Kentish Town Paint And Panel

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

2010-07-05T16:22:00.002+01:00

things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.14

2010-06-28T13:51:00.001+01:00

Josef Fritzel. Husband. Father. Role Model.

2010-06-25T10:43:00.003+01:00

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

2010-06-16T11:45:00.001+01:00

The Only Good Celeb Is A Dead Celeb

2010-06-16T09:37:00.006+01:00

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.”

“ 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

2010-06-11T10:46:00.002+01:00

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

2009-12-15T15:14:00.000Z

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.

2009-12-11T19:03:00.002Z

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

2009-12-01T05:46:00.003Z

[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.

2009-11-30T12:35:00.007Z

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.

2009-11-26T11:49:00.002Z

Wrap Star

2009-11-26T09:02:00.007Z

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

2009-11-26T08:30:00.003Z

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

2009-11-24T12:25:00.003Z

For The Home Handyman

2009-11-24T09:03:00.003Z

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!

2009-11-20T08:22:00.001Z

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

2009-11-17T10:45:00.001Z

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

2009-11-12T06:59:00.002Z

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?

2009-11-09T15:28:00.002Z

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

2009-11-06T12:05:00.001Z

Apocalypse Now What

2009-10-29T11:33:00.004Z

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!

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

2009-10-14T10:58:00.002+01:00

Where I Find A Matthew McConaughey Quote - Translate It Into Japanese Then Back Translate It..

2009-10-08T08:41:00.003+01:00

Original Quote:

“There aren't many things that are universally cool, and it's cool not to litter. I'd never do it.”

Back Translated Quote:

"There aren' t generally it is cool, many things, and it's Because cool is scattering and others do not drive. I'd never does not do that."

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

2009-10-08T08:35:00.003+01:00

In These Times Of Recession - 1

2009-10-01T12:13:00.002+01:00

Here's a money saving tip: Instead of shelling out for a flavored drink to go with the dog food you are now forced to eat - simply pour a glass of water and then drop our chewed up gum into the water.

Wait.

A couple of minutes later - flavored water.

Special thanks to me for coming up with this awesome idea.

The Panel Awards – An Award For The Un-Awardable

2009-09-28T15:52:00.003+01:00

This week the award goes to the inventor of the Strap On.

The dildo itself has been around for ages. There are Aztec cock-rocks dating back for 1000’s of years. But that’s not we are awarding today. We are awarding the creative leap that took the handheld model and made it arse powered.

Men are born with their own stimulation simulator . It’s called a hand and by simply making it into a fist it can simulate the sleeve-ish design of the vagina. And by putting the hand into a pot of hot water for a while and using some simple goose fat the petals of a rose you can… Never mind. The point is, men didn’t need to design something to simulate the vagina. Men are also selfish and wouldn't be thinking of designing something to give women pleasure.

This leads the enquiring mind to believe that the Strap On was designed by a woman.

Some dudes think it’s a dangerous invention. A slippery slope that will end up with men considered superfluous and relegating us to history. That is a ridiculous notion. Who do you think owns the factories that make the things? Chinese MEN!

Far from being a divisive tool, I believe the Strap On helps us better understand each other. It lets women see what it's like to be a man. It is an equal opportunities sex toy. When a woman straps one on she gets to experience what it is like to hump like a dude. To know the sheer effort that is involved in the male side of humping.

If you ask men how long their average sex session lasts and you ask women, you get a totally different answer. On the whole men think the ordeal takes 40% longer than a woman will. That’s because Men work so much harder. When was the last time you heard a woman say, “oh oh oh stop. I have the stitch?” Sorry lady, you’re not sweating – that’s dude sweat that happens to be dripping on you. I think the male orgasm is the body thinking it’s going to die out of sheer exhaustion and signalling, “Breed! For fucksake! Breeed!” And then its that sneezy feeling you get and SPLAT - abandon ship. Then panting. Wretching. Pleading and promising to yourself that you will never put yourself through that again. Guilt. And then a sandwich. The great news is: Women can now experience this near death experience every time they make love.

The next thing they can experience is the terror of being monotonous with their stroke technique. They will have to come up with all different variations. Different speeds and different depths. The 8 Shallow One Deep. The Nervous Elk Takes A Drink (Where the head darts into the lake and back out just as fast), The Square Peg In The Round Hole (that usually ends the session right then and there), and the ‘Out Of Control 18 Wheeler Crashes Through A Pet Shop Window And Kills All The Puppies’… personal favourite of mine.

These things are definitely for women only though. Men wearing them is just weird. It doesn’t make sense. It is like a tiny piece of the universe has turned inside out or something leaving us all yelling, “I can’t see eyes…”

If one wore a strap-on while fucking, and still had his cock intact, it would feel like one had just had dentistry on ones cock. Like when you eat too soon after a filling and it feels like someone else is chewing but you are tasting. I’m not sure I see the point in that.

Equally it seems weird when you see women giving them blow-jobs. I can see why you would do it if you were in a porn film – that’s obviously for the dudes watching at home – but I wonder if it actually happens in Lesbian relationships? On a Wednesday? Do lesbians suck on Strap Ons. It seems a little anti feminist to me.

I wonder if the strap on is a basic piece of kit or if the extra faffing around with getting it ready makes it more of a special occasion piece?

I wonder if lesbian couples use their Strap Ons to gauge whether or not one of them has gained weight? “Oh nice one Barbra – adding another hole to the strap? I take care of my self – you could at least do the same.”

I wonder if Lesbians wearing one ever keep their socks on.

I wonder if they have names for their Strap On’s like Men do with their cocks?

I wonder how fucked up I’d have to be to paint tits on back and turn my bum into a vagina?

Anyway. Congrats Mrs Inventor of the strap on. Now go fuck yourself.

PS: I think an Estate Agent took the photo of that lady with that thing on her. I don’t know why… It just has that feeling about it.

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - Rain Man

2009-09-26T19:07:00.002+01:00

I spotted this Cock and balls in the movie Rain Man - which makes me the Rain Man of cock and balls spotting...

For Sale - Rap Persona

2009-09-25T11:24:00.005+01:00

There are a lot of rappers around. This in itself is a strange thing considering how many rappers say they kill rappers... The maths is fishy.

