Yes, it’s been raining, and you’d think we’d never seen anything like it before. Either that, or nobody has anything interesting to say. Of course, Teasmade Revenge never does anything by halves…

So, while things outside start to dry themselves out in time for tomorrow’s outburst (think ‘Tropical storm’, according to BBC Weather), I’d like to propose a few neat ways we could prevent this outrage occurring again. No longer shall we be forced to fill awkward silences in lifts, at bus stops and at checkout queues with meaningless niceties: from now on it’s all about the embarrassing random incidents.*

Verbal warning
In China, they like to prevent rain by sort of injecting it with stuff. Obviously, this would not be a very British way to go on, but perhaps a UK-friendly version might be to give it a stern telling off.

Giant brolly
Should this fail, another common sense solution would be to make a giant umbrella. If everyone donated wire coat hangers and old tents, British builders have said that the feat could be entirely accomplished in a reasonable 14 months – so in two years time, up to half of the UK and parts of Wales could be rain-free for 45% of the time. Lack of sunlight might be a problem, but we’re all so physically unfit that we probably wouldn’t miss the vitamin D in the slightest.

Rain bonnets
A simpler alternative could well be to enforce the compulsory wearing of cheap, old lady style rain bonnets – with possible room for punchy political and corporate slogans (see tomorrow’s post). By the way, for all those wishing to share their touching rain bonnet memories, there is a survey at Mister Poll (no, really).
______________________________________________________

*At this point I would like to relate the story of an ERI I witnessed in Tescos one Easter. Imagine the scene: there’s a long queue, and halfway down it a skinny blonde lady is carrying six or seven large Easter eggs in a big pile. While waiting, an awkward silence appears on the scene… a braver soul than I decides to nip it in the bud. Unfortunately for her, this wannabe conversation hero is more than slightly overweight. The conversation goes thus:

Fat lady: Oh, I hate having to buy so many Easter eggs at once, don’t you? I always end up eating them all!
Blonde Lady: [Stares at fat lady with utter contempt] They’re not actually all for me, you realise.

D’uh.

It appears that the one good thing that Gordy did for us while he was staring up at Blair as though he were the last Eclair in the patisserie – the 10p tax rate – has been eaten up by Alistair Darling, the greedy little bastard. Nobody noticed this until now because our jaded electorate can’t even be bothered to vote, never mind actually follow politics.

The thing is, we’ve all had our first paycheck of the financial year now, and it’s looking even more crappy than usual. All of a sudden, everyone’s ears have pricked up, and they’re starting to think that perhaps the Tories aren’t so bad after all. Not good.

So, what can Labour do to ease the strain on the hard-working low-paid masses to make everyone love them again? Here are a few changes that would certainly cheer me up while I’m eating pasta in front of the TV yet again while my richer friends sod off to the theatre and Waitrose and bloody wine tasting in the bloody South of bloody bloody France. Not that I’m bitter.

1. Bring back Nerds
What the hell happened to Nerds? I used to love those little E number-riddled sour-as-heck bastards. If Darling and Gordy were seen fighting over Nerds at PM’s Question Time, maybe the nation would be able to forgive and forget.

2. Panem et circenses (bread and circuses)
The Romans were arguably the greatest civilisation that ever lived. How did they do it? Well, not only did they give away free bread, but they also held immense public gladiatorial battles in which fierce wild animals ripped the shit out of Christians. I suggest we go all retro and convert Wembley Stadium into a giant amphitheatre, roping in London Zoo and waking up the half-dead lions with a few bursts from a police taser. Let’s stick with the tried and tested Christian theme – it’s okay, so long as nobody starts on any Muslims.

3. War
Distract the nation by starting a war in a country nobody’s heard of, somewhere really far away. Oh, hang on…

4. Morris dancing
Legendary conductor and covert ping pong addict Sir Thomas Beecham once said “try everything once except folk dancing and incest.” As much as I defer to the opinions of one so wise, I think this rule can be broken. Yes, Morris dancing is utterly horrific, but I understand it’s quite nice when it’s over. I refuse to compare this to the incest one. Let us brush through this point quickly, before I get a worried call from my parents.

5. Transvestite government
All members of the Houses of Parliament should be made to wear drag at all times. Obviously, this policy is skewed toward blokes, so to make up for it, all female MPs would have dress like Anne Widdicombe.

Also, Muhammed Al Fayed should be made Speaker of the House of Lords – this would be fuggin’ great.

6. A new show for Ant and Dec
Three words. Celebrity Russian Roulette. Five more words. Six rounds in every gun. A guaranteed success. In fact, I’m tempted to email Channel 5 right this minute. Instead, I shall continue.

7. Give Russell Brand the Guy Fawkes treatment
Okay, so everybody loves the turd, but at least two people would be immensely cheered by a crafty glimpse of entrail or two. Alright, one of those would be me. And the other would be Grim Squeaker. But I couldn’t resist sneaking it in here anyway.

