Editorial: Beanbags, a Buyers Nightmare

'What does this even mean?'

I recently decided that my room doesn't look enough like a PE lesson from 1996, so I thought that I should get a giant, obnoxious beanbag, from which I could be more comfortable while playing video games and masturbating. I call this 'Masterplaytion' - what? Im a wordsmith, or a 'Vocabucer'*. I came up with words you use every day like - 'Giantole'*, 'Whoreasaur'* and 'Ridicuphile'*. 

'Cum Shot'

I came to realise that finding a beanbag suitable for your environment is treacherous territory. Is it too big? is it the wrong colour? Can men have suede, unless used in tasteful red jackets, slippers or y-fronts. Should it speak about me as a person, possibly a Thomas the Tank Engine number would suit me? He's classy, he's mobile, always smiling and shaped like a 30 foot cigar. Whats not to like? 'I could be the Fat Controller from the privacy of my own home. That said, spending my evenings sitting on Thomas's face while jerking off does sound like an activity that man would undertake. He talks to TRAINS! They should call him 'Dr.Choolittle'...wordsmith. 

Unfortunately, their aren't all that many places that exclusively sell beanbags, there aren't really any places that sell devonshire air or canned shit either, but god created Ebay for a reason. And aside from the obvious one - 'Selling your stolen/broken/stained goods' to the elderly woman who feels that a 'Super Happy Fun Kettle with Antique qualities' is definitely a purchase worth making, it really is the place to buy bean bags....and babies. 

Meal - Deal

* Vocabucer - Vocabulary Sorcerer 

* Giantole - Giant Mole 

* Whoreasaur - Part whore, part dinosaur, or any woman who closely resembles one

* Ridicuphile - Someone who molest's jesters.

From The Editor , 'a pretty comfortable deal'

Editorial: The Train and Why I Hate You

'This looks like the build up to a punchline'

I don’t find Train journeys irritating, I don’t find myself complaining about the four minute delay, I don’t stand in the face of what is a great service and damn it to hell because I didn’t pre-book my ticket. I stand humbly and commend all the trains, the lot, Thomas as well. The piece of the puzzle that is ruining our travel experience is you. You chewing with your mouth agape, you with your broadsheet paper, sitting there scratching your genitals, reading the copy of The Sun left on the seat that you knew I wanted. You’re about to get written about, Old Testament style.

'Just put them out of their misery'

A typical train journey has two possible outcomes; sitting alone, or God forbid, sitting next to someone else. Worst-case scenario, it’s an old woman, she hasn’t spoken to anyone other than herself or that magpie she assures you is “The same one every day, comes back he does”. No he doesn’t, no it isn’t, you lonely, old, wench. She’ll sit there spindling her old fingers, like a five foot pickled onion in a wig, waiting for the moment to speak to you, casually shuffling a bag of Worthers Originals in front of you. She wants you to take one, then she’s got you, one big caramel web of old stories; her dead husband, her dead sister, her dead friends, her old, forgotten vagina. It’s a regular old wives tale. All you can do is endure it, like a cavalcade of stones being hurled at your face. “I remember when this station was….”…. WHAT, WHAT WAS IT? EVEN MORE FUCKING BORING THAN WHAT YOU’RE SAYING? Then there are other conundrums (my word of the day), What if she dies? Does the train have a defibulater? Am I responsible? Did my story about being sick into a DVD case scare her to death? Because it literally splashed back all over my hair and face, it was dreadful. I don’t want to resuscitate her, she has old lips, and years of kissing peoples cheeks have wrinkled them into little beetroot crisps. Its for the best to just leave her there, At least I can say I was with grandma when she died, maybe I can use the sympathy to get a hot buffet at her funeral?

“Is anyone sitting here?”, a dreaded question, are these people thick? Its clear im utilising the other seat for my bag and two baguettes. You expect me to give up the privilege of not having to stand up to get my two, fresh made, expensive baguettes. I should just throw them out the moving train; you want me to not have my eight-pound baguettes. You’re talking to the guy trying to eat a fifteen-pound baguette here, COME ON!* Next time someone does that, I’m going to pull down my jeans and just bend over and take it. Because every time you make me move my bag you are sodomizing me. I want it there for convenience, and no, as you’ll joke, gesturing at my nice bag (plus baguettes) “Does he have a ticket, HAR HAR”. No he doesn’t, but if I had realised before I got aboard that some smart aleck was going to try to rhetorically fuck me out of my extra seat then I would have purchased two.

