Tales of nonsense and items of little interest, sometimes true, always poorly thought through. Less sophisticated than most newspapers and magazines.

Saturday, March 17, 2007


I'm not exactly over sensitive when it comes to handling rejection. I don't really mind. Every "no" moves you one step closer to a "yes", right? At least that's what I believe. You can't go through life giving up, you won't ever get anywhere. Christopher Reeve never gave up on his dream to walk again and look what happened to him.
Okay, that's a bad example 'cause he died before he made it didn't he? He didn't give up though...
I have been not once, this week, but twice rejected. First by the comic relief book, which I never really thought I would get in anyway but thought I should give it a shot. Then today, I find out that despite being nominated for some dubious post of the week thingy, I didn't even make the shortlist. The "short"list by the way was 10 posts, 15 were nominated. I'm not bitter, I didn't have time to read any of the other posts, so it's probably fair to say that they were probably much wittier, cleaner, safer, non-defamatory and just downright better than the shite I wrote about Marlon Brando's shit stained undies so fair play to 'em.
I've been trying to think of my biggest rejections and really struggled to come up with many but here is what I got:

Application to join the Cheshire Constabulary - Rejected. This actually turned out to be a win as I had been abstaining from drugs in a serious attempt to become a bobby. I don't know what I was thinking at the time but it seemed like a steady job. Anyway, suffice to say I have had infinately more fun taking drugs than I would have had being a rozzer.

Application to join the Brittannia Music Club - Rejected. Ironic that I had six other memberships under various made up names, including the budgie's, but when I applied in my own name they told me to fuck off. Their selection was shite anyway and did not accurately reflect my musical tastes at the time, or ever for that matter.

Application to re-join my old Rugby Club - Rejected. "There is no place at this club for thugs young man. Your behaviour has brought shame and disgrace upon not just yourself but the club as a whole." Least said about that the better but those thick Irish fuckers started it.

Various submissions to the New Yorker Magazine - All rejected. "We regret to inform you Mr. Waring that once again we will not be publishing your "artwork" in the New Yorker. As we have made quite clear on several occasions, ours is a highbrow publication. We have no interest, nor will we ever have in publishing crudely drawn cartoons of human and/or animal genitalia. I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that the New Yorker crossword puzzle is intended to stimulate the minds of our readers with challenging cryptic clues. Your continued suggestions that we make it easier by adding "rhymes with______" to the end of every clue are no longer welcome. Please cease and desist from contacting us ever again. If you do not refrain from contacting us, you will find the matter in the hands of our attorneys."

I need some fuggin sleep.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Comic Relief

The lad over at troubled diva has been working his bollocks off for the past few days putting together a collection of humourous blog posts by Brit bloggers to sell for Comic Relief.

You can buy the book for only £8.96 of which £3.63 will go to Comic Relief. You can buy your copy at www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk.

I didn't make it in, neither did the fuckin' hi-larious Old Knudsen but congratulations to the very funny Foot Eater, the very saucy EmmaK and everybody else who made it in. Hopefully the book will make tons of cash for Red Nose Day.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

M Twee V Cribs

Whats the worst place you have ever lived? When I first landed here in the US and A, Mrs.Waring and I lived in an apartment in the Westlake district of Los Angeles. Just outside Downtown, it's a rough, largely hispanic, gang infested area. There were not many white folks around. It wasn't that bad, I actually liked living there. We had a top floor corner apartment, with a great view of the downtown skyline from one side and a view over Hollywood from the other. The rent was cheap, but there were lots of insects and a rather unpleasant smell most of the time. The neighbors were odd to say the least, freakish is more like it and it was noisy, very fuckin noisy. Things could have been worse. We could have been living in a discarded kitchen appliance like Noel Currie of St.Ann, Jamaica who has lived in a 12 cubic foot refrigerator for the last 5 years.

Sadly, a few weeks ago, someone set fire to his fridge, leaving him exposed to the elements. "It was a man who helped me to do some work who gave me the fridge and I took it here to sleep because I had nowhere else to go," Currie told the Sunday Observer under a tree in Mile End, St Ann.

"When the rain a fall me will get wet"

59 year old Currie claims that the fridge was set on fire by some neighbourhood boys while he was at the doctors, and although he admitted that the fridge wasn't very comfortable, it was better than sleeping in the open air.

Currie, who used to make a small amount of money by running errands for the locals, is unable to work at the moment. "I used to work all over, and I'm willing to work to do just about anything, although me foot sick now," he said, pointing to a wound on the sole of his right foot.

"I just want someone good who I can work with because I used to wash cars, do farming, just about any little thing because I am a hard worker," he said. "It's just that I can't get anything to do to help myself."

The locals, who have known him for years, say that he isn't mentally ill, he was just dealt a shitty hand. One resident who asked to be named only as 'Miss Jill', said that when Currie first returned to the community after having gone to live with his father in Kingston as a child, he was neatly groomed and smartly dressed. But the years of living under the tree and sleeping in the refrigerator at nights have taken a toll on him.

