How Dave Chappelle [Kinda] Co-Wrote This Blog

When talking to most people about Dave Chappelle, it almost plays out like one of his Lil' Jon sketches;

“I've been to see Dave Chappelle.”
“WHAT?”

“I've been to see Dave Chappelle.”
“WHAT?”

“I have been to see Dave Chappelle.”
“OKAYYYY!!”
“Have you heard of him?”
“WHAT?”

“Have you heard of him?”
“”YEAHHHH!”

I personally feel like I shouldn't have to explain who Dave Chappelle is, but seeing as some people may not know [SHAME ON YOU!]; he's an American comedian and [in my eyes] he's easily in the Top 5 comedians alive and performing today.

He recently came to England... well London, but he's American, most of them think our country basically consists of fields, farms, forests and London, and to be fair they're mostly right.

This is such a rarity, I actually thought I'd never even get the chance to see the man perform. So when the tickets went on sale at 9.00am, I was obviously at work, but luckily for me my Brother From Another Mother was on hand to sit at his laptop, constantly refreshing the ticket sellers web-page and he sorted the tickets... like the legend he is.

Now as a notorious recluse, you may think the thought of me travelling to London would be somewhat difficult for me, and being in London even worse due to my distaste for flocks of human cattle, but I do quite like The Big Smoke. I especially love going on The Tube, I'm like an excitable child.

Although this could in part be due to my reasons for being in London in the first place, as the last two times I've been it was to see Chappelle and the time before that was to see Book of Mormon. So I was already in excitable child mode.

Dave, as I sometimes call him, was obviously performing at The London Apollo Theatre. Which in itself was quite exciting for the comedy fan boy inside of me as it's such an iconic stage that many comedians have graced over the years, so to sit inside the place was enough to have me grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat on ecstasy.

Yet imagine my elation once inside and discovering that me and my partner in crime where seated on the fourth fucking row! Fourth Row, Bitches! At this point I was more gob-smacked than Charlie Murphy after Rick James asked him; “What did the five fingers say to the face?” So I did what we all do in these situation and turned to social media to brag about it.

The expensive pints were flowing [Fuck you London prices!], by the time his opening act started. Donnell Rawlings kicked off proceedings. Rawlings is probably best known as Ashy Larry from numerous Chappelle's Show sketches. I've never seen him do stand-up before, but it's safe to say he set the tone perfectly for the big man to follow. 

And follow he did. Constantly chain-smoking. Which was a great nod to the last time he was in London and did a ten minute impromptu set in a comedy club.Click Here. 

The jokes came thick and fast as I sat in awe of the comedy legend. I'm terrible at remembering jokes, so sadly I can't share any, but when you're caught up the moment you're too busy having fun for information to permanently register in your mind. That's how comedy shows usually are, from my [drunken] experiences.

I did miss a slight bit of the show, as the constant laughing and beer swigging was wreaking havoc with my bladder, so I had to make a quick dash to the toilet and literally forced out my urine so fast I almost gave birth to my own bladder. Note to self; wear a colostomy bag for the next stand-up show I go to.

And before I knew it, it was over.

To the far right of us Chappelle had began to high-five and shake hands with members of the crowd and as he made his way across the stage towards us I saw my chance. So up I ran, out of my seat quicker than footage the World Championships of Musical Chairs in rewind, I Hussain Bolted all of those four strides to the front of the stage [Fourth Row, Bitches!], probably shrieking in a fanatic tone that would send a shuddering shiver down the spine of even the craziest One Direction groupie, a few others were had gathered to reach out towards my idol in the hopes of his touch would also grace them, but I would not be beaten... and in a scene reminiscent of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel's masterpiece... the Godly hand of Dave Chappelle reached out to the sweaty, trembling fan-boy hand of Ben Broughton and shook it.

If I wasn't paralysed by the sheer adulation of the situation, the shock of the whole experience would have opened my eyes so wide that my tear-ducts would have bled semen.

“So what happened next? How did he kinda co-write this blog?”

Well, I haven't washed my hand since.

The End. 

 

"I'm rich, biaaaaatch!"

Irking Me Off; #3 Bloke in High Heels

Bonjour you cunts [#PrayForParis], firstly let me apologise if you've been waiting for me to drop some literary gem, because this ain't it. I've got some shizzle [people still say that right?] I'm working on, but right this instant I'm in a bad mood, but I don't want to write about the thing that put me in a bad mood because I need to keep my job... at least until Christmas. So instead I'm writing about the last person to irk me; the bloke in high heels.

First and foremost, I'm just going to put it out there, I don't care about people cross-dressing, got no problem with it. We as humans have dedicated certain clothing items to certain genders, if a man wants to wear a skirt, it doesn't make him any less masculine, it's often funny as fuck, but I wouldn't think any less of him... because if he's brave enough to do that he'd probably knock my brittle frame in half.

Anyway, let's get to the fucking story...

I was walking to work the other morning at exactly 9.23am and my walks to and from work are always quite interesting. This is because from where I live is a shit-hole rife with unhappy married couples, students and drug addicts [that's me by the way], yet where I work is a rather upmarket, Tory voting [SCUMBAGS!!] area. For example; When I start my walk to work, I get the joy of seeing a man stealing clothes off a washing line on a Sunday morning. And when I'm five minutes from my house on a walk from work; I get the pleasure of seeing a group of junkies shooting up on a set of steps on a Thursday night [and yes those things actually happened].

And on the other hand; minutes after leaving work I pass a house with four cars on the drive [and none of them are up on bricks!]. And once before work I was in the local shop [that closes for a few hours midday, in this fucking day and age!] buying some Lucozade to power me through the onslaught of shit I was about to receive at work, and I was clearly second in the queue and while waiting an older middle-class lady [aka COFFIN-DODGING TORY CUNT] entered the shop, picked up her Daily Telegraph [aka FILTHY FUCKING TORY RAG!] and proceed to try and get served before me, but I'm a fucking gangsta... when it comes to retail etiquette... and I wasn't standing for any of that shit and she actually scoffed at me when I get served first... BITCH, I WAS SECOND IN THE QUENE BEFORE YOU EVEN STEPPED FOOT IN THE SHOP, YOU CUNT!

