Tag Archives: Twitter

One Hundred Things I Hate About Life

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Wahey! This is officially The Thinking Gal’s 100th Post!

So what better way to celebrate than by rhyming off 100 things that annoy the fuck clean out of me so that you can understand why I’m such a moaning cunt a little bit better? Probably lots of better ways. But here they are anyway:

1. Hypocritical bastards

2. Shopping centres

3. Snow in March

4. Tomatoes being poncily described as ‘vine tomatoes’, as if there’s another way to grow tomatoes.

5. Musicals

6. Flapper dresses worn by girls who aren’t as slaggy as the rest of the group

7. Inspirational quotes on Facebook by people whose behaviour couldn’t be less inspirational if they tried… which they are too lazy to do.

8. Joey Essex

9. Kids today

10. People who say ‘sick’ when describing something good

11. Holly Willoughby

12. The Common Cold being called ‘Flu’

13. Leaving it to mellow if it’s only yellow

14. People who ‘LOL’ with a straight face

15. Old people who Tweet

16. Russell Howard and his ”good news”

17. Desperate wannabes who call Kim Kardashian ‘Kimmie <3’

18. People who start diets every Monday

old-man

19. The one who incessantly makes it known he sleeps around from One Direction

20. The one who looks like a woman from One Direction

21. The Jedwardy Irish one who keeps saying things are ‘Sick’ from One Direction

22. The other two from One Direction

23. People who Belieb

24. The amount of product placement in Pitbull’s songs

25. Diet versions of proper cakes

26. Zooey Deschanel

27. The unmitigated snobbery of Ted from How I Met Your Mother

28. Little Mix

29. Actually, everyone off X Factor. And you can fuck Leona Lewis into that category, too.

30. Stupid girls

31. Stupid men

32. People who say they don’t like things when they really mean that they don’t want to try anything new

33. Vain people whose appearance aren’t enough to quantify their vanity (but still take awkward semi-nude photographs for us all to laugh at on Facebook)

34. Catchphrases

35. No mental breakdowns on Biggest Loser USA

36. Wanking feckin’ bankers

37. Buses

38. Littlewoods

39. Caravan living

40. The word ‘Totes’

41. Texting as a form of prolonged communication

42. Joey Essex one more time

42. Microchips

43. Sky TV, Broadband and all the other sub-par services they offer

44. Simon Cowell

45. Racists who say ‘Not trying to be racist, but…’ at the start of racist statements

46. The Americanisation of everything

47. Hipsters

48. Zebra-print

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49. People who clap like seals at anything that comes out of Will.I.Am’s mouth

50. The acceptance of Cheryl Cole as a legitimate human being

51. Anything described as a ‘National Treasure’

52. Shitty ‘celebrity’ versions of already grim TV programmes, except for the awkwardness of watching a bunch of non-entities trying to figure out who the other participants are

53. The small fucking portions on Masterchef

54. The phrase ‘Odds and Sods’

55. Vicky Binns

56. Everything about Kerry Katona

57. Ugg boots with denim skirts. Still.

58. Hashtagging things in a non-Twitter setting

59. Joey Essex again

60. Ant and Dec

61. The incorrect belief that Marilyn Monroe was a size 16

62. George at Asda

63. Watching Karl Pilkington trying not to smirk at how funny he thinks his contrived antiquated viewpoints are on ‘An Idiot Abroad’

64. Pizza Express

65. The little cartons of fruit in supermarkets that exist because it has become acceptable to expect never to cut your own fruit

66. People who bring their kids to Burger King every Saturday

67. Films about people who try to make it as a dancer

68. When you walk into someone’s house and it smells but eventually you don’t notice the smell because you’ve caught it too

69. ‘Pacific’ instead of ‘Specific’

70. Weightwatchers

71. People who specify that they can drive in their Facebook ‘Basic Info’, as if it’s a huge achievement

72. The fact that it takes a horsemeat scandal for people to think, ‘Hang on, what if supermarkets lie about what goes into processed food?’

