It really is very hard. I'm not sure how people cope with it at all.
In fact, it becomes so hard that you want to physically explode - or make the person/people you are with explode in a blinding light.
One can try to be a gentle person, but the desire to fuck someone's brains out of their tiny little skull is so, so... tempting.
(Oh, Sex freaks - you might as well fuck off and masturbate somewhere else - no pictures here and, I was talking about idiots you have to deal with in a day to day life, not some menagerie-a-twat with monkeys etc).
*So, now that the 'Google-Freaksters' have pissed off on Kleenex.com - I will continue*
When I can be arsed, I work for a company so huge, we have a building with windows - well, a few of them (some that are locked to stop people committing suicide).
Every day, some people do some stuff and things happen - in a groovy 'happening' way.
Generally, I don't give a toss until they fuck up the computers - then I have to put my cigarette out in someone else's coffee and do something. This is where it gets really hard.
The problem is that the nice people make innocent mistakes. This is because they have never been trained but are the first to get blamed by the posh wankers who run the show. Meanwhile, the chinless wonders talking into their 'Shit-Berries' in airports across the world achieve nothing.
Well, in Goth World it is the same as 'techie-world'.
Check why your 'Shit-Berry' is deleting your CV/Resume. Try to blame some poor secretary for your fuck-ups and your hard drive is wasted. Oh dear, did I...
BWAHAHAHAHA
If, as one of the 'small' people, you made a mistake - just tell the truth and we in Goth World will fix it, even if it takes hours (and enact retribution on the fucker who blamed you, as a 'comp-sprt')
As for sex - it's over-rated . . . . . with me ;-)
Usually, too tired.....
*snores**************
miércoles, julio 30, 2008
lunes, julio 28, 2008
You Silly Little Man
OK, in retrospect, this was probably not the best phrase to use in an argument but, as I was drifting off with the fairies due to boredom it just leapt out of my mouth, preceded by "Oh do shut up.."
I think Grandma Goth would be proud that I didn't call him a stupid cunt, which was what I thought, and still think.
I know that this phrase will never rank as the best insult I have ever given anyone ever, but it certainly was one of the most unexpected.
How do I know this? Because when liquids shoot out of peoples noses, it is usually a fair indication you have caught them somewhat unprepared. The fact that it created a rant of suitable idiocy merely reinforced my point.
It's a shame really as I was having a particularly lucid daydream where I was crucifying the little twat using pencils. But, you can't always get what you want.
This is why I am not a politician and I am fairly positive that I am not on the Christmas list for 'mini-Hitler' now - like I should care.
I think Grandma Goth would be proud that I didn't call him a stupid cunt, which was what I thought, and still think.
I know that this phrase will never rank as the best insult I have ever given anyone ever, but it certainly was one of the most unexpected.
How do I know this? Because when liquids shoot out of peoples noses, it is usually a fair indication you have caught them somewhat unprepared. The fact that it created a rant of suitable idiocy merely reinforced my point.
It's a shame really as I was having a particularly lucid daydream where I was crucifying the little twat using pencils. But, you can't always get what you want.
This is why I am not a politician and I am fairly positive that I am not on the Christmas list for 'mini-Hitler' now - like I should care.
viernes, julio 25, 2008
Whats In a Name?
Introducing oneself is always an interesting opening to any conversation - some might even say it was integral. Personally, I don't really give a shit - if people want to know who I am they can ask - I have no intention of wandering around like a lemming looking for a cliff saying "Eh oh, My name is..."
There are two things that triggered this thought process, and thus caused me to have a holiday from my holiday tales.
Firstly, some 'really interesting' person from somewhere I suppose, was being guided by the Vice President of Europe around our building this week. As I strode past on my way out for a cigarette, I was introduced as:-
"And this is....er Goth, and he's erm, scary".
"Yeah, right" I said and continued walking.
I've been introduced as many things before, but I don't recall being called 'scary' before - but I suppose the fact that the VP even knows who I am should mean something?
Secondly, there was an article about people with stupid names. Obviously, there are a lot of fuckwit parents on the planet who like to give their children stupid names to ensure they get the shit kicked out of them at school.
You have the downright nutty ones like Frank Zappa (kids named Dweezil and Moon Unit), the 'off my chopski' ones like Paula Yates (Peach and Fifi Trixabelle) and the just plain stupid like Dead-Hotel-Bloke Hilton (why call her Paris, when Bangkok is far more apt?).
Then you have people with surnames which are legitimate but the choice of first name is either callous or fucking idiotic.
