Life – Page 119 – Mosher'sUnimaginativelyEntitledBlog

Byeeeee (again)

Well, folks, this is your lot for a few days. Tomorrow morning, I drive down to Dawn’s and we panic trying to figure out how to split no more than 30kg of camping equipment and strong alcohol between us (silly Ryanair luggage limits). Then, off to Belgium via Holland.

I’ll try to convince her that it’s important I get back in one piece. Mainly because I’ll be the one driving us home from the airport. I’ve been checking the insurance policy and it excludes “claims arising from any activity which requires a degree of skill or involves a greater risk”. Does this include moshing? If anyone asks, I fell down some stairs…

Coursework 1 is almost done. Work’s dead today, so I’ve been pulling together most of the stuff I have to do and, when it’s all in one place, it’s not that much. I’ll panic over the maths when I return.

Gym at 12:00, lunch straight after, head for site at 1:30 and – if I’m lucky – home a little early depending on how things go there. Holiday is so close!

Before any of you ask, no you can’t have a postcard. 1) I’ll be on a campsite. 2) the last time I was on hols and sent postcards, two out of the 18 I posted actually arrived. You can, however, sit in your offices and homes and wish you were there with me. That is allowed.

Clippings

Don’t you hate it when you’ve just clipped your fingernails, they’re all lovely and neat… and then you realise you can’t reach that huge crusty snotter right at the back of your nose? Your finger just seems to glide over the top, pushing it deeper and liquefying is so it either goes down the back way or mushes up and makes a mess of your hanky.

Just me, eh?

Leave them alone!!!

There’s a story on BBC News today about a former prostitute being stripped of her earnings. Now, don’t get me wrong – I’ve never used a prostitute, nor do I think I ever will.

However, why on earth can’t they do their job and be left in peace? This girl came over here as a kid, set herself up and bought a flat with nearly a Â£500,000 deposit. In cash. She went on to set up “escort” services employing at least 45 other women at one time. They reckon she’s got upwards of Â£1.2 million stashed away that they’re going to try and get back.

Now… why? My only quibble (assuming the girls themselves made a decent living and were safe) is that she might not have paid tax. Thing is, if she did they’d be asking where she got the money from.

Will someone explain why prostitution is such a difficult job to have? As far as I’m aware, being a prostitute in and of itself is not illegal. It’s a woman’s right to do what she wants with her body, and if a man (or another woman) wants to pay to make use of those services then so what?

The thing is, everything surrounding prostitution is illegal. Kerb crawling. Soliciting (i.e. advertising). Living off immoral earnings (so if you’re out of work and your partner earns a living on her back, you can’t live off them or you are in trouble). Running a brothel.

The last one’s ludicrous. A “brothel” is described as any premises where more than one prostitute works. Prostitution is not a safe job, and this stupid rule prevents “safety in numbers”.

When the hell will the UK wake up and realise that a legalised, taxed and certified prostitution business (like that in some continental countries) will reduce drug problems, STDs, violence towards women and have the added bonus of bringing in some income to the treasury and reducing the load on our police and courts?

Bollocks to it. I’m off somewhere foreign. If only for a few days.

Apologies in advance

If it chucks it down with rain today in the Bradford area, it’s all my fault. I meant to wash my duvet yesterday so I could put it out to dry and I forgot. So I popped it in the wash this morning instead… and then gathered that we’re due for thunder storms and torrential rain.

Bugger.

New toys

Seeing as Anni was too pissed (see yesterday’s comments) to spot the ******* huge graphic above, I’ll detail the additions to the page. One is the aforementioned big blue box with a yellow and green border right at the top of the ******* page which is sooooo hard to see. It lets you know what I’m listening to on Winamp, and is supplied by SigAmp. They do versions for about 6 different media players.

Further down on the left, I’ve added a proper RSS feed to go with the Atom one (see the subscribe section) courtesy of FeedBurner. This’ll mean knack all to most of you – and in fact to me – but some people have asked for it so there you go.

Finally, right at the bottom of the left section is a little map that details bloggers near my location. This one courtesy of FeedMap.

That text message

OK, it’s been asked for and I said I’d post it. Anni’s shitfaced text message from Friday night:

I am very very drunk, waiting 4 bus home. I have a blow up guitar.

Yes. Well. Thanks for that. How utterly random.

Sorry for the delay…

It’s raining blood, hallelujah…

First of all, let me try and knacker Google: GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAR! GWAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRR!

Thank you.

I have been splattered by the Scumdogs of the Universe. I got home in the early hours of Wednesday morning, soaked to the skin. My clothes, skin and hair coated in blood, mucus, baby vomit, space alien jizz, hydraulic fluid… And with a big smile on my face. Everyone must know about Alice Cooper‘s legendary live show. And many will be aware of Ozzy’s habit of spraying the crowd with water. OK, now imagine some kind of hybrid.

The songs are instantly forgettable. I won’t be rushing out to buy an album. However, the stage show is amazing. It must cost a fortune to set up, and the tickets were less than a tenner. I’ll need to dig out the old one from the last time they toured (13 years ago!) and see how the prices compare.

