Tuesday, 28 July 2009

Big Issue

I forgot to mention - when I was in town doing my Christmas shopping I purchased The Big Issue (please do the same - too many miserable buggers walk past and won't cough up a couple of quid) and as I did the guy said to me - honest to god - "Great. Cheers mate. That's me last one - I can go home now".

Mate - you really need to sort out your sales pitch.

EDITED TO ADD: Thank you for your comments but no I didn't see Jimmy Carr doing this gag. This is not a gag. It actually happened. He's the Big Issue seller with the long hair who has a dog who usually stands outside Waterstones in Birmingham just down from the Bull Ring.

Christmas Shopping

Well all the adverts for shit on the telly and the subtle hints from idiots I live/work/socialise with as to what they want for Christmas makes me think it must be time for the annual horror that is "Christmas Shopping" or as I prefer to call it - buying crap for people because you feel obligated to based on a religious festival they don't even believe in.

So - I get wrapped up warm and drive into the city centre and queue for half an hour to travel the last quarter mile into the very centre. I then spend another half hour queueing to get into the multi-storey car park which is bursting with stupid people-carriers (everyone used to manage with a simple estate or even a saloon when they had kids back in the 80's) and us fools who weren't up at the crack of dawn and have got here at noon are waiting for each car to come out before another one is let in.

Eventually I park and get out and fight my way through the throngs of noisy, grubby, shellsuit-clad gobshites who are utterly incapable of noticing anything other than what it directly in front of them and therefore have to mash everyone else's shins with their bags of cheap plastic crap from Argos as they bumble off towards KFC for their bargain bucket lunch.

I finally make it to a trendy little "cafe" which serves all manner of different coffees with all manner of chocolate/toffee/milk variations.

And internet access.

After twenty minutes my coffee is finished and Amazon.co.uk, Play.com, Firebox.co.uk and somewhere else - I think it was Boots.com - have sorted all my Christmas shopping.

Like all those smug buggers in your workplace who always tell you their Christmas shopping is no problem as they do it online - I do too, but I do it properly because I'm hardcore. I go through all the hassle to get the presents even though I shop online.

A Christmas present is only any good if the person went through hell to get it for you.

Album Review: Metallica - In Darkness

Metallica return with a humdinger of an album recorded entirely in the key of H.

It is a new key they invented whilst in a particularly protracted group therapy session. James was busy not drinking in one corner whilst Lars yelled into a small Brabantia pedal bin about how misunderstood he was and Kirk looked on bemused as he couldn’t fathom why no-one had sussed he’s been playing the same rubbish solo for all these years.

Fortunately this album is as heavy as ever albeit we cannot hear an ounce of the rhythm being provided by the insanely talented [insert name of current bass player].

Whilst it’s not interesting in any way - it’s certainly worthy of note that all eleven songs on this masterpiece were written.

The cover art concept is brilliant - combining a picture of some sort with the name of the band (and the album title) - written in actual words - across the bottom bit of it, sort of in the middle.

Having said all that this album has a sort of menacing swagger and it leaves you unsure whether to adore it or hide in the shed and tell no tales. The riffs fly at you like those freaky monkey things in the Wizard Of Oz. Christ those things used to sh*t me up big time. What kind of weirdo puts that in a kids' film?

Anyway - where was I? Oh yes - riffs - it's got lots of those. Fast ones AND slow ones and some that change halfway through.

Did I leave the oven on?

Sorry - the album - yes - it's er....Metallica really. It is beige metal of the very shiniest order and the lyrics are about stuff and the drums are there too.

In short you should buy it because you are 38 and think you still rock, but actually you have two kids and a Mondeo estate and spend more time listening to Teletubbies and the Tweenies than any other music and so by comparison it still seems cutting edge. Goodnight.

Bonfire Night

Except it isn't a "night" any more is it? It's a f**king month! Why do so many people have to let fireworks off every frigging night and what is the fascination? Surely the novelty wears off eventually. One night a year it's cool (maybe two - Divali is usually a good night) but every night for four weeks is just pathetic. Get a life.

There's a family across the road from us who have been standing in their garden for TWO HOURS watching rocket after rocket go up and go BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG continuously.

TWO hours???!!?!?

No pretty flashes - just deafening bangs. For TWO hours!!!

What's wrong with you? Are you swamp creatures? Are you all a bit "backwuds"? To be impressed by loud bangs repeatedly for two hours......Jesus - I could hit them repeatedly with a hammer around the head and it would have a similar effect.

Then we'd all be happy

Trick Or Treat

Trick please…

Come on then you pasty-faced nylon-tracksuit wearing little roaches in your crappy Woolworth's masks thrusting forward your grubby little paws in the expectation of sweets or, more to the point, cash (it seems from the demands of the local 'yoof' in my area) show me your "trick".

You aren't getting a treat from me, this is not America. Demanding money with menaces is not cute. As if there aren't enough of you little sacks of puke letting off fireworks til 3am every night without banging on my front door all frigging night whilst I'm trying to watch a movie after a 12 hour day at work.

So - show me your trick - bearing in mind I have come to the front door in my Halloween costume (DM boots, boiler suit, Voorhees-style hockey mask and large kitchen knife) let's see what you've got???

Hey - come back......

Where are you going?

Ah, the delights of scruffy teens hijacking Halloween to try to raise a few quid.

Hmmmm. Wonder if they'll be back next year.

Oh - and parents - if your kids (and by this I mean young kids who are genuinely going to go "trick or treating" (how can three words be a verb?!!) then have the decency to accompany them on a cold dark night when they are effectively wandering around the neighbourhood knocking on strangers' doors and playing the role of every paedophile's fantasy.

"Hey mister....you got any treats for me?"

How about parental supervision.

Wank For Peace

It's quite simple.

There are too many wars, too many pub fights, too much civil unrest, too many arguments. People are always fighting.

We need to do something to promote peace and I thought about a march or a protest or some campaign but that all seems like a great deal of hassle to be honest. However - wanking is something we all do, at least once a day, and it's fun (I assume everyone does do it at least once a day, right?!?). So why not wank for peace?

I suggested this idea to a few people and they said that they couldn't actually see how it would help. None of them questioned my enthusiasm for wanking nor my commitment to peace, but they couldn't see how it would help.

Well, here's how. War is about aggression. Fights start because people have too much pent-up aggression. What better way to release it than a good old fiddle!? These warmongering lunatics are primarily religious types - and their leaders are ususally revered Religious icons. And what do senior religious figures all have in common? They're celibate. They get no sexual release. It all builds up and they get aggressive.

So I say let's all have a wank - everyone - and encourage your friends and family to do it too. Be careful how you phrase it and which of your friends and family you address your comments to or you could have a really awkward meal time.

So - one and all - come forth and come forth - let us wank for peace.

Album Review: Survivor - Fighting To Win

We thought they were long forgotten but Survivor return to prove that we have actually forgotten ourselves - yet they remember all things.

This album is just a stone’s throw from the seminal “Eye of the Tiger” but it’s also miles away - as if it were right at the bottom of a field and you were the other side of the farmhouse, wincing.

The collection of songs on offer are steadfast, good old fashioned rock-by-numbers rock - and you can’t argue with that. But then - Survivor don’t want to argue with you - they want to take you on a trip that is nostalgic, but also modern in a really not nostalgic way.

