘e died,
“I ‘ope you liked your drink”, sez Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet ‘im later on
At the place where ‘e is gone –
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen;
‘E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

The first of those is [HERE]

.t post in progress

Without ovation, this oration remains my favourite creation.
As ever, my ennunciation leaves a lot to be desired (Swizz is – I’m no
Swiss Miss) but(t) [Oh no - not THAT old chestnut !] the words
WORK and gave hope in their scope for ample textual and visual japery.
How’s that (simply not cricket but(t)) [And AGAIN. Don't.] (/bat) a
(Wynken, Blynken ‘n’) nod to “Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious” ?
Please roll over the text of this post to find [EXTRA EXTERNAL EXPLANATIONS].

The sporting-linkage (it’s all balls….and bawling) stems from the music I
set the words to (probably) being the theme tune to Sky TV’s “Soccer AM“.
I have not been able to confirm this yet nor find the name of the composer
in order to give thanks and credit.

Play the pacey, passing-parsing, programme
(High Quality avi-conversion):

Video 1
(Subtitled, Recommended (Best for the deaf or anyone
who is not yet deaf & would rather not be rendered so) :

Video 2
(Without the encroachment of black-bars
introduced by subtitle screen shrinkage) :

MY LYRICS SET TO
THE TV THEME TUNE
FROM “SOCCER AM”

Fraudulent Freud
Found a HUGE haemorrhoid
Did not have much to say
About the way
That it has been raised
So he phrased
A question
Using auto-suggestion

Seems the “”Torquing” Cure“
Won’t make walking any less sore, Sure
Hypnosis
In small doses
Can negate neuroses
But(t) thrombosis
From an anal strain’ll
Feign no pain

Because a nose that (s) knows
Is a proboscis thats prognoscis
DRIVES its diagnosis
To supporting sporting snorting
And reporting “Pop !“
As an unconscious joke
About the poke of “Coke”
Or maybe “tackling” a crack about “Crack”

Free Association Football
Soccer succours cigar suckers
Ergo the Ego is hid in the Id
Until we “Slip” the skip

————————————————–

Original Music (probably) an Abandoned Theme
from Sky TV‘s football show “Soccer AM“
I haven’t been able to verify this or
find the composer’s name.

————————————————–

~ BREAKDOWN-PSYCHO‘S ANALYSIS ~

3 Lions, 3 Tenors 3...

“3 Lions, 3 Tenors 3…“

You don’t need “The Magic Numbers” to tell you that “Three is a Magic Number” ;
I don’t know if they would and, besides (and besides B-Sides), I think [FREE] is a
rather magic(k)er…1…2…many…You can count on that…or you can count
on an <abacus>, although I don’t believe <ABBA cuss> a lot but I will swear
they’re NOT a trio.

Above is a trio.

It is a trio of “3“s.

It is not a “Trio“.

[THIS] is a “Trio” (in a classic Bob Godfrey-animated, Derek
Griffiths & John Peel-narrated advert’ from the mid 1980s) :

It is not a trio of “Trios” and the “3 Lions” are NOT 3 “Lion Bars”.

[THIS] is a “Lion Bar” – Notice how the <”mane” “man“‘s mandibles>
and the confectionary‘s caramelised content are ali(o)gned -
at 0:23 in a <deserving/dis-serving dissolving>, baring the [BITE]
of the biter and the bitten ; if not the bittern.

Just as fishy as the <[BITE] of a bittern> is HOW this chocolate could
stonewall sizzling in the searing, scorching, Serengeti sunlight
singeing and tinging the tail of this ad‘ (and its advocate) when its
only protection is a <wrapper> – and that <wrapper> not being
the sort of <rapper in Ray-Bans> who could [BAN] rays and “rap”
the knuckles of the Solar Patroller, “packing heat” to tell Heat
(if not “Heat” “Magazine” ) to “Pack up, Packet and<pack it> in !”
Why would it not melt ont das velt ? Is the source of its soul and its
sole still stilled by the chill <germane> [BITE] of German Bight ?

For lyin’ (supine) not <lyin’ (fibbin’)> “Lion “Baa !”s, please see my adaptation
of Larndarn poet, engraver and visionary William Blake‘s “The Tyger” :

~ William Blake’s Lamb-Like Wail ~

…but ! To get back to the point – if EVER I can…

These entitled “3 Lions” are the heraldic beasts
that grace the breasts of the badged :

ENGLAND - Three Lions on a Shirt

(and badgered ?) England Soccer Team‘s members as well as the threads of their
steadfast <same-shirt-sporting> (probably beer not port-supping) sup(-)porters.

The logo (adapted from a design initially on the arms of Crusader King
Richard the Lionheart) was brought to the fore of public consciousness in
the following chart-topping song that was first recorded and released when
Euro ’96 was staged and contested on native English soil.

Don’t forget you can (rock and) roll over these names for hyperlinks to
access further information at Wikipedia.

“Three Lions” Music by The Lightning Seeds (Ian Broudie) with
Lyrics by Frank Skinner and David Baddiel. First 1996 Release :

Curious that these singers appear to be another TRIO, and yet, at tea-time
there isn’t a “Trio” in sight. Meanwhile Kellogg’s Corn Flakes are clockable
on the kitchen counter.

Football Songs do not always have to be so directly ABOUT “the beautiful game“.
“Nessun Dorma” from Giacomo Puccini‘s opera “Turandot” became a [HUGE HIT]
((“)Number 2(“) (and that’s about right)) as a result of the BBC choosing and
using it as the theme for its coverage of the Italia ’90 World Cup Tournament. The
eponymous heroine of the <3 Act Opera>has <3 Riddles> solved by Càlaf, a
<suitor>(who apparently doesn’t <suit her>), this hero then has to <”marry“
Russian Roulette to Rumpelstiltskin>dragging a dutiful game through an awful
all-nighter before he can dismiss Miss‘s misses and make her his lawful “Mrs.”.

