Dafties

Every so often, find myself over at the other office to collect files for our department and each time I come away wondering what it is they teach them at school nowadays.

Overheard the other day...........

1 - "That Paris Hilton makes great perfume!"

2 - "How do you spell 'Richard'? Is there a 't' in it?"

3 - "What does 'intricate' mean?"

There are more, but I'd need to talk to other witnesses and make a list of them. The latest one I heard was "What's this 'credit card crunch' thing about then?" Utter genius!

Mind you, give me a genuine simpleton over some pseudo-intellectual bore any day of the week.

Is It Really? I Had No Idea..........

Alternative Solutions: 'I Know Where You Hide Your Porn', 'Heterosexuality Ruins Marriage' or 'I Like Poor People!, They Make My Trainers' **

Oh God! How long do you think it took them to come up with that particular observation? I mean, they have that great big ruddy wall to work with and that's the best they can come up with? Bad World For Poor People? It's a bad world for a hell of a lot of people if you give them the time of day to tell you. I'm sure the author meant it to provoke thought or maybe get a message over to the many thousands who pass through Charing Cross each day. Instead people see it and think "Yeah, it is a bad world for poor people. That's why I'm not poor. What can you do? Not my fault..... Now, what's on Talk Radio......"

The wall gets painted red about twice a year by the council to cover the graffiti that seems to accumulate on it, and obviously someone has chosen their moment to impart something 'meaningful' to us all. It's the dribbling simpleton element of the left in full flow. People who think the above message is anything other than a statement of the blindingly obvious, and more to the point, don't recognise it as a colossal waste of fucking paint and wallspace. I preferred the old graffiti tags that were on there before, they had a certain rough charm if nothing else.

Anyway, here dear reader(s) is your challenge. Taking into consideration the size of the wall, it's elevation and visibility (certainly in winter), I want you to come up with an alternative message for the people of Glasgow. It can be as crude, surreal, clever or banal as you want. In fact, if you can come up with something that is even more ridiculous than "Bad World For Poor People" you will win an extra special (non) prize!

Anyway, I think I have a bout of what may well be Sciatica coming on. I've lost count of the amount of times I've refilled my hot water bottle tonight. Spent most of today at work walking about like a stop-motion Max Wall. Not fucking funny! The yelps of agony when I sneezed or shifted the wrong way in my seat were to be heard in the street I believe...........

Tomorrow: When they steal the kettle and condemn you to drinking hot piss from an electronic box.

**I realise that in this day and age, the last suggestion could and probably would be taken at face value by many people.

Facebook?

Folks, It's Lowest Common Denominator Night! - Bikes..........

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, what is it?

What does it do?

I'm led to believe I have a Facebook account but I've never used it in anger. It always seemed to me to be a bit on the prissy side, you know, all that '...and where do I know You from?' rubbish. Bebo is the same, very up itself and cliquey. I do have a few Myspace pages and frankly, I've encountered some genuinely interesting people on it and it seems fairly open. I think the music element helps, many people want you to come to their pages, rather than closing them to outsiders and only responding to their own circle of friends. This is what I don't get though, why not just email yr mates? Want to send them photos? Again, email does that............Ok, a social networking site allows people to communicate with each other on each others sites, but it's not long until the novelty wears off. How many holiday snaps can you bear to look at in one sitting? Social Networking? I thought that was things like Meet-Up and Gumtree, you know, where people actually socialise.................

Of course, there can be problems with being too open. I've been 'Phished' at least once on Myspace and you get plenty spammers. Ah well, no change there, eh? YouTube is also hellish for that sort of thing. I do believe there is a sub species of humanity who spend their days commenting on Youtube clips. Arty clips are usually fine, but anything involving popular sports, music, movies, tv etc..............Well, it all seems to degenerate into the most ridiculous playground cat-calling. It can be captivating stuff to read, purely from an anthropological standpoint, but it's depressing to know that so many people cannot spell or punctuate.

I'm afraid I agree with Cocktails and Records, nothing beats a blog. It's your own space, you can say what you want, never having to worry about offending people or saying the wrong thing in front of the wrong person. Then again, self expression isn't for everyone, so I suppose leaving impenetrable comments on a friends Bebo and posting blurry pictures of their latest night out is probably the pinnacle of Internet usage for many people.

Ok, so I'm an incurable fucking snob. Can you blame me?

Facebook indeed...........

I hear it's a bit passé now anyway. Bring back Bravenet message boards, that's what I say..............

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

...................'Burds' and Beer.

Ever Had The Feeling You've Been Cheated.............?

No matter how much irony you watch X Factor with, it's still telling you how to think, still making people believe some bint rocketing from one end of the octave range to the other like a Happy Shopper opera singer has 'real talent'. No she fucking hasn't! In terms of pop music, her 'TALENT' is redundant, anodyne, pointless...................

