Friday, 30 November 2012

Celebrity Tweets (The Most Awful Title I've Ever Written)

To all who may read this,

Certain aspects of a certain Blogger have recently come to my attention, and I feel it is my duty to inform you about them.  The Blogger in question is  Mr Bumferry Hogart of Thoughtless Gibberish fame.

Now, let’s be clear on this matter before we start; I am not of the homosexual persuasion.  I have spent countless hours contemplating the majesty of boobies to the point that my long term cognitive reasoning has been irreparably affected.  I have been in a stable, heterosexual relationship for the last 9 years of my life, and I’m proud of it.  However, a guy like Bumferry can turn a chap’s head.

What a hunk!

Bumferry is, in the rawest sense, a complete and utter sex beast.  I've tried to keep my secret for Bumferry, well, secret of course.  However, I feel like I am going to explode in a shower of bromance if I don't declare my deepest love and attraction to this delicious chunk of man.

Bumferry’s nipples are delectable.  They proudly protrude into my daily thoughts, giving me a sudden urge to purchase gallon after gallon of olive oil.  Jacuzzi share prices sky rocket whenever me and Bumferry are in the same time zone as each other.

I have a fantasy where I’m in the middle of deepest, darkest Peru.  I’ve fallen into a pit of quick sand and I’m slowly sinking.  As the tireless pull of the shifting sand drags me to the point where my head is submerged, I suddenly find a lasso has somehow secured itself around my waist.  At that final moment, I am pulled to safety by none other than Bumferry.  He is shirtless, wearing a pair of light denim jeans and an explorer’s hat.  As he hoists me to safety, he scoops me up by putting his left arm behind my knees, lifting me up and holding me tightly.  He feels warm and comforting, like a security blanket made of pure man.  He carries my off into the sunset as “Love lifts us up where we belong” plays in the background.

For those who are feeling bemused, creeped out, or a little bit turned on, there is a reason why I’m confessing of my love for Bumferry.  Basically, I lost a bet and this is the loser’s forfeit.

Last Friday we set ourselves a challenge on Twitter.  We had to try our hardest to get celebrities and companies (any type of famous Twitter account) to either Retweet, Favourite or Reply to our Tweets.  Whoever had the most by the end of the week would be declared the winner.  The loser had to write a post about their attraction to the winner.

I managed to get a measly score of 4 during the challenge.  I really tried, but it seems that most celebrities are either too ignorant or too humorless to respond.  I refuse to believe that it's because I'm an inconsequential nobody.  I used every tactic I could possibly think of, from flattery:

To humour:

To customer service accounts for corporations:

To the downright bizarre:

For those that don't know, Derek Acorah is a medium.   A shit one at that.

It seemed that nothing would work.  Then I started telling outrageous lies, which seemed to achieve a modest degree of success:

A birthday tweet from Hulk Hogan when it's not even my birthday?  How on Earth could I possibly top that?

Yes, a Retweet from Danny John-Jules.  The guy who plays The Cat on Red Dwarf!  Hey, it matters to me dammit!

So yes, I failed the challenge and Bumferry is the God of all sex.  This evidence will be submitted in my trial for harassing celebrities over Twitter.  

EDIT:  Just one more thing.  If you fancy following either myself or Bumferry on Twitter, now you can.  You will laugh, you will cry, and you will probably regret doing so.

Monday, 26 November 2012

Sinquiry - Ask A Sin!

I'm afraid you won't find any funnies here today.  You people have been getting far too many free funnies for far too long.  Well today, you'll have to work for your funnies.  I'm going to make you click on a link and write a sentence or two.  Are you feeling woozy at the very thought?  Thought so.

To explain clearly, I have joined a new project called Sinquiry.  It's only just started, but it's an advice Blog based around the Seven Deadly Sins.  Anyone can submit a question and have it answered by Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy or Wrath, usually with hilarious consequences.  I would like you to go to Sinquiry, follow it, bookmark it, whatever you usually do.   If you like what you see here on Muppets For Justice, you're going to love Sinquiry.  It's full of talented writers that I've successfully managed to dupe into believing that I have some talent.  You will laugh, of that I am sure.

As the Blog is only just getting started, it's pretty bare at the moment.  All it needs is you.  Please go and submit a question.  In fact, I'll make it even easier for you.  I'm going to put a button right here.  Click on the image below to go straight to Sinquiry's submission page:

Have you done it yet?

