Muppets For Justice

Valentine's Day

2012-02-13T18:00:00.001Z

Valentine’s, the most sexual of holidays, is upon us. I can always tell because this time of year has an adverse effect on those of the feminine persuasion. For some reason that I haven’t quite fathomed yet, they become sexually aggressive around this time of year.

It’s not like I’m asking for this attention. I’m not exactly wearing buttless leather chaps and a t shirt that says “get it here”. If I were single I’d welcome the advances of young women, but as I’m not, I live in constant fear that my girlfriend might think that I am bringing this on myself.

For example, at the train station this morning I stopped for a coffee and a cookie (as part of a nutritious breakfast). As I went to the till to pay for my items, the young lady prodded at the cash register a few times, then smiled politely and said “Sorry I pressed the wrong button”, then proceeded to charge me less for my items, saving me £1 in total. This was totally unacceptable. Blatant flirting on this scale is an attack on me and my human rights. I have the right to purchase coffee and cookies with money, and not be expected to make up the shortfall in sexual favours, as she was obviously proposing. In retaliation, I overturned her little coffee stand and threw her cash register into the path of an oncoming train. That’ll teach her for sexually assaulting me!

Then, when I boarded the train, a lady came by and asked to see my ticket. When I handed over said ticket, she smiled broadly and told me to have a nice journey. A nice journey? What, with you? To the bathroom? Not a chance! I smashed the emergency glass and demanded to be let off this instant, before she raped me. Many people were angry that I caused the train to stop and delayed their working day, but what they fail to realise is that I was almost a victim of a violent crime. The train company told me that I couldn’t ride their service again, and tried to charge me £50 for improper use. I decided I’d fight this fine in court.

The symbol of fear!

After I walked all the way back into town, I went to my lawyer’s office to discuss my options. After steering clear of the women on reception (who were no doubt hornier than a rhino-skin pin cushion), I was horrified to learn that my lawyer also possessed ovaries. At any other time of year I wouldn’t have a problem with this, but she was obviously on the prowl by the way she pulled out a chair for me and patted the seat, inviting me into her lair. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and sat down, but my initial trust was soon shattered as she told me I had an “interesting case”. What is that, some kind of disgusting euphemism?

In my panic I accidentally threw a chair at the window and tried to escape through it. The lawyer was shouting for help; obviously calling for backup from the reception girls. Who knows what they would have done to me. I ran across the nearby fields and lived feral for the next two hours, until I heard a siren in the distance.

Hoping for assistance, I ran into the road and began waving my arms to flag down the passing police car. As it pulled over, a female police officer got out, tackled me to the ground and put me in handcuffs. If it wasn’t for her burly male colleague who picked me up and bundled me into the police car, I’d have been at her depraved mercy.

Thankfully, I got to spend the night in the cells away from molestation at the hands of these women. I met some nice people in prison. One chap called Carl kept cuddling me to comfort me after my ordeal. Then he had me bend over and he gave me an injection in my bum, which would ward off any potential lady rapists. He had to do it again and again for about 10 minutes before he managed to discharge the medicine from his thick, warm syringe. Still, at least it’s all over for another year.

The Big Freeze

2012-02-10T18:00:00.000Z

Shocking incidents have been occurring up and down the UK this week. Millions of people have reported white flecks of crystallised water falling from the clouds and blanketing the ground. This unprecedented phenomenon has caused slight disruption to transport system, and has caused many people to experience slippery underfoot conditions.

Whilst experts are speculating on the nature of this unusual incident, many religious groups are branding it “Devil’s Dandruff”. Due to the drop of temperature in the usually clement month of February, many leading science teachers believe that this white, solid rain may freeze and cause two killer scenarios known as “Ice” and “Frost”. People are advised not to emulate Torvil and Dean, as they may snap their spines during this unrepentant end of times.

Of course, this is all hyperbole. Without wanting to carp on the sensational nature of the media again, this is almost how the “Cold Snap” or “Big Freeze” is being reported this year.

What the pissflaps is that?

I’m sorry, but the “Big Freeze”? Why do we have to attribute a hysterical title to a naturally occurring weather front? Come April time, will the news be reporting on the “Big Grow”? Or perhaps the “Massive Melt” in August?

It’s just snow. Bloody snow that’ll melt and turn to murky slush in a couple of weeks. Sure, it’s a bit colder than usual (thanks climate change!), but nothing that a thick jumper won’t fix. Even your nan, who according to the media is at “special risk”, would just tell you to put on an extra layer and get on with it, you sopping great dickless wonder!

The shops at the weekend were swarming with people buying ludicrous amounts of bread and milk. Unless they intend to churn and mature the milk into a delicious cheese and host a cheese sandwich party for the entire town, I don’t see why people need so much bread and milk. Why not buy Pop Tarts? You can always drink tap water, or Irn Bru from the tap if you live in Scotland. If you’re going to go shopping crazy, why not buy that delicious, sugar-filled cereal you’ve had your eye on, safe in the knowledge that any weight gain will insulate you and stand you in good stead for the harsher weather? Why not buy a 200 strong pack of novelty curly straws, tape them together into a liquid assault course, and race your husband/wife/other half in the world’s nuttiest drinking contest? Why not buy a unicycle and a French stick for a riveting unicycle polo tournament? You might as well do something interesting if you get stuck in the house.

People in Europe and other snowy places think it’s hysterically funny how badly Britain copes with snow. As soon as the mercury hits -1, flights get cancelled and people flock to the shops for emergency supplies. Snow shovels go out of stock in seconds, forcing B&Q to go into meltdown (ironically for this time of year), all while people in Slavic regions enjoy a relaxing Jacuzzi in liquid nitrogen and go skinny dipping underneath frozen lakes.

Nothing could ever interrupt Rover's walkies

As a country that was once invaded by and bred with the Vikings, why can’t we handle a little frost under our bear belts every so often? Even if it causes our longboats to shrivel up a little bit, where’s the hardy spirit that had Norse warriors traverse the North Sea to find a land nearly as ravaged by ice as theirs was? I don’t really know where I’m going with this Viking theme, but I wanted to make a pun about my longboat, which has carried many a maiden to Valhalla and back. I suppose what I’m saying is, you’d expect us to be made of hardier stock.

Although the snow has yet to get anywhere near as bad as last year (or “Snowmageddon”), you’d be forgiven for thinking that the British public has never seen a single snowflake. I hope it snows more than ever, if only to whip the weather presenters up into such frenzy that they think the world is coming to end and start indulging themselves in their every waking perversion, live on air, before they die. And once the BBC, the last bastion of goodness in this shallow husk of a planet, falls to corruption and becomes a high budget version of Babestation, I can begin my eventual climb to world domination. Myessss, myesssss! Anyway, I must be off, I have plans to make. Robot armies don’t build themselves. Toodle pip!

Dogging Times

2012-02-06T14:58:00.000Z

Thank you for signing up to Dogging Times, the UK’s premier online newsletter for dogging hobbyists, amateur and professional alike. We are pleased to publish a bumper edition this week, full of handy hints, tips and editorials from industry veterans. Whether you’re new to the hobby, or a veritable connoisseur of all things dogging, I’m sure you’ll find something useful in this instalment.

What You Will Need:

• A Car – Anything with dropdown seats will be fine, but remember, space is comfort.

• A Wife – No one turns up to a dinner party without a bottle of wine!

• Contraception – Condoms, femidoms, morning after pills, bin bags, whatever you need. The details are at your discretion.

• Lube – Vaseline is the industry standard, but anything slippery will do. Fairy liquid will do if Vaseline is too expensive.

• Reading Materials – This isn’t compulsory, but it is considered polite. There will be times when people are waiting for their turn, and a range of magazines helps to pass the time.

Location Spotting:

As we all know, it can be difficult to find a secluded spot to engage in our pastime, and it can be especially embarrassing to climb naked into someone’s car, only for them to be parked in that lay by for legitimate reasons like engine failure.

Anyway, I’d recommend staying away from urban areas altogether. The general public just don’t seem to appreciate the beauty behind you rutting with a complete stranger in the back of a convertible BMW Z3, even if it is the deluxe model with oak panelling and chamois wipe clean seats. It’s a beautiful machine, it really is.

Next, try and stay away from farmland. A lot of the UK countryside is taken up by farms, so be doubly sure you’re not parking on an irate farmer’s land otherwise you’ll end up with a buttload of buckshot in your..well..butt. Farmers can’t see well in the dark, and the sounds of your intense lovemaking carrying across the valleys are easily mistaken for rabid livestock, forcing farmers to try and kill the offending animals before they infect the entire herd. Mrs Brown really does make some odd noises whilst in the throes of passion.

Otherwise, fields are generally good places to meet. Don’t go too close to the road or you might attract the attentions of a passing police car, or even worse, a breakdown truck. Being towed down the hard shoulder of the M1 whilst attempting an intense lovemaking position (the Backwards Howler Monkey, if you’re interested) can become really complicated, let me assure you.

The Doggers Code (Dos and Don’ts):

1. Good things come to those who wait. Be patient, don’t cut in line, and sit quietly in your car when you’re not participating.

2. Don’t play music. Not only will this attract the attention of outsiders and advertise our whereabouts, it can also be a real mood killer. I remember when I first started, there was a young lad who’d play the latest Kiss Garage ’98 or whatever dance bollocks was doing the rounds then. Trying to keep rhythm to 200+ BPM is something even a Gerbil would struggle to do.

3. If you’re going to watch, don’t talk, and don’t offer tips or advice. No one appreciates it.

4. If your windows have steamed up, you’re blocking the show! Turn the air con on, or crack open a window.

5. Don’t be jealous! Remember, sharing is caring.

Tales From The Dog Track:

One of the worst aspects of dogging is taking your car for an MOT. Unlike you, your car doesn’t recharge in between bouts of sexual gymnastics, so it can come as a surprise when you find out the effects your exploits have had on your vehicle.

Although dogging is generally considered to be an inexpensive hobby (at least, people in the street are always calling my wife “cheap”, which I assume is what they mean), you’d be shocked at the amount I’ve spent on our Ford Fiesta. Everything has had to be replaced at some point. The suspension needs a total overhaul on an annual basis. I can always tell when it’s time for an MOT as the car starts to scrape across speed bumps. This also wears out the underside of the chassis, and being able to see daylight through the floor isn’t considered to be particularly healthy, even if you can pop your feet through and run like you’re in The Flintstones.

Then there are the seats. I have to have new backseats put in every year, and the front one doesn’t tilt anymore, meaning that I can’t relax whilst receiving oral sex anymore. I’ll have to replace this at some point too.

Sometimes, if you get a lively Philly in the back, your car ends up with the most unexpected injuries. Miss Goss spent 20 minutes on the back seat, during which time she put a fist through my back window, and kicked off my handbrake, sending the vehicle into a ravine. It’s great when you find someone who expresses themselves sexually, but sometimes I think restraints should be allowed in dogging. Stirrups and chains in the boot of your car might give the wrong impression though.

Healthy Doggers:

Due to our pastime, decent healthcare can be quite difficult to come by. Those do-gooders in the NHS tend to frown at us when we try to get treatment for our dogmatic ailments, at the “expense of the taxpayer”. Doctors fail to recognise Athlete’s Testicles as a real condition. Private healthcare companies such as Bupa don’t tend to cover us either, because we’re a “liability”. They fail to recognise that when we get that feeling, we need sexual healing.

Either way, you’re going to need some good excuses to save yourself some blushes at the doctors. Here are some common problems and some good excuses to get you by:

Blue/Bruised Balls – “I was playing with a newton’s cradle when my trousers and pants slipped down”

Stretched Labia – “I was rushing to the loo when I got it trapped over a door handle”

Scratch/Bite/Fingernail Marks – “A colony of ferrets has taken up residence in my wardrobe. They attack me whenever I try to put on a shirt”

Gonorrhea – “I sat on a public toilet. You can catch it that way, right?”

Phew, wasn’t that all jam packed with exciting titbits? A little bit like my Ford Transit on a Saturday night! Hahaha! I hope you’ve found this informative, enlightening and ... informative. Next week’s instalment includes some ideas for nibbles and dips for your dogging party, and what to do when someone brings a chinchilla. Tally bye!

Brain Shits - Vol.1

2012-02-03T14:20:00.000Z

Sometimes I think that I over think things, and this is much to my own detriment when I'm writing. I find that I'll start with a joke that I'll write down, then I'll analyse it and think "will people get that?" Then I'll try and elaborate around it so that people understand where I'm coming from, try a couple of different combinations, experiment with a synonym or two, and totally reword it. Then I'll read it back and find a garbled mess where my joke should be.

