Monthly Archives: February 2012

Eeeeerrrrggghhhhhh!

I was once told by a very old, very wise man that ‘there wasn’t a problem in the world that couldn’t be solved by a little will power… and a shit load of plastic explosive.’

I have had it recently.  I mean I really can’t be bothered with people anymore.  Most of you fuckers will let each other down eventually and most of you haven’t even got the sense you were born with.  90% of people I meet, I hate.  I really want most people to just fucking die.  Sounds like I’m being an arrogant twat right?  What makes me better than anything else?  Nothing, I am exactly the same as every person roaming around on this rock.  From the richest man on the planet to the poorest, I am no different.  So why do all you piss me off so much?

I am a fucking moron, a mug, if I wasn’t I wouldn’t be treated like one at work.  I wouldn’t let people walk all over me; I would have a more extensive social life.

And it’s true that I have become a bit of a social hermit and turned my back on the local scene for a while but it’s not like you knocking my door down to see if I’m okay.  Not even a fucking text message, but if I miss a social event then I’m the cunt.  Well no, I’m not; I’m just the cunt that doesn’t give a fuck about anybody anymore.

I find sitting in a room with a load of other blokes just drinking and listening to the same old tunes on the jukebox wares a little thin after about 10 years or so.  I need a little something extra in my life now, I’m really not happy with just settling for that.  I need a little creative input.

For so long I gave a shit, was pleasant and enjoyed the company of others.  But then I realised that I have nothing in common with anyone anymore, my views and opinions have become so warped over the years that I have become quite the social cripple, and I like it.  I enjoy being on my own, I don’t miss people in the slightest.  I find myself dethatching from society more and more every day.  I sick of being pummelled by this country and everything it stands for.  I’m sick of people moaning about things that are out of our hands, out of our control, and to be honest if these people hated things so much they would get off their fat arse and do something about it.  But they won’t, they just sit there and moan.  Shut the fuck up and get on with it!

You might think that that is what I’m doing, just having a whinge, a moan.  Well in a way I am, but at least you have the choice to stop reading this shit.  Imagine having to sit in a tiny, dirty office and listen to a string of lazy, bloated drivers coming and going moaning about their boring old day for about 12 hours.  These people moan about the stupidest of things, the light bulbs on the lorry for example, ‘they are too dim’.  I shit you not!

It’s because they spend all day on their own, just driving so they find stuff to moan about so they can spend a little time with someone.  Even the companionship of someone that doesn’t really care that much is still companionship I guess.

‘They have shut one side of the services up at…….’ I don’t care.

I haven’t been sleeping well of late either; mind you I’m not one for sleeping much anymore.  I think I used up all my sleep time when I was a teenager.  I used to be able to sleep so much when I was younger, days sometimes, just stay in bed for a whole weekend.  Almost like a mini hibernation, I wish I could still do that.  But I fear I am cursed.

Insomnia!  Bastard!  I can’t sleep for love nor money.  I try to go to sleep when I get in from work, you see I work till late and often don’t get home the right side of midnight.  But I will just sit there for ages just watching TV; I need to unwind when I get in, just for a couple of hours, but then its 4, maybe 5 o’clock in the morning before I crash out.

I’ve got some time off coming up am I’m going to sleep like a dead bear in winter.  I am going to catch up.  9 days off to be exact and I’m going to try and spend at least 5 of them in a state of unconsciousness or at best, just in bed!

NEED SLEEP!!!

Most probably why I’m so anti-social of recently, but what the hell do you care, if you have had the patients to sit and read this self-indulgent rant then fair play to you.  Shows that you might not be part of the 90%, ha-ha!


something in the water

Well this is it isn’t it, if you kiss a tramp you’re probably going to get herpes!

Germs, I don’t have a thing about germs but I do get annoyed by those that do.  People that like to have a go at you because you didn’t wash your hands after you’ve ‘used the facility’s.’  I don’t know about you but I tend not to piss all over myself when I go to the toilet so I don’t often need to wash up afterward.

In theory, wouldn’t it be better to wash your hands before you handle your junk?

Have you ever worked in an office?  Every other desk has a bottle of that alcohol hand wash on them, because as you all know the biggest risk of infection from anything is using a telephone.  I’ve seen people do it, directly after they have used the phone, rubbing their hands in that crap.  It does however make for a good fire lighter.  That shit goes up like napalm… don’t ask me how I know this.

