This is Jan Peter Balkenende, Dutch Prime Minister and in my humble opinion the first President of Europe. Currently he's available at 11/4, second favourite behind Blair who I believe has less than a cat in hells chance of survival in this race.
He might look like Harry Potter and is almost certainly sporting a syrup, but he really is the only dude who ticks all the relevant boxes for this post. The backroom boffins who are deciding all this stuff and who make the Papacy look like a Chinese parliament, are apparently of the opinion that the first President should be from a country that has signed up to the whole nine yards of EU deals; the single currency, the defense commitments, big on smelly cheeses that sort of thing.
They're also saying he should be from a country which is small and therefore easily manipulated. He should have taken a stint as the six-month presidential position and finally, Angela Merkel should like him. In fact, forget all the other stuff. He just needs to have Merkel's approval. And she hates Blair.
The only other candidate with the German chancellor's approval is Wolfgang Schussel, who is curently 8/1, but Austria is Germany lite and one would think they'd try and make the first appointment seem as impartial as possible.
There is of course nothing democratic about this and we should all be very angry that with the Czech Republic's ratification of the Lisbon Treaty we are no longer an independent nation. To most of Europe this means nothing, they've all been conquered and invaded and savaged fairly recently in their histories so being independent is neither here nor there to them, but we have remained pure, unraped, unsoiled for a thousand years and I value our sovereignty. I am very seriously considering converting to Islam.
This really is the Papacy incarnate. A group of the most unpleasant people will now be deciding how 500 million of us live and there will be nothing we can do, save a half billion strong uprising, of countering it. At least the Pope hid behind the word of God when he was telling everyone what to do, the Lisbon Treaty doesn't quite pack the same punch. Even when the proles were allowed to read the Bible they still believed it, but these people still thought the wheel was awesome. We should not be so easily hoodwinked.
In real terms Sharia law will give me more freedom and privacy than claustrophobic EU rule and I'll be in a stronger position to lobby for the banning of women's football. I'm not growing a beard though.
So anyway yes, Balkenende 11/4 - with a few shillings on Schussel 8/1 Paddy Power.
I've just been searching the Ebays for one of my arbitrary 3am purchases and I stumbled upon this;
I don't have any poker clothing so I'll obviously be getting myself one of these. Just to decide which of my many poker nicknames to use.
I'm glad this game has a lunch time kick-off tomorrow. I'm hoping I'll sleep in and it'll all be over and done with by the time I wake up.
Derby day is very much like making love to an ugly woman; an occasion that couldn't be tolerated more than twice a year with a climax that isn't even guaranteed and not even worth the effort if it is achieved.
I suspect this game will follow a similar pattern to previous North London derbies when Tott**ham have managed to convince themselves they're as good as Arsenal - they'll tear around the place for the first 45 minutes like a cocker-spaniel chasing a postman, possibly take the lead, then run out of steam in the second half and lose.
They'll convince themselves that had a few refereeing decisions gone their way they would have won and the cavernous gap between the two clubs not longer exists and spend the rest of season bemoaning their misfortune. Meanwhile Arsenal fans will be pleased it's over and get on with their lives.
Schopenhauer was right when he said life without pain has no meaning - the 4-4 last season left a permanent scar on my soul, but I've accepted it now as one of those painful experiences in life which exist to give the good times more meaning. I fancy us for a meaningful win tomorrow, but I can't be wagering on this.
I do fancy having a few shillings on Portsmouth and possibly include them in a double with Brizzle City - are they the 'shitters' or the 'gassers'? I can never remember. A shitters double on a shitty day.
Oh yes, I also had a funny turn when I saw the prices for the Birmingham City v Man City game. It may have just been gas, but I've learned never to ignore gas when looking at football prices so I'm taking the 7/2 on Blues.
So then...Portsmouth, Brizzle City, Birmingham City in various combinations. Also a politics punt which I'll discuss in greater detail later. And why not?
I've heard tell of a Subway sammich place opening up in the Cartertons early doors next year. This of course makes me very happy. I do so love a good sammich, they're my third favourite thing I like to have in my mouth. Happy days.
I've been putting together my winter wardrobe. Clothes I mean, not DIY. I think I need some more varsity letterman sweaters. I like them. I think they look cool. I especially like this one:
I want one for every letter of the alphabet, or one for every letter of my various poker nicknames. It all depends on how many I can afford. I'm also still considering whether or not to invest in a pair of boots. I like the idea, but I would have to go to an actual shop for such a purchase and it's just so hard for me to get up in time. Why don't shops open at about 2pm and close at something like 10-ish? They should do, I've always said that.
