On Your Marks


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Budding London Olympians will get an early the chance to improve their speed out of the blocks thanks to Mayor Boris. He’s decided to cut up to 6 seconds off the time the “green man” phase of the capital’s pedestrian crossings.This brilliant scheme will, apparently, help get the traffic moving in the metropolis. And sod those on foot. According to the Evening Standard this could leave pedestrians up to 6 metres short of the kerb when the time comes for the cars to move off again. Perfect training for our sprinters as they’re gonna be at least that behind the rest of the field come 2010.

The gentle ‘ping’ signalling it’s safe to cross will be replaced by a male voice (rumoured to be that of completely-innocent TV favourite Michael Barrymore) shouting “GET A FUCKING MOVE ON”. Roller skates will be provided for the elderly or infirm. Wheelchair users will be encouraged to give lifts to others. If you’re blind, you’ll have to trade your labrador for a whippet.

I may be making some of this up, but the thing about the 6 seconds is true.

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Having Trouble Crossing That Road?
So it’s open season for those of us on foot. But what of our beloved cyclists? You know the ones— that lot who are apparently saving the planet. The smug bastard that stands, sweating, next to you in the office lift every morning. Wearing lycra. Pointing that thing at you. AT HIS AGE???? But even that wouldn’t matter if you hadn’t just nearly been run over on the way in by one of his kind who doesn’t think red traffic lights apply to cyclists. So why doesn’t Boris (yes, another cyclist) sort that lot out before this Tweets version of crossing the road comes in? I’m a mild mannered man but sometimes I’m actually driven to abusive language (most mornings outside London Bridge Station, around 8:50) as these helmets in helmets (usually couriers) plough through a crossing, narrowly missing me. They get very narky if you give em a quick nudge, you know?

The concept of cycling is, I suppose, a reasonable. It’s a clean, quiet and cheap way to get around. Nothing wrong there. But who among us hasn’t sat in a meeting room/pub/cell listening to one of them prattle on and on about thefumesandthe-fuckinignorantbusdriversandtheresnowheretostoreyourbikeonceyougetthereand-thetraindriverswontletabikeonduringrushhourandIrememberwhenyoucouldputthem-intheguardsvanandtaxidriversincyclelanesandihadapuncturecomingintoworkandhad-topushitallthewaytoevansonthecutand…… SHUT UP YOU DULL, DULL BASTARD. I DON’T CARE !!! Tell you what, mate, sell your bike, your “lid” (don’t get me started), your fingerless mittens, your little water-bottle and your “smog mask” (stop it). Use the money raised to by an Oyster Card and get a life.
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On second thoughts don’t. Run me over. Put me out of my misery.

This is Your Enemy

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Are there any Women here today…?


More proof, if any were needed, that Darwin was on to something. All hail Santino the chimp! A prime (or primate) example of a miserable old bastard. For our hero (pictured) sits in his enclosure at a zoo in Sweden and hurls stones at any visitors he takes a dislike to.(even if they DIDN’T say Jehovah). 175_0310_angry_chimp

What’s more, Santino (31yrs) wanders around collecting stones and stock-piling them to throw at future targets. He even shapes pieces of concrete into disc-shaped missiles. (I’ll have two flat ones and a packet of gravel).

Wouldn’t you just LOVE to sit in your front garden, preferably on an old set of steps, and luzz stones at passers by who didn’t come up-to-scratch? I’d be spoilt for choice for victims. That nosey cow around the corner, for one; Anyone over the age of 14 on a skateboard; The Betterware bloke. The Sunday morning Happy Clappers…oh this could go on for ever.

My only concern is that we may have Santino’s sex wrong. Stockpiling infers forward planning, and whoever heard of a bloke planning ahead past his next pint?

Want more Chimps? This is hilarious.

There’s a Rat in Mi Kitchen Cabinet


There is now five times more litter in this country than in 1963. There are now more rats in the UK than people (Dwain Chambers, Peter Hain and Fred Goodwin count in each column). We’re also told that Britain now has a quarter of the world’s CCTV cameras—presumably to film the rats.

Those of us who don’t feel threatened by the cameras, nevertheless question their worth. Admittedly, they once successfully managed to follow a Brazilian backpacker from his flat to a tube station, but a fat lot of good that did him, poor sod. BUT, you can guarantee that the next time you’re in dire need of a lamp post on the way home, your urinary diversion will be captured on super-8 and be submitted as evidence against you when you’re hauled up in front of the Beak.

Surely if we spent a little less on cameras, and a little more on refuse collectors, we might create a less-threatening, Big Brother environment, get more people in work (I know, it’ll never catch on) and deprive ratty of a ready-meal.

Simples!

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I can’t help thinking that those who jump on the Green Lobby’s household waste-recycling bandwagon are unwittingly contributing to the problem: Most councils are reducing rubbish collection, especially from the green bins, to fortnightly collections, which gives our furry friends more time to sample the delights of last’s night’s chicken korma, or even last week’s nut roast.

Until Big Business stops pumping crap into the ozone, and producing mountains of waste the size of Wales (why is it always Wales?) we shouldn’t be guilt-tripped into helping save the planet. Lord Beaverbook did the same during the war: persuading the women of Britain to give up their pots n pans, their husbands to donate their car-tyres, and schools to dismantle their railings, all to make Spitfires and Lancasters to fight the Germans. The result? Absolutely bugger all. Not a single plane was made and no Germans slaughtered as a result (not even Edmund Blackadder’s famous “daschund with a slight limp”) But it felt like the little people were “doing their bit” for the war effort. Cobblers.

So here’s the thing: start off by forcing Fred The Shred to empty bins 3 times-a-week. No, scratch that. Dwain would do it much faster. Fred can drive the truck. I fear Peter Hain would be harder to catch. He’ll be off looking for another ship to desert with the rest of his rodenty rabble-rousers.