Saturday, April 30, 2005


You just wish you were an orange

The greatest urban myth is this one where a woman bites into a burger and there is a cyst in it, or a man gets everything robbed apart from a toothbrush and a camera, and there on the film of the camera is a picture of the same toothbrush rammed up the robbers hole. Fuck off, that is not true.
The biggest urban myth I know, is that satsumas are great. They are just smaller oranges, no better than a proper sized orange. They have loads of pips and they squirt you in the eye. I think they are angry at being small, like the way short women are always shouting and going on about being "bubbly" in case you don't notice them, or short men just kill.
And don't say " oh satsumas are alright, it is mandarins and those clementines you should watch out" for because I am not interested. They all look and taste the same, and also, no, they are not easier to peel than a fucking orange, who told you that. Urban myths, they are for cunts

Friday, April 29, 2005


Is it a bird? Of course it is not a fucking bird, it is a fucking plane, quick pass me my pills

Aren’t we lucky in the modern times, to be able to go anywhere we want in the world, unless of course we happen to be communists, it is more of a hassle for them. But we non-commies are in the fortunate position of just handing a few quid to some cunt in a travel agents or even just on the internet, and then there you all are, on a fucking plane off somewhere else.

Well I hate planes, just really fucking hate them an awful lot. They have made the worlds biggest plane now, and even though it weighs masses, it did not fall out of the sky for the very short time it flew. Oh well then, perhaps we will all just get on it and fly to Australia now, because we are kamikaze cunts. Mr Air bus pilot, I am not impressed with a quick turn around the block in your oversized air vehicle, do I look like an absolute cunt to you? A maiden flight, a maiden head more like you fucking con artist.

Do you know, every time I see a story about that big fucking plane, I have the song from that very thin woman with the plain husband, you know that song “every time I see you” going on in the back of my head .It is interesting the human mind, isn’t it, how it makes the associations.
I fucking hate flying. I would rather walk, and I don’t care if there are mountains with scorpions or just awkward customers who are brigands in the countries on the way, they can have a bite of my arse. I am not scared of those types of a wanker, I have been to Wales, and they were not too vicious. Planes. I just hate them a real fucking heap. That one off the A team with the jewelry, he was right. I am not going on no fucking plane, and I am not going on some great thing even if it has a casino.


Thursday, April 28, 2005


You Fuckers!

I received an e-mail from Noreen yesterday. It cannot be improved upon, so I will publish it in full:
"I hate the people on our blog, they are tedious cunts. Please will you get them to fuck off again. They are fucking critical little arseholes, no one asked their opinion and yet there they all are, the bastards having a fucking go on about everything. If I met them I would make each one of them cry in their own individual way, the spineless little shitbags.
Fucking blogs, they are for cunts and blog commenters are just the fucking anal end of a really unwashed dog fucker.
I hate them. A lot"

I agree. You are all fuckers and I want you all to fuck off. There are certain visitors who may continue to visit, but not many, and I am not going to tell you who they are, I think you all know, so if you are in any doubt then please fuck off with the rest of those cunts.

Well gon on then! I mean it! Fuck off and don't come back. I am not joking.
Ball Bag

Wednesday, April 27, 2005


Chewing gum. What is there to recommend it?

Chewing gum is really bad. It looks utterly vile, especially because most gum chewers do not chew with their mouths closed, the fucking dirty animals. If I sat on a bus chewing a large piece of gristle, and like rolling it around my mouth and sticking it on my tongue sometimes and giving all the other passengers a good old look in my gob with the gristle rolling around, well it would not be long before someone who cared about me had a word about maybe breaking the bad habit. If you swallow chewing gum, then it glues your innards all up, it gets stuck on your shoe, even gristle does not do that, and juicy fruit flavour tastes like an old pair of knickers. There is nothing to recommend it as far as I can see unless you really like chewing, and who, in all truth is prepared to list as a hobby chewing repeatedly? If I chew for a long time, and maybe this is just me being a real old cunt, I feel a bit short changed unless I get to swallow afterwards, does that sound mad? Like if you only breathed in, eventually you would explode or die or something, and chewing on and on and on without swallowing well maybe you will just eat yourself.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005


