Monday, October 31, 2011

On not putting the clocks back

On not putting the clocks back

Every year it's the same.

Every year there's an argument whether the clocks should go back an hour at the end of summer, leaving us plunged into darkness by five in the evening.

The reasoning we are given - year in, year out - is to give Scottish farmers and children going to school an extra hour of daylight in the morning, when the sun comes up at about lunchtime.

Others argue that the early evenings cost the country millions in lost production and increased traffic accidents.

Well, I've got the solution to that. Leave the clocks alone, and give every man woman and child north of the border a free set of night vision goggles, which they must wear at all times.

This plan will pay for itself in a matter of months, and will also enable the easier identification of anybody who may be of the Scotch persuasion, fo eg: They are the ones wearing night vision goggles.

We are - of course - keeping an eye on the situation after the government's recent annoucement that they are to dump GMT/BST in favour of a proposed move to British Hammertime.

I am not mad.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Killed to DEATH

Killed to DEATH

And they said that I was mad for saying "Killed to DEATH" all the time. I am not mad.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Weekend Video: Spitting Image

Weekend Video

Spitting Image: Peter O'Toole goes for a night out with Oliver Reed

"I'm a bloody woman Oliver. Me didgeridoo's been turned inside out!"

Friday, October 28, 2011



As a recovering geek and a nerd, it is, perhaps, inevitable that I should find myself obsessively watching the geeky, nerdy sitcom Big Bang Theory.

And it was on one of these Big Bang Theory marathons that my flatmate asks the all-important question:

"What the hell is BAZINGA?"

"I have no idea, I'll Google it."

So, I googled it.

And the first result it brought up was THIS VIDEO.

And I look up from my computer screen and EXACTLY THE SAME SCENE is playing on the television.

And this, through the actual use of SCIENCE, proves one thing: Google is run by MIND PROBES and WITCHCRAFT.

Ban this sort of thing.

And, lo, The Risen Christ did appear before his disciples; and he didst say unto them the Word. And the word was "Bazinga", and they were sore afraid

Thursday, October 27, 2011

On vicars getting their advertising wrong

On vicars getting their advertising wrong

So, there I was, a deity-curious atheist and Top Cheese of the Holy Church of Don't Be A Dick, inside an actual church for reasons far too exciting to mention on these pages.

As usual, my eye is drawn to the usual piles of leaflets, cunningly designed to draw people into their little club, and I see this little number advertising a creepy taster session:

Now, wait a cotton-pickin' minute. I didn't get where I am today - a hideously angry godless liberal - without knowing my enemy. And the first thing they promise you is from the Gospel of ET The Extra Terrestrial: "Beeeee Goooood", boiling down to "Be good and get reborn up there in heaven, playing badminton with yer man Jesus Christ".

I'm not much of a fan of badminton, except the bit when the lady players bend over to pick up a stray cock, so I'm not that fussed, but a promise to be reborn in the company of the Lord is a cast-iron promise.

Therefore, - if I am not mistaken - that is two lives. Two. What a rip-off.

Make your minds up, church. At least the Holy Church of Don't Be A Dick doesn't make promises it can't keep.

The Holy Church of Don't Be A Dick. One Life: Don't spoil it by being a dick.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011



Thanks to SCIENCE and MATHS, readers will be interested to learn that I have invented a time machine.

The unfortunate news for prospective time travelers is that this device can only go forward in time, so those of you wanting to have it off with Joan of Arc are in for a bit of a disappointment. Nonetheless, I have filed papers with the Patent Office for my time machine, which I have christened: "Twelve pints of London Pride"

Here's how it works: You drink twelve pints of London Pride. Then, everything goes black and before you know it, it is 48 hours later.

Also, the side effects of this kind of time travel are dreadful, and may include headache, nausea, being sick inna hedge, arriving dressed as a tramp in vomit-spattered clothing, or on board a ferry headed to Denmark.

However, with the help of a grant from those lovely people at SMIRNOFF Vodka, I am hoping to iron out these wrinkles with my Mark II Time Machine, which shall be called "Three Bottles of Tasty SMIRNOFF Vodka, sponsored by tasty SMIRNOFF Vodka"

See you in the future!

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

On laying the Golden Turd of fable

On laying the Golden Turd of fable

My head has been turned by news of a - frankly - disturbed gentleman's attempt to create gold through the medium of shitting onto an electric heater and burning down a block of flats.

