beyond the pale

Lordy!! What a day for trying to connect to the Innernets!

And what a day at the All-England Tennis Club!

So the results ….

THE JUDICIAL SYSTEM, aka SCALES OF JUSTICE
(Roger Federer, SUI)

THREW THE BOOK AT

THE MINI COOPER (Juan Carlos Ferrero, ESP)

Which is an amazing feat for an inanimate armless thingy.

JANE AUSTEN (Richard Gasquet, FRA)

IN A SHOW OF RELENTLESS PERSUASION, DISPATCHED

THE BEATLES (Andy Roddick, USA)

Miss Austen later said, “They may be bigger than Jesus, but at least He could return a serve.”

THE MAGNA CARTA (Novak Djokovic, SRB)

BEHEADED, IN THE WORST PAPER CUT EVER ….

THOMAS MORE (Marcos Baghdatis, CYP)

After the match, Mr. More’s head was spotted canoodling with Miss Thatcher’s head over Cadbury chocolates at the concessions stand.

MONTY PYTHON (Rafael Nadal, ESP)

Later in the locker room, Mr. Shakespeare cornered the newest chick reporter — the last chick reporter having quit after yesterday’s codpiece incident — and insisted she interview him.

“A man can die but once,” he said.

“But, sir, you’re not dead,” she replied.

“I am a man more sinned against than sinning.”

“It was a fair game, sir.”

“”For the rain it raineth every day,” he sighed.

“Okaaay, well …. it has been raining a lot.”

“”Fair is foul, and foul is fair!”

“Are you talking about baseball now, sir?”

“Delays have dangerous ends,” he reminded her.

“But you finished the game.”

“Having nothing, nothing can he lose.”

“Well, but, you did lose the match.”

“Now is the winnnter of our discontent.”

“Yeaah …. well, sorry you’re so depressed about it.”

And with that, the chick reporter left our poetic loser to his random asides.

Mr. Shakespeare was last seen wandering the locker room, mumbling repeatedly to his racket, “Is this a dagger which I see before me?” and wearing nothing but his autographed codpiece.

See you on the courts, peeps.

What? All I can say is I’m overly tired.

Okay. Matches to watch:

THOMAS MORE (Marcos Baghdatis, CYP)

VS

THE MAGNA CARTA (Novak Djokovic, SRB)

Also …..

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (Thomas Berdych, CZE)

VS

MONTY PYTHON (Rafael Nadal, ESP)

Good luck, gentlemen. And paper.

And now for something completely different ……

MONTY PYTHON (Rafael Nadal, ESP)

FARTED IN THE GENERAL DIRECTION OF

ALEC GUINNESS (Mikhail Youzhny, RUS)

Who muttered glumly afterwards, “If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine,” which did seem likely, that is, until the Messrs. Python made castanets of his testicles, already.

Okay. Here we go!!

Today at Wimbledon …..

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (Thomas Berdych, CZE)

OUTED THE DAMNED SPOT OF

TYPHOO INSTANT WHITE TEA (Jonas Bjorkman, SWE)

Later, in the locker room, Mr. Shakespeare, unasked, autographed his codpiece and offered it to the newest chick reporter, who said, “Uhm, ew,” and tried to distract the eerily energetic loser by asking for comment on the match. Mr. Shakespeare just stared at the girl and declared, “See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”

The reporter, confused, said nothing.

Mr. Shakespeare continued to leer at the girl, all the while claiming to be “not stepping o’er the bounds of modesty” and such. As he stood there, not dressing, the intrepid chick reporter just stared at the floor and said, “Uhm …. this is getting a little weird …. so, uhm … good luck in the next round and all.” Mr. Shakespeare just grunted and slipped on his black satin lounge pants. The girl rushed from the room and Mr. Shakespeare called after her, “Get thee to a nunnery! And take mine codpiece with thee!”

In other action …..

THOMAS MORE (Marcos Baghdatis, CYP)

BEHEADED

MARGARET THATCHER (Nikolay Davydenko, RUS)

Which is just rude. Miss Thatcher’s head could not be reached for comment. Mr. More was last seen with a doctor frantically dressing an old neck wound that had unfortunately reopened during the strenuous match. The doctor, a small, efficient Korean gentleman, smiled and waved to cameras, calling reassuringly, “Mr. More be fine! He be FINNNE!”

ALSO ….

THE MAGNA CARTA (Novak Djokovic, SRB)

EXTREMELY LIMITED THE POWER OF ….

THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER (Lleyton Hewitt, AUS)

Later in the locker room, The Book of Common Prayer — a shocking bad sport — groused, “That Magna Carta’s going straight to hell, you know.” The Magna Carta, busy dabbing sweat off its brittle yellow papers, overheard this, and rolled, enraged, over to The Book of Common Prayer. “Oh, yeah?” it glowered. “Well, get up, Prayer Boy! Time to open up a can of habeus corpus on your ass!” Things went south rather quickly, as sounds of ripping and crumpling could be heard echoing through the locker room hallway.