Maybe it’s me, its possible I’m the worst person on the train, because obviously it’s a crime to want to sit undisturbed for the duration of my journey. Without some pork pie slouching down next to me, smelling like an old library, eating a pack of Tesco’s basics sausage rolls. Is that so much to ask? For you not to look at me with that doughy face, that pair of beady eyes resting on my expensive, expensive baguette. These aren’t your only bad features Fat Man. I’m an internet blogger, so its pretty clear that I’m very attractive, like a young Denzel Washington, but not black or bald. This means I cant stand that sight of ugly things, it makes me want to be throw up my baguette (reasonably price considering what a great baguette it was). I cant even watch programs about ugly people. I was watching Katie and Her Beautiful Friends and was sick all over my genitals. This was because the title was so misleading I mistakenly believed it to be ‘wank-worthy’. Those people aren’t beautiful at all, poor marketing.

Aside from my bashing of the horrifically disfigured, I’d like to move back to my hatred of everyone else, because I don’t discriminate. I’d like to round this all of with a short-list of my most hated journey companions

'I preferred it when they just indulged in casual terrorism'

·      ‘One Upper’ – you pull out a Nokia, he’s got an iPhone, you call your mum, he calls your mum.

·      ‘Broadsheet’ – Buy a smaller paper you pompous idiot

·      ‘Phonesman’ – “No Fletcher I said ‘sell’, If those stocks are still there when I get back its your job. Yes I understand you’re just the caretaker but your bills aren’t going to pay themselves, what, well tell your wife you don’t like funerals...what do you mean ‘hot buffet’?” – No one cares about your business, shut up.

·      All the Children – In the event of a continuous, rhythmic seat kicking the key is to turn round and whisper , “Maddie did that on the plane to Portugal”

I just really love the train, and you’re ruining it.

From the Editor ‘a pretty locomotive deal’

*The new cultural reference system. Guess in the comments section for prizes. I'm not fibbing

A Special Thanks

If you haven't noticed, because you're old, senile, incontinent, that the site has undergone a few aesthetic changes, then you should get off my fucking site. However, if you did, then I would like to thank 'The Phipper', a fellow blogger and talented photographer/designer. It's a shame he's a complete twat.


Check out a few of his other designs I've put below and check out his blog, 'Shadow Boxers'
and keep up to date with 'The Red Door' a site coming in the next few weeks that I will be guest contributing to.. Also if you're interested in pretentious ramblings about clay pots check out, 'This Handmade Life' 

'Muhammed Ali is now senile enough to endorse this'

'the best film to never happen'

'If you wondering what B.D.C means, so am I'

From The Editor 'a pretty grateful deal'

Review: Alton Towers

I found it really hard to find the 'Towers', they weren't right there in front of you. First thing I saw when I walked in was Sonic the Hedgehog trying to fuck six or so children. I did try to approach him for a quick photo, but somehow, despite being a hedgehog, he got away. Blue bastard.


My main objective for the big A.T was to get on some rides, what was not part of the plan however, was the week long trek between each one. I had to light at least four fires, erect two tents and fight off a man dressed like a crocodile. Also, the incompetent, very lonely looking staff, provided me with a map that can only be described as 'not to scale', I was looking for landmarks, like the forbidden forest and the snow capped mountain, but unfortunately there was just grass, a pond and loads of Japanese people screaming into cameras.

The first ride I queued for was the newly re-named, Sonic Spinball, which seemed appropriate considering he probably did want to spin his balls in my mouth, from what i'd previously seen. Fucking rape rodent. I did enjoy the queueing, I ate a whole cheese ploughmans.. Some smug bastard marched past me in the single seat only queue. 'Look at you, standing in line, having to wait'. 'Ah but look at you, with no friends, on a 1990's themed ride, in a theme park, on your own, you daft cunt'.


Review within a Review: My Solero Ice Cream

'Me and my Solero'

I saw Inception not to long ago, and according to what all the cool people are saying, 'things', in other things, in other things, in other things, are AMAZING. Well I have an ice cream, in a soft sugary exterior, in a review, in another review. It was a good ice cream, maybe a little too cold, had to rush it, had to go into a haunted house with a laser gun. Done.