I started to notice these little miracle bottles pop up around about the time of the swine flu epidemic.  Do you remember that, everyone started to panic over what turned out to be a rather stubborn cold.  If the pandemic was to be as bad as the media said it would I don’t think some alcohol jelly would kill it off.  People were actually afraid to use door handles.  What will be next, donkey cough, penguin’s elbow?  For fuck sake!

I don’t have to wash my hands or use an alcohol hand wash because I have something called an immune system.  I try not to use those cold and flu tables when I get a cold, I just wrap up in a duvet, get drunk and moan a lot.

I don’t have many allergies either, I get a bit of a sniffle when there are short haired dogs about, and so I just tend not to be around them.  I am lucky as I don’t have any food allergies, but when I was younger I don’t recall anybody having a low tolerance to gluten, I didn’t even know that gluten even  existed.  I swear they just made it up to sell biscuits at extortionate prices.  And just what happens to people that have these so called gluten or wheat allergies when they ingest the stuff?  Do they burst like an over inflated balloon when in contact with a brown loaf?

I get that some people can’t have seafood or peanuts, but all of a sudden people are allergic to bread.  When did we all become such pussies?

I like the fact the military have been branching out into the world of germ warfare over the last few decades.  Taking nasty little bugs like Anthrax and Ebola and turning them into weapons, all ready to drop on the enemy so the bods in white coats can come in afterwards to jot down note on the aftermath.  Have you seen what this shit does to the human body, Ebola especially.  The flesh pretty much rots from the inside out, like the genetic makeup of the body goes into a meltdown.  Puss soup basically!  Let’s see that alcohol stuff shift this bastard!

But this is nothing new; the Native Americans were pretty much wiped out by the settlers using blankets infected with small pox as gifts.  Cunts!

Did you know that anthrax is found living in the ground, similar to a fungi.

One of the earliest forms of biological germ warfare was to put a rotting animal carcass into the water supply of the enemy.  The shit that cultivates is outstanding.  You get cholera, dysentery, typhoid, all great stuff and so easy to produce.  You could wipe-out a whole village in a matter of weeks without lifting a finger.  But you do run the risk of having the ‘plague’ coming back to bite you on the arse if an infected person get among your ranks.  So before you do drop a dead cow into you enemy’s well, get to the pound shop and get some serializing spray and disinfectant wipes.

I’ve always wanted to use one of those adrenaline shots that people with peanut allergies carry around.  Stick the thing into my neck and just hulk out for a moment.  I’ve always wanted to see someone do it to, I know people that carry them around but have never seen one used.  Would love to do it somewhere public and go on a massive baseball bat rampage.  I guess that’s going to have to go onto the bucket list.

On an off note, if you watched a man have a heart attack and die and you did nothing to help him, just stood there and watched, would you have committed a crime?  Just a thought!


get it here!

What drives a man to go into the cereal aisle of his local ASDA put a shotgun in his mouth and takes the back of his head off? And who’s going to clean it up?

This hasn’t happened before you get all ‘really, there was nothing in the paper’ on me. But somewhere out there you can bet your last pound that it has. And nobody gave a single shit, I just bet. And why would you, you don’t know the guy; your life hasn’t been effected by his actions in any way. You weren’t the one mopping up the guy’s brain and scooping his skull fragments into a bucket after all. I bet most of you aren’t even shocked by this sort of behaviour anymore are you? I know I’m not.

This sit heavily with me now. Some guy has a break down because his wife is fucking some other bloke or he has just had enough of the consumerist decadence of the modern west, become in way beyond fed up with the lies of the people we have chosen (and paid for) to lead us. Or maybe he found out some earth shattering family secret like his father is also his older brother. Whatever the reason, none of you give a shit, yet you expect the world to come to a standstill when something personally affects you and yours.

Say for example the guy spraying the Shreddie’s with the contents of his dome was a member of your family. Your father, your brother, your husband. Well now it seems that we have changed the goal posts a little haven’t we. Massive difference. Now your crying, saying dumb shit like ‘how could he do this,’ or ‘we never saw this coming’, but you did, you just didn’t care. You have to look at the fact he would rather empty a 12gauge into his skull than talk to you, nice.

I have seen people flick through the paper and not even bat an eyelid when reading a story about a child killer but the fuss they make when they find out that their brand of cigarettes has gone up in price, an absolute shocker.

Well, I don’t know where that came from; guess it’s just that middle aged grumpiness that I have mentioned before. Better shut up about suicide, might set people off.

