Tuesday, 25 December 2007

Baby Jesus is 2008 today!

Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday Baby Jesu!
Happy birthday to you!

(Even though I don't really believe in Christian stuff. Soz)

*Burns in Hell*

Monday, 24 December 2007

Alternative Careers #1: Pop Star

PROS: I quite fancy it, you know. Call me Majohnna! Tap your foot and nod along enthusiastically as my latest hit single, Ayup Me Duck, is played on the radio for the ninth time in an hour whilst some velvet-voiced disc jockey champions my artistic genius. Sceam and mercilously chuck an assortment of underwear at me (make sure it's clean) whilst I hit notes that only dogs and children with special needs can hear in a sold out Wembley Stadium. Gasp with admiration as my album, The Adventures of Majohnna Red Pants spends its seventy third consecutive week at number one. Applaud as I humbly recieve the Brit award for Most-Ironic-Yet-Utterly-Profound-Cheesy-Singalong-Pop-Romps. Raise eyebrows and cover your children's eyes as I strike risque poses left, right and centre on primetime TV before the watershed. Weep with admiration as I spearhead some random charitable initiative, such as HELP A SPAZ week. Rush out and purchase my own personal clothing line that is exclusive to Primark. Blind yourself as you liberally spray your body with my fragrance, Eau de Toss Pot. Chortle, guffaw and snigger as I make a successful guest appearance on a high-profile comedy sketch programme and ask yourself if there is anything that I can't do.

CONS:
Am overweight, in my thirties, always look tired and can't sing. Oh well, hasn't stopped Mariah-Banshee-Carey has it? I recently sang along to the radio whilst in the car with a chum. Her verdict? 'You make utterly ugly noises. It's like hearing a dog being punched in the arse.' Later on that night I tried to persuade myself that she was jealous as I indulged in a private sing along, but then the neighbours complained and now the council are on my back threatening ASBOs. How rude.

CHANCES: Tragically, none whatsoever. I am CLEARLY before my time. Pah!

Thursday, 13 December 2007

We've been expecting you...

Good morning George,

You were born on 12.55am of Thursday, 13th December, a matter of hours ago… It was a freezing cold night and even now, as the light of the morning shines down, the frost is reluctant to leave. It’s a beautiful day – cold but sunny and bright. It’s the kind of weather where you want to wrap yourself up and go for a walk before returning home with rosy cheeks and feet that you can’t quite feel any more. But more than that, it’s a beautiful day because you’re here.

I’ve just received a text message from the proudest Dad in the world, telling me that you’re beautiful and that you entered the world after an 11 hour labour weighing 7lbs and 12oz. I wonder if, when you grow up and start having kids of your own, that babies will still be measured in this way, or whether a new method will have been invented? The future is impossible to predict. All you need to know is that there are many, many people who love and care for you and will do their best to make your future a healthy and happy one.

Being 31 years old, I’m looking back on my life and trying to think of some top tips for life, but I’m not getting very far. I should get out more. Okay, top tips: 1. Get out more. 2. Don’t answer your Mum or Dad back. 3. Don’t drop litter. 4. Or spit. 5. Say please and thank you. I’m rubbish at this aren’t I? Thing is, you’ll know all this, because you’ll be well brought up, so I may as well shurrup, as they say back home. What I can do though, is let you know what’s happening here and now so that when you and your friends discuss what the world was like when you was born, your encyclopaedic knowledge will leave them suitably impressed. Stick with me, kid!

1. Madonna is the best. Like, ever. This is a very important fact. If you ever want to borrow a CD, I will let you. But only you. You’re obviously special. No one borrows my Madge stuff. True fact. The last time someone borrowed a Madge CD, it came back with what looked like a skidmark in the booklet. I wasn’t impressed. I’m not normally grumpy, but I was that day. I’m not lending your Dad anything ever again.