I kinda got rambling, but you get the point; I encounter a mix of people on my journeys to and from work, so on to the bloke in the high heels.

So once again; let's get to the fucking story...

I was walking to work the other morning at exactly 9.23am and I was almost at work, while descending quite a steep residential road coming up against me was the bloke in high heels [no homo]. When I walk to work I don't listen to music, just the noise around me and the thoughts in my head... and on this day; my thoughts were disturbed... and later on those disturbed thoughts were disrupted by the sound of high heels, yet when I glanced up from my iPhone expecting to see a female, I in fact saw a male!

I was slightly confused. Look, 9.23 am is not my “peak time”, I achieve my “peak time” after about four beers and two zoots, so if I'm working early; 7:45pm, working late; 1:30am, day off; ASAFP [the F stands for Fucking]. So, at 9.23am I'm usually feeling the effects of getting to and beyond the previous' day's “peak time”... what I'm trying to say is; I'm not too on-point. It takes a little time for things to register.

Although I'm slight be-puzzled, I glance at the man's footwear as he approaches me, maybe he's wearing some fancy winklepickers...
“They do look like high heels.” I think to myself, as my heavily bagged and still bloodshot eyes view the man's choice in foot attire.
I look away as he gets closer.
“Nah, he's not wearing high heels, you're seeing things you alcoholic stoner!” I think to myself. But I should have another look for conformation...
“Yep, he's wearing high heels! This man, is wearing high heels!”
Yet I still don't believe what I'm seeing, so I go for another look. And lone and behold this bloke is in high heels.

By this point the bloke in the high heels had noticed I taken notice to fact he was a bloke in high heels, and he shot me a dirty look... the kind of judgemental look a narrow minded individual would give to a bloke in high heels. But I'm not some narrow minded individual, yes I was giving the bloke in high heels a judgemental look and it was in part because of his choice of footwear but it has fuck all to do with any hatred towards his life style choice... it's all simply based around the fact he had his bicycle with him!

He was obviously pushing his bike... because he was in high heels! Who the fuck rides a bike in high heels, that's ridiculous! It's like this dude's seen the ending of Jurassic World and thought;
“Fuck it, if that bitch can outrun a T-Rex in high heels I can ride a bike in them!”
… but you can't, you twat! You was fucking pushing your bike, the fact of the matter is, if you were actually riding your bike, I wouldn't have noticed the clippity-clop of your heels sounding like a tap-dancer having a fucking seizure on stage! Which wouldn't have made my drug-addled mind constantly glance at your footwear, which in turn; wouldn't have got you thinking I was judging your lifestyle choice... which I totally wasn't, you cross-dressing twat!

The End.

The Exceptionally Weird World of Ben Broughton

Look, we're all a bit weird in our special ways. What seems the daily average to you may seem bizarre to the next person. Me, myself; I get extremely attached to inanimate objects, I have a tendency for hoarding certain things of no value plus I have certain quirks ingrained into me.

So here I'm going to offer you some insight into the life I live and all the 'norms' to me, that you may or may not know.

Hoarding #1; Haribo

An Un-'Bo-leavable Collection

Amongst those in the know, this is my most infamous hoarding 'project'. This is such a notorious part of my character that other people are willingly involved in this deluded action! Close friends and family members will constantly return from holidays aboard with bags of 'Bo for me. And I love them for it.

As for how this particular hoarding came about I'm not entirely sure. I've always been a fan of Harry Bo [that's how I pronounce it, like he's an actual fucking person], it's the perfect post-extra-long-cigarette-eating-snack. But the catalyst for me starting this collection is completely lost on everyone including myself. Kids, don't do drugs!

I'm not really fully aware as too how long this particular 'obsession' has been doing on either, what I'd guess anywhere between three to five years. People often ask me what I'm actually going to do with empty packaging of Haribo bags, and I'm not sure about that either.

But while my memory is fogging over the inception of this 'obsession', I have an extremely good grasp of the bags I've collected. I have loads, the picture featured is about 70% of what I have. There are some doubles, due to me changing the way I open the bags; I went from opening them like a normal person to cutting them open from the back with scissors to make sure the front stays intact [dedication]. But I can usually tell within an instant if I have a particular bag or not. In the world of collecting bags of 'Bo, that's like the best skill to have.

So to summarise; I don't know why I started this, I don't know when I started this and I don't know how it'll end. Upon discovering this revelation, I'm slightly unnerved by my actions and I'd rather not talk about it anymore because if I delve deeper I don't know what underlying causality is actually taking place here and I'd rather not find out.

Object of Affection #1; Cup & Spoon

"Mmm... brown stained Simpsons mug"

If I've lived with you in the past or you've ever come to my house for a cuppa, you'll know about this; but I rarely wash my cup and spoon. This pairing is my exclusive tea drinking equipment. Nobody else uses it [no surprise there].

I know from numerous reactions that most people find this “disgusting”. In my old job, I had the exact same set up; big Simpsons mug that I never washed, so if I had a holiday/time-off, staff members would bleach my cup in my absence [the bastards!].

Once again, I'm not sure how this started. I'm never writing an autobiography, as I seem to have little memory of my own fucking life, apparently. This 'quirk' has been going on for as long as I can remember though.

Eventually the pairing does get washed, if I was to hazard a guess; I'd say three or four times a year, or whenever the mood takes me. What's weird is I'm generally quite a neat freak, I won't use cutlery or crockery that isn't perfectly immaculate, but when it comes to my cup and spoon, I don't have any hang-ups what so ever.

In my opinion, tea tastes really good from this filthy mug and on this rare occasions it's clean, tea lacks something. Maybe it's all in my head, or maybe I'm the only person in England drinking tea properly.

Quirk #1; The Ring-pull Turn

This reminds me to buy more beer.

I don't have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but this trait is as close to OCD as I get. I'm quite found of my canned beverages, I drink from four to twelve a night depending on my mood. But as soon as I crack open that sweet amber nectar and the head squirts out of the hole like a successful “pull-out”, I'll always turn the ring-pull.

