Satirical Snapshots
                                object(WP_Term)#8394 (16) {
  string(19) "Satirical Snapshots"
  string(19) "satirical-snapshots"
  string(8) "category"
  string(0) ""
  string(3) "raw"
  string(0) ""
  string(19) "Satirical Snapshots"
  string(19) "satirical-snapshots"

Vernal Vivacity

March 22, 2017 12:21pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 21 Comments

Spring Leaves

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday

Equinox your socks off

The first day of Spring and World Happiness Day coincided this week. To make it extra challenging, the temperature dropped by 7 degrees and it lashed it down with rain. All day long. Thanks America for passing on your east coast storm. That put pay to the new blossom on the trees.

World Happiness Day (whatever that is)

International day of happiness on a freezing, wet and dismal Monday. What is that all about? Since there seems to be some random day for just about anything, I declare today, “Jules Day” How’s that for whimsical? This is celebrated by sending lavish gifts to any Jules you might know. Especially the first Jules that told you. Oh look, that might be me. Failure to acknowledge this day and not dig deep into your pockets will result in extremely hideous karma for the rest of your life.

Double Fault

I ran out of milk. On World Happiness Day. Very bad. I desperately needed a cup of tea. I looked out of the rain splattered window and wondered whether I should just have a hot chocolate. But no. That would not be conducive to my healthy eating plan and the fact I’d been fighting with machines all morning. What I really should be doing is walking to the shop but unfortunately my activities blessed me with a torn tendon in my foot and tennis elbow.

Tennis elbow? You play tennis too, Jules?

No. I don’t. I can’t recall if I got it from sit ups with a kettle bell and a demon fitness trainer standing on my feet shouting “COME ON!” whilst I tried not to puke on my Nike trainers or, from my recent boxing lesson and three rounds with a huge bag. Walking to the shop would ruin my street cred if I limped in public like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. And it wouldn’t be fair to my car.

CAR pe diem

I live on a main thoroughfare. For some reason, like, I don’t know, the council have to spend all their money before April, there were roadworks. My street was jammed. I inched out and gave death stares to vehicles blocking the exit from my driveway. As it happened, a truck driver let me out almost immediately. Win. Except then I was stuck in a traffic jam that led all the way to the shop. However, a few hundred yards up on the right there’s an avenue that leads to a different shop. The only oncoming traffic was a BMW about equal distance away. No road cameras in sight. Game on. Sport mode, full revs and off I went on the wrong side of the road. It was a face off between me and the beemer like a Top Gear special. I got more adrenaline from that than thirty minutes on the cross trainer and made it round the corner without dying; narrowly missing the middle aged lady and her soggy poodle.

Crying? Over milk?

I entered the little local express shop and grabbed some moo juice. Fat free – basically chalk water. As I turned the corner to the till section I saw a man in his late fifties crying his face off. One of the cashiers had come from behind the counter and was hugging him as he sobbed, violently.

I looked around for cameras. Just my luck that I’d probably walked in on some “Surprise, Surprise” TV show where long lost relatives get reunited or something. Sort of stunt they’d pull on World Happiness Day. I got my boxing stance ready incase I needed to deck a TV presenter but it turned out this was for real.

“Oh, hush hush, “ said the cashier as she hugged the man.

“Blah, Blah, Merrrrrrr..” cried the man. Loudly.

After about five minutes the man left. Still crying. The cashier trotted past me back to her position wiping snot off her shoulder with a tissue.

“Is that how you make all your customers feel?” I joked.

Whooosh – straight over her head. No room for humour on World Happiness Day.

“No. He doesn’t like rain. It makes him cry.”

Obviously and inappropriately I burst out laughing.

“No, seriously. It makes him hysterical.”

“Errm…well, you think he might’ve moved from this country then, “ I said. “If he’s gonna cry every time it rains he is at risk of life threatening dehydration.”

“He has……difficulties.” She said the word ‘difficulties’ in a hushed voice as she looked around furtively. You never know if PC language police are in Tesco shopping for milk.

