Sunday, 26 December 2010

Thank God It's Over

That's another Christmas out of the way.
Tony says that next year he's going to cut out Christmas lunch altogether, and just spend all of the time at the pub.
It was he who prepared this year's festive lunch, and although at the time the idea of turkey burgers and chicken pizza sounded great, when the food arrived at the table yesterday, I thought twice. Of course, I thanked the fat bastard for his efforts, but to be quite honest, even if I was a dog, I would have thought twice before tucking ino the food that was served to me.
Tony just laughed and said that thankfully we had loads of strong lager and whisky to fall back on, and that at the end of the day, it's not as though we're going to die of malnutrition, because we ate nothing all day yesterday.
Thankfully it's been business as usual today, and after eating a disgustingly unhealthy breakfast, we managed to sober up enough at lunchtime, to nip out for a couple of cheeseburgers.
It's  not been a bad Christmas, despite her downstairs keeping us up all night with her loud reggae music and her kids running wild. Tony says that he hopes that they get deported in the new year, and that a decent English person moves into the flat.
We're now off to the pub to spend what's left of our unemployment benefit.

Thursday, 23 December 2010

Almost There!

Tony is full of beans at the prospect of seeing in a new year very soon.
I must admit that I always get a bit sentimental at this time of year, and like to look back at what I've achieved, and what I wish I had achieved.
Of course, this year has turned out like the previous three other years - just a constant succession of complete and utter failure, punctuated by the very occasional high spot.
Here, in London, in our shitty, damp flat, we're still unemployed, still good-for-nothing, and still blaming others for our problems.
Tony says that God has punished us both, because we speak our minds, and don't mind if we offend people with our outspoken views.
Last night, whilst in the pub, Tony started to compile a list of things he would like to achieve in 2011. The list was, of course, very short, and after a few minutes, he gave up completely, and turned his attention to knocking back as many pints of lager as he could, before collapsing in a heap on the floor.
So it's business as usual for The Boy Joy, and for me, and we only hope and pray to the one above that the lager continues to flow, the burgers will still taste as great as ever, and that all immigrants will be deported back to where they came from.
We're now off to the pub!

Sunday, 19 December 2010

Dreaming Of Sex, But Not A White Christmas

Tony has been in a very strange mood today, and this morning I thought that he was bordering on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Not even a couple of double cheeseburgers and ice cold lagers could cheer him up this lunch-time, and although he now seems to have got over his bout of depression, I've decided to keep a close eye on him over the next few days.
It seems that he's frustrated by the lack of sex in his life, and after discussing the matter in-depth whilst dining on the finest burgers our money can buy, he announced that he hasn't had a single sexual encounter throughout the whole of 2010.
Of course, I told the boy that sex isn't everything, but if he wanted to change things, perhaps he should start by losing a few pounds (twenty would be a good start), cut back on the drink and cigarettes, and learn to moderate his language, especially when he's trying to woo the ladies.
He looked at me and said that he can't do anything about his bad language, because he says that he suffers from a medical disorder, which means that he swears when there's no real reason to do so. He then added that he's more than happy with his weight, and that if potential girlfriends are put off by his disgustingly overweight body, then it shows just how shallow people really are, because as he added, behind the blubber, there's an eighteen carat heart of gold. Finally, it's out of the question that he cuts back on the drink  and cigarettes, which he says are the only things, apart from Arsenal football club, which keep him going.
In the end I agreed with him, and said that women would only get in the way of him enjoying himself.
We're now off to the pub to end another glorious week of idleness, where we look forward to getting completely hammered, and upsetting a few non-English passers-by!

