Kuntz

The world is full of cunts.......a simple statement, a sweeping generalisation as usual, but on the whole, fairly true. I think i would like that on my grave stone actually. "Here lies Andy Mule. The world is full of cunts." I am one line in, and i have already stumbled awkwardly over my first hurdle. The word itself.......cunt.......apparently this is just about the worst swear word there is. No doubt some of you, who haven't already slammed their laptop lids shut, are wincing, and biting their bottom lips.

Personally, i think it is a great word. No, not just because i am a sour and ignorant oaf, but because there is no other swear word that you can so readily get your teeth into. (First of, i am sure many carry onesque puns to come). A good "Fuck" is worth it's weight in gold, as is a damn fine"Bastard," but there surely is nothing quite like a good "C...U...N...T" when some twit has done you wrong.

The word starts way back in the throat, that "Ch" sound, that builds to a venomous crescendo, as it hisses at supersonic speed through your clenched front teeth. I would go as far as to say, that it is in my top five words. My favourite being 'Flapdoodle' which means to talk complete bollocks, rather apt, as this is what the vast majority of my postings are!

Females in particular seem to have trouble accepting the word. I don't really understand why to be honest, if a woman came up to me and said "cock" i would find it quite invigorating, but no, most females having heard the word, will double up in pain, cross themselves, douse themselves in holy water etc.

I have to relent somewhat, and say that i have never quite understood why a word which depicts the female reproductive organs, is used to deride someone. After all, for most heterosexual men, a ladies front bottom is the 'Holy grail', the object of our desire, our ultimate goal, so why it has been chosen to basically say that someone is an idiot, is beyond me. While i am on the subject, there are a few other terms that i can't fathom. Wanker, why is that an insult? Whenever someone aims the insult "You wanker" at me, i never know quite how to react. I normally just shrug my shoulders and say "er.......yes" It's a ridiculous insult. Seeing that the vast majority of the men in the world, have, do, or will masturbate, it's a ludicrous thing to hurl at someone. It's a bit like someone cutting you up at a roundabout, and you shouting "You eater" at them, it's meaningless. Or "you walker" ???

I like the word not for what it depicts, but purely for it's sound, and the enthusiasm with which you can verbally fling it! But, for the more faint hearted among you, i will relent. From this point thus, i will spell it kuntz.

Phonetically it sounds the same, but as it doesn't actually say the "C" word, perhaps it will be slightly more palatable. Anyway, I have gone off subject somewhat. The idea of this blog was not to discuss swear words, but to give some examples of my 'Kuntz of the week'! so here goes.

First off, the moronic twat of a police officer, that left his or her German Sheppard's in the car on a blisteringly hot day. Subsequently, the poor things died. Miss Marple and myself are dog fanatics, and i think we could both quite happily, and gleefully strangle the twat involved. What's more, he/she was a DOG HANDLER, if anyone should know.......need i say more. So to you, whoever you are, i hope the public discover your address, and dish out the relevant punishment. It's a sure thing your colleagues or the courts wont, so lets hope people power can do the job. So to you, whoever you are.....YOU ARE A KUNT.

Jordan/Katie Price/Big tittied waste of oxygen, carries on indulging in copious amounts of kuntish behaviour with gay abandon. So to her.......YOU ARE A KUNT.

Sir Fred Goodwin. Here is another one that has, and will continue to evade justice. Is it illegal to buy sniper rifles off of ebay? I know this is an old story, but fuck does it still grate with me, so Freddie boy.......YOU ARE A KUNT.

T-Mobile. Thirty pounds a month each, Miss Marple and i pay. For this exorbitant amount of money, you are supposed to provide us with a mobile phone service. Quite simply, you don't! Yes we live in the country, but we are not talking some remote region of the outback here, we are within spitting distance of a city, and a large town, but can we get a signal where we are?.......no. I have had to erect, what can only be described as a crows nest in the back garden. Only when at the top of this, can we get the faintest of signals, which will invariably cut out mid sentence. So to you lot.......YOU ARE KUNTZ.

British Telecom. Very similar reasons really. Broadband, ha ha.......Do you know, there are parts of South Korea, where 100mbs is the standard phone line speed. We invented bloody telecommunications, and what have we got, a fucking Dickensian antiquated two cans and a bit of string phone system. I also find it wonderfully ironic, that the BT website is about the slowest i have ever been on. This from a company that deals primarily in the field of telecommunications!
So to you BT.......YOU ARE KUNTZ.

The presenters and members of the public that participate in those bloody programs like 'Location location location' or 'Escape to the country' or whatever. You know the ones', some snobby couple want to up sticks, and buy a residence in the Cotswold's or something. It's not the program, or the concept of the program, it's the bloody people themselves. For a start the presenters are usually annoying. "Ya" this, and "Ya" that. "Light and airy" here, and a "Great potential" there. But worse than them are the fucking punters. They are never fucking satisfied are they?

They have just been shown round a half million pound abode, with nothing but green fields and rolling hills to interrupt their serenity, but it's not good enough is it. The grass is the wrong colour, or one of the taps in the fifty thousand pound kitchen is a little hard to turn on. They are not sure that the seventy foot dining room is going to be big enough to house their seventy-two seater dining table. Because they have got so many friends, and do so much entertaining. Aaaarghhhhhh.......F U C K O F F!.......YOU ARE ALL KUNTZ.

Next up is the man in the blue Ford Focus, on the road between Wood Walton and Alconbury on the hill last Wednesday lunchtime. I was a little late setting off back to work last Wednesday. I was following this bloke along what is a moderately bendy bit of road, and he was doing, without exaggeration, twenty-five to thirty miles per hour. So, i waited for a suitable overtaking spot, and overtook him.

Can i just say at this point, i in no way indulged in any finger gestures, or shouting of any kind what so ever. I felt like it, but i didn't. So what does he do, proceeds to sit up my arse, flash lights, weave around behind me etc etc, you have all been there.

The next straight bit of road, he flies past, engine screaming, and shouts some inaudible nonsense through the window! WHY??????? He was the one dawdling along. I would imagine that he is phallically challenged or something. Perhaps he is in dire need of female company, or perhaps it was 'National don't over take a man that still lives with his domineering mother day' .......or something! So to you.......YOU ARE A KUNT.

