Oh My Word! (Well, not anymore)

Posted on Jun 26, 2017 by headinablender

The other day I was talking to my family on Skype and I encountered a horrifying moment….I mean, more horrifying than having to speak to my family.

Am I right? Huh? Anyone?

Nope….not even a little bit

Ahem….moving on….

So anyway, we were chatting away and I had a moment where I nearly said ‘parking lot’ instead of ‘car park’. This was the first time my English brain didn’t automatically filter out the American version of a word. Usually I can separate all my Americanisms when I speak to friends and family back home, but this was the first time I slipped.

My heart sank.

Two years ago when I was about to move to the US, a lot of my friends mocked me, saying I would have an American accent within a year.

WRONG!

Although I did admit that I would no doubt take on American versions of words because, well, I wanted to be understood.

Use English words; get this look

This got me thinking about all the words and phrases I have actively adopted to be better understood in this land of burgers, guns, and self righteous entitlement. With that in mind, I’ve compiled a list of words and phrases that I’ve started using to blend in seamlessly with my surroundings.

Let’s start with the inspiration for this post:

Parking Lot – This has replaced Car Park and, frankly, I don’t care. Both work.

Trunk, Hood and Fenders – These have replaced Boot, Bonnet and Wings respectively. To be honest, I miss the English versions of these words but if I were to use them here, most people would think I am talking about some weirdly dressed bird (aviary, not ovary)

Gas – This has replaced Petrol. I stubbornly resisted this one for ages; plumping instead to use the word ‘fuel’ as some sort of workaround. This was initially because Petrol is liquid and Gas is, well, gas…and that’s just stupid. Then it occurred to me that, in the same way that Petrol is short for Petroleum, Gas is actually short for Gasoline and I’m actually stupid (short for Stupid Twat). However, ‘Gas’ is also used to describe farting which is incredibly confusing when someone announces they have gas. That never happened with ‘Petrol’. Not once.

Just saying.

Anyway, moving away from cars; let’s move to clothing…

Pants – This has replaced Trousers and is still as funny to me today as it was the first time I heard it being used on TV when I was a child. I realise it’s short for ‘Pantaloons’, but that doesn’t make it any less funny, because the word ‘Pantaloons’ is simply farcical!

Pants has always been, and will always be, underwear…or English slang for ‘worthless’, ‘crap’ or just ‘a little bit wank’.

Mind you, if I say Trousers I AM understood in America, but then I’m mocked for being all hoity toity like I’m drinking tea and eating crumpets. After all, isn’t that what all us Brits do all the time apparently? (rolls eyes)

Sneakers – This has replaced Trainers. I hate this adjustment because not once, EVER, have I sneaked^[1] anywhere in my sneakers…but I have trained in my trainers. Still, I need to be understood, so sneakers it is.

He he he….’Pants’. It still gets me.

Sweater – This has replaced Jumper. To be fair, this isn’t a big deal. Like a reverse example I gave for sneakers, I have sweated in a sweater but I’ve never jumped in a jumper…unless it has a high nylon content and I’ve touched something metal.

There are other clothing differences like ‘Suspenders’ which is the US word for the braces that hold up your ‘pants’ (snigger), whereas that word exclusively refers to ‘stockings and suspender belt’ in the UK and braces are those things used to straighten your teeth, but I haven’t adopted any of that shit because…seriously, who’s having conversations about suspenders, or braces, or pants.

He he, ‘Pants’.

Aaaaaaaanyway, here are some other words and phrases in no particular category…

Z – This has replaced Z. Yes, I’m talking about the American way of pronouncing it as ‘Zee’ instead of ‘Zed’. I do that now. Deal with it.

At least now the alphabet song rhymes at the end.

Soda – This has replaced Soft Drink. To be honest, I love this one! If I were to say ‘soft drink’ I would be understood but I just love using the word ‘soda’. That said, I won’t use it around my English friends as I don’t want to be accused of becoming a yank!

Limeys eh? Pff!

Elevator – This has replaced Lift…and my brain processes this one slightly different to the others. This one I have to consciously think about because my brain still desperately wants to use the word ‘lift’. In fact, I thanked someone for “holding the lift” for me yesterday. They smiled, but they also gave me that look.

Erm…..what?

Napkin – This has replaced Serviette. The first time I ever visited America, my girlfriend and I went to a restaurant and I noticed my place at the table didn’t have a serviette, so I asked the waitress (sorry, ‘server’) for one. She looked puzzled for a moment and said “Yes, that’s me”. It was my turn to look at her puzzled before asking her again, “Have you got a serviette?”.

There was another pause.

“That’s me”, she repeated.

Er, what?

So I picked up my girlfriend’s serviette and held it up. “A serviette, do you have another one of these?” (shaking it passive aggressively in her face)

“Oh!”, she said, “You mean a napkin! I thought you said ‘Have you got our server yet!'”

I’m pretty sure that sentence is grammatically incorrect, but nevertheless…now I use the word ‘napkin’. It’s a little change that means I get to wipe my mouth when I get food everywhere.

I’m a messy eater.

Nom nom nom!

