Kicking kids whilst they're down

Snapped this on the train the other day.



Bloody hell, can you imagine anything worse that this. You're a kid, you're probably in pain, you're probably scared and then some numpty with greasepaint all over it's fizzog starts leaping around the ward making a racket, getting in the way of the nursing staff and waving shit in your face, oh sorry that would be "turning the ward into a magical playspace".

Just look at the kid - the little fucker is petrified!

Look clowns are not funny, never have been, never will be. They are also definitely the wrong side of the cute - creepy axis so if you're a kid in hospital do all your fellow patients a favour and if a "clown doctor" comes into your ward in a stupid car with the doors falling off beat it to death with your drip stand.

It's allowed, killing clowns is justifiable homicide. I looked it up on Wikipedia so it must be true.

Blame it on the buggy

All your dead child molester pop star jokes all in one place for your convenience!

What’s the difference between Alex Ferguson and Michael Jackson… fergie will be playing giggs this summer.

It’s a shame he’s died. He touched so many young people in so many ways.

Jackson has cancelled all his upcoming dates… They were James (aged 11) and Thomas (aged 9)

undertakers have announced that when Michael Jackson dies he will be melted down to make plastic toys so kids can play with him for a change.

Michael Jackson whispered a brief message to the paramedics before reaching the hospital…”put me on the children’s ward”.

reports he died of a cardiac arrest are incorrect… he was actually found in the children’s ward having a stroke

Just heard he died of food poisoning… Got it from eating 12 year old nuts

out of respect McDonalds have released the mc Jackson burger, 50 year old meat between 10 year old buns

They now think he died by falling over a child’s pram…..but Doctors say it’s too early to “Blame it on the buggy”

Michael's dying wish was to be melted down and made into plastic carrier bags; that way he could stay white, live forever and remain a danger to children.

The oxygen of publicity

Oh look, we seem to have managed to return a couple of everyone's favourite cuddly fascists to the huge trough that it the EU Parliament (whose troughing by MEPs makes our MPs look like they are daintily nibbling on a lettuce leaf). They even managed to win a county council seat in Burnley West - well they were never going to win Burnley East as that's where all the folk from Pakistan live. Seig t' Heil as they say up there.

Accordingly all the lefties, media luvvies and especially mainstream politicos are doing lots of hand wringing and navel gazing and wondering what happened to Britain to make it turn into such an evil racist nation. Er guys, the BNP's share of the vote actually fell in real terms and people vote for them because they are addressing some legitimate concerns that some of the electorate have.

Look I grew up in Burnley and the people there are not on the whole racists and certainly not fascists but they see large numbers of immigrants from the Indian sub-continent settling in specific areas, turning then into de-facto ghettos, said immigrants generally not integrating and they genuinely feel their culture is being swamped and that it is these ghettos (which are naturally in the poorer parts of town) getting the lions' share of the funding (whether that's true or not - and if not then it's a failure on the point of the mainstream politicians to get this message across). The mainstream politicians, especially Labour in which should be a piss-easy seat for them to win, are ignoring these concerns leaving an open goal for the BNP to shoot at.

But are the left going to address these concerns from what should be their natural supporters? Are they fuck. No what is obviously needed is to, oh I dunno, let's throw some eggs at Nick Griffin, that'll work.

No, all that does is give him the oxygen of publicity, show you cuntrumpets up as the idiots you are and allow Nicky-boy to claim the moral high ground and further keep his gurning fizzog leering out at me from every sodding newspaper's front page in the pissing land.

Look, leave him to rant and rave, the press will get bored in a week and move on to Jordan's latest tit-job. But you need to reach out to your core vote or they'll just be back voting for "the wrong party" next time.

Broken Doors

On the train to work this morning one of the doors is broken. If you push the button to open the door it just clicks and hisses at you like an irritated snake and refuses to budge.

How do I know this? Because at absolutely every bastard stop from King's Lynn to Cambridge some numpty, often several numpties, have pushed the door open button despite there being not one but two signs on the door with a pictogram depicting a train door with a big red line through it which even Slime Beasts of the Planet Zod could work out means "These doors are broken". Presumably it's this international wordless sign so we don't upset any uppity immigrants who would then sue for "distress and anxiety" because the train company didn't write "Out of Order" in their fucking language

OK so the brain dead trolls employed by National Distress East Anglia have stuck the signs on upside down but the meaning is still, I would posit, pretty clear.

Ah, another station, Whittlesford Parkway... Proper commuter belt now, maybe it was just the webbed fingered bog dwellers of the fens who are too dense to work out that when the sign says "Broken door" there is a fighting chance that said door won't open.

Click... Hisssssss... Click... Hisssssss....

Audley End maybe?

Click... Hisssssss... Click... Hisssssss....

Fucking hell I despair.

Do I have to get interested in football now?

It would appear that the town where I was fledged¹ appears to have won some sort of football competition and, apparently, gets to play with the big boys next year before presumably crashing ignominiously back into the Coca-Cola-Everest-Double-Glazing Conference League where I assume they have been since I upped sticks and buggered off to somewhere where I could (a) get an education and (b) a job. So congratulations I suppose to Burnley footy club but please don't for a microsecond think that anything on this earth could induce me to stand on the terraces (do they still have those) of Turf Moor again or, to be honest, express any interest in your success or failure at kicking a pigs' bladder around.

Look it's like this. I really could not give a flying fuck about football. The game bores me rigid. I was utterly crap at it at school and always ended up just arseing about in "defence" which meant you got to stand at the back and only had to run about when the other lot ran towards you as far as I could tell. On the rare occasions when some misguided sense of loyalty to my mates in the band I was in lead me to actually attend a match at the aforementioned Turf Moor I never really understood what was going on, didn't know the words to the songs and usually had gone to the bogs or in search of a Bovril when anyone actually scored a goal. So I'm not going to be going out and buying a claret and blue scarf and actually learning the names of the overpaid dicks who actually do the ball kicking stuff if that's OK with you.

