Fucking Facebook Whingers

Join a Fucking Forum, Facebook Whingers

I am hoping that this is the last time I write about this.  

Yes;  I know all about freedom of speech.  I know we are all entitled to our opinion.  I know that you sometimes feel sick.

But really?  You need to take to Facebook and repetitively reveal that you are sneezing.  You have a cold.  Your stomach hates you, or that you have a fucking paper cut?  

 In the past two years, two very good friends of mine, both of whom had Facebook accounts, died. They had cancer, and very rarely, if ever, did they whine, whinge, moan and complain about it on social media.

They knew what it meant to live.  To enjoy life.  To have fun.

 Recently I deleted a bunch of people from my Facebook friends list.  I didn't care to see how much weight they had lost.  I don't give a shit that they are supporting Kleenex single handedly, and I really don't care if you have got a fucking itchy rash on your arse crack.

 I live away from my family.  My choice.  But Facebook is my main means of keeping in touch.  If you are my friend on Facebook then I like you.  We are friends.  However, if you are constantly moaning griping and being a self effacing cunt, and it shows up on my Facebook feed you will be deleted.  

 I will call you out on it first though.  YUP. Name and shame.

 Here's why;

 I am chronically ill.  For the past three years I have been in chronic pain.  I am chronically fatigued, I have gained weight, my hair has fallen out and my skin and nails are flaky.  I can't breath and I have a lot of infections.

I have developed chronic allergic asthma and was diagnosed hypothyroid from Hashimotos, also with Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus.  My social life has been awful and I spend a lot of time resting and sleeping.  I take a bucket load of medications and I visit many Drs.  

However, I don't require constant attention, negative or positive from people.  Therefore I don't discuss my personal health issues on Facebook.  Neither do my friends with similar ailments and conditions.  OK, we all have an outburst now and again, but I have had one (ex) friend complain about a different ailment every day for four consecutive days.  Even though she was away on a trip with her husband, at the time.  

Another moaned relentlessly about her health, family and work.  I mean relentlessly.  Day in day out. Woe is me.  

Well I've had e fucking nough.  I'm done, I won't tolerate it any more.  The day has come.  Each time I see a whinger, and to be honest I think I've fucked most of them off, they will be deleted.  

Not unfollowed.  NOPE SIREE, just plain old deleted.  I don't need the negativity.  I try to stay positive, it makes me feel better.  

So, bear that in mind you griping pieces of shit.  I've come to the end of my rope.  

Feel better.  You pathetic twats.

KG Headbangerwoman 2014

Faking It

Do fake accents bother you?  

This was the question posed by Lochlin Cross, drive-time announcer on 100.3 The Bear yesterday, for his locker room discussion.  
As Cross and I had been discussing this back and forth on Twitter and Facebook prior to the FB posed question, in good humour I might add, because the fake Irish and Scottish accents had been driving me crazy, advertising on the radio all day.  I was mildly amused when another Bear listener posted that she liked to do a "British or Cockney accent." 

I then posted

"LMAO. 

Britain is a collection of Countries. Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Northern Ireland, and England. 

Britain as a whole has no accent. 

Cockney is a regional dialect from a part of London, specifically. 

Like Cornish, Geordie or Glaswegian. (Google them)

Each County has several dialects. A county is a region in England. There are many. 

Also, it's Paddy. Not Patty. Patty is a slab of beef on a bun. Or a bap, depending on 

your region!

Paddy is an Irish fella."

My cell phone was on the fritz and the Northern part of Northern Ireland disappeared!  But to the poster who chose to point out that Ireland (The Republic of and Northern, were in fact a seperate island than the rest of Britain and Southern Ireland is not a part of it) thanks, my Dad was from Ireland and I did well in Geography class at school...in England! 

I personally don't think that there is anything particularly offensive about my post.  OK, I laughed at the beginning, but as I already explained, I was having an amusing back and forth with the host prior. Also, I had to make it fairly simple as I'm quite sure no-one gets it unless they actually live there! 

