» Cheap Tat

One of the great joys
of riding a motorbike, as you tour down a-roads and across country, is stopping at truck stops for a greasy bacon bap and a few cups of rancid coffee. You can sit and watch people admiring your bike and contemplate the route ahead.

One of the horrors of this is finding yourself on a packed road going through endless village after village with so much coffee in your bladder that your back teeth are floating.

Little known fact that 30 miles an hour on a Yamaha Thundercat sets up a resonant vibration with the 2 pints of piss floating not six inches above the engine.

Oh my god – I have never needed to piss so bad in my life. The pain of it. The potential embarrassment. Oh crap, oh crap, oh cr….. wait…. A car park with facilities up ahead! Joy. Drop a gear, howl past stationary queue of traffic, stoppie outside little toilet block and charge in.

Yank jacket open, gloves into sink, grab zip puller on cheap waterproof over-trousers bought off flea-bay for an incredible price. Zip puller snaps off in hand. Can’t undo zip without it. Pain growing to incredible proportions.

Fucksocks.

Must…..not…..piss…..self.

They still talk about the cursing, shouting helmet-wearing dervish that was seen crashing into sinks and hand dryers with both hands clamped to the front of its trousers in the toilets of a small village in Bedfordshire.

E-bay for motorcycle gear? Just don’t. Ever.
(Fri 4th Jan 2008, 11:04, More)

» Political Correctness Gone Mad

Apologies for the oppression of women everywhere
(and length)

Back in the distant mists of time I was a fairly precocious young piglet with a penchant for reading. My tastes were eclectic but I always firmly returned to the ‘adventure Stories For Boys’ type annuals that were available back then (yeah yeah, I’m old - sue me). Our English teacher (she taught English, I don’t know her nationality) invited us to present to the class a review of a favourite book.

Fantastic. A chance to show my superior reading level and talk about something I genuinely loved. But which book to choose? Really there was no choice – I was addicted to a series of books by an author named Willard Price where two young lads went tearing around the globe having adventures with animals (steady there). These were called, “African Adventure”, “South Seas Adventure” etc etc.

I can’t remember which one I chose but I do remember the front cover; a garish rendering of one of the protagonists hanging from a cliff over a pride of slathering lions.

I write the review. I re-write. I sweat. I actually care about some schoolwork.

The session begins. I stand. I talk. I tell of the wonders held between those thin, pasteboard covers. And then I finish, as the teacher requested, by recommending the book to someone.

Now I may have had the reading level of a twelve year old at age eight but I was also a bit, well, thick. I tended to believe everything I read regardless of its source. On the back of this book it proudly stated “Adventure Stories FOR BOYS”.

You can see where this is going.

I repeat the recommendation, finish the review and stand awaiting the adulation from the teacher. Who stands silently. And then proceeds to tear strips off me for being “sexist”. “Why can’t girls read this book?” this harridan shrieked, “aren’t girls as good as you?” She made every girl in the class stand up so that I could explain to each one individually why she shouldn’t be allowed to read my book. No one else got to do a review as she went on and on and on about equality (understand that at this age we didn’t really get that there was a difference between the sexes)!

What I wanted to say was, “but you asked for my opinion, it’s only an opinion – aren’t I allowed to have a different opinion to you?”

What I did was cry and wet myself.

Which is why I am now an irascible old misogynist who takes great delight in cutting in front of women on my huge motorbike and leering at them while touching myself.

Tremendous.

Length? About 14 feet and covered in chrome.

Edit: That's right Hal and Roger Hunt. Used to trap animals for their Dad. Still remember those books fondly.
(Fri 23rd Nov 2007, 7:39, More)

» Political Correctness Gone Mad

Never forget......
just because someone is a member of a different ethnic group to you doesn't mean they're not also a nasty little toe-rag / thieving scumbag / drunken swine / spouse beating arse / insert ethnic stereotype here.
(Thu 22nd Nov 2007, 13:10, More)

» I witnessed a crime

I not only witnessed...
...this crime but took an active part in it too.

Many moons ago when I was younger and foolisher I happened across some tearaways giving someone what for in the approved modern fashion. There was some good use of boot- to- head with a fine variation on rib pummelling and just a soupcon of colloquial invective that added real local colour.

Being (A) with some quite large friends, (B) equipped with a skateboard which is essentially a street legal war club and (C) worryingly keen on martial arts I charged in with great and, as it turns out, unwise ferocity.

Thus I did mightily smite them and, with suitable support from my large friends, chase them off. I felt good. I had rescued someone who was, although very drunk, effusive in their thanks and their praise of our good deeds.

The attackers went to the police.

I went to court.

I am still paying them money now.

I really really really hope that one day I will encounter a Judge’s/lawyer’s/Juror’s child being brutally raped so I can ignore it and cross over to the other side.

Bloody lefties.
(Thu 14th Feb 2008, 15:33, More)

» Political Correctness Gone Mad

ooh ooh, got another one

I was about 14 before I released that the lovely black couple that owned the corner shop near to my Grandparents weren't actually called "Mr and Mrs Sambo". WHat if I'd asked for them by name once?

*Shudders*

And they called the indian couple "The Guptas" but that may actually have been their name....
(Fri 23rd Nov 2007, 12:32, More)