This could of course go on all night, and i feel that there will no doubt be many sequels, but i am going to finish tonight with this one. Lastly, me. Yes, i am a kunt. There are probably many reasons why, but i will high light this one in particular. I killed Michael Jackson. Yes you read that right, it was all my fault.

I wasn't aware of this until i read an article by the Sun's columnist Jane Moore. Now Jayne Moore (Journalist/TV personality/Celebrity/grumpy old woman/MILF etc) is someone, who's column i like. I quite often have a chuckle at her humorous, and often poignant musings, but now she has accused me of having a hand in the death of 'The king of pop'! Her whole column last week, was dedicated to Michael Jackson. She was lamenting about how there were lots of people that helped, inadvertently or otherwise, to kill off, what was a talented, but greatly floored entertainer. It was every one's fault, from his managers, to his doctors. His aides, the hangers on, the wives, the blah blah blah.

Then it came to me. Yes apparently, i nailed one of the nails into his coffin, because i had an unquenchable thirst for juicy titbits about every facet of his life. This must have of course have been a contributing factor to his increased stress levels etc, that led him to swallow copious amounts of medication etc, which led to his early demise.

I wasn't aware that flicking through a newspaper, reading the first few lines of an article about some aspect of his life or other, equalled stalkerism, with selfish murderous intent! but apparently, according to Jane, it does. So if that is the case, i would like 378 other victims to be taken into consideration. I once read a bit about Elvis, oh my God, i killed Elvis. Kurt Cobain, Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, dear God i killed them all! I read a little bit about Amy Winehouse the other day. Am i killing her as we speak? I seem to be turning into a celebrity serial killer!

Christ, i am off to hide in the cupboard under the stairs until the heat is off. You won't tell anyone where i am will you?.......

That was another week that was.......

I say I say I say. What do you call a bloke who doesn't know his arse from his elbow, has an over inflated ego, and has no need for the BT friends and family package?.......(Please fill in your own punch line/name/etc here. Thank you)

First rule of showbiz, open with a gag, close with a song. You have got the song to look forward to, ooh you lucky bastards.

So, what's been happening recently? What has caught my eye, tugged at my heart strings, or rattled my cage?

I very much liked the story about Irish people harassing Romanian immigrants in Belfast. An absolutely stunning example of double standards. Irish travellers (Or thieving, littering, anti social free loading scourge of the planet, as they are known everywhere else, except in the recycled, dolphin friendly, Ex Cambridge University, lentil eating pages of the Guardian) seem to have no problem at all landing themselves over here. Destroying everything in their wake, stealing from the local community, completely disregarding the law in every way possible, leaving our green and pleasant land looking like a shit hole, but when the shoe is on the other foot, they are up in arms arn't they!

My favourite bit of the whole sorry saga, was when Martin McGuiness, who is the minister for something or other, and who is an alleged ex member of the IRA (He was) and has been rumoured to have actually taken part in some of the murdering etc (He prob did) chirped up in defence of the Romanians. I was driving at the time and listening to Radio 4 (Fucking intellectual me guv) when i heard him say "These people are being terrorised."

I had to pull over as i was gasping for breath. A quite outstanding display of 'pot and kettle' The words "That's rich" couldn't find their way to my lips quick enough. A memorising display of irony.
I for one, will not stand for any disrespect aimed at James T Kirk's misunderstood nemesis.

Moving on.

The house of commons has got a new speaker.......whoopee do shit.

Jordan (or Katy Price as she now likes to be called, since she has stopped being a thick, self centered, balloon titted ego maniac) continues to be all of the above. It's just now she has gone solo, instead of being one half (wit) of a double act.

This hot weather is doing my head in. I have to admit to spending the entirety of the winter months moaning about the cold, the grey skies and the drizzle, and then once we hit June, i am a sweating, melting wreck. I just don't do heat.

I suppose being half a stone overweight doesn't help, but i find the most affected area is my gonads. As we all know from our science lessons, things in general swell when hot. This means that i have to adopt a mild bandiness in the severest of temperatures. I try my best to disguise my bandy gate, but i don't think i am fooling anyone.

I am thinking of investing in some kilts. I can't wait to feel the breeze caressing my testicles, oh to feel them swaying gently will be sheer bliss. It is also a great way of pursuing my new hobby of exposing myself to single mothers on public transport! "It's not my fault your honour, it was a gust of wind."

The subject of the wearing of jeans at work has reared up again. The wearing of jeans at work has been forbidden. Well about bloomin' time I say. I welcome this directive. I must admit in the past, i have had a certain amount of hostility to what i once thought was a draconian, and ill conceived notion, but thanks to Father time, and a management style that is second to none, i have seen the error of my ways.

How could i have been so short sighted? Quite frankly, i don't mind admitting that i feel deeply ashamed. Ashamed of my denim addiction, ashamed of my insolence, ashamed of my blatant and disgraceful disregard for those that know better than me.

I can see now, that i have spent years that cannot be regained, wearing the filth that is denim. I will go as far as to say, that this is tantamount to self abuse. Yes ladies and gentleman, i am going to get this off of my chest, no matter how ugly it may be, no matter how hard it is going to be for those close to me to accept. Here goes.......I have been abusing myself for years.

My God that feels better. That lung full of air that i just inhaled is the sweetest lung full of oxygen that i have experienced for years. I feel clean, sanitised, chaste, i am a new man. These rather fetching beige slacks that i am wearing as i type this, feel damn good next to my skin i can tell you.

So can i just say from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Thank you to all of you (and you know who you are, you unsung hero's) that have saved me from myself. These tears i shed, are tears of joy, tears of relief, tears of gratitude. God bless you.

I think my favourite amusing/irritating experience of the past week, has to be this.

I called into The Co-op on the way home from work the other evening after work. I had to pick up a few provisions, and so parked the car and entered the shop. Now partly because i was in a bit of a hurry, and partly because i am a middle aged, absent minded old twat, who will no doubt soon be being pushed in a wheelchair rapidly towards Switzerland, on a one way trip of a lifetime, I forgot to take my sunglasses off.

As i am sure i have mentioned before, i wear glasses, and so my sunglasses are prescription one's, and so necessary for seeing. I couldn't be arsed to turn tail and swap them, so i carried on wandering up and down the aisles.

