Now, this is going to be a controversial one but read it to the end before forming your opinion. I don't ask much of people so just humour me, then assassinate me if needs be....
Why is it that as soon as a celebrity dies everybody is enveloped by a tsunami of grief? Why is it that words such as 'shocked' 'crushed' 'lost' and 'legend' are bandied about like fucking sweets at a kids party? I am sick to death of a million people writing how said celebrity dying has 'ruined their day' of course it fucking hasn't.
What would ruin your day is cutting a finger off in a freak lawnmower accident, stepping on a landmine in a foreign country while fighting for oil in the name of our government. Shit like THAT will ruin your day.
Some man/woman who you barely gave a thought to for years dies and all of a sudden people have jumped on the sympathy train headed for pitymeville on the outskirts of sadland. I mean is it really hurting you THAT much? Nope, it isn't, in fact I am going to tell you right now that you don't actually feel even the slightest bit 'crushed' about that persons death, how can you when you are completely disconnected from them?
I treat every loss of life as sad, weirdly, even the death of SOME people on death row could be seen as a tragedy when you consider that they may have not been guilty, or may even in their guilt have had a way to bring something useful to the world in educating others in the error of their ways.
Indeed the same is true when people die of cancer, I know a lot of people who have had the disease, my mum and dad included. A single loss of life to that bastard disease is a tragedy, but unfortunately it happens, in fact I would imagine that looking at family history I will probably have some form of cancer in my lifetime too, something I fucking dread.
Let me take a couple of examples of times I have shaken my head at what I have read.
David Bowie: A musical genius? For some people maybe, I personally didn't like his music at all. Was it sad that he died? Yes, it is a loss of a life at an age that is considered young nowadays. He died from cancer, another very horrible thing that we should hopefully eradicate in the coming years.
But for people to say that they are devastated, crushed, shocked and mourning the loss, I ask you this. Did YOU think of this person on a daily basis? Nope, probably not since the last time you heard his music, which may have been many years ago.Did you know his family? If you did then you can feel their sadness, you can mourn with them, but the likelihood is that you didn't. You can't feel the pain of a persons death if you:
A) Didn't know them
B) Didn't think about them regularly
C) Only knew them because they were famous
I mean come on, really examine your feelings, do you actually feel sad? Or is it the more likely scenario of having to show how distraught you are on Facebook so you fit in with the social media wankfest over somebody you never even knew?
Are you crushed at the thought of that Syrian man who just got bombed? Even if you saw it in the news you might be horrified, but you don't actually give a shit do you? You'll go back to peeling potatoes, watching the film that the new bulletin interrupted or fall back to sleep.
Amy Winehouse: A 'legend' according to most people who decided to break out the crocodile tears. She was that much of a legend you didn't even help her to get a number 1 hit in the UK! A woman that took heroin and drank to excess on a daily basis, and you're calling her a fucking legend!?!?!
If she was that much of a great person why aren't you encouraging your children to go down the same path as her? A couple of top 10 hits (the biggest being somebody else's song!) and she is talked about as if she is the second coming of Christ.
She died of alcohol poisoning in a flat in London, hardly the death of a legend is it? Yet people were out in force back then pretending to cry into the communal digital handkerchief that the social media passes around so freely.
Nan Pat: I didn't even know who she was, but somebody asked me if I was sad that she'd died? How the fuck can I be? She was nobody to me.... I can have empathy for her family who she left behind, but without sounding truly callous she didn't have anything to do with my life whatsoever.
Grief and sorrow are reserved for situations where they are needed. The passing of a family member or friend, I fully understand that. But for people to get upset over somebody they have no real connection to is fucking stupid. Sorry but that's the truth.
I put it to you that although you might have liked said celebrity, you might be surprised that they have died, you aren't actually sad or broken at all. In fact once you've read this, told me I'm an insensitive arsehole and possibly blocked me on Facebook you'll go back to doing whatever it was you were doing previously and not be sad at all.
So off you go, back to the kitchen, your job or talking to the postman, the grief for celebrity strangers is as fake as the bags sold on the streets of Barcelona. Get over it.
Monday, 11 January 2016
Monday, 5 October 2015
Are you an arsehole?
It's an easy enough question, but one I never need to ask myself.... I KNOW I am! But the question remains..... are you?
I have my opinion of you, as does everybody else, but in your head you think everybody loves you right? I've got news for you folks, at least half of the people you know have thought of a way to kill you and conceal your body at least once.
Let me give you a quick example based on what I saw this morning.
Exhibit A.
Skin tight jogging bottoms on men, I mean what fucking idiot woke up one day and thought "I know! I'll wear a pair of joggers so short and tight that people will be able to see what I ate for breakfast via a visual rectal examination.
You don't look good, you don't look trendy, you look fucking poor. You need to pop yourself along to Skidmark's and buy yourself a pair that fucking fit.
Exhibit B.
Trainers the size of three seater sofas. If your shoes are big enough to provide a comfortable home for 6 refugees they are too fucking big, I know you want the world to see the word NIKE emblazoned across them but all we see is another 4 letter word beginning with 'C', and let me give you a hint, it isn't cool. Today I witnessed a lad walking down the street that should have 44" calf muscles because of the effort it took to lift his feet off of the ground each time he took a fucking step.
