Archive for July, 2011

Socks appeal

Socks appeal

(Sockratic methodology)

I have 14 pairs of general-purpose socks for everyday wear.

I have not just pulled this number of sock pairs out of thin air. This figure has been arrived at after careful consideration of two fundamental and critically important principals:

i) I will do at least one machine load of washing each week.
ii) I am unlikely to change a pair of GP socks more than once on any particular day.

For me, a good general-purpose sock is a dark coloured, nondistinctive, un-patterned high ankle sock. The sock should consist of a blend of natural and synthetic fibres, and be of a medium thickness, in order to provide a comfortable and flexible foot covering across the greatest range of climatic conditions and whilst wearing a varied selection of outer footwear. I currently favour a well-respected brand of soft ribbed multi-terrain leisure socks. An example of a balanced fibre blend for a typical general-purpose sock could be 76% cotton, 21% nylon and 3% lycra; providing for a pleasing combination of warmth, ventilation, stretch and durability.

While a general-purpose sock is, as to be expected, suitable for most occasions, I also have seven pairs of woollen socks for use in cold weather. These socks, when worn with a stout leather boot, provide a winter expeditionary capability; allowing for journeys to be made on foot –perhaps to a Christmas cracker shop or eggnog stall– during harsh wintry weather conditions.

As a legacy of my army service, I also have in my possession a couple of pairs of army issue arctic socks, though it is rarely cold enough to need them this far south of the Arctic Circle. In addition to the white arctic socks, I have seven pairs of woodland-green, woollen, general issue army socks. I do not normally wear these; however, they are reassuring to have – I know that should I need to engage in woodland combat, I‘ll have the right socks on hand.

I have seven pairs of white sports socks, as though I am a physically active person, I will not normally have more than one training session per day. I also often have a day off training each week, and so one pair of sports socks for each day for a week is sufficient.

I have 14 pairs of ‘hidden’ socks for use in summer when wearing shorts – three white pairs, four dark blue and seven black. I have two pairs of soccer socks, though I have not played a game of football in years. One pair is white, one pair is dark blue; neither pair is team branded.

I have a pair of purple socks that have a non-slip rubber tread for use indoors on hard flooring. I do not wear them; they are gay, insofar as an epicene cotton bag can be gay. However, they were bought for me, and are potentially useful, so I keep hold of them.

I have two sock puppets with which I often entertain myself.

My sock system has an inbuilt sock redundancy – I am able to operate a flexible laundry routine, and should a sock become holed, I have ample time to replace that pair without having to worry about running out of socks of any type.

I have two pairs of underpants. One for everyday wear, one for special occasions.

Categories: Brian Black, Lifestyle Tags: ,

Enter the Dragon

Enter the Dragon

(Venture crapitalism)

Some people are simply better than other people.

It may not be fashionable to point out this irrefutable fact, but that does not make it any less true. Some people are simply superior to others; conversely, some folks are scum. People like me are special, set apart from the hoi polloi; we are of an elite and cultured class, destined to lord it over the ignorant masses. Unfortunately, for some of us it is an unfulfilled destiny.

To some extent, I feel that I have been robbed of my birthright. I feel that under slightly different circumstances, perhaps in a different era, I would be a man of significant status – a man of influence, a man of wealth and power. Instead, like some kind of commoner, I’m forced to work for a living; I’m forced to queue for service in shops; I’m forced to sit in traffic next to empty bus lanes; I’m forced to have sex with only one, and very occasionally two, girls at a time!

The natural world depends on a state of balance – yin and yang, a quiescent harmony. If I am not fabulously wealthy, as I rightly should be, then there is imbalance in nature – an intolerable turmoil. Nature will seek to resolve the unfairness and iniquity of the situation, and return to the ideal harmonic condition. And so, nature spontaneously created the TV show, “Dragons’ Den”.

Dragons’ Den (aka Shark Tank / Hakrishim / Draknästet / Al Aareen / Manê no Tora) is a TV show where affluent and aloof business types (the “dragons”) torment the poor. The dragons sit next to gratuitously flaunted piles of cash in front of impoverished dragon-wannabes. The wannabes are then forced to perform for the dragons in the vain hope of some miserly financial reward – a format that is somewhat reminiscent of my sexually humiliating treatment of many skint Eastern European girls. The wannabes metaphorically fellate the dragons’ on screen before, probably, literally fellating the dragons’ off screen. How I admire the dragons. I admire their piles of cash; I admire their power; I admire their contempt and cruel putdowns.

Amongst the countless opportunistic chancers and deluded fortune hunters who appear on Dragons’ Den, are a handful of inventors and visionaries that win the praise and the financial support of the dragons. People like that guy with the sauce or the bloke with the plastic thing for electricians; people unforgettable for their ingenuity and imagination. These people, these plebs, are nobody before Dragons’ Den; but then, with only a half-baked idea and the backing of the dragons, they become well-paid rich people! The degradation of Dragons’ Den is my pathway to limitless wealth and endless blowjobs.

The idea came to me just the other day; suddenly, like a refrigerator light bulb flicking on. I woke up, got out of bed and headed for the kitchen; tipped my night-time piss jar into the sink and switched the kettle on. I knocked the butts out of my favourite morning mug and dropped in a tea bag – so far so good; however, on opening the fridge I realised that I had run out of milk.

The thing is, regular milk bottles only hold 1pint of milk, or 568ml. All I needed was another 20 or 30ml of milk to make my cuppa. So, if my milk bottle had held 598ml of milk, I would not have run out!

Bigger milk bottles; that’s it, my way out of middle class poverty. No more waiting six months to upgrade my smart phone; no more making do with a diminutive 32inch widescreen TV; no more haggling over prices with escort girls – I get to have everything I want, whenever I want it. An extra 30ml of milk per pint bottle – no one ever runs out of milk again, and I get to live a life of luxurious leisure on the back of the royalties!

There are over 9 billion pints of milk sold in the UK each year, and let’s face it, if you’re in the store buying milk, would you buy a 568ml bottle knowing you could run out; or would you buy a 598ml bottle and be safe? It’s a no-brainer. I expect to make over £50million on UK product licenses alone; when considering global milk sales, the figures become almost unimaginable. I’m going to be so busy making money that I’ve already started to tell people I know to fuck off out of my life.

All I need now is a spot on Dragons’ Den. I just need the first 100 grand to set up initial production. I want just £100,000 for a 0.2% equity share; you can’t say fairer than that. It’s entrepreneurs like me – people with the balls to risk other folks’ money – that built this great nation; I just need a helping hand to get started, just need that opportunity to make my pitch to the dragons.

I’ll obviously not be letting Deborah Meaden invest. She could curdle milk with her boat-race.

Sour faced bitch.