Well what a year it's been in the Dragon household

I got a Christmas card off my cousin the other day, the cheapskate had sent it second class and must have posted it late so it arrived on the 29th. Anyway its the thought that counts, a thought I didn't have as I didn't send him one.

It might have ended there but on opening said jolly holly and mistletoe card out fell a letter which appears to have come from the planet Pretentious.

You know I really thought people had stopped sending those stupid round robin letters out to their extended social circle but it would appear not. What sending one of those means is "I count you as part of my extended network of vague friends and relatives but you are too unimportant in my life to keep in regular contact with so I will tell you all about my wonderful life and family once a year in a carbon copy memo I send out to a metric fuckton of people none of whom remotely give a monkey's peanut laden shite what my and my wonderful kids have been up to."

Quite correct Cousin Twathead, I think I last saw you about seven years ago when you were getting hitched to wife No. 2 in that hotel, or maybe it was wife No. 3 - I lost track.^* Anyway he appears to have aquired wife n last year, this one coming pre-sprogged for your convenience, and as a result there are a number of teenage kids to write about so I get to hear about school prom (when the fuck did we import that American nonsense - when I was a hatchling we celebrated the end of term by going down the park and drinking cider), clever Tarquina getting five A* grades in her exams and of course lots and lots and lots of lovely holidays and Cousin Twatheads' promotion at the bank.

Why? Why are you inflicting the minutae of your drab, middle class, estate car and two weeks in the South of France existence on me? It's not as though I am going to write back and congratulate you on a year's worth of achievement in all things mundane is it you fucktrumpet!

If me and Mrs Dracunculus were going to send out one of these it would look something like this:

Well what a year it's been in the Dragon household. The pony got laminitis and has been on box rest for months, we got two dogs who are eating us out of house and home and shit everywhere, my internet connection still sucks but at least I now have a more or less working WiFi setup and the garden hasn't had anything done to it and still resembles the battlefield at Ypres.

Oh and man came with a big tanker sometime in September and pumped out the septic tank.

Apart from that we spent the year gambling, screwing and getting pissed.

See you all in 2010.

^* I have a theory that my cousin is over-compensating in the wife department after the debacle of marriage No. 1 back in '94 when it turned out his bride was shagging the best man the day before the wedding and they filed for divorce immediately on returning from their honeymoon (true story - honest!)

Yawn, scratch, scratch, scratch

Look, dragons tend to go to sleep for a long time OK. I was rather hoping to stay in the land of nod until that fuck ugly twat Brown had been kicked into touch but tempted out of my cave by large quantities of turkey and stuffing I see that him and his gurning pack of fucktrumpets are still in business screwing over the country.

Sooo what's been happening. Global warming revealed as bollocks, yes saw that, lots of people going to the land of Carlsberg and Bodil Joensen (all the good porn shops are behind the station on the Istegade guys, but I expect your researchers told you that) - bet none of you cycled there did you?

Nigerian trying to blow up a plane... well I suppose that if you're too thick to make money doing 419 scams international terrorism might seem to be a reasonable career option. Seems like he was as bad a terrorist and bomb maker as he probably was a scammer "Wetin dey broda, mugu like you have no level!"

And the chinkies have killed someone for drug smuggling. Excellent! In deference to the sensibilities of the bleeding hearts in the west they didn't rip out his organs first to sell to the highest bidder on Ebay and they are letting some raghead preacher chuck him in a hole but, and all credit to them, they did say "Our house, our rules, fuck you" when Batshit Milliband went all "we condemn this is the strongest possible terms." Now I hold no brief for China or it's leadership, in fact I think China's leadership sucks like a very sucky thing and the Chinese people have some very odd notions when it comes to medicine but having been there the notices at the airports are very large and very clearly say "If you smuggle drugs we will execute you" and quite frankly the fact that you're loony tunes cuts no ice with me or the Chinese justice system. I know people with bipolar disorder (back in the day we called it manic depression), in fact one of my best mates has it - sure he's not entirely well and he's a little bit scary to be around when he's in one of his manic phases but generally the drugs keep him on an reasonably even keel and he holds down a responsible job and an active personal life with no real issues. So maybe dead drug smuggler was "Non compliant with his medication" as Mrs Dracunculus would have put it when she was dealing with loonies for a living. Well if that's the case he should have been in a hospital or institution... ah we shut all those down didn't we, right.

