I had a discussion with my Granddad (the only person who is able to get me to change my mind) the other day. He is a man who has had constant and repeated knockdowns, who has only ever looked out for other people and put everyone else’s needs in front of his own.
He lived his life the way he saw fit, raised two fine daughters who then went on and raised a questionable brood of their own. He is my hero.
Despite my multitude of personality deficiencies I have often tried to model my life on his. If I could become a eighth of the man that he is I would die knowing I had achieved something.
It seems to me sometimes that the only thing I have ever achieved is the growing of my all encompassing beard it’s the only thing I’ve ever really stuck at. I have some of my Granddad’s traits, including his insane sideburns, that, when I was staring at them while we shared a quiet pint, I realised seemed to go on forever.
I’ve made my way towards the end of the year treading a very fine line of self imposed madness and extreme depression. Out of it has come of the weirdest (I’m not saying best) creative moments of my life. My confidence in my work, in my own ability, seems shattered. I did a gig, got heckled and for the first time in my life had no idea what to say. It was weird.
But I am slowly rebuilding myself bit by bit layer by layer. Every time I feel like I’m ready to go another plane crashes into my West Tower.
I realise that I don’t have a lot of nice things I never have really. I don’t have a fancy TV a X-Box or even a decent sound system but what I do have and that a lot of people don’t is faith.
I realised that the point of humanity is not the accumulation of things as Christmas seems to have become, but people. I understand that the thing that me and my granddad have in common ahead of everything else is a faith in the relationships of people rather than the acquisition of things. I place more value on a shared conversation a moment of happiness between two people than I ever would on an I-Pad.
So with this in mind I ask for only one thing this Christmas (not peace for all men because seriously fuck that day dreamer bullshit) I ask for time. I ask for five minutes with the person who means more to me than anything else in the world, a sharing of the same space for five minutes would mean more to me than anything. It would cost nothing but enable me to perhaps find my soul again because, believe me, it’s sitting in a black fucking pit right the fuck now.
I know that it won’t happen.
I don’t know if anyone reads these things and if they do I hope you enjoy them and thanks for reading. My grammer is a joke itself sometimes. I promise the comedy will return with the next thing I’m putting up here. I’m going Christmas shopping next week and if I don’t have something to say about that orgy of consumerism I’ve probably died.
Peace fuckers. Al
Having just read a article in The Sun in which an A&E nurse writes a diary of her “typical working week” I find myself worried that the same thing could be happening on all our other wards in the not too distant future.
This is the grim situation that will soon be facing all our wards (if it’s not already) if something at the top level is not done. Several schools of thought abound about how we should solve these problems ranging from more frontline staff, less managers, less fucking think tanks, stopping “health tourism”, less drug wastage or catching whoever keeps stealing all the pens. These are all valid arguments that could help our great NHS in the long term however I’m not going to sit here and shout my mouth off about them. I may get myself in trouble if I start telling people how to do their job. Someone should, not me but somebody should.
One thing we can all do to help ease the burden on the staff “down in the trenches”(A&E) is this: IF YOUR KID HAS THE SNIFFLES DO NOT TAKE IT TO A&E!
I decided to put that in capitals because as far as I’m aware that approach hasn’t been attempted in all the efforts to tell people this. If my mum had taken me along to hospital every time I had a slight injury or illness I would have clocked up enough hours in the place to become a GP.
I got taken to hospital once when I was younger and that was when I had a major chemical burn eating through my skin. No employee at a NHS institute can begrudge something like that or a broken bone.
But having been told that a nurse once treated a thirteen year old boy for
“grazed knees” I cannot believe the molly-cuddling-no risk taking-panic at every bruise approach to parenting we all seem to have adopted.
When did a grazed knee become a cause for concern? The referee didn’t even stop the game if you “grazed” your knee. My mates barely stopped biking towards your head if you fell off your bike. Kids heal quickly their all like mini Wolverines that’s what their bodies are
designed to do. Remember as well most kids get their injuries by climbing over things that they shouldn’t be. What’s the best way to teach someone a lesson about what they shouldn’t be doing? Not taking them to a busy A&E department where they will be fussed over by nurses and given a cool bandage to show to their mates. No it’s by taking that grazed knee and sloshing some iodine over the fucker and telling them it won’t hurt a bit
Also please tell me what grown man has to attend hospital for a bust lip? You only get a bust lip in three ways:
1. You fell over, ergo it’s your fault, fuck off home.
2. You got punched, you probably had it coming, fuck off home.
3. You had your lip bit in a sex game, it’s your fault, why aren’t you still at home?
So please next time your thinking about going to A&E for a mild case of the
‘flu don’t. Obviously if some crazed Moroccan has aimed some wild swings at your cock with a meat cleaver and it’s taken a beating, get your ass to hospital.