I know exactly where and why this quirk was birthed [surprised myself knowing this, to be honest]. In my younger adolescent days when I used to have bottle tops tied to the laces in my trainers; I spent the majority of my free time with my friends in a caravan getting high and drinking beers like gypsies. In that situation it soon became important to lay claim to what was yours; lighter, tobacco, beer. This is where I came up with the ring-pull turn. It followed into later life in university dorms and student houses, but now it's still with me, even as I drink alone, every night, crying at what my life as become. Woe is drunken me.

So there we have it, three things that I thought were normal, but after thinking about them for this blog post, I'm really starting to think I need to seriously re-evaluate my life.

Draft C.V.

Ben Broughton
@BenJonBroughton
www.benbroughton.blogspot.co.uk

Profile
I'm a pessimistic, borderline alcoholic with underlining issues with rage and delusions of grandeur. I attended the University of Derby in which I developed numerous skills that I am unable to translate to the 'real world'. I have the ability to complete tasks on my own [if you keep your nose out my business for long enough] and I can begrudgingly work in a team of idiots [as long as one team member promises to be the fall guy when the task is incomplete].

Qualifications

A glorified GCSE in Media Studies from the University of Derby.

• Emphasis on ducking lectures and coming up with elaborate lies to cover my back.
• Being a general nuisance and interrupting other student's education.
• Piss off if you want a third thing!

Work Experience

[Company Name Removed, due to embarrassment] 

[Nov 2010 – Present]

My role in the company is to come up with innovative strategies to maximise sales of cheap shit to idiotic consumers before they either realise the possession won't fill the void in their empty lives or they die. This role has also helped me develop numerous skills such as being able to put on a sympathetic face to someone while really not caring if they live or die. I've also learned to contain my discontent that I'm vastly underpaid for the title and job I have, while being able to mask my frustration that those in roles above me, pass off my ideas as their own, to aid their careers. I have excellent customer service for the first 3-8 minutes of each shift. I'm able to lead an average team into getting great results and also able to berate a below-average team into suicide.

[Major Supermarket, last time I checked]

[Oct 2002 – Nov 2010]

My role in this company primed my distaste for the entire human population that I'd later expand on in my next job. This job taught me I'd never achieve anything as my blond hair wasn't long enough, I didn't have massive tits and my sexual organs were on the outside of my body.

Interests

I like following OAPs around in a hoody to make them suspicious about me. I like to belittle other races in a non-racist way. My biggest passion is obviously writing … my friend's phone numbers in public toilets, offering free gay sex. I have an extremely expansive collection of toenail clippings that I hope one day will make me tens of pounds.

Achievements

Never been imprisoned for drug offences, fraud or murder. Haven't wet myself in well over a week.

Breaking Bad Book Store Etiquette

So, I was recently in a branch of the UK's most popular book store, and to save them getting any free publicity let's just call it 'H2O-pebbles' when I unintentionally overheard a conversation between a couple, that got me slightly irked.

Now, I understand that H2O-pebbles is not a library, although enough people treat it like one. But there's that unwritten rule that you should keep your voice a few decibels below your usual inside voice, yet this couple didn't seem to follow that rule. That fact alone made it easier to hear what these two fuckwits were talking about.

At first I attempted to block it out as I rooted around for belated Christmas presents [yeah, don't you wish you were in my inner-circle], but they kept congregating around my general vicinity, like flies to shit [could have picked a better metaphor that didn't label me as shit]. It didn't take me too long to clock on that these two were either on the cusp of getting into a romantic relationship or had just began one.

The biggest tell tale signs was their inability to stand in silence. Because when you've been together for a while there's no need for you to open your pie-hole and let a random barrage of words waterfall from the back of your throat. I do understand that in new relationships silence is deadly, it needs to be filled with inane chatter … “Have you read this book...”, “I heard they made it into a film...”, “Hey, that moody looking geezer looks irked that we're talking TOO FUCKING LOUDLY...”.

That's fine. Do what you gotta do, love birds, just do it quieter and away from me, please.

But the metaphorical straw that broke the metaphorical back of the metaphorical camel was when the female said; “Will you explain Breaking Bad to me, I was texting you when I was watching it so I kinda lost track.”

For some reason, unbeknownst to me, instead of giving the correct response; “No, you silly bitch, go back and watch those episodes again, in fact, what the bloody fuck are we doing in H2O-pebbles if you haven't watched those episodes of Breaking Bad I suggested?” [I myself would have thrown a couple of C-words in there too, to be fair] and breaking her fingers to stop her texting in future, the guy actually starts to catalogue what happens like a spineless, pussy-whipped C-word!

Deep down, I know this shouldn't frustrate me to the levels it does, but I can't help it. Honestly, this really fucking frustrates me.

Breaking Bad is a masterpiece of television and deserves to be treated as such.

You wouldn't describe a Picasso; “Well it's all like square bits and the faces are all mixed up and weird.”, you'd simply show it to a person. Just as you wouldn't half-heartedly hum a Beethovan symphony, instead you have the person listen to it. Breaking Bad is the same, you have the person watch it, for Heisenberg's [read as Christ's] sake!

I sincerely hope they went home and he [A] Clockwork Orange'd her [Ludovico technique scene, not the "Singin' in the Rain/Rape" scene]. If he didn't I hope they have a truly unhappy life together and they spawn stupid children that struggle to tie their shoelaces and get bullied everyday by my kids; Walt, Jesse and Saul.

The Blogging Dead

Like quite a few people these days I have an overactive fixation with the dead [in a non-necrophilia way] and the inevitable zombie apocalypse. But I’m more than just some Walking Dead geek-boy, I’m actually looking forward to the day that the dead roam the streets feasting on the living. 