The contradiction is beautiful and it tickles, with the tracks coming at you one by one like scorned lovers from your past turning up on your doorstep night after night to remind you of your indiscretions and poor table manners. The sound conjures up images of a manatee on a skateboard honking with delight as it ollies its way into all of our hearts and, dare I say it, all of our tomorrows.

Buy this album - if only for the reason that you want to listen to the songs on it. And don’t say I didn’t warn you!
(because I just did - just then, in that last bit)

I Need Answers

1. Why do we press harder on a remote control when we know the batteries are flat?

2. Why do men believe you when you say there are four billion stars in the sky, but they have to check when you say the paint is wet or the plate is very hot?

3. Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?

4. Why do they use sterilised needles for death by lethal injection?

5. Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

6. Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

7. Whose idea was it to put an "S" in the word "lisp"?

8. If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?

9. If it's true that we are here to help others, what are the others doing here?

10. Do married people live longer than single ones or does it only seem longer?

11. If someone with a split personality threatens to commit suicide, is it a hostage situation?

12. What level of importance must a person have, before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?

13. How is it that we put man on the moon before we figured out it would be a good idea to put wheels on big suitcases?

14. Why is it that people say they "slept like a baby" when babies wake up every two hours?

Some Basic Facts Of Life

1. Cheggars cant be boozers.

2. Laughter's the best medicine. Unless you're asthmatic, and then its ventolin.

3. People who live in glass houses shouldn't....masturbate with the lights on.

4. To avoid a messy divorce, find a woman you really dislike, and give her your house.

5. When your wife/girlfriend asks you to "be totally honest" she doesn't actually mean it. What she meant to say was, "tell me exactly what I want to hear and make it sound convincing."

6. There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.

7. Dogs have owners. Cats have staff.

8. Don’t go to Nuneaton. It's not the end of the world, but you can see it from there.

9. Everyone has at least one great novel in them. Except Dan Brown.

10. Ladies please realise that until a man has slept with you he will not be able to concentrate fully during conversation.

11. DJs - Impress people by learning a real instrument. Alternatively, shut up, take your record-player and f**k off.

12. If you are a necrophiliac sadomasochist who enjoys bestiality, you may as well give it up. You're flogging a dead horse.

13. If at first you don't succeed, pay someone else to do it.

14. Who says men can’t multi-task. What about w@nking and moving the mouse at the same time?

15. There’s no sadder feeling than accidentally leaving your mobile at home all day and then returning to find you have no texts or missed calls.

16. Americans: No, that’s not irony. That’s called a co-incidence. There is a difference.

17. Organised people are just too lazy to look for things.

18. Fat birds & mopeds... both alright for a quick ride, just don't let your mates find out.

19. Never, EVER, mix sleeping pills & laxatives.

20. There are 10 types of people in this world. Those who understand binary and those who don't.

21. The phrase "What are you, some kind of c**t?" can only ever be used as a rhetorical question. Unless you’re at a fancy dress party where the theme is genitalia.

22. A true friend will never say 'I told you so'; they will just pour you a stiff drink and listen.

23. Under no circumstances should two men ever share an umbrella.

24. The one who smelt it dealt it.

25. Tact is for people who aren’t clever enough to take the piss.


Not a bad programme - little documentary about the edges of the country where they meet the sea. Splendid.

The long-haired Scottish fella who presents it is okay too. I'm not about to start a rant about him though. So why am I mentioning him you ask?

It's that bag - that man-bag he carries with him all the time. On screen he always has it with him. Why? TV presenters on location have a team of people who do the camera work, sort the lighting, directing, food, drink etc and a general runner who does all the odds and sods. If the presenter needs stuff - they sort it for him - he doesn't need to carry it round with him in his own little bag.

So why does he carry it? Well.....either he has it for effect - to be a little trendy f**ker and make a fashion statement. However, his kagoul and Marty Pellow haircut would tend to suggest he's not a Hoxton fashion type.

So - the only other reason can be......it's got his special precious stuff in it. There must be a collection of items he holds dear in some sort of weird clingy way - or they're just too secret to let anyone else carry and he needs them at all times.

So what's in the bag? Porn mags and a bag of special toffees and a picture of his childhood sweetheart who is now married to an engineer in Hartlepool? Is it his special hammer for cleaning the streets and some rubber gloves and bleach? Is it the Turin shroud? Is it a large paper bag full of happy pills for when the show gets dull and he needs to boost his enthusiasm levels before the next interview with some bloke pointing at lichen on a rock?

I wish I knew.

Advertising Speak

I like coffee. Not that instant shite - that bears no real relation to coffee.

I like ground coffee beans with hot water on them. Except it's a hassle to make. So I was most pleased to discover coffee bags. Ground coffee - in a bag. Like tea bags!!! Brilliant - easy to use and I'm surprised they haven't been around longer.

Except they are each individually wrapped in a foil packet in a great big box which seems utterly pointless when they could be in a single big foil pack - just a gimmick if you ask me.

Then I noticed the other day what was written on each packet - right next to the tiny little slit.

"Tear here" ? No - that would be too easy.

"Tear here to open" ?- no - far too straightforward.

How about "Tear gently to free your coffee bag"

WTF!?!?! Tear it GENTLY to FREE your coffee bag. What sort of coked-up gonk dreams that stuff up!?! I'm not drinking it any more out of principle because idiots write nonsense on the packets.

Children On Aeroplanes

Please, please, PLEEEEASE...........

If you have children under the age of 4, don't take them on aeroplanes unless you have taught them some form of discipline. Those of us who sensibly choose not to go on long haul foreign trips with small kids have no way of escaping your screaming little shits for several hours you selfish, small-minded fools.

If they are under 12 months old it is hardly their fault if they are crying or whatever - but why take them on a foreign holiday???

When I was little we went to Wales or Cornwall in the car so that our tantrums were only inflicted on our parents who CHOSE to be shut in a form of transport with us.

So - wait til they're over four and not prone to crying/squealing and then you won't ruin the flight for SEVERAL HUNDRED PEOPLE, MANY OF WHOM ARE TRYING TO GET SOME SLEEP AND NONE OF WHOM CAN GET AWAY FROM YOUR WAILING LITTLE BANSHEES.

Oh yes - and in the brief time I have spent in two pubs since the smoking ban came in I've noticed that now they are no longer smokey, unhealthy places to be - more parents are bringing their flipping kids into the pub.

Not the big chain, diner-style, happy to have kids there type pubs - but decent proper pint and a game of darts REFUGE FROM THE FAMILY type pubs.

Having a pint should be accompanied by fags, darts and blue jokes, not the screams of children and women glaring at you for swearing because little Milly is nearby doing her colouring in and having a glass of coke.

I don't hate kids - well, actually I do - but isn't it best that they are either
(a) taught to behave; or
(b) not forced by their parents to spend 11 hours on a plane

Trust me - when you're 3 you can have as much fun in Devon as Disney World.

Are You A Rock Star?

No, I didn't think so.

So why are you wearing shades indoors? You sad, deluded tool.

If you were Keith Richards, or Ozzy or Steven Tyler - you could get away with it. But you're not. You're some chav lad with a spiky haircut in a bar who thinks he's it.

Well stop it. Anyone who is not in a band who wears shades indoors is a total and utter arse-wipe.

And so is Bono.

Album Review: John Denver - Doohickey-Doo

John Denver’s latest album pukes out of the speakers and into our homes like the purest statement of intent. “I’m not f**king dead, you lot” he seems to say. Although he doesn’t ever say that.

