26 February 2011

Ganbare Tokyo!

As we all know, without really intending to, I have accumulated lots of sports jerseys. I like to get hold of rare ones (don't we all eh eh?) and the rarest of all are of course those of fictional teams. Yes you're right, some are easy to find; the shirts worn by the allies in Escape to Victory for example can be found with little effort, the German shirts a little more difficult I'll wager, but who'd want one of those? The sweaters worn by the Charlestown Chiefs in Slap Shot are also easy to find.

But now then, though, but, see...my favourite movie ever ever in the world ever is Rollerball so I'm currently on the look out for the Tokyo team Rollerball jersey. This is proving difficult not just because the teams in the movie are obviously fictional, but the whole friggin' sport is fictional so there is no market for replicas.

I've chosen the Tokyo team's jersey despite them being the bad guys with their sneaky karate and hipkido techniques that rendered poor Moon Pie brain dead when three or four of them pounced on him and stove his head in, because I look better in yellow and the Houston team ones are probably easier to find. I want the rarest of the rarest see.

Already however I've resorted to just having one made what with them not existing and everything. This is proving more of a challenge than I'd anticipated. The problem is the damn sleeves are a different colour to the rest of the shirt, so I'm drawing a blank with all those "customise your own t shirt type websites."

I'm having someone make one for me from scratch as we speak. I gave them my small telly as payment. This is what I do with my time. And I don't care who knows it.

If you haven't seen Rollerball by the way, I suggest you jolly well do. It's very Kubrick-esq Clockwork Orange, dystopian future, sinister classical music, glass and concrete architecture type stuff about the dangers of Corporate greed and that awful 70s organ music. Very prophetic stuff. Possibly the most under-rated movie ever in my opinion. Conversely the 2002 re-make is possibly the worst ever.

25 February 2011

Fill it out or there will be...trouble

Fill out your Census form, you have ten days to comply.

Non-Compliance is a sinister sounding accusation. By my way of thinking it should be reserved for Dictators who won't give up their weapons of mass destruction or rogue states who remain in breach of UN resolutions. It shouldn't be something a nice chap like me should ever be accused of. Not in this day and age anyway.

Back in the day if a patient didn't take the advice of his Doctors he was considered to be non-compliant, but that language was considered to be too dictatorial in nature and not consistent with the kind of harmonious relationship health care professionals should seek with their patients. These days the relationship is all about concordance. A much gentler cozier word I think you'll agree.

Non-compliance is very oppressive sounding and about subservience. Putting people in their place. People using such language should be in uniform and aim it at other people in uniform. That's what I always say. However I've come across this term twice this week. I've been warned twice about my own non-compliance! Because of this I've become very frightened and I was only able to get nine hours sleep yesterday.

If I don't get a TV license or fill in my 32-page Census form in March of this year I will be considered to be non-compliant. Non-Compliance officers will visit me and I will be re-educated! I will be as abhorrent as Saddam Hussein. If I don't fill this thing out I may as well have gassed the Womens Institute in the town centre.

I'm wondering in fact if the 2003 invasion of Iraq was because Saddam Hussein hadn't disclosed to the Office of National Statistics in the 2001 Census who exactly he's got living in his spare room in his plush penthouse in Mayfair.

To be fair they can all just get the f*ck out. I don't own a TV now and while the TVLA might find this incomprehensible they should remind themselves it's just a f*cking TV license we're talking here and doesn't warrant the kind of surveillance usually reserved for suspected terrorists to verify.

I'd also prefer that the Government respect my privacy and not treat me like Lord Haw-Haw because I don't want to tell them how healthy I am, who I've had staying in my house on any given night and when I last had a wank.

Apart from anything else, by the time they've collated all this information at a cost of £500m it'll be out of date anyway and will probably all be stored on unencrypted discs one of which will end up in an Avril Lavine CD case belonging to an ONS employee and left unguarded in their Fiat Punto.

That's um...his job though

New head master parachuted into a failing Primary school sacked after two days for being too draconian.

Quote from a mother with a child who attended said school, "Children were going to school afraid to do anything in case they got suspended. That’s not the way to make children behave."

In other words, "he made them behave and that's no way to make them behave." They're supposed to be afraid of getting suspended you stupid bloody woman. That's how making kids behave works. Terrify the little fuckers.

"It's not fair," shrieked another of the mothers waving her fists in the air. "My little Daniel got suspended but he's only punched that Roberts boy four times. I don't know why he done it, but it won't have been for no reason. He's a good boy, he's just got some learning difficulties." continued the hideous woman who appeared to be suffering from some sort of plague judging by the boils under her arm pits.

24 February 2011

Frankenstein's monster

Don't know what the deal is with Julian Assange. He's obviously a complex guy and by complex I mean messed up. This extradition business is of course a shocking state of affairs. But I'd be far more supportive of his case and all his leftie mates' protestations over this outrageous EU legal stitch up if they weren't the ones who built the EU in the first place.

If they hadn't accused Conservative minded people in this country of being ignorant xenophobes every time they objected to voluntarily handing over the Sovereignty of Britain to this unelected gargantuan bureaucratic monster, perhaps he'd still be a free man at the moment.

You can't go building monsters in the basement and then feel hard done by when it launches itself at you. Have these people not read Mary Shelley?

Where did it all go wrong?

Can't wait to get home for a nice piece of fruit: William Hague and
Christopher Myers reaching the summit of base camp.

