Random Drivel from your Average Tosser

The Name Game

2008-10-06T14:43:00.003+08:00

I recently was forwarded a mail by a zealous pastor commenting on the US elections. Whilst I fully agree that everyone is entitled to their own opinions I was disturbed by the playground politics angle, where he chose to associate the name McCain as "son of Cain" and place it into a biblical context to denigrate the Republican candidate. Now, I do not suport McCain even in he slightest, but it makes me angry when people in positions of influence (like the pastor) try to whip up a frenzy of fear over NOTHING!!! Good Lord, there is enough legitimate shit to bash McCain and the Republicans over, why be so pathetic as to choose his name? It just makes you look as damn stupid as those who point out Obama's middle name is "Hussein".

Anyway... you know me, I couldn't resist... here is my reply:

Dear Sir,

I was forwarded this mail by an ex-colleague and was intrigued. Whilst being from the UK I am not a registered US voter, and despite the fact that I personally would like to see Obama become President, I find your analysis of John McCain's name not only gob-smackingly ludicrous in it's assumption that a name from a non-English background would have a literal English meaning without tracing the translations, but also borderline superstitious in the assumption that the name we are born with will dictate who we are.

The commonly accepted history of the name McCain is that it is the Scots equivalent of the Irish McKean, which is itself an anglicisation of Mac Iain, or "son of Iain" - not "son of Cain"!. With Iain / Ian being a variation of John the surname McCain is essentially the same as the surname Johnson. Another less likely origin is that it is a contraction of "McCathan", meaning "son of a warrior" which, whilst perhaps ironic in this case, certainly does not make all McCains violent!

But if you are going to judge a man on his name have you considered where the name Obama comes from? The surname Obama appears when the Europeans colonised Africa and enforced family names on tribes who had, until then, only had first names. What most did was (as in our own cultures) take their fathers name as a surname (I believe the word "surname" derives from the idea that it was your "sire's name" anyway), which in this case was first bestowed on Barack Obama's grandfather. The name is taken from the Luo verb meaning "to be twisted" or "to be slightly bent", probably relating to a deformity that B.O.'s great-grandfather may have been born with. In any case "twisted" and "bent" are two connotations with which the Senator probably would rather not be associated!

Please, please... vote Obama. But do not be so childish as to take McCain to task over his name! It just makes the whole thing petty.

Cheers m'dears!

Tony Stark's a girlie!

2008-08-21T15:31:00.004+08:00

If we consider that, in scientific terms, iron can be designated by the symbol "Fe" and a man is "male" are we suggesting that the superhero Ironman is a woman?

Hmmm...

2008-06-30T18:03:00.003+08:00

Why, when describing something that has proved unpopular, do people use the phrase "That went down like a lead balloon"?

If you hold them a a little way off the floor most balloons, the plastic/rubber/whatever-it-is-kind, will drop down fairly slowly and gently. If filled with helium or some other lighter-than-air gas, the won't go down at all - at least not straight away. However, if you take a balloon made of lead and let it go it's a fairly safe bet that it would plummet pretty decently... or in other words, go down very well.

English - it's a funny old language.

Cheers m'dears!

Access All Areas

2008-03-10T13:41:00.003+08:00

There I was, sipping on a glass of red, munching away on some little patry thing, when George Clinton wandered past, heading to join the rest of his Parliament Funkadelic. He glanced at me, I nodded, he didn't notice (that's what I choose to believe anyway, in my own little bubble world). So I shamble over to the bar for a top up and to rub shoulders with Earth, Wind & Fire just as Broken Social Scene appear from the stairs, fresh from the stage. At least they saw me and returned the friendly nod. Shy as I am I couldn't manage to strike up a conversation with any of them (all of whom are undoubtedly my musical superiors) and was contenting myself with chatting to Miles from Sinless City based act The Disclaimers when along come The Great Spy Experiment, another local act but one destined for international semi-stardom at the very least. Playing on the local scene myself I knew the guys (and gal) well enough to exchange greetings and complement them on their earlier set, in the process inviting them along to mine (this evening, incidentally. Not that any of you will be there). And then I helped myself to some more free wine and food and set about seeing who else I could spot. Unfortunately Jools Holland hadn't flown in yet... well, there's always the wrap party! It's a hard life sometimes...

Incidentally, do check out The Great Spy Experiment... they are fucking awesome!

Cheers m'dears!

Words to live your life by.

2008-02-15T11:26:00.004+08:00

Being a sad, lonely, fat, middle-aged man I have to hang on to every positive thought or feeling I can. Which is why I can be content to know that, despite all the shit, one of these days I will either be happy or dead. Or as a friend recently pointed out - quite possibly both.

If anyone is still reading Random Drivel (perhaps I should rename it "Sporadic Drivel"?) then don't forget to take a look at the new Blunt Cogs series that I am writing. It's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Unless you're a dirty pervert with a fetish for that kind of thing. Like Sarah. Or possibly Footeater.

Cheers motherfuckers!

Happy Hogmanay!

2007-12-31T16:16:00.000+08:00

Here's wishing us all a 2008 full of good shit!

Happy New Years, m'dears!

D-day

2007-12-29T18:22:00.000+08:00

Today it arrived, in a fairly ordinary white envelope appropriately postmarked with the equally ordinary "Swindon". But that indication of origin was enough to forewarn me of the emotional letter-bomb hidden inside. "Certificate of entitlement to a decree", it began, continuing with a little legalese essentially informing me that I had a small window to contest this decree. A window which, owing to the distance the certificate had travelled, had long expired.

I was not going to contest anything anyway. Oh, it still irks that in the eyes of the law it was my "unreasonable behaviour" that led to an "irretrievable breakdown" in our marriage. But that is because she was the petitioner and the only other causes she could give after such a short marriage would have been abandonment or infidelity. And least "unreasonable behaviour" could be justified (everyone is unreasonable in someone elses eyes, right?).

Of course I could have petitioned... Infidelity? Check. Abandonment? Check. Cheque? Ah... well... Okay then. Maybe I couldn't have petitioned, at least not in the finacial situation I was then. I know in my heart that this is just an excuse, though. I would never have filed for divorce.

Yesterday's post was almost as sad. A late Christmas card from her and her "bump". Yes, she's pregnant. Yes, by that guy. In fact she may have given birth already - it was due around now, a mere 18 months after she left me for the last time. Although it could have been 8 months after... now that would have been much worse!

I''d like to say I've thought of her a lot recently, but that's both true and untrue. I've thought about her a lot, yes, but no more recently than I have done every day for the last year and a half. In many ways I moved on, but in more than I ever before cared to admit I was solidly stuck in my memories and my unfulfilled wishes.

We have spoken and emailed - it's tough sometimes, but we always promised we would be a part of each others lives. And I hear resignation in her voice, read doubt in her words... or is that just me? I wonder, is she just settling for a man because he's fathering her child, or is this another chance at love? If this hadn't happened would there still have been hope for us in the long run... after all, we were talking reconcilliation before the pregnancy.

I don't know. All I know is that I failed at the one thing in life I wanted more than anything to be a success at.

Bah Humbug!

2007-12-26T15:42:00.000+08:00

You all know I'm a miserable cunt when it comes to Christ-almighty-when-the-fuck-will-this-nightmare-end-mas, and I'm not about to change for any of you wankers. So fuck off, the lot of you!

Cheers m'red-nosed-reindeers!

Once upon a time...

2007-11-24T13:38:00.000+08:00

An old song, but an apt one..

Over

Do you remember?
Just how sweetly these things fitted together...
Now they don't seem quite so clever
In the cold, harsh light of day.

As these colours run,
Start to merge into one,
Turning to ash in the sun...
And the dreams you thought that you had won
Have fallen, fallen away.

Oh, can't you see that it's over for you now
Before it's even begun?
Can't you tell that it's flown from you now?
It's over and done.

And time takes its toll on you,
But the toll takes its time.
Over there in the distance
At the back of your mind.
And this pantomime takes its one last curtain call...

And don't you feel jaded and foolish and hated?
Don't you feel so under-rated?
And so, so - so complicated with it all...?

Oh, can't you see that it's over for you now
Before it's even begun?
Can't you tell that it's flown from you now?
It's over and done.

Oh, can't you see - oh, can't you see...
That it's over before it's even begun?
Oh, yes it's over - over and done...

Can't you see that it's gone away?
Can't you tell it's the end of your day?
Why can't you - why can't you...
Why can't you just say what ou really want to say to me, honey?
Bring it on back now - take it on back now,
Tell me what you want to say,
Tell me what you want - why can't you see?
Why can't you see?
Why can't you?

Some endings are sweet... some are sad... some are a little bitter or angry.

Some are just impossible to describe, because you have nothing to liken them to.

....happily ever after

Cin-enema

2007-11-06T18:10:00.000+08:00

Question: When a cultural form is imported (on both sides willingly) into another culture should the 'adopting' culture adapt itself to the etiquette of said form or should the form and its producers / promoters expect and accept behaviour which they might ordinarily find offensive or distracting?

Anyone who has read back far enough on this blog knows my feelings regarding cinema-heathens. Well, a heated discussion with Indian friends the other night led me to realise that there are cultural issues at play here... They understood the etiquette of not talking on the'phone and turning off the ringtone but the fact that I could get annoyed at people texting in a cinema caused them much mirth.

The way I look at it is simple - cinema is a visual medium. If someone flashed torches or turned on the lights it would be very distracting and piss most people off. When someone uses their 'phone to sms, or even just to look at the time, the light caused by their tiny screen is actually very noticeable in a darkened cinema. To me it would be like trying to listen to a string quartet with some arseholes watch alarm going of intermittently.

But then I forget that - aside from certain screenings of films like Rocky Horror or The Sound of Music - western audiences are very much brought up to silently immerse themselves in films whereas many other cultures, especially in the Bollywood sphere of influence, see films as a release, an arena to "let go" of themselves in. Whereas the social interaction of a film in the west tends to be in dissecting the film in the pub after the credits, in the east the social interaction seems to actually be the film itself.

And so I am brought back to my original question... as someone who can happily watch - nay, embrace - a piece of performance art (be it celluloid or whatever) in the environment and atmosphere it belongs, do I then have a right to expect to be able to watch films from my own cultural background in the manner that I would be able to were I back home? Likewise, should those enjoying their own eastern cultures in the west be made to conform to viewing them in a manner which follows western etiquette?

There is something akin to this in sport... very recently Sinless City hosted a Pro Golf tournament and today the papers were full of the western players who had complained that spectators were using flash-photography as they were taking their swings and that children too young to exercise noise discipline at crucial times had been allowed in. Was that a case of the stuffy colonial sportsmen being *ahem* bad sports? Or should the local populus, in their eagerness to embrace the international competition, have exercised more care in learning the etiquette of being a golf spectator? One local who attended commented that the players shouldn't have come if they didn't want to be photographed, but I think he misses the point here (there were countless photo opportunities that did not have the potential to upset the outcome of the game) and the attitude does smack of cutting off ones own nose to spite the face - what incentive is there for these sportsmen to come back and provide further entertainment or photo opportunities if that's how you feel?

But is this a cultural thing or is it just a selfishness? "I want it, so I will take it, etiquette be damned". That is an aspect of life in Sinless City I see every day, on public transport, in queues at foodstalls, on the street hailing cabs, on the escalators... there are a lot of people here who seem to exist in the 'bubble-of-one' (please note that I am not accusing my Indian friends of this - far from it!). The truth is that in this country there is an underlying sense of individual self-importance and self-righteousness and one way in which this could be seen to manifest itself is in the way people act in the cinema.

The worst examples of this behaviour, the most selfish that I have seen on a mass scale, were at the Night Safari. This is a one-of-a-kind zoo experience where you get to see nocturnal and semi-nocturnal animals in the near-wild, pretty much under natural moon-light with very little artificial lighting used. Everywhere you go there are signs pleading with people not to use flash photography as it can blind (or in extreme cases even kill) the animals concerned. Yet on my three visits to the Night Safari I saw flash after flash as the modern 'big-game hunters' regarded their trophy-photographs of higher value than animal welfare.

Okay, it seems like I am stretching my point a little - cinema irritation to maiming animals in two easy steps - and the Night Safari experience cannot really be equated with my original question. But, despite cultural differences undoubtedly playing a part in so many upsets and misunderstandings in this diverse country, I firmly believe that the root of all these problems is a lack of respect. Let me watch these films how I am meant to watch them. And I will happily watch films from other cultures the way that they are supposed to be watched as well. Let the sportsmen get on with what they are supposed to do without getting unnecessarily parochial about it (I am just imagining a Formula 1 car at next years Sinless City Grand Prix being confronted by a local cyclist going against the traffic flow...). And for fucks sake - let those animals keep their corneas.

Cheers m'dears!

On the Dole

2007-11-01T11:10:00.000+08:00

In the current piece by Clairwil, about her hairdo, she makes some mention of the DSS (Department of Social Services) in the UK, which brought back a few memories that I have decided to share...

My first job on leaving school (I didn't go to Uni straight away) was actually working at the DSS (or rather the ESJ - Employment Service Jobcentre - as it was called at that point). I never graduated to be one of those desk jockeys who 'jobseekers' had to explain themselves to, I just did the signings for dole money and sometimes worked on the job search desk.

One thing that struck me was that everyone always banged on about the lazy youngsters who were happy on the dole or who were working and signing on, yet for the most part I saw young people genuinely desperate to get a job - to be able to move out of home, settle with a girlfriend, whatever. Those who came in dragging their feet actually tended to be those who had been made redundant from middle-management in their late-forties and who had adopted an "I'm better than this" attitude... those who were often the ones moaning about the young scroungers!Yet I felt sympathetic to them too - it's a bitch of an age to become unemployed, to be deemed 'obsolete'.

Since then I have been on the other side of that desk more times than I care to remember and, frankly, I find it humiliating. I hated having to queue up for cash that was barely able to sustain a bloody gerbil, especially when I was able and willing to work. It's depressing feeling your mind rotting as it goes unused... but, having worked at the ESJ and having a sense of ethics, I was always honest about my earnings. Until.......

Being the go-getter I was I signed on to a temp agency and secured a week long assignment pretty much straight away. Over the course of the week I would earn a half-decent wage and, although I would lose a weeks dole money and housing benefit, I would be a bit better off and feel able to hold my head high. Or so I thought, until I went in and declared my earnings...

My signing on day was a Wednesday. As such the week that I worked had stretched across TWO weeks of benefits. The amount earned was enough to cancel out my dole money for both those weeks. I looked at the figures and I was still slightly better off so, despite feeling this was a little unfair, I let it ride. Then my housing benefit envelope arrived...

...with no cheque, just a letter. As I had been signed off as working for two weeks I was no longer entitled to housing benefit for that month. I quickly did the maths and worked out that, with all my enthusiasm for work and my honesty and integrity, I was actually quite a bit worse off than I would have been had I just sat at home watching daytime TV.

So I will come clean. Since then, whenever I have been on the dole, I have not shied away from earning a few pounds here and there doing odd jobs for mates without declaring it. If I have had longer term or reasonably well paid contracts then, yes, I have told the relevant people - I am, at heart, an honest man - but I won't be shat on like that again for doing the right thing. Oh, and on one occasion I deliberately failed an interview that the ESJ had sent me to because I knew that it would lead to exactly the same situation.

So in their eagerness to clamp down on those abusing the system the bureaucrats have inadvertently created new abusers, ones who don't actually want to cheat or lie but who are getting the shitty end of the stick if they don't. Do they even realise that they are partly to blame...?

Cheers m'dears!

I hateses it, I do...

2007-11-01T10:32:00.000+08:00

I hate people who get lazy and rehash old posts on their blogs to make it look like they have actually created some output. But, then again, I fucking hate Hallowe'en more... so here is what I said about it last year in my post entitled "Shallowe'en"...

"Call me a miserable old cunt, but I really hate Hallowe'en. Seeing all the twats dressed up wandering around pubs in devil horns and black capes thinking they look so cool and 'fun-loving'... bollocks, you look like wankers. Especially those men who use it as an excuse to dress as a schoolgirl. Look, I have no problem with cross-dressing or anything, but just admit who the fuck you are for the rest of the year too. Don't use this one solitary night as an excuse to let your repressed urges out. It's just sad.

And all that "trick or treat" bullshit... what does it actually teach our kids? That it's okay to go around essentially threatening old folks. "Give us some sweets or we'll do something bad to you" - that's what it translates as. And to do it all whilst hidden behind masks? It's Dick Turpin and his ilk all over again - "Stand and deliver, your money or your life"! Fucking bastards..."

(as posted at http://averagetosser.blogspot.com/2006/10/shalloween.html )

Over on her blog FatMammyCat expresses a love for the "Holiday" (although as All Hallows Day is actually today, November the 1st, perhaps it is then that is the "Holy-day"?). She says that it is nice because it is a short one... Bollocks. That's only because she doesn't live in Sinless City where it's been going all fucking week. Still at least we don't have to put up with a teddy-bear wearing a Jason Vorhees mask as a "Guy" on November 5th (Guy Fawkes night, to all you non-Brits). There's nothing like a good celebration of burning Catholics, is there...

Cheers m'dears!

Criminal Pettiness

2007-10-27T11:11:00.000+08:00

Sinless City is a small place, in the grand scheme of things, despite it's inflated sense of self-importance. But it is a world leader (or certainly highly ranked) in many fields so it's ego is just about acceptable. One thing that seriously lets the place down, however, is the national press - not so much the articles and editorial (as biased as they usually are) but the Letters to the Editor.

Now, in Scotland there is a rag called The Daily Record, a paper I often used to buy when I lived in England simply because it was the only one with decent coverage of Scots football. In the letters to the editor in that publication you would often find quite pathetic gripes and parochial matters more suited to a weekly local paper than a national daily. But nothing, not one thing, compares to the crap that people feel compelled to write about to the Daily Propaganda, Sinless City's national broadsheet.

Okay, to be fair we have recently had a very worthy debate raging about the repeal of a law criminalising homosexuality. THAT is something deserving of national media! But last week, amidst all the passionate arguments, one letter caught my eye...

I did tear it out with the intention of reprinting it on this blog but, unfortunately, it has disappeared... so instead I will have to give you the gist of the content, which somewhat lessens the absurdity factor but should at least make the point.

This woman was complaining about bad behaviour in restaurants. Was it smoking that bothered her? The attitude of staff? Hygiene issues? No... the thing that disgusted her so much that she absolutely had to vent her anger to the whole nation was the way that people squeezed their napkin and hot towel packets to open them, creating a "pop" sound in the process.

Two words for you. Path. Etic. I know that, technically, that should only be one word but I feel that this case is deserving of the space in between the syllables.

My god, there are some cunts out there...

Cheers m'dears!

Spam, spam, spam, scam...

2007-10-21T19:24:00.000+08:00

I received this e-mail today:

"Attention,the irish gaming board has held an online draw.the online draw is normally held once a month (october) and your email address has been selected along side five other winners,
contact coordinator: DR Sean Lennon (seanlennon_claimsagent10@yahoo.co.uk )
file in your claims below as you have won one million three hundred and fifty thousand euros

Name;
Telephone:
Address:
Country/position:"

Now (even ignoring the fact that the grammar is fucking appalling) we all know that crap like this is a scam... or at least you would think we do. Yet dozens of people fall for them - usually the elderly, who are often less in tune with technology and more accepting of what they are told via it. And it fair fucks me off! So I replied...

Oh, I know I am not supposed to, that it opens the door to more of the same (etc., etc.), but once in a while I feel the need to just get arsey. So I sent back my details, as follows....

"Name; Mr U. R. Acunt
Telephone: 0800 FUCK-YOU
Address: 69 Youmustthinkimstupid Street
Country/position: Uranus"

Not the wittiest reply, but I feel better. And if anyone else would like to join me in return spamming DR Sean Lennon (seanlennon_claimsagent10@yahoo.co.uk ) please feel free to cut and paste my reply, or make up your own. Even better... why not forward all the other spam you receive to DR Sean Lennon (seanlennon_claimsagent10@yahoo.co.uk ), give him a taste of his own. That's DR Sean Lennon (seanlennon_claimsagent10@yahoo.co.uk ), by the way. He's a cunt.

Cheers m'dears!

(DR Sean Lennon (seanlennon_claimsagent10@yahoo.co.uk ))

Face-crook!