Just how simple is up for discussion.  I'm not sure the hurlers of muck, shit and compost were quite ready for their lesson! 

However ready, poster Roxy FluffyBomb and her posse of abusive girlfriends seemed to think it was OK, to come at me.  So, now I'm an asshat and three people agree.  What the fuck is an asshat anyway? When have you ever seen a person with a hat actually on their ass?  Do you know what an actually prick you sound, when you try to insult someone with a non expletive? 
Then I'm a bitch.  On top of which, I'm a whiny crybaby.  Well I've never been called a bitch before.  Really, that is the best you can muster?  The University of Alberta must be so proud of you Jo Ziggy! By the way, less people agree that I'm a bitch. You might want to call them out on it!

Now as a person who writes as a hobby, I decided to look into the people that were hurling abuse.  You cannot imagine what I found?

A beautiful native lady, with a great talent for art, and a student (or employee) at the University of Alberta.  Someone with a fairly high degree of education!

WOW. I was taken aback.  Make your own judgements there.  I have no words.

However, I am going to say is this;  Firstly, I have never seen people, trolls or otherwise, jump on a person so quickly for merely pointing out some facts that they were unaware of.  By the way, giving them an option to correct the fact that they they can speak British or Cockney and therefore  making themselves look less like a total twat. 

Was it Forrest Gump that said "A twat is as a twat does"?  No, my bad, that was me, just now.

Secondly where is the respect people?  Just where?  Surely live debate in it's purest form is a way to learn and indeed educate those around you. If the first thing you say to someone is "You are an asshat", it bodes not well for the rest of your day, or life.

I named you in this article because you are two of the most disrespectful and ignorant people I ever had the displeasure of coming across.  There have been a few more.  
As I pointed out at the time of the discussion, my daughter is a friend of mine on Facebook.  How am I supposed to teach her respect when disrespecting dick heads like you two are on the internet being abusive to people you don't know, have never met, and would likely learn a lot from if you were to ever meet?  I'm guessing that both of you think online bullying is OK and I should give free reign to my daughter, to just randomly be abusive to people online, because they said something she didn't like, or agree with?

I'm not playing victim here.  I'm older and wiser than that.  I take the high road, while you two pathetic excuses for human beings wallow in the shit you dug up for yourselves.  I only hope that you are savvy enough, (yet I highly doubt that) to realize that your disgusting behaviour is out there for all to see and it comes back and bites you hard on the arse.
 That's a British word.  

If, like some posters to the discussion thread later on, you had pointed out that you felt I was wrong, or even arrogant, I would have probably apologized.  I'm decent like that.  

But that train has left the station and is on the return journey. 

Shut your North and South, you don't have to have a Bull and Cow about trivial shit, so stick it up your Khyber Pass!



This angry blog was written especially for my friend Rudi, who has a South African accent, but not an African accent on the whole.  He may have a touch of an Australian accent in there too!

I wrote this in a mix of a Lincolnshire accent, which is a region/County of England and has many dialects and Albertan, Canadian, EH!

KG 11 March 2014

  

Facebook, moaning fuck!

If you are indeed my friend on Facebook, I probably like you.  Or at least I used to like you.  But I like you less with every passing day.  You make me squirm, you cause me to clench my knuckles, my teeth, jesus I'm even butt clenching.  I wanted to pass the time, have a chit chat, do some small talking.  What do I get instead?  A moaning, whiny fucker.  Someone who just sneezed, had to blow their nose.  A person who requires that they report every sodding banal, inane lb. of their latest attempt at weight loss.  A person who apparently has never seen rain, wind or fucking snow before.  You are a person who is so ridiculously co-dependent on your boy/girl friend you need to post bitstrip after bitstrip about it.
Are you really such an attention whore that you must report every single snot laced second of your recent cold?  Must I really look at your carbohydrate starved, calorie controlled plate of tomatoes.  If you insist upon producing another "couples in love" picture, can you first give a thought to the people who are alone, have lost a loved one, or are just plain sick of your grinning faces.
You live for the comments that follow your latest post about your pain, suffering and inconvenienced life.
These people don't see the real you. Just a persona.
I'm here to correspond, communicate, laugh and learn. Not to carry the burden of your failed whimsicle dietry habits and failure to retain a lasting relationship with another person.
I really don't give a flying fuck about your seasonal ailment, or the fact that you have stomach pain and indigestion.
The weather changes daily, here there and everywhere and if I need to see a forecast; there's an app for that.
Please, pause before you post. You are invading my space, messing with my mood.
If you fuck with my day again I'm deleting your gripy ass.
This blog was brought to you by chronic pain and nasal congestion.

