Still better than porn
People tend not to believe me when I say that I’ve watched very little porn. But I don’t see the point: I have an imagination.
I’ve never thought that I had a very good imagination and my masturbatory fantasies are certainly no masterpieces. There’s very little in the way of back story and although I’m proud of my character development and story arc (particularly during the denouement), I tend to rely on tried and tested themes and avoid any plot twists.
As for the casting, It’s atrocious. All the female roles are unbelievably beautiful and clearly way out of my league. Nobody, in their right mind, would believe that women like that would want to sleep with me, let alone be eager to. And yet, for some unfathomable reason, I believe every scene without question.
My own role in this nonsense is perhaps the most ridiculous of all: I cast myself as an heroic super-lover, able to maintain an erection for days, satisfying any number of women. And as if things couldn’t get any more pathetic, this character even has a bigger cock than I do and is able to produce enough ejaculate to drown a small choir.
The irony that I am, in reality, a scrawny, worn-out fifty-something who can barely keep it up for the duration of a quick restroom wank seems to pass me by completely.
That is until I finish…
And it’s still better than porn.
The Vagina Tax
MINISTER ONE: OK hear me out on this. [PAUSE] How about we put a tax on vaginas?
MINISTER TWO: You want to tax vaginas?
MINISTER ONE: Well, not the vaginas themselves, just anyone who has one.
MINISTER TWO: You mean women?
MINISTER ONE: Well that makes it sound like we’re discriminating. It’s just that these stats show that the owners of vaginas are far more productive and creative, both economically and socially than any other group. It makes perfect fiscal sense. Vaginas are a gold mine.
MINISTER TWO: It might seem a little fairer if we taxed penises as well?
MINISTER ONE: WHAT!? Tax people for having a penis!? That is literally the stupidest fucking idea I have ever heard in my life! The fuck is wrong with you!? Seriously!? Tax people for having a penis!? Have you got a brain tumour or something? Listen to yourself man! I mean, WHAT THE FUCK??!!
Old Gay John
I bumped into an old mate today, someone I haven’t seen in years. He told me that Old Gay John had died. Old Gay John was one of the guys that used to hang around on the corner, way back when I first moved here. He wasn’t gay, we just called him that because he hated it so much. He wasn’t old either or called John.
A great wave
the last few weeks and days of my life have transformed me, like very few periods in my life ever have. maybe when my son died, or maybe when he was born, but little else in my life has caused me to define and redefine myself as much as the last few days and weeks have. i have lost friends and gained friends. i have had a punch up on the street with one of my best mates, and i have not had a punch up in decades. i have learned a lot about myself and a lot of it i wish i hadn’t. i have had to look at myself hard and admit things i don’t like. i am shallow and fickle and very selfish. i am proud and arrogant and stupid. i have had to look at myself very hard, in a way that made me realise that i am deep and serious and not what i just said. i am as stupid as i am clever. i am a walking contradiction. i can feel real and deep hurt, but i have a capacity to hurt others that exceeds that, and i do not like that about me. i’ve made new friends but lost old ones. i have had to redefine some friendships and redefine how i see myself. i have reconnected with some and disconnected with others. i have seen people change and i have changed. ‘life is like a great wave,’ a one legged surfer’s ex once said to me, ‘try to control the wave and it will crush you, all you can do is read it and ride it’. i have grown and i have shrunk, and growing is the more painful and difficult. i have lost and i have found, and sadly i have learned more from what i have lost, although i am learning right now that if my neighbour does not turn his music down, i am going to find my cricket bat and he is going to lose some teeth.
You think you’re funny?
i like my women like i like my coffee.
What? hot, sweet and black?
nah, bought from a street corner and costing less than three quid.
You think you’re funny, don’t you?
sure, i could make people laugh just reading from a dictionary.
Really? how would you do that then?
i’d read it with my cock hanging out.
The seven deadly things
I said long ago, that I would no longer be accepting blogger awards, and it wasn’t because I thought that they were a pointless (but very imaginative and caring) form of chain letter, but because being nominated gives me such an almighty erection that, I would fear for my mortal safety, were I to be nominated more than once in quick succession. It is only thanks to the swift action, and early arrival, of my cleaning lady, Mrs Go’onanonanonagan (87 but with the tits of an 85 year old), that I was not later discovered drowned in a pool of my own semen, after having received three such awards within the space of a single afternoon.
