Existentialism and signing on!

So, as many of you have worked out over the last year (it really has gone quick) I have a few hang ups, a few glitches in my mechanism when I come’s to people; in short, I pretty much hate all human life.

I really don’t see the point in human contact when most of the time I find you dull, lifeless and pretty much just like sheep, drifting from one fad to another, all cluttered together in the dark trying to work out why your all here when the answer is so simple.

I can feel you all now, giving me the digital daggers down your fibre optic cable, ‘well what makes you so special then’ on the tips of your tongues.  Well that’s an easy question with an even easier answer, I don’t think I’m special, far from it, but unlike most of you I have worked that out.

I know that my existence is a fluke, that out of the load my father shot into my mother’s belly there were millions of other little ‘minds’ all battling it out to fertilise that egg.  I am one in a million, but on a planet of billions that really isn’t all that much, especially the way you fuckers breed.  I wonder if another one of my father’s nut sack tadpoles would have produced the same mind, the same consciousness, even the same colour eyes, the DNA is the same as is the genetics so what makes a mind? Where does all my vitriol for mankind come from?  Why do I have these thoughts?

Ah, the power of existentialism.

These are not new questions, the great thinkers of history have talked such thoughts; have wrestles with their own ego.  Some come to the conclusion that there is a purpose for all individual, others maintain that it is purely just a dot in the petri dish, a stroke of luck.

If we look at the first case, that everyone has a preordained destiny that means the most of us were put here by some higher power just to die, never reaching the full capacity of our consciousness.  Just put on this rock to be born, reproduce and to eventually die.  Depressing if you look at it like that isn’t it, that there is something out there that want you to never achieve anything and just turn to dust without ever making an impact in any way.

I however like to think a little differently to this; I find this way of thinking very oppressive and slightly belittling.  I like to think we make our own destiny and that we are just a stab in the dark when it comes to ego, I feel gifted that I am here and have the opportunity to be anything that I want to be with hard work and a little focus we can all achieve what we want.

And here is the problem; the majority of us are lazy, willing to settle for whatever we can get without having to do anything for it; more than happy to moan about shit being fed to us like the X-factor then go online to moan about it on social networks.  You stupid lazy bastards, if we all stop watching this trash they will eventually stop making it.

I can’t really stand lazy people; I find them jealous little things, the kind of little things that you might find living under a stone, shivering in the dark blaming all the bad things that happen to them on other people.  They will look at your stuff, the way you live or the things you do with real suspicion ‘why have they got nice stuff?’ Because that guy has worked his arse off for it and all you did was have a few kids and lie to a doctor about your bad back then sit back with your hand out you pathetic wanker.

I used to be really lazy as a kid, could not be bothered with anything, going to work or getting my head in to my school books, it could all go to hell for all I was concerned.  All I gave a shit about as a young adult was listening to death metal and smoking weed; that was it, my reason for living, not even having a girlfriend was on the agenda, I was far too lazy for that shit; you have to have a job and spend time with her, fuck that I just want another joint.

Looking back I was a bit of a douche and really should have worked a little harder back then, that way I wouldn’t have to work full time and study part time at night and on the weekends now because it’s fucking knackering I can tell thee; but really it’s never too late to put the graft in.

So I guess the real meaning to life is to just make it what you want it to be, if you want to be lazy then go for it but if you want more and really want to embrace your dreams and aspirations then you’re probably going to have to work for it, unless you’re born into a rich family.

Looks like I’m going to have to put just a little more effort in then.

 

Is there anybody there?

No there isn’t!

Yes I know I give psychics a hard time but they really do deserve it because they are a pack of lying cunts.

But it got me to thinking about what it would be like to actually be able to read someone else’s thoughts.  For a start I doubt it would be like how you see it in the movies; some guy sitting there looking all paranoid that ends up screaming out loud because all he can hear are the voices of peoples thoughts because, I don’t know about you lot but I don’t think in my voice at least I don’t hear it when I think someone is a prick I just think it.  My thoughts are conceptual; I see stuff rather than hear stuff, almost like a contained vision inside my skull minus the voiceover.  Now how is somebody able to read that?  Simple answer, they can’t; anybody that tells you that they can is lying.

Just the same as people that say they can communicate with the spirits of the dead.  It still baffles me that so many of the populous actually fall for this complete load.  I have seen these so called ‘gifted’ peoples shows and the only thing that I can deduce from the carryings on is that they are just a little bit smarter than the people that shell out their cash for a ticket to sit in the crowd.

And this is why… with the right amount of research and access to the right details you can find out pretty much everything about anybody.  Now all tickets for these events are sold in advance giving the organisers a list of names and addresses and you can find out a hell of a lot with just a name and an address; next of kin, their family GP, birth certificates, death certificates medical notes, email addresses, work histories, criminal convictions, even good old family trees, pretty much anything that would be considered noteworthy some place, so think about that next time you see one of these so called mediums sit down with a complete stranger in a numbered seat allocation and wow the crowd by knowing so much about them and their dead relatives just by the touch of a hand. (Also look out for an earpiece!)