Wednesday, 15 December 2010

Albanians, Bosnians & Other Eastern European Delights

Where we live in London, it seems that there's a massive number of Albanian and Bosnian immigrants, who spend their days wondering around in large numbers, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.
Of course, a lot of them have come over here to work on building sites, but as Tony rightly says, he'd rather trust a British labourer any day, compared to those that seem to be flooding in to our country from Eastern europe.
Apart from the fact that they refuse to speak English, they also seem to enjoy spending long evenings in our pub, talking loudly, swearing, and stinking the place out with their body odour.
Tony reckons that if things continue like this, he's going to seriously think about changing his drinking venue.
I agree with him, and last night, asked Sid the landlord if there was anything he could do to keep the bastards out of the pub. Sid sympathised, but all the while they're handing over loads of cash for drink, he said that business comes first, and that perhaps we should remember that Bosnians had a hard time in the nineties, when they were subjected to a civil war, and that therefore, we should be a little more understanding.
Well, Tony said that he had never heard such a load of fucking crap in his entire life, and wonders if Sid has undergone a massive personality transplant, because when it comes to racism, he's not usually shy in making his thoughts heard.
Personally, I blame it on the fact that it's almost Christmas, and that Sid has obviously taken it upon himself to show goodwill to all men.
Tony agrees, and says that Christmas is a funny time of year, and does strange things to people, but come the new year, he's certain that Sid will be back to his old self.
We can only hope and pray that he's right!

Monday, 13 December 2010

Fire In His Belly

The boy Tony is well and truly back on his feet. The final phase in what he refers to as "his coming back from the brink of death" was this lunch-time's meal of a double cheeseburger, well-salted fries and a few cans of cold, strong lager.
This afternoon he has been staring out of the window, and shouting obscenities at passers-by, who clearly don't appear to be of British origin. He's also been ranting and raving about the government, and says that tonight, he hopes his beloved Arsenal destroy the beast that is Manchester United.
I admire the boy, and reckon he's right when he says that doctors are a waste of f*cking time, and that only a calorie-saturated cheeseburger is what's needed to get one back on their feet, after a serious illness.
He's got that old mindless thug cum foul-mouthed bigot look back again, and as he says, tonight he's going to get well and truly hammered down the pub, and if Arsenal lose, he'll lash out at the first non-English person he comes across.
All in all, it sounds like a pleasant evening is what lies ahead of us, and I praise the Lord that my only mate in the world is well and truly back on form.
It's a REAL Christmas miracle!

Saturday, 11 December 2010

A Sick Boy

The boy Tony hasn't been very well these last few days, and after having spent three days confined to his bed, he's only just started to move around.
He blames his illness on the fact that he's unemployed, because the government doesn't pay us enough benefits to be able to buy fresh fruit and vegetables, which as we all know, are crammed with vitamins.
I reckon he's not wrong, and have told him that if people like us are expected to use our beer money to buy oranges and apples, then it's a very poor state of affairs indeed.
As Tony says, lager, whisky, cheeseburgers and cigarettes are the priority for us, and if we've got to sacrifice our alcolol intake in the name of staying well, then it's just another kick in the balls for unemployed people.
Of course, he's right when he says immigrants and political refugees get well and truly looked after by our government, whilst British people like us are being treated worse than the very lowest form of life.
We're now off to the pub to enjoy a few pints, and celebrate the fact that Tony is still alive.

Thursday, 9 December 2010

An Alternative Christmas Lunch

Roast turkey is off the menu this year for Christmas day lunch. Tony says that preparing and cooking the traditional Christmas day lunch is just too much hard work, and if last year is anything to go by, I agree with him.
We've both had a serious discussion concerning the subject, and reckon that this Christmas we'll probably dine on turkey burgers, chicken topped pizza and roast potatoes, all of which will be washed down with cold lager and cheap red wine.
I must say that my mouth is already watering at the prospect of such a meal, and I congratulate the boy for coming up with such a wondeful menu.
He says that he could have been a chef at one of London's finest restaurants, and says that people who stick to the traditional turkey have no idea how to live.
I reckon he's right, and agree with him when he says there is no place in our lives for tradition.
We're now off to the pub to enjoy a few pints, before calling it a day, because all of this planning has left us feeling completely worn out.

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

American Candy

Tony was on top form in the pub last night, and he left with a real spring in his step, after spending a few hours with Candy - a 22 year old student, who comes from Florida.
Of course, Tony loving all things American , was immediately taken in by the delightful Candy, and although she's due to return to the States before Christmas, he reckons that he's going to keep in touch with her, by internet.
I've never seen the boy so full of joy, and he reckons that if he plays his cards right, he could end up moving to Florida, and settling down over there.
Of course, I told him he'll need to get a job, but as he said, if it means being near to Candy, it wouldn't bother him if he worked in a hamburger restaurant. Now, I know he loves burgers, but spending eight hours a day cooking and serving the things is something else. Also, he's no good at taking orders from superiors, which obviously would be a bit of a problem if he got a job in a fast-food restaurant, at the very bottom of the career ladder. He agreed that his violent temper may stop a few potential employers from hiring him, but he says that every man should be given a chance.
Personally, I can't see it working, and considering he has a criminal record as long as his arm, and hasn't even got a passport, I reckon he'll still be here this time next year.
The boy knows I'm right, but just hates to admit defeat.