So Batshit, before banging on to a very important trading partner who also happens to have one of the largest standing armies in the world not to mention something of an inferiority complex about how naughty they are for stringing this guy up (bet they made his family pay for the rope too... now that's a justice system I would like to see here!) maybe you should look and see just exactly what lead him to China and why wasn't he doped up and singing his rabbit song on a "special" ward somewhere.

Mind you given that the fact he wrote said rabbit song maybe the Chinese have done us all a favour in bumping him off. Go and listen... it's truly, er, unique.

We got the crusties

You may have seen on the news that some of the trustafarian "climate change" protesters currently infesting Blackheath decided to target Banko di Haggis today:

"Protesters glued to floor of bank"

Well as your scaly green chum was there, they decided to occupy the next row of desks to where I sit, let me let you in on a few details as to how this actually went down.

Firstly, here they are should you pass them in the street and want to give them the business end of a breath weapon turned up to "toasty" so they can experience some Local Climate Change.



Nice looking bunch of layabouts filling in those long summer months before heading back to uni to that all important Media Studies degree.

Protesters have glued their hands to the floor of the Royal Bank of Scotland headquarters in the City of London.

As you can quite clearly see their hands are not glued to the floor at all, what they did was actually glue themselves to each other with one of them putting his arm around a pole supporting a TV similar to the one on the right of my picture.

Twelve Climate Camp protesters dressed as construction workers stuck themselves to the floor while a further 100 protested outside.

As you can see they are NOT dressed as construction workers, and there were in fact six of them.

To be honest they were pretty well behaved for protestors and just sat there occasionally chanting their "whose planet - our planet" chants plus another one that seemed to go to the tune of those old Jack Dee beer commercials (the "Widget, it's got a widget, a lovely widget, a widget it has got" one) and every so often one of them would start banging on to the gathered wage slaves of B de H about how bad we were and we should be nice to mummy earth and "as traders you can make a difference"

It was at this point that some kindly employee pointed out to them that, although this looked like a trading floor all the traders had moved and we were, in fact, a bunch of IT guys and beancounters.

The plod were, as you would expect with every employee of the bank wielding a pretty high end mobile phone camera, (and no it was not me that sent these images to the Daily Fail) being on their best behaviour despite one of the gobby little shits who looked not unlike Japan's bass player Mick Khan giving it a load of verbals about how the police were breaking the law by not giving their names (son, they don't need to, only their numbers) and eventually the riot act was read to them, they refused to shift until RBS stopped hurting mummy nature and some chaps with solvents turned up, put safetey goggles on the crusties and de-glued them. Of course our little protesters wanted to milk this for all they could get so despite the gig being up they insisted on being dragged out...



About two hours later one of my colleagues reported that our unwashed friends were outside the front of the building once more, no doubt having been taken down to Bishopsgate nick and then let straight out with a police caution.

To be honest I have no problem with them protesting, I disagree with what they say but they have a perfect right, indeed a duty, to say it. But you interfered with my sausage sandwich and coffee this morning so if it were down to me I'd have invoked the disaster recovery plan, cleared the floor and left you there for a couple of days - let's see how your commitment to the cause is when you're sat in your shit and are hallucinating because of dehydration.

Fucknuggets the lot of you.

(Video of one of the silly twats getting dragged out as soon as I can get YouTube to bleeding well work)

Burning down the house

Apparently a whole load of dole claiming smelly crusties are going to be decending on London today to set up a "climate camp" for, well, just for shits and giggles I guess but they will be banging on about global warming/cooling (take your pick) and no doubt teaching each other circus skills (which is always juggling and not dressing up like a clown and driving around in a car with the doors falling off) and knitting their own tofu. Apparently this is supposed to draw attention to the weather or something.

I trust that names and IDs will be being checked and anyone claiming benefits will have them immediately stopped for that week as they are clearly not available for work? No, thought not. Keep paying your taxes so these cunts can carry on inconveniencing you, you climate criminal dragon.