But who’s to say that their outrageous claims aren’t false and they really have channelled the spirit of Aunty Gladys who really doesn’t want you to worry about the money.

I wouldn’t mind going to a proper old-school Séance with flickering lights, bumping in the walls, held hands and strands of ectoplasm whipping about the place, the whole nine yards.  Seriously, that would be awesome.  I am such a sceptic when it comes to things like this but it doesn’t hurt to go along for the performance.  Let’s face it back in the Victorian era it was considered not only a means of communication with spirits but also a spectacle of amazing proportions and people would pay top dollar for the ‘Greats’ to perform in their parlours and dining rooms.

Just the same as it is today only without the added luxury of DVD and online merchandise sales.

I am waiting for the day one of these charlatans plays at my local theatre; I will be there with fucking bells on to do my best to disrupt the show, so what a bunch of bewildered morons will have the hump with me but they need to be shown that they are being led up the garden path.  These people; I was under the impression that if you tricked people into handing over their cash via means that are fraudulent, then that was illegal right?  These so called mediums are praying on the stupid and the old selling false hope for quite a steep price and the nation is yumming it up, these fat dullards really can’t get enough of it.

This is why there are so many of these ghost hunting programs on the telly too; there are loads of them and I’m quite surprised that there isn’t a channel dedicated to this fad, ‘Ghost TV’ hosted by some quietly spoken guy with a beard and a fat woman that wears overly bright clothing.

And the best part of these shows is that they have pretty much proven that ghosts don’t exist, which makes me very happy, but they still get massive audiences which makes me sad.

Thousands of hours of recorded footage using some of the most high-tech equipment and some of the leading minds in the field yet not one stick of evidence, just a load of idiots screaming in the dark, the green glow of the night vision picking up every tear and dribble of spittle at they stubble around like cattle.

‘If we look at this footage here we will see an orb’ or as thinking people might call it a dust moat picking up extra light from the sensitive Infer-red cameras… NO, not proof!

‘Something has just brushed my leg’ says the highly paid television presenter whose job it is to say these kinds of things on the telly… NO, not proof!

‘There is a banging sound coming from upstairs’ made by a member of the highly paid production team in an attempt to put the wind up a pack of over sensitive dickheads to get cheap ratings… NO, not proof.

And how come when anyone sees a ghost there is nobody there with them, are ghosts scared of crowds?  Or is it because it’s complete bollocks?  What do they have to be scared of for fuck sake, they are already dead, it’s not like you can hurt them.

Please feel free to give these people shit because they deserve it…

http://www.thecircle.com/psychics/k?referer=google-tcuk_ps&gclid=CJzSgK_P6LMCFQzKtAodkAsALg

Only 29p a minute… that means they get over £17 pounds an hour… think I might have to look into this as a career move… hmmmm?

I AM A CLASS TRAITOR!

Not for the first time in the last few months have I been accused of being middle class or having middle class tastes but this time I have to hold my hands up and say ‘yep, I have an issue with class!’

Of course it was on the subject of food and where we went shopping.  My argument was that I don’t really like to put crap food (even though I have a thing about cheap burger joints) so I spend a little extra money buying good, well prepared food stuff.

The returning argument was that it’s all just fuel and it doesn’t matter where you get it from or what it is.  Well I guess to a certain point they’re right, it is just fuel and serve the purpose of keeping us going and it does just end up getting flushed away but that doesn’t mean I want to clog up my arteries with a constant barrage of fried trash.  I don’t want to buy cheap sausages that are made from off cuts and sawdust when I can pay a little extra and buy from my butcher, not only do I get top notch produce buy I’m also helping a small business keep afloat.  I would prefer to buy fresh fruit and veg from a green grocers than a super market; saying that they guy that owned my local grocers shut it down to open a chippy, the shame.  The place is always empty apart from a mad old bag lady that stinks of piss and he looks miserable every time I go past, good, he should have stuck to apples and bananas.

I hate that when they shut down a shop that is good for the community only to open up something that’s there to purely make money.  How can somebody justify shutting down a place that sells healthy fruit and vegetables (also bulk bags of lentils) to open a place that sells one of the most unhealthy fast foods going, everything is deep fried and covered in batter.  Come on; let’s have a think for a moment here.

Don’t get me wrong I love a bit of cod and chips (with plenty of salt and vinegar) but there is a time and a place and I certainly wouldn’t substitute it for a healthier option if given the choice.  Slightly hypocritical as every time I get down to Hastings I try and eat my body weight in the stuff, but that’s beside the point.

But I don’t think it’s anyone else’s concern where I go shopping or what I spend my money on and if it does ruffle a few feathers then fuck them, it sounds to me like some people seem a little jealous of my choice of cold cuts in my fridge; don’t hate the player, hate the ham!

And there certainly isn’t anything wrong with liking and enjoying things like wine, cheese or various deli items, those bright green olives with miniature salamis, sliced smoked venison, pickled garlic and caramelised onions, I love tappas and I don’t care how knows it.  Yes I enjoy small batch beers and expensive cigarettes and refuse to pay less than £30 on a bottle of vodka; yes I will pay an additional £20(ish) to get a train up town just to have breakfast and pretend that I enjoy reading the A4 version of the Independent, so what, I work for my cash and it has fuck all to do with you what I spend it on.

