18 02 2009

Old people annoy the  living ass fuck outta me.

They should all fucking die right now. Every single last one of them. I am not being cute. Someone hit ’em with a stick or something. Or keep driving over them with an empty shopping cart.

WHAT THE FUCK is up with that? Why in shit’s name can’t old people drive shopping carts? The carts have wheels that move in every freaking direction and still those old bastards manage to drive them all over the place. Here’s a hint, old people:


Jesus H Christ.

They also act like they don’t notice you, even though you know that they so do. When you say stuff like ‘Uhm, I’m sorry Ma’am, you’re pushing your cart straight into my ballsack’ (of course I have to say it more politely ’cause I work at the damn store) they’re always going ‘Oh, I am so sorry!’



Seriously. And why do they get up so damn early? The shop opens at 8.30 am, which is waaaay too early for any sane person to go shopping. You know, sleep in and come around the shop at 10 o’ clock, no problems there. BUT NO! Those fucking retarded old bastards are standing at the fucking gates like a gang of… I don’t know, CHILD RAPISTS!…. so they can enter the shop when it opens. And then they even have the balls to complain if a certain piece of meat isn’t on the shelves yet. Hint, old people: if you come to the store at a reasonable hour like 10 o’ clock, all the shelves are full and everyone will be happy. Well, except the people WHOSE TOES ARE CRUSHED BY YOUR DAMN INCAPABILITIES TO DRIVE A FUCKING SHOPPING CART! of course.


God, I hate them! Young people are awesome!

So they’re getting up way too early, always complaining about stuff and they can’t drive carts. You’d think it ends there but no. Old people have another way of really getting on your nerves: making stupid demands. ‘Oh dear, I’d like four hamburgers please. There’s only packs of two, three or five hamburgers on the shelves.’

Me: So ehm, take two packs of two hamburgers…?
Old fart: Oh heavens no, that won’t do, I want them all in one pack.
Me (thinking): I so want to ram a spear up your ass and twist it about some, very very slowly.
Me: Why certainly, not a problem!

Good thing I’m good at being polite.


So you give the old broad the four hamburgers and she’s like ‘Oooh, but those aren’t the ones I want! I want four of the other kind!’ and she’s looking at you, kind of semi pissed. And I’m like ‘But these are the burgers you showed me, I thought you wanted these…’. And she’s like ‘No no no, I want that kind’. And I’m like ‘Well, I do apologize, I’ll have your burgers for you in a minute, Ma’am!’

Of course what I’m really thinking is ‘I have lost all hope in mankind and want to die’. After a while, your annoyance meter goes so far up that it eventually implodes, resulting in you just not caring about all the dumb shit old people do anymore. Except when they keep pushing their fucking carts in my side. I know you know I’m there, old people. Be warned. Some shit’s gonna go down!

But seriously. Annoyance posts are legendary. Maybe we’ll see some more here soon. Probably not ’cause I’m a lazy fuck and I really don’t care about you, my retarded audience who always keep fucking asking me to write again. What’s up with that? Always those lame ‘So when you gonna write again?’ questions. Fuck if I know when I’m gonna write again.

I’d rather people asked more interesting questions such as ‘So here’s this hot chick who’s totally into you, you wanna go and make sweet love to her all night long?’ Now that’s a question worth answering! Or ‘Hey, I know these two lesbians. You can’t make out with them ’cause, you know, ther lesbians, but they have told me you can watch while they pleasure themselves. Feel like it?’ Hell fucking yes. Or ‘See that old woman in the store there? I can totally hook you up with her if you feel like making sweet love to–‘


So, to conclude this deep and meaningful reflection on everyday life, Osahi has asked me to pay him a tribute because he stopped blogging. You know why he stopped blogging? Because he’s a gay ass sausage wanker, that’s why. Seriously though, his blog was great to read and therefore deserve a fitting hommage. Too bad he ain’t getting one from me. All I’m gonna say is

Osahi, you suck ass.

There, hope you cry yourself to tears tonight while listening to your ‘Ohmagod, it can store 80 gigs of music!’ iFuckingPod. Screw big iPods, Nano’s are way better for impressing girls. You can use great pick-up lines such as ‘Hey baby, you can Flow my Covers anytime…’ or ‘Hey baby, I’m all the Genius you’ll ever need…’ or ‘Hey baby, wanna synch my Nano to your… ehm, USB port?’

Then I usually get slapped in the face. Maybe pick-up lines like that are the reason I don’t get girls. Guess I still have a lot to learn from the legen… wait for it… dary Barney Stinson. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to suit up and beat up some old people. Why? Because I can!

A Man Can Dream

7 09 2008

Yesterday I saw the funniest movie ever made. It’s called Cry-Baby and it features Johnny Depp doing a whole bunch of fifties stuff. Mostly singing and dancing obviously but also doing ridiculous hand greetings with his friends and watching Iggy Pop take a bath. Crazy movie, check it out.

