One_Angry_Man
Trust male - 49 years, Grumpiun, East Angrier, United Kingdom
Blog 106
I blog, therefore I am.
You read, therefore you comment.
You read but don't comment, therefore I hunt you down like the dog you are.
Have a nice day.
Oh, and these blogs are open to everyone.
Live with it.
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WHOSE MONEY IS IT ANYWAY?
I don't understand.
Depending on which morning rag you read, it is costing each taxpayer between £30,000 and £40,000 to bail out the banks......
.......who then award their staff huge bonuses for all of the great work they do........
.......and who charge us, the taxpayer (between £30,000 and £40,000, remember
for going overdrawn without permission....
.......I just don't understand.
***THIS BLOG IS OPEN TO EVERYONE **** -
CROWDED HOUSE
Maybe its my imagination, but I keep getting the feeling that London is very overcrowded.
During the week, I commute from the badlands and ghettos of the outskirts of London into the centre of our vast, sprawling metropolis, and no matter what time I travel, there are no seats on the trains, and no matter how much I limp or try to make out I'm pregnant, no-one will offer me their seat.
I've tried all the old tricks - "accidentally" treading on their toes until they can tolerate it no more; exclaiming loudly to anyone within earshot (and who may be sitting down) "its a shame to have to stand all day at work AND on the train too...."; feigning sickness - usually greeted with "if you're gonna vomit mate, don't do it over me....I don't do vomit....and if you do I'll smack yer face, and you'll have something else to complain about....and you STILL won’t get a seat"
London Underground trains are the worst though. No matter how many times the station announcer announces "let the passengers off the train first", the passengers getting ON the train always display their own selective disability, i.e. deafness, especially to station announcements. Whereupon I always display MY selective disability - Tourettes - when facing an onrushing gaggle of commuters all vying for the one available seat on the carriage!
And each tube train is packed! Why do people have to wear rucksacks these days? What do they carry? In the old days, the male city worker preferred to carry a briefcase, generally a light one, in which he carried his copy of the Times, maybe a paperback or some work-related papers, and perhaps his sandwich. to fend off unwanted admirers, he carried an umbrella, useful as a sword, cricket bat or lance.
Now, everyone and their mother wears a rucksack. So what do people carry in them? The Times hasn't increased in size; in fact, most people read the Metro now and leave it on the train for someone else to read afterwards. They tend not to bring sandwiches to work, instead they dine at Prêt or some other fanciful establishment selling overpriced food and "speciality" coffees. "Oh I'll have a smoked salmon bagel – no grease - plenty of jus, some rocket and pesto, and a blueberry mocha to rinse it down please".
And unless its the new Harry Potter, Dan Brown or Twilight book, people don't read - they listen to their walkman (I think you'll find it might be an mp3 player, Angry). And their mp3 player is the size of their credit card. So what is in the rucksack that makes it so important to drag into work every day????
Extra sandwiches in case Prêt have sold out of the healthy option, or in case of delays on the journey to/from work? Their phone? Surely not – even a multi-functional Gooseberry (I think you’ll find they’re called Blackberry’s, Angry) with camera, Walkman, SatNav, numerous apps and go-faster stripes is only the size of a packet of cigarettes. Yes! How about cigarettes (cue Family Fortunes “uh-uh”)? Nobody smokes any more. Nobody feels inclined to take work home so WHAT DO PEOPLE PUT IN THE RUCKSACKS THAT TAKE UP SO MUCH ROOM ON THE TUBE AND GIVE YOU A BLACK EYE WHEN THE OWNER TURNS ROUND SHARPLY AND THE BAG WALLOPS YOU IN THE FACE????? THEY ARE ABOUT AS MUCH USE ON THE TUBE AS OFF-ROAD VEHICLES ARE ALONG OXFORD STREET!!!
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah…no room in London. I went Christmas shopping locally last weekend, and the place was packed…no room to move, every direction you turned you hit someone with one of the many carrier bags…the only people who were happy were the RSPCA, as there was no room anywhere to swing a cat of any size!
