Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.15 (Super Post!)

things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.14

Josef Fritzel. Husband. Father. Role Model.

I never had a father. I mean I had a father but my father was never around. And my wife and I have been thinking of having kids. So I’m getting a little concerned – will I be a good dad? I’m worried because I never had that role model for being a great husband and father.

But I believe I found that role model.

Josef Fritzel.

And now you’re thinking “Not Josef Fritzel infamous Austrian who locked up his 13 year old daughter in a prison built beneath his house for 24 years having 7 children with her never letting them outside ever?’ Yep. Him. My hero. All any of us want to be is a affectionate and attentive husband and father. Fritzel was both… to the same woman.

A lot of dads are hands off when it comes to their families. Not Fritzel! He was very, very, very, very involved… For example: A lot of fathers feel uncomfortable talking to their kids about issues. You know - that whole birds and the bees conversation… But Fritzel was like – forget the conversation lets make this a Birds and the Bees demonstration.

Plus, telling them about the Birds and the Bees wouldn’t have worked anyway… How would they know what a bird or a bee was? They’d never been outside.

They did mostly indoor things like drawing. But living in a subterranean sex dungeon does limit your subject matter somewhat though - most the pictures stuck on the fridge were pictures of the fridge.

Most of their games were quiet games of course – because Fritzel didn’t want them bothering the neighbors I guess. Not like the other children on the street with that annoying ‘laughter.’Even if Fritzel didn’t want his kids laughing – he wanted them to be happy. Fritz loved his kids and I read somewhere he was proud of them. I remember reading an article where he told a journalist saw a lot of himself in his kids…

If he positioned the video camera just right.

But he wasn’t just an affectionate father to his daughter – he was also a doting husband… to his daughter. And before we rush to judge, there are some good things about marrying your daughter. All that getting to know you awkward part of the relationship wouldn’t even exist… I mean, he’s known her for years… practically since she was born. There wouldn’t be that ‘oh is it okay to pee in front of each other yet’ stage… That all disappears when you have changed someones nappy.

Sure there are bound to be some awkward moments… All relationships have some awkward moments. Like forgetting anniversaries… or knowing what lingerie to wear on Fathers day. That kind of thing.

But at least he was there. How many women wish their man would do more around the house? Fritzel was VERY handy. He was the D.I.Y king. First he built that brilliant sex dungeon. Then, as the family grew, he extended it into a sex dungeon (slash) family dungeon. Alone. No help.

I can picture him at B&Q in the weekend with all the other D.I.Y Dads. “Alright, mate can I help you?” And then Fritzel has his little list. “Yes I need chains, locks, a tiny sink, a small toilet, about 2 meter square bathroom tiles, a few buckets, some kids beds, rope, a really strong door and the… quietest… power tools you have. And the B&Q guy, not even looking up says, “Oh yeah – you’ll find all of that in the just down past outdoor furniture and lamps in the Sex Dungeon aisle. “

Then off he trots. Whistling. Thinking of the honest work he has in front of him. Then over the store tannoy.

"BING BONG Hello B&Q shopper. If you are building a sex dungeon (slash) Family Dungeon we are having a sale on plastic sheeting, duct tape and bare 60 watt light bulbs that hang from the ceiling and swing a bit.”

And then in the Sex dungeon aisle there are a whole lot of caring Fathers like him sacrificing their Saturdays for their secret families trying to put a floor over their heads.

And I think that what Fritzel is. Just overly protective of his family.

Look around the world is a mean place. It’s tough out here. I think Fritzel was trying to PROTECT his family from the dangers of modern life. There are some nutters out there!

Last week I heard about this guy who kidnapped a girl and locked her in his house as some sort of sex slave for 5 years! Now what father wouldn’t want to protect his family from that?

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.13

The Only Good Celeb Is A Dead Celeb

The other week I went to Primrose Hill Fete. Full of rich white people ( a demographic I am very comfortable in) and celebs. I did a bit of celeb spotting. We all have a celeb spotting story don’t we?

“I saw Leona Lewis taking out a tampon at Bungalow 8.”

Or

“ I saw Rod Stewart eating chips on the Night Bus.”

(Both true stories)

On this occasion, I spotted Pixie Geldof daughter of Bob Geldof – lead singer of the Boom town rats and the Live AID guy who helped stop the spread of AIDS in Kids in Africa by distributing condoms to children or something…

Anyway, I saw Pixie Geldof in the boys toilet at a pub it was busy and girls take ages in the toilets – which is weird co girls don’t Poo. Not like men anyway. My wife’s shit is so fucking clean you could wash your face with it or use it as hair gel or eye drops.

She was putting powder on her nose and I guess she was worried about it being off ‘cos she kept smelling it. So I spotted this Celebrity. This daughter of a rock star. And look I don’t begrudge Bob his FAME but Pixie is CELEBRITY. Not famous but a celebrity. Big difference.

