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~NEW SPLICER~ Volume 3.2 Leap year 2012

In this issue Topic of the month: Living inside a horse...

Don’t forget to Nay

Living inside a horse & other misspellings Why the long face?... Semiotics Home is where the heart is... Black Beauty... and much more! Don’t forget to smile


Foreword To unlearn all that we either believe or have learnt. To dream and smile in the darkest of hours. Come to my world for an hour or so it may just make you think. Or not. But I hope it will raise a smile. To all my influences, I thank thee kindly. This is my work of love which I hope you will enjoy... Or not. ~New Splicer~

“To Lady Godiva” The red hair possesses my mind Along angels paths I hide Walk in dreams to unwind Washed in red I ride

Don’t forget to Nay

Collier, Lady Godiva

Don’t forget to smile


~~~~~~~~~Topic of the Month~~~~~~~~ Living inside a horse Don’t think of small people cried the small person... The narrator, me, is small in comparison to someone big, like a horse. Don’t think of small people living inside a horse, that’s too obvious! Ha! That’s not at all what you were thinking, perhaps, I shrugged my shoulders and returned to the narrators chair just inside the neck of the horse. It’s tight in here for someone so unsmall, powerful neck muscles provided me with ample heat and a great view threw an invisible window that I now stare out, outside is unsurprisingly a field. Don’t get me wrong, this is weird and intentionally so but somewhat coerced by the other residents here. I have been tasked with what you might call a guide or narrative of living inside a horse. Not just any horse, but this one; mostly because I only live in one horse and anything I recount about the other dwellings might possibly be a fabrication. So I will tell you the absolute truth about the one I know, my home... It’s a normal horse, like any in the world nothing special there; it has your regular legs, tail and open plan living room. A cosy fireplace, always good for telling stories; we will visit in due course. Some say it is lucky living inside a horse but I attribute no particular luck in my job, life or work that I might attribute to my dwelling. Even the stories I tell my friends no longer provides any shock, just the usual “He’s crazy motion of finger swirling around the head”. However, I don’t know them well enough to invite them back to my home yet... One day I will throw a welcoming party, I just hate the clean up afterwards. All that mess and only a few places to get rid of it, a field has limited recycling possibilities. And although it may not look like it I do like to take care of nature, I believe it will one day look after us in return. Q: How do you hire a horse? A: Put a brick under each hoof Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Sometimes you can feel it moving, but it has got a good buffering system. It is quite beautiful at handling the occasional snake rear-up scare. Something to do with the rotational gravity of folding a living space inside an equine. It sometimes gives you that funny feeling that you get when alone and in a dark place, even though you’re right at home. There is not much use for the eyes, as you can see out of most of the invisible windows that are not obscured [due to council regulations protecting ramblers]; so this is where I watch TV, mostly documentaries. Usually about the sea... Just below the heart is the disco and music room, the usual drum and base and RnB can be found here, no pop and just a little country [for the horse]... You should see the disco ball! My favourite room is in the rear; the games room, always full of chocolate and treats and for some reason the cleaning closet? Down stairs in the ankles are the shower rooms and conveniently the lavatories. You know the term “shake a leg”.. Well now you know why.. Nothing can inhabit the tail [I laughed!] its far too small, even for the horse house rats. How does one get in to such a place? My modest home has two doors, generally located on either side for easy access. The cat flap is a simple one. Which unfortunately means no dogs allowed even though we all get on well with them. Except the cat, but technically she owns the horse and house [It was left to her in a will several years ago... But that’s an entirely different story]. The only real smell comes from the kitchen, usually after a spicy curry, but the ventilation is naturally good in this section. I always wondered where the smoke from the fire goes; sometimes it is better not to ask these things... The attic door that is always shut, like a scene from Jane Eyre I wonder what surreal forms lie in wait; it’s probably something normal and the cats patron is just watching over us... If only Anne Frank would have found this place...

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Colour Clone Coding success in New Splicer Labs

Our latest batch of Coloured Clones© ­comes in all the colours of the rainbow! Contact your local New Splicer Inc for further details...

