Fun, fun, fun...and then some.

Alright you bunch of no marks. So I finally get another job interview after several months of waiting. Some big business, chump realises that Joey Luka has a lot of promise, even if his C.V. is filled with fictional work rather than actual on the job experience. Some nobody thinks ey…this Joey Luka guy is real sharp…real on the ball… You get a guy like that in the company and the opposition goes running to the hills, screaming like a lil’ girly girl. They say Lukat…Lukat baby you could do customer services couldn’t you? You’re a charming bubbly character and you like the general public? I say sure I love em’ they’re a great bunch of lads, with their ill informed opinions, tiny minds and disgusting, dull, irrelevant personalities...whining on and on and on about their pathetic little lives, calling me on the phone WAHH WAHH WAHHH fix this for me Lukat, fix that, please champ we need you, please…please…pweaseeee…FUCK OFF…fuck right off pal. I’d rather leave you to perish in the fires of hell than take a second to piss on you and save your miserable existence, to soften the blow for your loved ones, to give you some kind of bleak future in which to ‘make your dreams come true’. No I won’t piss on you even though I do really need to urinate right now…even though this very second I am in desperate need for the toilet and it would probably help us both out and be a hell of a lot easier if I just urinated on you to put out the flames…well no I’m not going to do that pal because I’d rather watch you burn and die...I’d rather see the tears of your loved ones, I’d rather lick their tragic faces and taste the salt of their agony as you turn to ashes, burning away because I wouldn’t piss on you…YOU FUCKER…FUCKER..I’LL KILL YOU FUCK HEAD…I WANT TO WATCH YOU DIEEEEEE…anyway pal sorry what was your call about?

Yeah so anyways I get an interview, that’s basically the gist of it. So I turn up to this industrial estate in the middle of nowhere. I strut on down in the pouring rain, massive holes embedded in the concrete as though bombs had been dropped on the place. Vicious looking dogs chained to a fence guarding the premises and some gruff polish chaps standing about loading vans…excuse me good sir…could you point me in the direction of the ‘technology centre’? I assume it’s some kind of futuristic building, probably built by some genius of architecture with radical modernist views? Maybe I will be transported to the interview room via a complex laser system developed by the best scientists in the world perhaps? BEHOLD TECHNOLOGY IN ALL ITS GLORY.

‘Yeh err…it’s down there pal’.

Oh I see just down here is it? In this dark corner of urban decay? Oh I see it’s this building, this grim looking structure, worn and grey, housing the tortured souls of minimum wage employment? This is the technology centre? I understand, a truly fitting name it is friend.

Yeah anyway enough of the shit, enough of the mincing around with my fancy words, ooh he thinks he’s well clever don’t he? Smug bastard, posting his little blogs, at the tax payers expense, we’re paying for him to bloody write these blogs, bloody tax payers expense pal, paying for him to have kids, bloody coming over here…Joey Luka…on his bloody banana boat…stealing our jobs…our bloody jobs…at the technology centre, the state of the art technology centre…bloody stealing our minimum wage telesales job…bloody Lukat…stealing our bloody jobs…on his banana boats...with his foreign bloody name…bloody Joey Luka…bloody Lukat…probably from Greece or turkey…Istanbul maybe…coming over here stinking of curry…stealing our jobs the bloody bastard…at the bloody technology centre…

Where was I? Oh yeah I had to turn the job down since it would actually have COST me more money than it would of made me, which is what you want really. It’s a great package; I’m just a work shy idiot for turning it down, a fucking pussy, wasting the chance of a life time. Can I just get this fantastic opportunity in writing please though? Could you sell it to me good sir, I know I should be grateful to even clean your shoes, a lowly graduate like me, but sir pretty please could you sell this job for me mate…please mate…convince me…I’ll suck your thumb like a baby...GAH GAH GOO GOO WAHH WAHHHH PLEASE MATE…PLEASE….PLEASEEE?

“Well you see Joey here’s the setup, here’s how this thing goes down. You get to work for 40 hours a week, in this horrible little call centre, hassling old dears on the phone for their supper money, hassle them till all their moneys gone Joey, trick them if you have to, the senile old bitches. Yeah steal their retirement money Joey, out of house and home, it’s all sell sell sell mate, steal their ceramic bulldog ornaments, their deceased husband’s war medals, he was a hero Joey but that don’t matter, it’s all about the sell...you’re being paid on commission here Joey you gotta sell...this is commerce, you steal the old fuckers money and you get your minimum wage…real nice deal Joey.”

