A nice pair of steamed puddings...

The thing I loathe about Go Chef is that whenever I finish watching a film and switch back to Telly, that same bloody dreadfully tiresome infomercial is on! 

JMLDirect? 

JMLFuckRightOff, more like. And take yer goramm godawful Vox Pops with yer! 

"To call the Go Chef versatile is a complete pile of wank". 

 And who eats fondue in this day and age? No-One's et fondue since 1978... 1983 at a push! 

Bloody Go Chef - no wonder I never sleep! To busy ranting at the forced bonhomie, the faux endorsements, the treacley treacle sponge bit, the dreadful 'worse chef' competition, and the nonsense about PTFE rubbing off on yer sausage! 

GRRRRRRRR!!!!!

EVERY fucking night this is bloody on! Fuck it, I'm going to subject you to it as well!

Don't enjoy:

[EDIT] Apologies. The video below is edited down without some of the more annoying elements, like the fucking vox pops. I'll try & hunt down the full dreadfulness for you later. Meanwhile...
   

Oh sit down, Oh sit down, Oh sit down , sit down SOMEWHERE ELSE...

What is it with people these days?

What's worse:
● A cunt being a cunt; or
● A person asking a question, not getting the answer they want, THEN being cunt?

Case in point: Last week we were in The Owl Sanctuary, and some drunken bumbling fuckwit falls onto us and grips the empty chair.

Drunk Gobshite: "Excushe me mate, ish thish sheat free?"
Me: "Sorry, it's taken. They're just having a fag."
Inebriated cockwind:" OK, Cool."

And he walks off with the chair!

And today, sat in Starbucks¹ (no S♥phie - boo :( BUT Chl♥e has gone from White Hair [win] to Bright Red Hair [Epic Win with extra ♥♥♥!]), where I expect several other caffeine compatriots to join me. So, I gets a table in the ærie, when two foreigners arrive.

Not-So-Loving Couple: "Excusings, we may have the joining you seating please?"
Me: "Sorry, they're taken. I'm expecting the others to arrive any moment."
Sour-faced Bint & Misery Man:" OK, Cool."

And they plonk themselves down anyway! 

Now, I'd be annoyed if they'd just helped themselves to basking in my presence without asking first - but to ask first and then disregard my response... well, that just pisses me off even more!

AND they had obviously just split up. She's almost in tears, being abrupt with him, wanting nowt to do woth him, and chewing a wasp. He's hovering, petting, touching, haltingly whispering pleadingly at her, and dragging the atmos right down!

Perhaps next time, I'll make it more obvious:

The Next ClitHood Smegma Scrape: "Can I take this chair, or sit here?"
Me: "NO! THERE'S A REASON WE'VE ALREADY CLAIMED IT. NOW FUCK OFF AND DIE YOU PISS MIDGETED PISS-STREAM!"
BanjoString Cockcheese "OK, Cool."
And if they proceed to take the chair/sit down anyway...
Me: "OI! WHAT PART OF NO DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?! DO YOU SERIOUSLY WANT A PUNCH IN THE TITS. PUT THE CHAIR BACK AND BACK AWAY SLOWLY...!"

Grrrrrr!

¹ APOLOGIES TO MY TOPPEST OF TOP PRETTIES, BUT I COULDN'T RESIST! AT LEAST IT WASN'T A GMO PUMPKIN LATTÉ.

Alice presses down on Wall's...

♪ "...With her spatula

In case the spitting sausages

Fall out the pan and on the floor

Alice serves up sausages

She cooks them in her frying pan

She serves them with some eggs and bacon

Cure her pounding hangover

Today..." ♫

Right, ranty times once more!

Wall's make sausages and ice-cream. Funny Feet, Sparkles, Cider Lollies, Feast and succulent sausages. They are NOT, I repeat, NOT manufactures of fashion disasters.

Like the onesie. Unless you're about 3yrs old, you shouldn't be poncing about Primarché in a romper suit.

But that is not my main issue today. Oh dear me, no.

It's the advert and the following competition.

It's not just the dumbed-down-for-fucktards mode of speech by the twatarse with the irritating voice: "Introducing the wall'sie, onesies you can wear down the shopsies" (which makes one want to punch the odious narrator right in the tits), but then goes on to claim: "One for the Goths - cheer up mate!"

Now, here is a pictorial representation of the aforementioned "Goth", and a prize of the so-called "Goth Onesie":

Hold up a minute..

Where's the Goth demonstrating the gothic onesie prize?

Nowhere to be seen!

What we do have is a bloody chavvy EMO in a Heavy/Death Metal onesie, embarrassing the Goth scene with their miserable mopings!

This is like saying "Win a Hip-Hop Hoodie" and having a Onesie decorated with images of One Direction worn by a 12yr old girl. 

Wall's should stick to dogs in their adverts. Dogs that talk about sausages humourously, rather than delving into the world of fashion and getting their musical genre's all incorrect.

