Ladies, ladies, ladies… PLEASE!! News reaches us this week that women are now responsible for 25% of all violent attacks. It seems the fairer sex are getting increasingly drunk and pissed up on booze then hitting each other like street whores brawling over the last customer… Quite frankly, it’s unacceptable.

So, in an effort to add an air of respectability to proceedings, here’s some excerpts from my forthcoming guide, Crussell’s Guide to a Good Night Out (for the ladies)

Preparing for your night out
Refrain from “necking” five Red Bulls in less than 30 minutes, the proper NOL (Night out Lady), paces herself by restricting the alcopop intake to one bottle per smear of cheap make-up. always remember to drink from a glass – there’s nothing more unsociable than simple opening your cavernous mouth and pouring the alcohol in.
Clothing is an important aspect of the evening out, be sure it’s too tight and, if possible, semi-transparent – all the better to show off those tattoos of unicorns and badly-drawn butterflies!

Meeting your fellow ladies
Be sure to meet your fellow revellers at a reasonable time and place. A hugely overcrowded pub always does the trick, with ten minutes to go before your preferred event/club opens.

Genuine NOLs project an aura of authority, so make sure you push your way straight to the bar, ignoring the complaints of other drinkers. As a general note, those around you love to be called “fakkin’ coonts” and will often appreciate a piggy-eyed, slack dead-eyed stare, if you have the time to give them one.

Arriving at your chosen venue
It’s very important for the NOL to be impressively under-dressed when arriving at your chosen venue, even more so if the outside temperature is low. Be sure to clutch your tiny handbag to your chest and shiver dramatically. In order to relieve the cold you feel, chew enthusiastically on a large wad of gum in order to generate enough heat to keep you comfortable. No spitting however, etiquette teaches us that a NOL always swallows (more on this later).

Attracting a mate
There are two schools of thought for the NOL here, the Drinkonomics camp would have you believe that it’s the norm to turn up at your event with no cash, grab a suitable looking male and entice him into a companionable relationship with a phrase such as “I’ll nosh you off if you buy me a fakkin’ lager”, though the more laid back members of the School of Dancemania will insist that random disinterested motions on the dance floor will do the job just as well with less … noshing …

Go with whatever suits your mood, but remember, it’s always more effective if gum is being chewed.

Leaving the Event
A proper NOL likes to make as big an impact when she leaves as when she arrives. Try starting a fight or hitting a rival NOL with a broken bottle whilst exchanging words of mutual respect such as “slag” or “whore” to achieve the desired effect – remember: no-one likes a wallflower!

In the event that you’ve “pulled” it’s important to indulge in sexual activities in the lavatories before leaving so you can share your moment of coital bliss with your chums on the way home, and be sure to shout goodbye to your “shag” on the way out, destroying his reputation with his mates as you do.

For the ultimate exit, try vomiting copiously on the pavement outside of the venue, the knowledgeable NOL about town will always try to keep a little in her mouth, just in case an eligible bachelor walks past, after all, there’s nothing as romantic as a staggering, lager-soaked, blood stained, vomit-emanating NOL with her knickers in her handbag, is there?

From: The Honourable Member for Helipad North
To: the Right Honourable members of Her Majesty’s Parliament

Subject: Expenses

To the Rt Hon Members,
It is with great regret that I wish to announce to the house that I have been caught with my fingers in the till. It was never my intention to bring shame on the world’s greatest political institution, just to get away with whatever I could. I also never intended to embarrass the Prime Minister, besides, no-one thought it was possible for him to be further shamed given the current state of his leadership.

I will not apologise for my actions, as far as I’m concerned, I acted within the letter of the law (which I helped write) and never broke any of the rules (which I had a hand in creating).

Let me explain my actions:

The claim for extra-strength underpants (£5,645) was a necessary expense given my position in the House. For the last three years I’ve had to listen to the incessant crap spewed out by the Labour party, quite honestly, their constant backtracking, double talking and outright lying causes my colon to spasm, hence the need for a reinforced gusset and extra buttock padding.

The £15,600 for a new conservatory was vital. You see, I keep my special “going to Parliament” shoes in the Conservatory and I fear I would not be able to do my job properly without footwear which is maintained in the manner to which they’ve become accustomed.

The claim for the house for my flip-flops has already been withdrawn, mainly because I never wear the flip-flops.