It's not just the fact they are massive either, they are usually the colour of dog vomit, and have been worn for that long they have that flappy sole you expect to see on a tramps shoe.
Exhibit C.
A hoody, again, like the trousers, or pants as fucking weird people call them, that is far too small. I can see your fucking ribs through the fabric, you clearly need a cheeseburger or two, and a bigger top you twat. Even the hood is too small to put over your bulbous fucking noggin. It looks like somebody has put a skull cap on the worlds largest flesh coloured watermelon, you look like an idiot.
Exhibit D.
The way you walk. Unless you have just been sexually assaulted by a large marrow or have testicles the size of beach balls, might I suggest that you don't walk with your stupidly large shoes three fucking feet apart. It doesn't look like you're a gangster, it looks like you've just shit yourself.
Exhibit E.
Oversized headphones. We get it, you're listening to 'music' (if you can call the shite they listen to music that is) but do we need to see that you are? Do we fuck....
You bowl down the street (still looking like you've shit yourself) but now you're doing some weird bouncy walk too, kind of like you're proud of your anal leakage.
I don't care what make your fucking headphones are, I can almost tolerate the fact you want me to know that they are 'Beats' by Dr fucking Dre, but what I struggle with is the fact that you turn your head to show me the letter B on them.
I'm not sure if you think I am in need of a Sesame street syle education, or you are just asking for me to mug you, but you look like a cock. But let us presume it's for education, thank you! I have learned a lot. Today's show is brought to you by the letter 'B' for Bellend, Bastard, Bitch and Bumhole.
Exhibit F.
The back to front backpack....
Self explanatory, if you wear it on your front you are a cunt. Wow, look at that I busted a rhyme like Dr Dre!
You walk along fishing out random shit like a pot of Dairylea dunkers, and it looks like some weird fucking c-section.
Don't. Fucking. Do. It.
So that brings to an end an in depth example of the arsehole I saw this morning...... But I hear you saying "I don't have any of those items of clothing or traits!
Something you do, no matter how small, will piss somebody off. They will envision your body dissolving in an oil drum of acid after having been beaten to death with some form of wrench.
Conclusion.
We are all arseholes, I just happen to be less of one than you ;)
I have my opinion of you, as does everybody else, but in your head you think everybody loves you right? I've got news for you folks, at least half of the people you know have thought of a way to kill you and conceal your body at least once.
Let me give you a quick example based on what I saw this morning.
Exhibit A.
Skin tight jogging bottoms on men, I mean what fucking idiot woke up one day and thought "I know! I'll wear a pair of joggers so short and tight that people will be able to see what I ate for breakfast via a visual rectal examination.
You don't look good, you don't look trendy, you look fucking poor. You need to pop yourself along to Skidmark's and buy yourself a pair that fucking fit.
Exhibit B.
Trainers the size of three seater sofas. If your shoes are big enough to provide a comfortable home for 6 refugees they are too fucking big, I know you want the world to see the word NIKE emblazoned across them but all we see is another 4 letter word beginning with 'C', and let me give you a hint, it isn't cool. Today I witnessed a lad walking down the street that should have 44" calf muscles because of the effort it took to lift his feet off of the ground each time he took a fucking step.
It's not just the fact they are massive either, they are usually the colour of dog vomit, and have been worn for that long they have that flappy sole you expect to see on a tramps shoe.
Exhibit C.
A hoody, again, like the trousers, or pants as fucking weird people call them, that is far too small. I can see your fucking ribs through the fabric, you clearly need a cheeseburger or two, and a bigger top you twat. Even the hood is too small to put over your bulbous fucking noggin. It looks like somebody has put a skull cap on the worlds largest flesh coloured watermelon, you look like an idiot.
Exhibit D.
The way you walk. Unless you have just been sexually assaulted by a large marrow or have testicles the size of beach balls, might I suggest that you don't walk with your stupidly large shoes three fucking feet apart. It doesn't look like you're a gangster, it looks like you've just shit yourself.
Exhibit E.
Oversized headphones. We get it, you're listening to 'music' (if you can call the shite they listen to music that is) but do we need to see that you are? Do we fuck....
You bowl down the street (still looking like you've shit yourself) but now you're doing some weird bouncy walk too, kind of like you're proud of your anal leakage.
I don't care what make your fucking headphones are, I can almost tolerate the fact you want me to know that they are 'Beats' by Dr fucking Dre, but what I struggle with is the fact that you turn your head to show me the letter B on them.
I'm not sure if you think I am in need of a Sesame street syle education, or you are just asking for me to mug you, but you look like a cock. But let us presume it's for education, thank you! I have learned a lot. Today's show is brought to you by the letter 'B' for Bellend, Bastard, Bitch and Bumhole.
Exhibit F.
The back to front backpack....
Self explanatory, if you wear it on your front you are a cunt. Wow, look at that I busted a rhyme like Dr Dre!
