I wasted just over an hour of my life at work today.
It was called Health and Safety training. And I think, in order to pass it with a mark of 80%, all I needed was the IQ of a cat; and before you say it – yes, I know I can be stupid but even I am not that dumb.
The web-based course consisted of watching a few videos and then taking a quiz. I would have passed even if I hadn’t watched the videos – the questions were so simple.
In fact, as I watched it at my desk, with my earphones, I found myself chuckling. In order to illustrate how to be safe and healthy at work, they showed situations with people who had removed their brains and consequently stumbled about the place, driven by their own idiocy.
For example, in one scene, somebody had spilled a small amount of liquid at the top of a staircase. The video showed four people, whose combined IQ must have been less than that of a slug, sliding all over the place in full view of each other.
Idiot number one slipped over as idiot number two approached. As idiot one lay on the floor, idiot two gawped at idiot one and then slipped in the same place and fell down the stairs. At the same time, idiot three was coming up the stairs and when he reached the top having seen the other two idiots slip and fall, he too slipped spectacularly.
I had to answer questions like this:
It is OK to leave you laptop in your car with the window open while you pop into a shop. True or False?
It is OK to climb onto a chair with wheels at the top of a staircase in order to change a light bulb. True or False?
For a laugh, I have decided to publish my own ten point plan for morons as a primer for tests similar to the one I had to take. If you are so stupid that people wonder how you manage to dress yourself in the morning, this is for you.
(1)When making yourself a cup of coffee, do not under any circumstances plunge your hand into boiling water as this may cause pain and severe burning and may stop you carrying on with your work.
(2)Whenever you need to go to the toilet, do not wait at your desk until it is too late. You will wet yourself. Always go to the toilet when you know that you can get there without an accident. Such action minimises the prospect of people slipping in the trail of urine that you leave as you run in a state of panic to the toilet.
(3)Do not throw yourself down the stairs. First of all there may be somebody else coming up and as well as injuring yourself you may injure that person too.
(4)If you work on the first floor or above, do not leave the office by leaping out of the window. Even though this may seem to be the quickest way to exit the building, you will almost certainly injure yourself and anybody who is unfortunate enough to be walking beneath.
(5)If you see a fire, do not stand there pointing at it or attempt to warm up your lunch in the flames. You must leave the building – preferably not by hurling yourself down the stairs or out of the windows, as described above.
(6)Under no circumstances should you pour water into electrical equipment to clean it.
(7)However tempting it may be, do not hit your manager with a blunt instrument.
(8)Do not use your laptop while driving. You may crash the car.
(9)If there is a fire, do not stop to make a coffee because it may be cold outside.
(10)Hitting your colleagues over the head with a laptop will injure them. It may also damage expensive company equipment.
You may chuckle at that list but the training I received assumed that I had no common sense whatsoever.
The whole world has gone mad when it comes to Health and Safety. Here is an example from work; I’ve mentioned this before but this time I thought that photographic evidence was required to show normal people how absurd Health and Safety can be.
This notice is on the mirror in the gents toilet at work.
It’s a good job they told me – my IQ usually plummets when I’m in the toilet and I wouldn’t want to spread germs.
Actually, I had to be very careful taking that photo. Walking into the gents with a camera, no matter how innocent the reason, could have been taken the wrong way.
I’ve often wondered why people have a Bucket List, i.e. a
list of things that you must do before you “kick the bucket”.
Personally, I’ve never been interested in making such a
list; all I want to do is get lots of money, travel the world, then grow old and
start annoying people by ranting incessantly.
Actually, it would be nice to have a fun bucket list rather
than doing the things that most people want to do.
With that in mind, here is an alternative bucket list based
on a little bit of a conversation with Mr Google and elements of my own sordid
imagination. Some of the items below are stolen – others are from my own weird
mind.
(1)Change your name to something utterly ridiculous
like “Dirk Prawn” or “Mitt Macaroni” or (and this is bad) “Plastic Mancunian”.
(2)Get revenge on all of those Jehovah’s Witnesses
who called at your house, by dressing up as the Pope and then calling at THEIR
houses and trying to convert them to Roman Catholicism. (NOTE - I have to say I
actually enjoy chatting to Jehovah’s Witnesses on my doorstep, just to see how
far they will go to convince me that I should convert to their cause).
(3)Write an entire album of songs that are utter
garbage and then record it using your own voice as each individual band
instrument. Call the album something that is inspired by the most cringeworthy
of pseudo-intellectual arty-fartiness (for example “Philiosophical Pornography”) and make each song about Simon Cowell (for example “Cowell is my Cyberman”).
Finally, send the album to Simon Cowell himself in a big box weighed down with bricks
and with no postage. Call yourself a strange name like “The Artist Formerly
Known As Pfftt!”.
(4)Walk into a pub and find the oldest person of
the opposite sex – and then ask that person to marry you.
(5)Write an autobiography that is full of utter
lies, taking credit for most of the historical events within your lifetime. Who
knows? Somebody might find it in 300 years’ time and think that some geezer
called “Plastic Mancunian” was the Prince of Wales.
(6)Act exactly like you did when you went through
puberty; march into work and scream “nobody understands me” or “everybody hates
me”; dress in ridiculous fashion like baggy-arsed jeans and start talking in a
weird form of English while making stupid hand signals and rapping.