“All’alba vincerò ! Vincerò ! Vincerò !” meaning : “At dawn I will win ! I will win !
I will win !“, closes Càlaf’s crepuscular chorusing. Here it is – celebrated, in Concert,
(and in tune (if not in Consett or in Tunisia)) by the collective called the”3 Tenors“
- a thrilling, trilling trio (not a “Trio“) “composed” and comprised of 2 singing
Spainiards and 1 intoning Italian – the <GLEESOME THREESOME> of :
José Carreras, Plácido Domingo and Luciano Pavarotti.

The Three Tenors Perform “Nessun Dorma” in Rome, 1990 :

Luciano‘s particular connection with soccer was that, in youth, he had had ambitions
to become a professional goalkeeper. (He perspired and) it transpired that a different
sort of “perfect pitch” was to out-weigh his formative fixation with the football field.

~ Note ~

The vigilant chanting, for a desired victory, of the 3-times-implored “I will win !” struck
a vocalised c(h)ord of accord with the terraced tribes. “3 Lions, 3 Tenors, 3 Cheers“.

~ Hip ! Hip ! Hooray ! ~

From “chorusing” …

CHEERS for watching

…(to thankful (less-Caruso-))”carousing”.

Most football fans give [CHEERS !] for Beers with the clink of their glasses.

""Little "(Hans)" Jimmy Greaves

Here’s someone with “glasses” who may soon make a right
spectacle of himself. The screen credit states that he is :

““Little “(Hans)” Jimmy Greaves“.

“Little Hans” (and what he DOES with his Little Hands) is the infant
(micturating-minor) subject of a Case Study undertaken by the
psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud. The Wikipedia article about opera
composer Herbert Graf suggests that he and “Little Hans” were one
and the same. Small circles. OPERA. Everything is connected.

“Little Jimmy Greaves” was a fleet-foot England International Striker
who, at 5ft 8“, wasn’t that <small> and who certainly wasn’t <short>
of goal-gaining grandeur – scoring, (by dashing in [DASHING DRAWERS],
(to eliminate [NO-SCORE DRAWS])), more than 2 scores of scores
for his country’s cause <settling the “score”> that he <didn’t score
more than Bobby Moore> who ((probably) aided and abetted)
netted 2 (totted in the back of the knotted net)
not 2 score plus 2 2s
(minus “tutus“).

The triumphant trophy-taking team of 1966 was minus this major player
on the day that they defeated Germany 4-2 but perhaps Jimmy “Grieves” no
“Moor(e)” now that he has (World Cup) Finally (June 10 2009) been awarded
a medal in recognition of his rôle in securing the England squad’s sole
stratospheric success.

Here is the man who presented the accolade :

He has his own page (if not his own “page“) here at this blog :

~ (He(e) B(e)) GBPM Gordon Brown “Performs” ~

“Little Hans” was fascinated by the “widdlers” he witnessed on zoo animals.
In 1962 “Little Jimmy Greaves”‘s shirt was witnessed being “widdled on“
by a loose (loo ?) animal spoiling and soiling a possibly perfect pitch.

Enough about wee(,)people.

This <crass on the grass> creature was a Chilean Dog not a Chilli Dog.
For him, setting up a ***<Hot Dog’s Hot Dogs> Stand *** might make
for a <perfect $ales pitch> ; and if he were a she, with no balls and no
footballs, she‘d be a < perfect $ales bitch>.

I don’t know if “Little Jimmy Osmond” has perfect pitch. I do know
that he does not appear here and there’s also [NO SIGN] of “Little Eva“,
“Little Richard” or………………………………………………… Littlehampton.

[THIS] is a sign at Littlehampton Railway Station :

("Welcome to Littlehampton") Railway Station

“Little Eva” might (emote and) loco-mote to it, although, it’s a “Sign o’ the Times“
(that Prince is the new “Little Richard” (Hmm. I wonder if that <A1 K9> was called
“Prince”) and), that these days (with no “New Power Generation“) she’d have to
<[STEAM IN] with the spectres>(if not the Spectors (or the Ticket Inspectors))
on a <ghost train>.

…and where <goest rain> ?

Does it “Go West, young man,” or does it go to the West Riding with [THIS]
tempestuously tonsured “(“)young(“) man” who may or may not be the “Long
Haired Lover from Liverpool” sung of (“With or Without (You“, ewes, U2 or)
perfect pitch) by a less-”long haired” and substantially younger “young
man“, whilst contemplating, by qualification of his pseudo-Scousery,
the relative claims of Anfield and Goodison Park to be the more
(not Bobby Moore or Yorkshire Moor) perfect pitch ?

Might “Little Eva” champion “(Little) Eva“ton ?
My ! My ! That’d be “mint” ;…………. “sweet” !

Sweeter than these sweethearts’ stormy stumblings :

Long Haired(/Haretoned) Lover from Liverpool :

The doomed duo “blew it”, blown <other-world>ly by the (football
AND cloud-clobbering fan-exceeding) wuther of the weather…

…And so from a weather-beaten Young Man to…

Carl Gustav (Wind ?) Jung

…a Basel-weathered Jung Man, via a turbulent turbine or a free
“gust of wind” for his “Gustav (Wind ?)“. “Carl“, it may be noted,
means : “Man“.

AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION :

“…and a lot of people felt that ‘e was talking errrr through the other end
of his body,” – JIMMY GREAVES as CARL JUNG on SIGMUND FREUD.

"Tell me about your Father (") Christmas

“Tell me about your Father (“) Christmas”

“Tell me about your father(/mother/childhood,)” might well be the the
first demand of a psychoanalyst probing their (patient (?)) patient.

“Father Christmas” is a reference to appearance.
[THIS] is not his sole appearance.

Sigmund Freud was a “BROWN Eyed Handsome Man“
I checked this with the Freud Society.

“People did not believe in my facts and thought my theories unsavoury,”
- SIGMUND FREUD (THE REAL) on SCRATCHY VINYL by the (“)muff(“)led
sound of it.

Sigmund Freud - Big Bad Muvva Luvva

“Big Bad Muvva Luvva” = “Big Bad MOTHER-”Lover“”.