You walk along fishing out random shit like a pot of Dairylea dunkers, and it looks like some weird fucking c-section.
Don't. Fucking. Do. It.
So that brings to an end an in depth example of the arsehole I saw this morning...... But I hear you saying "I don't have any of those items of clothing or traits!
Something you do, no matter how small, will piss somebody off. They will envision your body dissolving in an oil drum of acid after having been beaten to death with some form of wrench.
Conclusion.
We are all arseholes, I just happen to be less of one than you ;)
Sunday, 16 August 2015
Social media (and more)
Bad English!
Why? Just fucking why?
It is your native fucking tongue, the words you should use to effectively converse with people, convey your requirements or feelings and generally be useful in the world. It's something we are taught by our parents from a young age, and then by our various schools as we drift towards adulthood.
So why is it that so many people in this country are so fucking bad at it?I have heard better English from the migrants in Calais than I see typed on Facebook on a daily basis, I swear to God it is unfathomable how bad people can be at speaking or writing the Queen's English.
I am far from perfect in my spelling and grammar, but at least I have a basic understanding of words, how and when to use them and even how to spell them correctly. But some of the oxygen thieves we have roaming our rolling green landscapes and financial powerhouse cities is nothing short of gobsmacking.
The App
I am currently looking into developing an app that will hopefully rid us of a few thousand mouth breathers overnight, it is called the spelling isis(t). The premise is simple, the app sits on your tablet, phone or computer and when you log in to a social media app you are confronted by the following screen.
This app will be the saviour of the English language, and you can thank me later. The idea is simple, once isis(t) is added to your phone it is impossible to delete, each attempt will apply another question to the social media unlock screen.
Once you tap your Facebook or Twitter icon the spelling isis(t) will spring into life and inform you that you must pass a basic English test to continue sharing your utter fucking drivel on social media, the shit that makes people want to kill you. And if you're questioning whether this app is aimed at people like you...... it probably is.
The questions will be similar to the following:
Q1) Insert the correct word into the following sentence, choose from there, they're or their
I will be _____ shortly, have they got ____ money for the drugs they want?
Q2) Insert the correct word into the following sentence, choose from his, He's or hes.
Do you have ___ phone number? I'd like to phone him about a pitbull he is selling.
Q3) please solve the following anagram
muoth braether
Q4) What does the following word mean.....?
'Fraud', is it:
A) Something you eat.
B) Something that happens to clothes when they wear thin.
C) The way you 'earn' more money than somebody who works because you milk the fuck out of the benefit system.
Once you answer 3 correct questions your social media account will open and you'll be free to share with the world what colour pants you have on, how many times your child has been sick out of his/her nose or what you're having for fucking dinner.
If you fail however, a message is sent to the local terrorist organisation who will visit your house and cut your hands off, this will render your fucking bullshit spouting days over in a heartbeat.
As I said, you're welcome.
The day I blamed a child!
So.... I was working the other week, and I had a bad stomach ache. It was early in the day so there weren't many customers around so I thought I might be able to squeeze out a cheeky bottom burp. Just as I was about to 'let it go' a young lad walked down the area I was in and stood quite close to me.
Unfortunately the launch procedure had already been initiated and there was no abort code in sight so I decided I just had to go with it. I can't even lie, it was fairly loud and had the consistency of a lumpy spectral custard. The child looked at me in utter disgust, I looked at him with a face that was half apology and half pride, and then a voice roared from round the corner.
Mumzilla: "JAAAAAAMES, You disgusting little boy!"
Poor James: "But mum......"
Mumzilla: "But mum nothing, you make me want to be sick!"
I did feel briefly guilty that this poor lad had been berated by his incredibly scary mother, so I quickly considered my options.
Me: "Don't be too hard on him, sometimes it is unavoidable".
James looked me up and down and as he made eye contact with me shot me a look that will never leave me, I actually think that in years to come he might see me walking down the street and mow me down in his Vauxhall Nova.
Why? Just fucking why?
It is your native fucking tongue, the words you should use to effectively converse with people, convey your requirements or feelings and generally be useful in the world. It's something we are taught by our parents from a young age, and then by our various schools as we drift towards adulthood.
So why is it that so many people in this country are so fucking bad at it?I have heard better English from the migrants in Calais than I see typed on Facebook on a daily basis, I swear to God it is unfathomable how bad people can be at speaking or writing the Queen's English.
I am far from perfect in my spelling and grammar, but at least I have a basic understanding of words, how and when to use them and even how to spell them correctly. But some of the oxygen thieves we have roaming our rolling green landscapes and financial powerhouse cities is nothing short of gobsmacking.
The App
I am currently looking into developing an app that will hopefully rid us of a few thousand mouth breathers overnight, it is called the spelling isis(t). The premise is simple, the app sits on your tablet, phone or computer and when you log in to a social media app you are confronted by the following screen.
This app will be the saviour of the English language, and you can thank me later. The idea is simple, once isis(t) is added to your phone it is impossible to delete, each attempt will apply another question to the social media unlock screen.