(7)Go to a musical that you hate and stand up in
the main song and start singing “The Ace of Spades” by Motorhead at the top of
your voice.
(8)Dress up as Darth Vader and walk around stopping
random people and ask them if their name is Luke. Alternatively, dress up King
Leonidas and stop random people shouting “THIS IS SPARTA!!!”.
(9)Dress up as a vampire and go night clubbing. Ask
every member of the opposite sex what blood type they are and if anyone tells
you, shake your head with the words “Shame! I only drink type O”
(10)Get into a lift at the bottom of a very tall
building, wait until it is full, and then press every button before running
out. Run up the stairs and meet the lift on each floor, shouting “BOO!” when
the doors open.
(11)Gate-crash a fashion show, and walk down the
catwalk dressed in your most unfashionable clothes.
(12)Ask somebody really famous to marry you.
(13)Wait until the next general election and print
thousands of flyers promoting yourself as a candidate for a ridiculous party,
like the Chimpanzee Democrat Party (dressing up as a chimp for the picture of
course).
(14)Sell yourself on eBay.
(15)Go to a Star Trek convention dressed as Dr Who
and start complaining to anybody who will listen to you that Star Trek is mad
fiction.
(16)Dress up in suit of armour and attempt to check
in on a flight.
(17)Give random members of the opposite sex your
phone number and say “Call me” while looking seductive.
(18)Dress up as Batman or Spiderman and fly to another
country.
(19)Buy a parrot and teach it to say “Help! I’ve
been turned into a parrot!”
(20)Run into the middle of a crowd, wearing totally
dishevelled clothing, and ask what year it is. When somebody answers, scream “IT
WORKED!!!” and run away.
Actually, in the course of my research for this post, I came
across quite a few real bucket lists. So over the next week or so – until my
holiday to Spain – I will run through one such list and let you know what I
think.
Bet you can’t wait.
In the meantime, it’s probably wise not to try any of the
above items – unless you are a little weird. But if you do, let me know and I
will watch from afar, armed with a camera and a video camera.
I am certain that at some point in my life I have eaten dirt.
Obviously I was a child at the time – it’s not something I do now – at least not knowingly.
To be honest, I’m surprised that there hasn’t been a TV campaign urging me NOT to eat dirt. There are TV campaigns to stop me doing everything else that might harm me.
I am not a stupid person, despite being portrayed as such by the media and health and safety experts. They are not just picking on me, dear reader – they are picking on you too.
We see it every day from crazy health and safety rules and regulations to the news throwing all manner of scare tactics our way.
I’ve told you about a sign in our toilets at work that urges you to wash your hands after using the loo, together with pictures showing you exactly what to do; but that is just the tip of the iceberg.
We have anear miss register – a list of potential issues that could have happened, didn’t and need to be addressed. A person is assigned to each near miss and then action is taken. And it is hilarious reading.
Here are a few examples (I am not making them up):
The condition of the road was very icy and no grit had been put on the road. I approached the barrier very slowly but despite this found I could not stop the car, the car slid slowly toward the barrier and the security guard then came out slowly and lifted the barrier very slowly. I nearly crashed into the barrier.
Walked into kitchen and foot slipped significantly on the floor. It has been recently mopped by the cleaners but they have not put out a wet floor sign and have used a high concentration of multi-purpose fluid in their mop bucket mixture making it very slippery
From where I sit in the office I regularly see near misses where people are rushing out of the kitchen and turning right towards the HR offices with hot drinks and meet someone walking the other way towards my teams area. I think its only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.
Faeces and nose pickings on walls of cubicles of toilets in the offices where staff are working. Reported on 28/11/2006. 29/11/2006 - Reported again: cleaners had not identified and cleaned off. On 30/11/2006, cleaners had still not cleaned the toilets, so reported again, who did get the cubicles cleaned properly after a site visit. To be covered again, at fortnightly H&S meetings on the office facility.
Unwashed Tea Towel has been left for a period of time. This is filthy and I believe may pose a threat to health if used either for drying utensils or use on hands. There are no hand drying facilities in the kitchen. It may sound insignificant but there is a lot of publicity with regards to kitchen germs.
One of the decorative panels behind the urinals fell off. Nobody was using the toilets at the time.
It is worse at some places. Today a work colleague was telling me about his friend who works at another company and has to put up with rules like:
All staff must walk down the stairs holding the handrail. Anybody seeing a person not holding the handrail must report that person. Anybody who knows of a person who did not report another person for not holding the handrail must report the person who didn’t report the first person.
This bizarre rule had a comical effect at a conference in a posh building with one of those staircases that widens into a trumpet shape at the bottom; because the staff were on company business they had to adhere to the above crazy rule. Everybody else marched up the middle of the stairs like the adults they are. The staff of this nameless company all had to hold the handrail and stood out like sore thumbs.
And it gets worse – the same company actually give travelling staff a small handbook which contains instructions in different languages for any taxi driver ferrying the staff member. Instruction like:
The taxi driver must not start the car until the staff member has fastened his safety belt.
The taxi driver must not smoke in the car.
The taxi driver must wear a seatbelt.
That would be pointless in China. In Kunming last year, I jumped into the front of a taxi and tried to fasten my seat belt – the driver refused to drive until I unbuckled my seat belt. I then had to suffer a hair-raising trip around the city of Kunming without a seatbelt.
