Wednesday, 6 May 2015

Why is it so Hard to get a Goddamn 50g Bag of Adequately Flavoured Dry Roasted Peanuts in this Town?

Everything's gone to hell.

You do most of your shopping at the supermarket - of course you do

You're a slave to convenience.

But you can't find a small bag of dry roasted peanuts there.


I suppose that makes sense at least. People don't go to a grocers the size of an aircraft hanger because they want a little, bitty bag of nuts - they go to stock up for the nuclear mutant winter, so they don't have to leave their ground fortresses every 18.5 days to forage for legumes and dry roast seasoning.

The supermarket has got an own brand bag for the same price as a decent packet though - 200g for the price that you'd normally pay for 50g of KP.

So you get it, thinking:

"What could possibly go wrong?" 

Then they make your face do this.

That was from Asda though - the Walmart owned and worst UK supermarket there is - so you go and try the own brand dry roasteds from Tesco, thinking:

"What could possibly go... wrong?" 


They make your face do this:

You can't believe that anything which should taste so good could possibly taste so bad, so you go to the classy supermarket - the one where you hardly never see people spitting on the floor or pissing in the shallots - the hypergrocers known as Sainsburys, but god-fucking-damnit if their nuts don't just make your visage go flippety-jibbedy like this:

And now you're desperate - alone and scared - so you get what's left of all three bags and down them in one, hoping that between them there is enough flavour to wake up your taste buds, but no!

There is not.

They just phase-shift your features with toxic afterglow and no joy + hurt feelings, a la this pic: 

You're tired.

You're mad as hell.

You might have had an accident in your pants, although probably it's just the fit.

Overhead, shitehawks circle you like vultures, smelling the weakness and fear on you.

And, perhaps, the poo.

But all is not lost.

There are still all the smaller establishments left to hit.

The corner shops -  the cash and carrys - the petrol garages.

Surely they'll have the smaller bags, right?

Surely people aren't going to these shops to buy peanuts by the tonne, right?

Wrong. The options available at these places?

  1. No name bullshitnuts that make the supermarket own brands seem more flavoursome than giving the galactic space empress head with a mouthful of sherbet, tequila, and chilli peppers,
  2. Weirdly massive bags of quality nuts, and
  3. 50g nuts of simply salted, i.e. right size wrong fucking flavour.

By this point you're desperate.

You're terrified.

Also, you've got an erection, although that's probably just down to the fit of your trousers.

There's one place left you can try though - the Tesco Metro. Sure, it's part of the same evil conglomeration as its supermarket older brother, but it's a smaller store, so it should have smaller packets of nuts, right?


You send the maths to NASA, have them run it through their super spaceship computer.

The results come back in:


If those space computers were good enough for all those dead monkeys that we sent into orbit to suffocate to death, then they're good enough for you.

You hit the store.

"Hey, man," you ask the store assistant. "You got any dry roasted KPs? You got any Mr. Peanuts?"

The words don't come out right though - the lack of peanut dust up in your blood and brain tentacles has made your body react gruesomely - your lips blown up like rocket fried sausages - your fingers extended lingerers - your eyes slitty, green frog nonsense.

You've never looked more beautiful.

The store assistant knows exactly what you're saying though, and he takes you to the peanuts, and when you see the wall-to-wall 10kg bags of peanuts he begins to shriek with girlish laughter.

"Why don't you just take one of the larger bags?" he asks.

"Because I'll just eat them all in one go," you say, as you collapse to the ground, beginning to weep uncontrollably. "And that's much more than the nutritional guidelines recommend that you should eat in one serving."

His laughter reaches a pitch so high that the frozen beef clumps shatter.

"Don't you see how the world is now?" he asks. "This is a rich man's world, you rusted streak of manwhore-grease. You think the Queen would be satisfied with a 50g bag of KPs? You think Richard Branson would be? You either cough up the extra 28p for a bigger bag and get on board with the big boys, or you get the fuck out of flavour country and make do with some no-name, tasteless nut filth."

And you can't hold out anymore, so you give him £1:78 and he pours the nuts into a bowl so that you can lap them up like a large, demented cat.

And it's heaven.

It's unadulterated, fucking heaven.

But unfortunately, you consume slightly more than the recommended daily amount, and so you die of stomach explosion. 


  • Desiring less
  • Accepting more
  • Stomach explosion


After resurrection, consume no more peanuts.

"But they are so rich in fibre and protein."

I know, buddy. I know.

But the world moved on, and guys like you and me with our little nuts got left behind.

"Little BAGS of nuts, you mean?"


