Good Morning Go Fuck Yourself

Why are we SO overly nice and polite? Don’t you hate those nobbers at work who talk about their friends as if you know who they are…?

“Yeah well, me and Debs were having a few glasses of wine, David came back from work late and…oh…have you met David?”

Now the logical response to this is…

“Have I fuck? I don’t even know who Debs is! I asked you how you’re evening were because I am obliged to do so and now you’re going on about people that I have never met before! Now first off, you have made the fatal mistake of thinking I actually give a fuck when quite obviously I was only being polite and secondly, I barely fucking know you! So how the fuck would I know who the fuck Debs and David are. Twat!”

But you don’t, you shake your head and look around and say…

“Umm…No, I don’t think I have” frowning a little as if you are actually wondering if you have met Debs and Dave. I think it is fair to say that had you actually met Debs and Dave, they would both be complete tossers for hanging out with and being friends with your moronic work colleague and you would probably respond something like...
“Yeah, couple of dickheads’ ” much to your colleagues amazement. Why do we do this?

What a thoroughly uninteresting story. A complete waste of my breath and time, yet we do so at least 10 times a day. Office politics are a joke. Each and every day we walk into work we say the same things to the same people…

“You alright mate?”
“Fine thanks, you?”
“Yeah, cool man”
“I’ll see you later”
“Yeah man…cool”

Give a fuck, I just don’t need that in my life! These are the sort of people at work that die and you don’t even read the email that goes around, you literally carry on with your life as if they had never really existed. That level of conversation is potentially life threateningly boring. I literally feel like sifting through shit would be more interesting.

If time travel were an option (I would do many things) I would take it upon myself to travel back in time to just before we made eye contact and punch that particular person square in the face, so by the time I walk past them, say on the stairs or at the door, they are flat out on floor wondering what the fuck happened. Problem solved.

I would also use it to back to last night and punch Debs and Dave in the face for ruining my morning.

Pointless, pointless conversations. I hereby state that I am to no longer going to partake in them and just harshly ignore people of any unimportance to me and my life.

Lets all do it, I usually do on a Monday and Tuesday, but I am going to roll it out for the full 5.

Happy Monday, get up to much this weekend?

Day Of The Triffids

Methadone, Methadrone, Meow-Meow, Woof Woof, Bollocks!

I don’t know what the fuck it is called? Countless people call it countless different things. Either way, it’s sweeping across our society sharpish and ending up the nose of everyone I know. By the time I finish writing this the entire world would have taken it and be sitting tripped out in their greenhouses sprouting leaves. I hear its plant fertilizer, I am not so sure that it is, if it is it well then its you know, that stuff we use outside, on those green things in the soil. Are people really running out of ideas or are we just getting bloody proactive in the recession!? Surely we could be making some new drugs? Not just having a go at sniffing any old substance lying around the house. Are times that bad that people are resorting to aimlessly wandering out into their mother’s greenhouses and randomly finding and sniffing anything. I mean I know things can be hard, but surely not all has gone to shit...

What the FUCK is next!? The mass consumption of slug pellets? People sitting around at house party’s popping pellets and sliding around the conservatory. If me and my mates got bored and smoked some old dog shits that were lying around and it resulted in an excellent party and one teenage fatality; people would be smoking parrot shit in Paris by Tuesday. I have nothing against drugs; I just fail to see why preparing your body so that its ready to grow a bed of daffodils is a good idea what so ever. Not to mention that nobody knows what the fuck that stuff is doing to your body; the scientists are probably having bloody breakdowns thinking about the long term side effects. You may one night, be at a really ‘cool’ party where people are snorting the chemical they use to bind shredded wheat’s together and think nothing of sniffing 2g’s of fertilizer …then 30 years later you wake up and you think you’re a juniper berry or you find yourself getting a disciplinary for laying across your work desk unknowingly because you think you are a fucking tulip basking in the sunlight.

Now that might sound ridiculous to you? But then again, so is taking plant fertilizer.

Then again, I drink and smoke perfectly legal and taxable drugs, so who the fuck am I to talk?

Men of Valor

“Jacks Back!” I proudly announce having let scream a Ripper from my bouwls! A beautiful moment, a true and meaningful offering.

Heads turn in slow motion with looks of empathy, looks to suggest I had just carried a most sacred and guarded message across many lands and delivered it heroically as burning arrows penetrated my chest. Admiration breaks out across the faces of those souls fortunate enough to have been there, of those who will go on to tell the tale, a true feeling of valor and unity in the atmosphere.

The fart, frowned upon by women, highly regarded amongst men. How can such a wonderful thing be so cruelly condemned? I ask. It’s an art form and a profound statement. There are many different types of farts, many overlooked and most under-rated.