The album begs the question….but never proffers the answer(s). And therein lies its beauty - albeit a really frustrating beauty whose face you want to scratch with handfuls of straw.

It fills your ears but never involves your eyes or mouth. It’s a collection of words and chords and bits of stuff that sounds like an orchestra of windmills laughing at the notion that Todd Carty could ever have a successful spin-off series from Eastenders when his character is essentially two-dimensional and relies wholly on interaction with characters that are already well-established.

I think that Tony Parsons summed up our loss most succinctly when he wrote the words “Oh you bloody plane you. Bloody bad bloody plane. So much you did rob us of with this dear sweet man whom you took from us”.


Terror Alert! Everyone Panic!

Well, as I went to my place of work today certain civic buildings were coned off so you can't pick up or drop off outside them. Vehicles can pass by down the road as normal, but the bit next to the pavement outside the building is cordoned off.

With the terrorist burning jeep hopeless nonsense that did nothing other than singe the occupants and annoy the airport authorites, I guessed this was related. So I asked the nearby plod "Why is this coned off?"

Reply "To stop people who may be car bombers"

But of course. I should have known that if you are hurtling at high speed towards the entrance of a large civic building in a 4x4 packed with half a ton of explosives, that a row of 18 inch high yellow cones with "Police" written on them will stop the impact.

Why do they bother? Or do they think terrorists are real sticklers for Highway regulations and will think "Well, I was going to park my car outside the council house there and detonate it, but if I were to stop I would be breaching the local parking by-laws and that's n ot what I'm about. No, sir. I'm a law-abiding suicidal maniac intent on murdering dozens of innocent civilians".

Or (and stop me if I'm being cynical here) perhaps it's the government yet again trying to con us into thinking they are doing something useful about the problem by doing something noticeable yet useless.

How about a sensible look at our foreign policy and why it is we keep pissing off half the Muslim population of the world, rather than the sticking-plaster-on-a-severed-limb approach we currently have.

I Want Some Feedback

Not from a Mesa Boogie head with a Gibson SG jammed against it with the volume turned up to 11.......from people on e-bay.

I get something in the post from an e-bay seller and it's all in order and I write nice things on the feedback form because I think that's all very nice.

So.....I end up with two tickets to the Metallica show at Wembley this weekend and I can't go. So......do I flog them (they are front standing tickets - sold out section) on e-bay for a huge profit??

No - Buy It Now - face value and I don't even charge them postage. Some bloke purchases them and I send them First Class recorded delivery and at the same time e-mail him to let him know they have been sent and wishing him a very jolly time at what promises to be a stunning gig.

Nothing. No response, no feedback, nothing.

So I send another e-mail a week later asking politely if he got the tickets? Still nothing.

Before anyone thinks "he may be on holiday" - the gig is this weekend so I doubt it. He gets an absolute bargain for a sold out gig and I e-mail him twice to check he gets the tickets ok and I get no feedback.

What a cock knocker.

Hmm, maybe I should write that on his feedback?

Album Reviews

Someone e-mailed me to ask what the hell I'm on about in my album reviews.

Let me explain briefly..........

I come from a generation that read Melody Maker, NME, Sounds etc and saw the emergence of music journalists as people who thought they had some great literary prowess or poetic turn of phrase. My view is shut up with the bollocks and tell me if the album is any good or not.

I explained that the likes of Paul Morley (and in her day as an NME scribe Julie Burchill) wrote such pretentious bullsh*t that I just gave up on their nonsense and took to reading reviews online. They would use ludicrous epithets, similes and metaphors to describe songs like they were mythical beasts or legendary masterpieces and something more than just - well - a song.

They would also do this really annoying thing of writing "it's as if they're trying to say...." and put their own interpretation on everything. They would suggest that some cheesey pop song was about the struggle of the Suffragettes or neo-classical philosophy when it was actually Lionel Richie singing about Dancing On the F**king Ceiling.

So I decided to write the same sort of thing - as pretentious and surreal and utterly pointless as the real thing. I thought I was getting carried away and just being silly until last week I saw a review by the one and only Paul Morley - of Brian Ferry's album.

I am so jealous. It is more ridiculous, pretentious and mental than anything I have come up with.

Please note - this is EXACTLY word for word as it appears on the liner notes for the CD..........
"Well aware of the lateness of the hour, the brightness of the day and the fullness of time, because ultimately there's no hurry - and a void to fill - the surefooted Ferry heads out into the black colossal brevity of the fourth track. With just the correct amount of transcendent grace he sings the song - which is just a song - and much more than a song, as if to say 'wherever I've been, whoever I've been, whoever I met - and it might have been me, it might have been you - whatever I've seen, whatever happens next - because it means a lot to me....It's been an absolute pleasure' "

Is there a word that's a level up from c**t?


I went to Donington to enjoy the heavy metal festivities and noticed something that seemed to happen every time someone spotted themselves on the big screen as the camera swooped around the audience.

I kept seeing the side view of them as they waved/gurned/stuck their middle finger up. None of them were shown facing forwards. None of them twigged all weekend.


Thank you.

Album Review: The Offspring - Clank

I don’t know how to begin with a summary of the aural pleasures provided by The Offspring’s newest and, let’s be honest, brownest offering.

It immediately snaps at your heels the second you open the case and by the time you put it in your CD player it’s positively foaming at the mouth even though it doesn’t have a mouth in the literal sense.

Press play and fireworks go off like the end of a really lovely party in Nottingham - but be careful. Too many listens and you can find it’s more like a bad, bad accident with a sparkler and a child’s eyes.

This disc is the sound of the younger generation rebelling against the older generation but then reacting back against themselves in an even more rebellious way. It evokes images of rolled up newspapers being used to whack kittens into waste paper baskets like some lunatic croquet match.

And the only way to describe the lyrics is that they fall out of the speakers and prostrate themselves on the floor - demanding to be picked up, chewed and then spat into the face of anyone who dares to wear a uniform or call themselves a ‘citizen’.

This album demands to be heard. And then demands to be put away properly in its case and put back in the right place in your alphabetically arranged CD collection.

No, I Don't Want Fries With That

I know that has been said before (many many times), but McDonalds seem to have learned it's frigging irritating and stopped getting their staff to trot it out like a mantra if you choose not to order fries.

So why is everyone else doing it?

WH Smiths... "Would you like a half price chocolate orange with your magazine?"

"NO - I can see them sitting on the counter right in front of me in a desperate attempt to catch my eye as your stocks are massive and you need to get rid of them but I didn't buy one because I don't want one so just sell me my f**king magazine"

HMV do the same - they insist on offering me a half price dvd from the selection strewn across the counter right in front of me. I'm buying the new Deicide album - do you really think I want a copy of The Santa Clause on dvd?

I know it's what they're told to say by their bosses but come on - think about it - at least pick your target audience properly. Yesterday I was buying some wrapping paper for a birthday present. I stupidly picked the day before Mothers Day when all blokes, true to form, are leaving it to the last minute to buy a card for their Mums and so the queues were enormous.

And EVERY bugger who got to the till was being asked by the grinning fool behind the counter (whilst pointing at a garish, crappy LED in a bit of plastic on her right tit) "Would yer Mum like a flashin badge fer Mothers Day?".

Cunning you see. Not "Would you like?" but "Would your Mum like..." - making you immediately feel more reticent to say "No" as they're asking if your dear old Mum would like an extra gift or are you too tight to pay the extra £3.

