ROCKFLOUR

Le fromage d'amour

2009-08-03T06:33:00.000-07:00

ROCKFLOUR can officially reveal that cottage cheese or 'white gold' as it's known in Sub-Saharan Africa is an aphrodisiac. Research published in July suggests it helps boost a low sex drive. Scientist Tony Wood believes two tablespoons of chunky curd four times a day will reinvigorate a shy libido:

'Preliminary studies suggests that a regular consumption of cheese curd will help restore sexual appetite. In one study erections went up by eighteen percent. That shouldn't be sniffed at'.

On a cautionary note Wood warned:

'Keep cottage cheese out of the bedroom; it's not that spreadable. It's much better on a crisp salad or a jacket potato'.

Rockflour Investigates Recruitment

2008-12-23T09:49:00.000-08:00

Get a life, piss-junkie, incompetent tit, fascist turd burglar. These are some of the random and curious insults that are thrown at recruitment consultants on a daily basis Rockflour reveals. A report commissioned by John Cosgrove, Managing Director of Audit Recruit, believes these jibes are 'completely justified' citing 'ubiquitous ineptitude' and 'a systemic culture of lies, false promises and poor man-management'.

"Recruitment consultancies are run by in-bred fascists...the service offered is terrible, well below par. In fact it’s a double bogey", John Cosgrove observed.

However, Chairman of Recruit This, James Vince, refutes the findings vehemently:

"The report is toss; we run a crack team of committed target driven individuals. It’s a cut throat business; we may crack a few eggs to make an omelette, but who doesn’t. It’s a bloody good omelette. There are lies then there are porky pies, there’s a difference. The report neglects this point".

Mongoose Days

2008-12-23T05:30:00.000-08:00

Cat-like and grizzled, captive by a charmer
Awaiting the roadside show
A Hindustan spectacle, a carnivore fair
Rikki-Tikki and snake in a gladiatorial affair
Armoured impervious to the serpent’s saliva
Agile and fast one hell-bent survivor
Attached to a rock, a rope, a leash
A reoccuring circus act, a cultural niche
Cat-like and grizzled, captive by a charmer
Repeating the roadside show

Suicidal Squirrel

2008-11-17T06:53:00.000-08:00

The forest is a labyrinth of hunger thanks to my small-minded cousin – the grey squirrel. I don’t know where my next meal is coming from and I’m suffering. I’m going mad, I can tell. I need nuts.

I hate the grey squirrel and its monstrous appetite. An unwanted guest, eating me out of house and home. There’s no clarion call; there’s no cavalry. The red squirrel population has been decimated and morale is low.

Fundamentally my North-American cousin is inbred, dumb and greedy. It’s not a bully just a gluttonous child leaving nothing for its more diminutive, red-haired cousin. I can see them now from my lofty perch, scavenging like starved hyenas.

I crossed the road the other day without looking. It wasn’t my time but death doesn’t scare me; I know the smell of it, the feel of it, I see it in my dreams and I’m not intimidated. I’m living a Native-American nightmare - a victim in my own home.

Recession Scapegoat

2008-10-31T05:52:00.000-07:00

Thomas Yau, ‘star’ of the Halifax commercial -“I’m into something good” - has become a scapegoat for the current recession, ROCKFLOUR reveals.

Almost 50 000 letters have been written to the Advertising Principles Agency venting their anger over the one-minute commercial.

One viewer from Bradford wrote:

‘Frankly I just don’t know who to blame. That commercial however embodies everything that is wrong; it’s a farce. When I see it on TV I literally feel like my brain is hemorrhaging. The cheeky b*****d has the temerity to sing ‘we’re into something good’. Are they balls!’

The Advertising Principles Agency recently released a statement:

‘There is a growing antipathy towards the Halifax advert especially in light of the credit crunch. We appreciate the commercial is beyond annoying but we simply don’t have the power to ban it. Please stop sending Mr. Yau hate mail and forward it to the Halifax marketing team instead’.

Exclusive: Halcyon Days Interview

2008-10-29T12:14:00.000-07:00

ROCKFLOUR presents an exclusive interview with the long-haired and controversial frontman, James Trevor, from the rock band - Halcyon Days. Interview by John Monty.

How did you choose your band name?
We debated a number of names John. We tried flicking through a dictionary to find a suitable name, but that wasn't very helpful. First time - we landed on the word 'chandelier' - a lovely word, but goes against the very ethos of our dark satanic music and possibly too obtuse. Second time around, it landed on the word 'generic' and let me tell you my friend, we are anything but generic.

So how did the name come about?
I'm coming to that John, you're very impatient, almost bordering on impetious. Do mind the manners. I was reading a myth recorded by Ovid that depicts Halcyon days. In a nutshell a wife, grief stricken by her husband's death, jumps off a cliff. Instead of perishing she is carried to her husband by the wind. So we decided on the name Halycon Days in the hope that the grief and hurt we feel will one day transform to calm and beauty.

