Category: Annoyed

Avatar Dear Zara

Dear Zara,

It’s been a while since we last spoke. How are you? What have you been up to? Did you manage to achieve all your hopes and dreams or are you still pissing your life up the wall like the rest of us? Well, whatever it is you are doing to pass the time I hope it is as sweet as a kitten’s smile.

Anyway, the real reason I wanted to get in touch was this:

So what do you think you’re playing at, hmmm? You put your cup on the ground and walked away. There were several bins within the vicinity, well within a five minute walk. In fact whichever direction you chose you would have been close to somewhere you could have disposed of it in the correct way. Hell, you could have left it at my office and I would have sorted it out. By leaving it on the street like an arse you have effectively made yourself an arse forever.

The next time I have spaghetti hoops I will be sure to leave the tin in your garden. When I choose to have a bottle of Jack Daniels to myself I will be throwing it through your living room window. You may think this is too much a punishment for one such tit as yourself however I don’t think it is. I would sooner push you out of a plane thirty thousand feet in the air rather than let people like you walk the same streets as me.

All the best

Ian xxx

Avatar Airports

It’s 6.33 in the morning and I am in an airport. This seems to be a good time for me to tell you some things about airports that I don’t like.

I don’t like having to take my belt off when I go through security because the shorts I’m wearing for this flight are a bit loose and at risk of falling down while I walk through the scanner.

I don’t like exiting security and passing directly through a massive duty free shop before I can do anything else, assaulted from all sides by strong smells of perfume that my nose can’t deal with at this time of day.

I don’t like having to be here two hours before my flight, only to find that having cleared security they won’t even announce the gate number for another hour and a half.

I don’t like spending that hour and a half in a departure lounge that is basically a windowless shopping mall, all brightly lit stores and flashing screens. I don’t like that my entertainment options are a choice between looking around designer boutiques I’d never normally go in, or sitting in an uncomfortable chair in ranks of seats surrounded by screaming children and looking at the same designer boutiques because I’m literally surrounded by them.

I don’t like that all the food on offer is served by places that are chain restaurants that serve sushi or craft beers or sourdough pizza, and that here they also have to serve breakfast, and none of them know how to do that.

In summary, the basic point is that I don’t like this. But in another few hours I’ll be on holiday and too far away for you to hear me complaining, so it’s OK.

This post was sponsored by Heathrow Airport.

“Designed with the passenger in mind”

Avatar Yes sir, we have no porno-no today

I feel like a bitter disappointment.

BITTER.

At the end of 2018 I was bragging about how we were going to jump on-board that sweet, sweet dusty bandwagon trail and start throwing about porn like it was going out of fashion. Since then despite a few notable graphic and rather explicit efforts it has mostly been a big nen for the last month or so.

I tried to look for some horrible images with which to draw the crowds in. I checked all over the internet and there’s nothing there. All the porn has run away. Unless it is hiding in the shadows I can only presume that there’s none left. Clearly the world was done with the sight of naked flesh on flesh on possibly animal on flesh.

All I can do is offer up this very small picture as compensation. All you filth hounds out there watching, I hope it is enough.

Avatar How to use a cash machine

Many of us Millennials (I think we’re Millennials, are we Millennials?) have trouble using old-fashioned things. We do everything digitally now. Personally I get all my sleep done using an app and I have a monthly subscription that delivers all my food through my Smart TV. So it can be a bit of a challenge for us Millennials (Jesus I think we actually might be Millennials) to get to grips with the analogue world.

Old people and market stall traders use “money” in place of digital bank transfers and contactless payments. If you need some “money” you can get it from a cash machine. They can be bewildering if you’re under the age of 60, but don’t worry, they’re quite easy to use once you know how.

Here’s the correct procedure.

  1. Locate a cash machine. It will look like a sort of retro 80s video game machine embedded in the wall of a bank.
  2. Familiarise yourself with the layout of the machine. Designs can vary but they will all have some common features: a screen with control buttons down each side; a numeric keypad; a heavily fortified metal letterbox; and a little slot with a flashing green light.
  3. Insert your contactless bank card into the flashing slot. The machine is old and needs to actually make contact with it, but will give it back later.
  4. Look at the screen. It will usually ask you to wait, because it’s old. Eventually you’ll be asked for your PIN number. Try to remember this. It’s what you had to use before you had a contactless bank card.
  5. The screen will now ask you how much “money” you want and whether you want a receipt. Use the buttons next to the screen to appease its desire for information.
  6. A beeping noise will announce the return of your contactless bank card. Retrieve it from the slot when it is slowly regurgitated.
  7. The machine will now make whirring noises and, after an interval, the quantity of “money” you requested will be thrust out of the fortified letterbox.
  8. You need to still be standing at the machine if you want to actually claim this money. If you have absent-mindedly walked away as soon as your card is extruded, you will not get the money.
  9. If you stupidly walk away before the money appears, you will hear a loud beeping sound coming from the cash machine as you walk away, and you will spend a few seconds thinking it sounds like the sort of beeping sound a cash machine makes, and wondering why a cash machine might be making a noise like that.
  10. You will only realise when the beeping noise stops that it’s the sound of a cash machine trying to tell you you’ve got it to dispense some of your hard earned cash, £30 to be precise, and then idiotically absconded before the cash dispensing happened, leaving thirty of your precious sheets wafting in the breeze in a crowded shopping street.
  11. As the horror of your stupid, moronic actions finally dawn on you, you will turn around, just in time to see your thirty quid being removed from the machine by some middle aged woman whose face is a picture of nefarious glee, scarcely able to believe her luck that some brainless fool has just put three shiny tenners in her hand.
  12. You begin to run back to the cash machine, but the crowd of shoppers slows you down, you can’t get through, and meanwhile the woman has melted into the crowd, anonymous in a black coat in a sea of black coats, a bit shorter than average, lost below the heads and hats, and – probably wary of the fact that whoever just used the cash machine can only be a few paces away – is more than likely now darting for cover to make a getaway. She could have gone down a narrow alley on the left, or into one of the shops.
  13. By the time you get to the cash machine, she’s gone, and you’re £30 down, you absolute tool.
  14. You absolute tool.

