Thursday, December 29, 2005


You Wicked Fuckers!

Graveyards are places, you have to go to sometimes, to put flowers on your relatives. Many people make a great song and a dance about visiting a grave and go on about it being all "creepy", or "terribly uplifting and peaceful". Bollocks. I am absolutely ambivalent about graveyards, I don't really see the point of hanging around the dead, as they don't give a fuck whether you do or not, but I would not refuse to go to a graveyard as they are just like flowerbeds except with larger stones, and I am not worried about a few old deaders under my feet.

The other day I was in a graveyard, and I wandered off to look at the various graves around the place. There were some extremely vulgar ones, with small pieces of glass filling the trench, glass the colour of salmon, and a few graves decorated with very ostentatious carved angels, crying, and sometimes there was even a photo of the dead person, sort of stuck onto the stone. But it was not the statuary that interested me so much, as the utter crap that was written as an epitaph. All this wack-wack about people being "dearly beloved husbands" and stuff which could not be true of a whole town of people in a big field. Worse than the restrospective hypocrisy of the great praise of the epitaphs was a headstone which said :"Dearest Mum, fell asleep April 18th 1993, Rest In Peace". Well I ask you!! The neck of it! I am quite sure there are a lot of people who have helped their old mothers along the road to Jesus with a crafty pillow over the face, or an extra large one of morphine, but there cannot be many who lack the patience even to finish the old wagon off before placing her in the ground. Fell asleep! They were lucky she did not wake up in the morgue and start shouting and banging on the fridge or knocking on the lid of the coffin during the service, and I expect the poor woman wore away her fingertips to bleeding stumps, scratching away trying to get out. If you are going to kill your relatives, then do it properly, and if you cannot wait to kill them, then do not advertise the fact on a tombstone. Fucking thicko murdering bastards.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005


Have your own conversation, you cunt!

It is fashionable to like eccentric people at the moment, and many fashionable types are busy making a point of hanging around with weird, odd and loony people.

In the same way that many mediocre and averagely attractive women collect ugly or fat friends, to make them appear more attractive, if you are boring, it is a good idea to surround yourselfwith twitching loons and gibbering nuts, so that an insipid personaliy can be masked by a great flurry of nervous tics and exclamations.

I can't be doing with weirdos for the sake of it. I think it is a fashion like "the poncho" which I am just going to give an absolute miss. But they are everywhere, weirdos, and it is hard to avoid them all. I met this man the other day who insisted in joining in at the end of every sentence I uttered, and by "joining in", I do not mean one of those arseholes who just says "Exactly" Or "I couldn't agree more", I mean the man actually tried to guess what it was I was trying to say and then said what he thought I was going to say, at the same time as me.

It might have been impressive if he had managed to get it right, but he only picked the same words as me about twenty percent of the time. And it was fucking irritating, because he stood there, making his his mouth into different word shapes, with no sound coming out and then he suddenly shouted: "Shop!" or whatever the last word of the sentence I was saying, at the same time as me, which was quite unnerving.

As well as being odd and unnerving, the few times he would guess the correct word, were pretty unimpressive. For instance, I might say "Well, I think it's time I went now, so I will just go outside into the drive and get into my..." and then he would shout "Car!" and be so fucking pleased with himself, it was actually an occasion for worry rather than just a gross irritation. And he even got one wrong, like I said "Now, I have run out of sausages so I had better fit in a trip to the.." and he shouted "Supermarket" when I was going to say "Butchers" so he was a bit of a cunt really.

And what about those people who have to mouth the words when they are reading a book! They are cunts are they not? I have often wondered if they are just trying to wind up deaf-mutes and start an enormous, flailing fight ,with no noise apart from odd grunts and groans, which would actually be incredibly cool, but in truth, I think they are a bit simple.

