Complaint Email To Next Directory: Is Mr Glover There?

To: complaints_department@next.co.uk
Subject: Is Mr Glover There?

Dear Complaints Department

Good evening!  I’d love to have this email disturb you in the privacy of your own home and private time, but I guess I will have to settle for using your formal complaints procedure for now.

First off, I’d like to congratulate your Next Directory team for their persistance.

Despite you telephoning my home EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY – including weekends – and me explaining to your call centre that Mr Glover does NOT own this telephone number and is unlikely to randomly move in with us in the forseable future, you STILL keep calling again!

“Can we speak to Mr Glover?”  Yes, you probably fucking well can, if you’d try calling his number for once!

I don’t know where your call centre is?  Possibly India, but more likely you’ve farmed it out to a pack of retarded mongs who can’t understand a very simple explaination that Mr ‘Fucking’ Glover does not live here, and the equally simple instruction to REMOVE US FROM YOUR DATABASE AND NEVER CALL AGAIN!

You’ll notice I’ve put the key points in capital letters.  I shall also highlight them in bold, and make the font a bit larger for you.

Even getting through to your supervisor or manager when called has no effect.  I think this may be because nobody working your telephones actually knows what a supervisor or manager is?

Whilst it was somewhat amusing watching my girlfriend on Thursday evening trying to spell out the word M-A-N-A-G-E-R to your latest phone spakka, she managed to cut us off before anything was transferred.

This evening (which is a Sunday), I manager to charm your latest operative and got through to Ismail – who is apparently the manager/supervisor/king there.  He’s told me that he’ll leave a message with your Credit Control Department to have our number removed.

So I shall be trying to speak to Ismail again when you useless cunts call us again tomorrow evening.

In this year-long horror story, we have tried several methods to get you to fuck off.  Seriously – listen back to the calls to this number and you’ll hear every tactic from blind swearing rage to pleading, to lies and awkwardness.  we’ve told you we’re on the Telephone Preference Service.  We’ve told you that we will be taking legal action under the Threat Harrassment Act.

You still call us.

I’ll be making sure this email gets exposure through my blogs, because I honestly am at my wits end with you twats.

When you do call back… well, let’s face it, there’s nothing else we can do to stop you, is there?  So we’re done being nice.

I shall sum this up for you just one more time, before we will proper fuck with the heads of your call centre staff, and might even speak to a solicitor or the Police:

There is NO ‘Mr Glover’ living at this address, or using this telephone number: **********.

We DO NOT live at the address of 33 wherever it is.  I should also point out that under the Data Protection laws your staff shouldn’t be giving out a home address to people who have told you hundreds of times that they are NOT the people on your account.

Finally, we do not hold a Next Directory account.  And because you are a load of spasticated cunts who have made my life a misery for the last year, you can be pretty sure that we never will be customers.

Was that too harsh?  How about you ban telephone number ********** from your systems, then?

And for fucks sake don’t give us a courtesy call to tell us you’re finally removing this number from your database, because I’m already exasperated to the point of near incandescence.

Seriously.

Just fuck off and don’t call us ever again.

OK?

Your sincerely

NOT Mr Fucking Glover – the owner of telephone number ***********

Nasty Evil Ninja’s Halloween Blog

You didn’t think I’d let this day pass without bitchslapping it around the back of the head, did you?  You DID?  Shame on you!

I used to like Halloween.  I still do, I guess… but all you fuckers are getting it all WRONG and ruining it!!!

It’s a pagan festival, where in England we all traditionally dress in masks with lanterns and go out and beat Priests and Vicars to death.

OK, so that might not be true, but either way it’s supposed to be scary and fun.

Did you hear that?  SCARY and fun.

Sure, take your kids around to old biddie’s houses and give them heart attacks, and throw a Halloween party, but what in the blue-arsed-baboon FUCK is all this about:

This is your typical Halloween costume these days.  Stupid shit like fairies and Alice-in-fucking-Wonderland and ‘sexy pirates’… fuck, what have ANY damned pirates got to do with Halloween??? 

Ghouls… Werewolves… Witches… ok I’ll give you vampires, and they CAN be sexy, but that’s supposed to be a BY-PRODUCT of the whole vampire thing!  Halloween shouldn’t be about sexy costumes and trying to get laid!  Is it any wonder our kids are all fucking each other from the age of ten with this shit being forced down our (deep) throats?

