Oxygen - You Know It Makes Sense.

New Nivea Visage Oxygen helps women look younger, the manufacturers claim, because it contains 15 per cent oxygen.
Well, you can't argue with the logic. Oxygen definitely makes you look younger. Let's face it, without it you tend to take on a blueish tinge. Research has also shown that vacuums seriously harm your chances of attracting members of the opposite sex. Your opportunities to run barefoot along beaches in flowing, silk gowns - as all the bints on the adverts tend to do - are also seriously curtailed.
The people behind this latest method of extracting cash from the gullible and vain no doubt knock out this muck at about £30-a-tub - well they've got to replace all the mice, rats, guinea pigs, rabbits and beagles blinded or killed off in their experiments, haven't they? The trouble is, there is a slight flaw in their business plan. The miracle ingredient oxygen is also in another product already available and used by the sane to tend to their skin - it's called water. Two hydrogens for every one oxygen, if I remember rightly. That makes it 33.3 per cent oxygen, doesn't it?
Even doing fuck all is a better option. The air around us contains 21 per cent oxygen, apparently. Not only does it beat Nivea Visage Oxygen it's free (at the moment)!!
Not only can NVO go to Grantham, all cosmetics can follow it. God, my leg hurts!

In Which Pither Comes Out Of Hospital And Is In So Much Fucking Pain He Can't Blog and Doesn't Feel He'll Ever Be Able To Blog Again.

The Gas Chamber

God, I'm so fucking angry! It's The King's New Clothes all over again and I'm that little boy in the crowd (probably hangin' out with BGT, Vicus, Betty, Malc and a few other cats).........only no matter how loud I/we shout everyone thinks HRH is sporting some dead trendy gear, even though he's stark bollock naked!
Why, oh why, oh why, oh why can't the fuckwits who've never known anything but right-wing government in this country (the desensitised, ignorant, self-obsessed, materialist, poorly-educated, greedy, uncaring under-30s) see not only that the king has got his knob out but also that all of us are being abused, ripped off and laughed at by corporate bastards on a daily basis?
Like the slight give-aways that you can see the royal nipples, arse and bollocks, evidence of this economic obscenity stares us in the face and can't be hidden by the transparent veil of bullshit, soundbites and propaganda wrapped around the whole sorry sight by those whose naked greed stalks our streets.
Why am I screaming so loudly from the crowd today. Well, consider the following:

1. Gas companies in this country made profits of more than £1 billion over the last year - British Gas alone made £600 million of that total.
2. "Energey poverty" - an awful, Blairite-type phrase which basically means the number of people who are having difficulty paying or can't afford to pay their fuel bills - has risen dramatically in recent years.
3. The gas companies have been withholding - for 15 months now - more than £150 million they made in windfall profits when wholesale prices slumped, money which, under our ludicrously ineffective regulatory system, is supposed to be paid back to customers.
4. Fuckwit Energy Minister Malcolm Wicks says it is basically down to the energy companies to do something about the looming "energy poverty" crisis.
5. The gas companies, through their "Fuck you, what do we care?" mouthpiece the Energy Retailers Association, say it's the government's fault (get this, their argument is that the government should make sure there are better houses and that people earn more so they can meet their over-inflated charges!)
6. The gas regulator Ofgem says it is everyone's responsibility "in a competitive market" and it is seriously considering thinking about looking at considering what they think.

PRIVATISATION OF PUBLIC UTILITIES IS AND ALWAYS WILL BE AN OBSCENITY!!! We, the fucking taxpayer, paid for the infrastructure of the entire energy industry. It was then dishonestly given to corporations (the tax-payers were not asked if they wanted to give it away) to cream off as much profit as they could get away with and we got sod all in return - that's called fucking THEFT! (1968 Theft Act - the dishonest appropriation of property from another with the intention of permanently depriving the other of it). These greed merchants' ONLY interest (yes, their ONLY, ONLY, ONLY interest) is to make as much profit as is humanly possible at the expense of the victims of their theft.
This constitutes both PROFITEERING (Dictionary definition - "making an unreasonable profit, as on the sale of difficult to obtain goods") and DEMANDING MONEY WITH MENACES! (Common Law). Why? Because they are demanding money for a "service" which is essential to people and if they choose to do without it they face the menace of freezing and/or starving to death! "Ah, yes, but in a free and competitive market, if people are not happy with a service or product they can go elsewhere." Like fucking where??! The gas companies are an unofficial cartel who set prices among themselves. Gas is gas! What's the alternative product? Buy a cow and shove a tube up its arse to get methane to power your home? Electricity? It's invariably produced by the same cartel of suppliers!
Oh fuck 'em! Anyway, I've just had a call to say I can go in for my operation today and so having my leg hacksawed off is infinitely preferable option to sitting here thinking about how I'm being ripped off and abused every day by these arseholes.
Privatisation, particularly of public utilities, and all those apologists in Labour who agreed to scrap Clause 4, can fuck off to Grantham.

It's The Waiting That Gets You

Funny the things that go through your mind while you're waiting to be called in for an operation......................



































































Sweet dreams, Pither.

