The Joy of Teen Sex on Channel 4 is a mine of useful information. Oh yes, there's some profound shit relayed in this typical Channel 4 style offering. Dr Anita [who calls herself by her first name for some reason, which reminds me of Fireman Sam, or Postman Pat] is a bit patronising, and explains the fucking obvious in tones that are mildly irritating.
Apparently, Anton has caught chlamydia twice this year and he "is beginning to question whether he ought to be using condoms". Any cunt (especially a talking one with chlamydia) could tell Anton to use a fucking condom. After a couple of gruesome photos and a dose of the bleeding obvious, she gets Anton to say that he's going to use condoms in the future. Dr Anita: "Every time?" Anton: "Yes, every time."
The bisexual girl with vaginismus was encouraged by Dr Anita to try using a set of cones of various sizes, to gradually increase the ability of her cunt to accept visitors. The Doctor helpfully suggested that Kerys could do this "in the comfort of your own home". Well, Kerys is hardly going to have a go at stuffing plastic cones up her cunt in the fucking in-store restaurant at Morrisons, is she!
...
Thursday, 27 October 2011
27.10.11 Rhythmix
The charity that uses the name Rhythmix has won its battle with the X-Factor group over the rights to the name. The Brighton-based charity has convinced the X-Factor and Simon Cowell to drop the name after legal wrangling between the lawyers for a few weeks.
But none of this is very interesting - it's the next bit that left me dumbfounded. The girl band expects to have a new name in place for Saturday's programme.
An insider said: "They were playing around with the word rhythm, but a lot of their young fans can't spell it so it looks likely they'll come up with a totally new name."
Sad, sad, fucking appallingly sad.
...
But none of this is very interesting - it's the next bit that left me dumbfounded. The girl band expects to have a new name in place for Saturday's programme.
An insider said: "They were playing around with the word rhythm, but a lot of their young fans can't spell it so it looks likely they'll come up with a totally new name."
Sad, sad, fucking appallingly sad.
...
27.10.11 Only In The Female World
Yesterday evening we had visitors. Not many, just a few people popping round for a catch-up and food. This morning I noticed a pair of boots in the hallway - boots that I recognised as having arrived on the feet of one of the visitors last night. I enquired of Mrs MWSC why the boots were parked in the hallway, but I was actually more interested in the other half of the equation - how on earth the owner managed to get home without them.
Mrs MWSC revealed all; "Oh, they're mine now."
I was initially baffled, and had to press her on how Faye had got home without her boots. It turned out that she'd taken a pair of brown shoes with a wooden heel, a pair that had been deemed a suitable 'swap'.
So, here we have what to males would be a perversion, whereby shoe-swapping occurs on a whim, because one party likes the look of another party's shoes! Mrs MWSC liked the look of Faye's boots, and Faye was, in turn, up for a 'swap' - not a short-term swap or loan, but a fully fledged "Okay, you can have these and I'll pick a pair of yours; hmmmm, I think I'll wear your brown shoes home - bye."
What the fuck?
...
Mrs MWSC revealed all; "Oh, they're mine now."
I was initially baffled, and had to press her on how Faye had got home without her boots. It turned out that she'd taken a pair of brown shoes with a wooden heel, a pair that had been deemed a suitable 'swap'.
So, here we have what to males would be a perversion, whereby shoe-swapping occurs on a whim, because one party likes the look of another party's shoes! Mrs MWSC liked the look of Faye's boots, and Faye was, in turn, up for a 'swap' - not a short-term swap or loan, but a fully fledged "Okay, you can have these and I'll pick a pair of yours; hmmmm, I think I'll wear your brown shoes home - bye."
What the fuck?
...
Tuesday, 25 October 2011
25.10.11 After Party Still Life No.2
Not much to say about this, except smokers love to designate glasses or, as in this case, bottles, as ashtrays.
25.10.11 After Party Still Life No.1
The clearing-up stage presents some opportunities to study 'still life', although the common theme seems to relate to smoking.
It is disgusting how people decide to act, after a few drinks! This picture demonstrates my point.
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It is disgusting how people decide to act, after a few drinks! This picture demonstrates my point.
...
Monday, 24 October 2011
24.10.11 Illiterate Sun
There is really no point anymore in hoping that 'the press' is any better at using the English language than the dumbest passer-by you could grab hold of in a street full of thick cunts.
The European Union is singular, of course. The members of the EU are, no doubt, rather useless in their capacities of representing millions of people.
"The Sun are a joke," says TMWSC, to demonstrate how not to write headlines.
...
The European Union is singular, of course. The members of the EU are, no doubt, rather useless in their capacities of representing millions of people.
"The Sun are a joke," says TMWSC, to demonstrate how not to write headlines.
...
24.10.11 Gutter Press
Today's worst story was the update provided on the goings on of Frankie Cocozza, who must be the country's least talented individual, yet his expectations and self promotion efforts are the most nauseating. The article can only be described as dire. I quote:
X Factor ladies' man Frankie Cocozza has bedded busty Holly Hagan from the reality show Geordie Shore. A source said: "She pestered producers for an introduction. They had sex after the show." Holly, 18, said Frankie - who has slept with 67 girls according to his DAD - sent her "filthy" text messages. Judge Gary Barlow has tried to rein in the 19-year-old's partying.
This is such utter cuntin' bollocks. How the fuck is this "News". This makes Jeremy Kyle seem more highbrow than Stephen Fry !!! Frankie is a slag with no talent; Holly Whoever is a slag.
Base / Gutter / Shit
...
X Factor ladies' man Frankie Cocozza has bedded busty Holly Hagan from the reality show Geordie Shore. A source said: "She pestered producers for an introduction. They had sex after the show." Holly, 18, said Frankie - who has slept with 67 girls according to his DAD - sent her "filthy" text messages. Judge Gary Barlow has tried to rein in the 19-year-old's partying.
This is such utter cuntin' bollocks. How the fuck is this "News". This makes Jeremy Kyle seem more highbrow than Stephen Fry !!! Frankie is a slag with no talent; Holly Whoever is a slag.
Base / Gutter / Shit
...
Sunday, 23 October 2011
23.10.11 X-Factor Wk3 Results
The padded out programme was below par. There's no need for three acts, especially when this week's were not up to much. Belly Clarkson - weird dress sense, and forgettable song. 'Professor' Green was simply naf, although the woman with him could actually sing. I would have preferred it if Bruno had in fact been on Mars!
Cuntin' Cocozza saved ? Bollocks !
The Risk ? - Lucky fuckers !
Oh well, Sami going means we can all swear at Cocozza for another week, during which I suspect he will not develop any talent or learn how to sing. There should perhaps be a promotion for 'accumulator' betting, as the only real issue is the order in which the dregs are removed from our screens (and ears). s for Sami, sorry luv, but every years there is (for a short while) a fat bird with a good voice who is really nice, who hangs around for a bit but is never going to win. This year, it's you. Bye.
...
Cuntin' Cocozza saved ? Bollocks !
The Risk ? - Lucky fuckers !
Oh well, Sami going means we can all swear at Cocozza for another week, during which I suspect he will not develop any talent or learn how to sing. There should perhaps be a promotion for 'accumulator' betting, as the only real issue is the order in which the dregs are removed from our screens (and ears). s for Sami, sorry luv, but every years there is (for a short while) a fat bird with a good voice who is really nice, who hangs around for a bit but is never going to win. This year, it's you. Bye.
...
23.10.11 Quotes of the Weekend
1st - "I think I've got a ridiculously large amount of warm blood. [Nathan, commenting on not feeling cold]
2nd - "Lee! Lee! Lee! Show Holly your stump." [Becki, urging Lee to show his injured finger]
3rd - "I'd smash my leg off with a coconut." [Adam, on what he'd rather do than eat mince, even if he was stranded on a desert island]
4th - "My mum took me to see them; I missed school for that." [Lee, regarding a teenage visit to an A1 concert]
5th - "I didn't know that cats could break noses." [Holly C]
6th - "There's no foot in that one." [Beth, after re-taking a photo of a cake and avoiding the inclusion of her foot]
7th - "I read the instructions on my mop." [Holly T, after giving Beth a hint on using the abrasive square on the mop, while cleaning the kitchen floor]
8th - "They have different constituencies." [Holly T, during a discussion on the problems that might be associated with mixing water and milk]
...
2nd - "Lee! Lee! Lee! Show Holly your stump." [Becki, urging Lee to show his injured finger]
3rd - "I'd smash my leg off with a coconut." [Adam, on what he'd rather do than eat mince, even if he was stranded on a desert island]
4th - "My mum took me to see them; I missed school for that." [Lee, regarding a teenage visit to an A1 concert]
5th - "I didn't know that cats could break noses." [Holly C]
6th - "There's no foot in that one." [Beth, after re-taking a photo of a cake and avoiding the inclusion of her foot]
7th - "I read the instructions on my mop." [Holly T, after giving Beth a hint on using the abrasive square on the mop, while cleaning the kitchen floor]
8th - "They have different constituencies." [Holly T, during a discussion on the problems that might be associated with mixing water and milk]
...
23.10.11 X-Factor Week 3
What a load of shit this week. The 'theme' was supposed to be Rock but the definitions of this varied enormously, as judges and acts each put their own interpretations on things. The range of approaches was proof that the supposed theme is a completely pointless element of the show.
Marcus - He started off with what proved to be a shit stage show and he sang a shit song. The sound quality was not good either. Overall, we watched a chap who should be performing much better stuff. He has got a good voice, but somehow he is not managing to show us that. The Elf amazed us with a pathetic few words: "You sang, you smiled, you performed - that's how to do the song."
Janet - Hardly very Rock at all. Also, the song was rather repetitive. Still, although it was a bit bland, she'll be okay because her voice is good. For the time being, she'll get away with singing whatever she wants in her own way.
Sami - Turn Back Time! I wish I really could, so I could reclaim the two minutes used up by this pointless song delivery. Okay, Sami did her usual stuff and she has got a good voice, and she did in fact sing the song extract in her own way. But, that's not fucking Rock! I did like TTT's comment, though: "You know what Louis does - he takes bad acts and makes them worse."
Rhythmix - They were quite good. But this was NOT Rock at all! Tulisa, you cannot have an electric guitar playing and then decide that a song suddenly counts as Rock.
Sophie - Well, it was a rock song, (Living On a Prayer) but it certainly wasn't sang in 'rock mode'. So, the opposite has applied here. The song was perhaps not the issue, it was the singing style. Nevertheless, her voice is all right, so maybe she'll hang in there (?)
Craig - Yet again, a soft performance and an Oasis song that was basically toned down to a ballad. Still, he has a great voice, so it'll be okay.
Kitty - Well, the performance and vocals were excellent. James Bond themes are not Rock though.
Frankie - Woeful, as ever. He has all the attributes of a brat and egotistical performer in the public eye, except for one - he cannot sing. Slight drawback in my book! Get Your Rocks Off - no, thanks. Hope He Fucks Off - yes please.
The Risk - No thank you. Certainly not Rock and they were very weak. Like some others, they think they are better than they are, and deserve the attention of silly females.
