Toiletry Wipes

There's an advert on TV at the moment. It's been on for awhile. A young boy (I'm guessing to be honest) is sat on the loo and - oh no! - all of hi special wipes are 'all gone, they're all gone'. None of this toilet paper for this little tyke. Well, a cuter specimen of the human race you've never seen...

Yeah, right. What this kid needs is a thump with a length of wood. Not only is his voice that of [insert your own nasty voiced thing here] but he can't even synch his words with his mouth movements! It's almost like the sanitary company are using a Japanese advert the world over and dubbing it to save money. Tight bastards. I hate it when they do that.

What's worse (but only just) is the make-up adverts where Hollywood beauties are dubbed! It's like they think we won't realise they aren't their real voices. Penelope Cruz is Spanish for frig sake!

TV would be so much better if I was in charge but I don't want a job so it's not going to happen. Sorry.

A tad excessive?

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

pain (5x) gay (4x) kill (3x) porn (2x)

American censors are so...blah.

Gawd Morning

I was up, awake and downstairs at 6am this morning. As Adrian Kronauer (completely guessed at the spelling there), it was also 0600 - what does the '0' stand for? Oh my god it's early.

Why was I awoke so early? Did my wife have a yearning for canoodling? No. Was there a fire? No. Did I have a need to pee? No. My cat was tearing around the fucking house, twatting me around the face on a regular basis (every five minutes), biting my nose (no, really) and scratching my arse. So, up I got. This has been going on for four days.

He's a gorgeous cat and cute as hell when he's sat still. When he moves he becomes Satan incarnate. The sooner we can chop his balls off the better. I'm all for brotherhood solidarity but he seriously needs to lose some energy. We play with him whenever he's awake and he goes to sleep fairly quickly but come the middle of the night - bastard.

All white? All white at the back?

For the second time in a week I'm going to skirt one of the most potentially explosive subjects (no, not dynamite) that can split an audience (insert your own obvious joke about atoms 'here'). Today, we shall be asking 'Is Plymouth, indeed the South West, so far off the beaten track that only the white folks from BC (Before Cotton) bother coming?*

I've worked for two of the biggest, maybe even actual hugest, employers in Plymouth IE the local newspaper (upwards of 600 employees including reporters and advertising staff) and the local hospital (upwards of 6000 staff). How many non-whites dya reckon I saw? Here's one hand; we won't get to the thumb...Cumulatively, I worked there for four years.

What does that say about Plymouth? Either both are massively racialist or not many non-whites live here. Personally, I can't blame them but why? Don't ask me, I'm no anthropologist. At a guess though I'd say there's nothing here for migrant workers (although in Cornwall apparently if you're Polish you can pick daffodils 7 days a week 14 hours a day for approx. £0.50 per kilogram). As for the rest of the proper working population...gawd knows.

Maybe that's why Plymouth is so shite: Lack of diversity. I should picket Plymouth City Council.

Dear Ms Pengelly (for she is currently leader)

Please to run some adverts in the African subcontinent for people with some life to spice up this hell hole you pretend to govern.

Many thanks.

If all my readers could send this, I'd appreciate it. Ta.

*Obviously it's a given we have a certain amount of asians for all those Chinese restaurants.

On a lighter note, see my new kitten, Paddy.

Important questions

This was going to be an idea for an invention but I've forgotten what it was. Not much point saying so then really but I like wasting your time. It amuses me.

Let's talk dust. It gets everywhere and comes from nowhere. Take my bedroom. I dust every day and yet the next day there are literally layers of the bloody stuff. This is part of the reason we got rid of the carpet - it just lies there and you can't get it out, especially from under the bed. Get wooden floors and you can see tumbleweeds rolling along...so, why??

Most dust is human skin apparently and today I made the connection that most dust in my house is a generic grey/white colour (intellectual discussion always available here, see?) which led me to wonder, if you're black, asian or other coloured denomination, does your dust match your skin tone?

Bum fluff is the same. Except I've yet to meet someone that is actually blue. Wifey comes close sometimes (Fnarr Fnarr) but that's because of a lack of oxygen (now there's an idea for an invention - a device that helps you remember these important details...10 points to the inventor of such a device....).

A Day Off Sick

Mexico is a dirt, filthy and very poor place. Except the bit where we went to on Honeymoon (Puerto Aventura fact fans). All inclusive, large pool, 10 restaurants and not a Mexican to be seen except the staff who customarily bowed and scraped as only the very poor can. It was bourgeois heaven.

The route there was a bit circuitous, consisting of a plane from Plymouth to Gatwick, via Newquay ie going west, then east and finally back west crossing Plymouth a total of three times on the outbound journey. But all was good.

I melted on a regular basis and had to make use of the available shelter by gorging on food 24/7. I'm not sure but they may also have let us back in our hotel room during the day if we'd asked - or is that just B&Bs? The food was fir for a slightly well off king. Huuuuuuge buffets for the most part with each restaurant serving national dishes of different countries. Italian, Japanese, English etc I tried pretty much every dish available. The wife had cheese omelette and chips at pretty much every mealtime. Looking back I wish I had too.

