Playing By the Rules

So, fuck you society.

I went into the Orange shop the other day, because I have decided they are slightly less evil than Vodafone on the basis that they offer me a 20% discount for being a local government employee, and - importantly - don't shove dead babies through my letterbox.

After wasting a considerable amount of time being absolutely dicked about by the most fearsome amount of bureaucracy I have ever encountered*, the man tapped away on his computer and said.

"No."

No, that was it. No you cannot have a phone with us, you horrible little man. You can't have a phone because you have a bad credit rating - or rather - you don't have a credit rating at all. See the thing is, I've never really been in debt. Like a fucking chump, I play by the rules. I pay my bills on time, I don't own a credit card, I don't have an overdraft. So no, I can't have a phone, because I've never borrowed money.

You cannot join the army. You've never actually killed anyone and that makes us suspicious.

The gentleman behind the desk suggested that I get into debt with a credit card, then pay it off. After all, it will improve my credit rating and I get to buy stuff, right? I suggested that he get himself a bulletproof face, then left. I have a phone contract. Hell, I'm getting a mortgage*. That's not good enough for Orange. It might have been because I conveniently forgot where I'd been living for the last three years due to a combination of awful memories and fraudulent activity. I'm pretty sure it was the credit rating, though.

To compound my thoroughly bad day, I returned to my old landlord's place to collect my chest of drawers, only to have the van driver turn up with a van you couldn't conceivably fit a cat into even if you put it through a blender.

"I should have probably emptied this," he said glumly. Well yeah, probably. I said I needed to move a chest of drawers, not two matchboxes and a chilled yogurt. After that I went to work where the supervisor in charge screamed "Well fuck off then!" at the top of her lungs and shoved me out of the way when I refused to do things that weren't in my job description. Getting assaulted in the workplace - cool way to end the day.

If there is a moral to this story, it seems to be that the next time you get a chance between fucking yourself and not fucking yourself, you should probably just go right ahead and fuck yourself. It's a more acceptable style of behaviour.



* Considering I work for a Council that keeps three daily spreadsheets on the movement of small cakes, it was pretty fucking feirce. 
 *Propetarian, I know, but if I'm going to get fucked by landlords, I might as well be fucking myself.

Wrapping Up

I haven't really updated this blog properly for awhile. I'm going to cite that is due to creative differences between me and the voices in my head. So to get back into the swing of things, I'll do a wrap up of what's been happening in the world aside from the endless crescendo of human anguish, which is just not as funny.

Unicorn Lair Discovered in North Korea

Bolstering claims that North Korea is best Korea, scientists and archaeologists in the closed state have discovered - or rediscovered - a unicorn lair. Helpfully, there is a sign outside that states 'This is a unicorn lair.' It is believed that the horned inhabitants were once ridden by King Tongmyong, founder of the Koryo Kingdom from 3rd century BC to 7th century AD.

Because why the fuck not?

Fox Steals Phone, Harrasses Friends.

When Lars Bjercke downloaded an App that imitated the sounds that rabbits make, he thought he was onto a winner. What can one do with such limitess power? Communicate with rabbits, make an infuriating and incormprehensible sat-nav*, create a particularly devious cipher for talking in sceret, or even mesh the noises into a pieces of elctro or synth to create groundbreaking new music. Instead, in a poorly-thought out plan, he used it to lure foxes into his back garden.

Subsequently, a fox stole his unattended phone.

Not content with stealing the phone, the fox went on to answer calls made to the handset, denying Bjercke the chance to trackdown his shanghaied communicator. If this wasn't enough, the cunning bastard then sent text messages to Bjercke's friends, written in the whimsical language of foxes. Although no two-legged meat-sack can understand them, it was probably - as the link postulates - to gloat about his success. Because I imagine that's what foxes do.

The fox is linked to a skulk responsible for a series of petty crimes in the area.

Spy Sues Cops for 'Failing to Prevent Love'.

Former undercover cop Mark Kennedy - aka Mark Stone - who infiltrated an environmentalist group, is suing the Met since they failed to stop him from falling in love. He claims that despite destroying many lives and participating in a Big-Brother style surveillance operation, he is the real victim. Mr. Kennedy wants between £50,000 and £100,000 in compensation for personal injury, loss of job/earnings, loss of wife/girlfriend and for destroying his reputation. His reputation, presumably, as an all round good-guy who cheats on his wife, lies to his lovers, grasses on his mates, and works for the police. So Karma was all like, "Stand back guys, I got this."

He feels so betrayed.

*In my experience, this is all of them