Vacation – This has replaced Holiday. I knew this change was coming; it was inevitable. In America, the word ‘holiday’ refers to a national holiday like the 4th of July (no, we don’t celebrate that in the UK; stop asking!), Thanksgiving (no, we don’t celebrate that in the UK; stop asking!), Martin Luther King day (no, we don’t celebrate that in the UK; stop asking!) and Labor day (no, we don’t celebrate that in the UK; stop asking!).

If you’re going away for a trip, then you need to use the word ‘vacation’ otherwise you simply aren’t understood….no matter how much context there is!

“My wife and I are going on holiday to Hawaii”

Whaaaa…?

Cellphone or Cell – This has replaced Mobile Phone, or Mobile. Now, this one is more of an issue with phonetics rather than not being understood. You see, Americans DO use the term ‘Mobile Phone’, but they pronounce ‘Mobile’ like it rhymes with ‘Noble’, and I REFUSE to pronounce it in the stupid way they say it.

Yes, I said it’s stupid. That’s because I have friends here who argue this with me and I like to get the final say.

Ha!

So now I say Cell, or Cellphone.

Get it?

Line – This has replaced Queue. When you’re waiting for your call to be answered by a call centre (center) and “your call is important to us”, you’re in a queue. When your printer has a lot of print jobs to process, it’s in a queue. When you’re stood at the post office behind everyone else, you’re in a line.

Wait, what?

I’ve tried addressing this with my American chums and, apparently, it’s because you are literally in a line. I suppose that makes sense as you’re also in a line when you’re dancing the conga at someone’s wedding. But on that occasion you’re not waiting to be served; you’re awkwardly holding the waist of some stranger in front of you as you shuffle along, kicking out your legs and clocking a child or two in the face.

Laundry – This has replaced Washing. Now THIS is something I can get behind. I love using the word laundry as it specifically describes the act of washing one’s clothes

He he, ‘Pants’.

It makes no sense that we call it ‘washing’ in the UK, especially when it’s done at a Laundrette (or Laundromat in the US). A clue is in the name LAUNDRette.

Groceries or Grocery Store – This has replaced Food Shop and Supermarket respectively. Like ‘Laundry’, I love this change in my verbiage. I’ve always disliked the fact that when someone in the UK says, “I’m going shopping”, it’s not clear if they’re buying food or a gimp swing.

This is usually remedied by the phrase, “I’m going to do a shop” which is exclusively supermarkety.

Now, moving away from English verbiage that has been replaced with their American counterparts, and onto phrases that have I have adopted and use regularly, much to my shame.

A.F. – This is an acronym (because America LOVES acronyms!) that literally means ‘As Fuck’. For example, “It is hot A.F. today”, or, as I’ve heard some people say but I can’t bring myself to say it yet but i’m sure I will at some point in the future, “Bomb A.F.”.

This loosely translates to “My word, that was amazing”.

Hot Minute – This means “In a long time” or, as we Brits like to say, “In donkeys’ years”. Some drop the word hot and say “Yo dawg, I haven’t seen you in a minute”, but not me. If the minute isn’t hot, it’s not worth mentioning…apparently.

Hot Mess – it’s the same as ‘Mess’, but hotter and used to describe someone rather than somewhere. Allow me to elaborate….

If your bedroom is untidy, it’s not a hot mess…it’s just a mess. However, if you’re drunk with vomit down your shirt, your trousers (he he, pants) around your ankles, pissing on your shoes whilst singing abusive songs at the clergy, you’re a hot mess. In fact, you’re the hottest of messes….and you really shouldn’t be in church right now.

All Day, ErrDay – This literally translates to “All Day, Every Day‘, but is a little more ghetto and a lot fucking lazier. That said, ever since Carl the sausage said it in Sausage Party, I’ve been loving this phrase and I use it….

….you guessed it….

….sometimes.

[1] Or ‘snuck’ as the Americans like to say. It’s funny how ‘leaked’ isn’t ‘luck’, ‘peaked’ isn’t ‘puck’ and ‘freaked’ isn’t ‘fruck’….but hey, who am I to judge?

Oh, wait….

Chatty chatty bang bang!

Posted on Jan 13, 2017 by headinablender

Just coasting on the back of my last post; the woman on the exercise bike next to me is having a full blown, animated conversation on her phone. She’s panting heavily which I suppose is… sexy?

Unlike me, she’s pedalling very fast and sweating lots.

Also unlike me – who is able to compose this post whilst pedalling – she’s lacking the appropriate concentration necessary to multitask and has missed the pedals twice, nearly giving herself some complimentary handlebar dentistry.

Heavy breathing? Sexy.

Heavy bleeding? Not as much.

Period.

FuckMonkey and the five things that annoy me about the gym

Posted on Jan 8, 2017 by headinablender

Gather ’round, gather ’round; I have a tale to tell……..the tale of FuckMonkey.

Now, before I tell this tale I need to get some stuff off my chest. At first it will feel like I am never getting to the story of FuckMonkey, but believe me…I am.

All will become clear.

So, to begin, I would like to talk about the gym, again. The last time I shared observations about the gym I hadn’t been in the country very long so my exposure was as limited as the brain power of…of…well, FuckMonkey actually.

More of that later.

I’ve noticed some behaviours in the gym here in Vegas that just need to be shared. This isn’t including the weirdos who pay a yearly gym subscription just to stretch and do mat exercises on the floor.

