21.6.13 Tony Blair World Domination

I read with some disgust a few days ago an article (not the first on this subject) that highlighted how Tony Blair is slowly but surely extending his links with global regimes and entities as part of master plan that must surely be on a par with that of Lex Luthor - except his was fictional.  Sadly, TB's march forward is not mythical, but his methods and tactics would seem as questionable as those with whom he strikes up business relationships.  Worth somewhere between £60 million and £80 million, he trots the globe as though a hero and a fantastic strategist; what is not clear is why so many people want to give him vast sums of money when his qualifications for providing 'advice' are hardly very good.

Aside from a rather alarming typo (where Colombia was called Columbia in the article) the Daily Mail piece was rather informative, outlining things that go on between Blair and his companies, and the following countries:

Kuwait, Qatar, Columbia, Brazil, Switzerland, USA, The Maldives, Abu Dhabi, South Korea, China, Mongolia, Philippines, Kazakhstan, Albania.

What a weird list, eh?  There are of course protestations that all is above board, that he's a UK tax payer, and that there's nothing morally or ethically or financially wrong with any of it.  Hmmmmmmmm.

I actually think it's a huge embarrassment that an ex-PM with a record to keep quiet about is touting himself around the world.

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19.6.13 Fucking Asda

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Fucking numpties at the Asda in Southbank.  About eight tills closed, and I was left with four working (all with queues) or the self service area with ten machines, or, as a loitering lunatic offered, "Would you like to use one of our hybrid checkouts?"  This was one of numerous fucking twats who did nothing to help customers pay and exit the store, but instead acted like a div and held a useless sign saying "Space Here" - a sign which she should have been pointing at her fucking head.  Her mate was smiling and achieving nothing more than staying alive by breathing.  Fuck knows why that is worth £6.02 per hour.

I waited in line, with just one customer ahead of me in the lane that was a self-service conveyor belt.  I did so while noting that twat-with-the-sign and her mate watched, and breathed (sadly).  Elsewhere, a fucker loitered in the cordoned-off self service area, ready to assist a couple of customers whose purchases were small enough that they could pissing bother with these machines.  I know this was her mission because "Pleased To Help" was emblazoned on the back of her fleece.  Another person similarly attired was loitering near my own lane.  I turned and saw further along, behind me, two more pointless individuals who were not serving anyone in the checkout area. So, 5 useless cunts.  If they had sat behind five of the fucking unemployed checkouts, then there would have been NO fucking people waiting with more than one person ahead of them anywhere, and in most cases, no queue at all!

Just exactly WHEN did it become necessary to direct customers on where there's a cuntin' space?  For years we ave managed quite well as shoppers to decide upon which queue to join and having a cunt with a sign does nothing at all to help.  Has the clientele at Asda become so fucking thick that customers need herding towards checkouts, while the number of manned checkouts is reduced by the CIC?  What a screwed up world.

So, I joined the 'hybrid' checkout lane, and waited impatiently while the one shopper in front of me fucked about with her goods, the till, the credit card and did just about everything bar have a wank.  Then it was my chance to try and leave the fucking zoo.  Junior was scanning, and I was packing.

The machine was a complete cunt of a fuck-up, deciding not to recognise some items, stall at various random stages, and refuse to allow further scanning when it felt like it.  This necessitated intervention from one of the useless bystanders who were hoping to be useful here and there.  The woman with the fleece came over on four fucking occasions, to scan her little barcode that said "all is okay".  This was necessary when I bought some alcohol (no great surprise) but also necessary when I wanted to obtain Sweet Potatoes (or as we discovered during the attempted scan, Potatoes Sweet).  At other time the machine simply froze, meaning intervention was necessary.  As all this was going on, my blood pressure rose, and my propensity to use the 'c' word was enhanced massively.  The stupid amount of time it took us to scan just £40 worth of shopping, £13 being a crate of lager, was criminal.  The cuntin' experience was awful, and I resented every minute of it.  If we hadn't had to cater for nine people on the night, I'd have abandoned the shopping on the conveyor belt with complete glee and a sprinkling of swearing!

