Archive for the ‘Featured’ Category

Muslim Extremists vs Welsh Sheep Farmers

Posted: May 23, 2013 in Featured, Foreigners, general annoyances, Idiots, Mentally Ill?, Religion, Violence
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What happened yesterday seems pretty disgusting on the face of the known facts, there are many who are questioning what actually happened, the authenticity of the images shown to us on the news and so on but I don’t want to get drawn into that.

fucktards

The aftermath of this event is what takes me by surprise, the ever-growing army of fucktards who take to social media claiming outrage and disgust, calling for all Muslims to leave the country, blaming them all for the actions of the psychotic few.  The people posting these status messages and comments on the news stories all seem to have one thing in common too, they generally have an ignorant point of view, their spelling and grammar is atrocious and their own views are pretty extreme too.

Assuming we stick to the “known facts” for a moment, then on this one I have much sympathy for the family of the murdered soldier (they’re still saying he’s a soldier right?) because for one, he was not out in another country “performing his duty”.  It grinds my gears a bit when I see people complaining about soldiers dying whilst out fighting, what the hell were they expecting might happen when you go to “war”?

Anyway, back to my point.  I just don’t get why its the seemingly stupid that have the loudest voices, I’ve seen many posts from Muslims (sane, peaceful Muslims) speaking out against what happened yesterday, begging the British public not to tar them all with the extremist brush only to be told by thick-twats to “shut up” or “go home” – it makes me truly ashamed and embarrassed for us all.

sheep-shaggerTo suggest that all Muslims are mentalists with nothing but the destruction of the west on their minds is a bit like suggesting all Welsh people fornicate with livestock when we all know it’s just the sheep farmers right?  (just kidding!).  But my point is still sort of valid, just because one Welsh guy may have got caught shagging a sheep up against a cliff edge, does not make us all dirty-wool-wankers.  And by the same logic, because there are some fruit-cake Muslims out there who bend the meaning of their religion to fit their own warped views does not make them all crazy.

I watched a video earlier with an extremist Muslim march against the UK, taking place in the UK by a bunch of freaks who think they can come over here (OK, they may have been born here to immigrant parents who don’t share their views) and tell us that our laws don’t apply, they won’t follow them because they’re not Islamic laws.  Well maybe these people should go live in an Islamic country if that is what they want, but again I say, this is NOT what the Muslims I’ve met believe, they have all been genuinely nice, friendly people who are happy to peacefully get along and live their own lives, not wanting to change the rest of us to fit in with them.

I’m getting increasingly hacked off by what I am seeing in my social media feeds and other places on the internet every time there is an extremist event, the idiots need to pipe down a bit and stop and think before they post their small-minded views for all to see.  They are giving us all a bad name.  Just like “Dai-the-sheep” did for the Welsh.

 

 

The Fourth-class Emergency Service

Posted: March 27, 2013 in Crap Day, Featured, Idiots, Travel, Weather, Work
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Sunday 24th March 2013

I’m travelling in the morning.  I have to get up at 5:30am and I hate it.  Getting a good night’s sleep is most important when you’ve got an early start with a three hour drive and a full day at work to follow.  This is precisely why I can never get a good night’s sleep when I am travelling early in the morning.

Monday 25th March 2013

It’s 12:30am and I’ve woken up for the first time.  So that’s an hour and a half (roughly speaking) of sleep that I’ve got.  Now there is plenty of time to get enough kip in, if only I could stop thinking of how tired I’ll be if I can’t get back to sleep.

Fan-fucking-tastic, that’s done it now.  Stressing about not getting enough sleep is exactly the reason I can’t get any sleep.

Now its 4:30am – I’ve woken up approximately every half hour since half-past midnight.  This is going to be a long day.  All is not lost though, if I can eat enough breakfast to force out a dump the day can still be salvaged.
Let’s face it, there’s little worse than having to stop at the motorway services for a dump, sat in a row of maybe twenty other commuter-dumpers.  The smell is only marginally worse than the sound.

