Category Archives: Humor

How To Extreme Coupon

'It makes me so happy!' cried a person who needs to look up 'happy' in the dictionary.

‘It makes me so happy!’ cried a person who needs to look up ‘happy’ in the dictionary.

Extreme Couponing is a popular trend stateside, comprising thrift, greed and consumerism and moulding it into thousands of stockpiles stashed in lower middle class basements of cunts called Marcey, Patti and Hank-Bob all across the US. Brought to you by the people who invented mom jeans, Home Alone 1 & 2 and Mario Lopez, the trend is the answer to the prayers of many in the US, who know that the economy is suffering because Maury has cut his paternity test budget, but still want to eat like fuck even though they could stand to lose a few hundred pounds.

If you don’t have any money but are willing to pay for a slow death via inner poisoning with your dignity, here’s how to Extreme Coupon:

Outcast

Before you even begin to think about spending your unemployed days clipping coupons from paper inserts you found through skip-hoaking, you need to ensure you are adequately outcasted from society so that the cashier that you eventually hand over your coupons to does not kick up a fuss incase you bite them and give them AIDs or some shit.

To be an outcast, you need to do something outrageous like bring your cat everywhere you go in a pram, or hoard every possession you’ve ever owned in your house, right down to keeping your turds in Tupperware in your shed. The more people question your sanity, the better.

cat-in-pram

Stockpile

You’ll need shelves to store your couponed items, which are usually a mixture of poor man’s Tampax, dried yakisoba and extra-thick toilet roll marketed towards people who have helper monkeys as ‘the only brand you’ll not get shitfinger with when you’re wiping your morbidly obese owners arsehole’.

Seeing as Extreme Couponers spend about twenty quid on their shopping over the course of their lifetime, you’d think that would free up some of their online bingo winnings income for a nice set of shelves. But oh no. Hotfoot, and by hotfoot, I mean steer your mobility scooter to your nearest Ikea, to block of a variety of aisles while you locate and purchase a dozen or so Splorgs (a.k.a. the cheapest shelves you can find). Erect these in your home by putting the cat in his playpen and moving your box of turds to somewhere more suitable, such as your kitchen table. Once the shelves are sorted, go back to googling ‘Khloe Kardashian paternity scandal’ and whatnot.

Cutting

Now comes the fun part*. Spend your gormless days clipping coupons for shit you don’t want, need or use to go into a folder that you’ve carefully put together as the response to all the haterz out there who say you can’t have children in your late fifties and its time to give up hope.

Publicising

Remember to hold up that queue, too!

Remember to hold up that queue, too!

As Extreme Couponing gets more popular, your ability to secure local press coverage of your plight increases the likelihood of your target shops allowing you to Extreme Coupon, as they get free publicity due to the fact you look like you haven’t washed since 2004 and everyone will buy the paper just to laugh at you. But you don’t care that you’re an outcast. One day, you’ll go back and knife them all to death when you’ve saved up enough coupons from Tesco’s knife-set-coupon-superdeal that they like to harass customers about at the checkout.

Going for Gold

As you weave your way around the supermarket on your scooter with a camera crew and four trolleys of absolute garbage in tow, shout things like ‘Couponing is my drug!’ to ensure that every other shopper wants to punch you in the face. Remember to erroneously assume their hostility is due to jealousy and not disdain.

Get to the checkout with all of your crap and hand over your coupons like a fucking Olympic champion- you’ve made it. Not only are you a shopping genius, but an organisational whiz and a mathematical marvel. Say that to the camera, maniacally.

bargain_0426d-Large

Now, go home and resume your empty, lonely life. Try not to kill yourself! Hooray- stuff.

*Warning: contains no fun.

Tagged ,

How To Make It Through An Episode of ‘How I Met Your Mother’

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER

I’ve been a long-time supporter of mocking ‘How I Met Your Mother’, ever since the series 2 finale in which it became apparent that the programme is not a fleeting tale of  love in the Big Apple but instead, a fucking snore-fest desperately trying to make ‘fetch’ happen. Gretchen- it’s not going to happen.

If I was to meet Ted in the street, I would gleefully stab him to death with that yellow umbrella they dangle in front of us like a begging dog.

