Saturday, April 30, 2005
You just wish you were an orange
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
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
"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.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Chewing gum. What is there to recommend it?
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Do my eyes deceive me? I fucking hope they do
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
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
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
All that we fucking despise,
Is on this one page
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?
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
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
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,
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
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
You Have Used 'Air Quotes'. Now You Must Die
Noreen is having a lie down. She had to be restrained
Moisturiser is for wankers
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.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Private Eye is the new bog roll
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
Thursday, April 07, 2005
English Like Drink More than Eskimos Like Snow
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 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
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
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.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
You dirty old slag, don’t make me fucking laugh
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
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.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
In memory of His Holiness Pope John Paul II, who thought wine was so shite, he transubstantiated the stuff.
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!
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 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
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