A lady buys two horses but she can't tell them apart. Her neighbour tells her to trim one of the horses’ tails. So she did. But the other horse gets its tail stuck in a bush and gets its tail cut in the same place. So then the neighbour says to pierce one of the horses’ ears. So she did. But the other horse gets its ear stuck on a bob wire fence and gets its ear pierced in the same place. So finally the neighbour says ''Why don't you measure one the horses and see which one is taller.'' So she did. Well the owner was relieved to find out that the black horse was 6 inches taller than the white horse. Don’t forget to Nay Don’t forget to smile


Living inside a horse and other misspellings Ahh the blight that halts or befalls many a novice writer – spelling and my grandmother. I am disgusted by my own complete lack of spelling skills and, although I am now relearning something I should have learnt as a child [I travelled like a gypsy and did not receive any formal education]. Heaven praise Microsoft Word and the spell check function, my words bleed red every time I write; thankfully, a little less each month as I abstain from grammatical murder. I guess I can blame my father, removing me from school at the age of 7, although giving me in its place an irreplaceable adventure for the next 5 years as I travelled all across Europe. I read my first complete novel at the age of 7, shortly before my dad read his first novel at the age of 34; which, as he told it, I inspired [or guilted him] into reading his first book. So I always had the desire, for knowledge more than books, from an early age. He used to say “As long as people can understand you, spelling isn’t important and that expressing oneself is a far greater attribute”... Or something along those lines, history in the mind does tend to blur fact and fiction. Now, I agree with him to some degree but I think that both are essential to be understood, a fool with perfect spelling is the same as a genius who cannot convey his message. I currently swim somewhere in-between, although I would say I have a decent vocabulary I am not a thesaurus of words. And I do love words, the shapes and sounds they make when said or thought aloud. Sometimes, utterly unconventional due to the fact that I have no convention other than from the books read. I think if I knew how to spell, much as if I knew how to write I would no longer be able to write as I do. My creativity/insanity comes from my freedom from convention and to some degree freedom from being able to spell or lack of care therein. I recognise the need to get my message across and so I seem to have learnt just enough to do this, while concentrating all other efforts on creating something novel or at the very least unintelligible. Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


So you can teach even a fool like me to spell [eventually] but what about the ability to misspell, to invent language [while respecting the old]; to play with the very fabric of nature even thought we know 100% it cannot be correct?! Why bother, what does the surreal and silly bring us? I think it stimulates the unconventional within us; our minds are bored with the real world. Fantasy, at least has a basis in reality [that’s why it is so much fun], but the absurd and the pointless? Why would anyone consider, truly, living inside a horse or house or however you spell it? Well the only answer I can give you is my own, why did I? It’s always good to start, or continue, with a good bunch of interesting people around you, to inspire and borrow concepts ideas and misunderstandings. Similar to when you come across the middle of a conversation that is out of reality. For example... You walk into a room and hear “When did you hit the kid with the axe! What a surprise....” and the full conversation would go “Remember the present I got my kid?” “oh yeah... when did you hit the kid with the axe! What a Surprise... the guitar would have been a great present for him...” Normally, if you are normal, a few laughs exchanged and on to normality... Not if you are me and my friends [some of them], I like to dwell and unravel the small miscommunications of life into what they might never have been and probably shouldn’t be. Imagine now, inverting the axe story, hitting the kid softly with the axe, barely a tap as was the custom of the lumberjacks. What a surprise when the kid awoke with a smile... A million unexplored stories from a simple slip of the tongue... Sorry if I have misguided... Q: Why can't horses dance? A: Because they have 2 left feet. Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Strange Horse Laws Just some wacky, odd, strange laws from around the US (and a few from other countries too!). The horse is New Jersey's state animal. It's illegal in Marion, South Carolina, to tickle a female under her chin with a feather duster to get her attention while she's riding a horse. In New York City, it is illegal to open or close an umbrella in the presence of a horse. It is illegal to fish from horseback in Washington D.C, Colorado, and Utah. Tennessee prohibits riders from lassoing fish. A British law states that an Englishman must not sell a horse to a Scotsman. Horses are required to wear hats in hot weather in Rasario, Argentina. In Guernee, Illinois, it is illegal for women weighing more than 200 pounds to ride horses in shorts. In Kentucky, it is illegal for a woman to appear in a bathing suit on a highway unless she is: escorted by at least two police officers; armed with a club; or lighter than 90 pounds or heavier than 200 pounds. The ordinance also specifically exempts female horses from such restrictions. In London, England, law required taxi drivers to carry a bale of hay on top of their caps to feed their horses. The law was in force until 1976. In Arizona, it is illegal for cowboys to walk through a hotel lobby wearing their spurs. Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


In South Carolina, it is legal for adult males to discharge firearms when approaching an intersection in a non-horse vehicle to warn oncoming horse traffic. In South Carolina, no horses are allowed into Fountain Inn unless they are wearing pants. In Omega, New Mexico, every woman must “be found to be wearing a corset” when riding a horse in public! A doctor is required to inspect each woman to make sure that she is complying with the law. In Hartsville, Illinois, you can be arrested for riding an ugly horse. In the state of Queensland, Australia, it is still constitutional law that all pubs (hotel/bar) must have a railing outside for patrons to tie up their horse. Pattonsburg, Missouri, Revised Ordinances, 1884: “No person shall hallo, shout, bawl, scream, use profane language, dance, sing, whoop, quarrel, or make any unusual noise or sound in such manner as to disturb a horse.” Marshalltown, Iowa, it is against the law for a horse to eat a fire hydrant.