I will not be revisiting this establishment - period!

[CIC = Cunts In Charge]

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16.6.16 Definitions

Obscenity

Something total deplorable or obscene.  For example, the amount of money (£7 million to £15 million, depending on which report you believe, but either way - too much) spent on Tamara Ecclestone's wedding.

Insanity

Loss of perspective, reality and relevance to normal life, as evidenced by Will.i.am.

Futility

The pointlessness associated with an activity, such as any attempt to access the second floor of a large supermarket where upward trajectory is compulsorily via a stupidly long fucking escalator where fuckers and their trolleys block the full width of the moving stairs, and thus any attempts to speed up the process by walking at the same time are 'futile'.

Nausea

A condition brought on by frustration, a sick feeling and the loss of any ability to control things.  This is, for example, the state commonly induced when having to endure Halifax 'singing' adverts, hearing Rihanna (or anything about her existence on this planet) or hearing the meerkat adverts.

Dimness

I simple term that is totally appropriate for simpletons, and clearly appropriate in any scenario which includes mention of Ed Miliband or Ed Balls.

Scientology

A weird and not-wonderful genre of thought, and certainly not an 'ology' worthy of study.  For comparative reasons, please be advised that any competence and usefulness on this subject is 17 notches below the level of  a 'Sociology' GCSE.

Greed

An unattractive quality that is best described as what is displayed by Tony Blair during every second he is alive.

Disloyalty

A quality that demonstrates and individual's lack of loyalty - such as Luis Suarez with regard to Liverpool FC.

Good Riddance

A term that explains why it is beneficial for all and something to be welcomed when someone or something is got rid of or simply goes.  This would apply, for example, to Luis Suarez.

Toothless

No, certainly not Luis Suarez this time.  Someone or something devoid of power or influence despite in some cases supposedly having such qualities. Examples include the UK Border Agency, Parliamentary Democracy, the Law Courts in relation to anything where Human Rights are allegedly involved, and New Labour (or Same Old Labour, depending on your age).

Comatose

A state of inactivity, such as that which can be brought on by watching either A) The Voice UK, or B) Springwatch.

Wastefulness

This is best exemplified by councils around the country where the CIC are hell bent on wasting money, having ripped off communities and decimated services - blaming the economic conditions rather than their own cuntishness and green (see above for definition).  [By the way, CIC = Cunts In Charge]

Zero Tolerance

An illusive policy (and quality) that's not readily displayed in the UK, but is much warranted and so very needed in many walks of daily life.

Untruth

Something that's used by politicians when what they mean is "outright fucking lie" or "cunting con".

Payday Loan

The term used to describe the more appropriate results of such things, and thus a euphemism for: "total ruin", "bankruptcy", "Armageddon", "crime", "suicide" and "depression".

OCD

This is a weird phenomenon involving strange rituals being practised (quite often repeatedly) when there is no need.  TBO is another three-letter-abbreviation (TLA) for this, and refers to "Three Ball Obsession".  This is the practice of asking for three tennis balls in advance of serving, when only two are needed.  The extra one is discarded once the server decides which of the three is the mankiest, so it can be discarded.  It is important not to confuse this with TWO, which is "Towel Wipe Obsession", and the main sufferer from this condition is Andy Murray.  It leads to the unnecessary request from a ball boy or ball girl for a towel with which to ineffectively and pointlessly wipe the brow - after every fucking point.

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15.6.13 TV This Weak

Last week's television (apart from The Returned / Les Revenants, and Dates, both on Channel 4) was deplorable.  Television this weak is totally unacceptable, and I'm not sure that the week ahead looks much better. Anyway, here are some observations after my perusal of last Satruday's TV Guide from the Daily Mail.

Sunday BBC1 10.00am - The Big Question

Nicky Campbell hosted, and no, the big question was not why on earth is he still presenting noisy pointless debates on TV.  The details did include, though, the news that he would be in the Pyramid Arts Centre in the cultural quarter of Warrington.  I was not aware that there was a "cultural" quarter!

