Fucking Hell. I can’t even understand the pathes the universe has taken lately. COVID-19 etc.
This so-called reality is just a parody of the so-called real reality.
Everything is just taking the piss out of everything else. Nothing is real. Everything is acceptable.
It’s fiction! We are just actors playing our part in the game of life. Why do I have to play this bellend?
Did you hear about the guy who jumped over a pit of stakes on a horse and cart? Medieval Knievel
Did you hear about the man who flew about on a magic carpet making a lot of noise about his god? Allah-din
I went to the doctor the other day to get my blurry eye repaired. She told me what I need and so I sent an e-mail to the Strictly Come Dancing judge, that comedian married to Dawn French Toast and that guy Ovo who makes a laptop. I don’t understand why I need to contact Lens.
How did the Thai woman fix her genital problem? With herball remedies.
How do you stop a man spunking on your face? With a cumbrella.
I had to come to terms the other day that I was wanking over a school timetable.
My head really hurt the other day and then some oats and wheat and a barley fell out. My grains feel horrible.
Have you heard they have released a new spicy confection in India? Gandhibar
What do you call a man who sticks his dick in an arabic sauce? Humousexual
A Persian man rang me up talking nonsense the other day. It was a Farsi call.
There is a coffee chain that only serves black coffees now. Caffè Negro.
Robbie Coltrane has retired. He will now be replaced by Robbie Electrictrain.
Why is there no crime in the Arctic? Because of all the poleice.
It is surprising how often people leave their glasses at home. It has happened with clients at work twice in the last 2 weeks when they’ve been given something to read. That’s only one a week, but that’s still high compared to its occurrence with other disabilities. I’ve never seen someone crawl into the office saying they’ve left their wheelchair at home and I’ve never seen a madman run in waving his knob about saying he left his pills at home. Although, someone came in once and said they had Down Syndrome. I said they didn’t look like it and they explained that they left a chromosome at home.
I’ve also been questioning the wording of phrases lately. For example, on a pamphlet for blood donation like this one, it quotes “Over 25% of us require blood at least once in our lifetime”. Does this mean that about 75% of people are full of blood they don’t need? Those are the people who should be donating blood – not me. They keep taking it from me even though I definitely need mine because when they take it I feel faint like a little girl. I hope they put it to good use and it’s out there saving lives and not just an extra on Holby City.
Another phrase is from popular fast food chain KFC’s latest advertising campaign – “The chicken the whole chicken and nothing but the chicken”. Using the whole chicken is not a good thing. A whole chicken has bones in it, feathers, eyes, beak, a funny head bit, organs and all shit like that. I know fast food chicken is usually just the paste from loads of chickens tossed in a grinder, but that’s not something they should be bragging about. I think a better advertising campaign would start with a chicken skateboarding for a bit and then it would cut to a cow doing some photocopying. Then the chicken would save a child from a hostage sitation and it would cut back to the cow who is reading a book. Then cut back to the chicken who is playing guitar in a band on stage before it cuts back to the cow crying in a field. Then you see the chicken about to have a threesome with two girl chickens but he turns to the camera and says “When you eat me, you ingest some of my coolness and one day you will be as cool as me.” and then he winks and closes the door. Then the picture is some McNuggets or chicken burger or something and the voiceover says “Eat a cool chicken. Be a cool chicken.” Then the funny bit at the end is the cow and he is getting bummed by a farmer. If you work for KFC and would like me to elaborate on this idea, please get in touch and I’m sure we can work something out.
I was doing myself dinner the other night (ages ago) and I saw some Omega 3 Fish Fingers in the freezer. What’s going on there? Are they fish fingers from another galaxy or something? From the star system Omega 3 on a spaceship and made from space fish? They’re not so much Captain Birdseye as Captain Picard. What’s all this Omega 3 business doing on my fish? I probably won’t enjoy them as much because I’ve not eaten Omega 1 or Omega 2 fish fingers so I won’t understand the plot. Maybe it’s something to do with God. “I am the Alfonsino and the Omega 3 fish fingers.” Perhaps there was a confusion when designing the lettering on the packet and the fish fingers actually have a resistance of 3 ohms or maybe they are Greek. It is mad.
That’s not the only topic in the food world that has sparked global outrage, though. There is also the Just Eat More (Fruit & Veg) campaign which is sweeping the nation and I saw once on a poster. First they tell you to “just eat more” as if Ronald McDonald had come up with the Nike slogan and you think to yourself “Thank you. I will have some food now” And you go to get something but then the poster tells you “No wait. Look in my brackets.” But by then you have gone to get some crisps or chocolate because a poster told you to. It’s like someone in the fruit and veg department of the government got given the task of getting people to eat their five-a-day and the slogan they immediately thought of was “just eat more” and they stuck with that throughout working on the poster and they never really thought about it until right before it was about to launch nationwide (but mainly just in the kitchen at work) someone actually read the slogan and realised they had to put (Fruit and Veg) after it . The guy who thought it up was probably the one who came up with “Give up (smoking)”, “Take some drugs (like Ibuprofen if you have a headache)” and “Let a man with AIDS bum you” (and you may get AIDS. Just say no to AIDS)”
A lot of advertising should have been thought through more, like the advert I saw for a TV – “Think you’ve seen colour? Think again.” I’ve seen real life, you prick. Then there is the one for Oxfam or Thirsty African Fund some shit that opens with: “Sadly you won’t see it on the news, but 16,000 babies will die of bad water.” That is very sad. I remember the good old days when the whole family would gather round the TV for the evening news and enjoy the sight of babies dying of bad water. I actually think it’s good that I don’t have to see dead babies on the news. What I think is sad is the phrase bad water. It sounds like the sort of thing a child would say. This has put me off Ghana Get A Drink or whatever they are called. I would have been a supporter because I love all that Africa and charity shit, but now I’ll probably just go and take a piss in lake Chad to spite them.
I was walking home from work the other day and saw a lady in a disabled parking spot, which isn’t unusual, but she was just sat there in a wheelchair. I saw here there again another day. Maybe she has a carer who doesn’t understand what those spaces are for and just left her there while she went shopping. I was walking home from work another day playing the old game of making anagrams out road signs when I rearranged one into “RUN LYDON” which worried me for a bit as if I was dreaming and about to get chased by a monster, but that didn’t happen.
That anagram wouldn’t work if my name was Lyndon, which many people think. I don’t mind if they have only heard my name and then call me that or they are a spell checker, but when I have e-mailed them from an e-mail address starting lydon@, and my name appears at the bottom spelled correctly (Lydon), I just think they are an idiot. I e-mailed a company while doing my job recently and a woman sent a reply starting “Hi Lyndon” so I decided to address her on my correspondence as Christnine. We exchanged a couple of e-mails and then one came through that she addressed to “Lydon”. At that point, I wasn’t sure whether to e-mail her back as Christine or Christnine, the former admitting I was just being petty and the latter would be pathetic as if it was a genuine mistake. I replied to her as Christine, and I like to think I taught her a valuable lesson. I don’t know what that lesson would be, because I don’t know how someone could make that mistake.
Where do you go between two houses if you want to get your hair cut and buy loads of stuff from China or something? Alley barber.
Why do we talk about Jesus’s mum so much on the 25th of December each year? Considering the day is supposed to be about Jesus Christmas, everyone’s always talking about his mum, Mary Christmas. I thought I should get in there early with the Christmas stuff.
This one’s not been very good. Sorry. It’ll take some time before I can get back to the comedy gold of ant in penis or shitting on Nagasaki.
