You Utter Cunts

Fun For All The Family!

2007-08-02T10:51:00.000-07:00

Good evening, all.

I have devised a game called "Hide the Pickle". Should anybody wish to play, here are the rules.

1. Hide the pickle.
2. Wash hands.
3. Pass the salt.
4. Pass the parcel.
5. Pass a kidney stone.
6. Pass 'Go'. Collect nowt.
7. Dance on your own face.
8. Apply wax to your gums & pretend to be Jimmy Saville.
9. Watch Xena: Warrior Princess for 3 hours & lick the fridge.
10. Find an Ordinance Survey map of Chesterfield, sprinkle with lemon juice and apply to affected area twice daily.

A good laze

2007-07-04T03:15:00.000-07:00

Hmm...I'm sure my body clock is in a different time zone today. I usually get up at 8am (give or take half an hour) on weekdays but todayI was an hour late and as a result, could not be in the least bit arsed to go to My Place Of Study. I was expecting to have a good laze, but I suppose I'll have to get some tasks done instead, such as:

Go to the bank to get another charge written-off. Bastards.
Get to another job agency like the bum I am.
Post some job application letters.
Do some real work.
Learn the bass to an album I am helping to record.
Get the fucking Freeview box sorted out.
Maybe do some gardening.

I can't help being poor.

Send your Doritos to the usual address.

Déja Vú?

2007-07-03T15:54:00.000-07:00

Another interesting story on BBC news today:

"Girl Could Give Birth To Own Sibling"
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/6264082.stm

This is no great medical feat. In fact, it's been going on for years in places such as Texas, Louisiana and Birkenhead.

Blogger...

2007-07-03T15:37:00.000-07:00

...is shite.

Just a quickie, but if anyone can inform me of a better blogging tool, Muchos Appreciatos all round.

Laters.

I bet they forget to breathe...

2007-07-03T15:14:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure what it is about American geeks...

Perhaps the blood vessels in their brains are clogged with grease, or maybe years of being social outcasts have made them reject the education system all together?

One thing that I am sure connects them all is the fact that 99.999% of these sweaty pillow-humpers is that they are completely and utterly illiterate.

An example? I'm give you loads.

1) Unreal Tournament In-Game Chat

Firstly, I go on this game mainly to de-stress by shooting people in the knackers, whether they be male, female, teammates or Martian cows with sniper rifles. One thing that strikes me, apart from why people use the chat facility whilst shooting said people in aforementioned knackers, is why they cannot even grasp the simple concept of grammar.

e.g. "Haha. I killed you. You're rather shit at this, you know".

BECOMES

"Lolz ah pwned da n00bz ROTFLMAO silly n00bz dnt mess wid da l33t"

...

Poetry. NEXT EXAMPLE.

2) Self-Proclaimed 'Blog-Gods' Who Miss The Really Simple Things

I know, I'm a petty bastard. Nevertheless, the following words do not exist. Really.

Addicting

Poetery

N00b

Chris Evans

Fedded

Not exactly Stephen King, is it?

3) Children

I know that children by design are supposed to be ignorant and small, but seeing the words "All Poleese R Ourshols" scrawled all over a phone box make me wonder if we shouldn't stop at bringing back the cane, but start running schools like Mexican prisons. (Somebody suggested that this should include compulsory sodomy, but I maintain that this should be a forfeit option for detentions).

4) The Elderly

This has nothing to do with literacy. I just despise the majority of old bastards, mainly because they block supermarket aisles and stink of piss. 'nuff said, I think.

*sigh*

I needed that. It's been ages since I had a good rant.

Laters.

Trotsky Looks Like Patsy Kensit

2007-05-28T17:11:00.001-07:00

My cool celebrity look-alike collage from MyHeritage.com. Get one for yourself.

Milan Win Champions League

2007-05-23T14:22:00.000-07:00

Bastards. Here's a piccie for ya's...

I hate MS Office...

2007-05-15T11:41:00.000-07:00

Seriously...it's utter, utter wank.

I hate:

Trying to insert a graph into Word
The fact that Database makes absolutely NO sense to me
Excel. It hurts my eyes and makes me want to stab
Powerpoint, mainly because I have to use it so much
Publisher isn't actually that bad
Frontpage, because it takes so fuckin' long to download
THAT. CUNTING. PAPERCLIP.

