b3ta.com user Sir Harrington Titsmith
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Me? I'm a cretin.


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» Political Correctness Gone Mad

Non-racial 'attack' ends in marriage and unemployment.
A few years ago my best friend (who I will call 'Donald', even though his name is Simon) got an office job in England after returning from a year in Japan. Upon starting work, he found that the next desk belonged to a cute Japanese girl named Naoko. He quite liked this girl, and after a few days of indecision, finally decided to try and impress her with a little bit of Japanese.

"Konichiwa," he said. "Hajimemashita, Donald des." This means: "Hello. Pleased to meet you. I'm Donald."

Naoko was clearly quite taken by this, and things looked good. That was until he was called to his manager's office later that day and summarily fired for a 'racial attack'. It seemed one of the other workers in the office had assumed he was taking the piss and made a formal complaint. As Donald was on his three month probationary evaluation period, he could be fired in this way with no negative effect on the company, and the company was not interested in the pitiful defense attempts of a racist.

Quite pissed off, Donald packed up his things and left, pausing to say goodbye (but NOT sayonara) to Naoko.

Eight months later they got married and are still together, all happy, the bastards. Donald also got a much better job almost immediately, for more pay and less work. I don't think anybody at that office ever mentioned this to Naoko, probably worried the same would happen to them.

Still, not a bad outcome to a 'racial attack', eh?

Apologies for my considerable length, and for the fact you've been staring at it for the last minute or so.
(Fri 23rd Nov 2007, 13:48, More)

» Rubbish Towns

Formula for posts this week:
[Insert town name] is the worst place on the face of the earth because:

[Insert list of petty irritants which are not funny]

[Ignore the obvious fact that it is inevitable you will despise the place you live/spend most of your time because familiarity most certainly breeds contempt and that, really, all places are equally shit. You only think your town is worse because you see more of it]

[Claim moral and intellectual superiority]

[Final LOL and length gag]
(Thu 29th Oct 2009, 16:18, More)

» The Soundtrack of your Life

John Carpenter For The Win
I recently "purchased" the soundtrack to Big Trouble In Little China. With clammy, eager hands, I transferred the songs onto my MP3 player. They were a clutch of eighties masterstrokes: rock and roll infused with thumping synth and hammy oriental overtones. The second track in particular, Pork Chop Express, was made for strutting, and that's just what I did.

I left the house and decided to strut. I had no particular destination. I just strutted (strat?). As the song was coming to an end and my daydreams of being Kurt Russell in a Fu Man Chu wifebeater began to fade, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. It turned out to be a company I'd sent my CV to a few weeks earlier. They invited me in for an interview.

In a good mood now, I queued up Pork Chop Express again, strat into town and checked my bank account. There was an extra £150 in there - a rebate from BT. Apparently I'd been paying too much each month for some time.

Things were going well. I decided to get out some cash, have a coffee and then mooch about in town. After some strutting/mooching, I went into a newsagents for a paper. While I was there I bought a scratchcard for the first time in about three years. I won £20.

In the end, I attended that interview, got that job, spent that £20 on some Lego for my son, got some cash out of a notoriously tight-fisted company and imagined I was Jack Burton for a day.

I attribute all of this to John Carpenter and his juicy Pork Chop Express.
(Thu 28th Jan 2010, 14:26, More)

» Things we do to fit in

Five Years...
Today marks my fifth B3ta birthday. I don't post much, and have never come up with anything of note. But logging in today, seeing that little candle, seeing the "0 months, 0 days", seeing that it was five years ago today that I first joined up has made me reflect on what has happened to me since 20th January 2003.

Materially speaking, I now have considerably less than I did then. I have less money, a smaller house and a fridge filled primarily with cheese. I have no job, having recently been made redundant for the second time in a year, and so am facing the soulless nightmare of the dole for the first time.

My dreams of being a writer are in ashes, having not written a thing for months now, and having mild palpitations whenever I try. My characters lie dead or dying on the page, my dialogue is just so much empty bleating, my plots are the worst dregs of grave-robbing cliché. I am not the man I thought I was.

I have a couple more crow's feet and my hair is a shade thinner than I remember it every time I look in the mirror. My back hurts when I stand up or sit down. I am gradually coming to realise that I have come to the end of my potential, and I still have a good few decades of this left.

While this may sound self-pitying and a cry for a dissenting opinion, that's actually the last thing I want. This is me trying to be honest about what's landed me here. The simple fact is that I have placed emphasis on fitting in with the world of recreation rather than the world of responsibility. There has always been another chance waiting around the corner. There has always been something else in the pipeline. There has always been tomorrow.

Fitting in is not necessarily a bad thing, no matter how you do it. What's important is to fit into the right way of thinking and then follow it. I'm at the point now where this actually rings true, and doesn't sound like the kind of empty platitude you read in a lazy advice column, and so I wonder how January 20th 2013 will find me. Rich/poor, ill/well, happy/miserable. Either way, I hope to see that little candle again, and the "0 months, 0 days".

And some kind of Goatse abomination, because that's what it's all about.
(Tue 20th Jan 2009, 16:15, More)

» Absolute Power

I was about ten, I think.
There was a kid in my class who vaguely irritated me. I have no idea why. One day, I remember deciding I would bully him, my logic being that, as he was slightly taller than me, it was only a matter of time before he got the same idea.

I approached him in the playground and insulted him. I don't remember the words, and they're not important. He looked worried. I poured forth more verbal abuse. I felt emboldened.

He clearly didn't want any trouble, but bloodlust was upon me by this point, and I would continue. I looked him straight in the eye and told him to lick my shoe. He looked down at my shoes, which were covered in the dry summer dust you pick up when you're a kid. He looked back at me, worried, confused, uncertain. I repeated my command. There were other kids watching now. It wasn't until he actually knelt down and did it that I realised what I was doing.

Christ, the shame was unbelievable. I can't tell you what he looked like as he stood up. I couldn't look away from the dark, wet patch on the toecap of my shoe. He didn't say anything. I couldn't look at him.

I wanted to apologise, tell him I was wrong, tell him he'd done nothing wrong, hadn't deserved it, but I couldn't say a word. I just walked away past a line of curious faces and never went near the boy again.

I never did apologise, so I'm doing it now. I'm sorry, Jonathan. I was wrong, and you didn't deserve it.
(Fri 9th Jul 2010, 13:45, More)
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