Monday, 16 September 2013

News for Dummies: 16/09/13

One Direction star Louis Tomlinson sold a Celtic top which he threw up on in a charity game for £4,800.... This has started a wave of celebrities making money from clothes stained with bodily fluids; Jordan has raised 80p by selling a Bra covered in Harvey's drool, Lilly Allen has shifted the socks she miscarried on for £2.50, and Macaulay Culkin currently has a blind-fold saturated in Micheal Jackson's jizz up for auction.

Robin Williams is returning to TV because he is broke after two divorces; he's not broke because his ex-wives took all his money, it's just his make-up bill is through the roof from dressing up as a post menopausal nanny in order to break state and federal laws to stalk his children like in his horror movie "Mrs Doubtfire"

Prince Philip met his grandson Prince George for the first time yesterday, apparently when he saw the cute little bald toothless Prince drooling and gargling incoherently; the baby got a fright.


I hope the left wing, goodie two shoes, politically correct brigade haven't got through to RockStar Games otherwise the controls will go something like this...

A: Wave at your neighbour
B: Apologise
X: Swap Insurance Details
Y: Pat yourself on the back
LB: Wag you finger disapprovingly
RB: Quote the bible

Fuck that shit, go run over a whore, brutalise innocent people in the street with a baton, force entry on properties and run cars off the road... it's nice to have computer games to get away with that kind of twisted fantasy while we live righteous lives in the real world. Unfortunately some people have to spoil it for the rest of us by crossing the line bringing these sick antics into real life and actually joining the police force.

Would you believe this is genuinely the next news story I read... Police in America shoot an inocent man dead who survived a car accident and ran towards them for help; (see above punchline)

The worlds oldest man died yesterday aged 112; he had put his longevity down to taking 6 pain killers a day. On that logic, Heath Ledger should have lived forever.

There is something going on in Syria... But it's OK, X-Factor is back on! Look into your TV screens, don't look around the screen look into the screen, you are feeling very sleepy... now here are some adverts for things you NEEEEEEEEEEED

Thursday, 4 July 2013

How I feel about turning 30

I turn 30 tomorrow, the 19 year old me would have been sick to the stomach even at the prospect of this, but here I sit wasting the valuable remaining minutes of my 20's putting pen to paper (or fingers to glass as it is here in the future) collecting my thoughts. I am so happy with what I have seen, done, achieved and dealt with in the ten years since I was that kid that I can quite contently waltz over this checkpoint with a smile on my face. 

Am I going to wake up tomorrow as a new man with new rules enforced on myself to conform to the social expectations of a mature citizen? Just last week I found myself drunk on a Wednesday afternoon at crazy golf with my trousers around my ankles questioning how crazy the place actually was. Just the other month I found myself playing a "jumpers for goalposts" game of football in a park in Australia with a bunch of people I had met that week. And just last Christmas I found myself in the Indian Ocean swimming towards a double rainbow... Will I grow out of this? No, I don't think I'm going to change a thing. I strongly believe you have to encourage and control the child in your own heart the way you would encourage your own child. Don't ever neglect its need for social stimulation, suppress its creativity or stifle its desire for fun just because on the outside it looks like a 30 year old man. 

Although it's my birthday on Friday I had some celebrations in the street I grew up in on Monday while I was back up home, I was expecting a few drinks with my best friend Leigh and a scattering of people that could make it, but my friend (although credit goes to Kelly, his missus) went ahead and threw me an actual party. As I looked around the house, full of people I'd accumulated along my journey, people I can remember being born and people who are in my earliest memories whom I know no time before, I realized this isn't just my party (celebration/gathering)... It was my "Party" (Company/Squadron) my select group of the human population that would die for me like I'd die for them. I see each of them on a regular basis, but to have almost all of them in the same place at the same time is an overwhelming experience. Seeing all the people who have shared your highest highs and lowest falls, who have supported you through grief and supported you through your ambitions, the people you trust and rely on, the people who have forged who you are today, seeing them all turn out, just for you, is nothing short of an honour.

