Friday, September 29, 2006


They should be forced to stay here for ever and ever, the fucking cunts

It's Ramadan - yawny yawny cunt cunt. All the muslims are wandering about with faces like slapped arses, rubbing their necks and looking miserable. You can't blame them - I expect I would be fairly fucked off if I had thirty days of staying up all night eating and then wandering about like a zombie in the day. A lot of foreign people here make a real fuss about Ramadan "Oh I hate it" they say "Oh, the driving and the moods of the people" The driving is always shocking and Moroccans are not a joyful bunch at the best of times. I don't see what is so very different about Ramadan, except for all the non muslims harping on and on as if they were making some type of a sacrifice, when all they are actually doing is moaning more - which is surely a type of entertainment in itself.

Worse though, than the miserable muslims and the moaning expats are those foreigners who decide to "join in and DO Ramadan" along with the locals. What the fucking hell is that all about? I met a couple of them the other day and they were all: "Yes, I like to experience what the indigenous population experience" and :"When in Rome, do what the romans do". What fucking stupid logic that is, for a start! If I were in Rome, I would not start sacrificing Christians, carving statues of people in togas or painting fucking church ceilings . I would go to the nearest pizzeria, and then I would go to Maxmara and buy myself a new suit and then I would probably go sightseeing or have an audience with the pope.

And I think it is making a mockery of the religion of others to start getting in there with the fasting and no shagging during daylight hours and all of that. If I were a muslim I would think that infidels cashing in on Ramadan and having a bit of a religious tourist experience were utter, utter cunts. If I were an islamic extremist - I would round up all the non muslims "experiencing Ramadan for themselves" and send them to Afghanistan to be radicalised and martyred to give them the full fucking jihad.

It isn't just non-muslims having a dabble at Islam that makes me furious, I personally want to shit if I see protestants genuflecting. If I caught a non-papist doing the stations of the cross - I'm not sure I could be held responsible for my actions. People joining in with other people's religions, fuck off and die or I will slice you open and feed your liver to wild birds and dogs.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006


It's dreadfully gay

If I were kidnapped - I'd be a real asset to my fellow hostages because I always know what time it is. I never wear a watch - never have, because I do not need to. Someone said to me once: "When you fall in love with THE ONE, you JUST KNOW". Well, I JUST KNOW what the time is, all day and everyday, even in the middle of the night. Like now - it is quarter to four in the afternoon. Okay?

Because I have this spooky affinity with time, I am well placed to fucking resent the twenty four hour clock. Jesus Christ I hate it. What is wrong with people who say: "It's nineteen thirty six", it fucking is not, is it? It is "twenty five to eight". The french are all about the twenty four hour time telling as well: "Thirteen O'clock", the fucking dirty cunts. People will always give you a reason for their use of the twenty four hour clock, if you call them on it: "It's to avoid the confusion, between day and night". Oh is that right, is it? Well, if I say to you: "What time will we meet for lunch?" and you say: "One O'clock", incredibly, I don't even need the qualifier: "In the afternoon", let alone the precision of calling 1 o'clock, 13 o'clock, because I don't imagine we would be meeting in the dead of night for lunch. So, there is absolutely no need at all for "twenty O'clock" this and "twenty three thirty" that. Fuckety fuck off.

And Old People, you know who you are, you old feckers, who are always giving it :"Five and twenty past seven" or :"Seven and thirty past six", just hurry away off to your graves you innumerate, senile cunts.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


I think I have made a friend

I met another bleeding heart animal saver at the weekend. This place is crawling with them, women who would climb over an amputee child to save a kitten with a thorn in its paw. I would save neither, of course, but then I have come to terms with the fact that I am a cunt, and I don't need to have a last gasp at kindness by ostentatiously interferring with stray animals.

So, the animal woman started off having a go at those men who thrust monkeys at you in Marrakech so you can get your photo taken with a primate. I had to agree with her about it "Yes, I fucking hate that too" I said "The last thing I want is a scrotty little humanoid rifling through my hair for fleas - fuck that". It turned out she was not objecting to the monkeys per se - rather the fact that they were being required to do a days work for their banana. But apart from the detail as to why we hated the monkey men, the fact remained that we hated them both, so in fact we had something in common.

What is more, she started on about dancing bears and how much she disliked that and I had to agree with her on that too. I saw a dancing bear in Uzbekistan a few years ago and it was horrible. All claws and teeth and it danced like my brother at a rave. The nasty, stinking fecker.