2007-10-19T09:43:00.000+08:00

Dylan Osborn had repeatedly harassed his estranged wife with 'phone calls and text messages, yet once ordered to cease by magistrates had kept his distance. Then he joined Facebook... which automatically sent messages to all his e-mail contacts inviting them to join him. Including said ex-wife, who contacted the police the very next day. A plea that he was confused by the sign in procedure only freed him seven days into the ten day sentence he had been given for breaking the restraining order.

Facebook - the new menace to society!

Cheers m'dears!

Hasta la vista, baby!

2007-10-14T04:29:00.000+08:00

Microsoft are cunts. Utter, utter cunts. Money-grabbing, time-wasting, monopolistic cunts!

It started a couple of months back when i bought my first computer. Yes, you read that right - my first computer. Until now all my blogging and other computer-related activities have relied on computers at net-cafes and work, as well as the sloooow one my mate Horlicks has. But my new job needed me to have a laptop so I bought one. Granted, it was a cheap one, so I have no right to expect speed or a massive memory for storing porn, but I should be able to expect to do basic office-type work on it hassle free, shouldn't I? Not according to fucking Microshit...

You see, all new computers now come with Windows Vista as their operating system. No choice in the matter, that's just how it is now. Having encountered the frustration that is Vista once before I was not hugely enamoured with the idea but I thought "What the hell... about time this ol' carcass was dragged into the 21st Century. Can't be that bad, right?"... fucking Micuntsoft!

It was only at home that I discovered that Vista does not come with Office as standard. No spreadsheet, no word processor... nothing that 99.999% of computer owners use on a regular basis. All I needed the thing for, aside from net access, was those two applications, but all I got from the fuckers was a 60-day trial version of the "new-improved" Windows Office... *sigh*. "Okay, I can live with this... use the trial for 60 days, during which time I have to save up enough to rival the economic spending power of a small country in order to pay for the full version. That should suffice for now, right?"... fucking My-cock's-soft!

I soon discovered that this spanking new Office wouldn't let me do simple tasks I had taken for granted (adjusting spreadsheet margins on the 'Print View' screen; Ctrl + Y to repeat an action; etc....). What the fuck? Why not? Why make a new version less usable than the previous ones? Then a friend pointed out that as this is the trial version it probably deliberately does not allow you to do these things, as blackmail - sorry, 'encouragement' - to buy the full version straight away. Now this, to me, is stupid. Isn't that what the time limit is there for? Why give out an inadequate tool? Doesn't really make me want to get the whole package... I would say it's akin to getting a free trial sachet of washing powder that does pretty much everything except get your clothes clean. "Try our brand - it smells great and bubbles nicely, but if you actually want to remove general dirt from your garments you'll need to buy the full packet".

Now, add in to this the fact that when I tried to open Word and Excel files that other people sent me I discovered that they are not compatible with my software. Neither are my files compatible with older Windows systems. They even have different suffixes. All of which makes the wonderful new and improved Office facility completely fucking useless to me.

Oh, and speaking of incompatabilities, my printer/scanner is also now of less use than the Scotland rugby squad, despite being less than two years old. I was given it a year ago, still in its packaging, by neighbours who were leaving the country, although my lack of computing facilities meant that it stayed in the box until now. Where it will also be returning shortly.

All in all I have wasted about 60% of my work time and another 30% of my free time this last week trying to decipher instruction manuals, following software upload procedures that result in "Unable to complete" messages, e-mailing tech support and getting answers to completely different questions from those I had actually asked and generally hurling obscenities at the wankers who designed all this. Fucking Microbrains!

Which is why I am not typing this from my laptop but from Lovely's, which has an older, more sensible version of Windows. And also why I have had to lock all my windows, lest I hurl it out of one of them in a fit of Anti-Gatesism...

Cheers m'dears!

For Auld Lang Syne?

2007-08-11T16:45:00.000+08:00

Friday evening and, as usual, I am wandering into a bar to check out some music and sink a few jars. This particular bar is a regular haunt, the guy strumming guitar and crooning away a friend of mine, the bar staff well versed in my preferences and idiosyncracies. It is one of those places that feels utterly relaxing in its familiarity... so I was at first a little surprised when one of the barmen called out "Hey, Binty - where did you go to uni?". Not a question I am used to hearing from these guys... usually I get the progression from "Pint, Binty?" to "Do you really want us to call the cops, Binty?" over the course of the evening. But, being as sober as I was at that point, I answered truthfully. He then pointed to the other end of the bar and my surprise level rocketed.

There, in all his slightly balder, slightly fatter glory was an old acquaintence from the old Alma Mater. I do not use the word 'friend' because I can't say that we ever particularly were, although we certainly had many mutual buddies. Yet here he was beaming at me like he was my long-lost brother... and so began the unplanned evening of reminiscences.

I would not wish to bore you with all the details (that's a lie - I have no problem boring you all shitless, I'd just rather not bore myself again writing down all the "I can't believe it's been X years"'s and the "Did you hear about whatsisname?"'s), suffice to say long-forgotten and often cringeworthy events were resurrected and old names from the past bandied about... all the while with me sitting there desperately trying to remember what the fuck THIS guys name was! At some point in the evening I managed to introduce him to a local friend and all of a sudden, as they exchanged pleasantries (and names!) I was enlightened... except that the name still meant absolutely bugger all to me.

How many times do you find yourself in this kind of situation? Okay, maybe not on a daily basis, but even if it's just bumping into a kid you once temped with for a week at some dodgy office who then talks as if you and he were founding partners of the company, or finding yourself in line at the supermarket next to the mother of the boy you sat next to in playgroup (kindergarten, for non-Brits) as she tells you every detail of his life ever since... we cannot help but get locked down from time to time by these perfectly nice, totally well-meaning, yet ultimately time-consuming (and often dull) individuals. And this is where sites like Facebook, Bebo and MySpace have become both a blessing and a curse...

Yes, I have been sucked into the mire of the Book of Face, as have several other bloggers listed here - although under my real identity of course. And it has been serving me well, illuminating me on my true past friends whereabouts and allowing me to re-establish several good relationships that had fizzled out simply because of distance and time pressures. As for the people I half-knew, I have no problem with linking up with them and checking their page once in a blue moon as it is something I can do at my own leisure, editing out the inconsequential bits that they tend to leave in when involved in face-to-face trips down memory lane. Yet whilst Facebook has proven to be a great way of keeping up to date with my friends all over the world I find myself constantly baffled by some of the friend requests I get. I mean, who the fuck are all these people? Did I really know them? Oh, right... so you were my ex-girlfriends housemates cousins friends uncle who I met for 5 minutes at a houseparty in Wigan in 1996... well, what are we waiting for! Let's be buddies!

(Another aspect I am very careful about is making sure that none of my students - past or present - are buddied with me, something which offends a few of them but I am not prepared to change my mind about... for fuck's sake, if they read some of the comments my friends have left me I would likely find myself out of a job!)

But that's all by-the-by... my half-point is really that for many people we don't stay in touch with there are reasons, even if those reasons are not ones of dislike but simply not being arsed enough. And as nice as it is to catch up and remember the good ol' days with your friends - your REAL friends - do we really want what little time we have left for making new friends and new memories to be eroded away by people and stories we had happily forgotten? And surely none of us want to simply be a contribution to some kid's pathetically sad claim to have a gazillion friends on MySpace... do we?

Cheers m'dears!

Identity - the meme

2007-07-17T08:31:00.000+08:00

Okay, I am a bit slow on the uptake here but it has come to my attention that the aviating vermin has tagged me with another mo'fo'ing meme... and you know I HATE those things! But in lieu of any other form of inspiration for my random drivel I am inclined to take him up on the task...

So this one is 8 true facts about me with one utter porky. See if you can guess which one is balderdash...

1) I once acted in a popular British soap opera. No, I won't say which one. I still feel unclean. Suffice to say no-one I know even recalls ever seeing me in that role.

2) An ex-girlfriend of mine once contracted chlamidya... in her eye. It took the doctors weeks to work out what the problem was. And I'm sure many of them have dined out on that story since.

3) My favourite playwright is the relatively obscure Olwen Wymark, who was married to actor Patrick Wymark, twice celluloid-portrayer of Winston Churchill as well as Oliver Cromwell in Witchfinder General.

4) Despite growing up right by the sea (and I mean about 10 meters away from it at high tide) the highest swimming certificate I ever achieved was the 50 meters. And that was doggy-style. Err... I mean, 'paddle'!

5) I once full-on snogged a moustachioed man. There were extenuating circumstances. And it wasn't nice. Especially for him as I had been eating tuna from the tin 15 minutes previously.

6) I once lived two doors along from the scriptwriter for Roland Rat and The Krankies (sorry, non-Brits... you'll have to look those references up!). The latter I met in person at his house. It was not one of those hero-worship moments.

7) My father once stood in for Ian Anderson when he was unable to sing with his band Jethro Tull during auditions for a new drummer. Although that was around the Catfish Rising years, hardly a legendary period.

8) A picture I painted when I was only 16 can be seen behind Bob Dylan's head on the cover of his album 'World Gone Wrong'. It was hanging in the Camden gallery where Bob's photo shoot took place. For some legal bollocks reason I am not entitled to any royalties. Which is a bitch.

9) Yesterday on the MRT (tube / subway / metro, depending where you're from) another passenger accidentally showed me a picture on his phone of himself sitting on the toilet with his cock blatantly in shot. Oh, how we laughed.

If you get it right you get a nice little e-mail from me... but don't let on to anyone else! Oh, and Doc M., Kim, Sarah, FMC, Footsie... tag, you're it!

Cheers m'dears!

NOT an apology post.

2007-07-03T12:46:00.000+08:00

I've been really busy, I'm afraid. Not that you are actually interested in my day to day life, but I just thought I'd let you know that I haven't forgotten about you all. I mean, I hate it when bloggers tell you all about their ultimately tedious reasons for having not sat at a computer screen trying to be witty. It's as if they are apologising for having the nerve to not entertain the rest of us, which displays a level of irony as the aoplogy posts themselves tend to have very little entertainment value. And, for gods sake, it's not as if you all want to know that I had fish heads for breakfast this morning before going to get my man-gina waxed...

Is it...?

Cheers m'dears!

A Little Rumination...

2007-06-15T19:05:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I think the reason I don't go for Soap Operas on television is that they just don't seem real to me. I mean, constant unfaithfulness? Life-threatening situations? Familial revelations? Strange coincidences? Will-they/won't-they relationships? Give me a break!

My life is far fucking weirder that that...

Cheers m'dears!

What does TB stand for...?

2007-06-02T13:57:00.000+08:00

In this case perhaps Total Bastard, although I would like to go further and state this for the record - Andrew Speaker, you are a cunt. After travelling on two transatlantic flights whilst diagnosed with a particularly bad strain of contagious, highly drug-resistant, tuberculosis you have the gall to express your dissatisfaction at the way the authorities have handled your situation. Well, I'm sorry but your dissatisfaction is nothing compared to what others could have felt if they had caught TB because of your selfish actions.

I understand the fact that you were geting married and going on honeymoon, and you didn't want to ruin the 'best day of your life'. But did you ever stop to consider how many other peoples entire lives you might have ruined? The fact that no-one appears to have contracted TB (yet) is irrelevant - they could have. In fact - and I am aware of how extreme this sounds, but it is true nonetheless - you could have started an epidemic.

I say it again. Andrew Speaker - you are a cunt!

Cheers m'dears!

Cab fair?

2007-05-30T17:03:00.000+08:00

I always assumed that trying to get a taxi when it rains was so damned difficult simply because the weather would cause demand to go up. Simple logic, really... all those folk usually happy to walk, even if only a couple of hundred meters to a bus stop, all of a sudden needing a way to make their journey without emerging from it like a drowned rat. Yet whilst this logic is, indeed, accurate it appears that in Sinless City other factors weigh in.

Obviously we are talking slightly different circumstances here compared with wet 'n' wild Britain. A tropical climate makes for some wonderful sun but when it rains we are not talking the usual grey, nasty, depressing, shitty weather that I grew up with. No, even a light rainstorm here is cause for you to scramble and abandon the streets. And when it gets bad... I have sat waiting for a bus one day and seen the change... nay, felt it! The way the trees start moving more and more aggressively and the sky turns as close to black as I have ever seen in the daytime. Get to cover, and quickly, because once that first drop hits the ground you cannot walk unprotected more than 5 meters before you are soaked to the bone. As for umbrellas, this kind of rain hits the ground so damn hard you get water-shrapnel from the ricochet. Just forget it - if you ain't under a roof you're fucked.

But I digress... In Sinless City it is not simply an increase in demand that results from wet weather but also a decrease in supply. You see, in wet weather the risk of having an accident goes up... if the taxi drivers do have an accident their companies automatically presume they are guilty... to curtail such accidents the companies impose fines of $2000 (about 670 pounds sterling) per incident, regardless of severity. As a result many drivers clock off during stormy periods and those wanting to get from A to B without looking like they fell in the C are left stranded...

I cannot blame the drivers, to be honest... a fine that size is an entire months income for some. And in a society where workers have no real recourse in the face of unreasonable employers, what else are they going to do?

Cheers m'dears!

Lost in Translation #03

2007-05-24T15:35:00.000+08:00

Acronym-onious

In Sinless City they just love acronyms. You leave your HDB, drive down the PIE (or take the MRT), get cash from the ATM at the DBS or the POSB, use your HP to send an SMS and tell your friends to meet you in the CBD for a G'n'T before heading off to MOS to pick up an SPG*. It's ridiculously baffling, but I think I'm getting to grips with it. At least, I did until today...

Having spoken to my HOD, who wanted to report to the VP about my progress on the MT side of the IP here at [acronym removed so I don't get fired] I went for a coffee at the SAC and ended up chatting with some RBC's**. Mid-tedium one of my colleagues suddenly jumped up and announced that she had to rush because the P was expecting her. "That's a rather unusual way of excusing yourself to go to the bathroom" I said, gathering the finest set of blank stares ever assembled as a result. It took amoment to register but it eventually dawned that she was referring to the Principal... I mean, if the Vice Principal is the VP it stands to reason, right?

But really... how fucking lazy do you want to get?

Incidentally, you may have noticed the location of my morning coffee, the Student Activity Centre (fancy name for the school canteen). They are having a major drive at the moment to get the kids to clear up after themselves, something I fully support but doubt will catch on as adults in this country are just as bad in food courts. What caught my attention, however, was the way in which they decided to get this across to the students... a nice big sign bearing the legend "KEEP YOUR SAC CLEAN".

...and no-one had a clue why I was stifling that snigger!

Cheers m'dears!

*That's: "Housing Development Board" (state built flats); "Pan-Island Expressway"; "Mass Rapid Transportation"; "Automated Teller Machine"; DBS I'm not sure of... but it's a bank!; "Post Office Services Bank"; "Hand Phone"; again, not sure of the actual words but it's a text message...; "Central Business District"; "Gin 'n' Tonic"; "Ministry of Sound"; "Sarong Party Girl" (essentially a loose young woman)

**This lot are: "Head of Department"; "Vice Principal"; "Music Technology"; "Integrated Programme"; "Student Activity Centre"; "Ridiculously Boring Colleagues"

Lost in Translation #02

2007-05-10T14:32:00.000+08:00

No Common Censor

Censorship in Sinless City takes a bit of getting used to. This is a country where cigarette packets bear pictorial health warnings with such graphic images as rotted feet and a dead foetus yet the London Financial Times has to place a little black square over the naughty bits on a photograph... of a statue. This is also a country where mindless violence is the order of the day on TV but they get scissor happy when BBC sitcom 'My Family' shows a husband cuddling his wife on a bed. Of course, I would opine that 'My Family' would benefit from several other cuts, but that's by the by.

Language, though - that's a whole other thing. Despite my initial shock at the word 'shit' being bandied around all over the place in a stage play for primary school kids I soon accepted that this word was not considered offensive here. It is, instead, purely descriptive, and the play was talking about bird faeces. On the other hand I will never, ever understand why the TV company decided it needs to bleep the word penis, a legitimate name of a body part... or (and I shit you not here) why they bleeped the first half of the accessory item "bum-bag" (that's a 'fanny-pack' in the States).

But these all register only mild surprise next to what I witnessed last night. Watching 'The Sopranos' on local TV is a very musical experience, with every other word bleeped. But you get used to it... it goes something like -

"Paulie, don't be a ****ing mother****er and pass me the ****ing gun before I **** **** you with my **** and pull your **** off. You ****!"

So you can imagine my disbelief when Tony uttered the phrase "She's a cunt"... completely uncensored.

Now, leaving aside the mirth that State-siders using that word always induces in me (I'm sorry, but there is something about US accents that just causes that word to lose some punch!), I was completely floored! Did I hear that correctly? Gosh-darn it, I think I did!

After an evening spent wondering how THAT word could have slipped past the censors and creating conspiracy theories in my head about some rebellious TV censor starting a cultural revolution I came in to work today and mentioned it to a colleague. "Oh, yeah" she said, with an air of disinterest. "That never gets censored. Pretty much no-one understands what that word means".

Cue me calling everyone a cunt all day...

Cheers m'cunts!

A Cross Stick

2007-04-28T13:22:00.000+08:00

Bathtime is always portrayed as a curse on the young, but when I was a child I looked forward to my Sunday evenings, splashing around with my 'toy' boats that I had made out of lollipop sticks in school. Entertainment was achieved much more simply back then, and without the need to fork out ludicrous amounts of cash. Richard Gere is being a twat again, as if anyone really gives a fuck, although the Indian magistrates who are ordering him to appear before them because of his actions are behaving equally twattishly. English is something I speak but will never be able to teach. Fucked if I know why. 'Touching cloth' is one of those expressions that inexplicably sends a shiver down my spine....

Out here, and despite the wide group of friends I have, I find it easy to feel isolated and lonely, yet I have no desire to return to the bosom of my family and find myself either unwilling or unable to maintain contact with friends I left behind. Fickle fucker that I am.

I went to a St. Andrew's Society ceilidh last night, which was interesting but tame compared with the ones I grew up attending. Never done a 'Strip The Willow' in the tropical heat before, a dance that could only have been invented in a country as cold as Scotland. Societies such as this always bring out a mixed feeling of intrigue and fear in me and whilst I cannot help observe like some stalker-ish peeping Tom I have never wanted to join one. Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, yet no-one has ever bothered to explain why a person so named would wish ridicule upon himself by choosing such an alliterative occupation. It would be like me finding employment balancing books for butchery and baking businesses. Rebellion itself is strangely nothing more than an act of conformity, as every generation takes their turn to do it. 'Abba-riginal' is the punchline to a joke I was told last night, but it is far too crap for me to waste your time with. 'Trochaic' is a new word I learnt only recently, which may in part explain why I will never be able to teach English, at least from a literary perspective. In the end, does any of it really matter? Once we look below the shiny trappings we have surrounded ourselves with and see them for what they really are, will they still hold the same allure? No, of course they won't......

Cheers m'dears!

Shit-faced ramblings...

2007-04-21T21:26:00.000+08:00

Blogging. It's all well and done when you've got fuck all else to do, as a friend recently put on long term sick leave has demonstrated so well. But when you're working 572-gazillion hours a week and then trying to have a social life (one that does not involve going on-line, I mean) you don't really have much time to blog. The worst thing about this? Well, the irony that during any lazy period when you have nothing to do bugger all worth blogging about actually happens and you end up making mountains out of molehills just to rant about something, yet when you're busy events shape up in such a way that you are constantly composing blogs in your mind whilst going about your every day business but never get around to actually typing them...

This week I was going to write about the tragic Virginia shootings, linking it in to the obsessions that so many of us have with guns (do not deny this, especially if you have used Monstee's shooting gallery at Blunt Cogs - I am not a violent man, but...). I also wanted to write about whether I actually give a fuck about Prince William splitting from his bit of rough (I don't, although it amuses me that Woolworths had already manufactured crockery commemorating their impending engagement) and I also fancied having a bit of a bitch about the PM of Singapore upping his salary to S$3 million (1m Sterling, incidentally).

Suffice to say, all of the above have been amply covered by bloggers with better time-management skills than me. Which may explain why, having finally found a few hours, I am devoting my full attention to trying to forget the shit of last week (both globally and personally).

