The Bugle - Bonus Bugle – Bugle requests

Episode Date: November 22, 2013

Andy introduces some Bugle highlights, as requested on Twitter Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This is a podcast from TheBuglePodcast.com The Bugle, audio newspaper for a visual world. Hello Buglers and no welcome from me, Andy Zaltzman, this week. Regardless of whether or not I'm in London, which I very much doubt I'm not, because I'm afraid this is not a Bugle, it is another supplementary bonus sub-demi-Bugle. I'm afraid John's filming schedule has again kept him away from his beloved microphone. I can't remember exactly what he's doing this week. It's either another episode of the hit sitcom Community that he stars in, or it could be that he's voicing the part of Calvin Coolidge's penis in a new animated feature documentary film entitled President's Prongs.

Possibly the resurrection scene from the Justin Bieber biopic he's been rather surprisingly cast as Bieber in, or it might be I forget his schedule, I think he could be rehearsing for his role in this year's Fox News nativity play in which Barack Obama announces plans to kill all first-born children.

Now, no smoke without fire. So, I'm afraid, once again, in our disrupted recent Bugle schedule, another week off, Rob Ford, the Toronto mayor, is going to have to wait another week. But don't worry, Bugles, hopefully by next Friday we'll be able to do a Seven Deadly Sins special entirely on him. Also waiting until next week is the housing estate in Liverpool, shaped unquestionably like a gentleman's grumble, schlapper and cahoots,

to which a lot of you have alerted us. And I mean a lot of you. Also going to await another story of architectural importance, the well-cut football stadium in Qatar, that is in a lovely twist on the previous story, going to be shaped unmistakably like a lady's subdominal capulch. And it's wonderful to see Qatar finally embracing feminism, albeit only in the medium of stadium architecture.

FIFA headleach Sepp Blatter met the Pope this week. He tweeted, Incredible moments to meet the Holy Father. I'm sure the feeling was entirely mutual. And talk about how football can help connect people and build bridges. Well, if reports on the preparations for the 2022 World Cup in Qatar are to be believed, football does indeed connect people, albeit by tethering them together and making them work as slaves in a chain gang.

And when he says football builds bridges, what he actually means is football builds stadiums shaped like genitals. I'm afraid that will have to wait. So instead of a bugle, I asked you via the medium of Twitter to submit your request for this week's sub-bugle. And this came in from at Recall2Life, who writes, hotties from history mashup, please, for old time's sake. Well, no mashup, but for newer buglers who wouldn't have encountered the hotties from history phenomenon. Let's go right back to how it all started, way back no match-up, but for newer buglers who wouldn't have encountered the Hotties from History phenomenon, let's go right back to how it all started, way back in Bugle 8,

when somehow John banging on about election funding in America spawned Hotties from History, the greatest outbreak of retrospective lust in human history since 15th century Italian painting with Sandro Botticelli thought to himself, Venus, standing in a giant scallop shell with her bling-blangs out, oh, yeah, I'm going to get me some paint. Electioneering here in America has become almost like a telethon. Each candidate has an illuminated totaliser going up to $1 billion, and whoever can make the bill on top of it ring first is pretty much president. In fact, we had a question emailed in from Samuel DiBella for the American saying being an American myself I'm shocked that you yourself would attempt to represent all of America it is

firmly set in my beliefs that the only type of person who should represent America is one who has spent several hundreds of million dollars for the right. This money should, of course, be obtained from backroom deals with corporate conglomerates. Good letter, Sam, and of course, that is the case. The last American presidential election, the Republicans spent $214 million and the Democrats around $145 million, which shows that the Republicans do have to bribe people more per vote than the Democrats. Does it not show, Andy, that the Republicans care more about democracy because they're willing to pay more for it, to run it?

I guess that could be so, yeah. You say potato, I also, of course, say potato. Give it a couple of years, John. The candidates here aren't just content to sit and wait for the compromising donations to thud in from big business. They're willing to come up with some schwag to hawk to the American public as well. Some what, John? Some what? Schwag. Schwag.

Potato. Potato. Within, probably within a year. Barack Obama is selling ringtones for your mobile phones of him shouting about healthcare. You can be woken up by that when your auntie calls you from Venezuela. Many of the candidates have T-shirts which cost cleverly 2008 cents. And Rudy Giuliani supporters came under fire recently for a fundraiser which cost $9.11 to get in.

