Monday, May 23, 2005

My True Identity

I felt it was time to reveal my true identity to you all. Here I am in black and white, shortly after I waxed my chest (and the rest of my body). The pants are very special to me, I tend to wear them as they create less static when chafing against my trousers. Posted by Hello

Friday, May 20, 2005

Blah Blah Blah

Boyzone were right. It's only words.. And I KNOW they didn't write that song, but let's face it, Boyzone are essentially superior in every way to any other singers.
Especially Keating who is a fine strapping man. In fact so strapping that in my mind his is the face hidden under the balaclava's of the (American funded) IRA bombers.
Anyway, I am asking the question: Was Ronan Keating ever in the IRA?
YES or NO.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005


I am back.
Thanks very much for all you kind e-mails of support during the period of time that the Tory-sponsored-American-Nazi-cocksuckers TOOK MY FUCKING BLOG OFF THE AIR.

And thankyou for giving me something to be pissed off about.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Where's your fucking melon, and are you thankful I only greenied on your shoe and didn't stab you in the eye? Posted by Hello

Grimacing Thunderbird

The worst thing about having been subjected to an election recently is the way normal people attempt to take on the attributes of politicians.
I was at a meeting today with a man who had clearly been watching Tony and the Big Boys and ..... so......... was ATTEMPTING to ....... PAUSE.... then CLEARLY state certain words in his sentences. Another man in the room then launched into his best Michael Howard impression by grimacing and attempting the "I'm waving and invisible melon" hand movements.
At one point during the meeting I pretended to drop something on the floor. When I reached down under the table, hidden from sight, I coughed up a large lump of fleghm. Still crouching under the table I then smeared this across the toe cap of the grimacing thunderbird's shoe - a golfball size lump of green tinged yellow mucus. I then sat up, smiled slightly and nodded in agreement to whatever the fuck he was talking about.
On ending the meeting I saw him glance down, then double take with a look of horror. He must have known it was something to do with me as he started walking over, then changed his mind and doubled back out of the door.
Whilst he might have felt aggrieved, he didn't realise that I only did this to prevent myself from ramming a sharpened pencil into his left eye ball then bundling him out the door and pushing him face first down three flights of stairs.
If he'd know that I'm sure he would have thanked me, but the real question is: Would Michael Howard?

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Blame the Manager

Whilst I'm on the subject...
When a football team plays badly, one or two players might cop it. But when they play really atrociously the fans eventually blame the Manager. It's always easier to pin the blame on one individual than the whole team.

Come on Germans, hang your heads.

American goalhangers on VE day

When you play football there's always a lazy mean child that stands by the opponents goal (children usually ignore off-side), tries to pick the ball up after it's been worked through the defence and knock it in the goal to cover himself in glory.

Who really won the second world war?

For the sake of our Grandparents, how can we allow the Americans to produce this Spielberg re-written version of history? I appreciate that a truthful account of Victory in Europe is less likely to pack out cinemas across the States with super-size coke guzzling walruses. But we have a responsibility to remember that it was the Russians first and the British second that prevented the world from being dominated by German fascists. Of course the Americans jumped in at the end and knocked the ball into the net, setting them up for an era of faux moral superiority and subsequent global domination.
Bu then the Americans had their own war to win. They needed to get revenge on the Japanese who blew up some of their warships; and did so by nuking half the population of the country in the single biggest atrocity committed in the history of humanity.

Thanks for liberating Europe Yanks, and good luck for the same across the rest of the world.

My guilty secret....

That's not a real picture of me, you know. Sorry ladies....
In real life I look like an Adonis. But can't take pictures of me, I crack camera lenses on sight.

Can you catch dyslexia?

I must have sat next to a dyslexic on the bus or something, my spelling seems to be getting worse.

Living as a fucker

Do you have low expectations?

I have none. It has been evidenced to me over time that there is no point whatsoever believing that anything good will happen, because people are fucking stupid, everything fucking dull and nothing ever changes for the better.
Some people will think that this is negative or that thinking this way will get you down. Not so. You think that because you are stupid. It actually makes me very happy to know that things don't work out in the end. Having no expectations never sets you up to fail. I don't expect that anything that has any connection with anyone else will happen. So I do everything I need to myself.
For example, last week we had an opportunity, as a country, to get rid of our American puppet Government. But I knew we wouldn't, because people are stupid.

Actually I have a problem with the whole idea of elections. They're dull. They're also a poor way of chosing a Government. What about a system whereby everyone would take a test at the polling station, thereby preventing stupid people from voting? That would make more sense.

Having a George Bush backed Tony Blair "fighting" an election seems about as similarly pointless as having a football team owned by a billionaire "competing" for the league title. Is there any way someone with that much money and power would let their team lose?

I'd prefer to live as a happy fucker with no expectations than to believe that any of us have the power to change anything except our own minds. And our underwear. Although I don't do that very often.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Vote Cock

If you vote, you will be....
The General Election literally makes me want to smear my own face with shit and throw myself, screaming, into the polling station down my road.

Just a note to the girl that writes the Erratic Diary: don't vote for fucking Harriet Herman-fucking-Munster, she looks like's swallowed a wasp and sucked half a pint of vinegar up her fanny. As for the LibDem wanker - do you relise he's 13 years old and his main campaign point was the free distribution of conkers every Autumn.
As for the Tory, I believe his Jag was robbed on the Old Kent Road last night and dumped in the Thames. With him in it.

So vote cock. Get your nob out at the polling station. It's legal.

Friday, April 29, 2005

The Sun

Today it's sunny. That's great.
The problem is that when the sun comes out people all over London seem to forget that they're ugly. Now, as a very fat man I am aware that there is no need to expose my flesh unless it's very hot and the clothes I'm wearing are incapable of absorbing the vast rivers of sweat running off my person. But today for example... it's 20 degrees c. That is not hot, it's just sunny. I am fully clothed. But the streets are literally infested with scum wearing off the shoulder vest tops, shorts, flip fucking flops and crop tops.
Put your fucking pasty, hideous, pimpled, orange-peel, veiny quivering rolls of flab away. And go and sit on your own in front of a mirror for a good couple of hours until you realise it's NOT summer it's NOT hot and you're NOT attractive in any fucking way.