12 Hates of Xmas [Part 1]

It's that time of year again, not only is Christmas quickly sneaking up on us like a randy rapist but it's time for yet another Blog about why I hate Christmas. I have before taken upon myself to explain how Christmas is a now a Capitalist-driven celebration. This time I've compiled a list of 12 things I hate, it's a not-so-clever play on the 12 Days of Christmas.

1) Christmas Songs
“I wish it could be Christmas everydaayyyyyyyyyy!” - Roy Wood, Wizzard
“I wish Christmas songs would fuck off!” - Ben Broughton, Cunt

2) Carol Singers
Luckily this isn't something I have experienced many times in my life. You could say I've had good fortune when it comes to Carol Singers, until I explain that this 'good fortune' comes about because of a bad fortune; where I live. I tend not to live in what the majority of people would call a 'nice area', which is extremely beneficial when it comes to avoiding Carol Singers as they avoid the street I live on in fear of being stabbed in the throat with a syringe by some smack-head. That means the smack-head has less victims to choose from, that in turn is bad for me, as I may now get stabbed. It's all swings and roundabouts.

Carol Singers are basically beggars, that attempt to torture you into giving them money just so they'll get off your property. Not only that, but as I have just started I hate Christmas songs, this includes carols, and when I'm in the solitude of my own home I can avoid these songs until some tone deaf shit stains appear on my door step.

3) Shopping
The most important part of Christmas, despite what those deluded Christians may think. Shopping is hell anyway, but doing it around this time of year is worse. Stores and shopping centres are like a cross between a mosh pit and a cattle market. I'd advise anyone attempting to go shopping to wear a full body protect – American football style – and just charge your way through the crowds.

4) Wrapping Gifts
I hate wrapping paper. It is the most pointless creation that human kind ever dreamt up. Eventually almost everything ends up in the bin, but wrapping paper is destined for the bin as soon as it is purchased. Yeah, it'll cling to a gift for a while but once Christmas day rolls around it's in the bin and forgotten about, pointless. My girlfriend was upset this year upon discovering that I have wrapped her gifts in the same wrapping paper I used for her birthday gifts. Apparently it “shows I don't care”. But in my eyes it shows I do care about the environment and my financial situation – it was smart of me to save that wrapping paper, as it was very expensive [bought it from WHSmiths the morning of my girlfriend's birthday, as she slept; I'm boyfriend of the year material].

5) 'Time Off' Work
People often look forward to work because they will be receiving time off of work, this must be some sort of hang-up from school days, as most jobs these days don't receive much time off. For example anyone working in retail, pubs, restaurants, cinema … basically any job dealing with the public will probably only have Christmas day off and maybe Boxing day if they are lucky. I'm on of these people. A lot of companies will rearrange your hours too, so it Christmas falls on a day you're supposed to work, you'll work another day instead. Christmas is stressful, you need more than one poxy day off.

6) Christmas Films
Christmas films are shit. Show me a good Christmas film and I'll show you a person that has terrible taste in films. But every-year some family member will make a destined-to-fail attempt at gathering everyone around the idiot box to watch Home Alone 67 or Santa Claus: The Movie for the millionth time. This will, of course, always lead to a fist fight – my grandma got put in a coma last year, but to be fair my brother did warn her twice! Christmas films always end on a happy note, which is a total contradiction to what is taking place in most homes, because while we love our families we hate being forced to spend time with them.

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Update: [03 Jan 2011] I did intend to come with a Part 2 to this, detailing numbers 7-12, but as time ran out, I can no longer be arsed. I have the list but not in order and no reasons, so I may aswell save it until Xmas 2011, plenty of time for me to put it off until 24th Dec 2011.

X-Cuses, X-Cuses

I don't like ITV's popular television show The X-Factor. To me it's a glorified karaoke contest that only exists to draw in millions of mindless drones to call premium rate phone-lines to vote for which pathetic cretin they prefer.

Yet while the show itself is easy to avoid like a decrepit blind-man begging in the street the popularity of it and even more the 'controversy' surrounding it, isn't [easy to avoid]. It's splashed across the tabloid pages on a daily basis like a young teens jizzum (in this metaphor the young teen is unable to acquire real porn so his only porn outlet is Page 3 Girls – the metaphor works, I just have to explain it, therefore it doesn't). And people claim it's a fix, which gives clever newspaper editors the chance to use the shows “X” logo in the word 'fix' – they do this at any chance they can when a story relates to The X-Factor. I've seen it some many times I was even tempted to create a my own tabloid style headline for this post, incorporating the “X” into 'X-Cuses, X-Cuses'.

I obviously have something to say about this whole thing or I wouldn't have spent any of my precious time wasting time here. So here I go... The X-Factor is not a fix. Well not how you possibly think it is.

Firstly, people think that somehow the phone votes could not be counted correctly. That is absolutely fucking stupid. The X-Factor is probably ITV's biggest shows and after last years [I think it was last year] controversy surrounding numerous ITV shows relating to phone-in competitions, ITV would never risk the chance of that happening again. It would damage The X-Factor's reputation to a point were it wouldn't be able to recover. I wish that would happen, but sadly I think a few people up at ITV may have a couple of braincells to rub together to prevent such actions taking place as a way to save such a big money earner.

Secondly, when will ex-X-contestants [lol] stop complaining to newspapers once they've left the show? As I write this [Tuesday 7^th December 2010], the latest loser Big Fat Old Woman is on front of The Mirror claiming she was kicked off because it was a fix. Don't be a fucking sore loser Big Fat Old Woman! Just take the rejection, you're big, fat and ugly, you must be used to receiving rejection by now. Plus, how two-faced of you to claim such a thing? If it wasn't for the very show you are now slagging off you'd still be working at Tesco. Biting the hand that feeds you exposes you as the ungrateful bitch you are.

Thirdly, lots of people are wondering why Big Fat Foreign Weirdo managed to stay in the competition so long. It must have been a fix for that colossal fuck-tard to remain in for so long. There's a simple explanation to this; people voted for him. I know, it's a real shocker! Although the people that voted for him are probably those that feel disenfranchised by the Simon Cowell-driven tripe that is pumped into our televisions at a never-ending pace. The truth is, lots of people are starting to turn on The X-Factor and Britain's Got Talent and the puppets they produce. Rage Against the Machine having the Christmas number one last year is proof of that. People probably voted for Big Fat Foreign Weirdo in an attempt to highlight the fact that these shows are nothing more than a popularity contest. I personally wish he had won just so loyal followers of the show started to take note that it has ran it course.

Fourthly, will people get this idea out of their heads that the judges are always fighting amongst themselves. Please people! Do you think they really give a shit if their act wins in the end? Win, loose or draw, they are all laughing all the way to the bank. I'm tired of seeing headlines claiming that it's all war backstage. I highly doubt it. They're probably not BBFs, but they're definitely not enemies like newspapers and women's magazines claim.

Lastly, if The X-Factor was/is fixed, it'd be in a much simpler way. You see all reality show 'stars' are made or broken by one thing, it's not talent, it's editing. Editing the vital tool that makes or breaks careers in reality shows. That's why most people won Big Brother or I'm a Celebrity... because these shows are edited then presented to the public to consume. You see what they want you to see, you believe what they want you to believe, you vote for who they want you to vote for. These people didn't get themselves where they are today by mistake, they know how to manipulate the general public into buying into a singer using the media at their disposal, that's the only way The X-Factor could possibly be fixed, in my opinion.

Did You Know...? Vol. 1

In my years on this Earth I have accumulated knowledge as if it was knowledge was a liquid and my mind was a sponge.

… although Hitler was behind the death of so many Jews, he himself kept Kosher.

… the energy drink Red Bull gets it's name from a Native American ritual of drinking a bull's urine (that is naturally red/pink in colour). It was believed to give individuals more energy.

… media tycoon Rupert Murdoch was born with both male and female genitalia.

… French people share 54.8% of their DNA with sausages.

… if an individual sneezes more than 13 times (on average) in a row, the effect it has on the body will cause the bowels and bladder to empty.