The only reason why I’m currently still watching was because I heard that Jason Segal, who plays Marshall, wanted to leave (who could blame him?) and I was hoping they’d kill him off. Slowly.

And before you think I’m a fussy viewer, let me tell you that I can’t wait for the launch of TLC tomorrow so that I can re-watch all of the first series of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, seeing as watching it on Youtube the first time round was difficult for me because I kept getting distracted by advertised clips for ‘Proof that Finchel is the Best Glee Couple Ever’ and ‘Mario Lopez Salsa Dancing’. In short, I’m too much of a moron to be fussy.

Anyways, here’s my top tips for surviving through an episode of ‘How I Met Your Mother’:

Preparing for the Inevitable

Ted will not meet the mother in this episode. Brief yourself with that information before watching, because it’s never going to fucking happen.

Laughing at the Name ‘Cobie Smulders’

Cobie Smulders: Fuck Knows Why.

Cobie Smulders: Fuck Knows Why.

Get your kicks where you can. ‘Cobie’ and ‘Smulders’ are terrible names just as they stand, but added together is enough for you to muster up a small laugh that also doubles-up as a nasal exhale. Thanks for that, Cobie Smulders.

Watching the Demise of Jason Segel

One of the only things that makes watching repeats of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ bearable is enjoying the uglification of Marshall. Bet you never noticed it before- well, now you fucking will. Its all I can think about when he drags his motherfucking tired skank ass all over that clearly-fake New York City set. It’s kind of like when you know a female lead just had a baby in real life  and is still carrying the baby weight, but what the fuck is Jason Segel’s excuse? What was he carrying, massive twins that he had to have delivered by someone who accidentally shaved his hair into the same style as Ted from Scrubs? Fuck sake.

Jason Segel

Ted Mosby vs Ted Bundy

Spending the episode laughing at online wankers who post on the ‘How I Met Your Mother’ will certainly make the 23-minutes of hell plus 7 minutes of slightly-less-hellish Wink Bingo and Tena Lady advertisements go a little bit faster. My favourite HIMYM-related past time is going on to the ‘I Love Ted’ sub-forum and making comparisons between Ted Mosby and his bad-boy serial killer namesake, Ted Bundy. People get really pissed off when you suggest that Ted met the mother when she was being beheaded by him for his corpse-basement collection.

Suit up, Ted! Seriously, because you're in court today on account of raping and killing loads of women.

Suit up, Ted! Seriously, because you’re in court today on account of raping and killing loads of women.

Turn Off the TV

And don’t worry, because you aren’t going to miss a thing. Well, aside from Ted living out the lyrics of ‘Haven’t Met You Yet’ by Michael Buble in the shittest sense that this concept could possibly achieve, and meeting the mother in the end who is sure to be played by someone equally as bland as the rest of the cast (Neil Patrick Harris included, who loses maximum cool-points for being in a relationship with David Burtka and is, therefore, annoying by association). My guess is Malin Akerman.

But I’m going to tell the ‘I Love Ted’ forumites that I bet Ted’s other half is the character that plays Ted’s daughter, who is actually sitting in his sex dungeon listening to the tale of how Ted met her own mother and told her that he was holding her daughter captive and forcing her to carry his children against her will as part of the sequel, ‘How I Strangled Your Mother Before She Could Go To The Police’. Just to give them something to complain about.

Tagged , , , , ,

The REAL Law and Order: SVU Drinking Game (No Drink or Fun Included)

Johnny and Sally Come-Lately Not Pictured

I love Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. Like many people, I’d like to cite the reason for my interest in the programme to be an innate curiosity for murder, but actually, I’m just collecting tips for the day I strike.

Anyways, I remember reading a while ago about Jenna Marbles’ Law and Order: SVU Drinking Game, complete with red plastic cups, grey marl USC jumpers, good looking twenty-something hipsters and a game of Beer Pong beckoning afterwards. The premise is to basically drink certain amounts of alcohol when frequent scenarios crop up throughout the programme, all the while drowning in a sea of your own smug self-satisfaction.

I choose not to play that game, in the same way Nickelback ‘choose’ to not be in with the in-crowd. I have, however, unknowingly created my own game that I act out during each new episode of Law and Order: SVU, and I’m going to share with you the instructions to join in if you, too, are a poor man’s Jenna Marbles.