So, my new competition is for the most idiotic combination of names (that can be found on Google) with first prize being a crucifixtion for the parents of my choosing.
And none of that choosing 'porno names' bullshit like Ben Dover, Cupid Stunt or Clit Eastwood.
There are two things that triggered this thought process, and thus caused me to have a holiday from my holiday tales.
Firstly, some 'really interesting' person from somewhere I suppose, was being guided by the Vice President of Europe around our building this week. As I strode past on my way out for a cigarette, I was introduced as:-
"And this is....er Goth, and he's erm, scary".
"Yeah, right" I said and continued walking.
I've been introduced as many things before, but I don't recall being called 'scary' before - but I suppose the fact that the VP even knows who I am should mean something?
Secondly, there was an article about people with stupid names. Obviously, there are a lot of fuckwit parents on the planet who like to give their children stupid names to ensure they get the shit kicked out of them at school.
You have the downright nutty ones like Frank Zappa (kids named Dweezil and Moon Unit), the 'off my chopski' ones like Paula Yates (Peach and Fifi Trixabelle) and the just plain stupid like Dead-Hotel-Bloke Hilton (why call her Paris, when Bangkok is far more apt?).
Then you have people with surnames which are legitimate but the choice of first name is either callous or fucking idiotic.
So, my new competition is for the most idiotic combination of names (that can be found on Google) with first prize being a crucifixtion for the parents of my choosing.
And none of that choosing 'porno names' bullshit like Ben Dover, Cupid Stunt or Clit Eastwood.
martes, julio 22, 2008
Holiday Part 2 - A Celtic Connection
The thing about spending time with my grandmother was that she was also from a Celtic background. She loved nature and spreading her knowledge of it, which my little brother and I lapped up.
Take for example the 'Story of Tiny'.
Tiny was a small lamb who was born prematurely and was destined to die. My grandfather announced, rather gruffly that it was a case of natural selection and he had to concentrate on the lambs that would survive.
"Oh fiddlesticks" announced my grandmother and scooped the helpless lamb up in her frock.
My brother and I followed as she marched back to the cottage and promptly put the lamb in the Aga oven. We burst into tears and declared that we didn't want to eat the lamb - we didn't even like lamb.
"Shush" she said soothingly "Help me prepare the milk"
After a few minutes, she took the miniscule lamb out of the oven, now suitably warm, wrapped it in a blanket and started to feed it with a baby bottle filled with warm milk. After a short while, it fell asleep, as did we on the floor of the scullery.
The next morning, we were allowed to feed the lamb, now called Tiny and he became like a pet sheep. If he did poo in the house, I'm sure grandma cleaned it up and claimed he was house-trained to my grandfather.
Many years later, I was to do exactly the same thing with a small duckling who I called Wayne. Why did I call him Wayne? I have completely no idea but I do know that the love of nature passed onto me, in a Celtic way, stayed with me and remains forever.
Take for example the 'Story of Tiny'.
Tiny was a small lamb who was born prematurely and was destined to die. My grandfather announced, rather gruffly that it was a case of natural selection and he had to concentrate on the lambs that would survive.
"Oh fiddlesticks" announced my grandmother and scooped the helpless lamb up in her frock.
My brother and I followed as she marched back to the cottage and promptly put the lamb in the Aga oven. We burst into tears and declared that we didn't want to eat the lamb - we didn't even like lamb.
"Shush" she said soothingly "Help me prepare the milk"
After a few minutes, she took the miniscule lamb out of the oven, now suitably warm, wrapped it in a blanket and started to feed it with a baby bottle filled with warm milk. After a short while, it fell asleep, as did we on the floor of the scullery.
The next morning, we were allowed to feed the lamb, now called Tiny and he became like a pet sheep. If he did poo in the house, I'm sure grandma cleaned it up and claimed he was house-trained to my grandfather.
Many years later, I was to do exactly the same thing with a small duckling who I called Wayne. Why did I call him Wayne? I have completely no idea but I do know that the love of nature passed onto me, in a Celtic way, stayed with me and remains forever.
viernes, julio 18, 2008
Holidays As They Should Be
Holidays, or vacations as the 'other people' like to call them, are not what they used to be.
When I grew up, we were so poor we couldn't have holidays as people class them now. My younger brother and I were fortunate enough to survive a 7-hour journey to spend a week with our grandparents. It wasn't that they lived thousands of miles away, transport was just so shit then, it took 3 hours to travel 100 miles.