My mind has been all over the place over the past few weeks, can’t get to grips with anything and I’m finding it very hard to work. It’s just a bunch of garbled self-indulgent trash that seems to offend people recently, not really what I had in mind at all when I started this blog. It’s now become a platform for my over enthusiastic hate towards modern society.

I seem to have a thing with douchbags at the moment, but then why shouldn’t I? These people are bringing us all down by making it fashionable to be stupid.

See I’m off again, I can’t help myself. It’s like I’m on an autopilot hate flight straight into Essex with all guns blazing. Product and fake bake mixing with the blood of the moronic.

Ha-ha… I really don’t know what these people have done to upset me? I just haven’t got any patients when it comes to stupid people anymore. I have realised that my fading time on this rock is extremely precious and don’t want to waste a second of it. So when a group of old people start to have a conversation in the doorway of Tesco’s so nobody can get into the store, I’m the fucker barging my way though. I don’t care if I offend them by calling them oxygen thieves, if they took the same time it takes them to get anywhere to think and figure out that they should just stay indoors, the better the place will be.

But it’s not just the old, the orange or the thick that makes me angry nowadays, it’s absolutely everything. I ran out of toilet paper the other day and I felt like smashing the house up.

I don’t think I need help and it has been a while since I had counselling, I just don’t see the point. What wrong with being angry, people see it like it’s a bad thing. I don’t, things get done when people are angry. If you’re happy, you’re passive, pliable and more willing to go along with the herd. Fuck that noise!

Get mad, get focused or get bent!

None of that made any sense; it was all over the shop. There were several different tangents that lead absolutely nowhere, bugger it! I have a banging headache, might have to get some New York style cheesecake and a Redbull to settle my nerves. I need the sugar… and a cigarette.


mummy, why has that man got make up on?

Is there anything better than a good freak show?  To point and to stare at the more disadvantaged among us.  To poke fun at the odd and the strange.  To have a bit of a laugh at the kid with the boss eyes.  Ha-ha!

We have been doing it since the dawn of history.  The genetically different have always been a source of entertainment for the average ‘normal’ man in the street.  Take for example how popular the freak shows of old actually were.  Traveling shows and circuses always had a freak side attraction for the world to ogle at.  The bearded lady, the Siamese twins, the strong man, the wolf family, all real freaks, all exploited for the amusement of the paying public.  But it was a source of income for these people, how else would the dwarfs’ of this world make a true living?  You don’t see many dwarf postmen now do you.  (I could make a joke about the positioning of letter boxes and the height of the little postie but I shall refrain.)

If you see a handicapped person in the street you try not to look, but you do.  Some of us even have a little laugh at the poor bastards.

I once saw a guy at the Lakeside bus stop with one of those rugby head guards on to stop him smashing his own head in.  Now, his disability is in no way funny, but just the thought of the big lummox banging his head against the floor for no reason was enough to make me turn away through laughter.

And the noises they make, it’s just not fair.  Before I got the internet in my place I used to go to the library each day to use one of the free computers to do work on.  One day there was a special school day down there and they all sat in the children’s’ area, having a story read to them by one of the librarians.  All of a sudden one of the special children started to scream, but it wasn’t like a normal child’s scream, no.  It was the sort of noise a normal guy makes when taking the piss out of his mate for being ‘a proper spastic’.  Everyone was looking round at this kid, all eyes were on that children’s area.  This one guy a few computers down looked across at me and smirked.  Well that was it; I had to leave for fear of pissing myself laughing.

That sounds really horrible, I know, but I defy anyone not to laugh in that situation.

It’s like watching a ten year old properly stack it of his bike due to his over confidence.  There’s a moment of silence, then on come the tears.  I fucking double dare you not to laugh.

I’m not the sort of guy that points and laughs at people in wheelchairs say ‘ha-ha, you got no legs’, that’s a bit harsh, but I think there is a deep seeded need to make fun at the disadvantaged.  It’s feed to us from childhood, peer pressure, our parents, grandparents, all had little stories or knew somebody that was a bit of a mong and poked fun at them.

Recently the comedian Ricky Gervaise was in trouble because he called someone a mong on the radio or on twitter or something.  Now I think he was right to defend himself by saying the definition of the term had culturally and generationally changed, because it has.  It doesn’t mean somebody with Down’s syndrome anymore; it’s a term you call your mate when he fucks something up or says something that’s a little stupid.  It’s not aimed at people with an Illness any more, and let’s face it, up until the 70’s doctors where calling kids with down’s, mongoliods’ anyhow.  It was a term medical professionals used to describe a disability, so why do some people find it offensive.  Saying that though, there are people out there that still get offended by the word vagina, the stupid cunts!

