I Hate IHateFirstGreatWestern - pretend hate bloggers
I have written and videoed a poem entitled Tickets Please, about how train companies treat commuters. I submitted this poem to a blogsite of supposed anti-First Great Westerners who summarily deleted it due its realistic content.
The pretend haters of http://www.ihatefirstgreatwestern.blogspot.com/ are no more than cheese and wine evening part timers who publish their first class carriage rail miseries amongst each other and abhor the use of the word fuck on their website because it is obscene and offends them a great deal more than the shocking daily commute debacle of First Great Western, a train company they smear with haughty witticism yet obediently trudge through every working day because they are cowards.
You say that you hate FGW: I say you are liars. You don't know the meaning of hate and probably wouldn't unless it fucked you up the arse.
You can read Tickets Please here:
http://diggingformud.com/id1.html
or watch it here:
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=UnNNXbI2CNA
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Dude, you sound a little bitter. Even more so than is generally found from the customers of FGW.
I'm not going to delete your poem from my blog, nor will I complain about the content or the bad language. My view is that you can curse however much you damn well fucking please.
You do, however, make a few sweeping generalisations about the authors of the other blogs that aren't really fair.
If this is the result of having your poem deleted, then you're being a bit immature. I've checked out your site and I see you do a fair bit of writing. You should realise then that not everything you write is going to be to everyone's taste and you can't expect critical acclaim for everything you do.
Perhaps you do believe what you say about the other customers of FGW and you feel that you have an insight into what true hatred of the company is. You are not doing youself any favors by setting yourself up as a martyr and making out that everyone else's problems with the company are trivial.
At the risk of making myself the target of some of your less witty retorts, your poem is not really representative of anyone's experiences on a regular basis and I think you know that. You do a disservice to the staff and to the other passengers by making it out to be the case.
Were I to guess from your other comments on Helen's blog, I would guess that this comment will result in some abuse for me. I said on my blog that I didn't go in for flame wars and mud slinging... but this isn't my blog.
Tickets Please is the summation of my commuting life, inspired by all the train companies I've used, their happy fun-filled staff and the friendly considerate customers I share my life with. I added my poem to this site because other people share my experience of using public transport.
Love it, hate it or delete it, do whatever you want, my poem won't make one jot of difference to the running of the railways, FGW, commuting, finding a cure for cancer, learning Japanese or anything else. Neither will this blogging community at their Evening Primrose Cricket Match get together with tea on the table after the first innings and old Wobbly Mac pulling pints of Best behind the bar.
I'm sure most of the noble folks on this site feel very strongly about the state of First Class policy, the turnout of lower classes and all the rest, and my heart bleeds for them. Tickets Please does not fit into their Stilton scented, crystal chandelier conception of commuting pain: good. If it did we would live in a joyous world, the sound of twittering tits berry nibbling in the bushes by the train tracks, fluffy bunnies bouncing around in happy land and all of life's troubles would melt into the ether under a blissful halo sun.
I wish it were true. Then I wake up cramped and stuffed into a factory seat amongst the other sardines, see a pair of tits nut nibbling on the station and have the indecency of being accosted by rent-a-cop skinhead thugs in the name of revenue protection.
My hope for a better world is restored every morning and efficiently destroyed when I buy my way back on to the depressing platform amongst the other automatons going through the motions of life. That is what I hate.
Post a Comment