We’re looking for crazy bastards out there to tell us their stories about the crazy shit they’ve been up to over the years.

You can submit your story by filling it into the box on the right hand side of the page and we’ll publish it if it’s a) funny and b) reasonably well written. If it iz writ tin lyk dis then it will go straight into the bin. Everytime I try to read that shit I feel like my brain is being raped.

So if you’re a drinking, get writing and you’ll be famous in no time!!

I hate talking to strangers in the street. Usually I’ll have nothing to say to them of interest and they’ll have nothing interesting to say back either. If I see someone approach me in the street who wants to initiate a small talk session I have to be immediately sick. I honestly can’t contain the projectile vomiting.

Small talk should be banned. I don’t want people to be friendly with me, especially when I have nothing in common with them. I only have time for proper conversation. Life’s too short to be embroiled in bland small talk for the rest of time.

God it’s all pointless.

I can’t be talking to anyone these days at all. I want to do is to sit about and admire the smell of my own balls. Is that too much to ask?

Hi-5!

Fuck’s sake what were Halifax thinking commissioning this dire piece of shit? None of the characters in it are remotely likable. It doesn’t make any sense. It made me want to bludgeon my balls in with an ice pick and fuck an empty bottle of Hooegaarden at the Television.

The fat ginger bitch in it is worse than Hitler. She’s annoying to even present ‘Loose Women’. Seriously. I don’t know where the fuck they got her from or what the hell they were thinking but she’s the sort of person who lives at home alone with her 20 cats and comes to answer her door in a pair of skidmarked undies with 2 cats hanging off her taps, swinging too and fro like furry pendulums.

As for the fat Chris Moyles/Ricky Gervais/troll lovechild that sits opposite her, I hope he is lynched in his hometown by a bunch of Rugby fans with kebab breath. He should be ashamed for even existing.

Why did they have to soil Spandau Ballet’s Gold too? We all know Tony Hadley is a cunt but what was he thinking allowing his music to be associated with this pile of fucking dirt?

I wish everyone involved in this advert the absolute worst in life. Not that cursing them will have any effect since they are all destined for the gutter.

Cunts.

I hate Dancing On Ice. As if ITV’s schedule couldn’t get anymore puerile after the likes of ‘I’m A Celebrity’ they force this pile of shit down our throats. Who the fuck wants to watch Dr Hilary Jones skirting about on the Ice like a little girl?

It’s bad enough having to watch him on GMTV in the mornings diagnose old men with cock cancer without being forced into watching him shit out his ‘Oh I’m still shit at skating but I’m getting better’ routine. Who gives a fuck?

What I’d like to see is him collapse right onto his hole, rupture his arse and for him to have to diagnose his own prolapsed rectum on Breakfast television. I would whoop with joy as Dr Hilary bends over with a magnifying glass to analyze the full extent of the injuries he’s inflicted on his sorry smug hole.

That would be real entertainment now. Especially if Andrew Castle had to knock the broken bone back into place with a tennis bat.

Socialists are soulless vessels, intent on destroying society as we know it just to bolster their own egos.

If you’ve never met a socialist before, then you aren’t missing much. Most of them stand outside in the rain, waving placards about, asking you to sign a petition for some cause or other that no one should care about

Talking to a socialist is a trial too. These people are totally humorless and take themselves and their bullshit causes too seriously. I honestly wish they’d all just fuck off else where as I’m not fooled by their ‘Oh we want to save the world from Capitalism!’ bullshit. They do this purely for show. They have no morals or character. Their goal is to tempt other socialists into bed through trying to be more pretentious than one another.

Socialists only believe in free speech as long as it protects their right to say what they want. No one else is allowed to have their say. It’s all a crock of shit.

Fuck’s sake, I despise the word ’socialize’! Why the fuck would anyone want to deliberately stay in a groups company? It’s the most depressing thing in the world. Pubs to me, are absolute sewers. Every time I go into one sober I immediately realize why I have to get so drunk to go into one in the first place.

It’s because they suck and people are over-rated.

I’ve tried other means of socializing in the past, like going to the cinema and joining the ramblers, but both just leave me hating humans all the more. Cinemas in particular are fucking pointless. I only go there to eat popcorn for 20 minutes. Once my bowl is finished, I want to move on. The last thing I wanna do is spend 2 hours watching a bland movie whilst surrounded by all sorts of shit heads and low lives.

So if you’re looking for a way to socialize without alcohol, there isn’t one. Stay indoors and count the number of scabs on your left bollock. It’s the only way forward, my friend.

