Usually, I qualify my opinion of something with an opening gambit along the lines of "it must be me who doesn't get it" but for once I can be completely confident that it is me who's right, and I like it.
I'm talking of course about fancy dress.
I'm 30, and therefore deem such pursuits as childish, pointless piffle. We had the occasional FD party within my circle of friends when we were growing up, and it was usually a clever way of avoiding forking out for party bags, by placing the entertainment onus on the attendees rather than on the party thrower. Even with that thrifty advantage it still doesn't appeal to me.
In the next few weeks I'm to expect an invitation to a friend's 30th, and she's decided fancy dress is the way to go. Apparently, acting like an infant isn't enough, so she's opted for the theme 'P'. I'm led to believe that means dressing up as something beginning with the letter P. If that's the case, I'm going to go in my normal garb, and if anybody asks me what I've come as, I'll declare "Piss off, I'm an adult". That starts with P.
What is the attraction for supposed grown adults to dress like aubergines and regional KKK operatives in the name of entertainment? I really can't see it, and am proud to admit that since the age of about 10 I've rejected every call to dress up at a shindig apart from one (a family do where I would have been slaughtered for not 'joining in', so I just put some of my old clothes on and went as myself from 1997). I still attended the other parties, but was resolute in my actions; "I ain't dressing up for nobody pal, I don't care how much I stand out. It's a childish pursuit and I won't be any part of your pathetic excuse for a party. Happy birthday, by the way".
Don't get me wrong; I've got nothing specifically against people who want to do this, regardless of their age (I do think however that there is an age range where it's not acceptable; 14 to 40 just about covers it. After than you look like a twat no matter how you dress so it doesn't matter). What does piss me off however is when people label me as 'miserable' for not donning a carrot outfit to a drinks occasion. Sorry? How does that work? As far as I can see I didn't waste any time and certainly no money agonising over what I should dress as to a party containing a high percentage of adults I've never met before, but I'm still smiling and enjoying myself. How exactly does that make me miserable?
I think what I'm saying is live and let live. If you want to dress as a pervy doctor, complete with 'boob inspector' hat, be my guest. If you want to wrap yourself in a piss-stained undersheet from your grotty little bedsit and pretend to be Julius Caesar, help yourself. Don't, however, expect me to participate. If that means not inviting me to avoid damaging the ambiance of your party then so be it; I won't be offended. If you lose your magic wand or one of your cowboy pistols, though, don't come running to me. Tossers.
Friday 31 October 2008
Wednesday 29 October 2008
The Fop and Dot Cotton vs. Manuel
So, Brand and Ross are up to their zany, madcap antics again, eh? Makes you spunk blood in pure rage doesn't it?
OK, let's deconstruct the whole sorry story blog-style. Two of the most notorious, well-paid and therefore popular of the BBC's employees thought it would be a good idea to call up an elderly man and leave lewd and inappropriate answerphone messages for him. The content is thought to include references to his granddaughter's sexual proclivities with Brand and suggestions that he might hang himself because of the bad publicity. Given their ages and stature, it really is a pathetic state of affairs.
My initial opinion was 'you daft apoths', and to be fair it's not shifted far from that. Yes, it is moderately newsworthy for one day and undoubtedly upsetting for Andrew Sachs, but the obvious little-Englander badnwagoning to the complaints received is bugging me. Apparently, the pre-recorded show drew 2 complaints when it was first aired, but since it's hit the news stands more than 10,000 people have complained. Even Gordon Brown has got involved. Not since the days of 'Free the Weatherfield One' has the House of Commons' time being so ridiculously misspent.
Seriously, who gives that big a shit about this story?
In these times of financial uncertainty and people being slotted for preaching Christianity (probably shouldn't ask for my opinions there), is a story about a limp-tongued fop and his Dot Cotton lookalike sidekick really that important? Really?
A lot of the vitriol stems from the fact that these two (particularly Ross) earn an absolute shitload for their dubious services. A fair wedge of the complaints seem to be that we pay their wages, so they should act more responsibly. That's fair enough as far as I'm concerned, although I put towards their wage as well and I couldn't care less what they did, as long as they leave my car alone and don't dawb 'QUEER' on my door in dog shit.