I found a potato at the back of my food cupboard today which may have been there for some years. I'm having it carbon dated, but I'd estimate six years. Other than that, not much has happened this week. Oooh Ooooh, the Pigeons trophy arrived. She's a little beauty. I bent the little "Pigeons Poker Champion" plaque, but it just gives her character. I shall probably not sleep until Sunday now.
The end.
We got six questions wrong it's true, so it wasn't perfect, but still - never before in the history of Pigeon's quizzes has a team of so few, won by so much, against so many. Saturday was a good day, winning monies at poker is all well and good, but money comes and goes, Pigeon's victories in whatever discipline, are priceless. Sunday was a great day. We even won a chocolate round.
The Barbarians might not have been there, but we scored seven perfect rounds out of ten. SEVEN!! They stayed at home cause they sensed they were in for a quiz pasting. Even if they had shown up with their silly chairs, and cardigans and sports ringer (oo-er) they'd have still been made to feel like the off-spring of a glamour model and a Premier League footballer.
I was just now researching current affairs for the quiz this evening and I stumbled upon a story on the Daily Mail website about an "offensive" joke made by Jimmy Carr. Not sure why I was browsing the Daily Mail website for news, but anyway...
Young Jimmy made a joke about soldiers who have been severely injured in Afghanistan and Iraq, soldiers who have lost limbs specifically. He said, "say what you what about these guys, but we're going to have a fucking great team in the paraplegic olympics in 2012."
Perhaps I'm missing something, but I felt this was a compliment. Is he not essentially saying, "these guys are fucking brilliant? and if they entered the Olympics they'd clean up?" It's a compliment to their courage and dedication and general awesomeness no?
To be offended by this is to suggest the paraplegic olympics is shite and to be associated with it is an insult. We have a society now that cannot wait to get up in the morning to accuse someone of being racist, sexist, homophobic, islamophobic, xenophobic and a multitude of other "ists" and "isms" that I don't think people actually stop to think anymore about what these words mean.
I ought not to take the opinions of standard Daily Mail readers to heart, but this insidious culture of PC offense taking is something that really gets my arse hairs up and is really as damaging as the "ists" and "isms" they're complaining about.
The end.
I'm back, not sure what time it is as the clocks have done something silly tonight. Forwards or backwards I'm not sure, but I've arrived home in time to watch young Valentino Rossi win the MotoGP title in Malaysia, and with a race to spare to boot, and that's all that matters. I've got time for a Radox bath to sooth my aching back and possibly a bacon sammich before the off....
So while my bath waters are prepared, a brief tournament report; A 270 capped runner £100 freeze-out event, which due to a clerical error actually began with 285 plus some alternates making 297 in total I think. After many many hours I finished 4th for £2,260 which in real terms is very welcome, although the £9,000 for 1st would have been even more welcome, but let's not push our luck.
I made one or two intriguing calls and very few friends along the way, but to be fair to them, the better players at my tables were probably working under the assumption that I was there to play poker. Silly billies. Why play poker with people that are better than you? Bingo for the win, that's what I always say.
And in bingo lingo clickety clicks, I raced like a bastard with several Big Slicks......and an Ace Jack with which I called a 130,000 raise to bust a German, which felt very satisfying.
My Grandad will enjoy hearing about that. He's never forgiven them. "I...I...don't call zis with Ace Jack" were his parting fair comments.
So anyway yes, a good tournament, I did actually play some good poker really considering I'm not at all match fit, but I'm still fortunate that skill and aggression and guile and being able to add-up are all subordinate to the whims of the Poker Gods. They wanted me to go deep and who are we as mere mortals to argue with them?
Hopefully this is something that will be added to the Dusk Till Dawn monthly schedule. Worthy of a hotel room next time I reckon so one can play both days. As a bonus I've also managed to retain my knowledge of British Prime Ministers and Monarchs for the Pigeons quiz later on today. Phew.
With the analgesic effects of Codeine and spicy pizza washing over me, it's unclear how I will perform this afternoon as the middle prong of a three pronged poke at the £100 game at DTD this afternoon - Mark Wates and his son Charlie are my partners in crime on this day and their playing styles are not what you might call passive. It's entirely possible we could all be busto before the "eeeaal" of "Shuffle up and Deal."
If my judgment at the poker table mirrors my judgment of the football coupon I'm in big trouble. I've gone for a Wolves, Birmingham and Middlesbrough acca. I don't think those three teams have ever all won on the same day in the history of the game let alone during a period in their histories when they're all utterly shite. Still, if it comes in I'll be able to take a seat at the £50-£100 dealers choice game when I bust out of the tourny and essentially be free-rolling.