What's the point of the Foreign Office now? No point really. We have no authority or standing to speak of in global politics anymore. We have no real armed forces, so the Foreign Office can only make speeches and ratchet up the rhetoric when nasty people do nasty things around the world.

William Hague as Foreign Secretary has essentially a non-job. It's a token position with no actual powers or authority, so with this in mind I'd have liked to see him show a little more back bone when responding to the recent criticisms from Labour and leftie arms of the media regarding the evacuation of ex-pats from Libya. What's he go to lose? Nowt.

Something along the lines of 'get the fuck out you cheeky bastards' was the order of the day. If people want to leave the UK to work in dangerous places for huge salaries and no taxes then fine, but don't expect the UK Government to bail you out when it all goes pear shaped.

If you want us to send some ships and planes to rescue you, then how about forwarding us a cheque first for some back-taxes to pay for it all? Otherwise good luck to you.

Sadly, none of this from Hague. Instead he's issued grovelling apologies and vowed to do better next time. I used to respect William Hague. He used to drink twenty pints of beer before work and shag women. But he's gone at the game since he started knocking about with the gayest man in Britain. Now he's a gibbering conflicted submissive wreck and if the rumours are true he's literally anybodies after two Babychams.

It's enough to make you weep.

Country music song of the day

Eric Church - Smoke a little smoke

Thursday's c**ts

What I'd like to know right, what I'd like to know, is why the fuck is Call me Dave in the Middle East? What's he think he's playing at visiting Egypt now? If he wants to look all statesmanlike why doesn't he go to Afghanistan and sort our mess of a war out before dealing with tribal squabbles in Africa that have nothing to do with us. Gaddafi I'm sure doesn't even know who David Cameron is.

I know Dave reads my blog cause I know his cleaner and she saw my URL in his history file when she was being nosy. So listen up..we are at war Dave. War! Guns, bombs, fighting, rations, soldiers etc. War. We are at war as we speak and you never ever talk about it. Perhaps this is why you seem to forget about it. Like how people lock their kids in their bedrooms while they're packing the car to go on holiday to keep them quiet and end up leaving without them.

I've never been able to understand how this Government or the previous one have been allowed to be so dismissive of the occurrences in Afghanistan. Why do our news media not constantly harass them about this? Cause they don't give a shit either I suspect. If it became a big deal they'd have to go out there too and we can't have that now.

We're obviously getting our arses whupped. If we were winning and Afghan civilians were constantly showering our troops with gifts and their jizz then it's all we'd hear about. As the opposite is true and the top brass are all just trying to figure out a way of retreating out of the place without admitting defeat, we don't hear a bean of news from the place.

I'm not asking for much, just something more than the 30 seconds or so Call me Dave uses before PMQs to announce the most recent dead and remind us how brave and courageous he thinks they all are. Utter c**t. The truth is he won't go anywhere really dangerous as there's too much risk of his face peeling off and the scaly terror beneath exposed to the world.

I hope he picked up some tips in Egypt on dealing with mass civil unrest as I suspect there's going to be some here in the not too distant future. It won't be long before everyone realises we're all doomed and aren't rich after all.

First people can't afford to full up their cars with petrol, then they can't afford to eat three times a day and that is when everyone will wake up. Oh yes. They say deprive a society of three meals and you'll have anarchy. It's especially true when half the nation is obese and can't go ten minutes without consuming a dozen doughnuts. I'm telling you, there's something in the breeze people and it's not one of my enchilada farts.

In unrelated news. Whisky drinkers can be quite snobby bitches can't they? Have you experienced whisky snobbery? It's quite nasty. I for example will tease people for drinking whisky with ice as it's very American, but I don't really care.

Whisky snobs do. They won't even let you drink it with coffee and cream which is of course yum. According to these people if you don't drink it neat you're a nancy boy and you don't really like it. If you have to add things to it you don't really like it, so just don't drink it they say.

Nonsense. Does that only apply to whisky? People add things to everything. They don't howl at people eating pizza for not just eating a block of cheese on its own. If you have to melt cheese on a pizza and add sausage and mushroom, then obviously you just don't like cheese so don't eat it.

I wonder sometimes what with all the c**nts in the world how my dander ever goes down I really do.

21 February 2011

Now then ...now now then. Now.

Yesterday's attempt to take down the Pigeons game was an exercise in futility and you know how much I hate exercises. Various ominous omens had presented themselves to me throughout the day, the most significant of which occurred on my way to the pub.

I got trapped in a car wash! Trapped like a rat squeak squeak squeak. I had significant bird poo on my car as it's that time of year when a murmuration of Starlings dumps a daily payload of some twenty tonnes of acidic shit on my street.

So,.. it's a standard car wash kind of deal. You type in your code, you drive into the thing, turn the engine off and sing along to Roxette while the huge rolls move up and down the car scratching your paint work to shit.

Only this time they didn't. They stopped half way up my windscreen and then the whole mechanism just stopped. Now bearing in mind a big shutter comes down at the front, the only way out at this point was to reverse out.

Had I been a woman I could have still been there now as to reverse out one also has to negotiate a tight 100˚ corner and slip into a parking bay, a manouever which is impossible to execute without mans brains. Frightening!

So anyway, I'm obviously very very traumatised by this as I'm very claustrophobic and I could have died. I also must have looked like a right cock.

So my mind was not focused on the game. Coupled with how shagged I feel at the moment, I'm quite proud of myself once the game started I was able to accomplish more than just wetting myself. Fun times.