That too.

That too...

Friday, 1 May 2015

Hit and Pun

Sometimes people find this blog quite by accident - the following is a list of recent search terms that have resulted in such an occurrence: 

Something mean about Belgium

I don't recall ever saying anything mean about Belgium. But, I'd hate to disappoint my accidental fans.

Belgium is less good than other European countries, although still probably in the top ten

"Wow. You really stuck it to the Belgians."

It only said 'something mean,' it didn't say 'really mean' or 'mean as fuck.' Plus, no one knows enough about Belgium to adequately insult it. I think that they have something to do with chocolate or sausages, but what European country can't you say that about? In my mind they're essentially just the continental Wales.

"Okay, now that's pretty mean."

Goat cakes 

Are these people looking for:

  1. cakes made of goat,
  2. cakes shapes like goats, or
  3. cakes made by goats.
Either way I'm more of a savoury person to be honest, so if you're here for desserts you should fuck off back to 'Recent Trifles' or some other such shit.

Single parents are like superman

Yeah, but are they? Do they use their laser eyes to re-heat sausage meat? Do they use their X-ray vision to work out who is carrying sausage meat and then befriend them using their super-pheremones? Do they eat sausage meat with their super-mouths and then fly round the world to reverse time, so that they can go back to before they ate the sausage meat and be able to eat the sausage meat once more?

"Why do you think that Superman is obsessed with sausage meat?"

Oh, so you like that aspect? I'm pitching a more gritty and urban version of the character to DC in which Superman's achiles heal is an addiction to sausage meat instead of kryptonite.

"It seems like Mayor McCheese would have hamburger meat - not sausage meat."

Yeah, Superman is not going to be happy when he finds that out. He just spends the rest of the issue crying in fact.

"Sounds like my kind of superhero story."

Yeah, DC really went to touchy-feely with the Dark Knight and Man of Steel; it's time to get back to what made comics great in the golden age of the 1980s - relentless grimness.  

I'm single and I like it

I'm not single and I never liked it.



Yes, this is the place to come to for mistakes. Recent ones mainly.


Syria funny pictures

I should probably - definitely - start this by stating unconditionally that:


The thing of interest here is that people are searching for this.

I mean...

...what the fuck?

Obviously I can't draw a funny picture of Syria, but....

"You can link to some funny ones of Belgium?"


You're probably thinking that this is some sort of Belgian folk tradition, called the Gilles of Binche or something, whereas in fact this is just HOW EVERY SINGLE BELGIAN PERSON DRESSES.

For more search queries, check out my previous post:

Wednesday, 29 April 2015

Grievous Plums

I was recently diagnosed as having a vitamin D deficiency - a very minor problem in the grand scheme of things, albeit one that explained why, for the last ten years or so, I have:

  1. struggled to do things which involved hard, physical work,
  2. struggled to do things which involved light, physical work,
  3. struggled to do things which involved little to no work whatsoever,
  4. struggled to do things,
  5. struggled to sit around not doing things, and, finally, generally just
  6. struggled.
Picture of me struggling ecause holding a paperback hurt my arms. Because HOLDING A PAPERBACK HURT MY BASTARDING ARMS!

I was aware of vitamin D deficiency as a thing, although I assumed that it was not a thing of which I was afflicted due to the many blood tests which I have had which would surely have alerted the NHS to such a problem.

But, as it turns out - despite the fact that I have been turning up at general practitioners offices for the last decade or so complaining of symptoms which sound suspiciously like vitamin D deficiency, not one of them has so far ticked the little box which would have the boys and girls down at the lab assess my richly red ichor's vit-D levels. And I'm not really sure why that is.

The problem with turning up at the GP and listing 'tiredness' as one of your symptoms is that they look at you with a look so smarmy that you could use it to spread battery acid on white noise.

The other problem with GPs is that they're the worst people in the universe. Essentially, they are testament to the sad fact that a highly intelligent person can be devoid of:

  1. Imagination,
  2. Curiosity, and
  3. Ambition
I don't know about you, but if I had spent the best part of a decade learning the intricacies of the human body, I wouldn't then want to use that knowledge as a means to sit in a drab room and not solve people's medical mysteries.

GPs are like intellectual carbon capture - they absorb a fuck load of vital information and then just sink to the bottom of the data ocean - protecting said information from falling into the wrong hands - or the right hands - or any other part of the body that might need healing.

But, on the other hand, they're probably not all that bad. 

