Angry Chimp: Thoughts whilst queuing in McDonalds
I thought this post was quite interesting; nice rolling topics too. It was the picture of the cow that caught my eye. Cool.
People who say “cool” are not quite right in the head. Saying “cool” makes the speaker sound anything BUT cool. Perhaps that’s the whole idea. When a comedy writer writes for the character of a bit of a twat, you can almost guarantee that the character will punctuate their speech with the word “cool”.
Apparently, the Department of Transport is having a look at the stuff that the roads are surfaced with (stone mastic asphalt, SMA) here in the UK after concerns were raised about its safety. In Ireland, there are strict 30mph limits on those roads with this particular surface because they recognise that it’s got exceptionally low skid resistance and vehicles don’t stop on it in an emergency.
BBC News “Hidden menace on UK roads”
Charming. Not content with taxing the UK motorist to death, this bastard government is trying to do away with us in one big multiple pile-up!
Interweb counters
I got a new counter that I’m trying while I see if my other one comes back to life.
Some pics
I was going to post some humorous pics, but I can’t be arsed.
Why do ring doughnuts only come with icing sugar on these days? Yet you can get granulated sugar on a jam doughnut. Bloody stupid.
My tosspot neighbour was knocking nails into the wall adjoining my bedroom till gone 11pm last night. Not that I have to get up at 5.30 and try to work suffering from sleep deprivation because of their fucking low-life selfishness or anything. Wanker wants to try working for a day or so himself, inconsiderate fucking thick as pigshit bastard that he is. The thing is, it’s not as if he couldn’t do this DIY during the day when the rest of us proper people are out at work. Probably too busy whinging to social services. Bunch of useless twats. I wish the roof space between the two houses wasn’t bricked up, I’d get myself in there and set fire to it; making sure that I completely destroyed the wife’s horrendous record collection (she thinks she’s Patsy bleedin’ Kline (“Crazy, crazy for feeling so lonely…”), stupid, useless, thick, noisy and VERY COMMON wench). Perhaps I’ll just continue to live as Beatrix Kiddo in my head and think about what I’d do to them if I had a very sharp Hattori Hanso samurai sword. If only.
Senor Misterioso
This guy would sort them. Is he an extremely dangerous man, or just a harmless socialite in a glowing suit? He’s just a red cross in a box at the moment because the image venue server seems to be having a moment. It may come back, but if it doesn’t it’s probably something to do with Senor Misterioso’s mystery that’s interfering with the server – keeping him of identity unknown! You can check him out at the Archie McPhee website.
I’m so excited because I’m going to be having proper home-made chips with sausage and beans (and perhaps also a regg) for my tea tomorrow night. They’re being cooked for me by my lovely friend. I love lovely people.
Anyway, it’s so exciting stalking somebody’s air journey. Apparently, Flight EK432 has started the final leg of its journey to Aukland; setting off from Brisbane a short while ago. 
It’s almost like being with my sister on the flight, only much better because I don’t have to suffer being with her. Fantastic! I have a strange relationship with her; the further away she is, the more I care about her. I really loved her millions when she lived in Oz for a year. That’s Australia and not the Emerald City/Munchkin Land Oz, unfortunately. Jeez, if she’d have landed her house in Oz, I bet the Munchkins would’ve soon wanted the Wicked Witch of the West (East, whichever) back.
Ho, ho, ho-only joking. She’s great. But I’m the nice, popular one, obviously.
Don’t know where my web counter has gone, but if it’s broken for good, I’m not replacing it with something where I have to advertise. They can arseholes!
I could start a soap opera about this; you see all sorts down there. Today I couldn’t help laughing (to myself) at a couple of older ladies who were using the machinery as I made my way to the changing room. One, who must’ve been in her eighties, was wearing a purple cardigan while the other was tangled up in the machinery. I’d have helped, but I was laughing too much, making that snorting noise – it would’ve been unkind to laugh in their faces.
