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It’s been a while and I’ve been far too luvvie and polite recently, so whilst sitting at work watching Muntjack deer go mental in the grounds outside the window, I have come up with my “Goatboy Rant: The Xmas Special”-
Celebrity Whatever:
You know the crap I’m talking about here. Celebrity painters and decorators/driving instructors/plumbers/interior decorators/gardeners and, my personal hate-objects…celebrity chefs.
Excuse me? Celebrity chef? These people apply heat to food, and get famous for warming up food? How does that work?
And despite the fact I have had the pleasure of sinking my fist into Jamie Oliver’s doughy fat-tongued face, I still wish to throttle Gary Rhodes and Rick Stein and all these other chimps.
Reality TV Shows:
You don’t have enough interest in your own life? You need to watch a weekly show about an airport? How sad do you have to be before you realise the utter futility of watching this pap? Just look at yourself, sitting there staring blankly at the tv watching a show about an airport. And that chubby queen that worked for some Russian airline that enjoyed his 5 mins before sinking back into normal life? Jeremy something. Christ, all you need to do is be camp and you have your own tv show.
These people shouldn’t be allowed to own a tv, let alone be on them.
The day will come when Mr Normal goes home to watch a show with a celebrity in it, and that celebrity will go home and watch a show about the normal bloke.
And then I will have to set fire to this planet and take off into space.
Pop Stars:
Utter bile is reserved for this show.
It’s not about doing it because you want to be in a band, it’s about doing it to be the next Robbie Williams.
Isn’t one enough? How many wide-faced pub singers do we need before people finally get sick of it all and seek out decent music made by people that care? Unfortunately, I get the feeling that it will never happen. And that makes me sad.
So I’ll sit there listening to Janis Joplin and Cake and Tool whilst morons go scream at Pop Star Inc, performing in your not-local giga-plex sometime in the distant future.
Christ, these “pop idols” exist in their own time and space. They are desperate creatures that die without appearing in the Bizarre pages of The Sun at least once a week. Geri Halliwell – she can’t sing so she gets coverage by doing yoga. And people actually think this matters.
*shakes head*…we are doomed as a planet to failure.
Tractors:
I hate them. I especially hate them when they decide to go on the main roads during rush hour. As if it isn’t hard enough battling against “Middle-Management Man” in his Mondeo, listening to Mercury FM with his jacket hung up in the back, I now have to contend with dirty farmers crawling along the road, refusing to pull over.
You are a farmer, you pay zero fuel duty and it’s winter. So just bloody wait until 10am before driving to the pub to menace strangers and hang out with the other big-eared boys on the farm.
Adverts:
Stupid, unrealistic things. From those “Monsieur, wiz zeese chocolates” crap to those ones with the glaze-eyed families all wetting themselves over the latest fabric conditioner. Utter rubbish. And the ones that nobody else seems to find scary, the adverts for nappies. There’s one right now with a woman kissing a baby’s backside. A naked baby backside being smooched by an adult.
Hello? Brasseye anyone?
And those ones for B&Q or MVC with “Real employees” telling you how good it is. And those Halifax ones with those retards singing and dancing. If you live near one of those branches, go in and point at those people and laugh really, really loudly.
Mini-Cab Drivers:
Ok, so ex-criminals need jobs too. But why do they think they own the road in their family saloon cars? They are, without exception, arrogant and pushy with bad hair and steely-eyed stares at some non-existent chequered flag in the distance.
I hate them and all they stand for.
Stupid People:
You know these people. They are everywhere. From the ones that don’t understand that cash-machines should take 30 seconds max to operate and instead try to re-programme NASA and order pizza whilst I stand behind them and try not to leap on their back and ride them around like big stupid donkeys.
Or the ones that pull out on you, even though there is nobody behind you for miles and then go 30mph all the way to their stupid houses.
Or the ones that have to check their change in the supermarket queue before walking away so I can buy a loaf of bread and some milk that I have had to stand in line for 20 mins for.
Or those ones that let their dirty faced children play outside till 11pm and then sob when little Timmy gets snatched or run over – you can’t ignore them and then pretend you care. You either raise them properly or shrug and play the lottery in the vein hope money will make your unhappy life any better.