We were so agitated on the journey that we spent the entire time repeating "Are we there yet?" until we fell asleep. Not because we were bored but because we were anxious to be there. However, when we finally arrived - we were so excited we couldn't sleep.
After our parents had dumped us there and gone somewhere else to practice making babies or something, we would spend days hunting for other stuff we had never seen.
Grandpa Goth taught us how to make bows and arrows from trees with penknives. He taught us how to hunt things, and afterwards Grandma Goth taught us how to fix the poor animals we had inadvertedly speared but not killed.
It was a holiday because we came back better people than when we went and with a different view on life. We learned things we could never hope to attain where we lived for the other 50 weeks of the year.
If it rained, we got wet. We ate what was given to us and didn't ask for a free gift. We didn't need money as there was nothing we needed to buy.
And, before some smart-arse comments, yes I know how many weeks are in a year - but I haven't explained what occurred during week 2 of the holiday.......
When I grew up, we were so poor we couldn't have holidays as people class them now. My younger brother and I were fortunate enough to survive a 7-hour journey to spend a week with our grandparents. It wasn't that they lived thousands of miles away, transport was just so shit then, it took 3 hours to travel 100 miles.
We were so agitated on the journey that we spent the entire time repeating "Are we there yet?" until we fell asleep. Not because we were bored but because we were anxious to be there. However, when we finally arrived - we were so excited we couldn't sleep.
After our parents had dumped us there and gone somewhere else to practice making babies or something, we would spend days hunting for other stuff we had never seen.
Grandpa Goth taught us how to make bows and arrows from trees with penknives. He taught us how to hunt things, and afterwards Grandma Goth taught us how to fix the poor animals we had inadvertedly speared but not killed.
It was a holiday because we came back better people than when we went and with a different view on life. We learned things we could never hope to attain where we lived for the other 50 weeks of the year.
If it rained, we got wet. We ate what was given to us and didn't ask for a free gift. We didn't need money as there was nothing we needed to buy.
And, before some smart-arse comments, yes I know how many weeks are in a year - but I haven't explained what occurred during week 2 of the holiday.......
jueves, julio 17, 2008
Awards Ceremony
I don't normally accept awards as I am far too busy being Gothic to give a fuck about them. However, as Mr Farty, who is Scottish but likeable none the less, nominated me for the awardy thingy, I thought I would accept.
Rather unsurprisingly, I did not come first - we Goths have some principles we like to uphold.
Although, I usually prefer to come in position 69, I think number 3 was ok on the list. Number 1 was taken by a set of speakers, with an admirable tone. Number 2 was taken by my Prince Of Sarcasm and I followed, pushing the chair.
Apparently, there were another 2 bloggers after us but, as they were 'runners-up' - the Prince (formerly known as squiggle) told me to ignore them.
Here is a picture of me wheeling Prince to pick up his award - I'm the pushy bastard at the back.
Part of this 'Oscar, who lives in a trash can' thing is to nominate 5 other blogs who deserve such an award. I really had to think about this one as I have to say why I read their blogs. I could bullshit and give you some inane crap like a true award speech but, let's be honest... no, really, let's be honest...
1) Honey - Because she scares the shit out of me with her honesty and I know her in real life. She is one of the most beautiful people to have graced the planet and yes, I did think seriously about kicking the living shit out of her erstwhile partner.
2) Lady Daphne - My Matron of the nursing profession. She brought me Jelly Babies on the day after I scraped my arm. For that alone, she deserves an award but, her blog is inventive and invective at the same time.
3) Joilet Jake - for taking over my position of talking more bollocks in one post than any bufoon can. I also want to ensure that his visitor numbers increase so that he posts more often and thus stops listening to shit music, or eating cheese sandwiches in hotels when he could have curry.
4) Big Titticus - aka (.)(.) - because I want her as my bedtime nurse. I'm not sure I would survive a night but, what a way to go. She might be as mad as a bag of squirrels but at least she's honest.
5) My Suicidal American Buddy - I admire him when he writes whilst pissed as a cunt - but I wouldn't want to be within 100 miles. Also, I'd like to teach him how to drink properly - i.e. without the 'blowing chunks' thing. Drinking properly is an acquired art that requires practice.
This completes my list - if you're not on it - tough shit - you're missing nothing. If you're on it, you can adhere to the rules, posted on Mr Farty's nomination or not. Really, I don't give a shit - but they call that Gothipation or something.....
Oh, nearly forgot, I have to include a link to the award site - well, here it is.... find it if you can (easy if you look at the code)
Rather unsurprisingly, I did not come first - we Goths have some principles we like to uphold.