The chances are that if you’re reading this blog, then you’re already an asshole so you won’t need to drink anything to become one.

On average I start to become an asshole after about half a bottle of Whiskey. I will start waltzing about town with a traffic cone lodged on top of my head, flash my cock at the cops and steal chips from the local fish shop.

It’s not until I’ve consumed a full bottle of whiskey that the real carnage begins. During this phase my body will clink into hunter-gatherer mode and I’ll begin surveying the landscape for anything that could potentially be tasty, whether it’s a KFC, the cat next door or my own fist.

If I can not get anything to eat, then I’ll deliberately piss and shit myself out of spite. I only ever do this when I’m in another persons house. There’s nothing like smudging my ass into their sofa just to leave them fond memories of my night out at their house.

Eckhart Tolle is one sexy motherfucker. I’ve spent many an hour listening to his recordings, basking in my own presence and basically having a ball thanks to his teachings.

In case you don’t know who he is, Eckhart Tolle is a new age guru who believes that in order to achieve spiritual enlightenment we have to shut the fuck up for a minute. So far he’s written 3 books, all of which should be titled ‘Shut the Fuck Up’ as that’s the one and only premise that they teach. Somehow he manages to stretch out each publication to about 5,000 pages, iterating over the same point endlessly.

I’ve even watched shitloads of his videos on Youtube and most of them are unbearable. I honestly feel like I’ve been drugged after watching. It’s less exciting than watching flies fuck. The man spends about 4 hours pausing and guffawing as he realizes that the cash is rolling in whilst the gullible idiots who subscribe to his new-age mumbo jumbo are thinking they are on step away from reaching enlightenment.

You’ve known it all your life, but Jesus of Nazareth hates your ugly face. He hates your rancid breath. He hates how you talk, walk and cough. Everytime he stares down at you from Heaven he wants to punch you repeatedly in your flat lifeless face, just to gain revenge for the rest of us who have to put up with smelling you throughout the day.

Of course, I jest. Jesus does not have the time to be hating the likes of you. He’d much rather devote his hours to playing put-put golf on the clouds with Jerry Falwell than spend anymore time than necessary glaring back down at you.

The truth about Satan and Hell is that neither exist. Both are imaginary. Both were created by the church to control your mind. They were an evil ploy to get you to repent for being a bad little fishy so that you’re more than eager to donate your money to the church.

Now be a good little monkey and give all you can to the church. Go on now, shoe!

No, of course not. That’s because there is no such thing as a soul and no such thing as an afterlife. Of course, most people I know rightly hate their relatives, so if there was a soul, then it would be gleaming with joy as the person would be happily awaiting their inheritance and removing the asshole from their lives for good.

When someone in your family dies, then the only option is to deal with it right away. If it’s your grandmother who has passed away, you must steal someone elses grandmother and use her as a replacement.

People do this all the time with animals without blinking an eyelid, so why not try it out when a human passes away in your family.

If you steal this person from a close friend and they demand the family member back, deny they ever existed. Burn all the photographs that exists of their relative in their house. Call the mental hospital and demand that your friend is committed.

Do anything to save your own skin.

If you’ve wasted your life so far by being one of the good guys, then consider your life up to this point null and void. All of that shit they taught you in church won’t get you anywhere in life. You were force fed that shit so that society could trample all over you.

You are society’s little monkey boy and your good manners won’t save you in the end. You’ll rot like every other miserable fucker on this planet.

Rather than being an out and out cold hearted bastard, it’s important to realize that you can ditch your moral compass and happily exist without adhering to any of the bullshit. You can urinate openly in public. You can crap on your neighbours lawn. You can vomit in your sisters mail after a rough night out on the tiles.

Just don’t be too much of a dickhead otherwise some smart asshole will pop some caps into your rear end.

Christ I’m tired of these whining snivelling bastards polluting the radio. You might be thinking that Snow Patrol are easy targets, but who gives a fuck, they deserve to be targets. Whenever I hear a Snow Patrol record I just want to die on the spot.

And not in a good way either. I feel like flushing my head down the toilet repeatedly just to feel alive. I feel like smashing as many pint glasses as I can over my head until I’m numb.

Gary Lightbody is from a town in Northern Ireland called Bangor. Now if you aren’t familiar with Northern Ireland, Bangor is a seaside town that actually has no inhabitants at all. It’s like Pripyat, Chernobyl only without any of the radiation or fun.

That’s why Lightbody’s songs are so desolate and shit. He’s upset about having been raised in such a hellhole. But no-one actually cares. Apart from all of those whinging indie kids who just get off on his dire bollocks because they don’t know any better.

