Smoking, Stabbing and Other Sickening Violence

Bleurgh. It's saturday morning, I'm hung over and I'm barely able to work out which keys I'm pressing, squinting through the bleary haze of the innumerable units of alcohol I poured down my suffering gullet last night. I vaguely remember an attempt to 'fight the power' of the government adverts claiming that three units of alcohol a day will kill you by consuming a week's supply in an evening. I'm not sure I got there but by the way my head feels about ten feet wide I'd say I got pretty close.

Anyway.

I don't have much of a story list today, other than people stabbing each other to death some more, but then it is a weekend and that is fast becoming our national passtime, so it's not really news anymore. It's a pretty sad state of affairs when you no longer even make the local news if you've just been knifed, you've got to have at least died on the way to hospital and been brought back before they'll even consider you. If you want to make the nationals you've got to either die for good for a one-inch column in the tabloids, and if you want a feature you'd better hope your killer did something interesting with your intestines. Fucking horrific, isn't it? It's getting to the point where you can't go out without plotting your escape routes in case a gang of kids in outsized baseball caps take a violent dislike to your shoes.

But still, instead of tackling that clearly quite pressing issue (oh no, if we go after them they might stab us! Fucking hell!), the government has again decided to turn around and attack smokers. Fuck off. This time they want to ban cigarette vending machines in pubs, ban packets of ten because they're 'cheap enough for children to buy' and make all cigarette brands be sold in plain packaging. Now, I don't smoke, but fucking hell, leave the bastards that do alone, would you? I've got no problem with them, if they want to go about smoking that's their own business, and maybe they want a pack of ten?

It's all just pointless PR fluff as the government tries it's hardest to ban smoking and never will. Smoking will never, ever disappear from Britain, and even if the government banned it outright, it would simply become the new most popular illegal drug, which would piss off the stoners no end (not that I've ever seen a pissed off stoner - Ed). Banning packets of 10 because they're cheap enough for children to buy? The article even points out that a packet of 10 is £3 and a packet of 20 is £6 - so why would they not just save up and get twice the cigarettes? It's like buying two packs of ten, Gordon! Think about it. Fucking hell.

I won't go into it in any more depth because my head is pounding like a melon that a child is attacking with a mallet, so I'm going to crawl back into my pit and try not to die for the rest of the day and hope I'm well enough to do it all again tomorrow when the England game's on. It's on at 10.00 at night, apparently, due to the time zone differences between here and Port of Spain, so you'll all have the oppertunity to drink yourself into a stupor before we get to see Phil Jagielka dazzle us all with his amazing world-class dribbling ability. Smoke yourself into a pleasant haze, as well, with your plain-wrapped £30-a-fag 50-pack that you bought from an illegal backroom vending machine.

People who campaign against smoking seem to think all non-smokers regard those that do smoke with a loathing usually only reserved for war and football matches, but I have to come out and say I don't give a toss. Smoke all you like, and fuck any and all attempts by these self-righteous selfish cockends to stop you. They should go out-fucking-side if they don't like what's going on on the inside. I thought you liked fresh air?

Goodnight.

Football Football Football: Season Review 07-08

Urgh fucking hell. It's quarter to 8 and I'm already awake. I've got fuck all to do until forever now, and yet I'm up at this rediculous hour and already on the internet, blogging about being awake at this rediculous hour. I've got to go out tonight as well, which means by about three in the morning I might finally get to sleep properly, with floods of delicious alcohol flowing through my veins. Maybe a bit of steak as well. Mmm.

Anyway, in light of the sheer lack of news today (because no fucker's gotten out of bed yet) and the fact the football is all over for another year save for England's B-but-not-a-B international against Trinidad and Tobago on Sunday - and let's face it, nobody really wants to read about Phil fucking Jagielka - I've decided to write my feature on the season as I saw it. Largely through a drunken haze, I'll have you know, but that's not the limit of my assumed knowledge. Those that know me will know that I'm exceptionally good at assuming I know everything, even when I don't, so for those that don't know what I'm going to say is going to be complete bullshit, here's my season review of the Premiership (and anything else important) 2007/08.

In the early months we had great hope of a season so different from the one just gone - Man United had the worst start to a season since dinosaurs roamed the earth, Chelsea fucked up in no small measure, and Liverpool had come out all guns blazing thanks to a girly Spaniard with a headband and no thanks to a fat Paris Hilton, who must surely go down as one of the more pointless signings of the season. The Champions League kicked off in earnest and nobody could yet predict the domination that English teams would have over the competition, with the Man from Del Monte paying the ultimate price (well, sort of) for his side's lackadaisical failure to overcome a bunch of Norweigan shitkickers. The fact they have won the Norweigan title six out of the last seven years does not exclude them from the shitkicker label, because they're playing against yeti who, though fearsome, don't actually know how the game works.

The fruit-bearing fancy-boy fucked off into the Portuguese sunset and was replaced by Avram Grant, who's previous career highlight was being mates with the billionaire owner of a football club, and the lofty achievement winning the Ligat Ha'el with Maccabi Haifa. He looked doomed almost from the very start, as the Chelsea fans were waiting for a big-name signing to lead their big-name signings, and instead got a podgy Israeli who hates everything. True to form with the many moron football fans in this country, he was offered police protection after suffering anti-semitic hate mail just for taking the job, obviously from Chelsea fans who would do well to remember that Roman Abramovich is just as Jewish as his now-former manager. You can't say he fucked it all up in the way he was expected to, though, as he managed to take the Premiership down to the last weekend and only lost the Champions League because John Terry can't kick straight, a problem which any of us would succumb to because he's so overpoweringly shit.

Elsewhere, 'Arry hailed the triumph of the little, fan-funded clubs over the billionaire-backed bully-boys by, um, leading his Sacha Gaydamak-bankrolled Portsmouth team to a win over Cardiff City in the FA Cup final. Not that it wasn't an achievement to roll over Manchester United in the previous round, but they did win it by a bit of a flukey penalty and for Portsmouth to claim it was a victory for the 'little clubs' is a bit rich for a team backed by a man who's father is worth so much that, if he was given a trolley dash through Fort Knox, he'd probably only want the paintings. Still, Portsmouth have gotten themselves into Europe with their win, but will have to hope that their UEFA Cup qualifiers are against Jersey Scottish, as 'Arry's bail conditions prevent him from going overseas for the forseeable future, assuming the charges against him haven't been dropped after a piece of sublime police idiocy.