Christians are the worst for getting offended by the use of the English language.  I used to work with this oldish Christian woman in this office building.  I used to hold back a little with my language because I know I can swear like a pissed sailor when I get going.  But the dressing downs she used to give me when I let a word slip or said something that didn’t quite go with her ideals, Jesus, it was like I had stuck my cock in her coffee.  I have never met a grow woman to this day that got as offended as her when the word penis was mentioned.  Grow up, and if I offended you, forgive me!

I’ve gone a little off topic though to be fair, but saying that I find Christianity a little like a freak show, all those robes and twats singing morbid songs out drawing inspiration out of a work of fiction that, after two thousand years of thinking civilisation hold no shred of evidence to substantiate it.  They would like you to believe that man and dinosaurs coexisted six thousand years ago, because it’s in their holy book and it’s a fact because it’s in their holy book!

They would like you to believe that a woman gave birth to a baby after she was fucked by a ghost.  The baby turning out to be his own father later to rise from the dead and save all men’s souls.  They believe in a talking snake for fuck sake.

You know what, this could go on for hours, make up your own fucking minds, I’m not wasting any more energy thinking about it.  If you need a book and a set of rules to tell you that killing another person or stealing other peoples stuff might be the wrong thing to do, then you probably need religion to keep you in line.  Think on!


pet hates!

… As I punched the prone man’s head over and over into the soft mud, it occurred to me, ‘wait… I haven’t eaten this morning!’

I am not one for pets. I had a cat when I was a kid; well he was more of a family pet really. I have owned tropical fish in various forms, but I see those as more of an ornamental thing, more aesthetic than like a pet, live a vase or painting. I love a big fish tank, neon lit in a dark, quiet room. The soothing sound of the bubbles and the hypnotic flicker of Tetra darting around sunken plastic treasure of a fake jewel encrusted skull.

But I can’t stand dogs. I fucking hate the hairy shitbags. They are such a high maintenance animal, you always have to clean up after the bastards and take them for walks. They are the polar opposite of a cat, a cat you can just chuck out the back door and the little bastard comes back when it’s hungry or it’s starting to rain. Dogs are like a retarded child, but people say that they are really intelligent. I disagree, you have to train these fuckers not to shit in your hall way, and then you have to discipline them when they attempt to eat aforementioned shit.

Cats are so much more intelligent. Have you ever tried to get a cat to do a trick like roll over and beg, the little fucker just looks at you with that ‘I’m not begging for food you fat ape’ look in his eye, then it wanders off to get its own food.

I don’t get why people have dogs nowadays anyway, for company sure, but they don’t serve a function anymore. Years past a dog was for protection or for hunting, for foraging for food or to alert people from dangers. What do they do now? Get pampered like children and shit all over the pavement. Gone are the days when man had to hunt his own food, so I don’t see the point of a dog. And those fucking little yapping fuckers, my god. Those jittery things like hairless rats that get under your feet and cost a fortune.

What is the point to them? Ugly little beasts. Not one of them looks well, they all look as if they’re about to drop dead at any moment. All they do is yap and shiver at any loud noises. I want to stick detonator caps to the bastards and let the loose in a field with a radio trigger. One at a time, BANG, BANG, BANG, FUCKING BANG! Or throw them in a room with a massive PA system playing nothing but gabba so it scares the things senseless and the shit their insides out.

Now, I know I’m walking on treacherous ground with this one because we, in Britain are a nation of dog lovers are we not, well I’m not, but apparently we are. And I know people that are totally devoted the welfare of their animal, but what I don’t get is the people that have sex with dogs. The folk out there that ‘really’ love their dogs.

Now I have an open mind about stuff but I still don’t see the appeal of sucking a Labrador’s dick. Or the guys that get off on dogs arseholes, it just doesn’t make sense to me. What get into their head to look at a dog’s hind quarters and think ‘phwor wouldn’t mind fingering that?’ The kind of people that take the word dogging to a whole new level.

And that’s another thing, thanks to dirty bastards going out to the woods to fuck each other, dog owners are looked apron with a little suspicion nowadays. The Sunday night dog walk could be a metaphor for so many nasty things. Just popping up the park becomes, just going to spunk up some tarts car door.

I once saw a couple fucking in a car in the country when I was walking out in Higham. I didn’t want to hang around or take a peek at their intimate moment. But this was a few years ago, before dogging really took off, before celebrity footballers started to get caught with their trousers down, along with a few other dudes and a very willing (drunk) tart. I have also had sex in a car in a public place, but there wasn’t a bunch of people looking through the window at my pale arse going up and down. I think?

