Sunday, January 29, 2006
Slow down! What's the hurry?
Auctions could be great because they are like gambling and shopping all mixed up together. I hate shops, all that standing about looking at things and waiting at the till. Auctions are better than shops, because you just sit still on a chair and wink or wave a stick and then you have bought something. I fucking hate auctioneers though,what a brigade of jabbering, mincing cunts, waving tiny hammers around and standing on a stage! What's more, I can't understand a fucking word the auctioneers say, and nor can anyone else. I just don't fucking get it. The only thing an auctioneer has to do, is to count out loud whilst pointing at people, it is not a difficult task at all, and yet, auctioneers manage to make an absolute hash of a very straightforard job. They all talk so fast as to be enitrely unintelligible, which seems insanse, when communication is the main part of their job. I do understand that many people like to get their jobs done as quickly as possible but there is a difference between being efficient, and rushing a task. No, auctioneers, definitely rush throught their sales in an inexcusably swift time, thre lazy, hasty cunts. They clearly hate their jobs too, as they are in such a hurry to sell stuff and go home, but I refuse to feel sorry for them. After all, noone has forced these fast-talking lunatics into being auctioneers, they have chosen the career themselves, and made a bad choice. There are jobs available for people who are impatient and gabble. Impatient and fast speakers could get jobs as brainwashers, and work for the Hari Krishnas or the Psych-ops department of an intelligence service, employers who truly appreciate the skill of insanely fast speech.
But what about those awful punters who pretend they can understand the auctioneers, these ones who sit in the auction house, all knowing and smug, just twitching now and again as they buy a priceless okimono, making out they can follow the garbled nonsense that is coming out of the auctioneer's mouth? They are rare and important cunts, they really fucking are. I don't believe these people can really understand the auctioneers any better than I can, they are just pretending to understand in order to look like they are experienced at auctions, the fucking, posing arseholes
I once bought a bookcase for a gypsy I knew, from a french auction house, because the gypsy could neither read nor speak french and he needed someone who could do both. He pointed at a picture of a bookcase in a catalogue and waved a large pile of notes at me. I think that buying a bookcase, on the phone, in french is the gayest thing I have ever done in my whole life, I hate myself, it was horrible, and your man the French auctioneer was the same as any other auctioneer in any other country, a great big mumbling gesticlating queer with a hammer. I could not understand a word of it, it was sheer luck that I bought the object, just fucking pure luck. I had no idea how much I had spent, and listening to all that fast french made me feel dirty inside. Auctioneers, just fucking slow down and ennunciate clearly, or fuck off
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Freegans - fucking thieving pikeys
But worse than Vegans are Freegans, people who can't just be satisfied by eliminating most of the food groups from their diet, they have to be on a very restricted diet, which only comes out of a dustbin. The dirty, dirty fucking pikeys. These people are not poor, like the beggars here who come and have a rifle through my dustbin, most British freegans have parents who keep a decent cellar, and enjoy an argument about issues that they have read about in The Observer, over a plate of organic taleggio.
No, the reason these freegans go bin-raking is not because they need a good meal and can't afford one, but because they are "rejecting consumerism". But they are not so great at the rejection of consumerism as they still hang around the shops, all the time, so I don't fucking see, how their behaviour is so "anti consumerism." If there were no shops for them to hang around - where would the fuckers go? Hmm? They would die out.
If I ever had a bang on the head and decided to be a Freegan I would be an extreme Freegan, lying in wait for, and throwing stones at binmen, those dumb mules of wicked wanton waste, or an Off-road Freegan on my hands and knees, working the landfill sites, with the shrieks of seagulls and crows in my ears, and two kneesfull of splintered glass. That would be the way to do Freeganism. But these freegan cunts, they are way too fucking soft for that, the big, fat cheese-dodging gayers.