Farts like the sneaky ‘Metal Gear Solid’ – A stealth fart that sneaks underneath the radar whilst smoking a cigarette, so intelligent and calculating that not even you are aware of it until after it has happened and, the ‘Jack the Ripper’ – An evil and vulgar bastard, some have said - the scent of Satan himself.

Amongst peers, both of these are gifts, where as when you are in the company of strangers or the unappreciative woman, they are not considered so thoughtful. If at a work meeting you let scream a Ripper, the devils breath after a night out and a rotten kebab, you can have no doubt that it wont be making the minutes of the meeting, you will be shamed and fired . If you unknowingly release a ‘Metal Gear Solid’ also known as a 'Snake' infiltrate your defenses whilst on Central Line in the morning and you’re left red faced like a fat ginger kid who’s just had his trousers and pants pulled down in front of everybody he has ever known. Disgraced and unjustly so.

Once when I was 15, I was smoking some hash with a friend in my front room, nobody saw it coming, I guess you never do. He sat back and made an offering. At first I was confused by its tone, he too appeared mystified. It appeared to seep out at a steady pace, my friend and I looked at each other, each seeking some classification. I suspected a ‘Creeper’. My friend dismissed my guess as it began to gain more confidence. Eyebrows raised and deciphering the code it came to rest 10 seconds later at the now classified ‘2012’ – An unexplainable apocalyptic event prophesied by ancient civilizations, written about since the dawn of time. A pause and nod in his general direction.

We don't really talk about it anymore, some things are better left unsaid. Whenever I see him now, no words are spoken, just a simple nod of understanding exchanged...
To this day; some have said that when it happened, you could actually see it in the air around him.

Farts are more than mere gas.

Either way, I shouldn’t have eaten those curry bites earlier.

Natural Bored Killers

Do we ever really get bored? People tend to throw the term around casually don’t they?

“Ah man, I am so bored”

In my own boredom I have been doubting the actual existence of boredom itself, for it is after all, just a word to describe a feeling or state. In my eyes, a state of ungrateful, ignorant apathy. Yes, that’s right. There is no such thing as boredom my friends, think about it. If you are tired of doing something, do something else. The problem is that you can’t be bothered to find something else, because you are lazy. Instead you enter a state of ‘boredom’ which in reality is just ‘bollocks’.

The Lemming, now he’s actually bored. So insanely bored of his aimless wander that he doesn’t stop when a cliff top approaches. The century old and frustrated Turtle, having cruised every sea and lake, intentionally swimming head on into the open mouth of a Whale. He’s bored. As is a man trapped inside a 5ft by 5ft room for his entire life with nothing more than an empty packet of original flavor hula hoops to inspect. He is quite rightfully bored.

You don’t see the ancient scriptures of mankind depicting anything other than sheer bloody excitement and adventure.

“…and so Jesus, our lord and savior, in a state of complete and utter boredom, did sit for 3 hours complaining of the town’s lack of entertainment and tele-visual options”

Did he fuck? He was out there, in amongst it all, parting sea’s, healing cripples and all sorts. Not us, oh no. We have everything we need to warrant contentment but yet easily wave the white flag of boredom. The latest series of ‘I am a celebrity; get me out of here!’ finishes and we enter an immediate state of ‘boredom’. Up comes the white flag.

“I am so bored, I could actually die”

Can you imagine if boredom actually caused death!? We would have ‘Boredom Officers’. Essentially an endless army of ugly and annoying twats dressed up in god awful multicolored/textured clothes, the designs, unbearably hideous, yet so intriguingly hypnotic that you could never actually take your eyes off of them thus never allowing your brain to recognise its own state of potentially fatal boredom. As soon as you put down your Playstation controller or an episode of ‘Dancing on Shit’ comes to an end, before you can even consider reaching for your white flag, they instantaneously come bounding in from all angles, singing and dancing in a desperate attempt to keep your brain from shutting down and your heart from failing. Those few of us, who manage to survive and entertain ourselves through the dark ages of a night without Eastenders, would have to murder a Boredom Constable in cold blood every ten minutes. The world would descend into chaos. Everyone would be so incredibly scared of death by boredom that they would anxiously act like the Boredom Officers themselves all the time, resulting in more killing and general inconvenience for myself and others just like me.
Thankfully, we have a steadily rising figure of increasingly boring television shows for us to quell such chaos. You have to wonder what we have become when our brains are kept at bay by watching a Z-list celebrity walking around in their pants.

“Peter is in the sitting room eating another bowl of cornflakes”

Happiness breaks out across the faces of entire nations, wars come to an end and empty stomachs fill.

So, I hereby call for the redefinition of the word.

Bored – (‘bor-duh’)

A dangerous and sometimes fatal disease affecting morons and lazy people suffering withdrawal symptoms from television and general participation in pointlessness.