cranky

73. George Osbourne

74. Women who describe their fondness for Mila Kunis as a ”girl crush”

75. Black trousers in non-office settings

76. Superscrimpers on Channel 4’s disproportionate validity to smugness ratio

77. Rip Off Britain

78. The Nolan sisters

79. Fifty Shades of shut the fuck up, the fact that you read this isn’t shocking anyone

80. Justin Bieber’s mum

81. The whole storyline between Kurt and Sarah Jessica Parker on Glee

82. Glee

83. Anything to do with the Harlem Shake

84. Any Youtube clip that goes viral and attracts comments like ‘LOOOOL’ and ‘LMFAO. Plz Justin Bieber tweet me’

85. Cunts who tweet Justin Bieber things like ‘I’d die happy if @JustinBieber would just RT this. I’m probably not special enough, though’, as if he’s going to fall for your reverse psychology. He doesn’t fucking care!

86. Monster Munch

87. All-denim ensembles. Didn’t work for Britney and Justin, not going to work for anybody else.

88. Rita Ora

89. Richard Branson’s jazzhandsy approach to being attention-seeking in business.

90. The fact that Apprentice contestants don’t get taken out the back and shot after being fired.

91. Smirnoff Ice

92. The crocodile tears of each and every Secret Millionaire

93. Payday loan ads. Considering they’re the only industry making money these days, they could up their budget to more than 25 quid.

94. Anything by Ed Hardy’s sweatshop of broken dreams and rape by Pauly D

95. Katy Perry’s faked stupidity wrapped in self-delusion of astute business-mindedness wrapped in actual stupidity

96. Coco-T

97. BBC4

98. Jamie Oliver not understanding that everyone doesn’t have a £30 weekly carrot-budget

99.Driving cunts who don’t think to thank you for letting them in when they were in the wrong lane, usually as some sort of time saving measure while the rest of us just wait behind them like chumps.

100. David Spade

Ok, now that that’s out of the way, I’m going to go celebrate by punching a wall and spending tonight in A&E.

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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 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.

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How To Snag A Man If You Have Low Self-Esteem

Having a low opinion of oneself makes any task difficult, but trying to get someone to love you when you don’t particularly love yourself is a losing battle. However, when you find that special someone, they can show you how to accept yourself as you are, helping you to overcome those feelings of low self-esteem. And just because you’re so darn great, I’m going to give you a few tips to meet Mr Right and say goodnight to feeling shite (this was the best I could do).

Yes, that’s right ladies- just because you have low self-esteem due to hating yourself doesn’t mean you have to lose out on meeting a man, settling down and spending the rest of your motherfucking life cleaning up after him. Here’s how you can snag a man, even if you think you’re worthless and hideous.

Looking Great, Feeling Great

People who say that looks don’t matter are lying to themselves- looks are everything because people are shallow as shit. Disguise your low self-esteem, ugly face and lack of confidence by wearing make-up by the trowel. If you have a credit card, head to your nearest Mac counter and have a sales assistant with a superiority complex tell you that your face disgusts her, and how buying £300 worth of eyeshadow will make you instantly appealing. If you’re poor like me and your credit card is reserved for essentials like playing Wink Bingo online and adding to your Mork and Mindy Memorial Plate collection, go to Superdrug and see what’s on sale, and buy that. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t suit your skintone; by the time you’re done beautifying yourself, you won’t know if you’re black or white.

If you are unsure of how much make-up to wear, google the word ‘Snooki‘, click on Images, and double the amount she wears.

While we are on the subject of natual beauty, it would be advisable to do something about your ridiculous hair. Delightfully, my hair is a torturous bastard and likes to fashion itself into a big ball of frizz, no matter what I do to it. I like to counteract this by frazzelling it under heated plates. This is sustainable, and my hair is not going to fall out in like, a week.

Finally, peruse the Ann Summers sale rack to find yourself a nice outfit to complete the elegant new you. You want your look to say ‘I’m a streetwalker, but not the kind that you can strangle and leave for dead after intercourse, because they’ll send a search party for me and you’ll go to jail.’ That way, potential suitors know you are a lady of class.