Just do that shit at home.

(shrugs)

Anyway, here are 5 baffling and annoying behaviours and practices I’ve seen at the gym, in between gawping at unnecessarily muscular girls’ bums.

1 – Massive Water Bottles.

I don’t really get this one. These things are mini (but not THAT mini) versions of office water coolers.

Compensating for something?

Considering the gym has drinking fountains and bottle filling stations everywhere offering nice cool filtered water, why do you need to bring such a huge bottle and carry it around with you? It’s like having a huge plate at an all-you-can eat buffet. Yes you can put more food on your plate all at once (you greedy fuck), but the food will not be far from the preferred temperature long before you finish the plate.

Mmm, warm water. Refreshing.

At first I thought it was for those crazy people who do cardio for what seems like hours – putting the rest of us to shame – but these bottles don’t fit through most doorways, let alone the cup-holders on the machines.

Maybe it’s because people don’t want to make the long walk to any of the various drink fountains, but surely that’s just counterproductive…like the dickheads from the car park [parking lot].

This need to carry around enough water to drown a small Hippo still amuses me, and I just want to point and laugh…but I don’t; some of these people are BIG!

Me so THIRSTY!

And, speaking of water….

2 – Water Fountain Etiquette

This one is just plain hilarious. To start, here is an actual photo of one of the water fountains in my gym.

You’ll notice they’re at slightly different heights; the reason for which is a mystery. I have seen a dude with dwarfism^[1] in there, so is it for him? I don’t know.

Now I think about it, I’ve never actually seen him take a drink from one of these fountains. He carries around a sensibly sized water bottle because a) he’s not an idiot and b) he has a clear grasp of basic physics.

But there’s something about the varying heights of these fountains that has people gravitating to the one on the left. I have lost count the amount of times I’ve walked past 2 or 3 people waiting in line for the fountain on the left and quenched my thirst with the one on the right.

If anything, the act of bending down a little further is an extra workout for your abs.

Also, people have no idea how to drink from them. I once saw a mouth breather sucking on the nozzle like it was his mum’s tit. There’s no way I was getting anywhere near that after him.

Plus, I’ve seen his mum.

(shudder)

Then there are those people who strut to the fountain – overly panting and wheezing (for attention) from lifting heavy things in the air and then putting them down again – only to lean on the fountain with both hands, pausing for effect (and more attention), before drinking.

They can see there are people waiting behind them (at the left fountain, naturally) and yet they stand there all important, entitled and ‘roided up.

Then they take the smallest of sips because the peak of their baseball hat gets in the way.

Speaking of which…

3 – Unnecessary attire

I’m not talking about those string thin muscle tops that are less ‘clothing, and more ‘shoelace’, no…I’m talking about hats and sunglasses.

Indoors.

Unless you’re Jake or Elwood Blues, I will always have issues with you wearing sunglasses indoors…you fucking twat. But I’ve lost track of the number of heavily ‘roided bubble people I’ve seen wearing them in the gym.

“I’m forever made of bubbles….”

Maybe they think it makes them look cool, but they’d be wrong. I think I’ve got them sussed; they do all that shouting, grunting and slamming down of weights only to secretly look around afterwards to see if anyone is watching.

We’re not.

We don’t care.

And when these bizarre bumpy behemoths stand around high fiving each other and talking at a DECIBEL LEVEL LOUD ENOUGH TO BE HEARD FROM SPACE, we simply don’t give a shit.

Shut up, bubble people.

But they’re not the worst offenders of unnecessary attire; not by a long shot. No, the award goes to the mopey teenagers with slouch beanies. These fuckers really grit my shit. You know slouch beanies right? They’re what the smurfs used to wear before they become popular (the beanies, not the Smurfs)

I would normally insert a picture here of a mopey, slouch beanie’d bell-end, but it would fill me with so much rage I might not finish this post.

(breathe…breathe…)

I have lost count the number of fantasies I’ve had of pulling their hat down over their face and garotting them with their headphones. I find it weird that people wear a hat in the gym anyway, but a big, flaccid woolly bag?

This coming from a man who has a cold head

The reason these skinny (and they’re always skinny), slow blinking, perma-texting Biebers are cold is because the only things that get a work out are their thumbs. They just move from machine to machine doing half a lacklustre set – on the lowest weight – followed by sitting on the machine with their face in their phones.

Which leads me to….

4 – Hogging the machine

If you’re sat on a machine and can see someone waiting, either let the person know how many sets you have left, alternate sets with them, or fuck off.

No reading texts. No checking Facebook. Just fuck off.

That is all.

5 – Being on the phone

I understand that you may get a call when you’re at the gym; that’s fair. I also appreciate that sometimes you need to make a call. But some of these fuckers talk on the phone during their entire workout.

There is nothing more annoying that the person next to you talking constantly, and hands-free on their phones at a volume that is not loud enough to be overheard, but loud enough to piss you off. Honestly. what is so important that you simply HAVE to have this conversation right now?

Now, the assumption you’re probably having is that all these social butterflies are talking hands-free; not so. I saw one dude sat on an ab-crunch machine talking into his phone in that walkie-talkie style I despise so much.

Talking like this makes you look like a twat.
Fact.

