Paracetomol...

Why oh why oh why are you not allowed to buy more than two packets of paracetomol (or products containing the same)? If I was contemplating suicide would it really defeat me to have to go to more than one shop to buy enough to kill myself? And would I really choose to end it all with Lemsip? Come on!!!

I just don't get it...

Why is it that the greatest crime of the 21st century is having a hairy back? When did this happen? And why is it such a big deal? Questions, questions and more questions. I for one have quite a hairy back, and should I ever become single again (Heaven forbid!) I worry that I would have to make a visit to the waxing salon before I even thought about entertaining the idea of a 'date'...

What I don't quite understand is why it's the back that's the problem. If you don't like hairy men, well fair enough, we all have our types, our likes and dislikes and the things that are deal breakers (mine's mainly children or the desire to create them), but why is a hairy back so much worse than a hairy chest? I just don't get it.

Really, if that's the biggest problem you have in a prospective relationship, then either your priorities are all off kilter or you have truly met the perfect man. I have this imaginary scenario running around my head where I am on a date with a hot woman and I keep spewing out all my heinous faults, my huge gambling debts, my inability to stay faithful, my out of control drinking, my 40 a day habit, my sudden unprovoked jealous rages, my uncontrollable letching at inappropriately aged girls in bars... all of these are dismissed with little more than a roll of the eyes and an almost imperceptible shrug. And then I hit her with the big one, the hairy back.

No sooner have the words left my lips then she's on her feet, her wine glass thrust into my face, it's contents soaking slowly into my Armani shirt... "You pig," she screams as she flees the restaurant, only pausing at the door to reveal my terrible secret to the rest of the diners, before hurrying from sight, the cold night air streaming in through the open door until one of the sour faced (and no doubt smooth backed)  waiters crosses the now utterly silent room to close it. I look around the beautifully decorated room but see nothing but dozens of disbelieving eyes starring unblinkingly at me, their expressions somewhere between horror and disgust, until finally I can take it no more and call for the bill.

The smooth backed waiter brings my check immediately, bends close to my ear and whispers in his most disdainful voice 'Don't come back here until you have your affairs in order, your kind make me sick'.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After reading this Mistress R and I discussed this and she said isn't it weird how not that long ago having a hairy chest was a sign of male virility, and if you have a hairy chest you probably have a hairy back too. She went on to point out that she couldn't actually think of a single male 'celebrity' with any hair at all, front or back, which seems incredibly unlikely doesn't it? 

You got served...

This post isn't so much a rant, because the subject doesn't annoy me, more bemused amusement...

Walking through Asda (that's Wal-Mart for our American readers) yesterday I spotted a selection of cheap DVDs. Among them was a DVD called 'You Got Served', a phrase I'd previously heard on South Park. And sure enough the DVD in question appeared to be a 'Dancing' video. Now I don't know about you, but outside of the school of performing arts or possibly the set of 'Glee', has anyone ever had someone come up to them and challenge them to a dance off?
Really? Well, not round these parts, but perhaps since this seems to be an American thing it's more common over the pond?
It's a strangely Pythonesque idea that if I was ever to venture into 'the Hood' (as I believe it's called), that rather than being mugged and shot by drug-dealing Yankees-cap wearing yoofs, I might be challenged to dance for my aggressors. I can see them now, leaping over cars in brightly coloured clothing, brandishing a ghetto blaster (can we still call them that or have the taste police put a stop to that?) and bouncing around me in their unlaced, and again almost inevitably brightly coloured trainers (of course, being English, I have almost certainly no talent for dancing. We Brits are about as stiff as it's possible to be when it comes to that sort of thing).
Or perhaps it's a load of bollocks that only actually happens in films and on TV? I hope not, cos it would be quite funny to watch and a positive step up from drive-by shootings.

Peach halves...

Fucking peach halves piss me RIGHT off. I like tinned peaches, they are much nicer than proper peaches and healthy and all that jazz (in juice not syrup!). Peach slices are bloody lovely, but peach halves suck. First of all, when you tip them into a bowl they are too big so they splash the juice over the side and onto the worktop. Second of all, you have to cut them up so you can eat them. What's the point of a peach half? Nobody is going to eat them whole so everyone is cutting them up. Thirdly, for some reason known only to Del Monte and the people who make supermarket peaches, peach slices are immune from the curse of the hard red bit where the peach flesh sticks to the stone in the middle. It is ghastly. And peach halves always have a bit of it.
Of course, you could well ask why then, instead of moaning about it, don't I buy peach slices and not peach halves? Well, there's a very simple answer, I would if I could find them. Plenty of peach halves for sale, not so many peach slices, perhaps cos everyone else thinks the same way I do and they've all been snapped up? I wouldn't be at all surprised!