It’s been a while since I’ve done one of these because I have been focusing on my career (crying) but now it is time to come back the real world of blogs that nobody reads. I thought it would be good to get a few new readers in by causing some controversy so I’ve decided to try to break the last taboo in comedy. I’ve done a bit of research and I think that’s stamping on a baby’s head. Because I am serious businessman now, I am not prepared to do that because I think I might get fired, even if I do that outside my place of work. As a result of my shift away from comedy and into business, this will now be a blog all about business. Please remember that very few interesting things happen in business so these stories are not recent but I will pretend they are so this makes more sense as a diary.
The man in charge of our business office called us down to observe 2 minutes silence today. That’s fine by me because I’m not going to turn down some paid time off work. It’s like a little 2 minute holiday except it’s a holiday where you have to remember all the little kids who died in Africa or something. I don’t know why they have 2 minutes silence for remembering soldiers. We should really have 2 minutes of fireworks to remember the war. They could shift bonfire night forward by a week (About a week; I can never remember when bonfire night is) and then have them on the same day. The fireworks are there to help us remember the war and we can toss some Guy Jews on the bonfire to commemorate the sad Holocaust. It was a rubbish silence anyway because the business dog* ruined it near the end by barking when someone who hadn’t been observing the silence came in.
*A dog who sometimes comes to the office. She doesn’t just turn up and get to work at a desk; she belongs to the man who runs the office.
It’s not just silence we do in the office. We also talk during business meetings and today I met a man who, for the purposes of confidentiality, I will call Jimmy Kettle. I have only changed his first name because his second name is relevant. He was talking to me and then I imagined his face on a kettle with little arms and legs and I had to try really hard not to grin or burst out laughing. I just about managed.
It’s not just the office in which businessmen like me have meetings. Today, I had a meeting in a coffee shop opposite a little place called Thaicoons. In the coffee shop I asked for some milk. They said they didn’t have any. They didn’t have any milk in a coffee shop. Apparently they use steamed milk. I don’t even know what that is. Just cool it down and it will become liquid surely? I would say milk is pretty high on the list of things a coffee shop should have, and it shouldn’t be in gas form either. Having milk in a coffee shop is right up there with having coffee nuts, sugar and cups. Humanity has reached a dark time when a coffee shop doesn’t have milk. Later today, I was in another coffee shop which was supposedly a community interest company. I bought a bottle of ginger beer for £1.95. How is charging £1.95 for a 275ml bottle of ginger beer in the interest of the community? This isn’t Brunei. It wasn’t even nice ginger beer.
£1.95 is a lot of money for me because I am doing my apprenticeship today. I have been writing some ridiculous stuff on it. I would say that my assessor wasn’t reading it, but he must be because he asked me to correct the spelling of David Semen and also remove the word bloody. I’m going to release it all as an e-book or something so all this work is actually worthwhile rather than just for a shitty little apprenticeship. Most of the content is serious business but there are a few good bits that make it funny. I had a bit about things on fire and how that was a business problem unless you were a chef cooking a flambé but I decided to take it out – not because it was inappropriate, but because it wasn’t funny enough.
My job has lead to working from a community centre and loads of people come in. Because I am in the computer room, they assume I am able to help them with the computers. Luckily for them, I am because I am a massive nerd. I helped some bloke called Lancelot today, who was a coloured gentleman. We chatted a bit and he asked where I am from. I said I’m from Kent originally and he asked if I grew potatoes and then laughed. I would be very offended if I actually new what he meant by that. I should have asked him where he was from and if he said Africa, I would say “Do you grow nothing due to Robert Mugabe’s land reforms which have stolen land from white farmers to give them to black farmers who don’t know how to farm which has lead to starvation?” If he said Jamaica, I would say “Do you grow ganja?” A kid came in the other day today and I was facing the other way and he called me miss. I don’t even have long hair at the moment so that has made me self conscious I dress like a lesbian.
I’ll tell you who is a lesbian: Google. I had to set up a Google+ account for the catch-all e-mail address for the company I am in (GayManger.biz or something) today. The account needed a birthday for it to have a Google+ account but I didn’t know what to put. It’s not the account of any real person so it didn’t make sense to put my birthday or my boss’ birthday. I set it to something arbitrary like 1858 and it told me to enter a valid birth year (it is an interesting Google fact that nobody was born in 1858 because it is not a valid birth year). I decided to set the birthday of the account as the birthday of the company so I changed it 2012. Apparently, Google thinks that this is a valid birth year and that a 2-year-old is trying to get a Google+ account. They locked the account. I had to use ID to unlock it. How do they think a 2-year-old could be signing up for a Google+ account? Why would a 2-year-old want a Google+ account anyway? Even a 2-year-old knows that it should get a Facebook account instead.
It’s not all business in my life. I also play keyboards (not the computer ones because that is business L.O.L.). Today, my Dad said that because I was hunched over when playing keyboards, my nickname was Bulldog and I should get a tattoo on my arm that says Bulldog… I don’t think it’ll catch on. I already have a nickname anyway and it is Delboy Trick-kid.
The other day (in the past), I bought something from Sainsbury’s and found a pound coin in the tray of the robotill. A week or so after that, I found five pounds in coins in there. I was so excited that a bit of semen dribbled out my penis. I don’t think I had ejaculated; I think it was just in there from a previous wank and the bit of wee I did pushed it out. It was the happiest day of my life. That’s not actually true, but I did have what could possibly be the happiest day of my life recently. The actual day was nothing special but the dreams I had before I woke up were amazing. I had smoked a cannabis in the dream and got up to lots of amazing comedy capers. I remember one bit in which I was with my girlfriend in the dream who was telling me she was pregnant from her previous boyfriend/boyfriends in all four of her wombs. I said she was a freak for having four wombs but in a nice way. Then we were at a drinks party and Stephen Fry reminded me of something horrible and I fell to the floor shouting. That bit wasn’t as good but I still liked the dream as a whole. At one point I was so relaxed I couldn’t even talk. There was a bit where I was driving through the desert with a man stealing stuff just by driving over it. That bit was average. It is a shame how the best day of my life was when I was on drugs in a dream.
Another good day is when I got my Samsung Galaxy S4 mobile telephone device. It is better than my iPhone but still shit in a lot of ways. One way in which it is shit is that I think got one of the S4s with the African DAC and it caught AIDS or something. Through earphones, it produces pops when the sound is too loud and hisses when there’s no sound. I tried using the Samsung earbuds like some websites suggested but it didn’t fix anything and you have to push the earbuds so far in your head that they essentially become thoughts which I don’t like. I tried to send away for a replacement with giffgayff but you have to go through a horrible troubleshooting system which is like a choose your own adventure with loads of chapters that seem to be taken from another book and the ending is always “It seems your problem is sorted out.” I lied about the problem in order to be able to send it off and about a week later they sent it back unfixed after saying it was fixed. Not only that, it came back with bestiality porn on it and a Nicki Minaj album. That’s horrible. I asked my Mum to deal with the phone problem so none of the communications escalated to death threats and she went to the O2 shop who sent it off and eventually just sent back a different phone. I know because mine had a little scratch on the screen and my new one doesn’t so that is a bonus.
The O2 shop is the sort of place one could travel to by bus. Funny I should mention buses, because I was on one the other day. It was the 321. It is a good bus to go on because whenever the bus voice lady says 321, you can say “blast off” after it and pretend you’re on a rocket. I had my old iPhone and I tried to listen to U2’s new album because it was on my phone. I thought I would give it a try because I like that one they do about a Love Shack. Turns out the album wasn’t even on my phone. It was just the cover and the track names. That’s like giving someone an empty CD case and asking them to come round your house to get the disc.
If I did do that, I would cook the person a nice cup of tea. They probably wouldn’t finish it because people never finish their tea when they come round. They always leave a little bit in the bottom. What’s that all about? Maybe they are all Chinese where it is polite to leave food, but even the Chinese don’t leave tea. What is going on with leaving tea? Surely you have noticed that people always leave a bit of tea. It’s the same with coffee too. Should I just half fill your cup up next time because you obviously won’t drink it all? Dickhead.
