Spelling Bee(yatch!)

Posted on Jul 10, 2018 by headinablender

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’.

Arguing The Toss

Posted on Jun 20, 2018 by headinablender

Today, during a meeting at work, one of my colleagues decided to share a top culinary tip with us. She’s a pretty smart cookie, so I was curious to know what mind blowing gastronomic trickery she was about to impart.

She smiled, opened her mouth and said:

“The best way to tell if your pasta is cooked properly is to throw it against the fridge and if it sticks, it’s cooked.”

Illogical

After a long pause and a few shared looks of concern for both her mental health and the quality of her spaghetti bolognese, I replied, “Or, you could, y’know, taste it”.

After a few nods of agreement at my introduction of sanity, and some repressed chuckles at the ludicrous nature of what she’d just spouted out of her mouth hole, she sat up in her chair and became very animated.

“I’m serious! It’s the best way to test if your pasta is cooked!”, she insisted.

She was wrong, of course.

“Ask anyone!”, she continued, “Google it!”.

This was a great suggestion because if it’s on the internet, it’s got to be true. Hey, did you know that a duck’s quack doesn’t echo?

So, as we argued the toss (see what I did there?), we decided to Google it and, lo and behold, there were a plethora of videos uploaded by NOT chefs showing that pasta, when thrown at a fridge or a window (or a flat screen TV, or a work colleague’s face) does, in fact, stick.

At this point we argued that under-cooked pasta will also stick because, y’know, starch.

She wasn’t having any of it.

So, as we all went back to our desks, still disputing the issue, she collared the first person we came across and pounced on him; “Hey, how do you test if pasta is cooked properly?”.

He paused for a moment, clearly not expecting to be asked this question today, and replied with, “You throw it at the ceiling and see if it sticks”.

“YES!!” she screamed, victoriously throwing her hands in the air, before turning to us with fingers pointing, “See, I told you! Ha!”.

So let me get this right, your only reliable and factual back up is someone who is clearly NOT Google, and also throws his pasta ON THE CEILING to check if it’s cooked? Not only does his kitchen probably resemble a cave full of stalactites, but he’s also an idiot.

Being half Italian myself, I know how to check if your pasta is cooked; you time it and you taste it; it’s simple really. Hurling your food at a kitchen appliance is not a sure fire way to check how cooked your meal is.

Plus, it’s fucking up my fridge magnets.

The chronicles of Squid-dick

Posted on Jun 13, 2018 by headinablender

I know, I know….I haven’t posted anything recently and I’m sorry. Although, weirdly, I’ve had more email subscriptions in the last few weeks than a Nigerian prince has in a year.

Hmm.

Anyway, not one to complain, I thought I’d share a conversation I literally overheard at work about 10 minutes ago.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent.¹

Dumbelina – “Hey, Tarquin! What’s the name of the ramen place we’re going to later?”

Tarquin popped his head up from behind his computer, clearly preoccupied with something he was watching or masturbating to.

“What?”

“The ramen place.”, she continued.

Tarquin stopped for a beat and blinked twice; “What ramen place?”

“The one we’re going to at lunch.”

Tarquin paused again, desperately tring to cling to a conversation he was clearly not understanding.

“What about it?”, he replied, rapidly losing wood.

“What’s the name of it?”

“Oh…”, he said, finally getting a grasp of the conversation, now that he no longer had anything substantial to grasp, “…I think it’s called [insert the name of the ramen place here because I can’t remember it for the life of me!]”

“OK, thanks T-Dog²; I just wanted to have a look at the menu.”

“Uh huh”, he mumbled as he went back to whatever it was he was doing to himself.

There was a brief silence, punctuated only with the tapping of keys and the faint clicking of a mouse button.

“Ah, here it is”, muttered Thumbelina as she found the website.

> click <

Pause

> click <

A longer pause (Jesus, some people surf the internet slower than a sloth wearing a heavy backpack, trekking through deep snow, wearing flippers)

“What the hell is this?”, she half said to herself, but I suspected was intended for those around her (including me) to ask, ‘What’s that?’.

No-one did.

She continued clicking.

“Deep fried octopus balls??”

I choked on my coffee.

“Ha ha ha…er, excuse me; sorry!”, I said through caffeinated coughing.

Now having an audience, she attempted to engage me in conversation, “Right?? Octopus balls!”