Derby County did what we all thought they were going to do and went down with the worst points total ever achieved in the Premier League, taking the career of Paul Jewell with them after Billy Davies saw the writing on the wall and fucked off to manage Scotland before the proverbial hit the fan. He didn't get the job, I grant you, but you can't fault him for trying. Injuries to Giles Barnes, hailed as a future England right winger, and other key personnel can be partially blamed for Derby's grim capitulation, much like the breaking of Marlon King proved the breaking of Watford not so long ago, but surely it must come down to a failure to adequately strengthen - a grave and fatal error when your defence consists of Big Darren Moore (who could tear your limbs off if you got too close, but as he can't move anymore, you'd have to pretty fucking stupid to do so) and a man that looks like he has a dangerous Crystal Meth habit.

Imagine what they could have done with a certain high-quality England midfielder who left their clubs for lesser climbs last summer. Someone who can play in the middle or out wide, and is a beast from set pieces. You all know who I'm talking about. It's Seth Johnson.

Also finishing at the wrong end of the table were Reading and Birmingham, which means that next year, for the first time in three seasons we won't have to put up with the most boring man in football on Match of the Day. Unfortunately we've still got Mark Lawrenson, but we can always hope that Lineker will slip some amphetamines into his tea, or something. They certainly need some sort of antidote after Ian Wright refused to be the BBC's 'court jester'. Maybe they could buy out Chris Kamara's contract and really push those stuffy cunts Hansen and Lawrenson over the edge. Almost anything would be better than Alan Shearer, who really must have sold his charisma to the devil in exchange for his talent. Honestly, watching the BBC's coverage of the football is like watching four trainspotters marooned at a party.

Still, that's about it. I'm not even going to go into Player of the Season because it's got to be that cunt Ronaldo, and I'd rather stab myself in both eyes than type even one line of gushing praise about the preening, diving, astoundingly good little shit. He'd have been a candidate for Miss of the Season if John Terry hadn't ballsed up his penalty in the Champions League final far more, but he did, so the piggy-eyed little crybaby is assured of one prize this season, even if it is just a vaguely amused feeling of contempt. Goal of the season? I'm going to go for Emmanuel Adebayor's volley against Spurs - clipping it over himself, turning and blasting a volley into the top corner? I didn't think that could actually happen. Real Roy of the Rovers stuff, only with a great big Togolese instead of that badly-drawn twat.

Other than that, very little went on. Newcastle and Spurs talked big and ended up in mid-table mediocrity as usual, while Everton let their football do the talking and very quietly ran Liverpool almost to the wire for fourth place, as usual. There was the seasonly great escape, this time engineered by Fulham manager Roy Hodgson after the disaster visited on them by Lawrie Sanchez and his useless N.I. cohorts, even if Jari Litmanen did prove to be the most pointless signing anyone had ever seen, even managing to spend two weeks out with an injured ear at one point. Of course, Al-Fayed will hand Hodgson a bumper transfer budget of £6.50 in the summer and they'll have another season of struggle next year, as usual, while, coming up from the Championship, we have West Brom, who might survive, and Stoke and Hull City who will battle it out to see who won't be next years' Derby, although it's entirely possible the rest of the Premiership will be fighting it out over only one real relegation place once those two fill two of them. What price Bolton or Fulham to go down next season? Not much, I'll wager.

Still, that's the end of the football until next year, unless of course you're some sort of masochist, or a Spaniard, and will be watching EURO 2008. Personally I think Germany are going to win it, but I don't even want to think about that.

Goodnight.

That's a Bit of High Price for Aid, Don't You Think?

Every now and then, I come across a story that, even though I know it's bad and evil and wrong, I can't help tickling me right on the funny bones, or wherever it is that causes us to laugh at things we probably shouldn't laugh at, even though they're funny. Today is definitely one such time. The reason behind this slightly offensive mirth today is a story entitled Peacekeepers Abusing Children. Not funny in the slightest, of course, until you factor in the way that, ever since I read the title, I haven't quite been able to shake the mental image of a burly aid worker standing next to a crying child going "well we give you all this food, the least you could do is let us fuck your kids". A bit of a high price for a bag of Skips and a few Paracetamol, as I'm sure you'll agree.

With UN troops doing nothing but standing about wearing fetching blue helmets, getting shot at and now, apparently, going about raping people, various organizations are starting to call for a watchdog group to be set up to avoid this sort of incident occurring again in the future. But of course they would say that - they just want to keep all the cute kids to themselves. Mmm.

In a similar vein, that house of horrors in Jersey has yeilded more bones. It just gets sicker and sicker.

Moving on to technology, the BBC are reporting on a study that suggests web users are becoming 'more selfish'. Apparently, most ignore efforts to make them linger and just search for what they want and then leave. Shocking, isn't it? We should all stick around after we've found what we want just so we can watch their shitty little wanking monkey or whatever the latest advertising campaign is. It also says people are suspicious of online promotions, which really must piss off all those wankers that send out Nigerian spam mails, "Congratulations You're Our 10,000th Visitor" bollocks and everything else that makes the internet shite, which can only be a good thing. I don't put adverts on this blog because I know how fucking irritating they are and that nobody in their right mind ever clicks on them anyway. If I ever do start putting any more than those nice Google text ads that actually seem to be worth something, you can feel free to come and slap me to death with a printout of the flashing image of my cock and balls that I made you click on to win a prize.

Oh, and Big Brother contestants have taken each other to court over one labelling the other 'Stinky'. Quality programming from the people at Channel 4. Big Brother 9 is apparently coming soon. It never fucking ends.

Finally, John Terry has been named England captain for the game against the USA tomorrow. Fantastic, because if there's one type of player we need to stand for us, to represent our strength and collective will against the colonies, it's a blubbering little cock who can't take a penalty without falling on his arse. The BBC reckons this might be something to do with the fact that there are increasingly declining (that's an odd turn of phrase - Ed.) numbers of English footballers in the Premiership - only 170 last season, apparently, as this alarmingly biased graph shows. The fact that the graph representing 170 is a third of the size of the graph representing 207 despite there only being a difference of 37, equating to about two players per squad, isn't mentioned, and the BBC are obviously hoping that we all start to think that 2/3rds of English players have fucked off in the last 2 years. They haven't, but don't let that get between the BBC and a sensationalist knee-jerk lie, eh?

