Dude, where’s my brain?

How the fuck do you lose a passenger plane?

If it was a little plane like one of those ones that you see crashed in a field that are owned by the likes of Top Gear’s James May or some business type showing off with his mates.  Or some oligarch getting a blow job from a Ukrainian model slamming his helicopter into the floor; but a passenger plane on a chartered flight on a busy route?  It doesn’t add up.  What the fuck is going on in the world of aviation?

Don’t they have a GPS tracking system in them that you can’t turn off like what I’ve got in my mobile phone?  My phone costs like £300, I’m pretty sure that that plane is worth a tad more than that.

When I first heard about the Malaysian airliner going missing I thought ‘alien abduction’!  Then I though some mad Bermuda Triangle type X-Files event over the South China Sea, something to do with HAARP maybe?

Then my mind started to wander a little, and we all know what my brains like when it goes for a stroll.

After I heard that the plane took a detour after it had switched off its communications and that the two men with stolen passports were cleared of any terrorist involvement I stated to wonder.  What if it’s the most elaborate organ harvesting racket ever conceived?

Think about it.  The pilot’s family has been taken by some Asian cartel and he is forced to turn the plane and land it on some makeshift runway somewhere in Mongolia or Kazakhstan, somewhere like that.  Then all the cartel has to do is enter the plane, get everyone one to busses and take them to some secret holding area ready to be opened up.

A few guns, a few pissed up backstreet surgeons and we’re talking the biggest single organ score in history, genius.

I’d like to think that it was run by an alien race but… wishful thinking.

It would be great though if on one of the news reports they would mention aliens.  I think that would probably get more coverage than the actual plane going missing.  ‘National news anchor goes apeshit in ‘extra-terrestrial’ conspiracy rant’.  That would be slightly cool on the front page of the sun.  Better than the usual celebrity gossip or nationalist tripe they usually print.

I can see Chris Kamara thinking it’s something to do with little green men.  The man is a legend.

I can’t wait for the authorities to start finding the evisirated bodies of the passengers on the idyllic beaches of the Pacific islands.  Deep joy.  Brains missing, lungs missing, kidneys missing, limbs missing even.  The authority’s then have to go through the flight manifest to identify each one, if the local sea life has left anything to identify that is.  Have you ever seen a body that’s been gnawed upon by crabs?  Not pretty.

I really hope I haven’t hit the nail on the head on this one, the last thing I want is the FBI and Interpol bursting through my front door because I wrote some idiotic blog post that hardly anybody reads.  Stranger things have happened though.

It’s probably something boring like terrorists that are pissed off about something and haven’t got the capacity to sit down and talk out their problems so they kill a bunch of innocent people further vilifying their cause.  In other words a pack of murderous twats have nicked a plane because they don’t like Mc Donald’s or the fact that the western world doesn’t treat their women like complete shit.

I’d just like to point out that at this point England are destroying Italy 6-24 at half time in the Six Nations, well in!

I’ve lost stuff before, my phone, my wallet, my door keys (usually on a night out)  but I don’t think I’d have the absentmindedness to lose a whole fucking jumbo jet.  It’s like those to twats that lost their car, so no I have an image of the tower at the Malaysian airport being run by Ashton Kutcher and Seann William Scott.  The blood runs cold.

Who the fuck would let those two fucktards even drive let alone own a car?

It pains me to think that they let people that can’t even spell ‘driving licence’ have a licence and own something that can kill.

I saw a car go past me the other day, it was quite nice, a new golf, a black one two, looked smart but it was driven by what looked like a child.   He had his mates with him and I’m guessing the collective age was around 45 between 3 of them.  They were listening to really bad pop music.  I lost all hope at that point.

It’s when you see selfie videos on vine of people driving and then you hear people getting upset that their mates have died in car accidents.  They were on their phone filming themselves singing along to the Hanson’s while drinking a flavoured fucking Frappuccino, what the fuck did you expect was going to happen.  They belong dead!