Shame on you Lightbody. Retire before you ruin life for us all more than you’ve done so already.

Run at them with your dick out.

Run at them and ask them to smell your smelly trout of a bell. If you’re lucky, they’ll run for the hills, if you’re out of luck then you might end up being tugged off like a sailor.

If they threaten you, do not ring the police otherwise they’ll try to intimidate the hell out of you and your family. The best option is to buy a really huge angry dog and set it on them if they start to become really obnoxious.

To be on the safe side, it is best that you cork your dog’s arsehole, just in case one of the chavs tries to mount your dog and hump it for what he’s worth.

Trust me, your dog’s mental health should be considered paramount.

There isn’t really any real trick to having emo hair it seems, other than growing a fringe and neglecting to care for it. Here are some of my current ‘favorite’ emo hairstyles.

Here’s an example of someone who has taken color and the fringe to the extreme. Fuck knows how she navigates around the place, I’m guessing through sonar like a dolphin.

This isn’t you typical emo hairdo, although he does remind me somewhat of Morrissey. It’s far too well kept to be Emo actually. You just can’t wash your hair more than 3 times a year if you want to be taken seriously by the emo crowd.

This is the perfect example of emo hair gone wrong. She looks like she’s graying for fucks sake. Even my granny wouldn’t dig this do (if she was still alive). I suppose this would be cool if you were deliberately trying to portray yourself as world weary and 65.

Christ on a fucking bike! This guy looks like the bastard child of an emu and Malcolm McDowell. Is it just me or is his hair eating him!?! It seems to be alive! Freaky shit!

Here’s another emo haircut that went awry. Again it seems as though the hair is possessed by the spirit of an 18th century conquistador hellbent on invading anything, whether it’s Poland or an innocent girls face.

Fuck since when was Edward Scissorhands emo? Actually now that I think about it he always was. Sure didn’t he live in that castle all in his own for most of his life? And then when he came down to see Ms Ryder he fucked everything up by being seriously clumsy with those hands of his. He was truly creative though, unlike most real emos who are just art school rejects.

Persecuting emo kids is incredible fun for all the family and there are rumors that it’ll be commissioned into an Olympic Sport in time for the 2012 London Olympics. Here are some of my favorite ways to keep emos miserable! Why don’t you give it a try too?

• Remind them continually about the inevitability of their own death. Make up stories about recent deaths in your family. Tell them about how every one of your pets died since childhood.
• If they smell, tell them about it! This will normally be the case since they are forbidden by emo law to actually take showers. It’s a well known fact that Gerald Way hasn’t scrubbed his cock clean since 1986.
• Persecute them at every opportunity…..and I don’t mind round them up into death camps. Instead flick peas at them at dinner, fart in their general direction and exclude them from nights out in the town.
• Create false evidence that proves your emo friend is adopted. Merit will be rewarded if you manage to convince them that their natural parents aren’t interested in knowing them. You might want to mention that they were abandoned on their current guardians doorstep on a wet and windy December night with only a soiled newspaper sheet as cover.
• Ask to read their poetry and scrutinize it excessively. Be sure to place emphasis on grammar and spelling mistakes. And laugh everytime the phrase ‘I want to die’ surfaces, which will naturally make for a lot of laughter.
• When you’re visiting an emo at home, sneak onto his/her computer and alter their Bebo profile to make them look like a Neo Nazi. Their PC-chums will break off all contact leaving Mr/Miss Emo yet more alienated.
• Whilst you are on their computer, erase all of their Mp3’s. You might want to physically remove the hard drive from the PC case and stamp on it a few times to make sure it’s fucked. If their iPod is in sight, ensure it suffers a similar fate.
• Tell him/her that you slept with their partner last night and that you’re now together forever.
• Alternatively if they’re single, tell them that everyone in town thinks that they’re a freak without genitals who passes the hours by sobbing to Elton John and Abba records.
• Why not use the old classic and ask them ‘why they look so happy’ every 5 minutes?
• If they have a goldfish, kill it by dropping their soiled bandages into the bowl. You might want to stir the water with a teaspoon to make it look a bit more dramatic. They’ll think poor Goldie has exploded.
• If they have a guitar, snip all of the strings with pliers whilst they are out of the room. When they restring and start playing it, inform them that you’ve never heard a more terrible guitar player in your life.

Emos, ever find it difficult to say exactly what you want to in life? Well here is a list of some popular sayings that you might want to adopt into your everyday speech!”

