How To Ruin A Great Meal: Garnish Wankers



How To Ruin A Great Meal: Garnish Wankers


So, you’re all relaxed, sat there hungry and awaiting the meal you’ve just ordered with eager anticipation.

The waitress brings out your plate, and your mouth waters as the aroma of the wonderful food hits you.

You pick up your knife and fork ready to tuck in…

But, wait a second…

Some cunt has left half a holly bush on top of your fucking expensive meal!!!

Welcome to the shitty world of garnish.

“Top quality meal?  Ooh, suits you, Sir!  Let me just some shitty leaves on it for you that you can’t eat anyway because they’re fucking poisonous.”

How about I drop the nut on you, you cunt-wig?

I went out today, and ordered an apple and rhubard crumble.  Imagine my surprise when they brought it out with two huge fucking great stinging nettle leaves on the top!

In Spain a few years back with my fiancee, we’d discovered an awesome beach-side coffee shop.  Every day we went there for the best damned iced latte you’ve ever tasted.

One day, seemingly at random, our orders came covered in raw coffee beans.  I wasn’t sure why?  Maybe this was some reward as we were giving good tips?

I had a chomp of one, and all was revealed.  Fucking garnish.

Inedible bastard junk that posh twats obviously insist on.  It tasted like I’d poured some fucking Nescafe instant granules into my mouth.

Way to ruin things, Spakkos!

Is that what garnish is all about?  The servers are jealous that you’re able to afford their food, and so try to ruin it for you?

They never garnish food with something you’d actually like – like bacon!  Why the fuck don’t they garnish food with bacon and good stuff?

Sometimes the shit they put on is made of plastic!

All it does is makes it look like you’ve dropped the damned food.  Why the fuck would I want to have to pick shit off before I can even eat it?

Fuck off with the garnish you pretentious arse-clumps!

Or how about I start garnishing your fucking money with a well-formed lump of turd when I pay your over-priced bill, you cunts?




Don’t Bother Watching The News – It’s Not For You!

Don’t Bother Watching The News – It’s Not For You!

I make no secret of the fact that I very rarely watch the news on TV, or even read newspapers.

People give me funny looks if I say that, because they think I’m ignorant and out of touch. Everyone should watch the news, right?


I’ll tell you exactly what the news is. A load of crap they spoon feed you to meet their own agenda. They want to desensitise/sensitise you and make you think they way they want you to. Oh, yes – now I’ve written that down I’m checking my own head to see if I’m wearing a foil hat! I sound like a bloody nutter, but I’m going to have to stand by it!

When I do watch the news either one of two things happens: I get angry or I get depressed.

My anger might be at the way some Dictator is slaughtering millions etc, but is more likely to be how they are blatantly missing huge chunks of the story which may change the whole thing completely. For example, a ‘Merkin friend recently put a link on Facebook about how some poor soul was savagely beaten by some Evil Police officer. Terrible. Shocking!

But wait… however ‘bad’ the Police are, you won’t get them handing out a proper ass-whupping to someone who’s totally innocent. Exactly WHY was this ‘innocent’ person in their line of fire? Had they threatened to dismember the Officers family? Spat in his face? Raped a 3 year old girl repeatedly?

Fuck you for trying to tell me how should think! Give me the whole story and then let me decide, because I KNOW some people NEED to get battered by the Police! The world would be a much better place!

If it’s not some ‘shocker’ (not the hand movement) story, then it’s something depressing. Something we can’t do a damned thing about, and so what the Hell is the point or worrying about it? Oh, they’re fucking us over with more tax? Go ahead – you’re going to do it whatever I do about it! Knowing our leaders don’t have my best interests at heart won’t advantage me in any way.

Psychopath went all mental and shot a load of people?


No, wait, you fucking morons! How about BAN ALL PSYCHOPATHS instead??

Or a celebrity has done WHOGIVESAFUCK?!??????

This stuff either doesn’t affect you, or affects you in a way you can’t do anything about anyway.

I have my own little world and my own life. I have my friends and family to worry about, and wondering whether I can afford to get to work because all my fucking wages go towards paying for cunts who never work to be given everything for free because they had 6 babies and a ganja habit they’re on the Jeremy Kyle show for.

Are you actually happier being an avid watcher of the news? I doubt it very much.

The big stories still filter through to me, so I’m not totally out of touch, but the truth is I very rarely care.

Should I?

Although, give me a newspaper for just 30 minutes, and I’ll have another 10 blog rants for you!