In fact, I do believe that Hate Crime was expanded to include us Goths - surely telling us to "cheer up" is abuse! Just because Wall's are incompetent at distinguishing Goths from morose muppety EMOS, it shouldn't mean we should be tarred with the same brush! 

Sue Wall's, says I, and feed me compensation in the form a lifetime's supply of fried sausages for tea!

I am, however, intrigued by the blurred out onesies in the background. If misrepresenting Goths wasn't bad enough, it appears that the other 4 options are Stephanie Off Of Lazytown Onesie, Sad Golfer Onesie, Bearded Tranny In Tights And Padded Bra Onesie, and some form of Yellow Caped Crusader Crossly Crossing Arms Onesie.

Well, now I'm not sure which I'm more enraged about! Melancholic EMO miseries masquerading as Goffs, or the fact that the Stephanie Off Of Lazytown Onesie does have the pink hair alongside Rotten Robbie the golfer...

...I think that Batbloke's yellow cape has a blue collor may edge it in the annoyance stakes, as it's too much We wanted Batman & Bananaman, but can't afford the rights, so combined the two to make Batanaman, which has no rights attached. probably.

I don't have a problem with the bearded tranny one though - it is, after all, quite accurate and would blend in quite well in the City Centre.

But claiming that outfit is a "goth" onesie... well, that grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous EMO of yore was ne'er a goth. Nevermind nevermore...

Bloody EMOs, coming over here, stealing our genre title, supplanting our music with their metallic noise, imposing their foreign rituals of self harm and taking over the space outside The Forum, bringing the atmosphere down with their sullen silence in solitary isolation in their groups, being all youthful and have never even heard any actual Goth music. 

Goth onesie my best hat.

What has a brazen way of talking shite? Hot Topic...

Today would have been about planing exorcising Xym... But not today.

It would be about the excitement if getting a telephone interview after passing technical tests.

Instead, it's an explanation as to why I never chat up Teh Pretties:

'Stalky Creep' gets pwned

Now, let's get this in perspective.

Day 1 - Chap asks if he's she's the person he intended to message
5½ hours later, it's a defensive "Who are you?", so chappy just says he was in earlier, and describes himself, asking if she remembers him.

A day later, with no reponse, a sad face is sent,

Another day later, she comes back with a wary "did you track me down via the company facebook page?"
"yeah, hope that's ok"

Another day later, he just asked if she's gonna get back to him. So, he's confirmed he's the girl he wanted to chat to, but not told if remembered or if it was OK to contact.

Two days later, he takes the step of asking her out. After all, she hasn't blocked him, told him to fuck off, or deleted her account or anything, so he thinks he may have a chance and tells her he got her details through a mutual friend, and tells her she's attractive.

Two days after THAT, she gets back to him, simply asking to confirm who the mutual friend was. He quickly confirms, and also points out he's been in the store and not approached her yet. She doesn't respond to the IM, so he goes on, explaining they have similar interests and he's watching GoT2.

And she immediately tears him to pieces.

I mean, I could understand if this was in the space of a few hours, but this was over EIGHT DAYS! ANd you know women - contact too quickly = reeks of desperation, take too long to contact = not interested. Now it seems taking your time = creepy stalker perv.

You can't do anything right if you're a male!

And her rant at the end is EXACTLY why I don't approach Teh Pretties.

"What's the worse that can happen Xym? Worse is she can say No"

Well, worse is getting a reaction such as this stuck up slapper's. Rejection is bad enough. You're too old/fat/ugly/useless/  etc - let alone having someone like this bitch up in ya grill belittling you and crushing the very last of the last vestiges of self confidence you may have left.

And if Teh Pretties take exception to Fedora adorned menfolk, woe betide me in my diverse arrangement of preposterous cranial apparel.

All gone, to look for Amír Akhar...

In umpteen-hundred and something-two

Columbus sailed the ocean blue

With Captain Hook to Neverland

and Rohypnoled Jesus Juice in hand

Right, now. Today I had yet another one of them ''mememe"s, depicting David Bowie balancing on a lifesaver ring, with the caption "David Buoy".

Needless to say my ire was irked once more. 

For as all the world knows, the word "buoy" is pronounced "boy", the same as the flotationary word "buoyancy" is pronounced "boy an' see"...

...unless, of course, you're an American. For after a bit of internet research, it appears that over the past 3 years, Americans have started to pronounce buoy as boo-wee, and it's now becoming the norm.

Too lazy to learn the native Navajo language, they're now too lazy to learn to speak proper like wot we do! We give them The Queen's English, they take a boat out to foreign climes, decimate the savages, scoff some turkey sandwiches, and decide to fuck up their own native language!

A boo-wee my arse! It's all celebrity centric with them yanks, innit - is that a buoy? No - it's a Bowie. How do you measure the buoyancy of a body in water? You mean a Beyoncé in a bath. Or something.

So, I wroted a small tale about them Founding Fathers. Columbus, Cap'n Hook the Cook (probably the olde worlds equivalent of Steven Seagull), Nostradamus, and anyone else I decide to chuck in off the top of me head.

