Wednesday, September 28, 2005


List Shows Are Wank

There is nothing only list shows on TV these days. You know what I mean, top ten celebrity haircuts and that kind of bollocks. A recent BBC poll suggested that the best book of ALL TIME was the fucking Lord of The Cunting Rings, it got about 50% of the vote. This is because all the geeks block vote for their nerdy favourites, that's why Star Wars always wins best ever film.

The other thing that annoys me about these shows is when something that happened recently appears too far up the list because the people voting in them seem to have the memory capacity of a trout with altzeimers. Last night ITV did a programme about the television footage that had the most historical impact. Sandwiched between the fall of the Berlin wall and the wee chinese man standing in front of that tank was Liverpool winning the Champions League last year. I was so cross I switched it off, so I don't know what won. Probably footage of that cunt Robbie Williams scratching his fat, hairy arse, the talentless fuckwit.

Ball Bag

Ball Bag is Right!

What is wrong with people in the media? They are all obsessed with the fucking past, which is a pointless and idiotic waste of time. They have exhausted the dull, flat reaches of history with their endless and tiresome programmes about the second world war and other boring things which happened an age ago, so much so that even the most tedious retired colonel can't face tuning in. Now, the cunty television researcher people resort to analysing things which happened five minutes ago for their "historical impact". Well they can fuck off and sit on a large row of spikes, the repetitive tedious twats, and they can take with them, those comedians who are reasonably funny in their programmes, but then go on talk shows and take themselves very, very seriously.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005


I Have Seen A Picture Of Maud!

I have seen a picture of Maud, and she is pretty fucking sexy I can tell you. And yet it gets better than that. It is a picture of Maud and Noreen together! Now they aren't naked or anything, or even kissing, but it is still a real turn on for me, I can tell you. They are sitting next to each other and their knees are touching and it really looks as though they are thinking about getting naked and kissing each other.

I am prepared to sell this picture to the highest bidder.

Get bidding, you cunts.

The Baggatron


All beggars to become civil servants, meat bad for robots, says Ha Ha Ha

so i was in hravad sqare teh othar week an thare was tihs orable
lady. she was onea these lethery bony midalaged midleclass chicks wiht a
storng jaw an shrot hare an no ass. teh ones who look like lyle
lovett. but givan she was in harvad sqaure atlest she didn have anyt
tatos on her face. gota giver that. but anyway waht im tryna say
— an i am tryign baleive me — is she was standing
they're with a sign in her hand starignn straght ahead barkign ovar
an ovar 'GIVE TO PETA! GIVE TA PITA!' like a robot. mrs. fucking
lylelovetatron from peta talkin with er jaw clanched. noboddy gave er
a dime the poor ol hag.

so waht were seein heare is a failed exparamant in teh
mechanazatoin of disent. no meare machine can adaquatley
raplace a trueley comitad NPR fan wiht a a volva fula bumparstikcars.
but technalegy dosn stand still. onee day thare will be a roobot
enouough to sabscriabe to the utne reader. theyve alredy pefectad
robosts taht dont eat meat.

but for now robts are clerly teh worng tool for the job. its teh coed
cuties what get the dough. durign the alection they're we're dozans
of perky idelistic litl blond numbers roamign downtown bosten signing
people up for the demarcrats. so id go up to em all rightwignlike an
let em talk me aroun to teh right way a thiknign. whan i finly saw
light an i was all 'whoa so like maybe we shouln hang teh queers
wihtout a fair trial aftar all!' id be like 'id love to fill in taht
form back at ur place' in a real saductive voice an fuck me if tehhy
didn just blow me off! wats wiht that? did i lunge for teh tit to
slow an apear difidant? hep me out here.

but anyway. what rely bugs the fuck outa me is the daservign poar. an
they onyl do it to piss me off. if u can make a 'help-me-im-hugry'
sign an stadn aruond at a intarsectoin all day lokin sorraful than ur
sobar enough to run for ofice an plosable enough to get alected. an
bright enough to do teh job. so piss off to city hall an sned me a
bill. youl get ur money than u freak. wtf u think govarment is
for? cunt.

