Various conservationists, scientists and other men with beards and glasses are over the moon to have discovered this new species of Giant Fucking Rat
Why is this something to be celebrated I have no idea. The idea of enormous rodent vermin taking over the earth is one that has plagued my nightmares since childhood - given the propensity of rats to breed and spread by next Christmas it will no doubt be a reality
I would suggest you all invest in one of these quite fucking sharpish…
Predictably, I fucking hate Christmas. If I wanted to sit on my arse all day eating rich food, drinking until I have gout and trying desperately to amuse myself with pointless diversions I would have been an aristocrat in 18th century France.
Have you had your works “do” yet? I bet it was great wasn’t it? Loads of people you already have to put up with all day, every day (except now it’s on your own time and you are expected to buy a drink for that fat cunt from accounts as well) crammed into an over-loud bar and all sweating onto each other, talking about work and having a jolly old fucking time indeed. Hateful, hateful extravaganzas… I’m not going to ours this year, as I think I’d rather die of rectal haemorrhaging in prison than attend another.
At least we aren’t expected to send xmas cards around the office this year (which lets me off the hook as I never send the fuckers anyway), as instead we have decided to take the money we would normally have spent on cards and give it to a “worthwhile charity”.
This suits me as I spend fuck all a year on cards, so I’m just going to send the charity a note saying “pull yourself up by your damn bootstraps man!” instead.
YO HO FUCKING HO….
Dear Mr Geldof
A merry yuletide season to you!!
I am sure you share my continuing surprise regarding the fortunes of much of the African Continent. It would seem that despite your best efforts over the past 20 odd years the fortunes of this blighted continent have not appeared to rise in parallel to your own. I am sure that your consternation matches mine in this matter.
Ever since you were catapulted into obscurity following your all too short period of fame with the popular beat-combo “the Boom Town Rats” (and who can ever forget that one famous song you did?) you have worked tirelessly to publicise the cause of the continent and it’s people, no doubt to the detriment of your career. Who knows how big “the Rats” could have one day become had you not chosen your selfless path? You may even perhaps one day have played to “sold out” audiences in medium sized industrial towns and other dizzying heights of rock and roll fame.
Instead of this you selflessly turned your back on all this glory just to help other people. I admire you Mr Geldof, I really do. Yet, at the same time I worry so much about you too. I still see you on TV, with your wild ragged hair and crumpled linen suits, shouting incoherently at the camera like some kind of filthy Eurotrash tramp. Are you taking on too much work? Perhaps next year you could let someone else arrange any concerts you are planning to “raise awareness” of any one of the seemingly endless good causes you have attached yourself to. My only regret is that you might not continue to be the familiar happy, charming face that I so readily identify with “Celebrity Charity Events” and other such fine works.
Your philanthropy and sacrifice takes my breath away. How much must you despise the trappings that your estimated £30 million wealth could purchase for you? I imagine your every waking moment is consumed with grief and regret that those poor, poor people in
I must be awful for someone like you, someone who, by a cursory appraisal of their public image at least, is so clearly just some kind hippy at heart and obviously not some kind of capitalist, opportunistic, swindling scoundrel who has quite clearly realised he has got himself onto a good thing and just can’t help himself from feeding on it like a pig at a fucking trough.
Also, on an unrelated but niggling note, could I point out an inconsistency with your famous “Band Aid” song, specifically the lyrics “There won’t be snow in
But that doesn’t fucking rhyme very well does it?
Yours sincerely (and a merry Christmas!)
Fat Edgar
P.S. Yes, I do think you are a cunt.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/cavorting slappers
What I really, really want is for you to just die quietly you awful bunch of shrieking hags.
Actually I don’t want you to die, I just want you to plunge into obscurity, despite the best efforts of publicists and your tireless self promotion. I want you to be recognised for the sheer scale of your mediocrity. I want you to be a laughing stock. I want you to be the raddled old has-beens they have to shoe horn into “Celebrity” reality shows. I want you to be at the bottom of the bill forever, below the fucking Krankies. I want you to be the new “Roly Polys”. In ten years time I want to see a TV special about you in which one of you died of a drug overdose and the other was strangled to death by a “client”. I want the world to laugh in your fucking faces, just for being what you are.