How Them 'merkins Forgot To Talk Proper

Or Independance Déjà-Vu. or something

It all began during Dexy's Midnight Runners top pop hit "Genoa" when Chris Columbus was born. In an era when following your dreams was not as simple as just getting on Italy's Got Talent, he allowed Gallileo to put his plans of starring as Man-In-Toy-Shop in Home Alone 2 (Escape From New York) on hold, and write The Goonies instead with Steve Spielberg who was often found loitering around Leonardo Da Caprio's ILM workshop down the road.

So he approached King John of Portugal, who quite liked Gremlins (but not Joe Danté's Divine a Comedy [something for the weekend in a woodshed]) but was unprepared to finance The Goonies, despite the promise of short skirted cheerleaders in damp dark caves. "Try Henry VII over in England, I think your Mrs Doubtfire will put even his Shakespeare to shame"

So off he trotted to the UK, where he got all tied up in red tape over what the something-or-other should be in Hairy Plopper And The Something-Or-Other's Stone.

Queen Isobel of Spain told him to Fuck Right Off when he presented Jingle All The Way, but the the Christian Monarchs funded Bicentennial Man. And when she saw the script for Peter 'Hobbit' Jackson: Sea Of Monsters, she gave him loads of cash to discover America. And film some sea monsters to save some cash on the way.

So, come 1787 (or 6:27pm), Columbus, Cap'n Hook, Nostradamus, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Alexander Hamilton, John Jay, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, and George Washington all gathered in Queen Victoria's boudoir (or "Bowie do 'er" as Nostradamus quoth, chuckling at his own private prophetic pun. probably).

"For Queen and Country, we require thou goest and discovereth America, and claimeth her in one's name" said the miserable monarch (via Nostradamus, obviously, her not being born in Henry VII's day)

"Top Hole!" quoth Washington

"Tally ho!" quoth Columbus

"Tarriwags!" quoth Cap'n Hook, waving his Jesus Juice and Koran

"Let's build this continent on sausage rolls!" quoth Nostradamus, pointing at Jefferson, tittering like a loon.

"Who'se been pissing about with my keys again, I keep getting static shock" accused Jay, glowering at Franklin.

And off they sailed on the finest of ferries - Drake's Golden Behind (or something) it were most likely called. Anyhoo, upon arrival Nostradamus bade them anchor offshore for a few days "for we must arrive on 4th July exactly, so it can coincide with when we defeat an invasion of space monsters in 1996".

Actually, he didn't tell them that at first. He spoke in incomprehensible quatrains whilst gazing at the water in the bog bowl, premonitioning. Well, I say a premonition quatrain, it was more pointing at Jefferson and hysterically chortling "Calling COCKuPANTS of interplanetary craft!" 

(Nostradamus clearly having confused Grace Slick with Karen Carpenter due to a ripple obfuscating the face of the sixties songstress in the space-time scrying pool. That's a ripple, not a nipple. Which may, or may not, have been on the Mannequin mannequin. That's mannequin, not many quim.)

Only a sound kicking got the actual prophecy out of him. And it was the concept of defeating the aliens by introducing a virus to their system that gave them the idea to irradiate the natives by infecting them with pox ridden blankets.

So you can thank Roland Emmerich for the genocide of the Native Americans, coz if Nostradamus hadn't seen the movie on Sky Movies via his freeview water pool of prophecy, they'd never have been able to adapt the "computer virus ending" into terms they could relate to in the 1800s. or something.

Anyhoo, they landed in America, where they were promptly met by a indigenous lifeform, Chief Loincloth-Rises-With-Big-Erect-Cock-And-Not-The-Wind-Honest-Guv.

"Welcome to um America, where heap big turkey run wild. Medicine man, he say, for brave to follow buffalo, brave must put ear to ground. When ear of Brave covered in buffalo shit, buffalo herd be close".

Jackson (thus far unmentioned as being a voyager) drew his six shooter. "Dayum. I'm gonna blow this jive-ass nigga (not to be confused with either niggah or nigger or niger. Or even Nigel, for he has his future in British Steel. Until it's all outsourced to India). I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furrrrrrious anger. Upon yo' ass. Dayum, that's one tasty turkey twizzler! I have had it with all these motherfuckin' rattlesnakes on the motherfuckin' plains!"

"Gitche Manitou, he say you on um beach, not plains of my father. Rattlesnake live in Colorado mountain with brother wolf and sister moon. And I know about Colorado as me have um book of heap plenty quatrains by paleface Nostradamus"

After a pox polluted present was presented to the Red Injun, they sat down for a feast of turkey minibites shaped like dinosaurs, they got down to writing constitutional independent stuffs.

"Let's break away from the Empire. Let us declare our independence"

"All the ladies, who're independent, throw your hands up at me"

And as none were allowed on the voyage, being subservient to men in all things, no ladies were around to raise hands, thus any consideration for feminine types and their vapours was dismissed and was deemed an inconvenience convenient to omit from The Curried Doors Of Power (during The Umpire's rule over India, obviously). 