EROTIC STORY: “Holiday Make-up”

EROTIC STORY: “Holiday Make-up”

It was a stupid fucking argument.

They were in the sunny paradise of Spain, and supposed to be enjoying their first holiday abroad.

“I’m sorry.”  She said through her pout.

“Me too.”  He agreed, as she slid her arms around him and he returned the gesture.

He kissed her quickly but softly on the lips, looking down at her pout and finding it strangely sexy.  He closed his eyes and lowered his lips back to hers – still softly but lingering this time, the heat of the sun warming one side of them as they stood in it’s glare just inside the hotel room.

She felt him instantly growing hard against her – hardly surprising considering the holiday sun, and the lack of sex they’d had these last few days.

His hands ran all over her back, sending shivers up her spine as he traced a line across her shoulder blades.  She gasped and her body sagged slightly against his.

Shuffling her feet back slightly, her legs found the couch and she lowered herself onto it, still looking deeply into his eyes as her fingertips ran over his broad shoulders, down his arms, until their hands found each others.

He leaned down and kissed her again, harder now, as he knelt on the floor between her legs.

His hands ran up her bare legs, from the knees, raking his nails lightly and slowly all the way up to her hips, sliding under her sarong as he did.

She bit down on the side of his neck as he pulled her hips into him.

Clearly feeling his hard shaft through the thin material of his shorts and her bikini bottoms, she ground her hips so that he was touching her in the perfect place, her clit throbbing and the material there already soaking with need.

As she moved her hands down his back, sliding them under the waistband of his shorts and grabbing his ass, he deftly tugged on the ties, and the feel of the smooth top sliding off her nipples made them grow even harder.

He pushed her shoulders back and moved his mouth down to her breasts, licking and sucking each in turn, gently biting her nipples, but all she could feel was his hard cock as she wriggled her hips against him, her nails scratching at his back as she tried to pull him harder against her.

She leaned back on the couch and he shifted himself as his soft kisses ran down her stomach, but she stopped him there, pulling his face back to hers and slipping his shorts down to expose him.

“Do it now…” she breathed, a shudder in her voice just with the anticipation.

They both looked down between them, her finger hooking the bikini to the side, his guiding his penis, sliding it’s head against her opening, his glistening pre-cum joined by her slick wetness as he coated his tip, both gasping and groaning with the sight and feelings.

One hand still around his shaft, he guided himself once more to her entrance, between her fingers which now held herself apart for his entry, and she cried out as it came easily as he sank into her as far as he could.

He used one hand around her lower back to keep her tight to him, and as they kissed again she moved with him deep inside her, feeling him throbbing as she squeezed him.

At last he pulled back, hands running over her thighs again as he worked up a steady rhythm with her, hard and deep with them both trying desperately to hold back.

He felt her nails tear into his back as she reached the edge, and as he kissed the side of her neck he smiled as he noted the flush there.

He pushed her back on the couch, still kneeling in front of it, and hooked his hands under her shoulders.

She liked to feel his weight on her, and as his thrusts got harder and faster she heard herself cry out as she came, and she felt him tense as he came deep inside her, too, slowing his movements to a tender pace, delivering a few soft, quick kisses to her as he brushed her hair away from her face so that he could smile down at her.

He pulled out of her, and embraced her again as the both stood up.

“Uh-oh,” He said, “The cleaner won’t like that.”

She turned and followed his gaze towards the large wet patch on the couch.

Using her foot whilst holding him for balance, she nudged one of the cushions over the stain.

“There – no-one would ever know!” she said playfully.

“Let’s go to the beach.” he said, taking her hands and kissing her again.,sex,bite,fun,hot,sexy-f492d204a98fa37825b0455790457c00_h.jpg

ARDS Test: Following My Childhood Dream To Be A Racing Driver

ARDS Test: Following My Childhood Dream To Be A Racing Driver

From my earliest memories, I always wanted to be a Racing Driver.

Well, that and a Bounty Hunter – and as I’ve been a Surveillance Operative/P.I. I’ve pretty much covered that one.  But didn’t get to shoot Bad Guys.

After riding sportsbikes for 12 years, and having blogged about the bike trackdays, you’d be forgiven for expecting me to be banging on about getting my bike racing license here – but no!  This is the ARDS National B License for four wheels!

I’ve only been driving cars for 2 years, but found straight away that I enjoy driving almost as much as riding a bike.

