by title  by author

 

 

 

HOGBERT GUTHRIE
PRODUCTIONS

(formerly the Book of Fewisms)
BOOK ONE
Your Ism Is For You
&
BOOK NINE
You Is For Your Ism
with free assorted missives
from the combined Old and New
FLOPP TESTAMENT

Nobody knows where Hogbert Guthrie came from, not even himself. All that is known about him is that he was a very solitary individual who spent his whole life looking to find the answer to the question why not? Signs of his having visited Wroxeter and Viroconium were found when pilgrims traced his footprints from the Vale of The Pilt Down Man to Wrexham. However all signs of Guthrie came to an abrupt end when the trail ended at Wrexham railway station and the Government passed a law making it a criminal offence to stalk anyone. The law was reversed the following year when the New World Order Party party took control and made it a criminal offence to be stalked.
  After the birth of Prince Alizia Kronzberg, a little known bastard from Iceland, attention shifted from Hogbert Guthrie for a short while. But only for a short while. Prince Kronzberg proved to be the world’s biggest boring fart. However, it made him internationally famous and he was well able to retire on the profits of his scandalously boring past.
  Following the public repeal of the abolition of hair dye in early 2004, the United Nations sanded all of Michelangelo’s interior graffiti from the Sistine Chapel, a development which invoked stinging rebuke from the Pope and tremendous wealth to Sotheby’s who gained the rights to sell the sanded dust grains individually at auction, a task which it is estimated will provide for continuing employment at Sotheby’s for several thousands of years to come.

What they say about Hogbert Guthrie

"Who?"
Gay Byrne

"Oh yeah. I remember him, he was the guy everyone forgot
when that prince wossisname came along"
A Gobi nomad

"I wish I could have said I knew him"
Hogbert Guthrie

 

THE BOOK OF SADISMS
(formerly the Book of Phewisms)
BOOK ONE
Your Ism Is For You
&
BOOK NINE
You Is For Your Ism
with free assorted missives from the combined Old and New
FLOPP TESTAMENT

Hogbert Guthrie
ORANG-UTANG BOOKS
AN ORANG-UTANG BOOK : 0 035 361665 7
Originally published in Nova Scotia by Madmen Publishing Ltd
PRINTING HISTORY
Madmen edition published
Orang-utang edition published
Orang-utang edition published

Orang-utang edition publishedOrang-utang edition published
Copyright©Hogbert Guthrie

The right of Hogbert Guthrie to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections
77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988

Condition of Sale
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out,
eaten by dogs or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent
in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition including
this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser or dog owner.
This book was set in 8.5 Bookplate and 10pt Memoir by
Gomez Data, Porta Rico
Orang-utang Books are published by New Mission Publishers
Limerick Ireland

 