Two weeks this cycle of food storage in my stomach and gut went on for. It was only later that I realised I hadn't been for number twos during the entire time.

We flew back on the Wednesday and I was back at work Thursday. On the Friday I woke up....no, sorry I was woken up by the most horrific pain experience by man. The kind of pain that bitch Pandora let out of her trinket box. Cramp went my stomach, cramp, tight cramp, punch, cramp and so the cycle went on. An ambulance had to be called eventually as I couldn't get out of bed. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement: I couldn't actually move. Apparently, when you breath really hard really fast (to try and control your pain - oh the memory hurts still) you hyperventilate. Do it long enough and you lose feeling in your extremities. Even longer and your hands start to curl and you can't talk. This is the state I was in when the paramedics walked in.

"Is he always like this?", they asked.

Fuck off, mate.

According to the junior doctor at the hospital I was suffering Montezuma's Revenge . Well aint Montezuma a bastard?

I lost a stone in weight that weekend as the two weeks worth of food was flushed out of me.

L.A.M.P.

Do you get your local newspaper? We have the Plymouth Herald delivered cuz we're lazy bastards - it's at least a two minute walk to the shop every day - and it often has delights. Generally it bangs on about the navy and how the local shipyard is the lifeblood of the city. Today though was an exception. Two things there were that were worthy of mention and mention them I shall.

Ever been to Cornwall? It takes forever to get anywhere and it's crap when you do eventually arrive. Its all fishing villages on the coast and Emmerdale inland, all of them with the same Fudge and Pasty shops. Liskeard is trying to go one better. With a population of 8,478 an enterprising chap from Plymouth (not me) is opening a massage parlour. Not a 'legit' one either. A full on get your norks around me plums type one. Uproar has ensued. The village is rising up: Liskeard Against Massage Parlours is acting en masse to stop it. Unfortunately no internet link exists so you'll have to take my word for this. Personally, I think a petition should be started by all the men of the village (fortunately nowhere near where I live thus negating the need for me to sign thus allowing me innocent status where the missus is concerned - Hello Darling!) clamouring for such an institution. Have you seen a Cornish woman? Gawd...And let's not forget the employment opportunities: Bar workers, door workers, slappers...

Also in the news was the rather exciting announcement regarding the new erection (snigger) at the local B&Q retail park. Plymouth, get this, is to get a second Marks & Spencer but not just a normal store, it will be, much to the orgasmic joy of the missus a food only store. M&S is just about the only reason we go into the city centre these days; their puddings are sugartastic.

On sticking with it.

I went out last night. I went out with 'Ben' my penis with a personality of a brother-in-law. I had been foisted into things as his companion to go see Paul Weller at the local village hall. I wasn't really bothered about it but tagged along. During the course of the evening I had more beer than I'd drank in the last two years IE two pints. I was a little...smashed. Well, that made the evening fly by. Until we got in the venue anyway. We stood waiting for an hour before the support came on (Brinkman - have you ever seen a decent support act? Me neither. Even when going to see Kylie - three times and counting - you'd think Kylie could have Sugababes! I'd like a Sugababe. Just one; I'm not greedy.). Well, Mr Weller came bounding on and didn't stop bounding for 90 minutes. I hope to have as much energy when I'm the same age. He also friggin' rocked, man. I only recognised four songs but still.

I write this, as I really need a pee and wanted to see how far I could go without having to divert off. As it turns out, quite a way.

As an aside it turns out 'Ben' shouldn't have gone to the pub. 'Kate' was a little peeved. He only had two pints you stroppy, immature bint! Jeez. If only you knew he lived with you 'for convenience'; that he thinks you're a bitch (which you are) and he's massively bored. Still, you keep on moaning, love.

Service shall shortly resume....

Decorators! Gone! In the process made lots of mess. And made my internet....not possible. Gah. Still, I'm back, from outer space, but I've not got, jizzum upon my face (unlike the lady I saw in a video yesterday - drowning? Nearly.)

I may post later. Before Midnight. Or I may post tomorrow. It all depends on my wife's addiction to Scrabble. Find your F5 button and keep pressing for my return is imminent...

I'm Freeee-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

to do whatever I.............whatever I choose do-do-do do deee dooooooo.

The decorators have moved in and the wife has moved out. Temporarily. To her mothers. Dust, is a bad thing for the wife. It gets, cough, right on her, choke, chest and plays havoc with her, going blue now, breathing. Which leaves me able to play, rest and do no work. For a period of about two hours at a time as I'm going back and forth. Never would I leave her in the clutches of my mother-in-law, she who makes Dr Harold Shipman look caring.

http://www.thingsmygirlfriendandihavearguedabout.com/ is a very funny thing.

A Wasted Day

NB This has nothing to do with being a) drunk b) a drunk.

We were going out. I was dressed. Wifey was making herself look pretty(err). I made a phone call.

Me: Dear BOC. Why are you so crap at delivering oxygen to my wife?

BOC: I'm sorry. Again. He came on Wednesday. Even though he has a key he did not use it for he is not allowed.

Me: Then what is the point of him having it?

BOC: Err....He'll be coming today.