KG 2014

To those it may concern....POLLS

Premier Alison Redford is the top politician in Alberta.
It says so on her Facebook page.

Earlier today I visited that page, only to find that The Premier of Alberta is wishing well the electoral nominees to Council today, probably just to make herself look good and not because she cares a toss.

Why is it necessary though, when a comment is made by the top dog, for all manner of schmoozing, vile, brown nosing nobodies to agree with her every goddam post on there and for them to then dis and badmouth anyone who disagrees.

I didn't vote for Alison and I never will.  I don't agree with her politics, morals (or lack thereof) and constant side shifting.  BUT, I don't go onto the page of the politician I did vote for and wish them an "uninterrupted Thanksgiving" or try and smokescreen something someone else has said, by listing the daily movements of an adversary.

It's a passing comment you fucking moron.  I don't care what Danielle Smith husband is doing, it's TOTALLY irrelevant to this thread.  NO, I won't google it and nor should you.  You should stay current and reply to these posted comments in a way that enhances the conversation or offers a real opinion.
Alison Redford is the Premier of Alberta.  She makes sure you know that at every given turn.  But she is not Premier because of my vote.  She is likely there because thousands of ignorant bastards choose not to set foot out the door and put a cross in the box.  This unfortunately aids to vote in wealthy, conniving members of an old boys network, that are in it for the networking, bonuses and expense accounts.  It sees them make their own rules and break the laws of the land.  It is shameful and sickening, but really, you think it is necessary to kneel down to these arrogant bullshitters online to make yourself feel important?

Alison Redford has NEVER even been near that FB page, let alone replied to your comment.
Get a grip you prick and go back to the fucking golf club.

VOTE TODAY Alberta!

Swimming in a depleted gene pool.

WOW. I have not set foot, nor finger here in a very, very long time.  Not because there is a lack of topics for me to rant on about, but because I have not been able to concentrate sufficiently to put down my thoughts.
However, I am feeling a little better in the brain and so I shall share with you the happenings of my visit to the pool today.

Due to my illness (I have finally been diagnosed Hypothyroid from Hashimotos Thyroiditis) I have been finding it hard to concentrate. I also tollerate stupid much, much less.  So todays trip to a leisure centre packed full of ignorant and downright idiotic people turned a Sunday relax, into a sodding rant.

When I visit the swimming pool I want to try to relax, at least I want a modicum of peace and quiet.  Todays outing was far, far away from that.

Lets start this with ignorant bitches that cannot read.  It clearly states on the Female change room door that "Ladies with small male children must use the family change room."  Yup, it does, I read it evey time I go in there, which is three times a week on average.
Bitch one; If you are shouting at your child, Roger, to stop doing that because he will fall off and bang his head.  My qualified guess is your kid is male, which makes you 1: ignorant 2: stupid 3: arrogant
Also, if you need to keep repeating the name "Roger", followed by a sentence of what he should not be doing, you might need to rethink your parenting strategy, or take Roger the fuck home and let me have some peace and quiet.
I noticed a little while later, in the hot tub, that Rogers father was present.  Surely the male child would have been better served with him, in a male change room, would he not?

