Acting, it's a piece of piss.

2009-12-30T01:47:00.002+01:00

Admittedly, I need to stop giving the whole subject of the article away in the title. Or, as my wife would put it, to stop coming so early.

How difficult can acting really be? I spend evenings in the pub, as I just have, and when I look at some of the people there I realise that they are playing a role - they're trying to be funny, they're trying to be ingratiating, they're trying to be more attractive to the opposite sex - whichever way you look at it, they're certainly not being themselves.

They do this for free, in the vain hope of acceptance, or, in rarefied circumstances, getting laid. The most important thing is that they're usually not very good. The key is to find a role in which you can develop, one which you can meld yourself with. I have been given this opportunity.

I will be attending a murder mystery party this New Years, in which all the participants must assume a role. My role is that of "a wine critic and a wine snob. Sneering, patronising and often downright rude, you don't care whether people like you or not. Which is just as well, because most people don't". Shouldn't be too much of a stretch.

Acting - it's a piece of piss.

Viva la resolution!

2009-12-28T23:58:00.002+01:00

I admit it's a little early, but having spoken to someone today about some old posts on the blog, I took the time to read up on some of them. You know what I realised? I actually used to be funny.

So, and I think you know where this is probably going, dear readers (an aside - if there are still any readers here from the old days, for fucks sake stop checking this site), I have decided to give the Ribshack a final roll of the dice. It won't be as good as the old times, but at least thanks to the advent of Facebook - a modern phonomenon that didn't really exist before, at least more people will read it. Which means what? More people will call me a cock, I suppose. No bad thing, I always wanted a world record.

Let's kick off with an easy one for now. This sign:

I saw this on a number of occasions while driving to France the other day. Mostly I saw it whilst driving on a motorway, which, as some say, is an activity that requires a fair level of concentration. Fortunately the Highways Agency don't agree, which meant that periodically I had to squint through the fog whilst in the fast lane to read a flashing sign.

"What the fuck does that say? I can't see shit for the fog. It's flashing, but the fog is reflecting the orange lights. Ohh it would be so much easier to read if the car in front didn't have their fog lights on. Ohhhh, it says 'fog'. Well, thanks for the heads up you bunch of fucking ret-BANG!!"

Always keep your eyes on the prize.

Czech in

2007-04-27T22:26:00.000+02:00

I ended up interviewing a few people yesterday, and the (un)suprising result of it was that the Eastern European girl got the job.

I was very impressed with her enthusiasm, and her commitment to "go out of her way to ensure a sale". When it comes to interviews, she's got the buzz-phrases down pat. The fact that one of my other interviewees looked mildly like a horse had nothing to do with it.

Speaking of horses, does anyone want to buy a zebra? I realise this sounds like an odd request, but this is something we have been discussing recently. You can pick up a zebra - a couple of years old with pretty low mileage and a full service history for about $8000.

I truly believe there could be a niche in the market here - if you're down at Bournemouth beach and there are a load of old guys there with donkeys, what would you rather your kids had the experience of? The same goes for pony-trekking. In fairness, I've also been investigating hybrids - no, not ones that run on fuel or gas, but cross breeds. If all else fails - who fancies a zonkey?

I don't work with morons

2007-04-24T22:34:00.000+02:00

"It's simple", I said in a knowing, desk thumping way.

"You're here to sell houses. If you're not going to do that, then you can go and work somewhere where you don't have to"

By the book, rocket up the ass motivation.

So when I arrived at the office this morning, mercifully without a hangover, and noted that the perpetually late subject of my previous post was sitting at his desk, wearing his tie, I had a pretty good idea how my morning was going to shape up.

You guessed it, there is the first victim of Ribby's reign of terror. Admittedly, he was a little disapointed that I would be holding him to his notice period. More so when he realised that this meant he still has to work this weekend while his boss is getting hammered in France.

It appears he was a little upset about a number of things - working weekends, having a lack of a full in-the-pub lunch hour, and being required to sell something. Not, as I thought, unreasonable demands upon a salesman. Perhaps I'm wrong.

A little later on, perhaps by conicidence, perhaps by design, a thoroughly gorgeous creature darkened my doors. Young, slim and Eastern European, she stated that she was very interested in a career in estate agency. When questioned a little further, it transpired that while she was in retail at present and had been looking to "make her career go up" into a management position, she would be prepared to go down for the right job.

She's got an interview tomorrow.

2nd time lucky

2007-04-17T19:58:00.000+02:00

I can do this. I really can.

I keep promising to bring the Rib Shack back on line, and every time I fail. Maybe this time I'll prove myself, and all you buggers wrong.

"What's changed?", I hear you cry. "What the fuck is this?", I hear frustrated teenagers cry as they land upon this site in the endless search of a blog written by a girl, whilst not wearing any clothes. That could apply to the girl or the onanists of course.

Anyway, I've moved along the career path a little since we last spoke. At the start of March I changed from senior negotiator at the little local agency, to branch manager of one of the big boys on the block. It's a different job, that's for certain - instead of whoring out substandard housing, I'm whoring myself to obtain the instructions on substandard housing so my chattering sales-monkeys can earn themselves a measly percentage. In fairness, with one of them it's all he deserves. That can be left to another day - the return of the "I work with morons" series of posts.

Only about 5 weeks left to the wedding - hope some of you are nice and fit for the England v France football match.

We can rebuild you...

2007-02-21T00:12:00.000+01:00

So, where do I start?

My 18-month blog hiatus has come to an end. Mind you, in fairness, not a great deal has happened in the meantime. I'll lay it out for you in a couple of concise, easy to digest pieces.

I'm a father. No, I'm not your father, this isn't Star Wars. Little Dylan was born on the 2nd July 2006 at 5.48am. Thanks for a) being so bloody early, and b) making me miss the World Cup quarter final the afternoon before. Here's news for you kiddo - I've got photos of you with no clothes on, and I will exact my revenge. Probably sometime during your teens.
I've moved countries. Having got a little teed off with with the inability of the French to handle simple traffic rules, I felt it was best for me to relocate to somewhere that had as many roundabouts as possible that hadn't quite reached critical mass. This ruled out Bracknell, and Swindon was full - so I have relocated to Milton Keynes.
I'm no longer a lorry driver. I realised that if I were to be a lorry driver in Milton Keynes I would very quickly get dizzy and die, so I changed jobs again. Not satisifed with being an accepted member of society (having been an Englishman in France), I decided to return to my roots and sell substandard housing to the poor and hopelessly optimistic. aka estate agency.

Hardly worth a post really, but I thought it was time that The Rib Shack got back off the ground, broke new ground, and, perhaps, fell on the ground. I'll try and keep you posted of the trials and tribulations of a new father, an estate agent and a resident of what I heard described as "the best new city in the world" as and when things happen.

'Night pop pickers, and welcome back.

The man with the child in his eyes

2005-08-08T03:43:00.000+02:00

This time, I'm not talking about Michael Jackson.

I know, I know, you can't keep up. I'm writing this blog faster than you can read it - it's like when I first started, but don't worry, I'll slow down again soon.

As promised yesterday, today we will be examining the definitions of paedophilia. There may be an online-type vigilante rant, but hopefully not to the extent as happened in Southampton a few years ago. Some of you may remember that a female child-doctor had all the windows broken in her house because the mob believed that she was a 'paediatrician'.

So what's been happening is that recently we had a new guy start work. Not an altogether strange occurence, as this seems to happen all the time. Unfortunately, what did happen is that the new guy (who for legal reasons we will not call Martin) decided to inform his new colleagues that he was 'in a little bit of legal trouble'.

Personally I didn't really take any notice as this is always happening, until it came to light (and there's only one possible source of this - him) that he was being charged with the rape of a 13 year old girl.

Sick. Fucking. Bastard.

Of course, he is innocent until proven guilty, but he has discussed it with a number of members of staff - with an apparent lack of shame - with a wide range of varying reasons. Oddly, none of these have flown particularly well, and most of the people in the company want to kick the poo out of him, before waving goodbye in the courtroom so he can find out over the next couple of years exactly what she felt like.

This, whilst interesting and disgusting, surprisingly started an argument between my beloved and I. Nothing serious I hasten to add, but it made me think about various peoples takes on kiddy-molesting.

When I discussed it with Emilie, I felt sure that she would have the same feeling as me about it. I feel that yes, he is innocent until proven guilty, but I can't help looking at the guy and thinking 'You filthy little bastard' every time. You see, his story is that he had had a few drinks at a party and this girl got into bed with him. He thought it was his girlfriend, so he proceeded to - well I don't want to say that, you get the idea. Just where exactly was his girlfriend while this was going on?

Anyway, Emilie pointed out to me that there are a lot of young girls out there who like this sort of thing and won't take no for an answer. Personally, I never met any of these girls when I was younger, unfortunately (or possibly fortunately). The thing is I can't envision a 13 year old girl who would be stronger than a 30 year old man (yup) so that he couldn't stop her. And just how the hell do you mistake someone for your girlfriend? Sounds all too suspicious to me.

However, Emilie also mentioned to me about someone she works with (a woman) who has a 14 year old daughter. Apparently this girl is seeing a 29 year old guy, and the parents happily allow them to have sex in their house! I mean what the hell is that about???? There is a law for a reason - to protect minors - and suddenly parents are allowing it to happen? I have met this girl - and she was pretty shy and reserved and it just stinks far to much for me to consider.

When we have a little girl, she's not allowed out the house until she's 18. No, 21. I know how guys think. I'll let you know what happens at work as soon as I find out.

Window to my brain

2005-08-07T02:06:00.000+02:00

Can someone explain to me exactly how the Amazon "I know your head better than you do" recommendation system works?

Over the last year or so, I have used Amazon a few times, but mostly in the US and in France. My Amazon.co.uk purchases consist of a Green Day CD, Freelancer for the PC, and a Good Charlotte DVD (a gift for my nephew). So exactly how did they come up with the following recommendations, and more accurately, how the hell do they know that that's what I would like? Because if I have to be honest, they were annoyingly spot-on.

1. Team America - World Police
2. Star Wars Trilogy - Episodes IV-VI
3. School of Rock
4. Battlestar Galactica
5. Red Dwarf. Only Series 6, peculiarly. However, it was always one of my favourites.

It's just spooky, really spooky.

Other than that, I've had a quite interesting couple of weeks, so fasten your seatbelts and prepare yourselves for another mamoth Ribby post.

Obviously after we came back off holiday I haven't really posted, but there was one thing that happened while we were just still on holiday and I forgot to mention.

Terrorism.

A pretty big thing at the moment with what has happened in the UK, and of course the Nazi-type tactics of the TSA(Gestapo unit) in the US. Or so you would think. We were waiting at the check in line at Washington Dulles airport (for trivia fans you can note that this was the originating airport for one of the 9/11 flights), so as you can imagine, the security there is pretty tight.

While standing there, Mrs Ribby pointed out a bag to me that was on its own with no-one near it. You never know how to react in this situation, but seeing as I had been talking to the American lady next to me about the attacks in London I felt I had to do something. I asked the nearby shoppers if it was their bag, and all of them said no. Then I called over a United member of staff checking tickets, explained that it was an unattended bag and could she please call security immediately. She didn't do this.

She asked all the people in the line if it was their bag. Of course they all said no, as I had already asked them, but this just increased the anxiety of the people waiting. I then asked her again if she would please call security to sort this out properly, but she didn't. Eventually, after she had queried everyone within a 50-foot radius, a coloured gentleman came forward.

He didn't, however, claim it as his bag. He said it "looked like one of his" and he "thought it was his but couldn't be sure". Now other customers in the line are asking the girl to call security. The guy decides the 'easiest' way to decide that the bag is his is to open it up and look inside. Smooth move, Sherlock. Yes it was his bag. But he wasn't certain. All the staff cared about was getting this sorted quickly. I understand that terrorism is about disrupting the way of life - but too many people have died through not wanting to 'cause a fuss'. Here's news to you - we don't care. Call security. Be safe.

And a note to the nice lady I was talking to, who gallantly hid behind me when the chap opened the bag - if it was a bomb, it would have still taken out both of your arse-cheeks.

This blog is getting interesting and alive again - tomorrow we will be talking about what constitutes paedophilia (relevant subject at work at the moment)

We're back at last

2005-07-24T16:37:00.000+02:00

We've now returned to France after our 2 week holiday to the US.

As Red mentioned, I couldn't say anything beforehand just in case Phut read the blog and realised that we were coming over to surprise him for his birthday. The secret seemed to have been pretty well kept, judging by the look on Phuts face when we barged into his place of work:

Yep, he looked pretty shocked.

It was a fantastic time - Emilie and I started off in DC then drove up to Manhattan for a couple of days. Then we drove down to Atlantic City for just under a week before heading off to the Jersey shore to meet up with everyone for lots of drinking and eating. After that we headed back to DC and then returned from there yesterday.