Some muscle man changed the handle on the lat pull-down, but didn’t swap it for the normal one after his god knows how many reps. The blokes are a pain in the arse; they use the weights machines, do their stuff, then sit there for a few minutes, contemplating. Then they set off again, do a few more reps, contemplate a bit more. And all this time, you’re just waiting to get on that last bit of machinery before going home. Sometimes you get two or three in a gang and they hog the machine for an hour at a time. Arsewipes.
There was an extremely tanned, blonde woman (she wasn’t born blonde) wearing a two piece: shorts and cropped top with “Baby” emblazoned on it (front of the top, backside of the shorts – tit). Baby my arse – mutton dressed as lamb. Well, complete slag, I’ll wager. Anyway, she was very thin so I hated her. She had the oddest technique on the rowing machine. And her skin was ruined from sunbed abuse – Hah!!!
Then I wanted to get on the mats and do some sit-ups, but some selfish bint was layed across two rather than lying on one – the stupid bitch needed a really hard kick up the arse with an open-toed sandal. Fucker. And when I went back into the changing room to retrieve my stuff, some lazy twat had left a squeezed-to-death tube of hair styling product on the bench and another had left a used tissue on the floor. Lazy bastards want a good slap.
Sometimes when I go, there’s a bloke with long hair and he wears a sleeveless vest and trackie bottoms. You can see his armpits and it’s horrible. Worse still, he smells and if you’re unfortunate enough to get next to him on the cross trainer and he starts really pumping it, it can cause disturbed breathing that leads to a fatal arrhythmia. I call him Stinky Cheese Man and I avoid him at all costs.
There’s also an oriental man – he too has long hair in a ponytail. He wears shorts, so you can see that he’s wearing normal trouser socks (either grey or brown). He looks really funny because he holds on to the top of the running machine as he runs (too fast); makes it look like he’s going to lose it and fall over.
Another bloke only seems to do stretching. He wears a hat and I want to know whether he’s bald.
If I was to describe myself? Jeez, strange shaped arse, bingo wings, can’t run, goes very red, surely should tie hair back, sometimes farts while on treadmill or cross trainer, never showers after a session. You’re DEAD RIGHT LOVE! Of course I don’t shower while I’m there, I’m not some sort of attention-seeking exhibitionist! Fuck me, public nuditiy? Whatever next??
Half an Identity
Wow, a thriller unfolds on the Interweb! Somebody is writing as if they have a new identity from the Witness Protection Programme. This can’t be for real. Either that or the author is fucking insane. Funny thing is, the name they’ve been given is Sam Black. I wonder if that’s the same “sexpot Sam” whose phonecalls I kepty getting on my mobile??? The bitch deserves to die!!!!!
Another thriller unfolding on the internet is the progress of my sister’s journey to Aukland. She’s done the Manchester to Dubai leg, changed at Dubai and is now about half an hour from landing at Singapore. Enthralling. Much more exciting than a blog about somebody’s experiences in the witness protection programme any day!
Tum-te-tum…. Waiting on the tarmac at Changi right now! (12.17)…. 28 hour journey in total. That means losing over a whole day. In that day, imagine the things that could be achieved. All those episodes of Will and Grace on repeat.
Rob Roy’s on the telly next door; I can hear Scottish people getting massacred by the English. If only. I like the extras in films like that; Titanic and Lord of the Rings are classics for it. It fits the age-old winning formula that dates back to the biblical classics like Ben Hur and The Greatest Story Ever Told. There would be cities or communities that were facing death and destruction from invaders or disaster (where all the “Middle Eastern” and African people had bright blue eyes??) and they’d show the men running about and falling over, and the women huddled up together with the children, looking “scared”. The same scene could’ve been taken from any one of those films and cut and pasted into another (sinking of Titanic, the death of Christ in Ben Hur, attack on that city thing in Return of the King).
