Big angry parcel of bollocks

I have not been very well this week so am a little bit grumpy (SHOCK).  In fact having just read back this entire post I have quite a lot of negative energy to expel today.  I’ve had a three-day headache and a throat that feels like someone force-fed me a cheese grater.  So I had a couple of days off work, accompanied only by some Strepsils, the telly and three smelly cats, who now sleep in the kitchen because I did indeed have a mental breakdown about the piss, like a proper, crying, I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE meltdown, except the pissy one now likes to sleep on the breadboard which is DISGUSTING (the cat’s ass, not my breadboard, although now you mention it…) so now every night before bed I have to play CAT JENGA, which involves me balancing EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER OWNED on the kitchen worktops to try and deter her from climbing up there.  I’m winning (and I haven't even had to chop her legs off yet).  Anyway, it’s been ages since I watched daytime telly, so I thought I’d have a laugh and watch Jeremy Kyle.  Well that lasted all of five minutes, because he’s still a cunt.  In fact, he’s such a cunt that it makes you feel almost sorry for his guests, even the ones that need extensive dental reconstruction (oh wait, that will be ALL OF THEM THEN).  But I thank him, because instead of watching him, I downloaded a series of Elementary with Jonny Lee Miller, and sat under my blanky thinking how wrong actually is it to fancy Sherlock Holmes?

So anyway while watching telly, I saw an advert for this new fangled box thing from Virgin telly, that you can apparently record SIX DIFFERENT CHANNELS at the same time!  Brilliant!  Except I DEFY YOU to find SIX DIFFERENT PROGRAMMES worth watching across the whole week's television schedules, let alone ON ALL AT THE SAME TIME.  And do you know why Virgin cannot find SIX DIFFERENT PROGRAMMES that are worth watching?  It's because they have no money to buy decent programmes for their TV packages.  And do you know why they have no money to buy decent programmes for their TV packages?  It's because they've spent all their money sending me an A4 fucking mailshot THREE TIMES A DAY FOR THE LAST TWENTY FUCKING SEVEN YEARS offering me their shitty new TV box.  You'd think that after the first few times of them sending me their SHIT in the post and me not responding, they'd get the message, but oh no, still my letterbox is filled with VIRGIN BOLLOCKS.  I have now decided I will collect all their junk mail (and probably some of the other ABSOLUTE TOSS I get in the post too) and post it back to them on a regular basis, just so they can be annoyed about thinking there is something important for them in a big envelope, only to find out it's another letter from the grinning beard-faced billionaire.  Fucking junk mail gets on my tits, I even got something from some arthritis support group - ARTHRITIS I TELL YOU, I'm as agile as a fucking gazelle!  Who is sending me this shit!

This leads me onto that other place that is filled with absolute crap, Facebook.  Now, I might offend some of you here, but, let's face it, if I didn't offend someone sooner or later, you'd be well disappointed.  'Like and share'.  Now, there are very worthy 'like and share' posts.  Your mate is running the marathon to raise money for The Man With Trees For Hands, that's fine, I'll like and share it to try and boost his marathon coffers - or someone posts that FUCKING HILARIOUS video of Anthea Turner getting blown out of the back of an army truck, that's great, I'll happily like and share it - or your dad's started a new business importing girlfriends from Korea, I'll like and share it because I admire a bit of initiative.  But I'm afraid what I won't like and share, or say AMEN or HALLE-FUCKING-LUJAH to, are these fucking pictures of disabled or disfigured people and animals - 'my mummy says nobody will like my picture because I look like Mick Hucknall', 'if you don't say AMEN to this poor man with a hippo's ballbag for a chin it means you're a heartless wench', 'share this picture of this poor emu that has Rod Hull's hand stuck up it's ass or you will have bad luck for 12 years', 'if you ignore this picture YOU HAVE NO SOUL'.  Yes.  That's right.  I am heartless, and soulless.  SO FUCK OFF.  I'm not liking it, I'm not sharing it, I'm not saying fucking AMEN to it.  And that doesn't make me uncaring or heartless, it makes me NOT FUCKING GULLIBLE. 

Delivery persons - why are you stupid?  I have a lot of things delivered - food mainly.  On my Tesco instructions, it is very clear to come through the gate by the garage door (I even tell them the colour of the garage, and my house number is very clearly marked both on my gate and my fence).  This is the back of my house, but because my house is ass about face, the back of the house is the bit by the road - the front is on a green, so it is much easier for people in a great big van to come to the back.  NOBODY uses my front door (ooooer missus), except the postman, and that's only because my letterbox is in the front door.  So just recently Tesco's arrived at the front door.  I said to the delivery guy (who I have to admit are always generally polite) 'yeh I put on the instructions to go to the other door as it's easier for you not to have to carry five crates of shopping four hundred miles across the green from your van to my door'. Do you know what he said? 'Oh yeh, we NEVER READ THE DELIVERY INSTRUCTIONS'.  Really?  Then how come ALL YOUR OTHER DRIVERS COME TO THE RIGHT FUCKING DOOR YOU BELLEND? And why bother giving me the option to write delivery instructions if you're TOO FUCKING THICK TO BE ABLE TO READ? In fact HOW DID YOU EVEN FIND MY HOUSE YOU UTTER MORON, with your INCREDIBLE READING SKILLS?  This ABSOLUTE BUFFOONERY also applies to Parcelforce - this week, when I was sat moping with my illness in the living room, I heard a noise by the front door, I went and opened it and their was stood Parcelforce man, with, unsurprisingly, a parcel.  'Oh, you are in' he said.  'Yes, I am', I said 'why didn't you ring the bell?'.  Do you know what he said?  'What bell?'.  WHAT BELL?  I pointed at the bell, thinking 'the fucking bell that's RIGHT HERE UNDER YOUR NOSE THAT'S BEEN THERE FOR THE ENTIRE TEN YEARS I'VE LIVED IN THIS HOUSE'.  'Ah right,' he said, 'I didn't know if it worked or not.'  What I wanted to say was 'well, why didn't you try PRESSING IT, you absolute fucking JAPS-EYE', but you know what?  I could not be bothered, I just wanted my parcel.  Parcelforce?  ParcelSHITE more like.

Guess what?  The parcel wasn't even for me.  FUCKSTICKS.