...which might just explain the title...

Cheers m'dears!

Spot the difference.

2007-04-13T14:08:00.000+08:00

Take a look at the picture. I don't know about you but it reminds me of a scene from Schindler's List, or a million and one black and white images from the 1930's and 40's. Except these women are not Jewish. They are Palestinian.

Close to Home, an Israeli film currently on release, focuses on the role of women in Israel's armed forces. In it one of the central characters is asked to check the ID cards of any Palestinians she meets, to which she replies "How do I know who is an Arab?"

Exactly.

Let's play a game... Can you tell me the ethnicity of the following?

Or how about these...?

For fucks sake..........................................

Are ad-men simply basket-cases?

2007-04-09T15:06:00.000+08:00

The current advert for televised basketball in Sinless City has the suitably gravelly voice-over solemnly declaring that "Success awaits those who get up one more time than they fall". Sounds good... sounds inspiring... sounds butch... sounds - wait a minute! That's fucking impossible!!

Go on, try it. Fall down a few times, counting them, and also count how many times that you get back up again. I guarrantee it will be the same number. Unless you remain prone on your last fall, which will be the opposite of what the advertisement is trying to say. It is physically impossible to get up twice when you only fell once... and so on.

Stupid cunts.

Cheers m'dears!

You say potato, I say cauliflower...

2007-04-02T17:48:00.000+08:00

I know Katrina was a long time ago, but I just got sent this as a teaching aid and thought it was worth sharing.

It appears that black folk 'loot', but us whiteys merely 'find'.

Cheers m'dears!

Orange you glad I'm currant with the news...?

2007-03-28T19:07:00.000+08:00

Stand back Erin Brockawhateveryournamewas, the proles have a new hero! Or two, to be precise. A couple of New Zealand schoolgirls have just exposed a globally recognised brandname as a bunch of shifty, devious truth-benders intent on peddling us rubbish in the guise of 'healthy drinks'... and all through their school science project!

It all began when they came up with a theory that cheapy juice drinks would contain less vitamin C than the more expensive recognised brands, such as Ribena. You know, the company that proudly states that their drinks are made from blackcurrants which contain 4 times more vitamin C than oranges. What they found, however, is that Ribena actually had around 4 times less than its cheap rivals... in fact, it contains only a negligible amount of the stuff! They were so convinced they had made a mistake that they did the same experiment again... and same results.

Technically, however, Ribena were not lying. You see, blackcurrants do contain a lot more vitamin C than oranges, pound for pound, but most of it is dispersed in the process of making the drink! At first the girls were fobbed off by the company, until the media took an interest. Now they are being 'thanked' for their assistance in rectifying an oversight... hah!

Incidentally, if you eat processed foods that claim to be high in vitamin C, be wary. As it has such a short life span itself companies need to use a hell of a lot of preservatives to keep the vitamin 'fresh'. Not exactly good for the health concious... no, you want your daily dose? Get some fruit down yer!

Cheers m'dears!

T' be sure...

2007-03-26T18:53:00.000+08:00

Right, I have finally recovered enough from St. Patrick's day (for 'day', read 'week') to provide you with another dose of drivel... so where better to start than March 17th itself!

I was invited down to the bar in the American Club here in Sinless City, the only venue where an actual Irish band with at least one Irish member was playing - yep, despite there being 11 Irish pubs in this city, every single one opted for bands playing contemporary covers... go figure. Maybe the American Club wanted something more 'Oirish' since they all believe they have a bit of the green in them, owing to the fact that their great-great-grandmother's third cousin's room-mate once owned a wolfhound that was Irish. Whilst enjoying my pint (not stout, as it's shit here, and none of that bloody lager with green fucking dye in it either) I noticed the special cocktails that were being advertised for the occasion and was, to be frank, slightly taken aback. Number two on the list was a delicious looking shooter called... a Belfast Bomber.

I'm not overly sensitive or anything, but come on - that is a little tasteless, methinks. And the Irish singer didn't seem especially amused either...

Cheers m'dears!

Ahem...

2007-03-22T14:07:00.000+08:00

Peace in the Mid(dle-East)lands

2007-03-07T18:24:00.000+08:00

I just got this from www.newsoftheweird.com

Muslims Find School Kosher

About half the students who attend the Jewish primary school King David, in Birmingham, England, are Muslims, and in fact, their parents work hard to get them in because they so respect the school's ethos and its halal-like diet. All students learn Hebrew, recite Jewish prayers, and celebrate Israeli independence, but there is a Muslim prayer room, also, and Muslim teachers are hired for Ramadan. However, confided one parent, the school tries to keep a low profile so as not to inflame the religious rabble-rousers. [The Independent, 2-4-07]

The only downside I see is that they all probably have Brummie accents... Seriously though, a few more schools of all different religions with this kind of ethos and our future generations might stand a chance...

Cheers m'dears!

Marital strife

2007-02-24T12:39:00.000+08:00

Tubthumper just sent me this article from http://www.komotv.com/news/5566451.html

OLYMPIA, Wash. (AP) - Proponents of same-sex marriage have introduced an initiative that would put a whole new twist on traditional unions between men and women: It would require heterosexual couples to have kids within three years or else have their marriages annulled.

Initiative 957 was filed by the Washington Defense of Marriage Alliance, which was formed last summer after the state Supreme Court upheld Washington's ban on same-sex marriage. In that 5-4 ruling, the court found that state lawmakers were justified in passing the 1998 Defense of Marriage Act, which restricts marriage to unions between a man and woman.

Under I-957, marriage would be limited to men and women who are able to have children. Couples would be required to prove they can have children to get a marriage license, and if they did not have children within three years, their marriages would be subject to annulment.

All other marriages would be defined as "unrecognized" and people in them would be ineligible to receive any marriage benefits.

"Absurd? Very," the group says on its Web site, which adds it is planning two more initiatives involving marriage and procreation. "But there is a rational basis for this absurdity. By floating the initiatives, we hope to prompt discussion about the many misguided assumptions" underlying the Supreme Court's ruling.

Gregory Gadow, who filed I-957 last month, said the three-year timeframe was arbitrary.

"We did toy with the idea of (requiring) procreation before marriage," he said. "We didn't want to piss off the fundamentalists too much."

Gadow said that if the group's initiatives were passed, the Supreme Court would be forced to strike them down as unconstitutional, which he believes would weaken the original ruling upholding the Defense of Marriage Act.

But he said he highly doubts any of the initiatives will pass, and that they are being done "in the spirit of political street theater."

"Our intention is not to actually put this into law," he said. "All we want is to get this on the ballot and cause people to talk about it."

The group's Web site gives another reason: "And at the very least, it should be good fun to see the social conservatives who have long screamed that marriage exists for the sole purpose of procreation be forced to choke on their own rhetoric."

Cheryl Haskins, executive director of Allies for Marriage & Children, agreed with Gadow's group on at least one point about the initiative: "It's absurd," she said.

Haskins said opponents of same-sex marriage "have never said that the sole purpose of marriage is procreation."

"When we talk about defending the institution of marriage, we're talking about the union of a man and a woman," she said. "Some of those unions produce children and some of them don't."

With I-957, "you're dictating people's choices in a way that is utterly ridiculous," she said.

However, Gadow noted that the Supreme Court's majority decision specifically mentioned procreation throughout.

The opinion written by Justice Barbara Madsen concluded that "limiting marriage to opposite-sex couples furthers the state's interests in procreation and encouraging families with a mother and father and children biologically related to both."

Gadow said the argument is unfair when you're dealing with same-sex couples who are unable to have children together.

"What we are trying to do is display the discrimination that is at the heart of last year's ruling," he said.

Even the Legislature's most prominent proponent of same-sex marriage, Sen. Ed Murray, D-Seattle, said he thought the initiative was misguided. While the "absurdity" of the Supreme Court decision should be discussed, that discussion needs to take place in the Legislature, he said.

"I don't think the initiative process should be used to determine the rights and protections of marriage," he said.

Murray, one of five openly gay lawmakers in the Legislature, is sponsoring a measure that would create domestic partnerships for same-sex couples and another to allow same-sex marriage. The domestic partnership measure has passed out of committee and a vote on the Senate floor could come within weeks.

The sponsor of the same-sex marriage measure in the House, Rep. Jamie Pedersen, said he supported the effort "to draw attention to the hypocrisy of some of those who oppose marriage equality" but opposed the initiative.

"For the same reason I don't think same-sex couples should be excluded from marriage, I don't think heterosexual married couples should be forced to procreate," said Pedersen, D-Seattle.

Supporters of I-957 must gather at least 224,800 valid signatures by July 6 to put it on the November ballot.

The measure's backers said the two additional initiatives they plan would prohibit divorce or separation when a married couple has children, and would make having a child together the equivalent of marriage.

Gadow said his goal is to raise $300,000 to spend on advertising on the first initiative.

In his e-mail Tubbie refers to the idea as completely insane, a sentiment which I am slightly inclined to echo, although at the same time I find it utterly ingenious. Will it work? Will it force the issue of same-sex marriage and weaken the Defense of Marriage Act? I'd like to hope so.

I am, however, slightly surprised by the negative reactions of Senator Murray and others who are pro-gay marriage. One would hope that they could understand that no-one actually really wants Initiative 957 to succeed, that it is just a way of exposing hypocrisy and bigotry. But then I suppose that as an openly gay Senator he has enough people opposing him and any perceived attack on the institution of marriage could seriously damage him...

Whatever happens I personally think that this is an excellent way of making a point and I urge any of you who can to contribute to the list of signatures so that this issue gets the attention it deserves.

Cheers m'dears!

Valentines Day and the Card Companies...

2007-02-14T17:41:00.000+08:00

... can fuck right off 'n' all. Cunts.

Arrrrrggghhh!!! You Motherffff.....

2007-02-13T18:05:00.000+08:00

.....fffucker!!!!!!!!

Shitty wank stain bullshit cunting arse part 1:

If anyone ever tells you how wonderful it is to be a teacher, how rewarding it is, then do me a favour - grab the nearest large, angular object and ram it up their fucking arse! I feel like I've sold my fucking soul to the Devil... no, worse - this is a religious school so I must have sold it to Him upstairs instead!!!! Where did my fucking life go?

Shitty wank stain bullshit cunting arse part 2:

Blogger, you cunt. If I wanted a fucking google account I would have got one ages ago. Your dictatorial attitude is more likely to put me off using your shit than exploring it. It was nice and easy signing in with my name only but, no.... that's not enough for you. Now you want my full e-mail address. Well, fuck you, you arse-wipes. I'm using another search-engine from now on. Cunts.

Fire-coming-outta-my-ears, m'dears!

Lost in Translation #01

2007-02-05T18:30:00.000+08:00

Slice of Life

So, having eaten Asian food every meal so far this year (not actually that uncommon for me, as I live very close to a very good and ridiculously cheap place that does food from all over South-East Asia) I decided the other night to do something a little more... western. I was, after all, sitting in a bar that pretty much only served bog-standard western bar-fare. But having hummed and hawed at the weighty menu, consisting of the likes of burgers and macaroni cheese, I eventually decided that a nice light plate of cold cuts and salad would be just the ticket.

I'm sure you are all aware that cold cuts do exactly what they say on the tin. They are cuts of meat that are served cold. This, for me, sounded like a refreshing change - but then again, I had forgotten that this is Asia and things are often... well, different.

Five minutes after my dining partner's piping hot, freshly cooked meal had arrived I was beginning to wonder what the fuck was taking so long... were they slaughtering the animals, cooking them and then waiting for them to cool down? Being the kind of man I am - very reasonable up to a point, usually a point accompanied by intense hunger, at which time I become a scowling, growling pain in the arse - I was just about to make a rather sarcastic comment to the waitress when, all of a sudden, a plate appears before me. A plate that looked very like a plate of cold cuts on salad. Except that it was steaming.

Yep. That's right. They had heated up my cold cuts. Worse still, the ham was obviously pre-packaged reconstituted stuff which had probably never been hot in the first place. But the clincher for me, the worst of it all... they had heated it all up together, salad included! Limp warm lettuce leaves... delicious, I don't think!

It dawned on me later that I don't think I have ever seen a local meal in this country which hasn't been piping hot. I'll probably never understand why, in a country so damn warm, folk seem to have an aversion to eating cold dishes.

Cheers m'dears!

Boys will be boys...

2007-02-01T13:12:00.000+08:00

It was one of those rare moments during an epic staff meeting where I was not idly singing rude songs in my head, nor thinking up inappropriate anagrammatical names for my work colleagues. In fact, I was not even doodling abstract representations of my own psyche in the margin of my pad. I was actually listening. I don't know how that came about, what breach had occurred in my usually very secure sanity-protection wall, but droning words from the oh-so-disapproving mouth of my Chinese-version Hyacinth Bucket Gruppenführer were somehow managing to embed themselves in my consciousness.

Normally this would be a case for immediate use of my hidden cyanide capsule but, luckily, one small gem of a freudian slip allowed me to rest easy...

"...watch out for the boys behaviour in class when teachers are not around, things like pushing, shoving, frisbee, playing with their balls..."

I caught the eye of one colleague and we telepathically rolled on the floor in hysterics... I'd like to think that the muted reaction of the others indicates a more developed laugh-stifling technique, but they probably just aren't as dirty-minded as me.

It goes to show what a dull, dull life I am currently leading when you find me fervently praying that those last four words make the minutes!

Cheers m'dears!

What the...?

2007-01-25T12:07:00.000+08:00

Having had a long day of hard work followed by an even longer night of hard liquor it was perhaps unsurprising to discover the next day that exhaustion had prevented me from leaving my clothes anywhere other than the floor. And it was by no means the first time that a half eaten packet of crisps, the evidence of a belated atempt at soaking up the alcohol, appeared to have been scattered on my bedside table. Nor could it be considered unusual that my missing house keys had turned up still in the lock of the front door - although that last had only recently become a worrying development.

What was strange, however, was my mobile 'phone. My best guess is that I had been attempting to 'sleep-text' in the middle of the night. No message actually got sent and who I believed I was writing to is a mystery but upon a morning inspection of my 'phone I discovered that I had been composing a slightly bizarre message. It read like this...

"Whats ur e-mail address again? Need 2 stay in touch! Mine is +65 followed by blue, red"

And there it ended, apparently unfinished. If anyone out there has any insight into what the fuck was going on in my brain that night I would love to hear from you! I honestly have not a clue!

Anyway, enough of that twaddle. I'm off to chow down on some bits and pieces of animals you wouldn't normally consider eating all minced up and cooked inside a plastic bag that's been made to represent a sheeps stomach, all whilst enjoying the skirl o' the pipes and steadily getting bladdered on fine whisky. I probably ought to hide my 'phone first, though... Happy Burns Night to ye all!

Slàinte m'dears!

I meant to write this yesterday, but...

2007-01-16T08:58:00.000+08:00

A study into procrastination and it's causes recently concluded that the increasing influence of technology on our lives - chiefly the mobile 'phone and the internet - has led to us becoming more and more distracted, thereby causing us to put more of our tasks to one side and miss deadlines more frequently. In addition to this the ease in which we can be reached through this new technology is increasing our stress levels, causing us to work less productively and need more 'downtime', something we often seek to achieve through personal surfing and game-playing on the internet... and usually at a time when we are meant to be doing something else.

I can vouch for all this, as I sit at work with a mountain of lesson-planning to be done, merrily relating all this to you on my blog. But what amused me most about this study is that it was planned as a 5-year project... yet took 10 years to complete. Oh, the irony.

Cheers m'dears!

Suck on my Bah-Humbug!

2006-12-28T09:55:00.000+08:00

Well, hells bells... Only one post this month? Fuck me, I am getting bad at this.

Sorry this is late but... no wait, I'm not sorry at all. I've been in hospital and not one of you cunts brought me any grapes or magazines with crappy personality quizzes in them. And don't use that old "we didn't know you were in hospital" crap on me because it just won't wash. If you'd cared enough you would have made the effort and found out. And before any of you wags get started I was not in for a liver transplant. Har-de-fucking-har! Anyway, as I don't especially dig Christmas (especially the overblown crap that goes on here) and my family is halfway around the world anyway hospital wasn't a bad place to be for the last few days. Lots of attractive nurses for one thing... and if Christmas does have one perk it's the mistletoe! Wha-hey!

But I digress... what I meant to say was Merry fucking Bah-Humbug to one and all. And I'll see you all (in the online not-really-seeing-you-but-you-know-what-I-bloody-well-mean sense) the other side of Hogmanay!

Cheers m'(rein)dears!

10 Things I Hate About Meme

2006-12-03T17:27:00.000+08:00

Thank you, Flying Rodent, for being an utter cunt and tagging me with another inane piece of shite meme. The topic of this one is simple - list 10 things you would never do. Okay, let's give it a shot...

Number 1:- Complete this meme.

Cheers m'dears!

Sunni and Shi'ite United!

2006-11-27T12:43:00.000+08:00

At long last the Sunni and Shi'ite peoples of Iraq have found common ground, something they fully agree on. It's all the Americans fault.

Okay, so perhaps that should read 'Americans and their allies', since several countries have taken part in (mis)handling the situation in Iraq, but the sheer weight of American numbers (not just the troops but the companies tasked with rebuilding the country) present and very visible presumably paints the whole mess in a very stars-and-stripes pattern to the general population.

A leading Shi'ite cleric from Najaf, Sheikh Ali Mirza Asada, states that "the roots of our problems lie in the mistakes of the Americans committed right from the beginning of their occupation", a position that his Sunni counterpart, Sheikh Harith Al-Dhari, seems to concur with. Despite the fact that he is currently a fugitive in Cairo having been accused by the predominantly Shi'ite government as a supporter of terrorism, he sings in harmony with his exilers - "Since the beginning the US occupation Iraq from bad to worse" [sic].

Whatever you may believe about the original intentions of 'liberating' Iraq the simple facts are that since the war 'ended' US troop deaths per day have increased, civilian deaths per day have increased even more, and neither statistic shows any sign of slowing down. We may not hear about bombs going off on the news any more, but that's simply because they have become so fucking commonplace that it's dull news.

What is the solution for Iraq? I'm buggered if I know. But one thing I'm certain of is that this isn't it. And when someting so consistently fails to yield results for such a long time surely the only ones who would refuse to change tack would be the imbeciles of the world. Isn't that right, Messers Bush and Cheney...?

Cheers m'dears!

Court jesting

2006-11-20T11:46:00.000+08:00

I don't know about any of you but I am quite looking forward to the upcoming film The Last King of Scotland. No, not because it has the word 'Scotland' in the title - I am not even remotely that shallow - but because it stars Forest Whittaker and James McAvoy, two of (in my mind) the most interesting actors around. Add to that the story's factual basis on one of the most notorious figures in recent history, Idi Amin... like I said, I am looking forward to it.

And why, might you ask, do I bring this up. Well, I am sure most people are aware that the title of the film comes from Amin once claiming the Scottish throne for himself - and if you weren't you are now. This leaves me incredulous... I hate using the phrase "I'm not racist, but..." as most comments that start in this way are the most bigotted you will ever come across. But in what way did an African guy ever come to the notion that he might be the hereditary heir to the throne of a country that is very, very white? That is not to say that someone from a background other than 'North European' could never come to a future Scottish throne, presumably through marriage, but to be considered as an heir to it now? Maybe, just maybe, there was some rough and tumble between a former king and an ancestor of Mr Amin, but I'm sure that the queue for the throne would be filled with plenty of people who have greater claim.

Of course, Idi Amin was a posturer, a man who hyped himself, and believed the hype too. What is it that drives people to make such overtly outrageous claims? Yes, I know - the blog world is full of folk pretending to be other than they are, but that is a creation of a fictional persona rather than an over-inflation of the self. And of course such claims, in the political world, are laden with propoganda... Amin presumably felt that his claim to the Scottish throne would give him more kudos, if not in the international world then at least at home. And when you are lying for the home crowd it seems you can get away with more riduculous claims - remember Comical Ali insisting that the invasion of Iraq was failing even as US tanks crawled up the street behind him? Well, I know success or failure in Iraq seems to depend on your own personal standpoint (and that's a whole other post) but you get my drift!

