The Spy Who Loved Mutilated People

The other day, for some odd reason, I remembered the talk we’d been given before work experience back when I was in secondary school. The talk pretty much went along the lines of:

“Well, I have a friend who lost his hand because he didn’t listen to the supervisor when he was doing his work experience and had it minced by the meat grinder,”

...and:

“I have a friend who had his face reduced to a bloody pulp because he didn’t wear his mask while he was doing his work experience and had it flayed by the box-making machine.”

Her message didn’t really get through to me because I was sitting there thinking: “Where the fuck did you get all these friends, you bizarre woman?”

I mean seriously, is that what she spends all her spare time doing, going into pubs scouting out all the mutilated people she can get her hands on? Does she see a guy in the street with a stump instead of a hand and go: “Ooh! A mutilated guy, I think I’ll go and befriend him!” Then, when she finds out he had it amputated because of some kind of horrible malignant hand-tumour and not because of a work-experience accident, she stops returning his calls and it all ends up with him outside her house shouting: “Why won’t you talk to me anymore?” and her leaning out of a first-floor window screaming: “You weren’t injured during work experience! I don’t need you! Get away from my house you fucking cripple!”

Perhaps she spends her evenings on YouTube looking for CCTV footage of horrible workplace accidents to satisfy her insatiable mutilation-based desires. Then again, perhaps she only gets off on it if it happens to teenage boys. The fucking peado.

These people make me sick.

The Death Cult of E-CARDS

I was flicking through some stuff in my room and found two articles from the Daily Mail from the Christmas period that I’d forgotten to tell anyone about.

Anyway, it transpired that a new wave of destruction and chaos was sweeping the nation. People were dying, cities were being razed to the ground. The cause? E-cards, the new Anti-Christ in our Satanic digital world. Or at least that was kind of the idea.

The article looked like this:

Apparently 2006 was “the year of the ‘e-card’, tacky electronic messages which are threatening to replace our traditional Christmas cards.”
I couldn’t help but think the word ‘threatening’ made the idea of e-cards seem unduly aggressive, as if angry fundamentalist e-cards might be about to fly planes into high buildings at any moment.

The Mail went on: “Gone are the days of individual messages on pretty cards that could be placed on the mantelpiece.”
I, of course, used to spend hours every Christmas carefully crafting individual cards to send to people. If I made a card and it wasn’t a creation of utter beauty, I burned it and began again. Eventually I became so anxious about creating perfect cards that I began to self-harm because sending out ‘pretty cards’ bothered me that fucking much. Except that I’m lying my fucking face off and actually I’ve always just bought a generic card from a generic shop and shoved a few names in it. Just like everybody fucking else.

Apparently ex-TV presenter Joan Bakewell (who?) was fucking outraged: “E-cards are totally unsatisfactory… after Christmas I sit down with all the cards and read them through. It’s a type of Christmas post-mortem which gives you a chance to really think about the people you care about. An e-card could simply never achieve that.”
‘Post-mortem?’ Well sorry Joan, but I think I’d prefer to get advice about Christmas from someone who doesn’t compare reading some cards with dicing up a cold rotting corpse with a scalpel. You fucking freak.

The article finishes with: “What used to be a genuine and touching gesture has become a minor Christmas task – or, worse, just another marketing tool.”
Yes, the days when we openly wept with heartbursting joy at receiving a mass-produced piece of cardboard are over. Oh fucking no.

The second article was just as bad. It’s probably best if you just look at the thing:

That’s right, not only did eBay steal Christmas but it made an innocent baby cry by dressing it in the most hideous outfit the world has never seen.
But is Lorraine Fisher really the best person to be dishing out judgement on eBay sellers? Let’s take a closer look at her:

Let’s be honest, she looks as if she’s not only stolen Christmas but thrown its kids underneath a train while it looks on, helpless. Not really surprising considering she writes for the Mail…

Unfunny Sketch

I happened upon some files yesterday which contained some material for this blog that I never posted. One of the files contained some sketches I wrote to take the piss out of Tittybangbang, the dire 'comedy' sketch show on BBC3. Basically I'd decided to write some sketches of equal comedic value to highlight just how crap the show is. Here's one of the results:

[HUSBAND is sitting at a table. WIFE walks in.]
HUSBAND: Hello dear! How was work today?
WIFE: I didn’t go to work. I called up and quit in the morning.
HUSBAND: Oh…
WIFE: I quit because I’m leaving. I’m moving away.
HUSBAND: What? But what about our baby?
WIFE: I went and had an abortion. I don’t want to have a child with you.
HUSBAND: Oh.
WIFE: I’m leaving you. I packed my bags this morning. There’s a cab outside.
HUSBAND: Um… goodbye then?
WIFE: Yes, goodbye. You shit.
[SKETCH ENDS]