Speaking of refreshments I happened to notice that the club sponsor was Hollands Pies who may be the makers of the finest steak puddings on the planet but I doubt lack the financial wherewithal to fund a premier league side.

Mind you finance being what it is you're lucky to have a sponsor and next year we might see you sponsored by the man who sells the pies at the ground.

Mine's a meat and potato, thanks. I'll pass on the Bovril.










¹ Do dragons fledge, not having any feathers and all that?

On y va... on y va... on y va...

Live(ish) blogging Eurovision


Lithuania:
You are not Freddy fucking Mercury. Go away.

Israel:
"There must be another way" goes the song sung by the palestinian and jewish woman. Well as your people have been trying to annailate each other for the past four thousand years maybe you should have fucking found it by now.

France:
Zzzzzz... oh have you finished? Christ that was crap. Fucking hell people in the hall liked that one.

Sweden:
Well I think her dress is stuck to the floor and she is moving around behing it. She looks for all the world like Ulrika Johnson's mum and alternates between spitting her lyrics and screeching in a semi-operatic manner. I think someone from a concrete fabrication company did her teeth. That's one that will sink without trace.

Croatia:
Are not sure if they want to be Greece or Turkey and instead have settled on the little island of Mediocre which sits in the Med between the two countries. A costume change is not going to save this song guys.


Portugal:
First accodion of the evening. She's a big girl, wonder if she has Madelene hidden under her dress. Pleasant enough in a folky sort of way.

Iceland:
Guess Bjork was busy. The staging is great with a big ship floating past in the background but the song is, well, it's just noise. Sure she's cute but so what?


Side note... Graham "Does this cock up my arse make me look gay" Norton who is hosting this year as Terry Wogan has gone home to sulk because we got all those nul points sounds like he is pissed. Word is he fell of a horse and bust a couple of ribs and is on the same painkillers I was on a couple of years ago whick would account for that. Will be interesting if he has a couple of drinks later

Greece: Performed a techno tune on a big stapler. Dull, predictable, will probably win.

Armenia: Just seem to have sent a mess. At least they remembered to put in a key change

Russia: Home field advantage so they get the best graphics with the singer aging on the monster LEDs as she does the song. Shame the singer decided to start sceaming at the end of the song.

Azerbaijan: Aha, we are finally into doubek territory. And like any doubek based song, it's cack.

Bosnia and the other place: Have decided to go for a Napoleonic theme or have heard Andrew Lloyd Uglysod has written our tune and gone for a rip-off Les Misrables. Either way it was pants.

Moldova: First serious folky tune of the night. Bit whacky, silly trumpets, guys in crazy trousers... this is why we watch this competition! There also appears to be a man with a pole.

Malta: Lardarse

Estona: Now this is a good song. The title means "Pikey" but what the hell. The fiddle player can (a) sing and (b) is cute and the song is cleverly structured around what sounds to me like a decending major seventh pattern (proper musicians please feel free to correct me). As my mrs just said "At last, a song". Nice, deserves to win. Won't.

Denmark: Have sent Ronan Keating, kind of. Well at least he wrote the tune and the singer is doing his best to sound Irish. Guys the paddies have failed to fucking qualify for the last two years so maybe you might be better getting someone from somewere ending on "oldova" to write your tune as this is instantly unforgettable radio pap.

Germany: Good job you got a bye to the final song as a D-class Ricky Martin in Bacofoil pants really does not pass muster. Even up-market stripper Dita Von Teese cracking a horsewhip is not going to save you. Quite the opposite in fact.

Turkey: You know how this song is going to sound before they even hit the first note don't you. And Turkey, true to form do not dissapoint with the same doubek and ney flute heavy belly dance tune they have sent to this competition since the fall of the Ottoman empire.

Albania: Hang on didn't Turkey just play this song? Accompanied by a thing that looks like a lump of green putty for some reason known only to the Albanians, presumably.

Norway: Yelly pseudo-folk tune performed by a squirrel on crack playing a fiddle. Why the fuck is this the favourite to win? Did I fall into a parallel universe of shite or something? Oh and fraying a bit of your bow does not make you look more homely, it makes you look like someone who can't maintain his instrument you knob end.


Ukraine: Trojans in bacofoil. Nuff said.

Romania: This one isn't too awful. Gone for a wood nymph theme but if you cast your eyes stage right there is the woman in the six piece (you can only have six people on stage according to the rules) who is just stood there not being filmed. She's the one actually doing the fucking singing. That said by the end of this one there was a little bit of claw tapping happening.

UK: Well here we go. You know I have heard this a few times now and given the standard of entries we might just do well. Just so long as uglysod stays out of shot. Well she impacted the fiddle player, that was sloppy but her voice is holding up. For fucks sake sing the rest don't scream it... Hell she did it! Slight flat note as she wandered away from mr uglysod, and she... cacked up the ending. Oh well. Maybe a top 5.

Finland: Booo... bring back Lordi.

Spain: Appears to have moved a thousand or so miles east and done about the ninth Turkish sounding song of the night. Go away.



Well that has got to be the weakest like up for ages. I think I can say there was not a single song that made my tail wobble tonight. Estonia was to be honest the only one I would give room on the Ipod to and then it wouldn't get onto a playlist. We might just win by default. Mrs D says that as this cost the russkies umpty odd million maybe everyone is trying to lose by default.



Now that is cool... they have got two Cosmonauts on the ISS to start the voting. Nice touch.