And I began to wonder…if I was standing on the sharp end of a 100-foot-high pin, jumping lithely from one foot to the other, minding my own business, there would still be some bugger wanting to push past me saying “er, excuse me..sorry..thank you….” [rants}
***THIS BLOG IS OPEN TO EVERYONE *** -
CHRISTMAS IS COMING
I went to the Post Office at lunchtime, to buy a stamp for my Christmas card. No, not a card for myself - don't be silly! No, for the one card I send to my only friend. Is that a problem for you?
As usual, the queue was a mile long, full of customers killing some "dead" time by phoning friends, doing the Metro sudoku, eating their lunch, growing a beard....the P.O. is also a convenience store, selling confectionery, foodstuffs, cigarettes and magazines. When I say "convenience", I mean that the prices they charge for some items are convenient if you want to be ripped off, but then again, as people point out, they are paying Central London rates.
Anyway, the queue runs alonside the magazine racks, and my eye was caught by the variety of headlines and front page comments on the mags. And so I looked at the mags (didn't pick one up to read whilst in the queue for fear of the owner shouting at me from behind the till "are you going to buy that magazine sir? That'll be £2.30. This isn't a library you know" whereupon everyone looks round and stares, accusingly. The owner is really on the ball - he knows the prices of each mag, their original position on the rack, when the next issue is out, which "celebrity" features on which page, who they claim to have shagged recently.....I want to catch him out in an off-guard moment when the prices go up....when he shouts "are you going to buy that magazine sir? That'll be £2.30. This isn't a library you know", I want to shout back "actually, its gone up to £2.50 this month, and no, I'm not buying it, so ner-ner-ner-ner-ner" ). Men. Kids, eh?
So there I was, reading the headlines, waiting for the shout from behind the till "you can window shop in Selfridges, sir....costs you nothing there too...." when I spotted a trend among the mags.
All of the Heat/Closer style mags had front covers featuring a scantily clad Jordan, with comments like:
"I STILL PINE FOR PETE",
"IT WAS EITHER GO TO THE JUNGLE OR TOP MYSELF WITHOUT PETE",
"I COULDN'T BARE MY BAZONKAS FOR ANYONE OTHER THAN PETE" (I suspect that was anyone other than someone named Pete) , and
"PETER'S PIPE AND PECS PERKED MY PLUMPISH PAPS"
Then, all of the Take A Break/Chat style mags had headlines saying "ARE YOU READY FOR CHRISTMAS", along with sub-titles for stories like:
"I DIDN'T MIND HIM EATING MY MOTHER FOR XMAS DINNER, BUT I FORGOT TO GET THE HONEY-GLAZED PARSNIPS OUT OF THE FREEZER",
"HE CALLED ME HIS CHRISTMAS PUDDING, BUT I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS GOING TO DOUSE ME IN BRANDY AND SET ME ALIGHT", and
"I FORGOT THE CRACKERS, SO HE PULLED MY SISTER INSTEAD".
And all of these mags under a huge banner which said "GET YOUR FUN-FILLED FESTIVE READING HERE"
You couldn't make it up could you?
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*** THIS BLOG IS OPEN TO EVERYONE *** -
GRAVE HUMOUR
Being a practical sort of bloke, a year or so ago, I rang up the local cemetery to book a plot. Knowing that burial space in London was at a premium, I wanted to make as many arrangements now, rather than leave it till after I had shuffled off this mortal coil.
So I made the telephone call, and a very sombre man, ironically named Mr Smillie, answered.
Mr Smillie: “North London Crematorium and Halcyon Days Eternal Rest Home….Smillie speaking….how may I assist you?”
Angry Man (suppressing titter): “Jim mellowdew here. I hear there’s a waiting list for spaces in Halcyon Days, and as a long-standing resident of the borough, I would like to put my name down now, before it’s too late.”
Mr S: “Very forward-thinking of you sir. Are any of your nearest and dearest already, er, residing at Halcyon?”
