Getting a dog – One man’s journey


Please sir…spare some treats for a poor orphan?

The author has recently become the owner of a small dog, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Harry. Most of my friends only have human children so can’t really understand the unique bond that I have with my furry little pal and the depth of love that I feel for him. Harry has truly warmed my icy black heart and I plan to quit my job in order to become a full time carer to him but before that I thought I’d share my experiences of becoming a dog owner with you, dear reader.


thorough research – important

It was entirely my wife’s idea


evil genius having lunch

For a long time I refused to get a dog. It’s not that I’m a dog hater, even though I know some pretty annoying dogs, I’m not that much of an arsehole you understand. I just didn’t really want the responsibility that owning a dog entails. My wife really, really, really wanted a dog though and that had been abundantly clear for quite a long time.

So – to begin with, a quick note to all you WAG’s out there. You’re probably thinking yes Rick! I want a cute furry little mate too but I can’t be arsed with all of the walking and the getting up early and the picking up poo in bags that goes on for well in excess of a decade so I need to convince my husband that it’s his idea to get one and then I can force him to take all of the responsibility. Well let me just stop you there sweetheart! As a woman, you simply do not have the subtlety required to pull off an operation of this kind.

Now you’re going, Oh how little you know me Rick –  I play these mind games on my dopey fuckstick of a husband week in week out and the poor simpleton never twigs what I’m doing and I always end up getting my own way. Let me just stop you there love. What actually happens is your husband, your poor tired husband sees you coming a mile off and just decides to skip to the end and give you what you want. It’s quicker, it’s easier and he even lets you believe that you’ve bamboozled him in to giving you what you want because he knows you enjoy the sport and he likes to see the cute little smile on your evil little face. Sometimes though, on major issues he may decide to dig his heels in.

Therefore, if you’re a woman and you want a dog then you’re better off with either of these options;

  1. Sell the benefits of getting a dog to your husband. Take him to the pub and bribe him with alcohol. Explain to him that “this pub is dog friendly and if we had a dog then we could sit here with him and drink all day in front of this nice cozy fire and you could even watch the football, for a bit, without me complaining constantly because you will have given me the greatest gift of all – a dog.” This nearly worked on the author – a soppy, easily manipulated drunken fool at the best of times. I sobered up eventually though and stood my ground.
  2. Just go full nuclear. Guide your husband to the realisation that owning a dog for the next 10 -20 years and all of the ball ache that goes with it will actually be far less annoying than having to listen to you bang on about it constantly for every minute of every day until the end of time. He’ll crack eventually, as a woman you definitely have the stamina required to pull this off.

And so that’s what happened. By the time my wife said, “I’ve found a breeder and they make this type of dog can we go and cuddle one?” I was already broken and bloodied on the canvas. I simply couldn’t get up for the next round and even though I knew I was making the fatal, fatal mistake of going to actually see some puppies, I found myself agreeing…


just two handsome guys hanging out

This was the first time I met Harry. As you can see from his expression he was a little bit like, “Who in the name of all Holy Christ are you and what exactly do you want?”

At this stage I was still thinking to myself, we’re just going to meet the breeder and ask a few questions, that doesn’t mean we’re actually going to get the dog. Then of course, as soon as I met the little bugger I immediately imprinted on him and that was me done. He sniffed and licked my face, I did likewise, and just like that I had agreed to arrange my entire life around him for the foreseeable future. Well played wife.

We did agonise over the decision for a day and a night. You don’t get long to decide if you want to take the puppy because they’ve got people queueing up for them. In the end we thought about how we would feel if we called the breeders back and we were too late and he’d gone off to live with someone else. No way were we ever going to be having that. He was ours.

It’s impossible to really “train” a dog

I had long since held the view that dogs are basically every bit as bad as cats, but because they are more affectionate they just get away with it and that has turned out to be pretty much completely true.

The first thing you need to understand is that all dogs, all animals in fact, are naturally just  badly behaved, incredibly selfish bastards. You’ll never really be able to train them in the traditional sense. Rather, it is your job to trick, manipulate and bribe them in to doing what you want. It’s all about trying to outsmart your puppy in every scenario. Get them to wee on a puppy pad, then move the puppy pad closer and closer to the door until eventually it’s outside and then the dog suddenly finds itself weeing outside thinking how the fuck did I get out here? That’s it. People like to make out that dogs are clever enough to train but really they’re just stupid enough to manipulate. Most of the time.

We take Harry to a puppy class every Wednesday which has been basically no help and serves only to undo much of my good work by getting him overstimulated and sending him batshit crazy on puppy treats.

The puppy teacher did say one thing which struck a chord though and it was about learning the command to get your dog to “give” or “leave it.”

She said that you need to train them to associate your hand with treats and good stuff in case you ever have to take away an item which is “high value to them.” That pretty much sums it up, it is just a never ending negotiation as such;

“Harry! Give me back that sock.”

“No. This is high value to me. I am only prepared to relinquish it in exchange for another item of equally high value such as kibble or the oven glove or my favourite toy Mr. Fox who you have so cruelly hidden from me.”

“Well that’s because last time you had Mr. Fox you were getting a little bit too friendly with him, weren’t you?”

“As I explained, that wasn’t what it looked like. I tripped.”


“I am prepared to accept two items of medium value. Medium value items include kibble, anything made of plastic, anything made of cardboard, anything made of wicker, sticks, kibble, full and unfettered access to the dishwasher and it’s contents for twelve hours, kibble, or your face for me to lick – including ears AND mouth.”

“You can have some kibble and access to the dishwasher for three minutes.”

“Five hours.”

“Two minutes.”


And that is basically how you train a puppy.


Wall Street 2 – Kibble Never Sleeps


Puppies can be quite bitey – remember this AT ALL TIMES

This is important information. Puppies, while usually very sleepy and cuddly, sometimes do turn in to little feral bitey monsters and you will do well to remember this. You don’t want to rush downstairs of a morn, wearing nought but a pair of loose fitting boxer shorts, let your excitable puppy out of his sleeping crate and then squat down in order to greet the little fellow. This isn’t a hypothetical situation, of course, this is something that I actually did.

Harry was super excited as he always is first thing in the morning and was nipping at my fingers and toes and then, suddenly – something else.

Yes it would seem that little Rick had been making an appearance out of the leg of my boxer shorts and as I bent down the dog must’ve thought he was having sausage for breakfast. I felt a very sharp nip, and a slight tug which kind of took my breath away in the manner in which one might reasonably expect a puncture wound to the penis to do.

I looked down and saw a thick globule of very dark blood on my leg. As it slowly began to trickle it’s way down I looked up to see my wife entering the kitchen. White as a sheet and in a state of panic I said to her;

“Something terrible has happened.”

“Oh my God! What’s happened to the dog?”

“Nothing, the dog is fine but I think I am going to require either a trip to A&E or a Prince Albert.”

True story. The little guy had bitten me right on the very southern-most point of the old chap, right on the tip. Made a full recovery though since you ask. Was a bit of a bleeder though.


puppies – sometimes bitey

So there you have it. That’s basically the full story to date of how we got a dog. Harry is settling in really well and I’m amazed at how quickly he has taken over our lives, in a good way. He loves going for a walk and running through leaves, he’s pretty speedy so we’ll be taking him to agility classes in the near future. He definitely chews at at least a 16 week level even though he’s only 14 weeks, probably due to putting in a minimum of 2 hours chewing practice per day, we’re all very proud of him. He’s particularly fond of going to the pub and sitting on the sofa watching telly with mummy and daddy. He loves kibble.

To date he has bitten my wife’s nose a few times but thankfully my genitals remain fully intact. Never change Harry, never change.


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BadTripe Health Check


Nowadays it’s considered desirable, fashionable even, to live past the age of 40 without dying of an obesity related illness. Celebrities like Gary Lucy, Abs from 5 and Cristiano Ronaldo have made men more conscious than ever about their physical appearance and fitness and there is now more pressure than ever for men to be able to withstand ever more virulent strains of deadly bacteria without succumbing to death like some sort of pathetic girl.

The author is (apparently) not getting any younger. Although I am often complimented on my youthful good looks so perhaps I have at least succeeded in temporarily arresting the ageing process. Either way there is definitely a picture of me in an attic somewhere which looks absolutely fucking horrendous.*

*That’s what we in the trade call a ‘literary reference’. Look it up luddites.

Anyway, due it being 2016 and all and the author being a man who could reasonably be described as ‘metrosexual’ (by my own father-in-law) I have decided to keep an eye on my health, fitness and general wellbeing and I thought I would share my experiences with my vast readership just in case any of you are considering going on living, for at least a few more years…

Going to the Doctors


Doctors, generally speaking, are perverts. I don’t think there’s any great deal of confusion as to why men are reluctant to visit them. It doesn’t really matter what is wrong with you, they’ll find some way of getting all creepy about it and then interfering with you. I myself have been interfered with by many doctors, for a variety of reasons and I’ve never really thought to question it at the time, like;

‘Why are you doing this to me?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘What is the purpose of this rectal exam you’re giving me?’