Fortunately most people realise their Mothers would be mortified if they had to wear a small piece of yellow plastic that flashes and draws attention to them so sales were not going well. However, what really annoyed me (god knows why) was that they were asking everyone - no matter what they were buying.

If they asked people who were buying Mothers Day cards - that's not so bad - but to ask everyone.....well I felt the need to highlight the pointlessness of their little marketing campaign.

I get to the counter..................."Would your Mum like a flashing badge - only £3????!!!!"

"Er.......no.......I don't think so. She died last month"

Stunned silence followed by very swift purchase of some wrapping paper.

Comic Relief Ain't Having My Money

Just seen a clip where they are explaining about teenage kids who have gone online and given a complete stranger (slightly saucy) photos of themselves, plus their phone number and home address and guess what - they turned out to be perverts, but their parents weren't monitoring their internet use so they didn't know.

And they want my money to stop it? How about no!!!

You are 14 and have your own PC and need my charity money!?!?!?

If your parents can't be bothered to look after your welfare properly why the f**k should I?

I will give £30 to a childrens charity tonight instead but if a 14 year old girl is THAT stupid and her parents aren't monitoring her activities I have no sympathy (btw - nothing happened to her - they eventually sussed it was some 40 year old nonce). even if I did have sympathy why should I pay money to stop it happening. Can't they sell the dozy kid's PC and give the money to kids in Africa who have no clean source of drinking water? Children In Need should be saving the lives of kids like that not paying for dimwits to go on courses to tell them what their parents should be telling them which is not to post naked pictures of themselves on Facebook!

I despair.

Album Review: Phil Collins - The Fax Of Life

Phil Collins prances back with a ruddy great twat of an album. It’s as gleeful as it is glib and, in many ways, makes you want to f**k something really thoroughly.

It’s as if the 1970’s never happened, but all the other decades happened twice. The songs lurch, leer and fart at us like petulant wasps intent on stinging the only person at the Regatta who’s actually allergic to wasp stings

The wall of bang and fizz that ripples out of the speakers is like the noise of Little Jimmy Krankee ageing as he/she/it begins to realise the hypocrisy of the cabaret circuit and wails longingly into a conch shell that’s been smeared with horse fat.

This album makes fools of us all.

Apparently It's Snowing

Is it just me or has the whole damn country gone mad with the snow thing? How much of the news is going to be taken up with talk of snow? It's not news!!!

Sky even had their helicopter out showing us images of five chavs having a snowball fight on a hillside.

Excuse me, but, er, isn't there a war on and stuff?

The weather IS NOT NEWS. In fact it is SO not news that it even has its own section after the news - called "The Weather". So stop it.

Right now.

Aren’t You Supposed To Have A Gun Or A Knife When You Rob Me?

After all - it would seem more appropriate.

Being a big music fan I go to a lot of gigs. I remember the days when a booking fee was just that - a booking fee. To cover the cost of the people who answered the phone and took the booking. Couple of quid per order.

In the last few years it’s gone from a couple of quid per order, to per ticket an now it’s getting more and more. £5 per ticket for a gig at a major venue recently and then I went online and bought tickets for a big outdoor festival.

£8-50 per ticket booking fee. And I did all the work myself by booking online - nobody took my order or did anything.

Are you trying to get back at the e-bay tossers you singularly fail to combat by making your own extortionate profit on top of the ticket price? Yeah - join in the constant struggle to kill off live music despite a resurgence since the heady days of clubbing, raves and the like almost killed it in most small venues.

Oh and then on top of the booking fee there’s a £1-50 “admin fee”!!!! Is that the bit where the mugger kicks me in the balls AFTER I’ve already handed over my wallet and phone?!?

Still - the P&P was only £4-99 for two small pieces of paper in an envelope.


Ah, Sweet Romance

I was strolling past a rather dim and dodgy pub today - you know the sort - big chain pub in the centre of a big city - full of people drinking dawn til dusk or until their giro money runs out. Not that I’m stereotyping.

Anyway - there was a rather charming poster in the window with the headline “Treat her” underneath which was a picture of two bits of meat cut into heart shapes nestling together.

Underneath it said “Two steaks for £9-99 14th Feb”.


Mind you, I did think perhaps the poster was incomplete and the headline should have had a few more words after “Treat her” - such as “like shit” or “with contempt”.

Nothing says “I love you” better than steak and chips. And what a bargain price too. As long as she pays her half, of course.

E-bay (A Bit Sweary This One I'm Afraid)

C**ts on e-bay that sell tickets. You're all c**ts. F**king c**ts.

Not to put too fine a point on it.

I wanted to go and see David Gilmour last year - the man's a genius. Never seen him or Pink Floyd live.

Could I buy a ticket? No, I f**king couldn't because his entire tour sold out in four and a half f**king seconds because eight tickets were bought by fans and the other 48,000 were bought by c**ts who wouldn't know a Pink Floyd tunes if it f*ked them up the arse but think they can make a quick buck out of it.

So - the genius guitar bloke who I was desperate to see because of his finely crafted work and skill and talent - gets 45 quid per ticket - and another 250 on top goes to some f**king leech with a computer and no life or proper job.

And although I could afford it I refused in principle to pay those prices. And e-bay refuse to do anything about it due to the tidy profit they make.

Eventually managed to get tickets via a friend of a friend, but was incredibly hard and many other people had no such luck. Many other gigs I've wanted to see recently have involved being online and on the phone the second the tickets go on sale frantically calling and hitting refresh on the PC in the vain hope of getting two sh*tty tickets right at the back.

If you sell tickets on e-bay for a profit - EVER - no matter what the reason or how much you need the cash - YOU ARE SCUM. You are living off other people's talent and depriving genuine fans from getting to see their heroes. The richest get to see the good bands, not the keenest fans.

You suck and what goes around comes around.

Aaaaaaand relax.

Public Service Ads

Right - this is genuine and serious. I'm not being flippant or sarcastic and there is no punchline coming.

I went to a bar the other night and there were two poster ads in the gents toilets above the urinals. One showed a woman's groin area - with a "No Entry" sign on her knickers.

The other showed a burly bloke sitting in a prison cell - looking at the camera and said something like "If you don't make sure your partner says "yes" to sex - then the next person who has sex with you may not care if YOU say "yes" or not!!!"

Have we, as a society, (and in particular our binge-drinking youth culture) sunk SO low into a moral rut that we need SIGNS IN THE BOGS AT THE PUB REMINDING US NOT TO RAPE ANYONE?!?!

For f**ks sake. I despair.


Why do people do it? There's always people running near where I live. Not for any reason - not trying to catch a bus or a mugger that's run off with their wallet. Just running along the street, sweating - and usually listening to an i-pod - because clearly they find running boring.

There is no need for it. We can keep fit by playing competitive games. We used to run and there used to be a point to it but surely we have evolved beyond that now that we are civilised modern people!?!

Running was invented for one of two reasons:

1. Something that wanted to eat you was chasing you
2. You were chasing something you wanted to eat

Having seen no sabre-tooth tigers or gazelles in my local high street I figured anyone who does run around the town is probably mental.


Fine - companies spend money on research and development - increasing market share by bringing out new and unique products that are fresh, exciting and innovating, but in the world of savoury snacks this is NOT NECESSARY. Just stop it.

We have Crisps*, Nuts, Pork Scratchings, Twiglets and Mini Cheddars. That's all we need. The 5 basics.

