Monthly Archives: September 2012

Winter is coming!

I was awestruck as I checked the front of the paper; ‘mother of two kills demon baby in freezer’ read the headline but  I cannot believe they dropped my fucking photo, do they know what I had to do to get into that morgue?  Those slabs are fucking cold you know.

Outside I can hear the cars streaking through the wet roads, the rain hitting the tin roof of the smoke house in the store nextdoor and the distant calling of damp revellers and the sound of a man shouting the words to ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ at the karaoke jam at the pub on the corner.   And I have noticed a distinct change in the temperature at night recently, it’s getting darker a lot earlier too and I’m going out on a limb here when I say that I think the summer might finally be over.

Last week I was in the yard at work and the sun had started to set and there was a slight chill in the air, to the point where I had to put a jumper on; some of the local kids had started a fire over on the waste ground out by the estate and the whole area smelt like a bonfire.  Ah, it was great.

I love the autumn and winter months, I prefer the cover of darkness and the tingle of the cold air; wrapping up really snug and going on little missions.

And the winter is the best time for having a BBQ in my opinion, especially at some of the festivities; Newtonmas, Guy Fawkes Night (or bonfire night if you are uneducated), Halloween, Devils Night, Day of the Ninja, Hogswatch, or Día de los Muertos if you like your Hispanic celebrations, but there are loads of little festivals in the darker months and all a great excuse to fire up that grill.

There’s nothing quite like a massive fire, explosions in the sky, a big tankard full of mulled cider and the smell of a hog roast in the dead of winter.  Love it.

Winter is the time when I actually go out of my way to by seasonal cloths, scarfs, fingerless gloves, bobble hats and the like.  And it’s the one time when I will by long trousers the turn them into shorts when the spring chases away the darkness.

I also love the feel and fit of a good thermal pair of long johns, and if they have the butt flap in them, all the better.  I purposely remove one of the buttons for that ‘hillbilly’ look; it drives my girlfriend nuts… Ha-ha!

And I do love a good bobble hat, nothing says daft arsehole like a Cosby sweater and bobble hat combo, trust me you might look like a tit but you will be properly warm.

I also can claim that I am the only man that I know of that has a respectable scarf collection, it’s at around about 10ish I think, does that count as a collection? (And why in the name of fuck am I telling you all this?)

I love the winter when everything gets really fresh and clear and you can feel the chill in your lungs out and the grass over in the park gets frosty and a slight mist falls over the cemetery, that’s when I like to go for a little walk and take a few photos.  Awesome!

So as you can tell I’m not much of a summer person, it’s really not for me.  Everyone is expected to be happy and full of beans because it’s a bit sunny out when really you’re stifling in the heat and sweating your bollocks off at night and moody at work through lack of sleep.

And I hate the amount of people there are when the summer hits.  The place is crawling with kids and shirtless chavs, I can’t stand it.

You can’t go anywhere interesting because it’s rammed with tourists and screaming infants and you can’t go to the park to relax and maybe read a book under the welcome shade of a tree for fear of getting a Frisbee or football in the face.

And going to the beach, fuck, you can’t move for people some days, it’s like looking at an elephant seal colony that smells of coconut oil and cheap booze.  And it doesn’t matter where you plot up you will at some point see a really old man changing from his speedos, his withered skin puckered from the cold of the English channel; his lengthy ball-sack stuck to his leg due to his dip in the salty sea.  Ergh, the stuff of nightmares.

Yep, I’m defiantly a winter person, summer just doesn’t do it for me and call me mad but I prefer to be cold then get warm than try and cool down when it’s too hot, it’s not as if I have a swimming pool out on the balcony now is it.

So yeah, I really hope it snows this year too, nothing like a few days off work just fucking about in the snow with some mates.  Going to the pub and watching the football by a real fire.  Curling up in bed with cheese toasties and hot-chocolate, spot on.

I love how everything becomes quiet when it snows like a blanket has been put over the town and the traffic just disappears.  I also love the way that everything becomes brighter at night like the snow soaks up the light from the moon and glows, the skeletons of trees dusted with a layer of white and the crunch of deep snow as it compacts underfoot.

