My mum
She does this in two ways (apols in advance for lack of lolsomeness).

1: Inheritance. She has bipolar with some mild paranoia. Through genes and/or environment, she gave me the monopolar bit (occasional depression). So, quite literally, there have been times when she made me mad.

2: Behaviour. She's fucking nuts, and that drives me fucking nuts (we fuck a lot of nuts in our family). She'll take a nugget of information she vaguely remembers and blow it up into a dramatic tale about how terribly she's suffered in the past. No mum, you weren't abused and assaulted by the neighbour; they wrote you a politely worded letter expressing their dislike for the revolting state of your property. However, if someone is ever genuinely nasty to you, it is now unlikely that I'll ever believe you.

During her manic phases she'll blow all her money on some hobby or other, and then become so entirely absorbed by it that it is impossible to communicate with her.
"Hey mum, do you have enough money to survive until the end of the month?"
"Ask me again when I've finished doing this. I'm busy."
"But it's not work."
"It is my work. It's very important to me. If I didn't have this I'd have nothing." She then becomes defensive and angry if you continue to question her priorities.
Don't even think of going to her with your own problems, because you'll either get ignored or given a consolatory, "Oh, that's sad," before she returns to her 'very important work'.

During her depressive phases she will threaten suicide and tell you that you have always been horrible to her, that you are uncaring and cruel or simply incapable of understanding. She will also spout endless monologues about the cold nature of everyone she's ever known and how she has been abused by every man she's ever met. I'm worried about the next time I call her, as she'll probably claim Savile once did her, too.

Now, I have a great deal of sympathy for people who suffer depression. It sucks; it's debilitating; it often feels like there's no way out. But whenever mum has come out of one of her phases, you simply cannot get her to recognise that she has been depressed and ought to seek some treatment.
"Mum, I really think you ought to see someone - just to talk things through. I think this pattern needs to change..."
"Oh, I wasn't depressed last week, but when I have been down before I always sort it out myself. There's nothing wrong with me."
Arghhhhhhhhhhh!

Then there's the hoarding. Oh god, the pointless things she collects. Does anyone need twenty-year-old Viking Direct catalogues? And the farting twee country-style crockery? Why does a house with two people in it need fifty fucking dinner plates? And the coloured glass bowls? And the dust-infested newspapers? And the carrier bags! Why does everything need to be stored in carrier bags? She doesn't seem to have worked out that newer bags bio-degrade pretty rapidly, leaving lots of bits of flappy plastic everywhere.

I would love to be able to walk rather than stumble around her house when I visit, but it's become increasingly difficult over the last few years. Every time I offer to help her clear out she will accuse me of trying to take her precious things off her, or claim that she still can't get over the loss of something I 'callously discarded' ten years ago.

My dad had an affair a decade ago, and although it was a bad thing, I do understand why he felt he needed it. You see, he was a total saint to my mum for many years. He provided all the income while she indulged in her hobbies, he did all the shopping, he cooked for us, he forgave every one of her mental episodes, he took me to the park and he pretty much did most of the parenting. If you ask my mum what her marriage was like she'll tell you it was loveless, that he spent every weekend with a prostitute and that he was a waste of space.

And yet, even though she's a top shelf nutter, for some reason I still care about her. It's enough to drive a perfectly sane person crazy.

tl;dr - an excuse to moan about my mum's mental fucktardedness.
( Yo 'Ho of Charlie mass-market saucetrepreneur, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 14:29, 7 replies)

the use of the word 'especially'
that is all.
(TX1 time to start..., Mon 8 Oct 2012, 14:16, 1 reply)

Manning phones for the Samaritans
and someone says "I'm just connecting you to an emo"
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 14:07, Reply)

Moving on from the 'olholic' posts.
Any lazy fucking journalist who suffixes anything with 'gate.

Seriously people the original Watergate scandal was 40 fucking years ago.
Gate, does not mean scandal, it was not a scandal about some water.

