Friday, July 29, 2005



I do not like festivals like glastonbury or Womad or the other ones, for many, many reasons. I hate having to hang around with vegans and people whose children call them by their first names and public schoolboys trying really hard to be "coming up from the streets", it makes me want to cry. The reason people take so very many drugs and eat fungus at these things is to block out the reality which is, that it is just, fucking, atrocious. And all that artless boho chic which is code for dressing like you had a rummage in the charity bag with fucking wellington boots on the bottom, well I would need a tranquiliser dart to stop me laughing and needing to lie down in the mud and the rain and the organic felafel wrappers and the excrement.
So I am not a fan of the festival it is pure shite, but then I am not in favour of any type of concert at all, they are rubbish. It is very, very clear to me that those "Pop artists Musicians" are not that talented at all in real life, because they never sound as good as on the CD when they sing live, and sometimes they sound really bad. Also they look worse in real life. I went to see Lenny Kravitz just about fifteen years ago and he was fucking short. I mean really, really, really, come up to your crotch short. A well dressed and coiffed homunculus who sang the songs in the same order they were on the CD I had but slightly worse, with mistakes and sometimes a bit of hoarseness.

Concerts and CDs are like the difference between being given raw potatoes and chips to eat. Would you enjoy a raw potato more than a hot delicious chip? No you would not, not unless you were a loony or one of those people who has to say the opposite to everyone else to be all wacky.
So you should not go to concerts or festivals unless you are a really stupid cunt, just buy the record it is far far better.

Thursday, July 28, 2005


I think, therefore I most certainly am a cunt

I hate philosophy and philosophers and just anyone who bangs on about a theory about stuff they can have a bite of my arse and a great big punch in the groin. All that "why are we here" nonsense is such a waste of time. We are here, and that is what matters. Clearly if there were a question about whether or not we wanted to be here, if we had a choice in the matter, then that might be interesting, but WHY we are here is of no consequence whatseover. Are we here? yes we are. Fucking philosopher cunts.

Anyway I was thinking about how very much indeed I hate philosophy and philosophers, and really, people who think at all, and then I thought to myself, "I am thinking, therefore I must be a cunt". But then, I hated myself for being a cunt and True Cunts would not have the self awareness to hate themselves for being cunts and so does that make me a proper cunt? Well it absolutely does. Because not only am I thinking about philosophy, but then I am questioning the definition of a cunt and that action makes me even more of a cunt, a cunt within a cunt.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005


The miracle of St Barbara

I have a small child, and go to these play mornings, which can be fun, with all the women sitting around drinking tea and talking about their piles, while the children beat fifteen shades of shite out of each other. That is the idea of a play morning, a bit of company all around, and I have been to some groups which are exactly like that: as good fun as you can have with small children, which is not much fun at all if we are honest, but then you make your bed and in it you must lie.

Sometimes these groups are very, very bad, with pushy and competitive women who really should have stayed working in their merchant bank and not had kids, because they become utter basket cases going on: " I will not let Crispin and emily play with war toys" " We do not have a telly, we prefer reading and counting our ears" "Jessame actually prefers rice cakes to chocloate which she only has had once at our cleaning lady's child's tea party, and do you know what? she actually spat the penguin bar out". I fucking hate those women I get a real tourettes urge to stand up and shout "just let them watch the fucking telly and drink tizer you old wagons"

I have three sprogs, actually and I had my first when I was nineteen so I have a very very long relationship with "mothers" and these groups with the children charging about and I will tell you about the very worst one of all.

I went to a mother and baby group in Germany which seemed right enough, they made coffee, and all the women got a cup, and then this priest appeared, a non-catholic one, Lutheran, he was, and whisked the mothers off into this vault leaving the children in the care of an old paedophile and a woman with very shaky hands. I wish I could say that in the vault there were some aliens who planted sim cards, or whatever they plant, into our brains but it was worse, far worse than that.

This one, the vicar made the mothers stand up in turn and say "I love Jesus because" and then finish the sentence. In fucking german as well. There was me and a turkish woman who were clearly uncomfortable with the whole thing, her being a muslim and me being a non -believer- but- if- I -were- to- believe, -over- my -dead- body- would -I -have -anything -at -all -to --do- with -the protestant -"faith", and neither of us having a whole heap of the german language and both of us being there because we thought it was a play morning not a bible bashing meeting.