Or those that insist on typing in forums using text-speak and awful grammar. It’s not hard, maybe if you paid attention at school instead of attacking mirrors and trying to set fire to each other you may learn something.
But people like me will always need someone to serve us food, so on second thoughts just carry on.
-----------
That’s it.
The Xmas Rant Special is over and now I can sit back and feel better for having purged weeks of pent-up moaning and complaining.
Celebrity Whatever:
You know the crap I’m talking about here. Celebrity painters and decorators/driving instructors/plumbers/interior decorators/gardeners and, my personal hate-objects…celebrity chefs.
Excuse me? Celebrity chef? These people apply heat to food, and get famous for warming up food? How does that work?
And despite the fact I have had the pleasure of sinking my fist into Jamie Oliver’s doughy fat-tongued face, I still wish to throttle Gary Rhodes and Rick Stein and all these other chimps.
Reality TV Shows:
You don’t have enough interest in your own life? You need to watch a weekly show about an airport? How sad do you have to be before you realise the utter futility of watching this pap? Just look at yourself, sitting there staring blankly at the tv watching a show about an airport. And that chubby queen that worked for some Russian airline that enjoyed his 5 mins before sinking back into normal life? Jeremy something. Christ, all you need to do is be camp and you have your own tv show.
These people shouldn’t be allowed to own a tv, let alone be on them.
The day will come when Mr Normal goes home to watch a show with a celebrity in it, and that celebrity will go home and watch a show about the normal bloke.
And then I will have to set fire to this planet and take off into space.
Pop Stars:
Utter bile is reserved for this show.
It’s not about doing it because you want to be in a band, it’s about doing it to be the next Robbie Williams.
Isn’t one enough? How many wide-faced pub singers do we need before people finally get sick of it all and seek out decent music made by people that care? Unfortunately, I get the feeling that it will never happen. And that makes me sad.
So I’ll sit there listening to Janis Joplin and Cake and Tool whilst morons go scream at Pop Star Inc, performing in your not-local giga-plex sometime in the distant future.
Christ, these “pop idols” exist in their own time and space. They are desperate creatures that die without appearing in the Bizarre pages of The Sun at least once a week. Geri Halliwell – she can’t sing so she gets coverage by doing yoga. And people actually think this matters.
*shakes head*…we are doomed as a planet to failure.
Tractors:
I hate them. I especially hate them when they decide to go on the main roads during rush hour. As if it isn’t hard enough battling against “Middle-Management Man” in his Mondeo, listening to Mercury FM with his jacket hung up in the back, I now have to contend with dirty farmers crawling along the road, refusing to pull over.
You are a farmer, you pay zero fuel duty and it’s winter. So just bloody wait until 10am before driving to the pub to menace strangers and hang out with the other big-eared boys on the farm.
Adverts:
Stupid, unrealistic things. From those “Monsieur, wiz zeese chocolates” crap to those ones with the glaze-eyed families all wetting themselves over the latest fabric conditioner. Utter rubbish. And the ones that nobody else seems to find scary, the adverts for nappies. There’s one right now with a woman kissing a baby’s backside. A naked baby backside being smooched by an adult.
Hello? Brasseye anyone?
And those ones for B&Q or MVC with “Real employees” telling you how good it is. And those Halifax ones with those retards singing and dancing. If you live near one of those branches, go in and point at those people and laugh really, really loudly.
Mini-Cab Drivers:
Ok, so ex-criminals need jobs too. But why do they think they own the road in their family saloon cars? They are, without exception, arrogant and pushy with bad hair and steely-eyed stares at some non-existent chequered flag in the distance.
I hate them and all they stand for.
Stupid People:
You know these people. They are everywhere. From the ones that don’t understand that cash-machines should take 30 seconds max to operate and instead try to re-programme NASA and order pizza whilst I stand behind them and try not to leap on their back and ride them around like big stupid donkeys.
Or the ones that pull out on you, even though there is nobody behind you for miles and then go 30mph all the way to their stupid houses.
Or the ones that have to check their change in the supermarket queue before walking away so I can buy a loaf of bread and some milk that I have had to stand in line for 20 mins for.
Or those ones that let their dirty faced children play outside till 11pm and then sob when little Timmy gets snatched or run over – you can’t ignore them and then pretend you care. You either raise them properly or shrug and play the lottery in the vein hope money will make your unhappy life any better.
