Tramps Grotto

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…”

"In England, he is soft," he says. "And he stays soft, for maybe a week. In Poland our bread, after one day he is hard."

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 or something?

Inappropriate Touchings…

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:

• A firm steady handshake with unwavering eye contact. The correct way to greet an acquaintance is with something along the lines of “Good to see you Carruthers old man-how goes the putting down of the mutiny in India? Hope we nipped this heathen nonsense in the bud”. How would it seem if I was to begin slobbering all over him and grasping him like some disgusting Turkish homosexualist?

• A challenge to a duel to avenge my own, (or my good lady’s) honour. Enough of this acquiescence to the carelessness of gutter scum! If I am jostled in the street, rather than accepting a half hearted apology it is my God given right to turn on the filthy wretch, slash them across the face with my shooting stick and shout “I’ll have satisfaction from you sir, by God I will!”

All other behaviours should be quite alien to the Englishman. That is all.

Some weeks we’d get jam, and some weeks we’d get sugar, but we’d never get jam and sugar…

http://news.bbc.co.uk/Well, I'm eighty six and I think it's disgusting...

"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?

Small Minded Filthy Little Shit Weasels

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:

• Girls rejected from open auditions for “Girls Aloud” for being too fat/common/both

• People with disappointing levels of personal hygiene and an absolute inability to link together any disparate concepts when presented with a situation that was previously outside their sphere of experience, but who nevertheless less have managed to formulate intricate conspiracy theories as to why they have been repeatedly passed over for promotion.

• People who have clearly been kicked in the head quite hard by horses .

• Slightly sinister middle aged ladies who seem only vaguely aware they are working in the broad and far reaching world of IT.

• Cunts.

• People who send me a succession of witless emails, and then stand over my desk fidgeting and sweating unpleasantly and insisting, despite the fact that I am )even by just a cursory examination) quite a busy person at the moment thank you, open up a film clip attachment of a man driving a motorbike into a wall which is apparently “Just a classic innit? Just a classic” and refusing to leave until I acknowledge that this was, indeed, one of the funniest things that I have ever seen.

• People who ask me exactly the same question each and everyday despite the fact that I am fairly sure I really was very, very clear about this the last time I spoke to them, to the degree that I begin to wonder if my life has become “Groundhog Day”.

• Surly misanthropic passive aggressive types who are the size of malnourished children yet who will try to put a series of almost insurmountable obstacles and hurdles in your way until you challenge them about it, at which point they dissolve into a series of hearty yet insincere smiles.

• Brash and abrasive sales types whose boorish arrogance and overbearing aftershave fail to disguise that fact that they probably spend most of their spare time sat in an unfurnished flat, in their underpants, crying and wanking.

• (More) Cunts