That's gotta hurt
I recently realised that I can't really afford to spend the money I used to spend on going to see Southend play football, as I now live the opposite side of London, so the travel is too expensive (as well as the fact that it's now £25 to watch them - twenty five fucking quid to watch shitty third tier football, it's a digrace, in my day...[insert long rant about rip off football here])

Any-hoo

I still like my football fix if I’m at a loose end, so I started to walk down to my local non-league team some Saturday afternoons. A fiver to get in and no travel costs, luvverly.

A few weeks ago, I was standing about 10 yards to the side goal, on a slope, as the away team were coming towards me. The ball came to the forward who lined up a shot that he couldn't miss.

Except, being a shite non-league footballer, he did miss.

By about 10 yards.

It took me a second to realise I was about to get smacked square in the face by the ball, but I just about reacted in time to bend over and spin away.

I guess I kind of expected to still get smacked in the back of the head.

What I certainly didn't expect was to see the ball cannon straight into the face of the 10 year old boy standing behind me up the slope, forcing his hot dog so far into his mouth that Linda Lovelace would have been proud.

I also didn't mean to laugh while he bawled his eyes out.

And I didn't expect to be too scared to go back to the ground since after his Dad told me he didn't want to see my 'fucking face' again.

It's difficult to hide at a non league football ground.

I need something else cheap to do on Saturday afternoons.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 23 Jan 2009, 12:36, 10 replies)

Since you mentioned Woolies...
When it was announced that Woolworths was going toes-up, overnight my local branch became a dumping ground for all the old crap that no other branch had ever managed to shift. Someone, somewhere in a Woolworths warehouse far far away obviously thought "Sod it, we're going under, let's just ship all these boxes of shit out and see what sells". Consequently, my local branch became a one-stop shop for;

- 'Fame Academy's David Sneddon - My Story' DVDs
- Diet Irn-Bru
- Alongside the DVDs and CDs, a whole rack of actual VHS videos
- Several hundred 'Worth It' toilet seats

Strangest of all though was the sudden arrival of about a thousand 'Worth It' ironing boards. One aisle was filled with the bloody things. It became something of a landmark, pile upon pile of cheap white ironing boards, all being completely ignored by everyone.

That was until the last day, when it was 80% off everything. Apparently there's something about the offer of an ironing board for 50p that triggers an involuntary reaction amongst the over-60s, compelling them to buy. They flew off the shelves in scenes reminiscent of the Cabbage-Patch riots of the early 1980s. Consequently, the High Street that day was awash with pensioners clutching 'Worth It' ironing boards under their arms.

So for all the bad things about Woolworths going under - The job losses, the end of an iconic brand etc - One positive did come out of it. For one day only, walking up the High Street felt like being in a care-home production of Point Break.
(costas, Thu 22 Jan 2009, 13:43, 6 replies)