I arrive my customers offices at just before 9:30am.  These guys are great to work with and are used to my grumpy ways.  We have a pretty good day of it and by lunch time it looks as though I may be going home early.

At 3pm we hit a minor problem, bollocks!  This minor problem takes two hours to resolve.  Just as I am packing my bags into the car I get called back, somebody has found another quirk.  Secretly I am fuming, on the surface I am cool, calm and collected.  At least that’s what I hope.

5:05pm, I am on the road, heading for home.  By now I am already feeling tired and there is a three hour drive ahead.  It’ll be fine.

5:15pm I’ve just hit the M5, I am in the outside lane and suddenly there’s a strange sound and the car’s dashboard display tells me the gearbox has malfunctioned.  I’m doing a touch over 70 (naughty!) in the fast lane and the car has lost all drive.  Pressing the accelerator does nothing except rev the engine loudly.  I’ve got to get over two lanes into the hard shoulder whilst the car gradually slows down.  It’s the start of rush-hour traffic but somehow I make it without incident.
aa-van
5:20pm I’m stood the other side of the barriers (safety first you know) but its bloody freezing cold.  -2 according to the weather forecast (feels like -8! – I’ll be the judge of that!).  I’m on the phone to the AA.  Apparently they know exactly where I am, I’ve given them the motorway marker numbers from a little marker post near to me.  29/1 (I think it was).  Turns out because of my location I am going to be seen as a priority.  Within one hour.  An hour in this will be bloody ages.  Nobbling.

5:45pm Now I really need the toilet.  I’ve been stood here at the top of a 30ft drop on a 2 and a half foot ledge for what feels like ages.  The wind is howling and there’s snow all over the ground.  This sucks.  Time to get to the bottom of this drop and have a piss out of the view of hundreds of commuters.  Bloody wind.

6:00pm They called, I can’t remember exactly what time, but they called.  They wanted to let me know that someone would be in touch soon to say when the driver would be over to get me.  More waiting.  It’s getting really blooming cold now.  Still, at least its not raining.  Or snowing.  But it is starting to get dark.

6:25pm I need the toilet again.  I’ll wait, they’ll be here soon.

7:00pm That’s twice I’ve been down that bank now.  The second time was just for entertainment.  It’s dark now.  The AA called again, they’ve told me that “due to extreme weather” there will be a delay, it could be an hour and a half before they get to me.  I told her it was bloody freezing so would be nice if they could hurry up.  She mentioned to me something about being at Tesco Car Park… I said, no, I am still stuck by the side of the M5.  They’ve ballsed up here.  I’m somewhere on the non-urgent list, meanwhile I am freezing my testes off.  She sounded a bit panicked and said she’d call me back soon.

7:15pm I’ve had a few frantic calls from the lady at the AA, very apologetic, I’m back in the priority queue (thank feck!) and someone will be with me in about 30 mins.  I wonder if its possible to freeze to death in 30 mins?

7:50pm He finally arrives.  Jolly man that he was.   Apparently all he’s going to do is take me to the next junction, to “get me somewhere safer” – yeh cheers like.

8:20pm I’m sat in McDonalds now awaiting another call.  Apparently a 3rd party garage will be sending a mechanic out to see if my car is broken.  It is broken.  It told me.  I don’t need a mechanic.  If the car says the gearbox is faulty, I think its pretty certain the gearbox is faulty.  Given that it won’t move, I’d say its a safe bet that the car knows best.

8:50pm The garage calls me to tell me the mechanic is looking for me.  At Junction 5 of the M42.  NO!  I am at Junction 5 of the M5 and have been the whole time!  She doesn’t think he’s going to come to me as he finishes work at 9pm.  Oh well that’s just fine then isn’t it.  Cheers y’all.