It is amazing that that got past the ideas stage. That is not even misconstruing a gesture, it's construing it. That gesture was accurately construed. But the Queen is missing out here, Andy. Think of the Queen's potential merchandise. She could become self-sufficient in a heartbeat

and take herself off the taxpayers' payroll. Toy crowns, inflatable corgis, answer phone messages. People would love that. Hello! John is not in right now, but leave a message and he will get back to you. God save me! And to go with that joke, now a commemorative Bugle audio poster

to mark the Queen and Prince Philip's 60th wedding anniversary. The first time they've ever had a 60th wedding anniversary, so well done. Then which means it's also 60 years since the Queen's hen party, when I believe she went to a karaoke night and sang Oops Upside Your Head. So here is to 60 more glorious years of marriage between the Queen and Philip. 60 years after their wedding, is it time for Philip to become king or is it time for someone else to get a go with the Queen? A go with the Queen? A go as the Queen's husband.

It's too little, too little. A go with the queen's husband too little too a go with the queen pack up your things and do the right thing and check yourself into the tower of london this is not the first time andy that you've made comments regarding the queen of a sexual nature and it's really starting to make me think a bit about you know whether you are attracted to the Queen in an inappropriate way. Even if it was, I believe it's my patriotic duty to slightly fancy the Queen. After everything she's done for this country, I would just boost her self-confidence a bit.

Is it the power that gets to you, Andy? Is it the fact she's Queen and is on coins? Or would you be attracted to plain old Elizabeth Windsor from down the road? I just think there is something about a woman on a £10 note, or any banknote, and I feel the same about Florence Nightingale. Oh, God! The Queen of Florence Nightingale.

I apologise to all royalists, but I maintain Nightingale was a hottie. And then the next week, this email came in. And this one comes from Ben Falk, and it's addressed to you, John, under the subject Naughty Nurse. Oh no, I don't know the way this is heading. I take great offence at you laughing

at Andy for fancying Florence Nightingale. Oh, God. My great-great-great-grandpa fought in the Crimean War and worked for a time at Flo's hospital. Ever since then, there have been rumours that he boffed her. How dare you? Anyway, John, he writes, Florence was a babe, but probably

out of your league. Andy, you have a fine taste in women. Shame on both of you, but it's good to hear the return of boff. I think I was probably 12 the last time I heard that. So if any of you Bugle listeners

have secret attractions for historical figures, whether they be male, female, or both, please send them in to thebugle at timesonline.co.uk And thus, a legend was born. This Twitter request came in from Sugar Skull Pete,

who asked for me clearing my throat for a solid five minutes. I believe you're probably in a minority of one requesting that. And anyway, I've got a much faster way of clearing my throat than the old-fashioned cough. There you go. Clear as a nut. So what you like about the French. But they sure knew how to cure aristocrats of Qatar, which coincidentally was also the name of a spank metal band I was in at school. Nick Stoll sent in a request for a f***ing eulogy montage, but, well, montages are really quite hard work, so instead, let's just go back to the very birth of this linguistic phenomenon.

Top story this week! Ding dong, the c*** is dead. Ba-da-boom, boom, boom. Another c*** bites the dust. Shot in the eye, and you're to blame. You give c*** a bad name. This is not so much a tribute episode to Bin Laden as a special f*** eulogy to the big man. Andy, I'm glad you enjoyed that.

Yeah, I did thoroughly enjoy it. I expect to see that in a dictionary near me within two years. Andy, you ended the last bugle by saying that after the Royal Wedding, the world had nothing to look forward to anymore. And while, yes, Saturday in itself was quite boring, apart from Chelsea tightening

the gap on the Premiership title race, you have to admit that Sunday really delivered, what with that whole killing of the most wanted terrorist on the planet thing. That's right. Osama Bin Laden, the former leader of Al-Qaeda and former living inhabitants of the planet Earth, was forced

to surrender both of those titles around the time that a bullet developed a very strong attraction to his face. And he was a tall, handsome man, Bin Laden Andy, but I have to admit that I always thought that he looked even better if he'd considered getting his left eyebrow pierced with a bullet.