Watch your money closely people...

~~~~~~~~ Repressed memory coming back…*shudder* ~~~~~~~~~

A few weeks ago I slept through attended a course on web security which culminated in the bulging climax of being told to ‘trust nothing, trust nobody, take nothing for granted’.

This point was hammered home by each of us being given what looked like a £20 note, but on closer inspection proved to be a rather obvious forgery (see what they did there?)

We were told we could keep the notes as a reminder to us all in these troubled times.

Deep joy. I felt safer already.

Anyhoo, fast forward a couple of nights later and (surprise surprise) I’m in the pub, sharing a dull-as-shit football match and a pint (or nine) with some chums…

At half time, all of my friends went out for a smoke, and although I don’t smoke, I didn’t want to look like a ‘Norman-no-mates’ so I went outside with them.

As we stood there, freezing our collective bollocks off as they tried their damndest to kill me through passive smoking, we whinged about this ‘Credit Crunch’ lark, and it’s effect on our ability to buy beer, cigarettes…pretty much fucking everything as it goes.

Mid-conversation, one of them spoke up: “This is all very well, but you’ll be alright, Pooflake…”

“What do you mean by that?” I enquired.

“Well, for a start you don’t smoke…and…you’ve managed to blag quite a good job, despite being as thick as an elephant sandwich…but most importantly, 'cutting back' won't matter to you because you’re already as tight as a pre-teen Nun’s flangeflaps that have been sealed with denture fixative…*comedy pause*…and staples!”

“Well I never!” I exclaimed, as everybody giggled at my expense and nodded in agreement.

(Now, it’s one thing to actually be a tightwad, even to know it yourself…but to be called one by your mates is slap-bang-out-of-order).

So…cleverly retorting in a way that would make Noel Coward glow with envy, I bellowed:

“You can all fuck right off!”

They then seemed to launch into individual virtuoso stand up comedy routines; with the subject in question being how I was as tight as ‘a duck’s arse’, ‘a gnat’s chuff’, and how ‘coal would turn into a diamond up my dirtbox’ etc.

...and the 'red mist' began to descend…

But instead of getting mad, I got into action and crafted a plan which was cunningly fiendish in its sublime brilliance.

I would do something. One.single.act…that would forever banish such slanderous comments from besmirching my good name once and for all.

I quietly asked one of my mates if I could borrow his lighter, and he duly handed it over. Then, in a well-timed moment of radically overblown amateur dramatics I announced to the chuckling throng:

“So…I’m a tight-arse am I?...Well…tell me then, you bunch of fucking twatcakes…would a tightarse do THIS?”

And with that, blinded by rage in the poorly-lit smoking area, I reached into my wallet, whipped out the ‘£20 Note’, and promptly set it on fire in front of them all, waving it about and cackling insanely before throwing it on the floor.

What followed was a perfect case of: ‘Set your faces…to stunned’.

Each one of them briefly stood completely still, mouth agape like a yawning dog turd in utter, total, incomprehensible disbelief at what was happening before them.

To my delight, one of them even dived on the burning note in an effort to stamp out the flames, but the damage was done. It was perfect.

In unison, they began to exclaim such comments as: “Fucking hell Poo, you chuffing mentalist bell-end!” and: “What the cock-potato do you think you’re doing?”

I milked the situation for all it was worth, trying to stifle the metaphorical ‘little wee’ as my wobbling frame began to buckle under the sheer prank-some joy at the way they had each fallen for my ruse.

Then, wiping tears of purest mirth from my eyes I chortled: “HAHAHAHAHAAAA! –– I had you going there didn’t I? You dopey fucking fuckers! It was a FAKE note! – but look at you, you sad bunch of insipid quimbeciles! Who’s the tightwad now eh?? MUUHAAHAAAHAAA!”

I then took immense satisfaction in pointing at their mong-ish morbid faces as they slowly tried to make sense of the situation.

Just as I was sure they were about to congratulate me on the jape-of-the-decade, my mate, who was inspecting the burnt cinders on the ground made the following observation:

“If this is a fake note, it’s a fucking good one”

…

“HA HA HAAAA……Wha..?” I said…and with that, I glanced down and watched as my mate picked up the charred remains of an incredibly-realistic looking £20 note…complete with metal stripe through the middle…and still-slightly-visible water mark.

Just then…alcohol-inhibited memories of just a few hours before suddenly began bollocking through my head…memories of going to the cashpoint…and drawing out £30…which consisted of a Pavarotti*, and…

A REAL FUCKING £20 NOTE THAT I HAD FORGOTTEN ABOUT!

ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!there aren’t enough exclamation marks in the world!!!!!

My entire face suddenly lost all muscle control and drooped floorwards as, with a heart heavier than Lisa Riley’s left breasticle, I painfully peered into my wallet for the painful confirmation…

…and saw the badly-drawn queen's face of my crap, fake £20 note merrily staring out at me from its comfy home.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” I screamed, with my arms flailing about like an electrocuted banshee.

The horror seered itself across my face like it had been burned on with a branding iron…

Of course, my mates’ shock and disgust instantly turned to jubilant, ecstatic joy as they howled hysterically, watching me quietly sob into a little pile of ash, and mumbling incoherently about ‘not being able to get the round in’, and ”It’s not fucking funny”.


I decided there and then…that I was never going to try and ‘show off’ again.


* £10 (tenner / 'tenor' – geddit?)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 28 Jan 2009, 10:17, 5 replies)

The Sweeney... (midget style)

This one happened leading up to Christmas, its just occured to me it has a Credit Crunch theme...

There's an estate agents across the road from where I work.

For the last couple of years I've watched the fuckwits who work there high five each other and do little dances of joy to celebrate another obscene commission for doing, essentially, fuck all. The estate agents share the same pub as my company, so every friday evening for the last couple of years I've had to endure the most tasteless display of abject wealth since Caligula decided to invite a few mates round for drinkies, nibbles and to take it from there.

These estate agents are unbelievable. Quite frankly, their bragging about ripping people off and squeezing thousands and thousands out of their clients was really starting to piss me off. Yeah, do it by all means. But why the fuck do you think that a complete stranger in the pub will really be interested in how much money you made today for stretching the truth, you bastard? And their endless disapearing to the toilets to deposit half of what they'd just 'earned' up their nose just made them even louder and even more obnoxious, if that were at all possible.

To make matters worse, the estate agents started letching over the girls in my office. This is not on. This is quite clearly my job.

It all really came to a head when a fleet of Smart cars appeared outside the estate agents office. So now whenever I walk down the street I feel like I'm in fucking Toy Town. Sight of one of those 'cars' sends me into a rage instantly. Basically, I hate them and everyone who drives one of them. Saving the environment? Like fuck you are, you smug fucking prick...

