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Monday, 12 August 2013

Doctor F*cking Libby


Silly lady

I'm stepping aside from the saga of the suspicious Scotsman for at least one post, and concentrating on a certain Doctor Libby, who I found on the pages of NZ Life and Leisure.

I should add that it is not my humble self who buys the magazine, but my Beloved, and I came across it when I was having a quiet strain commune with nature.

I came across this article called what's the rush, and to summarise the main thrust of this pile of crap, slow down, enjoy life, do as I tell you and you will live longer and be happier.

WARNING

 

MAJOR RANT

 

THIS RANT HAS BEEN SAVED UP FOR 7 MONTHS, AND CONTROL MAY BE LOST

 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED...BAD LANGUAGE MAY BE USED...NON PC COMMENTS MAY ABOUND


I've had to increase my intake of both my hypertension medication and whisky after I read this article, and as I discuss it I think you may begin to understand why.

Purely medicinal

The section of this article I am discussing is titled "Dr Libby's health support tips"

Firstly I didn't buy this f*cking magazine to be told what to do.  Actually I didn't buy this magazine at all, it miraculously appeared in the "Magazines to read while communing with nature and don't forget to wash your hands afterwards box" in one of our bathrooms, but the point remains. 

I was being told what to do.

I don't like being told what to do.

Lots of fun

I didn't like it 35 years ago when a certain Lt. Colonel told me that I was going on an abseiling and subterranean exploration course.  I didn't mind the abseiling, and really enjoyed it.  Jumping off a cliff over 350 feet high, with only a thin piece of clothesline between you and a rather messy and splattered death is exhilarating, whilst crawling through mud and rock 150 feet underground is vomit-inducing, as the sergeant instructor found out. 

Not fun

Crawling your way back through a system of poorly lit and mud-greasy tunnels isn't very nice.  It's even very un-nicer when you're soaked in a particularly bile-rich vomit.  But that was his problem, I just followed quietly (but silently screaming inside)

Maybe fun

Anyway, I don't like being told what to do.

So when I read this Health-Nazi-based article, I found I was getting a little annoyed.

I will try and reproduce the list and my responses below. 

If you get offended by my language, I apologise in advance. 
If you get offended by my attitude and responses to the article, then I'm not sorry, and you're obviously a wimp of the first water, a spineless pseudo-mammalian caricature of a real person and probably a pinko-liberal doo-gooder, tree-hugger and all round puke-inducing liberal.


Here we go.

AND YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.


"Dr Libby's health support tips"
Schedule regular times to feed your soul.  You do have time.  What you spend time on is your choice
 FEED MY SOUL?  What f*cking soul?  I don't have a soul, I'm a teacher and a rational being.  What f*cking proof do you have that I've got a f*cking soul? You arrogant hypocritical puissant masquerading as a medic.



Soul?  Never seen it, smelled or tasted it.

And then what do I feed it on?

According to most sources, the soul (if it exists and I'm pretty sure it doesn't) is immaterial.  The most immaterial thing I can think of is smell.  So I can feed my soul with the smell of a bacon buttie?
If this thing called a soul is attached to the host body (it sounds a bit parasitical to me) then it will derive sustenance as the host body digests and metabolises food.  In other words it will feed as you feed, so just f*cking forget it.
Hmmm...feeds everything

Take a walk in local parks, gardens or bush and soak it in.
Soak what in you stupid b*tch? 1080? (The local version of a fluoride poison, airdropped all over NZ to keep the possums under some sort of control) Gorse scratches? Dog shit?  There's more natural bush in NZ than there is cultivated land, so whatever it is we're supposed to be soaking in, I get it just driving to work. Plus of course the added advantage of copious partially oxidised hydrocarbon fumes.
Breathe all the way into your abdomen five times each time you see this list, or while you are boiling the kettle!
Oi, I thought you were a bloody medic.  You don't breath into your abdomen, you breathe into your bloody lungs you daft cow.  And I can't breathe 5 times every time I see this list because I'm too busy grinding my teeth at your stupid vacuous and trite phrases.  Boiling the kettle?  Boiling the f*cking kettle? *smashes head against wall* I'm too busy putting 4 spoonfuls of coffee into a mug and gently scratching my crotch to even think of breathing deeply.

NOTE TO Dr Libby.  The lungs are what we use to breath.  It's the pink bits.
Make a smoothie with banana, kiwifruit and spinach for breakfast.
 Do I look like a poof?  To be fair, smoothies have their place, and it's with very young children to help them increase their fruit intake, or for adult males after a very, very bad hangover, but only after the addition of 50ml of Gin to the mixture.  SPINACH?  Have you gone completely doo-lally.  Spinach fried with some garlic makes a pleasant addition to a well-done steak, but in a SMOOTHIE?
You really are off your trolley dear.
Go for a month without coffee. It's only a month in a long life.
Oh for f*cks sake. Make up your bloody mind. It was only two suggestions ago that you said to breathe deeply while watching a kettle boil.  If you are now telling us to stop drinking coffee, when do I watch a boiling kettle? 

