Saturday, June 30, 2007

 

meme bollocks

This woman the Smashed Frog has asked me to tell you eight things about myself that you might not know. I think this entire blog is full of things about myself that you would not know - is that not the exact point of a blog? Perhaps she is a bit simple. Anyway whether she is a halfwit or not is of no consequence- I don't see why I can't find another eight things to surprise you with.

1 I can deepthroat, without gagging

2. My favourite tree is a monkey puzzle

3. I like Sting's music (not Sting - he is a fucking cunt)

4. I like Phil Collin's music (Not Phil Collins- he is a baldy fucking cunt)

5. I do not have milk in my tea

6. I think Tuscany is a fucking crappy, overrated, bourgeois hole

7. I have been in two films

8. I fancy Alan Titchmarsh

Now I am supposed to ask people to answer this - so I will ask both the spooks, Bogol, Jack, the eskimo, the muppet and Tony T. I don't care if you do it or not - but boys and Leslies (no offence, Eskimo, but I have you pegged as a licker), pay close attention to my answer to question 1.

Noreen

Saturday, June 23, 2007

 

Take it out, you cunt

When I was at school, we spent a lot of time imitating, and making fun of deaf aids. You know, the flesh-coloured contraptions that lurked behind the earlobes of our hard-of-hearing brothers and sisters. I can make the noise of a deaf-aid tuning in, which would confuse the hearing, so fucking spot on it is.

The thing about deaf aids, is that they were supposed to blend into the skin, like a helpful carbuncle. Unless the ear-malfunctioning person had extraordinarily sticking out lugs, chances were that you'd need to be behind the person, to notice that they were deaf. Granted, a relatively large degree of tinkering and manual manipulation of the apparatus was required, but the large-hearted of us could always aim off, and imagine that the person was just having a scratch, or simply adjusting the national health spectacles that often came free with the deal, rather than tuning in to the banal white noise of the hearing world.

Point is, that deaf aids were necessary. No aid, no sound. And you can't argue with that. But now I see people choosing to wear flamboyant, earhole-gripping aids which are merely a vulgar telephone accessory. I dont get it. And no, I won't get bogged down in details, pernickety moron readers, I don't care if these new deaf aid things are jet black or chrome, and they sit on the ear - to me, they are a helpful accessory to the aurally challenged. Wooooo hoooo hoooo hooo oooooeeeeeeeyyyyy oooo.
Noreen

Thursday, June 07, 2007

 

Bond Films are fucking wank

I absolutely fucking hate Bond films. The ridiculous amount of excitement generated each time that half- witted middle- aged goon wheels himself out, yet again, to chase improbable villains, and shag cardboard- cut- out casino totty, or women who fuck up some operation he is involved in and then die a hideous, violent death - that ludicrous hype makes me want to shit.

And the villains - instead of being rag head lunatics or peculiar little men with computers, are always these blinging New Russian types. In real life these villains would be utterly preoccupied with buying Prada manbags or Bulgari bracelets, or building a vast fuck-off mansion in Surrey. But in Bond films, they actually run around with guns and do evil deeds.

And I hate the fact that women drool over that cunt Bond. He is a greasy older bloke who spends a lot of time in uniform or black tie - both outfits that I fucking despise. Men who wear uniforms are generally moronic tunnel-visioned cunts, men who wear black tie are socially ambitious, oily twats, who either have their hand up your skirt at the table, or are hanging around the toilets hoping to look at some cock.

And that Bond - he wafts around parties which frankly look like hell - being monosyllabic - drinking cocktails, which is a red card in itself, and occasionally punching someone or crawling through a hole. In reality - Mr Bond should be sitting in a shitty safe house in Basra, sleeping in a dorm, surrounded by trained monkeys cleaning their guns at the table, and occasionally driving out for a picnic in the sand with some jumped up despot. Or sitting cramped on the Victoria line tube at rush hour, or on a Saturday because some gay war has broken out, and he would probably have to do his own typing and not have that pudding faced whore Moneypenny fawning over him.

And what about when they got the blonde one in and that was a cause of media ga ga hell. "Oh can we have a Bond who does not have black hair?" "Oh no - a blonde one will be odd". Fuck off. They need some florid, slightly fat, greasy haired bloke who smells faintly of wine, or a fierce goggle-eyed blue stocking bird who talks in acronyms - that would be amusing.
Fucking Bond films, fucking fuck off
Noreen

Monday, June 04, 2007

 

Diversity

Poetry in private is ghastly. Poetry in public is inexcusable. Poetry in its original language is pretty fucking embarassing shite. Poetry in public, in translation, is just fucking atrocious. Here's a little ditty by Janos Pilinszky, seventies Hungarian poet, which you can find slapped on walls of hospital waiting rooms and government buildings in a bid to encourage and celebrate diversity:

Hunched I make my way, uncertainly.
The other hand is only three years old.
An eighty-year-old hand and a three-year old.
We hold each other. We hold each other tight.


Dirty fucking bastard.

Noreen

Sunday, June 03, 2007

 

Lazy Fucking Frogs

The French are fucking lazy cunts and for all they piss around with their arsey language, swatting English words out of it, and fining people francs or euros or whatever for saying "Le parking", when it comes to translating things into French, they can't do it for shit. Take rectangular soap-loving cartoon character Spongebob Squarepants. What do the French call him? They call him "Bob, L'eponge" - which translates literally as "Bob, the sponge". I mean it doesn't sell the cartoon one bit does it "Mummy - I'm off to watch Bob the sponge". If the French wanted to get it right, they should call him: "Robert L'eponge avec les pantalons carres". And while I'm on the subject, cartoon namers, it's Spongebob Square TROUSERS - you fucking wannabe Yankee twats.
Noreen

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