It seems to me that if one was to start a rap career having, as the French say, a little 'I don't know what' - that would help you stand out from the rest would be a good idea. I have good Ideas all the fucking time.

Here's one for the rappers.

I have created a persona any aspiring rapper could adopt and become dope overnight.

Here it is, bitches -

Name: Lil Snoozy

Gimick: All things sleep related.

Costume: Blinged up sleep mask.

Speech Affectation: Lil Snoozy replaces his S’s with ZZzzzZZZzzzZZ’s.

Drug of choice: Xanax

First Album Name: Sweet Dreamz

Track List:

1. Sweet Dreamz

2. Wet Dreamz

3. R.I.P Van Winkle

4. Nightmare On Any Street

5. Power Nap

6. Sleeper Hold

7. Hit Ya Like a Snooze Button

8. Sleep Is The Cousin Of Geoff

9. R.E.M

10. I Am Watching A Nicole Kidman Movie

I want 10k for it.

Genuine offers only.

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

2009-09-23T14:35:00.002+01:00

You Couldn't Make This Shit Up If You Tried.

2009-09-23T06:36:00.001+01:00

Dr. B.J. Hardick has dedicated his life to maximizing the health and human potential of his community. His Centre for Maximized Living in London, Ontario is one of the largest health care clinics of its kind in North America. In Dr. Hardick’s seminars and care for patients, he teaches and implements the principles of Maximized Living which he has championed his entire life.

Dr. Hardick received his Bachelor of Science at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. He earned his Doctorate of Chiropractic at Life University in Marietta, Georgia, graduating with highest academic honors and the coveted Clinical Excellence Award.

Dr. Hardick has been a featured speaker and partnered with GoodLife Fitness, the Athletic Club, the YMCA, the Running Room, the University of Western Ontario, Fanshawe College, Metropolitan United Church, the London Children’s Connection, the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation, and the World Children’s Wellness Foundation to share his expertise. His strategies for nutrition, exercise, detoxification, children’s health, and stress & time management have become the foundation of the Maximized Living Makeover, in which Dr. Hardick has led over 1,500 Londoners to improved life management skills since he initiated the program 4 years ago. Dr. Hardick was recognized by the Maximized Living Foundation in 2007, receiving its Award of Excellence for his outstanding service to his patients and community. In 2009, Dr. Hardick co-authored Maximized Living Nutrition Plans with Kimberly Roberto and New York Times best-selling author Dr. Ben Lerner. The publication is now used as a nutrition guidebook in over 300 health clinics worldwide.

Dr. Hardick’s mission, through his practice, seminars, and outreach, is to help as many people as possible achieve the optimum levels of physical, mental, and spiritual health and happiness which are their birthright.

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - Post Cancer

2009-09-22T18:00:00.002+01:00

It's on the cards...

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.10

2009-09-21T08:50:00.003+01:00

Thanks to Duncan AKA Grumpy Old Man With A Beard

50 Short Stories Of 50 Words - No. 7

2009-09-12T21:26:00.003+01:00

Bryan, With The Birthmark On His Foot That Is The Exact Shape Of A Pacific Island Where The King Of The Island Has Just Now Died.

On the shore of Kawaiki’, towards Bryan’s big toe, a plump woman cried hard and held her toddler - ignoring his wriggles and her own mucus.

Bryan scratched the volcanic remnants of Kawaiki while a commercial for bleach jingled.

On the outcropping spit, closer to Bryan’s ankle, a warrior blew a conch.

Where I Predict The Future.

2009-09-11T12:33:00.004+01:00

I know you are not going to believe what I’m about to tell you but I can predict the future. I know that you won’t believe what I’m telling you because I can predict the future.

Let me clear on this:

There are people that believe they know the future – this is not the same as what I can do. CHECK IT!

Whitney Huston believed that Children were the future. She married Bobby Brown and had a child with him. She believed she knew that children where the future, but she didn’t believe she knew the future for the children. This didn’t really mater until Whitney and Bobby had a little girl.

When your parents are crack heads that spend most of your formative years locked in the bathroom or scratching each other’s eyes out it doesn’t take a soothsayer to predict your future for you.

http://www.exploitedblackteens.com/

I told you I had a gift.

But Whitney was right, the children are the future. Especially if you just bought a factory that hand makes bricks. They are the future leaders of our countries. The future deep-sea divers, army mans, football players, Transformers and tiger fighters… just ask them. So naïve. So hopeful. So retarded! Every time I see a baby I just want o press it’s little fontanel and make it’s tongue poke out.

The reality of being an adult is something very different however. I am typing this in a windowless, asbestos filled office while another adult pushes a vacuum cleaner past me and answers a call from another adult who’s ringing her from a hospital after the steam press at the Drycleaner he works at has exploded and made his face look like that dude from Mask’s. Kids should be told about disappointment – let them know that what they want to be in the future might not happen and if you dream hard and hope enough – you’ll just be even more bereft and drunk when you become an adult. Look at Maddy Mc Cain. She wanted to be alive when she grew up – but that’s not going to happen. Getting used to disappointment is something that some kids have to face.

I predict that my kids will have to get used to disappointment… If they survive.

I have an interesting child rearing strategy, which I am calling my ‘Bucket Child Rearing Technique.’ The technique involved 18 different sized buckets starting at very small and increasing in size to Quite Big. The technique involves drowning the child in the appropriate bucket for their age and size depending on when in their development they anger me or bore me.

EG: at birth, if the child is a ginger – I will bring out the 0-1 year-old bucket – fuck it At 1 hour old we won’t be that attached to it anyway. If the child gets to 3-years-old can’t hold a tennis racquet, a golf club or a conversation in three languages – that little mediocre fool aint gonna make it. And if at11-years-old and shows the signs of becoming a Goth the 11-12 year old bucket comes out and after the thrashing the water will be grey from the vomit and the eye-liner… and so on up the line.

But kids don’t have dominion over the future do they? We play a part too… Although less than we thought.