Good luck to anyone playing the APAT event incidentally. Shame to miss it, but I will be present and 9-80% correct at the next one.
Well now unfortunately I forgot about the auction and was outbid this evening. That beautiful brass pigeon slipped from my grasp while I was snoozing. However, I wiped the dribble from my chin and searched the intrawebs high and low for a similar monstrosity and although my search was initially fruitless, my perseverance paid off as I stumbled upon a more contemporary effort, but one which I think you'll agree has the correct balance of tack and pointlessness for our game. Free engraving too. I won't post a picture. It's a surprise.
Labels: Awesome
Despite not being match fit I have decided to ante up and play the first £10o event at DTD this weekend. I've just been to the big house. I have been diagnosed as having a bastard of a chest infection. I've been given awesome strength pain killers and antibiotics to see me through these harshsome times. This medication make me crazy though, not just Dutch courage, but BENELUX courage and parts of Scandinavia too courage. So I should be out in the second or third level following a spectacular bluffing failure or from just spilling my chips over the line with an errant elbow when reaching for my drink.
If I can avoid these mishaps, who knows, even the sun shines on a dogs arse every now and then whatever that means. See I'm already talking shite. I've got no chance. All that knowledge about British monarchs and Prime Ministers I've accumulated this week is just evaporating as we speak, I can feel it oozing from me, the quiz on Sunday will be a disaster.
In other news, apparently lots of people go to bars and order single glasses of champagne. It's not just a London thing. I clearly don't get out enough or I'm just not patronising the right sorts of places. I still think it's odd. I think people must surely only do it so they can be seen to be doing it. I hate people like that. They usually wear turtle neck jumpers, black ones, like some sort of, well,.... Frenchman or somfing, and would sooner buy their 7 year old daughter a tool box than a dolls house. The kind of people that have book shelves in their living rooms and eat off square plates. It's no wonder they're letting the BNP on Question Time these days.
Speaking of which, I thought Nick Griffin was predictably pathetic last night, a real let down, second only in patheticness to Jack Straw. I was wondering if Griffin was going to an unapologetic racist with a back bone who was just going to go out all gins blazing; call Bonnie Greer a sooty, and Jack Straw a hook nosed Red Sea pedestrian, the whole nine yards...instead he had the back bone of a gummy bear. They're are just bullies really are they not, racists, when you boil them down..now there's a thought.
I had a funny encounter with a Nazi once on Staten Island as it goes, I may have told you this before, but bear with me; I came out of a bar dressed in my suit and tie as I had been to work that day and was waiting outside for my chum who was powdering her nose and fanny. Stood a few feet away from me were a black couple waiting for a bus. Along comes our Neo-Nazi - dressed in standard Nazi stuff, jeans, bomber jacket and with tattooes on his very face - Swastiki tattoos on his face and head, many other tattoos on arms hands and neck.
Sort of like this chapI mean really...if you're so deeply racist that you'll have your bigotry burned into your face you'd think you would uphold your deluded ethnic snobbery at all times, but apparently no. A middle class unthreatening couple were enough to regress him back to the shy child he probably once was before he got into the ol' racism.
Very odd. Once he'd left, the couple looked at me, I looked at them, they were thinking the same as me, I could tell. My chum then emerged from her powdering and asked me if I'd wet myself. My confused look is very similar to the one I wear when I've had a few beers and pissed in my own pants you see. Fun times. Strange times.
So yes, a funny bunch the ol' irrelevant racists. Shame they devoted the whole show to Griffin really. As I understood it, although he was on there, it wasn't a BNP special. I'd have much rather seen a normal show with random questions with a broader spectrum of discussion instead of the naval gazing nonsense about how racist Nick Griffin is, something we all knew anyway. I'd like to have known how he was going to shore up the NHS and salvage our education system, but all we got was something about radio intercepts and Jack Straw's Dad being in prison when he should 'o been doing 'is duty.
Football now and I was having a conversation with my cabbie on Wednesday night about Arsenal, he seemed to think we'll win the Premier League this year and cabbies know everything. The Knowledge these days is not just London's streets, apparently they have to know everything now, even the future and this is my boys' time apparently. He may have just been after a tip, I didn't think about that until just now..oh well, I should have pretended to be a Chelsea fan, I prefer to think he was speaking the truth though. So anyway yes...hoorah for us. Get on, lump on, large 4/1 bargain!