So, are we going to try and upstage Riverdance or are we just going to stuff a folk band on?


...no, just some people in paddling pools suspended from the celing.


And the chipmunk on crack won. Why?

Maybe a vodka or two will help me understand...

... no, that didn't work. Night all.

It's that time again

I know I'm not blogging as much as I used to but even I can't let Eurovision pass without a bit of comment.

As you probably know if you're remotely interested in the pan-continental warble-fest that is the ESC this year the UK has decided to, well, try and not come last to be fair. So we have Mr Ugly himself Lloyd Webber knock together a tune and some yank who penned the words to and Aerosmith tune do the lyrics and we ended up with something that sounded like it's a filler song from Les Miserables. Of course we had to have a sort of mini talent contest to pick a singer and ideally this time someone who could (a) sing and (b) wasn't black (as the Eastern Europeans are rumoured to be just a teensy little bit racist). Regrettably (b) excluded the best act in the contest who were a soul vocal outfit who were easily the best so we've ended up with someone who's a bit coffee coloured and can yell but yells in tune.

To be honest the moment I heard the song I thought "Well there's a null pointer and no mistake" but I've managed to catch most of the semis and you know it might just not be. All the "silly" songs have gone apart from one that features some dancers in bacofoil trojan helmets and most folk have gone for ballads or the occasional folk song / predictable belly dance tune (guess what Turkey have sent). Tunewise I'm going for Estonia, a string quintet with a song sung entirely in Estonian.

Apparently the favourite is Norway though fuck knows why as it sounds crap and the singer looks like a gerbil on crack.

I'll be liveblogging it, probably. Depends how drunk I get.

The new prudery

Apparently one of the top 10 complained about advertisments was one for a fizzy french orange drink with 286 complaints. So what was so distressing about the frogs pimping sugary water that tastes like sick¹. People apparenty "complained about the overly sexual nature of the scene."

Yeah, ok. But the advert featured CARTOON ANIMALS for fucks sake.

Here it is, take a look...



Actually that antelope is pretty hot, nearly as good as the Cadbury Caramel bunny.

OK so rather amusing, couple of film references in there to American Beauty and that one with the woman doing the shower thing on stage and it's all a bit tongue in cheek and a bit of fun - mind you the squid thing is a bit creepy. So what is wrong with these 280 odd people that they could be so bothered by that that they got off their wobbly arses and took time to write a letter of complaint! Hell what you just saw was the unexpurgated French version so I bet the 30 second UK one was a hell of a lot tamer.

I'm seeing more and more of this. It's the new prudery and we need to fight back people. I say more furry boobs and sexually provocative jungle creatures straddling bottles and dancing to salsa tunes.


PS: Second zebra from the left... anyone have her phone number?

¹ Actually it doesn't, I rather like it

Mathematics for Dragons

I can has a new blog.

I'm keeping this one of course but I've started a new blog called Mathematics for Dragons where I'm going to post all my adding up related witterings and musings on sums, kicking off with what actually happens when you try and divide by zero.

Probably not a lot of swearing, well not until the course get to calculus anyway.

It's the end of the world as we know it...

... and I feel a touch of flu coming on.

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death,
and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part
of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the
beasts of the earth.

I have a couple of ponies... maybe they have a vacancy for a fifth horseman:

And I looked and behold a small black Dartmoor pony; and his name that sat on
her was Dragon and a scooter from the indian take-away carrying a chicken
jalfrezi followed with him. And power was given unto Dragon over ye interweb so
that he might stomp around and curse and drink beer.

Well so far I think more people have died from bizarre bathplug related injuries than have died of the flu. Sure I know that this could become a pandemic but after H5N1, Ebola, Marburg and that one that made you think you were a marmoset¹ you can forgive me if I think I can hear someone shouting Canis Lupus here.

For the best commentary though you have to turn to the intarwebs and in particularly that paragon of sensible and mature debate "Have Your Say" on the BBC news website.

Despite being a moderated forum moderation seems to go as far as someone making sure not too many instances of the word "fuck" get through because every conspiracy theorist and loon from here to Timbuctoo has sprung up here. The best examples so far are:

• This is Allah's punishment on infidels for eating pork, as muslims don't eat pork then muslims won't catch swine flu
• This is a genetically engineered virus that has been deliberately released by the CIA / Mossad / Illuminati / Tufty Club to cull the human population
• Aliens did it
• If you are vegetarian you won't catch it
• The "Case Zero" pig needs to be found and the owner punished
• Its because of Climate Change

I was going to weigh in with "It's Gordon Brown's fault" but I notice the moderation queue is currently standing at over 1000 posts.

Just to be on the safe side if anyone approaches me who has a slight sniffle I'll set them alight. Can't be too careful.

¹ I think I might have dreamed that one.

Yeah, that should work.

It would seem that later on this week the City of London is going to be invaded by a rag-tag collection of the great unwashed, eco-nazis, trustafarians and other sundry wastes of DNA all no doubt scrounging the dole (well they are not earning a living or they would be at work on Wednesday wouldn't they?). Naturally as the paedophiles de jour they will be coming to the banks and no doubt shouting at us for daring to have made some money and then, well, losing it.

We have been told that we should not "engage with" the protesters, which is a shame as I was looking forward to getting stuck in and should "call the police if we feel threatened." Yeah, right.

But the best bit is that we have been instructed that in order to keep a low profile we should all dress "casually" for the next few days. Now nobody in The City has worn a tie for years and so being pretty casual its hard to see how much more scruffy we can get. However some of my colleagues in "distressed" jeans and t-shirts were making a fair fist of it this morning.

Quite how this wizard wheeze is supposed to help us avoid the protesters bent on the destruction of capitalism has not really been explained to us, especially when the awkward little green dragon pointed out that we would be walking out of a building with "Banko Di Haggis" written on the front in 20 foot high illuminated letters.

