Thursday, 28 January 2010
Sunday, 17 January 2010
Tales from the Unbalanced
Our undercover correspondent
Big Boab MacKenzie reports
straight from a unit for the unbalanced somewhere in Glasgow…
There’s loads ah mental folk in here, man…seriously…fucking mental! It’s no real…see that guy er there? Totally sound guy…couldnae find a nicer guy but see the moment any cunt mentions anything’ aboot religion and aw that…he goes mental, man…like pure…he’s off like a fuckin’ shot! He’s no right…seriously.
And see that peely-wally guy next to him? He ‘hinks he’s naked aw the time even when he’s no, ken? So he disnae ever go outside…and when…see at visiting times? He keeps hiding…I mean he always hides man, in case folks see him naked an‘ aw that. But see if I ah thought ah wis naked ‘aw the time and there wis nuthin’ a could dae aboot it? Ah’d be pure waving mah knob around at every cunt…every cunt that walked through the fuckin door, man…ah’d be getting it oot! [laughs]
…and see him? See that guy next to him…with the big beard? That’s the Doc. He wiz a doctor before he came in here and wiz proper rich ken? He’s totally mental abooot his chess, but…he sits there aw fuckin’ day just playing chess. See sometimes when he’s playing against wan ah the patients or…sometimes ken, the staff will play way ‘im…but he freaks the fuck oot man and fires the chess board across the fuckin’ room. He pure launches it at some cunt…it’s funny as fuck man…
And see that guy..?!! He’s the fuckin’ polis! That wan wae the long hair there? Aye, he wiz the fuckin polis! He’s pure paranoid but…he ‘hinks he’s being followed by some poor cunts he arrested. He’s aright but…he’s a good guy…obviously…I mean, even thought he’s the polis he’s aright. The only time you have to watch him but is at visitin’ time…he goes pure mental then…like totally freaks ooot and crouches in the corner and bugs oot and then they huve tae restrain him.
So see whenever it’s visitin time? You’ve goat Big Tam there freakin’ oot aboot bein’ naked and yiv goat PC Plod there fuckin…hidin’ under tables and every’thin’! It’s pure mental man!
There’s this other pure mental guy here an’ aw. Where’d he go?! Ah ‘hink he’s in his room… but loadsa folks huve telt him that he looks like that guy George Bush, right? An’ he does right? Like seriously…fuckin’…looks exactly like that cunt. Now he hinks he really is the, ken…fucking President of the United…President of America and aw that!
‘N’ that guy er there…the wan makin’ aw the noise? He’s convinced he’s got a metal hoop stuck in his gut…fuckin’ hell man. The guy’s in agony and they cannae find anything on aw the scans or nothing’.
Ah bet he’s just after pills an’ that but…
And see him? Holy fuck man…that’s Bill. Buffalo Bill coz he pure went mental and kilt his wife and wee boi. For the last fuckin’ 10 years… like seriously every morning for the past 10 years he’s been ooot a here…packs his case and gets ready to go. But see by the time…like he waits until after tea and decides he’s gonna stay fur an’er day and unpacks aw his stuff again. Every fuckin’ day, man! But he pure think’s he’s goin’ hame tah see his wife and kid, but it’s like, ‘ya fuckin’ stabbed ‘em ya bass!’ ken? He disnae ken he did it like, and he just keeps ‘hinking… he’s gonnae get oot ah here!
So, aye that's aw the fuckin' mental cunts in here man! Next week am gonnae be...ah'll be at...well ah dinnae ken till the Big Boss Man tells me, but ah'll be undercover an' aw that anyhow.
Big Boab MacKenzie reports
straight from a unit for the unbalanced somewhere in Glasgow…
There’s loads ah mental folk in here, man…seriously…fucking mental! It’s no real…see that guy er there? Totally sound guy…couldnae find a nicer guy but see the moment any cunt mentions anything’ aboot religion and aw that…he goes mental, man…like pure…he’s off like a fuckin’ shot! He’s no right…seriously.