9:00pm He did come.  Nice bloke too.  Says that the car is clearly broken and the AA bloke could have seen that, what a waste of time.  I check into the hotel.  I’m feeling rough as a badgers bum hole now.  I swear the last AA man said they’d sort me out to get to the local Audi garage as it was going to set me back over £300 to get towed home.

Tuesday 26th March

Dodgy sleep again – the room was bloody freezing, despite having the temperature turned right up.  No heat was forthcoming.  Swines!

7:30am – Called the AA, the robot on the phone says its going to cost me £130 to get taken to the local garage.  I asked him if they could do anything about the price, given that they’d left me stranded for just shy of 3 hours in -2 degrees on the side of a motorway.  He says… no, the price is the price.  What a twunt.

8:10am – AA bloke turns up. A really great bloke, so friendly and helpful, he can’t do enough for me.  His name was Nick.  He was in to mountain biking.  He took me and car to the garage, made some calls about getting a hire car and eventually dropped me off at the train station.  I can’t praise this guy enough.  He must have got some sex last night.

10:32am – The train from Worcester arrives.  I get on.  It’s an eerily quiet train that goes through the Malverns.  The countryside is beautiful and hilly, covered in snow.  It doesn’t feel like I am in the UK any more.  It’s so quiet here.  I don’t quite feel myself either.  The train conductor goes by and completely misses me, but checks everybody else’s tickets.  I wonder for a moment if I am actually on the train, maybe I’m elsewhere.  I don’t believe in all that after-life bollocks, but bearing in mind what happened, and the way its portrayed in so many films and TV, maybe this is it, maybe I’m actually still at the roadside, a mere freeze-pop.

12:09pm – back in Wales now, just passed Abergavenny.  I have myself a table seat on the train.  My luck isn’t entirely out then.  The journey is going to take another two and a half hours and I’ve got 96% of my battery left on this laptop 9 hours worth apparently  I’ll believe that when I sees it.  I best get some work done.

Coming over here… taking our jobs…

Posted: February 1, 2013 in Featured, general annoyances
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I got into another discussion (argument) this morning over “The Polish”. It’s not just about them, but you always seem to be hearing about “The Polish” on the news. I think there is some truth in parts of what is being said, there do seem to be a heck of a lot of them over here. What I don’t agree so much with is the “taking our jobs” crap.

Foreigners Taking Our Jobs!

From what I can see, and this is a pretty uneducated and unscientific point of view, most of the jobs taken by Polish people are lower paid and frankly quite shitty jobs. Jobs that mostly, I certainly would not even want to do.
The argument presented to me was this:

“But is it fair that a British person doesn’t get a job because they aren’t willing to work longer hours and so the Polish person gets the job because they are?”

Well of fucking course it is… who in their right minds would employ the person thats being most obstructive…

“Sorry mate, I know you’re willing to work harder than the British guy but I’m going to give him the job and put my business at a disadvantage because you are Johnny Foreigner”

I bloody well think not. Too many people in this country think they have some god-given right to keep their job even though they spend large parts of their day surfing the internet, gossiping with their mates, taking fag breaks and pulling sick days every time their child-care lets them down.

We’re supposed to be in a weak economy here, jobs are hard to come by in the first place, so why the hell are so many British people not happy to have a job in the first place?

Polish or otherwise, if the guy next to you is prepared to do a better job than you are, don’t be surprised if he is the one that stays whilst you are shoved out the door like the lazy bastard scumbag that you are.

Now don’t get me wrong, a lot on the news lately is discussing peoples concerns over Bulgarians and Romanians coming over in their masses, this could certainly pose problems… but the issue here for me is the ease at which these fuckers (and our own fuckers) can get their grubby, scrounging mits on my “tax-dollars”.
And so I propose a two year limit where by you have to have been in employment and paying taxes (or at least get a tax credit for your efforts) before you qualify for handouts. Yes… that goes for you too “Mr I’ve never had a job in my life but I’m British” – you sir are a lazy fuckwit and you need to contribute before you can moan on about how “all these foreigners” are stopping you from getting a job.