AM: “There are, but the plot is full. We are a family of very healthy eaters, and even when we are dust, there is a lot of dust to inter. Its not that I haven’t made alternative suggestions….”
Mr S (in the background is the sound of shuffling papers and the crashing of filing cabinet drawers): “Ah yes….Mellowdew….I thought i knew that name…..”
AM: “….my great-grandfather was a prisoner-of-war in Colditz. When his time came a few years ago, I suggested that he was cremated and that at the interment, we men wore trousers with holes in the pockets. We could have walked around Halcyon with his ashes in our pockets, and let the ashes fall onto the ground in a trickle….”
Mr S “Yes, I remember that suggestion….not very dignified, if I may say so”
AM: “No, but economical and environmentally friendly. Makes the whole process a little less solemn….”
Mr S: “So anyway, Mr Mellowdew, I'll put your name down. It seems that you are, er, 39th on the waiting list, so I'll give you a call when you move up.”
AM: “Thank you, Mr {chortle} Smillie.”
Mr S: “Have you given any thought to how you wish to be, er despatched Mr Mellowdew? Buried or cremated?”
AM: “No idea. You surprise me”
At this point, Mr Smillie gave out an extremely loud sigh, told me he would be in touch and put the receiver down.
As I say, this was about two years ago. I hadn’t paid any more attention to the situation, but was secure in the knowledge that Mr Smillie was a trustworthy chap of high integrity, and that my fate was secure in his black-gloved hands.
And so it was a complete surprise that I took a call on Friday, which went like this….
AM: “Jim Mellowdew speaking….”
Mr S: “Ah, Mr Mellowdew…….Smillie here…….just ringing you up to say that you are now top of the waiting list, so….it’s time…….”
AM: “You mean….?”
Mr S: “Yes, the time has come……”
AM: “No, you can’t mean that. I mean, I’ve just bought 100 credits on Netlog. That’s 20 blogs. That’s about 12 weeks….. “
Mr S: “…the time…..”
AM: “And I haven’t finished the “Are You Being Served” box set my niece got me for my birthday last year. I need to find out who wins “Strictly” this year. I’ve just filled the tank on the car……”
Mr S: “….has come….”
AM: “….and I haven’t even taken the labels out of the Burton suit I bought in the sale last year, let alone worn it. And I’ve just booked a holiday in Majorca….no, I’m not ready!”
Mr S: “….to pay the £50 deposit to secure your plot at Halcyon Days. Cheque or debit or credit card will do…”
I swear he was laughing his gloves off all the while.
Nearly gave me a heart attack…. -
WHERE I'VE SLEPT
I don't have narcolepsy...I'm just a sleepy person! I think I inherited it from my dad, who used to read me stories at night when I was but a lad of 5 or 6...and he would fall asleep mid-sentence! Well it was better than him falling asleep at work....bus drivers aren't very popular if they announce that "the next stop is Trafalgar Square....alight here for ZZZzzzzzzzzzz!"
So, apart from on public transport - including airplanes and as a passenger in cars - this is a list of places and occasions when I've just, er, nodded off (sometimes with good reason!)
SPORTING OCCASIONS
* Watching a football match (No goals, no thrills)
* Watching a snooker match
* Whilst waiting to bat in a cricket match (I lasted one ball while batting, then back to sleep!)
SPECIAL OCCASIONS
* At a New Years' Eve party (drink assisted)
* At the office Christmas dinner (also drink assisted)
* At a rock concert
* At the annual pre-Christmas Departmental Review (we thought it would be a laugh to wear silly Santa hats to the meeting, which was held in a lecture theatre.Everyone bottled out, except yours truly. We were told on entering the theatre that we should turn off our mobiles. As nobody ever rings me, I didn't bother. And so, halfway through the big boss' talk, not only did my mobile ring - loudly - but I was heard to snore - also loudly - and of course drew even more attention to myself by wearing a hat in the shape of a Christmas pudding!!! I liked that job too!)
