I got my first piece of hate mail, and I have to say I was as delighted as I was proud. Bravely commenting as an anonymous user on my recent poem about breasts, this brilliant fellow called me a Eurotrash, douche hipster who looks like a sloppy version of DeNiro’s character in Taxi Driver. I almost peed myself with delight. I am seriously considering using this quote on my about page. I tried to track him down, so I could thank him properly, but his IP address only led me to Baltimore. I have a few pals there, but I know it can’t be any of them, as they can all actually write. Really, I would recommend reading the whole comment, it is hilarious and there is a wonderful line about me writing horrible poetry about sex to make up for my lack of a life. Feel free to reply to his lovely comment, and, if you are reading Mr Anonymous, please come back and say more, I think you are fantastic and I would love to give you a guest spot.
One of the most embarrassing things that happened to me recently was when I got an erection during a prostate examination. I think that was when they realised that I wasn’t a real doctor.
Hackney is one of the poorest boroughs in the country, and the neighbourhood I live in is pretty rough and run-down, even for Hackney. We see more than our fair share of crime and inner-city depravity: just this morning I walked past a drunk woman taking a dump in a phone box. Nevertheless we were all horrified when we learned that the local library was being used, after dark, as a brothel and crack house. The police raided it around three AM, arrested 30 people and seized a stash of drugs and weapons. We were flabbergasted, we had no idea that we had a library.
To all of you here,
I wish a happy new year.
Have a cold glass of beer
With those you hold dear,
And please let me hear
If your life is severe,
For you are my peer,
And i want you so near.
Please go spread some cheer
With your loved ones, so dear,
And spend your next year
Without any fear.
One thing that is clear
Is that there are
Too many words
That rhyme with year.
I’ll quit while i’m ahead
And wish you all
A bloody good one!
Love is like a butterfly,
A winged, furry insect
of the order Lepidoptera.
Oh, no, that’s a moth.
A moth is like a butterfly
I have been away from the blogosphere, working on a design for a rudimentary time machine. I now have basic prototype but I won’t know if it works until yesterday.
In 1920 Albert Einstein undertook a lengthy lecture tour of the United States to explain his new theory of relativity. The tour was so long that, towards the end, his driver mentioned that he had heard the lecture so many times that he could probably deliver it himself. Einstein suggested that he have a go, and the following night they traded places and the great man sat in the audience with his driver’s cap on, while the driver delivered the speech – with word-perfect accuracy.
Once the lecture came to an end, the Q and A started and a student in the front row threw up his hand and asked a complicated question about the mathematical structure of the space-time continuum. Without a moments hesitation, the driver pointed out Einstein in the crowd, still wearing the driver’s hat, and said “That question is so easy, that even my driver knows the answer.”
It was a dodgy kinda pub, you know the sort, dark and seedy, old men nursing their half pints so as to make them last the whole evening, or topping up their glasses from cans in a bag under the table, but I was meeting the man there, so there wasn’t much I could do except grin and bear it.
When I got up to visit the bathroom, several heads spun silently in my direction, beady eyes weighing up my pint greedily. I sat back down and flipped over a beer mat. On the back I wrote, in simple block letters “I HAVE SPAT IN THIS BEER”, propped it up against the glass and went and took a leak.
When I got back, my drink remained untouched. I grinned, I was way to smart for these lowlifes, I thought. I took the card and laid it back on the grubby Formica. I took three long gulps of the cool, golden liquid and then noticed that underneath my words on the beer mat, someone had written the words “SO HAVE WE”.
there is a theory that states that a billion monkeys on a billion keyboards would eventually type out the complete works of shakespeare – however i’ve been on facebook, and it would seem that this theory is clearly not true.
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.
People say that video games are dangerous, that they are too violent and that they corrupt our youth, who then imitate the behaviour they display in games. Now, to a degree, this is true; as a youngster, I spent a lot of time playing PacMan and think it no coincidence that my hobbies seemed to involve running around a great deal and swallowing large amounts of pills and magic fruit. However, this is not the only damage that playing video games can inflict on our fragile psyches, and certainly not the most serious, as I have recently discovered.