Is it an inky inclination, insisting incest, that Sigmund Freud
(almost (all moist ?) in his <birthday suit>), keeps close to
his heart yet needs to get off his chest ?

Would it be (dumbly) <hum DRUM> but not “keeping (“mum(“)”
to ask if “Totem and Taboo” should be “Totem and Tattoo” ?

~ Sage Pages ~

“Totem and Taboo” at LibraryThing.com
“Incest and the Medieval Imagination” at LibraryThing.com

"...talking errrr through the other end of his body,"

<Order the ball> to be <audible> when
<taking the mic’> with a <pick-me-up> that’s …

This is "The End"

(…peaking and perking and) picking up (not Peking and Perkin and
picklin’ up) <<(POLLUTANTLY) PLEASURABLE PLOSIVES >> ;
[HOT AIR] laid bare by a <guffy(-in-the-buff)(y)> <must ‘ave>
“Gustav (…Wind…)“,’s indecent scent – sent to catch the drift
of a draught that is DAFT ; as I’m sure URL agree ; should you
brush with it (and not the law (of the land)) (or the lore of
Denis Law (of Scotland)) (to bristle) ’til (,wee,) we :

~ BLOW THE WHISTLE ~

(if not “…the Man Down“) on Sigmund Freud‘s sole (unsavoury)
hole-baring raised rear for NOT being the ((“only (the) lonely“))
end at the end of [THIS] “This is The End“.

~ MAKING “ENDS” MEAT ~

The “The End” at the end of [THIS] “This is The End” is the
“the end” at **BOTH** ends of “The End” – The Doors‘ opening
album-closing, career-commencing, epic, Attic, musical monologue.

“End”s might meet, over meat, at a meal that’s replete, to over-eat with
a fine “Feast of Friends” ; tuck, hosted and toasted by the <main “Man(>)
Down“ing this Beggars Banquet-rivalling repast : one (over the eight,
over-voicing, over-reaching, over-too-soon) James Douglas Morrison
whose arrestingly Oedipal onstage outpourings and percussively
punctuated poetic posturings saw his and his (sometimes banned but
never bland) band propelled to prosperous prominence until the sway
of the swigger singer’s (unJagger) swagger awed (and disordered)
audiences, alarming anxious authorities who sought to shorten his
beautiful (“)(a) (little) game” by calling a (more than cooling)
[PENALTY !]
playing the less reefer-y referee‘s <(well) red card> against the
(no more “stoned” than “The Stones“) rocked rocker’s <well-read card>.

[SNAP !] it said and [SNAP !] he did.

There’s another “Man Down”, left, let down, on the left. Wincing, he is
David Beckham – England‘s most-snapped Captain, a snappy-dresser
off the field he has been dismissed from for the deviant display of both
snapped tempers and snapped tendons.

In 2002, following a metatarsal-mashing clash with Aldo Duscher, the
bone-bruised Beckham had mere weeks in which to, at least, match match
(“Ooo ! That’s a [SNAP !]” and Ooo ! That’s a quote from “Bod” which was
voiced and scored by Derek Griffiths who sings in the Trio advert
previously posted so that’s : [SNAP !] again ! Two [SNAP !]s !! [SNAP !])
fitness in order to fly out to and partake in that year’s World Cup Competition.

No doubt his tormented toe would have caused his foot to balloon.
“Oedipus” means “swollen foot”. That’s <SIMPLE>, not <COMPLEX>.

They think it's all over

Perhaps it is “<SIMPLE> Soap” that John Terry is detecting on his digit.
“NOT PERFUMED. NOT COLOURED. JUST KIND.”, the delicate
detergent could be good for his <COMPLEX>ion – but, clearly, it can’t
defend the Defender, and his troubled team-mates, from getting into
a lather as the <Centre Back> et al are <sent er back> for “an early bath“.

There were tears before bedtime as this truly WAS the *final* “The End“
of England’s 2006 World Cup campaign

campaign for cocaine

Speech bubble not soap bubble

Peter Crouch not on-the-couch

John Terry finger

As emotional as Homeric heroes

“They think it’s all over,”

Association Football Player Positions

Association Football Player Positions

This is a nice, clear, uninterfered-with diagram showing

Player Positions

Player positions

Left wing Centre forward Right wing

Left midfield Centre midfield Right midfield

Left back Centre-back Centre-back Right Back

Goalkeeper

Centaurs

Indirect Free Kick

Indirect Free Kick

Tunnel

Tunnel and motion blur

Bridge

Bridge

Freud from Above

Freud from Above

Freud from Below

Freud from Below

Faster than a speeding bullet

Faster than a speeding bullet

Free Running

Free Running

German Football

German Football

Dutch Football

Dutch Football

Light Football

Light Football

Paris Football

Paris Football

Fraudulent Freud

Fraudulent Freud

Ouch

Found a HUGE haemorrhoid

Eeek !

Did not have much to say

Oook !

About the way

About the way

Highland Ball

That it had been raised

That it had been raised

So he phrased

So he phrased

A question

A question

Uisng auto-suggestion

Using auto-suggestion

Using auto-suggestion

Using auto-suggestion

Seems the ""Torquing" Cure"

————————————————–

He looks like Bruce Forsyth.

Ford Probe

Seems the “”Torquing Cure”

Won't make walking any less sore

Won’t make walking any less sore

Sure - Hypnosis

Sure – Hypnosis

In small doses

In small doses

Can negate neuroses

Can negate neuroses

new roses

From an anal strain'll

From an anal strain’ll

neuroses new roses

Because a nose that (s) knows

Because a nose that (s) knows

Is a proboscis thats prognoscis

Is a proboscis that prognosis

Cow lick

shock alarm

DRIVES its diagnosis 1

Cow Tongue 1

Cow Tongue 2 DRIVES its diagnosis

Cow Tongue 2

comparison. If it had two tongues , would it suffocate or drown itself ?

Silly cow.

