Sean Bean must Die

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.

Jeremy Kyle-“Bread and Circuses” for the benefit culture

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?

Welcome to Leeds-it’s full of human vermin and it fucking stinks

Over the Bank holiday I had the misfortune to visit Leeds City centre for a short shopping trip. It’s been some time since I last did this and I was struck by how bloody awful the city is. It’s been a good ten years since Leeds tried to market itself as a modern, trendy exciting city (do you remember “Come to the place that’s going to be the place to be” slogan? I do-in fact it still makes me laugh). A decade later and it’s still basically just another decrepit northern mill town with a dingy tiny city centre, profoundly unexciting architecture and a distinctly unpleasant smell.

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 France).

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…

I’m 82 and I think it’s disgusting

http://news.bbc.co.uk/wearescaredoftheblacks

I originally checked this article out because it thought it said “Cameron urges Youth Crime Fight” and I though “Gladiatorial Contests for young offenders? What a fine idea-this man Cameron has my vote!” But it turns out to be something far more mundane that that, and is entirely indistinguishable from anything any other politician has ever said. Shame really...

Irritating Pseudo Scientific Bollocks

I have been asked if I wish to attend a seminar on Neuro Linguistic Programming with some other colleagues. How super, I simply can’t wait to take part and be one of those “team players” you hear about. And afterwards perhaps we could all to go to a séance where I could speak to my dead Granddad, drink some snake oil then see David fucking Icke…

Not sure how much people know about it, but New Langoustine Procedure is a set of techniques that reputedly allow you to influence others USING ONLY THE POWER OF YOUR MIND!!!!

Yeah, right…that sounds likely… It all reminds me of that “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for” scène in Star Wars, but done by men in unpleasant cheap suits.

Basically, from what I’ve observed from people who have attended these courses it entails shaking hands for slightly too long for it to be comfortable, looking directly and unblinkingly into peoples eyes and placing peculiar stresses on certain words, meaning that the person in question just looks and sounds like they have mild learning difficulties (which isn’t that unusual if you work in a big enough company).

Essentially, it’s just more management claptrap disguised as good business practice. Nasty Lasagne Protocol is yet another of those phenomena, like buzzwords, that weak people use to cover up professional inadequacies.

It’s quite clear when you see the people running these seminars that there is absolutely no way that any normal company (unless it was one of those awful loans companies that advertise on daytime TV) would employ them as they are quite clearly either deluded, incompetent, a twat, or a combination of all three, however by obfuscating these apparently self evident truths with a thick veneer of utter bullshit they seem able to carve out these precarious careers.

Which is fine as far as it goes because I admire a successful chancer as much as the next chap, and provided I don’t have to work with the cunt it doesn’t bother me

What does irritate me is when other people fall for this rubbish-otherwise sane individuals leave these seminars thinking (for about 2 days) that they actually have secret super powers. Only instead of having been bitten by a radioactive spider or something of that ilk they got them from sitting in a “Holiday Inn” conference room in Leicester, looking at flipcharts and listening to a bloke who normally does “Quit Smoking Now” seminars and thinks he is Paul McKenna.

So even if I don’t go to this seminar I’ve still got the best part of a week of people staring like swivel eyed madmen and talking like Ben Fucking Kenobi at me. Joy…

How many grossly overweight people can YOU see?

From my desk I can see eight, which is quite horrific considering there are only about two dozen people in this (big) room. I’m not talking slightly chubby here either, I’m talking morbidly obese, wheeze as they stand up to get to a vending machine, porky type fuckers here.

It looks like a lorry load of fucking weebles crashed into the building…

Do you know why this is? I’ll fucking tell you why…

So far this morning we’ve already had a sandwich run, a bacon sandwich run, some cakes brought in and there is a chip shop run, a McDonald’s run and a Subway run set up for lunchtime.

This is all apparently OK because it’s Friday today which is a special day, and today we can stuff ourselves in plain sight (despite the fact that it looks like a pack of fucking pigs at a trough all bastard day) and not have to hide in cupboards to eat family sized bags of Doritos in about four fucking fistfuls like on "normal" days.

And yet, they still have the sheer bloody gall to ask me how I stay in shape despite being on the down side of thirty. Well, let me see, perhaps it’s because I don’t look like Captain Caveman waving a turkey drumstick around all day. Or that I have to occasionally buy new shoes because I actually walk around in mine. Or that I don’t drink the equivalent of a pint of pork fat each day. It could be any of those couldn’t it?

My God, you make me sick you pack of obese fucking hyenas…

random fucking pointless nonsense

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 30^th 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…

ANGERCISE

This is an advertisement I am putting in “Men’s Health” for my new exercise programme. It’s one of the many commercial “irons in the fire” I currently have, including a revolutionary new type of biscuit and a small cannon that fires pork pies (I believe it will have many uses in the law enforcement community).

I’m always looking for new investors, so please feel free to give me a shout if you fancy “Making ££££££££££££s in your spare time”.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know, people often say to me “Fat Edgar, how do you stay so lean and slim despite eating old meat like some kind of fucking industrial bin?” to which I reply “Because, you Fat Slob, I exercise like a bastard as much as possible, rather than sitting in the dark eating biscuits and crying. Now get your hands out of your desk drawer, you orange fingered old cunt, I can see the enormous open bag of wotsits you have in there.”

To help people like this, and even yourselves I have created my own exercise programme, it’s called “Angercise” and it’s something that works very well for me AND IT CAN WORK FOR YOU TOO!!

Scientifically developed using a combination of psychological and physical techniques the programme relies almost entirely on emotional “triggers” that are based on the limited emotional concepts most men are capable of experiencing (very little extra equipment is needed for the programme).

The triggers themselves are:

“Sex”
“Fighting”
“Anger”
“Sausages”
“Sleep”

By conscious manipulation of these concepts; for example by thinking about fighting, whilst at the same time restricting your sausage consumption you will find much “Anger” is created-“Anger” is the core component of “Angercise”, however I believe Anger alone is not enough-it must be precisely honed and focused into a blinding red mist.

By combining other triggers-for instance by realising it is now sometime since you have had a decent nights sleep-you can whip yourself up into a massive fury and move onto other, much more useful anger states including (but in no way limited) to:

“Paranoid Revenge Fantasies”
“Envy”
“It’s all their fault”
“I hate my body”
“I will fucking murder you all, you spineless pack of gibbons”
“Look at him, the smug fucking cunt, I’ll smash his fucking face in”

The only limit to your potential is your lack of personal demons!!!

All you need is complete random directionless fury, and a punch bag (or vagrant) and you’re well away-just watch the pounds drop off!

Why not sign up today?”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s always worked for me, and if this proves popular I will be producing a line of “Angercise” sports wear and accessories, and also a range of special sport/energy sausages (essentially premium pork sausages containing different ratios of Amphetamines/alcohol)

Of all the sheer fucking idiocy

A close mate is getting married soon, which is all well and good, but we need to arrange a stag do for him.

These are notoriously bloody annoying to arrange because everyone wants to do different things, you end up trying to please everyone and spend ages arranging a weekend of GoKarting/drinking/strippers/archery/Ibiza/falconing/wall of death riding, then 3 days before everyone it’s due to happen everyone fucking cancels anyway, leaving you about £4000 out of pocket because you’ve just rented a load of elephants and knocking shop full of child prostitutes in Latvia for three weeks.

Anyway, a friend of the bride has suggested amalgamating the Stag and Hen nights. After telling her to “go get your fucking head looked at woman” it set me off thinking about what we should actually do.

So far the most popular idea has been riding around the desert in Mexico on motorcycles, hunting down condemned criminals with crossbows whilst wearing dresses. Is this the midlife crisis we were expecting?

I have just received an email

It is an email advising me that the email address of our own internal IT service desk is temporarily out of order, due to technical problems.

Oh, the terrible, bittersweet irony of it…

The Crazy Toilet Man

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.

The only problem with this is that he is quite clearly utterly mad-he has one of those “unfinished” sort of faces you see only on the very ill and/or insane-all scraggly hair, wobbly eyes and missing teeth. He doesn’t exhibit any signs of learning difficulties/Downs syndrome etc though, just sheer rampant insanity.

