How do you even look after a gorilla?

So I love animals (not in a sexual way, although if I did have to have sexual relations with an animal, it would almost certainly be a panda, because I reckon they would give good cuddles afterwards)

So for Christmas I have adopted two gorillas through the Born Free foundation. A great animal charity, please donate. 

But adopting a Gorilla is a huge responsibility so I tweeted them with some important questions. 


My former employer

I got bored and decided to send an email to my former employer Kaplan, pretending to be a rambling old man making a complaint: (all company email addresses I have erased)

———- Forwarded message ———-

From: <>

Date: Wednesday, 20 July 2016

Subject: Fw: Mislead!
On Wednesday, 20 July 2016, 18:50, “” <> wrote:

Dear Kaplan (If that’s what you are really called)


I would like to formally lodge my displeasure with your company.

 Recently the wife and I have been having certain marital problems; I won’t bore you with the full details, but suffice to say it is in the bedroom department.

 Anyway to fill the long lonely nights, the wife suggested we get a kitten. I wasn’t overly keen at first, I mean, the reason that we didn’t have children is because we didn’t want faeces and vomit all over the house (My stomach turns just thinking about it). But the old ball and chain slowly wore me down and reluctantly, I agreed.

 Anyway, my good lady wife had heard your name mentioned somewhere, so we popped into town to see if we could find a feline we liked. Suffice to say you could not  begin to imagine our disappointment when we arrived after travelling almost 8 hours from the total paradise that is Nuneaton , only to find you supplied books for accounting nerds. My wife had sworn on her grandmas eyes, that your online ad had said ‘cat land’

 My wife was inconsolable at the news. It was particularly hard when you consider the fact that my wife is disabled, she has uncontrollable narcolepsy. I find her condition is particularly bad when it’s time to go see my mother, for her famous Sunday roast (I particularly love her carrots, roasted in butter and chocolate spread, delicious. I had lunch with her recently, during which I tasted the most interesting vegetable, from what I recall its name was ‘sellary’. It was rather unusual, but nonetheless, delicious. I would very much like to procure some of this ‘sellery’ and would be most grateful if you could provide me with a list of stockists)

 I myself, also have a serious medical ailment, I have one foot bigger than the other, and I don’t just mean half a shoe size, I mean one is a 5, the other is a 10, The ‘yoof’ of today stare at me, but I am used to it now. It makes it extremely difficult to get life insurance both Lord Telmer and Lady Pelving are at a loss.

 I had to take her for a very expensive lunch at ‘restaurant’ called Nando’s just to calm her down and stop the mild panic attack she was having, luckily I always carry a paper bag for such a crisese and I had not budgeted for such an eventuality.

In hindsight, taking her to a chicken restaurant was not the greatest idea as she is one of those vegetabletarians. This ‘Nando’s’really should be more clear in their signage, but that is an argument I will take up with them another day.

 Suffice to say I will be sending a bill of expenses in due course. Also suffice to say although my wife’s emotional distress may never disappear fully, thanks to your poor branding; the introduction of Shaniqua the Chinchilla has helped to take the edge off somewhat. 

It also gives me space to partake in my passion, table tennis; I am a table tennis nut! I play about 4 hours of everyday of the week, every month of the year (except November), every year. I just love it! It’s such a wonderful little game don’t you think?

 I am also looking to go into business. I am planning on setting up a gambling den at my premises within the next few months. I am aware that competition is strong, and have been thinking long and hard as to my ‘way in’ and now I have it! I plan to open a very first gambling den that will corner one area of the market that has been, until now, completely untapped: the under 16s!

 On a side note, my cousin Larry is looking for some ‘snazzy’ head gear for his first trip away with scouts. He is utterly convinced that you are a retailer of so -called baseball caps and you are called ‘Cap land’. He has promised to pop in this week. Please let him down gently.

 I look forward to hearing from you,


Best wishes



Jack Annoff 


No matter what I write, I could never do it justice

No matter what I write, I could never do it justice

So ladies and gentlemen, Something was keeping me awake last night, was it the the thought of world hunger? the plight of the Panda? or the Double Vodka and Redbull i had before i went to bed? (I find alcohol solves all the worlds problems and eases my very small conscience) And so I got thinking about my blog, had I been to harsh on the people I see daily on my commute to work? Then I thought no, they are shit stains on the underwear of life. But I came to the conclusion that no matter what I write nothing could ever do them the true justice they deserve. So I have collected a few pictures, that i believe accuretly represent a good cross section of the people i get on the bus with, so you can make your own judgements ( I am not usually one to fill this ‘blog’ full of pictures, because frankly I am lazy and can’t be bothered, but I decided I would make an extra special effort)…enjoy

The usual dress code #onlyintheUK

The sugarbabes have let themselves go a bit! #onlyintheuk

Sometimes you do not need to say anything! #truelove

she has added a scarf!