Monday, September 26, 2005


Sharing the love

Around this stage of the moon's yo-yo diet phase, my thoughts turn to sanitary protection, and with the accompanying surge of hormones comes a change of spirit. Those readers who are women, or who are men, but not too repulsive never to have been friends with women, will know that the arrival of the painters heralds a noticeable change in mood. For most ladies, the change is a negative one, and close friends of the menstruand may notice a snappiness, the odd bitchy comment, or downright psychotic episodes. Not me, boys and girls, I fucking love PMT it makes me want to breed cats and walk barefoot across plants.

So this month, I have decided to ask you, the readers, what it is you want from me. Not Sweet Lou, he can go and fuck his relatives, the miserable old queen, but the rest of you, the ones I love deeply. So, if you will, go on and answer these few questions so that we can make your time on the bile more enjoyable, more fulfilling.

1. How long have you been reading Emerald bile?
2. Are you a man, a woman or a gay?
3. How old are you?
4. Would you describe yourself as a toff, a bourgeois, or a pikey?
5. Do you like reading emerald bile, or are you Freak or James Hargreaves or one of those other ones who reads it, even though they don't like it? And if so, why? (I'm intrigued, honestly)?
6. Does reading emerald bile make you sexually excited (you sick fuck)?
7. What would you like to see discussed here?
8. Do you think the other commenters are wankers? which ones?
9. Do you like the guest writer idea, or is it shite?
10. How did you find out about the site?
11. Do you look at it at work, or does the rude language put the mockers on that
12.What else could we do to make the site more successful. More creative writing, perhaps? a letters page? A photo gallery?

It's your call, people
big big love

Friday, September 23, 2005


I don't care if you can kill, where are your articles?

Everyone is on about the military, and whether they should, or should not be off killing people. I do not care at all, they can do what they fucking like.

I have met a reasonable number of people from the Armed Forces, from a few different countries. I tried to have a conversation with an american marine once, but he was very, very stupid and had a horrible stripe of hair on his head which was not at all becoming. A lot of military people have really busy tattoos, or tattoos in a foreign language which, they will regret in old age. And they are not all that gifted in small talk, are they,the military, preferring to go on about sport, or table manners, and they are really fussy, like a bunch of gays, doing the ironing and sewing and polishing their shoes. But they cannot help that, the Armed Forces, because military training alters the structure of the brain. For example, if a short, thuggish, common man started bellowing orders at a civilian, they would most probably tell the man to go and fuck his sister with a spade. An Armed forces personality would not say that, instead he would leap about and get going, running about in circles and walking at the same speed as all the other people around and leading with the same legs, like dressage for men. To get this level of obedience, the training people in the armed forces beat the recruits and treat them meanly and then give them a cup of tea and a biscuit, addling their minds and blurring the boudaries between good and evil, fighting and mincing about, tea and sadism.

As I say, I am not bothered about military personnel at all, they can go on mincing away and shooting and throwing grenades all they fucking like, but what I don't like is the way they speak, it is fucking lazy. They leave out half the words in a sentence, like a Japanese or a chinaman learning the lingo for the first time. The bastards speak in nouns and verbs, and that is it, with no grammatical trimmings. It would be all very well, I suppose, if it were some kind of military puritannical drive to rid the language of excess baggage, but they fucking swear extravagantly, the murdering cunts, and what's more, they invent all sorts of words to take the place of ones we already have in the english language, like they say "Roger that" instead of "okay" which is more wasteful than okay because it is two words instead of one, do you see?. And, Roger means "to fuck" in english, so in my opinion saying "Fuck that" instead of "Okay then" is the complete opposite.

Thursday, September 22, 2005


Fuckety FAQs

"Why do you not have a FAQ section on your site" writes cunt-faced reader Hoppy. Well, if I did, the only FAQ would be "why do you not have a FAQ on your site" and that would then have answered itself, and for anyone who did not think the very presence of a FAQ section were enough of answer to that question, well I would write "because I hate you fuckers" as well.

