Gemmill's Stocking Filler Recommendations #1

[Gemmill 44273]

I know this has been linked a few times on here before: www.theburglarsdog.co.uk but it's now available as a book as well. Might make a canny stocking filler for any locals.

[Guest alex]

Aye, I saw a while ago they were bringing a book out. Personally I'd recommend a leg.

[manc-mag 1]

Aye, I saw a while ago they were bringing a book out. Personally I'd recommend a leg.

 

You might have to explain that one to Scott after his NOTFORYOU vacant stare.

[Gemmill 44273]

Got it straight away, twat-features! If, and it's a big if, The Fish is right about that NOTFORYOU thing, I'd say the artist would have to be a right smug little wanker. I've even more contempt for them now than I had previously. "OOooooo it's art, but it's not for you. Aren't I clever!"

[Renton 21234]

Got it straight away, twat-features! If, and it's a big if, The Fish is right about that NOTFORYOU thing, I'd say the artist would have to be a right smug little wanker. I've even more contempt for them now than I had previously. "OOooooo it's art, but it's not for you. Aren't I clever!"

 

I still don't get it like, anyone care explaining?

[Guest alex]

Got it straight away, twat-features! If, and it's a big if, The Fish is right about that NOTFORYOU thing, I'd say the artist would have to be a right smug little wanker. I've even more contempt for them now than I had previously. "OOooooo it's art, but it's not for you. Aren't I clever!"

 

I still don't get it like, anyone care explaining?

LEG - STOCKING FILLER

Jesus wept!

[manc-mag 1]

Got it straight away, twat-features! If, and it's a big if, The Fish is right about that NOTFORYOU thing, I'd say the artist would have to be a right smug little wanker. I've even more contempt for them now than I had previously. "OOooooo it's art, but it's not for you. Aren't I clever!"

 

More of a tongue-firmly-in-cheek rebuke to a popular dismissive refrain tbh.

 

By the way, I agree it's still a big 'if'. The fact there was no spotters badge for arty type Alex causes me a minor nagging doubt.

[Guest alex]

Got it straight away, twat-features! If, and it's a big if, The Fish is right about that NOTFORYOU thing, I'd say the artist would have to be a right smug little wanker. I've even more contempt for them now than I had previously. "OOooooo it's art, but it's not for you. Aren't I clever!"

He'd or she would be your typical artist in that case.

[Walliver 0]

I want one of these but I have no idea where I can actually buy one from. Anyone clever enough to work it out for me?

 

Zuse Toaster

[Gemmill 44273]

Extract from the review of Geordie Boyo's favourite haunt, Mood, in The Gate:

 

So, I walk through the portals and survey the decor, and I'm thinking, "Mmm, yes. Heavy Gaudi influence, with strong elements of Gothic and Moorish, coupled with striking wrought iron and almost breathtaking use of catenary arches." My mind races as I try to remember which of Gaudi's works this most closely resembles: is it the secular splendour of the Palau Guëll, or the fairytale façade of Casa Batlló? Maybe this incredible interior is most redolent of the little-known but supremely sumptuous Puerta de la Finca Miralles. And then my learned companion captures the very essence of the building with his carefully-worded summary: "Wha-hey! It's just like Noel's House Party in here!"

[Renton 21234]

Extract from the review of Geordie Boyo's favourite haunt, Mood, in The Gate:

 

So, I walk through the portals and survey the decor, and I'm thinking, "Mmm, yes. Heavy Gaudi influence, with strong elements of Gothic and Moorish, coupled with striking wrought iron and almost breathtaking use of catenary arches." My mind races as I try to remember which of Gaudi's works this most closely resembles: is it the secular splendour of the Palau Guëll, or the fairytale façade of Casa Batlló? Maybe this incredible interior is most redolent of the little-known but supremely sumptuous Puerta de la Finca Miralles. And then my learned companion captures the very essence of the building with his carefully-worded summary: "Wha-hey! It's just like Noel's House Party in here!"

 

 

That's very funny actually.

[Gemmill 44273]

Second most depressing part of the student year? The fancy-dressed gimps handing out endless reams of bar adverts and drinks promotion leaflets, practically begging people to part with their cash in some shoddy fun pub. First most depressing? The way they look straight through me, as if I simply do not exist. Maybe my defeated, underpaid, style-free, hopeless, suicidal wage slave disguise is a little TOO good these days.

 

It's not just me this happens to then.

[Guest alex]

The Steven Taylor bit in the Pig and Whistle review is amazing too.

[Gemmill 44273]

The Steven Taylor bit in the Pig and Whistle review is amazing too.

