The old ‘dick in the popcorn box’ trick

So I’m sitting here trying to get this zombie novel together (which is taking ages due to having to work for a living) and I start day dreaming about the zombie apocalypse.

I start to think about how I would rate my chances is it all kicked off.  With all the zombie films and literature I have waded through I’d like to think that I have a bit of an advantage than your average Joe.  But chances are I will be dead within a week as I am a bit of a lazy bastard.

Imagine that being eaten to death.  I used to go out with this girl years ago that was all tits and teeth so I kind of know what being eaten alive is like.  She wasn’t very bright either so it was very much like fucking a zombie.  She didn’t smell dead though.  That was a good thing.

But, back to me slaving over my book; well, when I say book I am halfway through about 3 at the moment.

Its certainly taking its toll and the learning curve of writing a novel is so much steeper compared to writing short stories.  And to be fair I haven’t stopped writing shorts and slowed down with my zombie novel’s chapter development.  That and having to juggle a full time job makes my spare time very precious.

But then I got to thinking of all the pulp trash that’s floating around out there in print and thought, ‘I can write better than that’.  But can I?

Let’s take a look at one of my favourite genres at the moment, dinosaur erotica.  Yep you heard correct people.

There are currently in print book where women are being stalked then fucked by… wait for it… dinosaurs.  Sometimes there is a love story where the female heroin falls for the reptilian antagonist but I prefer the more dino-jump-fuck tales.  Is it rape when the aggressor is an extinct giant reptile?

And there are loads of these out there, there’s a whole erotic sub-genre involving cold blooded intercourse action.  One name that stands out in the field is the elusive Christie Sims.  I say elusive as she doesn’t really exist on any form of social network from what I can gather which leads me to believe that Christie Sims is defiantly a pen name.  There’s some blurb online about her writing while based at Texas U but I find it all a little spurious.

Somewhere out there is a boring old geography teacher called Brian or Clive that is knocking out these literary triumphs at weekends.  I salute you sir.

My favourite and may I add, a title that I have actually read twice just to be sure that I had really read what I had read is ‘T-Rex Troubles’.  Not only is the bimbo in the story stalked by the king of the dinosaurs, but the beast is telepathic.  It knows your deepest, wettest desires and knows when you are horny.  Classic.

This stuff makes ‘50 shades of Grey’ sound like a tea afternoon with the local WI.

If you have a kindle, get out and buy it; but be aware, you will be looked at as a nutter when you’re pissing yourself with laughter on your morning commute.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/T-Rex-Troubles-Dinosaur-Erotica-ebook/dp/B00EYQFY9I/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1382273923&sr=1-1&keywords=t+rex+troubles

If this post seems to go a little off topic it’s because I had a pub break mid flow and now have a blinder of a hangover.  This could get ugly.

So I turn to the Sunday morning comedown staple of cheese toasties, sweet tea and whatever trash I can stomach on the tube.  Ended up streaming the football but I think I have overdosed on tea.

While I was gorging myself and celebrating a comfy 2-nill win for the mighty Spurs I found a porn blooper website that is funny as fuck.

It’s got everything from accidental anal prolapse (or ‘pink sock’ as it’s called in the biz) right through to a woman having a breakdown in her first ever scene because she didn’t realise it would be so rough.  The look on her face when she clocks the size of the studs Johnson will haunt me in my dreams.

While I was browsing the adult equivalent of ‘You’ve been framed’ I came across one of those celebrity sex-tape sites.  It claimed to be the most up to date sex-tape sites online.  Now I got to thinking, do celebrities even need to post their sex-tapes online anymore?

I mean after the Kim Kardashian vid there haven’t really been many high profile tapes.

Then I started to think about really inappropriate celebrity sex-tapes.

Imagine if you can a night shot porno involving Cilla Black getting ploughed by a certain Italian celebrity chef.  There would be loose skin getting stretched and pasta flying all over the place.  Masturbazione.

Or the raging homosexual whirlwind that is Louis Spence and John Barrowman holding a fake open audition with the male cast of ‘skins’ that ends in several arrests and at least one death.  Very similar to a Michael Barrymore pool party.  How much coke do you have to take to agree to have a chair leg shoved up your arse?  Sorry, I used the word ‘agree’ I meant to say ‘blackout’.

I wonder if Warwick Davis has a se tape that just waiting to take the internet by storm, why not eh?   Verne Troyer had a video, although it did come over as a little creepy.  No pun intended.

I wouldn’t want to see anything with Dawn French in though, not just because she is grossly overweight but because she is quite ugly too.  She looks like a slapped arse, a massive arse but certainly a slapped one.

Or anything involving some of those ancient political backbenchers or Lords, the ones with cobwebs holding them together.  Like a really old cat that if you threw out the back door too vigorously it would burst like a bag of flour.

Unless it’s a video of Margret Thatcher’s corpse being dug up and sexually violated.  That would be worth a Google.

So I bet you thought I was going with sexual assault at the cinema from this post’s title, right?  Well, like I pointed out, this post was always going to be a bit off course due to attempted alcohol poisoning.

Boom!

 

I can run faster horny than you can scared

So I’ve been watching Emmerdale recently. 

Well I say watching it; it’s been on while I’ve been working because I can’t be bothered to wade through channel after channel of shit.  Somewhere along the line I have just got sucked into the story and here I am awaiting the second part of double episode Thursday.

And there’s this bloke called Cameron that’s knocking about with a shotgun after he escaped from prison for killing loads of people.

At the moment he’s held up in a pub asking these two female characters to make a decision on which one is to be kept alive.  Riveting stuff.

Of course he a bad man, he’s got a hoodie on!