But I digress… I once owned a snake, but sold it as I think I was just as scared of it as it was of me. The fucker was a vicious little thing, kept dummy striking every one that came near it. Fucker! I wouldn’t mind owning a few lizards though, some bearded dragons, but to tell the truth I don’t think I have the patients for animals anymore, I just see them as food nowadays.

Wouldn’t want to eat a lizard though! Maybe on a stick with some satay sauce!


the hide out…

So another part of the blog series for ya’ll. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. (When I say enjoy I mean shouting at the computer and passing about my flat due to writers block and lack of alcohol to fix the situation,)

Brian the maker

 Part three of the blog series by G. Cole.

 

Brian sat in the darkness of his car, parked up in a quiet corner of a drive thru car park looking down at the severed head in his lap. A half-eaten cheese burger cooling on the dashboard. He was in awe of the thing he had made. Some of the tape had started to fray at the edges and the skin being peeled back by one of the fish hooks had started to tear away. The mouth had fallen in slightly in places through over use.

He slurped at his drink and looked out into the night, they would probably be aware of his crimes by now. The door of his flat would be off the hinges by now and his place would be crawling with police and forensic specialists. Hope they don’t mess up the carpet. He dropped the head back into the foot well of the passenger seat and turned the key, the engine coughed into life and he revved the engine slightly.

He had no idea where he would go, or how far he would get. He didn’t want to be caught; he had so much still to do but he feared it was only a matter of days before he would be picked up. He would have to give them one last thing to see, one last great piece of art for the boffins to analyse. Something that would launch him into super-infamy. He pulled out into the slowly dwindling late-night traffic and the drizzle of the autumn.

He would have to find some kind of base, a place to finish the game. Public enough, he would need supplies, a selection of girls for his grisly works. Yet of the beaten track so that he could come and go unnoticed.

Then he remembered a place he had gone to with his ex-girlfriend, a motel that had had bungalows by a small lake. It had been a romantic weekend; they had walked by the water and fed the ducks. Enjoyed a candlelit meal in the five star restaurant and she had tied him up and stuffed her panties in his mouth before roughly beating and fucking him in the king leisure bed. Yes, it would have to be there. Perfect.

He drove through the night, the severed felatio toy in the foot well rolling and bumping about. A small boy had looked at it from the window of a high SUV when he had stopped for petrol and a grot mag, but the look on the child’s face told him that the boy wasn’t going to tell anyone.

He had remembered the route to the motel perfectly, but it had brought back several memories of the rocky relationship with his ex. The rows, the violence, and the horrific sexual tolerance she had. He remembered the time she had told him she had cheated on him, not with one guy but with two at the same time, and how she would have wanted him to see her getting destroyed by the men. She had seen that as some kind of foreplay, he was shocked and felt nauseous at the news.

The place hadn’t changed, it was just as he remembered it as he came pulling into the drive. The faux Americana of the place, the pines in the drive and the cut logs lined up outside for the wood burner in the restaurant area. It had the look of a ski lodge, the kind you’d find in the mountains of Switzerland, not by some manmade lake of junction 27 of the M25.

He wrapped his fuck toy in some newspaper and an oily rag he had in the boot of his car. He then placed the thing in an off-licence carrier bag, a blue and white stripped thing; thin enough to just make out the shape of a head in a bag, but it could be a melon. He then stuffed it into the holdall, containing his cloths and a can of lynx voodoo.

He climbed the front stairs and swung the heavy doors open into the foyer. He would have to play it cool. Act confident, he couldn’t afford to show his nervousness. He would have to play it cool. The girl on the front desk was all smiles and cleavage, her hair tied back tight in a bun on the back of her head. The top button of her shirt open, on purpose, making her seem more accessible. He had seen a documentary on how retail and hoteliers train their staff to do such things to keep their customers comfortable and happy. A happy customer is a regular customer. But for Brian, he saw things a little different. He saw himself playing hacky sack with one of her tits, sawn up like a bean bag, a hole gaping in her stomach for him to pleasure himself with, and a stool made from her buttocks.

He booked into the last free bungalow and walked alone down the leaf littered walk way to the door, room 112, the room from his past stay. A flash of his ex, taking a shit on his chest burst into his head and he remembered how powerless he was, cable tied to the bed posts. He gritted his teeth and shook the memories from his mind.