General Severe Depression

“God seriously shit on my soul when I came out of the womb. I wish He’d just stuck pins in fucking eyes and had me killed right there and then.”.
“Life will never get any better. I will always be stabbing away at my arms hopelessly with an olive fork.”
“What’s the point in ever changing your pants when you’ll just shit them the next time you have another panic attack?”
“I think I have cancer. I think this time it’s terminal.”
“I hate myself and I want to die.”
“Fuck it all, fuck everything.”
“There is no hope. Hope is washed away at the bottom of a vodka bottle”.
“Life is fucking pointless. I wish I could drown myself in a vat of my own urine”.
“I’m useless and my balls smell. And what makes it worse is more cock’s abnormally short”.
“I don’t even know why I get up in the morning. Even my kitty gives off an aura of hopeless despair.”
“I’m tired of feeling alienated from everyone. Only the razor understands me. It knows how I feel. It wants to become a part of me and make me leak blood so red”.
“Last night I dreamt I committed suicide by gorging on Big Macs for a week. It’s a pity it takes so fucking long. Mom would know something was up. ”
“I’d end it all right now but I need to get revenge on that bitch. I could always try to hang myself with my underwear and get my parents to send them after I’m dead. Then she could really catch a whiff of the despair”
“Life is like a cock wound that will never stop seeping. Suicide is like trying to cut your cock off. It can always go wrong. Jay Leno will testify about this.”
“I feel like peeling myself to pieces with a knife. I want to hunt deep inside my body for the last remnants of hope that she’s about to cruelly snatch away from me.”
“I’m already dead inside. You might as well finish me off by chopping off my balls.”
“I hate God. He fucking ruined it all for me. Why did I have to be part of His stupid fucking plan? Why couldn’t He have made me into a seagull? What did I do to deserve this hideous body?”

Read the rest of this entry »

I’m sick of this shit. I’m sick of seeing emo’s tongue each other every-fucking-where I go. I’ll be walking out of Subway and they’ll be literally fucking on the seats outside. And you can’t say anything without sounding like a homophobe.

And you can tell these fuck-wits aren’t gay. They’ll only ever tonguekiss when an equally skanky emo-girl is in close proximity. These bastards play gay in order to win women. I wouldn’t mind it so much if there were actually gay but that’s obviously not the case.

Next time I see them kissing I’ll whip out my dick and scream “Kiss this, Mother!”. If they come within a foot of my purple throbber I’ll rinse them down with my blood red piss and call the police. That’s right. I’m reporting these fuckers to the cops from now on.

By the way if you’re a girl and you think Emo Boys kissing other Emo Boys is cute then you’re wrong and obviously a dyke and you should be reported to the coastguard immediately. I’d pay anything to see you strung up in a net by your feet at the docks.

And another thing…..if you try to approach me for a tongue kiss in order to impress a girl I’ll bite your tongue off and spit it back down your throat. I’m far too virile for these pussy emo boys y’see.

So you really want to be an emo then? You should seriously check yourself into a mental asylum. I mean if you’re really that desperate to get laid turn gay. It’s more profitable in the long run and a lot quicker. Besides emo always leads to bum sex of one variety or another. It’s inevitable.

Argh I can see you are a persistent little bastard (or bitch, I don’t want to discriminate on the basis of gender)! Ok follow the steps in each of these sections and you’ll be emo in no time.

Cutting

• Self mutilation is extremely popular amongst young emo’s. In order to get started you must have something sharp in your hands. I recommend starting with a toothbrush. Now in order to cut yourself you must have already drank a quart of vodka and be on the verge of mental collapse. If you aren’t already, I’d recommend watching 2 new episodes of the Simpsons back to back.
• Once you are sufficiently pissed, drag the toothbrush across your arm as hard as possible. Whilst you’re doing this it might help to think of all of the shit things you’ve done to other people in your life. Continue digging the brush into your skin until it’s red as hell.
• Now once you’re finished with your first gouge, run into your bathroom to examine the damage. With any luck you’ll have left a big red mark across your arm. Now run around your house screaming until someone acknowledges your wound. If no one is awake jump on top of them and thrust your arm into their face. You must make your first cut known to everyone who’ll listen.
• Your parents will inevitably be distraught that you’ve injured yourself. Be sure to blame your behavior on their bad parenting. You might want to take this opportunity to blackmail them into buying you presents. Promise that you’ll stop hurting yourself if they buy you the entire My Chemical Romance back catalog.
• Now that you’ve made your first cut you’re ready to move onto bigger and better things. Why not try using a black ballpoint pen this time and aim to make your wound even redder? Continue on to ensure your parents keep buying you loads of neat stuff.

