Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Tarantino Ant Theatre #1
Monday, August 22, 2005
The Friends Reunited Diary
I joined Friends Reunited about five years ago. During this time I have never contacted anyone, nor have I been contacted by anyone. So why do people bother? Well I’ll tell you.
Friends Reunited is a gauge or a measuring stick, if you like, with which people measure how successful they have become in life. You get plus points for marriage and having an interesting job; you get minus points for working at Tescos or appearing in the local newspaper because you got your dobbin out in the park.
So I signed up, wrote some boring blurb about my job and what I’d been up to for the last 10 years and then had a look through some of the familiar names I had grown up with. It was fun seeing what people were up to, but that was it.
About a year later, I found myself back again. I noticed a few extra names. I also noted that some people had also actually updated their blurbs.
“Cat’s started to walk all by itself now. I don’t know how he does it! Kerry, have you still got my Blue CD? I worry about those boys, you know? They don’t eat enough.”
Then I looked at my profile... It read something like,
“Blah-de-blah de-blah for 2 years. Then I blah-de-blah. Still blah-de-blah.”
Now don’t get me wrong. I am not bitter with my lot in any way whatsoever. I’m a pretty happy chappy and I’ve had a good life so far. In fact, I would go so far as to say that everything is just fucking dandy, thank-you for asking.
Unfortunately, the stupid paragraph that was “my life” didn’t really sum this up. For this reason, I decided to do what I did. Lie.
These fibs appeared on Friends Reunited over the space of a year, though I may as well have written them on the back of fucking Pluto in yellow pencil. They're not particularly funny. I just wanted people to think I was a complete idiot, which I am.
Know you can do better? Send me the actual link to your fib at angel.victorio@gmail.com or leave a comment, below. Make it embarrassing; if you can't make it embarrassing, make it mysterious. It could become the latest kool kraze.
What am I doing now?
After saving the Himalayan mountain ant from certain extinction, I spent 4 years as chairman of FIFA where I married my childhood sweetheart, that bird off the McCain’s Oven Chips adverts.
I don't get out much since the operation.
Would love to hear from some of you. Particularly from whoever's still got my pencil sharpener.
[24 Jul 2003]
What am I doing now?
My ex-wife, Carol (from the McCain's Oven Chips adverts) has finally moved in with the window cleaner from the Mini Chicken Kievs advert, which is a shame.
Good news, though. I am now a fully qualified submarine pilot, and work for the Variety Club of Great Britain Sunshine Sub Underwater Tours. I take pensioners and specially challenged youths on a magical underwater journey through the coral reef off Portishead.
Still haven't found my pencil sharpener. I'm sure someone else has got it.
[17 Jan 2004]
What am I doing now?
I am now a fully qualified submarine pilot and work for the Variety Club of Great Britain Sunshine Sub Underwater Tours. I take pensioners and specially challenged youths on a magical underwater journey through the coral reef off the coast of Portishead.
When I say coral reef, I actually mean brightly coloured pieces of polystyrene attached to a large underwater pipe. There aren't any coral reefs in the Bristol Channel. Luckily, most of my clientelle can't even spell their own name, let alone identify coral.
If anyone finds my pencil sharpener, drop me a line. It's green and has a special container which collects the pencil sharpenings.
[07 Mar 2004]
What am I doing now?
I am now a fully qualified submarine pilot and still work for the Variety Club of Great Britain Sunshine Sub Underwater Tours. I take pensioners and specially challenged youths on a magical underwater journey through the coral reef off the coast of Portishead.
Had a bit of an eventful week. Bristol council are threatening to sue us because of the polystyrene. Lumps of the stuff have been finding their way on to the beach and messing up fishermen's wellies.
I'd like to see them try and attach lumps of polystyrene to a pipe 30 feet under water - and they can hardly blame us if seagulls are eating it and making their guts explode. Birds are notoriously stupid animals.
We've offered to clean up the bird guts but the court proceedings are still going ahead as planned, so I may be out of a job soon.
This pencil sharpener business is getting out of hand, so I've hired a private investigator to bring this maniac to justice. Your ass is mine, punk - I know your dad.
[28 Mar 2004]
What am I doing now?
I am now a fully qualified submarine pilot, and no longer work for the Variety Club of Great Britain Sunshine Sub Underwater Tours. I don't take pensioners and specially challenged youths on a magical underwater journey through the coral reef off the coast of Portishead.
Due to the sudden and dramatic decline of the seagull population, and gut pollution; Sunshine Sub Tours is no more.
There was also the incident where I crashed my sub into a sponge. Sure, I was the only survivor - but I was also the only swimmer, and I wasn't about to play Baywatch when I've got so much to lose.
Not everyone could see my point of view on this. As a result, I've had to change my name and move to an undisclosed location on the South coast in Brighton. Just to be sure, I changed my name back as a kind of double bluff.
I live a quiet life these days, and like to cruise around town in my German WWII zeppelin, or tinker in the shed with my collection of rare groove and classic colostomy bags.
[10 Aug 2004]
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Boffin Resurrects Potato...
Steve McFadden's Guide to Dogging
It's not easy being a nasty piece of work from the East End. When you're not dealing with difficult family issues like the missus falling down the stairs, there's usually some toerag trying to fit you up with a shooter or your car's on fire.So when the weekend finally arrives, there's nothing I find more relaxing than indulging in my favourite non-violent hobby - watching people 'aving it off in the back of a motor with a dog.
