Nothing Ever Changes....Ever

This blog has died a death due to deciding that it is a complete waste of oxygen to moan about things that I have absolutely no control over. I need a worthwhile topic to fill my precious skive time and berating a bunch of politicians who already have every red top in the land worked up into a nauseating level of incredulousness seems as pointless as Girls Aloud.

So what topics would I like to write about?

Last year I wrote a short blog about my feelings after a trip visiting the battlefields of the first world war and I also recently added another entry. I've read a fair bit about both the world wars and it is a period in history that interests me greatly - but I find reading about death and destruction almost as depressing as having to sit through Britain's Got Talent.

As someone who very rarely See's the good in anything it's proving quite difficult to find a subject that I could spend my time being constructive and positive about- I often find that forcing myself to reach out into new fields of endeavour is met with derision and cynicism by my inner miserable bastard. I have, over the years, transformed from a young cut and thruster with a glint in the eye into the king of moaners, the envy of misery guts all over the land. But miserable bastards are just that - miserable, and I hate to be in the company of one - This is unfortunate as I come from a family of manic depressive alcoholics who very rarely commend anyone on anything. Getting a Nobel peace prize would be met with "they give them to anyone these days".

A typical conversation in the Genius family

They: "Got a new job then"
Me: "yes - £20 grand a year and I start on Monday"
They: "if you'd tried harder at school you'd be on double that wage by now"
Me: "But you told me that it didn't matter if I had qualifications, that I would get along just fine without them - you said you didn't have any and you'd done alright"
They:"I told you that because I could see you were going to fail. Of course you need them you simple bugger. Since when have you listened to me anyway"
Me: "well actually mother, all my life"
They: "Well that's your fault"

We British have a reputation for being a bunch of moaners and as with all stereotypes it's not without reason. If it's not one thing then it's the other that incurs our bleating. Take the weather for example - It rains eight months of the year (sometimes more) and we piss and moan about not being able to go outside and do the things we want to do like keeping fit and abseiling, and when the sun does poke through the mordor like clouds the first thing we do is moan about the lead melting temperatures, and stay inside because it's too dangerous to go outside because we'll get cancer in an instant and die a thousand horrible deaths in a hospital full of Swine-flu and MRSA, where there aren't any British nurses because they've all left the NHS to work as strippers, which only leaves asylum seeking nurses who move their whole families onto a ward and pass them off as patients. Meanwhile we retreat indoors to watch our saviour,The Lord of the Bastards: Simon Cowell, crush the dreams of those who dare aspire to be something. Oh how we love to fee people fail miserably. Especially children. Christ, they even delay the news back to accomodate it.

The ironic thing is that I now sound like the whingeing fuckers I profess to hate.

Please excuse me as I open a bottle of vodka and find the wife's sleeping pills.

Little Piggies Round the Trough

For the twentieth consecutive day the headlines are full of expense claims by our illustrious leaders and with every headline come promises of "regime change". I'm almost certain that no-one is suggesting it will be the sort of regime changes that Messr Blair and Bush were so keen on, but there is a feeling that something fundamental needs to change. To me, it appears that the reason why we are irked at the extent of MP's dishonesty is that they have been able to make their own rules whilst giving us a completely different set to live by. Those who are calling for general elections (one D.Cameron) have seemingly allowed members of their flock to gorge themselves on our hard earned taxes for a long time without raising so much as a whisper about it until they were forced to. Is electing more of the same, really what we need?

Do we really trust the current parliamentarian incumbents to change a system that they set up for their own benefit? After years of being told where we can smoke, and what we should eat and drink, they have been found out for not following the rules they love dishing out and thinking that we (the great unwashed public) should simply do as they say and not as they do. After all, smoking is not banned in the bar at the houses of Parliament and a large proportion of MP's appear to be a little on the rotund side which is evidence that they don't even follow their own five-a-day rule.

Taking the power back

Every once in a while I have what alcoholics refer to as "a moment of enlightenment". This does not mean that I've admitted to a drinking problem and decided to jump on the wagon - not judging by this weekend just past anyway. What I have come to realise is that I lie to both acquaintances and strangers alike several times a day. In fact I've become so adept at it that I don't realise I'm doing it. In fact, I bet you also do it and don't give it a minutes thought.
What am I twittering on about I here you saying?

I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Well actually I'm not.

Whilst I'm at it I'm also not sorry for refusing to buy any of the tatt you are trying to sell me on my doorstep,

I'm not sorry for not wanting to join your congregation - It's just that Judge Judy is on T.V. and you've interrupted by ringing the door bell

I'm not sorry for parking outside your house - I'm perfectly entitled to park there because I pay road tax.

