Category Archives: Self-help

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:


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.



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.


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.


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.


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

*Warning: contains no fun.

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How To Cope With 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.


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.

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How To Be A Teenaged Internet Millionaire

Kids today.

Kids today.

Nick D’Aloisio hit the headlines last week when he became a teenaged internet millionaire by selling his App, Summly, to Yahoo! for around $30 million. The App summarises news stories in one sentence for smartphone users, which seems like he’s just claimed to have invented ‘the headline’, but it has a few other bits and bobs in it. Allegedly.

Anyway, if you want to become a teenaged internet millionaire, here are my hints and tips to follow in the footsteps of Nick D’Aloisio. With these foolproof strategies, you’ll be snorting cocaine at a party full of people who are only using you for your money in no time.


Being an outcast in high school will stand you in good stead for the future as an internet millionaire. Attain outcast status by standing a few feet from the popular clique in the school hallway and stare longingly at head cheerleader, Susie Smileypants, knowing in your heart that she doesn’t even know, or care, what your name is. When Susie Smileypants’ boyfriend, big man on campus Joey Jocktrunks, calls you out for stalking his woman in the school cafeteria, stick up your fists and move them around saying, ‘Why I oughtta…‘ over and over again until he knocks you out in one clean dig.

Furthermore, having no life and nothing of any social value is key to becoming a teenaged internet millionaire, as, when all your peers are out having fun, you’ll be busying yourself at home working on your App and unknowingly embarking upon a journey that will one day lead you to find comfort in dismembering prostitutes and stashing them in little ziplock bags in your gold-plated freezer. Achieve your lack of social life by being such a pedantic arsehole that the only time the cool kids converse with you is when they are calling you ‘Poindexter’ and stealing your lunch money.

Moneygrabbing Wee Bastard



Being a moneygrabbing wee bastard will inspire you to dabble in get-rich-quick schemes, all of which are definitely going to make you a teenaged internet millionaire. While you may not be born with the personality defect that makes you a moneygrabbing wee bastard, you can hone your moneygrabbing wee bastardness by being so unappealing as a human being that you need money to give you worth. Once you’re hungry like the wolf, you’ll start chasing the dollar. After all, them bitches and hoes ain’t cheap.

Half-Arsed Idea

No teenaged internet millionaire would be complete with a half-arsed idea to combine with youth so that people who use Yahoo! as their primary news source will be all like, ‘OMG he’s younger than me but he has more money! LOL.‘ Basically, in order to create your idea, just take someone else’s already successful idea and copy it, being careful to say ‘It’s the new…‘ in front of it (i.e. ‘It’s the new Facebook’). Then ask mummy or daddy to get their venture capitalist friends involved so that they can pay other people to develop your idea while you play the XBox with Ashton Kutcher.


Seeing as you are a teenager and therefore, probably thick as pigshit, is is highly unlikely that you will be able to create anything of actual worth by yourself. However, as with the case of Nick D’Aloisio, you need not make reference to the highly-skilled group of adults who actually developed your half-arsed idea- instead, taking any and all glory for yourself. After all, you didn’t lose your anal virginity to Ashton Kutcher for nothing, did you?

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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.

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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 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.

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Four Ways To Quit Smoking


I bet you didn’t know this but smoking is not good for you. Seriously, it’s not. And even though there are so many plusses to throwing the guts of a tenner down the drain in exchange for lung cancer, there are a variety of downsides to smoking, such as cigarette boxes being a major hindrance when fashion dictates that eenie-weenie handbags are all the rage. Yes, smoking is a ‘drag’… etc.

So, if we can’t fit our smokes in mini-semi-functional accessories, why do people smoke, I hear you ask out-of-politeness. I have no idea, to be honest. As a lifelong non-smoker, I’m writing this sanctimoniously from up upon my self-built pedestal, nodding along to the episode of Happy Days when Fonzie got Joanie to quit smoking. I suppose it has something to do with being addicted to nicotine, trying to fit in with the ‘cool gang’ like Danny Zuko and the rest of the T-Birds and generally enjoying standing outside in the pissing rain sucking on a death-stick while the rest of us are inside the club dancing ironically to Ride on Time by Black Box.

But even though I know nothing, I’m getting my two cents in. Here’s Four Ways To Quit Smoking.