Most importantly, the £21,615 for interest on the lack of interest on the capital sum of the derisory amount of the gross product of the net income of my mortgage is important to me because I don’t understand what it’s for, but whatever it is it’s an “accounting error”, the error being that some bastard at the Daily Telegraph noticed.

Finally, as a relatively new MP, I believe the £150 for porn movies off Sky is totally justified as I wanted to fit in with the other thieving wankers around here and needed some training first.

So, to sum up, I’m willing to pay back at least £50 of the £65,768.98 I have claimed in the last month as a show of faith in the Parliamentary system and so I don’t have to go to jail – it’s not like I’m a real criminal after all, they’re poor and have stripey jumpers, whereas I am rich and have expensive Saville Row suits, the receipts for which will be lodged with the Fees Office next week.

Regards
Justin Toper-Sopona-Roper Johnson
Rt Hon Member for Helipad North

Blimey, that’s an inflammatory way to open a blog posting, makes it sound like someone has put together a virtual directory where crooks, scumbags and kiddy fiddlers can just browse for  potential victims.

Well, SURPRISE! it’s here, it’s staggeringly dangerous and if you’ve got kids, they’re on it!!!

The Government (well there’s a surprise..) are pushing forward with plans to roll out the ContactPoint database – a national directory of all 11 million of the country’s under 18s which was designed to help keep our kids safe.

The database will include details such name, address, date of birth,
gender, and contact details for parents or carers for each child in
England. Contact details for the child’s school, family doctor and
other careers working with the child will also be included within the
same cross-reference entry.

So far so good, let’s face it, the ability for the authorities to collate this data in one place will help make sure there are no more Baby P’s, won’t it? Yes, of course it will – but to make it useful it has to be available to anyone who may come into contact with the children.

And estimates reckon that *could* be in the region of 350,000 people – and that’s just the authorised ones.

Given the propensity for people in positions of authority to leave laptops etc on various forms of public transport this means YOUR kids could have their details lost at any given point in time.

Now, add to this the possibilities for villains entering the system and stealing the data, and what does the figure then become? There are many, many hackers out there who must be rubbing their hands in glee at the propect of cracking their way into the system – not because they’re paedo’s but because it’s an allegedly secure system – it’s a blackhat hackers dream for God’s sake.

Scaremongering about hackers aside, how is the day-to-day security to be implemented? If doctors or social workers have access how do they stop people looking over their shoulders at sensitive data? What about disgruntled employees who decide to make trouble for an enemy or hated neighbour? Are you with me yet? You should be …

If you’re a parent, you don’t seem to have a say in this, your children will be catalogued and you can’t do jack to stop it.

This is a disaster waiting to happen and this time it won’t be a few social security details which are at risk when there’s a security breach, it’ll be the most vulnerable of all people in our society – the kids.

The system goes on trial in the North West from this week, be afraid. Be VERY afraid..

(For more info see this post from tech newsite The Register)

[edit]
the BBC have also reported on the launch here

Another day, another bloody idiot staggers cretinously into the newspaper headlines.

Andrew Bretell of gay action group “Pride in Canterbury” is to complain to the Local Govt Ombudsman because Canterbury isn’t gay enough.

It would seem that Bretell really isn’t comfortable enough with his own sexuality, so he has to remind everyone he takes it up the bum by complaining about the lack of gay bars and community centres – that low self-esteem, it’s a bitch…

If he wants to be gay, fine, but for God’s sake, WE DON’T CARE ABOUT IT. What strikes me about people like this is the fact that it’s clearly not enough to be gay, everyone else has to know about it – and that really gets right up my nose.

It’s people like Bretell who cause gay people a problem. So there are no gay bars – there are no geek bars either but I don’t wander about pissing and moaning like a spolit brat. There are also no Jewish sandwich shops or Christian Hairdressers but I don’t see anyone burning cars or starting riots outside Aldi as a result.

Perhaps I should start action of my own, as a straight man of 40 I want more cafes which specifically cater ONLY for straight, white, middle-class, middle-aged men who … oh. wait. that’s racist and sexist isn’t it – I forgot, we’re not allowed to discriminate on the grounds of sexual preference, colour or social standing.

