TAKE ME OUT. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

I am currently sat on the couch in the living room and as i type my friends are watching take me out. This show is ITV's latest salvo in the war against dignity and a very good argument for a Khmer Rouge style fascist genocide.
There is currently something resembling a particularly rubbish female drag king attempting to look like Preston From the ordainary boys running like a woman and begging to be loved by what looks like a friday night in fucking Cardiff. This is apparently entertaining because the studio audience seem to make screeching noises everytime Paddy McGuinness opens his stupid, northern wordhole. After choosing whatever bastion of feminism decides that Preston is worthy of sniffing their taint they are summarily packed off to some tropical paradise so they can sit outside eating in the wind and go surfing or something. All the time having conversations which would make Noel Coward implode with jealousy. Why do we want to see some povvy gobshite and some pointless little woman that has marginally less personality than a parsnip frolic about in the sun? We're sat in england miserable, cold and cynical. There is no reason to live vicariously through people who i would probably poke with a stick rather than talk to. I would be more likely to study their habits than fuck them.
The newest prole to beg for sex after arriving down the failtube is a scottish italian man who runs a chippy. Wonderful. He then proceeds to make pizza and say the words "spicy sausage" in a way that one of the harridans find amusing. It is then revealed that one of the girls still in the running to bone this knobjockey once "snogged a professional footballer". This is revealed by McGuinness in a manner that suggests that this woman had located a cure for cancer and created cold fusion in the same day. This pretty much sums up the entire show.
Another theme of the show is of a young welsh girl named Lucy. Lucy is a cute, pretty young lady who seems harmless and friendly even if she's not a bastion of intelligence. She actually seems like a nice person and someone even i would have a problem slagging off. Needless to say Lucy has been on this shitpile since records began and has yet to be chosen by any of the gurning fuckwits who grace the glittering floor of this sheer dickery.
The thing that baffles me most about this show, apart from the deification of stupidity, the cheapness of the whole thing, the speed dating on speed format, PADDY FUCKING MCGUINNESS (a man so devoid of any personality that if we put him in the LHC he would more than likely fuck the entire universe then start on any multiverses that may or may not exist, therefore absorbing us into him and rendering hell a vile, horrible reality), and the girls who with few exceptions make a tremendous argument for misogyny, that totally baffles me, is that a lot of my friends love this. Even some of the most intelligent people i know watch this every weekend without fail. To be honest i feel a bit left out. I bloody hate it. Maybe i'm just too cynical or jaded but the fact is i find this impossible to enjoy. Anyway if you read this far then well done. here is a picture.

BASTARD.

TODAY WAS A DAY OF GAMES. THE GAMES I PLAYED ARE DISPLAYED BEFORE EE.

One.
Are you female? If so are you reading this? why are you reading this? Are you skinny? are you pale? have you little to no self esteem? Do people find you a bit stupid? Do you wear glasses and go out with your friends who you believe are much better looking than you? Do they get hit on by scally bellends while you sit in the corner waiting, hoping, for a real man... a gentleman even.... to come and chase the clouds away from your life. To make it all ok, to feel a certain closeness with, to curl up on the couch in your jammies with and watch bridget jones with while drinking a bottle of that nice wine you found in asda for about 7 quid? Do you want to spend saturday night poised in front of x factor with this guy, knowing he will always care for you no matter what? That he loves you unconditionally and that come hell or high water, he would crawl through broken glass just to make you smile?

I used to be that guy. Now i'm not. Go fuck yourself you nasty walking trap.

Two.
TODAY GAMES WERE DEVISED WHILST WORKING ON MAH JOB. GAME THE FIRST. IT IS A PENIS GAME. YOU REPLACE ONE WORD OF A MOVIE, ALBUM OR VIDEO GAME TITLE WITH THE WORD PENIS. HERE BE EXAMPLES.