Famous people have done something. Celebrities – nothing.

Obama could never be a Celebrity… or Osama for that matter. Because Osama actually achieved something. He got something done. He accomplished something. He can go to bed at night knowing he made a difference to the world. The world is different thanks to his actions.

But celebrities are famous for being famous. Or famous for being good looking. Even worse. They really had nothing to do with that. That’s just a happy accident like… a retard with freakish strength.

But celebs are everywhere and everyone wants them. I personally would hate to go out with a celebrity.

Celebs are so un-sexy. But they act like it’s all about about sex. They all wear these high heels and underwear to clubs and do stipper pole work-outs it’s all sex sex sex… but there’s no sex.

The only time there’s sex is when three footballers gang rape a 19 year old in a hotel room. And that’s more a team building exercise than anything to do with sex.

But they try don't they? Celebs TRY to be sexy all the time. There’s nothing more un-sexy than someone trying to be sexy. Have you ever had someone try and talk dirty to you? That’s an art.

You either repeat your self. Get stuck in a groove:

You say stuff like: “I’m gonna fuck you. I’m gonna fuck you. Im gonna fuck you.” You sound like Tony Soprano talking to a guy who owes him money.

Or you panic and try and be imaginative. Try to be expansive and kinky. Difficult to do. You say stuff like:

“I… I… I…. I… want to watch you mother take a shit on the tube!”

Too much info. Too specific. You’re right. Specifics aren’t sexy. They kill passion kill. Saying something like Fuck my pussy – that’s fine. But fuck my vagina is too far.Something Porny – like, “Fuck me daddy fine… “Fuck me Dad.” Not fine.

No? never happen to you?

You see sex is so personal. It’s private. It’s not for everyone to see. It’s not made like that. Nobody should see you do it. Somethings are meant to stay private… But not to people who want to be celebrities. They go out of the way to make everything public.

Including sex. And especially sex. It’s how some people have BECOME celebrities.

There are sex tapes of celebrities everywhere. Has anyone here seen one?

The only porn you can watch openly at your desk at work. In the middle of the day… It doesn’t matter who sees.

“Hey everyone! Hey it’s Jordan’s sex tape. You can call all the people over to your desk.

Hey! Guys. Come on. I just got Pamela Lee and Tommy Lee screwing on a boat.

And then someone says. Look at the size of that! And then someone says. Look, he’s driving the boat with it. And then someone says I’ve never seen boobs like it… And everyone is laughing and you’re at work and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t count…. Ha. Ha Ha. And then someone says… can I go to wee-wee … and you look up and remember that you are a… Kindergarten teacher.

But it’s true. People who don’t watch porn watch celebrity sex. Even parents.

At home. Have 5 minutes. Have a bit of ‘Me’ time. Oh hello. Who’s this minx in the hotel room. With the possum eyes. Oh. You start to lend a hand. Now it’s a long distance 3some… and then Boom she turns around and it’s your daughter.

There you are standing in your Hilton robe – because it’s your HILTON and it’s your daughter, Paris… Oh No!

You’d go from ready – to spaghetti!

BTW - As a father seeing it once is fine - watching it any more than once is a problem.

But people watch celebrity porn because it’s like watching Frogs fuck. It’s almost devoid of any sex. You feel nothing. You don’t FEEL anything. But we still watch.

And some people say they don’t

You say no – but you’d watch. We all would. I know that because Magazines sell.

More women than men though. These magazines. Hello, and Heat and Grazia… I see young on buses staring at these magazines like a dog stares at a sausage…Or an out of town business-man looks at a stripper. Or like a soldier in Afghanistan - stares at his leg while they carry it to the chopper.

Sorry that’s a bad analogy… But I use it to make a point about the way celebrities keep us from the issues…

Maybe I have it wrong and it’s good.

Maybe it’s just me and when I see buses filled with pregnant 17 year olds reading the Economist – then I’ll know we are really fucked.

Before: Celebrity magazines and celeb culture there were freak shows all over the country that whole families would go to. Where people would look at acts of gruesome violence - you know? Tortured people . And mentally ill people babbled in strange tongues and said the most ridiculous things and told stories that couldn’t possibly be true…

You know? Churches.

Now we follow celebs in place of Jesus. Ashton Kutcher on Twitter – the first man to crack 100,000,000 followers. Has 4,960,067 followers right now. He follows 546 people. Doesn’t that say it all? At least the religion and the Church makes an effort to reach out and touch us. Especially the Children… Especially the children.

That’s why I think the whole thing is ridiculous…

But I guess there’s always an exception to every rule. There are a some good celebs.

Some people who other celebs could look to for guidance and to see what they could be doing to make a difference to culture. If they were all like this the world would be a better place. My top 5 celebrity role models for other Celebrities:

1. 1Britney Murphy

2. Corey Haim

3. Malcom Mclaren

4. Jacko

5. Jade Goody

Death

I have been thinking about death lately. I was actually making love to my wife when I first started thinking about death.