Word cannot express the loathing and contempt I feel for these particular women.
It’s so extreme that some years go when Omar Bakri Mohammed said that one of his first acts when he got into power would be to behead them, I actually warmed to him quite a lot…
I particularly hate the continued use of their ridiculous twee nicknames- in fact, might I suggest more appropriate alternatives that match my rather cursory examination of their current physical state?
“Planet of the Apes Spice” (Victoria Beckham)
“Rustie Lee Spice” (Mel B)
“Council House Self Harming Mother of Seven Spice” (Mel C)
“Pub Landlady Spice” (Emma Bunton)
“Rod
Granted, they are a bit unwieldy, but so much more appropriate
Yet another one of Fat Edgar’s superb ideas for a TV show…
This one is “Dragon’s Den”, but turned on it’s head somewhat. Each week a series of tramps has to pitch their latest panhandling idea to a series of slightly larger, more aggressive tramps sitting on deckchairs in an old shed.
“Hello, my name’s Brian and what I’ve decided to do, right, is stand outside Marks and Spencer’s with a Dog, while playing a tin whistle really badly and whining at passers by for spare change. What I’m looking for is 50 pence for a cup of tea and a half share in a mongrel dog…”
“Well Brian, I like your style, and I really like your ideas-I’d like to offer you 20 pence for a cup of tea and a pair of shit stained tracksuit bottoms, but what I want in return is half a bag of cold chips you found in a bin and 3 swigs of cider…”
Apologies (for those who may give a fuck about these things) for not posting very much recently. This is because of all the evil thoughts I have been afraid to give shape to. The words give them life you see….
Took the title of today’s post from an article about Polish bakers on the BBC website, as I thought it was extremely amusing (incidentally, is this what I pay my licence fee for now??? to get updates on new developments in the pastry world?).
Where the fuck are all these Poles everyone is taking about? There are over 1000 employees in the company I work for and only 1 Pole (to my knowledge).He’s a lovely chap though-he came here straight from the Polish army and is very, very bitter about having to put his life on the line for several years for the equivalent of about 27 pence (plus some beetroots and a turnip) each day. He mutters darkly about his homeland…
I suppose we do have a series of ever changing eastern European Borat types who do the bins and stuff, but I don’t really register them as human beings anyway-I suppose that’s one of the advantages of working at the headquarters of the Nazi party.
According to the media I shouldn’t be able to leave the house without being accosted by lumpy looking foreign type with teeth made of Iron and a horrible jumper. Has anyone been to London recently?Are they all there
Apparently recent research has suggested that modern families do not touch or hug each other frequently enough. Now pardon me, but I’m fairly certain that the news is full of stories about families that apparently touch each other a little bit too much…
Anyway, we are being criticised for not being a tactile nation-we should be making more effort to hug and kiss our family friends and colleagues. Our colleagues?
Really? Can’t see that going down too fucking well on a building site, can you?
As far as I am concerned you can keep this kind of behaviour where it belongs-on the filthy continent… As an Englishman I am duty bound and psychologically conditioned to greet people in only 2 ways:
All other behaviours should be quite alien to the Englishman. That is all.
"Eeeh, if we needed chocolate or chewing gum back then we’d have to suck off a Yank, aye and swallow too and all if we wanted some new stockings… We didn’t have all this trouble with the blackies in them days either… No better than they should be…"
Why is it that old people are allowed to say exactly what they like about “modern life” with impunity?
Whereas if I was to shout at an old lady “FOR CHRISTS SAKE, WILL YOU FUCKING SHUT UP YOU FILTHY OLD RACIST CUNT!” it would be regarded as the height of ill manners?
Once again I am driven to despair by the sheer gross ineptitude of many of my “Colleagues”. “Colleagues” is a term I hesitate to use as it suggests they are my peers, both intellectually and socially and not in actual fact a series of increasingly exasperating cretins whose only real contribution to the well being of civilisation would be if they were rendered down into soap.
I have however noticed patterns forming… most colleagues can now be lumped into one of the following categories:
I have recently seen the new video for Take That’s latest song (which is also the theme tune for the new film “Stardust”). I wholeheartedly recommend the video, if only for Mark Owens’s particularly bizarre monkey dancing.