ALMOST ACCEPTABLE
* In the doctors' waiting room
* In the hospital waiting room
* In the cinema (Most expensive nap ever)
* Sitting at my desk in work (Nobody noticed until I started snoring)
* In the bath (Rubber ducky was most offended)
UNUSUAL
* Whilst clearing out the "junk" room (I was lying on the floor trying to see what was under the bed, and the next thing I knew....)
* At the tube station on a seat (drink induced)
* On the loo (Bad case of DVT when I woke up)
INEXCUSABLE
* In a team meeting at work (there were 4 of us present, so it didn't go un-noticed)
* Whilst visiting someone in hospital (The next bed was occupied, and it was warm in there)
* On the phone (I'll never ring a chatline again - cost me £98.75 for 10 minutes....)
UNBELIEVEABLE
* During foreplay (Thankfully the sheep didn't mind.....)
PLACES AND TIMES I'VE NEVER SLEPT
* In the shower (Close a couple of times)
* In a job interview (although if I ever went for a job as a mattress tester, my skill would be invaluable)
* Riding a bicycle (I suspect freewheeling down a long hill might tempt me though)
* In the frozen food aisle in Morrisons
* On a traffic island whilst crossing the road
* In Cadbury World (Impossible...too much good stuff going on!) -
WOUNDED
Anyone else watch Wounded last night?
Shame on you if you didn't.
The next time someone who manages to stop a ball going in a net is called "a hero" and gets an obscene amount of money for doing so, or a z-list nobody is called "brave" for spending a couple of weeks out in the jungle and being asked to eat a few insects just to prove what a "celebrity" they are, think back to those whose stories were told in Wounded.
Then reconsider the definition of "bravery" and "a hero". -
NURSERY RHYMES
TOMMY TUCKER
Little Tommy Tucker, Sings for his supper….
(More pushy parents. Poor Tommy won’t get fed again till he wins X-Factor)
WEE WILLIE WINKIE
Wee Willie Winkie, Runs through the town
Upstairs, downstairs, In his nightgown,
Rapping at the windows…..
(Who does he think he is? Eminem???
THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN OF LEEDS
There was an old woman of Leeds
Who spent all her time in good deeds….
(I didn’t know Mother Theresa was from Yorkshire)
THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat…
(But when the boat docked, there was just the Pussycat picking his teeth with an owl feather…)
PETER PETER PUMPKIN EATER
Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater…
(Needs to vary his diet, and make sure he gets his 5-a-day)
OLD MACDONALD
Old MacDonald had a farm….
(But the authorities shut it down because of an outbreak of EColi)
OH WHERE HAS MY LITTLE DOG GONE?
Oh where, oh where has my little dog gone
Oh where, oh where can he be…..
(Any Korean restaurants nearby
LITTLE MISS MUFFET
Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider, and sat down beside her….
(But the spider didn’t realise that she had had a course of hypnotherapy to cure her arachnophobia, and so he went away, disappointed)
Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider, and sat down beside her….
(But this time, she’d brought a rolled-up newspaper….poor spidey….)
LITTLE BO PEEP
Little Bo Peep, has lost her sheep
And doesn’t know where to find them….
(On the one hand, looks like there’ll soon be a vacancy for a shepherdess…..on the other hand, unemployment figures look like they’ll increase by 1)
JACK BE NIMBLE
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick….
(Cos Usain Bolt doesn’t half motor!)
THE GRAND OLD DUKE OF YORK
The Grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men…
(The Guinness Book of Records classes this as the largest gay orgy ever)
HICKORY DICKORY DOCK
Hickory dickory dock
The mouse ran up the clock…
(Last time I use one of those 99p Shop mouse traps)
HUSH-A-BYE BABY
Hush-a-bye baby, on the tree top
When the wind blows the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all….
(And Social Services will say that they were “aware of the family and their living conditions” and were in the process of moving them to safer accommodation)
AS I WAS GOING TO St IVES
As I was going to St Ives, I met a man with seven wives….