“Ha, yeah right”, I said wryly as I continued checking Facebook – er, I mean continued working – realising I had a blog post happening right now….live! I smiled to myself as I wondered what she would say next. Would that be it? Would that be the only amusing thing she’d say about the menu from ‘that ramen place’?

Nope.

She continued down the list muttering the occasional ‘Oh’, and ‘Eeuw’ before exclaiming, “Ooh, french fries!”.

Maybe the ramen place is called McDonalds?

“Tarquin, they have french fries! Oh wow, they have french fries with gravy!”

Tarquin didn’t care. He was laid back in his chair, sweating, and smoking a cigarette.³

We’ve all been there

1 – Stupid
2 – OK, maybe I’m embellishing here a little bit.
3 – See 2

Oxymorons

Posted on Sep 3, 2016 by headinablender

This morning, as I drove up to the gym, I noticed several cars circling the car park (parking lot) like sharks.

I soon realised they were looking for spaces that were as close to the gym entrance as possible.

These people were actually trying to avoid having to walk too far. Now, I could understand this behaviour if it was raining or the zombie apocalypse was upon us, but this is Las Vegas; it’s nothing but sunshine and blue skies.

It’s a hard life.

What makes it more ridiculous is the fact that I saw these pillocks 20 minutes later clocking up miles on the treadmill.

Still, at least these cretins didn’t get my space right by the entrance.

Result.

“I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello” – The Beatles

Posted on Aug 24, 2016 by headinablender

I got to work a bit early this morning, so took the opportunity to make myself some coffee and toast.

Whilst I was waiting by the toaster another employee came over to put some Tupperware’d nastiness in the microwave. We smiled and performed the customary “Good Morning”, the optional “How’s your day going?” and (as I found out very quickly) the unnecessary “I’m utterly fucked”.

I must say, her face indicated that maybe, just maybe, I may have gone a tad too far; but she asked….so….

Anyway, she went back to zapping her box of whatever and I went back to waiting for my toast to ‘Shadunk‘ out of the toaster, when another employee walked by and shouted out to my new ‘friend’.

“Yoo Hoo gurl!” (not a typo; she said ‘gurl’, not ‘girl’)

“Oh, toodle-oo!”

Face palm. That’s ‘goodbye’, you twat.

‘Ding!‘

‘Shadunk!‘

Oh, thank fuck.

Stop, America….just stop.

Posted on Dec 8, 2015 by headinablender

Last night I had an encounter with a driver that infuriated me. It’s something that happens a lot and pisses me off to a level that is unwise in a country where guns are so readily available.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is a warning; today’s post is a rant.

Ok, so….this encounter last night involved a 4-way stop junction which, in my opinion, are as effective as chipotle flavoured hemorrhoid cream.

Why the fuck can’t Americans just use roundabouts (sorry ‘traffic circles’) to maintain the flow of traffic like sensible countries? Oh yes, that’s right, apparently they’re ‘confusing’ and Americans don’t know how to use them.

I suppose I can understand that. It’s a circle. Very confusing.

After all, they have to simultaneously use TWO pedals AND a steering wheel; how could we possibly expect them to navigate anything other than a huge, wide straight road?

What was I thinking?

Now, for those who don’t know, a 4-way stop has two simple rules; The Stupid Rule and The Vague Rule.

The Stupid Rule dictates that you MUST stop, even when you can see there are no cars coming for miles and miles and miles.

Add to this the fact that 4-way stops are at almost every intersection, it makes for a very jerky drive.

Stop. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Ad nauseum

It takes forever to get anywhere. And don’t even get me started on the speed limits.

I use the word ‘speed’ liberally, of course.

Then there’s The Vague Rule; it dictates who gets to go first. You see, it all depends on who got to the intersection first. If you’re there first, you go first.

That makes sense, right?

This never results in bell-ends (no US translation for this one) speeding up to get there seconds before you do, just so they can go first.

Never.

Ever!

However, there is one distinct fault with this rule; one that was never taken into consideration when it was apparently concocted by chimps.

People.

It didn’t factor in the sheer stupidity that people bring to the mix.

Most of the time it’s pretty easy to see who gets to the junction before or after you. If they’re stationary when you arrive, they got there first. Otherwise it’s you.

And yet, despite being easy to establish the pecking order pretty sharpish (quickly), there are still those tentative, hesitant, dribbly twats who get there before you and then don’t move, resulting in me and all the other twitchy cars wondering what they’re doing and if we should just go.