And what was the reason he had shouted at me for fastening my belt? By fastening my belt I was insulting his driving – implying that I considered him to be a terrible and unsafe driver. No little book would have helped me.
We are being treated like idiots dear reader. They won’t let us use our common sense. We can’t even let our kids outside to get dirty in case they catch some revolting disease.
What they forget is that I have built up an immunity to germs and bugs by actually playing in and with dirt – and I have probably eaten some of it too in my life.
Equally, as adults we are being treated as morons who cannot read and have no common sense. I mean – if I didn’t read the signs they put up I would spend my day with my hands under scalding hot water or picking up dog shit with my bare hands and then eating my sandwiches.
This is my new campaign dear reader.
And I have a big name on my side. I don’t like David Cameron, our new Prime Minister, but I have persuaded him to back my desire to eliminate this inane stupidity.
In the past, on this blog, I have tried to give you the impression that I am an intelligent guy.
That is true – but at the same time I can be a bloody idiot.
How do you make a so-called intelligent Plastic Mancunian into an idiot? There are many recipes; here’s one of them I used a long time ago:
INGREDIENTS
One sober young Plastic Mancunian.
One ridiculous set of clothes that are fashionable only in the eyes of the Plastic Mancunian.
One mirror.
Two other sober young friends of the Plastic Mancunian also prepared in ridiculous clothes.
One ATM card.
Several pints of fine English ale (or lager if none is available)
One Friday or Saturday night.
Several expensive pubs in London.
One very expensive night club in London.
A large group of people willing to dance.
One DJ.
One night club bouncer.
Approximately two hours of cheesy music.
Three young ladies who are well out of the league of the Plastic Mancunian and his mates.
Several cheesy chat up lines.
One stupid idea.
One taxi.
One time machine.
PREPARATION METHOD
(1) Using the time machine, transport the ingredients back to 1985. It doesn’t matter if the year is 1984 or 1985 – that should be close enough.
(2) Dress the Plastic Mancunian in the set of ridiculous clothes and stand him in front of the mirror until he believes that he is sex on a stick. This should take approximately two minutes.
(3) At this moment, take the pre-dressed friends and put them and the Plastic Mancunian into the first expensive pub in London.
(4) Soak the idiots in a couple of pints of beer.
(5) When the conversation starts to get silly and the three young men start to turn into idiots, transfer them to another expensive pub in London.
(6) At this point, you may need to apply the ATM card, particularly if any of the idiots have run out of cash.
(7) Repeat steps (4) to (6) for several hours until the three young men are fully matured idiots.
(8) Apply the ATM card one more time.
(9) Transfer the three idiots to the very expensive and preheated London night club.
(10) Apply the ATM card again because the idiots didn’t get enough cash.
(11) At this point the idiots may realise that they are about to make a huge error in judgement. If this is the case, liberally apply more beer in another pub. That idea will soon diminish.
(12) Apply the ATM card again if necessary.
(13) Before reaching the next stage, the three idiots should be well-oiled and may even be rat-arsed. Ideally they should all be able to string together a coherent sentence and understand each other – just.
(14) Place the idiots outside the very expensive night club in London at the back of the queue of people who are willing to dance.
(15) Slowly place the group of people into the night club for just enough time to irritate the Plastic Mancunian. Two minutes should suffice.
(16) Before putting the idiots into the night club, make sure that the Plastic Mancunian has been allowed to exchange words with the night club bouncer.
(17) Do not allow the night club bouncer to mutate into a violent moron – that will ruin the recipe. If necessary subdue the Plastic Mancunian with a diversionary tactic; pop the three young ladies into the night club (though they can be applied later).
(18) Once in the night club, apply liberal lashings of lager. Be careful not to overdo it at this stage.
(19) Mix the DJ, the cheesy music and the group of people willing to dance until the atmosphere is HOT, HOT, HOT!!!!
(20) Take the stupid idea and mix it with the idiot that is thriving best in the lager. The best idea to use is Impersonate the Dancer, whereby one of the idiots tries to exactly copy one of the more bizarre dancers for one whole song.
(21) When the idiot has finished dancing, and assuming he hasn’t been attacked by the target of his impersonation, he must select another idiot to impersonate another dancer. At this point it may be necessary to apply yet more beer and if you have any, some Dutch courage.
(22) Repeat steps (20) and (21) until each idiot has played the game or until the threat of violence has reached alarming levels.
(23) At this point, mix in the three young ladies who are out the idiots’ league (if not added already) and liberally pour in as many cheesy chat up lines to add a little spice. My personal favourite is
Hey Doll. Have you got a license for those eyes?
Nevertheless,
Fancy a snog?
will do if all else fails.
(24) There may be a few slapped faces at this point but that will add to the pleasure; the idiots won’t feel the pain; they should be totally sozzled at this point.
(25) Continue to cook at a high temperature until the idiots start to wilt or the three ladies resort to more extreme forms of violence.
(26) Now transfer the idiots to a taxi, applying the ATM card for one final time if necessary. There is no need to worry about the three young ladies at this stage; they will have disposed of the idiots in suitable fashion. The three idiots will be saying “Yeerrr my bessst mate!” to each other anyway.