Sunday, September 24, 2006


Ketchup with the Joneses

I really like tomato ketchup - not on everything, I hate it on eggs, for example and prefer brown sauce. But on chips, I must have it. In a tight corner, I'll eat any brand of ketchup, and I adjust my expectations accordingly - in the kebab shop, I accept that the red, viscous liquid squirted haphazardly in the corner of my greasy paper cone might have sweet topnotes and a watery finish. In a posh gaff though, I expect Heinz.

I went out to dinner with my husband and a couple of his friends some years ago and the woman thought herself quite the height of grandness. She made a fuss about where we sat, she asked for a new wineglass because the one in front of her had the faint mark of a mouth around the rim, she harped on about hating chardonnay, wouldn't have the vegetables off the menu, preferring julienned this and sauteed that - what a fucking boring cunt she was. And she held her knife like a pen, the whore.

Even more irritating than her unfortunate personality was our waiter, who seemed impressed by her high-maintenance approach to ordering. Where another server might have jizzed in her food to pay her back for being such a thorn in the side, this one hung around her like a fawning acolyte, answering her bad french with a whispered "d'accord, madame". We were in Redditch.

I just wanted to cry with rage, I hated the pair of them so much, so I ordered red wine with my sole, and asked for a side order of chips and the man brought them out to the table without any ketchup at all on side of the plate. Taking a leaf out of Miss Exacting's book I pointed at my dinner: "There's something missing, is there not?" I said, my lip curling like a Midlands' gurner. "What can I get you, Madam", said the cunt. "Some fucking ketchup please" I answered. He brought it to the table in a faux silver gravy boat, on a small plate, with a miniature spoon on the side. What a horrible, awful, rotten, weeping cunt

Friday, September 22, 2006


If he was real, then he was an absolute cuntwipe

My Catholic education had very little to do with the bible - I spent a lot of time drawing pictures of saints and talking about saints and miracles. I liked the fact that there was very little reference to literature in my religious upbringing, and instead of banging on about the bible, one could develop a stalker like fetish for one particular incarnation of holiness and with that obsessive devotion, bypass all boring theological discussions about transubstantiation, purgatory and divine retribution, simply by fielding an obscure fact about your own special holy person. I had a passing fondness for St Francis of Assissi, my sister Maud aimed higher,and used to draw pictures of the Infant of Prague on her thumb.

My least favourite person in the bible is Noah, whom I do not count as a saint, I think he was a cunt. I'd rather have ten King Herods and twenty eight Judases than that old fool. What a kiss-arse he was, getting the tip off that the world was about to end, what a great god-sucking creep. He wasn't the personification of generosity either, building that great big boat to look out for number one and his offspring - a bigger man would have offered a few of the less sinful community a lift on it, but that apart, my greatest problem with the white bearded old anus is the fact that he filled that fucking boat with animals. I like animals very much- I don't eat them and I am kind to them, but I can't fucking stand people who go around saving endangered species and interfering with the course of nature. Pandas are shite - hopeless both at shagging and eating, the two best things in life - let the bastards die out!. Giraffes are useless, gawky creatures with nasty soft horns that make me feel slightly ill. Elephants smell really bad. If the world were going to end and I had the opportunity to allow it to get created all over again I would leave it animal free and see if some new ones appeared. The dinosaurs died out and I am perfectly delighted about that - my love of lizards doesn't extend to Godzilla, and I do not cry about the lack of pterodactyls on my bird table. Equally, if a flood were going to carry off a few cows and sheep and lions, I would take it like a man, and instead of snivelling about change,look forward to a new wave of creatures, maybe with pink velour pelts, or rubber- coated, bouncing, spawn- laying multi-terrain animals that lactate tea. If Noah is an invention, then he is a dreadfully shit character in a bad story, if he was real then he was God's own Almighty cunt

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


Message to large Seals

Elephant Seals are the largest of all seals. They live in cold waters and breed on the shores of Southern Argentina. Male elephant seals can be as much as six metres long

Is that right? Well, I've only got one thing to say to you then, Elephant Seals. If you can grow six metres long, why the fuck don't you grow a pair of legs, get the fuck out of the ocean and evolve, you vast, honking, non- fish, sea- dwelling cunts.