I barely drink, smoke or do any kind of recreational compounds anymore and rarely go out to pubs/gigs/clubs so I have some spare cash to spend on a few luxuries.  Thick woolly jumpers from Debenhams, bespoke shaving kits from John Lewis, New York style baked cheesecake from Marks and Spencer and all while I sip at my gingerbread late from Starbucks swinging my Waterstones bag merrily at my side.

And it’s not that fake, bling and garish kind of luxuries, I don’t want to show off here; I’m not ‘all up in your grill’ with fur coats, diamonds and gold on everything, I find that tacky but I do like to splash out rather than go cheap.  Basically I like quality and am willing to pay for it.  People see the combat strides, hoodie and trainers and think that I’m a bum but what they don’t get is that my strides aren’t the cheap ones from ASDA and my trainers are not from sports direct.

I never used to be this way and I think it’s another sign of developing maturity that I want to indulge myself, no that’s a bit of a strong word (indulge) maybe just pamper myself a little and have nice stuff.

For example, is it wrong for me to want to pay over £1200 for a tailored suit?  I think it’s something that every chap should do, at least once before they die, why make do with something off the peg that every other swinging dick has when you can go and have something that not one other bloke on the planet has.  Everything about it is gentlemanly down to the measuring up through to the picking of the fabrics and even the banter with your tailor.  And when it’s done you will have something so special to you and the feel of a fresh cut three piece on your flesh, magic!

And I’ve started to get really picky when it comes to male grooming.  For the most part I do look like a hillbilly with a fixation for grinding crust punk but when I step out for anything a little special I like to make an effort.  I don’t just pick up a can of Lynx or some Radox for my bath times, hell no, I like to reach for the bespoke stuff… so if you are going to get me any toiletries over the festive period make it Kings, I don’t want to flick Old Spice talc on my balls, ta!

If this all makes me a ‘class traitor’ then so be it, but I’d also like to point out that most of the people that accuse me of this don’t work for a living so they can go fuck themselves, and this is my class issue that the clue is in the modicum… WORKING CLASS!

Here’s a link to my tailors… his names Colin, I know it’s going to fit!

http://www.bespoke-tailors.co.uk/

So I’m pretty drunk…

Half a bottle of Crystal Head and a tub of Cheesy Footballs will do that to you!

And guess what?

I’m already pissed off with the festive period!  I am one Christmas number one away from kicking the shit out of every shopping centre Santa that I come across; and I don’t just mean hitting the guy a few times or kicking him in the kidneys whit a fat kid reeling off an extensive list of demands, I mean severely messing up the bloke and his entire families lives kind off beating.  I am about ready to put every collection tin shaking, fake beard wearing, mistletoe holding, smiley faced ‘happy Christmas’ dickhead into a fucking wheelchair.

It had to happen, the second I got in from the worst working day I have ever had to see an endless stream of Christmas based adverts to try and part me from my hard earned cash… and this was at 1am.

I turn on my TV to find some has been  celebrity, some douche that was on a series of adverts years ago trying to coerce me into splashing out on shit for other people online like I was being held to ransom.  I am in no mood to buy a bunch of people I don’t really like a bunch of crap online no matter how many ‘Bisto’ ads you were in back in the day, no matter how catchy your fucking jingle is.

And have you noticed how they make all the adverts more festive by adding the obligatory ‘slay bells’ into the music?  Like by adding that to the backing track they might tug on a few heartstrings and get you to remember what time of year it is.  How could you forget what time of year it is, it is being rammed down your necks from the end of august, consume you fuckers, consume!

I don’t like being told what I should do at the best of times so this part of the year is a complete nightmare for me.

If you are, as I am, unfortunate enough to live in busy town then you will know where I am coming from on this, but for fuck sake all I want to do is go and buy some groceries without having to queue up for about half an hour.  Its fucking horrible, my shopping experience has been totally destroyed by a pack of fucking retards concerned with stuffing mix and AAA batteries for their kids new toy that they will not be playing with due to it being busted by about new year’s.

Row after row of fat mongs with bags of fast food shit in their balled up fists drifting towards me taking up extra space with the bags of crap hanging from their multi-buggies and push chairs, gangs of screaming kids that they can’t control dashing about underfoot… go to hell you fucking sweaty breeders!

Even simple things like getting a burger out of some fast food dump becomes a nightmare; people looking at you like you are some kind of psycho because they have left all their baggage in the walkway and you trip over it, that ‘watch where you are walking’ look slapped all over their fucking blotted faces.  I would look where I was going but I hadn’t realised you had built an obstacle course made form Primark and Debenhams’s bags you fucking primate, next time I will build a hoist and pulley system to traverse your mountain for unwanted goods if that’s okay by you, and feel free to call me a wanker when I stumble over aunty Mikes train set rather than say sorry for the obstruction you fucking dickhead!