I can't be ringed to post all the photos here, after all there were about 100 of them - if you can ignore the fact that they're not in chronological order you can look HERE for all of them - probably easier to run a slideshow.

I'm now depressed, the weather is seriously crappy here and there is a lack of chicken wings and cheesesteaks.

An open letter to terrorists

2005-07-08T13:01:00.000+02:00

Dear sick cowardly bastards,

You can never win. Screw you.

I work with morons (Episode II - Attack of the Drones)

2005-06-27T17:21:00.000+02:00

So another week has passed of working too hard and having no time at all to post. At least I'm still going, unlike most people.

This also brings us to the latest episode of 'I work with morons', and one that is truly dear to my heart - Billy Bullshit.

Billy won't shut up. I mean he really, really won't shut up. He just goes on and on and on about either nothing in particular, or maybe the latest in a long line of totally bullshit stories he has just made up. Nobody is quite sure why he lies so much - maybe it's a desperate attempt to be loved, maybe he just can't help himself or maybe sometimes he actually believes what he's said; but the certain truth is that most people in the company just want to disembowel him.

Let me provide you with a list of some of his bullshit stories that I can remember off the top of my head. Bear in mind that none of these are true and the large majority of them have been properly discounted:

Having had wild monkey sex with the 18 year old shop assistant that works opposite my companies house in Paris within 10 minutes of meeting her. Disproved and subsequently denied
Regularly going for beers with the local policeman in Paris, despite professing a hatred for the police. Disproved Also worth noting that for some reason the police feature very heavily in these stories.
Getting stopped by a variety of authority figures on an almost daily basis in France, and every one of them speaking 'perfect English'. Status pending, but unlikely
Knocking someones car door off with a lorry. Bonus bullshit point for fighting driver of other vehicle. Disproved
Driving round Paris with a policeman who carried with him a box of rotten eggs that he threw at 'rotten drivers' Status pending, but unlikely due to translation of 'rotten'
Breaking nose of Customs officer who asked to look in the back of his truck. Status pending but unlikely as not in prison
Being strip searched and anally probed by another Customs officer. Status pending - too disgusting to investigate
Naming a list of people who had complained to management about me for telling them what to do at work. Disproved
Telling a driver that another member of staff carries round a piece of pipe ready to hit him when he's not looking Disproved
Finding a driver who had left the company stealing his teabags from the Paris house and then chasing him down the road with a chair leg. Too ridiculous to investigate

Now these are just a small selection, but you can get a bit of an idea. He also was blessed with absolutely no sense of direction, and happily drives round in enormous circles to make linear deliveries and then a) refusing to take advice on how to do it properly b) complain about how long it takes.

Rib Shack verdict: Moron

I work with morons (Episode 1 - The Spanish Menace)

2005-06-19T01:37:00.000+02:00

So, this is a post I have promised for some time now. It was only as I sat down to write it that I realised I work with far too many morons to squeeze into one post. Therefore I have decided to write it in a number of parts which each one dedicated to a certain member of staff.

The first one I shall deal with is one of the more recent employees. I say more recent as it is very hard to tell who was the last person to join as the staff join and leave so quickly you wouldn't believe it. The main reason for this is the fact that the management refuse to get involved in training anyone, as it would involve them actually finding their passports and coming out to do an honest days (nights) work. As a result the new people are trained by whoever is available to do the shift that night, which means that new staff are indoctrinated into the dislikes and management slagging off of the existing drivers. As a result they tend to leave quickly.

So, part 1 is someone I shall call "The Spaniard". He is a guy who apparently used to live in Spain, although you certainly wouldn't know it from his Spanish skills. One of his more endearing, or should I say annoying, habits is to speak remarkably poor Spanish to everyone in Paris. When questioned as to why he does this, he replied "well, I don't speak bloody French do I?". Well actually, you don't appear to be able to speak Spanish either. I can only surmise that he is using the basis of "if it's not English, it's 'foreign', therefore anyone 'foreign' must be able to understand it.

For the last couple of months he has been doing the same shift to the same place day in, day out. If you listen to him complain about this, it is quite obvious that he detests it, at least until he is swapped off it. Then he kicks up the most almighty boo about it and gets himself back on it. At which point he bitches again constantly. Fine with me, Spaniard, I hate that shift anyway.

However, by far and away my favourite characteristic is the stamp. He doesn't sign for shipments, it would be far too much hassle to carry a pen round with him. Instead he carries round an ink pad and rubber stamp of his signature. I'm not 100% sure why, he's not particularly famous, so I find it unlikely he's going to get asked for autographs by a horde of screaming girls thus giving him writers cramp, but he seems happy with it. However, when I asked him why he had it, he said that someone had made it for him from his signature.

He must be the only person I know whose signature you can actually read, but is in fact spelt wrong.

Rib Shack verdict: Moron

Bizarro-World

2005-06-13T16:55:00.000+02:00

I know this is an odd way to break a blogging drought, but I just had to share this with you before I forget.

I just woke up, and I had the strangest of all strange dreams. Certainly no meaning to it, just the revelation of my deep-seated psychosis.

The dream started when I pulled up outside of NASA Space Centre (in my work van, for some reason). I was there as I had been selected as part of a new program to include civilians in the space program to fly to the moon in a two seater spacecraft. The reasons as to why I was selected remain unclear.

I received my equipment and was told that I would get a full briefing from the other crewmember in the hangar area. I went through to where the ship was (nice ship, too), and looked at the crew manifest. Imagine my surprise when I found out that the other crewmember was George Bush. Now imagine my surprise that I was put down as Mission Commander, with the Prez as my copilot.

After a bit, the Prez comes in, and he's properly stinking drunk. He looks at the manifest and then says that he's the commander as legally it's his spaceship as Commander-In-Chief. I pointed out that it was all written in black and white that he was my bitch and he got a bit upset. He scribbled the names out on the manifest and wrote them in the other way round (he also spelt his name wrong). Then he jumped into the pilots seat and strapped himself in while he locked the canopy saying he was the pilot now and there was nothing I could do about it.

I was about to argue with him, so he got on the radio and said that I was a terrorist, which cued up a Benny Hill-esque chase through a maze of corridors. I was being chased by James Woods and the actor guy from 'The Game' (James Rebhorn, thanks IMDB), along with a scientist with a limp who was that fat cooking detective from 'Pie in the Sky' on UK TV (Richard Griffiths, thanks again).

The dream ended when I was helped to safety through an emergency exit by John Cleese. Then I woke up.

Seriously odd.

You want it all, but you can't have it

2005-05-30T20:38:00.000+02:00

Continuing along with Phuts theme of using song lyrics in post titles, you can see that this post will be an "Epic" one. Partly because I haven't really posted much recently, and partly because there's a few things I want to talk about. Make sure you read all the post because you may see something interesting. More importantly however, if I'm going to spend all this time writing it, you lot can damn well sit and enjoy it.

So where to start? I was in Brittany this weekend for a family wedding. I briefly mentioned this a little while ago, as to what it would be like, and I admit I really wasn't prepared for it. In short, it was excellent. In long, well let me explain.

Everyone knows that the French enjoy a drink and a party a lot more that they enjoy working. Weddings are certainly no exception to this rule. After all, what really happens at an English wedding? We all turn up to the church (on time preferably), sit our way through some hymns and stuff and then head on over to the reception. In that sense, they don't really differ too much. First they go to the Town Hall where the official civil ceremony is held, and then over to church for the rest of the formalities. This is made slightly more interesting by dint of the fact it's all in a different language.

The reception is where things change. In the UK it's a naff meal normally, with some speeches and then everyone gets drunk and goes home at midnight. No dancing. Strictly taboo in the UK except for the young children and drunken elders.

We started the reception at about 5.00 with loads of champage and finger nibbles until about 7.30, by which time people aren't really feeling any pain. Then the meal starts, which consists of craploads of courses (unfortunately some of them fish) which goes on until around 10pm. It takes so long because it is constantly interrupted by people coming and going performing little comedy sketches taking the piss out of the bride and groom and various other themes. One that particularly made me laugh was the mock demonstration/strike that 30 people invaded the hall with.

After the meal was when the games began. Imagine all the crappy little games you used to play on cub camp, then add alcohol. It's a brilliant idea, everyone running everywhere having fun and falling over each other - endless fun. This is something that is a hell of an addition to a wedding.

Oh, don't worry about there being a lack of drink. There's not.

The disco started proper around midnight. Nothing but cheesy 60's 70's and 80's music, and everyone was dancing. I mean everyone. We ended up leaving at 5am, only because there was 6 people no longer dancing (out of about 150) so it was obvious that the party was winding down.

I recommend this type of wedding. It's just.....well, fun. The bad part was that the 'wedding breakfast' ie the meal for close friends, was held at 1pm the next day, as is normal, but trust me, I felt like shit by then.

The next thing to discuss is the European Consitution. There was a referendum held in France on Sunday for this, and of course being as the fact that France is one of the most vocal members of the EU, the resulted vote of 'Non' came as something of a surprise.

Every person I spoke to was going to vote no yesterday, for a variety of reasons. The main reasons were jobs going to underpaid underqualified Eastern Europeans, and too much control over public policy from Brussels. Now I thought these were the main reasons that the UK didn't want Europe. Strange to see that we can agree on some things eh?

Really though, the thing that impressed me was voter turnout. The vote was held on a Sunday, the getting-pissed-and-falling-asleep-day, and there was still a national voter turnout of over 70%. That's just incredible - some other so called 'democratic' nations should really take a note of this - voter apathy is not something that has taken hold here.

Now the final part of the post, and, quite obviously, the one that is most important to me. I'm only writing it at the bottom so that you lot actually read the rest first.

I have now done the honourable thing (or stupid, some might say) of asking Emilie to marry me. She's obviously in the throes of some deep seated insanity, because she said yes. Needless to say I am extremely happy about this, and we have set a tentative date of the 12th July 2008. I'm sure I don't need to say after the first part of my post that the wedding will be held in France.

That is all, please feel free to be bitter and cynical in the Comments section.

UFB

2005-05-23T19:23:00.000+02:00

I never thought I'd hear myself say these words, but I think I'm going to have to go on a diet.

Living in France has increased the availability of fine food, and more often than not this is fine food that involves fat of some sort. As a result I have become a little bit podgy. Of course Mrs Ribby keeps pointing this out to me, but I tend to laugh it off.

It was only a few moments ago that I realised quite the level it had got to. We are going to a wedding this weekend and it was suggested to me that I make sure my suit still fitted. This, of course, was a comment that I took great offence at - having only recently bought the suit. Nevertheless I gave it a quick whirl a short while ago, and lo and behold, the bastard thing only just fits. I can get away with it, I think, but steps need to be taken. Maybe a little late to be starting today as I have already eated a plate of chili and a dozen paprika chicken wings this afternoon as my 'in between lunch and dinner snack', but I promise tomorrow will be different.*

_{* maybe}

14 days later (or thereabouts)

2005-05-14T16:27:00.000+02:00

It's been a long time since I posted, and you know why? Because bugger all has happened.

I've been sitting around watching DVD's, surfing the web and getting drunk and absolutely nothing of any interest at all has happened to me. Some of you may argue that this is quite the norm for my life, but I assure you sometimes things happen.

In fact, I'm only really posting this so that people know I haven't fallen down the stairs and got stuck or anything. I'm in the UK next week so maybe I'll get lucky and see a bank robbery or something.

Operation Heist

2005-05-01T23:02:00.000+02:00

The Germans call it "Geburtsrecht". In English, we call it a birthright.

Football was invented in England, and therefore, by extension, the World Cup should belong to us. Unfortunately this is not the case, we've only won it the once. It is true that with the quality of the players the England team have at the moment, then next years World Cup finals in Germany are perhaps the best chance we have to win the trophy for the second time.

However, there is always the fact that no matter how good our team seems to be, we always manage to fall at the last hurdle.

Taking these facts into account, Operation Heist was born. England will have the World Cup next year. One way or another. If for some unexplicable reason we don't manage to win it, then we intend to borrow it. Not steal it, for this would imply that we wouldn't give it back, and that might not be legal. Just borrow it for the purposes of taking some photos on top of our TVs and then the ceremonial handing back of the trophy. Of course this handover would take place between ourselves and the editor of the Sun newspaper, ensuring that the members of Ribbys Eleven would never have to buy a drink in an English pub again.

It's all good and well having these grandiose plans, but we've never stolen anything in our lives. It's a well known fact that high level car thieves had to start at the bottom as in any other career. They don't just go out and steal a Ferrari, they take some Fiestas and Astras and the like and slowly work their way up.

Therefore, we need some practice. It's not the easiest thing in the world to do, stealing a major sporting trophy, but with some persistence and ingenuity, you can achieve anything. As Yoda once said, "Do or do not, there is no try"

So please feast your eyes below at step one of the Ribbys Elevens Operation Heist. Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to our Astra if you will. The renowned Heineken European Rugby Challenge Cup.

