Me Pour Grasps Off Da Inglish Langwich

Although I may come across as more intelligent than you, in my extremely small circle of friends the way I speak and my turns of phrase are often under constant ridicule. But then again I'm a white male with a fully functioning brain, so they have to pick on me for something.

Obviously most of what I say incorrectly is due to my up-bringing in the small Nottinghamshire town I was born and raised in. And due to my friends being lucky enough to fall out of their mother's vaginas in other parts of the country then hadn't encountered such dialogue until I was introduced into their [then miserable – I'm assuming] lives.

Like most things in life; my escalating problems with alcohol, my hatred of children and my uncontrollable temper... my poor grasp of the English language falls squarely on my mother. Being the voice that I've listened to for the majority of my life, I've picked up all her bad linguistic habits.

Listening to myself, I find that there's a trend of amalgamating two or three words into one simple sound or completely dropping words from a sentence. Clearly now I've come to learn of what I'm doing wrong, I should try to change the way I speak to make myself more understandable... but I'm set in my ways.

Things I Say Wrong;

“I'm gu'in t'shop” - I am going to the shop.

This is the closest thing I've got to a catchphrase amongst my friends [that doesn't involve weed, beer or swearing]. And I'm constantly mocked for the t' – Michael McIntyre had a whole stand-up routine about how Northerners say t' instead of 'the' – it was his usually brand of sub-par comedy. But I've pushed this further by incorporating two words into a single letter; brilliance and time saving, while being incomprehensible to the untrained ear.

“Owt” - Anything.

Fuck knows where this comes from. But it usually follows the last one; “I'm gu'in t'shop, do you want owt?”. This cleverly compresses a three syllable word down into one.

“Or'ate” - Alright.

A common greeting in Sutton-in-Ashfield, often said; “Yu or'ate, mate?” because of the intricate rhyming pattern it expresses.

“Noun'a-gen” - Now and again.

“Tour'da'pens” - It all depends.

While the first three are often heard around my own town, I'm confidence these last two are exclusives from my dear mother. It was only in the last few years that I realised I was saying these so wrong. It may sound stupid, but it's as if I really didn't know what I was saying. Yeah, it's fucked.

“Me” - My.

Yes, that's right, in my old town even the simplest two letter word can be halted into a similar word that already exists and said in it's place. If that doesn't boggle the mind, I don't know what will. 

Some of me Sutton folk gu'in t'shop

 

Or'ate, noun'a-gen, I don't know how to end these blogs, tour'da'pens what I'm doing that day, but I gotta get off as me mum's got me gu'in t'shop.

Leave a comment if you want owt pickin' up.

Oak Furniture Land Customer Complaint

To whom it may concern,
Hello, although I've never purchased anything from your company before, I often frequent your store with fellow family members. As I'm in decent enough shape to help the majority of my decrepit family members – Hey, I suppose I'm just a decent guy.

My major concern with your business is your employees. I acknowledge that installing a strong sense of customer service is vital, I myself have spent many years in retail and understand continuing to deliver high standards is extremely difficult, so sometimes I'll allow a slip up here or there, but the level of outlandish stupidity on the part of some of your staff verges on totally inexcusable.

The first example of terrible customer service happened when I was in store with my uncle, he was after a new dining table and chairs. We had been viewing for a while and had noticed two of your employees; both male; one young skinny and an elder gentleman slightly more rotund simply talking amongst themselves and being of no help whatsoever. My uncle had a couple of questions about a dining set, so he approached the younger gentleman, and before he could grab his attention, the young man spouted out; “Gold for the price of silver” in a pirate voice while having his right hand in the shape of a 'hook'. Obviously my uncle took great offence to this as he's missing his right hand. He lost it in a freak accident as a youth has been bombarded with pirate jokes for a large potion of his life. Clearly your staff think it's totally acceptable to notice a disabled customer and make jokes about it as that customer walks around your store. This is absolutely despicable. What does this employee do on his break; flatten the tyres of cars parked in the blue badge spots out front?

Obviously, at this point, we left the store.

I returned to your store begrudgingly with my younger sister as she was after a closet. The two gentlemen from before were once again working, I had told her we would be better off finding other members of staff to help deal with her needs but she was adamant they help her. So I simply left her to it and watched on... in amazement. Your two employees simply played a little cat and mouse game around the closet; knocking on it and alluding to the fact that someone's inside it, obviously by this point we didn't know my sister was a lesbian, she only came out the next day... in her suicide letter. Clearly pushed over the edge by your employees tormenting her sexuality. This is despicable, luckily it was my least favourite sister, but I'm still quite torn up about it. 

Your two employees come take a break from insulting customers and chat about how great UKIP is [probably].