For clarity, the ab-crunch machine had overhead handles that you pull down as you crunch, raising your knees and grunting like a porn star. It was both angering and hilarious to watch this utter penis struggle to maintain a conversation whilst crunching with one hand on his phone and the other holding one of the handles.

It was awkward and embarrassing, all at once.

So, how does all this relate to FuckMonkey? Well, I’m glad you asked.

A few weeks ago I was in the gym and I was working my back. Of all the pec-fly machines in the gym, only three of them double as a back-fly machine.

For the uninformed, these machines look something little like this:

Note – that is not Superman

On this day, two out of the three machines were out of service.

I had almost completed my routine and only had the back-fly machine left to use, so I walked towards the one working machine and was headed off by this guy who placed his towel on it and then went to grab some water.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present you with FuckMonkey.

FuckMonkey hit all 5 on the list.

After standing in line behind someone using the left fountain, he came back, looked at me blankly, put down his oversized water bottle, then adjusted the weight he needed and began doing chest exercises. I couldn’t believe it, he could’ve chosen ANY of the other pec-fly machines that didn’t double as a back-fly machine, but no…he had to use this one.

‘Oh well‘, I thought, ‘he shouldn’t be that long‘.

I’ll wait.

He was on the phone (hands-free), mumbling some inaudible shit while he sorted out the height of his seat and began his first set.

I waited.

He finished his set – still mumbling – adjusted his stupid fucking hat and sat there on his phone for what felt like an eternity.

I waited a bit longer.

He pulled himself away from his phone for a moment to pout and flex his puny chest muscles in the mirror before looking up at me blankly and adjusting the weight on the machine.

He started his 2nd set.

I waited some more.

After his 2nd set – still mumbling some bollocks into his phone – he went back to texting and pouting and flexing in the mirror.

Again, he looked at me blankly, then adjusted the weight on the machine and began his 3rd set.

After 15 minutes (yes, FIFTEEN minutes) and numerous sets, I caught the eye of a fellow gym member (let’s call him Larry) who gave me a ‘Sheesh! How long is that guy going to take?‘ look.

I nodded back with my best ‘I know, right?‘ look.

After a minute or so Larry walked over to FuckMonkey and did what any Brit would never do; he asked Fuckmonkey how long is is going to be.

“Are you going to be long? That guy behind you is waiting for the machine“.

FuckMonkey muttered something and Larry looked at me, shrugged and went back to his workout.

Now, usually I wouldn’t wait around, but this was the LAST machine in my routine for the day, and the completionist in me just wanted to get it done.

I waited another 10 minutes and FuckMonkey carried on pouting, flexing, mumbling and doing sets…all the time knowing I was stood there shifting from foot to foot and huffing loudly.

Us Brits might not have the balls to confront a stranger, but we sure know how to huff.

At one point, another gym goer asked me if I was using the machine I was leaning against. I replied with “No, I’m waiting for that machine, right there” and pointed full on and passive aggressively at the one FuckMonkey was on.

FuckMonkey saw me. FuckMonkey didn’t change his routine.

After a full 25 minutes had passed, enough was enough. I walked over to FuckMonkey and interrupted his current pouting session.

“Excuse me…” (I’m English after all, I don’t want to appear rude), “…how much longer are you going to be?“.

He mumbled something like “M gon’ do, li’, a som’ mo’ set’, li’, 20 o’ wha’ev”

I looked at him for a moment, resisting the urge to garotte his weedy little neck, and said sarcastically (and a little aggressively), “So, what are you saying, 20 more minutes?“.

He nodded and said “Yeah“.

And that’s how he got his name.

¹ This is nothing derogatory about his size, or some cheap shot. I don’t mock or berate people based on their appearance, but rather their level of sheer Dumbfuckery. If you’re stupid enough for me to write about you, you’re fair game. Plus, two of my friends have a beautiful baby boy with dwarfism. (Shout out to J and M!)

Are you talking at me?

Posted on Jul 1, 2016 by headinablender

I’m currently sat in the waiting room of the physical therapy clinic whilst my wife undergoes another session following her double ACL knee surgery a few weeks back.

Whew, that was a long sentence.

Anyway, I’m sat here reading crap on my phone (as usual) when I felt the prescence of someone sit down three seats to my left.

A miniscule fraction of a nanosecond passed before I heard a southern American drawl aimed in my general direction.

“That’s a lot of tattoos”

I chose to pretend I hadn’t heard her and kept reading whatever bollocks I was reading on my phone, knowing full well she was talking to me.

How do I know? Well, because:

A) I have two full tattoo sleeves, and

B) I’m the only other person here.

I could feel her looking at me awaiting some sort of response, like a gormless child waiting for a firework display to begin; slack jawed and unblinking.

The act of ignoring someone does not come as easy to me as many would think, so I succumbed to literal peer pressure and looked up at her old, heavily tanned, heavily cheekboned (due to one surgical procedure too many) face.

I gave her a fake smile.

“A lot of tattoos huh?” she pointlessly asked, in case I hadn’t caught the gist of her last unwelcomed comment.

For a second I toyed with the cliché response of “Oh shit, where the fuck did THEY come from??”, but instead I lifted one arm, admired it for a moment and chuckled a friendly(ish) reply:

“Yeah. And a lot of pain too.”