Also while in the hot tub, which appeared to be full of children around the age of two or three, an age where febrile convultions are rife, due to an inability by these children to control their body temperatures, it appeared that not just one parent present at the pool today couldn't fucking read..

"Children aged eight and under must be accompanied by someone fourteen and over"..   It states this right next to the hot tub.  Translated, it would appear that it says, dump your kids wherever the fuck you please and go off to do your thing.  I know this because there were at least three kids under the age of eight abandoned at the hot tub.

So from there to the steam.  Stupid hits a whole new level when you are dripping in sweat you know!  I don't care how svelte you are in your Harley Davidson bathing costume.  It sure as hell doesn't make you smart.  Really, bitch number two, you are so selfish that you are gonna bring your two year old in here and make him sit,  while he is asking to leave, just because you need a steam?  You are seriously fucked up.  This is dangerous as hell and you are 1: selfish 2: beyond stupid 3: narcissicistic
Let's stay in the steam room and address Dad with absolutely no fucking clue, who brings his six year old girl in and blurts, "OK, if you don't like it in here we can leave," while pushing her away from the door into the room.  "I wanna leave," she cries, but no.  "This is a great place to towel off," insists Dad. Adding "We need to stay for 10, 9".....as he counts down.  I'm now livid and steam makes you wet, not dry, you twat.

OK, this is bullshit.  I used to bring my small child to the pool.  If she cried, I comforted her. If she was tired, I took her home.  She was always by my side and she certainly didn't need to steam!

Nor was she allowed to run around the female change rooms like, oh hold on, another male child, age seven or so, was doing as I showered and changed after my relax.
 Mom and Grandma oblivious and having a natter, while the equally ignorant child ran riot.
As a young family we, both parents and child used the family change room.  When my well behaved, because I spoke with her and didn't screech at her, child, was older we used the female change room because, well, we were both female.

Please, ignorant bastards. Get over yourselves. If you need r n r, hire a sitter or use the on site chreche.  If you want to spend the day with your kids at the pool, do that. Focus on your children, not yourself.  You gave up that right when you got knocked up.

OK, I'm going home for a nap, to relax and eleviate my pounding head.
 Don't be here when I come back because I'm fucking pissed and I will call you out next time.

Shit show

Wow, I cannot believe how long it has been since I dropped in here. I have had a lot going on.  Not all good things, some great, some very harrowing.  But still I am managing to find the funny in some occurrences, in the long run.
I have been quite sick for the last year and throughout I have been poked and prodded by this Dr and that Quack.  It's uncomfortable and very unglamorous, but needs must.
On a recent visit to the University of Alberta Hospital I was required to have a CT scan. Preparation for this included NO food for at least 8 hours prior and then on arrival an IV was hooked up.  Great, but I appear to have 0 accessible veins.  Eventually, after being wrapped in hot towels and more slapping than a second rate porn flick, a vein was finally located half way up my arm. Hematomas are us!
Then came a half gallon of water, polluted by vile tasting dye designed to make my innards pretty for the camera.  I was already at bladder burst point at this point and being made to wait another half an hour, whilst coughing like a 40 a day old boy with Emphysema was not helping.
The scan went off no hitch, but soon after I realized why no food was on the menu and I ran to the nearest bog.  As I sat, I noticed blood all over the floor.  Jeez, I thought, someone bled out.  Then I glanced down at my left hand.  It too was blood covered.  Seems it was me.  So not only did I now have the screaming shits, I was pissing out blood all over the wash room 
Gingerly I leant forward off the loo and pressed the emergency button.  Soon after there was a knocking on the door.
The person on the other side asked me to unlock.  I did so hoping that I didn't add to the mess I had already made.  A second later three more people were in the wash room with me and the door was swinging on it's hinges.
After some frantic scuffling, my Mount St Helens spurting arm was stopped and there was me and one nurse left.  "Shall I clean up the blood now?" she asked me.  I was still sitting on the loo, stunned by anyones standards and still needing to finish my business.  ""You know, I think I'll just give you a shout when I'm done?" I semi-questioned.
Fortunately, the scan showed little more than a prior case of Pancreatitis and some Pancreatic nucleus cyst, nothing major or life threatening.  I am still undergoing tests....... but at least I survived that shit show!