2. The number one single in the charts is Bleeding Love and the number one album is Spirit, both by Leona Lewis. I think she’s ace, but I bet your Dad thinks she’s a howling banshee. Your Mum will know what I'm on about. When we were at uni, your Mum and Dad would come to see me (we were at different universities) and your Mum and I would sing and dance to Madge and Grease in my bedroom, whilst your Dad would sit on the bed with his head in his hands - perhaps because of my attempts at singing. Bummer.

3. The current Prime Minister is Gordon Brown. He’s a bit odd looking: Scottish, tubby, greasy hair and does this funny thing with his mouth in between breaths that makes him look as though he’s having a stroke. He looks like he’s clumsy, which is something I can sympathise with. I bet he spills his tea and his wife tells him off. He looks like he’s a master of the silent fart too.

4. The President of the United States is George Bush. We don’t like him. At all. No one does, not even Americans, but particularly Iraqis.

5. Fabio Capello is allegedly going to be named as the new England manager today. I’m not getting excited – he’ll probably be rubbish. They always seem to be rubbish. He’ll be succeeding Steve McLaren – a personality-free dullard who ruined our chances of getting to the European Finals next summer. Tsk. England never win anything. Ever. I hope this changes as you grow up, but it’s unlikely, my little darling. If I was you, I’d support someone better. Italy are the current World Cup Champions. We didn’t do too well at the World Cup – all our best players seem to break something prior to a big tournament (you know, like a nail) and then that’s that. And our goalkeepers are SHOCKING. In fact, we’re not great at anything… We came second in the rugby World Cup Final recently, losing to South Africa (pronounced Sith-iif-riyk-ah), but that was an achievement as we were predicted to crash and burn – like we do in the football. You will also be a Forest supporter. For your mental health’s sake, I hope they buck up soon. When your Dad and I were growing up, Forest were one of the best teams in the country. On a freezing cold, foggy Boxing day in 1992, me and your Dad made our way from Bestwood Village to West Bridgford without public transport. It was a nightmare. A bit like crossing the arctic, really (if your Mum and Dad tell you that I’m dramatic, DON’T believe a word.) Anyway, we got there and bought our first ever season tickets. Our elation turned to upset however, when the game was postponed due to the fog. Your Dad and I said lots of bad words and that season, we were relegated. More bad words ensued. On the last game, there was a big crush in the Trent End - this was when it was standing - and your Dad still laughs at me because I screamed. Pah! I could've been hurt! Anyway, it’s been downhill since then. We’re currently languishing in the third tier of football. It’s not pretty. But if you want pretty, I’ll fish you out a nice picture of Madonna. Remember, she is the best (after your Mum. That's allowed.)

6. We hate Derby and we hate Derby. We hate Derby and we hate Derby. We hate Derby and we hate Derby. We are the Derby haters… Sheep, sheep, sheep THINGYMEBOBS…… Baa!

7. I’ve just been looking at the headlines to impart some news of the day, but it’s all bizarre / depressing: America is iced over (shame), Man Utd fans got beaten up in Rome (shame), Britney Spears is in trouble for being off her face again (shame), some bloke is on trial somewhere where they have too much time on their hands for chucking a snow ball at someone (I mean, please…)

No doubt that we will look back on these events and laugh. And just think, in eighteen years time, I’ll be buying you a beer... Oh good lord, I’ll be almost 50...

I've just seen your picture for the first time and you really are beautiful. You've brightened up the darkest month in way you will never know. Welcome to the world, George…

Big cuddles...

Uncle Johnny Red Pants xxx

Wednesday, 12 December 2007

Hari Kari Chrimbo...

Yo, ho, ho!

Do you know what? I think I'm over Christmas already... Personally, I am holding Wizzard and Slade entirely responsible for my lack of festive cheer... There I was in Primarni t'other week, rummaging around for bargain-priced undercrackers when the aural onslaught began. That scary bloke from Wizzard (y'know, the strange looking hippy who wears sunglasses in December? The long haired chap that you wouldn't leave your kids with?) Anyway, he screamed, 'It's Christmaaaaaaaaaaaas!' as I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday drew to its hideous conclusion. Then Slade piped up and started wishing everyone a merry Christmas before telling the world that 'everybody's having fun...' and I lost the will to live ON THE SPOT.