Michael Sata, president of Zambia has died. No doubt his opponent Michael Ide will take his place.
I got a message from GAME saying they are going to float on the stock market. Are they a boat or something or a leaf? That would have been better if I posted that 7 months ago when I thought of it but I forgot.
I sent off a job application today to FIFA – not to play in the United’s latest team but to record some music for their latest game. I submitted an application here: http://www.info.ea.com/contact_info.asp?id=129 so hopefully I should hear back within a few hours please.
Subject: Oi. Do what I say please.
Dear Electric Arts,
Hello. I am a songwriter (It means I write songs, knobhead) and a keen player of PES. I used to have a dispenser that looked like the Pink Panther. Why do you spell it differently on the sweets? Anyway, I know you are FIFA, but you must own the copyright for football so that is why I am contacting you.
The reason I am interrupting my busy schedule of rentboy is to help you with your next FIFA game. I think it will be FIFA 2015. It is hard to believe you have done 2014 FIFA games already. There is one thing you have missed out though in all those games and that is proper football chants (I just looked it up and it seems you do have chants but how was I to know? I don’t play your rubbish little games because football is a sport for benders and all of you at EA are right pricks). Anyway, I was thinking if you gave me £20 I could write some for you. I will give you one for free to show you how good I am.
West Bromwich Alpine are good at football,
Running about and scoring goals.
West Bromwich Alpine are good at football,
They have metal spikes on their soles.That is for an obscure team so you can’t use it a lot if you steal it. I can also do more negative songs.
They are all gay,
They are all gay,
They are all gay,
They’re Sheffield Wednesday.Hola. I can also do songs in other languages, for example Spanish like I just showed, but they will cost extra.
I hope you will consider my offer and that this will be the start of a beautiful professional relationship (and maybe more) between you and me.
Before I leave, I was just wondering what does FIFA actually stand for? My friend says it stands for “Football is football, alright?” but I don’t think I should believe him because he also told me that all dogs are mechanical.
Goodbye and GOAL! L.O.L.
Lydon PearsallPS. I may have sent this before but I doubt it because you haven’t replied.
I went to a music festival the other day (about a month ago but I type at about 0.02 WPM so it takes me a while to do these). It was only Priory Live in Orpington but it still counts. I was meant to be there taking photos as part of my job and I’m sure I took hundreds but when I came to check the next day and whittled down those which weren’t doubles or blurred or just an empty field, I only had about 20. I was there for five hours. There was a beer tent there and I thought I shouldn’t have any because I was working but then my biological Mum came and asked if I wanted one. I didn’t want to look like a pussy in front of her so I said yes. I had a half shandy and then the rest of the day was a blur. I was also meant to be tweeting and posting to Facebook and I remember thinking it would be funny to take a photo of some grass and then tweet about how amazing the grass was but I couldn’t be bothered.
What would be funny to do is muck about on my apprenticeship. I had to write about ways to relieve stress in the workplace. I mentioned some shit about managing workload and then wrote a bit about stress balls followed by my example: “At work, whenever I am stressed I play with my balls and then about 10 minutes later I am relieved.” I was meant to have a meeting with my adviser where he would come to the office but he couldn’t make it and so we just had a phone call. That was lucky really because I couldn’t keep a straight face when he asked about me playing with my balls. I just said I was talking about stress balls and he laughed as if I was so naïve that I didn’t recognise the double meaning. It’s like how the other day my mate’s 6-year-old son saw someone get hit by a pie on the TV and said someone had “got a creampie in the face”. He didn’t even realise it was funny.
Someone to whom I would like to give a creampie in the face is some girl on the street the other day. I was staring at her as she walked in my direction. Due to my many years of wanking (probably averaging to one a day since I was born) and looking at screens, my eyes have gone rotten and don’t work properly so I can only really distinguish what a person looks like from about 5 metres away – which is exactly the same distance at which a Down’s syndrome will look up at you and probably think you’re staring at her for being a Down’s syndrome. I should have asked her out because the good thing about Down’s syndrome is also the reason they got their name. They always go down on you. Well, they do as long as you smear some peanut butter on your genitals.
In reality, I wouldn’t ask her out because I am rubbish and don’t know anything about relationships. It was only recently I learned that the way to determine the minimum age of a potential partner is to divide one’s own age by 2 and then to add 7. Turns out I had got my wires crossed somewhere and thought that you were meant to use the five second rule… That is an easy mistake to make and one which Ian Watkins won’t be making again any time soon. I am mainly talking about the Lost Prophets Ian Watkins, but, let’s be honest, you wouldn’t trust the one from Steps around kids, would you?
A similarly poor idea to letting a gay near some children is letting a black near some merchandise, yet it beggars belief how many security guards are black. Having a black security guard just seems counter-intuitive and reminds me of the logic puzzle where you’re in a boat and you have to cross a river with some grain, a chicken and an African, but you can only take one thing in the boat with you at a time and you can’t leave the chicken alone with the grain or the African alone with the chicken. I don’t think you should leave the African alone with the grain for too long either or he might give it Ebola or do witch doctor stuff to it. The answer to the puzzle is to cross the river with the chicken and then come back. Then you cross the river with the grain. Problem solved. I know this all seems quite offensive and especially racist, but it’s hard to not be racist when the goalposts keep changing. For instance, people nowadays say you should employ black people. Our ancestors 200 years ago were way ahead of their time and exclusively hired black people and yet people had the audacity to complain about it. It’s political correctness gone mad.
I think bandits wrote this one which is why some bits could be read in certain contexts as offensive.
My campaign for justice against the trains has come to an end and it is a victory for me sort of. I have been sitting in first class until I get a refund but the other day I was caught. What makes it worse is that I was caught by a Scotch man with one of the most stupid beards I have ever seen. You may think that I am in no place to judge, given my stupid beard, but mine is not out of choice – it’s out of laziness. Despite the fact that this man’s beard was a tiny soul patch about 5mm wide, I can only assume he had chosen to fashion his facial hair that way. This is verbatim exactly how I remember it.
Hard day’s work as rent boy etc.
The twat who sits at the back of the train to make sure nothing has fallen off onto the tracks asked me if I had a first class ticket. I said no casually. He just went to go into his carriage but when he saw I wasn’t going he asked me if I was going to move. I said no. I should have said yes because at that point I knew I would have to move. We had a chat for a bit while I feigned ignorance. Highlights include “So this is a first class train?” and when he asked if I understood, saying yes and then just carrying on my laptop. Unfortunately, as the old saying goes “a knobend playing the fool is soon spotted by bigger fools”, and the main said he was going to get the BTP (British Transport Pastie). I said that if he felt it was necessary he should. He instead went to get some other prick who worked for Southeastern. I used some of the classic lines I’ve learned from companies such as “I’m sorry; I don’t make the rules.”, “It’s not my responsibility.” and “I’m not in charge of Oyster”. Then the man said I was holding up the other passengers and I realised he had a point so I went into regular class. That was five minutes before the train was set to depart.
Then the Scotch man said he didn’t want me on his train. I thought it was weird how it was his train and yet he was driving it; I expected him to be in his massive mansion with his beautiful wife watching his 60 inch TV (and probably sitting on a throne of babies’ skulls if I know Southeastern). No. Apparently the owner of the train just sits at the back on his own in the cupboard. He said I was delaying the train but I said it was him who was delaying it and that if he wanted me to drive the train I would. The fact that he was prepared to make the whole train wait just because he didn’t want me on there shows that Southeastern obviously live by the motto “It is better that one hundred innocents suffer than that one guilty person escape.” Bearing in mind that at that point I wasn’t even guilty – I was sitting in normal class and the man had just decided that he didn’t want me on the train. It was quite selfish of him to delay the train just to avenge his personal vendettas, but that is what I have come to expect from anyone who works on the trains and the Scotch and men with beards reminiscent of Gary Glitter’s.
