Well good evening viewers! And what a moist week it's been. And I'm not talking about the weather either. The inevitable happened yesterday. I was chopping up some peppers to go in the salad (me and the old man both stood on the scales at the weekend, and we are so fat the scales actually said out loud 'FUCK THAT YOU TUBBY CUNTS, I'M OFF' and legged it out the back door, so we are now both on a health kick, and if I never see another fucking lettuce in my lifetime it will be too soon), so there I was chopping away thinking to myself, 'I bet that sneaky kid of mine will come down and try and scare me, well I'm WAY ahead of her, she'll never get me' and within 3 NANO-SECONDS of me thinking that, she MumRah-ed me from behind, well I jumped out of my fucking skin, screamed like a girl and promptly pissed myself from fright. Genuinely soiled my underpants, had to go and change my soggy joggers (soggers, if you will) while she stood in the kitchen laughing her tits off. BITCH. Why oh why, when God or whoever did it, why did they make a woman's bladder her fright-sensor? Why couldn't he have just made her hair stand on end when she is startled? Proves that God or whoever it was is a fucking man. BASTARD.
I'm going to see Guns and Roses in a few weeks, so I really, really hope I can stop singing 'Welcome George and Bungle' instead of 'Welcome to the Jungle' or I'm going to look a right TWAT in that moshpit.
I had the sad task of buying a sympathy card this week, popped in Tesco's (where else?) and perused the cheesy selection of sickly verse. Well, I TRIED to peruse the cheesy selection of sickly verse, but I couldn't, because there was a couple stood there looking at the cards themselves, for quite some time, in fact FUCKING AGES. I tried to make it obvious that I'd quite like to look at the cards too, in fact it couldn't have been more obvious if I'd shouted GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY YOU DAWDLING BUFFOONS, but they stood there for a fucking lifetime, so long in fact, that I thought if I wait here any longer I'm going to fucking die myself and you'll be buying ME a card, so I stalked off to the multi-pack crisp aisle instead. I haven't got time to fuck around when there's FRAZZLES to be eaten, you know.
Guess who thought a kebab was an actual animal, like with legs and a tail and everything? That's right, my kid.
Adverts that are wrong - 'McDonalds - enjoy a 99p cheeseburger' - YOU WHAT? Are you taking the piss? I will not enjoy a 99p cheeseburger - at 99p I will enjoy FIVE, thank you very much! Things in the news that have pissed me off this week - a total JIZZTUBE of a woman complained to the Google Streetview thing because the Google car took a picture of her house as it whizzed by, and her kids were in the garden in the paddling pool naked. Now, this might just be me, right, but she wasn't that bothered about her kids running around naked in her front garden for all the neighbourhood weirdos to look at, was she? But when there's a chance to get her fucking thick mug in the papers, oh yes let's grasp that with both chavvy hands, shall we! Let's be honest - parenting isn't really that hard - and I don't mean the sleepless nights and the constant worry that little Tarquin will get in with the wrong crowd and shank his Geography teacher, or darling Chardonnay will come home at age 14 tubbed up with twins by the local skag-merchant - those things ARE hard and I would never dismiss them. What I mean is the basic common-sense parenting stuff - don't leave your baby in the bath while you get pissed, don't give them a can of lighter fluid and box of matches to play with, DON'T LET THEM RUN AROUND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD IN THE BUFF, thicko! Give it a few years and she'll be sending them to the Henri Paul School of Driving (ooooosh, too soon?)!
Finally, in a few short hours, my smallest and most annoying child leaves her teenage years behind her and turns 20. I cannot quite believe how quickly the time has gone by, it seems like only yesterday I was growling at the grumpy midwife 'HAVE YOU HAD ANY FUCKING KIDS?' (in my defence I was off by tits on gas and air) to which she replied 'Yes, three actually', and then once the blotchy little bundle of shit and puke arrived, I was sat in the back of the car with her trying to think of a suitably stupid name (one that she then spent the next ten years fucking MOANING about because she could never find a keyring with her name on). And now, in a flash, she's an adult - driving, working and going out on the piss and coming home in the middle of the night, falling asleep on the kitchen floor and then vomiting in a glass because she can't be bothered to move. I'm a proud mum. Happy Birthday Egg!
