The Daleks, well Dalek, came back to UK telly tonight in the 6th episode of Dr Who. Top notch too.

What’s a Dalek? Where the devil have you been? For goodness sake! The Daleks were a race of extraterrestrials with one purpose: to kill anything in their path. The Doctor saw them off years ago, but one remained, and a sorry example he was too….

Pimp my Dalek
I was particularly impressed when this little feller was “pimped” by sticking his plunger into a telly. He went from this:

To THIS fuck-off killing machine!!!

I bet it’d be quite good fun to be a Dalek. It’d be even better to OWN a Dalek.

Edit at much later in the evening (bedtime in fact):
At 10:50 PM, Connie said…
You know, Tina and Herge, You truly are brilliant together…I suggest you cut your losses, and collaborate for a all new hilarious blog that cuts down all the most popular blog-people and call it “Beware! Angry Cakeniffing Chimp” and all the bloggy friendless-wonders from around the globe will check in everyday to see who may be on the chopping block. Then feeling terribly silly that they are linking to the “shite blog” in question, will remove it from their links list, until all thats left is the Bully Alpha Blog – “BEWARE! ANGRY CAKESNIFFING CHIMP”Brilliant!

At 11:14 PM, Tina said…
I like what you’re saying, Connie: a kind of Blog Dalek! Ex-fucking-terminatamundo!!!!

If you’ve got one of these outside your house …

There’s a certain etiquette associated with using a cash machine (that’s an ATM if you’re stupid and can’t work it out). You’re supposed to stand a certain distance away from whoever is using it, give them time to conduct their transaction and pocket the cash without them feeling hassled by having somebody breathe down their neck. Fair enough. However, there should be similar good manners on the part of the cash machine user so as not to completely piss off the people behind them who are waiting to use it after them.

I got to a cash machine just after another woman today. I thought, Oh it’s not too bad, she won’t take long and it’s better than waiting behind all those people that were at the other machine. She took ages. She took ages to key in her PIN, took ages to decide what she wanted. More button pressing and the chug, chug of cards being returned and cash being dispensed. Then something like a receipt or a statement came out of the machine and she took ages reading it before reinserting her card and doing the same again. And when she’d finally finished, she stood in front of the machine for another ages while she decided what she was going to do next. One more second and I’d have twatted her, fucking retarded bitch.

I shouldn’t let these things get to me.

I wish I was a Dalek, then I could zap people with my protrusions. I might go and see if Amazon are selling any tasers.


Wet toilet seats
Toilet seats are nasty things. I guess toilets are pretty nasty, but you don’t have to have much real one-on-one contact with them. The toilet seat is the user interface as far as bowel and bladder relief is concerned.

Before I continue, what about those weird toilet seats with the cut-out bit at the front – does anybody know what that’s all about? Is it something to do with making it more comfortable for men to have a sit down or something? Answers on a postcard please.

Anyway, wet toilet seats. There’s nothing worse than getting up off the lav and realising that you’ve been sat in something damp. More often than not, it’s just a splash from the previous flush, but sometimes it’s wee. It’s bad enough if you get a dribble of your own wee on you, but somebody elses? Eeewwwww! And it’s always just beneath your buttock, where you wouldn’t normally wipe.

After spending most of the day doing blog comments and not blogging, I thought I’d answer the following comment in a new post.

Herge Smith said…
Getting right arsed off with this visiting other blogs bollocks,Jesus, you leave a few sarcastic comments and the bastards never get back to you.I thought there was some sort of code?Have you been here? http://www.myboyfriendisatwat.com – sorry can’t get the link to work.I’d be interested to know what you think – make sure you check out the number of comments she gets for the blog subjects she covers. Hmm

Yeah, she does get a lot of comments. I think she must’ve built up a fan-base over a period of time. She’s probably also done that thing of registering for every blog directory. And the blog title is actually quite attractive if you’re cruising around; it’d catch your eye, wouldn’t it? Anything with a swear word in the title would. How about a blog called “Big fat cocks”?

The content of the My boyfriend is a twat blog isn’t that remarkable though. It’s just some bint going on about her life and her useless boyfriend. At least I assume it is, I haven’t really read it because it doesn’t look particularly interesting. Pot, kettle…

Half the poor cows in this country could whinge about boyfriends or husbands. About 35-40% could go on about the pros and cons of being single. And this would leave an interesting minority of women who could talk about being gay or bisexual or transgender. It’s this 10% we want to hear from!!! Come on girls, we need more librarian gossip. Perhaps then we might get blogs called “My boyfriend has a twat”- that’d definitely be worth a look.