So it was really fucking terrible, and the only german word I could remember was "Schwanz" which means cock. All I did was mumble and then gave the vicar a big grin and sat down. The other women really liked this weird exercise and they went on and on about God for hours and I found my faith again for a second and I prayed to St Barbara the patron saint of foreigners and said "get me out of here, have mercy, please dear saint Barbara" and then the old paedophile knocked on the door because my son was creating upstairs, as a german child had bitten him on the arm, and I needed to take him home. So there you have it, I was the occasion of a miracle

Tuesday, July 26, 2005


What absolute lying gypsies

I was at a party and the women at parties can be real thorns in the side sometimes. There is always one who starts crying about something after she has had a few bevs and it is either because they have remembered someone who is now dead, and that sets them off, or they start off because they suddenly realise that their boyfriend is an utter cunt or it is because they cannot get a ride and they are getting on a bit. Those are the most common reasons for party weepers.
Anyway, there are those crying women and then there are the women who just out of the blue say "I have never had an orgasm". Honestly, I am thirty three now and I thought this sort of thing would have stopped years ago. I don't fucking believe them at all. Of course they have had one, even if they are virgins they must have given themselves one. Dear, sweet Jesus forgive their awful lies. "Never had an orgasm" For fuck's sake! Can you imagine a thirty something man saying that, everyone would fall about and shit themselves laughing. That is, if the man could keep his face straight enough to get the words out.
The worst thing about this is that these women say this to allure men, and this is the bit I cannot get. Men go for it. A woman says "Oh, I have never had an orgasm, I really wish I knew what it felt like" and before I can pipe up and say "Imagine the best feeling in the world, whilst gurning and making weird noises and there you have it" some man will get in there and say "Oh, that is because you have never been with the right man". I find it astonishing. If a man said to me "I have never had an orgasm, I have had sex, but I never came" I would paste on a "I'm so sorry" expression and then I would run to the loo and get out of the window and run, really really fast away. or if a man said "I suffer terribly from impotence" or whatever the kind expression is "man dysfunction", would I drop my pants and climb on? Fuck off I would not. Fucking hell! "never had an orgasm" never told the truth more like

Monday, July 25, 2005


They should think it through, those useless fuckers

I've just got a new lip gloss, it is the colour of a mouth, sort of pink. The unusual thing about the lip gloss is that it is not only coloured, but it is flavoured with and called "yummy caramel". It has no nutritional value at all, as it is not a food but a type of cosmetic, the point of the flavour is so that you attract men to kiss you. It even says it on the packet "Men will want to kiss off this caramel flavoured luscious pout-grout" or something.
Well, they are wrong. The type of men I like would only be interested in lip gloss which tasted of bacon sandwiches or steak or sausage. I'm sure lots of gayers would like kissing caramel flavoured lips but I am going to mix some dripping in my lipstick and I think that will work far better, that is all

Friday, July 22, 2005


Magicians! Earn your keep

Magicians are really useless aren't they. Showmen, they call themselves which just about sums up how pointless they are. A show, which is a man. Hoo fucking rah. Anyway, you have to cut them the slack, they do not pretend that they are of any use to mankind at all, they just put people in boxes and cut them with knives, or they get in a straightjacket and then escape, which are skills they could very well use in real life, but choose not to, no, they show us these great feats as an act of entertainment.

The time has come, though, for these great showmen to join in to the anti terror campaign, because there are not many people who can stop terrorrists are there? and I think it is time to use some mind trickery on the bombing little arseholes. See, a lot of terrorists do these nasty, vicious acts of murder because they have been radicalised which is religious speak for brainwashed, and any magician will be very quick to say that there are some people who are more suggestible than others, and you would think that when picking a candidate to radicalise, then your terrorist leader will pick the eager one who is dying to please. Just like a magician.

I have never been picked out of the crowd by a hypnotist or a magician because I just have this look on my face which says "don't fucking bother" and they do not. Interestingly enough, no terrorist organisation has ever tried to recruit me, even though I am great at fighting and really quite handy with a gun, because I would lose interest in all the nonsense about afterlives and holy places, and arguments about which piece of land belongs to which person, it is just so very fucking dull indeed.

So, they should ask Derren Brown and that Paul Mckenna to get on the tube tannoys and do the thing where they make everyone in a trance, and then they convince everyone to live in harmony, and they particularly put in a special bit where they say "and you radicalised ones, will you please calm down and we shall all exchange the sign of peace or a more secular type of greeting if you prefer, like a bow maybe or a great big smile and a wave"

So, up until today a magician was a man who has really quite useful and interesting skills but chose, instead to wear weird clothes and have an assistant in a thong, gesticulating and a lot of people clapping or jeering around the place, but now they will have to stop being odd, these magicians and get on the fucking intercom and hypnotise the terrorists and this way we will rid ourselves of two sets of loonies


Nigella Lawson should edit religious books

I have no time at all for religious books like the bible and the Koran and those ones the Hari Krishnas and the Bahais hand out on street corners they are really dull, long-winded and incite hatred.
But those are not the main reasons I hate them, the real reason is all the epithets and harping on. They should read the economist style guide where it says "do not use two words if one word will do", and the economist are right. In the Koran you cannot say the word Mohammed without immediately saying "peace be upon him" and in the bible they have a real problem with the genetive case. They are always giving it "the Body Of Christ" or "The Lamb of God" when they could perfectly well just say "Christ's Body" or "God's Lamb" and as for those wacko baldies and their books, well they make fine doorstops or presents for people you hate that is all.

