Samantha Brick for Christs sake

Guess who’s back...

That’s right, I have come back out of blogging retirement and Samantha Brick is going DOWN.

Yep, she’s done it again – that selfish, irresponsible, self indulgent woman has rambled too far this time.  She’s written an article about how if women want to stay beautiful (she’s even written ‘like me!’ in brackets after those words), then they have to constantly diet.  Where do I even fucking begin?

She starts by saying that she was having a dinner party and told her friends not to bring any food with them.  She then writes “when one friend arrived and thrust a hefty box of chocolates into my hands, I rewarded her with ice cold contempt rather than the grateful smile she was clearly expecting”.  The reason Brick’s friend (I use this in the loosest possible terms, because I refuse to believe she has any real friends left) was expecting a smile, is because this is something a polite and friendly person would do.  Whether she wanted the chocolates or not, treating someone with ‘ice-cold contempt’ because they have given you some is just rude and immature.  She thinks being on a diet means you can ignore manners, social etiquette and politeness?  If she had done that to me, I would have never stopped punching her.  EVER.  I would have quit my job and never washed again, just so I could keep punching her.

“Any self respecting woman wants to be thin”.  For a writer she has used an extraordinary set of words there.  So if you don’t want to be thin you don’t respect yourself?  I am not what you would class as thin – someone like Samantha Brick would probably call me fat, but I feel in myself I am neither skinny nor fat.  I am in some squashy, untoned place within these two labels.  Regardless of this, I do respect myself and I for one, don’t care about labels.  One of the million things that is wrong with this article is that Brick is labelling herself, other women, everyone else CONSTANTLY.  As a woman in the media she should be encouraging women not to worry about how many biscuits they had at lunch, but to ignore the labels.  Teach them that they are just themselves, and they should be comfortable this way.  *belts out Born This Way by Gaga* *rest of office joins in for a spontaneous musical number*

“I don’t believe overweight is ever attractive”.  One word here - Adele.  Albeit overweight, I think Adele is ridiculously, STUNNINGLY beautiful.  Being attractive isn’t about the size of your waist line, nine times out of ten it boils down to confidence, some good make up and a smile.  Adele is more attractive then most people I know, and I bet most blokes would rather be in bed with Adele having a laugh then banging away at the cold dead eyes of Samantha ‘ironing board' Brick.  But GOD FORBID we should say someone else in this universe was more attractive then this stupid blonde hemorrhoid.

She then goes on to say that Joan Collins has confirmed that the only way to maintain an hourglass figure into your 70s is to spend every day of your life on a diet.  Food, eating and meals are a very social thing, and I would hate to spend the rest of my life not wanting to participate in said meals because all I could eat was a fucking breadstick.  Fuck that for a month, let alone for the rest of my life!   Some of us have better things to do then stay at home alone being thin. 

“I was glad to see the back of Easter this month, as it seems to have been hijacked by the greedy masses who regard it as a free pass to gorge on chocolate” – this response is short and sweet;  Don’t take any notice about what other people are doing at Easter, you stupid bitch.

“My husband of 5 years frequently tells me that if I put on weight he will divorce me” – surely by now Pascal (the horrifically long suffering OR equally as self indulgent, arrogant and vile husband) has worked out that Brick getting fat is the least of his problems whilst she still has a voice box and the ability to communicate?  She’s lucky he hasn’t disposed of her rake like body in the River Seine by now.

It’s now got to that inevitable point where I can barely be bothered to read any more.  She says to lose her puppy fat when she was 14 she spent the best part of a year only eating marmite on toast with no butter and when she was at college she lived on 1 packet of polos for breakfast and 1 for lunch, only stopping when her dentist told her about the damage she was doing to her teeth.  I guess Brick would rather have breath like a tramps armpit then be SHOCK HORROR, a size 12 or something?!  God damn she’s irritating.

She finishes off the article nicely with the most incredible statement from the entire article.  She says once every quarter she embarks on a low calorie diet that ensures a weight loss of half a stone, but coincidentally means she doesn’t have “the mental or physical fortitude to work”.  Is this woman on crack?!

I know she does this for the headlines, and I know people like me feed her (ha) sense of self worth and bank account, but this needs to be said.  Does she really think what she is saying is welcomed by other women, and a responsible way to live?  Surely being happy and trying to cut out a bit of the junk (but not too much, effectively eating whatever you want) is the healthiest way to live.  I would rather be out having a laugh at a meal with Brick sneering at me in the background, then laid up in bed too tired to move, but a size 6?  God I can’t believe the Daily Mail actually let this woman write on their website.  I know they are all for controversy but this entire article is self-deprecating to women, irresponsible and a disastrous move from a woman who other girls could look up to.   As much as the thought of her being a role model for anyone is inconceivable, i’m sure she is and due to this I have this one final comment:  she needs to learn to watch her mouth more than her waist line.

*eats gigantic cookie*.

The Duke of Essex Polo: Kev James and I aren't fans...