So, its been quite a pleasure to see the number of estate agents dwindle (they're down to three now), and see the high fives dissipate. Its been lovely to look out the window and see these three fuckwits wander aimlessly round their office as if their stuck in the Big-fucking-Brother house with nothing to do. And its been especially nice to go for a hard earned pint on a Friday without having to listen to how these shits had legally fleeced some fucker out of thousands, and how they were gonna blow their 'hard earned' cash on yet another ski-ing holiday or another oject d'art...

Just before Christmas I found myself looking after the office. I had the place to myself and seemed to spend most of the morning looking at the three estate agents mulling about in the office opposite. It was better than London Zoo. I don't know what came over me, maybe it was the season of goodwill, maybe it was the fact I'd just watched The Muppets Christmas Carol on my Ipod thing, maybe it was the fact I was taking a cheeky swig out of a bottle of Baileys for most of the morning to make the day go quicker... But I actually started feeling sorry for these people...

Without thinking too much I picked up the phone, glanced across the road to the estate agents sign, and dialed their number.

'Hello, ****** Realty, how may I help you?'

'Guuud morne - innggg, I have house to sell, yesssss?' Said I. 'In REEEE - gents PAAARKKK. Given to MEEEE by my fat - herrr, King Solomon Olijawala...'

I could see through the window the estate agent stiffen.

I proceeded to give the fella an address of a really expensive house up near Regents Park that's on my twatting-about-on-a-skateboard-route in this really peculiar accent.

'I AMM in NOOO-WWWW, you CUM IhMM-EDDIATELY, YESSSS???' And *click* I replace the receiver...

I sit back and it was nice to enjoy the displays of high-fives, I'd sort of missed them in a way. And it was even nicer to see two of the three tear-arse out of their office and scramble into their Smart cars, like some Lillipution version of The Sweeney, and piss off up to Regents.

Bless um...
( SpankyHanky, Mon 26 Jan 2009, 11:07, 9 replies)

Man - On - Man - Love

My girlfriend, Liz, and I live in a flat in Tufnell Park. When we went to view the place the letting agent described it as 'a cozy flat in an historic building'. Which in the real world translates as: 'fucking tiny in a rodent infested shit tip'. But Liz liked the place, we moved in, sorted out the mice problem, decorated, and everything was going swimmingly...

My mum and dad came to visit, lent me a shitload of dvd's to while away the long winter evenings, what with cash being tight at the moment staying in was the only real option. Gotta love all the old black and white classics that my old man is particularly into; Casablanca, Maltese Falcon, etc. Where men were men, women were women, and people could act.

Life was good.

A few weeks later Liz asks me if it would be ok if her mate Chris moved in for a bit - he'd just lost his job as a result of this credit-crunch-lets-stop-pissing-about-and-call-it-a-recession craze thats sweeping the nation.

I replied: 'What, you mean Gay Chris?'

And I must stress, I'm not in the least bit homophobic. Its just that, well, Gay Chris is the most GAY fella in the world ever. Nice bloke, looks like the blonde fella out of Trainspotting.

'Sure,' I say. 'He can have the couch for a few weeks.'

And Chris moves in.

And he brings his collection of gay porn with him.

My god, that stuff is GREAT!!!

I recommend every heterosexual man has a browse through some good quality gay porn. As Chris told me: 'The average straight man doesn't have a fucking clue how much pleasure their missing out on by not fiddling about with their arsehole.' Ok, Shakespeare he's not, but he does have a valid point.

Anyway, after a few weeks of exploring the world of man on man love with Chris (on the telly, not in the bed, I don't think Liz would've been too keen on that), Chris finally finds a new place and moves on...

My parents, on a flying visit down to see my sister, stop by and I give them back their flicks. My dad explains he's going to lend them to my sister. She's a teacher who does some media bollocks shit and she wants to show some of the classics in her 'lessons'. I say I've been having trouble getting hold of my sis, and my dad explains her mobile is fucked (not exactly in those words), and that she's getting a new one this weekend.

'There you go, Dad,' says I. I hand over the stack of dvd's and wave the good folks off.

Ahh, all is good with the world.

Then, a few days later Gay Chris calls my mobile: 'Spanky, I wanted to watch Anal Riders last night but there's the wrong disk in the box, I've got your Casablanca disk in there instead. They must've got mixed up. Can I come round and swap um back?'

'Sure, Chris, come round anytime...'

I hang up the phone...

It took me a good ten seconds before the rusty cogs in my brain started turning and the feeling of dread took hold...

This conversation with Chris happened yesterday. It really has been on my mind all last night and today...

So, if you happen to live in East Sussex and see a billboard poster with something like:

TEACHER HELD FOR GAY PORN SHOWN IN CLASS SHOCKER!!!

Or something like that, then could you please let me know???
( SpankyHanky, Thu 22 Jan 2009, 14:29, 6 replies)

I'm launching a new business, for people who can't afford cats.
Basically I go around to clients' houses once a week (say), and poo in a box.

For a bit extra I'll also show you my anus when you least expect it.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 27 Jan 2009, 16:50, 7 replies)

the good old days
Some of my best memories are from growing up in a house where winter meant wearing a sweater. Soft drinks were a Sunday dinner treat, and by treat,I mean exactly that, sometimes we were denied it. The one year I got a bike for Christmas, it was secondhand, but the exact type of bike I wanted, Yay. Most of my toys were chipped or broken, all were second hand.
TV had one channel and that started at 3 p.m. finishing at 11. Our TV took a few minutes to warm up, so I had to hold down the button for about 5 minutes to turn it on, no remote, remotes were for posh cunts.
Nobody ate at restaurants, at least nobody I knew. Everyone ate old fashioned home cooked meals for dinner, porridge for breakfast, bread and jam for supper. My mum knitted my school sweater to save money, quite a few mums did this. Schools were cold as fuck in winter, kids and teachers wore their coats.
If we wanted a little pocket money, we would do odd jobs for older neighbors, usually for a pittance, comics were cheap secondhand though. If you went on holidays, it was to rent a house in some rainy seaside shithole for a week, winter holidays were not invented yet.
Kids got lice, that was a normal thing to happen. Sticks were great toys. Dog shite turned white. Parks had porn.
Kids made things with their hands, learned how to use tools, got dirty. After school we built huts, stripped the wheels off old prams and made buggies, climbed trees, played football. Most kids hurt themselves at some point, but the scars were a badge of honour.
