If there's one thing to really annoy me in the morning it's some stupid bitch driving along looking anywhere but forward while talking on her mobile. What makes it worse is when she narrowly misses crashing into our car carrying my wife and daughter. Just to top things of the ignorant cow has the fucking bare faced cheek to have a "baby on board" sticker in the back window (the emphasis should be on you to keep your child safe by not driving like a fucking moron you stupid bitch!), it could just be made out as she sped off through our suburban cull-De-sac. May her days end in a twisted metal car wreck.
Talking of which is it officially Diana day? Did I miss something? Why is this still in the news, why are grown men still crying on my TV? One of the papers has a picture on the front page of Diana, made up of stamps. Wonderful, I take it there is nothing important going on in the world today, there must be murder, starvation, torture going on somewhere. Even Big Brother would be a welcome break from the Diana fest. I'm sure she was very nice, after all she had to put up with being married into royalty/wealth and STILL had the piece of mind to shag famous sportsmen and travel the world (on tax payers money?) promoting charities. Good on her, she's dead now. Any chance we can just have one year without having to listen to the fat gay guy singing Candle in the Wind.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The real White House, Peel
Following on from the antics of some pissed up Pulrose scummers who decided to steal a bus and drive it through a shop window on FA Cup Final day my favourite pub in the world decided to stick this outside for the Charity Shield. Sometimes I really bloody miss the White House.
late nite observations
I was up late one night last week, casually surfing around the channels (during the adverts to Sexcetera. Sheesh) – and stumbled upon a play with soft core potential. Game on, right? Only, there was a woman to the side, staring back at me, furiously waving her arms all over the place. Took me a while to figure out that she wasn’t part of the nekkid rompings (which never materialised anyway) but a super-imposed woman giving it the hand jive for our hard of hearing brethren. She was signing away, very animated – but just one question. Why make her so goddamn big? She covered almost a third of the screen and was very distracting with the arms flailing and hands flidding. I thought they were supposed to be deaf – not blind.
And what’s wrong with subtitles anyway??
Friday, August 10, 2007
Stoopid PC
So. I bought this fancy shmancy computer that can do 2 quad-billion computations a second.
So why does it take so frickin long to boot up? Tell me that, heh.
And another thing. You never see news headlines ‘Fortune Teller wins lottery’. Hmmm.
So why does it take so frickin long to boot up? Tell me that, heh.
And another thing. You never see news headlines ‘Fortune Teller wins lottery’. Hmmm.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Give it a rest . . .
Pop quiz. Can anyone tell me what the below blurb says? What it’s trying to communicate? Even what gawddamn language it’s in?
RAAUE: S’preevaadjagh yn çhaghteraght post-l shoh chammah’s coadanyn erbee currit marish as ta shoh coadit ec y leigh. Cha nhegin diu coipal ny cur eh da peiagh erbee elley ny ymmydey yn chooid t’ayn er aght erbee dyn kied leayr veih’n choyrtagh. Mannagh nee shiu yn enmyssagh kiarit jeh’n phost-l shoh, doll-shiu magh eh, my sailliu, as cur-shiu fys da’n choyrtagh cha leah as oddys shiu.
Cha nel kied currit da failleydagh ny jantagh erbee conaant y yannoo rish peiagh ny possan erbee lesh post-l er son Rheynn ny Boayrd Slattyssagh erbee jeh Reiltys Ellan Vannin dyn co-niartaghey scruit leayr veih Reireyder y Rheynn ny Boayrd Slattyssagh t’eh bentyn rish.
You could be forgiven for thinking it’s nerdy speak (Klingon, or an Elvish interpretation of a Monty Python sketch). But no. It’s Manx. A new initiative by the government has this warning tagged onto the end of all emails. Obviously to show how really up our arses us Manxies can crawl. The translation is as follows:
WARNING: This email message and any files transmitted with it are confidential and may be subject to legal privilege. You must not copy or deliver it to any other person or use the contents in any unauthorised manner without the express permission of the sender. If you are not the intended addressee of this e-mail, please delete it and notify the sender as soon as possible.
No employee or agent is authorised to conclude any binding agreement on behalf of any of the Departments or Statutory Boards of the Isle of Man Government with any party by e-mail without express written confirmation by a Manager of the relevant Department or Statutory Board.
I’m all for yer basic, honest to goodness, bit of pride in your country. Serve in the Army. Support a Rugby colour. Drink Blighty’s best bitter. But do not, under any circumstances, start to drag up ancient and forgotten trivia and parade it as pride.
The Manx language is a dead language. Ok – there has been resurgence over the past decade. Manx snippets on the radio and a bit in the Primary schools where Good Morning and Good Bye is parroted away with much joy. But don’t try to pretend that it has any value in todays Manx society other than to reinforce nationalistic feelings. Jumper wearing beardies may rant down the Rovers Return that it should be brought back and has a place in modern Manx society. It shouldn’t. And it doesn’t.