1. Pirates of the carribean: The curse of the black penis.
2. Don't tell mom he babysitter's penis.
3. Bill and Ted's Bogus Penis.
4. Mary Shelley's Penis
5. Star Wars episode 1; the phantom penis
6. City Slickers 2; the legend of curly's penis.
7. Indiana Jones and the kingdom of the Crystal Penis
8. one flew over the cookoo's penis
9. full metal penis
10. it's a wonderful penis
11. penis of arabia
12. requiem for a penis
13. eternal sunshine of the spotless penis
14. penis cassidy and the sundance kid
15. let the right penis in

Right so thats what i did today, a friend and i also sang the subtitles of the jeremy kyle show opera style lending a more highbrow air to proceedings. that was a laugh that.

Later peeps.

MUSIC FESTIVAL DIATRIBE

I hate the very idea of music festivals. I tend to look at the bill, think "oh, i like three of those bands. Now i will pay 200 quid and buy some camping gear, and some festival worthy clothing. Then arrange to get to this event. Then book time off work to go to this event....." then i give up and go listen to the album because chances are the band i do like sound shite live anyway.
Why do they bother with rap acts? Nobody likes "urban" music at these festivals. They have money for tickets and urban swill is for poor people. You're not very ghetto if you attend a private school and your mum and dad have bought you a fucking flat in hoxton. You're a bellend trying to be something you're not. I'm a complete bastard. I know this, i don't pretend otherwise. STOP PRETENDING TO LIKE RAP. NOW.
It always makes me chuckle when music festivals have some random "world music" act on that NOT. ONE. FUCKER. likes and they stand there grinning hitting a bin and chanting for half an hour. Like that bloody youssou n'dour bloke at live 8. who the fuck came to see him? Bollocks to that. "oh pink floyd have reformed but i'm here to see that bloke who sang with neneh cherry many years ago on one song". Not bloody likely. Not even people on drugs like this shit. Fuck world music. You know what's awesome? British, american and norwegian music. That's why the rest of it is called world music. It's like when we call thick kids "special". Theyre just fuck stupid but if we dress it up a bit they may not take to constant weeping due to them being dealt such a shit hand in life. Therefore world music is made exclusively by retarded children. And Peter Gabriel.
What's worse than the lineup? Why your fellow festival goers of course! There's the dreadlocked wanker doing poy because he's oh-so-fucking free spirited. The bellend who has been coming to the same bastard festival for 30 years now and has brought his monumentally irritating family along so they can all watch fucking hawkwind. The knobhead wearing the tshirt from the 1987 event that he wears EVERY FUCKING YEAR. The posh as fuck little Tarquins who refer to Glastonbury as "Glarr-sters" who should be summarily rounded up and gassed. The misguided fuckwits abound, meaning the likes of you and i (well, maybe you, i mean you might be reading this all annoyed now with wisps of steam flowing krakatoa-like from your ears. In that case, fuck off. Because really i do mean most of this post. I know i'm just trying to be funny most of the time but this time i'm being selfish and actually writing something i'm quite honest about. Except the retarded kids part. There's nothing funny about sick kids) can't enjoy seeing a load of bands.
Camping. Thats shit. I know, i'll leave the comfort of my home for three days to sleep under some very thin material while a spontaneous drum circle occurs for eight bastard hours. Fuck off. I'll shit in your drums then make you wear them like a fucking barrell. Parading your shit-festooned, horrid little barrellself around the whole fucking country with "DRUM CUNT" carved into your forehead. Bastard hippies. no, here's what will happen. I'll stay home and you can put up with paloma faith playing freeform jazz with some homeless cubans who can only play one stringed zithers and hit pans.

I'm actually going to bed now because i may die from rage. Goodnight you sexy, sexy people.

