Trains are Shit.

So I hear that the cost of rail travel is going up again!? Now this really is disappointing because I can barely imagine train journeys becoming any more painful, bar the 17:23 to Brighton driving at full speed directly into my rectum. Now I’m sure if you have ever had to use the train on a regular basis you’re aware of its downfalls, one that tugs rather violently on my gonads though is the trick whereby they slowly increase the amount of time that a train is delayed by? I mean, I can understand if a train is running late but in 2012 it can’t take a crew of Hadron Collider scientists to work out when it’s gonna get to me? With every 2 minutes that are added every 2 minutes I feel more and more like Michael Douglas in Falling Down ready to snap with nowhere to direct my anger. So instead I look like even more of a daft prick rolling my eyes and growling “fucking, fuck sake, shitty train bastards” under my breath.

 To make this worse have you ever tried to ask one of the high vis wearing droids on the platform for an accurate ETA on when your carriage of misery might pull into town? Their efforts to avoid any eye contact would lead me to believe they think I’m some kind of master of telepathy that could make their utterly boring and slightly balding train loving heads explode if they held my stare for more than a split second.  Truth being if I did have those powers I would not be getting a fucking train in the first place, I’d be at home masturbating with no hands or levitating the cat over the bath. Even when you get an answer they just tell you shit you already know like “Listen for the next announcement”. Oh really!? I was about to put my ear down to the live rail to see if I could work it out myself?

Now to me it’s obvious, I can see one big flaw in the running of the trains. This is the fact that the people that work for the trains get free travel on the most part, and most of them have a better relationship with these bloody choo choo’s than their own family. Ever notice how smug these ticket inspectors are? It’s because this was their dream! They had a train set as a child and fantasized about putting a tiny hole in your ticket when you and I were fantasizing about the tiny hole between a girls belly button and her arse. They love it and that’s what makes it all the more excruciating, our misery is their delight.      

So in short trains and Southern Rail in particular can go lick a live rail as far as I’m concerned, and I can only hope that it blows them clear of the track cos I got places to be!

Zoid.

Where's my waterslide? Part 2

Sometimes I feel like my brain is completely void of intelligent thought. I don’t know if I'm just speaking for myself but I feel like we are all becoming more stupid by the day. I've grown up in one of the most revolutionary times this planet has ever seen through progresses in technology and the rise of the internet but with this ever sprawling map of information at my fingertips I can’t explain how pointless it all seems. If a campaign like KONY 2012 is what it takes to get our attention (which by the way I was completely sucked in by) then we really are in a bad way. The media has rendered us sitting ducks to those with the loudest bull horns and money is the driving force behind that volume. I can’t ignore it, it’s like my alarm clock keeps ringing until I finally go back to sleep and even then it invades my dreams.  

  If I was to switch on music television or the radio right now I guarantee within two songs I’ll have been ordered to have a party.... WHY? Why the fuck should we all be so focused on dancing, drinking and fucking each other? distraction is a constant in today’s society it’s like trying to think with a never ending firework display going on, it’s only a matter of time before you give in and turn around to “ooh” and “aahh” at the bright bursting colours and deafening bangs. So our surroundings themselves have become an annoying attention seeking child hell bent on us watching their shit new dance that they made up at school and 90% of the time I can’t stand it. I suppose though that I’m just being a negative Norman. Sometimes I revel in the idiocy of it all and as the saying goes ‘if you can’t beat em (and I can’t) Join them.’ So joining in until my next desperate need to rant seems like an easy option.  

 I’m not incapable of enjoying myself however much this little blog might paint that picture; I just don’t like the world. There are trillions of things wrong with it and that affects me because I’m stuck here. Now for fuck sake will someone start building more water parks.

Airports - Old blog from Gatwick

Hello. (Fuck knows the exact date I wrote this but I was at an airport and I left the job mentioned after arond 3 months)

So this is my first outside blogcast, currently I am sat in the departure lounge of Gatwick airport. Like most public places there is lots to observe, for instance as I type this now there is a strange Asian chap staring over my shoulder, he might even have seen me type this... one way to find out..... Hey weird Asian bloke stop fucking staring over my shoulder....... nope he’s still looking.

 Anyway, I got a new job today so again the Unemoloyedazoid aint so unemployed but fuck it they offered me a company car so I’m a sell out now ok? (The asian bloke just left) Even he disapproves. Well who gives a Dot Cotton cos I’m off to throw myself down a few mountains in Morzine to celebrate my grown up job and while I’m out there I might eat a few snails cos I’m cultured an shit.

“So Zoid what’s the new job?” well I’ll tell you. It just so happens I’m gonna be working for the media again but this time in print.... yeah that’s “write” I’m like Clark muhfuggin Kent yo! Except instead of a tight lycra suit and a cape I’ll have a Vauxhall Astra with Chichester Observer pasted all over it, same dif. Wow a disabled lady just walked in with some very strange crutches with elbow rests?  What kind of lazy woman has to rest her legs and as well as her elbows? She doesn’t even look that disabled bet she’s putting it on. That’s why she’s at the airport all those disability benefits are sending her all inclusive to Alicante for a right old knees up, and elbows too knowing her!  

Thats all, I'm gong to France now.   