I'm not totally sure why I posted this, but I'm practising a bit of goal displacement. I should be working at the moment. I guess my poor brain needs a rest or something. Yeah, that's a good excuse. Means I can take 5 to have a fag in the garden.

Anyway, I am off again now. If anybody was wondering I am downloading Frontpage so I can try some interesting experiments, examples of which will be posted here ASAP*

In a bit.

*SAS-Speak for "In Three Weeks".

Revelation Of The Week

2007-05-04T17:00:00.001-07:00

Badger has started drinking this:

He finds it lovely, but is not a mincer. As proof, here is an example of a mincer:

Normal service will resume once the liver is cleansed.

Lookalike Of The Week

2007-05-02T16:20:00.000-07:00

This week, Badger has found similarities between:

Ian Holloway: Manager of Plymouth FC

Nikolay Bukharin: President of the Comintern, 1926

Letter to Peter Jones

2007-03-20T13:30:00.000-07:00

For those who may not know me all too well (i.e. everyone), I am currently addicted to Dragon's Den on BBC1. For those who do not know, Dragon's Den is a television programme where people with very cheesy ideas and no business experience try to get exceedingly rich people to give them money and do all the dirty work in exchange for a percentage of their company. One of these "Dragons" is Peter Jones, a 6'7" multi-millionaire with a penchant for cheesy one-liners (this is a good thing).

Recently, after consuming slightly too much John Smiths, I decided to send him a business pitch of my own. The product in question was a "massive hammer" that required approximately £30 billion of investment.

His Reply:

"Dear Big Dave,

How fast do they run when they run away ? Is the Hammer air-Transportable ? Is it Norse ? Perhaps it sounds like the ideal eco-friendly zero emission weapon, with a nice traditional Viking aspect, for ''Green'' Division of the SBS now being assembled for sevice overseas. Contact the MOD, and good luck."

Yes, I used the pseudonym "Big Dave". Let's not forget the fact that I had been drinking...

My Reply:

Dear Sir Jones,

Thank you very much for your kind reply. This is most appreciated, especially as I know how busy your schedule must be. In response to your suggestions,

When running away, the people in question tend to travel at 20-50mph. This is obviously a somewhat unpredictable variable due to several factors, such as incline, wind direction/speed and the ever-recurring "Fear Factor". Human nature is volatile, but I'm sure we could twist it in our favour.

The hammer is air-transportable. Throwing with force is the most desired means of transportation over short to medium range distances, preferably over flat terrain. However, in other situations it will be possible to use a small helicopter (not dissimilar to those featuring in M*A*S*H) for transportation. This is not the method I generally use, however. I prefer to hire a Volkswagon Beetle and cruise the open road, swinging my hammer in Little Chef's throughout the nation (and no, this is not a double enténdre).

The hammer has many designs. Some are Norse, some have African influences and I am on the verge of closing a deal with a major retailer regarding sales of the new "Welsh" range. I expect a good return from these bad boyos.

The hammer is perfectly eco-friendly. Ethical, however, is another matter completely.

I did try contacting the MOD, but for some reason they put the phone down on me, calling me a name that sounds like James Blunt. I think they believe that this is a hoax. Do not fear, Lord Jones, as they are my first target when my products get patented. It'll be like Sky and Virgin Media all over again, only with less American dramas and more hammers. Naturally.

Again, I would like to thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule in order to respond to my business pitch. Together, we can make billions and be far superior to that bearded man who's always travelling the world in massive balloons.

I look forward to your reply, Darth Jones.

Yours Sincerely,

Big Dave.

I can't wait for a reply...

Badger Has A Forum!

2007-03-18T15:03:00.000-07:00

http://badger18.proboards74.com/index.cgi

Fuckin' bookmark it, will ya!

Not only am I going to use this site for basic advertising, but I have been forced to use it as a go-between as Proboards (Yes...I know...) links don't seem to be allowed in some places.

Ah, I be a crafty cunt.

So come along, make yersel' a nice brew and start verbally beating people to death with the crowbar of your mind. It works for me, anyway.

In a bit.