Smelly bastards. And British Rail

2005-04-20T22:01:00.000+02:00

OK, so it's not called British Rail any more, but for once I will have something nice to say about them. But that's to come. First, I am celebrating.

Why am I celebrating? Because today was the first time in two weeks that I had a shower. The past fortnight has been a melange of sponge baths, unsatisfying hairwashes, flannel wipes and on one memorable occasion it rained while I was at the bus stop.

I won't say it was easy, because it quite patently wasn't. It was like trying to organise one of those 'cross the river with a plank and an oil-drum' exercises, only with special-ed kids. I utilised every piece of furniture in the bathroom, some things from out of the bathroom and, ingeniously, a piece of rope. It paid off, I'm clean and also feel like a new person, albeit one with a mangy leg.

Yesterday was return-to-France day. On Monday I had my staples removed - an experience that everyone I spoke to said was easy, far easier than having stitches removed. As a result, I know I never want to have stitches. It sucked really badly - and it sucked really badly 25 times - I recommend against any form of surgery now purely on this basis.

However, I had the immense fun of travelling from Fleet to Paris on public transport with no flying and one leg. Entertaining, yes. Fun, no. The good thing was SouthWest Trains and the Eurostars' "Mong Service", which involved collecting me from every arrival point; driving me around in a groovy little golf-buggy affair and dropping me at the next point (all the while carrying my luggage for me). In fairness the only bad part about the journey was the pain of sitting down for hours on end. That and the fact that they didn't tell me the Eurostar terminal was no smoking until I had got in there and sat down 2 hours before my train.

I eventually got home, and am now a true Parisian intellectual - I will be sitting here for a few weeks now sharing my useless thoughts with the world, drinking wine and doing no real work. Bliss.

Ugly

2005-04-14T19:12:00.000+02:00

Quick post, but I thought I'd put up a pic of my leg.

Not good as low definition camera phone but you get an idea of my bruising and 25+ metal staples.

Clicky for the squeamish

Quarantine

2005-04-10T23:33:00.000+02:00

So I'm back in the world of the living now that Operation Ribby is officially concluded.

And let me tell you - I have seen probably dozens of films in my lifetime that involved nurses, as I'm sure we all have. None of them were true. Except perhaps "Carry on Matron", which wasn't the first one I was thinking of before I went in.

Apart from that, and the horrendously invasive trauma that is hip surgery, it wasn't quite as bad as I would have expected. The food was acceptable, the nursing staff were pretty good (except for the lack of sexual relief I had primed my self for) and the general anaesthetic ruled.

I'll update you on some of the stuff in the near future, but at the moment most of my posts will be this sort of length as I can't sit still for too long because of the pain.

The first anecdote I shall give you is the night before I went into the hospital however. I went for a few beers with SilverSurfer and when I suggested we extend the evening to an all-night drink session he declined due to prior commitments. Fortunately he was hit with the comment "but what if I die on the operating table tomorrow" and stayed out for the duration. Most people would have just requested my stereo. Guess his is better than mine.

Long live the Pope

2005-04-02T22:15:00.000+02:00

I was a day out, but unfortunately Pope JPII has died this evening.

I'm not a religious man, but he was a very good man who stood by his beliefs through thick and thin. A man like this will not easily be forgotten.

Papal Fool

2005-04-01T12:13:00.000+02:00

Looks like today is the day then.

JP2 appears to be in a pretty bad state, aides say he is no longer able to shit in the woods without assistance. You'd think if he was the bridge between Man and God he could have held on a bit longer though.

Hopefully Robbie Coltrane will be next.

EDIT Couldn't be bothered to start a new post here. Seems like the Tube Girl saga continues unabated. After she spectacularly ended her hunger strike yesterday the row carries on. Doctors have declared her dead, but as far as I understand both the parents and Jeb Bush have petitioned the Supreme Court to allow her condition to be changed to alive.

This is now the second time I have used this joke on the Rib Shack and it shows no signs of ceasing to be funny. When Robopope shuffles off I will try it once more to complete the trifecta and then the joke will be offically retired.

Docuwont

2005-03-31T17:35:00.001+02:00

Only 2 days to go now before Operation Ribby. Pretty good thing too as once again my boss has realsied that I will be having 2 months off work so he's been working me like an immigrant Chinese cockle-picker.

Not only was I late in from Brussels this morning, but because of it I was hit with the double whammy of both rush hour traffic and was also stuck behind every bin lorry in Christendom in the city. Hope you like that phrase, I coined it whilst idling behind a veritable phalanx of them and decided it had to be used.

My blogging as a result will either be lighter or heavier dependant on access to a computer. I have a couple of new posts planned, including a nice one entitled "I work with morons"

Also, why is everyone else on a blogging holiday? Are you all alive?

Tissue of lies

2005-03-21T00:19:00.000+01:00

OK, so I've just returned from another few days in the UK (seems like I'm spending more and more time there at the moment).

However, I can now bring you the final chapter in the legal saga of The Hero vs The Twat.

Friday just gone was the day. The big day. The stand up in front of judge and argue your case day. One that of course, was very successful for one party and very unsuccessful for the other. In case you hadn't realised from the tone of this post, I won. Not only won, but I litigally kicked his arse. NB I'm not sure if 'litigally' is a word, but it seemed to work quite well there, cos it sounds bit like literally.

If you remember from the previous post, an application was made by the Twats solicitor to dump him as he had obviously been telling porkies from day 1. This was finally successful, leaving the Twat to (hehe) defend himself. Let's put it this way, he's probably not going to be attending law school. My brief took him apart, the judge took him apart, my witness and I both had a stab at it and even he made a few points for my case himself.

The end result was a judgement of 100% liability for the accident to the Twat. What's that noise? Ahh, it's the sound of my full no-claims bonus returning to earth, along with the bag of money that will be decided in the near future. Divine justice.

Frank.

2005-03-11T13:09:00.000+01:00

Chinese Whispers. A wonderful game.

Even more fun when utilised in real-life. This morning I was waiting for one of my colleagues in Paris when I bumped into a driver from another company that I hadn't seen for a couple of months.

"Hi mate" I called, as befitting a 2-month absence. I was thoroughly unprepared for the torrent of words that greeted me "Oh wow, you're OK!", "We were really worried", "You're looking really well" and the like. Not any particular reason for this outburst to be honest.

After delving a little bit, it turns out that news of Operation Ribby has emerged and gravitated to other companies. And in the process, surprisingly, the words "hip operation" have been magically transformed into "brain tumour".

He thought I was wearing a hat to cover up lobotomy scars. So just to be clear, as said so immortaly by the Governator: ""It's not a tumour!"

Chips, with mayo

2005-03-08T18:34:00.000+01:00

I'm not actually dead, although not far off it. I've been working a bit too hard again - there's been massive problems with the tunnel once more because of the weather (weather? what the hell is it with British trains and how shit they are?).

I've also spent the last week working in Belgium. You all know how much I love the Belgians. So I've decided to show you ten things you never knew about Belgium.

1. It's possible to fall asleep on Belgian roads. If you are driving anything larger than a car, the lorry ruts in the slow lane are even deeper than those on the M40, so stick it on cruise, and inspect the inside of your eyelids - you're only going in a straight line. NB This does not work when someone pulls out in front of you. Which is annoyingly common - this is Belgium here guys you know.

2. The Brussels orbital road is called the "Ring", not just the Ring Road, but the "Ring". So I can say in a perfectly non-gay way that I spend a good tiring hour every night "riding the ring"

3. They invented French fries. But somehow forgot to call them Belgian fries. The French still haven't stopped pissing themselves about that.

4. Stella Artois.

5. Complete lack of anyone famous at all.

6. They also invented mayo on fries. If offered, don't take this. They put so much mayo on them your dinner looks like the set of a Peter North film.

7. The Shell petrol station just inside the border from France has a defective card machine. But the little blonde who works there is spectacular.

8. Statue of peeing boy in Brussels city centre regarded globally as "hilarious"

9. The Butte de Lion monument at the Waterloo battlefield has a hill so steep that if you fall down it, you roll so fast that you arrive at the bottom a fraction of a second before you fell over. (Proved by Ribby, May 2003 - see picture)

10. They don't have enough points of interest to complete a ten-point list.

11. This list goes to eleven.

Stick it to the man!

2005-02-25T17:24:00.000+01:00

OK, well I'm back again. I've been away in the UK for a couple of days and have just woken up in France so I suppose I'd best give you an update.

Following on from my Operation Ribby news, I went to the hospital to have a pre-operative assessment yesterday. This consisted of explanations of my operation, blood tests and all other sorts of tests, medical equipment issue and the like.

It started off badly when I arrived to find that my operation date had been set back two weeks - that's sort of screwed up the time I had booked off work but can easily be changed. Also Mr Doctor insisted that I could not return to France for at least a month. I pointed out to him that this was where I lived and perhaps he would reconsider. He was unwilling to do so so I asked if I could stay at his house. He's going to come back to me on Monday.

Other than that it was.......hang on.....hang on!!........he said medical equipment issue!

That's right people, I have been issued some equipment to make my transition back into normal society that little bit easier. There was a plastic expanding toilet seat, an elastic sock assister thing and a 3 foot long shoehorn (imagine that), but the crowning glory was the stick.

Yes, a stick. A 'pokey stick'. A medically prescribed pokey-stick. Life just keeps getting better. You want to see a picture? Here ya go:

Rarrrr! I'm making a holster for that baby. I'm starting to actually look forward to going to the supermarket now.

Grr get out of my way, bloody kids...

You gotta be kidding me

2005-02-23T22:52:00.000+01:00

In final mathematical proof that two positives really do make a negative, journalism students at the BBC have posted a story that smoking marijuana combats the onset of Alzheimers disease. How unlikely is that?

Click here if you remember

Oh, and as I speak, this story is being discussed on "ca se discute", a French discussion show. Looks like it's gone global. So there you have it, if you want to remember stuff, smoke gear.

"So how long have you had Alzheimers?"
"As long as I can remember"

Ohhh, the weather outside is frightful

2005-02-23T12:42:00.000+01:00

But the fire is so delightful. But I haven't got a fire Bing, I haven't even got any 'corn for poppin', so that sort of blows your theory out of the water.

I've just finished work. Not bad when you consider I started at 7pm. What was the reason for the lateness this time? The weather. Or so they say.

Now perhaps I'm being a little bit unreasonable here, but when I spoke to my colleague last night he was sitting in a queue outside the Eurotunnel terminal, desperately trying to get on a train with about a thousand other lorry drivers. I wasn't overly happy about this, as I'm sure you understand, so I phoned the tunnel to find out what the problem was.

"It's because of the weather" they reply. When I asked them how they said there were a lot of delays because of the snow. I couldn't quite fathom this, I mean after all, it's a bloody tunnel. Now I'm not much of a meterologist, but even I'm pretty sure it doesn't snow in tunnels - esepcially ones that are under the sea.

I'm going to bed, I start work in 6 hours. 'night.

Say what you see

2005-02-22T17:40:00.000+01:00

After having recently signed up for Total Fark to get my fill of crap news, I have been introduced to a horrbily addictive game.

You remember Pictionary? That game where everyone made pissed-up rubbish drawings of physically abnormal people and animals while a load of drunk onlookers yelled words at them?

Well, now it is online. A sort of MS Paint Pictionary, and damn is it good fun.

Take a peek at iSketch

Prejudice is for commies and gays

2005-02-20T19:00:00.000+01:00

The other day I wrote in one of my posts about a legal matter. I pointed out that to avoid prejudicing the proceedings I would not elaborate until the matter was settled. After long and careful whisky-based deliberations I reaslised a couple of things.

It's a civil, not a criminal matter.
Due to this it is unlikely to be heard before a jury.
If, somehow, it were to be heard before a jury, it's unlikely that said jury would consist of the ever increasing readership of 5 of this blog.
Screw it.

I've decided that as long as I change the names to protect the innocent and the quite blatantly not-so-innccent then we should be on a firm legal footing. Therefore, I bring the you the long running legal saga of The Hero vs. The Twat.

Back in 2002, the Hero was driving his vehicle along a one-way street when he approached a road coming from left to right. He did not alter his manner of driving as the people wishing to join or cross this street were subject to 'give way' restrictions.

Another party ('The Twat') was waiting at the give way point to cross the one-way street. Living up to his name, but unfortunately not that of the sign, he proceeded across the street directly into the Hero's path. The Hero manfully tried to avoid the Twat, but ended up striking his vehicle on the front right hand side and landing in someones garden on the right-hand side of the Hero. The Twat's car was now in the middle of the street with a rather small-willied and embarassed student in the drivers seat. Due to the final resting places of the cars, it was pretty obvious what had occurred. However there were no independant witnesses so the Hero called the police.

