F*ck You Buddy!

Hey you! Yeah you! The fat guy from the office gym. That’s right. You.

F*CK YOU BUDDY!

In what world is it acceptable to dry yourself using the hand dryer in the changing rooms, meat and two veg angrily flapping around as if someone was testing their aerodynamics in a wind tunnel. In fact, I’ll tell you how aerodynamic they are – IT DOESN’T F*CKING MATTER WHEN THEY ARE THAT SMALL.

If you’re really that proud of your boatrace, take a f*cking photo and keep it in your wallet rather than subject me to that scarring sight when I’m already about to chunder  following a particularly intense work out (BEEEEEEFCAAAAAKE).

And one other thing. EVERY DAMN TIME YOU DO IT, you do not have to loudly justify that you only do it because  you don’t want to get your f*cking towel wet. Jesusteabagginchrist you are a ridiculous excuse for a human and all I have to say is F*CK YOU BUDDY.

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So there I was sat in an excellent bar in the sublime city of Philadelphia with my beautiful fiancée (suck up comment following previous post’s admission of lycra fetish. Check.) reading the local paper. Scanning through the personal ads (American personal ads are comedy gold by the way) I came on to something even better – the rants section.

Whilst hugely “American” in content and literary style (rants included gems such as, “Why you so fat? I see you waddling yo fat ass down the centre of the sidewalk. How’s a fella meant to get paaast when you so fat?”) the column was incredibly entertaining.

It was at that point a lightbulb flashed on in my head – FYB.com – F*ck You Buddy.

FYB.com will be my Facebook, and I its Zuckerberg. Together - fuelled by advertising, brand endorsements and a range of official FYB merchandise - I will make one meeeeelion dollars. Perhaps even one hundred beeelion dollars and never have to work again allowing me to more actively pursue my lifelong ambitions of doing the man-o-man pec dance and becoming a 1337 member of Str8 Rippin

"So how does it work" I hear you cry? Simple, you have 160 words (a la my rant about the shower guy – this is totally true and very disgusting and also exactly 160 words) to vent. This vent must be directed at a specific individual – if they can recognise themselves from your rant, even better. The location, time and date must be specified. Other users "like" or "dislike" your rant, allowing for a “rants of the day / week etc.” to be formed. One day I hope to add some kind of "right of reply" functionality if you can somehow prove that the rant is aimed at you. I have no idea how that would work.

Together, we create a community of the angriest people in London, the UK, even the world and head steadfastly towards global domination by the invective tribe with me as its handsome and charismatic (yet lethargic) leader. It’s a flawless plan.

However, by now you will have spotted the main problem with this plan. Much like a Justin Bieber autobiography - I am writing about this venture, spilling all my secrets and sharing the lightbulb moment with all 3 of the readers of this blog (me at work, me at home and me on my mobile) before I have actually done anything. Whoops.

Thing is, I can’t make websites (with the exception of my effort with the Wokingham Town U16s website some 11 years ago – it was hosted by Freeserve, was a member of a "football webring" and had pictures and frames and everything) and I am quite lazy and awfully busy.

Anyone want to make this for me? You can be my Winklevoss twins…