The act itself was despicable, especially when they targeted a former BBC employee and much-loved comedy performer. True, his granddaughter has bumped uglies with Brand, but that's no reason to leave messages proclaiming the fact; I very much doubt he gives a rat's ass. In my opinion, the pair should be suspended and docked wages which should be paid to a charity of Sachs' choice. When they return they should issue full and frank apologies and explain why they did what they did. All of this media-based tut-tutting and claiming of the moral high ground is doing nobody any good, and misses the point spectacularly. I'm pretty sure if John Suchet or David Dimbleby had done this they would be out on their ear; the fact it's two of the brightest stars on the station is preventing the Beeb from showing some balls and giving them a slap. This blatant lack of decisiveness is what's pissing the general public off so much. It was an opportunity for Auntie to show they are in touch with the people by carpeting them, but anything they do now will just be locking the door once the horse has bolted.
The thing is, as already stated this was pre-recorded, which meant the show had to go through what the Beeb laughingly refer to as 'editorial guidelines'. Dropped the ball a bit there didn't you fellas? Nobody's sure how far up the chain of command this goes, but somebody in a higher position than those two clowns gave the OK for it to be aired. Regardless of the responsibilities of the presenters, somebody further up has to take responsibility for it ever being broadcast. And I'll bet my bollocks to a barndance that we've never find out who.
Anyway, the granddaughter isn't getting out of this scot-free. I'm not saying she's to blame, but shagging Brand was a bit of a daft thing to do wasn't it? And she's in a burlesque troupe called Satanic Sluts or summat, which brings its own set of questions. She's upset that they've effectively picked on her granddad and rightly so, but she might want to reconsider her future bedfellows to keep the peace at the Christmas dinner table.
All in all, a sad way for two genuinely talented personalities to conduct themselves. It was quite funny though...
OK, let's deconstruct the whole sorry story blog-style. Two of the most notorious, well-paid and therefore popular of the BBC's employees thought it would be a good idea to call up an elderly man and leave lewd and inappropriate answerphone messages for him. The content is thought to include references to his granddaughter's sexual proclivities with Brand and suggestions that he might hang himself because of the bad publicity. Given their ages and stature, it really is a pathetic state of affairs.
My initial opinion was 'you daft apoths', and to be fair it's not shifted far from that. Yes, it is moderately newsworthy for one day and undoubtedly upsetting for Andrew Sachs, but the obvious little-Englander badnwagoning to the complaints received is bugging me. Apparently, the pre-recorded show drew 2 complaints when it was first aired, but since it's hit the news stands more than 10,000 people have complained. Even Gordon Brown has got involved. Not since the days of 'Free the Weatherfield One' has the House of Commons' time being so ridiculously misspent.
Seriously, who gives that big a shit about this story?
In these times of financial uncertainty and people being slotted for preaching Christianity (probably shouldn't ask for my opinions there), is a story about a limp-tongued fop and his Dot Cotton lookalike sidekick really that important? Really?
A lot of the vitriol stems from the fact that these two (particularly Ross) earn an absolute shitload for their dubious services. A fair wedge of the complaints seem to be that we pay their wages, so they should act more responsibly. That's fair enough as far as I'm concerned, although I put towards their wage as well and I couldn't care less what they did, as long as they leave my car alone and don't dawb 'QUEER' on my door in dog shit.
The act itself was despicable, especially when they targeted a former BBC employee and much-loved comedy performer. True, his granddaughter has bumped uglies with Brand, but that's no reason to leave messages proclaiming the fact; I very much doubt he gives a rat's ass. In my opinion, the pair should be suspended and docked wages which should be paid to a charity of Sachs' choice. When they return they should issue full and frank apologies and explain why they did what they did. All of this media-based tut-tutting and claiming of the moral high ground is doing nobody any good, and misses the point spectacularly. I'm pretty sure if John Suchet or David Dimbleby had done this they would be out on their ear; the fact it's two of the brightest stars on the station is preventing the Beeb from showing some balls and giving them a slap. This blatant lack of decisiveness is what's pissing the general public off so much. It was an opportunity for Auntie to show they are in touch with the people by carpeting them, but anything they do now will just be locking the door once the horse has bolted.