Can i just state here and now for the record, i was in no way trying to be cool, pretentious, hip, rockstarish at all, it was purely forgetfulness, and idleness.

I did briefly consider pretending i was blind, so as not to court any unfavourable bitchy comments, or tutting, or "Who does he think he is, wearing sunglasses indoors - wanker." type comments, but i thought to hell with it.

I was meandering down the frozen veg aisle, when the inevitable happened. I wasn't paying any attention to the people walking towards, and then passed me, all i heard was something along the lines of "Tut, i can't stand pretentious twats that wear sunglasses indoors."

I spun round, preparing the tirade of abuse that i was going doll out, but i was stunned into silence. My jaw hung slack, as i gazed at my verbal assailant. The, what must have been sixteen or seventeen year old youth, that had aimed the word "pretentious" at me, was wearing a FEZ!.......Yes that's right, a Tommy Cooperesque, one hundred percent fucking FEZ!

Sigh.......

Bollocks, i am too exhausted for the song, sing it yerself.......

Mount Sinai, Tuesday afternoon, about tea time.......

The other day whilst driving home from work to see Ronnie and Reggie at lunchtime, I was listening to the Jeremy Vine show. This is a show that can very often get me hot under the collar, and it was the inspiration for today’s lecture.

It was a story about a bloke, we will call him Dave, who was a born again Christian. He was at work on night shift, and he and a colleague were sitting having a cup of tea, and talking about this and that. She was aware that he was a born again Christian, and the subject inevitably got around to all things religious. As part of this discussion, he announced that he disagreed with homosexuality, because it was against the word of God blah blah blah. The next morning, she promptly went to her bosses and complained that he had made derogatory remarks about homosexuals. The company suspended him, pending an enquiry.

First things first, having the opinion that homosexuality is intrinsically wrong, and ungodly is of course extremely old fashioned, bigoted, ignorant, and quite frankly bloody pathetic. On the other side of the coin, why was the bloody woman making such a big deal about it? she should have taken it with a pinch of salt and called him a prat or something, and lastly, their employer undoubtedly over reacted somewhat. Obviously shit scared that if they didn’t follow the politically correct procedures, blah blah blah and all that.

All that was needed, was a “Dave, in future for the sake of peace and harmony at work, it might be an idea if you kept your rather antiquainted thoughts to yourself, ok.”

So, which part of the above am I going to single out for scrutiny? Why religion of course! Mainly because, even though I think the reactions of the woman and the employer were heavy handed, and overly politically correct etc, born again Christians get on my nerves more! (They are on a par with back packers. Yes I have an irrational hatred of back packers…….I know, I know)

Obviously religion is a huge, and some may say dangerous subject to tackle. There are all sorts of historical facts and figures that one ought to get right. So, let me just put your mind at rest straight away. Let me just assure you, that this posting will be produced with the usual complete lack of fore thought, planning and research as usual. There will undoubtedly be huge sweeping generalizations, and copious amounts of stereotyping! So let the games begin…….

So, religion, Christ where do you start? Well start with what you know I suppose.

Christianity

Two thousand odd years ago, the bible tells us that God impregnated a woman called Mary with his son. He didn’t actually get down off of his cloud or whatever, and come down to do the business, no, he did it remotely. (Three lines in, and it already sounds ridiculous doesn’t it?) Her fella Joseph seemed to readily accept this, and off they went to have the baby in a stable. Three blokes on camels followed a star (An early version of sat nav one presumes) and turned up at the stable baring gifts. The baby Jesus was born in a manger, and school children made up songs about Shepard’s washing their socks etc.

Anyway, a bit more blah blah blah, and he basically spent the next thirty odd years wandering around telling everyone that he was the son of God, and that he could perform miracles etc. Two thousand years later, and with the benefit of science and medicine, he would be known as a schizophrenic with a touch or narcissism thrown in, who had an unhealthy interest in magic tricks. Or to put it another way…….

Son of God + 2000 years = nutter.

It just shows you how times have changed, two thousand years ago, Jesus is wandering around telling everyone he is the son of God. His legacy has lasted for two thousand years, he is probably the most famous bloke in the world, People have died for him, fought wars over him, and worshipped him.

Fast forward two thousand years, David Ike tries the same ruse, and gets nothing but a load of shit for his efforts. Not fair is it? Bless him. That isn’t to say that Jesus had an easy time of it either. No, he got quite a few people's backs up. He apparently used to run around tipping over tables and spouting his weird ideas. Or to put it another way…….

Son of god trying to enlighten the masses with his offbeat meanderings + 2000 years = terrorist.

Anyway, he started really getting on peoples tits, and eventually the Romans, along with some Jewish toadying collaborators, crucified him. A particularly nasty way to die. You would have thought being the son of God and all that, he would have been able to call in the big guns, but it seems God was out that afternoon. Tut, bloody typical. It is said that while on the cross, Jesus looked down at the people that had perpetrated such brutality upon him, and uttered the words “Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.” I bet God was a bit rueful when he got home that evening, and found that message on his answer phone. Yes, that will teach him to go off swanning around for the afternoon.

For years the mainstay of Christianity was Catholicism. This was the method by which one worshiped God, and a general guide line to how one should behave etc. Now Catholicism came from Rome, i.e. the Roman Catholics. This is something that I have never understood. I thought it was the Romans that strung him up, are we to believe that some years later they had a change of heart, and decided he was right after all? Before the Romans, how can I put it, "switched energy provider," they had a very much different method of worship. They had Gods for this, and Gods for that. I like this idea, instead of lumping all your eggs in one basket; you could have loads of Gods. I would have a curry God, a reality TV show God (oh we have already, Lord Cowell) a wanking God, it would be brilliant, but no, they threw all that away, and changed to just boring old God God. What a shame.

All was trundling along quite nicely, until an upstart called Henry the VIII came along. Now one of the Catholic rules, was that once you had got married, that was it, there was no changing your mind. Well Henry wasn’t happy about this one little bit, no sir ree bob. He had got married, and decided she wasn’t the girl for him, but what was he going to do? He couldn’t trade her in for a new one, the Catholics wouldn’t let him. So he thought “Bollocks, I’ll make my own religion up, where I can trade in my old wives as many times as I bloody well like.” And so The Church of England was born.