Monday, 6 December 2010

Things To Avoid: Bing Crosby, Alcohol-Free Lager & Fish Burgers

It's THAT time of year again. You know, when people live, eat and drink Christmas. And to be quite honest, Tony and me find it all so very tiring.
There we were in the pub last night, discussing the finer points of world politics, the Arsenal match, and saying how great our pizzas had been (I had a chicken special and Tony went for an Hawaiian), when some sad bastard decided to put White Christmas by Bing Crosby on the juke-box. Tony asked Sid the landlord if the offender could be ejected from the pub, on the grounds that people like us shouldn't have to put up with such slushy crap, whilst knocking back vast amounts of lager and whisky. Sid understood our plight, but said that everybody was entitled to choose what music they listened to, and as the customer is always right, there was nothing he could do about it.
The boy Tony reckons that Bing Crosby is right up there with alchohol-free lager and fish burgers when it comes to things that should be avoided like the plague.
I reckon Tony is right, and so when the offending customer's next song he chose to play was Last Christmas, by Wham, I think he had every reason to unleash a tirade of foul-mouthed abuse.
The customer got the message, and after finishing his glass of orange juice, made a hasty exit.
To be fair, Tony has more or less got his violent temper under control, thanks to the anger management course he attended last year, but as he said, Bing Crosby and Wham would test the patients of a saint, and so he had no regrets in giving the customer a dose of the Tony Joy treatment.

Saturday, 4 December 2010

Pick-pocketing For Beginners

Tony reckons that professional pick-pockets must be rubbing their hands with glee, as the festive season approaches.
I can see what he means: shops, pubs and public transport crammed with stupid tourists, all too distracted to notice that their hard-earned cash is being deftly taken from their pockets and bags.
The boy regrets that he never learnt how to pick-pocket, and says that in the next life he will make sure that he gets his slice of the pie, and even if he has to train 24 hours a day and 7 days a week, he will return as a professional pick-pocket.
Of course, Tony can be proud of the fact that he is already a petty thief - shoplifting being his speciality - but as he says, whilst it's rewarding to walk into a shop, steal a pair of jeans, and leave without paying, it would be even more rewarding if he could help himself to other peoples cash, without ever being caught.
Cash is King, as he often says, and even I would admit that a nice bundle of twenty or fifty pound notes would come in handy every now and then, to help pay for the cheeseburgers and lager we so dearly love to eat and drink.

Friday, 3 December 2010

A Good Deed

There we were, Tony and me, in the pub last night, enjoying a few whiskies, when the ambiance of the evening was ruined by the arrival of a Japanese family, who were clearly lost, and in need of some guidance.
We don't get many Japanese tourists in the pub, partly because we're way off the tourist-trail, but also because our pub is very anti-land-of-the-rising-sun, and all things and people who hail from Japan.
Sid the landlord was disgusted was the father of the family tapped Tony on the shoulder, and in very poor English, asked how to get to Regent Street. Well, of course, Tony doesn't like to be bothered when he's drinking whisky and talking about football, unless it's a matter of life or death, which in this case it certainly wasn't.
To be fair, and because he was in a good mood, Tony politely told the Jap to go and ask a policeman the way to Regent Street, when he would have normally unleashed a load of foul-mouthed abuse. The Jap smiled and before leaving, asked Tony if he could take a photo of him and his family, so he could show his friends back in Tokyo what a typical English pub looked like.
Tony was more than willing, but as he never does anything for free, insisted that he was rewarded with a couple of whiskies for him and me, together with a few beers. The Jap seemed more than pleased to oblige, and even joined us at the bar, to toast the Queen and all things English.
Even Sid chuckled at the scene that unfolded before his very eyes, and when the Jap had left, he agreed that although he hates the slitty-eyed b*stards, he's more than happy to take their cash from them.

