Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Rio Carnival Can Save Liverpool

I’d say Liverpool have had a good season. Some will judge a season of silverware, but in terms of entertaining football and goals, I think the season has been good. Some die-hard fans, like me, are still clinging to the tiniest glimmer of hope that we’ll still take the title. Clinging like a 15 year old to his dad’s copy of Hustler.

Many would say Liverpool’s title challenge has gotten weaker and weaker due to way too many draws at Anfield, and I tend to agree, but I think there’s a different reason:

A certain Brazilian with a pony tail/Alice band and two left feet has been wrongfully included in the team, squad, and even the transfer wish list. Hell, I’d even say he was wrongfully included in the Sperm Team that swam through his mother’s lady tunnels, never mind the tunnels of Anfield. His regular inclusion on the teamsheet could have cost us a lot of points because this normally means Mascherano doesn’t play and Lucas will inevitably do the exact opposite of what Mascherano is there to do.

He’s indecisive too:

He can’t make up his mind whether he’s Leiva Lucas or Lucas Leiva. He can’t make up his mind whether he wants a pony tail or a mullet. Most importantly, he can’t make up his mind whether he’s playing for Liverpool or the opposition.

And I must commiserate with Brazilians in general and those who enjoy Brazilian football – there’s no hope for the creators of samba soccer when your under-21 captain is Lucas Leiva/Leiva Lucas, with a ponytail/mullet, who plays his club football for Liverpool/everyone else.

So while I have every hope and belief that Liverpool can still win the title (with a lot of help from United’s next 6 opponents), this will only happen if Lucas Leiva/Leiva Lucas is banned from Melwood, Anfield and the city of Liverpool in general. And as much as I hate United, I, as a Liverpool fan, would love to give them something they would enjoy – coming from behind and taking the title, without Lucas.

So here starts a collection of money to send Lucas Leiva/Leiva Lucas to the Rio Carnival next Feb, where he can get hopelessly drunk and forget about football.

Please let me know if you’re interested and I’ll send you my banking details.

You'll never walk alone, unless you're Lucas Leiva/Leiva Lucas.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Plaque and poephols

I don’t get some people. People and stupid inventions. Maybe they’re just so unhappy with their jobs that they would try to invent the most effed up shiznit. Or maybe they’re just stupid.

Excerpt from an emergency meeting of a bunch of chops:

“I’ve called this meeting today, to share with you an idea that is going to change all of our lives. It’s a fold-up toothbrush. Thing is, with toothbrushes being so thin and small, people NEED to have it made even smaller, because they can’t fit this teeny tiny thing into their huge hand luggage bag. And here’s the cleverest part: this sort of thing DOES come free on planes, but we’re going to make them pay for it.”

What a bunch of idiots. This was a stupid enough idea when it came free in the pouch of the plane seat in front of you, but now it’s for sale. That’s right, an exchange of legal tender will have to happen for you to get a smaller toothbrush than the small toothbrush you already have.

Fuck. Next it’s going to be prescription specs for the blind. Or iPods for the deaf.

I bet these idiots are still unhappy at their call centre jobs.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Blame It

I’m not going to pretend I’m the only person that’s noticed it. I’m not going to pretend I’m the only who’s pissed off by it. Hell, I’m probably the gazillionth person that’s writing about it, but it pisses me off enough to write about it again.

So we all see it, when the going gets tough, or even mildly challenging, everyone blames everything on the recession. Half wits, village idiots, even old people – everyone.

“Sorry barman, I’m only 5c short. It’s this bloody recession.”

“Sorry man, I can only get you your R5 tomorrow, you know we’re in a recession.”

“I’m sorry honey, this has never happened to me before, it’s the recession.”

“Good morning Mr Wilson, I can’t come in today, I’m feeling ill on account of the fucking recession.”

But people, people are cunning. They have these ways of disguising opinion regurgitation. Some bright spark thought if they cunningly changed the word recession to something more colloquial and catchy, nobody would notice.

So primary school grammar books were dug up and alliteration was remembered: Credit Crunch infested conversations everywhere like a venereal disease. Then came the people who scoured the papers to see how the big people say it. That’s how Economic Crisis crept in. It’s sad really, like grown men not playing video games.

And even worse, this fucking recession (and I’m swearing because I’m pissed off) is making village idiots and old people think they can hold a conversation with fairly educated people such as you and me. Well, me.