Kitty is hungry! #onlyintheuk

awww a very close family


Hands up who is a virgin?!

Weight watchers works a treat!

What a average UK family looks like #onlyintheuk

Good Luck!

For fucks sake! don't

I love my brother too! #onlyintheUK

Bonny and Clyde have nothing on these two!

True Love

Maybe because he killed 6 million Jews??


Another day another dollar


yes blood! from the mean streets of...Barnsley

I do love a good KFC

I would be annoyed too if my wage had not come through...tramp

good old ASADA

photo25 photo26

If only....

British Logic

Daves first POF message

So Dave has sent his first message on Plenty of Fish, wish him luck!

daves first messagejemmyfirst message

‘Dave’ does dating continued….

So Dave is now on the Plenty of Fish dating site…form a queue ladies!

dave the sexy ewok 1 dave the sexy ewok 2

‘Dave’ Does dating

David started at out company a couple of months before I did. He was the first thing I saw when I walked in. I thought he was the janitor, he was dressed like a homeless person, and smelt like a homeless person who had shit himself, then rolled around in a bucket of sweat. After approximately 7 minutes I realised that his actual job was as a potted plant. David or ‘Dave’ as he liked to be known has the personality of a brain Damaged gold fish, he was so far removed from reality I am not sure if he had an active imagination, or he was on meth. We never really got close, mainly because of the stink, but also because we had nothing in common. He was the type of person that wrote his name on all his office stationary, who would be anal about your time keeping, even though he was not the boss. I received a couple of warnings for taunting him, one was Sticking all his beloved stationary down with super glue and laughing so hard I had to open the window for fresh air. Dave’s main skill was wearing shirts the same colour as the office walls, he is also an expert at sitting very still. Before he started working with me he held a variety of positions including standing, crawling lying down and standing on tip-toes.Dave once saw a horse. Dave’s favourite sport is Jenga; His favourite music is that which he creates himself by humming and clapping.

Anyway, Dave is currently single, but hopes one day to marry his mother because she has ‘childbearing hips’.

Dave has been single since he was dumped by his girlfriend, after she ran off with her ski instructor while on holiday in the French Alps. I know this because Dave confided in the office gossip that he was having ‘relationship issues’ so everyone knew with n the hour that she had slept with a sexy French ski instructor.

I have never been skiing. Speeding down a mountain, probably drunk, towards big rocks, while posh people high five each other, while saying woo, is something that surprisingly, has never appealed to me.

Dave has been even more miserable than normal due to the “incident”. I have had enough and decided I have to do something about it. Internet dating is all the rage, so I have signed Dave up to a couple, and over the next few weeks ill be posting conversations I have as Dave. The profiles I set up will go something like this…. He is on Tinder already…

I love American Things

Me and my buddies like to hang out and pretend to be cowboys

Water Skiing

I lead a very active life style, i came 6th in the UK water Ski championships

Punk Days

I used to be a punk, i was the coolest kid in school, but i spent a fortune on hair gel and had to take a second job.


I like to keep fit by attending the Gym regularly

Beach days

I like to relax by going to the Beach and whale watching

I am a mega film buff, my favourite film is  Sex and The City 2. I also love cake

I am a mega film buff, my favourite film is Sex and The City 2. I also love cake

First name: David

Surname: Will not give away that information for security reasons

Star sign:  Glotten, the dyslexic elf.

About: Non-Smoker with cuddly body type

Details:35 year old male, 6′ 1″ (185cm), Religion is stupid

Intent: Looking for a relationship 1 hour a day, don’t be so clingy

Personality: Sith Lord

I am Seeking a: Woman or a woman like Ork

For: Some loving

Do you drink?: Yes I brew my own cider, its the best in Leeds

Marital Status: Single

Do you do drugs? If I have a headache I take some Paracetemol

Pets: A Few spiders in my Basement, named Paul, John, Ringo and Steve. Head lice.