Before we get into it, let me just clarify that when I’m speaking on zombies, I’m actively talking about the classic zombie; Dawn of the Dead/The Walking Dead type; slow moving hordes, not the 28 Days Later/I Am Legend; hordes of cannibalistic Usain Bolt’s charging at you. In my mind, the main aspect of zombies is that on paper they are slow, stupid, primitive beings, easy to escape from/kill individually, but the scary threat is eventually they will catch up with you, they’re a bit like killer bees in that aspect; easy to take out one but a whole load of them is trouble, obviously bees just sting, the undead devour on your innards [keep that in mind]. The super fast zombies are too much, it’s uncalled for! When the apocalypse begins and if it’s the sprinting undead I’m dealing with, I’d rather just kill myself than have to spend my life dodging those bastards because you don’t stand a chance.    

Obviously, I’ve educated myself on telltale signs of the apocalypse, so I know when to act. [I’m not going to point out the signs; it’s up to you to teach yourself, it’s the zombie apocalypse people!! No time for humane gestures, that shit’s straight out the window, if I taught you everything I knew, there’d be less zombie bait around]. Now, I’m not one of those idiots that says shit like; “Wouldn’t it be cool if zombies did happen, I’d be right on the streets smashing skulls open with a baseball bat”, because firstly there’s no ‘ifs’, it will happen and also, trying to play the hero like that turns you from a buff buffoon into a buffet. That’s the first reason I’m looking forward to ‘the event’, it’s really going to separate those that act on emotions or ill thought out plots with those of us that take in our surroundings and formulate plans [that's plans, plural; Plan A-Z in case some shit you didn’t expect goes down].

When the inevitable shit hits the fan, things are going to be difficult for us British. In films there’s a whole heap of weapons used against zombies, of course the primary weapon is usually a firearm [that’s a gun, not a body part set alight to strike zombies in the face]. Now, guns aren’t readily available in the UK which leads to less psychopaths shooting up schools, but makes defending ourselves from the undead more problematic. So we have to be constantly vigilant as to what items around us could be used as weapons. For example, right now I’m sat at my PC desk [the usual place I sit at to write], if a zombie was to just shuffle into my bedroom this instant [which is impossible, my house is extremely secure from zombies and home invaders and bailiffs, but this is just a hypothetical situation], what do I have to use as a weapon? Nothing you may think, but you’d be wrong, have a quick look around the room and there are plenty of items that could be used for putting down a ‘walker’; chin-up bar [a bar you fix to the walls to do chin-ups/pull-ups]; it’s not set up as I have plenty of upper body strength, plus it’s heavy and long enough for me not to get too close to the being, nine empty bottles of Southern Comfort plus three empty bottles of wine [I drink too much, enough said]; handy for throwing at the zombies head and keeping my distance, I’m not the best at throwing stuff but I have twelve attempts, a massive plank of wood from my dismantled bed; again heavy and I get to keep my distance. Now, if none of those worked, I’d be in a bit of a predicament and I’d have to opt for closer combat to make sure I didn’t end up as a tasty human hors d’oeuvre. Luckily for me I have a screwdriver on my desk; perfect for lodging into a zombies brain, a wine glass [I’ve already said; enough said on this matter]; smash it, yet another item to be plunged into the face, make shift hooks for coats/jackets; easily detachable from my wardrobe door into a zombie’s skull. But if none of those worked, I’d easily escape the zombie’s grasp and run out of my room like a coward [my bedroom is spacious, I could dodge two zombies in here, don’t try to dodge a zombie in a box room, you’re just asking for trouble]. Now for a little exercise, take in your surroundings and see what’s available to you to use if you were met by a zombie right this minute.

I hope you didn’t get hypothetically eaten!

Hopefully, with the little insights I’ve shared, I’ve proven I’d last a while into the apocalypse, which is the place I want to be. After the initial break out, the confusion, the first massive wave of deaths, the fall of governments, emergency services and so forth is when it gets good. This is the world I really romanticise; the lawlessness of survival, because that’s all life becomes; survival, how beautifully Darwinian. The entire strains of society and modern day life have broken down; no religion, no job, no bills, no politics, no laws, no money, there’s practically nothing apart from you and them. Sometimes it seems like we just drift through life not really living it the way we should, be once the apocalypse begins everyday will be wonderful; “Wow, didn’t get eaten yesterday, hope today brings more of the same”. 99% of our troubles and fears would be based around one giant feature; zombies.

Wouldn’t life just seem so much easier?

Apart from the threat of being devoured alive.

Wipe Power!

While returning to the squalor that is my home town for the “Festive Season” to “enjoy the company of my family” and stock up on deodorant/shower gift sets, I had some lively debates in the place where all arguments get aired out [and started]; the public house. Of course the topics were nothing trailblazing, it was the same old shit that gets spouted on a daily basis over pint pots up and down the country; racism, the class system, what a twat David Cameron is, whom amongst us has the most pitiful existence [I still think it's me, so go fuck yourselves] and what a cunt David Cameron is. Yet one debate wasn't run of the mill and got extremely heated, I'm talking two verbs and an adjective from a bottle getting smashed, a face getting sliced and a sentence getting handed down. That debate; What is the correct way to wipe your bottom.

Now this debate wasn't the most detailed, as we never got on to aspects as important as to fold the paper or scrunch it up, to be fair we didn't even touch on how many sheets [of toilet paper] is ample for cushioning the excrement to avoid the dreaded splash black. This debate raged over one simple aspect; do you stand or sit to wipe?

Take to two seconds to answer this question, although it's probably not best to vocalise it if you're in a crowded area. If you're thinking; “Well I kind of sit on the fence” … I say to you; “Why the fuck are you sitting on the fence while you take a shit, buy a toilet!”

OK, from my extended research I've found that the majority of people sit to wipe, so if you also sit to wipe; congratulations, you're one of the many! So if you stand to wipe that inevitably means you are one of the few but congratulations to you because you're right.

While this wasn't the first time I've had this conversation, this was the first time it was done on a large scale, leading to my previous results [before hand it was a 50/50 split] being totally incorrect. The first time I found out people sat to wipe, it was an eye opening experience. It had never occurred to me that this was possible or even practiced. It was a real shock to the system, as wiping one's anus is a daily task undertaken by everyone [apart from Kim Jong-il according to North Korea propaganda sources]. Finding out there was a different way to approach this task was like discovering that most people do a handstand over the toilet while they piss.

