DogZilla

They have this system at my son’s school where everyone has their name on a chart, and they can move the names up or down depending on their behaviour. So each day they all start on green, and can move to silver or gold if they’re good, or orange and red if they’re not.

Since the start of term, he’s been coming home and proudly telling us that he’s been on green, silver, and even gold once. The other week he told us that he’d been moved down to orange on that day. When we asked him why, he squirmed a bit then said,

“Well, I accidentally wee’d on Callum.”

I had to try really hard not to laugh, keeping the aura of a firm parent, but then my wife asked him where (meaning ‘where at school did this happen?’), and he replied,

“In his pocket”.

I had to leave the room.

Following on from my previous post about Mickey Mouse’s gangsta influence, it seems that the animated rodent isn’t as squeaky clean as first thought.

According to an article on The Daily Telegraph Website a Saudi Arabian cleric (or a religious fuckwit as they’re more commonly known), has labelled Mickey Mouse “one of Satan’s soldiers” that “makes everything it touches impure.”

During a, no doubt, bulging-eyed rant and a ceremonial burning of Fantasia he spouted, “According to Islamic law, the mouse is a repulsive, corrupting creature. How do you think children view mice today – after Tom and Jerry?

Mickey Mouse has become an awesome character, even though according to Islamic law, Mickey Mouse should be killed in all cases.”

So there you go folks, it looks like Mickey is now a legitimate target for rabid religious cretins with shit for brains. If you happen to be queuing at Disneyland to get your photo taken with him, and there’s a shifty-looking character in the queue wearing a backpack, get the hell out of there. Mickey’s fatwah has been issued.

So yeah, last week I was on holiday in France with the family (which explains my lack of input on this blog) and we took a trip to Disneyland Paris - where dreams come true. If your dream is to stand in queues for 90 minutes for two-minute rides, have a new arsehole ripped every time you want to eat, or to spend the entire day dodging clouds of smoke from filthy French bastards, then yes, your dreams will certainly come true.

No trip to Mickeyland would be complete without getting the kids photographed with the man himself, Michael T. Mouse, so my better half queued up with the youngsters while I got a into a decent position to take a photo. I got to watch all the folks come and get photographed with Mickey while I was waiting. Of particular amusement was the pair of teenage girls trying to pose while doing retarded rap/gang symbols. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’ll hand you over to ‘Da Flame’ of legendary internet fuckwits ‘Icy Hot Stuntaz’ to demonstrate (click=big):


Thank you ‘Da Flame’.
So girl number one does that sideways v-sign thing, while girl number two attempts that ‘Westside’ thing but can’t get her fingers to stick properly, so gives up and resorts to sideways v-sign too. I can hardly contain my amusement, she can barely hide her embarrassment.

Yeah bitches, throw out those gang symbols, because Mickey is GANGSTA!

I have two dogs. Big fuckers that eat me out of house and home, so I’m regularly making trips to the pet shop to buy 15Kg bags of dog food. On my last trip there, I walked past the end of an aisle and did a double-take at what was staring back at me (go on, click on it and it will magically enlarge itself) :

Dog Beer.

Beer. For your dog.

Great stuff, get your pooches pissed on Dog Beer so they throw up and piss indiscriminately. They do that already. The other thing that got me was the price; £1.99 a bottle! Most of the brews I drink don’t cost £1.99 a bottle, so I’m buggered if I’m going to spend that much on a brew for the hounds. If, and it’s a very big IF, I do ever get the urge to give my dogs beer, I’ll nip down the local supermarket and get 4 cans of budget lager for the same price.

Dog Beer. What next? Hamster Vodka?

This post is half-inspired as a follow-up to the one about the movie Colin. Not that Colin features any vegetariansim, you understand, just that it’s about zombies. But I digress…

If movie folklore is to be believed, when a person is killed and returns to life as one of the walking dead they still retain aspects of their former personality. Now, what if that person happened to be vegetarian?

Imagine the mental torture of a creature with an insatiable hunger for human flesh, that is governed by the overwhelming feeling that it’s wrong to kill another sentient being for food.

When there finally is no more room in hell, and the dead do indeed walk the earth, I’ll be happy that I’m a meat-eater. At least I’ll get a guilt-free share of the chow-down.

I hate Apple Macs. Or rather, I hate the rabid fanboi users of Apple Macs. It’s not enough that they have to sit in smug satisfaction with their smooth, relatively featurless, silver boxes, they just have to tell you how good it is, how stable it is, and how it will never, ever be susceptible to a virus.

Ask a Mac user what, for instance, Photoshop is like on a Mac, and you’ll get an answer something along the lines of “It’s amazing. So much better than the PC version. Of course, that’s Macs are so fantastic. They never crash you know, and you can’t get a virus…”

Anyway, this iHatred has spilled over to pretty much every iToy that they’ve released so naturally, when the iPhone was released, I chose the Nokia N95. Arguably it’s a better phone, more feature packed than the iPhone, and this has been confirmed by many reviews.

Recently my work colleague, who is a self-confessed TMG (Tedious Mac Geek), was showing me a Carling Lager promotional game on his iPhone. It’s a simple affair; using the tilt sensor you have to slide a pint of lager along a bar, avoiding obstacles, until it lands in the hands of a drinker. Once you successfully complete the task, the screen changes into a beer glass and fills with lager. Using the tilt sensor again, you can tip up the phone and ‘drink’ the lager (the liquid disappears as you tilt).

In that moment I felt my principles crumble. Because of one stupid, childish little game, my inner geek took over and an overwhelming feeling of iWantone washed over me.

I’m ashamed, I feel dirty, but my inner geek is too strong.

Everyone knows that men find farts the single most hilarious thing on the planet. We’re also rather fond of the opposite sex and, occasionally, cake. So put all three together and you have the perfect recipe:

www.cakefarts.com

Defintely not safe for viewing in any kind of working environment (unless you work in confectionery-based flatulance movie production).

Make sure you check out the related movie Pudding Farts for more comedy gold.

Why is it that man-boobs are something that are disliked by the ladies? Must we all be rippled adoni (is that the plural of adonis? I don’t know) in the chest department before the fairer sex take notice?

If you turn the situation round, men are much less discerning. Sure, a pair of pert norks that head forward entirely under their own steam are great, but a pair of soft floppy ones that succumb to gravity are still pretty fucking great too.

So ladies, love your man and love his man-boobs. After all, we return the favour for you.

At the end of next week, the UK sees almost every parent’s worst nightmare; the schools’ six-week summer holiday. To tie in with this, many of the shops, card shops in particular, are promoting their range of “Thank you Teacher” cards and gifts.

Come again?

When I was at school, the teachers were there to teach. Not to be your “much missed friend” at the end of the year.  Some were more tolerable than others. The occasional one became a favourite (mainly because they either let you get away with murder, or steered the lessons wildly off-track from the syllabus), but we never felt the need to go out and buy them cards & gifts when we were moving on a year.

I guess times have moved on, and now that the staff can’t beat the shit out of the pupils for minor infractions the boundaries have become somewhat blurred. Still, if it wasn’t for the parents committing selfless acts of unprotected sex, there wouldn’t be any kids to teach.  So I propose the teachers should be buying gifts and cards for the parents come the end of term, to thank them for keeping them in gainful employment.

I’ll expect my box of luxury chocolates by the end of next week.