‘I’m sorry I don’t quite understand the question. This is a doctors’ surgery, sir and we will proceed with you as we see fit. If you are seeking medical advice then might I suggest the internet? Now kindly stop wasting my time and let’s get on with this.’

It’s all they ever do. Then they just tell you that they don’t know what’s wrong with you (why would they?) but just advise you to take a cocktail of drugs and see if it helps.

Recently though I felt I had an issue which couldn’t be ignored any more. It was causing me a fair bit of pain and discomfort and I needed to get it seen to so I begrudgingly booked an appointment, three and half months hence, to see my GP.

I had a sore wrist.

Not a glamorous, or even an interesting malady but it had been giving me shit for some time so I decided to get it checked out and the conversation went roughly like this;

‘I see Mr White so it’s a bad wrist is that correct?’

‘That’s right doctor.’

‘Indeed. On your dominant hand?’


‘Been troubling you for a while has it?’

‘Comes and goes.’

‘May I ask your profession?’

‘Sales. Telecommunications, smashed my targets last 3 quarters.’

(at this point I probably did a gun firing gesture with my strong hand)

‘Is that your company Audi parked downstairs in reception?’

‘Well yes. I didn’t see a parking man so I just drove straight in.’

‘What’s in that bag you’re carrying?’

‘An artisanal grapefruit and a bottle of small batch gin for my afternoon Martini. Where is all this leading may I ask? Just what exactly are you driving at? This is a serious medical issue.’

‘It’s Wanker’s Cramp.’

‘How dare you. I can assure you sir that I have never in my life resorted to onanism, I’m not some sort of depraved chimpanzee.’

‘Don’t worry Mr White this is a doctors’ surgery we see this sort of thing all the time, very common in men such as you.’

‘Now you look here buster. I came here for some tests. Now I want you to pick up your little bag of tools and drain me of every one of my bodily fluids before I….wait, wait that came out wrong. Just give me a fucking blood test. I demand it.’

‘Very well, just bend over. I mean roll up your sleeve.’

And lo and behold, after a fair bit of faffing around I was diagnosed with Haemochromatosis. Now I know what you’re thinking – that would be amazing in Scrabble and you’d be absolutely correct. Not great in life though, as we all know the longer the word, the worse the disease. That’s why children learn that song in school, to help them remember this simple rule. It was certainly one of the first things I learned as a child;

‘Good in Scrabble equals bad in life, 

If your disease has more than 9 letters then you’re probably going to die.’

There are a couple of notable exceptions to this but it’s like ‘I before E except after C’ or that really annoying rhyme about the days of the months where they had to crowbar in a really awkward line about February having 28 days all square, except in every leap yair. So the full song actually goes;

‘Good in Scrabble equals bad in life, 

If your disease has more than 9 letters then you’re probably going to die.

Cancer in Scrabble? Well that’s still alright,

Even in life you can still survive,

But AIDS is absolutely shite.’

Everyone knows that one right?

The Haemochromatosis was completely unrelated to my bad wrist and is in fact an excess of iron in the blood. The doctor had warned me that this was a possibility but I was like, ‘Nah that won’t be it. I’ll check the internet.’ Unfortunately when you Google ‘too much iron in blood’ there is literally only one option which comes up.

The treatment is simple; get a pint of blood drained out of you once a week in order to dilute the iron until your levels return to normal. You make new blood quickly so the iron levels go down. It takes longer to get your haemoglobin levels back up though so you will be walking around like an anaemic zombie for quite a while. Once your iron is back to normal then you just simply keep getting a pint of blood drained out of you but on a less frequent basis, for the rest of your life. Pretty simple really.

There are many symptoms of the disease but they don’t generally present until you’re about 50 years old, by which time the excess iron in your blood has started to deposit itself in various organs, causing irreparable damage. It’s ok if it’s caught early though so it was a good save. BY ME! I demanded the blood tests and diagnosed myself. When I asked my doctor for some advice about the condition, including the possible symptoms the conversation went like this;

‘What are the symptoms?’

‘There are many symptoms but off the top of my head…erectile dysfunction.’

‘How dare you sir! I have never in my life had any trouble, well maybe once or twice, but I will not tolerate…stand up. Stand Up! I will bum you right where you stand, right now as God is my witness so help me.’

‘Please Mr White calm down, there’s every chance you’ll never experience any symptoms as long as it’s kept under control.’

‘Oh right. And I suppose this is where you tell me you can perform a simple test to see if I am capable of achieving an erection and that you’re happy to do it for free am I right?’

‘Well I mean I could.’

‘Good day sir.’

And so there you go. One fucking visit to the doctors got me diagnosed with Wanker’s Cramp and Erectile Dysfunction all in the space of a week. Never, ever, ever again. I’ll just die.

The really annoying thing is that when you look up Haemochromatosis, E.D is like the second fucking thing on the list which is why I generally avoid mentioning it except on this blog which no one reads.

There is a Haemochromatosis Society so I will definitely be running for President of that just as long as I don’t get made in to the face of Erectile Dysfunction. I can do without that thanks very much.

Getting in to Shape


Now. The author has a physique which could probably be described as ‘Skinny Chubby’ basically skinny in the arms and legs with a slight paunch around the middle and a massive penis. I’ve always felt that I could just about live with it.

Trouble is that once you go past 30 you do start to notice yourself getting progressively chubbier. You can almost see the pounds begin to pile on as you sit on your nice comfy John Lewis sofa eating Kettle Chips out of a bowl with Moroccan hummus and throwing glass after glass of delicious Pinot Noir down your neck.You realise that something has to be done in order to balance things out. Quite literally.

Men’s Health Magazines all seem to convey the message that health, fitness and an improved physique are easily within our grasp. All of the covers are plastered with seductive promises of a quick fix, something we men all love because no one can really be fucked with doing exercise. They all say; ‘Get the arms you want in just 15 minutes’ or ‘Seven Day Abs; The Secret’. Trouble is that the secret is you have to work out, really hard, for seven hours, seven days a week for at least seven years and then continuously after that, forever.

Like so many poor misguided fools I joined a gym just after Christmas. On my first visit they made me fill in a form and took my bank details. On my second visit they showed me round. Third visit a young, healthy whipper-snapper full of youthful vitality got me in a room and asked me what my goals were. I told him my goals were to be able to walk up a flight of stairs without having a coronary and to not die before I reach the age of 33. He asked me how my self esteem was to which I replied that my wife said I had love handles so how the fuck did he think it was?

He then laughed nervously, told me he was ‘freaking out’ about turning 20 and then asked if I would like to get undressed and let him take pictures of me, to which I politely declined.

Then on my fourth visit I actually used some of the equipment in the gym, I think that was in March.

Having watched all 4 of the proper Rocky films and the car crash of number 5 and 6 and even the latest spin off I was given to understand that my path to fitness would happen quickly. I’d pictured it as a well cut montage sequence set to 80’s music interspersed with some light stretching but it turns out that isn’t necessarily true. I’d got up early to go to the gym for crying out loud! I swam ten lengths of the pool and then had a sauna so why wasn’t I ripped and good at boxing yet? It just didn’t make any sense.

At a party, whilst drunk (FYI – wasn’t my fault, someone spiked me with 19 beers) I started talking to my friend Ian about this dilemma because I know that he does Thai Boxing and I told him that it looked easy and I should be able to do it and that I’d fight him. Besides the fact I am highly capable of losing a fight against a small child or even an inanimate object, I couldn’t even hit anyone properly anyway on account of my misdiagnosed Wanker’s Cramp. My wrist is still fucked with no explanation.

Ian suggested that I go to see his personal trainer Mike and this is where the real pain and suffering began. The first time I went I made it through about 10 minutes before collapsing in a cold sweat and having to go outside to be sick. Second time I put my back out attempting to swing a sledgehammer at a tractor tyre. Third time, nearly sick but just about made it to the end.

Mike, to his eternal credit is in fact teaching me to box and you know if you’ve ever had a dream where you’re trying to fight someone but your punches have no effect whatsoever? That is basically me at boxing but I swear I’m getting better and one day soon I am going to march in to my GP’s office and knock him the fuck out.


At the end of each session Mike very kindly stretches my muscles out for me which basically involves me, on my back with another man pinning both of my legs behind my head after which I can’t walk properly for about a week.

Just like a visit to the fucking doctor’s then!!!

Boom Boom.




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L-Baz Quotes Part 2 (Classic L-Baz)

22802_10155611254505004_3723297190832245637_nIn a pleasant change from writing about my own petty quibbles and gripes, every now and again I like to take a look at the work of an unparalleled comedy genius, a leader in her field, a true visionary and also I’m very happy to say my wife, Sarah.