Too much fun for one weekend in fact as it's the big house for me tomorrow. They won't be happy with me. It's a good job they don't have any beds available on their ward or any nurses or anything as they may have insisted I stay a while. Phew!

I'm OK with this however. While I treat myself at home I have a couple of weeks now to tweak my strategy some more and analyse the data I collected yesterday. I was bluffed for example by Stevie v.01 and it was of course imperative we figure out as soon as possible whether he just out played me or whether I was distracted by the loud clicking noise in my head and the warm sensation that was spreading in my groin.

To be fair, I've since run that hand through the computer and with a 2% margin for error it seems I played the hand no better than Policeman Paul's Alsatian. With this in mind I have agreed with myself that last night's Pigeons game and the car wash incident did not in fact happen. Further more, Arsenal did not draw with Leyton Orient either.

Brrrrrrrrr and FORGET!

20 February 2011

Tits tits tits

I've known Victoria Coren for years. When I say I've 'known' her, what I mean by that is I don't know her at all, I've just seen her on telly a lot these past ten years or so and read her book. But I've known many women like her in the real life I had before I became a recluse and only went outside when I needed a sandwich.

She's a fairly bog standard ugly duckling sort of story. An absolutely wretched looking package as a student who became a sort slutty swan later in life. Women who make this transformation often develop an insatiable lust for cock and a sexual appetite that rivals the one they once had for cake and chocolate.

As a student she'll have only be a last option. Like the spotty weedy kid who desperately wants to play football but always got picked last, Victoria Coren would have been the fat girl in the corner of the pub with a perfectly fuckable pouch under her gut, but who was only ever approached at chucking out time by blokes who had no joy with the nice looking girls.

Now though she enjoys an unfettered celebration of all things cock. Yet there is still the same vulnerability within her that would reduce the student Vicky to tears if she returned home on a Friday night without her breasts soaked in the ejaculated spunk of five or six members of the Bullingdon Club.

This I think can be the only reason she has been prattling on about Michael Winner all week. It's simply a thinly veiled opportunity to get people talking about her tits now that she's proud of them.

Someone who wasn't desperate for people to see them as attractive cockophiles wouldn't have even responded to the first Winner tweet.

Victoria however has made people who don't even know what Twitter is, aware that her tits are being openly discussed there. People who will now google pictures of her to look at her tits.

Job done Vicky, although at what price? For the first time ever Michael Winner has some how claimed the moral high ground.

19 February 2011

FA Cup upsets etc

I'm jolly glad there's no proper football on this weekend. I'm not ready for it. This week's Champions League success for Arsenal where by they slaughtered Barcelona has left me with a sort of post-coital tristesse. I shall probably not be properly prepared for real football for at least another week.

In the meantime I shall divert my attention this weekend to trying to identify where an upset might occur in the FA Cup. With the exception of Arsenal it looks like home wins all the way, which clearly won't happen so if we can identify where it won't happen we will win so much money we'll be able to afford heath insurance in the new world.

I fancy something will occur either at Stamford Bridge or St Andrews. Chelsea are still struggling to over the fact that they all hate each other. Team spirit at Chelsea exists only in the form of Roman Abramovic's stash of expensive Russian Vodkas. Chelsea also must have the Champions League next week in mind when they pick their side today no?

However, Everton are shit too. Chris David Moyes Moyles has some how created a reputation for himself as a solid British manager, when in fact he has no idea what he's playing at ever. Whether Everton win or not has nothing to do with Moyes. I think the weather has more of an influence on their games than he does. Given that it's going to rain today I might have a few quid on Everton.

Sheffield Wednesday might fancy their chances at Birmingham today too as according to my calculations Birmingham are so bad they could kill you if you watched the whole game. They are that disgusting. With this in mind I fancy a Wednesday/Everton double. And why not?

18 February 2011

Man makes permanent twat of himself

His blood so angried up by gaying, this man had Leviticus 18:22 tattooed on his arm: "[Thou] shall not lie with a male as one does with a woman. It is an abomination."

If only he'd have kept reading, as in the very next chapter, Leviticus 19:28 states: "Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you: I am the LORD."

He is now of course condemned to burn in hell for all eternity as a consequence of cherry-picking passages from the Bible that ostensibly validate his prejudices. Will people never learn. Kids.

17 February 2011


We are doomed. Doomed. I received a copy of the nation's accounts today following a freedom of information act. They arrived in two big vans and total some 4 billion pages. I haven't looked at them though, George Osborne's covering letter was enough. "Here they are," it read, "make of them what you will, I'm stuffed if I can make head nor tail of it."

In the end I did what George recommended and just through them in my spare room and pretended everything was fine and instead put the finishing touches to my new Chinese poker strategy for when I've busted out of Sunday's Pigeons game.

What I was able to determine is that it's all just a load of bollocks. The stuff the Chancellor says I mean. In real terms no one in the House of Commons has got a fucking clue what to do about this debt. It's so big they all just shit themselves when they go near it and wave their arms inthe air and think of something else.

To give you a classic example of the madness of it all, they ditch those Nimrods and sell them for scrap. This will save the Tax payer £2b they tell us. Meanwhile however, they cost us £4b and in the short time it took the Government to announce this decision we borrowed a further £3b and the interest on the debt rose by £800m.

