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Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Hi there! My name is Ed Miliband and I have something that I want to tell each and every one of you. Yes, that’s right… everyone.
But before we get onto that let me tell you a bit about myself so we can get all cosy: my name is Ed Miliband and I’m a YouTuber. Some of my fans will know me from my videos David Cameron: a man who probably doesn’t even have a willy and David Cameron: a man who probably wears velcro trainers because he doesn’t know how to tie his shoelaces properly. I bet he asks his mum to do it for him.
That second one is well cuss and has had at least 58 views since I uploaded it last year.
The other day I was on the bus when someone looked at me. I didn’t have my glasses on but I could tell from the bumps on her chest that this person was a woman, so I held her gaze for as long as I could. I wanted to smile at her, at this woman who was still looking at me, but she turned her head before I got the chance. This was a shame because it was going to be one of my nice smiles, and the experience left me crestfallen. Yes, crestfallen.
I got out of my seat and decided to approach this woman, to ask her why she felt that way, to roll my sleeves up and ask her why why why. It turned out that she was Italian and didn’t speak much English, something that struck a cord with me. If this simple woman is able to thrust a lance through my heart with such ease, what is stopping me from doing the same thing to my nemesis?
When I got home I put the kettle on and psyched myself up to create a brand new Facebook page… and I’m so very glad that I did. Within minutes, my David Cameron: does this man even have a bottom? post was generating comments and interest from all over the globe. The atmosphere was electric.
Later that evening I asked my brother to make me a cup of tea, and he did. I then told him that it was a rubbish cup of tea, an accusation that left him looking utterly crestfallen. Yes, crestfallen.
I then asked him if he knew about the Italian woman on the bus and he told me he didn’t… and that right there was the problem. I put my arm around him and reassured him that I was willing to be ‘his’ Italian woman on the bus, that he should look up to me as if I really was an Italian woman on the bus who didn’t speak any English.
And that is my message to you all… do not see me as a wonky man in a suit who forgets to put on his glasses… instead, see me as ‘your’ Italian woman on the bus who doesn’t speak any English.
For that is who I am.
As a real coffee fan I avoid Starbucks completely. Everything about the place is wrong and I despise the rampant commercialisation of coffee. The people who work there are not ‘baristas’ at all, they are scoundrelous shits and every night I wish a pox upon them. Quite frankly if the coffee isn’t prepared how the Arabian nomadic farmers had it back in 25BC, then I don’t want to know – these damned coffee chains don’t even give you the option to have camel’s milk for goodness sake.
One time I attempted to grow my own coffee beans, just so I could be as authentic as possible. It wasn’t successful, mainly because my spare room is not an arid desert that gets 50mm of rain an hour during the monsoon season. I did try to grow some in the bath but I think I killed the plant when I dropped my pumice stone in there by accident; I had no idea that my dry skin was so toxic and I was devastated when I realised what had happened.
I’m thinking of starting up a magazine so that me and my fellow coffee aficionados can band together. It could even serve as a support group for people suffering from comedowns when making the transition from tea to coffee and I could even pitch a tent in my garden that would function as a kind of halfway house for them. To be honest I’ve never understood the appeal of tea – all that bag nonsense, it just seems so… false and dishonest.
As for that instant Nescafe stuff you can buy in the shops, well I wouldn’t even use to grit the pavements.