Still, looking at their graph of teams with the most English players, Boro, Wigan and Derby finished in the top six. That's fantastic incentive to buy more English players that is - buy domestic, overspend on the underachieving, and fuck it all up and either get relegated or avoid it by the skin of your teeth. Still, I suppose you can't be ignorant to the fact that something is drastically wrong when England are having to turn to a League Two goalkeeper after Chris Kirkland managed to break himself again. It's cruel that they even keep selecting him, you know - it's like Rob Green and his conceding 4 goals whenever Capello claps eyes on him, regardless of who he's up against.

Also, the FA are shitting themselves at the fact we're about to fall from 2nd to 6th in the European rankings because of changes made to the system. I can't see the problem really, there's no way we're the 2nd best team in Europe. I sincerely doubt we're 6th - Italy, Spain, France, Germany, Russia, Croatia, Leichenstein... there's probably more.

We ought to beat the USA though. They'll probably try to pick it up with their hands.

Goodnight.

Blogging is Better than Work, Bank Holiday Bollocks

Fuckity fuck. I've been drifting in and out of sleep since 4am because of the sheer violence of the rain lashing against every window - it's like a fucking hurricane out there. So much for sun on a bank holiday. Also, even though it's a bank holiday, and even though I've been drifting in and out of sleep since 4am, and even though I had a really weird dream about zombie wasps posessed by the spirit of Jack the Ripper, I've got to work today. Shitloads of horrible, evil work has to be completed today, whist I listen to the weather trying to batter my walls in. And yet I'm still posting.

I'll start off with a story that can only be summed up with a phrase I usually hate even thinking about - "Political correctness gone mad". Apparently prison staff in Whitemoor jail are scared of stopping black and Muslim inmates engaging in 'inappropriate behaviour' for fear of doing something 'wrong'. Prison staff in Whitemoor have evidently forgotten that they're working with prisoners, not sensitive souls that might have a bit of a cry if they're prevented from shooting up smack in the dining hall. However politically correct you might be in the real world, there really is no need to carry that into prisons, where everyone has been adjudged to be a bastard by a jury of their peers.

It's simple - if they're breaking the rules, break them up. If they feel like crying racism, point out that it's in the rules of the prison and anyone breaking those rules would be treated the same. If they still cry racism, bonk them over the head with your extendible baton and tell them to fuck off before you swing for their bollocks, because if there's one thing more annoying than the sort of people that go into the prison service only to come over all limp-wristed and caring for the little cunts, it's people crying racism when you try to stop them doing things that nobody in this society is allowed to do as if they're somehow special when they want to be.

If we're all the same, treat us all the fucking same.

Second of all, I've got another rediculous story about race. This time, people reckon that the NHS is institutionally racist against south Asians because they don't go into the community to try to find and help people who are mentally ill - I've never had a doctor come to my house uninvited and ask me if I was a loony, have you? It makes you wonder precisely what they want.

You can make the case that doctors don't care or that doctors are incompetent. I could give you a long list of reckless stupidities on the part of doctors from my friends and family alone if you gave me five minutes and the proper incentive - a slot on Dispatches would do - but institutionally racist because they don't go around south Asian communities shouting ARE YOU A MENTAL?! at passers by? They'd be locked up themselves.

Not to mention the fact that every single GP I've had for as long as I can remember has been some brand or other of south Asian. I find it very hard to believe that a succession of five or six south Asian GPs have all been racist against south Asians, unless all those years of medical school breed a particular form of self-loathing in people that has as yet gone unnoticed. I also find it hard to believe that an occupation with such a high number of highly intelligent south Asians in it's employment would be in any way 'institutionally racist' without somebody - and not an oversensitive idiotic BBC somebody, I mean a proper doctor - noticing something was up with the way the white people were given champagne and caviar while the poor south Asians were fed toilet paper and piss.

In keeping with the general theme of overreaction so far in today's stories, have you seen the massively over-the-top response from the German authorities about the woman who jokingly advertised her baby on eBay? It was quite obviously a joke, if a bit of an odd one - though I found it piss funny, and would be perfectly willing to sell my kids on eBay if it meant a life of less trips to the swings, the zoo and picking them up after they've been sick in a flower bed - and yet she's been sent for psychiatric tests while her child has been taken into care. Fucking hell.

Is nothing allowed to be joked about anymore? Can jokes no longer be at anyone else's expense? Is this really what it's come to, in this age of supposedly unprescidented freedom? Do we really have to think about what we say, even if it's something as minor as this? Don't be so fucking rediculous. You're a cunt, he's a cunt, she's a cunt, you're all cunts, and I can say it all I fucking like.

Also, what is wrong with the picture they've used for the article? Is that just a pair of disembodied feet? "The child (not pictured here)" it says. Well no, because that's just a pair of disembodied feet.

Fuck it, work is for later, I'm going back to bed.

Goodnight.

Boxing, Singing and Banging On About Nothing

Right, well, that was a bit odd, wasn't it? I spent last night indulging in the hardly twin pleasures of watching Ricky Hatton punching Juan Lazcano - who came out dressed as a gay conquistador - in the face, and flicking over to the Eurovision to laugh at the frankly mental performances they have every year, this time involving a bunch of Latvians dressed as pirates and a Frenchman with an inflatable globe. From this endeavour I can draw three conclusions - firstly, that I should never drink absinthe again. Secondly, that sickening violence is infinitely more entertaining than camp singing, especially when you've paid £14.95 to watch it, and thirdly, that Jovana Jankovic is a pretty one. Not since Ruslana Lyzhychko a few years ago has there been a prettier one. Somehow it's made all the better by the fact that the change I've got in my pocket from last nights' drinking could probably buy a house in Serbia or the Ukraine, so they'd probably be somewhat easier to impress with my falling about and spewing up green.

In other news, a government think tank has risked the possibility of a tiny snotty riot by suggesting that long school holidays, including the long 3-month summer holiday that forms the setting of every memory of my childhood I have past about 17, should be abolished. Frankly, I don't see why this would benefit anyone. They say it's because kids regress in maths between terms, but the thing is, that's a completely artificial construct at the best of times - they either regress in little chunks between terms, or they come to the end of their school lives, completely loathing maths like any other normal human being, and promptly fuck off and forget it anyway. I'm not sure I could tell you what a quadratic equation even is anymore, let alone how to solve one.