I was making love to my wife. I was above her making that tender love that you make when you love someone like I love my wife. And I had the thought? What if she died right now? What if she expired in my arms right now? What would I do?

Would I… keep going until I cum? And I decided that I would… But only if I was 3… no 5 stokes away.

I think 5 strokes is fine. Anything more than 5 and it’s necrophilia – but I think 5 is completely justifiable.

And I also thought I might do that thing that she said I could do “Over her dead body.”

Because if she dies that would no longer be a warning – at that point it becomes part of her last will and testament. It’s practically a request from a dying woman. And I’d be fine sodomising my dead wife because I’m not scared of death. It doesn’t bother me. Most people are afraid of death.

Except two types. Religious people and suicidal people.

Has anyone reading committed suicide?

No. Is anyone considering it?

That’s good. I’m glad no one is contemplating suicide. Suicidal people are bummers. I have never had an awesome night out with a suicidal person.

Who wants to hang out with some one who drinks all your vodka and take all your pills. It’s selfish.

It’s a selfish thing to commit suicide. I think if you’re going to kill yourself anyway you could give your life to society to use. To benefit society.

As crash test dummies – to test ideas on safety.Or drug testers – to test trial drugs.Or join the British armed forces– to test America’s ideas on foreign policy.

The other lot who are unafraid of death are Religious people. According to them - the good bit of life is death. They have nothing to live for and everything to die for. I don’t get it. I have so many fundamental disagreements with the religious but I guess we have one thing in common.

We are both can’t wait for them to die.

…And go to 'heaven'.

When you go to heaven – do arrive looking like you did when you died? If you die old – do you turn up old? If you die in suicide bombing do you turn up looking like a butchers shop window?

Maybe that’s why the religious are so anti-abortion. Who wants to spend eternity babysitting the unborn children of – teenage sluts?

Like I said though. I’m fine with death. I am pro death. Not for me. But for everyone else. There are too many people in the world.

The only time I’m not surrounded by people is when I am taking a shit. That is the only time I truly have to myself. With my paper pooing. That is the best part of my day. That 25 minutes - in the morning on the tube - magic.

Do we need all these people? I think there needs to be a cull. You’re thinking. I agree. We DO need a cull. We need to kill A LOT of people on earth. You’re thinking what I’m thinking aren’t you. You’re thinking AIDS is GREAT but it’s a bit slow. You’re thinking faster, faster.

But who? Who to Cull?

Poor people. Poor people have shit lives and I think they’d like to be culled. It’s obvious. Harsh? Maybe. But I feel that I can say that because some of my best friends are NOT poor people.

I think we should line up all the poor people and shoot them all in the back of the head. I do.

You’re probably thinking, “Hey. That’s not on. You can’t just choose a group of people and lay blame on them for societies ills - and take them away to a place out of the view of the public and, en mass shoot them!You’re thinking hasn’t history taught you anything?And you’re right of course. History has taught me something.

Gas. I’ll use gas.

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.12

Thanks Darryl Parsons

Where I Write A Reminder On The Back Of My Hand And Go Out Into The World For The Day Wearing It.

Where I Take an Ice Cube Lyric - Translate It Into Japanese And Then Back Translate It.

[Ice Cube]
Break 'em off somethin
[inhales] Shit..
[exhales] Yo..
Yo.. uhh..

[Verse One]
Just wakin up in the mornin gotta thank God
I don't know but today seems kinda odd
No barkin from the dog, no smog
And momma cooked a breakfast with no hog (damn)
I got my grub on, but didn't pig out
Finally got a call from a girl I wanna dig out
(Whassup?) Hooked it up for later as I hit the do'
Thinkin will I live, another twenty-fo'
I gotta go cause I got me a drop top
And if I hit the switch, I can make the ass drop
Had to stop, at a red light
Lookin in my mirror and not a jacker in sight
And everything is alright
I got a beep from Kim, and she can fuck all night
Called up the homies and I'm askin y'all
Which park, are y'all playin basketball?
Get me on the court and I'm trouble
Last week fucked around and got a triple double
Freakin niggaz everyway like M.J.
I can't believe, today was a good day (shit!)

[Verse Two]
Drove to the pad and hit the showers
Didn't even get no static from the cowards
Cause just yesterday them fools tried to blast me
Saw the police and they rolled right past me
No flexin, didn't even look in a nigga's direction
as I ran the intersection
Went to $hort Dog's house, they was watchin Yo! MTV Raps
What's the haps on the craps?
Shake 'em up, shake 'em up, shake 'em up, shake 'em
Roll 'em in a circle of niggaz and watch me break 'em
with the seven, seven-eleven, seven-eleven
Seven even back do' Lil' Joe
I picked up the cash flow
Then we played bones, and I'm yellin domino
Plus nobody I know got killed in South Central L.A.
Today was a good day (shit!)

