Will someone please buy Jack Teague a puppy? The writer of a fortnightly 'blog' on The Daily Express's website (which, comedically, has launched a section of it's site called 'The Crusader', fighting for your white British rights - the Express might want to check the historical etymology of that word before they start bandying it about and expecting people not to get angry) is probably the angriest human being the world has ever seen. Almost anything seems to be capable of driving the miserable cunt into an almost apoplectic rage, from pubs daring to serve more than a couple of ham sandwiches whipped up in the Landlord's kitchen to some forrin making his lunch wrong. All manner of issues that the rest of us might dismiss with a tut and a shrug seem to percolate around Jack's mind like poisonous horse turds.
Even the slowly rising price of chocolate bars isn't trivial enough for Jack - never mind the soaring crime rate, the seething discontent between northern communities and the fact that a Twix is no more than about 10p more expensive than it was when I was ten years old, Jack wants a Lion bar for under eight pence and he wants it NOW!
Who knew a Have Your Say'er could rise this high? It could only be in the Daily Express, the first paper since 1956 to have the phrase 'Living in Sin' printed in perfect seriousness on their front page. Obviously I can't let this lie, partially because I'm a shouty bastard as well and I simply refuse to be outdone by someone who looks like an overgrown child who's had his Transformers nicked, and partially because it's just such complete drivel that it sums up the mentality of the Daily Express and the people who lap up it's constant onslaught of sensationalist psuedo-alternative sloth piss. So in the spirit of being a spoilsport cunt, I'm forsaking the usual Your Say Thursday format to laugh in his face because, lets face it, he's a Have Your Say resident that has somehow managed to blunder into a real job. You know he posts there.
Why Are Some People So Rude?
In this edition of his blog, Jack has forsaken every other pressing issue bubbling around his mind to bring us news of the most shocking indictment of the state of the country as we know it - the fact that, sometimes, people push in front of him while he's waiting for a train. Yes, unbelievably, sometimes, people simply aren't willing to give Jack the five minutes' bowing in reverence he's come to expect from us mere mortals, and simply - if you can believe it - get on the train before him. Sometimes all of us horrific indictments of British society have even taken up all the seats, so he has to stand all the way to work. It's a sign of the times, apparently. I'd say it's a sign of being in a bit of a rush, but that wouldn't really elevate it to the level of momentous importance that Jack likes to drape over everything that dribbles out of his tiny brain, so you can see why he does it really.
Idiots On Mobile Phones Really Wind Me Up
Here Jack unveils a new twist on 'saying things that are either monumentally stupid or so patently obvious that we all knew about it already' by hitting us, over and over again, with the shocking revalation that people talking on their moble phones in our vacinity can get on our nerves. Obviously that wouldn't nearly be mental enough for our Jack, so his number one complaint about it seems to be the fact that other people's conversations aren't interesting enough for him to listen in on. He goes into great and intricate detail about the nature of the conversation held by a woman on the bus - public transport really seems to set Jack's rage glands pumping - taking up a good two thirds of his 'blog', only to then point out that he doesn't care. If you don't care, Jack, why have you remembered every single thing they said? I keep having to click back to your blog to remember what you're banging on about, and I don't care if you choke on your own tongue.
It's Not Racist to Expect Good Manners
Oh dear, someone's gone and made Jack a bad sarnie. To make matters worse, they were a forrin, and that's really driven Jack round the twist. A shop worker misheard his sandwich order and put the wrong ingredients in, and this clearly means to Jack that she's an ignorant sponger unwilling to learn proper English. I once tried to buy some Beechams over in Birkenhead while stuffed up to the eyeballs with the 'flu, and I might as well have been speaking Cantonese for all the poor shop assistants knew. Lets send the ignorant Scousers back to Africa, shall we, you torturous whinging cretin?