He opened the door, and walked in. He shut the door, locked it and slid the latch across. He placed his bag on the coffee table in the centre of the room and sat on the long two seater sofa. He slowly unzipped the bag; the faint smell of rot filled the room as he pulled the head from the shallow holdall. He un-wrapped the thing and sat it facing him. He stared at it. It stared back with its red wax blobs for eyes. “We have a lot of preparation to consider you and me… my love”.


go large for an extra £1

I remember the first time I had garlic bread…

So, after a day shopping at Bluewater I have noticed that I am a complete geek. While the stylish types are leaving with handfuls of garish, patterned cloths bags and fashionable shoe boxes, what do I leave with? A PCWorld bag and a backpack full of energy drinks, V70 pens and graphic novels from Waterstones.

But what’s wrong with being a geek, a nerd, a boffin? After all it’s the geeks that run the world. We design and build the cars you drive, the planes you fly in, the computers you are reading this garbage on. Nerds also make the most money, just look at the fortune Bill Gates has accrued over the years. That guy pretty much owns the planet on a digital level.

And, this is the controversial one, nerds make the best lovers. It’s true, while all ya’ll are out there fumbling your way through sticky, awkward encounters, we learn, train and perfect our skills. Look at it this way, who’s going to be better in the sack, a bloke that just shags from pure instinct or a guy that has studies how a woman’s body works? A guy that has spent the most part of his life just thinking about sex and spending most of his free time in front of a computer just soaking up knowledge (by which I mean watching porn.) Just think about that for a moment. HA HA!

I also read recently that one of them orange tarts from that ‘the only way is Essex’ program had gotten her new boutique fire bombed the day after it had opened. Also that, two others from that show had been beaten up just for who they were outside a night club. It seems that the average thinking man is starting to rebel and break away from this over tanned, celebrity for no reason culture. And it’s a good thing too, a generation of people growing up thinking it’s acceptable to be a complete moron. I’m sure these people are good people, kind friendly and well brought up but for fuck sake, how thick can you get. And I see them everywhere nowadays. Maybe it’s because I have a problem with them that I see them everywhere, in every shopping centre, on every mode of public transport, outside every Gregg’s.

Maybe I am just trying to pick a fight, trying to gain some kind of mental one-upmanship out of it, flex my intellectual muscles. Like, for instance if you have a young nephew and you kick the shit out of him on Mario Kart on the Wii, yeah, have that, in your fucking face you little bastard. YEAH!!!

I don’t have to tell you that these people are thick, we all know they are, we can tell by the amount of makeup they and hair products they use that they are a little retarded. But it’s when you actually get to talk to these people that their idiocy really shines through.

I got to talking with this guy a pub in Camden recently, douchbag type, all muscle and fake bake. One of those V-neck shirts that have already been stretched to fuck and thrown about a bit to add about twenty quid to the price tag. I tried to converse with him about stuff but he could talk about was the gym and women. He had no cultural knowledge of any kind. He couldn’t talk about music, films, art, books, nothing. All he knew was what was on the TV and radio day in day out. A grown man whose favourite musician at the moment was Rihanna, what the actual fuck, this guy was in his late twenties. Where the fuck has this guy been for most of his adult life, living under a stone? Has he ever read a book or just wandered around a gallery just to soak up the culture. He would probably say that that was gay, as he applied another layer of male make up. Then he would probably get rather aggressive because I confused him with the words insufficient mental capacity.

But I find myself not being able to hate these ‘people’ any more, I just feel sorry for them now. It’s not their fault that they are stupid and have the mind-set of a goldfish. It’s the people that gave up on them years ago. It’s their parents fault for not spotting the signs at the early stages of adolescence. The Paris Hilton poster on the back of the bedroom door. The shoplifted nail varnish and mascara. The stupid Amy Winehouse hairs do’s. The strange compulsion to carry small, terrified looking dogs around in a hand bag. The thought that a t-shirt with a belt around it is actually a skirt. Shame on you!

But I digress; I have to stop having a pop at these people because it’s too easy. They aren’t even moving targets; it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. But I wish that they would just stop putting them on the TV and making the fucktards famous, PLEASE!

