As if we hadn't had enough over the last few days, it looks like we're going to get rained on some more. Terrific, because I for one can't get enough of being woken up by a sodden cat at 5 in the morning mewling at me and wanting to be dried. Honestly, it's getting rediculous. The government needs to step in and stop this cloudy menace before it's too late. Oh well, come July we'll all be moaning on like utter cunts as we all roast to death under our four days of sunshine a year, and they'll instantly roll out a hosepipe ban for everyone south of Fife. Does anyone know where all this water'll be by then, because if this doesn't fill up the bastard reservoirs it'll be a turn-up for the books because the bloody things are all currently about four feet underwater.
The fact we've got the Enviroweenies banging on about how global warming is the cause of this mild winter makes it about seventeen times worse. I'd much rather stand in the rain for eight hours a day than listen to one more minute of their drivel. It's not fucking mild out there, it's freezing, and the fact it isn't snowing is less to do with global warming and more to do with planetary spite. Or something. Frankly I don't care enough about it to comment, but I wish they'd shut up about it, unless they want my carbon footprint planted firmly on their face.
In other news, the BBC seems blissfully unaware of the line between television and reality, reporting on Vera Duckworth meeting a 'tragic end' in the long running ITV soap Coronation Street. You know, because in a world with daily war, famine and widespread disease, the stories that matter, the stories that deserve a place on the front page of the website of arguably the most respected journalistic institution in the world, are the stories about imaginary people on soul-crushing evening television shows snuffing it because the actors just can't be fucked with the tedium anymore. What's going on at the Rovers Return today? Oh, it's Dave Lister shooting smack.
Staying in the north (lines between fantasy and reality aside, I'm pretty sure Coronation Street really is filmed in the north, and if it isn't, fuck you all, it's a good segue and I'm sticking with it), tonight some students nearly died after getting stuck down a hole. A terrible tragedy I'm sure you'll all agree, as the chance to take out nearly a dozen people stupid enough to go down a hole, which - as I'm sure anyone who has ever had a bath or taken a shower will agree - is where water natually flows, in the middle of the worst flooding this country has seen since the last one (which admittedly was some time last year) is surely one that can't be passed up. Especially as they were students. According to North Yorkshire Police, they were all unhurt. Shame.
In other news, officials have said that the British Airways plane which crash-landed at Heathrow yesterday 'failed to respond to requests for more thrust', a problem that I'm sure will resonate with British housewives who frequently suffer from a lack of thrusting from their charges in favour of a wriggle, a muffled apology and a stain on the bedsheets. Although it could be said that if she's in posession of one that requires a crew of 16 to operate she's a very lucky girl. Also, if you've considered joining the Navy, Marines or RAF in the last few years, you're fucked, as the military tries it's hardest to prove it's just as incompetent as the civvies by losing all your personal information. The Ministry of Defence say they are treating the incident "with the utmost seriousness". Which is good to know. Heaven forbid the Ministry of Defence treat anything that requires their attention with anything less than the utmost seriousness. Batallions of soldiers charging through Kabul wearing Bart Simpson underpants and carrying toy guns with little flags that say 'BANG!' on them, perhaps.
In sport, Formula 1 teams continue to spend millions and millions of pounds developing and then millions more pounds throwing parties to show off the new millions and millions of pounds worth of cars they've built, all of which look exactly the same as the last lot, while David Coulthard does his best impression of Dad's Army's Private Frazer by telling us that the authorities' banning of traction control means we're all going to die horribly with brake levers stuck up our arses. Meanwhile, in boxing, 'Bedford Banger' Matt Skelton appears confident on the night before Ruslan Chagaev kills him, in Rugby there's so much I don't understand, and in the football, new Portsmouth signing Lassana Diarra has gotten off to a great start with the fans by announcing that he had a clause put in his contract that allows him to leave if a "really big club" comes in for him. What a self-important tosspot. Sorry, Lassana, you just aren't that good. You couldn't cut it at Chelsea and couldn't get a game ahead of the boy Denilson at Arsenal, and however much a great player he might turn out to be, he ain't that great now, and you, 5 years older, are worse. Good luck getting a game when 'Arry's proper midfield come back from Africa, and don't be too surprised if the Pompey fans, passionate and vocal as they are, don't start chanting your name just yet. Still, if you want a big club that needs central midfielders, you should have got King Kev on the blower, as every bastard and his dog that were dooming Newcastle for the drop last week seems to think he'll have them in the Champion's League by next thursday. Dissent about how that wouldn't work within the rules will be met with chants of "SUPER GEORDIES!" and a bottle of Newcastle Brown to the face.