: Labels: Nonsense
People are twats. Put a member of the BNP on Question Time and there's protesters everywhere. Why? Because the BNP are racist. Put a cabinet minister on the panel and there's?...nothing. Yet this current Government are responsible for literally hundreds of thousands of deaths from fighting two illegal wars and have caused more pain, suffering and general chaos than the BNP could every hope to aspire to.
Nick Griffin is a horrible bigot, of that there is no doubt. But in terms of British politics, he is also irrelevant...he is not capable of causing even a fraction of the damage and loss of life our current Government can achieve in a single week. Racial bigotry is abhorrent, irrational and dangerous and Nick Griffin is someone who needs to be criticised and exposed, but let's have some perspective here. That Jack Straw will no doubt attempt to claim the moral high ground over Griffin tonight is far more repulsive to me than anything you'll find in the BNP's manifesto.
Last night after the show which was at the Old Vic, I thought I'd pop into the other 'Vic' on Edgeware Road to see if any cash games were in progress.
They wouldn't let me in as I had some rips in my jeans. The theatre let me in, but a casino wouldn't. I found this somewhat ironic.
I tried to argue that I had only one rip and their dress code stated "Ripped" which to me meant plural - mutliple rips. The other 'rip' was a mere whole therefore I should be allowed in.
Alas I was not as skilled at making an argument as Spacey's Drummond in "Inherit the Wind." The title of the play I had just seen, as ironic as being too scruffily attired for a casino, but not a theatre.
A play about school teacher Bertram Cates who was prosecuted in 1926 from teaching kids in his Tennessee school Darwinist evolution. A play originally written as a metaphor for McCarthyism, which now sadly since the Republicans were hijacked by the religiously mental, has a literal meaning again.
The title comes from Proverbs 11.29: "He who brings trouble on his family will inherit the wind." That it's title comes from the Bible makes my head hurt. The play essentially shows the Bible up to be a load of parabolic hog wosh, and is a lesson in opening up ones mind, yet the title of the play - the lesson to be learnt from all this - comes from the Bible! There's a confused message if ever I saw one.
AND AND AND they have to swear on the Bible during the court case, but it's the Bible that's essentially on trial. How is that for prejudicing the preceedings. You have to swear before God that you'll be telling the truth, when you're making your arguement that there is no God. Silly Americans.
A Royal Flush courtesy of Lazers at the Fox on Monday
I'm in London as we speak. I'm going to the theatre later but for now as I have a couple of hours to kill, I'm holed up in a bar. It's a brasserie really. The barman gave me my change on a silver dish - it was all pound coins - no folding money. Do they do this because they want a tip? The bar dudes in Merca do that; they give you change in singles so you can tip. I'm not tipping him. I'm sat at the bar it's not like he had to bring it to me. I think I'll get pissed and heckle the actors later.
I just realised I look like someone who has been stood up. I better stop looking at my watch. 10-4.
Update: Lots of people have ordered a single glass if champagne. The man two seats to my right is drinking champagne and eating crisps. He is also reading the Daily Express. Is this a London thing, the champagne drinking? Or a brasserie thing perhaps or just a Wednesday evening thing? I myself am drinking Heineken but feel uncouth. It's fortunate I'm wearing brown corduroy or they'd sling me out.
I don't know too much about boxing, so when I checked the odds for the upcoming fight between David Haye and what appears to be a Klingon I was astonished to find that Haye is the favourite!
How on Earth can this be so? Look at the fucking size of it. It's had 50 fights and lost once and I bet that was against a bear or a team of horses whereas David Haye as far as I can tell is a Cruiserweight from Bermondsey.
What on earth does he think he's doing fighting that? I'm quite sure he'd have to defy the laws of physics to win this one and as we all know, only Phil Taylor can do that. Even Rocky Balboa wouldn't answer the bell for this fight.
They say in boxing a good big fighter always beats a good small fighter. So I assume it follows that a shit big fighter must beat a shit small fighter too? If I'm right £7 million at 6/4 on the Klingon please.
Mock the week is a show I don't watch. Mainly because I think it's shit. I don't like shows with panels of comedians who are only comedians because they appear on shows like this and Frankie Boyle makes me feel like I've just taken a swig of sour milk.
So with this in mind; Tuesday's hypocrite of the day trophy goes to him - apparently he said Rebecca Adlington looked "like someone looking at themselves in the back of spoon." She has a big nose, fair enough, but that's one feature on her face that looks a little disproportionate, where as Frankie Boyle's face looks like it's been battered like a boiled egg with the back of a spoon.