"Well, we need some constitutional rules"

"Dash it all man, it's damnedly hot out here. Can one not remove one's top hat, overcoat, scarf, white mink gloves, jacket, waistcoat and cravat?"

"Gadzooks! Are you mad man? We are gentlemen and shall dress accordingly. However, there are no ladies present, and it is excessively warm"

"May one also suggest... rolling up one's sleeves? If there are no Ladies, surely we should be able to expose our limbs without Ladies being aroused in lustful fashion and ravising us where we stand?"

"A most agreeable notion - Rambo (John Jay...) write that down. It's now every man's right to bare arms"

"Yo Adrian, you know, like, I know I'm a bit punchy, but I'm not dumb. But my writin'... jeez, what if I spell it wrong y'know. Like bear arms. Geddit Adrian? Bear arms, like arms of a bear? Not that you'd have bears in your pet store - ah c'mon Adrian, that was a good one. No?"

"Nostradamus, what's the worst interpretation of the right to bare arms"

"Well, some fool might interpret it as the right to bear arms, as in weaponry. Such as the right to own a  M134 General Electric Minigun (7.62mm, full clip capacity of 5793 rounds-per-minute, 7.62 x 51 shells, 1.36kg recoil adaptors, muzzle velocity of 869m/s - the huge amazing rotary machine gun like what Blaine will have in Predator) in case a squirrel walks on their lawn, or a kid wants to kill all of his classmates and random other students."

"That's rather unlikely. What about a phased plasma rifle in the 40 watt range?"

"Only what I can see in the future, buddy"

"Nothing to worry about then!"

So, after having enshrined the right to brazenly bronze their limbs against British mode of accepted attire without fear of misinterpretation, talk turned to free speech.

"One is tired of conforming to The Empire's rigid rules."

At this point, old Nostro chipped in "You need a fourth amendment, or something, to allow freedom of speech"

"But we've only decided on a departure from formal wear thus far, how can we have a fourth amendment?"

But Nostradamus just tapped his finger slyly against his nose: "ahh!", quoth the psychic sage.

"Fornicate me! Dost thou mean we canst shuffle off this o'erwieldy, verbose, archaic, articularity of complicated circumulatory converse?'

"America! Fuck yeah!" bellowed Washington.

"You actually mean, we can engage in discourse freely? How we wish? And we won't be outcast by our fellow Englishmen?"

"What can the fuckers do? They're twatting miles away, we can say whatever the fuck we like!"

"What... even... The Queen smells of poo?" said Hamilton, looking around nervously.

"Yep - and Nicole Shitsinger can't do a thing about it, so you go out there and drive my boy!"

"Ooooh, and can I call Crisps 'chips' and Chips 'fries'?"

"You can even call an arse a fanny if you want!"

"But a fanny is a fanny - a minge, vadge, quimm, beaver, front bottom, twat, cunt"

"You see any women around yer, I mean, these parts, laddie?"

"No sir"

"Then, young man, you'll have to pretend an arse is a fanny, until some actual red-skin fanny comes along (which is ours by right, and we know that God is with us coz he's white)"

"Cor! I think I'll even start calling my wallet a 'pocket-book'!"

"Calm down son, you're going mad with new found power"

"And I'll call a buoy a boo-wee too!"

"Not till after 2010ish you won't sonny", interrupted Nostradamus, "otherwise it won't be mildly amusing to slightly mistake it for a glam rock legend in his dotage. Oi! Jefferson - stop shagging that turkey. Don't you want somebody to love?"

But Jefferson was off again, chasing rabbits, knowing he was going to fall, as a hookah smoking caterpillar had given him the call. All the while muttering "let 'em say I'm crazy, what do they know, put your hand in my paw, Alice, don't ever let go"

Nothing's gonna stop him now.

or something.

Are you stupid? Are you a stupid fool? Look at you - you can't evendrive...

How come whenever I get to the bus stop, I miss my bus home by seconds every time?

10 mins early, 5 mins early, on time, 5 mins late, 10 mins late... it matters not when I arrive. As soon as I arrive at the bus stop, it is always just pulling away.

It's like they have CCTV nearby, and purposely arrange for buses to arrive early/late to coincide their departure as I arrive.

And WorstBus, obviously, has trained it's drivers to Take A Deep Interest In BHS When Pulling Out Or Waiting By The Crossing Whilst The Lights Are Red so they can't let anyone on who they've just deliberately closed the door on. Probably cackling maniacally when they decide to depart 5/10 mins early (or running 20/25 mins late).

And you can guarantee the next bus due every half hour will take 45 mins to arrive. If at all.

That's assuming the bus even stops, because the bus stop has been filled with Taxis. Or "Fucking Taxi Driving Cunts, don't they know it's a bloody bus stop? Refusing to twatting move and fucking pulling out and doing a u-turn on St Stephen's despite that there's no u-turns allowed? Fucking bastards" as the collective of drivers said as they discussed it after boarding on Castle Meadow on their way to Vulvan Road, the driver having lamented his lot to them as they switched drivers.