I’m sure if you are in the thick of the Essex Social Scene like me (cough) you’ll be aware that this weekend sees The Duke of Essex Polo coming to town.  Normally hearing of a Polo tournament will make you think of classy ladies in pastel chiffon, a hot summer day spent sipping Pimms , gentlemen in morning suits discussing the news, maybe even a special appearance from Royalty?  NOT IN ESSEX MY FRIEND.  There will be more skin on show here than at Stringfellows, more similarities to the colour orange than the paint chart at B&Q and more utter cunts than a gynaecologists office.  The closest we’ll get to royalty is some moron getting their Prince Albert piercing out because they’ve drunk too many WKDs and their mates have paid them to do it for a bet.

I don’t know what it is about this event that makes everyone hateful come out in force, but they do.  It’s held literally 5 minutes down the road from where I live, which is enough to make me want to move out and share the tramps sleeping bag that sleeps outside my office with his mouth open, showing that he has only half a tooth left and he’s determined to lose it to a bottle of white lightning and some crystal meth.  The pictures from last year were hilarious and if you are bored and self masochistic enough to go onto the website for this year’s event you’ll see the sort of people you get going there.  The TOWIE group will be out in force, stomping around the field clinging onto their glasses of champagne while exchanging pleading looks with the rest of the attendees, desperate for one of them to ask for their autograph.  If you are extremely lucky you might get Lisa Snowdon, Denise Van Outen or maybe even... wait for it... Gary Lucy (but only if he’s not too busy trying to dig up the remains of his dead and buried career). 

I could not think of anything worse than going to this Polo, even if someone PAID me £100 to go I wouldn’t.  I am surrounded by these people every time I go out locally.  Not just the Z list celebrities, but the wannabes.  The girls that paint themselves orange and have pure white hair, plaster on bubblegum coloured lipstick so thick if you tried to kiss them you’d just slide right off.  They grab their Louis Vuitton clutches, shuffle along like the walking dead in their Louboutins and squeeze their fat roles into Herve Leger and then spend the day balancing on a muddy field, freezing cold, trying to look their best and totally forgetting to have a good time.  The boys, also the most orange anyone could be (normally worse than the girls) will stand there with a faint air of disgusting smugness about them, side swoop in place, aviators on, royal blue blazer teamed with beige chinos and a hankie hanging out their top pocket, ready for them to wipe up the jizz that gets spilt when Lucy Meckenburger from TOWIE walks past.

If I was to go to this event, I would do the following: I would indulge in the Essexness SLIGHTLY.  I would have a spray tan, do my nails and make sure my hair looked nice.  I would buy a nice dress from a normal shop (because I am not rich and don’t see the point in pretending to everyone that I am when the designer bag I have for that particular outing has been RENTED).  I would go there with my mates.  I would drink loads, pay a bit of attention to the Polo, but ultimately end up covered in mud, barefoot, slurring my words and taking the piss out of every single clone in there.  Why would ANYONE want to go to an event like this when it’s all about what you look like?  I spend enough time getting shit eye from the clones for being too loud or having a bit too much fun, so sod paying £90 for the pleasure in a FIELD!!!! 

Another person that shares my view of The Duke of Essex Polo is none other than my faithful fellow abuser Kev James.  As before, Kev’s views are all his own, you need a strong stomach to handle his banter and if you can’t, don’t read it – just don’t complain to me about it.  Take it away Kev...

So it’s that time of year again, where The Duke of Essex Polo returns to the fields of Epping like an unwanted strain of rectal warts.  It brings with it an amalgamation of the biggest known collection of cunts who will be dressed head to toe in rascal clobber, along with a veritable army of ronsealed old brasses rampaging through the shit and mud in £800 Louboutins, trying to hold their septums in as well as their anal tampons.

Cunts all over the region have spent the last week ironing razor sharp creases into the overpriced tailored shorts, whilst buffering their deck shoes to a whole new level of absolute shitness.  The barbers on Queens Road has had more comb-over requests than a Bobby Charlton benefit dinner and the price of Ronseal has gone through the roof as slags all over the country try to recreate that terracotta glow.  Dagenham Market has been besieged by coked up 8 stone Essex boys, looking for 20 quid Rolexes to wrap around their anaemic wrists whilst the good women of Essex debate whether to keep their wraps of dickie inside their bums or their twinkies.  Hopefully it’ll be a good opportunity to do some minor celebrity spotting as I’m sure that Gemma from TOWIE will be there, rampaging through the undergrowth like a rabid rhinoceros, dressed head to toe in some technicolor monstrosity that only comes in two sizes – Massive or Brontosaurus!

I’d imagine you’d see Arg there too, drowning his sorrows having recently been rejected as the new face of ‘Go Compare’ for being too much of an aggravating disgusting cunt that we all want to shoot!  Then there's Arg's ex, the lovely Chlamydia Rose Bright.  If she manages to find her way there in this low light with those hypnotic cod-eyes of hers, she’ll be spotted wafting across the site like an anorexic, blind goat in the company of that fucking crazy haired old witch hag of a mother, looking like she's escaped from shutter island.

Its a certainty that Lauren Goodger will be there, flaunting that trout pout and a pair of cankles a rugby player would be proud of - Fuck knows what she’s done to her lips but she looks like a fucking radioactive orange pufferfish that has succumbed to its own venom. ‘I’ve heard a rumour that Harry Derbidge is making an appearance, swimming around in Debbie's cauldron which will be full of Moet and poppers so that when he gets drunk his asshole will open up like a garage door and he’ll be able to consume himself.