I know all about Freegans because my sister Maud works near a Marks and Spencers in London and she says the Freegans all go and hang around there at about five o'clock, and when the woman comes out to throw away the food that is on its "sell -by" date, the Freegands are all: "I'm sorry, but I can't possibly eat this wild mushroom and fennel risotto - it has cream in it and cream has come out of an animals tit and that is just so wickedly cruel", and the woman just thrusts a pile of slightly stiff Ciabatta at them, and they all argue amongst themselves, and then get on their stolen bicycles, talking loudly about their next skiing holiday that they are hitch hiking too, with their stolen mismatched ski boots, and the top of the range skis mummy bought for them( so that does not count as a bought item). What fucking, thieving, pikey, awful, gay cunts. Freegans should be butchered and made into "veggie burgers" and fed to other Freegans.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Brian White Is a Lying Cunt
The gayest thing in the world
Having said that, I do hate those fuckers who put the capital letter in the wrong place. IPod. eBay. It's capital I small p, capital E small b, you tHick, dYslexic, gEeky cUnts. And what about those poets who write all their poems in lower case letters and don't put any punctuation in at all? And those poets who do the thing where they make the poem into the shape of something, using the words, they should be made into chorizo. That is all.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Tim Worstall is a gay's hole
I think he is on drugs. And this survey is not a quick "what star sign are you" one, it goes on and fucking on and on and on asking for the weirdest answers. Memes are gay and bloggers are gay and tagging is gay and Tim Worstall is a gay's hole. I did it though
Seven things to do before I die.
1) Get the Last Rites.
2) Breathe out for the last time
Seven things I cannot do.
1) pick things up with my feet - but do I want to? No I do not
Seven things that attract me to a city.
1)I hate cities
Seven things I say.
1) Fuck off
3) The end of a dog's cock
4) va te faire foutre (fuck off)
5) Maquereau (pimp)
6) Va te faire foutre, hamar (fuck off, donkey - that is rude here, because they are really gay and get upset by being called a donkey. Irish men, on the other hand like to be compared to donkeys)
7) zum k'bir (big dick)
Seven books I like
1) Reading is gay
Seven movies that I’ve loved.
1) Anything with emmannuelle in the title
2) Team america (the sex scene)
2) Beavis and Butthead do America
4) The Poseidon Adventure
5) This one where a plane crashed into the sea and went under the water and there was a nun singing keeping everyone's spirits up
6) The Towering Inferno
7) German Porn, because they wear lederhosen
Seven people to tag.
1) Ha Ha Ha
3) Tony T
4) That big fruit Lenin
5) Joseph Mcmanus of the CIA
6) Angie the weird american
7) Manuel estimolo the spanish spy
Thinking about time
Sunday, January 22, 2006
If you answer a simple multiple choice question, we will then feed the data into a powerful computer which will then calculate with 99% certainty whether you are gay or not. So please answer the following question and be completely honest, no one is going to judge you. Unless it turns out that you are a gay, in which case we will judge that you are a big fruit.
What do you prefer -
b) Not bumming
We will get back to you with your results as soon as possible.
N.b. The current test is really only designed for males. We are working on a similar test for women which should be ready within a few months, the womens' question is largely based on your feelings towards tuppence licking.
Prof. Ball Bag
Friday, January 20, 2006
Slow motion? Fuck off
The only bad thing about exciting and violent television is "Slow Motion". I fucking hate slow motion, all that close-up filming with the people moving oddly and talking in frighteneningly low and slow voices. I hate it most because the whole point of watching an action film is for the action. If I wanted to watch people moving slowly and talking weirdly I would watch a documentary about stroke victims. But I have chosen to watch an action film, and it is action that I want. And don't give me that "the viewers will miss something, if they show it at full speed", because they won't will they. Invariably, the slow motion only shows people running aloong, and there is not a lot to notice when people are running along, apart from their feet going like the clappers and maybe their arms are flapping a bit. If they were doing origami at speed, or sign language, then there might be a point for the slow motion, but are they? No they are not. What's more, "slow" is just another word for mental or cretin and "motion" is a polite word for shite. So it is even there in the name, slow motion= cretin shite.
I would like to take the film makers who put slow motion sequences in their films and line them up along a wall, and then I would show them a slowed down tape of a mother and toddler group with the women all talking about piles and sore flaps, and then I would show them a slow video of a woman talking about why she does not like her friend's husband, and then I would show them a slow video of my mother talking about people noone has ever heard of, who have died
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
A Hangover Cure
Having said that, here is a hangover cure.
We are told that you get a hangover because you are dehydrated, so the simple solution is, when on a night out, to piss into an empty glass and drink it. If you drink all your piss that evening, you will not be losing any water from your body and will consequently not get a hangover. And you will not have to keep getting up to go to the toilet.
I know what you are going to say: 'But, Ball Bag, drinking piss is disgusting', you will whine.
I say to you all: stop being such fucking whinging gays and drink your own fucking piss next time you are at the pub. You will thank me in the morning.
Wake up and smell my fist
People who say "Wake up and smell the coffee" to people who are already awake, do it as a way of being witty, or as I like to call it, cuntish. These are people who are immensely pleased with themselves and think that they are somehow more awake than everyone else, which they are not. They are just more irritating than other people.
