Arsehole Jobs/Bullshitters

Some jobs warrant universal credit, Nurses for example (not the horrible ones that don’t really understand the whole treating old people with respect thing and beat the living fuck out of them) Firemen, nothing conjures up a more heroic image than that of a fireman emerging from a burning building with the family pet to cheers, even if they have left the majority of the humans inside burning up and whistling like a summer BBQ (I’ve even got a few bits of charcoal in my drawer at work, if there was ever a fire, I’m going to hold someone back (against their will), draw the charcoal smears over my face and emerge from the building topless, smeared in melting butter (to simulate sweat) looking every inch a hero, parading back and forth with the “damsel in distress” looking for TV cameras, I will put their struggling down to smoke inhalation or possibly a butter allergy? And School Teachers, the ones who don’t finger underage pupils (those are usually the history or chemistry teachers for reasons unbeknownst to me?).

Some jobs on the other hand, just inspire revulsion in people, utter hatred, to the point where a crowd would happily interrupt a perfectly good lunch break to watch them slowly stoned to death by a muscular mob, seeing them crack open like an organic kinder egg, not even stopping eating a sandwich while brain chunks were beaten out (unless it was a meatball sandwich from Subway, that looks well like brains and shit). Politicians, lying thieving self important soulless shit cunts, traffic wardens, nasty merciless little turdlings, picked for their extremely punchable faces and annoying pinched jobs-worth arsehole mouths. The wankers who teach professional courses, sake of it courses designed for employers with too much money, an example was £795 + vat to send an employee on a “time management course” to be told such gems from the frumpy failed something or other tutor as “well, if you get up at 8.30 and your job starts at 9.30, and it takes you more than an hour to get ready and get to work, maybe you should consider getting up earlier” – Yeah, cheers for that you dumpy little piss pump. “If you’ve got 10 things to do, you need to arrange them in an order so you can put the most important ones at the top” – I CANT DO THAT, IM A CUNT, THAT’S WHY IM ON THIS FUCKING COURSE!!! – As you can probably tell, I’ve been on one, I came away feeling nothing more than the fact that the day I’d spent out of the office had probably caused me a backlog at work?
Other courses are just as wasteful, if you need to send a manager on a leadership skills course, well, you’ve fucked up haven’t you, sack them, then yourself, cheers, laters. “Train the trainer”, “Communication skills” – If you need to consider sending your staff on these, consider new staff, which leads me nicely to one of the lowest of the low, the true scum of the employed world, yes you lot, you fucking arseholes, you are the parasites of parasites, the lowest of the low, rivalled only by Estate agents in your general shitness, yes I’m talking about you recruitment agents, I’d suffer the daily pain of huge tentacle like haemorrhoids than work in the recruitment industry, an entire job built on lies, deceit, deception and greed.
As you read this blog, recruitment agents sit down for meals and possibly a glass of wine, reflecting over the days blags, clients duped, wankers placed, fees paid before snuffling down for 8 hours sleep, while people starve to death on the other side of the world, a little life is being snubbed out right now while one of these fucks draws another breath, the very raising of their diaphragm concrete evidence at just how unfair the world is.
These cretins will barely meet with someone, if at all, before sending the poor hapless twat-tard down to an office to waste an hour of everyone’s time in a pointless interview. An example of this is describing someone as dynamic when the only criteria in a recruitment agents eyes to tick this box is the ability to breathe independent of machines, and even if the poor cunt is on an iron lung, they will describe that as “technologically clued up. “Sleeves rolled up approach” – a fucking giant, some frontal lobe tard who can not get normal earthling clothes to fit. “Can do attitude? Sounds like a kid’s toilet training aid?
The only group of people who can possibly rival the recruitment agent in terms of fantasy descriptions of things are estate agents. The jokes have all been done before, but every day I go past a large foxtons (or fuckstons as I call them, or Cuntstons, or fuckcuntstons), their fridge full of still or sparkling small glass bottles of mineral water and arrangements of different coloured citrus fruit slowly rotting in decorative impractical receptacles, and huge flatscreens with slide shows of the unaffordable flashing across to most people. Every day when I go past I get an urge to do a huge hateful turd right outside the door, the trouble is, it would be so hateful that this turd would probably come out with such force and quantity that they would sun dry it and turn it into an organic earthy annex to their office and have drum beating, team building events in there, eventually selling it to some overpaid Hoxton prick type for about £225, 000, for one of my turds.
When my bowel doesn’t flex when I walk past, the other fantasy that plays out in my head is throwing a couple of grenades in while they have their morning team meeting at the back, they are so snidy though, they probably have a system in place where the person with the lowest commission has to jump on it and the greater cockroaches not only survive, but probably end up liking the new half blown to fuck office, with its new “Beirut chic” make over, making them more happier and productive.

