(Wed 14th Sep 2005, 13:24, More)

meanwhile, in the otter stapling factory...


First FP ever! And it only took 16,000+ posts...
(Tue 20th Jan 2004, 2:14, More)

» Best Graffiti Ever

Malcom X Is A...
Although I don't condone the acts depicted within this story, I can't help but admit that this is the single greatest work of vandalism I have ever witnessed.

In Bury, my home town, there is a building in a district called Elton, which used to be run by a company called Vanguard. Several years ago, the company went bust and the building was left derelict. It was a fucking huge warehouse type building, halfway up a large hill and in plain view of anyone travelling through Elton.

So, in some sort of pique of righteousness, someone sprays "MALCOLM X IS A GOD" on the wall of the building, in letters about 10 feet high.

This stood proud for several weeks, until someone came along and, in a different colour, sprayed over the word "GOD" and replaced it with "COON".

It now read "MALCOLM X IS A GOD COON"

This stood there for several weeks again, until the original scribe crosses out "COON" and replaced it with "GOD" again.

It now read "MALCOLM X IS A GOD COON GOD".

Again, several weeks went by, and sure enough, a retort was made.

it now read "MALCOLM X IS A GOD COON GOD COON".

This repeated itself over the course of about 3 months, until finally the second scribe came up with the retort to end all retorts, and this ladies and gentlemen is the greatest piece of graffiti work ever:

"MALCOLM X IS A GOD COON GOD COON GOD COON GOD COON GOD DAMNED COON"...
(Fri 4th May 2007, 1:36, More)

» Spoilt Brats

I notice,
after reading some of these stories about small children that are spoilt, as opposed to your grade A university fuckwits, that the parents often seem to be entirely at blame.

How many times have you seen a screaming or misbehaving child just being ignored by it's parents? It happens all the time. Only today I was on the train and some little shit was climbing all over the seats and irritating the fuck out of people, all the while it's parents sat and ignored it, reading the paper.

Ignoring a child is no way to discipline it. The kid wants attention, that's why it's making noise in the first place. It wants to be looked at. Sitting there buried in your copy of the guardian isn't helping matters any. I'm not even a parent and I can tell you that. All you're doing is pissing off the people around you, and making the kid be more and more fucking irritating.

Heres my solution:

Cattle Prods.

When boarding a means of public transport, such as a train, make sure you pack a small portable cattle prod, like the one that that wrestler "The Mountie" used to have. He was ace.

When said child starts to be irritating as fuck, apply the cattle prod liberally to the back of it's head. This should suffice to snap the parents out of their bouts of deep concentration, as they puzzle over todays crossword, and/or have a telephone conversation at a sufficient volume for everyone on the train to enjoy it.

Should the child become more irate at this point, I recommend more liberal helpings of cattle prod, to be applied firmly and without mercy.

By now both parents should be alarmed enough to intervene, removing the offending child and no doubt taking it to a different, safer carriage.

Now would be a good time to shoot both parents in the back with a tazer.

Now relax, and spend the rest of your journey in a child free, hassle-less environment, safe in the knowledge that should anyone disturb your peace further, you can fuck them right up with thousands of volts of electricity.
(Tue 14th Oct 2008, 3:48, More)

» Personal Ads

My favourite
A few years ago, circa 2001, scanning through a copy of the "Metro" newspaper I came across the personal ads. I used to (and still do) read them every now and again for a bit of a laugh, but I'll never forget this one. It still makes me chuckle on rainy days:

"Short, fat, hairy builder, 46, with no job, house, car, prospects seeks slim, blonde, rich woman for relationship. Must be 20's".


Golden.
(Fri 14th Sep 2007, 12:46, More)

» Debt pron

Going to Uni
i'm now in my final year of uni, after having started a course some years back, hating it and changing over and starting again. Basically, I've been at uni for five years, in which time I've racked up five years worth of debt. Although I don't regret doing it, this debt is going to be roughly £15,000 when I go into full time employment.

I knew what I was getting into when I applied, so that argument doesn't work here. However, what I really really fucking hate is the fact that a few years before I started, I would have been given a grant, and would miss out on paying £15,000 back to the student loans company.

This is why I get really fucking pissed off when people come out with that "Tax Dodger" shit. I'd rather pay 5 years worth of fucking tax than have a 15K fucking debt to my name, on top of the maxed out overdrafts, you utter utter wankers. We aren't all content to fuck up our GCSE's and work menial fucking jobs for the rest of our lives, thanks.

I came to university to better myself, and to better my chances of coming out of it all with a job I actually enjoy and find rewarding, and that's what's slowly taking shape. So yeah, keep calling me a Tax Dodger. When I'm earning fucking £50,000 a year I won't have to dodge taxes will I? And where will you be? Still stuck in your dead end job moaning about the "fookin stoodents" and how they "don't know they're born"....

Seriously, to those people, go and fuck yourselves. You're lucky I'm well educated or I might have resorted to just beating you to fucking death by now...
(Thu 23rd Nov 2006, 22:25, More)

» God

I used to be an altarboy,
as unlikely as that seems to those on here who know me, but yes, I was a sweet faced angelic altar boy. Sort of.

So, the priest at my school parish was an old Irish chap by the name of Father Michael Corry. He was a thoroughly nice person (so no paedo jokes here I'm afraid), although he did used to pat you on the head when he came to visit and nearly crush your skull in doing so. He was quite a large chap also and I don't think he knew his own strength. As Altarboys we used to get paid a small amount of money for serving at funerals. Usually a fiver from the Undertaker, but back then my pocket money was only £1.50 a week, and so it was like Christmas had come early. One of Father Corry's favourite stories was how he had to chastise me and one of the other altar boys when he caught us going through the obituaries section in the local rag to see if anyone had died recently and whether we'd be getting paid that week.

Anyway, that's not the story I wanted to tell. The story I wanted to tell was about the time we were serving one of said funerals, and it got to the Eternal Rest part of the mass.

For all you non-catlick types, the prayer is as follows:

"Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord,
And Let perpetual light shine upon them".

I have already mentioned that Father Corry was rather an old chap, and one of his many quirks (apart from sending schoolchildren to hospital with affection-related cranial injuries) was that he would sometimes get his words mixed up. Sometimes in a spoonerism kind of way, sometimes in a confusing words that sound similar kind of way. It was on a rare occasion such as this that he did both. And thusly:

"Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord,
And let perpetual shite lie upon them".

So I can now rightfully take my place in hell as someone who burst into an uncontrollabe fit of laughter at the funeral of a man I've never met.

We didn't get paid that day :(
(Thu 19th Mar 2009, 16:03, More)