Take responsibility for your own life or fuck off.

Big Issue Indeed!

Posted: January 7, 2013 in Featured, general annoyances, Lies, Shopping, Technology
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Having visited Cardiff last weekend I was struck by the sheer number of Big Issue sellers we passed. Passing a Big Issue seller is an artform that needs to be practiced. I’m starting to think that they should be restricted to the point where they are not allowed to sell the magazine if they veer more than 12 inches from their allocated spot. Even if you start to take a diagonal path to avoid them you still seem to get trapped in their net.

Big Issue Magazine

Big Issue Magazine

The first one I interacted with was on Friday night, I was on my way back to the hotel with my wife, drunk at which point an almost elderly Big Issue seller approached us.

“Big Issue sir” he said.

Now in my head I was forming the words “No thanks”, aiming to stay polite but to the point. Unfortunately by the time these words reached my mouth they had morphed into…

“No chance!” – at which point I carried on walking, looking rude and to the point instead.

Saturday morning came and I lost count of how many I passed before even having breakfast. Now I understand the point of these people selling the Big Issue, but I just wish they would sell something I’d actually want. I would prefer to just give money to them but apparently they “don’t want charity” – but isn’t it charity to buy something off of them that you’re just going to throw straight in the bloody bin?

The only plausible use I can think of for a fucking Big Issue is to beat away other Big Issue sellers. Some of them are amusing and take on an almost “street performer” persona in trying to convince you to purchase their special brand of printed toilet paper where as others are just downright rude and smelly, particularly if you decline to purchase from them.

What really fucked me off royally though was passing one particular Big Issue seller who was not trying particularly hard to sell any copies because he was too busy chatting on his mobile phone! I mean really… his MOBILE PHONE!!! How the fuck can he afford a mobile phone from selling the Big Issue? Where in his mind does he consider topping up his mobile to be a priority over clothing, food and a warm place to live?

Now I hope at this point you’re as fucking irritated as I was (am) because I am about to make it worse… I checked his phone out… it was an iPhone!!! A bastard iPhone. A minimum of a 4 as well, not a poxy out of date 3G, no a bloody 4, 4s or 5 from what I could tell.

iPhone Rocking Homeless Dude

iPhone Rocking Homeless Dude

So there he stands, in the middle of the street, selling the Big Issue, making us all think he is homeless and starving whilst standing there rocking a £400 handset! Simply selling that fecking phone could get him a deposit on a place to live for a month!!!

FUCK OFF!!! That is the last time I worry about passing up the opportunity to buying that rag of shite from a guy who is claiming he can only get to sleep by stuffing the unsold copies down his trousers for warmth!

Next time, come to me and ask me to buy you a fucking sandwich!!! Fuckers!

Terrible Inventions 001: The Telephone

Posted: January 2, 2013 in Featured, general annoyances, Technology, Work
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Good morning… and Happy New Year to you all.  I held back on this one yesterday, after all, who wants to start a new year on a grumping note?  The thing is, I did get reminded yesterday what a terrible invention the telephone is.

The last phone I actually liked!

The last phone I actually liked!

In my house (or should I say “our house”?) I generally avoid answering the telephone.  In fact, I pretty much avoid using it at all as much as possible.  I dislike the phone.  I prefer web based forms, instant messaging and email.  I am not a fan of text messaging, I don’t even understand the majority of messages that are sent to me as they contain such idiocies as “hello m8 hw r u feeling grt to hear uv hd a gr8 time” or some other nonsense.  This is ten times worse when you are receiving it from someone of my age.  You almost expect it from “the kidz”.

Anyway, back to the reasons I hate the phone in its original sense.  I mean, house phones… land lines… they are the worst in fact.  You generally don’t know who is calling you (unless you have caller ID enabled) and so is that call from someone you actually WANT to speak to?  Is the call even for me?  Probably not… the thing is, surely if someone wants to get hold of me then they can call me on my mobile!?!  This is one of the reasons I don’t want to answer that damned land-line… it’s probably not even for me!

