What a fucking fiasco! The European Convention on Human Rights, which we are apparently forced to adopt, means that in the UK, any cunt with a whinge can make a case, and commonly win. The latest joke of a ruling involves a prisoner who was kept inside too long. My own human rights have been infringed, because the thug in question was supposed to be serving a 'life sentence' and as far as I'm concerned, if he's out any earlier, I'm not safe!
The guilty bloke was to have served a minimum of three years [what's the fucking point of a 'life' sentence then?] for putting a man in a coma. Before that, he had received a 2-year sentence for stabbing a man in the face. So, not the nicest person around. A cock-up on the admin meant he served 10 months more than he could have done if his parole hearing had happened after three years. So he get compensation of £10,000 for the ten months 'extra' he served. EXTRA?! Fuck off, he should still be inside. If he's stabbed someone in the face, then put someone in a coma, the next crime is likely to be manslaughter. But no, the ruling is that his human rights have been violated, and he gets £1,000 tax free for each of the ten months he served past the 3 years, itself a little bit less than 'life', as per the sentence.
This country, and the EU is a fucking joke. The sooner someone has the bottle to extract us from this stupid cuntin' legal shit, the better.
...
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
29.3.11 Potholes
The UK's roads are plastered with potholes and I'm sure some smart alec could advise how long it would take to fix them based on resources now available, and the work ethic that determines council workers and contractors manage an average 3-hour day. I suspect that without new problems adding to the pot (ha, get it!) something in the order of 58 years would be needed to get things sorted.
In the road outside my house, there's a piece of tarmac that has sunk. Workmen dug a trench a while back, did fuck all, and then filled it in - not properly though. The trench is thus a bit below the normal road surface, so there's a need for the local council to sort out a repair. I called two weeks ago, and was told it would be sorted, and that I'd get a call back - yeah, right! Fuckin' nothin'.
Last week I was looking through the paper and there was a page devoted to the issues in Japan following the earthquake. The main photo was of a nice stretch of roadway, in perfect condition. Nothing much surprising, there, but still better than the UK's roads and so I was mildly envious of the carriageway on show. Next to it was a smaller photo, showing the very same stretch of road just 6 days earlier. If was like Cheddar Fucking Gorge! Quite seriously, the road was fucked to pieces by the earthquake. Yet within six days, in the mayhem that followed the massive earthquake, the Japanese has got it sorted.
Meanwhile, back home, the cunt in the council puts his phone on DND and plans his next bout of (paid) sick leave because of 'stress'.
...
In the road outside my house, there's a piece of tarmac that has sunk. Workmen dug a trench a while back, did fuck all, and then filled it in - not properly though. The trench is thus a bit below the normal road surface, so there's a need for the local council to sort out a repair. I called two weeks ago, and was told it would be sorted, and that I'd get a call back - yeah, right! Fuckin' nothin'.
Last week I was looking through the paper and there was a page devoted to the issues in Japan following the earthquake. The main photo was of a nice stretch of roadway, in perfect condition. Nothing much surprising, there, but still better than the UK's roads and so I was mildly envious of the carriageway on show. Next to it was a smaller photo, showing the very same stretch of road just 6 days earlier. If was like Cheddar Fucking Gorge! Quite seriously, the road was fucked to pieces by the earthquake. Yet within six days, in the mayhem that followed the massive earthquake, the Japanese has got it sorted.
Meanwhile, back home, the cunt in the council puts his phone on DND and plans his next bout of (paid) sick leave because of 'stress'.
...
29.3.11 Emerald Forest
There's a scene in The Emerald Forest (a 1985 film) in which the leader of a tribe of Amazon indians reaches the edge of the rain forest, and sees the 'developed world' before him. He makes the comment that the "edge of the world" seems to get closer every time, and when he was young, the journey there from his own village took much longer. Deforestation.
Today, I had a haircut, and had a brief chat with the guy using the trimmers. When I was younger, the conversation with the barber seemed to take much longer. Now, though, the end of the haircut seems to come much earlier. Hair Loss.
...
Today, I had a haircut, and had a brief chat with the guy using the trimmers. When I was younger, the conversation with the barber seemed to take much longer. Now, though, the end of the haircut seems to come much earlier. Hair Loss.
...
Monday, 28 March 2011
28.3.11 Airplane
No, it's not an Airplane, it's a fucking Aeroplane. I am well aware that our American cousins prefer the first version, but in the UK and in proper English, the latter is correct - so it's fucking annoying to read the wrong shit in the papers. I flicked through a catalogue on Sunday and saw the company advertising something called "Swim Shorts". NO! They are Swimming Shorts. Fucking Matalan!
The Mains is a short term for referring to the central supply, must usually for utilities such as electricity, water or gas. It is NOT a term acceptable for referring to a Main Dish on a menu. Similarly, "Sides" is NOT good enough for referring to Side Dishes on a menu. Up their arses, the lot of them, on these cooking programmes.
Pretentious Cuntin' Cooks or Pretentious Cooking Cunts
...
The Mains is a short term for referring to the central supply, must usually for utilities such as electricity, water or gas. It is NOT a term acceptable for referring to a Main Dish on a menu. Similarly, "Sides" is NOT good enough for referring to Side Dishes on a menu. Up their arses, the lot of them, on these cooking programmes.
Pretentious Cuntin' Cooks or Pretentious Cooking Cunts
...
28.3.11 A Bit Rich
I heard on the news a few days ago that the Labour Party, led by Ed Miliband, was attacking the "reckless spending cuts" being made by the coalition government. No mention of the reckless spending in the first place by Labour arseholes!
Labour has no right to do anything but shut up, after so spectacularly fucking up; they spent billions and billions, half of it completely wasted, because that's what Labour does best - spend our money. I read in the paper on Saturday that Mr Darling, the idiot who used to join in on the spending spree, agreed with EU bods to support a bail-out plan for countries using the Euro (which means we'll now probably have a £3 Billion bill for Portugal), and he did this two days before leaving office - after Labour had been defeated. If that's true, I am aghast. Where's Lee Harvey Oswald when you need him?
...
...
Labour has no right to do anything but shut up, after so spectacularly fucking up; they spent billions and billions, half of it completely wasted, because that's what Labour does best - spend our money. I read in the paper on Saturday that Mr Darling, the idiot who used to join in on the spending spree, agreed with EU bods to support a bail-out plan for countries using the Euro (which means we'll now probably have a £3 Billion bill for Portugal), and he did this two days before leaving office - after Labour had been defeated. If that's true, I am aghast. Where's Lee Harvey Oswald when you need him?
...
...
28.3.11 The Scotsman
I am not sure what the ideal profile of a Scotsman is, or indeed what profile of a Scotsman "The Scotsman" wants to portray. I suspect that one of the adverts I saw in the above-named newspaper might be giving the wrong impression - certainly to visitors from the south.
The Reader Offer occupying about 1/6 of a page was for an Electric Pie Maker.
