Monthly Archives: June 2012

Prick of the Week- Geordie Shore

After watching the first episode of MTV’s Geordie Shore- Chaos in Cancun on Tuesday night, I can only assume that the producers advertised recruitment for the show as ‘Are you a failed abortion with no job or future? Do you like saying the word ‘Bantah’ a lot, but have absolutely no idea that banter doesn’t mean having sex with strangers on camera that is played back to the general public in nightvision while they laugh at you? Were you facing a life of robbing to subsidise your benefits for learning difficulties? Well then, apply to Geordie Shore today, and start your new life as a glorified porn star who is paid to slither around the VIP section of low-rent nightclubs!’

Admittedly, I watch the show so this is entirely hypocritical of me. But I’d watch anything, so that doesn’t say much. There was a time when Geordie Shore was once funny, some of the characters were even *slightly* endearing, but, like every reality show nowadays, the characters have got wise on how to build up an ’empire’ (I’m using ’empire’ in the loosest possible sense here), and the show has become massively contrived and awkward.

Take baby-voiced, arm flailing, towel-as-daywearing, Charlotte and bitchy Lego man, Gary. I am fucking sick to the back teeth of looking at these two gimps as they act out the sort of on-again off-again relationship that would have Katie Price saying, ‘Enough is enough. This bullshit isn’t worth the coverage in Heat magazine’.

Gary’s wingman is Jay, the perfect posterchild for a campaign to adopt capital punishment in the UK, with the slogan, ‘Who cares if a few innocent men are convicted wrongly and die? It’ll be alreet, pet.’ 

On the outskirts of this nonce-fest is Sophie, a lesser wanker than the others, but a wanker none-the-less. Sophie has left behind boyfriend Joel, basically an uglier-faced Ken doll with a very prominent steroid-addiction, to go to Cancun. Lucky her.

But sadly, these four are the most likable of the cast. My least favourite is James– a poor man’s Anthony Hutton who makes me want to invent a time machine just so I can go back to the time of his conception and stop his mother from downing those rohypnol-laced lagers and beg his father to stop raping women in the back alley of the pub. His treatment of Holly, a girl with daddy issues so severe, the entire live-in community of the Playboy mansion is currently sending her a ‘Thinking of You During this Difficult Time’ card, is abysmal, but hey- that’s just the power of the combover. Holly is best friends by default with Rebecca, Newcastle’s answer to Olive Oyl from Popeye, if Olive Oyl was a massive tart.

In the midst of this pack of abysmal cunts is Ricci and Vicky, Newcastle’s equivalent to a more-unlikable Fred and Rost West. Both are underlying serial killers- Vicky’s uncontrollable rage, egoism and relentless bullying simmering at the edges, coupled with Ricci’s arrogant bastardism, coloured Ray-Ban favouring and general drunk dickheadness make for the sort of concoction that would make the majority of the general public turn a blind eye if a terrorist attack occurred in the Newcastle Upon Tyne area.

So now the ‘gang’ are in Cancun, ready to slime around the place, spreading AIDs all over everything in Mexico and getting on it like a car bonnet. Mexico is famed for being the murder capital of the world, but it is assured that Cancun is a very safe place for tourists to holiday with absolutely no threat of murder. Pity that.

Geordie Shore– fuck you.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Exercise Move of the Month- Going to Asda on a Saturday Afternoon

Hello, fitness enthusiasts! It’s time for another installment of Exercise Move of the Month. This month’s exercise move is brought to you by borderline poverty and the rise in corporate power dictating our lives, resulting in the majority of the general public having to do their food shopping at the local bastard Asda on Saturday afternoons.

If you’ve never been to Asda on a Saturday afternoon, lucky fucking you. If you have, then you’ll know that this exercise move is an intense cardiovascular workout, but more so, gets your blood pumping as you fear a stress-induced stroke coming along. Fantastic! Here’s how to do it:

Step 1

Run out of food on a Friday night. Realise you need to go to Asda tomorrow and it’s going to be fucking bunged. Contract diarrhea due to anxiety, which is going to get your metabolism going. Already, you should feel your facial muscles start to work as you start to feel permanent stress wrinkles forming and you develop a facial tic.

