Friday, 23 January 2009

Boss dreams 2.......The drugs don't work.......

It’s happened again. I didn’t want it to, I didn’t ask for it, but there is no denying that it has. A few blogs ago I told you that I had a dream, where my boss was chasing me round my garden with his winkle out, trying to urinate on me, whilst laughing manically like a demented Bond villain. Well it’s happened again, not the same dream, but equally as disturbing.

I was in Spain on a family holiday. All seemed perfectly normal, I was sitting at the bar with my brother-in-law planning the evenings drinking, Miss Marple was shopping, and the outlaws were bickering. Then all of a sudden from nowhere, I am in some kind of supermarket.

I am wandering up and down the deserted aisles, when Boss walks round the corner. Thankfully his equipment was stowed, and we entered into a little chat. All seemed normal, until he told me that instead of having an anus like your regular human, at some point in his life doctors had attached a wheel to his bottom hole! Not a big wheel you understand, just a small caster like thing, like you would get on a shopping trolley or something.

Well this was bizarre enough, but the bit that really freaked me out, was that he told me that in 1977 he was world disco dancing champion. I immediately had visions of him scooting across the floor on his ‘wheel’ wearing a John Travoltaesque white suit, with all his arms and legs in the air, to the thumping sounds of ’Disco inferno’. It was at this point, that Miss Marple informed me later, that I woke up laughing manically.

I of course blame the concoction of drugs I have been taking lately. I have been suffering form raging tooth ache, and a cold. So I have been pumping ibuprofen, cacodemol, lemsip, and anything else I could lay my hands on down my neck, with reckless abandon! This must be the reason for the dream, and not my encroaching madness!

The tooth has been bad. Bloody wisdom tooth. The worst kind of teeth. They are like the skinheads of the teeth world. Nothing but bloody trouble. I did discover that the only times that it didn’t hurt, were during the effects of the drugs, or during marital relations. Unfortunately Miss Marple very quickly put a halt on the notion of me taking her three times a day after meals! Bloody selfish if you ask me.

Oh God lets move on from Boss dreams and illness, what else has been happening.
Well he is there. Obama has plonked his fanny in the oval office. Did make me cringe a little with the balls up on the swearing in bit. Made me cringe even more when I learned that they had to do it again, just in case some pointless little pedantic, nit picking adenoidal voiced train spotter in a years time, having spent every waking moment on the internet, announced that the cock up meant that he wasn’t officially the president.

Although I suppose that isn’t as bad as his predecessor, who got bored with waiting for the votes to be counted, and so just announced himself as the president. Brilliant, I wish I had thought of that during my three attempts at passing my motorcycle test. What I should have done, is just before the examiner got to the “I am sorry Mr Mule, but you haven’t passed” bit, I should have just jumped in with “I have passed, brilliant, thanks a lot, see ya.” Poor old Al Gore. The real president who had the audacity to play by the rules. Well goodbye George Bush, and good bloody riddance. You bloody idiot.

Moving on, something else that caught my eye, was the thing about some society or other that paid for adverts to be plastered on the side of buses, saying that “There probably is no God, so stop worrying about it, and enjoy your life” Or words to that effect anyway. Of course the religious nutters jumped up and got hot under the collar. They challenged the advertisement with the advertising standards committee, by saying that this was not a fair and reasonable advert, because these people could not SUBSTANTIATE The claim that there was no God! All of this said with not even a hint of irony!!!

Had another ‘getting old’ occurrence the other day. Men of my age have problems with dribbles. It’s a common thing, but when we go for a wee, no matter how much we shake, siphon, squeeze, pump etc, there will always be a small amount of wee that dribbles when you replace the old fella. It’s just unfortunately one of those things. The other day, I did the wee, then pumped, shook blah blah blah, and re-established him back home. Just at this moment, I passed wind, and a torrent of wee cascaded down my leg! I suppose it will be pampers next. Oh well.

Saw an item on the news last night about the increase of swearing in society. Some reporter went out to one of the provinces, and started asking ‘The great’ British public it’s opinion. Inevitably there was the bloke with the handle bar moustache, tweed jacket, and a copy of ‘Country Life’ under his arm, who came out with the usual “Well, it’s appalling, and basically shows a lack of vocabulary.”……..OH FUCK OFF YOU CUNT!…….No it doesn’t, you enervating, doltish, peremptory twat.

There are times when only a bloody good swear word will do. Like when I just called you a “cunt“. “Silly man” really wouldn’t have cut it would it? People are in no doubt now to my opinion of you. Stephen Fry has said the very same thing, you are going to accuse him of a lack of vocabulary are you? You pompous arse.

I have been seeing a lot of adverts lately for country music compilation albums. They are the adverts that infect brilliant channels like the discovery channels, or Dave before the actual proper programmes start. My God country Music is fucking appalling isn’t it. Don’t get me wrong, being something of a musician myself, I can appreciate the brilliant guitar and fiddle playing involved, but it’s the sickening sentimental crap that makes you want to shoot them with their own Colt 45‘s.

These bloody adverts go on for about twenty bloody minutes. Some big name in the country scene “Ya awlllllll” or other will be sitting on his porch, or standing in front of a roaring fire, as he tells you all about this one hundred cd box set, that contains over four million of your favourite country songs, that isn’t available in the shops. There will then be a compilation of clips of dodgy looking blokes with beards, and awful bloody cowboy hats “Yee Haring” and whittling on about their wives running off with a rodeo stars etc. Or women with ludicrously big, bleached blond hair, telling us all that she loves her man and all that crap, while in the background, some bastard will be playing that bloody God awful slide guitar thing, crying and wailing all over it.

Jesus, do these people not have mirrors in their houses. Fuck me, I am no fashion aficionado, but these people look bloody ridiculous. Sickly sweet, sentimental, moms apple pie, sitting on a porch, good old boys, moonshine swigging, pick up driving, mullet wearing, Billie Jo chasing, double barrelled name owning , arseholes, that think the abolishment of slavery, was the day the world ended!…….

Gasp, come on son…….breath, breath, it’s ok, deep breaths. I am pretty sure that the northern half of America, would very much like to saw off the southern half, and let it float off into oblivion. It must be like the embarrassing retarded younger brother, that they wish they had never had.
The frightening thing is, is that there are people over here that like all this stuff, and have places where they go and pretend they are in Kentucky, or Mississippi. Specialist clubs that cater for their secret perversions, where they can dress as cow people, or whatever the sexually inclusive term for them is! Where they can do illegal dancing, and dress like cow people, take part in illicit activities such as listening to country music, and lassoing one another. We all know one or two don’t we? ;)

I’m off before Wyatt Erp runs me outta town. Just for Welsh girl and me, there will be some more filthy Noddy stories very soon. Goodbye all.

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About Me

Smileville, Smileshire, United Kingdom
Don't let the bastards grind you down! peace and love x