Posts Tagged ‘funny’

It’s rather disheartening for me to find after a good few months of not posting anything to this blog that during the time I haven’t added anything new the numbers of my readers has inexplicably doubled!
I suppose I find myself in good company, Vinnie Van Gough, Van Gof or Van Hoof however you want to say it would probably be lending me his ear over a pint of absinthe, after all he too wasn’t appreciated in his lifetime or even his lunch time.
At this point I’d like to reassure my readers that I am neither dead nor insane or so the voices tell me, of course by the time you read this that status may have changed. Just keep watching Sky ‘breaking news’

That leads me on to next perplexing conundrum – who does actually read this stuff?

Does my boss? I don’t think so, not unless there is an internet connection in his colon which after all is where his head seems to be most of the day. If you are reading this and you know who I am don’t expect me to come quietly, I have a stapler and I am not afraid to use it!

Does my Mum? Yes she does, hi Mum. Actually she doesn’t. Mum thinks the internet is used for fishing and webs are for spiders. I think the internet is for porn and the web is for, well, more porn. Let’s hope we don’t meet in a chat room which luckily is highly unlikely as a chat room is something they have at old people’s homes for the Grannies to watch television and play pass the colostomy bag.

Is it more of my Chechen friends from last year? Somehow I doubt it, if it is they happy Jihad guys, spread the word and thanks for all your support. Of course if it is my beardy friends then I get double bubble because I can include the people who follow this lot around the internet and kick down doors in the middle of the night. Please note I have a new front door, if you are going to pop round for tea and a spot of interrogation let me know and I’ll leave the keys under the flower pot.

So who are you, where are you and are you willing to donate large amount of cash to my ‘lifestyle’ fund? My Uncle the Nigerian General would be very interested to hear from you and for a modest finder’s fee I can put you in touch, THIS IS NOT A SCAM.

Anyone that replies saying something nice will be added to a free prize draw – prize to be donated by my Chechen fan club.

Over (the hill) and Out.

PostScript – Yes I know the ‘Chechen’ bloke is actually a British copper but I liked the picture…..alright?


In the interests of fostering discourse, generating measured debate and hopefully getting the old synapses popping I want you to ponder on the following question;

‘Do you by dint of your social, educational and work place experiences become a twat or are you born that way?’

In my job I interact on a daily basis with all sorts of people from all walks of life and I like to consider myself to be something of a student of human nature. The good, the bad and most definitely the ugly have all at some point or another crossed my path but fat, thin or sporting a definite face for radio there is one thing that many seem to have in common and you might have guessed it – they are twats.
My father once told me that people use swearing to make their points only do so because they have a fucking shit vocabulary, and I do try to keep that in mind when I write this stuff but sometimes only one word or phrase fits and after much soul and thesaurus searching, twat was the only word that seemed to fit this merry bunch of miscreants.

Twat – ‘Someone who is a stupid incompetent fool, a despicable person, used as a term of contempt and hostility’ (Definition courtesy of me)

Take a moment and close you eyes, let yourself relax and let your brain wander to its happy place. Now visualise the word ‘twat’ and you’ll soon start seeing their faces parade through your minds eye like a who’s who of vindictive misery – surprised at how many your subconscious fits into that bracket? You shouldn’t be, they are everywhere. I am not interested in the numbers though, I am more interested in what has made them the way they are, how do these people turn out differently to us, at which crossroads do they turn away from ‘normal’ and tread down the well worn path to Twatsville?
I personally don’t think you pop out of the womb or in the case of Ginger Bernard the test tube this way, and I don’t think your parents make a conscious decision to bring you up as such a loathsome creature, so it stands to reason that the metamorphosis must occur at school or in the work place.
To me there is an undeniable correlation between the office twat and those who were bullied at school. In the old days they were shipped off straight from boarding school to the Navy where they could hound the French to their black hearts content, but now they seem to be leaking into all facets of society. For example, I am positive my boss had his head flushed down the bog and ‘kick me’ notes stuck to his back on a regular basis and now I have to pay the price for his miserable but thoroughly deserved formative years.
Martinets throughout history have been bullied at school and then as soon as these people get any sort of responsibility or power the beast is unleashed and the price is paid by the innocent as well as the guilty. Hitler had his pencil case stolen by the Jewish kids, the librarians at his school used to hold down Pol Pot and use their spectacles as magnifying glasses to burn him on the nipples till his little creased face puckered in agony and from the photos I have seen he seems to have stayed that way.
I feel then that I have satisfactorily answered my original question, its nurture that creates these horrors and then it’s their own festering nature that turns their lives into a self fulfilling prophecy. But now that’s clear what can we do with them?
Aside from lobbying for a national ‘throw stuff at the twat’ day, and no before you say it St Andrews day does not count…. really…. I can’t see what else we can do, aside from maybe a pre-emptive cull of anyone who applies to be on the Apprentice or wants to work in Insurance.
On that cheery note I’ll bit you all adieu and see you in a few weeks – I am off on holiday!

