As I approached the counter at my local supermarket with no less than seven items the lady serving me the items candidly asked me if I required a bag...
It seems that this world is needlessly dominated by ridiculous questions... The kind of questions which make
you wonder if the person opposite you actually has some form of logical comprehension...
In what world would seven items not constitute the acquisition of a bag!? If I don't want one I always joke, "no I'm trying to save the world one bag at a time"
Todays guilty culprit was...Sainsbury's
What do they expect me to do? Juggle my items down the street back to my house? Do they expect me to strategically place my items one by one moving them up the road and then running back to gather another one of my items while risking theft or something rolling into the gutter...
So for the record... Yes, Sainsbury's I do require a bag...
I'm just a two foot tall wombat, living his life and travelling the world. I started out scouring the city of London for a positive news story... I gave up! We live in a world where Ricky Martin has more followers than the Dalai Lama! This is truly an unjust world! So I became the sort of English teacher who saw himself as a wombat dressed like Che Guevara and started writing a blog of gripes, political problems and general stories...which is sort of a diary I suppose.... sort of.
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
Los Angeles - City of Class ... and Angels #1
If and when I ever choose to have a tattoo I would definitely like to have mine done at a parlor called Prix... I particularly like how the have chosen to wave grammatical law and plow straight in with replacing the -cks with an X... it's almost as if Tupac (or 2Pac?) spoke from beyond the grave...
Now i'm pretty sure that pricks (or prix as the gangsters spell it these days) has the same double meaning in the States as it does over here in the UK... (if not, for the rest of us, it's a crude word for phallus or penis... possibly referring to being in an erect state...) so I would like to ask who in their right mind decided underneath the 'trendily' named Prix... they decided to adorn their neon sign with 'Parking in Rear'?
Now i'm pretty sure that pricks (or prix as the gangsters spell it these days) has the same double meaning in the States as it does over here in the UK... (if not, for the rest of us, it's a crude word for phallus or penis... possibly referring to being in an erect state...) so I would like to ask who in their right mind decided underneath the 'trendily' named Prix... they decided to adorn their neon sign with 'Parking in Rear'?
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
Curious Questions... #2
What on Gods green earth happened here? How?! One minute you're sat in your jewelery store and serving customers and the next thing you know you are engaged in a deadly sex game... in fact what sex games that involve jewelery exist? I mean maybe I'm a bit of a traditionalist but what happened to sex being enjoyable? ...You engage in a deadly sex game, possibly involving beads and rings that are too tight.. (sorry) the next thing you know your tragic story is pasted all over the side of a biffa bin, not quite sensationalist enough for the actual paper, but thank goodness for bins... otherwise people would never have known
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
A Terrible Tale - Rape of the Rabbit Beast
I will tell you a tale not of ships and whales, but rather of stuffed rabbits and rape...
My housemate was one day sat in a pub alone gently sipping his cool pint when suddenly out of the corner of his eye he spied something... A beautiful creature was stood staring at him. He approached with caution but soon realised, this was no ordinary beast, but rather a stuffed concoction of several....
We shall call it ... THE RABBIT BEAST
He quickly fell in love with the stuffed Rabbit/Pheasant/Deer thing but to his horror discovered that dasterdly forces were at work... The owner of the establishment was planning to throw this beast out ... My housemate acted swiftly, cut a deal with the landlord and saved the creature... Bernard... as he was later known soon found pride of place on top of my housemates wardrobe... Oh how we didn't play with him or do anything but say... what the fuck is that thing? All the same we loved Bernard...
Then one day he caught a terrible moth infection... scared for the loss of our clothes we banished Bernard to the shed where he would spend the rest of his illness. Well one night we were sound asleep when we were awoken to the terrible shrieks and cries of pain and anger... we calmed ourselves, safe in the knowledge that it was the usual two foxes fighting...
The next morning it was clear that something horrendous had happened... We entered the back yard to find signs of a struggle... there was a trail of fluff and fur everywhere...
We ran to the shed to see if poor Bernard was there... but our fears were realised... he was gone... it was clear poor Bernard had been the victim of a heinous crime... a fox had viciously raped THE RABBIT BEAST and dragged him off into the night... we searched and after several seconds, possibly 30, and after we found him, left for dead in the ditch at the end of our garden... A huge bite had been taken out of the side of him, yet there was no blood (a symptom of being previously dead I believe)
All was clear, however one question remained...
WHAT THE FUCK DID THE SICK BASTARD DO WITH BERNARDS HEAD?
My housemate was one day sat in a pub alone gently sipping his cool pint when suddenly out of the corner of his eye he spied something... A beautiful creature was stood staring at him. He approached with caution but soon realised, this was no ordinary beast, but rather a stuffed concoction of several....
We shall call it ... THE RABBIT BEAST
He quickly fell in love with the stuffed Rabbit/Pheasant/Deer thing but to his horror discovered that dasterdly forces were at work... The owner of the establishment was planning to throw this beast out ... My housemate acted swiftly, cut a deal with the landlord and saved the creature... Bernard... as he was later known soon found pride of place on top of my housemates wardrobe... Oh how we didn't play with him or do anything but say... what the fuck is that thing? All the same we loved Bernard...
Then one day he caught a terrible moth infection... scared for the loss of our clothes we banished Bernard to the shed where he would spend the rest of his illness. Well one night we were sound asleep when we were awoken to the terrible shrieks and cries of pain and anger... we calmed ourselves, safe in the knowledge that it was the usual two foxes fighting...
The next morning it was clear that something horrendous had happened... We entered the back yard to find signs of a struggle... there was a trail of fluff and fur everywhere...
We ran to the shed to see if poor Bernard was there... but our fears were realised... he was gone... it was clear poor Bernard had been the victim of a heinous crime... a fox had viciously raped THE RABBIT BEAST and dragged him off into the night... we searched and after several seconds, possibly 30, and after we found him, left for dead in the ditch at the end of our garden... A huge bite had been taken out of the side of him, yet there was no blood (a symptom of being previously dead I believe)
All was clear, however one question remained...
WHAT THE FUCK DID THE SICK BASTARD DO WITH BERNARDS HEAD?
Labels:
Terrible Tale
Location:
Ealing, Greater London, UK
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