I understand that if you are trying to convince people to think exactly the same as you do, then there is a need for grand language and the occasional epithet, but Nigella Lawson manages in her fine book "how to eat" to use a lot of adjectives but she joins them up with a hyphen like "crocodile-skinned gherkins" or "Cave-breath mushrooms", and so if I were a religious lunatic printing out my propaganda then I would pay her to stop licking her fingers on the telly and edit my book and it would be just as grand but less wanky.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005


Progressive? I think you mean fucking awful

I have been invited to something called a "progressive dinner", which I thought might be quite exciting, with naked guests and everyone eating with their feet, and eating really genetically modified food, the absolute latest dernier cri in nosh. Sadly not, what it is, is my least favourite thing in the world "organised fun", but not like charades or a terrible pub crawl with drinking games, or wife swapping, even worse than that. The type of organised fun where noone really gets to feel like a guest, and noone really gets to feel like a host. What a fucking awful evening that would be

The idea of a progressive dinner is that each course takes place in a different house and a different person is responsible for that part of the dinner. If it is organised by americans then it can be terribly confusing because instead of saying "starter" they say "soup and salad" which frankly sounds like a disgusting combination. Soup and a roll, yes. Salad and a roll, yes, okay. But soup with salad, fucking hell! you need a lot of cutlery to deal with that lot. And it is too watery really, you need a bit of substance to soak up the soup, not a bowl of greasy leaves. Also americans say Entrees instead of Main Course which is confusing because it sounds like entry, which makes you think of the beginning of the dinner and not the main bit in the middle. And they say "dessert" instead of pudding because they think that pudding is a type of custard not the bit of the dinner where you eat hot cakes and pies and tarts. So even if I ever considered participating in something like this, I would not because of the cultural and linguistic barrier.

The way they try and sell a progressive dinner, is the idea that a lot more people than you might be able to cater for will all be having dinner at the same time, and therefore sharing in this collective eating experience, but in different locations. You need a load of people, like a hundred or something to do one of these progressive dinners properly, and this is pretty terrible if you are quite fussy like me and would be really hard pushed to think of five people you like in the same town, let alone a fucking hundred of the wankers. You have all of these people and then there is some part which is a bit like a raffle where everyones name is in a hat and then they pick ten names out of a hat and those ten go off to Jim's house and the next ten go off to Shaylene's house and when it is time to leave Jim's or Shaylene's there is another load of picking names out of a hat and the lot of you disperse and go all over the place, the intention being, that you never know who you will be sitting next to in ten minutes time, so noone gets bored. This is a mixed blessing, as the type of people who want to go to these very super organised evenings are generally awful cunts. There is real potential for it to be an absolute fucking shambles too with hundreds of people turning up at some poor bastards house, hungry as hell, and another miserable host languishing in front of a vast tureen of chowder and ten bowls of "ranch salad" and a table empty as a closed Tescos, but they never do go wrong as these dinners tend to be organised by and attractive to utter, bossy, annoying cunts. It is a clever notion, I admit it, and like a military campaign, but why you would go to the bother of it is beyond all belief. Those ones who volunteer for the cooking are going to be under the scrutiny of a lot of people, with very direct comparisons being made with the other hosts. And you know, it is not going to be your laid-back people who volunteer to do the cooking and just churn out a couple of roasted hens, fuck no!. The people who volunteer will be cut-throat competitives, making souffles which depend on all your guests being there on the dot, and beef wellingtons and home made sushi and any type of dish which needs to rise and if it does not it is the most horrible and gopping thing anyone has ever eaten. There is way too much stress and not enough progressiveness and I think we need to bring back national service or have yet another war to use their energies in a more useful way.
They always have a dress code for these things too which is a fucking cheek. Why should I put on a ball dress to go and sit in someones' kitchen? I fucking hate getting all dolled up. This one I was invited to was black tie, fucking black tie which is the most awful thing ever and I just fucking hate it. I hate wearing black tie if it is some uptight wanky ball in a vast hall, and I hate it much much more if it is just going to someone's house. For fuck's sake! And they are so pushy, these people who have these progressive things You can give them all the classics "I'm busy" "I'd love to but I am doing an ayurvedic cleansing fast" "Oh no, I'm not there that night I am in another whole different place entirely" and they won't have it, they think you should stop the world and just go around done up like a fucking dog's breakfast, driving about bolting your food and being bossed around by a bunch of cunts. Here's a progressive dinner, your teeth in my arse, you pushy fuckers