Once you tap your Facebook or Twitter icon the spelling isis(t) will spring into life and inform you that you must pass a basic English test to continue sharing your utter fucking drivel on social media, the shit that makes people want to kill you. And if you're questioning whether this app is aimed at people like you...... it probably is.
The questions will be similar to the following:
Q1) Insert the correct word into the following sentence, choose from there, they're or their
I will be _____ shortly, have they got ____ money for the drugs they want?
Q2) Insert the correct word into the following sentence, choose from his, He's or hes.
Do you have ___ phone number? I'd like to phone him about a pitbull he is selling.
Q3) please solve the following anagram
muoth braether
Q4) What does the following word mean.....?
'Fraud', is it:
A) Something you eat.
B) Something that happens to clothes when they wear thin.
C) The way you 'earn' more money than somebody who works because you milk the fuck out of the benefit system.
Once you answer 3 correct questions your social media account will open and you'll be free to share with the world what colour pants you have on, how many times your child has been sick out of his/her nose or what you're having for fucking dinner.
If you fail however, a message is sent to the local terrorist organisation who will visit your house and cut your hands off, this will render your fucking bullshit spouting days over in a heartbeat.
As I said, you're welcome.
The day I blamed a child!
So.... I was working the other week, and I had a bad stomach ache. It was early in the day so there weren't many customers around so I thought I might be able to squeeze out a cheeky bottom burp. Just as I was about to 'let it go' a young lad walked down the area I was in and stood quite close to me.
Unfortunately the launch procedure had already been initiated and there was no abort code in sight so I decided I just had to go with it. I can't even lie, it was fairly loud and had the consistency of a lumpy spectral custard. The child looked at me in utter disgust, I looked at him with a face that was half apology and half pride, and then a voice roared from round the corner.
Mumzilla: "JAAAAAAMES, You disgusting little boy!"
Poor James: "But mum......"
Mumzilla: "But mum nothing, you make me want to be sick!"
I did feel briefly guilty that this poor lad had been berated by his incredibly scary mother, so I quickly considered my options.
Me: "Don't be too hard on him, sometimes it is unavoidable".
James looked me up and down and as he made eye contact with me shot me a look that will never leave me, I actually think that in years to come he might see me walking down the street and mow me down in his Vauxhall Nova.
Tuesday, 11 August 2015
Skidmark!
Been a while since I posted as to be honest I don't have a very interesting life right now, but I do have an interesting tale of how I farted in a supermarket and the child next to me got the blame from his mother, I'll finish that off in the next day or two and stick it online for you all to read or ignore.
Please read to the bottom this time, I have a plug for a friend and I would really appreciate it if you took the time to go and check out what they do.
Much love,
Dave x x x
A comic book costs HOW MUCH?
Katie wanted to go to Forbidden planet, that was fine as I like that shop, it brings out the inner nerd in me and brings back memories of travelling into Cambridge for college with Paul Cowley (will come back to him later) and sneaking off for a two hour lunch to go to laser quest and peruse the X files posters with the rather lovely Gillian Anderson looking all fit.
I learned very quickly that being a nerd is fucking expensive! It was thirteen quid for a glorified comic book, thirteen fucking quid! I think the Beano used to cost me like 30p or something. How these nerds can afford their hobby whilst never leaving their parents basement is a mystery up there with the Bermuda triangle, the Loch Ness monster and the truth behind the Roswell incident. A series of 5 comics will set me back a whopping £65! I don't spend that much on keeping my wife sweet in a year, let alone on 5 books full of drawings!
I enquired as to whether they might be willing to accept a vital organ in part payment but the lord of the nerds in charge of the till just peered out from behind a pair of impossibly thick glasses that would probably have stopped a photon torpedo dead in its tracks. He didn't say a word, not a bloody peep and that was it, Kelly handed over my bank card and I was slightly poorer. I wasn't happy, but the shop monkey was a ginger and I could feel him slowly robbing my soul so I decided to cut my losses.
Please don't get me wrong, it is a GREAT shop, I am just a tight fisted bastard!
At this point Kelly dropped a bombshell, I should have seen it coming but I didn't.
Primark is shit
Kelly: "I just want to pop in to PRIMARK"
Me: "ok"...... "Errrrrr wait.... WHAT?"
Kelly: "I just want to pop in and look for some shorts and a few T-shirts for Katie"
And that, is how to piss me off within 20 or so words. Primark, or as I like to call it SKIDMARK is a stain on society. I am not going to slam everybody that uses skidmark, because we do, but I found the experience utterly horrifying and I will not be rushing to return.
The place is Bedlam, there are people grabbing clothes off of shelves holding them up to inspect them and throwing them on the floor if they didn't meet expectation, on the fucking floor! I mean have a little dignity, I know the company provides cheap clothing, but somebody might want to buy that 9p bra you just flung to the ground.
It was however an opportunity to partake in a fascinating period of people watching. There is a real diverse cross section of people that use the store, and as I would never tar all people with the same brush I broke them down into categories.
Category 1: A normal person... decently dressed and respectful of the products on the shelf. Will purchase better quality items that are more likely to fit and/or last.
