liabiliteaze

This Journal is now closed.

Anyone who is bothered can see my new blog at pastahatingbitch.wordpress.com

Or, if you are like myself and a complete moron, follow @pastahaterjules on Twitter (or @snakebitejules if the first one hasn't worked).



My reasons for closing are lack of physical access to the internet, which for now makes this account nigh impossible to maintain, as you may have noticed from my lack of updates, ever. Before you get bitchy, I can update Wordpress from my Blackberry chavphone. Plus you're all fucking emos. Bye.

"Hi,Karen here name befor marrage was Whetnall ,from Holyhead Yeah doll :O) ,if you remember me drop by and say hi :O)

im happy go lucky ,loyal and true to my friends and family . my name befor marrage was karen whetnall so if you remember me say hi O).loving facebook .
i work in a cafe in the city i should be like twiggy the running around i do ,but sadly im not lol ."

It pains me that such people exist.

1. Obsess about shoes.
They’re shoes. They get you from A to B, sometimes via C. Unfortunately men have this inbuilt money saving device that prohibits them from giving any kind of second glance to, (or shit about), any pair of shoes. It is abnormal for a man to own any more than two pairs. Whilst this is obviously a gross misconduct to fashion, it does mean they have more money to spend on important things, like, cider and Call of Duty.

2. Tolerate Sex and the City.
This is because of a design flaw in the program which disables men from identifying with any of the needy central characters.

3. Think of ridiculous injustices to parenthood.
Wrongly, men have prevented women breastfeeding or mothering in the House of Commons. Of course, we as women, acknowledge our god given right to whip our tits out at every opportunity and feel absolutely cheated that we can’t be on show during the modification of laws.

4. Feel empowered when dancing.
Men dance because they are naturally arrogant. Men are not about to put the world to rights while dancing. You go, girls.

5. Blame everything on PMT.
This handly little excuse can crop up at any time. “I bought you a Coffee”. “YOU KNOW I ONLY DRINK IT WITH SEVENTEEN SUGAR REPLACEMENTS, I FUCKING HATE YOU, FUCK THE FUCK OFF”. This argument can be easily excused three mins later by informing the male defendant that you are bleeding profusely from your vagina. They don’t want to know (insensitive, amirite?) and therefore, the woman wins. Feel like screaming at someone? Do it, and you’ll still be liked afterwards. No, thank you, God.

6. Appreciate Jude Law.
This is because men were designed with a defect that activates their gag reflexes upon spotting the actor.

7. Overanalyse text messages.
We often discover things that men didn’t even know they’d sent. We are perceptive creatures, and realise that “So you up to much this week?” translates as “OMG WE’RE GONNA GET MAAWWWIED!!”. Bridal sales soared as soon as mobile phones were commonplace, therefore we helped the economy.

8. Achieve old age without feeling the need to own a Porsche.
Vehemently abusing plastic surgery is a much better way of telling the world that you’re fifty and fabulous.

9. Fake an orgasm.
This is only necessary because all women hate sex, we’d much rather be watching Emmerdale and scoffing chocolate. As much fun as an hour long session of rampant sex is, it is simply no match for Dairy Milk and farmers.

10. Know how to create lifelong arguments.
Such things include the toilet seat debate. Created so that there isn’t a constant reminder that men can whizz, anywhere they want. Street corners, phone boxes, the back of the bus. Most inconsiderate when in company of toilet paper needing creatures. Another argument involves Mac computers, because we only really want something oversimplified that looks a bit pretty. Who needs functionality?


I will endeavour to update this a little bit more. I've just been busy, getting drunk and hating everyone. I'm also vowing to make my writing more coherent, I'm sure nobody wants to imagine my dull monotone voice screaming obscenities.

It has come to my attention that even in the supposedly grumpy and private city of Londinium, almost nobody knows how to correctly conduct themselves on the train. So out of the goodness of my heart, I have decided to educate you all. Anyone caught in violation of these rules will be hung, drawn and quartered. Thanks in advance.

1. Do not talk to anyone. You are vastly mistaken if you think that anybody wants to hold a conversation with you or hear about your grandchildren. And no, we do not require anything from the vastly overpriced bar, unless you are offering to pay. In which case you will be condemned to the sector of society known affectionately as the ‘creeps’.

2. The Telegraph? Forget it. Get the fucking Times, or another edition of your favourite newspaper that comes in a train friendly model. Do you really think that we want your sweaty flannel-shirted armpits reaching across us, raffling, rattling and unfolding every friggen page, just so that you can have something mildly interesting to say at Mrs Swandicotes dinner party? Fuck off, and get an iphone like everyone else, and read the bloomin news on that. Broadsheets, (cue family fortunes noise), EEEH EEH.