I normally give highly critical, maybe slightly controversial reviews. It's possible im a little harsh, however I would like to complement the jail-bait on show at Alton. It was just everywhere, they should have handcuffed me the second I walked in.  I penned a small poem about it.

Tonight theres going to be some Jailbait
Somewhere in this Town
Tonight theres going to be some Jailbait 
That im going to be around


I was going to take some photos and put them up, but a police officer told me not to, because if I got caught, i'd ruin it for everyone.

I came to realise after a few hours, that sitting down while something else does all the hard work, much like the wife I plan on having, is very tiring for me. The result of this is getting hungry, luckily for me Alton Towers has a vast array of different outlet, all ready to serve me the same shit, packaged differently. I decided to put my best foot forward into a Mexican. I would say the best thing about it, and this isn't saying much, was when I found half an eaten fajita on the table next to me and ate that as well as the burger I was trying to digest.

'Thats fucked up'

The highlight of Alton Towers for me, aside from the colourfully dressed pedophiles and long waits next to people who smell like Log Flume water, was probably 'Oblivion'. In case you were wondering, this ride does not descend into the pits of hell, but it does go downwards at a speed it makes amusing to try and eat a sandwich.

As I was leaving I simply stated, 'Wasn't that great?'. It was satisfying that for the first time I could use that question rhetorically and not have a girl lying below me say, 'Not particularly'

Please leave your own Alton Towers experiences below. With Sonic or without.

From The Editor 'a 150mph cheese ploughman's deal''

Editorial: The Playstation Network/PSN Is Down. Give Sony a Break

'God save our noble...'

I occasionally spend my spare time shooting people on the interweb. I don't think I would like to shoot people in real life, because blood is a tough stain to remove and people would wonder why im drenched in it. Im also under the vague impression that if I were to murder someone, they would not re-appear, sorry, re-spawn, one hundred yards away, only to be shot in the face.....twice. Take that geeks, you got 'PWNED'

Like every other person ever to play a video game, I am imbued with a level of confidence unbeknown to me in the real world. I find it prudent to establish myself amongst my virtual peers as a better person. 'Yeah you fucking nerd, I totally shot you with my LASER GUN, and im like humping your corpse and burning it and guess what, i've had sex with girls, IN THE MISSIONARY POSITION'. I showed them.

'Gritty realism'

But now, in the wake of Sony's recent online molestation, still lying in a computerised gutter, pants around it's ankles, screaming like a little girl, millions of young, over-confident and for the most part, homophobic ("Take that fag, you got owned by my MISSILE LAUNCHER"), young men, and some overweight, unattractive women, emerge into the daylight. What will they do now? Aside from a healthy amount of masturbation over things that dont have grossly disproportionate, computerised breasts. Will they hold a live death-match, a full scale Mortal Kombat? Mashing there puny bodies against each other, cardboard SUPER BLASTERS and DEATH RAPER-SHOTGUN-EXPLODERS at the ready.

Or maybe, these oppressed, unloved masses, finally getting a healthy redeposit of melonin from the lonely sun, should step outside, take a deep breath and stop complaining about something they were receiving for free. I dont want to use a crude example (but im going to do it anyway), but if you were receiving a blow job and god forbid, she was doing it all wrong, you wouldn't say, 'This is a fucking outrage, I appreciate you have gotten on your knees and literally sucked my cock, but christ, at least do a decent job. Im not asking for much, just your complete degradation'. In fairness, if she was a prostitute, you'd be well within your rights to tell her what for, because remember, hookers dont have souls.

I know that on May 31st when the Megastation 64 gets back the ability to turn people into anonymous, faceless dickheads, that everyone of those people that bitched and moaned will crawl back to there controllers, re-hone there skills and attack the virtual enemy with a exuberant level of enthusiasm. But please, until that time eventually comes, when Jestation Compuchrist resurrects and walks the earth, just do something other than complain, become a valuable member of society.

A final note: please dont assume I dont game or that I have no comprehension of the importance of that black box. I own one myself, I publish a blog who's symbol is a raptor clutching an assault rifle. Just do something else and give Sony a break.

I feel my new sign off seems pertinent to all those im referring to...'Go fuck yourselves'

From The Editor 'A pretty virtual deal'

Editorial: There, Their and They're

I dont understand the difference. It is too difficult for me to comprehend. I live in a world where grammar doesn't exist. Or, I just dont fucking care. There/their/they're you have it. 