And for all you atheists out there that don’t celebrate in the winter months out of principle, here’s a little something for ‘yule’ (geddit) to have a look at:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newtonmas#Newtonmas


I can’t believe it’s not banter!?

As I was nailed on to the cross and hoisted for the masses with the crown of thorns sticking into my skin; after being lashed and tortured, whipped and made to drag the effigy of my own doom; as the spear was pulled from my side and the sponge of vinegar forced into my mouth I thought… ‘I really should have kept that whole son of god thing to myself!’

 

I spend so much of my time recently hating things that I have lost all focus on things that I like and it’s starting to get to me; it’s making me a little paranoid.

And I don’t mean that ‘the government are out to get us’ paranoid (which by the way isn’t paranoia, they really are out to get you, well… your money anyway) I’m going through the ‘well maybe I have alienated myself through hate’ part of paranoia.

It’s a more personal paranoia if you get my drift.

I was told recently that some people that read my blog that I know personally don’t like some of the things that I have to say (type) and think my opinions are a little askew on certain things.  This is good, I know I may not be right on some stuff, that’s the idea of an opinion isn’t it; that they may differ from person to person, stops us becoming like drones.  Imagine how boring the place would be if we all agreed on every subject, everyone would be going about the place listening to Oasis and eating McJunk, there would be no flavour to the world.

What is not good is that they haven’t said anything to me about it, haven’t said ‘you know that thing you posted about such and such… didn’t like it’ and that has started to get to me.

I’d like to think I am an approachable chap when it comes to my opinions even though I can be a little over enthusiastic on certain points of view, but why wouldn’t somebody that knows me ask me why I would think like that?  Maybe I have become rather unapproachable, I just don’t know.

I am however really happy that some of you agree with some (not all) of what I think, not from a selfish ego polishing kind  of thing but it means that I’m not going completely insane and others have spotted the glitches in society that I have.  Common ground, yeah!

A little off topic… and we are back in 3… 2…

Paranoia, the fear… but of what you may ask, I really can’t tell you but it’s like I’m constantly expecting getting a punch in the face from out of nowhere and from pretty much anyone I spend extended periods of time with, crazy right?

I don’t even know where it comes from, it’s not like I’m stoned and think the bin men in the ally are really burglars checking the place out or that the next knock at the door will be the police coming to raid my shit.

Maybe it’s because I have become a bit of a shut in and shed away from human and social contact that I have lost a lot of the grasp of social etiquette and personal boundaries that I might have adhered too many moons ago, but who can say?

Maybe it’s because I am just not popular enough for the heard, because I am doing stuff that doesn’t involve interacting with anybody that has thrown this blanket of wariness over me.  Maybe it’s because I just don’t give enough of a shit about what they are doing to care and it’s mutual, I just don’t know.

Which brings me back to point, nobody is telling me anything so I just don’t know.  If this is the case then I shall continue to do whatever it is that I’m doing because if it meant that much you would think something would be said, right?  I guess they just don’t care… or vice versa.

You see what I mean about being paranoid, imagine having to put up with my brain for a day, how I haven’t jumped off a bridge yet out of pure despair is still quite a mystery to me, that and I won’t on the general principle that me just breathing pisses off at least a few people and that butters my muffin somewhat.

Last week I had an argument with someone about, of all things McDonald’s coffee.  I just made the point (or mistake of pointing out) as we picked over our breakfast (in a rather nice Soho diner I know of just off of Carnaby street and they do the best eggs benedict may I add) that the coffee there was really good and I doubted that we could find better elsewhere.

My mate pipes up that the best coffee around was that piss they sell in McDonald’s because on an advert the voiceover bloke had said that it had won awards.

I asked him what awards it had won and that he had to agree that the coffee in the place was just better because we were tasting it right then and there and it was so much better than that watered down gravy that they sling in that fast food dump.

“But they use only the finest Arabica beans” he said.

“You’re a fucking idiot!” I said.

He actually trusted what he was told than what he was experiencing, and this guy isn’t a stupid bloke, well unless we are talking about the quality of the coffee.  But because the advert had said the stuff had won an award he thought he would bring it up.  What award had it won the ‘because only the locals can drink the water around these parts’ award?