I have no time for being tolerant towards simple people, in fact I think it is patronising to be nice to simple people and so the next time someone mouths words, or tries to second guess what I am about to say, I will take a handful of maggots and stuff them down their throats

Saturday, December 24, 2005


I am very glad I am not foreign

Christmas is a time to be thankful for things, and although I think that being thankful is quite a gay thing to be bothering to be, I am feeling pretty smug about not being a foreigner.
I would hate to be foreign at christmas, because foreigners who celebrate christmas do it very poorly.
The first thing that they do is to get the wrong day altogether. Instead of celebrating Christmas on Christmas Day, and I think the name makes it pretty clear that that is the day to do the celebrating, christmas DAY, they do it the evening before, on the day that is called Christmas Eve, which again is not to hard to work out, is supposed to be the day before you celebrate, the EVE . The reason foreigners do this, is because they have no patience or self control. These Europeans open their presents before the holy family would have even checked in at the Inn, and then have their main christmas dinner on the day before the day you should actually have Christmas dinner. What's more, they do not just leave it at getting the day wrong, they also eat the wrong things.

There is nothing better than gammon and turkey and proper vegetables like parsnips and sprouts, and some foreign people understand that and ape the Irish custom of a proper Christmas dinner, which is fine. After all, imitation is the best form of flattery, so you have to hand it to the French, for having the good sense to eat a large bird at Christmas. Not all of our foreign friends are as clued on as the French though, some of them turn their noses up at the turkey or the goose, preferring filthy things like Carp, which are fish that live off human flesh, or eels, those filthy great snakes sliding around dirty lakes, all dark and slithery, or spaghetti or lasagne, which is a bit everyday for the biggest festival of the year in my opinion, and that horrible stuff nougat which is pure shite in comparison to a box of Roses chocolates or a quality street. So there you have it, the only good way to celebrate christmas is to be Irish. That is all

Thursday, December 22, 2005


Stick your reasons up your arse, Stephen King

I do not read books very often, reading is gay. However, it is raining, and Al Jazeera TV is pure shite, and I found a Stephen King book. Stephen King, I thought, was alright..... I liked that film "The Shining", it was absolutely terrifying, and people always say "The book is better than the film". I have not heard of a film called"The dark Tower, the gunslinger", but there might be one, and if there were, I would not watch it, because I can read the book,: "The dark tower, the gunslinger", which will be a better and more entertaining use of my time.

Now that I have read the thing, I will give you some advice: If there is a film of "The dark Tower, the gunslinger", then for christ's sake, please, do not watch it. The book was just fucking awful and not only because the story itself was dull, it was the way the book was organised.

Many authors start their oeuvres with a self indulgent and whimsy page or two, introducing both the book and themselves, two pages which nobody reads. Two page introdiuctions are fine. Authors are great big queens and divas and imagine that other people want to know stuff about them, even though we do not, so they fill the two pages up with shite like:"The author lives in total disorganisation in Berkshire with his wife June and eleven cats", a little piece of information which is supposed to make you like the author and forgive them if their book is rubbish. I don't forgive them at all, if their books are shite, in fact, it is then that I make a point of reading the introduction, so I can go and check out messy, rambling vicarages in the english countryside and firebomb them.

Normal introductions in books are tedious self-indulgent yawny-yawn, but Stephen King has reached new heights in the extremely long introduction to the expanded version of the "The dark tower: The Gun Slinger". It is called the "expanded version" because the first version of the book was so bad, he had to rewrite it and put more words in to make it longer. Fair enough, if only he had used the extra words to make the story more interesting rather than writing a fifty page rambling introduction which was like going on a tour of his arsehole, all dark and bleak and boring as fuck. The introduction was a terribly smug and self-aware description of himself, and like, how crazy and mad he was when he first wrote the tedious tome: "When I was nineteen I was so arrogant". Well fuck me! leopards do not change their spots do they? He may well have been an arrogant article at nineteen, but he hasn't learnt from his mistakes, has he, the cunt? All that has happened with the years going by, is, the man has got so arrogant, instead of just writing boring books, he has to go on and on and on and on and on about why he writes the books. I do not care why you write books, Stephen King, I just wish you would shut up, fuck off and write about loonies creeping about and people getting posessed, that is all.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005


Noreen thinks it is weird

The third person should be used for exactly that, third people. People who refer to themselves in the third person should be eaten by rats. "Come and sit on Santa's knee". I don't fucking think so. It's "come and sit on MY knee", you fat, old beardy cunt.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005