(Just think of that! Seven mothers-in-law! Ouch)
CRY BABY BUNTING
Cry baby bunting, daddy’s gone-a-hunting…..
(Stop snivelling child. Shit happens. Get over it. You want to eat don’t you
DIDDLE DIDDLE DUMPLING
Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his socks on
One shoe off and one shoe on
Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John
(Bit young for an all-night bender isn't he?
EARLY TO BED
Early to bed, early to rise
Makes little Johnny…..
(A GMTV presenter)
TWINKLE TWINKLE
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are….
(A star, you moron. A Star!) -
REASONS WHY I’M ANGRY, PART 2
My job is extremely boring.
In a world of dead-end jobs, I should have my work station in a crematorium.
My job description specifically states “arranging paper clips into size and colour”, “sharpening the office pencil”, “stapling one piece of paper to another” and “any other tasks deemed appropriate by the supervising officer”.
Most employees dread any tasks falling under this last category. I positively loathe them, because it usually means helping out the Education Department during their busy periods, simply because I used to work there full time previously. The fact that I went to a school that was approved probably helps too.
“I know, seeing as we’re inundated with idiotic phone calls from people wanting information, we’ll get old Jim back…he’s always helpful, tolerant, polite, knowledgeable, punctual, efficient, he scrubs up well and he buys biscuits….” I always say that they’ve got me confused with someone else, but they say differently.
So off I go every year, abandoning my paper clips to the haphazard approach of the temp, leaving my pencils to blunt, my papers unshuffled, my numbers uncrunched, and my clean “Counterfeit Stones” mug to the mercy of any Tom, Dick or Harry who’s too lazy to wash their own cup. I’ll never see it again, I know.
This year, I tried to pre-empt this request for assistance by recording my own, er, pre-recoded message, complete with menu…..
“Hello. You’ve reached the Education Department. If you wanted another department within the council, please re-dial and speak slowly and in English to our highly trained switchboard staff, who will probably display their own unique work ethic and considerable customer care skills by putting the call straight back to me. After speaking to me for the fifth time, you may wish to reconsider whether your call is necessary.
Alternatively, if you wanted the Education Department…congratulations! Please tell everyone how efficient, helpful, tolerant and polite we are, and specifically mention the name “Jim Mellowdew” because that way I may get the bonus I so richly deserve.
OK. Please press the number on your keypad that corresponds with the most likely scenario of your query or statement that sums up your present circumstances and the nature of your call to the Education Department. If you didn’t understand that sentence, please hang up, because you sure as hell won’t understand anything we have to say about getting a student loan.
Now, press “1” if you are going to start your first sentence with “well, what it is, right…” or “basically”, because that means you are going to tell me your life story before we get to the bit where you say that you haven’t got the money to pay your course fees or accommodation costs. Please state clearly and concisely the reason for your call in your first sentence, so that I can decide quite quickly who to pass you on to, so I don’t have to waste valuable time and energy.
Press “2” if you think that we will actually give you the money for your course up front and without you having to do anything silly like enrol, or attend. Your call will be diverted to the Benefits Agency or the local Mental Health Trust, both of whom would like to ask you some simple, yet pertinent questions.
Press “3” if you just want to know if your application has been received. If that is the case, your name is Nemesis Fotheringay isn’t it? Nemesis – you handed your application to the Education Department Officer yourself. She stamped your receipt with the date and exact time, and passed your application to the Assessment Officer, who also gave you a receipt. She also posted a copy to your home address and a photocopy of the duplicate to your mother’s address. YOU TOOK A PICTURE OF THE WHOLE TRANSACTION ON YOUR MOBILE!!!! And besides, it was only yesterday. Your call is being diverted to a random call centre in Mumbai where they speak only the language of the late great Stanley Unwin.
If you are sure you know the answer to your query, but wanted some stranger at the other end of the telephone to agree with whatever you say, press “4”. This is one reason why I am good at this job - because I was once married and learned to agree with whatever the old battleaxe said.