Category 2: The Pat Butcher... Buys items of clothing that look like a cross between roadkill and vomit. Has a fondness for drinking Gin from the bottle while shopping and purchasing earrings that could set off a broken metal detector.
Category 3: The tramp... Walks in with a limp, has LOVE tattooed on left knuckles and HAT on the other because the little finger of the right hand was gnawed off by a bull mastiff whilst owner was hammered. Drops clothes on the floor, uses them to wipe their nose and generally acts like a mouth breathing oxygen thief.
We mostly encountered category 3 inmates today, they insisted on shouting at their children who were no more than 18 inches from their suck hole. CHARDONNAYYYYYYYYYYYYY GET OVER ERE, I FOUND A FUCKING DRESS THAT SHOULD FIT YOU, I KNOW YOU'RE ONLY 4 AND THIS IS A SIZE 22, BUT YOU'LL GROW INTO IT INNIT!
I honestly cannot picture a worse place to shop regularly, it has its place, some of their clothes are cool (Charlie LOVES their MARVEL stuff) but it is literally a free for all with people setting upon each other like sharks caught up in a feeding frenzy!
The place is a toilet, a massive massive toilet.
Well that's almost it but.......
Before I go I'd just like to come back to my mate Paul Cowley, he's a genuinely all round good egg and I have a lot of time for him. He along with a couple of his mates (Dave and Mark) produce a podcast called HOT WAMPA, it is related to all things Sci-Fi, especially Star Wars! They have a wealth of knowledge when it comes to their subject matter and are very light hearted and fun.
Go ahead and check it out on itunes, or go to their Facebook page Hot Wampa (make sure you like it!) and you'll be able to listen to them for free! Go take a listen, it may or may not be something that is right for you, but unless you listen how will you know?
Check it out, or the force will fucking hate you.
Peace out fools!
Friday, 3 April 2015
Humanity is fucked...
Weeeeeell.........
I have tried to resist because I know a lot of people post these things on Facebook BUT then I realised that I hate these stupid posts so much I couldn’t hold off any longer. What is wrong with people? Do you really believe in all this shit?
Find the word with the spelling mistake...
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
I have tried to resist because I know a lot of people post these things on Facebook BUT then I realised that I hate these stupid posts so much I couldn’t hold off any longer. What is wrong with people? Do you really believe in all this shit?
Find the word with the spelling mistake...
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
Now eat 2 slices of toast, dance a jig while standing in the bath and punch a parrot in the tits.
Finally send me your bank sort code, account number, pin, mother’s maiden name and the spare key to your house, close your eyes and count to 1,000,000 then make a wish and it will come true.
NO. IT. FUCKING.WON’T.
Wishes are made by kids to revive their fucking hamster that grandad sat on after Christmas dinner or for people who believe in fairies, they are not real, they don’t come true and even if they did I am pretty sure Facebook would have found a way to monetise the wishes and sell it to us.
Talking of the word gullible, did you realise that it hasn’t featured in any form of dictionary since 2007 when it was deemed too confusing for idiots to understand? Amazing huh!
Or how about this one........
GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE GULLIBLE
Now eat 2 slices of toast, dance a jig while standing in the bath and punch a parrot in the tits.
Finally send me your bank sort code, account number, pin, mother’s maiden name and the spare key to your house, close your eyes and count to 1,000,000 then make a wish and it will come true.
NO. IT. FUCKING.WON’T.
Wishes are made by kids to revive their fucking hamster that grandad sat on after Christmas dinner or for people who believe in fairies, they are not real, they don’t come true and even if they did I am pretty sure Facebook would have found a way to monetise the wishes and sell it to us.
Talking of the word gullible, did you realise that it hasn’t featured in any form of dictionary since 2007 when it was deemed too confusing for idiots to understand? Amazing huh!
Or how about this one........
The only problem is I CAN think of one, It’s a little known town on the eastern
state line of Ohio called PRICKville. The only reason people post shit like
this is to get you to comment, like and share to increase their page and site
traffic, you then get tempted to click on an external url that takes you to a
site with advertising that earns them a shit ton of money because you think you’ve
‘beaten’ their oh so difficult test.
Or even this one......
Or even this one......
If you share shit like this you won’t get crabs, but you will get 99.4% of your friends on Facebook cursing the fact you have the use of your fingers (or forehead looking at how some people type)
Why do people share the most mundane of shit?
Let me give you some examples.
“Can’t wait for my Sunday dinner” – Good for you, I can’t wait for you to stop breathing.
“Been for a walk” – Shame it wasn’t off of a cliff.
“Eating a packet of crisps” – I hope you choke.
“is thinking” – I highly fucking doubt it.
“Anybody know what the weather is doing today” – Look out of the fucking window..... dick!
Before you start pissing and whining about the pointless shit I post just remember these important facts.
(A) I don’t give a fuck
(B) Unless you are god you are NOT better than me, if you ARE god then you are almost equal.
Thursday, 2 April 2015
Cold calling the cold callers.....