I AM WASTED THIS BLOG HAS NO PICTURES YEAH DEVIL

THIS BLOG POST SHALL BE ALL IN BOLD I HAVE DECIDED. I SPOKE TO SOMEONE TODAY AND YES I HAVE NOTICED THAT THIS BLOG IS NO LONGER IN BOLD BUT YES IT IS IN CAPS. IS THAT NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU? I SINCERELY HOPE IT IS YOU HARD TO PLEASE FUCKERS. I LONG FOR NOISE. NOT STRUCTURED MUSIC BUT SOME GUTTURAL SNARLING WEIRDNESS. STRUCTURE IS NICE AND HAS ITS PLACE BUT WHAT I WANT IS SOME CHAOTIC BUSINESS. I HAVE BECKS, BECKS IS GOOD.  NOT BECHAME THE BALL KICKER BUT BECKS THE BEER. IT SHALL BE MY DOWNFALL AND I KNOW THAT. KNOW WHAT THOUGH? *STEPS DOWN OFF STOOL AND THROWS MIC AT CHILD* I DONT CARE! LESS SHITS GIVEN AT A CONSTIPATION SUPPORT GROUP IN FIBREVILLE. I GOT A BUS TODAY. WELL I GOT 3 ACTUALLY BUT THEY WERE ALL SHIT. WIRRAL HAS NICE SEATS THOUGH, THEYRE GOOD FOR THE ARSE THEY ARE. I LIKE WOMEN BUT THEY SEEM TO ANNOY ME TOO. I AM CONSIDERING WRITING SEXIST SONGS NOW. NOT BAD SNGS BUT BLATANTLY SEXIST ONES. WHATS WRONG WITH BEING SEXY? NOTHING BUT I DIDNT MEAN THAT. MISTER BEAN? COCK, TOTAL COCK. I HATE THAT GUY. IF THATS WHAT FOREIGN PEOPLE THINK OF ENGLAND THEN I SAY WE TURN THE WHOLE PLACE INTO A CAR PARK NOW. YOU KNOW WHO ELSE WAS A TOTAL COCK? HITLER. IF HE WAS HERE I'D PUNCH HIM SQUARE IN THE FACE. SLAP THE AUSTRIAN OUTTA HIS SELF IF YA GIT MEH. I LIKE NIRVANA AGAIN. I DONT KNOW IF THAT MEANS I AM REGRESSING TO SOME SORT OF AWKWARD TEENAGE THING BECAUSE IM HALFWAY THROUGH MY LIFE BUT HEY, LETS TAKE BETS. YOU KNOW WHEN I DIE, RIGHT? I WANT "HERE LIES GRAHAM "AWESOMESAUCE" CAMMACK. HE DIED OF THE GUSH. HE WAS INVINCIBLE BUT HES WELL DEAD THIS FELLA" ON MY TOMBSTONE. I'M SICK OF HEARING "OH ITS WHAT HE/SHE WOULD HAVE WANTED" FROM PEOPLE AFTER DEATHS. ITS SHIT. HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW? CAN YOU TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE? NO. NOT EVEN BRUCE WILLIS CAN TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE YOU PRETENTIOUS SHIT. NOW I REALISE THAT THIS IS ONE LONG PARAGRAPH AND THAT MOST OF YOU WILL NOT READ THIS SO IM GOING TO STICK A PICTURE OF A SAUCY LADY HERE TO KEEP YOUR ATTENTION.

  SEE. I DELIVERED. I FIRST GOOGLED SAUCY LADY BUT GOT SOME MAD LOOKING BIRD SO FUCKED THAT OFF. THEN I GOOGLED SHITTY PORN. DONT EVER GOOGLE THAT. SERIOUSLY. IT'S WAY TOO LITERAL. WHAT THE FUCK IS IT WITH THE JAPANESE AND OCTOPI? THEYRE AN ODD BUNCH THEM BUT I LIKE EM JHUST THE SAME AS THEY MAKE THINGS. IF YOU SEE MADE IN JAPAN ON SOMETHING ITS LIKE A SEAL OF QUALITY. UNLIKE RECORDS BY SEAL WHICH ARE FREQUENTLY POOR QUALITY. I WOULD HAPPILY PUNCH THAT FUCKER. WHATS THAT NIRVANA SONG WHERE HE SAYS LIKE "HELP MEEEEE, IM FUCKING HUNGRY" CALLED? I LIKE THAT ONE. I MIGHT MAKE A WHOLE ALBUM WHAT SOUNDS LIKE THAT AND JUST GIVE IT AWAY TO EVERYONE LIKE THAT BASTARDS OF SOUND SHITE I DID. YOU KNOW WHY I CREATED BASTARDS OF SOUND? I WANTED TO SEE IF PEOPLE WOULD ACTUALLY PUT UP WITH MY SHIT. IM LIKE KANYE WEST IN THAT WAY BUT INSTEAD OF BEING LOADED IM ACTUALLY PRETTY BROKE. I COULD LOVE TO GET CLOSE TO TAYLOR SWIFT LIKE BUT I'D PROBABLY JUST HAVE A SMELL OF HER. SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE SMELLS NICE HER. SHES SKINNY AND BLONDE AND LOOKS A BIT DIM. I LIKE GIRLS LIKE THAT. YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE I LIKE GIRLS LIKE? SOMEONE I WAS TALKING TO EARLIER WHO RECKONS SHE CAN BEAT ME AT POOL. SHE FUCKING CAN'T LIKE, I LET HER WIN A WHILE BACK AND SHE RECKONS SHES ALL THAT. SOUR NEWS MISS. I WAS FAKING. SHE THOUGHT I WAS EASY THAT ONE. I MEAN I AM LIKE BUT STILL. THIS IS PROBABLY THE SHITTEST BLOG POST IVE EVER DONE. BETTER THROW IN ANOTHER PICTURE.