There’s a great quote: "You're only old when you have replaced your dreams with regrets." That quote is my mantra. You can maintain your youthful optimism and subsequently your happiness by keeping positivity in both directions of the chronological spectrum. I look back with great satisfaction at my past, the foundation of my present, here I stand on the edge of my 20's as a land lord and a tenant, self employed in a career I adore that takes me to places I could never have dreamt of taking myself, a career that is a melting pot of the most fascinating, intriguing, charismatic and funniest people on the face of the planet whom I get to share this adventure with. I look back at this achievement with pride rather than crediting it to luck, because although I am aware of the good fortune I've had along the way, I didn't get to the position I'm in by sitting at home with my fingers crossed. I have reached this milestone age accompanied by my party of people who would walk into hell with me, I've had the grief of loosing the most pivotal member of this party, my Granddad Pete, who has equipped me with the tools I needed to go on without his unconditional love and adoration as the safety net that made me feel so invincible before he passed away. And I look back fondly and gratefully at the memory of this man. I have also met a girl, Natalie, who I hold in such high regard that being in an exclusive relationship with her is an even more rewarding prospect than being a single man in show business. She doesn't make me happy, I was already happy when I met her, but she does make me the happiest I've ever been. She's far too pretty, intelligent, funny and kind for a someone of my looks, charm and financial situation, I'm not even going to question it, because she seems to worship the ground I walk on and while this girl has my back I feel capable of achieving anything. I have a handsome nephew and four adorable God-children who I’d give my life to protect, and I will drop anything to be there for when they need me in their precious lives; the same goes for every other child born into my party. With this behind me as the story so far I‘m dying to turn 30 and to see what the future holds.

I am terrified by the prospect of turning 40 however, but I’m looking forward to seeing what 39-year-old Kai has to say about that.

Friday, 17 May 2013

Hair today, gone tomorrow...

This is the year that me and the friends I kept from school turn 30, next up is my mate Nicholas Soulsby (or Demus as we've always called him for no logical reason) Demus is currently in Spain on a stag party and while he's away his wife, Rachel, asked me if I could help her conspire something embarrassing for his impending landmark. I had an embarrassing idea but Rachel had no idea just how embarrassing it would turn out to be.

Demus is a casualty of male pattern baldness, his scalp hasn't had a plentiful harvest since the autumn of 1996 when we were in school together. I thought it would be a fun idea to announce the sad loss of his hair in the obituary section of the local newspaper, we decided it had to look like a genuine death otherwise it wouldn't get to print, luckily for us it turns out "Hair" is a genuine surname and last years census shows there are over 35 Hair families in my region. Who'd have thunk!? 

This is what we decided upon:

Nicholas Hair (Blyth)
Peacefully in his sleep after years of holding on.
Such a sad loss at such a young age,
Although he never had a full life, 
he spent it blowing in the wind.
Nicholas' Hair will be sorely missed by all of his family and friends
Service will be held June 17th
at Capelli's, Westgate, Blyth.

Capelli's is a hairdressers in Blyth and I know it wasn't a perfect option for a service but it looks more legit than HeadKase, Nappa's or Blyth Smartens... 

This-morning Rachel popped into the main office of our local newspaper, The News Post Leader, to pick up a form for submitting an obituary (this is what it said to do online). When Rachel asked for this service the lady asked her to take a seat at the desk and went to get the form, instead of handing the form to her she sat back down at the desk and asked what she wanted to write. Rachel was mortified, she just wanted to pick up a form to write in private and hand in anonymously but here she was having to read out the spoof obituary in person, while simulating grief, with a 1 year old "fatherless" child in tow. All was going well, Rachel held her composure, maybe the sheer terror of the situation was as near enough to the loss of a loved one required to pull off the desired emotions. But how was Rachel supposed to account for the fact the lady filling in the forms got her hair cut at Capelli's!? 

After being asked to repeat the last line several times, Rachel was put on the spot, "Is this a joke?"

She had no choice but to sheepishly admit what she was up to and accept the berating that followed from an angry lady, who went absolutely tits at the how utterly disrespectful and audacious the stunt was, before being asked to leave the premises.

The funniest bit about it for me is that this blog is how Demus is going to find out about the whole thing, including the fact he's going bald.