Where’s my Jet pack?

http://www.jetpackinternational.com/

Where’s my robot housemaid?

http://tinyurl.com/nhcqoh

Where’s my sex-bot?

http://gizmodo.com/5339705/the-future-of-tourism-isrobot-sex

Where’s my floating city?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattan

We can thank the previous generations for the floating city though. We had fuck all to do with that. I guess it’s our inheritance – and for most of us the only inheritance we are likely to get. I was given my inheritance at birth. Short crooked legs and middle class apathy mixed with a sense of entitlement and the inability to take responsibility for anything. Thanks Mum and Dad, thanks a lot!

They say that kids who get given a huge inheritance have their futures poisoned by the money. They reckon that the kids have no sense of light and shade. That they are shallow and selfish. This is evidenced by kids like Kimberly Stewart or that awful, mean cunt of a thing Paris Hilton. All these girls do is take drugs and let people fuck them in club toilets. Based on this – the only difference between the rich and the poor is that rich people can wipe their vaginas clean with the toilet paper found in the stalls - while poor people, with no toilet paper, have to use whatever is lying around in the pub toilet. Bus tickets, JD Sportswear receipts or baby bibs.

I can predict the future for Paris Hilton right now: Pole Dancing at MJ gig with DJ AM on the decks.

But death is not only on the cards for vacuous receptacle ends like Paris Hilton. The icy finger of death is the one thing about the future we can all predict.

Cancer

Alzheimer’s

Car Wreck

Cirrhosis

Dementia

Heart Disease

Gun

Knife

Drugs

AIDS – unless you are Magic Johnson.

Starvation / Hypothermia (AKA The Retirement Plan)

Or, if you are a Rapper, a combination of the above.

One thing that is in all of ours future before we get to the glorious release of death is the horrifying reality of old age. What is the point? You look forward to things like BBC’s The One Show.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/theoneshow/

I CHOOSE DEATH!

One of the prime reasons for my marriage to my wonderful wife is that I have seen her swing a hammer. We have an agreement that she will claw hammer me in the top of the skull when I start losing my faculties. If I wake up with a soggy bed it will be the last time I wake up. Call it assisted suicide if you want to… take me to Switzerland if you need to. Just git er dun!

One stipulation: I want at least one year of being official D.O.M Status (Dirty Old Man) first sign of my testicles being lower than my penis end I am going to spring into action and do things like read Daily Sport, hire a PA, remove the Zippers from all my pants, run for Mayor of London and start a Bebo account from the point of view of Lacy – a 14-year-old girl who likes… stuff. Then a hammer death. A funeral. Rotting and blissful nothing. You can take that to the bank… if they are still around in the future.

This future prediction thing is a gift… and a curse. Quick fire round:

I predict no busses then four at once.

I predict a David Cameron win and he won’t even have to rub shoe polish on his face.

I predict a rise in ‘I will clean your flat’ flyers dropped through my door.

I predict what I wear eventually being fashionable. It’s just a waiting game.

I predict Facts being as rare as working class virgins.

And I have 2 final predictions:

Rust.

Blended Food.

Dum dee dum.

Spot The Difference.

2009-09-10T10:50:00.003+01:00

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

2009-09-10T10:39:00.002+01:00

I Bought Some Gloves. They Came With Instructions.

2009-09-09T13:55:00.002+01:00

Would It Fit In Chef Gordon Ramsey's Arse?

2009-09-08T11:12:00.004+01:00

Editor-in-chief of American Vogue, since 1988. Daughter of Charles Wintour, editor of the Evening Standard.

Dropping out of school at 16, she began a career in fashion journalism. Her career took her across the Atlantic, with notable stints at New York and Home & Garden. She returned home for a spikey year to turn around British Vogue, and later assumed control of the franchise's magazine in New York. She revived a stagnant publication, a success that has earned her wide acclaim in the industry.

She is as famous as infamous unrelenting and a perfectionist

VERDICT: I believe, she would be a snug fit up the arse of TV’s Chef, Gordon Ramsey.

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

2009-09-02T16:17:00.001+01:00

Drugs That Need To Be Invented… And Their Possible Side Effects 1

2009-09-02T16:05:00.002+01:00

Name Of Drug:

Degranadol

What Drug Does:

Counteracts the feeling that you are in a reality show and don’t know it yet.

Possible Side Effect:

The propensity to talk in a squeaky voice when challenging wardens about parking tickets.

Guys! The World Doesn't Need Another Fucking Photo Of...

2009-08-26T16:59:00.003+01:00

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.9

2009-08-26T11:52:00.003+01:00

Came back to my desk from the toilet and found this bad-boy on my computer...

1.6

2009-08-25T15:02:00.005+01:00

Eating Asparagus at a restaurant is fine. Eating it at home is too much. The way it makes your urine smell is borderline worthy of a mercy flush.

And when there's more than one of you eating it and then you go to the toilet one after the other...

If a piss is a number 1 and a poo is a number 2 an asparagus piss is a number 1.6.

There needs to be a Glade Air Freshner designed specifically for it.

Seriously. I would buy that.

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.8

2009-08-25T14:25:00.003+01:00

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

2009-08-25T10:17:00.002+01:00

If Kentish Town Paint & Panel Was A Business And We Had Hold Music This Is What Todays Hold Music Would Be

2009-08-25T09:57:00.004+01:00

clickity click

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

2009-08-22T10:03:00.000+01:00

The Problem With Chinos

2009-08-20T14:05:00.007+01:00

Is This Racist?

2009-08-20T13:45:00.002+01:00

Now. My wife and I have a cleaner that comes to our flat once a week. She is from South America (the cleaner - not my wife).

She does a great job cleaning our tiny flat partly because it's an easy flat to clean as it has been renovated and is shining and nicely put together - especially the bathroom.

On the bathroom wall is chrome heated towel rail. I'm not boasting when I say it's a fine looking piece. The strange thing is that every time we come home on a Thursday after she's cleaned NONE of the towels are on the rail. Instead they are all on the hooks we screwed into the back of the bathroom door...

And here's the racist bit:

I think it's because she's from a poor country (read: shit hole) and she believes that something that shiny and nice is more of a display item than a utility. She thinks, "why cover up Mr and Mrs shiny towel rail it look so nice."

(Okay so that part where I tried to write her accent - that was racist.)