Stop using it you pointless fucks.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Mon 8 Oct 2012, 14:04, 22 replies)

Shit use of training budgets/recruitment
I’m a copywriter and editor, and a few months back, I discovered we’d hired another copywriter on a fixed term contract to write the text for our website. I wasn’t involved in selecting this person at all, despite being the only guy here who knows anything about copywriting at all. I only found out about it once he had started.

So far, so annoying.

This guy proceeded to write the entire website without doing any keyword research at all. Brilliantly, on every single one of the 300+ pages he wrote, he used the name of the company in the first sentence ‘to help with SEO’.

After he’d finished writing the website (the copy has not actually been used for the reasons outlined above) he was THEN sent on SEO training. A week later, he left his role and moved on another fixed term contract to another part of the company.

So we hired someone on a fixed term contract SPECIFICALLY to do a job, they couldn’t do it properly, we let them do it anyway, we then spent precious training money on training them in how to do the thing they’ve already fucked up, a whole week before they moved to another part of the business (and yes, the head of department did know they were about to move but sanctioned the training anyway)

Holy motherfucking Toledo.
(Bappage, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 14:02, 5 replies)

women footballers
who text me pictures of their clunges.
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 13:55, Reply)

people who come over to your desk
at the people trafficers and say

"I've just sent you a shemale"
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 13:38, Reply)

Any kind of addiction that is given the name '[subject]oholism'
You're not a workaholic, as you're not addicted to workahol.

You're not a shopaholic as you're not addicted to shopahol.

By that fucking stupid reasoning, an alcoholic would have to be called an alcoholaholic.
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 13:36, 2 replies)

People who come over to your desk at work and say
"I've just sent you an email ... "
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 13:19, 12 replies)

Journalists who describe any band with an acoustic guitar in as "folk"
Loads of them do this, why? They don't describe any band who use a keyboard as "techno".

I've lost count of the number of times I've read about some new "exciting" folk band, only to find out it's some kind of shit like Noah and the Whale.
(IHateSprouts is baking a huge pie shaped like an enormous pie, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 13:16, Reply)

sex addiction
IT DOESN'T FUCKING EXIST.

Sex is a biological drive designed to be enjoyable thus ensuring the continuation of the species. People who have lots of sex are just fulfilling the basic biological imperative of any living being.

The idea of sex addiction has been perpetuated by individuals who have a warped moral viewpoint on the world, mostly being part of a group created around belief in a fictitious deity which assumes incorrectly that humans are somehow superior to our fellow life forms as we possess a certain degree of mental capacity.

Next thing it'll be "Have you heard about celebrity X? OMG, My twattish magazine for twattish retards says that she's an oxygen addict."
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 13:10, 5 replies)

"...and for data protection, please...."
- private personal mobile phone, whose number is seldom given out frivolously, rings
hello?
- is that mr nononononono?
yes.
- before we go on, can you please confirm your post code/date of birth/inside leg for data protection purposes?
well, you phoned me...


fuckin really hate that...
(NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 12:56, 3 replies)

"Chick lit".
Confessions Of A Shopaholic - shopaholism doesn't exist, you're simply shallow, vain, vacuous and stupid.

Mini Shopaholic - kill yourself. Seriously. Do it.

The Wives Of Bath - "A tale of yummy mummies with flat brown tummies"

Also, "oholic". It's "ic". An alcoholic is an alcoholic because they are addicted to alcohol. If you are a cocaine addict, you are not a cocainaholic.

And you are not addicted to chocolate. You are just a fat pig with no self control. You are not addicted to shopping, either, you're simply shallow.

And anyone who says "You can't judge a book by it's cover" - in which case, why do publishers put so much work into the cover illustrations then, you dick? Of course I can - I know I am not going to enjoy "Confessions of a shopaholic".

And "If you liked XXXXX then you'll love YYYY" on adverts. You are just reminding us normal people that there are people that stupid, that fucking unquestioning, that pathetic-minded, that they will do exactly what they're told. This is depressing - stop it.

Anyone who thinks "celebrity" is worth a fucking toss.

People who say "ikkle", or - worse "ikkew".

Women who put on a little-girl voice when they want something.

Men that tell you what women like.

Men that talk about being "alpha".

People with kids.

