Wednesday, August 31, 2005


Silence, artist at work

I like art, really, I do. I am very bad at drawing but I have a GCSE in Pottery and Fabric Craft. I got a C, so I am no great shakes at those either. But it is a great feeling, creating an artispiece, you feel like God. It's not just about the painting or the sculpting of the art though, which is a fine activity, There's a lot more to art than just creation, there is the talking about what it represents, which is great fun too, you can spout a load of shite. In fact, the more shite you spout, the better, and what is more, you could even tape yourself talking shite and then play it near the thing you have painted and then you have an installation.

It is a shame that a lot of artists are real cunts, especially the ones on the telly. If these television artists are the best of the bunch, and they are a bunch of cunts, then heaven only knows how gruesome the ones that aren't on the telly are. They must be really big, prize arseholes.

If I were Charles Saatchi I would buy the artists themselves, and make them just sit about. No art-making, none of that, not even messing around with clothes and making a pattern on the floor, or any type of artistic behaviour, fuck that artsy fartsy bollocks. The point would be that the artists would be there, hanging around, just the potential but not being used. You would not film them not doing their art, as it wouldn't be necessary. Not doing their art, is still an expression of their art, isn't it. If you are not saying "Yes, Noreen is right!" then this will convince you: Think of those painted cretins who stand still around the south bank or covent garden in London! There are two courses of action available to the passer by. You give the painted man or woman a pound and off they go, miming away at you. If you do not give the painted person a pound, they do not go off and wash their faces and act normal, they are still there, all painted and standing still, and that is part of the art. It may well be art, but is fucking annoying that is what it is, I hate those painted miming bastards. There is a risk to filming the non-art of the artists as well, as, artists being filmed "not doing art" would, by the very act of being filmed, be recording their decision not to be creative and some bastard would make that film into an artwork and broadcast it and the whole point of this Saatchi commision, is to get the artists off the telly and quietly doing something absolutely exclusive, and that means for noones eyes or knowledge except the person who has commissioned the art.

Exclusive things are great, aren't they?. I admire people with private zoos and menageries, and feel a bit sorry for people who own famous artworks, because many plebeian people will know what this picture or scultpure looks like, there is no fun or gasping when you get people round to show them your expensive possession and they say "Oh that is Van Gogh's the sunflowers, I've a poster of that one myself". With a private zoo, although the common man may well know what a giraffe looks like, he has probably not got a poster of your giraffe, which may have unusual horns or an especially garish pattern on its hide. No, the very rich need secret, exclusive art, and if thrown in as a bonus you get that warm, gushing feeling of doing a public service , then that is a fucking result, isn't it! Every one is a winner, there is an exclusive artwork, there are artists working by not working and the telly does not have Tony Hart and his like crawling all over it with their brushes and sculpting tools.

Creating great schemes like this does not come without a few glitches and it would be important for Saatchi to pay loads of cash to the artists to compensate for the lack of turner prizes and stuff and also to make sure they kept quiet about it. You know what artists are like, those fruity noncers, they would all go and hang about in some cafe and talk about not doing art and that would be an installation in itsef, and even if no one saw the artists talking about being artists not doing art, then the artists themselves would have seen it, because they were actually there, particupating and watching themselves not doing the art, and then they could mention it afterwards and that would be even more artistic of them. No, the fuckers would need to be segregated, and Charles Saatchi would probably be best off not telling Nigella, because women are prone to letting the cat out of the bag.


Pigeon Fatigue

I am quite indifferent to pigeons. This makes me special because all around the world people are busy loving or hating them. There are those people like Mrs Murphy's husband Sean, who keep them in a shed and make them fly really fast. Sean loves his pigeons even though they smell quite bad. I have reservations about how you really know that your pigeon has done a return journey to Chad or wherever they make them go. Maybe it is like the Tour de France and the flight path is lined with people in tweed hats clapping and cheering. Or maybe the race-pigeon owners have infinite trust in the pigeons, believing the pigeon to be a bird of integrity, that must be it.