(*includes Wotsits, Quavers, Monster Munch etc)

We then get Scampi Fries and we get Pretzels from USA and Tortilla Chips and Pringles too. Ok - I can live with that.

But it's starting to get silly now - new snack developments that we simply don't need. Pack it in. This isn't the space race - you make cheesey footballs or crispy things to dip in runny things at parties.

For instance Pringles are introducing Pringles Prints - crisps with facts and trivia printed on them. FFS.


It would now seem the Pringle will be smarter than the person eating it.

And then America's answer to Cheesey snacks - Cheez-It have another new development, namely "Twisterz". If you click the link you will see they are a new snack that combines TWO flavours for a unique taste sensation.

Two flavours? TWO?

We all see these days how the main political parties become more and more marginalised and new "Single Issue" parties spring up such as UKIP and The Green Party and the Respect Coalition etc, but they don't get enough votes to have any sway or catch the attention of enough of the electorate.

If we started a Snacks and Pop Regulation Party aimed at bringing in stricter guidelines for manufacturers we'd have the whole country behind us.

"Do you want to know our stance on Iraq? Or PFI? Or Education reforms? We haven't f**king got one. No stance - no policy. Not even a vaguely quotable opinion. But we'll sure as shit stop them fannying about making new types of crisps, adding aspartame to pop and taking the E-numbers out of Tizer" (Really pisses me off that does - Tizer was just artificial flavours and colours dissolved in sugary water - it's pointless without them).

We'd be voted in with a landslide majority. Come on people - these are the REAL issues that affect our day-to-day lives. They stopped making Wispa bars and re-branded them as Dairy Milk Bubbly in a normal chunks-bar-type product. They changed Opal Fruits to "Starburst". They changed Marathon to "Snickers". Jif is now "Cif".

Are we gonna stand for this shit or are we going to march on Westminster declaring "No more innovations in snacks (and bathroom mousse cleaning agents) and fizzy pop" ???

After 2006 comes...

2007 saw the bullshit factory that is my brain continuing production at a steady rate with consistent levels of juvenility and impotent rage. Read on, upwards and upwards, you masochist you.

That Was 2006

The posts below are the sum total of the nonsense I dribbled onto the interweb in 2006 (well, the last couple of months actually - I only started my ramblings in October).


Tim, that is.

He is such a terrible fake and so dreadfully lame and genuinely doesn't seem to appreciate that he is about as cool as Fonzie.

No - correct that - Fonzie is much cooler. Westwood's about as cool as the Chuckle Brothers.

In a recent issue of Q Magazine he surpassed himself in new levels of pretentious white middle aged, middle class tool trying to sound "gangsta". He was asked about his current favourite tune which he said was a remix of Soul Survivor by Akon...............

"As a club DJ - I rock bangers that create crazy excitement in the party. The original was a hood classic so they made me a 'special' - a revoiced version dedicated to me. Sh*t is straight banging! Trap music meets J.A. shottas. It's an ugly situation."

That made me so angry I had to set fire to an old lady. And her dog.

Now look what you've made me do Timothy!

What a cock.

Album Review: Terence Trent D'Arby - Rock-A-Bye

My word! Terence Trent D'Arby slams back like a greased fist - with an album that provokes us into a vertical position and never lets up until it’s done.

Once again he’s proving that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you can teach someone else’s two-year-old child to say “Vulva” at breakfast.

The pieces of music that form this round platter snuggle up against one another so tightly it’s as if they’re second cousins who are worryingly close in a ‘not-illegal-but-may-produce-web-toed-children’ kind of way.

The ear is treated to a lilting brace of melodies that remind you of the sounds heard the first time you ventured secretly into the abattoir to see where Uncle Maurice worked only to find him with his arm entirely inside a dead lamb, as if it were a glove puppet, wanking himself off with its lifeless jaws.

And this means only one thing - Mr. D'Arby has yet again set the standard for modern soul music just like James Brown and Sir Edward Heath before him.

If you only buy one album this year, then buy this one. But if you buy two, then get The Kooks and The Feeling. And just borrow this off a mate or get a tape of it or something.

Glitter On Christmas Cards

I have now got to the point where this year - any card I get with glitter on goes straight in the bin, regardless of who sent it. It's mainly work colleagues and of those it's usually girls, but family ones will be binned too. Can't even recycle them ladies! Tut tut. If you're a bloke sending cards with glitter on you need a slap anyway.

So - for those people who send me cards with glitter on - f**king stop it you dozy gits. It gets everywhere! It's a huge pain in the arse and it should be banned.

The second I get a card and feel that rustly glittery feel I begin to get annoyed - even before I've opened it. It's usually got bits of glitter on the outside of the envelope anyway as the idiot who sent it will have glitter all over their hands.

It ends up on my hands and on my suit and it won't wash off - sticks like a batstard. Before you know it you've rubbed your eye or scratched your nose and it's on your face.

Thank you very cocking much! I look great at work speaking to my boss with glitter on my face and suit. What am I supposed to say?

"Sorry boss, I'm being festive"

And don't even get me started on the stupid amount of bows and ribbons and shit people put on presents.

Give it me in a f**king bag or some cheap wrapping paper and spend the extra £5 you wasted on ribbons and bows on getting me a decent f**king present next time you twat.

Merry Christmas btw.

Christmas Present For My Missus

Never know what to get her.

This year I thought I'd try something different and original: Vouchers for a boob job!

Nothing wrong with the size - they’re perfect.

There should just be more of them.

I mean, 3 would be cool, but 4 would be ACE!!! An extra one in the middle and then a spare round the back between her shoulder blades.

Album Review: Jean Michel Jarre - Futurisme

Jean Michel-Jarre returns like a stealthy goat with a whole hour of mindhurting electronic wob-wobba. The album dares you to like it and then demands that you ignore its inconsistencies. Yet it never touches you in a bad way or rifles through your pockets.

The music cannot be described simply as music because it goes beyond, and in many ways, underneath that. It’s a fruit-bowl of musical notes and………well……more musical notes.

The overall effect of the album is as if you were violated wrongly in the bum after eleven glasses of Absinthe laced with Rohypnol at a Christmas party then awakened with the acrid smell of smoke as your car burned furiously next to a disused sporting goods warehouse and children looked on wondering if you were Santa Claus or just some homeless with a collection of Commonwealth flags in a shopping trolley.

The whole thing just beggars belief - but you know it’ll gatecrash your party and never go home again. Ah - sweet poetry.

Hair Conditioner

What the hell is that all about then????

Hair cleaner - yes. That's fine.

It's called shampoo - it makes perfect sense - and when I have my monthly shower I use some to get the flies and birdshit out of my barnet.

However my missus tricked me by putting a very similar bottle in the shower - right next to the shampoo. So I splash a load on my head and..........it won't lather and it's really oily and takes twenty minutes to rinse it out. And it makes my skin feel greasy too so I have to wash myself again.

And what are its benefits? It gives my hair "body and shine" apparently.

Well thank you very f**king much L'Oreal for that body and shine I have been apparently missing for the last 30 years. My hair is now so full of body I can't get my helmet on and was about to go for a ride on my motorbike.

So, my hair which normally looks something like this...........

(that's not actually me btw)

Now looks like THIS


Idiots At Gigs

Why are you videoing it on your mobile phone? You utter, utter, utter twats.