I can no longer really refer to her as L-Baz as she gave up the surname Leatherbarrow and took my name White upon agreeing to marry me. Much easier when booking a table at a restaurant but lacking any of the warm eccentric charm of her maiden name. It’s actually quite a weird feeling when your wife changes her name. Even though I was thrilled to have her take my name and become my wife, I think we were both a little sad to see Leatherbarrow go and so in keeping with the fact that this is number 2 in a series of these tribute pieces, I’ll be referring to her as L-Baz throughout, it seems fitting in the context.

It’s fair to say that my wife has to put up with an awful lot being married to me. There was the time I bought her a glass of Pimms that was too full. Naturally she reacted as anyone would upon being defiled in this manner and burst in to a bout of uncontrollable hysterics. I advised her that she should write down her feelings and save them up for when she eventually publishes her memoirs or writes an article for one of those women’s magazines entitled ‘My Pimms Hell – One Woman’s Struggle’. I also pointed out that there were places she could go if she no longer felt safe, women’s refuges I think they’re called where some big old friendly northern dinner lady type, no doubt called Pat would gather her up in her comforting bosom and reassure her that she was safe now.

‘Come on love, you come inside, you’re safe now.’

‘Sometimes when I close my eyes at night it’s like I’m back there and it’s happening all over again (sobbing and wailing).’

‘You let it all out love, we’ve all been there. That bastard can’t hurt you any more.’

Then there was the time she came home on a Friday and wanted us to get in bed at 7pm and watch Frozen. I agreed without hesitation but apparently I didn’t show quite the appropriate amount of enthusiasm. Yes it really is Shipman – Fritzl – Hitler – Rick White in the bad husband stakes.

Anyhoo, all that aside I have written before about how L-Baz’s completely unintentionally hilarious turn of phrase has enriched my life to the point where I actually did begin writing down stuff that she says. It really is quite a fascinating insight in to the way in which her mind works, I don’t know if it applies to all women. My advice to anyone would be to start keeping detailed records of everything your wife says, it’s funny and it will definitely help you to win more arguments.

One example of what I’m talking about is the way in which she’ll carry on a conversation we had six months ago as if that conversation were still taking place. I specifically remember in the middle of a car journey she just came out with;

‘Mum said they did a test and the paint was better.’

I like it when this happens because then I have to use my powers of deduction to work out what on earth she’s talking about which in many ways is more fun than a normal conversation.

‘Who is they in this scenario?’

‘A magazine.’

‘And what kind of paint was it?’

‘Farrow & Ball.’

Got it! We were in the Farrow & Ball shop about six months ago and I was moaning about how it’s so ridiculously expensive and B&Q will just copy the colour for you for half the price. And I win! Actually I lose because I’ve been proved wrong by Sarah’s mum (comedy genius in her own right) and a magazine but still, fun.

There’s also the way in which she remembers details of events and retells them. I think it’s actually the way that she experiences things very differently to the way in which, let’s not call them sane people but ‘linear thinkers’ experience things. The things that Sarah remembers about an event may very well bear absolutely no relevance to what the event or the thing in question actually was supposed to be or what actually took place but just one thing that she noticed which will form the basis of her recollection. For example, when Sarah’s dad invited me to go and watch Newcastle United with him Sarah said;

‘You’ll like it Rick, all the dogs have shoes on.’

At the time I don’t think I even questioned this, merely made a mental note of it and filed it away under ‘Things I’ll probably have to repeat to a psychiatric nurse, police officer or judge one day.’ But lo and behold, when we arrived at the match I spotted a police dog with  these little plastic boots on its feet to stop it from treading on glass.


police dogs – fancy

I bet if you asked Sarah about that match it would go something like;

‘Remember that time you went to watch Newcastle with your dad?’


‘It was in February I think.’


‘Newcastle beat Real Madrid 13-12 on penalties?’


‘You took one of the penalties?’

‘There was a pitch invasion.’

‘And an explosion.’

‘You had to be airlifted out by helicopter?’

‘All the dogs had shoes on?’

‘Right why didn’t you just say that Rick, you fucking moron of course I remember dogs with shoes on day it was the best day ever.’

Fascinating stuff I’m sure you’ll all agree.


Sharpshooting wit

And so in tribute to my wonderful wife here are a few of her best quotes from recent months.

Childhood memories;

‘My only memory from childhood is when I had that pigeon on my head.’

Discussing the pros and cons of a vegan diet;

‘It’s not for me, I don’t even think you’re allowed to eat meat.’

Playing chess;

‘Rick! That’s a cheaters move, you’re killing all my animals.’

Star Wars;

‘I don’t want to watch Star Wars Rick I don’t like it.’

‘You’ve never seen it.’

‘I have.’

‘What happens in it then?’

‘There’s a Jedi.’

‘And what’s a Jedi?’

‘A furry thing.’


‘You can watch the football when you’ve done the hoovering, nothing comes without hard work.

‘Not even watching the football on my own TV?’

‘Our TV, there’s no I in marriage. There’s only an R.’

Completely out of the blue;

‘I want a man who takes an interest in my front garden.’

Explaining the basic plot of Cats – The Musical

‘They’re cats.’


‘They’re quite weird, and I think they live in a drain.’

A very reasonable debate on kitchen cupboard space distribution and teamwork;

‘I’m the wife. And you’re a moron, so I get to decide what goes in the cupboard.’

Interior design;

‘You’re not allowed to hang your guitar on the wall Rick, you’re not Bryan Adams.’

And my absolute favourite, whilst watching David Blunkett on TV (and I knew this was coming);

‘His eyes look weird.’

‘He is blind.’

‘Well they should put a message up on the screen to warn people, he looks shifty.’


David Blunkett – Shifty

So there you go. Just a bit of the pure comedy gold which keeps me constantly entertained at home and helps to temper my daily rage. I think the funniest thing about L-Baz is that she literally has no filter and whatever nonsense she has in her mind just spills forth. I for one very much hope she never changes.




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the thinking man’s man’s man’s guide to being a man

Tom Selleck

If, like the author, you are incredibly rugged and manly but just choose to express it in more non-conventional ways like having a real soft spot for peonies or not being afraid of a scented candle every once in a while then this guide has been specially designed to help you blend in with basically all the other men you will ever come in to contact with. And when I say ‘contact’ I don’t mean that in any kind of a gay way before you all start.

I have the soft supple hands of a man who in all honesty is more comfortable applying a rejuvenating face mask than sanding down a wall. I can’t grow a beard to save my life, the only real shaving I do is shavings of pecorino on my bucatini all’amatriciana.

‘Oh but pecorino is just a cheap alternative to parmesan’ I hear you luddites cry. Go fuck yourselves.

This is exactly the sort of behaviour that is met with scorn and derision by ‘real men’ like for example my dad who is fond of saying things like, ‘Richard’s never done a proper day’s work in his life.’ Well de-pilling all of my cashmere and merino jumpers wasn’t exactly a fucking walk in the park old man let me tell you.

My brother is certainly more manly than I am. When we were kids he got kicked out of his rugby team for beating the shit out of a bigger boy on his own team and has been my old man’s favourite ever since then. I was busy practicing my one man show, experimenting with using Sun-In on my side parting and wrestling with the typical dilemmas of any young man such as ‘does the colour purple really suit me or am I just lying to myself?’ I’m still undecided.

Inevitably, when I first got a girlfriend my dad made the typical dad quip, ‘well we were worried he was gay for a while.’ Only I don’t think he was actually joking, in any way.

So if any of this rings a bell (not in a gay way, you understand) and you need to learn how to successfully integrate with real men and when I say ‘integrate’ oh fuck it here’s the list…



This is a really useful tip, you should now commit this image to memory because whenever you drive anywhere there is always likely to be a real man at the end of your trip, your new girlfriend’s dad for example who will immediately ask you what route you took.

I struggle to navigate my way out of my own house and just obey what my Sat Nav tells me to do without question. I’m not even very good at doing what it tells me and I certainly have no idea what any of the roads are actually called. This is not the manly way to go. Real men do not need a Sat Nav, they know every possible route to every possible destination off by heart and they will ask you about it, straight away.

‘Which way did you come? M6, M40, M5?’

‘Yeah.’ Best to just agree, but there’s always a chance it could be a trap…

‘Come off at junction 9?’

‘That’s right, junction 9.’

‘There is no junction 9, I just made it up. Get the fuck out of my house.’

If you’re feeling like you want to play in the big leagues then what you should do is study your route beforehand and pick an obscure road to follow to your destination, make sure it’s real though or you’ll be found out but you’ll get awesome man points when you drop it in to your first conversation.

‘Actually I came off at junction 15 and took the B9000 via Chichester. Saved us about 17 minutes.’

‘Welcome to my family, you ever need anything you come to me.’