Being Seen At The Right Scene

Now that you’ve got the right look, you will need to start frequenting places where you are likely to find the right type of man. Any bar that is affiliated with a religious community that has a bitter history with other religious communities and lots of antsy patrons looking for a fight, or has ‘Legion’ or ‘Strip’ in the title, is usually a winner. However, if you want to steer clear of men who drink, then beat you, then promise to never do it again, then drink, then beat you, etc., then you could always go to loser gatherings for asexual beings singles mixers at your local church to find a man who is teetotal. He might still beat you, though. And cry a lot.

Of course, I’m only joking. Not all single men are secret abusers waiting to pounce; most men are decent and just want to see you happy- while cooking their dinner, washing their clothes and generally being an unpaid slave. Relationships are great, and having a connection that surpasses physical attraction and human decency, to the extent that your partner is comfortable enough to accidentally shit themselves while farting in your presence, creates a bond that no-one can tear asunder. Sharting- marriage, for the undercarriage.

The truth is, meeting a man you like happens when you least expect it, which is why you should just get on with your life and he will enter when he’s ready. That’s what she said. Creep out male collegues while assuming,deludedly, that they fancy you by laughing like a crazy person at jokes they made that weren’t even funny, stare at men stalkerishly on the bus and step over the ‘line of appropriateness’ by flirting with your friends’ partners. This is good advice.

Acting Like A Lady

In my experience, in addition to favouring women who look like whores, men love the ‘modern day gal’, keen to break the oppressive stereotypes of her 1950s counterpart. I like to attract men by showing them that I can eat a whole KFC Bargain Bucket on my own and how disgusting and sloppy I am when drunk by rolling around the floor and generally being a nuisance to our entire party, all surrounding parties and the people on their Twitter account(s), as they will be giving them a running commentary of said rolling and nuisance-being, with updates such as ‘Holy shiz, clean up on aisle four #drunkbitchesonparade’, ‘Dis drunk slut is depriving a village of an idiot. I love One Direction #burn’ and ‘Justin Bieber is my imaginary boyfriend and some insult about a woman who can’t handle her drink #genericpopculturereference’. Men definately want to date me.

However, that’s not say that men don’t appreciate a bit of femininity, too. Simple touches, like drinking your pint with a straw, not making it obvious when you are removing your knicks from your arse crack and not blowing your burps into his face to watch him contort in horror at the stench, tell your prospective partner that you are one refined bitch. Make sure you pick all remnants of onion ring out of your teeth and you are wearing suitable camel-toe covering attire. Men love that shit.

You’ve Snagged Him, What Next?

And after you’ve snagged that man, how does the modern day gal have time to keep him interested? As your typical gal-about town, juggling a hectic schedule- I’ll level with you. In between watching clips of dogs on skateboards on Youtube, crying myself to sleep and writing Desperate Housewives fan fiction- not to mention trying to fit in all of my whining- it’s tough. I’m one busy lady. But finding mutual happiness in the little things helps- such as cooking him a special dinner that I’ve secretly spat in, avoiding going home because we can’t stand the sight of each other and crushing sleeping tablets into his tea so he won’t have the energy to speak to me. We somehow make it work, and it’s so worth it*.

But it really depends on what works for your relationship. Some people choose to have endless affairs to escape the reality that they fucking hate their life, others do drugs and some people just get the fuck on to a plane one day and never come back.

Relationships are great, aren’t they?

*It’s not worth it.

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Reasons Why I Hate Lady Gaga

I hate Lady Gaga. There, I said it.