Or those that insist on typing in forums using text-speak and awful grammar. It’s not hard, maybe if you paid attention at school instead of attacking mirrors and trying to set fire to each other you may learn something.
But people like me will always need someone to serve us food, so on second thoughts just carry on.
-----------
That’s it.
The Xmas Rant Special is over and now I can sit back and feel better for having purged weeks of pent-up moaning and complaining.
I agree with all of that, pretty much.
Especially the stupid people bit.
Especially the stupid people bit.
It takes me 20 seconds to get money out of them.
So why do we spend 2 minutes behind a mouthbreather as it stabs the buttons randomly?
It won't give you anymore money, you need a better job - not another 4 minutes staring at the screen.
So why do we spend 2 minutes behind a mouthbreather as it stabs the buttons randomly?
It won't give you anymore money, you need a better job - not another 4 minutes staring at the screen.
Goatboy wrote:
> Adverts:
Stupid, unrealistic things. From those “Monsieur, wiz zeese
> chocolates” crap
Ah, but to be fair they've changed them this year, and the blonde bird is really cute!
And I love Fererro Rocher.
Pretty much agree with the rest - especially the cashpoint ditherers.
> Adverts:
Stupid, unrealistic things. From those “Monsieur, wiz zeese
> chocolates” crap
Ah, but to be fair they've changed them this year, and the blonde bird is really cute!
And I love Fererro Rocher.
Pretty much agree with the rest - especially the cashpoint ditherers.
Goatboy wrote:
Celebrity
> Whatever
Useless waste of time. People can't be bothered to decorate their own house so they get a bunch of nobodys to do it for them. Laziness.
Reality TV Shows:
You need to watch a weekly show about an airport?
I know one thing. I hate airports. I get very bored at airports. I always fall asleep at airports so I suppose falling asleep at home watching airport programmes would be more comfortable.
Pop Stars
All these pop 'stars' (They are not stars in my book!) will do is make stupid people waste their money on what music that sounds like a strangled cat.
Tractors:
Those 40 gear, slow, always causing traffic holdups, waste of metal.
Adverts:
Don't get me started on adverts. I couldn't care less if these chocolates are spoiling us. If only Smarties have the answer, I'd like to know how to get rid of all this crazy advertising.
I don't have any comment on Mini-Cab drivers or Stupid people. As long as they don't invade my life, I'm happy.
Celebrity
> Whatever
Useless waste of time. People can't be bothered to decorate their own house so they get a bunch of nobodys to do it for them. Laziness.
Reality TV Shows:
You need to watch a weekly show about an airport?
I know one thing. I hate airports. I get very bored at airports. I always fall asleep at airports so I suppose falling asleep at home watching airport programmes would be more comfortable.
Pop Stars
All these pop 'stars' (They are not stars in my book!) will do is make stupid people waste their money on what music that sounds like a strangled cat.
Tractors:
Those 40 gear, slow, always causing traffic holdups, waste of metal.
Adverts:
Don't get me started on adverts. I couldn't care less if these chocolates are spoiling us. If only Smarties have the answer, I'd like to know how to get rid of all this crazy advertising.
I don't have any comment on Mini-Cab drivers or Stupid people. As long as they don't invade my life, I'm happy.
It's not meant for an argument or anything, just felt like venting the steam in ma head seeing as I haven't done one of those for a while.
Meka_Dragon wrote:
> I agree with almost all of that.
me too
Which makes for pretty crap arguement.
yeah maybe but it was worth the read
Rock on Goaty or maybe Rant on would be more appropriate at this time.
> I agree with almost all of that.
me too
Which makes for pretty crap arguement.
yeah maybe but it was worth the read
Rock on Goaty or maybe Rant on would be more appropriate at this time.
I agree with almost all of that.
Which makes for pretty crap arguement.
Which makes for pretty crap arguement.
It’s been a while and I’ve been far too luvvie and polite recently, so whilst sitting at work watching Muntjack deer go mental in the grounds outside the window, I have come up with my “Goatboy Rant: The Xmas Special”-
Celebrity Whatever:
You know the crap I’m talking about here. Celebrity painters and decorators/driving instructors/plumbers/interior decorators/gardeners and, my personal hate-objects…celebrity chefs.