Once the train had been delayed for about ten minutes and the woman beside me was talking on the phone about the wait, I decided to get off for the good of the other passengers. It probably didn’t save any time because the Scotch paedophile waited for the police to come. Then a real policeman came to sort out a breach of the peace. He realised there wasn’t one because I was polite to him as he wasn’t a dick. He said that the man thought I might be dangerous. I asked him if I looked dangerous thinking that I was still a chubby little kid, forgetting I am a chubby little man now and could probably hurt someone slightly with a punch but then I would immediately collapse due to exhaustion. I am a bit like a big fat bumblebee in a way. Then the pasties came and took my details and the paedophile Scotch man’s details and I had to get on the next train, but it worth it because I stood up against fascism.
I was having a wank on the train and a lady came and asked if she could help me and I said yes please and it was lovely.
I was on the train repairing an orphan and then I found a box full of money.
The train set off and went over a jump and did a flip and then sparks.
The day after all that, I got a reply from Oyster to say that they would give me a refund, but they can only pay me in pearls. Now I’m not allowed to sit in first class so that’s a shame but at least I got my money back. A couple of days after that I got a call from a lady at TFL. She sounded deadly serious. Apparently, the second e-mail I sent them was offensive or something. I suppose if you read it and take into consideration the words in it, the order of those words and the meanings of those words in the context of one another, the e-mail could be construed as offensive. Very few of the words I used were offensive individually, though, which I feel should be noted. I said I was sorry for send the e-mail which I sort of was because I probably offended some people who didn’t deserve it. They said they could take my apprentice Oyster card away and I begged them not to and cried a bit and said that I will become a Christian and the woman said that she would forgive me. I just said that I would write an apology e-mail and I did and I hope everything is square now. I suppose it means I can cancel my order of some envelopes and Ebola from Amazon.
My Dad got me some K cider the other day. It is 8.4% which is quite a lot, but the developers of it have been very clever and made it so horribly disgusting that it takes about twice as long to drink as normal cider. I really don’t understand how people can enjoy most alcoholic drinks. Fermentation is essentially just leaving food to rot in a barrel, and I don’t particularly like the taste of rotting food. I wanted to get one of my fruity ciders for little baby girls the other day so I went into an off license and said “Rekorderlig please.” The man got out his video camera and rubbed his tongue on my face so I don’t know what that was all about.
Oyster didn’t reply to me after I sent my last e-mail so I sent another one. I have not been as polite this time.
Subject: You are pricks.
Hello you fucking cunt of a mollusc.
I sent you an email on the 9th of July about you stealing money from me. Your site said I should get a reply in ten days. Maybe it said ten working days in which case I’m going to have a long wait seeing as it seems everyone at Oyster does fuck all. Maybe by ignoring me you are taking the stance of everyone else who works on the trains that my problem is not your responsibility. I suppose it’s a good thing really because now I know the trains are nobody’s responsibility, I don’t have to feel bad about not paying fares or not giving my seat up for old disabled pregnant children or that shit I did on one of the seats. I even used one of the toilets at Victoria without paying once. I put in a pound (well, the same fifty pence twice) into the machine but it only accepts ten pence pieces or twenty pence pieces so I just jumped it. Could you make the normal machines that easy to jump because then I could avoid paying a fare altogether please thanks. One time I touched a girl right on her hair but she didn’t notice.
Another thing that annoyed me is that I sent an implicit bomb threat in my last email. How lax is your security that you would ignore a bomb threat and risk the lives of hundreds of people? That is disgusting, but I hardly think safety is your priority after the journey I had the other day.
I had just finished a hard day’s work as a rent boy and as I got off the train after it had scraped along the edge of the platform, I saw a woman get out of the driver’s cupboard. I was shocked at first but reasoned that maybe she was just there to keep the pilot company on long journeys. However, after seeing what could only loosely be described as a face, I realised that can’t have been true. How can you claim to be a responsible company yet show such a disregard for human life? In a twisted way, I suppose it’s safer to have a woman driver because we hardly went above 50 miles per hour what with her continually stopping so she could change her tampon or apply her make-up or whatever, but in a more realistic way, switching tracks into the path of oncoming trains and then smashing up the back bumper while reversing into the terminal aren’t as safe, but I suppose that’s what happens when you have quotas to fill.
While I’m at it, you should really start policing the trains better. I was sitting in first class the other day and a black man came and sat down near me without even giving it a second thought. I don’t know what made him think he had the right to sit in first class when he obviously didn’t have a ticket, let alone a first class one. I didn’t even know they were allowed on our part of the train. I thought about asking him to leave the carriage, but I was worried he might put a voodoo spell on me or rape me, so I thought it was best to stay quiet and wait for the train police. To my dismay, he was allowed to freely travel on his journey from Brixton to Kingston as I didn’t see a single train authority. That is a disgrace.
On another journey, a gay Down’s syndrome tried to get on. When I told it that this train wasn’t for people like him, he just ignored me. I eventually managed to push it off the train, which was difficult because he was quite a big lad and kept prodding me with his erection. Luckily I removed him from the train before he raped a child. I don’t know why I have to do your jobs but it seems I do.
As part of my new role as guardian of the trains, I get free rail travel, so cheers for that. I would like to thank my parents and Buddha and everyone who has helped me in getting this new job. Please remember that this is a self-appointed role which lasts until I am fired. Maybe you could fire me by sending a fucking reply you rude pricks.
In conclusion, I would like to remind you of someone close to you who has died. Hopefully they died of something funny like AIDS or explosion and you were really close to them. If it is your child who died, that is brilliant. Maybe you were with them as they drew their last breath or maybe the news came as a shock and you cried like a gay. Whoever that person is, I fucked their corpse.
I thought maybe some of it was in bad taste but then I realised that oysters can’t read so it doesn’t matter. I was going to include the joke “Why did the sugar and flour get eaten by fat little insects? Because they are in greedy ants” but I thought that was too far. You’ve got to know when to draw the line. It’s like how you should never tell a joke about the Holocaust when you are at Auschwitz. Jews hate that. Jews have a history of hating certain types of jokes, though. Anne Frank, for instance, always immediately left the room and ran upstairs if you started a knock-knock joke; Woody Allen hates dead baby jokes, and this one hates jokes about chickens crossing roads.
My boss says he might be a bit grumpy because he’s on his Ramadan or something. He said Ramadan was a month of fasting, but I actually know a bit about Judaism and Ramadin is really just a month of not eating during the day. I went for a month without sleeping once. The problem with him having his painters in is that I feel double bad eating sausage rolls in front of him; It feels like I’m having a wank in front of someone who has lost both their arms and had who didn’t even have a cock to begin with… I wish my relationship with my thalidomide girlfriend had lasted, but she was unfortunately so good at using her feet that during foreplay it felt like I was getting a footjob from a monkey… I don’t really get why my boss is doing a Mardi Gras or whatever it’s called but I respect his decision to do it. That is because I am learning about diversity on my apprenticeship, which I am doing because I don’t have enough meaningless qualifications eg. Functional Skills, Legoland Driving License, A-Level etc. The questions on the coursework so far are rubbish and of no use to anyone, for example: “Explain what is meant by diversity and why it should be valued”. I decided not to write about an old, old wooden ship* or a dance troupe, and I wrote some rubbish and then put “At work, I am white and my boss is brown so that is an example of diversity.”
*A quote from a YouTube video I saw once.