And see that peely-wally guy next to him? He ‘hinks he’s naked aw the time even when he’s no, ken? So he disnae ever go outside…and when…see at visiting times? He keeps hiding…I mean he always hides man, in case folks see him naked an‘ aw that. But see if I ah thought ah wis naked ‘aw the time and there wis nuthin’ a could dae aboot it? Ah’d be pure waving mah knob around at every cunt…every cunt that walked through the fuckin door, man…ah’d be getting it oot! [laughs]
…and see him? See that guy next to him…with the big beard? That’s the Doc. He wiz a doctor before he came in here and wiz proper rich ken? He’s totally mental abooot his chess, but…he sits there aw fuckin’ day just playing chess. See sometimes when he’s playing against wan ah the patients or…sometimes ken, the staff will play way ‘im…but he freaks the fuck oot man and fires the chess board across the fuckin’ room. He pure launches it at some cunt…it’s funny as fuck man…
And see that guy..?!! He’s the fuckin’ polis! That wan wae the long hair there? Aye, he wiz the fuckin polis! He’s pure paranoid but…he ‘hinks he’s being followed by some poor cunts he arrested. He’s aright but…he’s a good guy…obviously…I mean, even thought he’s the polis he’s aright. The only time you have to watch him but is at visitin’ time…he goes pure mental then…like totally freaks ooot and crouches in the corner and bugs oot and then they huve tae restrain him.
So see whenever it’s visitin time? You’ve goat Big Tam there freakin’ oot aboot bein’ naked and yiv goat PC Plod there fuckin…hidin’ under tables and every’thin’! It’s pure mental man!
There’s this other pure mental guy here an’ aw. Where’d he go?! Ah ‘hink he’s in his room… but loadsa folks huve telt him that he looks like that guy George Bush, right? An’ he does right? Like seriously…fuckin’…looks exactly like that cunt. Now he hinks he really is the, ken…fucking President of the United…President of America and aw that!
‘N’ that guy er there…the wan makin’ aw the noise? He’s convinced he’s got a metal hoop stuck in his gut…fuckin’ hell man. The guy’s in agony and they cannae find anything on aw the scans or nothing’.
Ah bet he’s just after pills an’ that but…
And see him? Holy fuck man…that’s Bill. Buffalo Bill coz he pure went mental and kilt his wife and wee boi. For the last fuckin’ 10 years… like seriously every morning for the past 10 years he’s been ooot a here…packs his case and gets ready to go. But see by the time…like he waits until after tea and decides he’s gonna stay fur an’er day and unpacks aw his stuff again. Every fuckin’ day, man! But he pure think’s he’s goin’ hame tah see his wife and kid, but it’s like, ‘ya fuckin’ stabbed ‘em ya bass!’ ken? He disnae ken he did it like, and he just keeps ‘hinking… he’s gonnae get oot ah here!
So, aye that's aw the fuckin' mental cunts in here man! Next week am gonnae be...ah'll be at...well ah dinnae ken till the Big Boss Man tells me, but ah'll be undercover an' aw that anyhow.
Friday, 8 January 2010
Hitler gives relationship advice?!
You may have asked yourself, “where did women go for relationship advice before Dr Phil and Dear Deirdre came on the scene?” Well ladies and gentleman, the answer to this is none other than the leader of the Nazi Party -Adolf Hitler!
That’s right! Herr Hitler was once a marriage counsellor who dispensed relationship advice to his hoards of female minions.
Unbelievably in September of 1937 Hitler addressed 20,000 women in Nuremburg and advised them on how to secure happiness in married life. He told them that, “whether the two sexes want it or not - and they do want it - they have got to live with one another some how, and that is probably the best thing for married couples to remember.”
Oh that’s great. How insightful of you Fuhrer! We have to live together somehow!? How do you propose we do this then?
"What is needed is cleverness, common-sense and consideration."
So basically:
Do you think Eva Braun was in the next room giving sex tips to the male Nazi minions?!
That’s right! Herr Hitler was once a marriage counsellor who dispensed relationship advice to his hoards of female minions.
Unbelievably in September of 1937 Hitler addressed 20,000 women in Nuremburg and advised them on how to secure happiness in married life. He told them that, “whether the two sexes want it or not - and they do want it - they have got to live with one another some how, and that is probably the best thing for married couples to remember.”
Oh that’s great. How insightful of you Fuhrer! We have to live together somehow!? How do you propose we do this then?
"What is needed is cleverness, common-sense and consideration."
So basically:
- don’t be stupid
- don’t share a bath with your toaster and
- agree to lie in the wet patch from time to time.