Sex

• In order to be emo you must be at the very least bisexual (and preferably pansexual). Sexuality is integral to your status as a misunderstood emo. You must make it your job to keep people guessing about your sexual preferences. Tell your father that you want to get married within the year and then bring an emo boy home the next night and rid him on the coffee table in the lounge just before your Dad gets home.
• Only ever kiss people of the same sex in public. Kissing privately is a waste of time.
• As I outlined earlier, it’s best to declare yourself pansexual. Pansexual’s are basically allowed to fuck everything that moves (and some things that don’t). Pansexuality is a growing trend throughout the emo world and it’s set to outgrow bisexuality by 2010.

Emo Clothing and Fashion

• Black is the order of the day here. We recommend shoplifting from thrift stores as it means you’ll be able to save all of your money for developing your alcoholism. Besides the guilt from stealing from the poor will make self-harm all the more entertaining at a later stage!
• Apply as much eye makeup as you can and in any shape possible. It doesn’t really matter, they aren’t any set rules here. Try to look like Ziggy Stardust after he’s been fucked by an elephant.



• If you’re a lazy mofo who’s short on creativity then you might want to go for the band hoodie and t-shirt options. You can make a half-assed stab at masking your laziness by tie-dying the bottom of your jeans. Or by coloring your hair blue, green or read.

Personality

• Remember as an emo you should not have a personality. It’s completely forbidden. If you are found uttering something halfway witty you’ll be immediately be carted off by Gerard Way’s droogs and placed under house arrest until you admit that you’ve been a bad boy/girl.
• Public panic attacks are in vogue and throwing them regularly in crowded places will win you respect of your peers. If you can’t summon a panic attack, try smashing your head repeatedly off of the sidewalk. If anyone tries to stop you, drop your pants and take a big steaming shit right there and then and roll about in it shamelessly.
• As an emo it’s extremely unfashionable to harbor any pipe-dreams of getting married. Or ever being happy for that matter. If you’re smiling too much then you are probably too happy and should rectify this immediately by either burning down a room in your house or converting to Zen Buddhism (the religion of the miserable bastard).
• The unwritten rule of emo is to treat your parents like shit. Remember they were the ones that created you! They are responsible for absolutely everything that’s gone wrong in your life so far and it was all for a quick fuck in the dark that was seriously inadequate anyway. You should spend at least 34 hours a month berating your parents face-to-face.. Leave suicide notes around the house and bloodied shirts. Tell them that once you’ve raised enough money from being a whore that you’ll leave the house and work full time in a titty bar.
• Why not form an emo band called ‘Bleeders Digest’?

Remember Jesus doesn’t love you and you’re going to die!

I didn’t actually know what Emos were until the other day but apparently they are a bunch of teenagers who roam around graveyards by night on the hunt for equally tormented souls and Subway sandwiches. Essentially they are exactly the same as Goths only they listen to ‘My Chemical Romance’ very whose name would imply that they are a bad My Bloody Valentine cover band.

But yeah I don’t really understand the point in the whole Emo thing. Grown men have been crying in public for generations. Just look at Morrissey for Christ’s sake. He’s been weeping ever since Johnny Marr walked out for refusing to suck him off after a show. Why invent another useless label?

Emo kids come in all different shapes and sizes. Most of them have truly shit hair as standard though.

Anyway over the next few weeks I’m gonna take more time to investigate the emo subculture to see how it differs from goth (if at all). If I’m lucky I might ever bag myself an Emo Kid to run some tests on, although whether or not this is desirable is up for debate. After all they’d probably end up moving in with me, contributing nothing to house keeping, smearing their own blood all over my bathroom walls and sleeping to mid afternoon.

According to an article printed in the Sun today, it is now legal for women to pleasure themselves in public throughout the UK. This wouldn’t be so bad in itself if men weren’t prohibited from the exact same act. It’s not something I really want to see either way when I’m sitting there munching on my chips at the beach. The last thing you want is some fat bastard walking past you pounding his parson whilst you’re trying to keep your food in your stomach. But still, this law should apply to both sexes or none at all. I blame those goddamn commie feminists, they won’t stop until they have us all in chains with electric pegs attached to our nipples.

Sure enough I might be tempted to pleasure myself in a field at night providing there were no cows around. I mean Jesus, I’d be terrified that one would come up behind me and try to jag me up the arse or something! I wouldn’t be able to run away either because my bags would be around my ankles.