By the end of the year we'll owe £1.1 trillion. Trillion, I didn't even think that was a real number before Labour came to power. I thought it was just a baby word for a huge amount, like gazillion. And this doesn't include things like pensions to civil servants and other nonsense which is future debt which has to be paid and amounts to a further £1 trillion!

Perhaps I haven't been looking in the right places, but where exactly are these savage cuts being made I keep hearing about? I hear proposals and howls of outrage at those proposals, but I can't actually recall any of them being implemented. Meanwhile we give India £200m in aid, a country which spends £800m on their own space programme.

We are still giving huge amounts of money to people to perform unnecessary jobs. There are "lesbian soap opera addiction support coordinators" being paid twice as much as nurses. Manchester council has a "Subbuteo safety officer" paid roughly the same as a Captain in the British Army after expenses.

We pay billions in benefits to people who claim to be too ill or too stressed out to work. Iain Duncan Smith's ideas of ending Benefits as a lifestyle choice is all well and good, but there's so many people dependent on them it'll be impossible for him to wean the nation off this addiction.

He'll be accused of being some sort of elitist baby killer and his policy will be watered down to something like well..ok carry on, but do please be honest about whether you can work.

Meanwhile the debt keeps rising and we all let it, because the bribes we accept from the Government with our own money are too big to turn down. Only, one day there won't be any bribes cause we won't be able to borrow any more money and even the Greeks will point at us and laugh.

That's not really the debt is it?: George Osborne yesterday

What a piece of luck!

Look at this trio of tantalising totty. I just accidentally clicked on a link to a bongo site when I meant to click on one for helping stray puppies find new homes, and there's an advert for a sex version of Facebook and all examples of the women I could meet just happen to be from Oxford!!

What are the chances that I would accidentally stumble upon a treasure trove of sexually liberal strumpets and they all be on my own door step? It's like winning the lottery of sex ....and a joke about bonus balls too, which I can't quite think of yet.

The one at the bottom is especially exciting as I had no idea Oxford had a beach! I thought we were as far from the coast as you could get in England, but from that picture we appear to have some gorgeous coast line.

I will obviously join this as soon as I'm horny again.

Catalonian human castle building

Casteller from Mike Randolph on Vimeo.

This is amazing, really stirring stuff in fact!! We of course could never enjoy such celebrations of strength and courage in Britain as it would contravene every health and safety regulation in the enormous book and make the country's weaklings and cowards feel inadequate.

16 February 2011

Russian of the day

Andrey Arshavin is the blog's Russian of the day and this surely makes him favourite to win the Russian of the week award for the 73rd successive week. Well done Andrey.

Wednesday's bastards

The politician I hate the most this morning is Andrew Lansley. His NHS reforms are a concern. Will I and many others in my position be considered too expensive by our GP consortia and surreptitiously abandoned and left wheezy and helpless to fend for ourselves, surviving on night nurse and casseroles?

Privatised health care was probably inevitable..but what gets my dander up is rather than just admit that this is ideological or necessary in his opinion, Angela Lansbury is insisting this is the right thing to do for patients and the "evidence" supports this. The evidence does not support this, and although this has been pointed out to him repeatedly, he hears but does not listen. Bastard.

The impending Liberal Democrat scandal probably revealing itself to the public this weekend won't even cheer me up. Unless maybe, ..if it's Chris "family is what matters most" Huhne I'll be very happy because that dude is a freakin' danger to us all.

Please the Lord our God, please let him have been caught with his cock in a pizza delivery boy before this eco-freak bankrupts us even more than we're already bankrupt with his harebrained green policies.

If he has his way we'll all be compelled to install wind turbines on our homes and fart into plastic bags, which will be collected weekly like rubbish, stored and made into electricity to power our homes using technology not available to us yet, but which we ought to be able to develop if we can put a man on the moon.

All of this because he believes this "consensus" nonsense means the science is settled and if we don't destroy the global economy with Green policies requiring a financial meltdown to implement, we might be dead in 10,000 years. Just the word 'consensus' angers me now more than Tottenham, or Islamophobia.

It's not of course because he's making truckloads of money from this scam. If an "overwhelming consensus" of scientists reported that research clearly shows that homosexuality was essentially an incurable hereditary disease, yet there was some evidence that those conclusions were utter shite - which side of the argument would people like Huhne and all of those infuriatingly self-satisfied leftie type comedian/Guardian columnists come down on?

In that instance I'm quite sure we'd all be hearing how the scientific consensus throughout history has been wrong many many times and how leaches were thought to cure diseases once and Galileo was almost executed for heresy.


15 February 2011

14 February 2011


Yesterday I watched the first three original Superman movies all in a row. Christopher Reeves, Brilliant. I have of course seen these films many many times before but it only struck me yesterday just what an utterly selfish wanker Lois Lane was.

Superman is the guardian of the entire planet. With his powers he can maintain peace on Earth, he can avert natural disasters and unlike Premier League footballers he never gets injured for tax purposes.

He meets Lois though and it all gets fucked up. Typical fucking woman fucking it all up for everyone. Superman declares his undying love for her and because he can't have a girlfriend and have superpowers at the same time, I think because of how powerful his cock is, he has to sacrifice his powers to be with her!!

Silly man of course letting his cock do his thinking...but though..but....SHE FUCKING LETS HIM.

Lois sees him explaining to his Mam that he wants to be mortal and forgo his destiny to save planet Earth from itself, so he can have Lois as his girlfriend and Lois stands by and lets him do it because she thinks in her tiny little mind that she's worth all that.