That's why I decided to detox a little bit. Basically, I decided to just write and see what came out. Aside from the odd spelling correction and the addition of a couple of relevant images, this is an uneditted stream of consciousness I wrote in a short amount of time. I promised to upload it regardless of the outcome, so here it is:

Today I went to the sperm bank to try and make a withdrawal. I’ve been depositing there for many years, so much so that I’ve been told that my account is literally overflowing. As a long serving customer I expected a much better level of service. I did not expect to be told that I couldn’t take back my sperm, and was asked a number of probing questions like “what do you need it for?”

It’s a disgrace. I’ve never been asked that question at the regular bank, even for mortgages and loans. My branch is down a dark alley and the manager is Tony “The Shark” Tickett. Some people think he is an unscrupulous character, but I see his breaking of knee caps as a measure of his drive and determination. That’s the kind of guy I want to trust with my money, someone who gets the job done. I once saw him beat a guy until he was a pile of mush with shards of crunchy bone in it, like a peppercorn poo. But hey, that’s what happens when you don’t keep track of your finances.

Backstreet bankers are just getting younger these days

I had a friend whose finances ran away with him. Oh wait, no, he ran away with someone’s fiancé. That explains the problems he had when they went on honeymoon to the Cayman Islands and he tried to deposit her into his secret, offshore, illegal bank account that I’m not supposed to tell anyone about. He tried that with his last wife too. He’s wanted by Scotland Yard for trying to embezzle women. If he ever approaches you and offers to take your wife/girlfriend/mother/brother turned sister on a relaxing spa break offshore, my advice would be to decline. I’ve lost too many girlfriends that way.

So what is a tax haven? By definition, surely it’s like heaven for tax, meaning that there’s going to be a lot of tax involved. Or is it like a relaxing spa resort for investment bankers? Perhaps it’s a cruise ship for bureaucrats. We’ll never know unless we kill someone in the financial sector, then bring them back round at the last minute. For science!

The science community tend to frown upon my methodology. They prefer to do “tests”, whereas I like to just jump straight in and find out, like a grassroots scientist. My biology teacher failed me when I tried to find out what his brains taste like. I only wanted to find out why zombies find them so appealing, and if there’s anything we can do to the flavour to put them off. I only wanted to (brain)stem their appetites! Har har!

We can do a lot with genetics these days, so my proposal would be make a person’s brain taste like a tramps trousers. Perhaps thinking alters the flavour of your brain, so it tastes like the thing you think of most. If so, mine would taste of honey. Albeit, honey smothered on naked women, but honey all the same!

Sweet dreams are made of this

But then, what happens if you think about abstract concepts? I spent a whole afternoon thinking about time once. Did my brain taste like time?

That’s impossible. The human tongue is unable to taste time, that’s why I’m not enjoying a fictional medieval banquet right now. If we could, history books would become playgrounds of taste as we explore plague victims with our mouths. Dysentery in the 100 years war would be alive and well on your tastebuds. Religious sacrifice would dance on your tongue like a fiery pixie. I think further research needs to be done in this field. I’ve always wanted to know why fried dodo would be like.

I’m sure people will think that a real time machine would be easier to develop. Quitters!

Book Review - Sunday Supplement

2012-01-30T16:18:00.000Z

Greetings. I come to you today as I sit in my fine leather chair in the drawing room, puffing on a pipe in my smoking jacket and slippers, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the latest book for me to review. That’s right, I bet you never had me down as a literacy critic did you? I’ll have you know that I have given a professional critique of some of our most acclaimed classics, including Where’s Wally (‘a contemporary masterpiece of minimalist charm’) and The Very Hungry Caterpillar (‘a rip roaring ride in which a ravenous insect devours all in his path’).

Any moment now, I will hear the soft pat of my latest arrival hitting the hessian welcome mat, covered by The Sunday Times. I have been an avid reader of their Sunday supplement for many a moon now. I appreciate the numerous branches of narrative which stray into celebrity culture, a synopsis on the week’s television schedules, and how to avoid cankles. To collate this into one unique and intriguing package is utterly sublime, and I hope that this week’s instalment manages to wrap up the story arc involving Michael Parkinson’s life insurance.

Do you need a life first before you take out life insurance?

It’s here! After throwing away the actual newspaper (who wants to read about bikini models giving away free money in the local park?), I am greeted by a glossy article of wonder. They say the first mistake of being a book reviewer is to judge a book by its cover, but I reckon I’m in for a treat today!

The inside cover has a note from the editor, which is rather sweet. If only more authors took the time to acknowledge their fans. Then a contents table helpfully guides you through the meat and bones of the novel. I wish Lord Of The Rings had something like this so I could have skipped all those damn descriptions about travelling and gotten to the bit where that bald mental kid falls into a volcano (oops, spoiler alert).

On page 4 is a pull out supplement on Ian Beale’s relationships. For those not in the know, Ian Beale is a character on one of those gaudy, depressing prole-pits called soap operas. This is handy if you find Eastenders so confusing that you need a pictorial diagram in order to follow the current plot. Then, there’s a roundup of the latest reality TV, with many wonderful pictures of chiselled presenter, Phillip Schofield. His contributions to television are nothing short of fucking awful. Sorry no, what’s the word? Legendary.

Then there’s an article about love and relationships, where readers write in (oddly enough, in an identical style and form to each other) to discuss all the sexy sex they’ve been having. This is where things get a bit blue. Apparently, Clive in Berkshire is knocking off his girlfriend’s dog, but the dog doesn’t even know its happening! He wants to know whether he should buy the dog a valentine’s gift or not. Oh-ho Clive, you filthy beggar, you! After that, there’s a woman who has had a bad vajazzle, making her beef curtains taste like oxtail soup. The agony uncle reckons they should kill themselves, then each other.

On the next page, awww it’s a lovely picture of a porcelain dog! Apparently, the dog was engraved especially for Princess Diana’s birthday, and can be mine for nothing apart from 24 monthly payments of £17.99, plus postage, plus labour, plus tax, plus dog handling charges, plus sky plus subscription. Where’s the scissors? I need to cut this bad boy out right now!

I gotta have that bitch!

Right, now let’s get on with the rest of the review. Next we arrive at the fashion pages. No mention of those cankles promised from last week (which I why I won’t be awarding this week’s edition 5 stars), but there are some handy hints for dressing to your body shape. I tend to spend most of my time in a smoking jacket and thick gardening trousers, but apparently I should be wearing a slim, A line dress with horizontal stripes if I’m an apple shape. Court shoes are so out this season, so I’ll need to skin a cougar and make it into trendy boots. I’ll also need to grease my thighs with bacon juice for that “celebrity shimmer” when I’m going out with the girls. I wonder what my wife’s sisters, Marlene and Doris will think of my new look? I tell you, you don’t get useful advice like this from reading Dickens!

Then there are the TV listings. A brief synopsis of each programme is elegantly written giving you the facts, and leaving plenty to your imagination. My mind soars over the possibilities left to chance when I read that on Tuesday there’s a mysteriously intriguing programme named “Coppers”. What could it be about? Perhaps it’s about the fall of the Mayan empire. Maybe it is an insightful documentary on molecular physics. Who knows?

The back cover is another postal order for a commemorative plate for the Queen’s jubilee this year. I reckon that this week’s supplement is more than worthy of four star status, and I heartily recommend it to anyone who enjoys cutting out and sending off for things in the post. Now where did I put those bastard scissors?

I Want To Take You To A Fish Bar

2012-01-27T18:00:00.000Z

Millions of years ago a miracle of nature occurred. After swimming around first in primordial ooze, then puddles of sediment, then in oceans for millennia, fish spontaneously started to develop feet, and used them to conquer the land. This transformation was an unprecedented revolution which eventually led to the creation of humans, dancing, and flip flops. Now in a curious twist of fate, humans have started to flaunt our sophisticated feet in the faces of fishkind.

OM NOM NOM

You’ve probably noticed establishments (or temples) being erected in towns and cities specifically to allow fish to collectively worship our evolved appendages. Otherwise known as fish bars, these hallowed halls are designed to make us feel like gods. You pay your money, then perch on a seat and dangle your feet in a pool of hundreds of adoring, squirming minions, all jostling against each other for the chance to grovel at our toes. They then begin sucking on them gloriously as though by ingesting our dead foot skin, they might be able to obtain our power and grow their own.

I went into one of these bars about a year ago. They’ve opened one in my local town right underneath Tesco (yes, the Tesco in our town is large enough to have a range of shops underneath it. It blots out the sun and plays supermarket jingles across the entire town into the ever-present darkness) and Mrs Addman really wanted to try it.

There were some ground rules before you get to dip your toes:
1) No nail varnish as this can poison the fish.

2) No fake tan as the fish might become offended with your miscoloured, orangey skin and mistake you for a massive twat. It’s poisonous too.

3) Don’t kick, punch, bite, or grapple the fish. Although that one wasn’t a rule, I feel that it’s worth pointing out as some of the kids in there had an overwhelming urge to try and grab the fish and take them out the water, or kick their legs wildly.

Considering that you are essentially paying to have flesh ripped off of your feet, it’s surprisingly not painful. In fact it’s a slightly ticklish sensation, but that’s about it. They’ll get right between your toes if you let them. Some of the dumber ones end up latched onto your ankles and you have to shake them off when you take your feet out. Afterwards, we got a souvenir towel to remind us of our lovely 15 minutes with the fish (I’d have preferred an on ride photo) and were left with smoother soles for the rest of the day.

A fish bar for people who are scared of water

There are many annoying trends these days, but fish bars are difficult to condemn. The fish involved get fed regularly and customers get a pedicure. It’s a beautiful cycle, like the circle of life, or a perfectly spherical breast.

Animal rights activists might point out that these fish would rather be out in the open water sucking on a shark’s gills or something, but at least they are in gainful employment. A steady job keeps them off the streets, scraping for change or offering unsafe backstreet footjobs to fund their crack habits. The only hesitation I have is the welfare of the fish in the busier stores. Surely those fish that are eating flesh 400 times a day are in danger of becoming obese, and all the health complaints that can come from overeating. No doubt some careless hambeast will drop a glazed doughnut in there at some point, instantly giving the fish diabetes.

I decided to write about this phenomenon because I noticed that a rival fish bar is now opening up. In a comparatively small town like this, competing chains of this nature shows that they are successful and are opening up nationwide. Soon, you won’t take your date to a bar or a poorly lit cinema screening of a movie you don’t intend on watching. You’ll be booking her in for a romantic evening of having her legs chewed instead.

So in conclusion, I guess fish bars are a good thing? I’ll give them one thing; it cleared my genital warts up a treat.

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The talented Mr Flip over at Hill Blocks View has been kind enough to give me a guest blog spot. Nip over there if you fancy reading it, then read all of his other wonderful writings too. I guarentee at least 137% satisfaction.

http://hillblocksview.blogspot.com/

Skyrim Diaries

2012-01-23T18:00:00.001Z

3rd Felstead 4th Era:

My name is Ivor Bighorn. I am but a lowly farmer trying to scratch a living from the barren wastelands around Ivarstead in the province of Skyrim. I hold no illusions that my journals will be of great importance or interest for future generations, however, I was compelled to put quill to parchment after a number of unusual disturbances in our quaint mountain town.

Yesterday, a stranger arrived in town wearing nothing but a pair of dirty discoloured briefs. A dark elf, with extraordinary facial features, exaggerated beyond the usual limits of nature. He has huge bug eyes, a bulbous forehead, and a chin that could cut through troll fat. Despite his hideous physical appearance, most other townsfolk seem unfazed by him, and speak to him as an ordinary visitor. How I wish he’d put on a tunic.

Whilst tending to my cabbages, he approached me from behind without a word, and made movements suggestive of fornication. As I tried to politely move away, he responded by leaping onto my roof and carelessly casting flame spells near the thatch. Fortunately, this failed to ignite, and I was about to summon the guards before he leaped off and ran off into the sunset towards Bleakfalls Barrow. I quietly hope that he fails to return.

4th Felstead

The stranger appeared again today. One of the guards informed me that he was a Dragonborn, and had been summoned by the Greybeards. This essentially makes him the Chosen One, and he will be rewarded special dispensation as a result. I also found out his name; the curious moniker of “IM GAYLOL”. I can only hope that Mr GAYLOL’s behaviour improves in line with what we would expect from a Dragonborn.

Wish You Were Here...instead of me.

5th Felstead

Mr GAYLOL has returned from his training with the Greybeards and promptly proceeded to Shout at my chickens, making them crumble apart with the power of his magical voice. Quite why a person with the power to slay dragons would want to assault a flock of lowly chickens and destroy a simple farmer’s livelihood is beyond me. I called the guards, but they failed to catch him before he stole a horse from a nearby stable, and fled in the direction of Whiterun. If he appears again, I shall report him to the authorities without hesitation. My wife says I need to forget about it, but this injustice is playing on my mind constantly.