8. Cake
The obesity ‘crisis’ is getting us all down, so I know that I for one would like to hear that Gordy’s official stance on confectionery has changed. Conservatives will probably condemn what they will call ‘typical Labour back-tracking’ and maintain they supported the policy from the beginning, but either way the ‘New Labour: Let Them Eat Cake’ campaign is sure to be a roaring success.

In fact, this last campaign may have already started, in its own little way.

Thanks to Beerbottle and Grim Squeaker.

I went to America recently (i.e. ages ago) and just got around to uploading some of my photos. Most people take snaps of monuments… I decided to instead record examples of American stupidity for posterity.

We also went to see one of the most famous buildings in America’s history: the World Trade Centre. It wasn’t there though. There was just this big hole:

Fond memories.

Question: What does Big Brother have in common with The Apprentice?
Answer: Both are an horrendous waste of time and energy, slowly rotting away the brains of participants and viewers alike into a soup of red hot evil bitchiness, back-stabbing and steaming, stinking hate.

Question v.2: What does Big Brother not have in common with The Apprentice?
Answer: Big Brother is intrinsically honest: broadcast by Channel 4, it doesn’t therefore have to prove its worth in the eyes of the petit bourgeoisie, and can show all the tits and arse it wants without being forced to dress it all up in cheap pinstripe suits, nasty orange makeup and slapped-bum attitude.

Be honest, you feel much less guilty watching The Apprentice than Big Brother. You disgust me. In turn, I disgust myself. May I add: LEAVE LETITIA ALONE!!!1!!!11!1!!!! ::weeps inconsolably::

Straight from the Fox News image server (no, really)…

Thanks to FARK.com. Back soon – been on holiday. I brought back souvenirs, in case you’re interested…

Morning all. Bet you’re wondering where I went, eh? Sitting around waiting for something interesting to come along, and having your hopes dashed at every visit?

Yes, well me too, actually. A million times over. Because, without mincing my words, Virgin Media are BLOODY, BLOODY BASTARDS, who deserve nothing better than death by rabid man-eating kitten. How DARE they take away my god-given right to the internet? BASTARDS.

Let’s not go into details, but basically the worst thing about them is the fact that they employ real human beings in their call centres. This makes me desperately angry.

Don’t get me wrong – I have nothing at all against call centre workers, irregardless of location (in fact, I can understand Indians far better than Glaswegians). In fact, therein lies the problem: you can work yourself up into the most roaring, burning hatred against mankind and all its electronic trappings while the inane hold music tinkles away, pissing wet, tepid sound into your painfully angry head. However, if you’re anything like me, it all starts to melt way into manic English hyper-gratitude when the nice, hugely apologetic lady gets on the line. From that point on, it becomes clear to even idiots like me that Nothing Will Now Be Achieved. But thank you so much for trying – no, don’t worry, I know you tried your hardest. Really, don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Thanks. Goodbye. No, you hang up first! No, you! Oh. She hung up.

See, if that hadn’t been a rather sweet lady called Susan (didn’t realise that was such a popular name in Chennai) I could’ve unleashed the mental – you know, saved myself hundreds in therapy, chocolate and cocaine. Susan would be better off too – less pathetic self-deprecating wankers like me, more time for therapy, chocolate and cocaine. Nobody would lose out, least of all the cocaine barons and therapists. Cadburys would be minted, with whole new foreign markets opening up and Curly Wurlys selling out before they even reach the shelves.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You think you hate that ‘press five’ bollocks. But think again. How about if there were options for stress-relieving services, which would push you just far enough over the edge that you could finally come to terms with your innate humanity? I’d like to be the first to suggest a script (with obligatory jolly-hockey-sticks voice).

Hello, and welcome to Teasmade Revenge. Your call is not at all important to us. Please be aware that all calls may be recorded for comedic purposes. Please select from the following options:
- Press one to stay on hold and listen to a loop of pan pipes being played inside a wind tunnel for the next three hours;
- Press two to speak to someone who you don’t understand and who doesn’t understand you, and who then puts you through to the pan pipes from option one;
- Press three to listen to drowning kittens;
- Press four to enter into a lengthy conversation about the political leader of your choice with a recently-released mental patient;
- Press five to order a bumper-sized roll of bubble wrap and a complimentary Megadeath EP;
- Press six for tips on how to self-harm with one hand whilst on the phone to Virgin Media with the other;
- If you want to find out the meaning of life, say your name, address, social security number, credit card details and the name and intimate measurements of your first sexual partner after the tone, speaking slowly and clearly.

They might as well implement it. It’s not as though you achieve anything by ringing the bastards anyway. At least I got my mobile internet fixed. NO THANKS TO VIRGIN MEDIA.