Thursday, June 22, 2006


Ears for sale

I think hearing is overrated. The sense of sight is one I would not be without - I like looking at things and you get the measure of people far better if you have a working pair of eyeballs. Besides, I dislike Golden retrievers - they have all that long hair and they are so eager. And I don't see why blind helper dogs have to be blonde eager animals- why don't they pick the ones with really unfortunate colourings, mongrels that would have trouble finding a home, and give them to blind people. The dog would be so grateful not to be languishing in a kennel or at the bottom of the river in a sack, I am sure it would work extra hard at crossing the road safely and going out for the paper, without all that eager bounding and gay tongue -lolling that the current blind dog of choice does, fucking retriever cunts.

They have hearing dogs as well, but if I were hard of hearing I would not want one of those. I would not want a deaf aid hanging out of my ear either, and do you know why that is? Because tedious, whining, pretentious veal-calf Thom Yorke has just brought out an album all by himself, which means his wailing droning will be seeping out of speakers wherever I fucking go. Being deaf would be a fucking blessing.

That man really is a monumental cunt. I hated radiohead - the only song with any sort of a tune to it is the one "fake plastic trees" but even that let itself down by having some of the world's most desperate lyrics. And now Yorke has decided to go solo and has brought out a new album. I can't even bear to look at the cover of the new album, in case there is a photo of him on it; he has one of those faces that blends victimy- vulnerability with psychotic ire, a look normally seen in people on the turn from abusee to abuser. A face only a psychologist could love.

And what is with his name "Thom"? For fuck's sake! I suppose he thinks it is a clever way to shorten Thomas. Well, I dislike the name Thomas too, because it reminds me of years spend reading those fucking sanctimonious and dull train books to small children, but shortening it doesn't do a lot of good because a Tom or a Thom is another name for a prostitute and an "as" is the american word for an arse.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006


Times change. So should material.

In the hotter months, people are obsessed with cloth. Women cover themselves in cheap, shiny, over- ironed linen and think it makes them look sophisticated. Everywhere you go, people are all: cotton this, cotton that. Well I say cotton on, you cunts. There are many, many fantastic new and adventurous types of fabrics like Gore-tex and the one that lets the sweat out but keeps the rain off and the other one with a weird name, and they have all been made by the brains and hands of human beings.

Many people think that material should only be made by animals, but I think they need to open their minds more. Humans are far more sophisticated than animals, they have souls and the power of speech, and they have hands instead of claws and paws. This means that their ability to make fabric is superior to that of a sheep, which only has hooves, a silkworm which has no limbs whatsoever until it becomes a moth and the legs of a moth are no great shakes as we all know. And what about cotton - it is not even made by an animal, it grows on a tree. For fuck's sake! A tree is a tree - just all wooden roots and fleshy leaves and little cotton wool balls all over it. I just don't see what makes it so very fucking special.

What is more, I do not understand why quite sane people fall for this: "but these fabrics are all natural" line. Many things are "natural" as hippies will spend years telling you. It is natural to shit on the ground and walk off. Luckily and unnaturally, we now have lavatories where you can not only shit into a porcelain chair, but a moving current of water carries your shit out of harm's way. God, we're brilliant altogether, in a brilliantly unnatural and sophisticated way, yet "natural" bore-bores would have us believe that natural is best. Natural is not best though, is it? Tell me how waiting for a worm to shit cloth is best, when you could get a technician to run you up a little gore-tex outfit which would probably do your job for you, go out for the shopping and fuck your wife while it is at it, as well as keeping the rain off and the sweat out? Jesus Christ on a stick! Cotton and linen and silk and wool - fuck you.


Tuesday, June 20, 2006


Unspeakably Fucking Awful

If you are a Freemason, you probably want to meet other Freemasons, so you can influence the course of justice, chant and eat blood. But, since being a Freemason requires a level of secrecy, (otherwise there would be no point in being one) the only way to communicate your Freemason-ness to other Freemasons, is by tickling the inside of other people's hands with your finger when you greet them. If they reciprocate with a flutter of fingers on your wrist, you have established that you are both Freemasons; all that remains is to go off and hide in cellars wearing nothing but an apron, or to roll up your trousers and show your leg to people.

If you are not a Freemason, but merely a moronic, tedious, unimaginative cunt, then you can communicate your cuntery to other cunts by saying:"In any way, shape or form" whenever you get the opportunity. Non-cunts and even some Freemasons say "at all" instead of "In any way, shape or form" That is all.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006


The Odyssey

A very popular theme for films is where the main character goes on a journey to get something or do something important. This storyline is no new thing, it has been around since before people could write and it, therefore, is an unimaginative, but reliable theme with which people from all corners of the world identify. The sappy omnipresence of odyssey films should have me heaving into my hand - but do you know what? I quite like them. My favourite one of all is Beavis and Butthead do America, but I also really enjoyed Road Trip -that was a great film,truly.