That, combined with our front-of-house security team consisting of Wilf and Albert who have a combined age of 160 and who look like they would have trouble remaining perpendicular to the floor in a modest breeze are not exactly filling me with confidence so I'm planning on bringing in my nunchuks in on Wednesday.

Condoms or USB Sticks

I got a couple of cheapie USB memory sticks at the weekend off Ebay. This is the packet they came in...



Can't help thinking that Whang Whang Print And Box Co. of Shenzen happened to have been packaging condoms just prior to packaging these and just went "ah fuck it, keep the picture, just change the words"

Princess of Fucking Hearts II

OK so Jade fucking Goody has finally shuffled off this mortal coil and joined the Choir Invisible.

Now can we all try very fucking hard not to turn her into the next pissing Princess Diana. I'm watching the BBC News and every twat on the programme is going on about what a marvellous person she was, what a wonderful mother she was, honestly she was not a racist even though there was all that business with that woman from India and, icing on the cake, we have had some bishop saying what a deep and spiritual person she was who has "captured the hearts of the nation" or some such fucking platitude.

Let's get a grip here. This is someone who is famous for being famous and who made pig shit look like it had a PhD. Sure she died of cancer which sucks but how many other people died of cancer today... let me tell you, based on the 2006 statistics over 420 people will die of various cancers today. 419 of them will not have Max Clifford raking in thousands for the people they leave behind, they won't have some kiddy fiddling bishop eulogising them on national television, they won't be a candidate for the next fucking Princess of Hearts.

Well she has got one thing in common with Princess D, they have about the same IQ.

Desperate Voices

You know I think that you must be able to get hold of a satellite channel for thruppence and a pickled egg these days. Having an arse about on a mate's satellite rig I managed to get hold of a channel called "Gay Chat". The premise of this channel seems to be if you are terminally shy with a lousy phone manner and you would like to get some botty action you ring up at 25p a minute, leave a message and presumably people ring in and ask to talk to "Barry in Stoke who likes dressing up and is flexible".

I sat there transfixed for ages. A parade of the lost and lonely, you could hear the desperation in the voices, "I'm Frances," said a chap probably called Sidney putting on his best husky female voice, "please come and dress me up." Then there were the poor sods who straight after saying "I'm Mike", probably then said "I like horsecock" and they edited it so all you got was "I'm Mike" which I'm guessing isn't going to get him many responses and the funniest one had to be the guy who came on and in a tired, bored voice simply said "I'm Pete and I'm in Derby".

I've been to Derby. I sympathise.

Call after call emphasising how they were not a timewaster, that they were "genuine", that they "could accomodate, looking for a meet tonight" which I am assuming for "I am alone in my little flat and I need some human company, please don't fuck me over like so many tossers have done before"

And the cruellest irony came after a few minutes when I heard "I'll be in Barnstaple this Friday, January the 9th"... the fucking calls weren't even current! Somebody somewhere was rolling around in fivers culled from the 10p a minute he got from every desperate twat who rang his 0898 number to be dissapointed yet again. I guess if worst comes to worst he can always pay for the company.

A couple of channels down were about thirty similar channels for heterosexuals, all the same, all just as desperate.

Fred to Darling: "Fuck You"

You know what, if I had managed to negotiate a future income of 25 grand a week, fine wines, country houses and as many girls as my tongue could cope with¹ from a government that could not find its arse with both hands and a map let alone navigate a path to future prosperity I would most certainly be going "Fuck you" when said government came back and said "er, that deal we negotiated, it's really become politically embarrassing so would you mind handing that seventeen million quid back"

Look as you know I work for Banco di Haggis I'm not really meant to comment but let's say that should Sir Fred ever cross my path he'd be getting both nostrils set to "crispy" and not just because he's a fucking knight but he made a great place to work into a laughing stock and every time we get summoned to a manager's pow-wow we're all sat there going "ooooh fuck... here it comes"... and don't get me started on the sodding ABN merger. That said though if the government, B de H's major (only?) shareholder makes such an epic FAIL then one really cannot blame Fred The Shite for taking the cash and running whilst no doubt grinning like a loon at his good fortune.

Mind you we now have to watch NuLab throw good money after bad as they will no doubt in their socialist spite start a court case to get the cash back. When they do I really hope that Fred opens up and spills the whole story of the backroom deals and political chicanery that went on "that weekend" and thus hammers yet another nine incher into the coffin of Gordon the Monocular Cunt.


¹ (c) Ben Elton, back when he was funny.

Who Killed Stuart Lubbock?

All through yesterday thanks to the humungous plasma screen tellies on the wall at work (now 70% owned by all you lucky taxpayers out there) which are permanently tuned to Sky News for some unfathomable reason every time I looked up I was treated to the sorry sight of this stupid fucker.



This is Terry Lubbock who yesterday was sporting the t-shirt you see in the picture which reads "Who killed Stuart Lubbock?". I am assuming it says that because the guys down at PrintaShirt told him that "I am a homophobe who cannot accept the fact that my son was into taking massive quantities of drugs and enjoyed getting rogered roughly up the arse" would not fit, even on an XXL shirt.

OK so it kinda sucks that your kid died but what do you fucking expect when he took a cocktail of drink, ecstasy and enough Colombian marching powder to open an artificial ski-slope and then, after a few rounds of coked-up bottysex, fell into a swimming pool when everyone else was similarly in a haze of pharmaceutical oblivion and probably, therefore, not at their most attentive.

Actually come to think of it... how come I never get invited to that sort of party?

So even though the Essex Filth made a complete Horlicks of the investigation, my guess is Terry that who killed your son was himself.

