Sunday, February 27, 2011

Batman Returns

Our local chinese takeaway, they appreciate us so much, they gave us a calendar.

It's nice to know that you're financially supporting an entire family.

In fact, I appreciate them so much, I'm going to cook them a lasagne.

In other news, I failed my driving test again. But it would appear that the car accident, in most peoples' eyes, made it impossible for me to pass. Which is nice. It's not just that I can't drive.
It would seem that in times of adversity, we show our true selves. And it's only when that gold bastard decided to intimately share my lane, that I realised who I am. A lean, mean, killing machine. "Shall we get him Dave? I could go after him. We could get him." Dave looked at me. I looked at Dave. He said yes.

I was like Batman, when his batmobile is getting an MOT, so he's driving a Suzuki Swift. Like Batman, but when he can't wear his bat mask because it gets in the way of his glasses. Batman, but restricted due to legislation, to stick to 40mph, even when pursuing a deadly criminal. So we lost Goldie Locks. But I've got a taste for a whole new way of life. And I'm moving to Gotham City. And every time Ginger Beard puts a light on, I momentarily assume it's the blinding appearance of the Bat Signal.

I've got to go now, and make a difference to the people of this cold, bleak world. Should you need me, look to the sky.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Potts flies the nest

I appreciate that you can't read the attachment. But I did try, really hard. So I've decided to include this illegible post, to demonstrate how modern I am with my blogging. Much like the video you couldn't see, this letter you can't read, shows how god damn tech savvy I'm becoming.

The point is, my jealous fans (aka Dad and Ginger Beard) that a great tragedy has stuck, one from which we may never recover. My favourite tenant, and arguably the most entertaining, has decided to leave us. After residing here for six months, Ann Potts, without a word of goodbye, has applied for return of her deposit, and given her notice.

Yesterday, I was inconsolable. Today, I am sitting in my pajamas surving only on Fanta Fruit Twist and Quavers. Ginger Beard has taken down our 'Potts Noticeboard', where we had been loyally collecting her mother's letters, gym membership statements, and hsbc overdraft information. The oil painting we did of her (split into six estimations of her face), has been turned to the wall. And now, when we prank call her mobile, we leave listless messages, instead of the standard 30 minute cheery update, and song of the week, (Ginger Beard is simply fantastic at harmonizing).

It's hard to see how things can get better. So I thought I'd make a list of all of the terrible things Ann did during her time with us, the downright despicable acts.

  • Not letting us go to the gym. Sometimes it would be cold, and raining, and I would say, 'Please Ann, please let us go to the gym. I really want to go!" And she would block the door.
  • Put little bits of meat into Ginger Beard's potato filling. Really tiny bits of ham. So that once he was chewing on a potato, and had to open his mouth with all this ham and potato mushing out down his chin, crying, "Isss tha meesh int is?" Which meant, "Is there meat in this?" And wasn't very funny at all.
  • Eating all the blueberry wheats cereal except one lone blueberry wheat.
  • Pulling up the lounge blinds when Ginger Beard is changing in the lounge.
  • Using all the loo roll.
  • Burning the new table with a coffee cup.
  • Force feeding us chocolate, and jelly beans, and cheese pizza.

But then I remember all the selfless things Ann did do for us.

  • Never making any noise.
  • Not eating any food.
  • Never trying to seduce us.
  • Not using the house phone/Internet/electricity/gas
  • Staying invisible.

Go forth into the world Ann, and thank you for touching our lives.








Saturday, February 19, 2011

Tribute to Gaffney

Now the video may look a little bit like bullying. And you may debate calling the police. Resist. Everyone had a great time. The elderly gentleman in question was given a free glass of squash. It comes from a place of love. Just embrace the love........

Which is currently residing at a YouTube location. It's not like I've been trying to attach it to this post for two hours. I have better things to do.