Sunday ITV 11.45pm - The Unforgettable Russell Harty

This padding late at night was of course a repeat, and totally misnamed, because until seeing this programme, I'd completely forgotten about him.

Monday BBC2 10.00pm - What a Load of Buzzcocks

Unbelievably this counts as a new programme rather than a repeat despite the fact that it's a look back at 'highlights' from the comedy quiz in 2004.  This is desperate TV, not weak TV.

Wednesday BBC1 11.30am - Cowboy Trap

"A family in Wales left with a damp-ridden conservatory."  All I want to know is, either:
a) Where did they move to with it?  or,
b) Who dumped it on them?

Friday BBC2 8.30pm - Gardners' World

"Monty Don undertakes summer tasks in the vegetable garden."  There we have it, evidence of what is apparently the new seasonal calendar according to the BBC.  On Friday 14th June, it was summer.  But other fuckers on the same channel on Thursday night were engaged in "Springwatch".  So, in the BBC world, Spring ended on Thursday 13th June, and Summer started on Friday 14th.  All bollocks of course.

This coming week sees a slight let up the useless grammar used by journalists who have no idea what a collective noun is.  Last week's TV listings included:

"The team visit estuaries."  [Coast]
"The team delve into a rock pool."  [Springwatch - sadly the team didn't stay there]
"The team search for an injured woman."  [Highland Emergency]
"The team head to Windsor."  [Dickinson's Real Deal]
"A team are pushed to breaking point."  [The Removal Men]

There are fewer pogrammes this week where a reference to the team is relevant, so we've escaped some cardinal sins.  However, the shite week ahead is certainly unwelcome.  There are just a few comments I need to make.

Channel 5 4.00am Saturday Night / Sunday Morning

"Michaela Strachan enjoys a balloon ride in South Africa".  Dies she indeed! Does she ride donkeys in Blackpool and enjoy that, I wonder.

Later, at 10am on Sunday, Nicky Campbell is back in the land of culture (Warrington) for some more banter with whomever about whatever.  The guide decides to let me know that there will be "contributions from members of the audience" and I am so fucking pleased to learn about this - NOT.  At 11pm on BBC2, I see that there's a repeat of the highlights of the 2004 edition of 'Never Mind The Buzzcocks' shown last week.  WTF?

BBC2 10.05am Monday - Country Show Cook Off

What's with this shitting "Off" business?  "Jun Tanaka and Galton Blackiston set off on a culinary road trip." "We've had 'Bake Off', now 'Cook Off' and chefs are always saying "fry off" these days.  PISS OFF !!!  And no, I didn't make their names up.

Generally speaking, TV is crap at the moment.

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15.6.13 The Skelton Skip

I thought it was high time I relayed some of the useless fucking inane drivel that leaves the mouths of twats, most of who either don't know what they are saying, or don't realise that they are anatomically equipped to say something other than a cliche (even if mentally they are thick cunts).  Then there are the fuckers who work on autopilot, displaying the symptoms of verbal diarrhoea [UK spelling].

This last trait was evident as fuck to Mrs MWSC when she and Junior went to the new local ASDA a couple of hours ago.  I refused to venture to this swamp of human confusion after my first visit proved what I'd foreseen - that the place would be the 'bricks & mortar' equivalent of a useless cunt.  It was, of course, exactly that, filled with the smaller human equivalents.  Mrs MWSC has just relayed what a trying experience it was, establishing that various items on her small list were not stocked in this roadside skip.

To be fair, one (and only one) of the items she wanted was indeed rather outlandish for this area - haggis.  Other larger ASDA stores cope with this delicacy, but not the Skelton Skip, where staff try to outdo each other with inanity.

Mrs MWSC:  "Excuse me, do you have any haggis available."
Meat Section Moron:  "Do we have any haggis?"  [Directed at an Associate Meat Moron]
Associate Meat Moron:  "No, we're out of stock."  [Directed at the Meat Section Moron]
Meat Section Moron:  "No we're out of stock."  [Directed at Mrs MWSC]
Mrs MWSC then turns away, not surprised that another item is out of stock, but then hears him go on -
Meat Section Moron:  "What's haggis?"  [Directed to Associate Meat Moron]

I cannot report how the conversation then proceeded as Mrs MWSC was keen to vacate the meat section, where there was severe danger that the minced turkey would suddenly start communicating and increasing the IQ of the establishment's staff by an average of 79.

