Angry Sascha is angry.

“Yes, we really want you to write them p.r. texts for us. Copy it is called, no? Yes, yes, I’ll tell you about our company later. Let’s talk money first.

“Well, yes, we need the stuff quicksmart, sure, but you must have got your numbers all mixed up. I checked on the Internets, you know. Not that I want to insinuate fraud, no no, don’t get me wrong. But I guess you’ve only worked for suckers up to this point. Yeah, sorry, that was rude. Let’s settle for uninformed clients, then?

“You see, that web page thingy told me exactly what appropriate rates for professional-quality writing are: Up to about four quid per page which really is a lot so we’ll settle on good-enough-but-not-perfect. Let’s say two pounds per page. Deal?

(more…)

Apparently, some people are dumb. Who could be stupid enough to post smiling photos of herself on Facebook when receiving benefits for clinical depression? Isn’t it clear that depressives are never allowed to have a good time? Seriously: You’re claiming disability benefits and still dare to smile? What the bloody hells is wrong with you?

And then, you upload said pictures to social networks and get all riled up (and depressed) when the fine folk of Social Services happen to stumble upon them. In the words of the immortal Ed Wood: Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Oh well. Who has the right to blame dudes with depressions anyway? It’s serious stuff and costs the economy shitloads of money each year, not to mention the loss of lives associated with this mental illness. A mental illness that apparently more and more people are suffering from, to the joy of Pfizer and Novartis et al.

(more…)

You’re seriously ill, huh? Makes sense, then, that you refuse medical treatment and rather go the homeopathy route. Hells, why even see a physician to begin with? They’re only the cartel’s bitches, anyway.

I mean – how can anybody trust the meds industry and their pawns, aka “doctors”? After all, if everybody were healthy, they wouldn’t be able to make money, no? So naturally they try to make everybody as sick as possible so they can buy expensive German automobiles and a house or two.

House, yes. Ever wondered why the production values of House, M.D. are this high? Naturally it’s meant as televised propaganda so people trust their doctors more. All in the guise of a misanthrope with a drug habit. Them sneaky bastards! Tricking people into believing the medical lie by making the protagonist a cynical wanker!

(more…)

Sad week? Perhaps you read German newspapers or watched the international channel on the telly? Preferably the sports channel? You know, that soccer dude who killed himself? Robert Enke? Right.

Yes, it’s a tragedy. He lost his child, became depressed, stood in front of a train, the police and undertaker had to collect bits and pieces over a multi-kilometer stretch, the train driver now is occupying the closed ward or something. Tragic, indeed.

The media? Collective attack on your tear ducts. His life is being reviewed, his situation analysed; psychologists and people who claim to have known him in kindergarten talk about his mental state. Just as they always do when somebody commits suicide, right? Right? Right?

(more…)

So you can pork your girl- or boyfriend for forty minutes without soiling the bedsheets.

Whoo-hoo. Well done. You’re a real powerhouse of maleness. Your rod is an inspiration to us all.

I mean, who needs more than five minutes of cuddling, petting, foreplay, if you can just ram your meat into available orifices and go jackrabbit on your partner? She’ll certainly enjoy the friction and your attention to her uterus, and he’ll naturally want his rectum distended some more, no?

I bow my head to this overload of awesome.

We all know the clit is overrated, sure. What’s it there for, anyway? You have a hole to drill! And your partner’s perky penis, well, why play with that one? You have your own, after all, and you admire his butt cheeks.

Because you’re Mr. Penetration, Lord of the Staff of Pleasure.

Ya. Mostly your pleasure, but hey, your partner needs a good pounding, no? It’s not as if less invasive things would satisfy them, is it? You saw it on late night TV and on the interwobble, so it must be true!