If spelling mistakes upset you, you should only ever read the dictionary.

From The Editor  'a pretty grammatical deal'

Next up: Bar Review: Brass Monkey - 'Shite pie or Mai Tai?'

Bar Review: Market Bar Nottingham

Im not keen on Market Bar, though its fairly apparent that im not really keen on anything. Its not that I don't fit in, I mean, if I think about it, I should fit right in. Im a student, I live in Nottingham, I own a burgundy America Apparel hoody, and, just like everyone else there, my parents will always be more successful than I will ever be. But, as much as I like riding the 50ft wave of Jager off the back of their success, I still don't really understand what is appealing about standing in the dark, shouting at each other. Thats basically what happened when the Americans dropped into Normandy. The technical term is, 'ClusterFuck'.


"Can I have 5 Jagerbombs please and some taste"
"Sorry were fresh out of taste, would you just like another Jager?"
"I suppose"

'Katie and her Beautiful Friends'

The first thing you'll notice when you walk into Market Bar is that it's fucking dark. Its not just dark either, its misty. The only advantage to this, I suppose, is that despite the fact you probably look like you fell into a pit of ugly, the bird, dancing/shuffling/staggering in front of you, who herself is probably related to a moose, thinks you look like a young Patrick Swayze. If you capitalise on this you could end up doing things to her face, with your face, that to a normal person, LOOK DISGUSTING.


Really, i've gotten ahead of myself, I said 'when you walk in', but that's if you get in. You could be one of the many, many, many dickheads who stand outside, in the cold, with no hope. Or you could be one of the righteous customers, who chooses to cross the road and go into BaaBar, mumbling "I didn't want to go in anyway', with the rest of the sheep...get it? Sheep? BaaBar? Brilliant. It makes for a great paradox, you can either stand in the window of BaaBar, watching the queue slowly dwindle, wondering why you left your space. Or you can stand in the cold outside, looking back into BaaBar, wondering why you'd want to be in either.


Apparently when it first opened you could only get in if you were a 'somebody', now they changed the rule to 'anybody', or 'has a body' or possibly 'knows somebody, who's a nobody, but does have a wristband'. Sometimes people put themselves on the guest list in order to get quicker admission. 'The Guest List'? No guest has ever come over to my house and pissed all over my toilet floor, been sick in my sink, danced in my living room and gotten with my dog. Then again, thats just because i throw shit house-parties


I think the main problem with the bar is that not one person, once entering, is competent enough a human being to understand how much there putting in there mouth. It's almost like the hand and mouth have become symbiotic, unable to move away from one another. 


One particular experience  rings to mind. I was standing at the bar with a friend, ordering some drinks, the waitress looked excitable and pleasant enough, so we decided instead of a tip, to buy her a drink. Of course it was a Jagerbomb, what else, they dont serve anything else. This process repeated several times. we found out later, that was in fact, her first shift, and, due to the amount we had bought her, she collapsed and then pissed herself. Thats going right onto a CV.


Aside from it being a tiny, dark, dank, sweaty pit, full of people so pleased with there eventual admission, that they consumed a whole litre of thick, brown, sugar water and managed to pull someone they didn't know from freshers week, only because they couldn't get out of the way due to being asphyxiated by the sheer number of TWATS, the bar itself is shit. Sorry, did I say 'aside' from those things. What I meant was, because of those things its shit

'It really is'

Please dont be drawn into believing it's good because its underground and you can stay up till three in the morning, if you're looking for something underground, that is significantly better, try digging yourself a grave and climbing into it.


Lastly, it should be noted that they run a night called 'Dive', how fitting.

From The Editor 'a pretty sweaty deal'

.

Retrospective: A Coco-Tastic Apology

From the Team at ShuduxyBuxy, we apologise for any offence caused. 


The video below should explain just about everything. 

Double click the video to view in full screen

Robin Williams didn't complain - BECAUSE HE'S A FUCKING PROFESSIONAL.

From The Editor 'a pretty sincere deal'

Bar Review: Coco Tang

Thats the lamp

The House of Coco Tang is not a house. It does not contain a homely atmosphere. My mother does not demand that I always wear a waistcoat. My mother doesn't serve me things out of a teapot, that should not be served from a teapot. Neither does the 'House' of Coco Tang have any relation to anything oriental. In fact I dont think there are any Asian staff. Not that that offends me, but who doesn't like the presence of those noble, noble people.