As any alchemist (a totally cromulent branch of SCIENCE which has suffered funding problems down the years) will tell you, this is NOT how you make gold.

In the words of the presiding judge as he sent the unfortunate chap to the cells: "It was an interesting experiment to fulfill the alchemist’s dream, but wasn’t going to succeed." And by "interesting", he - of course - meant "absolutely fucking mental".

The only sure fire way of getting gold out of crap is by filming a TV advert fronted by a well-known orange-skinned celebrity, exhorting people to take advantage of the record high prices for the metal by sending in all their gold. Then, pay them well below the going rate for their granny's wedding ring, sell the severed finger for medical experiments, and - presto! - PROFIT!

But let us not go harsh on poop-on-electric-heater guy. There is a time and a place for squatting over an electric heater, trousers round your ankles, veins popping out on your forehead as you relieve yourself of a length of nutty slack before wiping your bum on the carpet like a naughty spaniel.

We're just hard pushed to think when this might be.

Monday, October 24, 2011



Every day, thousands of apostrophes are misused, abused and dumped in the street by their uncaring owners.

We get reports on an hourly basis of such horrors as BURGER'S, CHILDRENS MEAL'S and RESIDENT'S ONLY, these poor apostrophes humiliated in public - often in comic sans - then abandoned without shelter, food or money.

Please help.

If you see a shop-keeper, restaurant owner or church jumble sale volunteer abusing apostrophes, ACT QUICKLY. Punch the cur in the fork (it being the only language they understand), then call the police who are legally obliged to also punch the curs in the fork.

And once you have done that, send money, because this campaign to rehouse orphaned apostrophes is quite extraordinarily expensive.

Make your cheques out to Calumniated Apostrophes Safe House (or C.A.S.H.) and we will do the rest.

Please: Think of the apostrophes.


Sunday, October 23, 2011




Funny old place, full of riches, poverty, many-headed and many-limbed deities.

And now, the ultimate well-dressed, undead terror, who is quite good at putting up shelves and hanging curtains:
Handy Zombie Dandy Gandhi


I am not mad

ALSO: In the light of recent events, I bet Colonel Gaddafi's regretting that final FourSquare check-in now: "Muammar G just ousted Abdullah M as mayor of Sewage Pipe, Sirte"

Let that be a lesson to you all.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Weekend Video: Guilty Pleasures Edition (which may contain traces of Beyoncé)

Weekend Video

Beyoncé - Halo

OK, this came as much as a surprise to me as it does to you. AND SO WHAT?


Friday, October 21, 2011

On failing the UK Citizenship Test

On failing the UK Citizenship Test

A couple of years ago, I took the UK Government's Citizenship test for immigrants to see if I - a recent graduate with a degree in social sciences and politics - would be a fit UK Citizen. I failed, miserably.

It popped up again recently in The Guardian, and one thing leading to another, I decided to give it another go. I have lived in the UK for all but one of my 45 years, but clearly this one year was when I needed to learn all the important stuff. I failed again, and now I'm hoping that Albania will have me.

But then, looking closer at the questions, I notice that it is a cunningly worded trap. Virtually all of the questions are of absolutely NO USE to the average British citizen in any way shape or form.

Do you need to know if the governing body of the EU is the Council of the European Union or the Council of Europe? No, for not a single fuck is given.

What the UK Citizenship test needs to find the true measure of its newest citizens is a bunch of questions that REALLY matter.

- Name the four current judges on The X Factor

- Name all six firemen on Trumpton

- In The Italian Job, what part of the van was he only supposed to bloody blow off?

- Have you ever, or are you ever likely to have, sexual relations with Katie Price? (Trick question, the correct answer is always YES)

- Nice to see you, to see you?

- Name all Blue Peter presenters and pets since 1958, IN DATE ORDER

- You are waiting in a queue at the Post Office .Somebody pushes in at the front of the line. What do you do?
a) Tell them the error of their ways
b) Say "There's a queue, you know" in a disguised voice
c) Get so angry that you almost say something

- Translate the following into Cockney: "I say! I fell down the stairs at the Public House and sustained an injury to my rear end"

- In the sitcom Dad's Army, whose name is going on ze list?

- If a person starts a statement with the phrase "I'm not racist, but..." is he
a) Racist
b) A Daily Mail reader
c) A massive racist

- Complete the following: Middle! Middle! Middle!