The sound will be rubbish - the picture is pointless as it is just a blur of flashing lights - and it's only 250 by 250 pixels. It is as pointless as you are you depressingly obsessive nob-ends. Standing throughout the gig with your arm aloft - looking at your phone's screen, not the stage, and blocking other people's view whilst missing out on the reason for being there - to jump around, mosh, sing, clap, dance and generally enjoy the moment and be part of it.

You are trying to capture it for posterity but don't actually enjoy the spectacle whilst you are there. What a lovely memento of the night you stood there like a lemon holding a phone in the air. Oooh, put it on facebook!

If you ever ended up in a situation where you got a naked girl in your bed (unlikely, I know) would you just video her on your phone rather than actually having sex? Result - you're still a virgin but at least you can look at a tiny image of her naked body any time you want and send it to your friends. Sorry - "friend".

You sad no-lifers really should stay at home and watch some grainy footage on Youtube because more and more of us real fans are getting sick and tired of you bumbling around trying to record everything and the next time you're in the pit it won't just be your Nokia that gets broken.

A Certain Store Selling Car Accessories That Shall Remain Nameless For Legal Reasons

So I went into Halfords yesterday and asked if they could help me because my car battery wasn't working. Here follows the (slightly paraphrased, I admit) conversation:

Halfords man: Can I help you sir?

Me: I very much doubt it

Halfords man: Pardon?

Me: Nothing. I need a battery cos mine is broken.

Halfords man: Broken?

Me: Yes - as in "not working"

Halfords man: In what way is it not working, sir?

Me: It's making my car not start

Halfords man: Really...

Me: Yes - which is a bit awkward as it means I now cannot drive my car. And I bought my car mainly for driving.

Halfords man: Are you sure it's the battery itself....

Me: Yes - it's got no electric left in it. Is it tired? Can I have a new one?

Halfords man: Certainly sir - this is our standard battery - it comes with a 3 year guarantee

Me: Is it full up with electricity?

Halfords man: Indeed it's filled right to the top with heaps of electricity sir. Now... what car do you have as I need to know which battery to get for you?

Me: I have a black one - tis that one there in your list. It's nice. Mine looks diferent to the one in your book though. I done the stickers myself.

Halfords man: Aah, right - then you need an 067 - here you go!

Me: Er....that looks too big

Halfords man: Are you sure? (said in a "I know about cars - I work in a car shop - and you clearly know f**k-all" tone of voice)

Me: Yes - it's too big

Halfords man: Well - the computer says it's the right one for your car

Me: Well, I think the computer may be wrong as it is MAAAHHHAAAASSIVELY too big for my car

Halfords man: (I kid you not - this is a direct quote) Well, I'm sure it's the right one sir - things sometimes look bigger out of the car than they do in the car

Me: Yes - and things often look bigger when they are actually bigger than the other thing they are being compared with. It is larger than the space in my car for where the battery goes.....

Halfords man: But I'm sure.....etc etc

In the end I bought the battery and carried it out carefully (because it was brimming over with electricity and I didn't want to spill any) and took it home to my poorly car. I lifted up the lid at the front of my car and guess what..........



Pop Music

I was in a sandwich shop today (christ, it's expensive to buy a sandwich these days - but that's another rant for another day) and so was forced to listen to the shite spewing out of their stereo for the enjoyment of their largely gormless clientele.

Radio 1 - ah, how lovely to see that even people with severe learning diffculties get gainful employment. Being able to string a sentence together with some vague stab at grammar is clearly not a prerequiste to be a DJ on this fine station. And the titbits of trivia and celebrity gossip that made up the "Headlines" in their news bulletin ("Take That are Number 1" came above "48 killed in Iraq") beggars belief.

Anyway - the first thing that struck me was that modern pop music has run out of ideas and so the retro thing is happening big time (it hit the rock and Indie world massively about 18 months ago so of course it will filter through to pop eventually). All well and good, but this means a throwback to the catchy singalong tunes, but also the mindlessly stupid lyrics of the 60's.

The worst culprit I found during my enforced half hour of lunch and auditory brain-melting was The Feeling and their charming little ditty "I Love It When You Call" (video clip in the "Sound And Vision" section here http://www.thefeeling.com/ ).

The lyrics are thus:

I love it when you call
I love it when you call
I love it when you call
But you never call, at all

Firstly - shit.

Secondly - lazy - it's easy to rhyme the first two lines when they are EXACTLY THE SAME. To then use it a third time and simply have a different one at the end that rhymes is very lazy indeed. More rhymes please. Fall, ball, hall, gall, tall, wall - there's lots of them.

Thirdly - what are you on about, you bell-ends? I love it when you call - but you never call (and in case you don't understand the concept of 'never' we will clarify further by adding) at all.

Really - how can one comment on the degree to which one enjoys something if one has never experienced the aforementioned something? If this unnamed person has never called you cannot tell me that you love it when they call.

Perhaps it is more akin to my attitude to having a threesome with my wife and Angelina Jolie and the lyrics should be more along the lines of...

Although you never call at all I'm fairly certain in my own mind that it would be absolutely f**king awesome if you did. So awesome, in fact, that I'm just nipping to the bathroom to have a really good think about it right now.

Monday, 27 July 2009

Album Review: Sting - Whispering Bullrushes

Sting, out of The Police, staggers back with a slender and caring new disc packaged in the gaudiest of covers as if to say “Yes world, I have recorded more songs to remind us all of the ridiculousness of piety and the angst that makes our children use guns instead of words”.

We need to know what’s contained in these here songs, but are we just babies frightened to hear the truth because it hurts like toothache? Or buggery.

The sound is unmistakeable - and almost impossible to pigeon-hole. It’s reminiscent, perhaps, of the distinctive grunting, gurgling and clicking that emerges from a photocopier being heated in a furnace after being filled with the blood of the blue whale, the tears of Mother Earth and the wank-piss of a little otter that’s all cute and eats fishes whilst floating on his back.

Stop the war. Stop the rainforests. Don’t hurt me Daddy.

Very Metal

Went to see Dragonforce this evening with my better half as she's a fan. Although I was a little concerned at the cheesiness factor of their Europe-style choruses, (and the fact they aren't really heavy enough for my tastes) I was highly impressed by the sheer speed of the drummer and guitarists and some highly amusing between-song banter.

However - the thing that got my utmost respect was their intro tape.

Those famous drum beats start - yes - the song Raining Blood by Slayer (everyone headbanging and air-guitaring like crazy) - played in its entirety right up to the crashing thunder sound....which then segues perfectly into the intro music from the original Sonic The Hedgehog game on the Megadrive. Then they burst on in a flurry of speed, hair and billowing shirts.


During an audience participation bit instigated by the singer - the audience (as is customary at rock gigs) is divided into two halves and each directed to sing a certain refrain as loudly as possible.

The side that were quietest were being berated by the guitarist whose side was doing best. The guitarist whose side was doing worst simply retorted "We don't care. Singing is gay anyway"

The singer looks back and says "Are you saying singing is gay?"

He retorts "Er - yes - and you're very gay"

The singer replies "Is that why you keep trying to bum me then, you c**t?"

The more grown up members of the audience looked quite taken aback. Which was nice.

I Didn't Want To Know That Thank You

I used to go to University and there was a mature student on my course by the name of [name removed for legal reasons].

She was in her mid-50's and thought she was very posh and very glam. Too much jewellery, too much make-up, too much hair etc. She would always hang around me and my friends and I never worked out whether it was because she thought we were young, hip, happening, sexy dudes or because we were the only people too nice to tell her to sod off and stop hanging around.

