Apparantly (hoaxhoaxhoaxhoax) some former employee of Harrod’s has written “FUCK OFF” by eliminating the surrounding Christmas lights on the Knightsbridge building (bollocks he did)

Read All About it HERE if you haven’t seen it yet, although I think it’s likely just a silly internet story.. I mean come on, a newborn baby could photoshop that shit in like 40 seconds. Also convenient that it was the in-store Father Christmas (that’s Santa Claus to you commoners..) et cetera et cetera… I’m pretty sure this is the photo the Daily Mail will release of the perpetrator.

I’m so fucking sure “Random Santa Actor” has such a massive know-how department in his cranium as to co-ordinate that kind of lighting fuck-off spectacular… it take approximately 60 union lighting techs to white-wash a stage for a Second City Improve show, so I fucking doubt this to the max. MY DOUBT HAS OFFICIALLY BEEN MAXED OUT FOR THE HOLIDAY SEASON!

Obviously this preps me to full-on believe basically everything else over the next two weeks, from reindeer on the rooftop to “Dad’s not an angry drunk, he’s just JOLLY!” So if you have any master lies to tell me, now’s the time (had to stop typing because Warner Brothers just called to say my debut album is hitting iTunes this week).

In other news of holiday Randomness, Fulham has officially decided to give back to the community, and not just by providing a lusciously green backdrop for my daily life, but by giving hot chicks life-saving sonic devices. Yes, it’s true. Consider me fully protected now that the council tax has cleared, for as other-hot-girl was my witness, I was approached by a police officer in my hellishly-full-of-babies-local-cafe and given the charmingly non-wrapped present of the MINI DEFENDER ALL PURPOSE ALARM.

With “Multiple features”, and in “Mini-Design”, this awesome rad gift from the local Bobby allows me to enjoy 130+ decibels of sireny goodness, has an LED torch (that’s a flashlight for all you disappointed pyromaniacs) and many other features, in INSANE BULLET POINT “WOW FACTOR” FORMAT:

  • 130+ db SIREN

Okay. So there is the copper approaching me and this other chick on a laptop in the back of a busy cafe. He’s wearing a long black coat and shoves these boxes under our noses and says “Here. These are for you” in a manner that could be appropriately described as gruff, to say the least (I’m nicing it up because he gave me free shit), and my instant response is “um, no. here.” I gesture towards him, handing him back the creepy nondescript boxes with CRAZY EMERGENCY font all over it and glancing at the girl beside me, who is in turn looking at me with paro-eyes and whatever, and that’s when I notice POLICE written across his chest.

What the WHAAAAT? Thanks, Police, for the hot-chick protection package, but seriously, could you approach me in a more creepy way next time? Nothing says “Have a remote-controlled BOMB” like “here, this is for you” and giving me an unmarked package that in no way says “Happy Christmas, we’ve enjoyed keeping you alive, Love, Old Bill”. Next time I’m walking through a dark alleyway perhaps they’ll pop-up with a fright mask and “CALL 999” (aka 911) sign in an Easter basket or something. Whatever. Just keeping the public safe and shit.

Check this “Stylish Alarm Product” Here. Yep. That’s what they gave us. Ready for the bullshit part? (Oh wait, that would essentially be the entire story, wouldn’t it?) it’s YELLOW. Not snazzy fucking BABY PINK or something svelte like the BLACK model (that would be, oh I don’t know, DISCREET, at least), which is I imagine is supposed to have the “warning” effect on your potential rapist, in a kind of “oh, I guess you thought you had this all planned out and I was going to be forced to comply with your evildoing, but LOOK OUT EARDRUMS, I’m about to blast your shit with my pocket-alarm!”, at which point the Raper, (played by 1975 Oliver Reed) will cheese it, it’s the cops. Or something.

Don’t you think it might be more likely that he will just drag me off AWAY from the noise-thing which has, let’s face it, dropped to the ground at around the same moment I peed my pants from scared-ness, which will be ignored by people supposing it’s just a car alarm interrupting a rerun of COME DINE WITH ME AUSTRALIA (That’s how much they don’t care) and I will be found dead in the Alleyway (likely found by coppers in fright-masks with Easter baskets) like 70 hours later? THANKS FOR THE AWESOME PERSONAL PROTECTION DEVICE PRESENT, POLICE!

Oh, I’m being a dick. Thank you for the Awesome Personal Protection Device Present, Police. I mean that sincerely. It’s suitably useful in this cafe full of SUV-baby strollers and screaming toddlers, when I can pull the ripcord and listen to 130 + db of soothing sireny bliss rather than subject myself to further hideous offenses they call “the laughter of children”.

More wine, please.



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