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

2009-08-19T10:22:00.002+01:00

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.7

2009-08-18T14:27:00.002+01:00

Thanks to Lucy Fleet

50 Short Stories Of 50 Words - No. 6

2009-08-18T11:48:00.002+01:00

The Assistant

Standing in the slowest line at the passport office. Changing her savings into 5 different currencies. Buying travel sized toiletries. Trying on fanny-packs. Calling her neighbour, asking him to feed the cat and water her bamboo. Entering the box, hearing the wand tap, the magic words and she’s gone. Shazaam!

Where I Put People I Don't Know In A Sleeper Hold After Having An Awkward Conversation Where I Convince Them To Let Me

2009-08-14T09:26:00.001+01:00

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

2009-08-13T17:07:00.000+01:00

Where I Find A Tyra Banks Quote - Translate It Into Japanese Then Back Translate It..

2009-08-13T17:01:00.006+01:00

Original Quote:

"I am totally against plastic surgery. A lot of people think I have breast implants because I have the biggest boobs in the business. But I was a 34C when I was 17...They stay up when I wear a push-up bra. But if people could see me when I come home and take off my bra, how could they think these are fake?"

Back Translated Quote:

"Completely there is I vis-a-vis the plastic surgery. Because as for many people in me there is the largest stupidity with business, you think of that it is Yutaka chest operation in me. But as for me when I have attached the brassiere of push rise to the body,…With them when I who occur am 17 years old, it was 34C. If me to return to the house, when removing my brassiere, but the people can meet to me, the forgery where are these which how can to think."

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

2009-08-06T11:25:00.001+01:00

Would It Fit In Chef Gordon Ramsey's Arse?

2009-08-05T18:37:00.009+01:00

First things first - this may be a redundant post because Heather Mills may have already stuck her fake leg in Gordon's arse.

I definitely think there is some sexual chemistry between them - even if it is a vegetarian hate-fuck that GR is after. Who hasn't wanted to hate fuck a vegetarian in their time?

But for the sake of this:

If Millsy was still attached to her fake leg and Gordon was breathing those poppers he loves so much - I think....

VERDICT: Yes Heather Mill's fake leg would fit up Gordon Ramsey's arse.

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.6

2009-07-31T10:25:00.000+01:00

50 Short Stories Of 50 Words - No. 5

2009-07-31T10:23:00.003+01:00

The Lonely Fiberglass Flight Centre TM Mascot That Stood In The Mall While The World Went To The World.

The Flight Centre Captain watched the people come and go always smiling a - “don't worry good people, this plane won't crash, not with me at the helm” - smile. But inside he was hollow. He couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he should have been made a red surfboard.

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

2009-07-31T10:21:00.000+01:00

Script For Historical Event Done In The Style Of Benny Hill – The Crucifixion Of Christ.

2009-07-31T10:15:00.006+01:00

INT – MUD HUT – MORNING

MUSIC PLAYS

JESUS (Benny Hill) is woken by four busty Roman Guards dressed in barely there mini skirts and boob tubes. They chase him round and round his bed – in fast motion.

EXT – JERUSALEM STREET – MORNING

JESUS (Benny Hill) is dragging a huge and heavy crucifix on his shoulders. He is wearing a crown of thorns and bleeding from his forehead.

He approaches a group of busty women who are throwing rotting vegetables at him as he passes them the crucifix brushes past them and pulls off their clothes - under their clothes they are wearing panties bras and suspenders. They chase him – in fast motion.

A couple (a young woman and an old man with a bald head) who were having sex poke their heads up from behind a fruit cart. We see that the woman in topless. They find the need to join the chase - in fast motion.

EXT – GOLGOTHA HILL – AFTERNOON

JESUS (Benny Hill) Arrives at the top of Golgotha Hill overlooking Jerusalem. There are two scantily clad thieves being nailed to the cross by scantily clad Roman soldiers. JESUS (Benny Hill) looks up the Roman’s skirts while passing under the ladder. This does not go unnoticed and JESUS (Benny Hill) is slapped. He winks at camera.

CLOSE UP

We see Nails being driven through the palms of JESUS.

CUT

We see JESUS (Benny Hill) staring at the bouncing breasts of the scantily clad Roman guard who is driving the nails though his hand.

The hammering action is making her breasts bounce – in fast motion.

EXT – GOLGOTHA HILL – NIGHT

A crowd of mourners have gathered under the crucifix where JESUS (Benny Hill) is now dead. In their grief they start to strip their robes off revealing panites bras and suspenders.

CLOSE UP

JESUS (Benny Hill) Winks at camera.

END

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

2009-07-29T10:56:00.001+01:00

Thanks, Diccon.

The Panel Awards – An Award For The Un-Awardable

2009-07-28T09:22:00.003+01:00

This week The Panel award goes to the original thieving, drug carrying, frost-bitten, itchy balled tailor who invented The Pocket.

Before the invention of The Pocket, gentlemen used to have to carry everything with them (unless they had some sort of slave/handbag on legs/human toilet) in their hands. One would have had to have been a juggler to have carried all that one would have had to carry: Snuff box, dainty hanky, face powder, dueling glove, syphilis and a beauty spot. Hands full!

Contrary to what you may think, the pocket was not modeled off the Kangaroo’s pouch. It was modeled off a dagger accident. A man forgot he wasn’t wearing a scabbard for his dagger and plunged his dagger where he thought his dagger was and created the first ever pocket. He subsequently bled to death, but human endeavor is filled with stories like this.

Since it’s invention the pocket has been the storage method of choice for most men and women – carrying all the things that we need to get through life. Wallets, phones (unless you are one of those awful cunts that have affixed their mobile to their belts like you are a retarded Batman whose super-ability is telling shit stories about that time you got drunk on conference and fell asleep in the MD’s bed WITH HIM!!!!!), keys, notes excusing us from PE, condoms, (the coin pocket), drugs (you find after you have arrived home from international air travel), a napkin that has been put through the wash, a leaking pen and a toothpick that you find by putting your hand into your pocket and having it stab up in between you finger and your nail.

Brilliant.