So simple, only requires years to perfect and completely pointless due to modern technology but so, so worth it for man points. Next….



Remember, if you’re in the company of real men and someone asks you what you want to drink, you want a pint of non-specific beer. If you are asked to further elaborate on this you should have some stock answers to hand such as ‘Stella’ (real men call it ‘Wife Beater’), ‘Carling’ or ‘Fosters’ actually I think that last one might even be slightly frowned upon. You definitely can’t go wrong with a pint of wife beater though so stick to that. I think Peroni might be OK but it’s not on tap everywhere so there’s always the danger that they don’t have it and then you’ve singled yourself out as the effeminate metrosexual who wanted a Peroni because he can’t drink Stella. Then if you’re ever in the company of these extended family members/work colleagues/girlfriend’s friends boyfriends again they’ll always ask you if you want a Peroni and laugh at the hilarious time you made a tit out of yourself by requesting a Peroni, you fucking nonce.

Just don’t draw attention to yourself, go with the herd. Whatever you do don’t order a dry martini (not dry as a bone dry, but dry) and then change your mind when you find out they’ve got no grapefruits for the twist. And don’t then order a glass of Pinot Grigio but send it back because it’s not cold enough and just say to the bewildered waitress, ‘Just bring me a glass of the coldest white wine you have, as long as it’s not Chardonnay.’

I didn’t do both of those things at once by the way, I’m not that bad. It was two separate incidents.


Not really sure why but real men retain water like fucking camels. And when I say water I of course mean Stella. They’ll down 8 pints in the airport and make it all the way to the hotel in Benidorm without even a twinge in the bladder.

Train yourself, God knows how, you figure it out.



Steak. Medium. That’s what you want. You’re not this fucking clown off the telly so don’t start trying to show off.

Regular readers will know that this is a particularly problematic area for the author. I just can’t help being a dick in these situations anyway but with a group of proper lads it is never going to end well. If you’re with a group of real men then just order the exact same steak as the guy next to you, which he wanted medium, no doubt. If you must have a sauce then peppercorn is acceptable but you’re better off just asking for some ketchup. Don’t start faffing around asking if the gnocchi is homemade on the premises that day or if the chef leaves the roe on the scallop. Don’t be that guy. And don’t, for the love of God start trying to change bits and bobs off the menu, giving it all;

‘Yeah can I have that with linguine instead of rigatoni, I just feel like I’m in more of a twirley mood?’

The only questions you should ask are pervy, creepy ones like ‘What time do you knock off love, we’re hitting Vodka Rev’s later?’ or better yet don’t ask questions at all as these could illicit a stinging erudite response. Just stick to vaguely offensive comments like, ‘pop your phone number on the bill darling.’ or ‘I bet you enjoy a nice healthy portion don’t you sweetheart?’ Then just eat your dull overcooked steak in absolute silence, occasionally looking up and shouting ‘Oi. Pal. Ketchup’ at that fucking poof of a waiter and that’s pretty much dining out all covered.

You can always go back the following week on your own if needs be so that you can finally enjoy those gnocchi that were described as ‘little heavenly pillows’ on Trip Advisor, man they sounded good. Nice Chablis Grand Cru to wash it down, good lad.



Any proper man’s man knows how to handle a big tool (not in a gay way). You will need to invest in at least a basic set. If you move in with your sweet lady and need some minor repairs doing around the house then the inevitable moment will arrive when she invites her dad over to carry out the job and the first thing he’ll say is, ‘I bet you haven’t even got a spanner have you lad?’ with a condescending laugh. ‘No but I’ve got a pasta rolling machine and a fucking potato ricer so whether you want tortellini or gnocchi I’ve got us well covered you old fuck’ is not a suitable comeback.

Just out tool the old prick. Get a fucking angle grinder out to chop down that dodgy shower rail. Put up that generic Ikea print using a pneumatic drill, it doesn’t really matter seeing as no one really knows how to use tools anyway it’s all just posturing and everything can be solved by giving it a good whack on the end with a hammer (totally not gay). Plus, the older man will always take responsibility for any DIY jobs, that’s just hard-wired in to real men so as long as you have some tools you’ll probably never be called upon to use them, until you get old and have to condescend to some poor young fool as if that was never you to begin with. That’s the circle of life my good friends, Hakuna Matata.


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Crappy Unsigned Bands #2 #thecrappening


Since writing last week’s reviews of some of the CUB’s who followed me on Twitter I have been overwhelmed by the response and literally inundated with at least 3 new bands requesting to follow me.

I was checking the stats on this incredible blog the other day and noticed that I’d had 5 visitors in one day, absolutely smashing the previous BadTripe record of 3. Obviously most of these visits are accidental and, wonderfully, you can actually see the country from which the visitors visited and also the search terms which brought them here.

It was to my sheer amazement and delight that I saw that someone in Albania (and this is absolutely true) had googled ‘Beyonce Pussy’ and had ended up here on Beyonce does crop up in one of my articles and most of what I write involves cats so I can see how it’s happened but what a fortuitous happenstance dear readers! Just think, if that poor Albanian fool had been slightly less specific in his Google search criteria then he could’ve been looking at all manner of lady parts but instead he’s now listening to your Crappy Unsigned Band. That’s the power of the internet kids, you do the math.

Anyway let’s dive straight in to this week’s CUB’s and see what fresh hell awaits us…

First up this week we have Destroy Nate Allen @DSTRYNATEALLEN a colourful haired gentleman (and I think his wife?) hailing from Kansas City, Missouri where I believe the classic American dish of Waffle-Fried Crawfish was invented.

BadTripe Verdict: This is that sort of off-kilter folk punk music played on acoustic guitars that makes up the soundtrack to all of those US indie films starring Michael Cera where everyone wears a hoodie and has great hair where nothing much happens but the kids all discover some life lessons about themselves before they move out of Mom’s basement and go off to college, set against a background of teenage pregnancy, divorce or imminent destruction of the earth. They’ll never forget that summer, and we all swore never to not waste a minute or let a minute go to waste. Anyway this band…I like it, it’s all very quirky and enjoyable. These guys sound like a nice couple who are having a lot of fun and I for one would quite like to go have some beers and some chicken-fried daiquiris with them.

Next, all the way from Manchester we have The Mudez Project @MudezProject who requested a review without actually following me which piqued my ire to begin with. Don’t you realise I care about how many people follow me on Twitter? I’m a small, petty, petty man in many ways.

Their Twitter biog reads :-

“Nu Jazz, Neo Soul, Fusion & Electronica fuses together The Mudez Project in a mist of exciting collaborations & new sounds.”

Jesus Methamphetamine Christ I’m scared. If they’d added the word ‘funk’ to this anywhere I would’ve vomited my own eyes out there and then but I’m a true journalist and so, like a cheap hooker attempting to override her gag reflex, I’ll give it a go….

BadTripe Verdict: I managed to make it through 2 minutes of their video! They’re clearly a very talented group of musicians, a tight jazz quintet. The lead singer has a great voice and the addition of a double bass in to any situation will always play well on BadTripe. If I was staggering round a smoky basement bar (back when you could smoke, not one that’s on fire) and these guys were playing in the background I’d be quite happy. If you’re the sort of person who likes magic mushrooms on a week night and has at least one white friend with dreadlocks I reckon you’ll like them too. Just for God’s sake never put the prefix “Nu” in front of any genre of music ever again.

And finally….coming straight out of Waco Texas (which is already ringing alarm bells) we have The Jesses, represented on Twitter by (I presume) lead vocalist and songwriter Robert Harris @bitterpony666 whose Tweets lead me to the band’s full length album ‘The Devil Doesn’t Come Out in Daylight’. Looking at Robert’s profile it looks as though he failed to make the Varsity Water Polo team, which I understand is the one unifying goal of all American high school kids and instead has chosen to go the other way and stop cutting his hair and adopt a bleak, nihilistic view of the world and all existence and there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact it’s a good start if you want to make some decent music.

BadTripe Verdict: Jesus Christ you kids need to lighten up, the world’s not that terrible. Even on the website it says “Here is our album, after it comes out we will break up”. It can’t be that bad! In fact you guys remind me of the Goth Kids from South Park. You want to come round to the BadTripe household for the weekend that’ll cheer you up. Me and Mrs BT like listening to some angsty, desolate post-punk but we also like cuddling on the sofa and watching Grey’s Anatomy with a nice bottle of Pinot Noir. On Fridays we normally cook some delicious pasta but we don’t just lump it straight on to a plate, no, no, no. We serve it up on a vintage platter, scattered liberally with fresh herbs and accompanied by a nice Caprese Salad. Then I grate some parmesan over it with gusto from a height, FROM A HEIGHT ROBERT! I know what you’re thinking and you’re right, it fucking well gets all over our antique oak plank kitchen table but we don’t care, it gives it a sense of occasion, something to enjoy. I mean obviously Mrs Badtripe makes me clean that shit up as soon as we’ve eaten, we’re not running a fucking soup kitchen you understand.