Thursday, February 17, 2011

GQTJWXXCP3N8

Don't panic. I haven't learnt a new, futuristic language and decided to write in it. Technorati want me to post a code to prove I'm the genuine writer of this fantastically self-indulgent venture. Now, let's all have a calming pot of tea.....

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

TMC - The Modern Chav (in its natural environment)

Today's Chav has evolved far beyond wheelie bin theft and trousers tucked into socks. Today's Chav is a philosopher, an entrepreneur. Today's Chav, is a traveller, and will soon be coming to a bus near you.

In a rare, but thrilling encounter, yours truly got close enough to one such creature on the 221, close enough to absorb 30mins worth of The Modern Chav.

Here is my expose: Whilst still sporting the baggy tracksuit bottoms, and the tendency for a lot of hand on crotch action, TMC, has been working hard to drastically improve his communication skills. And like other great thinkers (Socrates, Pythagoras etc), had loud wisdom to share, "You should never hit a woman, like, directly in the face. But if no one finds out, then it's okay." A skill TMC has mastered all too well, is the delicate art of persuasion, seen here, as he convinces his bus fellow Kim to pretend she was with him, when the girl in questions claims he, "knocked her teeth out." Not only cunning, but rich with logic, "She had it coming, because of her massive love handles."

TMS is more loyal that ever, supporting and defending his loved ones, but still prone to crass language and public displays of violence. His only reason for going into town, was to buy his 21 year old sister nit shampoo, which he has forgot. "Shit, wank, fucking bastard, the fucking shampoo." He strikes a defenceless seat, and then kindly asks everyone to, "Excuse my French, shit."

Now, although cheating on his girlfriend of one year and two months, he does eloquently summarise that it's not his fault, because "The thing has been going on for two long, I mean that's a long time." Kim agrees. Only later does TMC reveal, that he intends to have sex with Kim. Only this time he warns, "Do not fall asleep,"

I am hooked reader. I am so close, I'm practically snogging his acne riddled cheek.

Despite the majority of the bus being stacked to the roof with pensioners, our lovable MC, plays Kim a charming video, to which the only soundtrack is intermittent screaming. He offers Kim his coke bottle, "Go on, have a suck, or I won't let you off the bus," and goes on at length about how can she be so stupid to not know what pedigree spiders are.

David Attenborough - Have you considerd making way for the inspiring observations of a younger generation?

Does anyone know what pedigree spiders are?

Is anyone currently panicking that the MC are breeding massive tarantulas to kill the smart, stylish people, who conform to society and have a reasonable grasp of the English Language?

Nuff said, brap brap, respect Blud.

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

Sell yourself!

Glamour magazine will give you £500 if you can argue (more than the other desperate people) why you need the money. I do love an invitation to come across all pathetic. You have 50 words in which to instigate tears and a monetary pay off. If, like me, you find yourself on the very verge of poverty, eating kiwi fruit in place of meals, traipsing around in your battered converse, prying 2p coins off the pavement outside McDonalds, then drop them a line. To lie or not the lie? I guess the real questions is, is the truth tragic enough already? Well yes, indeed it is.

Dear Glamour people,

One of my friends is persistently hitting in me in the face. It's happy slapping with one victim. On Sunday, he hit me after we ate fish pie. The first time, he hit me and then gave me chocolate. Although I appreciate that these incidents are taking place either with the promise of food, or straight after the ingestion of it, I can't help but fear for my life. When, named attacker and Ginger Beard were crouched down looking at DVDs in blockbusters, my nice friend Sarah asked me if I liked dominoes. She then pushed one into the other and they toppled over. Then he hit me. I would like £500 for protective head gear, and possibly (should the amount stretch) to a chainsaw (it doesn't have to be a fantastic chainsaw, I only require it to work once.)
Or, you know, instead of the money, maybe A JOB. CAN YOU GIVE ME A JOB PLEASE? I CAN BE MILDLY FUNNY (IF PAID). I’M NOT BEGGING, IT’S JUST THAT I’LL TAKE MY OWN LIFE IF IGNORED.

Cheers,

WriterAtLunch