When the bar first opened it was the worst kept secret in Nottingham. An entranceway guarded by a lone doorman, the only distinguishing feature a hanging, red, lamp. Thats pretty cool I suppose. Of course a few years down the line and the easiest way to find it is to listen for the sound of a gaggle of underdressed sluts, shouting, 'DEY DO DEM COCKTAILS WID DA REFRESHERS AND DAT'. Brilliant. What was chic and underground is now mass market and still underground, but in a different way, now its just sweaty.


The bar in fact is so far underground that phone signals no longer exist. Its so exclusive, you cant phone out to tell anyone about it. If you do get a signal, your phone only displays Coco Tang menus or screams prices at you. There quire high, trust me. 


If you follow the stairs up to the middle floor you may notice, at the back end of the room, or you may not, stands a black door. Behind this door there is not a creaky old room, but there could be. In this room is not a brick wall, or is there? That brick wall does not open to reveal a whole other bar area. I think they had to incase the room, that definitely is not there, in brick in order to hide the smell of pretention. Apparently it can permeate wood. 

These little fuckers are
ten a penny

If you were to carry on upstairs, ignoring any rooms that may or may not be there, because there definitely aren't, just incase im not being clear, you would find the smoking area. On the wall is a giant poster for Moet champagne, clearly a product within the price-range of there classy student clientele. They should have an advert for White Lightning or just a series of re-used gap year anecdotes so they dont run out of any to say. 'And I was literally on the other side of the world, but bumped into ALL my friends, because I have no sense of creativity', "Was I at the full moon party, yeah man, I totally like took, ALL the drugs and punched an old woman". "Get this, im running down the street with this woman's baby and she's like "Gim me my baby' and im like 'Im going to sell it for drugs'. In the end I just threw it in a ditch and went sunbathing because I realised id left all my Yen in a llamas mouth, hi-larious".


What im trying to say is, if you're really into flamboyantly named cocktails, small dance floors, sweat and people throwing about mummy and daddies money, you should head down to Coco Tang. 


p.s They're employing wookies now

From The House of the Editor 'a pretty inebriated deal'

Editorial: Children's Television

Children’s television is hanging by a thread. That’s a fact, no one can sit there and tell me that since Mark from Smart went down to a train station, and instead of painting it, tried to hang himself, that children’s TV hasn’t been a bit shit . That’s not to say that he didn’t manage to do it eventually, apparently the first attempt was botched, I can only assume that it was because he tried to use a paper mache’ noose. Mark’s fiancé had played a court jester on See it Saw it, known for her hilarious antics; she burnt to death full of sniff in a bathtub…thats not very hilarious at all.

Lets look at a coke fuelled 20 years of great television

'You filthy bastard'

Smart

Have you got your sixteen paper cups ready, have you poured away all the washing up liquid, do you have all the toilet roll tubes in the world. To make anything that show expected, you had to take a dump five times a day and only wash in the sink. Despite this you could still watch Mark Speight travel around drawing castles and scouting locations to kill himself, the miserable prick. I think he was having an affair with that play-dough douchebag Morph and died during a sex act. Apparently he left two suicide notes, I bet one of them looked like this 

Biker Mice from Mars

'They look gay now, but boy could they eat some cock'

Where did they get that idea? They’re from Mars, but they like and are aware of motor sports. They call their enemy the ‘Big Cheese’, but they love cheese! They’re mice for god’s sake. Also the whole program revolves around the disfigurements they received escaping from mars. One lost his arm so has a robotic replacement; another has burnt retinas and has to always wear sunglasses (thats horrific). The last one has a horrific scar. Its funny that these are always the things that people point out in the program, aside from that fact that there anamorphic, six feet tall mice who ride fucking bikes. 'Jesus, that scar is horrific, and look at your retinas, christ im rude, and by god your a talking mouse'.' What sort of role models are these for kids anyway? Fucking awesome ones that’s what. Robotic arms and sunglasses are the tits.