That said your album’s really good. I can tell you love Wavves and Cloud Nothings, as do I, I’m a sucker for this stuff and this is really well made considering you’ve probably done it all yourself in your bedroom. It’s melodic, grungey, a little bit jarring and depressing as fuck in places. People like you need to be depressed so that people like me can enjoy your music. Don’t break up you bunch of pricks. Carry on being depressed in your Crappy Unsigned Band and you never know what might happen.

Peace x






Crappy Unsigned Band Reviews #1


I get a lot of CUB’s following me on Twitter, most of whom I’m assuming have never looked at my page but just saw me amongst the followers of some other bands and thought that their crappy music is similar and that I might follow them back. Now I’m sure you’re going, “Rick that can’t be true, you’re so funny and handsome and I’m sure these bands are just fans of yours” and you may be right but I think the majority of them just want to up their numbers, well not on my time do you hear? If you want endorsement from me then you’re going to have to earn it the hard way sunshine! (That probably sounds a bit creepy, I just mean I’ll review your band on

I posted a tweet recently saying that any CUBs who follow me will get a free review on here which may be seen by anywhere up to 5 people a day who accidentally visit my site, great exposure I’m sure for any young kids with a dream of making it in music. Plus it’s only fair, if you expect me to support your band then you should be prepared for my honest feedback.

Now before you all start banging on about art and criticism and “hey c’mon man who are you to criticise our music what have you ever done?” Well let me tell you my band signed a record deal and released an album, albeit only in the great nation of Japan but it’s still a record deal you bunch of pricks and our album is available on Amazon for £18 or roughly 2500 Yen and it has a 5 star review (from me – I tried to change my name on Amazon to Nick Dwight but it didn’t work). So there you have it, I’m better than you, my opinion is worth more now let’s do this!


Rogues Gallery

First up @roguesgalleryca  from Rosemead California who describe their sound as ‘quirky’, well my friends quirky as in how my old R.E teacher used to wear purple tights with orange shoes or quirky as in deliberately trapping your genitals betwixt the pages of your Nigella Lawson cookbook for sexual gratification? Let’s find out….

BadTripe Verdict: Hippy Yank Indie straight out the 90’s. I’m listening to ‘No Way Home’ and I’m hearing bits of Nada Surf and The Dead Milkmen which is no bad thing but the track lacks a major hook. I Imagine these guys like riding longboards, smoking a bowl and communicate with each other using only the word ‘dude’. More quirkiness required in my opinion and get a fucking haircut you bunch of stoner bruhs…

Tardigrades in Space

Next, from Newcastle-Upon-Tyne we have what appears to be one person going by the name of Tardigrades in Space @spacetards and with a Twitter bio that reads, “Anonymous mega-twat shitting out music in a bedroom nearer to you than you’d find comfortable” I’m definitely interested.

BadTripe Verdict: Fucking ace! Within about 3 seconds of listening to ‘Infanticide’ I knew it was for me. There’s this awesome post punk/lo-fi vibe which reminds me a bit of early Cloud Nothings, the vocals have some creepy weird effect on them which I love and the guitars skip between intricate and happy sounding riffs one minute to nice and sludgy power chords the next. The track never stops moving, a really fun listen. This is certainly Nigella level quirky and you sir have got yourself a follow and a fan.

**A quick aside – as I’ve been sat here writing this I’ve been followed by ‘Mellor Golf Club’ and I was really hoping that was a band as it’s a good name but alas it is just a golf club. Not too sure what they want with me.**

The State of How

@TheStateofHow from Orlando, Florida seem to be a very professional outfit, which won’t do them any favours around here. Professional pictures, fancy-schmancy website and an album on iTunes although I can’t tell if this is self released or through a label so are they even officially a CUB? Not sure…

BadTripe Verdict: Very well produced and strong songs, reminiscent of The Postal Service or Panic at the Disco but for me it’s just all far too polished. A harsh criticism given how tough it must be to break through, especially in the states. On paper I should like this band but they sound like quite a lot of other people would like them and that makes me not like them, you see? This sort of unpredictable, fickle attitude must be maddening for bands which is why I chose to give up music and work in Telecoms, where you can be 100% certain that everyone hates you for the reasons they have stated clearly.

Time for one more?

Ring Hollow

With a name that sounds like a bad case of dysentery, Southern California’s @RingHollow do look rather serious in their moody black and white Twitter photo. Every tweet is for a ‘new single which has just dropped’. The fact that there seems to be one a month points clearly to CUB territory.

BadTripe Verdict: Generic metal yawnathon. This kind of metal has been done to death, just a bloke shouting over some arbitrary Ibanez guitar and a shuddering double bass drum. I like a bit of metal but there’s got to be something to distinguish it from everything else. Not for me I’m afraid chaps, maybe just lighten up a bit? It’s all so angsty why not write a song about the pleasant feeling of using a hair dryer on your balls on a chilly winter’s morning or the satisfaction one derives from knowing one’s spice cupboard is really well stocked. Just some ideas.

Well that wraps it up for this week. Hopefully I’ll get some more bands to review soon and make this a regular thing. Until then good luck to all you Crappy Unsigned Bands out there! It’s really hard but whatever happens it’s a fucksight more fun than having an actual job and responsibility and shit so think yourselves lucky and just enjoy it while you can.

Much love! x






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I’m sorry for being a dick


My New Year’s resolution for what it’s worth is simply to stop being a complete and total dick, in all manner of situations, towards people who are only doing their jobs. Sounds reasonably simple but for some reason I do keep getting myself in to these awkward situations and finding that I’m unable to stop myself from being a dick. It’s almost like I’m looking down on myself, seeing the scenario unfold, behaving like a total and utter pompous arsehole but being unable to stop myself from doing it. It’s like some sort of weird, Pavlovian response mechanism like I’ve been somehow pre-conditioned to behave in this way, which begs the question of Nature vs. Nurture. Am I just inherently a total dick or am I in fact just a product of my environment? This is what we’re going to explore but first here’s a brief example of the sort of thing I’m talking about :-

#1 – Buying coffee from a service station


I order a medium latte and a bottle of water. I know it’s going to be expensive but nothing prepares me for the violent insult of being charged £5.41 for these two meagre beverages. WHERE DOES THE FUCKING 1 COME FROM?? WHAT IS THE POINT OF THAT!!!??? I check the change in my pocket as I cling to the belief that if you’re spending the change from a previous cash withdrawal rather than starting a new transaction then you’re effectively not spending any extra money. The change in my pocket totals exactly £5.40. I already know that this will not be accepted and I’m not willing to lower myself to the rank of common beggar. It’s like a perfect storm at this point, I am apoplectic with rage but just managing to maintain the thin veneer of social acceptability as I hand over my card as if it’s my anal virginity. Then the woman on the till asks :-

“Can you just check that the amount is correct?”

It’s at this point that the change occurs. I’ve exited this mortal plain and I’m just floating on a cloud of ethereal indignation and I reply :-

“Yes, unbelievably that is the correct amount.”

Now the woman behind the counter has interpreted my dickish, sarcastic comment in the wrong way. I meant, “Yes. Although that is a preposterous amount of money to charge for a coffee and a water, it is in fact the correct amount as displayed on your tariff.” She thinks I mean, “You typed it in to the machine, why would it be wrong? Are you in fact a moron?”

To her eternal credit she maintains her professionalism and simply replies courteously, “I’m just required to check that the amount is correct.”

Then I start cranking it up to dick level 9 by attempting to actually explain my “joke” to this poor woman.

“No, no” I stammer. “I realise that. I’m just saying that although it is technically correct, it’s still a ridiculous amount to pay for one coffee and one water.”

There’s a queue forming behind me. She now thinks I might be haggling or refusing to pay. I can see the mild panic setting in, the kind associated with the unpredictable knobhead in public. She doesn’t reply, what could she possibly say? What am I looking for anyway? An apology? Do I want this perfectly polite lady, who is simply doing her job, to apologise on behalf of Costa fucking coffee for charging the sort of prices one might associate with a hyper-inflated, Zimbabwe-esque economic meltdown?

I put my card in the machine, pay and get the fuck out of there with my lukewarm, bitter, raw sewage tasting coffee and replay the situation in my head to assess where it was I could’ve done things slightly differently.


So there you have it. This is the sort of thing I just can’t help doing. It’s somewhat ironic that my job largely involves being castigated by small minded, petty individuals who think that I am solely responsible for every single action carried out by the organisation which I represent so you’d think I would’ve learned to be less of a dick in these situations. Well I am trying (sort of) so go fuck yourselves. Anyway I digress, it’s not just me who is affected by my dickish behaviour, my wife, bless her, has to put up with numerous scenes of this nature as I try to ruin happy occasions thus…

#2 Ordering dinner


Always a potential minefield for the perpetual dick. I tend to ask a lot of unnecessary questions and tend to get quite dickish when the poor waiting staff don’t know the answer. I got put in my place quite brilliantly once in Wales though, they don’t take any nonsense from out-of-towners as this conversation illustrates :-

“What ales do you have on today?”

