Fab times last night and today! Excellent Alt-80s night, choccy cake and cider! New Robocop! A Gingybread Latté at Starbucks on me birthday! For the first time EVER! They always run out on the day before... but not this year! And a great fat Pedros (virtually shared with this years imaginary date, my beautiful & fabulous Færie)- Bourbon beer, Bakewell tart shooter, Mexican Rice, Sauteéd spuds, salad, onion rings, and a chicken & chilli stack.
Followed by a mahoosive banana sundæ
And, the best goff birthday card ever off me Sis & Bro-In-Law!
What is it with the yoof of today, with their txtspk and non-stop Jeremy Kyle multiple partnered shagathons?
All over Facebook today, lots of celebratory statuses (statii?) of an abbreviated fashion: "Happy VD Day!" they post. Now, I'm no expert, but surely no-one's happy to be infected with some form of genital plague on their most romantic of days - and it can't bode well for your chances of sexual intercourse if you're wishing the joys of an STD on your lover. "But Xym, VD Day is Valentine's Day! Duhr!" Well, no - that would mean VD Day stands for Valentines Day Day. VD Day and Valentine's Day are two totally different things! Although one may be an inevitable outcome of the other on the Estate, leading to Jezza lie detectors.
And then there's them loved up couples, ever eager to rub a singletons face in their fæces, who don't like the fact that people take exception to a singular day of celebration. After all, these people have to suffer their Other Half 24/7, 365 days a year. They need this one, special, day to prove their love to each other by:
❥ Expecting (and not getting) Breakfast in bed ❥ Not expecting cards & presents, but despite agreeing "we're not doing Valentine's this year" THEY has bought YOU a present, and they only got a card off your mum. Or the baby/kids. or the dog. Said card being a piece of card shoved in front of the kids 2 mins ago with frightful urgency to scribble something you can pass off as cute. ❥ Expecting a romantic day together, but you'd both rather go to work & flirt with co-workers rather than actually spend the day together. And the one who didn't buy a pressie now has to spend their lunch hour racing about trying to find a present in return for the one they got, fuming in anger because (as mentioned) we agreed not to do Valentines and now they HAVE to find a present (on the pretext it was 'being saved for later') and everything's now all fucking expensive as the prices have been jacked up by greedy corporate money-grabbing Fat Cats just because it's Valentine's Day. Argument brewing: Why the fuck did they have to buy me a sodding present... and no matter what I get, they won't like it anyway. Bitching bastard! ❥ Expecting to come home to a romantic, petal strewn bath followed by a candlelit dinner, which becomes a race to get ready when you get in, coz you have to rush to the restaurant before the tables are all booked, and you have a two-for-one voucher to lavish lovingly on your lover, so you can't go anywhere else. ❥ Expecting a romantic, violin playing atmosphere, but end up droning on about work, kids, and general shit. And have a huge row, before driving home in sullen silence. ❥ Expecting a lingering smooch in the hall, before being led upstairs for slow, orgasmic 50 Shades Of Sadomasochistic Lovemaking, but just walk in and let rip a huge fart due to the meal, and you're both too stuffed to shag, so fall asleep in front of the telly,
And THEM people, those loved up smug types, look down on those who decry Valentines Day. And they post twee little admonishing messages, such as this:
Well, thank you, you inconsiderate cuntbucket! So I don't have a Valentine on Valentine's Day... but thanks for reminding me about my father's death. I feel so much more shame at maligning your romance, knowing that you're using my deceased ancestral line to boost your own ego.
Well, bully for you - you got a lover who you can only be arsed to treat lovingly once a year. Me - I don't have that luxury, and now you're using the ashes of my cremated pater to salve my loneliness to make you feel better about celebrating some religious martyr.
It's just for me & mah dawg (I won't be your dog!). We all adore-a, a dog whorer. or Dora The Sexplorer. or something. Fit as a butcher's dog? Well, if you think a butcher's dog is, like, well fit innit, gawd knows what you think about yer girlfriend's puppies!