Eddie Vedders boner

That is correct.
You are not reading it wrong.

(Although I was not sure whether "boner" warranted a Capital B!?)

The title is a reference to Pearl Jam's front mans knob...Erect to boot!

Recently my gorgeous daughter has made it her goal in life to collect and catalogue any photographic and video evidence of Mr Vedders appendage. So far he has had his tadger covered. My relief is not apparent in my writing, but trust me, it is there!

While I find it mildy odd that my child finds this necessary, there are worse hobbies she could be indulging in and so I choose to leave well alone.

My problem arises (Pun absolutely intended) when said stauner shows it's ugly head at the breakfast table and during AC360.

 Ipods have a lot to answer for!

Please. Keep your erection detection to yourself!

Coughing up a lung, not a smoke in sight!

I have been sick for three weeks.

It has been the most boring, annoying, frustrating three weeks that I have had in a very long time.
You see, I am a 'doer'. I cannot even sit through a movie in it's entirity withough getting up and 'doing' something totally irrelevant.

When I first became sick (I had influenza A, according to my Dr), I had no choice. I was laid up in bed for five days.
The dog and my daughter moved into my bedroom and we all hung out. I was brought food and tea and I watched mindless daytime tv in between lapsing in and out of consciousness.

It sucked and I smelled bad!

Since then I have progressed to what was originally diagnosed as Pneumonia and has more recently become 'chest/lung/bronchial infection with origins/cause unknown, possibly COPD?'.
I have been given antibiotics (they failed to have any effect), a steroid inhaler, which gives me a very dry throat and makes me cough (go figure) and yesterday I was put on some type of electrical steam making machine which contained a cocktail of Ventolin and other breathing type drugs. This made me shake like a south of the tracks, cheap rental property and increased my heart rate to beyond multiple orgasm speed.
I slept for three hours after this. Go figure. I don't even have a Penis!

I am no longer confined to my bed, however I remain unable to 'do' and even climbing the stairs is a  pretty exhausting task.
On attempting a grocery shop at the weekend I was nearing collapse by the time we reached the checkout and was asleep for four hours shortly after getting home.

All of this would be a lot more believable had I not quit smoking almost three months ago! Not exactly a healthy add for giving up the nicotine sticks.

To quote my Mum, from days gone by "it's  not the cough that carries you off, it's the coffin they carry you off in"
Mum, I have to agree. There are a few occassions in the recent weeks that I have to say I have seriously considered what it would be like inside a coffin, brought on by all this coughing!

I am feeling like the light at the end of the tunnel may soon appear, but I am presently sitting still and I just had another coughing fit!
 I am getting better at guiding the Wii control to use Netflix and I now know which neighbours illegally park in vistor parking and on the street during the day.

 I still absolutely think that quitting the cigarettes was the best thing I have EVER done and I would gladly suffer all this again to be smoke free.

 However, I am so fucking bored I may start knitting again.

Art critics

Something that has always pissed me off.

Opinions are like arse holes.

 Everyone has one!

 Why then, does that give these highly opinionated (and usually pretentious and boring) fuckers the right to have more valid, and important opinions than the rest of us?
I like art. In fact, I will go so far as to say, I love art.  I love art in all forms. Music, paintings, photography, theatre, ballet, film, food..... I like it all. Does that give me the right to change my name to Micheal Winner, stand with a glass of really expensive champagne (someone else paid for that by the way!) and tell you that your gravy tastes like shit?
Jamie Oliver, I am talking about your gravy! Well, I am not really. But I am sure that Jamie Oliver would be really pissed off if I was serious. Who the fuck am I to have an opinion on it. It is after all just my opinion and yours is quite possibly very different.
Jamie Oliver, your gravy tastes great, this guy over here said so.

