When you’re dealing with a corpse… rubber up!

I hung from the rafters as the hoard of screaming dead gathered just a yard or so underneath me.  All I could do was hold on to the beam in the celling as the clambered over each other to get to the fresh meat that was dangling up there in the roof; me!  It was only a matter of time before there were enough of them to pile up so they could reach me or I was to lose my grip and fall into the mass of rotting fury and cannibalistic rage.

Yep, now I was fucked!

The end of the world has come back into play with the ever looming threat of all out nuclear war because some fat little Korean kid spat his dummy out and wants to flex his megalomaniacal muscles.  He was quickly spanked by China and the States and sent to bead without a pudding and no Xbox for a week.  Stupid, spoilt cunt; I mean, have you seen the state of him, little prick need a good punch in the face.

But with impending global Armageddon comes the aftermath, the fallout and the race for survival.  It pays to have a plan whether it’s surviving in a post holocaust, destroyed city landscape or running from rural flesh eating zombies/mutants you must know your onions… and redneck bloodthirsty zombie and how to fuck their shit up.

First things first, get a weapon; something nice and heavy; something that can smash a skull in and cause the victim to instantly shit out all of its guts.

Guns can be a bit hard to obtain if you live in places with stricter gun laws, we can’t all live in the land of the free.  Mind you we live in a country where kids can’t get hold of daddy’s guns and slaughter each other in school… we just have riots, mass looting, street fights and knife crime.

Then you must find food and water, not too hard in places that have massive super stores or fields of crops but water might be a problem.  Try to find a lake or nearby stream, just make sure there isn’t a corpse floating about in the bastard.  Also get used to eating raw veg, pigeons, rats and the like; you can’t expect to eat Burger King every night… unless you fortify a local Burger King drive thru!

Then find somewhere to plot up, somewhere with a lot of storage space and high walls or fences.  Old military installations are great for this and are usually found in more rural areas so pretty good if you have green fingers; grow your own in little plots around your homestead.

Then, after you have escaped to the country, found and fortified yourself a home and stocked up with all kinds of tinned foods and bottled water not to forget planting row upon row of potatoes and cabbage, (easy to grow and packed with vitamins) you should be ready to make plans for your celebrity zombie massacre.  It’s pretty much a celebrity home invasion but perfectly acceptable as they are dead and this is purely metaphorical.

That’s my statement and I’m sticking to it.

I would plan to get a shot at that lanky streak of shit Vernon Kaye.  This is a man so unfunny you can even see him wince with his delivery like he knows what he is saying is wrong.  I think some gangsters have his mum somewhere and are forcing him to be shite on telly, nobody in real life can be that awful.

Vernon hasn’t had a decent gig since T4 on the beach and that was shit.  The only reason he did okay on that was because he was sided by that no-entity June Sarpong.

What the fuck was up with that bird; was she constantly stoned?  I have seen more life in a stagnate pond; she made Henry Kiesinger look almost electric.  I met her once and I thought I was going to fall asleep just by her saying ‘hello, nice to meet you’, it was almost as if someone had slowed time; looking back I should have asked her if she had any tramadol on her and if she wanted to party somewhere.  Still probably would though.

If I ever win the Euro-millions I will build a house with a cellar and in that cellar I will build several tanks on the off chance that the zombie apocalypse will kick off.  I would then go around capturing celebrity zombies and add them to my collection in the basement.

Imagine having a zombie Kerry Katona, or Jordan trapped behind glass and chained up.  I would charge for people to go down there and have their photos taken with the things.  I would even charge for them to beat the shit out of their choice of undead z-lister with bats and stuff.  Class!

This got me to thinking though, if you fucked a zombie, would it be classed as necrophilia?  It’s not like it would be illegal under the circumstances.  I think that the authorities will have their hands full with of their problems other than raping the animated corpse of Cheryl Cole.

What I’m trying to put out there is if the zombie outbreak does sweep the globe I’m looking to set up the world’s only zombie brothel.  I reckon I’ll make a fortune.  All we’ll have to do is fill their mouths up with insulating foam and pull out the fingernails so they don’t bite or scratch anyone and Bob’s your uncle, ready to fuck.  Probably have to wear a Johnny though.

Is this wrong?

I remember asking a mate many moons ago…

…imagine working in a morgue when the body of Natalie Imbruglia (back in the day when she was properly fit) turns up on a gurney.  She isn’t damaged in any way and is rot free; she died of a heart attack on a tread mill the same night and is still warm.  There is nobody around as you are on nights and nobody will be in till morning… do you fuck her?

With fucking bells on brother, the pictures would be on the net before the first copy of The Sun landed on anyone’s doorstep baring the bad news.  You can use any fit female celebrity in this scenario; have a mix around next time you ask your mates in the pub.