Excuse me? Celebrity chef? These people apply heat to food, and get famous for warming up food? How does that work?
And despite the fact I have had the pleasure of sinking my fist into Jamie Oliver’s doughy fat-tongued face, I still wish to throttle Gary Rhodes and Rick Stein and all these other chimps.
Reality TV Shows:
You don’t have enough interest in your own life? You need to watch a weekly show about an airport? How sad do you have to be before you realise the utter futility of watching this pap? Just look at yourself, sitting there staring blankly at the tv watching a show about an airport. And that chubby queen that worked for some Russian airline that enjoyed his 5 mins before sinking back into normal life? Jeremy something. Christ, all you need to do is be camp and you have your own tv show.
These people shouldn’t be allowed to own a tv, let alone be on them.
The day will come when Mr Normal goes home to watch a show with a celebrity in it, and that celebrity will go home and watch a show about the normal bloke.
And then I will have to set fire to this planet and take off into space.
Pop Stars:
Utter bile is reserved for this show.
It’s not about doing it because you want to be in a band, it’s about doing it to be the next Robbie Williams.
Isn’t one enough? How many wide-faced pub singers do we need before people finally get sick of it all and seek out decent music made by people that care? Unfortunately, I get the feeling that it will never happen. And that makes me sad.
So I’ll sit there listening to Janis Joplin and Cake and Tool whilst morons go scream at Pop Star Inc, performing in your not-local giga-plex sometime in the distant future.
Christ, these “pop idols” exist in their own time and space. They are desperate creatures that die without appearing in the Bizarre pages of The Sun at least once a week. Geri Halliwell – she can’t sing so she gets coverage by doing yoga. And people actually think this matters.
*shakes head*…we are doomed as a planet to failure.
Tractors:
I hate them. I especially hate them when they decide to go on the main roads during rush hour. As if it isn’t hard enough battling against “Middle-Management Man” in his Mondeo, listening to Mercury FM with his jacket hung up in the back, I now have to contend with dirty farmers crawling along the road, refusing to pull over.
You are a farmer, you pay zero fuel duty and it’s winter. So just bloody wait until 10am before driving to the pub to menace strangers and hang out with the other big-eared boys on the farm.
Adverts:
Stupid, unrealistic things. From those “Monsieur, wiz zeese chocolates” crap to those ones with the glaze-eyed families all wetting themselves over the latest fabric conditioner. Utter rubbish. And the ones that nobody else seems to find scary, the adverts for nappies. There’s one right now with a woman kissing a baby’s backside. A naked baby backside being smooched by an adult.
Hello? Brasseye anyone?
And those ones for B&Q or MVC with “Real employees” telling you how good it is. And those Halifax ones with those retards singing and dancing. If you live near one of those branches, go in and point at those people and laugh really, really loudly.
Mini-Cab Drivers:
Ok, so ex-criminals need jobs too. But why do they think they own the road in their family saloon cars? They are, without exception, arrogant and pushy with bad hair and steely-eyed stares at some non-existent chequered flag in the distance.
I hate them and all they stand for.
Stupid People:
You know these people. They are everywhere. From the ones that don’t understand that cash-machines should take 30 seconds max to operate and instead try to re-programme NASA and order pizza whilst I stand behind them and try not to leap on their back and ride them around like big stupid donkeys.
Or the ones that pull out on you, even though there is nobody behind you for miles and then go 30mph all the way to their stupid houses.
Or the ones that have to check their change in the supermarket queue before walking away so I can buy a loaf of bread and some milk that I have had to stand in line for 20 mins for.
Or those ones that let their dirty faced children play outside till 11pm and then sob when little Timmy gets snatched or run over – you can’t ignore them and then pretend you care. You either raise them properly or shrug and play the lottery in the vein hope money will make your unhappy life any better.
Or those that insist on typing in forums using text-speak and awful grammar. It’s not hard, maybe if you paid attention at school instead of attacking mirrors and trying to set fire to each other you may learn something.
But people like me will always need someone to serve us food, so on second thoughts just carry on.
-----------
That’s it.
The Xmas Rant Special is over and now I can sit back and feel better for having purged weeks of pent-up moaning and complaining.
Celebrity Whatever:
You know the crap I’m talking about here. Celebrity painters and decorators/driving instructors/plumbers/interior decorators/gardeners and, my personal hate-objects…celebrity chefs.
