» I don't understand the attraction

Sorry, I'm going to sound sanctimonious here
but I don't understand the attraction in not being able to understand that one man's meat is another man's poison.

I mean, I empathise with a lot of the posts in this QoTW, because a lot of what people think is shit, I think is shit as well.

However, if it's not actually hurting anyone - sod it, go for it. If spending your life on World of Warcraft or going to see X Factor Live or modding your Nova floats your boat - you do it.

Frankly, we're fucking lucky we have the choice what to like and dislike. There's something out there for everyone now - we can pick and choose our entertainments and friends and foods and sexual stimulations.

Have your prejudices by all means but someone is not a cunt, or an idiot, for liking something you don't. Saying any activity you don't like is a waste of time misses the point somewhat; it's not your time that others waste.

Not liking the majority of what passes for popular culture doesn't make you a better person - and it needn't make you a bitter one, either...
(Fri 16th Oct 2009, 5:16, More)

» I Quit!

Don't employ anybody, ever...
...was the advice my accountant gave me some years ago. I was just starting my second business, and I had some need of some admin. work. Nothing exciting but it was a small company rapidly going places (had moved into profitability inside of 6 weeks - same accountant told me later he'd never seen such a profitable organisation).
So I decided to use a local agency, who sent me along a nice Asian lad (and yes, sadly his race is a relevant issue - so read on).
He was impressed at the house I had, the car I drove - he was working in my study.

After a couple of days, I explained I had a deadline coming up - work had backed up, not his fault, did he fancy making some overtime ? Entirely optional, but it would help me out ? Interested ?

"Oh yes", he said, I'm happy to work this weekend". I told him I was very grateful, and also explained that my (relative) success was due to me, on occasion, working mad hours, doing without sleep - nothing anyone should do long-term, but occasionally needs must. Well, he agreed entirely; he wanted what I had and seemed prepared to make the same sacrifices. Good on him, I thought - maybe this guy could be doing something better for me if he carried on like this. I'll give anyone a chance, training, encouragement - I've been "lucky" (mostly due to initiative and hard work) and I'm happy to share that luck.

So I made him a deal. I would loan him a computer to do the work on over the weekend, so he could work from home. I would pay him the same rate I paid the agency for him - thus boosting his pay by 40%. I dropped him off at his house on the Friday evening, told him to make sure he took *some* of the weekend off, and thought I'd get maybe 12 hours out of him that weekend.

Picked him up on Monday morning. "I haven't done much" he said. He was right. If he'd worked for 2 hours that weekend I'd have been amazed. He claimed for 4 hours. It still didn't justify all of my time fetching and carrying him, when I could have used the same time to have achieved more than him. Oh well.

I didn't ask him why he hadn't done the work. He volunteered though that he had been "at the temple" at the weekend; the same weekend he of course was going to be working for me, as promised.

No golden opportunity for him then. And I was mightily pissed off that he had in effect played the race card. Frankly, I didn't care why he hadn't done it, more the fact that he wanted to come across as someone who wanted a break, then got one and screwed it up. And used a piss-poor excuse, overcharged me and lied - had he spent all weekend at the temple ? Had he arse ? Could he have done the work - oh yes, it wasn't beyond him, it wouldn't have been beyond a bright 10 year old. He just Could Not Be Bothered.

And in 11 years now of running a company, I've sadly found that the only motivated people are those who are doing quite well already - the two things may be linked. Like my two friends who attended a meeting with me in London this Saturday. For that, and promise of future work, they got £1K each, plus shares, plus 10% each of any profits I made. As they said, too generous. Just ask Mr Pooflake about the help I gave him recently to try and get a complete stranger a job. I'll help anyone, me.

Because I'm not a bastard who wants it all for himself. I'm happy to share with others and to be understanding. Sadly though, with the exception of people who are already doing well for themselves, EVERYBODY I have ever tried to help through employment has f*cked me over. Every Single One. Friends, family, strangers, it hasn't mattered.

Which is why I'll never employ anyone. Sure, I'll give short-term contract work, payment by results - but employment ? Forget it. Which makes me really sad.

You see, it's all too easy to blame other people, not yourselves. It doesn't take much brains to do well in this world - look in your Tesco car park at people driving the new 4x4 - do they look particularly bright ? Most of them, not at all.