LOOK AT THE STATE OF THIS TIT. SHIRT BUTTONED UP? CHECK. GALLAGHER EYEBROWS? CHECK. SHIT HAIRCUT? CHECK. INFLATED SENSE OF SELF WORTH? FUCKING CHECK. I WAS UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO HEAR THIS THING PLAY SONGS AND I CANT REMEMBER IT. PROBABLY BECAUSE SOME KIND OF RAPE VICTIM IVE DENIED IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED. THAT PAINTING BEHIND HIM IS SHIT AN ALL. YOUKNOW WHAT? EVERYTHING I DONT LIKE IS PROPER WANK. DISAGREE ALL YOU WANT BUT THE FACT IS I CAN ONLY EXPERIENCE THINGS SUBJECTVELY THROUGH MY OWN CONSCIENCE SO AS A RESULT OF THIS IT'S ENTIRELY FUCKING POSSIBLE YOU ONLY EXIST IN MY MIND, I HOPE NOT BECAUSE CHANCES ARE I QUITE LIKE YOU BUT I MEAN, IT MIGHT BE HAPPENNING. I'VE BEEN VEGETARIAN FOR ABOUT 2 YEARS NOW. HOW BOSS IS THAT? IM WELL CHUFFED ME. IT'S 2.08 AM AND IM NOT EVEN TIRED. HOW SHIT IS THAT. IM OFF TO BED ANYWAY.

SHOWBIZ NEWS! I BRANCH OUT IN TEH BIDNISS OF SHOWS. SPOILER! IT'S ALL LIES.

HI THERE! I BUNKED OFF WORK TODAY AND HITCHHIKED DOWN TO LONDON TO PISS ABOUT LOOKING FOR SHOWBIZ NEWS. I FOUND SOME AND HERE IT IS.

Kerry Katona was in islington before, saw her in the street, stuffing her face with snack-a-jacks. Salt and vinegar ones. Dirty cow. She was with her new squeeze, captain pickyshits, he's off that advert where the kid wants to go do a dirty protest at pauls house. Twat.

Paul reckons that kid what keeps doing a shit at his house is a right little cunt and has started going round saying paul's dad is a bender. Paul's not happy about this and is after a straightner in the church hall car park at 6pm on tuesday. Pikey power are giving decent odds on this, i threw a tenner down on paul because seriously? If some little bastard kept coming and shitting in my house because my mum could afford fancy fucking air freshner i'd probably chin the little fucker an all. Anyway good luck Paul. You thuggish little scamp.

Paul's dad Says he's not a bender and anything captain pickyshits says about him is a load of bollocks caused by bog envy, right? I bumped into pauls dad outside some pub what was playing the scissor sisters at 2am and had a load of drag queens and that outside. Theyre a friendly lot them, god bless em. Anyway paul's dad says if you have a problem you can come and sort it out with him on hampstead heath anytime after ten, he says he'll wrestle the living shit out of you, yeah?

