Here’s a true story to kick off with tonight: a guy with a gimpy hand came into my place of work the other night. You know those gimpy little claw hands that you see people going around with sometimes? One of those. Ok, so he makes his order and (by the way, I work in a takeout pizza place, maybe I should’ve mentioned that earlier) so he makes his order right, and when the girl goes to give him his pizzas he asks for a carrier bag. Thing is, the bags we have are that close to being too small to fit pizzas in so if someone asks for a bag I normally tell them to fuck off. It can’t be easy carrying all those boxes with a gimpy claw hand though, so this motherfucker gets special dispensation. Now picture this: he’s struggling to wrestle all of this food into his not-quite-big-enough carrier bag, the girl I work with is looking on with what I can only describe, at the risk of generalising, as typical Eastern European haughtiness and disdain (anyone else noticed that? Just me? Ok…) so I figure I’m gonna have to step in. Here’s what my opening gambit was: “Are you managing there mate, or do you want a wee hand?”
I swear to god, I only realised my blunder at the moment our eyes met, just as the words “a wee hand” passed my lips. “A wee hand,” I said. For serious. And here’s the tragic thing: in real life I would never use the phrase “a wee hand.” That’s just a goofy fucking phrase, man. It sounds like something I might’ve heard a proper person like a plumber or something say at some point, so to keep up the rouse of my completely affected “proper person” status at work it just sort of came out. I honestly didn’t know where to look.
Anyway enough about that. What else? Uh, it’s winter I suppose. I actually had a big sanctimonious rant about how you really ought to wear boots in the winter time and how people that wear trainers are lesser men than I am but I’ve had to sack that idea off, here’s why: I was out walking around in my boots yesterday feeling sanctimonious and everything and I took a fall on account of the ice. What a boob, I thought to myself. Here’s where it gets funny: I only fell over from a fucking standing start didn’t I? No word of a lie, there I was completely stationary at the side of the road waiting to cross and next thing you know, bam - I’m over. Explain that if you can… (By the way, here’s a quick aside: don’t think that that anecdote diminishes the veracity of my “winter-trainer-wearers lesser men” idea, that’s still true. Don’t wear trainers in the fucking winter, ok? Ok. And don’t even let me get started on cunts that wear ugg boots in the snow. Really? Ugg boots? In the snow? I don’t know, man…)
Ok, I don’t think any of this is all that interesting or entertaining so it’s time to fuck off and go and do something else. Go on, fuck off.
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Monday, 21 December 2009
"Fuck You I Won't Do What You... Wait, What Do I Have To Buy?"
Ok, Rage Against The Machine are Christmas number one this year. This, reader, is an Important Thing. Yes it is. Yes it is, it made the front page, man. Big news. So anyway if you didn’t hear about it yet, or if you’re just as confused as I am, let me explain:
Some time ago there was a pretty mediocre rock & roll band and they came up with a load of songs that were all about not conforming, and not doing what The Man thinks you should do and all sorts of really cool but actually totally horsecrap teen-angst shit like that. This was really cool. Then, about fifteen years later about 200,000 people all got told to go and buy the same record and then they all went and bought the same record. This was also really cool. All clear? Good.
Ok, am I the only one thinking it’s sort of weird that the fucking refrain from Killing In The Name goes “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me,” and all it takes to get a bunch of jackoffs* to go and buy it is just telling them to? I don’t know, man. Maybe I’m missing the point. This whole thing was supposed to stop the X Factor getting to number one or something? That’s cool I suppose. And Rage Against The Machine are a pretty cool band, cooler than whatever softcock douchebag Simon Cowell managed to drag out of Phones 4 U’s employment pool this year anyway, but would it have made more sense to have a campaign that just went ahead and said “don’t buy the X Factor?” Surely that would have struck a much bigger blow in that, y’know, people wouldn’t have bought it? But that shit plain wouldn't have worked, here’s why: people (and I think I’ve discussed this before) are assholes. I figure it at about 90-95% of people are moronic assholes who won’t do anything unless they’re told exactly what to do and why it’s cool to do it. That’s why Rage Against The Machine’s fucking boner brigade are about a cock-hair’s width away from acting in exactly the same way as every unthinking dullard that went out and bought Retard Joe’s single. And that’s why there is nothing cool about this whole sorry affair.
By the way, if you’ve just finished reading and you’ve entertained this pile of dogshit at all, you’ve missed the point entirely. You see this article is completely academic because I’ve glossed over the fundamental point of the argument: it’s the Christmas number one. If you’re over the age of twelve and have even the slightest interest in Christmas number one you’re definitely some sort of backwards, arrested development retard that deserves to be sterilised or worse.
Merry Christmas Number One Jackoffs!
*P.S. I think I’m gonna bring the word “jackoff” into play. I think it‘s a good word. “jackoff…” Ok? Ok.
Some time ago there was a pretty mediocre rock & roll band and they came up with a load of songs that were all about not conforming, and not doing what The Man thinks you should do and all sorts of really cool but actually totally horsecrap teen-angst shit like that. This was really cool. Then, about fifteen years later about 200,000 people all got told to go and buy the same record and then they all went and bought the same record. This was also really cool. All clear? Good.
Ok, am I the only one thinking it’s sort of weird that the fucking refrain from Killing In The Name goes “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me,” and all it takes to get a bunch of jackoffs* to go and buy it is just telling them to? I don’t know, man. Maybe I’m missing the point. This whole thing was supposed to stop the X Factor getting to number one or something? That’s cool I suppose. And Rage Against The Machine are a pretty cool band, cooler than whatever softcock douchebag Simon Cowell managed to drag out of Phones 4 U’s employment pool this year anyway, but would it have made more sense to have a campaign that just went ahead and said “don’t buy the X Factor?” Surely that would have struck a much bigger blow in that, y’know, people wouldn’t have bought it? But that shit plain wouldn't have worked, here’s why: people (and I think I’ve discussed this before) are assholes. I figure it at about 90-95% of people are moronic assholes who won’t do anything unless they’re told exactly what to do and why it’s cool to do it. That’s why Rage Against The Machine’s fucking boner brigade are about a cock-hair’s width away from acting in exactly the same way as every unthinking dullard that went out and bought Retard Joe’s single. And that’s why there is nothing cool about this whole sorry affair.
By the way, if you’ve just finished reading and you’ve entertained this pile of dogshit at all, you’ve missed the point entirely. You see this article is completely academic because I’ve glossed over the fundamental point of the argument: it’s the Christmas number one. If you’re over the age of twelve and have even the slightest interest in Christmas number one you’re definitely some sort of backwards, arrested development retard that deserves to be sterilised or worse.
Merry Christmas Number One Jackoffs!
*P.S. I think I’m gonna bring the word “jackoff” into play. I think it‘s a good word. “jackoff…” Ok? Ok.
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