Avatar Imposter!

These are sad, sad, dark times.

Now we are all partial to a little Smidge Manly impression every now and then. In fact as soon as anyone utters the word, “Right…” I am quick to repeat the same in my head using that voice. It’s now an impulse reaction; it happens no matter what I do. If you want to land smack dab right in the middle of Smidge territory you reach for a solitary, “Right…” and it will send you straight there.

A couple of years ago I managed to unearth an advert over in Europe where Smidge was being illegally used to sell ‘Coco Loco’ (see HERE with your seeing eyes). Following a class action lawsuit, justice was served and the ads were promptly removed through the actions of our legal representative, Nicholas J. Wolfwood (attorney at law). It seems as though this is not the only improper use of our hero floating through the cosmos.

Photos have recently emerged of a Smidge Manly double roaming the streets of Sunderland, Tyne and Wear. I set my “team” the task of doing the ground work to try and flush out this charlatan. A tip was received earlier on this week and we set the biz league into focus (what?). I myself tried to apprehend the culprit but he managed to run away and out the door before my tiny hands caught him. Had I not had to remove from trousers, which were caught on the door handle of a badly-positioned meat factory, I would have smashed the fiend.

Each and every double Smidge walking the streets is taking money from the mouth of Mr Manly. Rather than include actual physical evidence I have instead included a drawing of the imposter literally stealing food from Smidge. Literally. I cannot stress the proper use of that word enough.

Look at how forceful he is. Look at him stealing Smidge’s taco, a food I’m sure he eats on a semi-regular basis. Take a good, hard view of his harsh tone and capital letters of filth. The swine.

If anyone has further information that may be of use to the police or “the team” then do let us know.

Keep watching the skies.

Avatar Flimsy Floppy Bendy Batman

Everyone needs a mascot, everyone needs a prop. When you’re doing things with people (waaaaaaaaay!) it’s always good to have one particular item that everyone can focus on or channel their thoughts into when times are hard. The best example of this would have to be Dr Who, whose exploits of an eccentric flopping through dull science fiction stories would be even more boring had he/she been doing it on their own.

Heading down to Didsbury for a large selection of pints with scale perfect philanthropic Mexican-Chinese genius Kevin and grey-haired family man and insurance savage Tom, I decided that we needed something to drag along for our adventure. I already had a wealth of junk in my pockets (because that’s who I am) so I was immediately drawn to Lego Santa Claus. Yes, he’s small and likely to get lost however he’s made of the firm stuff: he can take twelve hours of drinking, easy to transport, brimming in playful colours and millions know who he is.

Cut to Tom’s wife Claire practically handing me an item that she is done with. “I don’t want to see it again, I don’t want it back. Please take it with you.” It’s a kid’s toy; Stretch Armstrong but it’s Batman. Bendy Batman. What possible harm could this have done to Claire? What evil lies within this rubbery realm of innocent fun? It didn’t occur to me, I placed him in my coat pocket and we left.

As it happens, even with my poor memory, I struggle to remember most of that Saturday. The tweets I made are baffling even by my standards. Photos are non-existent. Vague, sepia-tinged memories of being too drunk to go in the Slug and Lettuce, someone needing a jump start for their car outside a restaurant and pretending to care about football in the most crowded pub on the whole street are all that remain. Floppy Batman was there for all of it. He survived the night and came back in one piece, like a boss. There is a lot to admire.

As it happens, a few weeks later, I’m driving home from work and what do I see? An advert for Very.co.uk virtually on every single bus stop showing, in all his glory, Floppy Batman. It could have been another Batman toy, as there’s many many out there, but no, it’s him, the one and the same. Now he’s whoring himself out for Christmas everyone is going to have one soon. He’ll be accompanying other goons on other alcohol-fuelled Saturday evenings. It’ll take away the magic once the world is doing it. The tart.

I should have stuck with Lego Santa.

Avatar Stationary Harassment – Part 2

Following the harrowing experience I encountered in Asda car park last year HERE, there is another dog looming on the horizon who clearly has something against me.

The kind of job that I do involves a lot of checking windows. I mean I love windows me, even if it wasn’t part of the job I would happily peruse lists and lists of properties with the same postcodes of the people I know to see who has got the correct certification and who hasn’t. Some people have hobbies, some people spend hours looking at double glazing; that is my life and I am sticking to it. What greets you though as you load up the lovely FENSA website is this (apologies for the poor quality photo):

What is his problem?

The woman is happily discussing getting new windows, possibly for her semi-detached house that desperately needs refurbishment work because the rest of the street has already done it and it she had to wait for her aunt’s inheritance to come through before she could pay for everything, and hiding above her shoulder is this grouch, this Grinch, this menace. The prospect of double glazing means that the house will be adequately insulated against the bad weather types so the dog should be actively encouraging this behaviour. Instead he squints and grimaces his way each time you come to the website.

He looks as though instead of serving him doggy kibbles and sweet cheeks for breakfast (I’m not quite sure what dogs eat) he received a massive turd garnished with dandruff. He looks as though he’s been waiting for his PPI refund cheque for over four weeks and the company isn’t responding to his emails. He looks like Eamonn Holmes gave him a right good telling off for not observing the strict kitchen rules, carefully printed on a wooden plaque, hanging over the doorway.

I am doomed to repeat this each and every single time. If you want to have a peek with your peeking eyes, and have the stomach for it, you can witness his face HERE