And I think I was right about that. I think his face was successfully accessorised with a piece of high-speed pointy metal jewellery. It's funny how well, though, isn't it, John? Because last week, most wanted man in the world, this week, a seriously malfunctioning submarine. And fish food so yeah, it just goes to show upon a slender thread so he's gone from the leader of the world's most tedious minority

interest pressure group, the man five times voted least cuddleable dude by Touchy Feely Monthly magazine the man commonly known as the rowdy Saudi, Terry the terroristist, the mighty douche, the Tora Bora law-ignorer, and the angry turnip. He had his clogs forcibly popped by American special forces. And I do wish that Barack Obama had used those words.

Yeah, absolutely. We have popped his clogs. Of course, the best place to have heard the news would undoubtedly have been Tampa, Florida, in the middle of the crowd of a live WWE wrestling event. How do I know this? That's a fair

question. Because I saw a clip on YouTube of a shirtless John Cena addressing the Tampa crowd to deliver the news at the end of a bout saying, I'm extremely proud after ten months of being your WWE champion, I walk out every night with hustle, loyalty and respect on my sleeve. It's worth pointing out that at that point, he was sleeveless.

He went on to say... Are they not the names of his dogs tattooed onto his arm? No, no, no. The president has just announced, he went on to say, that we have caught and compromised to a permanent end Osama bin Laden.

Andy, that is magnificent rhetoric from the four-time tag team champion, inventor of the twisting belly-to-belly suplex, and self-styled doctor of thuganomics.

In fact, all of those things are true. In fact, if I'm honest, I prefer what John Cena said to the president's speech. Courts and compromise to a permanent end. That is linguistically sensational. In fact, that phrase is not all that the president should have borrowed. I think he should also have walked into the East Room of the White House and said, I walk out every night with hustle, loyalty and respect on my sleeve.

I think he should also have done that shirtless in a pair of cut-off jeans holding a wide microphone before leaving to rock music and fireworks. I don't think anyone would have begrudged him that. At Pencil Cricket submitted this request. If we could hear Andy nail his testicles to the floor in protest, I might be persuaded to take out a voluntary

subscription. Well, as you know, I'll do anything to keep those voluntary subscriptions coming in at thebuglepodcast.com and, of course, while I open this can of interactive worms by asking you what you wanted in this episode, I'm not going to have to pretend they're spaghetti and chow them down. So here goes.

Ow. Ow. Well, it turns out that is a pretty effective form of acupuncture. I'm now cured of those aching knee joints I get when I jump out of a third floor window, largely because my testicles are now nailed to a ground floor floor. This one comes in from Mass Spectacular, who says you could attempt to justify the gall of recently begging for donations and then failing to deliver bugles. Well, you say that's gall. I say it is a waspish satire, maybe a right-wing satire on

leftist government, always begging for taxes. They're not giving you what we want. See, even on our weeks off here at the Bugle, we cannot help but satirise the shit out of some shit. That's just the way we roll in this franchise, by which I mean, you've got a point, sorry. After Thanksgiving, we'll be all over December like a frotting tiger on a stripy sofa sail. And to compensate, next week we will also see the launch of the new line of Bugle merch,

which will be live on the website next week, and should, just about, if Father Christmas really busts his balls this year, get to you just in time to amuse yourself and disappoint a loved one at Christmas. In next week's Thanksgiving sub-bugle, we will have a full audio fashion show of the new range, the design event of the millennium so far. A few quick ones. John Shen requests a transcript of Silvio's Bunga Bunga Party.

Ah, Silvio Berlusconi, the man who puts the Italia into Genitalia. Transcript of the Bunga Bunga Party, I do have that now. Reads a bit dry, to be honest. It just goes like this. Bunga, bunga, bunga, bunga, bunga, bunga, oh, bunga, boom. OK, it's probably more about the tone of voice than the actual content of the text. This one came in from AtCrucialTK who asks,

how about a repeat of the penis on the roof bit? What? This bit from Bugle69. Top story this week and penises on roofs. You see, Andy, the bugle is already changing. It's in LA and it's already become attention-grabbingly commercial.

We are dumbing down. It's happening. Damn this city of fallen angels. It's true, this story is indeed about Peterson on Rooves. An 18-year-old in Britain secretly painted a 60-foot drawing of a phallus on the roof of his parents' one-million-pound mansion in Berkshire. It was there for around a year before his parents found out. And they've said they're going to make him clean it off when he gets back from travelling. What a story, Andy. A fortnight ago, it was monkeys who stepped forward to take the Bugles' coveted top story slot and provide much-liked relief to a world frozen in economic fear.

