Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Men are fucking cunts
Men who seem exciting quickly turn into the most tedious slipper-toting bores - yapping on about machines, or buying and selling things for a ludicrously small amount of profit or loss on some gay online auction. Men who once admired provocative and exciting clothing on the female form will soon tent their wives in ghastly fat- face rugby shirts and comfortable jeans in a weak, Turkish bid to keep other men away. My sister Maud had a boyfriend who was desperate to get her to wear dungarees, DUNGAREES - the lesbian wardrobe staple- to hide her legs away from other leering males, and I had one who used to try and shove me into Laura Ashley, and liked round toed shoes. Needless to say those two aren't on the scene any more.
And then there are the biscuit restrictors- men who lack will-power and fuss about their weight, who can't bear to see anyone else tucking into a hob nob. Even women like me who eat their own weight in chips and pies and chocolate and remain skinny and never, ever go on about being fat or eating healthily, can get a biscuit restrictor hovering frantically, ready to whip the packet away and hide it - just so they, the pathetic males, can eat the biscuits later and then beat themselves up in a frenzy of weak-willed self-hatred. I fucking hate men who whine about their weight it is just beyond gay. Be a fat bastard - or don't be one - I don't care. Just don't tell everyone else what they should be eating as some of us want to eat things we like - rather than fucking lettuce.
And then there are those awful cockmongers who enter into toxic relationships with women, where each party removes a right from the other - like a vile, restrictive game of Jenga: "I don't want you seeing so and so". "Right, then I don't want you going to the football". "Okay, well then in that case, I don't want you to go out with people from work if there are men there". "Fine, well as long as you are happy not to go on the golf weekend then that's fine by me". "Okay - but you aren't wearing those shoes outside of the bedroom" and on and fucking on until both parties are boxed in and as miserable as sin, and all that remains is for them to stare at each other until they die of boredom - occasionally breaking the deathly monotony with a trip to B and Q to buy a stone ornament for the garden, or painting the bedroom a slightly different colour.
Worst of all are those fucking dickheads who won't tell you what is wrong - I absolutely loathe those cunts. "What's wrong?" you ask them "Nothing" they say. If I wanted to have that kind of conversation, I'd hang around a girls' school playground. Fucking nonces.
This man isn't a cunt - go read him. Deep and thoughtful debate on my favourite subject.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Disappointed by the Discovery Channel # 2
If you get the chance though - don't watch "Megastructures: USS Regan" - what a disappointing bag of shite that was. All about some yanks supersizing an aircraft carrier and making it so absolutely vast, that it took up the whole sea. There were interesting parts to it, I'll grant you - I enjoyed watching the people in the laundry room, pressing all the clothes, and the man in charge of mashing up the rubbish and the one in the kitchen frying oversized steak after oversized steak. And I was interested to be given a televisual tour of the THREE supermarkets, all selling crisps in enormous bags, where the sailors could not use money, they had this plastic card with special naval money on it, which they had to put into a customised machine. And although the boat was the size of one thousand blue whales, everyone had to sleep in a tiny coffin and fold their socks a particular way, in order to fit the very few things they were allowed to bring with them on the boat, into their pathetically small lockers. I almost felt sorry for the crew, until they took the great big craft on a journey from the east coast of America to the West coast of America - and had to go all the way down to the South of America around Cape Horn because the thing was too large to go through the Panama canal.
The fucking stupid cunts
Thursday, May 17, 2007
The best thing in the world
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Friday, May 11, 2007
Which one of the following statements is a lie
Italian military personnel are issued with hot pink long johns for winter.
Americans have aerosol lamb.
Go on then. Which one is it??
Monday, May 07, 2007
Push my boundaries - I'll fucking push you over a cliff
types of food, among the best are chips, pizza, baked
potatoes,cherries, coleslaw, crisps and non-french bread.There are a lot more foodstuffs, of course, some more or less exciting than my definitive list - there certainly is enough choice around to avoid menu-fatigue for a good few years, that is the point.
I really can't be doing with these fucking cock bandits who think it is okay to make jugged hare ice cream, or tripe and vodka cake or marzipan black pudding,it is not okay at all, they should fuck off and die, the weirdo offal-fiddling cunts. Not least because the food they peddle in their hideously overpriced noncy-named restaurants is rank and made from scraps, but because as fashion is inclined to do, their monkeying around with cheap innards, filters down to and finds its way into the high street food shops. Places I shop.
I bought a packet of jaffa cakes the other day, they were not called jaffa cakes because they were french, they were called something gay instead, but the picture looked like a jaffa cake, so I opened the packet and ate one, and the jelly bit was red and tasted like raw liver. That is what we have come to in these days of idiots vying with each other to make a more extraordinarily palate-challenging menu - chocolate, sponge and liver biscuits. The fucking filthy feckers.