Here is a man who understands. Here is a man who realises the truth of pop music. Here is a man who knows that no matter what you can do with your larynx, if you haven't got a personality or tune or something to make the nations collective arse wiggle on the dance floor, well, you might as well fuck off and leave us all in peace. Here is a man who makes most of what I'm writing here fairly redundant........................

He's also a man who understands that Simon Cowell is a cowardly, tedious, tasteless 'past his sell by' little pederast impersonator, whose 'trick' is wearing decidedly thin. Sadly, there are enough people out there who seem to have bought the X-Factor/PopIdol schtick and have solemnly conceded that pop music needs to 'grow up' and 'real talent' needs to be recognised, ever willing to believe that some egregious talent show can combine the best elements of Eastenders and Top of The Pops AND ensure that the music they will listen to in the future is made by people who can REALLY SING.

My advice? Go listen to the new PJ Harvey album, then buy a ticket to see Take That.

Dichotomy resolved.

As if to prove my point............If Blondie came from Glasgow

Spatchcock!

I've just realised it's been a week since I last posted. Things have been a bit hectic and to be honest and I haven't had the energy to post anything of any substance.

Over at Seven Days, things are winding down to an end on the 27th of November. A full year of photographs, mainly taken in and around Glasgow, interspersed with odd trips to strange new worlds, have been posted on a daily basis. I'm in the process of making the tags clearer to allow navigation of the blog. I'm also adding little bits of annotation to the site to augment the visuals.

Next, as most of you will be aware, I like to swear my little fucking head off on this here blog. Most therapeutic it is too. Clairwil brings to our attention the absurd notion of being taken to task for uttering the odd profanity. On one's own blog!

Apologies to Clairwil if I'm covering the same ground as she did, but I just found the whole thing so deeply amusing. I'll admit that the Devils Kitchen, like Pickled Politics, is one of those places I don't lurk about in, mainly because I'd end up saying something I'd regret or making a total tit of myself. I'm fine if I'm sober, but a few drinks and a shit day behind me and I come perilously close to the sort of belligerence that would make Terry Kelly blush. I find it best if I stick to subjects that no-one really gives a fuck about.

Anyway, it just amuses me the way political bloggers, a generally confrontational and forthright bunch of fellows, can get so touchy when it comes to 'unparliamentary language'. Some of the naughty words on DK seem to be swearing for the sake of it (What better reason can there be?) , though often there seems to be a genuine rage behind it. Been there and done it. Sometimes calling someone the most appalling thing you can imagine is all that stands between you and eating the nearest piece of furniture. If DK is reading this, he's free to come over and use whatever language he wants here. ;D

In all honesty, I could do with a mother hen type to disapprove of my reckless language. Sometimes when I go to my tracker, I see the things people have been entering on Google and they make my hair stand on end, simply because of a preponderance of four letter words on my blog.

Lastly, three cheers for Glasgow and it's successful bid to host the 2014 Shit Olympics.

Sorry, that's the Commonwealth Games................

I shouldn't be so snide. The total cost of hosting the games in Glasgow looks to be less than what London are spending on their main Olympic arena. The infrastructure is all there and it looks like Glasgow's East End is going to get a much needed boost out of it. Hopefully.

Of course, a few of our southern chums are smugly reminding us that we're a bunch of 'Scrounging Jocks' and that they, personally, will be paying for this folly via their tax money. Sadly, this isn't entirely true, as most of the funds will come from money raised by the Scottish Government*. I can't help feeling deprived of the chance to watch the Kelvin McKenzies of this world turn purple as we spend their pennies on Velodromes and Swimming Pools and other such frivolities.

I really do feel a sense of loss in that regard................

Ok, I should be back on Friday, God willing...................

*Yes Yes, I do realise Westminster subsidised our parliament and our little dry run at self government. It's very nice, cheers!

Reading through the BBC 'Have Your Say' link, it's plain that there are as many, if not more English people who are happy enough about the Commonwealth Games coming to Scotland than those who want to use it as an excuse for a bit of Jock Bashing.

Oedipous Is Alive And Well And Living In A Loft Conversion In Manhattan

Crimson Statue

A big thankyou to Observer Woman Makes Me Spit for providing this very amusing article in The Guardian. Frankly, I'm not that surprised such wretched entities exist. Nor am I surprised that women sent to interview them don't understand the underlying reason for their general cuntishness. I shall return to that one.