There are people who go about saying unkind things about the pigeon like "Oh, a pigeon, well that is a rat with wings". It is not though, is it? A pigeon has no teeth.

Chinese people eat pigeons which is no great surprise as they eat pandas and sea slugs, the dirty bastards. What gets me is not that they eat pigeons, that is not okay, because it is fucking disgusting, but it is understandable, no what gets me is that they charge the earth fora pigeon. Charging a lot of money for a sharks fin is fair enough. I would not like to go swimming around after sharks with a machete, slicing off the fin without killing the shark and then swimming away like hell, that would be a job you would need to pay handsomely for. But a pigeon? fuck off they are not pricey, not like a tiger's penis or a bear's gallbladder, those things are rare. Pigeons are most definitely not at all rare. The chinese are rather peculiar about birds, they got all obsessed about thema few years back and they all stood about banging saucepans so that no birds could land in the fields and eat their crops and as a result there were no birds anymore. They are bird bulimics that is it. One minute they are all over birds, just charging the earth and a birds is the best thing since sliced abalone and then, there they are with the pans banging away.

Monday, August 29, 2005


Storm in a teacup

Fuck me! I am sick of this hurricane. I am not at all interested in wind, I understand if you are a miller or a sailor, then wind may be very fascinating, but to me? no, it is not. I have watched programmes about people who follow tornadoes around, and in my opinion they are witless cunts, driving around after the wind. Probably real mentalers, there are a million and one other things to do as a hobby. Anyway, wind is air and air is nothing at all, as we all know, so making a great meal out of some air moving quickly is just beyond ridiculous.

Every day, practically there is a hurricane on the news and they have gay names, sometimes the wind is a woman and sometimes it is a man. And every time some arse-fuck on the news is going on about hurricanes they wheel out a bore who tells us why the hurricane is that particular gender, and why they are women or men. I have seen it a million times, but in the same way I could switch off Father Callistus Divine going on and on in the sermon when I was a child, so can I now eliminate the barking on, of these wind-obsessed screen-cloggers.

The thing that really gets me though, is how surprised everyone is when a hurricane starts up near america. They should be used to it by now, there is one every fucking week. The way these cunts who live hurricane areas carry on, you would think they had no clue at all. Imagine if CNN, those fuckers, went to England and filmed people looking at the sky, amazed because there was some rain? Although I would not be surprised if CNN did that, they are that shite. By the way, the americans could take a leaf out of the good people of Birmingham, England, normally famous for being whinging cunts with faces like a row of slapped arses, who, therefore, you would think would seize on the recent tornado there, as licence to go on and on for fucking ever. Well I know three people from Birmigham and they have not mentioned their tornado, and I do not know any people from New Orleans but they are certainly not keeping their traps shut on the television about it, the cunts

Sunday, August 28, 2005


Thank goodness for stephen Fry and the other one Harry likes, Billy Bragg

All that talk about minge-dodger Stephen Fry and the other wanker has put me off my food. Which is lucky, because today I have been invited to a "brunch" which is a meal instead of breakfast and lunch. I think this is a fucking con. How are you suddenly going to need just one meal instead of two, hmm? "Brunch" is a fucking horrible word too, it makes me feel sick just to say it. I hate those words that are all elided together too, it is like the Nissan Micra advert with that weird mouth spouting vile made up phrases like "spafe, spontaneous and safe". Cockwash.

The thing about "brunch" is that it is normally at lunch time anyway, so it is lunch. My "brunch" today starts at half twelve, which is exactly lunchtime, and not anything to do with breakfast. Mcdonalds stops serving breakfasts at 10.30 or something and starts serving burgers and things after 11 so your brunch, if you take Mcdonalds as a fine representation of mealtimes would be at 10.45. Fair enough. Even worse though, about this brunch thing is that despite the fact that it takes place at lunch time, you do not get a decent meal, you get things like cereal, and fruit juice and then you get weirdly ccoked eggs those gay "eggs benedict" instead of a real, fried egg or a poached one. So really, what "brunch" is is a way of getting out of cooking real food at lunch time, just hoping you can palm off some frosties onto some muppet and they will think they are all sophisticated and New York-like.

