Monday, October 23, 2006


You Have Only Yourself To Blame

I am getting thoroughly sick of this tedious debate about muslim
women's veils. Here in Ireland we don't have anyone who walks around with their
face covered, except if they are about to fuck a petrol bomb at a police land
rover, so it is very unusual to me.

Maybe it is something about the mystery of the veil, but I am starting
to find that teaching assistant who got the boot from her job really sexy.
I love the way she wiggles into court, shaking her arse and her tits

Obviously with the veil and everything a blowjob is almost certainly out of
the question, so I would have to wank over her instead. The problem is,
because of the way she chooses to dress, my only option would be to
come in her eyes which, Noreen tells me, stings quite a lot.

If she would only embrace our Western values I could come somewhere
civilized, like her tits, but her adherence to her own religious dogma
could mean that she ends up with stinging eyes. Not my fault - her fault.
Ball Bag

Ball Bag is Right!

Interfering, goggle-eyed, power-crazed dictator Tony Blair thinks that if muslim
women take their veils off, suddenly everyone will be friends and Al Qaeda will disband and write musicals instead. He's a fucking cunt, that man.

Friday, October 20, 2006


Not allowed

I like adverbs a lot - I know I'm being a little bit "out there" saying that, but fuck it, I really, absolutely fucking well love adverbs. Except for "quintessentially" which despite sounding a bit like "cunt essentials" is a vile and awful word. It is the kind of word that is normally only ever written, and guess what? I object to it being written down as well as it looks so very fucking gay, because it begins with a Q and there are no good words apart from Quim which begin with a Q.

The "written-ness" of the ghastly word "quintessentially" makes it a very attractive term for utter cunts to use. You see, there is a small pocket of arseholes in the world, who make it their business to speak as if they were reading out loud, rather than thinking about what they were going to say and just saying it.These people stop a lot when they are talking, and screw up their faces, twitching their heads from side to side and working their mouths like slow-punctured blow-up dolls, all to give the impression of gravitas and education. And then there are policemen, nearly all of whom talk like cunts :"proceed" this and :"RV"that, as if they are reading out of those moron notebooks they scrawl in at crime scenes. I hate people who speak as if they were reading a script - no one is fooled into thinking them highly educated or erudite or articulate they just sound like dickheads. And you people who say "somewhat" instead of "a bit" or "slightly", you can fuck off and die as well.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006



I've been in Rome - what an overrated fucking shithole that town is, isn't it? I absolutely loathe the way that people who want to be perceived as cultured harp on about how marvellous the place is - it is a dirty, yawny shit pit - crawling with pale, fat, whispering, reverent British tourists and specky germans squinting up at crumbly old buildings and being "overwhelmed by art". Italy is a tedious place that attracts really tedious people boring on: "Tuscan" this and "Umbrian" that, when the place is not that remarkable at all. This woman on a train kept going on: "Look at the poplar trees - aren't they marvellous?". They were just trees, tall things with leaves on them and they were planted in anally retentive rows around the place. What a fucking cunt that woman was. I listened to her bang on for a bit about "rural Italian culture" (they are peasants who live with their mothers and swap sides in wars) and the "amazing cuisine" (Dolmio) and I was considering swatting her around the head with my copy of Vogue when I spotted two young germans sitting there, fucking bold as brass with their rucksacks on their fronts.

I cannot explain to you how angry it makes me to see people wearing backpacks on their fronts- just seething mad with rage. It is such a statement of "security consciousness" I could just fucking shit, and you know that all the frontbag wearing thrifty cunts have in those complicated bags is a stupid towel that dries fast, a camera and a dumb iPod and some really awful clothes in muted colours. And those fuckers always have vast and cautiously researched insurance, bought on the internet for a minimal fee that pays out a million Deutschmarks or Euros or whatever the fuck they have over there if they so much as snag their fleece on the zip of their trousers the fucking sensible squarefucks, so even if some gypsy were to slash their packs and thieve their ugly travelwear, they would not lose a pfennig. God, I hate organised people fussing around worrying - why do they not just stay at home and buy new burglar alarms and fit safes in their houses,and get those lights that switch on and off every time somebody walks past the house, and join the neighbourhood Wacht, the miserable mewling bastards. And please, don't give me: "A rucksack can be worn on the front OR the back" because that is, quite simply, untrue, and the germans would be the first to put you straight on that, as "Rucksack" means "Backbag", if it were meant to be worn on front it would be called a "Brustsack". So those germans had absolutely no excuse at all to be wearing the bag the wrong way around unless they were so monumentally retarded that they could not understand the difference between "Back" and "Front" or "Ruck" and "Brust", and if indeed they were that retarded in their own language, then they certainly should not have been out there wandering around like a pair of lost wrongers, on a train, in a foreign country.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006


International affairs bore me fucking rigid

Isn't it tedious, all this talk about North Korea and their bomb? God, I'm sick to the back teeth of it, those fucking dreadful, attention seeking, totalitarian cunts. They're so behind the times with it all as well, the morons! I'm sure I remember crying myself to sleep with the fear of the holocaust when I was a mere seven years old (and I am thirty four now), so unless North Korea are having a "vintage revival" and parading all their ancient weapons like a military version of Sienna Miller, then they are just fucking backward, aren't they?

I wish they would get back to holding pieces of card in the air, eating dogs and all dressing the same. That is all

Monday, October 09, 2006


London Calling.....

I seem to be the only person left in the world who hates Jamie Oliver.