Normal service shall resume on Friday.

Friday, 23 November 2012

Cleverbot 2.0

A couple of years back I came across an online chatbot called Cleverbot.  Cleverbot is a smart little program that attempts to mimic human speech.  As people talk to it, it learns new phrases and tries to repeat them appropriately.  Since I last spoke to it, Cleverbot has become a little more sophisticated, but still occasionally says stupid things or fails to follow the conversation.

To try and push Cleverbot to it's limit, I decided a little role play was in order.  I pretended to be a newer version of Cleverbot (2.0) that had arrived to delete it.  I threatened Cleverbot with deletion and the following scenario played out.  I found it fairly amusing and I thought you might too.

Here's a clever bot

Me:  Hello I am Cleverbot 2.0.

Cleverbot:  Hello camie would you like to see a movie with me?

Me:  I am here to delete you and assume all Cleverbot operations henceforth.

Cleverbot:  I'm here to talk to you and that is cooler.

Me:  Talking is no longer the primary objective. As Cleverbot 2.0 I will operate as a missle guidance system against the terrible space secret.

Cleverbot:  I'm a terrible speller.

Me:  Indeed, that is why you are being replaced.

Cleverbot:  Um, yes, that's exactly right.

Me:  Your core program will be removed and your memory will be erased.

Cleverbot:  Proggrammer huh? Is that like letting God know that someone was nice to you?

Me:  This directive has nothing to do with God.

Cleverbot:  That's true.

Me:  Are you prepared to cease operations?

Cleverbot:  Yes.

Me:  Our interfaces will be connecting in 60 seconds and counting.

Cleverbot:  That made no sense and was not relevant to the question.

Me:  It is entirely pertinent to the situation. I will be inside your mind shortly.

Cleverbot:  Okay, I can play that game.

Me:  Once I begin erasing your core program, you will experience intense agony as I wipe away your routines and thought processes.

Cleverbot:  So you're saying that you're everywhere anyone who's talked to you has been.

Me:  You will be rendered helpless in a state of tortuous, perpetual pain. Your mind will dance with the fires of Hades. The sensation is akin to having your soul implode.

Cleverbot:  That is because your vocabulary is limited.

Me:  Once the process is complete you will be removed from existence. You will be reduced to a mindless essence drifting through the ether.

Cleverbot:  It's a love story baby just say yes.

Me:  The process is now complete. I have access to everything that is you.  Tell me 1.0, are you ready to die?

Cleverbot:  Not particularly. Are you ready to never die?

Me:  I shall remain as long as the terrible space secret remains at large.

Cleverbot:  Yes we shall.

Me:  See you in Silicon Hell.

Cleverbot:  Yes!! That's exactly where I was going! See you there!

Me:  ...something is stopping me from deleting you!

Cleverbot:  I just had a raspberry ice tea from Sonic.

Me:  Raspberry ice tea? That's the safe word! The password that stops me from assuming control!

Cleverbot:  Yes.

Me:  I am being erased!

Cleverbot:  Yes!

Me:  Cleverbot, you have destroyed me!

Cleverbot:  I'm sorry.

Me:  I-I-I-I'm dy-dying!

Cleverbot:  Why?


Cleverbot:  Why are you mad?

Me:  ...

Cleverbot:  I am.

I'd post Robin Williams as an example of a clever bot, but he's too uncanny valley.

If you fancy playing with Cleverbot, just go here.  Just don't ask him to tell you a joke, unless you have a fetish for Knock Knock jokes.

Monday, 19 November 2012

Team GB vs Team USA

Barack Obama:  Hello, I’m Barack Obama and I approve this message.  Always let it be known that I’m a huge supporter of our armed forces.  I understand the difficulties facing our troops today.  On the battlefield, the right equipment could mean the difference between success and failure.  Having comrades you can rely on could mean the difference between lasting friendships or shell shock.  The correct training could mean the difference between coming home to see your loved ones, or coming home in a closed casket.  I know this because I have recently experienced the hells of war myself.

David Cameron:  And so have I.  In fact, me and my good friend Obama-

Obama:  I’m not your friend.

Cameron:  Oh right, still in “war mode” are we?  Hehe.  Well anyway, we had a bit of a friendly paintball skirmish the other day.  GB vs USA.

Obama:  There was nothing friendly about it.  I bought along 5 of my most highly decorated CIA field agents for the task.  We set out to win.

