Even I Can’t Make This UP

A woman called to my door just before I went to work yesterday afternoon.

“Hello”, I said.

“Hello”, she said. “How are you today?”

“I’m fine”, I said, “and you?”

“Very good. I’m here today to tell you about the new range of cosmetics from Mac.”

“Apple are making cosmetics now?”

“Oh you, you joker. But seriously, they have a new range out full of all kinds of stuff which is cosmetically fantastic.”

“That’s good. Would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do I look like the kind of person who uses a lot of make-up?”

“Well…”

“Do you think a fantastic new blusher would give my five o’clock shadow a healthy glow?”

“Erm…”

“Could a tinted foundation of some kind bring out the subtle tones in the bit of redness under my nose from this cold I have?”

“Uhm…”

“Might I be the kind of man who wants his full lashes curled and long-lasting?”

“…”

“I’m very sorry, but I’m really not in the market for any cosmetics.”

And not a word of a fucking lie her face fell and her shoulders slumped. Like she honestly thought she might still be able to make a sale from her suitcase full of face-crayons and powder boxes.

I don’t mind someone chancing their arm trying to sell me something I don’t need. Let’s face it, most of us buy stuff we don’t need all the time but this was just ridiculous.

“See that gate over there that you came through just now?” I said pointing to the gate at the end of the path.

She looks over her shoulder.

“I suggest you use it and don’t slam it on your way out” “Have a nice day”

What’s The Point?

I like to think of myself as a bit worldly. Someone who is willing to accept the individual tastes of people very different to himself.

However, there are a number of pastimes, hobbies and activities which leave me completely baffled as to their levels of popularity. I simply fail to see even the slightest attraction in them, and sometimes, normally in the wee small hours, I wonder if it is just me that does not get it?

Or maybe I am completely right, as usual, and what I am witnessing is really just a case of the Emperors new clothes?

Take the opera for example. I have been once. I went to watch Puccini’s Madam Butterfly in an open air amphitheatre in Verona (that is in Italy for the heathens among you). It was a beautiful summers evening, and I have been told by opera aficionados that this should have been a truly life changing experience, yet I was bored rigid. It was the night of a thousand years as far as I was concerned. Boring, boring, boring, although the female sitting directly infront of me made the tedious night well worth it. Phwoarrr talk about Hot! …..anyway.

I will grant you that some of Puccini’s songs are good, but I’d rather listen to a CD to be honest. People will try and tell you that opera ‘is about the drama though’, but you only have to flick to the back of the programme to see how it ends. You don’t get that at the local multiplex when you go to see the new Will Smith film. Plus it was all in Italian. Do I look like I know fuckin Italian guv? Sing in English! … OK you all know I’m kidding.

Another pastime I fail to understand peoples affection for, is horse racing. The sport of Kings? Well no, in reality it is a sport based on running races for really big dogs ridden by men in tight-fitting brightly coloured silk outfits. It is all a little bit homo erotic for my tastes. So thanks, but I’m really not interested. Only thing horses are good for, according to my mum, is a bucket fulla their shit for her roses.

And finally, topiary. The ‘art’ (and I use the term extremely loosely) of fashioning farmyard animals out of hedges. Really. People spend actual real cash money on getting people to turn their bushes into cocks. An utter waste of time and effort as far as I can see. I think there was a documentary on TV last night about turning bushes into cocks. Transexual something or other.

They never mentioned topiary once!

It’s Murder On My Kitchen Floor

I am achier than Billy Ray Cyrus’s breaky heart. My back hurts like that of my village’s coalman in the 1970s and my knees are sorer than Monica Lewinsky’s (note to self – try to think of some more up-to-date references), but I have laid a new kitchen floor.

All the kitchen furniture, including the fridge, was in the living room. There was still tacky glue everywhere so I had to wear plastic bags on my feet when cooking, and I’m fairly sure that the cooker is stuck fast to the floor, which will at least be a good excuse for never cleaning behind it again.

The biggest difficulty was that once I’d opened the adhesive and started spreading I had to finish the whole job there and then, so it wasn’t until 1:30am that I laid the last strip. Aching, I removed my sticky clothes and washed my hands, peeling huge wodges of tacky glue from my fingers and was just about to go to bed when I found a sticky problem. My DIY jeans had their knees ripped years ago, which meant that my bare knees were now completely covered with dried glue.

