Sunday, 15 September 2013

Succession Of Witches

"Can only say his own name and thinks his dad is Princess Leia"

Yes, Comrades

So political correctness is a thing. It annoys me so much it makes my teeth hurt. You know, like Radio 1 makes my teeth hurt. You know those songs that are so bad they make your teeth hurt? Right then. It's all fine and good to not disclude little Tommy from his spelunking class strictly because he's in a wheelchair, can only say his own name and thinks his dad is Princess Leia (based (loosely) on a true story), but I take umbrage with people who throw the term around like a hot bag of herpes. You only have to say a word that could be, if you do lots of verbal acrobatics, even vaguely related to a racist or derogatory term before some shithead who thinks liberalism will get him his hole starts on you. I believe the majority of these people start on you purely to look like the fantastic neo-hippies they think they are and don't actually understand what they're having a go at you for. I believe PC has evolved to such an extent that people now just use it solely to get what they want and aren't actually offended in the least, and if they are they don't even fucking know why - they just think they should be, and I can prove it. This is a true story, this is. You must understand that in the context of the shit I talk, this story is 100% true and not fabricated in the least.

Ok. Many moons ago, say...8 years ago, I knew a boy by the name of Blair. He liked Japanese cartoons, ate like Jammie Dodgers were going out of fashion and we once caught him sitting in his dad's car, shades on, with the window rolled down and his arm hanging out the window as he listened to Final Fantasy rock music, bopping his head and most likely thinking "I can't wait to be the first person to die by drowning in vagina". So, we had plenty of things to ridicule this boy for, is my point. But being the kind-hearted souls we were, we didn't. One day though, I called him the Blair Witch. This was his response: "No! Don't call me that, because that is very offensive to people called Blair. How dare you!" So...apparently the Blair tribe, in some time of yore, had been cast out as witches, stoned with ducks (if you're of the Monty Python persuasion) and from then on anyone with the name was still referred to as a witch, and they're still sensitive about the whole issue, every time one of the Blair tribe during one of their conference calls says the word 'witch' there's a lull in the conversation and they have to take a few minutes to compose themselves. Very see what I'm saying? How could it possibly be 'offensive'? This guy had been watching too much Judge Judy or something, I don't know, but he'd adopted the PC card and wasn't even using it right. He's since grown up to become quite a successful player in his basketball team of choice (he used to call it 'B-ball' which he outright admitted he stole from Grand Theft Auto) so I guess the Blairs have finally overcome their oppression and public casting out as witches. I hope I've made my point. Just in case, here it is in plain language: People are fucking soft-as-shite cowards and idiots.

So you lot have been telling me your reviews about me as a person lately, I'm so grateful. I'm just going to share some with you. Here's the first: "I love your blog, but so typical of you to ridicule Jammie Dodgers and fat people without insulting people from the Middle East. You're happy to have a go at Jammie Dodgers, but I doubt we shall be seeing you having a go at any Muslim-related snacks in the near future, like those little mini poppadom things you can get from Tesco's. Yours, Norris McWhirter."
And let's have another: "Yeah he likes catgirls dressed in hoodies and that, doesn't he?"
Annnd another: "I hope fucking Chrohn's Disease kills him."
Oh, go on then, one more. "A shit-haired cunt who resides at the very apex of all that is absolute patience-testing wank. Seriously, when there is the blogger equivalent of the Nuremberg Trials, this bastard is going to be hung from the highest fucking lamp post, pelted with wasps' nests and dog turds and eventually blasted with a flamethrower. Fucking Hell, I can't put into words (???) how much I detest this utter fucking cunt. Yours, Norris McWhirter"

Interesting reviews, those. What's more interesting about those reviews, is that of those four reviews, only three of them were made up by me.

In a bit.


The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. It's the last one too so you can just take the Super Soaker away from your head now, you have so much to live for after all.

Wednesday 7th January 2009
It's sea spray night, and I'm certainly getting emotional vibes. I've had my last swim, my last dinner, my last game of Soul Calibur with Mark and my last pointless argument. My bag took ages to pack and it weighs more than Paul Weller's paycheck. We got our family shots on disc too - and they definitely turned out great. I listened to Get Away all the way through at 2am (30 mins ago) as I took my last look at the Mendez garden. It's all very dramatic and all, but I look forward to coming back here equipped with my 'materials' for life. All is said and done; it's time to go home and get drunk again.
"Carry me home, you old sea spray"

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