Pogo A No-Go So He Go

Firstly, an apology. To those of you whose spirits were raised yesterday by the thought of Pither lying on a slab somewhere being butchered by a Youth Opportunities Programme surgeon - it didn't happen. They phoned mid-morning to say that their one and only K-Tel surgery set (including a hammer, gag, genuine, plastic knives, a mop, four sponges and a jetwash, all packaged in an attractive polypropylene carrying case) was out on loan to the local abattoir. The news was broken to me by the consultant surgeon and he seemed to be as relieved as I was. His precise words, if I remember correctly, were "Me and the lads from patient transport found some ethanol in the back of one of the ambulances last night and this morning I've got the shakes worse than a shitting dog!"
The upshot of all this is that, this morning, I am again awaiting a phone call to tell me whether or not I'm "on" this time. If it's another no-no I have been assured that they will slice me open by Sunday - well, it gives you something to look forward to, doesn't it!
In the meantime and seeing as I may never get the chance to write again, I thought I had to bring to your attention Mr Ashrita Furman and get him packed off to Grantham while there is still time.
Old Ash, predictably enough from New York, has just set a world record for "underwater pogo sticking".
Yes, this complete and utter waste of carbon got into his local swimming pool and pogoed the equivalent of 1,680ft underwater! Not content with that, he then jiggled a hula hoop around his waist, again submerged, for 2 minutes 38 seconds - breaking his own, previous record! I bet it really fucked up the school swimming classes that morning and, no doubt, the water babies session had to be scrapped!
He is now not only in the Guinness Book of Records for these two fabulous feats, he is also in as the person who holds the most records (get your mind round that "looking-into-a-mirror-through-a-mirror" situation) - 63, I believe, at the last count. Yes, instead of going out and discovering a cure for cancer, feeding the starving or pushing the boundaries of mankind's knowledge of the miracle of creation, Ash has opted to spend his time, among other things, pushing an egg along the ground with his nose, riding on the back of a tiger and balancing things on his hand while strolling around Egypt. Hasn't he cottoned on yet as to why these records are there for the taking? No? Well, here's a message for you Ash..........IT'S BECAUSE NO OTHER FUCKER WANTS TO DO THEM BECAUSE THEY ARE A COMPLETE AND UTTER WASTE OF FUCKING TIME!!!!!




I have mentioned this before but I will say it again.............what use in the whole of fucking Christendom is any of that to anyone???!!!??
This pile of donkey's doo-dahs puts his desire to be fucking ridiculous down to the day he discovered meditation through some mystic guru. Picture the scene:
Mystic guru: "Well, Grasshopper nee-Furman, I have endowed you with truly magical powers, gifts from the Gods of the universe. You now know the secrets of those higher beings, your sway upon this earth shall henceforth be all-powerful and you must use these cosmic forces to do good for all mankind. What will you do, oh lord of lords?"
Furman: "I think I'll go and shove an egg around town with my nose."
Mystic Guru (a tad disappointed): "Hmmm. It's certainly an option."
No, I may not pull through this operation and so I feel it is my duty to fuck Furman off to somewhere he can balance an egg on the end of his knob for the rest of his days and not get on the tits of right thinking people. It's off to Grantham, chummy!
SURGICAL STOP PRESS: They have just phoned to say "Stand down, Pither, we'll try again tomorrow". Great days!

Mr Knife Goes to Knee Land

Well, after only 24 hours' grace, I was back at the hospital again today to once more meet interesting new people - an A&E consultant, an orthopaedics doctor, an orthopaedics registrar and, finally, an orthopaedics consultant.




The upshot of this four hours of flesh pressing was that I now have new legwear, albeit slightly less sleek and sexy than my original Ann Summers support stocking.

Oh, and I almost forgot.............they managed to work out what was wrong with me - physically, that is, not psychologically. It turns out that, as the orthopaedic consultant explained it to me, "Terry tendon has snapped and come away from Nigel kneecap". How naughty of him, I said.
To rectify this latest mechanical mishap to hit Pither's otherwise highly-tuned, athletic and God-like body I have to go back to the hospital again - supposedly tomorrow - to undergo an operation which involves stitching up Terry and inserting a length of wire to stop him going walkabout again.
If the orthopaedic surgeon's hangover is not too acute, the anaesthetist can keep his hands off the theatre sister long enough and there is a temporary lull in the raging epidemic of MRSA then there is a chance I will pull through. I will then have four to six weeks of wearing a cast to look forward to before I have to return to the Theatre of Blood to have the wire removed.
Nothing for Grantham today - except possibly the sad, pathetic, shambling joke which is my entire existence at the moment! Oh, and self-pity as well.

One Of The World's Most Hideous Creatures

If a picture paints a thousand words then, in the case of this alleged woman, I am sure you can fill in numbers 1 to 977 yourself but 978 to 1,000 must be "this loud, vacuous, unfunny, self-obsessed, horse-faced piece of detritus who is now reduced to doing shite adverts just has to go to Grantham."