Do my eyes deceive me? I fucking hope they do

A very, very long time ago when I was at school, there was this fucking awful gaggle of hideous lanky men called "The Smiths" who droned and droned about really pretentious things in a tuneless and miserable way. Many of my friends thought this cacophony of wankers were really fucking marvellous and I was a bit worried about this, to be honest. See about the same time that the fucking Smiths were popular, so there were a lot of reports of women being abducted by aliens and then fiddled with, and lots of them would not remember anything about it, and then a few women would remember and get all upset. I did not want to point out to my friends, what seemed to me to be glaringly fucking obvious, which was that The Smiths were clearly awful, and anyone who thought otherwise had been mentally got at, in case it would open a can of worms and then the friends would start crying and remember being fisted by an interglalctic being with large goggling eyes and a proboscis. You have to be sensitive, especially in the tender teenage years.

There are so many things wrong with The Smiths, but this time I do know exactly where to start. The name of the band "The Smiths". Gives the impression of a group of ordinary geysers. Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Brilliant. Then there is the name of one of the muppets who must have done CSE french Johnny Marr, which everyone knows is french for "I'm bored". He is bored?! fucking hell, does he not have a pair of functioning ears? Is he one of those people with a sad problem which makes them totally unaware of their impact on the world? If you are bored Johnny Marr, then instead of singing in a monotone about being bored, why do you not fuck off and take up a hobby like making models, or maybe collecting something. A hobby where you don't get to impose your vicious wit on us all, you bored old cunt. Fucking hell. And then there is that one, the "main" one. Fuck me, that man is a real retchworthy minger is he not? And the girls I knew who fancied him, dear god they must have been missing a lobe of the brain. Do you know I watched a film called "pussy talk" once, where this vagina held quite coherent conversations with people. It reminded me of that singer, except it had more to say and could hold a tune. And now the man is back on the telly again. Back up there as bold as brass singing on about fuck all in a miserable way. Cheer up, you big bastard, and sing a song with a tune to it, and maybe on a happy subject. Fucking misery.

Sunday, April 24, 2005


No I Will Not Wipe The Fucking Seat

I hate that sign in peoples toilets that says 'If you sprinkle when you tinkle, Please be sweet and wipe the seat'. If I ever see that sign in someone's toilet I piss over the seat, the floor and as much of the room as I can. People who have that sign up should be fucking flayed with a potato peeler. You know who you are. That is all.
Ball Bag

Ball Bag is right!

The second worst experience in a lavatory I ever had was in China. I was in a totally pointless hamlet in the middle of nowhere, and I needed to go. I asked this woman and she showed me to a horrible shed with a stinking pit in it. I dropped my trousers, took the stance and looked up to see all the women of the fucking village having a really good look. " Get that!" one of them said "her pubes are blonde too, what a freak". This other one had her face about two inches from my fanny having a really good gander, the fucking lezzer. I gave them a good show of it, as I needed to change my tampax and they don't use tampons there, so as I shoved it in there was a rumpus " What's she doing" " That's dirty". Can you believe it? like, these women are in stinking hovel of a lavatory, just so they can see a western woman's minge and they have the neck to call me dirty. Still, that was better than using someones khazi with a naff sign in it. People with signs in their loos should not be allowed visitors at it obviously distresses them enough to put signs up. The weirdos.


Thursday, April 21, 2005


You're fucking welcome to it

I do not like the word "welcome". In fact, guess what I fucking hate it and it makes me feel violent. First of all I hate it when people say "welcome to the museum of skin diseases" or "welcome to canada" or some other fucking place. It makes me all nervous, which is not a welcome feeling and people saying "welcome" is supposed to make you breathe a big fucking sigh of relief. Those bastards that say "welcome" are the ones who look closely at people for a reaction, and it does not make me feel fucking welcome if I am under the gaze of some nosy bastard who is after finding out something. Welcome to my sharpened nails you glaring welcoming cunt.