Press “5” if you aren’t sure if I’m the right person to speak to. Trust me – I’m not. Do yourself a favour and try dialling 8 numbers at random. The odds are better.
Press “6” if you are going to start your conversation with “Hello, it’s John here….” And expect me to use my phenomenal psychic powers to not only know who you are but your reason for calling and the answer too. I’m good, but Derren Brown I aint.
Press “7” if your first word is going to be “yes”. Are you a footballer doing an interview on Match of the Day? I think not. You haven’t been asked any questions yet…unless you are replying to the question: “then you are Nemesis Fotheringay, aren’t you?” in which case you’ve chosen the wrong option again. Redial and press option 3, Nemesis.
Press “8” if you are ringing up with that old chestnut that, in your day, the government paid your tuition fees for you, so why does your son/daughter/the twins have to pay? Yes, you pay your taxes. Yes, it IS unfair, but sh*t happens. Deal with it. Your call is being re-directed to Alistair Darling.
Press “9” if you want to know what time I’ll be home for dinner. Mother – I’m a grown man and I don’t live at home any more. And how many times have I told you not to call me at work?
And you wonder why I'm angry?
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YOU WONDER WHY I’M ANGRY?
Yes, people ask that quite often. They say: “Angry Man, why are you angry?” Now that makes me angry to start with. But let me give you an example of what has made me so angry….
4a.m. this morning. All is quiet in the Mellowdew household. Apart from my snoring that is, and only Dizzy the spider is bothered by that, and he can hide under the bath panel.
It has been a muggy night, and I have slept with the windows open slightly. Risky, that, especially here in the badlands where an open window is an invitation to a multitude of possible crimes, and a welcome mat to numerous creepy crawlies.
4:03a.m. and I am awake. My bladder has been complaining of being full to the brim for a while now, and I have just been to the loo, flushed the chain (economy setting), and ruined Dizzy’s beauty sleep. Do spiders need beauty sleep? Anyway, I have just returned to my comfy bed, hoping to cram in another two hours of much-needed beauty sleep myself before I have to throw the alarm clock at the wall.
And in the distance, beyond the comfort of my pillow, outside the windows, and in the wild environs of north London, I can hear the dulcet tones of The Nomadic Wombats on a car stereo. Loud. The song that goes: “Gonna wake you up, yeahhhhh, gonna shake you up, yeahhhhh, then I’m gonna stake you up, oh yeahhhh, And sacrifice your soul….” You know the one. Their love song. Forget what its called now. Something like “I’ll Never Find Another You, But I’m Gonna Keep Looking Anyway”.
I digress. I know from that noise, and the way that the clutch is crying out for a visit from Social Services that it is the impending approach of my neighbour, Clarence Clump, on his way home from the night shift. The Nomadic Wombats get gradually louder until the reverberations cause my prized picture of the dogs playing poker to fall from its nail in the wall.
Not only does Mr C use the “I’m in this gear and I’m not changing for anyone” method of driving, but the car’s exhaust has a hole in it. The hole is roughly the same size as that in the average Polo mint, but the noise cannot be drowned out, even by the Wombats at volume 11. Of course, it gets worse the more his leaden foot applies pressure to the accelerator, and as he cannot park a car for love nor money, he applies lots of pressure to the right pedal.
He is such a bad parker, and a typical male, i.e. no real awareness of size or accuracy. He spent 15 minutes trying to manoeuvre his small hatchback into a space roughly equal to a golf course. During this time he hits the kerb several times, resulting in a squeal of pain from his radials who pleaded for him to stop. It is at this point that he runs over a discarded Lucozade bottle – the plastic ones that make the satisfying noise when you run over them. He likes the “crack” so much that he does it again 4 more times. Did you know that even on the 5th occasion, a Lucozade bottle will still make a loud crackling noise when run over at 4:15a.m? Possibly, this is due to the acoustics and the lack of alternative noise at that hour of the day.