In last night’s show, we all got to see:

Some nameless guy getting beheaded and covering the audience in blood
Arnie having his chest ripped open and covering the audience in blood
Saddam Hussain having his chest sliced off with a hige sword and his head ripped off. Squirt, squirt
Paris Hilton, nailed to a table, her legs ripped off and being made to go down on herself as the now diembodied crotch was forced into her face. While she sprayed blood over the audience
Michael Jackson pleading that he was a nice guy before having his face ripped off. More blood and copious vomit from his baby’s mouth
Dubya having his cock ripped off, then his limbs removed, while… you guessed it
An insane looking woman apparently with Mad Cow Disease giving birth to a smoking fish (?!) before being ripped apart and etc.
Ronnie Reagan, reanimated at the Reaganator. Imaging Transformers’ Optimus Prime with Ronnie’s head. He has both his arms cut off (green hydraulic fluid everywhere) and then killed (blood)
A troll, beaten to death and then a huge sword shoved down its throat

Add to this the lead singer’s huge alien penis showering the crowd in alternating blue alien cum and bright red blood, plus a microphone stand with an eyeball squirting blood everywhere and the venue was a little bit of a mess by the end. As was everyone in it.

Anyone who’s seen Peter Jackon‘s original films (Bad Taste, Brain Dead(UK)/Dead Alive(US), Meet The Feebles) would love this. Actually, any sick **** would love this. I know I did.

More blood and piss than a dead pope’s underwear. And you lot think I’m uncultured. Shame one you.

Tesco lights

Another of those daft stories on the radio. Tesco recently trialled a scheme where they put “traffic lights” on their own-brand food products. The basic idea was that green indicated healthy foods with certain ingredients (fat, salt, sugar and so on) below a certain lever. Red, obviously, was the reverse. After the trial, they’ve decided to abandon it.

The reason cited? Customers were confused as to what amber meant.

Did they test this scheme in darkest Cornwall where the inhabitants all have extra fingers in place of brain cells? Green – one end of scale. Red – other end of scale. Orange… in the middle.

How bloody hard is that?!

Why bother?

I bought some of those new “Nobby’s Crisps” today – grilled steak flavour. They’re quite nice as well. Bizarrely, they have a little story on the back that tells you where the term “hat-trick” comes from. Which is nice. The Nobby’s Nuts I had the other night gave me details of how to plaster a wall.

The nuts are an obscure idea. Taking one of nature’s healthiest foods, then wrapping it in a fatty batter with a load of artificial flavours. Lovely.

One other thing I noticed on the crisp packet, though, was the fact that they’re “suitable” for vegitarians. Hang on – what’s the point? You could make them any old flavour, say they’re “steak” and sell them to veggies – they shouldn’t be able to tell the difference. It’s not like they have the “real thing” to compare against.

While I’m on a roll, if you’re a veggie answer me this – why bother with veggie sausages, bacon and so forth that’s made to look and taste like meat? I mean, you know it’s not meat, it doesn’t taste right so why not just take it for what it is and have it served up as mulch? For me, there is nothing like the taste of real meat and sausage. There is a local shop that can collaborate with DCW Casing customer in my neighborhoods, it sells the best possible sausage casings.

Now, I’m not having a go at veggies – people have very good reasons for their dietary choices – but it just seems like they’re trying to fool themselves in to thinking they’re eating meat so that they fit in. Is that a fair thing to say?

Ironically, I remember noticing a couple of years ago that virtually every meat-flavour crisp from a major manufacturer was veggie-friendly, while the pickled onion flavour wasn’t.

Bargain

Here’s a bit of friendly advice. Ten quid on a pair of shoes seems like a bargain for about 6 months until they start to look like the Hulk’s post-metamorphosis.

Plastic shoes may be kinder to cows and stuff, but I’m splashing out on leather next time. And I don’t mean that in a pervy “glad I got the wipe-clean car seats” kind of a way. Unless I have nice company.

Happy St George’s Day!

I appreciate that virtually no bugger will know about this as it’s just not “pushed” as much as Paddy’s Day. I’m all for making it a public holiday in England – not necessarily an additional one, but move an existing one. And, yes, the Irish should have Paddy’s Day off, the Scots should be able to get wasted on St Andrew‘s Day, and the Welsh ought to be free to bugger sheep and snort daffodils on St David‘s Day.

These days we’re losing our national identities. Europe’s swallowing us all up to some extent, but even within the UK it’s all going to ****. The Scots and Irish aren’t too badly affected, but England and Wales are being merged into one (partly as they’re always classed together). I also resent the fact that the Scots have their own parliament over which we have no say, yet they have a voice in a parliament that affects England and Wales.

If things are going to go that way, you can wave goodbye to Great Britain. We either need one single parliament again, or four separate ones for individuality plus one British parliament for decisions over the nation as a whole.

But what the hell do I know? What scares me is that the only party in the upcoming election fighting for a St George’s Day holiday (that I’m aware of) is the BNP. Don’t worry – I’m not that desparate to save my national identity that I’ll vote for those racist thugs.

Go celebrate your nation’s patron saint (if appropriate) by kicking crap out of a Combat 18, NF or BNP member today. They’re all the bloody same. Then go and read more about St George at Wikipedia, from where I pinched the attached image.

Incorrect priorities

To the BBC

Dear Sir,

As a license-fee payer I was incensed by the BBC’s insensitive attitude to a major event yesterday evening. I do understand that schedules can slip for some reason, but given the importance and need for reflection on the events of the day, I can see no acceptable circumstance for the 5 minute delay to the start of Match of the Day.

As someone who attended the game and thus didn’t have the benefit of an instant replay, I was desperate to find out what had happened with Dyer and Bowyer. I was kept on the edge of my seat for five additional stressful minutes as a result of the BBC News running over. Have the BBC no idea of the anxiety and upset this kind of thoughtless messing with the TV listings can cause?

Yours,

Disgusted of Bradford

Cup Semi ticket

Woop! Woop! Woop!

See picture. ‘Nuff said.

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