7th Felstead

I came across three dead guards stripped naked in the snow today. There were no witnesses, but I am convinced this is the heinous work of GAYLOL. Not only is he an abomination, but he is dangerous and a menace to our way of life. People are becoming frightened to leave their houses. The inn keeper said that GAYLOL was bartering with him over some imperial armour only a few days ago. No doubt he is slaying people and selling their cuirass’ for a few extra coin. I don’t understand why security cannot be stepped up in the face of this evil.

8th Felstead

That bastard! My wife and dog are both dead by his wretched hand!

I awoke in the middle of night to urinate. As I reached for the bedpan, I noticed someone had placed all of our food in there in some sort of disgraceful practical joke. This has spoiled our entire food supplies for the winter, which means that starvation is a distinct possibility. That’s when I heard a jug fall off the table in the main room. I grabbed my pitchfork and ventured forth, only to find GAYLOL squatting in our kitchen over the corpse of my beloved and newly eviscerated pooch. Upon being discovered, GAYLOL must have panicked and, in the ensuing scuffle, burned my poor wife to cinders with a fire spell before escaping into the night.

Me and Erin had been together for 38 years, and now this “Dragonborn” has ruined my livelihood, destroyed my dog, and brutally slaughtered my beautiful bride in one evening. I cannot cope. I don’t know how to come to terms with the loss.

Even his horse is evil

9th Felstead

The local community has been very supportive. The inn keeper has offered me free food and lodgings until I can get back on my feet. The blacksmith has provided me with a dagger, for protection in case the murderer reappears. The farm across the way sends it’s condolences, and has offered to replant some carrots for me come next spring. My wife’s body is currently being embalmed at Bleakfalls Barrow and is to be prepared for a funeral precession tomorrow afternoon.

No sightings of GAYLOL yet today, apart from the inn keeper heard someone walking around on his roof last night. I suspect this was him, escaping from the scene.

10th Felstead

Tragedy has struck again. As the undertakers carried my wife’s coffin through the village streets, that damned dark elf appeared again, leaping over the precession on a horse in an act of defiance. He then dismounted and used a Raise Undead spell to reanimate Erin’s corpse. Shortly after coming back to life, Erin went on a spree of unrepentant violence, sweeping aside her old acquaintances like mudcrabs in a mudslide.

It took a whole legion of the Emperor’s finest archers to finally bring her down. In the meantime, GAYLOL escaped yet again.

This is to be my last diary entry. I cannot cope with the twisted machinations of the Dragonborn, playing with me as though I am a character in a stage play. Tonight, I shall end it all by consuming my whole supply of Skooma. I only hope that whatever malicious being is responsible for the creation of GAYLOL is satisfied that it has bought an old man to take his own life.

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So remember, next time you’re in Skyrim, take a moment to think about how your actions affect those around you.

I Hate Facebook

2012-01-20T16:28:00.000Z

Although it’s been said many times, many ways; I hate Facebook.

It wasn’t always this way. A few years ago, Facebook was one of my favourite things on the Internet. There were fun times to be had with humorous status updates, catching up with old friends, and insulting people on various extreme right wing groups.

Back in 2009 I started using the Notes feature to automatically import posts from Muppets For Justice directly onto my Facebook profile. You just simply pointed it at your URL, and it created a Note everytime it detected a new post, then alerted all of your friends to it. This was a brilliant automatic feature. For a long time I had two small communities following the stuff I’d written, one on Blogger, and one on Facebook which my family and friends read.

Then, the evil Lord Zuckerberg noticed that Facebook had become an Internet sensation. Hundreds of millions of people were logging on every day to tell the world what they had for dinner, or to insult their boss after adding their boss as a friend, and this pleased Zuckerberg.

So ladies, what first attracted you to the fabulously wealthy Mark Zuckerberg?

Despite his billions from advertising revenue and millions of loyal minions, he still found himself worried by a new social network launched by Google, appropriately named Google+. This angered the Dark One. How dare someone try and emulate his success? It’s not like he’d ever taken elements from other people’s websites to try and improve his own. Facebook Chat is in no way like other IM programs such as MSN Messenger (or as it’s now known, Live. God, that makes me feel old). This new social network would have to die. Sitting in his crimson citadel of the damned, the Demon Prince Of Teh Internets began to formulate a plan.

Fast forward a month or two, and Facebook suddenly drops its support for importing posts from Blogger (a Google company). For someone like me, that meant my readership was instantly cut in half. By way of apology for this heinous crime, Facebook cheerfully announces “you can always link people to your Blog through status updates”.

Thanks a fucking bunch for this helpful fucking feature you fucking fuckity fuckers! I’m so pleased that a beautifully automated process has been replaced with one which requires me to manually pester my friends and family like an extreme version of Nathan Barley. As if people don't hate me enough!

So, there I go, laboriously posting a link each and every time I update (and yes, my problems are just as important as third world famine), when suddenly, Facebook informs me that I cannot post links to Muppets For Justice any longer, as it has been reported as "offensive".

What the titty-drippings is so offensive about my blog? This place is about as offensive as a Christian pamphlet. Or perhaps a Christian pamphlet folded in such a way that it looks like a phallus.

On another note, have you noticed that Facebook tends to display updates from people you don’t really like? According to my extensive research (i.e. a video that someone showed me), there is an algorithm which calculates how often you interact with certain people, and then shows you the status updates the people you are least interested in. It would seem that this is an effort to stop you from neglecting your least favourite friends. However, what this fails to realise is that there’s probably a strong case for not talking to those people very often. Perhaps it’s the annoying way in which they post every minute detail about their moronic children:

“shaneliza jus woke up an puked on herself!!! shes so clever!!!!1 i love mine princess foreva neva forget babydoll loves always!!!!!!!!!!11”

Or maybe it’s the moronic way in which women that end up in bad relationships end up posting things like this on a monthly basis:

“stupid fuckin men r all the same!!!! much better off single wiv my baby girl shaneliza huw i luv more than life itself!!!!!!”

I hope that one day these people will realise that, in a moment of self reflection, the only constant in their failed romances is themselves. The fact that Facebook tries to cram more of this junk onto my screen is one of the most annoying aspects.

Oh and in case you’re wondering, yes I will still be using Facebook, yes I do have a tendency towards hyperbole, and yes, the rages are becoming more frequent. Next time, a rant on how much I hate reaching for the remote control. I can feel a lie down in a darkened room coming on. And a wank.

Parkour Dreams

2012-01-16T18:00:00.000Z

For years I have done remedial office work at a company I detest. For too long I have been paid to stand in a corner and have elastic bands flicked at me (I was a Stress Relief Technician). I’ve finally done the thing that my wife said she’d leave me if I did; I’ve jacked in the job to pursue my dreams of becoming a parkour champion.

This won’t be easy. I am notoriously non-athletic and have always avoided physical activity in the past. But after seeing some cool free running videos on YouTube, I am determined to make this a successful endeavour. I reckon that it’s all a case of mind over matter, and my mind has been honed after hours spent staring at a blank wall at work, meditating on philosophical matters and holding entire Scrabble tournaments in my head (of which I always emerged victorious). To document my progress, I have decided to write an online journal of my experiences. Hopefully, this will chart the rise of my parkour superstardom, and serve as a tome of worship for other aspiring free runners.

I'll be doing this soon enough

1st Jan – There’s no time like the New Year to begin my journey! I decided the place to start was to look the part, so I’ve decided to update my wardrobe and get some loose fitting sports gear. I went down the shops, but forgot that they are all shut on New Year’s Day. There’s always tomorrow.

2nd Jan – Woke up at 3:35PM after staying up all night studying parkour videos. There wasn’t enough time to get to the shops and get my new gear together. Otherwise, Marlene moved out and took the kids with her, meaning that I have a lot of room to turn my house into a parkour dojo. I’ve overturned the dining room table and the cupboard, but this proved to be rather tiring so I decided to get an early night.

3rd Jan – Finally managed to visit the urban sports store. I purchased myself a pair of loose fitting vans, and a pair of black trousers with loads of chains on them. The weight of all that extra metal pulls the waistband down around my knees, making me walk like a piles sufferer with severe rickets. It’s only later when I got home that I found out I’d bought skater clothes, and they were not really suitable for parkour. I’ve resolved to use a pair of old trainers and a white t shirt instead.

5th Jan – I found out there is a parkour group at my local youth centre. I went along this evening, but it turns out that the group is full of 14 year old boys in trendy vests and hats. One of them called me a paedophile after a boy fell over and I offered to massage his leg until the feeling came back. I was so upset that I took my 50p back, and left swiftly.

7th Jan – Without a regular parkour group, training has been slow (i.e. nonexistent). It’s a bit of a pain getting into my kitchen now that an overturned cupboard is blocking access, and I haven’t eaten in two days. Luckily, I still have a regular supply of water from the hosepipe tap in the garden. I tried eating the red berries growing off my neighbour’s bushes, but now my insides are itchy. I’ll drink more outside water to try and resolve this.

It's great that these conjoined twins can take part in the sport

8th Jan – Met a lithe young lad in the local park named Jean Paul who told me he was a Parkour grand champion. Jean Paul offered to teach me his “mad skills” in exchange for £50. The first lesson was to swim out to the middle of a lake and stand on one leg for two whole hours. I didn’t make it because a duck pecked me in the ear and I almost drowned, but when I returned to shore I noticed that Jean Paul was missing. This is probably part of the test.

9th Jan – Marlene rang me to talk about custody. She says there’s no money in free running and that I’m wasting my time. Well, she hasn’t seen my “Will Parkour For Money” sign. It’s got glitter on it and everything. A guaranteed money spinner! Anyway, it turns out that she has a new partner already, a neighbour of ours in fact named Craig. Craig is an absolute brute of a man; the kind of guy who thinks TLC stands for "Tender Loving Cock". When my parkour training is complete, I intend to learn capoeria and kick his balls into his brain.

10th Jan - I locked myself out of the house today. I had left the bathroom window open near the drainpipe, but I decided against climbing up this. I reckon that by using my parkour skills too early, I might jeopardise my long term progress, so I called for a locksmith instead. On entry, I was surprised to find a burglar using my toilet.

12th Jan – Did a backflip off of a bollard and broke my spine in six places. Obviously, this minor setback will cause me to postpone my training for a little while. I’ll update you with any further progress I make.

Fate Of The World (Or How I Learned To Stop Vegetarianism And Love The Bomb)

2012-01-13T18:00:00.002Z

Let me preface this by saying, I try not to talk about video games that often here on Muppets For Justice. It’s not that I don’t like them (that’s far from the truth), but I thought that if I allowed myself to write about them, I’d end up with a very dull Blog about graphical quality or who is the best out of Sonic and the guy who deals the cards on Microsoft Hearts. Regardless, I simply have to flag up a fascinating game called Fate Of The World, and I'm not even being paid to do so.

Fate Of The World is not a traditional game in that you don’t shoot or stab anyone. I understand that some of you might feel slightly nauseous at this thought, but it is a beautiful simulation game with a simple interface, but a magnificently delicate model working behind the scenes. It’s a strategy game which puts you in control of a fictional organisation (The GEO) tasked with combating global warming and improving the lives of the planet’s ever expanding population. To do this, you select policy cards ranging from improving healthcare and education, to reforestation and stopping the use of coal or oil in a region. Then you advance five years and see what effects your policies have had.

The fate of this thing is in your hands

Sounds pretty easy right? Give people access to aspirin and plant a few trees, job done. Wrong. Every action in Fate Of The World has an equal and opposite reaction and if left unchecked, what seem like sensible policies for a greener Earth can cause mass genocide.

I thought I’d talk about my first experiences of the game to help you understand how disastrously bad events can turn. After a short tutorial mission which was disarmingly easy, I chose the first main mission which required me to reduce global oil consumption whilst keeping the HDI (Human Development Index, a figure which shows people’s quality of life based on wealth, life expectancy, health, etc.) above 0.7 across the board.

My strategy was clear in my mind. I would improve healthcare across the poorest regions such as North and South Africa, then move onto compulsory education in those regions. For the wealthier regions like Europe, North America and Japan, I’d concentrate on renewable energy, planting trees, and stopping deep water oil drilling. An eco warrior’s dream world, right? Being the liberal lefty that I am, I thought I’d be able to finally prove that the world could exist peacefully if everyone had access to health and education, and all power was generated by wind farms.