I'm not sorry that I've had to complain about the crap food you've just served to me, it's shit and I'm paying money for it. And whilst I'm at it you could at least appear interested - it's called customer service so feel free to do just that.

I'm not sorry that I was speeding on the motorway - it was three points and £60 quid well spent in my opinion,

I'm not sorry for accidentally bumping into you - it's not as if Ive caused any long term damage

I'm not sorry for not having the correct change - Don't you keep money in this till?

I'm not sorry you've misunderstood me - why? It's you who is thick.

I'm not sorry for disagreeing with you - your opinion is wrong.

That's right, Ive given up saying sorry UNLESS I ACTUALLY MEAN IT. You should try it - the look of expectation slowly transforming into one of confusion and then offense when they realise they're going to be waiting a long time is worth the initial awkwardness you feel whilst resisting the urge to blurt forth the dreaded S word. Apologising seems to be one of those things that we have instilled in us from an early age. By apologising for our actions (intended or otherwise) we hope to be cleansed of our sins, but why do so when it's questionable whether we do actually repent?
By apologising we instantly dis empower ourselves - but why when we don't need to? Are we not doing our selves a disservice?

I'm so bold to say that I will never apologise to anyone ever again, but if I was to run over someones dog, or offended their mother or wife then I would gladly offer an apology as it would make me feel bad and probably keep up me awake at night if I didn't.

But lie and say I feel remorse when I don't?

Isn't that what politicians do?

The genius strikes back

My oh my it's been a long time since I sat down in front of blogger to write a few things. I simply ran out of steam a few months ago with life in general but seem to back to my old cynical and twisted self.


So whats new in the world of the genius?

Well, a weekend break in Oslo certainly went some way to restoring the old batteries that's for sure. A lovely city it is indeed, full of Renaissance buildings and clean modern architecture and not a dog turd or McDonald's wrapper in site - easy on the eye is a good way of describing it. My worldly view was widened once again as for some reason I was under the assumption that May Day is a UK phenomena, I have no idea why I thought this, but it appears that our Nordic cousins also celebrate the occasion by deserting their capital city in favour of the hills where they have barbeque's, don Viking attire and rape and pillage some unsuspecting village. Okay, Ive no proof of the latter but If my suspicions are proved correct just remember that you heard it here first. The lack of local populous made Oslo feel like a sleepy town on a Sunday. Upon investigation Oslo has a population of "only" 500,000, which is tiny when you compare it to other capital cities such as London or Paris. Saying that I suppose it's all relative as Norway has a population of 4.5 Million meaning that, comparatively, it's pretty crowded.


Two words of warning however:


1. If you decide to take heed of my advice and visit Oslo, take out a mortgage before you go. The first night we were there we decided to visit an eatery on the docks which looked to all intents and purposes like a run of the mill fish and chip shop/restaurant. Upon ordering two lots of schnitzel and chips with a beer and a coke I received a bill for the equivalent of £45. After choking on the most expensive chip in the world I double checked the prices on the menu and then checked the exchange rate. No mistake was found. Upon closer inspection of other restaurant prices we found that we were going to be shafted wherever we ate. For the rest of the weekend we took advantage of the all you can breakfast in the hotel by stocking up on enough food to last the rest of the day.

2. Ryan Air. We perhaps would not have gone to Oslo if we had not seen the promise of cheap flights from the budget Irish airline - although once you start booking your flight via the tinternet you soon realise that Ryan Air is anything but the saviour of the working classes. It seemed that we were charged for just about every possible necessity from a bag, the clothes we stood in, the air in our lungs, the amount of pubic hair we had, and our eye colour. For anyone who is familiar with this airline you might say "well didn't you know they were robbing b'stards" and my answer would be "no. I still have a small degree of faith left in civilisation.". Before I'd even set foot on the plane I felt as if I'd been buggered by a horse and then when we arrive in "Oslo" we discovered that in fact we weren't anywhere near the place. In fact we were at some airport about an hour and forty minutes away from where we expected to be and the only way of getting to our destination was by laying out yet more unexpected expense to a coach company who are closely affiliated with with the blood sucking Irish Luftwaffe.



So there you have it. By all means visit the lovely city of Oslo, but make sure you've won the lottery and don't fly Ryan Air as I here their latest slogan is: "Credit Crunch? What credit Crunch?"

Only one thing to say........

Link

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Every cloud has a silver lining.

Procrastinating about procrastinating

Ive not blogged in a few weeks due to a number of factors.