And people who think preserved lemons are nice can fucking stick it up their holes as well. Preserved lemons=cilit bang. Fucking sour as shit and rankly chemical in flavour. That is all
Friday, May 04, 2007
But they do come out with some unholy old shite sometimes, the old, and they are always offering advice, whether or not you have given off any type of an air of requiring help. “If I can tell you one thing” this old woman said to me: “It is to keep your hand on your ha’penny”. I gave her a little smile, the type you would give a simpleton, nodded politely and then fucking legged it away, as fast as I could. What a lunatic, that old hag was, an absolute, barking mental- health -disaster! Now, I am not remotely interested in numismatology, it is a thing that would make me want to have a sleep, but even I know that there has not been a half pence piece around for a few years. I also recognise that decimalisation caused great problems in the brains of the old, used as they were to shillings and florins and half a crown and a bushel of this or whatever the fuck their “old money” was. But they phased out the half penny years ago I am sure of it.
I could not get what the old woman was on about - was she a spectacular miser, egging me on to guard the shrapnel in my purse with my life, or was she just plain mental? I asked a younger woman, who also speaks entirely in riddles, what this crone could mean and she knew immediately :“She was telling you to keep your hand on your minge”.
Jesus Christ! Who would have thought the old bat was on about that ? And then, perhaps because I am slow, or lack empathy for the criminally insane, I had to ask the younger woman more about it, so I said to her: "How does that work then?? If you constantly have one hand on your twat, how can you go to the lavatory effectively? And what about at Mass, will it be alright to whip my hand out of my knickers for long enough to receive the body of Our Lord into my fishy palm? Jesus Christ”. This one with the riddles was all smug and bridling: “No, you idiot,” she says, “The old woman means, that you keep your hand on your vagina, in order to keep the men off it”. Again - why would I do that type of shite? Besides, most men are revved up into a state of priapic lust, at the mere thought of a woman interfering with herself - so I think the idea of having your hand permanently on your clout in public, would be a bad idea all round. The stupid, senile, old whore.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Gay little pens
But the stylus - the gay little pen found stuck down the side of an expensive PDA system, those stylus things are the end of a dog's cock, just beyond vile. I absolutely despise them. If anything, ever, were asking to be lost down the lavatory, or snapped in half, or left on a bus, it is the stylus, the most losable thing on the planet. And the way the stylus is used is so mincing - gently tapping the surface of anything is just so very, very gay. When I see a man using a stylus, I know for a fact that he kisses without using his tongue. That is all
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Wormholes. You Hollywood Cunts.
Now the reason I love a romantic film, is not some girly gay thing about wanting to see two people be happy together, it is simply because the plot is so very, very easy to follow, that I am less likely to need to ask hundreds of questions as the film progresses. I prefer the content of an action film, but by the time it has got to the third frame, I've lost track of who all the people are, and why that man is talking to that person, and why on earth is he wearing his coat inside, the cunt? No, I have realised that my limitations, in a cinematic plot context, are boy meets girl, one of them is probably married, they fuck and either end up together or do not and die. I can manage that.
But recently there has been a spate of really fucking appalling twists on that theme. And there is no need for it. Love, and adultery and being together or separation and ultimately death, are film themes that have been with us for hundreds, nay, millions of years. Why fuck about with something that works? Jesus Christ, those Hollywood cunts! No, twice recently, I have bought a film with a picture of two middle-aged people nuzzling each other on the front, the woman looking slightly sad. And I have put the thing on, and it starts off all normal - people going around, the woman a bit scatty or worthy, the man a bit of an old rake, then suddenly the reason they cannot be together is not a sensible reason like one of them having a husband, or a wife, no. It is because they are in different time dimensions - sometimes parallel universes, other times time warps, and then suddenly there will be a bit where they get together by climbing through a rip in the meniscus of time, so they get through this wormhole and have it away with each other, and then the time-challenged lovers either end up together, or die. I am so furious. I despise that type of shit - there is absolutely no such thing as a wormhole, and if there were there would be far better things to do with it than use it to get a ride. How about jumping ahead and finding out how to cure AIDS, or going back in time and telling Ghandhi he was a cunt, and then running for it, before hundreds of sandal wearing bores ripped you apart for sacrilege, that would be great.
And it does not offer much hope to the Bridget-Jones-Single-Woman type, the kind I have sitting on my sofa regularly, crying on about how there are no men, or how the men they meet are all shites or married. Making these women think that the answer to their man-drought prayers, is a fucking wormhole and a man from the past or the future, well I just fucking ask you! It is not doing any favours for anyone this type of role modelry.
Far better to encourage your single woman friends to go out husband grabbing, or get them to marry some boring cretin and fuck the local National Geographic Magazine Photographer and then almost leave their husbands for him, but in the cold light of day to think better of it and spend the rest of their lives tending steers, baking pies and dwelling on the past.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
How to get the ride
Men who would not get the ride, even were they to arrive with a lorryful of Tesco maize-based snacks, are as follows:
Policemen (hate them)
Men who wax themselves (gay)
Men with more than two cats (murderers)
Men with "collections" - music and porn are excused, I'm talking "lilliput lane cottages"/first edition books/things that are still in their original packaging (take hours and hours to ejaculate)
I hope that clears things up for everyone
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]