Basically what we're talking about here is the minor phenomenon of educated, middle class and very high profile male bloggers whose attitude towards women is a weird combination of loathing, contempt and insecurity(please, read the article, it's worth it). They're looking for love basically, but every woman that crosses their path fails utterly to be anything other than another troublesome chore, a target for their brooding, internal rage, or at best a mild distraction to be discarded when they get bored. So far, so predictable. The biggest problem is that they then go and write candid online memoirs about their disappointments and bizarre behaviour disorders. Un-burdened by a need to self censor, they bask in their own their own alpha male smugness, yet wonder why they aren't hitched to the only woman who can satisfy them. I don't doubt they love women, but they hate that the 'perfect woman' doesn't exist and probably never did. The resulting disgust and self loathing is manifested in their relationships and then set out for a small but influencial audience to chatter over it, giving it a kind of soap opera status.

I've always wondered if I should go 'confessional'. It might not be a great idea though. Can you imagine a blog in which I let you know my deepest, darkest secrets? Told you things you didn't really need to know? Ok, so I might get a few more hits (Ha!), but quite frankly, I'd get about three blog posts out of it before I ran out of material. Also, I don't get much 'action', so it would be a toss up between talking about self abuse or my porn collection. Neither are subjects I feel able to write entertainingly about. Athletes foot on the other hand.............

Anyway. In answer to my original point. Why do these 'neo-mysoginists' seemingly have such loathing for most women, yet cling like desperate puppies to the notion of love and marriage?

Simple really. They all want to marry their mother.



This sample of bullshit pop psychology was brought to you by the letters A R S & E and the No 5. The iLL Man is a product of the Mentally Subnormal Bloggers Workshop............

I Demand Silence!!! ...........and maybe a bit of swearing

According to this article (via Great She Elephant), background noise accounts for a few thousand heart attack fatalities each year. Now, I would stop short of saying that unwanted noise is any kind of danger to body and soul, but I think I understand the concept.

There are few things I loath more in life than getting up in the morning and having to listen to the ruddy radio. Normally I breakfast on my own and all is silent, all is golden and I can read whatever happens to be lying on the table (old Viz annuals usually) as I eat my Cornflakes and contemplate the grim road ahead. It's one of those moments that Bukowski talks about in 'It's Ours'. It is indeed mine. Or it was. This morning the folks were buzzing about prior to to leaving on holiday and had just colonised the kitchen. They seem unable to exist without the chatter of radio at any time in their lives, morning being no exception........

It's everywhere. In the car, in their bedroom 24 hrs a day, in the kitchen........Do they never crave a bit of 'Hear a pin drop' silence?

To be honest, I've been a mass of seething rage (easy ladies....) for the past few days. The notion that a fine, relaxing weekend does you a power of good is just that, a notion. No sooner do you hit the working week and all the resentment, impatience, and general foul temper come rolling back over you. As a result I have developed a distinct antipathy towards the following 'groups'

Scotland Rugby fans - How many people go and watch rugby in Scotland? Go on, guess........Club rugger, both pro and amateur...........Let's just say they'd fill but a small corner of Murrayfield. Yet the cunts turn up in their fucking masses to go and watch a bunch of fat bastards chase an egg around a field.......... There I am in Queen St Station staring at an almighty queue to get on the train, before being deprived of a seat by a bunch of wanks in kilts, Saltires and Lion Rampants. Tory voting bell-ends to a man and woman too............let's just say the bit where my bottle of Coke detonated on me was just about the last straw and all I wanted to do was wipe my sticky hands on one of their neatly ironed, newly washed rugger tops. I suggest they all charter some buses next time and leave public transport to people who have a good reason to be going where they're going. At least I would have been entertained by football fans, maybe even threatened or offered a slug of someones Red Square. Anything is preferable to such well mannered and civilised nuisances.

Oh, and before anyone gets any ideas, the Tartan Army can fuck off too.

Private Schools - Oh lordy me! I had a decent day on Saturday all told. North Berwick was lovely and sunny, I got some peace and quiet for a few hours before subjecting myself to the hell ride back to Glasgow. Sunday was good too. Long lie, some speedway and ready for Monday. I made the wrong decision on Monday morning though. Instead of taking the back route down to Great Western Road, I made my way down Belmont St, past 'The' Glasgow Academy. Bad move, for the jumped up little bastards were back from the summer break. Not the kids you understand, it's hardly their fault. No, I mean the parents. What a bunch of arrogant, fuckwitted arseholes. Take for instance the vehicles these absurd creatures turn up in. Bentleys, BMW's, Mercs, Lexuses (or is that Lexi?), not to mention the ubiquitous Chelsea Tractors. Just making the place look untidy I'm afraid, as well as making it absolutely fucking impossible for anyone who lives in the area to get to work by car. Hard to believe, but they're building an extension to the school. Any chance of building a fucking turning area on school grounds too? To be fair, a fair amount of these kids get a chartered bus, or take the underground, but you can still rely on a few hundred wankers to persist in running the kids to the school gate and personally offloading their gear/kissing them goodbye/etc, causing the worlds most unnecessary tailback.