After a recent, 73 hour session on GTA (San Andreas, in case you’re wondering) I wandered out, in need of vodka and marijuana and completely forgot that, here in the UK, we drive on the left. I looked the wrong way when crossing the road, and was clobbered by a number 476 bus. Fortunately, I had a cheat code activated and was able to light up the entire bus with an infeasibly large mini-gun.
I have only been able to avoid the subsequent, and comprehensive, police enquiry by laying low and then switching myself off and then on again. Nevertheless, I have returned, high-score intact and an erection for each and every one of you. Be warned, as always, all comments and likes will only inflame my passion for jerking off to your gravatar pics.
Thank you for tuning back in.
i have worked at the fitness centre for five years and know all the best places to hide and watch women changing or showering. i have never been caught before, but you are sharper than most and spot me in my hiding place and drag me out, in front of the other women in the changing room, to the accompaniment of much laughter and sneering.
most of you giggle at my naked form and twitching erection, a few of you look quite angry, although one or two have looks of genuine desire in your eyes. you ask me what i was doing and even though i can only stutter, you all know that i was jerking off, as i spied on you all changing. you demand that i continue, in front of you all, and this suggestion is met with a round of cheers and more laughter. i try to protest but you pick up a hockey stick and i can see by the steel in your eyes that you wouldn’t hesitate for a second to beat me with it. one or two of the girls, that were angered at my intrusion, pick up their sticks too, and i realise that i have no choice but to perform in front of you all.
i start to stroke my cock up and down. tentatively at first, closing my eyes against the giggles and jeers, but when i look about, i realise how beautiful the sight before me is. i am surrounded by women of all ages and shapes, in various states of undress, and i start to thrill to the whole idea. my eyes fill themselves and almost drown in ageing thighs and chubby arms, breasts, old and young alike define themselves through towels and underwear and i realise just how gloriously beautiful all women are, regardless of age or shape.
i hear one of you clap their hands together in delight as my cock squirts its first stream of cum and i shiver with delight to the sound of gasps and giggles, my knees trembling and cum dripping through my fingers and spraying into the air. afterwards you tell me that unless i want my boss to know about my sick little games, then i am to come back at the same time tomorrow, so that you can humiliate me further.
i’m gonna lose her mate
What makes you think that?
i found something
an appliance, you know, a device
Lot’s of women have those buddy, I wouldn’t worry about it.
no man… i’ve always known that’s all she needs me for
What was it? Some kind of vibrator?
much worse than that mate
a universal remote control!!!
So, she says she wants to do me in the ass with this giant strap-on with a vibrating gizmo at her end. Now, I like to please but this is a little bit outside my usual modus operandi, and I’m a bit wary, considering the size of this thing. “Okay?” I enquire, “How are you gonna make that feel good for me?”
“Tell you what,” she suggests, “how about, just before I come, I stop punching you in the balls?”
er… just curious, but how many boyfriends have you had before me?
it doesn’t matter, now is what counts
a lot then?
that’s okay, i’ve only slept with four women too
you’ve slept with guys that weren’t you boyfriend?
its not illegal
i know… how many? i won’t be judgemental… we should be honest with each other
you said we should be honest with each other
yes, but you’re supposed to halve the actual number to spare my feelings
er… i did
thanks to bearded ladies for the idea
A piña colada, a beautiful sunset and us. Darling, I think I’m in heaven. I love you.
Ah, er… well…
What was that?
I, er… well, er…
You can’t say it can you? Not even in the most romantic restaurant ever, and if you can’t say it here, now, you never will!
Well, erm, okay… I love you too… so… er… can I take your order now?
So, I’m down this nice little boozer last night, down ‘oxton an’ that, an’ its proper posh, wiv decent grub an cheap lager an’a proper ‘ot fuckin’ barmaid an’ everyfin’, know what I mean?
