Phones

August 29th, 2008 § 0

Look, cunts, it’s really simple. Really REALLY simple. So simple a fucking TV chef should be able to understand it.

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.

Oh do fuck off

August 27th, 2008 § 0

On my commute to work I am surrounded daily by a truly terrifying quantity of Daily Mail readers. It gives me the fucking willies, I tell you.

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.

Legal Proposal

August 19th, 2008 § 1

I have a proposal for a new law, or perhaps local bye-law. I think it should be a legal right to be allowed to punch squarely in the face someone who bumps into you because they aren’t looking where they’re going.

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.

Gasp

July 9th, 2008 § 0

Why? For Bog’s sake, why?

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.

Jesus Cunting Christ

June 11th, 2008 § 0

Sorry, cunts, but “alot” is not a word.

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.

Toothache

June 9th, 2008 § 0

Fucking brilliant. No, that’s great. Thanks. Cheers.

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.

Mugabe

April 26th, 2008 § 0

Just fucking shoot the fucker, someone.

Fugg You

April 21st, 2008 § 0

Women! Know this.

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.

Do what you’re paid for, perhaps?

April 8th, 2008 § 2

Look, it’s so fucking simple even a television presenter could understand it.

If you give me a delivery date, and use the word “guaranteed” when you do it, and the item is in stock, it is NOT FUCKING ACCEPTABLE to then miss that delivery date.

It really isn’t. Look, here, I’ll look up the fucking definition of “guarantee” for you.

Here: “an assurance for the fulfillment of a condition“. You see? An assurance. As in, you are assuring me that my purchase will be with me on the date you fucking say it will.

OTHERWISE WHAT’S THE POINT? “Oh well the post service can’t always blah blah blah…” Well then you shouldn’t be throwing fucking guarantees around like they’re free, then should you? SHOULD YOU, CUNT?

Just fuck off, Amazon. Really. Just fuck off.

And another thing

March 20th, 2008 § 4

The dialling code for London is 020. Only.

NOT 0207 OR 0208. If you use either of these – that is, if you put the space after the 7 or the 8 – YOU ARE A COMPLETE FUCKWIT. No exceptions.

The point of a dialling code is to locate the area from outside that area. You do not need the code if you are inside that area. In Brighton, the code is 01273. For the fictional number 01273 123546, from inside Brighton you would simply dial 123456.

Thus, for the fictional London number 020 7654 1234, you would dial 7654 1234. Try leaving the 7 off and see how far you get.

Has that explained it simply enough? Or do you need a FUCKING DIAGRAM? OF A PHONE? YOU TWAT.

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