He lurches from toilet to toilet heaving massive bags of rubbish whilst singing to himself and accosting people who pass by and dragging them into his extremely strange one-sided conversations:

“I’m only here Tuesdays. Tuesdays, Thursdays. I can come Wednesdays though, I can. Could if I want. Always full. Always. By Wednesdays, always. I told them it would be full!! I did!!!!! HAHAHAHA” etc. Very disconcerting indeed.

If you’re actually in the toilet when he comes in it’s even worse-your best bet is to get yourself locked into a cubicle ASAP before he starts, otherwise you end up listening to him and nodding for five minutes before you have to say something like “I’m shutting the door now” loudly and clearly and then he stops.

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 AM MONOBROW!!!!!!

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”.

So there we are-I am now destined to become a werewolf. Wonderful…

Cretinous Fuckdonkeys

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”.

However, recently I received a comment from an end user about some documentation, saying it was “complex and difficult to understand”. Well, yes, this would be because:

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).

However, as our internal policy states under these circumstances I have had to review the document writing proecedurezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Suffice to say, from now on I am going to write everything in Mong, just for this person.

Having some trouble with the 5 bellied fuck pig

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.

Unfortunately it’s now gone out to most of our customers and instead of trying to rectify the problem she’s gone off into a corner to cry loudly and eat biscuits.

Guess who’s trying to sort it out now? Yes, it’s fucking Muggins here, with the help of a strange French bloke who seems very helpful (although like most French, not necessarily to be relied upon under conditions of war).

Does anyone else work under these conditions?

* Cobble together

** Complete fucking rubbish

Customer service is an art form

One with which i am most adept...

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).

We have been tasked to produce suitable automated replies to these queries, here is mine:

"Dear valued customer

Many thanks for your recent query.

After filtering the contents of your brain through one of our special “Mind Sieves” we have been to ascertain the general gist of your train of thought, and even if we still haven’t managed to really grasp the specifics of your unfocused rage we feel more than optimistic about rectifying the terrible personal slight our company appears to have randomly inflicted on you.

There may be a small delay in reviewing your query due to the fact that you did not, at any point add any contact details to your query, which is of course our fault entirely (as indeed is the awful standard of spelling and grammar within the content of your query. We would like to assure that has nothing to do with the fact that you appear to have the typing skills of something with a set of pig’s tits for fingers and is entirely our responsibility).

If there is any further way in which I can help you at this juncture please do not hesitate, even for one moment, before picking up the phone and bellowing randomly down it like a wounded and confused cow, as I for one like nothing better than to listen to the petty vindictive ramblings of a low calibre intellect for a protracted period of time.

Please rest assured that I will not allow myself, or anyone else within this vast and spurious organisation, to rest until this grave and terrible insult has been wiped forever from the pages of history.

Your spastic hat is in the post.

Fat Edgar"

I think this hits exactly the right balance between professionalism and caring..

Sometimes I wish I had hooves instead of feet just so I could kick idiots to death more effectively…

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.

Sometimes I think my love of all things pork is all that stops me being one of those “Jihadists” you hear about in the news. That, and that if I grow a beard my face itches. No self respecting suicide bomber should be seen without a full luxuriant beard. It would be letting the side down.

This morning we have a representative from one of our branches in London in our office (we are most honoured). He’s a bit like Ray Winstone but on amphetamines. It’s quite disconcerting at this hour, especially as he’s ranting about the withdrawal of British troops from Northern Ireland.

Big sharp hooves…

Some people more angry than I am

I have spent quite some time wondering about the state of my mental health since I started writing this blog thing. Is it normal to feel this much hatred, anger and contempt? And even if it is, is it normal to write it down for the entire world to see (a moot point I know, as I suspect I know everyone who reads this)?

I suspect it might be healthier than bottling it all up, although I might be wrong. Maybe all the psychologists and stuff will change their minds about that and start telling people just to shut the fuck up and get on with things. And who’d blame them?

So I’ve been on a search to find people even more angry than I am (they do exist, however many of them are incarcerated), and have found these guys-the National Secular Society. They are a bit of a single issue group really, and you get the impression most of them have been fiddled with by Vicars at some point during childhood, but it's amusing nonetheless. Well, amusing in a “we’re really angry about something that most people couldn’t give a shit about” kind of way. In that way it’s very similar to reading the letters page in a local newspaper really.

It’s as shame that my parents didn’t bother getting me christened as it means that now I can’t write rude letters to religious authorities about it. Well, I suppose I can if I want, but they wouldn’t really have much substance to them:

Dear Vicar

Erm... Fuck Off!

Love

Fat Edgar

This creature must be destroyed....

Anyone seen this? Absolutely mental.

BURN IT WITH HAMMERS!!!! That’s what I say.

The report omitted any mention of whether it also has glowing red eyes and hisses “Their sssouls are now minneeee…..” as well.

Mind you, it’s not that unusual I suppose-when I was a child my gerbils used to tell me to kill prostitutes.

7 wet in worst floods since this time last week

Anyone else getting a bit sick of these kinds of “headlines”? It’s not really news anymore is it? As far as I am aware (or for that matter care) Lincolnshire has been under water since April.

Apparently some areas of Britain have received up to 1 centimetre of rainfall, causing havoc to the local infrastructure. What? Have I missed something and do we live in a third world country now? Perhaps we do, and if so: “Heed my Words!!! Sky God is angry-he sends you his tears! Give me gold and I will make him stop!”

As far as I know less than 10 people have died throughout this episode (and 2 of them lived in Hull, so it was pretty much a merciful release for them), and those that have died have been as the result of tragic accidents and other factors, and unfortunately tragic accidents do happen to people regardless of weather conditions.

The media meanwhile produce more and more bloody lazy journalism with identikit footage of a local news reporter carrying an umbrella and wearing Wellingtons saying: “Well, as you can see, it’s very wet here” followed by short interview with an old couple who have very wet downstairs carpets, and a mysteriously smudged photograph album.

My response is: Would it not be wise, perhaps if you live next to a river, maybe on very flat land and if it hasn’t stopped raining for 3 months to perhaps think about taking some stuff upstairs? Especially if, as seems so depressingly common, this actually happened to you last fucking year as well…

Another Series of Half Arsed Ideas, Poorly Executed...

I have decided to swallow my pride and buy a copy of the latest Harry Potter tonight, however I’m going to just read the last chapter, write a short synopsis of it then email it to everyone in the company with the subject header “Important directive from Board, please read”.

I’m also writing a novel myself now (under the name “Chad Steel IV”). I’ve been trying to catch the cultural zeitgeist, so I have had a quick look around the “literature” section in ASDA and have come up with the working title “The Arthurian Crusader Nazi Paradox Atlantis Freemason’s List Wizard Roswell Theorem Raider”. You can probably expect to see it in Charity shops from next summer onwards.

The actual content is of course complete garbage and largely irrelevant, as it’s meant to be read by people who are either on holiday and/or the educationally sub-normal. However it does feature Elvis, Adolf Hitler, Princess Diana and Jade Goody (and a range of glamorous locations) so I’m hoping it will appeal to a very wide range of fucking cretins. If I can get a decent foreword written by Andy McNab or Derek Acorah to get it started I think I’m definitely onto a winner with it.

Harry Fucking Potter

I won’t go on about this too much. I just don’t have enough time and it will get me far, far too angry…

I think it’s enough just to say:

“Adults, up all night, dressed as wizards, waiting for a book. For a fucking book.”

You need to get your fucking heads looked at people...

Hopefully once they have made the film of this one, this should signal the end of this rather tiresome period in popular culture and we can all move on-I won't have to listen to this kind of fucking rubbish from fools anymore:

“Ooo… But have you read the books Fat Edgar??? Have you??? I'll lend you them!!! I've got them all on my bookshelf where books for grown-ups should be!!!!They’re really good-adults can read them too you know…”

Well, yes I’ll grant you that they can, but adults can also read fucking Noddy as well if they want to-it doesn’t make it right, it just means that normally you would expect them to be handicapped…. Fucking bottom feeders…

Just move on…

Daniel Radcliffe already has, bless him. He’s now in a play where he fucks a horse. I bet his grandma’s really proud of him now… “Oh Danny, not only were you in a series of films which touched the souls of an entire generation, but now you’re up to your spuds in dobbin…”

Perhaps now I will also be able to finally shift a few copies of my own series of children's books: "The Adventures of Young Adolf"...

More about utterly awful concerts

Hello Weston-Super-Mare!!!