[Verse Three]
Left my nigga's house paid (what)
Picked up a girl been tryin to fuck since the 12th grade
It's ironic, I had the brew she had the chronic
The Lakers beat the Supersonics
I felt on the big fat fanny
Pulled out the jammy, and killed the punanny
And my dick runs deep, so deep
So deep put her ass to sleep
Woke her up around one
She didn't hesitate, to call Ice Cube the top gun
Drove her to the pad and I'm coastin
Took another sip of the potion hit the three-wheel motion
I was glad everything had worked out
Dropped her ass off and then chirped out
Today was like one of those fly dreams
Didn't even see a berry flashin those high beams
No helicopter looking for a murder
Two in the mornin got the Fatburger
Even saw the lights of the Goodyear Blimp
And it read, "Ice Cube's a pimp" (yeah)
Drunk as hell but no throwin up
Half way home and my pager still blowin up
Today I didn't even have to use my A.K.
I got to say it was a good day (shit!)

[Ice Cube]
Hey wait, wait a minute Pooh, stop this shit
What the fuck I'm thinkin about?

INTO

The angular ice] it is broken, the eye ' somethin em which leaves [is sucked] is said every [wa].

[It spits out] Yo. Yo. uhh.

[Poem 1] I don' which obtains the fact that mornin as for wakin you appreciate exactly in God; Just a little strange you know to, but the dog the present way, the smog is not there is no empty barkin and as for momma the cover is not with breakfast was cooked (is ugly) as for me my area insect, didn't You obtained; The call was obtained from the girl you think that the cover of to I would like to dig lastly, (Whassup?)

Me do' As hit, afterwards it is hooked because of that; Thinkin has lived me, another twenty-fo' I finding in regard to cause decrease with me in me, the fact that it goes was obtained if and it hits against the switch, as for me with the red light which is possible to decrease the donkey, you must stop as for my mirror of vision and Lookin and everything of jacker which is not as for me who am without something to say from the gold dialing tone profit, as for her homies and I' which all night are possible to have sexual intercourse; It called; m askin y' Entirely y' Which park, is?; The basketball of all playin? Courthouse and I' Profit do me; Like M.J. which m trouble last week has sexual intercourse, can obtain triple double niggaz of everyway Freakin.

I can' t believed, the good day when it was today (it is every [wa]!)

Didn' which [poem 2] it drives to the pad, hits against the shower; The cause of not obtaining atmospherics from the cowardly person exactly yesterday those idiot me passing the police who tried the fact that blast is applied and them me, flexin which looked at that it rolls just there is no t, didn' nigga' of t; Glance; Way direction I of s moved intersection, $hort Dog' It went; The house of s, those were watchin Yo! As for MTV What' which is hit; S which excretes accidentally?

Vibrating ' em and vibrating ' em and vibrating ' em and vibrating ' As for em ' You roll; As for em of the circle of niggaz me ' You observe at that you break; As for em of 7, seven-eleven and seven-eleven 7 back section do' Lil' Jaw I took cash flow, then as for us bone and I' It did; Being killed with the domino of m yellin, plus Nakaminami L.A. whom I obtain who whom you have known.

The good day when was today (it is every [wa]!)

[Poem 3] the left my nigga' Girl It' tryin which ever since the 12th class which (something) paid the house of s and is picked up has sexual intercourse has met; Sarcasm as for s me me who strike Supersonics jammy drawer and punanny which are felt with the rear end of large fat quality you killed [rekazu] which possesses brewing ones which have chronicity in her her donkey where and my hateful person moves sleeps so deeply and deeply so deeply her who puts approximately one her didn' whom it makes awake; As for t, calling the angular ice the upper gun pad and I' which hesitate; She was driven;

Her donkey dropping where another sip of m coastin rest I who am taken in the tricyclic movement which hits was delightful and solve entirely, today when you chirp next Didn' one like dream of those growing; As for t flashin of the fruit the beam where those are high the helicopter which searches the murder which is seen it is not as for the two of mornin you looked at the light/write of the softball type blimp of Goodyear which obtains Fatburger and as for that, " You read; Ice Cube' pimp" of s.a; But (to be able to obtain) it is drunk, throwin it is not still blowin present me didn' of the half methodological house or my pocket pager; t must use my A.K.. As for me the day when that is good (it is every [wa]!

)The fact that you say that was obtained, [the angular ice] just a little, waiting, the fool of minuteness, the sexual intercourse I' which waits for every this it is [wa] which is stopped;

What; Approximately am thinkin?

Fag-Hag looking to meet Homosexual.

Here's an idea:

What about a dating site that puts Fag-hags and Homosexual men together?

It's pretty simple:

You are gay but don't have enough butch in your life - come to us.

You are a girl and don't have enough squawking bitch-fest in your life - come to us.

We could sell advertising space to chain bars like All-Bar-One, Rosemount Wine, Veet, and Pets.com.