In short, I think I would rather deal with a nerve agent than one of the above agents.

The only other group of people who come close to above are people who work in advertising, not all advertising people (unlike the above two, there are exceptions in this group), but the ones whose job it is to sit and come up with annoying characters, jingles, songs, the sorts of things that when you are in the wrong mood can just tip you over, I don’t know if you are aware, but the Halifax ad was responsible for the Boxing day Tsunami, there was such a concentration of anger at the first airing of the “Isa Isa Baby” ad, that it resulted in a reverse of the magnetic thingy on the stuff and then the big wave thing happened. “We buy any car” was apparently the “buckaroo” moment for Raoul Moat. Al Qaeda allegedly only formed because of the “Go Compare” adverts.
Worse than all of these, my twitter account was recently closed in rage at seeing the Meerkat from the shitty adverts on there. What next for this torn to shreds campaign, a lady going for a check up “down there” and that furry cunt coming up with a swab saying something like “Compare the smear cat – No, compare the Meer-ket, no, I meant Market, simples (they will nick that now, you watch)”

You cant blame these wankers for having the ability to tune in to what makes us remember products and wind up the majority in the process, you cant blame them, but they are flammable, so you can set them on fire, and watch them burn, a good idea is to douse them in some water first so they burn a bit slower, you can also pour vinegar on them while they do as this will take away the rancid smell as they slowly roast in their own guilt and lies. You could be sure that I certainly wouldn’t piss on them***

You may go to hell for the act of burning someone alive, but even in the wildest estimations and Sunday School fear mongerings, the devil must have some sort of conscience and will probably pull you to one side and congratulate you with a hoofy slap on the back and probably give you a few hours off a day from the eternity of slow burning torture.

*Right, just to be clear, please don’t actually go out burning these people, that would be wrong, but if one/some just happened to be walking past your house and you threw a lit cigarette out of the window (shortly after a pint of petrol) and one or two did go up, don’t beat yourself up, its no loss, these people are not even welcome at their own parents houses for being utter failures and “walking abortions”.

**Right, just to be doubly clear, the hatred in this blog has obviously been exaggerated for literary reasons, and in no way do I hate any human soul to the level described above, but if I was driving along in a Combine Harvester and some of them were walking across the field I was harvesting, and they did get caught up in the blades and died screaming, I’d sleep, it might take a while but life would go on.

*** Just to clear something up, on the whole subject of pissing on someone if they were on fire, if I was standing over a burning advertising/recruitment/ estate agent and trying to piss and nothing was coming out, this would have nothing to do with me holding back and being all urine selfish, I would happily do a horse piss over one of them in any state of enflamement, they would just have to be unconscious because of the pain of fire, or at least look away, I have a problem going while people watch.

Fuck me, so much for the new happier approach to life..

