Monday, February 27, 2006
You are still a raddled old whore
Although I was a lot younger than this coven of harpies, they all spent a lot of time telling me that I was "intimidating" and "scary" which was bollocks, or having a go at my clothes, the hideous old crones. It was fucking rich of them to descibe me as intimidating and scary as they had clearly not had a good look in a mirror for a while, a bunch of fucking frights to look at, they were. One woman was terrifyingly thin, and wore terribly short skirts, which was a good call, because years of starvation had left her face looking like a yellow skull with a huge chin and eyes as dull as a zombie's, and the short skirt at least drew your eye towards her knock knees and stick-thin thighs. Then there was the woman who wore trouser suits, but had the arse of a centaur and lacked the good sense to get a jacket that covered it. Perhaps there was not enough material in the world to make one, I shall never know. And then there was the american woman who wore so much makeup, the gap between the makeup along her jaw and her slap-free neck was a deep rift, like a fault in the earth, and her clothes were a little pre-op transexual, just that touch too feminine, that hints at a vestigial penis in the knickers.
So all in all, with the passive aggressive attitudes and the appearances of these three old whores, I became less and less tolerant of their wheedling and awful behaviour, and my brow became sterner, and my behaviour more intimidating and they started to ask me to do things using very high-pitched and cutesy voices, and the thin one would sort of wind her legs together and look up at me from under her sparse eylashes, like a haggard Lady Diana, and the one with the vast arse would purse up her mouth and put her head on one side and coquettishly glance out of the window before whispering "would you mind sending a fax" and the american one with the cock would stop dead in her tracks and take a great gasp of breath and then let it out slowly whilst whispering whatever it was she wanted, with her eyes firmly on the carpet, and then, at the last minute, she would look up at me all eagerness and desperation. Fucking mentaler. I hate old harridans who try and make their voices young - noone is fooled. it is just like seeing one of those spirit mediums channeling the voice of someone who has "passed over" or like a scene from the exorcist where a small girl speaks with the voice of a man. In short, it is fucking evil. If you catch some old crone talking like she has been at the helium balloons, grab her by the throat and rip out her larynx
NoreenToday's Banned Phrase: Pot....Kettle...Black. People who leave out the bits that make up the stupid phrase "the pot is calling the kettle black" and just say "pot..kettle..black" hoping that you understand what they are on about, are cunts, who think they are being witty. People who use the phrase "The pot is calling the kettle black" are also cunts, because pots and kettles cannot speak. And pots and kettles are all sorts of colours, but rarely black. My kettle is silver, and, I have a blue pot and a brown one, and a sort of dusky red saucepan. Just don't say it, okay?
Sunday, February 26, 2006
You are a person, not a car
There is nothing I find more embarassing than listening to people singing gibberish, but with serious looks on their faces, delighted with themselves that they are inventing a new kind of music, when in fact they are just squeaking and chattering their teeth and behaving like they are having a funny turn. I don't like those people who dance with sticks and make "music" much either - they are called Thump or Wallop or Crash or something. Stupid fuckers. Dancing is gay enough all by istelf without adding strange noises to it. But I am straying from the point - that advert.
These people making the "music" on the advert do sound quite like a car, but there is really no need at all for them to go to all that trouble to make car noise. The advertising people could just get a tape recorder and put it in a car and then drive the car about, whilst the tape recorder is recording, and afterwards, they could play the tape of the car driving whilst they show the film of the car driving, and they would not need to pay all those people to look pleased with themselves whilst drumming their fingers on a wall and squeaking.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Picking Your Nose and Eating It - Brilliant
So obviously, your nose must be picked regularly, but when you have hoked out a really nice, big cornflake what do you do with it. Wiping it on the wall or a chair would be very impolite. Finding a tissue and wiping it in that is just gay.
The obvious answer is to eat it. Don't be such a fruit, where do you think it came from in the first place? Do the germ pixies wrap deadly viruses in bogies and store them in your nose as you sleep?