Ski Trip Etiquette

Bonjour!!

Having just returned from the french alps of Morzine I would like to share with you my knowledge of 'Ski trip Etiquette' and how one should conduct themselves while on the slopes.

(et·i·quette)

The customary code of polite behavior in society or among members of a particular profession or group.

Now I understand that the word itself may sound slightly french but I would find it hard to believe that it's origins lie there. This is because the majority of french people I encountered while on my trip could have seemed more polite at times by just holding me down and breaking wind into my open mouth. For this reason I have come up with my own set of rules for us Brits when out on the slopes.

1. Right of way

Now although technically the mountain range is referred to as the 'French' Alps it is almost 100% fact that they would be called 'Hitlers Humps' If it wasn't for our grandfathers so that means we can basically call them ours. This also means we ultimately have right of way not only over your average french skier but also over the elderly and worst of all the 'Ski School' (Little bastards on ski's endlessly snaking across the mountain and getting in your way). If you are hurtling towards any of these feel free to sing Rule Britannia as loudly as humanly possible to let them know your coming, or if you're feeling sneaky just barrel into them without warning but be sure to land on top of them as you don't want to go home with any unsightly bruising. Look at them like moving crash mats if you will.

2. The lift ques

There is a reason god gave you elbows.. use them in the lift ques.

3. On the lift

Now no one wants to be stuck on a lift just you and a bunch of frenchies so if you're at the front of the que just block your seat until the English outnumber the french on the lift. One young french lad and just you and your mates? If this is the case all light up on your ascent to the top, blow the smoke his way to make him feel at home. Notice the blue stains on his teeth from still breast feeding from his mama's vino filled teet, under no circumstances allow him off first at the top, your queen would frown upon it.

4. Eating on the piste

Hungry? Well after taking out that 78 year old ski bag and sending 3 ski school midgets over the edge you should be. So when ordering be sure to shout loudly in your worst french accent so they know you're making an effort. All order at once to test the waiters skills in English, he should be fluent because it is the best language in the world. If you do how ever know any other languages use them too to impress any passing snow bunny's. After the meal try to force out a deafening belch as in France it is a sign of respect and gratitude for your meal, farts are not but as the saying goes "better out than in" so they're fair game too. It's possible that dumb dumb will expect a tip for bringing you food and beer but don't be hasty. If you have followed the rules in this guide then your munch was almost certainly tainted and he should not be rewarded. Instead slam your Euros on the table and yell "bonjour fella" while pointing at them as you get up to leave.

I do hope these pointers help you out on your next trip to the snow and be sure to remember, you are representing your country so if you injure yourself badly enough to bleed make it count by drawing a Saint George flag in the snow. Beautiful x

Life Insurance

I read some of the poetry I'd written to my mum the other day.

She said to me "haven't you got any happy ones?"

It had occurred to me that I was a bit of a miserable bastard, but then maybe I just enjoy a bit of misery? I'm like a young rhyming Victor Meldrew answering a puppy instead of a phone.

(I've never done that)

I think my first post on here would have been about two and a half years ago, and still minus a few stints into working life and a failed record deal I remain 'The Unemployedazoid.'

In the Job Centre on Monday a woman sat next to me breathing like Darth Vader would if he was being buggered by a large traffic cone. I thought to myself that that woman might have a decent excuse for not working. After all she looked as rough as she sounded and smelt a tad worse. To the best of my knowledge I smell pretty much on the right side of cat shit in an ash tray, and look the right side of poo stained pikey paedo, so what's my excuse?

Well, some people might call me lazy though I prefer the phrase picky or selective. Forgive me for not tripping over myself to become a salesman of life insurance but it seems to me like possibly the most ridiculous thing for anyone to actually want to do?

Type 'Life Insurance' into Google images and look what comes up. It's like a thousand perfect families frolicking on beaches and having picnics. Fathers happily throwing their children into the air safe in the knowledge that should they get terminal cancer or be killed in a freak road accident little Johnny can still get a PlayStation 4 next Christmas. Because ultimately life insurance is mostly about death isn't it? I suppose that death wasn't that popular in the advertising focus group though.

Anyway..

When I arrived at the interview for said job, I was told to take a seat in front of two blokes that looked a bit like they'd fallen out of a GAP advert. A boring blur of beige and cotton placed either side of a black plastic Christmas tree that divided them like some kind of strange channel 5 gay dating program. One of them had a note pad and a quiff of ginger hair, the other empty handed with a slightly blank stare. I cannot remember their names because both were instantly forgettable but I do remember one of their questions. I remember it because I'd been asked it before.

"So Unemployedazoid, if we were to offer you the job, where do you see yourself 5 months down the line?"

Now in all honesty I know the answer they were looking for. I had it right there for them. I'd say "Well I'd hope to be secure in my job and earning a good wage by hitting my set targets" or something like that. But I didn't. I said that I'd only just met them both and spoke to them for 10 minutes, and that for me to say where I saw myself in 5 months from now on the basis of that short conversation would be insane. I didn't give a fuck because I realised....

I don't want to sell life insurance.

Maybe a small part of me thought that they might see some charm in my honesty, but I'm almost certain they just thought I was a twat for waisting their time.