Thundercats

‘Must write comical statement, must use crude satire’. Thundercats was a program about giant cat monsters that fought giant reptile/rodent monsters. You had Cheetarah, who looked like a cheetah and could run real fast, that makes sense I suppose. Then you had Liono, he had a mane and was noble, like lions apparently are, when there…in the Lion King. Then you’ve got Tigra, who could go invisible….I suppose there stealthy, so that….makes sense? Then you’ve got Panthro, who’s obviously a ‘Vehicles Expert’? What? How does that relate to his cat name at all, I’ve never seen a Panther mow down its prey in a tank. The closest things hes got to a panther is being black and hes really just an off grey. They should have called him 'Token Cat' or 'Equality Feline'. Then again, a black demolitions and vehicles expert. his name as well have been 'Cool Cat' or 'Stereotypicat' Then we’ve got ‘Snarf’, well for a start, what the fuck does that mean? He has no power, aside from the ability to finish each sentence with ‘Snarf, Snarf’. I guess he has the incredible ‘Speech impediment ability’. All you’re left with is Wiley-Kat, he road a hover board, like all cats do.

Then again, it did have the most 80’s theme tune of all time:

Art Attack

“Here’s one I made earlier’. Fuck off did you Neil. There is no way you made that out of just sandwich packets. You’re a liar, and you wear a stupid jumper and have a really noticeable mole. Paper mache that off your face you twat.

My childhood was shit

 From the Editor -  'a pretty feline deal'

Editorial: Robin Williams, Pedophile?

"GOOD MORNING CHILDREN'S PENISES"

Imagine if a man dressed up like an old woman, with fake breasts and fake teeth. Imagine if he wore an old grey frock and a rubber face. Imagine he talked in a Scottish accent and flirted with bus drivers  Imagine if he did these things then came in your house and took care of your children. Robin Williams did all of these things. He is verging on fucking all the children in the world. 

Lets have a look at the evidence:

Jack

Robbie Williams plays a 10 year old man-child who goes to a normal school. He is apparently a 10 year old in a man's body, though he obviously would love it to be the other way round. He wears three quater length shorts and sports a rucksack. The other kids bully him. But it doesnt matter, because it all a cover, for him to touch so many children.

Hook


Robin Williams plays a ten year old man-child who comes from a magic land. he enters children's rooms via their windows and persuades them to come on a magic adventure with him. Hold his hand and you'll fly he says. Yeah right, right onto his cock

Jumanji

Who wouldn't he touch?

Robin Williams play a 30 year old man-child and emerges from a board game and befriends two young children. He is only wearing pants. He's apparently been in a jungle for years and years, however its clear that hes been in a prison.

Toys


30 year old man-child Robin Williams owns a whole toy factory. A giant toy factory. His sister is a robot. Just look at him

Alladin


He's a shape shifting ghost-man-child that can touch you. The entire lower half of his body comes to a giant erect point and if you rub him he emerges. You know why he hangs round with that rug? So when he's done hes got something to roll you up in...


Good Will Hunting


He was abused as a child and now hangs round with a young man who shared a similar experience. I suppose together they can carry the heavier ones.


Good Morning Vietnam


He befriends a young boy during the Vietnam war. He takes him to the cinema, talks to him about girls and plays baseball with him. He also impersonates a teacher to become closer to him. There relationship causes so much controversy that it results in homosexual  honorable discharge.


Insomnia


He plays a fucking pedophile!

One Hour Photo

He plays a man who stalks people and pho.....he plays a pedophile

Consluion

There is irrefutable evidence here that Robin Williams penis looks like a babies arm clutching an apple, except the apple is his balls and the arm is literally a babies arm. Too much? Looking through that list is like a pervert's CV. I guarantee in his next feature film he'l play the pan piper.

In all honesty though, Robin Williams is a fine actor and a truly lovely man. I know this because he used to hold me oh so tight.

From the Editor 'A pretty sexually abused deal'

Please leave article suggestions in the comment section. Your views will be heard! Leave your name so you can be credited and so I can take photos of you from the bush outside your house

Editorial: Jogging

"I hear you just run for an extended period of time"

Its not that putting one foot in front of the other confuses me, it just everything that accompanies it. Can I run on the road? Can I run on the pavement? Do I have right of way? Can I wear lycra? These kinds of questions make the whole experience mind boggling. I feel everyone is judging my ability to complete this task. If I stop they'll assume im weak, a quitter, but dont they know i've already being going for a good 400 yards?