Nickelback: Blinded by their own shitness

Nickelback: Blinded by their own shitness

Pre-Programme

Look forward to Law and Order: SVU all day because your life is empty.

Talking Bit At Start

Talk along with the voice-over (In the criminal justice system, sexually based offences are considered particularly heinous… etc.). Fuck it up mid-way by stumbling over the words and pretend it’s all just a bit laugh when really you’re dying inside.

Theme Tune

Continue to work on the song that you’ve been making up for the past year-and-a-half about the show that fits in perfectly with the theme song. Pause if needed (ignore disdain from spouse). Try not to get too disappointed if B.D. Wong’s name isn’t in this episode’s line-up, even though the absence of B.D. Wong means that this episode is going to be a total bore-fest, possibly completely set in court. If B.D. Wong’s name features, cheer because now you known the episode will be about a respectable-sort-turned-serial-killer. Brilliant! Remember to sing ‘Dick Wolf’ as the theme tune ends, because it fits perfectly and it’s hilariously profane.

So good, his character' name and actual name are the nearly the same. Or perhaps the writers are a bit racist.

So good, his character’ name and actual name are the nearly the same. Or perhaps the writers are a bit racist.

Episode Content

Spend the entire episode narrating to your annoyed partner, mimicking ‘Son of a Bitch’ every time Olivia mutters it on the way out the door when she hears that the perp has been up his old tricks even though he just made bail. Whenever the show decides to have an episode centred around Ice T (in a vain attempt to pretend they promote diversity even though according to SVU, the only non-black person that inhabits prison is a shamed white investment banker who raped January Jones in 2001 and went back for more in 2004), have no respect for him because you’ve watched his reality show (see ‘Pre-Programme’ section, which clearly shows that you have no life).

Maureen, Kathleen and/or Dickie

This game assumes you’re watching new episodes but what if you’re reading this from the past because you’ve just invented time travel through your laptop or you’re Hilary Duff starring in a Disney film about being a bit psychic? I imagine you’ll still be on the older episodes with Stabler and his stupid family that serve as nothing but a cockblock to the potential romance between Stabler and Olivia. If you hear the names Maureen, Kathleen and/or Dickie, down a bottle of wine in acknowledgement of what might have been.

Stabler, Maureen, Kathleen, Dickie and Jim-Bob

Stabler, Maureen, Kathleen, Dickie and Jim-Bob

End Credits

Get up and dance like you’re a good fella in 1988 with a moustache and a pair of stonewashed jeans, as the End Credits music is most definitely consistent with this genre/lifestyle choice. Remember to sing ‘Dick Wolf’ again at the end, because you’re just too fucking hilarious.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

How To Cope With Hayfever

hayfever

As if short Summers aren’t bad enough, the number of hayfever sufferers is rising rapidly, meaning that there really is nothing to look forward to in the empty abyss of life.

Caused by something vague to do with pollen but no-one really knows or cares what, hayfever is hardly a sexy disease like Genital Warts or Athlete’s Foot, but it’s a pain in the arse all the same. Mostly for everyone else surrounding the sufferer who have to listen to them say ‘I have the flu’ a dozen or so times, even though they do not having the flu and literally do not know the meaning of the word.

But nonetheless, symptoms such as runny nose, tight chest and general mummy’s boy-ness can stop you dead in your tracks, so here are my tips for coping with hayfever:

Whinging Endlessly

As a longtime hayfever sufferer myself, I find whinging endlessly about my symptoms and general hand I’ve been dealt does wonders for cheering me up. Whilst whinging endlessly does little to alleviate symptoms, it is very effective in raining on everyone else’s parade and thus, is a surefire way to cheer yourself up by being an utter cunt.

Punching Flowers

‘Getting it out of your system’ is great advice, whether you have hayfever or an actual problem. Get your rage out of your system by going around punching as many flowers in their big cheery bastarding faces as you can. Look at them sitting there with their flamboyant petals resting atop their proud stems- making a fucking mockery of you, that’s what they’re doing.

hayfever

Instant Relief

If your sinuses are giving you grief, get some instant relief by beheading yourself like they used to do in olden times. Sure, you’ll only be alive for a few moments to enjoy the sweet release of clear breathing before your headless body, stumbling and bewildered, crumples to the ground whilst your head, bobbing and screaming in a bloodbath of your own destruction runs out of oxygen, but isn’t that what life is all about? Living for those precious moments of true happiness? Yes.