Thursday, 4 April 2013

Writing out loud - Pepsi, Stickle Brick and Chopsticks

I’ve decided after at least 100 flights that I’m scared of flying, I don’t have a fear of the flying itself and I don’t get nervous about being in the air, not even take off or landing… But I’m terrified, Terrified, of how dehumanised I feel  by the time I’m airborne.

After the 15 minute concentration camp we’re subject to prior to take off, as we taxi the runway and a team of cheerful Nazi’s on minimum wage strip me of my free will and dignity

Fasten your seatbelt
Put your arm rest down
Put your tray table up
Put your bag under the seat infront of you
Open the blind
Take your headphones out
Turn off your Kindle
Turn off your phone
Put your clothes back on

“Sir this flight cannot take off until you feel inferior, we need you to feel powerless before we get you to your destination, here’s a tiny can of coke, have a nice flight”

I swear these trolley-bots spend more time on Autopilot than the aircraft itself.

They insist on teaching me how to use a life jacket on every flight too, every flight, not just the over seas ones. The flight path I take the most is the return from Newcastle to Bristol, now I’m not great at Geography but if in that one hour I’m supposed to be flying I find myself swimming I’ll be fucking furious. If one of my Bristol jaunts suddenly results in me treading water in Lake Windermere with some slut polluting the water with her make-up telling me it’s all because I had my armrest up on take off, I’ll bite a hole in her life jacket and use the top of her head to stay afloat until she stops struggling.

I’m tired of dealing with programmed drones, don’t get me wrong I’m grateful to anyone in the service industry but I haven’t been served by a human in so long…

“Can I have a pint of coke please?” … “Is Pepsi OK?”
“That’ll be 3 pounds sir” …. “Is 3 Roubles OK?”

I feel for them though, they probably hate saying it as much as I hate hearing it. I couldn’t do it, I’d break if I was under those instructions, I couldn’t be that autonomous, I’d suggest anything BUT Pepsi

“Can I have a pint of coke please?” … “Is Shepherds Pie ok? Or Perhaps a song from the Juke Box? Is a strip of Raffle tickets ok??”

You know what Fuck Pepsi, how is Pepsi a thing?

Coca-Cola created this magical fluid, no-one really knows what it is but it tastes great and it goes with everything, it’s perfect for every occasion, it’s refreshing... in fact it’s so tasty it took over Christmas! What the shit has Coca-Cola got to do with Christmas? Is that what Frankincense and Mir is? You know milk is made up of Curds and Whey do you think if you separate Coca-Cola you end up with Frankincense and Mir? Like I say no-one quite knows what the fuck it is, what we do know is that it’s the utility drink of the known universe and they shift over a trillion gallons of it each year… Yet Pepsi come along and went “I’ve got an idea…. THEIR IDEA”

It’s like stickle brick, if stickle brick was a drink it would be Pepsi. Lego have been sticking bricks together with absolute perfection since Sir Walter Lego spawned the idea, I don’t know if that’s his name but fuck it, it sounds convincing. Sir Walter Lego mass produced this simple yet brilliant work of architectural genius and shaped our child hood, shit, I only want to have kids so I can play with Lego again…

“I’ve bought you some Lego son, now get to bed, it’s 4pm and you have school in the morning.”

Everybody likes lego, name me one person who is indifferent to Lego? 


Unless you stand on it, but if you’re standing on Lego you’re doing Lego wrong. I mean we’ve all agreed Coca-Cola is awesome but don’t go shooting it up your arse in an enema, don’t fuel your car with it, it'll only ruin your day.

But for some reason Paul Sticklebrick sat in his lair scratching his chin, he’s definitely called Paul, no-one who’s ever had a good idea is called Paul

There may be a few Paul's reading this right now, and you Paul will be at work tomorrow, at Homebase, and you will tell one of your colleagues a worse version of this thought and it will dawn on you “that’s why I’m called Paul”

Paul Sticklebrick, riddled by the insecurity of his own insignificance went “I see what Walter Lego is trying to do but what the world needs is spiky clumps that even in the hands of the worlds greatest architect could still not plug together to make a recognisable structure, they must hurt more when you stand on them and not only that they must be impossible to store”

The Taj Mahal made with Stickle-Bricks

I sometimes use chopsticks to eat rice.