So anyway, the fact that I don’t know who it is, what or who they want is only part of my problem with it.  Over the years I’ve noticed that humans (dogs don’t generally answer the phone) seem to have become conditioned to picking up the phone no matter what it is they are doing at that time, like this small bleeping, ringing irritating device in the corner of the room somehow trumps everything else that’s going on.

“Whats that?  We’re sat down to lunch?  Never mind that… someone is phoning us… lets answer it.  Whatever the person on the other end wants is surely more important than having our dinner!”

“Oh my fucking god!!!  The phone is ringing… I no longer give a shit what you were saying to me face to face… the phone is ringing… the world may stop turning if I don’t answer!”

I mean, seriously, what is going on?  I’ve experienced this many times at home and at work.  My job requires me to travel hundreds of miles across the country to visit clients and it is intensely irritating to find that when I’ve made the effort to negotiate hundreds of miles of Britain’s motorways, traffic jams, public transport and generally crap hotels, putting vast distances between me and my loved ones and neglecting to spend time building Lego with my children (deep breath) that I find that I sit down with somebody whose phone then rings and they say “hang on a minute, I just need to get this…”

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN “I NEED TO GET THIS” – THE CRETINOUS FUCK HEAD ON THE OTHER END OF THAT PHONE LINE HAS MADE THE GARGANTUAN EFFORT TO LIFT THE RECEIVER AND PUNCH SOME BUTTONS AND YOU PUT THEM BEFORE ME!?!?!?!??  WHAT THE FUCK!?!?

Let’s face it, you would never do this  in person would you?  Rock up to a bunch of people having a meal, or in a meeting and without so much as saying “excuse me” begin to start blathering on about whatever pointless and generally unimportant nonsense you generally go on to phone people about?

Possibly the only phone you should ever interrupt what you are doing for...

Possibly the only phone you should ever interrupt what you are doing for…

Jeez – just stop with the fucking phone answering… if it’s not the red bat-phone then it’s probably not urgent.  Those people who bothered to be physically with you are the ones most deserving of your attention.

Curiously I just noticed that my mobile phone has done me one huge favour lately, its experiencing the latest iPhone bug meaning that its got stuck in “Do Not Disturb” mode… top class!  I hope they make this a feature!

 

Quadruple Flusher!

Posted: September 20, 2012 in Crap Day, Featured, Uncategorized
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My posts are getting few and far between now and I am finding it a struggle to be miserable enough to post. This is pretty much down to the fact that on the whole 2012 has been a good year to me.

This morning isn’t much different than the rest of the year, though I am staying at a hotel, well, a pub in Oxfordshire. The place is called the Doghouse. There’s little to complain about here, the food is good, they serve good beer the rooms are pretty decent and so this morning, life is good.

I have a few complaints from this room, they range from the fairly minor (I can’t get my laptop to display on the cheap flat panel TV) to the fact that once again I find myself in a room with two single beds (it’s like they bloody well know I’m coming… which they do, I suppose).

To my (I’m not ashamed to say… delight) I found this morning that a minor victory was mine in the daily battle with the bog. This one was a particularly weak specimen. Four flushes no-less were required to clear the devastation.

Needless to say that brought a smile to my face. But then that isn’t the point of this blog is it? It’s supposed to be a blog of misery and complaining.

I suppose sometimes life really is a box of chocolates…..

Chocolate Poo’s – courtesy of www.pooparcels.com

Mr Buzzcut

Posted: May 14, 2012 in Featured, Health
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Today is the day of the long-awaited “nadscan”.  Of course that means getting the old boy and his two siblings out for yet another stranger.  I looked down, things were getting a bit out of control down there, a bit like a wild bramble bush but without random litter (or as was the case before the internet “random porn pages”) strewn in it.