Read the rest of this entry »

So it seems as if my family have been reeled in by all of this free broadband malarkey offered by Carphone Warehouse through their Talk-Talk service. I’d be indifferent about it if it weren’t for the fact that I had the opportunity to ring BT to request a MAC code. How I fucking love ringing BT. I’ve inherited this all from my mother who loves hollering down the phone to the bastards!

Anywhooo, I gave them a call and I’m was put through to this eager sounding woman. I could tell she was fat. I think it was the shallowness of her breath. Anyway I asked for a MAC code. And she responded with a “Why?”. A good start. I knew fun and games were ahead. I had to restrain myself from screaming “Because yer fucking shite luv! ” down the phone at her but I wasn’t prepared to lower myself to such levels. I leave such tomfoolery to my mother.

Read the rest of this entry »

Who would have thunk it? Ever since Quizmania made the transition from ITV1 to ITV2, I have been unable to fill the massive void left by the show. Why not watch it on ITV2 I hear ye ask? Well, being a technophobe I refuse to acquire one of those fancy set-top boxes. I am happy with terrestial television. You don’t need more than 5 channels on TV otherwise you start channel-hopping restlessly in fear of missing the ultimate T.V. program which just doesn’t exist. Yet you fear it might.

I’ve just been watching The Mint and I must say it’s shit. If Quizmania was your standard tarty hoe, then The Mint is a 30 stone Haitan prostitute strutting the kerbs with only a worn brown windbreaker to shield her massive frame from the world. Not that The Mint is in anyway massive. Apart from being massively shite of course. It lacks the magnetism that pure desperation can only bring.

Y’see the producers of The Mint seem to have pumped more resources into the project. For part of the show they hire a Z-list celebrity to sit in the studio to talk with the host. Well it’s usually a Z-list celeb but tonight it was Jim fucking Bowen. It nearly broke my heart to see him on there partaking in such filth.

Kilroy Silk must make an appearance on The Mint. Kilroy Silk must die on the Mint.

Read the rest of this entry »

Thats right. You can do it here. You know you’ve always wanted to.

There are times where puking is a necessary evil. Just ask Karen Carpenter and Lady Diana for the cold hard facts.

On many occasions I’ve been out on the piss and came home thinking “I feel alright, let’s go to bed” only to be awoken at quarter to 4 with a violent stream of vomit guldering out of my mouth and nostils.

Let’s face it, vomiting isn’t pleasant. It’s one of the most painful and embarassing functions your body has at it’s disposal. In saying that there are times where it is necessary to get it out of you.

“Better out than in” is a philosophy that all successful barfers have adopted at one time or another. Anyway enough of the waffling, below are a few guidelines on how to make yourself vomit. And fast.

1) Buy some Andrews Liver Salts. Follow the instructions on the side and barf your way to bliss. Make sure that no-one is around, particularly if you want to be discreet about this. You will be roaring like a lion and the last thing you want is your father to walk in to the bathroom in his boxers whilst your head is half buried in the sink.

2) Spin around in circles. This method is a classic and it’s one that often alludes the eager young barfer. Spin really fast for about 3 minutes and when you stop, think about the time you walked in on your elderly grandmother having a shit. Picture her sitting there, bemused by your unannounced entry. Recall the smell, that weird twang of decaying vegetable matter and 10 year old rotten meat.

Read the rest of this entry »

Recently it seems as though chavs have become the scapegoats in modern society. Every head on car accident, smashed window or knife attack is attributed to the baseball cap donning masses. Some would say that this is persecution. And they may have a point. I however couldn’t possibly give less of a fuck. Most of them deserve it.

If you are a chav and you are contemplating suicide please read this checklist and ensure that you have completed all of the tasks before topping yourself with a blue WKD and your mothers sleeping pills. Otherwise your peers will look down upon you in Valhalla.

1) Have you stole a shopping trolley from Tesco’s, fucking it up and down footpaths, terrorising both the elderly and young children before finally pushing it onto the road/into the nearest river?

2) Have you went 3 weeks without washing? Have you sat around all day on a Sunday watching the Match of the Day highlights whilst admiring your own body odour?

3) Have you ever considering selling pirate CD’s through an advertisment in your local newspapers free advertisements section? Have you sent away the application form only to receive the threat of legal action from the publishers of the paper?

The existential despair experienced by chavs can sometimes be too great to handle. Just hold on.

Read the rest of this entry »

There is a long documented history surrounding the relations of the chav and the common sheep. Over the past few centuries many of our wooly comrades have suffered vicious sexual assaults at the hands of the British underclass. This behaviour is simply not acceptable and by investigating the possible motives for such seemingly unproked attacks we’ll hopefully be able to reduce the rate at which these unfortunate events occur.