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

No Festive Joy Around Here

This year we won't be bothering with a Christmas tree, because Tony reckons that we haven't got a lot to celebrate. I've told him that we've got our health, we've got a roof over our heads, and although we're unemployed, we've still got hope.
He admires my spirit, but is adamant that Christmas will be off the menu this year, and that anyway, it's only for kids.
Of course, we will still go to the pub over the festive period, with a view to getting hopelessly drunk and causing trouble along the way, but there's no way we're going to be decorating the flat with garlands and plastic holly.
I think the boy is right when he says that it's been a tough year, and I agree with him when he says that during the lowest moments of 2010, it's only been strong lager, cigarettes and cheeseburgers that have kept us going, when other people would have given up all hope.
Now we're off to the pub for a few pints of liquid therapy, and maybe a game of darts...

Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Can't Get Our Message Across

Have just come back from the cafe at the end of the road, and both of us are wondering what the world is coming to.
The problem is that they've got a new Polish waitress there, and apart from being hideously ugly, her knowledge of English is very limited.
I thought that Tony was going to explode with anger when he had to explain to her six times what a full English breakfast is. Of course, I told him that people like her are only used to eating bread and beetroot for breakfast, and that sausages, bacon and beans are things that they've never heard of.
Tony just shrugged his shoulders and said that it's a pretty poor do if a man cant't even order breakfast in his own country, without employing the services of an interpretor.
It was the same the other day at the fast food restaurant, when I had to explain ten times to the spotty foreign geek behind the counter what a double cheeseburger is.
Fortunately, the pub is staffed by only one hundred percent English employees, because as Sid the landlord says, he can't stand foreigners, and although he's a fair man, who would give anybody a chance, anything foreign on either side of the bar is a definite no-no with him.
Now, we'll drink to that!

Sunday, 28 November 2010

A Cold Snap Won't Keep Him In

It's going to take more than a cold snap to keep the boy Tony indoors. He's well pleased with his beloved Arsenal, and as I write, he is looking forward to ending another week of glorious idleness, by walking to the pub, where he plans to enjoy a couple of pints, and no doubt give his opinion on any subject which takes his fancy. Of course, I couldn't possibly let him venture out alone, so I will be joining him at the pub.
Tony reckons that the British have become a nation of weak and feable pansies, who at the first sign of a dip in temperature, prefer to stay in and sit by a well-heated radiator, instead of going to the pub and indulge in a few pints of ice-cold lager.
I think he's right, and it makes me shudder with shame when I think that we're losing our aggressive edge.
Tony says that this winter will sort the boys out from the men, and if people think that it's cold now, they should spend a few nights at the North Pole, and then they'll see what being cold is really like.

Friday, 26 November 2010

Born To Win!

Last night Tony and me took part in a pub quiz. We're no strangers to this sort of thing, and even though by the end of the quiz Tony was drunk and slurring his words, and making a nuisance of himself, our team managed to win, and in turn, pocket fifty pounds prize money. There were five of us on the team, but although Tony and me ended up with a tenner each, both of us agreed that it had been a good opportunity to put our brains into action, and impress the world with just how much we really know. Sid the landlord thought that we were the most intelligent people in the pub, and reckons that we could do wonders in the national pub quiz competition. Alas, we've already been down that road once before, and although we had a great time visiting various pubs, and getting hopelessly drunk, we only only ended up completely broke, and on the losing team!
Sid understood our reluctance, and said that it's probably best not to relive previous experiences.
Tony agreed with him, although he couldn't stay around until closing time to discuss the matter further, as he ended up collapsing in a heap on the floor, due to an excessive intake of alcohol. He made quite a spectacle of himself, but after managing to get to his feet, and bidding the other customers goodnight, he regained his dignity and decided to head off home.

Thursday, 25 November 2010

Life Is A Lottery

Tony reckons that the lottery has done nothing to help people like us. He's right, and I'd love to know when the government is going to see us as a "good cause", and start throwing a bit of cash our way, instead of building centres for homeless drug addicts and down and out alcoholics.
It seems to us that if unemployed people like us were given a bit of beer money every now and then, whether it be in the form of hard cash or beer vouchers, it might just encourage us to start looking for a job, instead of sitting around on our fat arses moaning all the time.
Tony says that drug addicts should be rounded up and shipped off to some far flung island, instead of being homed by lottery handouts.
Once again, the boy is right, and I've often asked myself why he never took up a career in politics, because with his brain, which is literally bulging with good ideas, he could have made a very good prime minister.
Of course, it's too late now, so we must get used to the fact, and think about what might have been...