Well this sounds great, I mean is that the whole package? I’d be a fool to turn it down.

“Well you see Joey there are a few minor details we need to put out there, you know how it is, the small print. You see we can pay you minimum wage, hassling these old dears on the phone for 40 hours a week...yeh we can do that Joey but we aint going to pay you for the first two weeks. Nah you understand Joey, a piece of useless scum like you, we can’t trust you talking to people over the phone so we aint going to pay you for the first two weeks. Yeah I know you have to get the train over here an hour and 15 minutes early every day and that may well set you back £30-40 a week but hey…this is commerce, we can’t afford to pay an idiot like you straight up, so to be fair this job will actually cost you far more money than you’d ever make. That’s a good deal right Joey? Paying to work here, travelling over 2 hours a day to work here, that’s a good deal right bud? Of course there is no guaranteed job at the end of this either mate, I mean we could well just use you for slave labour for 2 weeks then tell you to fuck off, but it’s a foot in the door bud, a real opportunity. Now could you just kneel down here next to me Joey, now could you just pop this in your mouth? That’s right Joey, it’s another opportunity for you Joey. That’s right you suck the big boss man off…but Joey where are you going now? You have to pay for that pal, that wasn’t for free, empty your pockets. Nah you see what you did there bud? You thought that you were doing a job for me in exchange for money, but in actual fact I was offering you an opportunity there bud to better yourself, and those don’t come cheap. So come on we’ll go to a cash machine right now and get the money out. Yeah that’s good mate you can put that on your C.V., now get your long train home in the rain pal. See you bright and early tomorrow mate….TA TA.

Yeah so basically I didn’t take the job and I’m still unemployed. Cool.

So anyway this got me thinking, is my life actually this pathetic, or am I involved in some kind of sinister Truman show style plot? Some source of entertainment, designed for the sole purpose of giving the general public something to have a good laugh at. It all makes perfect sense now, no one could possibly be this pathetic, I mean there would be some give, there would be some end to the daily humiliation? This leads me to believe that there is something far bigger going on here. Some need to keep me unemployed, some higher purpose to degrade me on a daily basis to gain humour from my futile existence?

Then it came to me. I’m just part of some terrible Itv2 reality show aint I? Most likely presented by some fat idiot like…I don’t know, just off the top of my head…erm…James Corden. You know…presented by some fat, useless, untalented idiot…like erm…just off the top of my head…erm…James Corden…you know some cheap, tacky reality show, presented by…erm…just off the top of my head…erm…someone who would be FAT…and erm…USELESS…and erm…UNTALENTED…erm…someone like, just off the top of my head, maybe someone like erm...like James Corden? Pandering to the public, forcing them to suckle on his bitch tits, making them believe that he is some way funny, or likeable or even witty, fooling them because he’s on television. Look, he’s on the TV, they say he’s a comedian therefore he must be funny.

HAHAH…HAHAHAHAHHAHA.HHAHAHAHAHHAHA…no.

So yeah anyway my miserable life is just the subject of a terrible Itv2, daytime reality show, probably with some uncreative title like ‘Joey Loser’.

THIS WEEK…ON JOEY LOSER…

Joey heads to town in search of love. He can’t afford any of the damaged lynx Africa from B&M bargains anymore so he just shoves some urinal cakes in his pockets. He’s run out of tooth paste this week, so instead just scrubs his mouth out with the soap from a public toilet and hopes for the best. Joey Loser can’t afford any decent clothes so he roots around in the attic for his knackered, old school shoes and his dead grandfather’s suit. There is no stopping this guy. Joey sets off walking to town since he can’t afford the bus and arrives 2 hours later, sweating and flustered. He storms through the doors a man on a mission, quickly dries the sweat patches from his suit with the hand dryer then gets to work on his romantic adventure. Our hero spies some fat chicks in the corner of Whetherspoons so heads over ready to charm the massive pants off them…

