Where's Gordon?

Hiding in his bunker playing Where's Wally, I would imagine, whilst Lord Manmuncher of Arse-ache gets on with running the country.

Meet the Real PM

click pic to enlarge and read the details

No10 pour Homme et pour Femme

click pic to enlarge

Call Centres. Aren't They Great!

Yeah right, like her name really is Tracey.

It's no wonder they put these call centres in another continent, is it?.  It's because when their employers fuck up your internet access and you have to resort to wasting your fucking time with endless calls to these so called 'customer-fucking-service-fucktard-advisors', all you want to do is throttle the fuckers. They don't listen, they stick rigidly to a bollocksy-fuck-wank of an inane script, written by a complete twat, and above all haven't got a fucking clue how to really help you.

All they CAN guarantee to do is to completely fuck you up until the blood vessels in your eyes start to pop. Then when they tell you they can't do anything to help you "at this moment in time", they have the brass neck to fucking well ask you . . . 

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

Fuck off!

Just fuck the fucking fuckety fuck, fuck off!

That is all.

Orange Shite

Ok, so finally I am back.

Before I resume my 'appreciation' of the one eyed, snot gobbler there are a couple of issues that I need to take care of first.

Here's the first one . . . 

G.O.T. An Announcement

It appears that I am being dicked around by somebody who would prefer that I didn't have any access to the internet at the moment. Fortunately I have now managed to rig up a temporary connection to Blogger, using 2 rusty old baked bean cans and a rather long length of piano wire just so that I can bring you this news.

I don't know what the fuck is going on but it's either BT or my ISP, both of whom say everything is fine, or it's something a little more sinister. Not that I'm paranoid.

Am I?

Phone lines have been red hot to the call centres, you know the ones, and all they are doing is fucking me around from pillar to post and back again. 

In the meantime though I'm one stroke short of being fucked although  thanks to a little bit of G.O.T. resolve I can now pick up emails and comments.

If anyone out there knows how I can try and tackle this then I would be grateful for your advice, as long as it doesn't involve a large rusty inanimate object and my arse!

Hope to be back soon but fuck knows when.

Gordon Brown Unplugged

I was watching Gordon's Labour 'luvvy love in' conference this afternoon,

 on Sky News, when this happened . . . . 

Somebody at Sky had obviously had enough of the snot gobbler spouting

his bollocks and decided to pull the plug.

Buy that person a drink!

Priceless.

Sorry about the poor quality but I thought it was still well worth sharing