We've all been there, you're upstairs going for a poo and you hear it....... The bloody home phone is ringing and it could be something vital, so you give it a quick wipe, hike yer trousers up and run down the stairs praying that they don't end up around your ankles with your head bouncing off of each step and gravity reminds you it is there.
You get to the phone, take a deep breath, prepare yourself for the worst news imaginable and gingerly pick up the receiver.
You: Hello
You: Hello?
You: HELLO???
You then tap the button a bunch of times to see if there is even a call there, which thinking about it is pretty dumb because it is always possible you'll cut that all important call off.... But of course nobody is there, because it is yet another fucking call centre sent to waste another 5 minutes of your life.
Well I've had enough, there's been a line drawn in the sand which they proceed to step over on a daily basis, and it's about time we pushed back.
I just received a call from a company in London that told me I'd been involved in an accident recently and could be due £10,000 in compensation. Now this accident must have been while under the influence of some new wonder drug (or Rohypnol) because I remember precisely fuck all about it. I tried to get rid as quickly as possible but decided after a couple of minutes that screwing with them would be far more fun. I asked him if there would be any paperwork to sign, he said yes..... that was his first mistake.
Me: Well that's just fucking cruel.....
Him: What is?
Me: You know I had an accident!
Him: Yes, we're here to help you, I don't see the problem......
Me: If you'd looked at my case file you'd have seen that I had all 4 limbs torn off in an accident involving a combine harvester, How the fuck do you expect me to sign the fucking paperwork?
Him: Oh, I'm so sorry we just......
Me: This is so insensitive (fake tears and sobbing noises ensued) I can't even wipe my own arse and you're here asking me to hold a pen and sign paperwork......
Him: Please calm down Mr Powell, we have procedures in pla......
Me: How am I going to get my £10,000 if I can't (sob sob) sign my paperwork?
Him: well look, what we can do is....
Me: I was on the toilet when you called, do you have any idea how difficult it is getting down the stairs to answer a call when you've got no arms or legs? I've got friction burns on my stumps now, cheers a bunch (sniff sniff)
Him: Listen we can help you to.......
Me: I have 9 children to look after on my own, my wife died in a freak hang gliding accident, they're still finding body parts in the forest 6 months on! Why do you people do this to me?
The phone went silent, it's not often you get the chance to hush a salesman but I had achieved part one of my masterplan.
Me: Look give me a phone number and I'll call back later, I haven't been able to wipe properly and it's beginning to smell.
The blithering idiot gave me the 0800 number, therein was his second calamitous error. I thanked him for his call, he apologised for his tactlessness (my word not his, it contains more than two syllables) and we parted ways. It was time to become the dicker instead of the dickee..... I picked up the phone and dialed the freephone number, after a couple of rings they picked up, and I went for it. In my finest most fake Australian accent I was off.
Call 1
Me: G'day!
Them: Er hello?
Me: My name's Shane and I'm calling from the Eastern Australia boomerang company.
Them: This is a business, not a home, we don't accept cold calls.......
Me: Oh mate, this is not a cold call, it's a red hot ring a ling! I've been authorised to offer you an extra 3.7732% discount on EVERY SINGLE boomerang you purchase today!
Them: Listen, this is really not right we have a job to do.
Me: If you don't buy one from me I'll just keep coming back (get it!?!?!? She didn't!)
Click, the phone went dead.
Call 2 (ASIAN ACCENT)
Me: Helloings!
Them: hello, may I please take your name?
Me: My name is A.J and I am calling from mobile phone shopping in Mumbai.
Them: OK.......
Me: I am incredibly pleased to tell you that we are currently upragdings peoples phones for absolutely free, and it will only cost you £43 per month!
Them: Listen this is a business number, and I'm kind of busy.
Me: This is fine, all you need to do is give me your email address and I will send you a formings with some details we require to activate your new Nokia 3310, all we need is your bank account number, sort coding, home address and mothers maiden name for security.
Them: Errr, you can't ask somebody for those details, that's not on.
Me: Neither is phoning me up three times a week and telling me I've had a FUCKING ACCIDENT!
Click.
Call 3 'THE HILLBILLY'
Them: Hello.
Them: Hello??
Them: HELLO???
Me: oh sorry mate I was errrrr...... 'GET BACK IN THAT CAGE, DON'T MAKE ME BEAT YOU AGAIN WOMAN!'
Them: Is everything ok?
Me: Yeah but this stupid bitch seems to forget she's my prisoner!
Click.
So next time you get a call that you really don't want have a little fun, it's an 0800 number so you lose nothing, and to be fair you might just cheer yourself up :)
You get to the phone, take a deep breath, prepare yourself for the worst news imaginable and gingerly pick up the receiver.
You: Hello
You: Hello?
You: HELLO???
You then tap the button a bunch of times to see if there is even a call there, which thinking about it is pretty dumb because it is always possible you'll cut that all important call off.... But of course nobody is there, because it is yet another fucking call centre sent to waste another 5 minutes of your life.
Well I've had enough, there's been a line drawn in the sand which they proceed to step over on a daily basis, and it's about time we pushed back.