I am due to visit again later this week, and will be sure to pick up the paper once again. I cannot wait to see details of the latest reader offer - maybe a deep fat fryer, or an undiluted Ribena lollipop maker.
...
The Reader Offer occupying about 1/6 of a page was for an Electric Pie Maker.
I am due to visit again later this week, and will be sure to pick up the paper once again. I cannot wait to see details of the latest reader offer - maybe a deep fat fryer, or an undiluted Ribena lollipop maker.
...
28.3.11 Tesco
It's all very well being the biggest retailer in the country, but with that status comes a responsibility to service customers' needs, customers who have been encouraged to rely on Tesco. So, when a massive Tesco store on a Saturday has a sign that says "Natural Set Yoghurt - 49p" alongside which is a comparison price, "Aldi 49p", it's rather disappointing to find the shelf fucking empty. Trying to get across a message that basically says "Aldi (the cheap shop) is selling this for 49p, and look at us - we are selling at the same low price, so stick with us, don't bother shopping at Aldi" rather backfires when there's fuck all available. I wished I had gone to Aldi because they probably had more than an empty promise on offer.
Stoneground Organic Brown Bread - nothing on the shelf.
I wanted some Pomegranate Juice; not much to ask, really. However, much too much to ask of Tesco. Every fucking juice available except pomegranate!
"Every Little Helps" should be replaced with:
"Very Little Helps"
. . .
Stoneground Organic Brown Bread - nothing on the shelf.
I wanted some Pomegranate Juice; not much to ask, really. However, much too much to ask of Tesco. Every fucking juice available except pomegranate!
"Every Little Helps" should be replaced with:
"Very Little Helps"
. . .
Saturday, 26 March 2011
26.3.11 To Harwich
Following a van, on the way to Harwich, I was rather surprised by the company's choice of phrase for a strapline. "Stump Busters" had commissioned sign writing that included a sort of mission statement that was not very easy to say. Rather than rolling off the tongue, it tends to twist it slightly.
"Tree stumps removed with minimum disturbance"
Try saying that quickly, five times. I suppose (like Ronseal) the company is claiming it does exactly what it says on the side of the tin van.
On this particular journey, there were some interesting signs to see; one that showed a turning off to somewhere called Burns Butt. Another noted a place called Spital in the Street. There's something in the water in Lincolnshire.
...
"Tree stumps removed with minimum disturbance"
Try saying that quickly, five times. I suppose (like Ronseal) the company is claiming it does exactly what it says on the side of the tin van.
On this particular journey, there were some interesting signs to see; one that showed a turning off to somewhere called Burns Butt. Another noted a place called Spital in the Street. There's something in the water in Lincolnshire.
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Friday, 25 March 2011
25.3.11 Sham Marriages
Unbefuckinglievably the government is scrapping the 'Certificate of Approval' next month, as it has been deemed illegal by the European Court! So, criminals who charge people thousands to get hitched with a British 'citizen' (typically a desperate person such as a druggie or a prostitute) will be able to practise their art more easily. A government comment that there will have to be "improved vigilance and enforcement" is completely laughable. Basically, there will now be fewer options to try and ensure legitimacy of relationships and marriages. So, while we belatedly try (in vain) to close the door a little bit on migration after Labour fucked up massively, the meddling cunts in charge of Europe decide that Britain cannot check out people for what amounts to fraud, people who will then have a right to stay and claim any benefit going, and/or get involved in crime, and/or breed at 90mph.
No one can ever be told to piss off because apparently they have "a right to a family life" or some other crap that's listed as a get-out [not literally, of course!] in paragraph 803 of Act II, Scene XXII, Route LXVI of the Highway Cuntin Code.
We shouldn't be in the EU.
...
No one can ever be told to piss off because apparently they have "a right to a family life" or some other crap that's listed as a get-out [not literally, of course!] in paragraph 803 of Act II, Scene XXII, Route LXVI of the Highway Cuntin Code.
We shouldn't be in the EU.
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25.3.11 Little Porky Pies
Last night's visit to a Little Chef near Alfreton was most enlightening, and provided (as well as food) an update on the "Award Winning" status of its pork sausage. My post a couple of weeks ago raised a concern over the use of the phrase "Award Winning British Pork Sausage" on the Little Chef menu. Unlike the Holiday Inn (which was upon my request able to provide accurate information on its own clever sausage and a copy of a certificate from the British Pig Executive noting a BPEX Gold Award) the Little Chef near Edinburgh hadn't a clue, but did offer the vague news that the sausages came from a farm and tasted nice.
Last night I ordered a plate of food, building on a Gammon, Egg, Chips and Peas option by adding extras - these included beans, two hash browns and two Award Winning British Pork Sausages. I could not resist. The words were not so much dangling from the menu but hanging in the air, willing me to enquire of the waiter what he knew about his sausages. With some confidence, he imparted that they were free range and from Lincolnshire. We chewed the fat (not of course found in large quantities in the sausages) regarding the use of 'Award Winning' and he agreed with my view on the phrase, restating that the tasty sausages deserved their award. He explained that the pigs were free to run around, after my query delivered with mild sarcasm on how a pig can be anything other than free range. I was pleased to learn they were not battery pigs and kept in a wire cage, but were allowed to wander about in Lincolnshire while eating and getting fatter and fatter.
Some minutes later, the waiter sidled up to me, and loitered slightly, before casually mentioning his surprise and educational experience. He divulged that his curiosity had been piqued, to the extent that he'd made it his business to find out more. The sausages were in fact from Wales. I asked how he'd come by this information, and he said he had, and I quote, "looked on the box". Langford's Welsh Sausages was clearly written. "Not from Lincolnshire at all" said the waiter, as much to himself and his maker as to me. He seemed thrown by this discovery, and quite disappointed that he'd inadvertently misled me - and more annoyed that he'd been misinformed. "I've been told porky pies" he said, ["pun implied", I chipped in] followed by "why was I given to believe they were from Lincolnshire?"
Off he went, preoccupied. I resisted the urge to chew more fat, on why it is that sausages get all the glory and attend award ceremonies when bacon doesn't get a look in. My parting shot had simply been to suggest that maybe there had been a change of supplier after the menus had been printed, and Trading Standards people had not yet bothered getting round to Little Chef's misleading marketing. He'd nodded vaguely but was already in a parallel universe, albeit still ambling towards the cooking area. I considered the switch of supplier as quite possible, as the alternative would suggest a lack of respect for Wales by the Little Chef. If the supplier had not changed, surely the menus should read "Award Winning Welsh Pork Sausage" instead. Not to state Welsh instead of British is not technically wrong of course, but it ignores heritage and lumps Wales in with England in a way that's less respectful than the approach commonly adopted when Scotland is involved. The Scots seem to be better at protecting their heritage and nationality, but the Welsh generally get ignored. The only exception seems to be on my Garmin Sat Nav, where England, Scotland and Wales are all listed separately and I need to enter Wales for a postcode in Flintshire to be recognised.
There you have it, my update. We now know more about the sausages served at the Little Chef - though sadly not about the awarding body involved. So, Wales could well have received a Gold Medal in the Discus at the 2008 Olympics. [ This will only make sense if you read my post earlier this month ]
...