FAQs, for those of you too innocent and fucking lucky not to know what they are, are frequently asked questions. I hate people who ask questions, especially people who ask questions to which they know the answer, just to look "inquisitive" and all alert. People who ask questions are fucking tedious, whether their motive is genuine ignorance or wannabe intellectual vanity.

One reason for people to ask questions, is because they are thick, that is pretty evident, but there are some even bigger wankers who ask questions "to be polite". These tossers have probably read one of those arsehole guides to life which say: If you are fucking inept at conversation then ask people stuff, to distract from the fact that you have nothing whatsoever to say for yourself. It's a fucking disgraceful habit. I fucking loathe people asking questions just to try and stop others from noticing that the light in their eyes is just gas, a by-product of the decomposition of their tiny, useless brains*
Even worse than people asking questions for the hell of it or as a decoy, are people who ask the same question over and over again. If you are not a mentaler, and if you have a reasonably functioning memory, and if you have had the neck to ask a question once already, well, then you should be hunted down and skinned for asking the same thing again.And maybe garotted and your innards fed to rats, into the bargain . So, as you might well imagine, the idea of rewarding those people who ask the same question over and over, or a larger number of people with such limited imaginations that they think up the same dreary old question as a hoarde of other plebs, the idea of rewarding them with a whole page of moron answers, well I think it is just fucking appalling.It does not appeal really. The only instance in which I would condone a FAQ page is if it were booby trapped with a great big photograph of a weeping minge. FAQ fuckety fuckwallop

*Don't fucking bother Drs Maroon/scientist going on there about dead people, I know all about it. Rotting things give off a glow and that is it.


Tank-top Teddie, gives his theory on the Irish.

I’m a pretty easygoing Ted in most respects but one place that really gets
on my breasts is Ireland. Fact is I had
to go over there once for certain reasons. Straight off I notice that Cork
Airport has real flame effect gas fire in the arrivals. Nice! Well this is a
sleek billet I’ve found myself, I thought. Was I sorely disappointed though.
Number one you need to know that Ireland is easily the dirtiest bird in the
coop. Plastic bags in trees? That’s not the half of it. Go down to the
beach, you’re looking for a toffee apple and bit of recreation, am I right?
But no way, sailor. You’d have to disinfect the whole shebang twice before
you’d even think of taking your tank-top off.

So there’s the background scenario for you. Now for the human drama.

Up comes some bint. Does she say, hello babe, how are you doing, and by the
way I’m very very sorry about the filthy cesspit that my country is? She
does not. Instead you get some poop about the flowering of gender-focused
environmental consciousness in the New Ireland and how about a couple of
you-row (as in You Row and I’ll Lounge On The Back Seat And Fucking Watch
Like The Lazy Freeloading Feargal I Am) for the campaign fund? Well that
knocks a normal person back. It gets worse. There you are picking your way
between pools of effluent and all they have for you is Celtic healing chants
and Taoist aromatherapy. You are thinking get out the pan and brush and
clean the gaff up you lazy slags and all they care about is Ayurvedic
hairdressing in the wilds of County Arse.

So anyway this got me thinking. First off I dismissed
all the Irish as a load of cunts. But then I think, hold on Teddie: take the
sophisticated route: They all think they are very holy over here. There’s a
history of that kind of thing.
when you are very holy you think the whole world is only a stain on the
undersheet anyway , No great need for cleaning then. But then I go deeper. The Irish all
talk funny – sort of mechanical. What’s more, everything they say is completely
fake, like they are programmed. Item three – well, don’t tell me you need
item three.

You got it: they are fucking robots!

Scene: a hotel bar,
top class, no rubbish.

SINEAD (a bald barmaid, former pop singer): Are you on your holidays, so?

TEDDIE: What’s this ‘so’ business? Why do you keep saying ‘so’?

SINEAD: I don’t, so.

TEDDIE: Christ! You’re a fucking robot!

Out of the shadows come two dark figures who have been sharing a spritzer in
the corner booth.

DR GERRY PAISLEY: Exterminate! Exterminate!

MICHAEL FLATLEY: Exfoliate! Exfoliate!