Plus, I think I tend to feel worst at the beginning of Spring, i.e. at the end of the time when the sun isn't bright enough to help you produce vitamin D, but by the time I've actually got in to see my GP it's mid-summer so if they did test my vitamin D it would probably looked normal. 

Waiting times. Really long fucking waiting times.

  1. Spending the last decade going to GPs when it would literally have been quicker to just train as a doctor myself,
  2. repeatedly removing my trousers upon entering the doctor's office despite not being asked to, and on one occasion being specifically asked not to,
  3. not dressing as some sort of labrador in order to gain access to the GP's less dead-eyed cousin - the veterinarian.


While this has all been a massive waste of time and energy - energy which I didn't have in the first place - the good news is that you can now rate your GP on the NHS website!
This is mine, and it has noticably improved its score over the past year from a shitbaggly 2 stars to a measely 3, and I'm pretty sure that this is because they have responded to the wall-to-wall criticism that was their review section previously.

Yes, so if you want a better, more human GP, then just google 'NHS + name of your GP' and complain like fuck.

Like fuck.

Sunday, 26 April 2015

Trickle Treat

Over here in England, we are currently going through an election. If you're not from England, here is a summary of the five main parties:

  1. Conservatives - the bad guys,
  2. UKIP - the ultra bad yet totally ineffectual guys,
  3. Labour - the sounds good and yet inevitably aren't albeit still much better than the alternative guys,
  4. Liberal Democrats - the seemed good until they formed a coalition government with the bad guys and did little to stem the tide of malevolence guys,
  5.  Green - the seem amazing but haven't had a chance to show us why they're not guys, and
  6. SNP - the sounds Scottish and are guys 

In this campaign, one of the encumbent Conservative government's catchphrases is:

The ex-tweens and tween rearers amongst you may be picking up on the fact that this is the also the slogan of these guys:

The difference is that the high school musicalers are a group of go-getting good-timeniks who were telling each other that they were 'all in it together,' whereas the Conservative government is a group of modern day Greek Gods who have floated down from their economic Olympus to inform us plebs that we are all in the same boat.

The first reaction to this is generally:

"No we're fucking not."

But, if you think about it a bit more, I suppose we are all in it together, although the quality of being 'in this together' varies greatly depending on what 'this' is referring to. For example:

  1. The Romans and the Christians were in the colleseum together, as were the lions,
  2. Ike and Tina Turner were in a marriage together, and
  3. Many, many folks were in the human centipede together, although it was only the first in the chain who got to eat food in its pre-shit format

Which leads us on to 'trickle down' theory - the idea that having lots of rich people is beneficial to all of us because raw money will drip out of the cracks in their busted bank accounts and seep down into our mouths as we stare up at them like the slack-jawed mouth gapers that we are.

But, of course, this doesn't work. For one, rich people tend not to spend the majority of their money, and this is why they are rich of course - because they hold on to it all. The other problem is that when they do spend money, they tend to buy the sort of things that rich people buy from the sorts of places where poor people do not work, meaning that the money that does circulate doesn't make it down much further than the upper-lower middle classes. Even if they did swoop down to dogshitland to buy our twenty-bags and third-hand dirt bikes, they'd still only be paying scum prices for it all, so it's not like it would make much of a difference to anyone's lives anyway.


The slogan is pretty much accurate, and that's probably why it's so annoying. To make it 100% accurate, however, it should be expanded a little to this:

'We're all in this fucking bullshit together, and there is nothing you can do about it, muwahahahahahahahaha!'

Tuesday, 21 April 2015

VNP Beard

So, apparently you can now illegally watch HBO programmes whilst simultaneously paying HBO to watch their programmes.


The explanation is less interesting than that description of it, and basically just boils down to the fact that they can't illegally stream outside the USA and are now threatening to sue all of their foreign viewers.

"Oh, so non-Yanks are signing up for it by accident?"

No, that's the thing - these people are actually going to some effort to disguise the fact that they are illegal band-aliens, downloading software which disguises their digital foreignness with a shroud of binary lies.

"So why don't they just fucking pirate it like normal criminals?"

I'm assuming that these are people who - like me - live for the thrill of petty, armchair theft and yet also have a poor understanding of how money works.

Picture of me throwing a wad of Euros at a pair of Pandas in the assumption that said action will encourage them to breed, displaying with imagery that I "have a poor understanding of how money works." It also shows that I have forgotten how I used to draw myself, hence the bad face and disappearing left arm. I will endeavour to bother to look at one of my old pictures before I once more attempt self portraiture.

Unfortunately, however, that's not even the worst thing that pirates have been up to this week - said worst being something that I encountered on the website, Kick Ass Torrents.