So Mr Bretell, why don’t you shut the fuck up and get on with your life, or isn’t that possible? What you do, with whom is your affair, by making it public you do those around you a disservice, now go and stand up in a corner somewhere till we’ve forgotten about you…

He was old, cantankerous and smelly. He rarely hit the cat litter tray and would pee on anything you left on the floor. His ears were raggy from a series of fights, his eyes were dodgy, he only had a handful of teeth and his breath would melt plastic at 100 paces. And he didn’t really meow – it sounded more like the kind of strangled grunt you get from a tramp who smokes 200 tabs a day.

He was my old Tom and I loved him to bits.

When we first met him, he was a feral cat, living wild in stables at the bottom of our garden in an old shed. When he was “evicted” from his home due to the arrival of another mog he moved in with us and our lives were changed, for the better, forever.

Tom was quite a timid creature, if you belched too loud within hearing distance he would run off in a panic, convinced someone or something was about to kill him. He even had his own equivalent of the SuperNanny naughty step – round the side of the tree in our garden was a patch of weeds that became the “naughty bush”, somewhere to escape too till his latest poo-related misdemenour had been forgotten.

I don’t think he ever did anything out of badness, he was a crusty, stinky flea-bitten old mog, but if you looked into his eyes there was a spark, a little twinkle that showed there was more to the old boy then you would first guess. He loved attention, and sachets of cat meat – especially the ones which contained GRAVY. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be first to the food bowls in the morning and then to devour the gravy in it’s entirety, leaving dry chunks of food for the others. Then we would have a quick stroll round the garden before retiring to one of his many beds around the house for a bit of a nap.

He always made me smile with his oddities and routines – even the one that involved using the litter tray minutes before guests arrived, filling the house with an utterly evil stench – it was a Tom thing (and he was at least 20 so he pretty much get to do what he wanted.. pretty much …).

For an old stray he had a remarkable vocabulary, there were many easily distinguishable trills and chirrups which we could easily translate as; “no”, “food” and “hungry” – there was even a noise for “good morning” though I doubt he ever waited for a response as it was always followed quickly by “chunks”, “now” and “please”.

The last two or three days he deteriorated quickly. His kidneys had been failing and he had a tumour in his mouth which was getting steadily worse. I knew when we woke up this morning it was time to let him go – he just wasn’t the cheeky old monkey we’d come to love over the last nine or ten years. Taking him to the vets was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, coming home without him was even harder…

It’s weird, now he’s gone there’s a small, slightly smelly hole in the world, like someone’s cut out a dishevelled shape in space that won’t fill itself back in.

Wherever you are old lad, behave, be polite and don’t eat all the gravy off the chunks!

Goodbye Mr Tom and sleep well, we’ll never forget you x x x

Why is it we’re expected to feel sorry for people who die of drugs overdoses?

Yesterday F1 Boss Max Mosley’s son died after allegedly injecting a load of heroin, the London papers described it as a “tragedy”. Any Winehouse is tottering around the Caribbean and the press would have us believe it’s “terrible” what’s happened to her. Then there’s Doherty..

I’m sorry, but if you choose to take hard drugs and you die it’s your hard luck. I have no sympathy. At all.

Like AIDS, there’s no excuse for living in Britain and not being aware of the dangers that can befall you if you do something utterly bloody stupid. There’s nothing tragic about ignorance.

The family’s of those who die would have you think differently of course, the dead druggie will always have been a good boy/girl who NEVER got in trouble with the police, they will also have been bright, happy and outgoing until the drugs got hold of them.

Hang on though, did these drugs wander down the street and bundle the druggie into a car? Was said corpse forced to take substances against their will (twice a day, every day for six months) – I think not.

The simple fact of the matter is, if you take this shit you might die and if you do. IT’S YOUR OWN FAULT. I have nothing against people taking drugs, if that’s what they want to do, fair enough, but don’t expect me to believe they’re saints and don’t expect me to help them out if it all goes pear-shaped. It doesn’t matter it’s heroin, crack, booze or Haliborange, if you can’t take the consequences, don’t touch the stuff!!!

Q: What happens when you fail to make the Champions League final?

A: You behave like a spoiled brat.

Didier Drogba apparently thinks it’s OK to abuse the ref when he loses – obviously his massively inflated salary makes him think he’s important.