“We’ve got one bitter I think.”

“Uh-huh, what’s it like?”



Anyway one classic example occurred while my wife and I were honeymooning in Venice this year. I know right?? Honeymooning! You’d think I could’ve managed to reign it in slightly for our honeymoon wouldn’t you but no way! I’m a constant dick, no downtime. Fully committed.

We were having dinner at a lovely little restaurant right on the grand canal and my wife wants to order the gnocchi with scallops, thyme and lime zest. Quite an unusual combination and I immediately become concerned that she might not like it, and then I’ll be sat there, enjoying my lamb ragu and feeling guilty while she politely chokes down her raw uncooked scallops and we both won’t enjoy ourselves. Now, you’re all reasonable people and you’re probably reading this going; “For fuck’s sake Rick your wife’s a grown woman and knows her own mind just butt out you total dick.” BUT NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I’m that much of a dick that I have to second guess my wife at every opportunity and I will always assume that I know better than she does what she will or will not like. So the inevitable happens and I start trying to converse with the Italian waiter who doesn’t really speak English….

“How are the scallops cooked?”

“The scallops?”

“Yes are they fried in a pan? Pan fried?” I’m mime-frying scallops in a pan at this point, looking like an absolute dick.

“It is err…like a small fish.”

“No, no I understand that thank you but in what manner is the scallop prepared?”


I then decide to launch in to the internationally recognised language of the travelling dick; talking excessively loudly, in words of one syllable where possible.


I’m sweating, people are looking over and my wife is on the verge of quite rightly getting up and leaving the restaurant but manages to stop me in my tracks with a look that only she is capable of and I finally stop embarrassing myself and just let the poor waiter get on with taking my poor wife’s order. As I slowly begin to regain my composure and my semi-rational view of the world restores itself I realise what a dick I’ve been. Could I have stopped myself? We’ll never know. To my wife’s eternal credit she is still married to me despite the fact that I’ve repeated this scenario at least once and engaged in the following horrendous display of dickery at my own birthday which she’d organised :-


I’d ordered a ribeye steak and what arrived, to my absolute horror, was a rump steak. Or at least it may have been, who the fuck knows? I certainly don’t (I definitely do) but anyway I couldn’t just sit there and accept it so as not to spoil the evening could I? Nope. I had to start some weird kind of upstairs/downstairs thing off with the poor unsuspecting waitress. Apparently it went a bit like this :-

“Excuse me. Just come and have a look at this please.”

“How can I help you kind sir?”

“What does this look like to you?”

“I’m sorry I don’t quite understand…”

“I ordered a ribeye steak. Does this unholy abomination look like a ribeye steak to you? Do you even know what a ribeye steak looks like?”

“I’m awful sorry kind mister I just brings the steaks up from the kitchen like they tells me to…”

I’ve dicked us right back to the 1850’s here and the poor kitchen wench is looking over to her manager to help save her from this insufferable steak dick but I don’t stop there and I ram her face in to the offensive slab of meat to teach her a lesson…


I’m informed that that is basically how it went down but I can’t quite recall it accurately although that does sound a lot like a normal evening out with me. I’m a dick you see.

And finally….

#3 Getting a parking ticket


Been in this situation a few times but one particular occasion stands out in the mind. I’d just nipped out to do a bit of shopping with the wife and I’d parked in a side street in what I thought was a 1 hour free parking zone. Upon arriving back at the car I saw a parking warden, a lady one no less, hovering around my car. Knowing that I was well within the 1 hour time limit I smiled smugly and shouted “Shoo! Buzz off you, get outta here!”I failed to notice that her smile was just slightly more smug than mine as she sashayed away down the street and then I noticed the ticket on my windscreen.

I was 100% convinced that I was in the right so I shouted “OI!!” and proceeded to chase the parking warden down the street.

“OI! What the fuck is this?”

“You were parked illegally.”

“No I fucking wasn’t love, it’s 1 hour!”

“On one side of the road it is but on that side it’s resident permit holders only.” The smug bitch.

Now I know at this point you’re thinking “Rick, stop being so hard on yourself, you were well within your rights, everyone hates parking wardens.” And you’re absolutely right but that’s not the bad bit.

It was during the ensuing tirade of abuse that I was hurling at the traffic warden that an old lady came hobbling past with a stick and screeched, “Leave her alone she’s only doing her job.”

I became distracted from berating the traffic warden and immediately rounded on the old lady and shouted “OH SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!” Straight in to the wizened old crone’s face. By this point my wife had just walked off, people had stopped in the street to observe and I realised I’d crossed over the fine line between righteously aggrieved citizen and total, complete and utter dick.

old woman

old women = fucking nosy

I’m not apologising for this one though. I fucking hate traffic wardens (even though they are only doing their jobs they’ve chosen a shit job spreading misery wherever they go) and old women have no business sticking their hooked witch’s beaks in to my personal affairs.

I will continue to boo traffic wardens (and old people) in the street.




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Bad Tripe: Election Special


If you find politics to be weird, creepy and boring then you’re probably not alone. It is generally just a bunch of pallid, bloated, middle aged men (and a few women) spouting a load of banal platitudes on a series of arbitrarily chosen subjects while failing horrendously to do Neuro Linguistic Programming on us all through our television sets. I think the reason it’s all so shit is because the politics that we all see on TV has so very little to do with the actual day to day business of running a country. It’s a pretty tough job running a whole country, especially one as irritating as ours and they’ll all no doubt fuck it up horrifically in one way or another given half a chance but you’re expected to engage with it all anyway, otherwise you’re no better than Hitler.

So, if you’re struggling with which way to cast your pointless little vote then fear not, as the Bad Tripe guide to the election candidates is here!

David Cameron – Conservatives


Big D, the big cheese, numero uno. Old dish face Cameron himself, this guy is, apparently, in charge. It’s very easy to have a go at Cameron, the public school educated, ridiculously over privileged toff. All he wants is to make sure the rich keep getting richer and the poor get trampled on and that is probably true but consider this; ending up as Prime Minister is probably a bit of a career failure for someone with DC’s background, it’s not an easy job and isn’t particularly well paid (in the grand scheme of things). He could probably have quite easily become a banker, or a barrister, or a non-executive director of some shady human trafficking organisation and just raked in the cash and had a great time. He could have just spent his days steaming his way through mountains of chang and champagne and dauphinoise potatoes on a yacht in the south of France somewhere but instead he chose to just become plain old Prime Minister and have a go at running the country. It’s the one job where pretty much everyone hates you, everyone thinks you owe them a favour and every little thing you do is scrutinised to the nth degree, so fair play to the slimy old ponce.

What I quite like about Cameron is that he doesn’t really seem to give that much of a shit what people think of him any more. He’s said he won’t do a third term and all he ever really says is “Let’s just stick to the plan. THE PLAN!” But what exactly is the plan Dave? Just round up everyone north of Watford with a combined income of less than a football team and put them to work in some sort of giant hive which produces English wine and strawberries all year round for you and your mates? I bet if he was pushed on this issue he probably wouldn’t even bother to deny it at all.

He is fond of saying that we need to “balance the books” which seems like a good idea. Banks seem to have a lot of money, and seeing as how I, as a taxpayer now partly own some of the banks maybe the government, on my behalf, could take a little bit of money out of the bankers’ bonuses seeing as they were the ones who fucked things up for everyone in the first place?

What’s that? No that’s not a fair way of doing things?

What’s that now? It would be easier if I just paid more for all of the things I need and enjoy like petrol, beer, cigarettes and pasties? OK I guess we’ll just do that then.

Cheers Dave.

Nicola Sturgeon – Scottish National Party


As far as I was aware, after last summer Scotland was no longer a thing so I’m not exactly sure what this woman is even doing here. I’m not Scottish but I might still vote for her. I presume her policies mainly include things like haggis, Irn Bru, deep fried mars bars and heroin, all of which is fine with me. A reasonably priced outsider and definitely one to watch.

Nick Clegg – Liberal Democrats


Cameron’s bitch. Actually seems like quite a nice fella to be fair, fairly level headed and pretty sound with some good ideas. Which is exactly the problem with the Lib Dems!!! People don’t want safe and well thought out, they want horrendously stupid ideologies which they can really get behind, the more people they’re guaranteed to fuck over the better, that way everyone will have plenty of stuff to complain about, all the time. Clegg’s problem, and that of the Lib Dems is that they’re just too middle of the road. You’d think that would be a fairly good plan given that history tells us veering violently to the left or the right never really produces very good results. However, let’s remember that politics is not about who’ll be good at running a country, it’s about who can get the most morons to vote for them and what Clegg seems to be saying is, “I’m on the fence, I’m OK. If I get in I’ll probably do an alright job, some of the time, yeah?” He’s too laid back and we just can’t have that in Britain, you’ve got to be an insane caricature of yourself if you want to get on.