Whilst waiting for the police, the Twat made some calls on his mobile, and some 20 mins later an independant witness arrived (hereafter referred to as 'The Liar'). The Hero refuted that he was a) a witness and b) independant, therefore calling into question his 'independant witness' status.

Legal proceedings for damages were instigated by the Hero, and by his passenger ('The Surfer') immediately, and some rather astonishing claims were brought to light. It appeared that far from the version of the story you see above, it transpires that the Twat was happily sitting at the give way sign minding his own business when the Hero completely lost control of his own car, steered round obstructing parked cars and hit the Twat while he was stationary. The force of the impact was so great that instead of pushing the Twat's car backwards in the normal manner, it bent the laws of physics and moved both the Twat's car forward into the street that he was hoping to move into, and the Hero's also moved backwards after a forward-facing collision, all the way across the street into someones garden (sorry about the fence by the way).

This version of events was supported by the Liar, who in his concise, legally witnessesed statement, stated this, whilst also stating the wrong date, and amazingly the wrong weather conditions. Thank god for the legal system.

This has been maintained for nearly three years now, until finally, at the Hero's insistence, it was pushed forward to a court date of next month.

Imagine my The Hero's surprise when he received a letter from his solicitors stating the following:

The Twat's solicitor has requested that he be discharged from representing the Twat for the following reasons: "After our investigations it has transpired that the independant witness evidence was flawed, and so much so that there is in fact no independant witness to the incident. The insurers have concluded that there is a significantly less than 50% chance of recovery in this case and have withdrawn all legal funding from the Twat"

What a shocker! So the Liar was lying all along? Who woulda thunk it?

So whilst the trial date still stands about three weeks from now, it seems unlikely that it will proceed that far, as the Twat would have to pay for his own defence, whilst explaining why his mate the Liar, is no longer a liar. I'll keep you posted on any outcome.

The darkness

2005-02-17T12:36:00.000+01:00

So another brief blogging hiatus comes to an end, normal reasons, been working like a bartender at Mardi Gras.

You see, what happened is there was an accident on the ferry, when driving over the little bridge between the dock and the boat, the boat moved, leaving two artics swimming wiv da fishes. As a result numerous safety checks abound and the boats are all delayed for about 6 weekd. This also extends to the tunnel, so I get to spend around 3-4 hours a night sitting in the Jewel of the North looking at all the shell-suited Essexian booze shoppers. Joy.

Last night was like this, 3 and a half hours sitting in Calais. I finally left there at 4.30 am instead of my traditional 1.00. Of course I was over the moon about this, safe in the knowledge that I would arrive in Paris just perfectly in time for the busiest two hours of the 24 hour rush hour period.

I was, however, delayed even further by this:

Yup, headlights. One of the bastards decided to blow on a particularly dark section of motorway. So I had the opportunity to play with Mercedes best "Easi-fit" headlight system. For "Easi-fit" read "Easi-fit-if-it's-during-the-day-and-you-can-see-what-you're-doing" I mean honestly, how often do headlights blow during the day? And how the fuck would you know about it until it's dark? Suggestion, vehicle manufacturers: Just behind the headlight unit, install a refrigerator-type on-off light so that people can actually change them. All I managed to do was pull the whole unit apart and short out the high-beams. In the snow. At that point I discovered that my replacement bulb kit seems to contain replacement bulbs for an entirely different type of vehicle. Or perhaps a bike. Cue a 200 mile drive with one-quarter of available headlight power. Gits.

I also have some news about the wheels of justice, and how slowly they grind. I wil talk about that another time when things are sorted though to avoid prejudicing the case. But we hope it's good news for Ribby.

A network called Internet

2005-02-13T22:25:00.000+01:00

Do you remember the days before the Internet? I do vaguely.

Take a look at this Video made back in 1993. It really shows you just how far things have moved on from there, and how quickly.

Also, I challenge you to listen to the computer user interviewee talking about the etiquette of early Internet users without thinking "what a load of bollocks".

Them wacky Canucks.

Legless

2005-02-12T18:35:00.000+01:00

So, it's finally happened. After 2+ glorious years on the NHS waiting list, and the general apathy and uselessness of the medical support staff, Ribby has finally landed himself his very own 'time on the table'

That's right folks, next month yours truly will be anaesthatised (sp?) and no doubt groinally shaved for his hip operation. A good thing, all factors considered (apparently it makes it look bigger); I get 4 days of free room and board and after that, one hopes, a reasonably functioning corps

The bad news of course, is that after the operation time there is a recuperation period in which I will be unable to work. Dammit. Lucky bastard, I hear you cry, as you envision me sitting around on my newly upgraded arse for a couple of weeks. However, you would be wrong. It's not a couple of weeks, it's two bloody months!!

I'm gutted, I tell you. God knows how I'm going to think of enough original material to fill this place for that length of time.

Are you sure you're not dead?

2005-02-08T13:27:00.000+01:00

Whilst away for the weekend in Brittany, a great story was drawn to my attention. A heartwarming story, full of compassion, community awareness, and idiocy.

Mrs Ribbys grandmother, bless her soul, is about a hundred years old. Actually not that old but old nonetheless. However she is a very healthy and outgoing person, so imagine the surprise of the landlord of her house when he arrived to do some minor repairs to find that all the windows were shut and there was no answer at the door. Uh-oh.

Quick as flash, he gets on the phone to one of her three daughters to let her know. No reply. He then spoke to Mrs Ribbys mum and she in turn spoke to her other sister. At this point it's time to call the police. Well, that's what they thought anyway. I think it would have been better to try daughter number 1 again, after all thats where Grandma was quite happily having lunch. If only she knew the fuss she was causing by not answering her door.

This reminded me of a story I read in FHM not too long back. It was something along the lines of some fireman running into a burning apartment block and evacuating all the residents. One resident failed to answer his door, leading the firepersons to assume he was overcome with smoke. They broke down the door and charged into the bedroom, only to find a thirysomething male wearing headphones wanking furiously to a Britney Spears video. Apparently what made it worse was that he jumped up a let out a little girls scream. Hehehe.

Signs, pointless and otherwise

2005-02-07T15:43:00.000+01:00

This is a subject that Phut briefly touched on a couple of months ago with his "Autistic child in area" sign, and also a subject that is quite close to my heart.

Signs are everywhere, they're like intravenous advertising, try as hard as you can but you still can't get away from them. Of course some of them are quite useful, but the large majority of them are completely useless. For now I have two examples:

The first is one that I saw when I was back in the UK a few months ago. Please regard.

Note the numbers. No (1) is the sign and apparatus for both topping up water to your car and blowing up your tires. But, more intriguingly, is no (2), the two signs telling you that you cannot park there. Interesting.

Now the other one I unfortunately do not have a picture of, so you will have to leave it to your imagination. Thinking about it, it's in French anyway so it probably wouldn't help you much.

On the Metro in Paris, there are signs above some seating on the trains. I will translate for you to make it easier:

The 4 seats below are reserved for the following people, in order of priority

Injured war veterans
The blind and the industrially handicapped
Pregnant women
Those aged 75 or over

Now lets just take a moment to analyse that. In other countries they have signs saying something like "please give up this seat to someone more needy than you". Not in France. Ohhh no, they have to have a pecking order even for the infirm. Realistically they only need to put a sign for pregnant women, because the other categories are rarer than rocking horse shit on the Metro.

Firstly you have injured war veterans. Not too many of those really, seeing as the army tend to turn tail at the first sign of trouble - the mostly likely war injury is when they put their hands up a little bit too quickly and pulled a muscle or maybe dropped their rifle on their foot.

Next you have the blind, who will have probably fallen down the stairs on the way down to the train, or more realistically from experience they are still in the station upstairs begging for money. Interestingly, they have been put in the same category as the industrially handicapped. Now in Paris this means office workers - and the only injuries they are likely to have received are scalding themselves on a minute cup of coffee or getting their fingers trapped in the coin return slot of the coffee machine. Nothing to warrant a free seat particularly.

Category 3 is ok, but the fourth is also very rare. Once again, on experience I can say that anyone over the age of 75 in Paris is not on the Metro, but on surface level dithering whether to turn left or right in their enormous cars whilst blocking a main throughfare.

I also had to wonder (and I've almost finished now), does it work on a 'points accumlated' system?

What happens if someone from categories 1 and 4 is looking for the last available seat against someone from categories 2 and 3? Does the 1 take priority, or does the 2 added to the 3 count for more than 1 and 4? Suppose it's not important, but every time I take the Metro I am secretly looking forward to a fight between an 80 year old one-legged soldier and a blind pregnant woman. What a mental picture to leave you with.

Box of frogs

2005-02-04T13:43:00.000+01:00

I went out for a beer or three yesterday morning with one of my colleagues. Now before you start raving at me for being a hardcore alcoholic for drinking at 5am, please try and remember that I work all night so this is the evening for me.

We went to a little bar I know in Gonesse because it opens at stupid o'clock in the morning. Normally a very nice place with lots of French civil workers in there loading up on daftly strong espresso prior to a day of drinking coffee and skiving off work. However, yesterday was a little different.

Walking in, it was very much like walking into the hospital scene with Bruce Willis and Brad Pitt in Twelve Monkeys .

They were everywhere. Dribbling, moaning and rocking back and forth. After some hurried enquiries with the owner, it turns out that there is a mental hospital just up the road, and they let them out occasionally, it seems, purely to go to the pub.

There was one girl who was seriously obsessively compulsive. She was talking all the little sugar straws out of the bowls, and then putting them all back in again all the right way up. Bonkers. Fair play to the guvnor though, when he saw what she was doing he gave her some empty bowls and a huge box of sugar. Who says he's exploiting cheap labour hey?

Then there was the 'Mirror Man'. He was absolutely fascinated by his reflection. He sat there for nearly an hour staring at himself, occasionally shifting slightly left, or right, to improve the angle. Then he would repeat the process. Also he was dribbling.

"Smilin' Jack" was pretty harmless. He just sat there grinning until you thought the wind had changed and his face was frozen. Then he started laughing uproariously. And I was telling great jokes that day. Well he thought so at least.

Finally was 'Liberace'. He was proud of the fact that he spoke a little English, and equally proud of the fact that he was a raving heterosexual. So proven by his opening gambit of "I be speeek a leetle Ingleesh. I not be gay" Methinks he doth protest too much.

Madder than a box of frogs, the lot of 'em. I still like the bar, but I think I might avoid Thursdays from now on. Don't get me wrong, I understand these people need some assistance, but I don't think kicking them all out into the local boozer at 5 in the morning is the best way to achieve this.

NTG-107

2005-02-01T01:04:00.000+01:00

Something odd happened this evening.

I was driving home when I approached a roundabout. You may recall Phuts take on roundabouts in the US, and this would for once be relevant.

This guy in a VW golf just came barreling across at top speed, nearly wiping me out in the process and then cut me up as well. Damn Belgians. Or so I thought.

I had only caught a glimpse of the licence plate, but the layout looked like the Belgian one. Imagine my surprise, and then lack of surprise after Phuts post to note the it was a New Jersey plate!

So take note, US rib fans - if you're in Jersey City (the cars origin according to the stickers), and you see a VW golf, dark blue, licence plate NTG-107; don't go near a traffic circle, in fact throw some garlic at it, just for me.

Fishermen and bombs

2005-01-31T23:54:00.000+01:00

I've had a remarkably shit week.

The weekend was fantastic as we had some guests over from the UK, so lots of wine, food and looking round churches was abound. But that's not what I'm here to talk about.

Firat of all, have any of you ever heard of Operation Stack? Militaristic as it may sound, it is purely civilian in origin. The premise is that any time there may be a problem at Dover or Calais ports, the police close the M20 motorway and line up, or 'stack' all the lorries on it waiting for the problem to stop. This sucks. It fucks up my day every time.

Last week, I had the joy of hearing the words Operation Stack from my London base not just once, but twice. Thursday and Friday.

First, it was the fishermen. The French ones, of course. They went not just on strike, but they organised a floating roadblock in the English Channel (not English as an operative word there, I think this could even be a cassus belli. They blocked the port for 24 hours, causing enormous delays and making yours truly work a17 hour day.

Then, if this wasn't enough, on Friday once the strikes had finished and everything was beginning to get back to normal, some twat pulled off the stunt of the year. Whilst travelling on the Eurotunnel with his car, he decided to transport an old, and very real, World War 2 bomb in his trunk. A souvenir he said. You fucking idiot, say I. Closures, demo teams and controlled explosions later and Ribby works a 19 hour day. Needless to say I was a little tired on Saturday.

Boom

2005-01-25T17:55:00.000+01:00

Just a quick post as I woke up late and I'm just leaving for work.

Courtesy of Mick in the UK we have for your enjoyment today a Volkswagen advert. Apparently it was both banned, and the maker had to apologise for fear of an Islamic backlash. Can't see why.