First up there’s a glaring plot hole; why have the police let this criminally insane serial killer out of their sight?  Well I can’t really answer that; you’ll have to write to the producers to complain or something.  I guess if you had a soap where everyone just got on with their lives with no drama or back stabbing no one would watch it.

Would you want to watch people just working in a café where they just gave out sandwiches and a couple of cups of tea to punters for half hour.  Half hour of a fat builder munching the full English saying absolutely nothing to anybody.  Watching, waiting on tenterhooks for that moment that he flips the paper over to have a look at the footie news.  TELLY!

Mind you that still sounds better than Coronation Street.

Anyway; the killer bloke (played by actor Dominic Power – I can’t believe I looked that up) has all snot running down his face due to his mental state one can only assume, or he has a heavy cold.  The two orange women are screaming at each other as the troweled on makeup get progressively more smudged from tears and hair pulling.  Believe me, ever since buying a full HD smart TV I have really noticed the slap (TV speak for makeup don’t you know, love).

There is a gun pointed at their heads all the while and I find myself shouting too; “WILL YOU JUST SHOOT ONE OF THESE BITCHES SO WE CAN MOVE ON, PLEASE!”

For the love of Pete, Marlon is unconscious in a steadily flooding beer cellar.  I don’t think I can stand all the drama.

And that’s what you love isn’t it? All that fucking drama.

Has everyone given up on the easy, go with the flow life style?  Why is it that some people just can’t go one day without drama in their lives?

I know this bloke that has to argue with his girlfriend on the phone at least once a day.  He’s always bitching about her.  “She said this, and she’s done that.”  What the actual fuck, man?  If she’s that much of a nightmare why the fuck do you have anything to do with her?

It’s really a ‘Jeremy Kyle’ case with these two.  She might have fucked this bloke and one of the kids (if not all) might not be his.  He may or may not have fucked that barmaid at a house party and he may or may not have spent all the rent money on cocaine at said house party.  And this is just in one week.  What kind of life is that?

Drama.

I remember when drama was just a class we had at school where we would pretend to be animals and laugh at the overenthusiastic hippy teacher.

“I want you to put yourself into the animal.”  She would often say.  What do you mean, like sexually or when Han Solo stuffed Luke into that dead Tauntaun’s belly?

I would love to do a one off, late night Christmas special of one of these soaps.  You could not imagine the carnage I have lined up for some of these characters.

A zombie apocalypse in Eastenders would be mental.  A reanimated Dot Cotton rampaging through the laundrette with her guts hanging out of her arse trying to eat Ian Beal while the market gets taken over flesh eating ghouls.  I would love to see that ginger mouth on a stick Bianca get ripped apart by an undead horde.  Brilliant television; fuck The Walking Dead.  Alfie Moon fighting off loads of zombies in the Queen Vic would be epic.  Especially with his ‘huge acting talent’!

My version of Emmerdale would be far worse than some nutter hold up in a pub intimidating some over tanned tarts with a pigeon gun.

A rapist is loose in the dales but nobody knows who it is.  Throw in some traumatic flashback moments involving some graphic porno-like fake rape scenes and maybe the occasional animal mutilation close up for effect and you’re on to a winner.

Paddy, it would have to be Paddy, the Mr Nice guy veterinarian that wouldn’t hurt a fly turns out to be the most fucked up serial rapist in modern history; a real Ted Bundy type.

Imagine a scene where he gives a bovine-esque rectal rooter to that filthy looking Debbie Dingle bird.  Complete with lubed-up shoulder length plastic cover-all glove ending up with him grabbing something inside of her and turning her pretty much inside out.  She would live through the experience only to be faced with a smiling Paddy at his trial so she can relive the whole nightmare again as she gave evidence.

I don’t know what it is but I think I’m going through my rape phase at the moment.  Even in my short story work there has been a lot more, what I like to call ‘forced entry’ recently.  You know, like when Picasso went through his ‘Blue’ period… but with more sexual assault.

I think it might be the changing of the seasons.

Scumbagging it!

My taxi driver had a hook for a hand.

One of those grabby ones like that dude had in ‘Live and let Die’.  The character was Tee-Hee and the actor was Julius W. Harris if memory serves.

He could really use it well and not at all did I think we were going to crash due to him being a cyborg.  My main concern lay somewhere else however.

What if, in the night he was having a dream or got itchy nuts and went in for a good old scratch.  I’m guessing that the grip in those bad-boy hooks is a little more than that of the human hand.  I was just worried that he might rip a ball off if he fell asleep on the sofa in front of the telly.  I didn’t express my concern as he had probably heard it before.

Do people with prosthetic limbs forget they have them?

Probably not; after having gone through the trauma of losing a limb that the experience probably lingers.  I’ve read about phantom limb accounts where the person can still feel their hand or arm or foot after it’s been removed.  Weird.

I have met and know a few people that have lost limbs but have never really asked in depth questions, never really felt the need.  I did have a mate that sent me pictures of his amputation scares for me to use as artwork for a CD I was producing but I never got round to printing proper covers.

The name of the band was ‘STUMP’!

Talking about music that I was a part of (many moons ago now), when I was involved with my last band I had a string of shitty jobs.

I remember working three or four cleaning jobs to make ends meet.  One of them was at our local collage, buffing floors in the morning before the kids all turned up.  I told the boss to stick it up their arse after a while as I was fed up with having to roll out of bed at 4.30am every day for minimum wage.  I felt bad afterwards as maybe I shouldn’t have been so agitated as my girlfriend still worked there too.

The boss was a 75 year old woman.

I had so many jobs while in that band you could use my ID pictures to put together a hair growth chart.

But to say that I was properly skint at the time was an understatement.  The girlfriend and I considered a big pot of tea and a few rounds of toast as a treat after the shift.  We used to keep all the pennies that we found while cleaning so that we could buy a load of bread and a pint of milk on the way home.  If we didn’t make the price of those things we went without until the next morning.