Oh and of course he fucked over some students in some way didn’t he? Come on for the love of God! Everyone knows that students aren’t bothered about anything except walking around in shorts and flip flops all year round and spunking all of their parents money on UV paint and disposable barbecues. Promise to lower their tuition fees and then go back on it? They probably never even realised that happened. I can guarantee if Clegg had promised to drop an eighth of rocky off at their flat and forgot then they’d all have been far more annoyed and with good reason. Everyone hates students so don’t feel bad Nick, I’d vote for you if it wasn’t such a waste.

Leanne Wood – Plaid Cymru

Leanne Wood


Seems like quite a nice lady.

Although quite Welsh.

Nigel Farage – UK Independence Party


The reanimated, previously embalmed corpse of a man who died to save us all from Johnny Foreigner. Everyone loves a bit of Farage, he’s the comedy baddie in this whole ridiculous pantomime. If Katie Hopkins can finish second in Celebrity Big Brother then that tells us everything we need to know about Farage’s chances in this upcoming election, oh yes it does!

I haven’t actually read UKIP’s manifesto but I imagine it goes something like this:

“Every, and I do mean every single person who attempts to come and live in the UK is only coming over here to steal your job and to infect you with AIDS. Thank you.”

Farage actually has some reasonably sane ideas on a lot of things and I do enjoy the fact that he is prepared to speak his mind a lot more than most other politicians ever would which makes for great entertainment but you can’t just blame everything on immigration. Let’s not forget that there are thousands of people in Britain who want to emigrate away from this stinking urine drenched hell hole and what if other countries stopped letting any of us in, then where would we be? I’ll tell you where; trapped for ever on an island surrounded by a fairly comprehensive cross section of the worst people in the world. Basically Farage wants to trap us all in some terrible, macro version of Big Brother, or as it would eventually come to be known, Hell on Earth, with Farage as Lucifer and probably Katie Hopkins as his hideous demon wife.

No thanks.

Natalie Bennett – Green Party


Stop trying to make climate change in to a thing! I don’t even believe it is really a thing. Go and take it up with China and the US and see how far you get. “Oh well the climate is different today to how it was ten years ago and in another ten years it could be different again still.” Yes there’s a word for that love, it’s called weather. Fuck off.


Ed Miliband – Labour


Jesus fucking tits on Christ where do I begin? If there was an election to elect the first ever Mayor of Creepy Town then I would totally vote for this guy :-

Topics - Ed Miliband

He looks like he wants to show your children some magic tricks, but the magic trick is that he found a dead rat in a ditch and put a tiny pink tutu on it and now he’s carrying it round in a bag and showing it to strangers.


He looks as though he lives in a really old, really dark, rickety house at the top of a hill and he lives with his mother and when mother’s back is turned he likes to dress up in mother’s clothes and tip toe round the house to hide from mother. Except ‘mother’ is actually just an old mop that’s propped up in the kitchen who he talks to and who constantly berates him unfairly and orders him around and makes him cry.

“Edward! Edward why have you left me?”

“Coming mother.”

“Edward you know you shouldn’t leave me on my own you need to soak my bunions.”

“I can’t right now mother I’m being Prime Minister.”

“You’ll never be Prime Minister!”

“I will mother.”

“I’m the Prime Minister. Your mouth only works on one side of your face.”


And so on and so forth……I’m being quite mean. I think Miliband actually comes over pretty alright, doesn’t seem to have very much in the way of actual policies or anything like that but he does seem fairly committed I’ll give him that.

So there you go, seven equally unbearable choices for you to pick from. I suppose in many ways a general election is a bit like offering someone a choice of implements with which to gouge out their own eyes but the important thing to remember is that you do have a choice! So get out there and cast your votes fine readers. Fly, fly, fly…..

Fly, fly, fly…


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Badtripe Children’s Story Time

Here are some kid’s stories which I have recently had rejected by several publishers. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong but it seems to me that it’s a really difficult market to get in to unless you’re already famous like David Walliams or Ricky Gervais or those douchebags from McFly. Plus I really feel like kids stories are quite dumbed down and patronising. Children don’t need this rose tinted view of the world where everything has a happy ending and valuable lessons are learned. They want to make their own decisions about what’s right and wrong and they want a vomit inducing dose of the truth and I’m here to give it to them.


Patrick the Pirate without a Parrot


Patrick the Pirate does not have a parrot.

He doesn’t have a peg-leg or an eye patch or a Pirate’s hat either.

When he says ‘Argh!’ no one is frightened.

When he says ‘Walk the plank ye land lubber’ no one walks the plank.

Patrick the Pirate just wears his pyjamas, he doesn’t even have a ship or any Pirate gold.

Patrick the Pirate doesn’t have a gold earring or a moustache or a skull & crossbones on a flag.

He couldn’t pilfer a vessel or sail the high seas or hoist a main sail or swing from a trapeze.

He can’t climb up in to the crow’s nest to look through a telescope,

Or plot a course on a map or tie knots in a rope.

Because he’s clinically insane.

He was found in a shopping precinct in Norwich walking around in his pyjamas with a crutch he’d stolen from a local hospital and a pair of sunglasses on with one lens missing shouting “I’m a pirate, who wants to cup my balls?”

He was trying to get a cat to balance on his shoulder because he thought it was a parrot and, as previously explained,

Patrick the Pirate does not have a Parrot.


Steven the Angry Bunny


Steven is a very angry bunny. Believe me kids he’s seen some shit.

I don’t know what non-fictional accounts your parents usually read to you at night about the North Korean Gulags or the Killing Fields of Cambodia but this is much, much worse.

Steven’s Mother died of Myxomatosis when he was only a baby. And if that isn’t enough to fuck you up his father got shot and then cooked and eaten in what the two-legged ones call a ‘Gastropub’.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough some asshole even had the temerity to leave a review on Trip Advisor describing Steven’s dad as being “a delicate meat, which can be dry when overcooked and doesn’t really stand up to strong flavours.” Imagine if some pompous douchebag said that about your dad. Either of your parents for that matter, it’d piss you off.

Anyway whenever Steven met another animal he was usually overcome with a powerful urge to “fuck their shit up” and today was no exception when he bumped in to Kyle the Fox just outside of the local copse after closing time.

“Alright mate?” Asked Kyle

“I ain’t your fucking mate” replied Steven. Like most angry bunnies Steven spoke with a strong cockney accent even though he was actually from Hertfordshire.

“Ok calm down I didn’t mean any offence” said Kyle, and then added under his breath, “you fucking psycho.”

“Right that’s it, you looking to get fucking cut you mug!?”

“No, no, I’m really sorry. Look I can’t help it man, I’m a fox, I’m naturally sly it’s just in my nature. I thought I had it under control.”

Steven considered this for a moment.

“Ok, fair enough. My counsellor is always telling me I need to get my emotions under control but I’m just such an angry bunny. I can’t help it either.”

“Well hey man, maybe we can help each other out, if you know what I mean?” said Kyle with a sly wink.

“I ain’t a fucking poof if that’s what you mean you fucking shit stabbing queer, one time that happened, I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out you skank fox cunt…”

“Sorry, I was just being sly again for no reason. I mean we can just help each other with our problems, we can be friends.”

“No one’s ever wanted to be my friend before.”

“I can see why you fucking nutjob.”

“Listen here you sly fuck!”

“Look, this could go on all day.”

“Alright. If you really want to help me out you can help me find the farmer who shot my dad, then we can be friends.”

“I know where the farmer lives”, said Kyle.

“Really, you do?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty fucking obvious seeing as we all live on the farm and there’s only one house in the immediate vicinity. Sorry!”

“Arrrgggghhhhhhh.” Said Steven.

So off they went, the two best friends, up to the farmhouse together.

They burrowed in under the back door and found the farmer in his kitchen with a big pot on the stove, getting his dinner ready and Steven coshed him over the head with a rolling pin and shoved him straight in the pot.

“What the Jesus and Mary Chain is going on?” exclaimed the farmer.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on”, said Steven. “You’re going in a fucking casserole you mug. Get in there with the carrots and the bay leaves. Get in there with the onions and the stock and a small handful of crushed juniper berries, see how you fucking like it!”

“Why are you doing this?” enquired the farmer.

“My dad wasn’t fucking dry! You can’t just stick a lid on a casserole and shove it in the oven you have to use a cartouche with that shit. Too much steam can actually dry the meat out, it sounds counterintuitive but it’s fucking true now get in there!”