Here it is

Traffic Management

2005-01-23T14:13:00.000+01:00

OK, once again I've got a bug up my ass about something.

What is this?

That's right, it's a box junction. There is one very simple rule when it comes to box junctions: Never enter it unless your exit is clear. The reasoning behind this is pretty simple, if you block the junction you immediately gridlock all traffic around you.

Unfortunately, here in Paris it is compounded by a major problem, one that may be replicated in other cities, but I'm not sure. And as I don't work in other cities, I'm not really that fussed.

Traffic lights, the bane of my life. With deference to my friend Ben for the theory, it seems that every time a Parisian is born, the birth is immortalised by the erection (Hurr hurr he said 'erection') of a new traffic light. On some roads in Paris they are separated by a space of only about 20 feet. This would not be a problem if the light phasing was co-ordinated between the two. It's not.

I understand that the sheer logistics and mathematics involved in traffic light phasing are enormous, as far as I am concerned there is one simple rule to understand. If a light is green long enough to allow, say, 5 vehicles through before it changes, ensure that the next traffic light is slightly more than 5 car lengths away. Failure to do this, as I am sure you will realise, causes enormous traffic jams, and I for one, am fed up of them.

I think I need some Valium now.

Cutting edge?

2005-01-20T06:08:00.000+01:00

BLOG
Function: noun
Definition: an online diary; a personal chronological log of thoughts published on a Web page; also called Weblog, Web log
Example: Typically updated daily, blogs often reflect the personality of the author.
Etymology: shortened form of Weblog
Usage: blog, blogged, blogging v, blogger n

The cutting edge of journalism, the new breed of media. Or so they're calling it.

Blogging has taken off in a big way, to the extent that it is starting to be taken seriously by the mainstream media. Recently bloggers were even invited to the White House and various other functions relating to the election.

Why is this? In a way, I suppose it's a pretty simple concept - a way for people to offer free, immediate content-delivery, free of the encumbrances and overheads of the large media megacorps, free of the print deadlines, free of the day-late articles of the paper media. A nobel concept. Admittedly there are problems, however.

Audience share is the main one. In a time where there are still a limited amount of newspapers and (to an extent) television channels, then there is still a fair sized audience for them all to split. However, when you get to the internet, there are billions of "channels" so it is pretty difficult to attract a new audience.

My main problem is this: complete and utter lack of editorial oversight. In any capacity. Authoring, layout, bias - everything.

I was on a random blog-surf this afternoon (may have just coined a new term there), and you would not believe the crap that I came across. I looked at 50 blogs, for a measure of balance, and how many do you think I found worth reading?

Close, but add one to that guess. That's correct, one. To be quite honest that's because the author had left a post on DeGaS' site and I looked at his first. The rest of them were shite. Pure, unadulterated shite.

The particular thing I noticed was the layouts. Most of these sites looked like they had been designed by a 3 year old on a vodka bender. There were .midi files everywhere, scrolling frames within scrolling frames, tag-boards, crosshair cursors and colour combinations to make your eyes bleed. If the majority of sites are designed to be viewed with IE, these sites need to be viewed in a different room.

Apart from the full-on redneck views of a majority of them, the sort of people who thought Hitler was just misunderstood, they were just bland as hell. And a lot of them had stacks of unnecessary capitals, a BiT lIkE thIS, which really gets on my tits.

If you have a good blog, keep on it, I really think they can be a good thing - but if you fill any of the categories above, please do Darwin a favour and top yourselves. Many thanks.

It's not just me...

2005-01-19T13:19:00.000+01:00

Following on from yesterdays post, someone was very kind to send me a file relating to the dissatisfaction on strikes by my friends back in ol' Blighty.

London Underground.mp3

And, more importantly, Happy Birthday to ME!

Scabs.

2005-01-18T13:53:00.000+01:00

So it's that time of the year again.

It's the first week of the league in the French national sport, and the competition is already hotting up. What is the national sport of France, I hear you say? Is it football? Petanque? Eating? No, no and a resounding no. The national sport of France, of course, is going on strike.

The opening match is a hotly-contested battle between the government and the postal workers on Wednesday, followed by an early evening game against the electricity workers. The rail workers will also be playing on Wednesday, facing off against, in an amazing paradox, Parisian commuters who will be both enormously angry about the inconvenience and totally sympathetic to the cause.

Day 2 of the league is a slightly more disappointing affair. Teachers and civil servants. Not really that bad compared to the tough opening games, but I'm sure they'll make their voices heard. No sign of the police carrying out any action yet, but my guess is that they'll stick around for a while to tear-gas some demonstrators, then come out in sympathy.

Liberte, egalite, off work for a day.

Why oh why do I have to work for an English company? We're too bloody polite to strike. The Germans just get shot if they try it, the Spanish and the Italians don't do enough in the first place for anyone to notice, and the Scandanavians just commit suicide first. But don't forget the Belgians. Actually, yes, forget them.

Guess where I've been?

2005-01-17T01:00:00.000+01:00

Ikea. That's where.

Most of you will now calculate that whilst this is only the first time we have been there this year, it is the thirty-second in the previous calendar year. A lot, by anyones standards.

However, that wasn't that bad. It was when we got home that it went wrong.

We bought a sofa, you see. Whilst we spent (some) time this morning measuring the dimensions of the available sofa-space, we neglected to measure one very important part. The doorframe.

Firstly, we brought the sofa into the downstairs foyer and left it there. Then, we proceeded to dismantle the old one (it was a metal sofa-bed combination so at least it was easy to get down the stairs). Once we took this down we spent about 4 hours getting it upstairs.

Then came the hard part.

We got the damn thing halfway through the door before it became truly and irrevocably wedged. If anyone has ever read Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency they will know what I mean.

So know we are both standing in the flat looking at this stuck sofa, and I'm starting to get a little bit tetchy.

"I told you it wouldn't fit through the door" say I.

"Don't start that" replies my beloved.

"If you'd have pushed it when I said push it, this would never have happened" I reply, in a moment of bravado.

"Every time, and I mean every time we buy furniture, you start shouting" says she.

"Because I've been dragged to Ikea on a Sunday again you mean?"

"Right. Fine. I'm going for a walk. Maybe you'll be happier when I get back"

Whilst she retrieves her coat in a frenzy of over-exaggerated movements, I stand and quietly look forward to the point where she storms out the flat.

She storms. Or at least, begins to storm. And then looks at the sofa stuck in the doorway impeding her exit. I start to laugh, forcing her to storm over to the lounge and heavily sit down in front of the TV. Unfortunately, however, there is no sofa there any more to sit down on.

I would love for this story to get better, but it doesn't. We eventually moved the sofa and got it in place, and happily made friends again over some champagne. Here is a picture of the finished article:

This made me think of a website I used to visit, and while I am pretty sure you will have visited this yourselves, please take the time out to have a look at Things my girlfriend and I have argued about. It makes you think. And laugh.

**UPDATE** My porn name is Big Al Rod. I like the "big".

Squeal like a pig, boy!

2005-01-10T18:25:00.000+01:00

I'm jus' goins out to work on mah truck, but thoughts y'all would likes this site.

Full o' rednecks an' trailer parks. Righteous.

I'll update you later on my weekend, or perhaps tomorrow.

Breaking news

2005-01-06T18:20:00.000+01:00

Well, only one part of it is, and it's not breaking in the traditional sense.

Firstly, Happy New Year again to all the Rib Shack diners. We went out for an arse-rapingly expensive meal but it was cool as it lasted all night and I drank enough champagne to sink the Titanic. Hope everybody enjoyed it.

I'm working too hard again this week, hence why no posts for a few days, but I am here so please try not to worry too much.

Of course everybody has heard about the nasty tsunami business which fucked up rice crops and soul searching British holidaymakers across South East Asia recently. (You used to know them as tidal waves, but apparently thats not media friendly enough)

The really ironic part of this was the person who was waiting for an aid package, only to stand there and watch as the bulls-eye hopped-up US pilot dropped it on his van

Back to flight school, maverick.

Silly Hats

2005-01-01T05:28:00.000+01:00

Just got back from the restaurant where we spent New Years Eve.

To be quite honest I can't type all that well. I'll give you an update tomorrow.

I love you all. HAPPY NEW YEAR cocks.

God is selfish.

2004-12-16T18:02:00.000+01:00

Nice start for a) my first post in a while and b) my last post for a while.

I'm off for a couple of weeks to the (not) sunny UK for Christmas, and it was while I was thinking about the lack of weather, that I realised exactly how selfish and thoughtless our lord and master is.

Firstly, he selects Israel as the birthplace of his Messiah. Even at the time it was a bad idea due to the density of Romans in that area, and now look at it - chock full of dynamite belt toting headcases. Think you dropped the ball on that one God. OK I admit the nativity wouldn't quite be the same image if it was set in Nuneaton, but there's a hell of a lot less machine guns there.

The other point was the weather. I mean come on, Israel has pretty similar weather most of the year round, so why the fuck did he choose December, when it's ball-freezingly cold everywhere else? It would have been a lot nicer if he'd have arranged for the Immaculate Conception to be carried out in about October time, ensuring a clement birthday for all. It's not like he did it for the Australians is it?

Anyway enough of me inviting death-threats from the Christian right and the Catholics, and probably every other emotionally-sensitive religious fringe. I'm off now.

Have a great Christmas everybody, I'll be back just prior to New Year.

Happy holidays!

Let there be dark

2004-12-03T23:17:00.000+01:00

I'm working too hard, it's official. In fact, this morning I had worked for 30 of the previous 36 hours, which I am sure you will all admit, is a bit much. So that's my excuse for not posting for a while.

This, while not entirely related, has contributed to the need for this post. Regular diners at the Rib Shack will remember a previous story of mine that is very relevant. But enough of being obtuse, lets get on with it.

Lamp-posts.

Sounds surreal, doesn't it? Lamp. Posts. Twatting great big metal sticks with a light bulb on top. Specifically designed to be very easy to see, especially in the dark. However, this masterpiece of engineering didn't help me too much yesterday.

There I was, quite happily executing an illegal U-turn in the centre of Paris at stupid o'clock in the morning, when I realised a glaring error in the tutoring of my driving instructor.

"When executing a U-turn, indicate your intention, move to the correct side of the lane, look left to ensure there is no traffic. Look right to ensure there is no traffic. Look left again, then right again and if all is clear then continue with the maneuver"

This advice contained one enormous omission. He did not tell me to look straight ahead. Had he of done this, I would of course have done so, and therefore would have seen the huge lamp-post that was rapidly hoving into view. I realised the problem when I was woken from my reverie by what can only be decribed as "the noise of paying an insurance excess", which sounds very similar to a large truck impaling itself on a lamp-post. Under the circumstances, my initial comment of "ooooooooohhhh FUCK!" does't quite cut it.

So I have no truck, as it is 'proper' fucked. My boss hates me again. But I do have a shiny new fast as shit van as a reward which is nice. Maybe if I crash that he'll give me a Porsche. But then again, maybe not.

Bastards.

2004-11-27T23:49:00.000+01:00

I mean it. Total Bastards.

I'm never going to get those three hours of my life back, no matter how hard I try.

I have just built a three drawer chest of drawers, a huge double wardrobe with lights and crap that appears to have been selected purely on the basis of weight; and what happens? The final piece happened, that's what.

The hanging rail has two screws - two screws that are obviously far too big for their holes, even to the naked eye. As a result, what should have been my lap of honour turned into a blinding rage of epic proportions.

Just after I had calmed down and was throwing away all the empty boxes, guess what I came across? That's right, an un-empty box full to the gills of the upstairs TV unit that I had forgotten about. I knocked that one out in record time with no injuries surprisingly, and I am now relaxing with a beer. But don't get me wrong, Ikea just made the List.

I'll give you an update tomorrow on what happened last weekend in the UK, but trust me, it was fantastic. I haven't drunk so much since I was last out with Phut

Kill me now....

2004-11-27T19:46:00.000+01:00

I'm just about to start building some furniture from the Hell-shop.

Spare me a thought - I'll try and update you later if I'm not in hospital. I think I have a fair bit to catch up on.

Screwdriver......READY!

Amazing!

2004-11-17T18:30:00.001+01:00

I haven't got time to talk as just going out to work.

But look at this - it's actually incredible

How to fold a shirt

Guess the internet can teach you something. Gotta run, laters.

Firin' blanks

2004-11-11T19:47:00.000+01:00

Today we have one of those stories that both shocks you, and makes you crack up laughing.

In Uttar Pradesh, in India, the government has a problem. They have a population explosion which is impossible to control, and a Wild-west type frontier society with a backlog of a half-a-million gun licences. So what can they do?

The answer, it seems, was pretty simple. For them at least.

They have decided to offer gun licences in return for male sterilisations. Two for a shotgun, five for a revolver. Strange idea, but not as strange as the poor people who work on rich peoples farms whose owners want a gun licence.