Mums and Dads knew how to fix things, or at least tried, replacing something was a last resort. I spent weeks holding a flashlight while my father swore at the washing machine he was trying to fix. I learned how to improvise and swear like a sailor in those weeks, I really got to know my parents, nowadays kids are stuck in front of a PSP or TV.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this, it's only money. Tighten the belt and live a simple life, turn down the thermostat and the TV. Chat with your loved ones, play cards or board games, play with your kids. This is going to be a rough ride for many of us, but over the past 25 years people have become greedy cunts who surround themselves with mass produced shit that they don't need, and it doesn't make them happy, so they buy more. Most of us forget what it was like to be without all this stuff, but it wasn't that bad at all, people were just as happy, I know I was.
(knackerz is skinning up, Tue 27 Jan 2009, 4:16, 15 replies)

media twattery...
Yes, there is a recession, caused by a bunch of cunts (have you ever met a Merchant Banker? Arrogant wankers to a man and generally thick as pig-shit, but "Father is the Earl of blah-di-blah-shire") lending money to feckless morons who thought borrowing £20k at 40% interest when they didn't have a job and lived in housing, that I (and other tax payers) have basically given them out of charity, was a good idea.

On the basis of this monumentally stupid thinking, the said B/Wankers then sell that debt to other banks as optential income and use this to borrow ever larger amounts of money. The reality is that if everyone with a bank account went into their local branch and asked to empty their account, there wouldn't be enough money to do so - it's all smoke and mirrors.

So, we are now in a situation where idiots won't lend to morons because their stupidity has caused a house of cards with no cards at the bottom to collapse - purely because someone had the balls to turn round and say "actually, I think I'd rather take the money than keep playing this game".

Interest rates go up, we all suffer, they go down and tehre is another reason given for us to continue suffering. Usually by some shiny faced cunt in a blue Gieves and Hawkes suit who works for one of the banks who caused the fucking problems in the first place.

Then we ahve the media who are loving every second - "House prices crash!" (only where they were stupidly over-inflated in the first place), "Unemployment soars!" (well, it's gone up a bit, but we've had basically 3+Million out of work since about 1999/2000, but Labour called them something else, so they weren't "unemployed), "Worst recession since the last one!" (not as bad as 1987 where everything died on its ass, or the last time we had a Labour government tax-and-spending it's way into a four day week and the total collapse of British Industry, complete with power cuts to domestic housing). Basically, it's the latest thing and they are on it like flies on shit.

If everyone turned off Sky News (and their "Everything's fine, so PANIC!" attitude), went out and saw that the streets aren't awash with looters, paedos and murderers, that you can still buy what you need (as long as you actually have cash for it and can, thus, afford it) - you can buy whatever you like. The only businesses that have failed are those that were a) failing before this recession hit and, b) those with fundamentally bad business practices.

If we stop listening to people who think that £40k wage plus an £80k bonus makes for a bad year for financial advice and just go and ask our mums and dads who have lived through World Wars, rationing, the Cold War, the Winter of Discontent, three recessions that I can remember and god knows what else, I think we would find that things aren't actually bad at all - we're not being bombed or told to be a soldier and fight in a war, for a start...

Twats in banks and twats in the in media are fuelling this thing between themselves, so I say we all just ignore them and do what is needed. What do you reckon?

Sorry about the length, but I needed that rant!
(Chad, Thu 22 Jan 2009, 16:58, 8 replies)

Ageing hardman vs recession
I've written about my father before. He's getting on a but now, but in the last recession he was working in the design office of a large engineering corporation somewhere Up North.

Now, my father and I are different on many fundamental levels. I credit him with my innate sense of justice, my inability to tolerate political fuckwittery and hypocrisy. I also credit him with my intellect and natural curiosity. However, one of my less than attractive traits is my seldom aired temper. For example, on Friday night I was cycling home minding my own business when I was stopped by a local chav and his mates asking questions about my bike and where I lived as one of them said he'd come round and nick it. In a snarling (and absolutely heartfelt) reply I told the mouthiest of the quartet that if he did I'd gouge his fucking eyes out.

Anyway, back to my father and the last recession. A colleague of his had been a victim of the spate of car crime blighting the town. The perpetrator had been caught and brought before the powers of justice who merely let him go on account of him being fourteen and having his life in front of him or somesuch.

The sneering teenager walked out of court proudly boasting that he'd not only had my father's workmate's motor away but would be back for the rest of the office car park.

Two weeks later, a rented Transit van screeches to a halt in the outskirts of town and three portly, late middle-aged men wearing balaclavas get out, shouting and eventually bundling a terrified teenager into the back of the van before screeching off in the direction of a local reservoir.

The once sneering teenager is ordered to strip to his underpants before the shortest hardman of the trio grabs him by the scruff of the neck and drags him sobbing toward the water's edge. The humiliated chav is thrown into the freezing water and only grudgingly pulled out once he promises never to cross anyone again.

The unfortunate TWOCer is left knowing in no uncertain terms that if any cars within five miles of the town centre are tampered with, his assailants would be back to do away with him once and for all. A few slaps were handed out for good measure and he was finally released.

Recorded car crime underwent a significant drop that spring.

The moral of this story being - times might be hard, but there are people out there prepared to resort to anything in order to keep what they've worked for.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Sun 25 Jan 2009, 22:52, 8 replies)

Interesting times
Living in a semi bankrupt country (Iceland) - Check

Lost my job - Check

Stomach ulcer - Check

This all happening in the most depressing time of year - Check

Thinking you might have to eat your cat to survive - Check

The good news?
I have two cats
(snordfjord Cranky...like a crank!, Tue 27 Jan 2009, 22:41, 1 reply)

Nooo...noooooooo.....
I shouldn't have done this.

You see, as many of you know, I am of the medical persuasion. Which means that my job is relatively secure, as people are always going to do damn fucking stupid things. I own my own house, and can even afford the mortgage payments on it with no major hardships.

I bought my house in Worcestershire 3 years ago. Nothing to worry about. Prices are relatively stable and I don't plan to move anytime soon, so any negative equity problems are not going to bother me. I bought my house from a bloke who called himself a film director. Ohhh no. Only after 3 weeks living there did I realise what kind of filming he did. Twas the filming of educational videos for the discerning gentleman. And judging by the monster that turned up on my doorstep that fateful morning, extremely discerning gentlemen.