It just takes initiative, work, some sacrifice, and some willingness to learn new things. It certainly doesn't take over my life - I'm pulling in over £10K / month at the moment, and I have spare time to live in, rather than just work work work. I love having fun, and to me that's not work. But fun costs, so sometimes work's necessary...

What it doesn't take is blaming others. Maybe when you quit the shit job and fuck up those you leave behind, maybe you should ask yourself why you are in said shit job in the first place. If you've got the ability to type coherent English into a web site, believe me, you have skills many people don't have.

This QoTW has really depressed me. I'm no way a Tory, far fucking from it, but there seem to be too many people on here completely failing to take any personal responsibility for their circumstances. When you read things like "I was stuck in a dead end job for 2 years" it makes me weep. That's 2 years of your life you won't have again ? Did you look elsewhere ? Consider getting training either on- or off the job to move up ? Work out why you were where you were and look at who was to "blame" ?

That's right, it was YOU. Yes, shit bosses exist out there, but there are also a load of shit workers. I'm not perfect, far far far from it, but if I fuck about I know who to blame. I have pity for the genuine few who are stuck out there without options, but I think it's a small percentage compared to those who just don't want to break into a sweat or see beyond the next piss up into their future.

Sorry for all of this - but I hate the constant blame culture.
(Sun 25th May 2008, 11:37, More)

» I don't understand the attraction

Right then, after I posted this:
www.b3ta.com/questions/coldfish/post541487 I was challenged by a few people to "man the fuck up" and actually come out with the list of things that I dislike that "everyone else" likes.

OK, then, here goes:

1) The Blame Culture.

Whatever it is, it's always someone else's fault and therefore we are not to blame. From 'political correctness gone mad' to 'Nanny State' to 'Immigrants are taking all our jobs' it always seems to be someone else's fault, and most people can whinge at an Olympic-level standard about the wrongs in our society.

However, try to talk to anyone about politics - about the forces that govern the UK - and no-one wants to know. It's boring, it will always be the same, and so on, and so forth. The causal link between the way our society is run and the responsibility of the individual to effect change is never thought of. Membership of every political party is at an all-time low, public protests (such as they are) are hi-jacked by the Rentamob brigade of professional agitators basically because none of us can be bothered to get up off our arses and call the politicians to account.

Basically the government we get is the government we deserve and in a perverse way, we are happy with the status quo in this country simply because it gives us a chance to moan. Either put up and shut up, or effect change. The third option adopted by everyone - moan and then do fuck all - drives me insane.

2) The celebrity culture.

What the hell is wrong with celebrating people who have talent ? Talent to entertain means being able to be witty, or play an instrument, or sing, or do *something* significantly better than 99.99% of the population. It used to be that having such talent made you famous. Now you are famous because you share your most intimate details - and gratuitously display your body - to the masses. The talent any of these "celebrities" has is purely for self-promotion and I wish to fuck that the public didn't have a seemingly incessant demand to know about the private lives of complete strangers.

3) The adoption of American customs and habits in the UK.

Already, we have "prom nights" for our kids - as if being a schoolkid wasn't bad enough, the poor bastards have to fret about getting dates, hiring a limo and renting / buying formal dress for a "prom", an institution that was unheard-of 20 years ago.

What's next FFS ? Cheerleaders at sports games ? Calling football "soccer" ? Celebrating Thanksgiving ?

If we're going to adopt the mores of another nation, sure to God there is a better example than the USA somewhere in the world. Although really we have enough customs of our own, and shouldn't need to borrow from another culture.

4) Meaningless mass emoting.

Every time someone famous dies, the amount of public grief is inversely proportionate to the meaningful deeds of that person. From Princess Diana to Michael Jackson, the public act as if they have lost a member of their own family. For the love of God, get a sense of proportion.


So, that's my list - or as much as it as I can be bothered to share. I've got a load of logs delivered this morning I have to stack up - hopefully some physical exercise will purge the rage I now feel out of my system !
(Sun 18th Oct 2009, 10:47, More)

» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

Not really a shit story
but it will have to do - I don't have any amusing stories about poo - possibly no amusing stories at all, but still. So possibly this is a "shit story" in the true sense of the word. But it's true.

I am somewhat worried right now, sitting at my desk in London. Back home nearly 100 miles away, in my bedroom, there is an object. Anyone going into that room will instantly see, on a shelf by the bed, an 8 inch cock. Plastic, I hasten to add, but relatively life-like.