What is it with selfish cunts and bus stops? Bad enough when the 36, 37, 38 and 39 all turn up at the same time at a two bus bay, but worse when cuntish cockgobblers use St Stephen's as a bus stop.

And it's always MY stop!

Oh, I see the 38 coming round the corner. Well I never! Some felcher decides to pull up right by the opening if the shelter. Stick the hazards on and pop to the cashpoint. Oh, another, and some butterball waddles out and nips into Starbucks for takeaway latté and a big bag of muffnuts, swirls, Danish pastries, and a skinny blueberry muffin (as they're watching their weight. Watching it increase, if you ask me).

Oh, some cunt has pulled in, and waiting for his missus to come out of Argos & Iceland, with a mountain of baggage that takes forever to stack in the boot properly.

Bugger, the 37 is early, and in front of the 38.

If you're lucky, the 37 stops in the middle of the road, rather than decide to simply drive on to Castle Meadow. Honk honk honk, goes the bus at the stationary cars blocking it's loading bay...

...and waits...

Honk honk goes the traffic. Honk honk goes the bus. Fuck you, goes the taxi, person at cashpoint queue, and drivers waiting to pick up their partners.

...and eventually the driver gives up and remains blocking the road, opening it's doors to allow boarding. Traffic backing up to the roundabout. A LOT of people getting off, getting on, questioning the driver, getting off again, paying with fiddly change. Honkity honk honk from the driver stuck behind & right round the roundabout. Eventually, he's off! Yay! Now comes the 38...

And if I'm lucky, the 38 stops in the middle of the road, rather than simply driving on to Castle Meadow. Honk honk honk, goes the bus at the stationary cars still blocking the loading bay...

...and waits...

Honk honk goes the traffic. Honk honk goes the bus. Fuck you, goes the taxi, person at cashpoint queue, and drivers waiting to pick up their partners and feral brood now rampaging about the bus stop and fighting in the now empty main road.
...and eventually the driver gives up and remains blocking the road, opening it's doors to allow boarding. Traffic backing up to the roundabout. A LOT of people getting off, getting on, questioning the driver, getting off again, paying with fiddly change. Honkity honk honk from the driver stuck behind & right round the roundabout. Eventually, we're off home!

Fucking Twatbadtards parking in bus stops - hanging's too good for 'em I say!!

Roger the cabin babes...

Right, it's a while since I offended loads of people, so it's about time I pissed everyone off again. So (bearing in mind this is about the consequences of wilful and deliberate law breaking, not the ecological fight or right to legal/peaceful protest)...

Greenpiss.

Bloody Greenpiss, incessantly spamming my Facebook to get me to sign a petition to release a bunch of eco-Terrorist Pirates.

Grrrrrrr!

Let's just cover the relevant facts:
a) Greenpiss tried to ram 2 separate Яussiaп ships at sea (although Greenpiss
    initially denied this, subsequent video footage has forced them to declare it was
    "Accidental Tapping" or "A Slight Nudge" some such nonsense).
b) They deliberately violated a 500m exclusion zone around a Яussiaп
    Rig.
c) They tried to scale and board a foreign rig in foreign waters
d) They were arrested for Piracy

Now, The British will have it that "You come over here, you want to live here, you live by our laws or suffer the consequences". However, it seems that only applies in the UK as when Brits go abroad, they believe they are immune to foreign laws in foreign lands written up by foreign savages. As such, Brits are not subject to them and should be set free from unjustified imprisonment.

Newsflash! The world don't actually work that way! You go to another country, you you abide by their laws or face the consequences. OK, the Government may step in if you're facing a Death Penalty, but they're not there to give you a get-out-of-jail-free card because you're British and subject only to British Rule..

"But Xym, they were making a peaceful protest!"
"And how do you make that out?"
"Well, they didn't have guns. And since when has scaling a rig been illegal? What weapons did they have? Rope? Were they gunna hang the Яuskies then?"

Oh, you've conveniently forget to mention the pre-rig invasion RAMMING OF ЯUSSIAП VESSELS! Like a car, a ship can be used as a weapon, like when used to ram another vessel. And scaling foreign property has always been illegal. Theoretically, if them Яuskies were being a bit belligerent and cold-war-y, such an invasion could be seen as a declaration of war. Then what - WWIII, and your saving the planet will have resulted in it being nuked to apocalysian desolation.

This was NOT a peaceful protest - it was an attack, invasion, and occupation. They should count themselves lucky they were arrested and not shot.

"Yebbut - they're not Pirates, are they! So they should be released!"

eh, whut? They should be released because although driving at other ships and trespassing on another country's soil without permission is a criminal offense, they don't sport a peg-leg, eye patch, a tankard of grog and say "Arrrrrrr" a lot?