- Paul Gascoigne is best known as
a) Legendary England footballer who cried during the 1990 World Cup
b) Enormous piss artist
c) Emergency provider of fried chicken, beer and fishing rods to the mentally unhinged
And the make-or-break questions:

- You are making a cup of tea. Milk in first or milk in last?

- Would you like a biscuit?

- Daddy or chips?
Still, Tirana's nice this time of year

More of this kind of thing by my pal Col N. M. E. Adthy-Gates HERE

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Drugs Don't Work, They Just Make Me Terse

The Drugs Don't Work, They Just Make Me Terse

Dear Medical Science

Yeah, it's me again, that short-arsed wretch with the sore foot that won't stop whinging about it.

But this time I'm serious because I'm seriously pissed off with the drugs you're giving me (mostly in packets marked "For Circus Animals Only"). Surely - I ask - it is not outside your wit to give me anti-inflammatory drugs that do not:

- Leave me firing the brown laser down the toilet for a solid twenty-four hours

- Bring me out in itches that leave colleagues convinced that I have a) fleas, b) scabies or c) fleas with scabies

- Give me weird dreams that have me sitting bolt upright at two in the morning, screaming at Mary Magdalene to "Watch out for that shark! It's a lion!"

- Leave me with the world's worst super-power, viz: The ability to draw dinosaurs really, really quickly (example enclosed)

- Grow an extra head on the back of my hand that supports Spurs

Luckily, the extra head is on my arse-wiping hand, so - being a huge fan of irony - I am not too fussed.

But, really, I'm getting a bit pissed off. Could you just send me a crate of whisky, so I can spend the next six weeks or so in such a drunken stupor that I don't notice the pain? Those are side-effects I can live with.

Your pal

Albert O'Balsam

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

On selling my soul for free Doritos and Pepsi

On selling my soul for free Doritos and Pepsi

"Hey, Scary!" says The Man, "How would you like some awesome free stuff if you sell us your soul in the name of Pepsi and Doritos?"

"How awesome?" I ask, knowing full well the many bloggers are very much attached to their souls and would never, ever sully their reputation and integrity to give publicity to a major worldwide corporation.

"VERY. That's how awesome," said The Man in bold text, and I am well and truly in.

Weeks pass, and a box arrives. This box:

Yeah, that's a bit awesome, and it contains everything I might need if I were to be a superhero.

And free Jalapeno Fire Doritos and Lime Pepsi Max.

And free invisibility glasses, which render the wearer ACTUALLY INVISIBLE (field tested in the changing rooms in the Reading branch of New Look, cells at Reading Police Station)

And a free DVD of a mediocre movie, which would make your average anger-activated superhero angry enough to turn green and rip their clothes off

And a free book which you DO NOT NEED if you have superhero powers. Unlucky, mere mortals

And the money shot:

An actual HAND DRAWN picture of your author as an actual superhero - The Scary Duck - complete with hideous pecking attack, and the ability to break a man's arm with a single flap of his wing, and Done An Egg powers. Weakness: Bread, large corporations offering free stuff.

And the taste test? We took the free Doritos and Pepsi to an actual fight followed by an actual English Premier Ice Hockey League match last Saturday night.

Verdict: Jalapeno Doritos = HotHotHot; Lime Pepsi Max = CoolCoolCool; Doritos = HotHotHot; repeat for whole MASSIVE packet until - my mouth a crucible of flame - forced out into the middle of Slough Jets v Sheffield Steeldogs during the final interval to lick the ice.

Seconds later, I was run over by the Zamboni, but IT WAS WORTH IT.

Who needs a soul? I have my BEAK OF FURY super power and I feel great. And pecky. And I done a red-hot egg*. Thanks, The Man!

* At least I think it was an egg.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011



Regular readers may remember our fury at the antics of the scientific community, wasting time and money on discovering faster-than-life travel rather than sorting out the important issues that make everyday life on this planet a misery. For eg: The continued lack of monkey butlers.

Well, colour us surprised when a trawl through internet tat emporium eBay should bring up genuine brand-new-with-tags Monkey Butlers, all for a reasonable five-figure sum.

"Comes with the Paul Burrell seal of approval!"

BANG! Straight on the Buy It Now button.

Imagine our surprise, then, when we found it was just an ordinary monkey with rabies.