Fuck it I'm buying - www.faghaggle.com

Male Model Of the Month - Stefan.

Wrap Star

You can tell a lot about your dealer by the way their wraps look.

The one that's made from Lottery tickets:

If that's not screaming out at you that you are basically taking a huge gamble and the chances of you actually buying cocaine are about 1 in 129,008,009,000 then I don't know what is.

The ones that come in the covers of glossy woman's mags:

Go round to a girls house and see a stack of coverless Marie Claires and you know you are looking at a prime time strawberry. This is a girl who watches her man fold his deals up and, waits for him to finish and rubs her gums all over the coffee table while she sobs and masturbates at the same time. The sound of ripping paper elicits a Pavlovian saliva response and their pupils dilate like when you bring a North Korean political prisoner out of solitary into the light.

The messy ones:

That dude is taking key-bumps out of all the wraps as he drives around in his rented Golf. He deals because it's the only way he can pay for his shit. look in the car - are there food wrappers on the floor? No. That's because the last meal he ate was last Wednesday at 4pm and it was a finger dipped in a Nutella jar. The other reason those wraps look like a Cerebal Palsy art student folded them is because the dudes hands are shaking like a black and white minstrels hands at the end of a song.

The Russian Origami master:

The neat, nicely folded, perfectly square envelopes that look like the symbol for email you see online. These guys drive cars leased under their mothers name that have baby seats in the back, even though they don't have kids - they use kids to sharpen their knives on.

These dudes are mostly Eastern Bloc and have lost a close family member to radiation or old age... 45-years-old. Don't ask for credit cos credit dismembers. The stuff is shite BTW. perfectly white shite - the BNP of the drug world.

The plastic bag:

At least you can see what you are not getting. I'd like to say that these guys are more honest than the wrappers... The one benefit about the plastic bag is that your coke won't get wet when you drop it on the piss-swamp of a floor in the shit-hole club (if you're under 30) or pub (if you're over 30). And another is you can, at a glance, see how long it's going to be before you have to duck out to the ATM and make that embarrasing call to the guy to come back to meet you a second time. They are like hour-glasses of doom.

What ever wrapping your poison comes in you know that nothing beats the high that abstaining from drugs gives you. That amazing feeling of sobriety and self control. That is the true high. it really is - the best drug on earth.. And that drug comes in the same wrapper everywhere you go.

Smugness.

Drugs That Need To Be Invented… And Their Possible Side Effects 2

Name Of Drug:

Zotantan

What Drug Does:

Allows the user to over hear other peoples conversations while at cafe's without forming the opinion that one of the people he/she is over hearing is a CUNT and should stop talking to their poor friend about themselves and what's happening at their jobs and instead spend the time talking about something both parties can discuss - like movies or something. Or at least they should take turns talking about their own lives. CUNT!

Possible Side Effect:

Mistaking fat women for pregnant women.

No Animals Were Harmed In The Making Of This Entry

For The Home Handyman

Here's a product I made a couple of years ago. It is both stimulant and clean up device. I am looking for VC backing.

Serious offers only need apply.

Thanks

I Told You I was An Inspiring Motherfucker, Motherfuckers!

Where I Write A Reminder On The Back Of My Hand And Go Out Into The World For The Day Wearing It.

Not Saying I Would… But If I Did…. This I How I’d Do It: Kill The Queen

I have nothing against the Queen. I don’t think about her either way. Dead or alive. She inhabits that nothing part of the brain reserved for ex co-workers and those Facebook friends that found you in the last 9 months – even though Facebook has been going for years - The people that you never think about.

I do sometimes wonder if money would be worth more if she died. The way that art becomes more valuable when an artist dies. She is on all the money in the UK, Australia, NZ and in Fiji and so when she dies will those notes and coins become a finite reserve and therefore limited edition pieces? That would make them worth more, right? Okay, so having a £20 that’s worth £20.32 is a bonus but I’m not one of those guys that would kill her for 32p. However! I’m not saying I would kill Her Majesty The Queen… But If I did here are some ways that I might go about it.

Leave some poison lying around.

Not saying literally a loaded gun on the bench top or a bottle of poison on the side board. I’m saying Charles needs fuck all encouragement to knock the old bint off. I think you do one of those BBC costume drama things that middle England seem to love so much and insert a How To manual into the story line. You know? One of those shows with the horrendously loooooong plots, the ridiculous clothes and over wrought performances that everyone seems to like. Then you just let slip the 3 or so best ways to kill your mother and get away with it… Maybe Simon Cowell could mention them after judging the acts…

Give her a heart attack.

The Ginger one looks odds on to do that. The Nazi uniform must have given the old bird a wobble. She must have seen that in The News Of The World and clutched at the Fred Perry logo on her lapel. One strategically placed CCTV camera in one of those Mayfair club toilets… and I think we can put her over the edge. The little Ginger on his knees doing lines and saying things like, “I mean honestly. Look at me. Do I look like that big-eared Twats kid? I’m ginger for fucks sake.”