Older parents' children are fucking awful

I love children, and can't fucking stand those bitter women who announce that they never want to have children, as a response to meeting someone who has them. You know the kind, women who had quite a few boyfriends in their early twenties, and then an enormous dry spell, during which they became more and more self obsessed, and think people are interested in whether or not they intend to breed. Noone is interested. I don't care whether people have children or not, they can get sterilised, or have a million little bastards all living off the state, I couldn't give a shite.
Yes, I am a very special person indeed, because I am even tolerant of children who scream on planes, or who have screaming tantrums in restaurants or shops, it just does not bother me a bit. Quite often, I totally agree with the little fuckers. It IS boring, waiting in a queue, or hanging about waiting for some french nonce to bring you awful food, and planes are big arseholes. Without Bach Rescue Remedy, I would definitely scream on planes too, they are dreadful places.

I am incredibly tolerant of children, as long as they are off, busy being children. I have no wish whatsoever to talk to them, or answer their repetitive and irritating questions. The best rule to teach your children, is not to speak to anyone more than two years older or two years younger than them, unless it is an absolute emergency. This way, children have conversation topics in common with the person they are speaking to: the names of fossils, or awful japanese monsters, hilarious tales about the friend at nursery school who forgot his pencil case. Even better still, children do not have to answer awful grown up questions like :"Are you enjoying school", or "What are you doing at school at the moment" which I used to think, and still think, the most extraordinary sort of thing to ask anyone. And adults escape the moronic monolgues of the young, droning on and on about space, or their new cartoon socks. Not that there is anything WRONG with talking utter shit, it can be soothing to listen to, but I find, if I want some moronic conversation,then I go to the hairdressers, and kill two birds with one stone. I get the high of thinking: "This person is an utter cretin" and I come out with a neater coiffure. Until children can blow-dry really effectively, they should be seen and not heard.

Many of the children I know are born to "older" parents, and it might sound unkind, but older parents are absolute cunts. Flabbergasted that something which is not excrement, can come out of a bodily orifice, they drag their horrible offspring (who always have totally mental names) everywhere, and retire from society entirely themselves, answering all questions through their children. I had a conversation just the other day which went like this:
Me: " So, what are your plans for Christmas? Are you staying here?"
Old Parent "What are we doing for Christmas, Florian-Jay?"
Brat: stuttering, drooling, looking at his nails, twisting one leg around the other "We are going to my aunt's"
Me (addressed to parent) "Is that the aunt who used to live in a commune, the one who married an Algerian?"
Old Parent "Which aunty is it, Florian-Jay"
Brat: "My, um my, um my um (MASSIVE PAUSE) My, um . I like winnie the pooh, do you like winnie the pooh?"

Fucking awful children with the manners of goats. Worse manners than goats, because their stupid, doting parents have taught them that, as long as you prefix any type of extreme impertinence with a mumbled "Scuse me", then everyone will be delighted to call a halt to the interesting conversation they were having and listen to the nipper's bunch of garbled hogshite recounted in the type of old-git language their parents use: "As a matter of fact, I am at nusery school. It is nice, Mummy takes me there. For your information I'm thoroughly enjoying it". Jesus Fucking Christ.

Sunday, December 18, 2005


Etymology is for cunts

I received an early Christmas present yesterday, this book about the fascinating stories behind awful phrases like "going like Billio" and "The cat's Miaow", the type of things with which people who play golf, or toastmasters, or really awful women who think they are "characters", decorate their prose . I think the kind donor of the book was hoping I would broaden my vocabulary beyond the gutter, and dip into the fanatsic cliche buffet this awful book contains.

I am not remotely interested in the origin of imbecile phrases. It reminds me of being at school and listening to tweedy bore-bore paedophile masters going on and on and being delighted with themselves for banishing a myth "It was not named after King William , as so many people think, No it was not, it is a corruption of an ancient norse saying......" Now, as then, I am not at all interested in the origins of half-wit sayings, or the very many myths that surround their origins. Who cares? The way that language has evolved is not a useful thing to know. It is what will happen to it in the future that is important, and it is going to shrink and become sparser and neater, with clean lines. After all, minimalism has been very popular for ages in home furnishing, and it will catch on everywhere, I am telling you. People are suffering stress from too many possessions and responsibilities, and the very idea that you should be able to recall the origin of some awful old phrase which should have been left to die back in the nineteenth century when some pompous fucker invented it, well it is mental cruelty. These things will die out, and we will start to communicate clearly. I have never said "that is the bees knees". I have never said it, because I always thought that people who said it were big arseholes.