So yeah… opinions and that… paranoia and what not… yeah whatever man.

Who’s going to be reading this shite at 8am on a Sunday morning, fuck I can’t believe that I am awake so early writing this crap… I also cannot believe that it’s not butter, but then I am easily led.

 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paranoia

 

 


Cat Week – Let’s Go!

So yeah…

This week is what I like to call one of my ‘Cat Weeks’… and I think everyone should have one from time to time.

Basically it is a week off from everything that you normally do and concentrate on things that you want to do and should do to remain sane.

I try and get one of these in two times a year, for me it’s the last week in February and the last week in September and it involves no other person but you.

Go out, go to parties, go to your favourite spot or bar or restaurant, see things that ‘YOU’ want to see and just have a good time with yourself and enjoy a bit of ‘me’ time.  But you must do this for one whole solid week.

And some of you might be thinking ‘I can’t do that, I have a bird or kids or responsibility’s’, and I appreciate this but for just one week a year you get to be you for a few days and do whatever the fuck you like.

I am in a long-term relationship and have been for over nine years but my Mrs knows that I am like a cat; if I want to go out I will.  She also knows that I will turn up again when I am hungry just like a cat, hence ‘CAT WEEK!’

It is in a way really selfish but sometimes you need to concentrate on the self and I think it’s good for the soul.

Of course involve your significant other in some of the activity’s, book a table, go to a show that both of you will appreciate, do some family stuff that the kids will enjoy but remember this is a cat week and you must think like a cat.

Your owner lets you out and at some point they will have to let you back in as you paw at the front door making some kind of noise that resembles a cat whining.  Then you eat and sleep and are a bit grumpy then go back out for a bit and get into little adventures, sleep under cars and get into brawls and whatnot.  That’s what we all should do.  That’s what I do and it is the best way to let off steam and you feel so alive when you return to your daily routine when it’s over.

PLANING YOUR CAT WEEK:

This is really when you need to think like a cat.

There are going to be times when your plans will collide with your girlfriends, boyfriends, wives, husband’s, children’s time off that you have to deal with.  Do not worry about this there are ways around this and can be easily dealt with that make you come out looking more like a good person and lover than a complete prick.

Let’s start with the weekend which can be rather hard to the amateur but if you get your cat head on can be negotiated rather easily.

Say for example your mate has a party planned, you bird also wants to go but you want to be there and go completely mental which is hard to do when your partner is also there; its someone you have to look out for and ask questions like ‘are you okay?’ or ‘are you having a good time?’   Remember – think like a cat!

Try and put then off a bit and sweeten the deal by giving up one of your (let’s call them) cat days by booking a table at her/his favourite Italian eatery.  Make time for hitting the cinema to see a film that both of you will get into followed by a cocktail at that tapas bar you love in town.  Think like a cat!

The next obstacle is a clash of the midweek day off.

Not a problem; this is the day that you will have to sacrifice to your bird or family to do something that involves them too.  Make allowances for this and plan something awesome that all of you will enjoy.  But remember this is a cat week so make sure it is an activity that ‘you’ will get the most out of.  Say for example you’re really into film and you take the family to Universal studios for the day or you’re really into real ale and you go to a fair that has a really good beer tent.  Think like a cat!

The next part of your planning should be just you and your partner.

Go romantic… go nostalgic; just you and your partner (no kids, dump them at a family members or trusted friends for the night) and treat them.  To your significant other this will almost erase the memories of you coming home covered in blood/shit and make the whole week of you hardly being around seem like a distant memory.  This should be done on the last day of the cat week; consider it a recovery day from the copious amounts of alcohol/drugs you may have consumed during your week and if you are hanging really badly just whack a couple of cocktails or a bottle of wine into the event and your golden.  THINK LIKE A CAT!

Trust me when I say that you need to do this and should at least once a year.

Luckily for me my girlfriend already considers me as some kind of big grumpy cay anyway and is slightly understanding of my need to ‘mission’ every now and then, she (thankfully) is also the same and have many different and separate friends and interests.