So, yes, we used to dress up as murderous non-sexy creatures and try to extort cash and sweets from people.  We never took our parents out with us, either!

How the hell are The Big Kids supposed to go out ‘Ghost Busting’* when their parents are stood behind them the whole time?

And when Little Johnny’s string-vested just-out-of-prison Dad is stood glaring at you from the top of your path, you feel strangely inclined to give them lots of money and sweets and a can of Tennants Super rather than tell them to Sod Off and slam the door in their face.

Do they still say “TRICK OR TREAT?” when you answer the door, or is it just a moody “Give.” these days?  And what’s the ‘trick’?

Getting stabbed by a bunch of 16 year old Chavs with their hoodies up to look like ghosts?

Witches… Ghosts… Spiders… Girl Scouts???

It’s not about dressing as a zombie, serial killer or ghost now – it’s about dressing like that slut who should never be allowed out of the bedroom.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m alllllllllllll for that – but I’m not trying to kid myself that you’re dressing for Halloween and not a hardcore fetish porno.

*Ghost Busting – when the Big Kids take the piss out of your costume, beat you up, and/or take all your money and sweets.  It was ‘fun’.

Simoncelli Fatal Moto GP Crash – RIP Sideshow Bob

I woke up late today, having missed the Moto GP race from Malaysia which was screened in the early hours of this morning, and logging onto Facebook was shocked to the core to see a lot of statuses saying that 24 year old Italian racer Marco Simoncelli was dead.

Not fully wanting to believe it, I clicked on a link to the video.  If you haven’t seen the one doing the rounds, it shows Colin Edwards and Valentino Rossi battling it out.  They come around a right-hander, and just before the exit you see Simoncelli come into shot, hanging off to the right of his bike, obviously in big trouble, and he comes straight across from the left in front of Rossi and Edwards.

You see Edwards brake and try his best to tighten his line, but there’s no chance.  He hits Simoncelli directly in the back just before Rossi, alongside him, also hits him in the head…

It was quite similar to the crash which claimed the life of Shoya Tomizawa in Moto 2 last year.

I’m gutted.

This year I’ve grown to really like Simoncelli, aka Sideshow Bob.  He’s exactly the sort of character that Moto GP needed in an otherwise fairly crap year.  I was fully behind him when he had what was blatantly a ‘racing incident’ with Pedrosa, after which a few of the top riders condemned Simoncelli’s riding style.  For what?  Overtaking?  Racing?  Making the sport exciting again???

I think with him becoming the underdog after this it really sealed it for me – he was a new favourite!

And he was really funny in interviews (not just because of his ridiculously huge hair) – telling Lorenzo after he’d had a whinge that he might have to be arrested.

He also had one of those distinctive riding styles that was instantly recognisable.  He was a big lad, so against all the other jockey-sized riders it was knees and elbows all over the place – and of course he was FAST!

Without a doubt he’d have been a championship winner.

It’s a very sad day for the sport.  It’s strange how much it’s hit me, considering I don’t really know him.

My thoughts go out to his friends and family – and also to Edwards and Rossi.  I hope they can find peace with themselves through the tragedy.

I’ll miss watching you, Sideshow Bob – ride free, dude!

EDIT RE FATAL CRASH VIDEO

As mentioned, the first I knew was a Facebook status and a link to the video of the accident.

The video is… a crash video.  Sure, it’s shocking because you know someone lost their life, and being the one to hit them you can bet that Colin Edwards and Valentino Rossi are having a very tough time of it.

A lot of people are instantly getting the footage banned when it shows up (hence me not bothering to try and link to it here) saying it’s disrespectful etc… but why?  There’s no disrespect in watching a great riders final moments, and I’m glad I got to see it, because otherwise I wouldn’t believe it – I just wouldn’t know all the facts.  Watch the video and you can see how tragic it was, and how unavoidable.  It was Simoncellis skill at being able to save the lowside on his knee  that took him back across the track, whereas a less skilled rider would have just been in the gravel… and ironically, safe.