Daft cow. 
No coffee

AND go for a month without coffee?  I suppose it's possible, but I need at least 4-6 mugs of quadruple strength instant to get me through the day.  Expect a sudden increase in "accidental deaths" of school children if this plan is initiated. Plus any teachers that say they "feel a bit ill"

It may be a long life, but it may not.  I could drop dead tomorrow (more than likely if my blood pressure continues to spike as I read this rubbish) and then I would be depriving myself of one of the few pleasures I allow myself
 Do nothing sometimes.  Absolutely nothing.  Slow down.
 Oh great, you are now advocating apathy and laziness.  Have you ever heard of the Protestant Work Ethic?  Some of us need to keep working or the whole f*cking system falls apart.  The only time I'm doing nothing is when I'm asleep, dead drunk or sitting on a committee.


When you stop at traffic lights, don't pick up your mobile phone and check messages.  Notice the sky and think of something for which you are grateful.
I had to take an extra lie down when I read this.  Are you aware, you supposedly intelligent and self-aware cretin, that it is against the f*cking law to use a mobile phone in a car with the engine running on the public highway? So that's not even an option.

NOTICE THE SKY?  It's either blue, blue with white bits or it's grey, but I don't really notice it when I'm stopped at traffic lights. 
Blue
Blue with white bits
Grey


BECAUSE I'M LOOKING AT THE F*CKING TRAFFIC LIGHTS TO SEE IF THEY CHANGE TO GREEN, and I don't have a bloody convertible so I can't see the bloody sky you incomprehensibly moronic version of a (female) human being.

Ah well, I don't mind YOU telling me what to do.

END OF RANT

By Jove, I feel much better now. 

I think I'll go out and kick a few kids in their arses and try to get them to do some work.



I'll return to the epic tale of the Strange Scotsman as soon as I have some time.

35 comments:

  1. You can't let stupid people get you down, they are after all, ubiquitous.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Laoch, the problem is that even though they are everywhere, many even stupider people give them approval and respect.

      Sometimes I despair.

      Delete
  2. I take it you don't agree with her advice then? Normally when stopped at lights I'm peering at those near me I'm traffic wondering where the human race is headed.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Well done Furtheron, you did glean the fact that I don't agree with her views from the gentle post above. I do peer at the lights, waiting for them to change, but I have to admit that sometimes I also (simultaneously) pick my nose.

      I'm a teacher.

      I know where the human race is headed.

      It's not very pretty.

      Delete
  3. I thought you handled this quite (surprisingly) reasonably!!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you fishducky, I do se myself as a restrained and reasonable person.

      Delete
  4. Enjoyed Dr.Libby's peppy talk and review that appeared after clicking "read more". We should all read more. Following.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. WHAT?
      You enjoyed her gibberish.
      I know this is your first time here Geo (and welcome by the way) but I'm not too sure that someone of your obviously delicate sensibilities (and even more delicate grasp on reality) will be able to handle the exposure to reality and sometimes text dripping with vitriol which sometimes appears here.

      Take care.

      Delete
    2. Yeah.

      It gets in the way of my fantasies too often.

      Ah well, that's what whisky is for.

      Delete
  5. I think you need to use your diaphragm to take a few deep breaths and lie down with a spinach leaf in each nostril. I'm sure the advice was aimed at regular readers rather than occasional loo browsers such as yourself!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh thank you great simian. I'd just began to calm down when I read your comment, and my BP has spiked again.

      Regular readers? Are you making reference to those who do not need laxatives or subscribers to the magazine?

      Either way it's still gibberish.

      Delete
  6. Called in on spec and have enjoyed my root through your posts
    Greetings from a welsh chicken keeper

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Welcome, but please be advised that this is an antipodean-based blog, and the word "root" has a slightly different connotation to the usual UK english meaning.

      Well I suppose it makes a difference you being a chicken keeper. At least you won't get the usual sheep jokes we're used to.

      Glad you enjoyed your rummage. Try here for one of my best posts.

      Delete
  7. I'm not quite sure, but I'm sensing that you disagree with her opinions in some way.

    I think your bacon butty interpretation of "feed your soul" was spot on though.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Well spotted, I do tend to disagree with her fatuous and asinine "advice"

      But I'm not adamant about it.
      I could be wrong...NOT

      Bacon butties feed everything, including my hypercholesterolemia.

