Jim Fitzpatrick: Morons, Hail Your King

"What it says is that drivers should remember they have to concentrate and they shouldn't be distracted either by passengers, by loud music, by reading a map, or using a mobile phone or by smoking.

If you're lighting up with one hand and have a fag in the other hand then obviously you've not got any hands on the wheel.

So I think what we're saying is concentration is very important in the prevention of accidents."

This man is a dunce, and would clearly be better able to serve the country as a footstool to help old age pensioners get tins of soup down from high places. He'd probably be really bad at it and manage to kill off a few of the old dears and do a bit for the pension crisis that Labour like to keep quiet about.

You have to admire his childlike perspective on the world though, where people need two hands to light a tab, presumably waving them around wildy like a demented double windmill until by some happy chance the flame and paper finally meet. I am also quite impressed to see he can at least count to two, which I assume is double that which the Scots cunt who claims to run the country now can manage.

Would you like to know what the actual biggest safety risk on British roads is? The fact that single braincelled organisms like this are able to hold a driving license, never mind a position of responsibility in road safety. Is he using both hands to change gears? Pressing the clutch pedal with a stick because he's run out of feet? The people should be told.


EDIT: I missed this link the first time round. Skip to about 25s in, and the ever giving Mr. Fitpatrick will advise you incorrectly on driving position and cigarette lighting process. Time to fuel up the elephant gun.

Rambling Diatribe 6: FW: FW: FW: RE: FW: RE:Paedophile's Rock!!!!

Let's start simple, or at least, with the simple...


Well thanks for that fucking advice, it could be improved though. How about:


It has a nicer ring to it, I think. You do realise that email costs electricity, which is made by setting fire to trees, right? I've done some maths to help out...

Cost per email of the 13 word signature (assumes email sent during peak hours, not off peak when there is juice to spare anyway) (in standard tree-fucker units, CO2s) = 0.0005 CO2s.

Cost of all the people in the world who actually print emails, or have ever printed all their emails, printing all their emails = 0.0000 CO2s*.

That's right; you're fucking up the environment with your lovely little bit of patronising cock. I for one salute you. And by "salute you", I mean I just printed out a ream of emails.

Did I need to print them? No.
Did I need to piss all over them? No.
Did I need to set fire to them in the back garden? No.
Did I need to leave them out there for a week so that a family of hedgehogs camped underneath? No.
Did it make me feel pretty fucking good? Yes.
Did I eat the hedgehogs afterwards? Sort of.

There's a pretty specific level of intelligence required to be able to spot that printing emails would harm trees, yet fail to realise that nobody ever does that anyway. In IQs (a fairly scientific term when compared to CO2s), you score a 4. Which is the same as two old socks.

Coincidentally, this is also the maximum level that can allow one to hold down a tough job in today's modern office as a Forwarder. Before the invention of the internet by Al Gore (better known for inventing Global Warming), these people used to be sited in HR departments, toiling day and...well...until 5pm sharp at making sure no work actually got done, anywhere, ever. But no more. With the popularity of email for work as well as sending stupid fucking pictures of cats which can talk Pidgin for no obvious reason, these hideous, terrible drains on everything good in the world can branch out into preventing work being done...as Forwarders.

• Can you CC up to ten people on an email, using only your fingers and a computer?
• Do you have the kind of mindset that could abbreviate the word "await" to "a/w", having used it so frequently that writing five letters becomes tedious?
• Could you insist on communications between people passing through you and only through you, no matter what the inconvenience to all concerned?
• And would you then bravely not pass on these communications for hours on end, instead waiting for the optimum moment to send on vital information, finger hovering, poised above the send button like an eagle filled with idiocy instead of blood?
• Can you copy and paste?
• Would you be able to add "further information from X", or "further questions from Y" to a missive?
• But swap the X and Y for names and/or company names?
• Unless there are people called X and Y, in which case don't worry.
  
• Are you a complete fucking waste of space, shit-city, clown-shoe cunt?

I'm guessing not. Most people can't hack it. But those who can, become Forwarders.

The nature of my work puts me into contact with these things on an all too regular basis. My favourite sport is to look down the email chain and pick out the end recipient of the emails and send directly to them, CCing the ForwardBot on the message. This sends them into a loop where they cannot work out who to Forward on to and their vaginas explode (both sexes of Forwarders have vaginas) in a blur of ice, snow and stupid.

There really can't be that many jobs in the world that could be made redundant by changing the To field on an email. Back to HR and fucking up Satan's payslips for you, I say.


*There are a number of people in existence** who would happily print all their emails. Oddly, they either don't know how to work email or they don't get any.
** For now, that is.

Shit

I'm starting to get pretty sure that I shat on God's pint or spilled his girlfriend in a previous life.

> I'm taking a leak in the urinal at work. It's just before lunch.
> I hear an unusual clicking/rattling noise*.
> Concerned for the safety of Little Peter, my most prized possession, I look down.
> A button has fallen off my boxers into the urinal.
> It is caught in the plastic filter thing. 1-0 to God.
> It won't wash down, no matter how hard I try.
(And I nearly blew out my temple-veins, I was fighting so hard to avoid the inevitable).
> Ok, I have to go fishing. Let's do this before someone walks in.
> I think to finish off the flow first. 1-1 to Peter.
> I know you've wondered before. Porcelain is cold, even mere seconds into the post-piss phase.
> I remember to wash my hands. Yes, even the left one. 2-1 to Peter.
> I forget to fasten flies. For a few hours. I guess we'll call that a draw.

So how does it feel to be a marionette for an angry God? Not that bad, actually. Although I'd expected a lot more paedo-bumsex based on observations of my peers.

*Not that there are any usual clicking/rattling noises when I'm pissing, ladies.