Back and to the Left, as a sketch group, is going to return! Like a avenging seagull swooping down at a confused pensioners chips we are preparing to take the world by storm again!
Since the departure of Henry (RIP) BATTL has been swimming in largely lazy circles stewing in it’s own filth waiting for something spectacular to happen. Apart from getting an all clear from a clap test nothing has....until now.
Thanks to HM Prisons new “community work schemes” BATTL comedy now has a new group of talented and ambitious individuals working within it! Some of them are even off their tags others sadly aren’t and yes one isn’t allowed near children but that’s not the point.
A new group of hungry writers, actors, comedians and petty criminals ready to take BATTL comedy to a new level. A level previously not thought attainable by this performer: Mediocrity.
They’ll laugh, they’ll cry, some will even beg me to end their lives as once again we are hounded from another stage by baying single mothers who don’t like the word“cunt”. We will perceiver, we will fight for every laugh, drag every chuckle kicking and screaming out of our audience members. Our task will not be easy, no matter how talented the newcomers are, the enormous drag factor of my attitude problem could easily pull us into the mire of failure.
But we will prevail. We will once again march towards the hallowed turf of the Edinburgh fringe and this time.....I’m not going to drink any De-Icer.
Let battle commence.
Pornography is great. For men and women. It allows you to relax into a fantasy and release your frustration without having to pay an inflated price to hire a disinterested looking hooker. However there is a darker side to porn these days (and no I’m not talking about animal or kiddie stuff here, it’s a comedy website remember) porn addiction! Not as glamorous as a sex one or as expensive as a alcohol one but a dark, dark addiction to watching other people fornicate.
If anyone was going to tackle such a sensitive issue it was of course going to have to be those bastions of decency: The Sun newspaper and Channel Four. The Sun newspaper concentrates on a 19 year old who has a porn addiction, he is called Calum Wrist, the most aptly named addict since Marcus Heroin. For the purposes of this “blog” he will be referred to as Mr. Wrist.
Mr. Wrist admits, in the national paper, that he masturbates 15-16 times a day. He once managed to hit 28 orgasms in a 24 hour period, but he says that was pushing it, or pulling it he can’t remember.
He says that sex with real girls is a let-down. This is probably because he’s
wanked that much his dick no longer touches the sides of a vagina.
He say’s that to combat his addiction he has thrown away smart phones and laptops. Which is probably because he always has his hands full.
Mr. Wrist admits that he needs help, although it seems to me he’s got his technique down to a T.
He has being offered some help in dealing with his addiction with group therapy sessions. The name alone is probably enough to send Mr. Wrist into a wanking frenzy.
Dr. Hall, the UKs leading sex and pornography addiction psychotherapist (seriously that’s her name I am not falsely claiming a doctorate, again) says that online porn is as addictive as drugs but it’s obviously not as dangerous. Unless you’re caught doing it outside your next door neighbours bathroom window.
Finally me and Justin Bieber have something
in common that’s not just the animalistic sexual magnetism that attracts females
to us. No we both want to see him in space! Granted I want him strapped to the
front of an X-Wing fighter charging into battle against a Death Star and he
wants to put on a performance. But it’s a start.
I firmly believe that the worlds governments need to get behind this idea of Bieber’s and work out a way to get him into space. They should then spend double and keep the cunt up there.
Sending Bieber into space really could be the opportunity we need to extend an olive branch out to Iran. They’ve just sent a monkey into space proving they would be more than capable of training Bieber not to open a window whilst orbiting the Earth. We could offer to help with Iran’s internal problems (like needing to enrich uranium we could help them do that right?) and in exchange they could take Bieber into space for us.
Now I’m not saying that the Iranian astronauts sent with him should spend the journey beating him mercilessly with heavy golden copies of the Koran. However that would be a start. Nor do I expect his broken, bleeding body to be pushed into an airlock. His bloody tired hands banging on the pane of reinforced glass as the countdown to the door opening draws to a climatic end. And there is nothing that would sadden me more than looking up at a certain point in the night sky just in time to see a new shooting star being born.