Still, it's taking away one of the only perks there can possibly be to being a school teacher - the massive amounts of paid holiday. Higher education might be a worthy pursuit, but for all the adverts trying to tell me that teaching is a worthwhile endeavour, I still remember school and it was nothing like it is on the telly - you just couldn't broadcast that amount of swearing, drugs and sickening violence before the watershed. Schools are like glorified holding pens for children so stay-at-home mums (or dads) can get some fucking peace instead of constantly hoover-dodging some sugared-up brat screaming at the top of it's lungs, and, when they get a little older, to keep all the vicious little thugs in one place so we know where they are when they stab someone.

Earnings of what, you say? It's not nearly enough. Working with kids should be like other mentally and physically traumatic jobs, like working the oil rigs. 6 months on, 6 months off. And once a week you should get to punch a child in the face.

Oh, and the McCanns still haven't fucked off. Now they want to shit all over your Facebook and Bebo in a bid to keep up their international superstardom, further line their filthy little pockets, oh, and maybe, if there's time, find out what happened to their daughter. I don't use Facebook or Bebo - Bebo always seems to be for small children and paedophiles, and while I have an account with Facebook, I hardly ever use the thing because I don't understand why, when I have a phone, I really need a less-than-real-time method of interacting with only people I know. At least MySpace got it right when it realised it wasn't for people like me using their service to chat up impressionable emo girls, they'd have gone under - but I can't help but think that, if this trend continues, within six months, you won't be able to look at anything, anywhere, without seeing some sort of representation of Madeline fucking McCann.

I've had enough of being unable to buy a newspaper, turn on the television or go on the internet without having a 99.9% chance of seeing something to do with Madeline, and every time you think it's died down, it gets right back up again, snapping and snarling at your enjoyable media experience like a zombie in a bad horror movie. Do they really think she's still alive? Do they think she's been hiding under a bush, eating berries and giggling, all this time? My mother is absolutely convinced that a rich Portuguese couple who cannot medically have children have taken her and are raising her as their own, with the finest of everything money can buy. Frankly if you can't handle the truth, then just don't think about it, but don't damage yourself by thinking up ludicrous fairytales to neatly cover up the fact she's been buggered to death and thrown in the sea.

Fucking hell, I swear she's more heavily advertised than Coca Cola.

Over in politics, 'Senior Labour figures' have said that there is "absolutely no appetite" to boot Gordon Brown out of Number 10. Quite how they can come to that conclusion when he has performed worse in his short time in office than any other Prime Minister in living memory has in a full term is far beyond my brand of drink-fugged logical thought, but I suspect it mght have something to do with the fact Blair cocked everything up, Brown has taken charge and turned the whole thing into a death-dive, and they think it's a better idea to crash, burn and start all over again than try to pull out of the slide that Brown seems to have greased under them.

I suppose in the wacky, short-memoried world of tabloid politics, Labour have a better chance of winning something again if they let the Conservatives win the next election, then start haranguing them from the benches for not giving everyone in Britain a Mercedes even though it was them that managed to fuck the economy up so hard that a video of it would probably be banned by their own new extreme pornography bill. Oh well.

In entertainment news (as if the Eurovision news hadn't already blown your senses - Ed.), it seems it's the end of American Idol, which means I'm free from my weekly two-hour torture session at the behest of the womenfolk, coo'ing and ahh'ing over the superficial shitty crooning. Unfortunately it also means no more of that pretty one Chinese one who's name I can't spell, so I'm coming over all emotional.

Actually, I'm not, but it's been a fucking boring blog today and I thought it needed a bit of passion.

Fucking hell, I'm missing the Formula One.

Goodnight.

Edit: Jose Mourinho can fuck off calling Avram Grant 'a loser'. I don't see where you beat Manchester United to the title the season before last. I don't see your Champion's League final appearance. Scratch your designer-stubbled chin and fuck off to Inter, you unbearable cunt.

Twitter, Avram Grant and Some Interesting Statistical Information

Right, well, this 'Twitter' thing seems a bit pointless, doesn't it? Does anyone have a reason why this is the latest 'social networking' phenomenon, or is it just another one of those inexplicable, unexplainable events, like the Bermuda Triangle, or how Barry Manilow ever managed to get that shit song into the top 20, even in the musical doldrums that was the early 80s.

As far as I can gather, it's a tool used for documenting every minor nuance of your life via the internet. You tell the internet when you eat, you tell the internet when you have a bath, you tell the internet when you have a particularly vicious wank, etc. You know, like the internet actually cares. It's like a series of constant, very small, very pointless blogs, for those with nothing to say but a seemingly irrepressible desire to say it. Sort of like this, but for people with attention span that would have run out round about the time I mentioned Barry Manilow (That'll be just about everyone then; no wonder it's taking off - Ed).

Anyway, I tried it out for a couple of hours, to see what all the fuss was about. The website promised me that I'd be drawn in by the fantastic new phenomenon that is documenting my every move as if it's something of massive importance and, like a grieving lover left at the altar, I've been cruelly lied to once again by the social networking masses. This blog might talk bollocks from time to time but at least I put some thought into what I'm saying 90% of the time - either that or alcohol, and it's hard to tell one from the other at times, but still, the thought is there - whereas Twitter seems geared specifically towards people who really do want to document every second of their lives. All I found when I gave this a try was that, if you genuinely made an earnest attempt to record and document every single action you ever take, you'd never have any time to do anything new in. Which may explain Twitter's soaring usage statistics:

02:42:15 - I just posted to Twitter!

02:42:27 - I just posted to Twitter!

02:42:48 - I just posted to Twitter!

02:42:51 - Fuck me this is dull.

Anyway, I was going to include some proper news here and everything, but unfortunately, there's fuck all happening. There's an absolute dearth of funny stories this past couple of weeks and I can't be fucked trying to drag a funny out of something shit and boring like Nimrods being grounded, or not being grounded, or whatever the fuck's happened to the bloody things this week. I can't be bothered paying attention to be perfectly honest with you. Of course, there was that idiot that managed to blow his own face off while trying to bomb a restaurant, but that's easy pickings really - you've got to be remarkably stupid to try to test a nail bomb with your eyelids. So, to avoid everything going to the dogs, I'm going to talk about the football instead.

Well, sort of. I'm actually going to talk about Peter Kenyon, who's actually about as far from football as you can get.

Of course, as we all knew long before the Champions League final in Moscow, Avram Grant's days are numbered at Chelsea. The man who has done remarkably well for a man who's biggest achivement before his appointment was leading Maccabi Haifa to the Ligat Ha'el title deserves more respect for getting Chelsea as far as he has, pitting his wits and matching almost to the last kick of the game probably the greatest manager of our time than he's getting from the insipid bald cunt that seems to run Chelsea for Roubles Roman these days. Peter Kenyon has been telling the media that the near misses Chelsea have experienced 'worry' him, which is code for 'we're undermining Avram so when we sack him, we won't seem like such complete cunts'.

The man deserves more respect, plain and simple. The day Peter Kenyon can pit his footballing wits against Ol' Red-Nose and take him right the way to the final whistle, he can start complaining about Avram Grant's performance. Peter Kenyon is a symbol of everything that is wrong with football - a greedy, slippery, seedy businessman who is in the business for the bucks and not the love of the game.

A corporate snake in the lush manicured grass of the football pitch. A man who called himself a life-long Manchester United fan until Chelsea came in with a bigger wage packet, and a smug, self-serving marketeer who probably couldn't name three greats of either of the clubs he has managing director'd (whatever that means) and professed an affinity for, and a man so obsessed with his own profile that he accepted a Champions League losers' medal last week despite having probably never kicked a ball in his life, let alone ever playing for Chelsea or being at all representative of their history rather than their boardroom, and of the club as a club, and not as Kenyon's idea of a 'brand'.

By contrast, Sir Bobby Charlton, World Cup winner, veteran of the Munich air crash, winner of over 100 caps for England and over 750 appearances for Manchester United, declined a winners' medal when he presented his team to Michel Platini because he hadn't been involved in the game. That's because, whatever you feel about Manchester United or Chelsea, Bobby Charlton is class and always will be, while Peter Kenyon is an insufferable cunt who should fuck off to a small, dark hole and stay there until he's less of a complete cock-end.

Avram Grant will almost certainly be sacked or booted back upstairs to a role as Director of Football within the next month. His failure to win the Champions' League has sealed his fate if it wasn't sealed already, a victim of the players' and fans' bizarre love affair with the Man from Del Monte, who some quarters are thinking - hoping - will be back to replace the Israeli. Those with more realism expect it to be Roberto Mancini or Frank Rijkaard, big names to satisfy Abramovich's thirst for fantasy football. Whoever is in charge next season, Peter Kenyon will still pick up his seven-figure salary for doing fuck-all except taking snide snipes at his own club staff when things aren't going swimmingly for him. Makes you fucking sick, doesn't it?

Anyway, to cheer myself up after that rant I'm going to indulge myself a little by passing some minor comments on some strange things that seem to crop up in my traffic logs - you people seem to be a filthy lot, seeing as my most popular page is the one entitled "nude midget, nude midget, nude midget". I reckon a lot of people must be typing that phrase into Google and are getting extremely disappointed at finding me shouting at them instead of some hot shorty action, as I have no idea how far up the rankings for that phrase I am (I'm certainly not googling it to find out) but I reckon it must be quite high, as anyone searching for nude midgets on the internet is pretty certain to find what they want pretty quickly. I mean, fucking hell, a bloke put up an advert about wanting to eat someone and found some bastard bonkers enough to reply, so anything can happen on the internet. Still, to any midget fans out there have read down this far; sorry about that.

Second of all, I've noticed that the second most common referrer to my website is Google Image Search, and seeing as the only image I've really put up is my spoof Daily Mail cover, I reckon that must be doing the rounds somewhere as some sort of viral email, as it seems to account for around 20% of my total traffic. I'm tempted to replace it with some sort of horrible picture of an anus, but I reckon that's probably against the terms of service, not to mention way too much fucking effort. Also, about 5% of my traffic seems to be Arabic. Oops. I bet they're a bit pissed off at me. Oh, and everyone's still using Windows XP and Internet Explorer, so I'm evidently not appealing to the stylish 'Mac' crowd. So much for my MacBook bringing me popularity like some sort of neverending desirability spring.

Anyway, I'm fucking knackered, so I'm going to go to bed now. I've got a long day of watching Ricky Hatton punch Juan Lazcardo in the face over and over again ahead of me tomorrow, and I'll need to stock up on beer beforehand to enjoy the frankly atrocious undercard, so that's at least another two hours taken up already. Life's hard, it really is.

Oh, and I was right. Fuck off, culty.

Goodnight.

Your Say Thursday: How Can We Tackle Youth Crime?

Well, how can we? Should we take away their fizzy pop until they calm down, or just smack them about the head with a rolled-up newspaper until they promise not to stab Mrs. Johnson in the neck anymore, even when she's carrying expensive-looking shopping? Obviously this is too important an issue for the government to tackle alone, so it's been turned over, by the BBC, to what is clearly the unofficial highest court in the land: The infinite monkeys at infinite typewriters that is Have Your Say. As usual, they were a crushing disappointment, but amusing nonetheless.

"Much of the trouble young people get into is exacerbated if not caused by alcohol. Last week the government took the courageous decision to make cannabis a more serious drug in the eyes of the law. This was done largely because they were fearful of it getting into the hands of teenagers and causing serious harm.

Is it not time to do the same thing with alcohol as well?

I think it may even warrant a class A categorisation. Surely it is the sensible and appropriate thing to do !"

phr, Nottingham

You know what else obviously warrants class A drugs clarification, phr? Fun. Did you know that 83% of all injuries amongst children and young people are as a direct result of fun? Let's ban this brightly-coloured menace before it claims any more innocent lives.

"The solution is simple, just publicly shame the families and loved ones of these troublemakers. Young offenders could feel some kind of satisfaction and say: 'look at me, I'm cool', when you put their pictures in the newspapers. So what would these though guys do when their girlfriends and sisters are being shamed in public! i.e. we could show pictures of their girlfriends looking ugly by photoshopping or without proper clothing on. This would drasticly decrease the number of youth crimes."

Dastan, London

Even better, Dastan, let's punish these feral youths by hunting down their grandmothers and sticking our cocks in their ear. That'll teach these kids to behave quick sharp!

"I think the youth should be more scared of the POLICE, which would make them more afraid because nowadays youth commit crime in front of an officer coz they believe that they can't get touched. so police should be able to physicaly punish thm in the public and even kick them if it's necessary."

Shahin, London United Kingdom

I don't know about you, Shahin, but Sting puts the willies up me. On a serious note, I agree perfectly that there need to be greater police powers to tackle youth crime, but I think it can be done better than turning the police into some sort of cross between Judge Dredd and Robocop.

"Beat them throw them into a cell with no heat clothes food water or light for a week then if they reoffend make the little darlings dig a hole make them kneel in front of the hole then put a 44 bullet into their heads the force of the impact throwing them into the hole they dug. Fill in hole and problem solved."

Dave Smith, Gloucester, United Kingdom

Either Dave has read far to much Bravo Two Zero, or is just some sort of classical idiot. Either way, I'm struggling immensely to find a way to justify execution as a reasonable response to two counts of drunk and disorderly. You're going to have to refine those beliefs a little at the very least, or you're advocating the police shooting you for jaywalking if you've got previous for pissing in a bush.

"We should force-feed under 21s with contraceptives in order to tackle youth crime. Make it an offence to have a child outside marriage, and lock parents up with their kids if they offend."

kris wardrope, ayrshire, United

Because if there's one group of these feral youths truly running riot in Britain's cities, it's the pregnant. You can barely go out of an evening these days without being accosted by hormonal women with shivs and elasticated trousers. It's madness, I tell you.

"Clamp down on immigration. Stop all benefits to foreigners and deport those who commit crimes. Simple. How much of this youth crime is down to English people?"

Jason Slack, Doncaster, United Kingdom

All youth crime must surely be down to nasty smelly foreign children coming over from France to stab our good, upstanding British children in the eyes. Solid, hard-as-oak British children would never resort to kicking in a pensioner. Not ever. It's just not in their blood.

I could go on. There's millions of the buggers. But I won't, because it's giving me a headache. I'm not sure whether to be amused or saddened by the number of bigoted, fascist ravings contained on the Have Your Say page, and I'm only really sticking with the former because I keep telling myself that idiots always attract other idiots, and that's the reason why the vast majority of HYS'ers are, in one way or another, hideous bigots. Hopefully this isnt the 'Silent white majority' the BNP likes to talk about, because it certainly isn't anyone I know.

Goodnight.

Scientology is a Cult, Now Sue Me You Feckless Cunts

Now, I don't usually read The Guardian - I find it's relentless onslaught of left wing pandering almost as massively irritating as the Daily Mail's relentless onslaught of right wing pandering, and anyway the Daily Express is infinitely more hilarious for your 20p investment - but my attention has been drawn to this particular story in it's online edition about a 15-year-old boy being prosecuted by the police on behalf of the Church of Scientology for carrying a sign labelling them a cult at a demonstration. It's a case they're going to lose, because, as irritating and obnoxious as the average 15-year-old are, let alone one likely to spend their time attending demonstrations, the dictionary sides with them in this case:

cult

• noun 1 a system of religious worship directed towards a particular figure or object. 2 a small religious group regarded as strange or as imposing excessive control over members. 3 something popular or fashionable among a particular section of society.

This means you lose.

Thank you, Oxford English Dictionary. Fuck off, Church of Scientology. Is it still my legal right to tell you to fuck off? If not, it should be, so I'm exercising my right to peaceful protest by telling you to fuck off. If you are so deeply offended by being referred to as a cult, stop doing cultish things - imposing excessive control on members, to take the dictionary's example, and something of which many, many ex-members have accused you. Learn to operate within the confines of society without luring people away from their families and into your 'training programs' or learn to live with the scorn and contempt of everyone else. Or you could take my initial advice and, well, fuck off.

I think I'm more upset that the police are the ones that are doing the citing, presumably not openly asked by the Church of Scientology. We really have gone absolutely fucking mental in this country about never ever possibly offending anyone ever, so I'll tell you the same thing I told the two mouth-breathing cunts that came up to me with a petition to get a Christmas tree removed from my place of work over Christmas because it might offend or exclude other religions - bollocks. If you are offended by a tree, a sign, whatever, that doesn't actively call or represent a call for your destruction, look away and get over it. It really isn't that important.

Being a Jew who doesn't 'look' Jewish, I do come to notice that there are a lot of people out there, either casually or seriously, will make derogotary remarks about Jewish people until they find out that I am one, and then their internal censor kicks in with a vengeance. I'm not sure if it's the same with many other people, but if it is then I'm sure you know what I mean. My point is, if people take things too far, I don't think they're dangerous, I think they're someone I don't think I want to talk to anymore, so I ignore them. I don't go about getting them cited for disagreement. To me, it shows a remarkable lack of belief in your faith if you think a few negative comments, or some 15-year-old fashionable protester waving a cardboard sign on a march nobody has heard of, is in some way going to irreperably damage your belief system if they aren't stopped right fucking now.

If I took to heart in the same way the Scientologists have this the level of 'Free Palestine' graffiti around Halifax and Leeds, I'd be hiding in a bunker waiting for the baddies to come.

Grow up.

Goodnight.

Chelsea, Champions Leagues and Council Tax Bands

So, the football season is done and dusted save for a few shitkicking play-off finals, Euro 2008 is Home Nation-less and even England's friendly with Trinidad and Tobago might be called off because of a problem with the rent book - the Trinis haven't been putting enough in the meter, or something. So it looks like, apart from the friendly with the USA, that's the end of football for the next four months. Boo. On the other hand, I do have my tickets for the Emirates Cup second day on order, so for only £40 I get to see three of the biggest club sides in Europe - Arsenal, Real Madrid and Juventus - plus Hamburg SV, who are presumably coming over to do the catering. Yay.

Still, the Champions League final was a great game and nothing like the cagy, boring affair that I've spent the week doomily predicting - the end-of-game punch-up I envisioned weeks back did come true, though, with Didier Drogba throwing a tantrum over a throw-in and slapping Nemanja Vidic like a little girl. That smug twat Ronaldo scored a goal, which was a shame, but he did miss a penalty. Also, that unspeakable cunt Cashley went back home to his ugly missus with nothing and that even more unspeakable cunt John Terry was the one that cocked it all up as well, so it all balances out, and made the match far more exciting than the reams and reams of bollocks about Council Tax bands I've spent the day fighting with. What the fuck do 1991 prices have to do with anything? Everthing, apparently, and you wouldn't believe the hoops you have to jump through to get the fucking things.

Anyway, I do feel sorry for the Zombie, he's almost inevitably going to get the boot back upstairs after this defeat and Drogba and co crying like lovestruck schoolgirls about the man from Del Monte riding into the sunset, and he really doesn't deserve it. I reckon he's done a brilliant job to pick up a team that, for all their multi-million pound squad, managed to completely cock it all in against European minnows Rosenborg and, as far as I remember, weren't doing particularly brilliantly in the league either, being bailed out only by Manchester United also having a shit start to the season. What lets him down is he doesn't look as handsome in a suit as Mourinho, which is as fucking stupid a reason for booting out a manager that took Alex Ferguson to the wire in two different competitions as I can possibly think of.

