Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

“Fuck you Santa you fat twat” – says eight year old girl.

Posted: December 5, 2014 in holidays, Seasonal, Uncategorized
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This morning my eight year old daughter stuck two fingers up at Father Christmas in her christmas begging letter. I’d read my son’s letter first, it was direct, yet polite, satisfied, I folded it neatly, stuffed it into it’s bright orange envelope and wrote the address on the envelope (thanks Royal Mail!).
Then I checked my daughters letter, she’s a nice girl, not like me, I’m not a girl. What I did notice however was a distinct lack of manners. No please, no thank you! She didn’t even sign off with her name! She simply wrote out her list of demands and left it with me for sending!

Here’s one of her early drafts, before she had been informed that it’s generally good to stick your address at the top!

Draft letter to Santa

Draft letter to Santa

On some reflection, I’m quite proud to see that her demands are quite reasonable and she doesn’t ask for anything particularly expensive, though I take issue with anything related to One Direction (bunch of cunts).

Anyway, the one that was to be sent was in much the same style, only with the addition of an address at the top.  I asked her why she’d not said please, told her that it was quite rude to just present a list of “things what you want” at which point she asked what she should put there then…

In the end I pretty much gave up and said “well at least put a smiley face on the end” – which she promptly obliged and drew on there.  When I made a move to take the letter from her she said “wait, I’m not finished yet” at which point she promptly proceeded to draw a circle around the face, and drew a hat which looked like a cock and balls on the top!

Way to go – sign off your letter with a big “fuck you, you fat fucking twat”.  Good girl!

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

Picking on the disabled?

Posted: July 25, 2012 in Cinema, general annoyances, Idiots, Uncategorized
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Now here is a question, is it ok for me to pick on the disabled? Of course it is! I’d pick on anyone, I don’t exclude myself from ridicule, you’ll have seen that if you’ve read any of my other posts, so why should somebody escape just because they have a disability? Isn’t that a form of positive discrimination? Why yes it is. So let’s rock on…

I went to the cinema at the weekend, the film was popular, so the theatre was full up, we basically got first row seats, just behind the “flid zone” – great I thought, I can stretch my legs here, right where the wheelchairs would go. After all, there is not likely to be any wheelchair types coming in tonight.
WRONG! As soon as I said it, in comes wheelchair dude. He parks himself right in front of me. Suddenly my clear view becomes a clear view with head-shaped chunk cut out of the bottom of the screen. FFS!

I’m sat there thinking to myself, “can I ask him to lower his head?”, I shift uncomfortably in my seat muttering to myself, reassuring myself that I should let him disrupt my view because, surely, he is a really nice guy. Aren’t they all? The Inbetweeners had a go at this one, the wheelchair guy in that show was a complete berk.

Anyway, I contemplate moving, there are a couple of free seats over to my right, but wait, will I get frowned upon for getting pissed off by a disabled guy? I don’t know!?! What is the protocol for these situations.
Can I simply wheel him away like Alan Partridge at the Colmans party?

Anyway, I don’t have any cutting remarks or nasty things to say about this guy, he did fuck all to me and to be fair, he probably didn’t even realise his egg-shaped head was even in my way. But what I want to know is why nobody has invented a wheelchair with a system to lower the seat or even some sort of trap-door that I could activate to get him out of my bloody way.

The Dark Knight rises. I wish I fucking had. Maybe I’d have been able to see above his fucking head!

Blog Moved

Posted: May 15, 2012 in Uncategorized
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Hi grump-fans.

This blog has now been re-homed. You can find me at www.themiseryguts.com – there will be no reduction in the level of whinging.

That is all.

Smogsmell.

Posted: November 29, 2011 in Uncategorized
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The smell is in the air, its the smell of approaching London. I can’t really describe it as anything other than the smell of London. It always hits you when you are getting close to “town” on the train.
You don’t notice the smell when you are there, only when you arrive.
It’s a smell I would rather not know of, because I don’t like London. I prefer to stay outside of this place. We just spent the weekend there, I got back on Sunday and now I am almost there again.

The place is full of bloody nutters. Tourists. Knob-heads.

We spent the bulk of the weekend fighting crowds. It’s so stressful, I don’t know how the people who live there can stand it. We saw a show, it was Wicked. No, really, it was Wicked, the show’s name. I should invoke trade-descriptions as it was basically mediocre, far from wicked. I would say it was “sick” but these days “the kids” have decided that “sick” is a good thing. “I got that sick new iPhone 4S” for example. Really? Sick? FFS!