3. There are some people who like to travel on the trains with such novel inventions called laptops. Why these were not named PERSONAL PORTABLE COMPUTERS I do not know, for recently a large amount of people travelling on the train seem to think that they can just move their eyes glazed with routine over to my laptop, and stare like a pervert. It’s my film, or my document, or my own personal realisation that The Sims is the best game in the world (yes, you can burn them) and I certainly do not wish your uneducated eye to sit there and judge me. How would you like it if I was reading your fricking book? By the way, Jilly Cooper is ridiculously banal, so do not try and culturally educate yourself by watching me dick around on Ubuntu. Thanks in advance.

4. The armrest. The fucking armrest. If you wish to place your arm on this conveniently placed piece of, well, placement, KEEP IT TO YOUR SIDE. Lots of people also use this as a divider, a reminder to the stranger on your right that there are various violations of personal space that could happen, and to politely remind you to consider what these could possibly be. If I feel your elbow in my side, I will ask you to move. At which you will look disconcerted, and slightly taken aback that your elbows innocent invasion has caused so much offense. At which time I will take the liberty to point out that unless you are paralysed, you do actually have full control over every single aspect of your body, and y’know, those little things called nerve endings. So kindly back the fuck off, then you don’t have to hear my dull, isolated, utterly full of contempt contrite remarks as to how you are a moron. After that, feel free to resume thinking about the contents of your husbands dinner, and how happy you are that Amanda finally returned that pesky stapler.

5. Mobile phones are possibly the biggest technological devolvement that is detrimental to our society. If you’re travelling on the train, put the damn thing on silent. They all have silent modes, if you don’t know how to put this into place on your chosen device then you shouldn’t fucking have one. I do not want to hear the damn ‘Nokia Tone’, or whatever shite Tinchy Stryder’s producer has recently developed blazing out of your handbag as you struggle to find it. Are pockets obsolete? Certainly not. My next guide will be to the appropriate use of these handy little things. PUT IT IN YOUR POCKET SO YOU CAN ANSWER IT. After having answered, keep conversation to an absolute minimum. This involves whatever business deal is going down, laughing giddily and cooing as your husband tries to make the baby/cat/granny breathe down the phone, or informing someone that they have to pick you up at Tiverton. Tell them this information once. If they can’t understand the fact that the train is getting in late/early/bang on time (pff) then they probably shouldn’t be driving. Or you probably shouldn’t be married to such a moron. Another nuisance that these hell-makers bring is the fact that spotty pre-teens think it’s hilarious to play their ringtones to each other. And don’t even think about singing along to it. There’s a reason your X Factor application got rejected, and it’s not just ‘cause you’re ugly. You wouldn’t like it if I sat here singing along to Slayer/Children of Bodom/Mr Blobby, don’t put others through the similar fate of Nessun Dorma or The Pussycat Dolls.

6. Always avoid sitting next to the person wearing copious amounts of eyeliner, who may well look like they are going to stab you. Or the person wearing copious amounts of leopard print, who has purchased a rather large quantity of alcohol. For you will get stabbed for a violation of any of the above rules, or just for falling asleep when the highly educated wine wielding wench needs to go to the pisser. Yes, I am referring to myself.

7. DON’T BREASTFEED IN THE SEATS.

8. Always avoid bringing children on the train. Unless it’s absolutely necessary. Which it’s not, for you should either get some more friends to help babysit, or just GET A FUCKING CAR YOU LAYABOUTS. If they are on the train, don’t forget to bring their straitjackets. Never let them run up the carriage, nor take them for walks, nor try and teach them how to do their puzzle books. How are they going to learn if they don’t figure it out for themselves? Dot to dots simply aren’t challenging, unless of course you’re in the Sahara. And if you haven’t taught them to read? Well time is of the essence, and I suggest you get on it, it’s a skill they’ll probably have to learn at some point. The earlier the better, then you can leave their upbringing in the capable hands of The Anarchists Cookbook.

9. You don’t need crisps. Nobody needs crisps. Nor is there anything worse than sitting next to a crisp wielding fatso in previous violation of the personal space thing. Yes, I know they make a crunching sound, KINDLY MUFFLE IT BY CLOSING YOUR FUCKING GOB. For the uneducated, Tyrells ‘posh’ (aka organically grown therefore trod on by cows) crisps smell, and crunch, just the same as Monster munch. Stop being a ponce and just get Walkers. NB; For all crisp manufacturers, stop making ridiculously meaty crisps that stink worse than Jade Goody’s buried snatch.

10. If I can hear the music even when you are correctly wearing headphones, I still don’t want to.

11. Never underestimate the power of deodorant.

12. Being 13, is not, will not, and has never been cool. Please don't bring attention to this fact by taking 'hilarious riiiite?' photos of your current best friend from Geography on the train. I know her face IS hilarious, but she's definitely not going to appreciate those photos on Facebook when she's out of the emo/spotty/cunt phase. And I certainly do not appreciate those awful pig squeals coming out of a mouth reinforced with six foot steel girders.

13. You're all cunts.

All in all, I wish you a pleasant future on public transport.