I know, how retarded am I…? RICE? I’d have better luck eating rice with boxing gloves but it’s tradition to use dowling rod so I do it.

We’ve invented the spoon. In case you didn’t know. It’s been around a little while and it’s perfect for the task of transporting mouth-sized portions of rice from A to B. The spoon has probably been around for longer than the wheel but the wheel gets more press, something to do with the worlds natural resources I think, the spoon doesn’t add value to oil the way the wheel does. 

Just like the spoon, the wheel is a revolutionary invention but for some reason nobody, not even in china, decided to go “I’m going to build a car but instead of the wheel I’m going to use Chopsticks… it’s twadition” I’m not being ridiculous here; Chopsticks are as much an adequate replacement for the wheel as they are for the spoon but no-one questions it. It’s like watching a game of football and seeing Lionel Messi get substituted off for The Queen... No wait worse than that, it's like watching a game of football and seeing Lionel Messi get substituted off for Chopsticks!

I hope you enjoyed my ramblings, I usually just write if I'm inspired by something but with the deadline looming for my new Edinburgh Show and my agent asking me to write some clean material, I'll be sitting down with a blank canvas and writing out loud quite a bit between now and August.

Saturday, 30 March 2013

A heckler walks into a bar!

After performing at Best of British in Melbourne this week I've found myself in the bar downstairs having a drink, the bar is all hustle bustle and the rowdy drunkenness you'd expect of an evening in a busy city centre. For some reason at 23:30 they decide to put a gig on there, there isn't a stage and the acoustics don't reach the back of the room so when the gig starts everybody just keeps going about their business spare a few people sat at the front who try politely to listen over the racket. I've been stood at the back watching budding new acts going on and testing the metal of their love for comedy. It's been hurting my soul to watch it, these guys are at the stage where they'll gig wherever and whenever they can for the sheer passion and they have been going one by one into a battle they can't win. Some of the sweetest people I've met and now call my friends taking turns at being demoralised. I got asked if I wanted a spot on thursday and I said no, I like a challenge but this gig is damaging, I abhor everything it stands for and I vowed I'd never do the gig.

Last night as I watched the same fate unfold there was an added element to the treachery; a chunky Aussie lad in his mid 20's heckling throughout stood stage left, just 6 feet away from the performers. Bear in mind there is no stage to elevate the acts equipping them with the illusion of power, they just had a bully shouting in their face as they tried to coerce a response from a disinterested crowd, he was spewing insults and abuse to new acts, some were too inexperienced to handle it but that was immaterial anyway because no-one had enough of the crowd on their side to disempower him. the odd heckle retort here and there but the dude was winning. I stood at the back of the room furious at what people, who were only guilty of pursuing a dream, had to put up with.

My friend Dan Willis had agreed to close the "gig" for a few beer tokens but mainly to call me a pussy for turning the gig down. As he got called onto stage I had a rush of blood to the head, I grabbed his arm and said "When you're finished bring me on" I didn't know the compere and I was new in town so this was the only way I could see to hijack the gig, I had the red mist.

Dan done a fantastic job of playing to the few that were listening and had them laughing despite the commotion around the room and he kept jabbing the heckler with put downs every time he got involved, he set the room up perfectly for what I had in mind. 

He brought me on to the most attention the "stage" had seen all night and I started doing the routine with the quickest route to multiple punchlines that I had in my arsenal, the heckler started immediately, I ignored him like he wasn't there, I don't even know what he was saying because I completely blocked it out, I was sticking to the game plan. When I got the laugh I was looking for from the few listeners I turned slowly towards the heckler "Sorry for keeping you waiting I was just establishing to these people that I was funny before bringing your world crumbling down around you!"

