Right, kraken-lovers. I’ve been banging on at you all week so now it’s your turn to bang on at me. And I really don’t give a shit about what you want to bang on about. This is your chance to get off your chest how the kids are acting like tiny nut-wedges or how the boss is making you want to headbutt a tramp. Or you can just rage yourself purple at whatever other idiocy you can conjure up. If it enrages you, you have a home for said rage right here. Just pitch it into that black hole of fury that I’m forming and shake it all off for the weekend.
Click on this linky thing to ping me your peeves or on this one to read about everyone else.
Disclaimer: as much as I adore my kraken-lovers, if anyone posts a rage that is likely to offend or distress I shall personally take a large cyber stick to them. You can, though, swear your fucking head off. Now, go n click…
Posted in Your Rage
Tagged your turn
You know what? The moment I read the headlines about Angelina Jolie sacrificing her boobage for her health I knew that the world’s arse-marbles would crawl out of the virtual skirtingboard to bemoan the demise of their favourite toss material. It was as inevitable as small boys chucking sticks. So I have a little message for them…
Dear Spaff-Nuggets What in the fuck is wrong with you all? No seriously, it’s a genuine question because I can’t even begin to comprehend what it’s like to live with a brain made solely from distilled tag nuts. See, when another human being – celebrity or otherwise – announces that they have endured a double mastectomy the normal human reaction is to think of their pain, their difficult decisions, their families and whether they are now safe from the cancer that takes so many lives.
But as I said, that’s a normal human reaction, which is why you unfettered piss-biscuits decided instead to greet the news of Jolie’s mastectomy with the sort of response that I’d usually expect from a heavily monkey. Continue reading
Another day, another globule of trickling arse-flannel from Disney. Look, you kraken-lovers should know by now that the ubiquitous Disney princesses have the same impact upon my blood pressure as a blocked artery. I never believed that anything so inane could awaken in me such bile-spouting rage. So it won’t surprise you to learn that the latest Disney development has actually made me invert my own spleen. See, Disney has taken the ball-busting, arrow-shooting, bear-chasing Brave character Merida and turned her into Pamela bloody Anderson.
Remember the film The Fly? Where the scientist and the insect splice their genes resulting in a freak and disgusting hybrid? That’s what’s happened to Merida. See, Disney has named her as the 11th Disney princess after the likes of Rapunzel, Cinderella and Aurora. Problem is that it also decided that she needed a redesign hence the before and after shots up there.
Hot balls! I’ve seen some bollocks being passed off as journalism in my time but last week something in The Times caught my eye and rendered me so enraged that the paper later had to be retrieved from the postman’s throat. It was an article so out of proportion with the national state of skintness that it made me want to set fire to my nearest Mercedes dealer. Yup, you guessed it. It listed the top fifty things that adult humans should do before they die.
Oh spare me, will you? This bucket of literary slops was based on a survey that was commissioned to celebrate the release of cartoon caper Life of Pi on DVD and it asked 2000 18–65 year olds what they thought were the essential experiences of a life well lived. I won’t list them all for you here because this blog tries hard to avoid producing distilled cock-cheese but suffice it to say that said list banged on about one night stands, small joys, paying off debts, being true to yourself, making time for family, going outside more, having a pet, passing a driving test…you get the rest.
Bloody hell. You know how the definition of relaxation is having the time to flick through a favourite magazine? Well I did just that this weekend but rather than becoming relaxed I became so saturated with fury and bile that I actually leaked all over my own gussetry. That’s because I read Look magazine (for the fashion, darling, for the fashion) and found such a stonking wad of a double standard that it’s hard to believe that the mag didn’t spontaneously combust upon production.
See, Look has a ‘Love Lives’ page where it speculates wildly on the ‘on’ or ‘off’ status of various slebs. In the latest issue the mag has a snippet about the alleged romance between 19 year old Harry Styles (One Direction) and 33 year old Kimberley Stewart (Rod Stewart spawnage). It’s entitled Cougar Town and makes mention of Desperate Housewives and “older ladies”. Overall it’s just a printed scream about their 14 year age gap.