And one more thing. What is it all about, this saying "you are welcome" after someone says "thank you"? Is it not enough that someone has said "thanks" . Is it necessary to point out that not only does the person who said "thanks" owe gratitude for something, but now they are supposed to feel welcome as well as grateful. Jesus Christ could you not just leave off chiselling away drawing out the conversation about whatever fucking miniscule favour the poor bastard got. Why not change the subject after the word "thanks", to make the conversation longer, if you have to. You could make a friendly invitation like: "Do you like cards? I fucking love cards, let's play shithead, it is the fucking business." or explain a fact: "That poodle down the street is on heat and my dog is just going at it all fucking day, the dirty bastard. Will we take him for a walk down there and I'll show you". Or just fucking leave it. Or just kind of nod and maybe a quiet grunt, if you must say anything. "you're fucking welcome" what will those americans think of next the great big fannies.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005


Bilirubin Haiku, by Ball Bag

The bile flows freely,
All that we fucking despise,
Is on this one page

Ball Bag


If you fuckers continue to go on about gay things like “community” or fucking “communes” we will only post gay creative writing here until Emerald Bile looks like a nancies notebook. Now fuck off. Thanks.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005


Do not come anywhere near me with a map. Do you understand?

What type of a cunt invented the map, does anyone know?
I am not talking about the map as in the thing that shows you where you are, and where you can go from that place, that sort of map is fine. What I am on about is the fucking map which looks like a neat rectangle, and then you undo it, and then there is a great huge thing the size of a duvet, flapping about and it is all creased, like, and you know you will only want to look at the bit on the crease, that bastard, and then you find where it is and what on earth it ever was you wanted to go and look at, and then, you have to put the great fucking nuisance of a dirty giant piece of scribbly paper away, and that is the start of the real shite. How do you fold a fucking map? Can you explain, because it is utterly beyond me. Utterly fucking a million miles from anything I would ever want to do. Ever. In fact, if someone said to me “here is a map Noreen, fold it up for us, would you?” do you know what I would do. I would give them a look with the “crazy eyes”, and then very slowly I would start laughing, and then I would scream with laughter, and I would rock backwards and forwards and backwards and forwards on my chair until everyone was really frightened and left. I fucking mean it as well. Maps, Jesus Christ! I’ll stay at home. I wrote a poem about maps once

The lad’s tale

“Why are you bleeding, Mum”
“Oh child I have been so cruel
I showed Noreen a map
And she fell off her stool”

“What happened then, dear Ma”
“ oh child the map was out
unfolded from its pink sheath
so Noreen began to shout”

“Poor Mummykins, did you scare?”
“not until she took her knife
and peeled off all my skin
and threatened to take my life”

“Mother you foolish bitch
how could you be so mean
folding maps is for cunts
three cheers for brave Noreen”


Monday, April 18, 2005


Goatee Beards? Cuntee Beards More Like

I saw an American the other day who did NOT have a goat beard. I was astonished because all non-famous Americans have goat beards. All of them. What the fuck is it with them and goat beards, the fucking wankers? I fucking loathe men with goat beards. What kind of a twat would you need to be to look at your face and wonder if it would look better with some fur around the mouth? Worse still are these fuckers who have sculpted little beard lines on their faces. Even if I wanted to look as big a cunt as they do, I simply do not have the time or the patience to spend hours crafting those little lines of hair. Next time I see someone with one of those I am going to set them on fire, to teach them a lesson. Little lines of hair do not grow on badly burned faces. Just ask Simon Weston. He's a cunt too by the way.
Ball Bag
Ball Bag is Right!

"Girls don’t make passes at men with moustaches"
(Margaret Thatcher, 1978)

Hair on pubis, pits and head
With you I shall go to bed
Hair on back or arse or face
In your eyes I’ll spray my mace
(Old Cornish saying)


Sunday, April 17, 2005


No I fucking well would not like to

People who say “would you like to” when they really mean“do it now” should be publicly beaten.
For example, someone asked me if I “would like” to help them carry a table. I thought about it for a bit. You see, if they just asked me to help them carry a table, I would probably have said “I’d love to, but my back has a disc awry” or maybe just given them, look like they were asking a bit much and said, “well alright then, I hope it is not too fucking heavy”.
But, in this case, because they asked me if I “would like to” as if they were doing me a fucking favour instead of putting me out, I had to be straight with them and say “No I fucking well would not, maybe you would like to take off your clothes and be thrashed until you are one huge weeping sore, you fucking human haemorrhoid” Fucking liberty.


