Tina’s eyebrows and even BIGGER specs, 1994

Fuck, what a complete minger.

Anyway, I’m not particularly bothered about hairy women, although I do often feel like attacking colleagues with tweezers. Then again, if was going to attack colleagues, I might as well do a proper job of it and attack them with a big, fuck-off knife and finish the useless twats off!

THE CHARGES

1. Laziness
2. Pornography
3. Pestilence
4. Cottaging
5. Thuggery

Against any man who habitually wears whiskers.

At a push, I can cope with this, simply because of its comedy value.

Actually, no I can’t cope with this. Beards are disgusting. They trap germs and they look horrible.

But I can sort of understand why men grow a full beard and moustache: basically because they’re lazy and can’t be arsed to shave. What I don’t get is why men shave a little bit, taking time to create a lovely shaped moustache, like this effort from the lovely George Michael:

Now, to get this groomed effect must take quite some effort, and a lot more time than just getting shut of it all. But I must admit that our George here does look better with a few well-placed whiskers than without. Other blokes just look like complete nobs who are trying to look like George Michael and trying to get some in the men’s lav.

Moving on to my absolute pet hate: cropped or shaved hair and a goatee beard.

This look is favoured by the majority of the adult over forty male population of Salford, particularly the minicab drivers. Wankers.

My twat next door neighbour models himself on the character Max here. The character Max here actually ridicules the men that so many of them model themselves on, but they’re too fucking stupid to realise it.

Do they not realise how fucking ridiculous this looks? Why don’t their wives, girlfriends or mothers tell them?

You just know that instant that you come across a bloke looking like this that he’s almost guaranteed to be an ignorant, lazy, aggressive, thick as pig-shit, thug who needs a good slapping. You can be pootling along in your car and then notice that there’s another vehicle right up your arse – from out of the blue. It’ll be one of these cocks driving a Rover or a Mondeo (minicab).

Judge cakesniffer’s verdict
We’ve encountered just a few scenarios in which the male of the species lets his testosterone do the talking and grows hair on his face. With modern grooming products, battery-powered razors, and shaving balms to smooth the skin, there’s probably no excuse for a man to have any facial hair. Because of this, facial hair on men is:

GUILTY AS CHARGED

Punishment
I’d like to sentence all men with facial hair to a punishment that fits the crime, and one that will act as a suitable deterrent against reoffending and one that will also encourage all others to shave regularly and properly. I sentence all the accused to have full body waxing – including the knackers, very slowly on the knackers – in full view of their mates. The punishment may seem draconian, but it should be fun to watch.

A postscript
When some men shave, why to they miss those little clusters of hairs that grow high on their cheekbones. What the fuck is hair growing there for in the first place???

And what the fuck is all this about?

Who on earth could possibly think they looked good with lamb (or mutton) chop whiskers?? They look RIDICULOUS!

Having thrilled Blogworld to within an inch of its life with a couple of previous “My day outs”, The Cakesniffing Snapper returns with more photos from a trip with Trillion to South Lakes Wild Animal Park, near Barrow.

Tina and Trillion hang out

This place is pretty smart in that it’s not really a zoo and it tries to educate folk about animal conservation and the projects that it heads up, particularly the Sumatran Tiger Trust and the Peruvian Spectacled Bear Conservation Project. Anyway, if you’re ever in that neck of the woods, check it out. If you’re never in that neck of the woods, check out the links and see about making a donation to their very worthwhile conservation projects (there are only 500 Sumatran tigers and 2000 Peruvian four-eyed bears left in the world). I’ve just adopted a bear.

Endangered and indecent
Wild animals have very few inhibitions. Not only do they poo and wee to their hearts’ content in front a shocked, and frankly, APPALLED viewing public, they also get their genitalia out at every opportunity.

Just look at these examples of indecent exposure:

Intrigued?

