» Join us... come join the cult

I belong to this weird organisation...
First thing every morning, from Monday to Friday, we are woken by the sound of alarms, & forced to leave the comfort of our beds in order to arrive at the meeting house.

Once inside the building, we queue in silence, waiting to place our offerings of coins into a machine which dishes out a foul brown liquid, which we must all drink in order to prepare ourselves for the day ahead.

We are then set a series of mind-numbing tasks to complete within strict deadlines. We are given meagre amounts of money in return for this.

Throughout the course of the day, we are called into a room, & given long & tedious sermons by our leader, who is known within our group as the "Boss".

We are expected to give praise to a collective of deities known as the "Directors". They are all seeing & all powerful. Disagreement with these deities is sure to result in excommunication from the group, with the banished being presented with a ceremonial document known as a "P45".
(Fri 27th Jan 2006, 14:00, More)

» Urban Legends

Chain email related urban legends.
Following a large amount of pointless chain emails, I've seen this doing the rounds lately. I think it sums up a lot of the popular scaremongering legends perfectly.

Hello everybody.

My heartfelt appreciation goes out to all of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me "forwards" over the past 12 months.
Thank you for making me feel safe, secure, blessed and healthy.

Extra thanks to whoever sent me the email about rat crap in the glue on envelopes - because I now have to go get a wet towel every time I need to seal an envelope.

Also, I scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

Because of your genuine concern, I no longer drink Coca Cola because I know it can remove toilet stains, which is not exactly an appealing characteristic.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone might drug me With a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer eat KFC because their "chickens" are actually Horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer worry about my soul because at last count, I Have 363,214 angels looking out for me.

Thanks to you, I have learned that God only answers my prayers if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl on the internet who is about to die in the hospital (for the 1,387,258th time).

I no longer have any money at all in fact - but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special on-line email program.

Yes, I want to thank you all so much for looking out for me that I will now return the favour!

If you don't send this email to at least 144,000 people in the next 7 minutes, a large pigeon with a wicked case of diarrhoea will land on your head at 5:00 PM (GMT) this afternoon. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbour's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician.
(Wed 11th Jan 2006, 13:39, More)

» Public Transport Trauma

Public transport flora & fauna.
As one of the increasing number of people who just plain can't afford the whole driving lark, I have to face the daily trauma of the Bus of Doom.

The service is generally fairly reliable, & vast majority of passengers are polite, & keep themselves to themselves. However, there are several common types of nuisance passenger I'm sure we've all observed, & I usually have to put up with most at some point on my hour long journey. Here is my little bestiary of bus twunts:

The Nutter - This person will usually insist on sitting next to you, regardless of where you are seated on the bus, or how empty it is. They often sing random bits of songs off key, or insist on talking to you about the magical pie fairies that live under their fingernails, & how much it annoys them when the fairies stay up all night eating purple bananas & listening to Will Young.

The Perv - Sits close to you, & leers with occasional drooling. Worse still, sits behind you so that they have opportunity to try & grope you when they pass. Even worse, gets off at same stop as you, causing you to run into your house or office at high speed. Occasionally makes disturbing fwapping sound.

The Gross-Out-Special - A person of such great repulsiveness, that you give serious consideration to getting off the bus & walking rather than sitting within three rows of this gelatinous, smelly, flatulent, drooling, unwashed creature in it's crusty & stained clothes. A window seat is essential to avoid a belly or armpit to the face when this person leaves the bus. So gross that you mentally make a note of where they were sat, & consciously avoid using that seat on the bus for at least a week.

The Mobile Phone DJ - Kindly provides music for the entire bus from his mobile phone. May have difficulty in providing this service later in the journey however, as the buttons become a little difficult to reach once other passengers have kindly inserted the phone into his rectum for safe-keeping.

Mother Chav - Gets onto bus with enough kids to start a football team. From the behaviour of said kids, I'd guess Leeds or Millwall. There's always at least one baby, which cries constantly, with mum making no effort to placate it whatsoever. As a form of revenge for her lack of attention, baby will usually have a crap of such ferocity, my hubby couldn't do better after an egg & baked-bean vindaloo. Meanwhile, any kids capable of walking or talking run up & down the aisle screaming. This is largely ignored, although mum will periodically scream at the top of her lungs for the kids to 'faaaarking shut it & siddown, you faaarking little shits'. They never do.

The Lazy, Moaning Cunt - When the bus is running late & overcrowded, every passenger loves the perfectly able-bodied chap or chapess who gets on the bus, spends ages having a go at the driver for being late, whilst painstakingly counting out their change &/or arguing over the fare. As everyone knows, these activities are bound to speed up the running of said bus. After ensuring that the driver is fully aware he or she is fifteen minutes late, they then proceed to get off at the next bus stop, a two minute walk down the road.

Kamikaze Bus Drivers - Yes, I appreciate your commitment to getting me home on time. If you know that the light is about to go red, please race towards it a breakneck speed in the hopes of making through, only to bottle it severely at the first hint of amber, slamming on the breaks & causing your passengers to fly several feet out of their seats & smash their faces on the back of the seat in front. And if your bus is overcrowded, cornering at high velocity is always a good idea. After all, many people lack human interaction these days, & what better way to get to know the person stood by your seat than having them fall on top of you?