SINEAD (joining in): Excommunicate! Excommunicate!

TEDDIE: They’re all fucking robots! I’m out of here!

Exit, pursued by a robot.

That’s a flavour of it anyhow. Later on Teddie escapes to a secret island
and builds up a rag-tag warrior band that comes back and after a lot of
battles smashes the Irish robots to bits. Film ends with a shot of Sinead’s
severed robot head (which is secretly a nuclear bomb) flying across the sky
and landing somewhere and vaporizing the whole country including every last
bit of uncollected garbage. Teddie escapes somehow, not quite sure how.
Harold Pinter can iron that out as he works on it.


Wednesday, September 21, 2005


Fart School

There's this programme on the BBC at the moment called "Art School". Now I know what I like, and this show is utter rubbish. Here's the premise: various "celebrities" (and some trendy wanker I've never heard of who plays other people's records for a living) learn how to draw and make sculptures and stuff. It's crap for a host of reasons: Ulrika Jonsson's on it; Keith Allen's on it and he doesn't hit anyone; and - most of all - John Humphrys is on it and he's a total cunt. (Plus it's on TV at the same time as the A-Team.)

I don't care how clever Humphrys is, or how "heavyweight" his political interviews are supposed to be - the man is so far up his own arse that he must be able to hear his shit sloshing around. He obviously doesn't want to be on the programme and behaves like a petulant child whenever someone points a camera at him. Why he agreed to appear on it at all is a mystery.

Everyone knows that UK politics are dull as fuck, and John Humphrys is one of the reasons why. He's written a book about correct usage of the English language, yet he doesn't even know that the plural of Humphry is HumphrIES. And to top it all off, he's Welsh. From a place called Splott, apparently. What an arrogant, lamb-fondling, not-as-good-on-Mastermind-as-Magnus-Magnusson, tedious old fuck.


Tuesday, September 20, 2005


Don't blame Bruges

One of the many, many things that upsets me hugely about being a woman is the concept of daintiness. Held up as a virtue, but actually pure shite, daintiness for me is just another way of saying "people, who like lace". Not the Belgians, they have to like lace, because they make it, but people who have lace in their home rather than on a bra, they are dainty fuckaboons. I hate them.
The Norinator

Monday, September 19, 2005


Inarticulate fuck-cretins

I am not a fan of emotions, I think people who cry loads or are all joyous should be put in snares so they could suffer a lot and enjoy the wide range of emotions from pain to fear to death. Of course, I am not saying that I am some kind of a psycho, just that I find emotional people tiring and self-obsessed and a bit dull, and I want to hurt them and punish them for boring me.

Worse than people being emotional instead of having hobbies or a personality are people who have objects to tell them what their mood is, like a great big stone which changes colour, or a plastic goldfish that writhes in the palm of the hand. What is wrong with these people? How can they not know how they are feeling. I cannot imagine going and asking a stone how I feel.

And even worse than people who have a stone, instead of emotions, instead of a personality, are those ones who post on their blogs one of those shitty little faces and a caption "today I am feeling mean and moody" or "mood today: Bubbly and capricious". Fuckers. I could understand if the people writing the blogs were very, very simple, and not able to communicate with words, but since they are writing a website, they cannot be proper cretins all drooling and really with little more reactions to their surroundings than a plant. The fact is, even though many people with blogs and websites are extremely dull-witted, the very reason for them getting a website is precisely in order to tell the world, in flowery language, every undulation of their emotional journey in this life. I saw this post on a blogNow you have left me I want to slit my throat and wrists, but I can't do it, because if I slit my throat first, then I will be too weak to do the wrists and if I do the wrists first, then my hands will be all hanging off and unable to hold the knife properly to slit my throat and underneath there is a small face with a downturned mouth and the caption "today's mood: melancholy"
The Norinator


Have you got what it takes to be a Biler?

-Emerald Bile is diversifying to meet the challenges of the information age. We’re going to have some guest writers. And not just any old moron: we’re talking about the big hitters: your Maroons and your Hawtreys; your Bogols and your Hungbunnies.