As his body hits terminal velocity his skin will ignite and his innards will boil forcing all his organs out through his orifices. He will only be visible for a brief moment burning brightly but ultimately fruitlessly as his body can only sustain the light for so long.
Which is weirdly enough a good metaphoric description of how his career will end
I make a lot of bad decisions; like that one time I had no lube and thought Deep Heat was a substitute. That was a bad decision. I couldn’t piss straight for two months. I tend to follow my heart into situations that I would be far better avoiding but I can’t because I’m a passionate person. If I believe I am right I will pursue that course of action until I am proven wrong. Which is most of the time.
In the past eight months I have made a large number of cock-ups and normally I can look back at my decisions and laugh at my own stupidity but not this time. Normally when I make a bad decision it’s because I’ve not done my research or I allow my ego to write checks that my body can’t catch. But I did this cock up by doing the right thing, if I’d have lied, cheated and deceived like I normally do I might have won this round in life. I allowed morality to creep in, that shall never happen again.
In essence I’ve done things that most normal people would regret doing but I just can’t because that is what my life is about. Stumbling from one insane incident to another like an out of control truck sliding down the road just waiting for my engine to catch fire.
My life has never been about what I’ve got but what I’ve missed out on and most of the stuff I’ve missed out on I couldn’t give a flying fuck about. I gave a fuck about one thing and I got burnt, severely it was like the Christmas turkey at my mum’s house. Nothing left but a charred burnt out husk.
Luckily as a“creative person” (read lazy pratt) I should be able to turn this wellspring of outpouring raw emotion into a meaningful piece of work. Out of my misery, grief and sadness I should be able to craft a piece of work that eclipses all my others in a fireball of emotional resonance. Like a triumphant phoenix I shall rise from the ashes of my mistake and soar like a mother fucking eagle (I am well aware I just said I was a Phoenix I just got carried away with similes).
Or I can do what I normally do: Get drunk and write jokes about drinking De-Icer.
So today passed by and I got a year older, but not much wiser as I’m still convinced that one day Arsene Wenger will ring me and I’ll get to play for my beloved Arsenal. He’s got my number, I know he has as I’ve posted it under his door countless times. I’m now 26 years old (although I do look much older) which in MTV years makes me ancient and about as up to speed with modern pop culture as a coma patient.
I’m genuinely surprised that I made 26 as I honestly thought I would be dead at 25 from a combination of falling and concealed mineshafts. I had a quick look back over the last 25 years of my life and as I enter my peak years I’ve got to say I think I’ve done quite well. For someone who has the airs and graces of a pig in shit and the hand eye co-ordination of a blind shark.
What have I done I hear you ask, well I’ve grown a kick ass beard that Rasputin would be proud of. I’ve also managed to finally curb my temper. No longer do I sit on the bus fingers digging into my skull wishing for the voices to stop telling me to murder the teenager smoking at the back. I used to want to smash his head repeatedly against the window panes until all I was holding was a damp, bloodied collar. Now I just turn my own music up and console myself with the fact that his sperm count will be low enough (due to repeated glue abuse) that he won’t be able to have children.
I also managed to start putting my “work”out there for everyone to read, comment on and abuse. It was the single scariest thing I’ve ever done and I would like to say thank you to whoever takes time out of their busy internet schedule of watching dog fight videos to look at this site.
And remember I’ve not always done selfish things throughout my life, I’ve donated gallons of blood to donor programs during my time on this ball of dirt. All right it wasn’t normally my blood but the nurses don't know that do they?
Iran has sent a monkey into space! Now before you get too excited no it wasn’t one of the Mullahs this batshit insane country has decided to call leaders, but an actual monkey. It was argued that it would be quicker to train the monkey as it wouldn’t spend it’s training telling people how evil the West was. Apparently we all murder babies or something.
Also it wouldn’t have the desperate need to pray seven times while they were up in the rocket.
The monkey, who refused to be interviewed after the launch, was said to be in a fit and well state despite essentially travelling in a toilet roll holder held together with faith to the edge of space.
The rocket got seventy miles into the sky which is quite an achievement considering most things above head height are shot down in the Middle East.