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Why the l0ng face? A horse walks into a bar; the barman says “Why the long face?” The horse replies, “well I was born with Elephantiasis, sadly a progressively degenerating disease of the bones; and far from being simply through the good genes of my parents, it lies in the long hidden truth in my family that my mother was also my sister. But this is not uncommon amongst my species. It all came out at my wedding to my late wife, she left me for a stallion, and he too had a long face but no Elephantiasis. So during the best horse speech, my then best friend, and stallion in question, mentioned in humour and jest a little spot my ex Bessie loved to be kissed. By our first and last anniversary I could no longer kiss her in that place, so I don’t blame her for leaving me. But I struggle on, keeping a stiff upper lip and all, although not by choice and by fusion of my lower jaw”.

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


“Inside I’m your average horse, heart, lungs, mind [no people lived here which is odd - read back or on for this reference], although the kidneys are not doing so well, Hahaha I should probably stop drinking and gambling! Just lost my paddock to a chicken in the casino down the road! Just across the road. Why did he cross the road they use to joke! To break my last good leg and collect the debt I owed, technically my good kidney is the chickens. Well, it’s not like me to go on but as you did ask, I keep my spirits up going to the movies although I can only stare from the closest farmhouse, but all those county houses do have nice 50 inch LCD screens these days. In my day, you would be happy with a stick and an apple core... Can you spare an apple core? A few cubes of sugar? No!? Its ok, don’t take pity on me Ill just help myself to the bar nuts... I like you, you understand what I’m going through, and you’re not afraid to ask me how I am and get an honest response... I like that... Did I say that already, I think I’m a little drunk from sniffing that rotting melon out back”... “Never mind... It’s not like you knew I was an actor! I was destined for big things, bright lights, I had it all... Just as quickly I had nothing. I was a stunt double for this black horse, they called him Beauty, it was quite a famous show in the 70s. My big chance came when Beauty was off ill with a cold, I could take centre stage! But, it wasn’t to be... Just my luck to find the only hidden rock on that beach! I was lucky to escape with my life, after I broke my leg [for the first time back then] the company was ready to put me down! A bullet straight to the head no less! Looking back it probably would have been for the best, merciless even.. But how was I to know about the underlying leprosy? Funny when you think about it that the leg I broke ended up falling off!”

A racehorse owner takes his horse to the vet. “Will I be able to race this horse again?,” he asks. The vet replies: “Of course you will, and you’ll probably win!”

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


“Please, no jokes about me being drunk... I.e. legless I get it all the time, now thankfully they just call me stumpy or peg legs or tripod! Or as I used to say pentapod! It is rare I get to smile what with the fused jaw... [The horse looked at the barman for a while, his expression had not changed], see hard to emote a fixed face! I think the wind changed one day when I was pulling this long face! Mother was right! Who would have guessed, her best and only bit of wisdom was my permanent disfigurement! Dad left when I was young... Can you pass me a drink in a straw”... “Don’t laugh... It’s the way I am”. So I left, never looking back [neck was also fused from walking into a bar]... One day they will remember me... Hopefully before my Alzheimer’s sets in... Or the cancer gets me... That’s why the long face... A horse walks into a smart cocktail bar. The doorman says: “Wait you can’t come in here without a tie.” The horse goes out to his car, looks in the boot and gets a set of jump leads, which he ties around his neck. He goes back in and says to the barman: “This alright?” The barman says: “Hmm, ok... but don’t be starting anything.” Q: What does it mean if you find a horse shoe? A: Some poor horse is walking around in his socks.