Monday, July 18, 2005


Stop going on about dead people

I am extremely fed up with the dead, they are getting on my fucking nerves. It is my birthday today, I am thirty three. Birthdays should be great occasions of happinnes but that miserable old queen Ted Heath has popped his clogs, and everyone is on about that. Last week it was that fucking bomb and now it is someone who used to be famous who is dead. There is a fascination with death and I just don't see it. My mother calls me, frequently, to tell me that our old greengrocer is dead or some other person I once saw, and it confuses me. Or she will call up and say "You remember the green house, don't you, noreen?" "yes ma" "well the old woman went into a home and a new couple moved in and the man dropped dead there cleaning his car". For fuck's sake! I am not interested. I would have to pay myself to be interested in these dead people if they were alive, but Jesus, the idea of getting all excited over a corspe. No thank you. The people are dead. Bury them in a hole, burn them, feed them to vultures I do not care, but please, shut up going on about them.

It is fucking tedious when my mother tells me about dead nobodies, but I hate it even more when people who were famous once, but have spent the last many, many years in oblivion get a last gasp at fame by dying. Some of these famous people have stopped being famous because they were shit at what they did, or people got bored of them, others like Cat Stevens go all religious and hide away being odd, or they get an obsession with nature and then just fuck off and save cats like that french woman, or maybe they decide to stack shelves in the safeway like Geoffrey from Rainbow. Whatever the reasons for the cessation of fame, the fame has ceased, hasn't it? If the public wanted the famous people who were just shit at what they did to carry on being famous, well they would go on about it and beg them to go back to their old jobs and announce that they were actually marvellous at their jobs, not shite at all. If the famous people who had decided to go religious or get obsessed with natural history or go all Marie Antoinnette wanted to please the fans and stay famous, well, they would go back to acting or singing or hanging around with puppets or just ranting on and on about politics. I cannot help thinking that people who leave fame to chase cats, or the good Lord Allah, do so as a pre-emptive measure, knowing that fame is a hollow chalice and after a while there will only be the path of notoriety ahead, paved with broken hearts and empty cans of spesh. So they quit while they are ahead. Good for them!

The problem is, newspapers think that normal people will want to know when a person who was famous but then became shit dies, so we can have the schaden freude: "famous seventies pop star dies of cocaine overdose in a cardboard box". They also mistakenly believe that when that french woman dies and therefore stops saving cats as an alternative to being a film bombshell, or if that Cat Stevens goes, well, the readers will be interested to find out whether the french woman got buried with her pets, or what music Mr Stevens had at the funeral and whether it was one of those arabic songs which goes on for hours and hours or "Matthew and Son". In the same way, because that dreadful old ex prime minister queen has snuffed it, they think we want to know that he is no longer there in the world being an ex-prime minister, but guess what? We do not.

Friday, July 15, 2005


Make some noise!

I hate being told to do a minutes silence or a two minutes silence to remember dead people, it really fucks me off. First of all, they are dead, everyone being quiet will not bring the dead back will it? Secondly, if you are upset by someones death, then you should be allowed to think about their death in your own time, not in a fucking designated two minute slot. Is that respectful? Two fucking minutes to think about even one dead person does not seem very generous to me, let alone trainfuls of them. I do understand that we live in a fast-paced, hectic, go gettem society, but still, two minutes for remembering the dead seems quite a mean amount of time doesn't it? I read somewhere that a human spends three weeks every year just thinking about ham, and ham, although part of a dead creature is not something that merits more thinking time than the dead, if thinking about the dead is so important, it has become a national requirement.

I fucking hate being told what to do and wherever you are when one of these silnce things is happening, there is always a real hearse -chaser about, getting all bossy going on how important it is to respect the dead. They are usually women, these professional mourners, the type of people who make a great show of bowing their heads and maybe closing the eyes too, aswell as just keeping their yappers shut for the alloted time "out of respect". They are competitive about it, that is it. There really are people who want to be "the best" at doing a two minute silence. What cunts they are.

And what about those people who just are not able to think without muttering to themselves or even just moving their lips or maybe humming? How does it work for them? If you stop them from doing their muttering or mouthing of words by enforcing silence and going on and on about respecting dead people, then the muttering ones will be so worried about not muttering that they will not be thinking about dead people at all. No, they will just be keeping their minds blank like meditating yogis.
When I die I want people to roar and howl and whoop and maybe sing "abide with me" or "dear lord and father of mankind", that is all.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


Oh fuck off!