The thing is, I’ve crashed bikes and know it hurts!  Whilst I am pretty quick on two wheels (on road and track), I’m not going to push my limits into the kind of realms where I might be looking at actually racing.  Trackdays for bikes, whatever they try to claim, ARE racing, anyway!  You thrape the Hell out of your bike, try to be the fastest in every session, and the only thing missing is a trophy for anyone at the end.

I’ve never driven anything faster than a 14 year old Honda Civic Sport, but have done any advanced training I could grab, such as learning from Police/Pursuit trained drivers to a Skid Control course as soon as I’d passed my test.  I’ve done karting and am pretty fast there, too, but am under no illusions that drifting a kart will bear any resemblance to hammering a full-size car on a circuit.

I’ve grown up around the racing scene – namely the 750 Motor Club, as my Step Dad (Glenn Hay) raced Formula Vee single seaters.  He still owns several cars – one is being run currently by Rob Cowburn – but as he’s looking at racing again himself, and my sister Michelle Hay also passed her ARDS license a few years back he might run out of spare cars before I get enough cash to be able to try a race myself!

Doing a bit of research online, it seems first you have to buy the ‘starter pack’, which contains loads of useful info for the budding racing driver including a handbook of contacts for various ‘stuff’, a DVD to prepare you for the test itself, and the application forms.

The practical test and written test are done together on a half day course at just about every circuit, with most costing around £300.  That’s for a written test to show you can do everything safely and know the flags etc, and then you use their cars to hammer around a track and show the instructors that you can be trusted on track to not kill everybody around you.

It seems Silverstone also offer a whole days course for £400 – which includes all the above plus a lot more track time in the morning including more skid control training.  This option seems like a bargain for another £100 over the half day – especially as you get to use their Caterhams, rather than what appear to be things like Honda Civics and Peugeot Hairdressers at the other tracks.  I quite fancy a blast in a Caterham!

You also need to find a Doctor to give you a full medical examination – this is around £100 and I’m not happy about it!  Some people have told me you can get it done for half this, so it may be worth shopping around.

Assuming you pass all that, you just get the application forms back (there might be another fee here), and they send you your shiny new National B Race License in return!

And then the first step of the childhood dream is in motion!

I shall do a series of blogs about each stage of my application for anyone who’s also interested in doing the ARDS test, and if you have any more info or tips please feel free to post a comment!

You can get the initial pack from these two sites:


Complaint About Morrisons Lettuce

Complaint About Morrisons Lettuce

Dear Morrisons Customer Services

I should have written this months ago, when things started to get really bad, but after walking into your Bromsgrove store once again tonight on my weekly shop, I realised my comment of “Let’s get some mouldy lettuce!” should probably account for something.

Wheeling my trolley into the ‘green’ section, as per usual I looked down to find your finest array of iceburg lettuces.

Now, the picture may not do them justice, so to help you out in understanding my recurring dismay, please picture in your mind a herd of young snotty kids on a big grass field. This field, due to our recent weather, is very muddy. The kids are the rough sorts you know are never going to become Doctors or have a proper bath. It’s not that they can’t afford a football, but your finest organic iceburg lettuce is an absolute bargain at £1.30, so they’ve decided to use this as a football. They play for hours every day, the beautiful green lettuce bouncing around bringing tears of joy to their filthy little pre-borstal faces.

After around 6 months of this, they then return the finest organic Iceburg lettuce to your bromsgrove store, where it retains it’s £1.30 price tag.

And that’s where I find it. Every. Single. Week.

I’ve gone shopping on different days, just on the off-chance that you actually get all your fresh lettuces in the day after my normal shopping day, but they all still look like some tramp has rummaged through the bins to get them.

This one I bought tonight (seriously – this is the best one that I had to purchase), in case you are colour blind, is still partly green. Normally, I’d expect this would be the kind of ‘fresh’ produce a supermarket would throw in the bin, but not Morrisons Bromsgrove!

Oh, no!  This is still good!  To be fair even the usual ones with a few days left on them are as bad (this was taken on Monday 16th):

Good for what, I’m not entirely sure? Goal keeping practice for stigs?



Sure, I understand that the organic hippies are against anything that might preserve foods, but does this really mean that we can’t even BUY a damned lettuce that isn’t speckled with death from the start?

I’m pretty sure that even before supermarket chains had huge express distribution networks I used to be able to buy lettuce that was green at the start and might even last a whole week in the fridge?

And you charge us £1.30 for this mouldy bin-fodder?! OK, so not this time, as in your usual efforts to shift decaying food, you’ve dropped the price a whopping 30p!