There are no shortage of genuinely unpleasant people who desperately need mocking in this country (there's 646 of them in the House of Commons alone), so if six or seven people want to get together every week and throw stones in glass houses I have no problem with this, but surely young Rebecca should not be a target. She's an Olympic Gold Medal winner and an inspiration to a generation of our disenfranchised over-weight zombied wee ones. And a nice person to boot, in an industry so full of arrogance and pretence. Where as Frankie Boyle is a sarcastic pointless twat. Reason 3,245 not to pay the TV license.
* * *
Isn't she beautiful? The Pigeon's game is now the centre of the poker universe and I felt it was about time it had its own trophy. Aesthetically second only to the FIFA world cup trophy I think you'll agree. Hopefully it'll arrive before the next game in a fortnight.
The FIFA world cup trophy: Only slightly nicer than the Pigeon's CupA poor weekend's wagering in retrospect. So near yet so so far. Coupled with another failed attempt at conquering the Pigeon's game, one has had to spend some time this morning over a cup of tea without jam and bread to reassess. Now that's over and with the trip to DTD postponed until next week I shall use this week to prepare for the Pigeon's quiz on Sunday.
Another wild swing at beating the "Barbarians" who wear cardigans and bring their own chairs. I fancy we can get a little more wood on the ball this week though and if we're unsuccessful again we'll just have to take wild swings at them. This afternoon I'll be researching Prime Ministers and eating cake with a nice glass of Night Nurse.
Sport now; if there was any doubt as to which manager our football media has pledged their allegiance, one only had to sit through a few minutes of Sky Sports' "Sunday Supplement" yesterday. What on Earth I was doing awake at that hour I don't know, but the violent bout of vomiting that ensued from listening to four foootball journalists eulogising Ferguson and refusing to accept that any punishment should ensue from his lunatic rant about Alan Wiley's fitness, was enough to return me to my slumber exhausted, dehydrated and with carroty breath.
Apparently Ferguson's attempt to tarnish the reputation of a Professional referee just so people wouldn't discuss how shit his team had just played, is fine as it's "just classic Fergie." Pardon me chaps, but I don't think that would stand up in a court of law. When Mary Jane Kelly was mutilated in 1888 it was just classic Jack the Ripper, that doesn't mean it's acceptable. "Classic Fergie" just means he's a cunt a lot of the time and should have be banned, fined and beaten far more regularly.
The problem here of course is that these horribly obsequious parasites will not denigrate Ferguson or and superstar English players, because if they did they wouldn't get to have cozy chats with them and be able to delude themselves into believing they actually have a personal relationship with them. Foreign players and managers, they couldn't give a toss about, so they reserve all their negative comments for them. It's much the same on the front pages of the paper. The media are now invested in David Cameron so you will not now read a negative article about him until after he's PM.
Weather now; it's fucking cold out. I like it though. I've been waiting for it to get colder so I can wear my cool Russian hat. You can say what you want about the Russians; communism may not have worked and most of their population drinks after-shave now, but they know how to make cool hats. I've been giving some serious thought to buying some boots too. Big leather ones. Not cowboy style as such all pointy and with jangly bits, but something like;
I'll bid you good day.
I think a couple of questions need to be asked with regards to the comings and goings of this weekend's round of Premier League fixtures. Firstly, why did Pepe Reina try and save the balloon? If it was white and a similar size to a football it would not be unreasonable for him to have confused the two. But it was a huge friggin' beach ball sized bastard and bright red in colour. It looked no more like a football than Jamie Carragher's head and I've never seen young Pepe try and save that.
Also, why did the referee give the goal? It can be excusable for referee's on occasion to give wrong decisions if they have not seen an incident or not seen what they thought they saw, or their interpretation of a rule appears to be inconsistent, but to not know the rules in the first place is surely unacceptable no? These people are professionals, it's all they do. This is the highest level of football in the land, they should be able to reel off the rules in any given situation without a moment's hesitation, even the most obscure and unlikely ones.
Thirdly, from the same game; did Rafe Benitez actually tell Steve Bruce to "calm down?" You know you've spent too much time in Liverpool the moment you use this phrase. A Spaniard shouting calm down while moving his hands in a see-saw motion is very funny in my opinion and I want confirmation as to whether it was said.
CALM DOWN CAAAAAAALM DOWN
Blackburn or Burnley? Same diff.
I plan to defer my winter wear purchase however as I desperately need some awesome painkillers and a six pack of Night Nurse. I have persistent chestual issues and my head has gone all funny. I usually only experience headaches of this magnitude after I've downed Fox Rosè or gotten confused in Vegas when ordering whiskey night caps and drunk myself into a near coma.