The truth is, that you can make yourself understood in about one hundred words, there is absolutely no need to use any more than that. In any language. You can probably get away with fifty in german, because they don't talk about as many things as other people, but one hundred words is more than enough for everyone else.

This twee little book of facts about hideous old phrases, is not a new concept. It is not even the first book about etymology that I have been given. Someone, a very long time ago, gave me a book of French Idioms, a great tome full of shitty old Froggy sayings which would apparently make you seem more "French" when speaking French. I mean the THOUGHT of it. Communicating in french is alright, I don't have a lot of time for people who think that shouting english is an okay way to behave in someone else's country, but ingratiating yourself to that extent, and hoping to be mistaken for one of them is just fucking out of the question. No thank you. I can't abide those expat arshole types who announce: "I think in french" or whatever the lingo is in the place they live which is not their native country. Of course they do not fucking think in french. And if they do? They should be shot.

It is quite amusing when foreigners try that same nonsense in english and say things like: "Oh boy, I am really frothing at the gash for the British museum, it is super-cool" but they still look like cunts the poor try- hard fuckers. And do you know why using obscure and quaint and quirky little sayings makes you look like a cunt? Because the word "idiom" the word we use to describe these very special and individual turns of phrase comes from the word "Idiot" which is a synonym for cunt.

Thursday, December 15, 2005


Wanky Yanks

"Happy Holidays" said this american woman to me, yesterday. "Oh I am staying here", I said "We are not going away, my husband has to work". She looked at me oddly "I meant Happy Holidays, as in Happy Holiday season". "Right", I said "Well, where I come from the holiday season is usually your last week of July and the first week of August. I expect it is different though, with you in America. You have the good weather all year round, so it would make sense to go on holidays in December and take advantage of the lowered prices in the resorts. There are people back at home who go off on skiing holidays, of course, but I don't like them. It's a waste of a week, in my opinion. So do you all spend Christmas in a hotel then, in America? That must save on the old washing up. It's a great idea for the woman of the house".

I had to go then, because I was just desperate for a shit, you know how it is, and somehow speaking to this woman always has that effect on me. She is married but calls herself by her maiden name, which is just weird. I would not bother getting married at all. Half the fun is having a different name for a bit. She also harps on about how she is all sorts of a different type of an american, like she is a german-latina- arab-american or something. Fuck, who cares. And she is always on about some cause or other and how we should raise the awareness. In short she is an absolute cunt, and obviously a mental cunt as well, assuming that people are going on holiday when there is no suitcase in sight.

Later on I asked my american friend Suzanka if there were any explanation for this extraordinary conversation, and she told me that it is Offensive, in America, to say "Happy Christmas" to people who are not christians. Bollocks it is. I bet Americans have just never tried it. Certainly people who are not Christians don't seem that squeamish about saying Happy Christmas to people. For instance, last year I got a christmas card from the local minicab firm, who are Sikhs to a man, and it had a picture of the Holy Family on the front and "Happy Christmas" in the middle. And the kebab shop on the corner, staffed entirely by devout Iraqi muslims obliged with a nice painting of the Madonna and child, proceeds of the card to Cafod. And the corner shop who are owned by Hindus with a few muslim assistants, sent a beautiful card with a touching picture of the Annunciation and the whole of that hymn "The angel gabriel" written in italics inside.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005


Not in my name

I like receiving presents a lot. I really am not that fussy, I like expensive underwear, scent, cookery books, jewels, chocolates (British, no continental shite), and pretty much anything from Millets the outdoor pursuits shop. Not that I am particularly into outdoor pursuits, I like a nice walk up a hill, but all the small pots and pans and the towels that dry in a minute are fucking excellent. I would not even turn my nose up at a calendar with some nice pictures on it. I mean, giving a calendar implies a wish for the recipient of the calendar to be a bit organised, which some people might take as a cheeky fucking insult, but not me no. I am all big hearted about receiving presents, even if they are a bit shite.