1. I've been busy at work and not had the energy or mental capacity to sit down and write/type when I get home. Instead Ive been content to be drip fed repeat episodes of programmes I hate.
2. I've decided to spend less time in front of electronic gadgets in my spare time which ultimately means that my already infrequent rate of blogging is about as reliable as Alistair Darlings financial predictions.
3. The Sun has been shining for a couple of days over the last few weeks and I want to spend as much time as possible basking in it before it disappears for another 360 days.
4. I've actually socialised for the first time in months which has led to me becoming more outgoing and willing to mingle with real people.
   
5. My mother always used to tell me "if you haven't got anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all". For some inexplicable reason I hear her voice in my head repeating these words whenever I feel a rant coming on.
6. I'm also thinking of starting a new direction for my ramblings as all this cynicism and biting wit is starting to make me question my very being. For example, I'm now cynical about everything, without exception and simply cannot see the good side of anyone or thing. I asked the missus the other night if I had always been like this and she said that I have always been slow to accept the world and the people around me but had got noticeably worse since we moved back to England (coincidence?). Apparently other people have also noticed this but simply put it down to the winter blues.

So those are my reasons for not gracing you all with my presence for a while. I don't know when I'll be back but I'm sure I will be as soon as I feel sufficiently motivated.

Whingeing pom

As any self-respecting Englishman will tell you, Britain has been slowly turning into one big dog house since it was first established many years ago. One way of avoiding being governed by our most trusted animal friends is to emigrate to another country where, according to popular belief, there are no problems with drugs, booze bingeing, fat people, violent toddlers, where the national sports teams have had success in the last 40-odd years, where being good at something results in you being given a pat on the back instead of being pilloried by all around for daring to have ideas above your station, and where new ideas are at least considered before being told that it'll never work and that you can't even try before filling out the 50-page health and safety questionnaire.

One of the favourite destinations for those of us in search of optimism and a feel good factor is pretty much as far away from England as you can possibly get - Australia. The land of the optimist, where nothings worth worrying about and even the local marsupials help the rescue services locate children in distress. The land where the sun always shines and kids are actively encouraged to participate in ball games.

In much the same way as Americans are baffled by us not personally knowing the Queen, us Englanders find it hard to believe that down under is anything but a garden of Eden. They even have the Union Jack on their flag as a tribute to us so it must be good. Mustn't it? Indeed I have set foot on the hallowed shores of Oz and spent not an inconsiderable amount of time amongst the eternally optimistic antipodean population. By and large it was a very enjoyable experience and I found much to uphold the legend of optimism being found in one of the worlds least populated land masses. If an Australian were to have his hand bitten off by a croc he would be excited about the fact that he still had the other one to hold his beer. Us poms however would probably sue the government for not stopping Crocodiles from doing what they do naturally, and then sell our story to the Daily Mail who would run a incredulous front page exclusive about the new wave of crocodiles who were biting the hands off British backpackers and then claiming Asylum and six bedroom houses in Kent because the Ozze autorities aren't allowing them fair trials.

After a couple of months however I found myself missing the one thing that Australians simply can't grasp - the perverse pleasure that is found in finding fault with everything and then complain until a soul destroying UK level of begrudgement has returned.

Making History

I'm currently reading Stephen Fry's book "Making History" and for anyone yet to pick it up I recommend you nip down to your nearest Waterstones and grab yourself a copy. The basic plot is that of a Twenty-something history student who uses a time machine to prevent Adolf Hitler from being born. Although his motives are good his time-dabbling has consequences that he didn't forsee due to his simplistic outlook of pre-war history. To the main characters (Micheal) mind preventing Hitler from being born will effectively stop the Second World War from ever happening and in the process save millions of lives. Unbeknownst to him, Hitler was the lesser of two evils and the Third Reich goes on to reach it aims under an even more despotic leader and the whole world is vastly different to the one he has become accustomed to.
That's about as far as I've got into it at the moment so without further a do I shall return to my reading chair and carry on.

Good news for a change

Rather than allowing myself to get depressed and suicidal via the doom producing propaganda machine that is the BBC I have decided that it will prove beneficial to my overall mood and health if I seek out news stories that bring a little joy into my day.

Link

My favourite quote: "If these findings hold up, then it's perfectly reasonable that men should be encouraged to masturbate,". Since when have men needed encouragement to do what some say they do best?

In the same way that women have mobile clinics to check for signs of breast cancer, perhaps mobile clinics could be set up outside pubs, football grounds, and other blokey type places in order to improve the health of the male population.

See - it's not all doom and gloom!

2009.......The story so far.........

2009's second month is upon us and what have we found out so far?