Anyway, as it happens I can’t make it and i’m fucking gutted but i’ve got something much more pleasurable to do.  I’m going to be wiping my ass with a broken beer bottle, but if that fails I might nail-gun myself to a billboard on the A406 and invite people to throw pieces of dog shit at me all day. On that note, enjoy the weekend you cunts! :)

50 Shades of Grey

There is a new craze sweeping the libraries and Waterstones all over the world and its name is 50 Shades of Grey.  Dubbed ‘housewife porn’, this is probably one of the most ridiculous books I have ever read, yet I found myself throwing tourists out the way as I rushed to Tesco at lunch time to buy the second book in the trilogy, 50 Shades Darker (please note I went to Tesco to buy this book as it is £4 whereas everywhere else wanted at least £8 and I point blank refuse to pay that much for this load of crap – plus I wanted some Watermelon slices).

So, I can sense you all wondering why I went to buy the second and third books if the first one was so abysmal?  Well, I only have one explanation for this.  This book is so rubbish, SO RUBBISH that it’s actually brilliant.  I have tried many ways to describe this book, but the nearest I can get is the following recipe:

Recipe for 50 Shades of Grey

1.     Take 1x Twilight

2.     Remove all trace of Vampires

3.     Add 18,000 more buckets of teenage angst and thinly disguise as ‘innocence’

4.     Mix up and if still too full bodied, remove any trace of decent storyline.

5.     Once blended add a packet of filth, 5 tablespoons of smut and some derogation for good measure.

6.     Leave in bag until a suitable time, aka until no one can read it over your shoulder on the train – once removed, read quickly while still cool. 

I have read the first book and must say I was disappointed to see people had compared this to Twilight.  I KNOW most of you reading this will have either hated Twilight OR never seen it/read it, but I love Twilight.  The story is well thought out and well written if you can ignore all the contradictions and general twatishness of the female lead.  I do admittedly want to punch Bella in the head with something heavy and blunt, but my love for Edward Cullen trumps all so I can forgive the Twilight stories for a lot.  This book is NOTHING like Twilight.  The only similarity I can see is that there is a bloke that is clearly winning in life and he falls in love with a girl that is way below average.  She spends the rest of the book knowing this and feeling totes awkward about the fact the guy likes her, and everyone reading the book has NO IDEA why he likes her either as she is a top pleb.

50 Shades of Grey starts with some melt called Ana being roped into interviewing the immensely successful, rich, beautiful and bossy Christian Grey for a magazine interview arranged by her friend.  She literally falls face first into his office and makes Christian want her, but he doesn’t want her like a normal person would want her.  He genuinely just wants to beat the absolutely pervy shit out of her in his ‘red room of pain’ and makes her agree to be his submissive and sign a contract, even though she is a virgin and has a shit fit at the thought of even touching his arm (which subsequently, she is not allowed to do because Christian is all WEIRD and DARK and has UNDERLYING ISSUES).  Enter lots of graphic sex scenes that left me feeling genuinely embarrassed reading it on the train and lots of talk of her ‘inner goddess’ having an absolute melt down every time she sees Grey and you suddenly come to the end of the book.

I walked away from this story wondering why I had bothered, but then everyone just kept banging on about it and I found myself wondering what happened in the next books.  Surely the author had to up her game for the prequels, so what was she going to write in them?  At the risk of sounding like a total perv, I was kind of interested & bought them – so sue me.

Expect me to read these and then be even more annoyed that I wasted a total of £10 on all 3 books (beat that Waterstones you total fucking rip off!).

P.S My mum saw the first book on my floor and asked what it was about and I had to lie and say I hadn’t read it yet – cringe!

Have you lot read any of them yet?  If so what do you think?  If you say you prefer it to Twilight then you probably just need to sign some sort of register.

Guest Blog: Kev James does Big Brother - BE WARNED, CONTENT UNSUITABLE FOR MOST PEOPLE

Big Brother has started again, and already people are massively opinionated on this year’s set of Housemates.  I will be watching this series, I watched the opening night as I was interested to see who had been picked and was pleased to see they haven’t gone too OTT on the weird - I prefer it when it’s quite a few normal people.  I auditioned for Big Brother earlier in the year, I sent in an audition tape and got asked to go to the auditions at Wembley as I had been fast tracked through the first round but didn’t go.  I am not going to lie, it was a mixture of not being able to have the time off work as I left it too late to book it and being a bit scared.  I am RUBBISH when it comes to being ‘quirky’ and outgoing on demand.  I know my friends probably think I am mental anyway, but when it comes to being myself in front of a room full of strangers, I can’t do it.  I prefer to just sit around listening until I feel comfortable to act like my real self, which is clearly not the sort of thing the producers were looking for.  I would have needed to hide behind something, anything – another person, a prop, even role playing would have been fine.  Just having a room of people scrutinising me to see if my REAL SELF was suitable for them filled me with dread and it would have been the most embarrassing, horrific experience for me.  So I just decided not to do it.   It hasn’t stopped me from watching it with my friends and wondering how weird it would have been if I was in the house with those housemates though... I like to think I probably would have sworn less than that actual disgrace Ashleigh as she’s the token Essex girl in there, therefore probably took the spot I would have had if I had actually got anywhere in the audition process.