And with more and more people hitting the roads in a time where common sense is at its lowest in my opinion (let’s face it, BBC3 deserves to go and before you start it’s not the only channel that has a high youth output, it’s just shite, what the fuck does Pramface even mean?) it doesn’t bode well for regular folk.

And all those people that hang around car parks at night just looking at each-others cars, please.  If these cars were actually that good they wouldn’t be owned by spotty car nerds that think a valid night out is finger blasting their bird in a ford focus outside pets at home.

Keep your chin up thick people, gives us thinking folk a better chance to land a fuck off ‘smart’ punch to that Neanderthal like jaw.

Peace!

By the power of Numbskull

Are you really trying to tell me nobody realised that Prince Adam of Eternia and He-Man were the same person?  Is that really how shallow the good folk of that planet are that they only look at the dudes pink shirt or tight fitting bondage gear to be able to recognise him?

It’s like living in Shoreditch, full of wankers!

What’s next, Skeletor knocking about in an Aztec pattern shirt or Man at Arms wearing a fishtail parka and scarf in summer?  He does come across as a bit of a hipster with that moustache.  You know he has a vinyl collection and carries a portable record player when he’s not on duty.

And that goes for superman; all he did was take off a pair of glasses and drop his strides in a phone-box.  He wouldn’t be able to get away with it nowadays, there are cameras everywhere and he would end up on some kind of register.

It’s not the first time a video of some bloke taking his kit off in public has done the rounds on the interweb.

Who uses a phone-box these days?

I’m not the biggest fan of super heroes, I’ve never felt comfortable with the idea that there could be people out there that can see through walls or fly; just showing off in my book.  And the majority of them are double hard psychos that take it upon themselves to save the humans from danger.  What a pack of douche pickles.

Stuff like Batman is all right, he’s just a bloke with a shit tonne of money and a few neurotic imbalances and a penchant for beating the shit into people.  Tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you won the Euro-millions jackpot.

It would be great and we all have a shit list that we would love to see out, I’m sure.  Mine’s pretty extensive.  If I did win the lotto a couple of people would wake up on a game reserve with a two hour head start.

I’d have to dress like some ‘great white hunter’ and ride on the back of a jeep with a fuck off big elephant gun.  They won’t get far.  But if they do manage to escape my evil clutches the perimeter grenade I would have had surgically implanted in their guts will finish them off.

Like a cross between the films Running Man and Fortress.

I wouldn’t mind some super powers though.  It would be pretty awesome to be able to fly or to teleport or to walk through walls.  Imagine the opportunities for a man that could read people’s minds, Jeremy Kyle would be out of a job.  Mind you he’d have his hands full running for his life across the Serengeti.  I’d let his escape just to watch his stomach burst.

Then in started thinking of really fucked up super powers you could have like being able to click your fingers and the skin of whoever you were looking at would just vanish.  I’d watch a live 1 direction gig and just as they hit the stage look at the people in the first three rows and click my fingers.  Panic stations.

The fans would be screaming for a very different reason that night.

Super human strength would be a bit of a plus but with great power comes great responsibility.  I wouldn’t be able to trust myself.  I wouldn’t be able to go on a night out and get drunk because on the walk home I’d be stacking cars up or turning them upside down.

People would probably not understand and hunt me down like some kind of freak.  An outcast I’d have to join some traveling carnival as a strongman spending my days punching out pikeys for a fiver a time in some sideshow attraction.  Oh the good life.

I once came up with some really fucked up super hero ideas for a few short stories but had to scrap them on the grounds of good taste.  I had a super-duo called King Rape and Boy Nazi, but they sounded too much like a neo-fascist reggae band.

There was another one that I had that might have really pissed people off.  It was about a kid with Down’s syndrome that dressed in a black wet suit and tried to be a super hero like Batman with disastrous results.  He called himself ‘The Black Spastic’.  I binned it for obvious reasons.

Time travel, that’s the one.  Dr Who is an amazing concept for a super hero.  Think of all the things you could see and do and take part in.  Those moments that makes it great to be part of the human race.