My boss has invited me to take up the challenge of arranging our department Christmas party, when I say invited I mean ordered, I don’t get a choice – those of you that know me will realise this is about as clever as asking Myra Hindley to baby-sit. This is a ridiculously bad idea for two key reasons, firstly I don’t really like Christmas and secondly I don’t really like the majority of the witless dribbling unwashed masses I am forced to interact with at work, a recipe for festive related disaster me thinks.
The princely sum of £20 per head is available for me to blow on this soirée so an evening at the Ritz is out, incidentally the term ‘per head’ is on the conversational ban list here as it is seen as being derogatory to minorities who were born without heads and also latterly victims of Al Qaeda like that scouse bloke Ken, anyway as usual I digress.
So, I have decided to come at this from a multi faith ethnically diverse and non exclusive approach which for those of you who do not work in directorate three of the thought police (ethnic festival management) means I am going to make it as un Christmassy as humanly possible. Not for the benefit of the PLO sleeper agent in our architecture team although he will be pleased but more because its my party and I don’t like Christmas.
In Bygone years Christmas in an office environment used to be a time of long pub lunches paid for by grateful management, time to bond as a team, to buy each other presents and if your luck is in or you have a spare fiver a ten minute knee trembler in the stationary cupboard with Janet the bike from accounts, all before going home to get ready for the big gratis evening dinner dance, partners welcome.
Christmas isn’t even called Christmas anymore, the ‘Festive period’ is no longer about peace and good will to all men (sexist statement) nor is it about management making that extra effort to make staff feel appreciated and included. It’s all about making sure your dates don’t slip, projects still march inexorably forward and people who know what they are doing are on call over the holidays to assist our offshore friends. As for the knee trembler with Janet well, the stationary cupboard has been rearrnaged into a windowless office with 8 desks crammed into it and even if it wasn’t Janet and her Yule tide duties are now being carried out by someone called Ranjeet in India, at least the post it note ordering part is anyway.
All in all celebrating Corporate Christmas is crap (alliteration mega streak!) its more about making sure work isn’t effected and minority groups aren’t in some way offended, not that any of the ‘minority’ individuals I work with care, the cynical amongst us might say its our paranoid directorate three friends keeping themselves in work and I would have to agree.
All that said at least my boss will be pleased that his year and probably slightly suspicious as I have for once decided to tow the company line, embrace our mission statement and ethos and pull in the same direction as management – in other words I have arranged for our department Christmas to be at our local curry house! Pint of Kingfisher anyone?

Its been a while and for that I can only apologise, hatching dastardly plots to take over the world and avoiding the long arm of the thought police have been taking up the majority of my time and when I haven’t been plotting I’ve been potting (you should see my early crop new potatoes!)

Anyways, here I am , back by popular demand and raring to go so corporate cronies and the gingers amongst us be afraid, be very afraid.