Traffic Wardens - A new standard has been set in traffic control pedantry. My old man got slapped with a fifty quid fine for...........wait for it..................Parking in his own street!!!! I live in a cul-de-dac and it's essentially a non permit residents parking zone. The problem is that some people are allowed to pass their tests without having learned the art of parking properly (Some people pass their tests without knowing how to turn across traffic for heavens sakes) and it ends up with them doing things like parking on street corners, usually with the car a good four feet out into the traffic and making life difficult for pedestrians trying to cross roads. The result is the rather drastic manoeuvre of painting double yellows a good 9 feet into various side streets. Anyway, my dad made the mistake of having half his car on these lines, despite it being well inside the street and nowhere near being an obstacle to pedestrians. I don't know, is it a perverse thing with Traffic Wardens? Is it the fear that if they turn a blind eye and use some common sense from time to time, their transgression might be spotted by some 'all seeing eye' at Glasgow City Council and losing them a days wages? I know it's a shite job, but surely this sort of thing needs a lighter touch. It's not exactly someone chancing it in the city centre while they nip into the newsie for fags and a paper...........

You'll all be saddened but not surprised to hear that my dad did the 'sensible thing' and coughed up. I feel sure he could have made a massive racket about this and got a few thousand Daily Mail readers to march to his beat, though I'm sure the thought would appall him.

Jesus! A right little bundle of bad karma this week, aren't I?

Don't Fuck With Me Asshole, I'm Ten Times As Boring As You'll Ever Be!

Office bores. They bore you and bore you and then as if that wasn't enough for them, they bore you a little bit more so that come five O'Clock, you don't get yr coat and go out the door, but instead open a window, perch above the traffic below and convince yrself that pavements really are made of mattresses and marshmallow. I of course have a stronger mind than that. I counter fire with fire and deliver a few salvo's of my own. Todays topic was Scottish Cup winners and old footie teams. Office bore gives it big licks with how he once stored the OVD Junior Cup in his mothers back room to prevent it getting damaged, before telling us that he's handled every domestic football trophy in Scotland. Fact and fiction are one and the same to this clown.

Solid, who sits opposite me is partly culpable, mainly because he believes absolutely everything you tell him, so OB gets his jollies with little or no effort. Thing is, I know as much as OB does, if not more, about the arcane elements of Scottish football and he didn't like the fact that I knew St Bernards had never won the Scottish Cup*. I later informed him about things he didn't know about Stirling Albion and their previous incarnation, Kings Park. The final straw came when shortly after he claiming St Bernards were a Glasgow team, I turned round and stated that they were in fact an Edinburgh team. He didn't seem interested then........

Yes, I am a jumped up little prick, but theres nothing better than pricking the bubble of conceit and pomposity with some of your own.

Anyway, it's come to my notice that I have neglected to post on this fair blog for a full four days. Not like me really, I've always got some tedious guff to impart. So where have I been? I'd like you all to think I've been Drug Running On A Panamanian Schooner, or maybe Running Wild With The One I Love or possibly Living In A Trailer At The Edge Of Town

Alas, none of them are true. If only life conformed to carefully chosen song lyrics...................................

Adios my sweethearts.......

*Little known fact. St Bernards did actually win the Scottish Cup in 1895. So I was wrong.........

Did Jesus Invent Sudoku?

Just wondering really, cos he seems to have some really nifty noughts and crosses moves up his sleeve. How does that one work? Surely after the first diagonal line has been completed the game is won. Was his opponent so poor that he not only failed to block any of the big J's moves but also failed to notice him putting in extra crosses? Maybe his opponent was distracted. Maybe it was one of his un-recorded miracles. Is it possible he pulled this one on Judas one quiet afternoon by the sea of Galilee, with rather unpleasant repercussions?

Surely a hollow victory nonetheless..........

I suppose I shouldn't be so blasphemously literal. Maybe the poster refers to a wider concept, something less specific. This being organised religion, the wider and less specific you can be with your symbolism the better , even to the point of inadvertently comparing Christs Ministry to cheating like a right bugger at simple pencil and pad games.

Just don't play any Christians at 'Rock, Paper, Scissors', that's all I'm saying.....

If only the Coca~Cola Co. had the balls to be so irreverent about the Messiah. It would seem that a new Italian film called Seven Kilometers From Jerusalem contains a scene in which Jesus meets the main character, an ad exec in search of spiritual fulfillment (It's been known to happen) and asking for something to drink, the now 'ex' exec offers the son of God a shiny red can of Satan's bile juice. I can see where Coke are coming from though, the film seems to be irreverent, ironic and absurd, and as such is open to literal interpretation by the religious goon squad. Just think, that contract to supply the Vatican with your tooth rot dispensers will only be the first of many to go.......

It's a moot point anyway, Jesus drank Irn Bru. Everyone knows that.............