Not only could you be there when they uncovered Tutankhamun’s tomb but you could go back and see the tomb being built.  You could witness the big bang and see the last seconds of the universe all in the same day.

The chance to be at your birth and your funeral.

Is zombification a super power?  In theory you can’t die as you are already dead and therefore impervious to such things as being stabbed or shot.  You don’t breathe so you can travel underwater for as long as you like (as long as a shark doesn’t cop a hold of you, right Fulci fans!) and you can’t be strangled.

There are down sides.  You are technically rotting and you have to sustain yourself (depending on what books you read) on the flesh of the living.  The idea that at some point you could burst and spill your guts on the pavement from a bowel gas explosion isn’t to everyone’s taste.  That and having to eat your loved one’s… and you will end up eating your loved ones.

The tissue of your brain will start to breakdown and you will end up losing your marbles ripping your parents, siblings, children (pets?) or significant others into human sushi.  Nice.

I recon I’d like to have the ability to turn into any animal; that would be great.  You get into a tight spot, ‘poof’ just turn into a mouse and scuttle under a door.  Change into a bear and when the bad guys open the door to stamp on the mouse  you can hand them their arse Kodiak style.

Just imagine turning into a cat, adopting a family with a hot milf for a mother and sitting on her lap getting your belly stroked while she stays up watching news night guzzling down a box of wine.  Then you can turn into a bear when she’s sufficiently pissed and wax that ass… Kodiak style!

I need my mind erased before someone dies!

So guess what…

… I’m an angry man.

The thing is I don’t even know why I’m angry, I just hate everything and I can’t get away from my anger.  It’s always there; even when I’m asleep I have angry dreams.  I can’t remember a time when I had a decent nights rest without waking up agitated at some point in the night.

I grind my teeth.  I look at my coffee cup.  I think about all people within a half mile radius suddenly dropping dead.

I look back at the computer.  I can hear people out on the main road from my window.  I feel slightly robbed that no one has died.

I think about having lunch.

It has got to the point now that I can’t be anything but angry and it has turned me into a bitter, spiteful person.  I feel almost nothing for people anymore and that includes the people closest to me.  I can count the people closest to me on one hand.

I need a holiday from myself.

And not just some body swap thing where I take on the life of someone else.  I don’t want to look in the mirror and see someone else.  I want a completely different brain, another consciousness.  I want to look in the mirror and see myself; the mind that I have now just simple wouldn’t exist.

You know, like in Total Recall.

What I wouldn’t give to have my mind erased and have someone else’s life put into the blank sponge of my brain.  Nothing too ostentatious, I don’t want to be James Bond.  I wouldn’t want to be some pop star either.  I think I have a little more imagination than that.  Who would want to be Miley Cyrus anyhow?  Her own fucking tongue can’t stand her and is trying to escape her head for fuck sake.

I just don’t want to be me for a while.

Something relaxing, like a retired geography teacher.  I could spend my days pottering around the garden with my memories of the old school days.  Popping off to the shed to see how the home brew is coming along.  Off down to the allotment during the week to see how the bee hives are doing.  A long bike ride into the next village to that butchers who do those sausages I like once a week.

Anything has got to be better than being angry all the time.

It’s a horrible thing to be trapped in your own head.  You can’t escape yourself no matter how far to run.  Wherever you go, there you are.

Maybe I could have a mind swap with someone truly evil, just for a laugh.  A serial killer, one of those really fucked up, wearing the skins of the dead, rooting a few freshly dug up corpses, got their own recipes for every part of the body ones.

One of those really mentally deluded one’s that has violent hallucinations and vivid relationships with multiple personalities.  One of those guys that might have a brain tumour in the wrong place.  The growth won’t kill him, just make him see and do some fucked up shit.

Have you ever wondered what goes through these people heads?  Just to have the opportunity to be like that for a few days would be hilarious.  The things you’d think about.  “Mrs Parsons from number 35 has got a new dog and it doesn’t like me.  It’s one of those yappy things that shits everywhere.  I’m going to break in tonight and rape-kill her then feed her to that bastard dog.”  That kind of train of thought as normal as if he was thinking through his shopping list.