Moving To A Place With No Sun

Those fleeting moments of sunshine are few and far between, but that big sunny fucker brings with him a world of hayfever-y bollocks. Cure your allergy to the sun by moving to a place with no sun, such as Katie Price’s innards or the bit in Super Mario World where you’ve beat all the other levels and you’ve only got to get through the stony kingdom of fire and bombs before trying to defeat Bowser and win the game, which you’ve given up your social life for five months to achieve just to be disappointed when all that happens when you win is the end credits roll up and that’s fucking well it.

Having Actual Problems

Having an actual problem will help to alleviate your hayfever suffering, as it will make you realise that you need to man up and not let your snuffly nose be the reason why you’ve pissed yours, and everyone elses’, chips up the wall. No problems? No problem! Just be like everyone else and invent some out of thin air, such as having a fight with someone on Twitter or lodging a formal complaint at the Asda helpdesk that you don’t agree with their charging-for-carrier-bags policy.

And say goodbye to hayfever for good. Maybe.

Tagged , ,

Exercise Move of the Month: Being Convinced That Winter Will Be Eternal

The Local Asda.

The Local Asda.

It’s that time of the month again, folks! No, not that time. It’s time to get our legwarmers on and spark up a cigarette to buy yourself a few minute before you have to join in with group-lunges.

This month’s exercise is brought to you by life as we know it crumbling around us, and is called ‘Being convinced that Winter will be eternal’.

Step 1: Hang on by your weather-beaten fingernails to the thought that Winter is nearly over and you don’t have to partake in the endless misery of life beneath a blanket of grey fucking suffocation for much longer. Bring yourself up to gentle pace of yoga-like zen by nodding to convince yourself that the temperatures are gradually getting a little less cold, and do some cardio as you rush out to buy yourself a trench coat to replace that big wooly fucker you had to lug around for the whole of bastarding Winter.

Step 2: Here’s where the workout kicks into high-gear. Wake up mid-to-late-March to find that Mother Nature has sent you a signed, sealed and delivered turd in a box, for there is snow everywhere. After getting your heart rate up with some tears of anger and frustration, spend your morning with some bingo-wing busting activity, such as shovelling the snow off your driveway, realising that you shovelled your driveway-snow on to the main road and having to double-shovel all of that shit too, and pushing your car out of the driveway because the engine has froze.

Hooray for this moment.

Hooray for this moment.

Step 3: Feel your heart pounding as your boss rings to ensure that you weren’t planning to take the day off over a few centimetres of snow. Tone your core as you keep your mouth shut with all the almighty strength you can muster so that you don’t point out that not everyone lives at the office because their wife had an affair.

Step 4: Work up a sweat by going through the motions of an entire day swathed in the sort of attire that even N’Dubs’ Dappy would deem ‘too puffy’ and having to work doubly hard to get to work and back again. Work out those triceps by going into the office toilets and shaking your fists angrily at the thought of all of your colleagues who said they were ‘snowed in’ today, even though they, you and everyone else knows that it’s all a big lie.

Step 5: Give those finger muscles a good heave-ho by sitting on Facebook all night, updating the status of various snow-centric issues, such as ‘Electrics gone off’ and ‘More snow on the way tomorrow’.

Brilliant! Your updates are so useful.

Brilliant! Your updates are so useful.

Step 6: Build up your chesticles by having a heavy heart when the weatherman says ‘It seems like we’ll be having more snow for the forseeable future.‘ Tone your core by resisting the urge to trek to his whereabouts and stab him with your icicle-tears.

Step 7: Wake up and go through these same motions forevermore, for the sun has died.

Tagged , ,

What Your Facebook Profile Picture Says About You

facebook

Your Facebook profile picture acts as the face of your online presence among your social circle, your family, your work colleagues and all those other cunts that you just can’t shake off. Therefore, it is undeniable that the average user sees this function as an opportunity to project suggestions on to the opinions that others’ have of them, and is a very accurate indicator of the sort of person you see yourself as. Unfortunately, as humans, our perception of how others’ perceive us is usually different to how we self-perceive, and ironically, the more we push a self-image on to others, the more counter-productive this act becomes; less is more.