Step 2

Get in the car and drive ten feet to your local Asda, because in Asda, walking is frowned upon. Drive around the carpark looking for spaces, of which there are, unsurprisingly, none. Shout obscenities at a man who parks in a disabled spot who vacates his car with no physical disability. Feel your arms burn as you shake your fists at strangers and give lots of people the finger. Find a spot and rejoice. Vacate your car and feel a stranger attack you from behind while shouting, ‘You stole my space, you schlllaaaaggg!‘ Have a mini-wrestling match with said stranger, and feel the fat melt away.

Step 3

You are forced to use a basket as there are no trolleys and all of the disability scooters are in use by the obese, while the enderly have no option but to walk annoyingly and block off entire aisles. Incorporate yoga into your workout as you try to breathe and count to ten in an effort to stop yourself from punching an old woman shuffling slowly in front of you while shouting to her friend, ‘Ethel, what time does the bingo start?’.

Step 4

Make it round the vegetable, meat and dairy aisles in double quick time, working out your legs and torso as you twist and wriggle your way through crowds of hapless cunts. Apply the principles of boxing to your workout as you jab your hands through the crowds to grasp the items on your shopping list. Float like a gymnast, cartwheeling around baby vomit, smashed jars of Piccalilli and pensioner piss lurking on the floors that no-one has bothered to clean up.

Step 5

Make it round the shop with half of your desired items in your basket (the other half were out of stock) and head for the checkouts. Realise that there will be a wait of at least four months until you can purchases your items. Work out your upper arms, thighs and torso by constructing a makeshift teepee or tent equivalent out of stale baguettes cooked fresh today in the bakery aisle to live in until you can purchase your items next season. Contemplate singing Kumbaya with your fellow shoppers to keep everyone’s spirits up but, seeing as they are a pack of absolute bastards, give your facial muscles a good workout instead by sobbing softly to yourself.

Step 6

Many moons later, pay for your items and leave the shop. Employ breathing techniques as you are forced to hold your breath for a good minute-and-a-half to avoid dying of lung cancer from passive smoking as you are caught up in a cloud of smoke from people in glorified/actual pyjamas who insist upon ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ signs and/or the law that dictates that you cannot smoke in the fucking lobby of a shopping centre.

Step 7

Miraculously make it home unscathed without hitting a single car in the notoriously tight car park. Drag your waterless sack of cells and skin into the house. Look through your bags and realise that even though you won that smackdown for the last bag of potatoes, that priest snuck into your basket while you weren’t looking and took them anyway. Grab a knife, get in your car, and head back to Asda.

And… rest! What a workout!!

Tagged

How To Be Quirky

It seems like everyone nowadays wants something to make them stand out from the crowd. When I was a teenager, it would suffice to merely dye your hair purple, wear a slaggy tartan skirt, look depressed and mooch off the creativity of others by bedazzling your schoolbag with tributes to Pearl Jam and Korn (but that was back when no-one had sex on Big Brother for fear of their parents watching. P.S. *Rolls eyes). Now you can’t move for bell-and-whistle clad pebbledicks dying to stand out from the crowd (not literally dying though, sadly).

So, how does one achieve Quirky-status in a world of aspiring zany people trying to be different? Here’s six easy steps to get you on your way.

1. Music

Even though you’ve done absolutely nothing to help create any music ever, no-one can stop you from latching on to particular bands and claiming their values as your own. Scour the ‘live entertainment’ section of your local newspaper (Youtube), to find a beanie hat wearing, nonchalantly smoking, hipster band- let’s call them Thibodeau and the Lady Wrestlers– that have yet to be signed to any major record label. Google said band and spend hours learning every tedious fact about mockney Thibodeau and his Cambridge classmates, from the reason they insist upon wearing nail varnish (clue: to challenge societal expectations upon gender roles but really for vanity reasons) to the inspiration behind their albums, ‘Rich Puppet Revision’, ‘Sunrise Anarchy’ and ‘Serenity Blockade’. Rhyme off said tedious facts to your friends when Thibodeau and the Lady Wrestlers eventually sell-out and perform with Snoop Dogg at T in the Park, to prove you liked them before they became ‘mainstream’.