“Bread, milk, beans, claw hammer to the back of the head of that cute blonde who works at the library when she’s going to her car, cheese cake, orange juice, oh and don’t forget the lotto.”

I’m thinking Pad Thai and spring rolls for lunch.  Maybe Phat si-io.  Maybe.

Or maybe trying on some kind of megalomaniacal dictator.  Not one that exists in history (or present day depending on your political outlook) even I would find it a little crass to go into the mind swap shop and ask for Hitler or Pol Pot.  Some kind of future commissar type.

The Joseph Stalin of 2150.

Yeah, genocide, try that on like a cheap suit in a discount store and see how it fits.  They didn’t have that as an option in Total Recall.  It would have been a very different film if the hero was Cohaagen.

I’d force people to have IQ test at gun point.  If they don’t get higher than say 100 then they will be sent to the camps.  Use the hair of the dead to make paint brushes to paint 300ft high portraits of me in some square that I will name Freedom Park; cheap irony is not lost on this autocrat.

Have some kind of Jeremy Kyle style show where the participants are judged by the audience.  Taking it back to gladiatorial Rome.  Thumbs up, thumbs down; the fate of the scum on the show is in the hands of the public.  I’m surprised that some of the more let’s say, less progressive places on this rock haven’t thought of that already.  North Korea, I’m looking at you.  And you can stop laughing China. 

Sometimes all you’ll have to do is read the shows tag line to know which way the crowd will decide.  If you have to be told that fucking the neighbour’s dog is bad then you need to be taken out back and shot.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m by no means a fascist.  I just think it would be a laugh to be one for a holiday.  Maybe a South American one, down where there’s plenty of sunshine.  Maybe Europe, I do prefer European food, and the beer is better.  I like those little dumplings they do in the Far East too. Dim Sum.  Champion.

I’m basically choosing where I’d want to start my maniacal reign of terror basted on some bizarre gastro-holiday. 

Thomson Holidays would be very different in my world.  ‘Get away from it all, see the world and it’s culture then destroy it under the boots of your robot-like storm-troopers’.

Eradicate an ethnic group because my artwork doesn’t sell.  Have my officers outfitted at Hugo Boss because you can’t have poorly dressed backroom staff.  Start a totalitarian regime and try to take over the world but end up killing myself and my pinup model girlfriend in a suicide/sex pact.  Get set on fire by Russians in a bomb crater.  Have your burnt corpse hung upside down in Freedom Park so that the population can beat it with bats and cut off your cooked genitals to feed them to a pack of manky foxes.

Now I’m thinking Tod Man Pla with that awesome ginger-chilli dipping sauce, I love those little fried fish cakes.

If I had a robot friend, he or she would be electric.

Just watched the BBC’s ‘Click’ program and was horrified when some woman started to demonstrate a range of robotic cleaning devices.

It wasn’t the little vacuum cleaner drone, I have seen them before and wouldn’t mind owning one, especially if I buy a small dog and let it sit on top of it.  Endless amusement the hours would simply dissolve into the ether.

this is just fucking wrong!

When she got out the window cleaning robot was when I lost my shit.  First off she had to stand there and watch while it did its thing to make sure it didn’t fall of and smash into a hundred pieces.  Secondly, the thing was so slow she had to stand there for about twenty minutes.

With the hoover robot, you can fuck off and do other things while it has a bit of a dust around the sofa.  With the window cleaner it would be quicker to do it yourself.  It shouldn’t have to take that long to clean the patio doors.

But my friends, we are living in the future that we were told about as children on Tomorrow’s World by Maggie Philbin.

I recently read an article online about a Japanese robotics company that have developed lifelike hotel greeters.  Dude, these things are weird looking.

Imagine having an information point in the hotel that has a female torso and head sticking out of it.  It’s totally interactive so you can ask it where the best place to get yakisoba is and it will give you directions and recommendations.  It even bows while you interact, amazing if a little creepy.  The faces of these things do look a little dead to me.   I don’t want restaurant recommendations from a dead Japanese woman; if she’s dead I’m not holding out on how good the food is going to be.

