So, there I was, me, Chris Fartin, walking down the street, minding my owny-own, thinking of me gwinny, beloved equine, when what what happens? What what? Some young ruffian, an oik who probably used to listen to Oasis points right at me and says to his friends 'Look at that c*nt. Now there's a face you wanna slap'!

 

The horror!

 

Now, he's not entirely wrong. I've been known to inexplicably slap the odd mirror in my time. But as the oik marched towards me, with a much tougher slap about him, I thought, 'what to do, what to do'?

 

A. Slap him with my rolled-up degree certificate. It's from UCL, you know.

 

B. Run like a girl to my gwinny.

 

But, my friends, I did neither. As he gained, I turned. I blew hot air.

 

"Oh, you want to stop before you begin

You want to sink before you could swim

You want to stop before you begin

Never give in, never give in"

 

Well, the oik was blown right back into the JDsports from whence he sprang. Hurrah, I thought. But that was not the end, my brethren. His mates began to gang up on me. They marched as one, pointing, jeering, clenching their fists. What did I do, my friends? Yes. I blew hot air.

 

"Hold me tight, don't let go

Forever be yours in this bright new dawn

Open up your eyes for a big new surprise

Fixing despise changing civilization yeah brand new world etc"

 

With that, my friends, I banished the oiks forever! Now, you would think I would appear a little smug after such a feat...

nice thread, the visuals are great. love your potty name. made me laugh today. thanks so which one of our genius's is this?

hahaha loved! :D

I didn't stop to laugh

you are totally funny .

 

Your name is just plain brilliant, oh dear my eyes... :laugh3: *wipes away tears of laughter*

And my stomach hurts from laughing so hard :lol:

so which one of our genius's is this?[/color]

 

Aw, shucks (parp!), you know you'll make me look smug. But I feel my disciples should learn about my art.

 

I am Chris Fartin. I blow hot air. I discussed the intricacies of my art, my brethren, once before, in a gay thread (he who has ears to hear, hear, but no-one heard), for the lack of a burning bush or a mount from which to sermonise. Learn from me, children, and you can blow hot air too.

 

I repeat from the original hot-blown text -

 

 

I sat. I strained.

 

But wait – wha happen?

 

I blew hot air.

 

‘Where To, where do I go?

If you never try, then you'll never know.

How long do I have to climb,

Up on the side of this mountain of mine?’

 

Man, I thought, this is potent stuff. I called up those other guys in Coldplay. I held the phone below and let them hear the divine, etheral, other-worldly wisdom that is borne from my body. They listened. They believed. Their heads exploded one by one, each pop louder than the last. Hearing their praise, the inspiration grabbed me once again. I squeezed and squeezed and light was blown into this dark, dark world.

 

 

‘On a hill top, on a sky-rise

Like a first born child

At full tilt, and in full flight

Defeat darkness, breaking daylight’

 

I’ll think you’ll agree, my enlightened ones, that that is profound. Hot, and smelly, and profound. Sometimes, when I expound my utterings in song form, I topple around on the podium. Some say it is my style. Some say it is my passion. But truly, my children, I have no say. I topple and keel, for I am blown hither and thither like a spiritual rocket. I feel the heat behind. However, the world shall believe. Sit at my feet, little ones.

 

 

‘Bones sinking like stones

All that we fall for

Homes places we’ve grown

All of us are done for’

 

 

Yes, the world is a tragic place. Folk yearn with a collective spiritual ache that very few men have the power to heal. People stop me in the street, in cafes, in public lavatories. They ask, agog, ‘Chris, where does this wisdom come from? Show us the light!’ I put down my skinny latte. I stand, I beckon, and they follow. We step together into the public commode, but I alone enter the cubicle. I am hidden from their sight. If they could see it, they would understand.

 

If you could see it, you would understand.

:lol:

Sometimes, when I expound my utterings in song form, I topple around on the podium

 

Aaaah, so that's why Chris jiggles about on stage so much - wind powered dancing eh? Thanks for enlightening us Yakabu ;)

 

:laugh3:

I don't get it. this isn't funny :thinking:

How perfect, I just started a new thread that's a little related to this one entitled "Coldplay vs. ...?"

Hmm....

I discussed the intricacies of my art, my brethren, once before, in a gay thread (he who has ears to hear, hear, but no-one heard),

 

Oh, how intellectually potent art thou!! What made you deem us worthy of such mastery literature? Uniqueness is a trait not to be taken for granted, but, alas, still a basher you are, oh, most enlightened master!! Consequently, what say you about taking your "art" elsewhere? At least until you shall take it upon yourself to create some of your OWN bashful art, instead of using still Mr. Martin's verses as souce of inspiration.

 

Yous faithfully,

An enlightened child

 

P.S.: Sorry. I usually don't respond to this types of threads, but this was just too tempting. :D

"We step together into the public commode, but I alone enter the cubicle. I am hidden from their sight. If they could see it, they would understand."

:laugh3: Love it!

Hear ye, hear ye! Fart jokes stopped being funny when you were 10!