We used to call her Bob. She used to chuckle and say what "wacky guys" we were (is there any worse insult than calling someone "wacky"? You might as well say "Ohhhhh, you're such a c**t, you are"). Anyway - she clearly thought it was a random bloke's name we picked because we had a silly, surreal sense of humour.

Er, no. It's because she had big hair and applied so much lipstick so erratically around her mouth that she looked like Robert Smith of The Cure. Although we never had the heart to tell her that.

Anyway - with there being a spate of stomach bugs at work recently I was suddenly reminded of Bob. Why?

Well - she missed an entire week - exam week in fact - and needed a reason to be allowed to retake them a month later (just a little more time to revise????). She told us it was sickness and diarrhoea. But (despite her usually demure demeanour) went on to say "It was so bad we had to redecorate the entire bathroom!!!"

We looked aghast - and so she continued..."I'm not joking - it was EVERYWHERE. We had to replace the carpets - re-do the wallpaper, replace the curtains. Couldn't get the place clean - even with bleach!!!"

WHAT!?!? The carpets - ok - embarrassing accident (and not one you would tell people about, surely?!), but the WALLS AND CURTAINS???

What the f**k were you doing woman? Did you put a garden sprinkler attachment up your arse and stand on your head? And why tell us? It still makes me shudder every time I hear someone tell me they had an 'upset tummy'.

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

And blocking the bloody roads. Tosser.

It's only just crept into December and it's happening already. Some big parade shutting the main streets in town and stopping people getting home after a hard day's work so some fat nonce in a red suit can con parents into giving him money to lie to their children about the true meaning of Christmas. And give them a plastic toy made in China with sufficient number of small parts for them to choke quietly on in the back of the Renault Espace on the way home.

And anyway - I thought Santa had some special sledge pulled through the starlit snowy sky by flying reindeer or some shit like that. Not a wooden contraption on a trailer with two model elks being towed by a f**king Land Rover through Birmingham.

And what's with Santa anyway?

"Hello little boy - come and sit on my knee and whisper in my ear about what you would like and I'll give you a surprise".

Dirty, fat, beardy, kiddy-fiddling tosser.


I saw him again today. He was shouting at traffic and throwing biscuits at a nearby Give Way sign.

On reflection, I'm fairly certain he's the mad one.

Album Review: INXS - Greatest Hits Etc

What can I say about INXS that hasn’t already been said. A defining sound. A sound that is definition. This collection of their greatest ‘hits’ - although that is surely too vulgar a term to sum up the cream of their works - is a pontificating mass of delight.

It’s a screaming great whore of an album eager to lick cream off your brown-eye for no extra charge because it knows that by degrading itself it also degrades you and in a universal way degrades us all - but with beauty.

It sounds like three hitch-hikers producing delicate whisps of steam on a cold Tuesday morning by pissing in soup tins and standing them on a dry stone wall in a chill wind.

Buy this album! And if you can’t - then don’t.


Everyone is having them at the moment. Is it fashionable or something? People are making babies like the future of the bloody human race depended on it.

But of course in this modern day and age where we have technology sufficient to let you know whether it's a manchild or a no-tail - no-one wants to know in advance!

Well I do.

If you are having a baby and are part of my social circle I will be expected to buy a card and present to signify the arrival of your spawn. Now, it is apparently essential (judging by the exclamations on the vast majority of greetings cards available in the shops) to get one declaring "It's A Boy!!!" or "It's A Girl".

This holds two problems for me. Firstly I have to wait until your child is born to find out what sex it is and then dash to the shops to get the appropriate card and/or present. Secondly - you will already know what it is and therefore a card dexclaiming "It's A Boy" - when you've just spent sevearal hours forcing it out of your womb with great physical discomfort - seems a bit redundant.

Do new mothers not sit there and read the card and exclaim..........."Hmmm, it says "It's A Boy!!" - well I know that you idiot."

Why not just have "It's An Infant" and do away with all the hassle. Or tell me what it is in advance with the ultrasound thing - send me the results in a sealed envelope - I won't tell you. You can have the surprise when it arrives but at least I can buy you the obligatory baby gift in blue or pink accordingly.

Or just don't have kids at all and then I can still go down the pub with my mates instead of them always being too tired or saying stuff like "Susan let me go out last month, so I'd better say no, I'm afraid".

Nicotine Patches

So I tried them for about a month. They weren't bad. Nice and discrete. Steady stream of nicotine all day long. Lovely. But, Jesus F. Christ, they're expensive. I mean really expensive. Worked out about £50 a week with the gum too. Anyway - I have now found a cheaper alternative. My local newsagent sells small sticks of tobacco wrapped in paper with a cotton filter on the end. You ignite the tobacco and suck smoke through the filter. The result is both a pleasurable experience AND an instant hit of nicotine when you need it. They go lovely with a drink and make you more attractive to women. They sell them in packets of 10 or 20 and they even do special budget ones for common people. Marvellous.


I was walking along today and spotted a bloke - dressed fairly normally - and overall in his appearance - seeming fairly 'normal'. He was on the phone and walking along towards the bank.

And then I noticed he was wearing a pair of pink fluffy women's slippers.

Bizarre. Looked totally out of place, particularly because he wasn't in any other way dressed oddly or being wacky or weird.

As he passed me I then noticed that what he was talking into was not in fact (as I had assumed) a mobile phone (of the Motorola RAZR type) but was in fact a small leather folding wallet that was hanging open.

Proper mentalist. Excellent.

Having said that - I then realised that with my 'normal' shoes I am much less comfortable and my feet are probably substantially less warm and cosy. Moreover - with my fully functioning Samsung mobile - I only ever tend to talk to idiots who I work with and am bombarded at all hours of the day and night with work-related texts, voicemails, calls etc etc and it's the bain of my f**king life. I can't just open it when I feel like it and chat away happily about what I want with no-one other than the voices in my head to talk back to me like you can with the 'walletphone'.

So.........he seemed perfectly happy, harmless, and living a fairly stress free existence. I, on the other hand, was running around like a blue-arsed fly, trying to do 12 things at once and keep a number of people happy who would all, if I had my way, be put up against a wall and shot.

So who's actually the mad one?

Great Logo

Whilst in Naples we saw a sign like this in the central station.
Turns out it's an advert for "A-Style". Which sounded good to me.

Sadly a clothing company and not a sexual act.

So Why The Rant About Zoos Earlier?

Because it was so desperately miserable and disapppointing and because we went there against our better judgment. Some friends of ours have young kids and suggested we accompany them as it may be "fun". Yeah, well done. Great idea. Remind me not to send you a Christmas Card and to block the toilet next time I visit your house.

By the end of the day I was so bored, cold and f**ked off that I wanted to chew my own fingers off and spit them at the staff there.

I momentarily toyed with the idea of lobbing the four year old child we were with into the gorilla enclosure as the wall was fairly low, but his parents might have taken offence in some way and I suspect the big useless tw*t-apes would have stayed in the gorilla house picking their arses and lying in piles of straw rather than giving the paying public some value for money by playing some primitive form of football with a toddler as the ball.

The only enjoyment was going from one section to the next making the animal noises that corresponded with the creatures contained therein. And that was mainly me, not the four year old.