Saturday, April 16, 2005


Posh people! Stick to eating eggs,

Posh people eat a lot of eggs. Quails’ eggs, caviar, and even taramoslata (which is extremely posh) is made out of eggs. Omelettes are pretty posh, especially if they have pheasants and truffles in them and posh people definitely like those things.

I do not have any sort of a problem at all with the blue-blooded people having this egg-based diet, although I worry for them, that their bowels are regular, because too many eggs can have a bit of a binding effect. This could be remedied with a box of liquorice allsorts, or some linseed, which they probably have in the cupboard for feeding the hunting horses. Anyway, the eggs is fine, what is not fine is fucking snails.

Eating snails is fucking disgusting, and that is it. Eating brains, and tongues and very obvious body parts is not great, but it is more of a plebs' activity and you could say they do not know any better. But a snail is still a snail, no matter how much fucking garlic you put on it, sometimes, it even gets served in it’s stupid spiral house of a shell. I do not get that it is posh to eat insects, I think it is a dare, and people are too stupid. I reckon the French do not really eat snails, they eat button mushrooms, and then shit themselves laughing when all the foreign tourists start showing off and ordering snails like they are so many sophisticated cosmopolitans, and then Pierre will lean over the table to his missus and say “regarde, les cochons qui mangent les snails”* and have a great fucking laugh at their expense, the stupid bastards

*English Translation: what a bunch of filthy cunts

Friday, April 15, 2005


I do not see the point of wolves

I have nothing against camping, I like sleeping outside, but I think normal tents are dangerous. I am always worried about wolves, as they are dangerous, vicious fuckers, and they would think it was all in a days work to chew through the tent and slash you to pieces with their enormous fangs and great lolling tongue.dripping with slaver. I don’t see why there are wolves, in the world, they are nasty and shite and make a terrible noise. They are rubbish when you go to the zoo as well because they just stand about shivering, which I think is fucking rich of them, since most wolves live in places a lot colder than northern Europe. Either, like gangsters in prison, wolves in zoos go gay and start moaning about the cold, or they are just boring and tremble because they like trembling, and that makes my opinion of them go down even more. Fucking wolves, what is the point, there are dogs out there which are very similar, so why do you not stop howling and trembling and slashing people to death and just fuck off and get extinct, you miserable bastards.


Wednesday, April 13, 2005


You Have Used 'Air Quotes'. Now You Must Die

Someone used air quotes on me the other day. You know what I mean, when people draw invisible quotation marks in the air with their fingers as they say something. He had barely finished doing it before I bundled him to the ground and bit off a sizeable piece of his face before spitting it back at him and calling him a 'fucking air quote bastard'. I think he learned his lesson, the cunt. All this stems from Friends, the TV show, that piece of crap has a lot to fucking answer for. Like when people say 'that is so not [insert whatever it is that it isn't]'. That really fucking annoys me. Worst of all though is when people say 'hello' in the middle of a sentence. Those fuckers! I now have a standard way of dealing with this. If someone says 'hello' in the middle of a sentence when talking to me, and nobody has entered the room and is being greeted, then I grab the person who said it and see how much of my thumb I can jam into their eye socket. This results in at least partial blindness about 80% of the time, but I feel that, if anything, I am being too lenient.
Ball Bag

Noreen is having a lie down. She had to be restrained
Noreen’s doctor


Moisturiser is for wankers

Men who read GQ or men’s health are just great big gayers, and if they take those magazines’ fucking advice and go around dressed up like clowns or wearing tight trousers, then someone has been fucking with their brain subliminally, or they are just irretrievably sad. And when they start using moisturizer on the skin on their faces, instead of to wank with like in the good old days, then, they should have their balls shaved and slathered with deep heat, the fucking nonces

I accidentally read that magazine once. The page I opened was about fucking wine, they were trying to decide which wine was the best to drink whilst watching football. There are so many things wrong with that, I just can't begin to tell you how fucking furious it made me. The editor of that wanky rag pops up on TV a lot, and he is possibly the worlds biggest cunt. He is easily the most pretentious man in London, where the competition is pretty stiff, and he wears those horrible, thick fucking media specs, you know the kind, I fucking detest those so much. He makes me so fucking angry that, in the words of Mike Tyson, the inventor of the most insane insult ever, 'I want to eat his children'. I really would eat his children given the chance, that is how angry he makes me. The fucking cunt.

