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Sunday, 27 February 2011

Tyre Tread Tattoo

It was a lovely summer day in our estate,  the sun massaged the grey roads with an ambient orange warmth. Whilst the slight breeze in the air tickled the leaves on the trees into a relaxed trance. Everything  appeared to be in harmony. The neighbours were out maintaining their prized gardens and the repetitive flickering of the many sprinklers appeared to synchronise into a sustained melody. It was as if  'Peace' had decided to rest in our village for a couple of hours.
      However, 'Peace' may have arrived quickly but it also left in a hurry due to its fear of bored children. I would have been 8yrs old and ran out the house like a charging buffallo onto the road. Deciding what wall to kick my tattered ball at, once the decision was made all harmony literally flew away. Bang, bang, bang, bang now echoed through the neighbours ears. Even with their distaste-ful looks I carried on because lets be honest what did they know, I was playing as Scotland and was about to beat Brazil 10-0....Idiots I thought. Then a couple of friends came across and we started the usual boys chat like... ' what you doing?', ' found a cool stick the other day', ' Whats fore-play....isn't that a bit like Ludo?' etc....From the corner of my eye I noticed a fat kid on a Racer bike a few metres away. I asked my friends who he was, they replied he's new here and he's a bully. Was he now I thought,  he definitely looked like one. Chocolate all over his face, a good 3-4 stone weight advantage, a couple of years older than us and a face like a spanked arse. Most likely he got bullied by Kids his own age and thought he could pick on us young ones. Think again fat boy.
     I placed my football at my feet, tucked my red t-shirt into my shorts and made sure my velcro on my spiderman trainers were firmly attached. I then shouted ' owh Fat kid you think your about you try and run me over?". It became like a western show-down, everyone went quite and the gardeners put down their shovels and headed inside. The Fat kid put his feet onto the peddles and with all his might cycled towards me. I turned to my friends and confidently said: "  Don't worry he'll stop", with a smug smile. The kid on the Bike was getting uncomfortably  close and then.............well I woke up a few secs later with a Racer tyre tread mark on my face!!! The fat kid due to his weight quite literally was able to run right over me,  remarkable if you think about. Anyway as I got back up and fixed my velcro on my trainers, I seen shock in my friends face. The two reasons for this was that I had a tyre track tattoo on my face and that the fat kid was crying because I had twisted his wheel. I stumbled across to the fat kid like a 1950's drunk and gasped :" I hope you have learnt a lesson". He got up and ran home crying. My friends thought that I was a bit harsh, all I did was point to my face and explained 'fight your own battles next time'. Funny enough when my mum seen my face she gave me a matching red hand tattoo on my ass!!! Sometimes you just can't please everyone but hey Scotland beat Brazil 10-0...every cloud has a silver lining.

Saturday, 26 February 2011

Don't Blame It On The Dog When The Cats Out Fishing.