I have really hairy legs, and despite stoically not complaining about the back pain at anything less than three minute intervals all day it just hurt too much to pull the glue off. (Ladies – please don’t bother trying to trump me with any “You don’t know what pain is till you’ve had a bikini wax” stories. It is a well known medical fact that men’s knees contain more nerve endings than women’s loolahs.) I tried opening the freezer door and freezing it solid like chewing gum so I could chip it off, but other body parts were in danger of becoming brittle as well. There was only one more thing I could try…

And that, Gary, my bezzy mate who stayed over at mine, is why you found me in the shower at 2am this morning shaving my legs. Honest! lolol…

“DJ, Gonna burn this Goddamn house right down”

It’s Just Not Fur!

No apologies for the bad pun in the title heh!

Have you all seen the adverts with all the naked supermodels on the Internet.?

Apparently they are making us aware of the fact that wearing fur is murder. You know, whilst in the nuddy. This is an excellent way to make your point. The most memorable time I ever got naked was an afternoon of passion in a forest but thats for another days blogging.

But enough about my nakedness, back to the naked supermodels. I am in agreement with them. Sort of. I believe that if people want to wear fur, then fine, but they should have to catch and kill the animal themselves. That way, it would not only be a fashion statement, but also a trophy of sorts. A bit like decorative medals in the military.

I am pretty sure that mink coats would be less popular overnight. Those little fuckers actively seek out fights with snakes.

SNAKES!

The crazy little bastards. As such, I don’t imagine an ageing middle-class woman in need of fashionable winter wear would hold much fear for the mink. Plus the fact it takes several minks to make a coat, so even if the elderly huntress managed to catch one of them, I’m pretty sure she would change her mind and decide a mink scarf would suit her much better.

I am not a hypocrite though. Yes, I do have a leather jacket, but I think it is made from the skin of a calf, though I can’t be 100% sure, as I got it whilst on holiday in Turkey years ago. Of course, I would have no qualms about catching a calf to make the jacket. They are not dangerous, and pretty tame, so the actual chase would be quite easy. And I suppose I could always eat the wee beefy morsel.

If this rule was brought in it would make it much easier to tell who you should not mess with. I would have a new found respect for anyone wearing the skin of a bull and would stay well clear of anyone in Crocodile shoes, and not just because they look like an utter fucking twat. But because they is well arrrrrd!

Hells Gatekeepers

I’ve spoken before about my hatred for doctors receptionists.  Try and get an appointment and there’s no chance. It would be faster to organise your own funeral.

Well it seems that dentists receptionists are just the same but Yer-Man here got one over on them at last.

The other morning, after picking up my bright shiney new car (shows off) I chipped a tooth.  I wasn’t happy at all as I had been working all night on a twelve hour shift and had to stay up to go get the said car.  So after a little spin around half of County Antrim, I decided I really should go home, get some food and get to bed. 

So I’m munching away on my food, when “crack”

Now I don’t know about you readers but it seems to me that a chip in the tooth always feels much bigger than it really is.

Anyway, I lift the phone and ring the surgery. 

“Hi it’s Matt Johnson, I’ve chipped my tooth and need it seen to. Can you fit me in please?”

“Oh I’m sorry sir, we don’t have any appointments until Tuesday”

 I repeat my name to her.

“Yes Mr Johnson, I have your name, will Tuesday at 11am be OK?”

The penny obviously hadn’t dropped with this moronic old witch.

“Could you put me through to my father please?”

“Excuse me?”

“Put me through to my father please, I’m sure he’ll fit me in”

Very long silence!

I’m sure I heard a kerchingggggggggg!

“Oh one moment please Mr Johnson”

“Hi dad!”….(I explain the situation and the fact I need to get to bed pronto for work that night)

 The tooth was fixed within an hour.

Stick that up yer arse ya “no available appointments bitch”

Misery Of Sharing

Why is it when someone tastes something revolting, or tries something painful, and then immediately suggests you try it.

Do they think we’re bloody stupid? (In my case, they’re right, cos I always do lolol) Perhaps if they kept their feelings and opinions a secret we might be tempted, but invariably the discussion goes something like this.

“Fucking hell, this soup is revolting. Try it.”

“Just how revolting are we talking here?”

“It’s a bit like a warm puddle that has been strained through the pants of a particularly incontinent tramp.”

“Oh go on then!”

Has anyone ever said that last line? I do not believe it would ever happen. Ever.

Yet, despite millions of years of evolution ensuring we have an altruistic gene guiding our behaviour towards others (most of the time), the complete opposite tends to be true when they experience something pleasant.

I know this to be the case as not once has a friend ever offered me a ‘go’ after spending the night with a particularly attractive lover.

The selfish bastards.

Astrology

What a complete load of old shite astrology and horoscopes are.

I’m amazed at how many people actually believe this crap. And worse!  Some of the morons can’t get through the day without them and even make life decisions on what some fat tub of lard like Russel Grunt has spurted to them.

