FUCKING FUCK-FUCK! (11th March '06)

OK, I'll get right down to it: What is it wi men being complete wusses? When they're ill, or just can't cope, they come up wi some pathetic excuse to cry off. And the bastards have the nerve to complain about girls whinging about "women's' problems". Fuck you mate, you don't see me blagging a day off cos I can't cope wi managing five small children for only NINETY MINUTES…

I'm going to have to start at the beginning, obviously.

First of all, not all men are wankers, and not all wankers are men. There. But it's becoming more and more common for me to encounter completely ineffectual representations of maleness and I'm starting to wonder if I didn't meet all the decent ones earlier on, and all that's left are the fucking useless shites that piss off everyone all day every day.

Example: A teacher I know. He rolled into work on day one, saying he knew all about it: "been there sweetheart, know the drill" etc. Fine, get in there and teach, he was told (bearing in mind every tiny thing was set up for him already). He went in and taught, fair enough. But after two weeks it became apparent that he was taking the piss and clearly had no interest in teaching kids, or in fact doing a decent day's work wherever it landed. After mixing up two different classes' worksheets (about 3 years apart, I might add) and either not realizing or not just not caring what he'd done, he laffed it off. Wanker. Then did it again, a week later. Fucking wanker.

Then he moans about not being able to carry on after two classes on a Saturday, citing "emotional problems". In the quiet words of the virgin Mary: "Come again?" You're supposed to be a bloke. You're supposed to be better than us weak women, and work ninety hours a day down coal mine to prove it etc. What the fuck? My mother DIED and I still went to work ~ because I knew there were no cover. Emotional problems my fucking moaning arse. GET A FUCKING LIFE, you sad goit.

That's better.

That word brings me onto another point: fucking PCCW. Anyone who knows me knows that I've used The 'C' word about ten times in my entire life, but after staying wi my Scots friend for a few months, I've got to say there actually ARE times when I feel it's necessary. (Just to clarify, what I mean here is that when someone else uses the word non-stop, usually as a common all-purpose pronoun for anyone they greet, you get used to its casual use. I have a Welsh friend who does the same wi the word "bastard": "alright bastard?" etc.) Sometimes no other word will do ~ when you need something totally offensive and completely, utterly and in all senses fucking angry and vitriolic, it's got to be The 'C' Word. At the moment I'm reserving it for the devastatingly deserving cunt who disconnected my broadband modem last. About two weeks ago, apparently. He seems to have dismembered or otherwise totally fucked up the connection from my flat to the building's phone system, so the broadband (cable) TV and broadband could not be connected. Oh, all the lovely shiny new equipment is here, like a decoder modem and 'net modem, but none of it has a phone line connected. Lovely! Just what I wanted at the end of a Saturday, when everyone I know is too busy to come round and get pissed or share some dodgy cigarettes. Can you believe it? Of course you can, it's happened to me… Anyway, that may well be the first and last time I write The 'C' Word here.

On nights like this I feel like watching something like Tony Leung Chiu-Wai and Chau Yun-Fat in Hard-Boiled, where everyone who's anyone gets shot at just the right angle to spurt gallons of blood over sets and other actors. Yes! Bring on the Rivers of Blood! Make every cunt suffer for my personal amusement!

Oh dear. I think I'm going in the bad fire for this one…

At least I have me collection of, dare I say it, BritPop on CD still. Can I call it that? Or have times changed already? Anyway, it consists of Arctic Monkeys, Franz Ferdinand and Oasis at the moment. I'm thinking of making a compilation album called ANYTHING, JUST MAKE SURE IT'S LOUD, OK?, after that Good Morning Vietnam sketch. It suits my mood, you see. At the moment I'm in love wi Curtains Closed and Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts (if they're the correct names) by the Arctic Monkeys. Curtains Closed is fab, just for the whole "didn't want it but it was already rolled" thing… It's been how I've felt since I got back to HK ~ I don't really want it, but go on, I might as well. In about a week I'll wake up and realize I've bought all kinds of shite, thinking I half-wanted it at the time. Then I'll have a big clear-out again and it'll all go in the charity bin at end of street. Bigger Boys is great ~ it reminds me of all the things I love about Arctic Monkeys. They have this way of taking every day things and writing lyrics that cut you to the quick, cos you remember it happening to you like that. Bigger Boys reminds me of going to college (before Burberry hats) and getting picked up by ma man. They were not all great memories, but its great to hear it in lyrics now. It reminds me I do actually have experience that counts, in some sad way. The song's almost as good as From the Ritz to the Rubble. I've played that constantly since I got it from iTunes. How fab is that song? It's everything that is good and bad wi going out of an evening ont piss. Fantastic.

The main reason I've got these loud and slightly offensive songs playing, as well as stuff like Meaning of Soul by Oasis, is to add fuel to and allow me to enjoy me fucked-off mood to the full.

Does saying "peach and lube to you all" counteract all this animosity? I don't think so. Ah well. Fuck it. If I believed in an afterlife and therefore, Hell, I'd maybe give a fucking toss, eh.

Tags:
Arctic Monkeys