She doesn't say, wooooo Superman, look I'm flattered but let's look at the bigger picture here. The whole planet needs you and our relationship just doesn't amount to a hill of beans by comparison. The chase is better than the catch etc etc. Why don't I just give you a blowie?

No, she just stands there and watches him demolecularise himself and says well Gee, I can't believe you did that for me. I don't think she even says thank you.

I mean Jaysus, I'm inconsiderate sometimes, but women are fucking mental the way they can do that!

What did you do this weekend?

Why Premier League football is not taxing

*Anyone with an interest in Premier League football in this country must surely have wondered many times how such finely tuned athletes can be so fragile. Didier Drogba, Wayne Rooney, Fernando Torres, Steven Gerrard, Robin van Persie to name but a few...all enormous men at the peak of physical fitness, yet they all seem to spend more time in treatment clinics in Santa Barbara than Charlie Sheen.

Why people? Why?

Well..up until this morning all I knew for sure was there was something more to this than meets the eye. They couldn't all have the pain threshold of Elton John. This morning one of my agents, a black Labrador puppy called Snapper, sent me a dossier which exposes the truth behind this trend of mysterious long term injuries amongst elite players and explains in detail why the likes of Wayne Rooney are such dreadful twats.

Disillusioned: Snapper yesterday

The truth is these injuries do not exist. Of course they don't. The reason these players are visiting orthopedic clinics in Germany and the USA for such extended periods throughout the season (when there are perfectly good specialists in this country) and more recently, why Wayne Rooney was allowed to enjoy holidays in Dubai and America, is to allow them to manouevere their way around the UK's complicated taxation laws, essentially qualifying them for a sort of non-dom status thus avoiding paying the 50p tax rate.

This is a deal clubs have made with players in order to prevent a mass exodus to Spain where taxes are something you just sort of pay if you feel like it. In order to avoid losing half their salaries before their bank accounts have even received them, players have to be out of the country for 183 days of the year, plus lie a lot about some other stuff and pretend to be their own wives on occasions.

This is why players are less likely to back out of meaningless friendlies abroad and why no English team wants to draw Rangers in the group stages as it's one less opportunity to be out of Britain. And obviously because Glasgow gives you nightmares.

Physios are drafted in to clubs to create nondescript injuries that have no clear time scale for rehabilitation. This explains why broken bones are actually rare in the game despite how ostensibly fragile these players seem to be an how physical the game has supposedly become.

The heeling period for a broken bone is too specific, there is no scope for the player to "break down in training." Much better to be plagued by strains, sprains, pulls and tweeks..that can occur any time of the financial year and take months to heal.

As we speak the 5 most common injuries sustained by the highest earning players last year were; Hamstring strain, sprained ankle, knee cartilage tear, hernia (including sore cock) and anterior cruciate ligament thingy. All injuries that can take anything from a couple of weeks to half a season to heal and even then, rarely is the player considered 100% fit.

A what!?: Torres suffers an anterior cruciate ligament pull strain, one
of the most common injuries amongst the game's elite players since
50p rate of tax was introduced.

The implications of these financial gymnastics of course mean many many elite footballers are, as we suspected, dreadful twats. Dreadful dreadful greedy twats. But as long as the taxation system for the ultra-wealthy remain the same, I'm afraid they will remain dreadful greedy twats until the game collapses under the weight of it's own debts and it's played once again by men called Wilf who work second jobs as dustbin men and smoke at half-time.

*all of this was made up by me this morning when I couldn't sleep so got up early.

12 February 2011

A taxing situation for Harry Redknapp

I'm gonna go ahead and lay Harry Redknapp in the next England manager market.

Tee hee

Good money after bad

I can only assume if Manchester City remain true to form that this derby game will send everyone to sleep. They'll be focused on not losing so will defend in numbers in the hopes of eeking out a nil-nil draw and then claim afterwards they'd be worthy Champions. Piffle.

With this in mind I'm having a few quid on a penalty being awarded. The referee by my way of thinking will have no choice but to award United a spot kick if it becomes clear they don't have the ability to break down City's wall of defenders.

In other games, we hope to recoup our loses on the Mubarak departure bets from last week, by betting heavily on Andrey Arshavin - the blog's Russian of the week - to score in 90 minutes today in Arsenal's game against Wolves. We've also layed Totterington on the assumption they'll be more focused on next week's Champions League game and also layed Aston Villa.

I'm very tired as we speak which means I hate everyone and everything and I can only conclude that Jamie Redknapp sat next to Dwight Yorke in the Sky Sports studio punishing my intelligence with their inane verbal guff are the Gods' way of pushing me and I don't like to be pushed.

10 February 2011

So much for the happy ending

I know the good people of Egypt read my blog, although not at the moment, so I say this with the greatest of respect and not in anyway meaning to make light of their struggle for a freer more democratic society, but in real terms it has to be said it was a bit naive of them to assume Mubarak would resign because they wanted him to and told him so in great numbers.

I'm no expert on Egyptian history or politics of course, not like all these people in the papers who insist on giving us their opinion, but I do know that when an Autocrat has built up a fortune of some £40b from plundering his nation's treasures and has a military paid for by the United States, they tend to be harder to remove than the red stain from cricket whites after keenly contested test match.

Notice that when the guy in charge is a Western puppet it's up to the Egyptian people to decide their own fate. When the dude in charge is not an ally of the West, as in Iraq and Afghanistan, we have a moral duty to step in and sort these despots out and set the people freeeeee.