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only driver shouting words of encouragement like: “GO then, you fucking turd”

In those situations I just go.

Fuck ’em.

So, was it one of these idiots I encountered last night? Oh no dear sir, it most certainly was not.

No, last night was a whole new level of dumbfuckery.

Now, before I continue, I have a little quiz for you.

Ready?

Question 1: Which indicator (turn signal) do you use when turning left?

A – Left indicator

B – Right indicator

C – Both indicators

D – No indicators

Question 2: Which indicator (turn signal) do you use when turning right?

A – Left indicator

B – Right indicator

C – Both indicators

D – No indicators

Question 3: Which indicator (turn signal) do you use when going straight ahead?

A – Left indicator

B – Right indicator

C – Both indicators

D – No indicators

The answers are: 1-A, 2-B and 3-D.

If you scored less than 100%, please click here.

Otherwise, please continue reading.

So now’s the time for me to set the scene for last night.

I approached the 4-way stop, slowed down and stopped. The car coming in the opposite direction did exactly the same, a second before me. There were no cars coming from the left or right.

It was just the two of us.

According to The Vague Rule, he had the right to enter the intersection before me. He didn’t have any indicators flashing, so he was going straight ahead, just like me.

Naturally, I entered the intersection at the same time as him because, after all, we were simply going to pass each other. Right?

Wrong.

This cocksmoker was turning left.

This meant he had to stop IN the intersection and wait for me to pass, making sure I could see ‘the error of my ways’ by slamming on his brakes and giving me that look to say I was in the wrong.

At least, that’s what I think he was doing, it was difficult to see past the limbs of his kids splatted against the windscreen (windshield).

How the fuck was I supposed to know he was turning left?

I know why I got that look; it was that ingrained sense of entitlement. It was HIS turn to go.

Regardless of whether his maneuver interfered with mine or not, it was HIS turn.

I should sit there like a good little boy and wait.

Not this little boy.

This little boy wanted to get out of his little car and punch him in his little dick.

Why do people here have such an inability to signal which direction they’re turning?

My wife tells me that Las Vegas drivers are the worst, but some of the people I work with – who come from all over the US – say it’s a nationwide epidemic. I’m starting to believe them.

It’s not like they’re driving manual cars over here. They’re not having to negotiate the clutch, the gearstick, the biting point, etc… In fact, UK drivers have all that shit to deal with AND they still manage to use their indicators.

No, here it’s a different distraction. With their free hand they’re either texting, sipping coffee or masturbating.

Like me.

Let’s go visit your grammar

Posted on Dec 18, 2014 by headinablender

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything. To be honest it’s been a hectic couple of months which I will no doubt write about in the coming weeks.

Aren’t you excited?

Anyway, to ease myself back into the habit of writing, I just wanted to share an interaction I had the pleasure of witnessing on the Tube this morning.

There was a couple. I would say they were mid-to-late twenties and very posh.

How did I know? Well…

He had immaculately combed back (and yet thinning) hair with glasses and was wearing cufflinks. Yes, he was one of those people who actually wear cufflinks to work.

She had straight strawberry-brunette hair with enough make-up to choke a rabbit. You could still see her freckles which gave her that posh ‘England Rose’ look. Her handbag looked stiffer than a Scotsman’s drink.

They were both wearing those long expensive coats you only ever see in magazine adverts worn by good looking people walking and laughing under trees in autumn.

Anyway, as the train filled up I was herded in their direction until I was stood inches away with my back to them.

This, they had decided, was the time to engage in a very posh and plummy conversation.

“I say, what time will you get to work?” she asked him with a voice that emphasised the ‘h’ in ‘what’.

“Not long now”, he replied, lacking any hint of enthusiasm; “I am so frightfully tired”.

“Mmm, yes me too” she said; “I ordered some new contact lenses but I ordered the wrong ones and they’re actually making me tireder”

There was a pause.

I’m sorry; did she just say ‘tireder’? That can’t be right. Surely it’s ‘more tired’?

A few seconds passed.

“Do you know; I don’t think tireder is a word” she said, emphasising the ‘h’ in ‘word’.

I smirked.

Neither is ‘twattiest’, I thought to myself, but I think I’m going to use it anyway.