And the phrase is absolute nonsense, is it not? Noone makes coffee in their sleep. You can make a cup of tea in a teasmade, but tea from a teasmade tastes like cat's jizz. No, the phrase is sheer nonsense entirely. When I wake up, I cannot smell coffee at all, just drains, and I would be furious if I could smell coffee, because I prefer a cup of tea in the morning.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Yes I am a rarity indeed, as there are so many people, who can't accept that their favourite comedy moment might be as fun for you as an acid enema. I frequently fall out with people over that cunt Basil Fawlty and his dysfuntional guesthouse, I just fucking hate it. "Fawlty Towers". The programme is all about himself acting all surprised, talking in very, very clipped sentences, and his woman with the bed jackets and that unkind and xenophobic characterisation of a short Spic who gets beaten up all the time. It is tedious, dismal, boring old bollocks, but if I say that to people who like it, they get all :"Oh you don't get it, it is a cultural thing". How, is it a fucking cultural thing? Are these people, these Fawlty Towers fans, people who have grown up in post- war Taunton, hanging around with elderly spinsters and a waitress with an improbable acent? No they are not. They are big, hairy, intolerant yawny-fuckers
Monday, January 16, 2006
I hate sewing
Sewing is really gay and should only be done by orphan children in sweatshops or perimenopausal women.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Budget Travellers: Cunts
Travelling on a shoestring budget over thirty, is a bit like wearing hotpants over thirty. Attention seeking and a tiny bit mental. But the fear of appearing mental does not seem stop older, parsimonious people leaving loft apartments in their hordes, and heading to all the locations popular with the young, Gap-year crowd. In amongst the fresh-faced young travellers at any destination you can find scores of thirty- something"Chloes" and "Sebs", dossing in flea-infested cardboard- partitioned shitholes, cooking their own pot noodles in dirty billy-cans and hanging around, ostentatiously reading bus timetables, or walking miles to save the fare. These are people who own their own properties and have acceptably paid jobs as "Mortgage Advisors" or "Fund managers" or something. Pretty fucking well off people, if we are honest about it. All this bezzy "Oh I'm so skint, me" behaviour is just for show, and, sheer wickedness, aping the unfortunate, making a mockery of the truly poor. They can afford to go to Centre Parks, these rich cunts, but rather than going to Centre Parks, with other people like themselves, they just choose to hang around other places, not washing, and arguing with natives over a couple of pennies. Utter, fucking appallingly dreadful, aging- traveller cunts.
And then there are the truly poor, aged- travellers, who really do have to exist on a dollar a day or whatever currency they have in their filthy, stiff socks. But should we feel sorry for them? No, we should not. If these grubby tightwad penniless people can afford to buy a plane ticket to get wherever they are, then they are not that poor, are they? They must have a few hundred quid to their name, the problem is, they have just spent it on the wrong thing. Instead of buying plane tickets and then being reduced to sleeping rough and eating pot noodles on holiday, these halfwits should spend the money on rent and vegetables or put it on a horse.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Does Allah Love You?
They were trampled to death this time whilst trying to throw stones at some building. I disagree with vandalism as strongly as the next person, but being trampled to death as a result is a little harsh.
I on the other hand spent the day drinking beer, eating bacon sandwiches, shaving my beard and treating my wife as an equal, and I remain in rude health.
What does this tell us?
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Marrakech is for cunts
The worst part about it, worse than it just being a hole which costs quite a lot to fly too and is deceptively expensive once you are here because everyone you pass in the street expects you to empty your wallet into their grasping hands, the worst part about Morocco is the moron British tourists everywhere who believe they are on some kind of a spritual and cultural journey by just gettting on a plane for a bit, and then staying in a Riad, which is Moroccan for "knackered old outhouse". Even the journey here is shite, the BA flight is too shite even to get the normal rude and po-faced BA staff on it, worse, you get a bunch of people from Gibraltar Airways, the airline so named as flying GB airways is exactly like being in a flying rock full of apes. Despite the desperate nature of the plane and the cabin crew, you still pay big fat rip of fucking prices, the tightwad thieving bunch of cunts.