Credit where credit is due-all the other chaps in the band seem to have looked after themselves and are in fairly good nick (spending the last 10 years stacking shelves with heavy cans of beans in ASDA will do that for a man) but there’s a particularly fine moment where the camera pans across the band, and they all try really hard to look a soulful as possible whilst sucking in their stomachs, until the shot reaches the malformed dwarf that is Mark Owen and the camera noticeably has to dip to reveal what looks like a chimp dressed as Mickey Rourke wearing a pork pie hat and shambling madly like a tramp who has been offered a crate of Lambrini…
I don’t think that can be helping them with their comeback at all-they can’t afford anything that will repel their fan base (which consists almost entirely of “mothers who wear leather trousers”) so I fully expect him to have a tragic accident in the near future.
The film looks shit as well-any film that has Robert De Niro turning to the camera with a knowing and self deprecating smile will be bound to be a disappointment. Shame-I read the book a few times and enjoyed it tremendously. The film looks like “The Princess Bride” but with added tripe.
Can somebody explain this to me please?
http://news.bbc.co.uk/plucky little foreign fellas
http://news.bbc.co.uk/horrible filthy types
To save you reading the articles in question, it would now appear that you can serve in the British Armed Forces, and indeed be wounded in the service of our country, and yet still be sent back to whatever foul little third world shithole you fought your way out of at the end of your service, without compensation or recognition.
On the other hand, if you enter the country illegally and embark on an unsuccessful career of murder, rape and mayhem we’ll fucking pay for you to stay here (and spend more on your lunches that we do on Schoolchildren).
I am starting to think like a Daily Mail reader again…
http://news.bbc.co.uki/asia-pacific/thats you fucked matey
Has anyone bought the film rights to this yet? If not I’m going to have to buy them. I think it will be brilliant. Pete Postlethwaite will be starring as “The Nonce”, Tcheky Karyo and Armand Assante will be random Interpol personnel. Gary Glitter will be, well, Gary Glitter...
I’ve already got the title, and the tagline will be:
“Photoshop is no defence… FROM THE LAW!”
Poor old Menzies Campbell-he’s had to leave because he’s too old. Apparently the Liberal Democrats were concerned that having a leader who was perceived as “past it” would harm their chances in the next general election (although they are denying this and saying the media made this up).
Erm..what fucking chance in the next general election?
It’s quite clear that the liberal Democrats do not, and never will have, any chance whatsoever of governing this country and I for one think that's part of their charm.
Whereas Labour and the Conservatives seemed paralysed by indecision, and are afraid to actually announce any new radical policies for fear that they would accused of either stealing the other party’s thunder, or of having the policy torn apart by their opposite number, as part of the rather alarming and viscous playground atmosphere of the House of Commons.
The Liberal Democrats however, safe in the knowledge that they will never be taken seriously as a political force are more than happy to announce new and bizarre polices in an almost "stream of conscious" manner:- “A Tame Monkey for every Schoolchild in Britain by 2012” Why not? “New Prisons to be built on Moon” Capital Idea! "Equal pay for Donkeys!" Right on brother!!!!
You have to admire a party which doesn’t allow reality to impinge on its actions, which is why I am so disappointed in their treatment of Mr Campbell-just as I was when they got rid of Charles Kennedy purely because he happened to enjoy a few refreshing drinks for breakfast.
I quite liked them when they thought that the country would accept a Ginger Drunkard for Prime Minister, and was a bit upset when someone had a reality check and got rid of old “Scotch and Ginger”, although apparently he is now being asked to join the leadership “race”. He’s playing it coy though-so far his only official response has been to say “ffffucckinnn come on then, you ffffuckin cunntsssss!!!” then be a bit sick on his shoes.
This is regarding an earlier post I wrote:
http://fatedgar.blogspot.com/2007/06/bloody-cheeky-bastards.html
I thought I’d take this opportunity to mail you about a good cause I want to help.
I’m not sure how much you are aware, but because the increasingly adverse effects of climate change, human migration and population increase the number of Bengal Tigers left in the wild decreases every year as we, in our greed, encroach on their habitats.
The WWF estimates there are now only approx 1500 left and this number continues to fall every year. Soon it is feared that these magnificent creatures will go the way of so many other precious species and become extinct.
