Spelling Bee(yatch!)

The other day, whilst [while] walking down a supermarket aisle, I passed a couple having a quiet, yet heated conversation.

‘This should be interesting’, I thought, as I passed them….slowly.

“It’s e-a-t-E-n”, said the guy.

“Uh uh, no”, his other half said dismissively, “it’s e-a-t-A-n”.

“No baby, i’m telling you, it’s e-a-t-E-n”, he repeated with a slight chuckle in his voice.

This didn’t go down well with her.

Not well at all.

It was at this point she did that thing so many of my exes have done to me in the past when out in public; she raised her voice slightly in an attempt to embarrass her man in front of an audience….or, in this case, the slow, shuffling Brit who was taking far too much interest some nearby canned goods.

“Mmm-hmm, sure baby; whatever you say, but you is wrong![sic], she retorted, clearly convinced she wasn’t.

She was.

Besides, the correct spelling is ‘c-r-E-t-i-n’.

Stupid on both sides

It’s really quiet in the office this morning.

All that can be heard is the tapping of keyboards and that angry/sleepy silence that can only be brought on by being at work at 6-fucking-30 in the morning.

The soothing silence was eventually broken by one of my colleagues asking a question to anyone who was listening…..or awake.

“Does ‘two sided’ mean ‘on both sides’?”

If it was at all possible, the silence got even quieter. You could hear a pin drop…..in London.

I replied (naturally), “Hmm, well, let’s think about it. Does two sided mean both sides? Whew, that’s a tough one…”

“I realize1 now, that was a stupid question.”, he replied.

Yes, yes it was.

1 Not a typo; he’s American.

The Accidental Sexist

I was just on Facebook and one of those annoying links came up that challenged:

‘If You Know The Meaning Of These 16 Words, You Have A 150+ IQ’

OK, I’ll bite“, I thought to myself.

So I bit and clicked the link.

I got all 16 words correct (naturally) and was heralded a genius (obviously), which was nice.  But to be honest, it was pretty easy…any idiot could have done it.

Then I noticed the website name:

http://www.women.com

Uh oh.

Wait….did this website cause me to have a sexist thought?  It most certainly did.  For the tiniest of nanoseconds, my thought was ‘So, is it easier because it’s aimed at women?

That’s not a good thought to have.  It’s also not a great thought to share on a blog either!

Hmm, maybe my I.Q. isn’t as high as I thought.

I would like to say at this point that I’m not sexist.  If anything, the website was sexist by pandering to its readers, right?

Right?

>crickets<

Maybe this clickbait quiz was designed to have men go through what i’m going through and question their views on the better sex?

(Yes, I’m grovelling for forgiveness here).

But in all seriousness, I’m not a sexist guy; women are awesome.1  In fact, now I think about it, all my girlfriends have been female.

Every single one.

My wife’s a woman too.  I checked.

I’ve never considered women to be inferior to men (except for their inability to see the difference between DVD and BluRay picture quality which is SO annoying! Come on….look at the crispness of the image and how clear each pixel is when you….no, no I’m not going to get into this now), so was the website subtly imposing sexism on me?

Was I sexist by proxy?  Was it designed to make us men think about sexism?  Was the quiz actually difficult and I am, in fact, a monumental genius?

Whatever the case, I’m sleeping on the sofa tonight when my wife reads this.2

1 – Except a couple of my ex-girlfriends; they were a fucking nightmare!

2 – Not really.  My wife is not that type of person. She’s amazing! 3

3 – Yep, still grovelling.

Another Swing and a miss.

I saw an advert on TV that was promoting Michael Buble’s new album.

Fair enough. 

Christmas is coming and the housewives are getting restless; it makes sense.

At the end it said “Available wherever music is sold

Well, obviously.

Where else are they going to sell it?

“Er yeah, hi, I’ll have a Big Mac meal with a large milkshake please….oh, and the new Michael Buble album”

How fucking retarded do they think we are?  What happened to ‘Out Now’ or ‘Available in Stores’?

Nope, apparently we need to be told it’s available wherever music is sold.

After years of asking, Mr B….I’ve decided I WILL cry you that river.

Pardon my French…er, I mean American.

Last week I was walking behind an American woman who was holding hands with her young daughter and talking to two young French girls.  She was asking them about France and how to say certain words in French.