This week, step forward, rooftop penises. What a story! Well, this is unquestionably the new story of the decade, I would say. I mean, there's a global recession. You can take that. You can take your funky new president in America. Your looming environmental mega-catastrophes.

Your ongoing wars. The gradual devastation of everything we as a species hold dear, and even that meteorite that's going to destroy the planet Earth next Wednesday. That's a bit of a bugle scoop, that one. But there's only one story in town in the first decade of the third millennium, and that is this boy painting a massive wang on the roof of his parents' mansion. Everything else seems irrelevant now, John. A boy's painted a gigantic Johnson on a big house. I think what this goes to show is that when times are at their toughest, John,

and when the present is bleak and the future is even bleaker, humankind will go back to basics, back to its roots, and commune with its primeval prehistoric self and draw a massive cock on something. It's happened since the dawn of time, John. Look at the Cern Abbas giants down in the West Country in England. Started off when a teenage caveman chiseled a giant willy and balls onto his parents' hill. His dad was so embarrassed

that he drew a giant man around it and pretended it was religious. When God was drawing up the blueprint for the human being, John, he created something simple, elegant, without too many vulnerable external protuberances. All of a sudden he gets a bit bored, draws a cock and balls on it, giggles, goes to bed, oversleeps and wakes to find out that his over-efficient secretary has already sent the drawing off to be made up into a living being.

That's where the problems began. I'm 31 years old. Why do I find this story so funny? We'll put the photo of this up on the website and I heartily encourage you to go and take a look at it because it truly is a work of art. Michelangelo had the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and the heavens. This kid had a roof and a massive penis. They're basically the same. But for me, this story brings up a number of key questions right yeah like one what does this do to the house price because if they find that it's actually added value then perhaps people will have to draw massive penises on their roofs to compete these are tough times i need to buy us market people

used to have the smell of freshly baked bread and coffee to shift a house now it's all about the painted roof penis i think there's another question, John. What on earth... What is that question? What on earth possessed a teenage boy to paint a massive slung on his parents' roof? And I guess the obvious answer to that is that he's a teenage boy and his parents have a roof.

And, you know, nature... Nature decreed he was going to draw a penis somewhere. OK, I have another question in retort to that, Andy. I'll point out that simply that they had it for an entire year without noticing, which really makes you think. Can anyone truly say they are 100% sure that they don't

have a massive penis on their roof right now? When was the last time you were up on your roof? A penis could be there right now. How does the lesson go? Laugh not at the penis on your neighbour's roof until you're sure that you don't have an even bigger penis on yours. It's like one of

Aesop's more obscene fables. The ones he wrote when he was drunk late at night. How about you, Andy? Can you be absolutely sure you don't have a penis on your roof? I can't be absolutely sure, John, but I can verify that no penis-shaped aircraft have landed on my roof by mistake,

thinking that was a penis craft pad. But I guess, you know, there's another way of looking at this, John, as a tangential way of answering your question about whether I've got a penis on my roof. And that is that it could be a fertility symbol. You know, maybe this lad just wanted to have a little younger brother or sister to play with. He was trying to summon the assistance of some primeval divinity to bring fruit to his mother's womb. Who knows?

All I do know, John, is that when my wife and I were trying to get pregnant for the first time, we painted a dangler and two nuggets on our roof. But unfortunately, at the time, we were living in a downstairs flat, so we had some very angry neighbours from the upstairs flat asking us to replace their living room carpet with something a little bit less obscene. Also, the parents here claim that this is their son's doing but

now let's be fair he's not there to defend himself from this charge they could be stitching him up let's play colombo for a second here because this case may be trickier than it initially appears could it be they are framing their own son to protect themselves from the truth that they painted a massive penis on their own roof and were hoping no one would notice. It's the perfect crime. Or was this a more supernatural

occurrence? Aliens have been said to regularly swoop down in the middle of the night and create mysterious crop circles. Perhaps they're branching out. They've finished their crop circle phase and now experimenting with roofs and penises. Well, I've got another explanation for this, John. I think the boy is guilty of this charge

of painting a massive penis on his parents' roof. But I think what it is, John, is it's the... I'm not saying it! It's actually the pitch markings from the old English sport of the roof game, which is an early form of football which originated on the roof of Eaton College Chapel in the 16th century. Now the story goes that an infestation of dry rot resulted in