Before this happens, I’d really like to opportunity to fulfil a long held childhood wish and shoot one these dangerous brutes, before that chance is finally lost forever.
Remember that once stuffed and posed tastefully these animals will then last for centuries and can be enjoyed by generations to come…
So, if we all buckle down, I could have one in my sights by Christmas…
http://news.bbc.co.uk/this shithole makes "Black Hawk Down" look like "Operation Dumbo Drop"
Apparently
“Improved” can only really be a relative term in these situations-it glosses over a multitude of sins... It’s a bit like trying to make
Anyway, happy ending-Rwanda is now a stable nation state governed by a psychotic military despot whose entire government is made up of members of his family, who cannibalises small children, bases all his decisions on signs he reads in the entrails of dead jackals and has over 14,000 wives (one of whom he sacrifices each day to some disgusting heathen god). Probably.
Surprising as it may seem from my continued rants about almost everything in the world, I am actually a staunch advocate of the welfare state-I think on a fundamental level it forms the backbone of this country, allowing us free education and healthcare, (which are two of the finest privileges available) whilst ensuring that the vulnerable in out society are if not as well looked after as they could be then at least made slightly more comfortable..
I also think it provides an invaluable safety net for those who lose jobs, are made redundant or are genuinely unable to work-indeed, I have been among this number.
I also think it’s especially useful for those young people who have found themselves “disengaged” from education, and so perhaps feel like they might not want to work. Well, that’s fine isn’t it? You don’t need to worry, I’m happy to pay for you for the rest of your life!
Tell you what kids, at the end of each working day I’ll set aside a little bit of the money I have earned that day, just for you. That way you won’t have to worry will you? It can be put in that little account, (where so much of my money seems to go!) called “Fucking Incompetents and Government Wastage” and you can spend it on alcohol and tracksuits.
It’s special little things like this-such imaginative use of public goodwill-that give me such a warm fuzzy feeling inside. It’s like when I am going to work in the morning and I see happy, healthy people standing on street corners drinking Stella. What a lovely breakfast that must be-so much more imaginative and relaxed than my own rushed cup of tea and toast!
Anyway-this update is especially for those people. You cheered me up so much with your happy carefree faces when I saw you this morning that I felt I just had to tell someone…
Does anyone else wake up with in the night with a overwhelming sense of foreboding, full of terror at what the day might bring, and hoping that the night will never end so they don’t have to face the uncaring glare of the sunlight, which silently mocks them?
No? Just me then…
It needs a bit of explaining though....
Like many other companies who want to appear to have embraced multiculturalism without actually bothering, the company I work for have provided Muslim colleagues who wish to observe their right to prayer with somewhat substandard accommodation.
So far they have been given (at various points) a leaky shed, an old shower room, a disused goods lift and a second hand tent in the car park to use for religious purposes.
As you can probably appreciate, most of them have said “Fuck this” and they head for the nearest mosque at lunchtimes, thus sacrificing their lunch breaks.
There must be any number of companies with the same problems-how to appear to be taking into account other cultures and systems of belief whilst simultaneously not really giving a flying fuck.
The solution is “inflatable mosques” (much like bouncy castles, but more Arabic looking) that can be deflated and stored when not needed. Plus, you can charge people a pound to jump around on them as well. Even that cunt Peter Jones would jump at the chance to invest in that….
http://news.bbc.co.uk/fat kids will always have it rough
Apparently the government are planning to spend 560 trillion pounds (I may be wrong about the number here) on combating “cyber bullying”*. For fucks sake…
When I was at school bullies wouldn’t send you and email that would “have the potential to hurt your feelings”-they would operate in packs to capture a child and put their head in a vice in the metal work room until their eyes popped out, or attack people in the playground with sharpened rulers or something. I think many children in my day just regarded school as “prison practice”.
Kids these days don’t know they are fucking born. Now apparently they just pass around some new fangled phone video things of people. What the fucks that all about then? It doesn’t even hurt…
There also seems to be an issue with teachers who feel threatened by this “cyber bullying”. What is this? The Children if the Fucking Corn? For Christ’s sake man, you’re an adult and they are children, now grow a pair of fucking balls…
My old man worked in a series of extremely rough schools for his entire career, and even when he was well into his 60s he could still scare the living crap of even the most troublesome teenager (I know this as I once worked with a couple of his ex pupils).