Did anyone see any coverage of the “T4 on the beach” bloody awful outdoor concert yesterday? Bilge of the highest order in my view. I’m not keen on outdoor concerts anyway (Glastonbury is a different matter), especially ones on the beach. And in Weston Super Mare. So not my sort of thing at all really.

Outdoor gigs are usually rubbish anyway, unless you actually like spending 2 hours queuing for a piss with a load of drunk, angry sunburned Geordies. Apparently the highlight of yesterday’s gig was a performance by “Dizzee Rascal”. For fucks sake…

The best song in the world is inside my head anyway-it’s my own arrangement of “Gold” by Spandau Ballet. It’s fucking brilliant, and the only barrier to getting it released and it going platinum and me being extremely fucking rich and buying a massive chimpanzee farm is that I unfortunately can’t sing as well in real life as I can inside my own head.

The second best song in the world is also inside my head-it’s a cover of “Poison’s” 1987 megahit “Every Rose has its Thorn (but every night has its door-horr-horr-horrnnn)” sung by the Reverend Ian Paisley.

The “B” side of that single is him singing “Mr Bojangles” and "That's Armore". If you were lucky enough the get the 12 inch, it also has an unforgettable version of Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson’s “I knew him so well” in which he duets with the late Pope John Paul II.

A lesson to you all...

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.

Please note: If you are ever in a similar situation, this really is not a good time to involuntarily exclaim: “Arrghhh!!!! Spastic in the Wardrobe!!!

Another day, another Twat...

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’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt. I’m a cunt

Regards

A. Twat.

I can’t be the only person out there who feels like this…

Do these fuckers not have anything else to worry about?

Yes, once again the BBC website has annoyed me. Well, not the BBC website itself, but rather the cretinous fuckmonkeys it reports on:

More fucking hippie bollocks

Isn’t it great when po-faced hippy idiots get really wound up and annoyed with something? I can just imagine them spitting lentils as they start shouting about it...

Just read the damning comments by the Ann Bryn-Evans, the“Joint Wessex District Manager for The Pagan Federation”. She has said that they will be doing some rain magic to get rid of this problem.

Rain Magic? Rain Magic??? FOR FUCKS SAKE do you stupid fuckers ever stop to wonder why you’re not regarded as a serious political force? Has it not occurred to you it might be because you come out with complete fucking dogshit like this?

Now is it just me, or is that just not a very Pagan job title she has either? It doesn’t make me think of a proud race of ancient warriors, it just makes me think of spreadsheets and hippies, which is weird.

At the end of the day, it’s a giant picture of man with a huge boner. How exactly can the addition of Homer Simpson, or anything else for that matter, make something like that any more or less ridiculous and absurd?

Fraiday Afternoons...

Bah!!! still over half an hour to go...

What to do next? some light internet browsing, or perhaps i should just break open this paperweight and drink the blue liquid therein?

The Wretched Inconvenience that is Modern Employment Law

In an abrupt move from the pseudo-political slant of some of my more recent rants I have decided today to move back to the arena with which I am far more familiar-my complete and utter contempt for most people.

There’s no escaping the fact that we are constantly surrounded by Divs. There was some research done a few years ago saying that the average city dweller was never more than ten feet away from a rat. I can absolutely fucking guarantee that if you work in an office you are considerably closer than this to a colossal fuckwit.

It can’t have escaped the attention of anyone who works in an office (I can’t speak for many other working environments although I suspect the situation is exactly the same) that some of the people in your office, if they weren’t using a computer as an adjunct to their somewhat basic intelligence, would have to forge themselves a new career in the lucrative and competitive world of “scrabbling in bins for food”, such is their seeming inability to perform even the most mundane of tasks outside of their normal remit without first staring blankly into the middle distance for a good ten fucking minutes.

I can see quite a few examples of this kind of genetic refuse from my fortified alcove in the corner of the office-people whose induction to their jobs appears to only have consisted of “right then, press a button once every minute-if that phone rings, pick it up and mumble a monosyllabic response-do this every day until six months before you die.”. Mind you, as long as they are allowed to eat pies while they are doing this they don’t seem to mind that much.

I have even, to my own misfortune, inherited a few when I took over this department (my first step on the way to world domination). Thankfully I have been able to get rid of most of them, but employment law being what it is, just like the stubborn stains around the bowl of the toilet after you’ve had a particularly virulent stomach bug, there are still one of two that are proving very resistant.

I may have to consult one of the management books I have been given regarding this problem, although I suspect that “Discover your inner Braying Fuckwit” or whatever it’s called won’t cover this situation. I might have to write my own book on this-I think I’m going to call it “Idiots: How to hurt their minds” or something similar. I think there's probably potential for a Seminar in that actually...

Oh for fucks sake....

Sorry-this is another one from the BBC website that irritated me-I’ll try to be funny about it but no guarantees...

A feeble attempt to prevent children from becoming almost completely feral

This is a broadly similar issue to a rant I wrote a few weeks ago about filthy dole scum.

In an effort to “engage” with the youth of today it appears that once again the government is going to fuck around with education (and spend a shitload of money) to make it more “relevant” and “focused”. Whatever… In my experience the 2 major problems facing education are as follows:

1) A lot of teachers are Cunts
2) A lot of children are Cunts

And that’s about it really.

The ideal solution would be of course to ensure that all the cunts end up in the same buildings, however no one seems to have considered this as a viable option as yet. I think it’s only a matter of time though-most of the other avenues must be exhausted by now. The Government could give them a special name like “Dickhead Institutes” or something. It could be a lasting tribute to the fucking useless lard arse that is Gordon Brown.

I really do think I have a point here-thinking back to my own schooldays I am pretty sure that all problems could be traced back to the above two problems. For instance, most of my memories of lessons aren’t of learning about useful and/or interesting things as most of the lessons appeared to be punctuated at regular intervals by a incredibly stupid kids shouting and biting each other, whilst at the front of the class a social misfit who couldn’t handle a job where they would have to interact with other adults droned on about fucking Roman Roads, whilst completing failing to maintain order.

Most of these problems could have been dealt with at source-rather than continue to waste money on cretins it would make better financial sense in the long term to give them a tenners worth of smack and let nature take its course. I also think teaching should also not necessarily be the first choice of career for weak minded fools who couldn’t find another job with holidays that were quite as good.

That isn’t to say there aren’t very good teachers out there, but there are certainly some absolutely bloody appalling ones, and unfortunately it seems impossible to sack a teacher once they are in post unless they get caught fiddling with kids. Ideally we need more people who are like Rhodes Boyson and less people who are like Mr Bean in the profession.

That way perhaps I wouldn’t have had to rely on the History Channel to complete my education (actually that’s unfair-we never had that many lessons about Adolf Hitler, tiger sharks or the pyramids anyway)…

A challenge

I don't have the room anymore, but if anyone gets Guernica tattooed on their back (and provides photographic evidence), I'll treat them to a slap up feast and the Hotel de Posh.

Can't say fairer than that...

Compare and Contrast

This got on my goat today….

Please check out these two articles from the BBC website regarding the plight of young women:

This tragic story

and

This article which makes me understand why suicide bombers might want to destroy "The Infidel West"

And after reading them, just ask yourself:

Why the fuck don’t people have priorities?

Both articles involve risks to young women, and both articles involve models but other than that they are poles apart and I think they perfectly illustrate the levels of incredibly blinkered self involvement some people are capable of.

The first article details the extremely horrific and harrowing practice of female circumcision (called, quite rightly, in this article “Genital Mutilation”), and the activities of one particular woman, who after being forced to undergo this trauma has since been trying to eradicate this terrible and barbaric practice - I defy anyone to read this without it sending a shiver of horror down their spine. To know that this can happen to up to 3 million girls per year, and that there are people out here to whom carrying these procedures out is just a part of life is something that truly terrifies me.

The second article, rather differently, is about models who might be considered a bit too thin... It was also the one that had a special twenty minute slot on the BBC Breakfast news…

Although no doubt a very serious issue in its own right-everyone is aware of the danger, particularly relevant to young woman, of eating disorders. However, rather than concentrate on the effect of these disorders on normal women and girls, the article decides to concentrate on models. WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO BE TOO FUCKING THIN ANYWAY. Now I'm no tubby chaser myself but this one really annoyed me...