That should be enough to end this unwanted conversation, I thought.

Wrong.

“Wow, gee whizz”, she continued with me now back to my phone, attempting to re-ignore her.

She then paused for a few seconds to, I assume, scan all my artwork.

Then she let out an audible shudder.

Have you ever heard someone audibly shudder?

What kind of reaction is that?

It’s impossible to describe the sound with the written word, but it was like she had spiders suddenly running up and down her sinewy but saggy, slightly hunched, leathery body.

Silent shudder.

Talking crap

Posted on Feb 16, 2016 by headinablender

I’ve just been for that first satisfying bowel movement of the day. The one that usurps all others.

It was great.

But, unlike those I enjoy at weekends, this one was at the office.

A downside to curling out a fresh biscuit at work is that you’re not always the only baker in the bakery. This visit was one of those times.

Now, a story like this isn’t unusual under normal circumstances, but this was far from normal. As I entered the toilets [restroom/bathroom] I could hear that the occupant of the far cubicle [stall] was talking to someone. He was on the phone.

I took the first cubicle because, well, no-one likes to poo within a foot of another person. I don’t care if there’s a layer of wood between me and him; if I can see the shadow of his feet, I’m too close.

The toilets at work don’t have piped in music, nor are they located next to an airport runway so it was deathly quiet in there and therefore I could hear every word he was saying.

“I know”

“Yes, I heard you”

“Well, you hurt my feelings”

“Yes”

“Yes I know”

“OK”

There was a pause.

“I love you”

His call must have ended at that point because he then proceeded to wipe his arse.

Nice.

I finished my performance, flushed and then spent an unnecessarily long time washing and drying my hands.

Why?

Well, it could be because I believe in good personal hygiene, or it could be because I wanted to see if this guy had the bollocks to come out of his cubicle and reveal himself.

He didn’t.

I wouldn’t have either.

So, to respect his privacy and integrity, I left.

Then, out of respect for the guy, I didn’t hang around in the kitchen waiting to see who emerged. I didn’t think it was right to make myself a coffee really slowly so I could check out if it was someone I knew (who may read my blog and somehow take this invasion of privacy personally).

After a few minutes he emerged. Thankfully I didn’t know him.

It was just one of our security team; a massive bastard built like a brick shithouse.

This could be my last post.

The cinema ‘experience’ (Part 2)

Posted on Nov 7, 2014 by headinablender

Following on from Part 1, here is the second category in why the cinema experience isn’t that great.

2. The People

I can tolerate the extortionate prices of the food and over-iced drinks. I can even tolerate the uncomfortably stained and sticky seats. It’s the people I have issues with. I could write shitloads about the people, but there’s only a finite amount of storage on the internet so I’ll break it down into categories.

Talkers

Why are you talking through the film? You’ve chosen and paid money to watch this film, so sit down, shut up and fucking watch it. Are you so incapable of not spewing utter bollocks for 2 measly hours of the day? If you can’t shut up, get out.

I have to go out on a limb here and include children and babies in this section. I realise it’s not their fault as they have yet to adopt social cinema etiquette, but come on! If your baby is screaming and crying, take them outside.

They’re clearly not happy being in a dark noisy room surrounded by strangers. After all, I’m not.

Take them outside. What are you doing in the cinema with a baby anyway? Either leave them with a sitter/friend/stranger or catch the film in a few months on Netflix. It’s not fair on the baby and it’s not fair on me, er, I mean us.

As far as kids are concerned, have a word with them beforehand about not talking or at the very least gag your little treasures.

I’m joking of course, but there is a degree of responsibility here on the parents. When the child is asking “Daddy, what’s Shrek doing? Daddy? Daddy? Why is Shrek shouting at Donkey, Daddy? Daddy? DADDY? DADDY!?”, maybe consider quietly answering them, followed by a discreet “Shh, watch the film” rather than just ignoring them.

You might be able to tolerate their incessant babbling and running up and down the rows, but we can’t.

Kick my chair again you little bastard, I dare you.

Texters/Facebook fiends

I hate this above everything. Get off your phone! If you’re doing it behind me, that’s ok (unless you haven’t muted the beeping/clicking sounds when you type), but anywhere else means I get a bright light in my face which can be as distracting as a punch in yours.

What is so important that you absolutely MUST send a message to someone or check your news feed RIGHT NOW? Then, when they’ve missed massive chunks of the film, they become a ‘talker’ and have to ask their friend what they’ve missed.

If I were the friend I would lie about it.

And punch them in the dick.

Or the vagina.

(I don’t want to appear sexist).

Loud eaters

Admittedly the cinema is somewhat responsible for a majority of this, but not entirely.

Firstly it seems ALL food packaging in the cinema is required to exceed the decibel level of a jet engine. It’s like bubble wrap being driven over slowly with a steamroller that launches fireworks and ball bearings out of its exhaust pipe, in a room with a lot of echo, during an earthquake.

Secondly it seems that most people wait for a really quiet moment in the film to rummage shoulder deep into their popcorn, taking ages to grab a fistful to stuff in their stupid fat mouths.

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE!!!!

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

SLUUUUURRRRP!!!

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE!!!!

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

Can someone get this prick a nosebag?

Or me a gun?