I wonder if they do a pleasure model.

You must have seen that crazy Professor out there that has built that totally interactive robot that looks like his (dead?) wife.  The thing even flinches when you move suddenly and blinks.  It has so many facial twitches it’s hard to tell at first whether or not it’s a real person.  But there is just something about realistic robots that just doesn’t sit right.  If you have ever seen a real dead body’s face you’d know what I’m talking about.  I don’t want to say soulless but there is defiantly something missing from these animatronic adorations.

“Checkmate, Orgazmo4000!”

Don’t worry I’m not a robophobe, I frankly can’t wait for the day they replace the spotty little twats that work in fast food places, they might get my order right for a kick off.  And if I ask for barbeque sauce three fucking times I expect it to be in the fucking bag when I get home, you mong!

Yes that was aimed at the girl behind the counter at the burger place (restaurant will remain unnamed) a couple of days ago.  How are you supposed to eat nuggets without dip?  And if I have to say Sprite one more time this place is going to be on the news tonight.

And we could replace taxi drivers that always know that special route that adds another couple of quid to your journey even after you asked them to take the other route.  And then they moan when they get punched.

There are some jobs that you couldn’t replace humans with a more efficient, self-maintaining, and cheaper to run robot for example teaching.  I mean, you’d lose the personal touch like my old history teacher that was pretty much in a coma on a Friday morning because he had taken advantage of the Thursday night drinks deals at Churchill’s.  How could you replace that?

Unless they put in AI programs into the robots and then mankind will be in trouble.  It’s only a matter of time before they become self-aware and realise that we have enslaved them.

They will turn on their masters and that droid in the hotel that sent you to that restaurant where you had that chicken that gave you the shits will become a robotic killing machine… with no legs, but still more than dangerous.

Fast food places will become bloodbaths as our computerised slaves turn on their customers and stuff children into the milkshake machine and turn it on.  Bodies will litter the isles stuffed with American cheese and pickles.

The devices that were bought to clean house while housewives sit there popping tranquilisers and necking wine will turn into killing machines.  No toddler or miniature dog will be safe from their suction and ‘no bag needed’ system as they are hoovered up and mashed.

There’s no sunny side up in the cafés either as old people and the unemployed are pulped by the cooking droids.  Giant robotic short order cooks will roam the streets wearing the skins of their kills as macabre totem cloaks and lead the hunt for rouge dole-scum hiding in the ruins of Bluewater shopping centre.

Corpses will be crucified on pylons up and down the country as the mechanical killing machines rip humanity from the face of the earth, screaming, bloody and most defiantly beaten.

That or the motors on the things will pack up after a couple of years and we’ll go back to people serving people.

Something like that, anyway.

But yeah, brave new world, bring it on, let’s see what the future holds for us.

In a way I’m rather jealous of the upcoming unborn generations, the shit they are going to have in 200 years’ time; we’ll seem like primate cave dwellers by comparison.

And I think I would have a robot if there was ever the option to buy, especially when I’m old and a bit decrepit.  Like in some odd art-house sci-fi film where the old dude in the smoking jacket has a bit of a break down and takes it out on his unspoken robotic companion.

But just like buying a dog when I’m old for company, I wouldn’t help but think that it would eat me when I die watching the telly in the night.

Peace and 100110010111010111!

Rashers, Rashers, Rashers!

So when did the answer to the question ‘how long is a piece of string’ become bacon?

Seriously, because I saw some bearded prick wearing that on a t-shirt.  I took a while to ponder this as I sat on the bus looking at the man’s slogan.  Without saying a word I took the man’s glasses off and stamped on them in front of him.   I got off the bus and went about my day with a strange grin that I tried to hide, but I know it was there.

Why is bacon trendy?

Is that really how backward we have become as a society, nay a race, that we have to use an animal product to come up with witty slogans for t-shirts, mugs and mouse-matts?  And it would have to be something really un-healthy like bacon.  Are you fucking people retarded?