Reward For Capture Of Warner Bros Favourite

2007-03-05T07:40:00.000-08:00

Robin Fudd.

...

I need some new ideas, people...

BBC Unveil New Sitcom

2007-03-01T10:27:00.000-08:00

The Fresh Prince of Dibley.

The New Face Of Cillit Bang

2007-02-23T12:54:00.000-08:00

Leon Trotsky.

...

I bore far too easily.

I am an official businessman

2007-02-20T13:02:00.000-08:00

Well, the last week has been lovely and eventful...

Well, not really.

I'm just now able to sell my unwanted crap on eBay through a mate's account.

I've actually found a couple of lovely gems, like a PC game bought last year for 99p is apparently worth £20-40. Thank fuck for Gamestation. Also, I have about 200 books dotted about my house which may as well go to a new home instead of wallowing in a cupboard for a few more years.

I'm just glad this is around. I'm still jobhunting at the moment and as such am trying to find sources of revenue wherever I can. You'd think this would make me give up the booze & fags though, wouldn't ya.

So...

Anybody want a load of cheap Stephen King books? Jonathan Kellerman? James Herbert?

Fuck's sake. At least take these shite PC games off me. Even as a bundle they'll still be going for less than a quid each.

Tell you what. Do me a favour and search for Fagmoggy in the eBay community whatsit. Bid on my stuff and you get me phone number. Deal? Hey, we all have to start somewhere. At least I'm doing this in a gentlemanly way. I hear Richard Branson was whoring himself out to vicars at my age.

...

Or not.

Silly Bastard

2007-02-04T15:14:00.000-08:00

Ugh...

Hello again, Random Browser. Have a good New Year and all that bollocks? Blah, blah friggin' blah.

I've only really come on here out of guilt, to be quite honest. Not because I wanted to keep all three of my readers satisfied, but more to do with the fact that I'm tired of always thinking of things that should have gone in here but didn't. Either because I can be a very lazy cunt at times, or because I generally can't make the tedious bits any good to read. More like the equivalent of a Facial Herpes leaflet (available at all good GP's).

(I fucking did it again - went to watch tv for 20 minutes.)

But anyway...

I did have a story to put on here, but it is shite. Fair do's, I reckon. I'll come up with something decent soon, just please remind me to update this thing. I have to make my millions somehow.

...

Send your Dorito's to the usual address.

You want me to do WHAT?!

2006-12-14T08:49:00.000-08:00

Fuck me, there's been some interesting conversation today...

For those In The Know, I am a long-haired gentleman. This isn't exactly spectacular in itself (well, saying that, I do live Oop North) but what does amaze me is the sheer number of people who want to do something with the stuff that grows out of my head.

Plait it?
Perm it? (Fuck right off)
Put it in pigtails?
Straighten it?

You can all go shit off if you think I'm going in for any of that bollocks. I like my hair how it is, thank you. I don't need some chirpy mentalist going through my luscious locks, bowing in amazement at this blessed Brunette in front of them. Instead of grooming, this is my routine:

Wash it until it squeaks
Get half way through drying it before giving up and letting nature take its course
Brush it until near-death
Go out
Let the wind blow seven shades of shit out of it
Get pissed off
Repeat

And I didn't even need lessons.

"Naughty or Nice list???"

2006-12-13T14:51:00.000-08:00

I'm on MySpace, you know. I usually get quite a few of those chain quiz things each day and usually I complete them...except this one...

You know the kind; "Put an X by whatever naughty thing you've ever done blah blah blah..."

I'm not doing that quiz.

I'm always in the nice list, as Santa knows that if I wasn't, he'd get his fuckin' head smashed in.

Fat, mince pie-eating bastard.

And I still haven't recieved the nuclear warhead I put on my list when I was 6. I bet he blames the Royal Mail. Saying that, they are useless twats, after all.

If this carries on, he's going to have to start counting my presents on the fingers he hasn't got, lest he "accidentally" cut his head off whilst shaving.

...

Those reindeer are alkie twats as well.

Terrorism? My Arse.

2006-10-19T14:47:00.000-07:00

I know very well that this is slightly old news, but nevertheless I shall spout about it...