Last night I ordered a plate of food, building on a Gammon, Egg, Chips and Peas option by adding extras - these included beans, two hash browns and two Award Winning British Pork Sausages. I could not resist. The words were not so much dangling from the menu but hanging in the air, willing me to enquire of the waiter what he knew about his sausages. With some confidence, he imparted that they were free range and from Lincolnshire. We chewed the fat (not of course found in large quantities in the sausages) regarding the use of 'Award Winning' and he agreed with my view on the phrase, restating that the tasty sausages deserved their award. He explained that the pigs were free to run around, after my query delivered with mild sarcasm on how a pig can be anything other than free range. I was pleased to learn they were not battery pigs and kept in a wire cage, but were allowed to wander about in Lincolnshire while eating and getting fatter and fatter.
Some minutes later, the waiter sidled up to me, and loitered slightly, before casually mentioning his surprise and educational experience. He divulged that his curiosity had been piqued, to the extent that he'd made it his business to find out more. The sausages were in fact from Wales. I asked how he'd come by this information, and he said he had, and I quote, "looked on the box". Langford's Welsh Sausages was clearly written. "Not from Lincolnshire at all" said the waiter, as much to himself and his maker as to me. He seemed thrown by this discovery, and quite disappointed that he'd inadvertently misled me - and more annoyed that he'd been misinformed. "I've been told porky pies" he said, ["pun implied", I chipped in] followed by "why was I given to believe they were from Lincolnshire?"
Off he went, preoccupied. I resisted the urge to chew more fat, on why it is that sausages get all the glory and attend award ceremonies when bacon doesn't get a look in. My parting shot had simply been to suggest that maybe there had been a change of supplier after the menus had been printed, and Trading Standards people had not yet bothered getting round to Little Chef's misleading marketing. He'd nodded vaguely but was already in a parallel universe, albeit still ambling towards the cooking area. I considered the switch of supplier as quite possible, as the alternative would suggest a lack of respect for Wales by the Little Chef. If the supplier had not changed, surely the menus should read "Award Winning Welsh Pork Sausage" instead. Not to state Welsh instead of British is not technically wrong of course, but it ignores heritage and lumps Wales in with England in a way that's less respectful than the approach commonly adopted when Scotland is involved. The Scots seem to be better at protecting their heritage and nationality, but the Welsh generally get ignored. The only exception seems to be on my Garmin Sat Nav, where England, Scotland and Wales are all listed separately and I need to enter Wales for a postcode in Flintshire to be recognised.
There you have it, my update. We now know more about the sausages served at the Little Chef - though sadly not about the awarding body involved. So, Wales could well have received a Gold Medal in the Discus at the 2008 Olympics. [ This will only make sense if you read my post earlier this month ]
...
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
23.3.11 Watchdogs
There seems to be a convention for naming these organisation, with 'OF' at the beginning. Ofwat, Ofcom, Ofsted etc. I have some suggestions of my own for regulating bodies - sometimes it looks better to use a double 'F'.
Offmeister - lager and brewing industry
Offal - meat processing industry
Offpiss - anagrams and insults
Offcolour - nausea and sickness
Off/on - bipolar society
Offduty - rest and relaxation
Offhand - flippancy
Offtomeetthewizard - Ozzie Tourism
Offenbach - Classical Music
Offside - Football Arbritration
Offcentre - Feng Shui
Offmeister - lager and brewing industry
Offal - meat processing industry
Offpiss - anagrams and insults
Offcolour - nausea and sickness
Off/on - bipolar society
Offduty - rest and relaxation
Offhand - flippancy
Offtomeetthewizard - Ozzie Tourism
Offenbach - Classical Music
Offside - Football Arbritration
Offcentre - Feng Shui
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
22.3.11 Occupations
Do you give a fuck whether the person answering questions on "The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams" is a Tax Inspector, a retired Amusement Arcade Manager or a Tea Taster? Of course you fucking don't! Yet we are forced to absorb this shit information every time some cunt is on TV answering questions or participating in a stupid contest. TV listings sometimes even use occupations as an attention-grabber! Five contestants battle for a place in the semi-finals, and this week they include a pharmacist from Orkney, a journalist from Devon, and a prostitute from Kings Cross.
Where people live and what they do is of no consequence. The journalist from Devon could, a week later, be the shop worker from Devon if he loses his job, but that doesn't mean he'll have a lobotomy in the process. Irrelevant shit invading my brain.
...
Where people live and what they do is of no consequence. The journalist from Devon could, a week later, be the shop worker from Devon if he loses his job, but that doesn't mean he'll have a lobotomy in the process. Irrelevant shit invading my brain.
...
22.3.11 More Than Carlsberg
Two days in Denmark was interesting. Initially I was disappointed on a number of levels. The weather was cold, and the terrain was such that there was no shelter from the cold wind. I had no idea what to expect, having made no preparations at all for the short trip. The country seemed as flat as Holland, although I thought the people rather self-contained, functional, and at worst they seemed to me rather robotic in their existence. I was convinced that there was some sort of mistake regarding the information relayed to me by a friend, that the Danes are 'the happiest people in Europe'. I gained the opposite view, that they were in fact not outgoing or friendly, and were insular.
On the way back, I reflected on the various aspects of the trip, the people and the country. I concluded that the Danes are actually well balanced, and the approach they have as a nation is most probably more sensible than any other. Yes, there are surprising things, such as the high cost of living, to contend with. Seeing that a box of Kelloggs Frosties costs £6.40 is alarming. In fact, I struggled for a while to understand how anyone afforded anything and the answer can only be that they are paid more. In turn, this raises questions about what the country does to bring in money. Surely there's a limit to how much can be earned from Lego, Carlsberg and bacon? Does Danish Blue cheese count for anything? I then decided that the Danes probably manage quite well, and concentrate on looking after themselves. The country does not march around the world picking fights with people, directing traffic, providing troops and rockets. It does not try to hold centre stage for every single topic of international interest. I have no facts to hand, but I am quite convinced it does not waste billions of pounds on socialist aspirations; no, I suspect that even the Danish equivalent of the Labour Party could not have fucked up the country to the extent that our mob has over here! Are billions spent on nuclear deterrents? No.
The people are active; there are cycle lanes everywhere. Cyclists, joggers and roller-bladers all move around quite easily. I suspect there are few accidents on the road, as speed limits are low and the roads are good - and every car has its headlights on all the time. There is a feeling of good living, of quality in all things, and a clear feeling that the Danes have pride in their nation. I am pleased for them; to have pride in one's nation must be a nice feeling - something that's not possible in the UK.
Are they the happiest people in Europe? Possibly, although you wouldn't know it to look at them. I suspect that "the most contented" would be a better term. It's a small country that knows it's small, and acts accordingly. It carefully provides for its people, and everything is in order. In contrast, the UK is a small country that thinks it's big and acts accordingly. Nothing is in order, in fact everything is falling apart or on the verge of doing so. The UK is a lost cause.
