Beware the Sloth

Part of me feels guilty, and moreover slightly less healthy. Why, because lately I seem to have spent an inordinate amount of time sprawled out on the sofa wrapped in the trappings of the professional couch potato. Despite knowing that my body is degrading as I sit, without the exercise needed to stimulate the milions of cells within. Knowing that continued lethargy will mean I will end up a shuffling fat arsed blob of lazy British maledom, joining the increasing number of people that won't fit comfortably on a toilet seat. With all this in my head I am comforted by one genius piece of genetic information that even Darwin would find hard to dispute. We have evolved as a species two extremely comfortable masses of fat and tissue, namely the backside. Arse, ass, bum, postirior, buttocks, whatever you may call it, unless you are American, the Fanny is not, I repeat NOT what you sit on, otherwise my hitherto secure sexuality would be in dispute. Evolution has decreed that this shall be the part of the body that will be required to support the weight of the vastly increasing bulk of the Western world, and how convenient that it also increases exponentially with the mass it's required to support, how clever. For this reason I feel it my duty to make the most of what God gave me when he decided to use those spare bits of clay he had lying around his workbench.

Love you Long Time

There are men out there that have got to the point in life where they are so inept at holding down a relationship with an English woman. Which isn't hard after all, they are all binge drinking single mums willing to put up with anyone as long as they are eligible to sign on and bump up their benefits claim. And if you find yourself in this position, or have always been too ugly to attract a female? Thats right, it's mail-order bride time!
I have always wondered if it's a bit like the Argos catalogue, lazily browse for, then ring and reserve your prefered item. It's probably more like a pound shop though, pay the minimum and come out with a bag of crap that no-one else in their right mind would pay for.
Covering up the fact that you pay for sex is a little more difficult with an import, admittedly the payment was a one off down payment rather than the prostitutes prefered pay as you go system. However the end result is the same, and I am guessing that this is the reason why these men and their 'partners' exhibit so little shame. Case in point is this tale recounted by my Mum who was at the end of her shift in Asda and was approached by the usual short ugly balding male with Thai bride in tow. Now, this will conjure up lots of images, and will no doubt not go very far to helping the image of these sorts of men, but I shall leave further comment as really, non is needed. Suffice it to say that when the gentlemen in question very politely asked without a second thought using these words "hello, could you show me where the fanny wash is please?" my mum was slightly wrongfooted. However the customer is always right, and the lit up face of the asian lady when the products were pointed out made mums day. Who knows, maybe her name was Fanny!?

Wheat from the Chaff

I thought it a good idea to have somewhere different for my more unPC and non Guide Dog related gubbins. I felt somewhat concious that putting my rantings into my other blog wouldn't quite fit. So here we go, Political Incorrectness, my thoughts on this thing we call life, some bad language, some filth, basically everything anyone could possibly want. It may even provide some material for use in my dormant stand-up ambitions!