Switch Your Supplier

I recently watched a really depressing episode of Rip Off Britain (is there any other kind?) in which Customs & Excise had cottoned on to a huge, decade-long scheme in which fake cigarettes had been shipped to England from France and supplied to local corners shops. ‘These cigarettes contain nothing more than floor sweepings wrapped in greaseproof paper, and people have been smoking these for years thinking they’re authetic,’ tutted the investigations team (made up of the sort of people who start sentences with ‘I’m not racist but’ and proceed with a racist statement). No-one seemed to realise that the ‘criminals’ behind this scheme had probably saved hundreds of smokers from lung cancer with their fake cigarettes, and almost certainly cured anyone who smoked their fake cigarettes long-term of their nicotine addictions, and, considering their stolen taxes were more than recouped in NHS savings on cancer treatment and the infinite cost of saving human lives, they deserve a good pat on the back. So switch your supplier to your local corner shop, and the only thing you’ll be addicted to is laughing at the petty nature of Rip Off Britain.

Get Pregnant

Having another human inside of you means you can blame all sorts of shit on them when really, it’s your own crappy willpower. ‘The baby is a social smoker’ is what you should tell people when they look at you judgementally. Yeah, like they never endangered the life of their own child. This statement implies that the baby only smokes socially, and that you’re not chain smoking at home and blaming it on your unborn child who will thank you when they’re older that you smoked while pregnant and as a result, they now shop in Topshop’s petite section. Bastards.

The sign under which many a smoker stands in the lobby of your local supermarket

The sign under which many a smoker stands in the lobby of your local supermarket

Blame Philosophy

‘If a tree falls in a forest and no-one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?‘, Starbucks patrons egocentrically pontificate. The jury is out on the one, peeps, apparently there are some fucking idiots out there who believe in the possibility that the no sound is made in an unpopulated place. So, you should find this tree, because evidentally, you could probably smoke there and you wouldn’t be smoking, too. And, even if those who do believe that the tree does make a noise in an empty forest are all like ‘Yes, you’re definitely smoking’, those who oppose their viewpoint won’t think you’re smoking, which means you’ve cut down on your smoking by 50%, so you’re halfway on the road to quitting anyways.

If someone points out that as you are now in the tree-vicinity and thus, this makes the argument void as someone is now in the forest, tell them to fuck up and go back to their non-taxpaying coffee.

Smoke Crack Instead

Focusing your nicetine cravings on something else may help in achieving a cigarette-free existence. Smoking crack instead will help you achieve this, as when you lose your job, home and relationships, and whilst shacking up in your local crackden and pimping yourself out to fund your crack habit, cigarettes will be the last thing on your mind.

Quitting smoking is a journey towards addressing the underlying reasons that drove you to start smoking in the first place, such as peer pressure, feelings of inadequency, stress, unhappiness or other life issues. With this in mind, you might consider taking up smoking as a coping mechanism when you’re trying to quit smoking. I won’t tell if you won’t.

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How To Apply Fake Tan

Gotta love looking translucent.

Too poor to go on holiday and looking pastier than Patsy Kensit being dry humped by a raw turkey crown? Shit one.

January, the month when suicide numbers hit their annual peak, is a continuous shitstorm of crap. And when it comes to having a sunkissed glow, you’re fucking kidding yourself if you think that’ll be happening anytime soon. No, such thoughts should be relegated to more suitable times of the year, such as the hour of Summer bestowed upon us sometime in May.

However, help is at hand when it comes to faking a tan, thanks to endless fake tanning goods propped up in supermarket shelves like the product equivalent of the Geordie Shore cast- promising to give you a Ronseal Wood Varnish glow should you buy, or punch your fuckin’ lights oot if you don’t. Fake tan, I imagine, is just a little bit rough.

But how do you achieve a natural shade that enhances you without looking too orange? You fucking don’t, alright. But I’m going to slap the bastard on anyway and get drunk quickly so I don’t notice the streaks and will happily fight anyone who dares to look in my direction.

What the fuck are you lookin' at?

What the fuck are you lookin’ at?