Pass me another mince pie; it’s time for the queen’s speech!

Is it only Americans that gives a fuck about our monarchy anymore?  They can have the bastards as far as I am concerned and everything that comes with them, which if we are honest isn’t too much anymore.  A bunch of German/Greek racists that are as far removed from the people as the Sun to Pluto, yet we have to drop everything and throw them a party when one of them dies or gets married.  How about they throw us a party seeing as we have had to pay for the cunts for the last, well I don’t know, forever!  We should take a leaf from the Russians book and kill them all and take power for ourselves, but that won’t work out too well, just look at North Korea… at least they don’t have Christmas!

I am the giant rubber dick crashing through you holly and tinsel making your granny choke on a turkey bone while you get ready to watch another rerun of an ‘Only Fools and Horses’ Crimbo special… fuck you!

Let’s get active!

Seriously considering taking up a pastime on the weekends to get me out and about and doing stuff that might consider me a normal person, not just brooding in the dark and wading through mile after mile of digital highway.

So I put out a few feelers about certain things to see how people would react to a pastime that I might choose.

To start with I mentioned to a few people that I might take up archery, gets you out of the house, the country air and all that and has the bonus of firing things at stuff so the danger element is there but only on a lazyish level.

Most of the people that I mentioned this to had something to say and mostly good stuff too.  I think at some point everyone in this country has had a go at archery, it’s in our heritage, firing long pointy sticks at the French and whatnot.  I have even had ago at it, not for a long time but I had had a go.  It was at Centre Parks up in Nottingham on a family holiday when I was about 11 or something and I remember that I loved it.  Only real down side is if I’m hung-over and accidentally send an arrow through some kids head.

So that’s a possibility.

Next up I thought about the art of Fencing.  Everyone had a negative thing to say about this.  ‘That’s gay’ or ‘That’s a well posh sport’ was the main reactions, and in a way I guess they are right, you don’t often associate sword play with the area that I come from but after some research I find that, like the archery there is a recognised fencing club in my home town that I never knew existed.  The only drawback is that their lessons and meetings are at times when I will be at work.  Nightmare.  But still would like to give it a go one day.

Then I looked at scuba diving, and again I found a local school (funnily enough in the same sports centre as the fencing school) but the prices of the equipment was out of this world and I don’t have the transport to be able to carry stuff about; can’t really take the bus wearing a full wetsuit, flippers and breathing apparatus.

So I looked at other activities the sports centre laid on and saw cannoning in the pool, but again I have the drawback of trying to get some kind of kayak on to public transport and I can’t exactly paddle myself up the high street.  (…and yes, that does sound like a metaphor for masturbation.)

Then there was a karate class but I started to have flashbacks to when I used to do it as a kid and the recurring nightmare of getting beaten by a girl at a Kent County competition when I made the semi-final because I couldn’t physically hit a girl in the face; I am such a gentleman.

So that went out of the window.

Then I looked into clay pigeon shooting and found a few places locally and the prices seemed okay but then I remembered that I don’t do people that well and might feel the urge to shoot some stupid fucker because they mentioned how good the Victoria Beckham biography was after I mentioned that I was into books and writing.

So that got put on hold.

Then, through one of the shooting sites I found a link for a survivalist club, you know the sort of thing; a group of folk loose themselves on some mountain range up in Scotland for a few days with some guy with a massive beard and an evil stare that looks like he might rape/eat one of the party if given the opportunity with only a few sticks, a plastic bag and a ball of string to survive.  All I could think about was getting rescued by helicopter off of said mountains during a flash flood and I don’t do heights too well so that got scrapped too.

There is a yacht club in town but again it sounds a bit posh; “What did you get up to at the weekend Greg?”

“Well I got absolutely hammered on Saturday then went sailing on Sunday and spent most of the afternoon puking into the Themes.”  A sentence that can only be followed by an upper-class laugh.  Not for me then.

I looked at boxing but that whole ‘getting punched in the face’ thing just didn’t draw water with me.  The skiing club looked okay but also a bit pointless as it snows about once in a blue moon in this part of the world, I don’t want to turn up to find a load of folk trying to ski down Windmill Hill on wet grass.  I even looked at Kabadi but that just looked mental and I can’t hold my breath for shit.

Someone mentioned I should take up wrestling as I am a bit fat, I nearly took it up right then and there.

So all this leads me to one thing…

I need to get a new car!

Saw an Audi A4 2.4 for £5000; I think it might be a little cheaper than scuba diving and I won’t get kicked in the ribs like if I took up kick boxing.

The Little Tramp on a Sunday!

So my mate turns to me and says, “my mum got a phone call from the school my autistic brother goes to.”

“Oh yeah.”  I replied

“Yeah, apparently he was asked in class ‘who are the people that influence you the most?’”

“Oh yeah.”  I said.

“Yeah so first off he stands up and he says ‘my family’ right.”

“Hay that’s sweet.”  I said.

He continues, “Yeah, then he said Hitler and they phoned my mum.”