Blogger...

A short rant today, about a very small, but something that annoys the merry fuck out of me. When I'm using my laptop to access my blogs, I use the finger pad to left click (the left click button is very 'clicky' and annoying) and when I click on the 'Dashboard' link it doesn't always look as if it works straight away, so I click it again.... then guess what happens, it works twice, and guess what is in exactly the same place on the 'Dashboard' page....?
'Sign Out'.
Which is fucking annoying to say the least!

CGI Fridays...

Last night Mistress R and I started watching the new version of 'Dorian Gray', I had high hopes for it since the original film is excellent, and Colin Firth is pretty reliable (even if he does play himself in every film). But within the first ten minutes Mistress R turned to me and said, those buildings don't look very real. Those building's being Victorian London, which unless I'm very much mistaken are STILL THERE. But no, in their infinite wisdom the producers had decided to recreate the buildings with CGI, the curse of the modern film.
Don't get me wrong, CGI has it's place. Films like Shrek, Toy Story and all those other films that used to be called cartoons are perfect for it, and if it's well done it can add to sci-fi, action and horror films, but then again it can also be horrendous.
You only have to think back to the trailer for the first Mission Impossible film and Tom Cruise's hilariously ridiculous jump from helicopter to train (I think), which kind of brought back memories of the brilliantly executed 'Carry On Don't Lose Your Head' and Charles Hawtrey's chandelier leap!
Or the second US Ring film...
In the first film CGI was used brilliantly, but sparingly, but in the second.... we had several deer straight out of Shrek attacking Naomi Watts in her car.

Ring 2 was a bit shit anyway (in the first film that kid was kinda spooky, but this time he's overacting like crazy), but once I'd seen this atrocious scene, any credibility it had left went completely out the window. Still apparently they are making Ring 3D, which will be out next year. And there's another thing, 3D. What a waste of everyone's time and money. I watched The Final Destination in 3D the other day and I have to say I'd rather have just watched it normally thanks, it added precisely nothing to the experience, other than draining all the colour out of the film and making my head hurt. 

Thankfully it seems that (as Mark Kermode predicted in his latest book) the 3D fad is already starting to lose steam, and a couple of nights ago 'Producers making films in 3D' were listed among the most annoying people of 2011 in a TV show. About time too! 

I've heard it all now...

Mistress R has a cousin with a 3yr old and a 6yr old. For Christmas the 6yr old wanted a Nintendo DS, which at well over £100 seems a bit excessive to me, but whatever. However, in the interests of keeping the peace, they decided that it would be easier to buy the three year old one too. Whatever happened to learning to share? Fucked if I know. But then I'm an only child. Not that that meant I was spoiled. Not fucking likely. If I'd wanted a DS as a three year old I would have been given a short bloody answer.
Furthermore, I can't remember exactly when I stopped believing in Santa, but actually I can't ever actually remember believing in him. I probably came out of the womb a sceptic. I can well imagine my mother putting me to bed on Christmas Eve, my pipe and slippers neatly tidied away in the corner as she told me to go to sleep or Santa wouldn't come.
"Don't be ridiculous mother, everyone knows that Santa is a fictional character... next you'll be telling me that there's an actual tooth fairy. Preposterous!"
Actually, Mistress R's cousin told us the tale of one of her friends who took her child to one of those Santa's Grotto type places a few days before Christmas, whereupon he sat on Santa's knee and told him he wanted a Nintendo DS (ah, yes, that again!). Unfortunately it seems the little sod had taken this whole thing at face value and had forgotten to mention this to his parents, which therefore left them in the unenviable position of having spent oh, several hundred pounds on what they thought he actually wanted, only to be left DS'less just a few days before the big day.
Now my first thought would be 'tough shit', followed by 'now would be a good time to explain that Santa doesn't exist', or perhaps explaining that 'while Santa does listen to what you ask he is bound by the fiscal realities of life just as we all are'. But no, it turns out this little shit had played a blinder. Now his parents would have to buy him a DS because they had told him not minutes before that he should tell Santa what he wanted and he would definitely get it.
Brilliant. Well in that case I want a ten inch cock, a six pack and a bigger house.
Ludicrous as this was, this all happened last year, and this year we hear that another child (or perhaps the same one?) was given an i-Pad for Chistmas. A three year old child with an i-Pad. That's fucking pathetic. I'm 42 and I've only just got a laptop!
The only good that I can see coming of this is that perhaps the child might look up Santa Claus on wikipedia and discover that actually he doesn't exist. Result for the parents, perhaps a book mark might be in order (or perhaps an actual book mark would be a more suitable present for a three year old?).