The americans invented brunch as a way of reducing their staggering obesity problem. Well that is fine for obese people to skip meals, I suppose, but just because these larders are dicing with death everytime they look at an egg mcmuffin, it is unfair and a bit selfish to expect non-obese people to eliminate a meal from the day just so the dangerously overweight do not feel jealous. Well fuck the obese. They have already eaten enough to make up for the breakfasts or lunch they are skipping when they have "brunch" they can fuck off. Brunch, it is for cunkers

I had an omelette and there was sugar on the top of the omelette, fucking weird. AND the omelette was not served with chips and a salad garnish, it was served with cold toast and apricot jam.

Friday, August 26, 2005


Knowledge is pure shite

There is a great difference between being intelligent and being knowledgeable. Intelligence is something you are born with, knowledge is something you acquire. One you can't change, the other you can. Well, I think knowledgeable people are real cunts. And if they go on the telly to show off how knowledgeable they are then they should be peeled.

I watched that Stephen Fry on the telly, all smug and simpering, barking out the odd date, and snippet about the Balkans on this fucking appalling programme called QI. He is a real cunt, isnt he? I have not read any of his books but I bet they are real shite. I have watched a few "fry and Laurie" episodes and they were like being in Cambridge, a festival of smug, quipping, irritating little arseholes wearing tweed and talking about port. Some of the students there were such cunts that they would always wear their college gowns, even if all they were doing was queuing for a roll outside the bakers, asking for a real kicking from the hundreds and hundreds of second generation gypsies sitting about waiting for argos to open.

Before you lot all start shouting about how inferior I feel about Cambridge students, then it may surprise you, as it surprises many people to hear that I went to this university that loads of people think is the best thing since sliced bread, which it most certainly is not, it is a shitehole. The reason people are surprised is because I am astonishingly ignorant, and I never, ever want to change this. I got sent down from the university after a couple of years, which was great for us both. I was a pain in the arse for them, it is true, but I got sick of the odd lessons where the "supervisor" (which is cuntspeak for teacher) would take the lesson whilst stroking himself around the groin, or the one where the supervisor was at the opposite end of the scale of "nutter", a man with a fear of touching anyone, who threw pencils, and couldn't just pass you a book to look at, poor bastard, instead he would put the open book onto a chair, and shove the chair towards the student, making sure there really was no chance at all that anyone might come into contact with his skin. I learnt nothing at all at Cambridge, thank goodness, as I was very distracted by all the strange mannerisms these very, very clever people had, and the way they had made a pact with the devil, swapping soap for books and charm for hundreds of facts.

Knowledge is not something which appeals to me, you might say. I am not remotely interested in current affairs, they can kiss my arse, history is a done deal, that can fuck off too, languages are alright as they might get you out of a hole, and as I like writing, I suppose I am glad I can write, but it is not necessary, really unless you are a mute, and then writing is pretty handy.

Anyway, this awful programme "Q I" gives you minus points if you state the obvious. How fucking ridiculous, what type of a show is that? If people stop stating the obvious, then there will just be a new obvious, and the old obvious will become the obscure. Fucking cretins with no foresight. I like family fortunes, that is far more useful. Then you are rewarded for stating the obvious, absolutely, and if you pick an obvious answer which the production team have chosen as well, then you win a great bonus prize like a teasmade or long weekend in spain. It is a great skill to be able to predict what the majority think and a lot more useful than pulling some clever dick answer out of your arsehole and pursing your face up and muttering it. Stephen Fry and the man who looks like a chipmunk or a gargoyle and Jeremy Fucking Paxman, fuck off

Thursday, August 25, 2005


I really wish these people would just fuck off

If you live in a place which ordinary northern europeans or septics consider exotic, then you are sentenced to being badgered to death, just all the fucking time. I am not talking about the free-loading cunts who try and invite themselves for a holiday, hoping to be waited on hand and foot and translated for and who spend a fortnight asking the most irritating and fatuous questions like "why are the taxis blue?", or "so what role does the royal family play in the society" to both questions the answers are "I don't know, Fuck off". No, you have to hand it to the uninvited guest types, they are annoying, but survivors in this world. Non-paying guests that you barely know are honest parasites, too tight to put their hands in their pocket and go on a proper holiday, but not pretending to do anything other than this. Just misers, but misers who want to see a bit of the world, that is them.