I am so bored of deep vein thrombosis, aren't you? God, every time I turn on the telly there is someone waving a pair of socks that squeeze the calves and ranting on about how part of your leg will break off and stick in your heart because you are in a plane. Bollocks to it, it is made up by air hosteses so they can have a laugh.
I used to invigilate exams and everyone knows that invigilators play "Ugly Child" to relieve the tedium of standing still and walking about silently. You know, the game where the two or more invigilators who are working the room go and stand behind the child who in their opinion is the ugliest in the room, and the invigilator sitting at the desk at the front will judge which child truly is the ugliest. I like to think I have a real killer instinct for knowing where ugly children are likely to sit and also a good appreciation of what makes an ugly child, THE ugly child.and I certainly used to win "Ugly Child" more often than I would lose it. In the same way, air hostesses and the mincing fellers who work on plane aisles, they have a fucking boring job really up there in the sky, and you can bet one of them made up "deep vein thrombosis exercises" just for the spice so they could be standing behind the curtain rattling metal and pretending to prepare food when in fact they are shitting themselves laughing at the people with rotating feet and the ones who get up and walk like a nazi for the circulation. Fair enough so, there is nothing wrong with having fun at work, but would they ever get the adverts for those hideous socks and boring people rattling on about their legs and hearts getting mixed up together off the fucking telly and the news because it is pure shite. Fucking veins, who cares it is a wind up by the air cabin workers and a conspiracy with sock makers.

Monday, July 11, 2005


I do not believe it for a minute

Foreigners can be real old snobs about the type of vegetables people eat. I will eat any vegetable except for broad beans, they are fucking awful. I have eaten aubergines and weird knobbly gourds and great long varieties of radish and all sorts of mushrooms which look like they would give you nightmares and I have even eaten a turnip with a purple inside. Not all these things would get on my top ten vegetable list but at least I gave them a whirl. Anyway, I was talking to some foreign people and they were being fucking rude about British and Irish food. Really fucking rude, and this from people who eat frogs and horses and pygmies' cocks. "So, Noreen, tell me what do you miss most from home" "Boiled swede" I said (that is rutabaga in american), and they all fell about tittering and choking on their Gauloises and stamping their jackbooted feet on the floor. "Vot is a swede" asked the Kraut.

It is a very sad and terrible thing, but really no one eats swede in the world apart from us. You cannot buy it in other countries. The closest I have got to swede abroad was the purple turnip in china. It tasted pretty similar. There are a lot of countries which eat turnips, and they seem fine with them, it is not some kind of weird problem with eating root vegetables, it is just an aversion to the great orange ball of vegetable which is my favourite thing. Why? I cannot explain it. Probably the same reason they lose wars and have truly appalling music, the fucking rude cunts.

Anyway after I explained to the Kraut what a swede was he got it alright. "you eat zose things?" he said in a really rude krauty tone of voice "in Germany Ve feed zem to ze cows". Fucking hell, their cows must have some teeth, must they not? A cow cannot eat a swede, a swede is far too big for its gob and it would not be able to bite it because they do not have biting teeth only chewing-the-cud teeth. What a cunt "Feed zem to cows" Fucking hun bastard

I thought a swede was a fucking turnip. I thought it was what posh people called turnips, like sex is what posh people get their coal in. All vegetables are gay anyway, root or otherwise.
Ball Bag


Lest we forget

Reader Johnny5 has an interesting theory about the reasons for the last post: Noreen got her whole last night I'd imagine . Isn't he just the end of a dog's cock? What a dirty bastard. "Got her whole". The coarseness, the vulgarity of the expression. Wash your mouth out Johhny 5, you know the correct phrase is a cuntful.

Right so I had better explain myself about suddenly going all holy and generous and it is to do with spreading the love around equally, that is the reason for it. Do you remember after that big fucking wave, there were a lot of people who went on about it, raising the funds for the newly homeless out there in South East Asia? Of course you do. But after a while, some other do-gooders piped up and said "now it is all well and good going on about the drowned people but there are a lot of starving in Africa we must not forget about them". Quite right too, you cannot just dump the needy because there are some different poor people about who seem a bit more of a glamorous cause, that is all wrong. So there you have it, you should remember all the unfortunate and afflicted, all of the time. That is all

Sunday, July 10, 2005


Less fortunate and afflicted people

Here are some people you could feel sorry for and the reasons why
1.Billy Ocean, he is from Dagenham.
2.Terry from Terry and June, he is a deafer. That is amazing isn't it, acting when you have no ears, I suppose you could not do those wistful looking away shots, because you would miss the cue
3.Gordon Brown, he has a glass eye, but amazingly that does not have anything to do with the weird shape he makes with his mouth, that is another defect you could say.
That is all. I am feeling all generous and holy today.

Friday, July 08, 2005


Harry Done It!

First New York, then Madrid, then London. I certainly won't be visiting Paris or Moscow for a while as the bombers are clearly picking off cities who wish to hold the 30th Olympiad.

Let's look at the evidence for a minute. Harry buggers off to the Amazonian rainforest to be well out of the way while his footsoldiers do his work. He clearly hates the Olympics, just look at his recent post after London was awarded the games. Then, after the bombs, he writes 3 posts in quick succession. The ramblings of a guilty man.