Anyway, I took great delight in tweeting my way through BB on Tuesday night when it started, and my friend Kev (who is one of the funniest people I have ever met) did the same thing.  He has kindly written a guest blog on his thoughts on the first episode of Big Brother, and I have attached it below for your amusement.  If you read this and decide you want to read more from Kev, follow him on Twitter at @LLKevJisBack – Remember, these are Kev’s views, NOT my own and if you don’t like it take it up with him.  I’m pretty sure he won’t give  a shit though.  Also, if you are eating or drinking while you are reading this, prepare for it to come out of your nose...

Big Brother 2012

So here we go again, Big Brother is back like an unwanted flare-up of genital herpes, invading our homes like an ageing gang of tinkers looking for things to steal.  It was by pure misfortune alone that I flicked over to Channel 5 to find myself greeted with Bryn Dowling’s fucking ridiculous face that he’s so comfortable with wearing.  Warbling at us in his homo-erotic tones whilst desperately trying to read the autocue, he looked as comfortable as a man who’s had a healthy percentage of the Ryanair cabin crew wedged firmly inside his asshole. I thought, ‘fuck it, let’s see what this show has to offer me’.  Those who follow me on Twitter will know that I’ve always got a positive spin to put on reality TV offering’s – for example, my TOWIE commentaries are always full of praise for the gifted cast who positively enrich my life twice a week, so why not see if I could find some material to work with on Channel 5?  I wasn’t disappointed….

First in was Deana, a woman who at first glance was quite pretty... pretty fucking aggravating. I haven’t seen a woman look down her nose that much since Daniella Westbrook came out of septum surgery; she thinks she is the absolute bollocks.  In reality she’s probably got a pair of bollocks if Channel 5 is anything to go by - think along the lines of ‘Something about Miriam’ etc.  Deana was closely followed by Aaron, so closely in fact he was probably trying to look at his reflection in her shiny black mop.  This fella needs all of his teeth smashing out with a hammer and put back in upside down - He’s supposed to be a cage fighter?  Well his fucking grid looked like a cage, with a great white inside trying to nibble its way out.  Alright, he’s not bad looking but anyone who attempts that poxy Justin Bieber hairdo needs attacking with blunt sticks. Next came Caroline from Surrey dahhhhling... Hmmm, her fucking hair looked like it been borrowed from the Doctor in Back to the Future – Let’s see how long it takes for the silver spoon that’s been wedged firmly up her ass since birth to be stolen and used as drug paraphernalia by resident cribs gang-banger Adam, who at 27 looks like he’s spent a good 50 years delivering papers in the Himalayas.  If that c*nt is 27 then it must be in fucking dog years!  He looks like a fat, black John Travolta. Someone take him shopping when he gets out, that Byrite waistcoat had me vomming into my own lap…..which was inconvenient as I was getting damn near fellated to death by the cat!

We also had the lovely Shevonne from Lewisham who looks very much like a young Sinitta (when I say young I mean 48).  What the fuck is going on in Saaaaf Londaaan?  Shevonne doesn’t drink the water apparently, but if I was her I’d start on the fluids lively, I haven’t seen an ageing process that suspect since Benjamin Button! Hmmmm who else was there?  Oh yes, the lovely Conor, I didn’t think I could feel any more venom towards an Irishman than that which I harbour towards Danny from the Script/the voice/the fuck knows what he’s from….but this c*nt thinks his fucking David Beckham?!  I wouldn’t mind but for someone with railings that fucking crooked he is taking the piss, his grid looked like Stepney after the war, a row of bombed houses?! What did his mum feed him with a fuckin catapult??

Then there was Lauren from Jersey…I don’t know about you but people from the Channel Islands freak me out, Wicker Man weirdness - I’m pretty sure she’s been touched inappropriately by someone she trusts, although she is a black belt so I’m looking forward to her putting some sick moves on Deena the snotty c*nt!

We were then treated to Luke Scrase (which sounds a little bit too close to scrotum for my liking). I took an immediate dislike to this cretin after he opted to turn up for his first time on TV in what looked suspiciously like a purple Ben Sherman shirt - apparently he’s a club promoter, which as he’s from Stoke On Trent, means his fucking jobless as there isn’t a club worth promoting in that shithole – It probably also means that the purple Ben Sherman is currently being paid for week by week along with most of the other possessions in his house via Littlewoods finance….MUG! I was also deeply offended by his Professor Green haircut.  I honestly feel that if you’re going to copy Pro Green’s do then you should let me glass you in the neck just to complete the transformation.  Apparently he wants 4 kids in the next 5 years which is fucking optimistic even by Gary Glitter’s standards….god help us all!

I think we then had Lydia who looks like a shit Nelly Furtado (so we’ll call her Nearly Fur-Turdo).  She seemed bland, uninteresting and forgettable... then it was revealed that she was soon to become a member of one of the most sinister, incestuous families in British history!  No she’s not marrying one of Fred West’s lot, she’s engaged to Andy Scott Lee!  Apparently Josef Fritzel’s daughter turned down a projected move to the Scott-Lee foster home as she thought they were too fucking weird... Anyway, Lydia will be gone on Friday after her meltdown 10 minutes into the program.  I’ll keep an eye out for her on the news!