Could you please explain to me why we should find this acceptable, and also why things have been this way and getting worse for at least the past 6 months?

Do you find all your lettuces in the local graveyard, amongst the old flowers next to the water tap?

If not, you may want to get your people to have a rummage through there, because I’ve seen much fresher produce composting away there!

I shall pack as much lettuce into a sandwich as I possibly can, after having binned 90% of your ‘fresh’ one to find some green – that way I might get that sweet lettucey taste just briefly before I have to throw it all away.

Please do something. This is about the only allegedly green thing I eat in my diet.

Yours faithfully,

Nasty Evil Ninja, aged 35 1/4


Well, not expecting any reply at all, 13 minutes flat from emailing the random CEO I found a contact for, he’s replied!  THIRTEEN bloody minutes!  So it looks like I’ll be getting my £1 refunded and some investivation done!

EROTIC STORY: “Not Allowed”

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 her. 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 to 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…

Damaging The Small Bones

Damaging The Small Bones

Whilst pounding an attacker through the wall with some hoofing great oki-wakka-smakka is satisfying and looks impressive, the reality is that most conflicts can be ended just as swiftly by damaging the tiniest of bones.

You’ll know by now how I’m an advocate of letting your opponent break his own hands when he tries to hit you (by simply raising your elbow up to protect your face), but sometimes you need to be a bit more proactive.

I once read that it takes 3600lbs of pressure to crush a bone down its length, but only 8lbs of sideways pressure to snap it.  This of course depends on the bone, and muscle/fat/tendon coverings naturally strengthen things up, but you get the impression – hit a bone the right way and it’s pretty easy to break it.

Punching or kicking someones hands gets good results – especially if they haven’t made a fist.  Fingers are easy to snap or dislocate, as are the bones running down the back of the hand (which are also rich with pressure points and nerves), and even the wrist itself.  Even if they have made a fist you can do serious damage, and if you damage someones hand they go right off trying to punch you, at least!

Most self-defence instructors will teach you to stomp on the tops of their feet.  It’s good, but if you miss you might jar your own leg.

The nose is an obvious small bone to go for and most will break very easily.  Take it from me that breaking your nose is not nice.  First it blinds you, and then most of the time just as the pain is kicking in you’ll go into uncontrolable fits of sneezes.  This is EXACTLY what you want when blood and bones are already hanging out of your snout, and if there is a Creator then rest assured I will bitchslap them if I ever meet them just for having put me through this several times.

Anyone who’s watched Mixed Martial Arts like UFC will think it’s easy to snap peoples arms and stuff when they’re grappling, and that’s a myth we need to bust right now!  When you’re grappling with someone – especially if it’s a streetfight where their life may depend on it – all the adrenalin kicks in and gives you both near superhuman strength.

You can’t just grab someones arm or leg and twist it until it snaps.  This is where you DO need lots of proper training to make things work.  If you don’t have a properly trained background then you’re going to look silly and waste all your energy.  Watch any live Police-type show and you’ll see just how tough it is to get a proper lock on your average Joe Pisshead.

What WILL work in grapples is the stuff that’s banned from UFC and almost all MMA sports fighting – and that’s small joint manipulations.

Grab hold of just one of their fingers or toes with all your strength and wrench that bastard until it pops off in your hands!  If you manage to get hold of two of their fingers rip them apart and split their hand in half all the way up to their wrist.  Repeat until they let you go or you run out of bits to pull off them.

So this isn’t ‘easy’ stuff to win a fight for you, but if you’re already in the heat of combat and need things to sway the odds in your favour this is the kind of stuff that they ban in sports fighting for good reason – it works.

“And then gently holding her thong to the side, he slid inside her…”

I used to be one of the main instigators for ‘Sex Blog Thursday’ on MySpace – where everyone would contribute by posting an erotic story or poem.  It’s quite shocking to think that it all ended 5 years ago, now!  Since then, I’ve been threatening to re-post some of the erotic short stories I wrote for this, but with most of my alias being now known through Facebook and stuff, I was too scared.

With the suddent spurting all over the scene by E L James and the ’50 Shades of Grey’ books, erotic fiction has now gone mainstream!  So, much as I tried to do with SBT, I’m going to post some of my erotica again to balance things out, and hopefully show that to be ‘erotic’ doesn’t mean you have to include bondage, spanking, and showing dolls up your arse to write something sexy.  You might even find some humour in my stories, too!  And so why not plunge in slow and deep with this one:

“And then gently holding her thong to the side, he slid inside her…”,girl,hand,jeans,meaningful,panties-d166b3771a761299b556d02a9af5e38b_h.jpg

Yeah, they were bad – but as his finger stroked her own juices over her clit for the first time, neither of them cared.

