Recently I discovered a large underground bunker a few miles from my home (this is in itself strange but true).
Was this in fact a fortuitous coincidence - part of a personal message from the Lord that Rapture is finally coming?
To be honest I'm not sure, however I am choosing to err on the side of caution and am stockpiling canned food, weapons and petrol, just in case. I would suggest everyone follows suit.
THAT IS ALL.
Thursday 26 April 2007
Who the hell thought this country would be any good at service industries anyway?
I often find myself (during my more lucid moments at least) wondering why this country decided to concentrate on developing it's economy around tertiary (service) industries when we are just so appallingly fucking bad at them
Actually, it's because Mrs Thatcher closed all the other places down as part of her Scorched Earth policy in the 80's (in which about 1000 northern miners were deemed to be worth the same as a single braying fuckwit in London, barking into a mobile phone the size of a horse's cock. I remember the hideous old crow even went as far to pretty much admit this live on TV once), coupled with the fact that it's a lot easier to buy our clothes from sweatshops and our food from the Third World than to actually produce stuff ourselves (which reminds me, I bought a pair of combats from Primark last week and the button came off. If I ever get hold of the little bastard who made it I'll break the lazy little sods arm. That's £7 I won't see again in a hurry).
In short the idea seemed to be " lets get rid of the people who actually do stuff, then what we'll do is we'll get the most passive/aggressive culture in Europe, steeped in class ridden neuroses for several generations, put them in cheap suits and then send them on a seminar called "How to put up with cunts", run by a twat called Darryl".
During this seminar Darryl explains to you how to communicate by drawing some fucking graphs on a whiteboard. For £450 quid a head. With a shit lunch thrown in, unless you actually like eating tiny little pasties that taste like they are full of sick, whilst smiling inanely at the other idiots there. Anyway, I digress somewhat...
I just can't understand it. everyone involved hates taking part in the whole dreadful charade of customer care, and despite the number of CVs I have read expressing a yearning lifelong desire to "help customers and maintain a high level of service" I have yet to find just 1 person who doesn't curl their lips with distaste (or if they are at least honest, just make horrible spastic faces) when talking about their "clients".
No one ever puts in their CV "Everyone I had contact with in my last job repelled me to such an extent that my very soul would recoil in sheer animal terror and I felt like my life was being torn out through my arsehole every single fucking minute i was there, so I left in the vain but unlikely hope that your shit-tip would be an improvement". I wonder why no one writes that?
Why can't we just be honest and tell people "Look, I personally don't give a toss about what you think about our service, I really don't, because even if you do decide you can be arsed to fuck off and find something else, there will inevitably be another monkey along in a few minutes".
I think it's mainly just the view that we (those of us in the service sector- that's about 90% of the population) have about ourselves that just gets right on my tits. The terrible, presumptuous arrogance that what we do at work is actually, even in some tiny insignificant way, in any way important at all. It just isn't , and never will be, regardless of how much complete bollocks you write on your website about your "Proven Fucking Bespoke Solutions".
You're probably asking "why are you still doing it then Fat Edgar?" to which I really, really must retort "Go fuck yourself. Just go fuck yourself. This isn't what I had in mind at all"
Actually, it's because Mrs Thatcher closed all the other places down as part of her Scorched Earth policy in the 80's (in which about 1000 northern miners were deemed to be worth the same as a single braying fuckwit in London, barking into a mobile phone the size of a horse's cock. I remember the hideous old crow even went as far to pretty much admit this live on TV once), coupled with the fact that it's a lot easier to buy our clothes from sweatshops and our food from the Third World than to actually produce stuff ourselves (which reminds me, I bought a pair of combats from Primark last week and the button came off. If I ever get hold of the little bastard who made it I'll break the lazy little sods arm. That's £7 I won't see again in a hurry).
In short the idea seemed to be " lets get rid of the people who actually do stuff, then what we'll do is we'll get the most passive/aggressive culture in Europe, steeped in class ridden neuroses for several generations, put them in cheap suits and then send them on a seminar called "How to put up with cunts", run by a twat called Darryl".
During this seminar Darryl explains to you how to communicate by drawing some fucking graphs on a whiteboard. For £450 quid a head. With a shit lunch thrown in, unless you actually like eating tiny little pasties that taste like they are full of sick, whilst smiling inanely at the other idiots there. Anyway, I digress somewhat...
