Toothpaste
I went to buy a tube of what I term 'emergency' toothpaste - the sort that's a supermarket's own brand, and cheap. At Asda, I picked up the tube (now sold without a cardboard box which is a good thing) for 25p. So far, so good; minimum packaging, minimal outlay, and it would do the job as a back-up (disposable) tube. There were no claims at all on the outside of the tube; none of the shit you normally get about sensitivity, what your overpaid twat of a dentist recommends, and no shit science to prove that brushing will stop cancer of the teeth and stop decay. The single announcement on the tube was - "Contains Fluoride". I should fucking hope so! Toothpaste without fluoride would be like beer with no alcohol, ie. pointless. To try and enhance to any degree the nature of the toothpaste through the announcement that it contains fluoride is pathetic. I must confess that I have yet to find any toothpaste that doesn't contain fluoride. I wonder if Walkers will stat putting 'Contains Potato' on the side of its crisp packets?
Joe Pasquale
The adverts for the National Accident Helpline, with an email address of www.underdog.co.uk are nauseating as fuck. They should come with a warning at the outset that the following 30 seconds will fuck up your head and aural abilities for at least 24hrs, and that sensitive viewers/listeners should temporarily change channel - and that looking away will do nothing to lessen the impact of the awful voice that will squeeze into your bran any second. Arghhh!
Fashionworld
I saw an advert the other day for more of the unnecessary clothing and so-called fashion that we are force-fed with. It was an advert so blatantly aimed at women who of course have no purpose in life except to shop, and spend money on awful stuff to satisfy their addictions. The tactic used in this deplorable farce of a sales pitch was to describe the brand and the items available as "purse friendly". What a fucking cunting shit expression. Fuck off, will you!
Beach Activities
Just a quick reference to the recent Olympics, and the need (apparently) to include 'beach' versions of sports. I watched a perfectly entertaining few games of volleyball - a game that's been going a very long time, and one that's played more than adequately within the confines of an indoor arena. The space taken up is little more than that for a badminton court, and marginally less than the size of a basketball court. For this reason, the game/sport finds itself catered for by most sports venues around the world. All that's needed is a wooden or concrete court, a net and some markings to show the area that counts as 'in play'. The Olympic Games cannot include just this one version of a straightforward game; no, it has to feature a second version; one that is destined to get all the headlines and pathetic comments, mainly from blokes. Sorry, but a few women who are wearing bikinis (or more accurately, sports bras and pants) trying to play volleyball on sand is not entertaining to any greater degree than the indoor version. If I were a volleyball player, I suspect I'd resent like fuck the 'beach' version of the game. I like a game of badminton, myself. I would like to challenge the Olympics organisers on why the hell there's no Beach Badminton lined up for Brazil in 2016.
Academies
I recently drove past what used to be a school. I know it used to be a school because just after three o'clock every Monday to Friday, a thousand little shits would swarm over the roads and surrounding neighbourhood, all carrying backs, and looking like they've been let out of a sin bin. I was therefore surprised by a sign at the entrance, which stated (and I'll not mention the name of the establishment itself): A Specialist Sports and Drama College. Oh! I couldn't help thinking that this grandiose claim is almost certainly one to try and disguise the fact that it is fuck all use at teaching anything, and certainly no good at teaching proper subjects. If it has undergone some sort of conversion into a glorified 'academy' with the objectives of occupying its attendees with sport and drama, then I fear for the lot of them. There was once a time when a school was a cunting school. It taught fucking subjects, had a playing field for weekly exercise and games, and there was a school play every year. Now, the CIC have lost the fucking plot and started excusing inabilities of both institutions and students by allowing a sidestep, and re-branding. Fucking madness!
Local News
I listened to a twat on local TV news relaying details of an issue that had caused some grief for various individuals. The reporter told me that someone was "appealing the decision" and I sat there on the sofa wondering who the fuck had kidnapped the word "against" and stopped this thick cunt from including it in her relaying of the story. I then considered that despite her deficiency in linguistic ability, she'd managed to get a job which had what I considered to be a significant requirement of being able to speak the cunting language. Maybe she went to a Specialist Sports and Drama College, did a GCSE in Media Studies, ran the egg and spoon race, and shagged the headmaster (whose brother in in HR at the TV station) behind the bike sheds.