But that's not good enough for you is it Tezza, no we need to keep blaming the nasty queers because your son wasn't a queer was he? No could not have been, look here's a picture of him in a morning suit getting married to something dressed in a marquee. He really could not have possibly been on the other bus and fantasized about pulling a train of these guys...



... not your perfect son, no way. Must have been murder. Course it must.

Still, nice little handout coming to you courtesy of the public purse. When some granny in Basildon gets her head cracked open by some scrote who nicks her pension money because there's no copper on the street because that copper's salary is in your back pocket I'm sure that won't cause you any lack of sleep. You cunt.

Introducing The Archko Volume

OK so I have fallen for this "Let Wikipedia Name Your Band" meme.


This is my little beat combo:

If The Archko Volume sounded like anything I recon it would be something like early Simple Minds meets Godspeed You Black Emperor but played on xylophones and ukuleles.

Have a go yourself... it's rather fun:

Go to Wikipedia. Hit “random” and the title of the first article you get is the
name of your band. Then go to “Random Quotations” and the last four or five
words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your imaginary band’s
album. Next, go to Flickr and click on “Explore the Last Seven Days” and the
third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

Have a look at some more (done with better photoshoppery than I can muster!) here:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/expresident/the-best-of-wikipedia-names-your-band

Snap

Lt Ilea from the first "Star Trek" movie and Jade Fucking Goody... separated at birth?

OK sure it sucks that she's got cancer, it sucks that ANYONE gets cancer but please can we get a grip here? How many poor fuckers whose hair has fallen out and are spending three days out of seven honking up from the drugs they give you must be sick to the back teeth that all of a sudden everyone cares about cancer victims. They didn't get that cunttrumpet parasite Clifford smarming up to their hospital bed and doing exclusive deals for the papers did they and I'm fucking sure that they would all like to "care for their family when they are gone" as well.

No the people making all the fuss are the "Grieve By Proxy" crowd. You know the silly fucks who leave acres of teddies and balloons outside where some sprog has died in a suitably gruesome manner to make the six o' clock sodding news. The ones weeping and wailing after Diana decided that getting into a merc with a pissed frog and doing 180kph through Paris was a sodding great idea. "Oh you poor person," they probably go to our cancer victim "You must feel so close to Jade now." I tell you if anyone does that beat the shit out of them with your drip stand.

And I mean it's not as though we are about to lose anyone, you know, important or anything. I mean she's famous for being famous and fuck all else. The overall culture of the UK will actually go up once she's not wobbling over our TV schedule any more as she desperately tries to cash in yet again on being a thick cow on a reality TV show.

The New Witches

You know I recon that the paedophiles must be rubbing their hands together with utter glee at the moment as the great British public have found someone to hate even more than them. I am, of course, referring to bankers.

Yes the evil, nasty, corrupt, thieving bastards who have run the economy into the toilet and pocketed huge sums. Lots of finger wagging, tough talking and last week's kangaroo court political theatre courtesy of our lords and masters who were quite happy to take the corporation tax amounting to billions from these evil nasty bankers when their banks were making telephone number profits not to mention trousering 40% of those bonus payments. You didn't hear much clamouring from the fucking socialists then did you?

What pisses me right off is that now I work for the monocular haggis-fucking cunt* who "does not want to run a bank" we have all been told in no uncertain circumstances that there won't be a single penny in bonuses for the likes of code cutting dragons this year. Mind you that did make for a very brief annual appraisal because of course your bonus normally depends on your appraisal rating for the year.

"OK Dracunculus, so your appraisal for this year, lets see now."

"Doesn't really matter a fuck does it, there's no money."

"Er, fair point. Fancy a coffee"

"Sure, you're buying"

So why am I reading that Banco Di Haggis will be paying out massive bonuses? They certainly won't be to me. So which bugger is getting them? Better not be any of the cunts who turned my bank into a laughing stock, made me work the this fucking shower of lefties and mean that I am having to do my own fucking landscape gardening rather than getting a man in.

I suck at landscape gardening.







* Trouble with Clarkson is that he needs to ramp up his swearing content, "One Eyed Scottish idiot" really doesn't cut it when we are talking about Gordo.

Where's the dragon?

Some people have, apparently, been missing me. Quite why you are missing a foul-tempered fire breathing lizard that swears like a fishwife is beyond me but there you go.

Your scaly green friend is having to take a break from blogging as, rather foolishly, he decided to take on not one but two units for his Open University mathematics degree in January and so blogging time on the train has rather been taken over by balancing text books on my knees and juggling calculators and pencils (much to the amusement of my fellow commuters - well at least they found it funny until they got turned into small smouldering piles of ash).

Normal service should be resumed in April. Until then please carry on hating Gordon Brown and all his works without me.

Love and kisses

Dracunculus

When Christmas Decorations Attack

Just for the record I absolutely fucking hate Christmas (but then again I fucking hate everything) and I utterly, utterly loathe those people who festoon their house in sodding light bulbs sometime in November in what they think is a marvellous son et lumiere tribute to the Son Of Man but in reality is a LED shitstorm of cheap tackyness.

However over on The Paramedic's Diary I read a wonderful story of one chavtastic disfunctional family who probably won't be draining the National Grid with their blinking cack next year...

Then a 2am call came in for an 18 year-old who’d fallen thirteen floors after an argument with his mother... I could see the ambulance inside a small courtyard below a very tall block of flats. It was eerily quiet as I approached the figures standing around the crew... They were looking down at the body of a young man - he lay like a starfish, arms outstretched, on the concrete. Blood had gathered in a think dark pool under his head. His eyes were shut and he was very still.

So what had caused this tragedy?