There is only one type of present which makes me feel violent, and that is the Ethical Gift Certificate. You open a card and in it is a voucher, but not a good voucher, like one for WH Smiths or Boots the Chemists, No, it is a shitty voucher telling you that instead of buying you a present, your relative or friend has taken it upon themselves to buy someone else some seeds or a hoe, or a goat. The someone else is a poor starving african, usually, and that is supposed to stop you being insanely furious that your person who would normally buy you something, has decided to buy someone else something "in your name".

I have no problem with your do gooders wanting to do good, as long as they do it quietly and leave me out of it. And that is what God thinks too, as I remember the nuns saying: if you did the first friday prayers with some kind of a goal in mind as a reward for your piety, then God would spot it and say "Oh, she's not coming here for the sacrifice, she is coming here for the reward, the scheming little cunt. There's an extra five years in purgatory for your grandmother now to teach you a lesson". Very often people who are all obsessed with charities and giving are also religious, so they should realise that far from securing a place in heaven with all this ostentatious giving, they have just made Jesus hate them.

I knew these people who asked the guests at their wedding, to give money to a charity, and some other ones, where I think the woman was a little bit mental, who wanted people to adopt goats and wolves and things in their name. Fair enough, and it beats going out and buying forks or boring electrical goods as wedding gifts. If people ask you to buy a hoe for an african, then that is fine. Because they, the recipients are making a choice to have imaginary goats walking around grateful to them, or a village of africans with gleaming hoes to scrape through mud.

The meanest thing about ethical gift certificates is that as well as denying you, the recipient, an actual present, it also denies you the opportunity to decide to be all bountiful and bask in the warm fuzzy at the thought of the happy wolves, or the people gardening on the other side of the world. All the pleasure is in the giving of the certificate, and that is just wrong. Giving should not be a pleasure, it should be hard, you should be handing over something which you would desperately like to keep yourself, so marvellous is the present you have chosen. Receiving an ethical gift certificate is just a vicious disappointment, tainted with the stink of sanctimony, and the unfair picture of your ex-friend, opening their great pile of presents, feeling like they have saved the world and having given their nearest and dearest the square root of fuck all. And you know that the Ethical Gift givers are secretly happy that you hate your present, and that they have especially enjoyed thinking "well, it might just make them a bit less selfish" or "Christmas is not about presents" or "Perhaps this will teach them the joy of helping others". Perhaps it won't. If you want to buy hoes for africans, then go out and buy them fucking hoes. But not in my name, you cunts

Tuesday, December 13, 2005


Five.. Six.. Seven..Eight...Cunty Cunty Cunty Cunt

There are many irritating things about this time of year. It is the only time of year that people say "Yule", for example, which I fucking hate. It is a time of year when people wear hilarious jumpers with reindeers on, or singing socks or Father Christmas hats, and fat, ugly, raddled women try to distract the eye from their gargantuan mingingness, by decorating less hideous parts of the body, like their ears and foreheads, with tinsel. Christmas is a very gay time of year indeed, but nothing is as awful as the seasonal launch of exercise videos. Presented by some of the most irritating "celebrities" imaginable, like Jade, famous only for being thick, or that dreadful, gauche and unfunny, shouting bore, Davina Mccall, or a whole bunch of people just shy of real loserdom - pop stars with flagging careers, or famous recovering addicts, or reality television come-back kids. Whoever they are, they are sheer cunts for making the videos and I would love to cut off all their fat with a blunt knife to make sure they never, ever need to make an exercise video ever again.

Worse than the idiots who make spectacles of themselves, writhing and gurning to low-quality Belgian house music, whilst barking unintelligible exercise commands, are the muppets who buy the videos with the hope of looking like Jeanette Krankee, Michelle from Eastenders, Jimmy Hill or whoever else this year, has decided to do ashtanga yoga, in public, for money. It's a recipe for guilt, buying an exercise video, a waste of money and encourages other useless celebrities, who would be far better off keeping the rehab facilities in business, to go on film wearing lycra and yelling. And worst of all are the people who buy exercise videos because they are too scared to buy a porn film. I know a few men, who bought the Elle Mcpherson video to wank to, or the other exercise one with Cindy Crawford. Jesus Christ, do they not have the internet? Just the other day I watched this man with a penis at least two feet long and another man with a smaller one, both of them trying to stuff their cocks into the same woman's hole. And it didn't cost a penny.