No, the problem you really have if you live somewhere fancy is arseholes sending emails asking for advice, and I just hate it, loathe it when people come to me for advice. Noone sane would ask me for any sort of advice, I do not set myself up some type of a guru, that is really a million miles from my scene. I get all anxious, if I am honest, about giving advice. I don't like the responsibility of it, so shackling and suffocating. There is always the dank possibility of one of these types coming back to you all long in the face saying "thanks a bunch for that advice, I have rabies and my wife has left me thanks to you". No, I leave advice to people in cheap suits in banks and people wearing headscarves in tents, they are welcome to it.

I have had many emails asking me about various jobs I have had, sent by very pushy people I barely know. If I am honest, these pestering winnets are palmed off onto me by my mother-in-law who loves to "put people in contact with each other". Which I fucking hate. I have no interest in being in contact with anyone at all really, I hate most people and just because "Jessica would love to do freelance translation too" doesn't mean I am going to fucking like her. In fact, probably just the reverse, I will hate her if she steals my work.

The worst types of pushy email senders, are people who are going to go and live somewhere I once lived and you get these emails "Hi, You probably don't remember me" (no I fucking don't) but I am a really good friend of Sorcha's (WHO??) your sister's old roommate at college. Anyway, she passed on your details and I was wondering if you could recommend a place to live/work/send my kids to school/get my toenails clipped, in a place that you have not set foot in for the last ten years. Oh and my kids all have autism so if you know of a special needs coordinator who would like to live in with us and help wipe the child's backside, that would be great too. Thanks for your help, Eileen Spittoon." or "Hi, my name is Jim, I'm a friend of a man your friend shagged on holiday. I'm making a film about the berbers, could you square it with the Moroccan governemnt for me, thanks a million". Fucking chancers.

I mean it is just beyond it, isn't it. And I get one of these every fucking day. And do you know, I am too big hearted to blame my relatives who have had their arms twisted to dish out my email to really random tossers, no it is not their fault, it is the fault of the television and those cunt american companies harping on about "networking" the evil fuckers. Networking is the cuntiest cuntwork ever. I am not talking about nepotism that is fine. Blood is thicker than water after all, and I have no problem at all with people getting jobs just because they came out of a particularly gentrified vagina, why not. But Networking, where people who have come out of just about any old vagina get around the place dishing out their name cards and giving it the "Call me, yah" bullshit, well, I would like to get a box of asps and set them free in all the wine bars and other wanker gathering places in the world, but not until I had installed "web cams" so I could watch them all dying like a million cleopatras.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005


Sacre fucking Bleu

Fucking Hell! I have just bought some knock off DVDs and they are in french. Now, I would not have a problem with this if the films were french films, if I did, then I would be quite insane, french films which are in french, well that is fair enough.

I try not to watch foreign films because they are just, fucking awful, and if I find myself in a position where I have to watch them, then I am quite happy to watch them IN the foreign language (more often than not they are plotless montages, where the dialogue is entirely superfluous) or, I gratefully scan the little banner of english words at the bottom of the screen, those nice subtitles. There is nothing at all wrong with subtitles, it is perfectly possible to read them and not miss what is going on above. But I accept, most very graciously indeed, that if a film is foreign, then it deserves to be shown in its native language, and anyone who can't speak their lingo should either fuck off, pretend they understand it, or hunt around for subtitles.