Isn’t it about time we returned to proper Victorian values of discipline, child labour and senseless mass slaughter in wars? We’ll never rebuild the empire at this rate.
* note to lazy journalists-please see a dictionary for a definition of what “Cyber” means. Do you understand now? Good, now please stop using it as an adjective or prefix for anything even remotely connected with computers or technology. It’s really beginning to fucking piss me off…
http://news.bbc.co.uk/hide the kids woman, the wogs are coming over the hill...
Interesting-according to this report it is now practically impossible for a decent white person to leave the house without being repeatedly run over by a drunken, knife wielding foreign criminal who speaks no English and only came over here to traffic prostitutes (and yet somehow ended up picking cabbages in Norfolk for 12p an hour instead).
Well, let’s at least look on the bright side of all of this-if this trend continues along with global warming we soon will have no need to go abroad for our holidays will we? What with having authentic “foreign” experiences like that on our doorsteps…
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Reporting to someone who is rarely, if ever, found in the office, the post holder will have line management responsibility for a team of school leavers and disaffected sociopaths to develop the business and ensure the quality and standard of our products and services, responsibilities include:
The post holder will work closely with and support the activities of other members of the old boy network to support all sales, commercial and operational activity.
This role requires a dynamic and enthusiastic professional, willing to lie, steal and occasionally destroy lives on a whim and with a nonchalance that would have fucking made Harold Shipman blush and who is able to tackle challenging projects and achieve targets regardless of the sheer pointlessness of their existence. With a proven track record of being a colossal cunt, you will encourage your department to achieve the highest standards of non productivity and meet pre-defined yet nebulous targets while responding to daily challenges by not being present when they occur.
To apply, please email your CV and covering letter (via your local freemasons) to our head office in the
We are an equal opportunities employer, although strangely you will find no blacks in the office.
I’m listening to a conversation about makeover programmes on TV. Tedious.
I have however thought of a great idea for a new one. It’s one in which I get someone who’s got very low self esteem, so low it’s debilitating-perhaps they’ve gained loads of weight, or their partner has left them-they may even have a medical condition that has aged them prematurely.
I’ll promise to change their life for them (but it won’t be easy), I’ll get them on the show and I’ll make them open up about themselves and tell me all about how unhappy they are, and how much they are looking forwards to this, as their lives are just so intolerable.
Then, as part of the "healing process" I’ll make them take all their clothes off in front of a studio audience, then I will just step back and laugh in their fucking faces.
The show is called “What do you think I am? A FUCKING MAGICIAN?”
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/for fucks sake they are at it again…
Apparently it’s all very innocent and “for the causes of Science”. I have my doubts.
This is a bit like their claim that the entire Japanese whaling fleet is used for “Scientific Research only”-which I suppose is strictly true as the aim of their research seems to be “How many whales can we kill this year?”
This rocket/doomsday device has been called “Kayuya” after the princess in an old Japanese fairy tale who flew up to the moon. How sweet.
It all sounds very innocent until you remember that “Kamikaze” means just means “Divine Wind” and therefore couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. And that Japanese fighter planes were called “Cherry Blossoms”...
Now, I’m not being a racialist here-I’m all for building bridges. It’s just I’d rather not do it with a bayonet stuck in my back if that could be helped.
Some people have said to me “Edgar, you’d better watch what you write, because sometimes you sound like a Nazi”.
Thank you for your concern, however nothing could be further from the truth-I am in fact a deeply caring and sensitive man with endless reserves of patience, whose heart sometimes literally fucking bleeds for those more unfortunate, or less intelligent than myself-those people, who through no fault of their own seem unable to function correctly in society, and instead prefer to stand around on street corners all day wearing dirty tracksuits and looking for things to steal-I fear is if this situation is allowed to perpetuate we all face a bleak, dystopian future.
However because I’m middle class and reasonably well educated, like most people in my position I have a very liberal and enlightened view about matters such as social deprivation and class inequality, views which are best summed up as:
“I don’t care what these filthy vermin do in their own rat infested slums, garrets and alleyways, but if one of them so much as steps foot on my property, by God I’ll set the dogs on them…!”
Just read an article of the BBC website about the “massive” rise in gun crime.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/i'm 17 year old who thinks he's a gangster/6988205.stmHogwash and piffle.
