Just a bunch of run down, beaten down, slapped down, broken down, shot down, hung down, put down, and kicked around Isle of Man immigrants who've been beaten up, tied up, chewed up, blown up, hung up, screwed up, messed up, held up, and told to shut the fuck up.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Chinese New Year 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Cocaine Trains, 24 Hour Licensing and Not A Chippy In Sight
I got a taxi down, being the only out of towner. It wasn't the cost that alarmed me though, the taxi driver was one of those chatty English blokes and was happy ranting away about this and that. He mentioned how he was out last week and the pub closed at 11. WTF? What sort of hour is 11 o'fucking clock to be closing your pub in the land of 24 hour licensing. Anyhoo I took it with a pinch of salt, maybe it was just a one off?
When I arrived at Bar Gay..... I mean Boy George.... I mean Bar George...everybody was already seated. The nights of the round table. At about 2 beers in everybody loosened up and the rant was flowing freely. From the human race to teachers I think we just about covered it all. I learnt something as well, Cocaine Trains. There were a bunch of pin-striped toss pots (not that Iprejudge people of course) sat close to us who were regularly taking it in turns to go to the toilet in groups of 3. I just assumed they were bummers but in fact it's something called a Cocaine Train. The give away being the smug, back slapping looks they come back with.
So just as the night was really warming up for what could have been a better than great session time was called. At 11 o'clock. People left, chairs were put on tables until there was only us sat there. I was CONVINCED that it was some sort of a joke. Apparently not. Left to wander the streets it was decided that a chippy was the next order of the day, we wandered long and far, looking for anywhere that had a sign of life. Not a bloody one open. What sort of a shit hole island is this? I demand the right to be able to drink later than 11 on my thrice annual nights out and I also demand the right to go to a chippy on the way home, as I've done for the last 13 years. All this talk of credit crunches and shite is all great until you can't go to a chippy on your way home.
It was a great night, great company and shoddy lager. I've just crawled out of bed with a head that is begging me to puke my guts up to feel better. Now that wouldn't have happened if I'd had some chips to put on top of the dirty nasty lager.
Here's a picture of us in Boy George.....I mean Bar George:-
Friday, January 16, 2009
Insensitive
Bugger.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Katrina Darrell - American Idol
The question is how would this translate to the UK, how would we feel if the average English munter turned up in her bikini on Saturday night TV? Do we have any Katrina Darrell's out there?
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Oh my God! There probably isn’t one.
Atheist adverts declaring that "there's probably no God" have been placed on 800 buses around Britain after an unprecedented fundraising campaign. Well my point of view is neither here nor there, but I unquestionable know there isn’t one.
And if you needed proof, just look at the psycho bitch that was my first wife, no God would allow me to do that. Then there is the complete Cluster Fuck that is the world at the moment and in all likelihood since man managed to drag himself out of the primordial slim and pick up a pint.
Man’s inhumanity to man is legendary, whether it is the in name of some deity, some cause or just for the sake of power.
Yep, there is no God. The final proof is Chicks with Dicks… WTF?