(27) Leave the resulting mess to rest overnight.
When you have finished in the morning, you will have three colossal hangovers, no memory, no cash, no egos and lots of embarassment all nicely wrapped up in the stupidity of youth with maybe a little vomit on the side.
On December 31st 2009, at approximately 23:58, I stared into the eyes of my beloved Mrs PM and said to her:
“My New Year’s Resolution is clear to me: I will not rant in 2010.”
Actually, to be honest, it was probably blurted out at high volume with a lot of slurring and a couple of I love you’s thrown in for good measure and punctuated by the odd belch and hiccup.
However it came out, the sentiment was there.
I was having a great time and I was sick and tired of climbing onto my soapbox. I had convinced myself that I could refrain from blowing my top I was absolutely certain that I would manage to spend 365 days in blissful harmony with the world around me, surrounded by whistling birds, butterflies flitting past my head. I would smile all the time, knowing that I had subdued my grumpiness.
I would adopt the great mantra sung by the legendary Louis Armstrong:
I see trees of green, red roses too I see them bloom for me and you And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky Are also on the faces of people going by I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do They're really saying I love you.
I hear babies cry, I watch them grow They'll learn much more than I'll never know And I think to myself what a wonderful world Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.
My high hopes lasted approximately 365 minutes.
On New Year’s Day, I switched on my TV, watched the news and with seconds my soapbox was out, I had mounted it, and I was lecturing Mrs PM on everything that was wrong with the world.
I tried, dear reader; honestly I tried.
All of this proves that I have a problem; I am convinced that I am surrounded by petty minded imbeciles, bureaucratic morons, stubborn buffoons who refuse to budge and half-wits at every turn.
Some people may say that I am a half-wit and I would agree that sometimes I can be. But as I get older, the world to me seems to be descending into absolute farce at every conceivable opportunity in every single walk of life, from politics to sport, from music to entertainment, from work to travel.
There is breath-taking arrogance throughout the world; evil exists everywhere; stupidity is rife.
Everywhere I turn there is somebody or something determined to make my life difficult or determined to push the button that ignites the flame that converts me from a mild mannered human being into a psychotic ranting animal.
And I’m fed up of it.
Take today, for example.
My work colleagues absolutely love to push the rant button and do so at every opportunity. Most of the time, I breathe deeply and let their taunts ride over me. Occasionally, though, they catch me unawares and I lose control of my senses and rant like a madman. Today’s rant was an absolute belter and half the office stopped work to enjoy my blustering tirade. I entertained the office for a good ten minutes and had most of them falling on the floor with laughter.
You see, dear reader, although I rant, I do so in a light-hearted way that makes people laugh, hence the reason why they are so keen to do it.
WORK COLLEAGUE 1: There’s an email just come in from HR – another belter. Let’s wind Dave up.
WORK COLLEAGUE 2: Crikey – he’ll blow his top. Quick get the popcorn out.
WORK COLLEAGUE 1: Hey Dave. Have you seen the latest missive from HR?
PM (sighing): What now.
WORK COLLEAGUE 1: There are new rules about washing your hands.
PM: WHAT????????????
And so it begins.
Normally I don’t particularly have a problem with HR at all but my work colleagues love to illustrate the most bizarre edicts that come out of the human resources office.
One thing I have a problem with is the name: “Human Resources”.
What on earth happened to “Personnel”? The name “Human Resources” makes me feel like I am a number and not a free man. I am a “resource” to be thrown at a job instead of the expert that will get the job done with maximum efficiency. I feel violated – it’s like I don’t matter at all.
I don’t want to pick on HR at all because ultimately they are victims as well. There is a dark cloud looming, dear reader, and I would love to know who or what is responsible for it. It is like something out of a horror novel – an almost physical entity that touches life as we used to know it and mutates it into absurdity.
Anybody who doubts me, please answer these questions:
What is so special about a person who happens to have won Big Brother? What talent do they possess? The person was unknown when he went into the house and while he was in there did nothing other than try to be controversial, failing miserably. Why on earth should anybody care about anything they ever do? Why are tabloids obsessed with these people?
Talking of tabloids, why do they insult my intelligence with stories about people who I don’t care about and are not worthy of even a passing thought? Why do they build people up and then shoot them down in an instant? Why do they invent terrible nicknames for people, for example, Wayne Rooney becomes Roo or Wazza and we are treated to “intelligent” attention grabbing headlines that substitute the word Roo for You – for example I Only Have Eyes For Roo and Roo Blew It and Rool Britannia – I HATE them. And why do tabloids just print lies? How can they get away with it? Am I alone?
And what about politicians? We have a general election here in England, a party gets elected and then fails to deliver their promises. How can they get away with lying? They should be held to account and punished. Imagine if it were my workplace? If I lied about something so important I would be sacked.
And then you have footballing cheats. Brazilian Kaka sent off because an Ivory Coast player ran into him and then pretended that he been pole-axed by a sniper’s bullet. And what of the goal that Frank Lampard scored against the Germans that was clearly over the line yet ignored despite the video evidence? And what about the goal scored by Carlos Tevez against Mexico that was clearly offside and seen by the entire crowd, all the players and officials and the teams, including Tevez himself and the linesman who didn’t see it? Did the referee watching the screen change his mind? Did he bugger! And what have FIFA got to say? No video technology and no video referee! The arrogance is breath-taking!