Choosing your Phileas Fogg - A dogger without a dog is like a pie without mash, liqour and boiled bananas and carrots. Your dog is your tool, so you don't want some stupid, mangey mutt with fleas and bad breath ruining what originally set out to quite a magical and enchanting soiree, do ya? I test runned three different dogs, didn' I? Here's what I found:
The German Alsatian DogLovely coat on this one and a nice wet nose. This dog's also a bit tasty and can handle itself in a fight, so a good choice all round.
I took 'im down Hackey Marshes, one of my favourite spots. It wasn't long before we found a couple of lezzers in the back of a Range Rover. After a few drinks, we started loosening up a bit and one of them turned the lights down and put a Chris DeBurgh CD on. So far, so good.
Then the other one leaned forward and whispered somefing in the dog's ear, but it couldn't understand not one dickie bird of what she was saying cos it was bleedin' German, weren' it?
The Golden Labrador Dog
No quite as tasty as the Alsatian, the labrador is more of a dippy twonk of an animal. It makes up for this in its loyalty, so it's a true East End dog if you fink about it. It would never put up wiv someone saying something untoward about its ma and if it did bump anyone off, it would never take out one of its own.
Our next location was Tesco's carpark, East Ham on a Saturday afternoon. I'm like a cat in a Whiskas shop what's got the cream as I check out what's on offer. Bingo - I spot a couple of nuns and a randy vicar loading up a Red Golf with a couple of crates of WKD and some Pringles.
I make my way over, casually, right? Then I turns round and the dog is nowhere to be seen, is it? Only turns out that it's 'elping some blind geezer what's trying to cross the road, ain't it?
The Chihoo-wah-wah-wahThe Chiwah-hoo-wah-wah is a small Mexican breed what comes from Brazil. It's a cross between a rare species of monkey from the Amazon Rainforests, crossed wiv a wolf and a bat. A good advantage of this is that should you smell bacon, and I'm talking about when the rozzers are coming, ain' I? - this handy little mongrel can be stashed quickly, safely and discretely inside your pocket or a sports holdall, should you be carrying one at the time.
I decided to go up West - Harvey Nichols to be precise, round the back next to the deliveries entrance. It weren't long before I spotted Patsy Kensit and Jodie Kidd parked up nearby and I could not belive my pork pies at what I saw. They was both in the back seat trying on some new bikinis what they'd just bought, weren't they?
So I finished me Scotch egg and me fag and walked over, when I suddenly realised that the Chiwoh-woh-wah-wuah must've done a runner. "My bleedin' gran's tits", I said to myself. "Just my rotten onions and muck." But there was no need to worry - There was the cheeky little blighter in the back seat. The three of 'em were knocking back tequilas while the ladies were parading about and that in a negligee, and well, I don't need to tell you what 'appended next. I knocked one out there and then over windscreen and wiped it off with a cloff.
Bangers and mash!
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Hello and welcome to my weblog. Or blog, actually.
A blog is like a kind of diary on the internet that nobody wants to read. That's because real diaries usually have more sex stuff in them. Weblogs are generally tedious, like when weird people send you those letters at Christmas, telling you everything they've done over the last twelve months in mind-cunting detail. Well, I've never had one of those sorts of letters but I've seen them.
It's mostly girls who write real diaries in a book. Girls, arctic explorers and Captain Kirks. A well-hidden diary with "DO NOT READ" written on it is guaranteed to make your mouth go into an O shape and your hair fly off and go "wheee" with smoke coming out of your ears. Dr. Spock once had a quick look at the captain's log when William Shatner had just popped down the gym. He discovered that Kirk had fingered a Klingon at the Christmas party, that Scottie really fancied. He could never tell anyone because it would compromise their friendship. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, will it?... Anyway, it made Spock's eyebrow go up and he got a bit of a stiff. Spock cocks are green and about 2cm long, for the Trekkies out there.
My weblog is going to be the bee's pyjamas, because hardly any of it will be about me. This is just a piss-easy way of putting funeys and rudes up on the internet without having to actually learn too much about making real websites. And we all like piss-easy, don't we?
Piss-easy means less difficult, which means more fun = fucking Hammertime! Let's go.
A blog is like a kind of diary on the internet that nobody wants to read. That's because real diaries usually have more sex stuff in them. Weblogs are generally tedious, like when weird people send you those letters at Christmas, telling you everything they've done over the last twelve months in mind-cunting detail. Well, I've never had one of those sorts of letters but I've seen them.
It's mostly girls who write real diaries in a book. Girls, arctic explorers and Captain Kirks. A well-hidden diary with "DO NOT READ" written on it is guaranteed to make your mouth go into an O shape and your hair fly off and go "wheee" with smoke coming out of your ears. Dr. Spock once had a quick look at the captain's log when William Shatner had just popped down the gym. He discovered that Kirk had fingered a Klingon at the Christmas party, that Scottie really fancied. He could never tell anyone because it would compromise their friendship. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, will it?... Anyway, it made Spock's eyebrow go up and he got a bit of a stiff. Spock cocks are green and about 2cm long, for the Trekkies out there.
My weblog is going to be the bee's pyjamas, because hardly any of it will be about me. This is just a piss-easy way of putting funeys and rudes up on the internet without having to actually learn too much about making real websites. And we all like piss-easy, don't we?
Piss-easy means less difficult, which means more fun = fucking Hammertime! Let's go.