 

Just recently, despite my best efforts to encourage him to go to IKEA, my granddad wanted to visit your store – luckily for you he's a massive racist. And to my surprise I still see you have this double act still on your payroll. Due to my past encounters with them I simply tried to avoid them and did quite successfully until I lost my granddad. The store was busy and he was tired so he was having a sit down to recharge his batteries. By the time I found him, the elder employee was pulling at his beard. Look, I don't want to blow this out of proportion but that's physical assault on an OAP! That's unjust in normal society not only when you are at work! You can't employ people that lay their hands on your customers, that's simply a fact of working in retail! I'm calling for the gentleman in question to be fired, immediately!

I understand in a world that many think “political correctness” has “gone mad”, but your staff have managed to offend paraplegics, homosexuals and the elderly, I'll be sure to ring the store ahead of time if I ever have to visit with a friend of non-White ethnicity so you can knock up a few burning oak wood crucifixes and construct some Klan outfits in time.

Good luck peddling your over-priced wood to able-bodied, straight, middle-aged people.

Irking Me Off; #2 The Clarkson Problem

I know I'm a little late off the mark with this one, but I don't have to justify myself to you, so piss off.

I'm not going to sugar-coat this; I fucking hate Jeremy Clarkson, in my eyes he's a Daily Mail reader's wet-dream; a middle-class throwback that thinks spouting xenophobic rhetoric is funny... basically he's a typical Cracker-ass Honky. Along with being a Grade-A Cunt.

Obviously like most people my age I mainly know Clarkson from Top Gear. I don't like Top Gear because I don't have much of an invested interest in cars and even if I did, I still wouldn't like Top Gear. To me, the show seemed like a front for three immature grown men to act like children under the disguise of an informative program about motor vehicles. Hey, but I'm not a car guy, so what do I know? That's right; nothing about cars, but a lot more about decent television. But I'll give the man his due he really cornered the market on obnoxious cunts presenting television shows on motors. Kudos, you cunt, kudos.

Now, although I had this disdain for Jeremy, he never really bothered me, I stayed clear of Top Gear and would put up with him when he appeared on the likes of QI. It was a decent set-up we had working until he went and did something stupid and physically assaulted a producer and after that I couldn't escape the cunt like a baby trapped in the womb.

EVERYONE was talking about him. His face was all over the newspapers and not for a good reason like him dying in a high-speed car accident. And I began to feel like one of those ridiculously priced cars he trails... as I was driven crazy! [Fuck off! You try and write car gags without knowing anything about cars!]

People were debating this issue endlessly.
“Would he lose his job?”

“Will the BBC end Top Gear?”
“What will May and that other fucking cretin do without their Messiah?”

And as this whole debate was up in the air, people were signing a petition online to get him reinstated. Now this is something that really irks me, yes, people have the free will to do such a thing, but guess what; it doesn't matter in the end. Not in a case like this. Online petitions are good most of the time, but this one was totally devoid of meaning.

It's not up to the public to make this decision, that falls on Clarkson's bosses. Not the public. Just because the guy is extremely popular doesn't give him free range to do whatever he pleases. He's been on thin ice numerous times before due to borderline racist incidents and always managed to skate away unscathed, but at what point do you keep letting someone off just because they're a big star?

I saw a lot of social media updates along the lines of; “BBC used to cover-up child molestation but Clarkson in trouble for only hitting someone”. What the fuck is wrong with you people? So what? You want the BBC to cover something like this up when it's someone you like, but not if it's someone you don't like? Because Jimmy and Rolf, were as popular as Clarkson back in the day! Or is this down to the actual 'crime'? So punching a producer in the face is OK, but sexually abusing children isn't? [Look I know which is worse, but you can't simply draw a line and pick and choose.] What if Clarkson had molested a child? Would there still be a petition because what else can petrol-heads watch on a Sunday with Clarkson and his two shadows?

The whole concept of this argument is ridiculous. Yes, as stories of sexual abuse that happened years ago come to light it paints the BBC in an extremely bad light... so what should they do? Punish employee's that step out of line, and Clarkson's had enough chances. Fuck him.

I also come into contact with individuals commenting on how supporting James May and Richard Hammond were towards Jeremy. People mentioned they wouldn't do the show without him... well obviously, those two peons owe their success to Clarkson, they'll ride his coat-tails into retirement. I was once in Waterstones and saw a book Richard Hammond had released; the cover featured a large picture of his face and a little tag-line; “The Funny Guy from TOP GEAR... Includes stickers inside so you can make Richard look as funny as you want”. And there were little stickers that you could add on to the cover to make Hammond look as ridiculous as you wanted... so I stuck the sticker of Clarkson's penis over Hammond's mouth and put it back on the shelf. I don't have any real beef with May, he actually seems like a nice guy, but seeing as he doesn't have the moral integrity to step out of Jeremy's shadow; fuck him too.