I wish I could have been in that room the moment my mate’s brother said that and I wish I could have listened into the phone call that followed, I don’t think I would have been able to contain myself from laughing.  It’s amazing that the teacher took it so seriously and called the kids mother, the kid has Asperger’s and had no idea who Hitler was, and he just thought he was a really important politician.  Probably got Hitler confused with David Cameron.

If anything it could have opened the class up to a little history, talk about who Hitler was and talk about the Second World War the events that triggered it and that followed.  I would rather that than just ringing the child’s folks and getting them to have a word at home.  And why was the teacher so scared of the idea of Hitler anyhow, it’s not like he’s under your bed at night or waiting for you in that dark part of the ally that you have to walk down on your way home, ready to pounce.

It’s people like this teacher and his/her over reaction to just the mention of a person’s name that instantly vilifies that person and causes dread and eventual panic.

What we need to do is educate, and if anything turn that person’s memory into the joke that he actually was.  Rather than focus on the terrible things he (and remember) got other people to do (pointing out that you can get stupid people to buy into anything) and focus on the fact that he was an insecure, sexually repressed frustrated little psychopath and a failed artist because he was not in the least artistically gifted that modelled himself on one of the most unfunny comics of all time, and I don’t mean Jim Davidson… although Jim has the same sort of material as Hitler.

Anyhow, I don’t really know where this is actually going…

Oh yeah, Remembrance Sunday.

I don’t really buy in to the whole thing of buying poppy’s or the whole minute silence deal but I do know without the actions of millions of brave men and women the world would be a much different place and I probably wouldn’t be able to have such things as this blog or the freedom to think the way I do and that is rather important to me and I think many people take such luxuries for granted.

We wouldn’t be able to hold demonstrations about the things we feel strongly about or have the right to a free press (I know that the media can be a little bias but cut me a little slack here) and we don’t live in a culture where book burnings are frequent, not in our part of the world anyhow.

And where would that stop, shooting writers in public because they had the audacity to think freely and try to spread some kind of message?  It still happens in certain parts of the world, remember Salman Rushdie?

But that afternoon, after the ceremonies and the minutes tribute I was skimming over some of the posts on various social networks (something else we probably wouldn’t have) and I saw touching posts about fallen friends and relatives that are in or related to the armed services.  I also saw camaraderie from people I know that used to be in the services, extending messages of hope, peace and goodwill to those still out in various dustbowls around the globe.

And then I saw a few posts that just didn’t make sense; I saw a couple that just said ‘Remembering’ and I couldn’t work out what these people meant by this.

Now if I’m not wrong the remembrance service was mainly about WW1 and the bloody conflict in France against the Germans if I’m not mistaken, so just what were these people trying to remember?

I don’t think these people fought in that conflict, I don’t think that they had met their relatives that had died during that conflict due to the slight time gap, so just what were they remembering, the final scenes in Blackadder goes forth?

It just got me a little confused is all I’m saying.

Spitting rum in the face of society

Now I don’t want to ruffle any feathers hear but…

I have a few mates that are into, well let’s say spirituality so it doesn’t sound too odd… nah, fuck it they believe in witchcraft, all singing, all dancing, waving their dicks at the moon witchcraft.

Now, I don’t want to put these people down or call them a pack of outdated, ghost worshiping spoon benders and I don’t want to break any friendships or anything but really, in this day and age, really?

I love a bit of spooky folklore and a good ghost story from time to time and as an aspiring horror writer this stuff is my bread and butter but for any rational thinking person to believe that arranging a few twigs from a certain tree on a certain night will get you laid then you are defiantly barking.  For starters how are you actually going to meet somebody to fuck if you’re out in the woods most nights fucking about with moss and crows eyes… unless you’re into dogging but that’s a another blog post for another time?

And I love the way people take this stuff so seriously like it actually works, love potions and the evil eye and all that mumbo jumbo it’s just another ‘religion’ that pulls people in and takes their hard earned cash from them because they are a bit backward.

Have you seen these sites that sell this witch shit, fuck man, the prices of some of this stuff is fucked up.  Daggers and witches bowls, crystal balls and spell books, robs and other objects of spiritual and magical significance and you poor suckers just yum it up.

Some of my mates do it the skin flint way and make their own stuff and some of it is really well crafted and ornately patterned, genuine kudos goes out to craftsmanship and skill but I’m pretty sure that the spirits and woodland fairy folk prefer the store bought, made in Korea stuff.

All that being said there are still people out there that need to use ancient spells or carry tiny knitted dolls with them to get the things in life they want, the truth is these people don’t have these things even with the magic.  Some get lucky and score with the chick of their dreams or nail that job interview but you can’t put that down to magic, it’s just a coincidence that that has happened, not that you dipped your dick in wax and chanted on the Sabbath.  You can’t conjure up self-confidence and if you do need such placebos in your life to get by let’s just hope nothing to tragic happens to you.

But if it gives you that little boost to your day and puts a little zing in your stride then more the power to you.