The boy had argued with his mother about a trivial matter. He had a habit of climbing over the balcony of the flat and standing on a thin ledge on the other side, holding onto the balcony itself. From there he would threaten to jump. It was emotional nonsense and he never carried out his threat, so when he did it again tonight, nobody in the flat took him seriously.

His fatal mistake was to hold onto the Christmas lights that were wound round the balcony on the outside. He used the tubular light strip for support but it came away in his hands and he simply slipped down it, like he’d grabbed a greasy rope. I looked over the balcony and the light strip was waving about in the wind, flashing happily away. Far below it was the body of the boy who’d used it to threaten his loved ones.

Awesome! Truly world class fuckwittery! This guy surely is a shoo-in for The Darwin Awards. I do love it when twats like this do themselves in as it saves me having to breathe on the fuckers. I nearly pissed myself laughing.

The only downside to this is I feel sorry for the poor bastards who had to scrape him up off the pavement. If I were in charge Stuart and his colleagues would have been able to chuck him in the bins round the back of the flats.

Do go and read the whole thing - I defy you to keep a straight face.

And don't eat too many nuts. See you in the new year.

The Real Leonard Cohen

You know in all the media kerfuffle about what was, to be fair, not one of the miserable Canadian's best tunes but the one everyone knows because it was in Schrek when Dragon and Donkey rediscovered each other and some talentles twatess sung it in a talent contest you could have overlooked that said miserable Canadian actually was a pretty grumpy dragon in his day.

For me this is his finest hour. I really hope what is in those suitcases is very, very nasty.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFBKV0zVXSE

The other Lapland sounded funnier.

By now you must have seen the story about the craptastic "Lapland Experience" down in the New Forest and probaly if you are like me you had a giggle at the mural, the log cabins that were just garden sheds painted green and what has to be the best quote ever on the BBC's website...

"One of the elves got smacked in the face and pushed in a pram."

I would gladly have stumped up the 25 quid just to see an elf get worked over. Pointy eared bastards.

Anyway it turns out that there is a "proper" Lapland theme park somewhere down in Kent that is at great pains to point out that their Tunnel Of Light is more than just a couple of fairy lights in a tree and so our pals at Pravda went over and did a road test.

Mind you I think for shits and giggles the one that got closed down sounds funnier, this one just sounds barf-inducing.

An information board at the entrance explains the "flight" will be one of the imagination, travelling down the magical pathways that elves have used to get around for centuries, and which have been specially opened up for the lucky children invited to come.

Be still my churning stomach.

We are greeted by people dressed in traditional Sammi costume, some with husky dogs, although others are in tackier Rudolph costumes.

Something for the furries then. However then they go and stand in the reindeer shit...

and the trip begins with a lecture on recycling from an "eco-elf".

Fucking hellski!

About the only thing they got right is their name

I am referring of course to "Plane Stupid", the Eco pressure group who decided to bolt themselved to Stanstead airport this morning. I did catch one of them whittering on about "our parents generation have failed us so we have to take direct action". Well you lived up to your name by firstly making fatuous wank statements like than and also in one fell stroke alienating tens of thousands of people who might have been sympathetic to your cause and now might just take a look deeper at the guff, quite frankly dodgy science and vested interests in Global Warming climate change. {hint: follow the money}

If it were me I'd have hopped into the left hand seat of a handy 737, taxied round to where they were, pointed the tail at them, popped the park brake on and then opened up those Pratt and Whitneys to about 60% of N1

How's that for Local Warming you cunt-trumpet hippy freaks.

First Dhimmi of Winter?

At last I've spotted my first "Christmas cancelled because of the muzzies" story over in the Torygraph here (Hat tip to Frank Chalk)

What's the form with these, do you write in to The Times like you do when you hear the first cookoo of spring?

Santa has a proposition for you

FROM THE DESK OF ST NICHOLAS

SANTA'S GROTTO
THE NORTH POLE

THIS E-MAIL MAY COME TO YOU AS A BIG SURPRISE BUT DO NOT BE ALARMED AS IT IS THE TIME OF YEAR FOR BIG SURPRISES. I FOUND YOUR CONTACT IN MY BOOK OF WHO HAS BEEN GOOD BOY AND GIRL THIS YEAR AND KNOW I CAN TRUST YOU. I AM WRITING TO YOU AS MATTER OF URGENT NECESSITY AND ASKING FOR YOUR HELP WITH A PROBLEM OF WORLD IMPORTANCE. AS YOU MAY BE AWARE THE SEASON OF YULETIDE JOY AND HAPPINESS WILL SOON BE UPON US, BUT THINGS ARE NOT WELL HERE IN THE NORTH POLE. DUE TO THE CURRENT WORLD CREDIT CRISIS WE HAVE HAD TO SELL OFF ALL OUR FAMOUS REINDEER FOR DOG FOOD TO MAKE END MEET. THIS IS UNFORTUNATE BUT IT HAD TO BE DONE TO SAVE CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR. AS YOU CAN IMAGINE THEY FETCHED A VERY GOOD PRICE
AS EVERYONE HAVE HEARD THEIR NAME. WE DID FETCH $3,000,000 (THREE MILLION DOLLARS USD) EACH FOR DASHER, DANCER, PRANCER, VIXEN, COMET, CUPID, DONNER AND BLITZEN. AND WE DID GET NO LESS THAN $10,00,000 (TEN MILLION DOLLARS USD) FOR RUDOLF ON HIS OWN BECAUSE OF HIS SHINY RED NOSE. THIS BRING THE TOTAL SUM TO $34,000,000 (THIRTY FOUR MILLION DOLLARS USD).

