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The End is nigh!

Forget ISIS, forget Malaria, forget global warming, forget Cancer, forget everything you think you know about threats to the world.

These ‘search terms’ below, are genuine search terms. Terms that people have actually, physically, typed into Google and accidently stumbled across my blog. Please just think of the man or woman who has typed some of these search terms in. Realise these are the true threat to the world!

 

  • lesbians fingering
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  • dreamt that my ex boyfriend was shitting on himself…and even carried a bucket full of shit not knowing <—– **personal favourite**
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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

photo7

Hands up who is a virgin?!

Weight watchers works a treat!

What a average UK family looks like #onlyintheuk

Good Luck!

For fucks sake!

erm...you 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??

Oink

Another day another dollar

wasted!

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

Jens Got Problems

Dear Deirdre

“I’ve got a real problem. You know those women you’d give anything for, but you know you can’t have? Well, I’ve got it really bad for one right now. Worse thing is she knows I’m into her and that just turns her on more. I can’t stop thinking about her. But I know, I KNOW it’ll only end in tears. So I told myself the next time I saw her I was going to resist.

Nice idea.”

Right so, I have been missing for a good while again, and it is simply because I am the king of laziness, I have found myself watching lots of children’s TV, especially Peppa Pig. I especially like the episode where mummy pig, gets all dressed up special for her Birthday. when I grow up, I am going to be like mummy pig. She is very talented and never gets cross, even though her children frequently come home all soiled in mud from jumping in bastard puddles. Her husband is an overweight fool with a serious superiority complex. I suspect she self medicates with quite a lot of wine in the evenings. I am sure parenting is a hard job, However whoever invented a way for mums to get together on the internet is on a par with the person who invented the atomic bomb. They have unleashed a force upon the earth so awesome and dreadful, that it threatens the whole of humanity. Mums should be kept in isolation as far as possible and never given access to social media. We should stop worrying about Trident and seal Mumsnet in a bunker instead of nuclear waste. As we speak, there is a guy in this coffee shop, sitting at a table, not on his phone, not on his laptop, just drinking coffee like a psychopath. But if the truth be told, I have not really had a lot to moan about since my last post. That doesn’t mean I do not hate everything, and that things don’t annoy me any more, because they do. They really do… like feminists, people who walk and text, people who chew too loudly or constantly sniff when they are sat next to me on the bus. Because things like that really boil my piss. Like recently when I got told to give my seat up on the bus for a middle aged woman, by a guy who was lurking around like a big hairy rapist at a coach station. And when I say middle aged, you would expect her to be going on 60 or 70ish. But no, this woman was in her forties at the latest. Of course I refused, which generated a fair amount of staring and loud tutting noises from a woman who looked like a Nazi Julie Andrews; she didn’t get off her arse and move though!

Anyway, all of these little things are not good enough to write a whole blog post about. It would be pointless, I just told you them!

It is hard to be sarcastic and bitter when things have been going pretty well of late. But I knew I needed to write something, so to get me in the mood I punched a kitten in the face and that made me feel much more like my normal self.

Dear Deirdre:

“God, she was all over me as soon as I stepped in the door, kissing and touching me. Then she suddenly cools off with no warning. A total cock tease. She’s always dressed immaculately, and today was no different. She was wearing this breezy little floral number, down to just below her knees; minimum jewellery – just a bracelet and a simple necklace. Real classy.

We talked for a bit, and she made us some lunch. Then, as she was clearing away she “accidentally” dropped a knife. Fuck me; she bent down SO SLOWLY, letting out the sexiest little groan you ever heard. As I was sitting there in the chair, taking in the view, all I could think was:

“Shit…if you weren’t my grandmother you would be in SERIOUS TROUBLE right now.”