Some time a go, as in a few days, there was a surprisingly decent article in the Daily Mirror about a 14 year-old American girl who was apparently "taken away" by government agents for saying that she wanted to kill Georgie Bush on her website. They put her back where she came from, but nevertheless the judgement behind that must have come from the bottom of a whisky bottle. I mean, what in the name of Ghandi's flip-flops is a 14 year-old schoolgirl going to do to one of the most heavily guarded men in the world? Make a silly face? Oooh, security breach.

Just to invoke some justice, I am going to attract the attention of these scumsucking wasters by including the following in this post:

BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.
BUSH MUST DIE HE IS AN INFIDEL.

If I don't come back, avenge my death...

NO SHOUTING

2006-10-15T09:40:00.000-07:00

My cunting head hurts.

Cold virus + cider = No good mix, senor.

I've had to mow the bastarding lawn today as well. Then the pointy-bit off the rake flew away. I threw the cunt.

Somebody give me some Sudafed and a slap.

A Cunt Of A Day

2006-10-07T14:06:00.000-07:00

I cannot explain at this point how much I hate the stupid, useless cunting Post Office right now...

The Background Bit:

Sometime in November, I am (hopefully) going to Auschwitz with My Place Of Study as part of a History course. Harrowing as it will be, I still think that it is something that I would, for lack of a better word, enjoy. However, I need a passport, as I have never needed to go abroad before. Sounds simple enough, fill out the form, Check & Send, etc...

Simple it was not...

Shitty Bit - Part 1:

Right, the form has been filled in, with countersignature and everything. Get to the Post Office (after parking fees, etc) when, after having the whole form meticulously checked (yet they didn't realize I signed ever so slightly outside of the box), the monster bitch behind the (luckily) bulletproof window goes:

"We can't accept this".

"Why not?"

"It's been done in a fiber pen. Can't have that. Ballpoint only".

"It says BLACK INK ONLY on the form. It's black. This has to go off today".

"Can't do it".

"I am going to chin you"

Well, the last bit was said mentally, but my feelings were explained...

Shitty Bit - Part 2:

Okay, then... Got the new form now, countersigned for a second time. Get to the Post Office again...

"Can't do it".

"Fuck's sake...Why not?"

"Birth certificate isn't the right type. Needs your parents information on it".

"I am getting pissed off with you lot now".

"You'll have to get the full one from Chester, 6 miles away. On Monday".

Now, if I had the time to get this done in such a shitty amount of time, I wouldn't mind too much. But I need this fucking passport SOON. I just hate bureaucracy and the bureautwats that come neatly packaged inside it. I want to get a nice, long roll of that red tape they hold so dear and FUCKING GARROTTE THEM WITH IT.

It may be a trivial matter, but I feel so much better for that...

Media Bastards...

2006-09-16T08:14:00.000-07:00

As with most people on this Earth, I like to keep myself well-informed on the current doings within our world. Things like current events and when the zombie flicks start on cable TV.

To do this, I like to read the newspaper in the morning. Unfortunately, in my household I have no choice but to read the Daily Mirror.

Now, in case you aren't aware, the Daily Mirror is a UK tabloid newspaper. Also, it is Utter. Fucking. Shite.

I remember when it used to be a decent paper, with hard-hitting, controversial stories and the like. Nowadays, I look on the front page and what do I see? I'll cunting tell thee...

Victoria Beckham's Big Lips.
Elton John hates X Factor.
Free DVD at Somerfield.
Tory MP shags someone else and it's not very nice.

And, in a tiny, piss-ant box in the corner:
Harriet: I want to be Deputy.

Oh. I nearly missed that.

It just pisses me off that a once perfectly respectable form of media has been forced (or so it would seem) into dumbing down and pandering to the alledged 'needs' of it's readers. Not only this, but it seems that they are not even paying attention to what most people really want: news. I don't give a shit about what Victoria Beckham is wearing. If anything, I'd prefer to go on Google Images and search for her wearing nothing. I do not want to be force-fed sensationalist bullshit by people trying to tell their readers what they want.

The cuntrags.

Just once in my life I would like to be able to know what's really going on in the world, not just who's doing who.

It doesn't really matter anymore, anyway. I just skip to the cartoons.

Writer's Block

2006-09-05T14:37:00.000-07:00

Argh...what is wrong with me nowadays?