Unfortunately, diversity does not mean cohesion as that news story I reported last entry demonstrated. If you were wondering what that bit was about, the headline was “Rastas Surfing A Singing Chip”.
I had a shave and haircut today. I had a fright after my haircut when I looked in the mirror. Not just because of my face, but because I noticed my head was wonky. Turns out the plastic mirror was just slightly warped. It makes me wonder what other worries are caused by distorted mirrors. Maybe anorexic people bought a fun house mirror by mistake which makes them think they are fat or maybe that man in the news who died when he tried to multiply himself lenghthways by a sine wave just had one of those mirrors that made him look bendy. I guess we’ll never know.
A man who would know is the fortune teller I met. He was a proper one as well with a big beard and one of those bandage hats and everything. I think there must be a fortune teller club somewhere in Balham because I’ve seen a lot of men with big beards and funny hats around there. The fortune teller stopped me in the street and I thought he was just asking for directions but then he started talking about my future and said I’d be lucky. I wanted to go but it seemed rude to walk away. He gave me some paper with stuff written on it and then kept talking for a bit and asked me to pick a flower. I panicked and picked rose but I should have picked an obscure one like fly amanita and then when I looked at the paper he had given me and it now said “fly amanita” written on it, I would tell him that he’s supposedly a fortune teller but he can’t even tell a flower from a fungus.
His act culminated in me looking at the paper and rose was written on it. I looked at it confused because I wasn’t certain that it hadn’t already had rose written on it. I thought it probably didn’t have or it would be a rubbish trick. He asked for money and I gave him some coins. I did that thing where you put your hand in your pocket to get a handful of change and give it to them without looking so you don’t appear cheap but you really hope there’s nothing above a 20p among the coins. There wasn’t. The man said he wanted paper money because he wasn’t a beggar but I didn’t have any (Turns out I did but even if I knew I wouldn’t have given it to him.) When I said I wasn’t going to give him any more money, I was worried that I might have upset him and he would put a voodoo curse on me and for the rest of my life I would be a complete failure and have nothing to live for and everyone would hate me, but then I thought I wouldn’t mind a raise in my quality of life. I knew for sure he wasn’t a mystic when instead of money he asked if I had any gifts for him, like maybe a second hand phone.
It’s not just the brown man that his been trying to con me out of money, but the white man too. That bloody white man has been trying to make me pay too much for train fares by making the machines where I live not give discounts to apprentice Oyster cards and then not refunding me. I sum it up in this email:
Hello Oyster,
I think it was weird that they would put an oyster in charge of all London’s trains but I suppose that would explain why the current system is such a mess.
I am a human entitled Lydon Pearsall and my Oyster card number is 0108327586 44. It is an apprentice Oyster card and I live in St Mary Cray. I intended to buy a discounted 7-day travel card from there but the machines and staff are unable to give out an apprentice discount so I had to buy a full-price card.
I went to 4 different desks at Victoria in order to get a refund and each one said it was someone else’s responsibility, and I feel only Krispy Kreme had a valid point there. On my way home, I spoke to the ticketman at St Mary Cray station and he said to call Oyster. I did that and then that man told me to email you. That is what I am doing now as I write this, but as you read this I will have finished writing.
I would like a refund of £17.20 which is the difference between the price I paid and the price it should be. I have attached receipt of my payment so you should have no trouble giving my money back to me. I heard the 7/7 bombers were in a similar situation and they kicked up a right fuss about it and we wouldn’t want that again.
Goodbye or hello if you are reading this backwards,
Lydon Pearsall
07872 213867
In the actual email, I used my real phone number and Oyster card number. I did some research and the reason everyone kept saying it wasn’t their responsibility is because the trains are public property and as free as the waves. I might try not paying and when they ask for a fine I will just say it’s not my responsibility. I probably won’t do that because the turnstiles don’t accept a sound logical argument even though they are machines. You can get through those machines behind someone else if you’re quick, though. What I will do is just sit in first class from now on and say that I bought my ticket from Oyster and they said I could use the train. If they say an Oyster card doesn’t mean I can sit in First Class, I will say they should take it up with Oyster because Oyster didn’t tell me about this rule and that I don’t make the rules.
Why is Christmas a lot like some ash I have? Because it’s in dis ember.
I see Isis has been capturing cities in Iraq. I think she should just stay in Egypt where she belongs. She should take that chair off her head too because she’s not the floor. There are ostensibly Egyptian goddesses with worse hats, though ie. Meskhenet. Apparently, she wore a cow’s uterus on her head and her alternate form was a brick. That sounded made up to me so I thought I should do some proper research in the library (It’s like the Internet, but instead of Google you have walking about and instead of URLs there are ISBNs and instead of porn you just have to leer at girls or get a book about the human body). I couldn’t find any mention of Meskhenet in the few books I found about ancient Egypt. I reckon she decided that being a brick with a womb for an hat was too embarrassing and retired into something less stupid. I heard she changed her name to Xenu.
I don’t know why people seem to think that the gays have limp wrists, when surely they have the strongest wrists of anyone. They’re always in their little clubs wanking each other off or down the toilets giving strangers a quick tug. Their wrists are as strong as the Hulk’s. I shook hands with a gay once* and he had such a strong handshake I struggled to let go, but to be fair that was probably just because it was a bit sticky.
On the subject of things that are sticky, I was at my Nan’s house the other day (it is one of those African houses made out of mud) and The Chase was on. I don’t know why they call it The Chase when most of those chasers look like they have trouble walking upstairs, let alone running after someone. The only chaser who would give you a run for your money is that Shaun Wallace. Those silly sheep have had an haircut.
Why did the penis that had fallen from a leg make a lot of noise? It was a cock off a knee.
What is the point of mentioning how many years of combined experience a group has? Experience doesn’t work like that. A reception class of 20 kids would have a combined age of about 80, but you wouldn’t take life advice from them.
I see in the news that a fish and potato lump shop in Jamaica has been exploded. They were apparently working on genetically modifying their potato lumps so they would create mouth sounds like Pavarotti or Mama Cass but then the vat of Reggae Reggae sauce exploded. Before this, the employees there with dreadlocks and smoking up all the ganja realised what was about to happen (maybe Jah told them), but rather than try to help the others, they got a potato lump and stood on top of the vat and when it exploded, they jumped on the potato lump and rode on the Reggae Reggae sauce out to safety. The other non-dreadlocked workers who were probably just smoking crack drowned in the sauce but could have been saved if the others had informed them. I can’t remember what the headline was.
Dear Dettol,
If I can draw your attention away from stamping on babies’ heads and sucking each other’s cocks (I’m not being homophobic; I just don’t think you should run a business that way), I have a complaint to make, but first let me tell you a bit about how I encountered your product. I do a job. I won’t go into too many details, but basically it’s when you do work for someone and then they give you money. At my job, I do wees and sometimes do poos in the toilet. That is where I came across a tall cup of your Dettol Neutraair. It wasn’t actually in the toilet bowl, but maybe it should have been.
The reason for my scathing remarks is the claim written on the tattoo on the side of your Neutraair: “Kills odour causing bacteria at the source”. As manufacturers of cleaning products, I would have expected you to know that bacteria are not caused by odour. That is what they thought in the olden days when doctors dressed up as birds in order to trick the great flu of London in 1066. I wonder what other archaic views about health you hold true. Maybe when you are feeling ill, you put leeches on you to drain your blood. You’d probably put them on your knobs too if you all weren’t too busy sucking them. Perhaps you believe in the four humours (Grumpy, Sleepy, Doc and yellow Power Ranger), or maybe you think having sex with babies will get rid of the AIDS that you all have. That last one is probably true, and I reckon your disinfectant sprays are made from baby jizz.