Play your cards right

Right from turn one I realised that North Africa was basically spoiling for a fight. Mass outbreaks of violent protests and rioting were cropping up all over the region, forcing me to spend a little too much money on providing security to the continent. The whole continent was turning into Fight Club, only someone must have forgotten the first two rules as news of this brawl spread faster than Katie Price's vaginal butter. I started by building a welfare office, whilst funding peacekeeping troops to try and keep dissent at bay. This escalated further when I found myself having to impose martial law to stop people from killing each other (one of my agents was even kidnapped and killed during this conflict). In a the space of about 15 years I’d personally transformed from a pacifist into a militaristic fascist, and found that I hadn’t even started my higher education program yet. This was disappointing, but inconsequential compared to what was happening elsewhere.

In order to fund my projects in other areas of the globe, I decided to raise a little extra cash in richer areas. I introduced a tobin tax in Europe and Japan (this is basically the Robin Hood tax which takes a cut of all financial transactions). I noticed in Europe that after five years, businesses were threatening to leave the region, so I removed the tax to try and avoid a similar situation to North Africa. However, I forgot to remove it from Japan. The very next turn, Japan removed all support for me and pulled out of the GEO. When a region does this, it takes a substantial chunk of your funding away, so I was starting to feel the financial pinch.

However, my main issues were cropping up in India. This is a perfect example of how a fantastic plan can go horrendously wrong in Fate Of The World. From early on I noticed that, due to the massive population (which was still growing at an alarming rate), farming and agriculture was under immense pressure to supply food to the region. To alleviate this issue, I flicked through my policy cards to find a suitable solution. It was then I came across the brilliant idea of encouraging vegetarianism. This would relieve pressures on farming as they won’t be required to keep expensive animals, and Indian people love a good vegetable curry, right? So, I played my Vegetarian Revolution card and waited for my utopian iron-deficient society to emerge.

The orangutans were learning to use tools?! Damn, they could have propped up the economy!

A couple of turns later, I was alerted to the fact that people weren’t pleased about the reduction in meat. I figured that they were just suffering the last of their meat sweats and that they’d soon settle down. How wrong I was. The situation escalated to a point where I couldn’t contain it with peacekeeping forces. Conflicts were arising, people were trading arms, bacon was being imported on the black market (presumably), and then someone dropped the N word. Nuclear bombs. That’s right, people were so upset by the lack of minced beef that they decided to annihilate themselves in a nuclear armageddon.

So, thanks to what I thought was probably the meekest and most peaceful policy I could have enforced, I bought the world to the brink of nuclear war. Nearly 600 million people were wiped out of existence in the space of 5 years, the HDI in India fell to 0.2 and worst of all, the world’s supply of naan bread was totally destroyed. I have failed the world.

If you’d like to watch the Earth crumble around you for fun, please visit developer Red Redemption’s website. The game along with all the DLC is £15, and I’d heartily recommend it for those of you who think they know what it takes to save the world.

http://fateoftheworld.net/

Your Pet Problems - Neutered

2012-01-09T18:00:00.000Z

Howdy folks. Do you find going to the vets expensive? Don’t enjoy sitting next to other people’s smelly dogs? That’s why I’ve decided to give out some pet advice right here, on the Internet. Sure I might not have any official training, or a fancy diploma, or even owned an animal before, but I’ve recently watched Frozen Planet and have tasted many varieties of animals in restaurants.
With this expertise, I decided I’d help some clueless pet owners and give them a bit of advice on how idiotic they are, in the hopes that I can stop them from killing their pets. Below are some hopeless individuals who should probably be reported to the RSPCA:

Gemma Driveway – Gas Pumper

Dear Addman,

My cat has developed the rather strange habit of licking metallic objects. I first noticed this when I got my step ladder out and left it set up while I went to fetch something. When I came back, the whole thing was covered in cat saliva, causing me to slip off the top step and dislocate both shoulders. I’ve also caught him writhing around in the cutlery drawer in a state of oral ecstasy. Is there anything I can do?

Dear Gemma,

Cats tend to develop a taste for metal when they don’t have enough iron in their diet. In your stupidity, I imagine you’ve failed to buy a suitable cat food brand with the appropriate nutrition. If your regular cat food doesn’t include the recommended levels of iron, I’d usually suggest putting iron filings in his food, and ball bearings in his water. However, a cat that is licking step ladders is beyond help at this point. I’d recommend putting him down, which is a shame because he’d have been perfectly fine were it not for your blatant negligence.

Alaister Pigeon – Chartered Heston Accountant

Dear Addman,

I have a budgie named Bob who I have owned for around 4 years. I’ve spoken softly to him for at least 2 hours every day, repeating choice phrases such as “Pretty boy”, “Fuck Da Police”, and “Oooh Alaister, you’re soooo big!”. So far, he’s never uttered a word. What can I do to get him to talk?

Dear Alaister

It’s quite clear that Bob doesn’t like you. He probably hates your guts, what with your poor lifestyle choices and that annoying way you catalogue your shirts. On that description, I hate you too. Bob seems to be a sharp judge of character if you ask me.

However, you asked for a solution, so here it is. You could try finding out what aspect of your flawed character really irks your budgie and changing that. Try wearing a different jumper when you approach him. Perhaps speak to him in a different accent. Wear some glasses, anything to disguise that pathetic sense of self. Failing that, I’d have Bob put down.

Barry Shogun – Curtain Twitcher

Dear Addman

I am sick to death of my neighbour’s cats climbing over the fence and digging around in my back yard. Not only are they burying their shit all over the place and ruining my tulips, they are also uncovering human remains that I’d rather keep hidden. I’ve tried using landmines and bear traps, but the little buggers are too crafty. What else can I do?

Dear Barry,

I heard somewhere that cats don’t like orange peel so spreading some of that around might work. Try planting an orange tree, or if you need a higher concentration of orangey goodness to obliterate those pesky moggies, hollow out 10,000 jaffa cakes and spread the innards all over your garden. If the jaffa lawn idea doesn’t work, I’d recommend capturing the cats and having them put down.

Stuart Pourer – Sumo Sweat Wiper

A few months ago I found an owl tangled up in the mesh fencing surrounding a local park. I cut it free with wire clippers, but the poor thing was too weak to fly, so I took it home. Slowly but surely, I have nursed that little owl back to strength on a mixture of warm milk and fresh mice. Over time, we have developed a strong bond and his strength has returned. He’s able to catch prey in the long run I’ve created in the garden, and I’m confident that he’d do great in the wild. Have you got any tips on releasing him back into his natural habitat?

Dear Stuart,

You fool! After spending so long around humans, this owl will have lost its hunting and survival skills. He simply won’t be able to make it on his own in the wild. You should have him put down immediately!

Nicole Papa – Lambrini Spokeswoman & Enthusiast

Dear Addman,

My ex boyfriend bought a snake for our daughter, Shaneliza for Christmas. He bought it off a guy in a pub, and it didn’t come with a hutch or perches or anything. I think it might be ill because its skin keeps coming off and it doesn’t have any legs. None of us know anything about snakes, so we need some tips on how to take care of it. The snake is about the length of two empty wine bottles and is a beigey orange colour. Help!

Dear Nicole,

Me and Indiana Jones share many things in common. We both carry an emergency whip, we’ve been chased by large boulders, and we have both been portrayed in a movie by Harrison Ford. More pertinently, we also share a deep fear of snakes.

Let me level with you Nicole; snakes should not be kept as pets. Seriously, look at that thing. In the same way that I dislike Stephen Hawking, I just don’t trust something that can’t walk but can still move around. It’s an abomination of God’s green Earth. I don’t usually say this to people, but I think you should have your pet put down.

Brian Herbie-White – Test Centre Tester

Dear Addman,

My dog keeps getting erections for no apparent reason. I tried patting its thing back down, but that just made things worse. It’s starting to get embarrassing, especially when I’m hosting a dinner party and my guests have to endure a horny dog staring them straight in the eye. How can I calm him down?

Dear Brian,

Let me ask you this. If you were sprouting spontaneous boners all the time, what would you do about it? Aside from having a lonely wank into a crisp packet whilst lubricating yourself with your own blubbery tears of failure, you’d probably want to go out and have sex. This is how your dog feels. I’d suggest finding yourself a bitch who owns a female dog. If that fails, go on the Internet and search for “Furries”. You might be able to hire out one of these people to help your dog find relief.

If none of these things work, then I’m afraid that your dog has a broken penis. Broken organs, sexual or otherwise, are never good news and it’ll only be a matter of time before this takes its toll on your pooch. The kindest thing would be to have it put down.

Alison Packard – Post It Note Maker

Dear Addman

I’m a busy woman who juggles a high powered business career and two children. In between my long working hours, my evening classes and taking my children to their various after school clubs and activities, we barely even have the time to eat. Now my kids have started badgering me to buy them a pet, but I don’t know what kind of animal to get. Are there any suitable animals for the family that has little time in the day to devote to caring for them?

Dear Alison
All animals require care and attention, and the sooner your bratty kids learn that, the better. Animals are miracles of nature, not consumer goods like an iPod or a battery powered sex aid. It sounds to me like you don’t have the resources to properly care for a pet. Frankly, if I ever hear of you or your family purchasing any animals, I’m sending the police round and reporting you for animal cruelty. If your children pester you about this again, I’d recommend having them put down.

Marissa Duracell – Civil Servant Slicer

Dear Addman,

My poor Gerbil recently passed away in a tragic incident involving a petrol fire, an articulated lorry, a flock of ravenous eagles, and a pickaxe. I miss her sooooo much! Is there any kind of witchcraft that can bring her back to life?

Dear Marissa,

Being dead is no type of life for an animal to lead. You’ll find that your Gerbil becomes despondent and unresponsive due to its recent death, which will put a real crimp on its lifestyle. The kindest thing to do in a situation like this is to have it put down.

Well, that’s all we have time for folks. I hope this has proved to be a useful guide in animal care and that you don’t kill your stupid pets anymore. In the immortal words of Porky Pig, “Th-th-th-thanks for readin’ my shit yo!”.

Dial 111 For Murder

2012-01-06T18:00:00.001Z

Now that Christmas is over for another year and we start to get back into the daily grind, it is easy to become nostalgic for the festivities we enjoyed less than two weeks ago. Everyone misses that wonderful time of year where you can wear novelty jumpers without ridicule, play board games with your family, and go out and murder random strangers with illegal firearms.

Oddly enough, Christmas 2011 has seen an inordinate amount of murderings. First, someone was stabbed on London’s busiest high street in broad daylight on Boxing Day, then a guy calling himself “Psycho Stapleton” killed a kid in Salford, then another loon shot up his girlfriend’s whole family, killing three of them. Then, just when you felt bloated from the massive murder buffet, a dead woman turns up on the Queen’s Sandringham estate on New Year’s Day. It’s a psychopath jamboree!

Murders aren’t exactly rare events, even in a country such as England where people would to queue just to get away from an armed gunman. However, it seems that the excesses of Christmas have cracked our usually polite demeanour, sending us out into the streets for a killing or two. What’s gotten into everyone lately? Have we become jealous that the worst atrocity last year was committed in fucking Norway of all places? Maybe our nutters have become disillusioned that no one has managed to top the heady heights of Raoul Moat’s 10 strong pile of cadavers recently. Maybe they are setting out an agenda for 2012.

The UK's latest craze, after murdering

Mind you, considering that amount of grown men I’ve seen riding around on scooters since Christmas, it’s not all that surprising that some people have taken to mass murder. Seriously, I saw a guy riding a double scooter the other day. It was basically two scooters joined together at one end in a V shape. A double scooter makes you a double twat, it’s a scientific fact. Violence is the only answer in a situation like this.

Still, if you find yourself being tackled to your kitchen floor by an armed assailant in a knitted reindeer jumper, you’ll need to think about which emergency number you need to ring. While blood trickles from your atrophied organs, slowly drowning you in your own vital fluids, take a moment and think to yourself “does this really warrant a 999 call?” If not, you might like to try 111, the new number for emergencies that aren’t quite that urgent.

That’s right, now you have to prioritise your own injuries. 999 is only for the most serious eventualities such as nuclear holocaust, outbreak of intergalactic war, or if someone throws a soft fruit at Prince Phillip. 111 is better if you have a nosebleed that won’t stop, or a bruise on your knee in the shape of Italy. Considering that we already have a general helpline for health issues called NHS Direct, it is becoming a bit too confusing as to which number is the best to use in a given situation. You’ll find yourself flailing at your phone with whatever limbs you have left, hoping to get through to the right place.

But more important than NHS Direct

Never mind. With the rate at which this murderous trend is growing, we’ll all be swept up in this craze by the end of the year. Going out killing is the new staying in! Forget your Pogs, football cards and foldable scooters, grab your nearest automatic weapon and meet me in the park. Last one standing gets to eat my liver!

