It's an omen!
You know that Pasty Tax? 20% on a hot pastie? Well, Greggs are up in arms about it.
Well, they would be, if they could lift their lardy bingo wings that high.
Anyhoo, I wents in to panic buy a pasty before they ran out before "You VAT bastard" greggnant behemoth belly types secured the lot before the price hike...
...and they have a petition!
SOS!
"Save Our Savouries from the Greedy Pigg Fat Cat Treasury TaxFolk! They want to put prices up by 20%! Protest! Sign our petition!"
Hold on a minute... your pasties were £1.33 yesterday... now they're £1.40?
Has the taxbloke put the VAT on pies already?
No, Greggs have just 'rounded up the price" with a 5.26315789473684210526315789474% price hike!
The burlarizing bakery is pilfering pasty pennies from hy hard wone wages, yet decrying the same thing from the Government?
Hypocracy? Double standards? Double helpings?
Well, not the latter, coz it's too expensive!
Friday, 30 March 2012
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
Keep off my crotch, swipe my hat so, you fool...
Xym's synopsis of the events of Exile - three clips captured on CCTV! Hard evidence of chavs abusing Xym accurately caught on camera (with subtitles¹ for the herd of herrings)!
Video clip #1: Xym walks into The City
Video clip #2: Thieving gay chavs in the smoking area
Video clip #3: Discovering the absence of Xym
¹ APOLOGIES FOR THE MISSPELLING OF 'ALLEVIATE' IN THE SUBTITLES OF CLIP #2
Video clip #1: Xym walks into The City
Video clip #2: Thieving gay chavs in the smoking area
Video clip #3: Discovering the absence of Xym
¹ APOLOGIES FOR THE MISSPELLING OF 'ALLEVIATE' IN THE SUBTITLES OF CLIP #2
Monday, 26 March 2012
We don't need no edjukashun...
We just need the X Factor
A lack of children¹ in the classroom
Gary leave them kids alone
HEY! GLITTER! LEAVE THEM KIDS ALONE!
All in all Cowell should get a brick in the face!
Yes, today is the somewhat bizarre news that a 'crazed' fan was lurking in Simon Cowell's bath. Armed with a brick. Ready to engage in violent connectivity betwixt the two.
Presumably she must've gained entry to the premises by Smashing His Back Doors In².
With the brick.
Anyhoo, this is what perplexed me about this newsworthy tale. It is stated that this is a 'crazed' fan.
Surely, the fact that this woman wanted to mutilate the music mogul by the repeated application of a blunt instrument, to whit - a brick, is proof indeed of her sanity.
To declare this woman as being 'crazed' is preposterous! There is no-one on earth who likes the smug high-waist-trousered aural rapist, and the actions of this woman seems more like a public service than a rampant loon.
Typical press - whipping up a frenzy and demonizing normal, everyday folk!
Then again, this was the headline emblazoned squad upon The Daily Jugs. I wouldn't be surprised if Simon Cowell was on Page 3, thrusting out his moobs to camera.
Crazed fan, my best hat³!
¹ VIETNAMESE CHILDREN. ALLEGEDLY.
² ALTHOUGH I WOULDN'T BE ADVERSE TO SMASHING THE BACK DOORS IN OF JESSIE J, DANNII MINOGUE AND PIXIE LOTT IN THE BATH. POP IDOL? BONE IDOL, MORE LIKE (IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, AND I'M SURE THAT YOU DO! HINT: IT WOULDN'T BE A BONE 'IDLE' - FNARR FNARR, K'YUK K'YUK, ETC)
³ NO - NOT MY BEST HAT! OF HATS, I DO NOT HAVE ANY, LET ALONE A BESTEST! ANY VIOLENT KNIFE WIELDING HOMOCHAVS READING THIS - DO NOT MISTAKE MY SIMILARITY OF TWIDDLY TASHE FOR THE BLOKE WITH THE TWIDDLY TASHE AND TOWERING ACCOUTREMENTAL ATTIRE FASHIONED FROM CYLINDRICAL CHESSBOARDS DIPPED IN ASTROLOGICAL SYMBOLISM UPON HIS NOGGIN. IT WASN'T ME, HONEST GUV!
Millinery exile...
almost caused a knife victim!
Xym thwarted death from gay chav cunts
by fleeing from The Waterfront
So now he dares not wear the hat
in case he ends up stabbed by twats
Especially if their time does come
and try and stab Xym... UP THE BUM!
(that's with a cock, and not a knife,
that low-down, thieving, gayboy's wife)
Sunday, 25 March 2012
Color me chubby chequerboard...
Oh, the perils of over-elevated millinery!
I get to the Coats & Saucies¹, and the bar area is of insufficient height to accomodate my elaborately costumed cranuim, resulting in having to affect a Quasimodo lumbering stoop to get to the seatage.
And then comes the arrival of fellow compatriots for inebriating quaffage. And each expresses surprise at the extent of the extensive height of the hat. I TOLD them how big it was. I illustrated quite precisely previously the exact height.