Finally, there's some more tedious bollocks - four seperate links - about the Geordie Jesus and how he's going to make Alan 'Most Boring Cunt of a Pundit since Mark Lawrenson' Shearer his right hand man (Archangel Alan? - Ed) on the BBC Sport website if you're interested. Oh, it's also got Marcel Fucking Desailly banging on about the African Cup of Nations again. He says that "playing for an African team, you are there for your people". I don't know what you'd know about that, Marcel, seeing as you weren't there for your people because you'd buggered off to play for France, so shut your sanctimonious hole.
Goodnight.
The fact we've got the Enviroweenies banging on about how global warming is the cause of this mild winter makes it about seventeen times worse. I'd much rather stand in the rain for eight hours a day than listen to one more minute of their drivel. It's not fucking mild out there, it's freezing, and the fact it isn't snowing is less to do with global warming and more to do with planetary spite. Or something. Frankly I don't care enough about it to comment, but I wish they'd shut up about it, unless they want my carbon footprint planted firmly on their face.
In other news, the BBC seems blissfully unaware of the line between television and reality, reporting on Vera Duckworth meeting a 'tragic end' in the long running ITV soap Coronation Street. You know, because in a world with daily war, famine and widespread disease, the stories that matter, the stories that deserve a place on the front page of the website of arguably the most respected journalistic institution in the world, are the stories about imaginary people on soul-crushing evening television shows snuffing it because the actors just can't be fucked with the tedium anymore. What's going on at the Rovers Return today? Oh, it's Dave Lister shooting smack.
Staying in the north (lines between fantasy and reality aside, I'm pretty sure Coronation Street really is filmed in the north, and if it isn't, fuck you all, it's a good segue and I'm sticking with it), tonight some students nearly died after getting stuck down a hole. A terrible tragedy I'm sure you'll all agree, as the chance to take out nearly a dozen people stupid enough to go down a hole, which - as I'm sure anyone who has ever had a bath or taken a shower will agree - is where water natually flows, in the middle of the worst flooding this country has seen since the last one (which admittedly was some time last year) is surely one that can't be passed up. Especially as they were students. According to North Yorkshire Police, they were all unhurt. Shame.
In other news, officials have said that the British Airways plane which crash-landed at Heathrow yesterday 'failed to respond to requests for more thrust', a problem that I'm sure will resonate with British housewives who frequently suffer from a lack of thrusting from their charges in favour of a wriggle, a muffled apology and a stain on the bedsheets. Although it could be said that if she's in posession of one that requires a crew of 16 to operate she's a very lucky girl. Also, if you've considered joining the Navy, Marines or RAF in the last few years, you're fucked, as the military tries it's hardest to prove it's just as incompetent as the civvies by losing all your personal information. The Ministry of Defence say they are treating the incident "with the utmost seriousness". Which is good to know. Heaven forbid the Ministry of Defence treat anything that requires their attention with anything less than the utmost seriousness. Batallions of soldiers charging through Kabul wearing Bart Simpson underpants and carrying toy guns with little flags that say 'BANG!' on them, perhaps.
In sport, Formula 1 teams continue to spend millions and millions of pounds developing and then millions more pounds throwing parties to show off the new millions and millions of pounds worth of cars they've built, all of which look exactly the same as the last lot, while David Coulthard does his best impression of Dad's Army's Private Frazer by telling us that the authorities' banning of traction control means we're all going to die horribly with brake levers stuck up our arses. Meanwhile, in boxing, 'Bedford Banger' Matt Skelton appears confident on the night before Ruslan Chagaev kills him, in Rugby there's so much I don't understand, and in the football, new Portsmouth signing Lassana Diarra has gotten off to a great start with the fans by announcing that he had a clause put in his contract that allows him to leave if a "really big club" comes in for him. What a self-important tosspot. Sorry, Lassana, you just aren't that good. You couldn't cut it at Chelsea and couldn't get a game ahead of the boy Denilson at Arsenal, and however much a great player he might turn out to be, he ain't that great now, and you, 5 years older, are worse. Good luck getting a game when 'Arry's proper midfield come back from Africa, and don't be too surprised if the Pompey fans, passionate and vocal as they are, don't start chanting your name just yet. Still, if you want a big club that needs central midfielders, you should have got King Kev on the blower, as every bastard and his dog that were dooming Newcastle for the drop last week seems to think he'll have them in the Champion's League by next thursday. Dissent about how that wouldn't work within the rules will be met with chants of "SUPER GEORDIES!" and a bottle of Newcastle Brown to the face.
Finally, there's some more tedious bollocks - four seperate links - about the Geordie Jesus and how he's going to make Alan 'Most Boring Cunt of a Pundit since Mark Lawrenson' Shearer his right hand man (Archangel Alan? - Ed) on the BBC Sport website if you're interested. Oh, it's also got Marcel Fucking Desailly banging on about the African Cup of Nations again. He says that "playing for an African team, you are there for your people". I don't know what you'd know about that, Marcel, seeing as you weren't there for your people because you'd buggered off to play for France, so shut your sanctimonious hole.
Goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment