Skip to main content

Ho ho

You know what's great? Winning money by knowing stuff. Particularly when pub denizens growl "Smartarse" at you and you reply "that's mr sixty pounds richer smartarse to you." Made particularly great by doubting teammates being convinced I wouldn't know the answer. We still came fucking second, though, damn those old people who have had more time to learn incidental bollocks than us.

You know what's even greater? Two seperate people have found coastalblog by googling "Ormskirk seed pods." If only they'd googled EIGHT FUCKING METRES TALL BRONZE GLOWING SEED PODS that would have been even greater. Welcome, come one come all to the web's number one ormsirk resource (I get a load of googlers for the Arriba, too, god only knows what impression they get. But this one's just for them: THE ARRIBA IS WHERE YOU GO WHEN YOU HAVEN'T EVEN GOT ENOUGH SELF RESPECT TO PAY FOR WHORES YOU RIDICULOUS BASTARDS. THE ARRIBA IS WHERE YOU GO WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK ENOUGH TO PURSUE THE IDEA THAT CASUAL SEX WITH SOME GIRL TOO DRUNK TO KNOW WHAT SHE'S DOING MIGHT BE A REALLY, REALLY GOOD IDEA, AND IN NO WAY AN HORRIFIC EMOTIONAL CAR-CRASH WHICH DEMEANS YOU BOTH. IT IS SHIT. YOU ARE SHIT. EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR IS SHIT. EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER DONE IS SHIT. NO, SHE WOULDN'T FANCY YOU SOBER. YOUR SHIRT, ALSO, IS SHIT. GO TO LIVERPOOL FOR FUCK'S SAKE. DON'T GO TO THE ARRIBA. DON'T GO TO THE ARRIBA. DON'T GO TO THE ARRIBA. EVERY TIME YOU GO TO THE ARRIBA A FAIRY DIES. YOUR SHIRT REALLY IS SHIT, INCIDENTALLY, AND SO IS YOUR MATES. LITTLE BRITAIN IS SHIT, I KNOW YOU LOVE IT, BUT IT'S SHIT. OASIS ARE SHIT, AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING STILL LISTENING TO THEM ANYWAY? IT'S NEARLY TWO THOUSAND AND BASTARD SIX. BUDWEISER IS SHIT. SMIRNOFF ICE IS SHIT. THE BAR-MAID DOES NOT FANCY YOU, SHE GIVES THAT FLIRTY GLANCE TO EVERYONE, THOUGH YOU MAY GET A DISINTERESTED HAND-JOB IF YOU OFFER HER SOME OF YOUR REALLY SHIT COKE. YOUR FRIENDS DON'T REALLY LIKE YOU, AND LET'S BE HONEST, YOU DON'T REALLY LIKE THEM EITHER, DO YOU? OH, I KNOW YOU SAY YOU DO. BUT CAN YOU SEE THEM STANDING BY YOU WHEN IT ALL GOES REALLY, REALLY WRONG? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK THAT PATTING SOMONE AWKWARDLY ON THE SHOULDER AND MUMBLING "I'M REALLY SORRY MATE" CUTS IT WHEN A SERIOUS CRISIS HITS,YOU TIT? YOU'RE NOT FRIENDS, YOU JUST THINK YOU ARE BECAUSE YOU GET PISSED AND BELLOW ALONG TO "BROWN-EYED GIRL" TOGETHER. "BROWN-EYED GIRL" IS NOT A GOOD SONG. IT IS SHIT, BUT NOT, AND I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, AS SHIT AS YOU).

I am, incidentally, drunk.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed.  Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...

Chop chop

I was completely ignorant of the fuss over the edited Trump speech in an edition of Panorama until, one moment later, I wasn't. And the reasons for my ignorance are instructive. I had no idea that the story was even brewing until the surprise Sunday night news of the resignations of Tom Davie and Deborah Turness. As I'm sure you are by now aware, this was occasioned by a clumsy edit in an old edition of Panorama, which has already been on the iplayer for a year. It's a non-story. Except people decided to make it a story. The reason I'd heard nothing of it until the resignations was that I'm not on X, where, apparently, it was all the media classes had been talking about for a week. It was an obsession of the unholy right-wing trifecta of the Mail, Telegraph and Times (who, given that they sent a bloke just last week to interview the wrong Bill di Blasio, you'd think would wind their necks in over factual inacccuracy). It was big news on GB news, all self-contain...

Creepy old men

I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer.  That deserves prison.  No , I'm referring to the hinterla...