To be honest, it wasn’t a whole lot different to the old Catholic lot. It wasn’t what you would call a complete re-think. He hadn’t gone back to the drawing board, Basically it was the same, but you could trade your old wife in, and you were allowed to wank.

And that’s just about it for Christianity. Over the years certain groups have branched off, and created slightly different versions of the same thing. For example there are the Amish. Same God and everything, except they don’t have Sky Plus. Then there are the Mormons. Again same God, but they like forming popular beat combos. The Quakers don’t know much about these; think they are heavily into porridge.

Islam

Just bare with me while I adorn my bulletproof vest.......there, that's better. Phew, er, well, basically this lot need to lighten up a little. That may sound harsh, but lets be honest, brutally may be, but here goes.......when was the last time you saw somebody from Pakistan have a bloody good belly laugh.......eh?

Yes these guys do seem to take themselves and everything all very seriously. Some history.

Muslims worship God, but do not acknowledge Christ. They have a prophet called Mohamed. I of course thus far have been very unfair in the name of a cheap laugh, but Islam is on the whole a pretty peaceful religion. They worship five times a day, respect their neighbours etc, and are generally good people. We will over look the disgraceful chauvinistic treatment of women for now (I am in enough trouble as it is) and move on.

Unfortunately, the religion has been hijacked by fundamentalists, and is now seen around the world as another name for terrorism, sad. Yes some Muslims have read the Koran, put two and two together, and come up with four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-nine! It's a bit like me reading the 'Windows Vista user's guide', and coming to the conclusion that all apple mac users should be exterminated! Calm down guys, there is room for all operating systems.......relax.

The fundamentalist side of the religion is pretty farcical though. Young disciples are told, that if they are martyred in the name of Allah, they will arrive in paradise, and be tended to by seventy-two virgins! Really? I am truly amazed, that even with the eye watering amount of brain washing these poor souls are subjected to, not one of them has, just for a second, looked at their commander and thought "Hang on a minute, If it's so bloody brilliant, why am I going, and not you?"

Muslims are not allowed to partake in alcohol or tobacco (Maybe something to do with the lack of humour in general) but this doesn't seem to trouble Mr Khan down our local wonderful curry house!

Judaism

You say tomarrrto, I say tomaaaato, you say patarrrrto, I say potaaato, tomarrrto, tomaaaato, patarrrrto, pataaato, let's blow each other up!

This pretty much sums up the relationship between the Jews, and the Palestinians. Sigh.......

The Jewish religion has always confused me. The Romans called Christ 'The king of the Jews' and yet they think he was an impostor. Was this an attempt at Roman sarcasm? I don't know. It's something like this i think.......

The Jews seemed to be scattered all over the globe. Then in 1948 it was decided that the Jews should have their own homeland. Fair enoughski you might think, but the bigwigs that decide these things, put the cat among the pigeons by creating Israel smack bang in the middle of the 'Holy Lands' Fair enough I suppose, but it didn't really help matters did it? If they had put them somewhere just outside Milton keynes, maybe a lot of bloodshed could have been spared.

The Palestinians (Quite justly really) got the hump. It's a bit like somebody barging through your front door, and declaring that your spare bedroom is now theirs! You would have the hump wouldn't you? and so ever since, it's been tomarrrrto, tomaaaaato.......

Jehovah's Witness

I have absolutely no bloody idea at all what this is all about. I suppose they believe in God, but again, think Jesus was just some kinda wide boy. No Christ means no Christmas (Maybe i'll become one!) They also have this undying urge to tell you all about their beliefs etc. Very strange indeed. It's a bit like me being really heavily into CSI (I'm not) and knocking on people's doors, and telling them about it. Sounds crazy doesn't it? They seem to love it.

They wear suits a lot, and let their relatives die because they disagree with blood transfusions! This really is mentalness of the highest caliber. I am probably being issued with the Jehovah's Witness version of a fatwa as we speak! Bollocks.

There are all manner of religions that I haven't touched upon. Hinduism, Jedi, but when it comes down to it, it all seems to add up to the same thing. Control. How can we keep the plebs under control? I know, make up some load of old tosh, and tell them that if they don't adhere to this code of conduct, they will burn in hell for eternity, and do you know what?.......it's worked for thousands of years! amazing.

So Mule, you have spouted forth thus far, had a go at just about everyone and not told us your own beliefs.

Well, do i believe there is a God that sits on some kind of thrown when we die, and tots up all our misdemeanors, and sends us north or south accordingly?.......No.

Do I believe that Jesus was the son of God.......No.

Do I believe that there is some kind of consciousness or force that is surreptitiously present throughout the entire universe, that somehow links us all together?.......N.......well maybe, just maybe.

So we come to the end of this lecture. As the great Dave Allan used to say, "May your God go with you."

PS. I look forward (with some trepidation) to the lever arch file I am sure I will be receiving from 'oblogotory reading man' tomorrow. Full to the brim with corrections, alterations, .......

Earings

Where have thou been? Why such emptiness on the Mule merry go round? Well, I think it would be fair to say that I have become immensely disillusioned with the whole blogging thing. Now before I plough on, can I just say that this next bit is in no way meant to sound conceited, arrogant, big headed, snobby etc. but alas, inevitably I fear it will.

I am dizzy with perplexity, due to the fact that I simply can’t understand why reading that somebody has purchased a new set of earings, is favorable to reading my musings. I told you it would sound big headed (Widen the doors) but that’s how it is.

I will be the first one to admit that I am not the greatest writer in the world, I am sure that I have changed tense half a dozen times already, and I must have split several infinitives, but I do think that my ‘Lectures’ Can sometimes be slightly amusing, or controversial, thought provoking, or even informative maybe, but no, it seems that the great unwashed would rather digest trivial morsels of earing buying information, than listen to me! At this juncture I was going to state how much I don’t understand this, but unfortunately, I think I do.

Lets put it this way, If you were to look at the viewing figures for, lets say ‘Eastenders’ versus a documentary on the ‘Discovery channel’ about the universe, It would be so heavily weighted in favour of watching Dot Cotton drink a cup of tea, it would be frightening. This is the sad truth, we have become a nation that hungers for celebrity gossip, of soap opera watching zombies. Our culture has become infested by some mysterious desire to ingest copious amounts of trivial titbits.