… left-handed people are twice as likely to get struck by lightening.

… 500 paracetamol contain the same amount of alcohol as a litre of Vodka.

… no Egyptian has ever died of cancer.

… Chinese citizens that speak Cantonese rather than Mandarin are more likely to open a Chinese takeaway in London, while in Liverpool it is the other way around.

… a Plymouth man once left a six pack of eggs in his fridge then he went on a two week holiday, he returned home to discover five ostriches and a lizard in his fridge, he sued the egg company for the price of his (now) broken fridge and it's contents (eaten by the birds and lizard).

… ink meant for PC Printers can be used to run your car, but only if your car's original paint colour was black or cyan.

… in his will Michael Jackson left a collection of his own toenails to close friend David Guest.

… recently a pubic hair that was believed to belong to the Queen sold for £25,000 on eBay, it was later discovered that the hair actually belonged to Princess Diana's favourite cat, the price of it has since increased to £200,000.

… the world record for most wanks in a day (24 hours) is currently set at 586, although the record holder snapped his banjo on the 426^th attempt.

… ghosts are real.

… when identical twins are born, the one that is born first is most likely to achieve more in life, while the other is more likely to become a dictator.

… there never was a Vietnamese War, it was just a prank that got very out of hand.

… Africa is a country not a continent.

… all English sterling coins will have to be enlarged by 65% when Prince Charles becomes King to accommodate enough room for his nose.

… the illegal drug crystal meth is naturally present in the stomach lining of robins and crows.

… the popular ITV day-time TV show Loose Women, was sued by a pornographer after the show had the same title of one of his films that was dedicated to porn-actresses with huge gaping vaginas. ITV settled out of court.

… on average the amount of blood a woman looses in her life due to periods could fill 500 swimming pools.

… Kim Jong-il is North Korea's raining badminton champion and has been for the last 16 years.

… Turkey's were created when a mad scientist crossed a chicken with a gorilla.

… as a youth Robert Mugabe was a popular dance hall DJ in Birmingham.

… a zoo in Germany has been using plastic surgery on male pandas by enlarging their penises in an attempt to aid them in mating. So far it has been a success.

… it is illegal to have sex in cupboard in Wales.

… a great white shark can live out of the ocean, on dry land for up to four days.

Job Interview

I've only ever had two job interviews in my life; one that was years and years ago, and one the other day. I can't remember the first one much, drink and drugs have eroded those memories, thankfully. But as of late I've been detoxing [because of financial reasons, I haven't matured – and don't intend to] so my most recent interview is fresh in my mind … and seeing as it was only two days ago it probably should be.

Job interviews are hard, like a virgin's penis in a strip-club. It's difficult to go that long without swearing and suppressing the real me [a complete cunt]. I spend most of my time in the company of people that know me, so my attitude, language and cuntishness [Shakespeare made up words, so I'm having a crack] aren't a problem. They're all part of my 'charm' in the eyes of my comrades/friends/family members. But when I'm in the presence of someone new I have to over analyse every sentence I'm about to utter to make sure it's suitable for the situation. Of course in a job interview this is hard, as I'm expected to seem professional and be up to the challenge of answering these questions in a timely manner.

It's important to gloss over certain details in job interviews too. For example; in the interview I had the other day the interviewer asked; “What do you get up to outside of work?” A simple question, the simple answer is; “Drinking large quantities of alcohol, smoking marijuana, illegally downloading films/music and writing hate-filled rants on random subjects from Religion to Capitalism.” As I'd bothered to shower, iron a shirt and wear a suit for this interview [yes, I did “Suit Up!”], I wasn't going to say that. Instead my mind went into a spasm attempting to grasp at any half-believable lie I could spout out of my mouth. In the end I went with; “Go out with my girlfriend, to the cinema or a meal, maybe sometimes to the pub for a drink.” I think in the confusion I actually said 'girlfriends' instead of 'girlfriend', making me look like some ubber-cool mack-daddy-pimp [the proof that I'm not an ubber-cool mack-daddy-pimp, is in the fact I've just written 'ubber-cool mack-daddy-pimp'].

Of course in the interview the subject matter of my University studies [; Media Studies] came up. I've talked about this many times before with people and it always seems to go down the same way. I tell people the aspects I liked; writing, print production [magazine/website design] and the aspects I wasn't too fond on; broadcast production [making a TV show] and all that boring shit [semiotics – don't bother researching it, unless you're an insomniac, because semiotics is the cure]. Then people ask what I'd like to do with what I learned, my answer is; “I'd like to write.” to which they always respond; “So you want to be a journalist?” [honestly, 100% of the time this is the follow up question] to which I have to say; “No, I'd like to write for TV, radio or maybe a magazine.” This is the point when facial expressions change. When people think I'm going to be a journalist they seem filled with hope for me, like there's a chance I could actually do it, when I shoot that idea down and explain my actual dreams, people seem to dismiss me as some kind of lunatic. It's like they think anyone can be a journalist, just walk into a newspaper's head office, get a job and start churning out propaganda for whichever tabloid/broadsheet you've aligned yourself with. But when I express my ambition to write for TV people assume I'm just some fucking idiot that has no idea what the fuck I'm chatting about. This of course happened in the interview. There was a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. The interviewer than asked me if I'd had anything published, I haven't but I was tempted to tell her about My Blog, then I quickly decided not to mention it. Although I'm extremely proud of my Blog, the content of it is not going to appeal to a future employer.

The fact is interviews are all about talking yourself up, making yourself out to be better than anyone else applying for the job, acting like your shit doesn't stink. Well guess what; my shit does stink. I've never been one for bigging myself up. I'm more about tearing other people down to the point that they're so low I just seem better because I'm still at the same level. There were plenty of applicants for this job I was going for. If the interview had been conducted in a room with everyone that applied, I'd have happily torn them all to pieces to make myself out to be the best one for the job. But sadly it doesn't work that way, instead the biggest shit talker will more than likely get the position. But congratulations to them, because they have learned how to play the game.

Usually I'd compile a list of helpful tips to aid anyone in interviewing techniques, but sadly I have no knowledge of this subject matter, well not enough to put a list together. So you're on your own, sorry.

Scient-LOL-ogy [An Idiot's Guide]

What is Scientology all about? I don't know and I can't be bothered to research it either, but from what I can gather it's a type of Religion/Cult that's all about aliens or some-type of shit like that. Despite this fact I'm still going to write a rant about it anyway because that's the kind of stubborn idiot I am.

It seems that Scientology is much bigger in America when compared to England, much like obesity and school shootings [yeah, I went for an American's are fat joke – lame, yet still funny]. There's massive interest in Scientology because a lot of Hollywood stars are involved in the the Religion/Cult. For example most of my favourite shows (past and present) feature Scientologists; That '70s Show, My Name is Earl, Malcolm in the Middle, South Park [but everyone knew that – it's safe to say around 87.6% of what I 'know' about Scientology comes from that infamous episode] and even The Simpsons! I thought the stereotype was that Jews ran Hollywood, seems there may have been a shift. But what is so appealing about Scientology? Again, I have no idea, I have yet to be invited to a Scientology party. But that's fine by me, because I get invited to loads of parties everyday and I don't really give a fuck, because I don't need a Religion/Cult to be cool – I have a Blog, with 19 followers! I am a Religion/Cult!

Maybe this is what is fuelling the interest in Scientology. The majority of the general public is infatuated with what celebrities do. Even I am to a certain degree, and while I don't give a shit about Cheryl Cole [-can't remember her actual surname] changing her hair colour, if you present me with a famous person I have a connection with I become interested. Take Will Smith for example, I've grown up with Will Smith [not out in Philly] being in my life from as early as I can remember. The Fresh Prince of Bel Air taught me how to be cool and also how to structure jokes to offend fat or short African-Americans that happen to be my uncle or my cousin. I watched Will Smith grow from a rapper to a sitcom actor to the biggest movie star in the world. And I will gladly admit that he is the one person on this Earth that is cooler than me. Yet when I read online that he is interested in Scientology I'm suddenly wondering what the big deal is. If Will Smith is on board, Scientology is going to be huge. Of course the biggest poster boy for Scientology is Tom Cruise but to be fair I've never given a shit about Tom Cruise or any of his work. I don't care if he puts in name to a movie cast, if he wants to impress me he should put his name to a suicide note – then I'd be interested.