And then we have Katie Price and all other famous people who have an army of fans simply because we are privy to watching their exploits on reality TV shows. I take my hat off to Katie Price, Paris Hilton etc. because somehow they have managed to convince armies of fans that there is a point – I just cannot see why they are so fascinating. Am I alone?
Do people take their brains out when watching Saturday night prime time entertainment shows? How can people sit and watch shows like “The X Factor” without throwing a lump hammer through the television? The bulk of these people have no talent whatsoever – how and why do they and people like Simon Cowell get away with convincing us otherwise? It is beyond belief.
Talking of music, whatever happened to good decent music? From the bowels of X Factor we get “Jedward”, two totally talentless twins who destroyed everything they attempted to sing. Don’t take my word for it – watch this:
Even Simon Cowell hated it. What on earth is going on? Is Louis Walsh insane? Britain was obsessed with these talentless kids – they have balls but no talent whatsoever. How can they shine on prime time TV and how can they get a record deal? The world’s gone MAD!!
Still with the music scene – why should a rock singer tell me what to think? Bono makes me cringe every time he opens his mouth to speak. Great singer, great voice – STICK TO SINGING! A mate of mine went to see U2 once – they were his favourite band. When asked if he would see them again he said: “No! I didn’t want to pay all of that money to be bollocked by Bono!!”
I want to eat meat. I like meat. Meat is good for me and it tastes great. I do not want to be told by a vegetarian that I am some kind of homicidal maniac just because I like bacon. Vegetarians have their views – I respect that. But please do not tell me what to do! It is perfectly natural for human beings to eat meat – get over it. Am I the only carnivore in the world who thinks like this?
I could go on but I fear that this post will turn into a book so I will stop for the time being. I do worry though because such nonsense infuriates me, despite my best efforts to stay calm. I am getting better, honestly, but things catch my attention, catch me off guard and light the blue touch paper.
The world is insane.
And I’m not the only one who thinks so.
Here are a few choice rants from a friend of mine at work who, like me, despairs at the state of the world.
He was the inspiration for a blog post from 2008 called Radio Grump FM.
He despaired so much that I had to immortalise some of his frenzied and explosive outbursts for the world to see. I think they are funny – perhaps you agree. If you don’t agree, it doesn’t matter. But I am not alone.
A bit of background before I share his wisdom with you. He is a software engineer, like me, who has a particular gripe with Microsoft.
Enjoy:
(1) Just how thick are these people? I think somebody opened up their heads when they were kids, scooped out their brains and then filled them full of shit!!
(2) I can’t believe they wrote Microsoft Word and then didn’t bloody test it. Maybe it was just tested by a blind man in a dark cellar.
(3) You like Lorraine Kelly? Well that’s 4000 million years of evolution pissed up against the wall!!!
(4) (When woken up by a massive thunderstorm) I looked out of the window and I’ve never seen rain and wind like it. I was beginning to wonder whether I should go out and find Jesus and let him into my life.
(5) You want me to carry on testing this afternoon? Hopefully by then I will have found a spoon to gouge out my eyeballs.
(6) If somebody came up to me and said “I can’t do that because my moon’s rising in Uranus” I’d just punch them!
(7) Yes, there's something controversial about the MacBook Air - It's overpriced SHIT!
(8) Money may not buy you happiness but it will buy you a much better class of misery.
(9) Talking is the only thing that keeps me sane. If I didn't talk I'd have to stand up, pull my zip down and piss on the keyboard.
(10) I think I'll have to phone the bus company lost property service. "Has anyone found a will to live? I had it when I was on the bus this morning but since being at work I've discovered it missing".
(11) I'm going so mental looking at this that I'm thinking of impaling my eyeballs with this Bic biro.
(12) Whoever came up with that idea can't even be fecking sentient.
(13) Is there such a thing as a book called "Idiots Guide To Java" or is that intrinsic to the language?
(14) You can learn to nail you knackers to the table from the internet if you want but that doesn't mean to say it's a good idea.
(15) I'd better get on with some other work before I kill somebody.
(16) This system works on a wing and a prayer – which is not good if you’re an atheist.
(17) Who let these people loose on the human race?
(18) Fecking wankers – the lot of ‘em! I wouldn’t trust them with an Etch-a-Sketch!
(19) These people have definitely been reading Dilbert too much and using it as a manual.
(20) Teaming is not a bloody word, you arses!!
Anyway, I’ve had enough of this nonsense.
Maybe if we all took stock and looked at the idiocy and arrogance in the world we could collectively do something about it. Until then any attempts by me to contain my furious frustration will be totally futile.
Please feel free to let me know what infuriates you. Have you got a soapbox? If so, what makes you stand on it and rant to the world?
I can see a book coming out of this. Maybe I should divert my frustration into something creative.
The problem is that people wouldn’t take any notice of it – until I become World Leader that is.
WARNING: For readers who don't like vomit and poo – STOP READING NOW!
For the rest of you …
What could be worse than pouring milk in your tea and taking a huge gulp only to discover that the milk is way past its sell by date?
What could be worse than digging in the garden, reaching into the soil and putting your fingers in a huge lump of extremely malodorous cat shit?
