Losing Muscle on my Wrist ...

My internet is doing my chuffing head in…

It. Is. slow….

No! Fuck that, slow is an understatement. Saying my Internet is ‘slow’ is like saying Hitler killed a ‘few’ Jews or saying Louis Spence is a ‘little’ camp. When we all know Hitler killed whenever the telly was shit and Louis Spence gets more cock than a Geordie on a Hen do.

Ironic then that I’m getting my internet (or not as is the case 87% of the time) from Virgin. Virgin Media. Richard Branson – The goateed Anti Christ. I should have known better than to choose a company that couldn’t even make profit from selling Cola. I have the brain power of an Amoeba and even I could sell Cola, Its liquid crack. Even Netto’s child-slavery produced, 18% badgers piss Cola makes a profit, and that’s no small fete considering it carries’ more risk than a weekend break in Chernobyl.

SO I rang Virgin’s Customer Service number – Spoke to ‘Dave’ who was about as much use as a cock flavoured lollipop ‘Have you tried turning the Modem off and on?’ ooooooh thanks Dave, you genius, I didn’t think of that !! You really are a headset-clad wizard of the inter-web; I bet Bill Gates is shitting himself.

Did this work? You decide, Please choose your option from the 3 below:

•  Well actually yes it did. Which made me feel instantly like a xenophobic angry Yorkshire-man; hating posh English Billionaires just because they have nice accents and well groomed facial-hair … I wish I had nice facial-hair. I just look like a young Zach Dingle from Emmerdale, And the thought of me dying alone, adorned with a shit flat-cap and my own tankard in the Woolpack – surrounded by the fatter one from Birds of a Feather and him who used to be a rite little twat in shameless, forces me to drink so much Kestrel Super-Strength lager I go beyond ‘Jeremy Kyle DNA test’ and end up in the realms of George Best, drinking at his best session rate.  So I die there, at the bar, and collapse face first into a batch of Marlon’s homemade ham and pickle toasties. Never to be seen of again. Until I turn up 3 months later on a random Tuesday episode of Doctors. Or as a denim clad truck driver who ‘had one too many’ and caused an 83 car pileup in Holby City.

•  Did it feck work, there was more chance of me slipping Kathryn Brady from ‘The Apprentice’ one in her shitpipe. So I pluck up all my courage, mainly because of the 3 cans of out of date Tesco Organic Cider I downed. And I go see Ol’ Richard Branston Pickle Dick and I tell him straight. I says ‘Ere Ricky! Sort out my internet so I can start streaming Lesbian porn again, cos at the moment I’m having Wanks in Instalments!’ at which point he shits in his plaid Golf shorts, puts down his Fois Gras Panini and rectifies the problem. Cheers Branson!  

• It doesn’t work. The Internet grinds to a full-fucking halt like the Chilean Mining Industry in the summer, and I decide to sit down and write a really sarcastic and pointless Blog.

I don’t think anyone needs to ‘phone a friend or ask the audience’ on this one now do we.

TTYL.