Worse: Its butler training has left a lot to be desired - constantly forgetting to warm the pot before making tea, skimping on the silver polish, and flinging his own shit at the visiting Dowager Duchess of Cumberland.

Left with a small child, the monkey butler taught the toddler to fling his own shit at the visiting Dowager Duchess of Cumberland, which he did with no little enthusiasm. Won't anyone think of the children?

Damn you Burrell! Damn you to HELL!

The message is absolutely clear: DON'T BUY EBAY MONKEY BUTLERS. They will empty your house of everything you own and claim it was a "gift", or something.

Apart from that: AAAAAAAA++++++ Seller - Will buy again!!!!!!!!

Monday, October 17, 2011

On the times they are a-changing

On the times they are a-changing

An overheard conversation between two yummy mummies as I survey my next move at the Caversham Noticeboard

"Oh! It's the first time I've seen your new baby! What have you called him?"


"What - after the singer?"

"No - the rabbit"


(To young girl kicking her heels nearby) "Come on Florence - we're going to be late picking your brother up from school"

"Give my love to Dougal!"

Me: "Buh?"

I wish I could say I was making this up

Sunday, October 16, 2011

On minis which are not that mini

On minis which are not that mini

Hey everybody, the new 2011 Mini Countryman is out! Let's see what TV's Richard Hammond thinks...

"...weebl weebl weebl weebl..."

"What's that? You don't think BMW have actually grasped the concept that 'Mini' means 'small'?"


"Of course we'll get you a ladder. And a pile of books to sit on."

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Weekend Video: Kid Creole and the Coconuts - Stoolpigeon

Weekend Video

Kid Creole and the Coconuts - Stoolpigeon

I don't know what came over me, I just had a sudden urge to see this.

And here's another song about coconuts.


Friday, October 14, 2011



The X Factor is back with the Asshat Olympics that are their live shows on Saturday nights coming up to Christmas. Of course, you may choose not to watch - and even go and live somewhere in the colonies - but you find yourself drawn back every week to see what new horror the poor, down-trodden people of this nation are being subjected.

This being the case, you might as well spend your time getting utterly rat-arsed and take part in the official X Factor Drinking Game.

It's simple. Swallow your pride and watch the X Factor. Then take on drink every time one of the following happens. You will be wrecked before the first ad break, which is a shame as the adverts are the best part:

- "You've taken that song and made it your own"

- "You NAILED that vocal" (Two drinks if the singer sounded like they were driving a tractor acrss a ploughed field with weights tied to their privates)

- "That's the best version of that song I've ever heard" (Two drinks if it's a Beatles cover)

- "You owned that stage"

- "It's been a journey"

- Gary Barlow looks like he's shat his pants

- Dermott O'Leary hugs one of the female singers

- The guest star, when asked who they want to win, says "They're ALL uniquely talented"

- The guest spot is an act managed by Simon Cowell or Louis Walsh

- Louis Walsh says that he "likes the boys"

- Kelly speaks in some incomprehensible street slang that somehow sounds inspiring

- Tulisa stands up and claps like a sea lion (cf Amanda Holden, Britain's Got Talent)

- Flashback to tearful back story

Down the whole bottle:

- The judges dare to criticise one of their money-spinning acts

- One of the acts comes on and says "Here's one I just wrote"

Thursday, October 13, 2011

On scrap metal

On scrap metal

We note with some interest from THE ACTUAL NEWS that some £770million worth of metal is stolen annually in this country on account of the soaring price of scrap.

That's an awful lot of drain covers and church roofs.

And that's got me thinking. It's oh-so-easy to make a bit of money selling on your old jewelery to rip-off companies through these cash-for-gold websites - why not take it a step further?

And that's when we noticed that is still available, and in our opinion, it's an absolute - oh-ho! - cast iron business model.

Although - let's be honest - the business is called 'being a fence'. But with the Old Bill keeping an eye on every scrap metal merchant in the country (who are, I am at pains to point out, are 100% legitimate businesses, and not the kind of person who'd shove you in the boot of an old Jaguar and squeeze you down to the size of a suitcase the second you cross them), the entrepreneurial scrap metal liberator has got to get shot of his hard-earned gains somehow.

So, if you're in the business of ripping the roof off pensioners' homes and nicking road signs on dangerous bends, look out for our collection points behind dodgy pubs and industrial units everywhere. But you never saw us, right?