Obviously, before it all went a bit Frank Spencer this blog used to be something of a fountain of wisdom, with knowledge and serenity trickling from all angles. Now it's something of a puddle of suspicious fluids with odd noises coming out of every orifice. Why? I'll fucking tell thee why:

I am losing my creative flow!

Not in that shite hippie way. I just mean that every time I try to think of something to appease the millions of people that obviously read this page (well, 2 old men and a dog, really...) my mind clamps up tighter than a crow's arse, which is waterproof.

So far, the only thing that is helping right now is the litre of Nescafe (I don't know how to do the ' thing on the end) currently sloshing about my system. Alas, even now I am crashing...

Balls to it.

I'm off to bed soon, I'm fucking knackered.

This post should keep the guilt away for the next 4 months...

ASDA Arses

2006-08-21T07:16:00.000-07:00

Hmm...this is the first post I have written in some time. Naturally, any kind of creative talent I may have previously seems to have gone out of the bastarding window since I last tried being angry...

Thing is, the reason I haven't put anything new up for so long is the fact that I haven't been frigging angry enough.

Alas, here I am, ranting again to literally tens of people. What about? Well, I have decided this time to go over a previously mentioned subject...

Fucking. ASDA.

Yes, I know, this may seem like I am regurgitating the same old prose, but really, this time I am truly pissed off...
You see, for those that do not live in or near my current location (the backwater that is Ellesmere Port) you would not know that recently we have been treated with a brand new ASDA "supercentre". Yes it is big, yes it was FUCKING expensive, but super it ain't...

For example, the building itself has no ceiling, only a roof. A roof that is at least 60' off the ground. Walking inside is like entering some sort of frigging wind tunnel. This is of course assuming you can get in through the two sets of double doors that are always crowded with the fat, old and terminally unhygenic.

Last week was especially worse. As I walked (or tried to walk) inside the building I was stopped by a crowd of (literally) 200 or more people. Why? Chico (I forgot he existed as well) was there. For what I can't even remember, but he was there, and so were 200 other people with a combined IQ in minus figures.

I nearly had a coronary when one of the "Greeters" (BadgeWearingHappyNazis) informed me that if I was only going in to buy bread I should walk 100 metres around the inside of the store. For. A. Fucking. Loaf. Needless to say, I told her to "Cunt off" and waded through anyway. Coincidentally, I have a friend who works in the bakery there. I should have asked him for some scones on the sly as compensation...

I know. This has been a fairly dull rant but I needed to get it off my chest. I'm shopping at Morrisons from now on. At least they serve me for 4 quid Scotch.

And this has nothing at all to do with the fact that they turned down my job application.

Elitist cunts.

Supermarket People

2006-08-07T14:00:00.000-07:00

I now officially hate shopping in supermarkets.

Every wednesday I have to heave myself out of the house and go to the local Wal-Mart derivative in order to get supplies with which I can stop myself keeling over the keyboard from stress-induced malnutrition. Every week it is the same fucking chore in which I have to mentally force myself to avoid killing everybody that walks within aisles at less than 6 miles per hour. Just so that I can stop myself from bashing the shit out of my keyboard as I type, here is everything that I hate about...

The People: I have a theory that Wal-Mart is cloning human beings to act as customers within their stores. Within any supermarket you will find the same set of people wandering around aimlessly, searching for the "organic cheese". Here's a condensed list:

a) Old people are a must-have accessory for any successful supermarket chain. Old people are the backbone that supports the entire infrastructure of the common supermarket, the reason being that there are so fucking many of them. Any time you walk into a supermarket you are instantly barraged by the familiar aroma of lavender and week-old piss. Any time you look down an aisle you will see nothing but brown clothing (most probably to hide the stains) and dyed-purple hair. Any time you try to get yourself and a trolley past a clan of old people gossiping about dead Mildred you will be either hissed at, spat at or blatantly ignored until you are forced to trek around another four aisles or just systematically punch them in the face until they collapse out of your way. I think that this is an ingenious plot to keep people wandering around the stores in the hope that instead of just buying a box of teabags they might purchase some patio furniture as well. Money grabbing bastards.