Hair Colour: Labrador blonde

Do you have a car?:  No I have a push bike, with a roomy basket and a bell

Do you have children? Probably

Longest Relationship: Always been a player

How ambitious are you? I want to rule the earth and one day I will, come join me and be my queen

Turn ons:  Vengaboys, Bill Shatner, room temperature, flicking light switches in a smooth motion. Getting my hair ruffled by a cool northerly breeze.

Turn offs: long queues at the post office

Eye colour: Hypothermia blue

 My ideal woman: I am into many different types of women, all colours and races considered. The only exception is Asian women, I find them hot when they are young, but they don’t age well. I am preferably looking for women with 7 piercings in each, a slipknot tattoo between her toes, but I can be flexible with the amount of piercing pers ear. I love toast, I get through around 2 loafs a day. It’s real toast, slightly burnt. I need someone who can make toast, not just warm floppy bread that someone has just sat on. I do not want anyone who just wants to use me for my body!

Weird Crush: Des Lynam

Strangest experience: Being robbed by a pre-op transsexual.

 Favourite sexual position: The risk. Where you look at your porn after your mum says your dinner is ready, trying to climax before she come up stairs because she thought you didn’t hear her.

 Favourite way to relax: Some loud death metal, a bath with candles and Lavender infused bubble bath so help me from a stressful day dragon slaying.

I’m Dave,I love world of war craft, I love the fantasy aspect, I have such a vivid and creative imagination, my favourite character is Dobbie the house elf. But in the free hour a day I have after I have finished slaying the evil Voldermort, I would like someone to stop me being bored.  The photos prove I live a fit and active life style. I am never short of female attention,  I kiss lots of women. Sometimes we eat pizza and debate which is better, Star Wars or star trek?  But as we all know it is Star Trek, only and idiot would like Star Wars, but mostly we kiss. I have been told my beard and moustache tickles when I kiss, which the ladies love, my breath smells of pizza, and who doesn’t love pizza? I love the beach and was probably a jellyfish in a past life. I like to go to the gym at least once a week, as my dad works there stocking vending machines. I love German cinema, my favourite German title is currently ‘Gunter does Dortmund’ I have not managed to finish it yet as my mum does not go out much. I get many offers so you have to do something very impressive to stand out, and many girls becoming infatuated with me so quickly. Often a girl would tell me that she would rather have her arms ripped off than live with out me.

Everyday I go for a hundred mile jog along the beach and swim back.  I have been asked to do male modelling, but I am to busy jogging swimming and having lots of girlfriends who I kiss. I do not want to be responsible for girl buying the magazine and having her boyfriend turn homosexual. I did have a cat named Hermione, but she is no longer with us bless her soul, but her memory still lives on, I had her stuffed, after I took a part time taxidermy course on YouTube. She has pride of place on my mantelpiece.

My ideal first date: My idea first date would be meeting at the KFC of your choosing. We would both be wearing a red rose, so I knew who you were. We would share a Bargain bucket with extra gravy, on a quite table surrounded by candles, I would pay my half. We would get our laptops out and battle it out to the death as Level 52 hobbits. The winner would make breakfast in the morning. If I lost I can safely say my mum will make us the best eggs in town, although you would be expected to wash the dishes after, it’s not a hotel.

Bus Wanker


I read a blog once by someone who had bought a scarf and he went on for about three hundred paragraphs about his scarf and where he bought it and how it made him feel. The last time I bought a scarf I wore it. End of story. I didn’t write a novel about it.

I got on a bus the other day and the driver said to me.

“Going any where nice sir?”

I reply “does it look like it? I’m getting on a fucking bus

You know what they say about buses, you wait for one bus…. And you wait and you wait, and you wait a bit more, and the case of Arriva Yorkshire you carry on waiting till hell freezes over or at least Men in vests become morally acceptable, and you never have any clue what time the bus may turn up, often just when that fat tattoo riddled bus driver can be arsed ( i am not the fittest but I am fairly fit due to regularly thinking about jogging and i once performed a jumping jack. It was unintentional and involved a spider but it still counts) or what time he finishes screwing some hooker he picked up in some dark alley on one of his rounds.
Isnt evolution amazing! One minute they’re swinging through the trees, the next they’re driving buses. I have heard that People who drink on buses will be barred from using them again. All very good in theory but eventually they’ll run out of drivers.