If you don’t want to watch it – don’t.  But don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t be able to see.  Censorship is NEVER a good thing.  This happened in front of millions, and if you think your crusade to stop anyone seeing it will work you’re deluding yourself.  Just don’t watch it.  It’s that simple.

I will watch it again, and I’ll feel the loss just as much.  Right now I’m raising a glass to Marco Simoncelli and toasting a great racer.

How I Got My Head Chomped By A Horse

I’ve always liked animals.

As a bonus, almost all animals seem to like me, too!

But, as any TV presenter will tell you – eventually they’ll randomly try to fuck you up.

When I was a young lad of about 4 or 5, I’d already found this affinity with animals starting to grow. We’ve always had pets of some kind, and there used to be a farm on the road I lived on, so we’d often go for walks to see the animals, and mess about climbing the hay bales in the barns and stuff.

One warm summers day, we went to this farm, and my Mum and older brother were talking to the Farmer, discussing how one of the horses was sick, and other assorted farm-chatter.

I was only half-listening, while I wondered off towards the stable doors that surrounded the main yard.

My nearest horsey-target to stroke was Sugar – a horse getting on in years, but usually quite nice.

So I patted Sugar’s nose, ignoring the ears that were suddenly flat against his head (for non-horsey people, that is a Bad Sign), and vaguely heard someone calling a warning to me that the horse was ‘ill’ and ‘grumpy’.

I ignored it and turned back to Sugar…

Then the next thing I saw was darkness.

To be exact, it was darkness and tonsils.

Then the pain came on its merry way, too.

The sounds of people rushing to my aid was lost on me, as I was more concerned that my head was firmly inside a horses mouth, with big chompy teeth clamped around both cheekbones!

Suddenly there was light again, and I realised I wasn’t dead and could now sob to my hearts content, without having to worry about my head being chomped flat.

I had a perfect imprint of both sets of teeth on both sides of my face for a fair old while after that, although I didn’t find it quite as impressive as everyone else seemed to.

I went off Sugar from that point on, and have to admit I didn’t shed a tear a few years later when he went to that big glue farm in the sky.

So, if anyone ever tells you a horse is ‘grumpy’, and you see those ears flatten – run like Hell!

I’m surprised I’m not traumatised for life!

Sick As A Dog & The Cure

I’ve just been ill for the last… Seven days.  It started with a virus-type feeling with a stomach upset, and just as I thought I was recovering I got slammed with something even worse.  I don’t think I’ve been that ill since I was a little kid.  I guess it wasn’t entirely bad, because I spent a lot of that time suffering from the Trippy-Woo Gaa-Gaas.

I’m not trying for your sympathy here, because it’s hardly like it was life-threatening.  Money-threatening, yes – on an agency I don’t get sick pay, so it’s gone down ‘nicely’ after a holiday and buying an engagement ring.  But none of this is the point of this blog.

For your average cold/virus/infuenza/lurgy, is there REALLY any ‘cure’ that makes the slightest bit of difference?

Everyone reaches straight for the paracetamol, which I don’t think makes the slightest difference.  OK, so the shooting pains I was getting all over my body may have been eased a little, and of course it should work on a headache, but what is it going to do against anything else?  It’s crap.  So we go all Lemsip – basically paracetamol and vitamin C.

Ooh.  Big whoop.

By the time any vitamin C actually gets into your system, anything nasty will be long gone!  Waste of time.

Nasal decongestants are crap.  There are some which used to be legal which absolutely DO work, and are pretty much an instant cure – if you can get hold of them and want to risk being done for taking class B drugs.  And that’s if you can drag yourself out of bed and get down to Druggy Daves bedsit in the first place…

Cough mixture?  Again I’m dubious.  If your lungs are enflamed and you’re coughing up Kermit, how can tipping soothing liquids into your stomach help?  Yeah, I know they’re probably chock full of more crappy useless drugs…

So what are we left with that’s worth anything?

Alcohol?  It’s almost always a winner.  It does everything your other legal drugs do, but also gets you pissed!  And the way I see it, if you’re going to be ill then you may as well be pissed as well!  At the very least you’ll feel better about being ill!

Natural cures again are a bunch of arse.  Honey?  Lemon?  Git art of it!

