It was around 5.30 one grotesquely hideous day at work last year. I was sat on my desk all alone, as I was pulling a late shift. The sweet older lady who works a couple of desks behind me suddenly bellowed 'Oh no! I just pressed enter instead of shit. . . . . . sorry shift. excuse me,' she ended in her embarrassed little voice. At this point the cueballed, disgusting, sweaty, unapproachable, more penis then man, fucking toss rag of a human lookalike starts literally howling with laughter whilst wiggling his probably withered and unusable genitalia right in this poor Lady's face. he calmed down after 30 seconds of pretty ghastly humiliation on the nice ladies part and, with absolutely no use of irony, piped up 'you need to learn how to do sentences good love!!!' My head sunk into my desk praying for a nuclear bomb just to land directly on the building. I need to quit my job!
As you may have guessed I'm late on my blog again. but it will surely be a doozy so keep checking.
Thursday, 22 January 2009
Thursday, 15 January 2009
A Touch of Class
After blogging about such a deep and hard hitting subject last week, this week I've decided to tackle the comparatively benign subject of the class system in the UK. I know, I know, I've gone soft. But it's something that plays on my mind quite a lot due to its ridiculously dated state.
I couldn't really be more middle class if I tried I'm slightly ashamed to admit. Both my parents pull in a good wage, but not so much that I've got a double barrelled surname and 30 acres of land which we use purely for polo and generally toffery. I went to a state school, but a state school that had rugby union as its main sport and award winning teachers (yes they do exist)
I sometimes appeal to 'working class' people because I'm pretty well spoken, and can therefor be classed as 'that nice posh bloke', as well as appealing to the 'upper class' people because they feel like they're slumming it with an oik a la Kate Winslett and Leo Di Caprio in Titanic. I'm sometimes hated by 'working class' people because I have a posh voice and therefore must have gone to Eaton and did a bit of sodomy with my bunkmate. And sometimes by the 'upper class' because I am an oik who isn't really fit to breath the same air as them as the air that they breath was imported from the Seychelles and it's only for them and their friend Biffer. I got one question, where's the love?
The former of the people I mentioned are great, whatever their motives, and, in my generation at least, they are the majority. They're good, tolerant people who are worthy of everybody's time. The latter people are the problem and it makes me ponder where this hatred stems from.
There's the obvious focus on the past. Like in the 'golden age', pre-world wars when the rich were literally inbred, elitist fuckheads and the poor were about as clever as Blackpool pleasure beach. Post world wars it went back to normal after the unity of the conflicts. In the 80's Thatcher obviously made things even worse by ostracised the working classes in favour of the rich. But that was 20 years ago, surely things are better now? Perhaps its the Vietnam syndrome. People just can't let it go
That leads us on to the nurturing side of it. Either end of the spectrum children are bought up being told their place. A friend of mine used to work on the tills at the Waitrose in Marlborough. One day a college kid, aged 13 or 14, gave my friend a pound for a packet of crisps. When my friend went to count out his change the college kid asked 'do you need help counting that' with general concern and sympathy etched on his grotesque little face. That's right! This poor little deluded little Shitbird had been bought up to think that people who worked in supermarkets couldn't fucking count! On the other side another friend of mine, who was bought up in a not so nice area of north London, hates rugby union for the pure fact that he thinks everyone who plays it went to private school and is a little toffee nosed wanker.
Theirs the money factor as well, the obvious one. But I still don't think it's a big enough excuse for the division. Some carpenters I know pull in anything up to £1500 a week, yet they're still considered by the upper class to be lower class. Granted some carpenters I know spend all their money on beemers with 7 foot high spoilers and trips to Thailand to witness the world famous ping pong ball trick. But still a hell of a wage, and its the same with most 'lower class' trades.
I'm not going to pretend that I know how to fix it because I don't. I'm about as useful as a midget in the NBA when it comes to ideas of how to mend a broken society. But the reason why I write this is because I don't know why it can't fix itself.
I had a job signing people up for free sim cards last year. Glamorous I know. There was one gloriously sunny day that really sticks in my head. Me and a colleague were walking round a packed park. We signed up some college kids up who were unbelievably posh, but none the less absolutely lovely people. The common perception of these kids would be that they'd run to there fucking beach house in Malibu at the sight of us coming to talk to them with clipboards. But they didn't. They signed up, had a joke,and we moved on. We then signed up a group of kids who were on the other end of the spectrum, drinking white lightning and massaging pregnant bellies and what not. Once again though these people were lovely. Slightly dense but none the less good people. A couple of minutes later one of the latter group went to take a piss in a bush. The posh kids make some snide comment and suddenly all hell is kicking off. But these two groups of people were both extremely friendly to us, why did they see each other as enemies?