As I got closer I heard:

“So, how do ya’ll say ‘Camden‘ in French?”

There was a pause as the two girls looked at each other bemused, and then turned slowly back to the woman.

One of them replied:

“Er, Camden eez ze name of a market in London, no?”

Woman “Uh huh” said the woman, not getting it; “So how do y’all say it in French?”

There was another pause as the French girl tried to decipher if there was something she missed, or a meaning she hadn’t considered…or if it was simply a stupid fucking question.

Finally she looked back at the woman and gave the only answer she possibly could.

“Camden”

The French have another word that’s the same as English.

Imbécile.
Really dumb

When puddings turn bad

I was in the break room at work making coffee when one of the senior managers burst through the door.  He was quite flustered and started talking loudly to one of the customer service team who thought they were going to be having a quiet coffee break.

They were wrong.

He was talking (or half shouting) about an on-going complaint we’d received from a customer who had become seriously ill whilst on holiday.

“Apparently it’s semolina poisoning!” he half shouted.

I stopped making drinks, turned and smiled, “Did you just say semolina poisoning?”

He turned to me with a face of genuine, serious concern.

“Yes”

“Really? Semolina poisoning?”

“Yes!”

Ok then.  I won’t argue.  Your education probably cost more than mine.

salmonella

Literally figurative

One of the girls at work is feeling a little under the weather today.  She has come out with some choice comments [1].

Firstly we had:

“What is sneezing, exactly?”

This was later followed up with:

“D’you know what?  After this cold is gone, I’m really going to appreciate my nose”

Then we got:

“D’you know what I can’t wait to do tonight?  Have a shower and blow my nose in my hands”

But the worst had to be:

“Oh my god, I feel like shit.  I am literally dying”

Bad use of grammar always grits my shit.

She wasn’t literally dying.  Not unless you count the fact that, technically, we’re all dying from the moment we’re born.

But, let’s be honest, she didn’t mean it like that

No, she was saying that her grim demise was fast approaching solely because of her cold.

This misuse of the word ‘literally’ really bothered me because it simply wasn’t true.

So I stabbed her.

stabby

[1] Bollocks

What I really think of Pandas

Pandas are idiots.

panda-fail

  • “What did you just say?  Are you mad?”    
  • “Pandas are cute and cuddly and adorable!”   
  • “They look like oversized teddy bears”
  • “Coochicoochicoo”

No, sorry; you’re all wrong.  Pandas are idiots.

Don’t misunderstand me, they DO look cute but it’s all a lie; a ruse to shield you from the fact that they are unfathomably stupid, fat, bamboo chewing twats.

How can we add any level of credibility to a species that simply won’t procreate?  How hard can it be?  (Pun intended)

Their species is endangered (no surprises there) and it seems we work hard to get a boy panda and a girl panda together for some serious (and often heavily televised) jiggy jiggy.

And do they get funky with each other?  No.

The female panda usually rejects the male panda for some stupid reason or another, blah blah blah….

Have you ever watched the news reports on these ‘stories’?  The reporter delivers it with an ‘ahh, isn’t it cute and adorable’ smile, but their lifeless eyes tell a different story.  They’ve died inside; died I tell you.  Their career has hit rock bottom and they know it.

Yet there they stand with their manufactured smile and microphone in hand.

“Ling Ling is still rejecting Ping Ping after her 12th day with him”.

If you ask me, Poor Ping Ping isn’t getting Ling Ling on his ding-a-ling.  I feel for him, I really do.

Eats shoots and leaves?  My arse.

And of course these big, fat, hairy mimes have no idea they’re endangered.  But that shouldn’t make a difference.  It’s just hardwired into the male of a species to pork the female of the same species (unless the male is a dog and the female is your leg).

Are we flogging a dead horse when we have to artificially inseminate a female panda with the sperm from a male panda that is sat 12ft away playing with his perfectly functioning dick?

panda-play

That’s not right is it?

Also, we gloss over the poor person who had to wank* off the male.

Ha ha, ‘gloss over’.

“What do you do for a living mate?”

“I’m a wanker”

Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.  Maybe we’ve overlooked something obvious?  What about putting the female in some sexy underwear?  What about a little mood lighting and Lionel Ritchie?

panda-bra

Nope, straight to the plastic syringe full of panda paint.