To supporting sporting snorting

1811

To supporting sporting snorting

Stadium

To supporting sporting snorting

To supporting sporting snorting

To supporting sporting snorting

And reporting "Pop !"

And reporting “Pop !”

Father Christmas – A Bloke with a Coke

As an unconscious joke

As an unconscious joke

Money Shot 1

About the poke of "Coke"

About the poke of “Coke”

Splash

Splash

Favourite Non-Flickr Flicker

Favourite Non-Flickr Flicker

159

159

Or maybe "tackle"ing

Or maybe “tackle”ing

A crack about "Crack"

A Crack about crack

Crack about Crack

Coke Crack Pipe

Coke Crack Pipe

Free Association Football

Free Association Football

Make a break for freedom through this hole in the (‘)net

Coke Crack Pipe

Cartwheel 1

leave this text here

Soccer succours cigar suckers

Soccer succours cigar suckers

soul sole

When is a cigar not a cigar ?

more text

Ergo the Ego is hid in the Id

Ergo the Ego is hid in the Id

Freud’s Sending Off

Blue Plaque

Until we "Slip" the skip

Until we “Slip” the skip

Foul

Until we "Slip" the skip

Triumph

Revver Spoof

Revver Spoof

]]> http://herdless.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/a-second-home/feed/ 0 Fraser Penpraze Psycho - 00001 england badge Psycho - 00002 Psycho - 00008 littlehampton from mikegtn dot net Psycho - 00010 Psycho - 00011 Psycho - 00021 Psycho - 00024 Juan Juans 0002805 Juan Juans 0003409 Psycho - 00041 Psycho - 00050 Psycho - 00055 - Indirect Free Kick Psycho - 00057 Psycho - 00059 Psycho - 00062 Psycho - 00063 Psycho - 00064 Psycho - 00067 Psycho - 00069 Psycho - 00072 Psycho - 00074 Psycho - 00075 Psycho - 00077 Psycho - 00085 Psycho - 00088 Psycho - 00090 Psycho - 00092 Psycho - 00099 Psycho - 00100 Psycho - 00101 Psycho - 00102 Juan Juans 00010302 Juan Juans 00010408 Juan Juans 00010516 Juan Juans 00010707 Juan Juans 00010801 Juan Juans 00011017 Juan Juans 00011212 Psycho - 00124 Psycho mp4 - 00001 Psycho mp4 - 00002 Juan Juans 00011811 Psycho - 00137 Juan Juans 00011817 Psycho - 00143 Psycho - 00145 Juan Juans 000112207 Psycho - 00150 Jung Juans Favourite 720 by 576 Psycho - 00159 Juan Juans 000112406 Juan Juans 000112501 Psycho - 00166 Juan Juans 000112802 Psycho - 00173 Juan Juans 000112903 Psycho - 00176 Psycho - 00181 Juan Juans 000113304 Juan Juans 000113514 Juan Juans 000113912 http://herdless.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/rubbish/ http://herdless.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/rubbish/#comments Tue, 13 Oct 2009 13:32:38 +0000 Fraser Penpraze http://herdless.wordpress.com/2009/10/13/rubbish/ ]]> (if not “…the Man Down”) on the extended, up-ended, “End” that [THIS] Freud (with a of and an eye to ) would present as the sole hole, to ((kiss) (bend) (like or unlike Beckham) and)) send, via good farty(-gut) gute (cute glute) fahrt(in’) fire, the bummy["butterance"] of unbuttered buns’ (indecent) scent from ; the ((“only (the) lonely”)) end at the end of [THIS] “This is The End”.

he extended, up-ended, “End“
that [THIS] Freud, turning, with a <flush flash> of <fresh flesh>,
a( )non-blind eye (or two) to <present-time hindsight>,
would present as the sole (unsavoury) hole, to sweetly unseat,
bending (like (or unlike) Beckham) sending, via good farty(-gut)
gute (cute glute) fahrt(in‘) fire,the bummy["butterance"] of
unbuttered buns’ (indecent) scent from ; the ((“only (the)
lonely“)) end at the end of [THIS] “This is The End“.

BLOW THE WHISTLE ~

(if not “…the Man Down“) on Sigmund Freud‘s sole (unsavoury)
<hole-baring raised rear> as NOT being the  ((“only (the) lonely“))
end at the end of [THIS] “This is The End“.

~ MAKING “ENDS” MEAT ~

The “The End” at the end of “This is The End” is the “the end” at BOTH
ends of “The End”. They might meet over meat at a meal that’s replete,
over-eat with a fine “Feast of Friends”.

.t post in progress

Without ovation, this oration remains my favourite creation.
As ever, my ennunciation leaves a lot to be desired (Swizz is – I’m no
Swiss Miss) but(t) [Oh no - not THAT old chestnut !] the words
WORK and gave  hope in their scope for ample textual and visual japery.
How’s that (simply not cricket but(t)) [And AGAIN. Don't.] (/bat) a
(Wynken, Blynken ‘n’) nod to “Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious” ?
Please roll over the text of this post to find [EXTRA EXTERNAL EXPLANATIONS].

The sporting-linkage (it’s all balls….and bawling) stems from the music I
set the words to (probably) being the theme tune to Sky TV’s “Soccer AM“.
I have not been able to confirm this yet nor find the name of the composer
in order to give thanks and credit.

Play the pacey, passing-parsing, programme
(High Quality avi-conversion):

Video 1
(Subtitled, Recommended (Best for the deaf or anyone
who is not yet deaf & would rather not be rendered so) :

Video 2
(Without the encroachment of black-bars
introduced by subtitle screen shrinkage) :

MY LYRICS SET TO
THE TV THEME TUNE
FROM “SOCCER AM”

Fraudulent Freud
Found a HUGE haemorrhoid
Did not have much to say
About the way
That it has been raised
So he phrased
A question
Using auto-suggestion

Seems the “”Torquing” Cure“
Won’t make walking any less sore, Sure
Hypnosis
In small doses
Can negate neuroses
But(t) thrombosis
From an anal strain’ll
Feign no pain

Because a nose that (s) knows
Is a proboscis thats prognoscis
DRIVES its diagnosis
To supporting sporting snorting
And reporting “Pop !“
As an unconscious joke
About the poke of “Coke”
Or maybe “tackling” a crack about “Crack”

Free Association Football
Soccer succours cigar suckers
Ergo the Ego is hid in the Id
Until we “Slip” the skip

————————————————–

Original Music (probably) an Abandoned Theme
from Sky TV‘s football show “Soccer AM“
I haven’t been able to verify this or
find the composer’s name.