2. Be ironic

Being ironic is the best way to get people to assume that you are smarter and more worldy than they are, when infact you’re just smug and pretentious. Although, as a quirky sort, you judge everyone else for their fashion choices, by citing irony as the reason behind your own clothing, you can wear whatever the fuck you like- the weirder and more pointless the better. Just make sure you’ve bought it out of a charity shop (keep telling people this) and it has some sort of nonsensical slongan emblazoned across the front (no brand names though as you are anti-consumerism. If you keep forgetting this, set hourly reminders on your ‘sick’ new iPhone). Accessorise with a poker face and definately do not make reference to, or laugh about, how hilarious and quirky you are to wear such garments.

3. Get a thing

Historically, natural quirkiness stems from an inability to adapt to social norms in childhood, forcing the person to choose individualism over being ‘one of the crowd’. However, if you are just ‘one of the crowd’ and have never had anything difficult or challenging to overcome as you’ve led a seriously cushy life, then getting ‘a thing’ will fast-track straight through to Quirkyville. Can’t see it? It’s 10 miles beyond Mildly-Interestingtown. If you’ve reached Serial-Killer Avenue, you’ve went too far.  You could perhaps choose a pair of thick-rimmed glasses (bad eyesight not necessary), a straw-hat or even commit to a life of deliberately wearing odd shoes. Remember: keep your thing visual or people will have no idea that you’re quirky. That’s what she said, my man.

4. Pontificate

It is likely that, as a person of quirk, you’ll be spending large portions of your life sitting in coffee shops with other like-minded individuals judging others, so the quicker you learn the art of directing (while adding nothing of value to) a conversation, the better. Start off by saying something like, ‘Have Thibodeau and the Lady Wrestlers sold out?’, ‘East Coast or West Coast rap?‘ or ‘Is Joy Division’s third album overrated?‘ (watch as lesser morals bullshit their way through this obvious trick question). Then just sit back, enjoy your obscure micro brew and gaze out of the window with disdain for the little people.

5. Don’t Smile

When you’re quirky and different, best rein in any smiling until you are completely alone in a darkened room, lest others realise that you’re not actually burdered and tortured by your superior intellect and natural artistry. Sure, you also have an air of whimsy about you, but generally, you’re far too sad about worldwide injustices that you pretended to read about in the paper but secretly learned of via Youtube to smile. Therefore, denote that you’re weighed down under your inate ability to feel the pain of children in Africa without shoes (when you just bought yourself an iPad) by sporting a face that says, ‘MEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’ at all times.

6. Be like, whatever

Being like, whatever tells the world that you’re like, whatever about stuff- the personality equivalent of ‘this is how I roll’s’ cooler uncle with an ironic handlebar ‘tache. Surprisingly, being like, whatever involves an immense amount of time and effort. Think about it- you have to distress your own jeans, buy countless beanie hats to wear during the months of June and August, carry a great big heavy skateboard/guitar everywhere incase people insist upon seeing your skills, not to mention getting up at 5 a.m. to  create a hairdo that says, ‘This old thing? Lolz dude, I just rolled out of bed. East Coast or West Coast rap?’ There are no shortcuts to being like, whatever. It takes a fuckload of time and effort to achieve, but is so worth it to sit there with your red plastic cup, listening to Thibodeau and the Lady Wrestlers at someone’s crib being all like, whatever. Awesome.

So there it is, folks. Six ways in which you can become the quirkiest S.O.B. that ever graced Starbucks with your presence. Ironically, of course.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Ten Things You Never Knew About… Cheryl Cole

Darling and alumni of talent shows that have a clear misunderstanding of the word ‘talent’, Cheryl Cole, is a modern-day rags to riches story. For those of you who are unfamiliar with stars that adorn the front pages of every tabloid that aspires to climb up the paper social-ladder and one day achieve toilet roll status, Cheryl Cole (then Tweedy) won a place in Girls Aloud after appearing on Popstars: The Rivals, and has risen to superstardom with her own glittering solo career. Here’s ten things you never knew about Cheryl, pop princess of our time.

