Diets

Diets are something I'd usually lump in with chunky women who feel that their neck breasts are becoming too much to handle when they're hiding it on every picture taken for the sake of the almighty, Facebook.

If you feel that your belly neck is a bit too X rated to publish to the watching world, then it's usually time to curb the cake.

I've always felt that not eating what you want, when you want was reducing yourself to some sort of torturous non existence, funny as that may sound. Not eating burgers, steaks, jalapeno covered nachos and fat drenched ice creams was denying yourself the pleasures that make being a man, so very manly.

But a simple booking of a holiday has prompted me to kick out the crisps, ban the bread and fuck off the fried rice.

After a week of hardcore dieting, I have now changed my entire outlook on food. I now pour scorn on chippy teas and look on with pity at the people drowning themselves in emulsified fats.

I'm not really that much of a food Nazi, but I've started actually thinking about my dinner and how it's going to affect me.

My usual ham butties have been replaced with a nutritious fish steak, with a plethora of vegetables accompanying them. There's also the pasta bake, usually from the night before, with chopped tomatoes and sweetcorn.

Now I would love to come on here and tell you that I am carrying these changes out scientifically and carefully, taking note of all the bits and bobs I'm lashing in my body and balancing them in a logical manner. But I'd be bullshitting, ladies and gentlemen. I haven't a clue about any of the ingredients so I'm literally picking generally healthy things and eating more of them, and taking the other stuff and eating less. But in general, I leave the picking up to my better half.

Now, I have listened to the Missus. I've lost weight, and I'm planning to continue to do so. In a healthy manner. I don't really fancy the LSD diet. The general consensus is fibre, good. Bread, bad. Salmon, good. Crisps, bad. Tuna, good. Coca Cola, very bad. Chicken, good. Biscuits, bad. Pasta, good, in moderation. And that's about all I can remember.

So, besides coming on here and chatting a bit of bollocks, I would just like to send a message to all you wannabe 'dietees' out there. If I can start eating healthy and lose some weight before going on one's jols, anyone can really.

Alternative Endings to The Little Mermaid

(Blog First Wrote September 22nd 2007)

I've had a good day and what better way to celebrate is there than absolutley blitzing a popular children's story?

And the child's story to be killed? The Little Mermaid seems pretty good, as I've never seen it and I'm not likely to change that in the next few years of my life.

So how did the story really end? I'm not entirley sure, but after a small amount of internet research I found that the Prince fucked her off for a temple girl (who was really a Princess or something daft!) and she was meant to kill the Prince so she can have fish legs instead of human legs. But she can't, and dissloves in the sea becoming a spirit or some other shite that helps kids deal with death.

The Disney version however actually has a happy ending (which I can't be bothered with) I, personally, feel my endings will be a much better success than that old Mason, Walt Disney himself!

But, as I have previously believed, is not nearly slapstick enough for a cartoon! Here are my ideas for alternative endings for this animation picture.

Seamines

The mermaid is chasing down her would be fella (can't think of his name, we'll call him Ken!) who's fleeing in James Bond's underwater adapted Lotus Esprit! God knows why he's getting off, he just is! Probably that sea witch flashed her biffer at him. Well, Ariel is chasing him down on a sea adapted Kawasaki bike. Jumping across sea ravines, and such like. Until she encounters a big spiky ball thing, on a chain. She leaves a ramp and cannot control her direction. She ploughs straight into the mine, which explodes from the inside! It shoots harpoons out, killing all the animals in the surrounding area, including that yellow fish who Ariel thinks is her mate, and Thumper from Bambi. Ken then ends up marrying Jenna Jameson, who cheats on him with Stephen Hawking. Money talks you see! And computers! (For Big Ste!) Ariel gets a job in the Oxfam shop, selling skirts to blind men and radios to dead people.

Redundancy

Unemployment becomes rife in the area of 'Under The Sea' and everyone starts losing their jobs. That Red Crab (can't be arsed researching) loses his job as a Circumcision Surgeon and Thumper is kicked out of his 'impregnation service.' Even that Octopus is kicked out of his band (he was the drummer, obviously.) Ariel is the only person left with a job, as a fishy prostitute. But as no-one has a job, no-one can pay for a bit of a seeing to and she starts starving. As a final kick in the cunt, Ariel then finds out she has a bad case of the clap. This eventually kills her, and all surrounding animals. Including Thumper. And the yellow one!

