Brit Bitches

practising the art of bitchary Brit style

Sir Boss’a’cock meeting. June 9, 2010

My boss proved to me today what an absolute knob jockey he really is.

It’s inset day at my school, what it should actually be called is ‘Moan like a fucker’ day.

So there we all are, well those who were stupid enough not to feign illness, sitting in the conference room just waiting for him to start spouting.

He, my cock of a boss that is, stands in front of us, with his I am God, you will all respect me pose.

Errr… if God is a very small little man, wearing cords, a grey shirt and a very tight gay leather neck chain, then yes, you are he.

So he starts trying to make analogy’s about swans, and how if we don’t fly as one then we will  fail-dick.

We failed Sir boss’a’cock, when you took to the helm and made all those twatish decisions based on your ego.

I look around the room, yes, its official, this bloke is proficient in talking shit and is more effective at sending people to sleep than counting frigging sheep.

The whole room is bored as fuck with all eyes firmly glazed over, except of course Miss Petty Bitch, she’s sitting there in the front row-loser, smiling and nodding I’m left wondering, has she glazed into her robotic sex role. Just nod and smile it will be over very soon!

No, No I think she is actually falling for his bollocks. What a giant petty cock head.

Suddenly I am jolted back to reality.

The Knobhead boss is now standing in front of me swinging ropes and inviting people to join him, 6 people ( Who I have completely lost all respect for now) actually get up and start swinging, me thinks he has other swinging ideas in mind for these folks.

Then after a while, he starts.

The same old shit- no communication, at which point I have to stop myself from shouting out ” Communicate this you twat” (middle finger standing proud).

Seriously, I can’t take much more of this shit.

Everything he is standing up their whining about, originates from him and his cockhead management.

Err…Lead by example you tit.

If only these meetings were more like comedy shows, the more they take the piss the more I can heckle.

I can hear me now…..

” Get your cock out your own arse, cretin”

” Oi, little dick, those fucking heals you’re wearing, make you look like a midget Drag queen”

” That comb over your sporting- grow some balls and shave it off”

Ahhhhh…..one can dream can’t she?

 

Car jump! May 17, 2010

My hubby leaves for work at 3 am

Being the dutiful wife that I am, I always wave off my husband.

Bollocks, my car is in the way of his.

So off I trundle, in my dodgy stripey pj’s- man, I am looking mighty fine this morning.

I start the car, and………………….nothing. Just clicking.

Come on you bastard, please stART……………….

3 more attempts, and nothing.

Bloody bitch car, If you were a person, I’d bitch slap you with a giant foam hand.

You just don’t need this shit a 3 am in the morning, for fuck sake I wanted to go back to sleep, I’m tired! Oh yer, and the hubby needs to get to work.

Mr Smith jumps out of his car. I brace myself- clearly this is going to be my fault.

Hubby: “So what did you leave on?”

Oh so tired wife: “Nothing”, and I wasn’t even lying, there was nothing on in the car. Even I can’t lie that quickly at 3 am.

Hubby: “Must just have been having the doors open when you cleaned it yesterday”.

Ungrateful, slut of a car. I finely clean out the sess pool, which is your insides, and that’s how you repay me!

Fuck it.

Mental note: Keep the fucking car dirty, at least it might actually fucking work. Allowing me to get some fucking sleep.

Hubby: ” I’ll push, you steer”

Wife: ” Ok” I decide to do as I’m told, so far he has controlled himself, but one wrong move, or a slip of the tongue, might just push him over the edge.

I must be tired, normally pushing him over the edge, would be some kinda sport for me.

Anyway, he jumps starts the car.

It works -Hurrah!

Shit, no petrol to leave it running.

Will this be the moment that finely does him in.

Hubby: ” Right I’ll go ”

Woohoo! No petrol stop in the morning.

I really am a first class bitch.

Hubby returns. ” leave it running for 20 minutes, if it won’t start after that, the batteries fucked” Normally at this point, I would say something along the lines of No shit Sherlock or Do ya think???

I decide to keep it to a simple ‘ok, thank you’

Hubby drives off into the sunset, having dealt with the car situation in a reasonable manner!

My car is sick and obviously needs medical attention is this a good enough reason to chuck a sicky?

 

A feral break. May 13, 2010

The bell for break time is always a welcome sound.

Off you go kids, go fight and be delinquent out of my eye view.

A well needed coffee is calling.

So I’m catching up on some gossip with a friend.

When in walks Yoda, my ever-increasing purve of a boss.

