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I can't believe it's photoshop!
Feb. 11th, 2012 08:59 pmI worked super hard on this. Hope you all appreciate my effort.
ALSO - the meme below this post needs more questions! Go! Go!
ALSO - the meme below this post needs more questions! Go! Go!
The Lesser Rules Of Twitter
Jul. 15th, 2011 03:17 pmAlmost every Tweeter-Blogger on the internet has done their own Top 10 Rules of Twitter – chiefly, ‘don’t troll, don’t feed the trolls, don’t just follow celebrities (especially if you are a celebrity), don’t announce when you’re following or unfollowing, don’t ask why you’ve been unfollowed, don’t do particular tweets that mildly irritate that particular blogger’ and, ironically, ‘don’t tell people how to tweet’. It’s been done. We all get not to be a dickhead, not to expect everybody to cater to our exact whims but not to be upset when everybody else gets uppity that we haven’t catered to their exact whims.
So I thought it was about time somebody covered the Lesser Rules of Twitter – little hints & tips that I’ve discovered over my 2-and-a-bit years of Twittage. So here, in no order whatsoever are some of the…
( Lesser Rules Of Twitter )
So I thought it was about time somebody covered the Lesser Rules of Twitter – little hints & tips that I’ve discovered over my 2-and-a-bit years of Twittage. So here, in no order whatsoever are some of the…
( Lesser Rules Of Twitter )
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A Message From Lord Sugar
I don’t like bullshitters. I don’t like time wasters. I don’t like scroungers. I don’t like Scousers. I don’t like Cockneys. I don’t like Mockneys. I don’t like David Hockney. I don’t like knock-knees. I don’t like knee socks. I don’t like pop socks. I don’t like Top of the Pops. I don’t like lollipops. I don’t like Lollipop Ladies. I don’t like Dinner Ladies – the people, or the sitcom by Victoria Wood.
I don’t like Victoria Wood.
I don’t like Babes in the Wood. I don’t like babies. I don’t like rabies. I don’t like babies with rabies. I don’t like scabies. I don’t like scarab beetles. I don’t like beetles. I don’t like The Beatles. I don’t like The Rolling Stones. I don’t like The Stone Roses. I don’t like Cadbury’s Roses. I don’t like Quality Street. I don’t like Fry’s Turkish Delight. I don’t like Stephen Fry. I don’t like Stephen Frears. I don’t like Ray Mears.
I don’t like Tears For Fears. I don’t like fear of the unknown. I don’t like Tales of the Unexpected. I don’t like Masters of the Universe. I don’t like Defenders of the Earth. I don’t like the Ministry of Defence. I don’t like the Ministry of Love, but then who does?
I haven’t actually read Nineteen Eighty-Four, because I don’t like dystopian science fiction set in the 1980’s. Similarly, I don’t like the alternate universe bit out of Back to the Future Part II where his mum’s got the massive norks, but I do like the bit where Michael J. Fox plays Johnny B. Goode and Chuck Berry hears it on the phone.
I don’t like Michael J. Fox, but I do like Chuck Berry. However, I don’t like Nick Berry, strawberries or Bury St Edmunds.
I do like Noel Edmonds. But I don’t like the idea of him being made into a Saint.
I don’t like the All Saints. I don’t like St Albarn’s. I don’t like Damon Albarn. I don’t like Dr Alban. I don’t like All Bran. I don’t like Alpen. I don’t like Alpine ski retreats. I don’t like Ski Yoghurt. I don’t like anything with the word ‘ski’ in it. Skiffle. Skittles. Don’t like ‘em. Semi skimmed milk? Fuck off.
I don’t like full fat milk, either. I don’t like Dairy Milk. I don’t like Terry’s All Gold. I don’t like Terry Nutkins. I don’t like Squirrel Nutkins. I don’t like the Tufty Club. I don’t like nightclubs. I don’t like Club Tropicana, even if the drinks are free. I don’t like Tropicana. I don’t like Sunny Delight. I don’t like Kia Ora – I disagree with the anti-crow sentiments of its advertising campaign. Not that I like crows. I don’t like crows, or rooks, or ravens. I don’t like John Craven. I don’t like Countryfile, I don’t like paedophiles, I don’t like Filofax. I don’t like Ceefax. I don’t like Teletext. I don’t like subtitles. I don’t like Sub Editors. I don’t like living in a yellow submarine. I don’t like yellow. I don’t like blue – the primary colour or the boy band or the Derek Jarman film.