Apparently one in five men claims they can get hold of an illegal firearm. Utter bollocks and macho posturing. I reckon four out of five men can’t fight their way out of a fucking paper bag, never mind know someone who can supply them with a gun.
They also provide some interesting statistics-apparently 45% of people are scared of guns. Well, yes-this really would be the sensible approach wouldn’t it? As opposed to saying, for instance “Oh guns, yeah! I think they’re really cuddly, and sometimes I give mine to my toddler to play with…”
Also, the number of “fatalities and injuries” has increased from 864 in 1998-9 to 3,821 in 2005-6, which sounds alarming until you look at the little graph they provide:
All this shows is that whilst the number of injuries has risen approx 4 fold the number of fatalities has remained pretty much static. This suggests that before we take this “crime epidemic” seriously it might be worth investing in some target practice first…
10 September
Dear Diary
Once again my sluggish bowels have confounded me-I have been unable to pass anything more substantial than tiny nuggets, which are at best the size of Maltesers and at worst indistinguishable from chocolate raisins, for 3 days now.
I feel my impacted giblets can only be a consequence of my recent diet of inexpensive meats…
How foolish of me to try to economise by purchasing tainted mince...
There’ll be a film of this in a few years, mark my words…
So it appears that they have found evidence of the daughter’s blood in a hire car the little girl shouldn’t have been in? Wonder what made them check after all this time? Is it me, or does this seems to be a very unusual way of carrying out a criminal investigation?
Not that I am in any way in doubt of the skills and abilities of foreign police forces, or that I would suggest that they are staffed with inept and corrupt officials.
Numerous times whilst I have been abroad I have been impressed with their refreshing attitude towards the wearing of consistent uniforms and their dedication towards safety procedures whilst handling firearms. No doubt this resolute approach would also translate well into ensuring the integrity of crime scenes etc.
All in all I find them a model of discipline and integrity, and unlikely to hardly ever take bribes. I have no doubts that the Portuguese system of justice, where no information is released to the press, public or defence lawyers means that everything is entirely above board and beyond reproach.
I think that this recent press release from Captain Ineptides of the Portuguese Police Force detailing the progress of their investigation may shed some light on their exhausting, round the clock efforts.:
“We no look in car before this because, hey, we have siesta then we forget, no? When little girl go missing, we forget to lock hotel room anyway so rats get in first, so science men from Lisbon, they are no good. I go poke hedge with stick and she no there either.
Then my Uncle Miguel’s donkey go missing so we are spending time looking for that next, for next two months maybe.
After that we fall asleep under tree and am woken by pretty Mrs McCann. She very pretty lady, I pinch her arse you know…heh! heh! Anyway, after that I speak to my brother and he say “hey maybe she was stolen by Gypsies eh?” So, we go after filthy Gypsies and I shoot maybe four, five of them, but no little girl. I think maybe she turn up soon…maybe we bring nice Mrs McCann back in so I can sweat at her some more hey?
She go home now-maybe she like Portugal so much she come back on holiday next year?”
I’ve had a bit of a telling off today-apparently I was very short with a colleague who was wasting my time.
OH DEAR, I DO HOPE I HAVE NOT HURT THEIR FEELINGS…because that would be awful wouldn’t it? Then they might not think they would have carte blanche to bother me all day with fucking stupid questions anymore would they?
Wouldn’t it be so very liberating if you could say exactly what you thought to your colleagues without getting fired.
I would really like to be able to walk through the door on a morning with a cheery “Morning Cunts!”
I think it would be a very effective way of setting the tone for the day…
This mans very existence annoys me and the fact that he stubbornly refuses to do the decent thing and eat the end of a shotgun frankly disgusts me.
By all accounts he’s getting a bit sick of being compared to Freddie Mercury. Well, perhaps you could try not try sounding not completely fucking like him for a change, you springy haired cunt.
And that song about big girls annoys me-it’s so clearly and cynically just a ruse to get money from larger girls (which they could otherwise have spent on Greggs pastys).
I think he should put his money where his mouth and actually shag a fat bird-I’d believe he meant it then.
In fact, I want him to rerecord the video, except this time I want to see him enthusiastically penetrating Ann Widdecombe from behind.
