What a good egg!

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!