"Hello," the hippocrocodogapig rumbled. "OI'm 'ere to see Pervy McBlowjob* for some work."

"Oh" I stammered. "Um...what kind of work are we talking about?"

"You know." she said. "Porn and such."

"Ah" I said, my mind quickly doing a restart, and confiriming my homosexuality to me in no uncertain terms. "I think there's been some kind of mistake. Mr McBlowjob moved out 3 weeks ago. I'm the new owner."

"Ohh..." the she beast pondered. "So are you in the grot industry then?"

"Noooo...no,nonononono." I hastily confirmed. "I have nothing to do with that kind of thing. I'm afraid I think your trip has been for nothing."

"What if Oi flicked meself off?"

"Noo" I shuddered, holding back the urge to vomit. "You don't understand. I am NOT interested."

"Oi've got a sister. She could loike lick me rustoy sherrif's badge whilst you play with me tits."

"No, look love. Stop with this. You don't get it. I am not interested. I cannot help you. I am not going to film some incestuous anal play between two pseudo-lesbian hippos."

At this stage, the walrus on my doorstep bursts into tears. We're not talking petite lady-tears here, we're going for full on blubbering with optional left nostril bogey bungying in and out on each breath. "But, but, Oi need the monnoy to pay for the kids. Ployse. O'ill do anythoing....."

"Listen" I said "I can't do anything. I am not, nor have I ever been, a director, producer or editor of grumbleflicks. And if I were, my preferred brand still wouldn't involve you, love."

"Ploysssseee"

This went on for some time, and that, boys and girls, was my introduction to some




Thick Redditch Raunch.






*may not have been his real name.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sat 24 Jan 2009, 8:40, 9 replies)

Seconds!
Whoo etc.

edit: and first with anything to say, it seems...

I'm a freelancer, and fortunately so far haven't been too affected by the credit crunch in my line of work - I think my industry is relatively safe.

However, it's always more difficult to find work in the winter time, and so consequentially throughout the year I try and squirrel away as much spare cash as I possibly can, just in case I have to hibernate for a month or two.

My friends know this. My friends are all skint. As a result, rather than having a tidy pile of money earning an (admittedly shite) rate of interest tucked away somewhere as safe as can possibly be in these times of financial armageddon, I've given out several large interest-free loans to pay people's rent and to get them through the month.

I trust them all implicitly to get the money back to me when they can, but I finish my contract this week, and if I don't start earning again fairly soon, or get some money back from them, I'll struggle to pay MY rent.

So, whilst sagely watching reports of banks collapsing, thinking, "Those bankers are a bunch of arse-candles. How could they not see this coming?", I've gone and created my own fucking credit crunch microcosm.

Click "I like this" if you think I should start breaking friends' kneecaps now as a down-payment.
(Sloppy Giuseppe, Thu 22 Jan 2009, 12:21, 3 replies)

Do you want fries with that, Mr Flake...?

I’m not surprised this country is in the state it's in…

On Monday, my family had a busy evening on, and so did not have time to cook tea.

Normally I would get a takeaway, but in these times of ‘Credit-crunch-ery’, and after a barked order lovely request from the present Mrs PF, I was asked to demonstrate my 'in-touch-with-the-working-classes-ness' by stopping by a McDonalds to get something for tea on the way home from work.

The following incident happened during this one single visit.

In I stroll, in a general good mood. The atmosphere in the place, however, couldn’t be more accentuated if it had ‘Ghost Town’ playing in the background. I approach the counter and there’s nobody there. Eventually I am greeted by the cretinous, scowling lickspittle with no stars who welcomes me with a cheery:

“What?”

“Hello” I reply, “I would like two hamburger happy meals, a couple of quarterpounders with cheese, a regular fries and a ‘Smarties’ Mcflurry please?”

(Not the most complicated of orders I’m sure you’ll agree)

Cretin McSpack-a-cake, however, glares at me as if I have just debagged, squatted down and curled a whopping great walnut whippy on the counter…

She then just wanders off nonchalantly.

Cretin comes back after about 30 seconds and points a gnarled finger at the burger section: “We’re out of hamburgers. You’re going to have to wait” she spits.

I thought to myself: ‘That’s quite strange – it’s not as if they’re busy, or that ‘hamburgers’ are a specifically rare request, but hey-ho’.

“No Problem” I reply.

Mongtoid re-approaches till: “What did you want again?” She snaps.

Hmmm. I repeat the order. “Was that Quarterpounders with cheese?” She asks, looking strangely perplexed, with her eyebrows raised as if I have asked for a diamond-encrusted bucket of beluga drizzled with the love-sauce from 15 left-handed Lithuanian virgins.

“Yes” I state bluntly – losing a bit of patience.

“Well…..You’re going to have to wait for those too” She stammers, as I watch the globules of pus dripping from the pulsating mountainous mutation on the end of her nose.

I tut, and am promptly fixed with a glare that could wither titanium. My hopes for a quality meal are now somewhat depleted.

She then wanders off AGAIN. Nearly 10 soul-destroying minutes pass before the acne-ridden plebite ambles back in.

“Here you go – Two quarter-pounders, one regular fries, One happy meal”

“But I asked for TWO happy meals…and a McFlurry!” says I.

“No you didn’t!” She argues…fucking ARGUES with me!

“Yes.I.fucking.did!” I growl.

She then carefully and myopically inspects the screen on the till.

“Oh” she concedes.

“Actually…by the way” she continues:”I forgot to ask. What drinks with the Happy meals?”

“Grrrr…One ‘Coke’ and one ‘Fanta’…please” I reply.

“Still or fizzy Fanta?”

I pause…consider my options and the possibility of availabilty…and say: “Still, please”

...

“We haven’t got any still”

*rolls eyes* “Ye-fucking-Gods…Fizzy then!”

Finally, I have my ‘meal’ dumped in front of me, and due to the nature of the happy meals’ packaging etc, I am struggling to pick the lot up.

At this point, and as the steam starts to metaphorically hiss out of my ears, another employee, who, according to his uniform is also apparently ‘lovin’ it’, approaches me from behind the till, sees my distress, smiles, and says:

“Excuse me sir, would you like a large bag to carry that all in?”

‘At last!’ I think to myself, ‘I’ve finally found one single solitary McDonalds worker here who is not an Olympic class blithering Cro-magnon nincompoop!’

“Oh, yes, that would be great, thank you very much!” I enthuse.

“No prob…..” he says, before snuffling round under the counter and announcing: “Errrrrrm….no, hang on…we’ve run out of big bags…”

GAAARRRRGGGHHH! FUCK-A-DOODLE-ARSE-ACHE-ON-A-PLATE! I screech (in my head).

I then pay more than I would have if I had bought a (delicious) chinese takeaway…AND HAD IT DELIVERED, and stagger out of the place, fumbling through the door and into my car, only for the drinks to tip over on the way home and, much to my flakelet’s distress, discovering that only one of the ‘happy’ meals contained a toy.

And a shite toy at that.

Later, I found out that in that very ‘restaurant’, a man had recently got banned for (albeit drunkenly) pushing one of the tills off the counter in sheer frustration at the staff, and their inability to grasp the simple concept of serving.out.fucking.burgers.