The thing is, as already stated this was pre-recorded, which meant the show had to go through what the Beeb laughingly refer to as 'editorial guidelines'. Dropped the ball a bit there didn't you fellas? Nobody's sure how far up the chain of command this goes, but somebody in a higher position than those two clowns gave the OK for it to be aired. Regardless of the responsibilities of the presenters, somebody further up has to take responsibility for it ever being broadcast. And I'll bet my bollocks to a barndance that we've never find out who.
Anyway, the granddaughter isn't getting out of this scot-free. I'm not saying she's to blame, but shagging Brand was a bit of a daft thing to do wasn't it? And she's in a burlesque troupe called Satanic Sluts or summat, which brings its own set of questions. She's upset that they've effectively picked on her granddad and rightly so, but she might want to reconsider her future bedfellows to keep the peace at the Christmas dinner table.
All in all, a sad way for two genuinely talented personalities to conduct themselves. It was quite funny though...
Thursday 23 October 2008
Carbon Footprint: Another Problem Solved
Hold on.....no.....wait.....yep, it's true. I've got another idea. And it's another beauty.
You know me - I'm a big fan of the environment. I recycle (well, I go through that many wine bottles that my bin would be full if I didn't, but it all counts). I'm worried about my carbon footprint, to the point that I spelt out "SAVE OUR PLANET" in burning car tyres on the local park the other day. In fact, I think it's fair to say that after Geldof and that Ghandi character, I'm the most important exponent of change on this planet. And it's about time I started pulling my weight.
My plan was formed when I noticed a thrifty driver closely tailgating a van on the motorway the other day. Clearly he was saving himself 22p in petrol by driving perilously close to the van's bumper and taking advantage of his slipstream. The van cut through the air creating less resistance behind him, allowing the following car to move at the same speed for less fuel. And it got me thinking.
Why not do the same with planes?
Think about it; we send 3-4 planes up in quick succession which are going in roughly the same direction, and they each sit on the tail of the one in front, using slipstream to keep up using less fuel. When the plane nears its destination, it simply drops out of the chain and lands. Fuel saved; planet saved; me lauded.
Now, there is a downside. In some cases, the disturbance in airflow can create 'dirty air' behind which royally fucks up the engines of the following aircraft. We've all seen Top Gun and we're familiar with the plight of Maverick and Goose when they succumb to a flat spin during training (not a day goes by that I don't think of our fallen brother Goose). There is a reasonable possibility that a few planes would drop out of the sky, but think of it this way: We're running out of fuel, not people. That's the sort of tagline that gets you into Government.
To combat the whole 'loads of people dying' issue, we would only queue the planes up over the sea to minimise the risk to folk on the ground. Secondly, we could create a class system of flights, meaning celebs and important people aren't subjected to the queuing system, while package holidays to Magaluf were bundled together like airborne battery hens. These flights would be much cheaper as an incentive, and the passengers would have to sign a disclaimer before they boarded stating that if their carcass ends up in a crumpled, burning heap in the Med, they were fully aware of the risk of not forking out for an upgrade to 'Non-death risk class'. That's the legal element taken care of.
Usually, my plans are firmly stored under 'hare-brained' or 'slapdash', but this one is erring dangerously towards 'genius'. If we could just get Branson or Bono on board to give it the PR push it needs, we'll be picking chavs out of the sea quicker that you can say '18-30'.
In the words of albino monkey-botherer Michael Jackson, "Make that change"...
You know me - I'm a big fan of the environment. I recycle (well, I go through that many wine bottles that my bin would be full if I didn't, but it all counts). I'm worried about my carbon footprint, to the point that I spelt out "SAVE OUR PLANET" in burning car tyres on the local park the other day. In fact, I think it's fair to say that after Geldof and that Ghandi character, I'm the most important exponent of change on this planet. And it's about time I started pulling my weight.