A-Z Of Blogging

2012-01-03T18:00:00.000Z

In the immortal words of the French philosopher Descartes; "sup peeps". How's it hanging? I hope you've participated in causing a massive downward spiral in the turkey population and that you're ready to go back to school/work/daytime television.

Before Christmas, I came across another blog which I found rather interesting. It is called the A-Z Of Blogging, and it challenges bloggers to write a post a day for an entire month (excluding Sundays). Every day should be inspired by the next letter of the alphabet, meaning that you'll have 26 posts for all 26 letters by the end of the month. The challenge starts in April, so you have plenty of time to prepare.

I've decided to give it a go this year. It sounds very simple, yet also very time consuming. That's why I don't want to do it alone. In an effort to get you all to write some interesting stuff for me to read, I encourage you to give it a try. We can be Blog Buddies! I assure you that no one will point and laugh at us.

If you are interested, please visit their blog for more information. There's some sort of sign up thing at some point in January which you'll have to do, and I think they have a logo which you can put up on your Blog too. Who knows, you may come across some really interesting blogs, and you might bring in a lot of new readers for your own.

http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/

Automatic Christmas Message

2011-12-26T18:00:00.000Z

You shouldn't be reading this. If you are that means you're not out there in the snow, frolicking around with family and friends in festive jumpers, or interferring with a reindeer.

I'm not here. I wrote this message weeks ago and scheduled it to appear on Boxing Day, just to taunt you creeps. I hope this automatically generated Christmas platitude finds you well and that it warms your blackened heart. This is the most you're going to hear out of me until the New Year, so you'll have to make do with this short sentiment, and a jolly festive picture that I'm going to post below.

In all seriousness, I'd like to thank everyone who takes time out to read Muppets For Justice. Over the past six months I've seen a lot of growth in terms of traffic, and many of you have left some positive, often hilarious comments, which is always appreciated. I started Muppets For Justice back in 2007 and it's always served as a scribblepad for the last remnants of my sanity to scratch out a semi coherent form. It's only this year that I've started to take it more seriously with a regular update schedule, and the efforts seem to have paid off somewhat.

Thanks again. Now enjoy the wonderous glory of Leathersanta:

2012 Predictions

2011-12-23T18:00:00.000Z

What a busy year this has been. 2011 has been so stuffed with fun-packed memories that I can’t even remember everything that happened. What with all the Middle Eastern civil wars, dictator toppling, newspaper closing and rioting, I’d forgotten that I won a tenner on a scratchcard back in April! I really ought to cash that in, oh wait, it’s expired. Damn you, distracting news!
Anyway, rather than do a retrospective piece which will have been done to death by now (by the way, I wrote a retrospective article on other people’s “Best Of 2011” articles, but it was so overwhelmingly metaphysical that it caused test audiences to cry blood), I thought I’d make a few predictions for the coming year instead. Here they are, in a lazy list format:

The Middle East Will Stop Rioting

2011 was such a tiring year for the Middle East, so it’s time for them to put their feet up for a while. With most fascist dictators either overthrown or in exile, citizens will start swapping their AK-47s for a cup of camomile tea instead. Images of people shooting into the air as though they have a vendetta against the Sky People, will eventually come to a close.

Hope you don't mind charred gifts this year

Europe Will Start Rioting

Westerners are starting to get agitated that they can no longer afford their designer iPhone cases, with many people taking to the streets to protest against capitalism, banks, money, and anything to do with finance. By 2012, the protestors will be demanding that all currency symbols are censored (meaning that we’ll no longer be able to censor swear words with £$%$£ anymore), and that money is replaced altogether with a convoluted sexual favours system. Stock exchanges will be transformed into perpetual, writhing orgies, and Abba’s hit “Money Money Money” will be conveniently erased from history.

Gary Barlow Will Be Assassinated

Since Gary’s appointment to X Factor judge, gossip pages can’t get enough of his manbaby features and unkempt stubble. The headlines are all the same: “Gary Barlow Insults Hopeful”, “Gary Barlow On All Night Bender”, “Gary Barlow Can’t Achieve Orgasm Unless Suspended In Gelatine”. It’s enough to drive a perfectly sane person crazy!

As is always the case, when someone becomes inconceivably popular, someone will try to kill them. Just look at John Lennon and John F Kennedy. If we take this recurring theme as fact, and if Mr Barlow changes his name to John, his fate will be sealed! That’s why they never managed to bump off Hitler.

Next year, he'll be on Ex Factor! Ahahaha!

Someone Will Die

I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I reckon that at some point during 2012, someone, somewhere, will die. I can’t be any more specific in terms of name, date, or location, but I have a terrible feeling that it will happen.

The Mayan Prophecy Won’t Happen

I know it’s outlandish to suggest such a thing, but perhaps the world won’t end this year. I mean, just because some ancient dudes couldn’t be bothered to create calendar dates further than 10,000 years in advance doesn’t mean we’re all doomed. It’s like you trying to mark Auntie Maggie’s birthday on a calendar for May the 22nd in the year 8042. Just remember you’ve got a dentist appointment on the 23rd.

Rupert Murdoch’s Son Will Be Exorcised

That says exorcised, not executed. We’re not savages, for Christ’s sake! No, we’re only going to tie James Murdoch to a stake, throw tainted water at his face, sear his flesh with hot branded crucifix symbols, and chant religious nonsense until the demons are driven from his mortal coil. Then if he confesses to witchcraft, we’ll burn him. Actually no, this is the 21st century. We’ll microwave him instead.

The power of Anthony Hopkins compels you!

Saif Gaddafi Will Get A Reality Show

The funniest moment of 2011 is when the Libyan rebels claimed to have captured Colonel Gaddafi’s favourite son, Saif, only for him to turn up the next day and start shaking hands with people. Either the rebels accidentally captured Penfold from Danger Mouse instead, or Saif is the world’s greatest escapologist. It’s just a shame he got captured again a few weeks ago.
In a repeat of this extraordinary feat, I expect Saif to appear on television in his own Osbournes-style show, to show the world how free he is again.

Clegg And Cameron Will Fuse Into One Entity

After almost two years of coalition government, I find Nick Clegg and David Cameron hard to differentiate. Perhaps it’s because they both look like misshapen waxworks of themselves, or the fact that the unintelligible garbage they both spew is nearly identical. Either way, a gap in the Science And Research budget will reveal a plot to combine the two politicians into the unique policy-making cacodemon known only as Cleggeron. Actually, that Mayan prediction isn’t looking so farfetched anymore...

And there you have it. If all of these don’t happen at some point during 2012, I’ll eat my hat! It doesn’t matter that my hat is made of cheese, it’s the gesture that counts.

Contact The Company 2: Christmas Edition

2011-12-19T18:00:00.000Z

In the run up to the Christmas season, I felt it was time to brush off my corporate annoyance of an alter ego, Alan Paige. Alan's had a busy Christmas period this year, trying to find suitable toys for his son Bradton. Unfortunately, most of those toys are either unsuitable or just plain rubbish, forcing Alan to send in a lot of complaints to companies. Here are the results:

First up, a complaint to Halfords about their children's bikes:

Dear Sir/Madam

I recently purchased one of your bicycles for my son Bradton, which I thought would be the perfect present for him on account of its wussy girliness (he’s not the most macho of boys). Although I originally purchased it as a Christmas present, due to his incessant whining I let him have it early. The glee on his face as his pasty, spaghetti arms tore into the wrapping paper was like watching a starving man tear into a packet of peanuts. He couldn’t wait to open the package and taste the salty goodness.

Alas, tragedy struck as Bradton found the bicycle to be precariously unbalanced. Due to his cripplingly crippled legs, he hasn’t been able to stay on the bike for more than a few seconds without hilariously cracking his head open in the rockery, or falling down a pot hole.

I don’t think you have taken the necessary design precautions to make sure that your product is compatible for disabled users. I thought I’d offer a few suggestions which would improve your bikes for the disabled community:

1) Give them four wheels rather than two for extra stability.

2) Rather than an exposed seat, you should put a chassis around it to encase and protect the rider. You should include a couple of doors too.

3) A passenger seat so that a supervisor can sit in the bike in case of emergencies.

4) Headlights so that the user can be seen in oncoming traffic.

5) A diesel engine, for faster commutes.

I hope you will take my design revisions into consideration in future.

Thanks

Alan Paige

Halfords sent back a rather bland reply. Presumably they decided that I wasn't genuine and that I wasn't worth bothering with. Not sure what gave them that idea:

Dear Mr Paige,
Thank you for your email.
Halfords welcome feedback from our customers and we will certainly ensure that your comments are passed onto the relevant department for their future consideration.

Thank you for taking the time to contact us and please be assured of our best attention.

Kind Regards,

Mrs E Valentine
Customer Service Advisor

Next, there was a weird looking shark toy at Toys R Us. Time for a complaint!

Dear People/Humanoids,

I am writing to inform you that your shark toys are completely inappropriate for youngsters. I purchased one as a Christmas present for my son, Bradton, as he has a fascination with the natural world. However, due to a regrettable shark attack when he was a toddler (Bradton was badly injured by a loan shark. I used him as a human shield during a disagreement about repayments), this triggered a rather negative reaction. Bradton went, as described by his doctor, “Batshit Insane”, flailing his arms and legs around like a squid in a hurricane. I was forced to punch him until he eventually calmed down.

What I would like to see is a redesign to these toys. If you can remove the sharp teeth and make them more rabbit shaped, I’m sure you’d have a brilliant shark toy on your hands that kids would love.

Yours forever n’ ever

Alan Paige

They respond awesomely:

Dear Mr Paige

Regrettably, the Air Swimmer Shark is supplied to us by an external company. As a result, we are unable to fulfill the design changes you requested. We can relay your message on to the manufacturers and recommend that they take further care with their products in the future.

At least you made it out alive.

Thank you for your correspondance.

Then I decided to bother a larger company. Lego seemed like an ideal candidate:

Dear Lego

With the darker months approaching, my wife Marlene has been pestering me to buy some presents for our youngest son, Bradton. Despite my protestations that he’d be happier if she stopped dressing him like a drunken farmer, she still thinks we should spend actual money on his happiness. Her suggestion was that I should purchase “a lego” for him.

After researching your products online, I’ve noticed that your bundles include many legos. I don’t think Bradton would enjoy a full set as he doesn’t have the necessary motor skills to build a fantastic medieval castle, or a rocket ship. Could you please give a quote for one lego? I’d like one that is 4x2 and is red in colour. Red is Bradton’s favourite, and I’m sure he’d enjoy the sensation of the smooth side on his tongue.

Thanks in advance

Alan Paige

Frankly, Lego's response was even more bizarre than my initial email:

Dear Alan,

Thanks for getting in touch with us regarding Bradton and a toy for him for the darker months. We can of course sell individual bricks, or alternatively by using Pick-a-Brick on our website, you can buy as many different LEGO elements as you would like.

The quote below is for a bright red, 2x4 DUPLO brick, as if Bradton is intending to lick our toys, we feel the larger the better in terms of brick size, to make sure he does not swallow it.

I've checked the prices for the piece you requested. The total amount is £ 2.84 including VAT and postage. For payment we accept Visa or Master credit cards.

Your order details will be stored in our database for the duration of 4 weeks. After this period of time, the details of your order will be deleted. Please ensure that you contact us before the end of that period so that you can place your order with us.

If you want to order these parts call one of our experts on 00800 5346 5555 (9am - 5pm Monday to Friday). You'll need to give them this reference number: 029772132A.

I also need to tell you that price and availability of these pieces can change.

Did you know that replacement parts can also be ordered and paid for directly through our Pick a Brick (PAB) service online? The price for elements might be lower and you can also order larger quantities. Please have a look at http://shop.lego.com/en-GB/Pick-A-Brick-ByTheme

The elements that we sell cannot be used for commercial purposes I'm afraid, so we ask that you do not use them for any sort of promotional campaign, marketing, PR or otherwise. We also ask that you do not associate LEGO elements with any other company's name or logo. For more details please see our "fairplay" policy on our website:

http://www.lego.com/eng/info/default.asp?page=fairplay

Thanks again for getting in touch and best of luck with Bradton and his style of clothing for the future.

Happy building!
Andy Gosling

LEGO Direct

Then I decided to email Monopoly with what I thought was an outlandish request:

Dear Monopoly Beings

I noticed that you sell a lot of special editions of your once popular board game, Monopoly. I’ve been looking at all of these, and I haven’t found one that I think my family would enjoy. Then, all of a sudden, an idea stuck me. What if the makers of Monopoly would make a personalised version just for us?

