Hate is a strong word. I don’t readily use it to describe something, but for Xmas, there really is no other word for it. I hate Xmas, I can’t even bring myself to say the word! And I hate it with a passion.
I hate the screaming little brats in town because the spoilt bastards haven’t got what they want.
I hate seeing people carrying bags and bags full of shite for their kids, knowing full well that the hundreds of pounds spent on that crap will be thrown out in a few months because their little darlings are bored of it.
I hate the terrible television programs. Endless fucking repeats of the same crap. Oh, and the Queen’s Xmas Message. How lovely that she took a few hours out of her busy schedule in September to patronise her ‘subjects’ by stating the blindingly obvious.
I hate the false fucking sentimentality. Goodwill to all mankind, it’s the season to be jolly. Fuck you. I’m relatively nice to people all the time, does that mean everyone else are right cunts and for one day of the year they are really nice to everyone? Of course not. What a crock of shit.
I’m an atheist, so the idea of celebrating the birth of someone I don’t believe existing seems a little hypocritical to me.
What I love about this time of year is the time off work, and it’s one of the few occasions of the year our family can get together, mother, father, brothers, nieces and nephews.
The rest of it… you can shove it up your arse. Roll on Boxing Day!
It’s coming up to home time again on a Friday afternoon, and I’m really bored. I’m continuing to markup “Grand Reality” for an AudioBoo review, but worryingly, I sound a right fucking bumpkin so I’m looking for audio software to make me sound just a little better before I start doing that.
This photo has nothing to do with this post, I just thought a maid sticking her arse in the air would be a nice touch to a boring day!
Emma Thompson, yes that famous actress who appeared in such classics as… no it’ll come to me eventually, is rehashing rewriting My Fair Lady. A wonderful job I’m sure since rewriting what’s already been written isn’t exactly a taxing job.
Anyhoo, she’s attacked Audrey Hepburn as being “twee” and saying she “couldn’t sing and couldn’t act.” Yeah that’s a little rich coming from you Emma, who was in erm, god damn I still can’t remember any of your films. maybe IMDB can help refresh my memory. Nope, a load of shite, and the only thing I can remember of her is appearing on QI and being married to luvvie Kenneth Branagh.
Look love, in 30 years time a A Breakfast at Tiffany’s will be remembered while your pile of kack like Maybe Baby will be long resigned to the bargain bucket of Poundland.
At least my HTC Desire makes calls no matter how I handle it.
It’s hard not to laugh at Apple’s problems with their overpriced piece of shite really. Is it software? It is a design fault? Do I really give a damn? Let the roundabout continue of point and blame.
It makes it intriguing just want it is Apple are going to announce tomorrow eh. Will they recall at great cost and endure the humiliation or, as I somehow suspect, give everyone a really crappy rubber case worth £20 which fixes the problem that Jobs was alerted to in the design stage?
This is actually quite tragic and not Raoul Moat-ly funny.
Oh dear. The enjoyment of seeing the Keystone Cops police running around the countryside looking for Raoul Moat is over after he killed himself.
It brings to an end a week of tragedy for the relatives of those involved, but also a week of blanket media coverage.
Any Tom, Dick or Harry with a link to Raoul Moat, no matter how tenuous, wheeled out in front the TV cameras or interviewed by the newspapers, to give their half-arsed psychological profiling of this man, who they met once. Or twice. Ten years ago. Hurray for journalism.
For example, Yvette Foreman crawled out of the woodwork to get her name in the news. She spent weekends camping with him when the pair were both were in their 20’s. In their 20’s? Now let’s see Raoul was 37 so that was 17 years ago. And do you know what she said? This is priceless.
She said her ex-boyfriend had been a “lovely lad” and a practical joker who was “daft as a brush”.
Yes, thanks love that really helps.
From the Telegraph quoting another attention seeker, Mr Herdman.
“I saw him running along that wall and open the greenhouse door. I was looking out of the landing window and saw him distinctly,” he said.
“He was wearing dark clothing, he was crouching down behind the wall trying to hide himself.”
When Mr Herdman’s friend returned to inspect the greenhouse he noticed that the only ripe tomato in his crop had disappeared.
Three murders and the theft of a tomato. Quick lock the bastard up¡
But it doesn’t take an ordinary member of the public to make a twat of themselves, a celebrity can do it just as effectively. Enter Paul Gascoigne, who in a moment of genius turns up during negotions with…
can of lager, some chicken, a mobile phone and something to keep warm
Yeah, alcohol is exactly what he needs right now. But Gazza, what else can you do to help?
I just want to give him some therapy and say ‘come on Moaty, it’s Gazza’.
He is alright – simply as that and I am willing to help him. I have come all the way from Newcastle to Rothbury to find him, have a chat with him.
Excuse me, I just have to ROTFLMAO a second.
I guarantee, Moaty, he won’t shoot me. I am good friends with him.
Police shooting a Tazer. I have the same face having a shit
Some bozo thought a 24 hour news channel would be a great idea, but when there’s fuck all else happening, you have to pad this shit out for as long as possible. In the case of Sky and ITV, you also throw in as much sensationalist bullshit as possible.
If you don’t have any concrete news, why not speculate? The BBC says:
Unconfirmed reports suggested a friend of Moat was also brought inside the police cordon to try to persuade him to surrender
Anyway, that’s my rant over with, I’ll leave you with something more interesting about this story.
Raoul moat – the 24th englishman not to get to the end of the World Cup finals.
Let’s see if refusing to answer these questions would make the police a little suspicious.
How long did your search of the apartment take after you detected your daughter Madeleine’s disappearance?
Why did you say from the start that Madeleine had been abducted?
Why did you go and warn your friends instead of shouting from the verandah?
What does “we let her down” mean?
When the sniffer dog also marked human blood behind the sofa, did you say you couldn’t explain any more than you already had?
When the sniffer dog marked the scent of corpse coming from the vehicle you hired a month after the disappearance, did you say you couldn’t explain any more than you already had?
When human blood was marked in the boot of the vehicle, did you say you couldn’t explain any more than you already had?
When confronted with the results of Maddie’s DNA, whose analysis was carried out in a British laboratory, collected from behind the sofa and the boot of the vehicle, did you say you couldn’t explain any more than you already had?
Those are perfectly reasonable questions of the police to ask, if not just to exclude the parents from involvement.
The most telling question she didn’t answer was:
Did you have any responsibility or intervention in your daughter’s disappearance?
Very strange, and don’t give me that traumatised bollocks, she didn’t look it when she marched around the fucking resort with that bloody bunny!
I can see why the Portuguese police made them suspects.
Just weeks after the Spice Girls split up after collecting their £10 million each for their super (haha!) world tour, they are threatening to reform (again?) to sing for Nelson Mandela at his 90th birthday celebration.
For fuck’s sake, hasn’t he suffered enough already?
He’s already met you when you even more annoying than you are now, why inflict your singing on the poor man AGAIN?
Just fuck off back to obscurity for another ten years when you’ve pissed away you money again and claim fans demanding another reunion.