Johnny - Well, this was certainly Rock, and sung in the correct style - perhaps by the person you'd least expect to be able to produce a Rock performance. Okay, he was very nervous, and it sort of hung in there, but full marks for effort, embracing the competition and giving it a great go.
Misha B - Excellent. Even though this song is dragged out each and every year for an act to screech through the microphone, whether it is rock, a ballad, an example of a film theme or any other cuntin' category that this repetitive boring song qualifies as, you cannot argue that she sang it really well. TC, you should be ashamed of yourself for raising issues when you're supposed to be judging after a performance on stage rather than what's gone on (supposedly) all week behind the scenes. Fair play to TTT for saying so.
So who is going? I do so hope it's Frankie, perhaps with The Risk in the bottom two.
Fingers crossed.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
Marcus - He started off with what proved to be a shit stage show and he sang a shit song. The sound quality was not good either. Overall, we watched a chap who should be performing much better stuff. He has got a good voice, but somehow he is not managing to show us that. The Elf amazed us with a pathetic few words: "You sang, you smiled, you performed - that's how to do the song."
Janet - Hardly very Rock at all. Also, the song was rather repetitive. Still, although it was a bit bland, she'll be okay because her voice is good. For the time being, she'll get away with singing whatever she wants in her own way.
Sami - Turn Back Time! I wish I really could, so I could reclaim the two minutes used up by this pointless song delivery. Okay, Sami did her usual stuff and she has got a good voice, and she did in fact sing the song extract in her own way. But, that's not fucking Rock! I did like TTT's comment, though: "You know what Louis does - he takes bad acts and makes them worse."
Rhythmix - They were quite good. But this was NOT Rock at all! Tulisa, you cannot have an electric guitar playing and then decide that a song suddenly counts as Rock.
Sophie - Well, it was a rock song, (Living On a Prayer) but it certainly wasn't sang in 'rock mode'. So, the opposite has applied here. The song was perhaps not the issue, it was the singing style. Nevertheless, her voice is all right, so maybe she'll hang in there (?)
Craig - Yet again, a soft performance and an Oasis song that was basically toned down to a ballad. Still, he has a great voice, so it'll be okay.
Kitty - Well, the performance and vocals were excellent. James Bond themes are not Rock though.
Frankie - Woeful, as ever. He has all the attributes of a brat and egotistical performer in the public eye, except for one - he cannot sing. Slight drawback in my book! Get Your Rocks Off - no, thanks. Hope He Fucks Off - yes please.
The Risk - No thank you. Certainly not Rock and they were very weak. Like some others, they think they are better than they are, and deserve the attention of silly females.
Johnny - Well, this was certainly Rock, and sung in the correct style - perhaps by the person you'd least expect to be able to produce a Rock performance. Okay, he was very nervous, and it sort of hung in there, but full marks for effort, embracing the competition and giving it a great go.
Misha B - Excellent. Even though this song is dragged out each and every year for an act to screech through the microphone, whether it is rock, a ballad, an example of a film theme or any other cuntin' category that this repetitive boring song qualifies as, you cannot argue that she sang it really well. TC, you should be ashamed of yourself for raising issues when you're supposed to be judging after a performance on stage rather than what's gone on (supposedly) all week behind the scenes. Fair play to TTT for saying so.
So who is going? I do so hope it's Frankie, perhaps with The Risk in the bottom two.
Fingers crossed.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
Saturday, 22 October 2011
22.10.11 Morrisons Lotto
Chances are slim - of getting served in a reasonable period of time. The till operator was doing her bit to compensate for Post Office closures (where old people have historically gone to chat about fuck all, and retain a link of some sort with the 'community') and she merrily (too fuckin' merrily for my liking) conversed about bugger all, engaging to a level where her scanning of the shopping was suffering. I loaded the conveyor belt at a slow speed, while the old man and woman were 'entertained' by chatty woman.
She then suggested the old gits 'might be lucky', and win £100. The ignorance of the shoppers was catered for as 'till woman' explained the rules. If they checked their receipt, they'd be able to compare the winning numbers with the ones put up in the store tomorrow. That's right, Morrisons has advertised on national TV, declaring that three shoppers per day per store will win £100. What the adverts fail to disclose is that to win, you need to go back to the fucking store the following day to check your numbers.
What a cuntin' palaver, and a rip off. No way am I doing an 18-mile round trip tomorrow to check my numbers. Most people, even locals, would hardly need to go to Morrisons two days running.
Bollocks.
Note: At the end of the checkouts, there were people milling around, and helping some shoppers with their packing. I declined assistance, as I am more capable than a third party at properly and safely packing my own shopping, and using the appropriate number of shopping bags. However, I then had to share the space available in an overly crowded shop, as the bloke just stood with his arms folded, getting in the way. God knows what money was being raised for - it was certainly not being advertised and no mention was made by the 'bouncer' standing next to me.
...
She then suggested the old gits 'might be lucky', and win £100. The ignorance of the shoppers was catered for as 'till woman' explained the rules. If they checked their receipt, they'd be able to compare the winning numbers with the ones put up in the store tomorrow. That's right, Morrisons has advertised on national TV, declaring that three shoppers per day per store will win £100. What the adverts fail to disclose is that to win, you need to go back to the fucking store the following day to check your numbers.
What a cuntin' palaver, and a rip off. No way am I doing an 18-mile round trip tomorrow to check my numbers. Most people, even locals, would hardly need to go to Morrisons two days running.
Bollocks.
Note: At the end of the checkouts, there were people milling around, and helping some shoppers with their packing. I declined assistance, as I am more capable than a third party at properly and safely packing my own shopping, and using the appropriate number of shopping bags. However, I then had to share the space available in an overly crowded shop, as the bloke just stood with his arms folded, getting in the way. God knows what money was being raised for - it was certainly not being advertised and no mention was made by the 'bouncer' standing next to me.
...
Friday, 21 October 2011
21.10.11 Bus Driver Quandary
I was disconcerted, earlier today, after a sighting of a bus driver. The cause for concern stemmed from my inability to identify the said person by gender. Was it a rather effeminate man at the wheel, or a rather butch female? Who wears the trousers? I don't believe I'll ever know.
...
...
Thursday, 20 October 2011
20.10.11 Exchanges
Exchange Number 1
LP: "Some people are so black, they're blue."
JR: "Yeah, they're like petrol."
Exchange Number 2
Lorraine: "The book I'm reading is set in Norway, about a serial killer who leaves a snowman at the scene of each crime."
TMWSC: "They should look for someone with cold hands and a bag of carrots."
Exchange Number 3
Scene - Petrol station; a car has just pulled up and parked by the side of the shop, and the woman driver has entered, just ahead of TMWSC who has just finished filling up with petrol. He gets to the till just as the woman is starting to talk to the assistant.
Woman: "Just a car wash, please," she says, holding a five pound note in her right hand.
Assistant: "No fuel?"
Woman: "No"
Assistant: "Which one would you like?"
The woman looks at the display card showing the three options, and chooses the cheapest
Woman: "Just the three-pound-fifty one please."
Assistant: "That will be three pounds and fifty pence please."
[No shit, Sherlock!]
...
LP: "Some people are so black, they're blue."
JR: "Yeah, they're like petrol."
Exchange Number 2
Lorraine: "The book I'm reading is set in Norway, about a serial killer who leaves a snowman at the scene of each crime."
TMWSC: "They should look for someone with cold hands and a bag of carrots."
Exchange Number 3
Scene - Petrol station; a car has just pulled up and parked by the side of the shop, and the woman driver has entered, just ahead of TMWSC who has just finished filling up with petrol. He gets to the till just as the woman is starting to talk to the assistant.
Woman: "Just a car wash, please," she says, holding a five pound note in her right hand.
Assistant: "No fuel?"
Woman: "No"
Assistant: "Which one would you like?"
The woman looks at the display card showing the three options, and chooses the cheapest
Woman: "Just the three-pound-fifty one please."
Assistant: "That will be three pounds and fifty pence please."
[No shit, Sherlock!]
...
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
19.10.11 Awful Grammar
There's no end to it; everywhere you look (and listen) there's evidence of uselessness. A van drove past me recently, signwritten with "Andys Tidy Gardens" - no fucking apostrophe between the 'y' and the 's'. Criminal!
In Yorkshire Trading last week, my personal space was invaded by an 'infomercial'. This is a new (made-up) word that has itself invaded the fucking dictionary! A monitor was playing an advert on a loop, showing some sort of cooking marvel that will help all twats eat more healthily. Anyway, the wonderful line that I heard was: "Your food will cook in their own juices." What useless cunt put that advert together?
On Escape to the Country last week, the presenter said: "Fingers crossed that one of the two work out." ONE WORKS! Moron.
Ian Wright, writing in the Sun Newspaper, was guilty of a fuck up: "I have to admit our chances of winning this Euro Championship are very unlikely." No, Ian; our chances are slim, or we are unlikely to win, but a chance cannot itself be unlikely.
On Channel 4 Racing, Haley Turner came out with a classic: "He has his own ideas on how he wants his horses to be rode." Nob!
The TV listing in the Saturday Daily Mail last weekend included on Channel 5 "Close Encounters of the Third Kind: Director's Cut". That bit wasn't the problem, it was the following explanatory note: "Alternate cut of Stephen Spielberg's sci-fi drama." ALTERNATIVE!
Shit everywhere - and eventually even the Oxford bods allow the dictionary to be fucked up because if enough people are thick, then we dumb-down the whole pissing language.
R.I.P. the UK and society . . . .
...
In Yorkshire Trading last week, my personal space was invaded by an 'infomercial'. This is a new (made-up) word that has itself invaded the fucking dictionary! A monitor was playing an advert on a loop, showing some sort of cooking marvel that will help all twats eat more healthily. Anyway, the wonderful line that I heard was: "Your food will cook in their own juices." What useless cunt put that advert together?
On Escape to the Country last week, the presenter said: "Fingers crossed that one of the two work out." ONE WORKS! Moron.
Ian Wright, writing in the Sun Newspaper, was guilty of a fuck up: "I have to admit our chances of winning this Euro Championship are very unlikely." No, Ian; our chances are slim, or we are unlikely to win, but a chance cannot itself be unlikely.
On Channel 4 Racing, Haley Turner came out with a classic: "He has his own ideas on how he wants his horses to be rode." Nob!
The TV listing in the Saturday Daily Mail last weekend included on Channel 5 "Close Encounters of the Third Kind: Director's Cut". That bit wasn't the problem, it was the following explanatory note: "Alternate cut of Stephen Spielberg's sci-fi drama." ALTERNATIVE!
Shit everywhere - and eventually even the Oxford bods allow the dictionary to be fucked up because if enough people are thick, then we dumb-down the whole pissing language.
R.I.P. the UK and society . . . .
...
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
Monday, 17 October 2011
17.10.11 Bingo
What is the obsession with gambling these days? Bet365.com allows us all to bet on pretty much anything, but sure whether Ronaldo will fart while kicking a ball within five minutes of a goal in his next European match is rather irrelevant. Equally irrelevant is whether the little ball lands on red or black at the next spin of a wheel. Every sporting event is there to be 'second guessed' via a selection of betting options, from horses to boxing to rugby. Online poker is also out of control now. How many versions do we need, and how many more lives will be fucked up by gambling? However, it will not be anyone's fault other than the stupid participant who did not know his or her own limits, and did not properly study the information at gambleaware.co.uk. The stupid gambler was probably pissed when the last few bets were placed, and had fallen foul of the guidelines on the drinkaware.co.uk website.