As I lay here in my hospital bed, recovering from an ego overdose, I think it only fair that I respond to Rhonda from Help Me Rhonda (The Seven Things About Me Award), Maureen from Magnolia Beginnings (The Five Best Books Ever Award) and Mad Gay Man from Diary of a Mad Gay Man (Bitches Love Awards Award), for their flattering and honouring nominations.
As per my doctor’s orders, I will respond to each nomination with a post of its own and start with Rhonda’a ‘Seven Things About Me Award’.
The rules of this award require me to first thank the nominee, then to reveal seven embarrassing facts about myself and finally to nominate 463 other bloggers.
Thank you Rhonda:
Rhonda’s blog, Help Me Rhonda, is a witty, sweet and charming, daily dose of life-affirming wisdom and side-splitting humour, beautifully taken photographs and cleverly observed anecdotes. If you have not yet discovered her, then do so now, or I will have you cruelly murdered.
Seven things:
- I could read by the age of three. I kinda taught myself but was encouraged and helped by my family, who seemed to think I was possibly some kind of prodigy. Sadly it was my only trick, I simply had to learn “how to do words”, and after that I was, academically, something of a disappointment.
- I know 30 different ways to kiss – 31, if you include ‘on the mouth.’
- I think its wrong to use poetry or art to get into a woman’s head. It’s much better to use them to get into a woman’s pants.
- I once was a cartoonist, for a chain of pot-selling coffee shops in the Netherlands. I used to get paid in pot and only got the job because the previous incumbent had been tied to his push-bike, by the Dutch Mafia , and thrown into a canal. A very Dutch way to die, their bikes are very heavy.
- I had a girlfriend who ran off with my best friend, and I still miss him.
- I have a notepad and pen in every room in the house. It’s because I never know when I will have an idea. I even have a notepad in the lavatory. Once, after taking a large amount of magic mushrooms, I discovered the secret to life there and, obviously, wrote it down. The following morning, upon realising that I had run out of toilet paper, I had to use it to wipe my arse. Well? What would you have done?
- I have no idea what the pre-wash function on my washing machine is for.
Nominations:
Normally I claim to be unable to nominate anyone because I never bother reading any of the shite you all write. This is not actually true. I do, I avidly, read every word of all your blogs. The reason I can’t nominate anyone is because I am simply too lazy and way too busy masturbating over your gravatar images.
A miracle?
I really thought I’d witnessed something miraculous this morning. In my own kitchen.
I like my coffee hot and the one I had made earlier had just begun to cool a little. It was still pretty hot but needed 20 seconds in the microwave, just to get it right. I popped it in, set the dial and waited for the ping. When I took the coffee out, it was stone cold. Well, not stone cold, but room temperature and a lot colder than it was when I’d put it in.
At first, I thought I was dreaming. I know enough about physics and how microwaves work to know that what I’d just seen was simply not possible. I pinched myself, not asleep. I tasted the coffee again, still cold. My heart started to race as my mind tried to figure out what had happened.
I peered into the oven, unsure of what I was looking for, when it struck me. At the back was a mug of coffee that I had placed in there last night to heat up and had then forgotten about. During the 20 seconds, the turntable had revolved by half a revolution and the two mugs had changed places.
The names of god
God has a lot of names: God, Allah, Jehovah, Brahma, Waheguru and Akumba, to name just a few.
Personally, I think that there are 7,058,953,712 names for god, at least there were when I last checked.
That enough?
Customer service is not really something we do well in Britain, its not something we do at all, if I’m honest. Often you can purchase items from a store without a single word being shared with the cashier. The girl in my local store is permanently on her phone and the only contact we share is the angry glare she will shoot at me for having attempted to interrupt her.
I imagine that this is something that would infuriate a lot of Americans, it infuriates a lot of Brits too but not me. I think its funny and very British. I hear that outside of London things are different (I try to avoid leaving London, if I can at all help it), but here, that’s how we do things: I buy my shit, you sell me it, there’s no need to suck each other’s dicks on the way.