He hates the Olympics because he is rubbish at sport, he couldn't run the length of himself and he is envious of those fine athletes who win gold medals by running fast, jumping over stuff, lifting heavy things and shit like that. He has joined forces with the Arabs (as Kilroy-Silk would call them) because they never win gold medals either.

See! It fucking was Harry! Let's get him!
Ball Bag

Ball Bag is Wrong!
I do not think it was Harry, I am sure it was Osama Bin Laden, because he is a spoilt rich cunt who has never ever been on the tube or a bus in his life, and therefore does not know that it is already a fucking awful experience riding on public transport. I know Osama lives in a hole or a cave now but he travels around on a litter carried by dwarves, with outriders on bejewelled camels and very expensive tanks and spy planes, and probably quite enjoys his daily trip to work. He does not have an oyster card, the cunt.

Those terrorists are fucking losers, do they not know that blowing people up in a shitty place has far less impact than blowing them up in a pub, like the IRA used to do, or maybe blowing up a video game arcade, or a cricket match? If you really want to piss people off, terrorists, blow them up and spoil their fun, do not "spoil" their commute as commuting is very shit and boring anyway.

What's more, I am quite sure that these low- quality terrorists planned for all the bombs to go off at the same time, at Kings Cross station, for a huge great wallopping exploding terror attack. Those trains were all heading in the direction of King's Cross and so was the bus, and the bombs all went off fairly close together. Imagine a sick and evil version of Guy Fawkes night, with two circle line trains colliding in flames, effectively blocking the exit of the whole station (as the circle line is nearest to the surface. A few minutes later the piccadily line train (deep,deep down) explodes, sandwiching all the passengers in a blazing pit, reminding all London of the terrible fire at Kings cross ages and ages ago (Fuck off I am not looking up when). Finally a bus arrives outside the station and bursts in two littering the pavement with carcasses and metal shards as flames billow out from the earth racking up a far, far bigger death toll than the one they have actually achieved.

Now that all the good terrrorists are either rotting in hell after 9/11, in jail having their fingernails pulled out or hiding like pathetic rats, Osama has to ask people who are deeply ungifted at bombing. Any terrorist worth his salt would not use fucking London Transport to get bombs into the same place, would they. For Fuck's sake! What cretins. Terrorists are losing their panache. Shock and awe my arsehole. C plus, you useless terrorist cunts.

Thursday, July 07, 2005


I hate polystyrene

I do not like polystyrene and not because I am some green environmentally friendly freakshow, or a German, I am neither. I do not care if the world becomes a styrofoam box, I really do not give a shit. I will most probably be dead and the future generations, well they can fucking sort it out, the lazy little cunts expecting it all on a plate for them.
I hate polysterene because of the way it feels, I am even a little scared of it. I used to be scared of clowns and the sound of popping balloons which used to make childrens' parties pretty awful, but I don't care about them any more, I am just very frightened of touching polystyrene. The way it goes all gritty and gets everywhere and sticks to you like a million small white warts. Aaaargh I hate it. I could not work in Currys that is for sure, that Linda Barker, she is a brave woman

Wednesday, July 06, 2005


Cosmopolitan? I think you’ll find the word cunt more appropriate, you miserable little fuck

I can speak many, many languages. Admittedly, I speak most pretty badly, but some I speak really rather well. German,for instance. I was once mistaken for a kraut even, which considering I weigh less than fifteen stone, has to be a fucking compliment about my foreign lingo skills. Also French. I live in a shitty ex colony or something vaguely to do with france so I have to speak that devil’s bollocks of a language all fucking day long. Fuck I hate French it is the jism de la jism of all methods of communication, but needs must innit.

Anyway, that is it really, I fucking hate speaking French it makes me feel like a cunt, the way French people must feel every day of their horrible, pointless, insect-gobbling lives, but there is something even worse than being French, or speaking French, it is pronouncing towns the French way when speaking English. Like, if the old man were to whisk me off to Paris for a dirty weekend, would I say “Guess what, the old bastard is taking me to Parry for the weekend”. No I fucking well would not, I would say, “Hey, The next time you see me I’ll be walking like I have a baguette up my arse, himself is whisking me off to Pa rissssssss.