Do you think Eva Braun was in the next room giving sex tips to the male Nazi minions?!
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Celeb Big Wanker
Just a few words on this year's Celeb Big Brother:
Has anyone checked Stephen (not very)Baldwin's bible for contraband? I'm certain he has hollowed it out and smuggled in drugs. It can be the only explanation!
My favourite so far is Vinnie - he just doesn't seem to give a funk. I loved him in the Midnight Meat train but i keep expecting him to go mental in the BB House and do this:
Ahhhh, no - he's killing Katia! Vinnie, nooooooo!
Has anyone checked Stephen (not very)Baldwin's bible for contraband? I'm certain he has hollowed it out and smuggled in drugs. It can be the only explanation!
My favourite so far is Vinnie - he just doesn't seem to give a funk. I loved him in the Midnight Meat train but i keep expecting him to go mental in the BB House and do this:
Ahhhh, no - he's killing Katia! Vinnie, nooooooo!
Glasgow Drunkenness
From an article i found today in the Scotsman dated 3rd August 1853:
"There is no drunkenness in the world so beastly and brutal than a Saturday night's drunkenness in Glasgow.
"...Groups of excited men were fighting here and there; scores were zig-zagging along in a state of tipsy exhilaration and..swinish beatitude."
Not much has changed in the last 157 years then! Plus, the newspapers are STILL moaning about it!!
"There is no drunkenness in the world so beastly and brutal than a Saturday night's drunkenness in Glasgow.
"...Groups of excited men were fighting here and there; scores were zig-zagging along in a state of tipsy exhilaration and..swinish beatitude."
Not much has changed in the last 157 years then! Plus, the newspapers are STILL moaning about it!!
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Personal Statement
NHS Recruitment
Someplace
Glasgow
Dear Sir / Madam
Re: JOB REF NUMBER 2894949p - MEDICAL SECRETARY
I write with a view to applying for the above post.
I am a disorganised and inefficient medical secretary with experience of working within a fast-paced NHS environment. I am now so institutionalised that i use phrases such as 'fast-paced,' 'patient journey' and 'personal development plan.' With an A in both Higher English and Higher Human Biology i have a poor grasp of the English language and know virtually nothing about the human body. In fact my knowledge of medical terminology extends to the words of, 'Head, Shoulder, Knees and Toes' and on a good day i may even remember that your leg bone is connected to your foot bone.
I manage a Consultant's diary but never know where he is and i regularly minute meetings whilst in a coma. I excel at making necklaces out of paper-clips for my ineffectual colleagues and have been known to push my medical records trolley at speeds of up to 120mph.
In conclusion, i believe that with my inefficiency and lack of skills, i am perfect for working within the NHS. I possess all the necessary characteristics to perform this particular role including Histrionic Personality Disorder and the inability to type or work MS Office.
I look forward to hearing from you shortly.
Kind regards
Cabbage Cat
Someplace
Glasgow
Dear Sir / Madam
Re: JOB REF NUMBER 2894949p - MEDICAL SECRETARY
I write with a view to applying for the above post.
I am a disorganised and inefficient medical secretary with experience of working within a fast-paced NHS environment. I am now so institutionalised that i use phrases such as 'fast-paced,' 'patient journey' and 'personal development plan.' With an A in both Higher English and Higher Human Biology i have a poor grasp of the English language and know virtually nothing about the human body. In fact my knowledge of medical terminology extends to the words of, 'Head, Shoulder, Knees and Toes' and on a good day i may even remember that your leg bone is connected to your foot bone.
I manage a Consultant's diary but never know where he is and i regularly minute meetings whilst in a coma. I excel at making necklaces out of paper-clips for my ineffectual colleagues and have been known to push my medical records trolley at speeds of up to 120mph.
In conclusion, i believe that with my inefficiency and lack of skills, i am perfect for working within the NHS. I possess all the necessary characteristics to perform this particular role including Histrionic Personality Disorder and the inability to type or work MS Office.
I look forward to hearing from you shortly.
Kind regards
Cabbage Cat
The Stresses of Modern Society
On 16th July 1935 Dr Alfred Cox of the British Health Resorts Association addressed the Royal Sanitary Institute Health Congress at Bournemouth. Although he joked at the end of his speech that his, “diatribe will of course be pityingly regarding by many of them as a sign of senility,” I submit that he hit the nail on the head. His description of the stresses of modern life are as relevant (and correct) today as they were 75 years ago. Dude was ahead of his time.