Straight up, money was that tight.

We would do a weekly shop in the cheap stores for about £10, all value noodles and frozen sausages that were made up of mostly sawdust and shit.  We could make £5 worth of bath stuff last a month.  Shower gel, bubble bath, shampoo, the lot.  We used to nick bog rolls and bin bags from work and we were never short of paper towels either. Talk about thrifty.

We are going back a good few years and I had pretty much only been back in town about a year and was in agency job limbo.  I always had my own place pretty much; guess that’s where all the money went.

On pay day we used to go to the café in the morning and treat ourselves to a fry-up or pie and mash.  To be fair at the time would be the one day a fortnight we had a proper meal that didn’t have a smart price label on it.

We used to get shitty horror DVDs from the pound shop too.  But the excitement levels smashed it when we found a shit tonne of Dario Argento flicks in the bargain bin.  I still buy £1 horror movies around Halloween to this day from there.  What can I say; I’m a nostalgic old romantic at heart.

And the shit I used to steal from Lidl, ha-ha, what a shit security guard.  We would shop there but top up on a few five finger discount essentials like apple schnapps or pre sliced cheese.  It seemed that as long as we bought more than £15 at a time they didn’t give a shit how much we took.

I never got to the point where I felt the need to apply for a job in McDonalds.

I did however pick up an application from blockbuster; I hang my head in shame.

But I guess we all have our own version of hard times.  For some it’s harder than others.  The one thing I know is that I have lived through that and I’m darn lucky to have what I have; I will never take anything for granted.

In comparison to where I was about 5 years ago, I’m more than comfortable but at least I know that if bad times are coming I can handle it as I have done it before.

http://youtu.be/QJ8TzuqpSQs

Just glad that my hard times make me look like a king compared to some places on this rock we all inhabit.

It really pisses me off when people start to moan about how shit their life is because their car brike down and had to wait for a bloke to come out and fix it or that they didn’t have the right kind of milk in the shop.  If that’s as bad as it gets for you then good luck when it goes proper tits up, and it will.

Well I’m off to make some toast and a pot of tea then spend a few hours contemplating losing my hand when I should be sleeping.

Night all.

The snapback cap of my own personal nightmare scenario

My mid-life crisis is happening right now.

I have bought a snap-back hat, have given up drinking and am currently growing a moustache.  And that’s about it.

I guess it could be worse I could be growing a pony tail, bought a leather jacket, started listening to Miley Cyrus and trying to fuck girls half my age by filling them with drugs.

And I haven’t done a Jeremy Clarkson and bought a Ferrari.

I’m really hoping that I don’t feel the need to run away to Costa Rica to grow weed with a bunch of 16 year old village girls as my concubines.  I would hire armed guards for two things, 1^st to protect the weed and myself as my privet army; 2^nd to listen to the angry sex I will be having with the young girls from their village.  There would be nothing they could do about it as I have all the money.

Eventually they will chop my dick off, stuff it up my arse and put my head on a stick out in my weed fields but at least for a brief time I would have lived; I mean really lived.

Life really is quite cheap down in South America.  For a small fee you can pay to pretty much do whatever you like in certain parts.  When you’re dealing with a place that endorses cock fights as a national pastime (cheers Mexico) you are dealing with some fucked up dudes.  Any culture who’s national dish is chilli based and national drink is tequila be very wary of.

Take the sleepy (not a racist pun) city of Ciudad Juárez, in the space of 10 years between 93 and 03 there were over 4000 women sexually murdered; their bodies just dumped in open sight.  The city is littered with red crosses that symbolise where a woman’s body was found.

It was considered at one point a femicide epidemic.

Speaking of epidemics, rape has become an epidemic down in good old South Africa.  Imagine that; I only thought it was viruses and germs that could be described as epidemics but turns out acts of physical contact are categorised this way too now.

We live in a world where there is a place where RAPE is an epidemic.

I wonder if there are a few blokes out there that have turned to rape in their mid-life crisis.  One day they just wake up with a few more grey hairs than they had before and think ‘fuck it, today is the day I give up asking.’

Middle aged men, seen lurking around at night waiting for the prostitutes to come out so they can beat them and sexually assault them in their Ford S-Max.

If you rape a prostitute is it just shop lifting?

There was that bloke up in Ipswich that had the same sort of idea.  He took it a little too far to be fair.

Women moan that they have to go through the menopause when they hit middle age like some big thing.  Ladies, you don’t have to wake up one day with the urge to buy leather trousers.

I have seen dudes go through an age crisis and from an outsider’s point of view, well funny.  This bloke that used to drink in town started to buy weed to impress some of the younger female patrons.  He started to hang around with the dealers that were a hell of a lot younger than him and started to go to raves at the weekend.  He was a bit of a loser.  He ended up getting beaten and mugged buy a bloke he bought weed from one night.  They bust him up pretty good.

We didn’t see him about for a while after that.

So I guess it’s probably wise to swim within your own age group socially.  There’s no point trying to fit in with people that are 15 years younger than you as they will see straight through your fake cool and probably find it quite sinister.

I did when I was a teen.  Every now and then there would be someone far older that would be a little pissed up down the local and trying to be friendly.  They would be trying it on with some of the girls and acting hard around some of the younger dudes but they always ended up worse for wear.

I remember one bloke down the good old Red Lion tried to feel up some 17 year old bird.  The bloke was this horrid little toad with a balding, greasy head; wore a Megadeth t-shirt and stank of piss.  He got the living shit kicked out of him when he became aggressive with the girl he was trying to molest.  He slapped her around the face for rejecting his advances and we used his head as a punch bag/football for about half an hour.  Even I stamped on the fucker a few times.