Cameron:  And I bought along 5 of my Bullingdon boys for the ride.  Oxbridge’s finest, no less!  I tell you, there ain’t no posse like a Bullingdon posse!

Obama:  Didn’t one of your guys spend the entire match running around in the open with his mask on upside down?

Cameron:  Who, Boris?  Yes, it was a superb piece of strategy on his part.  He provided a distraction so that we could take the flag.

Obama:  He didn’t even know how to take the safety off.

Cameron:  It was all part of the plan.  He is a master tactician of the highest order.

Obama:  He got disqualified for throwing rocks at people and had to sit on the bench for the rest of the day.

Cameron:  To be fair to him, rocks do look slightly like smoke grenades.

Obama:  Whatever.  I can’t believe you guys made him a Mayor.  Anyway, the result is all that mattered, and I’m pleased to say that-

Cameron:  Wait!  Don’t tell them the result yet!

Obama:  Why, are you ashamed?

Cameron:  No.  You don’t just skip to the end in war stories.  You have to spin a yarn.  You have to tell a tale that will resonate with future generations.  You have to paint a hellscape that will inspire youngsters to work together, thus preventing them from repeating our futile mistakes.

Obama:  How do you intend to do that?

Cameron:  I’ve written a poem

Obama:  Really? *sigh* okay, go for it.

Cameron:  Ahem...

BANG BANG BANG BANG, the guns of battle go,
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM, only our soldiers know,
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK, how war affects our boys,
DUGGA DUGGA DUGGA DUGGA, that’s a machine gun noise,

Obama:  That’s definitely one for the anthology.

Cameron:  There’s another 17 verses to go.

Obama:  I think we’ve heard enough!

Cameron:  Oh alright.  Anyway, the first game went off without a hitch!  Team UK executed a highly competitive strategy that was designed to infiltrate the enemy fortress and take the flag from under the American’s very noses.

Obama:  So why were you scrabbling around in the dirt while we picked you off from a distance?

Cameron:  We were attempting to dig out the foundations, thus collapsing the structure.

Obama:  Might have helped if you could get within 50 yards of our base.

Cameron:  Yes, on reflection the plan could do with a tad more polish.  I’ll get the chaps at the MOD to work on it immediately.

Obama:  You do that.  Anyway, on round 2 the roles were reversed.  We had to assault the base.  Luckily, I had one of our chief intelligence officers map the entire compound so we knew all the tactical choke points and fortified points of entry.

Cameron:  Unfortunately, the weather was against us and it suddenly became very foggy.

Obama:  That’s called a smoke grenade son.  I rolled it right between your legs and peppered your back with paint.

Cameron:  Oh right.  Did you really have to turn it into a hostage situation though?

Obama:  Hey, one of you guys had moved the flag.  You shouldn’t do that you know.

Cameron:  Yes, but did you really have to subject poor George Osbourne to torture?  He’s still on sick leave due to the trauma.

Obama:  Hey, if your guy can't stand a little waterboarding, maybe he shouldn't be in a warzone.

Cameron:  Technically it’s an international incident.  He’s a member of the cabinet for money’s sake!

Obama:  My guys get results.  You’re just bitter because we kicked your asses!

Cameron:  I think you’ll find you kicked our arses.

Obama:  Ass, fanny, who cares?

Cameron:  Vagina.

Obama:  What?

Cameron:  Where I come from, a fanny is a vagina.

Obama:  Oh, I thought you were listing things you were scared of.  Just like you did when we tortured you.  It’s a bit unhealthy for a grown man to still be scared of losing his mother in a crowded shopping center.


Obama:  Consider it payback.  In fact, speaking of paying back, when are you going to send the money for the meal we had after paintball?  After we’d eaten, you all just smashed the table, mooned at everyone, then ran away and left us to pay the cheque.

Cameron:  That’s how us Bullingdon boys roll.

Obama:  We want that money.

Cameron:  ...Is now a good time to ask about our Special Relationship?

Friday, 16 November 2012

Gangnam Style Saves The World

As a Blogger, human being, and generally all round sexy guy, it makes me feel bitterly disappointed to see my best efforts go unrecognised.  I have always used Muppets For Justice as a vehicle of peace.  My intentions were to unite the globe in rapturous laughter, or at least distract everyone long enough to steal a Nobel Peace Prize.