You see where I am going with this?

Even if I have a degree in Art History (No my name is not William Windsor!) does that suddenly give me the right to presume that Leonardo di Caprio (no wait, he was the bloke on Titanic, my bad) Da Vinci was thinking when he painted a particular painting or drew a quick sketch?
I fucking well think not. Not only have I no clue what he was thinking, I really don't care. I appreciate the art, in whatever it's current form purely because I like it and I wish to enjoy it.

HERE IS A MORE RECENT EXAMPLE. I do know, for a fact,  that Jonny Hetherington, frontman for Art of Dying recently penned a song in his pyjamas while smoking a Cuban cigar. He was in his pyjamas because he had recently taken a soak in the tub (he had a cold beer at that particular time)
I know this how?


 Because he Tweeted and Facebooked it to the world.

www.artofdyingmusic.com

 Does that give me the right to have an opinion on what he did in his pyjama period? Absolutely not. Does that give me the right to (as an Art critic) try and analyse why Jonny the artist was in the tub and not taking a shower?

 No, it fucking well does not.

Personally, I will eternally find it mildly amusing, that this particular frontman owns striped pyjamas, but that is my problem and not for your concern!

I will enjoy the result of this sequence of events when the song is on a cd. I will not analyse, nor will I question the artist.

We are all individuals.
We all have different taste.
 Just because, Mr/Miss/Mrs/Dr/Major/ Rev (did I miss anyone?) Critique, your opinion is published does make it the correct opinion, nor does it mean it should be listened to.

My gravy tastes awesome and Art of Dying are kick ass....just in case you care!!

Eternal Masturbation

      I think I have previously explained that my (at this time 11 yearsold, but nearing teenage angst) child has not got the greatest filter.

  So, of course the things that she blurts mostly have no effect on me. It is often what I would describe as selective Aspergers with a twist. She usually only says things once and always (damn it) has a pretty good explanation. Even if the explanation does only make sense to her.

   I'm getting to the point here. We do have to take a step back of probably six months.

   Grade Six. Sex Ed! Which at this time we shall name 'Human Sexuality Education' because the Teacher said so. The 'Teacher', being a woman who also wanted the class to use the word 'well' instead of 'nice' or 'good'..   I was always under the illusion that 'Teachers' taught. This year it would appear not, but that is not a tangent I want to go off on at this point in time.

  So, at the start of G6 we get the letter sent home to notify us that Sex Ed is on the horizon. We sign the permission slip and send it back to school. Now, I really couldn't care less because by this time, Shakka has read quite a huge amount of Tortora and Grabowski's 'Anatomy and Physiology', several books in the series of 'It's not the Stork' and she has been telling jokes filthier than a Coal Miners tadger for years.

  In addition, the word 'Penis' had been bandied around for weeks prior to class so that no one would become hysterical, were it mentioned by a Teacher.

Sex Ed day one. Shakka heads to school and doesn't bat an eyelid...

    Of course Shakka is not your regular 'Sex Ed' student. Opinionated as ever, she had to bring to our attention at the end of day one that this was a huge farce.

    "They separated the Boys and Girls" she raged as she returned home from school after the first day.
"Are they stupid?" pause for a deep breath and back to rage "DO THEY NOT THINK THAT WE ARE GOING TO DO IT TOGETHER?"
   I could not recreate if I tried, my reaction, but lets just say I was close to requiring the aid of Depends from the lower region and I could have quite possibly produced a couple of dozen candles with the amount of snot I was discharging at the head end.

    We survived that and it all went quiet on the 'Sex Ed' front... until last week when another permission slip appeared on the kitchen island.

It was signed, sealed and sent back. Not another peep did we hear, until I goaded a response on the School run home on Friday.
"so, did they split you up again for 'Sex Ed'?", I prompted.  "you know they did" was the response.
"so, it looks like a life of eternal masturbation for you guys" I offered.

 "what a great name for a band!" came the response. "Eternal Masturbation"