A horseshoe hung in the bedroom will keep nightmares away. A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks “Why the long face?”/ The horse does not respond because its a horse. It can neither speak English nor understand English. It is confused by its surroundings and gallops out of the bar. Knocking over a few tables. Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Semiotics Also called semiotic studies or (in the Saussurean tradition) semiology, is the study of signs and sign processes (semiosis), indication, designation, likeness, analogy, metaphor, symbolism, signification, and communication. Semiotics is closely related to the field of linguistics, which, for its part, studies the structure and meaning of language more specifically. Semiotics is often divided into three branches: Semantics: Relation between signs and the things to which they refer; their denotata, or meaning Syntactics: Relations among signs in formal structures Pragmatics: Relation between signs and the effects they have on the people who use them Semiotics is frequently seen as having important anthropological dimensions; for example, Umberto Eco proposes that every cultural phenomenon can be studied as communication. However, some semioticians focus on the logical dimensions of the science. They examine areas belonging also to the natural sciences – such as how organisms make predictions about, and adapt to, their semiotic niche in the world (see semiosis). In general, semiotic theories take signs or sign systems as their object of study: the communication of information in living organisms is covered in biosemiotics or zoosemiosis. Syntactics is the branch of semiotics that deals with the formal properties of signs and symbols. More precisely, syntactics deals with the “rules that govern how words are combined to form phrases and sentences.”Charles Morris adds that semantics deals with the relation of signs to their designata and the objects which they may or do denote; and, pragmatics deals with the biotic aspects of semiosis, that is, with all the psychological, biological, and sociological phenomena which occur in the functioning of signs. Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Colour coding hot-and-cold water faucets is common in many cultures but, as this example shows, the coding may be rendered meaningless because of context. The two faucets were probably sold as a coded set, but the code is unusable (and ignored) as there is a single water supply.

Semioticians classify signs or sign systems in relation to the way they are transmitted (see modality). This process of carrying meaning depends on the use of codes that may be the individual sounds or letters that humans use to form words, the body movements they make to show attitude or emotion, or even something as general as the clothes they wear. To coin a word to refer to a thing (see lexical words), the community must agree on a simple meaning (adenotative meaning) within their language. But that word can transmit that meaning only within the language’s grammatical structures and codes (see syntax and semantics). Codes also represent the values of the culture, and are able to add new shades of connotation to every aspect of life.

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


To explain the relationship between semiotics and communication studies, communication is defined as the process of transferring data from a source to a receiver. Hence, communication theorists construct models based on codes, media, and contexts to explain the biology, psychology, and mechanics involved. Both disciplines also recognize that the technical process cannot be separated from the fact that the receiver must decode the data, i.e., be able to distinguish the data as salient and make meaning out of it. This implies that there is a necessary overlap between semiotics and communication. Indeed, many of the concepts are shared, although in each field the emphasis is different. In Messages and Meanings: An Introduction to Semiotics, Marcel Danesi (1994) suggested that semioticians’ priorities were to study signification first and communication second. A more extreme view is offered by Jean-Jacques Nattiez(1987; trans. 1990: 16), who, as a musicologist, considered the theoretical study of communication irrelevant to his application of semiotics. Semiotics differs from linguistics in that it generalizes the definition of a sign to encompass signs in any medium or sensory modality. Thus it broadens the range of sign systems and sign relations, and extends the definition of language in what amounts to its widest analogical or metaphorical sense. Peirce’s definition of the term “semiotic” as the study of necessary features of signs also has the effect of distinguishing the discipline from linguistics as the study of contingent features that the world’s languages happen to have acquired in the course of human evolution.

Rene magritte - This is not a pipe

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Perhaps more difficult is the distinction between semiotics and the philosophy of language. In a sense, the difference lies between separate traditions rather than subjects. Different authors have called themselves “philosopher of language” or “semiotician”. This difference does not match the separation between analytic and continental philosophy. On a closer look, there may be found some differences regarding subjects. Philosophy of language pays more attention to natural languages or to languages in general, while semiotics is deeply concerned about nonlinguistic signification. Philosophy of language also bears a stronger connection to linguistics, while semiotics is closer to some of the humanities (including literary theory) and to cultural anthropology.