The Danes have the last laugh. Over here, Carlsberg is 3.8% abv. In Denmark, Carlsberg is 4.6% abv. Most sensibly of all, Denmark has not joined the EU. That single fact demonstrates above all else that the Danes know a thing or two.
...
On the way back, I reflected on the various aspects of the trip, the people and the country. I concluded that the Danes are actually well balanced, and the approach they have as a nation is most probably more sensible than any other. Yes, there are surprising things, such as the high cost of living, to contend with. Seeing that a box of Kelloggs Frosties costs £6.40 is alarming. In fact, I struggled for a while to understand how anyone afforded anything and the answer can only be that they are paid more. In turn, this raises questions about what the country does to bring in money. Surely there's a limit to how much can be earned from Lego, Carlsberg and bacon? Does Danish Blue cheese count for anything? I then decided that the Danes probably manage quite well, and concentrate on looking after themselves. The country does not march around the world picking fights with people, directing traffic, providing troops and rockets. It does not try to hold centre stage for every single topic of international interest. I have no facts to hand, but I am quite convinced it does not waste billions of pounds on socialist aspirations; no, I suspect that even the Danish equivalent of the Labour Party could not have fucked up the country to the extent that our mob has over here! Are billions spent on nuclear deterrents? No.
The people are active; there are cycle lanes everywhere. Cyclists, joggers and roller-bladers all move around quite easily. I suspect there are few accidents on the road, as speed limits are low and the roads are good - and every car has its headlights on all the time. There is a feeling of good living, of quality in all things, and a clear feeling that the Danes have pride in their nation. I am pleased for them; to have pride in one's nation must be a nice feeling - something that's not possible in the UK.
Are they the happiest people in Europe? Possibly, although you wouldn't know it to look at them. I suspect that "the most contented" would be a better term. It's a small country that knows it's small, and acts accordingly. It carefully provides for its people, and everything is in order. In contrast, the UK is a small country that thinks it's big and acts accordingly. Nothing is in order, in fact everything is falling apart or on the verge of doing so. The UK is a lost cause.
The Danes have the last laugh. Over here, Carlsberg is 3.8% abv. In Denmark, Carlsberg is 4.6% abv. Most sensibly of all, Denmark has not joined the EU. That single fact demonstrates above all else that the Danes know a thing or two.
...
22.3.11 International Inconsistency
Lunatics like Gaddafi are considered a real danger to civilians, and so the international community decides to ride to the rescue of ordinary Libyans. It does so with much consternation over the legality of actions, and pisses about worrying over what may be deemed acceptable within the terms of an agreement created by the UN over a protracted period. The international community is fucking useless, taking ages to achieve less than a blind squirrel looking for a nut in a desert. Does Gaddafi ever worry about the legality of his own actions? Of course he fucking doesn't!
Why is the international community not signing up to a resolution to deal with Robert Mugabe? I rather think that he's just as big a cunt, with an awful record of intimidation and torture to his name. Surely the civilians in Zimbabwe deserve equal attention from the so-called international community, and the representatives who serve to form the United Nations?
I am reminded of annoying TV shows where the cop aims his gun and shouts 'Freeze', and 'Drop it', giving due warning to the criminal. A second later, the criminal has silently thanked the cop for the warning and squeezed his own trigger. We watch the cop get shot and the criminal run off, and I am sure I'm not alone in thinking, "why the fuck didn't you just shoot the cunt in the first place?"
The fickleness of politicians and countries is mind-boggling. A student's summer project is the basis for intelligence that leads to the invasion of Iraq to find non-existent weapons. Britain protects itself by dealing with threats from terrorists, and does so by occupying Afghanistan and pissing off every single person who might have access to a gun or explosives, while doing nothing at all to minimise the threat of terrorist action. Yet is sits and watches Mugabe abuse his own people, and terrorise civilians who do not side with him; all this in a former colony - talk about abandonment!
Britain's Role
Britain is pretty much adopting a role that has as much standing as the Health & Safety officer. Everyone sort of acknowledges that he's right, but actually thinks he's a jumped up twat. He's allowed to have his say, but no cunt really gives a shit. As soon as H&S (Britain) has had its say, everyone can ignore it and then do what they like. Why do we have to interfere in everything, but then in equal measure act as a lame duck like the rest of the international community when action is required?
...
Why is the international community not signing up to a resolution to deal with Robert Mugabe? I rather think that he's just as big a cunt, with an awful record of intimidation and torture to his name. Surely the civilians in Zimbabwe deserve equal attention from the so-called international community, and the representatives who serve to form the United Nations?
I am reminded of annoying TV shows where the cop aims his gun and shouts 'Freeze', and 'Drop it', giving due warning to the criminal. A second later, the criminal has silently thanked the cop for the warning and squeezed his own trigger. We watch the cop get shot and the criminal run off, and I am sure I'm not alone in thinking, "why the fuck didn't you just shoot the cunt in the first place?"
The fickleness of politicians and countries is mind-boggling. A student's summer project is the basis for intelligence that leads to the invasion of Iraq to find non-existent weapons. Britain protects itself by dealing with threats from terrorists, and does so by occupying Afghanistan and pissing off every single person who might have access to a gun or explosives, while doing nothing at all to minimise the threat of terrorist action. Yet is sits and watches Mugabe abuse his own people, and terrorise civilians who do not side with him; all this in a former colony - talk about abandonment!
Britain's Role
Britain is pretty much adopting a role that has as much standing as the Health & Safety officer. Everyone sort of acknowledges that he's right, but actually thinks he's a jumped up twat. He's allowed to have his say, but no cunt really gives a shit. As soon as H&S (Britain) has had its say, everyone can ignore it and then do what they like. Why do we have to interfere in everything, but then in equal measure act as a lame duck like the rest of the international community when action is required?
...
Saturday, 12 March 2011
12.3.11 Travelodge
The Travelodge chain of cubicles is generally the cheapest for an overnight stay, though a bit of effort can result in a similarly priced hotel being sorted. The trouble is, you only know exactly what you're getting if you stick to a chain/brand. For this reason, I opted for Travelodge on Wednesday of last week. I thought I'd know what to expect. In terms of the building itself and the presentation, I was pleased to find it was a fairly new one, and not one of the extremely tatty ones near a motorway.
After checking in, I found the TV in the room did not work, and the remote control 'rattled' in a way that suggested it was fucked. I went down to reception, and to cut a story short, I was moved to another room. I was still on the second floor. Unfortunately for me, there was a third floor to this establishment.
After the football finished, I was put through an ordeal by person or persons unknown, in the room above mine. There was no way to know how many occupants the room had, but it was probably one or two. The noise created, however, suggested one or two DOZEN. The heavy-footed occupant(s) made the ceiling shudder, and the vibrations reached the wall mirror in my room, located above the desk. There was a rumble and the sound of vibrating glass with each and every step. What was baffling was the need that anyone could have had for moving around so much in what was simply a bedroom with an en suite. It would have been no more noisy if a family of 4 (with each member having two club feet) was on a sponsored walk around the room!