Perhaps my favourite example of this kind of thing is a memory from my childhood when I found my Grandfather chortling at the newspaper one day. I asked him what was so funny... It turns out that a prominent figure in the Middle-East (possibly Arafat or Gaddafi) had whipped up a bit of a frenzy amongst his own supporters when he claimed that the west had wrongly claimed a famous playwright and poet as it's own, when in fact he had been an Arab living in 17th century England. The name of this disputed hero? Sheik Spear.

I shit you not!

Cheers m'dears!

One for the Roadie...

2006-11-10T16:52:00.000+08:00

You may remember that a month ago I wrote about the Iggy Pop rider... No? Fair enough, I'd forgotten about it myself until today when I received an e-mail notifying me of a new comment made on that post. Not that it's anything unusual to receive comments on old posts... it's just that this time the comment was from Jos Grain, the architect of said rider and roadie for Iggy and The Stooges. Which was a surprise...

Anyway, he provided me a link for his own site where a fresher version of the rider can be found (I think there are one or two additional laughs in there too)... If you haven't read the rider yet, do - it's well worth it! If you have then may I advise you to check out his site anyway... hell, it amuses me! I particularly like his weird artwork, most especially the statuette entitled "Uzi Godmother" which he apparently gave to Spider from the Pogues as a wedding present last month...

There's nothing like a crazy Dutch guy to brighten your day. Apparently.

Cheers m'dears!

A short lecture to the following persons:

2006-11-06T22:46:00.000+08:00

1) All you people who stand side by side on the escalator blocking the through-route for those of us whose underground trains are actually at the platform.

2) All you people who think that the turnstiles and the ends of the escalators in underground stations are the perfect places to congregate and chat.

3) All you people who get on to the underground train and then stop, at the entrance, because you are now on - despite there being a dozen people behind you who would also like to board.

4) All you people that sit on the underground trains playing very loud music on your mp3 'phones without using headphones.

5) All those people who think that it is perfectly acceptable to allow their child to sprawl across 3 seats when the train is jam-packed.

And lastly, 6) The surly teen who jumped into the seat that I had literally just vacated for a frail old lady and then sneered and shrugged his shoulders when I took him to task - you know who you are.

................

You're all cunts.

Here endeth the lesson.

Cheers m'dears!

Shallowe'en

2006-10-31T18:13:00.000+08:00

Call me a miserable old cunt, but I really hate Hallowe'en. Seeing all the twats dressed up wandering around pubs in devil horns and black capes thinking they look so cool and 'fun-loving'... bollocks, you look like wankers. Especially those men who use it as an excuse to dress as a schoolgirl. Look, I have no problem with cross-dressing or anything, but just admit who the fuck you are for the rest of the year too. Don't use this one solitary night as an excuse to let your repressed urges out. It's just sad.

And all that "trick or treat" bullshit... what does it actually teach our kids? That it's okay to go around essentially threatening old folks. "Give us some sweets or we'll do something bad to you" - that's what it translates as. And to do it all whilst hidden behind masks? It's Dick Turpin and his ilk all over again - "Stand and deliver, your money or your life"! Fucking bastards...

Cheers m'dears!

Musical Interludes...

2006-10-19T14:23:00.000+08:00

Can someone please tell me what the point is of all those television dramas now shoe-horning bands or musicians into their scripts for apparently little or no reason? Because I for one find it at best distracting, other times frankly tedious and nauseating. Okay, I know that comedy shows have a history of this, The Young Ones being a classic example, but that was the kind of bizarre and surreal programme where Dexy's Midnight Runners playing in the bathroom could actually be considered the norm. But The Killers playing the local bar in The O.C.?

Look, before you start, I absolutely do not watch that twattery. I was channel-hopping, okay? The point is, I know that the programme is supposed to be about a load of jumped up little rich shits who could probably hold a 'small party' with music provided by an entire Glastonbury lineup, but having The Killers play a couple of songs whilst the cast look at them dreamily and say nothing to each other just comes across as an exercise in time-wasting. You can't even blame it on the scriptwriters running out of imagination since the small bit of dialogue I did see demonstrated they didn't have any in the first place.

Unfortunately The O.C. and The Killers are not alone in this. The West Wing has once or twice managed to save themselves five minutes or so of actual drama by drafting in a past music legend, although I admit that since the U.S. Prez probably has to attend functions where these things happen the writers do have a degree of legitimacy. But he also takes a leak occasionally and possibly even takes it up the wrong 'un from Condie and her strap-on from time to time, but I don't need to see either of those either. Well, maybe the second one. Just for a laugh.

Add to the list Entourage, who did an entire storyline where one of the guys was desperate for tickets to see U2 and, sure enough, gets hold of them in the last reel. But why did I then have to sit through about 8 minutes (of a programme that only lasts about 25 without ad breaks anyway) of Bono? It's not like I don't appreciate the music but I already have it on CD. And if I wanted to see them live I would buy a fucking ticket myself and soak up the atmosphere. To cap it all Bono does a birthday shout out at the end to the character in question - I wonder how much he got paid for all that, the hoor!

The worst example I ever saw, though, was on that short lived science fiction version of Dawson's Creek (No, I never used to watch that either. Why the fuck are you raising your eyebrows at me?), the Dido-theme-songed Roswell (Okay, I admit to that one. But not religiously or anything!). Future scriptwriters, read on and learn how NOT to wriggle a musical performance into your storyline...

Imagine, if you will... something has gone terribly wrong and our heroes must find some random chick who may have the answers they are looking for. Off they head to some University a couple of hours out of town somewhere on a single-minded mission to locate her. She's not in her dorm? Bugger! Oh well, lets run around the campus frantically, with no real clue to where she may be. But wait, what's that tucked away over there in some random badly-lit corner? Why, it's a stage, with a couple of dozen studenty-folk milling about it looking mildly impressed. And who is that on the stage? Cue one of the heroes piping up... "It's Nelly Furtado!".

I shit you not.

Mission forgotten, for the duration of one song anyway, whilst they stand there dreamily watching old Nel', who (bless her!) is trying her best not to look too stupidly out of place. Of course, right at the end of the song one of the heroes turns and sees in the crowd... the girl they were looking for! Huzzah!

So there you have it. Nelly Furtado is secretly an undercover Alien using her music to assist her brethren here on earth. They don't write 'em like they used to!

Cheers m'dears!

Aholic-gate!

2006-10-16T16:17:00.000+08:00

In today's society of addiction and greed we regularly hear about shopaholics, chocaholics, workaholics, sexaholics and any other type of "-aholic" you care to invent. But this randomly adding "-aholic" onto the end of a word has a tiny little flaw. IT MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE!

Okay, this all derives from the term 'alcoholic', as in someone who is addicted to alcohol. So it's alcohol - ic. So why the hell is someone who is addicted to shopping called a shopaholic when the should be called a shoppingic? I mean, an alcoholic isn't someone addicted to alc's, are they? Why create the addiction suffix by culling a large portion of a word that itself has fuck all to do with the addiction? And even if you do, why is it "-aholic" and not "-oholic"? Alcoholism is an addiction to alcohol, not alcahol. They're alcoholics, not alcaholics.

I cannot quite explain why, but this blatant disregard for the way in which words are built annoys the living crap out of me. If I was an alcoholic I would turn around to all those other cunts and give them a piece of my drunken mind... "Oi! You there, fatso! Yes, you with the brown sticky stuff oozing down your fingers. You are not a chocoholic. Leave my addiction-title alone and get your own. From now on you are a chocolatic. Don't argue, bollock-face! Just admit it - it makes much more sense. I am reclaiming the 'hol' to reunite it with it's 'alco', and don't you dare try to stop me!"

And while I'm on the subject, why is every political incident now labelled something-gate? All this butchery of words must be part of a conspiracy by fuckwits to overthrow the English language and replace it with gobbledygook! Let's call it "fuck-wit-gate", that'll be nice and snappy...

... hey! Could the people who insist on putting 'gate' at the end of every singly political story be refferred to as "gateaholics"? Or should we keep it snappy and just continue to use "cunts"?

Cheers m'dears!

Lust for riders...

2006-10-13T17:43:00.000+08:00

Okay, I hold my hands up and admit that I am wilfully stealing from a fellow blogger here... but I just found this too fucking funny not to share. A few days back Flying Rodent posted a rider list for Iggy Pop and the Stooges... anyone out there not knowing what a rider is, let me explain -

Riders usually have two parts: the tech rider is all the PA gear the band need (and in some cases drums) and is fairly standard, unless you're only playing Damien Rice covers on a battered Spanish guitar in the Fuckwit and Firkin on a Sunday afternoon. The other half of the rider is all the stuff you can ask for to keep yourself sustained and entertained backstage. This usually starts from 'a couple of bottles of water and maybe some tea-making equipment' if you're a random chancer who has only managed to score a gig in a proper venue by dint of someone else dropping out, but can eventually rise through the inevitable alcohol requests to the likes of 11-course banquets, hookers, coke (not the fizzy), livestock and pretty much anything else a warped mind-blown megalomaniac rock star might want...

...which is kind of the position that Mr Pop and his band occupy.The thing that makes their rider list, however, is not simply the demands (of which, in truth, only one or two might appear over the top) but the way in which it is written. If I hadn't been assured by the faeries at the bottom of my garden that the Stooges and all their road crew were clean-living spiritual souls I might have suspected the influence of some illegal substance...

Below I give you a selection of the very few moments from this 18 page stream-of-consciousness epic that can actually be reproduced in short sentence format, but many of the best bits are longer paragraphs that take you off on random tangents here, there and everywhere. So if you have the time I truly recommend that you read the whole damn thing!

"...AMPLIFIERS that have been tested recently. And when I say "recently", I don't mean "Sometime in the three weeks preceding the occasion when it fell 5 meters off the top shelf in the warehouse"..."

"...TOM-TOM WITH MOUNTING. And if you can't bring the mounting to us, we'll have to send a bloke called Mohammed to the mounting..."

"...By the way our guitar roadie, Chris, assures me that the panda is not of the genus "Bear", but is actually a part of the "Pig" family. Could this possibly be true?..."

"...GUITAR (Clear and bright like the sound of jackboots on wet cobblestones)..."

"...NO TOY ROBOTS, TELEVISION EVANGELISTS, or TELEVISION CAMERAMEN..."

"...We had a lighting designer once, but he went mad so we shot him..."

I tell thee, it's fucking genius... and speaking of fucking geniuses (geni-i? geniuse?) and of stream of consciousness, it's nice to see Brewski making one of his sporadic posts...

Cheers m'dears!

Who is B.U.M. Tosser 2006?

2006-10-10T15:23:00.000+08:00

The results of the music quiz are finally in! And, in reverse order, they are as follows...

In joint 3rd place we have Flying Rodent and Monstee, on a very respectable 6 points each.

Just pipping them with 7 points, in 2nd place is Gabs (send me a link and I'll add it in...)

And the winner, on a magnificent 11 points, is FMC (with a little bit of help from the paramour and her sister!). A banner for you to display proudly will be sent to you in due time, so you can let everyone know that you are officially B.U.M. Tosser 2006!

Well done to all, and thanks to everyone who took part - a full list of scores and all the answers (including those that went unsolved) can be found on the original post.

Right, now that's over with... check this out! It makes me laugh! You can't Hassle the Hoff!

And a brief message to Clairwil, who has had a spot of bother recently with some arseholes being cuntish on her site... did wonders for the hit-count, apparently... but remember this, Clairwil - Never argue with an idiot. They will only drag you down to their level and then beat you on experience...!

Cheers m'dears!

Anon - the faceless facist.

2006-10-09T10:36:00.000+08:00

[note - last chance to enter the music quiz! Still 12 points up for grabs, winners announced tomorrow!]

I recently had an anonymous visitor who called me a 'cunt' in the comments about four posts back. Now, that I have no problem with. The fact is that, even though my post was light-hearted-ish, it related events in which I had behaved a little badly. If I told you the full story surrounding the events then I might come across with a bit more justification, but still...

But anonymous also left a comment on a previous entry, regarding the anniversary of race riots in Singapore and the perhaps heavy-handed methods of the Government there to ensure cultural harmony. He/she makes his point, and it is his/hers to make... even if they were too cowardly to identify themselves. But it was a point that I feel deserves a response, and if I simply responded in the comments of the same post the whole argument would be immediately consigned to my archives - whereas, naturally, I would prefer to get input from other readers.

His comment read as follows:

"This is why multi-cultural nations don't exist over the long term - lack of trust. This is why large scale immigration of people who don't like or appreciate the home culture is a bad idea. This is why the left's latest wheeze is to bring in large numbers of people utterly opposed to the west. Bring on the rioting and death, comrades, bring it fucking on."

Okay, aside from the fact that Singapore has been multi-cultural for a long time (longer than it's existence as an independent country) I would like to know what Anon considers to be it's 'home culture'? There are a large number of Chinese, Malays, and Indians here whose families have been here for a long time, as well as some Europeans, Eurasians, Indonesians... the list can go on and on. But even though there are distinct differences between the cultures here there are also differences between the Chinese-Singaporean way of life and the mainland-Chinese... likewise with the other cultures.

Because these races have been here for a long time they have become Singaporean, not simply whichever ethnic backround. Home culture in Singapore is a mix of the three main cultures, with a dash of westernism thrown in, and whilst there are some who naturally gravitate toward their own heritage that is still a part of the Singaporean home culture - that they like and appreciate! If there are other parts they don't like so much...? Well, does every Englisman like Morris Dancing? Every Scotsman do the Highland Fling? It doesn't mean they don't like any of their home culture, they're just selective about which bits they do like!

People from different backgrounds can and do mix with ease. A case in point for me was a recent night out for a meal with my closest friends - I was the only white guy, there were 2 Singaporean-Chinese, one Malaysian-Chinese, one Indian, one Sri-Lankan, one Malay, and one... well, I don't know where he is from, but then it didn't matter anyway. Much later we went clubbing and were joined by a Singaporean-Indian girl and eventually I hooked up with another white guy that I know with his Malay girlfriend who were with his sister and her Chinese boyfriend. My argument in the original post was not that the cultures cannot mix but that by forcing the issue the Government runs the risk of actually creating more resentment as opposed to promoting peaceful co-existence.

But then again, by the tone of the rest of the comment it is clear that Anon was just looking for any excuse to get on his xenophobic high-horse. The left's latest wheeze? If you're going to suggest that kind of thing let's see some evidence to back it up. Most immigrants I have met in the UK are by no means opposed to the west. Rather, they are grateful for the chance to get their lives back on track after going through shit that most of us in the west will never have to face. As for the rioting and death? It is attitudes like yours that bring that kind of shit on, that spur on the "us v them" mentality. You'd actually probably love a bit of violence to 'prove' your point, but I'll tell you this - you can leave me the fuck out of it.

Cheers m'dears!

Six Degrees of Alienation

2006-10-07T16:54:00.000+08:00

As Mick Jagger once sang, "Tah-ah-ah-ime is on my side, yes it i-is!" - and, no... that is not an answer to the still-ongoing quiz. No, today I have answered all my e-mails, paid my bills, read all the blogs I link to (and I had a fair bit of catching up, I have to say!) and... well, run out of shit to do. So I decided to try out an idea I had a while back, a numbered blog-crawl. The idea is, you choose any of the links you have on your blog, work out what number link that is, and visit it. You read it (if you haven't already) and then count down the exact same number on that blogs links. And so on, and so forth... the idea hopefully being that you might find some fun new places to visit. After all, I like all the blogs I list, and most of them like me... it should stand to reason that I will like a lot of what they like, etc... shouldn't it?

The one thing I decided was that I wasn't going to count banner links or any self referencing ones (ie, older posts)... just your average 'blogs I like to visit' shit. So, let's start at the very begining, as Julie Andrews once warbled... it's a fucking good place to start. Okay, that wouldn't quite have been her words but they work well for my Numero Uno link...

1) Hotrocks, home of the sporadic Mr Brewski... his first link is to the Curmudgeon, Philip Chalinor, who I also already link to... Mr C then links first to Robert Aickman - an appreciation. All very nice, but it's a dead end with no further links. Great start, McShae! Let's try from link number 2 instead...

2) Dr Maroon's Cape to Rio... link 2 to Anti-Barney, another mutual chum... link 2 to... Google News? WTF? Back to square one, and link number 3...

3) ...which is, again, Anti Barney... his link number 3 is to Kim Ayres (how incestuous is this community!?)... link 3 to The Quiet Storm and a slightly scary yet fascinating post about coping with migraines by tying zip-locked bags of ice to your head. This is more like it! Now I'm getting out and about! Link 3 from here is... "This Page Cannot Be Found". Bollocks.

4) Straight back into the arms of Kim, whose link number 4 takes us this time to Callum and Kieran and a mildly diverting post about a missing crayon that, whilst potentially in the hands of a 2-year old, retains all the panic-power of Iran going nuclear. Nice enough... 4th link from here is I Thought I Was Driving, whose post 'Failure to Blog' looked like it was written by someone totally exhausted, and had the same power on me... There was absolutely nothing wrong with it, it just didn't grab me. But then it's all horses for courses, right?

5) On to Foot Eater's gaff, The Fishwhacker Swindle?, and his number 5, another familiar link... Bogol, by the incomprehensible Arlington Hynes. His number 5? another old sidebar-pal, Dr Evil... and a perhaps unsurprising link to Dangerous Laboratories. Unfortunately from here the trail once more goes cold.

6) El Barbudo is my link number 6, and from there... well, it was always a possibility I suppose. The mutual arse-lick fest reaches a peak when I discover that his link number 6 takes me right back here to Random Drivel. I'm begining to wonder if any of us actually know anyone else outside our own corner of the blog-iverse...

7) Horses Ass Pub, landlady one Ms Andraste (who's real name shall not be revealed... snigger!). She's doing a nice line in educating us heathens in the world of fine art at the moment, but I've already been here today and seen the picture, so time to move on to her link number 7 - Dead Pan Ann. A post about buying CD's , something close to my heart! Never heard of the first band she mentions (must be losing my touch) but I will take her recommendation on the Dylan album. I like him anyway. We're going to have to disagree about The Killers though. I'm a big fan...

But I digress... from there I get to Ramblings of a Redneck Diva, who talks about a school shooting - this is news to me, the first I have heard about it. Have these things become so commonplace in the States now that no-one bothers to report them anywhere else? It does strike me as unusual when on most days, even here in Asia, I can read in the Daily Propoganda whet Dubya had for breakfast. Saying that, her post doesn't dwell on that one incident and is instead a by turns chilling and heart-wrenching look into parents nightmare scenarios. Which made my visit to her link number 7 all the more of a surprise.

Initially I was struck by the title, Scotland of the Soul, wondering just how we Jocks had managed to become so prolific at this end of blog-land. But as soon as the blog opened my eyes were instantly drawn to one thing... the "I Stand With Israel" banner in the top right corner. Screw not counting banners. Screw only clicking the 7th link. I had to check... and I got here. My views on that are a whole other post just waiting to explode... I read the comments on the Jack Lewis site with interest, especially where it notes that Israel's enemies are killing innocent Israelis. Yes, they are. But to stand with Israel when it commits the exact same crime, killing the innocents on the other side of the fence. That's fucking blind, man. Fucking warped.

When you get used to blogging to all your online mates it's often easy to forget that you're only 6 degrees of seperation from shit like this.

Somone make me a fucking banner. I want it to say "I Stand With The Innocent Victims".

...as for the blogging by numbers thing? I lost the taste for it after that...

Cheers m'dears!

Boom! Shake, shake, shake the room / train / lift / etc...

2006-10-06T11:18:00.000+08:00

TSsss TSsss TSsss TSsss...

Annoying, isn't it...?

TSsss TSsss TSsss TSsss...

The tinny drumbeat that emanates from the headphones of that inconsiderate bastard next to you on the bus / train / merry-go-round...

TSsss TSsss TSsss TSsss...

Still, at least it drastically reduced the number of arseholes who would parade down the street with a boom-box on their shoulders, blasting out their favoured musical genre to the whole world whether we liked it or not. And for that I choose to be thankful.

Oh, I know how off-putting it can be whilst trying to do your suduko / crossword / join-the-dots, and how even more annoying it can be when you half-recognise the song being played and just can't quite figure it out. Personally, however, I would rather that than having your whole world drowned out by music rendered unlistenable by having been played so loud on a crappy battery-powered player that the speakers have blown and the whole sound is distorted.