Here are the culprits:

1. Randy rhino
This feller was pretty useless when it came to making advances to his sweetheart.

2. Fruity feller
This fruit bat could keep a crowd entertained for hours. He seemed to enjoy the sensation of having his little todger nobbled by the fence as he climbed around.

3. Monkey magic
Fuck me! That’s totally unnecessary in front of small children and elderly people in weelchairs.

So, that’s animals for you. I’ll post some proper photos (of lions and tigers and bears) on my Webshots site (link should go direct to the zoo album).

Of course, one problem of being in somebody else’s house and falling asleep is they do cruel things to you…

Fuckers must’ve drugged the porridge.

Anybody who bought Kula Shaker’s album, K, will know of a song called 303. I’ve no idea what the song was about [It could be about the A303, a road that runs to the southwest of England?], but like the rest of the album, it was pretty enjoyable in a rocky hippy way. I actually REALLY enjoyed that album…

303 is also the number of this post. I started Cakesniffers as a sort of experiment, not having any direction and never knowing how far I’d take it. 303 posts later and I’m still churning out the same bile-inspired spiteful attacks as I was back in January. Just goes to show how fucking annoying life and people can be at times – in a funny way of course…. most of the time.

Today I am in Trillionland, where I’ll be staying until tomorrow evening.

I arrived to find the house deserted, so I’m helping myself to her internet access. And this brings me to a question:

If you could get into any of your friends’ houses (or perhaps a nemesis’s or famous person’s) while they were out, whose would you choose and what would you do while you were in there?

Personally I’m not one for rummaging after having numerous Christmases tainted by finding out what I was getting before the big day. I’ve learned my lesson there and I don’t do it in case I find something out that I don’t want to know. Others are more curious though, so come on, tell Auntie T and we’ll just keep it our little secret here.

Right, I’m off to steal her favourite flavour of yoghurt before she gets back!

ROUND 1
Actually, this is the end of round 1d, having already been provided with complimentary bread, antipasti and bruschetta, my real starter was a “starter-sized” bowl of spaghetti that would’ve been a main course at home.

ROUND 2
Pizza calzone. I think “calzone” is Italian for “sandbag”.

ROUND 3
Coppa caffe: fuckin’ delish ice cream with a shot of espresso poured over it. Fuckin’ delish pud.

ROUND 4
Complimentary fruit salad – WTF???? After all we’d just eaten?

ROUNDS 5 & 6
Espressi

All washed down with….

For them

And

For me.

My, that’s almost a shopping list!

Chinese whispers
It’s a fucking nightmare going to a restaurant with a group of people, half of whom are deaf (one of whom is deaf and Italian) where the background noise is so loud that you can’t hear yourself think. So they shout over each other, and the same thing gets shouted three or four times per intended recipient. Then somebody half hears and asks what was said, so the round of Chinese shouting starts again.

And then they don’t pay attention when the waiters bring the food or drinks, and so you end up shouting at them to tell them to take their fucking food. But they only half listen and say “That’s mine!” to everything that’s offered. A game of pass the really hot plate ensues so people can get what they ordered.

Then a complimentary bowl of fruit salad is brought to the table when we’re all stuffed to bursting. So Mother tries to forces us to have some, “But it’s such a shame to waste it”. WE DIDN’T FUCKING ASK FOR IT!!!!

So it’s quite stressful going for a meal with my family. I HATE having to repeat myself, I HATE hearing the same thing over and over again – I’ve just got back from 3 hours of that. But at least the food more than compensated for it.

Going out for a meal with my family is never much fun… for long. The food will be excellent, but I’ll end up very bored and very irritable after approximately an hour and a half (just before the main course arrives).

Yes, it really does take that long. A meal out at a nice restaurant can’t just be a meal out at a nice restaurant, it has to take all fucking night – four hours is the average – during which time I get more and more fed up with people getting pissed around me. But I have to wait because I’m inevitably the taxi. And I’m up for work in the morning.

Ho-ho-how happy we all are!

You can see the back of my head in this shot that was taken a few years ago. I’ll probably be sat in that very same chair at 11pm tonight – crying.