And just when the cacophony of Nomadic Wombats, popping exhaust, cracking plastic, tyre squeal and clutch grind seems to have reached its peak, Mr C opens his door to check the distance from the kerb, the angle that he has parked at and the Health & Safety Regulations regarding the proximity of the nearest parked vehicle, i.e. is a car parked on the driveway of a house in the next borough too close? As he opens the driver’s door, it becomes clear that he hasn’t been to the garage to buy some WD40 or lubricating oil to fix that really annoying, loud creaking sound that the door makes when it is opened.
And he doesn’t just do it once..oh no – he has a routine: drive car 4 yards forward, drive car 4 yards in reverse, don’t turn steering wheel either time, open door, walk around car, shake head as if to say “I could have sworn it was perfect that time. Somebody must have moved the road…”, get in car, close door, and do the same again. Or, imagine you are lying in bed and you can’t see Mr C…what you would hear would be:
• High revving of an old engine
• Plastic bottle cracking
• Exhaust splutter
• Crunch of gears
• Plastic bottle cracking
• Squeak of door
• Nomadic Wombats music increasing in volume as door remains open
• Footsteps of Mr C walking around car
• Sound of Mr C scratching head (think sandpaper on wood)
• Squeak of door
• Sound of car door slamming
• Thankfully, volume of Nomadic Wombats music falls as door closes
And the same again…and again….imagine listening to Radio 1 loudly in one ear, and the magnified sound of Rice Krispies in the other. Get the picture?
And he sees me motioning to him from my half-hidden location behind the curtains that I am in the process of getting dressed and grabbing a 7-iron with which to beat him and his rent-a-wreck and the Wombats into the next world. And what does he do?
He waves at me, and says “ah, morning Mellowdew. Didn’t expect to see you up so early in the morning… Glorious day, isn’t it?”
You wonder why I’m angry?
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KIDS WRITING ABOUT THE OCEAN
This was emailed to me yesterday, and I haven't stopped laughing since....apparently they are all true, and taken from children's essays about the ocean.....
1) This is a picture of an octopus. It has eight testicles. (Kelly, age 6)
2) Oysters' balls are called pearls. (Jerry, age 6)
3) If you are surrounded by ocean, you are an island. If you don't have ocean all round you, you are incontinent. (Chris, age 7)
4) Sharks are ugly and mean, and have big teeth, just like Emily Richardson. She's not my friend any more. (Kylie, age 6)
5) A dolphin breaths through an asshole on the top of its head. (Billy, age 8)
6) My uncle goes out in his boat with two other men and a woman and pots and comes back with crabs.
(Millie, age 6)
7) When ships had sails, they used to use the trade winds to cross the ocean. Sometimes when the wind didn't blow the sailors would whistle to make the wind come. My brother said they would have been better off eating beans. (William, age 7)
8) Mermaids live in the ocean.. I like mermaids. They are beautiful and I like their shiny tails, but how on earth do mermaids get pregnant? Like, really? (Helen, age 6)
9) I'm not going to write about the ocean. My baby brother is always crying, my dad keeps yelling at my mom, and my big sister has just got pregnant, so I can't think what to write. (Amy, age 6)
10) Some fish are dangerous. Jelly fish can sting. Electric eels can give you a shock. They have to live in caves under the sea where I think they have to plug themselves in to chargers. (Christopher, age 7)
11) When you go swimming in the ocean, it is very cold, and it makes my willy small. (Kevin, age 6)
12) Divers have to be safe when they go under the water. Divers can't go down alone, so they have to go down on each other.(Becky, age 8)
13) On vacation my mom went water skiing. She fell off when she was going very fast. She says she won't do it again because water fired right up her big fat ass. (Julie, age 7)
14) The ocean is made up of water and fish. Why the fish don't drown I don't know. (Bobby, age 6)
15) My dad was a sailor on the ocean. He knows all about the ocean. What he doesn't know is why he quit being a sailor and married my mom. (James, age 7)
I don't want to be Millie's uncle, and I certainly know how Kevin feels!
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