At about 10.30pm, it all stopped. No doubt sleep had taken over. I did not realise that an early end to the movement would have significant consequences.
Fuckin' cuntin' pissin' shittin' five-forty in the morning! That's when I was woken up by the stampede above. Backwards and forwards, thumping and rumbling and vibrating and 'clubbing', the cunt fucked about for over half an hour!
So, Travelodge may be a cheap option, but I cannot yet be sure whether the issues I had were as a result of 'Elephant Man' being in residence above me, or a substandard build quality in the construction of the Travelodge. Henceforth, I will request a top floor room at any Travelodge I book.
...
After checking in, I found the TV in the room did not work, and the remote control 'rattled' in a way that suggested it was fucked. I went down to reception, and to cut a story short, I was moved to another room. I was still on the second floor. Unfortunately for me, there was a third floor to this establishment.
After the football finished, I was put through an ordeal by person or persons unknown, in the room above mine. There was no way to know how many occupants the room had, but it was probably one or two. The noise created, however, suggested one or two DOZEN. The heavy-footed occupant(s) made the ceiling shudder, and the vibrations reached the wall mirror in my room, located above the desk. There was a rumble and the sound of vibrating glass with each and every step. What was baffling was the need that anyone could have had for moving around so much in what was simply a bedroom with an en suite. It would have been no more noisy if a family of 4 (with each member having two club feet) was on a sponsored walk around the room!
At about 10.30pm, it all stopped. No doubt sleep had taken over. I did not realise that an early end to the movement would have significant consequences.
Fuckin' cuntin' pissin' shittin' five-forty in the morning! That's when I was woken up by the stampede above. Backwards and forwards, thumping and rumbling and vibrating and 'clubbing', the cunt fucked about for over half an hour!
So, Travelodge may be a cheap option, but I cannot yet be sure whether the issues I had were as a result of 'Elephant Man' being in residence above me, or a substandard build quality in the construction of the Travelodge. Henceforth, I will request a top floor room at any Travelodge I book.
...
12.3.11 Little Chef
The menu in the Little Chef has taken arse-covering a bit too far. At the bottom, there's a statement, as follows:
All of our dishes may contain nuts or nut derivatives. Fish may contain small bones
Now, the first sentence is mad. Is the company really saying that Apple Pie and Ice Cream may contain nuts? That an Olympic Breakfast contains nuts? The little Chef is NUTS. Arse covering to a ludicrous level, and absolutely no help to anyone with an allergy who relies on decent information. Basically, the company is saying to those with a nut allergy - "fuck off".
The second sentence is a bit more amusing. I have always suspected that fish contain small bones. Of course, Jellyfish don't, but I cannot imagine the Little Chef serving that up, can you?
The fry-up options included the phrase "Award Winning", for the sausages. Now, anyone who has seen by previous posting on the use of this phrase will not be surprised to learn that I enquired of the waiter what award the sausages had won - and whether they knew they'd been successful. Now, the chap was keen to help and quite likeable, but he had no idea. He rambled on about they come from a farm, and that they tasted nice. In summary, he hadn't a clue, and so the trading standards people should follow up on this because the Little Chef is touting sausages as award winners without providing any evidence or information to support the claim! As far as I am concerned, 'An award winning British pork sausage' means nothing - did it win a bronze medal in the Discus at the 2008 Olympics?
Further Notes
Free Range Omelette
Filling Options: grated Cheddar cheese, ham, mushroom or ripe tomato.
I am so pleased that the Little Chef has decided to serve RIPE tomatoes rather than the inedible rock-hard variety !!! Also, what the fuck's a 'free range' omelette? Are omelettes allowed to roam free in a field?
Fish and Chips
A fillet of sustainably sourced fish in crispy batter with chips, Birds Eye Garden peas and a slice of lemon.
Amazing! I have absolutely no idea what type/species of fish the Little Chef serves up - Cod, Haddock, Sea Bream, Barracuda? How can you serve fish without saying what sort - unless sustainably sourced is a specific type now !?!?!
...
All of our dishes may contain nuts or nut derivatives. Fish may contain small bones
Now, the first sentence is mad. Is the company really saying that Apple Pie and Ice Cream may contain nuts? That an Olympic Breakfast contains nuts? The little Chef is NUTS. Arse covering to a ludicrous level, and absolutely no help to anyone with an allergy who relies on decent information. Basically, the company is saying to those with a nut allergy - "fuck off".
The second sentence is a bit more amusing. I have always suspected that fish contain small bones. Of course, Jellyfish don't, but I cannot imagine the Little Chef serving that up, can you?
The fry-up options included the phrase "Award Winning", for the sausages. Now, anyone who has seen by previous posting on the use of this phrase will not be surprised to learn that I enquired of the waiter what award the sausages had won - and whether they knew they'd been successful. Now, the chap was keen to help and quite likeable, but he had no idea. He rambled on about they come from a farm, and that they tasted nice. In summary, he hadn't a clue, and so the trading standards people should follow up on this because the Little Chef is touting sausages as award winners without providing any evidence or information to support the claim! As far as I am concerned, 'An award winning British pork sausage' means nothing - did it win a bronze medal in the Discus at the 2008 Olympics?
Further Notes
Free Range Omelette
Filling Options: grated Cheddar cheese, ham, mushroom or ripe tomato.
I am so pleased that the Little Chef has decided to serve RIPE tomatoes rather than the inedible rock-hard variety !!! Also, what the fuck's a 'free range' omelette? Are omelettes allowed to roam free in a field?
Fish and Chips
A fillet of sustainably sourced fish in crispy batter with chips, Birds Eye Garden peas and a slice of lemon.
Amazing! I have absolutely no idea what type/species of fish the Little Chef serves up - Cod, Haddock, Sea Bream, Barracuda? How can you serve fish without saying what sort - unless sustainably sourced is a specific type now !?!?!
...
12.3.11 Four Cunts
This is a story about four people: Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody.
There was an important job to be done and Everybody was asked to do it.
Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.
Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did.
Somebody got angry because it was Everybody's job.
Everybody knew that Anybody could do it, but Nobody realised that Somebody wouldn't do it.
It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody because Nobody did what Anybody could have done.
New Version
This is a story about four cunts: Everycunt, Somecunt, Anycunt and Nocunt.
There was an important job to be done and every cunt was asked to do it.
Every cunt was sure that some cunt would do it.
Any cunt could have done it, but no cunt did.
Some cunt got angry because it was every cunt's job.
Every cunt knew that any cunt could do it, but no cunt realised that some cunt wouldn't do it.
It ended up that every cunt blamed some cunt because no cunt did what any cunt could have done.
...
There was an important job to be done and Everybody was asked to do it.
Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.
Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did.
Somebody got angry because it was Everybody's job.
Everybody knew that Anybody could do it, but Nobody realised that Somebody wouldn't do it.
It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody because Nobody did what Anybody could have done.