Dr Cox argued that, “we talk a lot about the stresses and strains of modern life, and try hard to convince ourselves that we work harder because we make more fuss about it. But many of these stresses are self-inflicted and I cannot raise any sympathy for the folk who voluntarily continue a noisy and alleged strenuous city day life into an equally noisy and strenuous time to amuse themselves at night.
Many can no longer amuse themselves. They must have a crowd to help them do it - and we are in real danger of so Americanising our lives that homes may become a mere adjunct to the garage with a bed to sleep in during the early hours of the morning.
Fashion is a tyrant which of course must be obeyed but the human body being what it is, we shall have to pay the price of fashion.
The price of always doing something or going out somewhere is a restless neurotic life in which an increasing number of people do not know what they want and will not be happy until they get it.”
Amen!!
Dr Cox argued that, “we talk a lot about the stresses and strains of modern life, and try hard to convince ourselves that we work harder because we make more fuss about it. But many of these stresses are self-inflicted and I cannot raise any sympathy for the folk who voluntarily continue a noisy and alleged strenuous city day life into an equally noisy and strenuous time to amuse themselves at night.
Many can no longer amuse themselves. They must have a crowd to help them do it - and we are in real danger of so Americanising our lives that homes may become a mere adjunct to the garage with a bed to sleep in during the early hours of the morning.
Fashion is a tyrant which of course must be obeyed but the human body being what it is, we shall have to pay the price of fashion.
The price of always doing something or going out somewhere is a restless neurotic life in which an increasing number of people do not know what they want and will not be happy until they get it.”
Amen!!
Yum!
I came across an article in an old newspaper the other day from 1927. It detailed the bizarre culinary delights of a delicatessen in Piccadilly including 9 inch sea slugs for making soup, shark fins and balachaung (rotting fish) for curries.
My favourite thing about the article though was the writer’s utter wonderment at the existence of Popadoms, which he quaintly described as a potato cake eaten with curry. heh!
They even had a sign declaring, “Smoked reindeer tongues imported from Lapland. Provides a new dainty for your delight!”
Heston Blumenthal eat your heart out.!
My favourite thing about the article though was the writer’s utter wonderment at the existence of Popadoms, which he quaintly described as a potato cake eaten with curry. heh!
They even had a sign declaring, “Smoked reindeer tongues imported from Lapland. Provides a new dainty for your delight!”
Heston Blumenthal eat your heart out.!
Macebook
As well as keeping track of friends and family on Facebook, there should be a way of monitoring your enemies and anyone you’ve ever had 'beef' with. I propose that this should be called ‘Macebook’ and there should be a function on it where you can mace your enemies in the face with a funky java-applet type thing. That would be frickin' awsome!
It would also be a good way to keep track of who is off your Christmas card list and who in your life can go fuck themselves.
There is totally a gap in the market for us anti-social types! And yes, I am aware of how passive-aggressive my idea for Macebook is. I have insight into my madness.
It would also be a good way to keep track of who is off your Christmas card list and who in your life can go fuck themselves.
There is totally a gap in the market for us anti-social types! And yes, I am aware of how passive-aggressive my idea for Macebook is. I have insight into my madness.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Glasgow Necropolis Gravestones
Most people think graveyards are dull and depressing, but what do they know?
Here are some of my favourite gravestones at the Glasgow Necropolis:
Apparently Jesus finished all the wine. No wonder he gave up the ghost, i would too. (Or was it vinegar, i forget. Most wine tastes like vinegar though so who cares?)
This next one appears to be some sort of Nazi Angel with her tits out. Note how she is also covered in bird shit. Classy...
This next guy is pretty hot for an Angel:
Here are some of my favourite gravestones at the Glasgow Necropolis:
Apparently Jesus finished all the wine. No wonder he gave up the ghost, i would too. (Or was it vinegar, i forget. Most wine tastes like vinegar though so who cares?)
This next one appears to be some sort of Nazi Angel with her tits out. Note how she is also covered in bird shit. Classy...