“Oh. That’s a shame.”

“Yes and he has very poorly feet and elbows too.”

I know I shouldn’t have, I wasn’t thinking and I was merely connecting dots. “He didn’t used to go to the gym, did he?”

Exercise With Demons

March 15, 2017 5:14pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 24 Comments

Female Changing Rooms

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday.

I come here today to tell you the importance of regular exercise and the endless benefits.

The Gym

The Hour of Power

Believe me when I say this is the longest hour or two you will ever experience this is the most important hour you will have in your day. Here’s what to do:

Get yourself a gym partner. Choose wisely. Having a flaky friend who can’t be bothered to get out of her pit in the morning won’t help you. Find a demon. Preferably a young, fit, sporting champion with no empathy button.

Here’s mine. It takes no prisoners.

muscles, training

Up before the cock crows

And I’m not talking about my fitness partner…

Apparently, to promote sickness, mini strokes and mood swings metabolism, higher energy levels and mental illness capacity, going to the gym early morning is the answer. This leaves you the rest of the day to feel like crap burn calories and get on with a full working day.

Arriving at 6.45 am you will note that the gym is full of very stupid people with personality disorders A type, high achievers who are there to become better than they were yesterday. Rubbing shoulders with the elite helps you climb the ladder of personal success. As you can imagine, I fit right in with those sort.

The Establishment

The Gym

Most important. Your gym should be inviting, encouraging and full of torturous high tech equipment. Paying through the nose Investing in a leisure type facility which nurtures health from many angles will pay havoc with you ever trusting anyone again dividends in the future. You can’t put a price on how many bottles of wine you could have bought for that health and fitness.

Car to drive away in, Car diac arrest, Cardio

Cardio, Crosstrainer

Warming up those sleepy muscles on some kind of S&M device a cross trainer or cyco machine static cycle is imperative. Pulling a muscle is a good idea and means you won’t be able to come back for ages at this early stage will mean you can go back to having fun put you weeks behind. And you know that having the honed and toned body of a super model is readily available from plastic surgeons only going to happen if you work hard for it.

Regular Commitment

Fitness Swimming Pool

Make a regular commitment. Your demon fitness partner should encourage a completely insane and relentless schedule daily visits with only Sundays as a day off. A daily routine will soon put you in a suicidal mood  habitual pattern. You can add variety to your workouts by training different areas of your body and like you haven’t done enough already  you may even add a swimming programme to warm down thereafter. Remember that core training exercises are pure evil paramount and feeling like your intestines have been ripped apart working hard on your abdomen will bring fast results.

Diet and Relaxation

Leisure centre cafeteria

Going to the gym is only one part of the picture. Oh whoopy doo. Your diet must be high in protein and low in carbohydrates because eating cardboard is so much fun to help reduce the will to live your BMI.

Granola, fruit and yoghurt

If you have chosen a luxurious leisure centre they will probably have alcohol free healthy bar and cafeteria areas offering shit made with spinach smoothie boosters and low calorie, healthy foods. You can relax in a Nazi Camp health conscious environment and take several more hours to munch through granola and berries eat a vitamin packed breakfast before leaving.

Taking time to relax properly is also important. Going to bed by ten o clock at night since there’s no point staying up and making the day any longer or more boring and getting a good nights sleep even though everything hurts like hell and even if you wanted to have a margarita you’re in too much pain to lift the bloody glass will help your muscles recover, your energy levels improve and have you crying like a baby raring to go by 6 am the next morning.

Leave on a positive note

gym locker

After your training regime always remember to punch thank your fitness partner. After all, they are doing this because they’re psychopathic for you. Try not to limp to the car to bask in the afterglow of your workout and as you drive home like a sanctimonious bitch, smirking at the people who haven’t worked out yet give yourself a pat on the back for your achievement.

Stay focussed

Marcus Aurelius quote

Don’t go back to bed lose your way throughout the rest of the day. You’ll find that after time life’s too short for this you will feel much better and more energetic than you ever have done before. Lose Keep your mind in a positive state and if you feel negative thoughts coming on have some cake read positive statements and encouraging words Like that of ‘Marcus Aurelius’ above, and you too can feel like the Emperor of Rome in no time!