So, I was in the DVD shop getting a few cheapo knock offs in to tide me over while himself watches the world cup, and I bought this one called the "Euro trip" which is like "Road Trip" except set in Europe and then another one called "Trans America" - because I have always had a soft spot for the road trips set in America ever since watching Beavis and Butthead and the other one.

Sweet Mother of Jesus, it was not a film about a road trip at all - there was very little reference to driving through the different states and seeing the sights - it was pure horseshit. The woman from Desperate Housewives was in it, which I thought would lower the tone enough to make it the type of film I could follow without too much assistance, but I was wrong. What a fucking awful film it was - it was about a man dressed as a woman, who drove about.

Even with the benefit of the doubt given (it had crossed my mind, when I saw the trannie, that it might be an american version of Priscilla Queen of the Desert)it was pure shite. This film was about a man dressed as a woman, who drove about and got his son out of jail, waved his cock around a bit, french kissed his own son and finally got his cock turned inside out.

Friday, June 09, 2006


The plates of the Earth

Once upon a time, the earth was one enormous land mass, continent-free. Tribes of little men and bisons ran around, strange plants flourished and the throbbing of the earth filled the air with energy.

This must have been about the time when what became North Africa thought that it was okay to eat stew in forty degree heat. The fucking stupid cunts.

Stew is a pretty horrible thing to eat wherever you are in the world; Irish stew is vile; Lancashire hot pot is giff-guff; Hungarian goulash tastes as bad as it sounds, as does Coq au vin. But the people of these poor, cold countries don't have much choice in the matter. It is cold, it is raining, eat some stew.

If, however, you live in a fucking boiling desert, stew is a remarkably silly thing to eat. And don't give me "it is hot in India and they eat stew" because they do not, do they? They eat curry which is spicy, not cooked in water and isn't stewed at all it is cooked on top of the stove not in the oven or the microwave.

Over here they are all about Tagines which is the arab word for Stew cooked in a plate with a hat on it. I am not remotely impressed by a plate wearing a hat, it is just incredibly gay, and far less effective than a Le Creuset casserole dish. What is more, the people here are not even satisfied with making everyone eat stew, when there has not been a drop of rain for three months, and it is fucking boiling outside, with camels charging about all over the place - no they are not satisfied, not until they have put a handful of prunes - fucking prunes into the stew. Prunes are to make your bowels open, and are quite unnecessary here. This place is called "a shithole" precisely because it makes shit come out of your hole more quickly than it would if you were at home eating stew.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006


Hurdy Gurdy Flurdy Shite-Shite

I might be going to a ball. I say might, because there is some uncertainty about whether or not I will go. An enigma, that is me.

One of the things that will swing the decision, is the presence, at the ball, of an Abba tribute band. Now I have a lot of respect for tribute bands -I am glad Elvis died before my time, because I would have no interest at all in watching his real, genuine, alive, fat face with a greasy forelock, stuttering and shaking about - fuck that. Elvis impersonators though - they are the business.

Impersonators and Tribute Bands are quite often better than the real thing. After all, Impersonators are busy doing a professional job of being someone else, which means that they devote more energy and attention to detail being that someone else, than the actual person would bother doing, if they were just swanning around being themselves. I take my hat off to impersonators, all of them, except for Abba ones.

I fucking hate Abba impersonators, but not a millionth of the amount that I hate the real abba - they are a bunch of pale, washed-out, boring, badly dressed scandinavians -and we all know that Scandinavians are humourless self-harmers. I hate their stupid Abba songs in bad english, I hate the way people sing along to their stupid songs. I hate the gay dances that they and their impersonators do and I hate the way that people in the audience dress up like them and copy the way they dance. Why do they do that? Do they hate themselves? They must all hate themselves, to pieces, to dress in those terrible, terrible clothes and to move their bodies in those horrible, Abba-y ways.

I hate the fact that gay men think Abba are great when they are not. I just don't see why an interest in the back doors of other gentlemen, means you suddenly appreciate shit music. If I were a gay man I would start a group called Gays Against Abba and I would go to Sweden and find out where Abba lived and then I would set the beards of the Abba men on fire and I would shear the blonde hair off the Abba women and send it to Israel to make wigs for fundamentalist Jews

Friday, June 02, 2006


Whiteside Slays Socrates

Our 'marine' friend from the previous post got me thinking. In an attempt to prove how clever he is, he slipped in an inappropriate quote from Socrates (presumably the philiospher, not the bearded Brazilian footballer).

The 'marine' claims that Socrates said "The only true wisdom is that you know nothing". Well that's fucking bollocks. I know that Norman Whiteside is the youngest player ever to feature in the football world cup finals.

Yes! Fuck off, Socrates, you cunt! I do know something. Ha!

Whiteside 1 Socrates 0. Come on, Norman!

Ball Bag

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