I myself have had an on-going fascination with voodoo for years after reading William Seabrook’s ‘the Magic Island’; not practicing but I find its mythos and history quite fascinating, and I know I will cop some stick being an atheist and all but I find it just a little bit more entertaining, a little less oppressive and a hell of a lot less dangerous than some of the more mainstream or rising religions.

And before you start with the ‘but you hate all that crap’ crap, yes I know and I don’t read anything into it or believe any of the spiritual side of it but have you ever seen some of their get togethers’, talk about sultry and dark.  It has just the right mix of bizarre and sexy to float my boat and let’s not forget the endless flow of rum.

Anything that promotes getting wasted, smoking and nudity is okay in my book, not too sure about cutting loads of chickens heads off but ’the rough with the smooth’ right?!

Every time I hear or read about witch cults or satanic black masses they always end in an orgy but most of the people that practice this stuff are unattractive, middle-aged accountants that are only there to participate in an ancient form of a wife swapping party.

And I have seen some of this stuff first hand and for the most part they are just hippy parties out in the woods some place celebrating the rising of the sun but it still felt a little sinister being with people that believe in wood spirits, fire poi, painted face and colourful hair or nay, still a little sinister.  A liberal dose of LSD helped with my fears and I actually got my face painted as a snail by a woman wearing a wicker dress, seemed legit at the time.

But through all my fears of alternative religion being a slight jumping off point for false hope it is nothing in comparison by today’s standards just have a look at Scientology or Mormonism… that stuff is really fucked up.  If you thought the freemasons were weird then you should check out their beliefs and doctrines of faith, real eye-openers.

But until we get to those (and we will get to those after some research) my the Loa go with you and blessed be.

Pop Confusion?

I can hear her kicking around in the boot over the sound of the wet road and engine noise.  I will have to pull over at some point, need to get some sleep as I can’t recall how long I’ve been driving now, at least ten hours after the ferry.  I’m going to have to knock her out if I want to sleep.  I look down at the hammer…

As I sit here stuffing the last of a bacon double cheeseburger into my face and thinking ‘whatever happened to that ginger noise-monger La Roux?’ and “I wonder if she was a man?”, when I stumble across something online that literally turns my stomach, Carly Rae Jepsen!

“What the hell am I watching?!”  I find myself shouting at my laptop.

Admittedly I would love to kidnap and subject her to a rather nasty and humiliating ordeal over a series of days and locations that would take several years of therapy to shift out of her subconscious; every time she shuts her eyes she can see me in a balaclava coming at her with an egg whisk, over and over.  But come on, really, I don’t think the people at Nobel will be on the phone anytime soon.

There’re all standing around in an open garage pretending to be jamming to a tune you can see they have never heard before while some jumped up little pop princess catawalls over the top.  Standard.

But the lyrical content is atrocious bordering on the moronic; don’t get me wrong this isn’t the Beyoncé standard of stupid lyrics, but they are really scraping the bottom of the barrel with this one.  And the fucker has sold millions of records due to a well worked Meme campaign on social network sites; you don’t even have to have a guitar plugged in nowadays to make it in the music industry.

And speaking of guitars not being plugged in have you seen any of the Lil’ Wayne videos of him actually playing guitar, holy fuck, funny stuff.  Trust me; go check it right this minute, you will piss yourself laughing at this talentless nobody.  What gets me is his face, pulling poses like he’s really into it and playing like Hendrix, what a fucking twat.  But the crowd starts going mental like he’s some kind of hero which only leads me to believe that the majority of you fucking humans are tone deaf dick heads that will get sold any old shit because you don’t have the capacity for individual thought you fuckwits… no offence.

Let’s start a thing now and see how many of these nobends actually end up doing it; let’s say that if you mix your own piss with corn flower and cigarette ash then spread it on your face it will take years off of your appearance… ‘It really works; the Chinese do it and look how young they look’!

I really hope there isn’t anyone out there now thinking ‘I wonder?’  I’d like to think that those of you who take time to read this have a little more sense than that.

And I just bigged you all up… your welcome!

Now let’s have a look at that horrid little cum clown, Nicki Minaj, oh dear, where to begin.

The fucking sight of her is rather offensive to me, when I was a kid and you had coloured hair or piercings the trendy kids would throw bottles at you or spit at you in the street, but thanks to this fruit it’s now fashionable to be individual.  Do we celebrate this, oh no, because it is as fake as the bitches weave.  It’s only a matter of time before the media that adored her will turn on her just like they did Lady Gaga… poor, sweet Gaga, bless her little penis.

Minaj’s lyrical content is awful, the references to big dick and sex are far too frequent for my liking and don’t forget she is sold on the pop market, so her target audience is mainly little girls.  ‘Don’t fuck a dude if a dude don’t pay – Don’t suck a dude if a dude dirty’, do you really want your 11 year old daughter hearing this shit?

I also read in the paper that she is prone to tantrums and pushing her (well her bodyguards) weight around in backstage areas.  What gives her the right to boss anybody around, most people grew out of rhyming basic words in their junior school and to have a grow woman do it dressed as glow in the dark prostitute I find is just embarrassing.  Needless to say I don’t like the girl.