A slight yelp escaped as I melodramatically let my six-pairs-of-mustard-coloured-Y-fronts-for-25p fall to the floor. Clutching a heavy heart, I escaped to a Ronald McDonald's and consoled myself with a diet coke (no ice as I have very sensitive pearly whites.) Even there, the repugnance continued: all that Pariah Scary wants for Chrimble is me (she wishes, the fat cow), and John Lennon gave a fun-free delivery of Merry Christmas (War is Over). Then it all got too much for me and I passed out. (Okay, this bit isn't true but it sounds better than 'I got up, belched from the diet coke which was disappointingly flat and then sat in a traffic jam for what seemed like ten years before getting home and headbutting my wardrobe door repeatedly because I knew that it would feel nice was soon as I stopped...)

Anyway, onwards and upwards! My interest in life - you'll hopefully be heartened to hear - has been slightly rejuvenated by a) mince pies b) sherry (administered through the eye or as an enema) c) the fact that my housemate has not cottoned on to the fact that I am pilfering what she thinks is her unopened tin of Quality Street (fat bitch part II) d) Same Difference from X-Factor (sad state of affairs, but Rhydian reminds me of a grown up Chucky and Leon looks like he needs a bath) e) Industrial strength painkillers (marvellous when paired with the sherry), but still... ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. No wonder the suicide rate is so high during the festive season. It's all Cliff - come out of the closet already! - Richard's fault. Mistletoe and wine? I've told you, it's all about the SHERRY.

I may yet sue.

Anyway, MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAVE FUN! LOOK TO THE FUTURE NOW! IT'S ONLY JUST BEGUUUUUUUUUUUN!

*shoots self*

That is all.

Tuesday, 11 December 2007

Reasons that I am going to hell #1 - Mika and the elderly probable lesbian with only one eyes.

Does anybody out there have the Mika album? Of course you do! Has anyone else out there played it to death to the extent where if you hear Big Girls (You are Beautiful) one more time that there is a high chance you will punch the next fat person you see? I'm right there with you! I think I've killed it - I've played it three million times too many and even the name Mika makes me shudder.

However, there is one part of the album that I can still play on repeat... Perhaps for the wrong reasons, but let's face it, my karma is screwed and I'm destined to roast in the lake that burns with fire and brimstone when I leave this astral plane... Yup, at the end of the song Relax, Mika is hitting notes that implies that his testicles are securely held in a workman's vice. 'Take it eaaaaaaaaaaaaaassssy!' he screams in a masculinity-questioning note that only dogs can hear... And then as the music fades, a voice of an old woman comes to the fore. She's telling a story of her broken heart, her broken eye and the fact that it's in broken English means that the delivery is inadvertantly hilarious. I know you shouldn't laugh, but what can you do if the end result is piss-pantlingly funny. I know I'm evil. There's no need to tut! See you in Hell.

Mika and the elderly probably lesbian with only one eyes.

Sem dir I want to dress for wedding, SEM DIR! When I want married… What happen? (said as though she's been on the sherry)
He's gone and married another gur! (A what?)
When he's married another GUR, I am very, very saaad! (said in tone which suggests that she's about to laugh her bonce off)
I can talk! Like carpet my legs! (what?)
How's he married another lady I no believe! (Yeah, it's certainly a conundrum, love...)
After one month I am sent up in balcony… Some… Bomb come for my eyes.
My eyes? GONK!
My eyes gonk! And now I only have one eyes.
I am sad and 'til now I no marry any man after…
(yeah, yeah... lesbian.)

I feel terrible now for laughing.*

*Not true but am hoping my outpouring of remorse will salvage a few Heaven points.

Sunday, 9 December 2007

Random thought #3

Ironing. WHY?

That is all.