Not once have I suggested to my wife that we get out the turkey baster.  If I did I’d end up looking like a panda.

But seriously, alarm bells should be ringing here.  These creatures either WANT to be extinct, or are simply too stupid to save.

They say that pandas don’t know how to procreate because they ‘haven’t been shown’, but that’s got to be complete bollocks, surely?  I saw a documentary once that had a TV in the panda enclosure showing a DVD on how to procreate.

Yes, that’s right, it was playing panda porn!

I pity the cameraman on that gig.

panda-porn

This creature has more sexual hang-ups than a bondage dungeon.

It just grates on me that so much time, effort, money, paperwork and stress goes into getting two pandas together from opposite ends of the globe, only for the female to take one look at the male and say “nah”.

Typical woman.

Although, when you think about it, maybe the female panda is turned off by the fact that the boy panda looks exactly like her. That would make sense.  After all, who actually goes and fucks themselves when asked to?

Not enough people in my opinion.

By this reasoning, any pandas that DO mate successfully are therefore either incredibly vain, borderline narcissistic or mentally unhinged.

Put a mirror in the enclosure and sit back.

Stupid pandas.

tree-panda

*jerk

Are we becoming a nation of idiots?

In the past I used to believe that America was home to some of the dumbest people on the planet.  After all, they have no clue about anything outside America and their grasp of sarcasm and humour (or ‘humor’) is as tight as a slut’s vagina.

But after meeting my wife, who is from Las Vegas, I’ve had a lot more exposure to them (Americans, not sluts’ vaginas) and I’ve come to realise that this belief isn’t true.  I mean, it’s true of a lot of Americans, but it’s not fair to tar them all with the same brush.

Since my wife came to England I’ve started seeing the country through her eyes and cracks are beginning to form.  I’m slowly noticing that we are a lot more flawed as a nation than I realised, or cared to admit.  It’s like peeking behind the curtain at a magic show to see levers, pulleys and a white rabbit taking a colossal dump into a top hat.

England is also home to some of the dumbest people on the planet.

Case in point:

Last night, on the London Underground, my wife and I got off the train at Victoria station and shuffled with the masses towards the two upward escalators leading to the surface.  There were two guys in front of us and as we approached the escalators, one of the guys took the left escalator and the other took the right.

Neither of us paid any attention until one of the guys started talking to the other.  With a distance of around six feet between them and the combined noise of the escalator and the throng of chatting commuters, I should say one started shouting to the other.

Guy 1 – “So what happened next?”

Guy 2 – “What?”

Guy 1 – “I SAID, WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?”

Guy 2 – “Oh, right. Well she decided she was going to work Saturday instead”

Guy 1 – “She was going to what?”

Guy 2 – “PARDON?”

Guy 1 – “SHE WAS GOING TO WHAT?”

Guy 2 – “WORK SATURDAY INSTEAD!”

Guy 1 – “AH, I THOUGHT SHE MIGHT”

Guy 2 – “WHAT?”

I couldn’t believe it.  These two guys were together!  It wasn’t that busy in the station which meant they weren’t herded accidentally onto separate escalators; they’d CHOSEN to do that.

I looked back at my wife who was staring at them in disbelief.  She looked back at me, rolled her eyes and mouthed the words “Why the fuck?”

As we reached the top of the escalator my wife shared her thoughts with me.

For fuck’s sake England!

When an American living here rants about the sheer stupidity of people around her, it’s time to sit up and pay attention.

england fail

Train’d Monkeys

Over the years I’ve noticed a few habits adopted by the idiots I’m forced to endure every day on the trains (or ‘commuters’ as they’re better known).  A lot of these habits have become such commonplace that I usually can’t be bothered to blog about them, or I simply forget.

However, this morning there were three happening all at once and my Punch-O-Meter’s needle was twitching in the red zone.

Punchometer

See?

Dangerously close.

So I’m taking time out to vent about these habits that leave me craving the sweet sound of knuckles on face.

 

1. The Multitasker

This is the person who, whilst having a conversation with someone else on the train, is also reading their phone or tablet.  Even though they’re (thankfully) not talking to me, it’s still really rude and they don’t make any attempt to hide it.

checking texts

It’s bad enough that they’re flapping their jaws while I’m trying to sleep or watch a movie, but to be doing it and not remaining committed to the conversation they’re having is like getting a drum kit for your birthday and then playing it out of rhythm, like Yugoslavian Jazz. 