I don’t like Derek Jarman. I don’t like Derek Griffiths. I don’t like Richard Griffiths. I don’t like Nick Griffin, but I don’t think I’m alone, there. I don’t like Griffins, or Dragons, or Unicorns. I don’t like Unipart. I don’t like Kwik-Fit. I don’t like Kwik Save. I don’t like Safeway. I don’t like Netto. I don’t like nets. I don’t like nests. I don’t like hives. I don’t like chives. I don’t like Slaughterhouse Five. I don’t like ‘Bring Your Daughter To The Slaughter’. I don’t like daughters. I don’t like sons. I don’t like being sent daughters when I asked for sons. You’re not suited for the rage of war, so pack up, go home. You’re Fired.
I don’t like bullshitters. I don’t like time wasters. I don’t like scroungers. I don’t like Scousers. I don’t like Cockneys. I don’t like Mockneys. I don’t like David Hockney. I don’t like knock-knees. I don’t like knee socks. I don’t like pop socks. I don’t like Top of the Pops. I don’t like lollipops. I don’t like Lollipop Ladies. I don’t like Dinner Ladies – the people, or the sitcom by Victoria Wood.
I don’t like Victoria Wood.
I don’t like Babes in the Wood. I don’t like babies. I don’t like rabies. I don’t like babies with rabies. I don’t like scabies. I don’t like scarab beetles. I don’t like beetles. I don’t like The Beatles. I don’t like The Rolling Stones. I don’t like The Stone Roses. I don’t like Cadbury’s Roses. I don’t like Quality Street. I don’t like Fry’s Turkish Delight. I don’t like Stephen Fry. I don’t like Stephen Frears. I don’t like Ray Mears.
I don’t like Tears For Fears. I don’t like fear of the unknown. I don’t like Tales of the Unexpected. I don’t like Masters of the Universe. I don’t like Defenders of the Earth. I don’t like the Ministry of Defence. I don’t like the Ministry of Love, but then who does?
I haven’t actually read Nineteen Eighty-Four, because I don’t like dystopian science fiction set in the 1980’s. Similarly, I don’t like the alternate universe bit out of Back to the Future Part II where his mum’s got the massive norks, but I do like the bit where Michael J. Fox plays Johnny B. Goode and Chuck Berry hears it on the phone.
I don’t like Michael J. Fox, but I do like Chuck Berry. However, I don’t like Nick Berry, strawberries or Bury St Edmunds.
I do like Noel Edmonds. But I don’t like the idea of him being made into a Saint.
I don’t like the All Saints. I don’t like St Albarn’s. I don’t like Damon Albarn. I don’t like Dr Alban. I don’t like All Bran. I don’t like Alpen. I don’t like Alpine ski retreats. I don’t like Ski Yoghurt. I don’t like anything with the word ‘ski’ in it. Skiffle. Skittles. Don’t like ‘em. Semi skimmed milk? Fuck off.
I don’t like full fat milk, either. I don’t like Dairy Milk. I don’t like Terry’s All Gold. I don’t like Terry Nutkins. I don’t like Squirrel Nutkins. I don’t like the Tufty Club. I don’t like nightclubs. I don’t like Club Tropicana, even if the drinks are free. I don’t like Tropicana. I don’t like Sunny Delight. I don’t like Kia Ora – I disagree with the anti-crow sentiments of its advertising campaign. Not that I like crows. I don’t like crows, or rooks, or ravens. I don’t like John Craven. I don’t like Countryfile, I don’t like paedophiles, I don’t like Filofax. I don’t like Ceefax. I don’t like Teletext. I don’t like subtitles. I don’t like Sub Editors. I don’t like living in a yellow submarine. I don’t like yellow. I don’t like blue – the primary colour or the boy band or the Derek Jarman film.
I don’t like Derek Jarman. I don’t like Derek Griffiths. I don’t like Richard Griffiths. I don’t like Nick Griffin, but I don’t think I’m alone, there. I don’t like Griffins, or Dragons, or Unicorns. I don’t like Unipart. I don’t like Kwik-Fit. I don’t like Kwik Save. I don’t like Safeway. I don’t like Netto. I don’t like nets. I don’t like nests. I don’t like hives. I don’t like chives. I don’t like Slaughterhouse Five. I don’t like ‘Bring Your Daughter To The Slaughter’. I don’t like daughters. I don’t like sons. I don’t like being sent daughters when I asked for sons. You’re not suited for the rage of war, so pack up, go home. You’re Fired.