When I was told, I understood exactly how he must’ve felt.

I hope the credit crunch soon manifests itself into a gigantic wrecking ball, demolishing that godforsaken dog-hole of a place that is McDonalds, Walsgrave, Coventry.

While the fucking wanktards that work there are still inside.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 28 Jan 2009, 12:52, 27 replies)

‘A clinch in a crunch’…(or 'Pooflake’s attempt at light relief in a crisis')…

Only last year, I was stood by the bar nursing my pint, and chatting with my mate about the dire financial crisis…when she walked in…

Something in the way she moved…told me she was looking for some Hot Stuff.

She was a brown eyed girl, but also most definitely an uptown girl.

With a secret smile I gesture towards her and whisper to my mate: “Don’t look now, but she’s amazing! - Bootylicious!”

My mate recognised her and advised hauntingly: “She’s a devil woman…Dont Be Surprised If She Asked Where The Cash At Where The Where The Cash At, Where The Cash At?”

(Quite why he chose to repeat himself so many times I don’t know – perhaps he wanted to hammer the point home)

“Obviously, she’s out of my league” I replied, “But something tells me I’m into something good…I’ll take a chance…”

Even though I’m a charmless man, I sauntered over towards her and enquired “Hey ya!...What’s goin on?”

“Ain’t nothing goin’ on but the rent” She spat derisively, dragging me down.

After blowing the cobwebs from my cheesiest chat up line I continued smarmily:

“If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

“In your dreams...Creep!” she replied.

I fixed a perplexed look across my face as she proceeded to coldly launch into some sort of bizarre ‘sales pitch’ to explain in no uncertain terms exactly what she was after:

“I’m looking for a partner, regardless of expense” she said before proposing: “I've got the brains, you've got the looks, Let's make lots of…”.

“Stop right now, thank you very much” I interrupted before announcing in an everso ‘high-and-mighty’ way…

“I believe” I began to argue “The best things in life are free…can’t buy me love and all that jazz?”

I started to suspect that in these times of recession, she might have indeed developed some sort of cash-addiction issue, because she cackled insanely as she mercilessly continued:

“Money, its a hit. Dont give me that do goody good bullshit”.

I grew tired of her single minded attitude and questioned her ethics: “Money Money Money!”, I stated despondently, “Is not my first, my last, my everything! Yes, I suppose it must be funny…in a rich man’s world, but as far as I’m concerned…Money, (like my arse), is too tight to mention”

“But I’m a Material Girl” she professed, “I want handbags…and gladrags…diamonds and pearls*”

I questioned: “Nothing else matters?”

She replied: “Don’t get me started”

At this point I decided to give it ‘one more try’.

‘I’ve never met a girl like you before” I ventured “But we’ve gotta get out of this place. …Let’s spend the night together!”

Incredibly, she said: ”Sounds like a Masterplan…”

Next thing I know, we’re off down to her place (on Baker Street), and after one hot minute, we’re rolling like thunder, under the covers.

Suddenly she stopped. “Think twice…” she stammered. “We don’t have to take our clothes off to have a good time?”

…

Understandably, my (Norwegian) wood began to rapidly deplete and I could only reply: “but…but…What-I-got-I-gotta-get-and-put-it-in-you…?”

“Whatever” she said, and then she skilfully manoeuvred her posh panties to one side before formally introducing her Glory Box to my Rocket Man…thankfully, in no time at all, we were back ‘Gettin’ Jiggy with it’

“Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm” she began to sigh, “Deeper and deeper”

As I tried to pick up the pace she cried out: "Give give give me more more more!” then to my total surprise she popped me the ‘old shocker’ by forcefully inserting a chubby digit into my quivering ring of fire.

On experiencing the immediate sensation of burning love I screamed “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeey Baby! Ooh! Ahh!” before whimpering: “Now…I will do anything for love, (But I won’t do that)!”

“Don’t stop me now” She screeched, twisting and shouting like a epileptic kangaroo with a jetpack attached: “I’m havin’ such a good time…

I’m havin’ a…”

And with that, she reached down and firmly gripped on the roundest of my gentleman’s vegetables…

“WOW! WOW! WOW! WOW! WOW! Wow – Unbelievable!” I screamed – then I say a little prayer as I leap higher and higher into the air before starting to feel some distinctly good vibrations…

As we started to come together I began to feel a peaceful, easy feeling (and the occasional ‘careless whisper’) as she mewed: “This is my moment….this is my perfect moment” before we metaphorically exploded into a mutual tidal wave-like exchange of bodily fluids.

“It’s a kind of magic!” I said. “You’re simply the best!”

And with that, she was now head over heels…her once tough-as-nails, greedy exterior had slip-slided away into a tender embrace as, breathless with spent passion she cooed:

“I’ve had the time of my life. (now) I’m never gonna give you up….

…Never ever”

And as time goes by…we two are one.



So, lovely reader, even though your credit is being crunched, your recession gives depression and you think ‘it’s the end of the world as we know it’, all I can say is…Have a little patience…Don’t worry – be happy, and most importantly…




All you need is love.



*Apologies for the Prince reference. Lest we forget that he is a stumpy cumbubble cock-face.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 26 Jan 2009, 12:43, 11 replies)

Friday Night Experiment
In an attempt to save some cash, Ms Hanky has started to dye her hair blonde at home instead of having it done at the salon...

She dyed her hair earlier this evening...

There was a bit of solution left in the bottle in the bathroom afterwards when I went to have a shower...

Im sat here now wondering how Ms Hankys gonna react in a few minutes when she sees Ive somehow managed to dye my pubes bright fucking ginger...

Im hoping shes gonna find it incredibly sexy...

but somehow I doubt Ill be playing hide the salami tonight...

...fellas, dont mess with hair dye...

Not only does it make your nether regions look angry as fuck, it also burns a little too...


EDIT...

Well, its Saturday night.

Ms Hanky WAS NOT impressed. Had to shave...

Now the contents of my pants looks like the thing that burst out of John Hurts chest in Alien...

...it scares the living shit out of me...

Fucking money saving ideas...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 23 Jan 2009, 23:41, 7 replies)

I did a comic about the Credit Crunch
Enjoy.


(__, Tue 27 Jan 2009, 0:23, 5 replies)

The credit crunch saved my life.
Some Crips just skateboarded by my house and shouted 'bang! bang bang!' at me.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Wed 28 Jan 2009, 17:11, 3 replies)

I made a joke about an imaginary cereal called 'Credit Crunch'.
but then I realised the joke had been made redundant.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 25 Jan 2009, 7:59, 4 replies)

Rage
The recent economic situation is affecting me thus: it is unleashing a catfucking TIDAL WAVE of unmitigated RAGE at the mere mention of the phrase 'credit crunch'.

Seriously. I am not an angry person. Usually.