If you’re going to annoy me at least have the decency to do it properly.

 

2. Casual Viewers

I’m a bit of a viewing Nazi when it comes to TV and movies.  If you’ve made a decision to sit down and watch something, then sit the fuck down and watch it. There are certain things you should never do, especially when I’m in the vicinity.

These include:

  • Talking to me.
  • Talking to someone else.
  • Talking at all.
  • Using your phone (for ANYTHING!).
  • Leaving the room without pausing it (at home obviously)
  • Eating and paying more attention to your food than the screen

The woman sat next to me on the train this morning was watching some boring shit on her tablet, but was also moronically scrolling through her Facebook newsfeed on her phone.  I use the word ‘watching’ loosely as she didn’t actually look up from her phone for almost the entire journey into London, which was an hour.

I thought about all the money spent hiring writers, producers, directors (first and second unit), actors, extras and production staff, plus all the time taken perfecting every line of every draft of the script to keep the plot engaging, every camera angle to capture the subtle nuances of the actors’ performances, the scouting for locations, the permissions needed to shoot in these locations, the time spent in principle photography, all the post production, the special effects, music, overdubs, Foley dubs, the editing process to keep the right pace, the test audiences to ensure it will satisfy the masses and bring in the bucks, the premieres, the red carpets, the press junkets; all of this wasted on some bint ‘liking’ a picture of a kitten.

It really grinds on me.  Can you tell?

Then, when she’d stopped mindlessly scrolling through the pointless crap on her newsfeed and sucked in her drool, she then spent ages rewinding what she had been ‘watching’ in an attempt to find the part where she’d tuned out.  To be honest, I don’t think this woman was ever fully tuned in.

text movie

And finally,

 

3. The Aisle Sitter

This one has always confused me. 

It’s the idiot who gets on the train, sits in an aisle seat and leaves the window seat vacant.

Why?

aisle prick

Inevitably someone else will get on and want to sit down, so rather than simply (and sensibly) moving over to the window, they make a big performance of stopping what they’re doing (sometimes tutting and sighing in the process) and awkwardly standing up in the aisle (stopping other people from getting past) to allow the new arrival access to the seat by the window.

This is time consuming and makes absolutely no sense.  It’s a commuter train which means this happens EVERY day, and EVERY day they do the same thing.  I’ve seen it with my own eyes.  Same dickheads, same thing; every day.

If they don’t want to be disturbed, then sit by the window, or find a seat next to someone who already has.

These are supposed to be intelligent people, right?  I mean, they’re wearing suits and stuff.

I’m reminded of a quote from Tim Minchin:

“We’re just fucking monkeys in shoes”

monkey platform

If you’ll notice this notice, you’ll notice this notice is not worth noticing

My wife and I visited Sears yesterday during our visit to Vegas, mostly because I’d never been and I’m a curious bugger.

Being almost 6pm on a Sunday, the Brit in me was pretty convinced it would be closed.

I was wrong of course.

As we approached the entrance I saw the sign that displayed the store’s opening times. It read:

Mon 10.00am to 9.00pm
Tue 10.00am to 9.00pm
Wed 10.00am to 9.00pm
Thu 10.00am to 9.00pm
Fri 10.00am to 9.00pm
Sat 10.00am to 9.00pm
Sun 10.00am to 9.00pm

So, the same time EVERY DAY then?

What a lot of unnecessary effort.

Only in America.

The world is full of stupid – Part 1

I’ve decided to start posting anything I see that defies common sense and logic.

There may only ever be a ‘Part 1’, but I seriously doubt it.

If truth be told, i’m a bit annoyed I didn’t think of doing this sooner because there are literally millions of examples of stupid out there that I’ve simply rolled my eyes at and done nothing with.

So here is the first (of many) that I saw on a candle in a supermarket yesterday.

image

I rest my case.

Pretty vacant

Today my wife and I visited a home furnishings store in central London during our lunch break. It was one of those pretentious places where the mass-produced merchandise is carefully designed to look hand-made.