b) Single mothers are also rife within supermarkets. These creatures are most frequently seen hanging out of a neon blue shellsuit with the word "ANGEL" stretched across the arse area. They are also most commonly spotted cramming boxes of Stella into prams in an attempt to sneak them through the security sensors. It is genuinely possible to contract a variety of STD's by just maintaining eye contact with them. When can not be seen they can almost certianly be heard screaming the names of their vile, snotting offspring from at least 6 aisles away. These names are usually on the lines of "Chanel" and "Bradley" and after 20 minutes turn into a form of white noise, scraping at your brain cells with every utterance. These children are also to be watched as they waddle around the fruit and vegetables, wheezing and snorting at anything that isn't covered in plastic. On second thoughts, you might as well avoid the spotty little fuckers altogether.

c) Single fathers usually fit into the same description, except that the Stella is a DVD player and instead of trying to sneak it out of the store in a pram he will usually choose to punch the greeter in the face and make a run for it through the front doors, by which time the children have already shouted "FUCK" down the P.A. mic and have joined their father carrying a wad of free magazines and toffees from the pic and mix.

d) On the other end of the spectrum are the rather annoying species of Margo Leadbetter clones that by rights should be doing their weekly shopping in Marks and Spencers. These are deliberately the most selfish and obnoxious creatures that you are ever likely to find in a Supermarket (yes, with a Capital S - because they'd want it that way), usually because one of their parents-in-law owns the entire fucking company. If ever you are forced into conversation with one of these creatures you will see how easy it is to imagine a small machine acting as their brain, programmed to spew certain key words such as "Organic", "Delia" and "Jaguar" at four second intervals. These people are not considered anti-social in the conventional sense of the phrase - the typically do not smoke, drink lager or punch security guards called Darren in the face on their way out - but they are anti-social in a more subtle, authoritarian approach. By this I mean that they will block the end of a aisle so that they can pretend to study the back of a loaf of Generic Organic Bread, subsequently stopping people like me from ever getting to the ice-cream (and no, I can't be arsed walking around the other way - I have far too much pride anyway). Common polite expressions such as "Excuse me" or "Can I just squeeze past you, there?" have no effect on these pseudo-superior cunts. From personal experience I find it more effective - and satisfactory - to yell the words "Move, you twat" at high volume. This method may result in you getting ejected from the store but believe me - it's well fucking worth it.

e) Another batch of people who constantly visit supermarkets are the general batch of local health-conscious nutters. They are usually seen carrying baskets of nuts, cranberries and fuck all else. The pretentious bastards.

f) Also, another thing that amazes me about supermarkets is the growing number of - wait for it - Albanians. Every week I find myself looking for numerous "4 for £3" offers when all of a sudden I look up and see that I am surrounded by a large group of tanned, bearded men looking at me (without seeming to) and eyeing up the contents of my trolley. From my own personal experience I have found that many of them come to supermarkets not to shop but to steal individual sweets and carrier bags to dress their children in. My advice is to ignore them if you see them taking any of the previously mentioned items as they may take jobs cleaning windows and find out where you live. Just coast along a sea of ignorance. Please. For the sake of the glazing.

g) Students are usually a common sight amongst the canned soup aisles. This is generally because they have to live on £5 a month and can't afford noodles. If this is the kind of living that education brings, thank fuck ignorance is bliss.

And these are just the customers.

Amongst the ranks of these oddities you may sometimes find the trampled body of Gordon. Gordon is the man who every wednesday at half past five can be seen stocking the fridges with strawberry yoghurts and lard. He is usually bald, in his late 40's and sports a handlebar moustache. He can also be seen in any supermarket, anywhere, at any time.

Some of the seemingly more fortunate ones are the kinds of people you will see in any chain of shops. The main ones are the overweight, middle-aged women (usually called Philippa) that mainly wear pant suits that look like they were made from starched bedsheets and have the mandatory dyed-reddish hair that makes them look like a cross between Elton John and a train. These people (and I am using the term extremely loosely) can usually be heard from any point within a retail building regardless of its size and are either carrying a clipboard or are shouting for the 15 year-old work experience boy to help some doddering old cunt carry a plasma screen to their car. This is what middle management does to people. For one reason or another, once they get off the first rung of that career ladder they are always itching to climb further and further up. They never do, though. Obese people are rarely promoted as they carry too much of an insurance liability in the event that they slip in a pool of their of grease or cause the service lift to plummet as far as gravity will take it. I now take back my original description of "fortunate".