And all school children present in groups of two or more - Sound on a bus functions in exactly the same way as it does anywhere else. So there is no need to shout at the tops of your voices. I'm sure the spotty little oik in the seat next to you is not deaf, & can hear you perfectly well. Chances are also very high that the majority of other passengers on the bus also have adequate hearing. It is therefore not a good idea to discuss their pros & cons loudly, or to bitch about the fact that I am sat on the back seat. You do not own the back of a bus, even if many of you do happen to resemble one. I am sat at the back of the bus because I have a long journey, & wish to be considerate to other passengers who are making a shorter trip. Also, if I am sat at the back of the bus, The Perv cannot sit behind me or walk past me, which is a bonus.

Speaking of Pervs; secondary school boys; you're perfectly right. What every woman in her twenties wants is a bunch of pre-pubescent zit-bags staring & pointing at her boobs for the entire journey. If you & your little chums want to see tits that badly, I'd suggest a mirror. In addition, it should also be noted that a loud farting contest is not the way to impress girls on a bus.

Length joke running approximately 25 minutes late, due to group of old women on visit to local bingo hall taking it in turns to tell the driver that length jokes were better in their day.
(Sat 31st May 2008, 14:41, More)

» Restaurants, Kitchens and Bars... Oh my!

Plump cow with special sauce...
A few years back, I used to cover the occasional waitressing shift at the place I worked.

I didn't mind this. I worked hard, was polite to the customers, & made a bloody fortune in tips. Same went for most of the waiting staff.

We were relied upon to administer our own breaks, with no formal times given to us. However, it was generally understood that no more than an hour or so in total of the course of an eight-hour shift was considered to be the norm, & that's what we all stuck to.

Except for this one girl. A lazy, pudgy little heifer who I shall call That Tubby Bitch, for that is her name. Honest...

That Tubby Bitch would spend at least fifty percent of her working day sat on her arse in the staffroom doing bugger-all, regardless of how busy the place was, or how many other waiting staff were available.

As if this wasn't irritating enough, That Tubby Bitch also had a painfully obvious crush on my bloke, who also worked at the same place, & would practically fall over herself to get down to the staffroom whenever he was on break.

One day, I got asked to cover a shift as two staff members had gone off sick. That Tubby Bitch was the only other person waitressing, & predictably, left me doing all the work on what turned out to be one of the busiest nights of the year. Just as I'm finally about to break for lunch with my bloke, & am on my way to the staffroom, plate in hand, That Tubby Bitch, (who had already eaten several hours earlier) comes rushing past (having spotted my bloke) after having been out of the staffroom for no more than about 15 minutes, claiming to be gasping for a ciggy.

When I eventually do get to eat my rather cold lunch half an hour later, it's nearly the end of the shift. That Tubby Bitch comes into the staffroom & sits down next to me, acting all buddy-buddy. And has the nerve to ask me to share my tips with her, as she hasn't made much that night.

That was it. I somewhat loudly informed her that maybe if she'd actually done some fucking work, she'd have some money of her own, & that the only tip I'd consider giving her would be how best to fit her fat head into the kitchen oven.

A passing manager overhears this, asks me to explain myself. Which I did, backed up by other members of staff. Manager sends her out to do some work for the last couple of hours under strict instructions not to return to the staffroom until the end of the shift, & tells me to take half an hour's break & chill out.

All well, & good, but there was no way I felt like chilling out. I wondered around the staffroom for a bit kicking random objects, until eventually, the bloke decided to pass through the staffroom on his way to the bog.

A swift explantion of what was wrong, & the bloke disappears to the prep room (where us waiting staff made the sandwiches for the customers). He returns a few minutes later looking pleased with himself, but won't tell me what he's done, as there are now other people in the staffroom.

About five minutes later, That Tubby Bitch is escorted into the staffroom by a female manager. Said manager escorts her into the locker room to collect her coat, & the off the premises.

Eventually get home a couple of hours later, & get to ask the bloke what he did.

Turns out that just before he came in to use the loo, he heard one of our very fussy regulars ask for a sandwich & a cup of tea. This woman, who put quite a lot of business our way, tended to be a bit on the rude side to staff, & never tipped. As a result, she was somewhat paranoid about people tampering with her food, & would throughly inspect anything before eating it.

The bloke had managed to get to the door of the prep room unseen, & discretely watch as she finished making the sandwich. And then sneak in unobserved, steathily bring up what he described as "the biggest blob of booger-throat-glop you've ever seen in your life" into the sandwhich, & sneak back out again.

When said fussy customer went to inspect her sandwich, the 'special sauce' was immediatly spotted, & the manager called.

That Tubby Bitch was formally dismissed after a displinary hearing the following week. Result!

*Insert length joke here*
(Sun 23rd Jul 2006, 22:18, More)

» Putting the Fun in Funeral

Chav Funeral.
I have a family member who works in the funeral business. He told me he did a funeral for a 60 year-old chavette the other week, & that the family insisted on having a Burberry hat on top of the coffin, & that many of the mourners turned up in their market-stall tracksuit finest.

Apparently, they had originally tried to get a Burberry print casket. Classy.
(Tue 16th May 2006, 20:28, More)