‘ALRIGHT BABES HAHA ALRIGHT BABES HAHA YOU COME HERE OFTEN HAHA, YOU LEGAL YEAH HAHA? YOU FANCY A DRINK BABES HAHA YEAH, AH SHIT I DON’T HAVE MUCH MONEY BABES WILL A GLASS OF TAPWATER BE OK, STILL A DRINK AINT IT, A NICE COOL GLASS OF TAPPY THAT ORIGHT YEAH COOL COOL HAHA MIGHT TREAT MYSELF TO ONE OF EM HAHA, BARKEEP A GLASS OF TAPPY PLEASE MY GOOD MAN, MAKE THAT TWO GLASSES OF TAPPY I’M FEELING IT TONIGHT BUD. HAHA SO BABES WHAT YOU DOING AFTER THIS EH YOU SHOULD COME BACK TO MINE HAHA I LIVE WITH MY MUM HAHA BUT SHE’S OUT AT WORK HAHA I’M ON THE DOLE MYSELF SO I DON’T HAVE A JOB AS SUCH BUT THAT GIVES ME PLENTY OF TIME FOR MY HOBBIES HAHA LIKE MAKING SINISTER KEYBOARD MUSIC AND CHRONIC MASTURBATION HAHA HAHA COME ON BABES MY MUMS NOT IN HAHA COME ON I’VE GOT A RUBBER JOHNNY IN MY POCKET HAHA, IT EXPIRED IN 2010 BUT IT SHOULD BE REYT HAHA AINT HAD A SHAG IN A WHILE HAHA ONLY A RUBBER AINT IT LOVE HAHA NO WORRIES HAHA COME ON BABES…PLEASE….PLEASE…PLEASE TOUCH MY PECKER…

The furious chubster spits in poor Joey’s face and he’s ushered out by the bouncers, thrown out in to the harsh streets, he picks himself up, nose bloodied and brushes the dirt from his ancient suit. Things are looking grim so he decides maybe a trip to the local strip club will cheer him up. Surely those birds can’t turn him down, it’s their job to pretend to like losers, he still has some spare change in his pocket. Business is picking up. He sneaks in through the door, eyes glowing in excitement of his erotic master plan. Out comes some hard faced, orange slapper, gyrating in her G-string, requesting a tenner for her troubles.

‘ERE THE THING IS BABES HAHA, THE THING IS RIGHT I DON’T REALLY HAVE A TENNER ON ME HAHA I MEAN I’VE GOT SOME CASH LIKE HAHA IF YOU JUST LET ME COUNT IT OUT HAHA THERE MIGHT BE ENOUGH HERE HAHA JUST BARE WITH ME LOVE ERR HAHA GOT A 5P HERE HAHA ANOTHER TWO 10P’S HAHA AHHHH ERM OH LOOK THERE’S A 20P HERE HAHA A FEW COPPERS HAHA OH ERR ANOTHER 20P HAHA AYE I’VE GOT A BUS TICKET HERE AS WELL IT’S A RETURN TICKET IF THAT’S ANY USE FOR YOU LIKE HAHA YOU COULD GO TO NELSON WITH THIS HAHA THAT’S GOT TO BE WORTH A FEW QUID BABES HAHA IMAGINE ALL THE THINGS YOU COULD DO IN NELSON HAHA AH MAYBE WE COULD GO TOGETHER LOVE? I’D HAVE TO WALK LIKE SINCE YOU’RE USING THE TICKET BUT NO WORRIES LOVE WE COULD JUST MEET UP SOMEWHERE HAHA AH NAH DON’T TELL THE BOUNCERS LOVE I DON’T WANT ANY TROUBLE, MAYBE WE COULD JUST TALK BABES HAHA YOU KNOW I WON’T EVEN HAVE THE LAP DANCE HAHA WE’VE GOT ABOUT £2.45 ALL TOGETHER HERE LOVE THAT’S GOT TO BE WORTH SOMETHING MAYBE WE COULD JUST HAVE A CHAT HAHA, DO YOU HAVE FACEBOOK BABES? OR BEBO? MAYBE YOU COULD JUST SEND ME A TWEET LIKE HAHA A NICE SEXY TWEET THAT’S GOT TO BE WORTH £2.45 LOVE AINT IT HAHA I WISH I COULD GET PAID THAT MUCH FOR A TWEET OH NO LADS NO DON’T HIT ME LADS COME ON LADS PLEASE NO….ARGHHHHHHHHH’.

Joey Loser once again gets flung out in the street, jobseeker forms falling in to a filthy puddle; he decides to call it a night. Joey sets up home next to a pile of wheelie bins and has himself a wee nap, since he has to get up for the dole in a few hours anyway. Looks like things have worked out pretty nicely for ol’ Joey Loser.