The ginger one out of girls allowed was in soho today dry humping a bloody bollard. Poor sod has lost it i reckon. She seemed pissed. Had half a bottle of frosty jacks in her primark handbag. Must be difficult being the least fit member of girls aloha, but cheer up minger! You could have been the ugly one out the spice girls, they looked like a fucking cardiff hen night after a fucking terrorist attack. Scrubbers.

Which premiership footballer is an overpaid oxygen theif with no more right to an opinion than a fucking goldfish, and half the intelligence? Mincing around a field with a woman's haircut that cost more than your house and tattoos that have about as much meaning as a fucking scooter record? Laughing at the fact that you, yes you, who go out and work your arse off for a living, have paid an extortionate fee to stand next to some gurning cunt who screams obscenities at officials in fornt of his inbred little kids for simply doing their jobs while smug commentators make remarks about young women that your grandad would call archaic, while it pisses down on a saturday afternoon at a stadium that may as well be in downtown fucking kabul? All of them. If you see one, chin it.  It's the right thing to do.


Michael Barrymore will not be appearing in panto this year despite several offers. "i done aladdin a few years back and i've never heard the end of it" the unfunny, lanky, goggle eyed, granny-bothering fucktard said.

Bruce willis is fucking excellent because he was in DIE HARD Which deserves to win the best film oscar every year until the oscars are replaced with MECHA-OSCARS in which case it'll still win.

THAT'S ALL THE SHOWBIZ NEWS FOLKS. I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED IT. MEANWHILE SOME HORSES WERE BIZARRELY ELECTROCUTED AND THE PEOPLE OF EGYPT HAVE ACTUALLY BROUGHT DOWN A GOVERNMENT.

TEH COUNCIL. BASTARDS.

Director of Finance,                                                                                                      

P.O Box No 2,

Birkenhead,

Wirral

CH41 6BU

11 Feb. 11

Dear Sir/Madam,

Following a conversation with one of your management staff at your office- as well as several prior conversations with your helpline- I have been advised to submit a letter for your attention.

In November 2010 I was in the unfortunate position of being unemployed. I submitted a claim online for both housing benefit and jobseekers allowance. These claims seem to have been lost in the ether of the World Wide Web, possibly lurking in some shady inbox, never to be seen again.

After a week without any kind of reply I submitted a claim by phone for jobseekers allowance and was asked if I had applied for housing benefit at the time. I replied that I had and was advised that this would still stand and would be dealt with by yourselves. Thinking all was well I concentrated on finding another job and thought nothing of it, believing that the claim was being dealt with. My landlord was, I must say, quite understanding about my situation. Being in a recession meant a lot of people were suffering and as we were both sure that the benefits system was working on quite a backlog we didn’t question any further.

I eventually had to sign on. Not a pleasant experience but a necessary one nonetheless. At the jobcentre I asked a third time if the housing benefit application was being processed. I was advised that yes, the application was pending and that I would hear something back soon. Christmas happened and I was beginning to worry. It had been a month since I had initially applied and my landlord was beginning to get anxious. I eventually called in to the one stop shop and was told that no application had been received. Despite being advised twice that it had. Obviously I was unhappy about this but as soon as possible I got all evidence I believed necessary to yourselves and requested that this be backdated. So far I have submitted;

1. ·         A “letter of entitlement” from the jobcentre advising that I was in receipt of benefits and therefore entitled to claim housing benefit.
2. ·         Bank statements for my current account.
3. ·         A letter from my landlord outlining how much and how often my rent was to be paid.
4. ·         A completed claim form for housing benefit which was filled out with help from one of the staff in the one stop shop.

All of this was handed in by the 17^th January 2011. I commenced work at my current job on the 10^th January so was unable to come and provide any more evidence in person after this date.

I received a letter dated the 31^st January 2011 explaining that further evidence was required. If you check your records you will see that this letter states the following:

“I will require consecutive statements covering the last 2 months transactions for your second Lloyds TSB account”

Before handing this in I contacted your helpdesk to ask if this is all that was needed. Sadly not. There was one further requirement which presumably I had to guess for myself. I was to hand in proof that I applied for housing benefit at the same time as my initial claim for jobseekers allowance. The only problem is, I wasn’t told that at the time. Instead I was advised that a letter detailing my total claim for jobseeker’s allowance would be sufficient.

