Author: Mosh

Very late with today’s post. Sorry about that. I only got home around half midnight from Manchester and I had to wash all the blood, oil, puke, piss, and alien semen off. More details likely on Thursday. Late night again tomorrow (home game) so I might not get the chance to blog when I get back.

Language

It seems someone’s released another of those pointless surveys over the last 24 hours. This one is a list of what we call our work colleagues – pet names, if you like. They range through “babe”, “pet”, “mate”, “sweetheart” and so forth.

The brief walk round the streets that 5Live did resulted in some seriously negative responses to this. One Scots guy was absolutely ranting: “What’s happened to the English language? I’m not their ‘mate’ – I’m ‘sir’ to them. ‘Can I help you, sir?”

Some people shouldn’t rant about a language until they know what the words mean. Scots Guy – go and look up “colleague”. These are the people you work with, you daft sod. I’d not expect a single one of the people I work with to call me “sir”. If I did, I’d be diagnosed with some kind of Napoleon Syndrome and committed.

Another girl said that she called her friends by such names, but would never dream of using them to work colleagues. Which says a lot for her working environment. I actually get on with the people I work with. I would – and do – go for a frink with them. I’ve had social nights out with them. Maybe I’m lucky, but I’d class some of them as more than just people in an office – they’re mates. Maybe not up the scale with those I’ve know for many years, but they’re a good bunch. If I didn’t feel comfortable calling them “mate” or “fella” after a few weeks, I’d start to think I was working in the wrong place.

Admittedly, I did used to walk into the office where I last worked and say “Guten Tag, Damen!” which used to piss off the Polish workers for some reason.

So where does that leave us? We’re not allowed to call people by pleasantly-meant pet names for risk of insulting them. So **** it, go the whole hog:

“Pass us the stapler, y’******”

“Oh, you’re here. What time are the other ***** arriving?”

“Hey – ****. Have you done that report yet?”

Is that OK for you, Scots Guy?

Priorities

The BBC made a cockup on Sunday, at least in my book. The news headlines came on in the evening. Top story was Posh & Becks possibly considering legal action because the News of the World published some stuff by their ex-nanny. I’m assuming she said she’s bonked the Brainless Wonder, or something.

Oh, and second on the news, 15 people were killed in a bomb blast.

At what point did the decidedly non-private lives of two of the biggest attention-seeking morons on the face of the planet take precedence over a loss of innocent life?

Hmm. Sunday afternoon at the pre-broadcast news conference, I suppose.

I am a dancing god

Whoops. That was a typo. Actually, I’m more of a dancing dog, stood on a dancefloor nodding my head back and forth. If you’re lucky (or unlucky), you might get a bit of air guitar in there.

How do some people do it? I mean, look cool dancing. John Travolta was the archetype some years ago, yet anyone who does what he did just looks like some arse trying to be Travolta and failing miserably. Of course, these days he’d likely crack any glass dancefloors with the excess poundage he’s carrying.

Then you’ve got Michael Jackson’s moonwalking and groin-grabbing. It’s looking like the only shuffling he’ll be doing for the next 30 years will involve 5 knuckles. I’d not be surprised if he’s squealing when someone else grabs his nutsack either.

Caught out

Which is the better? Watching a little kid gurgle and smile, or catching out an otherwise normal person sticking their tongue out and make daft faces at it? Such happened to me today. The poor lass didn’t realise I was watching her until she’d been gurning at the poor child for an age. She went a right shade of beetroot.

Halifax PO

I don’t wish to be mean, but what is it about Halifax’ main Post Office? It seems to be like some kind of Munter Magnet. Aside from my good self, every time I go in the place it’s full of ghastly looking people. In fact, the only attractive ones I’ve ever seen in there are male.

Actually, I think that pretty much goes for most of Halifax town centre. What scares me most is that a vast proportion of the worst genetic freaks seem to have offspring. How can a bloke get that desparate? Or that drunk?

Remind me never to go out drinking in Halifax. Ever. Actually, I did once. The night ended watching some poor sod getting his head jumped on (literally – jumped on) by some psycho trendy freak who’d recently been kicked out of the army for being “mental”. I’ve not been back out there since.

Chavs out!

I heard from Dean (ex-neighbour, now landlord of that property) today, and apparently the chavs next door have been given the heave-ho for non-payment of rent. One of the rooms is apparently in a right state, and they’ve made a crap job of fixing the bathroom door the police kicked in to get to the fugitive they were harbouring.

A huge change from the previous people. Dean turned up to give the house a tidy before re-renting and didn’t even have to open the packet of dusters – the place was spotless.

What’s worrying me, though, is he said “You’ve probably already noticed…” before he told me. Well, I hadn’t, because one of the scrotes was stood on the doorstep this morning when I left for work. I’ll be keeping a close eye on the place over the next couple of days to make sure they’re not sneaking in with spare keys.

First off – apologies to the many I know who read this page who aren’t as mad as the utter ******* I’m going on about here. As I’ve stated before I couldn’t care if you worshipped an invisble cloud man, aliens from Mars or the plop that comes out of George Bush’s crinkly arse. So long as you don’t try and force your views on me (or anyone else), I’m happy for you to enjoy your life choices.

This happened a while ago, but I’ve only just found some sites with details. Have a check of this statement from a UK cancer charity. Yes – they were forced to turn down a substantial sum of money because a bunch of ******* god-botherers were pissed off about where they were getting it from.

Basically it boils down to: “If you accept money from Jerry Springer The opera then we, as caring Christians, will picket your charity shops, harass staff at your cancer care centres and upset seriously ill patients. Because we care about Jesus and we love you.” The hypocritial, ******* *****. Every ******* one of them.

Part of me hopes there is a heaven, purely so St Peter can stand there and tell them to **** off when they die for being such utter, self-important, ****-stirring ********.

If you want to see a site devoted to telling these people what pricks they are then check out the Anti Christian Voice site. Recommended.

What’s the similarity between teabags and condoms? Not the fact that they both leak icky fluid if you buy cheap ones. If you get a big box of johnnies, or a big bag of teabags, the items inside are always joined together in pairs. Why?

With teabags… hmmm. Maybe it’s to make people who make a cup on their own seem pathetic and lonely. Like Mr Tetley is saying "You should have friends". Or perhaps we all drink our tea too weak and it’s supposed to be made with two bags per cup.

Condoms, however, should only be used one at a time. Unless you’re desparate to deaden the sensation far enough that you don’t pop your cork too quickly in which case any sensible person would just get the extra safe, made-from-the-rubber-of-four-old-welly-boot type. I just can’t think of a situation where two people would need a condom at the same time.

Erk. Actually, thinking for the briefest of seconds maybe I can. But I’m filthy so let’s let that one slide.

The only reason I’ve found for it is if you’re trying to separate them into singles to put them in your wallet, at least one will end up tearing off the perforations and ripping the packet open slightly. End result being that you’ve got to buy more sooner, and you’re compelled to have a posh **** so as not to waste it.

Marketing people, eh? *tut*