The Blow Up Sheep Will Often Result In The Blown Sheep

Sex shops have a lot to answer for. The Blow Up Sheep has made an institution of sheep fuckery amongst chavs. Stocking these things is basically like saying “Aye well Mate we don’t have any real sheep on the premises, so here’s a plastic one which should do you until the next time you are up in the country. And by the way, the next time you are sitting on top of a real one, give it a dick slap for me. *wink wink*”

In this modern age such conduct is completely unacceptable. Our ancestors are to blame for this sickeningly glib attitude to animal harassment. Charles Dickens, for one, used to spend much of his time in the Penines sprinting after farm yard animals with a big black dildo. Maybe this helps explain why his books were so shite.

Read the rest of this entry »

I hate homemade advertisements for a number of reasons. Firstly, they are tacky as fuck. Secondly, they are annoying as fuck. And last and by no means least, they are shite. The new Junction One commerical is no different. Well……..it would be different if it wasn’t for one section of the advertisement in which a Ginger Kid exclaims “Ahoy shipmates!” for absolutely no reason.

I have nothing against children. I was one once. Free of cynicism and bile. Oh, how that’s changed over the years. Anyway, yeah. I just don’t understand why they had to select a child who was so bloody well annoying.

First and foremost he’s ginger. Secondly, he looks like an elf. Thirdly, he has a godawful English accent. Fourthly, who the fuck shouts “Ahoy Shipmates!” these days? I mean to the best of my knowledge it isn’t International Talk like a Pirate Day. There is no call for it. Fifthly, he probably smells. Sixthly, he made me stab myself in the forehead with a plastic chippy fork, I was that irked by his performance.

Hucknall…….he was once a Ginger kid too. Fuckers the lot of them.

Read the rest of this entry »

Sometimes it is necessary to take the life of another human being. Its an unfortunate symptom of the human condition. Wars are a testimony to that. Regardless of any moral issues, it can be beneficial to society to actually take chavs out. In the following article I’ll explore several well-versed methods on chavocide.

Walk up to a Chav and tongue kiss him in front of his mates.

This will surely ensure a suicide. His peers will mock him continually for failing to resist your approach. It comes at a cost though. After all you will be kissing the daft bastard and fuck knows what diseases you’ll catch off him. Possibly chlorea or the whooping cough.

In order to pull this one off successfully you must be able to brush off a chav attack with either CS gas or a crate of Buckfast. If you whip out the crate you can either use the bottles as a weapon or simply offer them as a gift to the gang. Be aware that if you take the latter approach they may try to fuck you over the head with a bottle. This however is unlikely as it would be a waste of precious alcohol and to the chav massive such an event must be avoided at all costs.

In saying that they could down the buckfast on the spot and use the empty bottles against you. Either way you must be on your guard if you want to live. You must also be secure within your sexuality. If you are seriously offended when people call you gay this approach may not be for you.

Read the rest of this entry »

I remember as an impressionable young boy being quite partial to Sally Webster out of Coronation Street. I had quite bad eyesight at the time, some even speculated that I had tunnel vision which is probably not too far from the truth. But yeah, looking back on it, it’s quite embarassing particularly with her recent storylines in Corrie. Not forgetting the fact that she is a munt-munt of the highest order.

I’ve no idea how the hell she’s remained in that soap for so long. She can’t even act. And not in a redeemably camp kinda way. She’s just shite. It’s hard to tell at times who’s actually worse, her or her mongoloid gorilla-man husband Kevin. They are both as bad as each other I guess. That was a cop out I know, but just thinking about them is enough to make me want to claw my own eyes out.

Webster’s recent nervous breakdown has to be one of the greatest farces of all time. She wasn’t actually acting any differently than normal. She put in the same, drab stock Northern girl performance with the only difference being her voice. She spoke at maybe an octave higher than usual and that was about it.

Last year I received a letter from Granada Television threatening legal action if I did not desist in sending hate letters to Mrs Webster. There was nothing particularly threatening in the content of my own correspondence, it was just that I insisted on using the phrase “get the daft blonde cunt out” at regular intervals. Still it seems that my protests have fallen upon deaf ears.

Sally Webster. She’s like a less shaggable David Batty.

Thankfully she hasn’t been in Coronation Street at late but it won’t be too long until another half arsed storyline revolving around her idiotic goth daughter and the man-slag from across the street arrives on our screens.