He was a state when the police and ambulance turned up to take him away.  Good.  This brings us back to an original point; you shouldn’t try to rape people.

If you are getting blown out by women because you have a bad face and smell of semen because you can’t stop wanking then go to a prostitute.  They are very kind and understanding.  Some of them also have rather serious drug problems and will do pretty much anything/anyone.

If you don’t have the money for a hooker, try petty crime to gain the funds you need for your weekly rub n’ tug session.

Mugging old ladies is a good place to start.  If you believe the government ‘a pension goes a long way’.  It certainly does when your slapping it down on the sweaty back of a smuggled in eastern European fuck slave.

Or you could go the Fritzl route and ‘grow your own’.  All you need is a basement that you can convert out as a secret dungeon and a wife that’s down with your life style.  If you bag yourself a mentally handicapped woman for a wife it makes it easier to get away with fucking your own children.

You may see a retarded woman as an alternative to prostitution in the long run but they come with a lot of baggage.  That and they are usually rough as old boots.  Face it, when was the last time you saw a mong woman with a packet of Bic lady shaves in her basket in the queue at Boots?

So, if you are properly ugly and have the natural body odour of a month old onion you might see streetwalkers as an alternative to a social life.

So here’s to the women of the night for they do us a service and keep the sexual assault figures down across our great nation.

Sleep tight.  x

Don’t go outside… or you will be executed!

Seriously, there are some fucking stupid people out there.

I hate to bring the place up again but this was an incident that happened at my work the other day and its burning away in my brain.

No before we start I should warn you that the level of stupidity of the bloke in question is rather high so, if like me and you’re offended by really thick people, you might want to skim read this bit.

The guy turned up saying he was sent by the agency as a driver.  He got his keys and did his vehicle check then came into the office to get his paper work.  He sorted out his own driver’s sheet and found all of the post codes he needed for his collections; I’m thinking this bloke knows what he’s doing and I go out to do stuff in the warehouse.

Now, about half an hour later I’m passing the transport office where I can hear raised voices.  The driver that I though was on the ball comes barging out and leaves.  I go into the office to find out what’s going on (and be a bit nosey if I’m honest).

Turns out, the bloke was a bit of a spastic.

He had punched in the post codes into his sat-nav then come into the office to complain.  His beef was that he can’t drive more than 100 miles because he becomes tired and his collection was 126 miles away.

That doesn’t sound that bad but this is a bloke that says he is a professional driver that can’t drive for more than 100 miles.  What a twat.  That’s like having a shelf stacker in a super market saying “I can’t put out more than 100 items because I get tired.”

That’s about as useful as a fireman with vertigo; as useful as tits on a fish.

And just what happens after 100 miles, will he just switch off like a really aggressive form of narcolepsy?  Maybe he’ll burst like he’s in a microwave or maybe he just turns into a fucking pumpkin.

Let’s just say that he won’t be working for us anytime soon.

We have had some classics in that place like for example “I can’t drive that truck, it’s not an automatic.”  Then how did you pass your fucking test.

Also the two blokes that rang in to say that they couldn’t work one day because they had both gotten wet waiting for the train… really?

But I absolutely love it what you get a smart arse in the yard.

We had some bloke come from up north giving it the “don’t tell me my job, I’ve been doing it for 25 years” attitude.  We then sat and watched as he struggled to get the curtain on the trailer open.  I strolled over and unhooked one of the straps that he had toyed with for 15 minutes like it wasn’t there with a repost that went a little like “25 years, wanker.”

I’ve used a few lame excuses to get out of work before though, we all have but I came up with a corker, an absolute 100% no fail day off.  I’ve wanted to use it for years but it would have to be rung through to the right manager.

Basically you ring them just before you’re meant to be in saying that you can’t go in that day because you have just violently shit yourself on the bus in front of everyone.  I guarantee you there isn’t a manager in the world that will argue with you on that.  No one wants to deal with shit.

But hey should really work on how they screen these retards at the agencies when they turn up.  The amount we have had to send away or sack just because they are thick is ridiculous.

I think the ones that fail the tests should be made to go on game shows where they have to play for their lives.  A second chance if you will.

They have to battle it out in a series of challenges to stretch their mental and physical abilities to the very limit.  Tasks for example like ‘stack those boxes over there’ or ‘how many fingers am I holding up.’

If they win they are given a menial labouring job, you know like emptying bins or carrying stuff out to skips but if they fail they die.  We could televise their executions like they do in China.  We could do it at Wembley and have a weekly televised raffle for front row tickets.

They could give away tokens that you have to ‘cut and collect’ on cereal boxes or on jars of pasta sauce.  They could have a kid’s special day where they pick one lucky child from the crowd to win prizes by killing as many of these stupid fuckers as possible.

We can have beheadings and shootings and a ducking stool, it would be wicked.  They could run seasonally themed events like a medieval themed Halloween special with all the nastiest forms of torture.  We could have a German themed Oktoberfest event where thick people are drowned in various types of wheat beer.  A summer time event where we harness the power of the sun and burn stupid people alive by using a giant magnifying glass like how kids kill ants.

The possibilities are endless.

But this is on the proviso that these thick retarded shitbags actually fail the tests.

And before you start I don’t mean people that are genuinely mentally handicapped, no, that would be some strange Nazi utopian nightmare that I could never be a part of.  I’m getting at the people that really don’t have any excuse for not being stupid.  People that are thick because they are lazy, it’s that simple; they are stupid because they just can’t be bothered to learn.

There is an almost infinite amount of knowledge in everyone’s home now in the form of the internet.  It takes almost a minute to find any and almost all information on any subject you can think of.  You can become an expert on a subject that you previously knew nothing about in the space of an afternoon with a few clicks of a mouse.