Then I just LET RIP on him, I don't know what come over me I felt possessed, I just wanted to reduce this bully to nothing and it was working, the crowd got behind me so I could ride the applauds and had time to articulate my feelings, he was trying to come back but I wouldn't let him finish a syllable, there was no stage but I felt ten foot taller than the ignorant fuckwit, he just stood several paces in front of me and had this pitiful look on his face like he was going to wet himself. He'd tried to humiliate my comedy brothers and offended me directly in doing so, the safety catch was off. After several minutes of dismantling him and bringing his pathetic existence into a cold hard reality I turned back to the crowd, I was so locked in the moment I hadn't realised the people that were otherwise ignoring the gig had tuned in to watch my verbal assault. The room for the first time was a proper gig. "I've done what I've came here to do but now that I've got your attention should we make this a show!?"

I give them some material to close the gig and he tried one last attempt to step on the gig but the minute he opened his mouth I just pointed at him, I didn't turn to look at him or break from the emotion of the bit I was performing, I just pointed at him, and he stopped in his tracks. The audience reacted like I did a magic trick and when they settled I carried on with the bit. I felt like Ceaser the dog whisperer! 

I wish I could remember what I said in my rant to him but even if I could I wouldn't put it in this account because I'm not here to brag about how funny I think I was, in fact I recall using a lot of stock put downs and obvious insults, my pride in the situation comes from the fact I could have walked away from the gig, it was nothing to do with me, but something come over me, an overwhelming urge to do the right thing. I wasn't going to watch my friends drown just because I didn't want to get my clothes wet.

When I got off stage the heckler tried to high 5 me... I left him hanging and hit him in the dick! Fuck the cunt!

Some of the crowd merged as an entourage and we had a celebratory pub crawl! 

Monday, 25 March 2013

Traveling for Dummies: Australia Day 1

Come to Australia they said, all the girls wear thongs in the street over here they said. Turns out "Thongs" mean Flip-flops over here, somebody ought to tell Sisqo. I did my first gig straight off the plane at The Comics Lounge last night and although I'd took 5 flights over 60 hours on minimal sleep to get here it wasn't the fatigue or jet-lag that bothered me, it was the anxiety that I might be using words that don't translate over here. Even when I started my opening routine about a swimming pool, I had my doubts that it was even called a swimming pool over here, knowing the Aussies they probably call it a "fun puddle" or a "splash basin" or something, luckily they laughed at every punchline despite me ending each line with a question mark.

I went for a run this-morning? afternoon? evening? WHAT TIME IS IT? Currently my phone says it's 15:30 but my Mac says it's 04:30 I don't know if my mac thinks is going forward or back in time, i'm so confused, what is time? Regardless of the hour I went for a run, my mind thought it was a good idea, it said "Let's go for a run Kai, remember we used to run, you worked at a leisure centre remember, we're fit" but on the run my body had different ideas it was like "Dude you've been smoking weed and drinking for 4 years solid and you've hardly slept in a week" meanwhile the sun was going "You haven't put sunscreen on you stupid mother fucker, this is the closest I've ever been to you and there's a hole in the ozone layer here bitch, your ass is mine" that's when my poor hair decided to remind me that we're ginger. Going for a run was not a good idea in this heat the shape I'm in, I feel like I've just ate a big warm bowl of cancer. But I maintain that I'm gonna be active while I'm over here, but indoors, I've found a gym, climbing wall and a fun puddle near my hostel.

While I was scoping the area out I found a nice little arcade off Bourke street, it was the quaintest little place, designer chocolate shops, trinket shops, shops selling spells and witch-craft, all very novelty and cute until I saw a golliwog (note: I saw a stuffed toy, golliwog, for sale, in a shop, I wasn't dropping a racist bomb stating in a derogatory way that I saw a black person in the mall and it spoilt my day) but once I saw one golliwog I saw a million. They're in abundance, surely they can't be in that high demand? The Aussies just brush it off "it's just a teddy" haha it's a teddy dressed as a minstrel mate! It's got a frizzy fro and clown lips, it's a destructive symbol of racism! You wouldn't make a skinny, bald teddy in striped pyjama that you can take in the shower with you and say "it's just a teddy" However, no-one at all seems to give a shit, there's a laid back approach to political correctness over here and although I do believe in tact, it's refreshing that no-one seems to hinder themselves with the worry that people take offence and as a byproduct it seems no-one is getting offended! It's pretty fucking laid back over here to say the very least.

I'll try to keep you all updated back home with my shenanigans via occasional blogs. Miss you all already.