————————————————–

~ BREAKDOWN-PSYCHO‘S ANALYSIS ~

 

3 Lions, 3 Tenors 3…

 

“3 Lions, 3 Tenors 3…“

You don’t need “The Magic Numbers” to tell you that “Three is a Magic Number” ;
I don’t know if they would and, besides (and besides B-Sides), I think [FREE] is a
rather magic(k)er…1…2…many…You can count on that…or you can count
on an <abacus>, although I don’t believe <ABBA cuss> a lot but I will swear
they’re NOT a trio.

Above is a trio.

It is a trio of “3“s.

It is not a “Trio“.

[THIS] is a “Trio” (in a classic Bob Godfrey-animated, Derek
Griffiths & John Peel-narrated advert’ from the mid 1980s) :

It is not a trio of “Trios” and the “3 Lions” are NOT 3 “Lion Bars”.

[THIS] is a “Lion Bar” – Notice how the  <”mane” “man“‘s mandibles>
and the confectionary‘s caramelised content are ali(o)gned -
at 0:23 in a <deserving/dis-serving dissolving>, baring the [BITE]
of the biter and the bitten ; if not the bittern.

Just as fishy as the <[BITE] of a bittern> is HOW this chocolate could
stonewall sizzling in the searing, scorching,  Serengeti sunlight
singeing and tinging  the tail of this ad‘ (and its advocate) when its
only protection is a <wrapper> – and that <wrapper> not being
the sort of <rapper in Ray-Bans> who could [BAN] rays and “rap”
the knuckles of the Solar Patroller, “packing heat” to tell Heat
(if not “Heat” “Magazine” ) to “Pack up, Packet and<pack it> in !”
Why would it not melt ont das velt ?  Is the source of its soul and its
sole still stilled by the chill <germane> [BITE] of German Bight ?

For lyin’ (supine) not <lyin’ (fibbin’)> “Lion “Baa !”s, please see my adaptation
of Larndarn poet, engraver and visionary William Blake‘s “The Tyger” :

~ William Blake’s Lamb-Like Wail ~

…but ! To get back to the point – if EVER I can…

These entitled “3 Lions” are the heraldic beasts
that grace the breasts of the badged :

(and badgered ?) England Soccer Team‘s members as well as the threads of their
steadfast <same-shirt-sporting> (probably beer not port-supping) sup(-)porters.

The logo (adapted from a design initially on the arms of Crusader King
Richard the Lionheart) was brought to the fore of public consciousness  in
the following chart-topping song that was first recorded and released when
Euro ’96 was staged and contested on native English soil.

Don’t forget you can (rock and) roll over these names for hyperlinks to
access further information at Wikipedia.

“Three Lions” Music by The Lightning Seeds (Ian Broudie) with
Lyrics by Frank Skinner and David Baddiel. First 1996 Release :

Curious that these singers appear to be another TRIO, and yet, at tea-time
there isn’t a “Trio” in sight. Meanwhile Kellogg’s Corn Flakes are clockable
on the kitchen counter.

Football Songs do not always have to be so directly ABOUT “the beautiful game“.
“Nessun Dorma” from Giacomo Puccini‘s opera “Turandot” became a [HUGE HIT]
((“)Number 2(“) (and that’s about right)) as a result of the BBC choosing and
using it as the theme for its coverage of the Italia ’90 World Cup Tournament. The
eponymous heroine of the <3 Act Opera>has <3 Riddles> solved by Càlaf, a
<suitor>(who apparently doesn’t <suit her>), this hero then has to <”marry“
Russian Roulette to Rumpelstiltskin>dragging a dutiful game through an awful
all-nighter before he can dismiss Miss‘s misses and make her his lawful “Mrs.”.

“All’alba vincerò ! Vincerò ! Vincerò !” meaning : “At dawn I will win ! I will win !
I will win !“, closes Càlaf’s crepuscular chorusing. Here it is – celebrated, in Concert,
(and in tune (if not in Consett or in Tunisia)) by the collective called the”3 Tenors“
- a thrilling, trilling trio (not a “Trio“) “composed” and comprised of 2 singing
Spainiards and 1 intoning Italian – the <GLEESOME THREESOME> of :
José Carreras, Plácido Domingo and Luciano Pavarotti.

The Three Tenors Perform “Nessun Dorma” in Rome, 1990 :

Luciano‘s particular connection with soccer was that, in youth, he had had ambitions
to become a professional goalkeeper. (He perspired and) it transpired that a different
sort of “perfect pitch” was to out-weigh his formative fixation with the football field.

~ Note ~

The vigilant chanting, for a desired victory, of the 3-times-implored “I will win !” struck
a vocalised c(h)ord of accord with the terraced tribes. “3 Lions, 3 Tenors, 3 Cheers“.

~ Hip ! Hip ! Hooray ! ~

From “chorusing” …

…(to thankful (less-Caruso-))”carousing”.

Most football fans give [CHEERS !] for Beers with the clink of their glasses.

Here’s someone with “glasses” who may soon make a right
spectacle of himself. The screen credit states that he is :

““Little “(Hans)” Jimmy Greaves“.

“Little Hans” (and what he DOES with his Little Hands) is the infant
(micturating-minor) subject of a Case Study undertaken by the
psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud. The Wikipedia article about opera
composer Herbert Graf suggests that he and “Little Hans” were one
and the same. Small circles. OPERA. Everything is connected.