And I don’t think you have to be a genius to know that I don’t like that brainwashed little prick Justin Bieber.  I want to buy this little fucks contract out and then sell him into the white slave trade in the pacific, see how much we can get for his little god fearing ass.  “God put me on this earth to make music,” is something that he is famous for saying, okay, sweet sentiment but let’s not forget that on the subject of aborting a rape baby he also said “everything happens for a reason, god has a plan.”  Kids look up and listen to this shite, I think that if we are to have roll models that they aren’t sex promoting, dangerous hate mongering, leave religion out of music and other creative art forms and we might have a fighting chance of bringing up future generations in peace and without the fear of a fairy tale in them.

When you have an intellectual heavyweight like Brittany Spears say that she will stand behind ‘W’ Bush’s decision to send hundreds of young men and women to their deaths illegally you know it’s time for some positive action towards the cult of celebrity.

And don’t even get me started on TOWIE!

JUMP YOU BASTARD, JUMP!

It had to be monitored closely before they could let it out of containment.  It had to be scrutinised rigorously tested for some time after that before letting it loose among the general public, but on the surface it looked calm and calculated.  What they didn’t see was an eternity of hatred underneath, the never expected it to have a soul.

So, over a couple of cups of coffee and a slice of pie we start to talk about suicide and my mate tells me this fucked up story about this guy that proposed to her mum and was turned down.  So this guy leaves a voicemail message on her phone about how he can’t live without her and that he was going to end his life and all that.

Then the guy goes down to Catford train station and waits on part of the track that is used for trains that don’t stop at stations and just fly straight through.  Soon enough he gets his last wish and is taken out by a speeding train.

My mate continues that apparently they could only identify the poor bastard by his hair, that’s all, just his hair.  What that must have looked like.  But this is the funniest part, according to the driver’s statement when the train hit, the driver saw the guy on one knee with his arm up to his face and the dude was looking over the top, kind of like an old black and white movie villain in a cape.  For some reason I couldn’t get the image of the phantom of the opera out of my head.  To be quite honest, when my mate told me the last bit and did the action of the last moments of her mother’s suitor I spat my coffee all over the place and couldn’t stop laughing for a good ten minutes, I honestly thought I was going to burst.

Then she tops it off with “I remember the last thing I said to him was ‘why is your hair yellow?’”  Another ten minutes of hysteria, I got a few funny looks from a couple in a booth.

I remember reading a book on strange and funny suicides years ago and for the life of me I can’t remember the title but it had some real funny stuff in there.

One story that stayed with me was about this girl in ‘godknowswhere’ putting a chainsaw into a vice in her father’s work shed and head-butting the thing while it was running at full whack to split her skull and end it all.  When they found her body she had seventeen (that’s right, 17) massive lacerations to her face and head.  Now that’s dedication.  She nutted that spinning steel bastard seventeen times until she finally passed out from a cocktail of pain and fatigue then bled to death on the wooden floor of the shed.  What the fuck!

We then got to talking about how we would top ourselves; we came up with the standard ‘jump off a cliff,’ the ‘sleeping pills and whiskey’ route and the classic ‘death wank’ like that guy from INXS or whatever.  But then we started to get creative.

I said I wanted to jump off of the Centrepoint building up town onto a night bus so that I would go through the roof but get stuck in the middle floor like a fucked up spear.  My friend said I should do it in a Superman costume for added drama of which I couldn’t argue with, inspired.

If you’re going to do it, make sure it makes the papers.

I also told her about someone that hung his/herself from a bridge in Dartford and was hit by a truck and was swung through the air like a conker on a string; she informed me that a little bit of wee came out upon hearing this.  I added that they must have been a ‘hundreder!’*

We talked about drowning, freezing, dropping a toaster in the tub, cutting bits off, a gun in the mouth, a pipe from the exhaust in a locked garage and one final drug and whore binge till our hearts exploded, even paying a hit-man to take you out but at the end of it we both knew people that had killed themselves and the truth is, I isn’t very funny, not for the families and friends involved, it isn’t funny at all.  I have known a couple of people that have either committed or attempted suicide and I also know people that have had people close to them end it.

On the one hand I can’t imagine what must drive someone to kill themselves, how low you must have to get or just plain unstable you have to be to get to that point then take the last step.  It must take a hell of a lot.  But I will not call them in anyway brave, I cannot and will not condone their actions for one moment as I find it incredibly selfish, for them it’s over; all of their problems disappear in one last act.  But for those they leave behind it is just the beginning.

There are a million and one questions that must be going through the people’s heads, I know there was a few I wanted answers for when the person I knew killed themselves like ‘why they couldn’t have let someone know how they were feeling?’  I guess this is the classic, why?  Why would they just give up like that, right?

Take a look at the footballer Gary Speed, one moment he’s on match of the day chatting away; the next his wife is finding him dead after he took his own life, crazy shit.  And you know I don’t remember ever reading about the motive behind his suicide, I know it’s a very personal and privet matter for the family he left behind but there must have been some kind of reason.