Now please don't misunderstand me here, because I love the idea of space ships and monkeys piloting spaceships in intergalactic wars that they didn’t start but are dammed sure their going to finish. I just don't think Iran should be trying to build one. I think that only countries that have a high literacy rate, well fed and watered population and where they don't all own a fucking firearm (yes that means you as well America!) should be building space craft
Here’s my real question: What is it’s objective? To take Shira law to the moon? Or maybe they want to put a satellite up there so they can spy on the US? Good idea until the Americans hear of it because the second they do all their going to see is grainy pictures of men’s arses.
With all the fury surrounding the fact that
there may be horse meat in some burgers it got me thinking. Not about horse meat in burgers because quite frankly I couldn’t give a shit. I’ll eat anything that once possessed a face and I’ll enjoy it. If someone put a plate of Panda cubs stuffed with bald eagle in front of me, my only question would be “where’s the hot sauce”?
And I foolishly thought that as a country of “meat eaters” we would collectively shrug our shoulders say “fuck it” and go back to "Tweeting" about the downfall of childrens conversational skills. I was wrong. The outpouring of outrage was phenomenal, I mean we don't make that much of a fuss when we see the massacre of a hundred school kids in Mali, but stick the looser of the 3:15 at Kempton on our BBQs and we go fucking mental.
It was almost as if every vegan in the country suddenly sat up and went “yes! Do you see what happens when you eat animals? You eat other animals! Destroy all those burgers, destroy all the burgers!”
If vegans had their way all we’d eat would be handfuls of moss and lichen and Hampshire would have to be renamed. “Quornshire”? I don't know I’m unsure how vegans minds work. I used to live with one who told me he couldn’t drink certain types of beer because it had fish in it. That would explain why Kronenbourg tastes like sweaty vagina.
Now I get that people were upset that the burgers hadn’t said on them “may contain traces of Red Rum” but so what? Surely you should be able to guess that “economy beef burgers” are going to contain at least 50% grit and the rest of it is going to be the dregs they’ve managed to chisel off the slicing blades. Just be fucking greatful that there's any meat in them at all.
And to answer the question on the very tip of your tongue right now, yes. I would eat the last of a species hell I’d even eat the last human if I could work out a way to put him on a pizza.
I just read this article http://msn.careerbuilder.co.uk/Article/MSN-378-Workplace-Issues-Seven-career-mistakes-you-need-to-stop-making/?lr=int_ukmsn&SiteId=int_ukmsn_a378&sc_extcmp=int_ukmsn_a378
on MSN news thinking it would give me an insight into why I (like so many others) are overlooked for promotion. It didn’t. In fact all the article did was convince me that all MSN news articles are written by a hamster plodding back and forth across a keyboard. None of the reasons given were the reasons why I haven’t achieved a promotion, in fact if I’d done a couple of them I’m pretty sure I would have gotten one; I decided that the article was as fucking useful as a stoner on the Krypton Factor. So once again I take it upon my broad shoulders (strong and powerful like an ancient Norse God) and tell you the truth These are the six real reasons why you’re not getting promoted.1. You Smell:
There’s no easy way to tell you this but you reek. Whether it’s of horse manure or just plain old sex stank you stink and this could be holding you back. Because do you know what else smells? Failure.2. Stealing Work Supplies:
I know you don't think that your boss knows that you steal toilet rolls from the ladies room. But trust me she knows because several times she has been caught “mid push” turned and discovered the toilet roll holder to be empty.3. Your Religious Views:
Yes I know people aren’t meant to discriminate on religion but come on your a Scientologist. 4. Your Drink Problem:
No one minds you having a drink. Hell you can even get away with a couple of pints at lunchtime. But since you started drinking direct from the alcohol hand gel dispensers in the bathroom the management no longer think you’re a suitable candidate for a supervisors role.5. Breaking Wind in Meetings:
We know everyone does it but the one you released in the financial accounts meeting last week was like a mustard gas attack. You could chew it, it had texture and reminded me of my granddads Christmas dinner at his old people’s home.6. No Money:
The main reason why you will not be promoted is because there’s no money. We want you to do a job with more responsibility, way beyond your capabilities and without any training in half the time. Also we want you to do it for less money than the manager we just gave a nice fat pay off to.
Sadly no matter what field you work in this last one is probably the NO1 if not the only reason as to why you’re fucked in your race for promotion.