I was ‘avin’ a right good night an’ that, except for this fuckin’ couple in the booth opposite us. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all in favour of love and romance. I Fuckin’ love all that shit: bash any cunt’s skull in for my missus, I would, even when she’s in the wrong. I mean, I buy ‘er fuckin’ underwear an’ blow an’ fags an’ all sorts’a shit. I don’ even feel gay when we do all that kissy-kissy, foreplay bullshit; that’s ‘ow much I love ‘er. But this couple in that booth, well, its enough to make you wanna puke, know what I mean?
They’re doin’ all this “I wuv you honey bunny!” shit, an’ me an the missus are makin’ eyes at each uvver, like ‘get a fuckin’ room ya cunts!’ Next fing you know is, these cunts are feedin’ each uvver each uvver’s fuckin’ food. ‘Now, if you wanted chicken, fuckin’ biriani ya cunt,’ I’m finkin’ ‘then fuckin’ order it!’ know what I mean?
It’s when they start leanin’ over an’ fuckin’ kissin’, that I get the arse. I mean, the cunt’s tie is danglin’ in ‘is fuckin’ beer, the fuckin’ dicksplash! I lean under the table an’ tell the missus to stop suckin’ my cock, “I’ve ‘ad enough”, I tell ‘er, “We’re fuckin’ leavin!” I mean, there’s a time and a place for everything, know what I mean?
I was recently nominated for The Booker Award by the delightful Maureen, author at Magnolia Beginnings, and although I never accept blogger award nominations – my ego being already over-inflated – this one had me thinking about all the wonderful books I have read over the years.
Here is a list of my top, all-time five:
- Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
- The Dangerous and Painful Masturbation Magic Pop-Up Book by Paul Bollokov
- Gormenghast (trilogy) by Mervyn Peake
- The Mechanism of Mind by Edward de Bono
- Narziss and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse
- 101 Recipes for Kittens by B B Q Feline
- Fermat’a Last Theorem by Simon Singh
- Catcher in the Rye J D Salinger
- Mark Twain by Huckleberry Finn
- Trainspotting by Irvin Welsh
- How to lose Friends and Irritate people byDale Carnage
- The Fractal Geometry of Nature by Benoit B Mandelbrot
- The Yoga Guide to Self-Felation by Ike A N Bendova
- Watchmen by Alan Moore
- How to Count to Five by Arthur Unknown
I’ve not followed Maureen for long but her blog is a must-follow and full of sweet, smart, well written observations and musings, and her avatar picture makes for fantastic masturbation material. Thank you Maureen.
Today I decided I would write a deadly computer virus and unleash it on you all.
It turns out that I lack the necessary programming skills, so if you wouldn’t mind sharing this message with all your followers and manually deleting all the important files from your hard drive, I’d be very grateful.
Thank you 🙂
A friend asked me if I could mind his four-year-old, Max, for an hour this morning. Now, I had to go to the supermarket, so I took Max with me. He’s a delightful kid, with a passion for fire-engines and cooking, and like most children his age, has his own ideas as to how the world should work.
I was stood by the grapes trying to discover the line between sampling and shoplifting – 23 apparently – and did not see the young mother by further down the aisle. Max had though and had decided, for reasons known only to him, to methodically remove some of the items from her trolley and replace them with others. Like I say, he has his own ideas. “Is that your child?” she asked me.
“Er, no.” I responded. She gave me a funny look and I knew I had to think quickly. “He came free with two bottles of wine.”
“That’s funny,” she responded, “in a way, so did mine.”
thanks to shappi for the idea
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.
- 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.
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.
so anyway, i had unprotected sex with this prostitute the other week, and a few days later my cock turns purple. naturally, i go see my doctor and she tells me that it will have to be amputated. now, that seems a bit extreme to me, so i get myself a second opinion and go see this classy doctor on harley street. “my doctor says its gotta be amputated,” i tell him, “tell me that’s not true.”
“oh no.” he replies, “that’s totally unnecessary. give it two or three days and it’ll fall off all by itself.”