Seat etiquette

Don’t kick the back of my chair, or any chair in my row that’s bolted to mine.

Even if you’re gently tapping the back of the seat without realising it, don’t think I won’t gently tap your face with my fist without you realising it too.

Also, if you choose to sit with a space either side of you, don’t act like the victim and get all reluctant and huffy when my wife and I ask you to move over. Do you seriously expect us to share popcorn across you?

We’re still going to hold hands.

And kiss.

That’s happening.

Last In, First Out

What are you doing turning up 20 minutes into the film?

Considering there’s usually half an hour of adverts and trailers/previews, that’s pretty fucking late to be strolling in. Did you forget what time the film was on? Was it a last minute decision?

And now that you’re here, please feel free to take a further 20 minutes to decide where you want to sit, preferably half way up the aisle so you can block the view of those who WERE on time.

Sit.

The fuck.

Down.

Oh, you need me to get up so you can get past my legs? Of course mate, no problem; I wasn’t doing anything anyway. No, no, it didn’t hurt when you trod on my foot. It’s fine; adds to the whole experience.

Then, when the film ends and the director’s name appears on the screen, most people are up out of their seats and already halfway to the exit.

This makes sense if the film was truly over, but with some films there are extra scenes during the credits. However, the people who have already started leaving still continue to leave!

Fine with me.

It means I can finally let out that fart I’ve been holding in.

Aaaaah…..

To be concluded…

Are we becoming a nation of idiots?

Posted on Aug 22, 2014 by headinablender

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.

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”

Stop talking

Posted on Feb 10, 2014 by headinablender

There’s nothing like that beautiful silence when one half of the ridiculously loud and plummy voiced couple talking utter bollocks on the train finally arrives at their stop and gets the fuck off.

There really is nothing like it…

Suited and unmuted

Posted on May 2, 2013 by headinablender

There’s a guy on the train this morning who is talking loudly into his phone. The reason I can hear him is because he’s the ONLY person talking loudly into his phone like a distressed seagull outside your bedroom window at 6am on a Sunday morning.

For context, he’s a young indian guy with slick gelled hair (spiky but with a comb-over at the front), a suit and tends to end a lot of his sentences with “innit” and “bruv”.

He’s going on and on and on at such an increased volume that the young woman sat next to him reading her book hasn’t turned a page for nearly 15 minutes. I’ve also noticed her knuckles have turned white.

Anyway, this bell-end is clearly talking to someone who has recently bought a new car.

At one point he jokingly asked “do know where the dipstick is?”

Yes bruv, the entire carriage knows.

Innit.

Naughty or nice husband?

Posted on Dec 27, 2012 by headinablender

Someone’s phone rang on the train very loudly just now and it was a terrible, terrible ringtone. The guy looked at it and let it ring and ring for ages before figuring out he should maybe divert it to voicemail, mainly because he was getting the meerkat treatment from the rest of us.

The rubbernecking bloke sat opposite me at the table turned back from meerkatting to face me once again. I stupidly made a nanosecond’s eye contact with him which was apparemtly invite enough for him to try and engage me in mutual tutting and rolling of the eyes that says ‘bloody ringtones eh?’

Sorry, I’m not getting involved. You’re on your own twatboy.

The situation was exacerbated by the woman sat next to me across the aisle whose phone then rang and she proceeded to explain to her partner which train she was on and where exactly in the journey it was.

Cue more invites from King Tut.

She then spent several minutes looking out of every window with such exaggerated intensity it looked like she was on a rollercoaster without proper restraints. I guess this was to somehow demonstrate to her partner that she was really keen to explain where she was, despite the fact he can’t see her and It’s pitch black outside so all she actually saw was her stupid face reflected in the glass, jerking all over the place like a pervert with a live chicken up their arse.

Anyway, she managed to tell him which station we were at.

At least he now knows how long he’s got before he has to kick her sister out of bed.

He he…

Too dark?

Possibly…but consider this; he rang her a further 5 times for a location update whilst I was writing this blog.

Another delayed journey…

Posted on Dec 21, 2012 by headinablender

This morning I had the joy of a lift to the train station as my girlfriend isn’t working today.

Result.

The downside with mentally allocating yourself more time in the morning is that you then tend to over-allocate which today resulted in us leaving much MUCH later than we should have. In fact, I was urging her to take most corners on two wheels.

She obliged.

And now I need a change of trousers.

Anyway, we screeched up outside the station and I jumped out of the car with true action movie prowess; running towards the platform at breakneck speed (or what my legs were capable of at 7:30am this morning) as my train was already there.

Whilst I traversed the bridge over the train I thought to myself that I might even possibly maybe consider the theoretical likelihood that, if the train were to begin pulling away, I would jump off the bridge and onto its roof. That way I could not only get into work on time, but also defy the laws of inertia by chasing and fighting some Bond-esque villain complete with limp, eye-patch and a briefcase with classified documents, microfilm and ballistic missile launch codes inside.

As it happens the train didn’t pull out, so I got on it with seconds to spare. It seems those top secret codes will get into the enemy hands after all.

Ah, what did I care; I got a seat.

But hang on, something’s not right. The train’s departure time had come and gone and we were still sat there. It was at this point I was filled with dread as the voice of the driver came crackling over the speaker system; “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, I do apologise for the delay to our service this morning, but we’re being held at a red signal.”.