When people talk about the will to learn they are not talking about the ability to learn just the capacity to be able to remember.  If people can’t be bothered to remember simple things then they are no better than dumb animals and should be treated as such.  Wow, that’s getting a bit strong even for me.  Maybe I should wear more black.

But what do you lot use the internet for anyway?

Wanking and slagging each other off on social networks.  So many of you could do so much better and do so much with your time but you just can’t be fucked.

Take another photo of your cat, join another pointless charity group to make yourself feel better about your 1^st world problems and palm off someone else’s humour as your own by posting another shitty meme.

Goodnight.

La sangre derramada es la familia

If the old bill were to arrest me for, I dunno, say clubbing an Arab hairdresser to death with a lump hammer because he kept waking me up by being loud on his phone in the ally at 3am every night; they will probably blame the amount of horror movies I own for my behaviour.

They won’t look into the fact that I had my first murderous though before I had even seen my first horror movie.

I got kicked out of a pre-school thing for trying to suffocate a girl by burying her head in the sand pit and strangling her.  My mother was not impressed.  I guess that’s where my kink of strangling prostitutes comes from.

So yeah, I tried to commit my first murder before the tender age of 5.

I also wanted to kill my old head teacher when I was in junior school and told her so.  I remember getting the slipper for that.  I still to this day would like to kill that woman if that’s what you can call her.

I think that was also my first contact with a butch lesbian.

Can’t remember her name for the life of me but I remember that she only wore rugby shirts and polo necks and her breath smelt of onions and stale shit.  She had shoulder length ginger hair and had really manly hands.  I could swear that she had hairy fingers too, but my hindsight is a bit fuzzy; just like her shoulders I’d wager.

She had this real problem with the fact I was crap at reading and writing and that my maths was terrible.  Later on we found out that I am a little dyslexic but she told my mother that I was lazy and disruptive.  I had to sit in her office every day and go through these basic reading books and she would shout at me when I made mistakes.  Looking back I find this a little bit disturbing and a little bit sadistic on her part.  Probably one of the root causes to my problem with authority.

I just remembered her name, Miss Davies.

I hope that woman is dead.

Over the years I had a few teachers that I have disliked and in return they hated me.  To be fair I did try to make these peoples working environment as stressful as possible on the off chance that they may have sent me home.  I really didn’t like school.  There wasn’t anything that I wanted to learn and when I did find something that interested they changed the syllabus or moved the teachers around.

That’s just counter-productive for any child.

It wasn’t until I had left school that I found learning to be great because I was learning for myself without someone over me telling me that I was doing stuff wrong.

I went to an all-boys comprehensive where you had to wear a tie and did as you were told.  Most of the teachers were hardened and strict; I guess they had to be when looking after over 1000 boys.  The problem is with a segregated school is the violence.  At my school you either learnt to fight or to run.

I however managed to avoid both as I spent most of my break times with my face against the wall outside the teacher’s lounge or head of years office.  I would love to bump into those old teachers again, but I wouldn’t want to get arrested for damaging such a low bunch of creeps.  I was not a fan.

I found most of them to be on some massive power trip and it seemed like they actually got off on shouting at kids.  I believe that one of the teachers was sacked for molesting a child and one got punched out by a student in an art class.  I remember it well, he threw the boy across a table then the kid got up and smacked him one.

I barely looked up from my charcoal sketch.

There was one PE teacher that made my flesh crawl that shall remain nameless just in case he was the one that felt up them kids.  He used to come into a class to talk to the other teachers and stand in front of their desk.  He would spread his legs with his hands on the desk like he was being frisked and wiggle his arse from side to side as he talked.  To this day I don’t know whether he was doing this on purpose or that he may have been a little backward.

I also remember he got clipped around the back of the head with a hockey stick once and left for dead out on the main field.  Unfortunately he survived; which is more than I can say a guy I went to school with that committed suicide after he beat up and raped his wife.

Ah, memories.

But, aside from all this reminiscing, I do own an obscene amount of horror films; it’s really becoming quite an extensive library.  We are talking in the thousands now.  It’s got to the point where I’m looking to move to a bigger place because we can’t fit any more films in the front room or hallway… or in the bedroom for that matter. They really are everywhere.

But even after viewing so many gore movies I really don’t think that it has led me to become some sociopathic madman.  It’s well documented that I have no real love for the human race and think that the world would be a better place if you all weren’t in it but it’s not the films that have made me like that.

No.

It was my upbringing; a combination of my dysfunction family unit and a personal misanthropic hatred of pretty much all of my teachers.

These are the people that chased me out of the mundane normality of everyday life and into the horrors genres sweet embrace and it hugged me right back.  Within the world of gore I have found a home; a place that I can call my own filled with like-minded people with our own culture unlike anything else here.

Unlike my family and my teachers horror is always there and I can turn to it whenever I want to.  It is mine just as I am horrors.  It always has time for me and I shall dedicate the rest of my waking life to it with my writing.

Horror is my family and my teacher and I have never know it not to be anything but a welcoming escape and a kind heart… even when it’s ripping someone’s guts out through there anus.

Peace.

I would like to use you as a human toilet, my dear

Today I saw a man masturbating at the bus stop.

It was around about half past four in the afternoon in broad daylight as people walked past with their shopping.  It didn’t seem to bother him that he was at a bus stop full of people; there he was with his mitt in the pocket of his oversized tracksuit bottoms scrubbing away.

The man was clearly retarded and when his carer/handler noticed what he was doing all she did was say “Oh, Simon, stop that now.”

A man was wanking at the bus stop and all I could do was watch.

I was waiting for a member of the public to notice what he was doing and go ape shit.