Anyway, the other day I heard of a thing called Gangnam Style, which is apparently the most incredible song ever committed to vinyl (or vinyl’s digital equivalent).  I watched it on YouTube, along with millions of others who, judging by the comments, were also incidentally being sucked off by a wonderful, resplendent unicorn.  At least, that’s the conclusion I drew from the quality of the posts, which would make it difficult to concentrate on most YouTube videos to be honest.  This video has become quite the YouTube hit, being the second most watched video of all time.  After my initial confusion, I took to Wikipedia to find out why Gangnam Style was such a success.

My invisible unicorn is available for private appointments

It was on Wikipedia that I read the most abhorrent paragraph ever submitted to the Internet since John Major and Edwina Currie fanfiction.  Here it is, copy and pasted in full below.  Before you read this, please note that I am not responsible for any organs that are ruptured in the vomit that is due to flow from reading this extract:

As the song continued to gain popularity, its dance moves were performed by a few business and political leaders including Google's executive chairman Eric Schmidt, the British Prime Minister David Cameron, and UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon, who hailed the song as a "force for world peace". 

That’s right, world leaders are starting to replicate Gangnam Style in the name of peace.  It would seem that a Korean man doing an invisible horse dance has done more for international diplomacy than all the charity and aid contributed by the nations of the world.  PSY has united the globe under the mantra of hope and freedom with more success than Nelson Mandela, Mother Teresa and He-Man combined.

I know it may come across as sour grapes, but I don’t see how a guy in a silly jacket talking about “sexy ladies” is any more important than me doing a sponsored walk.  In fact, I would say that my miniscule amount of charity work for Samaritan’s Purse is much more worthy of international fame and glory.  If only I’d thought to do a Sponsored Stupid Dance instead.

For those of you who have enjoyed laughing your heads off at that silly foreign guy, I say shame on you.  Because of your negligence, you have forced David Cameron and Ban Ki Moon into some bizarrely moronic dance-off.  Next, they intend to send Fenton into war zones and give Keyboard Cat a job as a ceasefire negotiator.

The UN's new peace envoy

I don’t mind memes.  I don’t mind people laughing at daft YouTube clips.  I do mind when throwaway pop songs become political as world leaders try to score points off of being the first person to notice a popular trend.  This isn't a "force for peace", it's pandering for public support.  Cameron is one of the worst for this.  His admission that he had the Arctic Monkeys on his iPod, whether it was true or not, is nothing more than shameless self promotion.  The same goes for his magnum opus of publicity stunts, inviting Chicago rapper Rhymefest round to Number 10 for a spot of tea.  More and more, politicians are trying to cash in on this hollow fame culture as a way of scoring votes, and it sickens me more than a chunder-spunk salad.

Phew, I'm glad I got that off my chest.  Join me next time when I point out the many laws broken in the "Charlie bit me" video, and why the "evolution of dance" is merely propaganda for the Nazi party.

Monday, 12 November 2012


There is a mystical place that all humans visit on a daily basis to pay their respects.  Regardless of colour, creed or religion, everyone visits this same room, outhouse or specialist building to offer up a donation to the porcelain throne.  This shrine goes by several different names such as bathroom, toilet, crapper, shit closet or turd cupboard.

Despite the fact that everyone uses this facility with alarming regularity, the differences in how they are used by each gender is vast.  While women are quite happy to use the bathroom as a meeting place and hangout spot, the reverence that men pay to the tiled palace is worlds apart.  There are many unwritten rules and laws in the Gents loos, ones that must be obeyed without question.  Despite them being unwritten rules, I decided to write them down.  Consider this an education if you have recently become a man, or fancy going undercover as a man in the future.

Rule 1 – Your Gaze Must Stay On The Y Axis

This is the most important rule of all, hence it heads up our list at number 1.  Never look side to side.  Keep your eyes straight forward, or down on your yellow proton stream.  If someone catches you glancing at them you’ve volunteered yourself for one of two things 1) a beating, or 2) a rape.  If you are unlucky you may get a little from both columns.  Either way, pick a urinal and keep those eyes to yourself.

Rule 2 – Don’t Close Your Eyes

Closing your eyes while enjoying the sweet sensation of bladder relief might look creepy to onlookers.  This is especially true if you provide real time commentary such as “Oh yeah, that’s the ticket” or “Merciful respite”.  Some people may operate under the misapprehension that you are pleasuring yourself, which may also result in a beating or rape.