CHAPTERS
In Numerical Order with chapter title annotations
I. A BIG MOUTH IS A SMALL SIGN OF A BIG MIND
The original Jethro Tull pondering aloud on what to say to King Arthur
II. I WAS SEXUALLY ABUSED BY WOMEN.
King Kong to a passing cloud
III. FAT IS FAT BUT OBESE IS FATTER
Keith Moon on meeting Fats Domino
IV. HUMANS SHOULD THINK BEFORE SLEEPING WITH AN ALLIGATOR
Unfinished John Coltrane title song
V. IF YOU THINK I’M GAY YOU HAVE A PROBLEM
Elizabeth Hurley at The Paris Fashion Show
VI. LIVING TO EAT IS INVERSELY OPPOSITE TO EATING TO LIVE
Robert Rankin in his play Learning To Live With Sprouts
VII. MAKE CERTAIN YOU ARE AWAKE BEFORE GOING TO SLEEP
Rip Van Winkle
VIII. NEVER COUNT YOUR MONEY AFTER ITS GONE
Miss Terish Pharisee Jnr.
IX. ALWAYS GIVE YOURSELF SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO
Heinrich Goerbels
X. NEVER GET TOO CLOSE TO SOMEONE AT FIRST
Judas Iscariot in his autobiography Suicidal Recollections of Gesthemane
XI. NEVER PLAY TAG WITH GORILLAS-THEY HATE LOSING
Ayatollah Khomeini
XII. ONLY OURSELVES CAN BE OURSELVES AND OTHERS OTHERS
God (to His shadow, according to Lucifer)
XIII. THE COMPUTER IS MIGHTIER THAN THE BRAIN
Erikson Nerdsoft
XIV. TREE CLIMBING ELEPHANTS ARE HARMLESS UNTIL THEY FALL
Hannibal Lector
XV. ONLY THE BRAVE SEEK TO KNOW THE TRUTH
Anon but believed uttered by a Stepney mother on changing the first diaper
XVI. A FRIEND IS SOMEONE YOU DON’T RELY ON
Colonel Gaddafi
XVII. YOU NEVER SEE OLD LADIES RUNNING UP CURTAINS
Rolf Harris
XVIII. YOU ARE NOT WHO YOU THINK YOU WERE YOU WERE WHAT YOU THINK
Alfred Einstein to his nurse
XIX. I USED TO BE CONCEITED, NOW I’M PERFECT. YOU MAY THINK I’M JOKING BUT I KNOW IT’S TRUE.
Popular Limerick saying said by Graham Gill, former British army cook of Derby, England
XX. ALWAYS A JOURNALIST ONCE A JOURNALIST
Rupert Murdoch to his cat
XXI. THE WHOLE WORLD’S A TV SOAP AND EVERYONE A PART OF THE SHOWER
Oral B. Lange
XXII. IF WIT WAS FRESH AIR I COULD FLY AROUND THE WORLD FOR FREE
Richard Branson when founding Virgin Records
XXIII. LIFE IS NEVER SIMPLE - ITS ALWAYS JUST TOO EASY
Bill Gates
XXIV. ADOLF HITLER WAS AN ALIEN-TRUE OR FALSE?
Gene Roddenberry
XXV. ET WAS THE HEAD OF THE GESTAPO-TRUE OR FALSE?
Gene Roddenberry
XXVI. AN ISM A DAY KEEPS MADNESS AWAY
Dr. Karl Jung
XXVII. THE MEEK SHALT INHERIT THE PUSSY
Frank Zappa admonishment
XXVIII. HE WHO BAFFS LAST BAFFS LONGEST
Archimedes
XXIX. THE THING TO REMEMBER ABOUT GOD IS THAT YOU ARE NOT HIM
Attributed to the first monkey in space
XXX. I IS THE QUALTIMATUM OF THE ISM
Lou Reed
XXXI. OF ALL THE THINGS I’VE LOST IN LIFE I MISS MY MIND THE MOST
Mohammed Ali
XXXII. GROAN IS WHERE THE FART IS
Sir Winston Churchill
XXXIII. TRUE WISDOM IS KNOWING WHAT YOU DON’T
Nostradamus’s parrot
XXXIV. THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MALE AND FEMALE FROGS IS YES AND NO
Sir Patrick Moore
XXXV. NEVER FORGET TO STOP FINDING THINGS OUT AS YOU GO ALONG
Robert J Oppenheimer
XXXVI. ONE SADIST IS ONE TOO MANY
Eunuch boy George
XXXIX. A WALRUS ATE MY TOUPEE
Bruce Springsteen
XXXVII. IT IS GOOD TO KNOW THE LIMITATIONS OF FALSE TEETH
Chief Rattling Molars, Panasoke Indian from the Dental Plate region
XXXVIII. NECROMANOLOGY WAS INVENTED BY THE RANKIN SOFTWARE CORPORATION
Erikson Nerdsoft from his Treatise on Global Ideology

 

Hogbert Guthrie


There can only ever be one Hogbert Guthrie and on this site NewsMediaNews is proud to exclusively preview each chapter of his astonishingly funny new book in full.

Unfortunately the book is not available on general release at this point in time as Mr Guthrie is embroiled in arguments with his publishers over his name. They want him to change it to something authorish but he won't.

 

CHAPTER ONE

A Big Mouth Is A Small Sign Of A Big Mind
The original Jethro Tull pondering aloud on what to say to King Arthur