Ball Bag

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


Private Eye is the new bog roll

I do not think Private Eye is funny. It might be because a lot of the articles are going on about politicians in whom I do not have the slightest interest. The rest of the time private eye writers slag off journalists. “Hello! Private Eye workers! What is the job you actually do then? Oh I’m frightfully sorry, you are satirists. Fuck me backwards for being a moron.” See, the private eye writers look very like journalists to me because they report about current affairs, even if they do it in an arsy way, not a normal tedious newspaper way. There are articles about current affairs and cartoons about current events. Smug and sniggery, with the occasional dig at Piers Morgan or assorted vapid columnists. That sounds very much like a fucking newspaper to me. Which, would make themselves who work on it fucking journalists wouldn’t it?

But, to be honest it is not the lack of self-awareness which gets up my arse-crack, it is the way they are such fucking hypocrites. There is a box each week where arse-licking readers send in quotes from “papers” written by journalists, (who are totally unlike P.E’s “satirists”), called neophiliacs. These really crap quotes like “cars are the new horses” or “tennis is the new wanking”. Every fucking week, just the same thing over and over again. It could just be another example of the PE writers’ extreme smugness, at the fact that they are satirists and not journalists, or it might just be pure wankdom, who knows?. However, they are not in a position to judge repetitive clichéd writing, because they have their own little sin: the very, very bad habit of “er”, putting “er” in the middle of a sentence which they either think is a bit ripe and fruity, or they are suggesting is a lie. The Private Eye "satirists" may just be doing it in order to look like smug cocks, I am not “er” sure.
You bunch of miserable cunts, fuck off with your “er” satire. Private Eye, Jap’s Eye more like.

Monday, April 11, 2005


I want no part of it

I might have mentioned my rising level of contempt for “hilarious” American dramas, and the influence they have on the language ordinary people use. It isn’t only not swearing properly, and saying maths without an s which makes me extremely hot under the collar, no. I hate the pathetic, quippy put downs they have. The worst one, which I keep hearing people using is “what part of don’t tread on my briefcase don’t you understand?”. I want to put my hand up and say “well, it would be the “don’t”, I think, don’t you?”, because if they didn’t understand that, then what they heard would be “tread on my briefcase” a direct order, like, and if they then tread on the briefcase, you cannot be that angry with them. Or “which part of don’t look at me like that don’t you understand?”. Well, in this case they might not have understood one of two, or even two whole things. First of all, they might not have understood “don’t” like we discussed above. The other word in this example, which the poor bastards might have misheard, or just not have in the vocabulary, because they are simple, or maybe a hermit, that word, well, it is “me”. They could have heard; “which part of don’t look at bees like that, do you not understand’. We should be more tolerant, that is it. Or just say “cuntface! Or shithead” so there can be no mistake

Thursday, April 07, 2005


English Like Drink More than Eskimos Like Snow

Gatsby reminds us all that Eskimos have many words for snow- well done Gatsby, very clever. It struck me, however, that whilst they have many words for snow, the English have many, many more words for being drunk. If you think about it, almost any word can be used for drunk if it is used in the right context, and people will not question its use.

What this says about English society I do not know, but they do seem a bit obssessed with drink, and they are not really very good at it. They throw blue or orange stuff down their necks as fast as they can for a few hours before the time of the evening comes for fighting. Then they fight.

Perhaps they should build their houses out of it.

By the way, if any of you bastards make some pathetic quip about not eating yellow snow, I will find out where you live, then I will come round and tear your kidneys out through your stomach with my bare hands. So don't, ok?
Ball Bag

Ball Bag is right!

I tried to pee my name in the snow once, which sounds hard for a lady, but if you have been to Thailand, you realise anything is possible. If I were called NO, I would have done a great job.


