For being a forgetful twat and not buying a wedding present for my mates' wedding on Saturday, then logging onto Debenhams website (which takes longer to load than it would do to train a monkey to mime the wedding list to you) only to discover there are only three things left, and they start at £60.
Vouchers it is. Sorry guys :-(
Thursday 28 June 2007
This fucking website
WHEN I TELL YOU TO REMEMBER ME, FUCKING REMEMBER ME.
Otherwise I have to sign in my details every cocking time. I've only uploaded five things and it's pissing me off already.
Twat.
Otherwise I have to sign in my details every cocking time. I've only uploaded five things and it's pissing me off already.
Twat.
Tuesday 26 June 2007
Tim Fucking Henman
What an annoying twat. Partly because every time Wimbledon comes around I find myself wanting him to win the damned thing, but mainly because he always seems to do just enough to convince you that he is going to do just that, before fucking it up royally. He's the tennis equivalent of a tart in a nightclub who grinds her arse on yer knob all night before fucking off with her massive boyfriend. Who then takes you out the back for a shoeing.
Let's look at the evidence. His name is Timmy. YOU CAN'T BE A NATIONAL FIGURE OF SPORTING HOPE AND PRIDE IF YOU SOUND LIKE A TEDDY BEAR. Also, he is nicknamed Tiger Tim, purely because his name begins with a T. You could not wish to meet anyone less tiger-like. EVER. That fucking pathetic little fist pump he does when he wins a big point (normally it's when he gives himself a match point, usually followed by him twatting his next shot into the next postcode) is NOT tiger like. Neither is having a bird called Lucy, who tennis commentators constantly refer to as an English Rose. This is presumably because they haven't seen a woman since 1987, and looking at photographs of Eastern European girls' mimsies on the internet doesn't count. She looks like a sparrow, and has eyes like a killer.
Last night Henman encapsulated everything that I hate about him. Looking dead and buried, he fought all the way back to have four match points, fucked them all up, ensured the game ended at 5-5 in the fifth set and my bath was cold when I got in.
Middle class cunt.
Let's look at the evidence. His name is Timmy. YOU CAN'T BE A NATIONAL FIGURE OF SPORTING HOPE AND PRIDE IF YOU SOUND LIKE A TEDDY BEAR. Also, he is nicknamed Tiger Tim, purely because his name begins with a T. You could not wish to meet anyone less tiger-like. EVER. That fucking pathetic little fist pump he does when he wins a big point (normally it's when he gives himself a match point, usually followed by him twatting his next shot into the next postcode) is NOT tiger like. Neither is having a bird called Lucy, who tennis commentators constantly refer to as an English Rose. This is presumably because they haven't seen a woman since 1987, and looking at photographs of Eastern European girls' mimsies on the internet doesn't count. She looks like a sparrow, and has eyes like a killer.
Last night Henman encapsulated everything that I hate about him. Looking dead and buried, he fought all the way back to have four match points, fucked them all up, ensured the game ended at 5-5 in the fifth set and my bath was cold when I got in.
Middle class cunt.
Monday 25 June 2007
My cocking Xbox 360/Forza 2
Because it broke last night. Twice. First I was pissing about trying to alter the screen resolution as I have a big HD TV (yeah, I'm a showoff) and I set it to too high a resolution so I just got a message saying 'Unsupported'. Problem was, I spazzed out when I had the chance to reset the thing, so confirmed I wanted that resolution. There then followed about 20 minutes of trying to navigate the menus by sound alone, eventually managing the technological equivalent of a monkey at a keyboard producing the works of shakespeare, and fluking my way back to the resolution screen and changing it back successfully.
Only now Forza 2 crashes when I start a race. And the Xbox is now incapable of getting an IP address for some fucking reason.
I hate technology. I only wanted to drive a car round a fucking track for a bit :(
Only now Forza 2 crashes when I start a race. And the Xbox is now incapable of getting an IP address for some fucking reason.
I hate technology. I only wanted to drive a car round a fucking track for a bit :(
Janet Cunting Street Porter
Bought the Independant on Sunday yesterday as there was quite a fit bird on the checkout in Somerfield and I didn't want her to know I'd rather read the News of the World.
The cupboard-faced bint has penned an article about two Northern Irish lads who made a suicide pact in an internet chatroom, met up and drowned themselves.
Apparently they were killed by the internet, which is stopping us making real friends and interacting normally. Number of expert opinions in article: 0. Amount of scientific research in said article: 0%. Percentage written by fucking ugly, buck-toothed arrogant bags of cunt who should be tethered to the bottom of the North Sea: 100%.
Apparently, violent videogames are also partly to blame. Like Manhunt 2.
Personally, I am more likely to be driven to murder by ill-informed bullshit journalism, so can Teeth-Porter please ban herself before a tragedy REALLY fucking happens?
The cupboard-faced bint has penned an article about two Northern Irish lads who made a suicide pact in an internet chatroom, met up and drowned themselves.
Apparently they were killed by the internet, which is stopping us making real friends and interacting normally. Number of expert opinions in article: 0. Amount of scientific research in said article: 0%. Percentage written by fucking ugly, buck-toothed arrogant bags of cunt who should be tethered to the bottom of the North Sea: 100%.
Apparently, violent videogames are also partly to blame. Like Manhunt 2.
Personally, I am more likely to be driven to murder by ill-informed bullshit journalism, so can Teeth-Porter please ban herself before a tragedy REALLY fucking happens?
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