Excuse me? Celebrity chef? These people apply heat to food, and get famous for warming up food? How does that work?
And despite the fact I have had the pleasure of sinking my fist into Jamie Oliver’s doughy fat-tongued face, I still wish to throttle Gary Rhodes and Rick Stein and all these other chimps.
Reality TV Shows:
You don’t have enough interest in your own life? You need to watch a weekly show about an airport? How sad do you have to be before you realise the utter futility of watching this pap? Just look at yourself, sitting there staring blankly at the tv watching a show about an airport. And that chubby queen that worked for some Russian airline that enjoyed his 5 mins before sinking back into normal life? Jeremy something. Christ, all you need to do is be camp and you have your own tv show.
These people shouldn’t be allowed to own a tv, let alone be on them.
The day will come when Mr Normal goes home to watch a show with a celebrity in it, and that celebrity will go home and watch a show about the normal bloke.
And then I will have to set fire to this planet and take off into space.
Pop Stars:
Utter bile is reserved for this show.
It’s not about doing it because you want to be in a band, it’s about doing it to be the next Robbie Williams.
Isn’t one enough? How many wide-faced pub singers do we need before people finally get sick of it all and seek out decent music made by people that care? Unfortunately, I get the feeling that it will never happen. And that makes me sad.
So I’ll sit there listening to Janis Joplin and Cake and Tool whilst morons go scream at Pop Star Inc, performing in your not-local giga-plex sometime in the distant future.
Christ, these “pop idols” exist in their own time and space. They are desperate creatures that die without appearing in the Bizarre pages of The Sun at least once a week. Geri Halliwell – she can’t sing so she gets coverage by doing yoga. And people actually think this matters.
*shakes head*…we are doomed as a planet to failure.
Tractors:
I hate them. I especially hate them when they decide to go on the main roads during rush hour. As if it isn’t hard enough battling against “Middle-Management Man” in his Mondeo, listening to Mercury FM with his jacket hung up in the back, I now have to contend with dirty farmers crawling along the road, refusing to pull over.
You are a farmer, you pay zero fuel duty and it’s winter. So just bloody wait until 10am before driving to the pub to menace strangers and hang out with the other big-eared boys on the farm.
Adverts:
Stupid, unrealistic things. From those “Monsieur, wiz zeese chocolates” crap to those ones with the glaze-eyed families all wetting themselves over the latest fabric conditioner. Utter rubbish. And the ones that nobody else seems to find scary, the adverts for nappies. There’s one right now with a woman kissing a baby’s backside. A naked baby backside being smooched by an adult.
Hello? Brasseye anyone?
And those ones for B&Q or MVC with “Real employees” telling you how good it is. And those Halifax ones with those retards singing and dancing. If you live near one of those branches, go in and point at those people and laugh really, really loudly.
Mini-Cab Drivers:
Ok, so ex-criminals need jobs too. But why do they think they own the road in their family saloon cars? They are, without exception, arrogant and pushy with bad hair and steely-eyed stares at some non-existent chequered flag in the distance.
I hate them and all they stand for.
Stupid People:
You know these people. They are everywhere. From the ones that don’t understand that cash-machines should take 30 seconds max to operate and instead try to re-programme NASA and order pizza whilst I stand behind them and try not to leap on their back and ride them around like big stupid donkeys.
Or the ones that pull out on you, even though there is nobody behind you for miles and then go 30mph all the way to their stupid houses.
Or the ones that have to check their change in the supermarket queue before walking away so I can buy a loaf of bread and some milk that I have had to stand in line for 20 mins for.
Or those ones that let their dirty faced children play outside till 11pm and then sob when little Timmy gets snatched or run over – you can’t ignore them and then pretend you care. You either raise them properly or shrug and play the lottery in the vein hope money will make your unhappy life any better.
Or those that insist on typing in forums using text-speak and awful grammar. It’s not hard, maybe if you paid attention at school instead of attacking mirrors and trying to set fire to each other you may learn something.
But people like me will always need someone to serve us food, so on second thoughts just carry on.
-----------
That’s it.
The Xmas Rant Special is over and now I can sit back and feel better for having purged weeks of pent-up moaning and complaining.