Hair Of The Dog

It’s christmas time lads. A time for getting totally rat arsed at office parties and stuff.

So we drink five times more than usual and don’t really give a damn what kinda stupid things we do.

Next morning we wake up, usually in a strange bed and think “OMG, I feel like total shite. I need the hair of the dog”

That’s all very well and good until we turn over in the bed and there it is!

Nevermind the hair of the dog. There’s a fucking dog snoring beside you with more hair on her than Cousin It from the Addams Family.

What a travesty. A female with more hair on her legs and chest than you have. And if you look close enough, I bet you’d find some five o’clock shadow there too.

But be warned fellas. Don’t let curiosity get the better of you and try to have a peep to see if her minge has more hair on it than ZZ Tops chins. The answers probably yes. Infact if it’s as bad as her armpits, you can bet she could probably plait it.

That’s the time to get up and get yer arse outta there fast. And no, thats not dental floss stuck in yer teeth!

And to all you hairy women out there. Have a shave for christ sake. We don’t need the Julia Roberts or Celine Dion look.

Speaking of Celine Dion. What a gibbon she was before she struck it rich.

What a Titanic transformation.

Madamoiselle Monobrow!

And as for miss Pitty Woman Roberts?

Must’ve been a hectic life to be too busy to have a shave. Did she make a packet doing deodorant adverts after that? Or was that Flymo?

One last thing. Any female who tries to shave her legs with my razor? Cut yer throat with it too while yer at it. Cos if you don’t I will.

I Just Wanna Be Transformed!

I want a new car so have been looking around.

“Hello, Charles Hurst Citroen dealership, how can I help you?”

“Hello, I’d like to speak to someone about the new C4 range please”

“Certainly Sir, if I could take your name I’ll put you through to our Sales team”

“It’s Yer-Man, Mr.Yer-Man ”

“Just one moment”

A brief interlude of what I think might be Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. It might also be the Spice Girls, such is the sound quality.

“Hello Mr Yer-Man, sorry to keep you waiting, my name is Simon, how can I help you?”

“Hello Simon, I am potentially interested in the new C4, but I have a few questions”

“An excellent choice, would you mind if I took a few details before we begin?”

“Actually, that can all wait, as this might not be a long conversation.”

“Oh, OK then, what is it you’d like to know?”

“Well, for a start I can’t seem to find any fuel efficiency information.”

“Right, which model were you interested in, obviously engine size is a factor.”

“The 2.0i 16V model. All 143 BHP of it.”

“Right, well, with a mixture of urban and non-urban driving that model will do 34.5 miles to the gallon.”

“Ah, good, and what stereo is included with that model?”

“Top of the range RDS radio, with CD player and it’s fully MP3 compatible, which I think is important nowadays.”

“Indeed it is Simon, indeed it is. And what is it’s safety rating?”

“It has all five stars for adult occupancy.”

“Excellent, one last question Simon, how easy is it to turn it into the Transformers robot?”

“Err, I’m sorry?”

“The Transformers robot. From the advert? I know adverts can sometimes be a little misleading so I was wondering how long it takes to change from a car into a Transformers robot, you know, in real life, without the camera tricks.”

“It’s doesn’t turn into a Transformers robot. It was just an advert.”

“Oh. Really? The Transformers one isn’t real? But I don’t want a bog standard car, that’s not very tecchy. The Transformers one could’ve been useful to turn into a plane so I could beat the rush hour traffic when I go back to work on Monday. What about one that maybe tunnels under the roads type robot?”

“Are you joking?”

“Well, no. Why would I joke about that? I watched it on your advert and it said your car is fulla technology. I saw it with my own eyes. As far as I know, you are the only robot-car manufacturers, and I wanted one, as I was a big Transformers fan as a kid.”

Click.

How rude!…. I’m gonna call Santa now and see if he can swing it!

Simon yer a bastard!

Slow Motion Is Crap

I love watching the telly, especially violent and exciting films. There is lots going on in them. Shooting and flames and mangled people and everyone is shouting and rushing about. God, my heart is beating faster, just at the thought of it.

The only bad thing about exciting and violent television is “Slow Motion”. I bloody hate slow motion. All that close-up filming with the people moving oddly and talking in low and slow voices.

I hate it most because the whole point of watching an action film is for the action.

If I wanted to watch people moving slowly and talking weirdly I would watch a documentary about stroke victims. But I have chosen to watch an action film and it is action that I want.

And don’t give me that “the viewers will miss something, if they show it at full speed”. Because they won’t will they? Invariably, the slow motion only shows people running along and there isn’t a lot to notice when people are running along. All you really see is their feet going like the clappers and maybe their arms are flapping a bit.

What’s more, “slow” is just another word for mental or cretin and “motion” is a polite word for shite. So it is even there in the definition. Slow Motion = Cretin Shite.

The only good use, in my humble opinion, for slow motion is as follows

To assist the video judge during an Ireland Rugby match. “Yes, yes, that was indeed a try”.

Or

“Send that French fucker off the field because he stomped on O’Driscolls balls when the scrum collapsed”.

Then super slow motion when Ireland lift the Rugby World Cup

God my heart is racing again!