The problem with this protest of course is there's no one actually leading it. They don't have a sort of Nelson Mandela type figure at head to take speak to the media, and explain the point of the protest and most importantly to take over from Hosni Mubarak.

So really it's a battle of wills and Mubarak will win. He's just got to wait it out and he's playing it perfectly. Sooner or later these people will have to go back to work, they'll get bored or frustrated and drift off in twos and threes.

Mubarak has a £40b to finance his resistance. He has more motivation than any one individual Egyptian and he has more incentive to try to and outlast the protesters. He can continue to use police brutality and bribery to slowly but surely strangle this entire protest and there's nothing anyone can really do about it.

The Western media of course should be ashamed of themselves for their part in this, feasting on this like some sort of blood sport...you know they don't care about these people, they're all just secretly praying for a massacre.

9 February 2011

Mexico v Bosnia and Herzogovina

In what must surely be one of the most random of International friendlies in recent memory, Mexico will play Bosnia AND Herzogovina at the same time in the Georgia Dome in Atlanta, US of States.

Not the most glamorous first fixture for Mexican of the Day and new national team manager Chepo de la Torre, and quite a novelty playing two teams at once, but one they should at least win as the cycle begins again for el Tri to finally make it past the Quarter final stages of the World Cup.

Most of the Bosnian and Herzogovina squads haven't been allowed into the USA because of various passport issues including Manchester City's new £27m striker Edin Džeko so their 15 man squad includes the kit man and coach driver so I expect Mexico to enjoy 75% possession and win 1-0.

The Mexican squad is still a lopsided bunch, with the average age of the strikers being about 22 and the defense and midfield about 29. The maxim, 'If Javier Aguirre doesn't even want you then you must be bad,' is never truer when applied to poor Luis Pérez, so his inclusion in the squad is an unnerving one, but maybe he's a concession on the part of el Tri as they felt bad for Bosnia and Herzogovina not having their full squad available.

Carlos Vela and Efraín Juárez are still banned from the squad following their interaction with a hooker nicknamed "finger-cuffs" by the squad at a party in Monterrey last season after the national team's win against Colombia.

The goals for the year are clear...win the Gold Cup and the Copa América although the latter competition will have to won with a squad of players who don't shave yet because of silly FIFA rules that forces them to play the under 19's or something weird and only 5 senior players.

Let the games begin. Viva Mexico!

7 February 2011

TV or not TV

Over the past few weeks I've tried to keep a record of what I watch on television to try and give me a realistic idea of how often I watch it because there's something on I really want to watch as opposed to just being too lazy to do something more constructive. My records do not make for good reading. But rather than not read them and watch telly instead I'm going to accept their findings.

I do not need a television. And the £930 a year I spend to watch it and cause irreparable damage to my poor brain could be better invested in my health if I spent it on crack. Not once over the past few weeks have I switched my TV on because there was something specific on I wanted to watch. I just switch it on and sit there watching and watching and watching.

Television is surely addictive. Possibly more so than heroine and just as difficult a habit to break. It has destroyed my ability to read a book properly because I have the attention span of a nine year old who only eats candy floss and also because television has made me uncomfortable with silence.

This is an appalling state of affairs. Silence is golden as the saying goes and it should be cherished, but television has made silence feel uncomfortable, probably because on TV it is usually followed by something horrific and loud.

And it's not just simply a matter of turning the thing off anyway. It's the canceling of subscriptions and the actual removing of the equipment from ones property that adds to the difficulty in beating ones TV habit.

Take for example the canceling of the TV license. Just cancel your direct debit and email into the TV license people that you no longer have a TV yes? Noooo. From what I understand it's no where near as simple as this and I can expect a letter once a month every month for a least the rest of my life...computer generated letters in various serious looking colours Blacks, reds, yellows that don't actually have any legal powers behind them...but still quite annoying nonetheless and the assumption of guilt over innocence which is always an insult.

Sky TV are even worse. Just trying to get through to the cancellation of subscription desk is designed to be a test of wills. It's all about whether I'll get through to someone before I lose the will to live. And even when you get through to one of those women you've got to say no to all their enticing discounts they offer you to remain as a customer before you're allowed to escape their clutches.

'We can offer you a six month free subscription sir, and my colleague Tiffany and I will come over and lick custard off your ball sack." ARRGHHHHHHH nooooooooooooooo I want to cancel my subscript... Oh fuck it OK then, I'll see you tomorrow. If Ulysses thought those Sirens were hard to resist he ought to try canceling his Sky subscription.

One has to proceed with caution. The best way to approach this mammoth task is to ditch your actual equipment first then all their offers of discounts and manual relief can be refused relatively painlessly. Although to be fair when your TV weighs the same as a small horse even this is easier said than done.

It's a long road, but even the longest journeys begin with a single step. I will begin my journey this evening by not watching telly and spending the time instead trying on all of my hats.

6 February 2011

Peter Piper picks the Packers

I slept through all of Saturday so it might as well of not happened. Probably nothing interesting happened anyway so there's no need for me to look at the papers or watch the news. Just get on with Sunday and look forward to the Super Bowl and stuff.

I still don't know who I want to win tonight. I don't like Pittsburgh. It's America's Sheffield plus Pennsylvania has all those weird Amish people and they're just the creepiest people this side of Ultra-Orthodox Jews with those silly hats and dangly bits of hair. What's orthodox about dressing like that? Especially when you're only 10.