I just can't understand it. everyone involved hates taking part in the whole dreadful charade of customer care, and despite the number of CVs I have read expressing a yearning lifelong desire to "help customers and maintain a high level of service" I have yet to find just 1 person who doesn't curl their lips with distaste (or if they are at least honest, just make horrible spastic faces) when talking about their "clients".
No one ever puts in their CV "Everyone I had contact with in my last job repelled me to such an extent that my very soul would recoil in sheer animal terror and I felt like my life was being torn out through my arsehole every single fucking minute i was there, so I left in the vain but unlikely hope that your shit-tip would be an improvement". I wonder why no one writes that?
Why can't we just be honest and tell people "Look, I personally don't give a toss about what you think about our service, I really don't, because even if you do decide you can be arsed to fuck off and find something else, there will inevitably be another monkey along in a few minutes".
I think it's mainly just the view that we (those of us in the service sector- that's about 90% of the population) have about ourselves that just gets right on my tits. The terrible, presumptuous arrogance that what we do at work is actually, even in some tiny insignificant way, in any way important at all. It just isn't , and never will be, regardless of how much complete bollocks you write on your website about your "Proven Fucking Bespoke Solutions".
You're probably asking "why are you still doing it then Fat Edgar?" to which I really, really must retort "Go fuck yourself. Just go fuck yourself. This isn't what I had in mind at all"
Tilting at windmills again...
Many people accuse me of being negative and angry, and I'm perversely proud of the fact that about the nicest thing that even my own best friends can probably say about me is "Well, at least he doesn't always want to kill everybody".
This is one of the reasons why i am an advocate of firearms control- I know I'm not alone out there, and I know it would only be a matter of time before I was up a tree with rifle, should they become readily available.
Prince Harry is once again the news, this time in an arguments over whether he should be allowed to serve in Iraq as "he would be a major terrorist target". I personally would have thought that this would be the best and most compelling argument for actually getting him out of this country, but there you go, no one asks me my opinion about these kinds of things.
In my view, he should continue the great English tradition of using boorish public schoolboys as cannon fodder (they always come a cropper-I know that from watching "Sharpe" on ITV...).
I hope everyone notices that throughout this post I have held off using the term "The Overpriveleged Little Fucking Ginger Cunt" (until now)
This is one of the reasons why i am an advocate of firearms control- I know I'm not alone out there, and I know it would only be a matter of time before I was up a tree with rifle, should they become readily available.
Prince Harry is once again the news, this time in an arguments over whether he should be allowed to serve in Iraq as "he would be a major terrorist target". I personally would have thought that this would be the best and most compelling argument for actually getting him out of this country, but there you go, no one asks me my opinion about these kinds of things.
In my view, he should continue the great English tradition of using boorish public schoolboys as cannon fodder (they always come a cropper-I know that from watching "Sharpe" on ITV...).
I hope everyone notices that throughout this post I have held off using the term "The Overpriveleged Little Fucking Ginger Cunt" (until now)
Wednesday 25 April 2007
Incredibly Fucking Stupid
My best friend mailed me recently to express his disdain regarding a colleague of his girlfriend, who has said her only real ambition is to become an "FHM High Street Honey".
Apparently her best mate is one (who has by all accounts been in a number of Men's magazines-who knows, perhaps you may already have masturbated furiously over her?) and she is, according to the girl in question "nowhere near as fit as me".
Isn't it good to know the young of today have such lofty aspirations eh?
Now I don't want to appear at all patronising to the little lady, but as I understand it the concept behind the "High Street Honey" is that:
If enough builders leer at you you will build some kind of popular fan base, and get voted through to next round where you then take your pants off for some middle aged journalists in a photoshoot.
Eventually I suppose you continue in this vein on to the final, where everyone in Britain with a IQ below 75 gets to see your tits. It works just like some kind of wanking pyramid scheme really.
I suppose the whole High Street Honey concept is useful because it just cuts out the middle bit where you have to either go out with a Premiership footballer or be raped by John Leslie before you get to appear in these magazines...
I hang my head in despair...
Apparently her best mate is one (who has by all accounts been in a number of Men's magazines-who knows, perhaps you may already have masturbated furiously over her?) and she is, according to the girl in question "nowhere near as fit as me".
Isn't it good to know the young of today have such lofty aspirations eh?