Unless I make a rapid recovery I'll only be 25 - 30% fit for the Pigeons game tomorrow. If I'm hopped up to the eye-balls on Night Nurse and Anadin there's the very real possibility of some wreckless out of position bets with less than marginal holdings.
Disappointed Oklahoma fan of the day
Labels:
Betting
I was putting together a sammich just now and suddenly I had a vision - a clear picture in my head of how I must bet this weekend. I'd heard tell of concern in Texas about their chances of beating Oklahoma. If they're openly discussing the possibility of losing at home to such bitter and poorly evolved rivals, then there must be a significant chance of it happening.
I have therefore taken the odds against for the Sooners and why not? I've also backed Tott**ham which is something that makes me feel incredibly dirty so let's dwell on this selection no longer. Blackpool and a Valentino Rossi win this weekend in Oz complete my wager.
It pays more than enough to finance a new winter lounge wear wardrobe which is definitely needed as most of jammies and lounge pants are in a sorry condition due to the gale force winds from my arse that have battered them relentlessly over time.
Good luck with all your bets.
Boy with ARSE written on his face in acne
Is it possible Sunderland can win tomorrow? Liverpool without Torres and Gerrard are essentially a pub team no? After an international break too... Liverpool struggle after Champions League fixtures don't they? 'specially when they have away games in the sunny north east.
I actually feel that Steve Bruce is one of the most incompetent managers currently employed in the Premier League. I wonder sometimes if he isn't suffering from a serious cerebral condition. I've never once heard him string a coherent and intelligent sentence together. His eyes are lazy, his ideas about football are unintelligible and I've heard he can't eat soup without assistance.
I do hope the Mackems can win though as I popped them in a wee Yankee last Sunday, but I also require little Jorge Lorenzo to over turn an 18 point lead in the MotoGP Championship with only three races left and to be fair I don't really want this to happen as I do so admire Valentino Rossi. Pointless post really, just killing time before my kettle boils and I enjoy a nice cup of tea without jam and bread.
Speaking of MotoGP. We haven't wagered on these races for a while, mostly because there was no point as each race was a two horse affair. Young Casey Stoner is now back after a three race hiatus, still not 100% fit I believe, but this is his home race and one might consider taking a punt on him making it three in a row at Phillip Island, but at something like 2/1 you might want to just stick to the black cats. Or buy some tea and a full English.
Additional: There's something wrong with me kanoggin. I'm all dizzy, I cain't focus on noffin'. I feel like I've drunk three glass of Fox Rosè. I tried to make for the kitchen earlier, but ploughed into the door frame at speed. I've just been to the Co-op for to buy some meats for dinner and I was literally all over the shop. I should never have mocked Steve Bruce's mentalism. Lesson learned I think.
I've made a dietary miscalculation. I've eaten a chicken spring roll at 3:30am and miscellaneous Chinese left-overs. I'll be up all night now. I feel like I've got a great big lump of a thing gestating within me. I've only just these last few hours finished digesting that steak and ale pie I ate some days ago. I shall need quite a large measure of Andrew's liver salts to help me work all this through my system.
Speaking of a large measure of Andrews - I was watching the Sound of Music this afternoon as someone had left it on my Sky + and I switched it on by accident - so anyway yes, it's that song about tea being a drink with jam and bread; jam and bread? Is it fuck.
Tea is a drink with a full English breakfast or if you're at work, a nice biscuit. I don't care if that doesn't fit in the song, those continental breakfasts will get you into a load of trouble. Once you start eating jam and bread with tea you're just a few short steps away from eating straight bananas and marching into Poland. That's what I always say. I'd fuck her though wouldn't you - Julia Andrews? I'd jam her bread for her or something - you know what I mean, whatever, Neal's better than me at the violent misogyny.
I'll give you a spoonful of my medicine bitch
In other news, the woman across the street from me is starting to get on my nerves. Every time I come home she stands on her front step and watches me park my car. It's weird. She looks at me like I'm taking a piss or doing something obscene. I'm not the best parker, but I'm not an obscene parker either.She never says anything, she just watches me and when I go inside she goes inside too. I want to ask her what her freakin problem is, but usually when I come home I've got food and don't want it to get cold. Also she might be one of those knife stabbing mentalists I've been reading about in the Daily Mail so I shall have to live in ignorance, but at least be alive.
I think there's a lesson in that for us all. Good morning.