Mayhem, Meditation and Muppets

March 8, 2017 1:52pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 25 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday

Sometimes squeezing any whimsy out is impossible. Because sometimes life just sucks like a fun sponge. Challenge after challenge after glorious challenge. You’ve all been there.

The inspirers

When you’re having this kind of week, the inspirers come out with this kind of thing:

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”

“Hmmm. No it doesn’t. Actually it makes me weaker, my heart beat faster and causes crappy sleep. Then I’m tired, more sarcastic and a pain in the arse to be with.”

“Well, difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations”

“Err…no they don’t. Every time I’ve gone down a dodgy road I end up in Hicksville or the ghetto and wonder if I’m going to be shot or gang raped.”

“It’s metaphorical, Jules.”

“It’s stupid. It’s not helping and can you go and do something useful like run away or get me a prescription that induces a coma”

Talking of idiots

I’m STILL trying to find a way to calm down in moments of crisis by listening to ten minute meditation tracks. Last night I found some Aussie bloke and thought, “that’ll do.” The man is INSANE. I kid you not. In fact, don’t take my word for it, go to Spotify, type in “Sleep Meditation” And choose ‘Guided Sleep Meditation by Jason Stephenson’ and tell me this guy isn’t tripping on LSD. Try not to burst out laughing, especially when he says FORRED instead of forehead, because you’re supposed to be relaxing. Whatevs.

On the subject of dumbasses

I’ve decided to bring you lowdown news whenever I come across it. Especially when it involves muppets. Welcome to my column.


A group of medics from a UK hospital are on a two-day strike, protesting wet nursing sexual deviants.

The small group have set up a local health and safety stall in the middle of a bustling town centre in the hope of educating the public when it comes to what is and isn’t appropriate to shove up your anus.

“People are so stupid it’s unbelievable,” said one nurse. “Like we haven’t got enough to do seeing to patients who genuinely need care and attention. We have weekly incidents of some bellend dancing the chocolate cha-cha with an inanimate object and getting it stuck up his bottom and quite frankly, we’ve had enough.”

The group have made their own tasteful giveaway leaflets on anal safety which they are handing out to anyone on the street who looks a bit twisted, though these days it’s hard to tell. As one long suffering paramedic told us, “You get all sorts and sometimes it’s those you’d least expect that take it too far.

Yes, Your Honour

“Last week we had a Judge call us out saying he’d slipped clearing the leaves up on his patio and got a wooden broom handle stuck right up his jacksey. A couple of stern twists, a load of Petroleum Jelly and a few splinters later, we managed to relieve him from his situation. We left with a nice bottle of Courvoisier Imperial and a get out of jail free card should we need one in the future.”

Table Display

The weary hospital entourage have made up a table displayed with various ‘Objet’s De Arse’ that they have witnessed rammed into butts: vibrators, hoover nozzles, courgettes, suffocated rodents, aerosols and bottles. “Sometimes a ‘visual’ has a better way of getting through to these weirdo’s,” commented one care worn nurse.

“Just the other day we had a young guy come in with a Corona beer bottle vacuum packed in his rectum,” said a weary looking anaesthetist. “We had to put him out, ply him with muscle relaxant and ease the item out without it following through like a shook up champagne bottle.”

On waking up in theatre recovery the lad is said to have declared, “I guess that wasn’t the smartest thing to do!”

No shit, Sherlock.

Spare a thought for our hardworking British medics and think twice before sticking something stupid up your brown eye.




March 1, 2017 7:37pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 14 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday

On an Ash Wednesday to be precise

And I’m supposed to find whimsy on a this day of self discipline and self denial? I mean which bright spark decided to write that up in “The Book”? I know, eat yourself senseless with buttery pancakes until you’re as sick as a dog and then tomorrow… STARVE. Cruelty. Total cruelty. And what is it with the number 40? Why is everything 40 days or 40 days and 40 nights? 40 hours is far long enough in my opinion.
I’ve given up wine. Not had a glass for 19 hours now. I’m still awaiting the glorious karma of this achievement.