What could be worse than the above cat shit getting stuck in your fingernails?
What could be worse than stepping down from a chair in bare feet and landing on an upturned plug?
What could be worse than accidentally tripping up a woman carrying four dozen eggs?
What could be worse then finding a huge pile of cat vomit in the middle of your carpet?
What could be worse than failing to notice the huge pile of cat vomit in the middle of your carpet (because you may have left your glasses upstairs) and then stepping into the warm sickly substance?
What could be worse than dropping your toothbrush down the toilet and having to reach in to retrieve it?
What could be worse than being such a skinflint that you actually use the same toothbrush afterwards?
What could be worse than stepping in a huge slimy dog turd, not noticing it, and then walking it through your new girlfriend’s parents’ house the very first time you met them?
What could be worse than dropping your mobile phone down the toilet?
What could be worse than wearing a dress to see the Rocky Horror Show and then allowing your mate to send it to somebody at work so that most of the company can laugh at you?
What could be worse than trying to chat up a handsome man and then dropping your drink all over your lovely new dress?
What could be worse than taking a bite out of a sandwich and then seeing a big green piece of mould right next to the bite mark?
What could be worse than having your beloved mullet cut off because you misunderstood the hairdresser’s question?
What could be worse than using one tea bag per day to make at least five cups of tea because you are a skinflint?
What could be worse than fancying a girl so much that you drink a colossal amount of ale just to pluck up the courage to talk to her and then totally humiliating yourself while insulting her in the process?
What could be worse than screaming like a girl when you see a large spider in a foreign country?
What could be worse than buying a brand new £300 mp3 player, only to use the wrong charger to charge it the first time, completely destroying it?
What could be worse than carrying a tray of beers to a table in a pub and then dropping it on the table, pouring fresh beer on all of your mates?
What could be worse than throwing up on your mate’s lap on a bus ride home?
What could be worse than holding your young baby over your head and being rewarded for making him giggle with a torrent of vomit over your face?
What could be worse than locking yourself out of you flat wearing nothing but a small dressing gown that barely hides your arse, let alone anything else?
What could be worse than being woken up by a huge fat cat leaping down from the wardrobe and landing on that part of your stomach that causes the most air to be expelled?
What could be worse than screaming like a girl when a huge fat cat leaps from a wardrobe onto your stomach?
What could be worse than a man screaming like a girl when a mild earthquake hits Manchester in the middle of the night?
What could be worse than waking up on the concourse of Victoria Station in London next to a steaming pile of vomit?
What could be worse than putting blue food dye in a mate’s beer on his stag do?
What could be worse than throwing up all over a table in an Indian restaurant having consumed copious amounts of beer, some of which was tainted with blue food dye, leaving a huge pile of steaming blue vomit for the rest of restaurant to marvel at?
What could be worse than falling into a river because you took a short cut on a cross country run?
What could be worse than having diarrhoea in a place where the only toilet around for the next three days is totally blocked?
What could be worse than waking up to find a dismembered thrush scattered around your house?
What could be worse than warning your children not to spray sun tan cream in their face because it is dangerous and then promptly spraying sun tan cream into your own face?
What could be worse than waking up and discovering a rat has eaten all of your toilet paper?
What could be worse than a rat eating all of your toilet paper when you have diarrhoea on a boat with the only usuable toilet being the worst toilet in the world?
What could be worse than throwing a glass of coke over a mate, claiming that you did it because “there was wasp in your ear”?
What could be worse than staying at a mate’s house and, in desperation, throwing up all over his freshly washed plates?
What could be worse than putting the wrong type of petrol in your car while you have three mates watching you?
What could be worse that laughing at the guy who put the wrong type of petrol in his car and then doing it yourself sometime later?
What could be worse than having a cat drop a live mouse on you “as a gift” while you were reading in bed?
What could be worse than reversing your car off the drive and hitting a parked car on the other side of the road?
What could be worse than failing to notice that you hit a parked car on the other side of the road, moving forward and then reversing into the same parked car AGAIN!
What could be worse than a woman walking into the toilet while you are perched on the throne in all your glory?
What could be worse than vomiting all over a fruit machine that was being played by a complete stranger?
What could be worse than accidentally spilling hot coffee all over your crotch while in front of customers and then having to walk around for the rest of the day looking as if you have had an accident?
What could be worse than standing admiring a brand new light grey carpet, stepping back and accidentally knocking over a glass of blackcurrant cordial all over it?
What could be worse than suggesting that you throw blackcurrant cordial over the rest of the new carpet to your wife “in order to make the stain symmetrical”?
What could be worse than watching several gallons of home made beer flooding on your kitchen floor when you accidentally tip over the barrel?
What could be worse than standing in front of a urinal just as the water pipe above decides to spring a leak and spray water all over your crotch?
What could be worse than waking up at a strange house with a colossal hangover after a party and then stupidly confessing to the owner of the house that you had thrown up all over his TV the night before?
What could be worse than being given a lift home after a party and then throwing up all over yourself?
What could be worse than finding yourself three miles from home on a Saturday afternoon, covered in vomit, having been thrown out of a car that is also full of your vomit?
What's worse than being sea sick on a ferry and throwing up in the wind, scattering it all over the place (including on other passengers)?