What I’m asking is, would you make a version of Monopoly based on my house? It’d be called “Paigey’s Palace” and would include such unforgettable destinations such as “Kitchen” and “The Downstairs Toilet”. The most expensive place would be my wife’s wardrobe. Ha ha ha! Train stations could be replaced with doors (front, back, cellar and attic), and utilities would be “Fridge” and “TV”. Community Chest cards could be replaced by “Do The Pissing Dishes” cards.

Please let me know how much I owe you for the trouble, and if it can be delivered before Christmas.

Yours Expectantly

Alan Paige.

As it turns out, this wasn't such a ridiculous thing to suggest:

Thank you for your email.

Our personalised Monopoly is known as My Monopoly, please visit our website mymonopoly.com for further details.

Unfortunately the deadline for guaranteed pre Christmas delivery was 21/11/2011 at Noon.

Boards cost £79.99 which includes shipment to a UK shipping address.

Please see our terms and conditions, listed on the website for guidlines on what is permissable to print and the options you are able to customise.

May we thank you for contacting Hasbro and if we can be of any further assistance, either now or in the future, please do not hesitate to contact us again.

Kind Regards,

Katharine

Hasbro UK Ltd

This has got me thinking about what other versions of Monopoly could be bought to life thanks to My monopoly. Does anyone have any ideas for new Monopoly versions?

I think the overall winner has to be a tie between Lego and Toys R Us. Their responses were wonderful, and will keep me warm throughout the winter. Everyone, I implore you to shop at Toys R Us and buy Lego in the future. Their profits deserve to skyrocket as a result of this.

Christmas Number 1: Soldier WAGs

2011-12-16T18:00:00.000Z

After years of Simon Cowell’s X Factor minions dominating the music charts around the festive season, 2011 finally looks like the year that will break the mould (excluding 2009 when people went out and bought Rage Against The Machine in protest).

But who is likely to cause this buck in trend? Is it going to be another rebellious song in the form of Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit? Perhaps Matt Berry’s crowd sourced charity single? Or maybe grannies nationwide are flocking to buy Cliff Richard’s song? In fact, does he even have a song this year? Stupid question, he has one every year.

The huanting face of Christmas present

The answer to all of these is “No”, followed by “You stupid titbox”, and a slap to the back of the head. The correct answer of course, is a choir made up of soldier WAGs.

Otherwise known as “The Military Wives Choir”, these army-marrying ladies have released a single called “Wherever You Are” which contains lines from poems and letters to their Afghanistan-bound hubbies and men folk. Awww. What a lovely sentiment. Although, it strikes me that they could have just sent some letters and poems through the post instead. Topping the music charts doesn’t seem like the most cost effective way of communicating with a loved one in another country. Plus, it means that everyone else has to listen to their dreadful singing.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again, I don’t dislike charity. I actually work for one myself (admittedly for money), so it would be rather hypocritical of me to denounce charitable giving, especially during the festive season. But what happened to putting money in a donation box, or stealing someone’s credit card and pledging money to Comic Relief with it? Why is it that people only put their hand in their pocket for some contrived sentimental bullshit from a bunch of talentless people with a sob story? I believe a cut of the profits from this sickly sweet sentiment is to go towards the British Legion and institutions such as this.

If you love soldiers so much, why don't you marry them?!

Is the idea to make us feel sorry for these women? Naturally, soldiers do a difficult job and their other halves are going to miss them during Christmas. But the thing you have to remember is that these soldiers do the job VOLUNTARILY. They’ve not been conscripted; they’ve chosen to run around the desert shooting at people for Christmas. That’s fine, if that’s what they’re good at, then they can fill their boots, just don’t try and guilt trip me into buying music off the back of it. Frankly, I’d rather buy a hundred CDs of Little Mix’s single and pin them to a jumpsuit.

When the winner is finally announced, it’ll probably be Little Mix rather than the Military Wives Choir anyway, simply because of the viewing audiences. The Military Wives choir was formed by conductor for hire, Gareth Malone for the BBC reality show, The Choir. Despite its growing popularity, the show only pulled in around 3 million viewers as opposed to X Factor’s 10 million (the kind of figures that make you want to kill everyone, starting with yourself).

Whatever happens this Christmas, I implore you not to buy any music. The vast majority of it is downright atrocious or is a 20 year old grunge classic that you already own. In fact, boycott music altogether, including Christmas jingles. If you hear any jingle bells, rip them off of whatever reindeer they’ve been sewn onto, and eat them in protest. That’ll teach ‘em.

Great Expeditions - With "Rugged" Robbie Doyle

2011-12-12T18:00:00.000Z

Bong thang city dwellers. I’m “Rugged” Robbie Doyle, outdoors entrepreneur and wilderness survival guru. The other day, a pasty urban guy named “The AddingMan” approached me and asked me to push buttons on a shiny box so that I could share my experiences with people on an Intro Net. I think he was off his tits on some sort of city drugs, but he was very persuasive and offered me some items of value in exchange for my wisdom. He gave me two brass circles engraved with a woman’s face, and a necklace made of heron’s beaks. How could I say no?

Over the years I have overcome some of the most treacherous terrain, withering weather, cretinous critters and alluring alliteration. What’s the worst that’s ever happened to you, concrete sucker? Did your wheel fall off your trendy scooter one time? Poor little bastard!

You couldn’t comprehend the stuff I’ve endured. Have you ever caught gonhorrea from a beech tree? Didn’t think so! Have you ever been dateraped by an elk? Well I have, and it ain’t pretty! Actually, it was kind of pretty, which I think was a large part of the problem.

The main story I want to tell you though is the tale of how I got this fuck-off scar across my scrotum. It was a dark, gloomy night, and I was surviving like a hero as usual in the outback at a place called Thorny Bottom. You wouldn’t have heard of it being the white-bellied house-lover that you are, but suffice to say its one uncomfortable motherfucker. Bear Grylls once went there and turned up several days later without a shirt, half his head shaved, and all the money in his wallet replaced by pictures of a guy’s asshole.

This is what outdoors looks like

As I was creating a hut for the night out of the hundreds of woodland animal skeletons I’d collected throughout the day, I heard a terrifying roaring noise. This wasn’t any run of the mill electric brontosaurus, or a tiger/spider mutant hybrid. No, this was something worse. I decided to investigate and either tame or slay this beast, as any good humanitarian would.

Creeping through the piercing darkness (and this was the type of blackness that could actually pierce your flesh like a needle. That is, unless you toughen up your skin with a fresh application of buffalo sperm), I strode forward, listening intently as I tracked my prey through the soggy undergrowth.

Suddenly, I fell into a deep chasm. This was unusual as I have the area mapped out on my internal GPS, and a hole should not have been there. This hole was obviously freshly made, but what made it? I picked myself up out of the mud and began to feel my way around the walls of this pit.

Just then, a bolt of lightning illuminated the surroundings, setting fire to an overhanging tree and giving me a full view of the horror I was facing. This appeared to be a nest of some description, piled high with slimy, quivering egg sacks. They smelled suspiciously like egg sandwiches, and tasted like charcoal. ‘Whatever laid these deserves to die in the most horrific circumstances’ I thought to myself as I steadily shit my pants.

Pulling out my trusty rifle, I began to tip toe around the perimeter, trying to find an exit to this devil’s lair. Then I heard that roar again. The shit that I did earlier retreated from whence it came, and I wanted to follow it. It sounded closer than it was before. Much closer. I felt a draught of air on my neck, and my nostrils filled with the scent of rotting corpses. It must be behind me!

In a blind panic, I swung round and unloaded several rounds into the darkness, hoping to hit something. Each shell hit the dirt wall with a soft, disappointing thunk. Nothing there. I composed myself, then reloaded and started to resume my search for a way out.

A bolt of lightning revealed the creature before me. It was at least 10 foot tall, human shaped, but with a seagull’s wings on it’s back. It had 100 pairs of eyes, and 50 pairs of designer spectacles. It had 5 knees, but no nipples, and was completely covered in marzipan.

I tried to scream, but my scream must have been frightened of being eaten, as it failed to emerge. I instead opted for the usual approach of shitting my pants.

You may think that my reaction was cowardly, but I’ll have you know that, as an experienced woodsman, I’ve never come across anything so terrifying in all my years. After the time I gave a polar bear a prostate exam, there’s very little left on earth that can frighten me anymore. But this thing, it exuded pure undiluted death from it’s eyes. Something inside me told me that I would be lucky to survive this encounter.

That’s when it moved. Tilting itself towards me, it breathed out a purple cloud of toxic gas, rendering me unconscious in seconds. This was quite a relief, because I’d rather not be awake for whatever this demon has planned.

I awoke dazed and confused outside the gents toilets on Hampstead Heath. Judging by the star patterns, I reckon I lost at least 12 days. What the creature did with my unconscious form during this time would have been a mystery were it not for the scrapbook it made of our time together. Judging by the photos, it spent nearly a week and a half putting novelty hats on me and making me wear ballet skirts; the ultimate humiliation for a manly man like myself.

So let this be a lesson for all you townies. If you ever get a hankering to visit the great outdoors, remember what lurks out there. Until I capture the beast (I have a suspicion that it likes Hendersons Relish, so I’ve been smearing it on myself and shouting “Eat me, you bastard!” every night) it isn’t safe to venture out of your brick huts. You just sit tight eating your frozen, processed shit until your bellies get soft, and leave this to rugged people, like me.

The Friendly Faces Of Frustration

2011-12-09T18:00:00.000Z

First of all, I must apologise for not updating for over a week, over a week ago. After keeping such a tight schedule over the last few months, I understand that those of you with severe Aspergers will be upset by this break in routine. To them, I say sorry, and offer the excuse that I have recently started a new job.

Which leads me on nicely to today’s topic. As a result of my new employment I have started taking the train on a more frequent basis. When you board a train, a voice comes over the tannoy and starts to introduce you to all facets of the train and everyone in it.

train.jpg

“Good morning and welcome to this East Midlands train service. My name’s Richard, but you can call me Rick. I’ll be your train manager this morning. I’m here with your driver, Toby, and we are scheduled to arrive at our next station in approximately 15 minutes time. There’s a buffet car in coach C today for any light refreshments, and please be aware that there is a quiet zone in coach F, so please refrain from using mobile phones or making any unnecessary noise here. Please take some time to familiarise yourself with the safety posters on board and please retain all tickets as there may be a ticket barrier in operation when you leave the train. Make sure you keep your bags and belongings with you at all times and take care when stepping down from the train.”

Once Dickie Boy here has finished his little rant, it’s time to disembark. Then he’ll have repeat his speech for the benefit of any new passengers boarding the train. And thus the horrendous cycle of fake smiles continues.

This may be considered to be great customer service, but I don’t really give a flaked shit about who is driving this hunk of high speed container of human sardines, as long as they actually get us there without derailing into a ditch. By the time I’ve whizzed through every car reading every safety poster, nipped to the buffet car to have a look, then double, triple and quadruple checked I have my bags before paying a visit to the driver and train manager to introduce myself, have a cup of tea, and share a heart warming tale in which the driver rescues a dog from being hit by speeding train, I’m several hundred miles past my stop.

Many of the tannoy’s words simply fall on deaf ears, or at least, ears plugged with the sounds of thumping bass or whatever young ‘uns listen to these days. In this way, such long winded and polite train announcements seem pointless. They might as well reel off a long list of the passenger’s names and denounce them all as paedophiles, and still no one would pay any attention.

This sort of corporate chumminess is manifesting itself in more and more areas. Americanised customer service works very well in America, but here in Britain where your average citizen is a curmudgeonly sociopath with as much warmth as a meal at Little Chef, it doesn’t work. Many people seem to dislike this babyish pandering, especially when it feels as forced and artificial as it does here. Maybe it’s our accents that make us sound insincere and even outright sarcastic when trying to muster the energy for another platitude, yet Americans seem so breezy with it all that it is almost infectious.

Some people are just too demanding...

Branching out from this, every corporation is almost falling over itself to placate morons in exchange for money. Good customer rapport isn’t essentially new, but it is being rammed down our throats like never before. For example, I bought a bottle of milk from Farmfoods the other day. As the checkout lady scanned that milk, I noticed a message appear on the screen:

“Smile politely and ask the customer ‘Do you require any bags today?’”

It seems that even politeness is being scripted. But this is the way companies are working now.

A little while ago, I made an article called “Contact The Company” in which I emailed various businesses with outrageous demands, hoping to exploit this type of thing. Nearly every single one of them had an autoreply which basically acknowledges that they have received your email and that they’ll get back to you in due course. Thanks! It’s not as if I was expecting an instant reply from some poorly paid PR worker who has to trawl through endless dull emails about “your product made my cat sick”. I can understand that they have a lot of shit to wade through as though it’s a Parisian public restroom. The worst part about this automatically generated, faceless waste of inbox space was that it was just so damn nice! I wish they had the balls to reply back and say “Piss off and wait your turn”.