Now most people would say it is men that  drive too fast, and women are the careful and considerate drivers, that may generally be true, but I tell you, in my experience it is those scary lesbian looking ‘women’ that are the worst! They look at you like you broke into their house on Christmas day and pissed on their kids, every time you set foot on the bus; they look like you are putting them out in someway, like it is a big chore to open the door to a paying customer! And seriously do not get me started on actually trying to paying for your Delightful journey. Is their anyone who actually knows how much their fare is supposed to be? It is pretty much different every time I step on that bus, like a shit game of Russian roulette, don’t have the correct fare and you die, another reason why I really need to start learning to drive.

Jesus and if you have not got the exact change, bloody hell you are basically in the shit, they look at you like you have just drowned some kittens! You may have a fiver, and your bus faircould be £2.80, oh but that is not good enough for Wendy the semi-professional wrestler behind the wheel. Despite not ever knowing how much the fare is, you MUST have the correct change or there is literally no chance of hopping on the over crowded, flea pit, surrounded by people who look like they have just escaped from Chernobyl. People who look like they have just eaten Greggs, i don’t mean a few pasties, i actually mean Greggs, the whole shop, bricks and all
While I am on the subject,

Why is it that skinny girls think that they’re a bit chubby?
Curvy girls think that they’re fat?
Fat girls think that they’re obese?
And Obese girls think they’re fucking supermodels?

People who between them have as many teeth as I do in my whole mouth, whose teeth decided to abandon ship, in anticipation of the large amounts of special brew that they were likely to be drowned in, and those few who are lucky enough to have 3 teeth or possibly even more, look like the teeth are writing the suicide note,  after all no one else on the cesspit of a bus can write.  People who count as benefit day as ‘payday’

After 17 years out of work, I’ve finally got an interview next week.

Me and the wife are guests on an episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show called “My Husband Is Britain’s Laziest Scrounger.
 These people need putting down but I was taught never to make a threat unless you are prepared to carry it out, and I am not a fan of carrying anything. Even watching other people carrying things makes me uncomfortable. Mainly because of the possibility they may ask me to help.

To give you an idea of what Yorkshires ‘Bus Operator of the year 2012’ clientele actually are like, imagine the scene, It’s a dark stormy night, Doctor Frankenstein is desperately trying to get his hideous and chilling monster right, he has raided the local cemetery of dead bodies, he has chopped them up and sewn body parts together in the hope of creating a living thing. Mean while next door, there is a big fuck off explosion in JD sports, and all the cast off’s get cover in Addidas trackie pants, and Reebok classic shoes. Then a Farmer comes in and spreads cow shit all over them… and you are somewhat close to the type of people I am talking about.

Anyway as you can imagine getting on the bus at least twice a day is always a thrill, seeing all those happy smiley gums, who could want anything else in life. In fact it may not really surprise you to know that I have had my fair share of run ins with bus drivers, one rather jumped up meff actually took my lunch off of me once, I am deadly serious, I had a salad from Morrison’s which was just across the road from my stop, and he refused to let me on in case I ate on the bus! Now I understand not eating, but it was not even open, because I could not be arsed actually trying to communicate with the bald chimp, I just gave him it and sat down. So I stumbled to the back of the bus as he set off rather quickly (he did that on purpose too) to find a guy genuinely injecting something into his arm!

‘Excuse me you can not come on this bus with a salad you might spill it and get a slightly unripe tomato on the floor’

‘Nah mate it’s just a bit of smack, i’m gonna get of me fuckin tits man’

‘Ah no problem sir, have a lovely day’

Is there any other profession in the world where you can basically turn up anytime you like and it does not matter?

Now the amount of times that these particular buses,i say buses, it’s the 229 from Leeds (sue me Arriva), either are late or do not bother to turn up at all, really takes the piss, it is not just occasionally, it is everyday without fail. The bus turning up on time is rarer that a unicorn or a 12 year old girl who did not meet Jimmy Saville. So I have come up with an idea, you tell me if this is fair… for every minute those miserable cock gobblers do not turn up we can deduct 20p off (our often made up) fare? Sound reasonable? I thought so too!