But why did you pick your Facebook profile picture? What did you, consciously or unconsciously, want to be perceived as by others? And how do they really see you? Here’s a few of the most common types:

Facebook Profile Picture: Teenaged Girl Posing Provocatively

teenage girl

Desired Perception by Others: You are desperate to shed your ‘little girl’ image and to be viewed as attractive and mature, but not mature enough to not be a little bit whorish if you met the right person (anyone). Whilst your pose is provocative, you’ve projected innocence in your facial expression (something classy like a Marilyn Monroe pout) to create the illusion that you aren’t the whore that your choice of outfit says you are.

Actual Perception by Others: Whore.

Facebook Profile Picture Teenaged Boy Flexing Muscles

Skinny Guy

Desired Perception by Others: Like your female counterpart, you are also trying to elude your past image, suggesting to your virtual circle that you are a man. Strong, mature and intimidating, you really are a force to be reckoned with.

Actual Perception by Others: Hung like a budgie’s hardener. This image would be better portrayed if your mum wasn’t putting away your folded laundry in the background.

Facebook Profile Picture: Zany Group Photo Involving Fake Moustache

Hipsters group underware

Desired Perception by Others: Not only are you dead popular, but the fact that you can put up a public photograph of you NOT looking your absolute best- well, you’re cooler than Azealia Banks wearing a ‘Nerd’ t-shirt and drinking out of a jam jar. You are happy, carefree and modest, even though you’re actually much smarter, more intelligence and just plan better than the rest of us.

Actual Perception by Others: Hipster cunt. Take that insult and pass it around that bunch of try-too-hard kooks you call ‘homies’, too. Even though you’re white. And from Newcastle.

Facebook Profile Picture: Bingo-Wing Minimising, Holding in Stomach, Wide-Eyed Facial Expression at Saturday Night Pre-‘Going Out’ Drinks In Friend’s House

Danielle Lloyd

Desired Perception by Others: Like Kimora Lee Simmonsyou’re a Mogul, you’re a Model, you’re a Mom. In other words, you juggle a part-time job, looking after your children that you’ve each named after the Kardashians and you still have time to get your nails and ‘stenshins did every fortnight. You’re handling your shit, and you’ll be damned if you’ve got all dolled up and lost four and a half pounds with Weightwatchers and not upload a picture of how gorgeous you are to Facebook.

Actual Perception by Others: Your friend’s home décor looks like a peacock savagely stabbed a leopard to death with a stick of candyfloss.

Facebook Profile Picture: Couple

whitney

Desired Perception by Others: Look how happy we are.

Actual Perception by Others: Your kids aren’t going to have much in the looks department

Facebook Profile Picture: Picture of Sunset/Beach/Snow scene/Other travelling photo

backpacker

Desired Perception by Others: Not only will people see how well-travelled and cultured you are, but the fact that you aren’t the main focus, and instead a much-smaller piece of the overall picture (you’ve obviously had to have been in the picture as proof that you were there and didn’t just steal it off Google Images) suggests that your mind is not self-centric but instead, focused on bigger, world issues. You see yourself as easy-going, philosophical and a free spirit.

Actual Perception by Others: Gimp.

Stay tuned for more, hypocritical judgements on others when I’ve definitely been guilty of the majority of these in the past (now).

Tagged , , , , , , , ,

What Your Pet Says About You

Let's face it, if you die alone at home, they'll eventually eat your face off

Let’s face it, if you die alone at home, they’ll eventually eat your face off

With more than 50% of households owning a pet, our furry friends are truly every much a part of our family as those other cunts you’re related to. But what does your pet say about you? Which personality traits do you and other pet owners share, that made you drawn to chose your pet type in the first place? You’d be surprised at just how much your type of pet reveals about the type of person you are!

Here are just a few of common traits that pet owners possess:

Dog

Common Personality Trait: You frequently required, but did not avail of, the intervention of Social Services during your neglect-filled childhood

He can see it in your eyes.

He can see it in your eyes.