As one young man in Louth ejaculated in disbelieving exclaim: "Well, bugger me old brown dog..."
"Mitigating, Gordon Holt said the starting point for this offence was a community order"
What sort of Justice Of That There Peace issues a community order to commence canine copulation? And how is that mitigating circumstances for raping your girlfriends pet?
I've heard of some couples allowing Dogging to 'spice up their relationship', but humping a hound is a tad extreme. Even for a Channel 4 Exposé.
Or You've Been Framed, getting £250 for his mobile movie of mounting a mastiff. or something.
Next on Jeremy Kyle... Did My Uncouth Louth Youth Sexually Satisfy Staffies In Skegness? She's desperate to find out if her boyfriend has cheated with her man's best friend. It's a life changing decision for her, and it's make-or-break time with those all impotent lie detector results coming right up after the break.
"Admit it. You had sex with her dog, didn't you. You know what I think? I think you need to man up and grow a pair. Wake up and smell the coffee, my friend. Stop cheating on her with the dog, give up the drink & drugs (cans o' piss) and get a job! Coz I'll tell you this, when this goes out, no-one will touch you with a barge-pole. You're a dirty little bestiality obsessed liar, and she's better off without you. Of course she'll be a better Dad than you - she doesn't have sex with dogs you dirty pervert!"
Stu, did you know, Stu, that a chihuahua's chuff is literally... as tight as a chihuahua's chuff...
Now, if you were a Space Monster abducting hillbillies in the forest, the last thing you want is to beam up a rapper & Billy Ray Cyrus.
Let alone force them to privately perform the crapfest that is "Achey Brakey Heart 2" with Billy Ray looking like Snake Plissken in shades.
No, you'd mutilate the alleged "musicians" by eating half their face off, ripping their knackers out, and dropping them on bemused farmers farms with the rest of the cattle.
Or abduct Miley Cyrus instead, Wrecking yer Balls with inter-species sexual experimentation (with a dose of intergalactic Rohypnol for the Betty & Barney Hill hypnotic recall later).
If anything's going to start The War Of The Worlds on Independence Day during First Contact, it's being subjected to this example of our cultural excellence. If I was on the Sulaco listening to this, I'd nuke Kentucky from orbit. It's the only way to be sure...
Irresponsible! You buy a nice packet of biscuits, and you've been left with Health & Safety food contamination issues. We've all heard about Kentucky Fried Rats & Cockroach Curries, but now there's an even worse infestation. McVities mammals!
Puppies! Kittens! Slow Lorises! Make you wonder whose droppings are found in their Dead Fly Biscuits! It's worrying how many adorable baby aminals fall into unsealed biscuit packets, let alone how lucky the mewling cuties are to be rescued from suffocation because someone just happened to fancy a chocolate hob-nob before aminal expiration. What is much more worrying is that people are seeing an adorable bundle of cute... ...then just biting its head off. "You know, I know this kitten doesn't exist. I know that when I eat it's face off, the Matrix is telling my brain that it is chocolatey and delicious. After nine years, you know what I realize? I'm fucking mental! I open a packet of biscuits and see aminals coming out. I oooh and ahhhhhhh over them, pick them up, raise them to my mouth, and BITE IT'S HEAD OFF! And then it's a biscuit again. What's wrong with me Doctor. Should I really be having fantasies that my biscuits are live, cute aminals, gazing at me with heart melting eyes, then deliberately gnawing their head off? Is that... normal? Oh, and there's a selection of strangled streetwalking slatterns in the cellar that I thought was a Spag (slag?) Bol when I was crossdressing after my dominant mother died. I say cross dressing - it was the skin of some slut I slaughtered. After I dug up her corpse. I'm sure everyone sees pussy crawling out of packets of McVities Chocolate Digestives... don't they...?"
