Sunday, January 29, 2006


Slow down! What's the hurry?

There are many different types of auctions: horse auctions and sheep auctions and gay art and furniture auctions. You can go to them and buy stuff and you can also look at auctions on the telly, auctions of houses, and Japanese auctions where they sell fish. All sorts of auctions

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

I hate vegans, those pale, weedy boring people who are incredibly precious about what they eat. I don't care what people eat, just fucking eat it, and don't tell me about it. If people want to eat sheep's brains, for instance, like they do around here, well they are welcome to them! A brain is not much use to a sheep dead or alive, sheep are real morons, so, if some dirty fecker wants to eat brain? - well bon appetit, you cunt. Equally, a vegan, a person who shies away from all animal products, can indulge their idiosyncratic eating habits as much as they like, so long as they keep their yappers shut about it. It all amounts to the same thing - all the more fried eggs, chips, and bacon crisps for me and Ball Bag.

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

Brian White is a fucking lying cunt.

Ball Bag


The gayest thing in the world

I get a lot of criticism for using commas. Fuck knows why, after all, commas are useful things, sent to us by our Lord Jesus Christ to keep different parts of a sentence from running into a stream of gibberish. Quite apart from it being incredibly rude, to have a go at me about my punctuation, being interested in punctuation is the gayest thing in the whole word. Gayer than going on about how someone holds their knife, gayer than liking musical theatre, gayer than Liza Minelli's wedding party, gayer than a skidmarked posing pouch. Gay gay gay. Gay.

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

God that blogger Tim Worstall is a real cunt. First he writes that awful, insane diary- book "2005 blogged" and has the neck to leave me and Ball Bag out of it, even though we are far more sensible and have a load better things to say than the other cunts he put into it, and now the man has gone and "tagged" me for one of those fucking meme wanking survey things.
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
2) Cunt
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
2) Hungbunny
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

Time is not a great healer, time is a big cunt hurtling us towards death. That is all.

Sunday, January 22, 2006


Gayness Test

Over the last few months I have been developing a reliable test to determine whether a person is gay or not. At last I have come up with the definitive version.

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 -
a) Bumming
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

I love watching the telly, espcially violent and exciting films. There is lots going on, and shooting and flames and mangled people and everyone is shouting and rushing about. God, my heart is beating faster, just at the thought of it.

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

I fucking hate hangover cures. All these people who 'swear by' drinking a cup of pig spunk and sticking a raw egg up their hole or something make me furious.

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.

Ball Bag


Wake up and smell my fist

One of the most pointless and annoying phrases people who watch too many american sitcoms say is: "Wake up and smell the coffee". It is utterly pointless, because they never say it to sleeping people, they say it to people who are already awake. If they were to say it to a sleeping person, they would still be idiots, because the best way to wake someone up is to yell "FIRE" in their earhole or to get a sponge with some really cold water on it and put it down their pyjamas.

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


Fawlty Fuckers

A lot of people think that comedy is a subjective thing, and that people laugh at different things. I am one of these people. Personally, I think that "Terry and June" is very, very funny. I also like "Only Fools and Horses" and "The Paralympics". I realise that these things are not going to make everyone laugh, but I do not go around poking my favourite funny programmes down everyone's throats saying: "Oh, if you don't think it is the most hilarious thing ever, then you don't have a sense of humour". I don't do that, because I believe people have the right to laugh at whatever they like. Even if it is gash. And I don't mind a bit of ribbing about my choices, after all one man's meat, is another man's poison.

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

I hate old backpackers. I don't mind the young baby backpackers, just out of school, all wide eyed and idealistic about the world, the dear little feckers. Well, I do mind them, I would like to set them on fire, but compared to the gormless tight-arsed- rucksack- toters twice their age, they are a fucking delight.

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?

Yesterday a number of pilgrims were killed while on their spiritual journey to Mecca. Again.

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?

Ball Bag

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


Marrakech is for cunts

I don't really understand why anyone would pay to go to Morocco. If you live in Morocco or you are a Moroccan and therefore have family in the country, well fair enough, but as a holiday destination it is utter, utter shite. Food that tastes like rimming an old ewe, service that would not look amiss in a British Post office, pushy fuckers who run after you shouting "Friend" when they actually mean "Cunt! give me your money or I will cut you with this large knife made of Fez silver". Morocco is a hole.

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

Nothing is more irritating than people going on : "He is as clever as a brain surgeon", implying that a brain surgeon is the top of the tree of clever people. I don't agree. If brain surgeons are so clever, then they why do they choose a job sawing peoples heads open and cutting blobby grey jellified meat about? If they were really fucking clever, they would invent a way to be paid for sitting at home wanking.

Thursday, January 05, 2006


Would You Like to Supersize Your Last Meal?

I read recently that 70% of death row prisoners in America request a 'Big Mac and fries' as their last meal. I think this is fucking fabulous and I would request the same, except of course I would require it to come with a fried egg on top.

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.

Ball Bag

Wednesday, January 04, 2006


That's no place to put a tablet

You really know you are abroad when you go to hospital. It is all foreign and weird and they get excited about a low blood pressure, instead of a high one, and they grind herbs and mutter and wave their hands around when they talk. But the most extraordinary thing that happens in the medical world south of Calais, is the way a doctor is only interested in his patient from the waist down.

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


Cheeky cunts

I have very bad handwriting indeed, which is one reason for choosing the internet as a medium of communicating, so that people can actually read the very wise things I have to say. You could not make a font on the computer as illegible and horrible to look at as my handwriting, even that ridiculous crap Wing Dings (which, by the way is for absolute cunts and I hope none of you uses it), is like a Leonardo Da Vinci painting compared to my scrawl. Not that I moan about it at all, you will not catch me making a fuss and weeping: "Oh I wish I had nice writing". I do not wish it at all. I can type, can't I? There is no need for typing and writing, one will do, you can't ride two horses with only one arse. I expect Philip Challinor will point out that it could be possible to type and write at the same time, but why would you want to? Only to show the world what an enormous cunt you could be, that would be the only explanation for simultaneous typing and writing.

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

The Queen is an absolute cunt. She dishes out all sorts of initials and medals and titles to a bunch of cretinous bores who teach or work in hospitals or "do good works". She is after the job of pope, the wicked, hubristic old protestant , trespassing on the sacred duties of the Vatican, who, since the beginning of time, have been responsible for the dishing out of sainthoods and absolution, to the worthy and good. The New Years Honours are for cunts. I'm not bitter.

Noreen is wrong!

New years honours are fucking ace!

Lord Ball Bag of Gusset

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