Then there's attire. Should I wear a light grey? 'heather grey'?* Both of these would give me the appearance of having pissed out my nipples but it would also show how much effort im exerting. Or you could go for sweat concealing black and risk fainting on the side of the road, becoming food for tramps or being abducted by an old widow.

im telling you it happens

There's even more where etiquette is concerned. You're running and suddenly a cyclist flies past you, nodding at you cheerfully as he triumphs over you, not even pedalling as he goes down a steep hill. The smug bastard. I think he should have to give me a lift or fuck off
Or what about when another runner matches your pace, cooly jogging beside you, do you look at him and say hello? You notice he is slowly overtaking you and as hard as you try, this gentleman is making you look like a twat in front of all the 12 year olds in the park you were trying so hard to impress. There should be a speed limit.

Its hard to know how to behave at the best of times, but when your sweating, tired and look like shit I feel the best thing to do is fuck everyone

I was sitting on a set of steps earlier catching my breath listening to some music during my afternoon run. Two small boys shouted from the top most stair so I removed my headphones, they shouted again. 'Are you a homo?', I assumed this was a rhetorical question so I said nothing but they shouted again 'Are you a homo?' Is this a proposition? Should i go up there and....try to bum them? They ask again 'Are you a homo' I reply 'Why don't I come up there and we'll find out', as I stand they run out of sight and I turn the other way, switch back on Whitney Huston's 'I Wanna Dance with Somebody' and continue my run.

*It's sports grey

From The Editor 'A medium distance deal'

Review: Jamie's Italian, Nottingham

Everything is painted green, I assume that's a fresh colour, something natural, very rustic. However, 'swamp green' is not any of those things. Admittedly, I am slightly colour blind, but if it still offends me, it must look like shit to everyone else. The furniture doesn't fair so well either, a rag tag array of different old bits of wood. It was like being at an elderly sexual health clinic. I know it meant to be a 'homely' feel, but I have never been in a house where the table has four different types of chair. I appreciate Jamie doesn't have his 'O Levels', 'cus' he's just a nice lad' and is apparently dyslexic, but this place makes him come across more like a borderline retard. 


This brings me to the seating arrangement. I didn't pay good money so Misses Middle Class can watch me not twist my pasta on a spoon. I'll cut it up if I want you tart. I know that everyone loves money, so cramming me in a box with 50 other people is economical, but its not pleasant. I had to observe every mouthful the gentleman sitting opposite me shoved in his massive mouth as he proceeded to talk with his mouth full. The only advantage was that I was probably close enough to punch him in the face. 


The menu was typically Jamie Oliver, words like 'pucker' appeared frequently and phrases such as a 'bit of' and 'thrown together' were lightly garnished across the menu. This is obviously emulating Jamie's method of cooking, but in all honesty 'Worlds Best Olives' is an outright lie. that's not true is it? If he was going for good honest cooking it should have been 'Half Decent Olives', 'Overpriced, Low quantity Olives' or just 'Olives: Only Six Facking Pound'. On top of that 'Fish Cooked in a Bag' has all the appeal of 'body dumped in a bag'. I could dress up my shit better.


The whole place is built so people can avoid pretentious eating,'fine dining', complicated menu's and pompous clientèle, but the whole place creates a new level of confusion and pretension. You cant even book a table, you just have to play it by ear. That's ridiculous, that's even more pretentious. I like booking tables. It makes me feel big and important when the waitress says my name. Its one thing to be hip and current and its another to just be stupid. Also when the waiter told me that in 'ten years time, all wine will be in cartons' I knew it was shit, because there is no such thing as a vintage carton of juice and no such thing as a well informed waiter. 


If you want a great Italian, head down to Jamie's and next door there is a Carluccio's.


Fuck you Jamie 


Bish Bosh Done

From The Editor  'a 30 minute deal' 

Special thanks to Rose 'Rat-Face' Kiely, for eating there

Dedicated to Luke 'Number one fan'

Editorial: Middle Aged Women

One of these raised Hitler

For the sake of argument, your name is Caron, thats a suitably redundant name. You Caron, are the greatest living drain on society today, no you dont sell drugs, you dont collect benefits, you're just a middle class housewife. You dodder around life with a seeming smile and well to do intent. You pretend to dust at least once a day and do the Daily Mail crossword. You pass off Marks and Spencers dinners as vehicles of your own creation. You're a fraud. You do the school run and spread gossip, you buy clothes you dont need and pass insecurities onto your children. Harmless? 