The scream of an elderly lady as she turns her head in shame.  The left hook of the EDL skinhead crossing the road to purposely beat up a mentally handicapped man.  The laughter of children as one of the little ticks throws a super-sized McDonalds strawberry milkshake at the man’s head.  The cheer of the Russian steroid freaks outside the gym as the police struggle to get the wanking man into their squad car.

Ah, I love my town.

The nutter factor is quite high in small towns, and I don’t just mean that there are a few eccentric folk wandering about like you get in the city, oh no.  I mean full blown, call the fucking police this guy’s got tin foil on his head and blood on his hands mental.

I heard about this bloke that sealed up every crack and corner of his house with electrical tape because he thought some ‘agency’ was bugging his place.

And a good few years back I knew a bloke that took so much speed over the space of two years that he was convince that his limbs were on backwards and people could read his thoughts. He ended up in a mental hospital and took his own life a couple of years ago.  Shame really because he was such a nice guy.

Come to think of it, I know a hell of a lot of people that have been sectioned due to heavy drink and drug abuse and I know quite a few that have died too.  I even knew some guy that we suspect died while engaging in the act of autoerotic asphyxiation.  We already knew he was a pervert and well into cheap drugs and post-menopausal women so I didn’t surprise us that this theory (rumour) went around.

Yeah, he had a death wank.  Yeah, we all laughed about it.

How do people know that they are into that sort of kinky stuff anyway?  I can’t think of many everyday scenarios that would lead me into getting a taste for fat German women shitting on a glass coffee tables that I’m underneath, bashing the bishop.

And how do some blokes find out that they like to be wanked off with sand paper stuck inside a bogroll tube?

“I was working in my shed fixing the old cabinet when I tripped over a coiled hose while holding a sheet of wet and dry.  It just so happened that my knob was hanging out…”  No I don’t think so.

I have seen a video where some dude had his genitals turned into a birthday cake with his dick turned into the candle by having a wick stuck down his urethra.  The dominatrix then lit it while she and a few other slaves sang happy birthday to the guy tied to the rack.  He screamed his head off, as best he could with a snooker ball taped in his mouth.

The lonely winter nights just fly by in my apartment.

One of the funniest videos that I have ever seen was a gimp on a go kart that fucked her as she drove along.  The faster she went the deeper and faster the big rubber dick machine smashed into her.

The only way I can describe it is if Steven Hawking had a sex dream and it was captured on film somehow.  And they say that drugs are counter-productive.  Whoever came up with that idea is on a hell of a lot of poppers.

http://www.spankwire.com/Dildo-equipped-Go-kart/video30089/

And this is the point where I lose a majority of my female readers for posting pornography.

Come on, that isn’t porn, that’s just funny.

I know that you’re thinking of getting one.  “Just popping to the shops dear.”  Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!  Dirty cows.

When I was out and about on my travels I came across a shop that sold various marital aids or what I like to call ‘satisfaction contraptions’.  While going over the selection of neon rubber and shiny black things I came across a fascinating toy.  It was a 10” dildo with the strapping necessary to attach the horrid looking cock to one’s foot.

It was literally for kicking someone up the cunt.

I would love to see someone’s reaction when that gets pulled out in the bedroom.  “You remember when you said you were going to kick me in the bollocks love, well…”

Someone out there must have made a full body dildo suit.  A black rubber thing covered in fake dicks so several reasonably priced prostitutes can get-off on every part of the wearers body.  It would look like a bizarre hedgehog or one of those grapefruit wrapped in tin foil with sticks of pineapple and cheese jabbed into it… but with hookers.  I will never be able to look at a buffet table again in the same way.

The thing that gets me is that you may know some of these kinky bastards and not even realise that they have a secret life.

Next time someone serves you coffee at your table, remember that they may have been whipped repeatedly across the tits the night before with a bamboo cane.

The couple from the green grocers that book holidays at swingers resorts because they like to share when it comes to hard fucking.

That bloke that drives the bus you get every morning to work could have spent his weekend pissing on rent boys while his mate filmed through a two way mirror.

The little old lady from down the street that says good morning to you every day likes to have her dog lick honey of her hanging vaginal area.

And that bloke that teaches you son’s math class likes nothing more on the weekend than simulated rape games with his best mate’s wife Vanessa.  He enjoys the power trip, she enjoys the violence and her husband likes to watch.

Well that’s enough from me; I’m off to stick my dick into a pizza’s stuffed crust while a Chinese dominatrix slaps my face with sour cream dip on a ping pong paddle.  Don’t knock it until you try it.

So, it bares the question…  What’s your pleasure, sir?

Deep fried clowns head with a Little Mermaid on the side

I have had the greatest idea for the new McCain oven chips advert.

Instead of the jolly Northern chap high fiving over the arrival of a plate of mechanically processed, reconstituted starch we get the most hideously obese lump in a mobility scooter; stuffing its dirty bloated face with handfuls of the greasy bastards.  Some really sad, unsettling music will be playing as at the end the fat fuck coughs out a single word spraying the camera with partially chewed up potato product…

“CHIPS!”

And then we can do the same sort of thing with ‘Gregg’s’ the bakers.  Some diabetic child spewing up blood as its mother chokes on a fag as she stuffs her new-born’s mouth with an iced doughnut.

What can I say?  I’m an advertising genius.

It’s really not good how they advertise stuff that is by no way good for us with a smile and a catchy slogan.  Main offender – McDonalds.

might need a car jack to get his jaw open a little more!

One of the most unhealthy junk peddlers out there but with a good cross section of age, race and class they smash together an add that gets people queuing out the door and for what?   A pile of sludge that looks nothing like the adverts.

The ads are always bright and show people coming together and smiling over a Big Mac.  A group of carefree teens tuck into a massive box of nuggets after their football practice and a child’s face lights up when given its first Happy Meal.