For fuck’s sake, we aren’t talking about normal people here, were talking about 8 foot tall, extremely self-involved, etiolated giraffe women who have FUCKING CHOSEN to enter a profession absolutely notorious for it’s terrible working practices in this area. It’s practically part of the job description for Christ’s sake…

Normal young women just don’t think “Hmmm….What’s my ideal career? I know-one that will involve about five years of eating nothing but fucking lettuce and being screamed at by outrageously camp men. I might even get drugged and raped at a party-wouldn’t that be super?” These people were fucking freaks to begin with…

To say that people aren’t aware of this is when they enter this profession is like someone deciding to become a Boxer, but not realising that it means they might get punched now and then.

The major issue in this article is not the issue that is pertinent to society as a whole, which is that perfectly normal shaped women are made to feel unattractive, and in many cases are suffering mentally and physically directly because of the ridiculously unreasonable ideals portrayed in the media, but that the British Fashion Council is defending its right to use these people.

Presumably they will trot out their usual excuses that “These women are used because clothes hang better on taller slimmer women”. They have also (although it is not mentioned in this article) for the same reason refused to ban the use of “Size Zero” models. Presumably because People like Karl Lagerfeld enjoy having a wank whilst fantasising about woman who look like a cross between coat hangers and a glockenspiel.

What utter fucking bollocks-from what I’ve seen of “fashion” (which admittedly isn’t much, however I am thinking specifically the likes of Gautier and Westwood) the clothes in question would look no less ridiculous if Kathy Burke was stamping up and down the catwalk in them than if “insert name of twelve year old, probably eastern European, currently popular, two-eyes-on-a-stick looking model here” was wearing them, indeed I would go as far as saying “clothes looking better” is very much a relative term when used to describe people dressed in a giant silk wasp costumes or similar items.

So, back to the original point-who do we feel most sorry for? The girls in the first article or the girls in the second? And guess which one will be on the news tonight…

Anyway, I think I might have got a bit too caring and “New Man” in this article so… erm… Phwooar, tits eh? Wahey!!! Fancy a fight?

Spare a thought for the Diana Impersonators

This is really a follow up to last weeks Diana Tribute concert, in all it’s mawkish glory. I didn’t watch it as it looked awful, like Glastonbury for the fox hunting set… I also got very annoyed with comments in the press telling us how bravely the “Young Princes” held up.

Now, I don’t want to sound cruel, and I know how tragic it must have been to lose your mother at such a young age (especially as she was pissed and shagging an Arab bloke at the time-that must have been hard) but it has been 10 years, and I would hope that their grief has been somewhat tempered by the passage of time now. Given that their favourite pastimes appear to be fox hunting and grabbing young women’s tits in night clubs you get the impression that they aren’t the most introspective of young men anyway…

I also imagine that it is somewhat easier to reconcile yourself to a family life of tragedy if you are filthy fucking rich than if you were some poor bastard who had a proper life to get on with, with all its attendant stresses and worries. If all you have to worry about is one of your fucking polo ponies going lame I imagine the rest of your life is quite easy.

Anyway, my idea for a TV programme to mark the decade since the tragic loss of our “Princess of Hearts” is:

“Diana: a Tribute to her Impersonators”

A programme in which we look at the fortunes of those young women who depended on HRH for a career, and what they have been doing since her untimely demise… I bet some of them became Jill Dando impersonators instead. Wonder how that worked out for them?

EDIT-wasn’t sure whether to add this bit-it was in the original draft I did, but I took it out as I felt it was a bit too sentimental, but I think I should add it now:

“It’s all a lot of fucking bollocks-two friends of mine have both lost parents this year-in both cases good people who led good lives and gave infinitely more to society than a that parasitic louse ever did. I also think that they would both be glad to know that their children won’t be getting “Dire Straits” out of whatever rehab/care home they are currently in to commemorate their passing.”

The Cuddly Pleasant Face of the Far Right..

Did anyone watch that programme about fascism last night? Think it was called “Fascism in Colour” or some thing similar…

It was part of Channel 5’s attempts to move away from their traditional “Some tits and a car chase” evening schedule into something remotely intellectual (best of luck I say-if channel 4 are going to continue showing “Big Brother” and it’s numerous farcical offshoots I can’t see why Channel 5 can’t try to win some viewers over)

Anyway, it was really quite good-a view (the word analysis would be an exaggeration) of Italian fascism (did you know the word “Fascism” comes from an Italian word meaning “we’re unemployed, but wearing cool clothes and having a scrap looks like a bloody good laugh”. Or something like that anyway…), but it was mostly in colour, which was quite a nice touch.

It was also quite timely, showing as it did what can happen to a country when it gets taken over by a funny looking lardy cunt with no clear agenda, although in his favour Benito Mussolini was a bit more glamorous than Gordon Brown, and was also considerably less Scottish (which is two points in his favour-so far it’s Benito 1, Gordon 0)

It was quite a strange programme in so far as it tried to differentiate between “Fascism” and “Nazism”, and seemed, at least in my opinion, like it was trying to suggest that fascism was like an informal, jolly, vaguely farcical and slightly cuddly organisation. A bit like “Eddie Large” would be, if he was a political force in the early twentieth century, especially when compared to the far more dour and darkly sinister “Sid Little” type of movement that Nazism was.

Ultimately of course, just like “Little and Large”, it all ended in an acrimonious spilt, preceded by a rapid decline in fortune after several years of successively decreasing popularity ratings. Except Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini didn’t have a crap sketch/magic/variety show on Saturday evenings (although if they had, perhaps Europe would be a very different place now).

Seem to have got off the point a bit now…

Tomorrow I will be providing an in depth analysis of the causes, escalation and final resolution of the “Cold War”, and the eventual defeat of communist ideology by the market forces of the “Free World”, with specific reference and comparisons to Les Dennis and Dustin Gee, and their ill-fated (and grotesquely misnamed) “Laughter Show”.

My Productive Morning

Do you remember when you were at school and occasionally they would bring in people to talk about the wonderful world of work, and how rewarding and productive it would be for us?

They were lying little cunts weren't they?

Well, I’ve spent my morning dealing with the fallout from this email string (see below-I have changed the names of those involved in the emails not to protect the terminally stupid, but to prevent being convicted of cyber crimes).

Basically it revolves round a few principal characters –myself, Fucknut Number 1, Div who can’t Spell, Dingbat Fuckflaps, Pig Faced Slapper and Racist Fish Wife, with a smattering of bit players and bystanders.

As manager of some of said fools I have been dragged in to mediate this conflict…

My apologies for the length of this post, I really find it very difficult to understand how I got to a point in my life where I had to deal with spanners like this. The emails speak for themselves really...

Let it begin:

..................................................................................

From: Racist Fish Wife
To: Fat Edgar
Subject: RE: SALAAM

Good poor Fucknut Number 1 is very upset about this and so is all of our department, also then to drag me into it and want to beat me up.

________________________________________
From: Fat Edgar
To: Racist Fish Wife; Fat Edgar’s Boss
Subject: RE: SALAAM
Hello Racist Fish Wife

We are escalating this issue with Some Other Poor Fucker Who’s Too Busy To Deal With This Shit Right Now now.

Will keep you posted

Fat Edgar

From: Racist Fish Wife
To: Fat Edgar
Subject: RE: SALAAM

Hi
This is totally unacceptable

________________________________________
From: Fucknut number 1
To: Racist Fish Wife Hirst; Innocent Bystander number 1; Innocent Bystander number 2
Subject: FW: SALAAM


________________________________________
From: Div who can’t spell
To: Fucknut number 1
Subject: RE: SALAAM

he just sent this email to my team.... thick shi*.... he finks he knows it all... see my reply attached... LOL
READ ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.....lol

Yes we are aware Dingbat Fuckflaps, but people should really come out of the fault logs if someone else is looking into this, that's much easier to do.
Or we can all shout like Pig faced slapper and say oiiiiiiiiii get out of my fault log... :0)

________________________________________
From: Dingbat Fuckflaps
To: SHIP OF FOOLS
Subject: ECR's Locked

Not sure if everyone was aware of how to do this or not
If someone has left themselves in an fault log rather than having to mail them to come out you can just chuck them out
From the main fault screen go Information then Support Utilities then Recover Locked Fault log
Find the Fault Log number then press then the Entry number then Y to confirm

________________________________________
From: Fucknut number 1
To: Div who can’t spell
Subject: RE: SALAAM

tell him if he has anything to say to me be a man and say it to my face and then I will show him!