Wednesday, 30 January 2013

Mother Ducker

I rarely pen my complaints but see below my strongly worded letter to the Sky Channel, Disney Jr.

F.A.O Walt

I was sat watching Disney Jr+ today with my Nephew, Logan, who is 2.5 years of age. We were initially watching Little Einstein's because I love the way the programme negates a childs need for numeracy and basic literacy skills, skipping straight to higher status curriculum such as classical music and fine art. I'm sure this will equip Logan with the knowledge he requires to fit into preschool next year and for that I'm grateful.

However once this programme finished we left Disney Jr+ on and watched "Mickey Mouse Club House" it's the first time we've seen this show and we both started watching with an air of apprehension, but we were warming to the characters, in particular the mouse called Michael who appears to be the star of the show. He's very warm and friendly and will no doubt become a big name in children's television.
As Michael the Mouse charmed us into letting our guard down, luring us into a false sense of security, his friend Donald did something quite astonishing. I was dubious of Donald to begin with as he wasn't wearing any trousers and sported this look with the utmost confidence, almost as though he was completely unaware of his state of semi undress. But he confirmed my suspicions towards his maverick approach to children's entertainment when he referred to a duckling as a "Cute Mother F***er" (see video attached)
It has completely spoilt my weekend, and that's saying something because it is Wednesday. I played it back several times as I couldn't believe what was coming out of his bill, and can only conclude that he definitely says "Cute Mother *uck***." I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt due to his obvious speech impediment, I thought it may be possible that he was trying to say "Cute little Fella" but the tone of his voice is quite aggressive, the inflection in his words gives nuance to negative intentions that doesn't quite correlate with that choice of words, I mean, I personally haven't heard anyone say "Cute little fella" with quite as much vigour.
I stopped replaying the clip when my nephew started repeating it, I hadn't said what I thought Donald said out loud, so he certainly wasn't repeating me, but hearing a 2.5 year old boy repeating "Cute moth*r *ucker" after a cartoon duck is not my idea of fun.
Can you please furnish me with an explanation to this madness before my sister gets home and asks me why the apple of her eye is belting out profanities?
Kind Regards,
Kai Humphries

Monday, 28 January 2013

Pull your socks up Kai!

I've only just started breathing after my own mother paralysed me with embarrassment. I ask myself "why am I about to share this story with you?" and the answer I can only guess, is that your laughter is worth more to me than my own dignity.

Just an hour ago my mam was boring me to near comatose with a bag of Matalan clothes she bought my dad, bragging about the value of each £2 garment that she produced from the bag. Just as I was about to nod off she perked up "I've got something for you too Kai" and handed me a multi-pack of black socks;

"And listen Kai, please don't use them for anything filthy...."


I'm going to take you back to 1998 when I was a 14 year old, skinny, specky, ginger boy. I just got home from skiving school and as I opened the door to my parents house my heart sank to the pit of my soul. What I saw in front of me in the passage was worse than anything I could have possibly imagined, my unblinking eyes gazed horrified at what was in front of me; In the small passage between the stairs and the living room door where I was so used to seeing my sisters bike and the hoover on a daily basis, was a mattress... my mattress... my OLD mattress.

My school bag hit the floor and I broke my personal best time for getting up the stairs, I burst into my bedroom, taking the doors off the hinges and low in behold there was my freshly made bed complete with NEW mattress. This was the moment of truth, I slowly lifted it up from one corner, a manoeuvre I'd become all to familiar doing with my old one and sure enough my life was over. All I saw was wooden lats, lots of wooden lats in clear view. The image still haunts me....

...My Socks were gone.

My mam had replaced my mattress and personally moved the socks. The beautiful angel of a lady that is my mam had been to a dark place that no woman should ever go, she delved into the spaff riddled belly of hell underneath her disgusting adolescent sons mattress and had herself a little tidy up. I felt both nauseous and suicidal as the reality of the situation set in, how could I do this to the person I love the most? Do I apologise? How do I even face her again? I can never look my mam in the eye, the innocent mother-son bond that was my safe haven in this cruel world was compromised...

...I'd lost my mam.