No shit? Really? I hadn’t considered that.

He continued; “Due to a trackside fire at Preston Park there is now a backlog of trains and we’re awaiting platform space at Three Bridges station before we can continue”.

Ooh, now that’s a little more exciting.

We continued to sit there.

At this point I thought I heard uneven footsteps above me, but shrugged it off and decided to text work and let them know I was going to be late due to issues with the trains. I must admit it was mostly so they knew I was actually awake and hadn’t overslept.

We then sat there for a further 20 minutes.

During this time I was within earshot of a conversation between two women who were talking at the volume intended to encourage other people to listen. One of them was complaining that the driver should just use the ‘bypass track’ to miss out the offending station and get us on our way, whereas the other woman was saying that she’s sure they’re doing everything they can to get us on our way.

This pointless interaction went on for a while and reminded me of football pundits discussing a game they weren’t involved in, had no control of and ultimately speculating on what the players were actually thinking when in reality they should just shut the fuck up.

Soon enough the guard walked through the carriage and was stopped by Mrs Bypass-Track. She asked why we couldn’t just ‘go around’ the other trains. The guard tried to explain, through a forced smile that resembled a clown taking a shit, that all the platforms were in use and there were no tracks for us to use. She still continued to ask why we couldn’t just bypass them, as if the concept of trains and tracks had eluded her. The guard said they were doing everything they could to get us on our way which resulted in the smuggest look from the other woman who had said the exact same thing not 5 minutes earlier.

I knew there was nothing I could do so I sat back, relaxed and closed my eyes for an extended morning train snooze.

I was woken briefly by what sounded like a faint shriek followed by a dull thud and a clatter resembling a briefcase hitting train tracks.

I think the lights flickering slightly too, but then the train started moving so I shrugged it off, closed my eyes again and drifted off.

I hope you, like, really, like, LIKE this like, post.

Posted on Nov 21, 2012 by headinablender

I have the two most annoying girls sat next to me on the train. They are talking constantly, and luckily the ONLY two people talking on the entire carriage.

It’s ok, I didn’t want to sleep anyway. It’s fine ladies, you carry on. And on. And on. And on.

To add context, they both say ‘yah’ instead of ‘yeah’, and the word ‘Uni’ comes up a lot. You know the type.

But what’s fascinating is how much they use the word ‘like’ in a sentence.

Allow me to, like, demonstrate….

Let’s use the simple sentence;
“We went to a great bar last night with a group of people and it was good”

This is how they’d, like, say it;
“Oh my God! We, like, went to, like, this great bar last night and, like, we went with, like, this huge, like group of, like, people and it was, like, soooo amazing and stuff!”

Add in hand gestures that look like they’re playing chords with both hands on an invisible piano.

Also, they also go up at the end of each sentence making it sound like a question. Those of you who know me will understand how infuriating that is! For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t worry…I’ll blog about it at some point.

Anyway…

I have my camera and tripod with me today, so I’m contemplating twatting them both across the face with them. Twice each; just for good measure.

Don’t want to damage my camera though.

Blah blah fucking blah…

Posted on Nov 13, 2012 by headinablender

Another incessant talker on the train.

She just…won’t…stop…talking.

It all comes out like one unrelenting sentence without stopping for air or punctuation.

It’s likely this woman never farts as her mouth isn’t closed long enough to build up any pressure

Her friend (I assume; it could be a random passenger who is having just the worst journey into work right now) is simply there to provide the occasional ‘yeah’, ‘oh right’ and ‘oh dear’.

But we know what she really wants to reply with. It’s what we’re all thinking….

“Shut the fuck up love”

One sided conversation

Posted on Nov 7, 2012 by headinablender

I’m witnessing an awkward conversation between a man and a woman on the train who clearly know each other.

She’s talking non stop at great speed with masses of enthusiasm and no gaps for breathing. He just wants to sit in silence and maybe sleep. It’s so obvious as he’s just giving small unenthused recaps of her paragraphs, followed by brief moments of silence when he closes his eyes, only for her to launch into one again.

For example:

Her – “we’ve just replaced all the radiators in the house because Steve thinks it better that we have new ones ha ha ha ha ha and the new ones are much better but the old ones are quite vintage so Steve think we should sell them ha ha ha ha ha because we can make some extra money ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!”
Him – “yeah, you’ll make some money”

5 seconds of silence. He puts his head back and slowly closes his eyes.

Her – “there are quite a few babies in our family and Steve said its a nightmare ha ha ha ha well they’re not baby babies as a lot of them are a bit older now but you know what I mean ha ha ha ha ha but Steve and I aren’t going to have any yet as we like to relax at home and put our feet up ha ha ha ha”
Him – “yeah because you haven’t got any babies yet”

She’s maintaining eye contact with him at all times which, considering they’re sat side by side across the aisle, means he has to keep his head to the right.

It’s painful to watch.

How is she not seeing it? I mean, in the 20 minutes they’ve been on the train, he’s lost about 2 stone in weight and grown a beard.

Run away Steve. Far, far away.

Recruitment commute

Posted on Nov 2, 2012 by headinablender

On the train home, and luckily I’m sat next to two young guys discussing, what I can assume is, how much commission their job gets them and how shit their colleagues are at it.