My plan was formed when I noticed a thrifty driver closely tailgating a van on the motorway the other day. Clearly he was saving himself 22p in petrol by driving perilously close to the van's bumper and taking advantage of his slipstream. The van cut through the air creating less resistance behind him, allowing the following car to move at the same speed for less fuel. And it got me thinking.
Why not do the same with planes?
Think about it; we send 3-4 planes up in quick succession which are going in roughly the same direction, and they each sit on the tail of the one in front, using slipstream to keep up using less fuel. When the plane nears its destination, it simply drops out of the chain and lands. Fuel saved; planet saved; me lauded.
Now, there is a downside. In some cases, the disturbance in airflow can create 'dirty air' behind which royally fucks up the engines of the following aircraft. We've all seen Top Gun and we're familiar with the plight of Maverick and Goose when they succumb to a flat spin during training (not a day goes by that I don't think of our fallen brother Goose). There is a reasonable possibility that a few planes would drop out of the sky, but think of it this way: We're running out of fuel, not people. That's the sort of tagline that gets you into Government.
To combat the whole 'loads of people dying' issue, we would only queue the planes up over the sea to minimise the risk to folk on the ground. Secondly, we could create a class system of flights, meaning celebs and important people aren't subjected to the queuing system, while package holidays to Magaluf were bundled together like airborne battery hens. These flights would be much cheaper as an incentive, and the passengers would have to sign a disclaimer before they boarded stating that if their carcass ends up in a crumpled, burning heap in the Med, they were fully aware of the risk of not forking out for an upgrade to 'Non-death risk class'. That's the legal element taken care of.
Usually, my plans are firmly stored under 'hare-brained' or 'slapdash', but this one is erring dangerously towards 'genius'. If we could just get Branson or Bono on board to give it the PR push it needs, we'll be picking chavs out of the sea quicker that you can say '18-30'.
In the words of albino monkey-botherer Michael Jackson, "Make that change"...
Wednesday 15 October 2008
Is "busybody.com" available?
A high percentage of the irks I experience come from listening to the radio, specifically when the public are allowed to voice their laughable theories and opinions. Quite apart from the issue of why these people haven't got jobs, they are narrow-minded lunatics who think 5 minutes on a radio phone-in makes then some kind of modern-day Confucius or Martin Luther King. Trust me, it doesn't.
For a change, though, I've got an e-cob on because of a frankly ridiculous story concerning a website where members of the public can report incidents of dangerous driving from the safety of their PC. Other like-minded losers can then pore over them and tut-tut into their camomile tea.
How petty is this, really? You are able to search this database by registration number (see, I've done some research before mouthing off for a change) and list the motoring misdemeanours of some unsuspecting soul. Now, don't get me wrong; if you're a dangerous driver you deserve to be punished and/or taken off the roads before you kill someone (even more so afterwards). So why don't these busybodying snitches report it to the Feds, instead of getting off by spragging on someone anonymously? Oh yeah, didn't I mention that the grasser doesn't have to leave any details, while the grassee has their reg plate splashed all over the shop? It's a joke, man.
If this site was a Government-backed scheme like "Dob in a dealer" (God bless you, Kirklees) then I could see some value in it, but this is clearly the work of those folk who run Neighbourhood Watch schemes and have leather patches on the elbows of their cardigans. They're not bothered about road safety; I bet half of them don't even own a car. They're just using it a an excuse to get another snivelling load of their pigeon chests.
Personally, I think we should fight fire with fire. Us right-minded folk should start an opposing website called "Grass up a small-minded, petty, socially-impotent tosser" or summat, where we (anonymously, of course) detail the telephone numbers of people who report driving offences. That way, there's a right to reply, and those reported for driving dangerously can call the reporter and have a friendly chat about the error of their ways. Surely that's a much more sensible way to deal with these automotive indiscretions. There's no way that could end badly.
For a change, though, I've got an e-cob on because of a frankly ridiculous story concerning a website where members of the public can report incidents of dangerous driving from the safety of their PC. Other like-minded losers can then pore over them and tut-tut into their camomile tea.