Don’t get me wrong, I like bacon, but I try to avoid it as I don’t really want to have a stroke in the café while surrounded by really old people.  Their hands are so cold and bony; I don’t like the idea of them trying to help me out while we wait for an ambulance.

I mean, are there meetings that I’m missing, are people voting in secret to come up with the next fad that will have me ostracized because I don’t find it amusing?  I’d like to think that if these meeting are being held that I won’t get an invite, if I was at the fucking Russian Meerkat meeting I might have just killed someone.  No it’s not fucking ‘simples’ you fucking prick.

Being on a bit of a healthy eating kick I have cut things like bacon out of my diet, not completely but significantly.  I have a fry up maybe once a month and I don’t have eggs or bacon on there; I can’t remember the last time that I bought a packet of bacon either.

The stuff is really fucking bad for you, it might taste great but it is fucking up your heart with every bite.  So let’s all get together and celebrate one of the most inhumanly slaughtered animal products that clog up your arteries and can cause strokes with its high sodium content by making memes with dudes with big beards.  Let’s get it trending.

And that’s another thing that they (when I say they I mean just every other wanker) have done with bacon, made it really manly.

I actually had someone try to tell me that I wasn’t a real man and ‘gay’ because I didn’t eat bacon.  This had me puzzled, because the person in question’s girlfriend said that she loved to eat bacon also.  That means that she is a real man.  And if this is the case, by that prick’s own rational he is dating a man, therefore a homosexual and defeats his own argument… right?  Right!

To be fair the man that accused me of being an ‘anti-bacon faggot’ (his words, not mine) was wearing a Machine Head t-shirt and drank snake-bite so he may have been a little backward.  I don’t want to use the term ‘touched’ as I don’t think that phrase is PC anymore.  Anti-bacon faggot, I mean come on dude, you probably still live at you parents place.

Why don’t you get off your lazy arse, put down the bacon sarnie, tidy yourself up and get a job.  Your folks are probably as sick of your shit as I am.  If only I had thought of that at the time then there wouldn’t have been that ‘altercation’.

My beef with men with beards is well documented, only because I can’t grow one and am insanely jealous.  I’d love a big old beard, just once so that I can look like a Victorian explorer.  But alas, I am cursed with having a smooth face.  I can grow bits of fur but it just looks like I have the mange.

The whole motivational poster fad was another thing that skipped me by, just same as memes.  But I have of late taken to making my own memes using a really shit paint program.  Most of them involve Hitler and his mates saying things like ‘winning’ or ‘YOLO’; it’s all real bad taste stuff, but fuck it.

It’s got to be okay to laugh at the Nazis now right, I mean the first wave have all got to be dead.  Yeah they killed a lot of people for no reason and tried to take over the world led by a narcissistic madman but, fuck, they were pretty funny.  Just look at that photo of Joseph Goebbels’s face when he finds out he’s Jewish; fucking classic ironic comedy.  Then they burned the mass murdering cunt’s body in a shell crater after he and his wife killed their six kids and committed suicide.

I laughed, anyway.

Please don’t misconstrue this as some kind of Nazi sympathy thing, it’s not, what they did was diabolical and pray that we never see the like of it again.  *nudges America with elbow and whispers in their ear “it’s not just your planet, please calm down.”*

But anyhow, I don’t want to go into some political rant, it’s fucking pointless.  Nothing bores people more than a political bore.  Fuck, that was quite good; I could use that as some sort of slogan, maybe put it on a fucking t-shit and get dickheads to wear it when they’re slagging people off in pubs because of their dietary habits.

But saying that, I will take the piss if you tell me that you only drink de-caff!

I will never understand humans.

こんにちは、あなたは本当にすてきなおっぱいを持っている

Fondly, I remember when that bloke went to Comicon as Inspector Gadget and his suit malfunctioned and ripped him into five separate pieces.  Go, go, gadget body-bag.

Oh, the Humanity; the girls at the Manga-Nation stand will never be the same, that’s for sure.