I just received a call from a company in London that told me I'd been involved in an accident recently and could be due £10,000 in compensation. Now this accident must have been while under the influence of some new wonder drug (or Rohypnol) because I remember precisely fuck all about it. I tried to get rid as quickly as possible but decided after a couple of minutes that screwing with them would be far more fun. I asked him if there would be any paperwork to sign, he said yes..... that was his first mistake.
Me: Well that's just fucking cruel.....
Him: What is?
Me: You know I had an accident!
Him: Yes, we're here to help you, I don't see the problem......
Me: If you'd looked at my case file you'd have seen that I had all 4 limbs torn off in an accident involving a combine harvester, How the fuck do you expect me to sign the fucking paperwork?
Him: Oh, I'm so sorry we just......
Me: This is so insensitive (fake tears and sobbing noises ensued) I can't even wipe my own arse and you're here asking me to hold a pen and sign paperwork......
Him: Please calm down Mr Powell, we have procedures in pla......
Me: How am I going to get my £10,000 if I can't (sob sob) sign my paperwork?
Him: well look, what we can do is....
Me: I was on the toilet when you called, do you have any idea how difficult it is getting down the stairs to answer a call when you've got no arms or legs? I've got friction burns on my stumps now, cheers a bunch (sniff sniff)
Him: Listen we can help you to.......
Me: I have 9 children to look after on my own, my wife died in a freak hang gliding accident, they're still finding body parts in the forest 6 months on! Why do you people do this to me?
The phone went silent, it's not often you get the chance to hush a salesman but I had achieved part one of my masterplan.
Me: Look give me a phone number and I'll call back later, I haven't been able to wipe properly and it's beginning to smell.
 |
| Good evenings! |
The blithering idiot gave me the 0800 number, therein was his second calamitous error. I thanked him for his call, he apologised for his tactlessness (my word not his, it contains more than two syllables) and we parted ways. It was time to become the dicker instead of the dickee..... I picked up the phone and dialed the freephone number, after a couple of rings they picked up, and I went for it. In my finest most fake Australian accent I was off.
Call 1
Me: G'day!
Them: Er hello?
Me: My name's Shane and I'm calling from the Eastern Australia boomerang company.
Them: This is a business, not a home, we don't accept cold calls.......
Me: Oh mate, this is not a cold call, it's a red hot ring a ling! I've been authorised to offer you an extra 3.7732% discount on EVERY SINGLE boomerang you purchase today!
Them: Listen, this is really not right we have a job to do.
Me: If you don't buy one from me I'll just keep coming back (get it!?!?!? She didn't!)
Click, the phone went dead.
Call 2 (ASIAN ACCENT)
Me: Helloings!
Them: hello, may I please take your name?
Me: My name is A.J and I am calling from mobile phone shopping in Mumbai.
Them: OK.......
Me: I am incredibly pleased to tell you that we are currently upragdings peoples phones for absolutely free, and it will only cost you £43 per month!
Them: Listen this is a business number, and I'm kind of busy.
Me: This is fine, all you need to do is give me your email address and I will send you a formings with some details we require to activate your new Nokia 3310, all we need is your bank account number, sort coding, home address and mothers maiden name for security.
Them: Errr, you can't ask somebody for those details, that's not on.
Me: Neither is phoning me up three times a week and telling me I've had a FUCKING ACCIDENT!
Click.
Call 3 'THE HILLBILLY'
Them: Hello.
Them: Hello??
Them: HELLO???
Me: oh sorry mate I was errrrr...... 'GET BACK IN THAT CAGE, DON'T MAKE ME BEAT YOU AGAIN WOMAN!'
Them: Is everything ok?
Me: Yeah but this stupid bitch seems to forget she's my prisoner!
Click.
So next time you get a call that you really don't want have a little fun, it's an 0800 number so you lose nothing, and to be fair you might just cheer yourself up :)
Sunday, 29 March 2015
Video games gave me herpes!!!
No, of course they fucking didn't.....
But let's be honest the world wants to blame games for the ills of the world, the reason that people kill each other on the streets and the reason that psychopaths become serial killers.
When I grew up I played a lot of Monopoly, a game that should have taught me to be a wanker and charge the poor extortionate rent for a dingy one bedroom maisonette that had smoke damage and smelled of cat piss on Old Kent fucking road.
Another popular board game when I was young was called RISK! In a nutshell it was a map divided up into territories and the idea was to eliminate all of the other players by taking their land by force. I never did feel the need to overthrow the French government, and in actual fact I do believe that a nutter tried this LONG before the board game was thought of....... His name was Hitler, he was a massive bell end, he didn't play video games either.
In the news today it has been mentioned, nay recommended that any parents allowing their children to play video games of an age rating higher than their tender years should be visited and potentially ARRESTED by the police! Really? I mean.... REALLY????
What these silly plastic shoe wearing, tree hugging, soppy bollock left wing toerags seem to be ignoring is one painstakingly obvious flaw in their thinking, crime predates video games, electricity and even toilet roll. Yes, people were still cleaning their rusty sherriff's badges with a leaf or their hand when crime and violence were rife.