At least Welsh, a truly phlegmatic and obscure language, is still widely spoken in Wales (this has only been possible through the wide spread hatred of the English and their language, ‘English’) and does serve a purpose. World War Two and Welsh radio communications confounded the Germans and was considered ‘the unbreakable code’. So yay. Not even Nicholas Cage could fuck up a movie based on that premise! And it does make for amusing UK movies (see Evil Aliens for a good slasher flick with good use of Welsh). But Manx? As a modern language?
Give it a rest.
RAAUE: S’preevaadjagh yn çhaghteraght post-l shoh chammah’s coadanyn erbee currit marish as ta shoh coadit ec y leigh. Cha nhegin diu coipal ny cur eh da peiagh erbee elley ny ymmydey yn chooid t’ayn er aght erbee dyn kied leayr veih’n choyrtagh. Mannagh nee shiu yn enmyssagh kiarit jeh’n phost-l shoh, doll-shiu magh eh, my sailliu, as cur-shiu fys da’n choyrtagh cha leah as oddys shiu.
Cha nel kied currit da failleydagh ny jantagh erbee conaant y yannoo rish peiagh ny possan erbee lesh post-l er son Rheynn ny Boayrd Slattyssagh erbee jeh Reiltys Ellan Vannin dyn co-niartaghey scruit leayr veih Reireyder y Rheynn ny Boayrd Slattyssagh t’eh bentyn rish.
You could be forgiven for thinking it’s nerdy speak (Klingon, or an Elvish interpretation of a Monty Python sketch). But no. It’s Manx. A new initiative by the government has this warning tagged onto the end of all emails. Obviously to show how really up our arses us Manxies can crawl. The translation is as follows:
WARNING: This email message and any files transmitted with it are confidential and may be subject to legal privilege. You must not copy or deliver it to any other person or use the contents in any unauthorised manner without the express permission of the sender. If you are not the intended addressee of this e-mail, please delete it and notify the sender as soon as possible.
No employee or agent is authorised to conclude any binding agreement on behalf of any of the Departments or Statutory Boards of the Isle of Man Government with any party by e-mail without express written confirmation by a Manager of the relevant Department or Statutory Board.
I’m all for yer basic, honest to goodness, bit of pride in your country. Serve in the Army. Support a Rugby colour. Drink Blighty’s best bitter. But do not, under any circumstances, start to drag up ancient and forgotten trivia and parade it as pride.
The Manx language is a dead language. Ok – there has been resurgence over the past decade. Manx snippets on the radio and a bit in the Primary schools where Good Morning and Good Bye is parroted away with much joy. But don’t try to pretend that it has any value in todays Manx society other than to reinforce nationalistic feelings. Jumper wearing beardies may rant down the Rovers Return that it should be brought back and has a place in modern Manx society. It shouldn’t. And it doesn’t.
At least Welsh, a truly phlegmatic and obscure language, is still widely spoken in Wales (this has only been possible through the wide spread hatred of the English and their language, ‘English’) and does serve a purpose. World War Two and Welsh radio communications confounded the Germans and was considered ‘the unbreakable code’. So yay. Not even Nicholas Cage could fuck up a movie based on that premise! And it does make for amusing UK movies (see Evil Aliens for a good slasher flick with good use of Welsh). But Manx? As a modern language?
Give it a rest.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Feeling disgusted with myself
I’ve just gone into business for myself (yay!) Doing a nice lil’ tax thing for UK Contractors who want to keep their hard earned contract money out of the HM Revenue’s grubby mitts (yay!) And have been going for four months now and trying to steady the rudder of this Industrious monstrosity and quite prepared to deal with the ups and the downs.
I set up a business Bank account with Barclays. This was a serious mistake as Barclays have been absolutely rubbish. Business banking with Barclays offshore is terrible. Error after error after ignored email and erroneous bank charges. Ah well, thinks I, and I go about finding another offshore bank. HSBC were efficient and friendly – unfortunately their online banking leaves a lot to be desired. So I trot off to Natwest and arrange to see their banking liaison’s and get to the meeting this afternoon, and . . .
. . . am met by a gorgeous, fluffy, bouncy, gigglesome twenty-something that flounced over and offered to help me develop some banking relationships.
You have to believe me – I tried. I didn’t want to – I tried to resist. But it was no good. I fell into the ‘flirty’ empasse of chat and respond and winsome smiles and overestimations of turnover (that’ll be in inches, huh) . . . and god I am unclean and brimming with self loathing and feel dirty. The kinda dirty that only a mild acid shower will cleanse.