Where's the website for plonkers - twataware.co.uk - which could help people avoid being a complete idiot? The nation seems hell bent on slipping down the toilet in so many different walks of life, and gambling is just another on the list. For reasons of conscience, it seems there are a few websites to cater for idiots, so that governments and industries can claim to care.
Where's the kidaware.co.uk marketing to tell idiot teenagers not to get pregnant? As if there are not enough problems in the world, there's now a concerted effort to promote bingo to ludicrous levels. The poor old housewife, or if the pushers of debt had their way, the not-so-poor lady of leisure, is now supposed to get her kicks from the array of bingo outlets. They are all over the place.
Winkbingo, Sunbingo, Foxybingo, Williamhillbingo, Bet365bingo, Redbusbingo, Lightscamerabingo, and whatever the fuck Jackpot Joy is offering. These are just a few of the shitty time wasting, money eating, leach sites that offer nothing but trouble, playing the percentages so that the population is taxed. There's just too much shit online. Soon you'll be able to hang washing online! [Sorry, that was awful . . . ]
Whatever next? The way things are going, there'll soon be a needless second lottery game to rival Camelot's Lotto. To make it different, and to appeal to our collective better nature, it'll probably donate money to subsidise health. It wouldn't surprise me if it's called the Health Lottery. Let's face it, it would need to be called that because the NHS is in fact now a National Health Lottery, where you take your chances in getting care. Not content with taking 12% or 13% of my wages for fuck all, the cunts will no doubt expect me to get excited about helping them nick 20p out of every extra pound I spend trying to win when the odds are slimmer than an anorexic's clit. Oh . . . . Brian Blessed has just launched The Health Lottery - well there you have it.
On line Tiddlywinks next! Beats bingo.
...
Where's the website for plonkers - twataware.co.uk - which could help people avoid being a complete idiot? The nation seems hell bent on slipping down the toilet in so many different walks of life, and gambling is just another on the list. For reasons of conscience, it seems there are a few websites to cater for idiots, so that governments and industries can claim to care.
Where's the kidaware.co.uk marketing to tell idiot teenagers not to get pregnant? As if there are not enough problems in the world, there's now a concerted effort to promote bingo to ludicrous levels. The poor old housewife, or if the pushers of debt had their way, the not-so-poor lady of leisure, is now supposed to get her kicks from the array of bingo outlets. They are all over the place.
Winkbingo, Sunbingo, Foxybingo, Williamhillbingo, Bet365bingo, Redbusbingo, Lightscamerabingo, and whatever the fuck Jackpot Joy is offering. These are just a few of the shitty time wasting, money eating, leach sites that offer nothing but trouble, playing the percentages so that the population is taxed. There's just too much shit online. Soon you'll be able to hang washing online! [Sorry, that was awful . . . ]
Whatever next? The way things are going, there'll soon be a needless second lottery game to rival Camelot's Lotto. To make it different, and to appeal to our collective better nature, it'll probably donate money to subsidise health. It wouldn't surprise me if it's called the Health Lottery. Let's face it, it would need to be called that because the NHS is in fact now a National Health Lottery, where you take your chances in getting care. Not content with taking 12% or 13% of my wages for fuck all, the cunts will no doubt expect me to get excited about helping them nick 20p out of every extra pound I spend trying to win when the odds are slimmer than an anorexic's clit. Oh . . . . Brian Blessed has just launched The Health Lottery - well there you have it.
On line Tiddlywinks next! Beats bingo.
...
17.10.11 Premier Inn
One night's accommodation only, for three adults. A simple requirement, but one that's not well catered for by Premier Inn. There seems to be some sort of limitation that prevents a family room being selected as suitable for three adults (one only 18 years old). If I declared Junior No2 as a bit younger than 18, would that be fraud? I considered the price; £52. I considered then the annoyance in having to look at Lenny Henry.
Of the three negatives, the Lenny Henry grin was the worst. I logged on to Travelodge and found a room for three adults at £32 and without a purple golfer grinning inanely at me. I clicked and booked.
Premier Inn - everything's a bit less 'premier' than you'd expect.
...
Of the three negatives, the Lenny Henry grin was the worst. I logged on to Travelodge and found a room for three adults at £32 and without a purple golfer grinning inanely at me. I clicked and booked.
Premier Inn - everything's a bit less 'premier' than you'd expect.
...
17.10.11 Barclaycard 'Offer'
Mrs MWSC was invited today to "enjoy a life less complicated" by the people at Barclaycunt. They felt it appropriate to send a letter, Terms and Conditions, and a small leaflet, to encourage her to simplify her life. At face value, there was possibly a chance (small, of course) that there was some merit in the offer, so we read the information that related to a balance transfer opportunity with 0% interest for 20 months. The 2.5% handling fee was not really a put-off, so perhaps this was something to consider.
The two people on the cover seemed to be really feeling the benefits of a less complicated life, and Mrs MWSC and I gazed lovingly into each other's eyes, recreating the image presented to us by Barclaycard. We agreed that our lives could indeed benefit from the removal of complications, so we read on.
It turns out that the 0% interest arrangement is complemented by zero percent on purchases for three months (assuming there's enough leeway regarding the credit limit and the balance transferred) and that seemed helpful as well. Then though, we saw a 'representative example' showing an APR of 19.9%, and the same rate for purchases. Now, we are not experts, but in times of hardship, a 20% (let's stop pissing about with the 0.1% different over a year) cost of borrowing is not low. In fact, twenty per cent interest is not good at all. Perhaps Barclaycunt was hoping Mrs MWSC would apply and be given a card and reasonable limit, move all her outstanding stuff over with a 2.5% handling charge, pay off bugger all for 20 months, and then start dying as the complications to her life start to be reintroduced. Worse, though, is the fact that usually, any monthly payments made go towards bringing down the 'zero interest' element of the debt, and not the element relating to new purchases which, after the initial three months, would be at 20% interest. I have not bothered to check the terms as I have confidence that this is exactly the case.
So there you have it. A life less complicated amounts to borrowing whatever money they will allow, at a fixed fee of 2.5% and three months to use the card at 0% before it flips to 20%. Any ongoing use will be at 20%, and eventually, all the money on the card will be at 20% so that your life becomes more complicated later. It's at that stage where you may adopt a slightly different position, and not the loving gaze into the eyes of your partner. Instead, it could just be time to roll over, and die - feet in the air.
...
The two people on the cover seemed to be really feeling the benefits of a less complicated life, and Mrs MWSC and I gazed lovingly into each other's eyes, recreating the image presented to us by Barclaycard. We agreed that our lives could indeed benefit from the removal of complications, so we read on.
It turns out that the 0% interest arrangement is complemented by zero percent on purchases for three months (assuming there's enough leeway regarding the credit limit and the balance transferred) and that seemed helpful as well. Then though, we saw a 'representative example' showing an APR of 19.9%, and the same rate for purchases. Now, we are not experts, but in times of hardship, a 20% (let's stop pissing about with the 0.1% different over a year) cost of borrowing is not low. In fact, twenty per cent interest is not good at all. Perhaps Barclaycunt was hoping Mrs MWSC would apply and be given a card and reasonable limit, move all her outstanding stuff over with a 2.5% handling charge, pay off bugger all for 20 months, and then start dying as the complications to her life start to be reintroduced. Worse, though, is the fact that usually, any monthly payments made go towards bringing down the 'zero interest' element of the debt, and not the element relating to new purchases which, after the initial three months, would be at 20% interest. I have not bothered to check the terms as I have confidence that this is exactly the case.
So there you have it. A life less complicated amounts to borrowing whatever money they will allow, at a fixed fee of 2.5% and three months to use the card at 0% before it flips to 20%. Any ongoing use will be at 20%, and eventually, all the money on the card will be at 20% so that your life becomes more complicated later. It's at that stage where you may adopt a slightly different position, and not the loving gaze into the eyes of your partner. Instead, it could just be time to roll over, and die - feet in the air.
...
Sunday, 16 October 2011
16.10.11 X-Factor Wk2 Sunday
Well, never has a group been so badly named - The Wanted should be re-christened The Formulaic Five and the members should take their places just behind Timmy the Dog, from the Famous Five. The whole 'song' was a warble around the words "little bit frightening / playing with lightning" and almost made Nu Vibe look mediocre. Yawn.
Last week, the padding was provided by Molly Coddle [Matt Cardle, if you're fussed about getting names exactly right] who warbled something or other about running for your life, and this week, Katy Perry tried to perform to X-Factor standards and nearly matched the best of the contestants.
The voting result was amazingly the first time that the two in the sing-off were, in my opinion, the two worst performers - No Vibe and Fuckie CoCozza. As Mrs MWSC pointed out, it's also the first time where the pettiness of the judges seems to be non-existent; it's not about them and their silly games and one upmanship, and they all seem to have more respect for each other than in previous years when the 'game playing' tainted the actual result. I get the sense that the mentors actually do like their acts as well
The chap in girl's leggings with no voice and a bad haircut was the one who should have been ejected, but unfortunately we all have to put up with the awfulness for a bit longer. Still, they were both crap and the writing is on the wall.
...
Last week, the padding was provided by Molly Coddle [Matt Cardle, if you're fussed about getting names exactly right] who warbled something or other about running for your life, and this week, Katy Perry tried to perform to X-Factor standards and nearly matched the best of the contestants.
The voting result was amazingly the first time that the two in the sing-off were, in my opinion, the two worst performers - No Vibe and Fuckie CoCozza. As Mrs MWSC pointed out, it's also the first time where the pettiness of the judges seems to be non-existent; it's not about them and their silly games and one upmanship, and they all seem to have more respect for each other than in previous years when the 'game playing' tainted the actual result. I get the sense that the mentors actually do like their acts as well
The chap in girl's leggings with no voice and a bad haircut was the one who should have been ejected, but unfortunately we all have to put up with the awfulness for a bit longer. Still, they were both crap and the writing is on the wall.
...
Saturday, 15 October 2011
15.10.11 X-Factor Week 2
Dermotitis n. Condition whereby Dermot O'Leary gets under your skin, and annoys the fuck out of you (and everyone) by being Dermot O'Leary.
Nu Vibe
No Vibe - please go home.
Sami
Solid performance, and she can sing, so okay.
Craig
Weird song choice that didn't really work. However, he has a great voice and so he made it work. The Elf saying "You deserve to be on that stage" was unnecessary (like most of what he says) as was Dermot's input - slapping him and nudging him and prodding him. Deck him, Craig, next time he gets under your skin.
Janet
Lovely
Frankie
So shit - so Fuck off, Frankie.
Johnny
"You look like Aladdin" [TTT]
"You can rub my lamp any time, Gary" [Johnny]
Class comment. Lovely chap. Louis, please at least let him just sing a song rather than participate in a school play.
Marcus
Some off notes tonight! That doesn't mean he cannot sing, but the performance was messy. TC's comments were right, and TTT said 'absolutely brilliant'. Sorry, Thomas, but you're lying.