Those are some class morons. Let us know if you want to join the team. Standards are by no means high.

-We’re trying to sign up John B as our new striker. As you may have heard, he made some comment about gas chambers, and some crybaby blackmailed him threatening to tell his employers. If we’re going to start closing whole websites on the strength of a single asinine or tasteless remark then the entire blogosphere* is fucked and buggered. Anyway, he's very welcome here, provided he promises not to offend anyone. That's the last thing we want to do.

-Ball Bag wants us to have robot names. What a fucking stupid idea. Why should we have robot names? But, looking at it from another angle, why shouldn’t we have robot names? From now on he‘s the Baggattron, Noreen is the Norinator and I’ll be the Huttonizer. We’ll see how it works out.

*Only a-holes use this word, but I can't think of another way of phrasing it.

Thursday, September 15, 2005


Because we're worth it

I am naturally blonde, I don't laugh at blonde jokes, in a desperate bid to pass my bleached barnet off as real, I don't need to. I have blonde eyebrows, like Boris Becker and my collars and cuffs match too. So, to conclude, I am naturally blonde and have no highlights or dye jobs anywhere. Now before you all go on there saying "you are an aryan neo nazi hell-bitch" then I shall say this to you. Some of my best friends are brunettes, and natural colouring is a lottery. Such a lottery, in fact, that my dear sister Maud, happens to be very dark. In fact, she used, quite often to be given the pakistani girls school photo instead of her own. So there you have it. There is no need at all for everyone to be blonde. Embrace your natural colour.

Not least because a very serious reason, a sinister plot,a matter of life and death far more important than cranking Miss Mousy-Hair another painful notch up the attractive ladder, a serious sinister, desperate reason exists to swear off the bleach and get the bastard banned from the shops. Terrorists. Yes, terrorists fucking love the stuff. Look on any little fourteen-year old todger-tugger's bomb-making website and inbetween highly impractical advice like "bang a nail into a battery, scrape out the innards" there is the well known and very obvious advice "get some Hydrogen Peroxide". They point out that Hydrogen Peroxide is a long name for "sun in" or hair bleach, the liquid which makes the less-blonde, blonder, and can be easily bought at supermarkets, and chemists. The London tube bombs were all made from hydrogen peroxide, for in England, just like America, non-blondes stamp their spoilt feet to have an easy supply of hair-colourant.

I read this atrocious thing I think it is a disgrace that she, who writes a piece about bleach has the neck to call herself a blonde librarian? What the fuck? She may well be a librarian, but she is not blonde, is she, otherwise she would not be buying bleach and bitching that she hasn't got enough money to buy the vast, vast amount of bleach she needs to turn her hair blonde. All wannabe blondes are killers and should be set on fire in a tunnel.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005


Ring piece

Noreen’s wedding and engagement rings make her finger feel like a pigeon’s leg. I hate jewellery generally but engagement rings especially. I only like them when the bloke has gone for the cheapskate option and produced something hideous, vomited up from the crevices of Mummy’s knicker drawer, last worn by long-dead fingers, and the grasping bird is stuck with it for as long as the marriage lasts, smiling weakly and harping on about the sentimental value and romance of wearing something some decrepit old witch has died in.

Otherwise they are just vulgar trump cards, for women just like that red ‘Sold’ card you see on tired furniture in auction rooms, or a walking bank statement for the men. And all a diamond is anyway is a very squashed bit of coal, and it’d be much more useful cutting window panes than sitting uselessly on your finger like a big twinkling wart. Last time I had one I had nightmares about it where I couldn’t lift my left hand off the ground and it was very tricky walking round like half an orang-utang: in the dream luckily I could still wipe my arse with the other hand but a lot of other daily tasks were made very difficult.


Monday, September 12, 2005


Is the pope a Catholic? No, he's a four by two

I am sick to the back teeth of fucking conspiracy theories, they are as stupid as religion, a way of spicing up the dull, the mundane, the absolutely bog-normal occasions of flatulent evil which erupt from time to time in the world.