So with an idea worthy of dragons den in my head, I went onto the Arriva website, I was genuinely shocked to see that if a bus is 5 minutes late, or even 1 minute early then you can get on for free!! Seriously have a look at the bottom of this laughable customer mission statement

Arriva customer promise ‘We value your custom and welcome customers from all communities that we serve. Here we have outlined the quality of service that we promise to deliver to you:

• We aim to ensure that you have a safe, comfortable journey on a clean, well-maintained bus

• You will be able to identify your Arriva bus by its distinctive turquoise and cream colours• The route number and destination of the bus will be clearly displayed• Your bus will be driven by a professional wearing a uniform• We will always endeavour to be helpful, courteous and treat people with respect

• We are committed to providing a range of good value tickets, so that you can choose the one that suits you best

• Information about the times of Arriva buses is available from this website from traveline on 0871 200 22 33 If you wish to be kept up to date with information about your local bus service, including any promotions, please let us know via the ‘talk to us’ section on this website

.• We will make it easy for you to tell us what you like or don’t like about our services via our customer services hotline 0844 800 44 11. This number will be displayed on all our vehicles. Feedback can also be provided in writing: please refer to the Talk to Us section for further contact details

• We will respond to comments made within 10 working days of receipt and will keep you up to date on progress in the meantime

• We try to run all buses on time. However sometimes things outside our control, like traffic congestion or road works, might affect your journey. We will work with others to reduce the impact wherever possible

• If your bus leaves early or is more than 5 minutes late and we are to blame, we will offer you a future journey free of charge. Should this be the case please contact our customer services on 0844 800 44 11

Now the important bit here is ‘if we are to blame’ the greatest get out clause in history ‘no it was not my fault, the hooker I paid for was shit at blowjobs so I took ages to finish, and I spent £5 on that’

Anyway…there is a point to all this, I was sat on the bus (which makes a change as usually I have to stand) on the way to the White Rose shopping centre, and I was thinking, seriously why is there no strict rules about who and who can not get on the bus? Why do normal people, well relatively normal ones who don’t drag there knuckles along the floor, or tuck their pants into their socks, have to put up with listening to bloody Rhianna on the bus at full blast, while some thirteen year old girl takes a break from telling her friend ‘Chardonnay’ how she got fingered at Steve’s house, to sing along to her favourite part of the song? like she is one of those fruit loops on X-factor (what is with all those sob stories! a friend of mine once auditioned for the X-factor, so to give him a better chance i flushed his fish down the toilet and shot his mum)

So I came up with a few rules which I thought I would share with everyone, and who knows, if people like it we could change the world!! To day the 229 service, tomorrow the world! Ok maybe a bit too much there, but as Martin Luther King said ‘I have a dream today’ although I was a bit Adolf Hitler ish in my dream just then… That’s a name that has died out…Adolf, weird.

Anyway as I was doing some shopping, not in the same way ladies do their shopping, mine was just walking past the shops, having a look in the window and quickly deciding there was nothing in the shop that I liked, to be perfectly honest I think that I only went there for the Nando’s chicken! Arghh the perks of no longer dating a vegetarian. It reminds me of a joke I heard from a really rather sick friend of mine, now apologies in advance…

Women are like buses. You often get funny looks when you wank on ‘em. (Sorry mum)

I do feel sorry for the Guys in here. They all look exhausted, from being dragged round every shop by their Mrs, constantly having to lie, and say that their significant other looks fabulous in everything they try on, even if they look like roadkill. You can literally see them all stood outside the shop looking at their watches, getting more frustrated by the second, I mean it is dinner time on a Sunday, there is 4 hours of football on, its super Sunday for gods sake. All the blokes give each other either a knowing nod or a forced smile, they are all in the same boat.I sat down and had my chicken, just people watching, I do love people watching, I can never tell what people are saying but I like to make up my own back stories for them.When a good looking girl walks past a group of maybe 4-5 girls, they suddenly all stop what they are doing, like a group of Meercats, and just stare, they look her up and down to try and find fault with her. Then as soon as the pretty girl is out of earshot they embark on a massive bitch fest. It’s just the way with girls, it is like a drug to them, they have to bitch it comes as naturally as breathing. The amount of times I have sat with girls who are quite happy to slag off friends and work colleagues, then as soon as they see them it is like nothing as happened, like they are best pals. Now be careful here men a strong word of advice here, just because your Mrs will slag off her friends over and over again, in no way make the mistake that you can join in! oh no, you cant, she is quite happy for you to listen to her tell you how her friend looked like a pig in a blanket at that wedding, but if you say anything at all in agreement prepare for a barrage of abuse! Prepare for the ‘she is my friend not yours’ speech It is the greatest hypocracy in the world and there is nothing you can do about it. That’s the thing with you women, you are a mystery, and you say that men do not understand you! No you are right we have no fucking idea! None what so ever! Now girls is there a right answer to the question that every man dreads… and I mean every single man in the world…. Do I look fat in this? This is a trick question gents, refuse to answer it, do not go down that road, and do not even attempt to answer. It can only end badly. And trust me, if you get stung by this question once, you will never in your life make the same mistake again. If you say no, she will think you are ‘just saying that’ and she will just go get changed anyway thinking that you lied to her, so now she thinks you are a liar. If you say yes, well basically prepare to have your balls stuck in a vice and be castrated with a rusty spoon.Us men need to accept we will never win, it is like the war in Vietnam, winning is just not an option, it is best to roll over and play dead.