Well that’s all for this week lads. I could rant on for a few more thousand words but there’s only so much satirical, bitterness I can dish out in one day. In other news I have just finished the 4^th draft of my first full length novel, ‘Elephant in the Room’ so hoping to send that off to the publishers before the end of the year. Check out any news on my facebook page, become a fan why don’t you.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Joe-Luka/159140123120?ref=ts

That last part was serious by the way; I know it’s incredibly hard to tell when I’m taking the piss. Keep the faith.

Yours in love and poverty.

Lukat

Hot Vigilante Action.

All the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. Travis Bickle: (Taxi Driver, 1976)

Alright you festering parasites, you telltale tits, you bunch of seat sniffers, you twerps…you err…you fannies. As you can probably tell I’m all riled up, not my usual laid back self, smoking herbal cigarettes and listening to the Lighthouse Family. Oh no none of that PAL, that’s long gone. I was about to sit down and write a profound blog about an interesting subject like being on the dole or making love to fat chicks but NO…NO…NOW THAT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN IS IT? For any of my international readers (which I can only assume that there are many) riots have broken out across the U.K. A bunch of bell ends are currently smashing the country up and ransacking the shelves of Poundland and Aldi…feasting on the bargains with their selfish mouths…salivating over the anarchy as they drench themselves in damaged bottles of lynx Africa and chewing on packets of bizarre tomato sauce flavoured crisps which have long since been discontinued. Well I tell you what, Lukat aint going to stand for it. I’m usually a man of words, the pen being mightier than the sword of course, or in my case typing using only two fingers, very aggressively may I add, rattling away like the mythical falcon that I am. Anyway now is not a time for words but a time for action, so before I leave you all to go and battle these yobs in the street with my bare hands I shall leave you with a blog. So in actual fact I am just offering more words instead of actions but that doesn’t matter, nothing matters…NOTHING. This is the apocalypse, grab your samurai swords and bicycle chains and let’s go do some scum in.

The kids out on the street…they say Lukat, Mr Lukat we need someone to restore order to these shores. We need a man so powerful, so intelligent, and so brave that these thugs will cower in the streets, slinking away with their little willies between their chicken legs. That man is you Lukat; you must go to the city and pound them with your fists of morality. You must stomp in their ears with your Cuban heels, made of finest Italian leather. You must urinate on them, cleansing the evil from their souls with 100% pure Lukat holy water. Oh yes, you’re damn right. I’m aware no kids actually speak like this, but that doesn’t matter, I would never be selfish and let facts get in the way of an entirely fictional story.

Anyone who knows me is well aware of my long term ambitions to take to the streets in vigilante action, combating some sort of apocalyptic uprising. Some even mocked me for keeping a metal baseball bat next to my bed as I sleep in case confronted by criminals during the night but who’s laughing now eh…WHO? WHO’S LAUGHING? Certainly not me, laughter is for the weak.

Now I’m all up for biting a few ears off and furiously pounding on the youth of today but I could well be outnumbered, even though I do have the strength of a thousand men. This will take some careful planning and I may need to employ a crack team of mercenaries to help me on this mission, or maybe just some big lads from the pub. We could have a civil war on our hands right here…a dole civil war…the worst kind. On one side we have these pieces of subhuman scum, stealing and rioting and on the other hand we have us good, old dole boys, who spend our days applying for awful telesales job and surviving off Netto tinned hot dogs. Well we aint going to stand for it, we are men of integrity and terrible bank balances. We’ll ten man walk down there, our arms wide as though carrying carpets, our faces stern and primitive, grunting and drunk off scrumpy, ready to take down these no good looters. We’ll wear chain mail vests and carry bin lids, banging them with steering wheel locks as our war cry. A bunch of stray dogs following us, like our mighty white steeds I shall ride in, literally on the back of a very large Labrador leading the assault. ‘YOU STARTIN’ PAL…YOU FOOKING STARTIN’ EH CUMMON EN’ CUMMON’ PALLLLLLL’.