Too legit to twit

I shut my twitter account down recently, I cant really think of a single reason why I did it, but the main one was the fact that it played up to the horrible mostly hateful cynical bastard, and the errant shit throwing monkey which both exist in my head, both things I could kind of do without at the moment. I've been literally haunted at work by ideas for hash tags and getting well into them when they took off, and stupid thoughts that I felt I should share immediately with anyone that would listen on there. I'd even tweeted from the toilet at work on several occasions for fuck sake, sometimes even describing the act itself, sometimes tweeting from my desk while busy doing work stuff, snorting as I typed, then cursing the absolute shackles of only having 140 characters, having to strip down and remove most of the semblance of why I thought it was funny in the first place, sometimes nearly resorting to text speak to fit things in...

I also didn't like the fact that it gave me an ideal forum to say usually horrible things about people and poke a stick through the cages of the afflicted. If I said to people directly the things I would have tweeted about them, I would be much more punched that I am now.

My twitter day would generally start at about 8.15 at the train station hating on Southern Trains, don't get me wrong, there is plenty to hate (they really are a chandelier of shit), but the whole sharing the woe thing was getting me down, I couldn't bring myself to say things like, “Oh, what a lovely sun rise over London”, and I do think that a lot, but to be honest, I'd rather share my breakfast with someone in the manner of a seagull regurgitating directly into their mouth than fart out sanctimonious pleasantries like some fair trade enthusing Earthy fucknut.

I'd also observe and share my thoughts on OCD man, a painful looking old fart who would amble to the same spot every morning and attempt to board the train at the same time every day and get the same seat. I would make it my mission to disrupt him, primarily just to share with twitter folk, several train tweets later, usually about other passengers, I would arrive at work, sometimes tweeting as I walked along the Thames, all this while I was going through John Woo type slow motion sequences in my mind of opening up with an assault rifle on all the elements of life that I hate.

The evenings would be the worse, subjecting my eyes and ears to the worst of the worst on the box, providing my own commentary on what is essentially our main broadcast medium seemingly suffering from a form of televisual bowel cancer, mocking its weak efforts tweet by tweet, the adulation and retweets egging me on like a bully in a fight. Then would come the moments when I would inadvertently cause offence with an errant side swipe at skin disorders or some fuck faced celeb or some way of thinking, or having a pop at some shit that means something to someone or other. Planning my evening on sitting in front of a TV and computer nay saying while gulping beer or wine just started to feel wrong.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to paint myself out as a sensitive soul that strives to go through life on egg shells, far from it, but I just don't need the distraction and to give that side of myself the audience that it secretly craves, it just makes you focus on the negative things in life. I am a very negative person and I'm struggling at the moment, there is lots about life at the moment which I dont like and would ideally like to be by a log fire somewhere with my “Bonnie Heather” no internet, chopping logs for the fire and tilling the land or some shit, pretty much the entire scene from Highlander before that big bald bloke comes and shoves a sword through Sean Connery and rapes the shit out of the girl.

I probably could have struggled on with the above, sifting through the metro for mocking material and flicking through TV watching reality TV and shit like Take me out, but on the Thursday morning I saw something that effectively killed my account, that fucking meerkat from the advert was not only on twitter, but had 10's of thousands of people following its fucking faux furry Borat bullshit. I hit delete account immediately, I could not share a space with that cunt, even if it is a cyber one.

Yes, I know its not a real meerkat, but I just cant get the image out of my head of the circle jerk of marketing cunts that come up with that concept and it turning out to be a “winner” and now the obligatory ripping the arse out of it. They are all probably getting blow jobs right now while doing cocaine, living off that little furry fucker, there is probably about 8 of them, the beast itself is probably watching the whole spectacle from a mound of earth while the go compare man sits in the corner, beating his tiny semi flacid cock off, pulling vinegars on a high note of the word compere, the whole group of them falling into a sweaty self congratulatory post fuck cig fest at the end of it, all high fiving before going to sleep, proud of their efforts and sleeping soundly for 8 hours, waking up with new ideas of how to annoy the living shit out of people and prosper for it, not one of them dying in fire as they should, while men dressed in leather trench coats spray them with bulbs of jif lemon as they burn, laughing in monotone.. (PS, I would buy any product that was endorsed by burning marketing people, just putting that idea out there)