But wait... now we have a new menace... the dreaded MP3 'phone! Of course, at first this was no different than your average MP3 or personal CD player in that it came equipped with headphones and all you got was the same tinny beat. But then people realised that if the earpiece on your 'phone is loud enough to for you to speak on 'loudspeaker', then...

No, you motherfuckers! No, No, No, No, NO! Sitting opposite me on the tube, ambling behind me down the street, even walking into my school office (Try that one more time, boy, and you'll be scrubbing the bastard toilets in detention!)... If I wanted to hear the music you are listening to I would have bought the bloody CD or downloaded it onto my computer, where I can listen to it properly. And when I say 'properly' I mean 'being able to actually hear and understand the fucking thing'! Because that crappy little speaker in your 'phone? it is just as distorted and useless for music as the aforementioned overpowered boom-box.

The thing comes with fucking headphones, for Christ's sake! Why make me hear your (often lousy) choice of music when I would be content with just...

TSsss TSsss TSsss TSsss...

Cheers m'dears!

No still means no!

2006-10-05T09:33:00.000+08:00

I just received a new response to my post on Male Rape, which (although I did not agree with everything) I found to hold interesting perspectives. I am reproducing it, and my response, below. As always, your feedback is warmly welcomed...

Posted by Clarice on Wednesday, October 04, 2006 10:29:44 PM

"Agree with all of this, but I think it's strange and rather telling that when this stuff happens to women, it is so prevalent as to be almost normative, and no-one hardly turns a hair. When it happens to one single man, suddenly it makes men think. Men don't seem to like it much when even one woman starts behaving as men have done with impunity since the year dot. I am reminded too of Myra Hindley in this respect.
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The fact that the gender of those involved is presented here as the "twist" in the tale, that the readers' expectations are so predictable as to be exploited to this effect makes me feel rather sad. Perhaps I don't get it. What is the "surprise" of the genders in this case supposed to tell us?
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Why should it be different (any more or less upsetting) depending on the gender of those involved?
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Well, I'll say one thing. He was less likely to get a disease, and completely unlikely to have to risk his life or reproductive fitness carrying or aborting a child as a result of the encounter. Also, because of the stereotypes in our culture, he didn't have to feel secretly that he was a slag - he may have felt like people would say he was asking for it, but a man who asks for sex does not carry the same stigma as a woman who does so. So there are similarities, but also differences I feel in the male-female experience.
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If people can realise that sexual stereotypes damage men as well as women, maybe things could change. It's just a depressing shame that the knowledge that they damage women is not a good enough motivator by itself. That by itself kind of tells me that they're here to stay."

Posted by Clarice on Wednesday, October 04, 2006 10:39:39 PM

"On reflection, I think the "twist" in this tale is supposed to tell us that the male concerned felt emasculated as well as everything else. He experienced something that as well as being upsetting and unpleasant, traditionally only happens to females. The extent to which this adds another layer of hurt to the experience kind of depends on his view of females, doesn't it?
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This state of affairs is a double-edged sword. If I am raped, at least that's par for the course of being female, looking at the stats. On the other hand, if I am made to have sex with someone I do not like or respect, or who does not appear to display very much humanity, you could say that's par for the course of being male, looking at the boom in the sex industry these days. These are muddy waters."

Reply by me on Thursday, October 05, 2006 9:32:21 AM

"Wow, Clarice... I never for one second intended it to be read that it is normal for a woman to be raped. It is a beastly, disgusting crime, and I for one turn more than one hair when I hear about it. Of course, you don't hear about it because it does happen so much, in the same way you don't hear about a car crash, but you do if it's a plane...
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As far as Myra Hindley goes... she is just another person in a list of killers, and to me her being a woman makes little difference... she's there alongside Fred West, Dr Shipman... and of course her own partner in crime, Brady.
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I acknowledge I somewhat exploit readers expectations with the 'twist', but only because I wanted people to view this as something wrong. If I started with "This is a tale of a man raped by a woman" there are many who would have refused to take it seriously. By presenting the seriousness (because everyone views the rape of a woman as serious) before the perhaps unusual feature it was intended to raise thought - which it succeeded in doing.
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You say why should it be different depending on gender? That is entirely the point of my post...
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I thoroughly disagree that he was less likely to get a disease - that comment suggests that only men can carry and transmit STD's - and although I agree that he was never going to get pregnant or have to have an abortion what if she had got pregnant? Possibly deliberately? And kept the child?
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Maybe you're right that he didn't need to feel like a slag, but just because he didn't NEED to doesn't mean he didn't... and the affects of rape are usually deemed to be more traumatic on a personal emotional level, rather than a physical one - who knows exactly how he felt? Remember, this guy had always been a bit of a nerd and had been picked on... who is to say that he didn't fear what others might say or do to him?
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It is depressing that knowledge of the way women are treated is not a motivator in itself, but don't kid yourself into thinking that the story in my post will suddenly change the perception. Saying "it happens to men too" only raises more questions, it doesn't provide any solutions. Mankind (and womankind) has a history of people hurting and abusing others - that isn't going to change any time soon.
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As for your second comment, I thoroughly disagree. I say that because I know the guy well. It's difficult to explain... I don't think he ever felt 'manly' enough to ever then be 'emasculated'. And as all his closest friends, both at school and since, have usually been female I don't think he ever viewed them in a macho bullshit way. But maybe it was that breach of trust that hurt the most?
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These are indeed muddy waters..."

Thanks, Clarice, for taking the time... and Cheers m'dears!

A rather curious chain of events...

2006-10-03T16:35:00.000+08:00

[Note:- The quiz is still open for another 7 days... see the next post down to enter!]

So there I found myself at 4.30am on Saturday, having become so deliciously inebriated over a period of roughly 12 hours that: a) I wasn't even slightly embarrassed at 'doing the funky chicken' in the middle of a reasonably hip nightclub; b) I was convinced that the manageress of the same club fancied me, although she was probably just being pleasant as the dollar signs from our table ran amok across our tab; and c) the Finding Nemo hat I had so adamantly shied away from when my friends bought it from a charity seller had all of a sudden acquired the kind of near-mythical fashion status usually reserved for designers with Italian names (Finding Nero...?)...

Where was I? Ah, yes - 4.30am, drunk - as I was saying... there I found myself sprawled the wrong way around on my bed in a state of half-undress, trying in vain to remove from my sheets bits of cheap popcorn I had bought from the 7-11 on my way home, whilst repeatedly shouting "FUCK OFF" down the 'phone to... how shall I word this? An 'acquaintance'. One with connections that could cause me to lose my job should I offend her...

Skip forward about 36 hours or so and my 'phone growls at me. That's what it does now, ever since the toilet bowl incident. Strange, annoying as it was at least that Nokia ringtone didn't unsettle me as much... but I digress again. Lo! And Behold! A text message from 'the abused' of a day and a half earlier... containing some rather strange and unfamiliar words! And no, they were not all four letters! It read as follows...

"There is a saying that goes 'you get what you ask for' or something like that. And I guess I deserve it"

My gob was so smacked I thought I was going to need to invest in a set of false teeth... How the fuck did I get away with that one? If I'd known I was going to be that lucky I would have hit the casino instead of the club!

Cheers m'dears!

Update - Barely ten minutes after posting this and into my office strides the above-mentioned focus of my vulgarities... with a very nice card telling me I am "a great person with a gr8 [sic] heart" and signed "your pain in the neck". Is this for real or is it just all part of some devious evil scheme?

Binty's Ulitimate Music Tosser Quiz

2006-09-28T09:14:00.000+08:00

Over the last couple of days I have enjoyed racking my brains over at the Ill Man and Clairwil blogs where quotation and lyric quizzes have sprung up. Never being one to let a good bandwagon pass me by (and being generally too fucking lazy to come up with anything original) I am proud to present Binty's Ultimate Music Tosser Quiz!

Below are 30 quotes from different songs - the first 10 are all opening lines, the second 10 are closing lines, and the final 10 are plucked from somewhere in the middle of a song... this should make things progressively harder!

Post your guesses (song title and artist) in the comments, first to get each one will be credited accordingly - and the person with the most correct answers will be bestowed with the magnificent title "Binty's Ultimate Music Tosser 2006" - or BUM Tosser '06 for short.

Finally - and this should not need saying, but I will anyway - we all know how to use search engines. If you want to do so to satisfy your own curiosity, fine, but if you are 'googling' simply to look knowledgeable or to win a frankly meaningless quiz then you are nothing but a sad, shallow cunt!

Let battle commence...

Round 1 - Opening lines

1) Once I had a love and it was a gas...

(Heart of Glass by Blondie - solved by Flying Rodent / Kim Ayres)

2) Oh, she dressed in the dark and she whispered 'Amen'...

(Galway to Graceland by Richard Thompson - solved by Monstee / Ion)

3) Men reading fashion magazines; Oh what a world it seems we live in...

(Oh What a World by Rufus Wainwright - solved by Monstee / Gabs)

4) Paint my face in your magazines; Make it look whiter than it seems...

(Powerless (Say What You Want) by Nelly Furtado - solved by FMC)

5) People on the street now; Faces long and grim...

(How Come by Ray Lamontagne - remained unsolved)

6) I see the clouds that move across the sky; I see the wind that moves the clouds away...

(Don't Worry About The Government by Talking Heads - solved by Thirteenth Monkey)

7) Who gave you permission to rearrange me?

(Certainly by Erykah Badu - remained unsolved)

8) Rioja, rioja; Reverend Al Green; Deep blue morocco; The water on stone...
(Pearl's Girl by Underworld - solved by Flying Rodent / Rat)

9) We were at a party; His ear lobe fell in the deep...

(Rock Lobster by The B-52's - solved by Monstee)

10) We passed upon the stair; We spoke of was and when...
(The Man Who Sold the World by David Bowie - solved by Flying Rodent / Rat)

Round 2 - Closing Lines

11) ...My mind... My mind... 'Til I find somebody else.

(Blowers Daughter by Damien Rice - solved by Gabs)

12) ...and I'll stand over your grave 'til I'm sure that you're dead.

(Master's of War by Bob Dylan - solved by Clairwil)

13) ...You can't go home, the night is young; I'm blacking out but it's been fun.

(The Scene Is Dead by We Are Scientists - solved by Gabs)

14) ...Take it slow, oh-oh; This time we'll take it slow.

(Ordinary People by John Legend - remained unsolved)

15) ...Who's responsible? You fucking are! Who's responsible?

(Of Walking Abortion by The Manic Street Preachers - solved by Ill Man)

16) ...And we can't turn back; 'Cause it's too late, too late, too late, too late, too late.
(I Looked at You by The Doors - solved by Gabs / FMC's paramour)

17) ...Goin' out tonight, goin' out tonight; Baby, you and I, goin' out tonight.

(Living for the Weekend by Hard-Fi - remained unsolved)

18) ...Same old game, same old thing; Always rappin' 'bout the same old thing.

(Funkier than a Mosquito's Tweeter by Nina Simone - solved by FMC and her sis!)

19) ...Creation baby has failed again; Creation baby has failed again.
(This Wicked Tongue by P J Harvey - solved by Clairwil)

20) ...Wherever men are fightin' for their rights; That's where I'm gonna be, Ma; That's where I'm a gonna be.

(Tom Joad by Woody Guthrie - solved by Annie's fiance)

Round 3 - Randomly plucked lines

21) ...Butterflies and zebras; And moonbeams and fairy tales...
(Little Wing by Jimi Hendrix - solved by Ion)

22) ...You work in a shirt with your name tag on it; Drifting apart like a plate tectonic...
(Oh My God by The Kaiser Chiefs - solved by Flying Rodent)

23) ...Water is my eye; Most faithful mirror...

(Teardrop by Massive Attack - solved by Tubthumper)

24) ...I wanna speak louder than Ritalin; For all the children who think that they've got a disease...

(Oxygen by Willie Mason - solved by FMC / Gabs)

25) ...Kiss me, please kiss me; Kiss me out of desire, baby, not consolation...
(Last Goodbye by Jeff Buckley - solved by FMC)

26) ...I know you like to think your shit don't stink; But lean a little bit closer...
(Roses by Outkast - solved by FMC)

27) ...Love forever, love is free; Let's turn forever, you and me...
(Feelgood Inc. by Gorillaz- solved by Flying Rodent / FMC)

28) ...You're a slut, you're a bitch, you're a whore...

(Blue Flashing Light by Travis - remained unsolved)

29) ...Majordomo Billy Bojangles; Sit down and have a drink with me...

(Alabama Getaway by The Grateful Dead - solved by Monstee)

30) ...Or that everybody's on the stage; And it seems like you're the only person sitting in the audience...

(Skating Away by Jethro Tull - solved by Annie)

[Final Scores: 1st place - FMC (et al) with 11 points ; 2nd place - Gabs on 7 ; Joint 3rd place - Flying rodent and Monstee, both on 6... well done to you all! Honourable mentions for bothering to take part go to: Clairwil and Annie (and fiance), both on 4 points; Ion with 3 ; Ill Man, Rat, Tubthumper and Thirteenth Monkey, all on 2 ; and last but by no means least, Kim Ayres with 1 - the remaining 10 points went unclaimed.]

Cheers m'dears!

No means no.

2006-09-22T10:42:00.000+08:00

Let me tell you a little story, one that is completely true, no matter how much you may scoff or sneer at it. It is the tale of a virginal student and an English teacher who found themselves in an illicit relationship, one which affected the student for many years...

With only two months to go before turning 19 this student was probably a little unusual in still being a virgin, although having always been a bit nerdy and mostly friendless it was probably not THAT much of a surprise. But despite being remembered (and still dismissed) by peers as the spotty swotty one this student's looks had improved a little with maturity and this particular English teacher noticed. The fact that the student was good at acting and the teacher was directing the school play brought them into closer contact with each other and eventually it became apparent that the student had a crush on the teacher...

At the cast party after the play, out at the teacher's house in the middle of the countryside, the situation developed and they kissed and 'fooled around' for a bit. And the teacher seemed to respect the fact that the student didn't want sex, wasn't ready for it... and so began the affair.

After a fortnight or so of clandestine meetings and journeys out to the lonely house (where the student would sometimes spend the night) the teacher's attitude changed slightly. The agenda became sex, although the issue was never forced... the teacher was just a little too persistent. Still the student resisted, naively believing that this was love and it could all wait... believing that the teacher had respect and would be patient for sex. Until one night the student awoke to find the teacher was just taking it anyway.

The student didn't know what to say or do, so just froze and allowed the teacher to finish. It was all so confusing... after all, this was love... wasn't it? And because the student still believed this the relationship continued for a few more days until it just got too much and the student jumped on a train and travelled to stay with family far away... the teacher quietly moved to another school and was subsequently sacked for trying to seduce 2 more students there whilst sharing a spliff with them.

13 years later and the student is now almost 32. Attitudes toward sex and male-female relationships have been coloured by this first experience, the professional diagnosis being 'a fear of sexual intimacy' which has played a large part in consigning a two-year marriage to the bin. It has also affected friendships, relationships with family, and generated a great deal of self-loathing that is only just now being dealt with through counselling sessions.

At face value it's a tragic case of a person abusing a position of trust and authority and raping an innocent - lock the bastard up! But then there's a twist in the tale, a piece of information that you might refuse to believe or accept. The student was male, the teacher female.

...!...

"A man cannot be raped by a woman!"

In general, I might agree. For the most part rape is performed by a physically stronger aggressor (or group), and for the most part men are still physically stronger than women. But then, not all women fight back, not all rapists need to be physically stronger - especially if they know the victim. A woman may simply lie there, and hope her attacker is quick so she can get away... or maybe, like the case above, the victim doesn't quite understand that what is happening to her is wrong, maybe because she deludes herself that she 'loves' this beast.

As for the physical - if a woman is enjoying a small degree of intimacy with a man she may become turned on. Being turned on does not neccesarily mean she wants sex. Just because her sexual organs have responded in the way they are supposed to and lubricated themselves does not mean that in her heart or her head she is ready... and if she vocalises that and says no? Well, no means no.

Likewise, even if a man is physically turned on and has an erection it does not neccesarily indicate that he agrees to participate in intercourse. If he vocalises that and says no - as the student above did MANY times? Three words. No means no.

No one is claiming that female-on-male rape is as widespread a cancer as the other way around. There are thousands of cases of men raping women every year, yet this is the only example I know of the reverse happening (other than cases involving much younger males which would be considered child abuse anyway). But I still find it absurd that because it is quite the exception it can be dismissed so easily (and it has been, affecting the guy even more). It doesn't matter who you are, what sex you are - no means no. And that counts for male-on-female, female-on-male, male-on-male or female-on-female.

This post has been inspired by FMC's recent post on the rapper DMX and the ensuing comments. Whilst I only know a little about DMX and personally find his story of being 'raped' by a woman a little suspect I did think it was worthwhile exploring a subject I know a little about...

Super-Scrooge

2006-09-14T09:27:00.000+08:00

Superman - what a tight cunt. Seriously, I was discussing this with a female friend the other day (who was gushing over that new fella that played him recently - apparently he's gay though) and she mentioned about the romantic nature of literally being swept off your feet, a remark which prompted me to cough, splutter and dribble my beer. (Oh, fucking hell! I really hate waste!)
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Sure, it must seem like an incredible thing to be able to whisk a young lady off on a whim, but that kind of ability surely pales into insignificance when you realise the hard work your average tosser goes through just to take a beloved for a weekend in Bognor. I mean, say your lady friend wants to visit the romantic city of Paris... what do you do? Dip into the savings you have been putting aside for emergencies? Put in some overtime and save up? Rob a bank? Just so you can fly in the cramped confines of Cheapo-Jet Economy class and stay at a dodgy bed and breakfast in the wrong end of the city? Not old Supes! He doesn't need to put his hand in his pocket (pretty good thing really... my wallet can be uncomfortable in loose fitting jeans - where the fuck would Kal-El stick his?). He just says "hop on me feet, luv" and then it's up, up and away!
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"What's that, Lois? Paris? Yeah, why not. And how about we pop off to Rome for a late supper, then maybe catch a show in Vegas before watching the sun come up over the Taj Mahal?" And how much does this dream date cost him? The best part of fuck all, I'd warrant! Even when he's in Paris do you reckon he joins the back of the queue to pay his however many Euro's to go up the Eiffel tower? Like fuck!
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And what about in the 3rd Christopher Reeve film... right at the end the bastard picks up a lump of coal and squeezes it into a diamond for one of his floozies (can't remember whether it's for Lois Lane or Lana Lang - and, by the way, what the fuck is it with all those L's? There's alliteration and then there's plain fucking stupid!). A fucking diamond. A fucking diamond the size of a fucking golf ball, no less. I could work 60 hour weeks for the rest of my life and never, NEVER, afford something like that! Yeah, thank you, you twat. Thanks for upping the ante so far out of the reach of the rest of mankind!
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So, ask yourself girls... despite the 'buff' look, and even if you get off on the idea of a guy who wears tights (US - pantyhose) under his suit, would you really want to date a guy who could so easily give you anything that it really is of very little importance to him? A guy who, despite the potentially extravagent gifts, is essentially tighter than a duck's arse?
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....yes, I guess you would!
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Cheers m'dears!

That ol' Red Carpet again...

2006-09-03T17:08:00.000+08:00

I've been so up to my ears in work and moving house the last couple of weeks that I haven't really read any other blogs, let alone update on this one. So I was pleasantly surprised whilst trawling through the back pages of the Ill Man site to discover that I have been nominated for an award - for 'Young Blogger of the Year'. Cheers, IM, the sentiment is very much appreciated. I am not doing very well, however, currently joint last with 3 votes. Unsurprising perhaps as my recent output has been sporadic and varying in quality, but the fact that there are those of you out there that contiue to check out this site - and I note I received two new links from other sites in the last fortnight as well - makes it all worthwhile.

Ill Man - I still haven't linked to you yet because I am a bone idle bastard, but I promise... it's coming! Anyone who wants to vote for me, it's here.