In other news, I am reading the funniest book ever written. It’s called The Hitch Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy and it features some guy from Earth and a lot of aliens. You could call it an odyssee but that would set up expectations that are way, way off course of what you should expect. What you should expect is the least bit of sense you will ever find in any work of art. And since you all know my motto (‘Fuck sense’, made that up just now) it should be no surprise that I love it. The most common used phrase to describe it is ‘Monty Python in Space’. Crazy book, check it out. Or check out the movie which is also quite funny.

In other news, here’s something no one will care about. I’m watching some Futurama episodes again and I couldn’t help noticing this guy from the pilot:

Of course everyone who has seen the show knows this guy. No one knows his name, who gives a fuck anyway, we just know him as the WELCOME… TO THE WOOORLD OF TOMORROOOOW! guy. And you know what, for some reason this guy reminds me of Osahi. It’s probably some suppressed childhood memory, Osahi doing crappy Futurama impersonations during recess, but I always picture him when I see this guy. I can see Osahi standing at the entrance of a theme park, totally failed at his ambitious writing career, scaring little kids away as he shouts WELCOME… TO THE WOOORLD OF TOMORROOOOW! every thirty seconds. And then his boss criticises him because the theme park isn’t fucking called The World Of Tomorrow. It’s a pretty disturbing mental image and I wish I could get rid of it. Osahi, you bastard, start wearing contact lenses or something so you don’t look like this guy anymore. And get a haircut, for Pete’s sake.

In other news, I overuse the following words and/or phrases:
But Seriously.
Damnit Indy.
Damnit Osahi.
Banging hot chicks.
Who’s talking?
Let’s not go that way.

And some other ones, mostly nasty language. I’ll promise to not stop using them in the future.

What? What the hell was the point o’ that? 

In other news, I was at work today and in the restroom lay one of those baby-born cards. You know, the ones couples give away to say ‘Look we’ve got a baby! Congratulate us and give us presents, you fairies!’. I never got the point of them. Anyway, there was something peculiar about this card. Parents these days tend to give their babies strange names. Names like Heilinde or Unibrau or Sony Bravia. I’ve seen my share of funny and strange names but none of them could prepare me for the horrors the card previously mentioned was about to unleash upon me.

The baby was called, I kid you not, Shitfuck.
I mean…

No!… No!…. Don’t applaud that! You are sick, sick people! Go see a doctor!

Okay, the baby wasn’t called Shitfuck. He or she was called Axl. But hell, that wouldn’t have made for a very interesting story, now would it?

We didn’t ask for another one of your boring stories you ignorant queer!

Who keeps shouting these italic phrases anyway?


A-ha! I have you now, evil fiend! Away with the cherade! Post some more photographs of cans of beer that almost have your nickname on them and be off!

But seriously: Osahi’s a great guy. Just not on this blog. Here he wreaks havoc and interrupts what would otherwise have evolved into an interesting study on… well, something. And he fucks up Futurama pilot episodes. Of which there are many, I might add.

… What?

Word count: 665. That’s almost evil. Damnit, if only Indy had interrupted this piece of crap with one of his usual LOLs I would’ve had it. Ah well, better luck next time.


Aaaargh, too late, you collapsing-dungeon-exploring twat! Geez, no sense of timing. Go buy yourself another whip and give yourself a spanking. And if you don’t, I will personally make sure that the feared fifth Indiana Jones movie, starring Shia Leboeuf as the main protagonist, gets made!

(shocked)… You… wouldn’t!

Okay I can’t come up with anything clever or dramatic to retort to …. you…. wouldn’t! so that’s it for this entry. So long, and check out Bob Saget’s stand-up comedy show and celebrity Roast if you haven’t done so already. Well, get on with it!

So that’s what it would have been like if I had invented the fing-longer! A man can dream, though… a man can dream…

I make stuff on things

25 08 2008

My friends!

Apparently some of you were or still are wondering where I was these last few weeks. The answer, of course, is this: on top of hot chicks.

Oh that’s right, I went there.

But seriously. These last few weeks I’ve…. really been on top of hot —

(gets hit with a rubber chicken)

Okay okay, stick to the point, got it.

Here’s an easy way to figure out where I am. There’s seven rules you need to remember:

Rule number one: I’m always at home.

Rule number two: Once every two weeks, I’m at Lochristi, eating Chinese or Greek food with my grandmother and her sister. Why? Hey, who wouldn’t want to dine with a gorgeous guy like me? A fucking idiot, that’s who.

Rules number three through six: see rule number one.

Rule number seven: You do not talk about Fight Club.

So there, ever since I got home from WACKEN OPEN AIR (you can’t just say it, you have to shout it) I’ve been at home. Doing absolutely nothing. I’m sorry I didn’t answer any calls or text messages during the past week but I, in a rare moment of non-awesomeness, lost my cellphone. Fortunately, thanks to a badass guy from Leuven I got it back on Saturday.

I figured I was gonna tell those interested about it at the party Saturday but apparently my long-awaited return wasn’t worth waiting for ’cause pretty much everyone was gone by the time I arrived. Too bad, ’cause I’m not planning to set foot in that café again. The damn place depresses me every fucking time. So the next time you’ll be able so catch me there will be, hopefully, never.