Although, I usually prefer to come in position 69, I think number 3 was ok on the list. Number 1 was taken by a set of speakers, with an admirable tone. Number 2 was taken by my Prince Of Sarcasm and I followed, pushing the chair.
Apparently, there were another 2 bloggers after us but, as they were 'runners-up' - the Prince (formerly known as squiggle) told me to ignore them.
Here is a picture of me wheeling Prince to pick up his award - I'm the pushy bastard at the back.
Part of this 'Oscar, who lives in a trash can' thing is to nominate 5 other blogs who deserve such an award. I really had to think about this one as I have to say why I read their blogs. I could bullshit and give you some inane crap like a true award speech but, let's be honest... no, really, let's be honest...
1) Honey - Because she scares the shit out of me with her honesty and I know her in real life. She is one of the most beautiful people to have graced the planet and yes, I did think seriously about kicking the living shit out of her erstwhile partner.
2) Lady Daphne - My Matron of the nursing profession. She brought me Jelly Babies on the day after I scraped my arm. For that alone, she deserves an award but, her blog is inventive and invective at the same time.
3) Joilet Jake - for taking over my position of talking more bollocks in one post than any bufoon can. I also want to ensure that his visitor numbers increase so that he posts more often and thus stops listening to shit music, or eating cheese sandwiches in hotels when he could have curry.
4) Big Titticus - aka (.)(.) - because I want her as my bedtime nurse. I'm not sure I would survive a night but, what a way to go. She might be as mad as a bag of squirrels but at least she's honest.
5) My Suicidal American Buddy - I admire him when he writes whilst pissed as a cunt - but I wouldn't want to be within 100 miles. Also, I'd like to teach him how to drink properly - i.e. without the 'blowing chunks' thing. Drinking properly is an acquired art that requires practice.
This completes my list - if you're not on it - tough shit - you're missing nothing. If you're on it, you can adhere to the rules, posted on Mr Farty's nomination or not. Really, I don't give a shit - but they call that Gothipation or something.....
Oh, nearly forgot, I have to include a link to the award site - well, here it is.... find it if you can (easy if you look at the code)
miércoles, julio 16, 2008
Not Bored Really
So, having returned to work, I found myself ploughing through a zillion e-mails. Whilst my original plan to 'select all' and then delete the bastards, it would be typical that I missed an important one like:-
Dear Goth, congratulations you have won new bionic arms or
Dear Goth, my name is Claudia Schiffer and I would like to sit on your face....
Obviously, I received neither, but as I was scrolling through them, my mind started to wander. I wondered what I would call my band if I was a hedgehog. A few that I came up with were:-
Hedgehog Death Cult
Deep Hedgehog
My Chemical Hedgehog
Hedgehogs Of Mercy
Red Hot Chilli Hedgehogs
Then I went for a cigarette and lost my train of thought. When I sat back down at my computer, one of those annoying American bossy muppets turned up and I inadvertedly blurted out -
"Fuck off pal, we don't have any oil here so go home".
He didn't take my subtle hint so I just ignored him. It was then I remembered something Mr Farty had mentioned in a comment, so I went to look at what he was talking about which was bound to be more interesting.
Well, bugger me backwards with a pitchfork. He has nominated me for some awardy thingy. Normally, I don't give a flying fuck about these sort of things but as it is The Fartmaster himself, I figured I'd do him the courtesy of acknowledging it. More about this tomorrow though......
Dear Goth, congratulations you have won new bionic arms or
Dear Goth, my name is Claudia Schiffer and I would like to sit on your face....
Obviously, I received neither, but as I was scrolling through them, my mind started to wander. I wondered what I would call my band if I was a hedgehog. A few that I came up with were:-
Hedgehog Death Cult
Deep Hedgehog
My Chemical Hedgehog
Hedgehogs Of Mercy
Red Hot Chilli Hedgehogs
Then I went for a cigarette and lost my train of thought. When I sat back down at my computer, one of those annoying American bossy muppets turned up and I inadvertedly blurted out -
"Fuck off pal, we don't have any oil here so go home".
He didn't take my subtle hint so I just ignored him. It was then I remembered something Mr Farty had mentioned in a comment, so I went to look at what he was talking about which was bound to be more interesting.
Well, bugger me backwards with a pitchfork. He has nominated me for some awardy thingy. Normally, I don't give a flying fuck about these sort of things but as it is The Fartmaster himself, I figured I'd do him the courtesy of acknowledging it. More about this tomorrow though......
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)