We’ll battle in the ashes of Primark, misshaped jeans in only XXL sizes and cheap t-shirts with nonsensical slogans litter the ground, ‘Beach valley volleyball inspector 1982’. Choking a scum boy with a gigantic plastic belt with faux cowboy buckle, hearing his impish screams ‘PLEASE…PLEASE…STOP MR LUKA…I’LL STOP LOOTING…THE MATERIAL FEELS SO CHEAP AND BADLY MADE ON MY NECK…ARGHHHHH’. No remorse though, none whatsoever, in the name of great men who built Primark, on the back of hard work and slave labour we will beat the mass produced savings in to their rat like faces.

We’ll stomp in their crime ridden guts in the rubble of Dixon’s. Crushing a yobs skull in a half price mini hi fi system, the cheap plastic severing his head in two. Forcing the scum to download educational material on the laptops and then transfer it to their I-pods, gluing the headphones to their ears till they can take no more. The haunting sounds of the elements of the periodic table penetrating their minds and crumbling the fragile psyche. ‘ARGHHH I’M LEARNING …HELP…I’M LEARNING…NOW MY ACTIONS SEEM FOOLISH AND I’M MODERATLY SHAMEFUL’. Come on you pussy…read Shakespeare’s Midsummer Nights Dream on this stolen Kindle then we’ll see what you’re made of.

We’ll feed them to death on the disgusting food items of B & M bargains…GO ON LAD…EAT THIS TUB OF COMMUNIST CHOCOLATE…EAT ITTTTT…COME ON…YOU LIKE TO STEAL…STEAL THIS MULTIPACK OF DIET SPRITE…DRINK IT ALL…DRINK ITTTTTTT…the scum drinking till their stomachs bloat from the horrible unchilled beverages, bought in bulk from countries with no food standards agency. Pummelling the thugs with an economy size pack of batteries, spraying them in the eyes with faulty tins of old spice till their eyes are red raw and badly fragranced. IT BURNS…IT BURNS…OH THE SMELL…THE SMELLLLLL. That’s the smell of justice lad.

There will be no mercy.

We will chase them back in the streets with water bombs full of urine. Splattering against their stolen sportswear and rendering them unable to function, fleeing back to their council towers for a long bath. No one’s hard when they’re covered in hot piss. A super soaker of elderly waste products hosing the trouble makers down, smelling like the toilet of an old folks home they lose any confidence and become shivering, smelly wrecks.

We’ll fight them back with sticks; stick with dog poo on the end. Chasing them about, wafting the offending item near their faces till they run with girlish screams. ERRR…ERRR IT’S GOT POO ON IT…ERR…IT STINKS…NO…NO NOT MY EYES. Watch them cower in pooey justice, feeble and defenceless as we rub it against their hair and new le coq sportif trainers freshly looted from JD sports…ruined forever. This is the price you pay boy; the shit stick has no consideration for your civil rights.

We’ll play on their narrow minded, homophobic beliefs. Chasing them down in the street, an army of naked men greased up and well tanned, erections in hand, bearing down on the yobs with lustful eyes. ERR GET AWAY FROM US YOU PUFFS…ERR NO…FUCK OFF...NO...NOOOO. Grappling them to the ground for a gruelling tickling session, glittery, wet patches left on their clothes from our oily chests and buttocks. Defeated and demoralised by the hideous sight of the nude, male member, glistening under the stars and moonlight they trudge home sodomised. 90’s techno music blaring out of ghetto blasters, assaulting the senses, creating a grotesque atmosphere of homo erotic, gyrating, sweating vengeance.

To be fair though it was a fantastic idea by the lads to start rioting for no apparent reason, other than to have a bloody good time and steal some bottles of mulled wine from Bargain Booze. You know the countries poor and there are no jobs, so let’s just go and smash the shit out of the place we have to live. That will sort everything out. Top notch idea lads, we’ll just rack up more national debt and further add to the current recession that’s already crippling the U.K

