| Tim Robbins +++ |
[Apr. 17th, 2008|12:13 pm] |
"I don't know about you, but show me a starlet without panties getting out of a car and suddenly the world seems a better place ... Let's stop burdening people with facts."
MP3 |
|
|
| Mailing list pain |
[Apr. 9th, 2008|04:45 pm] |
Recently I've been on quite a few mailing lists for various events/political axegrinders/services etc, some one offs organised by friends or shoestring, cottage industry types, others more grey-gooey and corporate. One thing I have noticed is that the vast majority of people who run mailing lists are crap at respecting the privacy of people on them. It's not (or at least very rarely) acceptable to send a mailout to a huge number of people and use an open Cc.
You yourself might not be bothered if people know that you're on the Bros fan club mailing list, or something less embarrassing such as adultbaby.com's weekly newsletter; but there are people who, for all sorts of reasons, do not want these things broadcast. Open Ccs are intended as the equivalent of adding 'copies to:' in the header or footer of a business letter, so that the Chairman knows that the CTO has already heard from the Sysadmin about the network upgrade and doesn't need to double handle the information. If it's a party invite that you're sending to a few mates who are likely to know each other anyway and might to check out who else was going before they decided whether to come then it's probably ok. If it's anything bigger or potentially more controversial than that then it isn't, not least because it's so fucking easy to be considerate over.
Here's what you do:- having first shot your pheasant composed your email, put your own email address in the 'To' field, add everyone else to the 'Bcc' field and hit send. Takes about four seconds longer than doing it the lazy way, is considerate, looks way more professional and may even convince people that you're big shot enough to be able to afford a proper listserver/mailing list contract. |
|
|
| On circular thinking |
[Apr. 1st, 2008|03:17 pm] |
As pointed out here, Nick Eriksen has some highly objectionable views on rape. Whilst it's hard to find a sentence from the man that doesn't leave the reader wiping froth from their lapels, this gem stands out:
"To suggest that rape, when conducted without violence, is a serious crime is like suggesting that force-feeding a woman chocolate cake is a heinous offence."
Which is apparently an attempt at justifying rape.
One - Actually, I think you'll find that force feeding a woman chocolate cake is a heinous offence. I can think of assault and battery, ABH/GBH, false imprisonment without even racking my brains.
Two - If anyone can point out to me a single case of rape that has not involved violence of one form or another then I'll eat my arse.
I know I shouldn't be dignifying these arguments with analysis, but it struck me that the above quote at least read scanned like a coherent argument, albeit one put forward by a drooling moron. Actually it's entirely circular, and makes no sense even within itself.
Well, Pete, it's a fool looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart arse. |
|
|
| ShaWhatWhoNowEh? |
[Feb. 7th, 2008|12:29 pm] |
Just heard on the radio:
"This morning the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams, told Radio 4's Today programme that 'sharia law seems inevitable in some parts of Britain'"
Will you fucking God-botherers of all stripes please fuck off.
Leave aside the bizarre irony that the head of the Church of England appears to be advocating the introduction of an absolutist legal system drawn from Islamic teachings, has he lost the plot completely? Perhaps God got on the old blower and told him "Listen, I don't like these brown fellas any more than you, except my mate Allah from the corner shop, he's alright. Anyway, fing to do to keep em quiet is to set up a completely separate society for em within the UK. Bish bash bosh - everyone's happy. Well, apart from a few slags and bummers that is, and who gives a toss about them. Right? Am I right?".
Rowan Willams - mad as an eyebrow
I'm not making any crashing revelations by stating that I'm in favour of a multicultural society and mutual respect between different cultures blah blah etc, but a five year old child could see that you don't achieve that by saying 'one set of rules for you, another for me'. All you're doing in that scenario is creating totally separate societies that happen to live in the same place.
In any case, what possible relevance does the opinion of a fucking bishop, arch or otherwise have to the nature of the rule of law; what is this, 1708? Tell your magic bearded sky-mate to get back in His celestial white cloud van and sling His holy hook. Fucker. |
|
|
| For me & Mine |
[Dec. 27th, 2007|06:37 am] |
This might be unpopular, it might come across as smug. I don't give a fuck.
I want to state for myself and for the record how much I love each and every one of my family; blood and adopted, close and far, step and half and direct and all; and how fucking proud I am of each and every fucking one of them. I spend as much time running away from my family as anyone I know, and time and again I find myself wondering why. Fuck all thee naysayers; when it's good, it's good.
[Very shortly after edit]: This refers to my Mum's and StepDad's side thereof. The jury is still out on the other lot... |
|
|
| OK now I really don't want to be here! |
[Nov. 16th, 2007|10:45 am] |
There's actually nothing for me to do of any substance, I've wrapped up all the loose ends of the various jobs I was working on, tinkered away doing unneccesary refinements on things for a couple of days and been forced to finally admit that I've run out of things to do. My last job sent me on gardening leave at this point, but given my mild pariah status here this seems unlikely to happen. This is frustrating as it means I'll be spending Mon-Thurs next week doing make-work, which grates particularly harshly as I don't actually get paid for this final week (on account of having taken too much holiday). Also the party tonight means I am basically going to be clock watching all day. Arse! |
|
|
| Disappointment, thy name is Pot Noodle |
[Oct. 23rd, 2007|01:18 pm] |
Feeling the need for a quick and dirty solution to the eternal lunch problem, I ventured across the road to the convenience store where I was lulled by the siren song of a Pot Noodle. This obviously spoke to my inner slob as I grunted, scratched myself in an intimate area and left the shop the proud owner of a tub of Southern Fried Chicken flavour. The period between eyeing up the noodle on the shelf and leaving the shop 1.25 beer tokens lighter and a high impact polystyrene vessel bursting with tasty wheatflourvegetabkeoilsaltpotassiumchloridesodiumcarbonateredpepperonionsweetcorntexturisedsoyapiecesmoresaltoatfibrepaprikaflavouringsgarlicevenmoresaltmorevegetableoilmonosodiumglutamatesodium5'-ribonucleotidesherbsandspicesblackpeppercitricacidsugarspiceextractwatertomatopastemoresugarglucosesyrupspiritvinegaraceticacidyetmoresaltmodifiedmaizestarch to the good is strangely blank, I fear alien influence.