It seems to me that these places hire staff based on their looks because it appears their collective IQ doesn’t even come close to the price of one of their crappy little ‘hand painted’ ceramic egg cups (£4).

But at least they’re, like, so pretty.

Anyway, my wife and I were looking for matching towel and toilet roll holders for a bathroom we are currently redecorating. We were wandering around the store looking for the bathroom stuff, lost among the rugs and curtains in various shades of coffee, vanilla, caramel, mocha, cinnamon and cappuccino.

Suddenly I really fancied a Starbucks.

Our aimless wandering hadn’t gone unnoticed because a sales ‘assistant’ approached us with a massive, vacant smile.

“Can I help you with anything?”, she asked like she’d been practicing it from a prompt card.

(Yes I’ll have a large cinnamon cappuccino please).

“Yes please”, I replied, “I’m looking for your bathroom accessories”

She stood there for a moment; still smiling vacantly. It was clear she had either not heard or not understood me and, from her broken English, I was going with the latter.

“The what?” she said; her smile staying perfectly locked in place.

“Your bathroom accessories”, I replied, again.

There was another noticeable pause before her eyes lit up like she’d just seen a preview of a new season of The Kardashians.

“Ah, yes! Follow me”, she said and started to walk across the showroom.

Cool.

We walked past bedroom stuff, lounge stuff, kitchen stuff, dining stuff (all of which had me craving a double mocha latte) until we reached the corner of the showroom where she pointed down a corridor.

“Just down there sir” she said, still smiling.

“Thank you”, I said as she left.

My wife and I looked at each other and sniggered.

The stupid twat had taken us to the toilets.

vacant toilet

Not Helpful Service

Girl –  “Hello, Surgery?” (Went up at the end of the statement so it sounded like a question)

Me –  “Er, hi.  Is this the Medical Centre?”

Girl –  “Mmm hmm”.

Me –  “Oh hello, I’m calling because I need to register a new patient with you”.

Girl –  “Ok”.

(Awkward silence)

Me –  “Erm, it’s for my wife.  She’s American and she’s now resident in the UK, so the next step is to get her registered with a doctor in case she ever gets ill”.

(Long silence)

Girl –  “Right.  Ok.  She just needs to come in, fill in some forms and bring photo identification and proof of address; like a utility bill.  Ok?”

Me –  “Great, thanks.  But she’s from America and has only been here a month so she won’t have a utility bill in her name”. 

Girl –  “She lives in America?”

Me –  “No, she lives here now”.

Girl –  “Is she here, like, forever?”

Me –  “Well, certainly for the next three years”

Girl –  “So she isn’t leaving soon?”

Me –  “I certainly hope not!  Ha ha!”

(No reaction.  Nothing.  A tumbleweed rolls by)

Me –  “No, she has her visa now which means she’s a UK resident.  She just needs to be registered with a doctor and seeing as I’m registered with you, it makes sense she is too”.

Girl –  “Ok.  Well she just needs to come in to fill out some forms and we’ll sort it from there”.

Me –  “Great.  Now, she won’t have a utility bill in her name, but she did recently receive a letter confirming her National Insurance number which has her name and address on it.  Will that do?”

Girl –  “Her ‘what’ number?”

Me –  “Her National Insurance number”.

Girl –  “What’s that?”

(You’ve got to be joking!)

Me –  “It’s the number that is allocated to you so that contributions from your salary are made to the National Health Service for things like, you know, hospital treatment and DOCTORS.  That’s why I’m registering her now”.

Girl –  “Oh, right.  Ok.  So yeah, get her to come in”.

Me –  “Ok, but will that letter be enough or should I get her to bring in a utility bill with my name on it to prove the address?  Obviously we have the same surname”.

Girl –  “Er….let me just check”.

(Oh hold.  For ages)

Girl –  “Hello?”

Me –  “Hi”.

Girl –  “Does she hold a UK passport?”

Me –  “No, she’s American.  It’s an American passport”.

Girl –  “So it’s not a British one?”

Me –  “No”.

Girl –  “Oh right”.

Me –  “I mean, she’s here on a visa so she’s now resident in the UK, so it’s fine.  How do you usually register a patient?”

Girl –  “Er, I’m not sure; hold the line”.

(On hold again)

Girl –  “Hello?”

Me –  “Hi”.

