It's like an episode of Fat Albert

The Blog-O-Cuss Meter - Do you cuss a lot in your blog or website?

Around 0.6% of the pages on your website contain cussing.

This is 93% LESS than other websites who took this test.

Anyone who knows me can testify that I am a clean living, well spoken and immaculately presented young (ish) man. I have excellent manners, a warm and welcoming disposition, and I shall not bother you by waxing lyrical about my boundless humility and grace. Nevertheless, I will be honest with you; even I am surprised by the low level of foul language on this blog. I have obviously been a good boy and keep a family friendly show here!

Comments

Anonymous said…

My first-home blog would break the meter!! I think I purposely swear for effect or to set the mood.

Good going on not having a potty mouth. I should try that.

17 April 2008 at 11:01

Anonymous said…

My first-home blog would break the meter!! I think I purposely swear for effect or to set the mood.

Good going on not having a potty mouth. I should try that.

Using my other identity....

17 April 2008 at 11:01

Kris McCracken said…

I think that my non-work related e-mail would register high ratings. I don't know why I've avoided swearing here, it's not a conscious thing. I manage to swear naturally elsewhere.

For instance, I have a Jeff Beck wannabe right outside my office window here right now, and I’m managing a few comments that would have your hair curl.

17 April 2008 at 11:12

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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