1. Cheryl hails from Newcastle Upon Tyne and is very proud of her Geordie roots. However, she has never met Jimmy Nail and will bite you if you mention him to her.

2. Cheryl’s debut performance on television involved her singing a rendition of ‘Have You Ever’ by S Club 7, a song she holds close to her heart. ‘It’s poetry in it’s truest form, alreet?’ snarls the star, menacingly. This is well-known to be a touchy subject for the singer, as she would have preferred to sing 19 by Paul Hardcastle but was prohibited to use the song by Popstars: The Rivals producers, citing that the majority of viewers are ‘practically Nazis’.

3. Back in 2003, a young Cheryl nearly lost everything by being involved in an alleged racial attack, a detail that she vehemently denies. ‘I’m no racist, man. I don’t reserve hatred for different races or colours, I fuckin’ hate everyone. I hate you, I hate your mam and I fuckin’ hope your dog gets knocked down. I’d punch you in that nightclub whether you were white, black or fuckin’ stripey.’

4. As part of Girls Aloud, Cheryl released hits like ‘Sound of the Underground’ and ‘Love Machine’– controversially admitting once that she wasn’t a fan of the pop music the band churned out, preferring R&B. Today, Cheryl has pursued her love of R&B by saying that her solo music, such as latest offering ‘Call My Name’, now falls into the R&B category, even though it’s clearly still pop. Each to their own.

5. Cheryl treasures family above all else and maintains a relationship with her siblings despite the fact that they make the television programme Shameless look like Keeping Up Appearances. However, leading analysts argue that Cheryl’s relationship with her gluesniffing, petty criminal family makes her look like less of a racist sumbag by comparison.

6. The same can be said for her relationship with absolutely abysmal human being, Ashley Cole. When her marriage to Ashley broke down amidst cheating rumours, Cheryl capitalised on the public sympathy and everyone forgot that she was a racist and had formerly spent her entire career span doing little other than bitching about minor celebrities to the News of the World.

7. Prior to her marriage breakdown, Cheryl was keen to distance herself from being perceived as a typical ‘Footballer’s Wife’. However, she neglected to realised that she was married to a footballer, and that her job largely involved appearing on Ant and Dec’s various zany Saturday night TV offerings in a Von Dutch trucker hat and a pair of hotpants, inaccurately miming the words to ‘No Good Advice’– making her Queen of the Footballers’ Wives. Colleen McLoughlin seethes.

8. Cheryl says that her marriage breakdown left her unable to trust people, admitting that her dogs and mother, Joan Callaghan, are her best friends. The representatives acting on behalf of Cheryl’s dogs and Joan Callaghan deny this.

9. After meeting during the filming for The Passions of Girls Aloud, Cheryl and Black Eyed Peas frontman, Will.I.Am have become good friends. It has been widely reported that the two have had a tryst in the past, but this is unlikely given Cheryl’s racist tendencies.

10. While Cheryl is currently embarking on a solo career of miming along to generic pop songs and dancing like a transvestite puppet going to a pyjama party, there are plans for Girls Aloud to regroup at the end of 2012 for one last tour. While nothing has been confirmed yet, the tour theme is rumoured to be ‘Tacky Hen Night’. ‘I don’t want to give anything away’, says Cheryl, ‘but if you think people suffering from dwarfism are funny, and you love to see them dressed up as Hobbits and Smurfs, then get your ticket in now!‘ A logistics representative for Poundland said that child sweatshop workers are currently toiling day and night to meet future demand for ‘penis straws and other tat’.

You go, girl! Join us soon for another edition of Ten Things You Never Knew…, when we’ll be making up uncovering the truth behind another mediocre glamorous celebrity!

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Coping With The Recession- How To Make More Money

As I mentioned many times previously, I’m poor as fuck. Being poor is a nightmare- all of your stuff is old and shit, and when people invite you places, you have to say, ‘I can’t because I’m poor’. This is usually a conversation killer.

