December 2005
10 posts
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art imitating life
i’m sure you’ve all been marvelling at the tasteful christmas decorations, which have been adorning bilge - sook my stupid brain! over the past week or so. in fact most of you probably binned your own ‘dec’s, tuned into this site and just made your computer monitor the focus of festive cheer over the chrimbo period - such is the magnificence of my scintillating site!...
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fuckwitt status deferred?
OK. so i braced myself and bravely plunged once more into the fuckwitt jungle that is BT support, to try and find out whether or not cancelling my phoneline and then getting a new number would remove the super-glued on broadband tags left there by fuckwitt coop er… i mean phone coop. [previous story] after merely twenty minutes on hold, i was rudely awakened from my slumbers by the sound...
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simply having a wonderful christmas time!
to certain persons at city college manchester who, for the sake of keeping my job, must sadly remain nameless - a heartfelt christmas greeting: as i sit here with [literally!] £1,32 to my name in the bank, debating whether to settle for a single brussels sprout for christmas dinner, or attempt to catch one of the mice i can hear scampering about in the attic and roast it over a roaring candle,...
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ho! ho! humbug!
well, what do you think of the incredibly tasteful christmas makeover? “bilge - sook my stupid brain!” is proud to tackily transform itself into the blogging equivalent of your local grotty council house, festooned with tastless chrimbo tat for the next week or so. the fizzing and crackling sound you may hear is probably coming from the wall socket into which i’ve plugged a...
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whose [phone] line is it anyway?
let me tell you a story of fuckwittedness, so breathtaking in its retardedness, that it would make even employees of that great evolutionary backwater, manchester city council, shake their microcephalic heads in disbelief: way back in 2003, my college arranged broadband connections for all the staff in our department, through a company called “poptel” [which later changed its name to...
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the plankton returns!
what with nearly a month or two having gone by, without my receiving some fuckwitted missive or other from my favourite institute for the terminally retarded [aka. manchester city council], i could have been forgiven for daring to hope that, in the intervening time, some kind of basic evolutionary process had kicked in down at the town hall and that the collective IQ had leapt into double...
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belt up! [geddit?!]
woo hoo! - yesterday i found out that i’d passed my first tae kwon do grading and thus earned a saucy yellow stripe for my weedy white-belt - and the designation “9th keup”. although the cynical side of me reckons that you’d pretty much have to run up and shit full in the examiner’s face to fail your first grading [after all, they dinnae want to discourage you, just...
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this post is the best chr.... [oh no! - not...
as we saunter merrily through the month of december towards the yuletide fun’n’frolics, the “bilge industries ltd” patented “cliché-o-tron” on the left is hard at work, monitoring the output of all the major british media corporations’ news departments and registering a ‘hit’ every time some lazy journalist prefaces or signs off on a story with...
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best poem ever [geddit?!]
further to yesterday’s post about george best’s funeral and noting callum best’s emotional reading of the newtownabbey advertiserstandard poem sent in to him by a member of the public, i am minded to pay my own tribute in verse form. from the distant cobweb bedecked corners of my brain, comes the memory of a rhyme which did the rounds for a few months while i was a snotty-nosed...
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so farewell then, georgie best
i was fully prepared to be cynical when i saw you were being given what amounted to a state funeral back home in belfast - those being usually the preserve of deceased political and religious leaders - not someone who was merely quite good at kicking a leather ball around a field. OK - so you made us proud that our pathetic fucked up wee country could produce someone universally recognised as...