jonnybastard

Unless you're unfortunate enough to end up in Blackpool Victoria. Google for the tip of the iceberg.

You are right, shithole is the wrong word. I just can't think of a word that sums up a place that is never quiet, never still, where I cannot find solitude or enjoy the peace it brings. If I'm honest I'd say my biggest problem with London is me, and my unwillingness to become the sort of person that can thrive in that environment. So it's a shithole.

I've been working in that London for 3 months and do you know what I love about the place? Fuck all that's what. It's a bastard shithole. The beer is a fiver a go, A FUCKING FIVER, no wonder every cunt drinks meths. The company gives me £40 a day to live on and I haven't managed to skim a fucking bean off it. You can't pay cash on the bus, as if I'm going to pay my bus fare with plastic like some fucking student. The shitty chippies don't do gravy, they leave the skin on the fish, and you're lucky to get change from a tenner. You can't drink the tap water which I swear has a yellow tinge to it. On the plus side I haven't been stabbed up yet.

Check out Arc'teryx.

Years of it. It can strike anywhere between my arse and my head and it's fucking crippling. I can't offer any advice I'm afraid. If I can get hold of some tramadol it takes the edge off, and if I take enough I'm still in pain but no longer give a fuck. Mostly the only thing I take is pain.

Jesus fucking Christ Bob, I'm sorry to bump an old thread but I've been absent, but I've checked in and I read this!!?? Relate? Counselling? Have you not listened to a word I've said? You'll never move on with you life until you SHUT THE FUCKING DOOR. It's over, now get it finished and consigned to history. You're rapidly approaching the half way point of useful life (it can be dragged on longer, but you'll need your arse wiping for you). She's nothing more than memory that looks after your daughter.

Still sounds fishy.

I've got to ask; how the fuck do you spend 80 quid on a pizza???!!

Slag.

Imagine stig, a world where all you need is love. I know it's so hard. You're crippled inside, how do you sleep? How? Hold my hand, stig, and together we'll cure you of being a cunt.

I have re paid your hate with love, stig. As you can see I am un armed and pose no threat, yet I stand firm against the tyrants and oppressors. Think of me as ghandi (without the eating disorder) or Mandela, whilst your actions represent all that is wrong in the world.

Not only is that harsh it is tenuous to say the least, and you've jumped on the thinnest of thin ice. As far as I can see no mention was made of that which much not be mentioned. It was left to the reader to establish any link in their head, away from the gf. Now tell us all why you negged him, and screamed for back up, without breaking the rule yourself.

I suppose it's a bit like appreciating wine or beer, people have different tastes. I'm sure wine snobs would look down their nose at me for drinking cheapo sweet tasting wine straight from the bottle. It doesn't bother me because by the time I've finished it I'd fight every one of the stuck up cunts. When I met the wife she had no taste in music and needed educating. I have a theory that if you listen to something long enough you will eventually come to appreciate it. I started her off with the stone roses which she got into quite easily. Public Enemy took a bit longer. I'm currently beating Rage Against the Machine into her which she seems a little more resistant to. Of course the first mention of Coldplay blew my theory right out the water.

I was going to take the wife out for her tea this weekend, so she's been showing me some menus. They are possibly the single most annoying thing I have ever seen. Some examples from just one. Firstly; starters, we all know what that means. So why the fuck do you call it 'beginning'? Because you're a cunt is why. Main, or main course was renamed 'middle', I was tempted to go just so I could kick the tits off someone. 'oven roasted', if it's spit roasted you can say so (probably best you do in fact), roasted on an open fire; let me know. You use an oven??? Well fuck me. And one of my personal favourites 'pulled pork'. I'm sorry, but that just says you lack a basic man skill; you can't carve, so you've either picked at the meat with your shitty fingers, or bought some processed donkey from an east European. And don't even get me started on fucking 'beer battered' and 'sea bass'. We're going to the chippy.

And if you get some peanut butter it will lick your balls too.

A man of god, a politician, enjoyed 'celebrity' status and rose to prominence in the 1970's. Ticks all the boxes. Nailed on for the retrospective sex offenders register.

It will last for some time yet. They have fallen into the trap that held us for so long- they've set a standard so high that anything less than complete domination will be considered failure. And those days of domination are gone, so they're doomed to failure (and mockery) until they finally accept it.

Keep it all in lad, show no weakness. Women might love men who can show their feelings, but they love puppies and gay best friends too, and they're not getting in her knickers either. As much as a woman enjoys getting drunk and sharing problems with a sensitive man, at the end of the night he's packed into a taxi while she hunts down a man who bottles it up and can only release the pent up anger and pain by smashing her box all over the bedroom. People will tell you you're not alone. They're full of shit. You are alone. Right now you could be surrounded by friends and family and you'd still feel alone. Don't fear it Bob, embrace it. You need no-one, you're bobby Rambo the one man army. It's your pain bob, endure it like a man and you will emerge stronger than ever.

To this day, if I spot someone in that shirt I will try and accidently bump into them. Just so I can say "soz pal, couldn't see you there" and point to the shirt as if to say 'it's your own fucking fault'. Of course the likelihood of getting my head kicked in determines how hard I try.

"THE asda, ya fucking wools".

No-one mentioned BJ and the Bear yet? If so I must have overlooked it (easy done when you're bombing up the M6 one-handed). Memories are vague, but it was a a US show about the adventures of a trucker and his disabled midget lover (played by Peter Reid, I believe). Obviously in the '80's they had to be subtle about the homosexual aspect, but the wink was tipped to those in the know via the innocent sounding title.

LBWC got it. As for why a burglar would be in the bathroom; who knows what goes through the mind of the sick fuckers nowadays. A dirty burgle should be on the bed or living room carpet, you don't go flushing your turd down someones toilet, even if it is a floater. Fucking abnormal that is.

"shabby chic", "upcycled" etc. fucking skip ratting we called it in my day. Put a fancy label on it and women will fall for anything. "a cheesy cock? no love, it's what the woman on the telly calls a 'retro brie torpedoe', they're all the rage. Now put it in your fucking mouth"

This happens sometimes. It's what's known as a 'grudge baby'; someones had it in for him.

I think we're being a bit superficial here. You think that just because she was a bit fit that she didn't have a gob on her? Until you're in the situation he was in on the fateful night you don't know how you'll react. How many can honestly say that even if it was almost certainly your missus having a shit, if there was even the remotest possibility that the bogeyman was behind the door, and you had a big fuck off gun, you'd take a chance and pull the trigger?