But ya. That’s my beef.

You know it makes sense. Think about the children.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Don’t Lie About Shit

This may be a bit disgusting for some people so be warned that what you are about to read may offend. But only if you’re a wet fish.

All human beings have to make number 2. It’s a fact. Some people may know it as other things:

Dropping off the kids
Wrestling the big brown bear
Releasing the prisoner

Even though only guys like to talk about it, we all have to number 2. But the problem is when we’re all done with number 2, we have to wipe our smelly or crusty residue away. So I though it would be funny to ask people if they look at the toilet paper after they’re done with their number 2. You know, as a social experiment. The response is always one of the following:

“Don’t be disgusting”
“You are sick”
“Of course I don’t, I crap strawberries”

This is of course a lie. Everyone has to look. How else will you know you are finished? The human race is in denial. People will accept you if you look.

Now is your moment, this is your time. Change your life. Don’t be a closet looker. If you look, people won’t treat you like a leper or a United supporter.

Everyone shits. Deal with it.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Man arrested for bestiality

This, fresh off the printing press folks. Ernest Albert Boy, a 53 year old dairy farmer (not as young as his name may suggest) has been arrested on charges including bestiality.

For those of you who are uneducated or stupid, bestiality is a term for sexual relations with an animal. But those are not the only charges - Crimen Injuria (latin for something), Enticement (we’ll get to this later) and assault with intent to cause grievous bodily harm and pointing a firearm.

So not only did this man “shove his love” into what I assume is a cow, but he enticed the not-so-little critter into his love-shack. So I’m assuming he lured the cow into his place of love-shoving with a candlelit dinner, Barry White and a juicy piece of steak. That is just beautiful and here’s why…

He lured the cow with the leftover pieces of what was very possibly a family member. This bumps the charges up to enforcement of cannibalism, which I just made up now. This also bumps the charges up to enforcing incest on a cow, by making him ‘eat his sister’. I also just made that up. So I’ve written a couple of headlines on behalf of the journalist:

The obvious one:


Less obvious and slightly intelligent:


Nearly subliminal but screamingly obvious:


Which brings us to the last charge – pointing a firearm. How stupid does this sound? A man pointed a gun at a cow to force him to have sexual relations with his boss, after making him eat a family member.

When questioned, the victim only said “Moo” as he was clearly very emotional.

This goes a lot further than the news suggests. It’s a beautiful story. They are making a movie about it as we speak. It’s called Animal Farm 2: The Udder Side of the Story.

Just beautiful.

Beef with Gay Beef

So last night I went out for dinner. Nice time. Pizza. Wine. Intelligent conversation. The type of thing I like – I’m sophisticated like that. Then I threw up in the bushes on my way to the car, but that’s not for here. But enough dilly dally.

I got home and decided to watch one of the famous Louis Theroux documentaries. This particular episode of the series was all about what’s known as the most hated family in America – the Phelps family. They despise gay people. A lot. They make George Bush look liberal. They make George Bush look like he’d enjoy an evening of gay porn and chocolate truffles with Elton John and his man-wife-husband guy.

Now the Phelps family are 70-strong and very religious. They have their own church. But they don’t preach about Moses, no touching stories about blind people seeing again, and you definitely won’t hear about God saving the human race with his only laatie. You will only hear about God smiting all gay people where they stand. Actually, you’ll hear about God smiting anyone who lives in America, because they’re living in a nation that apparently embraces homosexuality (the fact that USA DOESN’T embrace homosexuality is a different topic altogether).

Words like ‘fag’ and phrases such as ‘you’re going to burn in hell’ were not uncommon in this documentary. In fact, it’s pretty much a summation of the family’s vocab. (And for future, I believe the preferred vernacular is homosexual.)

But here my little woodland friends, is the icing on the gay cake. For fun, these whack-job mofos go and protest (picket signs and all) at the funerals of US soldiers killed in battle, claiming that God has struck them down for fighting for a gay nation. Shameful. And it’s so not true. They were killed because they were stupid enough to sign up and get a gun but again, that’s not for here.

Now. This family obviously don’t know that according to the bible, incest is not allowed. They’re all pretty ugly-looking goffel folk already, but to make matters worse, they’ve interbred, making them all look like Hannibal Lector's leftovers. God has punished them for being twats. Punished them by making them goffels. (The fact that Olympian Michael Phelp’s looks like he does is just pure coincidence as he’s not part of the family.)