I still hate the fat fuckers though.

Almost at the top of the ladder within a supermarket is the Assistant Manager. Usually a fat, spotty teenager called Stuart, he is the single person responsible for the times when the entire layout of the store is altered in the hope that - again - you will buy patio furniture on your way to the teabags. Assistant Managers are also naturally despised by anybody else working under them. due to the fact that they are still shaking with the exitement that being night manager of a store brings and as a result orders everybody underneath him (metaphor) to dance for him (not a metaphor). The Assistant Manager's position is usually filled by a different person each week as the last A.M. just happened to be found decomposing in the abandoned gardening department...

The last of all people the piss me off completely in supermarkets are the cleaners. No, they are not "housekeepers" and I know for a fact that they are not seen as "colleagues". They clean the skidmarks off the public toilets and secretly control the entire establishment from the inside like Nazis. If ever you find them leaving one of the toilets after their particular cleaning shift has just come to an end, always be sure to take a collossal shite in the sink. If you survive the aftermath of this, please feel free to contact me to collect your free medal.*

These are the only kinds of people I have allowed myself to recollect as I feel that I am in great need of a smoke and an infusion of caffeine. I can already feel the veins in my temples. I'm just going to press Ctrl-S and hope that this journal is still here when I return. **

*No medals will ever be given out by me. So don't fucking ask.
**It was as well, with loads of spelling errors.

Internet Chat

2006-08-07T13:59:00.000-07:00

Recently, after staying awake for far too young and surviving on a diet consisting of caffeine, nicotine and Pringles I found myself surfing blearily onto something that I have not taken seriously since I was 11. I went into an online chat room...

Now, I had an excuse for experimenting with this (I was off my tits on chemicals at the time) but as for the other 40 people in the room with me I could not fathom why they even bothered logging on to the internet, let alone begin interacting with other semi-human beings. After a brief spell of profile-browsing I quickly understood why they prefer a text-based social life to another, more "normal" one; they were all fucking ugly. Half of them were 50-something year old truckers called Goat, the other half were 11 year old boys trying to convince some woman in Albania to get her tits out on camera. In between these two categories were always some pitiful old people (the kind you usually see in AOL adverts when the company is trying to convince you that it isn't all a conspiracy) that just happened to stumble into the wrong room (somehow ending up in the BDSM GoatLove room). That isn't always a bad thing, though, it's always nice to see pensioners being told to "cunt off" by 11 year olds.

What I don't see is the whole point of these online chat rooms. I mean, you can pick up your local phone book, close your eyes and just put your finger down on what you probably think is a lucky number. There you can chat in private to some ageing dentist in Newcastle for a fraction of what you would pay for broadband over a month. Of course, doing this may result in legal action over a long period of time but if you're that desperate for social interaction then I suppose it's probably worth the trouble.

Oh, fuck it.

Just read a book instead.

Things that go "moo" in the night...

2006-08-07T13:52:00.000-07:00

Before I begin, I would like to state that this piece is not directed towards the minority of vegans/vegetarians who are physically unable to eat meat and/or dairy produce, due to allergies or other health reasons. These people are fine by me. What I hate, though, is militant vegetarians.

*****The species that I am going to talk about today, dear reader, is the standard vegetarian, also known as Beefius Nondigestivum.*****

Throughout my life I have encountered and interacted with people from almost all colours, races and creeds, whether out of friendship or enforced politeness, the fact remains that all of those people had valid reasons for living their lives as they did. However, out of all these cultures, sub-cultures and assorted freak shows there is only one group that I fail to see the purpose of. This is the vegetarian…

Now, I have heard many an argument for the MMDP (Modern Movement for Digestive Pacifism) over the years; these have varied from “I believe it is wrong to kill animals for food” to “Bacon is comprised of 90% oestrogen”. These are the sorts of reasons that never fail to make me laugh, usually because the person in question is either wearing leather or is visibly the mental & social equivalent of a rectal thermometer. In the sheer hope of saving an otherwise insignificant nugget of time, I will simply choose to rip some of these arguments apart, piece-by-piece…

“It is wrong to kill animals for food”

No, it isn’t. Humans have been killing things for food for thousands of years. Personally, I do not see a valid reason for enforcing such a sudden reform of the human dietary habits merely because we have invented a certain kind of train. (This does not make us any more civilised, just faster). Killing animals for food is not barbaric, nor is it cruel, disgusting or evil. Despite whatever you may think, we as a race are still animals, even if the majority of us are faster, cancer-attracting road-rage addicts. You give a lion a choice between a plate of Quorn sausages and your right forearm and within seconds you will see nature take its course.

