Stupid thoughts and stuff

I was considering the world at large today, and thought that there are a few myths, and stupid questions, that just don’t make sense.  Several of them have been pushed in my face recently, so I’m gonna kill them all, as follows:-

Q: How do snow plough drivers get to work?  A: They go in their snow ploughs, duh!

Q: Why do they sterilize needles for lethal injections? A: same reason you wash your hands when you haven’t pissed on your fingers - for appearance sake.

Q: Can the government take %20 off the police budget, and still keep the same numbers of police on the street?  A: No - Their biggest cost is wages.....so just no.

Q: If a tree falls in the forest and there’s noone there to hear it, does it make a sound?  A: Yes, of course it does, don’t be fucking stupid.

Q:  Were the riot’s caused by coalition cuts in public spending? A: No.  2014-15 total current public spending UK  forecast to be  £93,700 million higher than last Labour year.  Total additional state  borrowing over 5 Year Coalition led Parliament: £485,000 million.  Additional state borrowing added in March 2011 budget compared to June 2010 budget: £37,000 million over 4 years.

Q: Why are they called stairs inside, but steps outside?  A: because you can only have steps outside.

Q:  Can we lift everyone out of poverty? A: No. The widely accepted definition of poverty is having an income which is less than 60% of the national average.  Therefore the very definition of poverty prevents it.

Q: What do people in China call their good plates? A: it’s still bone China plates.  Bone China’s a product - not a place.

Q: Taxing the rich more will be effective?  A:  No.  According to the IFS (Institute for fiscal studies), a 50p tax rate is counter productive, and should never have been more than 40p.  Otherwise the revenue falls accordingly.

Q: Why is it that when someone tells you that there's billions of stars in the universe, you believe them. But if they tell you there's wet paint somewhere you have to touch it?  A: because stars are really fucking hot.

Q:  Was poverty at the root of the riots? A: I’ll pretend I didn’t see all the designer tracksuits running around with HD ready TVs in their arms, then.

Q: Why does Goofy stand erect while Pluto remains on all fours?  A: because it wouldn’t be “goofy” if he didn’t (think it through).

Q:  Should action be taken to close the gap between rich and poor. A: only if it’s actually beneficial to all.  For example, infant mortality rate for the well off is at 3 per capita, for the less well off; 6. So twice as good to be in the “well off” bracket.  If infant mortality rates improved by 1 overall, this would be a ratio of 2:5.  Both sides would be better off, but the gap has widened, statistically.  It’s not good shortening the gap, if we all end up worse off.

Q: What colour would a smurf turn if you choked it? A: it’s still blue. It’s still fucking blue, there are loads of different shades of blue, so its still blue. And also.....they ain’t real so you can’t choke them at all.

Q: Why does everything taste like chicken? A: it doesn’t. You either imagined it, or you are just eating chicken.

Shit, I seemed to have strayed back onto the riots thing again, and I thought I’d got over it.

Sky Divers - The Symbol of Over Entitlement

When I was young, so much younger than today...... I was 5.  

Salt and vinegar savoury snacks were all the rage back then, and the cream of the crop was: Sky Divers.  They were shaped like tiny little men, and were packaged in a light blue bag, in an effort to imbue them with some vague link to the sky, and diving from it (I was 5 and it worked on me).

Now I think of it, Sky Divers was still a stupid name, because they bore no relation to actual Sky Divers, other than their crispy humanoid form.  

I had the raging food horn for Sky Divers, at the time, because they combined the 2 things I loved most in the world:

1.) Poor, but tasty, dietary choices 

2.) Novelty shapes.

The Beard Mother, never bought Sky Divers separately.  She only ever bought them in a multi / variety pack of 6.  Therefore, there were 4 other shit packets of crisps that no self respecting 5 year old would be caught dead with.  Not whilst Sky Divers were available.  Other 5 year olds, that did not eat Sky Divers, were as bad as Hitler in my infant eyes.  And I would make sure I let them know it.  So you can see it was important for young boys, in my demographic, to possess them and feel that they were a part of their everyday life.

One morning my childhood nemesis, and part time best friend, was at my house.  We were just about to go out and play, when I spied The Beard Mother preparing to give us both a packet of crisps.  Deep joy.  But, to my horror, I could see that she only had only one packet of Sky Divers.  The other hand, the hand suspiciously close to my body, was holding........ Chip Stix.  Ready fucking salted....... Chip Stix.  The savoury snack equivalent of a bowl of wank.  

I knew there were no other Sky Divers, as I had happily knocked the shit out of the only other packet, that very same morning.

Eventually the inevitable happened, and my nemesis was given The Sky Divers.  