Anyhow, it's a moot point, as Articles 101 the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea defines Piracy thus:

Article 101
Definition of piracy
Piracy consists of any of the following acts:
(a) any illegal acts of violence or detention, or any act of depredation, committed for
   private ends by the crew or the passengers of a private ship or a private aircraft,
   and directed—
   (i) on the high seas, against another ship or aircraft, or against persons or property
       on board such ship or aircraft;
   (ii) against a ship, aircraft, persons or property in a place outside the jurisdiction of
       any State;
(b) any act of voluntary participation in the operation of a ship or of an aircraft with
     knowledge of facts making it a pirate ship or aircraft;
(c) any act of inciting or of intentionally facilitating an act described in sub
    paragraph (a) or (b).

And Greenpiss's actions in light of this? Well...
● Illegal act of violence or detention, or any act of depredation? Ramming a couple of
   "enemy" ships is certainly violent and illegal. 
● Committed for private ends? Well, their aim is to stop the Яussiaп Rig from drilling,
   and the invasion of the rig was for their own private ends.
● by the crew or passengers of a private ship? Yep - not a commercial vessel but a
   private vessel owned by Greenpiss.
● directed on the high seas against another ship or aircraft, or persons or property on
   board? Well, they tried to ram 2 ships, endangering it's crew & property.
● against a ship, aircraft, persons or property in a place outside the jurisdiction of any
   State; Debatable. Some claim it's internation waters, Яussiaп waters, or non-State
   waters. But their actions were directed at foreign property, to whit; a Яussiaп rig.

So, by United Nations law (let alone Яussiaп, Martitime and any other law), they are Pirates! And those not responsible for the violent ramming attack and subsequent scaling, why, they fall foul of clauses (b) and (c).

"But they're nothing like Somalian Pirates!"

eh, whut? (again). Who said anything about Somanlian pirates! They are Pirates for violently ramming a vessel and subsequently illegally boarding another! Just because they're not armed with cutlasses and pistols doesn't make them any less piratey!

And some of them, some of the Greenpiss lot are enraged over the Brit! Why, they say, She's a freelance journalist! She wasn't even on the boat! (so how did she get arrested then, if she weren't there? Oh, she's a Brit. Therefore innocent and not subject to Johnny Foreigners law!).

Then they say they never violated the 500m exclusion zone (then how did they manage to scale the rig from over 500m away?)

Put it this way - if you were Captain Phillips, and some Somalis rammed your boat then tried to clamber aboard... would you shoot them in the face, arrest them, or just let them go about their thievery without any further challenge and not even report it?

Or another analogy - you're driving home. Suddenly, a car pulls alongside and tries to run you off the road. Getting home, you find their friends scaling your fences and trying to break in. Do you ring the cops? Shoot them in the back as they flee like Tony Martin? Or do you just shrug and say "hey ho, it's all peaceful, let them get on with it". And if the neighbors ring the police and arrest those occupying your home, would you arrange a petition to excuse them on some moral grounds?

Moral grounds my arse! If we went round demanding release of prisoners on moral grounds there's be no prisoners!

Greenpiss could make an argument that Anders Breivik (if he hadn't released his manifesto against the Muslimification of Norway) should be release on moral grounds. After all, humans emit CO₂, which is killing the Ozone layer. His culling of the overpopulated Earth, thus reducing CO₂ emissions, is Saving The Planet, and he should be released for taking the moral stance of bravely taking the necessary step to reduce the number of those who are wasting our natural oxygen resources! What a hero!

Even more morally - they should campaign for the release of The Yorkshire Ripper. After all, God told him to cleanse the Earth of sin and prozzies, and who can argue against The Word of God? You can't get a more moral cause than divine intervention itself!

Anyhoo, these terrorists (sorry, I forgot "Activists" is the polite term for non-Muslim terrorists) are NOT saving the planet. True, they are trying to conserve natural resources as they will run out, but this has no effect on the actual planet.

It has an effect on mankind, as we won't be able to rely on the availability of those resources, but the actual planet will go on.

In fact, the bigger danger to the actual planet is those who try and combat Climate Change. Climate change is a known fact, and the Earth has a cyclic rhythm when such shifts occur. Now, if you try and interfere with Earth's natural cycle, THEN you are directly trying to impact the planet to mankind's benefit, not the Planet's. 

If anything, people should be investing in ways to adapt to climate change, not combat or prevent it.

Not that it matters, as Gaia will continue her cycle regardless. Unless Science finds a way to alter the Axis/Rotation/orbit of Earth, and then we're truly fucked, as Earth becomes secondary to Man.

So, no. I won't be voting to Free The Pirates. Especially as the same lot were cautioned and deported t'other year by the Яussiaпs or attempting a similar stunt, so it's not like they weren't warned. They knew what they were getting into, so stop whining about it!

That said, I would vote to free them though, on the condition they could guarantee me a date with one of these two top Pirate wenches! 

Banged up Babes! Caged cuties! Pirate Pretties In Prison! Hot hippy Greenpeace gash of gorgeousness! 

Phwoarsville. "I'd Tap That", I believe the common parlance is. or XymWantsOneOfThose.cum. or something, And the hot hippy chick on the right (Alex) is the Britbabe from Devon! I wonder if I can get the two of them released into my personal custody...

Better than being imprisoned in a Яussiaп gangrapey gulag...

...well, probably not. 