We have a new gate at work it’s a work of art really, some might even go as far as to say its morale boozing in its majesty, and if morale boosting was ever needed its now. Petrol related suicides in the car park are up 43 % and its becoming increasingly impossible to wander over to the canteen without having to dodge the pin striped bombs of despair that come wailing from the heavens and are making an unholy mess of the carefully manicured walkways around the site. That being said every cloud has a silver lining and the crows and rats seem to be loving the economic downturn but be warned scavenging is not without its risks and more than one greedy opportunist (no, I am not referring to the HR department) has choked to death on a solid silver cufflink or a Hermes broach torn from still twitching middle management flesh

So then , back to our moral boosting new gothic style gates you can tell at first glance that a great deal of thought and attention to detail has gone into these, and as with bikinis less is more as any artist worth their salt can tell you. This minimalist functional celebration of all the values, beliefs and positive character traits that drive this business forward is a triumph and cannot fail to have the desired effect on the despondent masses who stream through its welcoming embrace every morning on their way to paradise.

In fact why don’t I just shut up and post a picture


My company has a love of diversity, we even have diversity targets for recruitment and funded clubs for any sort of minority group (although interestingly not for middle class heterosexual males or females…..) If you apply for a position at my company (yes there are people who are that desperate / deranged / sadomasochistic) its not about being the best suited, most qualified person for the job its all about being part of a diversity target. If you are a black one armed lesbian single mother then you’ll more than likely be offered the CEO’s job!
You many be surprised to find out that this piece is not a rant about diversity (that’s for another day) I only mention this love of politically correctness because I was wondering if the individual who keeps smearing the contents of their sinus and bowels on the toilet walls counts as a minority diversity group and therefore is eligible for a promotion, their own social club and a catchy website ( possibly)
In our little corner of paradise (yes, I was being ironic) we have a phantom bogey and poo wiper, one of my trusted esteemed colleagues gets their kicks (or revenge on the rest of humanity) by defacing the gents toilet on our floor with various unpleasant bodily fluids. This isn’t to be confused with the exceedingly hirsute gentleman who either shaves their back in the toilet cubicles or for reasons unknown carries round a carrier bag of short curly hairs to spread around like confetti making the floor of the traps look akin to the floor of a very busy hairdressing salon (who only cut the hair of people with that nasty short curly pube like hair) All in all it means that if I want to use my ‘other office’ I have to use several large wads of toilet paper to scrape the dried matter from the walls and to clean the seat and immediate floor area of clumps of hairs and wee (I won’t complain about urinating on the toilet seats, that would be somewhat hypocritical!) or run the risk of coming out looking like I’ve been tarred and feathers by a deranged Tracy Emit fan
Having attended the odd festival in my youth and also having seen the film Trainspotting on more than one occasion (don’t ever try to read the book unless you are wise in the ways of Scottish phonetics, you think they are hard enough to understand when they speak try reading it!) I know what a bad toilet looks like and although not even literary license can allow me to compare my current situation with reeking festival portaloos or Scottish heroin addict infested squats its still not ideal – there is a key difference between these situations, drugs! At festivals and certainly in crack houses the sanitary facilities might have an awful lot to be desired but those using them don’t care, when chewing your own face off at a rave or having just injected yourself with whatever shit you are addicted to the last thing on your mind is having someone else’s short and curly stuck to you or just having sat in a small puddle of someone’s else’s cold wee, its all about the love, man!
Unfortunately my employer, whilst seemingly unwilling to do anything about the current situation other than have the poor cleaners patrol more regularly might not take kindly to me turning to class A diversions to ensure my trips to the bathroom are stress free and joyful which I suppose only leaves two options. I can either admit defeat and sneak off to the disabled cubicle on the ground floor (note to self: the red cord is NOT for the lights) or as my dear old Grandad used to say, if you can’t beat them atleast its your own wee you are sat in! (he said that, really…..)

Post Script.

I have decided instead to meet this attack on my quality work time head on. I will find the culprit of these heinous crimes and expose them (no, not in THAT way) I shall gather irrefutably damning evidence that is so conclusive that even OJ would have a hard time getting off……it’ll be like an episode of wee s i (sorry, couldn’t help that )