Anyway I digress. I also don't like Wisconsin cause all the worst serial killers seem to come from there and I've never liked cheese. I mean I'll have it melted on a sammich, but those people eat big blocks of it I think. No wonder they're all so angry. Probably never been for a good shit in their whole lives.

Given that we're talking about 100,00 serial killers and religious fruit baskets big on incest and horses invading Dallas which is already home to a few million crazies, you wonder if the NFL have really thought this through. It could be a blood bath.

I do like to pick a team to root for, but it is a tricky one. However, since Mike Wilbon AND Paulie two Thumbs have tipped Pittsburgh I think I'll pick the Packers. And cause that's almost a tongue twister. He often picks quite poorly so I'll pick the Packers to pepper Pittsburgh and pickle two thumbs Paulie.

The end.

4 February 2011

It's not funny because it's not funny

Jeremy Clarkson just doesn't get it

Here's the thing that offends me about Jeremy Clarkson; he thinks he's funny, but he's not. He has a psuedo-sense of humour if you will. He doesn't get what funny is and I believe this is why his interpretation of what's funny causes so much offense. That and being such an ugly bigot.

Having no sense of humour coupled with his bigotry and fancying himself as some sort of crusader for the anti-PC cause makes for such an unpleasant man you have to wonder how he's so popular. The reason of course does not reflect well on the nation.

Jeremy Clarkson said you can't have humour without offense. This is demonstrably not true and symptomatic of his inability to understand anything you can't put petrol in. Good quality comedy just has to be original, spontaneous and intelligent. Some offensive jokes are very funny, but the offensive part is usually either ironic or necessary for the joke. Jeremy Clarkson is just offensive for the sake of being offensive.

His entire sense of humour revolves around perpetuating stereotypes of various groups of people. Green campaigners, feminists, the disabled, etc etc. Usually it's nationalities though, usually the Germans. The Germans reek of sausage, Mexicans are always asleep, the French don't wash and the Italians are cowards and so on..

Everyone has prejudices of course and it's silly to take the moral high ground over them. But we must understand purely from a comedic point of view that stereotypes are not funny. They're not funny because by definition they're not original as they're just the repetition of various caricatured foibles and they're also not intelligent as anyone can repeat something they've heard somewhere else. And they can't be spontaneous either.

Perpetuating stereotypes is comedy cheating in my opinion. It's lazy and cheap and a lower form of wit than sarcasm. Clarkson's crimes against humour are worse in fact than those of Bob Monkhouse. He was an awful man. Awful. Someone so desperate for fame he was prepared to do anything to achieve it.

Bob Monkhouse had no sense of humour so he simply chose to memorise about 50,000 jokes. He had massive joke books and he'd pour over them each night so that no matter what the conversation he'd always have an amusing joke ready that fit the subject.

This gave the impression of spontaneity, but was the complete opposite. Eventually the general public couldn't take it anymore and someone volunteered to bust into his house and steel his joke books. He was devastated of course because he appreciated the consequences. This rendered him jokeless. It's no coincidence he died soon after.

It is for similar reasons Jeremy Clarkson is so vociferous about political correctness. He knows it is the panacea for his sense of humour. Without the freedom to remind us the Australians are descendants of criminals he'd only have his knowledge of cars to fall back on which is fine when he's presenting Top Gear, but would render him speechless in all other walks of life.

It is for this single reason I can't quite muster the same howls of outrage over political correctness as the rest of the nation.

Friday round up

A protester in Egypt who is not Cesc Fabregas
despite what David Moyes would have you believe.

What's happening to the world? It's all gone cwazy. The Middle East is imploding, America is freezing and depending on who you listen to, Queensland in Australia is either sinking because of man made global warming or being punished by the Lord for decriminalising homosexuality in the 1990s.

On that last one in fact, according to my calculations it's 7% more likely to be God's punishment than AGW, but that's a discussion for another day. Here in the Englands it's very very windy and I'm just now hearing that the Subway place has run out of Chipotle Southwest sauce just as I've discovered a taste for it. What the hell is going on man?

Everything was OK in the world up to about 1982 when Argentina invaded the Falklands. I was 7 years old. My school work was good, I was popular, I was also probably the best player of 'Junior Angler' in the world.

Then after April when the Argies invaded everything seemed to go wrong not just in my life but with the whole world.

There was the unfortunate business with Sarah Colley and my subsequent exiling to the naughty table.

This in turn meant I lost touch with friends, I lost my sparkle and with it my interest in Junior Angler. I went off the rails quite frankly and I was never really the same. And as if I was some sort of physical embodiment of everything, the world also began to break apart.

Despite the defeat of the filthy Argies I don't think the UK was ever the same and because the UK set the tone for the World, the entire globe suffered. It's all the fault of Sarah Colley. Everything we're witnessing now can be regressed back to my time in Primary School and Sarah Colley telling tales. Bitch.

* * *

I've just been putting together the final touches to my new Pigeons game strategy. As I've mentioned on twitter it's an avian based strategy this week quite apt for the location. This week I'll be looking to better utilise the Canary raise and the Cuckoo squeeze in conjunction with paying attention and looking at my cards.

Canaries as we know were once used in the mining industry to test dangerous mines for noxious fumes. They'd send them down the shafts and if when they pulled them out they were still alive, they'd know it was safe to send humans.