Speaking of awards, another kind-of-nice surprise this week was receiving an award at the school I work at. Well, two in fact. This week we had "Teacher's Day", the one day of the year where even the shittiest kids are really nice and respectful to you, even to the point of buying you presents and stuff. The 'informal' award I received was a shock in itself... the kids voted me 'Trendiest Male Teacher'. Now, believe me when I say that one thing I am not is trendy. But I suppose that since I am the only teacher who on dress-down Friday's doesn't tuck his t-shirt into his high-waisted trousers I was possibly the only available option. On a more formal note, at the compulsory (*groan*) evening meal for staff I was presented with an award for outstanding achievement at my school, which was nice, but... well, call me a cynic but I think my carefully planted rumours about leaving for another establishment may have found their target. Screw the award, I was after some better equipment and maybe even a small pay rise!

In truth that's probably quite an unfair assesment of my bosses, but regardless of how or why I 'won' my award I find that I am uncomfortable with it as I feel that I was only doing my job. The reasons stipulated on the award are the artistic events I have co-ordinated over the last 8 months, but then again they were the very things that I was employed to do. Okay, so they naturally often involve long hours and unpaid overtime, but to balance that out I also have the luxury of very short days with little homework to mark at other times of the year. There are others in my school who teach hugely complicated academic subjects and still dedicate themselves to extra-curricular activities as well, some of whom helped me out a great deal (and I couldn't have put on these events without them). It is they who deserve such recognition.

But then again, this is always a problem... we celebrate those that do flashy things, not those who sacrifice their own lives for others. Was mine really an award for Outstanding Achievement, or just for managing to Achieve Standing Out? And what about on a global scale...? The Oscars and their ilk? Fuck 'em! Where are the awards for the nurses, lifeguards, firemen... They are the people who truly deserve the standing ovations. Because what is more of an outstanding achievement than putting your own life on hold, or even at risk, to save a complete stranger?

Cheers m'dears!

Sense or Censor-ability!

2006-08-23T10:45:00.000+08:00

Anyone who has watched the excellent Thank You for Smoking may remember the end-credit sequence where William H. Macy's character, Senator Orton Finistirre, is spearheading a campaign to digitally remove all scenes of cigarette smoking from old films. According to the Senator he prefers not to think of it as changing history but as "improving" it. Oh, how we all chuckled at how ludicrous such an idea is...

Ludicrous? Stop chuckling and read this article - in a nutshell, some (although to be fair, not all) smoking scenes are to be edited out of Tom 'n' Jerry cartoons. Now, whilst I understand the sentiment and the fact that these cartoons are, naturally, aimed at a younger audience I have to ask - where will it stop? Will we end up with classic films butchered to appease our modern sensibilities? Will Sandie choke on a stick of gum in the pjama party scene of the "improved" version of Grease? Will Bogey puff away on one of those white plastic Nicorette things? And why stop at the smoking? Let's get rid of all scenes of gratuitous violence from the T 'n' J cartoons... oh, wait. That would only leave the scenes of the black maid standing on a chair afraid of the mouse, which would of course also need to be removed on the grounds of overt racism and sexism.

Television and film are the cave paintings, scrolls, works of art, first folios of the 20th Century. They depict who we were at a particular moment of time, in all our glory and in all our disgusting, violent, bigoted filth. If these cartoons are no longer suitable for kids then don't show them any more, create new works which better reflect our modern times, but have the decency to allow our history to stand. But having said all that how about we step back for a moment, stop viewing the situation through adult eyes, and give kids a little benefit of the doubt... do we really believe that a cartoon will make a 5 year old smoke? Kids may be (mostly) innocent but generally speaking they are not fucking stupid!

Now, I know an 8-year old nicotine addict who smoked since he was 5, but was it cartoons that got him started? Of course not! It was a combination of family situation, pressure from older kids he hung out with, and a variety of other social issues. To be honest even at 5 he would probably have described Tom 'n' Jerry as "wanky kids stuff", preferring to watch Schwarzenegger films and the Nightmare on Elm Street series. Parenting issues, yes. A cause for censoring - sorry, 'improving' - televisual history? I don't fucking think so!

This is not the first time retrospective censoring has been considered in the UK. A couple of years back the BBC were looking at editing classic sit-com Only Fools and Horses to remove a handful of references to "Paki's" or "Poof's". Yes, these terms are offensive. Yes, they grate with me when I hear them used in these programmes. But that's the point - let me be reminded of what life was like for the non-white and gay communities in the UK only 20 years ago, and let me see that despite my own personal attitudes differing there are still many who would happily still act in these ways. It's one of the ways in which we learn and move forward.

So listen up, Ofcom, and put your fucking scissors away. Let's be frank for a moment - if you follow through with this plan you are just one step away from Nineteen Eighty-Four's Ministry of Truth.

Cheers m'dears!

Ask, and ye shall receive - a vaguely topical post.

2006-08-15T07:50:00.000+08:00

I have recently received some complaints from a couple of readers who apparently don't like to grumble in the "comments" section and prefer to e-mail me direct. To them I say - don't be such fucking pansies! If it's worth saying to me then say it out loud for everyone to read... no matter what you have to say I'm not into censorship and the only comments I am ever going to bin are ones which reveal too much about my true identity.

Anyway, to the complaints... no, they are not about me failing to reveal the mysterious text message. Nor are they regarding the parameters of taste that I apparently disregarded when I talked crap. And, no, they were not even from '-Me' agreeing that I am a bastard - '-Me' actually has the balls to confront me in my own comments (see last post for clarification). No, this is from the faithful few out there who are upset that I appear to have lost my way in this blog...

"...back in February you were described in Mischief [of Magpies] as 'a fine blog mainly concerned with the authors take on news and events'. So, where are they?"

"...and all the bollix in lebenan [sic] and the plots in london. Wheres your take on it?"

...etc., etc., blah-de-blah. Okay... well, I'm not going to apologise for 'letting you down' or any such tripe - personal shit has overtaken me in recent months and we all have our limits before selfishness over-rides our wider perspective. It's not that I don't care about current events, it's just that having been preoccupied I simply haven't had anything particularly articulate to add to the likes of Anti-Barney, or Kim's recent epic Blunt Cogs post. But in the interests of retaining those few loyal readers I do still have, here goes... this is an item that I received yesterday concerning certain recent events...

After last week's foiled terrorist plot BA has announced that all future flights will be halted. In a statement released earlier today BA said "I ain't gettin' on no plane, fool!"

Stick that in yer pipe an' smoke it!

Cheers m'dears!

Talking absolute crap...

2006-08-07T19:03:00.000+08:00

As befitting someone who has been largely avoiding solid foods (excepting a regular intake of peanuts and assorted crappy snack items) in favour of a mainly liquid diet (we're not talking soup or protein-shakes here) I have, perhaps unsurprisingly, developed a rather free-flow evacuation procedure when it comes to my, uh, "waste material". Now, this is something which I always used to dread - the kind of internal motion that would creep up on you unawares, masquerading as a smidgen of trapped wind, and then flood out to surprise you in the most inconvenient of places. But what is nice about this present "irregularity" is that it is, in fact, pretty regular - therefore no getting caught with your trousers down (bad analogy, when I think about it).

In fact, this new high-speed dumping process has also left me with much more time on my hands. We're not just talking the reduction of the effort usually expended in the pushing, the flexing of those anal muscles - no, what is particularly pleasing is the minimised wiping effort. No scrubbing with endless reams until it's just as red as a baboon's because God, in a fit of cruel humour, decided to give me a better beard on those cheeks than on the ones usually reserved for such an honour. Instead one delicate 'swish', like those seen in kitchen roll adverts, and the minor mopping-up is complete.

And the final triumph? The fact that I no longer have to do either the "repeat-flush technique" or the "bent-coat-hanger-down-the-U-bend maneuver", as was so frequently required during my previous level of consistency.

How long this faecal heaven can last, I am unsure, but for now I'm as happy as a pig in sh... oh, wait - another bad analogy...

Cheers m'dears!

Reading between the lines...

2006-08-01T07:54:00.000+08:00

My head aches. It's the creaking of the cogs trying to make sense of too many things that cannot be fathomed, mixed in with the dull thud of of a heart beating so loud that I truly believe it has the capability to burst through my chest and launch itself several hundred feet. Which kind of contradicts the simultaneous experience of feeling like that same heart has already been wrenched out by some kind of blunted medieval torture instrument and thrown repeatedly against a wall. And maybe it's the thought of such a gruesome act that is causing the wave of nausea - no, not wave, flood - that has been cascading through my entire body, although in truth it's probably just a symptom of the bile, regret, fear and sadness that are currently being melded within the deep pit of my soul...

...it's amazing what one small mis-sent text message can do to a person.

Cheers m'dears...

Televisual Tossery

2006-07-25T16:31:00.000+08:00

So what happened to the good old days of the BBC? Auntie Beeb, giving us slice by slice of glorious British life through those twin delights of Comedy and Drama... astounding us with documentaries explaining just how bizarre and un-British the rest of the world was... and, of course, informing us of how wonderful our country was and what rotten Johnny Foreigner was up to through its unrivalled news service. An era when programming started at 8.37am sharp and ended at bedtime, 6.02pm, with a pride-inducing blast of 'God Save The Queen' (followed by a rousing chorus of 'Knees Up Mother Brown' on every third Sunday). An innocent age when the licence fee cost thruppence and ha'penny and the Radio Times came with a digestive biscuit each week as a free gift... *Sigh*, the good old days...!

Of course that was all back in the days of my childhood when we only had BBCs 1 and 2 and their ruffian of a neighbour, ITV. Nowadays there is Satellite, Cable... you name it. And even those Neanderthal-minded technophobes who can still only receive terrestrial channels have had their quota upped with the emergence of Channels 4 and 5. All of which has sadly led to a demise in programming, leading us to be force-fed such travesties as Pop Idol and Big Brother whilst inanities like "Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps" are laughingly bestowed the rank of 'Comedy'. Even the Grand Old Soap Operas, once the bastion of British Televisual Entertainment, have had the credibility of their storylines stretched far too far by an insistence that they air 27 times a week.

Surely things can get no worse? Surely there is no more room for utter shite on television? I mean, surely the only way broadcasting could stoop any lower would be to show, oh... I don't know... a marathon masturbation session, for example - literally, a load of wank.

Oh no they wouldn't...!?

Oh yes they fucking would!

Channel 4 - the land that good taste ran like buggery from...

Cheers m'dears!

Remembering the Race Riots

2006-07-21T09:46:00.000+08:00

Today is Racial Harmony day in Singapore. This was established to commemorate the first day of an intense period of racial rioting, 42 years ago, and aims to foster inter-racial links to ensure that violence of that nature does not flare up again.

Some background - After the British pulled out of Singapore its Prime Minister, Lee Kuan Yew, believed the island state would be unable to stand alone with its limited resources and sought to be integrated into its neighbouring country, Malaya. The Malays were concerned, as the large Chinese population in Singapore meant that the ethnic demographics of Malaya would be significantly altered. However, various political reasons persuaded the government in Kuala Lumpar that it was safer to absorb Singapore than allow it to controlled by any rival state.

The inclusion of Singapore in 1963 added the "SI" to Malaya to give us the current name, Malaysia, and PM Lee essentially found his role diminished to that of a regional governor. Unfortunately Lee's dreams of a harmonious union never really worked and tensions between the Chinese (a majority in Singapore but a minority now in Malaysia) and the Malays eventually erupted into rioting a year later.

The following is an extract from an article published yesterday and written by Charles Tan, a Singaporean who lived through the rioting (I am unsure of the original source as I have received this fourth hand through e-mail). The title of the piece is A Race To Survive:-

...I nearly became an innocent casualty in an infamous and shameful chapter of Singapore's history — the Prophet Muhammad Birthday riots, which broke out with clashes between a Malay procession and Chinese spectators and passers-by near Geylang Serai.
.
Returning home from work that evening on July 21, 1964, I had to cross Geylang Road from the car park where I had alighted from the bus. As I crossed, I noticed a group of youths overturning cars, dousing them with kerosene and setting them alight. There were groups of Chinese and Malays fighting with parangs [a type of Malayan machete] and choppers. Debris was strewn around and I saw mutilated bodies lying on the road.
.
I was frightened and the more scared I became, the more difficult I found it was to try to run across the road to look for refuge in someone's house. I could see flashes of parangs coming towards me. My heart beat furiously. As I got to the other side, a group of parang-wielding youths began to chase me, shouting: "Orang cina, orang cina" (Malay for Chinese person). My survival instincts took over. I ran more than fifty yards in less than 10 seconds flat, and charged into a house along Lorong 3 hoping for refuge.
.
Perhaps fearing reprisals from the house's occupants, the attackers retreated. But far from being sympathetic to my plight, the occupants were furious at me for bringing the "rioting" to their doorstep. As soon as my attackers were gone from sight, I was cursed and chased away.
.
As historical sources would have it, four people were killed that first day of rioting and 178 injured. For the next 11 days, a curfew was imposed and Geylang, which had a heavy concentration of Malay inhabitants, was where it was most strictly enforced. Geylang Road was covered with Black Marias (police vans) and there were road-blocks at regular intervals, manned by Gurkhas — those fearsome Nepalese mercenaries — armed with sub-machine guns and knives. It is no exaggeration to compare Geylang Road to a scene straight out of Black Hawk Down — burning cars, charred bodies and heavily-armed soldiers patrolling the street strewn with concertina wires.
.
When the curfew was finally lifted on Aug 2 and I returned to work, 23 people had lost their lives, 450 had been hurt, and 2,500 arrested. Afterwards, "goodwill committees" of community leaders were set up to help restore harmony between the Malays and the Chinese, by addressing their concerns. Dare I say that we have since learned from the destructive nature of racial disharmony, and that Singaporeans today can say we are among the world's most tolerant and harmonious people?

A year later Singapore was 'kicked out' of Malaysia - more trouble than it was worth, it seems...

Tan's article is an interesting insight for me, as someone who barely knew that a place called Singapore even existed a few years back - and as someone who sometimes struggles to differentiate between lighter skinned Malays and darker skinned Chinese anyway! But I am perturbed slightly by the final statement - Dare you say it, indeed, Mr Tan?

Has any culture truly learned from destructive racial disharmony? I was working in Bradford a few years back during the riots - thankfully I was not living there so I only saw the 'before' and 'after'. Over the last 12 months we have also had racial rioting in France and Australia. And as anyone who trawls the blog-universe will know there is a lot of racial bigotry out there.

Singapore tries to avoid this by having rigid policies in place to enforce racial harmony, including setting quotas in government housing blocks to ensure that no one area becomes solidly Chinese, Malay or Indian. Yet is this not the wrong way to approach the situation? Rather than enforcing a physical closeness should we not be trying to break down the barriers that exist on a more intellectual, emotional and spiritual level?

Charles Tan, you are correct that people live in some kind of harmony in Singapore - but attitudes have still not completely changed. There are some companies who advertise vacancies as "must be fluent in Mandarin" when there is no real need, knowing this will result in a Chinese employee. And it is not just the older generation that harbours grudges, as evidenced by the youths that were recently taken to court for their racist blogging. Inter-racial relationships are also still heavily frowned upon, even to the extent that walking down the street with someone of the opposite sex who is not of your ethnic background - be they partner, friend or simply work colleague - can elicit glares.

Remember July 21st in Singapore. Remember all the racial violence that happens the world over. But never make the mistake of thinking that the attitudes that caused the violence have been consigned to history's dustbin - that would be a fatal error.

Cheers m'dears!

Irony, Schmirony!

2006-07-09T16:44:00.000+08:00

Sitting in the boozer and a female friend (let's call her Flo, just for the hell of it) ambles in, plonks herself down on the stool next to me and then sighs loudly... I know I'm just asking for it, but...

"What's up, hen?"

Now, I'm not going to give you the full drawn out ramblings of what, indeed, was up - I like most of the people who read this blog too much to inflict that - so here is the edit...

"I met the love of my life. Turns out he's married. It's just like in that Alanis song, innit? Y'know, 'Ironic'"

Okay... red rag to a bull time. Ironic? Is it fuck! That's life, for fuck's sake! Of course I don't put it quite like that... instead I try to find out more about the situation, maybe to put Flo at ease. And the first thing I ask is "What is this wife like, exactly?"

"Oh, y'know... typical tall, slim beautiful blonde."

Now, I'm not a cruel man but I feel obliged to point out that this 'love of her life' being already married to a virtual supermodel, whilst obviously upsetting, hardly counts as 'ironic'. If this wife had been roughly 5'6", a little more curvacious, with short dark hair and a slighly wonky nose... now that might have been bordering on ironic purely by virtue of the wife then being a clone of Flo herself.

This observation doesn't go down incredibly well, so when Flo tells me the story of how 'dream-hubby' and his wife met at some event in Monte Carlo I opt for another approach...

Let's imagine for a second, going back say 4 years... a friend invites Flo to a dinner party where everyone will be in couples, but knowing Flo to be single she invites another gentleman to act as her blind date. This is a good friend, who manages to choose the perfect match for Flo, but unfortunately Flo (in the midst of her depression about being single) decides to drop out at the last minute. In desperation her friend, the host, calls up another girl to take her place... another girl with looks and interests very similar to Flo. The two strangers hit it off straight away and are married within a couple of years. Then, further down the line, Flo meets the 'love of her life'... who just happens to be the man she stood up four years ago and who has, in the meantime, married her doppelganger....

Now THAT's fucking ironic!

Flo chewed on this for a while before turning to me, her eyes curiously blazing.

"Do me a favour, Binty. Never take a job in Counselling."

Cheers m'dears!

Well, I never...!

2006-07-06T13:33:00.000+08:00

Football. Funny old fuckin' game, ain't it? There was me at the begining of the tournament saying "it's going to be a toss up between Argentina, Brazil and Germany for the title". And with the frankly uninspiring performances by Brazil early on I became convinced that the quarter-final between Argentina and Germany was the real final. After all, they were the two teams who had been strong and played consistently well - whichever one got managed to beat the other would surely sweep aside the remaining also-rans.

Couldn't have got that more wrong, could I? It just goes to show that on the world football stage there is only one safe bet - and that's England going out in the quarter or semi-finals on penalties.

...an extra bet on them clinging onto a draw whilst reduced to 10 men after a petulant player was sent off and you're laughing...

Cheers m'dears!

A Little Light Relief (and other not-so-tall tales)...

2006-07-03T12:28:00.000+08:00

In Jamaica the argument over distribution of condoms in male prisons (fought between the pro-"protecting against STDs" group and the anti-"encouraging sexual activity" lobby) has finally been settled with the Government opting to allow inmates to kill each other off slowly and painfully by spreading AIDS. A poor-taste humourist might make a crack about lethal injection, but not I...

In India, however, they may want to consider banning lightbulbs rather than condoms as one inmate recently had to have one removed from his arse. Intact. Claiming to not know how it got up there (what the fuck?!) Fateh Mohammad had gone to the prison hospital with a pain in his lower abdomen. Upon its discovery (see x-ray, above) a delicate operation ensued to remove it without breaking the glass... perhaps unsurprisingly Mohammads doctor states that he has never encountered anything like this before...

In other news I am astounded to learn that research has unearthed the cause of Japans falling birth rate. Quite simply, people are not having sex. Yep, that'd do it. Various reasons are to blame (you know, the usual shit like long work hours), although maybe people are just finding each others footwear a turn-off... this is the country from which those evil flip-flops developed, after all. I have always said, right from my very first post, that those things should be destroyed - and now evidence is on my side that even if they don't play a part in Japans demographics they still fuck up your ankles (and your career).

...and I'm not even going to start about the Estonians. Bunch of fucking weirdos!

Cheers m'dears!

Western superiority complex - the absolute Pitts.

2006-07-01T14:17:00.000+08:00

Some Jordanian con-man hit the news yesterday for trying to claim cash that wasn't his in the UAE... not that newsworthy until you discover that he had created fake ID using a random picture of a man he downloaded from the 'net. The man in question was Brad Pitt.

Okay, only mildly amusing. What prompted me to write about it, however, was the reaction of the 'trying-to-be-hip-and-trendy-by-making-sarcastic-comments' reporter on some random US entertainment channel... after stating that the Jordanian claimed he did not realise whose face he had downloaded as he didn't know who Brad Pitt was the journo' sneered "which is perfectly understandable - if you come from a planet not called Earth!"