So yeah, if you need to get laid in the zombie apocalypse, I’m your go to guy, I’m going to become a zombie pimp when the shit goes down… a zimp!  I just need to win the lotto now and build a zombie containment facility/fuck dungeon.

Got to be in it to win it…

…wish me luck!

Voulez-vous prendre dans le cul? Tant pis, je vais devoir la saucisse!

Oh, how I long to sit once again outside of the café Fleurus across from the Jardin du Luxembourg enjoying a plate of Andouillette, café gourmand and a thick slice of brie noir with fresh sliced Boule loaf, juste baiser magique.

But, woe is me, I sit here in front of my computer where I have just seen a pop-up advert for a granny porn text messaging and phone sex service… how does that work?

“What are you doing?”

“Just buffing my bunions sweetie then I might pop to the shop for a bag of fish heads for the cat.”

They really are pushing the boat out when it comes to bad taste websites.  I have mentioned before the ‘sleep sex’ sites, some of which are a little dubious then there’s the extreme S&M, but I haven’t resorted to the granny sites.  I don’t really fancy watching Old Mother Hubbard getting her back doors smashed in by an interracial street gang.

Imagine seeing your own grandmother on one of those sites… the horror!

It’s bad enough finding your mother’s dildo as a child then have her tell you it’s a neck massaging device, then demonstrating by rubbing it on her neck with it on; never mind finding granny dearest on wrinklesluts.com.

I have never found my Nan on wrinkle-sluts, alas she is dead and has been for a while and I’d like to think that she would have had the good taste not to post self-masturbation videos on the internet.

I would like to start one of those dogging web sites but with a psychotically violent twist.  We set up the site like any old normal run of the mill car park fuck sites with the tagline ‘fuck a local ugly slapper on the bonnet of a Ford Mondeo tonight while strangers look on and wank over your back!’  Then arrange meets all over the country with men and women willing to be filmed.  Then, just when the group start their circle jerk as they take turns on some rough council estate tart we send in a pack of pissed up skin-heads with bats, blades and chains to kick the shit out of the whole fucking orgy.

What do you think?

I’d pay £6.99 a month for a subscription.

A lady friend of mine came up with a blinding idea for a website, ‘Dog-fights.’  We drive around on Friday/Saturday night in some really rough towns and secretly film the local fat slags kick off with each other, pull each-others hair/clothes/massive hooped earrings, mouth off to bouncers, piss in shop doorways and get their boyfriends filled in by packs of coked up pikeys because they are loud mouth bitches that don’t know when to shut the fuck up.

Most of the videos end with a fat bird sitting in a puddle of her own piss with a kebab in her hand crying the heavily applied eye-liner down her cheeks as a strange foreign man tries to coax her into a cab for a night of rape in an area of waste ground somewhere.

We could get loads of endorsements and have space for advertising on the site you know, for like, those douche bag gyms that are popping up all over the place with some shredded up steroid freak in a pink tank-top and yellow cycling shorts pointing with all his veins up like he’s going to burst challenging you to ‘be your best’…  Prick!

Ads for those shitty little small town boutiques that try to be classy but last about a month because in the real world no one really wants to pay £90 for a fucking ripped t-shirt and gold trainers look shit no matter how you dress the window.

We could have ads for different types of lubricant with a shot of a middle-aged dude bent over with a ball gag in his gob looking worried as a Nazi dominatrix standing behind him lines up an evil looking strap-on.  The tag line could read ‘don’t worry Malcolm, she’s gonna ram it home with bum-jam… the lube that can!’

Now that’s fucking catchy, yeah!

I’d love to be an advertiser for pornos; do they even have trailers for pornos in adult cinemas anymore?  I know they do on the DVD’s along with a whole host of phone in adverts.  Come to think of it I haven’t seen a porno theatre in years, or is it that I am walking around Soho with my eyes closed.

And Raymond’s Review bar has shut down, such a shame, it really made the bottom of Berwick Street what it was… a seedy little ally filled with hookers, drug pushers and eastern European doormen.  I can almost smell the heady scent of sewage, stale vomit and cocaine joint smoke as I type this.

I remember seeing a man get stabbed in the lung down there as I bombed another wrap of speed with these two French girls me and a friend were scuttling; I gave him a cigarette and he died in the ambulance.  It was just outside Diamond Jack’s tattoo parlour where I got my home town tattoo done some time before.

Memories.

I also witnessed one of the best tranny fights I have ever seen in that small stretch of neon lit backstreet.  Fuck me; those she-he’s kicked the living fuck out of each other.  There were lumps of ripped up weave, broken six inch heels and claret all over the place. We never did find out what they were fighting about, probably some screaming gay style beef that over spilled from Madam Jo Jo’s but who knows, it was fucking entertaining though.