Likewise, in this godforsaken, hot, ex-french shithole where I live, the non natives love going on to each other in English, but while they are speaking English, they insist on pronouncing some of the place names the French way. For instance Tangiers, right? That nasty, dangerous port full of thieves and glue-heads opposite Spain? Well even some expats who can barely string a French sentence together will not say “I am going to Tangiers today” they will say “oh yes, I am off to Tong Jay (it is spelt Tanger in French, you see). Or Casablanca, the place with the same name as that very very famous, and rather boring film about this miserable woman, do they call it Casablanca after the film, and indeed the very name of the town? Do they fuck! they call it “Cazza”. I fucking hate it. If you are speaking English, then fucking speak English. Besides, the towns are probably called Al Jazeera or something, but do they bother finding out what the arabs call them? Of course not. Arabic does not sound as bourgeois and show offy, so they go on there, like something off “Allo Allo” talking about the towns in the frenchy way. I would not mind quite as terribly much if these people were consistent, but somehow I feel you would not catch them saying “have you been to Koeln” or pronouncing Barcelona with a th in the middle, or using the correct tonal pronounciation for the names of Chinese towns, or holding their noses while they read off a list of skandinavian places, of course they fucking don’t. Nor would they say Noo Yawk, unless they came from there, nor would they pronounce each town in Britain with the appropriate regional accent, so London would be Larndarn, and Newcastle would be Noo cassell. If they did, they would get hit, and quite rightly. French people do not say “J’habite a London” do they? Imagine saying “Mumbai” in a real “goodness gracious me” accent? Of course you wouldn’t, would you! So there you are. If I catch any of you trying out a bit of foreign alongside your English I will cut your tongues out.

Paree, Cazza, Noo Yawk, fuckety fuck off.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005


Travel Narrows The Mind: Part Two

Ages ago I wrote about how much I hate monkeys, because of their nasty fingers and thumbs which do not pose or do pose, I do not care which. Well, I went on holiday and saw loads of monkeys, some of them up on top of a hill and some in a zoo and far from becoming accustomed to their ways, and getting all tolerant of them because of the extra exposure, I found a new thing to hate which is that, not only do they have weird Human-like hands, but their fingers have fingernails. I thought monkeys would have hairy fingers, with hair all the way up the finger, but they do not, they have fingernails, and no! the nail is not sticking out of the top of the finger like an honest claw, No, not at all. The nail is sitting on top of the tip of the finger, like the fingernail of a person. Fucking Nails, on an animal. Not a talon, a fingernail. Monkeys are very, very evil I hate them. Really, I hate them a lot. I fucking hate them. Monkey fucking wanky fuck fuckers

Monday, July 04, 2005


Are you from Senegal? no you fucking well are not you little pricks

One of the readers called Johnny 5 writes: People who would rather go to the beach than sit in a nice warm beer garden with a nice cold beer are ultramegasupercunts.

Johnny 5 is wrong about that, because the beach is a marvellous place, the sand does get up your crack, but then if you do not like sand, go to the public baths. I quite like having sand up my crack it is a different sensation and there is a Proustian holiday feeling to it. Sandy crack= happy kid on the beach.
However, there are definitely ultramegasupercunts at the beach, those ones out there who just can't leave it. There you are on the beach and there are kids running about having a great time, and the old ones getting wrinklier like strips of Biltong, and then someone whips out a fucking Guitar or a couple of them fish around in a bag and haul out bongo drums. Fucking hell! Bongo fucking drums! what a thing to bring to the beach. "Now then, I have my speedos there, and the towel, and a hat, and one of those cloth fences and there's a bit of room left. Will I bring my unobtrusive iPod or a great fucking pair of bongos. No contest, In fact, I will leave the cloth fence behind, I would not like to be concealed from anyone on the beach at all while I am playing those dirty, noisy, bongo fuckers".

The sad thing is that it is never Jimmy Hendrix there with the guitar or Senegal's own elite Bongo artists, it is inevtiably a group of sickly looking white student boys, with the sense of rhythym of a schoolteacher conjugating latin verbs, singing like they are clutching their noses and balls at the same time. I can see how they feel like they are being all spontaneous and creative and, like, just having a great time, but it is fucking appalling to listen to. The next time I see someone playing the guitar or bongoes and I am not watching top of the pops or going down an escalator on the circle line I will throw my head back and start howling, and if any fucker says anything I will let on that it is something I picked up from my travels in central Africa, Man. Fucking Bongo guitar fuckety fuckwank cunts