In fact, Lord of the Rings was ruined by the extras and the stupid comedy moments (Merry and Pippin – whichever the irriating Jock shit was); why do they always have to put a quirky comedy character in films that would be so much better if they were kept serious? Must be to appeal to stupid people who can’t concentrate on the plot for more than 5 minutes at a time.
Pile of shit, you wouldn’t find that in a gritty Northern drama.
Random, ranting musings (and ramblings of course)…
Here are some descriptions of people’s blogs – a “random” selection of the first ten (English ones with descriptions) I came across by clicking the “next blog” button.
Ramblings, rantings, work gossip. Cakesniffing.
It’d be really fantastic if that bloke who Kevin Spacey played in Seven (John Doe) had a blog, that’d be worth a read. It might get a bit boring after a while. In fact, how many people who contribute to blogs are actually psychotic killers in real life? Just think, you could be reading the blog of a serial killer. Some of the things that people go on about in their blogs is scarily similar to what John Doe wrote in his journals; all those nasty thoughts about people they know, written for the world to see. People like to remain anonymous because they fear the recriminations of their identities being exposed. Doesn’t this make blogging the modern day equivalent of poison pen letters? Who gives a shit, a bit of gossip and bitching is great for the neutral observer!
I’ve just had a number 6 poo. These are the ones that trick you into thinking that they’re a fart, then when you try to squeeze them out, you shit your pants. (For poo categories, go to “Things you shouldn’t like, but just can’t help yourself” and “Bristol Stool Form Scale”).
I have achieved sod all today. That’s what happens when you’re up and at ’em at at 8am on a Saturday instead of languishing in bed until dinnertime (that’s lunchtime to the uneducated).
Is this such a bad thing? Hell no! Bloody hell, getting up early at the weekend is essential for a person to descend into a state of mindless boredom bordering on a Zen thing. You can score extra points for losing time in hour blocks – I managed two hours of Will & Grace repeats and didn’t even notice, and this evening has disappeared completely (it’s now bedtime and this is an edit).
Underneath the blazing sky. Wouldn’t it be great if you woke up one day and it was 1985 again? You could live your life as if you were one of the characters from St Elmo’s Fire or the Breakfast Club (essentially the same people repackaged). I particularly liked Wendy Beamish in St Elmo’s Fire; for her fashion sense more than anything: I never imagined that there were so many shades of pink (can you spot her in the poster?)…
Talking of funny photos, check this out. It’s from an old primary school photo and I have no idea who it is.
Pee is almost as good as poo for making you marvel at the wonder of human physiology. I like the way it has different varieties of colour; ranging from almost colourless, to quite dark brown. I have two particular favourite wee colours: fluorescent yellow and orange/brown. The orange/brown one tends to happen after you’ve not had a wee for about 8 hours. I’ve no idea what causes fluorescent yellow. Another great pee colour is purple after you’ve had beetroot.
Of course, it’s not only the colour of pee that comes in different varieties or is affected by diet; the odour changes too. It generally has a chicken noodle soup (yellow) or concentrated chicken stock (orange/brown) smell, but I understand that asparagus makes it smell really weird.
Women at the gym don’t half get dolled up sometimes. There are a couple of variants: young, lithe cow (they’re not cows really, but they’re thin, young and pretty and I hate them just because of that); and the older 40-50 year old. I’m sure some people put on full slap and do their hair before going the gym, then while they’re there, they hardly do anything physical. I dread to think what some of these women-only gyms look like. Bet you go into respiratory distress from all the hairspray and perfume.
Swing that gospel axe!
After checking out the Jim Vanblurdedurnsmum blog, it seemed fitting to upload some more scary album covers, although I can’t compete with the handless organist.
“Think! Don’t drive tired, take a break”. It was flashing at me on my way home again this evening. I’d love to take a break, but it’s not practical on my way home from work and you need a mortgage to buy refreshments at services. Strange that this “warning” notification only started at the same time that some local motorway services opened. 
The Snoring Dog 