Hope that doesn’t cause any offence to the librarians again. Or gay or bisexual women. Or boyfriends with twats.

Ah fuck it, what do I care? I’m not offended by it so it must be OK. I bet the librarians kick off though. I’ll be blacklisted all over the country now. Do all libraries smell the same?


Talking of libraries…
When I was a university student – back in the days when education was free (there were even grants), but entry into university was based on ability and courses actually meant something – there was a weirdo stalker who frequented the main science library (that’d be the Edward Boyle Library at the University of Leeds). Nobody knows who it was because they were never identified or apprehended, but this person (who we believe was a bloke) used to watch women who were studying in the library and leave those marshmallow flump sweets by his victims to indicate that he’d been watching them. They wouldn’t realise a thing until they picked up their stuff to go and there’d be a nice sweetie waiting there for them. How fucking freaky is that? Of course, they all needed counselling by the Women’s mini bus volunteers who were WIMMIN!!.

Oh yeah, you may think the flump stalker was weird and scary, but not half as freaky and disturbing as living less than a mile from where one of the Yorkshire Ripper’s victims was found (near Lupton Flats in Headingly). Hence the Women’s mini bus – which no sane woman used because the women who ran the service were actually a lot scarier than the prospect of stumbling across the very dark Woodhouse Moor on your own in the middle of the night.

James Henry

This is quite imaginative and funny.

Jeeeeez, is it not hometime yet?

Tum-te-tum…. Can’t believe the price of petrol at the moment; it’s gone up by nearly 10p a litre since January… Wonder what’s for tea tonight, something pork-based I think.

My (not-so) white-board here is surrounded by printouts from my walks up local hills. They’re featured in my Flickr and Webshots directories (the links are over there somewhere >>>>).

It’s OK in this office because I can do trumps and nobody knows (unless they foolishly drop in for a chat and get hit full in the face by something that grabs them by the throat and throws them to ground before kicking them repeatedly in the chest).

Posting from work
This is quite good. Having a split site job does have its advantages; I can post to my blog from here because its not blocked by the IT Police. Moreover, if I write the post in Word, it looks like I’m doing some work when people walk by my office.

Today I’m in Fartsville, Fart County, where the entire working population are Farts (see the post below). Having been away for a couple of weeks, I came in to about 70 e-mails with the following subjects:

• Has anybody got a spare desk?
• Come and meet Noddy (yes, that Noddy)
• Customer care course availability
• Complementary therapies session
• More courses
• IT courses
• Does anybody want a spare desk?
• Has anybody seen my keys?

And they wonder why people can’t get to see a doctor.

I spent the rest of this morning trying to get rid of my boss who’d decided to drop in (he’s based at the partner hospital in the Trust). As a result, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Dehydrated lunches
I don’t eat real food for my lunch while I’m at work and I tend to bring in dehydrated stuff that transforms miraculously into something salty and delish after the addition of boiling water (the same can be said for Coffeemate with the exception that it’s not salty).

Today’s offering was a rather nice Ko-Lee chicken curry flavour cup noodle snack thing. I’d recommend Ko-Lee’s hot and spicy packet noodles to anybody who enjoys having their mouth being burnt. Let’s examine their range of products:

Of course, I’m a huge fan of Batchelors minestrone cup-a-soups and, as far as de/rehydrated luncheon snacks go, they simply can’t be beaten. You’ll find that this particular product actually contains 5 portions of vegetables. Well, 5 bits. But that’s more than good enough for health-conscious Mancunians who shirk the high-fat savoury pastry alternative favoured by other, less-healthy Mancs. There’s even a cafe in the local shopping centre here where you can buy a cup-a-soup for your lunch. How good is that?

Quality workforce

The Ferrari Formula 1 team fired their entire pit crew yesterday. The announcement followed Ferrari’s decision to take advantage of the UK government’s youth opportunity scheme and employ young people from Liverpool.

The decision to hire them was brought about after a recent documentary on how unemployed youths from Liverpool were able to remove a set of wheels in less than 6 seconds without proper equipment, whereas Ferrari’s existing crew can only do it in 8 seconds with millions of euro’s worth of high-tech equipment.

Prime Minister Tony Blair went on record as saying this was a bold move by Ferrari management which demonstrated the international recognition of the UK under New Labour.