Now I don't want to appear at all patronising to the little lady, but as I understand it the concept behind the "High Street Honey" is that:
If enough builders leer at you you will build some kind of popular fan base, and get voted through to next round where you then take your pants off for some middle aged journalists in a photoshoot.
Eventually I suppose you continue in this vein on to the final, where everyone in Britain with a IQ below 75 gets to see your tits. It works just like some kind of wanking pyramid scheme really.
I suppose the whole High Street Honey concept is useful because it just cuts out the middle bit where you have to either go out with a Premiership footballer or be raped by John Leslie before you get to appear in these magazines...
I hang my head in despair...
We need a good war.
And by this I mean one full of heroism, derring do, adventure and incredible moustaches (as opposed to our current, immensely grim and unpleasant war of attrition in a desert, which doesn't feature moustaches in any significant manner).
Unlike most people of my generation, neither of my Grandparents actually fought in WWII (one hid in the coal cellar for many years and emerged blinking into the light in 1972 and the other was a guard in a concentration camp) and I can't help but feel left out that I didn't get any decent war stories (or Nazi war loot) from them. It's a a situation i would like to remedy for my own (as yet entirely hypothetical) grandchildren.
Like many people I would much prefer to be sat huddled excitedly in a trench drinking tea and waiting for the "Big Push" or being one of those charming doomed airmen from black and white films with long scarves rather than my current situation (which I imagine like most people in the country is probably a IT customer service related job-a type of job for which the British character is so terribly and woefully unsuited).
At least our forefathers had could at least look forward to the possibility of shooting at least one German in their lifetimes, which is something we have been cruelly denied.
Unlike most people of my generation, neither of my Grandparents actually fought in WWII (one hid in the coal cellar for many years and emerged blinking into the light in 1972 and the other was a guard in a concentration camp) and I can't help but feel left out that I didn't get any decent war stories (or Nazi war loot) from them. It's a a situation i would like to remedy for my own (as yet entirely hypothetical) grandchildren.
Like many people I would much prefer to be sat huddled excitedly in a trench drinking tea and waiting for the "Big Push" or being one of those charming doomed airmen from black and white films with long scarves rather than my current situation (which I imagine like most people in the country is probably a IT customer service related job-a type of job for which the British character is so terribly and woefully unsuited).
At least our forefathers had could at least look forward to the possibility of shooting at least one German in their lifetimes, which is something we have been cruelly denied.
I don't much care for your tone young man...
This morning someone who works for me called in sick with sunstroke (bright red skin, nausea and headaches) after spending 3 minutes on a sun bed. Or given the severity, very possibly a grill mounted above a sun lounger.
All I can really reasonably ask myself at this point is "Why?" or, more accurately "Why the fuck?"
British people should look pallid (I'm not about to enter into any arguments about "Britishness" here, as i do not want to be accused of racialismistness*).
As a race, we are genetically predisposed (A scientist has proved this**) to live in caves, bogs and drizzly forests, only occasionally venturing forth to throw sharp rocks at gaily dressed and brightly coloured Frenchmen.
That's what we're here for, that's what we should do. Everything else is just window dressing as far as I am concerned.
I'd like to see some of these orange bastards bring down a live elk with their teeth...
not entirely sure what the idea behind this first post was.
*I personally welcome people from all cultures to our rather grotty isle, providing they are prepared to become as isolated and misanthropic as the rest of us.
* *by "scientist" I mean "man with glasses". The two terms are more or less interchangeable for me.
All I can really reasonably ask myself at this point is "Why?" or, more accurately "Why the fuck?"
British people should look pallid (I'm not about to enter into any arguments about "Britishness" here, as i do not want to be accused of racialismistness*).
As a race, we are genetically predisposed (A scientist has proved this**) to live in caves, bogs and drizzly forests, only occasionally venturing forth to throw sharp rocks at gaily dressed and brightly coloured Frenchmen.
That's what we're here for, that's what we should do. Everything else is just window dressing as far as I am concerned.
I'd like to see some of these orange bastards bring down a live elk with their teeth...
not entirely sure what the idea behind this first post was.
*I personally welcome people from all cultures to our rather grotty isle, providing they are prepared to become as isolated and misanthropic as the rest of us.
* *by "scientist" I mean "man with glasses". The two terms are more or less interchangeable for me.
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