Snot

Look, people, snot is snot.

Snot is not a breakfast food. I don't want to sit on the train in the morning listening to you snorking up and gobbling half a pound of boogers. If you want breakfast, buy toast.

Snot is not a moisteriser. Wiping the snot drooling from your nose onto your face adds nothing to your essential beauty.

Snot is not hair gel. Running your hand up your face, collecting a couple of ounces of docker's oyster and rubbing it into your hair not only does nothing for your essential beauty, but is unhygienic and makes me want to puke.

Snot is not for sharing. Don't sneeze it into the air, to be breathed in by your fellow commuters, or gob it onto the pavement, like some mysteriously oversized amoeba.

Snot is not cocaine. So don't sniff it up like it was finest Peruvian Marching Powder.

Snot is not a decorator's accessory. So don't wipe it on walls.

Buy a handkerchief. And blow your damn nose.

Ticket Barriers

Look, bozo, don't stop in front of the ticket barrier, then start looking for your ticket. We don't give a shit which pocket/handbag you put it in. Just get the f*ck on with it.

The Pope is Dead

Why didn't the Shrub fly in a crack team of doctors and lawyers to make sure the Pope didn't die?

Leave Terri Alone

How about the world's Press, flacks, political weenies and that war-mongering moron the Americans foolishly elected as President leave the Schiavo issue to the person who is legally and personally responsible; Michael?