STANDING on one leg in the shower with head flung back and a finger jammed up each nostril to stop the blast of water irrigating your lungs might not be your idea of perfect meditation.
Eating uncooked broccoli at the same time might seem over the top, but to Jack Flopp the onrush of tepid water swirling the vegetable fragments down his gullet was instrumental in releasing the broccoli’s true modis mentim. He found it the only soothing process in a world of total banality and he savoured the knowledge that for many years physivegans, who study plant psychology but were named by a dumbkopf, would for many years puzzle over the correct translation of modis mentim.
He was lazily scratching his balls with the stump of the chewed broccoli when by astonishingly new developmental technology in one split instant eight thousand gallons of concentrated sulphuric acid jetted from the shower drain hole.
Jack was glad he had taken the trouble over many years in concentrating on standing on one leg in the shower with a finger stuffed up each nostril and his head flung back while eating raw broccoli.
The discipline had honed his senses to perfection even though shamefully he no longer got blow jobs in the shower and the added discipline of his own invention of curling his ears flat against the back of his head meant that with his head flung back as in the shower, his ears were pointing directly up and down despite the fact that he was looking backwardly upwards, if you see what I mean.
It should be noted that Jack’s ears had grown so sensitive through this technique that quite often during the annual Plaideas showers he would be disturbed out of his sleep by the irritating sound of space particles striking the dark side of the moon.
It should also be noted that the technique is one that must never be practised but must be undertaken with full familiarity each time it is carried out.
Jack heard the click of the opening valve that released the acid and which was concealed in a derelict warehouse four blocks away. Such was the devastating speed of his reaction that he was out of the shower, had raced to the cashpoint then to the hardware store for four tubes of acid-resistant shower sealant, raced back, fed the dog, the cats and the budgerigar, put a microwave dinner for himself in the oven, booked an early morning telephone alarm call and even remembered that the night before he’d forgotten where he’d placed his lighter while adding a further chapter to his novel complete with orchestral score, then he was racing to the bathroom and had closed and sealed the door with the four tubes of sealant before the acid had even risen eight inches from the shower tray.
It happened so quick he’d even been able to detach himself from his vision, which remained focused on the shower ceiling until he sat down to eat his porridge after sealing the door for a second time. More on the second time in a few paragraphs.

Jack was a remarkable man. I hate to say it so blandly. In a way he was glad. Glad because he’d been meaning to get some descaler for the lavatory but the acid would save him the job. Sitting now at the kitchen table eating the microwave dinner with his morning cup of tea he wondered how such dinners had replaced biscuits in his life. He was now eating an average of 180 TV dinners and having 275 orgasms each week and the numbers had been known to go higher when he was on holiday.
He cocked an ear to a conversation taking place in New York’s Niemen Marcus Tower because he’d picked up the phrase "…it’s insignificant, really…", but blocked it out when it just proved to be a bunch of Brazilian shysters planning to abduct every English-speaking female in the world over the age of 16. He didn’t even bother waiting to find out what they intended but just closed ever so slightly the microstamina adjustable wavelength part of his hearing so as to rid the nuisance. He knew that the acid had filled the bathroom from floor to ceiling, had swelled like an angry bluebottle against a window to get out.
He knew it because he’d left his watch in the shower. This time he’d unsealed the shower and resealed it faster than sealing it the first time after grabbing his watch without one molecule of the acid escaping or touching any part of him.
He’d noticed that the acid was pregnant against the ceiling and walls and that his toothbrush was suddenly bald.
He knew it was only a matter of time before he could buy a new pair of shoes. The pair he had were comfortable to the extreme but were boring. Very boring. They did nothing except stupidly encase his feet and give him a problem.
The problem stemmed from the fact that his great great Jewish uncle had been a staunchly devout man who believed in throwing nothing away. The first time the other kids at school had called him a circumcised fart even though he wasn’t stlll meant more to Jack than when he passed his doctorate in colonostery many years later. It proved that he was being true to a small part of his before.
He was able to move at such speed that his life had almost virtually transcended friction and he hated throwing things away that were not worn down so he was resigned to being stuck with the boring shoes.
The beauty of his life was such that it provided continuous motivation for him to slow down a bit. Jack considered lesser mortals who spent their time thinking thoughts of such magnitude as tipping a station wagon load of trash over a cliff and then singing a song about it for nearly 40 minutes in some New York restaurant. He realised good fortune had illuminated his life.
Why then would someone wish to send eight thousand gallons of sulphuric acid up through his shower drain while he was using the shower? There is perhaps more to this than first meets the eye. Enter Arnold Profukuov.