Dear Wider, Non-academic Public,

 

Forgive the intrusion into your forum of Mr. Fartin, I believe he used to be a student of mine. I am Professor Giles Snark, Director of the Coldplay Studies MA programme at the University of Croydon. Mr. Fartin, I surmise, fell under the influence of a colleague of mine, one Sir Humphry Doorstopper, who lectured once or twice at the college, and tried to plague the department with his dissenting ideas.

 

Doorstopper, a Wagnerian at heart, felt that if there is to be bombast, there must be content that necessitates it, and he declared that our object of study on the course fell a tad short of this ideal. Fortunately, the man perished before he could publish, though his ideas disseminated via the more radical students, like young Mr. Fartin here.

 

Upon finding the late Sir Humphry’s notes, my colleagues and I discussed the matter over pipes and beards in the Coldplay Studies common room. I read the abstract aloud to my audience:

 

“Does Chris Martin blow hot air?

 

This thesis poses the above question and attempts to answer it. I believe that Chris Martin blows hot air. His words, at a glance, appear to have great import, but merely mask the fact that he has nothing to say. Frequently, they amount to nonsense. Worse, in his lyrics, Mr. Martin posits himself almost as a seer, suggesting that he can lead his listeners to some ill-defined new age of understanding and enlightenment. Such condescension stirs anger within the hearts of men and leads the finest of them to spit on busses. Like other so-called founts of spiritual wisdom, he climbed to this position in order to lunch with Madonna and sip lattes in Primrose Hill cafes. The music surrounding is itself but a sometimes loud and always empty front of nothingness. Mr. Martin is a charlatan. Harumph.”

 

Thankfully, Sir Humphry did not live to finish his work.

 

I admit it might be foolhardy to address such topics to the partisan fora, but in the interest of disinterested truth, I feel that knowledge of such arguments can only make us stronger and more virile.

 

Any questions, please address to my secretary, Mrs Farmley-Butterworth. I shall be watching the Watchmen this evening. Oh, that Comedian! What a cad.

 

Yours, as ever,

 

 

Professor Giles Snark

Fine, you may get one golden star for that speech

Fine, you may get one golden star for that speech

 

:lol:

Oh, man, Coldplay? That's some seriously faggy shit right there. Now listen up. Girls don't dig guys who dig whiney, faggy music. That's a fact. Check me. I can benchpress 375 pounds. I look sweet n' raw in my vest with my arms all showing. You and me? Who do you think's gonna get the ladies?

 

I tell the Coldplay fans at my school about this shit. Less Coldplay = more ass. I try to help 'em. Do they listen? Hell, no. It's like they're scared to get laid or something.

 

“Does Chris Martin blow hot air?

 

This thesis poses the above question and attempts to answer it. I believe that Chris Martin blows hot air. His words, at a glance, appear to have great import, but merely mask the fact that he has nothing to say. Frequently, they amount to nonsense. Worse, in his lyrics, Mr. Martin posits himself almost as a seer, suggesting that he can lead his listeners to some ill-defined new age of understanding and enlightenment. Such condescension stirs anger within the hearts of men and leads the finest of them to spit on busses. Like other so-called founts of spiritual wisdom, he climbed to this position in order to lunch with Madonna and sip lattes in Primrose Hill cafes. The music surrounding is itself but a sometimes loud and always empty front of nothingness. Mr. Martin is a charlatan. Harumph.”

 

 

 

Dude, I agree with your sentiments, but I still think you guys are pretty faggy. You work in a college, right? Well, you remind me of the chumps that my buds and I used to gather up in the men's room and flush their heads down one by one. Ha, ha. Good times. You see, up there in your ivory towers, you don't know how things play out in the real world. Down in my neck of the woods, you wouldn't last five seconds. My buds would introduce you to some judo holds like you've never felt and my black friend, Stewart, he'd totally put a cap in yo' ass. But then I guess you guys are in Europe n' all, that's all faggy commie bullshit, where they want everyone to be commie like them and let the terrorists win. You need to bolster up, give them beats, same with these Coldplay fans cos' they don't listen neither. They ain't never gonna get laid, so what the hell, more ass for me. My buds and me, we'll be out looking for some Coldplay-listening fags to wail on after Transformers 2 tonight. You all better stay in your bedrooms.

 

Any of the lady Coldplay fans, this don't apply. I can teach you better than this. I'll show you a good time you won't get from crying in your bedrooms listening to this shit. Look me up. I'm Brian Parmesan.

:whip:

:lol:

Okay Brian, have some ass and be happy :nice:

 

Oh and when exactly is Transformers 2 coming out? :wideeyed:

Hi Thalia !

I don't know who Brian is, but in France the Transformers 2 is already out ;)

Hi Thalia !

I don't know who Brian is, but in France the Transformers 2 is already out ;)

Hey!

 

I don't know either who he is! :lol:

 

And HOLY SHIT it's already out in France!? :bigcry:

I think I have to wait a few more weeks until it comes out here... lame Germany :dozey:

:lol:that so funny,I cant stop laughing!!

What's funny Amy ? :thinking:

 

I'm sorry Thalia, you'll have to wait a bit... Poor Germans :P