Thousands of years ago people were crucified, stoned to death and if you believe in the bible (That is a whole other topic I will get into one day) wiped from the earth via genocidal floods. I don't believe that GTA V or Call of Duty ever covered these events, unless I happened to miss the GTA V Nazareth update where cars were replaced with Donkeys.
The simple truth remains, if you are nuts you will forever be nuts, a video game does not a serial killer make. Can you imagine that Harold Shipman sat down for a game of destiny each night before plotting to bump off another old biddy? Did Hitler use Command and Conquer to plot his ethnic cleansing of the free world? Of course they fucking didn't.
I allow my kids to pay certain games, some are for children above their age range, others are not. I do this because I am not a lazy parent. I can use a game to explain to children why shooting a policeman would be a very bad thing. It is easy for these dicks to blame society, social media and anything else that happens to be the current scapegoat for them failing to give their children an education and boundaries.
I grew up watching horror movies at my friends house, Lucan and I would watch nightmare on elm street movies on video (Yes video kids, none of this DVD/Blu ray shit that requires no rewinding) but we didn't feel the need to go and slice people up, because we had this gift I like to call common sense.
Why is it that a soldier can be trained to kill from the age of 16 (although not seeing combat until 18) but they can't use a control pad to guide some pixels around a screen to shoot some other pixels, with bullets made of pixels. Did you know there is currently no minimum age for shooting a shotgun in the UK, I could let my 4 year old son shoot a hole in a pigeon, take photographs of the wounds and let him pluck and eat it, and that would be acceptable in the eyes of the law.
So please, before you allow yourself to be swept along by a tidal wave of political softness and remove your child's outlet for expression please take a look at your child, really look at them and think do I know my child. If you do and you know that your child will not be affected by the content of the game, ignore the idiots.
If however you think that a video game will be the breaking of your child and turn them into a gun toting psychopath then I am sorry to tell you that no amount of video game banning will stop them from becoming the next Anders Breivik.
Next up, Trolling a LibDem political hopeful over immigration issues.
But let's be honest the world wants to blame games for the ills of the world, the reason that people kill each other on the streets and the reason that psychopaths become serial killers.
When I grew up I played a lot of Monopoly, a game that should have taught me to be a wanker and charge the poor extortionate rent for a dingy one bedroom maisonette that had smoke damage and smelled of cat piss on Old Kent fucking road.
Another popular board game when I was young was called RISK! In a nutshell it was a map divided up into territories and the idea was to eliminate all of the other players by taking their land by force. I never did feel the need to overthrow the French government, and in actual fact I do believe that a nutter tried this LONG before the board game was thought of....... His name was Hitler, he was a massive bell end, he didn't play video games either.
In the news today it has been mentioned, nay recommended that any parents allowing their children to play video games of an age rating higher than their tender years should be visited and potentially ARRESTED by the police! Really? I mean.... REALLY????
What these silly plastic shoe wearing, tree hugging, soppy bollock left wing toerags seem to be ignoring is one painstakingly obvious flaw in their thinking, crime predates video games, electricity and even toilet roll. Yes, people were still cleaning their rusty sherriff's badges with a leaf or their hand when crime and violence were rife.
Thousands of years ago people were crucified, stoned to death and if you believe in the bible (That is a whole other topic I will get into one day) wiped from the earth via genocidal floods. I don't believe that GTA V or Call of Duty ever covered these events, unless I happened to miss the GTA V Nazareth update where cars were replaced with Donkeys.
The simple truth remains, if you are nuts you will forever be nuts, a video game does not a serial killer make. Can you imagine that Harold Shipman sat down for a game of destiny each night before plotting to bump off another old biddy? Did Hitler use Command and Conquer to plot his ethnic cleansing of the free world? Of course they fucking didn't.
I allow my kids to pay certain games, some are for children above their age range, others are not. I do this because I am not a lazy parent. I can use a game to explain to children why shooting a policeman would be a very bad thing. It is easy for these dicks to blame society, social media and anything else that happens to be the current scapegoat for them failing to give their children an education and boundaries.
I grew up watching horror movies at my friends house, Lucan and I would watch nightmare on elm street movies on video (Yes video kids, none of this DVD/Blu ray shit that requires no rewinding) but we didn't feel the need to go and slice people up, because we had this gift I like to call common sense.
Why is it that a soldier can be trained to kill from the age of 16 (although not seeing combat until 18) but they can't use a control pad to guide some pixels around a screen to shoot some other pixels, with bullets made of pixels. Did you know there is currently no minimum age for shooting a shotgun in the UK, I could let my 4 year old son shoot a hole in a pigeon, take photographs of the wounds and let him pluck and eat it, and that would be acceptable in the eyes of the law.
So please, before you allow yourself to be swept along by a tidal wave of political softness and remove your child's outlet for expression please take a look at your child, really look at them and think do I know my child. If you do and you know that your child will not be affected by the content of the game, ignore the idiots.
If however you think that a video game will be the breaking of your child and turn them into a gun toting psychopath then I am sorry to tell you that no amount of video game banning will stop them from becoming the next Anders Breivik.
Next up, Trolling a LibDem political hopeful over immigration issues.
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