Last week, I was in an Indian restaurant with a friend - a very good friend of 11 years, intelligent, reasonable, lovely woman - however.

"I'm not ordering a starter," she says (fair enough). "I'm skint." (eyelid starts to twitch). "Because of the credit crunch," she adds.

"Nnnngggggggg," is the sound I make. Just before I explode. "Please don't say that."

"What? Credit crunch?"

"Ack! It's a recession. Why are people afraid to say recession? RECESSION!"

"Er..."

"If I was to go on a killing spree tomorrow and call it a Happy Knife Carnival would that make it more socially acceptable? Or how about, not arse-rape, but Surprising Bum Fun?!"

"Probably not. Sam, you're shouting. People are looking."

At which point I realise that I have managed to reduce the two neighbouring tables (families with kids...oops) and a frankly terrified-looking waiter to complete silence with my ranting. I smile nicely and wipe the foam from my mouth. My friend, thankfully, is used to me and just starts talking about something else.

Thus, having logged in to look at the new QOTW, I was, let's say...rather unimpressed. It's amazing how much rage one can create on one's own in a small room. *smiles serenely*

Recessions are bad, I get it. I'm fortunate. I rent, I have no debts and (legitimately) get incapacity benefits. Some people are not so fortunate. Ok. Can we have a cheerier question now, please?

/coat
(Samara Morgan is a small blue thing, like a marble or an eye, Fri 23 Jan 2009, 4:37, 3 replies)

My mate Steve
My mate Steve and I were talking the usual bollocks in the pub recently.

We discussed the important topics of the day, including

Who would you fuck out of R2D2 and C3P0 if you your life depended on it*

And

Is it polite conversation to ask a girl if she gushes when she cums whilst your out on a first date**

Anyway, after we get the important stuff out the way we turn our attention towards the credit crunch.

"Hows business, Stevie Boy," says I.

"Ahh, yer know, so so," a pause. And then Steve said something which I think we all could learn from. Something so profound that it summed up everything thats good about this island nation of ours. Steve said...

"Im not getting as much cash in but Im seeing alot more tit and arse."

Steves a tattoist, did all mine and he is really fucking good at it. He went on to explain that no one wants the big complicated stuff anymore on account of prefering to eat and have a roof over their head instead of getting inked. So the only business hes doing now is the smaller, cheaper, more intimate butterfly, cherry, star, dainty lady stuff on or around rude lady areas.

We sat in silence for a bit and then Steve said

"Im storing up alot of memories for the wank bank, Spanky, and they cost me fuck all..."

No matter how bad things seem to get at work, theres always gonna be some positive to draw from the situation, people...


* The gold one, obviously. Must go like a train for hours which would explain the funny walk.

** No. Definately not. I did that once and got punched. Not really very fair considering Id told her already that I gushed when I came.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 22 Jan 2009, 23:02, 3 replies)

doesn't affect me really!
it's not like I go out much....
(Anne Frank started to build a loft conversion on, Tue 27 Jan 2009, 13:39, 7 replies)

I've stopped masturbating into socks
and now just catch it in my hand before washing it off under the tap.
Therefore saving much needed money on;
1-new socks
2-washing powder
Hopefully i'll get a girlfriend soon and she can become my new cumbucket, resulting in pregnancy and then benefits win!

Take THAT Credit Crunch!
( Mr Nerdy-Speccy-FuckNuts Ouchy ouchy wa wa!, Sun 25 Jan 2009, 2:04, 6 replies)

Here's a thought.
If I'm wrong on this, then I apologise, but as I see it...

1. Banks lend to people who can't afford the repayments.
2. Banks tie these loans up in securities and derivatives financed by bank debts leveraged against other unsecured assets.
3. Traders realise something isn't quite right when the value of bonds, derivatives and securites is more than the GDP of the WHOLE FUCKING WORLD.
4. Banks panic and stop lending to each other, governments, businesses and people to cover their arses.
5. Banks realise that the debt hole is bigger than the money they have to fill it.
6. Businesses go down the shitter.
7. People lose jobs but on the flipside are encourage to spend more to stop other people losing their jobs.
8. Taxes paid by people who've just been told to fuck off are given to the banks who caused the fuck up in the first place.
9. Unemployment goes up, so taxes are lost, therefore the goverment has to borrow more.
10. All the while share prices are plummeting, causing our pensions (yes, you and me, not Mildred at 42) to evaporate before our eyes.
11. The paradox of thrift means that we're better off trying to make the most of a collapsing market rather than save our money/stuff it in our mattress.
12. Further to number 11, our money's worthless because it's down against the dollar and the euro, meaning no more booze cruises, cheap holidays, etc.
13. Council taxes are going up because half of them invested their money in Icelandic banks which have now fallen to bits.
14. ...and they've called this a Credit Crunch? WHAT THE FUCK?

I mean, it's a bit of a blase statement to make about what is basically a perfect example of how capitalism will eventually come to bite us in the ass.

I'm still waiting for Adam Smith's 'Invisible Hand' to come back and steer us on the right course.

Otherwise, I'm appreciating the wonder of Smartprice chopped tomatoes, mince and 101 different ways of using a carrot.

See you when it all blows over.

P.S. Anyone who watched Bremner Bird And Fortune's Silly Money series will get a real insight into what's going on, along with a bonus comedy element too. Oh, and C4's Ascent of Money was a brilliant overview of how we got into this mess in the first place...
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Fri 23 Jan 2009, 9:54, 14 replies)

Bargain Bikes
Not me, but my son. My Dad phoned to inform me that he had purchased a bike for my son. Thought he'd check with me to see if I was alright with that, after all your son's first bike is an emotional milestone. As I'm not proud and would prefer to be practical in the face of mounting costs, kids are expensive! I was fine with my Dad buying it.

It was a bargain, bought in Woolworths down from 50 quid to under ten pounds.

My only real problem is that my son, at the time, was only 8 weeks old. My Dad bought a bike about 2 years in advance because it was a bargain. Guess you can take the man out of Yorkshire but not the Yorkshire out of the man.
( Weejock, Tue 27 Jan 2009, 11:37, 7 replies)

I decided to be frugal this afternoon
And buy my pint of milk from Iceland, rather than Tesco. Popped out about 1pm, picked up about a fiver's worth of bits and pieces.

Aaaaaand locked myself out. Without my phone. And my housemate is in Madrid.

£85 for a locksmith.

Really fucking expensive pint of milk that...
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Sat 24 Jan 2009, 18:21, 5 replies)

Have you bought a house yet son?
What questions do your parents incessantly ask you? For years my father asked me, "When are you getting your hair cut?" Army man that he was he isn't too keen on my long, girly hair.

"Screw you dad! I've moved out of the house. My employer doesn't give a toss. You can't make me get a number 4 all over anymore!"