Acting in good faith I dispatched a friend the very same day I received the letter (the 3^rd of February which- by a startling coincidence- was the deadline for you to receive these documentation. Anyone would think this was meant to be difficult.) To the one stop shop to hand in these documents and bring this whole sorry mess to a close.

I called later that day to make sure the documents were received and was told that they were. I put my feet up and enjoyed a really nice weekend.

Monday arrived and I thought I’d check up on things, as it had all gone so smoothly before. Sadly the letter that I had submitted from the jobcentre outlining my jobseeker’s claim was unacceptable. This was a shame as it had been so clearly asked for in your letter of the 31st January. I am genuinely sorry for the manner in which I spoke to the poor lady on the phone after that, as she was only doing her job. Sadly she was on the receiving end of a situation that should never have happened in the first place.

On Wednesday the 9^th February I called the jobcentre again to obtain this letter and was subjected to the type of efficient, friendly customer service that would only be expected in the second layer of hell. As my next day off was on Friday the 11^th I asked for this letter to be issued first class so I could come to the one stop shop in person and hand in the letter myself so I could finally- over a month later- pay my rent.

The letter did not arrive. It turns out the member of staff had not only not issued the letter but had decided that the data protection act didn’t apply to her and that she could not only access peoples information on the DWP’s computer systems but also not leave notes on them so she could not be traced. This is the subject of a complaint which I am not very happy about but I feel merits a mention as part of the broader picture of quite baffling treatment that the DWP seem to think is acceptable.

After spending a large part of my day off on the phone to both yourselves and the jobcentre I was informed that they would check a recording of my initial claim for JSA to find out if I had asked about housing benefit. This should be with me Monday the 14^th February.

I was also informed by the jobcentre that housing benefit is not linked to jobseekers allowance and that if someone is on an income of under £98 a week then they will automatically qualify for housing benefit. This being the case I can only wonder why I was asked to provide this letter from the jobcentre (I know it’s probably hard to keep up, this thing makes inception look like some godawful romcom in terms of being complicated) stating that I did actually apply for housing benefit when I initially claimed JSA. Quite simply, no such letter exists. It is something that the jobcentre do. Not. Provide.

This being the case I feel that I have provided all documentation I have been asked for. I have put myself out obtaining this documentation when I have only just started a new job in the first place so I don’t have to claim any benefits anymore because- as insane as this may seem- I don’t really like claiming them! At every turn I have been greeted with an attitude that suggests that nobody communicates with each other and that my claim is being delayed as much as humanly possible.

I really would like to bring this whole sorry mess to a close, I don’t particularly like corresponding with your department and I’m sure you could do without sarcastic letters and angry phone call. If you would be so kind as to pay the backdated benefit from the 7^th of December then I would really appreciate it.

Yours sincerely,

MAN THOUGHTS

TODAY NOTHING ANNOYING HAS HAPPENED YED BUT FOR SOME REASON I CRAVE SHREDDIES. FEEL MY PAIN.

So today nothing annoying happened. Work was easy and we had many conversations. A young girl turned out to have a mind made of filth and another woman turned out to have an unnerving attraction to badgers. This situation led to the discovery that said girls would enjoy a night of sapphic naughtiness with Buffy the vampire slayer and that pillows under the lower back have some effect in certain situations.

Aside from this i drew leprechauns and humoured the elderly. Birkenhead was still a teeming shitblister upon the skin of the north west and the ideal setting for a low budget remake of Taxi Driver. Robert De Niro is out- we'd be lucky to land Ron Dixon from Brookisde as our Travis Bickle (i mean, is Ron still alive? if he is i bet he does working men's clubs now as a standup. He looks the type. Twat).

Anyway in between these groundbreaking social niceities i have come up with some ideas about television shows which i shall pitch to the BBC. I shall post the responses on here for you to view in due course. Like i'm going to get a reply.... pfft.

