Wednesday, September 26, 2007

*cough cough*

The trick to taking tomorrow off work (and rolling the one day into two and having the friday off too - therefore allowing yourself a four day weekend) is to start with the symptoms today.

Start coughing at your desk. Take extended breaks in the loo. Splash cold water on your face to give you the pale look and squirt lemon juice in your eyes to get them red and streaming. Because tomorrow the internet will be switched off with the launch of Halo 3.

And believe me - virtually every red blooded male with an X-Box and opposable thumbs will be sat in front of their fave gaming TV and hooked into their life support machine whilst they save the future world from alien scum. Yay.

My office buddy has taken a few days off prior to the release - just to get everything perfect for the 36 hour non-stop carnage that will ensue.

Halo 3. The real world will pause so the future world can be saved. Again with the 'yays'.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

It's Burma now, is it?

You can measure the shift of attitude in our 'wonderful British Press' by the labels given to their news stories. A few years ago the lil' country with part Risk value was named Myanmar by it's Junta government. Myanmar was a bloody oppressor of human rights - as you would expect from any half-decent military regime that swept to power amidst chaos and blood. Don't need those speccy intellectuals complaining about human rights and lack of democracy, after all.

Yet the press still referred to the country as Myanmar. Best not upset any trade or TV rights that may be ongoing.

Until today. When it's Burma back on the map. Good old Burma, with it's history of Tigers and Jungles and - - what's this? Monks leading a revolt against the military government? Good-oh. That'll make excellent news coverage. Swaffron robed monks karate kicking undemocratic soldiers in a giddy nine o'clock round-up. Yay. So Burma is back. And so is the support of the British media for those violated by the Myanmar junta.

We needed some good coverage, after all, Afganistan and Iraq were getting a little stale.

Now all we need is Rambo to storm the country, knife clenched between teeth, with a grenade for a nosering!

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Can You Get A Stomach Replacement?

I've been on a healthy eating plan for a couple of weeks now, it's not a diet (diets are for girls and gays). I'm having cereal for breakfast and lunch which works well because not only do I like cereal but I'm also a cheap bastard. I finally weighed myself yesterday and so far I've lost about 4 pounds, who said this losing weight thing was hard?

Because I'd been doing so well I though a treat was in order so last night we went to the chippy, fish chips and mushy peas for me. This luxury meal has been planned since Monday, I was really looking forward to getting stuck in. I think I broke a world speed record for eating fish and chips, certainly all gone in under 5 minutes.

So this morning I'm woke up by crippling stomach pain, my guts feeling like they are turning themselves inside out. Looks like I've got a day on the bog to look forward to all because of one bastard meal. This is happening more and more, it used to be drinking with food that killed me but now it just seems to be eating anything nice that gets me. Can you get stomach replacements, if so how much do they cost and will anybody sponsor me? Gotta go......

Friday, September 14, 2007

Support Jim Davidson - nick, nick

So, ITV puts a racist, homophobic, bigot with an evolutionary dead-end (i.e. a homosexual) on a reality show (and a few bottles of plonk).

OMG - something not-PC is aired. "Oops" says the Producer. "Sack him" says the Director. "Make sure the Daily Mail doesn't get hold of this" says the PR Guy (with heavy sarcasm).

Personally, I think JD is funny. I don't know why, I usually prefer surreal humour.

I think he's funny without even saying anything. The humour comes not from what he says, but from the anticipation of what he might say. The things I imagine him saying to a [insert minority] are usually worse than what he actually says.

I'd probably hate him if I met him.

But I'll bet £10,000 that JD feels more genuine remorse over upsetting the Faggot than the Faggot feels for putting out the dying embers of a once-successful career with his Crocodile Tears.

In summary: JD is a bigot. That's his career. Dowling is a Camp caricature. That's his career. You're entertainers for Gods sake. At least JD did what was required of him. Does Dowling really believe he's on TV for his good looks and Shakespearian ability? No, he's the perfect stereotype of a gay target. Live with it.

Rant over.

p.s. How long till the word 'bigot' is as offensive to the straight-white-male minority as 'shirt-lifter' is to the growing flower-arranging community.

p.p.s. Yeah, I said Faggot. If you don't want to be offended - STOP READING BLOGS

p.p.p.s. Bizarrely, I couldn't give two hoots about a persons sexual orientation. But I HATE whinging celebrities and people who use their minority status to their advantage.

return of the man bag

With the upcoming Indiana Jones IV movie - this would be a great time for fashion designers to push the concept of 'the man bag' into the fore. I, for one, am gagging to empty the pockets of my coat/jacket/indecently tight 501's, into some cool satchel type bag designed with a man in mind.