Chilli works to an extent.  Chomp on a Thai Birdeye and see if that clears your sinuses!  The really hot ones will get you high on an endorphin rush, and they contain more vitamin C than any other fruit.  Of course, they also have a laxative effect, and that won’t go too well with a stomach upset…

Some believe hot chilli will burn out the fever – which reminds me of another method…

When learning Systema, I heard that a the crazy Russians of Spetsnatz have their own cure for general Lurgy.

Every hour or two, they head outside with two buckets of ice water, and tip them over their heads – the theory being that it raises your core body temperature for a few moments and burns out the badness.

I can see how it might be more effective than paracetamol, but can’t say there has been a point over the last few days where I’ve felt capable or willing to do that one.

It would make you a proper hard bastard, though.

Revenge Of The Spiders

Most of you are by now aware of my raging war against my sworn mortal enemy – the spider.

Well, it’s not ALL spiders.  A few weeks back, one of the other Legal Monkeys discovered a small spider on his desk.  He named him ‘Pablo’, and Pablo was a good spiddy, who never caused anyone any harm.

I saved him from the be-gloved hand of the cleaners several times, but whilst on holiday Pablo was brutally drowned in another of the Legal Monkeys can of Coke.

Not long before that I discovered ‘Lifty’ – a house spider who very weirdly would lay on his belly and lift all his legs in the air if you blew on him.

He’d gone before I could get the HD cam out for proper footage the following morning.

Fast forwarding to later that week, another huge (Bad) spider was having a swing around my house, no doubt planning all kinds of hairy-legged badness – and of course, being over the size of a small childs fingernail had to be killed for the sake of all humanity.

As he was a big ole bad boy, I couldn’t risk him grabbing hold of my Ginty Stick and beating me to death, so I drew my trusty air pistol and shot him.

It seems that this filthy great lummox of a spider had some connections, and last night I was the victim of a violation of terrible proportions…

As I sat alone on the couch, watching ‘The Inbetweeners’, I felt a wee itch on my shin.  I idly scratched at it only to feel it itch even more.

Thinking I had a fly up the leg of my jeans, or some fluff or something, I grabbed the leg of my jeans and gave it a good wiggle, and then

A BIG FILTHY GREAT SPIDER DROPPED OUT ONTO THE CARPET!!!

ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!

I think I was sick in my mouth a little with the shock, and the only small pleasure I could try and take from the whole ordeal was watching Legrape The Spider running around in circles as the legs on one side were all damaged where I’d scratched at him through my jeans!

After a while I put a sock over my hand and gently punched him to death.

SCREW YOU, LEGRAPE!!!

SCREW YOU!!!

Crazy Bulgarians, Casinos, and Getting Engaged

Where have you been, NEN? is the question absolutely none of you have asked!

So I’ll tell you all about it anyway!

I went off on holiday for a week in Golden Sands, Bulgaria!  Having got through the week without being kidnapped or sex-trafficked, we’re back happy and loved it… and we’re engaged – but more of that later!

We got a last-minute bargain for the five star Melia Hotel.  This literally lead directly onto the beach, was huge, clean, and had just about everything you could need.

Everybody in the reviews complained about the food in the hotels, whilst it’s also common knowledge that in general food in Bulgaria is excellent – so we took the sensible decision and went Bed & Breakfast, and got out there and found local food from the restaurants.  It was a bloody good move, too.  I’d recommend trying their House Special Pork, shark fillets, and the pancakes!

So Bulgaria – what the Hell is it?

It’s somewhere I’d never even considered before – especially for a seaside holiday!  I was hoping for Croatia, but it seems that’s been ‘discovered’ now and prices are all through the roof.  One look at a few pics of the beaches along the Black Sea in Bulgaria sold it to me!  If you have no idea where it is, it’s near Turkey, so obviously has that kind of Mediteranean climate on the coast, with vast mountains and forresty bits inland which are home to a popular Winter skiing season.  And they have bears!