The place was heaving, and this was NOT a result of it being Saturday, but rather the result of the store being newly opened (last Monday) and locals leaving their caves to see the establishment as though they were on a fucking trip to Lourdes.  The shop (as I have previously reported) was plonked on a lovely green field, alongside a small industrial estate where 90% of the units are vacant.  Clearly it was preferable to kill a field than to make use of a pretty much desolate area.  Now, that same desolate area is one of two routes towards the skip.  Anyone used to playing video games or watching zombie films will instantly recognise that the scene is one they've seen before, except these zombies who need shooting are shuffling and touting carrier bags.

At the checkouts, the till operator (a female whose previous 'work' experience consisted of dribbling at the thought of one day using some blunt-nosed scissors) was in a coma, but somehow able to shift things across the scanner. It's possible she was literally plugged-in.

Till Operator:  "Hiiiiiiii . . . . (listlessly delivered) . . . did you get everything you want?
Mrs MWSC:  "Actually, no I didn't."
Till Operator:  "Oooh/Aaah"  [Or some such spelling to note a weird noise being expelled from lungs]
The drippiness of the woman and pointlessness of her enquiry were noted by Mrs MWSC
Till Operator:  "Have you been here before?"
Mrs MWSC:  "Yes."
Till Operator:  "Oooh/Aaah"  [As above but amazingly with less enthusiasm - yes, that was sadly possible!]
Till Operator:  "It's busy isn't it?"
Mrs MWSC decided this needed no answer/comment, although she considered a head butt.

Upon her return, Mrs MWSC 'unloaded' the shopping - one carrier bag. Alcohol was called for.

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14.6.13 Poetic Licence

Apologies for the repeated posting, but after reading this one from the end of 2011, I thought it worth sharing again.  Clearly you will not want to read on if you dislike the C-word . . . . in which case, why on earth did you type the word, click and view this page in the first place?

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 floppy 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

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

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13.6.13 Problem Page Pathos

Sorry, but I am all out of pathos, and I'm amazed how the answer to this recent problem was ever deemed appropriate.  If this is the dumbed-down sort of shit that the publishers of tabloids expect to get away with, then this country is more fucked up than I ever thought possible.  On top of all manner of uselessness by the establishment, the government, institutions, quangos, bankers, companies and the Police Force, it seems that publishers cannot even manage a decent problem and answer session.

Dear Agony Aunt

I love my boyfriend very much but he tells me lots of lies.  He has betrayed my trust several times by cheating, by stealing money - and even by falsely claiming to have cancer.  I am 31 and he is 36.  We live together and have done for four months.  Everything would be fine except I cannot believe a word he says.  I have to lock away anything valuable or it disappears - I suspect the proceeds go to the porn shops or the pub.  I don't know whether to turn a blind eye or confront him.

Twat Says

There is not much to recommend your boyfriend.  No cuntin' shit, Sherlock!  He cheats, lies and steals.  He even makes you worry he is ill when it's untrue. You thick useless cunt - she said all this in her fucking letter you moron!  Sharing a life with someone like that is not a happy prospect. Doh!!! Think long and hard about whether you really want to face such a future. You fucking useless cunt.

***

The letter-writer is a complete twat for even asking for advice and the scenario is actually hilariously funny - especially the bit that says "everything would be fine except I cannot believe a word he says", and the lying aside, that means she's happy with his stealing.  Then there's the complete fuck-up with "porn shops" when the writer supposedly meant "pawn shops".  Still, with this guy's record, he's probably well into porn as well!

What a complete load of shite, and the advice provided was not just bollocks, there wasn't any at all except suggesting the woman "thinks long and hard" - what a prick, literally!  Available daily in The Sun.

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