Poets Day US

Going to kick this post a little old school. Frequent readers of these posts (that is you Mum) might recall at some point in the past these  posts sometimes had some wisdom to impart to go along with the frequent use of the F word :) Hopefully this week will be one of those wisdom imparting posts but with less foul language. As some of y’all might know I am a professional sales monkey, well maybe more monkey than professional but you get the idea. We recently added a new sales monkette to assist in selling our particular brand of sausages and I have been assisting in getting her up to speed. Our sausage is a pretty complex one if you look into all the ingredients but like all good sausages you don’t really need to know how it is made to sell it. You just need to believe in the sausage and the more faith you have that your sausage will work the easier it is to sell. If you don’t believe that your sausage will work then that comes across when you try to get people to use your sausage or

(To the tune of a bloody annoying Paul McCartney song – which doesn’t really narrow it down as they are all bloody annoying – except maybe Mull of Kintyre by Wings – although just like all his songs even that one is a bit repetitive, anyway, getting off topic now – pretty sure you can guess this tune) When I find myself wondering, what the fuck, Poets Day logic comes to me Speaking words of wisdom, hit delete And when some ignorant dipshit,  Starts blowing up your twitter feed Stop reading their stupid crap just hit delete Hit delete, hit delete Don’t glorify a mean tweet It encourages them to post more, just delete And when some overhyped ‘musician’ Posts about an ‘innocent’ Bill Cosby Ignore his deluded rantings and delete Stephen Fry is a genius Trolls bitched about his twitter feed Done with all the bullshit he hit delete Hit delete, hit delete Trump the fuckwit, just delete People that hide behind Social media, delete their feed Hit d

We’re the Avenger team and we think everything is Marvelous Ok, most people won’t get that reference but once again this blog is not about you (unless your name is Deadpool) – actually most likely no one will get that specific blog title reference and if you do you get a prize. Just a quick warning, there will be some swearing this week so if you think you might be fricking (not using that word again) offended then don’t fucking read it (I warned you) :) I am about to go full fanboy this weekend on Deadpool, or as you might know him Mr Pool, or Dead. I have been looking forward to this movie since I first saw the “leaked” (leaked my ass – ok – well not leaked my ass, but you know what I mean) clip of Dead (yes, I feel I can call him that as I believe we are kindred spirits, he just might look a touch better in a skin tight red suit) jumping off the bridge to lay down some wicked fucking kick ass on what we are to presume are bad guys, while laying down some of the best ass kic

I have never been one to keep loads of them around like the winged people who work at dog shelters or foster packs of them for as long as they can until adopted or, well, meet a different fate. To paraphrase Johnny Vegas, ‘Dogs are a lot like farts - you relish your own but you detest others.' When I was a child our dog was a golden retriever named Meg. She was Dad's hunting dog and an expert at swimming with a bleeding duck in her mouth in freezing cold waters. Show me a person who can do that, then show me a person who does it while wagging their tail or shaking their respective booty. Dogs like Meg are so eager to please their masters that I honestly don't know if she enjoyed swimming with a dead duck in her mouth or if she happily wagged her tail because she knew this horrid exercise would make the old man happy, but I suspect it's the latter. Meg was a part of the family when I was born and I thought of her as exactly that, a furry family member. I was in elementa