What could be worse than telling the Plastic Mancunian about bad things that have happened to you over the years, only to find them mentioned in a puerile blog post about bad things that have happened to people?
What could be worse than being the Plastic Mancunian and confessing that some of the things above actually happened to you?
Certain people assume that I am totally stupid – and that annoys me.
Last week I popped into the toilet at work to answer a call of nature. I won’t go into graphic detail but when I had finished, I went to wash my hands. On the mirror in front of me were a set of instructions telling me how to wash my hands.
This stupid sign had appeared that day and basically told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t wash my hands it would be totally unhygienic and I would spread germs. It then went on to tell me that I should:
Wet my hands
Put soap on my hands (from the soap dispenser)
Rub my hands vigorously together
Rinse my hands
Dry my hands
And there were pictures illustrating each step.
“What the &*$£?” I yelled, scaring the hell out of an anonymous person still in a cubicle. I was doubly annoyed because I have been trying to cut down on my swearing and two days of effort had been scattered to the four winds.
Do they think I’m a bloody fool? I think my parents taught me how to wash my hands when I was three. Do they think that I’ve forgotten?
I needed a cup of tea, so after I had washed my hands, as per instructions, I went into the kitchen with my mug. There on the hot water dispenser was a sign saying “CAUTION: VERY HOT WATER”
I would hope so because in order to make a superb cup of tea, you actually NEED very hot water.
Do they honestly think that I am going to put my hand under the tap and allow scalding hot water to cascade over my skin?
I’m surprised that there isn’t a sign above the toilet saying “Don’t drink the water” or a sign at the top of the stairs saying “Do not throw yourself down the stairs”.
It’s incredible and extremely worrying. Are there really people out there who need to be told these things? Are there any adults in Manchester who need to be told and shown how to wash their hands?
It’s not just Manchester nor indeed the UK. Such signs are all over the place. Here are a few examples I’ve found on the internet:
“Milk bottles contain milk”
“Don’t commit crime. Pay for your fuel”
“Visitors are warned to take every care to avoid accidents”
“Road flooded during floods”
“Caution: Water on the road when it rains”
“Sign not yet in use”
“Warning: Platform ends here”
“Do not throw stones at this sign”
“Caution: This sign has sharp edges”
“For town centre shopping, follow “Town Centre””
“Removing a wheel can affect the performance of the bicycle”
“For indoor or outdoor use only”
“This door is neither an entrance or an exit and must never be opened”
“Contents hot on removal from microwave”
“Always pick up the knife by the handle”
“Instructions: Open packet, eat nuts”
“Danger: Vehicles on the road”
“Warning: This heater will get hot. Please take note and for your own safety do not touch the unit”
It’s clear that the police in my country think that I need to be told not to commit crimes. When I drive up to a petrol station forecourt I have to be told to pay for my fuel. I’m that stupid. Or at least these people think so. How many petrol stations have forgotten to put up sign and had customers drive off without paying? It’s bloody absurd.
Have you ever watched daytime TV? Apart from the mind-numbing banality of the programmes, the adverts are geared towards people with a low IQ.
“Have you had an accident that wasn’t your fault? We at Accident Claims For Muppets will get you compensation.”
I presume that the muppets in question accidentally put their hand under a tap dispensing scalding hot water when there wasn’t a sign warning them not to do so. I’m sure that there are genuine accidents caused by neglect but the line has to be drawn somewhere. I don’t need to be told how to pick up a knife or that drinking toilet water can make me violently ill.
I am not a stupid child (even though I act like one sometimes; well of most the time if the truth be known).
In a restaurant last week, I ordered a bottle of wine. The waiter dutifully delivered a £30 bottle of rioja, opened it and poured a tiny amount into my glass. As tradition and etiquette dictate, I obediently sipped the wine to relay to the waiter whether it was acceptable or not.
It was disgusting; I stood up, spat the wine all over the waiter’s white jacket and screamed:
“This is revolting! How dare you charge £30 for this bottle of rocket fuel.”.
I snatched the bottle from the stunned waiter and poured it over his head.
I didn’t really. In fact, I didn’t even go to a restaurant last week. However, I would love to have the courage to do just that; refuse a bottle of expensive wine because the taste is not worthy of the asking price.
Furthermore, there are numerous other things I would love to do if only I had the audacity.
The beast within me needs to be totally constrained as does the mischievous imp. I long to unleash these dark sides of my personality on people who wind me up; I feel like Bruce Banner containing the Hulk within. The urge to unleash the beast and vent my fury on people who anger me is sometimes overwhelming. And sometimes I can barely contain the mischievous imp who yearns to conquer arrogance and stupidity with suitable punishments.
Here are a few examples:
(1) You see lots of men with long hair. I can appreciate that, having had long hair myself. However, when men tie their long locks into a ponytail, it makes me cringe. It may look cool to some, but I hate the style personally – and sadly, I know people who do it. And what would I love to do to these guys? Cut the bloody ponytail off and then see the look of horror on their faces when they realise what’s happened. If I did have a pair of scissors, the urge to act would be overwhelming.
(2) At a football match, when a player dives and feigns injury, i.e. cheats, all I want to do is leap over the wall and stamp on the imaginary injury and say “NOW, you’re injured you cheating scumbag!”