EH?…WHAT’S HE FOOKIN ON ABOUT…WE GOT FREE STUFF LOL…LOOK…WE GOT FREE NIKE SHOCKS FOOKIN BUZZIN’ PAL INNIT LOL LOOK DAT CARS ON FIRE LOL LMFAO LET’S THROW STONES AT THIS FIRE TRUCK OH LOOK GRANS HOUSE IS ON FIRE LOL… HELPPPP HELLLPPPP LIL’ TIMMY HELPPP YOUR GRAMMY HELPPP...I’M BURNING LIL’ TIMMY…THE FLESH IS PEELING FROM MY OLD WEATHERED BONES….IF ONLY THE FIRE SERVICE WERE ABLE TO COME AND HELP ME FROM THIS INFERNO BUT NO…YOU THREW STONES AT THE FIRE TRUCK TIMMY NOW THEY CAN’T COME TO HELP YOUR GRAMMY…LOOK AT ME NOW …HELPPPPPPP…I’M BURNING HELPPP…I WILL HAUNT YOU TIMMY…MY BURNT FLAMING FACE TIMMY…TIMMYYYY…HELLLPPPPPPP…OH IT’S OK YOU STOLE A BOX FULL OF OLLY MURRS CDS…MY HORRIFIC DEATH SHALL NOT BE IN VAIN…I’M BURNING TIMMY..I’M BURNING…MY EYEBALLS ARE MELTING...MELTINGGGGGGGGGG…ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Well Grannies gone little Timmy…Granny gone and did got dead boy.

On the other side though we have the general public going completely ape shit as usual and calling for rioters to be shot and killed. This seems perfectly reasonable to me, how would we go about having this done you ask? How would we go about changing the law enforcement rules of the country and instead of trying to resolve the situation in the most reasonable manner with damage limitation, we will simply just slaughter a bunch of people to settle the differences, because that always work. All you have to do is sign a facebook petition to bring back corporal punishment. That will definitely sort everything out, I’m sure these facebook petitions are completely valid and not started by some bored, idiot playing on the sensationalist views of the general public. They clearly have direct ties to high ranking government officials and they are NOT…I repeat NOT some lonely, slow witted, chronic masturbator trying to gain popularity by gaining the support of other slow witted, chronic masturbators to feel some sense of achievement and connection to people. KILL EM ALL PAL…SEND EM OFF TO THE ARMY…THAT WILL SORT THEM OUT. Definitely, that will sort everything out, we need to send some looting, rat faced twelve year olds in to the army to aid in the frontline battle against terrorism, excellent though process there. Kill them, hang them…hang the kids. That is most definitely the solution to the current crisis, we’ll hang them all…hang a bunch of ten year old chavs for stealing trainers and smashing windows. Genocide is an excellent option, now if we all just sign this facebook petition I’m sure we can legalise GENOCIDE. That’s how it works you see, we change the world by joining facebook groups to show our outrage instead of actually doing anything to benefit the community. Just join a facebook group pal…hang the kids…hang the fucking kids…send the kids to the army…send them to concentration camps…gas the kids…gas the Jews…oh wait? That was something else of absolutely no relation.

In conclusion I leave you this challenging though. People are fucking idiots.

Yours playfully.

Lukat.

The University of Life.

Alright you bunch of spoon faced freaks? How the fuck is it goin?

EH...EH…EHHHHHHHHHH????????

It’s another dole day afternoon and I’m bored out of my massive mind but then again that’s nothing new is it. I’m always bored. I’m bored when I wake up. I’m bored when I go to sleep. I’m bored when I eat. I’m bored when I’m engaging bald men in fist fights and setting parts of my body alight in public…I’m just a pretty boring guy.

That being said I have many emotions as well as boredom, such as anger, revenge, spite, rage and the occasional fury. That last one is mainly reserved for people who post shit facebook statuses though.

So what has been getting my goat lately?

What’s been pulling my pecker… right off? So to speak...

Well I’ll tell you, it’s a little thing we call ‘university’, or that would be ‘Uni’ to all the hip kids out there.

Oh yes from a young age we are all told about the importance of education. You need a good education, stay in education they say. What you need bud... IS EDUCATION. Get some fucking learnin’ down your neck lad...fill yer’ boots.

Oh ok well this all sounds reasonable enough. We’ll go to nursery, yeah look I’m building my bricks, look at all the magic colours and shapes. I’m learning daddy look I’m learning weeeeehh weeeeeeehhhhhh higher daddy higher.

What’s next? Oh I have to go to school? Yeah that’s cool ...we go to school, I like to
learn…learning is good, its all going so well, I’m wearing some cheap polyester trousers and a neck tie. I’m eating warm sandwiches out of a food bag which appears to have been made from condoms, that’s cool. It’s good to protect your lunch from STD’s. Since this is a place of learning I guess the smartest kids are the coolest kids yeah? That sounds about right? I’m in with the popular crowd, all the cool kids wear spectacles, have an irrational fear of girls and the physique of E.T? It’s all good.