Talking of punishment.

I made this incredible, king size blanket. Crocheted with my own fair hands. I’m immensely proud of myself. I made it for someone I know who is very anxious and named it “The Emotion Blanket” They can lie under this and it will make them feel better.  It better bloody do because it took me flipping ages. I showed it to my friend, T, who is very good at this kind of stuff.

“Bloody hell Jules, this wool is insanely thick! Nobody would crochet with this!”

“I know. Pushing the boundaries. It’s nice and chunky, isn’t it.”

“It’s chunky on steroids!”

“I’ve called it the emotion blanket.”

“It’s more like a punishment blanket. You’ll never get out from underneath it’s so heavy.”

Now other people might have been offended by that, but not me. The thought of making punishment blankets to throw on people that piss me off seemed like an excellent idea! I could probably market them to the dominatrix girls that advertise in the iconic red phone boxes! Niche market. Love it. I have invented the PUNISHMENT BLANKET. Heh!

My friend Jamie clearly thinks I’m made for this job as he sent me this following picture and message:

“Thought you could use this in your blog ….. Found in a bar in knights ferry CA. Made me chuckle!!!”

I don’t know what he’s trying to say….?

And more on punishment

I dropped my beautiful white iPhone down the toilet. Seriously. This sort of thing only happens to teenagers and muppets. In my defence it was early morning, I’d been up since 5 am and I forgot it was in the back pocket of my jeans. It died. Friends told me to put it in a bag of rice but I didn’t have any rice so I put it in a bag of pasta on the radiator. And yes, I appreciate that pasta doesn’t absorb but this is all I had and it was gluten free thus not proper pasta. It didn’t work. This is the power of morning bitch piss, people. That stuff should be bottled and used in warfare.
Anyway, I had to wait FOUR WHOLE DAYS (not 40) before I had chance to drop it into the phone shop. I’m now not sure if I hate phone shop people more than baristas at this juncture. My phone was insured and they said they could send it off for repair.

“Well how long is that going to take?” I asked.

“About 5 days”

“Too long. I’ve already been 4.”

“We can give you this piece of crap, 80’s Motorola phone for £25.00 a day whilst you wait. “

“And I can give you a smack in the mouth but I guess you wouldn’t want that either. I want an upgrade. Send this off and then sort me out with the latest iPhone.”

“Oh we can’t do that. You can’t have one being repaired under insurance AND have a new one too. The system won’t allow it.”

See what I mean? Which is worse, barista or phone salesmen?

Beating the system

In order to get my phone sent off I had to use their phone to CALL their insurance that they sold me in the first place.

“What? I’m here, live in the shop, surrounded by salespeople of the year and you can’t sort it out?”

Baristas or phone salesmen?

52 minutes later…

“You’ll need to turn off your icloud.”

“I’m sorry, but which part of ‘It doesn’t work or turn on’ did you not understand?”

So stressful. So, so stressful.

Eventually….. “So after answering our gazillion questions, are you happy to proceed with the claim?”

“Only if I can have a new phone today too. Your top bossman in here says I can’t.”

“Ah the system…”

“Nobody cares. I want a new phone or I’m leaving.”


“And I’ll tweet about how rubbish you are because I’m feeling exceptionally spiteful.”

“You can’t tweet without a phone…hahaha.”

“And you can’t work when your store’s on fire.”

I got a new phone. Just had a text on it saying they couldn’t repair my old one and are having to replace it with a brand new one. I will now have two new phones, one of which I can sell for a nice chunk of moolah. Wisdom.

Apparently the one I dropped down the loo completely welded together. What with that power and my S&M blanket skills, you may now refer to me as “The Punisher.”

A Mixed Bag of British

February 22, 2017 12:27pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 23 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday

Four weeks late, dreadfully tardy and woefully lacking in whimsical tales. WELL I WAS BUSY. I thought about you all but I had lots of things to do. It’s very difficult being a superhero come spy come entrepreneur and sometimes I have to sacrifice my whimsy to save the world. You’re welcome.