Now as I was sat at that table, this is truthfully the conversation I over heard, now I can guarantee any man who reads this will have had the exact same conversation, it is guaranteed, it went something like this…

‘Are you ready to go home babe we have been here 5 hours’‘But I have not got anything yet’‘But we have been into every shop’‘Can we just go back to the first shop again; I think I want to get that dress’

Amazing, there are just no words sometimes ladies.

Anyway, I made a few rules for the bus, she if you like them…

1. All passengers should be sniffed before coming on board – if you can not be arsed to get your self in the shower then you should not be allowed on. Why should I have to sit gagging at the back of the bus because you smell like your dogs ball sack?

2. Men with long hair just get off the bus – if you are a bloke in his 50s and you have long hair, you need to have a long hard look at the life you are living. Until you get it cut you are not stepping foot on this bus. If you are going bald as well cut off that little rat’s tale! You are not fooling anyone! you look like you touch young boys… Jimmy Saville had long hair..

3. If you do not have the money to get on the bus do not haggle- this is not a market in Morocco, you can not barter with the bus driver. Would you go into Tesco’s and haggle over the price of a can of coke? No, now fuck off you tight c**t

4. A bag is not a passenger – if you have a bag, do not put it on a seat, especially during rush hour. A bag is an inanimate object; it will not mind being put on the floor. Get it off the seat and let someone sit down. Did you buy the bag its own little bus pass? No, no you didn’t.

5. If you are lucky enough to get a seat on the bus, sit on the seat nearest the window – if you are lucky enough to have the 2 seats to yourself, do not sit on an isle seat, I will ask you to move, and I will deliberately brush up against you all the way home.

6. Being a woman does not entitle you to a seat – I know it is controversial ladies, but unless you are so old you can hardly walk and no longer in charge of your bodily functions, being a lady is not a reason you have to ask me to leave my seat. It has happened a few times and I will continue to refuse. Its just equal rights ladies, you wanted the vote, and equal pay, well then you have to give up some privileges. After all I would rather see a pregnant woman standing on a bus, rather than a fat woman sitting down crying

7. No prams or pushchairs at rush hour – if you have had a ‘happy accident’ and need to take the bus, then there are plenty of hours in which to take your delightful daughter or son on the bus. If little baby Chlamydia (it sounds strange, but genuinely one of my friends who is a nurse had to stop a parent calling her daughter that. The ’mother’ said she thought it sounded exotic I kid you not) push chair takes up 3 seats then you will be kicked off the bus. But you will probably not notice, because you will be to busy playing candy crush on your brand new iphone that i have paid for

8. If your baby screams shut it up – if your child, your little bundle of joy, or your ticket to sky plus, however you want to look at them, cries and screams on the bus, do something about it. The amount of times these so called young ‘rough as a badgers arse’ mothers just ignore a crying child, while they talk to their friend Britney on the phone, describing in painful detail have they got gangbanged in a field, or just gave a hand job to the guy in the job centre to get a bigger house amazes me. My ears are bleeding shut the thing up! On a side note to that, if you have a babies ears pierced you should be thrown of the bus by your pubes!

9. Do not talk to me – I have my headphones in for a reason.

10. No music – I do not mean people with headphones, I mean those complete tossers who think it is cool to put there speaker phones on and sing at the top of there lungs? What’s the best that could happen? You think Simon cowells car has just broken down and he has decided to take the bus? No he hasn’t so shut the hell up!

11. if you are really fat buy two tickets – I am sorry but being fat is not and excuse, why should I have to sit with my head up your sweaty armpit and facing your ‘Moobs’ just because you say you are partial to a bit of cake ‘now and then’? I feel sorry for fat people on buses though sometimes they put the widest seat right at the back.

My mate pulled two girls last night.

“They’re like buses,” I said.

“What?” he said. “Because you wait for ages then two come at once?”

“No,” I replied. “They are like buses.”