Racists

A new section of the KKK is sent underwater to discriminate against the fish human hybrids under the sea. Packed with Scuba hoods and harpoon guns, they dive deep into Mermaid territory to get shut of these fishy bitches! Ariel's Dad gets a cob on, but gets shot through the face with a harpoon gun by the racist scumbags. One by one, the Mermaids (and Mermen!) are executed. Ariel is the final one left. The KKK representative comes up and is about to dispose of the ginger bitch when she wriggles free and hides in a miniscule rock shaped nuclear bomb shelter. She encounters Tom Cruise in there, who she mates with and lays some Cruise eggs! A small family of sea-Cruises are born and the saga lives on.

Alchohol Poisoning

Ariel is fucked off by Ken, who deems her a freak when she reveals her weird fish arse thing! She goes down into the depths of 'Under The Sea' and finds a dingy bar where she meets Randy off My Name Is Earl. He deems her a freak too, and goes to seek some normality on dry land. Unable to cope with this extremely abnormal feeling, she starts on the Vodka, which we all know can potentially cripple Mermaids. She plunges into a drunken oblivion, gets hit by a Submarine on the M52 and falls asleep on the hard shoulder. When she wakes up, she encounters a bottle of Southern Comfort. This mixed with sea water can make people implode from the feet upwards. Fortunately, before this can happen, she has a fatal multiple organ malfunction and dies on the spot.

Asassination

George W. Bush feels that Mermaids are plotting against him for the control of Iraq (a highly likely possibility!) He sends sea-politicians down to the town of 'Under The Sea' to find out what's happening. When they get there, they fail to identify themselves to the fishy doormen and are killed on the spot. Bush then sends out his fleet of Sea-Jedi's to go down there and check the place out. When they arrive, all of the Mermaids except one are dead. It's not Ariel, she's dead aswell. They kill the remaining Mermaid and leave the area. Brandon Flowers from The Killers then enters the area (no scuba suit, he's just too cool for drowning) and resuscitates Ariel who then turns into Goro off Mortal Kombat and swims up to Bush's bedroom in the White House. As she sneaks upto Bush in his bed, Lui Kang then mistakes her for the real Goro and kicks her through the wall. A brick lands on her chest and cracks a rib, which pierces her lung. She eventually dies of internal bleeding. A government sniper situated in Texas then shoots her through the head, confirming her death. Lui Kang is then held for thirty eight days for offences to Americans for a serious lack of a shirt.

The UK Is Sinking Because...

(Blog first wrote 29th Ocotber 2007)

Fatties and immigrants apparently! What a laughable thought!

But, however, this is the reason! According to the Sunday Sport, which I wouldn't have noticed on the kitchen table but for the apparent lack of anything else whilst eating my full English! But less of that, I didn't buy it, it was just there! I digress...

It reads;

Britain will soon be under three hundred feet of water. Expanding waistlines and rocketing immigration means the country is struggling to cope with the increased weight.
Experts say the combination will leave much of the country flooded by 2031.

So there it is! Immigrants and fat people are making us sink. This, forgetting the fact that we do not live on a giant version of Fred the Weatherman's map! We're attached to a fucking large mountain scape under the water! But wait, there's more!...

"Top geologist" Dr John Archer said the impact the country's population and weight crises were having on the land was heading towards disaster.
He said, "What is happening to the UK is devastating."

A swift interruption for a moment, as you may want to go the toilet before you read this next bit. As you will either piss yourself laughing or actually do a poo from disbelief that a "Top Geologist" could make a comment like this...

"If you thought the tsunami in South East Asia was bad, wait until Britain goes under. It's going to make that look like a wave machine."

That was nail in the head time for me. He goes on to say that immigration in our country is like stepping onto a life boat that's already full!

So a silly article is highlighted with captions surrounding it, to give it more emphasis! The title is Littler Britain for fuck's sake! And a computer enhanced image of the Newcastle Tyne Bridge submerged is accompanied by 'The bridge isn't so wae high man' That makes for some intellectual reading!

My view on all of this stems from the fact that water levels are apparently rising anyway due to Global Warming. And this wasn't mentioned anywhere in this article! But don't get me started on the Global Warming debacle....

What I gather is that John Archer got his Doctorate in the post, possibly from an Internet site where you pay for honours! And the fact that he chooses the Sunday Sport as a medium to get his idea across to the people! And who buys the Sunday Sport! Drunk people my friend! And idiots! I mean, it's only selling point is breasts for fuck's sake! Buy a porno mag! They've got better writers! And much better pictures for those of you who are illiterate! Which gets me back to the Sunday Sport readers....

Car Modification

(Based on original blog, wrote on 19th November 2007)

I read an article by the man legend that is Jeremy Clarkson the other day. Yes I was on the toilet; that's what lads do on the bog! It's an actual counter argument to the popular woman theory that men cannot multi-task. I assure you ladies, that we can. Also, it's a man thing which makes us feel more intelligent. And ensures we read daily. But I'm going off track, I shall continue...