________________________________________
From: Div who can’t spell
To: Fucknut number 1
Subject: SALAAM

i fink he's just cussin u at the mo... LOL. AM SURE i heard him say something like ur people R THICKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK
Pig faced slapper wants me to go and beat Racist Fish Wife up...
LOL. Everyone has had enuf of u guys.... am surprised they havnt sed ur name yet... soon babbbbyyyyy


________________________________________
From: Fucknut number 1
To: Div who can’t spell
Subject: Hello

you know your mate Dingbat Fuckflaps you should tell him to get out of that Fault log when he has passed it over coz then I can log it off.
....................................................................................

Well, I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.

What I wouldn’t give to work with professionals. Or just "Not Mongs" would be nice.

Innit….

Those Cunts at "Stomp!"

Yesterday I briefly mentioned “stomp”, and since then I have been unable to stop getting really angry about them, all the time.

I think it’s the self-righteous, smug, superior attitude of the fuckers which makes me want to set fire to their tour bus whilst they are in it.

Bunch of trustafarian wankers… I bet if you asked them what the fuck they thought they were playing at they would probably say something like:

“Yeah, what we’re trying to do is break out of “Normal” styles and rules of rhythm and dance, and trying to find our own “expression space” using an organic throughput of non traditional musical synergies”

No you’re not, you cunt-you’re fucking hitting a dustbin lid whilst fucking tap dancing. That’s not clever or original-fucking “Top Cat” used to do that, and he never went on “Blue Peter” did he?

Anyway-it looks like they are auditioning for new members-anyone fancy going along?

Edit-against my better judgement i have just looked at their website-it's full of the kind of shit I just made up above. fucking unbelievable...

Twee fucking hippy bollocks

Let me demonstrate what I mean by this…

Do you know what music is? Music can be many things to different people-to some it can be dizzying and inspiring scales of Bach’s toccata and fugue in D minor, to others it can be the thundering emotions of Wagner, and for some it can be the snarling rage of motorhead or the sheer Italian bizarreness of Dean Martin. It can be all things to all men...

One thing however it definitely isn’t is lots of fucking hippies hitting dustbins with wooden spoons-in other words it’s not those cunts at "Stomp" . That’s not music and it never will be- Make no mistake, its absolute fucking shit and it always, always, always will be…

Which brings me, by an admittedly rather roundabout discussion of the arts that Melvyn Bragg would have been proud of, to:

this stupid bitch

I defy any right minded person to read this website without becoming angry. I am literally absolutely speechless with contempt after reading it.

I can’t actually write anymore, I’m that angry…

Bloody Cheeky Bastards

Do you ever get this from idiots:

“Will you sponsor me to go surfing in Australia?”

“Me and my mates are going to hitch hike to Amsterdam to raise money for Lithuanian orphans”

Oh really? Are you sure you’re not just doing that because it sounds like it might be a fucking good laugh?

I’d like to be sponsored to hit people really fucking hard in the face with frying pan (I don’t care which charity-I just really, really want to do it), unfortunately I realise it’s just not going to happen....

Does anyone else getting really fucking annoyed with sponsoring people to do things that are fun?

“I’m doing a sponsored driving a fast car whilst getting my cock sucked for Children in Need…” Great, here’s £20… I don’t fucking think…. You’re going to have to come up with something better than that sunshine, you’re getting me angry.

If I’m going to hand over some cash I at least want you to do something difficult and preferably really unpleasant-what’s wrong with a long run for Christ’s sake?. I’m not Jimmy “Cunt” Saville-I’m not fucking interested in helping you realise your life-long dream of swimming with cocking dolphins.

You could try being original as well-I’ll happily hand over a fiver if you tell me you’re going to be set on fire in order to raise money for an owl sanctuary or something…

If you’re that fucking kind hearted why don't you stay at home and donate the plane fare to charity instead?

I remember when Glastonbury was all fields....

I watched with great interest the BBC coverage of the Glastonbury festival, however I think it is indicative of something that most of it seemed to be done by Phil Jupitus, from atop some kind of tented canopy high above the masses. Indicative of what I’m not exactly sure, other than that perhaps Phil Jupitus has fantasies that he is Tina Turner in “Mad Max 3 - Beyond Thunderdome”… *

Glastonbury has not been the same since Michael Eavis built that 80 foot high fence patrolled with Robot Guard Dogs that spit killer bees and wee tear gas, and then required everyone who fancied going send in a stool sample, their little finger and a contract signed in their own blood before they could get a fucking ticket. I thought he might have sold out a bit there, the creepy little fucking gnome twat.

Anyway, I was very pleased to see that it was all very, very muddy and looked thoroughly unpleasant for all the young people who were there, the horrible posh little shits… I didn’t watch much of the footage of the bands to be honest, as even when I go to Glastonbury I tend to go out of my way to avoid seeing bands wherever possible. Who the fuck wants to stand in a field full of people who like fucking Moby? Where’s the sense in that? They're all a pack of cunts, so I'll be in the beer tent, thank you very much...

I’d rather watch some hippies juggling fire or something. There’s always the chance they won’t be very good at it and there could be a spectacular accident. Generally what I really used to like to do was spend 6 days wearing the same pair of trousers whilst sat in a puddle with a nice warm can of Stella, completely ripped to the tits and wizzing my fucking face off. Golden years, golden years…. I think I'd probably be dead now if I tried that...

I did however enjoy Amy Winehouse’s set, which is surprising, as if in real life I was to see a clearly pissed, very untidy looking woman with missing teeth and badly done tattoos alternating between singing and muttering under her breath I would normally cross to road to avoid them, rather than sitting down to enjoy it with a nice cup of tea.

edit-I've been thinking about this a lot since originally posting - normally my biggest(only) problems with Glastonbury were: a) Twats and b) Sunburn. This could all have been rectified so easily by supplying each festival goer with sun hat and a handgun...

* That wouldn't surprise anyone would it? the fucking freak...

Poor White Trash...

Saw this earlier: http://news.bbc.co.uk/filthydolescum I strongly advise you to download and view the actual report as well. It made me go all Victorian and angry…

It makes me want to grow big bushy sideburns, don a waistcoat and suit, gain 5 stone and stand up and shout in a thundering Rhodes Boysenesque voice: “By God Boy, pull yourself up by damn bootstraps, or I’ll give you something to complain about!!”

The gist of this article isn’t of course about the difference between the relative performance of people from different ethnic backgrounds, or even the difference between “rich” and “poor”. It’s about people who give a fuck about themselves, their families and their futures and people who, it seems, really don’t.

Apparently the government has pledged1 billion pounds on rectifying this situation… well, that’s going to pay for a lot of alcopops, smack and tracksuits isn’t it? Would it not be easier (and in some ways so very much kinder) in the long run just to have a controlled cull? And I’m all for putting subliminal messages in the “Jeremy Kyle” show telling them to overdose as well. Every little bit helps

1 Billion pounds!-that works out at about 17K per person ( or possibly only 1.7K, as my maths is not very good, but quite frankly I’m tempted to go all out “Daily Mail” on this one and make as much fuss as possible).

Surely this could be spent in better ways than by throwing money at people who really don’t add a great deal to the welfare of the country? Why not just invest in education as a whole? Surely that’s better for the country?

Interesting fact people-The World does not in fact owe you a fucking living, and despite the fact that everyone in your family since your great-great-great granddad has lived on benefits (admittedly as you all breed like fucking rabbits this has only been since 1976) this doesn’t mean that you have a “right” to them. And don’t start blaming “bloody immigrants” for your failure either, because that really doesn’t fucking wash with anyone anymore… this country has more opportunities for everyone than ever before, and no one is “taking your jobs”-you just can't be arsed doing any.

I’m aware this is beginning to sound like a rather peculiar right wing and aggrieved rant… Which it is…and I’m more than happy to be considered “Nazi with a small “n””- but just so you know, my family has gone from Coal Miners to Surgeons in three generations-this is a source of great pride and has had nothing to do with wealth and economic background and absolutely everything to do with actually giving a fuck and investing in the future.