“But Quorn is tasty!”
No, it is rather vile. Have you ever tasted a Quorn sausage? Something that is essentially shredded cork and breadcrumbs, wrapped and boiled in an oatmeal sock is not designed to taste nice. It is designed to have the same dietary benefits as a milk bottle. It is designed to rid possessed children of the devil. It is the sort of food that would make you want to rip open a cow and gorge, snuffling and snorting like some filthy hog train. Quorn is not tasty, it is practically sinful.

“I love Linda McCartney”

Piss off, hippie…

“But what about all of those celebrity veggies?”
What about them? The common celebrity has a lower IQ than a glass of water and almost certainly has no idea what R.D.A stands for. Or even how it is spelled. The common celebrity is usually an inbred talentless redneck who is almost certainly evolved from the wart of Rolf Harris. They know nothing about diets; they merely have the money for a fortnightly enema…
Oh, and before you continue, Hitler was a vegetarian. He was also a mass-murderer, had a silly moustache and had one ball too few. Next time, think before you use the argument of “celebrity” vegetarians…

“But the Atkins diet makes you eat meat and turns you fat”

Firstly, the Atkins diet does not “make” you do anything. It is a dietary guide, not a murderer. It does not bribe, blackmail or threaten you into changing your diet. It is your own gullible nature that does that. Yes, Dr Robert Atkins diet of a heart attack from morbid obesity but at least he seemed to die happy. And full. And face down in a puddle. Probably.

“Eating meat gives you health problems”

Most probably, but just bear in mind that not eating the muscle tissue of livestock can also lead to health problems, quite serious ones at that. For instance, some of the more common ailments range from anaemia to bladder weakness to becoming ginger. I personally think that a clogged aorta is a worthy price to pay for retaining my natural hair colour, thanks.

“Eating meat makes you no better than a caveman”

Well, this statement can be interpreted in two ways; whilst I am sure that the common caveman is far more adept at bashing two rocks together that I could ever be, I would like to see one solve a quadratic equation without the aid of pictures. If I am hungry, I shall eat. If I feel like it, I shall choose to eat meat. Abstinence does not make the animal in question any less dead, it just ends up in a different toilet.

So, feel free to carry on with your crusade, dear veggies. Just remember that the whole purpose of a cow is to eat, shit and die. Bear this in mind next time you tuck in to a Quorn casserole.

h@xor 3l33t = Fucking geek

2006-08-07T13:49:00.000-07:00

Consider this thought for a second; imagine yourself in a large house. This is the internet. Whilst you wander throughout the different (chat)rooms of the house you hear a noise. A bizarre chittering noise that you swear should belong to any number of woodland creatures. As you wander from (chat)room to (chat)room you notice that the noise is getting even louder as you progress into the more obscure areas. You are led by sheer curiosity to a plain wooden door. You open it, feeling a great sense of apprehension as you do so. Peering inside the small gap you have made you can barely see anything except a small flight of wooden stairs. You go down the steps, blinded by the lack of light around you.

The chittering stops.

Suddenly, a light goes on and you are surrounded by 12 moist, balding men dressed as wizards and mages. You turn around with the intention of returning to normal ground but your path is obstructed by a 21 year old male wearing a robe and a beard attached to his face with duct tape."Welcome to the Shrine of Atchlatkalar" he says, "You were foolish to venture from the regular (chat)rooms. Your maturity and hope for attaining a lifeform with which to breed shall be sacrificed to appease the gods. You are one of us now."It later transpired that on the handle to the door leading to the basement were the letters R.P.G...perhaps if you were more cautious, you may have avoided eternal damnnation...