I read the paper. Now I’ve opinions.

Posted: December 24, 2023 | Author: | Filed under: Today's paper. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

You’d better watch out!

You’d better not cry!

You’d better watch out and I’m telling you why...

Sam just read the paper, today.

And the world is fucked, in a very ‘but buy tomorrow’s edition’ way.

Actually, you can’t buy tomorrow’s edition because it’s Christmas Day, but that’s no reason to not panic about world events.

Such as the pet owner who was charged £40 for a phone call to discuss his cat’s constipation.

If the cat had eaten the phone, causing both constipation and a necessary phone call, I’m on the side of the vet. Holding up a scratching and wailing cat to my ear will result in me as calmly as possible letting you know that I’m going to be charging you for this above my normal rates.

Of course, the cat didn’t eat the phone, which is nice, and it did get some medicine, which is about as nice as not eating a phone.

Then there was the annual Christmas Day plunge into sewage on the nation’s coastal swimming spots.

Concerns are that those who like the bracing experience of seawater in December whilst wearing an amusing hat might get poo in their mouths, eyes, stomachs and bloodstream. And brain, probably.

I don’t know much about poo, but I wonder if it’s good for the skin. Probably not, but also, possibly so.

Maybe we should start finding alternative uses for poo, rather than just sending it down river or hiding it under less-pooey things.

Maybe use it in Law? Like shitting in the sinks of the water company Execs for every illness and death their actions caused. Copro-punishment.

Still, here’s hoping the Execs and the swimmers all have a happy Christmas.

The Druids made the news, at the only time of year they ever seem to these days (scarcely at all this millenia so far) to welcome winter solstice.

They watched the sun come up apparently, at Stonehenge. Quite windy, according to reports.

Surrounded by Druids and flaming torches, with a sun rising between ancient menhirs, that must feel like a good place for the world to end. Wiltshire.

And lastly, someone was arrested for stealing some valuable criminal damage.

Banksy does his stencil and spray-paint thing and people are arrested for stealing it before the council has a fair chance to steal it for themselves.

When I write “bugger” on a wall, I’m just stared at. By my wife. In the living room.

A good message in the sign though. Things do need to stop. I hope they do.

Merry Christmas wishes and hopes to all those who won’t have one.

Sam

Yes, I have a vengeance cabin

Posted: November 5, 2019 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’m pissed off so it’s probably a terrific idea to start casting my opinions online.

One thing that I’d like to do with the fury within me is to spill the beans on my masterplan to put myself in a position of power to right those that’ve wronged me.

There won’t even be any degree of “= profit” about this, it will in fact come down to making a vast amount of money from the advertisers that want to sell news of their product on comedy, satire and pornographic websites.

The blend might be unique, but that admittedly does equal a little bit of profit.

The website would be hosted in my cabin, with a camera placed on top of a ladder, a laptop shivering in the corner from the content to be uploaded via it, and a large amount of plastic sheeting that can be easily trashed.

Vengeance cabin prepped, I would kiss my wife and son goodbye, hop in my car (for ‘engineheads’ – it’s a red car, thus faster), and drive down to the local shop to grab some pristine, buxom, and very flirty fish and chips.

Then I’d drive it back to my cabin, sneak past my wife and son who’re hopefully not too powerful in the noses, shut the vengeance cabin door behind me, and pull the blinds down (note to self, or to any reading benefactor: buy black-out blinds) so that nobody can see inside – either for their own wellbeing or because they should be paying for this.

With the steaming fish and chips laid upon the floor, I’d de-robe my lower half, squat, and make a vast amount of money by taking an enormous dump over the surf-meets-turf.

Once done, I’d take a photo of it.

Then I’d put it on the internet, you’d click on the link, revisit, revisit again as I update the variety of subjects shat on, revisit repeatedly (yes you will) and alerting advertisers as you do so that this is a place for advertising to be placed, they’ll get in touch with me, I’ll take their second offer, and the road to power and vengeance begins.

I mentioned earlier that I’d be looking for advertisers eager to engage with comedy, satire, and pornographic websites.

I could chef that blend, with a healthy series of things to take a dump on, like a mask of Trump, or a an Apple Iphone, perhaps a novel or building materials (I’ve got bricks bro.

Got some mortar too – maybe I’ll dump on a wee-little wall), and if I leave a hundred words or so of description, the kind that gets the SEO flowing and the laughter true, I’d undoubtedly get the money.

Then comes the power.

Then comes the women, I presume – I don’t know, my wife won’t tell me.
So we’d go back to the power, increase it so smartly that it’d have a crease, and get some vengeance.

Why fish and chips to begin with?

Because, you’d click to see it.

Because, deep-down, you’re just as normal as everyone else. And that means you want to see what different things look like with poo on them. Even better if it makes you laugh about politics.

This should hit all the targets I’m hoping to hit, and I admit that this will include quite a lot of people logging on and wanking to my photos of poo on objects (like Saturday Night Fever VHS’, bottles of milk, and the Chinese flag), but that makes money, which is capitalism, which is freedom, which is patriotism, which are still not enough for me to ever tell me son about my masterplan. Either way; fair enough.

I feel less pissed off now that I’ve revealed my masterplan, but I might feel different tomorrow once I’ve realised I’ve said these emotional plans online.

One last thing, I’d do…I’d clean up my vengeance cabin, take my vengeance money, and buy some flowers and fudge and global monopolies, improve the days of those that have wronged me, and sit back down with my wife and son, pat the dog, smoke something expensive, and sleep a more peaceful sleep than the people out there who can’t stop thinking about the guy who bought them fudge, flowers and their place of work.

It’d need a name, no puns (like ‘Splatire’), so how about…………….

I may have outdone myself with ‘Splatire’.

Looks like I’ll just have to settle snuggly on my own limitations and rule the world from my vengeance cabin, waggling ‘Splatire’ like it something I’m actually proud to admit on the internet.

That’s better.

Sam