People who take their kids to the pub.

Humans, generally - worthless, shallow, egotistical arseholes.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 12:33, 11 replies)

god botherers
So, no one knows what happens when we snuff it. The overwhelming likelihood is not very much. Ever been unconscious?

But no – when offered an incomprehensible, inconceivable jumble of superstitions, fairy tales and bogeyman stories rewritten recycled and Chinese whispered down the ages by control freaks and charlatans - you are CERTAIN beyond all doubt that despite all the vast wonder of all existence there is a creator, who (while having a universe to run) is obsessed with your every move thought and action. Oh and you can wish for stuff too.

An all powerful intangible invisible friend and protector – sounds pretty cool. You must be immune to all illness, earthquakes and injury then. No?

Our essential natural urges are shameful and evil?

Your creator is jealous, intolerant, violent, vindictive, spiteful, pernicious and vengeful – but he loves you?

I should terrify my tiny innocent child with assurances this invisible character is waiting in the shadows to punish him for questioning any of this whilst conversely insisting he only deals in truth and that ghosts and goblins are just camp fire tales?

You insist you require no proof for this but continually strive to find bolt-on bits and bobs of science that support your crackpot ideas - the same science that you continually deny.

If my crackpot jumble of superstitions varies even slightly from yours we should devote all our energies to annihilation in a manner that contradicts the few worthwhile parts of your crazy code of divine conduct?

We have the technology to split the atom and unravel DNA but your preference is to split humanity into one half who believe dinosaurs were a prank and another half who believes women should be bundled up and passed around like parcels by men who think it’s a splendid idea to chop off rather crucial bits of anatomy.

We see ourselves as an advanced civilisation yet it was twenty or so years after landing a man on the moon before we realised wheels on a suitcase might be helpful.

Doesn’t bode well does it?
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 12:14, 6 replies)

Posh people and students, especially posh students
using "whacky" words for being drunk.

I once knew a very beautiful, very posh girl who I absolutely refused to have sex despite her begging, because she'd described herself as having got "completely hatracked" the previous night.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 11:52, 11 replies)

But I looooooove him/her
People I know who constantly whine and moan about how shitty their current relationship is and I give them the advice that they should just leave. Their response is usually such garbage about love and how they can't live without this other person.

Then they stay in the relationship for several years before finally making the break and then promptly bitch and moan about how they've wasted their life with this person.

What makes me annoyed is that quite often they then say why didn't anyone tell them to break up sooner.

At those moments I do wonder if I could somehow get away with murder.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 11:26, 6 replies)

Lifts
Large lifts - sometimes found at train stations or large offices.

Doors are about to close... and a hand sticks in between the doors - the doors open again - one person gets on... then - because the lift doors are now open, allows several other persons to trot onto the lift... the invetible 3 second pause whilst the lift reacts to close the doors again...

And another person seizes the opportunity and jumps on, juttering the doors open again.

Then - if youre really unlucky - you will get someone pushing on with hardly any room to spare, meaning the doors wont close at all... everyone stands there tutting. 4 seconds pass... 8 seconds pass... person gets off - lift goes up.

More often than not, the first person only goes one floor.

This usually happens to me when im in a rush.. like about to miss my train.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 11:22, 3 replies)

People who are wrong on the internet.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 11:04, Reply)

Chopped and blended pearoast re The female expectation of male telepathy
I have found that ALL the women I have spent time with CANNOT WAIT FOR INFORMATION.
If a situation arises that necessitates waiting for information they won't shut up about it. For instance, when I was married, my (now ex) wife's car went wrong. I booked it into a garage (warranty claim) for the next day.
As soon as I got home she started.
"What do you think is wrong"?
"I have no idea, that's why the garage is doing the work"
"What will they do to the car"?
"I don't know, that's why the garage is doing the work, utilising their specific knowledge of the marque".
"How long will they take"?
"I don't know, that's why you've got a courtesy car all day".
"What do you think is wrong"?
FOR FUCK'S SAKE WOMAN, I'VE ANSWERED EVERY INANE FUCKING QUESTION YOU'VE ASKED WITH "I DON'T KNOW" GET THE HINT!!!!!!
And while I'm at it, how do women think men get information? I mean, I've been sitting in front of you all the time while you asked the questions, I had no idea 5 minutes ago, I've not seen another human being or used any communication device in those 5 minutes because you've been badgering me for answers to questions that I can't answer, so where do you think I've got the information from, fucking telepathy?
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 10:37, 10 replies)