Then we had my tip for the win... Benedict, the grotty old porn star ex Teacher from Beal High School (which is just round the corner to where I live).  He’s good looking, obviously got a bit of a piece on him, well dressed and charismatic – This geezer can do no wrong... apart from the fact that he’s got a tongue fatter than Jamie Oliver’s and when he gets excited there’s so much saliva flying round the room the need for lube is reduced 100 fold.  I haven’t seen that much moisture since David Milliband and Louis Spence had a competition over who could say sausages the most in 5 minutes whilst sitting in a sauna, in speedos, salivating….!! MOIST

I think we were then treated to what looked like a real life Teddy Ruxpin but was in fact Chris James, which worried me as he possesses both my middle and last names but is hopefully of no relation... Apparently he’s a doorman, but he looked more like a door, dressed head to toe in High and Mighty clobber and with a voice so squeaky that my dog puked up and tried to have sex with one of my trainers.  If this fella tried to throw me out of a club i’d tickle him and then beat him to death with his own bracelet…….overrated and overweight!

We then had some chef called Luke who bored me instantly, then I read that he’s transgender and started life as a woman and thought to myself “thank fuck there’s some normality in there at last”.  How long shall we give it before he bursts into tears and starts lactating in the corner before breastfeeding Scott Mason, who at 21 looks like he’s spent a good part of his life underwater pretending to be a barracuda?  I haven’t seen a moosh that fish-like since Lydia from TOWIE inflicted her all-seeing cod-eye upon us nearly 2 years ago.

Sara was ushered in around this time looking 8 foot tall and HOT until she opened her mouth and I realised that she sounded like a Glaswegian crack head who’d probably stab you to death if you didn’t make her cum first time round……nice to look at but seems fiery, how long till she head butts another girl??

I can’t remember a thing about Caroline so I’m going to move on to my instant least favourite housemate, the lovely Ashleigh.  If you hadn’t guessed from her beautiful accent, she’s from Essex, although I thought she sounded like she was straight out of a skip in Tilbury - I haven’t seen a hole that dirty since I went swimming at Canvey Island and ended up with a nappy stuck to my boat.  Apparently her dream job is to be an Air Hostess - to me that’s just another way of saying “I’d like to sample as much intercontinental penis as possible and get paid for it please”.  Where the fuck did they dig up this disgusting c*nt?  I will pay good money for Deana and Lauren to tag team this whore and iron her out before letting Benedict loose on her with his wet mouth and his well educated weapon.  It’s good to know that after TOWIE we’ve got people like Ashleigh helping to maintain the high standards of Essex set by that bunch of c*nts...

With that, i’m out - enjoy the next 10 weeks, I’m off to take my hormone tablets, grow some tits and audition for next year.

Fuck You

Kev James

@LLKevJisBack

(Morsh says you can appluade now)

Voting Schmoting

GOD.

Today is one of those days where Twitter makes a total arse of itself, everyone gets on their political high horses and ends up screaming and shouting at each other whilst cry wanking into a sock because they have fallen out with their best ‘online’ friend.  Yes, it’s Polling Day.

Before I even begin to justify my actions today, I want you all to know a few things –

1. I AM AWARE WOMEN DIED SO I COULD VOTE.  I get this. 

2. I also understand that people think it’s important and we should exercise our right to freedom of speech and actually having a say in how this country is run – I believe that too. 

3. I really want a bacon sandwich because I am hanging like a BAT.

I am not going to vote today.  The reason I am not going to vote today is because I have no idea who to vote for.  It’s local elections so this is basically picking what MP I want within my area but the thing that concerns me the most is that I go onto Epping Forest District Councils website, and my area doesn’t actually appear to exist.  I click on the little Election banner and look through all the lists of the Candidate names – and not one of them is representing North Weald?  The nearest I can get to my area is somewhere called Epping Hemnall or Epping Lindsey – I live approx 2 inches from Epping, yet have never heard of either of these places.  I find this all very strange, but also take this to assume there is no one in charge of North Weald so I will now appoint myself into this role.  I am going to make 4 immediate changes:

• Changing the name from North Weald to Numptyville™
• The Co-Op to start selling Strawberry Cider as it gets on my nerves having to drive all the way to Tesco to get it
• Weightwatchers meetings to be moved from the fucking TINY church hall and into the massive airfield, as the floor in that hall takes a pounding every Tuesday and God’s not happy.
• For chavs to stop breaking into the petrol station opposite my house just to steal crisps, as the look of sheer terror I get from the cashier every time I open the door is starting to get irritating.

As you can probably tell I would be a great MP for Numptyville.  The new name reflects the feeling of the area and the locals that live in it.  I want to provide for the people and not make them work harder than they already have to, driving all over the place just to get a drink.  I want them to experience the great outdoors, whilst also being fit and healthy and helping them to not anger God.  I want to protect the buildings and the people in this village and make them feel safe.  I am all heart.