Fuck off you patronising insular cunt! Culture comes in more forms than just 'Western' and, contrary to popular belief, no-one is known the world over. Not Cruise, not Beckham, not even Bush - and, even despite having a baby in Africa, not Pitt. Get your head out of your arse and realise that it's a big fucking world with a lot going on in it and not every cunt is glued to the TV watching your godawful TV programmes for tidbits and gossip about what brand of toothpaste each celebrity uses.

And before anyone asks why I was watching it - I was only channel-hopping!

Cheers m'dears!

Update - I just visited said channels website and read the phrase "apparently, Us Weekly has yet to hit the Middle East". Oh. Aha. Ha. Ha. Funny cunts, aren't you?

A Condemnation...

2006-06-24T04:17:00.000+08:00

This is just a quickie to register my disgust at the fucking morons who have been making the headlines recently. There is a rivalry between Scotland and England, and a history of antagonism between the two, and as a Scot I suppose I am biased in these affairs. But nothing - nothing at all - excuses the behaviour of the utter cunt who punched a 7 year old boy for wearing an England top in a Scots park. A fully grown (I use that phrase as an indicator of size, not mentality) man walking up to a wee lad and telling him "This is Scotland, not fucking England" before punching him to the ground? Whoever you are you are a cunt of the highest degree and if I ever found you out I'd be there with a fucking tyre iron in a flash...

Add that to twat number 2 who dragged a man out of his car for wearing an England top and beat the shit out of him. The fact that he was disabled (as the papers keep pointing out) is irrelevant - it simply should not have happened. The victim has been quick to point out that it was an unusual incident and he spent that evening (black-eye and all) in the bar watching England play Sweden with his Scots pals. Apparently they were supporting Sweden, but he himself happily states that this is "just friendly banter"... unlike the guy he'd encountered only hours earlier.

This all comes hot on the heels of Scotland being praised for the way it has (on the whole) welcomed the growing immigrant population who are moving over, especially the Poles. It really fucking distresses me to see a couple of wankers drag the rest of the nation through the mud...

...but hold your horses, Tony Blair. Blaming the Tartan Army is not right. They are an organisation with proper membership and have a sterling reputation the world over. To lump all Scots fans in with these two bastards does a disservice, but especially the Tartan Army when there is no proof that either perpetrator is a member.

And a message to the Sun newspaper... do you really think you help the situation whan you state that it's a good thing that on average the Scots die younger than the English? Typical tabloid press, fanning the fucking flames!

Cheers m'dears!

It's my support and I'll apportion it as I see fit!

2006-06-14T03:57:00.000+08:00

Okay, lets get this one thing straight. I can't be arsed with all that "I support anyone who plays against England" crap. I don't see a great amount of point to it, other than to piss off a few wankers that I know. But for fucks sake, no-one has a right to expect me to support England either. I am perfectly happy to just not give a shit.

These are the arguments I am usually given for why I should support England:

1) We're all British.

2) We support Scotland when they play.

3) You live in England. (Okay, I obviously don't get that anymore but I used to.)

4) Scotland don't have a hope of ever winning.

5) If you don't it must mean you're racist.

And here are my replies:

1) Yes, we are. But by that token would you expect Everton fans to support Liverpool? Man City fans to support Man Utd? And as for the Old Firm.....

2) That's great, I am sure it is much appreciated. That is, assuming you really mean "support". I recall two England fans giving me that one during France '98, and to be fair they did cheer Scotland on during the games. But come the fateful last group game where we crashed and burned who were the first in the queue to take the piss and taunt me for my beloved Scotland failing to make it through (again)... I'll give you one guess. That, my friends, is not support. I, on the other hand, do not give a fuck so I neither cheer nor jeer.

3) So, you're telling me that if you were living in Argentina or Germany you would support them in front of England? Thought not.

4) So, what happened to it not being about winning but taking part? Anyway, I am not seriously waiting for a trophy to be lifted (not that I'd object), I am simply praying for the day we make it into round 2 of any competition! And incidentally, I am utterly unconvinced that England will win again, at least not in my lifetime. So many other countries have improved so dramatically that I don't think England stand a chance. The English press seem to have this habit of whipping the supporters into a frenzy of expectation rather than a bond of hope, something which I find rather sad (and I would suggest contributes to certain "incidents" after losing matches).

5) No, it doesn't. Being abusive to the England team or their supporters (either physically or verbally) just because they are English would be racist (or technically "nationist" as "English" isn't actually a race), but simply not supporting them is not. Otherwise we would all be racist for not supporting all 32 nations involved in the cup.

So, there you go. Support who you will, it doesn't bother me. But do not presume to tell me who I should or should not cheer for...

...and, yes. I KNOW about 1966. Were you there? Because it was a few years before I was fucking born, and unless you have some first hand experience of the event that I haven't already heard will you please just fuck off.

Cheers m'dears!

Hey, it says "random" in the title, doesn't it!?

2006-06-07T13:16:00.000+08:00

There is a woman who I see often as I wait for my bus to work. She looks a bit odd, a bit like a Chinese version of Anne from Little Britain ("Eh, eh, eeehhh!!"). And she walks backwards. For weeks I thought about this and finally decided it must be some kind of weird bone disorder that makes her legs unable to function forwards, and I felt very sorry for her, only able to see where she'd been, never where she was headed. And it must be dangerous too. And then one day, as she was walking along, she suddenly turned around and started walking forwards... go figure.

I just had it pointed out to me that a certain bottled water manufacturer has a sense of humour. I always wondered, having lived in countries where the tap water is perfectly safe, just what the obsession was at paying what seems to me over the top prices for a bottle of H2O... but then if you spell Evian backwards...

I think I may have another bout of hem... haemorr... heamer... *sigh* piles coming on. Or should I say 'pile' since I only ever get one at a time. I got my first one at the tender age of 20, but have been grape-free for about 3 years now. I think they are the reason I will never understand Sarah's obsession with anal beads...

Yesterdays date was 6/6/6, which freaks the shit out of some folk but not over here. The Mandarin word for "six" sounds a lot like the word for "lucky" or "good" or something so yesterday was a bumper day for weddings. Although I worry a little about any births that may have occurred.........

Apparently Wayne Rooney has been spotted kicking a football. Apparently the whole of the English press are having multiple orgasms over the "event". Apparently I couldn't give a flying fuck what that arse-faced twat does.

I once dated a girl who thought I was romantic because I said her eyes looked like eclipses. I wasn't being romantic. She had blue irises (what the fuck is that plural? Irees? Iri?) and around the pupil there was a kind of thin but very uneven golden ring. I wasn't trying to get laid, I just said what I saw.

King Darius the Mede wasn't called Darius at all but Darayavahush. Typical Anglicization of a name. I wonder how many kids out there know that. I wonder how many kids out there know that there was a guy called Darius that wasn't simply famous for being a twat on Pop Idol, or whichever wank show it was that he appeared on.

Oh, and by the way... Feet really piss me off. Especially YOURS!

Cheers m'dears!

'Nuff said...

2006-06-05T13:14:00.000+08:00

Self-harm - not so cut and dried.

2006-06-01T10:26:00.000+08:00

On Brewski's current post he mentions people who self-harm... he brings this up in his usual 'what the fuck is going on?' kind of way (quote: "And what's with every cunt self-harming these days anyway? The world has fucking left me behind pal.") and in the midst of a typically humorous post, so rather than bring everyone down by getting all serious in his comments box I have decided to write on the subject here...

Now, I have worked with (in a mentor / student capacity) and been friends with many people who have or still do cut themselves and to my mind they fall into three distinct categories:-

1) The ones that genuinely want to kill themselves. These are the ones I have met least, partially because... well, you don't know who they are until they do it. Only those who fail in the attempt get brought to your attention, and only if you are close to the individual or work in some kind of medical or social field where you would need to know. Your average person in the street would be oblivious to this type of self-harmer as they tend to keep the scars well covered to avoid detection.

2) The ones who feel like they are letting out the pain. This is kind of like a medieval style blood-letting and as well as the psychological idea of "bleeding out the bad" there is some degree of physical truth in the concept that calmness and "lightness" comes with a loss of blood. This type of self-harmer does this purely for themselves and is usually embarrassed about it. As a result they also tend to keep their scars covered to avoid detection.

3) The attention-seekers. Okay, that is a harsh phrase to use to describe them but it sums it up. They are maybe crying out for help, maybe simply wanting someone to notice them. Some just want to look 'hard', although I have not met many like that. These tend to be most obvious, the most noticeable to other people, as they ones rarely cover up their scars - the point of them is to be seen. Whereas types 1 and 2 will often be left with permanent scars type 3 will rarely cut that deep... of course, there is always the chance that - if ignored - a type 3 will graduate to type 2 or 1.

Okay, there is certainly some generalisation there and my intention is not to offend any readers who themselves self-harm. I do, however, base this on my observations and conversations with self-harmers, some of whom have been very close to me.

The basic fact is the people who we most hear about and see, the people who Brewski describes as "slicing 'I am a cunt' into your pallid skin, you poncey emo fucks you", they tend to fall into category 3. But there are so many more people out there who do this than we realise... your best friend; your kid; your secretary; your teacher... I guarrantee that all of us have people in our lives that cut themselves, yet we don't even know.

As usual your thoughts are welcomed...

Cheers m'dears!

For those who are interested here is a link to The National Self-Harm Network of the UK. For those outside of the UK there are other sites that may be more use - you just need to do a search.

Far-Eastenders!

2006-05-30T14:37:00.000+08:00

"You begin reclassifying your life into "that will make a good blog entry" or "that won't make a good blog entry". Suddenly your life isn't your own anymore."

Writer Douglas Coupland, explaining why he doesn't blog.

Reading FMC's current post 'Bitch Fight!' suddenly jolted my memory back to an event sometime last week that took me so by surprise that I instantly said "That's going in my blog". Sorry Mr Coupland, I don't have your willpower. Now, this instance is not as big or as bad as FMC's but judging purely by the nature of my previous experiences in Sinless City it caught me a little off-guard...

Whilst walking along the riverside bars with a friend, checking out which dodgy overpriced nightspot we were going to weasel our way into, we decided to join a queue behind two attractive young women of Chinese origin. No, they were not our motivation - it's hardly an unusual sight here - it was the lure of cheap(er) drinks. We didn't hang around long, though, as 30 seconds later (and with no hint of a warning) the one girl turned around to the other and screamed at the top of her lungs (in a suspiciously cock-er-nee Eastenders fashion) "LET'S 'AVE IT!!". Girl two scarpered pretty sharpish, and we weren't far behind to be honest...

Now, okay - nothing out of the ordinary for many of you I suspect... but unlike my previous home in Yokelbury, UK, the atmosphere over here is generally not like that. And despite western TV and films constant portrayl of Oriental women as the screaming dominatrix type none of the Chinese women I have met have been anywhere near that aggressive. Angry, sure. Loud... almost always. But psycho-like? In retrospect (and sobriety) the occurrence was not actually half as amusing as I thought at the time, but the image of that pretty 5'2" Chinese girl, feet firmly planted, holding her hands out (palms up and gesturing in the 'bring it on' motion), mouth wide open as she bellowed a la football hooligan... that's going to stay with me for some time, believe me!

Cheers m'dears!

Incidentally - this is my actual, real, genuine 100th post. "Oh, huzzah" I hear you mutter. Don't worry about dropping by to congratulate me though, you've already missed the party... we had it a bit early!

My Kingdom for a Restraining Order....

2006-05-29T13:12:00.000+08:00

Excuse me, cuntface... yes, that's right. I am talking to you. Look, I can live with the fact that even though I had to queue up for 15 minutes for my cinema ticket you deem it perfectly acceptable to cut in line because your friend just happened to be nearer the front. But little do I realise that you being in front of me is going to have farther-reaching implications...

So now I join the equally monotonous queue for snacks to discover that you are right in front of me again. I ignore your nasally whine as you chat to your companion about all kinds of shit you clearly know nothing about as I figure, "what the hell - she might be thick enough to fall for your smarm, and everyone deserves a chance at love". Yes, even a cynic like me can have a romantic side... More difficult to ignore, however, is the overpowering stench of your fucking awful cheap aftershave which hits the back of my throat so hard that the wait for a measly bottle of overpriced water is almost unbearable... But I keep quiet. After all, who am I to pick on you for your personal choices... and maybe the girl has a deeply impaired sense of smell that you are trying to penetrate as a display of your affection.

However, you shit-for-brains little fuckwit, 5 minutes queueing is ample time to work out what size popcorn and flavour drink you want. You, of course, have now reached the counter and turned around whining "oh, I don't even know" whilst your companion compliments this display with the obligatory "oh, you choose" and twenty people behind me start grinding their teeth. We are all acutely aware that the film (not the programme, the actual film) is due to start in 2 minutes and your dithering, you wankstain, is fucking monumentally unacceptable. So we wait, impatiently, as you eventually empty your wallet to pay for your own bodyweight in popcorn, sweets, drinks and nachos. Now, finally, it's my turn - watch and learn whilst I quickly order my "combo number 2, cola and salted please" and pay with the correct change that I had already taken from my wallet, even though it is now sweaty in my palm having waited so long for you. Thirty seconds later, I'm out...

...of the frying pan and right back into the fire. Because, as fate would have it, I am once more behind you heading into Screen 1. And of course the clever little man you are, armed with such foresight, you have decided to keep your tickets in your wallet, in a pocket that is damn near inaccesible to you because you are now so laden down with several years supply of snacks. This is getting all too much, I think as I hear the last of the adverts die away and notice that the lights inside are begining to dim. I offer to hold something for you... you look at me like I am some kind of serial child rapist. Well, fuck you, that's it, get out of my motherfucking way. No, I will not apologise for the six pieces of popcorn that fall to the ground as I brush past you, since they will be perfectly happy to join the dozens of other pieces that you had managed to drop whilst I was still several feet away.

At last, to my seat, getting comfy, studio logo slowly appearing on the screen... and your by now familiar head bobbing around as you also take your seat... right in front of me. If this had ever been even vaguely amusing it certainly isn't fucking funny anymore. STOP FUCKING TALKING! It's started, you twat! "What, no commercials? I like the commercials" you say to your friend. A desperate struggle erupts deep inside me as the beast within attempts to scream the words "GET HERE FUCKING EARLIER, THEN, AND SAVE US ALL THE HASSLE" into your ear. But this anger quickly gives way to sheer incredulity as out comes the mobile 'phone. I start to pray...

Okay, you are decent enough not to actually talk into it, and the ringtone is on silent... I will credit you with that level of intelligence. But when you text the light comes on - a light usually fairly unobtrusive in the sunshine or under fluorescent tubes but blindingly and distractingly obvious in a darkened cinema. Come on, for fucks sake! You're on a date watching a film that you've paid good money for... who is it that important to text? Or are you gleefully telling your friends that your date hasn't bolted yet!? And are they texting back telling you to stick your knob through the bottom of the popcorn box?

All told you have made this cinema experience one of the most miserable I have ever had. In fact, your one saving grace is that you aren't the woman five rows back who has decided to bring her crying two year old to see X-Men 3. And to her I have only one thing to say. GET A BABYSITTER, BITCH!

Cheers m'dears!

Back to life, Back to surreality...

2006-05-28T01:00:00.000+08:00

It's 1am and I'm currently standing in a dodgy nightclub surrounded by transexual whores, pissing around on the free computer to avoid catching the eye of one of the bar-stewards who like to force you into buying a hideously overpriced piss-water drink in order to justify your stay in the 'venue', whilst waiting for my friend to call and tell me where the fuck we are actually going to be meeting...

...just thought you'd quite like to know!

Cheers m'dears!

XX or X-Why?

2006-05-23T18:30:00.000+08:00

We are living in a time where more is understood and accepted about gender identity crisis than ever before (although, as in any so-called "minority rights" case we still have a journey ahead of us). Back in the UK I was good friends with a wonderful woman who had been born a man. To be frank, and despite my protestations of being 'right-on', I found it hard when I first met her as she was in a transitionary stage and some days she would arrive to work dressed as a man, others as a woman, but once she entered the final stages of her transformation and settled as a woman it was not even remotely difficult to accept her as such. And for her to have finally done this in her late '50's, having already fathered two now grown up children in a previous marriage, took tremendous courage.

That was not my first experience of meeting a trans-gender person (I know of two before that, but who knows - there may have been more) but it was the first time that I had taken the time to develop a friendship. And now, of course, living in South East Asia (where male-to-female ops are cheap and plentiful) , I regularly see women that used to be men... they can often be spotted as just being too damn perfect looking to have been born that way, although many of them, sadly, end up selling the body that they just bought in order to pay the loans that facilitated their surgery. Despite being able to accept that some people were not born the gender that they feel they are, however, I struggle - a lot - with this...

At seven years old your body is still in the very beginings of development, and so is your mind... not to metion your personality. I know it is a dirty word, but youngsters do go through "phases"... Heterosexuals sometimes have a "gay phase" where they experiment; likewise I know homosexuals who had a "straight phase" in their youth. Hell, I remember questioning my sexuality way back when I was around 12, and my gender frequently through my teens and even my early twenties. But how many of us knew who we were at seven? What if he changes his mind...?

I've been pondering over this story for the better part of a week and still I find I cannot actually articulate why I think that bringing this boy up in this way is any more wrong than bringing him up in the "conventional" way. But it still sits uneasy on me... as always, your input would be greatly appreciated!

Cheers m'dears!

Food, Glorious Food!

2006-05-21T13:09:00.000+08:00

Having a lazy (read: hungover) day, cruisin' around the various blogs I link to and making sure I catch up on those further down the list... yes, I must confess that I do not always manage to read all of them every day, so once in a while I will come across something a few days old and wish I'd seen it sooner so I could join in with all the comments. And so, in lieu of actually having anything to say for myself, I have shamelessly raided a couple of other blogs for ideas... so sue me!

First things first, whilst visiting Hungbunny I came across a new food product which I can only describe as jaw-dropping in it's sheer stupidity. I mean, how much of a cunt do you really have to be to buy a pre-prepared ready meal of... beans on fucking toast! As HB himself points out, he is not averse to "white trash food" but if you want beans on toast how hard is it to open a tin of beans, heat them up and toast some bread. This just takes laziness to a whole new dimension...

The other food-related item brought to my attention was picked up over at Emerald Bile, a story about a tuna fish whose scale colourings form a verse from the Koran. With the level of religious fervour surrounding this incident one has to wonder how long it will be before US scientists attempt to genetically modify fish for propoganda purposes... Just imagine the possibilities!

Cheers m'dears!

BBC? Bemused By Cockup...

2006-05-16T11:19:00.000+08:00

Over on Thumping The Tub our friend Michael runs regular polls on various topical events. His current open musings ask what we think of the BBC - something I briefly touch on in this ancient post. And the reason I mention that?

Well, it seems that in its efforts to reach out to the common man the BBC has adopted the unusual approach of asking ordinary folk for expert opinions. For example, in debating the pros and cons of the Apple .v. Apple case BBC 24 opted to seek out the views of... a cabbie. Well, I suppose anyone who has travelled in a London cab before will know that the drivers aren't short of an opinion or two...

In this case, however, it was an almighty cock up. The intended interviewee was an expert named Guy Kewney. The bloke brought out on international TV? The cabbie who had come to pick him up after the interview whose name just so happens to also be Guy. Taxi for Auntie Beeb...

But at least the BBC are having a sense of humour about it - you can read the story on their own site, which will also let you watch the baffled driver gamely attempt to answer the questions posed to him...

Cheers m'dears!

Update: It appears that early reports that the Guy (ahem) was a cabbie were incorrect. He was, in fact, at the BBC for a job interview and had assumed that this was all part of the interview process, not realising he was live on air!

Random Tossery #01

2006-04-26T13:09:00.000+08:00

Further to my much earlier post on suicide here is a classic example of how not to end it all. A headache you say? Hmmm, I wonder why...?

Cheers m'dears!

A burning issue...

2006-04-26T07:20:00.000+08:00

"The burning of luxury villas, sedan cars, mistresses and other messy sacrificial items... will be investigated and punished"

Quote from the Beijing News,

attributed to Chinese Ministry of Civil Affairs Deputy Secretary Mr Dou Yupei.

Got your attention? Yes, you did read that right - including the idea of sacrificially burning your mistress. What this snippet fails to include, however, is context... he was, in fact, talking about paper models of such items.

