Hello. Has your mother bullied you into accepting an invite to Danielle’s birthday party, even though you and Danielle are sworn enemies and your mother should know better? Never fear, because I have the answer to your problem:

The Ladybird book of shit homemade presents!

Since we’re all middle aged on this blog (and if you’re not, what are you doing reading this on a Friday night? Go out and get laid for fuck’s sake), chances are our mothers haven’t made us go to Danielle’s birthday party recently. However, there are still plenty of handy things to make ‘n’ do in this book.

For example, if you work in an office where everyone has those “You don’t have to be a twat to work here, but I still am a twat” signs, then you’ll probably be forced to participate in a ‘Secret Santa’ every year, where you have to buy something for Yvonne, who you hate. If this is the predicament you find yourself in, I suggest you make Yvonne a recorder case or a shit Gonk – that’ll learn her.

Alternatively, make these presents and give them to the following people:

• That one at work who eats egg sandwiches
• Any murderers you happen to know
• Women who post inspirational selfies
• That woman off the Oral B advert

Now all we need is a company to start making “Yes I know this is shit but at least I haven’t kicked you up the arse, which is what I wanted to do” cards, and we’re all set. Continue reading “The Ladybird book of shit presents” →

When regional adverts were on TV, I was too young to appreciate them. All they meant to small me was that my parents might drag me round yet another carpet shop or caravan showroom, promising to stop at McDonald’s if I was “good”. (I never was. I’d “shown them up” by touching the carpets or whatever.)

The point is that regional adverts are a wonderland of tat and mullets that I can appreciate now that I’m old and sagging. Get your eyes ready for a tour of Britain, stopping at Yorkshire, HTV, Central, and some other places, I don’t know.

Readyspex 

From shops everywhere. If you’re in Blackburn.

This is fine I guess, until the end. WHY IS THERE A DOG.

Mike’s Carpets 

Do not say one bad word about Mike or I will cut you. (And to my Twitter followers: you’re wrong. He would beat the hell out of Don Amott in a fight.)

Mike was world famous in the Leeds area for his quality carpets at low low prices, and his mullet, which apparently he still has to this day. I do hope that’s true. Continue reading “The wonderful world of regional adverts” →

Welcome back to my showcase of cups that prove people shouldn’t be allowed money or cups. Let me tell you – if my readers ever invite someone back for coffee, their guest is going to have the choice of a porcelain cock, or proof that their date was once runner up in a skittles tournament.

Let’s crack on!

“Dirty Harry, but in a nice pastel stripe way” (from John Johnston)

A thought provoking mug that asks the question “Are you fucking looking at me?” (from Neil Ramskill)

Continue reading “Crap Cups part 2: The Pope and Jason Donovan” →

I’m back on with cereal again, picking up from our whistlestop tour of milk mulched memories.

Another round up for you now, this time from later childhood…

Frosties

Frosties are to Corn Flakes as Ricicles (Gawd rest em!) were to Rice Krispies. The sugared up, extra crunchy, enamel eroding, waist ballooning version.

“They’re Grrrreeaat!”

Look at Tony, just look at him. That’s the sexual imprint primogenitor of Deviant Art right there. Between him and Thundercats this is why thirty years later we’re all strangle wanking dressed as cats with six breasts. You see Kellogg’s never planned for that when they put sugar on Cornflakes (blessed be their eternal golden form). Continue reading “World of Crap reviews cereal part 2” →

All my cups are fucking boring. Most are beige, and they have “tea” or some other nonsense written on them.

Since I’m too lazy to go out and buy some more interesting cups, I figured I’d ask you guys if you had any wonderful objets d’art lying around. You did. My complete fucking surprise.

You guys have so many beautiful cups, in fact, that I’m going to have to split this post up (so if your cup isn’t here, it will be).

So, do you want to spend your Friday night looking at shit novelty cups? Of course you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this.

1. Terry Wogan is your friend (from Catt Weazle)

Continue reading “A celebration of crap cups” →

I’m now World of Crap’s food correspondent, this wasn’t deliberate or planned but this will be my fourth post about some manner of grub and everyone knows if you do something three times it’s official and set in stone.

I’m going to be covering the cereals of my own personal youth, much in the style of every other post I’ve done, this is very much my own personal experience. Doubtless though, many will be the commenters who “can’t believe you missed out Sugar Frosted Chocolate Fucknuggets! Because they were the best and you’re a terrible human being for not having retrospectively eaten this during your childhood. The past is likewise unfortunately set in stone.

I will do further cereals in subsequent articles, and if I haven’t already tried a given cereal I will buy, eat and write about it just for you. I will likewise gain a stone.

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day; we’re told this along with other advice like “don’t swim after eating” and “take your finger out of there and wash your hands this instant!”. ‘Break’ ‘fast’ you see? You’re no longer fasting so you’re breaking it. Because you’ve been asleep all night and not eating. That counts as a fast, well done!

Corn Flakes

(Editor’s note – only psychopaths put strawberries on their Corn Flakes.) Continue reading “World of Crap reviews cereal” →

It might surprise you to know that I wasn’t a rad kid. I am, however, a rad adult. A radult, if you will. Therefore, I am now the internet’s leading authority on being rad.

Let me take you through an awesome and rad day in the life of a rad kid, from skateboarding out of bed to skateboarding back into bed. But be warned – IT’S RAD TO THE MAX!

World of Crap is not responsible for any deaths that occur from over-radness.

7.00: Wake up from your awesome and rad dream, about beating Mario to death with Sonic’s trainers while that one from Saved By The Bell looks on. Think briefly about parachute pants.

7.15: Stick baseball cap to head with green hair gel. Gaze at Paula Abdul poster. Paula approves of your baseball cap.

7.30: Decide on outfit for the day.

Continue reading “The art of being rad” →