The fucking rules

In life there are rules, and these inform us and steer us in the right way so that we can all live a fair life.

Some rules are made into laws, and these laws are called laws.

Don’t kill people.

Don’t steal shit.

Don’t text and drive.

These are rules and laws.

But some rules are not laws. They’re guidelines. Pointers.

Don’t covet thy neighbours fish.

There’s nothing stopping you from doing it but it’s best if you don’t. I reckon.

No ice cream before dinner.

I’d never heard this one before but @motherventing told me it so it must be true.

These are just some of the rules, and we live by them because, actually, if we don’t then it’s unfair.

There are also disciplines where it’s acceptable to be a rulebreaker. Usually artistic disciplines. Art, cinema, writing, acting for example. Salvador Dali, Jean Luc-Godard, Bette Davis, James Joyce.

To be a rule-breaker in these spheres is acceptable. It refines the norm, shakes the shizzle, and opens us up from an old way of thinking.

However, one area where it is totally unacceptable to break, go against, or flick two fingers up at the rules is in the Pub Quiz. Because only fucktards do that.

I did a pub quiz the other day.

I did not use my phone, text people for answers, look things up on the internet or call people up for help. I used my brain. And I played by the rules.

The rules for a pub quiz, as we know, are as follows.

NO FUCKING USING YOUR MOBILE PHONE FOR HELP.

And that’s it.

Oh, and £1 per person in a team.

I pitted my brain against others in rounds on general knowledge, history, food and drink, the British Isles and a name the celebrity from the badly photocopied images presented to you.

I did well. There was a team of 12, another of 9 or so, hard to count really as they KEPT GOING OUTSIDE TO USE THEIR PHONES TO ASK FRIENDS FOR ANSWERS. A few teams of 4, 5, lots of teams of 4, and me. Just me. A me. A team of just me.

AND NO MOBILE PHONE.

I did well. I got 41 out of 50, which, after some hoo-hah and arguments from others,put me in joint first place against a team of 6. The prize was fifty of your Earth pounds. Excellent.

As we all know, the rules for deciding the winner in such a scenario is the tie-breaker question. Unless you pub quiz in Stoke where the outcome is decided by a fight in the pub car park.

I knew that, as we were equal on points they would have to chose one of them for the tie-breaker, and I would have to go mano-et-mano, head to head against them. Cool. I fancied my chances. Even if it went Stoke-stylii I still fancied my chances.

What was that? Eh? Suddenly the quizmaster,declares that with a score of 51 out of 50, the winners were the team of 6 that wasn’t me.

51 out of 50?

That’s not just breaking the rules, that’s pissing AND shitting all over maths.

I asked for clarification from the quizmaster, as the man who collected his winnings waved 5 ten pound notes in my face.

The quizmaster had awarded 10 points to the team with the best name.

But what? Eh? My team name was Scratch My Itch Up and theirs was… frankly, shit. What about the tie-breaker? WHAT ABOUT THE FUCKING RULES?

The rules were that he would award 10 points to the team with the best name. So. Better luck next time.

The rules were that he could make up the rules WHENEVER the mung he liked, like some sort of man riddled with corruption and a vile STD. Heard of the phrase ‘perverting the course of justice’? This was much worse than that. This was perverting the course of the pub quiz.

Execution is too good for them.

I sarcastically thanked the quizmaster as I left the pub. A bit disgruntled was I. Questioning morales, ethics and repeating the phrase ‘broken Britain’ over and over in m head. The quizmaster was sitting with the team of 6, having a right old laugh, and enjoying a refreshing pint of your most perverted lager.

Rules are there to stop the world going mental. Rules are there to make life fair. Those who break the rules are, basically, cheats. Ben Jonson took performance enhancing drugs to win a race, but he got his gold medal taken away from him and was shamed. BECAUSE HE BROKE THE RULES.

We’ve recently discovered banks and some bankers break the rules. This was to give themselves an unfair advantage over others in a competitive marketplace.

Key word here is UNFAIR. A bit like calling your mate on your mobile when doing a pub quiz.

I was talking about life with @eliza_do_lots at Britmums and we both agreed that rules are there because we need them. Rules are there to settle arguments and make the world a better place. The world has to have them and people should abide by them. Rules. Not laws. But rules.

Rules are rules.

Why?

Because IT’S THE FUCKING RULES!

Do you have any examples of rule breaking which makes you angry? Do you regularly flout rules? Did you bomb, dive and heavy pet in the swimming pool, talk loudly in the library, or park in a disabled space? Or do other people breaking the fucking rules make you want to rip them to shreds. Do you say something, or silently fume?

Please leave a comment in my pigeons hole, and thanks for reading.

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27 responses to “The fucking rules

  1. I’ve been told I break blogging rules by swearing a lot and mentioning my bagina. But then I always like making up my own rules. Like, erm, no ice cream before dinner. That IS a real rule, by the way.