Utter shit!

I have never seen anything like that in a Maccy-D’s.  A single mother with a tonne of kids hanging off her getting shirty with some spotty little McSpastic because they have run out of apple pies.  A group of hooded youths hanging about outside, intimidating old people and fighting each other with the thick stink of green hanging in the air.  A child laughing at a disabled man as the poor guy eats his fries without the parent of said child correcting the little bastard.  That’s what I have seen in there.

I remember there was a junkie asleep in one of the toilets up at the Charring Cross McDonalds and he had the shit kicked out of him by some lads that managed to get the door of the bog open.

Looking back I have seen some really violent incidents in McShitter ranging from a solid punch round the back of a blokes head in the Gravesend restaurant to a full blown riot (which I may have been involved in) at the Oxford Street branch.  I once saw a man stabbed with a screwdriver outside that place too.

Ah, the memories.

So I guess in a way that particular fast food chain does bring people together, in a very demented pack violence way but at least people are meeting new people.

I don’t like the way they target young people, especially children by tying toys in with that trash.  Disney and McDonalds go pretty much hand in hand and add pressure on the parent by putting some cheap shit made in china Disney toy inside happy meals to get kids to throw more tantrums on the high street.

I don’t like the fact that the food is prepared so quickly, no good food takes seconds to prepare, it’s all about the slow cook movement and good honest home cooked meals.  You can’t live on that sort of crap for too long; you’ll just end up looking like a sweaty slab of lard with organ failure.

For the same price of a family meal at a fast food place you can feed your family healthily, properly but you won’t will you?  You can’t be fucked can you?  No, your knackered from doing next to fuck all for most of the day and can’t be fucked to give your family the nutrition they need.  To KFC for a bucket, that’s right a bucket of deep fried shit with large fries and a few small lumps of corn on the cob.  That’s good for you right; at least one of your five a day right?

And that fucking clown that they use to advertise their tripe.  If there was ever a blueprint to what a paedophile looks like that would be it.  I can’t stand that red haired fucker, every time I’ve seen picture of the monster it gives me the chills.  I can just see him out the back of one of his restaurants stroking the hair of a small boy as he leads him into a dark store room.  The last thing that poor boy will hear is the lock on the door and the lowering of a zip on a pair of oversized yellow trousers.  The blood runs cold.

Don’t get me wrong, I do eat fast food but I try to stay away from the major chains, I don’t mind spending a little cash in my local chicken shop or one of the smaller franchise places like Morley’s or Favourite Chicken because I don’t find them as sinister.  And I love my local kebab shop even though I know that that bag of sheep guts is clogging my arteries quicker than if I ate raw lard and it still makes me laugh that they offer you salad.  I mean the amount of grease running down the elephant’s leg spinning in the window and they offer you a little lettuce and onion to soak it up with.

But I guess it’s one of your five a day right?

And those little pickled goblins cocks that they pass off as chillies, mental and I can only eat them when I’m pissed.

To Kebabylon for the large doner washed down with a couple of cans of 7up… BOOYAA!

Chilli sauce my friend?

And would you like a cup of tea too mate?

A wise man once said – “Nothing closer to my heart than a good cup of British cha.”

I really don’t trust people that are English and don’t drink/like a cup of traditional tea.  There’s something about them that I just can’t put my finger on, just like people that don’t like Led Zeppelin.

There is nothing better than putting your feet up, pouring a cuppa and opening a packet of chocolate Hob Nobs; magic.  One of my top 5 ways to unwind, it’s up there with strangling prostitutes while in to the back wheels (if you know what I mean) or having a death wank while high on poppers.

get it down ya son!

I have always had an affinity to tea and let’s face it this country was built on the stuff.  Can you imagine a building site without some fat bloke sitting there with his arse half hanging out with a cuppa in his hand?

Although, they have been replaced by gym frequenting coke snorting douchebags that spend far too much money on tight shirts and haircuts; tis such a shame.

From an early age I remember the pot being constantly on at my grandparents’ house and I learned to make a brew when I was about 6 or something.  I love a cuppa me.  We used to make it with lose leaf tea and the stuff would have to be black before you poured it and I still have it like that today; milk and two if you’re asking.

Believe me I have pulled birds with my tea making skills, I make a blinder.

I remember when I was living in a mate’s kitchen and they forced me to make tea by whipping me with wet towels.  They were pretty lazy and couldn’t be bothered to chuck the kettle on themselves so I was put through the mill to make the stuff.  Some would call it bullying, others called it character building, I however call it slave labour.  In time the scares will heal and I shall have my revenge.

Kind of got my own back in the end though; the mess that bird and I left on that sofa bed, epic.  The girl shall remain nameless.

Seriously I can’t go a day without at least 5 maybe 6 cups of the stuff but it’s supposed to be good for you right?  And I have recently got my sugar dose down to one teaspoon per cup now so that better for me too right?

And speaking of brewing, I have only gone and gotten myself a new hobby haven’t I; micro-brewing!

I have gotten to the point where I refuse to pay nearly £5 for a pint so I’m making my own that works out to about 70p a litre and the stuff isn’t half bad.  You can get really good starter kits online for about £40 up and be drinking your own 4.5%ABV brews in about three weeks.  The hardest part is choosing which brew to start with.

Some of the pilsners are a little trickier to get going and require a hell of a lot more sugar or malt and a few extra pieces of equipment.

It’s a great pastime and there is a whole unseen underground movement of shed micro-breweries out there and online; from the small scale cheapskate pisshead to full on money making hipster operations.

I have seen some insanely big shed set-ups on the internet including some crazy stills and cider presses, mental stuff.  Really can’t wait to move and get myself a little shed so I can upscale my brewing from a couple of 40 litre brews a month to something like 120 or 160, maybe even a some big stainless steel set up for brewing proper lagers.