Anyway, can you put hyphens on your labels next time? Thanking you in advance. I thought I should end my complaint with some jokes because of legislation, so what kind of camel is not caused by odour? A bacterian camel. What do you call a camel with three humps? Humphrey.
See you soon,
Lydon Pearsall
My son took his 11+ exams the other day. He said he struggled on question C, -18, but he worked it out was -7 in the end.
*That’s as far as it went so don’t be starting rumours about me.
My mum asked me if I wanted to go to a sci-fi (science fiction) convention in Herne Bay with her. I think even the fat ugly nerds who go to those events would think going with my mum was pathetic. There’ll be one fewer fat ugly nerd there because I shan’t be going, sans or the opposite of sans Mother. I though about going when she said what would be there; apparently “the Batman Car” would be making an appearance. It’s tempting, but I probably won’t go unless Bat Man himself doesn’t leave his Batman Cave, in his Batman Suit, and show up with his Batman Boomerang. I might go if Spider Man will be there with his Spiderman Sense. My Mum also said Peter McCann who played Doctor Who would be there, but I thought he was doing a film with Clive Warren.
What phone network is Batman on? BatMobile.
I was at the train station in Balham because I was doing a thing there (not doing a wank for a change). I was just trying to move out the way of the people on the platform but accidentally bumped into the emergency call button on the platform. You might think that’s not possible because the button is recessed, but I managed to bump it with my elbow. Isn’t that button about five feet off the ground and so too high up for you to bump it with your elbow? In a normal situation yes, but I had my arm up to check my watch. Two things there, Lydon: firstly, you don’t wear a watch; secondly, it says the time on the board. Well, I was actually wearing a watch, and not just any watch, but a watch I got when I was about 8 with a compartment for storing sweets. Surely there are better ways to store sweets? Yes, but those don’t make me seem a interesting or eccentric. Why did you have to look at it, though? To get the sweets out – I’m not telepathic, you dick. It doesn’t even have BATteries in it so as a timepiece it is useless.
How does Batman get through a castle’s doors? With a Battering ram.
So there I was at the emergency call post with the buzzer going off and people looking at me. A woman answered with “What is the nature of your emergency?” That’s a good opening gambit, if somewhat cliché. A normal person would have just apologised and admitted they had bumped into the button. That is what I would have said if I didn’t suffer from autism or Down’s syndrome or asthma, but for some reason, I said I thought I was having a heart attack. I probably did almost have a heart attack when I heard myself say that. She said she’d send someone but then I told her it didn’t hurt as bad. She then asked me if I was lying and I told her what happened. She told me off but not as bad as I expected (she probably knew about my autism/Down’s syndrome/asthma) and I went on my way.
What is Batman’s favourite destination in East Sussex? Battle.
Now, after I had moved out the way of someone while near the emergency help point and then imagined that story, a train pulled into the station. I just got in it assuming it was the right one because I had been distracted while thinking about a fictional awkward situation in which I had found myself. Little to my knowledge at the time, the train I had just entered was not the train to Victoria – it was the train to Milldown Keens. I don’t know how I managed that because they didn’t even ask to see my passport. Luckily I realised it was the wrong train and so I just got off at Clapham Junction and got on the train I probably would have got on had I been at Balham… That is why I make up stories.
What is Batman’s favourite Christmas card? One with a robin on it.
I have to do a graphics project in which I should let my creative juices flow. That is lucky because I am really good at making my creative juices flow. Once, my creative juices flowed so hard they almost hit my face. I’m not sure if they technically count as creative juices as I don’t think I’ll ever find a woman to let me create something inside her, which is a shame. I got a call from an insurance company today and the man said “Have you planned for your death?” I told him I was thinking about it and would probably go with hanging.
Which Batman nemesis is a French fish in a syringe? Poisson IV.
Wanksy’s latest clipart
I see Banksy has done some new drawings. If Banksy turns out to be a four year old child, I think I could forgive him for his crimes. I call him Wanksy, which is a deeper social commentary than anything Wanksy could ever do. He’s just like a shit newspaper cartoonist but without the ability to draw. The only reason people like his stuff is because he’s famous. The world of art epitomises celebrity culture, but the kind of people who would go and look at some canvases by Rothko or Pollock are the sort of people who would scoff at the idea of watching Pop Idol because it’s just a popularity contest. If you think a canvas with some painted squares or drips is worth looking at, you should head down to the wallpaper aisle of Wickes – you’ll love it. People say that art is meant to create a reaction, and if that’s true, Hitler was the greatest artist of all time. That’s not what I think; that’s what the people who own the Tate Modern think. They don’t even mean the early paintings he did – they mean the Holocaust.
On the subject of poor topics for comedy, I was looking at the Make-A-Wish Web-site because of that dead man, and was frankly disappointed by the state of today’s youth. To be fair, some of them had good wishes like being fireman or going to Hawaii. Some of the wishes I just found sad like those wanting to go on shopping sprees. I can imagine them at the till with all their toys as their parents try to subtly ask about the shop’s return policy. Some of the wishes were just disappointing due to the children’s paucity of ambition. One little girl’s ambition is (or maybe was because she might be dead now) to meet the cast of Hollyoaks. That is pathetic. One kid on the American one’s wish is to “spend a day with the Stanley Cup®”. How boring must that kid be if a cup is good enough company for him for a whole day. The only way that this kid can redeem himself is if he plans to spend the whole day jizzing in the cup so when the NHL players* lift it up some semen goes on them. That would be funny and well worth spending your dying wish on. I doubt the young man intends to do that, though, so I am delighted he will be dead soon. Now, I am aware that expressing joy at the death of a child is generally frowned upon, but I’m only trying to create a reaction. Wishing death upon children is the sort of thing the Tate Modern approves of.
In the news, the French prime minister wants to half the number of regions in France to save money. That won’t work, though, because each region will be twice as big. He’s made a basic error there and I’m surprised nobody’s noticed. The best way the French could save money is by getting rid of their army, which is about as useful as a pension scheme for a Make-A-Wish kid.
If I was dying, my last wish would be to abolish spaghetti. It can’t be argued that pasta in general is the greatest artistic triumph in all of cooking – each piece of conchiglione and whatever the corkscrew pastas are called a perfectly engineered sculpture of cuisine, serving its purpose in an elegant an delicious fashion. But then you have the Tracy Emins and Damien Hirsts of pasta. They’re the pastas who you have to spend half the meal winding them round the fork. They’re the pastas who don’t just get eaten on their own like a noble pasta – they pull all the other pastas with them. They’re the pastas Mussolini probably ate. I don’t give a fuck if spaghetti is traditional, you could just as easily have penne bolognese or macaroni bolognese. It’s not just spaghetti being a dick, though – it’s linguine and vermicelli and tagliatelle and probably about an hundred others. I think when a food is so awkward they have to create a special fork to wind it up, it’s time for that food to be sacked. Spaghetti represents all that is wrong about the Western World. Al Qaeda were right to fly planes into those towers. That’s not me saying that – it’s the Tate Modern.
And another thing – a dog wouldn’t dream about a big pile of bones. If a dog dreamed about anything, it would dream about a big pile of meat. A dog dreaming about bones is like a human dreaming about a big pile of empty cereal cartoons – some amusement would be had from the wordsearch and from cutting out and wearing the mask, but the joy would be transient, and the cereal box would be much better full of AsbestOs or Chocowogs or whatever cereal you like.
I went out today and some people went past in a car shouting “gay”. I think it is good that they are comfortable enough with their sexuality to shout it from a car. I thought maybe they might be shouting it at me, but I was wearing little green shorts, a pink shirt and socks and trainers. No gay would be caught dead wearing an outfit like that.
What do you call some croppage that is just old enough to legally have sex? Barley legal.