 

You want me to elaborate on those punters - and why not, since there's absolutely fuck all in the way of decor or anything else to discuss? Fair enough. Look at the junior end of the scale for starters. See the Toon's great white hope, young Steven Taylor, all fresh-faced charm and low-budget haircut? And see the look on his face when he realised his sniper attack routine was fooling nobody in THAT 3-0 defeat to Villa? Imagine a bar full of identical copies of him at that moment, and that's your matchday punters. And while I swear to you now that I will never, ever go in after dark to see the night-time clientele, I've seen what traipses up and down the Bigg Market and into places like this; it's that whooping, saggy-titted, fight-starting, overpainted dog mess that we all know and avoid like the chlamydia. For the love of God, when these women are getting ready and they say to their mates or their husband or whoever, "How do I look?" why, instead of saying, "You look nice, dear," can someone not say, "Christ; sort yourself out. You look like Eddie Izzard"? It's like; you get Daytime TV fashion spots where they wheel out some old trout for a makeover, slap too much blusher on her mush, spruce up the beans-on-toast perm, and stuff her into some horrendously inappropriate black and gold dress. "Eeeh!" they say, "I might get a (giggle) Toy Boy. I look a million dollars!" No, love; you look like a gift-wrapped body bag with a broken zip. And you're making me feel sick. Now stamp your feet, pull your knickers up, pick up your tabs, and fuck off.

 

Tremendous!

[Renton 21234]

The Steven Taylor bit in the Pig and Whistle review is amazing too.

 

You want me to elaborate on those punters - and why not, since there's absolutely fuck all in the way of decor or anything else to discuss? Fair enough. Look at the junior end of the scale for starters. See the Toon's great white hope, young Steven Taylor, all fresh-faced charm and low-budget haircut? And see the look on his face when he realised his sniper attack routine was fooling nobody in THAT 3-0 defeat to Villa? Imagine a bar full of identical copies of him at that moment, and that's your matchday punters. And while I swear to you now that I will never, ever go in after dark to see the night-time clientele, I've seen what traipses up and down the Bigg Market and into places like this; it's that whooping, saggy-titted, fight-starting, overpainted dog mess that we all know and avoid like the chlamydia. For the love of God, when these women are getting ready and they say to their mates or their husband or whoever, "How do I look?" why, instead of saying, "You look nice, dear," can someone not say, "Christ; sort yourself out. You look like Eddie Izzard"? It's like; you get Daytime TV fashion spots where they wheel out some old trout for a makeover, slap too much blusher on her mush, spruce up the beans-on-toast perm, and stuff her into some horrendously inappropriate black and gold dress. "Eeeh!" they say, "I might get a (giggle) Toy Boy. I look a million dollars!" No, love; you look like a gift-wrapped body bag with a broken zip. And you're making me feel sick. Now stamp your feet, pull your knickers up, pick up your tabs, and fuck off.

 

Tremendous!

 

 

Genius, especially "No, love; you look like a gift-wrapped body bag with a broken zip. And you're making me feel sick. Now stamp your feet, pull your knickers up, pick up your tabs, and fuck off!"

[Guest alex]

The whole website is spot on tbh. I have approximately the same taste in boozers as the reviewer(s) too.

[sweetleftpeg 0]

He's brilliant like the lad who writes it. He works for HR at the council, our admin lass used to work with him and says he's a top lad.

[Renton 21234]

He's brilliant like the lad who writes it. He works for HR at the council, our admin lass used to work with him and says he's a top lad.

 

Must be a bit of an alchy to get through so many pubs though! I'd have to be mortal to even pluck the courage to enter the Pig and Whistle.

[Guest alex]

He's brilliant like the lad who writes it. He works for HR at the council, our admin lass used to work with him and says he's a top lad.

I could well know him in that case. [/j69tastic]

[Jellikit 0]

Just read the review for Trillians.. The quote at the bottom is class like..

 

 

"Facial piercings: can there be a clearer signifier of self-esteem problems than an iron bar stuck through the forehead? It's tantamount to saying, "Yes, I am a pig ugly fucker and I don't care who knows it. Dieting is for pussies. I am an individual and I am the truth. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off for a cry and a wank."

 

[Albert Kirkey 0]

The Burglars Dog is a work of genius, just not a good idea to read at work as you get funny looks from people because you're laughing out loud so much.

[Jusoda Kid 1]

Loath as we are to rip off Viz - especially since they're likely to sue us - we have to admit we could never better their entry in Roger's Profanisaurus for Ant & Dec.

 

Ant & Dec n A popular art pamphlet photographic study, whereby the model displays her well-trimmed minge and anus, i.e., a half-bald twat and a little arsehole. "Right love, that's the hamburger shots finished. Now roll over and I'll take a couple of Ant & Decs." Genius.