There is all this shite being flung around, about a secret group who rule the world, and people constructing acts of terrorism in order to get this or that person to go to war with the "supposed" perpetrators. Fuckety fuckety fuckballs, is what I say.

Do you know I read this thing, which said that the pope (the new pope, not the dear old Pole) founded this secret sect, the one some people believe to be a group of top- notch Jews who rule the world? At the same time, there are all these reports that the pope is also a Nazi, with photos and the works. Can one be a Jew and a Nazi at the same time? Well, yes, if you were to believe an Iraqi I met in the launderette a few years ago, who told me that the Nazis were actually Jews, trying to purify their own race by killing a lot of them. However, this Iraqi also told me that he himself had fled his country because he was a top engineer working on secret projects, the Brain of Baghdad, he was known by all. If I were a stupid moron, I might have believed him, but I looked at the evidence, which was a creepy man hanging around the gravitational spinner, preaching religious hatred and I thought "deluded mentalist", not "Evil mastermind".

People join the priesthood because they are too lazy to get real jobs, and being the infallible leader of the Catholic faith, is quite a taxing job for a lazy bastard. I absolutely cannot think of many priests who would do that job of pope, really at all, let alone any who would, just as a sideline, be Jewish as well as Pope, because being Jewish is quite a palaver with all the restrictions and rituals, and hundreds of festivals and weddings that go on for a week. Add to being the head of the Catholic Church, and a practising Jew, the daunting task of also being the secret ruler of the world, and you don't get any takers. Catholic priests are just not cut out for that sort of workload, my Parish Priest, for instance, had a level of multi tasking which consisted of sipping a large Jamesons with his eyes closed. He had nothing at all to do with the christmas fair, or collecting for the St Vincent de Paul, as he was all taken up with just being a religious figure.
Then someone else is there saying "Oh But Pope Benedict, he made the vatican choose him by hypnotising all the cardinals, and he killed John Paul as well" "No", says another penis-puller "John Paul is not dead, he is in charge of the lot of them, always has been. In fact, he is not a pole, not a bit of it. He is a central asian muslim"
I blame Dan Fucking Brown and the awful pile of shite "The Da Vinci Code". He has started everyone off trying to make the world a more complicated place and all he has achieved is a bunch of wild-eyed bores just fucking going on and on about great bands of people organising stuff, when in fact, things just happen, because everyone is far too dis-fucking-organised and busy looking up their own holes for some great theory about why things are bollocksed. Well, they are bollocksed and that is it, and if anyone disagrees with me I shall get my crack team of aliens to wipe your memories and replace all thought with Enya music

Friday, September 09, 2005


They can't help themselves!

Americans make a real meal of it when things go wrong. They made a terrible fuss about 9/11 and still harp on about it, and as for the way they are handling the Hurricane, well I have never seen such a shower of useless weeping cunts. When Holland went under water, some boy called Peter stuck his finger in a dam, and saved everyone. When the yanks get flooded they go around shooting each other.
They have a real problem with the shops being closed as well, and this is not the fault of americans, it is the fault of the television and those shows where people get upset about something, and instead of shouting, or going to the pub, or going for a long walk, they get in their huge, huge cars and drive to a massive mall and buy stuff. The shops are closed in New Orleans at the moment, so the people go out to buy stuff, to take their minds off the critical situation, and when they find the shops are closed they just steal stuff instead. I bet the american tourists were a real thorn in the side during the London bombings, you can imagine all these people crawling for miles through smoke filled tunnels and the yank is at the back there saying "I like your watch" and going through everyones pockets, thieving their wallets and taking rings off the dead, the fucking pikey cunts.