Elections are for cunts

Everyone is on about the general election. The Pope is not yet in the ground and these disrespectful bastards are wittering on about which pointless muppet is going to be the next one sounding off in a big building. I hate politics, it is really, appallingly boring shite. That commie who said religion was the opium of the masses, well whatever, mister. Politics is the methanol then, just keeping everyone gaga, dished out to and gobbled up by the utterly wretched
I have never ever voted in an election, nor do I intend to, and I am thirty two, so I have had the opportunity. This gets people all excited and they go on about me not using my rights. Because I am a woman I get an extra helping of bollocks, about that woman who threw herself in front of a horse and people starving to death to prove a point. Suffragettes, fuck off, I am not interested at all. Just because I lack a dick, it does not mean I should care about this years crop of morons any more than anyone else. I hate politicians they are lying cunts, and yes, actually, why are they all so ugly? Why do fit people never go into politics? I shall tell you why, it is because the ugly people are all angry inside that they are mingers, so instead of thinking, “ah well, beauty is only skin deep” they yab on, all the time, to distract you from their ugly jowls, and jawing mawls and dead, cruel eyes.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005


You cheating, thieving cunts

I have just finished watching two series called 24, about this one in a counter terrorism unit who keeps getting into the most awful scrapes. It is good, even though Kiefer Sutherland has the main part, and I had not forgiven him for the terrible film “phone booth”.

Ball Bag would like 24 because there is a woman with no bra, and every time she says “oh I am just going to the bus stop” she gets kidnapped. If I were her, I would carry a roll of gaffer tape around in my bag with me as each time she is kidnapped, the kidnappers have to go off and look in a drawer for it to gag her with. Kidnappers should get a bit more ready as well, or they don’t look that effective. The best character of all is this one called Nina who is a psychopath and only motivated by money. It is a refreshing change after normal female villains who cry because they are in love with someone. I like her. I even thought one of them, called Tony was handsome until I realised he would come up to my knee. Why can short men just not all be ugly to save time. It is not fair.
Anyway fair play to 24, it was a good thing although I was exhausted at the end of it. Imagine having a job like that Jesus Christ! There is no bit where he goes to the water cooler, or has a shit, or just looks out of the fucking window, or goes to the stationery cupboard for some post-its. It is all go there, in the CTU.

I do have a complaint though. It should not be called 24, should it. That is a con. The episodes “which take place in real time” are 45 fucking minutes long. They are claiming to be an hour of real time. What a bunch of cheaters. That means the series should be called 18, shouldn’t it, not fucking twenty four. I know they are in a different time zone over there, but they still have 60 minutes in an hour or am I missing something? Also, someone told me they only have digital clocks in America, not ones with hands because people can only tell the time from a digital clock. That is a shame when a tradition dies out. I will teach them to tell the time over there, it isn’t hard.

I couldn't be arsed with 24, the name puts me off. It tells me precisely how much of my life I would waste by watching it. A whole fucking day!

Counter terrorist people aren't so great, they are pretty easy to pick out, and if I can do it you can be bloody sure that Abdul can do it too.
Ball Bag

Tuesday, April 05, 2005


You dirty old slag, don’t make me fucking laugh

Once I was sitting in a pub full of squaddies, and this real ropey old slag came up to the man I was speaking to and said “Don’t talk to her, she’s got a bad aura”. I did not know the woman, and I only knew the man faintly, he would show me pictures of his kids and go on about his job. This one, the woman, was all tattoos and greasy black hair roots, She did not exactly look like a “seer”, there was not much new-age about her, dripping with Elizabeth duke jewelry, a real rough customer, so what she was doing, going on about auras, and what gave her the idea that she could read mine, I do not fucking know.

What I do know, though, is that "auras" is a big fat pile of shite. I saw this thing on the internet where a charlatan looks at a passport photo of you and announces that your aura (which, just by the way,is like a cloud which hangs around your head, a visible fart) is this colour, or that colour. The aura has a colour, according to these con-artists, and the colour says something about you.

What a massive truck of horses’ dung! I have never heard anything so ridiculous. If you are leaking coloured stuff out of your head, then you have probably had a bang on it, and it is red stuff, called blood, or the bang on the head did not make you bleed, but made you concussed, which is a polite way of saying mental. Auras! for fuck's sake!