But I wonder why so many famous people are involved with Scientology. Maybe it's just a new fad for them. I suppose you have a choice of either taking up Scientology or adopting a foreign baby if you're living that lifestyle. Maybe soon enough both these fads will die out and be replaced by something else like having a pet polar bear and always wearing roller-skates, when that day roles around all these actors will dump Scientology and get rid of their 'children', so all these unwanted orphans will be forced to live in abandoned Scientology places of worship. The high life, it's so fickle.

Scientology has come under fire from critics, with some going as fair as saying that brainwashing is involved. To be honest, brainwashing gullible Yanks is like fastening Velcro shoes [I was going to say tying your laces, but then I made it even simpler]. Criticisms come at L. Ron Hubbard; the creator of Scientology. For some reason people think because this man wrote 138 novels that mainly went along the lines of science fiction or adventure, he could have possibly just made the whole story behind Scientology up! You know that story of Xenu the Galactic Confederacy dictator that bought loads of his people to Earth over 75 million years ago... Anyway, some cynical critics believe that the science fiction writer could have made that all up!?

To be fair it seems as it is perfectly fine to throw insults at Scientology, because from the outside looking in it's absolutely ridiculous the thought that we were all planted her by some alien being. But when you step back and compare it to religions we have grown up with, religions that are well established it's no more crazy than any of them. An invisible deity that watches over our every move and every thought – we're just so desensitised to the idea we stop seeing it for what it is; fucking insane. In this respect Scientology is no different from any other religious sect, if people choose to believe in something because it fills a gap in their life, they can. Who are we to say which idiotic belief is more moronic than another? It is my personal opinion that the chance of there being an alien existence dramatically outweighs the possibility of there being an omnipotent being. I'm not saying this alien being will be intelligent, I'm just saying there must be some biological life form on another planet in our universe.

Overall, Scientology is one of the few religions that doesn't inflict wars on other religions, as far as I know they don't make it a habit of slaughtering individuals that hold alternate beliefs. If Scientology is just some type of hustle that parts gullible Hollywood stars with their stacks of dollars, it's doing no real harm to anyone.

Topic Requested by David Batchelor

In the end I did try to educate myself on some aspects of Scientology, I even came across some Wikipedia pages under the ending; 'Scientology versus the Internet' one of those pages was; 'Church of Scientology editing on Wikipedia', although when I went to view it, it was completely empty.

Why I Hate … Going to the Cinema

I absolutely love films. Watching films is one of my few hobbies that is not going to be detrimental to my health later in life. Although I'm not a fan of going to the cinema.

My beef doesn't stem from the extortionate prices you have to pay for snacks, even though it is financially crippling. Yes, I get irked at the amount of adverts and trailers that seem to draw out for an eternity before the feature film, yet not enough to actually hate the cinema for that reason. My problem lays with the audience. The fucking audience!

Recently I went to see Paranormal Activity 2, I liked the first film and found it thoroughly spooky and creepy so I was quite looking forward to seeing the sequel. Apparently I wasn't the only one as the cinema was heaving. Now, I'd deluded myself into thinking that as everyone had paid to see this film, that everyone would simply watch the film... what an idiot I am.

It seems as if people are unable to shut the fuck up for just over a hour. I expected some noise, it's a film that sets out to make the audience jump, after all, so a few gasps or utters of “that shit me up”, would have been fine. Yet, that's not all I got.

Paranormal Activity 2 is a film that slowly builds up to a scene that will make its audience jump throughout. It's not a surprise-fest, it slowly dupes you in with run-of-the-mill family activities [which form to give you the general storyline], then night comes and something freaky takes place. Simple, although not simple enough for some people. Every time the movie slowed its pace, the girl sat next to me would complain; “This is boring...” as her phone continued to get text messages [it was on vibrate – so still kind of distracting]. Yet it wasn't boring when she was absolutely shitting herself at the scary parts. I felt like turning to her and screaming in her face; “If you find it boring go sit outside and text your mates, otherwise just SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I suppose I could have just strangled her to death then claimed I was possessed by a demon, which would have been perfectly fitting for the situation we were in. I love irony.

The major problem with the cinema was the audience. It was filled with people barely over 15, out with their mates. So they had to put on an act, like they weren't scared as to not lose face. If I'm watching a film, I'm getting invested in it, that is the only way to watch a film in my mind. If I don't care for the characters or the story there's no point in watching. Doing this provokes emotion, whether it be fear, sorrow or joy. The problem with these runts that came to the same showing as me is that they fully understand that this film will scare them and to be scared of something will make them out to be a pussy. So they have to detach themselves from the film be making silly jokes or laughing, which in turn enrages me and most of the other sensible people.

And when exactly did it become socially acceptable to start blurting out what you think is going to happen next? “Oh, now I think she's going to go upstairs and ...” Shut the fuck up. I don't care what you think is going to happen. You're a fucking moron, there's a reason you're not making millions of dollars in Hollywood and that reason; YOU'RE A FUCKING MORON. We all have our own speculations about what is going to take place, we just keep them to ourselves, do you know why? Because people are watching a fucking film! I didn't realise Paranormal Activity 2 came with 'idiot commentary' – it's a like director's commentary, but has no fucking point or merit.

The film also uses text at the begin and end, a normal device used by many films to give the feeling that it's genuine. For example at the beginning it says [something to the effect of]; “Dedicated to the Police Officers that lost their lives.” and at the end it says “[so-and-so's] whereabouts are not known”. Which provoked a couple of people to say things along the lines of; “They're trying to make it out to be real!” or “They're acting as if it's a true story!” This text [at the start and end] have been used thousands of times in films. It's like watching Star Wars, and as the text scrolls at the beginning of the feature; “In a galaxy far, far away...” someone stands up and shouts; “They're trying to make this out to be real. There's no scientific proof that aliens exist … this is bullshit. It's not a true story!”

Whatever happen to Cinema Etiquette? [As regular readers know] I'm an avid fan of downloading and after my recent experience at the cinema, in the future I'll be more inclined to download a recent release than go to the cinema. I'll trade the big screen with it's brilliant surround sound for my small PC monitor and one working speaker, at least I can watch the film in peace … and smoke a spliff while doing it. If this type of behaviour at the cinema continues it will only get worse. Soon enough people will be holding important board meetings in the cinema as you attempt to watch Paranormal Activity 3, by Paranormal Activity 4 audience members will be spit-roasting a pig, by Paranormal Activity 5 there'll probably be a section of the cinema dedicated to a rave with a DJ blasting out shitty dub-step tunes as ravers pop ecstasy. To ease this, cinema's must start some kind of screening process for audience members. Maybe adding a couple of bouncers along the aisles that will quickly turf out any ne’er-do-wells that are chatting, playing with their phones or breathing too loudly.

Overall it seems a little unfair to blast the cinema going experience just because of the audience, but fuck it. These immature shit stains on society really pissed me off. I'm starting to see now why 'the youth' is hated so much. Clearly there needs to be a massive rise in teenagers getting stabbed and if they ever ruin another cinema going experience for me again, there fucking will be.

A Fare Trade

In the mist of a smoky haze due to endless about of marijuana and incense sticks being burned over the duration of the day sits Jack; a 21 year old, drug dealer. He sits transfixed to Call of Duty, only satisfied with head-shots, nothing else will do. The sound of his doorbell rings throughout the house, Jack doesn't acknowledge it and stays entranced by his soaring death-toll. Some murmurers can be made out over the sound of rapid gun fire blasting out from the TV speakers, then slow thuds as someone walks upstairs, finally there's a knock on Jack's door.