The good news about being in London, there are going to be numerous opportunities for me to post. That’s a good thing for the four people per day on average who look at this thing.

Perhaps I can find something to photograph to spice things up. Test out this new phone on my camera. Introduce you to some new people. I bet you can’t wait.

Disabled?

Posted: October 8, 2011 in Uncategorized
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Since when does being a fat bastard (or cow) mean that you are disabled? Every time I go shopping I see cars parked in the disabled bays all badged up, it always makes makes me wonder how come there are so many “disabled” people in this country.
Then I see him / her. A (please forgive the contradiction in terms here) healthy able-bodied fat-fuck!

What is with that? Since when does not being able to fit into regular sized clothing make you disabled? Since when does not being able to see your own penis make you disabled? Since when does having a second chin as a bib make you disabled?

If you can fucking walk you should be fucking walking. Don’t go parking in the disabled bays where genuinely disabled people need to be.
Oh hang on, I do think I just worked it out… those disabled bays are so much wider than the regular ones. Perhaps this is the work of the insurance companies, protecting the doors of other motorists veichles? After all the fat buggers may dent your door and scratch your paint as they get their cake loving backsides out of the car and squeeze through to the shop to restock their cupboards with more lard.

Working From Home

Posted: July 19, 2011 in Uncategorized
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14:08 – I have nothing of consequence to report today, I’ve spent most of the day on the phone, a regular feature of “working from home”, and we have builders outside who take more breaks than even kit-kat would recommend.

18:41 – Just been outside and reviewed the builders progress, I have no idea what they are thinking but they have cunningly stopped building the wall about a foot and a half short of the end of the garden, this leaves a lovely person width gap for someone to climb in to our garden through. That will involve an interesting discussion tomorrow when they come back.
Finally, the mystery of the unexplained lack of weight gain during the two week pig-out-fest of a holiday is explained also. No protein shakes on holiday seems to have been the cause. I just discovered today that these shakes are 430 calories each. No wonder the three course meals barely made a difference when the shakes were taken out of the equation.

Emergency Unit

Posted: July 16, 2011 in Uncategorized
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I’ve been waiting for hours at A&E, I’d much prefer to be in bed. I’m here because at 16:30 i started to feel queasy. Within an hour I was “ill in the toilet” (sorry) and within a further hour I was violently sick with a rather large helping of blood.
I felt immediately better but the blood was quite a worry, there was rather a lot of it.
Foolishly I turned to google, the font of all knowledge, the ultimate doctor. With my symptoms it could be only one thing. Anthrax. I’m going to die. That’s what it told me.
My wife urged me to go to A&E (before my googling), I’m finally convinced I should at least check it out. I don’t think it’s Anthrax, not really, but now there’s just enough doubt.
It’s far more likely that it’s the (stale) popcorn from the cinema this morning, the blood just caused doubt.
I’m feeling fine now, I should be out on the piss with my brother. Fuck. The doctors are visibly younger than me now. That’s cheered me up.

When the sick came up it was last in first out, boeuf bouringion, followed by mint poppets and then chief-suspect-number-one, the popcorn. Annoyingly it also contained a glass of fairly expensive french burgundy. Well, the contents of the glass anyway, if it had been the glass it would have explained the blood.
“have I got news for you” just started so the wait won’t feel so long in the next half hour.
Ten minutes past and the doctor calked me in. They’ve offered to take blood but I would have to stay for the results. I feel good and am fed up so I declined.
He then asked if I minded him “checking my back passage”, I replied that it would be the highlight of my week.
“please lay on the bed and pull down your trousers” he said.
“pull them down and get on the bed?” I replied.
“no, you can take them down once on the bed, to maintain your privacy” he confirmed.
I climbed on the bed and started to undo my trousers.
“I’m less worried about my privacy and more worried about you sticking your finger up my arse.” I said.
I wait a moment as he lubes up.
“please bend your knees and loosen up.”
“easy for you to say” I replied, “that said, however bad this is for me, it’s worse for you.”
He laughed at this, confirmed that all was ok and that I could go home.
I’m only allowed to drink milk tonight, I’m bloody starving. If anything happens again I have to go straight back to the hospital.

It feels a bit like a wasted night. I do feel a bit less worried now.

On the down-side, I got a finger up my arse, but on the up-side, I got a finger up my arse.