Oh wait no… I am in fact a geek now…I was sadly mistaken. Those fat, smelly, slow witted boys want to punch me in the arm because they think it’s ‘gay’ that I’m more intelligent than them…oh ok that’s cool…that’s just fine and dandy pal. I’ll just mind my own business and learn about that fat chump Pythagoras and get forced into outdoor P.E sessions, in the middle of winter, which involve running around semi nude, grappling with other boys in the mud as a muscular grey haired chap shouts abuse at me for being weak... some call it rugby… I call it a nonce’s wet dream but we can have our own opinions now cant we?

So anyway you stick school out for roughly 12 years and then they start telling you that you need to go to college…oh college? What’s that? I didn’t know about this? Oh yeah Lil’ Joey you gotta go to college now, You gots’ to go and get some more learnin’s kid, but this time you get to wear your own clothes. Really you mean my own, actual clothes? That’s fucking great. I get to learn even more things…and wear my own clothes at the same time? Imagine the novelty in that? I get to wear these clothes that I wear every fucking day...but now I get to wear them in a different building...that’s fucking fantastic? I’m sold.

I sign up for an art course… I sit around all day drawing cardboard boxes and smashing plates with a mallet to pass the time. They say Joey can you stop that for a moment you have to go to life drawing class. Oh really that sounds cool? I’m guessing we just draw things…you know…to do with life? Our hopes and dreams, what we hope to get out of life, that kind of thing? Beautiful sunsets and oil paintings of me climbing a mountain with Sting? Oh no Joey that’s not it, life drawing is where we hoist this fat, old woman on to this mattress and you draw her fanny with charcoal. Oh…wait a minute pal…is this legal? Oh yeah Joey this is compulsory, we’re just going to hoist her up on this step ladder on to this table so you can get a good view of ‘it’….b-b-b-but sir I don’t want to draw this old woman’s vagina, she has a hip replacement scar and this is the closest thing I’ve had to a sexual experience…HELP…HELPPPPPP…HELPPPPPPPP…

Ah well that’s over with and now I have a collection of drawings in my attic of a nude pensioners tits, then maybe I can move on to bigger and better things. This is where it’s at, once I’m done here I can finally do something useful with my life, like get a girlfriend or a job that earns me loads of money? I could make it big in the world? I could be a star, see the bright lights Mr…no more elderly labia’s for me.

But oh…no wait...now they’re saying you have to go to Uni? It’s very important that you go to Uni. If you don’t go to Uni you’re gonna have to work in the coal mines till you eventually rot and die in a pile of your own blood and excrement. Oh ok, well that sounds fair enough? I suppose I’ll just go to ‘Uni’ then?

…But err sorry to bother you ‘mate’ but what exactly is this ‘university?’

Well that’s a damn good question Lil’ Billy. University is basically when you don’t want to get a job and your parents can no longer stand you living in their homes as you’re a useless, masturbating freak with no prospects and force you out in to the big, bad world to fend for yourself

Oh yeah you get your own shit hole of a flat with a communal toilet, sharing it with a bunch of filthy chumps, so instead of walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night you choose to just urinate in your own sink (unless that’s just me?)

You stumble to a few lectures every week with a vicious hangover, a lecture which is essentially just some fat ponce reading through a PowerPoint presentation and looking smug about it. Then you get to write loads of essays about it after as a punishment for not listening.

You get to socialise with other likeminded people, much like a multicultural Jamie Oliver advert, but the goodtime fun has been replaced with newsagent’s cider and half arsed intercourse with fat chicks.

Well this all sounds brilliant but how much is it going to cost me Mr Luka?

Well you know ‘bud’ its near enough free of charge, you have roughly 3 years to attend so that would be about 3 grand for each individual year, now rising to 9 grand but that’s not including other expenses, so If I could just total this up on my calculator device I would probably say your total fee would be errrrrr… well over £20’000?

…but hey, I bet you sure do learn a lot for that kind of money?

Oh yeah pal once you walk out of there you’ll be earning that much a DAY...HOO HAH.

No BUD…this is sadly not the case I’m afraid. You walk out straight into the unemployment line and collect your weekly dole money so you can survive off Iceland frozen meals and get pissed off tinnie’s every once in a while to soothe the pain of your expensive failures. If you’re very lucky you might get to handle offal all day in a slaughterhouse or maybe a telesales job where your new boss is that chap from school who used to smell of piss and whack you on the head with a 50p coin for a bloody good laugh.