Its certainly for much cleverer and less shabby people then myself to figure out how to fix. All I can say is 'where's the love?'
I couldn't really be more middle class if I tried I'm slightly ashamed to admit. Both my parents pull in a good wage, but not so much that I've got a double barrelled surname and 30 acres of land which we use purely for polo and generally toffery. I went to a state school, but a state school that had rugby union as its main sport and award winning teachers (yes they do exist)
I sometimes appeal to 'working class' people because I'm pretty well spoken, and can therefor be classed as 'that nice posh bloke', as well as appealing to the 'upper class' people because they feel like they're slumming it with an oik a la Kate Winslett and Leo Di Caprio in Titanic. I'm sometimes hated by 'working class' people because I have a posh voice and therefore must have gone to Eaton and did a bit of sodomy with my bunkmate. And sometimes by the 'upper class' because I am an oik who isn't really fit to breath the same air as them as the air that they breath was imported from the Seychelles and it's only for them and their friend Biffer. I got one question, where's the love?
The former of the people I mentioned are great, whatever their motives, and, in my generation at least, they are the majority. They're good, tolerant people who are worthy of everybody's time. The latter people are the problem and it makes me ponder where this hatred stems from.
There's the obvious focus on the past. Like in the 'golden age', pre-world wars when the rich were literally inbred, elitist fuckheads and the poor were about as clever as Blackpool pleasure beach. Post world wars it went back to normal after the unity of the conflicts. In the 80's Thatcher obviously made things even worse by ostracised the working classes in favour of the rich. But that was 20 years ago, surely things are better now? Perhaps its the Vietnam syndrome. People just can't let it go
That leads us on to the nurturing side of it. Either end of the spectrum children are bought up being told their place. A friend of mine used to work on the tills at the Waitrose in Marlborough. One day a college kid, aged 13 or 14, gave my friend a pound for a packet of crisps. When my friend went to count out his change the college kid asked 'do you need help counting that' with general concern and sympathy etched on his grotesque little face. That's right! This poor little deluded little Shitbird had been bought up to think that people who worked in supermarkets couldn't fucking count! On the other side another friend of mine, who was bought up in a not so nice area of north London, hates rugby union for the pure fact that he thinks everyone who plays it went to private school and is a little toffee nosed wanker.
Theirs the money factor as well, the obvious one. But I still don't think it's a big enough excuse for the division. Some carpenters I know pull in anything up to £1500 a week, yet they're still considered by the upper class to be lower class. Granted some carpenters I know spend all their money on beemers with 7 foot high spoilers and trips to Thailand to witness the world famous ping pong ball trick. But still a hell of a wage, and its the same with most 'lower class' trades.
I'm not going to pretend that I know how to fix it because I don't. I'm about as useful as a midget in the NBA when it comes to ideas of how to mend a broken society. But the reason why I write this is because I don't know why it can't fix itself.
I had a job signing people up for free sim cards last year. Glamorous I know. There was one gloriously sunny day that really sticks in my head. Me and a colleague were walking round a packed park. We signed up some college kids up who were unbelievably posh, but none the less absolutely lovely people. The common perception of these kids would be that they'd run to there fucking beach house in Malibu at the sight of us coming to talk to them with clipboards. But they didn't. They signed up, had a joke,and we moved on. We then signed up a group of kids who were on the other end of the spectrum, drinking white lightning and massaging pregnant bellies and what not. Once again though these people were lovely. Slightly dense but none the less good people. A couple of minutes later one of the latter group went to take a piss in a bush. The posh kids make some snide comment and suddenly all hell is kicking off. But these two groups of people were both extremely friendly to us, why did they see each other as enemies?
Its certainly for much cleverer and less shabby people then myself to figure out how to fix. All I can say is 'where's the love?'
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
Read muthafucker, read!
I saw a headline 'crazed fan lunges at X -Factor star Diana Vickers.' I burst out laughing imagining a strange man in his 40's doing sport lunges towards Vickers in an attempt to woo the little songstress. I shared this thought with a colleague only for her to tell me that the story was a rather nasty one were some nutcase pounced on Vickers, who i didn't realise was only 17, while she performed. Should probably read the whole article before opening my big mouth next time.
Anyway the reason for this tiny blog is i haven't quite finished my latest feature length nugget of wisdom. I will hopefully have it done for tomorrow so watch this space.
Anyway the reason for this tiny blog is i haven't quite finished my latest feature length nugget of wisdom. I will hopefully have it done for tomorrow so watch this space.