So here is the Panel Award inventor of the pocket - I would put my hands together for a round of applause but I have a hole in one of my pockets… and my hands are bit busy. I’m about to sink the 8 Ball.

you _____________________ Ass Motherfucker 4

2009-07-28T08:42:00.003+01:00

You-giving-homeless-people-money-and-then-worrying-that-you-are-contributing-to-their-ultimsate-demise-because-the-money-won’t-address-the-issues-they-face-at-best-it’s-a-band-aid-and-does-nothing-to-solve-mental-health-abuse-or-a-home-life-so-harrowing-that-the-streets-are-prefferable-andyou-sit-in-the-cab-all-the-way-to-see-that-play-with-kevin-spacey-in-it-and-bitch-about-society-until-I-point-out-it-was-only-20p-ass-motherfucker!

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.5

2009-07-25T11:56:00.001+01:00

What Do You See?

2009-07-22T16:29:00.003+01:00

I have no Idea - but I’m horny… Mum.

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

2009-07-22T15:52:00.003+01:00

Getting The Most From The London Underground

2009-07-11T11:40:00.006+01:00

The London Underground is a fucking hell-hole where people forget they are human and become animals that would gladly stamp on the skull of a kitten to get on a train. It is an exercise in turning OFF akin to being a trafficked child prostitute encamped in Turkish bricklayers camp. We look into middle space and think of something we'd rather be doing (eating a plate of baby shit mixed with burned hair), or worse, we read the Metro.

Agreed? Good.

One of the things I thought about whilst journeying one day was all the different places one can travel while in the train carriage and then I decided to rank them. The best place you can sit – to the worst place to stand.

1. Sitting against the glass partition. So one can lean on the glass.

2. A seat.

3. The leaner at the end of the carriage.

4. Standing by the middle doors leaning on a pole.

5. Standing in the middle of the aisle - in front of where people sit.

6. Standing at the ends of the carriage.

I hope this clears things up for you all and if we see each other on the tube and we have our headphones in lets just agree not to talk to each other and just get through the trip as fast and as painlessly as allowed.

Where I Put People I Don't Know In A Sleeper Hold After Having An Awkward Conversation Where I Convince Them To Let Me

2009-07-11T02:43:00.002+01:00

Tee Shirt Someone Should Make This Week

2009-07-09T02:30:00.002+01:00

The Panel Awards – An Award For The Un-Awardable

2009-07-08T22:33:00.004+01:00

This week The Panel Awards an unknown graphic designer. The murdering, 40-sippin, drug dealing, gang banging - and in all probability – dead genius who invented the BLOOD hand sign.

The knotted up fingers that let any and all who care to glance your way that you are a member of the notorious Bloods and you wear red and kill people who wear blue.

This piece of graphic design is, if not genius, then ingenious. It took someone to think like they were looking in a mirror and say to themselves, “Now hold on… if I just twist my fingers…. And then I put my other one here…. And then bend this one here… Damn!” The equivalent to rubbing your belly and patting your head and saying the alphabet backwards.

We’d love to give the award to the creator but like I said earlier he’s probably dead and I have the same rules with neighborhoods that I do with nightclubs. If I can’t wear blue jeans I’m not interested in going.

Tu Pac R.I.P

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

2009-07-08T22:31:00.003+01:00

Sony Balls (sic)

2009-07-01T15:46:00.003+01:00

50 Short Stories Of 50 Words - No. 4

2009-07-01T11:49:00.003+01:00

Anton Tries To Coin Phrases But Ultimately Ends Up Misunderstood And Alone.

Meeting with the sales team: “Well, I hope a snake ruins your happy picnic!” Talking to Greg from maintenance: “Give a chimp a gun and he’ll want a hat.” A first date with a friend of his brother’s wife: “Honey, you can’t see the parking lot from the changing room.”

Firewall Wank

2009-07-01T09:54:00.029+01:00

Some of you work. Some of you work in offices. Some of those offices have a computer network security device called a ‘Firewall’. These Firewalls are designed by incredible minds to stop people wanking at their desks.

Being a helpful person a 'keen hobbyist' (I have a right arm like a San Franciscan gold-panner), I have figured out a way around the Firewalls.

Getty Images is an image bank where people buy photos to use in their margarine ads or for an NHS brochure they are designing and no Firewall in the world will stop you visiting this site..

So I did a search on Getty and attempted to have a wank using the first couple of images from each search. To keep things scientific, I used the same categories that you would see on youporn etc.

Okay… curtains drawn, shoelace tied round my balls, goose fat applied, dick in my hand… lets do this!

Hot Girl

Orgy

Teen

Latina

MILF

Amateur

Asian

Ebony

Oral

Anal

Girl On Girl

Sexy

So... that didn't work as well as expected... Back to 'looking' at your holiday snaps on Facebook then...

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

2009-07-01T08:29:00.003+01:00

Drunkest Guy At The Party – A Song.

2009-06-27T08:22:00.005+01:00

By Sam Hibbard, James Taylor & Oliver Green.

CHORUS

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Who knows what he’ll do.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Aren’t you glad it’s not you?

(Drunkest guy at the party)

His tee shirt smells of spew.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He can’t find his left shoe.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He’s pissing like a moose.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He didn’t flush his poo.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Says dodgy things about Jews.

CHORUS

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Who knows what he’ll do.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Aren’t you glad it’s not you?

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He’s quoting 2-Live-Crew

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He’s trying to fuck a ‘two’.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He just offended Sue.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He’s drinking stuff that’s blue.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He’s now completely nude.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

CHORUS

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Who knows what he’ll do.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Aren’t you glad it’s not you?

He broke your IKEA stool.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He just punched that old dude.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

He fell asleep on the loo.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Let’s cover him in glue.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Just be glad it’s not you.

CHORUS

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Who knows what he’ll do.

(Drunkest guy at the party)

Aren’t you glad it’s not you?

Selected Pop-Out Quotes From Penthouse Forum Letters Circa The 80’s.

2009-06-25T16:08:00.003+01:00

“I slipped it in like a vote in Jesse Jackson’s ballot box. Right then, I didn’t care about the future.”

“She looked down at my throbbing inches devouring them with her eyes. ‘8 is definitely enough’ she whimpered.”