They guy in the pizza place forgot my garlic bread and I was in a hurry so couldn’t hang on for him to chuck a batch on. It’s the second time in as many months that that dude has fucked my order up, bastard. It has put me in a bad mood, but at least I don’t live in Essex.


back in the saddle…

Normal service has resumed…
… Yep, I got me a new laptop, and I love the thing. I was totally lost without a computer over the last few days, even watching the telly became a bit of a chore. It has amazed me how lost I am without a computer beside me when I have free time. And I have moaned in the past about people not using a notepad and pen, and jotting down ideas, and I still do that, but it’s the other stuff that comes with the laptop that I want, no, need in my life.
Silly little things like playing a game of chess against the computer while I’m waiting for my blog posts to upload (I have a dongle and it takes for fucking ever) or the game of hearts I play when I’m waiting for my sausages to cook in the oven for my lunch, and the internet, let’s not forget that. A world of knowledge, images and sounds, right there at my fingertips, a constant source of learning, the most comprehensive library in the world and it’s in my living room.
But there are the distractions of the internet, spending hours on Facebook doing fuck all but killing time and looking at people you hardly knows photos of a holiday in Malaga back in 2009. I believe they call that stalking though, whatever, we still do it. I love to have a bit of a browse around peoples pages, having a chuckle at their opinions and world views that nobody really gives to fucks about, but there’re into it and it’s a big deal to them. Fuck it, there are certain peoples pages I go to just to cheer myself up by looking at their photos and laughing at the poor, unknowing bastards.
I wonder if people do the same with my photos?
I probably get a partially mental, old pervert, tugging himself off over my page like a safari park ape with a pinkie in his brown eye. Some demented guy that would send you a child’s finger in the post if he got hold of your address. But to be more realistic, people probably go on to my ‘wall’ by accident and think ‘the state of this guy’, talk about lame.
I’d think it was a little funny if something did pop up in the post, would give me something to write about I guess.
So, yeah… its new laptop time for me. Time to get back to work, to submerge myself back into the binary sea that is the internet. Letting its digital wave crash over me. Being the awoken and refreshed by the spray of information at my disposal and heading out to the deeper waters of knowledge. Might have a look at some porn while I’m there too?!


first world annoyances

Why are people that work in phone shops lying, cock suckers? Seriously, these people are snakes. I don’t think I have ever had a good experience with the slimy, work-shy bastards. I have had to argue with some spotty little bastard in a suit that doesn’t fit him properly about my internet connection for about an hour recently, and the fucker lied to my face.

I had explained that my internet connection was excruciatingly slow and I wanted to know why the service I was getting was so poor. Also I had asked not to be charged for the days that I couldn’t physically use the net due to a fault with the connection their end. The little fucker had assured me that I wouldn’t be charge and that my speeds were effected by a fault with a mast in my area, the one that supplied my dongle with a connection.

It turns out that the dirty bastard was full of shit. Nothing that he had promised had come to fruition.

What is the point of these people? Are they trained to be lyres by the companies they work for? Do the really have to ware ill fitting clothing?

I really feel a sense of nauseating foreboding when it comes to the future of the planet when I think of this generation. Every other kid works in a phone shop or shoe shop or cloths shop or fast food place or call centre. A whole generation of kids with bleached skin from fluorescent tube lighting and muscle atrophy from just standing there like a limp dick only ever asking ‘do you need any help?’, nah, but you do you fucking fraggle!

A whole generation of pussys that have never known a real days work, growing up complaining that they have had a hard day, never having really done anything. Customer service can be frustrating, yes, I will agree, but where will that get us in the long run? With industry and agriculture here on its knees and our only choice is to import every thing, is this truly the future for our children?

I remember a time when you didn’t have the choice to work in a shop, purely because there weren’t that many shops to work in, we only had manual jobs. There wasn’t the Bluewater shopping centre or Lakeside. We had to dig holes in the street looking for power lines or hump bricks around on some dirty site somewhere because there wasn’t a McDonald’s to go to for a job as soon as you left school. And what do you get out of it when you start work there? ‘I’ve been working at this McDonalds for five years now, and now I’m the manager.’ Well done you, you’re a manager of a fast food restaurant, life goal achieved, your number one out of a pack of retards that serve processed shite to fat, lumbering morons and gobby single mothers. Good effort!

I hate these people, will my children be one of these lifeless, slimy, scrawny, lying, semiconscious turds? Will they have a choice? I have a nightmare that they will be put on a conveyor belt from school into some shitty shop where they have to spent the rest of there lives serving other shop workers who have worked enough hours in the year to have a day off. Makes my blood run cold.

And these people think they are the shit, some of them are really snotty towards you. I have even had to say, look mate, drop the attitude and get it together. I’m the one with the real job, with the good money, you just fucking work here in this poxy little shoe shop to serve me, the fucking customer, so fucking serve me.