Coming soon: We Buy Any Stolen Car Dot Com

This time next year, Rodders...

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

On bidding for the Olympic Stadium to fulfill my dream of a Joe Pasquale Theme Park

On bidding for the Olympic Stadium to fulfill my dream of a Joe Pasquale Theme Park

It's all gone completely tits down at the Olympic Park as those claret-and-blue curs West Ham United pull out of their bid to buy the Olympic Stadium once the 2012 Games are over.

A great big spanner in the works in the shape of Tottenham Hotspur Football Club, who want to move away from North London for the murky comforts of the East End is being blamed for this turn of events, made the more strange by the Totts' desire to level the entire stadium and build a new one on the site, out of turds and the boxes of riot-liberated 42-inch screen TVs.

That would - I am sure you'll agree - be a complete waste, and would put the "Crap Football Team" into "Crap Football Team acting like a crap football team, somebody crap through their letterbox, it being the only language these curs understand". Not that I'm letting personal sporting allegiances get in the way of things.

So, what, exactly, should we do with the Olympic Stadium if it's not going to be used for football post-2012? We've come up with a few suggestions:

- Seal up all the holes and use it to make the world's biggest beef stew. The nearby velodrome can be used to make the world's biggest vegetarian option.

- Add a crust - HEY PRESTO! - The world's biggest pie

- 1970s South American-style detention centre for political prisoners. Also, Level 42

- A bit of a paint job, and turn it into an advert for Polo mints that can only be seen from space

- Fill it with Helium, and open a Joe Pasquale Theme Park

- Kidnap Lady Gaga, sit her at a giant piano and force her to take part in the planet's greatest ever cockney knees-up, at gunpoint if necessary

- Force the BBC to film EastEnders there, and watch the cast literally explode out of confusion when the new Albert Square is, in fact, round

- Return it to its previous use, that being Europe's number one recruiting and training area for slatterns

- Wrap it in cling film to keep it nice and fresh just in case somebody needs an Olympic Stadium at some point in the future

- Just a thought: World-class athletics venue
Nah, forget the last one, that would be STUPID

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

On posh superheroes

On posh superheroes

Spider-Man, I am convinced, is the poshest of all superheroes.

The evidence is clear for all to see: He's the only one with a double-barrelled surname.

"Ah-ha!" I hear you say, "What about Superman? Surely he is posh as well, with his double-barelled name?"

"And that being?" I ask, finding myself suddenly cornered like a hamster in an arse.

"Kal-El, son of Jor-El."

"Yes, that's as maybe, but you are missing two factors."

"And what might that be?" you ask, the doubt hanging heavy on your voice like funbags on a Katie Price.

"Number one: Superman* is an illegal immigrant. And two: He is dead."

"You sick bastard."

"I thank you."

EDIT: I have already been asked: "Batman? Surely he's posh," by several people. With a name like that, he is clearly from the servant classes

*Also, he has a posher, yet less successful brother: Superbman

Monday, October 10, 2011

Dreaming of New Zealand

Dreaming of New Zealand

On a morning in which I am wearing a New Zealand rugby shirt, I find myself in a reverie.

Because, dear reader, my first proper girlfriend was from New Zealand.

I'll never forget that sun-kissed summer afternoon, as we lay there, my arm around her, light through the trees dappling her sweet,sweet face.

The sound of a nearby brook as we looked into each others eyes. Those idyllic days of youth, never gone as long as I breathe.

And I'll never forget that moment when she spoke those words that went all the way to the bottom of my soul.


We ate her, eventually.

Sunday, October 09, 2011



I hear that Canadian Big Band singer is going to make an album of beats and street poetry.

It's going to be called Bublé Rap.

I'll get me coat

Friday, October 07, 2011

A message to Vodafone

A message to Vodafone

An email!

"Dear Mr Coleman," those chaps at Vodafone write for the third time this week, "Good news! You're due an upgrade!"

I am intrigued, for I have only just upgraded my phone to the finest Blackberry rioters can steal.

"You may want to consider upgrading to a phone with e-mail functionality," they tell me, and therein lies the problem.

Because the phone to which I have recently upgraded is the Blackberry Curve 9300.

A Blackberry Curve 9300, connected to the Vodafone network.

Connected to the Vodafone network, on which I am reading their promotional email, BECAUSE IT IS EMAIL-ENABLED.