According to the above story, Jagdish Singh says "I was given a green pill that I was told wards off malaria. I don't remember anything else. My life is over"

Should have taken the blue pill, Jagdish.

Also it appears that Yasser Arafat is dead again. Hope he feels better soon.

Wankers

2004-11-10T18:09:00.000+01:00

In an unprecedented knee-jerk reaction, the RIAA has teamed up with pornstar Jenna Jameson.

According to papers filed in Sacramento, California, the pair have instigated lawsuits against 130 individuals accused of illegal downloads of pornography, thus depriving both of them of an important revenue stream. RIAA spokesman Paul McPooden stated "The increase of downloads of pornography on the internet using illegal file-sharing programs has come to a head and we hope that the resolution of this case will be the climax of our war on this illegal theft"

However the news may not be all bad for the sad, lonely and those under 16 among us, one of the accused is a chief of police in California who has responded by lodging charges against Ms Jameson on counts of prostitution, as this clearly shows a person giving sexual favours for monetary gain; and subsequently against the RIAA on charges of pimping.

Ouch! Dog on a string

2004-11-07T23:57:00.000+01:00

Three DIY tasks carried out today; a bulb change (easy one), putting up some curtains (bastard), and a wing mirror repair (almost got run over). Sum total of injuries: One! My friends, I am improving - no longer do I twat myself walking down the street, but give me a hammer and it's still blue fingernail time.

There is a more serious note here however. Over the weekend I dropped a line to an old friend of mine Robin King. Yes, I realise that to some of my readers he is still, after all these years "that bloke who jumped into the swimming pool", but he is also a talented and accomplished actor.

He also runs a production company that is preparing to shoot a short film called Five Card Stud, which, when you click on the link, you will find has a great screenplay. Although in fairness I did see the punchline coming as soon as John received his cards. However, I have a feeling that that was intended. Although I do not know most of the cast, I do know David Crow who is also a very talented actor, and I have no reason to believe the others would be less so.

The point here is, and Robin is unaware of my activity so don't blame him, that the film still needs some funding to enable it to be finished. As a result I am asking that The Rib Shacks readership of 4 (yes it has increased) take a visit to the site, read the script, and consider donating a small amount of money to help it through. I have some faith in this, and I have never forgotten that Robins mum and dad took me on holiday to Butlins in Minehead about a thousand years ago, so I will be donating 20GBP (can you believe my keyboard doesn't have a pound sign?) and I hope that some others of you will follow my lead.

Franco is still dead

2004-11-05T13:41:00.000+01:00

However, Arafat isn't. He was alive yesterday, then dead, then alive again. Even Jesus only managed resurrection once. Wonder what Chimpy thinks about that?

So obviously he isn't going to last much longer. My bet - Monday. Leave a comment with your predictions.

Weekend at al-Bernies

2004-11-04T18:35:00.000+01:00

Some of my regular readers will remember that during the Euro 2004 football tournament I pointed out that I really have to stop making predictions. If you don't it's in the archives there somewhere.

Last week I predicted that Osama bin Laden would be located just prior to the election. OK I was slightly wrong on that one, but a video of him did appear almost precisely when I predicted threatening the US. Shocking.

I also predicted that Yasser Arafat would be returning to Ramallah in a box. Looks like I may well have been right on that one as well. Reports today indicated that he was "clinically dead", although later he was transferred to a better hospital where his condition was upgraded to "alive" 2 bonus points for the quote source there if anyone knows.

I think that it's likely that the Palestinians will be denying he will be dead for some time to come, even if he actually is, leaving opportunities for an hilarious "Weekend at Bernies" type situation.

Maybe I shoule be predicting up next weeks lottery numbers.

Y'alls fucked now

2004-11-04T07:01:00.000+01:00

According to the mantra of The Rib Shack, a million monkeys on a million typewriters couldn't fuck things up this badly. Conversely, however, it appears that 53 million people on a couple of dozen voting machines can.

So has led to another 4 years of Chimpy McFlightsuit playing at being the CEO of America, Inc.

You've just got to dread whats going to happen now that he has a clear mandate and doesn't have to think about getting elected again. Full credit to John Kerry for being a man about the whole thing and conceding defeat in a dignified manner. I'm not saying that the Republicans wouldn't have done the same thing, but look what happened last time.

America was the real winner yesterday - 110 million plus people out to vote, an incredible number, one that they seriously should be proud of.

Bring on the British elections, see if we can kick that grinning twat out of office. I'll do a pic of him when he does something stupid.

They're under starters orders....

2004-11-02T06:47:00.000+01:00

Now, as Election Day breaks across the pond, The Rib Shack can bring it's very own specially commissioned first of election day opinion polls.

That's right, it's the Voter Vitriol poll.

As you can see, vitriol is running high in the key swing battleground states, a phrase you had never heard until recently, and certainly have no wish to hear again.

(pops)

Those damn Floridians are loving it, they're just getting ready to drop the other shoe, in about, oh, 17 days time.

Braaaaaaains!

2004-10-31T19:44:00.000+01:00

Well, it's the 31st October again, so I thought I would give you all a little gift using my impressive Microsoft Paint skills.

What's the Yasser with you OY! Ramallahs a luvverly place OY!

2004-10-29T17:53:00.000+02:00

So I see that Yasser Arafat is very ill and has been rushed for emergency treatment here to Paris. Apart from the fact that as a result the traffic will be a bitch tonight, I'm not wholly convinced that this was a great idea.

Yasser has been holed up in his Ramallah compound in the West Bank for over two years now, simply because the Israelis (the worlds must trustworthy folk) have promised him that if he ever tries to leave, then he will not be permitted to return. So, he hasn't left. Status Quo.

Now he has got to leave because he is ill, and the Palestinians have made Israel "promise" that he will be allowed to return safely. Hmm. I can see how that conversation went.

Palestine "Look, we know you said he wouldn't be allowed to return, but he's ill - would it be OK just this once? Then we can return to this stand-off you love so much?"

Israel "Oh, he's ill is he?" *snigger* "Oh well that's different" *hehehe* "Of course *cough* he can return *cough* safely" authors note: At this point there were unconfirmed rumours of a voice shouting "In a box" in the background

Maybe I'm being cynical. We'll see what happens. However I will blow my own trumpet for perhaps my greatest headline ever.

Fish or chicken?

2004-10-28T13:09:00.000+02:00

The latest weird news to hit the web revolves around a Delta flight attendant (used to be called stewardesses) who has been suspended due to the content of her blog.

Apparently, Delta have taken exception to pictures of the Queen of the Sky posing in her Delta uniform. Ok, here's the picture as you asked nicely:

It seems like Delta were worried about the fact this could bring negative publicity on the airline. It certainly seems like they have done that without her help. However, I have also located a very very funny flash film made to the audio of an old "Delta Ghetto" advert.

Listen up to this mofo

Achtung! It's Osama

2004-10-26T18:29:00.000+02:00

A wonderful conversation with a driver from one of the German companies last night.

We were talking about cars, and I pointed out that one car I really want to buy, and almost did last year, is the Triumph Spitfire.

I said they were quite difficult to come across now, as they are very old. He surprised me by mentioning that they are quite popular in Germany and a number of his friends own one. Quick as a flash I was happy to reply that when my Grandad last brought one over it wasn't very popular at all. In a dream of straight-man comedy my friend replied "Oh, when?"

"1944 mate"

On another note, it is now 7 days until the US election (finally) and by my reckoning only 5 days until it is announced that they have found Wally. I mean Osama.

Nothing Chimpy McFlightsuit does to win this election would surprise me.

Back to normal

2004-10-24T01:11:00.000+02:00

Well I have finally returned. Unfortunately, Tiger Woods 2003 sucked an astonishing amount of my life away - but now I have finished it I can sit back in satisfaction and wonder how on earth else to fill may days.

I did have a fleeting visit to the UK this week. It sucked. I did have my first fish n chips in over a year which albeit soggy was very good indeed, but other than that not a good visit. Firstly I fucked up on the time zones - not something I'm prone to doing considering I actually work in two different zones - but I managed it and as a result only had something like 4 hours sleep.

I was in the UK for a hospital appointment. Those of you who know me are aware that I have the crappiest right leg (or hip at least) known to man. It is so screwed up and so much shorter than the other than I have to stand my right leg on tiptoes when I take a piss to stop falling over. Believe me, Christopher Reeve doesn't know qute how good he had it.

So I have been on the NHS waiting list for an operation for two years now. Finally the date arrives and the stupid bastards send the letter to my old address, forcing me to miss my appointment and go back to square one. 2 further years of pain thank you doctor. I saw the specialist and he has promised, as a result of the cock-ups, to give me the operation by anout January time. Fantastic! I cried, until he pointed out that I would have to be off work for a minimum of two months afterward. Not as fantastic when you only receive government sick pay.

So it looks like I'm going to be waiting for a while. If you see a miserable looking bastard limping round Paris, mug him. Hopefully it's me - medical insurance kicks in for something non self-inflicted.

Back to the bourbon.

I'm still alive, unlike some

2004-10-15T17:48:00.000+02:00

Look at this - at least a week without posting (been playing my new copy of Tiger Woods)

And this is the best that I can come up with. mind you, I pissed myself.

HEEEEEEeeeeeeeelllppppp!

2004-10-05T13:13:00.000+02:00

In another example of computers doing their best to thin out the gene pool, todays copy of La Parisien had a great article.

It seems like a chap was driving his car along the motoroway using his nice high technology cruise control when the machine decided to have a little jape with him. Instead of staying at the speed he requested, it sped up as much as possible - to 190km/h (Thats about 120mph in old money), and then stuck there.

Picture the scene, you are now travelling along a busy motorway at 120, with no way of slowing down (or speeding up if that is really what you need). Now picture in your minds eye the Simpsons Marge vs. the Monorail episode. Is there anything doughnuts can't do?

OK, I tried to put a pic here of Homer locked out of the monorail but to no avail.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, the computer finally gave up the ghost about 20miles from the toll booths (the thing that would have made this story really scary) and he safely coasted to a stop. This is going to bring back that recurring nightmare of a rogue airbag-deployment at 90mph that I used to have.

Sweet dreams.

Who wants to be a millionaire?

2004-10-04T13:27:00.000+02:00

Well, personally, I wouldn't mind.

So bearing this thought, I have decided the best way to earn shitloads of money. How? you ask. Simple.

When we log onto to news websites in this day and age, what is the first thing you see screaming at you?

Iraq bombing kills x people

The bombing format of choice among our towel-headed friends appears to be the car bomb. There are a couple of these each day, with no sign of it abating. Therefore, it begs the question - where exactly are these people obtaining their vehicles? Do they have a preferred dealer? Do they buy them fatory new?

My proposal is thus. If I could become the general manager of a new company - call it Fudamentalist Bombing Supplies - I could offer a discounted rate on blow-up-able cars. Lets be fair, they probably don't need an inspection ticket/MOT so we can cut a few corners there. Profit!!

Some of you may argue that this is unethical - but it's going to happen anyway, so why not cream a few bucks off the top.

Hate mail to the usual address please.

Assembly required

2004-10-03T01:44:00.000+02:00

Possibly the two worst words in the English language. OK, there are a couple of exceptions, although only "you're impotent" immediately springs to mind. I mean after all, if you're dying you don't really have to worry about self-assmebly furniture. I need an electric screwdriver to reduce these blisters.

I willingly went to Ikea today. I know, I can almost hear you saying it "but you detest Ikea" - and you would be right. However, I think I broke all records in the sweep-shopping-time. Regardless, it's a rock'n'roll bed with a raising and lowering headboard. Ideal for those times when you want to ~~have sex~~ read a book.

Marvellous wedding last weekend, and I mean fucking brilliant. Service was a little bit old fashioned - but for those of you who know Paul - you would know that the reception would kick ass. And kick ass it did. I drank so much free red wine my tongue turned black. We also had a helium inhaling competition (I didn't win - my voice is high pitched enough that I got accused of cheating). All in all excellent - I almost hope they get divorced so Paul can get married again.

I will leave you for now with a picture of Mrs Ribby and a drunken me. I have had so much grief about grinning like an idiot on photos that I made a (sub)conscious effort to just smile. An unfortunate result. Mrs Ribby looks fantastic though.

Another wedding

2004-09-24T22:36:00.000+02:00

Here we go again.

I'm off to England for the weekend again for yet another wedding. Ho-hum, at least I can get drunk.

See you next week.

Rock n Roller coaster.

2004-09-20T11:55:00.000+02:00

So another weekend has finished and the return to work is imminent.

What did I do this weekend? I hear you scream to the rafters. Well, we had some friends come down from Brittany, so we took them to Parc Asterix, a theme park based on the little Gaul - bit like Disneyland, but smaller, cheaper and with much better rides and stuff.