For many moons the Chinese have honoured their ancestors by burning paper money as a graveside sacrifice but as certain members of the populace become increasingly affluent they are splashing out on more unusual offerings. Sacrificial paper offerings have included models of condoms, Viagra and karaoke hostesses (eh?) but as they are usually rather larger than a crisp note they tend to create a bit more mess, upsetting the tomb-sweepers.

Of course, it is not the feelings of the lowly tomb-sweeper that has caused Chinese authorities to take action against this sort of thing. No, although the new funeral and internment regulations to be issued this week will include fines they are aimed squarely at those who burn items considered not classy enough. As Mr Dou continued "...not only is it [the burning] an indulgence in feudal superstition, but it just appears low and vulgar."

On a lighter note, El B appeared in the comments of the post below to tell me "...you were right you smug cunt." For those wondering what the fuck he meant I am assuming he refers to my suggestion that yesterdays post by Twenty Major was aimed at him. And now it appears he's gone all huffy and erased all his old posts - the miserable twat!

Cheers m'dears!

IgnoramUS

2006-04-18T18:12:00.000+08:00

Across the globe certain nationalities are the focus of derision and scorn, the butt of jokes, regularly accused of all manner of ills. Any one from the UK will know that us Brits like to characterise the Germans as a bunch of anal-retentive fatties who get up early in the morning to put their towels over the sun loungers, which as anyone really knows is a horrendous generalisation. But then again, as everyone also knows, generalisations are often rooted somewhat in the truth (and I've holidayed with enough Germans to know it!).

Despite all that, however, none of us can really claim any kind of 'victory'. You see, despite many nations having an 'idiot-neighbour-country', or an 'irritating-country-we-once-had-a-war-with', there has always been a special reserve in the disgust of the global population for one particular breed. The native English speaker. Aussies? Bad enough in their own country, but abroad? A degenerate bunch of racist piss-heads with barely a braincell between them. South Africans? Arrogant elitist pricks who think they own the place - wherever they are. And the Brits? Violent drunks who just want to shag any young local bird / stud they can lay their hands on. The Irish usually get away with it, simply because they're not British, as do the Kiwis ("at least they're not Aussies") and Canadians, who are often at pains to point out that they are NOT from the US.

Ah yes. Americans. The final and most reviled of the English speaking peoples. I make no apology for that statement, based as it is on complete truth. America is largely hated across the world and not just in those countries labelled as 'evil' by the current administration. Okay, international policy plays a part in the country's perception, but that's not all. Americans travelling abroad are generating a negative image of their country with insensitive and over-bearing attitudes and mannerisms and by failing to respect local cultures. But at least the US State Department has begun to realise that...

A new guide has been comissioned to be issued with every US passport which will give Americans advice on how to behave abroad. This has been put together by non-profit organisation Business for Diplomatic Action (which is spearheading the State Dept. campaign) and contains 16 tips on etiquette which include: don't just talk - listen; discuss, but don't be didactic; don't dress too casually, and; do not foist US world view on others. BDA's head, Keith Reinhard, points out that "Surveys consistently show that Americans are viewed as arrogant, insensitive, over-materialistic and ignorant about local values". But then as I noted earlier these generalisations usually exist because, well, they are largely true... or to put that another way, if the cap fits - wear it!

So the question is, will these handy hint books actually change American attitudes, and even if they do will that change everyone else's perception? As for me I just wish someone had given one to the ignorant cunt I was arguing with on Sunday night... fucking yanks! (mutter, mutter)

Cheers m'dears!

Bone idle...

2006-04-17T14:40:00.000+08:00

The good folk from London's Metropolitan Housing Trust got a bit of a shock earlier this year whilst attempting to collect 3 years of back rent from an errant tenant. Having received no answer at the Wood Green residence they decided to drill the door open, discovering in the process a large pile of unopened mail... you can guess what's coming next, can't you!

Investigating the bedsit the Trust employees discovered the occupant lying on her back, dead. This was no slightly-smelly-yet-reasonably-fresh corpse, however, and nor was it a vomit inducing rotting mess. No, after three years in front of the television (still on) and basking in the helpful-to-decomposition glow of the central heating (also still on) poor Ms Vincent had become little more than a skeleton - so much so that the only way to positively identify her was by matching her dental records with a holiday photograph.

Of course an inquest was launched after she was discovered (in January this year), although the police are so far not speculating anything other than death by natural causes. The scant information that has so far been confirmed to the deceased's sisters and other family members, however, essentially indicate that she died sometime in February 2003.

Whoah there skippy.... back up a little.... Sisters? You mean they hadn't fucking noticed!? No-one had thought, "Oh, haven't seen old Joyce for a while. Wonder what she's up to?". Three days, yeah. Three weeks, sure. Three bloody months, even.... but three whole fucking years! And I thought MY family was close....

Actually, can we back that up even further... Television? Heating? Still on!? For Christ's sake, if I missed a payment for three months I'd be cut off! And I bloody wish my landlord would wait three years before coming around for the rent I owe him...

That not enough for you? Read the report here..., you gossip-greedy bastards!

Cheers m'dears!

ps - three years of daytime TV... is that purgatory or simply hell?

Putting the Sin in Singapore.

2006-04-14T18:42:00.000+08:00

Have you ever been to Singapore? If you do make sure you take a taxi and ask the driver what the country is like. Chances are that he will sing the praises of the City and its people, and if you tell him you are going anywhere else (ie. Malaysia or Indonesia) his response will almost certainly be "Ohhh... don't talk to anyone there. It's not safe there! Not like Singapore. Singapore is safe. There's no crime in Singapore."

7 months ago in Singapore the body of a maid who had been killed by another was found dismembered and in several sports bags behind a train station. Earlier this year a guy was being tried for killing his wife with an axe. A few weeks back a very young girl went missing for a few days until it eventually transpired that her Step-Father had killed her. And this week we learn that a man who had taken several wives had also forced some of the teenage daughters they had borne him to have sex - often with the mothers assistance.

Details are sketchy, depending on the press you read (local papers cite 5 of the daughters were raped, this report mentions 6), but the solid fact remains that this man perverted the texts of his religion (Islam) to his own devices and utterly convinced his wives that what he was doing, and roping them into, was right in the eyes of God. Shit like this is utterly depressing and heart-breaking, and the scale of it and manner in which it the rapist collaborated with his victims own mothers is, frankly, mind-boggling.

But it's not the first time is it. Remember the Branch Davidians at Waco? David Koresh, their leader, utilised Christian texts to support his 'right' to sleep with the daughters of his parishoners. And many more down the ages have done the same - and many more will undoubtedly try. The thing is, how the fuck do we protect the weak and gullible from this kind of thing?

Just as a last note - in his defence the accused suggested that by having sex with his own daughters to "satisfy them" they would be less likely to look elsewhere for sex, which he viewed as the "lesser of two evils". Less likely to look elsewhere? I would not be surprised if the girls never look toward another man for any kind of relationship after the hell he put them through.

Cheers m'dears....

100th Post!

2006-03-31T09:21:00.000+08:00

Hurrah, huzzah and fa-la-lah!

Break out the Moet and Chandon! Lob a suckling pig on the barbie and garnish it with the finest caviar!

Blow up those novelty balloons, ring out those bells, look stupid in those party hats! Just be careful with the party poppers (you can have someones eye out with those, dontcha know!)

Get drunk, smoke skunk, jive to some funk, pogo to some punk - just don't hit the bunk! (Hey, I'm a better poet /rapper than I thunk!)

Come on my dahlins, lets have a mother-fucking orgy! It's not every day you hit your 100th post, after all!

And come on Queenie, pull your finger out! Where's my bloody telegram? I expect more professionalism from you, Liz! Fucking monarchy, it's gone to the dogs I tell ya!

Break out the instruments - come on Kim, let's see them fingers at work on the mandolin! I only met Daft Bugger recently but I'll see if I can get him to pop over to blow his own trumpet. And I bet Monstee plays the drums like a demon.... he does look like Animal's second cousin thrice removed.

And for fucks sakes, let's start using more than 3 words at a time in the comments again... We can surely string together more than that - What are we, professional football players?

So come on in, the doors are open, you're all welcome to help me celebrate!

(Except El B - he can fuck off, the idle cunt!)

Cheers m'dears!

Update! - I'm a lying cunt. This is actually only post #85. I was just feeling a little left out with first Kim and now Lindy... and, of course Monstee hitting his 1st anniversary. I would say I was impatient, but I just haven't got the time....

Update 2! - Note I have merged my blog-links, having taken the tiniest amount of flak for supporting an apparent two-tier system *sigh*. Eagle-eyed will notice that there are still two tiers... one for the living and one for that dead cunt El B (I'll shed no tier for him!). Also please note that I have finally gotten around to adding Sexy and Red to the links (I'm so remiss!) as well as welcoming new boys (and gals) Doctors McCrumble and Feelgood, Havoc Creator Kari, Trumpeteer Daft Bugger and 3 Word Diary. I also welcome back, after a slight absence, the Jocks of Jock. Do visit them...

Three Word Diary

2006-03-28T16:01:00.000+08:00

You may note that my post immediately below (regarding Stanislaw Lem) is fairly... well, concise. It was inspired by a blog I recently discovered called 3 Word Diary, where every post is a title of 3 words with possibly one or two 3 word sentences expanding on the theme. I rather like it, in it's random obscurity, and I'm sure several of you will too.... But don't forget, should any of you feel inclined to comment on it - the golden rule is 3 words only!

Cheers m'dears!

Stanislaw Lem's dead...

2006-03-28T15:57:00.000+08:00

... I liked him.

:-(

Oops, they did it again!

2006-03-26T16:37:00.000+08:00

In my Churchill Statue post from a couple of weeks ago I asked for suggestions of what other unusual statues we might see... the last thing I expected was to find this sculpture so soon afterwards. With thanks to Clairwil for drawing my attention thither.

Cheers m'dears!

Tackling the Sauce of the Problem

2006-03-24T16:48:00.000+08:00

It seems that the US is found of tackling its problems at the source. Too many drugs flooding in? Let's go to Cuba and nip it in the bud. Afghan-based terrorists? Take the war to them... and anyone else in the neighbourhood. Problem with drunks? Arrest them in the bars. That's right, not outside the bars but IN the bars. Well, in Texas at least...

Now before we carp on about the ridiculousness of such an idea I have to say I am reminded of my many years spent earning an extra few bob as a bar-steward. At that time there was actually a law in existence (and maybe there still is) whereby it was illegal to serve alcohol to someone who was under the influence of, erm, alcohol. Taken literally you could serve everyone one drink but then if they came back for more you would have to turn them away. Although I suppose a customer could always buy all the drinks he / she intended to consume at once, before a drop touched their lips...

I understand the basis behind laws like this. I know that alcohol can ignite terribly anti-social behaviour and something needs to be done to protect others from the fall-out. But these kind of fuzzy, not quite implementable laws usually end up having limited impact on their intended targets and more often than not catch out those who are undeserving. For example...

...Should I ever be in Texas you will probably find me, at some point, in a bar. And as I will more than likely be on holiday at the time I shall probably indulge in a few beers. And yes, I might even end up quite pissed. But I would never, under any circumstances, leave the bar and attempt to drive. Nor am I the kind to go around starting fights. Or for that matter be 'inappropriate' with women. But it's virtually guarranteed that as the happy, smiley and often obvious drunk that I am I would be among the first in the back of the police-wagon whilst Mr Broody in the corner who had been quietly nursing 3 bottles of cheap whiskey all evening innocently slips out the door and goes home to batter the fuck out of his wife.

Ah well, what can you do? I just hope that if they do bang me up they have enough kindness in their hearts to send me to a place like this.....

Cheers m'dears!

The Little Po(e)tty Mouth!

2006-03-23T18:00:00.000+08:00

I know there are many poets amongst the blogging community and I have from time to time stumbled upon a blogger waxing lyrically about this, that and t'other. Even our resident good Doctor has been known to utter the occasional ode and Foot Eater was recently composing some short ditties based on the characters that hang around down this particular blog street. Truthfully I also write poetry, but it's stuff that you will never see because it is written for my eyes only... personal thoughts carefully wrought into emotive and ultimately therapeutic pieces of writing.

But today I found a new poet, one I heartily urge you to check out. I'm particularly fond of the absurdity that is the first poem listed, "Up My Arse", although further down there is a rather descriptive version of Jingle Bells that had re wrinkling my nose despite not actually being a party to the odours mentioned. So click here and enjoy...

Cheers m'dears!

What's in a name anyway?

2006-03-21T18:52:00.000+08:00

I have been pissing around with anagrams today, and having deciphered potentials for the names of a handful of the sites I link to (I put them in their comments boxes, should you wish to check them out) I turned my attention to my own. So for today only my site has been re-named...

Welcome to...

Mr. Lover Roots Arse - Eroded My Vagina Fur !

Other suggestions are welcome...

Cheers m'dears!

***UPDATE*** Having posted a partcularly lewd and potentially offensive anagram on Lindy's site I appear to be no longer able to access it... oops! Hope she hasn't banned me...

Marital Law

2006-03-20T09:47:00.000+08:00

Take a look at this marriage contract, drawn up by Travis Frey of Iowa (right)... and make sure you read all 4 pages - it's not all easily legible, but try!!

It really requires little comment from me...

Cheers m'dears!

The Patronising Saint

2006-03-17T15:38:00.000+08:00

All over the world stories are told, tales are passed along. And none of them are true. Or at least, not a single story in this world is 100% true. Because truth, even at it's purest, is still a subjective thing... All over the world stories are told. This is but one of them...

A young boy from the part of the world we now call Wales is snatched by pirates and taken away for slave labour. On mainland Europe he is bought and sold until he ends up in the care of a Roman priest. Such is the kindness of this priest that the young boy himself adopts the religious life and also goes on to priesthood. This young boy, now a man, is given the Roman name Patricus Succatus.

Patricus never forgets his homeland and vows to return, spreading the good word throughout his land. He spends time in Cornwall, as well as Wales, before eventually being drawn to the heathen land across the water, the land where druids continue in their pagan practices, spiritual traditions and teachings based on peace and harmony with nature - the land we would know today as Ireland.

Ireland at this time is ruled by 4 kings (or Righ) who each control a quarter of the island and who are in turn ruled over by the High-King (Ard-Righ). But this monarchy was based on no simple line of succession, son inheriting the Kingdom regardless of suitability. Instead some ancient form of democratic process is in place - a limited democracy, yes, but not as arbitrary as other countries at the time. This process involves a new Ard-Righ being elected by the Righ and other nobles to ensure that Ireland always has a strong and benevolent ruler.

Patricus was a clever man. He was not unkind but he knew what he had to do 'in the name of God' and he used his cunning to bear influence on the Ard-Righ. At the same time the Ard-Righ was wise enough to realise that Patricus was no more than the first trickle of the Holy Roman Empire and denying him would only delay an inevitable tidal wave - one based on bloodshed. To avoid a war and possible conquest Patricus was welcomed and encouraged, although the Ard-Righ and the chief Druids sought ways of keeping their historic faiths intact. This they did by incorporating pagan rituals and symbols into the new Christian ones. The most obvious examples are that of the Celtic Crosses, the crucifix interwoven with a circle (an important symbol of life) and the image itself hewn out of stone instead of wood, resembling the monolithic standing stones that had been the focal points of religious ceremonies since long before any could remember.

Over time Patricus built his relations with the Ard-Righ whilst simultaneously building his congregations and implementing the Vatican's Holy law. As the years turned to decades and then to centuries the Druidical ways slowly died out, their devotees eventually becoming persecuted. Patricus was, in time, elevated to Sainthood and his name is now synonymous with the Ireland that he brought out of the 'dark' ages of communing with mother nature and into the enlightenment of Christendom. And we all know how good Christianity has been for the Emerald Isle...

Of course it would be far too naive and simplistic to lay the blame for modern religious strife at the door of one person from several hundred years in the past, especially as other political and racial forces have worked so hard to incite and maintain sectarianism within that beautiful country. But I always find it odd that on the 17th of March each year everyone likes to get pissed up to celebrate a Welshman who was, in some respects, Irelands first Jehovah's Witness...

Oh, and I hate the fact that it's hard to get a nicely poured pint of Guinness because of all the twats who are having their annual day off from lager... Anyway, if you're celebrating, or even just utilising the excuse for a piss-up, I hope yours is a good one!

Slàinte m'dears!

The Backward Aussie and the Heavenly Tap...

2006-03-14T10:35:00.000+08:00

Twat of the month so far seems to be the Aussie guy who has been charged by police for "reversing further than necessary". Okay, that seems like an unusual crime and you may think that charging him is a little harsh... until you discover that his backward journey took him 40km along the Hume Highway (one of the busiest in the country), all because the reverse gear was apparently the only one on the car that actually worked. Silly sod...

But on to happier news... beer literally on tap! Huzzah! Lucky lady Ms Haldis Gundersen turned on her kitchen taps for the mundane task of washing some cutlery, but when the beautiful amber liquid gushed forth she "thought we were in heaven"... indeed! This was an especially happy occurence when you consider that she lives in Norway, one of the most expensive places for alcohol in the world (a 0.4 litre glass costs roughly five UK pounds). Unfortunately for her the free-flow didn't last for long... it was soon discovered that a worker in the bar two floors below had cocked up when connecting the barrel to the pipes. I'll bet the punters in his bar were none too happy with what they were being served!

Cheers m'dears!

Winnie the Loon

2006-03-13T08:26:00.000+08:00

Tory MP and all-round pompous twat Nicholas Soames has been moaning about a new statue of his grandfather, Winston Churchill. "Absurd and pathetic" is how he describes the piece, which was commissioned by the mental health charity Rethink and depicts the wartime leader in a straitjacket. Churchill suffered from depression, an affliction that not so many years before his time may have consigned him to an asylum, and Rethink designed the statue to "portray a more positive image of mental illness".

Don't know about you but I think it's a bloody great idea! And I don't think we should stop there... what other icons can we use to similar effect, proving that a disability does not mean a complete lack of ability? Suggestions are welcome...

Cheers m'dears!

(No) Brains (and) Faggots

2006-03-11T08:38:00.000+08:00

Less than a month ago the Italian PM Berlusconi welcomed Alessandra Mussolini (grand-daughter of THAT Mussolini) and her far-right party into his political coalition, a move which may have backfired after she set about proving that she inherited more than her grandfathers, ahem, good looks (see picture). Appearing on an Italian TV talk-show alongside fellow politician Vladimir Luxuria (who is, incidentally, also a drag-queen - you gotta love Italian politics!) Alessandra was asked about her fascist background to which she declared she was "proud of it". Luxuria (also aiming to become the first transgender MP in Europe) asked if that meant she wanted to lock up gays. Her reply...?

"Better to be a fascist than a faggot."

For the life of me I cannot think of a witty one-line response to that. It's just too fucking sad and pathetic for words. I don't know if Alessandra has spawned any offspring yet but if not I pray fervently that the Mussonlini line dies out with her.... stupid cow!

Cheers m'dears!

Absolutely Cream-Crackered!

2006-03-07T19:25:00.000+08:00

It's been a fucking long day, so I'm just going to leave you with this....

It's from a new site called Married to the Sea by the same guy who does the Toothpaste For Dinner one I list in my sidebar. They tickle my fancy, anyway....

Cheers m'dears!

A Night At The Blog-scars

2006-03-06T18:06:00.000+08:00

Gosh, I'm... well, speechless! This is so unexpected! Well first I need to thank the Academy of the Mischief of Magpies for this award, but also I'd like to thank the scriptwriters, those wonderful people who make the headlines every day. And my colleagues, all of whom deserve to be standing here now... they're too numerous to mention (but that list on the right is a good start). And of course, my mother who imbued me with a sense of what was right. And my father, because without him being a cunt I may not have truly understood the definition of wrong. And of course I must pay tribute to those illustrious names I was drawn against - Jez, I don't know you but I'm sure you're great... Arlington, it should be you up here! *sob* Oh, my! It is all too much *sob* I just feel so lucky to have *sniff* been given the opportunity. But whatever you do *gulp* please don't forget the real world out there *sob*... won't someone please think of the children...

(music rises in cue to get the fuck off the stage whilst some blonde with long legs and big tits forcefully grabs an arm and guides it to the stairs....)

Cheers m'dears!

ps - I love the fact that searching for a pic of an 'Oscar' got me that one... pure fucking class!