In your biography, titled Junkie Junkie, you mention that your drug habit resulted in severe depression. Did these experiences influence your music?
Without question. It is true to say John that I have suffered many trials. During my depression I would have bad dreams where I'm manically trying to untangle pieces of string, but never quite managing. This sense of perpetual agony or frustration is embodied in all of our songs. The music comes from a bitter rotten core from which true raw unfettered emotion spills.

You're rockstar persona has been likened to the drug dealer from Withnail and I. Some even suggesting you're a direct rip-off. What do you say to these critics?
Oh deary me John. Oh deary deary me. I am who I am and that is no imitation. End of interview.

Whistle in the Well

2008-10-27T06:17:00.000-07:00

A bird watching enthusiast was rescued by firefighters yesterday after falling into a disused well.

Patrick Woods, 58, from North Talon, in Suffolk, fell into the well whilst searching for Skylarks. He was saved by a rambler after he was heard blowing on his bird whistle.

“I was looking for birds, binoculars in hand when all of a sudden the ground collapsed beneath me. Thankfully I had my Skylark Signal Whistle with me - it produces over 122 decibels of sound so I just started blowing. It was strangely reminiscent of Kate Winslet’s character in Titanic where she’s blowing for her life. All I had was hope and that trusty whistle”.

"I’m a keen reader of Andy McNab so realised the importance of staying calm and focused. I tried to eliminate any negative thoughts but no-one knew I was bird-watching, so no alarm would be raised. In short I thought I was going to die a horrible death. Fortunately I was heard by my guardian angel - Keith, a humble rambler. My skylark prayers were answered; God had given me a second bite of the apple".

Mr. Woods is resting in hospital.

Weekly Horoscope with Lucy Lunar

2008-10-23T11:35:00.000-07:00

Aries March 21 - April 20
Learn to ask for help and assistance during an intimate act with a loved one. This will make a difference in your life.

Taurus April 21 - May 21
You’re overwhelmed this week. Have a good cry and tell no-one - it’s pathetic.

Gemini May 22 - June 21
Your decadent lifestyle is making you look, with the greatest respect, like a bum. Do 10 squat-thrusts.

Cancer June 21 - July 23
Your family may have made you feel emotionally vulnerable this week, tell your Uncle to stop it.

Leo July 24 - August 23
If you have no experience with plumbing, then don’t do it yourself. Get a quote and pay a professional.

Virgo August 24 - September 23
Stop drinking and you’ll feel more sober.

Libra September 24 - October 23
Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Have a shower.

Scorpio October 24 - November 22
You give too much when you have little. Smarten up, it’s unsustainable.

Sagittarius November 23 - December 21
Don’t shout on your mobile when you’re on a crowded train. It’s discourteous.

Capricorn December 22 - January 20
Stop touching it, you will only make it worse.

Aquarius January 21 - February 21
Buy a lottery ticket. I’m feeling lucky on your behalf.

Pisces February 22 - March 20
Buy Goldeneye on N64. It makes you happy.

Exploring the Blutwurst with Dietmar

2008-10-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

Hello my name is Dietmar and today we are exploring the Blutwurst otherwise known as the German Blood Sausage - now that is good eating! Without further ado, here is the recipe:

1) You must find fresh pork blood by any means possible. If you do catch a pig, cut its jugular and catch the blood in a bowl/bucket.

2) Add pork fat, cooked rice, marjoram, salt and pepper. I remember my mother taught me this dish when I was a small boy and she would always say “Dietmar mix it well, mix it well Dietmar. We don’t want the blood to coagulate”. She was a wise woman.

3) Once mixed thoroughly, stuff into casings and tie. Then cover in water and boil for 25-30 minutes.

Serve on a bed of sauerkraut with some lean pork and have plenty of strong german mustard.

Guten Appetit!

Coco Pops Monkey Eulogy

2008-10-21T03:45:00.000-07:00

We stand here today to offer our respects to Geoff, a great monkey and a wonderful friend. I remember when I first met him in the early 90’s, when he first got the role as the Coco Pops monkey; he was raw but talented. First day of shooting he turned up to work with a spoon and everyone knew there and then we had a star in the making, what a character. This personality captivated tens of millions of people around the world and he became a star over night. He was even responsible for the catchphrase "Coco Pops and milk make a bowlful of fun". Oh how he loved those chocolate rice crispies.

Over the years though it’s fair to say he started to resent his success as he inevitably became typecast as the coco pops monkey. What people don’t know is that he had a wonderful acting range and always talked of walking the hallowed boards of the theatre. As we all know this dream never became a reality, producers simply wouldn’t take that chance, all except Big Brother. He despised that show, but he thought it was his last chance to reinvent himself and become more than, in his words, a ‘cheeky monkey’. Unfortunately during a drink-fuelled night he made some racist comments and was kicked out of the house. In interviews following the dismissal he claimed producers somehow spiked his drink. From that point on the decline was rapid.