Wednesday, 24 November 2010

Horses In London?

It was a great night in the pub last night, only dampened somewhat by the Arsenal result. Glen said that he had a great evening, but he couldn't stay until closing time, because he had some business to attend to on the other side of the river. However, the three of us had a f*cking great time, and we all chuckled when Glen got out his iron bar, and started to threaten a german family, who were enjoying a quiet drink in the corner of the bar. Sid the landlord turned a blind eye, and said that Glen obviously has a lot of hatred inside of him, and that it seemed only right that he vented his anger on the family.
Some woman approached me halfway through the evening, and said that she was collecting money for Injured Horses Infirmary in central London. Well, I've never heard so much f*cking shit in my entire life, and I told her so. I mean - horses in London? Sid chuckled, and said that she had been collecting money in the pub last week for the Disabled Badgers Society. Tony said that it's a f*cking disgrace that people are using animals to con decent non-working people like us out of our unemployment benefit.
I agree with him, and have made it clear that this year the Abandoned Kittens Home can go and f*ck themselves if they think that they're going to get any of my cash!

Tuesday, 23 November 2010

Glen And His Iron Bar

I reckon Tony is going to burst with joy this morning.
He had a great result at the Unemployment Benefit Office yesterday, where his "personal advisor" told him that he's got another six months to find a job, otherwise he'll be forced to join the next Job Seekers Workshop. He thinks that it's a f*cking great result, and says that he can now go through winter and next spring knowing that he's got the green light to sit on his fat arse and do nothing.
True to his word, he paid for the cheeseburgers and lager last night, and boy, it all went down like a treat. As Tony says, apart from a decent steak, cheeseburgers are the best thing since sliced bread, and he admits to being slightly jealous of our American cousins, and all of their fast food restaurants.
Tonight we're off to the pub, because we want to celebrate the fact that it's almost the weekend, and also because our mate Glen is coming to visit us.
Glen is heavily tattooed, and like Tony, is a keen Arsenal fan. He also carries on him at all times a blunt iron bar, which he says is for his own protection. Tony says the neighbours in the downstairs flat are beginning to annoy him, so he might ask Glen to act as a mediator, and lash out at one of them with his weapon. I don't think Glen will object to the idea, because the neighbours should have been deported years ago, and as Glen rightly says, if illegal immigrants want to live in our country, they need to understand that it's us English who set the ground rules, and if people like Tony and me don't want to be kept up all night by their loud music, they better start by respecting our wishes.

Sunday, 21 November 2010

It's Going To Be A Bad Week

Tony looks a worried man. He's got an appointment with the woman from the Unemployment Benefit Office this morning, and he's not looking forward to it.
Last time he had his "one to one" with his "personal advisor" she suggested that he joined a Work Seekers Workshop. Tony's been out of work for three years, and he told the woman that although three years is a long time, rushing headlong into things wasn't going to make things any better. He added that nerves of steel are required in moments of despair, and that he was certain that the right job for him is just around the corner. He therefore refused to join the Work Seekers Workshop, on the grounds that experienced people like him don't benefit from wasting their time with such ridiculous schemes, and that anyway, somewhere out there a head-hunter is going to offer him the job of a lifetime.
That was six months ago, and very little has changed.
I reckon this time he'll be forced to join the Workshop, or he'll have his benefits cut off. He shudders at the thought of losing his only source of cash, and reckons that the government has got it in for him.
I can see his point, and told him that for a man that's permanently being persecuted, I admire the way he keeps his spirits up, and doesn't let life get him down.
He's promised that tonight he'll buy us double cheeseburgers and lager if all goes well, and added that people like Tony Joy don't panic in the face of adversity.
I wish him well, and am already dribbling with excitement over the thought of tonight's meal.