The residents say they remember that Currie used to live in an old house in the community, but when the owners returned to take possession of their property he had to leave.He said it was at this time that he got the refrigerator, which he moved to one end of a flat piece of land which was later developed into a cricket and football field. One resident explained that when Currie took sick recently and left for the hospital, persons who wanted to further develop the field were only too quick to set fire to the refrigerator, thinking he was not going to return.

"Irie Mon! Me am got no arms!"

In the meantime, 'Miss Jill' is hoping that Currie can get some assistance from the state, as, she said, he has suffered long enough. "People always promised to help him but is always only a promise," she said, adding that he can no longer work to support himself."You should see how him bend up in pain and was crying the other day when his stomach tek him," she told the Sunday Observer. "I just had to boil a lot of tea and give him until they took him to the doctor."
Currie showed this reporter the medication prescribed by the doctor. They are to be taken after meals. Unfortunately, he did not have enough food to take them. In fact, the only food in sight at his makeshift home was a pot containing boiled bananas, remnants of his breakfast.The residents say they want to see him get a roof over his head, now that the refrigerator is gone. They remember that during Hurricane Ivan in 2004, Currie spent the time locked away in the refrigerator under the tree.
"He loves to work and is not afraid to work, but he just needs somewhere to live," said one resident who gave her name only as Marvet.
Another resident, who wanted to be identified only as Joy, echoed Marvet's appeal. "He really needs some help, and I hope that someone out there will help him," she said.

Two things struck me about this poor bastard. One, look at him smiling in that second picture. Two, in the first picture, he is wearing odd sandals even though he has a pair of blue ones.

It's not what happens to you, it's how you handle it. Like locking yourself in a fridge during a hurricane.

EDIT: Just want to thank 'Kate', whoever you are for nominating the Brando post at Post of the Week. I had never heard of it before, but thanks for the recognition!!

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Pig Snouts! Get 'Em While They're Hot!

I just read a short piece in the LA times by Steve Lopez who is moaning about the price of a hotdog at Downtown LA's new Trifecta Sports Bar. I agree that $15 for a fuckin' hotdog is a bit steep, but they aren't catering to the 4am Pink's crowd or your average Wienerchnitzel punter such as I. Their location is a stones throw from the city's financial district and the type of customer they are trying to attract are more than overjoyed to pay $15 for a hotdog that has been specially 'imported' from Chicago, just so they can tell their snooty fuckin friends about it down at the raquet club. You definately will not catch me in there, or at the raquet club for that matter, since I violated their strict 'no urinating on the courts policy' my name is mud down there.

Now I consider myself no fool. I suspect I know full well what goes into hotdogs, but as they taste so good washed down with several imported non-american beers, I allow my hedonistic urges to make the call over common sense on this one and eat the fuckers anyway. Shit, I even like the canned ones you get in the UK. When you get in at 3am totally wankered you will eat practically anything that will go between two slices of bread, it's amazing how good cold Princes canned hotdogs taste at that time in the morning.

One of the major manufacturers of hotdogs here in Southern California is LA's own Farmer John. They have had the contract with the LA Dodgers for many, many years and produce the succulent foot long treats that are 'Dodger Dogs'. Baseball is a guilty pleasure of mine and I like going to games, eating Dodger Dogs and drinking (overpriced) beer. Anyway, Farmer John don't just make hotdogs, they have a wide range of delectable pork products and lard, one of which is Liverwurst, a pate like substance shaped into a sausage German stylee and one which I developed something of a taste for last year.

As I said, I'm no fool. I know all about the alleged unethical treatment of animals in the manufacture of such stuff. I know that the ingredients used to make such things are not choice cuts of prime pork loin. Liverwurst, as the name implies has nasty things in it but even I admit to almost dropping my liverwurst on toast one morning as I read the label. The three main ingredients were:

  1. Pork - Makes sense
  2. Pork Liver - Okay, liver goes in Liverwurst.
  3. Pork Snouts - What the fuck?

Pork Snouts? Fuckin' dogs eat pork snouts! Okay, maybe some of our South and Central American friends enjoy them too, but fuckin' pork snouts? I was mildly shocked and almost didn't finish my toast as I contemplated where the line should be drawn. I mean, what parts of a pig can be classified as simply pork and what parts need further clarification? Should such products be subject to some kind of warning on the label? Pictures of pigs sniffing each others arses or foraging in their own shit for rotten carrots and onions thrown in by the farmer? I'm pretty sure the industry would resist legislation, much like the tobacco industry doesn't want pictures of still born babies on their product, as it puts off the occasional would be buyer.

Where the fuck am I going with this? I'm half pished now and things are getting a bit jibbery wongery.

Okay, yeah, so it's a matter of choice innit? If you don't like paying $15 for a hotdog, don't. Go to Wienerschnitzel and pay $2. It's all the same stuff with a few different spices and a bit more or less salt and pepper thrown in, and if you want a delicious hotdog without pork by products, try Hebrew's Best, made for our Jewish cousins and supervised by a Rabbi they are almost guaranteed to have no pig snouts.