Then 'celebrities' started to share their opinions. Rupert Murdoch said something along the lines of the BBC would be idiots to get rid of Clarkson. To me that's a massive vote of confidence for the Beeb, because when the most evil man in the world is suggesting you shouldn't do something, you should definitely do it. Then our very own Prime Minister [aka the 2^nd most evil man in the world] came out and said his daughter had gone on a hunger strike until Jeremy was reinstated. I hope the bitch starved to death for her father's part in trying to sway public opinion in a matter that only concerns him because his friend is involved [this is also the only time a Tory has been involved in any kind of striking action]. Seeing as he's technically employed by us, I shall punch him in the face next time I see him as he clearly thinks that an acceptable way to act.

This is what it comes down to; Clarkson did something wrong; he verbally attacked a producer for around twenty minutes and then punched him in the face... why? Because there wasn't any hot food available at a hotel – download the JustEat app, Jeremy! Yet in the majority of public opinion the producer was in the wrong... that's so infuriatingly stupid I want to punch myself in the face repeatedly under I've lost enough braincells to fathom it but if I did that I could end up liking Top Gear. He had to get sacked from the BBC. It's not as if that's the end for him, he has a following, he has a brand, he has his little two minions by his side and hopefully he also has inoperable cancer.

So it'll all work out for him in the end.

But I hope it doesn't.

Advice to Aspiring Battle Rappers [Part 2]

So this began with Advice for Aspiring Battle Rappers – although it's slightly began to change into me cataloguing my experiences of attempting to secure myself a rap battle. This is Part 2 of that never-ending saga.

So what do you do after you've penned three rounds of bars that you've finally realised you'll never get to use against anyone else?

It's obvious … you post them on a battle rap forum for your own kind [battle rap geeks] to judge, in the hope to seek admiration. You hit 'post', the thread comes up, you get a bit nervous; “Wait... will they read it how it's supposed to be performed?”... no probably not. Well done, you've opened yourself up to a possible barrage of insults from people you don't know! This is the internet, you twat! In which people hide behind alias so they can slag you off to their heart's content!

You sit. You wait. You repeatedly hit refresh. “How come 'X', 'Y' and 'Z', have viewed the thread and not left a comment... can't they see my genius?” You ask yourself. You sit a little longer. You wait a little longer. Eventually you have to sleep, staring at a computer screen for ten hours straight can take it's toll on anyone.

It's hard to push the thought of it out of your head, you've busted your metaphorical balls on the these metaphors, and nobody is willing to acknowledge that. BALLS!

Finally you see there's been a couple of responses to your post. With a shaking hand you move the cursor over the the thread and click. As the page loads you're filled with dread and excitement. You scroll down with your heart in your throat like you're dining at Hannibal's house [punchlines for days]. You read the replies... they're favourable. Some constructive criticism but the majority are supportive. Even a Don't Flop battler you like quotes a line and says it's a “fantastic bar” [shout out to Shuffle-T].

Real Screen Print... No Photoshop

You should be happy, people appreciate what you've written but now there's a nagging in the back of your head; “if only that cunt had've turned up!” It becomes infuriating but what can you do?

Skip ahead awhile and after the dust settles, you think; “fuck it, may as well give it another go”. It's a little easier the second time around, although you never got that battle you've kind of got your foot in door like over-pushy Jehovah Witnesses [punchlines for weeks]. So you go about setting up another battle.

And you get one. And your opponent has battled a couple of times before, even had a try-out for Don't Flop [the UK's #1 Rap Battle League]. This is a massive advantage to you, he's battled before you have plenty of material to study and plenty of angles to use, while he's battling you; a nobody. Plus this guy wants to make a name for himself in battle rap, so he's bound to turn up.

So boom; you get down to writing again. And luckily for you your opponent is quite lanky and he isn't the best looking chap in the world, so there's plenty to say on that matter;

Is it me or; has Tim Westwood's orphaned lad - started talking black,
as a performance act - to plead towards his awful dad
Or maybe; Steven Hawkins has - finally contort his back, [...and...]
by a BLACK-burn-HOLE; been transported back and taught to rap

Or is this; a zombie from 28 Days Later's supporting cast?
Or … has someone stretched Gollum on a torture-rack?
No it's a Morbid twat … that's only alive because his parents adored the fact;
his umbilical cord 'wun't' snap in their abortion pact

Doubt settles in though. You start to realise no matter how strong your pen game you still have to perform this material better than your counter-part, he's had plenty of practice. You write a couple of personal schemes that you think will give you the crowd reaction you need and then you concentrate on your performance.

Eventually you get it down. There's a confidence about you that wasn't there the first time around. All those positive comments on the forum have got you a little gassed up.

Then you get a Facebook message.