Monday, December 12, 2005


Goodwill to all men except for mediocre, wannabe- hippy cunts

I hate touchy feely people, I just cannot fucking stand them, all thoughtful and considerate and asking how everyone is and pretending to give a shit about everything, from the type of fridge they have, to the welfare of the children of Congo. Fuck them all up the arses, the boring, caring cunts.

The main reason that I hate these people, is because, like Christians and other faith-hampered bores, they misguidedly think that other people are interested in the personal choices they have made, and what's more, take great exception to people who do not believe exactly the same thing as them.

Taking exception to other people not doing, or thinking the same as you is perfectly alright, as long as you are upfront about being a bit of a bastard. I do not hide the fact that I am a sociopath, I am one, and therefore the actions and indeed presence of most people, get right on my nerves. If, however, I pretented to be all "caring" and engaged in the planet, with an eye on the bigger picture and how my actions might impact upon some poor black child at the other end of the earth, whilst criticising everybody else's behaviour wildly, then I would be a hypocritical cunt.

Taking exception to the behaviour of other people whilst claiming to be a "libertarian" or "a fucking hippy" is absolutely mental. This one was on to me the other day about Macdonalds the hamburger restaurant, saying "Oh, we do not go to Macdonalds". "Why not?" I said "It is fucking wonderful. I love an eggmcmuffin, and it is dead cheap and if you ignore the weird clown and all those american ways they have behind the counter, then it is like a chipshop, except a great big chain of chipshops, all selling exactly the same thing everywhere". "Oh you should not go to it" she said. "Did you not watch that documentary about the man who ate Macdonalds for a month". "I did", I said "the dirty bastard, vomiting down his car". She pulled a face which looked like she was about to eat herself, and said" Well, did that not convince you that Macdonalds is terribly bad, hmm?". "No it did not" I said "Because himself was a great cretin eating a Macdonalds for every meal". He had no need to do that at all, the great big attention seeker. Having a Macdonalds is not forced upon you, it is a choice you make, and if you take away Macdonalds then you take another choice away from people, and taking choices away is shite, and if you had your way Missus, we'd be living like North Koreans".

Then she tried to start on about ID cards which are just the yawniest things in the whole world, and told me that I should buy my vegetables in a different shop and shove a bowl up my minge to catch my period, instead of using tampons, the dirty, deranged, mental old tart. I hate libertarian hippy people, because they are weak, scared cretins always worrying about how they look to the world. Well I shall tell them this - you look like old, crusty labia. Fuck off

Sunday, December 11, 2005


Fried Eggs Are Fucking Ace!

There is not a single savory dish - not a single one - that cannot be improved by the addition of a fried egg on top.

And yet when I ask for this small gratification at a swanky restaurant they ask me to leave. They said it was insult to the chef, the fucking cunts.

They have obviously never tried lobster thermidore with a fried egg on top.

Ball Bag

Wednesday, December 07, 2005


Just Put The Decorations Up, You Moron

People always moan about christmas decorations going up too early, and I agree it is a legitimate if rather hackneyed complaint. There is something worse, however:

People who put christmas decorations up too late. They usually insist that there are only twelve days of christmas and as they seem to take them down at the end of the first week in January, this means they must go up on christmas eve or something.

How utterly pointless. Putting decorations up is a pain in the fucking hole, so if I am going to do it, they must remain up for a reasonable length of time. Plus, christmas decorations are there to make you feel christmassy, and I don't want to start feeling christmassy on christmas eve.

The people who insist on this nonsense are usually the sort of people who think christmas has something do do with jesus. Jesus can fuck off, I don't want him hanging around ruining my christmas, looking at me all disapproving as I am drinking and gambling, the fucking cunt. Christmas is about drinking, presents and horse racing.

So get your decorations up and get drinking, you fucking whores.

Ball Bag

Monday, December 05, 2005


Cheeky fucking Eyeties

Italian food is normally okay. Despite not actually inventing spaghetti, they manage to cook it alright and pizza is nice too. Risotto is a bit dicey, it looks like someone has jizzed on a bowl of rice, but a chacun son gout, innit.