Anyways, I read the article and it was wound around the notion that people who rag around in little shit box motors are fucking it up for the people who have a genuine love for cars. They are the prominent thought when someone brings up the term 'petrol head' or 'car freak' as I'm so commonly called. You imagine little boy racers in tweaked up hot hatches trying to impress people by driving like a complete and utter twat in busy built up areas. Not the refined types who simply see the beauty of a car for what it is.

I see cars and look at the shapes, the lines, the details in the lights and the way the size of the wheels fit in with the cars size and stance. I open the bonnet and don't stand there feeling manly. I know about engines, and although I don't feel I'd be able to fix one, I sure enough know how to fucking appreciate one. And I do feel that the majority of boy racers are fucking it up for the people like myself, who see a car and think 'fuck me that is a sight to behold!' And this is my argument.

I love cars. I love going fast in cars and realising a car's full potential, yet realise that in the middle of Orrel Park, going fast is clearly a dangerous thing to do! On the M62 at 3am in the morning isn't nearly as dangerous. That's why when we breach the 100mph mark, it's always an empty road! It's a stroke of common sense really!

And then there is the design of cars! It's reaching new heights these days. Wind tunnels are used in the design for family cars. You can't grumble at that! A new Seat Leon holds the same amount of interest to me as the new Lamborghini. The modern design of the car is brilliant. It's interesting and can keep your attention for longer than 5 seconds.

Then there's the technological advances we now currently enjoy. The Bugatti Veyron is a wonderful machine to look at but what really makes car people wet their pants is the technology lying underneath all of the CFRP (which is the proper name for carbon fibre ladies and gentlemen!) It has 1000bhp, which in laymans terms is a biblical amount of power! It has the pulling power of 10 1.6 Vauxhall Astras! It has ANOTHER 1000bhp, to cool the engine down! Which means it has the sheer power of about 25 Grand National line-ups. Just to make sure the engine stays at a reasonable temperature. Imagine that air conditioning in your house!

So my point I'm trying to make is that all of these boy racers knocking about in their Nova's (which funny enough, in Spanish, Nova actually means doesn't go! Interesting fact for you!) and their Saxo's are not the real car enthusiasts! They add spoilers to 'enhance aerodynamic effects!' The Escort Cosworth's whale tail spoiler actually lowers the car's top speed by 12mph. Which is why the rally going version of the car drove out with a different spoiler. Yet a lot of car modifiers, with their knowledge and all, didn't believe me and called me for all sorts.

They throw carbon fibre shite all over the car to 'lower weight!' What they're actually doing is throwing carbon fibre effect stuff on, which is the same material underneath carbon effect sheets which is actually heavier. And they do this in entirely inappropriate places. The wing mirrors! What physical effect will that have? A BMW CSL has a CFRP roof because it makes the roof lighter, lowering the car's centre of gravity, making handling the monster of an engine much easier. This act will have no effect on a N reg Vauxhall Corsa.

Neon lights? What effect does that have? It's the funniest thing I've ever seen! A Renault Clio driving past pretending to be a spaceship! You're driving a car! You must be over the age of 17, earning money to fund it! You should have grown out of this by now!

I hope I've taught you a thing or two! I love cars, as you probably will have guessed by now and I've always got time for someone who wants to gab about the new Aston Martin or even the new Fiat 500! My closing thought for this is that if car modifiers, petrol heads or tuners! Whatever you want to call them! If they love cars so much, then why the fuck are they hell bent on changing them?

Cake Idol

I never thought that I'd say this, but the television is desperately short of top quality reality TV shows at the minute. Of course, we have the run of the mill examples such as Britain's Next Top Model, I'm A Celebrity, Dancing On Ice and our eternal favourite, Strictly Come Factor.

They run yearly, although it doesn't feel like it. There's an X Factor final every other week in my mind. This is an obvious ploy to keep people watching each year, which works of course. But we need something to grab the masses. It's all well and good creating shows which dancing fans would like, or singing enthusiasts want to watch every weekend.

Think back to the only good bit, let's be honest now, of X Factor. It's the numpties who come in and make a tit of themselves in the auditions. There's a nice blend of top quality talents, with the odd splash of shite thrown in for good measure. It's worked well since Pop Idol and I'm sure it'll work just as well 'til Simon Cowell hangs his pants up. Which brings us to my own idea.

Obviously the model programmes have covered the girls who are going to be gracing the covers of Vogue and.... so on. Celebrity Fit Club has covered the chunks who want to shift some titties. Why not a programme for the comfortably fat?

Michelle McManus was a massive hit, no pun intended, on Pop Idol. Everyone bought into the story. Fat lass, goes on reality TV show. Enjoys 15 minutes of fame. Disappears into mediocrity only to pop back up having lost weight. To disappear into mediocrity once again!