I fucking hate dubbed things, they are arseholes. Noone is fooled, are they? Clint Eastwood does not make a convincing Nip or chinaman, and no, you fuckers, I am not being Xenophobic, it looks equally ridiculous when Kim Jong Il is made to look like he is speaking english, that is unlikely too. He may well be able to speak english, I have no idea, but if Kim is really speaking North Korean, but the sound of him speaking Korean has been erased, and instead, you have some bloke with received pronounciation saying "Welcome to the gymnastics, it is so good to see all you visitors and foreign friends"something is lost, and that something, is the authenticity. It is quite distracting too, when an actor in a film is saying "Where are my shoes?", but instead of hearing "where are my shoes", the sound has been wiped and all you, the viewer, can hear is some foreign person gibbering "donde esto los pantoffles" or whatever . All the while you know the actor is really saying "where are my shoes" because you can see from the shape of the his mouth that he clearly is not saying "donde" he is saying "where" and it is a whole different shape that you make with your mouth, isn't it Philip Challinor, and other linguistically bothered fusspots? You see I am right.

So, in conclusion, if I were to buy a french film, then after having my head looked at, I would sit down and watch it in french, no complaints. If, however I buy an english film, like for instance Charlie and the chocolate factory, then I want to watch it in english, and listen to the oompah loompas and Willy wonka say english words out of their english-speaking mouths. But no! that is not possible. The film only has a french soundtrack, FRENCH, I am fucking furious .What is wrong with the french, why can they not be satisfied with making art house films about a woman rummaging in her handbag, or those films about something very mundane which just grind to a halt, and that is it, the film is over? Hmm?Instead they are stealing our films and hiding the english soundtrack, Les fraudulent bastards.

Sunday, August 21, 2005


Is this a propitious moment to shave my nuts?

I don’t know if this will interest you, but I’m thinking of shaving my pubic hair into a tasteful love heart. I feel that the time is right (there is a tide in the affairs of men…) It’s a big step, however, and I would welcome your thoughts on this.

Shaving my pikelets isn’t something I’m just going to rush into.

Ball Bag

Friday, August 19, 2005


Die, charlatan die

I fucking hate fortune tellers, they are a bunch of liars. I do not understand people who go and have their fortune told and actively seek out some gypsy with acrylic nails and large rings, and people who call those phone numbers advertised in the back of Vogue, for a 24 hour clairvoyant service, what are they like? I will tell you what they are like, they are fucking stupid cunts. Calling up some loony who says "you are going on a journey" if it is summer holiday time.

Fortune tellers are clever because they know that women (and it is always women) only go and see them when they are after a man, or they have been dumped by a man, so it is pretty easy to start offby saying "I sense some confusion in your life at the moment". What the gullible fool of a punter does not know, is that when the fortune teller says "confused" they mean "confused" like my Great Aunt Sheelagh, who used to go out in the street wearing nothing but a pair of wellies, looking for the black and tans. So, in case you are a bit slow, "confused" means "Mental". Not "confused" as in "Indecisive emotional wreck".

Worse than fortune tellers who just sit in a suburban house with a paperweight, are people who claim to be psychic and just start on there, telling your fortune. I had this in Hong Kong, I was going along in a taxi and the driver starts up saying "are you a model?" which is the worst chat up line of all time apart from "Do you like sport?", and so I say "No" and he says "you have a lucky face" and I just look out of the window and then he says "You will have much trouble in your life, your relationship and business will fail". And I was thinking to myself, that if that is me with a lucky face, then what the fuck happens if you have an unlucky one. Lucky face, fucky offee

Thursday, August 18, 2005


Tony T is right!

Reader Tony T points out that he is a teacher and therefore an object of hate, and that is quite right. I fucking hate teachers, just fucking loathe them. I hated them when I was a schoolchild, and I hate them now that I have to go and talk to them about the behaviour of my children. I am well qualified to hate teachers as I have spent time as an english teacher in my long and varied career and I hated myself when I was a teacher just as much as I hate other teachers, so any of you pedants waiting to seize on how I might not treat everyone fairly, well fuck off and proof read the guardian.

Anyway I fucking hate education and schools, but worse than teachers and schools are those people who go on about "The university of life" they only escape being cut up into pieces because they are normally such laughable and pathetic individuals that it is far crueler to leave these cunts alive inciting ridicule, than to exact any type of torture on them.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005


I'll make your heart bleed properly, you sanctimonious little cunt

There are some real cunts in the world, especially the ones who are do gooders. They always pipe up with some comment about how the world is about to heat up like a giant flame-ball if they see someone with cling film or a carrier bag, and they go on about the poor and unfortunate and how many people you can feed on an acre of land, just insufferably fucking awful cunters.