I've heard about people being tossed off trains for lack of a ticket, but really... Now, you've all seen them there commercials for Hairball Essence, where some nymphomaniac with a follicle fetish washes her waterfall whipping tresses with the Special Shampoo and it induces a screaming orgasm. But I just seen a new one that puzzles me somewhat. It features that Nicole Skirtlifter off've The Pussyflap Trolls in a tiny toilet on train (or a plane. Pretty sure it's a train though). Now, there is a distinct lack of natural waterfalls in a small confined cubicle, let alone showerage. Heck, usually the steel bogbowl is crammed full of shitty sheets creating a blockage, so you can't even drop yer barnet in the bog for a "flush rinse".
So clearly, Lewis Hamilton's on-off bed bucket is not washing her hair with Hairball Essences - unless she had an emergency merkin crisis, and had to peel off her quimcurtain for a handwash in the sink. But surely handwashing your velcro twat toupée wouldn't give you a screaming orgasm. Unless Nic's Hole Shitsinger really loves washing her snatch syrup. No, quite clearly she's using shampoo as some labial lubricant for a slick clit flick, bringing herself off on a train full of commuters and screaming as she's coming round the mountain. Or something. I know sex sells, but I'm not buying shampoo just because it compels you to wank impulsively in public transportation toilets.
Having just returned to the house, I put the telly on and it defaulted to BBC One & Sunday Bitchin'. A show all about food & 'celebs'.
Now, they had that Welsh rare bint off of We Are Scientits in a binkinini being slathered in paint, so I though I'd leave that on whilst I caught up on the hundreds of FB posts & notifications that suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
How comes that always happens - facebook is like a tumbleweeded dust bowl for days, and as soon as something good comes on, such as a scantily clad scientit songstress bring besplattered with smeary substances, Facebook goes manic!
Anyhoo, as I trawled through and caught up on all the goss (not Matt & Luke), some 'celeb' was outed as the voice of Brains in the new Thunderbirds next year.
So the presenter asked if he could do the Brains voice.
And Brains is now Asian! Confirmed by Brains Voice Man, it's now Bangalore Brains :(
Now, I'm familiar with outsourcing - a model used by managerial fucktards to somehow cut costs on the basis that 1 Asian costs a third the cost of a local employee, so why not make the employee redundant, split that role into 6-8 components, allocate 6 Asians per component, stretch a 5 minute job into 5 weeks, fuck it up, waste more time arguing over delivery, spend 2 weeks redoing the work, then have a local employee ditch the lot and redo it in 5 mins.
And then scrap the project a week before live.
And now they've applied that model to International Rescue!
"Ok, we have a collapsed mineshaft - we need sone form of tunneling device. Get Brains on the phone!"
"Hello, my name is Fred. How can I be giving you the pleasures today?"
"Brains, we need a massive drill boring device"
"For sure, for sure, Do you have a work order?"
"No, it's part of contract!"
"Many excusings please. Ah, we will be needings 6 resources to draw up a Requirement Document then another 8 to Peer Review it, then it will have to go to my manager for approval. If accepted, we will then send to our 10-man design team to draft up a a Technical Specification, which will be Quality Assessed in the weekly Projects And Enhancements meeting. If accepted, it will be presented for sign off by each if the 12 areas affected. It will then be added to the flightplan with a view to getting a drill request build request to our China sub-contractor. They will give us an ETA for delivery,, from which we can commission 14 test phases. On sign-off of testing, we will then deliver a team of military men marching in formation, as you just asked for a boring drill, and not a drill to tunnel. We will argue we delivered exactly what you asked for, so fuck you if we fuck it up. Just send us lots of money and end up building it yourself. Everybody wins!"
"Why, that sounds perfect. Aren't efficiency savings brilliant!"
See, if I was in charge if the Thunderbirds reboot, I'd've cast Fuzzbox! It'd be all modern, what with the Tracy sisters. Apart from Brains who wasn't a Tracy, but he was a scientist, so you could have the Welsh Rare Bint from Wee On Scientists Tits instead!
And I'd call it Binternational Rescue too!
So, something for everyone then! Strong, female leads to empower Teh Pretties, and for us blokes - exotic Tracy Island with Vix's long, long bronzed legs. AND the We Are Scientits bird in a bikini as Brains!