New Version
This is a story about four cunts: Everycunt, Somecunt, Anycunt and Nocunt.
There was an important job to be done and every cunt was asked to do it.
Every cunt was sure that some cunt would do it.
Any cunt could have done it, but no cunt did.
Some cunt got angry because it was every cunt's job.
Every cunt knew that any cunt could do it, but no cunt realised that some cunt wouldn't do it.
It ended up that every cunt blamed some cunt because no cunt did what any cunt could have done.
...
12.3.11 Nanny State
Fucking twats in the government have taken over. Common sense is now a commodity rarer than a eunuch's testicles! The population is now considered so cuntin' stupid that it needs "big brother" to decide what we can or cannot see when we go to a supermarket!
The last time I was wandering around in Tesco, struggling to find the Marmite (as usual), I inadvertently caught a glimpse of the kiosk area and realised that there were cigarettes for sale. In an instant, all my dreams came true, and I was drawn by an invisible force towards the counter, while rummaging around for six quid in my pocket. My desperation was phenomenal, and I just had to buy some cigarettes. There was no way I had planned any of this, and I certainly hadn't got up that morning hankering for a fag. But the small packets on display sent me loopy, and I just had to have some Lucky Strikes. The cunning approach of the cigarette manufacturers, working closely (conniving, even) with the supermarkets, fooled me into thinking I ought to smoke. The bastards had trapped me; I could do nothing but buy 20 cigarettes and smoke each of them down to the but - during which time my shopping was reclaimed by a member of staff and returned to the appropriate shelves.
The above is of course completely UNTRUE. But it demonstrates how absurd the planned legislation is on the sale of tobacco products. Considering the biggest single threat to the nation's health is actually obesity, why the cuntin fuck doesn't the government ban the open displays of cream cakes? In actual fact, if there's even a single person saved from himself/herself through shops not displaying fags, and he/she gives up or maintains the non-smoking approach if 'giving up' has already commenced, then it is quite likely that the person is at risk of putting on weight. It is commonly acknowledged that those giving up smoking eat more to divert attention and/or accommodate the cravings. Replacing cigarettes with food or sweets means weight-gain. So, will the next step for the cunts in office be to consider banning cakes and sweets from open display in supermarkets?
How will smokers know what cigarettes are available, and the prices? Comparing will be a nightmare. How about this:
"Can I have 20 Windsor Superking Smooth, please"
[ assistant fucks off behind a screen, shags the guy from Bakery, and returns 3 minutes later holding a packet of fags ]
"That's £5.45 please"
"How much for the ordinary size, then, because I think they're cheaper?"
"Hang on, I'll go and have a look"
[ assistant tries to find 20 Windsor, but has no luck ]
"Sorry we haven't got any"
"Well what have you got that's equivalent, for around the £5.30 mark?"
[ assistant struggles to come to terms with having to engage the brain and compare products ]
"I'm not sure - there are too many types, and I'm not a smoker"
"You might not be a smoker at the moment, but what with you going behind that screen every 5 minutes, you'll soon be so fucking tempted to smoke that you'll be on 40-a-day; the government has clearly failed to consider the plight of shopworkers exposed to the rays of the advertising slogans associated with cigarettes and the packaging. Maybe you ought to wear a blindfold and serving would then be like blind cunt's buff, or pin the tail on the donkey!"
[ assistant squirms, and considers lighting a fag in her lunch break ]
"What shall I get for you then?"
"Here, take my iPhone and take a photo of the racking behind that screen, and then I can have a look at what is available, and choose something!"
[ assistant starts to shake her head ]
"I am sorry, but we're not allowed to take photos - it's against company policy"
"And there's me thinking that would be better than trying to sketch the pissin' display on an A2 pad using a stick of charcoal!"
"There's no need to be sarcastic, I'm only doing my job"
"Ah, but you're not, are you! - I want some cigarettes and you are unable to provide the service; I want to browse and see what's on offer"
"Sorry, but it's all part of the new government approach, and it's designed to help people give up smoking - every little helps"
"But this is a fuckin' kiosk that is supposed to sell fuckin' fags, so encouraging people not to buy them seems rather counter-productive, don't you think?"
[ the assistant took the last three words as an instruction, and did not think - instead she stood there, fidgeting, and craving a cup of tea and 3 Gauloises in her break ]
I left the shop in a foul mood. Outside, I had to struggle to get past 7 people loitering by the doors, eating cream cakes, and 5 Tesco staff puffing on cigarettes. As I left the car park, I nearly ran over a gang of school kids; all of them were smoking Marlboro and slugging on cheap vodka. I wondered whether the next stupid twattish thing the government might do would be to raise the price of alcoholic drinks for the whole country in the vague hope that underage drinkers would opt instead to consume lemonade.
...
The last time I was wandering around in Tesco, struggling to find the Marmite (as usual), I inadvertently caught a glimpse of the kiosk area and realised that there were cigarettes for sale. In an instant, all my dreams came true, and I was drawn by an invisible force towards the counter, while rummaging around for six quid in my pocket. My desperation was phenomenal, and I just had to buy some cigarettes. There was no way I had planned any of this, and I certainly hadn't got up that morning hankering for a fag. But the small packets on display sent me loopy, and I just had to have some Lucky Strikes. The cunning approach of the cigarette manufacturers, working closely (conniving, even) with the supermarkets, fooled me into thinking I ought to smoke. The bastards had trapped me; I could do nothing but buy 20 cigarettes and smoke each of them down to the but - during which time my shopping was reclaimed by a member of staff and returned to the appropriate shelves.
The above is of course completely UNTRUE. But it demonstrates how absurd the planned legislation is on the sale of tobacco products. Considering the biggest single threat to the nation's health is actually obesity, why the cuntin fuck doesn't the government ban the open displays of cream cakes? In actual fact, if there's even a single person saved from himself/herself through shops not displaying fags, and he/she gives up or maintains the non-smoking approach if 'giving up' has already commenced, then it is quite likely that the person is at risk of putting on weight. It is commonly acknowledged that those giving up smoking eat more to divert attention and/or accommodate the cravings. Replacing cigarettes with food or sweets means weight-gain. So, will the next step for the cunts in office be to consider banning cakes and sweets from open display in supermarkets?
How will smokers know what cigarettes are available, and the prices? Comparing will be a nightmare. How about this:
"Can I have 20 Windsor Superking Smooth, please"
[ assistant fucks off behind a screen, shags the guy from Bakery, and returns 3 minutes later holding a packet of fags ]
"That's £5.45 please"
"How much for the ordinary size, then, because I think they're cheaper?"
"Hang on, I'll go and have a look"
[ assistant tries to find 20 Windsor, but has no luck ]
"Sorry we haven't got any"
"Well what have you got that's equivalent, for around the £5.30 mark?"