Animals
Last month I was staying with my parents on what was just an overnight stay. In the morning, I went to get a newspaper and found that I'd have to go to the small M&S store as there wasn't a nearer newsagent. This was certainly preferable to going anywhere near Asda or the Martins shop opposite, as the whole experience of the parking and queuing in the retail complex was off putting - and complex, actually. I set off, and managed reasonably well to find and park at the M&S. As I entered the shop, a tall bloke went through the doors just before me, and went on to the newspaper stand, where he picked up the last copy of the Daily Mail. I did an about turn, stifled the urge to shout "Cunt" and exited the shop. As I left, I saw a bloke on the bench touting his Big Issues. They weren't actually his big issues. They were his Big Issues, but not issues that were necessarily his, or big. His issues, probably big, were more likely to be ones relating to having enough money to survive, and whilst the contents of the magazine he was selling were of mild interest and relevance, he was more concerned with who might be handing over £2.50 for the privilege of a quick read. I decided not to buy one - mainly because a few weeks back I did buy one, not realising it was now £2.50 rather than a pound, and was disappointed to find that the contents were less interesting than The Sun - and that's saying something! A passer-by handed the bloke a coin, and declined with the wave of a hand any thanks or magazine - which he clearly would not have got anyway - even if the coin had been of the largest commonly used denomination (£2). I say commonly used, so that you will not call me explain why the coin could not have been a £5 one, of the type minted for commemoration purposes. I am confident that if the passer-by had handed over a £5 coin showing a Spitfire on its reverse, and the Queen Mother (God rest her soul) on the front, firing a Tommy Gun while chewing on a cigar George Peppard style, to mark the fifty years since the Battle of Britain, he'd have at least wanted the Big Issue. I rather think it was £1 coin, and given as an exercise in 'do gooderism'. That was possibly insulting (I've no idea) because such action demoted the seller's efforts from selling to begging in the wave of an arm. Still, the fact that the arm had, on the end of it a hand, at the end of which fingers were holding and passing a coin for nothing was probably of more interest and benefit, and so more than likely gratefully received.
Anyway, I digress - I still had no Daily Mail. I had to drive over to the Asda area. I decided, after parking and making my way to the mall and entrance to Asda. As I went into the covered area, I was met with the view of a stall which was pushing for donations to help Dogs. The Dogs Trust (the apostrophe-less organisation that I have a problem with) was being represented by a bloke who was clearly interested in animals, and free on a Saturday morning to haunt the nall outside Asda. I passed without a thought of giving money to an organisation that is in fact a business. Instead of heading for Asda, I, decided to shop at the Martins which was opposite. It was completely deserted (unlike Asda on a Saturday morning) and the sixteen/seventeen-year-old girl was able enough to break away from the inspection of her nails to ring up the sale on her till, and take my money. It was like playing shops with my sister when we were five and ten (I was older). She went back to her assessment of nails, Asda stayed stupidly busy, and I went back to my car. As I left the mall, I saw at the exit a stall which I'd not noticed on my way in - mainly because I'd not looked over my shoulder. Since I was not the subject of a stalker's attention, nor was I up to no good, I was not in the habit of looking over my shoulder unnecessarily. Now I could see that there was a stall (opposite/facing the Dogs Trust one) hoping for donations in the plight to help cats. The Cats Protection woman was of a sort that I instinctively knew to be 'catty'. Again, I left the area without helping these businesses.
Ironically, I have before me on the desk the Big Issue I bought a few weeks before my experience above. On page 38 is an 'Urgent Appeal' for the strays of Sri Lanka. Yes, I was being invited to donate an amount (£100, £50, £25, Other £) so that some dogs on the other side of the world could be helped. I rather thought that there were people in a worse state than the dogs, who might like first dibs on my money. Animal SOS Sri Lanka was obviously confident enough to put an advert in the Big Issue to try and get donations. So too was Care 4 Cats, another charity (too many fucking charities !!!) which wanted online donations or cheques for the work in helping cats on Ibiza. This world has gone fucking mad. I bypassed cats and dogs in the mall by Asda, and the Big Issue which is sold by people trying to make a dignified living, included adverts for charities pestering people for money for cats in Ibiza and Dogs in Sri Lanka. What next? Guinea Pigs in Peru?
Fish & Chips
I passed a sign last week. It's still there, so I suppose that could be "I pass a sign every day I leave the house and travel in a north-westerly direction" if I want to be picky. It says: "Traditional Fish & Chips". I am struggling with this description. 'Traditional' - as opposed to what? Bohemian? Fish & Chips are fucking fish and chips - that's it! The word 'traditional' is completely misused. Shall I expect a sign outside a furniture shop claiming 'Genuine Faux Leather' then?
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