Why can’t we just go out, eat, have a coffee, come home?

Fuck knows.

Table is booked for 6.45pm. There’ll be an update once I finally get back.

“… So all you need is a large metal object and a worm hole and you can travel through time…”

You can send something Airmail to British Columbia and it’ll get there 8 hours after you send it. That’s if you had a tardis or something.

You can change the date and time settings on a blog post and it’ll actually appear while you’re in bed, being woken from your slumber by a bursting bladder and a mithering cat or two.

Or that’s the theory.

In the interests of forging better relationships with our friendly Canadian cousins, April pissoff (the woman with the longest blog url in the WORLD) and this Cakesniffer are entering into a cultural exchange. Not only are we investigating the nuances of our languages (expletives), but we’re having a virtual handshake across the sea. In exchange for a load of pickles, April will be receiving something very special and unique.

It’s not in the post yet, but Mrs Cakesniffer has instructions to take the package to the post office and send it first class TODAY (which should be Friday if this works – I’m getting myself confused now).

That’s a very big bag for posting just a piece of paper – what else is in there?

(Check out the lump where I’d been squeezing that spot)

EXCLUSIVE!

Cakesniffer issues retraction of bum blog!

“Whether intentional or not, it was wrong to show such disrespect for my fellow bloggers. I’m ashamed of what I did and I promise it’ll never happen again”, she said in a statement to Associated Press.

She continued, “I was in high spirits because Trillion was here. We thought it’d be a laugh and we didn’t do it to take the piss. We totally misread peoples’ feelings and we never thought it’d cause such distress.

“It wasn’t even my bum; it was my face – my bum was too big and it kept hitting the start key”.

This article was reproduced from Angry Chimp – always original, always the best!

A situation has arisen at work that might need nipping in the bud before I go Joe Pesci on somebody.

A question
Suppose you offer to make a colleague a cup of coffee and you ask them how they take it. If their response is: 2 spoons of coffee, 2 sugars, white. Do you:

a) make the coffee according to the information provided by the “user”, or
b) assume the person was mistaken with their preference and make the requested drink with one spoon of coffee?

Another question
When making the brew, assuming you’re following the “milk in last” protocol, do you stir the hot drink:

a) before, or
b) after adding the milk?

A final question
When taking a mug from sacred mug cupboard – where mugs are hidden so as not to get them mixed up with skanky mugs in the kitchen – to make a single hot drink, do you

a) take one of the mugs and make drink, or
b) take both spotlessly clean mugs into the kitchen, make brew in one, wash the other and leave it with skanky mugs on the draining board?

Bee-fookin-zarre.

I was starving at work this morning and I found this:

Imagine my disappointment when I turned it over:

Damn! And it looked such a tasty snack, too. It’s like putting a warning on a breeze block: “do not eat”. Fuck’s sake!

There are certain things that niggle at you all day; things that the etiquette of the workplace – or lack of opportunity – obstruct your dealing with them. Some folk won’t poo at work, others won’t fart (even in the privacy of the toilet cubicle, or in a quiet corner of the office when there’s nobody around).

I don’t suffer from such inhibitions – I’ve tried to hold back and it’s too painful, I just end up making myself poorly.

I spent the day being very distracted by a couple of things, however, they were the type of things that you simply HAVE to save up till hometime:

1. Squeezing spots: Let’s face it, you don’t want to spend the whole day with massively disfigured face because you’ve been having a go at your beaners. It’s a shame really, because the lighting and mirrors in the works’ toilets are usually excellent for this task.

2. Plucking facial hairs: I’m not talking eyebrows here.

I’d spent the entire day conscious of an inflating spot on my face and a fusewire-like hair growing from my lovely mole.

First task on returning home from work was therefore:

Secondly, it didn’t look much above the skin, but these bastards are like icebergs: just look at how long it was underneath!

Getting those tasks out of the way mean you can start to relax for the evening. Aaahhhhhh….