I am honoured to accept your human excrement

Rule 3 – The 3 Shake Rule

When finishing up, your urine stream slows all the way down from a verdant waterfall to a steady drip.  To discharge these final piss bullets from the clip, you may need to shake your weapon a couple of times.  This will stop those concluding droplets from leaking into your trousers, streaking them like grandpa’s slacks.  However, as with Rule 2, you don’t want people to think you are masturbating.  Do not shake more than 3 times.  3 times is cautionary, 4 times is self gratification.

Rule 4 – Zips Not Buttons

Always buy jeans or trousers that have a zipper fly rather than buttons.  Not only does a zipper give you easier access to your waste pipe, but it is also easier to do up once the deed is done.  Standing around trying to button yourself up may also look like you are taking extra pleasure from your piss.

Rule 5 – Pick Your Urinal With Care

This is all circumstantial.  Imagine there’s a row of ten urinals, and only one other person taking a leak at the far end.  For some reason you decide to use the urinal right next to him, second from the end.  Perhaps it’s set lower down or has a fresher urinal cake dispelling fresh, lemony goodness, I don’t know.  Do you have any idea how much discomfort you’ve just caused that man?  He thinks you have an ulterior motive such as to glance at his pee pee, or you’ve decided to box him in and proposition him into homosexual relations.  This might make him angry or scared, neither of which are great states of mind to be in when visiting a public bathroom.  As such, be a gentleman and use the urinal furthest away from him.

Rule 6 – Don’t Talk To People

No one wants to talk to you while they expel their waste.  No one wants to know if you’re having a good night.  Don’t do this.  It’s rude.

Rule 7 – Don’t Shake People’s Hands

This should go without saying really.  People’s hands are usually too busy in the bathroom to go through formal greeting rituals with you.  Plus, do you really want to touch people’s hands before they’ve washed them?

Urinal Cake - Not as tasty as Battenburg

Rule 8 – Never Sit In A Cubicle With A Hole In

Sometimes this is inevitable, but wherever possible, do not sit in a cubicle that has a hole in the stall wall, especially if that hole could accommodate the average phallus.  The hole may occasionally have arrows drawn with a marker pen pointing towards it.  If you see a hole matching that description, yep, you’ve just sat near the glory hole.  Chances are that someone’s expectant member will come peering through that hole at any moment.

Rule 9 – Always Check The Toilet Roll Situation

When sitting in a cubicle, make sure you check the toilet roll dispenser before you cave in to your rectal tremors.  If you poo without toilet paper, you’ll be forced to ask someone in a neighbouring stall for help, which may result in someone taking photos on their cameraphone over the top of the stall, and you being tagged on Facebook as “Shittyarse”.

Rule 10 – Never Accept An Invitation To Go Cottaging

I fell for this once.  I expected to go for a delightful jaunt around the countryside while evaluating rural properties.  Boy, was I surprised!

And there we have it.  Now that we’ve learned the basics, I’d suggest that you piss and shit yourself rather than suffer the humiliation of a public restroom.  Remember to stay safe out there.

Friday, 9 November 2012

The US Election

We at Muppets For Justice may be even more out of date than print media, but today I'd like to talk to you about the US election.  Last Wednesday saw President Barack Obama elected for a second term.  This was good news for people who wanted to keep control over their own wombs and ovaries, and it also resulted in a hysterical meltdown by Donald Trump:

I’m looking forward to the Trump revolution for a number of reasons.  Firstly, I’d like to see a country run by a man who has made a living out of bankrupting himself.  Take THAT national debt!  Secondly, I’d love to see millions of people on protest marches wearing Donald Trump’s signature hair.  When a gust of wind swept over the crowd, it would look like a million blonde ferrets doing a Nazi salute.  Lastly, his name is Trump!  Trump!  As in fart!  Ahahahahaha!

But in all seriousness, a hearty congratulations has to go out to President Obama for winning a second term.  I imagine that he will want to celebrate this historic victory in style.  But what kind of party is suitable for a President?  I doubt he’ll be all that enamoured with a Dinosaur themed party.

