Monday, February 27, 2006

 

You are still a raddled old whore

I worked in a human resources department for a while, when I was a lot younger than I am now, and the very worst thing about it was that it was staffed entirely by women. Now some of my best friends are women, but I couldn't fucking stand this lot, they were the end of a dog's cock. Always talking about calories and shopping, and crying if they spelt something wrong and instead of telling me what work they wanted me to do, they would say "Can you do me a favour?" and then say "photocopy this" or "Phone so and so". Fucking neck of it. I did not mind doing the things they asked, because they were actually my job, but I resented being asked to do them in that gay way. it was not even as if I could say "You know, I'm not feeling all that generous spirited today, so I can't do the favour, no". Because if I had declined to do a favour, I would have found my P45 on my desk in no fucking time at all.

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
Noreen
Today'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

I was watching the telly, and there was an advert for a car, a honda, which is a shitty make of car, and a group of people were making the noise of the car, humming and panting and drumming their fingernails on their teeth, and squeaking away like a choir of lunatics.

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.
Noreen

Friday, February 24, 2006

 

Picking Your Nose and Eating It - Brilliant

If you don't pick your nose there is something wrong with you. How would you get all those crusty bogies out of there if you didn't pick them out with your fingers? Your nose would completely seal over and you would have to gasp as you ate mouthfuls of food, like you do when you have a cold.

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.

Ball Bag

Thursday, February 23, 2006

 

Does she have a tail? No she does not

I have always been unimpressed by dear little proverbs, and sayings, and cutesy turns of phrase, they can go and fuck themselves. I fully support the campaign for Plain English, and I am quite sure they would endorse this site, so succinct and trim is the language Ball Bag and I use. They haven't got in touch with me yet, but I feel sure they will pretty soon. The new written medium of "the blog", must have been a blow to the knackers for the Campaign for Plain English, all those whimsy cunts out there, scratching around in their knickers for a more flowery expression than the last fuckwit - yes, i am sure most bloggers would not be welcome in the good books of the Campaign for Plain English. It probably offends the Campaign for Plain English too much even to look at the internet, in case a great cloud of purple prose engulfs them, with words like "discombobulated" and "random mutterings" and other horrible things someone has picked out of a thesaurus with a pin. I am not afraid to take up the arms of plain talking though, I am on a crusade to pare away the linguistic veruccae the rest of you lot nurture on here. And in return I want the right to burn Brewer's dictionary of Phrase and Fable - that big boring tome of cunt.

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.
Noreen

Monday, February 20, 2006

 

Show me the money

That film about gayers has just won an oscar or something. Yawny yawny cunt cunt. I hate films like that that are pretending to be all deep, but are actually just about fucking and rimming. That film is very explicit and you get everything but the actual money shot, which I think is a crying shame. They could turn a film from being a boring gay (and I don't mean homosexual I mean gay gay) film into a proper film about anal sex, and leave out all the bits where they are off with their wives and families and just get on with the man on man sex and be done with it. I bet gay men who watch that get furious because there is just enough felching and fingers up holes to give them a semi on, but when the action gets properly going, the camera moves away in an artistic way, and they go all soft and frustrated. Brokeback mountain is a film for cunts
Noreen

 

People who talk on planes should be shot through the hole

I make no secret of the fact that I hate flying. Flying is for cunts, but it has to be done every now and again, although I wish it did not. It is bad enough being in a tin can, on the verge of death, hostage to really bad food and tepid tea, in the air, flying about, but when the person next to you just won't fucking shut his face, life does not get worse.
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
Noreen

Thursday, February 16, 2006

 

The Winter Olympics - For Cunts

'Have you been watching the winter olympics?' someone asked me yesterday. Fortunately I was holding some copper wire with which I garrotted him.

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.