: Labels: Random Post
1980's TV theme tune of the week
I know one of the selections was a Peter Crouch goal in 90 minutes tonight, but I forget what the other seven or eight selections were. I think I've foretold of a draw between Uruguay (ha ha...u ar gay) and Argentina. I possibly should have just bought some pants, but I'll have all the underwear a man could want if I spent the £23,000 this £10 acca pays out, exclusively on them.
As we speak Gordon Brown has just announced that the objectives in Afghanistan are clear, but has just reminded us what they are nonetheless. I put it to the Prime Minister, that if they were as clear and well defined as he insists they are, he wouldn't have to remind us what they were.
Indeed people, thirty seconds later I've forgotten his list of objectives and justifications. Sigh. Thank the lord I have resigned from the world and am no longer disturbed by this sort of thing. I think I ought to visit the sammich shop before I dwell further on this issue.
Sky Sports presenter of the day: Millie Clode
I was able to emerge from an early evening snooze to make it over to the Fox this evening for a £50 PLO freeze-out. I got nowhere, but managed to eek out a profit in the cash game.
A profit which at the time I thought was not insignificant, until I heard tell of a backgammon game in progress in the bar played for £1000 a point.
Player A (pictured left) at the time was £3,500 in profit. Unfortunately he was then Gammoned for a £4,000 loss. Demands for a final game at the same stakes were made, but declined. Negotiations ensued.
A final game at "sensible" stakes was settled upon; just £350 a point. Player A narrowly avoiding another gammon for just a £850 loss on the night. Even for the Fox this seemed a significant sum so I note it here for posterity.
Since I became a Mexican the England football team has held no interest for me save the fascination I continue to feel for Emile Heskey's inclusion. I believe him to be a legitimate phenomenon.
I have yet to hear a conclusive and cogent argument that could explain his place in professional sport let alone his place in the England team. "He can hold the ball up," is about all the justification most fans can muster.
Not a very compelling argument. I cannot run, shoot, tackle or head the ball. I do however have coordination enough to control a ball and give it to someone else. But I could not get into my local Sunday league team with this skill alone. It would not be enough if I couldn't do anything else. Yet Heskey who arguably isn't as accomplished as me at holding the ball up, has 58 England caps.
When planes approaching Gatwick or Heathrow airports happen to fly over Wembley Stadium when England are playing, the pilot should point out to his passengers that if they look down they will see something inexplicable and remarkable, because Heskey's inclusion in the England team is more remarkable than Saturn's rings or the northern lights, because at least science can explain those things.
I have no axe to grind as far as England's team go. If Mexico don't win the World Cup I don't care who does, so I say this without prejudice or malice; England cannot possibly win the World Cup with Emile Heskey at one end of the pitch especially if Rio Ferdinand is at the other.
The northern lights: Brighter than Heskey yes. More remarkable than his international career, no.I've had a bet today. Why not I thought. I've gone for a draw in England's world cup qualifier with Ukraine. Mostly because English teams have an indifferent record when traveling that far east, England have already qualified and I heard Michael Carrick is playing. Possibly I should have bet on a Ukraine win really, but either way I fail to see how a completely unmotivated England can be an even money proposition. Surely they'll all be running around on their tippy-toes hoping not to pick up injuries for the important league games next week?
In other news there's no other news.
The end.
I do so love Barack Obama and I'm very glad that he's now in charge of the Galaxy, but I must say as I drink my moccachino latte de vert son croutte that I cain't for the life of me figure out what he's done to deserve the Nobel peace prize.
What on Earth goes on in those meetings? They gave it to Al Gore a couple of years ago cause he freaked people out with his movie about melting ice caps and thirsty polar bears, which to even an amateur environmentalist was clearly tenuous nonsense anyway, but what did it have to do with peace? Ghandi didn't win this prize, but Arafat did. Crazy.
Barack Obama is loved by state leaders and they all want him at their fancy do's, and his message of change in his own country was very powerful and moving and promising, but in terms of actually getting things done, actually getting world leaders to commit monies and soldiers to his ideas for fixing the wagons of the world's bad people, he's failed. Added to which he has decided to escalate a futile and pointless war in Afghanistan. He hasn't even managed to get Guantanamo Bay closed.
If all it takes to win this prize is fancy speeches and a cheeky grin I'm applying next year. You get a million bucks for this don't you? Can I apply or does someone have to email in on my behalf? I stopped a fight once and I don't ever play my music loud and I've stopped phoning Phil Brown at 3am and everything. That's got to be worth at least a place on the shortlist, maybe third place? Is it a book token for third or what?