Thursday, September 08, 2005


The World View

I had lunch with a Persian man and I ordered couscous, even though I fucking hate it to death, it is like eating damp sand. There is not a lot of choice of things to eat here, and couscous is better than brain. This one, the Persian started tittering away to himself as the waiter wrote down the order. I think he wanted me to say"so what's the joke?" so I did not, I took absolutely no notice at all. That is the best way to deal with foreign people laughing, no contest. Anyway he carried on laughing a bit and then he said "Oh, I will tell you why I am laughing" and before I could say anything at all he said "In Farsi the word "couscous" is rude it is like saying "penispenis". Well, whatever. I do not think "penispenis" is all that rude, do you? What is more, it isn't even that odd to order "penispenis" in a restaurant because there are plenty of cuisines here in the world who think nothing of eating a penis. The Chinese eat oxes penis which means the french do too, because the french and chinese eat exactly the same things just in different sauces.
Anyway he should watch it because the word "Farsi" in french means "stuffed" and in some english speaking places "stuffed" is a politer way of saying "fucked", so his language, in other languages, means "fucked" which is ruder than "penis". He should be more tolerant that persian and not laugh at other cultures the xenophobic cunt

Wednesday, September 07, 2005


Thinking about Mark Morrison

I don't normally have a lot of time for pop singers, especially those ones who have gone right off the radar, but there is one person who occupies a special place in my memory and that is "return of the Mac", Mark Morisson. He was a fine figure of a man, with a huge coat which was not a mac, it was a fur one made out of about ten alsatian dogs, and I remember when he went on top of the pops to sing the only song he ever made "return of the mac", he was sweating like a rapist. Then, he shot a man or maimed him, went to jail, got out of the jail, shot another person, or maimed them and went back in again.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005


The best beggar

I am fucking sick of beggars, over here where I live they just don't fucking stop. Certainly there are some very poor people about, and no, I don't hate the poor, I think they need a welfare state to take care of them. There are plenty of fucking rich people about in this country, they just need to redistribute the wealth a little better. Instead of the rich spending their money on fancy mosques and funding terrorism, they could cough up some taxes to take care of the many homeless and starving. There is some religious side to begging, unfortunately, as well, where people are supposed to give away a proportion of their wealth, although since this is between people and their religious conscience, I am not convinced they all do. What a load of bollocks. All it means is, you get this horrible, pestering society with everyone chiselling the knackers off each other because people cannot tell whether you have or have not yet given away the tenth of your income, so just on the off-chance, the beggars will run up to you and start hassling and crying and really hamming it up to get your pity. Someone should invent a sign or something which says "Fuck off, I have already given away my bit" Or they should just get fucking taxes, and spend them on poor people and hospitals and give people a bit of self respect, the fuckers.

There are different beggars here to the ones you get in London (who are normally just a bit mental or winos), the speciality here, are the ones who have a really gruesome amputation or injury and they come after you and show you their stump or their eye socket. That works on some people who are squeamish, who pay them to go away, but I have, on my travels paid money to go to a freakshow, and so I am quite fascinated by the amputees and webbed footed characters, and I admire, rather than pity them and I like the way they shove their stumps right under your nose or point to the rotting gangrenous bits of their bodies, there is a ballsiness there. I prefer the amputee beggars to the ones that just stand about crying and mumbling, they are pointless. They don't shut up, the mumbling ones, if someone gives them some cash either, they carry on there, groaning and gibbering and wringing their hands. I wonder how much you would have to give them to make them shut their howling, keening selves up and fuck off and buy a kebab.
The best beggar I ever met was in the North of England, the sort of tramp you see in a story book, aging, fond of the sauce, always on the same park bench sometimes singing an old song. I was a young mother at the time, pushing my pram and I would always say hello to him and sometimes I would give him a cigarette. Anyway, one day I was going past with my baby and he leapt up from his bench, took his hat off and gave me fifty pence,. because he said I brought him luck, which was not entirely true I brought him fags. Anyway he was the best beggar

Monday, September 05, 2005


Yaaaaaarrrrggghhhh, give me a fucking well-paid job you big cunt!