Next question. "Are you getting married yet?" Ah-ha-ha-ha, I have thwarted his paternal plans once more it seems or more correctly my last long term girlfriend has by leaving me a broken shell of a man. Damaged goods, I now remain single with no immediate prospects for engagement The position is still open ladies. Ladies?

The remaining question I was continually asked PRE-credit crunch (very important that pre) was "When are you going to buy a house? Have you bought a house yet? Looked at getting a house?"

Again and again and again with the fucking HOUSE shit!

"No, no I have not. And you know damn well why not. For the fucking million reasons I have enumerated before I. WILL. NOT. be buying a house anytime soon but allow me to tell you them one more time just so we're clear on the matter."

- A mortgage that I deem sensible is 3 times my salarly. Even though I earn a respectable amount, 3 times my salarly in Cambridge buys me a hovel. No I will not move outside of the city to a satellite village.
- A mortgage requires a sensible deposit. I do not have 10% of the value of the hovel saved up even if I was prepared to move into a bijou studio in the middle of chav fucking central
- A mortgage is a long term investment. This is fine if you intend to live somewhere for 10+ years but what if you need to leave unexpectedly? What if work dries up? What if the housing market temporarily goes down so what you could sell the house for won't repay your original mortgage taking into account any amortisation? Exactly, you can't move. You are stuck paying the mortgage until the housing market recovers: a prisoner in your own home.
- What if interest rates go up 2%? 5%, 10% even? It's unlikely but if it happens can I weather the storm?

Bottom line - anyone who buys a house with a mortgage more than 3 times their combined income, doesn't have a sizeable deposit and can't afford to make the monthly payments if the LIBOR goes up a few percent and isn't prepared to stay put however long it takes then they are taking a massive fucking chance. Anyone who tells you different is a liar or a fool. It might pay off and it might not but if it doesn't did you ever stop to think that that was a SIX FIGURE SUM of money you signed your name next to? I know the ins and outs of becoming a home owner are complicated but sweet zombie jesus, it's the biggest purchase you'll ever make! Do some research, make sure you know at least as much as the estate agent. </rant over>.

A typical post credit crunch parental conversation:

"Hey dad no I still haven't bought a house. Oh what's that sorry, you're no longer asking me that question are you? Go on, admit it. Admit that my grip on reality made me turn round to Northern sodding Rock and tell them to shove their 125% mortgages up their fucking arses! Recognise that I saw through the bullshit obsession that this country has with obtaining property and made a choice of what to do with my pay packet using some of the little grey cells *click* Dad? Dad, you still there dad?"

What a sore loser.
( djtrialprice, Thu 22 Jan 2009, 23:31, 18 replies)

We can't afford to go out anymore...
So we's off to buy a kitteh :o)

We shall stays in an' stroke his heads




EDIT: For those who can't be arsed to read all the replies....
I now have Kitteh, and he's been named Chewie as he's big, toothy and fuzzy. He's being a total tart at the moment and hiding under the bed and has yet to eat or drink anything of note... totally normal considering he's been used to another place and stuff...
He was exploring last night under cover of darkness and came and head-butted me in the middle of the night for a bit of attention. So he seems to be settling in.

More photos to follow.... :D

( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Tue 27 Jan 2009, 15:15, 34 replies)

American Express
Slightly off-topic, but anotherlogan's right - don't mess with American Express. They NEVER give up.

A relation of mine died, leaving credit on his American Express account. I called and explained, and 'Express agreed to close the account.

The monthly statements still come as normal though, noting that the account is closed but in credit for 13p.

It's been three and a half years. They know he's dead. The account's closed. I can only conclude that they think he'll change his mind.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sun 25 Jan 2009, 6:49, 15 replies)

dumbasses, the lot of 'em..
I think the thing I object to most (aside from the slack-jawed twat running the country refusing to admit that it was his policies that allowed what would have been a minor wobble to become a total fucking disaster) is the term Credit Crunch.

We're in recession, or at least a period of low economic growth. Are we to honestly believe that there are Economics professors discussing the current situation between themselves using the term "Crunch"? Or is it the product of some spiky-haired media-cunt who is now clutching themself with glee at the prospect of hearing their bit of copy-writing repeated ad nauseum?

I also object to the stupid red-arrow graphics that spiral all over the screen before plunging vertically downwards. If an economy has slowed down over two-quarters, it hasn't dropped vertically, you twunts. It is this level of Jeremy-Kyle-onomics that means morons are running round like it's the end of the world and "confidence" in banking is shot. When, in reality, bankers should be shot. And anyone who honestly believes that lending more than the value of a house by securing it against that house is a good idea should not be touted as a "financial expert" by the tabloid and sensationalist TV media.

I am truly sorry for those being made redundant in Swindon, etc, but the honest truth is that the UK car industry had been raped by over-inflated pay rises and over-staffing many years ago (remember Red Robbo and his ransoming of the UK car market in the 1970s/80s?), so I think this is more a case of things that were already crap just finally falling over.

We have a PM who, out of arrogance in his belief that economic cycles don't apply to him, ignored any possibility that income can go dow as well as up. He has borrowed billions, taking us from a healthy growing economy in 97 to utter ruin now...his solution? Borrow more cash to bail out the City in order to get banks to lend moeny. Why? The government OWNs Nothern Rock, so why don't they bail out the geenral public by using the Nationalised bank they now own to lend money. This will increase trade, which in turn will stimulate the other (non-nationalised) banks to start pulling their heads out of their assess and get things sorted out.

The fact they are talking about giving bonuses to Northern Rock staff for their "hard work" (what hard work, they sat tight whilst WE paid to cover for their fuckups!)is a total piss-take and should be stopped, as it's just saying to the other banks "you can act as irresponsibly as you want and we'll bail you out" - in fact, I think that the government should guaranteeing the savings and investments of the general public directly via Northern Rock (or the Post Office) - you can transfer your account there and they will back it, no questions asked. Then they can just let the cocky bastards in the City rip each other apart and go to the wall, as at least the general public would be protected.

I really should run this country...
(Chad, Fri 23 Jan 2009, 12:41, 2 replies)

Well...
I've had to cut down to just one croissant per day; whilst sat out on the balcony, reading the newspaper, with a glass of wine, looking smug.
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Fri 23 Jan 2009, 8:22, 3 replies)