Some may feel that seeing as they are in the minority over such a detail that they are the amongst the individuals going about this act in the incorrect way, whereas I've gave this plenty of thought – probably too much thought, but then again what else do I have happening in my life?

Why Standing to Wipe is Better:

Let's start off by saying if you sit to wipe you're a lazy fucker. You can't even be arsed to attend to your arse properly. I've tried sitting down to wipe [after hearing everyone else did it, I thought I'd give it ago to see what I was missing] and it's difficult to 'attend to the problem' [that's the nicest way I could think of writing; it's fucking hard to reach your arsehole successfully when sat on the throne]. This is what's wrong with this country; too many people too lazy to stand to wipe their bums! Get off the porcelain, wipe your shitter, wash your hands and get a fucking job.

When you stand to wipe you are the perfect position to view what you've just excreted. I firmly believe that all humans have an a massive interest in what their bodies produce. If some substance is expelled from your body you are instantly curious about it, so it's only right to have a good look at it. It's hard to get a decent view of your toilet deposit when you're sat over it.

When your stood up wiping your more ready to tackle possible intruders. Now, I've never had anyone break into my home but for the purpose of this [extremely important] blog, let's say an intruder enters my home while I'm on the bog. I have no idea he's in the house and it's time to wipe;

Scenario One: Sat.
So I'm sat on the toilet wiping my ring piece when the intruder kicks the [bathroom] door down and enters [as with most homes, we keep all our valuables in the bathroom in case you wondered why an intruder would want to enter our bathroom]. At first he's taken aback by the smell, but as I stand and struggle to get my jeans on, he's overcome the stench and stabbed me to death.

Scenario Two: Stood.
So I'm stood in the bathroom wiping, door kicked down, intruder. He's taken back by the smell and the fact that some blokes there with his cock out, this gives me twice as much time to act [compared to sitting], in one swift move I lift one leg from my jeans, run at the intruder and kick him in the face Tony Jaa style leaving him with severe brain damage.


In all honesty, it's rare that I actually write something heartfelt on my blog but I honestly think this sit/stand to wipe argument is in all seriousness one of the most important things I've ever written and I doubt I'll ever be able to channel my focus on a topic so close to my heart ever again. I hope you've had a couple of chuckles along the way, but please take this matter seriously, I don't want you to leave this webpage now and just forget about what you've read, I want you to act upon it. If you're a sitter, try standing and if you're a stander, keep standing [you're the one doing it correctly after all]. Bring up this subject at work, in the playground [if you're a student that is, if you're out of school DO NOT go into a playground asking children how they wipe their bums], at family dinners to get people sharing. Write to your local MP ask him/her their opinions on the matter and what is their political parties' stance on sitting/standing. Start a Facebook group. Get it trending on Twitter. Tattoo your allegiance to your forehead.

Happy Wiping.

#kimjongilfacts

I'm on Twitter, I joined in a hope that it'd be useful, something I could use when making hilarious off-the-cuff comments. But usually when I utter a rib tickling one-liner amongst friends I just sit there soaking up the gratitude from those within ear shot, instead of pulling out my phone to share it with my massive legion of [24] followers. Anyway, here's a little theme I had going; Kim Jong-il Facts; 100% made up, I started this on the 18th October, then when Kim died other Tweeters jacked the hashtag and started posting true Kim facts.

Kim Jong-il’s rap name is Kim Jong-illest

Kim Jong-il’s rap aliases are Kim Jong-iller, Kim Jong-illin’ and Lil’ Kim… Jong-il

Kim Jong-illest's first track was a diss to Kim Hwang-sik, entitled; "I'll end your Korea"

Kim Jong-illest's 2nd track was also a diss to Kim Hwang-sik, entitled; "I'll leave you Seoul-less"

North Koreans refer to pulling a whitey [from too much weed] as being Kim Bong-ill

Kim Jong-il's first film role was as a giant monkey that savages South Korea in "Kim Kong-il"

Kim Jong-il is so self-obsessed that his internet homepage is http://kimjongillookingatthings.tumblr.com/

Contrary to popular belief; Kim Jong-il has never been lonely/ronery

The questions from Kim Jong-il on Ask Rhod Gilbert are actually from the Dear Leader, he also gets a writers credit & paid

#Gadaffi is dead. Kim Jong-il doesn't care and isn't worried

Coca Cola isn't sold in North Korea, instead they sell Kim Kola; made entirely from Kim Jong-il's sweat

Kim Jong-il hosts North Korea's highest rated cooking show; "Ready, Steady, Crufts"

If you flip a North Korean coin (featuring the image of Kim Jong-il) it will land on heads 100% of the time

Kim Jong-il was set to join the NK squad vs Uzbekistan, but FIFA blocked it as Kim's boots are made from solid gold

Kim Jong-il; "Dear Leader" is a mistranslation, it's actually "Deer Leader" as he is able to communicate with the animal

Kim Jong-il has won North Korea's Got Talent for 3 years running

Kim Jong-il's 1st Year on North Korea Has Talent; He disproved the existence of Democracy while juggling kittens

Kim Jong-il's 2nd Year on North Korea Has Talent; He acted out 12 Angry Man in it's entirety, playing all roles

Kim Jong-il's 3rd Year on North Korea Has Talent; He sat in a chair for five minutes

Hennessy Cognac shares have taken a nose dive after the death of Kim Jong-il

I was tweeting #kimjongilfacts, before the man died, cos I'm cool like that, anyone doing it now was simply scared of any repercussions

Housemate Wanted

Hey lucky reader, yes; YOU! I'm about to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity not to be passed up.

Due for unforeseeable events involving what can only be described as selfish cunts, a room has become available to rent in my abode. It's not often that a chance such as this comes up, so it is advised that you take this opportunity ASAP.