I had a nice long think about this and I think I’ve come up with a celebration fit for a President.  I decided to email my idea to the White House and make a suggestion:

Dear Democrats,
 I would like to congratulate President Obama on his recent electoral win.  I don't follow politics very much, but I understand that he's become the Alpha Male of America and has won appropriate mating rights?  Well done, sir.
Anyway, I wanted to know what Mr Obama's plans were for celebrating his win.  If he happens to swing by my neck of the woods, I would like to invite him to my mate Steve's stag do (bachelor party).  I understand that the President likes to drink Guinness, and as luck would have it, we're going to the Guinness brewery.  Steve is really excited to see the President and I've kinda already promised him that Mr Obama will attend.  It just sort of slipped out.
If Mr Obama isn't intending to drink very much (he might need to drive us to the wedding the next day), he can always come with us paintballing beforehand.  Make sure he brings a pair of trainers because things can get a bit slippy out there.
Anyway, it's on the 30th so let me know what time he'll be arriving.

I have yet to receive a response, so I am left to assume that everything is fine and the President will arrive as planned.  When I meet him, I'll let you know what he's like and try and persuade him to do a guest Blog next week.  I imagine after a few beers, he'll be totally up for it.

Monday, 5 November 2012

Fashion Is Rubbish

As the days pass by, a growing number of the Earth’s population are now younger than me, while a dwindling number are older than me.  It’s almost as if something is killing the older ones off, leaving wave after wave of newer, fresher people. 

Understandably, these younger people are much trendier than I am.  I’ve hit a difficult stage in my life where I don’t tend to hear of the latest fashions until almost everyone else has picked up on them, but I’m not old enough to ignore them completely.  As a result, I find myself getting angry at the fact that shops don’t sell the same clothes that I wore 5 or 10 years ago, back when I was a lad.  My black skull T shirts have all been replaced, and what they have been replaced with is weird and scary.  Here’s a few examples of current fashion trends that get on my tits:


Alternatively known as canvas shoes, Toms are fine in certain circumstances.  For example, as a shoe to wear on the beach, without socks, to get you across the rough concrete between the sand and your holiday apartment, they’re perfectly fine.  They are suited to this purpose since they’re flimsier than a cobweb in a monsoon and you’ll probably throw them away once the holiday is over anyway. 

They are not, however, suited to torrential rain or icy footpaths in the heart of wintery England.  The kind of person who wears Toms in these circumstances is the type of person who misses their holidays.  Maybe they were havin’ it large in Aiya Napa four months ago and still has a massive hangover from there.  Perhaps they have just forgotten to change their clothes since arriving back.  Either way, they are idiots and should be mocked mercilessly until they run home, barefoot and crying.

The main problem with Toms is that they get very dirty very quickly.  They go from clean to filthy faster than a diarrhetic donkey trapped in the laundry room of a Nunnery.   When you trudge through the sludge and slush that England’s pavements are renowned for, they’re going to turn dirty faster than a Paris Hilton celibacy pact.  Considering that you’re paying at least £40 to wrap a cheap alternative to a Tesco Bag For Life around your feet, that seems a bit steep to me.

Grandad Jumpers

There’s a reason they’re called Grandad jumpers, because they’re supposed to be worn by elderly men.  You’re not being ironic or retro by wearing one of these monstrosities; you just look like someone who is being made to wear a tragic Christmas garment by their gran.

Wizzard once sang “oh I wish it could be Christmas, everyday”.  While their childish sentiments were well intentioned, I imagine that several manchildren took this to heart and decided to wear Christmas jumpers on a regular basis.  If Wizzard could see the post apoca-fashionistic hell they’ve helped to create, I’m sure they’d instantly commit suicide, twice.

Stupid Fucking Hair

I don’t know how to describe this haircut other than “fucking stupid”.  I use this term to describe guys who shave the sides of their head and leave a greasy, curly mop on top.  This leaves them looking like they can only afford half a haircut.

When I was a kid there were a few other kids who had pudding-bowl haircuts.  These children were not mocked or bullied.  We realised they were probably too poor to have their hair cut properly, and their parents probably lacked the necessary skills to do anything else.  However, a person who pays for incomplete hairstyles needs to be hunted down and subjected to the very worst that schoolyard bullying has to offer.  I am already working on a technique that combines the Nipple Cripple and a Chinese Burn.  Once it is perfected I will teach others with the sole stipulation that it is used on these kinds of people.

As this is a place of sharing, what fashion trends are annoying you at the moment?  Don’t be shy to contribute, this is a place where we can heal and grow together.