Since going “cold twurky” I have struggled at times, its only been a few days but the fact that I have been reaching for my phone several times a day only to remember my “twittercide”, slowly putting the phone back down and reflecting on what I would have tweeted, it has mostly been negative simply proving I was kind of addicted. I do miss some of the people on there too, I'd somehow managed to amass 3000 followers and felt quite attached to come of them, I might come back one day, but I'm not sure. I HATED twitter when it first came out, because of the whole 140 characters thing, if someone made a site called two-witter, or twowittwo or something else indicating that it was about 300 characters I'd like that more. You may well stumble across me on there one day with no following, no followers, just rambling/ranting to the world with nobody to listen, that would be a fairer reflection of my life, the crazy drunk in the park.

Anyway, I shall be using this blog as my means to vent my spleen at the world and hope to getting the time to focus on some deep and meaningful blogs such as some of the other stuff on here...

Laters

The piss artist formally known as @blogstrop

(Fade out to the music form the littlest hobo)

2011 the future is now, and it’s actually pretty shit.

Its 2011, I’m 36, and I’m still on earth. To add insult to injury, I still catch a train to work, I still eat normal food based food, I still (occasionally) have to go through the rigmarole of dating, just in the hope of getting sex, I’m still typing this bullshit with my fucking fingers and not my eyes as I'd expected. Frankly, I’m disappointed, on all fronts, 2011 is not the futuristic techno holographic virtual fuck fest I thought it would be, we have to go to a shop called Currys or PC World to get the latest in “high tech” shit, purchased to briefly elevate our hugely under evolved lives to a non suicidal like just slightly above tedious. We still scratch out balls for fuck sake (and whatever women do) and smell our own farts. This isn’t the technological age.

I used to sit as a child watching programmes like Space 1999, that had me believe that we would be living off earth, battlestar gallactica, we would be fighting robots of our own creation, Street Hawk, a fucking gormless prick on an embarrassment of a motor cycle racing through towns at over 100mph Ok, some of it has come true, the core structure in all of these shows is that we have fucked the earth up, so well done to humans for coming good on that. We haven’t even been to the moon yet (allegedly) and we are fighting machines of our own creation, just today I called my new Windows 7 machine at work a fucking useless gibbering overly helpful drooling fucktard of a computer, and if you live in Southend, you will no doubt be inundated with motorcycle mounted pricks.

I’m still sitting here on a 5 year old craptop, typing like some sort of trained ape, I thought by now I would have been wearing some sort of computer glove like in minority report, pulling screens, moving sideways like cyber mime artist, grabbing the news from the left, pulling share prices from the right, sliding the football results in from the top, Mars Ultras 2, Neptune phantoms 1. This glove I speak of, might become a bit awkward when the user invariably pulls in some “space porn” probably some omni vaginal she-T character and starts wanking, how will it work, the screen will be flying up and down with every stroke, do they take the glove off, will that turn the thing off? Fuck, ok, maybe we are not ready for that, but as it stands where are we, technologically? We are no closer to getting into space for sure. You might be fooled by Richard Branson’s commercial “space flight” if you consider flying a bit higher than a 747 as space, then, well, good luck with that, you fucking idiot, you wont see Klingons and shit.










I remember watching Buck Rodgers too, I was young, I had urges to do things to Erin Gray in her spray on trousers, I wasn’t sure what exactly, but I imagined that people would be wearing stuff like that today, the only ones who do, are joggers, people who still run home from work, like primitive people, and a time in the 80’s but it soon faded out, we are still in normal earthly clothes, ok, we have technologically advanced materials like Gore-Tex, but that’s just worn by walkers and sex offenders.








