Sometimes I need a filter between my brain and my mouth.
This is not the way to get one.

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

The Acidic Observer, Volume VIIII

First of all, let's get this out the way - the Duchess of Cambridge is in LABOUR! Hallelujah!

This is how I think it's going...

"Oh, bother it all, those contractions are just ghastly, Will dahling..." 
"Can I ask my manservant to ask the servant to get you some Finnish purified ice, Katie, my dove?" 
"That would be spiffy - could you put in the order for my epidural, these pains are positively BEASTLY!?" 
"Certainly, Harrington will fetch the doctor immediately, but it may be a few moments wait while we get the best anaesthetist in the world here..." 
"Stone the crows, motherfucker, get me my epidural now and shut the fuck up! Don't touch me! Rub my back! Get me ice chips! Stop touching me! Did I say stop rubbing my back!? Where's that fucking doctor!? Stop talking! It huuuuuuuuuuuurts!!!!!" 
"...????..."

Now Kochie can stop crossing to a live feed of Mel standing in front of a building trying to grasp for things to say and not look like Charlie at the window of the sweet shop, totally separated from the chummy, joy of those smug bastards on the inside.

Sucks to be the one who jumped ship first, doesn't it Mel?

Anyway, sorry for the impromptu hiatus of a couple of weeks. If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you'll notice we got a new member of the family.

He's a Great Dane, Irish Wolf Hound cross. His name is Loki - after the Norse God of Mischief.

Some people would say we're tempting fate with a name like that.

It's like having a new baby but a shit load worse because I can't make him wear a nappy and he chews everything, including my TOES. It's apparently completely normal - but given that I'm not a dog person, I haven't a fucking clue.

The only positive I can think of is that he doesn't eat his own shit.

Loki is The Man's longed for family pet. The Man has put up with my love of cats, tolerated their tendency to shit outside the litter box when we lived in an apartment, their love of shredding the couch and the armchair in the baby's room and their long memories and the resulting revenge.

So I felt it was only fair for him to finally have a companion of the dog kind.

And he's bloody lucky he's a cute dog, otherwise I'd have an attractive dog skin rug in the lounge.

Speaking of cute, The Man led me to my burn this week by making a passing comment that, according to some woman in the UK, babies have to be more than cute, they also can't be a red-head, to be loved.

Sometimes I think there are people in the world who should be bitch slapped. 

Repeatedly.

Her name is Katie Hopkins and she is a UK reality star. Not that this fact gives me any fucking clue who she is - but if my reality were the same as her's, I'd swallow a cyanide pill and end it all.

Katie is just one of many people who should not be allowed to speak. To anyone. Ever.

She chose to share this gem on Twitter: "Ginger babies. Like a baby. Just so much harder to love."

Hang on...like a baby? How does red hair make a baby anything but a baby? Unless they're an orang-utan - but they are still called BABIES!

Katie, clarify this for me - you're saying that I should stop loving The Jellybean because she has a tinge of the ginge? That somehow she is a sub-standard child because she is lucky enough to inherit the Irish red from my side of the family?

To assume that any child is difficult to love is a shameful thing to say. To assume that a child is difficult to love because they have a hair colour you're not fond of? You're an ignorant, despicable human being.

If I were you, Katie, red hair is the last thing I'd worry about. My biggest concern would be that my dumb-arsery was hereditary and, therefore, my kids would be doomed.

And just in case she didn't waste enough oxygen sprouting that load of crap, Katie continues on in her 'wisdom' that you can clearly identify what 'class' a child comes from, based on their name - and anyone with a 'lower-class' name is not welcome to play with her children.

Well, I don't think she needs to be concerned about the 'calibre' of anyone wanting to play with her children - no mother in the world would let their children be exposed to the offspring of a total fuckwit.

Obviously, Katie hasn't opened a newspaper, gone online, or stepped outside her bubble and realised that a child's name has NO bearing on their background. In case everyone has forgotten, Kim Kardashian named her daughter North West. One famous actor and his wife named their daughter Reignbeau. They have completely butchered the spelling of a natural phenomena. A NAME DOESN'T GET ANY MORE BOGAN THAN THAT! And this kid comes from a background that Katie would sell her cheap, reality TV soul to be associated with.

I find it ironic that the people who have the exposure, have the least to say to improve the world. Or just their own IQ.

Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that but not with all those flies and death and stuff. - Mariah Carey.
I've never really wanted to go to Japan. Simply because I don’t like eating fish. And I know that's very popular out there in Africa. - Britney Spears 
I'm not sure if it's funny or bloody frightening that, even with MENSA candidates like Mariah and Britney in the world, Katie is as close to being insightful as I am being announced as the new Queen of Atlantis.

Which is a shame because I've always thought I'd look good with a crown.






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