Hide the little bell.

You know. The little bell she rings every time she wants anything. Just hide the thing. The slaves aren’t going to beat themselves up bringing things to her that she hasn’t asked for are they? And she’s not going to be able to find anything in that house. There are whole wings of that place that nobody has even been to for years. When Diana was alive her and Mario Testino used them to shoot Readers Wives style amateur porn in them and the furniture is still covered in cling film and Marmite… or at least a substance that look like Marmite. Nobody knows because nobody goes. Without her little bell The Queen is useless. I hear that she hasn’t chewed any of her own food for nearly 20 years and instead has these people that are like those fishing birds with the tight brass rings around their necks they use in China . These particular servants are equipped with S&M chokers which enable them to chew food but not swallow it. So they chew up her cheese on toast in the kitchen and then she rings her little bell and they all come trotting into the TV room and spit the contents of their mouths into her mouth and she simply swallows. True. Fucking. Story. Without the bell she’s gone.

Give the Corgis rabies.

Do what they do in those inner city prisons like Pentonville when they fling tennis balls filled with drugs over the walls into the exercise yards. Except this time don’t fling tennis balls, fling infested chicken. The Corgis find this chicken and eat it infecting them with some sort of Rabies or Corgi Small Pox disease (admittedly I am not a chemist nor am I proficient in the development of germs for germ warfare) and then let the newly ‘enhanced’ Corgi’s turn on her. I hear that a pack of angry Corgi’s can devour a human body, bone and all, in… 2-weeks! Not exactly Piranha but the job will get done… eventually.

Invite Michelle Obama back.

The Queen nearly shat herself when Michelle Obama touched her on the shoulder. That would have been the first time she has ever been touched by a black person - unless you count the little kids that give her the flowers everytime she goes to one of the colonies to rub their faces in the fact that they have still never really recovered from the self esteem blow that was dealt them by sending a bunch of Eaton educated mustachioed goons with rattan down to smash some civilization into their thick ethnic skulls. I bet she wandered around her house doing a stock take of all her stuff after they had left: “The Shield Season 4 box Set – Check.”

Send her a bill.

The Queen costs the Tax Payer £34.7 million a year! Holy fucking shit. Does she have a tunnel that goes from her house to Vegas where she has a floor at every hotel booked and filled with cocaine and oiled up whores sitting in specially made Bugatti Veyrons that drive through the corridors and when they reach 3 miles on the clock she has them destroyed - on call 24 hours a day?

Is she actually the 14^th son of an Arab oil tycoon that is so bored by everything that he can’t feel anything anymore and so he makes snuff films using Eastern European children and is constantly having to pay law enforcement off?

Has she tried Crystal Meth… once.

I couldn’t spend £34.7million a year and all I think about is how I would spend 34.7 million a year if I had it. She is buying toilet paper from Harrods. Send her the bill and make her work to pay it off. Nothing kills people faster than working. Nothing. R.I.P.

Let God Save The Queen.

Let’s do as the song says. Let’s stop using science and medicine. She’s the head of the Church of England. She’ll be fine. No more doctors when she starts oozing the old-person-paste from her hoo-ha. No more teams of medics every time she falls in the shower

Next time. Let her pray. Ask God to save her. In fact, lets extend that service to all the religious zealots out there. You have God and we’ll have science. Fuck ‘em. They can’t have it both ways. They say there are no atheists in the trenches – well there are fuck all believers in the cancer wards either.

Or maybe we could just wait. I mean we all die eventually. That’s the great thing about death. It doesn’t discriminate. No matter how rich or noble or ridiculous you are you still end up in a puddle of our own insides limping towards the light like a giant fucking moth.

xxx

Next time:

Not Saying I Would… But If I Did…. This I How I’d Do It: Talk A Jumper Of A Ledge.

Would It Fit In Chef Gordon Ramsey's Arse?

The hair cut. The choker necklace. The boot cut jeans. The obsession with cars. I bet it was all his wife could do to talk him out of the Ed Hardy tee shirts. I reckon she’s got to the point where she wants him to have the affair that his clothes and demeanour suggest he’s about to have in the next 5-minutes that way she could take his money and get someone that acts his fucking age. Someone like AA Gill.

I think going up Ramsey’s arse would be a great thing for him to do. Maybe they could share the costs of a midlife crisis and move in together. It could be a reality show. The little one going to Morrisons to by some smug salmon and Ramsey cooking it for him, talking the whole time.

Then Little Man Tate could come out of his bedroom covered in truffle oil and slip up Chef Gordon ‘Hagrids’ Ramsey’s pooper.

I hate the little twat.

VERDICT: Yes. Easily. Get him up there nowish!