For anyone that does care, I have made a website designed specifically for angry people. Not the best website in the world admittedly, but it serves the purpose of ranting and guiding the semi-angry. Forums leave alot to be desired. Get on it.

http://morningnapalm.moonfruit.com

...but combining them with cider, cigarettes and chronic masturbation is.

I seriously don't get the obsession with these Massively Multiplayer Online Replacement for your Poo life Games. I appreciate that unlike me, people want to relax and unwind, kill a few level thirty two zorgs while boshing off, but does it really need to take over your whole life? When you're putting off going to Tesco, or having real sex to log on and check up with your guild, YOU HAVE A PROBLEM. Clicking the mouse a few thousand times an hour is not a viable use of your time, especially when you could be doing something better, like passing out in a public toilet in Plymouth. How fun can it be? I mean, I see the appeal of computer games (Civilisation, fantastic, who doesn't want to take over the world?) but, just play it for a while. Fine, seriously, do that. Don't, however, stay up all night trying to level up. And then post about it on Facebook. People don't care. Well I don't, and I imagine that secretly, everyone is like me, they just got lost along the way. I WILL SAVE YOU. So, I shall give you all a hefty list of better activities.

-'Spamming' /b/ with images of Chuck Norris (lol, no-ones sin d@t!)
-Googling Boris Johnson
-Heroin
-Knitting (can upgrade to cross-stitch, if preferred)
-Making Pies.
-Going to the bloody zoo. THE ZOO.
-Sudoku.
-Arguing over discrepancies in Back to the Future.

Some of these require you to get off the computer. It might be hard, but just take slow steps. Baby steps. There is a world out there, and thankfully it's not populated with Orcs. Unless you run into me.

The worst idea ever was putting the inspired phrase 'What's on your mind?' into the Facebook status bar. This is why.



Disclaimer; If you don't want to appear on this list, put some thought into facebook/life. <3

People really are taking this fame thing too far. I have recently come across a program called "Wild Weddings". I'll leave the synopsis to your own imaginations. I watched 5 minutes of it before wanting to tear my hair out and live in a convent. This couple were having a nudist wedding. 'Outrageous'. Just to ensure it got on the television. And all the guests conveniently stripped off too, giving the camera delightful interviews such as "OOOH WELL I ALWAYS WANTED TO TRY IT AND THIS SEEMED LIKE THE PERFECT OCCASION!" How, the fucking CHRIST is it the perfect occasion to rip your keks off and get in tune with yourself? For a start, the brides most likely going to be outshone by some fake titted whore and you've just more or less wasted the few hundred quid on the photographer. You can't bring your bloody nudey wedding snaps into work, or go and show nosey Glenda next door over a cuppa. Luckily for them, if Glenda watches daytime TV (who am I kidding, with a name like Glenda she DEFINITELY does) she'd have already seen the subject of their wedding, and quickly trotted off to B&Q to purchase seven hundred Yale locks for her front door. Good old Glenda.

Also, for the umpteenhundredmillionthgazillionthtrillionthish time, Britain most certainly does NOT have talent, and running yet another shitty talent show of that (or another) name is not going to help anyone find the next big 'star'. Hell, I could have saved you all that money and given you this verdict by looking at the current screenwriters for British television. I mean Outnumbered, really, this is comedy?! Filming Hugh Dennis smearing shit on that kids face would be far more entertaining and certainly take less BBC time and money to churn out better episodes.

I really don't get why people would even bother to audition for Dancing-Pop-Star-Idols-With-Talent-On-Ice. They're just stupid. There is such an abudance of stupid people. And I, am unfortunately, too stupid to come up with a viable solution for this problem that doesn't involve a shotgun or sterilisation. The fucking tone deaf chumps that go on there were no doubt sat there laughing at somebody morbidly overweight trying to sing on the last series, completely oblivious that their quest for stardom is easily as ludicrous as those they mock. And then they cry, and post AngrySadPatheticisms ("ITS JUST A TV SHOW WHY ALL DESE HAT3RZ SNIFF SNIFF :( :( :( XXXX LUV N PEAZ 2 ALL MA REAL FWENDs!!) all over facebook, with all that swirly shit (--+)(::$$$___!!***---`) or however the fuck they do it. I think my first attempt looks like an incorrect battery. Anybody willing/stupid enough to place themselves in the firing line of the media and the chumps at home deserves to be recognised as a fuck up in life at a national level, and should also lose the chance to vote.

We're told from a very young age that we can do whatever we want. Reach the stars. Be an Astronaut. Screw Tom Cruise. But, the truth is that alot of people CAN'T, and will add to this whole depression shiz flying around. So this fifteen minute of fame joke is being conjured up by the media to fill these peoples lives by making them ambitiously sell their fat children to Trisha for the morning, which also makes the general 'ignorants' watch their TV channels. You didn't think they were doing it for the public wellbeing did you? Which, of course, the internet hasn't helped.

*Yes, I am aware that 'ignorants' is not a proper word, but I like it, and it fits within the context. So piss off.