After what felt like days I finally showed my face, my adorable wee mammy was pottering about the house doing chores, being her usual chirpy self when she spotted me and reacted to her ugly, vile, abomination of a creation with the active unconditional love that only the parent of a ginger child can possess; "Hi Gorgeous, how was school?" if nothing had even happened. I trod sheepishly in my house for the days that followed, waiting for the horrific moment to be brought up, but days became weeks and weeks became months. Removing those catch rags from under my bed must have been my mothers Naam. She knew what she did that day, I knew what she did that day, and she knew that I knew what she saw that day. But Linda Humphries didn't utter a single word, she just went on loving me, and raised me to be the man I am today.


Fast forward 15 years to 2013, where I'm a 29 year old, self employed home owner, visiting my proud parents on an impromptu visit to tell them about my travels, catch up on family affairs and drop off laundry. When my mam finally breaks, hands me a multi-pack of Matilan black socks and with admirable nonchalance, gets the weight of over a decades suppressed trauma off her shoulders. Reducing me to the 14 year old, specky ginger gimp that I was that day with the following calmly delivered rant:

"And listen Kai, please don't use them for anything filthy... Since you've moved out I've always bought your underwear and done your laundry and well, there are always less socks in your laundry than what I'm buying you, there's a recession you know, you can't keep going through socks like this, I'm going to start buying you tissues for Christmas..."   

Then the moment arrived

"...That day when I changed your mattress, I couldn't understand why your socks were so hard, they were like corregated iron, I had to ask your dad. I would have bloody well used gloves if I had known it was something that disgusting, I just thought you would have grown out of it by now you know, LOOK, Just use them as socks this time!!!"

I have feared this day my entire life, I still haven't responded to my mam, she's just pottering about the house doing chores as I type looking liberated by her recent actions. The only way I felt fit to deal with it was to write this blog! So I hope you enjoyed it.


Friday, 25 January 2013

News for Dummies: 25/01/13

Katie Price aka Jordan aka Sewer Snatch aka The Sperm Bank aka Terror Womb aka Aids Vat aka..... You get the point and know who Katie Price is (you just don't know why she is!) Anyway, she announced her honeymoon was ruined by a butler who asked her if she was a porn-star.... HMMMMM I wonder what give him that idea poppet, maybe the porn you were in???? If men like that butler didn't wank over you, you wouldn't be here. He's paying your wage not the other way around.

More than 50% of babies are born to women over the age of 30, this figure would be less than 10% if it wasn't for Davina McCall

British scientists are working on developing a non melting chocolate so we can enjoy chocolate hobnobs in hot countries, it's funny because last time I was on holiday I was lounging on the beach thinking "I know we haven't cured cancer yet and we don't have an answer for the imminent expiration of fossil fuels, but i'd kill for something to dunk into this iced tea" I'm glad to see we're finally distributing our scientists wisely.

Now Waitrose have jumped on the horse drawn band wagon of announcing they've got bronco in their burgers, remember when we were ready to kill Tesco for it? It's getting like the "I am Sparacus" of food poisoning.

Isolated farmers in Ireland could be allowed to drink drive in a bid to cut boredom. I'm not sure if this law is for the farmers boredom or the queue of traffic stuck behind the tractors, because I'd do way less complaining if the tractor driver was in his pants with a cone on his head singing "Hero" down the phone to his wife. 

A pregnant woman was allowed her dog in the hospital to watch her give birth. (The cunt wasn't even blind) I'm not too shocked by this because I grew up in a generation where it's cool to let Andrex puppies watch you take a shit, I just don't see what it's going to achieve, unless she was just saving money on dog food.

Thursday, 24 January 2013

News for Dummies 24/01/2013

I'm so hungry I could eat a horse..... Well that's handy!

Fast food chains like Burger King and McDonalds are now dumping burgers in case there are traces of horse meat, now as I'm aware horse meat is safe to eat and we can't taste the difference.... I'll tell you what isn't safe to eat and tastes like poison, GHERKINS, but you have no qualms about spiking my tasty snack with those little rancid cunts.

