Tag Archives: don’t like

Help the Hairdresser

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Please help him.

I am raising money for hairdressers.

Eighty-five percent of these blighted individuals have been wickedly robbed of many key abilities the rest of us take for granted. They’ve mistakenly stumbled onto the one career path to which they’re hopelessly unsuited, exerting their cutting power on a petrified, innocent public.

We need to get them out of the salon and into other jobs, lest we remain shockingly coiffed for all eternity.

A recent study showed that whilst most hairdressers have mastered the trick of looking flamboyantly skilled and ever-understanding, most are actually blind and deaf. The rest are clinically insane, driven to their madness by the millions of snippets of exiled hairs that torture every moment of their waking existence. Continue reading



I have a friend who’s spoonist. I’m not sure how I feel. I don’t share her opinions, but I’ve made her the odd meal. Does that implicate me in her prejudicial ways? I’m certain she’s not racist and I know she likes the gays. But I don’t want the world to think that I think it’s OK, though she made a simple argument of it the other day. She said she likes the small ones, not the big ones in the drawer (it’s weird, I know she’s got big ones, I think I counted four). Continue reading

Don’t Fear the Escalator

The first escalator came into use at Coney Island, New York in 1896. That was a long time ago, right? Most people living on Earth now had not even been conceived.

Today, the number of escalators is rising steadily, enabling us too to rise steadily without the ordeal of negotiating stairs with our legs and feet.

But I’m sure you would agree that what was once a marvel of modern machinery is now a mere fleck on the face of our subsequent achievements. The escalator has long been taken for granted; its once amazing triumph of getting us from one floor to another in a staggering, ooh, three quarters of the time, is now no more impressive than your dad wearing jeans. Continue reading

My Mate, Marmite?

Marmite with a touch of Champagne, a ghastly marriage of French and English

I completely contradict the Marmite maxim.

I do not love it, I do not hate it. I kind of like it from time to time.

I’m not sure this constitutes the sort of basic, polarised reaction one is supposed to have. I am firmly on the Marmite fence. I can’t even enter the Marmite website. Continue reading

He Loves Me…

He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not (I wish he loved me not at all, instead of such a lot).

He starts with gentle stroking as my senses start to wake. I push him away calmly, but he won’t give me a break.

His clinginess annoys me every morning when I rise; he caresses my proportions with his length against my thighs.

The more I try to hold him back, the more I’m open to attack. He really has a canny knack of gravitating to me; I can’t contain a hasty smack (where is his sense of privacy?).

It’s getting suffocating, unrelentingly frustrating, how can unrequited love arouse such vehement hating?

I’m hard on him, it’s true, I know, whereas he loves me head to toe…

Got to chuck him, that’s for certain…

Stupid f****** shower curtain.

Sticky shower curtain: j'aime pas

Shock as Indicator Use Rockets


Despite protests, another radical driver employs his indicator today in Paris

A new record was broken last Friday when a Parisian used his directional indicator to signal to other road users his intention to turn. The incredible feat took place during a 27-minute journey between the busy area of République in the centre of Paris and the 17th arrondissement in the north-west. The record was smashed thanks to a triple execution of the manoeuvre on three separate occasions, all of which are officially counted even though two were not made in conjunction with a turn in the corresponding direction. Continue reading

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