I know there are manbags out there for sale. I just don't have the confidence to be a trend setter. So once it becomes the norm amongst the office wallah set, then perhaps I'll feel safe in slinging on a manbag and saving the blushes of womenfolk everywhere as I explain that 'why, yes. It is an overstuffed wallet in my pocket - thank you for noticing!'

ps - manbags should have cool pockets and hidden compartments and holster-thingies (where a gun could possibly go - but is actually used for a mobile phone). Where a bloke could keep a sack full of sand, snake poison antidote, handy penknife, compass and survival gear, and a quart of vodka. Perhaps with more webbing.

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Mr and Mrs Average...

...could you please pull down your pants, bend over and take one in the rusty bullet hole for society please?

10 months and numerous phone calls to the town hall later and we still don't have any working street lighting. Not just 1 out but 4 lights not working. I know why nobody is giving a shit to come and fix them, they're too busy financing carved street signs, oil central heating (the gas they put in was too expensive apparently!) and new street lights for anybody in social housing. After all one does need a suitable hand carved oak well lit street sign to walk past when one is walking from ones BMW to ones very warm council house.

I feel like a right stupid fucker for paying a mortgage, owning a house, working and all that other shit that Mr and Mrs Average do. To make things worse I've got the bloody cheek to live in the outskirts in a over priced cardboard kit house instead of a drug flat in the centre of town. This is what really gets on my tits, "You people out there, you in your own houses! We'd like you all to pay lots of money so that we can give these people over here in the centre of town more money for their drugs! While we're at it we'll need some cameras outside their doors put up just in case somebody comes to collect an unpaid drug debt." The centre of Douglas is a much safer place than our little suburbia, the only time we ever see a police officer is when they come to stock up from the drug dealer on the corner. Maybe that's why they've not bothered with the street lighting?

It's not just the Isle of Man either. One of the wife's Irish friends was back home again recently and she was amazed and what's going on over there. Centre of Dublin, lovely place, safe, couldn't be better. It seems that people are now venturing out to the back of beyond to do their murdering.

We were over in Liverpool a few weeks ago on a shopping expedition. That place has really turned around. As a born and bred United fan I hate all things scouse, but even I'll admit that we had a great couple of days. We wandered around, getting lost a few times down some dodgy back lanes but not once did I feel anything but safe. Large Police presence, very clean city centre it was great. It made me wonder though, what about outside the city centre. What about Mr and Mrs Suburbia that are footing the bill here, hopefully they're getting a fair deal or are all the scummy fuckers just heading out of town to do their nasty shit? I think I know the answer to that one already. Regenerate and Police one area, ignore the rest.

Doesn't seem to matter who the government is, Manx, Irish or UK they've all got the same idea. Coooonts.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Joss Whedon. Bruce Campbell. Wow!

Joss Whedon to helm the comeback series ‘Adventures of County Brisco, Jr’? Starring Bruce Campbell and an assortment of oddball characters?? The teaming of the creator of Buffy with the ‘Chin of Sin’ that made Bubba Ho-tep bearable!

Well – this is what I wish would happen. In one of those geekgasm kinda ideas – this one would be fan-dabby-dosy. Now all I need to do is create a rumour on the internet-thingy and let some rabid TV mouthfrothers post it to hundreds of bulletin boards and let nature take it’s course!

Eat My Shorts

Even masters of cool such as myself have bad days, today was a bad day.

  1. Go to gym
  2. Build up a good sweat
  3. Start to stretch
  4. Be joined by a super hot fitty, obviously admiring my style
  5. Hear a strange noise

OH BUGGER! Leave said hotty mentally scarred by the image of my hairy and not so toned ass in her face.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Country boy in the big City

I forgot what a glorious city London (or, as the locals pronounce it, Laandaahn) can be. I made a recent trip there last week, and instead of risking a bomb-run on the underground (although I am addicted to the warm, strange smell of the underground. Someone could bottle that and sell it on Ebay) I walked from Victoria station up to Liverpool street for the next leg of my trip.

It really is a beautiful city, with concrete grey slabby buildings next to glittering blueglass metal buildings with ornate olde worlde churches and buildings liberally sprinkled along the way.

I did stop by a few pubs along the trek (there was a curious pub where ladies took off their clothes and danced around the noses of fiver waving office types – wha-hey!). And one thing I noticed about the pubs over there was, due to the smoking ban, there were many, many other ‘fragrances’ that assaulted you. I guess a thick layer of second hand smoke becomes an almost unnoticeable, background smell – and part ‘n’ parcel of a night in the boozer.

However, with the smoke ban fully enforced, the myriad of people aroma’s has become evident – and perhaps this is the latest pubgame – name the public house aroma. The ‘stale beer in carpet’ competes with ‘bloke letting off small but regular farts’ that almost has dominance over ‘beery belch mixed with last nights curry breath’.

Of course, the cure lies in the cause – and after eight pints you barely notice the smell (or the time!).