Still, I think what amuses me most about this article is the racism issue seems to entirely exist inside Jack's head. Nothing in the post or his relation of the conversation implies any racism on either side and yet, out of nowhere, Jack is under the impression that... I don't even know what he's under the impression of, I can only assume that he thinks all foreign workers should have to take a crash course in English pastries before being allowed in. Is that a Cornish pasty? No, it's a flan, get the fuck out of our country.
How Are We Supposed to Make a Living in Brown's Britain?
I think this article has to be my favourite though, just because, from the title, it looks like Jack might have something at least of national relevance to talk about, even if he is likely to be completely face-poundingly uninformed, but by the second line in he's rubbed runny orange shit all over his good work by turning the whole thing into a bit of a cry about chocolate. The thing is, I know Gordon Brown is a smug slack-faced cunt, I know that in terms of the economy he's showing all the sense of a drunken squaddie trying to wank in boxing gloves, but the price of a Twirl bar is not particularly useful political yardstick, especially when the things have gone up by about 5p in the last ten years. I'd have been impressed with Jack if he'd broken down the situation and made some serious political points, but he fucks it all in after about nine words, and while even I concede that Gordon Brown has completely shat all over the economy through a combination of malice and sheer bloody-minded incompetence, I just can't find anything noteworthy about it to take out of a piece by a grown man having a fist-pounding tantrum over the price of a chocolate bar.
And finally...
Gastropubs? Are You Bleedin' Mad?
Hmm. I know I said the previous one was my favourite, but this has to be a close second, simply because it sums up the inherent selfishness present in every single one of his articles, and the very selfishness he rails against when other it's inflicted on him by other people. Jack, in his infinite wisdom, hates everyone in his pub who isn't him. Throw in potshots at the evils of immigrants, unworking mothers and the smoking ban, and you've got the sort of unfocussed rage I've come to expect from Daily Express readers. There is nowhere in this country where there are no pubs that don't serve you a quickly knocked together ham sarnie within staggering distance, unless you live in the very heart of London's posh dangly bits, in which case you have no right to be complaining about anything, and could probably afford a taxi to and from my local, which still has every bit of football anyone could possibly want to watch, and will happily sell you a cheese roll for a couple of quid and even scatter a bit of sawdust on the floor for you if you're that much of a bloody traditionalist.
You're not welcome, though, because you're a cunt.
Goodnight.
Even the slowly rising price of chocolate bars isn't trivial enough for Jack - never mind the soaring crime rate, the seething discontent between northern communities and the fact that a Twix is no more than about 10p more expensive than it was when I was ten years old, Jack wants a Lion bar for under eight pence and he wants it NOW!
Who knew a Have Your Say'er could rise this high? It could only be in the Daily Express, the first paper since 1956 to have the phrase 'Living in Sin' printed in perfect seriousness on their front page. Obviously I can't let this lie, partially because I'm a shouty bastard as well and I simply refuse to be outdone by someone who looks like an overgrown child who's had his Transformers nicked, and partially because it's just such complete drivel that it sums up the mentality of the Daily Express and the people who lap up it's constant onslaught of sensationalist psuedo-alternative sloth piss. So in the spirit of being a spoilsport cunt, I'm forsaking the usual Your Say Thursday format to laugh in his face because, lets face it, he's a Have Your Say resident that has somehow managed to blunder into a real job. You know he posts there.
Why Are Some People So Rude?
In this edition of his blog, Jack has forsaken every other pressing issue bubbling around his mind to bring us news of the most shocking indictment of the state of the country as we know it - the fact that, sometimes, people push in front of him while he's waiting for a train. Yes, unbelievably, sometimes, people simply aren't willing to give Jack the five minutes' bowing in reverence he's come to expect from us mere mortals, and simply - if you can believe it - get on the train before him. Sometimes all of us horrific indictments of British society have even taken up all the seats, so he has to stand all the way to work. It's a sign of the times, apparently. I'd say it's a sign of being in a bit of a rush, but that wouldn't really elevate it to the level of momentous importance that Jack likes to drape over everything that dribbles out of his tiny brain, so you can see why he does it really.