Mixed Media

Today I bring you a fuddle of delight from the past few weeks. Things that have caught my attention as I stand back and take a hard look at the world around me.

Go green

I went to the village pub to find the Christmas tree still up. I found Cockney Al and had a word.

“Hey, Al, you know it’s bad luck to still have your tree up, right?”
“Jules my little anthrax truffle. See, that ‘aint a Christmas tree, it’s a Valentines tree. And after that it becomes an Easter tree. See where I’m comin’ from petal?”
I have to admit I liked his style. Waste not. However, I think Al will concede to my superstitious point since after that conversation I won twice at ‘Sticky 13’s’ and walked off with fifty, glorious pounds. Nice.

The American Prophecy

I saw it with my own eyes. There, carved in Mansfield stone amongst many other grotesques, green men and gargoyles, a recognisable face standing proud in one of the arches of my favourite 14th century cathedral. A simple stonemason predicted the future some 700 years ago; blinded by the truth and light that shone down through the church spires, he was compelled to reveal the figure that would change the modern world through his simple craft. Oh yes. The truth is stranger than fiction, my friends. See for yourself.

President Donald Trump.

London Calling To The Faraway Towns

I took a little trip to the capital. You can never tire of London. Here’s what I found amusing on my junket.

Telephone boxes are now being used as advertising kiosks for dominatrix girls looking for sex slaves and offering lessons in sissy training. Pffft… pass me a whip… Some of these boxes even host defibrillators. I’m wondering if there’s a connection.

Make your own quilted jacket and avoid designer “rip -off” prices. Smart. London swag.

Or not… Instead become the notorious Vaporiser.

Amusing stickers pasted on windows from Brexiters.

And…the pub never lies. The truth will always out from drunken mouths.

Can someone please explain this to me?

Can I only park here if I’m a disabled tennis player?


The Art Philosopher poses a question.

Despite my skill and authority as the worlds leading Art Philosopher, I found myself befuddled by the following sculptures:

What is this thing? What is it supposed to be saying? It’s a giant orange pretzel turd and I don’t get it. Maybe it’s a misshaped fruit loop that appeals to fruit loops.

But then there’s this. Sat in the foyer of a four star hotel. I analysed it for a while, trying to find its meaning.

Conclusion: We are caged in a world of shit. Think on.

Say It With Forget-Me-Nots

January 25, 2017 9:39pm Published by Jules Smith in Satirical Snapshots 26 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday

Four double vodkas and a funeral

Sadly, I attended a funeral last week and after the service a wake was held at the pub. This is where groups of people celebrate the life that has passed by eating triangular sandwiches, sausage rolls and downing as much ale as possible. Well, that’s what we do here anyway. You meet up with folk you haven’t seen for donkeys and reminisce about your debaucherous past and… sometimes present… by regaling stories that we all hoped had been forgotten. Amazing how alcohol can open the darkened and dusty corners of the mind, innit?

The man with the beef

I met “The Butcher” at the pub who I hadn’t seen for a while. He’s called that because he is one and is not quite as sinister as you might be led to believe. Ok, he is. I ordered lots of fine cuts of meat from him which after a few double shots I thought was an excellent idea. Turned out it was cos he got me some nice topside and homemade sausages. He also showed me his many rifles and side by side and promised to teach me clay pigeon shooting. Now “The Butcher” is a hardcore northerner who doesn’t take any crap. When you knock on his front door he shouts, “Fuck Off, we’re not in!” You don’t mess around with someone like that. Thankfully he’s known my family and me since I was a little girl. This kind of thing is helpful and I’ll shortly explain why.