I tell you what though, if ITV respond to and agree to fund my proposed reality show…
‘I am a pointless celebrity; round me up, nail me to a tree and fucking shoot me!’

Well, I am not going to lie, I will probably watch that.

God is in the TV.

Old People, Terrorism & Wanking

Old people. They are from this ancient and almost mythological time where people were actually quite nice to each other, a time where people spontaneously greeted each other in the streets. If somebody acts with such spontaneity these days, I find myself suspecting some kind of conspiracy. My granddad is from that time. He is quite brilliant, each time I go to visit him; I sit down on his leather sofa and it starts…

“Want a chocolate Son?” He says, clearly forgetting that he had my mother at all. I politely decline with the knowledge that the chocolate he is referring to is the now rusting and barely recognisable tin of Quality Street I bought him 2 or 3 Christmas’s ago.
“No thanks Granddad, I have just had my tea!” I say, as my stomach grumbles with the sound of a 160 million year overdue volcano.

“You see the football last week Kid?” he asks. This could be any game from 1946 onwards.
“Old what’s his name was on form wasn’t he ay?" he chuckles whilst emptying an entire pack of Murray Mints into his mouth in one well rehearsed and fluid movement.
“Oh yeah! He had a blinder” I say somewhat inappropriately. Not knowing if this player was even real or if he was talking about George who lived across the road 25 years ago.

Old age is something I am not really sure how I feel about. At 23, I struggle with the daily things. Today after work I was having a shower and washing my hair when, from the corner of my eye I spotted an unidentified black object on my shoulder, rightly fearing the worst I jolted in panic, positive it was the well overdue ‘spider in the shower’ incident I jolted once more attempting to dispel the venomous killer from my body. In the same movement I lost my balance and hit the wall, sending me spiraling head first into the gushing water, now blinded by the Herbal Essence, vulnerable and defenseless, I looked down to see it was just a bit of fluff. This lead me to think about what it is going to be like when I am old and decrepid, growing mold and wanking myself into oblivion.

How am I to deal with such horrors? The immobility, the Murray Mints, the wanking and the Quality Streets. Although it may all seem about as interesting as a 3 day exhibition on table clothes, I understand why these people sit in their damp houses…

Our very thoughtful government has in place, a system designed to let us know how likely we are to die at any given point called ‘The Terrorism Threat Level’, so we can all gauge how likely it is that our trip to work today may or may not result in being left limbless. Delightful.

Low - an attack is unlikely - “He’s got a big bag, but I am sure its filled with presents for terminally ill children at a hospice”

Moderate - an attack is possible but not likely – “Yes I know dear, but the Evening Standard said that they are using banana bombs in Afghanistan”

Substantial - an attack is a strong possibility – “ If I were I Terrorist, I’d pick Wembley Park”

Severe - an attack is highly likely – “A child!? He’s not a child! lets stand behind this fat man”

Critical - an attack is expected imminently – “Oh my god! It’s OSAMA HIMSELF!”

I was thinking of adding an extra level in there… Its called ‘Bugger’ and as soon as the news presenter reads it out on the ‘news’ every single one of the people watching it all starting sweating and shit themselves uncontrollably in tandem.

The point of this note is really to ask you to think outside of the box when you flick through your Metro each morning, or you’re Standard at Night, Don’t believe all you read, the truth of the matter is that all the things that we need to know are not published. An example of this is the information that is being held back in the Iraq enquiry, information needed is the information most guarded. Whereas information we don’t need, information that can be used as a tool against us, is published in every single available space possible. It is nearly impossible to turn more than 1 page with out 5 stories of gruesome murders, or how our children in London are being recruited as Suicide Bombers. The Evening Standard published a front page article on how teachers are keeping a close eye on young children who may potentially be groomed as suicide bombers.
You have to ask yourself what the purpose of such a front page headline is? It is so we are all so trapped by our own fears that we will stay in the state of submission that works best. So we can justify our inhumane actions around the world. We don’t need to know that these kids might step onto a train one day and kill us all; we need to know what Tony Blair and his cabinet were saying to George Bush and his oil thirsty administration two years before we agreed to invade Iraq.

As far as I am concerned Bush & Blair should be put on trial for war crimes and when I see that on the front page of my newspaper I will actually open the pages and consider reading it. Until then I am done with the media, because the majority of it either thrives on negativity or is bullshit 1984esq propaganda.

Although I won’t hold my breath, because it is likely that I will be old and decrepid, growing mold and wanking myself into oblivion before that happens.

“What ever happened to Swine Flu? Whats that? The helpline is now closed? They aren’t going to dig the ‘mass graves’ I read about? Oh….”

Open your eyes!

Technology - Allowing the complete nutters to blend effortlessly into society

Does anybody else suffer from a severe technology pace disorder?

