Mister Evil Breakfast's List Of People I Want To Punch In The Head Or Hit With A Crowbar Because They Piss Me Off (MEBLOPIWTPITHOHWACBTPMO)
No intro required, I think the heading says it all. Let's polish up our knuckles and get into the grand old tradition of cracking skulls.
People who say "Taxi" when someone drops a glass
You've probably heard it in a pub, restaurant, at a party... but strangely, not at a taxi rank... the sound of a dropped glass followed by some champion shouting, "Taxi!" It's supposed to be a humorous quip to let everybody within earshot know that (a) someone has just dropped a glass, and (b) they're obviously too drunk to be able to stand, walk, or hold another glass and should be taken home.
The "Taxi!" thing was funny when you were 17. Now you're 53, it's lost a bit of its charm. Get a new line, or shut the hell up when I throw my glasses around. The next time I hear someone shout "Taxi!" in a pub, I'm going to yell "Duck!" and "Crowbar!" If you get hit, it's your own fault. I did give you warning.
People who say "I could make this myself" when they're looking at things in a shop
Usually applies to old biddy ducks at the markets when they pick up a hand-crafted photo frame, beaded jewellery or amateur painting. "I could do this myself," they piff. Then fucking do it yourself; show some initiative and open your own fucking shop if it's so damn easy. You could also make your own bread and milk your own cows, but I'm pretty sure you're happy enough to lob a couple of bucks over to Mr Woolworths every week for a few groceries, aren't you? "I could make this myself!" You know what else you could do? Shut up.
The Melbourne Storm
If there was ever a bigger bunch of spastics to play in an NRL Grand Final, I'd like to meet them. It was nice of them to turn up for the rest of the year, but apparently they were all out at Billy Slater's 15th birthday party the night before and slept in. Israel Falou woke up at midday and said, "Hey boys, we've got the grand final on today." And everyone else said, "Nah, not in the mood," rolled over and went back to sleep.
And if any smart-arse from Melbourne wants to 'defend' them by saying, "LOL mister evil breafast, their not into rubgy league were a AFL state here LOL ROFL!" then get your fucking team out of the competition and play your AFL. Also, learn how to catch.
The latest case to make sensational headlines (other than some bullshit about some kind of sock market crash and how it's going to ruin the economy of the world - I had no idea that socks were that important, honestly) is Aussie backpacker Britt Lapthorne.
I have been involved in three conversations this week about what "really" happened to her in Croatia, and how her decomposed corpse turned up a little bit worse-for-wear. Not for a second am I making fun of what happened to her, what I am making fun of are the people who think they know more from reading an article in the Sydney Morning Herald than the police who are investigating the case. People have justified their "she was drunk and was murdered" statement by saying, "I've been to the cliff that overlooks that beach, it's quite dodgy." Well, fuck. Case closed; how could any dispute that evidence? "Bodies don't decompose that quickly in the water!" Based on what, genius? Your degree in medicine? Your post-grad in forensic science? Your PhD thesis entitled 'The Human Body and Decomposition: The effects of a cliff, sea water and 19 days in Croatia"?
We may never know what happened to her, and judging by the shape of her 'body', we're probably a bit lucky for that.
Little fucking homie kids
I honestly thought these guys were extinct. Apparently they're not, as they have again flourished within the city centres of the world. We've all been fashion victims at one stage in our lives, whether it was the 'too much denim' phase, the 'happy pants' phase, the 'Guns n Roses t-shirt with the home-made cut off jeans' phase, but seriously, what is with this shit where people are wearing their pants around their knees and accessorized by homo belts. Rule: If you wear a belt as an accessory, you're a woman. In my opinion (and it's my opinion that counts), there are too many ugly little people showing off their undies. The best thing about these kids is that they can't run away from me when I decide to kick their ass. I do love it when they trip over their own crotch while I’m chasing them and they start to cry. I’m a man of simple pleasures sometimes.
The Australian Cricket Team
After Australia's 'domination' in the first game of the 2008 series against India (which they still didn't win), they again showed a gritty determination to lie down and give up in the second game.
Losses will happen, fine fine fine, but during this game, they showed a lack of penetration that would have embarrassed Clara Meadmore. The Australian bowlers blame the fact that they couldn't get the Indian brand ball to swing, seam or spin. The Aussie batmen claimed that the ball swung, seamed and spun too much. Here's a solution, Australian Cricket Team: head into Rebel Sport with a couple of bucks and hey, presto. There's a fucking ball. It's red and shiny and round, kind of similar to the red, shiny, round balls that you should have been playing with for a while. It seems that the only balls they've been playing with have been their own, and even then I'm pretty sure they weren't having much fun.
Forget about asking Warney to come back - the guy's retired, get over it. Forget about asking Andrew fucking Symonds to come back; since his 'gone fishing' shenanigans, his scorebook reads like binary code. According to reports, the team is taking a 'mini-break' to forget about cricket and relax before the start of the third game. Well excuse me, but since you're so SHIT at the sport, perhaps it would be better to actually practice it. I'm useless at playing the guitar, but if I was in a guitar-playing contest, I'd probably put my holiday on hold for a bit and pick up the axe.
So much punching and only two fists. I wish I was this guy (and not just because of his beard):