But this does

The adverts on television are bad enough “Claims Direct - Sue your employer because of your own stupidity”, “Injury Lawyers 4 U - We’re bloodsucking whores, and we’ll happily suck your friends, your family, your employers dry just because you feel a little upset about something!”

And now I get a telesales phonecall from them. “Have you been injured or something or other in the past blah years?”, belches the automated voice down the line at me. Yes, it’s not even a person, it’s a computer spouting out these words down the phone. “Press 2 now to speak to one of our advisors”.

What is this? What the is this madness? What is this curious, demented, festering idiocy? What sort of country am I living in where no one takes the blame for anything yet we’re more than happy to dish it out when it suits us. Goddamn sons of minty bint whores. Get the hell out, you corporate donkey botherers.

*sigh*

/end angry angry rant at the state of the world

The spam still pours in, like so much malt whiskey onto the head of a dried Irishman. I’ve decided to make use of this deluge of useless information by turning a couple of items of spam into an interesting and informative story to ease your senses from the constant, incessant noise of the email junk monkeys heeching and screeching their way to (hopefully) an early grave. Spam words are in bold (yes they are).

A Spam Story

“Portends“, shouted the miserable old hag from the upstairs landing. “I don’t know what it means but I mean it all the same”. The miserable old hag had been shouting now for nearly three hours, much to the displeasure of the building’s landladies. Even though the landladies themselves were no stranger to uncouth behaviour and repugnant appearance, the levels of fatness present upon their rotund bodies rivalling anything even a Hutchinson funnel could produce, they were upset all the same. “Oh do be quiet!”, one of them screeched. We are trying to watch the World Cup.

Hardin sat opposite the ladies, across the room infront of the roaring wood fire, petting his faithful costed mug hound. He wished the ladies would just succumb to the elderly howls emenating from upstairs and do something about it, perhaps via the medium of fire and guns and things. For some reason, he then thought this curious phrase : “Emigrants infective beckon! Sommelier“. Quite why, he had no idea. It was all very confusing

I am very happy today. I have just confirmed to myself that my life so far has been a glorious success. “Why?”, you may ask. Well, it’s because I’ve just managed to score 9 out of 10 on the BBC News “Summer Weather” quiz, first time around, no cheating

Believe me if you will, doubt me if you want, but I AM YOUR ALMIGHTY OVERLORD BECAUSE I KNOW 9 FACTS! ABOUT WEATHER!

I’ve been getting a lot of spam recently on the comment boxes here. It’s a lot of fun. I like how generic most of them are, just telling me that “I like your site, it is full of nice informations” and then shouting a list of links to sites about boxes, cats, pills, music, magic, violins, violence, fruits, composers, milks, backgammon removal devices, partial nudities, Roy Walker appreciation vases, vernaculars, windows, plums, KORN cds, Belfast, liquids, pants, sounds of buckets falling down stairs, zombies, plants, dead plants, explosions and Texas (not the band)

How dare they enjoy my information site with nice content, thanks I’ll be sure to bookmark it? Bastards.

The world came to an end the other day. It happened very quietly. Not like the cliches you read about in most doomy, gloomy apocalyptical texts.

No, the world just faded, like an old poster that has been in the sun for too long. The colours started going, reds turned to greens turned to blues. The contrast of the world started to turn itself down, objects started to blend, to meld together. People became indistinguishable. I forgot names and places and I forgot who I was. Everything just seemed to go quiet and nothing seemed to matter any more. There was no television, there was no noise, there were no children in the street, there were no arguments and no noisy discussions.

It was all rather pleasant, actually

We all love Ikea, Swedish branded furniture with names made from compressed glee. It pleases us when we succeed in piecing together a wardrobe which, if it was in the form of a simple jigsaw, wouldn’t tax a three year old. We are simple people, with simple tastes. As long as it goes well with the coffee table.

I need some new furniture, all my old stuff is falling to pieces. And it looks too old, that’s the thing. I want modern stuff, with a modern twist. I want lampshades that scream “look at me”. I want a television slash DVD stand which will announce to my visitors the fact that I am one stylish dude. I want it all. And I want it now.

They say “Necessity is the Mother of Invention”. I don’t know who “they” are.

I wish this were true. I currently require a machine which will take, as its input, workloads and deadlines and convert these things into delicious, chewy candy which can be consumed at a leisurely rate. This candy would be all the colours of the rainbow and taste of laughter.

Yes, it’s a bit of a stretch, but I can dream, can’t I? Most inventions are realised in dreams, although I haven’t had a dream recently involving the aforementioned Deadline/Candy Converter. I fear that is just too implausible. I did dream last night of a contraption that could agitate clouds in such a way as to make them mew softly in the sky, and produce lavender raindrops. I also dreamt of a invention that, when activated, would cause all the electronic devices in the world to become sentient, and capable of love. These devices would then go on to make their owners lives more fruitful and better for it.

I’ve been dreaming of better worlds. I doubt those dreams will come true.