He Feels That His Life Is Over

Fatty Tony is very depressed this morning. He has reason to be.
His beloved Arsenal went down at home yesterday to the hated enemy. There's no money in the bank. Our unemployment benefit doesn't arrive for another week. The heating in the flat is beginning to show signs of packing up. Christmas is coming.
We don't like Christmas. As Tony says: It's just another opportunity for retailers to take the last penny from our pockets.
He's got his eyes on a new Arsenal outfit this season, but the price is just too much to swallow. Not to worry, Tony says that a spell of pre-Christmas shoplifting will solve all of his problems, and he has already started to prepare a list of items that he intends to steal within the next few weeks.
As he has no conscience, he sees shoplifting as an acceptable part of everyday life, just like going to the toilet, and can't really see what all the fuss is about.
Also, as he rightly says, tourists come over here every year and take pleasure in stealing from our High Street retailers, so if they can do it, so can we!
Money's tight, so lunch will be a few pints of lager and a bit of bread that's been hanging around in the cupboard since Friday.

Saturday, 20 November 2010

No Place For Lost Tourists

Oh Dear. Tony's mood has plunged to new depths. Two nil up at half time, and he was mentally preparing himself for cheeseburgers and red wine. Then came three goals from Spurs, and now Tony wants to do violent things to anybody who he thinks deserves a good beating.
The pub is fucking packed, and he's been drinking like a man possessed.
I've come back to the flat to have a crap and grab a packet of cigarettes.
I reckon I deserve a pat on the back, as on the way out of the pub, I bumped into a group of German tourists, who thought it would be fun to pop inside, and sample a little slice of life in one of London's backstreet pubs. If I was a sadist (which I occasionally am), I would have ushered the bastards in through the doors, and sat back whilst Tony and his cronies set about giving them a good beating. But this time, I did my good deed for the day, and told them that German tourists like them are better off sticking to the popular tourist pubs.
The bastards thanked me and disappeared in search of a safer place.

Little Arsene Wenger

Tony is bursting with Joy. Today his beloved Arsenal are playing Spurs. The old rivals always produce a good match, and Tony reckons that this time things will probably explode on the pitch.
That's Tony for you - always over the top when talking about his favourite team.
He's been moaning again about the cold weather playing havoc with his lager consumption. He says that he just can't work up a thirst. I've told him to eat three packets of salted peanuts before we go to the pub to watch the match. He didn't dismiss the idea as being completely ridiculous, and as I write, he is busily chomping away like a man possessed.
If Arsenal wins, he says it will be cheeseburgers and red wine to celebrate.
Boy.......he certainly knows how to live!

Thursday, 18 November 2010

Violence Is The Only Answer

Tony and I watched the match last night, and afterwards, to help us get over watching our national team lose to the French - or the f**king French as Tony repeatedly called them as he screamed at the television in the pub - we chased after a couple of French students, who had been at the game, and who had the audacity to come into the pub and ask for a couple of beers.
Sid the landlord ignored them, and said that he didn't want people like them lowering the tone of the pub, but when they refused to move, Tony took matters into his own hands.
We can't run very fast, and the two froggies soon lost us, but we tried our hardest, and I reckon the Queen would have been proud of us, if she had been there.
Tony reckons that people like us are in short supply, and unless a few more people start making a stand against the continual wave of foreigners who are pouring into our country, we might as well shut up shop, and call it a day.

Wednesday, 17 November 2010

We're Getting Behind The Boys

We're off to the pub tonight to watch the England - France match. It's been described as a "friendly", but as Tony rightly says, the English hate the French, and he hopes that the hatred spills over onto the football pitch. He told me that he's going to wear his replica Arsenal strip, and is looking forward to getting completely hammered, whilst watching the froggies get a good thrashing.
I saw a couple of French supporters in the street earlier, talking loudly and waving their arms around. Tony says that the French can't converse like normal people, and says that arm waving and talking loudly are things that the British have managed to avoid.
At the time of writing, "Fatty" Joy is having a shower, and singing God Save The Queen very poorly. I reckon if we lose tonight he'll want to give the first French person he sees a good beating.
I can't say I blame him, and am looking forward to what could be a memorable evening.