Anyway so I don’t know who to vote for and even if my area did really exist then I assume all the candidates look like they belong in a library and are going to petition something amazing that will only benefit people over the age of 85 ANYWAY (this being 94% of the population of Numptyville by the way).  I just feel, personally, that if I don’t know who to vote for then surely my vote is void?  Is there really any point in me turning up to the polling station and being shit eyed just in case I try and steal some of the biros, all so I can check a box next to a random name I have never even heard of?  I have never known who is in charge of my area and to be fair I have this amazing trait where I find an issue with pretty much everything anyway, so whoever gets voted in still won't be good enough in my book.  I would rather leave it to the people that do know and do understand what it all means and let them decide for me.  I trust them, the residents of Numptyville and I are brothers – we’re like THIS *crosses fingers*

Anyway I previously had an epic argument on Facebook with someone (BillyLunnfromTheSubwaysnotmentioninganynamescough) regarding the last General Election and it was brilliant.  That argument was probably my most favourite thing about any election there has ever been.  My friend did a Facebook status saying he wasn’t going to vote and ALL. HELL. BROKE. LOOSE.  I basically said my friend should take an interest in the running of the country and vote, but if he doesn’t want to it’s his prerogative.  Billy started crying from the off, saying that basically my friend couldn’t have a say in anything ever again because he wasn’t going to vote and something totally retarded like his first born son would be born with whiskers if he didn’t go and vote, just the usual shit.  I tried to have an intelligent, informative heated discussion with him but he got his balls in a knot so much that I just ended up asking if he ever managed to get that Rock and Roll Queen to agree to be seen dead with him – About 38 other people got involved and in the end he left Facebook for a bit because he just got absolutely torn to shreds.  It was one of the most best things I have ever had the pleasure of being involved with. 

Anyway, I do take the General Election seriously.  If I don’t know what one party is offering or who the candidate is I actually look and bother to find out, as I do believe that is like, totes important.  I don’t know why I feel like the local elections aren’t as important, they just... aren’t?  If you all want to vote today and know who to vote for then that is awesome and you are the people I am trusting to look after me and not let this country go to pot *high five*.  I just feel like my 1 vote could be the difference between a really good person and a really bad person getting in and it will all be because I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing?  That is how I am justifying this so for the people that want to give me a load of stick on Twitter and Facebook, don’t bother.  My bacon sandwich has just arrived so i’m off now.

Another Contraversial Publicity Stunt by the Daily Mail

HOLD THE PRESS – THERE IS SOMETHING NEW TO BE ENRAGED ABOUT!!!!!!

*jumps on bandgwagon*

Today Samantha Brick has written an article in the Daily Mail entitled “There are downsides to looking this pretty” – Why women hate me for being beautiful”.  Samantha basically goes on to describe that throughout her entire life she has been plagued by men being overly nice to her and women hating her due to her astounding beauty. 

She describes the things men have done for her – opened doors, bought her train tickets, given her bottles of champagne.  She says ‘bar tenders frequently shoo my credit card away when I try to settle my bill’.  She also tells how very good friends have dropped her as they can’t trust her at home with their husbands or in social situations, or because they are jealous of her looks and it makes them feel inferior.



This is Samantha Brick Shithouse



I’m not sure if you’ve read the DM article, but it shocked me.  I was literally expecting a woman that looks like Mila Kunis to be plastered on the page, but in all honesty it’s a woman with a face that I wouldn’t even describe as that pretty.  Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t going to be a biased ‘I HATE THE DM’ article.  The woman in the picture isn’t ugly, but she’s not exactly pretty either.  She is the sort of woman that if I was walking down the road towards her I wouldn't give her a second glance.  If anything, she looks a bit like a Pug.  She's quite tall, blonde, has quite a nice smile, but I wouldn’t be TOTALLY jealous of her if she was in the room with me.  This leads me to believe that it’s not her ‘looks’ that her friends are jealous of or that appeal to men – it’s her attitude.

I for one have body confidence issues, along with about 90% of the rest of the female population.  There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just something that each woman has to deal with each day.  I know there are girls out there that are confident with what they look like which is great, but it’s SO easy for confidence to be mistaken for arrogance.  I would never EVER write an article for a national newspaper telling everyone how beautiful I am and that it’s a pain in the ass.  The fact that Samantha Brick has done this and has absolutely no qualms about the sort of backlash she is going to receive (even I could have seen this coming a mile off) shows that she either has oodles of confidence or a screw loose.  The instant way to make a woman dislike you is to not join in with the constant ‘reassurance game’ of asking each other if you look ok and pointing out all your flaws in the hope someone will tell you you are being silly and give you a bit of temporary confidence.  If a girl was to ask you if she looked ok and you said yes, then she replied “I know, haha I was joking” then every girl that heard is just going to think she is a total dickhead.

I might be overstepping the mark here but I think you can judge Samantha’s character quite well from this article.  As I said above, you don’t even need to read the article to know that she has a high opinion of herself (through her own fault or through others telling her this over the years is regardless), she is confident, self assured and likes to look after herself.  All of these are good qualities, qualities we should all have but we don’t – you just don’t want TOO much of them, as this could be as bad as having none of these qualities.