Well, it came as a bit of a surprise to many people that it snows during the winter months. Those most caught out decided the only sensible option was to barricade themselves inside their homes and huddle the family together under foil blankets. There they waited to see who would get to them first - the emergency services or death. I thought it might be a good idea to turn the central heating on. The BBC took great delight in telling us of the "Siberian Storms" that were fast approaching Britannia's shores which would transform London into a scene from The Day after Tomorrow. To us folk up north this was welcome news and cause for great celebration. Unfortunately, as with most things north of the Watford Gap, it didn't last long and cockneys across the capital soon started to thaw out and continue singing "knees up mother braawwn" as if nothing had happened.

Of particular note is the large numbers of apologies uttered by numerous people over the last few weeks. It seems everyone from bankers to Jeremy Clarkson are apologising for something. The fat cat W(b)ankers said sorry for bankrupting us, repossessing our houses, and leaving us at the mercy of the weather which I'm sure will be accepted by everyone affected. Off loading their guilt will surely enable them to sleep soundly in their beds of £50 notes and swan feathered pillows and if it doesn't then their forthcoming bonus will surely help to make a duvet of gold fibres. I'm not sure why Mr Clarkson needed to apologise to some idiotic Scottish cyclops as I thought they were mythical creatures. Perhaps the P.C. police at the Beeb thought it best to cover all bases.

I'm sure the rest of February will be full of optimism, warm weather, and money for all.

2009 Predictions

Ive finally got round to predicting some key events of 2009.

I will be adding to this list If I have a Mystic Meg moment.

Disclaimer: I take no responibility if you decide to go down the bookies and place money on any of these predictions; unless of course you actually win, in which case all winnings must go directly to me if you want to avoid court action.

GM Americans

Maybe I've been reading too many conspiracy websites, but this story made me think.

Link

I'm not an expert when it comes to the field of child rearing but I'm not convinced that the mother in question has thought through the logistics of being a mother to eight newborn babes.

"What makes you say that" I hear you say.

Well for a start, the new Mother intends to breast feed her little darlings. All very healthy and perfectly natural I agree, but the crucial bit of GCSE biology that she is forgetting is the the bit about women only having the capability to feed, at the very most, two of her little darlings at any one time.

I hear that there are some strange people in the america's and maybe, just maybe, she is the result of some octopus/human genetic experiment and is perfectly capable of catering to her brood's needs. Or maybe I should stop reading David Icke's website.

2008 Predicitons

Last year I predicted a couple of major events that could happen during the 365 days ( not forgetting the extra second) of 2008. In the not too distant future (when I can be arsed), I will make some predictions for 2009.


Here's how I did.

1. The Second Coming of Christ
Judging by the euphoria that surrounded the outcome of the 2008 US election I think it's safe to say that alot of people believe that Mr Obama is indeed the reincarnation of one Jesus H. Christ. I wonder how long it will take for all his followers to turn on him and start demanding he is crucified on Superbowl Sunday because he didn't bring about world peace or walk on water?

2. Making contact with Aliens
Depending on who you speak to "they" are already here but until they start applying for asylum at Dover I'm not convinced. I don't doubt for a minute that they exist somewhere out there but if any of them have looked in on us over the last couple of millenia and witnessed our evolution from a blood thirsty warring race of people to a blood thirsty warring race of people with nuclear weapons and reality T.V., they have probably decided to pass right on by.

3. No General Election
No surprises that commandant Brown wants to hang on to power for a while longer is it? Even if he did call an election, do we really want a bunch of Etonian nitwitts in charge? A General Election boils down to two choices as far as I can see - 1. A Smiling Scottish assasin or, 2. A Silver spoon fed nicompoop.

4. More Doom & Gloom
I was really hoping that I would be proved wrong on this one but Ive had to ask my doctor to increase my prozac prescription.

5. Rain
As my pseudonym suggest, I'am indeed a genius.

Dimwitted Tescoites

Question: How devoid of intelligence do you have to be in order to get a job at Tesco?

Answer: Very.

I recently bought a punnet of Egyptian Strawberries from the supermarket Behemoth and upon opening them I discovered, much to my horror, that one of them was furrier than a Seventies porn stars crotch. I'm not really one to complain in the real world (as opposed the virtual one where I'm getting better all the time), but I took the Strawberries back to Tesco and showed the lady at the customer service desk the overly furry nature of the Egyptian soft fruit. She seemed indifferent to my concerns but agreed to swap them for another fresher punnet. I then proceeded to buy some cigs which happens to be next to the customer service desk and overheard the woman tell one of her underlings "'Here Jason, reduce these strawberries will ya, one of them's manky".

Maybe it's just the way my brain works but surely the best place for them would be the bin?!

I'll leave up to you to decide.

Happy new Year by the way.