How do you spell 'Hungry Horse' in four letters? M T G G (Empty Gee-Gee).

Semiosis or semeiosis is the process that forms meaning from any organism’s apprehension of the world through signs. Scholars who have talked about semiosis in their sub-theories of semiotics include C. S. Peirce, John Deely, and Umberto Eco.

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Home is where the heart is. Apologies, as a little travelling is involved. Where is the heart of the nomad? No country is mine to call my own, I have no land to fight and to die for. I think of the world as my home, a collection of people, vastly different and so similar. I don’t miss the patriotism but I occasionally miss the unity, the belonging. Its lonely being your own island but also difficult to regulate; impossible to evaluate where my views lie, when they are only my own [not always]. Here I quote... “No man is an island!? Like hell I was thinking!” Eugene Robinson... He seems sure, as I am, but I often contemplate if it is truly possible to live outside of normality, without deluding yourself that you actually do. How can we escape environment and cultural conditioning? It is not possible, but the real question is can we rewrite or edit our conditioning to allow us to be free again to choose? For example nature and or nurture has constructed a particular type of person I’m attracted to. In its most simplistic and extreme form I am attracted to women and not men, which one way or other is programmed into my instincts, desires and hormones. What if this could be reprogrammed? Or at least reset and we were free to choose with some degree of experience [although this in itself is biased]. Who knows how to make the correct choice, there is probably no correct choice only the one you make.

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


I could become English or Welsh binding the traditions generally earned over a lifetime to my soul... Practically, you would need a mind wipe and the rebuilding of memories. A topic I’m always excited about, memory reprogramming; which, is not a matter of if it will be possible but when. Scientists are slowly learning how we learn, how we store and process and specifically what, as a physical substance, memory is. The next step is to make a memory, just as we have done with first an Amino Acid, then DNA, and even life itself [although we are simply copying the rules of nature none of these things existed before man, we are the gods of these things]. When we do succeed in making a memory, then what of reality? Or returning fortuitously to my point, what of our perceived reality; I am only me because of my memories, I am only English because I experienced England [somewhat more frequently than the rest of the world] as a child. The only thing that makes us special is our differences, created by luck and chance as we walk through this life. I am a product of my experiences and genetic luck or misfortune. I like what I have become but I would never be proud of fate, although I have both steered my path as well as being lead/dragged. So where does my heart lie? Now in the wind on salty air, my heart travels where I am happy and I follow to keep smiling, to keep breathing...

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


Insane short stories by a madman Chapter 7 ~ Black Beauty OR

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What happens to mud when it turns liquid... A sea of brown diluted dirt smudged its way in the moonlight, only mud contained its banks. There are no reflections anymore, just shades of grey, brown and black. A bleakly cold and wet desert, silent only in the surrounding gunfire, echoes of some former land were marked and suggested here... A few clues remained; a single mulberry bush, naked without its leaves dressed the scene, drank its murky sepia poison on its last night... The ground littered with footprint shaped pools and something else; crescent shaped and heavy dug away at the surface. Angles of incidence suggested speed and power with the supposition of grace. These prints were fresh, only recently drowned in silt; they tracked the running boots of a soldier. Driven by desire and a sense of belonging, drawn like the perusing enemy to the tracks in the ground... An explosion fades everything into a flashback... The year 1941, a young stable boy, cute enough to be an actor in a blockbuster film; stood, allowing the audience time to capture his form... This is pivotal for binding the character to our emotional response. Aside, the dust blows onto a correlating clear lake surrounded by eye watering green fields. Some sort of bird that is not a pigeon coo’s in the distance as we are rapidly pulled across the set with a splash, into the mud. Poetically covered, the boy smiles and looks at the horse “You like putting me in the mud”... Fades to generic music, tug on heart strings... Jacque de la Boue, a simple stable boy living in France, had lived amongst horses all his life; three generations of stablemen flowed through his blood. Most horses were deaf and whispering was of no use, Jacque had a talent. In his gaze calmness ensued... Life was simple until a fateful night in an electric storm; the masters’ stables were alive with excitement and noise. Candle lit light, flickered the outlines of an agitated beast. This was the night Charlotte Grey was born; it was also the night her mother died.