“Her pussy hair was shaved into a ‘V’. A really big serif font capital ‘V’.”

“My corvette revved it’s engine and the drive-in movie whirred behind us. Sophie’s choice? She chose cock."

“We heard the key turn in the lock. She unhinged her legs from around my waist and jumped to her feet – her hair leaving an impression on the pillow.”

“Right up the alligator strap of my wrist watch.”

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

2009-06-24T15:41:00.006+01:00

Frustration™ Rules Of Play

2009-06-23T15:05:00.008+01:00

Before reading these instructions to Frustration™ - tear instructions to Frustration™ up into tiny pieces and sticky-tape back together.

Getting Started:

Frustration™ is a game for 4-players ideally, each should be a different nationality and should not be able to speak the same language.

One player must be colour blind.

Choose a coloured 'piece' to represent each player – throw the piece out the widow and then search the house for something of approximate size to replace the newly lost piece.

Roll dice to determine starting order. Do not roll dice onto board. Roll dice off table and ‘call’ the number to the other players – argue.

If all players are present – one player must go to the toilet immediately. This is a good time for player to have a shave or try some new hairstyles out.

When all players are ready the starting player rolls dice moving his piece the corresponding number. Player must smash his/her piece down on the board so hard as to ensure the displacement of all other players pieces (throughout game). The starting player is then instructed to count the exact number of squares back again (repeat smash).

The next player must now stand, leave and make a phone call for no less than 25-27 minutes. Upon return player must relay entire content of conversation while talking like someone from (like) the MTV (like) hit The (like) Hills.

The next player must lose the dice down the back of the couch. Then moan and bitch about Frustration™ and suggest they all go see a movie or something even though the game is set up now... In the medium of mime.

Game Play:

If a Red Square is landed on the player to the left of the Red Square inhabitant must call and cancel said players Sky subscription and then make an appointment to have the Sky subscription reinstalled at a later date (sometime between 9am and 6:30pm).

If a Blue Square is landed on the player to the right of the Blue Square inhabitant must take said players car keys and mobile phone and go and lock them inside the player’s car. If no car keys substitute house keys. If playing a gypsy either will suffice.

If a Green Square is landed on all players must give inhabitant of Green Square really vague directions to a great party.

If Hexagonal Square is landed on player must get back together with ex girlfriend/boyfriend and constantly ask other players if they think it’s the right thing to do whilst ignoring any/all advice given.

If a 6 is rolled player must recount 6 scenes from any Will Farrell film and re-tell the scenes missing out some really obvious part that makes the whole scene actually work.

Rolling a 3 forces all players into a ‘joke-with-no-punch-line’ off.

Winning Frustration™:

The winner of Frustraion™ is the ___________ player who gets his/her piece to ___________ until all the ___________ have gone to the ___________ or are in the ___________.

NB: If someone looks like they are about to actually win Frustration™ please turn the instruction sheet over and begin alternate rules.

Enjoy

You _____________________ Ass Motherfucker 3

2009-06-23T15:03:00.010+01:00

You-laughing-to-yourself-until-someone-asks-you- “What’s so funny?”-and-then-telling-them-some-thinly-disguised-boast-about-something-that-may-have-happened-fucking-months-ago-that –you-embellish-the-pants-out-of-because-you-need-a-widdle-boosty-woosty-since-your-girl-dumped-you-and-now-you-have-that-stink-of-desperation-on-you-and-women-are-starting-to-think-you’re-creepy-ass-motherfucker!

Dar Es Salaam

2009-06-22T06:21:00.006+01:00

Alleys and dirt and bicycles and eyes and signs made by the blind and the sun and painted cars and us. In the middle of all this. Slow moving minute hands. Dead hour hands. Men everywhere. Women without a smile between them. Mobile phones, jandles, sandals. Scowling heat catching a break in sketchy shade from trees that look like photosynthesis is the last thing they want to do. Like their father caught them photosynthesising as a sapling and made them photosynthesis ‘the whole pack’. Black shining faces. Women with wide shuffling walks - in between somewhere they don’t want to be going somewhere they won’t want to be. Limp handshakes. Men with one AK47 between three. Who aims? Who squeezes? Buses tombstone above our car filled with staring faces. Alleys that would swallow us whole if we left the road into them – like the white lines are the blankets of our beds and the monsters under us know that anything under the blankets is ‘safe’. Portraits of a leader. No flags. Sun bleached blue paint. Finger smudged red paint. Tiles swept thin. Vinyl handbags. Vinyl belts. TV’s half on channel. The Indian faces that have come to symbolise ‘middle-man’ in every country I have visited. Nothing uniform – especially uniforms. Streets made with dirt and with sun and with slow deals and with nothing. The smell of coking fires at the airport. The dry mouths that could swallow us. Ungainly gone-ness through sheer numbers that spew out of those dry smoking alleyways. Hot and wide like toothless mouths with plastic bag dentures that cling to fences – caught by surprise like a boxers molar on a canvas… It’s nearly 10am.

I Am In Africa On Honeymoon.

2009-06-17T12:36:00.010+01:00

... and maybe a bit of sex.

Your Pal,

Oliver Green

R.I.P

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

2009-06-09T11:29:00.001+01:00

I Superpoked Jesus

2009-06-09T11:18:00.003+01:00

J.C. Can I call you Jimmy? I hope you don’t mind being Superpoked like this. I figure it’s like a modern prayer except I’m not going to ask you for anything. No “cure my child of Cancer” or “Please Jesus help me not to love cock so much.” None of that. I just thought I’d just write to you and have a chat.

I was going to ask to be your friend but I don’t know what that entails. I’m pretty busy and I’m not sure being your friend leaves a bloke with much time. Also, I have a feeling that you’d say yes to me because you’d pretty much say yes to anyone. That’s the thing when you give your ‘love’ away so freely. Herpes… and the general devaluation of ‘Love’. Maybe there should be a disciple button for you - that would be worth something. Jesus has 100,998, 985,334,235,112 friends but only 12 disciples… Actually 11 if you count old Judas topping himself.