"Were you on there to do illegal downloads, or were you (AND THIS IS WHAT YOU SHOULD SAY TO AVOID A LEGAL FACE SPLATTING) "just there for research purposes?"

Neither, I was trying to upload nudey pictures of myself.

"Tasteful or risque?"

Top half risque, bottom half tasteful.


Yes, but anyway, I was on Kick Ass Torrents when I was redirected to another page on which I was scalded for using advert blocking software.


The scalding said, as far as I can remember.


It continued.


It finished, lapsing into cockney as websites do when they are incensed.

I, meanwhile, could not help but notice the irony of the situation - said irony being that a website that based its business model on theft was now upset because people had worked out how to steal from it.

"But you wan't a platform on which to upload your nudey pics, right? You turned off your adblock software, right?"

No, fuck that. Like they say, there's no honour amongst thieves. I didn't even seed the torrent that I uploaded.

"People are really missing out there."

Indeed, but talking about missing out - what am I missing out? Basically, by keeping my adblock software on I no longer have to be subjected to wall-to-wall porn ads - ads that are sometimes for foreign brides - the underlying philosophy of these torrent sites seemingly being that human beings can and probably should be commodified whereas Iron Man 2 should be public domain.

And so: 


  • Assuming that their thievish clientelle would never figure out how to thieve from them.
  • Pirates of the Carribean 1-4.
  • Releasing the first 4 episodes of Game of Thrones season 5 early, forcing me to watch them in low-def so that I didn't have to spend the next 4 weeks worrying about spoilers.




Obviously the fact that I'm once more posting indicates that I have returned from my home planet. I will explain what I got up to on my travels, as and when I can be bothered - thank you. 

Thursday, 2 August 2012

A Dope Beat to Step To

If you're a child reading this, and you are only just now finding out that the dog poo fairy isn't real, then I can only apologise. But why should I? Life is hard kids, and if you're not cleaning up the poo of some animal you're supposedly superior to, then you're doing something equally as laborious and trying like designing a new type of drill or writing 'Stairway to Heaven.'

"Kids don't know what 'Stairway to Heaven' is."

Yes. That's the only way we can tell them apart from adults.

"That you're aware of."

That I'm aware of.

I'm from Preston. Blackpool are our rivals. It just goes to show how utterly devoid of imagination they are when they make their own stickers, on which they can write whatever they want, and the best they can imagine is 'second best.' Whereas I can imagine this:



"You lost control of your imagination towards the end there."


Ooo, this gripes me!

Olympic athletes advertising for fast food chains!?

If she wants to do this, then the bitch should test positive for Subway before every race.


They should stick one of those bum cameras up her bum, and have a look about to make sure she's loaded up on dirty sandwiches. And, if she's not, she should have to chuck a load down her throat before she's allowed to race.

"And a nice simile to wrap things up?"

It's like the Dalai Lama advertising land mines.   

 These are some draws that I like.

The greatest supermarket aisle in the world, combining my two favourite things:

  • shitting
  • strong alcohol 
I could live the rest of my life quite happily shopping only on this aisle.

"Yeah, but the rest of your life would only be like 3 weeks or something."

They've probably got that nice, soft toilet roll that doesn't make you bleed too. I should buy more lottery tickets.

If she was ashamed afterwards, she must not have been doing it right. The same thing goes for masturbation. If you feel ashamed after masturbation, there is something wrong with you, and you should just hand yourself into the police before you act out whatever vile, twisted thing it is you keep fantasising about. 

Or, just think about  Ken Dodd.

Like I do.

These aren't brazil nuts.

They're peanuts. 

With a picture of radio sport's pundit, Alan Brazil on the packaging.

This is needlesly confusing.

Some other good one's would be:

  • Alan Shearer's (it has a picture a sheep on the package, as if it contained sheep shearers, but actually it's just full of alan keys, all of which are the same size)
  • Swank Seducers (there's a picture of Hilary Swank on the side, as if the product contained some sort of unusually specific date rape drug, but actually it's just some really posh condoms which work as a tool of seduction for some reason)
  • Bush Repellent (you think it's designed to keep away Former President George W. Bush, but actually it just makes your vagina smell like whatever it is that bears don't like)

"None of them were good."

True that bruv.


Water - Good for Hydration!
Dynamite - Good for Exploding shit!
Barry White albums - Good for unplanned pregnancies!  

What sort of problem are the council, i.e. the organisation responsible for fuck-all, going to solve at 3 o' clock in the morning, via a remote control room? Actual answers would be appreciated, although not necessarily read.