Most people seem to reckon it's Rijkaard coming in for him, obviously because he's managed to work such miracles at Barca this season. Fucking up 4 - 1 to Real Zaragoza earlier in the season being a particular highlight, if memory serves me correctly. Obviously that makes him vastly more qualified. Somehow.

Oh well, the first big signing of the close season (which I suppose only started about two hours ago) looks like being Sami Nasri going to Arsenal, obviously to replace the Inter-bound Aliaksandr Hleb. Nothing's nailed on yet but everywhere I look seems to be shouting about it, so something somewhere must be up, and I can't say I blame Wenger - he's better than Hleb. Now if he can just see his way clear to shipping Eboue out to Ebbsfleet on a year-long loan next season, Arsene might actually win something next year.

Fuck off John Terry.

Goodnight.

Another Irrelevant Blog Declares Its Loyalties

So it's come to this. There is so inhumanly little to write about now the football's ended and everyone's stopped killing each other and gone out in the sunshine, that I'm being forced to pass comment on the US Presidential election hopefuls, even if I don't have anything more than a half-arsed opinion and half an hour to kill before I can respectably start drinking in earnest.

I've tried to hold off passing comment on this issue because I was desperately trying to be the one and only blog on the entire fucking internet that hasn't, and because I think you have to be a very special kind of sad to dedicate your life to analysing something you cannot possibly influence with your reader base of 15. But anyway, here's my opinion - Hillary Clinton is a lunatic and I'm glad she's losing the democratic nomination to Obama, even though Obama is a touchy-feely idiot who thinks kisses and cuddles will make Iran play nice. John McCain sewed up the Republican nomination a lifetime ago, and the Old Timeless One is probably going to win unless he keels over and dies from a heart attack between now and November, but at 71 we'd better hope he doesn't pick anyone too mental as his Vice President.

I can't get past the sheer scale of hypocritical bullshit being spouted by Hillary Clinton, though. Most of it is bordering on the hilarious, and seeing people lapping it up wherever she goes really does make you wonder about the average American understanding of politics, or even short-term history - Hillary Clinton, born into a well-off Illinois family, attended a wealthy college and studied Law at Yale before heading straight into a career in politics, is about as blue collar and 'of the people' as I am an iguana. You have to wonder, then, where she gets these speeches about it being time for someone who understands the common worker to lead the country from - presumably the same place she got her fairy about landing in Bosnia under sniper fire, i.e. that frighteningly diseased brain of hers.

Barack Obama isn't much better, though - he might not have the bizarre for-the-children banning zeal that Clinton posesses which makes her want to outlaw everything from computer games to pictures of kissing, but he certainly has some very odd ideas about how international politics works, especially when dealing with the illegal and the insane. His Command and Conquer ideas that because the Russians had more nuclear weapons than the Iranians the Russians were more of a threat simply doesn't fly. In a reality where the Russians could never fire because, as nationalistic as their leaders were, they knew it would mean their own obliteration while the Iranians are fanatical and insane enough to try to obliterate one of America's allies and expect the Holy Shield of Islam to protect them, dismissing Iran as less likely to use nuclear weapons than the Russians is quite spectacularly naive.

Alright, so Clinton's assertion that she would 'obliterate' Iran at the first sign of trouble - and let's face it, they're always throwing out 'signs of trouble'', Ahmadinejad alone is a walking PR nightmare with the world's biggest superpower breathing down your neck - is also a bit of a far cry from the sense of quiet menace that the US should be putting out and a bit too close to the current administration's policy of 'exporting freedom' by shooting the place up, but at least she realises the threat they pose, and doesn't think she has to tank-rush the Russians before they develop any Overlord tanks. I've probably got my Command and Conquers mixed up there, but I don't care enough to correct it, so mentally correct it yourselves.

Still, other than the assorted independent crackpots, the Prius-driving Greens and the anarchy-without-inconvenience Libertarians, we're left with only one candidate left to review: John McCain. He's old, he's the Republican nominee and his campaign thus far has been a carbon copy of former Democratic challenger John Kerry's "I'm Not George Bush" campaign, right down to the Vietnam war hero stuff - John Kerry might have received the same amount of US medals as McCain, but didn't spend six years having his bollocks hooked up to a car battery to get them, so McCain probably just about edges him for the Captain America vote.

I'm not that au fait (poncy for 'familiar') with McCain's policies, but I know that a large swathe of the Republican electorate don't like him because he's not a Christian fundamentalist, which could be a good or a bad thing - he might not be as willing to fight back against Iranian aggression, but is equally less likely to come out with PR gaffes like George W. Bush's claim that the Lord speaks to him personally every night and told him, personally, to invade Iraq. Frankly I think the all-powerful creator of Earth and the universe has more important things to do than kicking off wars for the hell of it, but you never know.

Either way, it doesn't look like we're going to get anyone perfect - Hillary will protect America's interests but will outlaw everything interesting, Obama thinks he can solve any problem with a parachute drop on the enemy's ore refinery, and McCain has to appease the baying crowd of the Christian right or might even die and leave us with some unelected anus who wasn't even trusted to run for a proper term, and we've had quite enough of that with Gordon Brown after Blair fucked off to start his I Did It All For Jesus tour.

Fuck it, I reckon McCain will win. It's probably the least of the three evils, too.

Goodnight.

The Monster Moo

Why is it that the minute you meet anyone for the first time, they almost instantly want to introduce you to other people? "Hi, I just want you to meet..." - I don't want to meet them. I've only just met you. I quite like you, and if I have to start factoring in people you just want me to meet, one of them is invariably going to turn out to be some sort of cunt and it's all going to go irreversibly downhill.

Anyway, so it turns out that the BBC want Gordon Brown to star in an Apprentice-style TV show entitled 'Junior PM'. Let's face it, that shouldn't be too much of a stretch, seeing as for years he's been politics' answer to Barry Chuckle and has recently branched out into showing all the intelligence and insight of a fucking Tweenie. A lesser man than me would make a comment about it not bringing the post of Prime Minister into disrepute as he's pretty much made a laughing stock of it since the first day he took over, but instead, in light of the description of the show as "Apprentice meets Maria/Strictly Come Dancing", I'm just going to let you all bask in the warm glow of the thought of Gordon Brown in a spangly one-piece singlet.

