Thursday, September 29, 2011

Search engine weirdos

Some oddball with severe spelling issues somehow arrived here after chucking 'fuccing+lisbians' into Google.

Also, CUNT+PHOTO, bingo, you're in, helloooooooooo.

That, I feel, is a tad harsh.

No lesbians here, oh no sirree.


On top of not being in the best of health for the past six weeks, and not being able to take any time off (running your own business has plenty of upsides, the downside being, don't work, don't get paid) we have had the added bonus of poor Josh going through a rather unpleasant bout of night terrors.

Last night, he finally got off at 2.30 AM after a few screaming fits which woke us all, including Charlie. The third time Bean threatened him with bodily damage if he didn't belt up, which isn't much good, as although he's howling like a loon, he's actually asleep. I felt sorry for Charlie as he trudged up the road to get his bus this morning, he was down on his straps.

Poor little sod, Christ knows what goes on in his head, because I certainly struggle to figure it out. Putting aside the fatherly concern, I could have quite happily throttled him around 1 AM when he was in full on nonsensical rant mode.

At some point in the near future I really must ditch all of this gloominess and switch into Funtime Frankie mode. I've turned into a social hermit and barely touched a drop of grog in six weeks. People are talking.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Me, my shadow, & Chris Huhne being a fuckwomble

When you're a kid, your shadow is your chum, it grows, it shrinks, you jump about it. My shadow as an adult lives a damn sight closer.

It's about two and a half feet tall an makes an odd hissing noise. It has never left my side for the past six weeks. It reassures me with it's constant presence, yet I always resent it being there.

It's my oxygen cylinder, and it's changed my life. I resent it, because it means pain is near, but I adore it, because it makes the pain bugger off, like nothing ever has done before.

I am not a huge admirer of the odious little turds that choose to make politics their chosen way of life, and over the past few days, one in particular has stuck his head above the paprapet and demanded that we yell 'cunt' in order for him to duck down.

Chris cuntarsing, I've never broken the speed limit, nor shagged a lesbian Huhne.

On Sunday, anyone who didn't shop around for an energy deal was a lazy twat, and it was fucking spiffing that these companies were making oodles of cash because it was ace and everything. Try telling that to a pensioner who neither has access to the internet, nor wouldn't know what a fixed rate online deal was if it slapped them on the arse with a wet haddock.

By today, when oddly enough, he had to stand up and give a speech to all of his Libdem closet Tory mates, he had slightly changed his choon. He, big bad Chris, was going to get proper, proper roughty toughty with those nasty boys from the energy companies, and give then what for. Oh yes he was, and everything.

What a total, unmitigated cunt the man is. I'd wish shame on him, but he probably couldn't even spell it.