Meanwhile up in swamp-world we've had a bit of a fire and a nice company which does very environmentally sound work in recycling car tyres has gone up in flames and, apparently, the advice from the Environment agency is not to put the fire out and just let it burn itself out. I drove past it this morning on the way to the station and there is a mound of tyres that must be 8 or 9 metres high, 20 metres wide and dog knows how deep merrily blazing away. I can see the smoke from the lair and that's 8 miles away and every now and again the wind changes direction and you get the whiff of burning rubber, sort of like an oily coal smell like you get around steam engines which isn't entirely unpleasant but I can't imagine it's very healthy. That and the fact that this thing is probably generating the same amount of CO₂ every minute that I would have to drive my big fuck off 4x4 around the world from now until doomsday to make.

Bet you won't see any climate campers outside there any time soon.

Nyarrrrr

I see from this that the BNP have a new, sure-fire way of recruiting the critical mass they need and enabling them to usher in a new thousand year reich of not being very nice to the darkies.

The British National Party is using English Folk songs ...the BNP is very much on the look out for a "political soundtrack".

Yep. Folk music. That ought to do the job.

You can just see the rallies now. Lots of smartly turned out young men marching in perfect drill, tons of flags, Nick Griffin in a silly moustache and some weirdybeard folkie in the corner playing an accordion and singing "The Lincolnshire Poacher". Finger in the ear here we go.

Oh I'm a computer programmer
From sunny Milton Keynes
During the week I wear a suit
At the weekend I wear jeans
And it's my delight on a Friday night
To cook some haricot beans.¹

I wonder if Dave Cameron's Tories would be interested in picking up the contracts of all those "Oi!" bands now that the BNP have gone acoustic.


¹ © Alexi Sayle, who still is funny.

More pocket wolves

Loki


Freyja


Not sure what they call themselves but they certainly don't know their names. At least they are generally starting to crap on the newspaper now.

You are allow to go "awwww, cute!" for a few moments if you wish.

Pocket Wolves

I has them.



Sorry about the crappy picture but this was the best I could do with my phone at the time.

Please say hello to Loki and Freyja, little furry bundles of 11 week old Alaskan Malamute cuteness. Into everything, piddling on the floor and crapping something that appears to be a combination of toxic waste and velcro.

More pics to follow (of the dogs, not the crap)

Please to be speaking up as you are the dyings

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/8163930.stm

The National Flu Service is expected to go live later, giving thousands of swine flu sufferers access to drugs without needing to consult a GP.

The phone and website service, which will only cover England, is the first of its kind in the world.

...

Dr Richard Vautrey, of the British Medical Association, which has helped to design the checklist being used by the flu service, said: "What we have to remember is that this is a unique situation.

"So as long as the call handlers get the correct training we can be confident in this service."

Yeah, right. Something like this then...

Good Morning. My name is Gupta, how can I be of helping you?

You are having the sneezings and ache of the head and sore of throat yes? And you are the saying you are keeping the random motherfuckers on fire setting? And you are saying all you can smell is the truffle?

I am the thinking perhaps you have the piggy flu. Please give me your name so I can the medicine be getting for you.

I am sorry I am not understanding. Please can you be spelling name.

D for Dupiaza yes?

Is that A as in Aloo?

No is R as in Raita?

Now is A for Aloo?

Now is G for something in indian food that start with G

I am the sorry line is not good here in Delhi, please to be roaring more loudly Mr Draggle

Atishoink

Oh wonderful. Yesterday we had an email round saying that someone has gone off with "self diagnosed suspected swine flu" - which probably means he has a sniffle and fancied a few days off. However as it seems he was over in our office on Monday and had a lengthy meeting with someone on my team who sits on the next bank of desks the whole of that desk row has been quarantined - which means sent home and told not to come in for 4 days in case they suddenly start oinking and developing a really good nose for truffles.

Of course this now means that everyone on my team is now at home putting their feet up and watching Richard and Judy and left holding the fort is one very, very pissed off small green dragon.

Also the person that our latter day Typhoid Mary happened to be meeting was someone I subsequently spent the rest of the Monday afternoon with plus a good portion of Tuesday sharing a keyboard as we did some pair programming and fixed a couple of problems. So if this is genuine I'm fully expecting to start turning pink and squealing come the end of the week.

If you cross a dragon and a pig do you get a pigeon?

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