The sun will burst forth from the sky in a massive hydrogen joy jism, the trees will glow a beautiful summer green (except the purple ones) and a light breeze will play through the air like a metaphor for freedom. At night, we can tell stories around a fire and accidentally burn someone's face off with a molten marshmallow. It will be fun.

Gift shops* around the UK are filled with twee, nonsensical inanities on a magnetised format, inviting you to swap your cash for a meaningless life statement and adhere to the front of a food chilling device of your meal preparation zone. We would like to give you these ones for FREE, so you can print them out and replace them with our lovely versions.

Click the image to download a PDF, or Read More for instructions, JPG versions and credits.

As a young (and incredibly well-behaved) child, both of my parents worked during the daytime. During school term, this was fine. My Dad was around in the mornings to see my brother and I off. My Mum would be home from work by the time we finished our school day. It was during school holidays that we would be trusted to stay at home on our own. We didn't really break that trust. At least, not until we became teenagers.

Initially our time at home would be punctuated by regular visits from older cousins. They would watch us closely to ensure that we weren’t setting fire to the furniture, or to each other.

By simply entering your Twitter Username into our special thingy, we will create a really crap fake Tweet Cloud. Or #FakeTweetCloud if you think you're something special.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's because you don't use Twitter.  Everyone uses Twitter except for you. Everyone. Get with the program, Grandad.

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We were digging around in the rubbish bins outside the European Headquarters of Facebook Inc in Dublin.  Looking for food, if you must know. You'd be suprised at what you can sometimes find. Although it's usually curry, to be honest. Anyway, we came across a brochure printed by Facebook which revealed some of the upcoming Applications that can be expected on the Facebook website soon.

You know what I’m tired of? I’m tired of all these fucking news journalists stood around using METAHPORS to explain the credit crunch to us, like we’re all idiots. Yes, sir!  I’VE HAD ENOUGH. I WILL KILL.

Ho Ho Ho! Christmas Time is a happy time for BUYING THINGS. Vegetable Rocket Launchers? Cheryl Cole's Head? Footwear for bakery products? Buy stuff from our Christmas Catalogue, YOU FILTHY CHEAPSKATES.

Celebrating 10 years on the internet with a chunk of printed paper.

I'm writing this article as someone who has emigrated from the United Kingdom. Hopefully that won't make what I have to say sound superior or arrogant, because it's a specific type of superiority and arrogance that I'm going to be ranting about. I don't think that I'm better than UK citizens who are living in the UK. Don't think I'm taking a moral high-ground or that I'm here to show-off. I emigrated to be with my delightful wife, who was studying in her own country, not to necessarily "do better".

I'm quite a pragmatic person. Some would say cynical. Actually, so would I. I'm quite a cynical person. I haven't always been that way. Well, I have. But I'm trying to introduce a story in an amusing fashion, and by God if I have to tell lies, then so be it.

Mild boredom and a strong desire to procrastinate recently led a work colleague of mine into regaling me with delightful stories of disastrous dates that he had been on in years gone by. Due to the ubiquitous nature of social networking, it would be quite unfair for me to write about his dates without permission. These articles usually get posted to Facebook and other colleagues are my Facebook BFF's. They were corkers, though. Enough to bring a tear to the eye. Several, even.