      Delete
  8. You're every marketer's nightmare. Stop all that thinking.

    You are not the target audience for this sort of pablum. It's aimed at well-off navel-gazers who couldn't recognize happiness if it was biting them in the arse.

    I don't want to give up my coffee. The affordable addiction. Apparently, I'm not the target audience either.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Am I? a marketer's nightmare i mean/

      That's the nicest thing anyone has said about me.

      THANKS

      Well if I'm not the target then they shouldn't sell it to my Beloved who put it in the "Magazines to be read whilst communing with nature and don't forget to wash your hands afterwards" box.

      Coffee is good.

      Delete
  9. Why not try breathing deeply and gently scratching your crotch with one hand while putting your 4 spoons of coffee into the mug with the other hand? But I suggest you don't try this where anybody can see you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Good idea, but my hand coordination may not be up to it. If I take your suggestion and end up scratching my crotch with 4 spoons of coffee, I know who to blame.

      If I end up pouring boiling water over the aforementioned crotch, I shall seek revenge.

      Delete
  10. As a fully signed up leftie commie, I am right behind you there (er... in a non-sexual way of course--you haven't got the right colour eyes for me).

    I get the impression that people like Libby actually *can't let go*. Their idea of relaxation--sitting in a park and breathing like a telephone pervert while they make a brew [=cup of tea, Americans].

    I am expert at "relaxing" and don't need this fuck-wit, stomach-knotting, navel-gazing psuedo-advice.

    Libby wouldn't last five minutes with my friends as we "relax". We would rag the poor lass out of the pub, where she'd run off leaving her fucking camomile and hibiscus infusion unfinished, to blabber about looby's simply horrid friends to a masseur or psychotherapist.

    Oooh, couldn't agree more TSB.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I didn't know you were a leftie-commie.

      I had you pegged more as an adventurous explorer of alternative medication-induced sexual variations, with a modicum of debt thrown in.

      Camomile isn't too bad, as long as it's deep fried, and followed quickly with a large whisky chaser.

      I hate to say it, but I'm glad you agree.


      Have you ever met the emperor Mong?

      Delete
    2. *suddenly awakes*

      What's wrong with my eyes?

      Delete
  11. Replies
    1. Morning Richard. Of course not, it's Wednesday, which means PD...no blue skies on a Wednesday.

      Delete
  12. WHAT! How can you not trust such a smiling and happy face? She's obviously smiling because she knows she's going to live at least several years yet (unless she meets you) and she gives such good advice. By all means you should walk in the mugger filled parks and take more medicinal Whisky. NO Wait, that was your idea wasn't it...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm protected from the effects of the pretty smiling face by:
      A. 35+ years of marriage and a great deal of respect of my Beloved's right hook.
      B. Super high levels of cynicism
      C. More years of teaching than I want to think about.
      We don't have any muggers in paradisiacal New Zealand, so I know of whom you speak.

      Whisky is always good.

      Delete
  13. our muggers wear the same jeans year after year, smell strongly of alcohol and urine and start any conversation with accusations of you being their 'brother' and enquiries about your smoking status and the possibility of 'spare' money, fags or both...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I've never seen the species over here, but did meet a variant a couple of times in Glasgow and Dundee. These were of the urban sub-species (and I do really mean sub.

      I found three strategies usually worked.

      1. Smile ingratiatingly, throw a fag in their general direction and leg it in the opposite direction.

      2. Smile ingratiatingly, drop a (previously prepared) empty fag packet at the kerb, and as they stagger down to pick up their nicotine-laden manna, shove them in the arse with a size 11 boot, propelling them into the traffic lane, then leg it in the opposite direction whilst listening to the screams and screech of brakes. The thud of their alcohol-sodden and lice-ridden bodies rebounding from the front bumper of a double-decker bus was incredibly satisfying for some reason...probably quantum.

      3. Take their photograph with your phone and tell them to f*ck off.

      Worked for me.

      Delete
  14. She looked like a very irritating woman from her photo. And I would have been ranting too, except luckily you did the ranting for me. How the hell are people like this so popular? Yes of course it is rubbish. Still at least she didn't suggest colonic irrigation.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Jenny.

      I do find the (very) occasional rant very refreshing.

      Colonic irrigation?

      I really, really hope that doesn't mean like it sounds. I might as well shove a hosepipe up my *rse. Sounds refreshing?

      I think not.

      Delete
  15. just found your blog via Hestia and I loved this rant, it really made me laugh, I do so love a rant well done and yours is excellent. Thank you. Also will read it to my hubs later as I know he will also appreciate your many excellent points. And the pic of the nice young lady.

    ReplyDelete

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