 And so it was, yesterday that I decided that I should have a bit of a tidy up “down there”.  Out comes the shaver, time to do a buzz cut on the old fella.  After a bit of buzzing around I was startled by the sheer amount of hair in the toilet.  Bollocks (no pun intended), I’d inadvertently left it on a number 1 setting.

This is great!  Just bloody typical.  Now I look like I’ve “made an effort”.  Or worse still, that I am trying to make it look bigger!  I swear, sometimes I am my own worst enemy!

Whats worse, when the wife saw what I’d done, she just laughed.  Uncontrollably.  Wow, thanks.  I’ve got to show this to a complete stranger tomorrow, you laugh.  What will they think!?!

Anyway, cut to today (full of puns), the day is here.  I actually started writing this early morning, its now late afternoon and I am finishing up, having thankfully got the all-clear.

An ultrasound on your balls is not the most dignified of procedures I can say that much, but there are bound to be much worse things.  Catheter springs to mind.

When I was in the waiting room I was called along with another man, I looked at him suspiciously at first then said “I didn’t know they’d be calling us in together, nice to meet you!”, I think this made him feel uncomfortable, ah well.

Now there is one thing I really don’t want to insert.

Posted: May 9, 2012 in Featured, Mentally Ill?, Technology
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Google and their infinite wisdom.  Don’t you just love it?  Innocently searching for instructions on how to insert some adverts into this very blog (why not?  every other twat is doing it!) I started to type “how to insert” at which point Google thought it may have an idea what it was I’d like to insert.

All of the entries were wrong, but its the first one I particularly take issue with.

Being a helpful sort of bloke, perhaps this would be knowledge worth gaining.  You never know, one day I may be heading down the street at which point a lady may approach me, desperate for help with a problem she is having.

“Please sir, could you spare a moment to help me?”

“Why of course” I would reply.

“There is something I have been having difficulty with sir, I was wondering if you could just  help me, here take hold of this…” she would continue.

Anyway, I think you get the picture.

Google… No.  Improve your algorithms.  I do not want to find out how to insert a tampon.

Well… I do have five minutes to kill….. :-/

No Penis!! Don’t desert me!

Posted: April 30, 2012 in Customer Service, Featured, Health, men, Smug Gits
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Oh what a strange day, particularly the start bit. That was certainly unusual. So really it all started on Friday night, but before I get to that its probably best to warn you that this is going to get a bit personal, but that’s ok, I have very little shame anyway.

To get to the point. I found a lump. On Friday night. Way to ruin the evening. I was up for some action and it has to be said, finding “a lump” is a sure fire way to kill the passion. For at least 5 minutes anyway. Really, I’m married, I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of my weekly sex.

20120501-042048.jpg
Needless to say however, the lump got me slightly upset, for the whole weekend. I went from moping around to angry and all the while obsessively fondling my nut-sack. Every cloud eh?

Naturally, I followed my established routine of google-based self-diagnosis. “Fucking hell I’ve got testicular cancer!”, this despite the fact that what I could feel, did not quite match the descriptions or diagrams I’d found on-line, but never mind that, some of the symptoms matched. My bollocks did indeed feel heavy. And there was a lump.
By Sunday I’d practically convinced myself I was doomed, but on the way back from swimming I noticed that my balls were hot, really hot. This was new. Back to Google.

So after a bit of eDoctor and then a bit of Wikipedia I found out a little (a lot) about Epididymitis (google it yourself lazy boy), the symptoms sure did sound very familiar, and the outlook was a lot more appetising for sure, so feeling a bit more relaxed I spent the evening with my scrotum elevated (nice image, I was just lying down) enjoying watching the american version of The Office having decided to visit the doctor first thing in the morning.

Right, so its Monday morning (again) and I’ve already signed up to Bupa, I tell you one thing, I am not going through this shit again with the thought of spending time on a public ward on my mind! Next thing, get a doctors appointment. Done. 10:50 it is. Get your cock and balls out for a stranger time!