Quite often these mouthy twats have do goodery jobs like some type of missionary or a teacher or some other type of work that they claim is underpaid, but they are not always your starving artist type, some are rich cunts, but who also enjoy being smug about the fact that they are "socially responsible". I fucking hate them. I met one who was on and on about this organ donor card he had, and I asked him if he would donate his heart right there and then if there were some poor creature in need of a new one and he said no. All for show, that is it. It is not a sacrifice, donating your organs if you have no need of them. It is only as kind and generous as putting an old sofa out for the binman and then someone turns up and has a use for the sofa, and you are not a dog in the manger about it, you let them take the sofa away. Giving your organs after death is shite. bone marrow and that one on east enders who gave away a kidney, that is more like it.

Anyway I fucking hate people who are always after making a show about how much they think about other people, and those ones who go on about walking a mile in someone elses shoes, I want to shoot them. I would not be at all interested in walking a mile in someone elses shoes, they may have plastic soles instead of leather, or the owner might have a verucca, and besides, I don't expect the shoes' owner would be all that happy if you went off in his shoes for a mile, unless you went half a mile away from him and then turned around and made the mile up by walking back towards him for the other half a mile, because if you walked off for a mile, well he would have to walk after you in bare feet to get his shoes back, so quite the reverse of being all empathy personified, you would just be a cunt who nicked his shoes and went off for a mile in them. And if the owner of the shoes was very poor, he would be especially fucking livid, as cobblers have upped their prices all over the world. So it is a fucking stupid thing to say, walk a mile in their shoes, fuck off.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005


I hate living abroad

Abroad is shit. Pure, pure shite. I hate it. I hate people who do not speak english and I hate religious people being all gay about what you wear and I hate nasty foreign food and I fucking hate flying as well, and you have to do that to get abroad.

Saturday, August 13, 2005


My sister's ex boyfriend is a joyless cunt

My brother asked me to do a post about Maud's ex boyfriend but Maud will be cross with me so I will just keep my yap shut in a diplomatic sort of way.


Friday, August 12, 2005


Why can we not take a picnic

BA is a Big Anus. I am flying back to Frottsville on Monday and I don't know if I will get on the flight. Something about aeroplane food. Now I am a big fan of the aeroplane meal, I like the little packets of everything and I like asking for the hindu vegetarian meal just to make those gayer attendants roll their eyes and go down to the arse of the plane and bitch. I also heard a man ask why his vegetarian meal had no meat in it, so you could say there is a fashion for winding up the cabin crew at mealtimes, it takes your mind off terrorism and the fact that the plane is held together with elastic bands.
Anyway they say we cannot fly because there is no food. What a load of bollocks. Do Ryan air and those other cheap ones not fly if they have no overpriced sandwiches? of course they fucking fly, because they are an aeroplane company. Aeroplanes run on aeroplane fuel, not cook- chill meals with a roll in a bag. They should think outside the box, those BA people, shouldn't they. That is what a successful business would do.

Take Gordon Ramsay, he is very famous and rich. Do you think Gordon Ramsay would refuse to serve a meal if his tape recorder was broken, and people would have to eat their dinner in silence? Of course he would not do that, he would just not have music, or get someone to sing quietly or play the mouth organ.

And think about the unfortunate and ugly. Ugly people even have jobs where they are in public, beause they are using their brains. What about Robin Cook? god rest his soul. Looked like a ginger minge, talked shite on the telly, and influenced policy. It all depends on what the objectives of your job are. If you are a politician, it matters that you can go on and on and on about stuff, not whether you are a minger or not, If you are a cook, then you just cook things and sell them to people and if you are a plane company, you just need to fly planes about.