Throughout my childhood we had many dogs, ranging from Shelties to Poodles. After a while my parents got a bit bored of Pedigree Dogs, mainly because they were expensive and bad health problems. The last Pedigree dog we had was a small black poodle called Nikki (or little hilter), it was truly evil. The poodle stank....would bite your hand if you tried to stroke her curls and when my father did Nikki's yearly hair cut he had to put a pair of my Mums tights over it's snapping face and wrestle her with the clippers. It was an odd sight watching a well-built man struggle against a black ball of anger with the clippers.
    Although, my most prominent memory of Nikki was when she had a Stroke. I came down one day and she was just lying there, which wasn't unusual since she was immensely lazy. However after 8hrs Nikki hadn't moved and she was allowing me to pet her (something was up). My Dad got the vet in, he explained she was just old and should be put down. It was funny since the vet was perplexed that it took 3 injections to kill her! Even at death's door Nikki was still a fighter. I wasn't allowed to watch the fatal injections but I did see the vet take the dog out of the house in a black bag from my window, I was sad but at the same pleased she left this planet colour co-ordinated.
    Anyway my parents asked if I wanted another dog, praying I would say ' No', I said ' Yes'! Though my Mum had one condition, that we get a dog from the Dog Rescue centre. I went ok. We drove to the Glasgow Dog rescue centre to look for a new member of our family, Glasgow is an odd city. The average age expectancy is 68yrs old and a large mystical dark cloud hangs over it all year long. Making it look like a set from the film Blade Runner, Glasgow is as a mouldy city hence why the people there get called ' Soap Doggers'. However the majority of people in Glasgow are generally renowned for being chirpy and optimistic. Which shows that even at the anus of the world Glaswegians can still show great spirit. I still wouldn't live in Glasgow.
    We eventually got to the Rescue Centre and started the search. As a child it was really exciting like picking a new toy but looking back on it I could imagine it being a very bizarre place to work. Staring at all the poor dogs, with hopeful eyes, as they preform hypnotic displays of affection. Just hoping for you too love them and take them home. It must be similar to working in an Old Folks Home, the only difference i'm guessing is that it's easier to clean up dog shit than it is to wipe an old Man's arse.
    My mothers patience was wearing thin, since we had been there for an hour and all I was doing was picking insanely large ferocious dogs, most likely previously owned by the drug mafia. My Mum snapped, grabbed my arm and was about too drag me back to the car for home. Until we heard a soft little bark at the end of the Kennel, it was possibly the most gorgeous looking puppy ever created by genetics. It was a mixture between an Alsatian and a Husky dog the Kennel Officer told us, he also explained it was going to get put down the next day. My Mum being a Mother bought his story, even at a young age I didn't believe the Kennel Officer. Lets look at it logically shall we, you have many barely standing decrepit mutts and a young full of life pup. Yeah that makes sense to get rid of the healthy pup because that will be really hard to get rid off.....However, even though I was a smart arse I didn't say anything, I wasn't that stupid I was getting a new bloody dog...happy days.
    Anyway we named the new pup 'Kim' after the beautiful actress from the 80's Kim Basinger, for the first few months this pup was adorable. Until it reached adulthood and we started to realise that this Dog was more  eccentric than Spike Milligan on acid. Firstly it hated men, especially men with white trainers ( something possibly down to its previous owner) but was a complete softy with children/women. Well I say all women, Kim didn't really like the Avon lady. Sometimes me and my Dad would worry that the dog was going to jump through the Living-room window as the Avon lady passed our gate ( sadly it did not). It had an insane appetite for lip-stick ( by this point I bet my mum wished she had left her in the kennel), paracetamol, toffee and my Subbuteo goal post nets. The funny thing is it used to turn it's nose up to Pedigree chum! Also when Kim was on heat her vagina swelled up to a painful looking size and resembled a giant prune. Kim eventually died since it loved to drink out of the toilet ( which we didn't know about at the time) and poisoned herself due to bleach in the toilet water.
    Prior to her Rock and Roll death she did create a bit of a family legacy and many great stories. Especially the week my Dad took off work, he was looking out of the kitchen window into our back garden. Kim was outside,  due to her attempts to escape ( usually no longer than 3-days until her fix for lipstick kicked in) we had to attach her lead to a long mountain rope ( which was tied to a steel post in the the garden). The dog was chasing it's tail whilst my dad watched bewildered beyond belief ( it had been doing it for 20minutes solid). Then kim stopped abruptly, as a ginger cat at the far end of garden walked to a precise point. My dad put down his coffee and watched eagerly, whispering 'go on Kim you can do it'. Kim leapt with blood in her eyes and ran as fast as her paws could take her all the way down the garden towards the cat. As Kim was about a quarter of a metre away from the cat ( as my dad arms were in the air with excitement) the rope ran out. Kim went flying in the air whilst the rope nearly pulled her neck off, surely giving some form of whiplash. Whilst the cat sat still in a smug manner, Kim dragged her body like Quasimodo back to the other-side of the garden in shame....... My father sighed and over the week noticed it was happening everyday!
      Then one night my Father ( without my Mothers permission) snuck out and gave the rope attached to the steel pole an extra 2 metres of length. Looking out the kitchen window onto the back garden the next day, my dad anxiously waited and waited. Then the arrogant Ginger cat did its usual strut in our back garden, sitting just out of the dogs reach. Kim sprinted towards the cat, as it got about 2 inches away from the cat.......... the cat realised it was f**cked......... Kim grabbed the cat by the neck and threw it over the garden wall ( the meow could be heard for miles) and it never came back, possibly because it died. Kim pranced round the garden looking so proud, tongue hanging out and it's prune looking vagina high in the air.
       Anyway my father had told me this story when I had got back from school that day and I have never seen a man so excited over telling a tale. He was making the noises the cat made as it was thrown 14 foot in the air and imitating himself sneaking out into the middle of the night. Then my Dad just walked away  turned round and said you know what the moral of the story is..... no I went...... 'Don't Blame It On The Dog When The Cats Out Fishing'. To this day I haven't got a clue what he meant by that moral and at the same time kind of happy I don't.