Monday, April 04, 2005


Sushi. Taxation for cunts

Sushi really troubles me. See, I like it,but it is real wanker-fodder. I don’t mean Japanese people, they are all right, I mean the mealy mouthed cunts who go on about it in the western world.

Women like sushi because they think it will not make them fat. The reason it can’t make you fat is because it is so horrendously expensive, you would have to be a millionaire to afford enough to even fill you up. I went to a sushi bar and paid a fiver and got six tiny bite sized things. My friend was all excited and ate hers, and did that exaggerated full-up sigh, like she could not squeeze in another one. I was fucking ravenous. They were nice enough, but not filling, and I was not forking out for another plate, I went out and got some chips. I do not see why sushi costs so much. A teaspoon of rice and half an inch of cucumber is not fucking expensive, nor is a piece of salmon the size of a stamp. Jesus Christ! I was going on and on about sushi once, and this one who had been to Japan for a holiday piped up and started giving out about how hard it is to be a sushi chef. Hard? hard? To roll up a bit of rice and slice some fish. Fuck off, that is not hard. I bet it is not as hard as working for fucking Gordon Ramsay, or even getting a decent fry out with all the component parts hot at the same time. I think that is an art. .
Men who eat sushi, are either worried about their figures (gay), or just real wankers’ wankers . They are those ones who say “moshi moshi” to the waiters, then have a crafty look around the restaurant to see if everyone has noticed them trying out a,bit of the lingo. Go away, you fuckers. Just fuck off. Men should eat big manly pieces of fish, maybe in a crumb, or a batter, and if not, then a whole fish with the head still on and the sightless eye, looking at you, not a gay little piece cut into a fucking flower. Great fairies. Sushi in a bar is a fucking con, it cannot be that difficult to make or pricey, because they sell sushi in sainsburys now, and for four quid you can get loads of the fucking stuff. It is just a wanker tax, I reckon, a way of raising money so Tony Blair can have more children, the old goat.

Noreen is right!

If you eat raw fish, then you are a cunt. Unless you are a seal. Or an otter. Or a bear.
Ball Bag

Sunday, April 03, 2005


In memory of His Holiness Pope John Paul II, who thought wine was so shite, he transubstantiated the stuff.

All wine tastes the fucking same, and if you think you can tell them apart by looking and smelling and tasting then you are a cunt.

Ball Bag

Ball Bag is right!

If you have ever been in hospital, you will know all about grapes, that there are ones with pips in, and there are red ones and green ones and great big fat ones and pikey little shitty ones like rabbit droppings. Well, if you close your eyes and eat them, they all taste the fucking same, do they not? So don’t tell me that if you squash them, and pay some poor immigrants three euros a day to stand on them, and then leave the juice hanging around that they will taste different, will they. Fucking wine.


Saturday, April 02, 2005


April Fool, You Cunts!

I said that I love April Fools Day, but really I fucking hate it! I fooled you! Don't you see?

April Fools Day is so very fucking gay. Practical jokes are for utter wankers, if anyone does one on me I never ever laugh and if they tell me I have no sense of humour I hit them on the head with the heaviest thing that comes to hand. And I really fucking hate those stupid jokes they do in the media, you know the ones, those idiot fucking news stories that wouldn't fool a seven year old with fucking brain damage.

Anyone who plays an April Fools joke is a cunt, and yes, I am fully aware that this makes me a cunt, but you all knew that anyway.
Ball Bag
Ball Bag is right!

Practical jokes are for cowards. If you want to be nasty to someone, grow a pair of balls, look them in the eye and do something mean. If you want to make someone laugh, tell them a joke, like “what do you call a man with fifty rabbits up his bum”, or a better one, I cannot remember jokes.
I tell you what though, if the pope jumps out of bed and shouts “aprilius jocus” I will fucking laugh though. That would be funny

Friday, April 01, 2005


I Fucking Love April Fools Day

April fools day is brilliant. There is almost nothing funnier than practical jokes and today gives us the opportunity to play them on our unsuspecting friends and family. How I laughed when I put cling film over the toilet seat before Gran went in there. She thought that because she made a mess she would be sent back to the old peoples' home, but she stopped crying quite soon after I told her it was a joke I had played on her. So it's hats off to April fools day, the best day of the year. Except Christmas.
Ball Bag

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