Another rant over with,

Arguing is healthy in a relationship 



So I was thinking about past relationships, and in general how societies nutters tend to gravitate towards me. As my mum says I “just have one of those faces”, when I remembered a few arguments I had while In the doomed relationships. 



My ex girlfriend Rebecca could not, and will never be able to cook. She was capable of the process of cooking (sort of) but cannot cook in the same way that an octopus cannot ride a bike; it has enough arms to reach the pedals and handlebars but the result will rarely be a successful journey from A to B. She was also a vegetarian. You have to be careful what you say these days, apparently you’re not allowed to call a certain group of people queers anymore. You have to call them Vegetarians. I don’t have anything against Vegetarians, but the way I see it, our food shits and pisses on there’s. 

I once looked over Rebeccas shoulder to discover her crumbling Alka-Seltzer tablets, or the cheaper supermarket alternative, into a meal she was preparing because “they are salty and we ran out of salt.”

 One Friday night, Rebecca stated that she was making nachos for dinner so I was surprised to say the least when she placed a bowl and spoon an hour later. “What’s this? I asked.

“The nachos were a bit runny so I added a few cups of water. It’s nacho soup,”

“Is there even such a thing?” I asked. “And what are these bits in it?”

“They’re the crisps,” Rebecca replied defensively as she sipped a spoon of Nachos and made a long “mmmmmm” noise. “I put it all in the blender so there shouldn’t be any big bits.”

“I’m ringing for pizza,” I said.

 “Typical,” replied Rebecca, “you never appreciate anything I do.”

“That’s not true” I responded, “I appreciate everything you do but if I ordered a hamburger at McDonald’s and they handed it to me in a cup with a straw saying ‘Sorry, it was a bit runny so we threw it in the blender and added two cups of water, it’s Big Mac soup’, I would assume the restaurant was entirely staffed through some kind of special needs employment initiative. If they asked me, “Do you want fries with that?” I sure as fuck wouldn’t reply, ‘Yes, mix them in.'”

“It would probably be quite good,”  “but you would never know because you are too much of an asshole to taste it. Even if the guy at McDonalds spent an hour in the kitchen making it for you and burnt his thumb on a saucepan.”


While I was on the phone to my mother, as it was Mother’s Day, my mum jokingly, knowing full well what I am like asked if Rebecca  found me annoying or amusing. Of course I said she found me a total hoot, Rebecca yelled from the kitchen clearly audible to my mum and no doubt half the street, “Don’t fucking lie.” My mum asked me “Was that Rebecca?” to which I replied, “No, it was the television” and Rebecca yelled out again “No it wasn’t.” On one occasion, I decided we should call in sick, so that we could spend the whole day in bed together, On Monday morning, as I was about to call my boss, using my best sick voice to explain how I could possible of attracted Ebola, Rebecca was watching a program called Breaking Bad in bed while I was making the call in the next room. Not realising I was on the phone to my hard asse boss, she yelled “We should build a Meth-lab in the garage.”


I came over to visit Rebecca after work one Tuesday, to discover a framed photo of our dog on our living room wall. I like our dog but when I am home, so is the dog. I don’t need to see photos of it. Especially if the photo shows the dog sitting on the couch that is immediately below the framed photo and the dog is actually sitting on that couch at the time.

Sitting down next to the dog, I grabbed a magazine from the table and flicked through until I came to an interview with tom cruise. The facing page featured a photo of Tom  in a suit, sitting on a chair with one leg crossed over the other, holding a glass of red wine. Ripping out the page, I replaced the photo of the dog in the frame with it.

When I met Tom cruise in a bar in Los Angeles, I asked him what annoyed him most about being famous.

“That’s easy,” he replied, “It’s all the libellous things that people write about me.”

And then he got down on his knees and sucked my cock. 

Arriving home a short time later, it took Rebecca less than fifteen seconds to storm into the kitchen brandishing the frame and demanding, “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s Golden Globe award winning actor Tom cruise” I replied.

“Yes, I know who Tom cruise is, Where’s the dog?”

“It’s sitting on the couch,” I replied, “It’s always sitting on the couch. And having a photo above the couch of it doing so is weird. We may as well put a photo on the wall of all three of us sitting on the couch and then sit on the couch and look at it. Or put up a mirror.”

As she stormed back out in search of the missing photo, Rebecca said over her shoulder, “It’s not as weird as having a photo of Tom cruise  on the wall.”

“I like Tom cruise,” I replied.