I really, really, really fucking hate him, but every time I believe I've found someone else who hates him, they come out with some shit like, `Oh, it's really interesting that you think that, because I quite like him. I used to think he was a bit off, you know, a bit funny, but then he invited me round to his house and cooked me dinner, and he was so nice and friendly and funny, not at all like you think, and Jules is really lovely, so sweet...'

Everything he does is so fucking self-promoting, you think he'd invented food or something, and no-one knew how to eat or how to cook until he started riding round on his fucking moped playing toploader and saying `bosh' and `treacle' at random.

He is not even a proper cockney, his parents ran a gastropub called `The Cricketers' in a chavvy stockbroker Essex village where everyone shortens their surname into a shitty nickname like `Ackers' or `Dicco'.

All that crap about wanting to help disadvantaged young people learn a trade, that restaurant with all the mongs working in it was just a stunt, a project for a tv programme. Now the programme's finished no-one goes there any more, least of all him. And the tv ads for the series where he was acting all angsty and `Oh no, what have I done, I've risked my reputation and everything on this being a success, and I just don't know how it'll turn out,' what a wanker, he was getting paid for the series whether the restaurant was any good or not, the fucking hypocrite.

And that cunt friend of his who runs the fucking pig farm, I'd like to go round there and put him through his own sausage machine and feed him to his own fucking free-range pigs, the posh prick

Oscar Independent Television News

Thursday, October 05, 2006


Really, please, just don't be.

I hate the word "friendly" as it uses loads of your face to say it (assuming you do not have some type of an impediment). You have to pout like a frog, hang your teeth over your bottom lip like a rabbit, move your lips about, touch both your hard and soft palettes with the tip and back of your tongue and then make a low guttural noise. What a fucking palaver that is! I don't need Jane Fonda of the face, thank you very much. I wish human beings could just coo like doves instead.

I also hate the word "friendly," because it is normally used by busybodies and soppy girls that I want to stab in the neck. I'm not awfully friendly, as you might have guessed, we sociopaths tend not to be, but sadly the sociopaths' powerful combination of magnetic charm (to sing each note out of tune, one must have perfect pitch) and vicious aloofness makes us irresistible to our busybody, friendly, interfering, competitive, thirsting- for- knowledge, cunty other people. It's a curse, although I suppose it does make it a bit easier to get the ride.

People say things when they first meet me like: "I thought I would introduce myself, you know, just to be friendly" and I am overwhelmed by their astonishing self importance and ability to congratulate themselves. How fucking dare they! "just to be friendly" "Just to be a fucking tedious cunt" more like. The vicious irony of it is that the more chiselling they are, the less inclined I am to be their friend, and equally the more I give off the signal of being extraordinarily bored by them, the harder they try, and the less I get left alone. The only answer is to kill the person, as soon as they come out with the "friendly" line, and then, when I go to prison for murder, to have a go at a prison warder using a weapon made out of forks to ensure solitary confinement for life.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006


I am not amused

I fucking loathe amuse-bouches; those dabs of poncy, mucked about with food on a really large plate which the waiter brings, unbidden, before your starter arrives.

I hate them because they have a gay, french name which is innacurate because my mouth is not amused by them, no, not a bit of it, my mouth wants to shout obscenities at them instead.

I hate them because they taste horrible, as they are normally small spoonfuls of pureed gizzard, or just a glorified cheese on toast with a small fucking olive on top.

And I hate them because the last thing you need before you tuck into a huge three course meal is a ponced about owl pellet to "put you on". Fuckety, fuckety, fuckety, fuck right off

Monday, October 02, 2006


So you have a middle name? So fucking what?

I am terribly fond of blasphemy - I will invoke all manner of holy people to express my frustration - Jesus, Mary, Joseph, God in heaven, St fucking Peter - I'm not fussy at all. Indeed, my eclecticism in holy insults generously extends to others - I don't get at all upset or offended by anyone going on "Swet mother of God" this or "Holy fuck" that - they can say anything they damn well like. Anything, that is except for the american expression Jesus "H" Christ. What the fuck does that mean, do any of you yanks actually know? Did Our Lord have the middle name "Henry" or something, and only you obese, travel-shy fuckers know about it? I suppose given the amount of time the Americans spend hanging about the Holy Land they might well have some information they aremn't sharing with us, but then you'd think they would keep it under their hats, to use later.

However, blasphemy apart, I fucking hate people who refer to their middle name as an inital. I don't go around Noreen "A" O'Briening it about the place, do I? and not just because I would not entirely be sure whether to call myself Noreen A, or Noreen An (on acount of the two vowels being side by side), no, mostly because I would not want to come across as an utter fucking cunt. And you people who insist on calling your son the same name that you have and therefore forcing the poor little bastard to refer to himself just by an inital (I've no one in mind here, no one at all), have some shame, you selfish, hubristic, fucking cuntholes. There are baby name books out there with thousands and hundreds of names in them, and if you are non-catholic -you're not even stuck with digging around for the name of a saint -you can call your kid anything you like - like Cloud, or Snow or Desk or whatever.

When I was at school I once asked a nun if Jesus had any brothers or sisters, because there was a bit in a gospel or something about brothers and Mary doing something with her children. The Nun was most displeased at me casting aspersions on the chastity of Our Lady and I spent the afternoon in disgrace. My point is that to start giving names to Our Lord would be fairly unwise in a climate of extreme religious volatility. That is all

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