Why not introduce Cake Idol? The programme which allows you to be who you are. Unless you're less than a size 28 of course. People, who are comfortable with their size, competing for the ultimate trophy!

The auditions would obviously be in the Big Brother style. Videos sent in of portly housewives professing their love for Ronald McDonald. Or 10 second English breakfasts. The whole nation will be enchanted by the talent.

Then onto the competitive side! A bit of light cake tasting. Think I'm A Celebrity. Without the scorpions and the bollocks. Obviously there are points for correct answers but we need some charisma thrown in there as well.

Judge number one will obviously be Rik Waller. He's graced more reality TV shows than Ant & Dec. His petulant style will obviously keep viewers enthralled. We could throw a bit of Lisa Riley in there. Or all of her, by public demand. Then replace her with Harry Hill and we'd all have much more fun! And of course, we have Mr Motivator. We always need an anti-fat judge.

Of course, we'd all need to put this to the TV standards. It'd need the stamp of approval before we could unleash it on the masses, with it's obvious ethical connotations. There'll be a few chunks calling for my head before it get's put on telly!

But before we know it, Simon Cowell will have come in to take it to America. I'm sure it'd take off over there...

Fitness

Fitness is a funny thing. Something which mankind used to uphold quite easily a million years ago now costs £40 a month in gym memberships and a low carb diet.

We used to run around killing dinosaurs and now we get a sweat on watching people do it on films. While chomping on Ben & Jerry's and Minstrels! This is probably more expensive than the gym, but that's for another blog!

In general, you go to the gym. Feel inadequate for an hour or two and then go home and eat crisps. Or is that just me? Either way, I'll run you through the experience, bit by bit.

So first of all, you sign the form which basically said if you're killed during your trip to the gym, it's your fault. Not the equipment, the staff or the serial killer that's been hiding in the male showers!

You start with a warm up on the treadmill! Running at about 9.5 whatevers until 5 minutes, and then upping it by 0.5 whatevers every further minute! This is all well and good when you're, say, not a fat fucker. Me though? Well....

After that, there's the weights machine. You'll stand there lifting what you feel is a considerably heavy amount while next to you, a bouncer who lives behind the cross-trainers is lifting a people carrier. Onto the next lot then!

Excercise mats! You can do sit ups, press ups. Even forward rolls. But then this means lying on the floor in a gym full of sexy people and panting while you attempt to excercise a muscle which is restricted by the ale gut your trying to get shut of!

Then you have the swimming pool. Or the jacuzzi in Joey language. You can't beat getting in the aquapool, then the sauna, steam room, etc. Although it's probably just a good way of resting those muscles I've done in whilst trying to fix them. Irony? I think so!

The Biggest Evil In The World

(Blog first wrote 24th April 2008)

There are many evil things in this world! Many say it comes down to money. There's also power! But I read something the other day which made my stomach turn. Something so grotesquely inhumane, I didn't realise someone could be capable of such a greedy and selfish act! And it came from the biggest evil of all! BINGO!

The very thought of bingo is enough to make a small child cry! It's dressed up as such a nice thing to do! Go play bingo, have fun and a drink and maybe win some money! They try and start children off young with little bingo sets! Planting the seeds early so they blossom into little bingo loving killing machines!

You think I'm joking!? Get onto this....

Three sisters fighting in court over how to share a £50,000 bingo jackpot!
Doreen Thomas and Linda Kenny have sued their elder sister for what they claim their slice of the cash.
They say the three had always agreed to share their winnings and had done so for three years.
But Edna Sexton, 59, who played the winning card, denies the promise applied to her win.

The article carries on to explain that police were brought in due to the bitterness of the argument! The sisters even called the DSS claiming that the winning sister should be stripped of her benefits due to the win she's brought in! Also, the one time that Edna Sexton was absent, the other two had a winner and still weighed her in with her share of the win! Nothing like a kick in the teeth to repay your kind generosity!

This makes it even funnier!

Mrs Thomas said she allowed Mrs Kenny to push in the queue to buy Mrs Sexton's winning card because her eldest sister was late.
She said: "If I had got that ticket, we would have our money and we would not have had to go through this"

Any game which can drive old women to court over a win should be banned! It's funny, but your not allowed to advertise ciggies or even alcohol, soon anyway! At least everyone knows what ale and fags do to you! They dress bingo up as this fun game where everyone fucking loves each other! The reality is that every old woman in there is like a little grey cage fighter!

Fingers crossed the two sisters get their money! I think it's terrible that the old boot has fucked them off! And a word of warning to anyone wishing to play bingo! DON'T!!