*of course I knew that already and didn’t have to look it up
I got a polling card through the post because I am an adult. I think this means I am now allowed to do political comedy, and this is why I haven’t done any before – not because I don’t know a single politic. I have been learning, though. I learned the company in charge at the moment is the Conservatories with lead vocals by David Cameroon. I think he should sort out his own country first before he tries to sort out this one (Britain). I also don’t think he is very good at being in charge of things because he couldn’t even keep his kid alive. That is not offensive – it is hard-hitting.
Another political company is the Liberian Democats. I don’t know why all these Africans come over here after ruining their own countries. They are like Koreans deserting a sinking ship, but more successful. That Libya party captained by Tony Blair is the same. Until they sort out their own countries, I’m not going to vote for an African, unless it is on Britain’s Got Talent and they’ve done a really good rap, breakdance, or sale of some aftershave in a toilet. That isn’t racist – it is political. Another party coming over here and thinking they can have a go is the Green Party. I don’t know what planet they came from, but it must have been pretty bad to make them travel all this way.
One of the parties that exist is the BNP. I don’t know what it stands for, but judging by their policies, it stands for Burn Niggers Please. I won’t do that, because that is racist and I like black people, especially when they’ve done a really good sprint, basketball dunk, or voodoo. I don’t think Nick Griffin can complain about immigration because his family is not from England. He should go back to where he came from – ancient Greek fiction. The BNP are quite similar to UKIP probably. I don’t know what it stands for, but it probably stands for United Kingdom Independence Parrot. I think that is stupid because it doesn’t even make sense. Why would anyone call a party that? Nigel Garage is an idiot and should stick to his day job. His day job is having cars in him.
A politic that people have been discussing lately is the issue of the Scottish in the pendants. I think this is terrible. I didn’t know much about it but then I heard a Jamaican fella mention it. I don’t know the full story, but from the phrase “Scottish in the pendants”, I think it is a fair guess to extrapolate that the giants of the Scottish highlands have started capturing the Scottish and trapping them inside their necklaces. I think that is a step too far by the giants. I am of course doing a joke, but it is not a pun – it is political. Scotland already has some independence and even has it’s own Parliament, called the Scottish Parliament, who do covers of old funk songs in Gaelic. Scotland at the moment is like an 20-year-old still attached to it’s mother by the umbilical cord. I think England should either sever the cord or stick Scotland back up its fanny. As a genuine point, it seems odd why only the Scottish are getting a vote on this, when Scotland leaving the UK is the same as the rest of the UK leaving the UK. It just changes who gets to keep the name. It’s a shit name anyway, and if the rest of the UK (which is just England really as Northern Ireland and Wales aren’t so much children attached by the umbilical cord as they are parasitic worms) does just decide to leave the UK and set up it’s own country, it would be a great opportunity to name the country Ultra Britain. Alex Salmon should stick to his day job. His day job is swimming upstream.
Also in the news is Ukraine. I don’t know much about that so I abstain.
Another thing I have been thinking about a lot is gay pride marches. Not like that. I don’t like them. I’m no homophobe, but if a man is walking down the street shouting really loudly about how great he is, you would think he was a dick, but if you get a bunch of them together all dancing about, dressed in pink with their cocks out, it becomes acceptable for some reason. The gays haven’t done anything to be proud of either. The best gay I can think of is Alan Turing, who admittedly did some good work, but I think it is marred by his shroud. Apparently it was like a 2D sex doll for him. Also, his name is an anagram of “anal rug nit” which is a pubic louse which has made his way into the hairs round an arse. That is what Alan Turing is. I think the gays should do something worthwhile so they have a just cause to march. I suggest they form a human pyramid taller than the Eiffel Tower. Remember when I suggested that black people did that last year? They didn’t. Not a single black person did it. They let me down and that is why I am now racist. I’m not really and still like black people, especially when they do a really good presidency, jazz, or crime. Hopefully, though, the gays will head on down to Paris this October and show how much better than the black people they are.
In conclusion to this politics special, I probably won’t vote this year and just save my voting token until next year when there’s a party I really want to win.
Reading this back, I seem really racist. I’m not though so to prove it I have drawn a picture of Dave Benson-Phillips.
Hello. I bet you all thought I was dead after what could be described as my mental breakdown, but I’m not and to prove it I have written this. What have I been doing these past 4 or so months as an unemployed man? Exactly what you’d expect. All over everything. But I have also been taking a look at the World and some of the mad stuff that goes on in it. What’s that all about?
One of the things that has caught my attention is television. Apparently it’s like YouTube. I saw a video on it with the Amish in it. They were helping build a tree house. The man in charge who wasn’t a fucking idiot (he probably was actually because he was American but I mean he’s not Amish) said that he found a get-out clause that meant the Amish were allowed to use power tools as long as they didn’t actually own them. It’s interesting how God put that little loophole in. I suppose it’s just like when he said “Thou shall not murder, except if you use someone else’s sword”. I hope God sends them to Hell for creating their own stupid rules and then trying to get around them. Maybe they should only spend a few weeks in Hell because eternity seems a bit harsh, though. I spent a few weeks in Hell once; it was my holiday to Butlins in Skegness LOL Skegness is shit LOL but I have actually never been probably.
Another group of people that annoy me on TV are most of the contestants on Tipping Point and by Ben Shepherd. I don’t like watching it because I feel that the producers of the show got Shepherd to lead it as some sort of comment about the viewers. Worse than that, I don’t like it when the contestants act as if they know what will happen when the counter drops. They speak with such authority about the outcome of the billions of calculations needed to predict where the counters will end up. They don’t even do it in a funny way like when you try to guess the letters on Countdown before they come up.
One of the things that has happened in my absence is I went down the fish and chip shop. I thought that a fish is just a long head with wings on the side which is weird. In the shop was a man with tattoos all down his face. He was talking to the chip shop man and he said that they told the story of his life. Most people just keep a diary. I only got a quick glance at his tattoos because they were on the other side of his face, and I didn’t to try to get a peek of the other side because he was a man with tattoos on his face and so would probably hit me if I looked at him funny. It just looked like tribal stuff. Unless he grew up with wolves and his best friends were a panther and a bear (Jungle Book), a tribal pattern doesn’t tell the story of his life. It tells the story of a knob. I wish I had told him that to his face, because then the purple lump on my face would tell the of the time I got punched in the face by a big fat knob.
In other tattoo news, Britain’s most tattooed man, King of Ink Land King Body Art The Extreme Ink-Ite, 34 has been refused a passport because of his stupid fucking name. Officials say he should use his birth name Mathew Whelan on his passport, but he says it is a breach of his human rights. No, King of Ink, it isn’t a breach of your human rights. A breach of your human rights would be getting tortured under an oppressive regime or being trafficked for sex or being forced to make shoes for 16 hours a day while getting paid a pound. Human rights legislation is not in place for you to change your name to King of Ink Land King Body Art The Extreme Ink-Ite, 34 , so stop being a dick, take those tattoos off your face and grow up. If anyone else is planning on changing their name, I don’t think you should treat the deed poll form like a sign-up page for a forum.
Jesus might have had a tattoo, which leads me onto my next story about the discovery of some controversial papyrus which says Jesus might have been married. Part of the papyrus reads “Jesus said to them, ‘My wife…”. I think this not only proves Jesus had a wife but was also a 1970s stand-up comedian. “My wife, right, I’m not saying she’s stupid, right, but we were having a picnic for 5,000 and she only brought five loaves and two fish. My wife, right, I’m not saying she’s ugly, but one day I came home early to find my neighbour in bed coveting my donkey and my wife in the donkey pit.” It seems Jesus was quite a weak comedian from that, but leave off him; he’s doing his best.