So just pick your nose and eat it, you fuckers. Stop being so sqeamish.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Does she have a tail? No she does not
In support of the campaign's good work, I am going to impose a ban on certain expressions, and each day I will choose one that you are not allowed to say anymore. You won't notice it, you see, if you give up the bad habit a little at a time. After a couple of months it won't even cross your mind to use a reflexive pronoun in the wrong context, and your tongue won't actually be able to form the words "resplendent" or "Elegant sufficency", and I am sure we all agree that would be a fucking marvellous thing.
So today's phrase that I am banning is "she is the cat's mother". She fucking well is not, is she, unless you are actually talking about the mother of a cat. "She" is a personal pronoun and that is all. So if you are tempted, the next time someone says "She didn't like her dinner much" to say "she is the cat's mother", just please fucking do not. I will not say it either.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Show me the money
People who talk on planes should be shot through the hole
I have the kind of face that makes weird men want to talk to me. I have no idea why, because I like to think of myself as extremely scary and unapproachable, but I am obviously making a hash of it, as if I sit down for more than about two seconds in a public place, some cunt will appear and start telling me that his girlfriend has left him, or he has an illness, or a parent has just died, or he doesn't like his job, or what his personal moral code is or whatever. For about fifteen minutes, I can pretend to give a shite, but after that I just want them to die. And on a plane, you are stuck next to these talkers, just for hours and fucking hours. I sat next to an algerian last week, who told me that I looked forty one and he bet I had enormous children, which was just another way of telling me that he thought I had a flappy vagina. Which I do not, by the way. What a cheeky cunt! a real cunt. And he was all on about those fucking cartoons, just on and on and on, and then he got stuck into the whisky and was on about how he shouldn't drink whisky but he liked it, and I just wanted to open the emergency exit (I always sit on the wing) and shove the fucking moron out. And on the plane yesterday I sat next to a chinaman who just kept staring at my tits and saying "it's amazing you are a vegetarian because you are so tall and strong", which I think might have been code for "fat", like saying I was "big boned", and I am not fucking fat, and then he was all "would you consider eating meat ever" and I said "I would eat a panda". and then he shut up, the fucking short-arsed bore. Planes are cunts, but people who talk on planes are the cunts of a cunt
Thursday, February 16, 2006
The Winter Olympics - For Cunts
The winter olympics is fucking wank. If you want to know what I think off skiing, it is in the archive, so the winter olympics was never really going to please me.
Ice skating is the gayest 'sport' in the world. How could anybody watch that? If they fell over a lot and cracked their stupid heads wide open so their brains oozed onto the ice then I might give it a look, but they don't so what's the point?
Skiing over those little humps then doing a crappy jump is gay. Snowboarding is gay. They are just annoying show offs who say 'dude' a lot. Ski jumping looks dangerous, but is actually gay.
The bob sled stuff is really just sledging, which is a pass time for small children, not a sport. And I hate the way people go on about the 'luge' being a sport where you hurtle down an icy slope on a tea tray and you must be mad to do it. Firstly, it is not a fucking tea tray, secondly, you do not need to be mad, but you do need to be gay. Straight men do not wear tights under any circumstances.
I will be hiding under my bed until this crap is off my TV.
Friday, February 10, 2006
It is imperative that you stop this fucking shit-talk
It is fucking annoying enough, when serving staff say: "enjoy your meal!" to you in a restaurant, as you do not know, at that point, whether or not it will be enjoyable. You might find a maggot in the food, or it could turn out, that the people on the table next to you keep belching, or the food might come on wacky shaped plates, or you might have a talkative waiter, who just won't fuck off and, instead, hovers like a peeping tom near your table. I think they should ban "enjoy your meal" along with that american term "Have a nice day". I fucking hate "Have a nice day" as well, I might not want to have a nice day, it might be my mother's funeral, or I might be about to have my gallbladder removed or I might be a lunatic whose idea of a nice day is a massacre, and then, it would not be a nice day for any of the people I massacred. I am not a lunatic, by the way, I would hate to massacre people, all that gore and moaning and groaning and flailing around would seriously get on my tits, but the phrase "have a nice day" could almost make me want to commit a massacre.
I suppose at least when the poor waiting personnel, or americans tell you to "enjoy your meal" or to "have a nice day", they have put the effort in and made a whole sentence of the command. But bossing people around with just one word like that one's "Enjoy!" is fucking lazy, as well as unbelievably irritating.