Monday, September 18, 2006


They should donate their legs to a Dog's Home

People who walk slowly should have their legs chopped off below the knees. If they are walking slowly because they are crippled, then chopping their legs off below the knees simply hurries up the crippling process and gets the cripple a wheelchair faster on the National Health. If they are walking slowly because they are lazy then these people need their legs cut off for mocking the afflicted.

The worst thing about people who walk slowly is that they "amble" or "potter" along, as slowly as fuck, while they are perfectly able bodied, and then the minute their knees give out from underuse and they are forced to sit about old and disabled they don't fucking stop giving it: "I wish I could get out and walk to the the shops". Fucking desperate lazy old cunts.

And those women who walk slowly because they wear fucking ridiculous shoes, well I have absolutely no time at all for them, they deserve thickened veins. Usually women wear high heels because they believe heels :"lengthen the leg" (which is code for because the woman has a huge arse) and for this alone they need their heads seen to. Wearing heels does not diminish the size of the arse, it just balances the obscene rear bulk over two sharp points. The arse remains as fat as it was before, heels or not. Having said that, high heels are marvellous things, I like them a lot- but they are designed for going to parties in (Taxi, lean against wall) or shagging (Taxi, lean against wall preferably in magnificent, opulent and decadent hotel suite or B and B).
And what about those people who walk slowly and then just fucking stop dead in the street, right there in the middle of the pavement for absolutely no reason at all! I can't explain how angry they make me, I want to push them into the gutter and beat them to death with their shoes.

Thursday, September 14, 2006


The Rough with the Smoove

As you get more mature, you realise that everything is not without a downside, and if you are Irish, and getting on a bit, you probably enjoy the downsides almost more than the ups. I don't, as it happens, I absolutely prefer things to be great, and I always thought that was the one and only thing besides a great admiration for Macdonalds, that I shared with the Americans.

I used, also, to admire another american export, the R and B music, in fact I own quite a few compilation albums, and some other non-compilation ones with warbling men and fierce women going on about clothes and money. R and B is a truly uplifting sound and I am all in favour of the essence of it, but for two fucking annoying habits that the artists have. Now, take L'il Kim, a short-arse who, if she wears clothes at all makes sure they are a couple of sizes too small, and sings away about being from Brooklyn. Now she has a fine voice and some interesting things to say about people in her house and niggas pissing in doorways - but she lets herself down with her 'ludes.

I fucking hate 'ludes and I fucking hate 'intros. I don't need some cunt going on:'Listen up y'all' or having a conversation on the phone to their lawyer, or like those women in TLC; talking whilst on the latrine, or maybe just a great din of gibbering and shooting guns and screaming, and then all the noise stopping suddenly leaving only the sound of a heart beating. Just fucking don't, y'all. Leave the 'ludes and write a whole song or turn off the recording tape and have a rant and rave and shoot people on your own time. Ayeeeet?

And what about those fucking arshole people who have children singing on their songs! Whitney Houston has a child who sings: 'Sing it Mummy' at the beginning of that song 'My love is your love' and that vegan cunt who hasn't quite got over not finishing at university Kanye West, has hordes of the little fuckers singing things throughout his album. I'd write to the European court of Human Rights and complain about the child labour and exploitation on R and B albums, except these singing children are Americans and Americans have even worse human rights than the Chinese - they have only just got shot of slaves and they still kill people in some states, and all the mothers go out to work. So I expect if I complained to the Americans about the children singing on albums they would just give me a look with fishy eyes and say 'oh rilly' and then go back to eating squirrels and carving things in their enormous basements.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006


I love the chinese

Every year, the Chinese hold a special celebration to commemorate how much they hate the Japanese. It is called "I hate Japanese Day" or something. Each year, I get invited to the Chinese Embassy for the occasion and it is unmissable. I don't actually hate the Japanese, I rather liked Japan when I went there, and although it was fucking, fuck off expensive as fuck, it was almost worth the money. I like all their temples and I can see myself as a buddhist, not killing the flies and sitting about thinking about things - it is me. Those weird archways they have around the place that clean your soul each time you walk under one - well that is practically catholic is it not? It's like going to confession, but silently. Absolution for just walking. I'm fucking in!