I mean a shed shouldn’t be just for storing rusty fucked tools or making pickles and jams.

I’ve had a few bottles of mate’s home brew and the stuff was pretty good.  I’m not a fan of real ales but I don’t mind some of the golden/pale/blond stuff and I do like wheat beers and pilsners.  I’m also slightly partial for a pint or two of a good stout so I might have a bash at that too, throw in some extra sugar to bump up the ABV.

Oh, the black stuff and I’m not just talking about Guinness, one of the best I have ever had was a Czech black beer called Kozel; it was awesome.  I also like a West Indian beer called Dragon stout, it’s about 7%, it good stuff.

There was a stout kit that I saw actually that hit around the 8% mark, might have to invest.

I don’t think it’s illegal to make your own liquor over here like it is in the states, I mean I knew loads of old folk that used to make their own hedgerow brews and if I recall they were a bit mean.  It was that old war wisdom that comes with having to live with rationing and making do with what you’ve got.

Those old dudes knew how to make a box of powdered egg and a tin of corned beef go a long way.

Not like today, if you want anything you can just go to a massive superstore and bulk buy it, and I think that’s a shame as things like home brewing are handy tools and trades to have under your belt.  Think about it, if you have a skill like being able to make alcohol out of stuff that you can find or grow for free, imagine how useful you will be in something like say, a zombie apocalypse.  You will become rather successful… that’s if you don’t get eaten or raped and shot by soldiers that think you’re a zombie.

I mean, if you are going to have to deal with the dead getting up and starting some kind of cannibalistic rampage, you might as well go out with a bottle in your hand and a smile on your face… right?

Unfortunately for you, I’m not the chief commissioning editor of the BBC!

I seriously want to live tweet a junkie’s intervention and not like one that you get on Jeremy Kyle, a proper crack head’s one where the dude is trying to climb out a 5^th story window to get away.

For example – ‘Everyone’s crying and I think Jake has shit himself from withdrawal #jokes #junkiescum!’

How funny would it be, especially if you didn’t know the poor bastard?

Just pretend you’re a doctor or a paramedic or something and put loads of photos up on Instagram; throw in a few Vines for the trendier types.  Nothing says comedy than a crack head trying to smash his own head open against a brick wall to get themselves out of a lengthy rehab.

It is the modern day exorcism but without some jumped up priest and sometimes with a live television audience.

For example, that show ‘to catch a predator’ that aired in the States; great idea.  Go online on some chat room known for underage sexual activity and pose as a child looking for sex with older guys then when they get a  bite invite the old guy around for milk and cookies.

The old dude turns up and enters the house where the kid is waiting; she leaves the room and in walks camera crew and a presenter waiting for them to ask a series of awkward questions.  Some of the excuses were priceless; some even tried to run away in various states of undress.  One bloke even started to masturbate just before the camera crew stepped into the room.

One dude even resorted to killing himself with a concealed firearm to get away, wow, what a show.  We need TV like this over here.  Bold broadcasting that doesn’t pull any punches.

We want to see some bloke shaking out a ten year heroin addiction; it would make Big Brother a hell of a lot more entertaining.

They should take a cross section of junkies and mental patients and lock them up together for a few months and film that.  The carnage, especially when the producers start fucking with their medication and sleeping patterns.

Holy shit can you imagine the complaints.

you want something to complain about? complain about my balls!

“Dear points of view, I was settling down with my usual Horlicks and single digestive biscuit and I switched on my television to see a man covered in faeces raping another man in some drug induced, gang inspired revenge fuck.  I don’t know whats going on over at channel 5, but it just isn’t cricket.”

I’d love to see Terry Wogan smile his way through that one.

There have been a few shows that have tested the morel decency of our fair viewing public for example that channel four efforts where they got a few z-list celebrities to take ecstasy in a controlled environment.  But to be fair no one really wants to see Keith Allen buzzing his tits off telling the presenter how much he loves everything.

Now if it was Lilly Allen I’d have to play the ‘let’s get naked coz we’re buzzing’ card and taken full advantage of the situation and her inebriation.  But again I don’t think the viewers want to see my knob.

Just like we didn’t want to see Lilly’s dad’s knob in that film that time.  Let’s just say I have nothing to worry about, ha-ha!

But they have done this before; good old channel 4 have had people do drugs live on air, I believe it was called TFI Friday with Chris Evans.  They had so many complaints that by the end they could get hardly any guests on the show.  They even got guests on that had caused a stir on previous episodes and timed them before they swore or did something outrageous.

I think we all remember Shaun Rider.

There is a show over in Russia I believe that is paving the way for out there TV.  It’s called HIP SHOW and the idea is that there are two teams of two and they have to negotiate an assault course while kicking the shit out of the other team using mixed martial arts.  Let me tell you, this show is brutal.

It’s like someone out there actually heard everyone say that they wished Gladiators was real where people actually got hurt and made that a thing.

And if a person gets hurt and wheeled off to the medical room the fun doesn’t stop, no way; it just becomes 2 on 1.  Seriously dudes and dudettes, the person on their own get taken the fuck out.

game on comrade!

From what I can gather as my Russian is a little off one player grabs the guy on his/her own and the other team mate punches the living fuck out of the guy’s head until he/she nearly dies and that’s how you win.

You have to check this show out.  http://youtu.be/5WqizUW22vE

And how extreme do we go?  A pack of wannabe arseholes sitting about moaning that they don’t have any cigarettes and we watch on the off chance they might get pissed and fight/fuck each other.  Good night.

Drop me out, I’m moving to Russia.

I’ve heard the homemade drugs scene over there is phenomenal.