Cat

Common Personality Trait: You are very unappealing to the opposite sex

Snake

Common Personality Trait: You are the only person who thinks your man-ponytail is cool

Mouse

Common Personality Trait: That piss smell in your house is all on you

Goldfish

Common Personality Trait: You’ve had more rubber mattress-protectors that most other people have had hot dinners

Parrot

Common Personality Trait: The woman you’ve imprisoned in your basement is due any day now

Having the ability to talk is irrelevant when parrots don't have the heart to tell you to lose the 'tache

Having the ability to talk is irrelevant when parrots don’t have the heart to tell you to lose the ‘tache

Hamster

Common Personality Trait: You dream of also curling up into a little ball and having your cotton woll bed mop up your tears of loneliness

Iguana

Common Personality Trait: You own a few bits of Harley Davidson memorabilia, but no Harley Davidson

Turtle

Common Personality Trait: You think nothing of wearing a fleece with a few huskies scattered in a snowy forest depicted on it

And for all you owners of less common animal types…

Teacup Version of Any Breed of Animal

Common Personality Trait: You’ve never saw anything through to the end in your life

Ferret

Common Personality Trait: You’re below the poverty line

Helper Monkey

Common Personality Trait: You got yourself into this mess and it shouldn’t be up to the monkey to get you out

Terrifying

Terrifying

Ant Farm

Common Personality Trait: You often wonder what you’re going to do when your parents die and you can’t live in their garage anymore

So there you have it, folks- what your type of pet says about you. And if you’re reading this and shaking your head in disagreement at your own pet personality type, never fear- we are all thinking it behind your back either way.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

How To Fix The Economy

With the 2013 Budget looming, we are all shitting bricks as we sit tight and wait to hear whether we should throw out that tin of old artichokes that expired in July 2007, or hold on to it incase we’re so poor come Christmas that’ll it’ll be taking the place of a turkey.

Since he became Chancellor in 2010, George Osbourne promised a rebalancing of investments and exports, to aim to somewhat rectify the UK’s record peacetime budget deficit, to retain the UK’s AAA status and deliver a robust economy. Has he achieve any of this? Has he fuck.

Swoon.

Swoon.

So here’s my own suggestions of stuff to stick into the budget. If I get enough positive feedback, I’m going to send George Osbourne a copy of the following, along with a slightly late, or incredibly early, Valentine’s Day card.

Cunt Tax

Like ordinary tax, but in direct proportion to how much of a cunt you are perceived to be nationwide. The best bit about Cunt Tax is that most rich people are cunts anyway and can easily afford it, and for the poor cunts who can’t afford it, they’ll have to work it off in community service and you won’t even feel sorry for them because they’re such a cunt.

Negative Tombola

Misfortunate enough to have ever went to a second-hand charity sale in a church hall? Me too, and they always have a fucking Tombola stand. With the game needing modernising anyway, why don’t they change the rules so that after purchasing a ticket, winners have to pay more money as their prize, and then all the copper proceeds go towards fixing the economy. Which probably really just goes towards paying for things like duck ponds and posh limos to Debenhams for MPs.

Prayer

Only joking. Next!

Nationwide Raffle

It shouldn’t be up to the average man to save the economy, considering it was wrecked by a bunch of rich fuckwits who all ended up with plenty of money. But it probably will be. So with that in mind, why don’t we just have one big massive raffle? Tickets should cost a pound, and if we all buy at least one, with gambling addicts making up the rest, that would probably give us a fair bit to work with. The winner gets to personally boot the royal family out of Buckingham Palace and live there themselves.

Hahaha! It's funny because it's taking our economic state out of context and putting it in the context of road signs, and it works! Hahahahaha etc.

Hahaha! It’s funny because it’s taking our economic state out of context and putting it in the context of road signs, and it works! Hahahahaha etc.

Invent A New Currency

We don’t have any money, but what if there was another type of currency that we could all use to operate the economy? Then we could just start from scratch again. And if we pick something like rice, it would give poor people a turn to be rich, seeing as it’s only fair that everyone gets a go. Better yet, we could set the worth of rice to be like, a billion quid per kilo, and then it would only take a couple of bags of Tesco own brand to pay off the national debt.