"I hate Japanese day" is great because you get to watch snuff movies of the Japs killing the Chinese in a very inhumane way, and there is usually a little photo gallery with pictures of severed heads and corpses. They serve spring rolls and goujons of fried pork with brown sauce and occasionally, just to fucking mix it up, they make a Chinese version of Japanese tempura vegetables like a great poke in the Japanese eye with a Chinese chopstick. Some people will not go to the Chinese Japanese hating day because they feel they might be making some kind of a stand, but I've no time for diplomacy - it's for cunts. Spring rolls and gore - that seals it for me.

This year I am especially looking forward to it because I am still reeling from a terrible Japanese food experience I had in a Nip restaurant recently. I ordered one of those set meals where you get the miso soup and the tempura vegetables with the dipping sauce that smells like a wet dog and a sort of version of coleslaw and a bowl of rice. All perfectly edible it was. However, they threw in this thing that looked like a creme caramel in a teacup and I dug in with the spoon and it was cold custard and at the bottom of the teacup was a piece of dog food. The fucking filthy dirty cunts

Saturday, September 09, 2006


Why is he famous? I just don't fucking get it

Many people who are famous are dreadful - but you can understand why they have got famous despite, or occasionally, because of their cuntery. It might be that they are great at singing, or acting or they behave in such an elaborately odd way that we need them up there in the public eye to entertain us when things get too mediocre in the real world. Even Robbie Williams and Morissey - two top-notch arrogant talentless choppers- have their own entertainment purpose. Hundreds of pathetic, unimaginative women are kept happy, rubbing away at their withered clits while they listen to Robbie's bellowing or Morrissey's tuneless howling. And John Lennon - a man for whom I have astonishingly little time, he too has a special place in musical history- he set the bar for non-self-aware lyric writing with that horrible song Imagine, and he made it okay to be hound-ugly and bespectacled, and to have an androgenous girlfriend with an unruly muff. So Lennon had his place too, even though I hate the dead maggoty cunt.

The one person at the moment that I am having difficulty in understanding is that fucking ubiquitous Adam Sandler - a showbiz all-rounder - who sings, makes jokes, stars in films and produces them. I just don't fucking get it, I really don't. He is very ordinary to look at, his eyes are too close together, which he cannot help, but still, you would think that America could produce something similar to him with eyes further away from the bridge of the nose ( like Jason Biggs for instance, the one out of American Pie who looks almost identical to Sandler, except with a more generous space between his eyes), and he is reasonable at acting and he can sing in tune, but he has the most unpleasant timbre to his voice. If I wanted to sound like Adam Sandler, I would not need to lower the pitch of my voice at all, as he has the voice of a woman, but I would need to hold on to my nose, fucking tight and never ennunciate any of my words, and mutter and not really move my lips all that much, and just sound like a whining fucking cunt. I hate his voice, really, I fucking hate it. And before you lot start on about my voice -I have worked as a voice over actress, so I fucking know all about voices, and I could teach my tortoise to speak better than him.

Like many people that I dislike, I tried not to dislike Sandler on sight, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt, sitting my way through fucking horrible cheesy dross like Spanglish, and the unfunny shithouse comedy Mr Deeds and that ghastly religious thing where he is the son of the Devil, and each time, I hated him just a tiny bit more. The death knell came when I was watching Anger Management - a film which I bought because I am desperately in love with Jack Nicholson, and he sang "I feel pretty" and dear God, it was just a horrible noise - a fucking disaster of a noise. Reedy, grizzling, whining,high-pitched, nasal, male equivalent of a baby voice. I would cut off my ears rather than hear it again. He has made about six musical albums too. Who buys that shit? It can only be the Germans.

Thursday, September 07, 2006



Talking about gender is immensely dull - whether you are a slack titted feminist, a few hairs short of a primate, or a big liberal fanny - there is no need to be interested in what type of genitals anyone has, unless you want to ride them.

I listened to a conversation the other day which was the usual tedious, frenchified, Ricard-fuelled shite with some ghastly whore yapping about :"men and women are really different" and an older man agreeing with her whilst he tried to get a look down the front of her dress. They kept looking at me to see if I wanted to join in and have a little debate with them, but I was busy watching two flies shagging on a wall. The man fly actually went around to the woman fly's face and sort of waved his antennae at her, I think he was kissing her, in a special insect way.

Anyway, I carried on watching the flies, until the old man who was looking at the woman's bra, started on about "ladies" this and "lady" that, and then I left, because I despise people who use that word, it is horribly lower middle class. Lady is an okay name for a dog though.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]