The house has all the mod-cons*. Over the past few years the world has been savaged by mother nature, while homes, huts and businesses are left in ruin worldwide, my house is 100% tsunami proof, so that should ease any possible worries you have. Also; wild bear attacks are at a constant level of zero and have been since records began, attacks from smackheads with dirty needles has been on the increase over the last decade though; but as they say around here; “we all gets AIDs eventually, why wait?”

The house is situated in one of the East-Midlands biggest (and only) cities; Derby. While Nottingham is known for it's legacy, excellent night life and brilliant shopping facilities (- if you're into that kind of capitalist stuff), Derby has things to offer too; like a regular bus service to Nottingham so you can take advantage of all their great stuff. But it's not just buses into Nottingham, no! You can also take the train. Derby itself has a couple of things on hand to keep you entertained; like Lara Croft Way; a road named after the Tomb Raider character, the Derby Ram [statue]; it may look like a coiled concrete turd but it's something to look at for 20 seconds or so**. All of this exciting stuff is a only minutes away from my house, how I ever get anything done is beyond me!

If you've liked what you've read so far about this amazing, once in a lifetime opportunity, you should carry on reading to see if you fit the qualifications to become my housemate.

What We Don't Want:
Drum & Bass DJs; you're a plague on society, there's too many of you and I can't be seen with any more of you. My quota for D&B DJs as friends/acquaintances is maxed out ten fold, so fuck off.

Jews; we aren't anti-Semitic, we're just not welcoming to anyone that believes in a monotheism religion, so Christians and Muslims are included in this too, as you all basically believe the same thing, you just quarrel over the small details.

Anyone with a political ideology that leans to the right; if you vote Conservative you're not welcome and probably far too posh to live here anyway.

Drug enthusiasts; if you're drugs are anything but; tea, coffee, tobacco, alcohol or marijuana, this probably isn't the place for you as I'm not explaining another OD'd corpse to police/grieving families.

What We Do Want:
Someone with a 'good' taste in music; basically if you have a varied taste in music you'll more than likely get on with someone in the house. A love and detailed understanding on British battle rap (and it's history) is preferred but not mandatory (yet).

Someone with an income; self-explanatory really, you need money to pay bills and keep the fucking debt collectors at bay.

Someone thick-skinned; you must be able to take a joke at your expense, also thick skin comes in handy as we have single-glazed windows (double-glazing is for motherfucking pussies), so on occasions*** it gets a little chilly.

House Rules:
House Rules!! Respect must be given to the fictional doctor Gregory House. Revealing spoilers from the latest episode is punishable by death. This is also true for The Walking Dead.

Do not answer the door; if you're not expecting visitors, you do not answer the door as usually the person on the other side is after money, usually owed to them by someone in the house.

*according to a survey done in 1985
** it's not better than Nottingham's left Lion though, hell, it's not even better than the right Lion!
*** on occasions, meaning from October – March.

A Different Kind of Sick Blog

Hello loyal follower/random passer-by/Facebook Friend that clicked a link; how are you today?

Enough with the pleasantries you tossers, I don’t really care how you feel today because I feel like shit. Not just any regular shit, but proper shit, really fucking shitty. You know them shits that you take and then examine for a good five minutes before you flush, while thinking; “Now that’s a shit!” well that’s how I feel at this instant. Right now I’m sat quarantined in my bedroom with the curtains drawn, lights off, surrounded by brittle, discarded tissues like some 13-year-old virgin that’s just discovered PornHub. I’m not in an emotional state in case that’s what you were wondering, I’m not mulling around in darkness because of feelings of guilt. Guilt is for convicted paedophiles and embarrassed MPs and I’m neither of them ... yet. I’m wallowing in a sea of self-pity because I’m ill. Not just ill though; infected.

I don’t get “poorly-sickies”, easily. It’s quite a surprise that my immune system is able to keep me safe guarded from the many viruses floating around the contaminated public that inhabit Derby, due to my complete lack of staying healthy and continued consumption of alcohol randomly discovered on the street. The pure fact that I spent 99.9% of my life disease-free should be viewed as a medical mystery. But on those off occasions that a Trojan Horse penetrates my Firewall, not even a [Spyware] Doctor can remove the Infection. Sometimes I wish humans were more like computers, so that when we did fall victim to some sickness we could just System Restore to a previous day or turn ourselves off and start from Last Known Good Configuration. Plus if women were more like computers it’d be much easier to turn them on [Hey lads, am I right? Or what?] and they’d be easier to boot up [although domestic violence is wrong, no matter how drunk you claim to be].

What makes this matter worse is that today is my day off. One of the very few times I get to spend relaxing, sitting around doing nothing and I’m stuck inside; relaxing and sitting around doing nothing... while being ill. There’s a massive difference in there, somewhere, because now instead of watching random videos and YouTube in my boxers, I’m watching videos on YouTube in my boxers coughing up chunks of phlegm that could drown a kitten, small dog or a new born child. Detainees at Guantanamo Bay had it piss easy compared to my current situation. Suffragettes can suck a dick; I’m the one that’s suffering here.

My sinuses are more blocked than the A38 in rush hour. My oesophagus feels as if I’m deep-throated a spiked bat. I’m dripping sweat like a chunky porn star in a steam room scene. My skeleton aches like someone’s been into my room last night and stolen all my fucking bone marrow to sell on the black market. I’ve got pale mucus slithering out of orifices I didn’t even know I had. And loads of other shitty analogies that I’m too tired to think of...

Now I’m off to cram in a bunch of Halls and Soothers in my month in an attempt to nullify my gullet long enough to enjoy a smoke.

iAtus Explained

Some would say that since I haven't been posting blogs lately the internet hasn't quite been the same. These people are clearly deluded, but I fucking love them for it. I'm not going to speculate on the rumours surrounding my recent hiatus, for a couple of reasons, the main one being there's been no rumours. Turns out I'm not as popular as I and other deluded people think I am. But that's fine by me, popularity is a difficult to achieve and even harder to keep up – I can barely sustain an erection, so I'm definitely not ready to take on a burden of popularity. Plus to be popular, you have to keep on the cusp of fashion and recent events, I'm fair to busy cruising YouTube and Facebook stalking for that shit.