Anyhow, this has gotten rather dark rather quickly and I am bound to offend some people if I carry on without some kind of psychology qualification to back up my opinions so I should just stop before I get into hot water.

Oh yeah, that’s another one, a hot bath and a razor across the wrists… forgot about that one.

Take care now people.

*for all you that don’t know about the ancient and noble sport of conkers (I’m guessing you’re probably American) here is a link that will explain the rules and game terms.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conkers

Gucci bags, useless dogs and sausages I have known!

Sometimes I get ideas above my station.  Sometimes I think I am better at something than I really am.  Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and think ‘that one handsome mother fucker right there’.  Sometimes I feel as if every woman I meet wants to fuck me.  Sometimes I think that I am indestructible and can take the world and his mates on.  Sometimes I think that I am the funniest and most intelligent person on the planet.  Sometimes I wake up and feel like complete shit and have to just get on with my day and struggle along like the rest of the world’s population.  Sometimes I think about dying too much and feel sad that at some point I won’t wake up.  Sometimes I realise that I am only human.

So I’m pretty sure that I have had this rant before but a conversation with a mate brought it back to the forefront of my mind and I have to vent the bastard… fucking glamour pets!

We were putting together a couple of things that we would like to do before we die, you know like a bucket list and we came up with hitting Paris Hilton with a bus as she was crossing the road at high speed when my mate said ‘but what if she has one of those miniature shit machine things that some might call a dog in her handbag, you can’t kill an innocent dog?’

Would you like to place some money on that my friend!

I would love to sneak up on that worthless twat and drop a French banger into her bag so she doesn’t notice so when it goes off the dog either dies from fright or shits all up inside her Louie Viton!  Hopefully Paris will shit herself and fall to the ground crying with shock and the upset of her dead pet… I would probably kick her square up the arse at about this time and take pictures.  Let’s see if these snaps up her status on the McInterweb, maybe they would look better in the green glow of night-shot?

What is the point of an animal that small, it can’t really do anything, it’s not like you can play fetch in the park with the beast, it could just about pick up a Ping-Pong ball let alone a big fucking stick and if you threw the stick too hard the thing would probably become so afraid of your boisterous actions that it may shit its own guts out from fear.

I was in quite a nice diner a few weeks back enjoying these huge hash browns with the best sausage links I have ever had and some rather nice coffee trying to look like I belonged in a place that nice by reading from my kindle when this tart walks in with one of those ‘things’ poking it’s rat like head out from her bag.  She walked straight to a table and sat down with the little fucker next to her on the long leather topped seat in the booth just beyond me.

The waitress saw the animal but said nothing about it being in the restaurant even though there was a ‘no dogs’ sign on the door, she even said ‘ah, so cute.’

Hold up love, if I’m not very much mistaken there is a no dogs policy on the window over there and that anus has brought one into this eatery; could you please ask her to leave or chain the thing up outside.  The stupid bitch hasn’t even taken her sunglasses off inside a dark room in the middle of October and wonders why she can’t read the menu properly; I wanted to throw her dog into the street… hard!

I wonder if that would happen with other animals of small scale.  What would her reaction be if I brought in a young Shetland pony or perhaps a pigmy hippo, I wonder if the waitress would find that cute?  I would probably be asked to leave before I could make my order never mind get a plate of those delicious links… I would probably be asked to clean up after the animal took a massive dump in the middle of the floor though.

And that’s another thing, both the waitress and the woman with the tiny dog looked at me like I was complete scum, like I wasn’t trendy or fashionable or good looking enough to be in the place and that bugged me a little.

First off I’m not a penniless waitress bussing tables for a shit wage and shitter tips finishing off my night by taking out the rubbish or cleaning vomit up from a toilet cubical and I actually earn a decent wage from hard work; secondly I’m not so fucking dumb that I can’t work out why I can’t see properly when wearing sunglasses in poorly lit area and thirdly, go fuck yourself you stuck up bitches!  You’re admiring a rat that at some point will shit on your lap while you snivel into a tissue watching some shit Hollywood chick-flick after getting dumped by some arsehole because you are too stupid to know when a bloke is cheating on you and you know what, you deserve that turd in your lap.  You chose the wanker and the little dog over the nice guy because you went for the handsome, fashionable guy rather than the bloke that isn’t into all that aesthetic crap and has a little depth and brain in his head, well done you.

Wow… that got a little bitter didn’t it, dropped the ball for a second there, focus man!

But seriously, I saw that gold diggers show a while back and I was staggered at how stupid the male population of this planet is.  These (and this is going to sound sexist but hear me out) bitches are selling themselves to stupid men with more money than sense and bragging about how much they have gotten out of these rich fucks.  Some blokes had even left their wives and made them bankrupt over these whores that really couldn’t give two fucks about the stupid arseholes.  As soon as the money dried up the girls lost interest and moved on to the next poor sucker, now there’s a shocker.  Did these dudes really think that those cunts loved them?  Goes to show you that some men will do anything for the attention of a pretty female… well pussy that is, but it made me feel ashamed to be a bloke… for a bit.

But yeah, I really want to blow up Paris Hilton’s fucking dog in her bag!