1. Snog, Marry, Annihilate! Similar to the BBC's long running parade of radioactive-skinned cosmetowhores- Snog, Marry, Avoid? This show takes any fucknut too stupid and supercilious for ITV's regional programming and asks them the same question. The difference? instead of talking to a fake robot, the unfortunate bellend-sapiens are more often than not plunged into an horrific future war against the machines. Their final, sunbed-craving thoughts lost in a hail of hot, white lazer fire before being skinned alive to house endoskeletons in their useless flesh. This will also have the effect of making said terminators easier to spot for the human resistance because they all look like a bunch of unemployed beauticians from fucking Bolton. Cunts.
2. Ah them good old days. Remember the good old days? The breadboy riding his two-wheeled-deathtrap up a near vertical hill to deliver you some hovis? His flat cap at a jaunty angle? Grazed knees and a friendly jack russell terrier barking playfully at his heels? Remember rationing and ginger beer on some wasteground? adventures in the woods in a time before we had to worry about terrorists and paedophiles around every corner, ready to rape some islam into defenceless kids? Well guess what? That shit was never real. The kid on the bike? a teddy boy. A ted with a cutthroat razor ready to carve you up good for a pint of mild and a bag of pork scratchings. Hitler round every corner and stalin debasing himself with a rope round his neck and your wife's fetid undies on his face in your wardrobe. No internet, no strip clubs, booze made in britain, whiskey you could use to strip paint. It was all a lie and you know it. This show features music by slayer and flashing images of transvestites fucking a blow up hitler.
3. Death or glory! So this one is a shameless x factor rip off but as it's the bbc we'll just do it on ice and get that forsyth fella involved. I mean, i say x factor rip off. it's essentially the same show but instead of the sarky comments and the usual "my dad exploded and he wanted this so bad, his flaming corpse told me to audition" shit (accompanied by fucking snow patrol) we just shoot anyone we don't like the look of in the face. The ice runs red with the blood of the talentless and society breathes a large sigh of a relief. The day after britain will wear the collective contented look of a man who has just shat a bowling ball.
4. The one sow. That's not a typo. it's just footage of a single female pig. Music by- oddly enough- pig destroyer.

1. Eastenders; BEYOND THUNDERDOME. The children of the current residents of Walford take centre stage! It's the year 2029. 10 years after the war against belgium and the park bit where people go to sit on the bench and cry in the middle of albert square is now THUNDERDOME! Watch as Ben Mitchell, out on probation, takes a fucking chainsaw to all comers. You laughed at his disability and wet blanket antics as a child and now he's a neurotic mess who's rage can only be slaked by blood. Marvel as Ian Beale touts tickets outside under the nose of the big boss himself- Ricky Butcher! Feel a bit sick as Angie watts returns to the square to sing we don't need another hero! Weep as Phil and Grant solve their differences through a manly discussion about the merits of MECHA-ARSENAL's starting 11. 

Thats all i can be arsed writing for now like. I'm a bit knackered to be honest. I know Charlie Brooker has done this much better a long time ago so if you thought this was remotely funny go check out www.tvgohome.com as it's much better than anything i've written.

Goodbye you gorgeous fuckers.

THE WOODEN TITS ON THE GODDESS WITH THE POLE OUT

Today several things happened which i found annoying. These things are:

1. 1. i didn't get 100% on my monitoring stats in work. I know, im a perfectionist, whatever. I will not settle for less than victory.
2. Upon leaving the office for lunch some CUNT had pressed all the buttons in the lift on the way down. Peasant.
3. Upon reaching greggs the vegetarian pasties would be a further 15 minutes before maximum cookedness. This will not do.
4. upon arriving at the lift on the way back up after this disappointing lunch, a gay man had broken wind, causing a greek chorus of young, orange girls in their early twenties to laugh uncontrollably and a colleague and i (sup colleague!) to take the stairs.
5. ZOMG DOLE HASSLE. i signed off ages ago! get over it. *snaps fingers like a gay*

As a result of this i spent the bus journey home playing a game, a game you can try yourself.

Single someone out on the bus home and make up a backstory for them. You 'eard! See that guy with the long, matted hair and the bald patch? The dirty jumper and one leg of his trackies in his socks? The Man at C&A jacket? The asda trainers!?!? Well in your minds eye picture his youth. His name is Bernard.