Stay tuned …. more results from today to come!

Okay. First, keep scrolling down. There’s LOTS of news!!

Second — the “”no bueno” here — I’m having major computer problems. Like “I can’t log on to the Innernets” computer problems. I don’t know how I got on right now, to be quite honest. Given what’s going on ’round here, this is a wee bit inconvenient. Something to do with my wireless connection, blahblahblah. I’ll have to haul myself down to the Apple Store tomorrow or something to have those weird dudes at their “genius bar” help me becaaause, also …. I’m going out of town this weekend on a long-planned, ill-advised trip to Zion, Utah with my whole family. Including my mom, of course. Which isn’t awkward at all. Weeeee! But maybe, fingers crossed, I will be devoured by a crazed bee-arrr.

Peeps! I need my computer working or how can I report the very very important Best Thing Ever news this weekend? And escape from, you know, it ALL? And hide from crazed bee-arrrs that I really don’t want to have devour me?

We are not Timothy Treadwell, thank you.

So if things go south over here, I may appoint a proxy game mistress to serve in my techno-challenged stead. I already have the perfect person in mind, if she’d be up to it.

Anyway, peeps …..

Lord. Such drama.

Sooo …. the next matches at Wimbledon will feature some heavy, hard-hitting duels. Earth-shattering, really. Deep deep stuff here. I mean, look, we have:

THE BEATLES (Andy Roddick, USA)

VS

JANE AUSTEN (Richard Gasquet, FRA)

AND

MARGARET THATCHER (Nikolay Davydenko, RUS)

VS

THOMAS MORE (Marcos Baghdatis, CYP)

(Yowza!!)

ANNND

THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER (Lleyton Hewitt, AUS)

VS

THE MAGNA CARTA (Novak Djokovic, SRB)

(Let us pray.)

FINALLY ….

ALEC GUINNESS (Mikhail Youzhny, RUS)

VS

MONTY PYTHON (Rafael Nadal, ESP)

I am all a’twitter.

“More latest”?? Yep. You heard me. Tha’s whut I done said.

Elsewhere today at Wimbledon:

JANE AUSTEN (Richard Gasquet, FRA)

MADE HERSELF A FINE MATCH AND THOROUGHLY EMMA-ED OVER
(ed.: Uhm, I cannot stop; I am gross)

DOUGLAS ADAMS (Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, FRA)

Upon leaving the court, but still within earshot, Mr. Adams and Miss Austen could be heard verbally sparring; he, accusing her of playing with extreme pride, no small prejudice, blahblah, and she, defending the great sense and sensibility of her entire game’s strategy. Miss Austen then mumbled something about the delightful advantage a guide to the galaxy might prove to a gentleman in the unfavourable position of making himself disagreeable in every last earthly place. She then repaired to her locker room, leaving Mr. Adams to his sullen reverie.

(Oh, forgive me, Jane Austen! I love you so much!)

Bon voyage ….. DOUGLAS ADAMS! Wave everyone!

Missy and Dave — I’ll tell ya later! It’s the 4th of July, so bear with me!

UPDATE: Go here you two!!

Well, it was a long and winding road for Simon Cowell at Wimbledon today as bang bang Roddick’s silver hammer came down upon his head.

(Uhm … I hate myself right now.)

Still, though:

THE BEATLES (Andy Roddick, USA)

after much delay, FINALLY HELTERED-SKELTERED OVER

SIMON COWELL (Paul-Henri Mathieu, FRA)

Meanwhile, back in the locker room with a different chick reporter from the one scared off by The Sex Pistols yesterday, Cowell struggled out of his tennis whites and into the kind of tight black T-shirt generally frowned upon by The All-England Tennis Club and robust heterosexuals everywhere, all whilst declaring, “Well, I don’t know why they keep getting put through to the next round; I mean, they’re really not very good, but it seems they’re POPular with the public, people keep voting for them, but, really, the whole thing is comPLETELY beyond me. I simply don’t get it.”

When the intrepid chick reporter asked, “Uhm, Mr. Cowell, what are you talking about?” Mr. Cowell smoothed down his chest hair and replied tersely, “Well, The Beatles, of COURSE.”

“The Beatles?”

“Yes.”

“Uhm, Mr. Cowell, sir. Do you even know where you are? This is Wimbledon. I asked you about Andy Roddick.”

“Who??”

“Andy Roddick.”

“What?? What are you talking about?? This is TOtally biZARRE. Look, you have very nice legs, but I don’t think you have the SLIGHTest idea how to conduct an interview. Now run along and find Poorla. I need more of those little pills she has. And if you can’t find her, get Churchill. Off you go.”

BOOO-BYE, SIMON!

WOO-HOO! Andy and Katie!

The exciting random drawing just occurred right here on the sofa at Chez Pale!

Check at the post of playahs to find your Wimbledon alter ego!

Ooooohhh! Will the thrills never end??

(Dave and Missy — Still waiting on yours. Rain, ACK!)