Don’t forget to Nay

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Montage the passing years of a small boy becoming a man and an orphan foal becoming a young horse... In words this would be: smiles, learning, growth, difficult yet able to overcome trials of life, landscapes and a young boy riding a young horse [wide shot] over several fields until, sun setting, he climbs down the stallion a man... Fade... War came, the draft came; Jacques went, Charlotte remained behind... War torn, as war tore them apart; a bond between man and animal that crossed the boundaries of war. A family member would have died, once fertile green lands turn black like the advancing, seemingly unstoppable, enemy. Jacque is likely to have been captured and eventually tortured with no end result... It’s here the story splits and starts to merge and entwine. In an equally dark and already captured farm, probably at night, the thunder claps just after the lightning has struck the barn tree setting it ablaze. Trapped in the barn the animals panicked in an anthropomorphic manner not unlike children; one farm hand left working under watch of the enemy runs to the barn to save the animals. Shouts and gunfire from behind him, as he makes it to the barn door; two bullets now hit the farm hand sending him flying to the ground in a thud of hay... The barn burns... The enemy leaves... Dying, a hand reaches the barn latch and the animals burst out to the darkness; a single horse shadow is seen running to the woods... A life, for many lives, is lost... Splash, coinciding with the last lightning flash from the previous scene; Jacque is revived by the enemy. They have taken everything away except his beloved Charlotte who he believes to be hidden away. Charlotte must possess something the enemy wants, the irony of the close death in the barn now washes over the audience just as the second wash from a bucket is thrown over Jacques again, and we are back.

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Now a lot of running, galloping and the occasional canter occurs, some big musical score, across landscapes and several days and nights. A slight pause atop a hill, a small side story of peril with a narrow escape and the horse arrives with the current location of Jacques just a few miles away in the background. She has made it, but the journey is not yet over. The equine eye looks very human... This is where he escapes with the distraction of Charlotte; the enemy recognises a motif that is made obvious to the audience with a camera zoom on a small location upon the horse. Escape is close, danger is close but bond between man and female horse is closer. They can see each other just out of reach; they both run in sync towards the exit just as the enemy of the enemy starts shelling the area. Explosion between Jacque and Charlotte shatters the silence, so close and worlds away the scene fades from white to grey... Months pass, we focus on one of the characters implying the other has perished, Jacque, bandaged but well looks out to the fields beyond his all too convenient ground floor room at the hospital near where the story started. He observes a few other horses playing in the meadow; at the same time hears a familiar voice, the young horses? They still play in the background, again the voice, and in the far distance running just as we had previously seen her in darkness; now in glorious music drenched light, Charlotte Grey flew across the green. So much time had passed just now as time seems to slow down, that’s just a film trick, Charlotte comes up to the window; each with a tear in their eye as their eyes met. They look at each other and without words Charlotte says “Do you know why I came for you?” “Non” replies Jacque, “because I never told you my real name before I left, my real name is... [after a long pause and subsequent repeated line], my real name is Charlotte Nay”...

Don’t forget to Nay

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Arrrrr there be pirates on the horizon! Will you walk the plank with me [Not Max Planck this time]?! Sail across oceans of bloodthirsty cutthroats in search of literary treasure. This will be pirates not as you know them through the eyes of a time traveller... We can clone Pirates now and we at New Splicer have been putting our clone under intense questioning for your amusement and pleasure [he had a plastic parrot so do not feel too bad for him]... The next issue of New Splicer is all at sea... Come and Join the fun: https://www.facebook.com/NewSplicer Send in ideas for a story, jokes, pictures and things that make you think and smile. If you idea is a good and/or bad one It might become a feature issue!! So get scribing, scribbling and inking ... Sea you next time...

Don’t forget to Nay

Don’t forget to smile


~NEW SPLICER~

Volume 3.3 March 2012

In this issue Topic of the month: The real Pirates of the Caribbean Modern day plundering Shiver me timbers... Thomas Tew - The kind pirate Jolly Roger...

Don’t forget to Arrrr

Scurvy bilge rats... and much more!

Don’t forget to Arrrr


Toast Marketing board

Don’t burn that toast-horse...

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile


New Splicer Voloume 3.2