Here's a little fact about GHERKINS, McDonalds burgers have such a high sugar content, if it wasn't for the acidic GHERKINS bringing the overall sugar content of the burger down, by law it would have to be taxed as a cake. So my theory is, they dumped those burgers knowing people feed horses suger cubes thus requiring extra GHERKINS, and they drew the moral line at doing that to us!

A 15 year old girl who killed herself is said to have done so because of school bullies, the community are demanding the bullies are named and shamed. I don't think this is right, we need the necessary evil that is bullying to mould us as adults, we don't want to come out of school as the same pussies that went in, we simply wouldn't survive in this cruel world. Seriously, if it wasn't for bullies I'd still be this guy...

"It is posible for a child to look like a pedophile"  - Mark Nelson

...And I'd rather be dead.

Tory MP, Anna Soubry, claims you can tell a persons background by their weight as most poor people are fat. We live in a nation where our "poor" people are fat and they complain about money troubles on the internet via their iPhones, economic crisis what?? We don't know what poor is. I'd love to see a TV advert appealing for donations to help Africa, showing a fat Somalian woman sat watching Jeremy Kyle, tweeting about not getting her benefits... "for just £3 per month we can give this cunt more cigarettes" 

Poooor Poooor Britain, put your dummy in, get a job, get a diet, get a life!

An RE teacher was jailed for 5 years after telling her pupils not to marry so they can sleep around; at least she was just suggesting the kids should have sex, the PE teachers usually force them to. 

Prince Harry is back from Afghanistan and is eager to meet back up with his step-brother William; Wills was worried sick about Harry, not due to the threat of the Taliban but more the fact he was a ginger in the desert!

Chelsea midfielder Eden Hazard kicked a ball boy in the semi.............. final of the Capital Cup. 
The 17 year old ball boy stopped Hazard getting the ball so he kicked him in the ribs (not the semi) resulting in a red card. Is it that big a deal if the ball "boy" was 17? When Hazard could have got away with a yellow for the same thing on a 17yo footballer. If 17 year olds aren't considered adults, well handcuff me and take me to jail because I'm a bad bad man! 

Friday, 18 January 2013

Culture for Dummies: Amsterdam

I've just been to Amsterdam and all I heard before I left was "you can't smoke weed over there, it's illegal now" fuck! It's illegal over here in England but it doesn't stop me, anyway, turns out that myth is a crock of propaganda bollocks and I got off my tits legally shortly before a black whore shouted at me for taking her photo... the city still has all the charm we know and love.

But I'm not here to talk about the obvious, the women of negotiable virtue and the sticky icky icky (oooh weee.) I'm prompted to write this blog because I let some culture into my life and went to visit the gaff that Anne Frank blunted her pencil, and to be frank, she had a cushy little number. I was lead to believe she survived in an attic on her own, but the  attic was just a small part of the mansion she lived in, she tried to get her boyfriend, Peter, up their for a cheeky nosh (that's right she lived with her boyfriend) but her dad, Otto, used to prohibit it (that's right she had her whole family for company.) So all this about being trapped in an attic and it turns out the 14 year old promiscuous little strumpet wanted nothing more than to be in said attic getting herself some 16 year old bratwurst.

As for the house she lived in, it's nicer than mine, she had a kitchen, a bathroom, baby changing facilities, a gift shop... It was the tits. And no wonder the Nazi's didn't find her it was £9/person to get in. Jokes aside though the dwelling was lovely, she did have all the amenities, and company, not to mention boardgames and a radio. It was a massive fishtank and a Scarface poster away from being an episode of MTV cribs. They even had a bookshelf that moved to reveal a door for christ sake... I wasn't expecting to turn up to Anne Franks house and be jealous! 

I'm not saying it's the perfect situation, but given the circumstances that everyone else was in PoW camps and or dead, simply being grounded for 2 years seems like a sweet deal. If David Blain's next stunt was to stay in his house for 2 years with only family and friends for company we'd be all "You're having a laugh David, do it in an igloo in antarctica on your own with no clothes on or we don't give a shit" 

So... in conclusion... poor little rich girl dodges concentration camp life and lives in relative luxury for 2 years. 

Spoiler: It has a happy ending for her dad, he survives the war and gets rich as shit off their story.

Go Otto, you fucking cock block!