Lad

Lad

So agony aunts why them… well why not? I hate the filth pigs. I’d love to stuff so much cotton wool down their throats that they would be shitting it out of their arse till they look like the fucking Easter bunny. They are as credible to me as psychics, mediums, Kim Kardashian (so Kim Kardashian’s arse is huge and has a lot of oil… I wonder if America will invade it? Oh wait, my bad, half of America already has), or those weird people who go on about  horoscopes; it’s all just a big con. They are the equivalent of a 99p store called ‘Value Bastard’ that sell lighters cellotaped to bottles of bleach. To me, they are making a living off mentally ill people, the metally ill people who write to them. I mean who in the name of sweet baby Jesus would write to them? Well I know… lonely people! I am lonely, and I am always looking for affection, my only requirement would be that we keep the lights off as imagination has its limits. I have had worse of course… my last girlfriend was the poster girl for ‘love is blind’ and my current partner is overseas at the moment so the only intimacy in my life involves a stick of salami and the neighbours dog when Glenda & Frank go out Tuesday nights. Once when they arrived home early due to an argument between themselves regarding Frank’s internet usage, I hid in their wardrobe for four days. I could see Frank using his computer from my hiding position, therefore, I can vouch for his denials to Glenda’s accusations that he was “looking at girls on the internet”. He was looking at photos of her. No, not really, it was men.

Young lonely people tend to be the main culprits. I don’t even see young people on the street anymore. I see youths. You know, how they’re described in police radio reports… slumped S-shapes in their hoods, beside their harrowed dogs and a bin full of burning grannies, all texting each other because they’ve given up on speech, and plotting something terrible like how to make cider out of blood

Often the things that the agony aunts discuss are deeply personal, stuff that you would find hard to talk about in front of friends and family. Yet the morons that write in are happy to let some middle aged woman (who’s only qualification for the role as far as I can tell is being able to read and write) give you life advice. It’s like having Stevie Wonder judge Miss World. In its simplest terms it is basically your nosey neighbour next door who can not keep her big fucking nose out of other peoples business popping over to tell you your tax disc is out of date. Except this time you have the added pleasure of it being published in a national newspaper. I am sure that their intentions are honourable, and that in a past life, the aim of these wank biscuits was to truly help people. There are so many serious issues, which simply can not be solved by two lines in a newspaper column. They will argue that it is just to provide guidance for small personal matters, but its not. People write in about all sorts. Some guy this one time, was so concerned that he had an attraction to children he wrote into a national newspaper, and Deirdre genuinely tried to get him help! Question: Does the new paedophile in town approach the older paedophiles and ask them – ‘Where’s a good place to track down kiddies? Do you know a good place?’ ‘Well, it’s swings and roundabouts, really.’ I will not say his name, because I can not remember, but what I do know is that he was from Wales. Wales is a strange place. Every 20 years or so, anthropologists attempt to coax the islanders from their hostile reception of outsiders by leaving leeks on the beach and waving from boats anchored just beyond spear throwing distance. Sometimes the native’s wave back and the anthropologist’s encouraged approach for them to come close enough to be speared.

The most popular example of mentally challenged (or Jeremy Kyle viewers as I like to call them) being exploited for other peoples amusement in this country is in a newspaper called ‘The Sun’ (I say newspaper; I mean it’s for idiots, or used as a back up for toilet paper). It has a daily column called ‘Dear Deidre’. Deirdre is now a household name in this country like ‘Vanish’. I do not know if the woman’s real name is Deirdre or not, and I do not give a flying goats shit enough to find out. All I do know is that she is a big frumpy woman who has a 1980’s style perm. And the most unbelievable thing about this is that people actually write in to her and ask deep personal questions! (Personally, I just think that somewhere in the cellar of the Sun HQ is a load of 16 year old media studies students who are made to work 12 hours a day with no break, thinking of different ways to word ‘my husband is having an affair what should I do? balls to aspiration, it’s a tosser’s mirage.  Oh it is of course anonymous, with the exception that they put there name, age and where they are from in the article. “The next query comes from Armando 30 in Littlehampton” the height of discretion the sun. (As a side note: I love the fact that the ‘photo’ story on agony aunt pages always has fit girls in their underwear. Don’t fat ugly girls ever have problems?)

Dear Deirdre

“I’m beginning to think I’m not normal; I’m still a virgin at the age of 11.

Sally from Liverpool”

There are so many problems in the world today, and most of us have a skeleton in the cupboard. David Beckham takes his out in public. There are so many problems with Britain, and it is such a strange country. I mean you have to be 16 to join the army, but 18 to play call of duty. You can vote at 16, but you have to be 18 before politicians can stop finding you attractive. Like I say, odd. Occasionally you will get some serious questions from people who are genuinely looking for help, and not just to see if they can get in the paper. Often these are teenagers struggling with their sexuality, and struggling with how to tell their friends and family. Of course these kind of queries need a real and deep response, not just a couple of sentences in a newspaper, and then a premium rate phone line to call afterwards. Personally I do not care whether a person is gay, straight, or Australian. I personally don’t think I could be gay… I just don’t have it in me.

dddddddddddddddddddd2 dd ddddddd

Another huge and current issue in this country is the issue of immigration. Everyone has an opinion whether good or bad it doesn’t matter. Everyone has an opinion. I have a mix of nationalities living on my street. Ones English, ones Chinese, ones Indian…it’s like the Olympic village here. But that’s OK.