There are more stars in the universe, than grains of sand on this planet. Each sun will have planets orbiting around them, some of which will have the necessary atmospheric conditions to sustain life. There could be civilizations out there, millions of years in advance of our own. This stuff is genuinely mind boggling, it’s incredible, ethereal, but know, it doesn’t matter does it, it’s all a load of bollocks, because have you heard, Paris Hilton has got a new diamond encrusted thong. Brilliant. Oh look, there is a program on tonight, that explains how the Hadron collider is going to try and perform the most important experiment that mankind (Sexist???) has ever embarked upon…….Fuck off, forget that, Dot Cotton is collecting her pension tonight, and Phil Mitchell has hit the bottle again. Sigh.

Maybe one day, I will be out walking Ronnie and Reggie, and an alien craft will hover over us and beam us all up into the ship. We will be whisked millions of light years across the universe through a worm hole, to a planet where the alien civilization is a million years ahead of us. They would snigger at our rockets, and our mobile phones, and tell me telepathically, to sit on a hover chair, and wait to be enlightened. A tall alien creature would glide gracefully towards me, and ask me if I was ready to be told the secrets of the universe.
"YES YES" I would cry, tears of joy welling in my eyes as I realised all of my questions, and indeed all of those of mankind were finally going to be answered.
"Are you ready?" The alien would say to me, its majestic voice filling my head with its wondrous tone…….Then suddenly it would stop and proclaim "Oh bugger, hang on, can we put this on hold? I’ve got to dash, ‘Cosmic Roads’ is on, Zog is picking up her pension, and Zag has hit the bottle again, tut."

I have been rather miffed at my ‘Lectures’ being overlooked for less cerebral offerings of late, but the one that finally tipped me over the edge, the one that forced me to put fingers (Two) to keyboard, was hearing that Demi Moore’s new beau, has got a MILLION followers on fucking ‘twatter’or whatever it’s fucking called. Now I don’t know who this bloke is, and I refuse to soil my computer by typing "Demi Moore’s new husband" into Google, so I will have to remain blissfully ignorant to the facts, but I’m guessing he’s probably a bit of a pretty boy, and would be surprised if he watches programs about the hadron collider. I would also be very surprised if his offerings on ‘twatter’ are any more than, "Demi has got a new pair of earings" or "I got one of the servants to serve Demi a croissant for breakfast" and yet, a MILLION fucking people apparently want and need to know this.

It seems some people treat blogging like a social networking thing. "Ooh I bought a new pair of earings" Someone leaves a comment: - "Ooh did you, are they nice?"…….oh fuck off. I really don’t like the whole social networking scene. ‘Facebook’, bloody ‘my space’ what’s the point? People ‘poking’ each other, leaving things on their ‘Walls’ or whatever it is. Putting a goldfish in their tank, or whatever they do, lol. Either go outdoors and try and get real friends, or be like me, and go to extrodinary lengths to avoid human contact completely! Do one or the other, but please, don’t have pretend friends.

Chat rooms…….when I first entered the digital age, and tentatively put a foot onto the virtual surf board, and started riding the waves that they call ‘The world wide web’, I stumbled upon chat rooms. Dear God, what a grim place they are. Some of the inane conversations that go on in these places take some believing.

Ladybird123 has entered the lobby.

Hardnthrobbing – Good morning Ladybird, how are you today?

Ladybird123 – Oh fine thanks, u?

Hardnthrobbing – Hungover, big nite last nite ;)

Sexychick69 – Winks at Hardnthrobbing

Home alone housewife – Watchya every1, anybody seen Trucker?

Sexychick69 – He was in earlier, think he afk.

Home alone housewife – Thanx Sexy, how are u?

Sexychick69 – Cool ta.

NiftyFifty has entered the lobby

NiftyFifty – Morning.

Ladybird123 blows a kiss at NiftyFifty.

NiftyFifty – Awww thanx Lady

NiftyFifty blows a kiss at Ladybird123

Powertool has entered the lobby

Powertool – ne laydees wanna c my cock on cam, it’s mega. P2P me

Sexychick – It’s not that big every1.

Powertool - ;)

Wilde & 1derful (Me) has entered the lobby

Wilde & 1derful – Hi, anyone see the documentary last night about the Hadron Collider?

Sexychick69 – Fuck off weirdo.

Wilde & 1derful has left the lobby!

Ring any bells ne1!

And so it goes on and on. Lines and lines of endless drivel.

The internet is an amazing tool, but as with all things, there is the downside. I think it allows people to forget how to treat people. If ‘Powertool’ was at a real gathering, he for a start would surely be a little apprehensive at calling himself ‘Powertool’, and secondly, I doubt he would deem it appropriate to burst in to the room, and shout, "Oi ladies, any of you bitches wanna see my cock?"

Personally, I would prefer it if social gatherings were like this, would certainly brighten up what is usually a very dull evening. Thinking about it, the next time I have run out of excuses for not leaving the house, and get dragged kicking and screaming to a ‘gathering’, perhaps I will try it! As I am introduced to some woman who works in ‘event management’ I will jump in quick before she attacks me with the classic "So, what do you do for a living?" with my opening gambit of "’ello darlin’ wanna gander at my pork sword?" but no seriously, the internet seems to erode the need for manners. People start telling each other to "Fuck off" after seconds of meeting each other in a chat room. Wouldn’t happen in real life.

It’s because the internet is deemed to be anonymous. We feel we don’t need to conform to the usual social niceties. In fact it’s very similar to being in a car. We sit ourselves in a metal box, and we immediately feel disassociated to everyone. Somebody pulls out on you from a side road, and what do we do, two fingers here, one finger there, "Learn to fucking drive" etc etc. If we were walking down the street, and somebody stepped out from a door way into our path, chances are that both parties would be apologising profusely, "After you"……."No no, after you sir" etc etc. I’m in no position to talk really am I? I write this stuff, effing and blinding away with gay abandon. I probably wouldn’t talk like that if we were strangers, and face to face.

Then again, having thought about it, in some ways perhaps it’s not always a bad thing. Maybe it allows us to be free, and express ourselves the way in which we would really want to. It’s a tricky one.

Anyway, to sum up, I am still a little miffed at my lack of popularity! I suppose I can carry on, just writing it for the ‘dedicated three’ or alternatively, I can become a bigamist, marry a celebrity, and rattle on about her new earings all fucking day!