Remember when

So this pub happened to be in an area where I once went to a notorious and hardcore comprehensive school back in the day. The school was famous for its sporting ability which is kind of funny since I skanked off PE (double lesson on a Wednesday morning) for three years. Instead I wisely spent this time at local shops with my mates where we pooled our dinner money together for contraband. This people, is what you call “Real Life Learning”. Besides, the PE teachers were very scary lesbians that used to watch you in the showers and beat you with hockey sticks. I learnt to protect myself early by being a manipulative, sneaky little sod. I believe it has served me well.

Talking of forgetting

The hours passed by and at some point, much later at the bar, I spotted a bloke with his pals who looked somewhat familiar to me. Hmmm. Every time I looked up across the bar as I waited for my ‘house doubles’ said chap caught my eye. I left with the drinks and met my best mate across the room who was chatting with two other girls. Not being the patient type I interrupted.

“Don’t look now but see that bloke over there with the white top on..”

They all turned to have a gander.


“Yeah, it’s him,” my best mate said.

“Him? Do I know him then?”

My friend gave me that ‘Are you serious’ look and folded her arms.

“NOOOOOO..Oh my giddy aunt are you kidding me?” I said in my best actress voice.

The other two women started to pry. “Why who is it? Something we should know? Spill the beans.”

“It’s her first ever school crush,” my mate kindly offered.

Now she wasn’t lying. Here, in the bar stood Peter H who I fell in love with at age 14. When I say “love”  it was more like an instant rush of pubescent teenage hormones but same thing. I once wrote about Peter H here under First Kiss  incase you missed it the first time round.

“I see him in here all the time,” said my mate. “Shall we go over and say hello to him?”

“Errrr.. NO and NO,” I replied with haste.

“What are you, 15?” she replied

“No. I’m actually about 14 right now and I’m not going. I don’t have my strawberry lipgloss.”

“C’mon,” she insisted, rudely and dragged me over to the bar.

What’s in a name?

She and Peter said hello like they were old mates and then my friend said, “Remember my partner in crime?”

He looked at me for many seconds as he tried to recall. I folded my arms as I waited.

“I definitely remember you but I can’t remember your name,” he said.

If I’d have had any vodka left I would have choked on it. Errr, really? I fell in love with this lad and He. Can’t. Remember.My. Name. Bellend. I felt the onset of utter atrociousness but remembered I was at a funeral party. Instead I reverted to teen queen, did a massive hair flick, delivered a killer dirty look and said, “Well, I’m not gonna help you out here, sweetheart.”

He still didn’t remember and had to be told. Talk about stamping on the rose tinted glasses. My friend disappeared and left me standing in front of Peter H like a muppet.

Pull yourself together, Jules. This is ridiculous. You’re a grown up now, I thought.

“So, what are you doing in here?” he asked.

“At a funeral.”

“Oh, sorry”

“Yeah. You should be.”


“Nothing. Anyway, so… it’s been a while. How long have you had amnesia?” I asked.

“Funny. You’ve not changed a bit.”

“Ha. You have. Barely recognised you. So what do you do these days?”

“I’m a carpenter.”

Oh, like Jesus.” What in the world possessed me to say such a stupid thing, I don’t know. But I did.

“Yeah.. if that’s your thing.”

We passed some small talk and I excused myself. I marched back to my mate and hissed in her ear. “Well THANKS for leaving me. Can you believe he didn’t remember my name. The audacity!”

A moment of flowered clarity

About 15 minutes later I felt an arm slink around my waist. Guess who?

“Can you remember when we were snogging outside the old science block after school?” he whispered in my ear. “I was just thinking about that.”

“Oh. All coming back to you now is it?”

He sidled off with a smile on his stupid face.

About a half an hour after that he came back again.

“I’ve just remembered something else,” he said.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Haha! “

“Oh yeah, Jesus.”

“Remember that night you came down to the youth club and we met up? I recall we tried to climb over that fence and we both fell over down that muddy bank. You had a skirt on with little blue flowers.”

I looked at him with utter disbelief. “Seriously? You couldn’t remember my name but you remember exactly what I was wearing to the detail of what colour flowers were on my skirt?! Unbelievable.”

I’ve since had a word with “The Butcher” Peter H’s card has been marked.

Want more?

Load another!