Just I case you think I’m going a bit far in suggesting the complete and utter eradication of a section of the population please read the comments below from “Danielle” regarding this issue, which she so kindly submitted to the BBC (although I suspect she was actually meaning to text Big Brother, but got so caught up in the moment whilst fucking a close male relative she sent it to the wrong address). I have copied it in its entirety:

“The amount of allegations there are regarding racism in the uk at the moment, but yet we are allowed to put down white people. THAT IS RACISM. I am a white female and I feel hurt that people can discriminate the knowledge of a person because of they're race. Statistics are not everything. Only because we are white DOES NOT mean we are thick!”

Thank you Danielle-your ill conceived socio-political views presented in such a simple, brutish and quite frankly shit fucking thick form has done far, far more toward convincing those people who would otherwise still be “on the fence” regarding my proposition than any of my arguments could ever have done...

How many emails have you had?

“How many emails have you had?”

“I’ve had 42 since 10.14 this morning…”

“Oh well, I’ve had 68 since 10.32 this morning-that makes me approx 30% more important than you in this shitty little microcosm of the world we call “The Workplace”.

How fucking stupid are these people anyway? “Ohhhh-I’ve got soooo many emails to get through before my meeting with Terry Fuckflaps from accounts…”

Well, fucking ignore them then. You’ll soon find out if they were important…

50% of them will be “FYI” (i.e. probably either from some keen young fucker who thinks this is a better way to show just how clever they are and how much work they have been doing than standing up in their shiny new suit and shouting “look at me, look at me, I did a poo on my own!!” which is what they did the last time anyone was even remotely interested in their progress as a human being or from someone who does so little every day they have forward every email they receive because they think this is “work” )

25 % will be of absolutely no interest at all. To anyone. Ever

At least one will be from an irate person mailing the entire company asking “could the person in the black astra please move their fucking car (again) as you’ve blocked me in (again), Thanks (you cunt)” or words to that effect.

There will be one from an exciting sounding Russian lady who apparently “want be good friend with western man, maybe more, who know? Please mail for fun and bum-tricks xxx Olga xxx” and a few adverts for Mexican Viagra.

There will also be a few Powerpoint screen shows with kittens and quotes from the Dalai llama and the very fucking worst and antiquated clip art the web has to offer forwarded to everyone from stupid, stupid blonde girls with a tattoos on their lower backs and WKD hangovers (and we all know there’s simply nothing sexier in the office first thing in the morning than a fat bleach-blonde girl in Primark leggings and too much makeup who smells like old Irn Bru and stale Lambert and Butler).

Oh, yes, and someone from admin will have sent round a new “procedure” (complete with flow charts) that tells us how we are now supposed to go about ordering a fucking pie from the works canteen.

You know how I’ve spent my morning, Mr/Ms Toomanyemailsooohicantcope? By cleaning up all your shit, you lazy, useless, incompetent little cocksucker…

Welcome to the Daily Hate

You know those sub mongoliod idiots you have to share an office with? The ones where you just want to smash their bones open with rocks and then suck out the marrow? Just so you could get back the energy you wasted on them? Yes, those are the ones…

The ones that site in the corner of the office blankly staring at PC screen, with one fat paw permanently stuffed into a pack or Doritos never doing a fucking thing, too damn useless to even be a hindrance…*

Well, Just for the record I hate those Cunts…

On an unrelated note did anyone witness the storm last night?

I believe it was a harbinger of the end times… RAPTURE is coming…

There are still places left in our bunker whilst we prepare for the New World-will you join us for the final battle against Satan?

(You’ll have to bring your own sleeping bags, canned food and shotguns though)

* I have been watching the person in question closely and now believe them to be writing some kind of awful erotic fan fiction about "Midsomer Murders" and "Eastenders".

I can see her glasses steaming up as she types "DCI Barnaby thrust his hot throbbing cock deep into Pat Butchers arse..." The filthy cow...

A 21st Century Fatty Arbuckle

Is anyone even the slightest bit remotely surprised regarding the latest news about Barrymore?? Is this what we pay out Licence fee for? To fund the lifestyle of someone who appears to be a cross between Russel Harty and Peter Sutcliffe?

Mind you, it sounded like a good party though-get hammered, take loads of pills then bugger a rent boy to death. Top night out!!

Are they home made? No, but they are from Keswick...

This is the first thing I overheard when I got into the office this morning and the words “No, but they are from Keswick” were said with such conviction, sincerity and ringing approbation I immediately thought “ooh, I bet they are nice”. So I stole one. It tasted rubbish. Never trust biscuits from Keswick.

It also made me thing “What a fucking stupid thing to say” Now, it doesn’t take much to set me off first thing in the morning (quite frankly spilling some tea is normally enough to turn me into Dennis Hopper’s character from “Blue Velvet”) but this kind of early morning idiocy really fucking hacks me right off.

“Are the home made?”

"No, but they are from Keswick"

WHAT. THE. FUCK???

While were on the subject I’d like to rationally discuss a small bugbear of mine regarding biscuits (see how neatly I segued into that?). It’s regarding those posh tins of Shortbread you get that say “All butter Shortbread” on them. That really fucking pisses me off. They obviously aren’t all butter if they are fucking shortbread. If they were all butter they would just be butter wouldn't they? You stupid fucking cunts...

Why do you just not fucking get that? You put it on all the tins, along with a tartan pattern and a picture of a highland cow/deer/bloke playing bagpipes. Just because you’re Scottish doesn’t give you an excuse to say things like that, especially when you look in the ingredients are butter is right down at the bottom, listed after chalk and sawdust.

Other than that I quite like shortbread, even if it reminds me more of a third world building material than a food stuff

Jealousy is a terrible emotion...

I have decided to save myself a bit of time and just copy and paste a Charlie Brooker article into this blog each day-it’s generally pretty much exactly what I would like to say about the world, although inevitably written with far more sharpness, subtlety and wit than I could ever muster. For this I hate him...

Critics would probably say “What Brooker achieves with a few deft flourishes, as precisely executed as a surgeon’s scalpel, Fat Edgar ham fistedly attempts to replicate by holding you down in his shed and hammering your head into the ground, spitting in your face and screaming “DIE YOU FUCKING CUNT DIE” whilst trying to disembowel you with a rusty shovel”

That’s if the bastard critics ever read my stuff. Which they don’t, and aren’t ever likely to (the Police might, but that’s another story). To my knowledge only about four people read this anyway (HELLO!!!).

Anyway, no politics today, just in case you thought I was turning into Ben Fucking Elton..

What I would like to see on TV

I’ve been asked what I would like to see more of on TV-luckily there’s a wide range of programmes I’d like to see more of on TV.

Here are a few I have thought of:

More programmes where people go out and film people getting drunk and being sick in the street on weekends. They are very low brow, but they do reinforce my illusions of supremacy, and thus make me a far more effective and prolific serial murderer/rapist.

Convicted criminals being forced to fight to the death

"Animal Park"-one of the best documentary programmes ever shown, but aired on TV when I am actually likely to be at home. And without Ben Bastard Fogle on it.

One channel that just shows a looped tape of someone hammering loads of nails into Mick Hucknall’s cock

Friends

A musical version of “Sweeney Todd” with dwarves in it. But with massive pies.

Some form of televised eBay where I could buy loads of random shit without moving from my chair. Or bothering to put on any pants. I could just sit there and gets loads of Elvis memorabilia and car parts delievered.

More Norwegian Black Metal Music on "Songs Of Praise"

A channel devoted entirely to documentaries about Hitler (a bit like the History channel really, but with more white supremacy and less about the fucking Romans…)

A show called “I’m a Celebrity Big Ice Bastard Cunt Jungle Fucker Brother Twat Idol” in which every single celebrity in the whole world gets invited one by one to go to a warehouse where they then get torn apart by robots that are controlled by Oliver Reed’s Ghost.

What I really would like is a device that I plug into my freeview box that alerts me whenever a G n’ R video is being shown on any channel. Viewing old G n’ R videos is one of the few unadulterated pleasures still available to me…

A re-make of Bergerac with a cast entirely made up of dogs.

Mexican Wrestling

The Flumps

Big Brother Fucking Shit for Brains Idiot Says Something Fucking Stupid National Shock Scandal

I mean, is anyone really surprised???

for fucks sake....

Sheer Fucking Pointlessness

Am I alone in my bemusement regarding the present Governments use of “registers”? (almost as perplexing as it's appointment of a "Drug Czar" several years ago. Just what the fuck was that meant to mean?)