It started badly. The first ride we went on was the "Grand Splatch", a nice little boat journey with a few dips and drops and water jets. Last time we went it was a cool first ride, a couple of splashes of water but nothing major. This, of course, was where the Ribby luck held out. Every single person on the boat got a little bit of water on them, except for the person sitting at the back left corner of the boat. You can probably guess who that was. Yep, thats right, we rounded a corner and the most enormous freak wave you have ever seen swamped my corner of the boat leaving everyone else untouched. I, however, was soaked. I mean really soaked - I've had baths that I've been drier in.

Later on I was seen as something of a local hero when I stopped a particularly ugly woman trying to escape from the Ghost Train.

Afterward, we went on the "Tonnerre de Zeus", a big-ass wooden roller coaster. It was great - shit scary big big drops and even one that dropped about 50metres and then continued underground, which had me soiling myself. The main problem with wooden roller coasters is that simple fact. They're wooden. The finish to the ride is a crunching stop, which causes the entire structure to move a few inches then come back. Disaster in the making I fear - and although it didn't fall over, or explode or anything I think there is a good chance it will. Peruse my artists impresion of how this would look:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Scary thoughts eh?

Also another incredibly funny thing - I saw a young French disabled man driving round in an electric wheelchair comme Stephen Hawking and he was wearing a "Rage Against The Machine" T-shirt. I'm not sure if he saw the double meaning in that, but it had me pissing myself for some minutes.

It's a b.......

2004-09-15T13:20:00.000+02:00

Or, more importantly, it isn't.

In a splendid display of spackiness, An inbred Norfolkian spent a long time holding a rusty piece of some Citroen suspension whilst cacking his pants. He became convinced that he had dug up a World War II bomb and called the emergency services (who marvellously left him hanging there for 5 hours!).

Imagine his relief when he found out the truth. Personally if it had been me I would have been disappointed that a) it wasn't a bomb, b) therefore it wasn't going to blow up and spare me the humiliation from all my mates for the next god knows how many years.

Link is here: Citroen C4

I AM Jose Canseco

2004-09-10T18:22:00.000+02:00

Just to keep Phut happy - on the off chance that he didn't watch the Braves v Phillies game - Jason Michaels has put himself firmly in the Canseco category with his inspired outfield work.

Retard

It's a simple catch, I've got it, I've got it, I've......OH FUCK!

Craig Is Gay.

2004-09-08T14:00:00.000+02:00

An astonishing start to a Best Mans speech, quite simply left us all speechless. But I'll get to that.

A couple of weeks have passed since my last serious post, and what has happened in the meantime? Fuck all. Actually that's not quite true, I did go to the UK for whistlestop wedding, so that's just about the only thing I'm going to concentrate on today - let's just pretend than only a couple of days have passed.

Our friend Mr Grumpy was married on Saturday, and what a fantastic day it was. The weather was brilliant, lots of great people there, the bride looked wonderful and even Craig (Grump) managed to lose his black T-shirt for the day. All in all an interesting turn of events. The speeches were cool - Phut and I both got mentions for being the people who had travelled furthest to be there (although I think the US is a little further than France, so Phut wins that one).

The Best Mans speech, as Phut has mentioned, was memorable for a number of reasons, the most notable two being that the groom was lambasted as "gay" and the mother of the bride called the groom "fat". Two words you love to hear in wedding speeches. Phut also did a celebrity spot as a wedding ventriloquist:

"Gottle of Geer"

We had a horrible journey back - more down to the fact that I didn't want to leave the pub and drive all the way to France. I did, and it sucked - I finally finished work at 3.30am, 12 hours after I left my beer.

Next time I'm going to fly.

Insert Joke Here

2004-09-01T17:43:00.000+02:00

Weekly World News

The above article is no doubt a load of old bollocks, but is a perferct example of creative writing.

The funniest thing I have read all week.

Suicide is painless

2004-08-27T03:51:00.000+02:00

Intermission

2004-08-26T21:15:00.000+02:00

Sorry, I know I haven't made a post for a while - still horribly busy at work.

I will try and update you in the very near future.

In the meantime, here is a picture of a bunny with a pancake on its head.

Calamity Jean

2004-08-20T05:47:00.000+02:00

Well, I haven't posted for most of this week because I have been totally bum-fucked on the hours I've been working. Some cretin decided to change the shifts around and as a result I've been working like a Japanese prisoner-of-war.

However, because I was working, I did get to witness one of the funniest sights I have seen in ages last night:

I was just leaving one of my clients sites, and was turning onto one of the main thoroughfares in Northern Paris. I had to wait for a second to allow a Belgian (he had to be Belgian didn't he? You couldn't make this up) articulated lorry to go past, a sight that is altogether rare on that road - you don't get too many of them.

I was pondering this while driving behind him, and then realised - of course, you don't get too many artics here because OH MY GOD THAT BRIDGE IS TOO LOW!!

So there I am, swerving and flashing my lights and beeping my horn trying to make this dozy git aware of the impending doom but he was having none of it. Just when I decided to just relax and enjoy the show, I realised that I was in immediate danger of being vehicle no.1 in the mother of all traffic jams. As a result I immediately broke about 12 traffic laws to swerve my (smaller) lorry to go past him. Whilst I was doing so, I was shouting and frantically pointing above his lorry hoping he would get the idea. No such luck. He was no doubt thinking "those crazy English, always talking about the weather".

Once safely past I slowed down in the tunnel, wound my window down to receive the full aural experience, and waited.......

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. First there was a scraping noise. Then his lorry shuddered a little. Then an almighty BANG! and the wonderful sight of plastic, metal and bits of lorry flying everywhere. Then, finally, he stopped (probably less out of choice than of physics).

I thought I was going to crap I was laughing so much. Once I had calmed down I got out of my lorry to see if I could help, but it was obvious that he was going to be there a while. However, he looked so much like a 70's porn star that I had to hang around for a bit on the off-chance that a couple of buxom blondes would arrive and seductively ask if we "needed help to free our lorry". Unfortunately that didn't transpire, but rest assured this made my evening a much happier one and there were smiles every time I thought about it.

It's a trap!

2004-08-16T01:16:00.000+02:00

You'll never guess what I did today?

Yep, shopping. What the hell have I done to deserve this? I woke up feeling like a barn thats just been fumigated and the next thing I know Mrs Ribby has tricked me into being in Ikea. That's just taking advantage that is. However, I did find that a McDonalds McFlurry is a superb hangover cure - it seemed to almost freeze the pain away - and it's cheaper than those cool patch things.

Anyway, Ikea. I know I have been promising to lambast this place for a while, so I may as well do a bit of it now.

It seems to have been designed by the same person that both designs maximum security prisons and garden mazes. From the moment you walk in it's like you have all sense of reality stripped away, along with your sense of direction.

The problem is, it's impossible to actually go to Ikea to buy something in particular. Even if you know what you want to buy you still have to walk round the whole store (both floors), surrounded by people from about 120 different countries (believe me, it's like the UN), screaming children throwing things and tripping you up, and some trailer-park types with zero tolerance for taste.

Round and round in circles you go, and then you realise that you've walked past what you want to buy. You ever tried going against the flow in Ikea? Give it a try one time - it's like walking into a Force 5 gale.

I'm just fed up with the place. I always end up with 3 things I don't want, all called Skjoplie or something, and then I have to queue for an hour to buy them.

As a result I spent the afternoon throwing back beer, which has contributed to my now befuddled state of mind.

'night.

Revamp (Or how I learned to hate HTML and love the pub)

2004-08-14T23:12:00.000+02:00

OK, the revamp. It failed.

I tried - but I got lost in a shitload of horrible HTML code and in the end just simply gave up, except for updating the title. I think I will change and update my web links and games, so make sure you keep an eye on them - after all, these are the places I spend a large part of my life, so they can't be all that bad.

The missus has gone to sleep, so you will never guess what I'm going to do now?

That was a very good try, but in fact I'm going to the pub again - but I will do your suggestion when I get home.

Shopping.

2004-08-14T18:47:00.000+02:00

I've had enough of it for today.

I'm going to the pub. Keep your eyes peeled for a Rib Shack revamp - I think it needs it.

She's not even Greek

2004-08-13T23:50:00.000+02:00

I was watching the opening ceremony to the Olympics, as I do every 4 years, and I must admit it was an excellent show. Not quite as good as the one in Syndey mind, and I was always partial to the one in Barcelona (mostly because it had this brunette in a short skirt who was quite a little bit saucy - was very glad I recorded that one).

The real problem with the Athens ceremony was that just prior to the raising of the Olympic flag and the lighting of the flame, there was a famous *singer* performing (when I say performing, she was actually very clearly miming her way through it).

Who was it? I hear you cry. Actually maybe not, cos you probably watched it too. But if you didn't (Phut), it was Bjork. Yes, Bjork. That silly Icelandic witch who has no talent. What the bloody hell was she doing there? Amazing.

Anyway, here comes two weeks of drug-assisted feats of pharmaceutical endurance, and I for one am looking forward to it. I just hope nobody Italian wins a gold medal - it's bad enough listening to that stupid diddly-diddly national anthem after every Grand Prix, I think I'll go postal if I hear it at the games as well.

Thats it for now, and just remember children:

Arguing on the internet is just like competing in the Special Olympics - even if you win, you're still retarded.

Havin' a ball

2004-08-12T04:15:00.000+02:00

Tonight, we will be mainly talking about baseball. In fact only about one thing in baseball, and even that will be pretty short.

However, something happened that has actually amazed me - I think it's very cool. In last nights game between the LA Dodgers and the Cincinnati Reds, Adam Dunn did something pretty spectacular.

He hit a home run. That in itself is nothing particularly special I admit, but this was a thundering, enormous home run. It cleared the stadium, bounced off a street and ended up in the Ohio River. Still nothing special? Fair enough. Apart from the fact it's the teams longest ever home run, it was made great by the simple fact that the Ohio River is in Kentucky. Yes, thats right, he hit a home run out of the fucking state. Now that is cool.

On a side note from that game - LA Dodgers pitcher Jose Lima. Everyones heard of him - but have you seen the size of his wifes tits?

Bet that kid wishes he was standing on Joses other side.

Wack the Iraq

2004-08-10T22:26:00.000+02:00

Contrary to Phuts belief that the residents of the Garden State are singularly inoffensive people, I now have evidence that they aren't.

Coming from a town called Wildwood, NJ, a scant 10 miles down the road from where Phut lives is a new boardwalk game. Skeeball? It's worse than that.

Devised in the heat of battle fever no doubt, is the new game of "Wack the Iraq" where customers fire paintball games at real people dressed as Iraqis:

Could this be any more offensive? Is America really at war with the Iraqi people? (Bush claims otherwise). Do you care?

Fair play to them though - they have anticipated the complaints and put up a disclaimer sign:

I'm sure he is upset - once he recovers from his "chest pains" I'm sure he will have his defence lawyers right on it.

Unhappy coincidence? Hardcore fuckerz.

2004-08-09T22:48:00.000+02:00

Well ,we have just returned from a weekend at the in-laws place in Brittany, NorthWest France and a superb weekend was had by all.

By all, I am referring to me. And perhaps the other half, whose Saturday evening was so good that it's contents ended up in a toilet bowl. Ah well, kids today eh? At least I wasn't expected to wake up and hold her hair.

However, the most disturbing part of the weekend was thus:

We were at an 18th birthday party on Saturday night, and in my drunken haze I saw a large shaven gentleman who I swore I recognised. The missus was cutting a rug on the dance floor, so I swayed over to investigate.

I was tactfully intercepted by what I believe was his daughter, and whilst speaking to her I pointed out that I was pretty sure I had met this guy at a previous party. She indicated that this was not the case as I had not met this part of the family before (although, worringly, they knew who I was).

I said I found this strange as I was certain I had seen thig chap before. She then said "Oh, he works in Paris, perhaps you know him from there" This was a surprise considering our distance from said city, but she may well have hit the nail on the head.

"It's possible I suppose, I have met a lot of people since working here. What exactly is it your dad does - I probably met him through work."

"He's a traffic cop"

Arse. Now that is a shitty coincidence.

Also, the hardcore fuckerz part refers to perhaps the most dogged attempt at graffiti I have ever seen. This morning, while on the high speed train back to Paris. I saw these words written on the side of a factory. Not all that special, I hear you cry - until you take note of the fact it is not is the native language, and it actually covered the entire side of the factory. I'm honestly guessing that these letters were 40 feet high. I would have taken a photo, but, as is the nature of high speed trains (except in England) we went too fast and I missed it.

However, it was incredible. It must have taken at least 5 tins of paint and an enourmous ladder. They have truly risen the bar for paint sprayers everywhere.

Sporadic posting and the Japs

2004-08-09T13:20:00.000+02:00

Well I'm back up to full speed now after over a week of non-posting.

This has been mainly to laziness, drinking and a heavy pornography habit.