I am not talking about the big issues in the world, the issues that really matter, the issues that we should all take an interest in, the issues that really affect us everyday, i.e. Terrorism, hunger, disease, immigration (it’s a hot topic in the country, and no doubt all over the world now is immigration, but what can you do? Build a wall around Britain? Who the fuck is going to build it?) I am talking about the crap you read in everyday rags like the Sun, or the free crap you get on the bus in the morning; the one that the man next to you has used to blow his nose (at least he is not sniffing constantly). But why concentrate on the major issues, when Candice from Essex thinks she has caught a sexually transmitted disease off Abdul from the kebab shop, and now can not stop itching and has a burning sensation when she goes for a piss behind the bins. I know A joke about Essex girls, I apologise in advance …

An Essex Girl enters a sex shop and asks for a vibrator.

The man says “Choose from our range on the wall.”

She says “I’ll take the red one.”

The man replies “That’s a fire extinguisher.”

The news is full of disadvantaged people who have problems – they say disadvantaged on the news because they can not say “fucked” on the news. Look at Heather Mills, at one time she was the most hated woman on the planet. I mean if anyone could have used a bit of advice then it would have been her. The only way Heather Mills can redeem herself now is to find Madeleine McCann. Bless her little wooden leg, she is not the only celebrity that could of done with a bit of advice from our favourite old hag Deirdre… Michael Jackson (god rest his soul) could of done with her help, or at least one of her fabulous glossy leaflets (if you call a premium rate number and get put on hold for 30 minutes, she must be rolling in it the greedy bitch). Mind you, he had so many problems that he would have needed her whole range of leaflets. It would be a whole novel. Jackson’s family say AEG and his doctor ignored all the warning signs regarding his health, little tell tale signs that showed he was ill, like his face falling off!

You can almost guarantee that in Germany there are no such things as problem pages….want to know why? Because things work there.

There are so many amusing ones though, and you can only imagine what the person writing in must look like. I imagine it is not to dissimilar to Jackie Stallone, after an acid attack. One that I unfortunately found myself reading was about a young girl who was worried that she was not a good kisser. Deirdre’s amazing advice? Practice on her pillow. I shit you not. So next time she kisses someone, she will expect to smell like sweat and taste like cotton. All I could think of is what that that kiss must be like. I imagine it’s something like trying to siphon petrol.

I phoned the agony aunt this evening incidentally. That’s what I call her anyway – my uncle beats her regularly

Dear Deirdre,

“I have trouble making friends, what the fuck is you going to do about it?”

20120606-135114

Kids are also a big problem today, an example of this would be when I was at the bus station once, and there was a girl with her parents, she was 11 (I will explain how I know that she was 11 shortly) and she had one of those pink fluffy tracksuits on, ones that look like someone made it out of a towel that has been left in your schools lost property, and now smells damp and musky like an old ladies house. Stitched on the arse it said ‘gorgeous’. The dad came over and for some reason started talking to me (which I hated), he had a strange oder to him and came over smelling like a pissed seaside donkey. He started talking about his daughter, and mentioned she was 11 (see nothing dodgy). I couldn’t help mention the tracksuit she was wearing, and asked if he thought it was a tiny bit inappropriate for an eleven year old to have ‘gorgeous’ plastered across her arse! All he could say was it’s ‘the fashion’. But she was a minger! Certainly not gorgeous! Surely that falls under the trade description act somewhere!

It tends to be women that write into these columns of sorrow. Generally, men’s biggest worries are either getting fat or going grey, either way the solution is the same – diet (dye it). I had a think about what problems I have that I could write to Deirdre about for guidance, however the biggest worry I could think of is making sure that I have matching socks in the morning. Occasionally I do get a little worried when my bus is 5 minutes late, which would cause me to be late for a job that I hate… but to be honest I soon get over that. Sometimes I also here voices in my head, but I just ignore them and carry on killing. I didn’t write a stupid letter to some bimbo.