I think technologically, we think we are doing better than what we are, people whimsically sweeping over Ipads and Ipods happy as Larry, oh, get me, I can run 200 concurrent apps on my phone, take high def movies and geo map every place I have ever had a shit in London, as well as analyse that shit with my ipoop app, ooh, need more protein, ok, the battery only lasts 45 seconds, but fuck me, it’s a great almost minute.
All well and good, but because we haven’t actually evolved as a “society” in tune with Apple/Sony/Nokia, we have only really strived in making nice shiny things for people to steal, punch your face, and rush off to Cash Converters.
I have an Xbox 360 which can do something like 30 terra flops of doo dars a second, giving me photo realistic Grandmothers to run over in games like Grand Theft Auto, the sound of their hips breaking in THX Dolby duplo triplex stereo bass boost the bollocks 5:1, great, I still sit and urge for the fun of games like sensible soccer, IK+ kick off, player manager. It’s not all about the shiny graphics.

Technology will be the undoing of humans, not like in terminator, we wont all die from a nuclear holocaust caused by revolting self aware PS3’s strangling people with scart leads, or anything, I think we will more like just drop down and die of boredom while all the skilled tasks we used to do are taken over by machines. There is something lovely about going out, taking some photos, developing them, learning how it could be better; now, digital photography makes it possible for any fucker to take professional pictures, 12 mega prick-sell upskirt pictures of girls on the underground etc.
Any fucker can sing because of auto tune, any prick can spell because of spell check, everything is being done for us, and we are turning slowly into featureless effortless emotionless mouthless blobs, like the Roswell Aliens, or Gail from Coronation Street.

Even porn, no longer do young men have to run the shameful gauntlet of plucking up the heart pounding courage of walking into the local shop and trying to retain a look of normality of buying Club or Mayfair magazine, getting the single acknowledging eye brow raise of the shop owner (who has probably glued half the pages shut before hand, porn mag prima nocta), rushing home thinking about the things you are going to do to that big titted bird with the perm on page 27, and planning on reading the double page story about the surviving crew of the nuclear submarine (you don’t) (I did!) Now its all done for you, three clicks and you can have a stoutly built Swedish lass heaving a huge turd log into some poor geeky looking shit obsessed perverts mouth (if that sort of think tickles your proverbials).

Kids don’t play out anymore, probably because they can do all their socialising on pervebook, or paebo, or whatever the latest piece of shit is called, yeah, but this ones like totally cool because I can like send virtual gifts and stuff, “Hey”, “Hey, how’s it gong”, “Yeah, cool I guess” “So like, erm I like totally, like erm….And meaningless micro talk like that.
Probably also too scared to play in the street because of the huge swathes of paedo’s the internet has awoken and people looking to live out their Grand Theft Auto fantasies.

Dating/relationships haven’t come on at all, I thought by 2011 I would be able to plug my cock into a computer and fuck Sharon Stone (circa 1985, or now actually, cor) or whoever, even that Swedish gob shitting woman 2 paragraphs up (no thanks) but no, I still have to go out and drag myself through “dates” talking the same old shit to different people, I could probably just send a tape recording of the crap I was going to say, and they could hear it, decide if it was funny/intelligent enough to get in their knickers and then have sex with me or not, or whatever…**

**Prospective dates reading this, please note, I am just coming out of a cloud of abject cynicism and extinguishing the fires of bitterness that have raged over me for probably a bit too long now, and will be a nice, decent honest bloke again very soon, and promise I wont clock watch if we go out (as long as you are not a lying head fucker) (or have vagazzling) (or talk like in that awful text speak) (or are a materialistic gormless slack jawed dummy) (or dislike beards) (or cant handle the fact that I have a child) (or you have a beard).

Also, I’m still having to cook food, what the fuck, I thought I would be able to come in from work, I say come in; I mean re-materialise where I live, and consume strange plasticine like blobs containing all the goodness I need. No death involved and plenty for everyone, and no shitting, just download nutritional data into a robo toilet, like a scat R2D2.
I would be able to enjoy all the tastes of India without almost gassing myself in my sleep, farting as I roll over, so loudly sometimes that I wake up screaming thinking it’s a terror attack with my room smelling exactly like that Saag Chicken, and having the indignity of my paid for meal spraying out of my arsehole like an Egyptian riot hose.