Sometimes, on the rare occasions that some chirpy little dicksplash behind a till, grins at me and says “Good morning Sir! How are you today?” I like to fuck with his, or her, head and respond with something like,
“Well, my dog died and my wife left me and I’ve been diagnosed with bollock cancer, and I lost my job and am on my way to my best friend’s funeral. How are you?”
The other day I was smoking a joint with a friend on the canal tow path when a tourist laden barge chugged past us. Two beaming children were waving at everybody from their window seats. My friend and I didn’t even have to look at each other to know what to do, and with what must have looked like choreographed synchronisity, we flipped them off.
Sometimes though, we do have our moments, times when customer and cashier connect and share a little something. I experienced two such moments today. The air vent in my living room window was broken. I had no idea what I should ask for or what size I needed, so I unscrewed it and took it to the hardware store with me. “Do you sell these?” I asked the old guy behind the counter, plonking it down.
“Dirty, broken ones?” he replied, “I’m afraid not Sir.”
After purchasing my shiny new window vent, I popped into the pub on the way home and ordered a Virgin Mary. The barmaid wanted to know if I wanted Worcester sauce with it. I did, and as she held this gigantic bottle of sauce over my glass and shook it, to tease a drop or two into my drink, the top popped off and Worcester sauce flooded my glass and gushed all over the bar, pouring over the edge and onto the sawdust coated floor. She looked at me, smiled and asked “That enough?”
The top 10 saddest things I ever wanked to
- the women’s fa cup final
- kerry katona drunk on this morning
- the russian grannies on eurovision
- the news
- the weather
- photos of my ex on vacation with her new guy
- the queen’s speech (any year)
- the jeremy kyle show
- pride and prejudice (the novel, not the movie)
- sarah palin
Najibia
a while back i posted a clip on you tube. within minutes they had taken it down and sent me a note warning me that if i posted anything like it again they would suspend, or even delete, my account. it was fair enough, you could see my dick in the video and i understood why you tube reacted the way they did, i mean you wouldn’t want children stumbling across content like that.
i understood, until yesterday that is, when someone sent me link to a you tube clip of a woman being shot repeatedly at point blank, in the back of the head, with an assault rifle, while a bunch of men and boys stood around cheering and praising god. apparently this was a punishment killing and her “crime” was adultery. although, when i read up a bit on the story it seems that by adultery what they actually meant was that she had been raped.
this wasn’t a movie. it happened. it happened yesterday. her name was najibia. the man that carried on firing 7.62 mm rounds into her lifeless body was her “husband” – i put that in quotes because that sure as fucking hell ain’t what i mean by the word.
you tube haven’t taken the clip down and i don’t have to revisit the page to know that they won’t. when i saw it, just hours after having been posted, it had received around 100,000 hits.
its good to know that you tube have got their priorities straight. here’s hoping that they continue to keep pictures of penises off the internet for many years to come.
Mistakes
One thing
that I have learned
from my mistakes,
is that
I never learn
from my mistakes.
Downhill
The first thing I remember was being born. I looked around and thought “Well, fuck me! This ain’t quite what I was hoping for.” They say that we don’t remember the first year or so of our lives because our brains are still not fully developed, but that’s complete bullshit. We don’t remember because infancy is so fucking traumatic that our minds block it out, to protect us. If we could recall a single moment of it, it would drive us batshit crazy.
The next thing I remember, I was twelve and trying to force my hand down a girl called Victoria’s panties, against a dumpster behind Tescos that smelt of stale pies and fresh tramp piss.
From then on its all been kinda downhill.
Today
today everyone looks beautiful
today everyone looks sad
and beautiful
today i got bad news
today i said “fuck it”
today i feel like i could love the world
and not care
if it broke my heart a million times.
i love this song, it was an ‘our song’ once, long ago, for a girl who’s name i don’t even remember.
that’s a lie, i remember.
hello floss, hope you are well and happy and surrounded by people who love you, i am, i learned that today.
tomorrow my life starts anew.
Its never too late
I used to go to the Stone Henge rock festival, before they closed it down. It was more of a drug festival really, everyone was just so totally trashed. It was wonderful. I once saw half of Motorhead play with half of Here And Now because the band members were so wasted they couldn’t find their way to the right stages. Alpha, beta, gamma, hubba-dubba.