The worst kind are the fekwits who say “what star sign are you?”.. and when you tell them they ramble “oh I just knew it”

 So why the hell ask me in the first place you shit for brains?

So if any of you wanna know what my sign is, here ya go.

                                     

Can It

I tend not to buy tinned food any more, despite living on the stuff whilst I was at University. It wasn’t just me, a friend of mine had a close relative who worked at a supermarket who would feed his habit at a massive discount. So, at the start of each term he would arrive with a couple of large boxes of tins which he would diligently stack in the kitchen cupboards. Then, at the first possible opportunity after he had finished unpacking them, we would remove all the labels. Oh how we laughed. Yawn!

“What’s for dinner? Peach halves on toast?”

To this day I still have a sneaky look in friends cupboards whenever I visit in the faint hope of finding a large selection of tins just to play this brilliant, and massively underutilised practical joke.

Unfortunately, it seems most people have given up tinned food, which is a shame for practical jokers everywhere. I have also always found it amazing how long food lasts when it’s in a tin. If you were to buy fish from a fishmonger, it would start going off within 24 hours. However, if you put that same fish into a tin, then you could put it in the cupboard and make plans to eat it whilst watching the London Olympics (unless someone removed its label and you opened it whilst looking for fruit cocktail).

Does anyone know why does tinned food last so long? Is it magic?

When I die, I would like to be buried in a tin, so that if they find a cure for whatever I died from, they can dig me up and revive me. I hope that day is not too soon in coming though as I have not decided if I would prefer to be buried in oil or brine.

Tesco Swag Bag

Shopping in Britain’s favourite supermarket not long ago, I noticed that the person who’d gone through the till before us had left a bag of their shopping behind.

Spotting a rare chance to end the day in profit, I kept my mouth shut and loaded it into my trolley with the rest of my stuff.

1-0 to Yer-Man, at last.

I arrived home, having broken several traffic laws on the way, and with not a little excitement, inspected my swag:

1. One small tin of Lily-of-the-Valley talcum powder of the kind that you only ever win in school Christmas Fayre tombolas, which you then donate, unused to the Summer Fayre tombola

2. A tube of Polygrip flavour-free denture fixative

3. One packet of biblical flood-strength tampons

4. Ten-pack of Durex Extra Safe condoms

Being a bloke with all my own teeth I thought: Fuck my luck.

I have plenty of condoms of my own so,

If you are a pensioner with an incredibly adventurous sex drive: I may have some of your shopping.

Dear Arsehole Who Blocked Me In.

Dear Arsehole Owner Of This Car!

Just a quick note to say thanks for stealing 10 minutes of my life this morning. Coming off nightshift and trying to get home, I get to my car and what do I find?

Yes you prick, I need a fucking can opener to get into it through the roof because thanks to you, I’m sure as hell not getting in through the door.

As you may have noticed by now, your car is not quite as you left it. This is because you parked it like a fuckin moron. The lines which denote the individual parking spaces are there for a reason, not because of the asthetic beauty they bring to the car park, or because Bombardier had some spare paint. It’s so that people, yes, that includes you, park in between the lines. Get it? That way everyone has enough room to park and get in and out of their cars with ease.

I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you are just completely ignorant, perhaps bordering on retarded, rather than malicious, as no normal person would have parked across a clearly defined parking bay to within 3 inches of my car in the way that you did. I notice you gave yourself a good couple of feet on your side of the car allowing you to winch your no doubt ample frame in and out in comfort? Good. I’m glad about that. It warmed my cockles as I climbed across the passenger seat into my car this morning, nearly ramming the gear stick up my hoop in the process. It was at that point I decided to leave this little note to you.

Dont give me that bollocks about “someone on the other side had already parked across a bay so I had to as well”, if you got mugged you wouldn’t nick the wallet of the next person you met would you? Or last time someone bumped into you on the street, did you go out of your way to barge a complete stranger into the path of an oncoming bus? No, you didn’t. But that didn’t stop you screwing me over did it? So, in the interests of Karma I’ve made a few enhancements to your car.

Side mirrors are clearly superfluous to you. You don’t use them when parking, and the extra drag probably costs you a couple of pence a year in petrol, so I’ve removed them and placed then on your bonnet for you to dispose of. In about 15 years you might be able to buy a beer from the savings. Enjoy. That beer is on me.

Secondly, as you obviously have no intention of using the passenger door on your car (they way you park you’d never be able to open it anyway), I removed the handle, and again you’ll find that your bonnet. Along with your mirrors.

Last, but by no means last, you’ll no doubt be reading this whilst sat in your drivers seat. That’s because I’ve superglued this note to your windscreen, text down. This is to serve as a reminder. This is a mistake you do no want to make again. Not next to my car.

Have a nice day prick,

Yer-Man