How petty is this, really? You are able to search this database by registration number (see, I've done some research before mouthing off for a change) and list the motoring misdemeanours of some unsuspecting soul. Now, don't get me wrong; if you're a dangerous driver you deserve to be punished and/or taken off the roads before you kill someone (even more so afterwards). So why don't these busybodying snitches report it to the Feds, instead of getting off by spragging on someone anonymously? Oh yeah, didn't I mention that the grasser doesn't have to leave any details, while the grassee has their reg plate splashed all over the shop? It's a joke, man.
If this site was a Government-backed scheme like "Dob in a dealer" (God bless you, Kirklees) then I could see some value in it, but this is clearly the work of those folk who run Neighbourhood Watch schemes and have leather patches on the elbows of their cardigans. They're not bothered about road safety; I bet half of them don't even own a car. They're just using it a an excuse to get another snivelling load of their pigeon chests.
Personally, I think we should fight fire with fire. Us right-minded folk should start an opposing website called "Grass up a small-minded, petty, socially-impotent tosser" or summat, where we (anonymously, of course) detail the telephone numbers of people who report driving offences. That way, there's a right to reply, and those reported for driving dangerously can call the reporter and have a friendly chat about the error of their ways. Surely that's a much more sensible way to deal with these automotive indiscretions. There's no way that could end badly.
Monday 13 October 2008
The Hobos in Cars Initiative
I've got a great idea.
An idea so great it solves two of society's problems in one go, making the streets both safer and cleaner at the same time. In fact, I think it's the greatest idea since Leeds employed Peter Ridsdale to hold the purse strings. That's how big we're talking.
Presenting - The Hobos in Cars Initiative
It's simple. The Government sets up a department who's sole task is to allot a homeless person to a car owner. The homeless person then lives in the car during the night, providing two advantages:
- The hobo has a roof over their head
- The car is less at risk from being stolen (would you nick a car with Worzel Gummidge in it?)
The hobo won't be allowed the keys to the car and is not allowed to leave it during the nocturnal hours. In the morning, the owner returns and takes the car to his or her place of work, while the homeless chap lives off the land like the dignified creature he is. To aid the hobo's plight there will be Government-funded "hygiene stations" available in the vicinity, for showering and pooing and what have you. The hobo must sign a contract to say they won't make a mess or invite any tail back to the car and in turn will get meal tokens which can be exchanged at the local Late Shopper.
Think about the benefits - the streets no longer crawling with two-legged vermin pushing a shopping trolley full or empty Skol cans; car owners safe in the knowledge their pride and joy is being looked after. The chasm between bum and civilian will finally be breached as we embrace our dog-on-a-string cousins and give them a vocation, a meaning, a reason to be.
There's bound to a be some initial problems, like a few of the more 'eccentric' exponents of the homeless trade not adhering to the contract and nicking the car, but with enough attention to detail, plenty of funding and an understanding nation, I see no reason why The Hobos in Cars Initiative can't be the cornerstone of Labour election campaigns for years to come. Either than or I'll be thrown in jail for wasting Government time.
Whatever happens, society is the winner.
An idea so great it solves two of society's problems in one go, making the streets both safer and cleaner at the same time. In fact, I think it's the greatest idea since Leeds employed Peter Ridsdale to hold the purse strings. That's how big we're talking.
Presenting - The Hobos in Cars Initiative
It's simple. The Government sets up a department who's sole task is to allot a homeless person to a car owner. The homeless person then lives in the car during the night, providing two advantages:
- The hobo has a roof over their head
- The car is less at risk from being stolen (would you nick a car with Worzel Gummidge in it?)
The hobo won't be allowed the keys to the car and is not allowed to leave it during the nocturnal hours. In the morning, the owner returns and takes the car to his or her place of work, while the homeless chap lives off the land like the dignified creature he is. To aid the hobo's plight there will be Government-funded "hygiene stations" available in the vicinity, for showering and pooing and what have you. The hobo must sign a contract to say they won't make a mess or invite any tail back to the car and in turn will get meal tokens which can be exchanged at the local Late Shopper.