  2. Most people are children and children change rules all the time. I sometimes take more than one piece of cheese when they’re giving them away at Whole Foods. Sometimes a whole handful. Teddy and I were discussing rules and laws the toher day. INteresting post. xx

    • That’s an okay rule to bend. Bending rules is okay. But being a selfish bastard is not.
      Thanks for reading and commenting.

  3. I remember the bitter bitter pub quiz I was dragged along to the night before my uni finals started. I should have been starting my revision but instead had too many pints and a stand up argument with a man with a microphone (and you’ll never win when no bugger can hear you but the whole pub can hear him).

    Pre mobile data, pre mobile phones, the argument was a simple one. The modern Olympic event which was based on the ancient exploits of a scout to inform his military bosses of an invading army was the Marathon, not the Pentathlon. He ran from Marathon to Athens FFS, no he didn’t fight off tigers with a javlin, and jump over stuff. He ran, from a place that we name the Olympic event after.

    *and breathe*

    • I’m over it already my friend. I’m never going back to that place again.
      Or walking past it.
      Or looking at it. I’ll close my eyes when I walk past it.
      See. Over it.
      Thanks for commenting. If you need some help moving on over this then perhaps we should just go to a pub quiz and storm it.

  4. I get really fucking cross at people who are inconsiderate drivers. Someone not indicating on a roundabout can reduce me to angry, hot years of rage & furious tooth grinding.

  5. So with you on this. The team which wins the pub quiz we used to do every week is either the most incredibly knowledgeable bunch of people in the world, or cheating. I KNOW it is the latter, because I heard them chatting about it on the way out of the pub.

    Of course I don’t say anything, because I’m a big wuss who doesn’t like any sort of confrontation, I just quietly become more bitter and compress my hatred into a small ball inside me. Who knows, perhaps eventually it will consume me and I’ll become an evil genius.

    Oh, and Ben Johnson? Dream killing junky bastard. I used to love sprinting.

  6. Oh you’ve got me fuming for you: that is so so unfair. Daddacool is right, this will stick with you forever. My husband and I still rage against decision about the longest coastline in the world and spend evenings dragging up the sorry saga of the Geography round we spent hours completing, only for the quizmaster to decide not to include that round after all as it would take too long to mark.

    • Ohhh, that’s a bad one. How can you NOT decide to include a round? What a bastard!

    • Thanks. I could just have Twitter on in the pub with me. Nothing wrong with that is there? Although if it’s £1 for every member of my team, right now, I could have to pay £2800. 🙂

  7. Ah, but remember, you’re now in a position (post pub quiz) where you can taste that sweet, sweet air on the moral high ground. That’s well worth fifty quid in my book. Particularly if, like me, it’s not a place you regularly visit…

    • Thank you. But the sweet, sweet air smells a little bit sour, and shitty.

      Thanks for reading and for the commentual.

  8. There is no such thing as no icecream before dinner, cos you have always had a dinner before you eat the icecream haven’t you? might have been yesterday when you had the dinner, but you still had it..

    • Think I’ve found a pedant KLAXON!
      Thanks for commenting. It’s a good point. 🙂

  9. I’ve got a proper vexation hard on on your behalf! Why make rules if you don’t follow them you (thinks of something totally PC … fails ….) twatheaded wankstain! The quizmaster that is, not you. Btw, Scratch my Itch Up would be a cool blog name for ppl to post pictures of their STDs non? Just a thought.

    • I left out some of the gory details of the pub quiz. Quiz master admitted he was dyslexic and couldn’t read out some of the questions. It was a tough evening.
      Thanks for reading and commenting. 🙂

  10. I think the pub quiz thing sucks. But I enjoy a bit of a break of rules sometimes. Have an inherent but harmless naughty streak. I am a Minor rebel.

  11. Love this blog!! Brilliant post, has me giggling loudly in to my mug of coffee. I would like to state that these days apart from the odd few antiquated libraries we do actually like noise and chatter, just not drunken knobs shouting/singing Bohemian Rhapsody or chavs who shout so loudly innit they don’t really need iPhones, anyway, chatty kids and normals are welcome 🙂

    • Thanks. It’s more the other people in the library who glare at you if you make a noise or sit in the noisy chair. I mean, who died and made them Elvis?
      Thanks for commenting on the rules, from the library point of view. 🙂

  12. Quiz at sons school the other day. Was docked points for not recognising the honours system… ie did not say SIR Tom Jones, DAME Judi Dench, SIR Paul McCartney…….
    Was tempted to use the quiz masters’ full title (ie stupid pedantic royalist cretin), but was advised by my wife to ‘wind my neck in’.

    We came second……. twats.

    • Pedant klaxon. Blimey, that is harsh.
      I may have kicked off if I was you.
      Thanks for commenting. Shitey things happen to good people. 🙂

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