Rhythmix
It used to be a five-piece group until the big one ate the smallest/weakest one. A few dodgy notes but I like the song and liked this.
Misha B
She's good, but I fear that her voice could grate (?) after a bit. The performance and the costumes are all good and she does have individuality, although for me the voice needs some variety. Let's hope we are not being served the Haus of Gaga every week.
The Risk
Okay, they were good, but calm down Louis! [He can get excited about sucking on a straw]
Sophie
Lovely voice. She doesn't show off, so there's a danger that she'll slip away.
Kitty
Say it how it is - excellent.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
Nu Vibe
No Vibe - please go home.
Sami
Solid performance, and she can sing, so okay.
Craig
Weird song choice that didn't really work. However, he has a great voice and so he made it work. The Elf saying "You deserve to be on that stage" was unnecessary (like most of what he says) as was Dermot's input - slapping him and nudging him and prodding him. Deck him, Craig, next time he gets under your skin.
Janet
Lovely
Frankie
So shit - so Fuck off, Frankie.
Johnny
"You look like Aladdin" [TTT]
"You can rub my lamp any time, Gary" [Johnny]
Class comment. Lovely chap. Louis, please at least let him just sing a song rather than participate in a school play.
Marcus
Some off notes tonight! That doesn't mean he cannot sing, but the performance was messy. TC's comments were right, and TTT said 'absolutely brilliant'. Sorry, Thomas, but you're lying.
Rhythmix
It used to be a five-piece group until the big one ate the smallest/weakest one. A few dodgy notes but I like the song and liked this.
Misha B
She's good, but I fear that her voice could grate (?) after a bit. The performance and the costumes are all good and she does have individuality, although for me the voice needs some variety. Let's hope we are not being served the Haus of Gaga every week.
The Risk
Okay, they were good, but calm down Louis! [He can get excited about sucking on a straw]
Sophie
Lovely voice. She doesn't show off, so there's a danger that she'll slip away.
Kitty
Say it how it is - excellent.
TTT = Thomas the Tank / Gary
TC = Top Cat / Tulisa Contostavlos
Elf = Louis Walsh
KR = Kelly Rowland
...
15.10.11 Smile - Ughhh!
Sometimes a smile just does not work. I think we could all do without the image below, shown in today's paper, don't you?
And what has he got to be happy about?
...
And what has he got to be happy about?
...
15.10.11 Liam Fox
Liam Fox off at long last!
We've waited all week for him to fuck off, and at last he has done so. What a class idiot; he has always looked gormless, and he looked pathetic while trying to fend off the inevitable death of his ministership.
Mrs MWSC noted today that his 'friend', Adam Werritty, has an annoying name.
"I don't like the name Werrity," she said, "it should be Verity."
"In truth, you're right," said I.
[My wit and wordplay astounds me sometimes]
...
We've waited all week for him to fuck off, and at last he has done so. What a class idiot; he has always looked gormless, and he looked pathetic while trying to fend off the inevitable death of his ministership.
Mrs MWSC noted today that his 'friend', Adam Werritty, has an annoying name.
"I don't like the name Werrity," she said, "it should be Verity."
"In truth, you're right," said I.
[My wit and wordplay astounds me sometimes]
...
15.10.11 Whitby Visit
A lovely bright day, with the sun at a blinding angle making it 'squint weather' except for in the shade where it was actually a bit chilly. Sitting eating chips by the water, we watched a small boat called 'Velocity' showing no sense of velocity as it moved at about 4 knots. I mentioned to Mrs MWSC that another boat that passed was like 'a wet horse and cart'. I do fail to see why it is preferable to some visitors to sit on a small boat, to see exactly what can be seen from the side of the water at zero cost instead of £10 for 30 minutes. Anyway, Mrs MWSC inadvertently put the theories of Barnes Wallis to the test when she threw a chip towards a seagull. It bounced once just in front of it, and went straight into its open beak. I couldn't work out whether it was a fantastic shot or superb skill on the part of the bird.
I found it disappointing that the world we live in dictates we must cater for morons. There is a gangway just below the swing bridge, and it is a very old, wooden structure, with some metal hand rails. However, a "cage", as shown on the photograph, has been erected at one end which serves no purpose other than to stop idiots going on to the walkway. As a result, there's now an eyesore in what should be a pretty setting.
I noticed, just on the other side of the water, a banner on the side of The Dolphin, saying: 'En Suite Rooms Available, With Harbour View'. As if the view could be anything else; it's hardly going to be the Taj Ma-fucking-hal, is it!
In the narrow streets, a young woman crossed in front of me, walking towards her friend, and I caught the immortal line: "Kelly, do you want me to do your feet?" There was no answer given to this, and we moved on from the window outside of the fishmongers. How Kelly's feet were to be 'done' I do not know, and I shudder to think what the offer involved.
Later, on the way back to the car, a bloke in his twenties came bombing down the hill, running flat out and carrying a crash helmet. Fifteen seconds later, his chaser flew past at an equally hair-raising speed. There was no filming going on for 'Die Hard 6.3' so there must have been some sort of kerfuffle to spark off the deadly pursuit - the first guy was scared and the second was focused-to-fuck on the chase.
Anyway, no one can argue that Whitby isn't worth a visit.
...
I found it disappointing that the world we live in dictates we must cater for morons. There is a gangway just below the swing bridge, and it is a very old, wooden structure, with some metal hand rails. However, a "cage", as shown on the photograph, has been erected at one end which serves no purpose other than to stop idiots going on to the walkway. As a result, there's now an eyesore in what should be a pretty setting.
I noticed, just on the other side of the water, a banner on the side of The Dolphin, saying: 'En Suite Rooms Available, With Harbour View'. As if the view could be anything else; it's hardly going to be the Taj Ma-fucking-hal, is it!
In the narrow streets, a young woman crossed in front of me, walking towards her friend, and I caught the immortal line: "Kelly, do you want me to do your feet?" There was no answer given to this, and we moved on from the window outside of the fishmongers. How Kelly's feet were to be 'done' I do not know, and I shudder to think what the offer involved.
Later, on the way back to the car, a bloke in his twenties came bombing down the hill, running flat out and carrying a crash helmet. Fifteen seconds later, his chaser flew past at an equally hair-raising speed. There was no filming going on for 'Die Hard 6.3' so there must have been some sort of kerfuffle to spark off the deadly pursuit - the first guy was scared and the second was focused-to-fuck on the chase.
Anyway, no one can argue that Whitby isn't worth a visit.
...
15.10.11 One Penny
There is no longer any positive purpose served by the one pence piece. A while ago, actually a few years ago now, it was still possible to buy something with a penny. The last of the 'penny sweets' allowed a transaction, should one wish to make a lowly purchase. These days, the sole purpose of the 1p is to annoy.
An advert on TV the other day showed stuff on sale for "Under £320" and "Under £250". You're ahead of me - yes, the items were on sale for £319.99 and £249.99. What is the cuntin' point of that? Absolutely pointless, annoying and bollocks! Why make life that complicated?
The items on sale were in fact fires. The advert was so crap it was embarrassing. What really confused me though was the statement at the end, reinforced by the same statement shown on the screen, which was -
Up to 100% energy efficient fires
What the fucking hell does that mean? Every pissing thing ever manufactured has a rating that could be classed as "up to 100% energy efficient" which is an utterly meaningless marketing department dollop of shit.
Anyway, back to the penny. It has served one retailer quite well - the "99 pence store", allowing customers to buy stuff from what should be a 'pound shop' and get a small pointless coin in return. I collect this shrapnel in pockets, and coins make their way to various drawers, sideboards and odd places, until they are rounded up and eventually banked. This is after a painful exercise whereby the 1p pieces are counted and bagged, ahead of a trip to the bank. The time taken to do all of this is worth more (based on the national minimum wage) than the money itself! This is similar (analogy-wise) to the pointlessness of eating a cucumber, during which more calories are spent than gained.
In summary, the one pence piece is simply a nuisance. Further, the fucking around that the whole of the commercial world undertakes (to price things up in a ludicrous way, ensure loads of change is in tills all around the country, and counting/banking the shit) is mind-blowing, and actually costs the economy millions over the course of a year.
...
An advert on TV the other day showed stuff on sale for "Under £320" and "Under £250". You're ahead of me - yes, the items were on sale for £319.99 and £249.99. What is the cuntin' point of that? Absolutely pointless, annoying and bollocks! Why make life that complicated?
The items on sale were in fact fires. The advert was so crap it was embarrassing. What really confused me though was the statement at the end, reinforced by the same statement shown on the screen, which was -
Up to 100% energy efficient fires
What the fucking hell does that mean? Every pissing thing ever manufactured has a rating that could be classed as "up to 100% energy efficient" which is an utterly meaningless marketing department dollop of shit.
Anyway, back to the penny. It has served one retailer quite well - the "99 pence store", allowing customers to buy stuff from what should be a 'pound shop' and get a small pointless coin in return. I collect this shrapnel in pockets, and coins make their way to various drawers, sideboards and odd places, until they are rounded up and eventually banked. This is after a painful exercise whereby the 1p pieces are counted and bagged, ahead of a trip to the bank. The time taken to do all of this is worth more (based on the national minimum wage) than the money itself! This is similar (analogy-wise) to the pointlessness of eating a cucumber, during which more calories are spent than gained.
In summary, the one pence piece is simply a nuisance. Further, the fucking around that the whole of the commercial world undertakes (to price things up in a ludicrous way, ensure loads of change is in tills all around the country, and counting/banking the shit) is mind-blowing, and actually costs the economy millions over the course of a year.
...
Friday, 14 October 2011
14.10.11 Home Alone Rooney
Well, Potato Head may as well stay home then. Yes, one could argue that the European bods who judge these disciplinary matters have been harsh, but that would be pandering to the 'hard done by' faction who suggest we should all make allowances for Wayne's actions, and that he did not deserve a three match ban. No way am I falling for that shit. The guy is quite clearly unable to control himself and exercise any responsibility.
So, let's all get on with our lives and ignore the delinquent who gets £250,000 per week to kick a ball. Sadly he seems to extend that skill a bit, to cover kicking the odd person as well. Having tantrums is not on: that just leads to supporters of the national side being let down. It's hard enough to bother supporting England with the Muppet in charge, but Capello will be leaving next year. We're probably stuck with Spud for a while yet, so the quicker he grows up the better. If he wants to keep flipping, perhaps he should get a job at a burger bar, in line with his intellectual ceiling.
Leave him out of the side.
...
So, let's all get on with our lives and ignore the delinquent who gets £250,000 per week to kick a ball. Sadly he seems to extend that skill a bit, to cover kicking the odd person as well. Having tantrums is not on: that just leads to supporters of the national side being let down. It's hard enough to bother supporting England with the Muppet in charge, but Capello will be leaving next year. We're probably stuck with Spud for a while yet, so the quicker he grows up the better. If he wants to keep flipping, perhaps he should get a job at a burger bar, in line with his intellectual ceiling.
Leave him out of the side.
...