All aboard me hearties.......

Out with the old, and in with the new,
I used to be red, but now I am blue.
Bad times behind us, good times a fore,
My colours are different, but it's still just a chore.

Will the blue ones be curious, of my little words,
The red ones were big fans, of my chapter and verse.
The serpent departed, an angel in place?,
A demon perhaps, with a different face.

The ship is a sail, upon stormy seas,
Lets hope that the words, are followed by deeds.
Red days and blue days, they merge into one,
I'll never find out, what's on BBC1

The ocean is vast, and pirates are rife,
Lets navigate through, the trouble and strife.
Set sail my beauties, pull up the anchors,
.......Oh, my keyboard seems to have locked up, Oh well, you can try and finish it yourself if you like.

Futility disability

Do you ever sit at your desk, or behind the wheel, or on the phone, or behind the till (The list is endless) and think to yourself…….”This is completely and utterly bloody pointless” I am sure you do from time to time, I know I do. As Henry Garvie from ‘Ultimate force’ once said, “There are only three things that are necessary for human existence, fighting, shagging, and eating.” And do you know what, he is bloody well right.

What we need is a bloody good world war! It’s true, we all pontificate about how terrible war is blah blah blah, but the stark truth of it is, is that a great many of us, especially in the Western world, have had it far too cushy, for far too long. Instead of spending our time striving for survival, we spend it lolling around on buy now pay later sofas, watching absolute mindless and pointless drivel, eating too much (because we haven’t got to get off of our fat arses and actually catch it) and generally filling our lives with absolutely meaningless tosh. A good world war would act like a cull, and blow away the cobwebs.

Human beings are at their best when their backs are against the wall. Invention and innovation flourish in times of turmoil and hardship, because it is necessary for our survival. During times of crisis, camaraderie increases, people start to pull together, help each other out, look out for each other. I am naturally and predominantly anti-social! I don’t know why, I just am (Serial killer in the making perhaps!) but I am sure I would be much more “People friendly” if I actually needed to be.

The trouble is you see, is that we have all become insular and self absorbed; there is no direct threat to most of us, so we don’t need to watch out for each other.

I avidly watch the Ross Kemp programs, where he shadows our troops in Afghanistan. Evan though war is terrible, and killing people is bad (despite what I said earlier!) I do in a way envy those soldiers out on the front line.

“Are you bloody mad?” I hear you shout (Probably not, I just think too much) but I think that the only time a human being truly feels “Alive” is when their life is in peril. People jump out of aeroplanes, throw themselves down the sides of mountains, tie elastic bands around their ankles and jump off bridges. Why do they do it, (apart from there being a small amount of showing off going on), it’s because as they are hurtling towards the earth at terminal velocity, they feel “Alive” because they know they could very soon be dead. The body seems to compensate for the fact that you may not have long left, by giving you a shot of adrenaline, and making your potentially last moments all whizzy and WOW!

What has prompted the rather strange direction for this latest Mule lecture? I don’t totally know. I am rather bored today, and when the boredom sets in, the old brain starts analyzing, and when the brain starts analyzing, the depression starts to knock on the door, and when the depression is “in da house” Mr apathy takes root, and Mr apathy opens the door to boredom, and …….

I, like many others I am sure, am afflicted by a disease called ‘Bullshit intoleranceitus’ I absolutely can’t stand cobblers, nonsense, trivia, nif naf, codswallop etc etc. Unfortunately the world is drowning in it. This does not bode well for a happy existence. I sometimes hear people standing around water coolers at work or whatever, rattling on about some work related shit, and I can’t believe how much onus they are bestowing upon it. People who think that their job is of absolute vital importance to the continual existence of this planet, (They procure condiments or something for a living!) are rife.

It’s terrible really how we all get completely wrapped up in our own little lives. Sitting on our own moons, orbiting planet 'ME'. What’s worse than living this completely and utterly self absorbed kind of life?.......telling every other poor sod about it, that’s what!

Oh god, how many times a day do most of us have to listen to Mr or Mrs 'ME' tell us all about Mr and Mrs 'me’s' planet, and all that goes on there. They seem completely oblivious to the fact that nobody is in the slightest bit interested. (There is a soul crushing irony here somewhere, but I think I might have missed it…….no it’s gone, now, where was I?)

What really gets me about somebody telling you one of their ‘stories’, is the amount of inconsequential detail that they feel they need to add. You know, we have all suffered it.

“I was taking aunty Beryl to the doctors last Wednesday…….hang on wait, or was it last Tuesday? No it must have been Wednesday because her dustmen come on a Wednesday. Unless it is bank holiday of course, then they come a day earlier, hang on a minute…….(Actually gets diary out to check if it was a bank holiday!)…….No it was Wednesday……."
And so on, and on it goes. I wish I had the balls to say…….”Look, quite frankly I couldn’t really give a flying monkey's pissing pot about your auntie Beryl’s trip to the doctors, unless of course something highly amusing or entertaining took place, and you can relay that to me in a particularly amusing and engaging fashion, which I doubt. So I especially don’t need to know what fucking day of the week it happened on…….OK”

But no, I dutifully stand there and suck it all up, and then go and take it out on someone who failed to indicate at a roundabout!
I always remember the wonderful Dave Allen talking about new years resolutions. He was saying that this person was going to stop smoking, that person was going to stop eating! This one was stopping whatever etc etc etc. He said he was going to stop accommodating bores! I think this is a great idea. I am going to come up with some sort of traffic light system that hangs around my neck. I will call it something like the ‘Bore-o-meter’ or whatever. It will work in a not dissimilar fashion to those lights they have at party conferences. But these won’t be to indicate time limits, they will be to indicate bore levels.

Green
You’re doing ok, but to be fair you have only just started, so…….

Amber
Come on, come on, you are going off on a tangent a bit, and you are definitely
beginning to ramble. Make it amusing or Interesting…….quick.

Red
Shut the fuck up, I’m off!

I am going to take it on to dragon’s den and team up with the chirpy little kebab seller bloke (Racist?) Don’t want the woman, I reckon she could be bossy.