Yoda: ” Jane, I think we need to give Sarah more support with Jack” (feral boy). By we, I assume you mean, me, as you choose never to leave your lair and actually interact with the kids.

Yoda: “Could you have him in with you for a few days a week”

Feral boy, err…no.

Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to have to turn you down on this one.

As tempting as spending hours shut in a room with him is, being barked at and stabbed with pencils.

The idea of having my face chewed on by a Rottweiler is more appealing.

This kid isn’t stupid, in fact his language skills never cease to amaze me.

Only today he flew around the dining hall calling random children ‘fucking dirty whores’.

With his speech impediment, that took some doing.

Mental note: Must mark of speech and language in his assessment file.

 

Gay car. May 10, 2010

My boss thinks he’s a real ladies man.

He the head of a primary school.

He employs mainly thin blondes with pert boobs ( I must have slipped through the net ).

Well it gives him something to look at during meetings.

You think this is a joke, but trust me, throughout my whole interview, I don’t think he looked at my face once.

To be fair he might not be meaning to look at the breast department, but it must be hard to avoid that area when you’re a balding midget, as he is.

He seriously thinks himself a little bit of a ladies man, with his swarve (creepy), masterful (little man syndrome )presence.

Oh…how mistaken he is.

He is only one up, from a poison dwarf.

Everything about him oozes creepy perve.

You enter his lair (office ) at your own risk, a wondering hand could accidently grab a wedge of your arse at any moment.

There really is nothing about this man that would turn on a normal human being.

Unless of course you like purvey, midgets who drive  bright urine yellow Suzuki’s.

I mean, what the fuck was he thinking.

You might think you look like a hunk in tunks in you bright urine yellow 4×4, but everyone else thinks you look like a massive cock.

Mind you, it does kinda suit him. Cockhead man, cockhead car.

The gay car also suits some of his weirdo mannerisms, and it certainly complements some of his twatish sayings.

Which is mainly what comes out of his shit filled mouth.

 

Little Miss Petty Bitch Secret Piercings May 6, 2010

I am now convinced that Little Miss Petty Bitch is a closet Goth Dominatrix.

I am creating a plan to orchestrate a Janet Jackson super bowl moment. Someone (me) needs to rip open her top and expose her right breast, which is without a shadow of a doubt tattooed and pierced.

Finalising the details as I type. Will keep you posted.

 

SILENCE!

Today I have observed the teacher from hell A.K.A Little Miss Petty Bitch.

A child coughs she starts screaming at them to ‘respect her’.

What, like your husband does?

God help the child that doesn’t put their hand up. That recieves the “You are making me ill with all your rudeness” treatment, complete with witchy finger poked in their face.

Personally I think she should be focussing on her own identity crisis, rather than those of the children that are not even hers! But who am I?

Like the repressed nun that she is, silence is golden in her world. In fact it is the only thing she expects of the poor little bastards in her class. Can they read? Some of them. Can they add up and take-away? Fuck it who cares! Can they be quiet? She makes sure of it.

Today two boys had a ‘silent’ fight at their desks and that was fine.

A table of girls have become accomplished lip readers and had a full on ‘silent’ conversation throughout Miss Petty Bitches lesson input. But it was OK, they didn’t make any noise.

But I especially liked it when she praised a boy who had dozed off to the land of nod, for ‘doing good listening’.

No…no…HE WAS ASLEEP!

The whole class protested.

“He was sleeping”

“Miss his eyes were closed…”

“…yeah and his head fell back”

“SILENCE! All of you have lost your playtime”

Oh, apart from sleeping boy, he can have a sticker!

 

A lesson in drugs. May 5, 2010

Its time for that old favourite… Its PHSE!

Todays specialist subject. ‘ Drugs and Alcohol ‘ . I can almost hear the kids giving me a whoop, whoop!

Of I go.

Teacher: “Today guys, we are going to talk about ‘Drugs and Alcohol’, lets see what we already know”

There little eyes are bright with excitement. If ‘ Masterminds’ specialist subject was addictions, these kids would be champions!

The air is once again a sea of hands.

Even the normal, mute retards are on fire.

There spitting at the mouth in desperation to speak. ( and thats not got anything to do with there need for speech therapy).

Pupils: ” Beer, wine, Vodka, splif, speed, rock, acid, Jack Daniels”

               ” My dad likes weed”

Crap, this is no longer a lesson, this is fucking boasting.

‘My Dads more addicted than your Dad’

‘My Mums more fucked up than your Mum’

Maybe there is an advantage to having drug addled, moron parents.