If you sell something in three sizes, the one called “medium” is the middle one. Not the smallest one. That is called “small“.

Please stop being such cunts about this.

Thanks,
The Idiot.

I work in advertising, I don’t really give a stuff. What do companies do when they’re not doing well? Advertise more. Yes, more. Go figure.

Suits me, though.

When you walk away from your desk, either:

1. Take your fucking phone with you, or
2. Put the fucking thing on silent.

That’s it.

I mean… there are indigenous tribes deep in the Congo who have independently arrived at this conclusion. It’s not just common sense, it’s… well. Words, for once, fail me.

Basically if you haven’t figured this out yet, then everyone around you thinks you’re a cunt.

Anyway, I’m not sure if it was a Mail-related magazine, or just some HELLO, OK, JUST FUCKING BUY ME type magazine designed to separate “beauty technicians” from their cash, but gazing slackly out at me from several glossy spreads this morning was the doughy face of Jade Goody, as the headlines blazed on about her “Toughest Test Yet” and how she has “always been a fighter”.

Do me a favour, and just fuck off, will you?

Yes, I know she has been diagnosed with cancer. Cervical cancer too, which must be an utter terror for women everywhere. Know what? My mother-in-law was diagnosed with bowel cancer a couple of years ago. The same kind that carried off my best mate’s mum a few years ago and another great friend’s dad a few years before that. They were both fighters, and they didn’t have lucrative TV and press deals to shore up the medical insurance. In fact, they didn’t have medical insurance. And now they are dead.

Cancer will kill a quarter of all people, at least in the UK. Think about that. Look around you now, and pick four people that you know really well. Now kill one of them. That’s cancer.

And yet we are invited to drop everything and care about someone more purely because they went on telly and demonstrated to the world how legendarily dense they are? Go jump off a fuck.

I am in fact sorry for Jade. It’s a fucking shame that anyone gets hit with the cancer stick. But I can feel that without 20-page spreads about her struggle, thanks.

And if it’s because they’re texting on their phone and walking along looking down at that, you should be allowed - nay fucking obliged - to give them a fucking thump in the guts as well.

Arseholes.

Why am I surrounded by such a dribbling ineffectual braying herd of gits, shits, pricks, cunts, fucks and more fucking pricks? Was I Hitler in a former life or something?

Jesus Suffering Fuck.

Really. Honestly. Look it up. It’s two words.

Now write “I will write ‘a lot’ as two words in future” a hundred times.

With a scalpel. On your fucking arms. YOU CUNTS.

Actually could it hurt a bit more? I mean, it’s not like I’m fucking busy or anything. Great. That’s splendid.

EVERYONE’S WELL FUCKING IMPRESSED.

Cunting fucking teeth. They just give you gyp in the end. Rip them all out and drink soup, I say.

FUCKWADS.

Ugg boots might be comfortable, but they are COMPLETELY FUCKING HIDEOUS.

No, really. I honestly hope those things are free, because you look like utter cunts in them. Without exception.

Walking around with your feet in two dead rotting badgers might be comfy too, but it would be pretty bloody nasty to look at.