Shove Yer Excuse Me!

I have resolved (not in a new years way, that is for those of you with low motivation), to stop saying ‘excuse me’ to people I do not hear or understand.

I have realised that pretty much without fail, any lack of comprehension on my part is due entirely to the communicator. It is them, not me.

Their errors can be numerous, whether they be mumbling, whispering, talking to fast, or simply not paying me enough attention. Yet, when this happens, our first reaction is to say, “Excuse me?” in a “I’m sorry but I have useless ears, what was that again” way. When in reality, what you are actually saying is, “OK numbnuts, let’s try this again, except this time I want eye-contact, volume and a decent attempt at enunciation, OK?”

Honesty is a valued personal trait in society, apparently, so why do we insist on these false apologies? I want to see some harsh truth out there on the streets.

It is the same when someone bumps into you in the street, before you know it you are looking at them apologetically, and saying, “Excuse me”. And not in a cool sarcastic way. I mean in an “Oh my god, I can’t believe I got in your way there, what a twat I am” way.

If we burp or fart, we say excuse me. But do people really excuse us?. No they dont’t. They think “oh piss off ya filthy ignorant pig” Unless yer with mates and do one of those rancid, pin-point vomit burps and blow it across the bar at them.

Then it’s “Yeah go Matty, that one made my eyes water”

This apologising for things that are not your fault is a debilitating British disease that I have now resolved to leave in my past forever. Be gone you swine! It has been removed from my genetic make-up. If we look at yesterday alone, then where there would previously have been at least four “Excuse me”’s, instead I used two “speak ups”, one “Christ, stop mumbling!” and one, “Look where you’re going ya fat fek!”.

And do you know what? Without fail they all said, “Excuse me”.

I feel better for it. I suggest you do the same.

Wanker Of The Week

What is it about Christians. Catholics in particular. They will believe just about anything the church tells them or always look for miracles.

Take Christmas for instance. All that virgin birth crap. Or Easter and the rising from the dead malarky. That’s celebrated the world round. All in all most of us (normal people) just celebrate it for the week off work, buckets of booze, presents and the chocolate eggs.

Then theres the buck eeeejits who believe in shite like this

A chair in Naples, Italy that gets you pregnant. Wise da fuck up, will yas!

I would bet my bottom dollar that the old nun who looks after that chair is quids in. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she offers them a nice wee cup of coffee laced with Rohypnol and then sits back in the corner fingering herself off as the local priest goes to work on the unsuspecting childless mother.

“The saint is waiting for you,” says the horny old nun?

All this means is that the priest thinks hes Simon Templar!

You can bet the church make a packet out of it. Same as Lourdes and any other old relic up for show.

My wanker of the week award this week goes to Catholics.

Name And Shame

How many people do you know called Chardonnay? Or Keanu? Or Sapphire? Or Breeze? None personally I’d imagine. But that’s going to change. Oh yes.

Nursery schools around the country are awash with shout’s of “put that knife down Meadow” or “don’t eat the plasticine Britney”. There are adults out there that have had the complete and utter lack of foresight to name their children – yes, the fruit of their loins, those small people who are likely to be around for the next 80 odd years – after alcoholic drinks and one-hit wonder pop-stars. Do these kids have a hope in hell of a normal life? Do they bollocks!

Would you want one as your doctor in 20 years? Would you vote for one of them? Would you feck as like. Of course, stupid kids names are nothing new, Frank Zappa famously called his kid Moon-Unit. Yes that’s right; he’s actually famous for giving his son a ridiculous moniker. Can you hum a Frank Zappa tune? Can you arse. But we all know what he called his kid though don’t we. And what does Moon-unit do these days? What. You don’t know? I’ll tell you what does. He spends his days in a mental asylum dribbling on himself after years of abuse from merciless kids during his time at school, all brought on by his moron parents giving him a name which was the equivalent to tattooing “twat” on his forehead. Allegedly.

If smacking a child is to be made illegal, then naming them in a ridiculous manner should also be serious jail time, and I mean hard time. We should see road gangs of parents chained together chanting in time, “I will not name my child after an alcopop”… “Paris and Brooklyn are places, not a childs name”.

Or better still why not allow children to rename their parents when they get to 25? That’d see a few parents think twice wouldn’t it? Oh yeah, “Mercedes Crystal” might sound great to you for 25 years, but lets see how you like it when your signing for your pension as Mr Dogtits Smith, or Mrs Pisstrap Brown. I bet there’d be some bloody good 25th birthday presents too!

If you want to see an example of what I mean, click here and check out the poor cow on the far right, fifth row down!

What were her parents thinking of? Where they stoned when they thought “oh lets call our daughter after the most disgusting colour of fanny hair we can think of”

I just want to know what’s wrong with a good old fashioned name like Wilf, Herbert and Gerald?

Oh christ almighty. I need a hair of the dog now, God help me!