“Come in,” Jack shouts, “unless you're the police, in that case fuck off, please.” without glancing away from the game for even a nanosecond.
A young lad enters, around the same age as Jack, but with a massively contrasting demeanour; his hair is slicked back, his clothes are freshly pressed, he's a very presentable young man, the type of guy over-protective parents wish their daughters would eventually marry.

”I am Joshua,” he says gently, “your house-mate let me in.” Joshua speaks with an utterly middle-class accent, pronouncing every word perfectly. He has one of those voices that makes a working-class person want to punch him square in the face for no reason other than the annoying tone that oozes out of his posh cake-hole. Joshua looks over the bedroom he has just entered, seemingly disgusted by the state of it. He slowly makes his way over to Jack, cautiously stepping by plates encrusted in undistinguishable meals dating back weeks and balled up tissue paper filled with expelled love juice. “I am under the impression that you sell...” Joshua pauses for a moment, unsure of how to finish off the sentence, he braces himself, and whispers; “... marijuana.”
“You would be correct in your assumption”, says Jack in a slightly mocking tone. Joshua doesn't pick up on this fact.
“How wonderful, well I would like to purchase some please.”
“OK, what are you after?” asks Jack, eyes still glued to the massacre unfolding on his television screen.
“Marijuana, please.” responds Joshua, completely misunderstanding the question.
“No, what weight are you after, as in; how much?”
“Oh heavens,” Joshua says as he wrestles his wallet from his back pocket, opens it to inspect the wod of cash inside, “I' would like to spend £40, please.”
“So it's a quart you're after?”
“Yes please, a quart, please.”
“OK mate, just give me a … ” Jack trails off, “YOU FUCKING CUNT!” he bellows.

Joshua almost jumps out of his skin, he quickly scans the room again and attempts to configure the safest and fastest escape route from Jack's city skip of a bedroom. Jack frantically bashes the buttons on his Playstation pad to no avail, he tosses the pad to his floor, it knocks over a nearby bong and filthy bong water gathers in a puddle on his carpet. Jack stands and turns to look at Joshua.
“So it's a quart, then mate?”
Joshua takes a deep breath, “Yes, please.”

Jack makes his way over to his set of drawers that are buried under a pile of clothes, clearly he may have mastered Call of Duty but the complexed understanding of how drawers work is beyond him. He slides open the top draw and begins to rummage around until he pulls out a bag of weed. He turns and passes it to Joshua. Joshua begins to inspect the bag, then he pulls out a handful of jiffy bags himself, all of which are empty and bundles them into Jack's palm.
“I only take cash, mate.” Jack says, slightly bemused by Joshua's actions.
“Oh, yes, of course. But I simply thought that these would be beneficial to you, in your line of work. You could re-use them, recycle them even, as a way to help save the Earth.” Joshua explains.
“OK mate. I'll keep that in mind, I'll just add them to my recycling centre.” Jack says as he tosses the bags onto an already over flowing bin.

Joshua continues to inspect the bag. Feeling as if the deal is not actually going to happen Jack explains that the quality of the weed is second to none.
“It's some of the best stuff I've had in for a long time. Guaranteed to get you high. It's Thai Stick.” he says, with all the gusto of a desperate second hand car salesman.
“It does seem to be some of the finest marijuana I have come across to date,” Joshua pauses, as if he's mustering up the courage to ask something, “I was just wondering, is it really from Thailand?”

Jack looks bemused by the question, it's not the type of question he's used to hearing, usually customers want to know the weight and that's about it. Drug dealing is simple, it's all supply and demand, customer services doesn't really come into it that often.
“I'm unsure, mate. I just get it from my guy, who gets it from someone else. It's best to not go around asking questions when you're dealing with drugs.”
“Oh, I see, so you would not know if it was organic?” asks Joshua.
“It's is orgasmic, mate, I can guarantee that.”
“No, you seem to have misunderstood; is it organic? Is it grown without pesticides? I'm currently on an all organic diet and that includes my drugs too.”
Clearly getting slightly irked by the onslaught of questioning, Jack finally folds; “I'll just call up my contact, he'll know.”

Jack begins to look around for his phone, by kicking up bits of rubbish scattered around his room, in the end he unearths it from under an overturned ashtray. He picks it, scrolls through his phone book and hits call.
“Hey, it's Jack. I have a customer here that wants to know about the Thai Stick, I've got in.”
“What the fuck does he wanna know?” utters Jack's contact, luckily not loud enough for Joshua to hear.
“He's askin' if it's organic?”
“You fuckin' what? Tell the cunt to go suck some organic balls!” screams the voice.
“Alright mate,” says Jack, with a smile on his face.

Jack hangs up the phone and pushes it into his pocket. He puts a fake smile on his face.
“He clarified the situation perfectly, you have nothing to worry about, it's organic.” lies Jack.
“That is a weight off of my shoulders.”

Joshua begins to make his way to the door and Jack feels revealed that this ordeal is almost at an end. Before reaching the door Joshua stops.
“I was just wondering, by any chance do you sell cocaine?” asks Joshua.
“Well... ” says Jack, before he draws out a speech that he's probably said a million time before, “... I don't usually, but I do happen to have some in at the minute, one bag left, in fact. It'd be another £40 though.”
It's a well known fact that if you fool the customer into believing they're getting the last deal they'll take it, as this opportunity may not arise again.
“That is perfectly fine.” agrees Joshua as he once again begins to tangle with his wallet.
Jack goes back to the dresser, this time he delves into the bottom drawer and rummages around, finally retrieving a wrap of coke. The two exchange the money and the drugs.
“Oh, and don't worry mate.” says Jack, fearing he knows what's coming, “That coke is most definitively organic.”
“That is both brilliant and reassuring to know.” says Joshua.
Jack places his hand on Joshua's shoulder and slowly guides him to his bedroom door.
“I hope you enjoy the drugs.” he says as he opens the door for his customer and slowly guides him over the threshold.
“Oh, just one more inquiry,” Joshua spouts, Jack's face drops instantly, “is this cocaine fairtrade?”
“Well, I supply the drugs, you supply the money, then we trade. I'd say that was more than fair.”
Interrupting, Joshua states; “Oh heavens, I think you may have misunderstood the question …”
Jack swings the door shut, leaving Joshua in the hall. He then bolts it.
“Thanks, come again soon.” Jack shouts at the door.

Why I Hate … LoveFilm.com

I'm full of hate that I can easily dispense on anyone or anything that has provoked me to distribute it out. I don't simply hate for no reason. So what is it that LoveFilm has done to deserve being added to my ever increasing shit list? Settle down and let me paint the picture.

The other day, I was walking through Westfield (the shopping centre/mall in Derby – which I coincidently hate too, but that's another story) when I was stopped by a gentleman working for LoveFilm. He approached me and my girlfriend with the question; “Do you two like films?” Which is such a retarded question, in the first place; what next; “Do you like music?”, “Do you breathe?”, “Was you born?” - who possibly says no to that question? Everyone likes films, everyone watches films – apart from maybe alzheimer's patients, but they have a valid reason, seeing as by the time the final scene rolls around they have no idea what the fuck is happening and how the protagonist ended up in that situation. They probably can't remember who the protagonist is. [I feel bad making fun of alzheimer's, it would be really ironic if I got it, but I assume I wouldn't get the irony having forgot making fun of it] So I choose to answer the question with; “Yea” - that was Mistake #1, I should have carried on walking and ignored the guy, just like I do with homeless people and old women that have slipped on ice.

The guy went on to explain that LoveFilm was offering a deal; “Pay for one month, get the next month free”. I thought seeing as he'd pulled us in, I'd at least let him talk for a bit to be polite. This was Mistake #2. I'm hardly ever polite, it takes too much energy and it seems whenever I am polite I end up getting fucked over! So he's going on and on … then he says “It's only £4.99.” This was my chance to get out and I went on to explain that I can't afford that as I only have 50 quid in my bank account which is reserved for an upcoming phone bill – not actually a lie, it was the truth. To which he responded by saying that no money would come out of my bank account until I ordered a film. Which was a relief as I thought I could just sign up for the shit and not use it so I didn't have to pay. I don't need to be signed up to LoveFilm anyway! The only use I can think for LoveFilm is for browsing it's catalogue, then when I see a film I want to watch, I would then 'copy' the title, nip over to a torrent site (such as isohunt.com), 'paste' in the film title, click 'search' and begin to download the film. No need to wait for the postman. No need to pay. Don't need a month free, because it's all fucking free!