Ignore The Deficit

The economic state is a fairly serious thing, but in all seriousness, has anyone actually saw the deficit? Has anyone actually saw money changing hands? Because I haven’t. It’s not like there’s a guy waiting on his money and he’s about to send the bailiffs round to smack you in face and steal your car. So why don’t we all just ignore it and it’ll probably just fuck off and leave us alone? If the guy wants his money back, we can just be all like, ‘What money? We don’t know what you’re talking about’.

And there you have it- my foolproof tips for fixing the economy. Let’s see if any of them feature in the Budget 2013. George Osbourne- if you’re reading this, you can use any or all of these ideas, but only if you accept my ‘In a relationship’ request on Facebook.

Tagged , , , , ,

How To Use An iPad If You’re A Woman

'Is there an App for dusting?'

‘Is there an App for dusting?’

Recently, I read a review for a tablet computer written by some man-cunt who said that this particular tablet, compared with the iPad, was substantially more suited to female users, as it was easy to use and responded better to a ‘daintier touch’. Seriously.

I own an iPad and find it fits my needs perfectly, but then again, I have quite mannish hands and therefore, I was probably just thudding away at the screen like a big clumsy bloke. Also, seeing as my brain is smaller than a man’s, and considering I was probably too busy with ironing and making sandwiches, it never occurred to me that women needed our own technology because we are just fucking inferior idiots.

If you didn’t get the memo that the iPad was actually the technological Yorkie and bought one by accident, then here’s my step-by-step guide for using your iPad if you’re a woman.

Step One: The Box

After driving badly home with your new iPad, go to your sewing box and retrieve your ribbon-cutting scissors. Cut through the sellotape and remove the iPad from the box. Make sure the nearest man rewards you with a pat on the arse.

Step Two: Charge

Your iPad may need charging prior to use. Don’t panic- plug the zigger zagger into the zipper zapper and busy yourself in the kitchen for a few hours until the tablet has been fully charged. You’ll know this has been achieved when you hear a ringing noise, but when you go to answer the phone, Sally, Joan or Pam aren’t on the line to ask you for a good recipe for apple pie. Silly- that ringing noise is just the iPad letting you know it’s ready to use.

Careful, Mary! Make sure you dry those hands before use! Silly bitch.

Careful, Mary! Make sure you dry those hands before use! Silly bitch.

Step Three: Set-up

Set-up may take some time so it’s best to fetch your better half’s slippers and pipe before you settle down to read all the big words. Ensure you are sitting next to a man so that when the iPad prompts you to enter the time, date, and location, you’ll be able to ascertain these correctly.

Step Four- Apps

A huge advantage that tablets possess over your old differ doofer is that you can download apps. When you have been successful guided through set-up, click on App Store (push super hard on the screen so it registers your touch) and go to ‘Search’. Type in words related to your interests, such as ‘Housework’, ‘Giggling’ and ‘George Clooney’ and download as many as you like before Stella starts on Sky One.

Step Five- Internet

Download an App that allows you to access the internet (ask a man- I don’t know), and from there, you can sign up for Google Alerts on topics like ‘menopause symptoms’, ‘Kim Kardashian’ and ‘tea towels’ by clicking on things aimlessly until you collapse in a fit of giggles and someone shows you.

And it’s as easy as that, girlfriend! Next week: How To Pretend To Read Serious Newspapers.

Tagged , , , , , ,

How To Live It Up Like Kerry Katona

Graceful as a gazelle.

Graceful as a gazelle.

Glorified prostitute and big messy embarrassment, Kerry Katona, is the darling of daytime TV, the belle of banal bollocks and the mare of the menopausal magazines. In short, she’s the human equivalent of a cigarette butt being flicked into an empty tin of lager.

But why does she feature in so many of my posts? Because she’s so fucking irritating.

Irritatingly brilliant.

To be fair, I’m clearly just jealous of her hilarious wit, her glamorous life, her presence ont’ Freeview channels and her general chippy-chips existence. I want to be Kerry Katona. And I suspect all your gals out there are just pishing yourself to be just like her, too. Yep.