For those of you fortunate enough to have died/fucked off to a deserted island for the last few years, thus not having been made aware of her existence, she’s somewhat of a superstar, and has a international gaggle of fans who gasp in shock and look horrified when you seem indifferent to what they think is ‘brilliance‘, and therefore I have always retreated back into the closet at the first sign of letting slip that I actually think she’s an untalented bastard. Here’s why:

Primarily, wearing fucking edible clothing does not make you ‘deep‘. It makes you WASTEFUL and ignorant to the fact that there are starving people all over the world who could have barbecued your dress and had a very nice lunch, you absolute arrogant tosser. This also goes for her other, stupid choices of outfit, such as the big silky tea-cosy dress (why?), net face covers (now seriously, what the fuck? Are you a beekeeper?) and big glittery triangle boob-representers stuck on to tops (general fuck.). The worst part is that those dedicated to fucking together a few scraps of twat-garbage and making it into a dress have now been renamed ‘House of Gaga’ when really all they are is a few homeless people doing an honest 20 minutes of work in exchange for crack.

See, that’s the thing about Lady Gaga- there’s a fine line between art and just some random shit sellotaped to a canvas, but if you say its art so many times with absolute conviction and no trace of a smirk whatsoever, fucking dumb fuckbags are going to echo your bullshit and also say its art while secretly not understanding what in sweet fuck you are talking about. I call this ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes Effect’, as much like all of the villagers not wanting to appear stupid by saying the Emperor was naked, members of the public wholeheartedly celebrate Lady Gaga for being a ‘genius‘, when in fact she’s just your average Slut McAttentionSeeker. Nothing she does hasn’t already been done by a whore out on Hallowe’en night in an outfit from Ann Summers. Because consider this, Little Monsters, if her outfits were art, why are they always conveniently cut to just below arse-crack level?? Is art secretly celebrating the female form of closeted anorexics? Well, um, yes, but… NO- she’s just a fucking twat.

Which leads me to my next point- calling your fans ‘Little Monsters’. Oh my god, this takes my dislike to a whole new level. Better not sleep with a pick-axe in my bed, incase I start sleep-walking to Lady Gaga’s house and hit her in the face with it. Why must you label your fans? Why can you not just call them fans? Is it some sort of patronising record company ploy to create a sense of community within your fans, thus encouraging them to buy more of your gormless face-adorned concert shit? To be fair, if I HAD to pick which set of fans had to die first, I would happily and wholeheartedly pick Beliebers (I would actually lend a hand and just start shooting them myself). For those of you in a coma after being in an accident that deafened you and also stopped your brain from receiving thought, Beliebers are Justin Bieber fans- the scariest and most likely to kill for sport of all fans of shit kiddy ‘artists’ (!) of today- they dominated my Twitter feed for the whole of Valentine’s Day with posts such as ‘Your boyfriend gets you flowers for Valentine’s Day, mine is writing me an album #justinismyvalentine’. Like, holy fuck. No, my boyfriend bought me flowers because HE’S REAL, WE’VE MET BEFORE, HE KNOWS I EXIST and I’M NOT LIKELY TO HAVE A LOCKET FILLED WITH HIS OLD HAIRS. Yeah, I said NOT LIKELY, so fuck off.

I’ve just realised that I have yet to comment on Lady Gaga’s actual music, but then again, no-one ever does. I rarely hear anyone say that her songs are good, but constantly hear remarks on her various attention seeking ploys packaged up and marketed as ‘eccentricity’. Can I just point out that the definition of ‘eccentric‘ is ‘Unconventional or slightly strange behaviour’, not ‘Trying far too hard to be weird because being weird gets you more attention’. If everybody’s weird, then nobody is weird- ever thought of that, Gaga? What are you going to do then- walk about in jeans and a cardigan with a… PLAIN BAG?!? Even then, I suspect that the vapid, soulless dicks running today’s popular cliques, sorry, fashion magazines would call it ‘revolutionary’.

To be fair, some of her songs are alright. Ish.

But even still, its hilarious watching the glittery face net masking Gaga’s facial rage of Adele’s whooping the shit clean out of her at the Grammys. Adele is the antithesis of Lady Gaga- unpretentious, down-to-earth and genuine, with neither a bell nor whistle in sight to spruce up her artistry.

I bet Lady Gaga is shitting herself. Oh, not because of Adele- she’s just making another dress.

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