Here’s the lowdown on applying fake tan:

Trial and Error

Choosing the right tan is key- therefore, be prepared to try out lots of products before settling on the right one. Do this on the cheap by going to your local Semi-Chem and hotfooting it straight to the non-branded tanning wipes that look like they could also double up as toilet roll when you go camping. Go home and vaguely wipe your limbs with your purchase, taking care to vomit into a designated area, such as a toilet or bin, rather than all over yourself in reaction to the smell of the ‘scented’ wipes. Wait ten minutes and- hey presto- your beige-and-white striped body looks like a mobile version of Ralph Lauren’s Homeware Collection for Spring/Summer Every Year Since It Began, seeing at it looks the fucking same every time the bastard thing comes out. Now, having achieved an adequately stripey, Pikey look, sling your greasy mane into a BumBun (TM), and off you go to Debenhams where you can shoplift luxury brand tanning items to try without repercussion because the security team is unlikely to approach you for fear of being bitten. And contracting HIV.


To achieve an even finish, one must exfoliate to get rid of dry patches and ensure that skin is smooth and even before applying product. Take an industrial sander and carefully apply to soles of feet, which have built up enough hard skin to achieve flipflop status in their own right, and try to close your mouth as much as possible so bits of hard skin don’t accidentally fly into it during sanding and make you die from shuddering. After your feet have been cut to ribbons, apply to industrial sander to elbows, knees and other crusty bits, carefully sweeping up discarded skin-bits to use as snow in next year’s nativity play at your local church. Finally, on delicate areas, such as your face and neck, opt for a dentist’s drill with bits of old carpet glue to it for that ultimate sheen. Failing that, don’t worry about exfoliating because nobody bothers to do it anyway.

A Hand’s Turn

Remember to take great care with your hands when applying tan, as they absorb product quickly and can turn a deep shade of orange within moments of contact with fake tan. Use gloves to combat the dreaded ‘tan hand’ fiasco. Tramp’s Tip: just slap it on without gloves and if anyone asks, tell them you’re best friends with Victoria Beckham and you’ve just returned from an afternoon of feeling her implants.

Victoria Beckham: Keeping it as real as Rev Run sitting in his big fucking mansion pretending to be ghetto.

Victoria Beckham: Keeping it as real as Rev Run sitting in his big fucking mansion pretending to be ghetto.

Care When Drying

Letting your tan dry after application is vital in getting an even finish. So no going outside naked and jumping in puddles, unless it’s absolutely an emergency. Or you want to achieve a nice Vitiligo look. Or you’re a big fan of Michael Jackson and wish to show your undying support for that time he lied about skin-lightening surgery. Or your desired shade of tan is ‘Pale and Dirty Bastard‘.

Stay in the Shade

Once you’ve got that first layer down, it’s all about building up the perfect shade that’s just right for you. Go to B&Q and get yourself a nice portable wood varnish shade chart, and use that as a bible in building your colour from ‘Moments from Asphyxiation’ to ‘Good News, Mr Jones- We’ve Decided To Turn Off Your Wife’s Life Support Machine Today To See What Happens. Don’t Worry, We Reckon She Has A Good Chance Of Living’. And beyond that, it’s up to you. Dare you go as far as ‘Cocksure Whore’, ‘Leather Bag Slag’ or even ‘My Electricity Bill Is Zero Because I’m My Own Lamp Vamp’. Or will you keep it mellow with ‘Michelle Heaton’s Oranger Mate’? The choice is yours*!

Chelsy Davy: A Cunt with a Stupid Tan

Chelsy Davy: A Cunt with a Stupid Tan

*Unless you’re still using those non-branded wipes, in which case, you may as well be drinking bleach. Good luck with that one.

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How To Survive An Apocalypse

Those bags of shit love to swing.

Those bags of shit love to swing.

Sadly enough, the world selfishly didn’t end on 21st December, as sensationally reported to be predicted by Mayan buffoons. Even though we live to see another day, I still find it shocking that the EU didn’t make a single provision for the potential apocalypse on the off-chance that it wasn’t a load of crazy talk- selfish bastards. If the world had’ve ended, they’d certainly be redfaced come Monday.

I decided to do my bit for the gullible among us who went and camped up mountains in preparation for the end of the world by ensuring they weren’t disappointed when fuck all happened by going and knifing the silly bastards to death. There is something mightily satisfying about stabbing a tent wildly to haphazardly puncture the human content, kind of like Bobbing for Apples but with murder.

Anyway, due to a distinct lack of apocalypse survival guide material available so that we have a hope in hell of coping should the day come when the world does end, I’ve appointed myself to make up some stuff. Let me just say, there is no point worrying about the world ending- you are far more likely to die of old age or in some sort of freak accident, say for example, in which a knife wielding maniac ‘accidentally’ falls on your tent when you’re out camping. This guide is for emergencies only. Like the Emergency Chocolate that Sainsburys patronisingly markets towards women who’ve just broken a nail. Fuckers.