We are all the same though really aren’t we? No matter how different or radical we think we are, we can’t help being bound together by the same little social foibles etc. I am going to stop shy of saying that I “Pride” myself on being unsociable, but let’s just say with age, I have become comfortable with it.
I often proclaim that I don’t give two hoots what people think of me, but even I can’t escape the inbuilt social necessities that are intrinsic to us all. My favourite two examples of this are:-

1. You’re walking down the street. All of a sudden you realize that you have forgotten something. You need to turn around and go back in the direction form which you came. Nothing wrong with that, but that isn’t what our little brains tell us is it? Oh no. Brain say’s

“If you just suddenly and for no apparent reason turn around, and start walking back that way, every set of eyes on this street are going to notice, and they are all going to think that you are a mentalist that doesn’t know what he is doing. There he goes they will say, pacing up and down the street aimlessly, they will think you have escaped from somewhere won’t they?”

So how do we get over this? We make bold and exaggerated movements to indicate that we have forgotten something, and to try and reassure everybody that we are not mad. We will do that clicking our fingers thing as we tut. We will sigh and playfully bang ourselves on the head, raise our eyebrows, maybe even try to make eye contact with someone, and tut and grin whilst shaking our heads, to let everyone know that we are a forgetful klutz, but definitely NOT a nutter.

2. My favourite of the two is this one. Again this involves just innocently walking down the street. This time you trip and start to tumble forwards. There is nothing wrong with that, but old brainy tells you different…….

“You clumsy bastard. Everybody saw that you know, you look like a complete idiot. What the hell did you trip over anyway? Is there a piece of paving slab protruding from the pavement? or a pot hole? no, there is nothing there. You have basically just tripped over nothing, and everybody saw you. You are an embarrassment to mankind."

So how do we deal with this situation? I have done it, and I am sure most other people have too. As we trip, we naturally start to run forward to try and stop ourselves landing flat on our faces. We can’t leave it at that though can we? Oh no, we can’t have people thinking that we are a clumsy sod that needs to pick their feet up.

We should just accept that we have made a minor arse of ourselves, and treat the whole thing with a wry smile. But no, we embark on an elaborate charade, trying to make out that we did it on purpose. We are actually out having a run. In fact what I am going to do is run for a short distance, and then at the end do a little bit of shadow boxing to finish it off. Yes that’s it, I am a boxer, a prize winning one at that, and I am out training for my next bout at 'Madison square gardens.' That is why I am out running and shadow boxing in the street…….wearing a suit!

Can I just apologize on two counts. Number one, there didn’t really seem to be any real definite direction to this, and secondly, I feel that I have used far too many brackets in this one (A habit that I don’t want to get in to) so sorry.

Well I think my red light is most definitely throbbing, so I will depart. I am going to jump off of the shed, using a bin liner as a makeshift parachute, so that I feel alive!

It's all a load of balls.......

Phew……For one reason or another, probably known only to the Gods, last week seemed to be full of irritations. What’s new there you might ask, well nothing I suppose, but last week just seemed to be worse than normal.

As a sort of disclaimer, can I just say that there are obviously many people throughout the world that are in a much worse position than myself, and I in no way wish to belittle their problems, by comparing my relatively minor moans and groans to theirs. That’s the legal stuff out of the way. Never the less, I did feel that the good Lord was testing my patience to the limit last week.

I don’t know about you, but there are times when the lunacy and sheer stupidity that can occur on this planet, can drive me to very dark places. It is at times like these that I can be found sitting alone in the attic, illuminated by a single flickering forty watt bulb, clutching my knees to my chest, slowly rocking back and forth, and talking to Troy my action man. I spent quite a lot of time in the attic last week, and here are two examples of why.

Example 1
My friend told me about this, I say friend, his name is Colin, and he visits me at the day centre. I think he is paid to do it, but they won’t confirm that.
Where he works, there is a sort of reception building come guard post, and in there, are what can only be described as pseudo Nazis. Little men (they are always short) that positively revel in bureaucracy and jobs worthiness. If they could, I wouldn’t put it passed them to strip naked and frolic on a bed of paper work, and rub themselves all over with rules and regulations.

Anyway, if you have a visitor coming to see you, you have to inform the reception of their arrival. Time, name, reason for visit, blood type, sperm count, mother’s maiden name etc. He told me of an instance recently, that went something like this…….

Please read the part of the pseudo Nazi with an adenoidal train spotter type voice, it will help honest! (You could also read it with a German accent, but that is probably racist)

Colin rings the reception.

Nazi - Good morning reception, how can I help you?

Colin - Ah good morning, I have a visitor coming this morning, I …….

Nazi - Whoa wo wo hold it right there…….

Colin - Sorry, I just wanted to inform you of his arrival, and…….

Nazi - I’m not listening (Puts fingers in ears) la la la la la la…….

Colin - I’m sorry, is there a problem?

Nazi - Everybody has been advised, that if they wish to inform us of a visitation, they can only do so by fax.

Colin - Ah yes, sorry about that, I forgot. While I’m on the phone, could we just do it now?

Nazi - La la la la la la I’ve told you, only by fax. If you would be so kind as to fax the details through, I would be happy to process it for you.

Colin - ok ok, I’ll fax it.

Colin follows the correct procedure, and faxes all the information through.
An hour and a half later, his phone rings…….ring ring, ring ring…….

Colin - Hello.

Nazi - Yes hello, it is reception here, you have a visitor of which we have not been informed. The rules quite clearly state, that all visitors must be pre booked in by their visitees, two or more hours before the arrival of said guest.

Colin - I phoned you this morning…….

Nazi - Oh well, that’s where you have gone wrong you see, you should have faxed the information through.

Colin - I did.

Nazi - You have just said that you phoned.

Colin - I phoned first, and then you told me to fax it, which I then did.

Nazi - Well we haven’t received it.

Colin - Well I can’t help that, if you had let me do it over the phone, we Wouldn’t be having this problem would we.

Nazi - Ah you can’t phone it through, you have to fax it.

Colin - I DID

Nazi - Well we haven’t received it…….

And so it goes on and on, like some kind of hellish perpetual spiral. Down into the bowels of Hades.

The other example is by far my favorite. I really bent Troy’s ear with this one. It happened last week, Miss Marple and myself had both nipped out of work one lunchtime to do some stuff in town. One of the things we had to do, was pay a visit to ‘Wilkinsons’. Now, after the collapse of Woolworths, Wilkinsons has now been promoted to the top spot of ‘worst shops in existence’.