But don’t be an arsehole with your cat week; it doesn’t give you carte blanche to go out and fuck strippers or beat the shit out of complete strangers when you are drunk, you don’t have the green light to be a wanker of the week.  Just have a little ‘you’ time and go out there and do the stuff you feel you can’t do with your partners or family, just please yourself for a moment or two and have a good time enjoying yourself doing stuff that you may have forgotten you liked or side-lined due to your day to day commitments, you WILL be the better for it.

Anyhow… I’m off to get myself ready for my cat week and have a good time enjoying me for a bit.  I wish you well and start planning ya’ll!

And if you see me asleep under your car, give the wheel a kick to wake me up and give me a stroke or tickle under my chin… don’t just drive off, I don’t want to get my head run over anytime soon and I’ll see all you other crazy cats out there…

MEAOW FOR NOW!!!!


I’ll have the Carrot soup… with no Carrots!

Hello there my name is Greg and you may remember me from such blog posts as ‘Why must fat people get in my way?’  ‘Why do non-smokers get more rights when I pay more tax as a smoker?’  And of course the classic ‘Would you look at this cunt cycling to work in a bright pink skin-tight Lycra body stocking!’

Well today I come to you with a subject I think we have covered a little in the past but never really got to grips with in my full on ‘you’re a twat’ manner that many of you have become accustomed to and expect from such a quality blog.

I kid; it’s going to be another five minutes of your life that you won’t be able to get back; I have become a time thief, ha-ha!

But enough about how I suck your life-force from your eyes and into me through the power of the McInterweb, let’s have a look at…

Fussy eaters, you pack of bastards, ‘just pick the fucking mushrooms off and eat it you moody twat’ isn’t something most people would shout at their girlfriend in a busy restaurant.  Well I aint most people; if you didn’t want mushrooms then you should have scrutinised the menu a little harder shouldn’t you.  Coq au vin might have a laughable name but there are mushrooms in there and if you didn’t like wine in food then you should have paid a little more attention in French… dickhead.

If you don’t like the taste of tomatoes, don’t fucking eat them, don’t moan when they turn up on the fry-up in the café because you forgot to ask for them to be left off or swapped for another sausage.

I personally can’t stand sweet corn, the taste, the texture, the colour, everything about it makes me gag.  So I try and stay away from foods that generally contain the bastard stuff, simple.

But that isn’t being fussy, that’s just me not liking sweet corn right?  When I say fussy I mean those pricks that moan about being lactose intolerant or checking labels to see if there is any animal gelatine in their sweets, that kind of fussy.  That ‘their kids are going to grow up little snobs’ kind of fussy.  I actually know somebody that is allergic to wheat, it makes him shit.  I hate to point this out mate but if you eat anything at some point you are going to have a shit.

Imagine telling that to somebody in a third world country that some people here  actually turn down food because they might get a bit of gut rot, they would probably think you were lying, or go out and join some kind of terrorist organisation to crush capitalistic western decadence.

I don’t ever recall ever hearing about these weird food allergies until recently, what did these sufferers do before we were as scientifically advanced in the world of medicine to be able to diagnose these ailments?  Oh yeah, I remember, you got a clip around the ear for whinging and told to eat up.

Gluten free, fuck off!

No I have nothing against eating healthily or watching the amounts of stuff you put in your body, everyone should be a little body conscious, I don’t want to have to sit next to ya’ll on the train when you have bloated up and started to stink up the place because all you eat is fried crap but, a few slices of bread aren’t going to kill you.  A little salt on your chips isn’t going to give you a stroke the second you pop one into your mouth.

I get the fact that people with peanut allergies could possibly die from analytic shock and they have to carry around one of those adrenalin shots just in case, but I don’t think having an allergy to bread having the same level of life threatening extremity.

You might have to take a big poo in an hour or two, nightmare.

And I also understand that some people can’t have certain foods because of things like diabetes.  If you can’t eat cakes then you are a witch and should be burnt at the stake, your body is trying to kill you, get the message.  (I don’t really believe this, it’s just an in-joke with my mate Mickey D!  I hope he finds it funny?  Or ream?  Whatever!)