Tuesday, 9 November 2010

A Wonderful Evening Was Had By All

Tony's "Welcome Home" pub celebration went like a dream. By eight o'clock, we were both hopelessly pissed, and making obscene comments about immigrants and gay people.
Even though the tourist season has come to an end, we were lucky enough to stumble upon a german family, who were enjoying a quiet drink in the pub. Three weeks in prison had left Tony with a lot of pent up hatred, and so it was no surprise that the germans were on the receiving end of one of Tony's foul-mouthed attacks. The father asked Sid the landlord if Tony could be ejected from the premises, but Sid just laughed, and told the german fucker that it was the English who won the war, and if he wasn't happy, he could fuck off. Message received! The wife looked terribly upset, but as Tony said, we don't need people like them in the pub.
We managed to stagger back to our flat just after midnight, and heated up a couple of old cheeseburgers in the microwave. They actually tasted a lot better than when we first bought them, and Tony said that God should always bless America, because cheeseburgers and Budweiser beer are two of the finest things ever to come out of that country.
The neighbour upstairs complained that the music we played was too loud. She's spanish, and very hairy. Tony just laughed and said that she should have been deported years ago.

Monday, 8 November 2010

A Bad Few Weeks

It's been a bad few weeks for Tony and me. He's just been released from prison after serving a three week sentence for breaking somebody's ribs in a provoked attack. And I can honestly say, it wasn't his fault. About a month ago we were both in the pub minding our own business, and talking about how we would solve the immigration crisis ("shoot the fuckers" was the best thing we could come up with), when Tony received a mouthful of abuse from an Albanian immigrant. Tony, who had downed one too many whiskies, decided to give the immigrant a well-aimed smack in the chest. Unfortunately, there were witnesses to the attack, and the police arrived just a few minutes later, to take away my only friend. The judge at the trial was less than sympathetic, and took sides with the immigrant, saying that people should be protected from the likes of Tony, because he is clearly a mindless thug, intolerant of anybody who doesn't have British nationality. Tony punched the air and smiled at the judge, before he was taken away for his three week stint behind bars.
Today, he's back in the flat, and has spent the morning telling me about some of the people he met in prison. He has nothing but admiration for the scum he was banged up with, and reckons that he learnt a thing or two during his time inside.
Tonight, we're off to the pub to celebrate his freedom, and Tony says that he just wants to have a decent drink, and be left alone. Of course, I told him that shit sticks, and that now he's been inside, his reputation will precede him. He just laughed, and said that Tony Joy is a man who knows no fear, and that it's better to be a somebody, with a nasty reputation, than a nobody, whose too afraid to even fart in public.
Yes! The boy is back, and tonight, it's going to be one hell of an evening.

Monday, 27 September 2010

Autumn Is No Good For Us Beer Drinkers

Tony has spent the weekend huffing and puffing. It's cold around here, and he says he just can't get motivated to drink the lager that's been chilling nicely in the fridge. Autumn, he says, does nothing for him.
I've got my own problems, as last Friday I received a call from the Unemployment Benefits Office. The woman who rang me treated me like dirt, and told me that I had to go and see her this week, to explain what progress I've made in looking for a job.
Tony sighed when I told him, and says that England is no longer what it used to be. He's right, as I remember the time when being unemployed meant long summer days of sitting on the beach, drinking lager, and enjoying the fact that one didn't have to work for a living.
Tony reckons that things will only get worse, and that if things carry on like this, being unemployed will be like being branded a rapist.
I reckon that he's got a point, and that the government have got a lot of explaining to do!

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

We Don't Like Wednesdays

Tony and me don't like Wednesdays. It's a shit day for us. To escape the boredom of being unemployed, we've decided to get a bus over to the other side of town, and meet up with our old mate Glen. Glen is also unemployed, tattooed and has a problem with non-English people.
We're going to meet him at one of his favourite pubs, have a few pints, and then see where we go from there. Unfortunately, our cash supply has almost dwindled away to nothing, and we're waiting impatiently for our unemployment benefit to hit our bank accounts. Tony says that life is hard enough as it is, and that us unemployed are penalised for just wanting to have a little bit of pleasure. I mean, is it too much to ask? The price of lager is sky-high, cigarettes are becoming a luxury, and the government just add to our misery by paying us very little, for sitting around all day and doing nothing.
Tony reckons that if things carry on like this, he's going to seriously consider getting a job. I told him that he's talking rubbish, and it will soon be winter, and that it will get dark early, and it will be freezing cold outside. Tony thought about what I said and agreed that he was being foolish, and that perhaps he will wait until spring before he even thinks about looking for a job.