Thursday, 13 October 2011
13.10.11 Domino's Pizza Offer
I am less than impressed with the claims made in the national press, regarding the deals available at Domino's Pizza establishments. I saw in the paper today an advert that suggested I might be satisfied with a pizza of my choosing.
Quite reasonably, I was impressed, and keen to place my order. However, Derek was less than impressed or co-operative when I tried to arrange delivery. It is Thursday, so I rather expected the offer to be honoured because it doesn't end till Sunday and delivery was most definitely included. He was having none of it though. I was totally within my rights to ask for a 28-inch pizza. The advert quite clearly says any size pizza for £9.99, so I chose a pizza with a 28-inch diameter. The fact that this is way bigger than their largest normal one is irrelevant. Derek got pissy with me, and I sensed I was confusing him. Judging that he was fairly young, I offered to take one that measured 70cm, thinking that the metric equivalent might help him understand and then process my order. No luck with that approach.
In the end, I decided against pizza and hung up. I am toying with the idea of raising the matter with advertising standards because 'any size pizza' means exactly that. Derek said if he gave in and created my super large pizza, it would have had a domino effect for the rest of the promotional period, and crippled the business. I was going to top that, but decided to save my money.
...
Quite reasonably, I was impressed, and keen to place my order. However, Derek was less than impressed or co-operative when I tried to arrange delivery. It is Thursday, so I rather expected the offer to be honoured because it doesn't end till Sunday and delivery was most definitely included. He was having none of it though. I was totally within my rights to ask for a 28-inch pizza. The advert quite clearly says any size pizza for £9.99, so I chose a pizza with a 28-inch diameter. The fact that this is way bigger than their largest normal one is irrelevant. Derek got pissy with me, and I sensed I was confusing him. Judging that he was fairly young, I offered to take one that measured 70cm, thinking that the metric equivalent might help him understand and then process my order. No luck with that approach.
In the end, I decided against pizza and hung up. I am toying with the idea of raising the matter with advertising standards because 'any size pizza' means exactly that. Derek said if he gave in and created my super large pizza, it would have had a domino effect for the rest of the promotional period, and crippled the business. I was going to top that, but decided to save my money.
...
13.10.11 Sock Demo
Further to my recent thesis on socks, I thought I'd share with you an example of what's now so wrong with the world.
Here we have odd socks being worn. Odd on the basis of colouring. Odd on the basis of texture. Odd on the basis of design, seeing as the paler one has an 'ankle element' that has been folded down versus the 'trainer sock' styling of the blue one. Odd on the basis of size, because the heel of the blue one slips lower than the heel of the inhabitant, so that there's a surplus heel part a third of the way along the sole. Odd on the basis of hole content - quite visibly, the pale striped one has a gaping fucking hole through which a big toe is peering, as a mole might stick its nose into the midnight air through the opening from its little hill of earth on a lovely mown lawn.
I have, on a separate matter, injected into the food chain a further supply of socks for JJ (Junior Junior MWSC) so that for a short period, there are socks enough to go round. The natural laws of physics, geography, sociology and self-levelling will mean that very soon these socks ether end up on the foot of a visiting circus performer, or replace other socks that will move on to pastures new for the remainder of their life, perhaps being split up before they die.
Hopefully the colourful additions will stand out enough to prevent them being nicked by Junior.
...
Here we have odd socks being worn. Odd on the basis of colouring. Odd on the basis of texture. Odd on the basis of design, seeing as the paler one has an 'ankle element' that has been folded down versus the 'trainer sock' styling of the blue one. Odd on the basis of size, because the heel of the blue one slips lower than the heel of the inhabitant, so that there's a surplus heel part a third of the way along the sole. Odd on the basis of hole content - quite visibly, the pale striped one has a gaping fucking hole through which a big toe is peering, as a mole might stick its nose into the midnight air through the opening from its little hill of earth on a lovely mown lawn.
I have, on a separate matter, injected into the food chain a further supply of socks for JJ (Junior Junior MWSC) so that for a short period, there are socks enough to go round. The natural laws of physics, geography, sociology and self-levelling will mean that very soon these socks ether end up on the foot of a visiting circus performer, or replace other socks that will move on to pastures new for the remainder of their life, perhaps being split up before they die.
Hopefully the colourful additions will stand out enough to prevent them being nicked by Junior.
...
13.10.11 Virgin Mail
It is amazing that Virgin Media has such tenacity, and is hell bent on persuading me to enrole in some shit or other. They do not know who I am, of course, as the letters are all addressed to "The Occupier".
It may be a more exciting place to live as far as Virgin is concerned, but from where I am surveying the world, I suspect there's a bit more excitement elsewhere. I certainly don't get excited when seeing the 88th letter coming through the letter box. The generic 'Occupier' does though open the floodgates when it comes to redirecting the junk. Rather than an 'RTS' note, I prefer to share the experience of receiving Virgin Media junk with others who may not be included in the target audience of bods at Virgin.
It's not the best photo in the world, but you'll probably make out that I have chosen to challenge the Royal Mail by redirecting this letter to Eddystone Lighthouse, off the Cornish coast (although the rocks themselves are classed as Devon, hence the address). I have helped with the co-ordinates. The delivery man should be aided with what I hope is an expectation of a tall cuntin' thing close to lots of water and rocks. Hopefully the general knowledge of a postman includes awareness of such things. Below is a photo for your benefit, dear reader, to display the lighthouse in all its glory.
Moving on, and choosing a destination for the second letter/circular that I received within five days of the first, I again chose a west country location - Wookey Hole in Somerset.
I suspect that a hole in Wells is a tad easier to deliver to, although below 'The Occupier' I have designated Witch of Wookey, so really the postman ought to go underground! If so, I wonder does he escape the £16 admission charge for a gander of the caves (?)
So, that's two more locations embraced (possibly) by whatever modern technology is being touted by Virgin Media. Strangely, I have not heard of any technological revolution at Buckingham Palace after the last despatch from here, but maybe there's a bit of Tivo or Internet action happening . . . .
Where will you send yours?
...
It may be a more exciting place to live as far as Virgin is concerned, but from where I am surveying the world, I suspect there's a bit more excitement elsewhere. I certainly don't get excited when seeing the 88th letter coming through the letter box. The generic 'Occupier' does though open the floodgates when it comes to redirecting the junk. Rather than an 'RTS' note, I prefer to share the experience of receiving Virgin Media junk with others who may not be included in the target audience of bods at Virgin.
It's not the best photo in the world, but you'll probably make out that I have chosen to challenge the Royal Mail by redirecting this letter to Eddystone Lighthouse, off the Cornish coast (although the rocks themselves are classed as Devon, hence the address). I have helped with the co-ordinates. The delivery man should be aided with what I hope is an expectation of a tall cuntin' thing close to lots of water and rocks. Hopefully the general knowledge of a postman includes awareness of such things. Below is a photo for your benefit, dear reader, to display the lighthouse in all its glory.
Moving on, and choosing a destination for the second letter/circular that I received within five days of the first, I again chose a west country location - Wookey Hole in Somerset.
I suspect that a hole in Wells is a tad easier to deliver to, although below 'The Occupier' I have designated Witch of Wookey, so really the postman ought to go underground! If so, I wonder does he escape the £16 admission charge for a gander of the caves (?)
So, that's two more locations embraced (possibly) by whatever modern technology is being touted by Virgin Media. Strangely, I have not heard of any technological revolution at Buckingham Palace after the last despatch from here, but maybe there's a bit of Tivo or Internet action happening . . . .
Where will you send yours?
...
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
12.10.11 Annie Shaved Her Fanny
Annie shaved her fanny
With a Bic but it was blunt
While preparing for an airing
And a dick inside her cunt
She was hoping for a groping
And a finger on her clit
With a shaven little haven
It could linger on her slit.
Annie shaved her fanny
As she thought it might appeal
And be pleasing even teasing
When she sought a decent feel
So a fidget with a digit
Meant a push and easy slide
All the better feeling wetter
Now her bush was cast aside.
Annie shaved her fanny
But the razor wasn’t new
And it rather meant the lather
Didn’t pay or save her flue
From the soreness or the rawness
That would make her very red
Or the itching and the twitching
That would wake her up in bed.
Annie shaved her fanny
For a smoother place to lick
But she hurried and she’s worried
Cos she used a knackered Bic
So her craving for a shaving
Was a stunt she can’t forget
All the trouble from the stubble
Stops her cunt from getting wet.
Annie shaved her fanny
For a shot at getting laid
But was careless getting hairless
And forgot to check the blade
She was feckless even reckless
As she tugged the yellow Bic
Through the thicket of her wicket
Never plugging any nick.
Annie shaved her fanny
With a vision in her mind
It was risky for the whisky
Meant awareness had declined
So perspective was defective
As she pressed the scratchy blade
She was cruising and abusing
And obsessed in her crusade.
Annie shaved her fanny
But was gifted with a mess
As her lover would discover
When he lifted up her dress
She was yearning for the burning
To be quelled and to be free
For a ditching of the itching
And the smell of TCP.
Annie shaved her fanny
Quite believing it was cool
She was gagging for a shagging
And receiving Danny’s tool
But the fucker saw the pucker
And the swelling round her gash
Plus her delta when he felt her
Had a telling bumpy rash.
Danny looked at Annie
With dismay and some concern
As she brooded he concluded
Not to say that she should learn
She was clearly paying dearly
For her drunken little trick
So he struggled and he juggled
With his shrunken flaccid prick.
Annie spread her fanny
And she willed him to invade
She was lusting for his thrusting
To be filled and not betrayed
So he entered at the centre
Of the lacerated mound
And his shunting left her grunting
With exacerbated sound.
Annie felt her fanny
Being snagged and start to smart
More affliction came with friction
Cuts were dragged and pulled apart
But she couldn’t and she wouldn’t
Be conceding her defeat
Be deflated or frustrated
By her bleeding piece of meat.
Annie’s cactus fanny
Annie’s cactus fanny
Was a grater of the skin
And it conquered Danny’s plonker
Which he later thought akin
To a totem on a scrotum
That was botched to smithereens
Missing sections of erection
He was botched within his jeans.
Annie shaved her fanny
But the Bic was rather blunt
Now she’s dabbing at the scabbing
And she’s picking at her cunt
All her sutures in the future mean
A decent full repair
No more gasping with the rasping
From the recent loss of hair.
Copyright TMWSC 2011
...
12.10.11 Public House
I am indebted to Hannah W. (aka 'Skittle') for receiving a copy of a photograph via Facebook, which suggests to me that I ought to become a publican / landlord.
I would so feel at home in a place like this !
...
I would so feel at home in a place like this !
...
Sunday, 9 October 2011
9.10.11 Orphans
A check of the sock drawer shows four orphans. Despite my best efforts to help all parties with identification, through the purchase of socks bearing distinctive patterns, and even 'days of the week' sewn in, I still find myself with unmatched socks.
Frustrating. From my "Socks" posting earlier today, you'll know my suspicions about what has become of the missing four.
...
Frustrating. From my "Socks" posting earlier today, you'll know my suspicions about what has become of the missing four.
...
9.10.11 XXXX-Factor Wk1 Sunday
Louis - The Overs
Well, for once Louis made the right decision; Jonjo was the weakest of the four acts and had to go. I do however suspect that Louis likes the 'eee' sound, and his remaining three acts rhyme with his own name, and it's like he's just named three guinea pigs. Sami, Johnny and Kitty.