I’ve gone on long enough. Just watch the documentary and share in my disgust with these C words. And P words. And all profanities. Together. In one sentence. Christ almighty. (That was intended blasphemy. For the idiots.)

Noddy badge for Louis Theroux for exposing these inbred nanas to the rest of the world.

Inaugural Chateaubriand

Now I know I’m supposed to praise Barack for his ‘great’ speech last night at the inauguration. I’m supposed to give you reason’s why he’s going to be a great president. But that’s what society says I must do. Society can kiss my ass. Maybe give it a rub. Anyway…

To tell you the truth, I was very disappointed with the whole thing. Like a kid who expected an X-Box for Christmas and got a pair of socks. The singing – kak. The music – kak. The swearing in of Barack H (funny with all the mistakes though) - kak. But the poem? The poem was brilliant.

Brilliant in its kakness. What a load of dribble. A tablespoon of horse manure chucked into a bowl of alphabet soup and thrown on a piece of paper. Dribble. Elizabeth Alexander wowed the world with alphabet soup. Here, my little woodland friends, is a transcript of this great poem. Read it. Laugh. Cry. Do whatever it is that you do. Just don’t enjoy it. You’re better than that.,0,4217436.story

Can you believe that this celebration, the inauguration of the most powerful man in the world, was graced by that? I have no words. Barack’s inaugural address was also slightly disappointing. After his previous awesomeness, one would expect some Martin Luther King shit, but alas – it was just good. Not great. Good. And he didn’t say YES YOU CAN once. Disgraceful. (I have to give a noddy badge to the reverend though – that prayer was kickass.)

Good luck Barack. And good luck to Elizabeth Alexander for living with herself for the rest of her life. She will always be remembered as the woman who wrote the brilliant poem at Barack Obama’s inauguration.

Brilliant in its kakness.

My prayers go out to her and her family.

LOL Beef

The English language is a beautiful thing. In a quote only used before to describe Ron Burgundy, it makes Sinatra look like a hobo. Why must people us the lols and the lmaos and the wtf and dis and dat? When the English language has produced gems such as ‘elope’, butter, and ‘counterintuitive’?

In an ideal world:

“Oh how we laughed and laughed at your wonderous sense of humour. That is extremely entertaining.”


“O we lold fo yo funi jk. I lmaod fo dat.”

Then there’s the girls who use the baby speak which makes me want to hit them on the head with a piece of lead piping. Like professor plum.

“Fank u my fwend.”

Stupid. Go and buy bunny-licks you idiots. Let’s all take a second and say a prayer to whoever it is you do – because there’s nothing on earth that can save the English language.

Maybe Al Gore. But don’t hold yo bweth.

Portugese Beef, sauted in United

Here’s my beef. Medium to well done. Again, my beef is of the Cristiano Ronaldo variety, procured from Lisbon, Portugal. I have made no secret of my profound and disturbing hatred for this man. It has nothing to do with the fact that he is nearly the best footballer in the world (second only to Steven Gerrard). It also has nothing to do with my undying love for Liverpool Football Club. My beef is his arrogance.

Given, the man has scored some of the greatest goals this decade for which I give him a pat on his oily-ass back. But why oh why in the name of all things bright and beautiful does he have to be so arrogant about it? The way he stands and waits for praise makes me nauseas. Nay it makes me very nauseas. Nay the nausea can be described as fuckoff big. It’s like he thinks he’s the statue of David. Only with a smaller package.

Now the beef has been sent back to the kitchen for the reason that he wrote-off his 200 000 pound (money not weight) Ferrari while calmly driving back from the airport – he probably didn’t even blink one of his druggy eyes. Here’s a quote from a bystander: “Ronaldo was just standing at the side of the road looking forlorn and bewildered.”More like he was standing on the side of the road looking like he was pounded by a 7ft criminal who finds his moderately good looks attractive (even though he bears a scary resemblance to Happy Sindane). What pisses me off is that after his little haplessly drunk ‘accident’ – he’s just going to walk away and buy another without dipping into his piggy bank. Just disgraceful.

But I am happy that he has walked away unscathed. Shame. Poor little pansie has to get a new car. I think he should get a Dihatsu. It suits him. Arrogance in abundance. Good luck to him.