John Reid has announced plans to create a “register” of terrorists in the UK. Will this be along the same lines as the “sex offenders register”? I only ask this question because the sex offender register always make me think of a “Bash Street Kids” teacher type of character reading out a list of names;

“Cooke?” “Here sir….”

“Nilsen? NILSEN!!!! Are you listening boy? Pay attention”

“Sutcliffe? Sutcliffe?.... (sighs) HAS ANYBODY SEEN SUTCLIFFE???”

However I suppose it’s something far more mundane- it will just be a list of names-and in that case why not just call it the “list of terrorists” or the “list of sex offenders”? Hmmm??? You pack of pretentious management speaking twats…

But I suppose a list of all the terrorists in Britain would be a nice idea, if they are going to continue blowing stuff up and making shoddy home made videos on camera phones then putting them on the Internet.

I wonder how you class someone as a terrorist? How far do you have to go? Does the bomb have to explode? What if you were just a bit pissed and got caught by security guards whilst running round an Arndale with some hot dog sausages and kitchen timer strapped to your chest? Does that count?

It's quite a tricky one, unlike the sex offenders register, where as far as i am concerned, if you get caught doing anything worse than(or including)touching yourself whilst watching a "Petit Filou" advert you get your name added. Sounds reasonable to me...

However, all this does beg the question “What the fucking hell are the Government doing with all these names if they are not putting them all on a list?” Are they just written on post it notes and stuff and left around on copper’s desks? Oh, that’s very sensible isn’t it…

No, I suppose there should definitely be a register of terrorists, just so that if a terrorist happens to move onto a council estate, all the local unemployed people can appear on the local news with their terrible teeth and baseball caps drinking Stella and waving placards saying “Terrerists Owt!”.

This is my first try at a political type blog entry, and I’m aware it’s not as insightful or subtle as it could be, however I’m not Trevor Fucking MacDonald, so piss off….

Fucking Useless Pack of Cunts

Does anyone else get really, really pissed off with the sheer apathy with which some complete fucking dunces apply their lives? I know I’m a cynical, misanthropic, hateful person, who hasn’t got a good word for anyone, but in my defence at least I take real pride in this and it gives me a fierce joy…

I can’t be doing with people who are apathetic because they are too fucking stupid to be anything else, those awful people with their slow grey creeping little minds…

Do you ever have people at your work who despite having the mental awareness and initiative of a squirrel still attempt to try and outwit you? Doesn’t it really annoy you?

Don’t you just want to snarl at them “By Christ, you foul empty little worm, how dare you even suggest a match of will and wits with me? You? You who are as less than dust, less than nothing beneath the burning gaze of my hatred? I shall toast the very Devil himself whilst standing on your bloated fly ridden corpse!!!!” before just going for the infuriating little bastards and taking them off at the fucking neck…

(Unfortunately, I am fairly sure that once you go down this line of action it will end with regret, an armed police siege, a "Look North" special and a glowing entry on Wikipedia)

Instead of which what you have to do is just make them look stupid. Which is easy, because they are…However it becomes almost a pyrrhic victory, because damn me if they aren’t so bloody fucking stupid that they forget every time that they have been beaten and you have to go through the whole thing again. Every damn day. Day after day, taking up hours and hours of my time, proving the same fools wrong over and over again…

Which is why I haven’t posted for a while…

poor little tinkers....

Recently there seems to have been a massive amount of adverts for various national and and international child protection agencies exhorting us to give them money. Now, I’m as much of a sucker as the next man for these adverts-images of smiling children in schoolrooms etc (however I also believe in the maxim “Charity begins at home” and as such these lazy little tykes won’t see a brass penny of my money, mark my words…).

What I was wondering is why there is such a discrepancy in the amount of money needed per month for these children? I think “Save the Children” ask you for two quid a month per charming ethnic child, whereas the NSPCC says it should cost a fiver. Why? What are the “Save the Children” children not getting that the NSPCC are getting? Ice cream? Sausages?BMWs?

Or are the NSPCC just spoiling their children with extra rations of sausages and ice cream (and their luxury German automobiles)? I demand an independent inquiry immediately…

My own view is that most (if not all) children would be far better off in some kind of terrible gothic Victorian institution run by a drunken ruddy faced Beadle who would bugger them senseless for minor transgressions whilst exhorting the name of God.

It’s character building…

God Botherers

Bind us together Lord.
Bind us together
The Dark Thoughts
They Rise Unbidden...

We have been asked not to use “religious swear words” in the office any more because they might offend the sensibilities of some colleagues. This is a bit of a problem for me as I do have a slight predilection for standing up and shouting “JESUS CUNT FUCKER” over and over again when under stress. Not sure where this new directive has come from, as this has never been a problem in the past…

Dreadfully sorry if you get offended by that kind of thing, but it annoys me that no one seems to care that many of my colleagues seem to have carte blanche to behave in ways which offend me immeasurably- most notably by being in many cases completely fucking shit thick

I have no idea what the current hiring practices the company I work at are however I’m fairly certain when I joined they asked for more than a pulse and the ability to stand upright. Now it’s full of half formed monster people who read awful tabloid magazines (the ones that seem to have covers full of primary colours that make “Heat” magazine look sophisticated). It’s like a school reunion at a retard school here.

I really don’t like stupid people (you may have noticed). I just don’t think there’s an excuse for it at this stage in our evolution-why are they still here?

The worst thing about them is that they are so bloody noisy about it too. If I was as dim as some of the people in here I’d at least keep my fucking mouth shut and hope I had enough brain power left to keep my heart beating.

Fucking Dentists

It’s got to be the best money spinner ever hasn’t it? Forty odd quid to stick a piece of melted tinfoil in someone’s teeth. Takes all of five minutes… Couple of hundred to replace a tooth with a melted down sovereign ring from Elizabeth Duke, it all fucking adds up doesn’t it? Tight fisted money grubbing pack of cunts…

I had a tiny little hole in my tooth, so the four eyed drill-bastard decides to hollow the whole fucking thing out, then shows me “the size of the cavity”. Yes, you cunt, the size of the cavity you just fucking made. That one wasn’t caused by bourbon biscuits and one sugar in my coffee, that’s for bastard certain. AND I'm going to sound like I have Down's Syndrome until the anaesthetic wears off.

Anyway, at least I might get some more gold teeth out of it (I might get some Cyrillic tattoos as well, so I look even more like a Russian gangster).

You know you're ill when your piss looks like soup...

I'm not going to do all that normal blog stuff you’re supposed to do - apologising for not posting and give a load of excuses (yeah, it's been really crazy in here, etc), as that is the province of cunts.

As far as I know there’s only about 6 people who read this shit anyway, and I know them all personally. In case you were wondering folks, my predictably bad guts have been in tied up in fucking knots for two days so I haven’t written owt.

I have however taken a few days off work, which I thought I would report back on, as I am terribly excited by a programme I watched whilst ill.

It’s on every morning as far as I could tell, and it’s called “Animal Park” and it’s absolutely fucking brilliant (it’s marred slightly by the fact that it’s presented by that twat Ben Fogle).

Normally I’m not one of these twee fuckwits that like watching cute furry creatures doing cute furry things, but this programme has got the fucking lot as far as I am concerned-tears, laughter, drama, pathos, tragedy, suspense, great big fucking teeth…

Tuesday’s episode was a proper tear jerker when they had to put down a massive white Bengal tiger called Shandy. It was a fucking immense thing and even though it was really, really ill it was still trying to bite through the bars to kill the fucking vet. Nearly managed it too. Fantastic Stuff White Tiger!!

There were two blokes in charge of the tigers, and they both looked like they could have been in “Deliverance” (one has no teeth and a baseball cap, the other had some kind of strange elongated teeth disease and an Elvis haircut). Despite these handicaps (Can I still use that word??), I bet they still get loads of women:

Woman in Pub: “What do you then?”

Deliverance Looking Guy: “Me-oh I have a mysterious, mystical and primal bond with huge predatory tigers-do you fancy a fuck?”

Woman in Pub: “Yes please”.

One of them said “Shandy was really nice, really affectionate and likeable. Well, for a tiger anyway” which I thought was a great quote. One of their other tigers was ill too, and it was touch and go for a while for her, but she was fine in the end.

Then there was a wallaby with severe psychological problems doing nuts stuff. That was good too.