And Steven boiled the farmer in the pot and he knew that he could finally let go of all his hatred and not be such an angry bunny any more.

Then he stoved in that sly fucking fox’s head for good measure with a pestle, or a mortar. He could never remember which one was which.


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The 7 most up their own arse and devious animals on the planet

animals = fucking pointless

animals = fucking pointless

As we all know, animals are shit. Delicious, yes. Funny, occasionally but ultimately they’re just a massive waste of time and space. Apart from pigs who are delicious and cute. I would eat pretty much any part of a pig and snuggle up to one and also frolic with him in the sunshine in the fields of wheat. Oh yes I would.

Generally though, animals are devious and selfish and pointless. Especially the ones who simply refuse to evolve and end up as an irritating advert on daytime TV encouraging me to give money to save their doomed species. Well I’m sorry Snow Leopard but we all have problems, I’m not beautiful, majestic or mysterious and I don’t complain half as much as you do.

Anywhere, here is the definitive list of the 7 most annoying animal species as compiled by me on behalf of the WWF (before it became the WWE) The Undertaker is my favourite, wait I’ve got this wrong haven’t I?

#7: Dogs


I just need to get this one out of the way first; dogs are fucking annoying. I know, I know look at his adorable little face, he’s so cute. Well yes, he’s cute and yes pretty much all dogs are extremely loveable but that’s the problem with them, they’re just too damn loveable and they fucking well know it! They move in to your house and take over your entire life. You have to arrange your every waking action around their schedule, they cost a fortune and you have to do absolutely everything for them including cleaning up every shit they will ever take over a lifetime. Even babies eventually become more interesting and self sufficient and sometimes even develop in to decent human beings who are capable of making a valid contribution to society, dogs just take and take and take. Has it ever occurred to anyone that dogs used to be wild, just like rats or bats or manatees but at some point over the course of their existence they’ve all just figured out, en masse that all they have to do is act cute and give it the big puppy dog eyes and then they can just live the sweet life and milk humans for all they’re worth forever. All they do is relax on the sofa or on a massive doggie bed and enjoy being spoilt rotten by you, you foolish human. Dogs have been mugging our species off for long enough, the stupid adorable bastards.

#6: Cats


Just as bad as dogs in every way but at least cats are actually capable of fending for themselves for quite a lot of the time. They only really need feeding, and actually even if you don’t feed them they’ll just go and get someone else to feed them anyway. Having a cat is basically just like having a lodger, a really fat, lazy, devious and irritating lodger who asks you for food all the time and rubs themselves up against your leg and hairs up all of your clothes and scratches your furniture to buggery and wakes you up every morning at 5.30am because they’ve decided that that is the time you usually get up to feed them and then act like they’re just doing you a favour by reminding you of that fact. Hairy, devious little fuckers.

#5: Koala Bears


Bit of a curveball this one but Koalas make the list because they are well known, disease spreading sexual deviants. That’s right, Koalas carry chlamydia. I know, I know, you’re now reading this article going “Oh my God Darren was telling the truth all along, I never should’ve kicked his cheating ass out of my flat”. Well that’s right sister, it’s a fact, Koalas are fucking riddled with chlamydia and they need to be stopped. How many relationships have been ruined because one half of a couple has taken a year out to go travelling and ‘find themselves’ only to get interfered with by a Koala Bear and then accidentally pass chlamydia on to their partner upon returning home? Let’s face it if you travel to Australia you’re pretty much expecting to get raped by at least one species of vicious wild creature so I would imagine that the majority of Koala rapes go unreported. Hell, most people probably don’t even know that what’s happened to them is rape, they probably just think that that’s how Koalas say hello or that they were guilty of leading them on in some way or they’re just too ashamed to speak up, well it needs to stop. The public need re-educating on this matter and it’s up to the government of Australia to stop these dirty little bears from infecting any more of our clean and well behaved travelling gap yah student douchebags year on year. The dirty, diseased, piss taking bastards.

#4: Spiders


Absolute cunts.

“Ooooh but they catch flies.”

Bollocks. I’ve never seen a spider catch a fly, and quite honestly how many flies could they even catch? There’s always going to be fuckloads of flies in the world and they are not even difficult to catch. Ever heard of fly paper? Come on. We don’t need spiders.

I have however witnessed spiders routinely invading my personal space, jumping out right when I’m at my most relaxed and shouting “Surprise Cockface!!” and making me jump up and shriek in fright and stand on the sofa like a girl. Don’t get me wrong, if a spider comes in to my house I will be twatting it with a rolled up newspaper, I will show it no quarter. I’m not just going to ignore the massive fucker or worse yet, trap it under a glass and let it outside only for it to rappel down from the ceiling straight on to my face in the middle of the night, I’m not that naive.

“But they’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“NO THEY’RE FUCKING NOT DAD! If they’re scared of me then they’d never come running in to my living room like they’re Chuck fucking Norris would they!?” You fuck.

#3: Pigeons


A fine example of a completely pointless animal. All they do is hang around town centres intimidating people. They’re the chavs of the animal kingdom. Two good stories about pigeons; one is that I used to work with a French exchange student called Francis who didn’t really know what he was supposed to be doing around the office and neither did anyone else really so he just used to come to my office and chat to me about nothing in particular and one day he said he had a funny story about “zee pie-john”.

I was like, “What’s a pie-john?”

“You know, ow you say, zee pie-john. Zee leetle bird?”

“Oh you mean a pigeon?”

“Oui, zee pie-john.”


“Zis weekend I ‘ave cafe wiz my girlfriend, outside, zee pie-john zey fly round ‘er ‘ead. She scream, cry…..eet was very funny.”

Great story from Francis. One of his best and to this day I always refer to pigeons as ‘zee pie-john’.

Second was my fiancee Sarah who when I offered to make for her my delicious salad of wood pigeon, pickled shallot and raspberry vinaigrette responded with, “I don’t want to eat a pigeon Rick, they’ve only got one foot.”

Fair enough.

#2: Pandas


Lazy, up their own arse good for nothing bastards. We do so much and spend so much money trying to stop these idiots from becoming extinct and for what? They are beyond help. Being a vegan is bad enough but only eating bamboo!!?? For crying out loud.

“Listen Yao Tzu, firstly, now that you’re here in the UK I’m going to start calling you Kevin, is that ok?”

“Oh well not really I prefer to go by my proper name which after all was given to me by…”

“Great, listen Kevin we need to have a talk about your diet.”

“Oh but I only eat bamboo you see, it’s the native dish of the great Panda colonies and I wouldn’t want to…”

“Yeah you need to give that shit up. You’re in England now you can have whatever you want, we’ll go down to Pret and get you a nice tuna baguette.”

“I’m a herbivore.”

“A fucking falafel wrap then. Something with some substance.”

“I only really like bamboo.”

“It’s got no real nutritional value.”

“It’s the Panda way.”

“You’ll die.”


Let’s just assume for a moment that eating bamboo isn’t that bad. It’s not doing the Panda species any good but they’ve just about managed to live this long by just munching on bamboo so fair do’s. The real problem is their refusal to mate. I mean for God’s sake we’ve put it on a plate for you!

“So hey, Kevin my man, how’s that superfood salad working out for you?”

“Oh well I tried it but I didn’t really like it so I actually had some sauteed bamboo for lunch instead.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Well never mind that now, listen, what do you think of Shirley? She’s nice huh? Just arrived from China last week.”

“I haven’t really spoken to her.”

“Yes I know but maybe you should get yourself over there and introduce yourself you lazy prick, see if she’s interested.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So you can get some sweet action my man.”

“Oh I’m not really interested in that, I’m sure she’s nice but…”

“Damn right she’s nice, 36-24-36 only 9 years old…”

“I’m not a fucking pervert!”

“You only live til the age of 20 Kevin you fuck! Sorry to break it to you but you’re not getting any younger now go and make sweet love to Shirley whether she wants it or not, we spent fifty fucking grand flying her over here from Taiwan.”

“But I’m a bit tired.”

“Your whole species will die!”

“It is the Panda way.”

Flipping idiots.

#1: The Horse


Basically just an up its own arse, stuck up, devious, overgrown cat. Straight in at number 1 it is of course, the Horse. I for one would never ever trust a horse and you shouldn’t either. Horses are either posh, aristocratic bastards or filthy pikey bastards but whatever their social status they will kick you straight in the face and kill you or bolt and throw you over a hedge and trample you and act like it was all your fault. Definitely the most untrustworthy animal in all of creation.

Some of you are probably going, “Ah but what about Man, Man is the worst animal of all.” Well, well done you, you smug douche, you’re right. Man is by far the stupidest, most foolish and pointless creature on the planet. Anyone who would shelter a Cat, pet a Koala, give money to a Panda or attempt to ride a Horse deserves everything they get.

What a bunch of retards.


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