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.11

Apocalypse Now What

If you know me at all you will know that I am a little ‘concerned’ with the coming Apocalypse. That time where laws like ‘don’t kill’ become optional, social guidelines akin to giving your seat up on the tube for an old person.

There are a lot of movies and books around about the Apocalypse. Lots of them: From I Am Legend starring every white persons favorite black person, Will Smith to the - we couldn’t afford Kevin Costner so we went with Dennis Quaid instead - Day After Tomorrow to the hotly anticipated docu-drama based on Cormac McCarthy’s helpful survival pamphlet, The Road. I like all these movies where plucky heroes fight the odds in a challenging world ravaged by a natural disaster… except I have a differing opinion about how this end of days will arrive on our doorstep.

I don’t believe it will be giant wave caused by a huge and sudden polar melt or by a mutating virus that kills off millions in one fell swoop. Nope. That shit is happening everyday already! AIDS is awesome at it’s job and there are people still rotting under a blanket of mud in tropical country somewhere because rescue services haven’t got round to digging them out yet. That sort of disaster happens all the time. I believe it will happen because of money. Money will save us and money will end us.

I wake up on a Saturday morning – a normal Saturday:

“Ahh, morning honey, did you sleep well?”

“I feel fantastic as we don’t drink and drugs are for losers so I always feel fantastic on weekend mornings.”

“You stay where you are and I’ll go down t the shops and get us the papers and the ingredients I need to make you breakfast in bed.”

“Oh Husband. You are wonderful.”

“Oh look a blue bird has flown in through the open window and is singing to us.”

I wander down the road and go to the ATM for some cash to buy the artesian breads and cheeses and mutton fed ham that us middle classes have come to enjoy/expect.

The person in front of me in the queue for cash helpfully informs me that the cash point is not working (by spitting on the screen.) Another cash point – same thing. Every time I enter my PIN I get a please contact your bank message. So I do. I call the bank I hear an engaged signal. “ Fuck it.” I think. “I’ll go home and whip something up out of our copious food supplies”. I get home and remember that, like most people, we don’t have copious food anything. We have 132 menus for restaurants with stupid names– so if we want to Thai One On or we need Curry in a Hurry then we’re fine but if we actually want to eat we’re screwed.

Get home and check the Internets… I have a zero balance. I have a what? When did I become Lyndsy Lohan after a weekend of not sucking Persian dudes balls? Zero balance? But then it seems I’m not alone.

The banks stump up on TV telling us not to worry because it’s just another blip on the financial markets. To wake up tomorrow and all will be fine.

It’s not. We go to work. Nobody has any cash. After a day of eating meeting biscuits we head to the tubes. It’s a little… frantic in the streets.

Day Two: Check the copious food stores for something to eat. Start seeing wife as a cartoon pig with an apple in her mouth. Yell at her for not sharing the apple.

Day Three: Head down to the local store to see that smiling shop-keeper who is always so nice to me and always asking me ‘how my wife is’ to see if I can borrow some food. He says no and when he asks me ‘how my wife is’ this time he mimes getting a blow job…

Day Four: Ask the neighbors if they have anything to spare. They don’t know who the fuck I am because none of us know who any one is and besides - their copious food stores are looking like mine.

Day Five: Haven’t eaten for a while. Neither have the rest of the peeps in my neighborhood. That night… LOOTING. That’s the funny thing about looting. It only takes one person to start the chant and before you know it you are running out of M&S with armfuls of women’s underwear and an aluminum pot-set.

Day Six: Mob Rule. Police in the streets. Martial Law. Chaos. And from then on it’s real. It’s everyman for himself. Welcome to the beginning of the Apocalypse.

Now, some people deal with this kind of situation in a rational manner appealing to the better parts of humanity and work through things, all the while thinking of the greater good… while others deal with the problem with some raping.

Raping seems to be the new way of handling any all disaster situations these days. In New Orleans – raping. Any war zone – raping. Afghanistan – raping (except the women there don’t notice the difference, as that has pretty much been stock standard for 1000 years). I bet the whole eating people on the freezing mountaintop after the plane crash thing was not out of hunger but out of an attempt to destroy raping evidence. It’s like raping is just under the surface with everyone and as soon as no one is looking and they are alone – raping! What happened to jumping on the bed and eating ice cream for dinner?

The thing to remember about raping is that it’s not fantastic having it happened to you. There’s an old joke - - 9 out of 10 people enjoy gang rape.

Solution: I’m buying a crossbow. Get ‘drunk’ at a party with me and I’ll ‘talk’ to you all about it. I’m getting three crossbows actually. One that will pierce car doors and is a bitch to load. And two little pistol sized ones… You may think this is silly but remember what I said about the raping.

Why not get a gun?