Oh that’s cool...no worries then. Sounds like a good time.

But Mr Luka if Uni is such a waste of time why do all these people seem to enjoy it so much? Well you see that’s because it takes a certain type of person to truly be a student. I’m not talking about a student in the way that one would learn and study a subject to become more educated. I’m talking about the kind of person that would tell you to ‘chillax’ at a Scouting for Girls gig. (Vom).

Now some may say (I really don’t know who these people are whom I keep referring to) ...but Mr Luka…you were a student back in the day? You know, before you got your long term career signing on at the dole?

My answer to that question would be no, I haven’t learnt anything since about 2002...so no worries there.

In fact I hate students and if I was to ever be classed as one I may just bite your nose clean off with my molars. I hate students so much if you were to even ask me to study anything I’d have to kidnap your family and slaughter them one by one to make you understand your mistake. It’s not just me though; everyone hates students, with their stupid satchels and love of the arts. You might think you’re pretty cool right now but wait till you decide to walk to town to purchase some more wacky t-shirts and Morrissey posters…oh yeah you’re prancing down the street in your funny little boat shoes thinking about how indie you are and then notice some chaps digging the road up. You get a little nervous don’t you, those gruff builder types are looking at you with their beady eyes? Dressing you down with their working class resentment and hairy forearms...you know what they are thinking don’t you pal?

‘BLOODY STUDENTS...BUNCH OF DICKS…GET A FOOKIN' JOB YOU PONCE’. (unless you’re female of course, to which they would simply ask you to expose your ‘fanny’ in that case.)

You try desperately to reason with them, if you could only explain…PLEASE...NO SIR...I’m not a real student, I’m not like them, look I’m covered in bizarre tattoos and have a child and a drinking problem …honest mate…look I’m calling you mate to show some kind of repore…pal…bud…squire…chief…cocker…you gotta believe me…

…alas…it is too late…you’re nothing to them but a cardigan wearing COCK.

So why should one be so disgusted in himself at the thought of being classed as a student? They are trying to better themselves; they are the future of this country Lukat? Leave them alone you horrible little man.

Well you see Lil' Billy…a student is a young person who has this wild idea that they are in fact more intelligent than they are and have a vast understanding of politics and other knowledge, for some reason thinking that people actually care about their little opinions which they produced from reading wikipedia. They haven’t realised that life is in fact a series of humiliations linked together by shame and embarrassment and all their dreams will be crushed into a fine paste and then hurled into the fires of eternal damnation. (Oh I know all about shame pal , you try falling down the stairs of a popular nightclub on your head, rolling out on the dance floor as your shoe flies off and hits an attractive girl...yeah you get up and try walking away with dignity after that one . Luckily I didn’t walk away, I decided to strut over a table instead and hit my head on a ceiling fan so there wasn’t too much embarrassment involved that time)

These BLOODY students…they wear pointy buckled shoes…berets…and other zany outfits to try and seem original but end up looking exactly the same as each other creating a hideous society of guys with wispy little beards, anchor tattoo’s and tiny pants.

These BLOODY students…they come from nice little villages and sleepy little towns where you can go out on a Saturday night and not get bottled by some furious lesbians whom you have offended on a previous excursion. (Not that I have a problem with the lesbians…great bunch of lads.)

These BLOODY students…they talk in southern accents and erm...YEAH…YEAH…THAT’S RIGHT…

So in conclusion I would just like to offer the following advice...don’t go to Uni. It’s a waste of time, just stay at home and watch Jezza Kyle on TV or something. That’s a real learning experience right there and it’s pretty much free...well other than a looming sense of despair and self loathing. You could even go and buy a speedboat with that twenty grand you’d save by not going to uni… imagine that...a fucking speedboat pal? You'd like that wouldn't you? Shooting off down the canal in your high powered boat without a care in the world?

If you’re still not convinced, I’ll tell you what University you should sign up for lad...the university of LIFE... Oh yeah had to get that one in there. You need to get yourself a criminal record and sign on the dole, maybe a job on a building site. That will sort you right out …be a real man…a degree in HARD BLOODY WORK MATE…just like the one I have, luckily I was able to Photoshop that particular certificate so I could spend more time with my main interest…doing
fuck all.

Yours educationally

Lukat