I worked in a personnel department for a while, can you believe it?? It was just fucking desperate: dull, miserable work with the worst combination of utterly pointless beaurocracy and really frightening and complicated legal dullness. The only good bit was reading people's CVs which was hilarious because of the things job applicants write about themselves, and the very high opinion a lot of them hold, of their amazingly ordinary (NVQ in Science, sunday league football) abilities. But what amazed me every single fucking time, and it has caught on everywhere, is the increasing use of people describing themselves as "aggressive". One time, there was, when you would most certainly not describe yourself as aggressive, even if you were, and what's more, describing anyone else as aggressive would most certainly get you an invitation to fight in the car park. The truth was, that people accusing other people of being aggressive were not only being aggressive themselves, but also doing a self-fulfilling prophecy by just accusing someone of being aggressive. Now it is a different matter. There are job adverts asking for "aggressive indivuals" which to me, is another way of saying "young offenders" or "closing time queue at the kebab shop", and you would not generally be in the habit of approaching these types and offerering them a six figure salalry. Or maybe they are altruists, these employers, wanting to rehabilitate the troubled. Whatever the reasons, the atmosphere in the offices must be awful, and I bet they make them all write with felt tipped pens, and have to have someone responsible and non-aggressive in charge of the scissors and staplers

Friday, September 02, 2005


Quick, someone shag Johnny5

Reader Johnny5 has not had it for a month. He is unattractive, but not fussy. Anyone?


Power walking?

The movement options for a human being are pretty straightforward: There is walking, and there is running and there is not anything in between. If you are not in a hurry, you walk. If you need to get somehwere fast or you are getting away from a dog, you run. For centuries now, people been content with these two, perfectly acceptable ways of moving about, but now, despite the invention of the Bike and the donkey and the car, there are still these arseholes busy out there on their two legs trying to find a different way of moving about. There is no need for it, and what they have invented as a half-way house betwen the walk, and the run are things which make me so unspeakably angry, I really could just shit.

What about that thing they do on the olympics where the people walk fast but must always keep one foot on the ground at all times, and they have their buttocks all clenched up, and they waggle from side to side.? Speed walking, it is, and a job for a cunt's cunthole. It looks so very, very gay, speed walking. Fans of it go on "Oh speed walking is as fast as a run", well then why, for fuck's sake, do they not just run? they are obviously physically very fit, these speed walkers, as they are going as fast as a runner. They are stubborn cunts, that is the truth of it.

Power walking does not look quite as gay as speed walking, as the bit of the walker that is moving in an ostentatious and faux-sportif way is the arms. Speed walkers waggle their behinds, power walkers punch the air a bit or just do an exaggerated swinging of the arms. If you have never seen a power walker then I shall explain what it looks like, it is as if you met a wild-man and explained to him what "marching" is, and he had never ever seen anyone march in real life, and then you asked him to march, what he would do , would be power walking.
I fucking hate it because it is not sport at all, and yet people get all dressed up in sports clothes and have this look of concentration on their stupid faces, as if waving your arms around and opening and closing your fists as if you were milking an invisible cow, is somehow difficult. It is fucking weird, that is what it is, but not difficult.
Power walking is even worse than speed walking because people believe it is some kind of virtuous activity when it is not, it is just going for a walk, and they say things like "oh, power walking gets you more fit that running". That is just not true, though is it, because the difference between the people I see running about and the ones I see dressed in expensive tracksuits with pedometers and tiny wrist weights who are speed-walking, is that the walking ones are quite often gargantuan, and rarely look like the picture of health. I knew this woman who liked power walking and she was always on and on about how fit she was and how great it was for you, and we had to run to catch the bus one day and she was fucking slow, and wheezing away like an old cripple and we only ran about 200 yards along the street. I smoke, and I beat her, which was a great victory because half of her going on about power walking was a dig at me sitting there with a fag in my gob.

And I hate the way it is called "power walking" when there is no power involved at all. Giving a gay thing a macho name fools noone. Calling men's makeup "skin sloughing face roughener" does not disguise the gayeity of it, any more than Julian Clary renaming himself "Spike Toughweasel" would make you think he had stopped being a gay. You would look at him and if Julian Clary was still wearing makeup and talking in a hushed and mincing way, then you would just think he had gone insane, or was copying Cat Stephens, you would not think that he had stopped being a lifter.These power walkers and speed walkers should stop waggling their arses and waving their hands around and just walk, run or go on a fucking bus, the cunts

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