AS I WAS TOO DISTRESS TO DO THIS THING MYSELF I SENT THE HEAD OF MY ELVES NAME OF ASKASLEIKIR TO MARKET TO DO THIS FINAL ACT FOR ME. HE DID IMMEDIATELY DEPOSIT THE MONEY IN NIGERIAN SECURITY COMPANY IN HIS FAMILY NAME AND IT REMAIN THERE IN SAFE KEEPING UNTIL THIS DAY. BUT WHEN HE TOOK OFF IN HIS SLAY TO COME BACK TO MY GROTTO IN THE NORTH POLE FROM WHERE HE PARKED IT ON TOP OF A HIGH BUILDING, HE DID FORGET HE NO LONGER HAD MY MAGIC REINDEER PULLING IT AND HE DID FALL OUT OF THE SKY AND DIE IN SUDDEN CRASH.

WHAT I NEED YOU TO DO IS TAKE THE PLACE OF ASKASLEIKIR'S LONG LOST BROTHER NAME OF BJUGNAKRAEKIR AND HELP ME RECOVER THE MONEY BY ACTING AS NEXT OF KIN. I WOULD DO THIS THING MYSELF BUT AS MY FACE IS KNOWN ALL OVER THE WORLD I WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO GET AWAY WITH IT AND I NEED TO THINK OF MY GOOD REPUTATION. FOR HELPING ME GET BACK WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE I AM WILLING TO SPLIT THE MONEY 30% FOR YOU AND 70% FOR ME. MY SHARE OF THE MONEY WILL BE USED TO ORDER TOYS FROM SHOPS AND HAVE THEM DELIVERED BY POST TO ALL THE GOOD LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS AROUND THE WORLD IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS.

LET ME ASSURE YOU THIS IS 100% RISK FREE AND WILL NOT PUT YOU IN ANY DANGER. ALL I ASK IS YOU KEEP THIS INFORMATION SECRET AND TO YOURSELF AS IT WOULD CAUSE WORLDWIDE PANIC WITH ALL THE LITTLE CHILDREN IF NEWS OF THIS TRAGEDY WAS TO GET OUT.

PLEASE GET BACK TO ME URGENT SO YOU CAN BE INSTRUCTED HOW TO HELP ME WITH THIS WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY.

REMAIN BLESS.

SANTA. (Father Christmas)

I should give a shit because?

Ok so in Browns Bankrupt Britain lots of people are losing their jobs. A bunch of twathead traders and their bigger twathead bosses royally fucked up and the rest of us are paying for it, sometimes with our jobs and meanwhile in the interests of "fairmess" those of us still in gainful employment are being gouged even further to cough up to "help the needy".

Now despite dragons not being the most philanthropic creatures in the world even I am prepared to hand over a few coins from the hoard to help out those who, through no fault of their own, find themselves in dire straights and in need of a bit of help to keep them going and get them back on their feet again.

So why the fucking hell is the money I pay for this express purpose being spend on cunts like Elizabeth Malcolm, an utter waste of DNA that the beeb have decided to feature in their "Unemployment - not very nice is it" series being run on their website.

Elizabeth Malcolm, 43, has never had a job. She lives in a two-bedroom council flat in Glasgow with her three children, one grandchild, two cats and a hamster.

Now I am 43 and I've never (technically) not had a job from the moment I left university in '86, never claimed a penny in benefits from the state, have two cats and I did have a hamster until the Pet Shop Boys came round my house one day and it mysteriously disappeared. So why have I got a job and Liz hasn't?

But she concedes that she doesn't really know why she didn't get a job, and that there was an element of just "not getting round" to it.
...
Without any qualifications she assumed she wasn't able to follow her chosen path and join the Army. She never actually made it to the recruitment office to ask.

Hang on you went to school at the same time as me, as I remember it was free and you just had to turn up and avail yourself of the teachers and books provided, they even paid for you to take exams and stuff so what happened to you?

She ... used to bunk off a lot.

Fucking hellski! You just could not be bothered could you you cuntrumpet. We just made if far too fucking easy for you. Can't be bothered to go to school, can't be bothered to get a job or even go and ask about one. Just lie back in the arms of Mother State and pick up the fucking dole, fat, dumb and happy. Let me guess you'll get yourself up the fucking duff so you can claim the child benefit next...

By 17 she had met the father of her three children and by 22 had their first son William. ... Now a lone parent, she shares her bedroom with her son Jon, 13, daughter Danielle, 17, and Danielle's son Rhys, 11 months.

Yep. I even see you've taught your fucking slag daughter the quick route to the state's coffers too.

The family survive on a combination of Income Support and Child Tax Credits, claimed by both Elizabeth and Danielle. Both also receive the universal Child Benefit for one child each. It all amounts to about £270 a week between the five of them.

Survive? Survive? You do not fucking survive on a tax-free salary of over £1100 a fucking month, accommodation paid for, free this that and the fucking other because you are on "income support"; that's an annual take home salary of around £13,200 so a gross salary of, say, 18k. Sure not a fortune but I would posit that this is hardly "surviving".

She's having "panic attacks" though because even a government as fucked up and dependent on the votes of pond slime like Liz realise that they are utterly taking the piss..

"They said I'd be better off if I was out working because Jon's at an age now where the money I'm getting will stop soon. I'd need to sign on [for unemployment benefit] again and I don't want that because I think I'm too old to sign on."

Fafnir give me strength. Sure Liz you look about sixty odd in your picture but that will be the booze, fags and deep fried mars bars, you are not too fucking old to work at fourty sodding three otherwise I would not be heading to work and freezing my fucking tail off crammed into a cold train with hundreds of other people who seem to be here solely to fund your lifestyle choices.

Liz goes on to have a good old moan about her circumstances and it's all not her fucking fault boo hoo feel sorry for me. Go read it all if you really want to raise your blood pressure.

She does have a bit of insight mind...