Moving on, I have to say that if there's one thing I love about the news, it's the fact that every now and then, regardless of all the work put in and millions of pounds spent by the Political Correctness lot on stamping out and destroying ethnic and national stereotypes, some fool will always find a way to undo all that good work and make a headline doing it. In the spirit of this sort of stupidity, I give you this - Aussie Straps in Beer, Not Child. A man from Alice Springs is fined $750 for driving with an unsecured 5-year-old child on the floor making room for the sturdily-secured crate of lager in the back seat.

You could only make it better if he'd got the beer propped up in a carry cot. A fine? Give the man a medal.

In other news, the army are in trouble for giving out free kit to schools in a bid to increase recruitment. Frankly even at 16 if you're stupid enough to decide that the best life for you is one of sand and being shot at, then you should be allowed to go and do it, or at the very least confined to an asylum for your own safety.

I understand peoples' fears that it will increase people's likelihood of signing up to go and be shot at by a bunch of nutters with Kalashnikovs, but if the normal reaction to someone giving you a cheap pair of underpants is an unwavering urge to bear arms against their enemies then you wouldn't be able to move on the high street for the twitching corpses of people fighting and dying for the opposing causes of Primark and Marks and Sparks.

Kids, the army is about going to shit places full of shit people and being shit scared of getting the shit blown out of you every shitting night. It's hardly Boys' fucking Own.

I'll end on a happy note, though - never mind the killings, the beatings, the muggings, the rapes and the generally all-consuming sea of teeming hate and violence, there's a big fuck-off bull in Somerset. It makes life worth living that there are still places in and around the UK where the biggest story of the day is a particularly big cow, and not some poor sod being kicked to death by a bunch of kids with mobile phones. I had a friend from Guernsey who nearly fainted in shock at the idea that shops on the mainland opened on Sundays - it's sweet, but if the Darrens ever become a seafaring tribe, they're fucked.

Incidentally, Guernsey's most pressing issue of the day is birdwatchers counting baby swallows.
Our one is some poor sod getting his throat slashed in broad daylight.

Goodnight.

Shit, Vomit and Blogging

Cat rape. It's not big, and it's not clever. I know I haven't posted in a while but seeing as I'm writing this post in between chucking my ring up into a bucket at the side of my bed, you're bloody lucky you're getting this, so don't fucking moan. On the other hand, I'm living proof that if you want to lose half a stone in five days, you can. You just have to get dysentry, or gastroenteritis, or whatever this bloody thing is. If it goes on much longer, bollocks to all this manly-man never-go-to-the-doctor stuff, I'm getting some pills down me before I vomit out a major organ.

Excuse my irritability.

First of all, let's deal with the sport. Why do Mark Lawrenson's predictions still make it onto the front page of the BBC's website every single weekend? The man is about as much use at predicting football results as ASBOs are at preventing gangs of kids from smashing your face in. I reckon I could do a better job of predicting results than him, and I know cock-all about football past what I've learned from Football Manager, and I'm so far into the future on there now that Wayne Rooney's just managed Halifax Town to the semi finals of the Champions' League.

I have to agree with the old sod that Manchester United are going to win the title, though. I know Wigan have been awful all season but I still wouldn't put it past Steve Bruce to put out his Under-12's reserve side to make absolutely sure of a United victory. I suppose I want it to work out that way, really, if that's the way it has to go, as I'd prefer them to win it over Chelsea just because, as annoying as Ronaldo and Rooney and co are, they're not as massive a bunch of cunts as John Terry and his mates down at Stamford Bridge who, inevitably, will beat Bolton by the usual 1 - 0 scoreline. Though hopefully not before Kevin Davies boots that cunt Terry right in the teeth.

I still want Chelsea to win the Champion's League, though - Avram Grant deserves something for all he's managed this season, and the sack is not it. He's gotten far too much stick for not being a pin-up poster boy like the Man from Del Monte, but he's done pretty well, and at least he hasn't managed to fuck up enough to let a team of world-famous multi-millionaires struggle to a draw against Rosenborg, who usually consider it a good result in Europe if they don't lose by six or seven. Plus a Man U double would fill the streets with hordes of glory-hunters in United tops who couldn't find Manchester on a map of Britain with a pin the size of England. Don't even get me started on the mate of mine who supports Man U but 'hates all northerners' because one dumped her once.

Moving on to Entertainment, it's Radio 1's Big Weekend. Apparently. See, I didn't know about this because I've spent most of the last week with my head wedged down a toilet bowl, but Radio 1 has been throwing a music festival, and the lineup appears to be a sad indictiment of UK music. Usher, who's an American and some terrible rap... thing... is first on the list, followed by The Ting Tings, and I have no idea who they are. They're a 'The' band, though, so they're going to be invariably shit. Then there's Robyn, a Swedish singer who's sole song seems to be on a constant loop in my gym and who's only defining feature is she looks remarkably like Judi Dench, Duffy, who's the most ugly, untalented and stupidly-named person in the history of the world, and the triple-bill of tediousness that is Scouting For Girls, The Futureheads and Editors.

The infuriating thing is you could take any song by any of those last three, play them in any order, and I would not be able to tell the fucking difference between their 'individual' styles two-chord Coldplay-worshipping trendy-indie 'low-fi' noise. Play some music with some fucking passion, would you, or just piss off. Also, if I ever meet the critic that thought it was a good idea to compare Hard fucking Fi to The Clash, I'm going to nail their tits to the wall. I fucking hate Hard Fi.

Oh, and I'm too ill for politics, but apparently the Scottish are kicking up another fuss about independence. You know what? Cock off, then. Or at least get out of the fucking news until you've made your bloody minds up. Do you want to be independent? Don't you? Have a fucking vote. Tomorrow. If you don't vote, shut up, because all right to complain goes out of the window the minute voting closes on my completely arbitrary demand for a vote, tomorrow. If the issue is that important that you feel the need to endlessly bang on about it any time anyone with an English accent has the audacity to look at you, then fucking vote. I bet you'd get out and vote against a bill proposing to have me come round and chop your toes off.

Oh, and as a final point, if you've got a medical condition that causes heartburn and vomiting, don't try to self-medicate and cure the former by munching Tums antacid tablets by the fistful - all you'll do is vomit brightly-coloured foam until you want to die.

Goodnight.