The missus has been spending a lot of time watching “Sharpe” on TV recently, which is odd, as she used to hate it. The only reason for this I can think of (and she denies this) is the presence of Sean Bean.
I’ve tried wearing a Napoleonic era military uniform around the house and shouting “Lets get them Frog Bastards lads!” in my best loud northern voice but this doesn’t seem to be cutting the mustard.
I’ve had a quick look on Wikipedia and I don’t think I’m able to compete with him at all, which means I have no alternative but to assassinate him.
So far I think my best bet is either Poison or Archery.
Have you ever actually watched the Jermey Kyle show? I advise you to watch at least one episode, just so you know exactly how pathetic and awful some people’s lives really are.
It worth watching as Kyle’s pleb-goading skills are absolutely exceptional, and his hatred and contempt for his “guests” is abundantly apparent. However I still can’t believe anyone’s life is so awful they feel it could actually get better, on any level, by meeting him.
Most of the “debates” on the show seem to revolve around dole scum who have no idea about personal responsibility and who have managed to involve themselves in what I will grudgingly describe as “Love Triangles” (although this term is more usually applied to situations in sophisticated French films of the 1950’s rather than a series of sordid couplings involving ugly people in Margate). Actually, given the rate at which some of these filth seem to spawn and their indiscriminate approach to parenting when producing their vile progeny perhaps “Love Octagon” would be a more appropriate term.
The format of the show is simple-a series of idiots are paraded in front of a baying studio audience of thick cunts and each dreadful piece of dirty laundry is aired for the public. Does anyone really need to know which one of the two interchangeable fat, pig shit thick skinheads on the stage fathered some toothless boiler’s child? They’re all fucked anyway…Surely this could have all been sorted out without recourse to national television for fucks sake?
And while were on the subject-this is national television so why on earth would everyone on the show want to appear on it dressed as either a) a prostitute or b) a vagrant?
You make me physically sick with your petty jealousies and empty tedious lives you fucking maggots-why do you feel the need to inject this kind of attention seeking drama into your pathetic and worthless lives? No one needs to know which equally worthless pieces of human wreckage you have been rutting with. Why can’t you all get jobs instead? Or just fucking die?
Over the Bank holiday I had the misfortune to visit
This isn’t helped by the general standard of hygiene of many of its residents. I’m fairly sure, just from my informal observations over the weekend that in terms of Washing Machine purchases and Soap consumption we are lagging behind the rest of Europe (even
A casual visitor to the city could easily be forgiven for thinking that most residents of Leeds are feral, weasely types that smell of old sweat and stale Lambert and Butler smoke and that most of them choose to wear tracksuit bottoms that look like they have been shat in several times, and everyone over the age of 40 has awful grey skin and very few teeth. One gets the impression they subsist from benefit cheque to benefit cheque of a diet of McCains Savoury pancakes, Cheap lager and cigarettes, Gregg’s pasties and grinding resentment.
Also visitors would very probably believe that at least 1 in every 10 people is on (or at least should be on) some kind of mental health register, as it evident that a large proportion of the population is (probably due to inbreeding) clearly just not fucking wired up correctly (e.g. their behaviour includes shouting at windows, walking sideways etc).
No, I don’t work for the Leeds City Council Public Relations department, although you’d be forgiven for thinking that…
Had a weird dream last night (yes, I am aware they are supposed to be weird-they are dreams after all) in which I was fighting in the Fray Bentos army against the army of Ribena. It was all very lifelike (well, it was like “Call of Duty” or something similar anyway) and I was some kind of Andy McNab type character.
Anyway, eventually the top brass at Fray Bentos betrayed me and sent me on a mission I wasn’t supposed to survive. Luckily, instead of my demise (as they had planned) I was captured alive by the Ribena army, whose cause was just, so I ended up fighting for them against the Fray Bentos side instead.
It was a fantastic dream, I thoroughly enjoyed it and I think there’s a book in it too.
Anyway, what I was actually going to write about was either a) Elvis or b) a Lad’s nights out. Couldn’t think of anything to write about Elvis until the 30th anniversary of his death hysteria dies down (and by “hysteria” what I mean is a series of ITV specials)
We had a Lad’s night out last week, which was a right good laugh except I felt absolutely bloody awful the next day (although I wasn’t sick on any furniture).