This next guy is pretty hot for an Angel:
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Of Unsound Mind
EK Diamond
Department of Psychiatry
Glasgow
14th August, 2009
Department of Psychiatry
Glasgow
14th August, 2009
Dear Cabbage Cat,
Diagnosis: Of Unsound Mind
Treatment: Here, take these pills
Further to your recent appointment, i can confirm that you are as mad as a money on a tricycle. I have referred you to my colleague Dr Caeser Titts for further assessment. We look forward to seeing you in due course.
Yours sincerely
Dr Diamond
Consultant Psychiatrist
Glasgow vs the Gaza Strip
I once heard that the life expectancy of someone living in the East end of Glasgow is less than that of someone from the Gaza strip. If smoking, drinking or drugs don’t get you then a knife wielding Ned probably will. In horror movies the baddie is always some formidable stranger with a mask and enough discretion to get away with it. In Glasgow, it’s usually a track-suited Ned looking to rob you for his next £10 bag of heroin and he is quite happy to do this in full view of CCTV. It is unclear to me whether this is because they don’t care about being caught or they know the Police can’t be bothered catching them.
It is also my belief that potato waffles are partly to blame.
It is also my belief that potato waffles are partly to blame.
Lunch-Time Liberation Army
My name is Cabbage Cat and I am the leader of the Lunchtime Liberation Army – a movement for the abolition of working through lunch breaks. Unions fought for us to have this luxury so be sure not to waste it. Remember, this is the year 2009 and gone are the days of slavery. We do not get paid for working through our lunch breaks and you can bet your bottom dollar no one will thank you for it.
It’s time to say NO! Liberate yourself from the shackles of work for at least 1 hour* per day. Go for a walk, feed the pigeons or just hide in a toilet cubicle so no one can find you. This will leave
you feeling more alert and better able to hide from your managers and/or inept colleagues.
*Disclaimer: In the interests remaining gainfully employed, the Lunch-Time Liberation Army does not recommend taking an hour for lunch if your employer only allows 30 minutes.
It’s time to say NO! Liberate yourself from the shackles of work for at least 1 hour* per day. Go for a walk, feed the pigeons or just hide in a toilet cubicle so no one can find you. This will leave
you feeling more alert and better able to hide from your managers and/or inept colleagues.
*Disclaimer: In the interests remaining gainfully employed, the Lunch-Time Liberation Army does not recommend taking an hour for lunch if your employer only allows 30 minutes.
Personal Space - Glaswegian Style
Glaswegians have no concept of personal space. Join a queue in Glasgow and you're guaranteed to feel some freak's breath on your neck. Maybe i'm on the autistic spectrum but i hate people i don't know touching me.
I was in line at Asda once and almost ended up giving a piggy back to the Scummy Mummy behind me, she was standing so close. I could have brained her but unbelievably 'Asda Radio' started playing ‘Don’t Stand So Close To Me,' by The Police. The irony was obviously lost on this limpet who was piling Irn Bru and potato waffles onto the conveyer belt. And they wonder why the West of Scotland has such high rates of obesity and cancer.
I was in line at Asda once and almost ended up giving a piggy back to the Scummy Mummy behind me, she was standing so close. I could have brained her but unbelievably 'Asda Radio' started playing ‘Don’t Stand So Close To Me,' by The Police. The irony was obviously lost on this limpet who was piling Irn Bru and potato waffles onto the conveyer belt. And they wonder why the West of Scotland has such high rates of obesity and cancer.
Glasgow Neds
Let me tell you about the Glasgow Neds. They are a breed far apart from you or I. They come in 2 sizes – the ultra skinny ones with sunken faces (usually referred to as ‘Junkie’ neds) and the enormously fat ones who survive mainly on take-away food. Both breeds dress exclusively in tracksuits and fake designer gear from the Barras. They like to tuck their trousers into their socks – not because they are cycling enthusiasts, but so they can shoplift and safely stuff their loot down their trousers. Charming, no?
They talk out the side of their mouths in a whiny, nasally voice and like to punctuate the end of every sentence with the word ‘man’. They are inarticulate, ugly, rude and stupid. They are proof that the human race is de-evolving and yet they continue to breed indiscriminately. God help us all...