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
Insomnia
New Years day 2009. 4pm. The majority of people are lying in their beds, welcoming that feeling of horrific resentment caused by that pathetic come on they put on the person they've been in love with for the whole of 2008, or the relationship threatening argument they had at their oldest and dearest friend because the fiend criticised their shoes, or the beating they put on the poor sucker who just happened to be breathing the same air around them when their irrational anger inevitably reared its ugly head. Most people re not, however, still up partying. That's because its a ridiculous thing to do. The nights peaked, every one has gone to bed and are in tremendous pain from the standard 75 units consumed. So why the fuck do some people think it's a good idea?
4pm in my humble flat and their I lay, trying to get back to sleep and ignore that pressing feeling of regret and self loathing. But I can't because a bus-full of morons are playing useless Norwegian techno music at a level even deaf people can here, having not stopped since I went to bed 9 hours before. Several things had happened in those 9 hours including another of my flatmates coming home in the morning and was unable to go to the toilet as there was a couple of fuckers in their doing cocaine in there. .. . . WHY? Isn't that one of the beauties of living in your own house, being able to do cocaine anywhere? Our fucking desks aren't giant mirrors for Christ's sake!
So back to 4pm and I've decided enough is enough. I head upstairs expecting to argue with many, put my head round the door and there are two guys barely awake looking awkwardly around the room. everyone else look like they've been roofied up, slumped over on any tiny patch of bed or floor they can find. The music is still being played at a level that would offend the most debouched of sex offenders. One of the awake guy's looks up at me, a disgusting drip of drool hanging from a crusty corner of has pastey face 'al''igh bra'?' he mumbles. 'Can you turn it down now please mate' I reply in my cowardly politeness. 'uhhh...' I take that as a yes and leave. Does it stop? Fuck no!
The group of ameba's eventually shut up at 9pm and most disperse into the cold 2009 air hopefully to never be seen again. But it got me thinking what makes people do this kind of thing?
I could hit a club, busts some shapes, shoot some tequilas, get a free blow job from a prostitute, who as it turns out is an undercover cop who's just really into me, and be in bed by 11.30. Who had the better night? Okay so the low job thing's never happened, but my social life has got to be better than taking it in shifts to stay awake and seem 'crazy' whilst subsequently pissing off half the population of Europe, plus ruining what should be a day of rest for everyone, simultaneously killing off any lingering brain cells that might have been threatening to produce cognitive thought.
My only guess is that these types of people have so little substance to there personalities that something is ridiculously stupid as partying for 26 hours straight, even if you clearly don't want to and clearly can't handle it, makes them feel 'wild' and 'unique'. Even if everyone else thinks you look like a dick head.
4pm in my humble flat and their I lay, trying to get back to sleep and ignore that pressing feeling of regret and self loathing. But I can't because a bus-full of morons are playing useless Norwegian techno music at a level even deaf people can here, having not stopped since I went to bed 9 hours before. Several things had happened in those 9 hours including another of my flatmates coming home in the morning and was unable to go to the toilet as there was a couple of fuckers in their doing cocaine in there. .. . . WHY? Isn't that one of the beauties of living in your own house, being able to do cocaine anywhere? Our fucking desks aren't giant mirrors for Christ's sake!
So back to 4pm and I've decided enough is enough. I head upstairs expecting to argue with many, put my head round the door and there are two guys barely awake looking awkwardly around the room. everyone else look like they've been roofied up, slumped over on any tiny patch of bed or floor they can find. The music is still being played at a level that would offend the most debouched of sex offenders. One of the awake guy's looks up at me, a disgusting drip of drool hanging from a crusty corner of has pastey face 'al''igh bra'?' he mumbles. 'Can you turn it down now please mate' I reply in my cowardly politeness. 'uhhh...' I take that as a yes and leave. Does it stop? Fuck no!
The group of ameba's eventually shut up at 9pm and most disperse into the cold 2009 air hopefully to never be seen again. But it got me thinking what makes people do this kind of thing?
I could hit a club, busts some shapes, shoot some tequilas, get a free blow job from a prostitute, who as it turns out is an undercover cop who's just really into me, and be in bed by 11.30. Who had the better night? Okay so the low job thing's never happened, but my social life has got to be better than taking it in shifts to stay awake and seem 'crazy' whilst subsequently pissing off half the population of Europe, plus ruining what should be a day of rest for everyone, simultaneously killing off any lingering brain cells that might have been threatening to produce cognitive thought.
My only guess is that these types of people have so little substance to there personalities that something is ridiculously stupid as partying for 26 hours straight, even if you clearly don't want to and clearly can't handle it, makes them feel 'wild' and 'unique'. Even if everyone else thinks you look like a dick head.
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