Dear Deirdre,

“I’m leaving you”

Women are the main culprits, it has to be said, for keeping these problem pages going. I mean women’s magazines are just one big problem page. I will never understand women, so sometimes these columns will give you an insight into the warped female mind. All I know is there are only two conditions where you’re allowed to wake up a woman having a lie-in. Either it’s snowing, or the death of a celebrity. It’s basically simple to work out a woman. “What do women want?” As though it’s really mysterious. As though it’s a big deal. All that women want is what anybody wants. You know, friendship and companionship, respect, a certain amount of leadership with submission, and a kind of cooperation at all times, and pre-emptive empathy and you know, general telepathy. It’s no big deal, is it? Traditionally, women have been attracted to uniforms. So it’s not difficult to know what women want. Fascists – that’s really what they’re all after!

How women think is completely different to men. Only a woman can coin a phrase ‘dream cheating’.

When I woke up before my last girlfriend, usually to let the dog out so it doesn’t take a dump on the kitchen floor, I made her a coffee and took it to her in bed whispering, “Time to wake up, you have to get ready for work,” or “Time to wake up, the dog took a dump on the kitchen floor and it isn’t going to clean itself up.”

On one occasion, I whispered, “The police are here. If they ask, I was home last night and you don’t know anything about Mr O’Brian’s cows.”

On a Sunday morning, she woke me up by punching me in the neck.

Thinking that someone was attacking me, perhaps a burglar or an evil doll that had come to life, I rolled away from the blow and out of bed yelling, “What? What’s happening?” she, stared at me from in bed, said, “I had a dream you had sex with Liz McDonald from Coronation Street.”

Groggy, and still puzzled as to what was happening, I asked, “Who the fuck is Liz McDonald?”

“She’s the lady that lady that works behind the bar in the Rovers,” she replied, “I dreamt you were having an affair with her and I came home and she was wearing my clothes.”

“What the fuck?” I asked, “She’s in her eighties.”

“So if it had been someone younger that would be ok would it?” she demanded. “No,” I replied as I dressed, “but if I am going to get punched in the neck because you have a dream about me having an affair, I would rather it be with someone born after the Second World War”

“Like Kate Beckinsale? You love her don’t you,” she accused. “What?” I responded, “I’ve never even met her.”

“Yes, well,” she continued, “You’ve never met Liz McDonald either and that didn’t stop you.”

Making my way out of the bedroom as quickly as possible, I walked downstairs to make a much needed cup of coffee and discovered the dog had taken a dump on the kitchen floor.

I rest my case

These so called ‘experts’ advise people on relationship issues, lots of them are to do with men lying to their partner or wife. The truth is, we all know that relationships are basically apologising for saying something hilarious.  Men tell such lies, like when we say you are our best friends, we don’t mean it, and we only say that to make you happy. After all, you can’t have 14 pints with your wife.  Men are just simple, when you are born, we have one finger on our nose, the other hand on our dick, you get taller, and that’s really it.  But in the main, the general theme is to do with affairs; it is pretty much always an affair of some kind. Some of the things are truly sick, and I mean sick. Sicker than a mouse downing a bottle of white lightening. My girlfriend is always saying I’m a terrible liar. Several affairs and a secret love child says different.

I once read a line from one of these help columns – it was about a woman who had just got married, but her husband was having problems in the bedroom department shall we say. The phrase she used was ‘I have had muggings that have lasted longer than that’. Amazing, truly amazing. Poor guy. I mean what a catastra-fuck for him that must have been. If it’s not ‘arriving’ too quickly when things are getting hot and steamy, then it’s the husband who has problems getting the little fella up. The advice is always drink some wine, relax. But surely the last thing you want is to drink wine? As if being drunk has ever helped a bloke get it up? If worst comes to worst, Viagra is always suggested. What great advice, thanks Deirdre. Of course, this has never been a problem for women, female Viagra has been around for years… its called money.

Dear Deirdre,

“My girlfriend asked me to knock something up in the kitchen, now my cleaner is pregnant”

These columns span a range of mainly women’s issues, including problems such as weight. One column I read included a woman who wrote in to say that the ‘problem is she can not stop buying cakes’ and the agony aunt went on about changing her lifestyle, substituting cake for something else, doing exercise blah blah blah. But surely the problem was eating the cakes rather than buying them?  Unless I have missed the point completely, there is no harm in buying cakes; it is eating them that will cause you to get fat. But I suppose I am not the expert, and hey, if you were not meant to eat at night, why put a light in the fridge?