The guy went on to explain that we would be able to watch TV shows online too. The one's he actually mentioned were; Desperate Housewives and The Inbetweeners. How does LoveFilm get these exclusives? That you can get nowhere else online? 4OD eat your heart out. [That was sarcasm, by the way, not always easy to pick up on when in written form]

The guy then went on to show us the website and how to use it. Bringing up a random film; Orphan and explaining that all you have to go is click 'rent' and it'll be posted to my door. Simple.

Eventually it all got wrapped up and before we left he gave my girlfriend a card with the promotion code on it so that she could have buy one month have one free [once mine had ran out], which seemed nice of him. But now looking back it wasn't. It's not as if he's doing us a favour, that's the exact same deal I got. She's entitled to that! Me and her are two separate people, it's not as if we're one entity! Is this yet another draw back of being in a couple? That offers only apply to you as a pair?

So as we were walking off, my girlfriend says; “You realise he's just ordered you that film?” to which I responded; “No, he hasn't.” She's usually mistaken and I'm always right, so I thought nothing of it. Then yesterday, I got an email from LoveFilm informing me that the DVD I'd ordered was on the way! A DVD I didn't want! Which in turn triggered off my account with LoveFilm (that I didn't want or need), which in turn took £4.99 out of my bank account, which in turn took me over my overdraft by £5.00, so now the bank has a reason to rape me. LoveFilm has lead to me getting raped by my bank! Now that's a valid reason for hating LoveFilm!

So I went online trying to find some contact information for LoveFilm so I can write them a rant filled email explaining how they've fucked me over. But surprisingly I wasn't able to come across an email address. I was able to find a telephone number. So I thought I could give them a call and really lay into them until I saw; “Calls cost £1.50 a minute”! So in order for me to complain about how they lead to me getting raped I'd have to get financially raped again! LoveFilm is all about raping people! True story!

I should really be hating the guy that fucking ordered a film that I didn't want without my permission. But I'm assuming he got the job because he's one of those cunts that suckers people in. I bet the Nazi's had people like him getting innocent Germans to sign up for the S.S. and Hitler Youth. He's much like those Army guys that try to get people to sign up for the Forces by selling all the good points; you'll make money, you'll get to see the world … yet glossing over the fact that people will be trying to shoot your fucking brains out at every opportunity.

I would like to wrap up by saying; Fuck LoveFilm and anyone that works for them, and anyone that's related to anyone that works for them and anyone that's friends with anyone that works for them and anyone that may know someone that's friends with someone else that works for them.

I'm off to stick my cock in the hole of the Orphan DVD that came through my door this morning, bye!

Good job I added 'DVD' to that last sentence.

Coining Ways to Save the Flipping World

The world is over populated. Just peer out your window and look at them all, there’s millions, bloody clogging up everything; the street, the pub, the shops, the prisons, the schools, the hospitals … basically everywhere you will find them; people! Bloody people, with their skin, beliefs, careers, families and lives! I've never been a fan of people. Yeah, there's a handful of them that I wouldn't slaughter if push came to shove, but for the most part you have to admit that they are quite shit. I've spent the majority of my existence adopting inanimate objects as my close friends and it's served me well. Inanimate objects don't complain about their jobs or their relationships and the majority of them serve an actual purpose unlike 75% of the human race.

But what can we do? It's not as if we can just start rounding up people and killing them, is it?

Morally, legally and humanitarianly [I made that word up – I think; it's not in my Dictionary and the OpenOffice doesn't recognise it] the answer is most definitely; NO! But if we push our morals, laws and humanitarian beliefs to the side the answer becomes; YES.

Firstly, let's simply picture the world; natural resources are running low, there's some kind of recession happening, our fellow man is starving to death and Lady Gaga is topping the charts. It's not a pretty picture to say the least, the world is looking like a Picasso painting, if instead of paintbrushes he used a double-barrel shotgun to blast squirrels onto the canvas. Is this the kind of world you want for your children? Or your children's children? Or your grandchildren? Or your children's children's children? Or your great-grandchildren? [The word children has lost all meaning to me now, I've used it so many times, it no longer looks like a real word] Well is that what you want? If the answer is 'Yes', you have failed at being human. Nobody in their right mind would want such horrors to continue on for the proceeding generations. It is time we stood up now and made a change for the better, by doing something selfless for those to come after us, so that we will go down in history as the people who saved the world by murdering half of the population of the world.

OK, I understand that this idea is not going to be popular straight away. Somewhere down the line I intend of incorporating an iPhone application into it so it will become more popular then celebrity endorsements in order to garter more support. But as it stands currently, this idea is extremely unpopular, as far the school kids of ideas go, this one is the guy in the classroom that stinks of hamster turds and chews table legs. I understand that.

I also know it's not a new idea and has been used before, often referred to as 'genocide' or 'ethnic cleansing'. But my idea does differ from these. I'm not going to lie, to begin with I was in deep thought about how the people that were going to make the ultimate sacrifice should be chosen, but in the end I realised that by simply picking out people I would be no better than Hitler, Pol Pot, Stalin or George Bush!

So after sleepless nights trying to figure out how this would all happen, I eventually came to the conclusion that we would decide who lived and died by the simple flip of a coin. Tails; your tail is safe, Heads; your head is coming off. Simple as that.

Of course this is not going to be forced on people, because if people are as good as people are always telling me, they'd have no problem killing themselves in an attempt to aid the future of mankind. Would they?

I've come to terms with my existence. I know fully well that I serve no real purpose, outside of creating this very idea, that will go towards saving the planet and it's inhabitants, but saving the world is a minor thing in my eyes, I not even add it to my C.V. I'll step up and flip the coin when my time is up and if it's Heads, I'll happily take one for the team, 'one' being death, the 'team' being humanity.

Imagine a world half as populated; everyone would be housed, fed and clothed. That 'Carbon Footprint' would drop drastically as there would be half as much traffic – no more traffic jams for those that choose to drive. Natural resources would be around for a longer time period. All this can be achieved by simply wiping out half of the population of the world. It seems like a small sacrifice for a huge gain. Like I've already said, it's not going to be popular and right now you're undoubtedly thinking I'm some kind of sick fuckwit for even coming up with the idea, but eventually it'll sink in and you'll be somewhere soon, more than likely Christmas shopping in some shopping centre and it will dawn on you, that if half the people there were wiped out the whole experience would be less stressful. Eventually you see it my way. Most people do in the end.

5 Slightly Unique & Unoriginal Films

We all have aspirations, no matter how strange they may be. Mine, for example, is to write for a living. Preferably comedy. More preferably comedy for TV or film. Yet when I attempt to sit down and come up with an idea for a story nothing seems to happen, instead I sit here dwelling about it and happening to start ranting to myself in the form of writing. It's a weird circle to say the least. Because right now what I am doing is stupid. This could all be a massive waste of my time. If I deem this unworthy of being posted online, I'm the only person to have read it. Yet, if I post it online it still may not be read by anyone, other than myself. The way this is going at the minute – I'll be the only one to read it as I'm 148 words in and not one part of this has been funny. [Here I was going to simply write; “Fanny Flaps” in an attempt to make a reader laugh at random funny sounding words, I didn't, instead I've just told you that that was what I was going to do, which in turn is an attempt at making you laugh]

Why won't you laugh?