With her parents in the room above them, only her gentle sigh broke the silence of the house, and she twisted next to him on the couch so that he could move his hands easier beneath her skirt.

He kissed her hard, one arm around her back as his other hand worked deep beneath her black lacy underwear.  The curve of her hips always seemed designed for his hands, and he pulled her tighter towards him.

Breaking off the kiss with another gasp, her hair fell forward over her face as her hands scrabbled at his trousers.

He took the moment to deeply inhale the clean smell of her hair, her perfume topping it off as she released him to the cool air in the room.

She pushed him back firmly as her hot lips slid over him, tongue flicking at him, only taking him in her mouth for a few strokes before he sat back on the couch herself.

He smiled, slipping off the couch to his knees, a hand on each of her spread thighs running up to move her skirt higher, then pulling her hips sharply towards his own as he shuffled closer between her legs.

She hooked a finger around the delicate material of her thong, and pulled it to one side, watching his face as he followed her fingers.

No further invitation was needed, but the hushed “I want your cock” sent tingles down his spine just as much as the feeling of his tip against her warm wetness.

He slid slowly and deliberately all the way inside her, watching himself sink into her, and only looking up to see her head thrown back in ecstasy when he could push in no further.

He held himself there, and then lifted her hips off the couch, pulling her even more onto him, watching her face intently.  He lowered her as he slowly slid all the way out of her, her eyes flicking open to meet his for a fleeting second before he thrust quickly and deeply into her, lifting her with his hands again.

This time she cried out, biting the knuckles of one hand to stifle the cry, and grabbing at his arms.

Leaning forwards over her as he fucked her rhythmically, his hands moved to her breasts, and hers clawed at the back of his shirt.

She pushed him away from her, and turned herself so she was on all fours bent over the couch.

He pulled her thong to the side once again, before grabbing her hips hard and plunging into her again, slowing as the couch creaked, then speeding up again, unable to stop themselves as she pushed back hard against him with each thrust.

Both sweating now, she turned back around, arms around his neck as they kissed and moved with each other.

She buried her face against his shoulder to stop herself from crying out, feeling his body starting to tense up, and that’s when the bedroom door above them opened!

They both stopped dead, listening to the footsteps to see if they were headed down the stairs, and she clenched tightly around him, hoping to stop him from cumming.

He let out a throaty yelp as his orgasm came, the feel of her around him pushing him over the edge rather than holding him back, and her arms wrapped around him almost painfully as his spasms took her into her own release.

For long moments they stayed like that together, thankfully hearing the footsteps moving to the bathroom upstairs.

“I didn’t want you to cum!”  She whispered. “I thought that would stop you!”

He groaned and kissed her.

“No chance when you feel that good…”

“BRB carrying teh Olympic Torch lol!”

“BRB carrying teh Olympic Torch lol!”

If any of you reading this are homeless tramps sozzled on 90% Puncheon Rum, you may not be aware that Great Britain is hosting the Olympic Games this year.

As part of the tradition, thousands of runners are nominated to carry the Olympic Torch through the streets, for The People.

This is great.  It gets everyone in the spirit, and gives them the chance, if they’re lucky enough, to have that once in a lifetime opportunity to carry the Torch themselves.

How awesome!  Actually carrying the symbol of ancient tradition proudly and honourably!

It truly is a remarkable privilege to be the bearer of the Olympic Torch.

And so these cock-nosed fucking retards get out their trusty mobile phones and update their Facebook status.

“Posting this whilst carrying the torch lol!”


How selfish?  How abso-fucking-lutely outrageous that your self-obsessed ass thinks they can ignore everyone around you, who’ve been waiting for hours out on the streets, to get to see you jogging past with your fucking mobile phone out?


Anyone who gives a shit what you’re doing on Twitter should already be out there cheering you on – or, how about this for an idea… why not update your selfish little cunt of a status AFTER or even BEFORE you do your duty for The People?

It’s driving me mad to see it happening so much, and nobody else seems to find it in poor taste???

Next time one of the Torch bearers comes past you on their mobile phone I want you to punch that cunt in the face and take that torch off them!

Bonus points if you can set their stupid fucking phone on fire using the Torch and ram it down the front of their pants.