As most races are won and lost in the pits, Ferrari now have the advantage over every other team. However, Ferrari may have got more than they bargained for. At the crew’s first practice session the Liverpool pit crew successfully changed the tyres in under 6 seconds, but within 12 seconds they had resprayed, re-badged and sold the vehicle to the Mclaren team for 8 bottles of Stella, a kilo of speed, and some photos of Coulthard’s bird in the shower.

Oooh, I say!

If you were given the opportunity to question anybody, who would you like to question and what would your question be? Since it’s election time at the moment, I’m going to keep with my theme of ridiculing the Labour Party and choose good old Gordon “Gasps like a Goldfish” Brown. I’d have chosen John Prescott, but you don’t need to do anything to him make him look ridiculous, he’s perfectly capable himself.

Anyway, the next unelected Prime Minister in this dictatorship called the UK. My question to Mr Brown would be:

“Do you ever wash your hair, you greasy bastard?” Look at him, for fuck’s sake. Bloody mess, always in that same tie and unironed shirt. And he’s a lying thief.

This stuff makes the most delicious instant coffee imaginable.

Recipe for success
Take:
2tsp Nescafe
1tsp Silverspoon “Half Spoon” sugar
3tsp Coffeemate

Add boiled water and enjoy! Seriously, if you ever get the chance, give it a go.

Tomorrow, I’ll be defending Batchelors Cup-a-soups and Pot Noodles (it used to be Golden Wonder, but I think it’s something weird like Proctor and Gamble now).

Tony Blair in “Get out of my fucking way, I’m more important than anybody else!” scandal
One of my colleagues was almost run over by President Blair’s motorcade as it sped through the streets of Manchester this lunchtime. I understand his plane was hit by lightning on its way back to Heathrow, but it only caused a slight judder. Pity. He really is a fucking tosser. I bet he doesn’t even know what Coffeemate is, the uncouth lout.

Fart is a great word. Apart from being used to describe a “trump”, or “passing wind” if you’re polite, the word fart can perfectly describe a particular type of person. It dovetails nicely with “farting around” and describes fussing, or faffing without the intensity of mithering.

People who are farts are usually also “life-storiers”, i.e., those who must go into every minute fucking detail of their pathetic existence and the latest bloody illness of themselves, their families and their pets – and they go on, and on and on. These people have also done everything you’ve ever done, only better/worse. They’re usually the type of people who insist that you contribute to flowers for somebody’s birthday or something shit, or they make a fuss about observing minutes’ silence for every fucking memorial service that happens to make the news.

They spend their “getting ready for work time” worrying about how “hot, stuff and stifling” the office will be; so much so that the first words they utter before they even step foot over the office threshold are: “It’s going to reach 75 today (always Farenheit and never centigrade) it’s so hot already, I don’t know how I’ll cope, I need to open the window, I can’t breathe, it’s so stuffy already, the air’s too still, I’m sweating cobs, I can’t cope, I CAN’T COPE!!!”. I love summer, but dread it when these women (it’s only ever women) kick off as soon as the temperature gets above freezing. They come huffing and puffing into work with their horrible feet and arms/armpits exposed (they always have massive, blotchy, horrible arms). And they go on relentlessly about “Now, I like it hot, but this is too hot. It’s not like the heat you get on the continent – it’s dry heat there. Over here it’s that muggy heat that you can’t breathe. It does my asthma no good.” They wear you down.

Once they’ve worked their way through the “it’s too hot” script and calmed down, they then go on for two hours about how much work they’ve got to do. They talk and talk and talk, complaining how they can’t manage their workload and how they know loads of people who are on long-term sick with stress because of their workloads – “They were always complaining about how much work they had on, and now look, they’ve had to go off with stress!”

My answer to this poor breed’s plight is: lose some fucking weight, stop fucking going on and do some fucking work and then it might take your fucking mind off how shit you feel, you twat!

They make fantastic bitching fodder in the workplace though. You wonder why the NHS is so shit? It’s because women like these are the filter between the members of the public and the healthcare professionals. The classic one that we all encounter is the “Doctor’s receptionist bitch from hell”, but they dominate the entire service – in fact, they make up the majority of the workforce throughout the public sector services. No matter how much money you throw at the NHS and other public services, you’ll never make it any better until you get rid of these pathetic bitches (who insist on printing off every fucking e-mail that arrives!).

Forget the election, we’re surrounded by real political drama every day in the good old workplace.