Sunday 24 December 2017

Crap Observational Humour # 44: The Cab Home

You've just been on a wild night out with friends and hail a cab to get back to the warm, welcoming embrace of your bed.

On a Sat Nav, the address you give the driver looks like this:


In their head, however, it looks like this:


Merry fucking Christmas, folks xx

Saturday 2 December 2017

Agony Hour 2: Agonise Harder

 
Eighteen months on from my first foray into agony uncle-hood and my email continues to heave with cries for help from the lost, lonely, loveless and desperate. These people depend on me, and what sort of man would I be if I turned my back on them? (Even if I am busy trying to watch the third season of Supergirl, or polish off a bottle of Jack while doing Patrick Stewart impressions into a mirror.)

It is in this spirit of selflessness that I hereby present another open surgery to cure the emotional maladies of my fellow man: no problem too small, no pain too deep, no credit cards that won't be accepted.

Read on, my brethren, and grow.

* * * * *
 
Dear Richard,
 
My journey into work doesn't feel complete without grabbing a latte from my favourite coffee franchise. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than walking down the street, cup in hand, letting the whole world know I'm a thrusting go-getter and nothing's going to stop me. But last week my preferred chain closed down my local outlet and now I don't know where to get my morning coffee from. I'm missing target after target at work, and none of my colleagues talk to me because they think I can't afford to buy ridiculously over-priced beverages anymore. What should I do?

- Perturbed, Camden

Richard says...
 
Coffee shop chic isn't really my bag, so you're probably talking to the wrong person. (Frankly, I get fed up with seeing self-important, neo-yuppie gits such as yourself wandering round like you own the place.) Nevertheless, there are options open to you here. It may not be as sophisticated or 'go-getting' as buying your morning cup of saccharine-flavoured tar, but have you thought about Red Bull? Everyone knows it gets you wired in no time, which may help in hitting those targets. You could also supplement the sugar/caffeine rush by taking up smoking (proper cigarettes, that is - none of that liquid shit): nothing says 'hard-working' better than a hacking cough, nervous irritability, a wild-eyed stare and breath that smells like a First World War field hospital. Trust me, in time people will start taking notice of you again.

* * * * *
 
Dear Richard,

It's my mum's birthday and I forgot to get her a present. Please help.

- Flustered, Devon


Richard says...

If you've asked if there's anything she'd like and been told not to worry about it then she can't complain if you don't bother; serves her right for having false humility. If she is expecting something, however, then you're going to have to improvise. People like to feel special, so one gift would be spray-painting her name across every wall in the house. It's a simple idea, but devastatingly effective. Just make sure you do it in her house and not your own. I made that mistake when using the same trick on Cate Blanchett for Valentine's Day. It was only after I'd covered every inch of wall space I realised that she'd never been to my house and didn't know who I was. I felt like a right twat, I can tell you.
 
* * * * *

Dear Richard,

Why doesn't anyone like me?

- R. Mugabe, Zimbabwe

Richard says...

Well you may have secured Zimbabwe's independence and brought an end to white-minority rule in the country, but you can't deny you came across as a bit of a dick when you dismissed your critics as traitors, refused to give up office when voted out and brought in the militia to safeguard your presidency at any cost. People don't like dictators - and let's face it, that's what you were. I recommend you see your GP and get your name down for some Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. Failing that, an investigation into your activities by the International Court of Human Rights should help curb your thuggish, totalitarian tendencies.

* * * * *

Dear Richard,

Why does J.J. Abrams insist on using lens flare in his movies? It's not even real and it gets on my fucking tits.

- Narked, Tokyo

Richard says...

It gets on my tits, too, Narked. Abrams uses lens flare in the mistaken belief that it'll convince people his films are artistic statements instead of brainless, multi-million dollar popcorn fodder. As you point out, the fact that it's artificial emphasises just how superficial and conceited this gesture really is. Next time you watch one of his movies and a blue splodge appears on screen, I recommend phoning the film company and demand they pull the film from distribution to remove the offending material. It worked when I called 20th Century Fox and asked them to remove the scene from A New Hope when a storm trooper bumped his head against the Mos Eiseley tavern door. 'Course, it took 20 years and George Lucas claimed it was his idea, but that's showbiz.
 
* * * * *

Dear Richard,

I've invited this girl I really like round to my place for a meal but I'm terrible at cooking and money's a bit tight. Can you suggest a budget-friendly menu? I've been wracking my brains for days!


- Anxious, Salford

Richard says...

No need to panic, Anxious - we've all been in this situation. Luckily, most supermarkets these days stock affordable gourmet options that require very little culinary expertise. If you want to make this a romantic evening, you should go all out for a three course meal. Here's a combination that's bound to get her mouth watering:

Starter


Main course
 
 
Dessert

Make sure you get two of each, though, otherwise she'll think you're a tight bastard. But of course, no meal would be complete without a suitable aperitif. You need something with a finish, not to mention a touch of devil-may-care, earthy sophistication:


All together, this should come to just over a tenner. If this is beyond your budget, however, there is a much cheaper option. You'll need:


Grass


A hammer
 
 
Next door's cat



A sachet of ketchup.

Bung the result in the oven for, say, 20 minutes and you're in business, kiddo.
 
* * * * *

Dear Richard,

I have serious reservations about the next Doctor Who being a woman. People call me a male chauvinist for saying that, but I'm not: I'm just worried it's going to be an empty, patronising gesture like the Ghostbusters reboot.
- Pensive, South Shields

Richard says...

I see where you're coming from, Pensive. I didn't give a shit that the lead roles in Ghostbusters were all female; what bugged me was how the movie expected a free pass because of its casting and dismissed legitimate criticism of its artistic shortcomings by accusing its detractors of sexism. In terms of Doctor Who, although the character's always been a positive role model for young males, perhaps it is time to flip the dynamics of the show and break the cycle of relegating the strong female lead to a supporting role. Who knows - it may well revitalise the programme after the seven years of timey-wimey (gimmicky-wimmicky) plotting, negligible characterisation and shameless fanwanking we've had to endure under Steven Moffat's stewardship.  Let's reserve judgement until we actually see Jodie Whittaker in action. Having said that, if Torchwood taught us anything it's that incoming showrunner Chris Chibnall's grip on sexual politics has all the subtlety and reserve of Bill Cosby at a feminist rally.
 
* * * * *
 
Dear Richard,

For the love of God, will you please, PLEASE stop writing to me. We've never met, I don't love you and there is absolutely zero chance of us getting married.

- C. Blanchett, Sydney

Richard says...

Well if you just want a physical thing, that's cool. Tuesday, my place-?

 
* * * * *

...And I'm afraid we have to leave Agony Hour there. Until next time, try not to piss each other off too much, okay?

Onwards, folks.