I never took to Glastonbury: way too commercial. The Henge was free and wild. The police left us alone, the Hell’s Angels took it on themselves to do the security. I watched once as they repeatedly rode, bumpily over someone’s tent. “I hope there’s no one in there.” I said to the guy next to me.
“They think I am.” he told me.
I spent my 19th birthday in my birthday suit. I met this Welsh girl called Alex and she taught me how to do back flips and stand sideways on a lamp post and how to juggle. I can still do all those things today but not very well. We painted each other’s bodies, and she painted double yellow lines on my dick, to stop anyone double parking. We were in love all afternoon. She had the most amazing boobs.
There used to be a sign, at the entrance, it read:
“its never too late to have a happy childhood”
Armageddon
we’re gonna have to close it down.
what?
planet earth – it makes sense – the place is just not viable any more.
seriously?
yeah – if earth were a business, it would be in liquidation right now – everyone is in debt, the environment’s a mess, there are too many people, not enough resources – its a loss making planet.
but close it down?
sure. armageddon makes good economic sense – debt would be wiped out, unemployment would become a thing of the past, manchester would look better – we have the nukes – do the math.
Yes
“the main things which seem to me important on their own account, and not merely as means to other things, are knowledge, art, instinctive happiness, and relations of friendship or affection”
~ bertrand russell
“the effort to understand the universe is one of the very few things that lifts human life above the level of farce, and gives it some of the grace of tragedy”
~ steven weinberg
“yes”
~ anon
“be free my friends. one for all and all for me, and me for you, and three for five, and six for a quarter”
~ groucho marx
“all human beings should try to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why”
~ james thurber
“do not go gentle into that goodnight. rage, rage against the dying of the light”
~ dylan wassisname
“it is only the great men who are truly obscene. if they had not dared to be obscene, they could never have dared to be great”
~ henry ellis
“no”
~ anon
“eat, fuck kill, its all the same, right?”
~ pfc trombley
“it is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers”
~ james thurber
“come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off ”
~ malcolm tucker
“god loves you, except when you’re a cunt”
~ tourettes hero
“i said a glass of juice, not gas the jews”
~ adolf hitler
“never trust a fucking hippie”
~ johnny rotten
Didier
I watched Didier Drogba win the Champoins League final last night. The man is amazing, a real charm for Chelsea. To really appreciate him, you have to be at a match, the TV doesn’t show you what a master he is off the ball, the way he draws players away, his positioning, his relationship with the fans. I saw him a couple of years ago run rings round QPR.
Funny thing though, about football; as much as I admire Drogba, I hope he’s bloody injured the next time Chelsea play my team.
You know you’re from London when:
- You are angry that you can’t get a haircut at three in the morning.
- You can buy weed more easily than you can milk or eggs.
- You can buy crack more easily than you can buy weed.
- You come home from the shops without noticing that its Christmas day until you turn the TV on.
- You learn how to do fractions as a child by buying eighths and sixteenths of hash in the school yard.
- You don’t understand why people from other places walk so slowly.
- You think that waiting more than a minute for a bus is an outrage.
- You are baffled by how out of towners could possibly get lost in London.
- The only countryside you need is on the TV.
- You are polite to tourists when they ask for directions but always send them in the wrong direction.
- You know its monday morning because only half the people you meet are drunk.
- You support tube strikes but you fight old ladies to get on that replacement bus.
- You think smiling should be made illegal in public.
- You don’t even notice when white kids call other white kids ‘nigger’.
- You think talking to strangers is a sign of mental illness.
- You think people who do not dress in grey or black should be executed.
- You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multiligual.
- You have no idea where Buckingham Palace is.
- You eat take outs from 15 different cultures and never have to travel more than a quarter of a mile.
- You’ve never been on the London Eye.
- You think 2 AM is way too early for a supermarket to close.
- You don’t understand why tourists stare at some buildings or why they are taking photographs.
- When you have Biryani for breakfast.
- You want to kill people who call Angel, The Angel.
- The police only ever stop and search you when you’re with your black mates.
inspired by this post from the awesome snarkysnatch
kyle mew 