I get off the plane at Casablanca. Now, Casablanca is a hole and no mistake, a large African city awash with polution and grime and shite and thieves, but it does not pretend to be anything other than a dirty metropolis of crime and tat. And your people who get off the plane at Casablanca are people like me, jaded, vicious, old foreign wives, red faced foreign businessmen and a bunch of Moroccans wearing all the designer gear they own, at once. The BA flight flies on to Marrakech, after stopping to drop me off, and I always like to have a look at what is left on the plane after me and my Homies disembark. It is the worst, the fucking worst selection of English "Media" couples, with the man in a pair of those fucking glasses they all wear, the woman a bottle blond with a face like a piece of biltong. Add to the media couples a few single women with soppy expressions on their faces, gearing themselves up to have an "enchanting experience", some old women in search of some young cock, and a large handful of gayers jabbering on about how their hotel will be putting the leaves of a rose all over the bathroom. Fucking cunts the lot of them. Marrakech even attracts famous cunts, like Robbie Williams and that insipid nobody Jude Law and a few ropey old cokehead models and their slimwit boyfriends, and the whole band of Blur.
Why am I telling you this? because I am going to Marrakech tomorrow and I am not looking forward to it. The locals here, who are pretty fucking sharp customers themselves, say the Marrakchis are the most light- fingered, lying bastards in the whole of Morocco. Morocco is a hole and Marrakech is the rim of the hole with winnets on.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Brain Surgeons - overrated
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Would You Like to Supersize Your Last Meal?
By the way, I detest the word fries. A fry is something you eat in the morning and is usually preceeded by the words 'big' and 'dirty', not 'french' or 'freedom'.
'Do you want fries with that?'. No, but I want fucking chips with it though, you spotty little bollocks. And don't spit in my burger either.
Fries. What a load of cunt.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
That's no place to put a tablet
Now, where I come from, the temperature of a person is taken by putting a thermometer under the tongue or the armpit. I have heard that it is possible to take the temperature of a person from their arsehole but I have alwys thought to myself, "Why, would you want to do that. When you can do it in the mouth or the armpit instead?". And before any of you boring doctors and nurses pipe up and say "Well, actually, as a matter of fact, I think you'll find the reading of the anus is generally point six of a degree hotter than that of the armpit or the mouth" then I shall say this to you: Doctors are always whining about how hard it is to get to medical school and how much harder they have to work when they are there, despite being half cut most of the time and playing rugby the rest of it and fucking the nurses. If the brainbox requirements are so enormous, for getting into medical school, then why, are these medics incapable of adding point six of a degree onto the number on their thermometer? Which, by the way, will be a very small choice of numbers, like say 36 or 37 or 38 or 39 or 40 or maybe 41 and then after that the patient is dead, so there is nothing to worry about or any need for further addition. It is not hard. Take the temperature from the mouth and then add on point six. Or don't, just write down what it says on the thermometer instead, I don't fucking care.
And foreign doctors have not even had enough arse-fiddling with taking the temperature, no. God forbid, should you need some medicine, they will be expecting you to stick that up your arsehole as well. I got given these pills, the size of pills you would give to a horse, and I thought to myself: "Fuck me those are huge. Even my sister Maud, who can put a whole hamburger in her mouth and close it, would have trouble swallowing those mammoth bastards". And when I put the pill in my mouth it tasted horrible, like a sliver of soap with pepper in it, and then the doctor was all laughing away like someone had put a ferret in his trousers saying "Oh no, not in the mouth Mrs, up your hole!". Fucking foreign doctor cunts. "Stick it up your arse" is an insult, not a medical command.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
I am getting rather sick of people buying me presents with the hope of "improving" me in some way. First there was the terrible book of etymology, which I have donated to the American Women's Asssociation as a punishment for trying to get me to join them, the cheeky fucking cunts, when I am quite clearly not an american and I prefer to think of myself as a "lady", and now, someone has bought me "The Joy of Calligraphy" which is a magazine that you get weekly with all pens and nibs and ink and awful lines of writing to copy. What the fuck? Why, would anyone want to buy a magazine and then copy bits out of it with a weird pen? Where, is the joy in that? I suppose, if I were in broadmoor, or some other special home for loonies, then I would be grateful for the gift, not just to help pass the huge amounts of time locked up with serial psychotic murderers, but also because I could use the pen nibs to cut people or dig a hole to escape and I could swallow all the gay purple ink and then drool it out of my mouth and feign poisoning. Calligraphy is alright if you are a mentaler or a monk, but otherwise it is fucking weird. And you people who type in funny coloured ink or have your typing all in italics, and especially you people who have a "signature" at the bottom of your email in a different colour and font to the rest of the message entirely, well you had better fucking watch out as well. I mean it.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Miserable Old Queen
Noreen is wrong!
New years honours are fucking ace!
Lord Ball Bag of Gusset
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