I decided straight away I was going to give myself a crash course in Bulgarian, even though most of them allegedly spoke-a de Engrish.  Having never even heard a word of it spoken before, I found I soon picked up a fair bit of ‘tourist Bulgarian’, and by the end of the week was pretty good!  It’s well worth making the effort to at least learn ‘please’ (‘MOH-lya’) and ‘thank you’ (‘blag-o-DAH-ryah’), because they appreciate the effort as much as we do when we hear a foreigner speaking our language.  A lot of people said the Bulgarians were moody, but I found after a few words they were very friendly.  It’s just polite, man…

The sun was very hot, but on some days we had a cool breeze and even some clouds to cool things down.  To be honest that was perfect for my blue skin, and I’m now tanned to a very nice whitish colour and didn’t burn ONCE!  They’ll all be sad to see the whitest legs in Bulgaria leaving them.

With the exception of the odd club/bar flyer, we weren’t harassed by ‘Poncho’s handing out/selling crap every ten seconds – unlike in Spain, for example.

Taxi drivers were a different story… One even followed us all the way around, being very rude and aggressive in an attempt to get us into his cab (great tactic there?!).  I used my best Bulgarian to explain we didn’t want him, and thanked him, and even told him we were getting a bus and just wanted to WALK!  He dropped his price to a fare just perfect for kidnappers and murderers, and eventually called me ‘Garbage’ and a ‘Moron’ before pissing off.

On the flip-side, on the way back from the city of Varna, we found the taxi rank filled with riot Police in full gear.  We were offered a taxi from some huge bloke, who we followed as he said he was parked a little down the road because of the Police.  After a long walk through several car parks I’d already advised my girlfriend to run if it wasn’t a fully marked cab or anything went loud… and had freed up my right hand and was sizing the filthy Gypsy-Lummox up ready to smash him and run, when we arrived at his car.  As it turned out he was very nice, and had learned several languages just from driving his cab.  You have to be switched on when you’re using the taxi’s over there, though…

I’d read that the average price for a pint of lager was 0.6 Lev (around 30p), but being in a bit of a tourist trap with no way of even finding the ‘local’ places off the beaten track, we soon found we were paying 4 Lev at most places!  Still good at less than £2 per pint, but a Hell of a lot more than expected, so that hurt!  Meals are pretty much what you want to pay.  My Battered Shark Fillet and chips was 10 Lev (£5), and the most expensive pork in beautiful white wine sauce was a massive 22 Lev.  On our day in Varna city we ate in a Chinese restaurant and cocked up so that we ended up with three HUGE plates of food (easily enough to fill two people each), and with our drinks on top it was under 20 Lev!!!  I believe their average wage is around 200 Lev per month!

I also crossed the casino experience off my Bucket List on our final night.  I cashed in a 50 Lev note, expecting a massive pile of chips, and got one.  Yes – ONE chip.  Being a bit gutted, and feeling a lot lost, I headed to a roulette table and placed it on red.  The Poncho in charge called over the floor manager, and another few Casino Poncho’s also drifted over giving me funny looks.  I won, getting two chips and some strange sounds from the assembled Poncho’s.  I was a bit embarrassed, thinking they were taking the piss out of me for betting so little… As it turns out, I later found out I was supposed to cash in that one chip at the table for a huge stack of chips, which I’d effectively bet the lot of.  No matter – I lost a few games, but won many more to walk away with £150, which I promptly cashed.

Casino’s are very boring places.  That had all taken around 10 or 15 minutes.  We killed more time on the one armed bandit machines before heading off for another few pints of Kamenitza.

I have to admit that I thought Golden Sands was walkable from Sunny Beach and Nessebar (the main resorts), and was a bit gutted to find they were a 2 hour drive away!  Another tip here is NOT to fly to Burgas airport as we did if you’re stopping in Golden Sands.  If we’d got a flight to Varna it would have been 15 mins away rather than 3 hours…

We did bite the bullet and get a day in Nessebar – a beautiful ancient fortification on an island around 800 metres by 400 metres, with cobbled streets, and the ruins of temples and religiousy stuff.

And what better place was there than here, atop some ruins overlooking the blue ocean, to get down on one knee, producing the ring I’d kept hidden all the holiday, and present it to my girlfriend as I told her I’d love her forever, and would she marry me?

EROTIC STORY: “Not Allowed”

She shivered as he pushed his fingertips gently through the hair at the side of her head, his warm palm covering her ear as he pulled her soft lips towards his own, hard at first with hunger, and then softly – like he was tasting a fine wine.

