Giant vicious beast spotted in local forest.

Here it is, captured on film by my wife at the weekend.

Click the pic to see the horror in full size.

Short thoughts.

It's been a while since I did one of these so I thought I would treat you all to a recap of some of the stranger stories that I've come across on my travels around the interwebs.

Is your dog going bald? It is? Well, help is at hand.

Ruth Regina of Miami has started http://www.wigglesdogwigs.com/ and it's...it's......different.
So if you're German Shepherd is going a little thin on top or you just want to see your Pitbull with dreadlocks -and lets face it, who doesn't?- Ruth can help. On a side note, Chi has just bitten me. Coincidence? Unlikely.

Could be worse. Maybe.

A British marathon runner has admitted to getting on a bus part way round his course-but only after he was challenged by event organisers. Around the 20 mile mark Rob Sloan decided he was "A bit tired" and boarded the vehicle only to hop off a few miles later and hide in a wooded area of the course. Sadly for Rob, a number of onlookers spotted him as he rejoined the race in 3rd place. I suspect this is part of a plan for next years London Olympics, so if Usain Bolt is suddenly abducted by aliens remember I told you about this conspiracy first.

"26 miles? That's a really long way"

In Edinburgh the emergency services had to be called to a curry eating contest after competitors started "writhing on the floor, vomiting and farting", sorry,  "fainting". Whilst writhing on the floor vomiting and fainting -or farting, for that matter- are common scenes played out in pretty much all of Scotland's hostelrys, this time they called an ambulance.

The restaurant owner has said he'll tone down the spicyness in future.

"Forget the ambulance call the Gas Board"

I love this.

 I found the following on a random Everton Fansite -I can't remember which one-  and it struck a chord with me. If you're out there and you wrote this, thanks, it's brilliant.

Everton wear an easy grace. They are a Cary Grant smile with a John Wayne walk. Evertonians know that no matter what befalls them or their club, they'll still be Evertonians. The cheers heard at Goodison are exaultations of pure, white-light joy, and despite the barren years at Goodsion, that brilliance will always eminate from it.

However, there is a dimness across the park. It started when God bannished Satan from heaven and Satan snarled, "Fine, but I'm taking Anfield with me," and God replied, "Whatever."

Because Liverpool supporters know that no matter how many trophies they desperately try to jam into their cabinets, at the end of the day they just aren't Everton. They are simply the hatefull step-son who grows up to be wealthy and powerful, yet filled only with spite for his brother.

The dank world of the Liverpool fan is one of pettiness, false pride and faked orgasms. The cheers heard at Anfield sound more like yelps of anger and cries of pain.

In fact, the next time a Liverpool supporter screams and yells at you after their team win a match, simply smile at them. What they are really yelling is, "Do ya love me now, daddy???"