Read the rest of this entry »

He’s been in the news seemingly non-stop for the last couple of months and I’m beginning to become quite repulsed by his “I’m a lurverley tealady!” act. I’m far from an expert at football but I do know this, Steve McClaren is a pussy who would destroy England’s chance of ever winning a game again.

He doesn’t seem to have much spirit. He seems to be more interested in eating chocolate digestive biscuits and organising the crumbs into sketches of dead Lithuanian footballers.

The truth is, Middlesbrough have played woefully bad at times this season and after the matches he just doesn’t seem to give a shit. Which is an admirable quality if you are an unemployed layabout like me but not if you are a manager of a struggling Premiership side.

If England are to win anything they need someone completely unstable at the helm. And who fits that description better than Psycho Stuart Pearce? He is a man with balls. I mean, he stages his own pitch invasions for fucks sake! You can’t get anymore passionate than that.

Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve been told by a few people I am the antichrist, which might explain why I am constantly flanked by Christian Evangelists whilst out on the piss at late night. What is it in particular that makes me afraid of them? Well how long do you have, oh patient visitor?

One of the most intimidating characteristics of the Christian Evangelist is their sheer determination. They will do almost anything to win your soul. Anything. Sometimes this may involve a cup of tea or a hotdog. Sometimes a wagon wheel and a cup of orange squash. Usually they will just shout at you for a while whilst furrowing their brows. Either way its aggro and it is not necessary.

It is becoming increasingly common to encounter these people at night, doling out phamplets to anyone with hands. I encountered some of them a few months ago on the way to a pub. I saw 6 sillouhettes in the distance and thought “Oh fuck, my life is over!”. Then I saw that the people in front of me were in fact overcoats and then I knew immediately who I was contending with. It was the God Squad.

I knew what was coming next. “Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your saviour?” the tall one whispered. Being a smartarse I eagerly replied “Aye, he’s my ma” And as you might expect that left them in the lurch for long enough to escape in haste.

Read the rest of this entry »

I don’t know what it is with Monty but I cannot handle the sight of him. So much so that whenever he is on television hari-kari becomes a feasible option. It is that bad. He is just the epitome of staleness. He reminds me of a trapped cabbage fart in an airing cupboard. He’s everything that is wrong with Britain. He isn’t remotely entertaining. He wears horrible jumpers. His face resembles a possums cunt.

I do love it when he loses. Everytime he’s on I pray that he makes a double bogey at every fucking hole. It really makes me chuckle when his temper flares and he starts chucking his clubs about like a right tosser. I would love to be on the green of the 18th hole when hes 2 shots ahead of all of the competition in a major tournament and fire one of my shoes at him or something. His reaction would be priceless.

He’d probably start by firing his club down to the ground. He would then pick it up and run over to me and I would be like “Montgomerie, do not come any closer or else you will be moving permanently to Enuchville.” Terrified by my empty threat he would turn his back and begin swinging his clubs around, trying to break them over his knee. Only failing badly and injuring his rickety old peg.

Read the rest of this entry »

In this new section, Cocteau Twins guitarist Robin Guthrie reviews cheeses from across the globe in his usual curiously grim manner.

Edam

I’ve always found the Wax to be a complete burden. You’d be sitting there cutting bits off it and all of a sudden you’d come to the red part and you’d be a bit lost for words. Usually I end up with a slice which contains half wax and half cheese and in that situation I just eat it. It’s the easiest way really. I’m just worried about the prospect of one day shitting a major wax ball. That could cause some serious anal complaints at some point in the future. It won’t stop me from eating them though.

Cheddar

It’s the old favourite isn’t it? Frankly I’m quite bored of it. It’s something your ma would always buy for the sandwiches and it just become too commonplace for it be exciting. I do still have the odd bit of it now and again just for nostalgia’s sake, nothing more. There are other cheeses out there that seriously kick its ass though. Most of them do in fact.

Danish Blue

Everytime I eat Danish blue I can hear my arteries close over just a little bit more. It’s terrifying. You bite into it and you know your chlorestrol score is going to go up by about 100 points. Regardless, it’s fucking tasty. I wouldn’t buy a whole block of it though. Instead I prefer to buy the little squares you can get in pic n mixes. Usually I’d just go down to the Co-op and buy some of it from the Cheese Pic N Mix section. You can get about 5 cubes for £1 which is incredible value.

Gouda

I could never really tell the difference between this and Edam. I think Gouda is Edam’s pailer less pronounced cousin. That said, I can have no complaints as it is a tasty little number. Goes well with a glass of chardonnay after spending a hard day moping around the house.

Read the rest of this entry »