Stop it, you planks, or I shall have to mock you on my blog.

Thursday, October 06, 2011



ACTUAL SPACE FACT: The modules for NASA's Apollo Ten mission in May 1969, effectively a dress rehearsal for the moon landings two months later, were named after the Peanuts characters Charlie Brown and Snoopy?

But what would have happened if Snoopy had actually touched down on the moon? How different would the space programme's contribution to world culture and history have been?

For one thing, Neil Armstrong's "One small step for [a] man" speech would have been usurped by words spoken by Apollo X commander Thomas Stafford.

For second, grainy footage of Apollo XI's Eagle lander would have been entirely different.

For as Snoopy touched down on the lunar surface, we would have heard an entirely different phrase to echo down the decades:

"The Beagle has landed"

I'll get me spacesuit.

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

On the Daily Fail's greatest FAIL

On the Daily Fail's greatest FAIL

Those of you on top of the news may have noticed the brouhaha following the acquittal of Amanda Knox over the murder of British student Meredith Kercher.

However, if you were waiting for the verdict on the Daily Mail's website, you would - thanks to an itchy finger on the "publish" button - think that Miss Knox is still as guilty as hell. So guilty, they published the full story complete with court reactions and quotes THAT NEVER HAPPENED except in their own imaginations.

As they say is the world of journalism where it's publish first, issue corrections later: "Never Wrong For Long"

However, it's not the first time that the Daily Mail's got it wrong with the big stories. Here are a few more headlines from the times they've jumped the gun of history:

Germany win World Cup after extra-time heartbreak. "That Russian linesman should see an optician" rages Alf Ramsay

Victory for our Common Sense campaign as King John vows to scrap Magna Carta

Captain Scott first to South Pole, heading back to England. "So glad I made it home safe," says new national hero

Pontius Pilate releases Jesus of Nazareth, disciples "relieved"

English fleet SMASHED. Armada invasion heads for London

Allied troops land in France on morning of 5th June: "C-Day a total success" says Churchill

"That was the best play I ever saw" says President Lincoln "Another big hit for Ford's Theatre!"
Well played, The Daily Fail. WELL PLAYED

Tuesday, October 04, 2011

BEES: A warning from history

BEES: A warning from history

Those Vodafone "Surfing Bees" adverts. You know the ones.

Don't say I didn't warn you, but they are only going to encourage kids to try to teach bees to surf

Bees are in short enough supply as it is, thanks to the efforts of our farmers to poison the countryside entirely to death, and a spurt of kids taking up tiny surf-boards in tin baths could be the thing to tip our bee population over the edge.

Is that what Vodafone want? Because THAT'S WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN.

And then what?

The bees, sick to death of kids trying to teach them to surf, and sick of the country's major mobile phone provider mocking them as feckless layabouts, will get angry and FIGHT BACK, their entire existence threatened with oblivion and public ridicule.

The bees will rise up, killer bees will stalk our once green and pleasant land, turning England into a LAND OF PAIN.

I ask again:

Is that what Vodafone want? Because THAT'S WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN.

Stop it, you planks.

Monday, October 03, 2011

Another thing that gets on my nerves

Another thing that gets on my nerves

Trapped on the A31, somewhere in Dorsetshire, looking at the back end of a truck.

There is a sticker:

"For environmental reasons, this vehicle has been limited to 50mph."


"Saving fuel. Caring for your future."

You bastards.

I know exactly what my immediate future holds, viz: twenty-five miles looking at your big fat slow-moving arse, increasingly convinced that I will never shop in one of your establishments ever again.

If I were that sort of person, I would encourage my readers to crap through your letterbox, that being the only language curs such as yourself understand.

I am not that sort of person.

If you want a job done properly, I'd do it myself.

And while we're at it, Get To Fu...

Sunday, October 02, 2011



Congratulations to Chrysler for producing what is clearly the smuggest car on the road with their new Delta. A car with a face you can never tire of punching.

Enough of smug cars? Have some SMUG ANIMALS instead

Saturday, October 01, 2011

Weekend Video: Simon Pegg kicks a granny in the face

Weekend Video

Simon Pegg kicks a granny in the face

From the film Hot Fuzz, and possibly the funniest thing I have ever seen. Let's face it, you can never tire of watching Simon Pegg kicking a granny in the face.