And so we waited in.....and waited....still he's not here. It's lovely outside. We were going to B&Q but I was to surprise the wife with a visit to the pub luncheon department. We wait...

I'm right!

I used to love a good argument. That's why I joined an internet forum. Oh, the fights I used to have...Good times.

These days, I just can't be arsed. Over on the SFX forum right now they're having a ding-dong over wether games should be excluded from the Fun & Games section and it's getting rather over-heated. I'm not going to venture an opinion as I really don't care (although the entire debate centres around a thread I started ages ago). Formerly I may have waded in and decried all the points thus far no matter which side I stood on but now I just can't see the point; It's all a bit 'meh'. I'd rather be reading Scaryduck's Condensed Films to be honest.

A case in point in how I've changed: about a year ago I apparently sent an email to one of the forum saying I didn't like her. I can't imagine doing that now. I'm so indifferent to people I'm almost sociopathic. Look! I've killed me a catholic! Anyway, I apologised. What I was offended about is that she called me insincere! The cheek! Things I'd rather do than be insincere (I'm talking the wasted time factor not the moral obligation to honesty):

Watch Titanic.
Listen to Beyonce Knowles warble.
Read the Bible.

See? It's never gonna happen.

Princess Die

Channel 4 are apparently screening a documentary tonight and may, shock! horror! be showing pictures of the car that carried our beloved Princess Di toward her certain crushing end. There is a furore. And the question is: who really gives a toss? I challenge everyone who does to leave a comment. Lack of comments will of course vindicate this post.

Harry and Willy have requested the photos not be shown. And Channel 4 are ignoring them. Respectfully, of course. The question is being asked on the news that if it was the boss of C4's mother in the car, would he still show the pictures? Is his mother the Queen of Tarts? Is she in the nations hearts? Is, in fact, his mother the only female personality with a bigger place reserved in Heaven ie Mother Theresa? No, I don't belive she is.

I wouldn't mind my mother being shown in this program but then my mothers a bitch and I wouldn't mind her being dragged by the ankles behind a Shire Horse with diarhoea. Channel 4 are presumably a veritible cock-a-hoop at the thought of all the publicity and the swarms of viewers. I propose a compromise: they can show it and no-one watches. Ideal.

Directions

When I started this blog I meant it as a place to review SF&F books and stuff. I don't do that enough. So...

I just finished watching Alias series 1. It was good. I shall now watch West Wing series 4. Anyone that posts spoilers shall be killed in a nasty way. Note the singular 'way'; I'm not wasting good ways on your skinny/fat non-specific coloured ass.

My hands itch. Is it scabies?

Justice the American Way

Some blokes have been arrested for plotting to bomb JFK airport in New Yoik. 'Plotting' is perhaps going a bit far as they were quite a way off even finalising the planning, let alone making the molotov devices (for you can indeed do much damage with a petrol lighter). So the question is: is America, Land of the Free, now arresting people for Thought Crimes? Let's see:

I'm currently thinking of assassinating George 'Dubya' Bush, President of the United States, POTUS, DOOFUS and all round twat.

I have got thus far in my planning: I've had the thought to do so.

Bring it on CIA! Read this and weep NSA!

I'll even go one further: I'm gonna kill all the Senators and Congressmen and women (for I'm sure there is actually a difference but I've yet to work out what it is) and all the Governors except Arnie cuz....you know....it's Arnie. He'd kill me. Using grenades. They wouldn't explode; he'd just insert them with Arnie-force into any available orifice. All the mayor's deserve to die, as do all the Sheriffs. And council members. And the street cleaners. In this instance only, all the smokers will be let off as they're going to kill themselves eventually anyway.

I await the FBI knocking at my door. The clock starts.....NOW.




Justice? Legal?

Bed + Sofa = Nothing!

Next week we have some people coming to invade our house. We invited them but they will turn us upside down. I decorated my bedroom, they'll do the rest of my house. It's only fair after all.

We've been deliberating about this for quite awhile and finally took the final decision when they phoned to say they were coming on Tuesday (we're great believers in waiting until five minutes past the final minute - nobody is too big to be put out). All well and good. Hmm. The decoration sorted we have today been ordering the new furniture; we planned on getting a chest of drawers and a sofabed to help with storage and multifunctionality. We hit. A. Snag. The sofabed we'd been planning on buying was again looked at. We then noticed the section in the Next catalogue that said 'Ahem. Measure your friggin' doors before you order this thing as we're not having it back just becuase you're stupid enough to order it'. Our doors? 74 cms wide. The sofabed? 88x86 on the ends. Now our doors are standard width so either the average Next customer lives in a mansion with barn doors or there's a trick for getting them in. If it had been one door it might not be a problem but we have three doors, two sharp turns and a banister to negotiate. So, no, we didn't order it.

On to www.Sofabed.co.uk They have a lovely one for £349.99. Little do they say that's exclusive of VAT, exclusive of delivery and exclusive of your choice of fabric. The final price? £453. If they'd said that price to begin with I'd have ordered it no question but to lull me into a false sense of security (that's fucking fraud that is!) is disgusting. Avoid this company. If by saying that I stop just one person visiting their shop, I'll have a wank in celebration.