“Little Jimmy Greaves” was a fleet-foot England International Striker
who, at 5ft 8“, wasn’t that <small> and who certainly wasn’t <short>
of goal-gaining grandeur – scoring, (by dashing in [DASHING DRAWERS],
(to eliminate [NO-SCORE DRAWS])), more than 2 scores of scores
for his country’s cause <settling the “score”> that he <didn’t score
more than Bobby Moore> who ((probably) aided and abetted)
netted 2 (totted in the back of the knotted net)
not 2 score plus 2 2s
(minus “tutus“).

The triumphant trophy-taking team of 1966 was minus this major player
on the day that they defeated Germany 4-2 but perhaps Jimmy “Grieves” no
“Moor(e)” now that he has (World Cup) Finally (June 10 2009) been awarded
a medal in recognition of his rôle in securing the England squad’s sole
stratospheric success.

Here is the man who presented the accolade :

He has his own page (if not his own “page“) here at this blog :

~ (He(e) B(e)) GBPM Gordon Brown “Performs” ~

“Little Hans” was fascinated by the “widdlers” he witnessed on zoo animals.
In 1962 “Little Jimmy Greaves”‘s shirt was witnessed being “widdled on“
by a loose (loo ?) animal spoiling and soiling a possibly perfect pitch.

Enough about wee(,)people.

This <crass on the grass> creature was a Chilean Dog not a Chilli Dog.
For him, setting up a ***<Hot Dog’s Hot Dogs> Stand *** might make
for a <perfect $ales pitch> ; and if he were a she, with no balls and no
footballs, she‘d be a < perfect $ales bitch>.

I don’t know if “Little Jimmy Osmond” has perfect pitch. I do know
that he does not appear here and there’s also [NO SIGN] of  “Little Eva“,
“Little Richard” or………………………………………………… Littlehampton.

[THIS] is a sign at Littlehampton Railway Station :

“Little Eva” might (emote and) loco-mote to it, although, it’s a “Sign o’ the Times“
(that Prince is the new “Little Richard” (Hmm. I wonder if that <A1 K9> was called
“Prince”) and), that these days (with no “New Power Generation“) she’d have to
<[STEAM IN] with the spectres>(if not the Spectors (or the Ticket Inspectors))
on a <ghost train>.

…and where <goest rain> ?

Does it “Go West, young man,” or does it go to the West Riding with [THIS]
tempestuously tonsured “(“)young(“) man” who may or may not be the “Long
Haired Lover from Liverpool” sung of (“With or Without (You“, ewes, U2 or)
perfect pitch) by a less-”long haired” and substantially younger “young
man“, whilst contemplating, by qualification of his pseudo-Scousery,
the relative claims of Anfield and Goodison Park to be the more
(not Bobby Moore or Yorkshire Moor) perfect pitch ?

Might “Little Eva” champion “(Little) Eva“ton ?
My ! My ! That’d be “mint” ;…………. “sweet” !

Sweeter than these sweethearts’ stormy stumblings :

Long Haired(/Haretoned) Lover from Liverpool :

The doomed duo “blew it”, blown <other-world>ly by the (football
AND cloud-clobbering fan-exceeding) wuther of the weather…

…And so from a weather-beaten Young Man to…

…a Basel-weathered Jung Man, via a turbulent turbine or a free
“gust of wind” for his “Gustav (Wind ?)“. “Carl“, it may be noted,
means : “Man“.

AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION :

“…and a lot of people felt that ‘e was talking errrr through the other end
of his body,” – JIMMY GREAVES as CARL JUNG on SIGMUND FREUD.

“Tell me about your Father (“) Christmas”

“Tell me about your father(/mother/childhood,)” might well be the the
first demand of a psychoanalyst probing their (patient (?)) patient.

“Father Christmas” is a reference to appearance.
[THIS] is not his sole appearance.

Sigmund Freud was a “BROWN Eyed Handsome Man“
I checked this with the Freud Society.

“People did not believe in my facts and thought my theories unsavoury,”
- SIGMUND FREUD (THE REAL) on SCRATCHY VINYL by the (“)muff(“)led
sound of it.

“Big Bad Muvva Luvva” = “Big Bad MOTHER-”Lover“”.

Is it an inky inclination, insisting incest, that Sigmund Freud
(almost (all moist ?) in his <birthday suit>), keeps close to
his heart yet needs to get off his chest ?

Would it be (dumbly) <hum DRUM> but not “keeping (“mum(“)”
to ask if “Totem and Taboo” should be “Totem and Tattoo“  ?

~ Sage Pages ~

“Totem and Taboo” at LibraryThing.com
“Incest and the Medieval Imagination” at LibraryThing.com

<Order the ball> to be <audible> when
<taking the mic’> with a <pick-me-up> that’s …

(…peaking and perking and) picking up (not Peking and Perkin and
picklin’ up) <<(POLLUTANTLY) PLEASURABLE PLOSIVES >> ;
[HOT AIR] laid bare by a <guffy(-in-the-buff)(y)> <must ‘ave>
“Gustav (…Wind…)“,’s indecent scent – sent to catch the drift
of a draught that is DAFT ; as I’m sure URL agree ; should you
brush with it (and not the law (of the land)) (or the lore of
Denis Law (of Scotland)) (to bristle) ’til (,wee,) we :

~ BLOW THE WHISTLE ~

(if not “…the Man Down“) on Sigmund Freud‘s sole (unsavoury)
<hole-baring raised rear> as NOT being the  ((“only (the) lonely“))
end at the end of [THIS] “This is The End“.

~ MAKING “ENDS” MEAT ~

The “The End” at the end of “This is The End” is the “the end” at
BOTH ends of “The End”. They might meet over meat, at a meal
that’s replete, over-eat with a fine “Feast of Friends”.