I hate people who are inflexible they are real bores. Those BAs they should go to tescos, buy some crisps and scotch eggs and something halal and just give that out. Fucking stick in the mud bastards

Tuesday, August 09, 2005


Does it have a minge? No it does not

I am in England at the moment, and one of the lovely things about being here, rather than in a foreign scumpit of vile food and frotting men, is being able to speak english to non-americans. I do not have to remember to say "cookie" beause "biscuit" means a "scone", and remember not to say "I want a fag" which makes foreigners who have learnt american english snigger, the stupid cunts.

It was Cowes week last week, and no I did not go because I fucking hate boats and get very very sick on them, and as much as I like getting very drunk outside, I do not like to do it on a lurching vessel. My brother did go, and I asked him what he did. "Oh we went on this boat, she was marvellous". I fucking hate it when people talk about boats as women and cars too, it is sheer twittery. I have even had people explain to me why they are shes and not hes and it was so monumentally boring, I cannot remember even one part of it. And Philip Challinor, no, we do not want to fucking know why it is, so don't bother.

Now this is not some barking feminist nonsense where I think that a car or boat is an especially manly article and so it should be called "he", fuck that. My point, and without being immodest I think it is a fair one, is that a car or a boat, well they do not have genitalia which is the normal way of finding out what sex something is. I bought a chameleon the other day and I asked the man "is the chameleon a man or a woman" and he picked it up, pressed its stomach and a little cock shot out. So, it was a man. That is how you find oput the sex of something, it is not complicated. However, if you were to upend a boat, press the centrboard out and say "but look, the boat has a cock" I would slope off and make a discreet phonecall to the local nutfarm. Equally, a man raising the bonnet of his car and opening the tank with oil in it or whatever there is in a car bonnet and announcing "look at the vag on this motor" would have me worried for his mental health. They are "its" cars and boats, are they not? Quite straightforward. "Look at that car, is it a skoda or an alpha romeo?" that is what you say not "is she a".

And while I am at it, you people who say "an hotel", well sleep with a knife under your pillow, that is all I am saying. An hotel, fuck off.

Sunday, August 07, 2005


Sponsor my arse you cunts

I hate sponsored anything, I fucking hate it. At least with beggars you have a contract where they irritate you into paying them to go away. You are not finished with the sponsoring people just by handing over cash, they will not have it. "That is not the spirit of it, I want to be payed per cocktail stick that I poke down my Jap's eye. Go on, I'll be back in a week to tell you how it went. You can pay me then". What great big cunts
Worse than those show offs going about advertising how wacky and altruistic they are in a great blaze of publicity and do gooding, are those animal sponsors. I got invited to a wedding and I did the usual thing of saying "no thanks" and getting a present to make sure they really do fuck off and not try and get you to go to the occasion. These ones were all "oh we do not want a present just sponsor an animal". For fuck's sake! They had diferent prices, these animals, and you could sponsor a wolf in siberia or some other rare animal out in a diferent place, and quite apart from the obvious question which is :how can you tell that you are sponsoring a wolf and not just paying some sharp customer who is preying on mad people who will give money to a wolf, there is the big question of how they work out the prices of different wolves. If you sponsor a wolf that is on its last legs, then what happens when it dies? hmm? is that it? you have lost you investment or do they get you a new wolf and THEN, you might not be able to replace the wolf as people always say that when they lose a dog "Oh I will not get puppy, it would not be the same". A wolf is just a wild version of a dog and I expect the same rule applies.



Reader MNK has a suggestion: I'm thinking of inviting members of the public to sponsor me as one might sponsor a wolf. I don't see why there should be a difference. In fact sponsoring me would be better, as I could send round quarterly newsletters to my investors to tell them how I am getting on, with pictures and scratch'n'sniff and everything. Could a wolf do that? No. Fuck them, sponsor me

My old man used to work for this charity which sponsored children in poor countries by forcing them into these residential homes where they were made into christians and in return, given a hot meal. You gave the money to the charity, who gave the money to bishops who went out and bought guns and really large cars. So in this scenario, with MNK, I am volunteering to be the bishop and he can go into a special home and write all the letters. So just send the money to me, Noreen and I'll see he writes you a nice missive and encloses a photo.

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

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]