To do these columns must be similar to being the GP after Harold Shipman, a piece of horse piss. I once helped an “over weight” colleague with her problems, although she didn’t know it. You know those bath bombs that make the water smell nice, that generally come with a bar of soap in the little wicker basket wrapped in cellophane that people who you couldn’t care less about are given as presents? I once received one as a staff ‘secret Santa’ and it still had a little tag attached with gold ribbon that read “To Sarah, Merry Xmas 04”. This annoyed me somewhat as I actually put some thought into my gift. Louise, who is quite fat, seemed quite over whelmed with her trial subscription to Weight Watchers Online.

Binge drinking features a lot in these columns too. Many are worried about it, and the effects it has on the economy and our healthcare system. The advice is always the same, go seek help. But I think they have completely missed the point on this one. No one ever says anything good about binge drinkers, its like farting in a cheese shop; it’s not the main problem. As a binge drinker I suffer abuse, I have been for job interviews and I know the only reason I didn’t get the job was because I was hammered. They couldn’t see behind the drink, they couldn’t see the real person. Before I go out binge drinking I always eat half a pound of butter. It doesn’t actually do anything … I just make fucking poor life choices. I have recently started drinking whiskey, which is probably due to my age, it turns you into two people: one of you is very nice, you’ll go up to total strangers and say, “Come in, come in, sit down, for God’s sake, have something. Have my bed.” And then you’ll go up to people you’ve known and loved all your life and say, “Get the fuck out of my house! Go on, get out! And leave a tip!” The most dangerous drink is gin. You have to be really, really careful with gin.  And you also have to be 45, female and sitting on the stairs. Because gin isn’t really a drink, it’s more a mascara thinner. “Nobody likes my shoes!”, “I made… I made fifty… fucking vol-au-vents, and not one of you… not one of you… said ‘Thank you.'” And my favourite: “Everybody shut up. Shut up! This song is all about me.”

Top (Bad) Deirdre headlines

  •  Rape Pornography
  • Wanking glove
  • Weight gain
  • Constant googling, ‘does this make me gay?
  • Fear of buttons
  • Constant fear of cancer
  • Dreaming of swimming with dolphins that at best will feel complete in difference towards you
  • Tutting at the news
  • Books pretended to read

So with all this in mind, the reason for this post is simply this… over the next week I am going to set up a new blog, and twitter account in the pretence that I am a budding therapist called Jen. I will be encouraging people to tweet/post there problems to Jen. Jen will then give them relationship advice, or what ever it maybe, in the only way Jen can. Any replies will be responded to and posted on my blog; keep posted, and let the fun begin!

(I promise it will not just be “she was ugly and fat anyway, I don’t even know how you could kiss her”)

Aston-Villas-fans-letter-to-The-Suns-Dear-Deidrie-agony-aunt

Bus Wanker

bus

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,

A Dave update

Hello,

So this is a brief update on Dave’s dating attempt, I will keep it short, Dave has been banned from POF and Tinder. Poor Dave

Here is the message that got him kicked off…

pof

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 usual dress code
#onlyintheUK

The sugarbabes have let themselves go a bit! #onlyintheuk

The sugarbabes have let themselves go a bit!
#onlyintheuk

Sometimes you do not need to say anything! #truelove

Sometimes you do not need to say anything!
#truelove

she has added a scarf!

she has added a scarf!

Kitty is hungry! #onlyintheuk

Kitty is hungry!
#onlyintheuk

awww a very close family

awww a very close family

photo7

Hands up who is a virgin?!

Hands up who is a virgin?!

Weight watchers works a treat!

Weight watchers works a treat!

What a average UK family looks like #onlyintheuk

What a average UK family looks like
#onlyintheuk

Good Luck!

Good Luck!

For fucks sake!

For fucks sake!

erm...you don't

erm…you don’t

I love my brother too! #onlyintheUK

I love my brother too!
#onlyintheUK

Bonny and Clyde have nothing on these two!

Bonny and Clyde have nothing on these two!

True Love

True Love

Maybe because he killed 6 million Jews??

Maybe because he killed 6 million Jews??

Oink

Oink

Another day another dollar

Another day another dollar

wasted!

wasted!

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

yes blood! from the mean streets of…Barnsley

I do love a good KFC

I do love a good KFC

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

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

good old ASADA

good old ASADA

photo25 photo26

If only....

If only….

British Logic

British Logic