Gary - The Boys
The right decision was made. Not a lot else to say except Frankie was lucky that Michael was worse and available to be sent home.
Tulisa - The Groups
Disappointing, Tulisa, because on the night, Nu Vibe were shit, and Two Shoes were in tune. But, she's decided to give Nu Vibe a chance after listening back to the recording and deciding the group is capable of better. So, the 'on the night' performance didn't count then! Two Shoes withdrew with good grace, humour and dignity - lovely people.
Kelly - The Girls
The right decision was made. Not a lot else to say.
...
Well, for once Louis made the right decision; Jonjo was the weakest of the four acts and had to go. I do however suspect that Louis likes the 'eee' sound, and his remaining three acts rhyme with his own name, and it's like he's just named three guinea pigs. Sami, Johnny and Kitty.
Gary - The Boys
The right decision was made. Not a lot else to say except Frankie was lucky that Michael was worse and available to be sent home.
Tulisa - The Groups
Disappointing, Tulisa, because on the night, Nu Vibe were shit, and Two Shoes were in tune. But, she's decided to give Nu Vibe a chance after listening back to the recording and deciding the group is capable of better. So, the 'on the night' performance didn't count then! Two Shoes withdrew with good grace, humour and dignity - lovely people.
Kelly - The Girls
The right decision was made. Not a lot else to say.
...
9.10.11 Socks
There is a level of mystery surrounding the disappearance of so many socks. I am sure this phenomenon is in play in many households, though I contest that to no greater extent than is present in the environs of TMWSC.
TMWSC Junior and his younger sibling (JJ) are in equal need of socks (at face/foot value) but the process by which each adorns one or both feet on any given day is unusual, and bespoke.
At any one stage, the sock count for Junior is officially 'nil' because any sock ever purchased and designated as his has long since been lost, loaned out, binned or has evaporated or decomposed. Thus, there is not a single sock that is wearable and identifiable as a sock that was once officially owned by Junior. That is not to say, of course, that he doesn't wear socks.
The illicit supply of socks comes from two main sources. TMWSC and JJ. There is an ad-hoc benefit from occasional visitors leaving behind an odd sock, and in this way, the float is supplemented.
TMWSC - I provide, from time to time, an injection of socks by way of a 5-pack, usually after a visit to ASDA or Matalan or some other establishment. On such occasions, I am usually overcome by a slight sense of frustration mixed with some mild benevolence while noticing socks available at a low price. So, I grab the bundle of socks and convince myself that this injection will solve all problems. How utterly naive of me.
Junior is grateful, of course, for the instantly available and wearable foot adornments. I satisfy myself that the natural order of things has been restored, and that there is now a 'balance' in the world. My efforts should result in fewer of my own socks disappearing, and fewer of JJ's being misappropriated. Within five days, though, things start to go wrong. Evidence that things are not right is provided by the growing number of odd socks in my own collection. The most telling fact in the whole 'mystery' is that Junior is not averse to wearing odd socks. Thus, it is a perfectly straightforward thought process for me; one sock before me means the other is either still in the wash, or being held hostage by Junior (or has already made it on to a Junior foot). Annoyance comes from what is the permanent 'reminder' of the issue - the odd socks pile.
It is worth (in my opinion anyway) expanding on the variations in 'tolerance' of odd/unmatched socks. For my part, I generally wear socks in the pairs that the manufacturer deemed fit to pass on to the retailers to then sell them to me. My only concession is the acceptance that whether mistakenly or, in line with modern acceptance of oddness, purposely, it is tolerable to have socks that vary in colour. In other words, there is no difference in any other regard - just the colour. So, if a multipack contains five pairs, say a couple that are black, a couple blue and one grey, then a 'mixed approach' would at least allow the wearer to retain a sense of equilibrium via the sense of touch, if not through the sense of sight. Wearing one black sock and one blue sock should not lead to any discomfort, nor should the owner of the feet inside them be aware of any difference in feel - eg. thickness, softness, size, composition, design elements.
In summary, my concession to the modern approach is to accept colour variation - period. It is therefore staggering to see Junior wearing odd socks that overstep the mark. It is apparently not an issue for him to wear socks that quite simply come from different sides of the universe. How could one have a left foot covered by a white sports sock, size 6-11 ("One Size - Fits All", but it fucking doesn't!) and on the other foot a size 9-12 black sock, inside out, and consisting of a different fibre content/composition? Equally mad is the pairing of a 'trainer sock' with a beige, thin ankle sock. I quite simply despair.
I am eventually left with a collection of odds and sods that is of no use to man nor beast, but is of course of some use to Junior. Having secured temporary use of 50% of my sock pairings, the 'orphans' are basically ready to be passed over to Junior as well, at a later date. For every sock stolen, another will follow later on. It is under this 'instalment arrangement' that Junior fleeces me of socks.
His other source of socks is JJ. His younger sibling (Junior Junior) is provided with socks from time to time, but more regularly than he can ever 'consume' socks. The reason is that Junior finds ways of syphoning off socks. This could be through stealth, and subtle pilfering from the laundry pile, or from bedroom drawers when no one is around. In any event, JJ is forever short of socks.
The truth emerges every once in a while. Last month, Mrs MWSC found five pairs of socks (the provenance of which was most clearly associated with JJ and TMWSC) in Junior's room. This was during an attempt to locate a pair for JJ to wear, and out of sheer desperation, a check on Junior's room was necessary. The disappointment came in two waves. The first was discovering that five pairs of socks not belonging to Junior were in his room. The second was finding them all worn, and in need of washing. In fact, their state was such that return of the items to the proper/original owner was perhaps not the best course of action, after what I deemed to be (and so named it) 'contamination'.
The socks graveyard is most generally 'Junior's Room', but the exact location can vary. Dead socks tend to be hidden in weird places, such as behind cupboards, at the bottom of a wardrobe, under the bed, in side-table drawers, at the back of drawers behind clean clothes that never see the light of day. The maths, though, suggests another factor - disposal. It is mathematically a fact that numerous socks leave the house without any record. The 'Schindler's List' of the sock world is operated by Junior from his bedroom. I think most socks escape via black bin liners, during forced 'tidying up' measures enforced by Mrs MWSC or fiancee of Junior.
We have established that Junior is more than capable of obtaining socks, and does not need to resort to a dealer to get hold of them. He is also most flexible with regard to wearing them, and can manage well, whether the socks are odd or in proper pairs. Odd/unmatched socks may be of any design, size, colour, material/composition, and may be worn correctly or inside out. Further, holes present no issue. Typically, a hole can be 'worked around' because of the inside-out approach, thus switching the offending deficiency in material to the left or right side of the foot, over and above the flexibility offered by the sock being worn on either foot in the first place. There is almost nothing that prevents Junior from wearing a sock [with the exception of a traditional-style flipflop!]. For the record, there's an 81% chance that on any day, Junior is not wearing a properly matched pair of socks - and so the use of the word "pair" should henceforth be banned when Junior is involved.
We have established that my socks go walkies. Once they leave my ownership, their lives are most often shortened because they are not cared for by Junior. Their demise is premature because they typically have to exist undercover, and disclosure of their whereabouts means a risk that I will call Junior to account. The riskiest endeavour, then, is for Junior to get them washed, as relinquishing control means they will necessarily be inspected during the wash cycle. Junior knows that I do as much washing as Mrs MWSC, and so will notice variations in sock identity, and sock 'health'. Letting go of a sock in the hope that it may one day be worn again is something that is necessary, although Junior will I am quite sure get more than a day's wear out of many specimens (judging by the state they are in when added to the wash pile). To avoid drawing too much attention to the issue and creating 'Sock-gate', I believe Junior often wears the fuckers to death, and then disposes of them - or occasionally takes advantage of a 'straight-to-the-machine' opportunity, when there's a wash that's about to go on. If we lived at 10 Rillington Place, he'd be hiding them below floorboards, and behind false walls!
I was recently amazed to learn that Junior's approach to socks is perhaps not unique. There is some basis, I feel, for an in-depth study, and even reason for a PhD thesis to be produced, to cover the various aspects of sock-wearing, sock-handling, and the whole sociological side of socks in the world. There is reason to consider in some detail the methods by which socks travel, and how through socks, wearers interact. I would even go so far as to suggest that Darwinian-style theories could have a place in our aims at understanding this subject. I am reliably informed that a few months ago, Junior's finacee's younger brother was seen wearing one of my socks; not two, of course, but one! How the fuck does one of my socks get from my drawer on to the foot of someone five fucking miles away? AND, why the fuck was he happy to wear this one, odd, large cuntin' sock? This proves beyond all doubt that there is a weird phenomenon in play, and that there is clearly a desperation, or obsession, for people other than me to wear my fucking socks! One day, I expect to get a Facebook poke from a cunt in Guatemala who asks if I want a photo of him ironing extremely while wearing one of my pissing socks! The other fucking sock will be in Junior's cuntin' bedside drawer!
Just to draw to an end this subject, I should like to point out that I have not seen Junior buy a single sock for himself in many years. Oh, he'll buy clothes, but socks apparently do not count. I despair at my own inability to prevent sock abuse, despite efforts to buy socks with bright colours and distinctive patterns/markings. Even if I state "The ones with coloured hoops belong to JJ", they end up with rigor mortis and stuffed in the base of a wardrobe. Whenever I eat a Crunchie I think of a dead sock, killed by Junior by over-wearing and abandonment. My only recourse is to adopt an approach involving electronic tagging. To date, I have not pursued this option, but on principle it is starting to become attractive.
Sock abuse is a real problem, and it's about time it is given some airtime, and people work to raise awareness. To be fair, there is a single exception to all of the above. For Father's Day a couple of years ago, I was given some socks with 'Dad' written on them, and these have somehow managed to stay in my domain. Ah, bless . . . .
...
TMWSC Junior and his younger sibling (JJ) are in equal need of socks (at face/foot value) but the process by which each adorns one or both feet on any given day is unusual, and bespoke.
At any one stage, the sock count for Junior is officially 'nil' because any sock ever purchased and designated as his has long since been lost, loaned out, binned or has evaporated or decomposed. Thus, there is not a single sock that is wearable and identifiable as a sock that was once officially owned by Junior. That is not to say, of course, that he doesn't wear socks.
The illicit supply of socks comes from two main sources. TMWSC and JJ. There is an ad-hoc benefit from occasional visitors leaving behind an odd sock, and in this way, the float is supplemented.
TMWSC - I provide, from time to time, an injection of socks by way of a 5-pack, usually after a visit to ASDA or Matalan or some other establishment. On such occasions, I am usually overcome by a slight sense of frustration mixed with some mild benevolence while noticing socks available at a low price. So, I grab the bundle of socks and convince myself that this injection will solve all problems. How utterly naive of me.