So here’s How To Live It Up Like Kerry Katona:

Funky Hair

And by ‘Funky’, I mean the sort of funky that also relates to FunkyPigeon.com. Walk into your nearest ‘airdressah what you know doesn’t ‘ave a clue ‘ow to duair, and just tell them to do what the fuck they like. Kerry’s current ‘do is a short back and sides with a large hair-swan ont’ top, like what Reeannah ‘as. The only different between our Kez and Rihanna is that Rihanna is tall, statuesque and beautiful whereas Kerry is stubby, gobby and out to steal your hubby (sorry, that was the only thing I could think of that rhymed and would denote that Kerry is a slag). Does Kerry give a fuck that her hair makes her look like an extra in Prison Bitches: Jailed for Credit Card Fraud But I didn’t Do It, Mister, I Swear On Me Mam’s Life Edition? Does Kerry care that her hair is in Heat’s Hoop of Horror? Does she fuck. All news is good news, innit.

Inappropriate Dress

Speaking of looking like a slag, no Kerry Katona wannabe worth her weight in cocaine-that’s-pretending-to-be-salt would be without a glamruss dress from t’boutiques in London. Think Herve Leger’s famous bandage dress but made significantly cheaper looking by making it out of coloured cling film and being eight sizes too small, a la Kezza. Our Kerry always teams her shitty dresses with disregard for the mantra, ‘Boobs or legs; never both’ and a fuckload of Wrigley’s Extra. Don’t forget a nice pair of plastic heels and big gobby gob on your big gobby gob.

Incase you missed it, here's that picture again.

Incase you missed it, here’s that picture again.

Online Bingo

Celebrity superstars need their downtime too and in between her glamorous life of posing semi-nude in The Sun and ringing Heat magazine to advise them of pending abortions so they can get their ‘Exclusives’ schedule right, Kerry uses her downtime to play online Bingo, so next time you’re at your lowest ebb and playing online, that person sweatin’ ont’ one number for a full house might just be Kerry Katona. To recreate your own Kerry downtime, treat yourself to a whole sphere of Dairylea Triangles and sit w’ yer feet up ont’ sofa and stick ont’ Telly and Wink/Sun Bingo. While you wait for the next game to start, tweet grammatically incorrect things about how when Bryun left you, it broke your heart and now he don’t even go haffers for t’kiddies private educayshun.

Child Neglect

Speaking of t’kiddies, if you want to live it up like Kerry Katona, you need to employ the sort of child neglect that would have even Miss Hannigan ringing fucking social services. Kerry loves forcing her children to take part in her reality shows, where they appear malnourished, unloved and like a modern-day version of the cast of Oliver. Neglect your children like Kerry by teaching them witty retorts for the cameras, such as ‘Lily-Molly-Bobby-Sue-Tanisha, what does daddy do?’ ‘Fucked off to Australia to shack up with Delta Goodrem and doesn’t pay child support, Mummy’. Of course, Kerry bleeds her I’m-not-gonna-tret-my-kids-what-way-me-mam-tretted-me role drier than Mark Croft drained her bank account, so you also need to play a semi-active role in the upbringing of your kids. Kerry’s suggestions for being a mediocre parent swathed in dillusion include doing t’school run while chain smoking (windows up), dancing around the kitchen to cheer your kids up when they’re crying because you won’t turn t’cameras off and going on This Morning to swear blind on your kids’ lives to Philip Schofield that your off the cocaine now for good.

Word Slurring

Finally, if you want to emulate Kerry Katona in any way then you will most certainly need to master the art of slurring your words whilst maintaining eyes deader than Michael Barrymore’s circa Celebrity Big Brother to present day. To do this, make an appointment with your GP and inform him/her that you are severely depressed and need to be heavily medicated lest you commit suicide. Down a quadruple dose of whatever you’re prescribed and then secure yourself a slot on daytime television by, for example, getting acid thrown in your face by an ex-partner or needing a paternity test, and head straight to the bright lights of fame with your craggy jaw chomping at nothing in particular, serving no purpose other than to make you look like you’re off your head. The key to slurring your words effectively is to never acknowledge that you’re slurring your words and, when questioned about it, say things like ‘Am eh? I didn’t know I were slurrin’ me wurds. This is news to me. Oh, I tell you what it might be, it’s me medicayshun for me bunions, innit. But I carn’t hear it meself. Am I?’

Well, there you have it, Kerry wannabes: five ways in which you can class yourself up to be just like Our Kez: Queen of t’Jungle but also, our hearts. Ish.

Tagged , , , , , ,