Girl –  “Can I call you back?  I just need to check on this and call you back”.

Me –  “Sure”.

I’m convinced I’ve literally just had this conversation with a bored patient in the doctor’s waiting room who answered the phone because the receptionist was off somewhere having a colossal shit.

receptionist

Mutton grumble…

This evening at Victoria station could have been described as bedlam. Or, alternatively, bat shit crazy with a massive dose of dumb fuckery.

Basically there had been a power cut and the electronic display boards (that tell the sheep which platform their train will be departing from) weren’t working properly. By this I mean they were ON, but not displaying anything except ‘please listen for announcements’; a big issue for display boards methinks.

I soon realised this when I’d spied a small, aggressive, uniformed woman stood at the front of the bleating flock with far too much power and a megaphone.

Despite this, a lot of the sheep were still stood under the undisplaying boards,  looking up with dead eyes and mouths agape,  expecting the magic orange words to change from ‘please listen for announcements’ to which platform they needed to be herded to.  A lot of them were drooling.

Baa….

I stood amongst the dumb flocks and waited for little Miss Megaphone to point us in the right direction. She kept talking into her radio and I wondered if she was calling in a couple of sheepdogs in high vis jackets to get the masses to their platforms. Maybe the megaphone was reserved for whistles and the occasional “good boy!”.

I hoped so.

Alas, she pointed it at the crowd, pressed the trigger and cleared her throat. The old woman next to her jumped so hard her teeth fell out.

Ok, not quite…but she could’ve cleared her throat quietly BEFORE using the amplification qualities of this vocal menace.

*KRRKT!*
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”
*KRRKT!*

A few of the sheep looked down from the undisplays, closed their mouths and wiping away their drool to focus on what she had to say.

*KRRKT!*
“PLEASE BE AWARE THAT DUE TO A POWER CUT EARLIER TODAY THE BOARDS ARE NOT DISPLAYING ANY PLATFORM INFORMATION… !”
*KRRKT!*

She then began to list off all the upcoming trains and their platforms. A lot of the sheep amazingly ignored her and looked back up at the undisplay boards, resuming their open mouthed drooling.  The floor was becoming shiny.

Baa…

*KRRKT!*
“THE HORSHAM TRAIN WILL BE DEPARTING FROM PLATFORM 17”

“Excuse me” interrupted a small woman.

*KRRKT!*
“YES?”

“Aargh!”

“Sorry… yes?”

“Is this the Horsham train?”, asked the woman pointing to platform 17.

“Yes it is.”, said the unamplified harbinger of trains.

“Thankyou”.  As she trotted off I saw her ask another guard which train was stood at platform 17.

Brilliant.

If it’s not displayed in orange and black then the seed of doubt starts to grow. What is wrong with people? Are we that reliant on technology that we don’t trust a person? Who do you think supplies the (un)display boards with information in the first place? R2-fucking-D2?

Typically my train was the only one running late. This resulted in more blank, drooling stares at the boards as if somehow the megaphoned harpy or the constant audio announcements were somehow misinformed.

Baa…

Finally my train was announced and the flock surged forward, being filtered through the barriers like sheep through a dip.

Baa…

Some of us slipped.

image

Exit left, right?

Today we visited Disney World in Orlando. It was an expected series of events including a lot of ‘cast members’ with coat hanger smiles, planetoid sized people with huge buckets of full fat Coke and loads of able bodied lazy fuckers on rented mobility scooters; hacking their way through the crowds like the bulls in Pamplona.

But the best part of the day by far was when we were due to get off the car park transfer at Hollywood Studios. We started to slow down and the cheesy American voice announced that we were to disembark on the right.

No problem.

She then re-confirmed it was on the right.

Ok, fair enough.

Then she re-re-confirmed it was on the right.

Really? I suppose this is for the American market.

She then said “that’s the same side as the sidewalk and the trash cans”

I think my I.Q. just dropped a few points.

Fat headed statement

Sorry, just heard the dumbest comment from a girl on the train talking to her boyfriend about a diet she’s going to go on in which you eat a lot of fat.

Him – “you eat a lot of fat?”
Her – “yeah, apparently it’s really good for you because if you eat a lot of fat your body won’t start eating away at your own fat”.

Oh my good god. What a total twat.

Had to share.