A canary raise works in much the same way and is a part of the feeler bet family of bets, but can also be used pre-flop out of position while holding junk. If not met with resistance we can then assume it's safe to send in a proper wager on later streets.

We'll also be seeking to deploy the Cuckoo raise, which is essentially a slow played hand or a squeeze bet but with a funnier name. A tactic I haven't used often enough. Cuckoos as we know don't build their own nests they just take nests built by other birds.

In a poker context we essentially let other players bet for us and when they have built the pot to a sufficiently large level, we swoop in and steal it.

I see no reason why I shouldn't win, but in case we don't I've prepared a back up strategy based around traditional biscuits.

* * *

The inaugural 'Puto de la semana' award on the side bar has been fiercely contested. Richard Hammond, Sally Bercow and Bill O'Reilly are all equally deserving, but I have decided to award it to David Moyes.

Mostly because his moment of whoredness has lasted all week. Indeed it's continuing as we speak with his whiny Fabregas complaints. Keep going you ginger whore and you might win it next week too.

You're all in it together

"Good morning comrade children, I'm here to explain why key investments I made while I was in Government mean you're all £35,000 in debt."

3 February 2011

Sally Bercow trying too hard say Psychologists

Every man in Great Britain rolled his eyes and tutted this evening as Sally Bercow once again confused playful flirting with being a slag. The 6ft 8, 52 year old media whore failed to raise so much as an eye brow let alone a cock with her bed sheet photo-shoot in Thursday's Evening Standard.

Black cab driver Daniel Walker told me, "Sorry Sal, you've got three kids love, underneath that bed sheet we all know your twat is sagging like a Wizard's sleeve."

Husband and House of Commons speaker John Bercow (4ft 10) is said to be furious no one really fancies his wife no matter how accessible she makes herself to men in the area.

A source inside the Commons emailed into me revealing Bercow is utterly dumbfounded that most blokes would actually rather have a crack at Betty Boothroyd who is 81 instead of his wife! Psychologists say she is simply trying too hard.

Professor of Sex Leroy DelRodney from London University College explained, "It's all about the chase with the hos. That's the thing that gets a n***er hot. We want what we can't have. It's no fun when a bitch falls over with her legs in the air, you know what I'm saying."

Former Commons speaker Betty Boothroyd was unavailable for comment tonight, which just made the country want her more.

The truth behind Gary's tash

Gary Neville's body can't produce testosterone properly. This was the rather bizarre revelation my source in Manchester tapped out to me in morse code this morning before being gunned down by a member of the Manchester United secret police.

Apparently before every game the club physio gives him testosterone injections and a couple of packets of fruits pastilles and just lets him go. If they're playing Liverpool or Arsenal they'll also get him down a pint of Lucozade.

This is the reason why he's always got a little tash that won't ever develop into a full beard and why he is prone to completely uncontrollable and unpredictable fits of wild aggression. Indeed Neville has become more famous for his badge kissing crotch grabbing displays of fury towards the opposing supporters than for being any good at the game.

Fruit Pastilles, said to aid circulation, have also been prescribed by Doctors
women as an alternative to Hormone Replacement Therapy

The most famous example of course being at Old Trafford in 2006 against Liverpool. The teams were trooping off at half-time when suddenly Neville turned on his heels, sprinted all the way over to the corner of the stadium which held the Liverpool supporters and for ten embarrassing minutes french kissed the badge on his shirt, aggressively cupping his testicles and counting on his fingers how many Championship medals he had won while his embarrassed team mates and 70,000 United fans looked on in bemusement.

What the fuck did you do that for!?: David Beckham and Ryan Giggs poke fun at Gary Neville
after another of his inexplicable badge kissing routines towards a female steward
during a charity match of Manchester United's 2004 pre-season tour of Norway.

2 February 2011

Bring the ship about!!

Cyclone Yasi on it's way to Western Australia. Eek!

David Moyes tells on Cesc

I know David Moyes doesn't read my blog because he doesn't like bad language but it needs to be said that telling tales after school is really not kool. I say this not because I'm an Arsenal man and Cesc Fabregas is the second most beautiful man in the world after Andrey Arshavin, but because I hate tell tale tits and I hope Moyes never has another penny of lunch money to spend for the rest of his life.

We all know if Arsenal had been gifted a goal at Goodison by the referee Everton would have reacted the same way. Moyes really could have just let this go and focused on more pressing concerns for his team thus behaving in a manner more befitting a Premier League manager of any note. If he spent as much time coaching as he does being a rat faced spragger Everton might not be quite so shit and may even have won last night.

Because of swatty little fuckers like Moyes I spent the whole of my last year at Primary school on the naughty table with Toby Hawes, David Buckingham and a posh lad called Graham Foster who even at the age of 9 was incredibly racist - once being sent home from a school trip in the New Forest for refusing to eat with a n*gger (his words) - a West Indian girl from one of the other schools. I'm afraid that's true too. His father was a Wing Commander however so no wonder.

Listening to David Moyes last night telling tales about Cesc Fabregas swearing at teacher..I was immediately regressed back to that hellish final year at Gateway Primary school in 1984 and Sarah Colley telling on me for making the V-sign behind Mrs Adam's back.

From that moment on I was condemned to spend the rest of my time in Primary school helping Toby Hawes open his fucking pencil case and listening to Graham Foster's rants about why the gypsie kid in our class was going in the oven next time we got to bake ginger bread men.

Is it any wonder I am who I am?

The end.