And if I ever see you here again, Faiza Oulahsen... hoo-hoo, I'll lock you in my Fungeon!

Here, have some Candy, little girl...

Iran's so far away...

Well, I would have bored you to tears with rants about Crimwatch and the McScam case. Mainly how the "dramatic new evidence" turned out to be non-dramatic old evidence (apart from a bit about Charity collectors. And a couple of burglaries).
● WOW! The Jane Tanner made-up sightings that were dismissed 6 years ago... have
   been dismissed!
● WOW! The bloke who said he saw Gerry carrying a child at 10pm made an eFit that
   looks like Gerry!
● WOW! They're concentrating on after 10:00 because... um... well, no-one saw
   Maddy after 5pm, so it's likely she went missing after 10pm (eh?)
● WOW! They're looking for them people "lurking about" - you know, them ones what
   turned out to be locals and tourists minding their own business? They're looking for
  them. Again.
● WOW! "We're not the ones that have done something wrong here. It's the
   person who's gone into that apartment and taken a little girl away from her
   family."...
   ...as opposed to those who abandoned their toddlers, leaving them in an (un)locked
   room (depending on version of story) away from their family to go off boozing all night...
● etc, etc...

Anyhoo, I won't dwell on that, for there is far more importance at hand.

To whit; My Follicle Of Seagulls crainial display!

So, on Sat, My Sister redesigned my flowing locks into a 1980s plumage that people wished they had a photygraph of (or just something to remind them) so they wouldn't spend their lives just wishing.

So, last night, it was hair choppage time! yay! And the sexy siren with the scissors and dougnuts in her hair had a play, and trained Xym in perfecting the group of avian seafarers coiffure.

And lo, it was celebrated!

Until I made it me profile picture, and then it all went downhill :(

20 likes! TWENTY LIKES for me barnet...

...and a few dissenters...

For once, no universal appraisal of one's brilliant barnet!

"I. Don't. Like. It."

"It's not you"

"I want my old Xym back!"

"You am a twat"

"You look like a miserable moody EMO. And a twat."

"What THE FUCK DO you look like?"

"Pretties won't look at you with hair like THAT" (Yeah, like it makes a difference to the current queue of quim with a penchant for a corpulent fat old gothboy with preposterous hair, ludicrous shades and ridiculous 'tash lining up for a shot at The Xym!). Well, anything's possible. Apart from Pretties taking a liking to The Xym. That's impossible.

So, one will now have to revert to one's old stylee. Or cover it with an outlandish hat.

But what's this? My Office Pretty, my Beloved of the Thigh High Boots Of Stompiness was expecting my follicle forestry to be all Mike Scorey, and it's all vertical as usual!

Well, what a Pretty wants, a Pretty gets!

So, tweak, pull, lift, curl, tug and...

...yay! A Flock Of Seagulls in the office for my Sultry Siren! At least someone loves me. Well, my hair, anyways...

Oh well, "Haterz gonna hate", I believe is the popular parlance amongst da yoof of today is.

♪ It's not the way Xym looks

It's not the way that Xym smiles

Although there's something to them

It's not the way Xym has his hair

Xym has a certain style

He could wear that with you

If you had a photograph of Xym 

Or something to remind you

You wouldn't spend your life just fisting

He don't wear make-up

Have you seen the way that Xym dance?

It's not the evening sky

It's more the way his eyes

Are hiding behing shades

Across his great fat face

If you had a photograph of Xym 

Or something to remind you

You wouldn't spend your life just fisting ♫

or something.

Not in-synch. No, not at all...

Well.

I thought I'd pop into MySpace, copy some of the old blog over.

Bad move.

Blogs - gorn. Kaput. Fucked off. Deleted. MySpace itself - twatted over and a jumble of arse.

Not only does the home page not fit on a screen, it scrolls sideways instead of up/down... so you can't see the stuff that flows off page below.

And it's all boxes. Boxes of crap. With some "mixing desk" to play "new music from "featured artists".

What happened to MySpace? Gone is the social network, and in with the... well, modern rappitty, poppity, blippetty-boppetty bollocks that passes for "music". Lots of adverts, and encouragement to "connect" with these aforementioned Featured Artists.

It's a fecking ponced up record store flogging pap to brats pretending to be MySpace!

Ooooh, if my Lady C wasn't so enamoured of The Trousersnake, I'd go over there and give Justin a right good punch in the tits, a boot in the knackersack, and a duffing up to end all duffings up.

What was he thinking?

Oh, pop music and impressionable underage/teen x-factor brainwashed "music" fans.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Stars in The Social Network (about Facebook), buys up MySpace, and fucks it right up the arse.

What.
A.
Cock!

(As in, what a nob. As in what a prick. As in what an arse. As in what a gobshite. NOT Oh my, WHAT an impressive body part!)

GIVE ME BACK MY LOST BLOGS, YOU CUNTWEASEL!

Grrrrrrrrr.

Who like deh mango, day like deh mango...

...especially of that man is Xym, and he go in deh opposite direction!