ARNOLD Profukuov was but a babe in a pram listening to Independence Day on his headphones and contemplating Laura's black and purpley-mauve leggings when the then three-year-old Jack Flopp rode by on his tricycle somewhere near a patch of wasteland in Tyne and Wear.
Jack was returning to his home after a brief visit to the newly opened Dunkin Donuts over which everyone had been eloquently waxing, including all the frightfully obnoxious old hags who now had nary a hairy leg between them, much to their shagrin [correct].
Without slowing his breakneck speed across the patch of wasteland Jack tossed high the container of Dunkin Donuts coffee, which looped and ellipsed and twisted in monotonous cheap movie magic before falling accurately onto the head of one Arnold Profukuov in his pram.
Arnold never forgot the incident. It burned in his memory like a homocidal ant. The polystyrene cup had been empty, that was the worst of it. The deliciously tempting aroma of Dunkin Donuts coffee wafted from the empty container and impregnated Arnold with a feverish desire that would have to remain unsatiated until he himself was old enough to tricycle on down to Dunkin Donuts, assuming there had been no stock exchange collapse by then that is.
By the age of 12 months, just six months later, the unsatiated feverish desire had escalated into a blind nuclear inferno.
‘Whatever is wrong with dear little Arnold?’ neighbours would comment in passing his pram wherein he reposed in his wasteland paradise. ‘He looks so irritable.’ It has always struck me as odd how neighbours share the common propensity of vastly underestating the very truth before their own eyes.

NONE of this of course has one iota of bearing on the so-called Contrarians. It was all just the start of a part of this story that has no part or start anywhere else and does not really start until page 38. Life is often like that.
'Life is often like that,' said Chief Contrarian Auldomee Roote.
That very morning just under two thousand Contrarians had been chain sawed to death by a private logging company.
It was all very complex. The logging company had been sub contracted by the road building division of the Erikson Nerdsoft empire which in turn was demolishing one of the most protected segments of historically rich landscapes, namely Woodhenge. Stonehenge had long ago been sold to the Japanese and was now only partly rebuilt on a Pacific atoll after half of the blocks went missing during shipping.
The protected landscape was being demolished to make way for a new 14 billion section of eight-lane motorway that would chop a full 45 seconds off the journey from London to Aberdeen. The whole project was under the auspices of the New World Order Party party.
At first there had been the expected little ummings and ahhings when it was learned that the new road would cut across country from London to Bristol, then down to Plymouth and across again to Norwich, Holyhead, Margate and the small Scottish Highland Argyle cattle commuter village of Forsinard in that order before continuing back down to Aberdeen.
However the New World Party party’s persuasive argument that the road would prove more cost effective by making it accessible to more traffic quelled the arguments until the highways department announced that it was rerouting the road through Woodhenge to avoid a bush used as an outdoor lavatory by a spinster who lived in a rusty old caravan and who had lodged an objection.
The Contrarians came into the picture when New World Order Party party members failed dismally to respond to questions concerning the new road.
Party leader Major John Smith-Beecham-Nurd, who bore no relation to Erikson Nerdsoft, gave a masterful display of pedantics when he was interviewed by The World Tomorrow at 4am on a Sunday.
The interview with Michael Balls went as such.
Smith Beecham-Nurd: 'What did you say your name was?'
Balls: ‘Balls.’
Smith-Beecham-Nurd: ‘Balls. And the question?’
Balls: ‘As you know a great deal of controversy has erupted over the government’s decision to send the road through Woodhenge. We understand that the activists known as the Contrarians intend chaining themselves to the timbers of Woodhenge in protest. What is your reaction to that?’
Smith-Beecham-Nurd: (Looking at the camera suddenly bursts into spluttering sniggers and mutters Balls. Balls! Balls, aha ha ha ha, then quickly apologises and continues:) 'You will know that last week the New World Order Party party commissioned a whole new programme of ship building with a 100 million new shipbuilding yard to be built on an industrial estate on the outskirts of Salisbury.
‘That, as you know, Mr Balls… (struggles to contain more laughter)… gave rise also to the necessity of a new canal to be built from Salisbury to the Isle of Man, with a raised cantilever bridge system carrying the canal across the northern part of the Irish Sea to the Isle of Man, from where the new ships will then be launched after sailing along the canal from Salisbury to the Isle of Man.
‘Am I going to fast for you?’
He pauses and in the pause has time to remember the name of the man he is talking to and again bursts into fits of laughter.
‘Sorry. Granny always told me to look lightly on life. Where was I ?
‘Oh yes. In six months time we expect to launch a new programme to infect the whole population with the AIDS virus so that we can avoid the difficulties of paying law suit compensations that, or which, I don’t know, one word or the other… are brought on as a result of allegations of discriminate treatment.
‘And next week we are announcing exactly how we will be administering the death penalty in instances of thought murder. I can’t say too much about that as this stage, but I can let you know that we have found a way of harnessing microwaves emitted by mobile telephones, televisions and computers, all things that again as you know, no thought murderer can afford to be without.
‘Does that answer your question Mr Balls?’
At that point Smith-Beecham-Nurd erupted into uncontrollable guffaws and the programme was hurriedly taken off air.

Wanna read more? Go to Chapter Two