They talk out the side of their mouths in a whiny, nasally voice and like to punctuate the end of every sentence with the word ‘man’. They are inarticulate, ugly, rude and stupid. They are proof that the human race is de-evolving and yet they continue to breed indiscriminately. God help us all...
Haddows
I went into Haddows for another 6 pack of beer. Sure I was already drunk but I wanted to keep my buzz. Inebriation land here I come! It was one of those Haddows that kept their employees in cages like a human zoo. You were never sure if it was to keep the staff away from the customers or vice versa.
I waited a few moments for an enormous neddy woman to emerge from the back and serve me.
“Eh, a six pack of Stella please,” i asked and off she shuffled.
She scanned the bar code into the till. Thank God for technology! If she had to type the price into the till with her huge fat fingers, it would have cost me £33849.09. I also purchased the obligatory 20 Richmond Kingsize and some Highland Papers.
I waited a few moments for an enormous neddy woman to emerge from the back and serve me.
“Eh, a six pack of Stella please,” i asked and off she shuffled.
She scanned the bar code into the till. Thank God for technology! If she had to type the price into the till with her huge fat fingers, it would have cost me £33849.09. I also purchased the obligatory 20 Richmond Kingsize and some Highland Papers.
Hot Piss and Kebabs
"Whatever I do, I do not Repent.
I Keep Pissing against the Moon"
I drank until i was inebriated - whiskey, beer and sugary alco-pops. My liver was fucked so what difference would it make if my teeth fell out as well? Fuck it!
I remember stumbling along Waterloo Street, squinting through my alcoholic haze. What time is it? How did i end up here? It must have been after 2 but the streets were still busy and bustling. Living dead girls lined the pavements - the girls with sunken faces and yesterday's make-up. Waterloo Street was like the Barras of Pussy. Roll up! Roll up! Get your hole here!
"'Scuse me misses," said a whiny voice approaching to my left. "Spare any chaynge?" I staggered on, only a little less worse for wear than this toothless prozzie. Hurry, hurry Mrs Murray! Diddy rides, 2 for a tenner!
I was dying for a piss. My hamster bladder just couldn't take all the booze i had consumed. I was too sophisticated to piss up an alley so i tried to cross my legs and walk at the same time. Shit, why did i have to have that last beer? I could've afforded a taxi home if it wasn't for that stupid pint!
Finally my flat was in view. I reached the front door and fumbled drunkenly for my keys. The second i opened the door, that very second, my bladder gave up on me. Hot urine exploded to the floor and once i had started i Could. Not. Stop. It felt fucking great and i had already reached the point of no return. aaahhhhhh....
To this day that front porch honks of piss but what the hell? The whole of Glasgow reeks of hot piss and kebabs anyway.
I categorically deny all rumours that I pissed myself on my front porch. I still contend that Glasgow honks of hot piss and kebabs. Fact.
I Keep Pissing against the Moon"
I drank until i was inebriated - whiskey, beer and sugary alco-pops. My liver was fucked so what difference would it make if my teeth fell out as well? Fuck it!
I remember stumbling along Waterloo Street, squinting through my alcoholic haze. What time is it? How did i end up here? It must have been after 2 but the streets were still busy and bustling. Living dead girls lined the pavements - the girls with sunken faces and yesterday's make-up. Waterloo Street was like the Barras of Pussy. Roll up! Roll up! Get your hole here!
"'Scuse me misses," said a whiny voice approaching to my left. "Spare any chaynge?" I staggered on, only a little less worse for wear than this toothless prozzie. Hurry, hurry Mrs Murray! Diddy rides, 2 for a tenner!
I was dying for a piss. My hamster bladder just couldn't take all the booze i had consumed. I was too sophisticated to piss up an alley so i tried to cross my legs and walk at the same time. Shit, why did i have to have that last beer? I could've afforded a taxi home if it wasn't for that stupid pint!
Finally my flat was in view. I reached the front door and fumbled drunkenly for my keys. The second i opened the door, that very second, my bladder gave up on me. Hot urine exploded to the floor and once i had started i Could. Not. Stop. It felt fucking great and i had already reached the point of no return. aaahhhhhh....
To this day that front porch honks of piss but what the hell? The whole of Glasgow reeks of hot piss and kebabs anyway.
I categorically deny all rumours that I pissed myself on my front porch. I still contend that Glasgow honks of hot piss and kebabs. Fact.
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