Right, here’s my top tips for surviving an apocalypse.

Makeshift Hats

In any industry when things are likely to fall on top of you, hats equal safety, so why the fuck not? But remember, meteorites are rather hefty, so it’s best to make your own rather than shelling out for some plastic Taiwanese flim. Therefore, I will be making my wonderhat by turning a pot upside down, knifing two eyeholes in the bastard with that knife I used earlier to murder all those campers, and placing it on my head. Us gals- we’re nothing if not dedicated followers of fashion.

Keane Albums


Keane; faces for radio, music not for radio

Keane; faces for radio, music not for radio


Whatever happened to Keane? I don’t even know if they’re still making music, and I’m scared that my laptop might die of embarrassment on my behalf if I Google it. But if they aren’t, you can still buy obtain all of their music in any Tombola at a Hospice fundraiser near you, providing your ticket ends with a ‘5’ or a ‘0’. Alternatively, you can recreate sounds of Keane from the comfort of your own home by trying to construct the song equivalent of the cheapest thing on the menu of a gastropub while chronically yawning and asking yourself, ‘What would the Lightning Seeds do?‘, all the while fussing with the funnelled neck of an navy polyester jumper by Jeremy Clarkson for Matalan because it’s giving you a rash. That’s Keane. An afternoon listening to their lyrical diarrhea will prepare you for the end of the world alright. You’ll be praying for the apocalyse.

Face Paint, Bandana and Gutsy Catchphrase

Although the other items listed in this guide are serious aids, I have to admit that this section is about basic vanity. Tying a bandana around your pot-helmet and smearing some face paint on it can help you to look all badass when you’re rolling around the ground while singing the Mission Impossible theme, pretending to hide from aliens, even though they have nothing to do with anything. It is also handy, in life generally but especially in the event of an apocalypse, to keep a gutsy catchprase in your mental holster incase you accidentally do something heroic and you want to get extra super-cool points. Mine is ‘Swinging shitbags!‘ but you’re more than welcome to use it, too. But if we’re together, I’m the only one who gets to say it and you have to act all surprised and clap at me in slow motion.

Vanilla Sky

Tom Cruise: the world would be so much better off if he'd die soon.

Tom Cruise: the world would be so much better off if he’d die soon.

I went to see Vanilla Sky in the cinema, and it is, to date, the only film that I walked out of for fear of going insane with crapdom. While this was many years ago, I recall sitting in the cinema for around four decades before finally deciding that enough was enough and emerged into the real world with utter shock that, in fact, time did not stand still- it just felt like it had. So, in the event of an apocalypse, it is advisable that you retrieve your copy of Vanilla Sky from beneath the leg of your dining table that is slightly smaller than the others and throw it into your poor, unsuspecting DVD player. Hey presto- a vacuum via which time is automatically slowed, turning seconds into days. Now, you have all the time in the world to potter about with the well-meaning intention of building a spaceship to escape Earth but never actually getting round to it because you spent your Vanilla Sky centuries playing Farmville instead. And you have only yourself to blame, because Tom Cruise was stopping time just for you.


There’s no point in buying a saucepan, a Keane album and a table wobbler stopper a copy of Vanilla Sky if you’re just going to go and starve to death afterwards, so you’ll need some form of food to keep you going while you hope that help is on it’s way while knowing deep down that death is inevitable. Best to pick something that is non-perishable and full of preservatives to prolong the life of the food. My suggestion is a KFC Bargain Bucket, as it is not only unpenetrable by bacteria due to bacteria not being hungover enough to be able to merely entertain the thought of it, it is also the most requested meal by inmates on Death Row as their last meal, thus, it’s very presence will make you glad that soon, your charred remains are going to be eaten by cockroaches.

Swinging shitbags!

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How To Plan The Perfect Christmas… in Four Weeks

Mistletoe and Whine

In just four short weeks, you’ll be seething with resent and unhappiness, looking at your watch every five minutes and resisting the urge to douse your family in lighter fluid and burn them alive at the thought of spending even one more agonising minute with them- because it’ll be Christmas Eve! Not that you didn’t know this already- if you have Facebook, you’ll already be privvy to multiple Christmas countdowns, an update of who, what, when and were with regards to Christmas-Tree-Putting-Uppery and a delightful rundown of how many people have watched Elf. Again.