However, everyone appears to be in the same boat at the minute because of the bastard economy. My computer knows I’m poor (probably because I type things like, ‘Aldi Online Shopping’ and ‘How To Make A Washing Machine Out Of Old Bric-A-Brac’ into Google) and keeps giving me advertised suggestions that are relevant to my situation. The other day, up flashed an advertisement saying, ‘This man made $15million from the recession! Find out what he’s investing in next at www.capitalistwankers.com! with a picture of his smug bastard face beside it. I wouldn’t like to know what he is investing in next because I have morals, but I would like to know his home address so that I can visit him, bash his testicles in with a baseball bat, hold him down while the entire population of African farmers shit on his face, and then take back our money, livelihood and future. Dickhead.

But my advice is to always be positive. And this means trying to find ways to cope with the recession. This subject is likely to be continued with follow-up posts as I have infinite ways to be thrifty and save cash, having spent £23,000 on travelling during the last 3 years while juggling the act of not having a pot to piss in. But here’s a few to keep you going for now:

Become an Entrepreneur

Even though the recession was in full swing in 2011, the amount of new businesses grew 10% from the previous year. Join these entrepreneurs by becoming your own boss, too. Not sure what to do? It’s easy- identify your talents and sell your skills. For example, if you have lots of children, force them to form a band and start shopping them around as the next Jackson 5. Always making up shit racist/sexist jokes and texting them to your mates while also having the ability to grow quirky facial hair? Become Rufus Hound. Gymnastic experience? Become a burglar in banks from films that have lasers to protect their displays. Someone once told you that your Facebook posts were moderately humorous? Start a blog where you write tidbits of gossip and instructional articles about things you know nothing about, under an arsy name that doesn’t even make sense.

Reclaim

If you ever had a loan or credit card, you may have been missold PPI (Payment Protection Insurance), and you could be entitled to reclaim that money. However, don’t bother printing out a simple letter template (here) and sending it off for the cost of a stamp. Instead, ring 0800WeScrewYou or 0845CallousBastards, or log on to www.PreyingOnOldPeople.com to give them half of your money just for sending that same letter themselves. The best bit is, the cunts charge you in advance to claim, which means you’ll be able to pay back most of the unauthorised overdraft charges they caused with your cut of your reclaimed funds.

Stop Paying Your Tax

Refuse to pay income tax. If HMRC get in touch, promptly point out that Vodafone, Amazon and Arcadia don’t pay their tax so you won’t either. I’m sure that will work out great.

Steal

Stealing stuff is arguably the easiest way to obtain things without having to pay for them, and chances are, if you work for a huge multi-national, you’re stealing from people every day anyway. To ease your guilty conscience, tell yourself that you’re a modern day Robin Hood or one of the youths involved in the London Riots of 2011 who is just frustrated by your stolen future, innit. Then head straight down to the Apple shop and steal a fucking great big Mac for yourself because stuff equals happiness.

Hook

Hooking, known as the world’s oldest profession, has always been an easy way to earn some cash but having a pimp is costly and soon, that greasy £20 note that your John has wiped his nose on will be eaten up by admin fees. Therefore, be your own pimp by getting yourself hooked on drugs, smacking yourself upside the head and shouting ‘Pipe down, bitch!’ and rocking a green snakeskin suit every time you be up in the club, homes. Hey presto- no pimp fees and more money for heroin and crack.

Alternatively, if you don’t want to hook in the traditional sense because the touch of a dirty old man makes you want to cut your skin off, then cut out the middleman (literally) by sawing off one of your hands, sticking a large hook on the end of your bleeding nub, dress up like a pirate and walk around Asda shouting, ‘Arrrr, matey!‘ at little children until a store representative pays you to stay the fuck away. Kerching.

Well, that’s all for today folks, I hope I’ve given you a few ways to save some cash and cope during the recession. I’m off to the hospital to get my nub treated for gangrene. And incase your wondering, I didn’t hook. I sawed my hand off off, fashioned the middle finger into an ‘Up Yours’ and sent to it Rufus Hound for being an absolute prick.

Fuck you, Rufus Hound.

Tagged , , , , , , , , ,