the discoloration of the roofing timbers on the chapel in the shape of the aforementioned anatomia and during a decade of flooding the school was forced to move the entire school operation onto the chapel roof. Now they started playing the roof game using this kind of pitch marking that nature created on their roof. And now in the roof game, one team defends the nage end, named after the two semicircular shapes, one of which looked like an ecclesiastical nage, which is a two-headed sceptre used by school chaplains in medieval times. This team was known as the nagers. The other team defended the end nearest the chapel's main bell, or the bell end, where the dry rot fungi had grown bountifully around the outline of a spare bell that had been left on the roof after the school campanology society meeting

had degenerated into an alcoholic sea of fumbling homosexualism, as is traditional at schools such as Eton. So that led to a bell left unattended on the roof on a stormy night. This team, of course, was known as the Bellands. Now, the attacking side had to use the slope of the roof to curl the ball, which is originally made from the stomach of the school's least popular boy, to curl it around the defenders at the long, narrow centre of the pitch. This process was known as chaffing,

as the boys would roll up their school gowns, or chaffs, to use as slings to impart extra spin on the ball. Once a team had reached the end of the main central portion of the pitch, its players would shout the word, shaft, to signal that the shafting phase of the attack was complete. On the call of shaft, the attacking team would attempt to score. For the bellends, this involved scratching the nagers, or tagging each member of the nager defence with the ball whilst in the nager zone.

And for the nagers, a score required them to yank the bellends, in other words to wrestle the defenders out of the bellend area, leaving an attacking Nadger with the ball in the unoccupied zone. Now of course neither side scored either a yank or a scratch between 1604 and 1856, making it very like the wall game. When a successful scratching of the nudges attracted such a nationwide press interest that Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were invited to pop down the road from Windsor Castle to watch a game. Whilst observing

from above in the Royal Heth Air Balloon, the professional Queen and Mother of Eight were seen to succumb into fits of giggles, pointing at the outline of the pitch and chuckling to Albert, who himself then began to laugh. Queen Victoria was then seen to apparently grab Albert's nethercot with her royal hand, provoking yet more laughter as the loving couple disappeared from view into the balloon's basket.

Albert reappeared briefly, just to sever the cord tethering the balloon to the ground, and the royal balloon floated off somewhat unsteadily, rocking vigorously from side to side to the sounds of lascivious growls from the prince consort and ecstatic whoops from Her Majesty. Nine months later, Princess Beatrice was born, but the head master and provost of Eton were so disturbed at the moral and psychological devastation wreaked upon the schoolboys from seeing the monarch thrashing her husband that they instantly

banned the roof game from ever happening again. Having viewed the roof from above and realising that it did in fact look quite like a gentleman's exhibits, they covered the old wooden roof with a giant tarpaulin which currently resides in the Guinness Book of Records as the world's largest posing pouch, and the roof game fell into obscurity until it was just recently heroically resuscitated by this brave young teenager from berkshire and of course the terms nadja bellend and shaft remain in popular usage today you are a husband and father of two i love my history john is that a crime it is shameful upon both of us, Andy, that this story has inspired us so much. This has been the greatest muse of the last 69 bugles.

Well, I think, John, that, you know, it's a depressing world we live in, and we have to grasp it. You know, not just good news stories, but fantastic news stories like this. Yeah, I suppose that's true. It's just, I shocked myself last night with how many jokes I was inspired to write about this. I have another one just down here. It's a chalk outline.

It looks like an active crime scene, Andy. It's like a gigantic penis was murdered on their roof. In which case they should leave it alone because clearly it's an ongoing investigation. So his parents have said he will have to, the young lad called Rory, will have to clean the massive 20 metre prong off the roof himself.

But I guess as he does so, he'll be able to console himself that however long he lives, whatever happens in the rest of his life, when he finally prepares to meet his maker, his final thought will be, I painted a 60 foot wang on my parents'. And he will die a happy man, John. Oh, happy days. A number of you asked for something to do with the Ashes cricket,

which has just started in the last couple of days. A quick summary of what's happened in the first two days between England and Australia. First day, hooray. Second day, boo. Which is, coincidentally, also the entries from God's diary, as paraphrased in the book of Genesis. Turned out he loved light and he hated sky. Funny old bastard. Not only did a number of you ask for cricket stuff, but even more of you asked for puns. A lot of puns. Some wanted new puns.