Let’s talk facial hair. You’re a beard guy right? I wonder what you think about Goatees? I have seen some pictures of you with the Prison Pussy flashing on your grill. Is that still how you roll? These days a beard like yours sort of symbolizes madness. You always see movie stars grow one when they are just so sick of being so damn good looking! It’s kind of like camouflage for them… But , like camouflage, when you are in a nice bar it actually makes you stand out. It must be tough to have people bite your style the whole time and not be able to smite the shit out of them – come on it’s me – you can tell me. You’d love to get your smite on wouldn’t ya! Or is smiting more of your dad’s deal?

Speaking of your dad. I’m confused about a couple of things. When people pray – are they praying to you or to Pops? Some people seem to worship you but as far as I can make out you were just a dude. Sure you healed the blind but my Uncle Andy healed his Cocker Spaniel (Ferocious Freddy) of conjunctivitis and that’s kind of the same thing, right. So I guess I’m asking are those people wasting their time with you. Are you more like a PA who makes sure God gets his messages and his Starbucks (made from real stars)? In which case can I wait until He’s out of his meeting and talk too Him direct. Thanks.

Also heaven: Okay is it like this. When you die your soul goes to heaven right? Does your soul look like you when you died – like a ghost and in which case is it as old as you are when you died? You know how ghosts are little kids or old dudes with their heads cut off? Is heaven filled with predominantly old people and one or two drunk drivers who are BORED? Also who baby-sits the aborted feotuses? Is that why you are so anti that shit? And are you wearing the same clothes the whole time you are there. That would suck balls if you died while operating the back of a horse in a Pantomime. I think you should lax those rules. It seems that it wouldn’t be ‘Heaven’ if I was wearing the wrong shoes for the pants…

What’s up with Mel Gibson?

One last thing: If I see your image appear on a piece of toast but I’m really hungry is it cool if I eat the piece of toast?I’ll try not to sin today…Umm, Okay can we start from NOW because I was ‘surfing the web’ a little bit before I poked you. Keep your head up and remember to get your tetanus booster shots.

Your Pal, Oliver

New Law - Dreams.

2009-06-09T10:32:00.002+01:00

Okay lets just say this, KNOW ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR FUCKING DREAM. Don’t come into work and say, “Wow I had the weirdest dream last night.” And then start telling us before we even ask you to tell us. That’s forcing your dreams on us! That’s dream-rape.

All dreams are weird that’s just a given. If you had a dream that wasn’t weird – for example a dream where you went to work and bored someone shitless with your crappy voice they wouldn’t be called dreams – they’d be called memories.

Unless you’re Martin Luther King - shut the fuck up about your dreams.

New Law - Dreams Sec.225564328 Para. 6675465331

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

2009-06-08T09:20:00.003+01:00

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.4

2009-06-08T09:18:00.003+01:00

50 Short Stories Of 50 Words - No. 3

2009-06-05T09:32:00.002+01:00

An Open Letter To The Makers Of Meaty-Chum Dog Food.

Dear Meaty-Chum,

I feed Scamp Meaty-Chum everyday and he certainly enjoys it. However, I often see my little boy licking his private parts. He must really enjoy that flavour too as he’s always at it. Maybe you could use this observation to create a dog lolly flavour?

Sincerely, Mrs Fenchurch.

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

2009-06-05T09:21:00.002+01:00

Script For Those Colourful Screen Showcasing Videos They Play On New TV’s In TV Shops.

2009-06-05T09:18:00.003+01:00

This script has no dialogue but the song ‘I wanna Sex You Up’ by Colour Me Bad plays under.

We open on an albino man who has a strange power over butterflies (evidently they seem to think that he is a roost). He is in a black space and nothing can be seen around him – only the butterflies and he are lit. They glow majestically.

Suddenly the blackness is breached by light! He has been in a lift that opens out into a huge space empty except for a pool table – the green of the felt leaping up at the camera.

The albino man and his flock of butterflies approach the table. The multi coloured balls rain down from above - red, blue, yellow all bouncing across the green like spilled gob stoppers.

The albino looks for a stick with which to play… there are none. Instead he finds a red neon tube and starts to play pool on the green felt with it. The butterflies frolic.

In through a door walks The Blue Man group. One carrying a yellow neon tube the other two carrying a Jackson Pollack painting.

The Blue man and the albino shake hands and the match commences (the other two hang the Pollack).

The match is furious and colourful. The butterflies and other two Blue Men dance like the wind is music.

The albino wins! His blue opponent gives him 100 liquorice allsorts one by one.

They all climb aboard a chariot pulled by a Zebra a Peacock and a Leopard and leave.

THIS IS TO BE LOOPED.

Things That Look Like Cock And Balls - No.2&3

2009-06-04T20:33:00.004+01:00

You _____________________ Ass Motherfucker 2

2009-06-04T08:50:00.003+01:00

"You-begging-and-begging-for-the-remote-control-Delorian-that-was-in-Back-To-The-Future-and-then-when-I buy-it-for-you-you-leave-it-at-your-friend-Cody’s-house-and-it-gets-stepped-on-by-Cody’s-big-brother-and-breaks-and-that-doesn't-seem-to-bother-you-ass-mother-fucker!"

Captions To Facebook Photos Without The Photos 1

2009-06-03T16:35:00.003+01:00

Damn, I feel sorry for the Cop!

Nothing better after a long day’s ropin’ – that’s for sure.

Who ate all the people that ate all the pies?

Awwwww! So cute and you can’t even see the bandages.

Mum and some guy who isn’t Dad.

I eat everything I kill… Until now!

That explains the ash in the kitchen and the fact Sarah can’t have sex until next Tuesday (at least!).

“1, 2, 3, 4 Lucy is a fucking whore!”

I hate Christmas in jail. LOL!

Suggestions for New Onomatopoeias 2

2009-06-03T13:08:00.004+01:00

PUNCTURE

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

2009-06-03T10:55:00.002+01:00

Answering Dylan

2009-06-03T10:22:00.004+01:00

No great man once said: “Questions are the fire that burns down the forest of lies so we can farm the cattle of discovery and eat the steaks of truth.” But one could have - if the great man was retarded. What no great man meant when he didn’t say that is valid though. Questions are important. Curiosity is what drives us, as a species, forward.The problem with being a curious species is that we always have questions. The problem with questions is that they need answers or else the asker becomes frustrated and starts to whine in a nasal sounding voice.