Some prick attacked me on my bike ride to work today - something about pavements.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 9:36, 2 replies)

"My Family"
stickers.
On the bottom of the rear windscreen of every suburban chariot I seem to end up driving behind.

It seems to be mostly marketed at women cause I haven't seen any tradies' utes adorned with them ....Yet.

Some fucker is getting insanely rich because all of the sub-urban sheeple near me want to put themselves into a little box with a label and portray that on their rear window. Of the family car.

Is it just me being (my usual) anti-social self, or is that somehow really fucked up?

I would prefer to not 'advertise' the state of my family. But if I had to....



EDIT: The really scary thing I found from going to the site - there are fat blokes but no fat chicks.Checkitout.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 8 Oct 2012, 7:24, 10 replies)

(Legless is a prick., Mon 8 Oct 2012, 7:01, 23 replies)

Annoying things that people say,
People who when starting a sentence with "I", finish it with the word "me".

For example, "I like drinking white star cider until I feel compelled to drop my knickers and piss all over my cheap munter footwear in a shop doorway me".

Inbred ill educated peasants, ought to have their tongues cut out for displaying such blatant failure to realise what X factor voting remtards they are.
(Finster Ate a cat biscuit for a bet, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 0:54, 2 replies)

These things drive me mad:
There are two Londons.

On the one hand it is a fun, attraction-filled paradise for tourists who visit for a few days at a time. On the other hand it is a grey, oppressive, inhuman monster that consumes the souls and health of those who work there every single day. Depending on what you get up to in a single day, you may see both sides of it.

I spend most of my time in the grey one, rushing between various customer sites using the excellent public transport system. Excellent, that is, apart from one thing... it is clogged up with wonder-filled lollygagging backpack-bearing tourists.

Tourists, you need to learn some rules if you want to share daytime London with us workers. It's our city.

These rules may also explain why you are so bruised at the end of a hard day of clogging up sightseeing in the Big Smoke.

1. No stopping dead at the top of the tube station stairs to look at your map. There is a continuous flow of comprised of 8 million people still trying to get off the stairs behind you. You are like a cork in a bottle. That's why we are all trying to shoulder barge you and your stupid girlfriend out the way.
2. No stopping dead at the top of the escalator to look at your map, either. Like number 1, only with a far more relentless flow of people being propelled towards you.
3. No holding hands. There is not enough room on the pavements/station platform for people to pass you. No-one ever called London the "City of Love". If you want romance, piss off to St Pancreas and catch the Eurostar to Paris.
4. No stopping dead in the middle of the pavement on Oxford Street to take a stupid bloody photo of some stupid bloody shops. See 1 for details of why. But really? Are you really from such a backward country, that the sight of some shops and lights fills you with awe and a compulsion to take a shit photo that won't come out anyway because it's dark and you mobile phone camera doesn't have a flash? Or are you just inconsiderate and thick? I hate you all, regardless.
5. Don't crowd around the doors when a tube train arrives at the platform. Leave a gap so that the people on the train can get off first. Hint: this makes more space for you to get on the train, albeit two seconds later, and stops me swinging my backpack into your stupid foreign face as I have to fight my way off the train.
6. "Stand on the right." That's what the sign says on the escalators, and implied in that statement is "leave space on the left for people to walk past". Do not dawdle, stand in a wide-bodied fashion, or obstruct the step with luggage. You may not care about catching the next train because there will be another one in 2 minutes, but you don't understand that the commuter train I get from Waterloo only runs every 30 minutes, and that 2 minutes could be the difference between a scrummy hot dinner and a microwave reheat.
7. When approaching the ticket barrier that is in place in EVERY SINGLE TUBE STATION IN LONDON AND IS NOT A SURPRISE, get your ticket ready before you get to the barrier. Don't arrive at the barrier, look confused, and then unpack your entire 65L rucksack looking for your ticket. This is especially frustrating to watch, as there is nowhere dangerous for us to barge you to.
8. You are allowed to congregate and dawdle in Trafalgar Square. Only place in London where it is acceptable. And with any luck a pigeon will shit on you.
9. These rules only apply from 0600 to 1900, Monday to Friday - for the rest of the week, the city is yours - ENJOY!