It just moves so fast. Too fast I reckon. Every single week there is a new gadget in the paper, accompanied by a photo of a very bald and ugly middle aged man in glasses displaying said gadget with an enormous grin on his face, a grin that suggests that he thinks he is finally going to get laid as a result of creating ‘The Apple Crack’ – An ultra fast gadget, completely naked to the human eye, that after placing inside your anus and installing the equally invisible software on your laptop, allows you to take a shit and empty your recycling bin, remove any incriminating search history whilst updating your twitter simultaneously. Unfortunately upon reading this, the 'Apple Crack' technology will be obsolete.
But none the less, a truly wonderful piece of kit…

A not so wonderful piece of shit is that little bastard Mobley from the Carphone Warehouse adverts you see on your very humble and prehistoric idiot of a television…
For the record if my phone ever sprouted arms and legs, started dancing and following me about I would take that shit down Terminator style. Anyways, on to my point.

It amazes me that in a day where people can send emails from toasters, in an age where you can go on Facebook from the trunk of a nearby tree, it’s quite peculiar that I am still having difficulty adjusting to the simple and very harmless, wireless mobile phone headset.

The scene.
I step into the street, escaping my working nightmare. As I light up a death stick I catch a very normally dressed man very normally going about his normal business, walking very normally down a very normal road, as people, normally do. Nothing unusual here.
But as the man draws closer, a stark and gripping realisation!...

The panic begins to overwhelm me! I begin to sweat uncontrollably.
The fear, the sheer bloody horror!!...He is talking to himself!…..

He’s talking to himself! Oh god shit! Shit! A bloody lunatic! A bloody NUTTER! Clearly escaped, he’s clearly fucking escaped, Oh woe is me!! Helpers took him out for a trip to McDonalds, their backs turned for a moment and he’s away, away, arms flailing, galloping to freedom, I’d suspected it all along! He’s been hatching this plan for a decade, escape and brutally murder me! Me!! Oh I’m dying, dying!! Mother your son is fucking DEAD!!...

….Oh no wait, no, he’s on his phone.

That is ok then. Damn Technologists!! You maniacs do absolutely nothing for my blood pressure, another cigarette to calm me down I think.

P.S - Has anyone noticed the similarities between SkyTv and Skynet Systems?....Thought so.
I will meet you guys underground.

Stay strong...

We will win.

John Conner.

APOCOLYPSE sNOW

We have had a week or so of notice haven’t we?

Yes, we have.

We have heard everyone saying, “Oh, it’s going to snow next week!” haven’t we?

Ummm yes, we have.

We have had the ever beautiful & beaming weather forecast presenter very calmly telling us through an unbearably annoying fixed grin, a grin that makes you want to reach inside the television and alert her that all is not worthy of that smile and that her whole family just died in a horrific plane crash before poking her in the eye and running off, that snow is on it’s way haven't we?

YES, WE HAVE!

So would somebody please tell me WHY the fuck is it that we struggle to even fucking breathe as soon as it begins to snow a little? Streets turn into scenes from apocalypse movies, where the only sign of life is the occasion scurry behind you of a normally very relaxed person diving for cover from the storm of white bullets tearing down through our skies like meteorites.Why people barricade themselves in doors in case a pack of wolves or a giant Yeti turn up outside. Why people begin driving their cars like lunatics on route to Morrison’s so they can stockpile hot dogs in case they are snowed IN.

"Now listen son!when we get inside, head straight for aisle 6. Here take this knife and take no prisoners!"

‘Snowed IN’ is a term bandied around that often makes me laugh. It’s not as if we have been trapped underneath a land slide is it? It is not like our re-entry into the outside world is similar to escaping fucking Guantanamo Bay is it? The only thing that might be ‘Snowed In’ is a fucking rabbit or a badger. So as these moronic panic buying hypochondriacs take the inch or so higher step from their front doors, they should realize that if a badger deals with this shit, i am sure that they can too.

"Oh dear James, Ryan is dead and we are down to our last can of beans!"

What grates on me most is Transport for London’s lack of ability to deal with the pathetic amount of frozen water gently drifting down to the ground . I have a plan for as and when a zombie apocalypse occurs; do they not have a plan for when water freezes? I hear trains once had snow ploughs; instead now we have train’s without and stupid platform staff who are about as equipped as I was when I lost my virginity, panicking, not knowing what to do and generally having a bit of a break down.

These TFL staff remind me of when at 18, I was unsuccessful in my application as a postman, to return home at the crack of 3pm to the see a retarded postman shuffling along trying to work out which way round his envelopes were.

All of this just begs the question. Are we all complete idiots?

Anyways, Fuck work tomorrow, I’d be mad to go outside in that shit, have you seen it?