Bob Dylan is a frustrated man. Three decades ago he sat down and asked the world some questions. Eight simple questions. Those questions have never been answered. Until now. Mr Dylan, here are the answers to your 8 questions:

Q. How many roads must a man walk down- before you call him a man?

A. Roads have nothing to do with becoming a man. It has been said that to become a man you have to have had your arse kicked, kicked someone’s arse, have your heart broken and break someone’s heart. When I heard that I though that sounded pretty straight forward… Nobody told me that the afore mentioned four criterion should ideally involve four different people… I’d like to apologise to Stacey Peters and I hope that the blindness in your right eye doesn’t stop you reaching your dream of being a flight attendant. Sorry.

Many cultures have specific ceremonies that males of a certain age have to go through before they can be called a man. In certain African tribes the youth have to sleep with Hyenas or be circumcised with the bullet of an AK47. In one Pacific Island the boys climb giant towers and leap off the top of them with vines tied to their ankles and when the crowd parts the leapers are either men or men who can’t feel their legs. In white-people culture there is an ancient and harrowing experience called getting a mortgage. I remember my mortgage ceremony like it was yesterday. It involved me speaking to people called ‘lawyers’ and other people called ‘mortgage brokers’ and then giving the bank a huge, ongoing sacrifice only to be told a year later that I was ‘losing money’ because the house I bought was ‘over-valued’.

I walked down one road to get my mortgage - So ONE it takes ONE road to be called a man.

Q. How many seas must a white dove sail - before she sleeps in the sand? 

A. A sailing dove. Great. Now we have to compete against animals in the sporting arena? Well we’re fucked. I don’t care if you are Micheal Phelps – he’s never going to out swim a fish – not even a sprat. Saying that, the addition of animals to the Olympics might be a good thing. Releasing a tiger shark in the pool would make people swim faster. A pack of rapid dogs would get the 100 metre record up and skeet shooting would be a lot more fun if we launched live baby pigs into the air (called Skeets) and watched them explode when the shells hit.

However I hate to break it to the dove. The Sands, Las Vegas has been closed for years… We could get the dove a room here. But it’s probably not what the dove had in mind when he set out on his yacht.

Q. How many times must the cannon balls fly – before they're forever banned? 

A. Do cannon balls explode? I always see things like Pirates of the Caribbean and the things BLOW UP like Israeli cluster bombs. I don’t think that happens. Aren’t they just big lumps of lead that hit things? Like wrecking balls without chains attached. They seem quite innocuous compared to today’s Weapons Of Mass Destruction. I think the world would be a better place if we still used Cannon Balls - that’s just a giant game of high stakes ball-tiggy. We could have rubber building and maybe wars could be based on a points-per-hit system rather than the current Children Bleeding Out Their Eyes system that seems to be so loved by everyone. The first one to hit 12 buildings wins. I like that more than the first one to systematically destroy hope for 12 generations wins.

Cannonballs should never have been banned.

Q. How many years can a mountain exist before it's washed to the sea?

When you talk to a geologist about the erosion of mountains by water you soon realize… ZZzzzZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZ… ZZzzzzzzzzzz… Hey come here Ewok lady why are you running away? ZZzzZZzzzz… Okay Gordon Brown I’ll try your chocolate cake with eyes… ZZZzZZzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZz… My teeth are all falling out and it’s your fault Queen of the Clover People… ZZzzzzzz…

Q. How many years can some people exist before they're allowed to be free? 

A. I think this one depends entirely on who the people are. Raping murderers? Lots of years. I always wonder why it is that prostitutes always get murdered by these serial killers? I think it’s because the prostitutes will get into cars and go anywhere with people. But Foxtons Estate agents will do the same. They’ll follow you anywhere and they all have their own cars. It’s also true that their screams of anguish sound like old time R&B to the rest of humanity so killing them with a power tool ends up sounding like someone doing a spot of D.I.Y while singing some Al Green. No one would even blink.

Q. How many times can a man turn his head pretending he just doesn't see? 

A. We’ve all done it. Seen someone coming your way down the street and then pretended to look at something else quickly. LOOK in the widow of that shop! There’s a sale on adult nappys! WOW! Then they just walk passed. Whew.

For me that moment is bitter sweet. What if they saw me and did the same thing. Oh great. Now I start thinking about what’s so wrong with me? What have I done that makes people want to pretend they didn’t see me in the street. What? What is so bad about me that made you pretend to be scraping some dirt off your tee-shirt and turn your head pretending you just didn't see. What is so wrong with me?! Tell me! Tell me, Dad! TELL ME!

Q. How many times must a man look up - before he can see the sky? 

A. It really depends where the man is. Say he was on the top floor of a 10 story building and he looked up. He’d see ceiling. Then he went down to the 9^th… Ceiling. The 8^th… ceiling… the 7^th… ceiling. Etc etc . Until he get outside. Then he’d look up and see sky.

So in that case – 10 times.

Q.Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have before he can hear people cry? 

A. This is trick question. We can only ever have two ears unless you are growing a spare ear - which is possible but frowned upon at present. Anyway, I think it would be better to grow a tail. A skin tail that could work like a monkey’s tail. It would be great for reaching things, pressing lift buttons when your hands were full and it would open up a whole new genre of erotica involving and starring just one person - tail gating.

Q. Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died? 

A. The four biggest killers in the world’s history. Stalin, Hitler, Pol-Pot and Rappers. Stalin killed between 20-60 million. Hitler between 6-7 million. Pol Pot killed 2 million. And rappers - the worst of all – have killed more than heart disease and accidental tennis deaths put together. Lil Bow-Wow alone claims to have ‘bodied’ at least 100 him self and he is only 9-years-old. I bet that if Stalin, Hitler and Pol-Pot were still alive they’d be in a rap group together bustin’ caps and stacking bodies. They’d be called M.M.P (Mass Murderin Posse) and make M.O.P look like kindergarten teachers.

Check itunes for their fist single: Lets Spark It (Ovens).

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind.

(Actually, the answer is above.)

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

2009-06-02T13:33:00.006+01:00