[ assistant struggles to come to terms with having to engage the brain and compare products ]
"I'm not sure - there are too many types, and I'm not a smoker"
"You might not be a smoker at the moment, but what with you going behind that screen every 5 minutes, you'll soon be so fucking tempted to smoke that you'll be on 40-a-day; the government has clearly failed to consider the plight of shopworkers exposed to the rays of the advertising slogans associated with cigarettes and the packaging. Maybe you ought to wear a blindfold and serving would then be like blind cunt's buff, or pin the tail on the donkey!"
[ assistant squirms, and considers lighting a fag in her lunch break ]
"What shall I get for you then?"
"Here, take my iPhone and take a photo of the racking behind that screen, and then I can have a look at what is available, and choose something!"
[ assistant starts to shake her head ]
"I am sorry, but we're not allowed to take photos - it's against company policy"
"And there's me thinking that would be better than trying to sketch the pissin' display on an A2 pad using a stick of charcoal!"
"There's no need to be sarcastic, I'm only doing my job"
"Ah, but you're not, are you! - I want some cigarettes and you are unable to provide the service; I want to browse and see what's on offer"
"Sorry, but it's all part of the new government approach, and it's designed to help people give up smoking - every little helps"
"But this is a fuckin' kiosk that is supposed to sell fuckin' fags, so encouraging people not to buy them seems rather counter-productive, don't you think?"
[ the assistant took the last three words as an instruction, and did not think - instead she stood there, fidgeting, and craving a cup of tea and 3 Gauloises in her break ]
I left the shop in a foul mood. Outside, I had to struggle to get past 7 people loitering by the doors, eating cream cakes, and 5 Tesco staff puffing on cigarettes. As I left the car park, I nearly ran over a gang of school kids; all of them were smoking Marlboro and slugging on cheap vodka. I wondered whether the next stupid twattish thing the government might do would be to raise the price of alcoholic drinks for the whole country in the vague hope that underage drinkers would opt instead to consume lemonade.
...
12.3.11 Irn Bru
I returned home yesterday after 48hrs in Scotland. There was no mistaking that I was in Scotland, of course. The accents rather confirmed my whereabouts, as did the newspaper I picked up early on Thursday evening. At first glance it had looked like 'The Sun' but I quickly realised the masthead was in fact different: 'Scottish Sun' were the two words. I immediately thought there was no such thing, and that this was a classic case of an oxymoron!
In the same supermarket I looked for something to drink, and along the back of the shop was a large rack containing various drinks in cans and bottles. Further evidence that I was in Scotland smacked me in the face - a whole section was devoted to Irn Bru. Bottles and cans, normal and diet - lots of it.
The following evening, I ordered from a takeaway menu obtained from the reception of the Holiday Inn Express. Rather than piece together various items, I ordered the 'Feast For Two' (with no intention of eating two lots of chips, but happy to attack a 12" pizza, garlic bread, and use the bottle of ketchup I added to the order). Two cans of drink were included in the offer. I was asked by the chap taking my order what type of drinks I wanted. I said "surprise me" and waited half an hour for the delivery man.
When I received my order, I looked inside the white carrier bag, and saw two cans of drink. Now, I know I allowed fate to take a hand in this by leaving the decision to the chap taking my order. However, there is a fair selection of drink available in the world, and I was to receive two cans. So, there were two opportunities for me to be "surprised". But no, it would appear that in Scotland (with a probable 10 types of canned drink available and thus 45 permutations for the random provision of any two) the preferred surprise is two cans of Irn Bru.
...
In the same supermarket I looked for something to drink, and along the back of the shop was a large rack containing various drinks in cans and bottles. Further evidence that I was in Scotland smacked me in the face - a whole section was devoted to Irn Bru. Bottles and cans, normal and diet - lots of it.
The following evening, I ordered from a takeaway menu obtained from the reception of the Holiday Inn Express. Rather than piece together various items, I ordered the 'Feast For Two' (with no intention of eating two lots of chips, but happy to attack a 12" pizza, garlic bread, and use the bottle of ketchup I added to the order). Two cans of drink were included in the offer. I was asked by the chap taking my order what type of drinks I wanted. I said "surprise me" and waited half an hour for the delivery man.
When I received my order, I looked inside the white carrier bag, and saw two cans of drink. Now, I know I allowed fate to take a hand in this by leaving the decision to the chap taking my order. However, there is a fair selection of drink available in the world, and I was to receive two cans. So, there were two opportunities for me to be "surprised". But no, it would appear that in Scotland (with a probable 10 types of canned drink available and thus 45 permutations for the random provision of any two) the preferred surprise is two cans of Irn Bru.
...
Sunday, 6 March 2011
6.3.11 Caroline Quntin
The latest "celebrity" to do a shit travel programme and experience life in other cultures is Caroline Quentin. Why on earth do we need yet another view of India from a fuckin' touring all-expenses-paid TV twat, going on a personal journey but sharing it with us. It starts on Tuesday evening, so plan to do something else. There will no doubt be the odd emotional scene especially following her sudden awareness that a poor girl lives in a shack made of milk crates and paper, and that some old skinny chap, who is massively likeable, has to feed 17 people on 27p per day. Meanwhile, the Indian government spends twenty three billion pounds per year on defence!
I resent my screen being filled by CQ, and the misplaced shit that's served up. Next month, another dozy "personality" will be touring South Africa and trying to summon up in us some sympathy for people suffering hardship. Commendable, but the corruption that surrounded the financing of the World Cup makes is stupid for us to try and feel responsible. Countries most often have themselves to blame for the plights of many of their citizens. While governments fuck up, and get priorities wrong, we send a cameraman, sound man, editor, make-up person and personal assistant with each and every idiot abroad.
The whole thing's Quntin stupid.
...
I resent my screen being filled by CQ, and the misplaced shit that's served up. Next month, another dozy "personality" will be touring South Africa and trying to summon up in us some sympathy for people suffering hardship. Commendable, but the corruption that surrounded the financing of the World Cup makes is stupid for us to try and feel responsible. Countries most often have themselves to blame for the plights of many of their citizens. While governments fuck up, and get priorities wrong, we send a cameraman, sound man, editor, make-up person and personal assistant with each and every idiot abroad.
The whole thing's Quntin stupid.
...
Saturday, 5 March 2011
5.3.11 ASDA 10% Offer
What a bloody joke that is! A simple fact regarding the non-availability of stuff means that the promise to be cheaper than other supermarkets or there'll be a 10% refund available is a waste of time. Example as follows:
I wanted to purchase 20 cans of Carlsberg at £13. But the shelf was empty. So, I was forced to purchase 12 cans for £10 instead, the only other option. So, instead of 65p per can, I paid 83.3p per can. That's an increased cost of 18.3p over the cheaper price, and so a forced increase of 28.2%. So much for charging less! Within ASDA's own fuckin branch, there was a hike in price far greater than any supposed/perceived saving against prices (including offers) from other supermarkets. So, NOT 10% cheaper or a refund - 28% more expensive than your own fuckin goods!
ASDA - get sorted, and stop fucking us about!
...