Hello there. Sorry for the lack of blog the last few weeks. I was on holiday, and then I wasn't feeling very well. I'm on some tablets that make me feel really shitty and tired in the evenings, and I just haven't had the mojo to do much. But worry not, for I have still been saving up things to rant write about.
Now, I'm not proud, I'll tell you what the tablets are for. They are to try and stop me constantly pissing my pants every time I breathe. This happens to lots of ladies, especially those who have shelled out a few 9 pounders in their time, and ended up with a flange like the top of a fat man's welly. I sneeze, I piss - I laugh, I piss - I cough, I piss - you get the soggy picture. I was, quite frankly, sceptical that these tablets would work, and thought I might end up having to have that surgery where they mutilate your flaps with a bit of wire fencing, but so far so good, I haven't dribbled for a month. Until today........
So I saw this funny guy on Twitter, he films himself scaring the shit out of his mum by doing the MumRah at her when she's least expecting it (MumRah, for those who are wondering, is when you go up to your Mum and shout RAAAAAHHHHH at her really loudly when she's innocently peeling the spuds or knitting). So I thought it would be really funny to do it to the kid, as she's always making me jump when I'm doing the dishes listening to Simon Mayo and singing along to Harry Styles Iron Maiden. So she was making her tea earlier, so I set the video running on my phone, snuck round the corner and went AAAARRRRRGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGGGGGGGHHHHHH at the top of my voice! Hilarious! Except she didn't even flinch. She just gave me a look of pure disdain and said 'Why?'. My plan had backfired. Spectacularly, in fact, as not only did she not jump, but I pissed myself, not through laughter, but through the sheer exertion of shouting REALLY FUCKING LOUDLY. So off upstairs I trotted to change my pants, and the pissy joke was on me.
Has anyone seen that Quorn advert? The one where the bird has been working late, gets home and her boyfriend has cooked her a 'lovely' Quorn spaghetti bolognese? Let me be absolutely clear, potential boyfriends - if I worked my bollocks off and came home late, and you'd cooked me a 'lovely' spaghetti bolognese made out of bits of brown polystyrene, I'd fuck off back to work, do I make myself understood? I'm not dissing off vegetarians, in fact I love them, for the most part because it means there are more great big fucking meaty burgers for me to eat - but please, Quorn? And why would a vegetarian want to eat fake meat anyway? Surely the clue is in the word 'vegetarian'? Perhaps I will start to eat carrots made out of Peperami.
This week's mis-sung lyrics - The Cranberries 'You know I'm such a fool for you You've got me wrapped around your finger ah ah ah Do you have to Do you have to Do you have to smell my finger' (I know there's two fingers in that, but hey, why change the habit of my lifetime?)
Anyway, we went on our hols to the seaside, and a mostly pleasant week it was. Where we go on hols isn't really hols, as we stay with family and we go there loads of times a year, so we're not like actual annoying tourists, but we still sat in the sun on the front drinking cider and watched all the annoying holiday urchins go by. The small town where we go is not really built for cars and they have to really squeeze their way through the very narrow main street, which is always pretty busy with pedestrians at holiday season, and it's always amusing to hear the tourists complaining (in the regional accent of your choice) 'oh Derek, they should make this bit pedestrianised to stop the cars getting in our way'. Yes. That's right, you absolute fucking CHEESE-BISCUIT, let's pedestrianise a 100s of years old fishing town just so you don't have to manoeuvre your big, fat, pasty-filled ass on to a path to let a car go by. BELLEND. Anyway, while we were sat having a moan, we heard this approaching 'squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak', just like a dog's toy, but we couldn't work out where it was coming from. Then it became clear. A toddler was, uh, toddling along towards us, and his parents, in their wisdom, had bought him novelty squeaky shoes, so every step he took sounded like a Jack Russell humping a squeaky bone. But the kid seemed happy enough, so I thought 'fair enough, no need to report them to Childline' - how wrong could I be? The toddler was toddling along, and his mum called out to him - get ready for this - I shit you not, absolutely 100% genuine truth - his mum called out 'Elvis, wait for Mummy'. Elvis. ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME? Now to my knowledge this kid did not have a quiff, a schoolgirl wife, or a monstrous cocaine habit - however what he will have when he starts school is a big target on his back saying 'KICK ME'. Parents can be right cunts sometimes, and I now have Esther Rantzen on speed dial.