First, an apology for the lack of bloggocks this week. Why, I have been veritably buried in activity, leaving no time to blog.

Not even spare time in me lunch break, what with having to analyze 4598 rows of data, and having 10 spreadsheets on the go, with constant calls and interruptions to check figures, change the basis of figures, waaaaah - no time at all.

And then Evenings - what evenings? Getsing home all shattered and crashing out on the sofa. And that Goths vs Food event Wednesday eve put Xym into a carnivorial coma! A mammoth¹ burger with cheese, A mammoth burger without cheese, a humoungous chicken burger, a ginormous breaded chicken burger, A overlarge sausage, onion rings, eggs, bacon, chilli, beans.... and more!

But, I'm hopefully at the end of interminably interpreting terrorism payments, and have a bit of a break today! So yay! Back to boring you with tales of....

...Flash For Cash!
In the news this morning, apparently, you can pay wanton trollops to stand by the wayside or over bridges, and as you motorvate past, open up their PVC mac and bare their nuddy charms at you! This causes you to fixate on bared breasts and explicit minge, this distracting you into a hedge so you can write the car off on the insurance. Or something.

...Furry Lipsquid!
On the telly, a host of stereotypical keep-'em-in-the-kitchen mums bragging about how "I hardly every buy Fairy Liquid!". Of course you don't you dumbass cow - you have a dishwasher! You don't need Fairy Liquid. Nor do you need your daughter to stand by you, being trained in the craft of Women's Only Work. "Here you go, Dearest little Annabel - here's your birthday present. This is Fairy Liquid. Now get your bitchass back in that kitchen and what them fucking dishes you lazy slag."

...Mountain Climbing Cephalopods!
Ph'nglui mg'lw nafh Cthulhu R'yeh wgah'nagl fhtagn indeed! Squids putting on their hiking boots and conquering the inhospitable terrain.. before dying half way up when they suddenly remember they live in water, and being half way up a cliff face with oxygen running out due to altitudinal effects isn't condusive to aquatic denizens of the deep. Dumb fishes!

...Get Fresh With Rebellion!
Steppin' out! Forget Mel & Kim - we've got Interpretive Blake's 7 Detective Dance on the way! Dempsey and Soolin dancing all over the Liberator - oh wait, Soolin came later. Dempsey and Soolin dancing all over the Scorpio!

...Tufty's Twat Tickling Telly Temptation!
Dildo Squirrel! Now, I remember someone discussion the Dildo Squirrel being on some advert, and I got sent the link this morning. However, I can't recall the nature of the vibratory aspect of the wanking woman's point. Clitoral cereal stimulation for brekkie or some such. I think it may be along the lines of:
"Sluggish"
"Err, nope,what was the other one?"
"Bloated"
"Hmmm... Dildo! Get it!"
"Maybe aminal don't get human fannynipples coz they eat the fibre nature intended. Take the All-Flange five day challenge. Simply start your day with sea-fishies All-Flange, and the crusty cuntsters of natural wheatbran fibre will help you feel revitalized inside in just five days"
"Just five days?"
"Not THAT bit!"
"Which bit?"
"Clit Bit!"
Disgusting! 

There would be more I would impart, but no time left for today! So the past will have to lounge in the past, and hope to be blogging on current events soon...

..but not too soon, as I just got a message I need to revist them thousands of data cells. Grrrrr...

¹ MAMMOTH AS IN HUGE - NOT A WOOLLY MAMMOTH. THAT WOULD BE A MOST HAIRY BURGER....
"HEY VIC, DID YOU GET THAT JOB AS AREA MANAGER?"
"NO BOB, THEY WERE LOOKING FOR A HAIRIER MANAGER!"!
!BONGOS!!

It's all lies, they're not even square...

Right,

This came up on Farcebook today.

Now, instantly I could see 40-odd squares, yet some clueless gormsters were putting waaay less than 36, which is the bloody minimum number of squares (like 1 waffle has 4 square holes, in the shape of a square, on a square waffle = 6 squares. 6 waffles = 6x6 = 36. What the fuck do they teach in schools these days?)

Anyhoo, Pedantic, insufferable, smug gits will try and act all clever like, and point out that the answer is Zero, as there are no actual squares due to deformation of potato, and therefore with no true straight lines nor 90° angles, there are no squares.

Such people need a punch in the tits for being general gobshites of smug dumbass retardery.

In the spirit of mathematical, geometrical analysis, let us presume that these waffles represent true squares. Mentally realign, and let's deduce the number of squares within.

A brief analysis in Starbucks gave me a total of 55 squares, but now I'm home, a quick stylus overlay on the iPad, and I gets at least 111. And that's without rectangles - not even rectangles in the "there are 4 sides so a rectangle is, essentially, a square" as justified by cretinous thickos.

111, Xym? How the buggery fuck do you work that out?

Yay for screen capture, for here I show you a build up of 111 squares. Apologies for lack of neatness - if I had time, I'd create a neat version in photoshop, with a nice little animatic flashing up each square.

But I gotta tart meself up for The WhatACunt tonight, so ner!