Bernard was a plucky sort. He joined the merchant navy in the late sixties. As the sounds of merseybeat wafted through the city centre, the girls' skirts getting shorter, young lads with a pound in their pocket and a song in their heart. Everybody would be somebody and the youth could change the world. Bernard loved this town, but he always thought it was too small for him. Day after day he would dream of seeing the world. Of those far off places he'd seen in the James Bond movies, He loved Bond. He thought of those white beaches and of Ursula Andress emerging from the cobalt ocean, glistening like some ancient goddess, walking toward him and mouthing "oh Bernard, make me feel like a woman". DIRTY BERNARD!
He arrived at the docks that morning with all his belongings in his duffle bag, his heart fluttering with the promise of adventure. His head giddy with those thoughts of white beaches and blue movies. He would return to this city a man of the world! He would be the talk of his friends with his adventures and his worldly wise demeanour. Yes, he thought. This is what will fulfill me.
Life on the Ship was tough for Bernard. But he coped, he mucked in and wasn't afraid to get the job done. He couldn't wait to dock, for the mythical shore leave. where would it be?!!? New york? France? Italy? Bernard had heard of those girls in amsterdam. You could spend a weeks pay in an hour proving that some things could make a sailor blush. OH FOR FUCKS SAKE ROADWORKS BY THE TUNNEL AGAIN? JESUS CHRIST WIRRAL COUNCIL ARE A BUNCH OF CHARLATANS!
One day Bernard was in the mess room after lunch. He was alone. Three sailors walked in. "alright son?" drawled the first. A thick, Texas sludge of words. Bernard was quite perturbed by this. A texan? On this ship? "what you doin here all alone, pilgrim?" drawled the second sailor, again, in the same drawn out, Texan monotone.
Bernard was afraid. The third sailor opened his mouth, but this time there was no voice. Just a gaping maw. Inside the vile mouth of this possibly Texan beast swam a thousand lost seamen. They called out- every one of them- to Bernard as he sat transfixed by- OH THANK FUCK FOR THAT. THE LIGHTS HAVE CHANGED. ABOUT TIME. FUCKING LIGHTS.- the wordless, silent horror contained within the jaws of this possible Texan.
Without warning Bernard was enveloped in darkness. he could hear only a low hum, a hum that swelled and grew. That twisted inside his gut and rattled his very bones. He felt himself being pulled apart. Every cell, every atom, being pulled apart and reassembled. As this happened in his minds eye he saw three skeletons. Skeletons without any flesh but moving of their own accord, dancing in this infernal blackness. The skeletons began to sing.
"what are youwaiting for, old chum?
A letter from your mom?
A hug from your pets?
The sexual tension of a midday beer garden?
We can help, we are the cure, we will be Texans evermore!
Join us, sailor, join us please, the pelasures we can give you will make you believe it's not butter.
Not butterrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
NOT BUTTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
(then there was a really sweet ass guitar solo, no really. it was very good)"

Bernard opened his eyes. He was standing at the docks again, duffle bag in hand. The captain beckoning him aboard. This had never happened. A few years later Bernard was still trying to make sense of what happened that fateful day, when in walked a man with a stetson. It was Willie Nelson. Willie turned to Bernard and said "i seen the skeletons too, boy. I heard their song. It was all that i could do to replicate that sweet ass guitar solo but i never could do it. say, do you know much about taxes?"
"TEXAS!?!!?!? TEXAS!?!?!?!?! AAWRSKLEGVUNLBLVBHLBIUHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAA!!!!!!" Screamed bernard, running from the bar, he arrived at the nearest off license and purchased a bottle of cheap vodka, because it was still the cold war and russia was like the opposite of texas so thats what he bought.

Oh look! it's my stop, and "Bernard" has pissed himself. Charming. oh well, now to go home and mess about on the internet.

Anwyay thats a game i play, you may want to try it yourself. Also i make up tv shows i'd like to see like Snog, Marry, Annihilate or fighting on ice. with chainsaws. I'll write about them tomorrow. Anyway i hope you're all enlightened now. BUH BUYE! NIGHT NIGHT! DON'T LET THE TEXANS BITE!!!!!!!!