The problem is, like most people I want to be original, unique, I want people to think I'm some sort of trailblazer. Yet, I'm not. So I'm starting to think what's the point in trying to be something I'm not. Maybe I should just copy other ideas. So here's a list of five possible films;

Project #1: Romantic Comedy (Codename: Grab 'n' Snatch)
A simple formula, if you've seen one you've seen them all. Boy meets girl, boy gets girl, a mishap takes place, they break up, the mishap gets solved, they get back together, happy ending. All I have to do here is follow this path, sprinkle in some jokes and I have a Script. Although I shouldn't repress my need to be slightly original; I need a different setting so my film won't be pointed at and labelled a simple rip-off of another film. So here we go;

Brian and Stacy get set up by some pushing mutual friends. They hit it off. Until one day when Brian is out doing his nightly muggings, when he robs his new girlfriend; Stacy Armstrong, who just so happens to be a Police Officer! In the tangle Brian slices Stacy's face to bits. Now he must prove his innocence and go back on a robbing spree to afford for Stacy to have a plastic surgeon to fix her face. Now Brian must prove his love the only way he knows how; be stealing purses. But will it be enough to win back Stacy? How long can he avoid the long Armstrong of the law?

It's got everything you want from a romantic comedy; a mismatched pair, a man attempting to prove his love, car chases, explosions and sliced faces!

Project #2: Spoof Movie (Codename: Spoof Movie, Slogan: “The Scariest Epic Teen Movie where a Diaster Happens”)

An even simpler format because you just take the format of another film and spoof it. Spoof films have been coming out for all genres of film since Scary Movie hit our screens. Since then we've had; Not Another Teen Movie, Epic Movie, Disaster Movie, Date Movie and about hundreds more. Although this has presented me with a problem; there's no more genres to spoof? They've all been done... apart from one; The Spoof Movie itself. A Spoof of a Spoof! It's incredible! I have no fucking idea about how it's going to take place, but it will.

Project #3: British Gangster Flick (Codename: It's Dyer in London)

You know the Guy Richie type of film. It'll involve drugs, swearing, guns, violence, swearing, Danny Dyer and swearing. Simple enough plot; our protagonist; Danny Dyer is a run-of-the-mill marijuana dealer, he's asked to do a favour by a notorious London drug baron (also played by Danny Dyer), but something goes wrong; he gets ripped off. Now the drug baron wants Danny Dyer to get him his money back or Danny and his whole family are all going to be shot up like a smack-head's vein. Danny must enlist the help of his mates (all played by Danny Dyer) to rob another drug baron (played by Jason Statham). But that mission is put in jeopardy when Danny Dyer falls in love with Jason Statham's wife (played by Danny Dyer). Later on Danny Dyer figures out he was set up by the [original] drug baron. What will he do?

It has Dyer written all over it.

Project #4: Coming of Age Film (Codename: British Pasty, Slogan: “Smash that Pasty”)

This is your American Pie style film. A bunch of teens on a mission to get their end away... but this time set in England! So it has all those quintessential British traits; pregnant teenagers, someone gets glassed, the word “gash” said over 300 times, racist cab drivers, red telephone boxes (used in the sex scenes), people throwing up in the street and Danny Dyer has a cameo as an umbrella.

In the end everyone realises that the most important thing isn't sex, nor love, but condoms.

Project #5: Extreme Asian Horror Film (Codename: My Thai Bride's Revenge)

My speciality, although again with a British twist. Man meets Thai girl online and over time they become close. She moves to England and they marry. Although man lives in a really racist part of the UK where the BNP have a strong-hold. One day she's beaten to death while out on a walk. Then strange things begin to happen to the BNP members. Enter archetypical Asian-Woman-Ghost-with-Long-Black-hair that does horrific things to the ones that killed her. It gets gory, someone is run over by a combine-harvester at one point.

This film also teaches people not be racist.

Of course I would also have to take a major role in casting for this film. The part of the Thai Bride would have to be played by a real Thai lady (for authenticity reasons), so I would be forced to go on a reconnaissance mission to Thailand to set up auditions to find the perfect candidate. All expenses paid for by the film company, of course. This reconnaissance mission could take up to forty years, that's how dedicated I am to this picture.

This list kind proves my point, I barely put any effort in [and it shows] to come up with these ideas. Why am I wasting my time trying to be original?

5 Worst Times to Have an Acid Flashback

There's probably never a good time to have an Acid Flashback but I got to thinking about the worse possible times an ex-LSD user could have a flashback. Now I've never had an Acid Flashback and I doubt I ever will, as I've only done LSD once. I didn't hallucinate, I just felt really euphoric. Although I did wash it down with a bottle of Southern Comfort and I was on my own. Boredom is a disease that must be destroyed at any cost. The other reason I did this is because people seem to like lists, apparently they're easier to read when compared to my long-winded rants that occasionally go off topic, much like this is now, so let's just get down to it; 


5) At the Alter of Your Own Wedding

It's supposed to be the happiest day of your life but if you have a flashback whilst stood at the alter, it's safe to say things could go pear shaped. First you just think it's nerves but by the time you've stripped naked, shat into hands and you've smeared large quantities of faecal matter all over your grandmother-in-law [to be], it's safe to say you are experiencing an Acid Flashback. This will more than likely put an halt to the days proceedings and eventually ruin the relationship with the woman that you was to marry, leaving you to die alone.

4) In an MRI Machine

Imagine you've been struck down with some strange illness and you've gone to the hospital for the doctors to figure out what's wrong with you. They've got all their best doctors trying to diagnose you, even the guy with the limp is working on you. They think they've sussed it out and they're just checking your body for anything irregular in the MRI machine, then BAM; you have a flashback. They think it's a new symptom and they go on a new path trying to figure out what's wrong with you. The flashback stumps them and eventually you die of some curable disease.

3) While Sky-Diving

Now this would never happen to me, I'm not into extreme risk taking hobbies such as sky-diving, if I want an adrenaline rush I'd simply inject myself in the neck with a syringe full of adrenaline and kick the wall of the hinges [yes, the wall, not the door, anyone can kick a door of the hinges, it takes a real man to kick the wall of the hinges]. Anyway, having an Acid Flashback whilst sky-diving is going to be shit. Firstly death is inevitable [as you're not going to be able to get a grip and pull the chord to release your parachute – I mean a mental 'grip' not a physical, hand-grasping-the-chord 'grip'], which is good reason for it to be shit, yet the whole process of falling through the atmosphere while tripping your fucking balls off is really going to fuck with your head for the next couple of minutes of your life. You'll be praying for increased falling rate just to end the madness that's taking place in your mind. I'm sure when you're turned for a solid based form to a liquid based form with the help of a concrete [and velocity], you'll breathe a breath of relief – if you could breathe, it's probably safe to say your lungs are so intertwined with gravel they'd be completely useless and you had a Donor Card too – that was pointless!

2) Whilst attempting to Summon Satan with an Ouija Board amongst Friends that Believe in Supernatural Beings and are Extremely Gullible. 

If you can't see where this is going you're a fool. So... you're sat around an Ouija Board with some mates that are “well in to ghost and that”, of course being a rationally thinking person you fully well understand that spirits and Lucifer don't exist, you're just there to pick on the others. But midway through, you're hit with an Acid Flashback. Your gullible as fuck mates wonder what the fuck is going down as you spaz out and talk crazy. One shouts out; “He's speaking in tongues!” They all squeal like little four year old toddlers, as they clamber around the room, spilling the Ouija Board to the floor. “He's possessed by Satan”, screams another friend. Then one of your mates [probably the one you secretly hate, but everyone else likes him so you're forced to hang around with him, even though you know he's really a proper cunt] decides to be a hero and come to the rescue [see, told you he was a cunt]. He quickly grabs the nearest heavy blunt object; lamp, bottle, small child, and proceeds to smash your skull open, whilst quoting The Exorcist; “May the evil inside of you be gone, may the evil inside of you be gone …”, he continues to pound away as your brain slowly oozes out of your cranium, forever spouting lines from The Exorcist; “... you're mother sucks cocks in hell!” [see, he really is a cunt]. It's safe to say you're no longer having a flashback because you're dead.

