Letter Of Resignation

As resignations seem to be the theme of the day…
Dear Humanity,  It is with a heavy heart that I am writing to you to resign from the human race.

Dear Humanity

It is with a heavy heart that I am writing to you to resign from the human race.

As humanity is day by day proving itself to be a an unending shower of bastards, I have decided to stand alone under my banner of non-corporeal, malevolent entity. The fleshbag that currently acts as Host Body is inconsequential as he belongs to a race which doesn’t deserve the ball of miracles on which it resides.

You’ve done some good things, humans. Medical advances, moments of dazzlingly beautiful love and acceptance, cake. None of it changes the fact that day by day you sadden me with your constant attempts to destroy yourselves.

You rail against one another because of race, colour, religion, sexual orientation. You invented the concept of time and then waste that time on hatred. You broadcast I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here. Seriously, you send a bunch of Z-listers to a jungle and watch them eat scorpions and wipe their arse with poison ivy and call it entertainment. It’s a shame the dinosaurs didn’t last longer because most of you could do with a bloody good devouring.

This morning, I skipped through countless images of captured tweets and Facebook statuses, all of them recounting truly horrible stories of racist attacks on the streets of the United Kingdom (a name dripping with irony), all undeniably linked to the recent Brexit vote.

The entire Brexit situation is a point against the human race anyway, given the constant showers of shit from both sides of the argument, not to mention the fact that the word Brexit sounds like a shitty breakfast biscuit bar.

It doesn’t matter whether you voted Leave or Remain. Not at this particular moment in time. What matters is that we took what should have been a simple, democratic process and turned it into a slanging match. Not all Leave voters are racists. Of course they’re not. Sadly, the success of the Leave vote has given the racists a confidence boost. 

It’s all fucked and I want no part of it, so i’m stepping down. No more humaning for me.

Yours, angrily
Al. X

 

Dads Can Do Shit Too

Look at the state of this….

TryMyKitchen

“Hey kids, your mum cooks right? Bet your dad doesn’t? Bet he sits on his ass looking like a crap, Rab C. Nesbitt tribute act, huh? Eating pizza, drinking beer and failing, because he’s a dad and not a mum? Dads are shit! SHIT! DADS SUCK BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO VAGINAS!”

I may be a tad oversensitive about this issue, but it really bugs me. I hate people asking if i’m “babysitting” my own children. I hate people saying things like “I’m sure Mummy can fix that for you” when i’m sat with the children and she’s out changing the oil in the car.

I once, while out and about with my brood, genuinely heard an old woman in a bus queue say “I expect it’s takeaway tonight then!” when The Short Ones told them they were having a daddy day as mummy was working. I took great pleasure in telling this octogenarian arsewit that we were headed to the shops whilst out to pick up some nice prosciutto to pep up the lasagne I was making.  I honestly don’t think she believed me.

161e7a

As a man, i’ll never be able to appreciate what it’s like to live in a society which has for years been dominated by my gender, at the expense of female rights. I won’t argue with that. I will say though that on this subject, the great sexism pendulum has swung toward men and stuck there.

That said, the main reason we papas are constantly told how shit we are is because we live in a world where we’re expected to be out winning bread. I’m not sure where one wins bread, if i’m honest. Maybe a really shit village fete?  I digress…

MakeItRainBread

The point is, world, that Dads can do shit too. Marital Unit, bloody wonder that she is, set off for work at half seven today. She’s a nurse, so she is out there right now, caring for the sick, being amazing. While she does that, i’ll be home. I’ll tidy the kids rooms, with their involvement because I believe in teaching them to keep their own shit together, of course. I’ve already made them breakfast, they’ll have a nice, healthy lunch later and then I might take them out for tea. We’ll head to town on the bus, grab a bite and then go watch guys in costumes beat piss out of each other at the cinema, because my kids have been raised to know the difference between reality and fiction and Captain America: Civil War is in town and looks incredible.

I’ll parent the shit out of today and i’ll do all of it while being a big, useless, penis-having dad, ’cause #DadsCanDoShitToo.

T’was the run up to Christmas

Bad Santa
T’was the run up to Christmas and, lo and behold,
thousands of folks trudging out in the cold.
Their hands and feet frozen, the wind in their eyes.
they scrambled to get to the last few Mince Pies

The slow and infirm were trampled in the scuffle
to get to the last box of cheap Belgian truffles
While countless poor souls were lost in the fight
for a bottle of wine, to toast Christmas night.

Suddenly, the crowd spun around with a yell
and charged all at once, like a pack out of Hell.
They bashed and they battered, they pushed and they shoved
For word had got out, “M&S!” “Sale on gloves!”

“My granny would love them”,”Forget her, their mine!”
“LET ME THROUGH, LET ME THROUGH!”,”OI! Back of the line!”
From my vantage point, by a display of ties,
I witnessed the horror with my very own eyes

As each shopper vied for a place in the queue
A little old lady hobbled into view.
I cried out a warning but alas, she heard not
and was trampled to naught but a small, greasy spot

Now dashing and darting, now punching and kicking
Biting and gouging, eye poking, ear flicking
I saw one woman wield a small boy, like a club
and I watched as the poor lad started to blub

So, twas a mercy, when she swung with such might
that he slipped from her hands and flew out of sight
(He was found, safe and sound, some thirteen days later
in a display of cardigans, near the escalator)

Without her weapon, she was soon overcome
By a tag teaming granny and stay-at-home mum
With a zimmer frame shot to the side of the head
and a kick to the ribs, they left her for dead

They fought tooth and nail over jackets and sweaters
to answer the wishes of loved ones Christmas letters
While, in the background, the Christmas muzak plays
the same track repeated for twenty-odd days.

Son against daughter, father against mother
they beat seven Jingle bells out of each other
charging through the store like stampeding cattle
soon, the shop Santa was drawn into the battle.

He leapt from his stage, with a blood curdling yell
and upon the crowd of naughty shopgoers he fell.
He had such broad shoulders, with arms like two trees
and a right hook which would bring a Clydesdale to it’s knees

A fearsome sight in his suit of bright red
he hoisted one old dear right over his head
and with a dark chuckle, brought her down through a stack
of cut price DVD’s, snapping her back.

At the sickening crunch, the shoppers took pause
such was the wrath of this store Santa Claus.
“YOU’VE ALL BEEN NAUGHTY AND NOW YOU’RE ON MY LIST!”
They could tell without doubt, Kris Kringle was pissed…

And so, boys and girls, the moral of our story
is to be kind to others, or face an ending most gory.
And I heard Santa roar, as I ran for my life
SOD IT, NEXT YEAR I’LL STAY HOME WITH THE WIFE

Merry Christmas everyone.

…I am losing my patience…