What I really think of Pandas

Posted on Sep 3, 2014 by headinablender

Pandas are idiots.

“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?

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?

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.

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.

*jerk

Train’d Monkeys

Posted on Aug 21, 2014 by headinablender

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.

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.

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.

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?

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”

You get me innit Bruv yeah?

Posted on Aug 19, 2014 by headinablender

There are four twats on the train sat at the table across the aisle from me.

All four are dressed like Carlton from ‘The Fresh Prince Of Bel End’ er, I mean ‘Bel Air’, but talk like the chavvy rudeboys they are failing to be.

There is a funny smell in the carriage and the conversation (ha ha, ‘conversation’) starts:

“What is dat smell innit?”

“No idea bruv, yeah?”

“Man, that smells is for real, I smelt it on the way up, innit?”

This really pisses me off. Do they realise “innit” is a slang version of “isn’t it”?

They have no idea how much I’d like to punch each of them in the face.

That’s reasonable.

ISN’T IT?

Subway club

Posted on Dec 17, 2013 by headinablender

Imagine a Subway sandwich shop at lunchtime. It was busy; heaving with people cramming themselves in for 6 or 12 inches of satisfaction.

Ahem…

The queue was practically out of the door and it was going to take a while until anyone was served. This allowed plenty of time to peruse the brightly back-lit displays of delicious sandwiches on offer.

And yet there was some penis who, after queuing quietly for a lifetime, got to the front and THEN begin deciding what he wanted.

That’s it, start the decision process now dipshit.

Right now.

Not when you came in. Not while you were queuing for an eternity.

Nope…now.

Now is the perfect time to start thinking about what you might possibly maybe want to have, you total and utter bell-end.

“Erm….I think I’ll have, er…hmm, I don’t really know. What’s your sub of the day?”

“We don’t do the sub of the day anymore sir”.

“Oh right, er, ok. Right….I’ll have…erm….hmm….what do I fancy?”

At this point I could take no more. I stood up from my seat (I wasn’t even in the queue), turned him around, clubbed him across his stupid face with my sandwich shouting “too slow cockface!” while covering him in bits of masticated turkey ham and salad, before frogmarching him out of the shop to an enthusiastic, if not distinctly boney, round of applause from the emaciated starving masses in the queue.

If only.

Hello? Is anyone actually there?

Posted on Oct 19, 2012 by headinablender

I’ve noticed some bizarre behaviours and trends regarding mobile phone usage. And by ‘bizarre’, I actually mean ‘fucking stupid’.

I’m sure this won’t be my only blog regarding people and their phones, but for now I just have to get this off my chest. And if this applies to you in any way….in ANY way….shame on you!

(Judgmentally waggles finger)

A mobile phone has many features, depending on the make/model etc. However, there are a couple of features that remain constant throughout them all, and those are the positions of the earpiece and the microphone.

The earpiece is customarily at the top and the mic is traditionally at the bottom, assumingly because your ear is higher up on your head than your mouth.

(If it isn’t, then please send me a photo of yourself. I’m curious how that looks, and if you’ve ever had to pick bits of food or dribble out of your ear)

Now, the best way to hold a phone when making a call is against your head so the earpiece lines up with your ear and the mic is close to your mouth (or upside down if you’re someone who’s sent me a picture). Similarly, if you’re like a lot of people I know, put the phone in your back pocket with the mic facing down.

But assuming you don’t talk shit, it’s safe to say that the accepted way to hold your phone as close to the input/output parts of your head. Right?

So will someone please explain to me why there are idiots out there talking into them like walkie-talkies? I saw a guy this morning holding it in front of his face with the loudspeaker on, blissfully unaware of what a total penis he looked. I don’t know about you, but if I was on the other end of that call I wouldn’t want everyone to hear what I’m saying….I’m still working off the last restraining order.

Also, what’s with the talk/listen approach? You know the one. It’s where they hold the phone (facing them) close to their mouth, talk, then move the phone to their ear to listen to the response, followed by moving it back to their mouth, talking, then back up to their ear. How utterly dumb is that? It’s pretty much the same technique adopted by 7yr olds with two tin cans and some string.

I know we’re all individuals and we’re entitled to do things however we like, but there’s a limit! I wonder if, when brushing their teeth, they hold the brush still and violently shake their heads from side to side.

I wouldn’t be surprised…..most of them can’t even hold their jeans up.