Anyhow, I will tell you readers [if there's any of you left] why I have been away. You see, what I've done here is mention that I haven't been writing lately to get you wondering why and now I've drawn you in, you want to continue reading, that's the sign of a good writer - while pointing it out is the sign of a unpopular blogger stroking his own ego and only mentioning it to pad out the whole blog [62 extra words, POW!!]. The fact of the matter is I've been away because something spectacular has happened to me. I'm sure it's happened to plenty of other people lately, maybe some people you know. I haven't had my phone hacked by News of the World [or any other News Corp publication] if that's what you're wondering. This is probably because I have no voice-mail, plus if I did, I trust the people with my phone number to not say anything incriminating in a message, that's just common sense. But the reason for my hiatus is phone related. Addicted to phone sex lines? No. Obsessed with prank calling elderly relatives? No. Did I set my phone to vibrate, lube it up and slide it into my sphincter? No.

I got myself a new phone; an iPhone!

Now I've never had much love for Apple products or apples in general unless they're Granny Smith's [shout out to Granny Smith – I'm trying to get corporate funding or at least so free apples], I have an iPod [but c'mon, who doesn't?], I detest Macs and I could never see myself owning an iPad. I don't know what it is about them, I'm sure the products work perfectly well and are built to an extremely excellent standard, but I get the impression that anyone that owns an iPhone/iPad/Mac is a pompous, pretentious prick.

Right about now I'd like to say; I'm the exception that proves the rule, but I'm not. I can slowly feel the cuntishness iPhone owner traits creeping into my everyday life. Such things as calling my phone an iPhone in conversations, so instead of saying; “Yeah, you can borrow my phone.” I say; “You can't touch my iPhone with your grubby little mitts, you cock!” I've gone app crazy; Lotto app to check my numbers, Hay-fever app to check the pollen count, WordPress app so I can blog on the move – but guess what I've got no time to write because I'm too busy playing on my iPhone … Yeah, iPhone, not phone; iPhone! I get it out of my pocket at least once every ten minutes to unlock it, scroll through the menu, just to lock it again – I don't know why, there's no justification in it, it's just a natural reaction now. And the games... oh the games. I initially told myself, I wouldn't get Angry Birds, let alone become addicted to it, but guess what, I did and I have. So far my friends have hosted three interventions for my Angry Bird addiction and although they've all explained in massive detail how playing Angry Birds is slowly eroding what's left of our dying relationships/friendships, I still don't give a flying fuck. Some apps are only 59p, that is a fucking bargain, don't Mars bars cost more than that now and they last about a minute, a good app could keep you entertained for days on end.

Having owned a BlackBerry and now an iPhone, I feel comfortable wading in on the classic debate; BlackBerry vs iPhone. Going from a BlackBerry to an iPhone is like going from a hand job from a ugly crackhead to shagging Miss World. Don't get me wrong, the BlackBerry is a good phone (crackheads can also give good hand jobs – so I'm told) but the iPhone is an experience, it ceases being a phone, it becomes a friend, and as you begin to favour it over mates, family members and loved ones, it becomes your only friend and as time goes on it becomes your only reason to live.


I struggled to stay focussed on this because I kept playing on my iPhone, sorry it wasn't better.

Life, Living and Nike's 'Just Do It' Mini Backpacks

Hi haters, sorry about the hiatus … I've been high ages.

So, what's been happening? The answer; nothing.

It's abruptly come to my attention that while I happen to just about manage to live day to day without dying or getting 'sparked out' by unnamed battler rappers, I don't really have much of a life to speak of. And while that's always been remotely true to some degree, I at least had the determination to be opinionated and passionate about subjects, to the point I would attempt to air my frustrations while hunched over my PC puffing away on a constant supply of cigarettes.

Yet those days seem a distant memory now, as I feel I've given up on giving a fuck. Don't get me wrong, things do slightly annoy me. The most recent thing being the overwhelming popularity of Nike's “Just Do It” Mini Backpacks amongst teenage boys.

They [the teenage boys] look even more like fucking adolescent pricks than they already are with those ridiculous miniature backpacks on. Seriously what is the point of these bags? They're tiny, a two month premature baby has a bigger sack. I see them as an easy way to spot out which members of a teenage group are still virgins. I was going to take it upon myself to punch anyone under fifteen [years of age] in the face if I saw them wearing one [I have no shame in beating up minors, I pick my fights and I pick the ones I'll win], and as they lay on the floor crying [and probably bleeding – cos I'm hard as fuck, mate], I'd rip the bag off their back, unzip it and proceed to shit into it. After a few minutes of deliberation, I obviously opted against this plan for two reasons; one; these bags are so small, if I was to take a dump in one the shit would probably overflow [like a toilet backing up after a Christmas Dinner Shit], two; at the end of the day I don't actually hate them enough to go to the trouble of inflicting violence on a child no matter how idiotic the latest fad makes them look, plus I'm Ben Broughton, I should be saving my faeces for better things, like; freezing them to throw at stray cats or probably medical research, cos the other day I took one the size of my forearm, no word of a lie.

Anyway, less shit talk [get it? shit talk, I was talking about shit – whoo, still got it bitches!], what the fuck am I going to do about my life? I've got to start living it, I'm not going to be around much longer. I'm 24 now, I had a mid-life crisis at 13, so I reckon I have about two good years ahead of me.

Maybe I have some sort of post-Graduation depression, I'm no longer a student and I can't adapt to 'normal society' [I use that term loosely when describing life in Derby]. I'm a bit like a prisoner released back into the community only knowing prison life. It's not as if my life has changed that much; I still hang around the same small select group of friends, any extra money goes on intoxicants, I don't do University assignments … Hey! Look at that! It's exactly the same! [Pointing out my own shitty downfalls is the only way I can cope with coming at the bottom of my class].

Now to prove I'm lacking focus and drive; THE END.