Too much negative energy already so I’m gonna end here. Next time more funny business. Yay!

Some French Title No One Cares About

13 08 2008

I was visited by Love. On a cold Winter’s day, it came through my front door and then…


And I was like what the hell. How awesome is this, a robot in my living room. But Love was not done with me yet. For not long after that, it shapeshifted again…


And I was like holy crap. Rambo walked up to me, took up his bow and said ‘Fuck it.’ Then he blew up my television, most of the furniture, my swimming pool and my virginity. But there was no time to grieve! For Love had changed its appearance once again…


And I was like hey look it’s that Universal Soldier guy. Then he muttered ‘I must break you’ and then I screamed girlishly and ran out of the house. But Love’s thirst was unquenchable, for it chased me into the garden and became…


And I was like that’s a HUGE black guy! And he grinned and said ‘You gonna get raped!’ At which point I had enough of coming up with awesome stuff to fill up this post so that’s the end… for now.

For those of you wondering what Love looked like before it transformed into Optimus Prime: I will tell you. Indeed, it is one of the fundamental questions of our existence: what does true Love look like? Well, my friends, the answer is this. A talking piece of poo.

Good night, everybody.

Movie Night

19 06 2008

So here’s what I’m thinking.

This summer I’m going to be busy studying and most of you will be busy partying so now and then, all of us are gonna need some time to just sit back and chill the fuck out. So my suggestion is we have a movie night once a week, say on Friday or Saturday.

We choose two or three movies, everyone brings their food, booze and babes, and we just hang out. If we get bored of the movie, we’ll do something else like playing poker or kleurewiezen or klaverjassen or comparing breast sizes. Or dancing on the spot whilst shouting ‘Charelke! Charelkeeuh!’ for no apparent reason.

Each movie night has its own theme. Here are some suggestions I thought up while watching Rambo last night.

  • Movies that are so manly it’s ridiculous (e.g. 300, Beowulf)
  • Movies that are so absolutely terrible they become funny (The Longest Yard, The Condemned)
  • Movies that can only be described by the word awesome (Transformers, Crank)
  • Movies starring that Deep Impact guy (Sin City, Everything Is Illuminated)
  • Movies that prove Clive Owen is just plain better than everybody else (Children Of Men, Shoot ‘Em Up)
  • Movies where famous people pop up for no apparent reason (Chuck Norris in Dodgeball)
  • Movies with pretty long titles that if spelled backwards make no sense whatsoever (pretty much every movie ever made)
  • Movies we’ve seen so many times we know every line and can just focus on the funny stuff (Lord of the Rings, Die Hard 3)
  • Movies that prove that Burton + Depp > God (Edward Scissorhands, Charlie & The Chocolate Factory)
  • Movies starring hot actresses who should make out with each other for no apparent reason during the course of the film (sadly I can’t come up with any examples)
  • Movies where stuff explodes because, sometimes, stuff just needs to fucking explode (any Michael Bay picture)
  • MATT DAMON!!! (Team America, Good Will Hunting)
  • etc.

We could do a series night once in a while too, watch some episodes of Coupling, Fawlty Towers, Top Gear, Futurama, Family Guy, whatever floats your boat. Each week we could decide the theme for next week and if we can’t agree on one, we’ll just use the Three-Headed Broadway Star Technique: everyone gets to say one word until we have a sentence that makes sense.

So, you know, if you’re interested let me know and if you’re going on a holiday some time this summer, please let me know so I can keep track of when everyone’s available. Cheers everyone.

Oh, that’s right:

P.S. Hayley from Paramore is hot.

That is all.

Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel

7 06 2008

Hitting a guy on the head with a 5kg weight, then bending down over his unconscious body, dropping your pants and taking a dump right on his head: that’s humiliating.

Want to know what the hell I’m talking about? Watch OZ, one of the most awesomest (that’s not even a word, that’s how fantastic it is) television series ever made. People get shat upon and fucked up the ass. Should be your cup of tea. It sure as hell is mine.

In other news…. THEY TOOK OUR JERBS!


But seriously: a singing piece of poo.

I like where this is going.

Twenty-one days till Sabaton at Graspop! Cue random going berserk noises!

What the hell is going on over here?



Keep it down, you two!

This blog is so damn popular it’s ridiculous. I can write anything and people will swallow it like new guys swallow nigger cock at OZ. Boy, that was a disturbing metaphore.

… Buttscratcha?

Screw that damn soccer championship that’s going on. Now I can’t watch OZ or Leslie Nielsen movies ’cause there’s a bunch of guys chasing balls on screen. Guys chasing balls, I don’t understand why straight guys even like this sport man. Watch a man’s sport intstead. Like figure skating.

Well, I’m off to study.

Dreidel dreidel dreidel. I made you out of clay.
Dreidel dreidel dreidel. With dreidel I shall play.

Play stupid games.
That’s why they’re lame.

Courteney Cox.
I love you.
You’re so hot.
On that show.


29 05 2008

Horatio Caine is officially the coolest guy on the planet.

Don’t believe me yet? Check out this clip:

Christ, CSI Miami is pure gold.

H for president!