Idiots On Mobile Phones Really Wind Me Up
Here Jack unveils a new twist on 'saying things that are either monumentally stupid or so patently obvious that we all knew about it already' by hitting us, over and over again, with the shocking revalation that people talking on their moble phones in our vacinity can get on our nerves. Obviously that wouldn't nearly be mental enough for our Jack, so his number one complaint about it seems to be the fact that other people's conversations aren't interesting enough for him to listen in on. He goes into great and intricate detail about the nature of the conversation held by a woman on the bus - public transport really seems to set Jack's rage glands pumping - taking up a good two thirds of his 'blog', only to then point out that he doesn't care. If you don't care, Jack, why have you remembered every single thing they said? I keep having to click back to your blog to remember what you're banging on about, and I don't care if you choke on your own tongue.
It's Not Racist to Expect Good Manners
Oh dear, someone's gone and made Jack a bad sarnie. To make matters worse, they were a forrin, and that's really driven Jack round the twist. A shop worker misheard his sandwich order and put the wrong ingredients in, and this clearly means to Jack that she's an ignorant sponger unwilling to learn proper English. I once tried to buy some Beechams over in Birkenhead while stuffed up to the eyeballs with the 'flu, and I might as well have been speaking Cantonese for all the poor shop assistants knew. Lets send the ignorant Scousers back to Africa, shall we, you torturous whinging cretin?
Still, I think what amuses me most about this article is the racism issue seems to entirely exist inside Jack's head. Nothing in the post or his relation of the conversation implies any racism on either side and yet, out of nowhere, Jack is under the impression that... I don't even know what he's under the impression of, I can only assume that he thinks all foreign workers should have to take a crash course in English pastries before being allowed in. Is that a Cornish pasty? No, it's a flan, get the fuck out of our country.
How Are We Supposed to Make a Living in Brown's Britain?
I think this article has to be my favourite though, just because, from the title, it looks like Jack might have something at least of national relevance to talk about, even if he is likely to be completely face-poundingly uninformed, but by the second line in he's rubbed runny orange shit all over his good work by turning the whole thing into a bit of a cry about chocolate. The thing is, I know Gordon Brown is a smug slack-faced cunt, I know that in terms of the economy he's showing all the sense of a drunken squaddie trying to wank in boxing gloves, but the price of a Twirl bar is not particularly useful political yardstick, especially when the things have gone up by about 5p in the last ten years. I'd have been impressed with Jack if he'd broken down the situation and made some serious political points, but he fucks it all in after about nine words, and while even I concede that Gordon Brown has completely shat all over the economy through a combination of malice and sheer bloody-minded incompetence, I just can't find anything noteworthy about it to take out of a piece by a grown man having a fist-pounding tantrum over the price of a chocolate bar.
And finally...
Gastropubs? Are You Bleedin' Mad?
Hmm. I know I said the previous one was my favourite, but this has to be a close second, simply because it sums up the inherent selfishness present in every single one of his articles, and the very selfishness he rails against when other it's inflicted on him by other people. Jack, in his infinite wisdom, hates everyone in his pub who isn't him. Throw in potshots at the evils of immigrants, unworking mothers and the smoking ban, and you've got the sort of unfocussed rage I've come to expect from Daily Express readers. There is nowhere in this country where there are no pubs that don't serve you a quickly knocked together ham sarnie within staggering distance, unless you live in the very heart of London's posh dangly bits, in which case you have no right to be complaining about anything, and could probably afford a taxi to and from my local, which still has every bit of football anyone could possibly want to watch, and will happily sell you a cheese roll for a couple of quid and even scatter a bit of sawdust on the floor for you if you're that much of a bloody traditionalist.
You're not welcome, though, because you're a cunt.
Goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment