Friday, January 27, 2006

Overheard, between 5th and 3rd

SUIT 1: What really annoys me is when I get in to work at 8 or five past 8, and others wander in late throughout the morning and sit in my office and just whine. And when I'm still here at 7 and beyond, they've all wandered home hours earlier. It really fucking pisses me off.

SUIT 2: Who does this?

SUIT 1: Oh, not you, Ewan, you've never done it.

SUIT 2: But who? Who's been whining?

SUIT 1: Oh you know ... corporate oiks.

SUIT 2: Well, I suppose they see you as some sort of... receptacle for...

SUIT 1: ...for crap.

Me too, Shitsack, me too.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

As God Is My Witness...

...there is no one I loathe more than that bearded flamboyant troll Russell Brand who hosts Big Brother's Big Mouth. His long hair and stubble and PLO scarf fucking kill my last nerve. Jesus, look at him:

He's actually even worse now than he is in that photograph. He's more like this:

...but with a beard. And more velvet.

I fucking hate that guy. He makes me want to puke into my asshole and shit it back into my mouth.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

I'll Show You the Life of the Mind

Did I turn off the alarm or just turn it down? That song was on, the one by Santana, and then I...I what.


...with a handle in your hand. You go back, Jack. Do it again... Is that Santana? ...Wheel turnin’ round and round, you go back, Jack. Do it again. How can it still be six minutes? My watch has turned over five times since it was at seven.




I wish I hadn’t worn these pants. The tag is itching me. It always itches me.


Why don’t I cut out that tag? I always say I’m going to cut it out. Why don’t I ever do anything? I do nothing I say I’ll do. I gotta do something with my life. This fucking tag.


Maybe if I lean this way.



This fucking tag. If it wasn’t so dark, I would’ve grabbed the Homer Simpsons. They should’ve been just on top. Seriously, why do I live here?


The ass material is getting a bit thin in those Homer Simpsons. I should look into replacing them. It’s soft, though, the ass. They’re nice to wake up in on Saturday.


If I was a girl, would I put as much thought into my underwear as they do? Do I not care because I’m a guy, or is my apathy stronger? Was it written in my dad’s spunk that I’d be a slob no matter who I was? Really, though, I can’t figure why girls think it matters to us what pants they’re wearing. It’s not the ultimate goal to see the pants.


Panties sounds like a really dirty word. Maybe that’s just because I feel funny saying it. Panties. Panties. Nope. Not gonna start.




What the hell is that jumper?


Oh Christ, here we go. The platform is almost vacant, and you stand there. Right there. With your inward grunts as you inhale that bacon baguette into the warm vacuum on your face. I can see up your nose, you hog. Licking your lips. Num num num num, that’s it. Keep it going for the next four minutes; they’ll fly by.

"Num num num num."

Look at your little shoes. What are those? Is there a Ken doll barefoot somewhere?

"Num num num num."

When did you reach the point that you stopped caring what a fat fucking swine-breathed slob you are? Did you trap some harelipped hag and get complacent or did you just give up? God, I can smell his heat! It's Beck's and aftershave.



"Num num num num."

Crisps, too?

"Num num num num."

What do you contribute to this planet besides methane?

'The train now approaching platform 1 is the delayed 8.38 service to…Cannon Street.'


That’s it. Step closer and crowd me. Gotta be first, gotta be first.

Jesus, look at their faces. They look like someone told them their father killed their mother and they realised they don’t care. You know, dude, you can take all the little steps toward me you want. I know you’re there.

"After you."

He must’ve seen there are plenty of seats.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Dangerously Ugly Phuckers II: An Observation

What is it with politicians' busted grills? The Department has already exposed that particular breed of figurative and literal ugliness that is the DUP, but New Labour are no less repulsive.

Figuratively: War, missing weapons of mass destruction, dead folk, limbless children and all that unpleasant brouhaha.

Literally: Have you ever seen that face that Gordon Brown pulls between sentences? The one where it looks as though he's had a stroke of the lower face. Well, if there's anything that the recent sex offenders in schools fiasco in the UK has taught me it's that Ruth Kelly does the EXACT opposite. It's as if her jaw is on a sprung hinge, snapping her face shut between talk. The sooner her flobby fizzog is off my telly the better.

Gordon Brown

Ruth Kelly

Monday, January 16, 2006

Buenos Dias Doritos Amigos!

On behalf of the colorful people of Latin America I would like to say a big muchas gracias to all the fine muchachos at Walkers Crisps!

For years, we have hung our heads in sadness at the stereotypes of our proud (and passionate) people: lazy wetbacks in dirty sombreros, big-butt latin honeys and cute little street urchins were all we ever saw.

But now we have Doritos Latinos! A true reflection of the diversity of Latin American culture and tradition in a foil-fresh bag! Whenever the passionate (and vibrant) people of Latin America miss the Chargrilled BBQ delights of our homeland we can simply rip open a grab bag and savor the flavor of thousands of years of civilisation in corn-snack form!

Surely, there can be no people on this earth that would not wish their culture to be represented by a bag of crisps. We thank you from the bottom of our swarthy hearts for the privilege of being the first, but we are a sharing (and proud) people and we would like to see others recognised in the same way.

We humbly make the following suggestions to add to your esteemed product line:

Walkers Negroes: inspired by the graft and optimism of our colored brothers! Available in Fried Chicken and Cornbread flavors!

Wopsits: Experience the mozzarella burst of our spaghetti-shaped maize snacks - now with extra grease!

Like Doritos Dippas? You'll love Nippas! Try your favorite ethnic snack with our "dericious" sushi flavor condiments!

Can't get enough of Walkers Max? Try our new Walkers Micks! Fight the famine with our famous deep ridge potato crisp! Now in Guinness'n'Shamrock flavor!

Doritos Multi-Paki: choose six great tastes of the east - now available at your corner store!

Please excuse the quality of our suggestions, we are but a humble, yet proud (and also colorful), people. I know you will do better than these. I hope you will take this opportunity to bring the world together in unity through triangle-shaped savoury treats. My fatherless child is weeping tears of joy down his cute little urchin face!

Vaya con Dios!

Juan Diaz

Friday, January 06, 2006

Hot Celebrity Action!

Further to my last post, The Sun has just clarified my point. American minds will put out and accept a substantial amount of drivel. There are, after all, 283 million of them. But I dare you to find a respectable Yankee executive who would "done" give a record deal to or make a biopic of the life of a big bag of tits and sperm like Jordan. She and her paper-cut-anus-with-a-moustache-faced husband would be so far away from a camera and a microphone that 400 million years of glacial movement couldn't level the mountain they'd have to climb to stand in the public eye.

Britons are so desperate for celebrities they'll grab the cock of any horsefucker with a hard-on for fame. And when that Big Brother contestant turns up 20 years later on some web site linked to by Pop Bitch, swallowing a blast of hot come from the phallus of some man-titted ex-con with grey chest hair, I would like to believe the face of every British viewer and celebrity hound is on the front of that groaning head we cannot see, delivering 30 million apologies into the belly of our reality star for ever giving enough of a shit and bringing down the island's collective intelligence quotient. That's my great hope.

UPDATE: Oh great, now I get to re-imagine the above scenario starring George Galloway. Thanks a lot, George.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Knock Knock

Who's there?

The most unfunny people in the world are.

The most unfunny people in the world are who?

The British!

Ha ha!

You know, for all that the Americans don't get about satire (though some of the best satires I've seen are American), the British have this rotten tendency of lionising shit as being more meaningful than it really is. And without fail they always start with that Herculean humour of theirs that fails to impress most peoples of the world, including those they didn't conquer and suppress for five centuries.

Everywhere I go I hear nerds praising the great British sense of humour (please; and the Nazis were great dancers) and arguing that Spike Milligan and The Young Ones are examples of comedic genius that changed the British psyche and British television. Maybe it changed television, but that doesn't mean that it's genius. That doesn't even mean it's good. Personally, Snotty finds Spike Milligan's jokes obvious, puerile and tired from centuries of being kept awake by dim-witted drunks repeating them loudly at ends of bars.

'Ha, I said a word that sounds like boobs, but I wasn't really talking about boobs. Anyway, here, look at these boobs!'

Cue some naked chick to walk past. It really gets on my tits that this gets passed off as ingenuity, let alone humour.

And The Young Ones? Darling babies of so-called 'edgy' British television?

Honeychile, c'mere. Sit down and tell mama why that's funny. Tell me all about it. I promise mama won't get mad. But that Young Ones be so damn unfunny it liable to shove mama's uterus out 30 year too soon due to mama's dry heaves.

Now ol' Snotty here pays no attention to flags, and Snotty wouldn't be so upset if the British were just a little bit more humble about the depth of their sense of humour. Hell, Snotty wouldn't care so much for British bombast and pomposity if they left it at that. But far too often, Britons like Channel 4 have told Snotty McShot that British comedy is so much more sophisticated than that of the simple Yanks. Oh, those poor, misguided souls. Those simpletons rally behind a moron like George Bush, they invade countries for no reason and they have no sense of humour.

Apart from The Office, Peep Show and anything roughly associated with Chris Morris, what bile can British television cough up that stacks convincingly next to American offerings like Seinfeld, The Simpsons, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Cheers, All In The Family, Family Guy, MASH, early Married With Children, early Saturday Night Live, even I Love Lucy or The Honeymooners and, at times, The Andy Griffith Show?

Red Dwarf? Dad's Army? The Vicar of Dibley? Steptoe and Son? The I-don't-be-leeeeeeve-it guy? That scene where Del Boy falls through the hole in the bar? John Cleese returning a dead parrot or beating his car with a stick? Anything John Cleese has said? I wouldn't even give Father Ted to the isle. Even the Bafta-winning Little Britain is about as humour-inducing as watching Ariel Sharon's pulsing sphincter try to drop a turd onto a glass table.

And it's not just television where the Americans prevail. The celluloid silver screen is Britain's other Yorktown. British cinema's idea of comedy is Hugh Grant- well, Hugh Grant. Or occasionally in film a man will - gasp! - dress like a woman. And they don't even call her Prime Minister. Or Judi Dench.

In fact, yes. I've seen funnier films from Iraqi insurgents than I've seen come out of Great Britain in the last few years. Of course, those films have been largely driven by American creativity in the region.

Still, the point is: Americans are assholes, for sure, and they'll shit all over the world and shit all over you. But when it comes to your TV screens, they rarely shit on the glass.