It becomes very clear, very soon, that they work in recruitment. I have nothing against recruiters as I have friends who do it and I used to be one, but these two little Danny Dyers are the breed of recruiters better described in a word of one syllable.

You figure it out.

They’re sat here, amongst commuters, (lots and lots of commuters who have no doubt been clients and candidates to a recruitment agency at some point) describing clients and candidates like dumb cattle put on this earth to earn them some ‘bank,

Bank? Fucking really??

They’re getting some disapproving looks as they carry on talking wank about their cattle, whilst munching McDonalds a fistful at a time. How ironic.

One of them, we’ll call him ‘Tony’, is bragging about the deals he’s “got on the board” amongst other inane shit, whilst the other is a gap filler whose only role is to listen, nod and occasionally say “I know, he does doesn’t he?” and “yeah, I couldn’t sit next to him”.

Here is a sample of the utter bollocks Tony is coming out with……or at least, what I can make out through mouthfuls of McMasticated mess.

– “I’ve got more deals up on the board, so don’t go bringing it!”

(I’d like to point out these guys are white, and so far away from being ‘street’, they’re practically ‘meadow’)

– “He’s a 23year old 12year old”

(I’m sorry. What? Surely that should be the other way around otherwise you’re simply pointing out a pre-teen is exceptionally mature for his years…unlike yourself?)

– “I’m better than you, you feel?”

(No comment. Seriously, who says “you feel?”?)

– “Ben is a one trick pony”

(Unlike you, who sure is one prick, Tony)

[No idea who Ben is]

– “He finks (not ‘thinks’) he’s God’s gift for a day”

(Is this still Ben? Who knows. Who cares? I just want him to choke on his fries)

There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

Tony finally gets off the train and they say their goodbyes, which had the word ‘mate’ in it, like, 200 times.

They arrange to see each other next Tuesday.

Appropriate.

Small talk

Posted on Oct 5, 2012 by headinablender

This morning, as I made it onto the train platform, my train pulled in bereft of passengers and filled with row upon row of empty seats. It’s moments like this that make commuting tolerable; the joy felt when you know you’re about to get another hour of slumber.

And just as my 12 carriage bed came to a stop and the enterprise doors opened I heard a “hello stranger” from behind me. I turned around and there was one of my neighbours.

“Oh hello, how are you?” I replied, uninterested in her answer.

“I’m fine thanks; are you catching the train?”

– pause –

It’s at this point that you need to understand how my brain works. There is a scene in ‘The Terminator’ when Mr Schwarzenegger is sitting on a cheap hotel bed doing Terminatory stuff when the hotel manager starts bashing on the door shouting, “hey buddy, you got a dead cat in there or what?” through a chewed up cigar. We then see Arnie’s viewpoint and he is presented with a choice of the following replies:

Yes/No

Or what?

Go away

Please come back later

Fuck you, asshole

Fuck you

As you’d expect, he chooses the penultimate (and best) response. It’s a hilarious and memorable scene. If you haven’t seen it then shame on you. Rent it, watch it, come back.

Anyway, my brain works in a similar way, especially when faced with a comment or question that is so ballsachingly retarded (right up there with “are you still reading that book?”, “did those tattoos hurt?” and “are you really going to eat that?”). Often I also go for the penultimate (and best) response. On this occasion I went for “I am indeed, where are you off to?”

(Please don’t say London, please don’t say London, please don’t say London)

“London”

“Great” (shit)

Don’t get me wrong; she’s a nice enough woman, but I don’t really know her that well. Plus I really, REALLY wanted to sleep. Now, instead, we’re sat opposite each other at a table in a confined metal tube going 80mph towards our nation’s capital. I miss the old slam-door trains….I could’ve just jumped off.

The conversation was painful. I mean painful. It consisted mostly of “how’s work?”, “I see you’ve got a new fence”, “what are you up to at the weekend?”, “how’s work?”, “ah, the next stop is….”, “I saw your other half the other day”, “I’m off to London for a training course” and “how’s work?”.

It was exhausting….which isn’t ideal for someone already in desperate need of sleep.

I tried all the tactics in the book to initiate silence, including taking massive interest in the passing scenery, checking my phone for messages, playing with my penis, etc…but it was all fruitless in stopping her relentlessly inane chatter. We even got onto the subject of how boring my commute must be every day. If she only knew.

The whole situation worsened when other commuters started filling the carriage. The suit next to me opened a book, the suit opposite me opened a broadsheet and STILL she continued with awkwardly selected topics of conversation. The issue now was the fact that I was now becoming ‘those people’ who don’t shut up talking on trains when you want to read (or sleep!). It’s not like I was doing it on purpose! I wanted to stop, but I felt that no-one believed me despite the fact that I now had my face fully pushed up against the glass to demonstrate my total and utter interest in the passing scenery….which at this point was the inside of a tunnel.

Fail.

We were starting to get ‘the look’ from those around us. I know ‘the look’ as I’ve perfected it myself, usually just before the blog that inevitably would follow.

I have, however, learned something new from this morning’s experience. The face I make when I’m willing someone to shut the fuck up appears to be exactly the same as the one I make when I’m totally and utterly interested in everything they have to say.

I really have to work on that.