Elizabeth is aware there are some who would criticise her life.

Liz you have no idea how much. You are what is wrong with this country, you are a parasite, a mouth breathing drain on the rest of us. The only way you could be of use would be if you voulunteered to be rendered down for cat food (you like your cats, they would appreciate that)

"I'm sorry they have to pay tax money to me. If I could get a job... give me a job then and I'll work, and then they won't have to pay me."

No you fucking cunt we will not "Give you a job". With scum like you it's always "give" isn't it. It's the only thing you know. Give me this, give me that, the world owes me a fucking living so give, give, give. Elizabeth Malcom, you have never for a nanosecond taken any responsibility for your life and you expect me to pay for your lack of giving a flying fuck.

But pay I will until one of our lying, corrupt politicos grasps the nettle of welfare dependancy and rips it out by the root.

Selfish Twat of the Month

Goes to Laura Williams, 18 who a couple of days ago in what probably cost a small fucking fortune in specialist medical costs gave birth to twins. Twins that are fused together laterally for about 60% of their torso length and which although having seperate hearts probably share a shitload of other organs and the necessary plumbing compatible with life.

Apparently Laura went against all medical advice to abort the freakshow exhibit she's just had yanked out of her by c-section and according to some neighbour:

"Laura was in bits to start off with but she's a good mum. She's got an older daughter.

Hang on she's fucking eighteen and she already has a kid. In vain I searched for any mention of a father in the newsreports so I am assuming he is (a) different from that of her first kid and (b) has well and truly fucked off and is probably shagging somone else on the Nelson Mandela estate.

OK so I'm pissed that my tax money is being spunked up to keep this cunt who can't keep her legs crossed in dole money and child allowance and even more pissed at the fucknuggets in government who continue to reward people for breeding and which, in any world ruled by rationalism rather than sentiment would have gone "sorry love, you want to keep that freakshow alive then you're coughing up the medical bills, not the state, here's a bottle of dettol and a coathanger, do the right thing there's a pet". How many grannies are going to wait in agony for a hip replacement or kids go without dialysis because precious funds have been devoted to hacking this should-have-been abortion into tow bits.

But what really gets the breath weapon turned up to thermonuclear is how fucking selfish do you have to be, against all medical advice, these poor fucking kids into the world, all they have to look forward to is a short life of pain, misery and another kid bawling in their ear. What sort of diseased freakery, aside from the fact that "well the social will pay for everyhing, innit" is going on inside this selfish twat's head to want to make her inflict such suffering?

Laura Williams, 18, from Shrewsbury, Shropshire, gave birth to the girls, named Faith and Hope, at University College Hospital, London.

Ah, the sky pixie and that chap that got nailed to some wood. Only thing that would account for it.

Incinerate the lot.

A friendly warning

This is a friendly warning to anyone in the media who may be reading this blog.

The first one of you who uses the phrase "Strictlygate", "Seargentgate" or any other portmanteu expression ending in "Gate" in connection with the utter and complete non-story of some political hack leaving a dancing "competition" will be breathed on.

No Exeptions.

I trust I have made myself clear.

No they haven't

Trundling through the "and finally" bits of the news yesterday was some point-and-giggle story about some woman who has filed for divorce because her husband had got himself hitched in the popular MMPORG* "Second Life". I've written about Second Life here when it got caught up in some evil nasty peedofil hysteria and that I had never been there as First Life and the twilight world of irritating Nigerian scammers was quite time consuming enough thanks but as a former enthusiast of RPGs** I can see the attraction and I am not going to point and go "Ha Ha! Sad bastard".

However where I am going to point my head and turn the breath weapon up to "Toasty" is at the fuckwit who wrote this garbage on the BBC's "Magazine" section of the website on "How do Avatars have sex". Fair enough we get told that first you have to buy genitals which is a good idea for First Life I think, but in my world you would have to prove you could be responsible with them first and not use them to knock up some stupid tart when she was bevvied on eight cans of Stella and then has a kid whom you beat to death seventeen months later. Then we get told that:

"You can touch and jiggle about a bit and you can emote and gesture in a way the other person would see. And you can have intercourse."

Right...

intercourse is usually an animated sequence triggered by a click of the mouse on an interactive "node", although it depends how they are programmed

... not pressing any hot buttons for dragon so far...

It would just resemble two clunky-looking characters rubbing their bodies against each other

.

... bit like regular sex then. On second thoughts I think I will give this a miss.

So far so good. We get to find out that having it off in Second Life is, well, kind of like playing Jet Set Willy on the ZX Spectrum really. But then whoever wrote the article just goes and steps in it.

And infidelity is not the only thorny ethical issue thrown up by virtual sexual - some players have had sex with animals.

No, no they haven't. Nobody has had sex with ANYTHING! All that has happened is that you have imput some instructions into a computer somewhere on the other side of the world and that has made some pixels move around on your PC. You have not had sex with an animal or anything else. Sure some pixels representing an object you "bought" that happens to look like a willy is now interfaced to some other collection of pixels representing Bambi*** but you're not having sex with an animal. And unless my horse has had a computer and a keyboard the size of a barn door installed in her stable I think it's fair to assume that the "animal" you are having sex with is really a 32 year old accountant called Raymond who still lives at home with his mum.

So forgive me if I fail to see the "ethical issue" here.




* Massively Multi Player Online Roleplaying Game. Back in my day we just had "Roleplaying Games" - I was dead proud of my 16th level cleric.

** Role Playing Games, not Rocket Propelled Grenades even though I am quite keen on those too, especially when aimed at members of the government.

*** The sub heading "Antlers" appears in the article here but there are no mention of deer so I am assuming some sub decided to take out detailed descriptions of man-on-cervid action; shame.