If you want Zoo entertainment looks like you have to go abroad:



I've checked online - it cost the equivalent of £2:80 to get in at Kiev zoo. Yet the shows they put on for the public are second to none by the sounds of it

"A lioness went straight for him, knocked him down and severed his carotid artery."

BANG!!! What more could you want other than some popcorn???


How often is too often?

It's a subject I often ponder. Usually whilst wanking. I wonder if some people may think my habit is a little excessive. Once, twice - even three times per
It's a perfectly healthy sport and gives me something to do in between jobs at work. And whilst on the way to work (don't worry - I drive. Wanking on public transport would clearly be quite wrong). And whilst eating my dinner. And whilst on the toilet.

Although that last one can be particularly tricky.

Anyway - I've come to the conclusion from my own experience that when you reach the point of climax and all that comes out is a small whoosh of dust, then maybe, just maybe, you could be overdoing it.

Spam From "Reputable" Sites

How come every time I order a dvd, cd, computer game, gig ticket or any other product or service online - even from "reputable" companies - there is always a box hidden somewhere way down the bottom of the page asking if you want them to bombard you with spam and/or sell your details to every company under the sun so they can spam you too?!

Always conveniently located a few inches below the bottom field on the form you are filling in so you don't notice it unless you scroll right down.

And do they ever word them straightforwardly as to whether you have to tick it to avoid spam or not tick it - or it's already ticked and you have to cancel it!?!? Do they bollocks! Feckers, the lot of 'em.

[x] Please do not fail to not uncheck this box if you agree that you do not want to not receive continuous abusive emails from Dewie featuring mainly swear words but also occasionally naked pictures of himself.

Album Review: Dannii Minogue - Flashes

The genius that is Danielle ‘Dannii’ Minogue hits us, once again, where it hurts - but also where it matters. In a very direct way.

It’s a cornucopia of sound dragging us - the unthinking, unfeeling masses - screaming and kicking into the new millennium. It’s a plethora of sound - a wall of noise, so unique it almost defies description. I can barely bring myself to say anything about it as it is so utterly.

It’s like the sound of a man sealed in a barrel with ten rabbits, trying to f**k each and every one of the little blighters, but, in the dark - with only his sense of touch, taste and smell - ensuring he never f**ks the same one twice.


Zoos are shit.

I went to a zoo that had bears (and I was really keen to see them having seen a documentary about a bloke who got eaten by Grizzlies ) but the f**kers were in the enclosed bit and wouldn't come out because it was cold. Miserable bastards. You couldn't view them from inside so I never saw them and to be honest have no evidence that the zoo actually had any f**king bears at all.

It's not the wild so the animals shouldn't be hiding away - they should be out in the open air bit being cute/ferocious/interesting for my viewing pleasure.

Paid a fortune to get in and the bears (and the lions for that matter) and most of the other good shit (i.e. anything big that could chew your face off) was not on display. Miserable ursine c**ts.

I would've poked them with big sticks or an electric cattle prod if I was the zoo keeper and made the bastards come out and dance or something.

And then there's "Pets Corner" - there were rabbits and guinea pigs for f**ks sake. What's a c**ting rabbit doing in a zoo? Unless you're gonna feed the little furry twats to the lions there's no point. If I can see one at my own house or in a pet shop it doesn't count and must be struck off the zoo animal list. Stop filling the zoo up with non-wild animals.

And the Reptile Enclosure - ooooooh, snakes and alligators - good stuff, eh?!?! Like f**king diddly was it. Several glass cases full of leaves and twigs and bark chippings and, quite frankly, f**k all else. I don't believe there's any lizard/snake in them - lying bastards. They're not that good at camouflage. Even if they are hiding - some f**ker should wake them up every now and again or use a stick to make them angry or chuck some hamsters in there so we see some f**king action.

They DID have alligators though.

The f**kers were three feet long and never moved a muscle. What a waste of f**king time. Even if they had been moving and/or aggressive I could kick their heads in without breaking a sweat because they were so small. Hardly dangerous or exciting.

I'm a child of the 80's and was raised on a diet of TV and wildlife shows. I've seen Steve Irwin trying to bumrape a 22 foot long croc and some beardy bloke having a dip in the sea with a Great White Shark three feet away from him. I am NOT, therefore, going to be satisfied with the "Wildlife Experience" provided to me by a zoo.

Make it exciting or just cull the lot of them and use them to make exotic looking handbags and coats.

We didn't even get to see an elephant have a piss or the sight of small children looking bemused whilst two monkeys f**k like mad and their parents try to explain it away as some kind of piggy-back ride.

Thoroughly disappointing day.

P.S. Penguins - you're f**king birds - you've got wings. Stop standing around and occasionally having a bit of a swim. FLY you useless twats.

P.P.S. Seals - where's your f**king self-respect?? You're supposedly intelligent!?! Well - if you're that smart and have any shred of dignity left - gang up on that ginger tosser in the wellies waving the fish at you and show him you aren't doing any more tricks. Slap the f**ker into the pool with your flipper and just eat the fish out of the bucket.

There. All better now.

Album Review: Good Charlotte - Attempting To Be Vaguely Rebellious

Good Charlotte fall back into our ears with another squeal of an album released on their own “Twatchaff” label. Full of the sort of anthemic pop-punk that made us want to stab them repeatedly first time round.

It’s the sound of a teenage tearaway in mascara sitting on the toilet reading a book by Jello Biafra and really wanting to be him but actually smelling more like the big Westlife of a shit coming out of his pimply arse.

Songs like “Hey, Look At Me - I’m Different” and “I Hate The Fact That People Always Stare At Me Just Because I’m Different” are filled with the sort of genuine angst that takes at least three minutes to think up in their nice big houses in L.A. whilst being sucked off by tanned, bottle-blonde, silicon-breasted wannabes.

It’s an album so full of songs and sounds and ideas and melodies, yet so utterly, utterly empty of anything at all that all you want to do is cry until there’s nothing left of you but a pair of shoes and a small pile of dust.

If you thought punk was dead - you were wrong. Punk is alive and well and wearing make-up from Miss Selfridge. And self-harming in the toilets to get attention whilst reciting the lyrics to “Mad World” by Tears For Fears. Yes - Punk is definitely alive.

Someone please kill it before Henry Rollins comes to hurt us.


It's all gone crazy. Everything talks to you these days. A little voice in my car's Sat-Nav tells me when to turn left or right. A little voice in my alarm clock tells me what time it is when the alarm goes off in the morning. A little voice in my Blackberry tells me when my battery is low. A little voice in my toaster tells me to go out and kill whores. It never ends.


My Blog was previously on a different URL - so I am transferring a whole load of stuff onto here. It dates back to 2006 so it may seem a little dated here and there with some of the references and clearly some posts were "seasonal" as it were. Anyway - reposted ramblings and nonsense to follow.

Sunday, 26 July 2009


I hate Blogs. And Bloggers.

"Oh, I'm so interesting - I've got something to say and the world wants to hear me".
Invariably they don't. So shut up and carry on surfing for porn like the rest of us.

Not long ago my good lady said to me "You say some funny and incisive stuff - you ought to do a Blog". Not true - I rarely say anything worthy of repetition and I explained that only a loud-mouthed idiot who loved the sound of his own voice and the sight of his own inane and bitter ramblings would post a Blog. A sad twat who thought he was funny and interesting and had a very high opinion of himself and wants everyone to listen to him.

So here I am. Watch this space.

EDIT: Original Blog here