If I had my way, there would be watchtowers erected on all busy streets and at the top of tube station exits, and snipers would enforce severe penalties on anyone breaking these rules.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Mon 8 Oct 2012, 0:19, 24 replies)

Supermarket Megabastards
Picture the scene; You're in a poorly-staffed supermarket, where only a few checkouts are open. You join the least-bad-looking queue, behind at least one other customer who's piled up a mountain of food, drink, clothing, kitchenware and garden furniture. You wait patiently in line, with your four-pack of beer, loaf of bread and bag of Revels, watching the conveyor belt edge forward with the speed of a new series of Jim'll Fix It. More shoppers join the line behind you, piling on their groceries.

Then, another checkout opens. "Would you like to come round?", the checkout person calls out.

Before you have a chance to move, the shoppers who were in the queue behind you have gathered up their stuff, scuttled over to that checkout and dumped it all back down to be served straight away. Despite you having joined the first queue while they were still perusing the moist chod-wipes in aisle six, you're now in a worse position to take advantage of this newly-opened checkout, because you're stuck halfway down the queue whilst they were perched on the end. They're scanned, bagged, paid, out the door, across the car park and on their way home before you've even been asked if you've got a clubcard.

All I ask is that these people are shot in the face. Is that too much?
(costas, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 22:50, 11 replies)

people who discuss x-factor
like it has any kind of value at all on any level whatsoever.

it's a bunch of mongs mong stood on stage pleading with that utter cunt cowell to sign me to a contract that an indentured slave in the 1800s would have looked down on and crying 'aw, but it's me life' when they almost inevitably get told by another talent vacuum they arent going any further and it's back to the fryers at Mickey D's for them.

it's a show conceived by twats, for twats, and watched by twats. it bears about as much relation to a genuine talent contest as a packet of mixed nuts does to Broadmoor.
(tjn whizzing on the electric fence of life, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 22:38, 9 replies)

This one time, right...
I got on a train and went to a Stranglers concert, or whatever.
(Figmaus, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 22:29, 3 replies)

"Baby/Child on Board" signs in cars.
I'm not sure whether I find these offensively patronising or offensively presumptive. Perhaps a bit of both.

Patronising: People who put these in their cars seem to think that I would treat their vehicle with greater respect than I would a car containing only adults. But of course! I'm much more likely to try to crash into a car full of grown-ups because adults are rubbish and don't deserve to live as much. And better yet, I'll make sure that if I do crash into a driver and their offspring, I'll do it more gently than I would otherwise.

Presumptive: Sign bearers appear to think I care about the welfare of their ill-begotten, snotty spawn. I understand that parents think their child is the most precious and valuable creature in the world, and a conveniently mobile package of the genes they wish to disseminate, but I fail to understand why they assume that I should think the same. It's only going to grow up to be as repulsive as its inconsiderate parents, who often seem utterly unable to indicate correctly.

Do these signs make other road pricks any less moronic or less likely to tailgate the baby-laden vehicles? I doubt they have a positive effect.

Personally, I'm interested in making the right judgements and not killing people or crashing when I drive; I'm not interested in knowing whether someone has successfully bred.
( Yo 'Ho of Charlie mass-market saucetrepreneur, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 21:25, 20 replies)

You lot

( P-MONKE We're all fucked, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 20:32, Reply)

I hate it when I'm making love to woman and "schllllooop!", out comes the placenta all over my new duvet
If they wont go to the trouble of removing it after childbirth they could at least pay the cleaning bill
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Sun 7 Oct 2012, 20:00, 2 replies)