(3) When stuck in a conversation with the world’s biggest bore, I usually listen attentively, nodding at the appropriate times and pretend that I’m interested in the plot intricacies of Coronation Street. If I were to unleash the beast I would say:
“For crying out loud – GET A LIFE! STOP BORING THE ARSE OFF ME AND TALK TO SOMEBODY WHO CARES!”
(4) Have you ever found yourself next to a loathsome businessman on an aircraft who sticks his elbows into your ribs as he attempts to eat, drinks huge quantities of wine and ends up disturbing you every twenty minutes to go to the loo, talks inane crap peppered with business buzzwords and phrases, is rude to the stewardesses and treats them like skivvies and then falls asleep facing you, breathing his stinking wine-breath into your face whilst snoring so loudly that it drowns out the engines? Well I have and let me tell you this: all I want to do is haul that man out of his seat, frogmarch him to the toilet, crowbar his massive belly into the cubicle and shout:
“STAY IN THERE, YOU FAT OBNOXIOUS GIT!”
(5) A female friend walks into the bar wearing the most awful outfit you have ever seen. Instead of saying:
“Wow, you look fantastic”
Don’t you sometimes want to just tell her the truth? Wouldn’t it be better to say:
“You’re dress looks like a warped garbage sack and your lipstick makes you look like a tart. Your hair's a bloody mess and your perfume is so overpowering I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve left a trail of dead cats in your wake. I’m sure it took you hours to get ready but, let me tell you this, love; I’d just go back and throw on something simple – you’d look much better.”
(6) Picture the scene; you’re at an art gallery standing in front of a work of art by a contemporary artist, described in the media as a visionary. The piece is basically a pile of bricks thrown at random and covered with various colours of paint and has random bric-brac glued to various bits of it (eggs, jelly, cat fur, dog poo, feathers, tar, broken crockery, soup, dolls furniture, used tissue, mud and bits of car). It is called something like “Adventures in the Platinum Void”.
Two art critics are standing next to you. One says:
“It’s fabulous! It captures the essence of existence in a manner that is, quite simply, breath-taking. I feel privileged to see this beautiful piece. I’m moved to tears. I am a voyeur from an existential plane. This piece is the work of genius.”
The other replies:
“I totally agree. This magnificent sculpture explains the meaning of so many philosophical taboos on a level that is deeper than the world’s best thinkers can ever imagine. The intensity of splendour is daunting; I am but a microbe in its presence. The power is overwhelming and I am wholly inadequate, yet totally enthralled.”
One of them turns to you and says:
“What do you think?”.
Wouldn’t you just love to say:
“This is total crap! The artist is a genius but only in the sense of being able to con you two pseudo intellectuals that it actually means something. I’m sure the artist is laughing all the way to the bank. You are a couple of morons with more money than sense.”
(7) Back in the restaurant, I’ve survived the wine incident and I’ve ordered the gourmet dish, described in great mouth-watering detail. The dish has a fancy French name (that probably means “dustbin slime”). The waiter, having brushed himself down and changed his jacket, presents me with my main course on a huge plate; there is barely enough to feed a gnat. The meal is so tiny that I need a microscope to see it. And I’ve paid £25 for this useless gruel. Instead of saying “Thanks!” I long to say:
“What the hell is this? How have you go the gall to charge £25 for food that would leave a goldfish demanding more?”
I’m sure he would run for cover if I threw the plate at him.
(8) You’re in a queue at the ticket office in a railway station and your train is due to depart. In front of you is a man who is so dim it’s a wonder he can get himself dressed up in the morning. He says:
“So what time’s the next train to Liverpool?” he says. “I need to get there by 5:30. It’s now 1.30 so that gives me a few hours. How long does it take? I’ve heard its 35 minutes; is that true? How much does it cost?”
Don’t you just want to grab the idiot and shout:
“THIS IS A TICKET OFFICE WHERE YOU BUY TICKETS. IT IS NOT A BLOODY INFORMATION DESK. MY TRAIN IS ABOUT TO LEAVE AND IF I MISS IT BECAUSE OF YOUR IDIOCY, I’M GOING TO COME BACK HERE AND SET FIRE TO YOUR TROUSERS!”
(9) Don’t you just want to turn up to X-Factor auditions with a large bottle of indelible ink in your pocket? Why would you do that, I hear you cry? Well, you could stand up in front of Simon Cowell and when he asks what you going to sing, simply run up to him and pour the entire contents of the bottle over his smug head.
(10) You’re in a pub with your beloved lady having a wonderfully fulfilling conversation over a pint of the landlord’s finest ale, when all of a sudden, the place fills up with young people out for the Saturday night cattle parade and the barman cranks up the background music so loudly that you can barely hear yourself think. Worse still, the music is rap, r’n’b or boy band/girl band fodder. Wouldn’t you just love to walk behind the bar, lift up the offending music machine and smash it to the floor? Even better – walk to the pub with the world’s most powerful ghetto blaster and as soon as the music is cranked up, retaliate by playing a Metallica CD at three times the volume?
I’m glad that’s off my chest. The post may make me appear to be a savage, bent on the destruction of all that annoys or irritates me but I’m not really. I can tolerate almost anything; whilst my inner turmoil in trying to contain the beast and imp within is a struggle of monumental proportions, my outward appearance is one of calm and polite acceptance – just as long as the wine tastes nice.