And have you seen some of these women that work in those fashion stores. Skinny bitches, looking down at me because I don’t dress in D&G when I’m going out to buy a pint of milk. They think they are the best thing since sliced bread, looking at you like there’re trying to say ’are you sure you can afford that sir’, but what they fail to tell you is that they are on minimum wage and the only reason they are so skinny is that they cannot afford to eat anything except cheap three minuet noodles.

But never mind, I’ll keep doing the manual jobs and getting the good dough, and when I go to one of those shopping centres that pump oxygen into the air-con to keep you in a slight state of euphoria and spending your hard earned cash, I shall always give those kids hell. Look out Bluewater, here I come!

Actually, now that they have shut down Chilango’s, there really isn’t any point in going there now! BASTARDS!!!


mother love

knocked this out this morning whilst waiting for my toast to pop up… its a bit shit, but who the fucks reading this crap anyhow?!

 

Its hungry

A short by G Cole. Feb 2012.

It was dark and frosty in Woodlands park that night but the thing hanging from the monkey bars didn’t seam bothered by the chill. It dropped to the floor and scuttled across the field towards the crazy golf course, its silhouette strange, yet slightly human, humanoid. The wetness of its huge mouth catching the light from the flood lights over by the five-a-side pitches in the far corner of the park. Rows of yellowing teeth flashed as it mover across the grass and up over the wall of the fifth hole of the course where it perched for a moment then over to the pathway by the woods. It snaked around the trees and past the parkie’s hut and into the concrete playground.

Over in the corner a teenage girl was getting roughly fucked from behind up against a wall by her almost paedophilic, older boyfriend. They hadn’t heard the thing crawl up behind them, and the girl only noticed her boyfriend had been decapitated when she realised the wet splashing over her arse cheeks wasn’t semen, and it was supported by a scream that suddenly fell silent with the gargled slash of claws through a throat.

The couples body’s now a mass of bits and bone left over from the things feeding frenzy. A circle of blood, like a person had exploded on the ground with the pile of mixed appendages in the middle.

It slithered back towards the woods and through the trees, up into the branches effortlessly, the lights of the Premier inn glinting through the autumn leaves.

It flopped back down to the ground on the edge of the tree line at the edge of the open car park at the side of the cheap motel. A security light blinked on and the car park lit up broader than day light. The black mass of the thing darted under a van, flattening out like some mutant toad, its bones flexing out and spreading inside its black, inky flesh.

The light went out and slowly it made its way towards the rented chalets, under the cars, one vehicle at a time. Every now and then the light would flash on and it could see a staff member at one of the windows peer into the night and mouth the words ‘fucking foxes’, but it couldn’t comprehend language, all it saw was food in a stripped shirt. It couldn’t comprehend that the female staff member was cute and would have sex with the guests for money but would get the sack and possibly prosecuted if her boss found out. It couldn’t know that her boss had secretly known she was on the game in the hotel and had filmed her fucking through the window and was planning to blackmail her for sex in the future.

Just as the thing couldn’t know that the chef it was looking at from under a fridge van, around the back of the hotel kitchen was smoking a joint. It didn’t even realise what cannabis was when it dragged the guy under the van and started to eat a hole into his chest to feast greedily on his insides. The red of his viscera staining its yellow fangs.

It slithered out and towards the chalets. A couple giggled nervously and stumbled into one of the rooms, slamming the door behind them in a drunken embrace.

A maid pushed a trolley littered with cleaning products up to the door of on of the rooms and let her self in. it could see the light come on through the open door, approaching with cat like silent speed, its lizard like skin rippled with translucent, blackened colour. Purples, greens, blues, always under the blackest of hides. It roes up behind the maid, quiet, evil, eyeless. The magnolia walls instantly sprayed red as the maid span around spurting blood with a hiss like a sprinkler.

Once again in slinked out of the room, silent and unnoticed, back towards the woods at the back of the park. Back towards its burrow, under the burnt out shell of a lightning struck tree, deep down into the dark, damp earth from where it came from. It had built a nest, packed mud with dried grass and bone lining throughout. It curled up in the centre of the nest and started to shudder with pain.

It started to scream an unholy, blood chilling sound as it pushed out several lime green, perfectly round eggs from underneath itself.

It continued to shiver as it regurgitated the meat it had collected from its night in the park. It began to pack the eggs in the lining of bone and rubbish of the nest and nestled in with her incubating young.

As the sun came up and the evidence of mass slaughter started to be found, a proud, protective mother nursed her warm brood deep inside the earth, and not one living soul would ever suspect her.


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