My girlfriend has been kind enough to say that mine is of comparative size. It isn't, but it's not too far off. Well, that's what I like to think.

Anyway, said cock was purchased with a strap-on kit. You have to try these things, don't you ?

Well, no, you don't. Sunday night saw me gripping the sides of the bed in some pain as the object was pushed into me.

It really hurt. My God it hurt.

That, however, isn't the problem. The problem is that the cock is still on display. For various reasons, we left my house and went back to my girlfriend's without having time to tidy up the place.

And I was intending to be back at home on Tuesday night, but thanks to Network Rail, that never happened. I'll be back home sometime on Saturday night.

By then, it will be too late. Because by then, my neighbour will have been in the house. She's been away at a friend's, but she's back tonight.

She's 86. To my shame but also delight, she insists on cleaning my house for me.

Seriously. As soon as I gave her a key of her own, she started cleaning my house and doing my washing up. She even takes the bins out. She moans she gets bored if she doesn't get out of the house and tidy up for me. Seriously, she asks in a plaintive voice if I have any washing up for her.

She's 86. God knows, I help her out as much as I can, sorting out her life for her wherever possible. She hardly speaks English - she's Serbian. No children, widowed. I'm the nearest thing to a son she'll ever have.

She's very religious.

She's going to see, erect at the side of my bed, an 8 inch cock.

And I'm not sure how I can ever look her in the eye again.
(Thu 27th Mar 2008, 16:14, More)

» I'm going to Hell...

I've been saving this one
which could have fit quite well in either of last week's QoTWs. But for this, I'm going to hell.

I got married (for the first time) when I was 20, and not 20 in a mature way, no, 20 in a stupid, yet-to-grow up way.

Naturally, I got married because my wife was pregnant. As stupid people do when they are 20.

Anyhoo, at this age in my life my father lived in a large house in the north of France, surrounded by WW1 cemeteries. As my marriage was beginning, his was coming to an end.

My wife, young baby and I went over to see him in the summer. Initially, we met up with him and his then wife at a coastal resort, then the four of us (i.e. without his wife) stayed at his place.

On the last night of our stay, my father wanted to cook us a special meal. He also asked if we minded if his girlfriend came over, as he wanted us to meet her.

Isobel was French (of course), in her mid-twenties and very good lucking. Way to go, Dad, despite the fact that I still liked his soon-to-be-ex wife, my stepmother.

Before the meal, much champagne was drunk, and some beer. My wife didn't drink so she watched the three of us get sloshed and then more sloshed with the meal, as we drank several bottles of wine. So much so, that Isobel had to leave the table to be discretely unwell.

After the meal, my father got out some awful Spanish liqueur which finished him off. As he staggered to his bed, my wife decided to finish packing in our bedroom, which was on the ground floor.

That left myself and Isobel, and in a pattern that was repeated with his other girlfriends in years to come, she then told me how unhappy my father made her. Not something I could easily deal with, and there wasn't much of a response I could make.

She cried. I gave her a small hug of consolation.

She cried more. I hugged her briefly again.

She cried more; I gave her a small hug and suddenly, her tongue is down my throat. At the time, I had only "slept with" two women in my life, and so (in a very weak defence) my loins took over where prudence would have told me to back off instantly.

Then, we're going upstairs; past my wife who asked me where I was going. I said I was showing Isobel to her bedroom. Yes, I really was that drunk.

In one of my half-brother's bedrooms, we made the beast with two backs.

However coitus was interrupted after several moments with my wife banging on the door to ask what we were up to; the bedroom after all being above our bedroom, and the athletic humping on the floor echoing around the house.

The fact that I had carnal knowledge of my father's mistress would have been bad enough, the fact that my wife caught us at it somewhat worse, but what guarantees my ticket to the netherworld is that the evening wasn't just our last night in France...but the evening of my first wedding anniversary.

Postscript:

- yes, my dad found out about it - Isobel told him that apparently I fucked like he did. Such knowledge no-one should have;
- yes, the marriage didn't last much longer;
- yes, he got his revenge on me by shagging one of my girlfriends some time later;
- my wife got her revenge on me in some complex and devious ways;
- yes, I have now grown up and wish this incident had never taken place. I'm not the person now I was then, thank God.
(Thu 11th Dec 2008, 15:00, More)