Call me a snob, call me aloof, call me elitist, call me pompous, but I bloody can’t stand Wilkinsons. It seems to always be full of old people who smell of urine, and chavs, who apparently also smell of urine, mixed with the residue of Marlboro lights. Our local branch has a low sort of window sill that runs the whole length of the window. This is always full of old people just sitting there. What are they doing? I always feel like I need to walk through some kind of sheep dip when exiting the shop, to be cleansed.

Anyway, I took a deep breath, plucked up the courage, tried to be a grown up for ten minutes, and took the first tentative steps through the front door. I followed Miss Marple around, hanging onto her coat tails, staring wide eyed, and trying desperately to avoid contact with anyone, eye or otherwise. We got all the bits we needed, and headed towards the checkout.

On route to the checkout, Miss Marple spied the ‘Pick and mix’ section. Being a bit of a sucker for things that are colourful and sugary, she decided to treat herself. She filled up the bag with all sorts of goodies, and then we both noticed signs that were three foot high, saying……."Please weigh your pick and mix bag, before taking it to the checkout. Thank you." As the signs were so prominent, and so numerous, we took it that this was very important, and failing to adhere to this rule would result in us being ejected forcibly from the shop, or arrested, or beheaded or something. So Miss Marple diligently weighed the bag, and stuck the little sticker that came out of the machine onto the bag.

We got to the checkout, and I was delighted that I had almost completed the mission without brushing up against any old people or chavs. We were standing in the queue, and I was only a few inches away from a real life chav. She was a proper one and everything. She had the Croydon face lift haircut, tracksuit bottoms, a gob full of chewing gum, a mobile phone which seemed to be welded to her ear, and half a dozen or so screaming chavlets.

It was at times like this that I wished I had the courage to ask her if she had any idea which schools she would be sending her little darlings to. She would inevitably ask me what it had got to do with me, at which point I could tell her that I was in little doubt that I was paying for their existence, so I would just like to be assured that they would be receiving a half decent education, so that there was a small glimmer of hope that they would find some kind of employment in their adult years, so that I wouldn’t have to pay for them for the full three score years and ten! But alas my balls are not that big.

I did however take this opportunity to do the sniff test. I glanced surreptitiously left and right to see if the coast was clear, and then gingerly leaned forward. I squeezed my right nostril shut with my index finger, and inhaled heartily. It is indeed true, my nostril was filled with the aroma of piss and Marlboro lights, and a heady combination it was to.

I am surprised that some perfume company hasn’t tried to capture this scent in a bottle. ‘Au de chav’ Of course the chav would be said in a French kind of way, probably "Shav" or something. I can picture the advert now, a lady chav would be reclining on a chez long covered in benefit claims, the chavlets would be shooting pensioners from the window with air rifles, Dad chav would be watching ‘Stargate’ on his heavily subsidized 52" plasma, and daughter chav would be getting knocked up, and filling in the child benefit forms simultaneously. Mum chav would then lean provocatively towards the camera (Retch) and say……."Le Shav, the fragrance from laboratory garneaaaaaaa, because your werfless"

Anyway, we eventually got to the checkout. The stuff was being beeped through the scanner, and all was well. Then ‘Darren’ or whatever his name was, picked up the bag of pick and mix. He stopped, why was he not beeping it, it quite clearly had a bar code on the sticker that came out of the machine.
"Oh hang on a minute." Said Darren.
"Is there a problem?" said Miss Marple.
"I’ve just got to get this weighed," said Darren.
Miss Marple and I looked at each other, and raised eyebrows simultaneously.
"But I weighed it on the scales, like the signs told me to," said Miss marple.
Darren looked at her, and without taking his ipod from his ears said "Yeah, but I gotta get it checked."
At this point Darren disappeared for three or four days to check that we hadn’t put one fruit salad in the bag, weighed it, and then filled it to the brim.

You are ahead of me I know, but if the shop aren’t going to trust people to be honest, WHY GET US TO FUCKING WEIGH IT IN THE FUCKING FIRST PLACE.

I should have known my trip to Wilkinsons wasn’t going to be good, I should have realized that once I had been head butted in the testicles by a two year old, things weren’t going to get any better. I should have gone straight to the car, and gone back to work.

Yes just before entering Wilkinsons, my gonads had a coming together with a two year old boy! I was walking along, and coming towards me was a lady with her toddler of a son. He was a dear little chap, and he was doing that walk that only a two year old can do. You know the one, they sort of defy gravity by kind of permanently stumbling forward, but never actually hitting the deck. It’s hard to replicate, I know I have tried.

They combine this with never actually looking in the direction that they are traveling in. You can’t blame them, when you’re two the world is a wondrous place, full of lots of things to see. "Look mummy, doggie" etc.
So anyway, the little chap was heading towards me, and I could see what might potentially happen. I did my best, honest I did, but every time I moved one way or another, the little chap countered me, it wasn’t looking good. I must have looked like a cross between a rugby player, stepping one way and then the other, trying to avoid the oncoming tackle, and an overweight, out of work ballerina, who had fallen on hard times, and had resorted to performing on the streets to make ends meet.

I was stepping this way, pirouetting that way, swerving here, rolling there, but to no avail, the little chap's right ear impacted on my gonads. Fortunately the pain wasn’t severe. My main concern was that his mother, having witnessed me thrusting my groin in the direction of her two year old boys head, was going to shout "Pedophile" at the top of her voice, and the ‘Child abuse swat team’ would rope down from helicopters, and I would be taken away.

My computer would be carried from the house in a plastic bag, and I would have to suffer the indignity of the trip to court in an armored van, while people hurled bottles and themselves at it. Press photographers would try to take pictures of the ‘Evil one’ through the blacked out windows, and even after pleading my innocence, I would spend years in jail being some enormous black man’s bitch. I would have to be kept in the isolation wing for my own protection, and try to sleep at night as fellow inmates shouted "Nonce" all night long.

Fortunately it never came to this. After apologising profusely, she said "Oh he’s always doing that" To which I felt like saying "Maybe a little counseling wouldn’t go amiss then Madame, nip it in the bud." But I didn’t, once again my now slightly tender balls just weren’t up to it.

Oh and God made it rain from our kitchen ceiling, but that is another story for another day. I am exhausted, and Troy say’s he needs a break.
Love and kisses.