I will hand it to the Eyeties, they can cook a main course quite nicely, but their cakes are a fucking disgrace. Someone bought me a panettone, because, apparently it is what the Italians eat at Christmas. It came in a beautiful box, the shape of a hat box, with all sorts of continental pictures on it. It looked exotic. I opened the box up, and inside was a giant stale roll with bits of candied peel sticking out of it. It was a bit dark around the crust, as well, like the baker had put the oven on too high, or maybe been off to ride his vespa and whistle at girls, and just forgotten about the fucker.
And it was a fucking con as well, because it looked enormous, it was larger than a sheep's head, and yet, when you cut it, it was all air and layers, and not like a nice sponge cake, more like a great, old, ancient croissant, that had been burnt and left to die. And where was the icing? Up Giovanni's arse picking grass, that is where. Panettones are cunts. Keep the box and feed them to your horse.

Saturday, December 03, 2005


Mobile phone ringtones are not that bad

I love my mobile phone. I could not be without the fucker, and I get annoyed by people who moan about phones "Oh someone was on the train making a call". Well why not? what else are you going to do on a fucking train apart from try and avoid catching the eye of the tramp opposite you. Making a call on a train is just doing multi tasking and normally people are in favour of that.
People should be less negative about and more tolerant of ring tones. If I had a pound for everyone who had made an unpleasant remark about the frog with the wandering eye and exposed penis riding a motorcycle, well I would have a lot of pounds. It isn't the greatest noise ever made, I'll admit it, but it is just the sound of a frog singing. I know a woman who went all the way to Malaysia to listen to frogs singing. And you can get ringtones where someone is actually talking, instead of a ringing sound or a gibbering animal.

I am amazed by phones just full stop. The idea of talking to someone that is a long way away anyway, is a fucking miracle. And then, to have entirely different person altogether, shouting :"pick up the phone, you fat bastard" before you start talking to another person that you cannot see, well, I am blown away, honestly.

It is always your grammar school boy types who whine about phone tones, and people who are very quick to tell you that they went to university. They probably wait until they get home to make or receive mobile telephone calls so that they do not look flash or loud. And what is the point of that? It is not very "mobile" is it? Using your phone when you are not only not in your house, but actually on a moving object, is the most " mobile" thing that you can do". And they probably have a ringtone like this, the phone-moaners: "Bring bring" the sound of an old fashioned telephone in the home ringing and say "I'm afraid I'm a bit traditional". The miserable, festering cunts.

Thursday, December 01, 2005


Middle class people make bad oiks

We have recently been joined by a bourgeois little cunt called "Mick Hayter". I like the way he spells his surname with a Y, it reminds me of people who are called Smith trying to dress it up with a Y and an E. They are still called Smith, however they fucking spell it.

He has been very quick to tell us that he was educated at a grammar school. I am thrilled for him. He must have had the great pleasure of being spat at by the ruffians from the comprehensive school and sneered at by the children at the posh schools. What a cunt: "I went to grammar school!". I hate people who talk about the school they went to, it is utterly ridiculous. I assume that the people who read this blog, have learnt to read, and therefore they have been to a school. I have no interest in which one they attended or whether it was Moss-side comp or St Aloytius' bum-bangers. "I went to a grammar school!" Fuck me!

Anyway, this little squirt has turned up here annoucing he is "here to stay" and trying terribly hard to be all offensive. You are missing the point, Mick Hayter. The Blog is offensive, you are not supposed to insult the fine writing team. If you do, then you might find that you aren't "here to stay" at all, but that you will be left all alone, sitting on your grammar school boy's arse, with only your leatherette -briefcase -with - combination- lock for company.

Middle class people are hopeless at being offensive, utterly rubbish at it. There is some inbuilt mechanism which stops them reaching the proper heights of vileness. When they do try hard to keep up with professionals like me, they just come across like that poor man on "John's not mad" (which he was, by the way, wasn't he, he was mad, he had a proper mental illness, the poor cunt) and it is all awfully embarassing. Leave the insults to us proper oiks, Mick Hayter, and go and fuck your mother

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