That reminds me, a tranny was nearly sick on me in a bar in Paris and I nearly had a fight with an Algerian female boxer the same night, I had forgotten all about that but I fear those stories can wait for another time.

Sweet dreams.

6 minutes for 750w, 30 minutes for actual food

So, me and a guy work got to talking about microwave meals and how you can move for them at the super market.  And we both agreed some of them were pretty good, for example I had City Kitchen paella the other day and it was awesome.  And some of the ‘classics’ range they do in Tesco are pretty good; I do like the chicken casserole and dumpling or the lamb hotpot.

We decided that for work they were great as we only get half hour and it’s good to get hot food on when on the night shift, but you couldn’t beat a home cooked meal.  We both agreed that the reason that there were so many was that people couldn’t be asked with the rigmarole but we disagreed when he said that people just don’t have the time to cook nowadays.

I disagreed because to the best of my knowledge the working day hasn’t changed that much has it, are we still pretty much working 8 to 10m hours a day like they used to?

I said that it was the microwave meal that had killed the desire to cook, most people ‘don’t have the time’ because they have got lazy when it comes to peeling a few potatoes or chucking on a curry and a pan of rice when they can just pierce the film lid in several places and stir half way through cooking.

To be fair, I really only cook on the weekend as at 3am the last thing I want to do is put on a roast with all the trimmings but I try to eat okay at work.

There is a guy there that just eats junk; crisps, biscuits, cake and nothing else, he reckons that he doesn’t even eat when he gets home, just more munch.  Fuck that, I couldn’t go a work day without at least a few sandwiches or a pasty or something; you know something substantial, even a pot noodle would do.

This however is one of those posts that I have come back to after some time away and I have decided that I don’t want to talk about boring old microwave meals or slaving away over the stove… oh no!

I want to talk about how my childhood is slowly being destroyed by the amount of children’s television presenters (national treasures, mind you) that are paedophiles and sex offenders.

I know the 80’s were pretty bad for the majority of the working classes but for fuck sake, thanks BBC for throwing our children to the pack of nounces we are now finding the era to be.

The one that threw me a little was Rolf Harris… really?  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I glance at the front page of the sun and saw Rolfy smiling away with the headline ‘Harris quizzed over sex attack’ next to the picture.

WHY!

It really gives his hit tune ‘two little boys’ a sinister new twist doesn’t it… and ‘tie my kangaroo down’, what the fuck is wrong with the world.

I always knew deep down that Jimmy Saville was a kiddy-fiddler; I could just see the predator in the weird old creepy cunt.  That hair, those track suits, the jewellery and the way he constantly sucked on those cigars, gives me the chills even now.

And that fucker Dave Lee-Travis, now he always struck me as a bit weird, only because I was convinced that he was one of those Mexican wolf people.  I really didn’t like his beard, and does anyone know what he looks like clean shaven?  He could be out there, as we speak, fresh from the barbers and ready to wank in the bushes by a playground in total anonymity.  ‘Have you seen DLT, would you know what to do if confronted with a violently masturbating hairy cornflake?’  He’s out there folks and we need to raise awareness before he strikes again.

Bearded men dude, bearded men!  But seriously, I hope they chop off his cock in prison and flush it down the toilet.

And that fat bag of stinking jollity Stuart Hall, he was the voice of Opportunity Knocks for fuck sake; II used to love that show, I grew up with his voice on my telly and radio; he had a show on talk-sport and everything, what the actual fuck?  I guess when the opportunity came knocking he decided to take it… and molest an underage child… in the bum… with his old man cock… a lot!

It’s only a matter of time before they exhume the remains of Tony Heart for DNA evidence.

And the thing is there were a fair whack of people at the BBC (and this goes to the top by the way) that didn’t have a problem with the fact that these presenters preyed upon children, it was the 70’s and 80’s not the 1900’s.  And we paid for that privilege; our licence fee went on keeping these monsters in a life of luxury.  I still don’t get the world sometimes.  There should be some kind of compo pay out to everyone that paid the licence fee during the time that Jim’el cunt or that bearded weirdo DLT fucked with kids.

And as for that messed up druid fuckwit that plays Ken Barlow on Coronation Street, I’ve always thought there was something seedy/low about that bloke and it turns out I was right.  Not only does he think that women who get raped deserve it because of something they did in a past life (what the actual fuck) but he also raped a 15 year old girl.

So, if there are any American or Canadian readers tuning in to my blog; yes you heard us right; most of the TV presenters we had when I was growing up were paedophiles.  Another great reason to visit this grotty little grief hole; that and the weather.

The good news is that the authorities have moved Saville’s body to an unmarked grave so that someone doesn’t dig up his withered corpse and fuck the maggots out of it.

Sleep tight people!