This made me think of something. When you have a particular preference for something or you do it a lot, there are many expressions that can be used, however, the one that seems to be used most with porn is "to have a yen for pornography". Now I'm not 100% sure if it's a coincidence that the yen of course is the currency of Japan, and that the Nips have a very strong streak of perversion (yeah I know it's a stereotype, but it's my bloody website so hate mail to the normal address).

This also made me think that it could be extended to other activites. The one of course that immediately sprung to mind was "a bent for bumfoolery". Can YOU think of any others? Let me know....

I have a thousand things running through my mind so I will be making about 3 posts a day now to make up for it. I will be right back after these messages..

New punctuation

2004-07-29T16:38:00.000+02:00

After trawling the Internet for a while, I found a proposal to add a new piece of punctuation to the English language.

It is using the tilde (thats ~ thing) and it is to be used to denote sarcasm. It will be called the "sarcastrophe"

For instance - I love that Britney Spears, she's really talented~

Interesting idea? I think so. But then I'm easily pleased.

BPWD no.2

2004-07-25T00:12:00.000+02:00

Yesss, thats right. It's my turn to follow on from Phuts drunken ravings and make make my own half-pissed (make that fully) post about the last week or so.

Oringinal title was "Margaritas and Sexy Stews". This has changed.

We're going to have a couple of sort of disjointed sentences here , so try and bear with me - you may enjoy the ride. But it will probably make you feel sick.

First off, what a fan-fucking-tastic holiday. I mean really, it rocked lots. Me and Phut (I think thats Phut and I) had a load of fun and drank some bars dry of Jaegermeister (sp?) as well as a few other things. We also played baseball, wandered the beach, drank some things and ate ribs and steak and cheesesteaks and wings. By the way Phut that buffalo sauce you recommended rules, especially when it spills on your clothes in your baggage.

Sooooo, tonight we have had a US night in commmemmommorration of my visit by eating wings with buffalo sauce, chicken with Jack Daniels sauce and tequila with margarita sauce. Fantastic. It was only marred by me forgetting to close the mixer (not for the first time) when making the margaritas so my floor smells of tequila now (also not for the first time). I blame it on the jolly bartender at my local bar who got me hammered before I'd even got the shopping home.

Did I mention that the stewardess on the plane was great? Well she was - she plied me with drink for the whole flight but unfortunately even though she had a short skirt there was no handjob in the toilet for Ribby. Guess that's why First Class is better than Business.

I had lots of problems on the drive to DC, but you don't care about that, I got home after all.

Where do I start?

2004-07-21T23:37:00.000+02:00

Couple of weeks worth of posting to catch up on, so I think I'll be covering this in two parts.

First was the initial of my 2 holidays (some people get all the luck eh?).

Emilie and I went to a place called Futuroscope in Western France in the Loire Valley. It's a bit like Epcot Centre but not crap.

Shitloads of IMAX cinemas, simulators and 3D stuff. Really cool, coupled with the big finale at the end of each night with loads of explosions and flames and fireworks and shit which ruled.

Also we spent a night in a town called Tours, which was very nice - typical provincial France and it gave me the much needed opportunity to get hammered. We came back on last Tuesday and then had some guests for dinner on the 14th (Bastille Day) which once again involved loads of beer and fireworks.

All in all it set me up nicely for an early get-go to go to Phuts in the US. I felt shit the next morning but luckily got a good seat on the plane - but this is the subject for the next post, provisionally titled "Margaritas and sexy stews"

The wanderer returns.....

2004-07-21T09:58:00.000+02:00

.....but he's jet-lagged.

And disturbingly sober considering the antics of the last few days.

I'm going to bed now but will update you on the last week or two later today.

It's time for change

2004-07-10T00:24:00.000+02:00

Well this is my last post for a bit, as I am off on holiday for two weeks.

First stop is Tours and Poitiers in Western France then I am off to see Phut in New Jersey for a couple of weeks.

Thanks for the "where I've been" link Phut, you can see the results below. Actually click below cos the size of the file screwed up the page format.

Obviously you can see that I have never had a great deal of interest in visiting the flat farming countryside.

States I have visited

Beaucoup de chance (deuxième part)

2004-07-06T22:17:00.000+02:00

Alors, parce-que je suis sur un clavier Français, j'ecris en Francais ce soir.

J'ai tout la chance dans le monde, mais nous connaisons ca. Ce soir quand j'ai roulé à travaille, j'ai arreté par mes amis Les Gendarmes.

J'ai passé un camion sur la file gauche et j'ai arreté immediament pour ca. Malheuereusement, le flic as demandé mon disque, quand il a vu j'ai plus de vitesse aussi. Resultat: un penaltie de €112.

Le seul bon part c'etait quand j'appelé mon chef et le flic as dit "Qu'est-ce que il as dit?" J'etait très heureux quand j'ai dit " LES PUTAINS"

------------------

For those that can't be ringed to try the translation is here:

So, because I am on a French keyboard this evening, I will write in French.

I have all the luck in the world, we all know that. This evening as I was driving to work I was stopped by my friends, the Gendarmes.

I passed a lorry in the left lane and was stopped immediately. Unfortunately the rozzer also asked for my tacho, which showed that by doing that I had also broken the speed limit. Total result: €112 fine.

The only good bit was when I had to phone my boss to tell him. The copper asked "What did he say?" It gave me great happiness to reply "The wankers"

American man becomes first to grasp sarcasm

2004-07-06T13:30:00.000+02:00

BUMFUCK, ND (AP) - Jay Fullmer, 38, became the first American to get to grips with the concept of sarcasm yesterday.

"It was weird," Fullmer said, "I was in London and, like, talking to this guy and it was raining and shit and he said, like, great weather, or something like that."

Said Fullmer: "And I thought - wait a minute, it's like, no way is it great weather."

Fullmer soon realised that the other man's 'mistake' was deliberate.

"This guy was pretty cool about it," Fullmer said.

Fullmer, who is 39 next month and married with two children, aged 8 and 3, plans to use sarcasm himself in future.

"I'm like saying it all the time." he said. "Weekend last I was like grilling steaks and I like burned them to shit and I said 'great weather'."

Saddam shame.

2004-07-02T00:11:00.000+02:00

Well it's not actually, I just thought it was a vaguely amusing pun.

However, it is nowhere near as funny as the headline on Fark which was "Good news: Saddam could face the death penalty. Bad news: David Beckham will probably take it" which had me spitting drink on my desk.

So there you have it. Saddam is finally being brought to trial for making generations of Iraqis look like him. However, the scene in the courtroom sounds quite reminiscent of the trial of Slobodan Milosevic - haranguing the judge, answering his own questions and generally being a bit of a pain in the arse. It also reminds me of South Park:

"Rel-aaaaaax guuuyyy!"

I do hope they can televise the trial a la OJ Simpson, but this is a little unlikely.

We all know what will happen - this guy will never get the death penalty - he'll get shitloads of years in prison and some terrorists will pinch of couple of aircraft and shit to release him. Should make good TV.

In other news, Greece have unbelievably made it through to the finals of Euro 2004 after beating the Czech Republic like a ginger-haired step child.

Sprig of lucky heather dearie?

2004-06-30T14:59:00.000+02:00

Well, lets be fair. I need it.

I am a fairly unlucky person. In fact it's fair to say that I am one of the most unlucky and accident-prone people outside of the the Darwin Awards.

Last night was a perfect example. What started as a nice easy night at work quickly slid downhill into problems of mammoth proportions.

I arrived at my meeting spot with a colleague so we could head to Calais, at which point it was seen that not one, but both of has, had a headlight blown. Easy to solve, I hear you cry; and one would certainly think so.

We both had spare bulbs, but of course they were the wrong ones. We spoke to the truck company and they said get the old bulb out of the other truck and go and buy some new ones. To do this we would need to tip the cab forward at a 45-degree angle. So far so good (apart from being horribly late by now). We tip the cab, retrieve the bulb and then find out that the cab is stuck in the 'down' position. Shit.

Truck company says "Hmm, we dont know how to fix that - why dont you go and buy some bulbs in the other (my) truck, and when you come back we will have found out" Here we go, we are very late now and a touch pissed off. Anyway, after negotiating various roadworks, road closures, and police diversions we arrived in Paris to buy some bulbs from a service station. Once we have done this we remount (don't even think abou that) my truck to find that the ignition barrel has broken and I can't get the key in.

So now we have 2 trucks broken down, out of a possible 2, some 20km apart from one another. After waiting for three and a half hours, a student-type mechanic arrives who can't fix it.

Sigh. Now we have to wait for the two backup drivers to arrive from London. Another few hours passes and one of them has got lost and the other one has forotten and gone to do his deliveries.

By the way, it is now 6am, pretty damn cold, the windows are open and uncloseable as electric and we're both wearing shorts.

We were finally rescued around 7am, having sat in the service area for around 8 hours. What a night.

Oh and by the way, they can't repair my truck until Monday. Life gets better. Only 8 more shifts until I go on holiday - thank fuck for that.

Grolsched!

2004-06-29T00:23:00.000+02:00

Well, it seems like the spirit of transatlantic telepathy is going strong, as I have ended my weekend in the exact same sorry state as Phut.

Yes, thats right - I am Grolsched. This is when you have drunk too much of the silver canned lager in the previous 24 hours. It's not like a normal hangover, oh no - they're easy to deal with. This is more like living embalmment, it feels like every ounce of liquid has been sucked out through your pores and your internal organs have been done over with a tenderizer. I am feeling very lucky that I do not have have to drive to Calais tonight so I can drink lots of water and relax.

My weekend was pretty standard - went to the girlfriends old flat to remove some furniture to chez nous, and actually ended up just talking to the neighbours for a while before hightailing it back home to settle in our normal outside table at the local bar. In retrospect, this was where my problems started, as I don't recall breathing air after that - only wine, lager and Jack.

I managed to raise my level of awareness briefly on Sunday to go out shopping for a while, but managed to stand my ground when it came to the suggestion of "popping into Ikea for a while", which we all know is not possible. I will lament Ikea in a future post.

Back home and thats when the serious drinking started. It finished at 6am this morning when I ran out of lager. Both unfortunate and highly fortunate I think, as it forced me to go to bed.

Nuke This!

2004-06-27T22:32:00.000+02:00

Missile Bases :: 20th Century Castles, Unique underground properties.

This is something else.

Apart from the obvious drawbacks of living somewhere deep in the MidWest, this looks absolutely brilliant - a company is selling former ICBM and SAM missile bases converted into luxury homes.

You could have some great parties here, just try not to get too "bombed"

*author takes no responsibility for shit puns*

D'oh!

2004-06-26T18:18:00.000+02:00

Pot activists forget to file signature petitions

In yet another instance of The Simpsons echoing real-life, stoners in Arizona copied the marijuana episode.

This is without a doubt, pure comedy gold.

"I can't believe we zoned on the date"

Fish are shit.

2004-06-25T13:22:00.000+02:00

See that? That's how strongly I feel on this subject - none of your obscure, slightly offbeat headlines for this post. It does exactly what is says on the tin. Fish. Are. Shit.

Millions of years of evolution on this planet has passed, and these horrible slimy little bastards have still not figured out that the way forward is to have legs and mobile phones. Oh no, they're still swimming around in salt water, breathing water and eating the regurgitations of other fish.

They are also stupendously ugly, take a look at this scaly pin-up:

He's a beauty isn't he? Funny though, I suppose there are a couple of comparisons that can be made with land based mammals:

OK so Hawking is clever, but he can't walk of use a phone either. He's also pretentious (born in Kent, speaks with an American accent). But I'm getting off the subject.

Most of these things live in the dark, which is a pretty good idea I suppose - if I looked like that I wouldn't want too many lights around.

Worse is the fact that people eat them as well. I realise this proves our superiority in the food chain, but they don't even taste very nice. How good would you taste after years in the sea eh?

"Finding Nemo" attempted to delve into the mysterious world of the fish, and all it did was once again prove how rubbish they are. Here is a little list of things that fish, after turning up on the earth well before humans, have still not managed to master:

1. Driving. Not very clever, takes ages from A to B
2. Computers. Too much water make Nemo go fizzle, no?
3. Shoelaces. Hah! Bet you wish you had opposable thumbs now eh?

There are many others, far to numerous to list, but this at least, is fish-food for thought.

Whoops!

2004-06-25T13:16:00.000+02:00

OK, it's my fault. Lets get that out in the open.

I told you last week that I needed to refrain from predictions, and I have. However, I did not take into account previous predictions I had made on this site. One of them of course was that "England would progress to the inevitable penalty shootout".

Well, as we all know by now, they did, and unfortunately lost to the greasy Portugese. Fair play to David Beckham and all the England team, in this tournament they really did us proud. We all look forward to the World Cup in 2006.

Also, my pal Phut now has his blog up and running - head over to The Diary of Phut to take a look. He's just as inane as I am, but tends to say "fuck" a little bit more. On the other hand, perhaps fucking not.