The article does make me wonder how she is around her friends husbands.  Overly confident women tend to be flirts, whether they mean to be or not.  They might have no intention of doing anything untoward in their head at all, but if you feel you look good, sound good, smell good then you do ooze sex appeal, do want to talk to men and be the centre of attention because you don’t mind the spotlight being on you.  I suspect it’s not Samantha’s face that makes her a poison woman, but the way she acts around these people.  Even the way you carry yourself when you feel like you look good is different – your whole personality just seems more ‘open’, and all of these things are attractive to men.  The one thing that isn't attractive is a woman with a massive head, and Brick's head appears to be so big she could play Hey Arnold in the Theatre.

It’s a shame the article was written in this way.  She could have easily described what her life has been like and then used these tools to help other women feel better about themselves.  If she is self assured and confident then she could help women that aren’t as much so to embrace how they look – as I said, Samantha is no oil painting, so if she can feel this great and have this sort of effect on men, then there is surely hope for us all.

In the meantime, does my bum look big in this?

P.S Oh, as much as I HATE giving the DM any publicity I can't really post this without a link to the offending article - so begrudgingly, here you go... SAMANTHA BRICK SHITHOUSE ARTICLE

Liz Jones Rant 5: If Liz Jones fell off the face of this planet, I would throw a party and invite everyone I had ever met in my entire life and buy them all a creme egg.

I’m sorry, I have been a bit AWOL recently.  In all honesty I have had a lot of stuff going on and not really a lot of it is blog worthy.  I decided to catch up on what old Lizzy Jones has been saying and thought i’d just read it and that would be the end of it.  Maybe a few tuts and rolled eyeballs but that’s it.  The thing is, I know I talk about Liz Jones on here a lot.  I know that it could potentially be getting old and everyone is getting bored of it.  The difference is I don’t really care.  This blog is MY blog and it’s a place where I write about what I want, when I want to write it and you either read it or you don’t.  Therefore, I cannot stop myself from writing this next Liz Jones Rant.  Part 7 (?)

It’s a short article, and is called:  “In which I reveal why i’m broke” – find it here http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-2117241/In-I-reveal-I-m-broke.html

Same format as before , hold onto your knickers.

“I was away at the fashion shows, working, when I got this text from Nic. ‘Dream has laminitis.’”  - Right, this is the first line of the article.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t know every aspect of Liz Jones’ life, so when I first read this I did think to myself “what the fuck is she going on about” – then I read it a second time, and a third time and I still didn’t know.  Once I continued reading the article I worked out that Dream must be one of her horses and Lamantis must be a horse illness.  I think it’s totally self indulgent of Jones to think that we’d instantly know either of these facts.  No one cares.

“Oh no. Oh dear God no. She recovered from her last attack, two winters ago, after spending almost a year on a deep bed. Once again, we will have to weigh and soak her hay, and give her drugs, and then walk her in hand. It’s a nightmare. The cost (she’s uninsurable, as she came to me with a broken pelvis), the worry, the work. I don’t think I can stand it.” – Oh you have to feel for her don’t you?  I mean how incredibly HORRIBLE for Jones that one of her horses is sick?  Erm, back up a minute Jones, if you are such a horse lover then why don’t you stop worrying about yourself and worry about how your poor ill horse is feeling?  Nah?  Ok.  GO AWAY.

“While you might think from the first sentence of this column that my life is impossibly glamorous, let me describe what it is really like.” – Is she shitting us?  I don’t know about you but I didn’t read that really confusing stupid first comment and think “oh my god Liz Jones is practically Victoria Beckham” – I didn’t even consider the ‘working away at the fashion shows’ bit as I was so confused by the following words that the majority of the sentence went out of the window.  Plus we all know what Jones does while she is working away that these fashion shows isn’t glamorous, she fucking moans about it enough.

“I now have two mortgages, given the fact I have just bought my sister a cottage. You might have wondered in the past why I never have any money, and I have to tell you, dear reader, because nobody else fights my corner, that buying my sister a cottage in Dulverton overlooking the river is the reason. The only reason I’m being forced to sell my house.” – What does she want people to fight her corner about?  I’m sure her sister didn’t make Jones buy her a cottage, so why did she?  If she wants people to fight her corner over her whole selfish, indignant attitude INCLUDING the dispicable sperm stealing thing she’d better give up now because NO ONE WILL.

“I had one day – Friday 16 December – when I thought everything was going to be OK. I went out with friends for a drink in Soho, the first time I’ve done that without worrying about the bill. But then everything fell apart, and I was plunged into the deep mire that is my life. I have always been too generous, which is the reason people flocked to me in the past. I’ve learnt my lesson, and will never allow that again.”  - Jones, you have said yourself numerous times in the past that you’ve had about 3 boyfriends and about 4 good friends in your entire life, so now saying that “people flock to you” is the biggest misrepresentation I have ever heard.  You said you are generous but after everything I have read that you have written it wouldn’t matter if you paid me £4,000 a day, I would not come within 10 inches of you and your disgusting attitude.  Hag.