Seems no-one believed me.
But now you know, when Xym says how big it is, you know it IS literally that big!
No fibber Xym!
"But Xym, " quoth the gatherance, "surely you will most prominent down The WhatACunt. Feral yobbos will nick your hat!"
"Ha! " laughs off The Xym, "anyone tries to nick my hat, they'll get a punch in the face!". For I am an exponent of Dimac, the deadliest form of martial art known to mankind, that can instantly disable any foe, should I so wish. My hands and feet are deadly weapons that can kill, maim, mutilate, disfigure, tear, rend and cripple. They are registered with the police, and when not in use need to be placed under lock & key at all times.
Of course, I cannot use my deadly arts upon my chums, but I was given a hands on lesson by a polish Pretty in the ancient art of Dimmock, being the art of norkitudinal caressment. And a very welcome lesson it was too!
So, we get to The WhatACunt, and The Xym is much admired for the doric column upon his coiffure.
And a chav nicks the hat, and in a flash, seemingly without movement, the hat is back in one hand and the other is outstretched in pose #27 (The Dragon Breaks Wind On His Enemies) and the thieving lout staggers back from The Previously Promised Punch In The Face.
Apparently self-defense in the retrieval of personal posessions is frowned upon by purloiners of stove pipe simulcra and much remonstration ensued afore the tealeaf tosser Fled The Scene.
Only to return later to serve a barrage of unwarranted abuse upon The Ladies. From behind a door. Opening it to spout a childish belittling of alternative types, before legging it once more.
Only to return later to apologize for his pissheaded plunderage and smooth things over.
Only to return later to profusely apologize again.
Only to return later to warn me not to go downstairs, as his mates are out to 'sort me out'.
Only to return later in something of a panic to apologize as he can't find them.
Only to return later to apologize he's only found one... and his other mate, well, his boyfriend is enraged. He's got a knife, and like the Color Me Badd hit: "He wants to stab me up".
Only to return later - he now wants to be my bodyguard, as he can't find his mates wifey with knifey. Then runs off, returning to inform it's all sorted.
But later... SUBTERFUGE! Seems like the cessation of stabbage only related to whist indoors under the scrutiny of bouncers and my army of defenders. Now there's new rumblings that once outside, they're gonna give it to me.
And I have no intention of being stabbed up the back alley by some (pork) sword wielding homochav behind the buger bar.
Burger bar? Bugger bar, more like! Bum burgler bar. Quarter pounded to death. With cheese. Nob cheese, more than likely.
And after all that, I realised the swiping of the hat had concealed further filchings. He'd only gone and snaffled away my mojo, the half-inching chavscum.
So I fled into the night, bewailing the lot of the behatted.
Oh well, so much for impressing the Pretties with oversized hat. Guess next time I'll have "chav up" before I go out.
Innit!
¹ FUR COATS, AND NO KNICKERS - WHICH IS PRETTY SAUCY.
I get to the Coats & Saucies¹, and the bar area is of insufficient height to accomodate my elaborately costumed cranuim, resulting in having to affect a Quasimodo lumbering stoop to get to the seatage.
And then comes the arrival of fellow compatriots for inebriating quaffage. And each expresses surprise at the extent of the extensive height of the hat. I TOLD them how big it was. I illustrated quite precisely previously the exact height.
Seems no-one believed me.
But now you know, when Xym says how big it is, you know it IS literally that big!
No fibber Xym!
"But Xym, " quoth the gatherance, "surely you will most prominent down The WhatACunt. Feral yobbos will nick your hat!"
"Ha! " laughs off The Xym, "anyone tries to nick my hat, they'll get a punch in the face!". For I am an exponent of Dimac, the deadliest form of martial art known to mankind, that can instantly disable any foe, should I so wish. My hands and feet are deadly weapons that can kill, maim, mutilate, disfigure, tear, rend and cripple. They are registered with the police, and when not in use need to be placed under lock & key at all times.
Of course, I cannot use my deadly arts upon my chums, but I was given a hands on lesson by a polish Pretty in the ancient art of Dimmock, being the art of norkitudinal caressment. And a very welcome lesson it was too!
So, we get to The WhatACunt, and The Xym is much admired for the doric column upon his coiffure.
And a chav nicks the hat, and in a flash, seemingly without movement, the hat is back in one hand and the other is outstretched in pose #27 (The Dragon Breaks Wind On His Enemies) and the thieving lout staggers back from The Previously Promised Punch In The Face.
Apparently self-defense in the retrieval of personal posessions is frowned upon by purloiners of stove pipe simulcra and much remonstration ensued afore the tealeaf tosser Fled The Scene.
Only to return later to serve a barrage of unwarranted abuse upon The Ladies. From behind a door. Opening it to spout a childish belittling of alternative types, before legging it once more.
Only to return later to apologize for his pissheaded plunderage and smooth things over.
Only to return later to profusely apologize again.