I suppose that whinging about how nice the world is puts things into perspective a little bit. If this is the worst my life has to offer, I’ll happy offer up more anaesthetised fury next time, probably about how much I hate getting static shocks off of escalators and lifts. Anyway, peace and chicken grease, y’all. Please enjoy this short informational film about trains:

Because We Need A Little Controversy

2011-12-05T18:00:00.000Z

Clarkson’s been at it again, so it seems. Fresh from jokes about lorry drivers killing prostitutes and going to Australia to slag off our then “unelected Scottish leader”, Clackers is no stranger to a little controversy.

During an appearance on BBC’s comfort blanket The One Show on Wednesday, he said that anyone who was on strike “should be shot, in front of their families”. Only, he didn’t actually say that. Well, he did, but not like that. He actually said that the strikes were great because he could get around much more easily, but then went on to say “because this is the BBC we need a balanced opinion” before making his other statement in jest.

5000 complaints later, along with political leaders sticking their noses in and union leaders calling for his dismissal, Clarkson has been forced to apologise for a joke which wasn’t that contentious in the first place. I hear more scathing remarks in day to day life. People are quick to call in the firing squad for the slightest inconvenience, such as an old lady walking too slowly round a supermarket, or a teenager with his iPod on too loud. When ordinary members of the public are prepared to discuss mass genocide for the unemployed and women drivers, it makes Jeremy Clarkson seem like a voice of reason.

As someone who read one of his books, I feel loathed to defend Clackers. The amount of times he mentioned his Aga, or how much nicer it was in first class on Virgin Atlantic than British Airways made me want to vomit blood, and someone else’s blood at that.

Clarkson: The Aga Saga

I suspect that roughly 4999 of those complaints were from people who read about the incident in the newspaper rather than people who actually saw the broadcast. I didn’t see the broadcast either as there are a thousand other things I’d rather do than watch The One Show. These things include plucking out each of my individual pubic hairs and trying to weave them into a string instrument, or perhaps, eating a live cat during a keynote speech for the RSPCA’s Christmas party.

At the risk of bringing up old news, this reminds me the whole Sachesgate thing a couple of years back. Does anyone remember what happened to Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand? Actually, Ross went on to get a lucrative TV deal with ITV, and Brand became a massive star in LA and married Katy Perry, so it turned out alright. But there was a whole fucking fortnight where they couldn’t work because everyone hated them for leaving a voicemail message. They attracted tens of thousands of complaints because the Daily Mail told people that they should be offended. Then they turned to the notoriously offensive comedian Frankie Boyle, leading one of the presenters of Newsnight to hilariously recite the line “I’m so old, my pussy is haunted”.

The fact is, if you go out of your way to find something offensive, you’ll find it everywhere. Perhaps you need to stop going out of your way to throw a strop over something which isn’t meant for you. Perhaps you should look at the context a little more before jumping to a conclusion. But most of all, perhaps you should get a sense of humour.

Movember Aftermath: Get A Shave, Dirty Boy

2011-12-02T18:00:00.000Z

So how was Movember for you? Have you enjoyed having pieces of your breakfast stuck in your filthy facial hair for days on end? Are you looking forward to spending a fortune on shaving products yet again?

I’d love to speculate further, but unfortunately for everyone I decided not to participate this year. This is mainly due to the fact that my own facial hair only grows in odd little clumps, which makes me look as if I’ve been genetically spliced with a sheet of aging Velcro. However, I also didn’t want people to look me in the eye and automatically associate my face with testicular cancer. Call me vain, but I never pictured myself as a hairy poster child for knob rot.
Regardless, I hope that those of you who chose to grow a funky moustache have managed to enlighten many other men into thinking about their balls. I’m not sure how many men weren’t already thinking about their balls, and out of those, how many of those men were not aware of testicular cancer. I’d imagine the number is very small, comprising of only an elderly hermit who has retreated to a monastery in Bulgaria, and a lobotomised Yorkshire Terrier named “Thicko McStupidson”.

The Selleck celebrates Movember all year round.

At the risk of seeming like an uncharitable sadsack, Movember has managed to get on my nerves this year. Although I agree with the cause and I understand that this type of cancer is a massive issue which kills many men due to their own embarrassment, I just don’t see how sideburns and a bitchin’ handlebar are going to eradicate this deadly disease. Some people were collecting for cancer research and other charities, and I can get on board with that. As it is, I've heard a lot of people say that they are "raising awareness". When I asked them if they were also raising money, I was met with a few blank stares.

I wonder if these men actually believe that they are fighting cancer simply by destroying the profit margins of Wilkinson Sword. Maybe it’s a badge of honour which shows how committed you are to killing tumours; the longer the beard, the more cancerous cells you have personally eradicated. At this rate, Brian Blessed may be drafted in to bellow loudly at chemo patients.

Interestingly enough, as I was researching Movember I found out that it coincides with International Men’s Day on the 19th of November. Why did no one mention this before? It’s like Father’s Day for those of us without kids! Next year, I’m writing a list of presents I want for International Man’s Day. I think that, in a similar way to how children send Christmas lists to Santa, men should send their lists to a central person who can make sure that everyone gets what they want. Who should that person be? It has to be someone who is admired universally by the male gender, but probably shouldn’t be a lingerie model as many men may stay up way past their bedtime in giddy anticipation. It should be a man who inspires and is a good role model for our gender. The only person I can think of is Santa, but his union informs me that he refuses to take on additional work. Who do you think would be best suited to the job?

An Urgent Appeal

2011-11-18T18:02:00.001Z

You may be used to this blog being a life-a-minute rollercoaster ride of orgasmic proportions, but I have a much more solemn topic to address today. I would like to bring to your attention the plight of one of the Earth's rarest and most beautiful creatures. Now I know you're thinking "But Addman, since when did you care about the environment? Aren't you solely responsible for melting a large chunk of the Northern Glaciers?" but I have turned a new corner, and I am offering refuge to a certain type of mistreated animal. I am of course referring to the Bobbing Bird.

Bobbing Birds have been living domesticated alongside us for many years now, but I was dismayed at the scandalous conditions in which many owners keep their pets. This type of mistreatment has gone on for much too long, and I plan to wrong this right (or right this wrong, I get confused with turns of phrase) by opening my very own Bobbing Bird Sanctuary. But in order to do that, we at Muppets For Justice need your donations.

Increasingly, these birds are being illegally sold into the rare trade market, to owners who merely want them as a status symbol. Bobbing Birds are a rare species, and as such, highly sought after in these materialistic times by collectors. We checked on eBay, and found thousands of birds for sale, which proves the staggering scale of this barbaric poaching operation.

This is Bobby. Bobby was found balanced precariously on a rickety bookshelf, bobbing away to ease the pain. He was forced to drink stale water from a stained cup continuously by his twisted owners. His feet were covered in dust and had obviously been left to his own devices for months by a callous carer. With your donations, we can raise the money we need to keep their drinking water fresh, and their glasses clean.

This is Mona and her daughter Lisa, mother and daughter, who were found crammed into a small drawer along with broken electronic goods and other waste. They'd been left there like some sort of disposable consumer good, or an unwanted birthday gift from a mad old Auntie who regularly wees herself. Mona and Lisa had been so used to not having enough room to bob their heads that they have virtually forgotten how to do so. With your help, we can pay our team of animal experts (with PHDs in Birdology and Bobistics) to give them the physiotherapy they need to bob their heads once again, like nature intended.

This is Darrell being reintroduced to fresh water once more. His previous owners left him on top of a toilet and treated him as though he were a toy! Darrell is well into our recovery program and is nearly ready to be put up for adoption. If you wish to adopt a Bobbing Bird such as Darrell, please leave your contact numbers as comments in this blog, and we'll send you a brochure of the work we do, along with the forms you need to help us save them from their torturous owners. Darrell needs the love and attention of someone who truly cares for him. Could you be that person?

As you can tell, this is obviously serious work that requires a lot of funding. Funding which we severely lack, and we can only do so much for these little miracles of nature on pure love alone. We need your donations. For only £10 per month, you will receive a care pack every month with information on our operation, a special note from your selected bird, and a pamphlet detailing what you can do to save the Bobbing Bird population.

Thank you, and remember, a bird bobs for life, not just for your entertainment.

Bad Guy Supplies

2011-11-14T18:00:00.000Z

Dear customer,

Thank you for your interest in our products. We at BadGuySupplies are proud to be the number 1 supplier for the Axis of Evil, and cartoon villains everywhere. Here is the product catalogue as you requested. As usual, being the evilly aligned company that we are, there is no returns policy for any faulty goods. We do not apologise for any inconvenience this may cause:

Chasm Of Crabs

Tired of throwing infiltrators into molten lava pits? Have shark tanks become too cliché? Then you need a Chasm Of Crabstm. Filled with only the briniest crustaceans for maximum discomfort, the Chasm Of Crabstm will give any villain’s originality a pinch on the arm. Discretion is assured with a realistic sliding trapdoor and soundproofed sea-battered rocks. Free fitting and delivery is included.

Price - $300,000 inc. VAT

Upgrade to a Bottomless Chasm Of Crabs - $350,000

Diarrhea Turret

For the greener, eco conscious dictator, the Diarrhea Turret is a delicate solution for both waste management and subduing intruders. Make your enemies brown with envy as you coat them with a tepid torrent of turd.

Price - $15,500 per unit.

SPECIAL OFFER: Buy 5 for free warranty on blockages!

Henchmen Segway

Now your grunts can arrive promptly and in style with these new Henchmen Segways! Painted an evil red with flame detail, these Segways have been customised with a sidearm holster, GPS tracking device, anti-lock brakes, air bag, and an unstable self-detonation system.

Price - $2,400.

Optional extras: Left wheel steering and sunroof.

Invisible Poison

Ideal for assassination attempts, our poison coating can be applied to any object or surface and doesn’t leave any smell, taste, or visible marks. Invisible Poison can be liberally applied to anything without detection. This product is also water resistant and cannot be washed off. This is an elegant solution to protect the door handles to your office, your lunch, or your poison bottle lids.

Price - $80 per gallon

N.B. Poison is resistant to both brush and pipette. Must be applied with hands. Does not wash off. Do not ingest. Antidote is not available. New hands may be required.

Hitler’s Brain + Accessories

We have successfully managed to acquire the genetic code for Hitler’s Brain, and have begun mass producing them by the bucketload! Each brain comes with a choice of animal to put it in, including honey badger, blind cave salamander, kingfisher, and many more! Pack also includes an assortment of limbs out of which you can construct your own Nazi Golem. True D.I.Y. evil!

Price $20,000

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Advertising space is available! If you have your own evil products that you would like us to advertise, please leave your item in the comments box provided below:

Alan Paige Vs Nigerian Millionaires

2011-11-11T18:00:00.000Z

Spam, spam, glorious spam. Nothing quite like it for exposing a sham. That's what I've been trying to do this week, when my inbox was suddenly flooded by a legion of Nigerian millionaires who were just giving away their money. Despite what we are constantly told by Comic Relief and those aid agencies, Africa must be the richest continent in the world, judging by these rich bastards who are sending me emails.

In the spirit of good faith, I decided to write back to some of them, under the guise of Alan Paige. Alan is a simple man who tries to scratch a living out of doing fuck all, so was naturally delighted to receive such emails. First on the agenda is Mr Mohamed Omar Ibrahim, a kind gentleman who tries to get a dead 90's R'n'B star to bless me from beyond the grave. Weird:

Dear Friend,

As-salaam aliekum.....

Please, kindly pardon me for any inconvenience this letter may cost you because I know it may come to you as a surprise as we have no previous correspondence. I got your contact as I was searching for an assistant in your country, and this is why I decided to appeal to you as a matter of urgency about a huge transfer of ($9,700,000.00) Nine Million Seven Hundred Thousand United State Dollar. But I want to first transfer $1,700.000.00 (One million seven hundred thousand USD) from this money into a safe account and after which we will transfer the remaining (8M) I have only written to seek for your indulgence and assistance. You will be providing a designated bank account of your choice. It is an unequivocal fact that we’ve not met nor communicated before but due to the true revelation that I should share this with you.

My name is Mr Mohamed Omar Ibrahim. Director of integrated finance of a bank here in West Africa Thus for your indulgence and assistance (morally and financially), i propose a 45% share of the total amount to you after the transfer has been successfully effected, I need your urgent response on assurance of trust that you will not deny me my share once the fund is credited to your personal bank account as I am a poor civil servant who depends solely on monthly salary, so kindly state your interest by replying immediately and i shall furnish you with details and procedures preceding the transfer.