I hate imperatives, they are awful, even when they are going to save your life, like "Stop" or "fire". I fucking hate being told what to do, even if it is for my own good, it makes me almost insane with rage. Being told to "enjoy" myself is almost a cast iron guarantee that I will not.
The only correct response to the command "enjoy",for me, would be to rip the person who said it apart and then take great pleasure in watching their carcass rot.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Take a leaf out of my book, you babyish cunts
No, I am getting seriously fucked off with these over the top religious loonies going on and on about how "offended" they are. They should get a fucking grip. I've said it before about science fiction films and Harry Potter - those are things which seriously irritate me and yet, i have found the mercy in my heart to think "you know what, these things are for children". Same with cartoons, they just need to think "these are for infidels". I could do without most cartoons myself, except for the ones in Viz magazine and Beavis and Butthead. I even think South Park is shit, I am totally over that stupid little man who dies and the one vomiting everywhere, it makes me feel old and tired. But I don't go on and on about it, hanging around the american embassy, stoning people to death or setting fire to stuff, because I would feel ridiculous and babyish. So I really think these muslims need to give it a fucking rest and just say "you know what, it is a cartoon, I will just fucking leave it alone and get on with my prayers and washing myself"
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
My Cartoon Is So Satirical
Does anybody know a decent literary agent? I think this cartoon will go down really well.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Anyway I tolerated her until she started on about missing food from home, and instead of coming up with something sensible like "ham" or "crisps that are more interesting flavours than salt or paprika" she said "porridge". Porridge! That fucking awful hardish oat slurry. I fucking detest it. I once heard a recipe where you mixed up porridge and honey and wiped it over your backside to make your arse toned, and guess what? I did not even want porridge near my arse, I fucking hate it so much. And this scottish woman, she was all "Oh it has a low GI (it is a gay diet all about dodging carbhydrates) and makes you happy". If it has low carbohydrates, I think you'll find me and most of my countrymen will fun a fucking mile from it, and as for being happy, well I have always thought that happiness came from within, not from a bag with a picture of a presbyterian on.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
I am running out of patience for Elton John
And it is a real myth that Elton John is so marvellous at music, he is really rubbish at the piano. I mean, he can bash out a jingle or too and play the notes of a tune, but the meal he makes of it, walloping the keys worse than a navvy in an east end pub! He is no Richard Clayderman, that is for sure. And he fusses around worrying about a bald patch on his head, covering it up with a wig or hair from his chest and yet, still wears those fucking John Lennon glasses with the coloured lenses in them, all rose or lemon coloured they are! People cannot see the top of your head, Elton John, unless you are sitting down, but your eyes, well they are the window to your soul and if you cover them up with really horrible glasses, it just makes people think that you have the mental health issues and concerns.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
That Teletubby Is Fucking Dying For it
Can you imagine waking up next to that every morning? You would not be able to keep your hands off her. Can you imagine slapping her big, round, yellow arse as you fucked her from behind, using the other hand to pull that antena thing on the top of her head? 'Eh oh!' she would scream in delight as you pounded her arsehole (assuming she has one).
Imagine those big, brown eyes gazing up at you as she knelt down to suck your cock. Imagine shooting your load over her inexpresive, plastic face. Fucking hell that teletubby gives me the horn.
I think she might have a thing for Dipsy Wipsy though, the little slut.
A piece of advice
I am so fucking embarassed
There is nothing I find more embarassing than listening to people singing gibberish but with serious looks on their faces, like they are inventing a new kind of music, when in fact they are squeaking and chattering their teeth and behaving like they are having a funny turn. I don't like those people who dance with sticks and make "music" they are called Thump or Wallop or Crash or something. Stupid fuckers. Dancing is gay enough all by istelf without adding strange noises to it. But I am straying from the point - that advert.
These people making the "music"on the advert do sound quite like a car, but there is really no need at all for them to go to all that trouble to sound like cars. The advertising people could just get a tape recorder and put it in a car and then drive the car about, whilst the tape recorder is recording, and afterwards, they could play the tape of the car driving whilst they show the film of the car driving, and they would not need to pay all those people to look pleased with themselves whilst drumming their fingers on a wall or squeaking.
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