Unalone, these

In the beginning is my end

feast of friends

There’s another “Man Down” left on the left

the most snapped Captain

It is no such thing, for we hear Jim sing “This is The End”, wittily,
(but not at his wits’ end) at BOTH ends of “The End” and the close of his

sent off

It is not the only and sometimes the end is the start no the finish

awed audience

onstage Oedipal outpourings

percussive poetic propelled

that saw his sometimes banned but never bland banned propelled to prominence

send commend pretend

fouling-player

dealt a blow dealt an elbow delta

Playing the well-read card (well) red card

sent off

more Referee than reefer-y

deviant dismissed

“This is “The End” sang wittily at both ends of

sometimes banned but never bland band’s

anxious authorities

swigger’s swagger swayed

career

comeincing

playing the well-read card

anxious uthorities decided to put an end to

(beautiful) little game

the Ref’ refed

red card football montage David Beckham agony

David Beckham pictured wincing

most snapped Captain being dismissed for temper snapping or tendon snapping

This is “The End”

metatarsal

following a clash with Aldo Dusher

In 2002 Beckham had only a few weeks to at least match match fitness

to fly out that year’s World Cup competition

injury

tormented toe

Oedipus means “swollen foot”.

the extended, up-ended, “End“
that [THIS] Freud, turning, with a <flush flash> of <fresh flesh>,
a( )non-blind eye (or two) to <present-time hindsight>,
would present as the sole (unsavoury) hole, to sweetly unseat,
bending (like (or unlike) Beckham) sending, via good farty(-gut)
gute (cute glute) fahrt(in‘) fire,the bummy["butterance"] of
unbuttered buns’ (indecent) scent from ; the  ((“only (the)
lonely“)) end at the end of [THIS] “This is The End“.

from Sky TV’s “Soccer AM”

Peter Crouch not on-the-couch

John Terry finger

As emotional as Homeric heroes

Association Football Player Positions

Player positions

Left wing Centre forward Right wing

Left midfield Centre midfield Right midfield

Left back Centre-back Centre-back Right Back

Goalkeeper

Centaurs

Indirect Free Kick

Tunnel and motion blur

Bridge

Freud from Above

Freud from Below

Faster than a speeding bullet

Free Running

German Football

Dutch Football

Light Football

Paris Football

Fraudulent Freud

Ouch

Eeek !

Oook !

About the way

Highland Ball

That it had been raised

So he phrased

A question

Using auto-suggestion

Using auto-suggestion

————————————————–

He looks like Bruce Forsyth.

Ford Probe

Seems the “”Torquing Cure”

Won’t make walking any less sore

Sure – Hypnosis

In small doses

Can negate neuroses

new roses

From an anal strain’ll

neuroses new roses

Because a nose that (s) knows

Is a proboscis that prognosis

Cow lick

shock alarm

Cow Tongue 1

Cow Tongue 2

comparison. If it had two tongues , would it suffocate or drown itself ?

Silly cow.

1811

Stadium

To supporting sporting snorting

To supporting sporting snorting

And reporting “Pop !”

Father Christmas – A Bloke with a Coke

As an unconscious joke

Money Shot 1

About the poke of “Coke”

Splash

Favourite Non-Flickr Flicker

159

Or maybe “tackle”ing

A Crack about crack

Crack about Crack

Coke Crack Pipe

Free Association Football

Make a break for freedom through this hole in the (‘)net

Coke Crack Pipe

leave this text here

Soccer succours cigar suckers

soul sole

more text

Ergo the Ego is hid in the Id

Freud’s Sending Off

Blue Plaque

Until we “Slip” the skip

Foul

Triumph

Revver Spoof

1. Reactionary Rant – Bring Back Microsoft PhotoDraw – 10th Anniversary – May 2009 Screencasts

2. My Favourite Software Program – Microsoft PhotoDraw 2000 V2 – More Screencasts

Microsoft Photo Draw 2000 V2 will be ten on the last day of the year and I still rate it a 10/10. Un-10-tatively, I’m going to blam on about it again – having lifted the following from a post (where it made a naughty and rather inappropriate imposition) at my OTHER blog – the NeatRetreat one that is supposed to be FREE of my whining about having my sweets (or suites) stolen.

I am <ridiculously in love> with Microsoft PhotoDraw 2000
Version 2. This excellent package, the evolution of Microsoft Image
Composer (known to users of Microsoft FrontPage), was ahead of
its time, on release, at the turn of the millenium. I imagine it failed to
win the following it more than deserved (and CONTINUES TO
DESERVE (!!!!)) because it was marketed, as an “Office” application to
businesses that were unlikely to have had enough RAM (contemporary
reviews suggested 64MB as a requirement) and general graphical GRUNT
installed in their low-end PCs to be able to run it – thus they had no choice
but to disMisS it and MisS out.

The iPod should never have <slit the throat> of the Sony Walkman
and Microsoft should NOT HAVE MURDERED THEIR BRIGHTEST BABY.

If you also enjoy Microsoft PhotoDraw 2000 V2, think you might have
done, given the chance, and would like to see it re-vamped and resurrected,
it’s easy to send the software giant an e.mail telling them so. They were unable
to assure me that the program would run in Vista, Windows 7 or any future
operating system – so I have no confidence that my favourite software will
run on a new machine – therefore I have NO MOTIVATION TO BUY and will
ONLY do so when my current computer breaks beyond all repair.

For me, a computer WITHOUT Microsoft PhotoDraw is NOT a computer.

If Microsoft created a contemporary, guaranteed-compatible,  graphics
solution that only had to be AS GOOD AS PhotoDraw, I’d be able to make
further purchases from them. I’d WANT the new OS and I’d WANT the arts
package.

WHY are they letting Adobe and the Apple Mac steal a march on them ?

As it makes no (surface) SENSE, did it make them some (back-handed) CENTS ?
Did they mothball <<a winning product>> because it was VERY GOOD and
VERY QUICK and VERY EASY to use and therefore presents (nearly) NO
learning curve and so requires <NO TRAINING> leaving no space for people
trying to  make a living from $elling cour$e$ – which generally seem
to revolve  around showing students <<WHERE the buttons are>> in
DELIBERATELY unwieldy user interfaces constructed by behemoths to
baffle the blinkered and preclude the POOR from PSD participation ?