What I need is a light at the end of the tunnel, even a pinpoint one. What I kept thinking, as I tossed and turned after the email about Dream, was that I have always helped other people, but no one helps me (please don’t send me money; I always return it, but it results in me being told off). No one has once picked up the phone to say, ‘Well done for working so hard. Well done for buying your sister a cottage out of your heavily taxed earnings.’ All I get is silence. But then I received this email from a woman I’ve never met. She is dying of breast cancer, ‘which is now chewing like a mouse through the nerves controlling my eyeballs’. She took the time to write to say, ‘It’s obvious to me you work all the time to keep your rescued animals going. I want to tell you how your writing, with its richness and its honesty, has given me tremendous pleasure during my illness and, despite your many setbacks, especially being deaf, you leave me thoroughly cheered with your kindness, humanity and determination to debunk fashion myths.’” – This, for me, was the icing on the cake for this article.  You see this woman who has emailed her has CANCER.  You know, the disease that kills you.  This woman suffering with cancer took time out of her day to read Jones’ work, and then bother to write to her about it.  Regardless of this, Jones still manages to turn this situation round so it’s about how great she is.  She never once mentions how courageous this woman is, or even mentions more about this woman’s situation (which would be a welcome read), nor how thankful she is that this woman bothered at all – I bet she never even emailed her back.  No, instead of saying “I worry about all this shit and then this woman with cancer emailed me and put everything into perspective” she actually says “I am neglected and no one appreciates me and this woman with cancer emailed me and basically said I am kind and my determination and humanity is great, even though I have the major set back of being deaf so there you go, I am amazing” – Does she not realise how utterly mental it is that she wanted this on the DM website, that she wants people to know this is how she thinks?  The whole “especially you being deaf” thing is the worst, what has that got to do with it?  Oh I see, this is an illness competition!  Well Jones wins hands down for mental illness.  This whole paragraph totally disgusts me.

“In times of trouble, you find out who your friends are. Anyone deemed successful soon learns this. You’d be surprised how common my situation is. But who would want my so-called success, really? It leaves you alone, and broke, unable to sleep soundly in bed at night. Even if it’s a Vi-Spring.”  - *grits teeth* ... *explodes*

Just look at her fucking head!

REASONS WHY I HATE USING THE TUBE

I AM BORED SO I AM WRITING ALL THE THINGS I HATE ABOUT THE TUBE.

PEOPLE THAT GO ON HOLIDAY TO LONDON

1.   WHY do you stroll around in front of me looking up at the sky – it’s the same sky that is in your country, it looks the same and it’s nothing remarkable.  Unless an anvil is going to fall out of the sky and land on you, stop looking at it.  If you continue to look at it, it won’t be an anvil landing on you but MY FIST. 

2.   WHY do you hold a map really really close to your face so you can’t see anyone coming, and then wander around in front of them like a stunned rabbit?  It makes me want to kick you in the head.

3.   If you are about to walk out of a shop and you look at me, do not continue to walk directly into my face because then we will hit each other and will probably give me a stress hernia. 

4.   If you aren’t sure where you are going, don’t walk along and then stop dead in the middle of Oxford Street at 5pm because if that happens and I bang into you, I might use whatever I have in my hand and not stop hitting you with it until you are bleeding out of your ear.

PEOPLE THAT GO ON HOLIDAY TO LONDON AND GET ON THE TUBE

1.   If you are on a school trip, WHY do you get on the Tube during rush hour?  When I am tired, annoyed and in a rush I don’t need ten thousand French children all looking at me and standing on my feet.  P.S Just because you are on a train in a different country you don’t have to spend the entire journey punching each other and screaming.  STOP SCREAMING.

2.   IF you decide to carry all your worldly possessions in a backpack, TAKE IT OFF WHEN YOU ARE ON THE TRAIN because if it hits me in the face one more time I will end you.

3.   DO NOT barge me out of the way to get on the train first.  You might not understand the tube system, but one thing is for sure – it won’t leave without you... unless you decide to barge me and then I might push you off just before the doors close.

4.   Do not stand next to a busker and dance while you look up the escalator with a hopeful face, hoping everyone is laughing at you.  Out of the 100 people on the escalator 2 might be laughing but the rest want you to fatally trap your head in a lift door.

PEOPLE THAT GET ON THE TUBE

1.   If you are a man and you are sitting down, SHUT YOUR F*CKING LEGS.  I don’t want to look at the frankly disappointing ridiculous excuse for a bulge you have and if you rub your knee on mine one more time I will literally humiliate you to the point of no return.

2.   If you are reading the paper, keep the paper to yourself.  If you keep waving it around like Harvey Price with a packet of smarties I will grab that paper out of your hand and stuff it directly into your arsehole.

3.   If the train carriage has approximately 10,000 people on it and there is no room to blink, DO NOT TRY TO READ THE PAPER.  Just accept you don’t have enough space, and if you can’t then you will have to feel the wrath of the Morsh.

4.   If you are listening to music, listen to it at a normal volume.  9 times out of 10 the choice of song is frankly shocking and I don’t want to hear it too.  If I can hear your music over my own when I have headphones in then you are bang in trouble.

5.   If you are going through the barriers, go through them.  Don’t tit about, dithering in front of them all because you can’t decide which one to go through – THEY ARE ALL THE SAME.

6.   If you are standing in front of me while I am sitting down and you tread on my feet, don’t then look at me like I have pissed on your kids at Christmas.  It’s not my fault that your balance, politeness and social skills are lacking, but it will be YOUR fault if I boot you in the kneecaps so you can’t moan about that either.

Please feel free to add your own points.  These are the things that nearly give me heart failure on a daily basis.