I wanted to purchase 20 cans of Carlsberg at £13. But the shelf was empty. So, I was forced to purchase 12 cans for £10 instead, the only other option. So, instead of 65p per can, I paid 83.3p per can. That's an increased cost of 18.3p over the cheaper price, and so a forced increase of 28.2%. So much for charging less! Within ASDA's own fuckin branch, there was a hike in price far greater than any supposed/perceived saving against prices (including offers) from other supermarkets. So, NOT 10% cheaper or a refund - 28% more expensive than your own fuckin goods!
ASDA - get sorted, and stop fucking us about!
...
5.3.11 Scot Free!
What the fuck is England up to? The Scottish Parliament is free, willing and able to continue on its mission to ensure charges are removed for things that cost in England. Devolved power has allowed Scotland to be the land of no tuition fees and free prescriptions, while in England, students will need to pay up to £9,000 and every prescription costs £7.40. If an elderly person requires care in England, £23,000 to one's name means it's "cough up yourself" as a government policy. In Scotland, the policy is "no worries, it's free!" and this confirms, quite clearly, that England is the land of twats and mugs.
The Welsh Assembly has just voted to give itself all sorts of extra powers so that Wales will no doubt follow suit. Meanwhile, the cunts who run England allow anyone from the EU and beyond to arrive here, claim a right to live here with various quotes relating to the Human Rights legislation (including the right to family life, no fear of persecution and vouchers for McDonalds) and we bump every cunt forward to the front of the housing list, and pay out thousands of pounds per month. Judicial review results in the UK being told by some cunt in a wig that we're completely fucked and have to keep on paying out. Meanwhile, the MOD pays £22 for 65p lights bulbs and the NHS lets people die on trolleys while paying a fortune for managers to count adult nappies and the number of hours worked by internationally recruited workers who have replaced the British fully qualified health workers who languish on the dole because foreigners work for less - a necessity in these times of "austerity" and "stupidity".
What a fuckin' mess!
...
The Welsh Assembly has just voted to give itself all sorts of extra powers so that Wales will no doubt follow suit. Meanwhile, the cunts who run England allow anyone from the EU and beyond to arrive here, claim a right to live here with various quotes relating to the Human Rights legislation (including the right to family life, no fear of persecution and vouchers for McDonalds) and we bump every cunt forward to the front of the housing list, and pay out thousands of pounds per month. Judicial review results in the UK being told by some cunt in a wig that we're completely fucked and have to keep on paying out. Meanwhile, the MOD pays £22 for 65p lights bulbs and the NHS lets people die on trolleys while paying a fortune for managers to count adult nappies and the number of hours worked by internationally recruited workers who have replaced the British fully qualified health workers who languish on the dole because foreigners work for less - a necessity in these times of "austerity" and "stupidity".
What a fuckin' mess!
...
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
2.3.11 Thug Premiership
To be a professional footballer these days, the main attribute seems to be the ability to be a thug or a cunt or a twat or a money grabbing shit, or any/all of these. The latest league table is noted below, showing how things stand.
TMWSC Premiership Table
# Player Pts
1 Wayne Rooney 109
2 Craig Bellamy 70
3 John Terry 69
4 El Hadji Diouf 68
5 Joey Barton 54
6 Ashley Cole 49
7 Nemanja Vidic 45
8 Steve Gerard 22
9 Andy Carroll 12
10 Paul Scholes 4
...
TMWSC Premiership Table
# Player Pts
1 Wayne Rooney 109
2 Craig Bellamy 70
3 John Terry 69
4 El Hadji Diouf 68
5 Joey Barton 54
6 Ashley Cole 49
7 Nemanja Vidic 45
8 Steve Gerard 22
9 Andy Carroll 12
10 Paul Scholes 4
...
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
1.3.11 Gubba On Ice
Tony Gubba's comments on the Dancing On Ice performances are outlandish. I know he's been given the freedom to improvise and amuse, with spoof names for the skaters' moves, but surely there are boundaries.
So far, some of the mad ones have included:
The Velvet Drape
The Brazilian Booty Shaker
The Dropped Teapot
The Shoulder Spliff
The Shifting Sands Lift
The Flamenco Flourish
Aladdin's Lamp
The Strauss Swing
The Round-The-World Spin
The Bronco Flip
The Shoulder Perch
The Off-His-Trolley Lunge
The Stupid Twat
I made the last two up.
...
So far, some of the mad ones have included:
The Velvet Drape
The Brazilian Booty Shaker
The Dropped Teapot
The Shoulder Spliff
The Shifting Sands Lift
The Flamenco Flourish
Aladdin's Lamp
The Strauss Swing
The Round-The-World Spin
The Bronco Flip
The Shoulder Perch
The Off-His-Trolley Lunge
The Stupid Twat
I made the last two up.
...
1.3.11 Roadrunner
Beep Beep. It wouldn't be so bad if it stopped there . . . . but No - it goes on, and on and on.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep,
But if you hold out long enough, and endure the seemingly endless torture, it does eventually come to an end. It really is possible to defeat the cuntin' electronic police hiding inside the dashboard. I will decide when (and if) I put my seat belt on! If I am manoeuvring in my driveway, I do not want to be accompanied by a beeping fuckin' Citroen!
...
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep,
But if you hold out long enough, and endure the seemingly endless torture, it does eventually come to an end. It really is possible to defeat the cuntin' electronic police hiding inside the dashboard. I will decide when (and if) I put my seat belt on! If I am manoeuvring in my driveway, I do not want to be accompanied by a beeping fuckin' Citroen!
...
1.3.11 Olympic Cock-Up
It seems that £5,000,000 was spent in Portsmouth, building an Olympic Size swimming pool, in a bid to attract international events and generate millions of pounds of revenue. Shame , then, that some cunt fucked up, because it's been declared 2 inches too short!
The pool itself is in fact the required 50 metres, but the touch-sensitive boards needed at each end (essential for professional swimmers) are two inches thick. Result - the facility is little better than the Aldershot Lido of the 1970's. Some local chap tried to defend the pool, saying that it would be fine for amateurs and the general public (no shit, Sherlock - as if I give a fuck about a touch-sensitive board to time my 3 minute lengths!) and that professionals would still be able to train at the pool, using a stopwatch instead.
So let's get this straight; five million quid for a pool, which cannot now be used for major events; and the only way athletes can use the facility to train/practise is for 'Jim the trainer' to press his thumb on a clapped out fuckin' Timex stopwatch - again from the 1970's!!! Twats!
...
The pool itself is in fact the required 50 metres, but the touch-sensitive boards needed at each end (essential for professional swimmers) are two inches thick. Result - the facility is little better than the Aldershot Lido of the 1970's. Some local chap tried to defend the pool, saying that it would be fine for amateurs and the general public (no shit, Sherlock - as if I give a fuck about a touch-sensitive board to time my 3 minute lengths!) and that professionals would still be able to train at the pool, using a stopwatch instead.
So let's get this straight; five million quid for a pool, which cannot now be used for major events; and the only way athletes can use the facility to train/practise is for 'Jim the trainer' to press his thumb on a clapped out fuckin' Timex stopwatch - again from the 1970's!!! Twats!
...
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