Isn’t the <PICTURE> “the BIGGER PICTURE” ?

Heh. “Our way or the Highway”.

No way !

…..No wait !

Stop your cringing and stop me whinging by
making your mark an addition to the petition :

~ BRING BACK MICROSOFT PHOTODRAW ~

Thankeeeee !

To see this at my real website, in the context of my discussion of my Flash MX-animated musical adaptation of the story – please visit my “Knowledge of Porridge” webpage. Thanks.

The Story of the Three Bears
Written By Robert Southey
Read by AuralAurora

ONCE upon a time there were three Bears, who lived together in a house
of their own in a wood. One of them was a Little, Small, Wee Bear; and one
was a Middle-sized Bear, and the other was a Great, Huge Bear. They had
each a pot for their porridge, a little pot for the Little, Small, Wee Bear;
and a middle-sized pot for the Middle Bear; and a great pot for the Great,
Huge Bear. And they had each a chair to sit in: a little chair for the Little,
Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized chair for the Middle Bear; and a great
chair for the Great, Huge Bear. And they had each a bed to sleep in: a little
bed for the Little, Small, Wee Bear; and a middle-sized bed for the Middle
Bear; and a great bed for the Great, Huge Bear.

One day, after they had made the porridge for their breakfast and poured
it into their porridge pots, they walked out into the wood while the porridge
was cooling, that they might not burn their mouths by beginning too soon
to eat it. And while they were walking a little old woman came to the house.
She could not have been a good, honest, old woman; for, first, she looked in
at the window, and then she peeped in at the keyhole, and, seeing nobody in
the house, she lifted the latch. The door was not fastened, because the bears
were good bears, who did nobody any harm, and never suspected that
anybody would harm them. So the little old woman opened the door and
went in; and well pleased she was when she saw the porridge on the table.
If she had been a good little old woman she would have waited till the bears
came home, and then, perhaps, they would have asked her to breakfast, for
they were good bears – a little rough or so, as the manner of bears is, but for
all that very good-natured and hospitable. But she was an impudent, bad old
woman, and set about helping herself.

So first she tasted the porridge of the Great Huge Bear, and that was too hot
for her; and she said a bad word about that. And then she tasted the porridge
of the Middle Bear, and that was too cold for her; and she said a bad word
about that, too. And then she went to the porridge of the Little, Small, Wee
Bear, and tasted that, and that was neither too hot nor too cold, but just right;
and she liked it so well that she ate it all up; but the naughty old woman said a
bad word about the little porridge pot, because it did not hold enough for her.

Then the little old woman sat down in the chair of the Great, Huge Bear, and
that was too hard for her. And then she sat down in the chair of the Middle
Bear, and that was too soft for her. And then she sat down in the chair of the
Little Small, Wee Bear, and that was neither too hard nor too soft, but just
right. So she seated herself in it, and there she sat till the bottom of the chair
came out, and down came she, plump upon the ground. And the naughty
old woman said wicked words about that, too.

Then the little old woman went upstairs into the bedchamber in which the
three Bears slept. And first she lay down upon the bed of the Great, Huge
Bear, but that was too high at the head for her. And next she lay down upon
the bed of the Middle Bear, and that was too high at the foot for her. And
then she lay down upon the bed of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, and that was
neither too high at the head nor at the foot, but just right. So she covered
herself up comfortably, and lay there till she fell asleep. By this time the
three Bears thought their porridge would be cool enough, so they came
home to breakfast. Now the little old woman had left the spoon of the Great,
Huge Bear standing in his porridge.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE!”

said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great gruff voice. And when the Middle Bear
looked at his, he saw that the spoon was standing in it, too. They were wooden
spoons; if they had been silver ones the naughty old woman would have put
them in her pocket.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE!”

said the middle Bear, in his middle voice.

Then the Little, Small, Wee Bear looked at his, and there was the spoon
in the porridge pot, but the porridge was all gone.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN AT MY PORRIDGE, AND HAS EATEN IT ALL UP!”

said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.

Upon this the three Bears, seeing that some one had entered their house
and eaten up the Little, Small, Wee Bear’s breakfast, began to look about
them. Now the little old woman had not put the hard cushion straight
when she rose from the chair of the Great, Huge Bear.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!”

said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice.

And the little old woman had squatted down the soft cushion of the
Middle Bear.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR!”

said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.

And you know what the little old woman had done to the third chair.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR, AND HAS SAT
THE BOTTOM OUT OF IT!”

said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.

Then the three bears thought it necessary that they should make
further search; so they went upstairs into their bedchamber. Now
the little old woman had pulled the pillow of the Great, Huge Bear
out of its place.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED!”

said the Great, Huge Bear, in his great, rough, gruff voice.

And the little old woman had pulled the bolster of the Middle Bear
out of its place.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED!”

said the Middle Bear, in his middle voice.

And when the Little, Small, Wee Bear came to look at his bed, there
was the bolster in its place, and upon the pillow was the little old
woman’s ugly, dirty head-which was not in its place, for she had
no business there.

“SOMEBODY HAS BEEN LYING IN MY BED-AND HERE SHE IS!”

said the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small, wee voice.

The little old woman had heard in her sleep the great, rough,
gruff voice of the Great, Huge Bear, but she was so fast asleep
that it was no more to her than the moaning of wind or the
rumbling of thunder. And she had heard the middle voice of
the Middle Bear, but it was only as if she had heard some one
speaking in a dream. But when she heard the little, small, wee
voice of the Little, Small, Wee Bear, it was so sharp and so shrill
that it awakened her at once. Up she started, and when she saw
the three bears on one side of the bed she tumbled herself out
at the other and ran to the window. Now the window was open,
because the Bears, like good, tidy bears as they were, always
opened their bedchamber window when they got up in the
morning. Out the little old woman jumped, and whether she
broke her neck in the fall or ran into the wood and was lost
there, or found her way out of the wood and was taken up by
the constable and sent to the House of Correction for a vagrant
as she was, I cannot tell. But the three Bears never saw anything
more of her.