Between 9:00am and flashing time I had several reasons to pull out, but one very big reason to go ahead. Hell I didn’t want to get my balls out for a stranger! No way, but then I really didn’t like the downside much either. Time to man up.

I’m in with the doctor, I get straight to the point. I found a lump, I foolishly self-diagnosed, I reviewed my self-diagnosis and with my vast knowledge and experience I’ve come to the conclusion that I am happy with my diagnosis. “Epididimdididididisiss (or something)”

“Epididmytis” – he repeated.

“Yes, thats the one”.

“Ok, come with me” he said. Already reaching for the latex gloves. Hold on cowboy, no need to be so eager I’m thinking!

So he tells me to take my trousers off. I wish my wife was this keen. So I drop my trousers.

“I suppose you want my pants down too” I said.

“umm yes” he replied.

I’m not too sure which one of us is more uncomfortable with this part of the conversation.

He tells me to lay down and relax. I’ve heard this before, relaxing is NOT that easy. Whilst he feels around with my jewels I distract myself by recounting to him my exploits with Wikipedia and why I came to the conclusions I did.

Annoyingly, I already know I’ve been feeling a bit better this morning, but what really grinds my gears is that he confirms this by saying “Ok, I can’t find any signs of a lump, so I don’t believe that you have testicular cancer, can you find where you think the lump was?”

Well, I’ve not touched myself this morning, the constant man-handling of my “wheels” had contributed to my weekend of soreness, so I said “Yes, of course”.

Of course my arse, nothing feeling out of place, I point him to the right area. He confirms it may have just been a cyst, but he will refer to me for ultrasound anyway. Great, another stranger can look at my bollocks.

Whilst this is being explained to me, and I am being told that I did the right thing by coming in to see him, I am laying there, nuts out, cock out thinking two things to myself.

“Why am I just laying here with my knob out?”

and

“When is a good time to get up and put myself away?”

It feels like two minutes have passed, in actual fact, its probably been about 20 seconds. Am I enjoying the air on my man-parts?

I sit up and look down at my genitals. WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED TO THEM?

“Hey Penis!!! Where have you gone!?!?” (ok, I thought this, I didn’t say it. I hope).

I can’t believe it! It’s retreated into my body. FFS! Seriously. I look at the doctor, I am sure he is smirking. Fucker. So ok, it’s not normally something majestic to behold, but its a typically somewhat more magnificent than this!

Talk about mixed emotions, I mean, the temporarily relief that there is nothing wrong together with knowing that a complete stranger things I have an inverted penis!

Bring on the ultrasound.

Powder-covered pink-balls – no doctor required.

Posted: April 23, 2012 in Change, Confectionary, Featured, Food, general annoyances, New Improved Recipe, Shopping, Supermarkets
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Fuck you Tesco. You have RUINED Strawberry Bon Bons. Back in the day you could look forward to getting your fingers covered in pink strawberry dust after popping a Strawberry Bon Bon into your mouth, you would suck off all the flavour, then once that lovely flavour has gone, you’d bite it gently so that the sugary shell (approx 3mm thick) crumbles off to reveal the toffee centre.


Tesco in their wisdom, have seen fit to “improve” the recipe. The packet proudly declares “Improved! Recipe (Recipe)” – I was intrigued at first, curious to find just how the (clearly) brilliant minds employed by Tesco had utilised their vast genius to improve something that hasn’t needed to be improved in 50 years (this is an approximation – no scientific or statistical effort was used in calculating this time frame).

Sadly, I didn’t agree with them that their recipe was improved. NO MR TESCO! You’ve not improved the recipe at all. What you have done is totally ruined / altered beyond recognition, one of the all time greats.
A hard, strawberry-flavoured ball covered in pink dust is NOT a Strawberry Bon Bon.

Take my advice, shoot the chef. Shoot the testers. Bring back the authentic strawberry bon bon. In-fact, your marketing department can then put a positive spin on things by branding the new packaging as “Authentic Traditional Strawberry Bon Bons”.

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