Self-service in super-markets is a wonderful thing. And when I say wonderful, I mean frustrating, error-prone, self-defeating, and shit. Of all the pieces of technology that piss me off, only printers are worse than these fuck-wit self-service machines.
Last night I was in my local supermarket, wishing to purchase the following items:
- A crate of cheap cider – destined to pollute the lovely Miss-Matic’s stomach.
- A couple of bottles of Indian beer; one Mongoose, and one Cobra. These two babies were going to battle it out for my affection.
- A cake, made of layers of white and red stuff (or maybe red and white stuff – I forget).
Everyone and their fucking dog has a blog. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve read more blogs by dogs than I have by people. Maybe it’s because they’re more interesting; maybe dogs just have more to say. You give a person the opportunity to talk about themselves and they’ll just post shit about their cat. You never see dogs posting about their cats. Doesn’t happen.
Anyway, it just so happens that I do have a cat. So regardless of what I just said, I might blog about my cat one day. Look, I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault that my cat is better than yours, you’ll just have to deal with it when the time comes.