While relaxing on the beach during your vacation, do you notice:

- The people with the highest fat density wear the least amount of clothes?

- Hot-looking beach babes always sit next to you when you have water retention?

- Pasty redheads on sun loungers seem to think they can outsmart solar rays?

- The person who used the beach washroom before you didn’t flush?

- Savage hungry seagulls can hear an ice cream being unwrapped from five miles away?

- All children under seven appear to be on speed?

- No matter where you lay your beach towel, you always end up next to a giant ant colony?

- Beach babes always sit next to you when you have bikini-line shaving rash?

- You find sand up your bum even if you’re sitting on a shingle beach?

- The person who used the beach washroom before you had some really bad oysters the night before?

- Fat old women with enormous flabby thighs just can’t stop bending down and picking up shells in front of you?

- Metal detector operators combing the shoreline always look poor?

- Beach babes always sit next to you when you have a hangover that would break Keith Richard?

- When you kick a kid’s sandcastle, their father is always 200lbs larger than you?

- The more wrinkly the man, the tighter the Speedos?

- No matter where you lay your beach towel, you always end up next to an overfriendly drunk hobo called Captain Billy?

- Redhead sunbathers seem to think the best cure for agonizing sunburn is more sunbathing?

- Despite storing them in an airtight box, the main ingredient of your sandwiches is sand? Or ants?

- Women who sunbathe with their legs wide open are usually over 70?

- The person who used the beach washroom before you was Captain Billy?

Beaches are hell. Stay home!

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A Bad Idea | 12 Comments »

Well, the thanks I get for putting myself out! All I was trying to do was help the global economy. Being the kind sort I am, I hired a gang of unemployed Mexican pig farmers to help me tend to my pot, erm, potted plants in my underground greenhouse. I had no idea I was doing anything wrong! Their immigration papers looked genuine to me. And I just sort of assumed those drug laws had been repealed by now.

Of course those swarthy Mexican buggers fled as soon as they heard the police sirens, leaving behind a basement full of empty Taco Bell wrappers and a little fella called H1N1. Muchos fuckos gracious, bastardos!

And then I drag myself off my deathbed to discover that the veritable Humor Bloggers have taken advantage of my absence to haul my virulent piggy ass on the proverbial spit and roast me! Bastardos.

Kirsten, here, from the poorly named Soccer Mom Files.

When I got news from Ettarose that I was to roast the famous Tiggy today, I was very excited. Not because she stole my boyfriend that time, or even because she once signed me up for the Billy Bob Thornton Fan Club. (Yes, I’m still the one and only member.) It’s just the simple fact that you just gotta love Tiggy! Who else will give you tips on where to hide your pot, or how to field dress a deer? I also never knew until I read Tiggy’s blog that there is an actual CD especially for gay dogs. “My Big Bone” would not have been on my iPod otherwise.

I don’t care that she lies about quasi intimate encounters with Hugh Laurie or that she has a thing for the ShamWow guy. You shouldn’t care that she likes to be mean to the new dorky intern at work or has a strange penchant for adult baby diapers. We’re not all perfect, so please be nice to the Tiggster.

BTW, have you noticed that she never posts pictures of herself? There is a very good reason for that. You wouldn’t advertise to the world is you looked like this, would you? She’s not even a real redhead.

Thanks, Kirsten! I think. And I would like to state for the record that a) I did not steal Jeremy Clarkson from her, he was merely helping me get over my split from imaginary Richard Hammond, and b) I do not have a thing for ShamWow Vince. Unless there is a payment of $1,000 involved.

That’s it, I’m cooked. I’m off to sit on a crowded bus and cough loudly. I find it very therapeutic.

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A Bad Idea | 6 Comments »

Oh crap! Some dorky new intern has moved into the cubicle next to mine at work. He has a full view of my computer monitor and knows I’m surfing the internet all day instead of working. The little creep will probably rat on me to the boss before the day is out. I need to get rid of him. But how?