I have however found the secret of getting your partner to agree to Lads nights out (or girls nights out for that matter) without undue levels of tricky negotiation. Simply ask for far, far more than you require and slowly haggle it down to an acceptable level:
“Hi Love-got a mail from Barry Bear earlier-We’re off out next Friday to kill some prostitutes then buy loads of crack from a black man in an inner city pub car park”
“No”
“Can we go out to a knocking shop, then onto an all night drinking den, frequented by people who have just come out of prison instead?”
“Hmmm…well…..”
“How about if I just go out and get completely fucking twatted and promise to come home alive, if somewhat unsteady and be fuck all use for anything the next day? (As indeed I did)”
“Yeah, OK. Have Fun love!!”
Easy…
I got caught by the crazy toilet man again this morning-I’m not sure if I ever mentioned the crazy toilet man before, but he’s a very friendly bloke who works here (at least, I think he works here. I hope he works here because he’s always hanging round the toilets, and if he isn’t employed here I’m pretty sure he’s a security risk) whose job it is to go from toilet to toilet emptying the bins and putting new bin liners in.
This is what happened to me this morning, unfortunately it was worse than normal because someone had been putting paper towels down the toilet (again) which blocks them and this ALWAYS sets him off “lookatthis!!lookatthis!! all over floor, all over. Is there a boss? Is there? Toilet paper, towels. Towels, toilet paper…Needs telling, needs saying…” and so forth.
I sent him off in the general direction of the building manager. He hasn’t sent me an email to thank me yet…
I noticed yet another distressing sign of ageing yesterday-I looked in the mirror and noticed that my eyebrows appear to have joined up.
Startled, I ran downstairs and showed my partner (well, I pointed frantically at my face whilst spluttering), who calmly advised me “Yes, I noticed it a few weeks ago, you fucking freak”.
I mainly write technical documents for a living, that and deal with system queries, often from people who have suffered Brain Death. Sometimes these two worlds collide with depressing results.
When writing professionally I don’t write like this of course-it would be considered extremely bad form indeed to write a manual containing passages like: “If the previous menu option (fig 112b) is inoperative and /or greyed out, you are clearly a cunt. Return to command line and furiously wank like a gibbon until a keeper arrives”.
a) It’s a technical document (do you understand?).
and
b) You’re a fucking clueless fool (fit only to have your bones boiled for soup).
The five bellied fuck pig has taken a break from writing her erotic fan fiction to try to “write”* some “software”** which is predictably utter cock and manages to fall over every bastard time.
She only tested it on her computer of course, as no one else lets her use their computer due to the excessive amount of bacon grease deposits she leaves behind.
* Cobble together
** Complete fucking rubbish
Recently, against almost everyone’s better judgment we have created a facility whereby our customers can unlock the magic powers of their computers to create and log queries with us, rather than pick up the phone and speak to our highly trained team of call centre monkeys (which is almost always a collision of low impact intellects).
"Dear valued customer
But that’s just the way I am really. Recently I said some unkind things about supermarket sausages and “fancy poofter sausages”. I’d like to apologise for this. A few days ago I tried some ASDA finest pork, cranberry and Chilli sausages which were absolutely top notch bangers. It’s opened up a whole new world of sausage treats for me. Highly recommended, however the pork and leek ones, although tasty, did give me an upset stomach.
Today I went into our small walk-in stationary cupboard to get some sundry office items-a new ream of paper for my printer and some more staples.
Upon opening the door and entering the cupboard I was unexpectedly faced with a very small man in a wheelchair who was texting someone.
Upon getting into the office today and checking my emails I had one of my “anger moments”.
I’m sure I’m not the only one out there for whom just the sight of a particular name in their inbox is enough to make them want to drive a Ford Cortina full of Calor gas into an old people’s home.
It never seems to matter much what the subject of the email is, because whenever I read it, to me is just looks like this:
From: Four eyed twat
Sent: 17 July 2007 23:59
To: Fat Edgar, Some other bastards
Subject: I’ve found a niggling, impossibly tiny inconsistency in something and am now going to bray on and on and on about it. I bet you’re glad I’m not your Dad.
Dear Fat Edgar
I can’t be the only person out there who feels like this…