Travel, I still have to run the gauntlet of twats in mornings just to get onto a really old fashioned train, which is about 40 degrees in the summer. I should, as I say, be able to get in a “transporter” and get a Scotsman to “Energize me” to my place of work. And it needn’t be on this planet. I could do some sort of lunar admin work, logging moon rocks into some sort of space spreadsheet or something as NIGGLINGLY INSIGNIFICANT AS I AM DOING ON EARTH IN 2011, FOR FUCK SAKE!

Another example of how we are not doing as well as we believe, look at animals, what man hasn’t stared at a dog for a long period of time while it noisily licks its own cock and balls, and even its arsehole sometimes, with green eyed envy, wishing they could retire to their rooms and roll into a pleasure ball and stay there for ages.
If dogs could talk, and you could ask the question, would you swap your self fellating ability for a tablet based device that can get your emails, read the news, play games, watch movies etc, the dog would tell you to fuck right off, and probably start growling and if forced, might rip yours or your child’s face into ribbons. They can also smell illness and see ghosts, that tail wagging tongue lolling shit is an act, they are just playing dumb, while you sleep your dog probably speaks to spirits and transcends the earth to places we could never go.

Sharks, a shark can smell a fart up to 30 miles away, ok, its hardly something we would want, but they have evolved with nature, grown into their environments, and are masters of the sea. We have allowed technology to impinge on our natural development.
Had we not invented the television, Xbox, internet, we would probably be psychic, twitter would be a huge network of conjoined minds sending telepathic messages, entire works of literature at the blink of an eye, art, states of mind, ideas, philosophies, not 140 characters of crap, like exactly what I will be doing in about 30 minutes. By the way, if you read this, I’ll probably be talking about the “beetroot poo” I’ll be having tomorrow and thinking I’ve got bowel cancer before remembering I ate about 13 beetroots earlier. Wow, the bleeding edge of technology, utilised by a state of the art human..Fuck me.

Well, without wishing to be too damning on things and the state of humanity, we’ve kind of lost our way, missed the boat. We’ve spent too much time doing silly things like making Hydrogen Bombs, allowing the worlds natural resources to be plundered by shit hole Politicians, sat back and looked the other way while entire species fade off the planet forever, in 20 years time, you will never see a live Kakapo parrot and countless other species, rain forests decimated, and worst of all, we’ve allowed reality television to creep into a prominent position, Cheryl Cole is really famous, but nobody actually knows why, it just seemed to happen, how the fuck did it happen? Kerry Katona gets more tabloid column inches than the entire plight of Africa and the despairing situation in Afghanistan and Iraq. Simon Cowell practically runs music, a little old Irish botox ravaged closet wobbling quasi queen Louis Walsh actually has a say in what band will be rammed down your throat like some sort of audio fois grais.

The world is hanging on like a turd while the collective hand of humanity cranks up and down as hard as possible on the flush, hypnotised by bad adverts, unattainable celebrity image and shitty technological nick naks designed to make you feel like everything is ok, the buzz of ring tones and receipt of text message, email or mention in a tweet drowning out the call of your own soul to just turn back and start returning to nature, where the real happiness is. It’s never too late, and you never know, we return to the old ways and elevate ourselves to previously unknown levels of spirituality, and things like yoga and we might, eventually, be able to lick our own balls? I’d trade my Xbox in for that tomorrow.

Ah fuck, the Xbox is kind of good though…





Its not all bad, to our credit, humans have done some wonderful things, the George Foreman health grill amazing, soda stream, wizardry, who would have through that in 2011, you could buy a laminator FOR THE HOME! And emboss paper with plastic sheets, technically waterproofing it? Flutes are pretty cool? All that noise from that little thing? A shiatsu massage cushion FOR THE HOME!?...