Milkin' It

I don't know if you've seen the recent adverts for milk but they feature 'celebrities' with little slogans relating to milk. Here's a couple of examples;

“white magic” for that ginger one from Harry Potter.
“milks on the button” for Jenson Button
“keepin' it fresh” for Usher
“pixie drinks lotts” for Pixie Lott

But this one is too far IMO;

An in Depth Look into the Governments Decision to Remove Cigarette Displays – by a Twat

Be gone free choice, we pitiful human beings can longer be trusted with you. We’ve had you and look at what some of us have gone and done; we’ve chosen to smoke. Yes, we’ve decided to take up a habit the increases our chances of getting a long, long list of diseases. We’ve picked an addiction that now leaves us castrated from the rest of society and their non-black lungs – but do you know what, we still don’t give a fuck because we still look cool.

So after adding written warnings to cigarette packets, an advertisement ban, adding graphic [warning] images to cigarette packets and introducing a smoking ban – it seems like the war against smoking has stepped it up a gear again; cigarette displays will soon be removed from shops. [I would have put an emoticon sad face here, but I’m not a twelve year old girl – unless I’m in chat room ;-) lolz XxX]

Don’t get me wrong, I understand that stopping people smoking seems like a good thing. I suppose we’ll get a healthier nation; people will live longer and be able to pay more tax. Plus less people will be ill, that means there’ll be less of a burden for the NHS – just in time as it looks like plenty of staff will be out of a job soon.

I see a lot of people saying that this is all for the youth of today, they’re too easily grasped by the evil hands of nicotine. Kids will be kids. Some will smoke, some won’t. People act like this is a new craze, it’s been happening for years. My great-grandmother started smoking around her mid-teens and carried on for the rest of life until it was cut short in her 90s – imagine how long she would have lived if she never picked up the habit.

The thing I can’t understand is the logic behind removing cigarette displays. All the previous laws introduced do have at least some sense behind them, but this is completely lost on me. As for forcing tobacco companies to package their product in plain packaging – what the fuck is that about? No, honestly. Can someone tell me? I understand that the designs on cigarette packets is all cool and stuff [apart from the pictures of tumours and shit] – but if cigarettes are to be kept under the counter soon, why on earth would you need to put them in plain packages? It’s like gouging a blind man’s eyes out. Is it in case someone catches a glimpse of them before the customer puts them in their pocket or handbag? Does the sight of cigarettes offend people that much, or is it that if a young impressionable child gets a sight of the shiny packet they’ll instantly want to start smoking?

Let kids smoke is what I say - they’re all little, ungrateful, idiotic cunts anyway [according to most media outlets] – they don’t deserve to live a long and fruitful life.

Yeah, I’ve reached a point in which I don’t know how to finish things off, as this was just a quick exercise, so here’s a list of other ways [that one day may be introduced by government] to stop people from smoking;

- Sowing people’s mouths closed, making all food in liquid form and have the entire population communicate by sign-language.
- Ban lighters and matches so smokers have to light cigarettes by bashing bits of flint together or rubbing a stick on another stick.
- Fitting designated smoking areas will sprinkler systems that go off over five seconds.
- Whenever a customer purchases some cigarettes a loud alarm goes off alerting everyone in the shop – much to the embarrassment of the customer.
- Breaking the fingers of smokers and would-be-smokers so they can’t spark up.
- Douse individuals in petrol so they can’t spark up – although the way petrol prices are rocketing this is doubtful.
- Nuke us. Just set off a nuclear bomb that kills us all. Then the only smoking we’ll be doing is that of our charred remains.

Until next time – when I’ll spend time and attention towards something good.

Thinking about the Thoughts of a Xenophobic Man

I was at work not so long ago* and I served an older gentleman and we had a little chat. The conversation began with a little discussion about the age gap between us, I can't remember exactly how it went, I've got high since then, but basically he was saying that he had more life experience than me, although I doubt he's ever been on a two hour bus journey with the worst come down ever. It was a light-hearted discussion. I decided to ask him; “So, seeing as you have so much experience, do you have any tips for me?” to which he responded; “You need to move aboard, there's too many bloody foreigners here nowadays.”

This, of course, had me taken back. I'm all for foreigners, I love their food, their attitude and their female sexual organs. It seemed that this gentleman was so nice up until the point he uttered that xenophobic suggestion. I'd have never had taken him down for a man with a predigest against others because of their nationalities, although I suppose the fact he was buying a Daily Mail should have been a clue, he also had “NF” tattooed on his forehead and seeing as he was wearing a Derby FC shirt I'm assuming it didn't stand for Nottingham Forest or he'd be ConDem Government [; that's now shorthand for “holding two conflicting ideologies that will never possibly work together” - mmm satire] – so that should have been a bigger clue.

I kind of just stared at him as he walked away, slightly gob-smacked over what I'd just heard, but then I began to think about what it was that he had said and how it had made absolutely no sense whatsoever. I understand that some individuals do not like the fact that people from other countries move to England and there's probably nothing I can do to change their minds. But if you're not too keen on foreigners and you think they may be hindering society in Britain, why would you suggest to someone that they should move aboard. I'm no immigration expert but I would go as far as saying that 100% of immigrants that come to this country are in fact from aboard.

This man's argument for getting out of England because there's too many foreigners is only going to land me in a situation where there's more foreigners, that is so illogical and ridiculous it boggles the mind to a point in which my brain could liquidise and slowly ooze out of my ears. At which point my zombiefied shell of a body would be forced to mop up the brain goop - as I was at work, remember?

I sincerely hope that the man took his own advice. I would have loved to have been around when he get on the plane at “aboard”, when he stepped off to start his new life only to realise that he was surrounded by foreigners!

One thing that has always made me wonder about Nationalist is how do they feel about people emigrating from the country they're so Nationalist about? For example if the BNP held power in Britain [they never will, this is just one of those really, really, extremely unlikely, comedy situations] would they stop British people emigrating to the likes of Australia? Surely if you're a Nationalist you share views with other Nationalist the world over, you'd want to make sure their country was “pure”, so you wouldn't want to aid foreigners [in this case; British people] from arriving on their shores. If you are a Nationalist/Fascist/Racist could you please get back to me on this?

*Notice this is the second recent Blog about work, I have no life.