Think about the benefits - the streets no longer crawling with two-legged vermin pushing a shopping trolley full or empty Skol cans; car owners safe in the knowledge their pride and joy is being looked after. The chasm between bum and civilian will finally be breached as we embrace our dog-on-a-string cousins and give them a vocation, a meaning, a reason to be.
There's bound to a be some initial problems, like a few of the more 'eccentric' exponents of the homeless trade not adhering to the contract and nicking the car, but with enough attention to detail, plenty of funding and an understanding nation, I see no reason why The Hobos in Cars Initiative can't be the cornerstone of Labour election campaigns for years to come. Either than or I'll be thrown in jail for wasting Government time.
Whatever happens, society is the winner.
Thursday 2 October 2008
Dead Frog vs. Dirty Munter
I was watching the music channels the other day when one of Maroon 5's 'hits' came on. It immediately reminded me of the time frontman Adam 'Latrine' Levine was dating (i.e. shagging) Russian perv-magnet Maria Sharapova. After their split, old Levine went on record with his opinions of Maria sex-wise, as follows:
"She wouldn't make any noise during sex. I can't tell you how disappointed I was. I really thought, like a lot of guys, that she'd be the loud screaming type. But instead, she just lay there like a dead frog. She even got angry if I started to moan, said it 'ruined her concentration.' It was so disillusioning that I went on Paxil (an antidepressant) for a month afterwards. Really, it was much more of a shock than when I found out there's no such thing as the Easter Bunny."
Ignoring the bizarre Easter Bunny quote, you have to admit it is an amusing end to their tryst. Sharapova is clearly one of the most attractive women in the world and not only did he enter her ladygarden, but he then told everyone how shite she was in the sack. What a gent of the highest order.
Anyway, it got me thinking; everybody wants to shag a fit celebrity don't they? Be it Sharapova, Beckham or Winton, most people wouldn't mind 5 minutes in the broom cupboard with one of the beautiful people (or 30 seconds if they pick Boris Becker). However, if you knew in advance that said celeb was lame in bed, would you bother? Furthermore, if you could guarantee a steamy romp with the local 5-out-of-10 bike instead, would you choose that over a star?
I suppose it depends what you want to take from the experience. If you just want to tell everyone you bagged a celeb, fair enough; if you're after a more passionate encounter however, maybe Tracey from the Horse and Spoon would be a better bet.
Throw in the proviso that your mates would know both who you were shagging and their purported qualities in bed and you muddy the waters further. The whole thing becomes a dragged-out, over thought waste of everyone's time. A bit like this blog.
Have a think and let me know - dead frog or dirty munter? Or put it another way; Daily Star or clap clinic?
"She wouldn't make any noise during sex. I can't tell you how disappointed I was. I really thought, like a lot of guys, that she'd be the loud screaming type. But instead, she just lay there like a dead frog. She even got angry if I started to moan, said it 'ruined her concentration.' It was so disillusioning that I went on Paxil (an antidepressant) for a month afterwards. Really, it was much more of a shock than when I found out there's no such thing as the Easter Bunny."
Ignoring the bizarre Easter Bunny quote, you have to admit it is an amusing end to their tryst. Sharapova is clearly one of the most attractive women in the world and not only did he enter her ladygarden, but he then told everyone how shite she was in the sack. What a gent of the highest order.
Anyway, it got me thinking; everybody wants to shag a fit celebrity don't they? Be it Sharapova, Beckham or Winton, most people wouldn't mind 5 minutes in the broom cupboard with one of the beautiful people (or 30 seconds if they pick Boris Becker). However, if you knew in advance that said celeb was lame in bed, would you bother? Furthermore, if you could guarantee a steamy romp with the local 5-out-of-10 bike instead, would you choose that over a star?
I suppose it depends what you want to take from the experience. If you just want to tell everyone you bagged a celeb, fair enough; if you're after a more passionate encounter however, maybe Tracey from the Horse and Spoon would be a better bet.
Throw in the proviso that your mates would know both who you were shagging and their purported qualities in bed and you muddy the waters further. The whole thing becomes a dragged-out, over thought waste of everyone's time. A bit like this blog.
Have a think and let me know - dead frog or dirty munter? Or put it another way; Daily Star or clap clinic?
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