Now, I have something of a weakness for supernoodles, or general cheapo noodle sachets that they sell in dodgy corner shops. I especially like the chicken flavour ones which taste nothing like chicken1 but still taste great, especially if you throw in so much cayenne pepper that housemates on the far side of the kitchen start to bleed from around the eyes. I was expecting a similar experience from this Pot Noodle jobber. Boy, was I wrong!
The initial experience of a mouthful of Pot Noodle is akin to waking up with a dog's cock in your mouth, outraged bewilderment mixes with disgust as you try to comprehend how a foodstuff can be so contradictory in its awfulness. It really should be against the laws of physics (and if it isn't then I'm lobbying for it to go on the statutes) for noodles to be simultaneously soggy to the point of collapse and dry and uncooked.
Next, the flavour kicks in. Imagine a week's worth of Bernard Mannings underpants boiled for a year in chip shop gravy in the upturned bowl of Jim Davidson's skull over a fire of burning cats with gelatinous chunks of Margaret Thatcher's varicose veins floating in it and you've just imagined something remarkably toothsome by comparison to the abomination that Pot Noodle would have you believe is a Southern Fried Chicken sauce. Oh, and for the record, freeze dried sweetcorn cannot be reanimated by pouring boiling water on the top and leaving to stand for 2 minutes; so congratulations whoever thought up that bright idea, you've condemned hundreds of thousands to eating zombie sweetcorn, don't you realise these are real people with souls?!
The Third stage of the Pot Noodle is where the dark chasm really yawns. The pupils and nostrils dilate, rate of breathing increases, a rose-coloured flush creeps up around the collar line and the helpless victim finds himself transfixed, horrified, as his fork arm jerks madly, uncontrollably back and forth, mercilessly shovelling more and more of the vile brew between his eager, slobbering lips. Cries for help are wasted here, the panic-stricken victim can only watch as his posessed arm grips the cup and, in a final act of rebellion, tips the last of the toxic sauce down his eager gullet.
Then, as quickly as it began, the ordeal is over and calm returns. The victim returns to his daily routine and the incident is never spoken of again2.
Next time you're tempted by luridly packaged anti-foods, think again.
1 - I have always assumed that they are flavoured by being shown a picture of a chicken and softly clucked at.
2 - Except on LiveJournal. Hey, I make the mistakes so you don't have to, k? |
|
|
| GRRRRR |
[Oct. 22nd, 2007|06:01 pm] |
You can stab, shoot, rape, kill, abandon, torture, brutalise each other in any way you see fit, I gives a fuck.
But.
BE NICE TO THE FLUFFY THINGS, YOU CUNTS!
Edit: Actually they don't even have to be fluffy, just the other creatures whose planet you share. |
|
|
| |
[Oct. 22nd, 2007|02:25 pm] |
A recruiting agent just contacted me about a job at Carphone Warehouse (um yes, methinks NOT) and insisted on forwarding the job spec anyway. I opened the attachment to check that it wasn't something awesome like Director of Intern Spanking (it wasn't) and skim read to the bottom where I found, amongst the 'Essential' and 'Desirable' qualities a category entitled 'Physical Makeup'. Under essential for this category were listed 'smart appearance' (ok) and 'healthy disposition'.
Can someone please explain what a 'healthy disposition' is in real world terms? Is it just recruitment speak for 'not crackhead/paedophile' or does it mean something more sinister than that? Are we talking 'pasty-faced wimps and sweaty fattos need not apply'? Are they saying 'don't even think about thinking about bringing that wheelchair/leg brace/colostomy bag in this office, sonny boy'? Aren't there laws against that sort of thing?
Admittedly I'd be more worried about this if I hadn't seen the conglomeration of scrofulous dog-mongs that staff my local Carphone Warehouse. If they're the ones they put out front then the backroom guys must really spook the horses. Of course maybe that's just on the shop floor, and CW's management offices are staffed entirely by tanned, pectorally rippling individuals with strong white teeth, manly chest hair and names like 'Bud' and 'Jeff', and that's just the women.
Oh God, now I've gone and overdosed on healthy disposition. Hand me that intern, Poppa's feelin spanky! |
|
|
| Ranty Music Critic seems to be today's theme. |
[Oct. 19th, 2007|09:37 am] |
Newton Faulkner - Cunt.
Norton Folgate is a twittering trustafarian pillock who trades on being overtly earnest without having a genuinely meaningful bone in his body. His lyrics are trite, meaningless, sub-hippy psychobabble ("dream-catch me when I fall" - puh-leaze!) and musically he sounds like Crowded House would if they had learned to play by listening to Crowded House records and then fallen over and broken their sense of humour. Frankly I'd like to superglue his dreadlocks to a passing Lear jet.
I shudder to think of the child he and Kate Nash would spawn.
 |
|
|
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
jaketherat's journal