I saw a man with one eye the other day so I asked him what had happened. He said he had lazy eye and it was still in bed at home.
I walked past a barbers the other day and the sign outside read “Kids – £5, Adults – £7, Beard – £5”. They told me to get out when I gave them £15 and tried to buy two kids and a beard.
Today I was talking to some gay on Omegle called Daniel who fancies his sister and he asked to be mentioned but I won’t do it.
Have you ever wondered why your head sometimes itches? It is because you just touched it in the future. I’m still working on that theory, but it seems pretty good so far.
Have you ever noticed Knight Rider is just ripped off from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Brum is ripped off from them both? You know what I call Brum? I call it Bum.
Why are spare ribs called spare ribs? I’m fairly sure the animal actually needs them, unless they only take them from pigs who want to suck their own pig cock. I think that must be why God removed a rib from Adam to make Eve, but he should have just removed a few more ribs and then he wouldn’t have had to bother making Eve. Adam sounds a lot like atom and so I think humans are just atoms compared to God and if we don’t treat atoms with respect then the Gods won’t treat us with respect… or something. You’d think I’d have something better to say after all this time.
Or should I say Crappy Poo Queer. I should, because the year doesn’t even start on Janruary 1. The UK fiscal year starts on April 1st and the school year starts in September. The only year that starts in Janruary is the arbitrary one we celebrate. As an homage the the Chinamen and Chinamanwomen of China, I actually celebrate the Chinese new year as opposed to the traditional one. I don’t know exactly when the Chinese new year is is so I just celebrate it at the start of Janruary by taping my eyes into slits and wearing a lampshade on my head and then abusing human rights. I think it is good to combine weak racism and weak satire into one joke.
Dear Sofia Bhutawala (if that is your real name which I doubt because it is obviously made-up),
About an hundred years ago I did a buying of a Nintendo 3DS with Pokémon off you. I didn’t buy it off you personally but from Very. I call them Very Rubbish. I no longer want it because I am now an adult and have important work to do like – but not including – surgery, business or astropilot. For some reason, rather than getting a delivery company to deliver the 3DS, you gave it to Yodel. You may have well just put it directly in a volcano or down a black hole.
Maybe Yodel are one of the few specialist companies that deliver to the Scottish highlands and other mountainous regions and they do a funny song when they are there, but that is no use to me who probably lives about 10 metres above sea level. Yodel would be better staffed by people who know how to use buttons and intercoms than goats in hot air balloons.
Also, I think that if the robot lady is unable to understand the 100 digit or so tracking number, she should transfer the customer to someone less robotic rather than just hang up in a sarcastic tone telling me to check the web-site. I did check the web-site, and there was no “Receive package from dicks” button.
Admittedly these criticisms are aimed at Yodel and not Very, but I was told Very would try to contact me in 3 working days about the issues. It has now been nine working days. I am including Christmas as a working day because baby Jesus was busy working 2013 years ago when he climbed out that fanny. Failing to be in contact in nine days equals an error of 200%. That would be like if I arranged to meet someone on Christmas Day 2013 and I arrived in the year 6039. The goodwill and festive cheer would have long since past. Inspecting your e-mail more closely, it actually says “Please allow 3 working days”. Maybe I was meant to grant 3 working days some liberties, but that is too surreal to be what you expect.
In conclusion, I would like my money back please. Though I still partly want the Nintendo DS and Pokémon, it was somewhat of an impulse buy and your failure to deliver it in over a month has given me time to think over the purchase and realise that I am a fat unemployed man with no friends who hasn’t had sex in 4 years – buying Pokémon would be too cliché.
Fuck you motherfuckers,
Dr Lydon Pearsall (I’m not even a doctor; I lied on your form)
I finally got some money through from Amazon for my book, but only because they removed the £10 limit. I’ve made a cool £6.50 from 5 sales. That is rubbish and I am rubbish.
I went Christmas shopping yesterday and bought a Christmas. I actually bought some things. I saw a kid fall over and so I called it a fucking idiot but so quietly only I could hear. Also, a goose stepped in front of me and I had to go round it. When did birds get so confident? I should have just kicked the goose to show him who was in charge. I’m not in charge yet, but if everyone voted about who should be King – me or that specific goose – I would win. I could also beat that goose in a fight. After I kicked it, it would peck at me and graze my arm but then I would karate chop its neck and then do a flip and then punch it so it would be exploded and so I am better than that goose or any goose.
What’s the deal with those nudists who wear shorts but have their cocks out through their flies? It is annoying when you think of something funny to say and realise it’s a dream. I’ve not just been dreaming about men’s cocks lately though, but I also I had a dream where I think a woman put her finger up my bum. I have been playing Bioshock Infinite lately. The twist at the end is that it was all just for jokes and they all have a party and everyone is invited including the coloured and the Irish and then they do it again but with the roles reversed. I think it should be noted that Booker DeWitt is an anagram of twed rit book.
I got rid of some blood today. The lady said people have 7-8 pints and she said they normally take about two thirds. I genuinely thought for a second she meant two thirds of the total rather than two thirds of a pint. I got lightheaded like a little girl when she raised the chair so I had to wait a bit. The machines they use sound like Mario getting coins, which makes me think that Mario is a vampire who eats coins for blood.
It is so good not having to do this shit every day. I imagine it’s like if you have a terminally ill child and they die. The reverse of that happened to me today – I got my new baby – a TT-303. It’s like a regular TB-303 but 18 higher. It cost quite a bit of money considering I have no job and am unlikely to get one any time soon, but they always say you can’t take it with you. I’m only going back to London so I don’t know what’s happened that the pound is no longer accepted. Maybe the government had something to do with it. That is my political comedy.
My TT-303 was from Australia so it came with an Australian adapter, and I also needed a jack adapter for my headphones. I will add that to the hundreds I have at home when I get back. I am going to invent a thing where you can always have access to everything you own. I did that already and called it da universe but everything in the same place got confusing and I couldn’t move so I invented time as a way to ensure that everyone had everything but not all at the same time. I popped down town to get some stuff and bought a garlic sausage on the way, but I couldn’t get it open so I saved it for later. I put it in my pocket in a way which made me think it would be a key element to this story later but it wasn’t. I had it when I got home and I realised it was mostly chicken but I couldn’t be arsed to be ill so I wasn’t. My lips felt a bit bumpy, though. I ended up in Westfield shopping centre. It’s weird in there because there seem to be a lot of shops at the extremes of the monetary scale. Westfield in Derby merges the high-end World of jewellers and shops I wouldn’t hesitate to call boutiques with the greatest density of pound-based stores in England – 2 Poundworlds, 1 Poundland and a 99p Store. I’m sure there was another but I think I may have just gone in circles. I suppose it’s not that weird really because that’s what a shopping centre is. What a shopping centre isn’t is a place to buy a 9v power supply. I managed to get my jack adapter for a pound from Poundland and it came with a pair of headphones – the old skullclamp type that go over your head that let you pretend to be Cyclops off of Star Trek if you put them over your eyes. I went home with the intention of going to Curries. Curries selling electrical equipment – what’s next? Cameras selling a kebab?
I went to Curries and just had to get a travel adapter. I got home and made ACIIIID.
I went in early to see Mrs Lady about not doing my work. She referred me to another Mrs Lady who deals with mental health. I managed to blag my way past and pretend to be normal – she had no clue I yearn to fight crime due to a psychological trauma as a child when my parents were killed during a mugging – at least I think that’s my childhood I have remembered. As I walked back from university wondering whether to quit the course, I passed an old white man on a mobility scooter listening to reggae, which convinced me to just quit it and worry about the consequences later. I didn’t like the work so I’ve decided to try to only do what I do want to do now. I am going to be a comedian, so I really have to up my game. I will also be a musician and a pilot.