Anyway, Christmas is a time for presents joy and being with cunts you hate people you love, and the ‘perfect Christmas’ is a long sought-after tradition that we all aspire to. No matter how much of a depressing pile of shit it is in actuality, the relentless enthusiasm by which we adorn twinkle and cheer to the season is admirable. Sort of like the Casey Anthony trial- she knew she was guilty, we knew she was guilty, but by fuck, ain’t nobody was gonna get in the way of her getting out of jail, waiting for the backlash to die down and signing herself up for ‘Celebrity Rehab’.

But with only four weeks to go and no prior preparation, should you put yourself under back-breaking pressure to achieve the ‘perfect Christmas’? Isn’t being with family enough? Shouldn’t we turn away from materialism and realise that health and happiness are the only gift we need? And isn’t is all about religion anyway?

NO! Get moving now, you lazy slaaaggg! Only 720 hours to go (if you don’t sleep- which you shouldn’t)- if you don’t deliver the perfect Christmas, you’re a bad person and deserve to get AIDs. Here are my tips to help plan the perfect Christmas… in four weeks.


Christmas is all about showing everyone how much fun you’re having, when in reality, you’re praying for the sweet release of January. Start by updating your Facebook with something smug about how ahead you are with your preparation, like, ‘Christmas Tree Done. Elf watched. New Sofa ordered from DFS in time for Christmas. Ah this is what it’s all about Lolz #HaveYourselfAMerryLittleChristmas’. Ensure you get that hashtag in there. It means you’re funny, original and ironic. Extra smug points.

Once your Facebook has been updated with a primary update, remember to ‘check yourself in’ at your local Christmas Market, take a photograph of your kids with a hot chocolate moustache and-this one is important- share any pictures on your timeline of Christmassy backdrops with messages about how Christmas is all about God. Remember not to think about God too much though, as you might forget to pack your sleeping bag for the Next 4 a.m. opening of their Boxing Day sale. Charge!


Having retrieved the boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic where you lovingly fucked them in January, start your decoration process with gusto as you untangle fairy lights from around an empty Toberone box. Laugh as you find a discarded edible tree decoration that you threw in to storage by mistake. Get pissed off after five minutes of going nowhere with the lights and settle in to watch Elf while someone else decorates. Eat the definately-toxic tree decoration, and hang your head in shame.


Today, ‘Cyber Monday’, is the busiest online shopping day of the year as we collectively scramble to buy presents in advance. Decide to hit the shops instead in an effort to beat the inevitable Amazon server-crash, armed with a fistful of cash and a shopping list filled with the names of bastards you wish were dead along with ‘Something on 3 for 2 at Boots’ written beside them. Call into the pub on your way to the shops for one Yuletide drink before the hard work starts. Before you know it, you’ve passed out and your family are carrying you home while you slur how much you hate them all.

Creepy guy wearing christmas jumper

Christmas Spirit

Christmas is made magical with spirit, so it’s time to get some. Don’t believe Hollywood– spirit is not found in giving, helping the needy and prayer- it’s actually acquired through boasting, smugness and consumerism. So bypass your local church and head straight to Asda instead, where you can fill up your trolley with tat and bump into your neighbours to tell them how much more organised you are than them. Also, make sure to define the start of the Christmas period by the first appearance of the Coca-Cola advertisement on TV. Yes, that’s right- Coca Cola, a company who steal water from thirsty developing countries to give us all cancer- yay! Holidays are coming! This was definately what people in biblical times had in mind for the celebration of Christ when they made up Jesus.


Mistletoe and Wine by Sir Cliffy on repeat for the next month- next!

Family Time

Isn’t that what Christmas all about? No, as established, it’s about presents. But family is allegedly in there somewhere. As such, make sure to spend lots of quality time with your family during the festive season. For example, you can all sit around the TV and watch Elf while you bury your head in Facebook and the kiddies spend their time weakening their sense of morality on their game consoles. Or for even more togetherness, play games like, ‘Shut the Fuck Up Before I Stab You’ and ‘I’m Having An Affair On The Side Which Is Why I’m Nicer Than Usual.’

Goodwill Towards Men

Ultimately, Christmas is a time for peace and goodwill to all. Exemplify this by scrapping in a carpark over the last box of Saxo dry-stuffing mix.

Anyway, I’m off to hit the shops. Where’s my chainsaw?