Junior is grateful, of course, for the instantly available and wearable foot adornments. I satisfy myself that the natural order of things has been restored, and that there is now a 'balance' in the world. My efforts should result in fewer of my own socks disappearing, and fewer of JJ's being misappropriated. Within five days, though, things start to go wrong. Evidence that things are not right is provided by the growing number of odd socks in my own collection. The most telling fact in the whole 'mystery' is that Junior is not averse to wearing odd socks. Thus, it is a perfectly straightforward thought process for me; one sock before me means the other is either still in the wash, or being held hostage by Junior (or has already made it on to a Junior foot). Annoyance comes from what is the permanent 'reminder' of the issue - the odd socks pile.
It is worth (in my opinion anyway) expanding on the variations in 'tolerance' of odd/unmatched socks. For my part, I generally wear socks in the pairs that the manufacturer deemed fit to pass on to the retailers to then sell them to me. My only concession is the acceptance that whether mistakenly or, in line with modern acceptance of oddness, purposely, it is tolerable to have socks that vary in colour. In other words, there is no difference in any other regard - just the colour. So, if a multipack contains five pairs, say a couple that are black, a couple blue and one grey, then a 'mixed approach' would at least allow the wearer to retain a sense of equilibrium via the sense of touch, if not through the sense of sight. Wearing one black sock and one blue sock should not lead to any discomfort, nor should the owner of the feet inside them be aware of any difference in feel - eg. thickness, softness, size, composition, design elements.
In summary, my concession to the modern approach is to accept colour variation - period. It is therefore staggering to see Junior wearing odd socks that overstep the mark. It is apparently not an issue for him to wear socks that quite simply come from different sides of the universe. How could one have a left foot covered by a white sports sock, size 6-11 ("One Size - Fits All", but it fucking doesn't!) and on the other foot a size 9-12 black sock, inside out, and consisting of a different fibre content/composition? Equally mad is the pairing of a 'trainer sock' with a beige, thin ankle sock. I quite simply despair.
I am eventually left with a collection of odds and sods that is of no use to man nor beast, but is of course of some use to Junior. Having secured temporary use of 50% of my sock pairings, the 'orphans' are basically ready to be passed over to Junior as well, at a later date. For every sock stolen, another will follow later on. It is under this 'instalment arrangement' that Junior fleeces me of socks.
His other source of socks is JJ. His younger sibling (Junior Junior) is provided with socks from time to time, but more regularly than he can ever 'consume' socks. The reason is that Junior finds ways of syphoning off socks. This could be through stealth, and subtle pilfering from the laundry pile, or from bedroom drawers when no one is around. In any event, JJ is forever short of socks.
The truth emerges every once in a while. Last month, Mrs MWSC found five pairs of socks (the provenance of which was most clearly associated with JJ and TMWSC) in Junior's room. This was during an attempt to locate a pair for JJ to wear, and out of sheer desperation, a check on Junior's room was necessary. The disappointment came in two waves. The first was discovering that five pairs of socks not belonging to Junior were in his room. The second was finding them all worn, and in need of washing. In fact, their state was such that return of the items to the proper/original owner was perhaps not the best course of action, after what I deemed to be (and so named it) 'contamination'.
The socks graveyard is most generally 'Junior's Room', but the exact location can vary. Dead socks tend to be hidden in weird places, such as behind cupboards, at the bottom of a wardrobe, under the bed, in side-table drawers, at the back of drawers behind clean clothes that never see the light of day. The maths, though, suggests another factor - disposal. It is mathematically a fact that numerous socks leave the house without any record. The 'Schindler's List' of the sock world is operated by Junior from his bedroom. I think most socks escape via black bin liners, during forced 'tidying up' measures enforced by Mrs MWSC or fiancee of Junior.
We have established that Junior is more than capable of obtaining socks, and does not need to resort to a dealer to get hold of them. He is also most flexible with regard to wearing them, and can manage well, whether the socks are odd or in proper pairs. Odd/unmatched socks may be of any design, size, colour, material/composition, and may be worn correctly or inside out. Further, holes present no issue. Typically, a hole can be 'worked around' because of the inside-out approach, thus switching the offending deficiency in material to the left or right side of the foot, over and above the flexibility offered by the sock being worn on either foot in the first place. There is almost nothing that prevents Junior from wearing a sock [with the exception of a traditional-style flipflop!]. For the record, there's an 81% chance that on any day, Junior is not wearing a properly matched pair of socks - and so the use of the word "pair" should henceforth be banned when Junior is involved.
We have established that my socks go walkies. Once they leave my ownership, their lives are most often shortened because they are not cared for by Junior. Their demise is premature because they typically have to exist undercover, and disclosure of their whereabouts means a risk that I will call Junior to account. The riskiest endeavour, then, is for Junior to get them washed, as relinquishing control means they will necessarily be inspected during the wash cycle. Junior knows that I do as much washing as Mrs MWSC, and so will notice variations in sock identity, and sock 'health'. Letting go of a sock in the hope that it may one day be worn again is something that is necessary, although Junior will I am quite sure get more than a day's wear out of many specimens (judging by the state they are in when added to the wash pile). To avoid drawing too much attention to the issue and creating 'Sock-gate', I believe Junior often wears the fuckers to death, and then disposes of them - or occasionally takes advantage of a 'straight-to-the-machine' opportunity, when there's a wash that's about to go on. If we lived at 10 Rillington Place, he'd be hiding them below floorboards, and behind false walls!
I was recently amazed to learn that Junior's approach to socks is perhaps not unique. There is some basis, I feel, for an in-depth study, and even reason for a PhD thesis to be produced, to cover the various aspects of sock-wearing, sock-handling, and the whole sociological side of socks in the world. There is reason to consider in some detail the methods by which socks travel, and how through socks, wearers interact. I would even go so far as to suggest that Darwinian-style theories could have a place in our aims at understanding this subject. I am reliably informed that a few months ago, Junior's finacee's younger brother was seen wearing one of my socks; not two, of course, but one! How the fuck does one of my socks get from my drawer on to the foot of someone five fucking miles away? AND, why the fuck was he happy to wear this one, odd, large cuntin' sock? This proves beyond all doubt that there is a weird phenomenon in play, and that there is clearly a desperation, or obsession, for people other than me to wear my fucking socks! One day, I expect to get a Facebook poke from a cunt in Guatemala who asks if I want a photo of him ironing extremely while wearing one of my pissing socks! The other fucking sock will be in Junior's cuntin' bedside drawer!
Just to draw to an end this subject, I should like to point out that I have not seen Junior buy a single sock for himself in many years. Oh, he'll buy clothes, but socks apparently do not count. I despair at my own inability to prevent sock abuse, despite efforts to buy socks with bright colours and distinctive patterns/markings. Even if I state "The ones with coloured hoops belong to JJ", they end up with rigor mortis and stuffed in the base of a wardrobe. Whenever I eat a Crunchie I think of a dead sock, killed by Junior by over-wearing and abandonment. My only recourse is to adopt an approach involving electronic tagging. To date, I have not pursued this option, but on principle it is starting to become attractive.
Sock abuse is a real problem, and it's about time it is given some airtime, and people work to raise awareness. To be fair, there is a single exception to all of the above. For Father's Day a couple of years ago, I was given some socks with 'Dad' written on them, and these have somehow managed to stay in my domain. Ah, bless . . . .
...
Saturday, 8 October 2011
8.10.11 XXXX-Factor Wk1
Two and a half hours (less promotions, competitions, adverts and padding - so one hour and forty minutes) of X-Factor tonight is an ordeal. Removing all the cliches would get rid of another twenty minutes, and playing Gary Barlow's (Thomas the Tank / TTT) comments at full speed would cut another ten minutes from the running time. Anyway, how many more times will I have to hear Louis (the Elf) confirming to me that so-and-so 'deserves to be on that stage'?
The whole 'twist' shit is a cop-out, and basically it means that rather than the judges picking just three acts to go through, they have allowed 4 interloper acts to hang on and fool themselves for one more week, with no ability for the public to have influence. So, the four judges will by tomorrow [probably they've decided already] get rid of one of the four and allow the ten week run to Christmas work for one per week to drop out.
I would prefer that the four worst were kicked out by a vote. That way, I suspect that we could probably chop the hopes of Louis winning by three quarters! Instead, I have no doubt that we'll be seeing a good singer go home while a waster is retained for a while longer.
Amelia Lily - Okay. Not good, not bad, probably sounds better if you're there. Will probably have to go because the category is strong.
Johnny - Oh dear. Why did Louis ever pick him; lovely chap, no doubt, but a gerbil in a mac.
Rhythmix - Okay. With not too much effort, they sort of suggested they'll be okay and get better.
Frankie - Oh dear. For some reason Gary likes him, as will 13-year-old girls. TTT did himself no service by suggesting his worries about Frankie's voice were misplaced. Unfortunately it is quite clear that he cannot really sing, and strains to squeeze out the words at half speed. I suspect that the breathy Joanna Lumley could rustle up a better effort at singing/gushing between jaunts to Egypt and Greece.
Sophie - Someone who can, and did sing. And the first one on stage not to be joined by a whole tribe of people jerking around and cluttering up things.
JonJo - Oh dear. Poor. Hope that he doesn't get picked to go through just because he's a soldier. Elf, you have the shittest group.
Two Shoes - Okay. I think they are fun, and at least they can sing.
James Michael - Oops. Weak. Thought he'd be a bit better than that! He looked like he was auditioning for a part in Oliver!
Misha Bryan - Good. Interesting. Not scared to be herself. She can sing!
Nu Vibe - Bollocks.
Marcus Collins - Good. Nice chap, modest, and he can sing.
Sami Brookes - Okay. She can sing but is probably limited to ballads and noisy stuff. The Elf comes out with "I totally believe in you" - this is the man who chose Goldie and ditched Sami; then he asked her back when Goldie dropped out. Idiot.
The Risk - Okay. A bit wimpy but probably 'could' get better. However Supergroup my arse! Tulisa (TC) took a risk but I prefer to think that she was so desperate to cobble together something to make up the numbers, she had no real choice.
Craig Colton - Excellent!
Kitty Brucknell - Very Good. Weird woman, but no doubt she can sing, and she's interesting.
Janet Devlin - Excellent.
TTT, Elf, KR & TC can all now bin someone tomorrow and the competition proper can start next Saturday.
...
The whole 'twist' shit is a cop-out, and basically it means that rather than the judges picking just three acts to go through, they have allowed 4 interloper acts to hang on and fool themselves for one more week, with no ability for the public to have influence. So, the four judges will by tomorrow [probably they've decided already] get rid of one of the four and allow the ten week run to Christmas work for one per week to drop out.
I would prefer that the four worst were kicked out by a vote. That way, I suspect that we could probably chop the hopes of Louis winning by three quarters! Instead, I have no doubt that we'll be seeing a good singer go home while a waster is retained for a while longer.
Amelia Lily - Okay. Not good, not bad, probably sounds better if you're there. Will probably have to go because the category is strong.
Johnny - Oh dear. Why did Louis ever pick him; lovely chap, no doubt, but a gerbil in a mac.
Rhythmix - Okay. With not too much effort, they sort of suggested they'll be okay and get better.
Frankie - Oh dear. For some reason Gary likes him, as will 13-year-old girls. TTT did himself no service by suggesting his worries about Frankie's voice were misplaced. Unfortunately it is quite clear that he cannot really sing, and strains to squeeze out the words at half speed. I suspect that the breathy Joanna Lumley could rustle up a better effort at singing/gushing between jaunts to Egypt and Greece.