Ball Bag



Friday, February 10, 2006

 

It is imperative that you stop this fucking shit-talk

I was talking to this man earlier "What are you doing at the weekend" he says, "I am going to sit in the garden in my bikini and get a fucking marvellous tan" I said. "Enjoy!" said this man to me. Just that "Enjoy!", like a command. What a fucking idiotic cunt, I hate people who do that. The imperative is for dangerous situations, like "Stop!" or "Fire!", not for arseholes to boss people around telling them what they may or may not feel at a certain time. And I hate the word enjoy, anyway it sounds incredibly gay. I hate words with "en" on the front like "encourage" because they sound french.

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.
Noreen

Thursday, February 09, 2006

 

Take a leaf out of my book, you babyish cunts

Fuck me I am bored of hearing about this stupid cartoon of Mohammed. To be honest with you, I have not actually looked at the cartoons and do you know what? Nor should any of these muslims who are making a great fuss about it, because it is haram for a muslim to look at pictures of things other than geometric shapes. What fucking hypocrisy, going on and on about other people sinning, when they have been at it themselves. God, these moaning fuckers make me sick. I am quite sure there must be something in the Koran about "Taking the beam out of your own eye before you start on at your neighbour about the bit of sawdust in his" I expect it is like: "do not chastise Hicham, son of Abdurahman for the speck of grime on his slipper, when you, dog, have feet as filthy as a whore's snatch". I wouldn't blame them for looking at cartoons, as I don't see what is wrong with pictures of living things anyway, but if they look at cartoons and then start having a go at the people who drew them, well they can really just fuck away off. As a matter of fact, I think it is a shame they can't liven their mosques up a bit with a colourful statue of the Infant of Prague or perhaps a saint to whom they have a special devotion, but there you go - we are all different. I wouldn't force muslims to get the "Stations of Mohammed Receiving His Instructions from Allah" put up along the walls of their religious buildings, and therefore, they should get a bit tolerant, and stop getting the arse about people drawing pictures. If you like pictures, then great, look at them. If you think a picture should only be some shapes, then don't look at cartoons. Some people just like getting offended, I am fucking sure of it.

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"
Noreen

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

 

My Cartoon Is So Satirical

I have drawn a cartoon of the prophet Mohammed drunkenly sucking a pig's cock. I think it is pretty satirical, quite clever if you think about it.

Does anybody know a decent literary agent? I think this cartoon will go down really well.

Ball Bag

Monday, February 06, 2006

 

Jock Shit

I was talking to this scottish woman earlier. She thinks we might get on because (as she put it) we are "celtic siblings". We fucking well are not, is what I think, but I did not want to upset the woman. She is the type who says your name all the time: "Well,Noreen, don't you think Noreen, isn't it so, Noreen". Fucking Jock slag.
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.
Noreen

Thursday, February 02, 2006

 

I am running out of patience for Elton John

I've had it up to here with Elton John, he is a tissue of lies concealed in a man's body, the fucking lunatic. He is not even called Elton John, he is called Reg or something and he sings all these songs about "A Tiny Dancer" and "Candle in the Wind" where he lets on he is after these women, and yet, it turns out he is an enormous fruit! I ask you. In this day and age, there is no need at all to be in the closet, no need for it. You can sing all you like about women, but if you are getting it in your hole from a man, then you are a gay, no question. After many, many years singing about girls he is now all on about getting married to a man and has embraced his gayness entirely - and I say this "Good for you Elton John". But, has he apologised to his fans for all those songs full of lies about liking pussy? No he has not. I'd say he was a cunt-tease, but as he is no oil painting I don't think anyone is THAT devastated. Still, no one likes to be led up the garden path. A liar is a liar and that is it.

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.
Noreen

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

 

That Teletubby Is Fucking Dying For it

Laa Laa, the yellow teletubby gives me the fucking horn. And you can tell she fucking loves it too.

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.

Ball Bag

 

A piece of advice

If I could give you one piece of advice, this is what it would be: Do not play ping pong with a Chinaman.
Noreen

 

I am so fucking embarassed

I was watching the telly, and there was an advert for a car, a honda, which are shitty cars, and a group of people were making the noise of the car, humming and panting and drumming their fingernails on their teeth, and squeaking away like a choir of lunatics.

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.
Noreen

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