I know people that are fussy eaters because they have never eaten types of food.  When asked if they like squid the say ‘Nah mate, never had the stuff!’  So how the fuck do you know that you don’t like it then?  Never eaten a curry but just knows he doesn’t like the stuff, yeah I think there is defiantly a word for people like you.  It’s on the tip of my tongue.

I got called a weirdo once because I said that I liked sushi and they guy that accused me of said weirdness had never tried the stuff so I went out and got some rice rolls from Tesco and made him try one to the response of ‘yeah that’s not bad you know.’

I remembered what the name for those people is…

GIMPS!


NECROFUCKINGANDANGERANDSHIT!

Fuck this shit.

This is only going to be a short one as I have tonnes of other things to be doing right about now than tell you a bunch of stuff that you don’t really want or need to know.

Seriously everything makes me angry recently.

Not just ‘oh that pisses me off’ sort off angry I mean ‘I’m ready to smash this fuckers skull in’ sort of angry.

I can’t even go shopping without starting a fight with some random shop zombie and there mongy kids.  If you’re going to insist that you remain that fucking fat have the decency to stay away from places that require you to stroll and browse products in an isle arrangement.  You need space for such a fat arse, just go to a farmers market, there’re usually in fields.

We live in hope that you get mistaken for a cow and sold for burger meat you repugnant fat fucks!

See what I mean, just the idea of going to ASDA pushed my murder button, instant kill mode.

It gets worse believe me, watching TV almost gives me a stroke every time, especially that vacuous nothing of soul crushing tripe that is ITV.  What the fuck is going on over there?  Everyone on that channel is fucking orange and you can count the collective IQs of their presenters on one hand.  Everything is either overdone reality TV or poorly commentated trash documentaries that have been tailored for a mindless audience and exploit the people in the shows.

And the karaoke night in the pub on the corner has just gone into full swing and I know it’s just a room full of people drinking and having a good time, laughing at their mates as they butcher another sixties tune; but I just want to toss a bomb into the place.  To me it’s a bunch of losers drooling over some slag screaming to a cheap backing track of ‘Wonderwall’ with a bottle of blue wicked in her hand.  Later on she will be getting roughly fucked by skinhead in a pink shirt outside my house in the ally after taking a shit by the bins without wiping her arse.  I will have the kettle on ready for that eventuality, go old school, medieval style!

But seriously…

… I had a self-help anger management book but I ended up throwing out of a window!  BOOM BOOM!!!

I actually nearly launched a book the other day because I didn’t like the way one of the characters developed and it ruined the whole of the rest of the book for me.  Who does that; who gets ‘read rage’?  Well I guess I do then, I get that angry by stuff that I end up just bursting and throwing books about the place, let’s hope I never get the rage in a library.

I had a great idea the other day when I was down in the crypt at Rochester cathedral.  There was an open casket and the body inside was well covered except for the poor cows head where upon it she had some kind of gold chain with loads of little coins on there.

I got to thinking, how about digging up some of these rich fucks and stealing all their gold and valuables that they get buried with.

I have been told that most of it is purely for decoration but sometimes there are rings and tie clips that have real significant meaning for the deceased and go in with the corpses.

And let’s face it, when was the last time you heard a good grave robbing story in the news?  I think there is room in modern society for a little pre-electricity style high jinks.

It’s not like I’m going to fuck the bodies or anything, just rob them up of cufflinks and shit like that.

Saw some pictures once on this true crime web page years ago where this guy had dug up some high school girl that died really young just so he could fuck her.  He was caught on the job in his car and would have gotten away with it if the policeman hadn’t have noticed that the girl had an arm missing… and her mouth sewn up.

Years ago I used to hang out with this Goth type chick that liked to fuck in the cemetery, I thought it was a bit creepy, not because of ghosts or zombies and that, just because I didn’t want to get spunked on by some dirty old man hiding in the bushes bashing his bishop because it was  a local dogging spot or something.

But yeah… if anyone’s up for making some quick cash, has a strong stomach and doesn’t mind a bit of light digging let me know.

“Do you dig graves?”

“Yeah, they’re okay I suppose!”


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