“Well I like the fucking dog,” Rebecca yelled back, “If you love Mr cruise so much why don’t you marry him instead. Then you can put up hundreds of photos of him.”

Which is a ridiculous statement because if I was married to Tom cruise and saw him everyday, I obviously wouldn’t need photos of him on the wall to look at. Also, if I was married to Tom cruise and we had a bare wall, we could probably afford a professional interior designer who knew what they were doing.


About me

I’m still deciding what to write for my next post, in the mean time here is a bit about me.
Hello I’m Ben,

 I read a blog once by someone who had bought a scarf and she went on for about three hundred paragraphs about her scarf and where she bought it and how it made her feel. Penned apparently by throwing a keyboard into a box full of squirrels and running the results through a quick spell-check. The last time I bought a scarf I wore it. End of story. I didn’t write a novel about it.

I keep telling myself that I should get fit but then I see people that I know and work with starting exercise routines and they become boring and talk about ‘reps’ and read out the amount of calories from food wrappers as if anybody cares. A year after going to the gym and becoming experts on the amount of water they should drink in a day, they are just as flabby as when they started but less interesting.

As I am constantly told I am too skinny, last year I paid £35 to join a gym. I attended twice. The first time for almost an hour, the second for only fifteen minutes when it dawned on me that a) the level of fitness of the people attending the gym was inversely proportional to the level of intelligence and that b) my instructor was not wearing anything under his Spandex bike pants and the wet semen spot would, in all probability, brush against me if I stayed there any longer. In hindsight, the money would have been better spent on takeaway food, alcohol and drugs. I am fairly fit due to regularly thinking about jogging and I once performed a jumping jack. It was unintentional and involved a spider on the bath mat but still counts. 

I enjoy cooking,  (except quorn, I refuse to eat something that looks so much like cat litter). My last girlfriend could not cook cook. She was capable of the process of cooking, but she cannot cook in the same way that an octopus cannot ride a bike; it has enough arms to reach the pedals and handlebars but the result will rarely be a successful journey from A to B. I once looked over her shoulder to discover her crumbling Alka-Seltzer tablets into a meal she was preparing because “they are salty and we ran out of salt.”

I like to watch films cuddles up under a duvet eating junk food on a cold rainy day. 

Recently, I was tricked into watching The Notebook which was about geese. Lots of geese. It also had something to do with an old lady who conveniently lost her memory so she could not remember being a whore throughout the entire film.

If I had a monkey, I would teach it to sing Kylie Minogue songs. Then if Kylie passed out on stage again I would be able to save the day by having my monkey finish the concert for her. The concert promotors would probably give me free tickets and promotional gifts. Kylie would be so thankful that she might send me an autographed photo and I could sell it on ebay for fifty pounds. I would buy drugs with the fifty dollars. Not for the monkey, for me.

 I do have a job (surprisingly) one of my old bosses had short man syndrome. I knew my first boss was going to be trouble as soon as I met him. He was small, and short men are almost always angry, horrible things. A woman being short is seen as cute, but a short man will never forgive the world for such a cruel blow. Small men hate normal sized humans. They wish them cancer and car accidents. They dream about being the size of an office block and stomping on all the normal sized people. Small men have fat wives with tight curly hair, and they are angry about that as well. I am sure there are many advantages of being so small. ASDA has and excellent range of boys clothing at competitive prices. If I was small I would buy a cat and ride it.  now I am the highest earner in my office, Except on Mondays when I am the drunkest. Although I spend most of the day playing a game called ‘staring at the wall wondering what happy are doing’ and answering calls by either ending each sentence with ‘over’ like I am talking on a walkie talkie then making the ‘kchssssch’ noise or pretending to be a confused Chinese woman.

Each Tuesday I held a disco in my bedroom with strobe lighting and special guest. As my wardrobe door has a large mirror on it, it looks like someone is dancing with you. I once dressed as a lady and it was almost exactly what I imagine dancing with a real lady would be like. Unfortunately, I kept worrying about falling, hitting my head and being found dressed that way so she left after only a few dances and a brief kiss.


Things my girlfriend has said this week….

“She only blinks with one eye” “Erm I think she’s winking bedders” 

” Lou Bega sang ‘mango number 5″

“the Sopranos is about some Mexicans”

“What’s the plural of Doritos?”

Me: “it’s @brianblessed”  Her  : “is that the fish finger man?” Me “no Bedders that’s captain Birdseye” 
“Why did they never make Titanic 2?”