He used the same hand to draw her head back, and she kept her eyes closed for a moment as she held onto the feeling of that kiss, finally opening them to meet his own blue eyes. Usually bright blue, they were almost black now – a sure sign his mind was totally on her and what was to happen next.

The kitchen around them faded, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close enough so that he could bury his nose in her wet hair. He loved the way she smelt when she’d just got out of the shower. The way all her skin felt so soft and warm. Even the ultra-soft white dressing gown she wore.

Sliding a hand inside it, he smoothed his hand up over her belly, fingers caressing the side of her breast as they kissed again.

She pulled his hips into hers, feeling him already hard through his jeans.

Pushing him back, her fingers unzipped his flies.

He grabbed her ass in both hands hard, pulling her to his chest and lifting her up off her feet, sitting her on the cold wood of the table, making her gasp and grin at the same time.

He kissed that grin, opening her gown and sliding it off her shoulders as she dropped his jeans to the floor with his boxers still inside them. She reached for him but he pushed her back down onto the table.

He stripped the shirt over his head, before pulling her roughly to the edge of the table, her legs wrapping around his waist, and his penis dangerously close to her.

Leaning over her, he kissed softly at her breasts, sucking a nipple as she ground herself against his hardness, feeling her moisture spread over his shaft. She squirmed to try and position herself for him to enter her, but he pulled back, standing upright again, but still resting up against her.

“No.” he said through a smile, thrusting slowly forwards so that his whole length ran against hers and back down again.

She moved again, trying to embrace his tip, and let out a small cry as he pulled himself back from her yet again.

Staying between her legs, he grabbed a couple of cushions from the chairs, once more leaning over her – and sliding against her clit again – as he placed them under her head, tenderly kissing her. She felt his dick twitch as he kissed her, and her whole body tensed in frustration and need.

Then he stood upright again, very slowly dragging his fingertips down the sides of her body – tickling her ribs, leaving trails of fire over her hips, moving up and in over her inner thighs. She gasped his name.

His fingers wrapped around his own shaft, and then swirled over his head, spreading her juices over himself. She went to sit up and reach for him, but he gently but firmly pressed on her stomach with his other hand, pinning her back down.

He gripped his shaft and moaned as he ran his cock along her again, slowly, holding himself against her entrance for what seemed like an eternity, and then working his hand steadily up and down. When she glanced up she was surprised to see that he wasn’t looking down there – he was watching her face.

She held the eye contact, and realised how hard she was breathing – and how much he was turning her on. She could see from his face how much she was turning him on, too.

His eyes dropped, looking at her pussy, darting over the curves of her hips and her breasts. His hand stroked at her belly, too where it still rested on her.

But always his eyes sought out her own, and stayed on them for the longest.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted his hands to be hers. She wanted him inside her.

Instead she watched him as he watched her. She wasn’t even aware that she’d been playing with her nipples until she moved her hands slowly down over her body, and it was like an electric surge through her whole aching body as she touched her clit.

He watched her hands travel, and she watched his own hand, moving in that hypnotic motion. She spread herself wide open for him, his cock only millimetres from the wetness that was by now dripping from her.

Her mouth hung open in anticipation, hoping he would take the invitation and plunge himself deep inside her – but also hoping that he wouldn’t.

He didn’t.

She could feel his warmth he was that close to her, and her mind was in overdrive with the teasing.

He felt the same, half crazy with his own need for her, and his pre-cum dripped onto her – something she might not normally notice, but her and now she convulsed, her legs dragging him against her, and she cried out loudly as his cock again touched her clit.

But he pulled away again – his smile lost this time in his own pleasure. She fought desperately against her orgasm, and held herself right on the brink. His hand working up and down so close to her…

He was close, too, his eyes half closing, and as she reached between her legs again to open herself to him, he came hard, back arching as his stream shot over her, some shooting into her wet hole as she crashed into her own orgasm with one slightest touch at her clit.

He looked down at his cum over her belly. It was so sexy.

Heavily flushed, she lifted herself into a sitting position, and this time he embraced her, kissing her shaky mouth as they held each other tightly – neither having any words that could say more than the post-orgasmic shudders that hit their trembling bodies in waves…