Gibraltar, Hong Kong for Pikeys

I went to Gibraltar while I was in Spain. It is part of england or something, and the spanish want it, although fuck knows why they want it or we want it really. I would give it back if I were the queen along with the one that used to be Napoleon's prison in the middle of nowhere. Fucking outposts. Anyway, I thought Gibraltar would be like Hong Kong although with fewer chinese people. If you have not been to Hong Kong, here is a brief description of it: It is like Fulham, but it has palm trees. There are lots of posh blokes wandering around and they go on about sailing and skiing and stuff and their wives all moan about the driving and how you cannot get decent staff and occasionally complain about the weather and schools. Just like at home, except hotter and with dim sum. Gibraltar is not like that at all, it is very, very pikey. It looks a bit like hong kong island because it is a great huge rock there, quite near to some land, but instead of Tarquin and Rupert in terribly expensive suits with those rings they wear on their last fingers, it is Duane and Barry in Hackett shirts and gold necklaces. I saw three old people with tattos and baseball caps in wheelchairs in my first few minutes. "Ah, so this is like Peterborough, but with the tapas" you'll be thinking. No it is not, because first of all they are not all violent throwing bottles around and swearing, and they do not have a JD Sports at all. There are a lot of pubs but they do not have a garden or a carpark, the people sit in the middle of the high street and they all speak spanish all the time. They have pounds and stamps with pictures of the queen on but they all go on at each other in Spick. They can speak english and have an accent a bit like a Geordie, which is interesting because they are a fucking long way away from the geordies, but they choose spanish more.
I went to the Safeways, this supermarket, and there was an instore cafe. In it there were huge fat men with bad, bad clothes eating fried breakfasts, but instead of drinking tea with their breakfasts they were drinking that gay frothed up coffee or lager, in the continental way, and jabbering away to each other in Spanish and everyone was smoking fucking great big cigars. Cigars! in the supermarket. Beer with the breakfast! I thought I was on drugs. It is more fun than going to fucking Marks and Spencers there, I am telling you. So Gibraltar, well it was quite a pikey old place and I have not even started on the monkeys yet, but it was like a pikey's skin around some happy old spanish person. That is all


Travel Narrows The Mind

I have just been to Spain, it was great! I love Spain, because the men get their cocks out on the beach, it is hot and there is nice food. The place is ruined though, by these people who think they are cultured and say things like "oh, you do not have the flavour of Spain unless you go inland and see all the little villages, it is so tacky at the seaside" bollocks to that. Spain has lovely seaside, that is why people go there unless they are cunts. I say to those people who bang on about the inside of Spain as opposed to the edge of it, this is what I say: "why do you not go to a landlocked country like Mongolia or Uzbekistan or Switzerland, then you will not be offended by people bronzing their genitalia or reading The Sun" If there were a country which were only a coast, well I would fucking go there like a shot, wouldn't I. Fucking Philistine seaside hating hairy cuntflaps

I fucking hate travelling. I don't mean going to new places and seeing new things, I like that, and I don't mean making the journey from place to place, although I really hate that. I mean going 'travelling' as a year long waste of fucking time. These toads who go travelling think, and tell everyone, that they are having a fantastic adventure or something, the wankers. In my view, going to Australia and getting a shit job and then hanging around with other people from your country who are exactly like you is not an adventure. And people who drive around in a VW camper van are worse still, they should be set alight.

"A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands." (As You Like It).

That's right, that's fucking Shakespeare, you cunts. I'm cultured as fuck, me.
Ball Bag

Saturday, July 02, 2005


I Just Can't Tell You How Much I Fucking Hate Live 8

Live 8 is on the TV, and it is utter, utter wank, although some well placed explosive devices would get rid of a lot of arseholes both on the stage and in front of it.

I am obviously not watching this piss, but I did hear Bonio on the radio offering what he probably thinks are really profound thoughts in that excruciating fake American accent he seems to develop when holding a microphone. I detest Bonio.

Obviously the worst is fucking Bob Geldof though. I heard him say something like "It's time for the boys and girls with the guitars to tilt the world on its axis once again", he really is the most breathtaking penis isn't he? What a cock.

I would love, really love, the G8 leaders to raise the interests payments on the African debt, just to annoy Geldof. That would make them a lot hungrier wouldn't it? Then I would love thousands of starving Africans to blame Geldof and storm his mansion, and then, crazed with hunger, eat his fucking children, the sanctimonious cunt.
Ball Bag

Ball Bag is right!

If you start giving them money for food, the next thing you know they'll be wanting money for clothes. Vote Conservative.
Sir Boris Johnson MP

Friday, July 01, 2005


I am Sick Of You, You Fuckers

Rob writes "Why has no one written anything to amuse me whilst I am supposed to be working more to the point you idle fuckers? Even a comments troll would give us all something to swear at. Jesus wept."

I am fucking sick of you people. Why can't you entertain yourselves, why do you need me to do it for you, you fucking bloodsuckers? Do you think I have nothing better to do all day than to sit around thinking up things that I hate? Well, do you know what, I have just thought of a new thing that I hate, and it is you bastards.

I am not your performing monkey, you cunts.
Ball Bag

Ball Bag is right!

We've had a gizzard full of you people. We're working flat out in pursuit of our Commitment to Excellence, meeting the challenges of the information age by Celebrating Diversity and Investing in People. We're really trying to make a difference, and you come here with your gloomy jibes and your, "Be funny, make me laugh." It's fucking free, and still you whine.

Fucking fuck off. That is our mission statement.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]