The next day they gave a giraffe a Caesarean. Absolute madness -they never did that on “All Creatures Great and Small”. I was rather hoping that a giraffe would kick Ben Fogle's smug fucking face right off but that didn’t happen. You can’t have everything though, and perhaps it might happen later in the series. I do hope so.

Anyway, it’s better than pretty much every other program on TV combined. I advise you to set your video/Sky plus box/Memory Crystal for it.

Friday Afternoons are Fucking Rubbish

Friday afternoons are fucking rubbish. They go on for bastard ever, and all anyone ever asks you is “have you got anything planned for the weekend”.

If you’re going to waste my time, at least have the decency to do it imaginatively…

Unfortunately the woman who has a desk next to me (I forget her name, but I call her “Elizabeth Duke” because of the astonishing amount of really cheap gold jewellery she wears) is a singularly witless old trout who insists on having these kinds of exchanges on an afternoon. Generally a little too loudly, and over the top of my head to the five bellied fuck pig of a woman (yes, she is a bit “chunky”, seen as you’re asking) who sits on the other side of me.

All this whilst I am trying to work. Those that know me well know that I have the patience of saint, however the constant rounds of “she said that I said that she said that I said that she said” and “I’ve managed to lose 2 pounds in the last six months on this diet! Eh, you never did? I did you know-I managed it by only eating cakes in a dark room where no one could see me because that means they aren’t fattening then” etc is driving me a bit nuts, to the extent where I have tried to put AIDS in their coffee.

“Have you got anything planned for the weekend?”

“Why, yes I have-a home invasion actually. I’m going to break into your house then kill, rape and eat (although not necessarily in that order) your entire fucking family. And I’m going to be dressed as fucking Goldilocks whilst I do it. Or I might finish off my bathroom instead. Or, if it’s nice I might go to York for the day.”

happy days...

You've got to be Cruel to be Kind

A friend recently asked me to explore this old maxim using my sophisticated analytical philosophical mind techniques and lots of fucking swearing.

Although I generally find myself much more in the “you’ve got to be cruel to cruel” camp I can kind of see where people are coming from when they say this kind of thing.

It’s a bit like the time my friend Dave fell into an open sewer in my back garden whilst carrying a heavy rock. He hurt himself and wanted me to help him get out but I just started laughing uncontrollably. I think he learned a lot more from that than if I had just helped him out, I really do.

I also like to explore the “You’ve got to be kind to be cruel” approach, although it is a bit sick and perverted and speaks volumes about the fucked up mess between my ears.

I do it at work when you get those keen little fuckers coming in straight from university with all kinds of ideas and ambitions. I hate them, with their happy little smiles and their tales of their zany student days.

However, rather than just stomp on this kind of individuality immediately so they get all ground down and institutionalised and do what I fucking tell them I like to encourage them to come up with all kinds of new ideas and ways of doing things. I tell them to “go for it!!” when they see an opportunity and they get all fired up and run around like happy little monkey children with their shiny new laptops.

Then they find out of course that anyone with any new ideas in a large company who tries to implement them is immediately stifled and restricted by (at best) a complete blank wall of disinterested apathy and office politics, or (at worst) by a viscous and concerted rumour campaign (often coordinated by me), marking them out as pariahs, potential trouble makers or paedophiles.

Almost overnight their little shoulders sag and their postures stoop and they go strangely quiet and withdrawn forever. Suddenly they're not so damn chirpy anymore and they rarely come up with those fucking zippy little ideas anymore.

And I congratulate myself, because I have just created a perfect new soulless middle management cretin.

It’s a bit like taking a little baby bird with a broken wing, then nursing and tending it back to health, then just when it’s ready to fly away happily to freedom, shooting it down with the grim sense of a job well done.

I am available and am taking bookings for any corporate team building events you may be planning.

A few notes on sausages

Recently I have been giving much thought to the purchase of a sausage making machine. The thought of having an almost limitless supply of fresh delicious sausages fills me with glee and an unfamiliar tight sensation in the groin.

I’ve found one that gives me 5 yards of free sausage casings-that’s 15 feet of sausage! I’m terribly excited… I plan to be “International King of Sausages” within the year.

My greatest regret is not purchasing a sausage maker I saw in a charity shop a few weeks ago-should have got it when I had the chance. I really fancy the idea of owning a “Dead Man’s Sausage Maker” now.

No longer will I have to buy my sausages from fucking ASDA anyway. Don’t ever buy sausages from supermarkets if you can help it. They are fucking rubbish. What kind of marketing dickhead thinks that people will really want “Organic Wild Boar sausages, delicately flavoured with juniper and fennel (and now containing 50% less fat)”? Fucking tossers...

That’s not a proper sausage-those are sausages for people that don’t like sausages. And they can just fuck off. Real sausages should be made of Pig offal, Lard and Chinese Newspapers. If you’re going to buy sausages you should get them from a butcher- at least that way you also get a proper sausage buying experience as well.

You get to discuss the properties of each of different sausages with the butcher who created them, who’s generally a very large and florid man in a striped apron who seems slightly educationally subnormal and looks like he abuses children. He’ll know all about sausages though, which is the main thing and you get to leave the shop with a couple of pounds of best pork sausages, or some chipolatas (which are an ideal “starter” sausage for children) and the knowledge you have been responsible for the death of another animal..

It’s so much more satisfying than picking out a pre-packaged carton of pale, insipid sausages (in packaging covered with LIES about how they are made to a traditional recipe) from a fridge, then getting them scanned through the till by a girl who looks Lady Sovereign (or like Myra Hindley if you shop at Morrisons) who clearly doesn’t give a fuck about sausages.

Incidentally, for best results you should cook your sausages in a frying pan whilst naked-it’s the only way to ensure that they are cooking at the correct temperature. If the pan is too cool you won’t get splashed by hot grease as they are not cooking, whereas if the pan gets too hot your cock will look like Simon Weston after a few minutes as the sausages burn and spit.

For a good sausage, you want to be aiming for a temperature that keeps you moving, but that doesn’t cause permanent scarring.

Apologies for those expected a more bitter and cynical post- I can’t help it, sausages make me happy.

FACT- Just 6 sausages count as 1 portion of your "5 a day" fruit and vegetables quota. Why not get rid on that poncy bowl of fruit and just have a big greasy bucket of sausages on your desk?

Failed. Again

Once again I seem to have failed my driving test. To a lesser man this would seem like a setback, but not to me, in my blinkered arrogance and sheer bloody pig headedness.

Even now that I have failed for the 3rd time I am not for one moment thinking that I shouldn’t ever be allowed on the road, even though under normal circumstances the only people who should take this long to pass are old ladies or spacktards… (for those interested I failed on 2 counts-I had a problem with the gears that meant I nearly stalled and my signal came off when I was on a roundabout. And I’m fairly sure neither of these would have happened if I hadn’t been really, really pissed. Also, there is new EU legislation now that means you have to stop for tramps now. it's one of those "Stealth Taxes" I think).

Instead I get driven around by my partner (who passed first time on the day I failed for the third time, bless her). Over the weekend we went to York, which was mercifully free of fat fucking Americans for once. It really is an inbred, insular horrible little town you know, despite all this spurious “Merrie England” nonsense in the city centre.

You can’t go past a pub without being lured in to try “Ye Finest Hammes, Pyes and Ales in ye Whole of Christendom- Est the year of our Lord 1456” only to find when you get in that all they have is Carling Premier, Nobby’s Nuts and a fucking Australian behind the bar.

I think it’s about time that if we have to but up with all this Olde English stuff it should at least be honest and realistic history rather than the normal round of Ghost Walks and Jorvik museum (which is indistinguishable from the outer suburbs of York anyway. Although I once watched 2 chavs who were driving past me in a car stop the car in the middle of the road to have a fight without bothering to get out of the car when I was in York. I bet even the Vikings weren’t that fucking stupid).

You never pick up leaflets from tourist information that pick up something of the real flavour of York and say:

“Welcome to the City of York’s Yearly Heretic Burning Festival, where in times past the citizens of York used to rise up and slaughter all the Filthy Jews, and hang their heads all around a wall as a warning to outsiders. And if any of the fucking Catholics tried to stop them, they’d cut off their fucking hands, the papist bastards.”

Tip of the day- Trains to York are cheap and frequent throughout the summer, and many of the American Tourists found there are ideal test audiences for any jokes about 9/11 you may have thought up.