I know many of you may think that this doesn’t sound that bad, maybe not.....but when Sky Divers were available?????  it’s like being handed Pamela Anderson’s breast, only to have it snatched away and replaced with Simon Cowell’s saggy, hairy, man tit.  

As far as I was concerned I had been betrayed by my own mother.  At the age of 5, I had never suffered such feelings of rejection, and hatred.  As we walked out through my garage, and into the front yard, I clutched my Battle Damage He-Man, so tightly, my knuckles lost all feeling in them for a week.  My mind was swimming in bitterness.  The desire for retribution had consumed my tiny soul, leaving me an empty, bitter, husk of a rug rat.

At this point, I noticed that my nemesis and I were alone.  My newly twisted evil mind quickly realised it’s good fortune.  My nemesis and I had tested each other in physical combat many times, and I had been victorious on each, and every, occasion.  

I took the opportunity to apply some game theory to the circumstances.  I could simply take the Sky Divers from him, and he could do nothing to prevent it.  I might have incurred some minor injury, but this would soon be forgotten, as I consumed the sweet, delicious, Sky Divers - ambrosia of the gods.  And, as a last resort, the pointy arms of Battle Damage He-Man, would make and excellent weapon.

Or, I could simply accept my fate and munch the shit, but equally nutritious, Chip Stix.  

Clearly the criminal idea was the one choice that was immediately beneficial, and if there is one thing a 5 year old suffers it’s Instant Gratification Syndrome.  I decided to go for it.

With one deft movement, I snatched the Sky Divers from his grasp and took them into my own possession.  As I had recently started Ju - Jitsu lessons, I summoned all of my two Wednesday nights worth of knowledge, and braced my self for his attack.  I knew I was going to get some lumps.  He was somewhat smaller than me, but had the advantage of being bat-shit crazy when he wanted to be.  Except, nothing happened.  He simply looked down at his lonely, empty, hand, burst into tears, then ran away home.

I was quite surprised.  At first I couldn’t believe my luck.  I now had 2 packets of novelty, savoury treats, and no injuries.  The Beard Mother would not find out, because my nemesis had left, and I had all day to consume the evidence.  All in all, a cheeky little result.

  

Soon the drunken thrill of victory wore off, I came to realise that I now had noone to play with, and would be unlikely to do so for quite some time (possibly a whole day).

I began to think about The Beard Mother, and the amount of work she had to do, to earn the money to buy the Sky Divers in the first place (quite early for a five year old, I know, but she never shut the fuck up about it).  

I realised that she owned the Sky divers, not me, and should have been able to give them to anyone she liked.  It’s not like I didn’t get anything, it just wasn’t exactly what I wanted to have.  

When it all dawned on me, I couldn’t eat the crisps, I just threw the Sky Divers on the floor and cried.  I walked off to The Beard Den, and cried even more.  I cried so much I forgot to take the Sky Divers, and so they were lost.  To the sands of time.

You see my friends, eventually the Sky Divers would be gone.  Sure, some of their masticated remnants would get jammed into the gaps in my teeth, but eventually even that would be gone too.  My shame would last forever.  Even now, I feel embarassed that it happened at all.  My nemesis would probably forget the actual memory, but his mind would retain some element of mistrust for me, and he probably always kept a tighter grip on his stuff when I was around.

So, essentially, the moral of the story is, not getting what you want, does not entitle you to act like a little cunt.  If you think that it does, then you simply are a cunt, and don’t be surprised if you start to sprout, short, thick, unsighlty black hairs and smell of fish.

P.s.  I really want the moral to fit into a contemporary incident.  But I can’t really think of one.  I was going to go with the recent riots, but that’s got something to do with lack of opportunities or something, so it can’t be that.

The World and It's fake Fanny

The rioting has led me to think about all the things wrong with our country, and why The Jeremy Kyle contestants always seem to outnumber the “Real” people.

I couldn’t help but think back to a couple of weeks ago and a story I read in “generic housewife weekly”.  I have put it on Twitter before, but hey, given the circumstances, I thought I might rip the arse out of it, once again.  It encapsulates all that is wrong about the country and proves the existence of The Underclass.

The story involves a young lady who is in the midst of a visit from “Aunty Flo”, or as I like to say, she’s on the blob.  She sticks in a cheeky tampon, and then yes you guessed it; she forgot it was in there.  I’m not talking for an hour or so, I’m talking for 3 fucking days.  3 days.  

Just run that through your mind again.  Sit in a darkened room on your own and say this phrase “she forgot she had inserted a tampon into her fanny, for 3 days”  say it over and over until it sinks in.  Yeah, thats fucked up.

What would you have to do to realise it was still in there?  Go to the toilet, be in a car seat, go horse riding,  be on a fucking bucking Bronco?