Some wanted old puns. Including Gurpreet36, who says, all the puns from episodes one to a hundred. Let's retro this thing. Well, I mean, there's been a lot of puns, a lot of requests for classic early Bugle material as well. Probably an equal number of requests for absolutely no puns at all, which I understand. I don't really want to do any puns without John. I don't think he'd be happy. I really don't think that word play well with him at all, frankly, right now I don't think he's equipped to deal with it, admittedly those weren't my best puns, I'd give them, you know, middling scores, maybe five, about par on a measure of one to ten, and Paranormasia, which I just punned on

there, is a word for pun, that could be the ultimate pun. So no new puns, but instead here's a bit from another classic Bugle, Bugle 76, an episode in which I'd promised Stroke Threatened to break a world record. Top story this week, they got the power! That's better. Stop auditioning for a record contract on this season. There has been some tremendous nuke news this past week, Andy. It's another one step forward and 35 giant steps back

in international relations with North Korea. Kim Jong-il, a.k.a. Captain Crazy, a.k.a. Deputy Douche, a.k.a. the Prince of Pandemonium, has conducted a major underground nuclear test explosion which could be felt in Chinese villages 130 miles away. And you know the pattern now, Andy. Kim Jong-il flouts international law, and leaders around the world line up to deliver some stern, empty rebukes.

President Obama stood on the White House steps and said that North Korea pose a grave threat to the peace and security of the world, and I strongly condemn their reckless action. And he wasn't alone. World leaders have responded with nouns, adjectives and verbs of unprecedented harshness. Right, here goes. Strap in. This is the world record of time, John.

The Bugle, as we know, is a broadsheet audio newspaper that addresses the big issue seriously and with intellectual rigour. Yes. But how do you think the Bugle would report this story if it were a tabloid only interested in headlines containing wordplays? Uh-oh. Well, I think what we'd have to say in that situation would be... Let me just buckle up first, Andy.

John, is this situation careering out of control? If so, how kim? The issue is getting complicated. It's like a jongle. It's getting peong the pale. Oh, yang it all like a jungle. It's getting beyond the pale. Oh, yang it all. The situation is Chongjin all the time. Chongjin is a city in northeast North Korea.

Hey, Kim, if you're listening, Hi-Ju wish you'd grow up. Hi-Ju, also a North Korean city. You loser. The Yalu River is on the border between North Korea and China. I tell you, I'm not happy about this. Amnok is the Korean name for the Yalu River. And you are to blame.

Anju is another city. You've been very Silla. Silla, an ancient Korean kingdom. Now, just you hang all a minute. Give me one good reason we should let you get away with this. Hangul is the Korean alphabet. The won is the North Korean currency. Come here and say that.

Self-explanatory. Actually, don't. I wouldn't want to be Sinuidju in public. Sinuidju, that's another North Korean city. Oh, Kim On, you're being a total cult. You better sling it and fast. Horyong now. Horyong, that's another city.

This friendship, this friendship died on the vine. Diedong, that's a river. Okay, now Baikduyu in America, John. Baikdu, that's a big North Korean mountain. What do you reckon? Oh, my God. Sejong, it wasn't that difficult. Sejong, that was a 15th century Korean city. No in America, John. Bike to... That's a big North Korean mountain. Oh, my God. What do you reckon? Sejong. It wasn't that difficult. Sejong, that was a 15th century Korean king.

No, no, no. So I'll leave it to you now. Gojong. Gojong, of course, the first emperor of the Korean Empire. 22 North Korea-based puns, John. What record are you trying to break there? Most North Korean-based puns. Not number of suicides during a joke.

Either way, you're going to get on the podium. Well, congratulations, Andy. Thanks, mate. You could hear the pride in your voice as they were spewing out like a bullshit waterfall. So that's it. That is the end of another sub-bule. There will, I'm afraid, be another one next week.

It's Thanksgiving, and according to the holy laws of America, you cannot satirise on Thanksgiving. So we have the week off. We'll be back then in December with a clean run, hopefully through until Christmas. Do check out our SoundCloud page,

soundcloud.com slash the hyphen bugle, and don't forget to look out for the new merch on the website, thebuglepodcast.com at some point this week. Bye-bye, buglers. Bye-bye.