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How To Live With An Elderly Person

Inconsiderately, old people are getting older. With the average life expectancy constantly on the rise, and a third of babies born in 2012 expected to live beyond 100 years, the chances are that you will, at some point in your life, have to life with an elderly relative who relies on you for food, shelter and nursing to make their most vulnerable years as comfortable as possible.

Shit one, I know. I, too, dread the day when I have to change an adult nappy, fish dentures from a glass of watered-down tooth-batter and have to witness the look of disdain on houseguests’ faces when they decide that my home smells like ‘shit and old people’. I’m fucking dreading it with every fibre of my being.

But then I remember that I’m looking at the situation through shit-tinted spectacles and that it can’t be that bad- it just takes some creativity, know-how and a fuckload of bleach to see salvation. Here’s how to live with an elderly person.

Work It

In business, knowing your core competencies and focusing on delivering these to the best of your ability is a recipe for success. Similarly, old people have expertise in many fields advantageous to sociophobes like myself, and can afford you a life of blissful solitude. For example, when ‘trick or treaters’ call to your door on Hallowe’en, send your live-in old person to the door, armed with a walking stick and a jowlful of boring tales from when they got oranges for Christmas and fucking loved it. What’s that noise? Oh, it’s just the sound of next Hallowe’ens door-sweets investment jingling in your pocket because kids won’t be calling next year. You can finally buy yourself that hand puppet you always wanted so that you could use it to communicate your feelings without judgement. Score.

Old people have an inate ability to bore, terrify and complain- don’t delay, put them to work today. Get yours to shuffle around the supermarket with you and watch in awe as people pity you and let you go ahead of them at the checkout. Tell your spouse to do all the heavy-lifting because if anything happens to you, they’ll be responsible for wiping the arse of your live-in old person while you rejoice in your grave. And the next time your Sky box decides to shut down, get your live-in old person to ring that Mumbai-based call centre and watch as the language, age and general comprehension barrier slowly causes your disinterested and unfriendly Sky representative’s head to explode in a fit of turning-the-tables rage. Hilarious!


Having a live-in old person means you can be all kinds of cunty in your day-to-day life and no-one will give you grief because you have ‘special circumstances’. If your live-in old person is also a parent… Fucking score. Not only can you blame your immediate wankerness on your live-in old person, you can also cite them as the reason you’re also an underlying wanker with social problems. Whenever you want something, for example, the last doughnut in the box, you can passive-aggressively whisper, ‘No, it’s ok, you have it- I think I was just comfort-eating to compensate for my bad childhood in which my parents beat me to a pulp, and now insist on living with me to ensure that I’m ”kept in my place”.’ And say hello to the last doughnut. And lots more doughnuts. Metaphorically speaking, of course. And some actual doughnuts, too. Probably.

Dirty Cash

In addition to using your live-in old person for anti-social purposes, you can also use them to save money. Check your live-in old person thoroughly for defects, and utilise these to your advantage. If your live-in old person has no defects, rough them up a bit for your desired purposes. For example- can’t afford to buy yourself a fraudulent disability sticker online so that you can stick it in your car-windscreen and don’t have to walk anywhere? Accelerate the effects of your live-in old person’s arthritic hip by storing them in a cold, dark area and beating daily. Hey presto- a governmentally-issued sticker that entitles you to park in a luxurious disabled spot. Can’t afford a donkey-ride on your holiday to Blackpool? Get on your old person’s back and make them look sad and tired while you forcefeed them a carrot. Can’t afford sleeping pills? Make your live-in old person sit by your bedside and recount last night’s episode of Downton Abbey. Can’t afford to buy a machine that makes all of your clothes smell like piss and false teeth? Make your live-in old person wear all your stuff first.

Feel-Good Factor

Of course, human life is precious and if nothing else, the time you spend with your live-in old person is an opportunity to make the most of your relationship while they’re still around. You’ll miss them when they’re gone, allegedly. So take the time to enjoy it. Take lots of photographs of the two of you together- you’ll look younger and prettier by comparison. Listen to their stories- it might give you clues as to how much they’ve left you in their will. Hug them- suddenly the fact that you haven’t been to the gym in six years won’t matter because you’ll appreciate that you’re not internally decaying. Laugh with them- it’s a great disguise for laughing at them. And enjoy today- for one day, they’ll just be a distant memory.

I know, I can’t fucking wait either.

Old people: like children, but with bigger nappies.

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