1) When Defending yourself in Court on Charges of being Clinically Insane

OK, maybe the average Joe Bloggs doesn't find himself in this situation that regularly, I understand that. But imagine it; you're in court having to defend yourself on charges of being clinically insane, I'm not sure how you made it to this point, maybe it had something to do with you using shit as paint substitute on your grandmother-in-law [to be] at your wedding. Either way you're there. It's actually going quite well, you're presenting yourself as a normal run of the mill citizen that just had a 'bad episode' once and people shouldn't judge you on that. Then the inevitable happens, you start tripping out, you attempt to clamber out of the witness box onto the Judge's lap, he yells for security, you take his wig and place it on your head, elevate yourself to his desk and begin to dance around like a Native American. Security attempt to capture you, so you try to fend of these 'cowboys' with your 'axe' [the Judge's gavel]. You strike them across the head. You jump from the desk and run towards the jury, propelling yourself into their box, crawling across them as you lash out pain with your 'axe'. Eventually security grab you and everything calms down, by the time you come around from the flashback it's too late. You will be spending the rest of your days in one of those jackets where the sleeves tie together at the back.




So there we have it. Remember children drugs are bad and you should never do them.

Best Man for Hire

I'm opposed to marriage, it doesn't make sense to me. A large portion of marriages fail and although a few couples stay together, I simply assume they live miserable lives and would divorce but they're used to each others company and they know they're not going to get anyone else, so they just plod on until death do them part. Plus, one day I hope to have some money in my bank account and I don't see why my 'wife' should be entitled to that just for marrying me. Also, the whole ceremony seems like too much. Seriously women, what's wrong with you? “I want a big church wedding!” Get a grip, why throw so much money at something you'll eventually regret? Of course if I ever do get married [which I not], it'd have to be a simple affair; registry office, t-shirts, jeans, trainers, Southern Comfort, Wedding Space Cake. A Church wouldn't even be on the cards. I can't enter a House of God without bursting into flames. Although that seems like a good escape plan if I ever get trapped by some woman; [Vicar talking to my Bride;] “Sorry, no wedding today. Your fiancé spontaneously combusted when he entered the church, now he's dead.” Yes, that is me pointing out that I'd rather be dead than married.

Although I'm opposed to marriage I would love to be someone's Best Man.

This might seem hypocritical, but let me point out I'm against me getting married, if other people have deluded themselves into thinking that marriage is for them, they're more than welcome to go ahead with it. I'm not going to attempt to talk anyone out of it. I will advise them to open a secret bank account so they can afford to live after the inevitable divorce comes. But that's it, other than that I will give them [false] congratulations and wish them all the best [as they'll need it].

Anyway, like I said, I would love to be someone's Best Man. Being a Best Man is the best role possible in a wedding - well the clue is in the title. The Best Man gets to all the best stuff; organise the stag-do, give a speech and fuck the best looking bridesmaid. Who wouldn't want to be the Best Man?

If I was someone's best man this is how things would go down:


Stag Do

A usual Stag Do would consist of large amounts of alcohol and probably a strip-club with the Groom eventually getting handcuffed in a random place after being stripped naked. I like to think of myself as a unique individual, but the typical Stag Do is already fucking awesome, of course I'd just have to turn it up a notch;

Firstly forget just a one night Stag Do, the one I'd organise would be a weekend affair. Starting Friday afternoon ending Monday morning.

Secondly forget Blackpool or Brighton or some other shitty UK destination for all the action to go down. Nah, we'd be taking a quick flight to Amsterdam – Mecca for stoners. You see, large amounts of alcohol is good, but intertwined with copious amounts of cannabis is much better.

Thirdly forget a simple strip-club, because we'll be having orgies with the top-priced prostitutes, the best Amsterdam has to offer. It's important for the Groom to have some of the weirdest sex ever, seeing as soon he'll be married and everyone knows married couples only do the missionary position on the rare occasions that they do actually have sex.

Best Man Speech

It's important that the Best Man's Speech is funny, so it's a good job I'm fucking hilarious! Of course, the speech would consist of some brilliant and embarrassing stories about the Groom. I'd then denounce the idea of marriage, just to make the mood of the room uncomfortable. I'd then proceed to use the word 'cunt' as many times as possible. Then I would drop a freestyle and promote my album. I'd end the speech with a video of our prostitute-filled orgy from Amsterdam, with the backing track of some horrendous heavily metal band.

*The speech is totally dependant on how drunk I am at that stage of the day. It could be what I just described or it could be a drunken, slurry rant that nobody can comprehend.

Sleeping with the Best Looking* Bridesmaid


I'm not going to go into detail, this is between me and her. All I'll say is that it will involve a dead squirrel and a power-tool. 



*Again this depends on how drunk I am, I may end up pulling the worse looking Bridesmaid depending on the strength of my beer-googles.


So there it is. Simple stuff, but bound to be legendary.

Now the problem for me; I need someone to be a Best Man for. Yes, I have plenty of friends, but they're not the best looking group of people [no offence guys] and even if they are likely to get married I know I'm going to get looked over for the obvious reasons [see the list of things I want to do – situated above]. I know that I'll get passed up for a friend that is sane and willing to help the proceedings of the wedding go well, whereas I'll simply be a massive hindrance to the whole situation.

So I'm willing to hire myself out as a Best Man to anyone willing to take me on. No charge. Just the pleasure of being your Best Man is payment enough. Leave contact details in the comment box below.

*Ben Broughton is also available for Lesbian Hen Nights too.

Minimum Wage Slave

I’ve been in constant employment for seven years, ever since I was studying for my A-Levels, in my own sad way I’m quite proud of this fact and seeing as I was voted; “Most Likely to Claim Dole” in my year at school, I feel proud that I’ve proven my ex-classmates wrong, it’s one of the few things I have over ex-classmates; apart from not having multiple babies (with different mothers), not having been to jail and not having a serious (Class A) drug problem – yes I have my alcohol and marijuana addiction, but it could be worse.

The problem is I’ve worked for the same company for all this time. It’s one of those big supermarkets; I not say which one because I don’t want to advertise it in my Blog (if they throw me some of that money that they pay for Z-List Celebrities to be in their television adverts, I’d probably consider it). Anyway, the thing is although I’ve worked there for so long, I’m still treated like a piece of shit, in fact, I’m treated worse than a piece of shit because pieces of shit don’t just get shouted at for any reason so the shouter can feel better about him/herself. That’d just be weird to see someone screaming at a piece a shit, although it would be entertaining. Take a minute now to picture a gentleman in a shirt and tie, stood leaning over a piece of shit, bellowing at it, tiny splats of spit exiting his mouth as his rage increases, his face getting redder and redder, as the pile of shit simply stays still (it is a shit after all, what else do they do?). Now imagine a fly landing on the shit, the man is still shouting, the fly begins to take off and accidentally flies into the man’s mouth, he panics and chokes to death – it may be impossible, but it’s a slightly funny image. In an attempt of bringing this back to whatever point I was making; I thought that being treated like a piece of shit was just the usual thing that happened when you started a job (at the time I was 17, I kinda believed I’d get the short end of the stick for a while), but SEVEN YEARS (yes, capitals, it’s a long time) later I’m still in the same position. Stagnant in the ranks of a supermarket, feel free to mock my insignificant existence.

Stop the mocking, continue reading …

The thing now is that as I’m entering the real world I desperately need to make more money, living life without student loans is so fucking hard. I can barely understand how people have done it for so long. It kind of makes me wish I’d used those loans a little wiser too. All I did with that cash was fritter it away. I wasn’t even one of those idiots that goes out on the first day (of getting the loan) and blows it on a massive wide-screen plasma TV, now I actually wish I had done that, at least I’d have a massive wide-screen plasma TV in my possession. I wish I’d have gone to the Casino with a grand, walked up to the roulette table and placed it all on red. Yes, I could have lost it all but at least I would have taken a chance to make more money. I have nothing to show for all that loan money that’ll I’ll be paying back for the rest of my life*.

