The wheels have finally come off the 'gong giving' malarky.
It's all just getting fucking ridiculous.
Any twat that bothers to 'get up of a morning' seems to be getting one these days.
If you won a medal at the Olympics then you're fucking home and dry. Thanks for doing well at exactly what you were supposed to do well at - here, have a gong me old mate!
Oh, hang on a minute you did really well so why not have a fucking knighthood. A fucking knighthood for riding a twatting bike? You must be having a giraffe!
Arise Sir Write A Book, arise Sir Do A Bit For Charity, arise Sir County Council Executive. Sweep the roads OBE, sing a few songs CBE, services to this services to that MBE. As for The Order of the Bath. What the fuck is that all about? What a shower!
Please don't get me wrong. I am not saying that they haven't worked hard or that they haven't excelled at what they do. They have my respect for that.
I am just fucking pissed off at the vast waste of time and money, yet again, at the tax payers expense. And for what? What does it achieve? How does it help anyone?
The recipients have already received fair praise and recompense for their efforts.
Why not leave it at that!
PS. If anyone at the Chancellory is reading this I've just finished doing a fucking nice job of fitting a new bathroom. Customer was so pleased that they had to 'knock one out'. Ok, so I got paid for a job very well done, it's one of the many things that I am good at, but any chance of a gong you fuckers!
Finally finished counting all the bloody socks, boxer shorts, handkerchiefs and fucking longjohns. Took a bit longer this year due to extended periods of 'eye of the needle' anal aerobics. Must have been something that I ate although solid food hasn't been too high on the agenda in the last 2 days. As per usual my Christmas Day and Boxing Day fayre mainly consisted of fine wines, twiglets, champagne and a selection of single malts.
Ahh yes, I can see the problem there, too many fucking twiglets.
Woke up this morning, still wearing my safety gear, thinking "thank fuck that those 2 days are over".
This was shortly followed by a sudden sense of panic.
Had the Monkey been?
I had a pounding headache so things didn't seem too promising.
Then I checked the mouth. Oh dear the signs were there alright.
I ran downstairs to check the bottles. All empty.
The wallet? Devoid of all cash.
"Everything ok? Are you alright?" said Pigsy, in a 'you look rough as fuck' kind of way.
"That bastard Monkey must have crept in during the night", I replied ruefully.
"Oh I see" she said, trying and failing to disguise that 'serves you right' grin that she has in her armoury. "Over imbibed again have you?"
I couldn't answer. I hate that fucking Monkey.
Whilst I was slumbering he must have removed my safety helmet and clouted my head with a mallet. Then he must have lifted my safety goggles and rubbed bogies into my eyes, shortly followed by an urge to deficate into my open mouth. As if that wasn't enough he must have tip toed down the stairs and emptied all my beloved bottles of joy into the sink. Finally the bastard must have removed all the cash from my wallet.
"Fire up the perculator Pigsy!"
"Expresso No.5?" she asked knowingly.
Almost forgot to mention the Boxing Day Hunt that visited the manicured lawns at Twat Towers.
Unfortunately my blood pressure won't allow me to discuss this subject in depth. All I can say is 'Hunts'. What does that rhyme with?
I have recovered from yesterday's annual man pilgrimage to the High Street. This ritual did not pass without scars, both mental and physical, but I have survived.
The big day is here and I am all kitted out ready for any eventuality. In fact Pigsy even suggested that I look resplendent in my finest Christmas safety wear!
Nanny will be pleased, I'm sure, too.
I have even included asbestos underwear just in case I decide, as last year, to set light to my farts at the dinner table. It's the only party trick I know!
In fact I feel quite cheery today as I sit here awaiting a hearty meal and the impending arrival of my very good friends 'Chablis', 'St.Emilion' and 'Islay' . My other good friend, 'Bolli', arrived much earlier this morning but has already departed.
The shit for brains health and safety inspectors are at it again.
The guardians of the 'nanny state' have insisted that 45 police officers attend a 2 hour course to learn how to use a 3ft step ladder!
Once 'qualified', to use this piece of complicated equipment, they then have to wear a high vis jacket and 'cone off' the ladder so that no-one bumps into it.
Excuse me but what the fuck has happened to good old common sense!
Will you 'nanny state' mongs stop wasting time and money on yet more mindless fucking bollocks. Please go and find something better to do with your lives. Perhaps you could pick up dead leaves on the M1 or something? Please.
I suggest that the police should concentrate on 'sorting out' all those drunken and aggressive wankers that are making our streets increasingly unsafe.
The best way that they can use a 3ft ladder is to clip those ignorant tossers around the ear with it - then, stick a fucking cone up their lardy arses, preferably fat end first, and with a slight left hand twist.
It's comforting to know that as Christmas approaches we can try and forget how much our pathetic government is ruining our lives by putting up a few cheery decorations.
But no, hold on a fucking minute, some wanker of a jobsworth at Scrooge Council HQ has decided that tinsel is dangerous!
A school lollipop man has been told to remove the tinsel from his lollipop because it may distract drivers and put children in danger. Apparently he was 'reported' to the Council by an anonymous passer-by, who had nothing better to do, the sad twat.
Answer me this, you tossers. How can a piece of tinsel be more distracting than some bloke dressed in bright yellow clothing holding a great big fucking lollipop.
Wake up smell the coffee, get a fucking life and stop wasting Council Tax payers money on small minded bollocks.