But how Caron are you, how are you destroying the world we live in.....'conversation'. Your garrulous, inane rambling has such a dramatic effect on other peoples lives and you dont even realise, do you Caron?

The Mother/Son context

C - Dinners ready

S- Coming

C - I said dinners ready!

S - Im coming, Jesus

C - Come on its getting cold! !

S - IT HAS LITERALLY BEEN TEN SECONDS

C - Come on Mr. Grumpus, come downstairs

(Downstiars)

C - Lay the table then, it'll be ready in five minutes

S - Fuck off Caron

Now, take a conversation of that level and place it in a life threatening situation

The Burning Building Context

Victim - Hello, hello? is that the Fire Brigade? My house is on fire, I cant get out!

Caron - Haha, hello, West Midland Fire Service how can I direct your call

V - My house is on fire, I cant get out, the smoke it everywhere, my son is trapped in the other room

C - Oh no, thats dreadful, how did it start, was it incense, always the way, haha

V - What? No...I just need the fire brigade...please, please I cant breathe

C - You cant breathe? I think you might need an ambulance, one second I'll put you through

V- No Wai....

Julie - Hello West Midlands Paramedics how can I help

V - MY HOUSE IS ON FIRE

J - Sorry sir I think you've got the wrong number, Il put you through to the FD

V - I was put through from there!

J - Was it that Caron, oooooo the devil, Il call her now and ask her what she's up to!

J- Sorry sir there was a bit of a mix up, Caron's a bit impulsive you see one moment

C - Hello, Fire Department

V - Please, some debris has fallen on my leg and now I can't move, the fires getting closer

C - Oh hello! Its been ages, haha, how are you? Gotten worse has it, I hear fires do that

V - JESUS CHRIST, HELP ME PLEA.........

C - Hello? Hello? Some people.

Also, what is wrong with them all, its not just the roundabout conversations and wistful shakes of the head, its everything else. They slow society. Go to any supermarket in the world and watch two women pass each other with trollies, they slow to a near stop, laugh at each other and do some sort of strange nodding and finger waving. What are they doing, they are clearly acknowledging  they are both shopping, but in what way, they dont say anything, they just slow everyone else down. 

What are you fucking doing?

Not only that, but in swimming pools, slowly breastroking along, head above the water like a fucking nuclear submarine. They exert so much effort not trying to get there hair wet, only to then have a shower afterwards. JUST GO UNDERWATER, ITS A POOL.

From The Editor  - 'a pretty middle aged deal'

A Special Thanks to 'Jeeksy'

Editorial: I Hate Britain's Fattest Man

This is Paul, he is Britain's fattest man, I apologise if you find this picture disgusting, but that is because Paul is a fat piece of shit. Paul unfortunately has another affliction, he cant stop crying. 
Over the course of one Channel 4 documentary Paul cries over 20 times. He cries when he eats, he cries when hes moved, he cries when he becomes aware that cars are fast. He cries when journalists 'invade his home', despite him sanctioning his massive fucking head being shown on national television. He cries when his carer leaves. He cries when they dont get a Chinook helicopter to take him to hospital for his treatment. Once he receives his free treatment he then cries because they cut his funding. He breaks a glass, an NHS glass, more tax payers money. He is a big ungrateful bastard


He makes ridiculous statements:


'This fold on my leg has a mind of it own' - THATS BECAUSE ITS A LUMP OF FAT PAUL, 


'Its a shock to your system having your carer leave' - But not being told that you weigh 56 stone


'How can the Sun say i weigh 70 stone, they dont know that' - Thats because Paul, if I put you on a beach and painted you blue, animal conservationists would try and roll you into the sea.


'im on top of the world at the moment' - You are another world Paul, a whole other place.


And then what do they do after his operation, after he's dropped the weight, they dress him up like fucking Rocky 

I hate you Paul.

From The Editor - 'I ate a whole pizza while I watched'

Review: Smack

Location: Leamington Spa

'I hear all the fast track tickets sold out last year'

Overview


I hear if you get in, there's a man in there and he reads your future.


Best Bits


Getting five meters from the door and being told that its reached.....'capacity', I think thats when it becomes self aware.

One to Miss

From The Editor - 'Standing in Line'