Yes, I’m old enough to know better. Yes, I’m aware that she uses what she has to to get the job done. Yes, it’s a natural thing to operate on a physical level as well as a myriad other levels. But I just didn’t want to. I just wanted to get account open and things running smoothly and all that without it all resorting to some ‘hur-hur-boobies-eyes-smile-eyes-boobies-boobies-boobies’.
Ah well. I’m making up an excuse about unsigned paperwork and gonna pop in to see her in a few days. Perhaps this time I’ll not wear the flip-flops and suspiciously stained pants!
I set up a business Bank account with Barclays. This was a serious mistake as Barclays have been absolutely rubbish. Business banking with Barclays offshore is terrible. Error after error after ignored email and erroneous bank charges. Ah well, thinks I, and I go about finding another offshore bank. HSBC were efficient and friendly – unfortunately their online banking leaves a lot to be desired. So I trot off to Natwest and arrange to see their banking liaison’s and get to the meeting this afternoon, and . . .
. . . am met by a gorgeous, fluffy, bouncy, gigglesome twenty-something that flounced over and offered to help me develop some banking relationships.
You have to believe me – I tried. I didn’t want to – I tried to resist. But it was no good. I fell into the ‘flirty’ empasse of chat and respond and winsome smiles and overestimations of turnover (that’ll be in inches, huh) . . . and god I am unclean and brimming with self loathing and feel dirty. The kinda dirty that only a mild acid shower will cleanse.
Yes, I’m old enough to know better. Yes, I’m aware that she uses what she has to to get the job done. Yes, it’s a natural thing to operate on a physical level as well as a myriad other levels. But I just didn’t want to. I just wanted to get account open and things running smoothly and all that without it all resorting to some ‘hur-hur-boobies-eyes-smile-eyes-boobies-boobies-boobies’.
Ah well. I’m making up an excuse about unsigned paperwork and gonna pop in to see her in a few days. Perhaps this time I’ll not wear the flip-flops and suspiciously stained pants!
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
The State of the Porn Industry
I am very concerned over the state of the Porn Industry nowadays. After extensive research I've concluded that there are no 'big name' stars anymore. No Pornstars that can easily be rattled off - counting down your top 5 fave porn vids from the pornqueen like you were counting off top 5 songs from a popband.
No - I tell a lie. Jenna Jameson is still at the top of her game. Jenna is still whacking out the films like the good old pro that she is.
But apart from Jenna (who seems to have been around for so long she's become a bit 'motherly' for me) there are no famous strutters and fluffers of the porn films of yesteryear. No Brianna Banks, Asia Carrera, Jill Kelly, Sylvia Saint, Kobe Tai, Chasey Lain or Holly Wood.
The pornqueens of today seem to come and go in the blink of a, ahem, eye. Sure, there is Eva Angelique, Carmella Bing and Catalina Cruz - and perhaps they have the staying power to make it big in the glamourous world of top shelf entertainment - but todays porn stars seem to be one or two hit wonders, make a few movies, excel at their craft, and then disappear to become housewives to ignorant millionaires or set up carwash facilities on cold and breezy Islands.
Is the Porn industry that well paid that a few films can set a gal up for life? Is the pension plan a 'final salary' deal? Or perhaps one of those '30 things to be done before I'm 30' lists that they tick and move on to the next.
Aaaaah, whatever the answer - this will be one of life's mysteries - and you can be assured that I'll be keeping an eye on the porn industry and follow the any dewey eyed starlet as they begin their porn career!
No - I tell a lie. Jenna Jameson is still at the top of her game. Jenna is still whacking out the films like the good old pro that she is.
But apart from Jenna (who seems to have been around for so long she's become a bit 'motherly' for me) there are no famous strutters and fluffers of the porn films of yesteryear. No Brianna Banks, Asia Carrera, Jill Kelly, Sylvia Saint, Kobe Tai, Chasey Lain or Holly Wood.
The pornqueens of today seem to come and go in the blink of a, ahem, eye. Sure, there is Eva Angelique, Carmella Bing and Catalina Cruz - and perhaps they have the staying power to make it big in the glamourous world of top shelf entertainment - but todays porn stars seem to be one or two hit wonders, make a few movies, excel at their craft, and then disappear to become housewives to ignorant millionaires or set up carwash facilities on cold and breezy Islands.
Is the Porn industry that well paid that a few films can set a gal up for life? Is the pension plan a 'final salary' deal? Or perhaps one of those '30 things to be done before I'm 30' lists that they tick and move on to the next.
Aaaaah, whatever the answer - this will be one of life's mysteries - and you can be assured that I'll be keeping an eye on the porn industry and follow the any dewey eyed starlet as they begin their porn career!
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