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

The Collapsing Vagina

Before I start this story I must quickly describe the small Scottish village I was brought up in. The village was beautiful, surrounded by hills and had that warm veil of purity that snuggled it in a protective manner. However, usually purity is only skin deep and underneath lies a tainted masquerade of sordid tales. My village was no different but at the same time very different, very different. An example would be the mad Professor who lived in the castle at the foot of the hills, his home was split up into his family living quarters and the rest of the building was an Old Folks home. One day a worker of the Old Folks home heard about his new invention.....he was (honestly) building a time machine and had went to Russia to get a red ruby to make it work. I really hope he succeeded, good on him.
    Anyway back to the real story. I would have been 9yrs old  and I was glued to a wild life documentary on the T.V. Like a typical boy I was 10inches away from the screen, legs crossed and using both palms as a chin support. The Documentary was about wolves, it was fascinating, especially the part about mating. The wolf pounced on the female (wolf, of course) as she pretended to be surprised! It's not like she couldn't smell his hormones a mile off. Well the wolves started the usual and I apologise for the term....doing it Doggy. Then the male wolf tried to pull out of the female and he couldn't. I was amazed!!! The wolf was tugging and howling until he had finished his business and then the female Wolf gentials relaxed. Rewarding him with his bits in tact and freedom.
    After watching this harrowing wolf mating process, I casually turned round to my dad and asked a very simple question: " Can that happen to humans". My father, who was a conservative, logical and honest man. Put down his paper and said yes! It was the story he told that was the surprising part. He explained that a couple that used to live across the road had a similar experience. My dad tip-toed round the specifics of the sex part but explained that the woman's vagina collapsed and her husband got stuck. The couple had to call an ambulance and were eased onto a stretcher ( covered with white sheets). Then wheeled out to the front of the house and placed inside the ambulance. I asked my Dad how he knew this and  he explained everyone had came out of their house too see if they could be of service( since an ambulance meant gossip). Then the oldest lady of our estate (the Queen gossip) had spoken to the driver of the Ambulance, ahhh I went. Then I asked if mum was watching as well and Dad said yes she was wearing slippers. She looked across disapprovingly.

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Milk and Men

When I was  at university I lived with 3 girls, after a few months they started to have their period at the same time. At first I was amazed but it was short lived, since at certain times of the month it was like walking on very thin ice!!! With Great Whites sharks circling underneath.......just waiting.......just waiting.
   I always wondered if men can have the same experience when living together, surely we must, today I found out. On a random week of a single month ( when more than 2 male flatmates live together) a truly Bizarre and chaotic event  happens. This factor is......that all the male flatmates, at the precise same time decide to buy milk! The result is a fridge full of at least 16pints worth of milk for one week of the month, varying in full-fat to semi-skimmed or Soya if some-one has decided to insert their head up their ass and become Vegan.
  I found this out today when I decided too have a cup of tea, the previous week we had at least 8 pints worth of milk, this week none. Great now I'll have to wait 3 weeks for a cup of tea.....hope you are happy chaos theory!!! I'm not unhappy about it..... just bloody thirsty.