Your opponent has pulled out due to some legal trouble. It's frustrating but not out of character for the bloke, you've been doing your research, you know he's a bit of a wrong 'un. While this totally deflates you, you cast your eye back over your bars and probably count your blessings because;

In my eyes; shouting about a battler's loved ones until ya lung's collapse is fucking wack
Cos we came to see if our punches match - not turn this into a punching match

Cos I don't need to call your baby mum; a slut or slag, so someone braps

Or negatively mention your son in raps, cos I'm sure he's sweeter than a pussy cat

And I bet that child loves you... but do you really love the brat?
Cos being a father to a budding chap means more than getting a humongous tat'

Cos I heard you got involved in a shoving match,
and some cunt got slapped, so it escalated into thumps and jabs,

and you got put on tag, [was facing jail] but luckily in fact; it never come to that,

But if it did; picture yourself serving a sentence as tons of months go pass
As you miss your son's first sentence; “Mum, when is Daddy coming back?”
Then question; Is that really how someone with a son should act?

… probably would have got you a stern punch in the face and a couple of kicks would have had you sprawled out of the floor like unfurling a rug [punchlines for months].

But wait... because it's fucking happened again. Your one man mission to be a purist and write only for the person in front of you has bit you on the arse like a kinky prostitute [punchlines for years]. So you've got three rounds of angles you can't use on anyone else, did you not learn your lesson the first time around?

Another battle is arranged. The emcee hosting the event's mate will step up to battle you, he's going to tag along to the event anyway, so this time you know he'll definitely be in attendance.

So back to square one. Research. Write. Practice.

You're getting pretty good as these aspects. But the doubt in your head is performing in front of people. This time you take heed from past experiences and throw in a couple of schemes relating to TV shows you're obsessed with so even if this guy pulls out – which he definitely not do – you have something you can reuse.

It's less than a week from your battle, you've got everything set. You're not as confident with this material as you were for the other battle, but fuck it, this new chap is borderline shit so it shouldn't be too hard to beat him.

Then you get another Facebook message.

You're new opponent has pulled out – what the fuck is this Groundhog Day? Fuck sake!

It's at this moment it begins to settle in... maybe this battle rap t'ing isn't really for you.

End of Part 2.

#UnfinishedBusiness; Ben’s Big Day Out

#UnfinishedBusiness is a collection of Blog posts from 2013 that I never quite completed or totally forgot about.

Synopsis:

It was the summertime and it was a warm day, so after a few too many days trapped in my own home I decided to venture out into the real world and then attempted to write about it.

Now, I’m a notorious shut-in. I’m most at home when I’m … at home, basically. Venturing into the outside is oxymoronic in my drug-addled mind [into/outside – stick with me people]. But after spending the majority of my spare time attached to my rickety chair has began to take it’s toll on my productiveness, as in it’s completely obliterated it, so in an effect to not go completely stir crazy I decided to leave my home and do something.

Now, I wasn’t going to do anything totally outside my comfort zone. No! That’d be way too much for me to handle. This was simply a practice run.

Before I left on my adventure, I had to make sure I had the suitable equipment; a sandwich, packet of crisps, books, sunglasses, recreational drugs and obviously a couple of beers. I also had plenty of tissue, for HAYFEVER – before your minds begin to conger up any ill thoughts of masturbation. Obviously I had already attempted to halt any effects of that disgusting pollen that fills the atmosphere around this time that renders the majority of hayfever suffers absolutely useless, with tablets and nasal spray, which later turned out to be as effective as homeopathic medicine. But either way, I had my bag packed and I was on my way.

My destination was a familiar one; Markeaton Park. I don’t think I’ve been since my frolicking years as a student, even then I wasn’t keen on the place but it beat sitting in lectures or studying … all that would have gotten me would be a better degree … a better job … and a better life… but who needs that when the sun’s out and you’ve got a Frisbee?

Before locating my spot I stumbled upon what could be described as a damsel in distress, or what could also be described as a mother struggling to push a pram up a steep, yet small hill. Seeing as I was in a joyful mood, I offered my assistance. Although it was slightly upsetting that we didn’t get to push the pram down the other side. Apparently harming children isn’t a hobby each and everyone of us shares, who’d have known? 

#SunshineSelfie

 

I made my way onto the park and secured myself one of those fishing dock things by the water to sit on. I was able to relax in the sun far enough away from anyone else so that I could enjoy myself. I then sat back, relaxed and listened to a couple of podcasts – with my earphones in of course, just because my phone is perfectly capable of producing audio for others to hear, doesn’t mean they should have to [take note, kids].

And that's as far as I got. I can't remember anything really exciting happening. Some baby swans got a little too close for comfort and then a random dog started barking at them, that seriously messed with my buzz. I saw a massive dragonfly. And after too many beers I had to use the communal toilets. Never fun. And that's all I can remember. 

Baby Swan fucking up my buzz.