In bygone years, before we knew any better, people used to pay to throw stones, rotten vegetables and anything else that came to hand (did they have underwear to throw back then?) at the barking mad people at Bedlam hospital in London, whilst the experience was probably less than rewarding for the targets punters used to queue around the corner to have their go, it was arguably the cutting edge entertainment of the age.
The reason I bring this up is not because I think we should reinstitute this practice (although I am all for the resurgence of stocks in town centres for tearaway teenagers) but because the latest series of Big Brother is about to grace out screens. I think the parallels between then and now are too obvious to comment on, although in defence of those mouldy potato throwers, they didn’t understand mental illness whereas now they even had a pet psychiatrist on the show to give us a technical blow by blow account of breakdowns and tantrums as they unfold.
The only than that confuses me more than the question of why anyone would want to watch this puerile, shallow crap is why anyone would want to take part. People (I use the term loosely) queue for hours to audition for their chance of a shot at fame and fortune (or is that ridicule and contempt). The weak, the delusional, the lazy and the maladjusted all rub shoulders with the plain old insane for their one shot at the big time (if you class the big time as being on the cover of Heat magazine with your cellulite ringed)
Channel 4 researchers must just trawl the hostels, half way houses and hospitals of the country to find the saddest, loneliest most insecure specimens who are just about able to drag themselves from under which ever rock they inhabit and sign a non disclosure form (X marks the spot) after all, it wouldn’t be any fun at all if the house was occupied by normal, reasonable adults without mental health issues or inferiority complexes would it?
I find everything about this show annoying, from the Geordie voice that interacts with the inmates, through the stupid advertisements interrupting proper programs all the way past the decor of the institution (surely anywhere surrounded by barbed wire, spotlights and burly men in uniform must be at the very least classed as an institution) culminating in the inmates themselves who I consider to be the missing evolutionary link (not human evolution, I am actually referring to the evolution of the Broccoli plant)
I had a very minor addition I’d like to make to the program format for Big Brother and you can also include any show featuring Simon Cowell or Graham Norton as any sort of panellist / presenter. I would like to
add a further ‘housemate’ or ‘contestant’ to the mix, jazz it up a bit…..Ladies and Gentlemen meet Leo the Leopard (I deliberately picked a leopard for their aggression and ability to maim / eat people) Leo hasn’t eaten for a week and has been goaded into a spitting snarling frenzy…..opps , what’s that, Leo has eviscerated Jade Goody and is chowing down on her fat useless insides…oh no, what a loss to the world……still, plenty more where she came from………unfortunately.

Dunkin’ Donuts, US based fast food purveyors of greasy, high fat and generally bad for you snacks (like all the other US based food outlets that I can think of) have removed from circulation an advert staring a celebrity chef (I have never heard of her myself, Rachael Ray) not because she was caught stuffing Mexican marching powder up her nose or because her estranged husband has been accused of child molestation or even because she has gone on television saying that earthquakes in China are Gods way of telling them their human rights record needs improving, no, none of those, its because she was wearing a scarf.
The scarf in question (see picture below) I don’t think is particularly offensive but it does bear a passing resemblance to an Arab Keffiyeh which means that your gun toting fanatical loonies (I am referring to the American ones not the Arabs by the way) are up in arms…. According to one nutty bigoted fool by the name of Michelle Malkin the garment in question is a ‘regular adornment of Muslim terrorists appearing in beheading and hostage-taking videos’ and therefore y association you would assume Miss Ray is inciting, aiding and abetting Muslim terrorists everywhere (next stop for Miss Ray, a fetching orange jump suit and a long holiday on Cuban shores courtesy of Uncle Sam)
I would like to point out that most of the Fundamentalists I have seen, Muslim and otherwise have been wearing a comfy pair of stonewashed jeans and this years must have training shoes…….does this mean that because Omar the Jihadi likes his Levis and Nikes that anyone wearing such items should be tared with the same brush……..does it bollocks!
Miss Malkin (I haven’t researched her marital status but i can’t imagine anyone marrying a poisonous bigot like her, besides……I reckon she wears flat sensible shoes if you catch my drift) and her Ilk are just as much to blame for the current world security situation (technical term: disappearing up its own ass!) as George W, Mullah Omar, Osama or any of the other beardy weirdos we see running round on the T.V. shouting and shooting their AK47’s into the air (which by the way is very, very bad for the health of the person the rounds land on!)
I think the message for everyone here is clear, engage brain before opening mouth and give yourself a good injection of common sense before speaking out, oh and for those of you with a penchant for firing guns into the air ALWAYS check for overhead power cables…….