He quickly fell into the wrong crowd, associating with Snap, Crackle and Pop of Rice Crispies fame. Before long Geoff was drinking all hours, and experimenting with drugs, that’s when he first tried crack. He was never satiated, and would always chase the high by repeating the dose or dull the cravings with heroine. There was no talking to him, he was constantly spouting crack gibberish and became extremely paranoid. He was a different monkey and not the friend I once knew.

On Wednesday 1st October I found him dead on his toilet after suffering a heart attack. It was no doubt caused by the crack and the heroine but I thought it was poignant that a bowl of coco pops was sitting on his lap at the time.

I dredge up his past misdemeanours only to shed light on a complicated monkey, and fundamentally a good monkey who sadly let his unfulfilled ambition destroy him. I’ll remember him not hunched over the toilet seat, no, but us hiking together. He was a keen hiker and his knowledge of the countryside was exemplary.

Geoff, God bless. I’ll miss you.

Memoirs of a Gigolo: Virgin Territory (CONT'D)

2008-10-20T15:33:00.000-07:00

I lie in bed wondering how the sequence of events in my life had culminated in this choice of vocation – a gigolo. I’m not allowed to dwell on this thought for long though as my naked client barks her orders.

"Talk dirty, get me in the mood".

"Oooh, you’re breasts are like…". I pause for thought as my mind lists possible similes. Fried eggs? No. Melons? No, too passé. Oranges? I like oranges.

"You’re breasts are like oranges".

"What does that mean?"

"I honestly don’t know. Dirty talk isn’t my forte".

"So what is your forte?"

"Probably squash".

"I mean in the bedroom".

I pause for thought, can’t decide so close my eyes and lean forward for a kiss. We kiss. She smiles that horsey smile. Then I offer her a mint from my gigolo kit bag. Unfortunately she declines.

"What else is in the bag? Sex toys?"

"No sex toys I’m afraid. That said I’m a sex toy of sorts".

"Really? How’s that then?"

"...as in I facilitate sexual pleasure".

My matter of fact answer leaves her looking distinctly unimpressed. Something suddenly dirty pops to mind. In an act of redemption I adopt a low sensual tone and say:

"I want to lick you up and down till you say stop. Let me play with your body baby and make you real hot, let me do all the things that you want me to do..."

"...'cos tonight baby I want to get freaky with you'. You're just reciting lyrics from Another Level".

"Am I?? I am aren't I. Yeah, it's 'Freak Me' by 'Another Level'. Sorry".

"We’ve chatted long enough" she says bluntly.

"Defile me!".

My body shudders. I really don’t want to have sex with this woman. Lots of people don’t enjoy their jobs, but they just roll their sleeves up, get their head down, suck it up, and get the job done. I pause in thought, lean over to get the water-based lube and decide to do exactly that.

The messy end.

Memoirs of a Gigolo: Virgin Territory

2008-10-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

First day. Nervous. I sit in my car in the warmth and have another chocolate digestive. It feels like my first day at school, the anticipation, the fear. That's the only similarity.

I check my gigolo kit bag. Mints, stop-watch, condoms, water-based lube, wet wipes and whistle. This game isn't for mugs. I meet the woman in a Holiday Inn car park she's wearing a black dress and she's bra-less. Nipples like exposed steel core bullets. I was a military man. She's a giant, taller than me at 6ft 2 inches. I look up and say hello, she smiles a horsey grin and whispers "you must be the escort". "Indeed I am, you must be my date". Date I hear her think and she reveals her horsey grin. My stomach turns, I attempt a smile then we walk together hand in hand to the reception.

"We've booked a room for 11" she declares to the receptionist. "The name is Johnson". We're early and the beds haven't been made. I sigh. My stomach grumbles; I shouldn't have missed breakfast. We're forced to wait and I'm forced into small talk. "So, how was your weekend?'" I don't care for the answer; it was a rubbish question. Our room is ready, we hold hands and make our way to the room.

I lie on the bed and tell her the deal. I alluded to it over the phone but thought I should clarify before we start operations.

"Full blown sex is 100 pounds. For that I do the works and I'm thorough. I get the job done. If you want anything extra beyond the realms of what might be considered normal, we can negotiate the price".

Quick as a button she replies 'I want it all'. I dry heave but disguise it as a cough. I'm glad I missed breakfast. She seems so self assured, why? I was expecting a delicate little flower, not a man-eating fly-trap. Without another word spoken she starts stripping, I follow suit. We're a good 8 ft away from each other and she eye-balls as my trousers fall to the carpet.

"What are you wearing?"

"A pouch"

"I've never seen anything like it, it's
multi-coloured!"

"It's a technicolour dreampouch. Don't you like
it?"

She doesn't like it. She claims she's more interested in the contents of my pouch. I ignore this comment, get under the covers, and prepare for sub-standard sex with a strange woman.

To be continued...