No!!! she has to collapse from blood poisoning and be interviewed by several medical staff before she thinks “fuck me, I’ve left me fucking minge mouse in for 3 days”

The nurses pull it out and it smells like she’s got a boiled corpse in her clout.  Even worse; she’s so far gone, her fanny has completely rotted away, she has to have it cut out and replaced with a styrafoam cup.  The nicest thing that happens is that she finds a nice fella, who has presumably given his penis to medical science, and doesn’t care that she can’t have sex.

She’s so delighted with the story she sells it to “Angry Feminist Monthly” for £500.  That’s £500, Sterling, in exchange for her dignity.  Which makes it even more stupid, as we all know Sterling is fucked, which is in stark contrast to her fake fanny.

The Beard Gives Agony Advice

I checked my E-mails the other day to find this tale of woe and heartbreak, from a young lady living in the Yorkshire Dales.  Sally was an innocent young girl who had recently made a mistake in life, and was seeking my counsel.

Sally told me that she had met the man who starred as the alien in a mid 80's Arnold Schwarzenegger movie.  She had first met him on an internet dating site, where he had charmed her into meeting him.  She plucked up enough courage to meet the object of her desires in the Milton Keynes Nando's.

At first she was shocked and repulsed.  She realised that, what she thought were face prosthetics, were in fact just horrific disfigurements.  She had thought of leaving immediately and never showing her face.  If only she had.  She took pity upon the pathetic creature and thought to give him a chance.  

As they sat ordering their chickeny treats, Sally noticed how the female waitresses easily warmed to him, and how comfortable he was in female company, despite his obvious abnormality.  When he went to the toilet, one of the waitresses approached her, and congratulated her on landing such a catch.  She told Sally that every woman in Miltion Keynes was in love with him, and that he had his pick of all the girls. He was internationally renowned as being an expert lover, having slept with well over a thousand women, but had never taken any of them to Nando's.

Sally was overcome with excitement, and in that typically feminine way simply decided, on very little evidence, that she was lucky to be with the horrifically ugly and bloodthirsty alien.

Their relationship blossomed over the coming months.  Sally was having the time of her life, having found that he was an amazing and considerate lover.  He was enjoying life too, having landed a part in the new revival of the Schwarzenegger franchise, which was being directed by Roberto Rodriguez.  He had also promised that he would introduce her to the great Ahhhnholt, himself.

Sally eventually made the decision to sleep with him.  Which signalled the end of the relationship.  On their 4 month anniversary.  She bought some saucy lingerie, and made a beautiful meal for the two of them.  They had an incredible night of passion and sexual abandon.  He made love to her at least 5 times throughout the evening.  She was so delirious that she collapsed on the bed and dropped into the most satisfying sleep, as happy as she had ever been.

In the morning she awoke to fid that he had left, only a small drop of luminescent blood, from a paper cut, to signal that he had ever been there at all.  Sally tried to call him to see where he had gone, only to realise that it was The Radio 1 "Flirt Divert" number.  She was crushed, ashamed and embarrassed, at how easily she had let her own sexual standards slip.  She never saw him again.  She never trusted another man, forever feeling that they were just going to take advantage.

Sally has now turned to me for advice.

All I can say is, Sally, the mistake has been made, there's no going back.

If only you had come to me earlier, Sally.  I could have told you he bore all the hallmarks of a sexual Predator.

The Beard's Secret Identity

I was on hollibobs recently.  I put on my Batman T-shirt and headed into the beautiful streets, of a Spanish countryside town.
As I walked into the town centre, a young English street urchin approached me, pointed at my T-shirt and shouted "Look everyone!  Its Batman!"
I looked into his innocent little eyes and shouted "It's supposed to be a secret fucking identity, you gobby little cunt!"

Beard Poetry

I have two books of poetry in my house.  They are by Rudyard Kipling, and also Dylan Thomas.  I have attempted to channel their respective energies, whilst composing this little ditty. It's dedicated to anyone who's ever had a nasty surprise:-

I dont know what to do

My big vein is black

My nuts are slack

‘N my piss comes out like glue

From just a little screw?

I don’t want none of this

I hope it’s not the syphilis

I need a magic brew

I have some rotten pooh

My wood ain’t back

My sex is off track

And I got it from you

There’s only one thing to do

While I lie here dying

Is to make you hear me sing

“I hope that you are too”

you fucking skanky bitch, die die die.

The truth be told, I'm not really much for Thomas.  I like "Under Milk Wood"  but only when read by Richard Burton.  The sexy voice dead bastard.

P.s. wear a mac, boys and girls.....clunk click, every trip.

The Tottenham Riots

Now I'm not going to pretend that I know what the real issues are with this.  I'm no expert.  However, it did strike me that rioting in your own estate, because you don't like the things that happen there, is very similar to rubbing shit in your hair, because someone stole you shampoo.