Hot Lunch: Instead of my usual bland sandwiches, I am going to start eating bean and jalapeno tacos, fiery samosas and raw herrings. I can use my desk fan to waft the eye-watering aroma straight towards the little twerp. And the effects of all this spicy food on my digestive system will be a bonus. This tactic worked well for my old apartment neighbours who would leave a pot of cabbage curry bubbling on the stove all day. Bastards.

My Friend Ratty: I must let my cubicle enemy know about the office rat. Watch out intern, he’s a vicious little bugger! I’ve seen him pissing on your keyboard once or twice (doesn’t rat piss make you go blind?) And then I shall clumsily drop taco crumbs all over the floor. Maybe I should invest in a real rat.

It’s Raining Spikes: Oh, I’m so clumsy! I’m always tripping over while carrying huge open boxes full of drawing pins. And that towering stack of paper leaning against the cubicle wall – whoops, there it falls! Sorry intern, are you all right under there? I hope I don’t stumble as I carry this large mug of boiling coffee.

Ghost In the Machine: Hey intern, I heard your cubicle is haunted! The last guy who worked there was always complaining about flickering screens, catastrophic data losses and strange voices coming from the speakers. The IT department couldn’t work it out. Strange how the cops have never found that guy’s body…
I don’t know anything about hacking computers or causing electro-magnetic interference, but I’m sure I can inflict some damage with a screwdriver, a handful of drawing pins and a cup of rat piss.

Noisy Neighbour: There’s nothing more annoying than a stream of irritating noises coming from your cubicle neighbour. Maybe I should develop a hacking smoker’s cough, or a severe case of Tourette’s? Or maybe a more sinister noise like a creepy satanic chant? My weedy co-worker would flee in no time. Now, how does that Jihadi suicide attack prayer go?

My office now is a mess of sharp tacks, rotting herrings and rat piss. And the smarmy little fucker is still hard at work, oblivious to my spills, traps and random profane outbursts.

I quit!

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A Bad Idea, Work Is Stupid | 18 Comments »

You think you’re having a bad day? Maybe you got to work hoping for a peaceful day surfing the internet, but your boss slapped a pile of work on your desk that will last you until retirement.

Worse than that? Maybe your Aunt Lucy’s life support machine was switched off by mistake. Before she’d changed her Will to leave you a million bucks. That’s bad.

Worse still? You ran over Aunt Lucy’s cat, got fired from your job for spending all day surfing the internet, then got hit by a truck and are now hooked up to life support. That’s pretty bad.

But it could be worse. You could be Sam the Catfish. This is his lousy day story.

I’m watching a TV documentary about some dicks going fishing in a lake in Brazil. These two idiots are chucking in their line or whatever the angling term is, when one of them gets a bite. He excitedly yanks out the line to reveal a wriggling, angry catfish! I’ll call him Sam. I’m not sure if his name really is Sam, but it seems like a good name for a catfish. Anyway, poor Sam is struggling on the line. A bad day for a fish, you think. But get this – half of Sam’s body is missing! The lake is full of fuckin’ piranhas, and Sam’s the lunchtime sushi special!

“Oh dear,” chuckles one of the fishing dicks. “Looks like our supper’s already half eaten!” Poor Sam is half the fish he was this morning, and these guys think it’s funny! But at least Sam has escaped the piranhas…

“Thank goodness!” thinks Sam. “I’ve been rescued from that vicious mob of fish! There is a God after all… ohhhh… uhhhh… where am I…can’t breathe… no… water… oh no… fish dicks!!!”
Not only is Sam suffocating to death, he is also about to get his head smashed in and served for supper. His bad day can’t get any worse, can it?

“Oh, this fish is no good,” dick one says.
“You’re right. Better release the poor fella,” dick two suggests.
Good idea chaps! Throw Sam BACK into the water!
“Fuck.” thinks Sam.

That is what you call having a bad day.

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A Bad Idea | 8 Comments »