Bullets can only be fired once and crossbow bolts can be discharged many, many times. I plan on doing quite a bit of killing during the Apocalypse. So much that my Apocalypse jacket will have little sponges sewn under the arms for wiping the people-blood off my precious bolts. I may even get some pre-emptative killing done America style. EG: that dude down at the corner store – he aint gonna make it. A couple of the idiot clients I have to deal with – Do-Do’s! A cross bow is perfect for the culling operation I plan to embark on.

(This goes for all my ‘friends’ too. Don’t come sniffing around the fortress looking for a crust or you’ll get nice and dead.)

The great thing about TV is that I won’t feel anything when I kill someone. I am totally desensitized to violence now. Yay! If I kill someone all I’ll probably feel is disappointment that nobody was around to hear my version of the Queen song ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ and that nobody saw my ace little dance. Apart from that – I’ll feel nothing.

Now we are settled into the Apocalypse and are used to the rules. It’s worth looking around and seeing what the world is like now:

A lot of people will die in their homes waiting to be told what to do. Fuck-em. They were going to die of something soon anyway… The cold or the heat probably. Maybe the flu. Dying from the flu is fucking gay! These people will die waiting to be told what to do because we aren’t a very independent species anymore are we? Most of us would like to hand our free will and ability to think in to some coat check girl. A priest or a fat white person in most cases. Because of this – we can’t do anything anymore.

What do we do that could transfer into a semi decent skill set after the Apocalypse? All we do is send emails and have meetings about the email or, even better, a meeting about an upcoming meeting or the meeting just passed. A meeting about a meeting about an email. I myself am fucking useless. I feel a real sense of accomplishment if I piss someone else’s skidmarks off a toilet bowl. That to me is as close to trapping an animal as I have ever come. But we normal people are better prepared for the shit hitting the fan than the famous! So much better prepared.

I can’t wait until packs of tiny dogs gnaw the fucking eyes out of the vacuous hordes of cunt models and tweeny actresses. I live for the day HEAT magazine is gone. Me and the trees that have lost good friends making that horrid, evil adult incontinence product will laugh and laugh when they are all gone. Models and actresses and presenters and talking fuck-wits forced to sell their spark-plug arses on the streets for food… Okay the models probably wouldn’t notice the difference but we might. What are we going to do with ourselves?

All we do is watch each other and talk about each other. All the food and drink and magic transport machines (including metal flying things with food and drink in them) are handed to us on a plate and all we are good for now is making each other chuckle and then talking about it afterwards. X-Factor, Jordan & Pete, Jacko, Kate fucking Moss… I think the Apocalypse will be a good thing if only to change the bastard subject!

The way we look wouldn’t matter again like it didn’t matter in the old days. We would smash mirrors and use the shards as daggers for cutting venison and for arrowheads. Our hair would grow long and we’d all have dirty clothes and beards. We’d basically look like a that guy in IT that leaves finger prints on our keyboards when he comes to change your email settings after the server shits itself.

With that in mind it might be a good idea to start dressing like you will never be able to change clothes again. Like these are the last clothes you will ever wear and hope like fuck that that the apocalypse doesn’t happen while you are at a costume party or going to job interview or in a boy band. You always see dudes in suits in End of Days films and they are the first to die.

I would also steer away from tee-shirt with jokes or slogans on them. That tee shirt with I FUCK ON THE FIRST DATE, although hilarious now will get old fast (and won’t help you with the Rape Brigades that will patrol the streets with hard-ons and tire irons).

Being a Gay Bear would be a good option. The leather and denim they wear would last and last - and they are surrounded by a community that likes body odor and gutting things (like each other) indoors.

It will be interesting to see what does last:

Libraries and Gyms gone. They are going to be the least looted buildings in the world. No one is going to loot a gym are they? All that wasting energy in gyms gone. Replaced by the need to kill to survive. Frivolous uses of energy will be a no-no and books in libraries will reveal themselves as good for fuck all except makeshift armor and kindling.

Phones and digital cameras are another thing that will be gone. Maybe we’ll be able to be in a moment without recording that moment and showing each other the moment while the moment is still happening … we are becoming goldfish. “Look here is you at a table… this table… now.” Maybe we’ll stop being so addicted to instant pleasures. This bodes well for me, as I am getting older and instant is something that now only applies to pudding for me.

Travel will be impossible. Tourists will be gone. Awesome! We will realize how far a kilometer is. I might head into Camden and have a nice stroll without wanting to declare war on Italy. You never know, Oxford St might be a nice place… except for all the death (admittedly a lot done by me) and raping.

I will miss the Internet for obvious reasons. I will miss the instant access to dancing cat videos. I will also miss cats, as they will be sold as meat on street carts along with tough-guy dogs and poor peoples children.

The men from the boys. The wheat from the chaff. The poor from the white. There will be separation, people. It will be a time of change no doubt but one I, and my new crossbow collection, look forward to.

It will be shoot or be shot. Eat or be eaten and rape or be raped. Come aboard all ye and I will do my best to tuck you under my wing.

The rest of you are fucking target practice.

THWIIINNNGG!