 

Now that is genius

[Jusoda Kid 1]

Definitely getting this book:

 

Bar Pacific

 

Best bit about the entire visit? Watching that fucking Dr Gillian woman on "How Fat Is Your House?" or whatever it's called, with the sound off. I'd never normally give her the time of day but, y'knaa, presented with a choice of that or listening to patter about spreadsheets, I know which one I'd go for. How the hell does she get away with it, though? "Right, Sally, you know you're fat because you eat cream buns all day?" "Eeh, really, Dr Gillian! I didn't know." "Mmm, yes. Right, let's have a look at yer shite." I'd love to go on that show, just to say, "Aye, I'm a bit tubby round the waist, I'll grant you. But look at the bloody clip of you, pet: you've got three shoulders, man. You're a fucking hunchback."

[Gemmill 44273]

Old Orleans gets the treatment:

 

Look, there's no point in sugaring the pill by telling you about when it's quiet; you need to get in at the critical moment and see it at its most potent, just to underline why you should never, ever be so stupid as to come in again. Best time? I'd say a Thursday evening, just after the corporations shake the winnits from their open-plan orifices. See them waddle past the windows and through the doors, thirteen stone piglets with flabby arms aloft, in true dancing ant formation. "Hee hee heeeee! Looka mee! Eeh Shelly, I'm ganna get pissed!" Watch in disgust as they order the most difficult-to-mix cocktails, with their hilarious innuendo-ridden names. "Eeeh! Can I have a Finger Up The Shitter With A Twist?". No, but you can have a smack in the fucking fat mouth if you want. Look at him, the contemptible prick behind the bar - yes, YOU, dickhead - shovelling in the ice with the ineptitude that shows why he failed the exam to shovel cowshit. Keep looking at him, since it'll be an eternity before he's ready to pour your pint. His sticky dreams of glamour are a distant memory and, because he simply can't be trusted in a decent bar, he's going to over-compensate by lobbing the bottles around in here, acting like Tom Cruise and that other bloke out of Cocktail, even though it's been nigh on twenty years since anyone was even remotely impressed by such twattery. Did I say anyone? I meant except for the - and I hate to use the word - sluts at the bar, that is.

 

Reminds me of when we had our work socials (once a month they would put a couple of hundred quid behind the bar here) and the fucking secretaries would finish half an hour early, take the money down and have drank nearly all of it ordering £5 cocktails by the time anyone else turned up (the bitches would actually have a drink in their hand and another two each hoarded on a table). Sluts indeed.

[The Fish 10686]

Old Orleans gets the treatment:

 

Look, there's no point in sugaring the pill by telling you about when it's quiet; you need to get in at the critical moment and see it at its most potent, just to underline why you should never, ever be so stupid as to come in again. Best time? I'd say a Thursday evening, just after the corporations shake the winnits from their open-plan orifices. See them waddle past the windows and through the doors, thirteen stone piglets with flabby arms aloft, in true dancing ant formation. "Hee hee heeeee! Looka mee! Eeh Shelly, I'm ganna get pissed!" Watch in disgust as they order the most difficult-to-mix cocktails, with their hilarious innuendo-ridden names. "Eeeh! Can I have a Finger Up The Shitter With A Twist?". No, but you can have a smack in the fucking fat mouth if you want. Look at him, the contemptible prick behind the bar - yes, YOU, dickhead - shovelling in the ice with the ineptitude that shows why he failed the exam to shovel cowshit. Keep looking at him, since it'll be an eternity before he's ready to pour your pint. His sticky dreams of glamour are a distant memory and, because he simply can't be trusted in a decent bar, he's going to over-compensate by lobbing the bottles around in here, acting like Tom Cruise and that other bloke out of Cocktail, even though it's been nigh on twenty years since anyone was even remotely impressed by such twattery. Did I say anyone? I meant except for the - and I hate to use the word - sluts at the bar, that is.

 

Reminds me of when we had our work socials (once a month they would put a couple of hundred quid behind the bar here) and the fucking secretaries would finish half an hour early, take the money down and have drank nearly all of it ordering £5 cocktails by the time anyone else turned up (the bitches would actually have a drink in their hand and another two each hoarded on a table). Sluts indeed.

 

 

Fucking Hate Old Orleans, mainly for the twats behind and in front of the bar, the over-priced beverages on tap, but mostly... It's the fact that it's a great place for a bar. right next to the major Metro station, would be a top notch place to go in for pre and post match drinks if wasn't such a shit place.

 

p.s. Gemmil have you got the imageshack toolbar? megausefulgizmology don'tcha know