Monday, 21 February 2011

Bring back Boggle

Yes Boggle what fond memories, a truly wonderful game!!! It had it all, suspense ( sand timer), action ( the pop up box) and the ability to develop dyslexia at a young age. God bless you Alan Turoff you really did make a difference to the world in so many ways.
    Anyway when I was 6 or 7, I played a Norwegian at Boggle. My big brother ( 10yrs older than me) was in the Scouts  and had agreed to participate in a Foreign Scout exchange. So our family had a Norwegian stay with us for a week. One Friday my brother said he would give me 40pence if I hung out with him and being a Beaver at the time I thought this would be a noble thing to do. Well if I'm being honest I thought I would get a badge for it, which I didn't but did make 40pence. I did ask my brother why I had to hang out with him and he explained that his mates thought the Norwegian was weird. So I asked why they thought the Norwegian was weird, I got told it was due to his large-forehead, the fact he always wore his Scout uniform and he got drunk very quickly. Basically my brother wanted to get shit-faced with his friends and not worry about him.
    So what would any 6year old do to entertain a guest, bring out the Boggle!!! To be truthful I had never beaten anyone in the family at Boggle, so thought my chances were good since he was Foreign. So I set up the boggle and quickly explained the rules. Then gave him the honour of popping the box. Minutes past and the only noise that could be heard was the scribbling of pencils. Time was up!!! We compared our pieces of paper, who had won? Well no-one, the Idiot had written in Norwegian, I sighed. However he had noticed that by chance I had written; fore, head ( it was not intended). He leapt up and told my mum, she analysed my piece of paper and grounded me. However I guess it was the fact that I had written Twat ( my big brother allowed it) and not for fore, head. After that I never saw that Boggle again or the Norwegian.

Vanilla Slice or Custard Slice

Forget the Holographic theory or the ability to understand life itself....... sometimes you need to take a step back and look at the simple things in life. Today I did, for many years i've indulged in many a Vanilla/Custard slice  and for all the money in the world couldn't decide which one was superior!!! Both have qualities and both look very similar.
    So whilst taking a crap I decided too really think hard about it (10 minutes) and came to the conclusion Custard slice. Wow!!! If you enjoyed this story i'm guessing you read the Daily Mail, if so please leave my Blog and never come back, you have failed the test.

Sunday, 20 February 2011


They are so cute and pretty........awwwwww.........f!*k off. A clear example of the insane middle-class society 'wait a minute let's save the panda'.......WHY? They only survive because we Humans ( well the middle-class) help them, all they do is eat Bamboo.... oh it has to only be Bamboo, fussy f!*!*ers. They struggle to re-produce due to the fact the male/female evolved genitals that don't work well together ( like a Vegetarian in an Abattoir), which means that it's more likely for the 2005 film 'Racing Stripes' to actually be quite entertaining than for a Panda sperm to reach the female egg.
         So lets make it simple, if all the pandas became extinct would any other species be effected? Answer no? Maybe a few teary eyed 'Green Peace' protesters but I'm sure they would find something else quite quickly to mourn the fact David Icke hates reptiles. What is the point of the panda and what about the poor Tuna? Oh i forgot Tuna are not cute looking, maybe if we decided to have a Panda Burger rather than a Tuna sandwich the world would be a better place

Beware of the empty seat

It must have been a few months ago whilst going to work, I don't know why but I always take the tube. The only thing great about the British tube system is the wonderfully well designed map!!! If only they spent a bit more 'time' on that important factor being on 'time'.
      Anyway as I got on I was amazed to see an empty chair, I felt an OVERWHELMING rush of  ecstasy flow over my un-woken body,' It can't be' I thought. As I headed towards the seat like Icarus, I sat done and in-haled with relief. Then the burning feeling in the back of my throat happened, as if I had just eaten a chilli ridden turd. Oh everything now made perfect sense. The fact that there was an empty seat, why the passengers looked shocked when I rushed towards the seat and the fact there were so many people standing (none with white canes). I was sitting next to a Tramp, a very vintage smelling one.
      However being a good person I did not get up and leave, imagine how upset he would have felt, if he was aware. The tramp was probably so high on glue he was most likely travelling via dimensions, mainly the fifth. Anyway for the next 4 stops I in-haled/ex-haled twice and got off. So the next time a tramp asks for money, give him a few conditions........1. buy some food with it  and 2. Do not use it for the tubes, get a f!**king bus instead!!!