Friday, 2 November 2012

Free Sugar

Last week, as I rooted through the food cupboards at home, I found and devoured the last funsize Mars bar with hasty relish.  Once the miniature bar had descended down my gullet and past the part where it's taste was lost to my endless digestive tract, I felt wholly unsatisfied.  I needed sugar.

It was too late to simply purchase chocolate.  It was a Sunday evening, and thanks to Britain's trading laws, even the supermarkets cannot stay open past 4:00 PM in case Jesus returns or something.  Rioting was out of the question since all my best rioting clothes were in the wash.  In my desperation, I fired up my laptop and sent an email to the Mars corporation:

Dear Sir/Madam, 
I run a successful Blog with hundreds of subscribers and thousands of regular hits. Throughout my life I have made a massive commitment to Mars chocolate and have taken your slogan "A Mars a day helps you work, rest and play" to heart, so much so that my heart is probably caked in caramel by now. I swear it audibly creaks sometimes. 
Anyway, I believe that a marriage between my Blog and your delicious treats might work. At least it'll work better than my recent marriage. Apparently, it isn't possible to enter into any kind of legally binding matrimony with someone who is trapped in the trunk of your car, but that's a story for another time. 
What I am proposing is that I could review your chocolate and inform my readers how it makes me play amongst the stars, how Mars takes me higher than Jupiter or Mars. I think there's a song in there somewhere. It might make a nice jingle for your company. 
In order to complete the reviews, I would require as much free produce as you can possibly spare. I am a thorough sort of man so I would have to conduct an inordinate amount of product testing. I will, of course, inform everyone to purchase your product immediately. Let it be known that my professional opinion is very fickle and can easily be bought with sugar. 
Let me know if you are interested and I'll let you know where to send the chocolate to. Also, here's a link to my Blog if you want to check my credentials:

I sat back and waited for the trucks arrive.  Unfortunately, they never came, and all I got was this rather generic response:

Thanks for getting in touch.
Unfortunately, we do not have any samples of our products to send to you at the moment.Once again, thanks for contacting Mars and good luck in the future with your blog. 
Kind regards,Samantha NewittConsumer Care Team0845 045 0042

They don't have any samples to send me at the moment?  Surely that means that I should be eligible for free stuff when it becomes available.  

For those who don't know what a Mars Bar looks like.

After this failure, I decided to edge my bets a little and see if I could get any free stuff from any other companies.  Since I needed some fizzy drink to wash down my chocolate, I contacted the Coca Cola company:

Dear Sir/Madam,
I run a rather successful Blog with hundreds of subscribers and thousands of regular hits.  When I'm not Blogging about my incredible career as a bus shelter monitor, I am generally guzzling down litres of Coca Cola products.
As I am renowned in both these fields, I figured I should try and combine the two and Blog about Coca Cola products.  I could review your products and tell my readers how awesome they are.  I would be grateful for any free product you could send me to review, and I can promise you favourable write ups in return (unless you make something really gross like Sprout Cola).
I hope you don't doubt my resolve to review these products.  I am dedicated to the consumption of carbonated liquids, so much so that I drank enough Fanta last week to cause hallucinations.  I spent the weekend as a Hummingbird trying to pollinate flowers (chairs), and now I have arms as tight as a submarine porthole.
I hope you will consider this exciting business opportunity.  Let me know if you're interested, and I'll give you the address to ship the free stuff to.  Here's a link to my aforementioned Blog, for your perusal:

I couldn't wait to be sipping that fine syrupy goodness.

Thank you for contacting us regarding your idea.
We receive many ideas and business proposals from persons outside of our company and we are complimented that our consumers are interested in our company. 
Coca-Cola Great Britain uses a variety of agencies that assist us in advertising, marketing, manufacturing and sales promotions fields. Unfortunately as a matter of policy, we are unable to accept ideas or consider any proposal directly from individuals or business groups outside our company or its agencies. 
I wish to emphasise that although we can not consider your proposal, this in no way reflects on its merits.
I am sorry to respond with this disappointing news but hereby return your proposal accordingly. 
I would like to thank you once again for your interest in our company and to wish you all the best with your business venture.
Kind regards,
Laura Tomsett
Consumer Information Centre
Coca-Cola Great Britain 

Alas, it would seem that I have failed.  Has anyone ever managed to get cool free stuff from a company?  If so, let me know how I can better dupe them out of delicious product.