Getting On My Tits

My god some stuff round here gets on my tits.

1. Like ads for ad space which always promises that many millions will see your ad if it’s placed at the very same point that you’re reading it.

Only it won’t will it, because there’s no real ad there, only the promise of a real ad. Clearly there aren’t enough real ads to fill the space because their promises are complete bollocks. These types of ads are always above mens urinals as it happens, the last great untapped bastion of captive advertising.

2. Packaging that is ‘new and improved’.

So you haven’t done anything with what’s actually inside the cardboard box around the outside? No? Fuck off then.

3. ‘Welcome to your new Blackberry’

Which is not a lifestyle, not a luxurious property within some gated community and most definitely not something that came about from your man’s milk. It’s a phone. That’s it. Just a fucken phone.

4. The show / movie / book that 'critics are raving about’.

Now before we endorse something with a shout out like that let’s just ask ourselves who are these critics and what is their track record like? Are they haters or do they take all the promo material they get right up the arse, because objectivity is important to me. Or maybe I’ll just make up my own mind, fuck you very much

5. Kendra Wilkinson

Has not one, but two books on the shelves. What could she possibly have to write about that would fill a post-it let alone two paperbacks?! You might know her as one of the three stooges who hooked up with Hugh Hefner, starred in the reality show of it and the subsequent spin off after being upgraded by The Hef, for something younger and dumber. You might know her on account that she regularly gets her massive mammaries out. Or you might not know her at all. Chance would be a fine thing.

6. Printouts posted to shared noticeboards about shitty bosses.

Which are almost as big a waste of space as the person who anonymously put it there. It’s no different than writing - and sketching as a visual aide - on the toilet wall at school about just how massive Bruisers testes are when you were 10. Mind you, they were. But what purpose does it really serve other than to give someone a chubby for their perceived hard core defiance of authority?

My feelings on such matters are that if it’s a problem, do something about it. Unfortunately if your only plan of attack is to pin an unfunny print out up in the work place, during work time, using work stuff, then you’re part of the fucken problem. Why not grow a pair and man up?

A big pair, like Bruisers.

My toilet wall drawings of Bruiser were uncannily anatomically correct..