Saturday, 11 September 2010

We Are Oppressed

We've just been watching football on the television. Tony reckons that satellite television is a wonderful thing, but he's right when he says that you can't beat the atmosphere of a live match.
We would love to go and see Arsenal play, but unfortunately, the match tickets are too expensive. The other problem is that Tony has been banned from all football league grounds in England, and in europe, due to the fact that he was arrested a few years ago, for throwing sharp objects at the police, following a match between Tottenham and Arsenal. Of course, as he says, it was a miscarriage of justice, and because he's unemployed and likes to drink a lot, the police have now got him down as somebody who needs to be constantly surveyed.
All this oppression is enough to drive a man to drink, so tonight the two of us are off to the pub. Tony says that he feels at home in the pub, because most of the other customers are no strangers to fighting and being arrested.
I only hope that the place will be free of tourists, because to be honest, we've just about had enough of them for this year. 

Thursday, 9 September 2010

Thursday Morning Gloom

Another day ahead of us. I reckon that we'll end up getting a bus over to the other side of town, as Tony says that there's a pub over there that he wants to try out. Seems to me to be a lot of effort to go to just to get a drink, but as he says, when you're unemployed, time is of little consequence.
A new family has moved in downstairs. Terrible people. Can't speak a word of fucking English, and smell like stale piss. God only knows what they were cooking last night, but when we came back to the flat after our trip to the pub, the whole building stank like a fucking dog-food factory. Tony says that standards around here have reached an all time low, and says that immigrants and refugees are to blame for everything...
...On the radio, the newsreader has just said that a couple of homeless people have been found dead in Hyde Park. It's scandalous. Tony says that only dogs and cats should sleep in parks, and not humans, unless of course they're not English, in which case, he doesn't give a fuck.
I'm glad to see that he's found his aggressive edge, and I reckon that if we carry on like this, somebody's going to get a bit of the Tony Joy treatment before the end of the week.

Wednesday, 8 September 2010

Had To Leave

We've had to leave the pub because we've had too much strong lager, and things were beginning to get out of hand. Tony's eyes were bulging, his face was red, and he had started to intimidate a couple of Polish labourers. They were trying to have a quiet game of darts, but as Tony rightly says, darts is traditionally a game played by English people, in English pubs, and that Polish people should make their own entertainment.
Cheeseburgers and fries are off the menu for tonight, but to be quite honest, we'll get a few cans of lager from the shop on the corner of the street, and finish the evening in front of the television, in the comfort of our own shitty flat.
Tony reckons that the shackles of employment are a burden, and that he's glad to be once again out of work. I told him that it was a fucking stupid idea to get a job, and that at the end of the day, people like us will never be part of the working-class. He agreed, and says that careers are for fuckers, and that the backbone of this country will always be reliant on good, honest, lazy bastards like us.

Tony's Had Enough

Poor old Tony. Two days of hard work in four years and he's already had enough. I've told him that he's got nothing to be ashamed of, and some people around here haven't worked since they left school. We're off to the pub tonight to celebrate his re-entry into the world of unemployment, and he reckons that he's going to drink the place dry.
Of course, as he says, if all the fucking immigrants hadn't taken the decent jobs, he might have something better to look forward to. I told him that being English just doesn't mean a thing any more, and that if you're eastern european, you're bound to fall on your feet over here.
After the pub we'll probably go for a cheeseburger, as apart from strong lager, it's the only thing that keeps Tony sane. God bless America for our meal tonight, and as Tony says, moving furniture for a living is okay, but a man of his talents could probably do a lot better.

I'm Still Here

So, I've changed blog sites, because the other one that I used was starting to get a bit too serious for me. People talking about religion, slimming and all that sort of shit. As Tony says: Religion and slimming should be avoided like the plague. Anyway, if you're not familiar with some of my previous work, I suggest you take a look on the other blog site at what we've got to say for ourselves. But from this point on, our observations about life in London, unemployment and all people foreign will appear here. Got it? Good. Now I'm off to the pub.
Our Previous Blog - THEdaveCooper