ALLAH BLESS YOU
Mr Mohamed Omar Ibrahim

What a wonderful director of integrated finance you are. I could just kiss you:

Dear Mr Mo Molam

45% of $9,700,000.00? That stands to make me $9,699,999.99! I would be honoured, blessed, and aroused to receive such a bounty. I've already started spending the money in my mind. Here is what I intend to spend it on:

1. A jetski
2. Another jetski
3. A child's jetski
4. Two more jetskis strapped together with duct tape to make a 2 person jetski
5. A red jetski

I might also buy a crate of pencil toppers. Please furnish me with details of how I can fulfill my dream of starting a jetski school for the over 70's.

He responds:

Dear Friend,

May peace and mercy of almighty Allah be upon you

Thanks for your response to my appeal for your noble assistance, however i believe that you will make a good patina with me and i will like your maturity in keeping this transaction as top secret and confidential as I'm a staff in this bank and this is my 22 years of been in service with this bank I'm 51years now and a family man married with one wife and 2 children and i promise you that you will never regret knowing me as a Muslim brother and also a patina.

Nonetheless you have to provide different accounts after we transfer the first US$ 1.7million then the remaining Eight Million will be split in different accounts, so you don't have anything to be afraid of in this transaction because i have been working with this bank for many years I also have the full conviction that you will not betray or disappoint me once this money is transferred into your bank account. To be frank with you, this transaction is totally genuine and i am absolutely an honest and sincere person.

The name of the late bank customer is: Dr. F. Shah Young a physician and industrialist, He met his sudden death in wildfire disaster on 1st Oct. 2003 and I am the only person who has the full information of his abandoned account, so when I investigate about the cause of his death it was gathered that he died along with his wife and three(3)children, he left the sum of Nine Million Seven Hundred Thousand United States dollars ($9,700,000.00USD ) in his account in the Bank and did not name his beneficiary, since then the bank had been waiting to see if any body from abroad could come forward and put claims over his balance, as this is exactly Eight years he died, therefore I want us to be fast in communication so that this fund will be out from this bank within 7days we apply for the release. And I need the bellow information as soon as you get this mail so that I can start drafting an application to proceed.

1. Your Full Name
2. Your Full Address.
3. Occupation
4. Age & Sex
5. Your personal phone number for easy communication

After receiving your reply with the above information of yours then I will draft and send you a text which you will fill with your safe account details for the release of the fund.

ALLAH BLESS YOU
Mr. Mohamed Omar Ibrahim

Promising stuff. I don't understand all that banky wank, but the prospect is making me rather hot:

Dear Fiend,

I am glad to hear that the great god Aaliyah is upon me. I can feel Aaliyah's presence all over my shivering, naked torso. The mere thought is making me short of breath, and long of genitals.

I also believe we could make good patinas together. When all this is over, we should open a patina stall, selling hot, tasty patinas to the world.

As for the questions, here are the answers you require:

1. Alan Stalin Paige
2. 123 Madeupa Road, Vaguesville, Norway, YT59 000
3. Bed Tester
4. Never too old for it.
5. 0766001y8.ab

Hope this helps.

P.S. I don't have a bank account. Will this be a problem?

For some reason, he stopped responding. I guess the bank closed for the week. Strange stuff.

Next up, a rather long, yet suspicious email. I decided to call this person out on the grounds of being a fraud:

Dear Respectful,

Warm greetings to you and your family in good faith. I am aware that this is not a formal approach in starting a relationship, but as time goes on, you will realise the need for my approach. My email to you will come as as a surprise since i don't know you in person. But if this message comes to you out of your wish, i am very sorry. I hope that you will read through this email and understand how difficult things can be for someone in a particular period in life.

I introduce my self to you with all faith, trust and hope you will understand to assist me not to betray me at the end. My name is Ann Zaky i am 22years now, i was a student in the University of Abidjan, Cote d'Ivoire (Ivory Coast) I am the only daughter of late Chief STEVE ZAKY Some rebel from one part of the government struck our township and killed my parents and my only brother because my father was one of the oppositions to the former president of my country Cote D'Ivoire (Ivory Coast).

And before his death he has succeded in saving the sum of $37.5 Miilion U.S.D (thirty seven million five hundred thousand dollars.) left in a fixed suspense account with a bank here in Abidjan which i am the next of kin. My dad has planed to purchase and import some cocoa processing machines and the development of another factory, unfortunately he did not meet his target before his untimely death The reason why i contacted you for help is due to the agreement my late father had with the bank during the deposit.
I have been denied access to withdraw the money from the bank, the bank manager told me precisely that the money was deposited in a suspense fixed account with a clause attached to it for onward transfer into a foreign bank account. I have tryed all i could, but the bank manager advised me to look for a foreign account where the money can be transfered into before i can have access to it.

Since security here can not be guaranteed, besides i've lost my family and my father's company was burnt down in that rebel attack. Right now i am in great sufferings and difficulty, i can't feed myself because i have spent all the money i have. Please i am begging you to do me a favor by standing as my guardian and receiver of the money on my behalf, or you can stand as my late father's foreign business partner to enable the bank to transfer my late dad's money into your account.

I have suffered in so much pain since i lost my family. my uncle has been after my life because of this money but he did not know exactly where the money was deposited, so i have decided to go out of this country and invest in your country if you will accept to receive the transfer. I will be investing in industrial production as soon as the bank has made the transfer to you, and you make an arrangement for me to come over to your country after this money is transfered to you.

Please my dear, if you will help me realise this transfer and get me out of this pain, You will have 15% of the total money as compensation for your effort, and another 5% for any other expense you might made after a successful transfer by the bank into your account, and that will total your own share of the transfer 20%. Please i am begging you to help me by indicating your interest in your reply to this mail if willing.
Please permit me to ask, can you honestly help me as your own person and can i completely trust you? Please i kindly requesting for this vital information from you if you agreed to assist me out of my problem: (1) Your full name (2) Your Personal telephone number and fax.I will also want you to tell me more about yourself in your reply to my mail to you.

I will be expecting your urgent reply as soon as posible. Thanks and may God bless you have a nice day hope to hear from you soon.

Yours Sincerely
Miss Ann Zaky

Ha! An obvious rouse! Just how did I come to such a conclusion! Marvel at my powers of dedudction which make Sherlock Holmes look more like Inspector Gadget:

Dear Wacky Zaky,

I can see through your lies. This is an obvious scam and I am calling the police, the Royal Navy, and my nan to find out what I can do to stop you.

Are you wondering what gave you away? Well, your story is completely believable, and I had a similar problem a few years ago. My father tried to cross the road and his foot was run over by a smart car. The shock made him drop his wallet, which was promptly stolen by a seagull. There was no Christmas that year. Or any other year for that matter...in fact, it seems that a series of unlikely circumstances always fell around the festive season.

No, I realised because you said you were from the fictional country of Ivory Coast. Hahaha! A whole coast made out of ivory? Pull the other one, love!

Now we move onto the third one! Here's another millionaire who wishes to send me money, and pictures of herself! Here we go again:

Hello Dearest One,

How are you today, Please accept my sincere apologises if my email does not meet your business or personal ethics, I really like to have a good relationship with you, and I have a special reason why I decided to contact you because of the urgency of my situation here.

Please I write not only to introduce myself to you, but also tender a joint investment business proposal for your considerations and acceptance. I know that receipt of my communication shall be a great surprise to you considering the fact that we did not know each other or had any business negotiations before now, I am also aware of the fact that there is a lot of fraudulent business proposals circulating around the world, which makes it imperative for one to be extremely careful before accepting and venturing any business proposal from unfamiliar person like me.

I however, pray your respected self not to allow the above unnatural abnormalities to influence your decision to accept my genuine proposal and intentions which undoubtedly would be of immense mutual benefits to both of us. I pledge to you for urgent and dedicated attention which this issue deserves.

I deem it necessary to introduce myself in detail for you and the need for your assistance to claim and invest my inheritance for me, I am Miss. Ellen Thomas D. Voer Hanson, 26years old girl from Liberia, the only daughter of Late National Bank of Liberia Governor, Thomas Hanson who died on June 8, 2009 at the Delaware County Memorial Hospital inUpper Darby from a massive stroke. Meanwhile he had earlier undergone a kidney transplant in april 2009 at the university hospital of pennsylvania in philadelphia.

I am constrained to contact you because of the maltreatment I, am receiving from my step mother. She planned to take away all my late father's treasury and properties from me since the unexpected death of my beloved Father.

Meanwhile I wanted to escape to the Europe but they hide away my international passport and other valuable traveling documents. Luckily they did not discover where I kept my Father's File which contains important documents. So I decided to run to the refugee camp where I am presently seeking asylum under the United Nations High Commission for the Refugee here in Ouagadougou Republic of Burkina Faso. I wish to contact you personally for a long term business relationship and investment assistance in your country.

My father secretly deposited the sum of US$3,628, 000.00 in one of the prime bank with my name as the next of kin. However, I shall forward you with the necessary information of the deposit on confirmation of your acceptance to assist me for the transfer and investment of the fund in your country. As you will also help me in an investment, and I will like to complete my studies, as I was in the school in Monrovia-Liberia, before the death of my father.

It is my intention to compensate you with 15% of the total money for your services and the balance shall be my investment capital. This is the reason why I decided to contact you. Please all communications should be through this email address only for confidential purposes. As soon as I receive your positive response showing your interest I will put things into action immediately. In the light of the above, I shall appreciate an urgent message indicating your ability and willingness to handle this transaction sincerely.

I am staying at the female hostel. Awaiting your urgent and positive response. Please do keep this only to your self please I advice you not to disclose it to a third party till I come over, once the fund has been transferred into your account. I hope my explanation is very clear but if you need further clarification, then send in your questions.I will try to scan my picture to send in my next mail.

Thanks as I hope to receive from you soon.

Yours Sincerely
Miss Ellen Thomas D. Voer Hanson

I could never be rude to someone who was in Hanson! I must help at once!

Dear Miss Umm Bop Hanson,

I can identify with your dilemma. My step mother is always causing me grief, telling me that I need to get a proper job to support her daughter and our 7 kids. Apparently, selling moss door-to-door doesn't "put food on the table" (unless you are prepared to eat moss).

As a result, I want to help you in your hour of need. Not for any monetary reward, you understand, but to sock it mother-in-laws everywhere! Just tell me what you need to know, and I will help you.

Also, I'm looking forward to seeing your picture.

Thanks

This one doesn't like to mess around:

Hello Dearest One,

I am happy to hear that you want to help. I am happy that you understand my emergency situation.

Please do not think of me as rude, as what I am about to ask for is of most privacy. If you appreciate that this is unusual circumstance I am sure that we will benefit enormously from this in the end. Please send me the following details:

1. Name and address
2. Name of bank
3. Account number
4. Sort code
5. Telephone number

Once I have this information the transfer will take up to five banking days to complete. During this time I trust that you will be patient while the payment occurs. I will find it difficult to communicate with you over the next few days due to my situation.

Yours Sincerely
Miss Ellen Thomas D. Voer Hanson

No picture, and no way of talking to you once I hand over my details. In the words of Eric Cartman; you're busting my balls here...

Dear Ted Danson,

I have looked all over my bank statements for these details, but due to my crippling illiteracy, I am struggling to find this information. There's a four, followed by some shapes which could be anything, and some sort of hieroglyph of a man with a bird's face. He looks hungry. I apologise, but I'm going to need more instruction on how to get this information.

I could scan it in for you, but since you didn't send me a scan of your picture, I don't think that's very fair, do you? If you show me yours, I'll show you mine.

Yours Yoursingly,

Alan Paige

This is when Miss Ellen implodes, leaving only a rather impatient scam artist.

Dear Sir

I can not scan as no access is available at female shelter. Please send details as soon as possible as time is due to expire.

Miss Ellen Thomas D. Voer Hanson

I'm sorry folks, I tried to get you a picture, I really did. Time to wrap this one up:

Dear Tiny Dancer,

I do not think our transaction will be able to go ahead. I went down to the bank and shouted at the clerk, demanding "GIVE ME THE DETAILS FOR LIBERIAN MILLIONS!". I was thrown out of the bank, and my account is about to be closed due to my "unreasonable behaviour", and for trying to urinate into the ATM machine that same evening.

This means I am due to lose my life savings unless I transfer the money into a new account. Please send me your account number and sort code, and I'll deposit the money and let you keep 2% of the total £13.93.

Ta

Alan Paige