Only to return later to warn me not to go downstairs, as his mates are out to 'sort me out'.
Only to return later in something of a panic to apologize as he can't find them.
Only to return later to apologize he's only found one... and his other mate, well, his boyfriend is enraged. He's got a knife, and like the Color Me Badd hit: "He wants to stab me up".
Only to return later - he now wants to be my bodyguard, as he can't find his mates wifey with knifey. Then runs off, returning to inform it's all sorted.
But later... SUBTERFUGE! Seems like the cessation of stabbage only related to whist indoors under the scrutiny of bouncers and my army of defenders. Now there's new rumblings that once outside, they're gonna give it to me.
And I have no intention of being stabbed up the back alley by some (pork) sword wielding homochav behind the buger bar.
Burger bar? Bugger bar, more like! Bum burgler bar. Quarter pounded to death. With cheese. Nob cheese, more than likely.
And after all that, I realised the swiping of the hat had concealed further filchings. He'd only gone and snaffled away my mojo, the half-inching chavscum.
So I fled into the night, bewailing the lot of the behatted.
Oh well, so much for impressing the Pretties with oversized hat. Guess next time I'll have "chav up" before I go out.
Innit!
¹ FUR COATS, AND NO KNICKERS - WHICH IS PRETTY SAUCY.
Saturday, 24 March 2012
Xym - what the fuck are you wearing...
What is that?
What
is
THAT?!?!
"What, upon your head is sat?"
"Why, that's a hat, you blithering twat"
(that's not a per-son-al attack
But can't you recognize a hat)
What
is
THAT?!?!
"What, upon your head is sat?"
"Why, that's a hat, you blithering twat"
(that's not a per-son-al attack
But can't you recognize a hat)
It's clearly not a rat or bat
or Eastenders' big earring'd Pat
Nor feral brat or malformed cat
It's obviously a great big hat!
Ah, your eyes grow wide and fat
In shock and awe at my towering hat
That's how I roll - it's where I'm at
A great fat twat in a great big hat
Friday, 23 March 2012
You ain't nuffink but a Hound Dawg, in a latext suit...
Today, I would bore you with tales of City Centre Elvis Wars, and superhero claims payout avoidance from companies inserting Formicidæ up yer Japsæ to weak weewengay upon enemies in onanistic cumuppance.
But you know what?
I can't be jiggered!
The sun is all out, and I'm stuck indoors feeling poo.
Well, not literally feeling poo. I'm not sat at my workstation kneading fæces, moulding turds and generally shaping shit with me mitts. I feel poo in the "Bleurgh, I feel like crap" feeling poo. Not feeling like a crap. Actually... back in a minute...
...phew, that's better. Better out than in, I say. And I'd also quantify that saying by additionally saying that the better out os better stay out for 10 minutes if I were you.
or summat.
It looks all lovely and warm out there, and it's a slow afternoon at work. Outside, there are Pretties in light airy dresses, pelmet skirts and halter tops. In here, it's middle aged blokes - and the Pretties down the corridor seem not to be venturing down this end of the office.
I'm all a-shiver, sore of throat and thick of head. And I need to be well for tomorrow, for the Exile and the wearing of the impractically tall hat.
So, no blog today.
Which is a shame, for I had much to entertain thee with regarding Puppet man competitive interlopers, and the duelling vocals, with added Puppet vs Corpulent Troll Harridan accompanyment. And then the Pee-Pee VC clad sidekick. Not to mention the jizz ants.
Which I just have. Although I still hasn't seen the movie, but it ties in nicely with the pee pee P of Oxo).
Oh well, you'll just have to do without a blog today.
Sorry 'bout that!
But you know what?
I can't be jiggered!
The sun is all out, and I'm stuck indoors feeling poo.
Well, not literally feeling poo. I'm not sat at my workstation kneading fæces, moulding turds and generally shaping shit with me mitts. I feel poo in the "Bleurgh, I feel like crap" feeling poo. Not feeling like a crap. Actually... back in a minute...
...phew, that's better. Better out than in, I say. And I'd also quantify that saying by additionally saying that the better out os better stay out for 10 minutes if I were you.
or summat.
It looks all lovely and warm out there, and it's a slow afternoon at work. Outside, there are Pretties in light airy dresses, pelmet skirts and halter tops. In here, it's middle aged blokes - and the Pretties down the corridor seem not to be venturing down this end of the office.
I'm all a-shiver, sore of throat and thick of head. And I need to be well for tomorrow, for the Exile and the wearing of the impractically tall hat.
So, no blog today.
Which is a shame, for I had much to entertain thee with regarding Puppet man competitive interlopers, and the duelling vocals, with added Puppet vs Corpulent Troll Harridan accompanyment. And then the Pee-Pee VC clad sidekick. Not to mention the jizz ants.
Which I just have. Although I still hasn't seen the movie, but it ties in nicely with the pee pee P of Oxo).
Oh well, you'll just have to do without a blog today.
Sorry 'bout that!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)