Sophie - Someone who can, and did sing. And the first one on stage not to be joined by a whole tribe of people jerking around and cluttering up things.
JonJo - Oh dear. Poor. Hope that he doesn't get picked to go through just because he's a soldier. Elf, you have the shittest group.
Two Shoes - Okay. I think they are fun, and at least they can sing.
James Michael - Oops. Weak. Thought he'd be a bit better than that! He looked like he was auditioning for a part in Oliver!
Misha Bryan - Good. Interesting. Not scared to be herself. She can sing!
Nu Vibe - Bollocks.
Marcus Collins - Good. Nice chap, modest, and he can sing.
Sami Brookes - Okay. She can sing but is probably limited to ballads and noisy stuff. The Elf comes out with "I totally believe in you" - this is the man who chose Goldie and ditched Sami; then he asked her back when Goldie dropped out. Idiot.
The Risk - Okay. A bit wimpy but probably 'could' get better. However Supergroup my arse! Tulisa (TC) took a risk but I prefer to think that she was so desperate to cobble together something to make up the numbers, she had no real choice.
Craig Colton - Excellent!
Kitty Brucknell - Very Good. Weird woman, but no doubt she can sing, and she's interesting.
Janet Devlin - Excellent.
TTT, Elf, KR & TC can all now bin someone tomorrow and the competition proper can start next Saturday.
...
8.10.11 September Jess of the Month
1st Place - "Sometimes I have to stand in the yard to cool down"
2nd Place - "What about oregano, isn't that a spice? [Ref it not being possible to spell 'CUNT' with the spice pots printed with big initial letters at Morrisons, as there isn't one with beginning with 'U']
3rd Place - "Yeah, but I don't go in cheek first" [Commenting on hot baths]
4th Place - "Is she gonna swing round that post as well?" [Ref a woman walking quickly and purposefully along a Spanish street, behind an old man who was exercising by walking backwards and forwards, swinging round a post at the end of his short 'course']
5th Place - "Thick men don't read"
6th Place - Views on Zombies: three in a row
a) "Black people make crap zombies; you can't see their make-up"
b) "That is actually a compliment though, because they really need the make up"
c) "They look much better dead than white people"
[ We all know what she meant but she treads a thin line, though with total innocence ]
...
2nd Place - "What about oregano, isn't that a spice? [Ref it not being possible to spell 'CUNT' with the spice pots printed with big initial letters at Morrisons, as there isn't one with beginning with 'U']
3rd Place - "Yeah, but I don't go in cheek first" [Commenting on hot baths]
4th Place - "Is she gonna swing round that post as well?" [Ref a woman walking quickly and purposefully along a Spanish street, behind an old man who was exercising by walking backwards and forwards, swinging round a post at the end of his short 'course']
5th Place - "Thick men don't read"
6th Place - Views on Zombies: three in a row
a) "Black people make crap zombies; you can't see their make-up"
b) "That is actually a compliment though, because they really need the make up"
c) "They look much better dead than white people"
[ We all know what she meant but she treads a thin line, though with total innocence ]
...
8.10.11 September Quotes of the Month
1st Place - "You associate technophobe with computers, but in Dad's case it's a toaster" [Liam]
2nd Place - "Aw, Jess, you really like stuffing . . balls . . " [Debs]
3rd Place - "Wouldn't you be better off in your own shop, luv?" [Brian, working on the checkout at the Co-op, to a customer wearing a T-shirt with Tesco written on it]
4th Place - "He hasn't even shut the door and he's bloody reaching over for his bible" [TMWSC, commenting on H in his desperation to get hold of his book]
5th Place - "Would you like me to put one between your toes? [Aly, ref prawns she was de-shelling]
6th Place - "Fungal my arse!" [Liam, after Jess described something as Fungal]
...
2nd Place - "Aw, Jess, you really like stuffing . . balls . . " [Debs]
3rd Place - "Wouldn't you be better off in your own shop, luv?" [Brian, working on the checkout at the Co-op, to a customer wearing a T-shirt with Tesco written on it]
4th Place - "He hasn't even shut the door and he's bloody reaching over for his bible" [TMWSC, commenting on H in his desperation to get hold of his book]
5th Place - "Would you like me to put one between your toes? [Aly, ref prawns she was de-shelling]
6th Place - "Fungal my arse!" [Liam, after Jess described something as Fungal]
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8.10.11 Pretty In Pink
Every cunt who fixes windscreens or farts down a pot hole has a vehicle adorned with brightly coloured chevrons, or checked to kingdom fucking come. There was a time when the only way of customising the look of a vehicle and at the same time trying to claim some 'level of importance' was to put a yellow hard hat on the back shelf so the people following thought you might be a surveyor or inspector or some other part of the 'people who count' clan. Now, we are exposed to vehicles covered in coloured plastic squares and stripes - orange, red, yellow, blue, black, white and green.
'Highway Maintenance' annoys the fuck out of me, as does any 4x4 with the name of some useless fucking quango stencilled on the side - you know what I mean, something like "Enterprise Monitoring Response Agency" and a load of yellow and green on the back and side panels.
In the North East this week, I have noticed a number of police motorbikes. On each occasion it took me a while to verify I was indeed looking at an officer of the law astride a motorbike, rather than a clown pretending to be one. At first I had doubts because of the colour scheme now adopted; the police force has had to resort to PINK being part of the official colour scheme. Now there is more pink than blue to announce to motorists that the rider is a police officer. I suppose there were only brown and grey as further choices, and they are hardly visible in poor weather. So, after every other colour seems to be in general use by every man and his dog, the police force now displays through its motorbike fleet what could be considered a mobile advertising service for Barbie, or perhaps My Little Pony!
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'Highway Maintenance' annoys the fuck out of me, as does any 4x4 with the name of some useless fucking quango stencilled on the side - you know what I mean, something like "Enterprise Monitoring Response Agency" and a load of yellow and green on the back and side panels.
In the North East this week, I have noticed a number of police motorbikes. On each occasion it took me a while to verify I was indeed looking at an officer of the law astride a motorbike, rather than a clown pretending to be one. At first I had doubts because of the colour scheme now adopted; the police force has had to resort to PINK being part of the official colour scheme. Now there is more pink than blue to announce to motorists that the rider is a police officer. I suppose there were only brown and grey as further choices, and they are hardly visible in poor weather. So, after every other colour seems to be in general use by every man and his dog, the police force now displays through its motorbike fleet what could be considered a mobile advertising service for Barbie, or perhaps My Little Pony!
...
8.10.11 Needless & Puerile
I have concluded that Jonathan Ross, Richard Hammond and Bruce Forsyth are all guilty. They are guilty of being pathetic, puerile, pointless, and pitiable. Their presence on TV is in fact pointless, and their needless 'contributions' serve to do no more than offend due to the completely awful standards of 'entertainment' these overpaid people work to.
The Total Wipeout (All New or any other rehashed, repeated bollocks) programme is actually fairly entertaining WITHOUT ANY INPUT from Richard Hammond. But, there is a direct correlation between his input and the extent to which the enjoyment level is reduced. The pathetic dialogue, and forced 5-year-old style humour makes me cringe. He is not needed; clear the studio. Just as YBF was massively improved by Harry Hill's input, it was actually the doing away with a studio aspect that provided equal benefit/improvement.
Jonathan Ross gets away with the most mind-numbing shit, and revels in applause from zombies brought in to make up a studio audience - those who think it's fucking marvellous that Ewan McGregor can ride a motorbike up a tiny ramp and clear three people lying on the floor. The audience laughs at every silly joke and helps to stroke JR's ego. It's not all about you, JR! Shite.
Brucie - do yourself a favour (although it would doing us a much greater one) and retire please. You lost the ability long ago to entertain anyone who has an intellect. The tired format of comments and attempted jokes, feeble innuendos, confused and 'hard done by' looks and awful delivery all combine to say one thing - Get Off! It is no longer 'nice to see you'.
...
The Total Wipeout (All New or any other rehashed, repeated bollocks) programme is actually fairly entertaining WITHOUT ANY INPUT from Richard Hammond. But, there is a direct correlation between his input and the extent to which the enjoyment level is reduced. The pathetic dialogue, and forced 5-year-old style humour makes me cringe. He is not needed; clear the studio. Just as YBF was massively improved by Harry Hill's input, it was actually the doing away with a studio aspect that provided equal benefit/improvement.
Jonathan Ross gets away with the most mind-numbing shit, and revels in applause from zombies brought in to make up a studio audience - those who think it's fucking marvellous that Ewan McGregor can ride a motorbike up a tiny ramp and clear three people lying on the floor. The audience laughs at every silly joke and helps to stroke JR's ego. It's not all about you, JR! Shite.
Brucie - do yourself a favour (although it would doing us a much greater one) and retire please. You lost the ability long ago to entertain anyone who has an intellect. The tired format of comments and attempted jokes, feeble innuendos, confused and 'hard done by' looks and awful delivery all combine to say one thing - Get Off! It is no longer 'nice to see you'.
...
8.10.11 Prison Disgrace
An inmate at Durham Prison head butted a prison officer, leaving him covered in blood and in severe pain. The officer grappled with the prisoner and, fearing he had a home-made knife, punched him to restrain and disarm him. The officer was signed off sick after the assault, but was then suspended. Eight months later, he was told by police that he was being charged with assault!
The judge at Durham Crown Court threw the case out. Yet, at an internal disciplinary tribunal the prison office, John Brown, was sacked despite having a clean record.
A word about the inmate: there was evidence that he had threatened to kill an officer and he has 50 previous convictions, 11 of which were for violence.
The Crown Prosecution Service said the prisoner was not charged with assault because "it could not be proved that he had not been acting in self-defence".
In Summary
The CIC at Durham Prison should be ashamed of themselves for acting as their name suggests. It is deplorable that in the UK, yet again, a cheat/liar/thug/criminal is deemed either the victim or worthy of defending, while an honest citizen loses out. Disgusting.
The CPS is quite simply, based on so many examples of behaviour and outcomes, a rabble of useless cunts with no backbone.
[NB: CIC = Cunts In Charge]
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The judge at Durham Crown Court threw the case out. Yet, at an internal disciplinary tribunal the prison office, John Brown, was sacked despite having a clean record.
A word about the inmate: there was evidence that he had threatened to kill an officer and he has 50 previous convictions, 11 of which were for violence.
The Crown Prosecution Service said the prisoner was not charged with assault because "it could not be proved that he had not been acting in self-defence".
In Summary
The CIC at Durham Prison should be ashamed of themselves for acting as their name suggests. It is deplorable that in the UK, yet again, a cheat/liar/thug/criminal is deemed either the victim or worthy of defending, while an honest citizen loses out. Disgusting.
The CPS is quite simply, based on so many examples of behaviour and outcomes, a rabble of useless cunts with no backbone.
[NB: CIC = Cunts In Charge]
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8.10.11 Potatoes? You Bet!
One Potato
Two Potato
Three Potato
Four
Five Potato
Six Potato
Seven Potato
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Five Potato
Six Potato
Seven Potato
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