Small hours of the morning update
I just ate a steak and ale pie. It's 3.32am. I microwaved it too. It was surprisingly appetising. I shall probably not sleep now though, I'm all carbed up.
The end.
I mean what are the chances of picking a fight with a couple of cross-dressing men only to find you've actually just squared up to two professional cage fighters nicknamed Lion Heart and Lights Out. I'm laughing as I type this.
"It is a sorry state of affairs when a guy can't safely walk down the street in a mini-skirt and make-up without getting grief from some idiot."
How is it that some people can be so ignorant, so utterly clueless, that in the 21st century they still can't understand why calling someone a Paki or dressing up in full golliwog regalia is offensive.
Political correctness is unhelpful and confusing, and has possibly even obscured the average Sun reader's understanding of what actually is blatantly racist, but it shouldn't have. Racism is ugly, irrational, inexcusable and obvious. Political correctness is just daft and a waste of everyone's time. Calling a blackboard a chalkboard for example is unnecessary. Calling someone a Paki is racist - even if you meant it in jest. In fact that's even worse.
This Strictly Come Dancing chap; (I don't know his name) by now you will have heard his comment to his dance partner - who had just received a spray tan, "Oh my God you look like a Paki." A comment Bruce Forsyth has tried to defend with a speech so ignorant it has made Ron Atkinson's previous excuses for his own sojourn into racial bigotry sound quite reasonable.
Brucey, let's examine why this is offensive. Let's break it down into easily digestible chunks. It's not just that he used the word "Paki." This comment was fundamentally offensive because of his expression of horror that his partner should look like a Pakistani. He then compounds the offending comment by using a derogatory word for a Pakistani - in this case, "Paki." See?
It would not have been OK had he just said, "Oh my God, you look like a Pakistani" or, "Jaaaysus, you look like an Asian." It's the fact that he is appalled by her appearance that makes it offensive. He's just made it much worse by using the term -Paki. Two offending statement's for the price of one. Brucey's argument that we don't mind being called Limeys is both ignorant and irrelevant. He may as well have just said, we're very sorry, we didn't realise anyone could hear him.
And finally...it's made eeeeeeven worse by the fact that his apology was not given to the Asian community who are constantly having this racial slur slung at them and are the people who have been offended here, he apologies to his dance partner!! "No darling really, I didn't mean that you looked like an awful Paki. You look like a lovely white British person."
And she accepts his apology! Which according to my way of thinking is just as bad as the initial comment as she's essentially saying, "oh sweetie, don't worry, I know you didn't really think I looked like a Paki."
Wrong wrong wrong wrong.
Things get no better in Australia where apparently they still laugh at "blackface" golliwog humour. On a reunion show for something called "Hey Hey it's Saturday" five doctors DOCTORS PEOPLE!! dressed themselves in full golliwog costume and offered up an act they called Jackson Jive. A parody of the Jackson Five. Another one then appears with a white face - making six of them, but we'll excuse their poor maths for now.
This act was so appalling they actually gave an American the moral and cultural high ground, which is really quite an achievment. Harry Connick Jr, one of the judges, sat open mouthed at what he was watching and commendably and calmly explained to the host why this was deeply offensive. Not sure the host understood though.
The audience certainly didn't as they clapped along with the act and booed when it was halted by one of the other judges. The third female judge gave them 7 out of 10.
Apparently this act won the very same competition 20 years ago. I know it's Australia, and I know it wasn't too long ago much of our own population sat down and watched "Till death us do part" without appreciating you were meant to laugh at Alf Garnett rather than with him, but we have progressed since then and you'd have thought in two decades Australia may have made some progress too without requiring the edifying intervention of an American. Bloody ignorant crims.
Place an "X" where you think the ball should be to justify this tackle from Manchester City's Nigel De Jong which didn't receive a booking.
I'm not one to go on about the rough treatment my poor boys receive on a weekly basis in the Premier League but I think you'll agree this is a quite a tricky game.
Off to Dusk Till Dawn now for their inaugural £40 double-chance freeze-out. I threw a Quality Street toffee penny at a black cat earlier asleep on my garden fence without considering the consequences, so I'm taking a book with me in case lady luck spits in my eye.
From the BBC website:
"David Cameron has told Conservatives
they must 'look the British people in the eye' and
admit that tough decisions will have
to be made if they win power."
If you must look at him, use a piece of cardboard like when there's an eclipse. It's the only way people. Elsewise we're defenseless against his powers.
Exposing the lies: Cameron is just another mouse eating lizard who went to Eton.