So I have to work for that money, the problem is the more time I spend at work the more I want to kill myself. When I’m at work and the hours slowly drag by, I keep thinking to myself; “I’m here earning minimum wage for this shit”. At times my thoughts drift to me plunging a screwdriver into my temple just to break the suicide inducing monotony. The thing is, I think, no … I know I’m so much better than my job – OK, I’m not going to find the cure for cancer, but come on I surely deserve something better than lugging shopping trolleys around. I’m sure plenty of people think/know that too. But I couldn’t give a fuck about what other people think/know, this is the real world after all now, it’s time to look out for number one. The last sentence is worrying to me, as I’ve just reread it, I’m a socialist and work is making more right-wing the more time I spend their. Although, I’ve never understood why more people aren’t socialist that share my position. The amount of people in this country working for companies that make unbelievable profits but only see pittance, must be huge, yet they all just take it on the chin. For fuck sake people, when are we going to rise up? Make it fast, because the way I’m leaning to the right, I’ll be a full blown capitalist, hell-bent on protecting my own interests, making as much money as possible and voting Conservative by the end of the week.

Growing up I actually deluded myself into believing what teachers used to spout about education being the key to everything, that’s one of the reasons I attended University. But look at me now; working a shitty job and in loads of debt. No career prospects to look forward too. Why the fuck did I even bother? I could have just stayed in my incest ridden town working the same shitty job (that I have now) and avoided this gargantuan debt situation that haunts the back of my mind every time I attempt to sleep. It’s as if a little oager is by my bed, whispering in my ear as I start to nod off; “Think of that debt Ben … You’ll never pay it off … That anchor’s going to weigh you down for the rest of your shitty life.”

The thing is I’m only just starting to come to terms with the fact that I’m going to have to walk down the same path millions of people have walked before me. The same path millions [of people] are walking down now. The same path millions will follow me down later in life. I’m just going to have to work a shitty job for the rest of my days. I’m going to have to swallow my pride, rid my mind of any thoughts of my own grandeur and be ordered around by ill-informed, unappreciative, lazy bosses, I’ll have to work with fellow employees that will do aspects of the job wrong and leave me to carry their weight, I’ll have to take shit from customers and still treat them as if their were some kind of deity that must be praised and I’ll have to do it all with a fucking smile on my face. Grinning from ear to ear as the pennies slowly amount into my bank account because I am nothing more than a minimum wage slave.

I thought there was more to life than this, but I guess there’s not. I suppose I’ll just slip into the life that most people live; working a dead-end job, just scraping by, living for the weekend; getting wasted on what little extra money I have to relieve my mind of the horrendous week that preceded Friday night. That’s the rest of my life in a nutshell. That’s what I have to look forward too, and sorry to break it to you; but that will more than likely be your future too. Of course there’s always the slim chance you’ll get a career, best of luck with that. Me on the other hand, I could win the Lotto, maybe I’ll get lucky and get hit by a bus or maybe I’ll just spike myself in the temple next time I’m work.


*I do have my crippling alcohol addiction, but I don’t count that, it was already festering, it’s just that the loan money took it into overdrive.

I know after a long hiatus, this isn’t ‘very funny’, but as most of my half-finished Blogs I had were deleted, I’ve started from scratch. This was more about me getting shit off my chest. I’ll be back with drug talk and cock jokes soon enough. Peace.

Just to let you ... NO!! Not all my work!!

Hello. 

This is not an actual Blog post, well it is, but it’s not if you get my drift. I’m just informing anyone that will read this (that’s you), that I have not died. 

I’m sure some vicious rumours of be in circulation; that I was found face down in a bath full of Southern Comfort (not true), I was beaten into a coma by a Bangkok lady-boy (also not true), I was arrested on account of indecent exposure (no comment). 

The fact is my PC recently picked up a virus (proof machines do emulate their masters) and I have been yet to restore the piece of shit to it’s usual self. In the process I have lost a large amount of work; Blogs I was working on, short stories and scripts. Of course this has put me on the back foot (that’s putting it likely). With me being an absolute fool, I rarely back up any work even though I was working with a PC that has displayed endless amounts of problems for the years that I’ve had it. In the future I will adopt what I like to call the Onyx procedure and back-the-fuck-up (bacdafucup - quite a good joke, although I’m sure 99.9% of people not get it). 

I’m still yet to be in the possession of a computer that is able to correct to the glorious thing that is the internet, so I’m limited to I can do. This is, of course, an horrendous ordeal for me because most activities in my life revolve around the internet. It has given me a chance to read books, but they’re barely interactive, no wonder they’re a dying form of medium. 

I’m quite unhappy that although I have been away for over a month I have no new followers. Damn you people. All I have in my life is my Blog and my happiness is measured on how many people follow me. I want to be stalked. 

Anyway, this has just been a senseless rambling. If you missed the point, I was poorly trying to make, I’ll sum it up now for you; I have no internet access, everything I was working on has been lost. Usual rants and shit such as that will return as soon as these problems are fixed. 

Peace. 

Ben Broughton

*I’d like to note that this was written on a Mac, that’s set to US style spelling and I have no idea how to change it to (real - yeah, I said it) English. For all their apparent great abilities, they surely are fucking annoying. Although the worst aspect has to be that fact the ‘ctrl & c’ isn’t ‘Copy’, instead you have to press ‘c’ and the bloody ‘Apple Key’ (aka ‘cmd’). That really annoys me. 

The Cervical Civil War

After some self deliberation [with myself] I have come to the conclusion that soon enough I will cut off most of my friendships with friends that happen to be the opposite sex.

But Ben’s that’s sexist, you can’t be sexist!

Wrong! I shouldn’t be sexist, yet I can be sexist. I shouldn’t push an old lady down I flight of stairs, but I can. Do you see the difference?

This has not come about because they are the weaker sex, or anything to do with that, it has come about because of woman’s hate for themselves. So they only have themselves to blame.

Women love to moan, complain and bitch, that’s a scientifically proven fact. But the recent level of moaning, complaining and bitching has reached astronomical levels, so much so that I can no longer bear listening to a female slag off another female. Yeah, it used to be funny listening to one girl slag off another girl behind her back, but I think I’ve well surpassed my quota of bitchiness and backstabbing.

The fundamental relationship between three women goes like this;

Woman #1 talks to Woman #2 about Woman #3

Woman #2 talks to Woman #3 about Woman #1

Woman #3 talks to Woman #1 about Woman #2

With such backstabbing and two faced actions I’m surprised Women were even able to rise up all those years ago and stop being slaves to men. What would Martina Louisa Queen and Michelle XX [Chromosome] have to say about this if they were still alive? It’s almost as if women united, got the vote and thought; ‘Well, now we’re equal to men we have no common enemy, hey, let’s hate each other’.

In the 2005 French film 13 Tzameti people ‘compete’ in a mass game of Russian roulette, in which the individuals stand in a circle, each man pointing a gun at the person in front. They all stare at a light bulb, when it goes on/off they fire. This is the perfect analogy for female relationships, but instead of a gun women are armed with knives and they just keep stabbing each other in the back, then they all turn 180 degrees and begin to stab another woman in the back.

No matter how much feminists want to wave their fishy figures at men and blame them for all their own downfalls, women are much more destructive to themselves then men could ever be. Men maybe sexist, misogynistic and chauvinistic, but it is the envious backstabbing of women that is the real problem facing the female race. A male may call a promiscuous woman a ‘slapper’ or a ‘slag’ to his mates, but it’s the friends of this promiscuous woman that will completely character assassinate the poor girl behind her back to anyone that’ll listen.

But why does this happen? We are women so hell bent on ruining each others reputations and lives?

I don’t know, to be honest, if I did I would be able to bring peace to the female kind. I have my theories, of course, but I have things on everything from religion (total fabrication) to abortion (good stuff).

It’s doubtful that there’ll even be peace between women; we’ll be seeing Palestinians and Israelis skipping around the Gaza Strip hand in hand before females learn to stop bitching about each other at every opportunity. The best advice I can give is just remain out of the way of the crossfire, you never know when you could get dragged into a civil war that you’re not a civilian of.