Someone clearly needs to tell him he’s an overpaid, petulant tart with ideas above his station, sadly it won’t be his equally crap colleagues who are alos poor losers.

Team captain John Terry said: “I am fully behind Didier for the way he reacted. The
man wants to win.”

Football doesn’t need scum like that, not now, not ever.

It’s a knotty problem. The Beeb has been wasting license payers money for years, paying “stars” like Jonathan Ross tens of millions of pounds and commissioning reality crap for the masses whilst the management gets fatter and more indolent as time goes on.

It’s all a bit tricky really, faced with huge debts and an inability operate the corporation sits on it’s fat, bloated arse like Jabba the Hut dreaming up ever more expensive and preposterous ideas whilst whining about how badly done-to it is.

Obviously the Government is listening, because, according to a report in today’s News of the World, the latest, greatest scheme to help the BBC is to tax Internet advertising. Yes folks, you heard it. Not content with buggering everything else up, the “people in charge” have now reached the point where they have so little over ANY financial matters, they’ve decided the raid the last piggy bank available to them. Tax from smoking is on the wane because they’ve basically criminalised it, drink is next and without two of the biggest money spinners to boost the coffers, the Internet is an obvious choice to pay for the failings of yet another “responsible” organisation.

I’ve had a think, and here’s some of my ideas for making the BBC less wasteful.

* Sack Jonathan Ross, Graham Norton and and anyone else on a grossly ridiculous salary – and let’s be honest “grossly ridiculous” really means anyone on more than £100k a year.

* Stop making crap TV that no-one wants and focus efforts on what the BBC does best

* Scrap News24 as no-one watches it.

* Scrap all radio stations except for Radio 1, 2 and 4, the rest is either an indulgence or the brainchild of some Politically Correct halfwit

And most of all …

* Get rid of the World Service – for Christ’s sake why are the British people paying for others around the world to get free news coverage. Once upon a time, the BBC was a highly regarded, unique institiution. These days, it’s just another new service and WE do no need to be paying for it.

Six or eight months ago, the Beeb launched a Persian news service to cover Afghanistan et al – but really, who the hell cares? You can bet your arse most of the suspicious halfwits over there regard it as being pro-West propaganda anyways so it’s complete waste of money – a bit like the Olympic coverage where the BBC sent 400+ staff members to China to cover a few running and jumping games – pointless, dull and utterly uninteresting…

Better still, make the BBC carry advertising and make better use of the material it sells internationally – I’m sure Dr Who is a great little money spinner worldwide as is Top Gear – but then, they never really talk about how much they make from worldwide sales, do they?

Two interesting points are raised by the News of the World article;

1. The BBC needs taking in hand and sorting out – or closing down – once and for all.

2. The Government are so utterly devoid of ideas they’re looking to tax anything in sight before we really, truly realise the extent to which they’ve sold us all down the river.

It’s time for an end to Brown and the scum-sucking toadies he’s appojted to run the country. I have no idea what would replace him and right now I don’t care, even Lucifer himself would be a blessed relief after the last ten years of bullshit, lies and wars.

Working for the Government – that must be dull, right? Endless meetings, men in expensive suits, rampant bureaucracy, who want’s that?

Perhaps the best Civil Service job in history belonged to a Court Jester. In the reign of King Henry II, this man’s sole job was to entertain the King on Christmas Day performing an act described as “Unum saltum et siffletum et unum bumbulum”… or … “one jump, one whistle and one fart.

For his troubles, this dedicated servant was was given a Manor house and 30 acres of land.

So, Roland the Farter (his official title) we salute you!

After six years of service in what appears to be the diabolical wasteland of Iraqi, the British Army are finally coming home – the best news we’ve had in a while.

I don’t honestly care what it means to the people of the Iraq – I never did, and I couldn’t care less what it means for the world of international politics, the good news is thousands of families across the nation can sleep a little bit easier knowing that husbands, wives, sons and daughters are out of the firing line.

Get them home ASAP, away from suicide bombers, IEDs and fundamentalist arseholes and let normal life resume.

Unlike certain sub-human segments of our society (the anti-British filth who accuse them of being child murderers) I believe these folks should be given all of the plaudits and encourage we can muster for a job well done – even if it was a corrupt cause for a megalomaniac who wanted to get his name in the history books.

Good on you boys and girls, God Speed and see you soon!