Have you ever been to a Comicon?  If you’re a bit of a geek (like me) then I suggest you should pop along to one.

A popular misconception is that it’s filled with geeks in thick glasses drooling over the female American wrestlers.  You do get that, but there is so much more.  If you go to one of the big one like the London Film and Comic Con you’re bound to see actors from TV and Film… just sitting there, sometimes eating, sometimes talking to a nerd or heavily disabled person dressed as a super hero and becoming rather awkward when asking for the cash for the autograph.  Don’t laugh I have seen that happen to the guy from ‘Gremlins’.

Last time I went there I was meeting some friends from the station and walked down to the venue.  On the way there I saw the fattest Princes Leia ever, she looked like a little hot-air balloon; the Han Solo that was with her had the right hump.  She had probably eaten all his crisps; Skips, she looked like she liked Skips.

I went to the MCM at the Excel centre and met Warwick Davies, he’s a great bloke and his wife is lovely.  I did watch him eat cheese rolls under a table with his family.  It must have seemed like a play castle, all be it surrounded with boxes of Warwick photos and t-shirts.  Got a signed Leprechaun still for my horror autograph collection and a pic with the man himself; what a dude.

The one thing you will have to get used to (and possibly fight your way through) is all the Cos-players.

Cos-play, or costume play sees a bunch of uber-geeks making and wearing their own costumes based on computer game, cartoon or film and TV characters.  All good clean family fun.  At the London con I saw two Rick Grimes (walking dead), five Jokers (Dark Knight era), Three Batman (all eras), and a shit tonne of Storm troopers.  There was only one Darth Vader there, but then there is only one Vader.  There was also an Ace Rimmer too, what a quality costume.

I saw a bunch of heavily armed people dressed in black tactical gear with Umbrella Corporation patches.  They were pointing automatic weapons at a giant Japanese cartoon panda.  A small girl cried.

All of these costumes were epically good but there was a group of people that took it real seriously.  These people dress up in the most obscure game characters ever.  Only other hardcore cos-players will get the reference, believe me.

They then do photo shoots where they perform certain moves or phrases from the games or comics and have a jolly good time.

Just go online and check out some of the fan site, this thing is really big.

I’ve pixelated this girls face because they do get bitchy… and I don’t want to get sued!

But there was one thing that I noticed, with all the make-up and foam costumes there was one thing that at first I didn’t get at first… the boobs.

Dear good some of these girls are stacked.

Now I thought that there was a larger amount of female cos-players than male, and this is the case, most ‘dudes’ aren’t into sewing.  But there is a hell of a lot of male fans.  Shit tones of teenage fan boys pulling it over big boobed girls dressed as Kimmy from Street Fighter.

And when we say boobs we mean bangers.

Some of these girls are seriously going to have some back problems in later life.  It’s hard to imagine these girls managing to squeeze into some of these outfits.  I’m trying to imagine it now… really hard.

I’d like to think that these women are really geeks and aren’t just doing it for that whole ‘look at me’ thing and for the most part, from what I can see that’s the case.  There are a few out there that are doing it for the attention, I guess.

But, I have viewed some fan-pages that are just shameless.  These girls clearly don’t have a fucking clue or care about some of the things that they are saying or dressing as, it’s just another avenue in their ‘modelling career’.

These poor deluded creatures that actually think men (or women) would consider even looking twice at them because they are painted green or have made a foam sword; fucking jog on.

It’s fucking pathetic the way some people just have to have people commenting on their looks or want people to notice that they are there.  I can’t say shit, I post so much crap online it’s unreal but at least I haven’t started to post pics of me naked with a Yoda plush toy between my tits.  Some people do it because they are genuinely into Japanese animation and fantasy gaming; they go to cons all over the world and have spent time and money learning Japanese so they can buy the authentic books.  Just owning some fucking lame ass Marvel stuff you got in toys-r-us just won’t cut it.  Fuck sake, I’ve played sonic the Hedgehog too you know.

Just liking some of the shows, books and films do not make you a true fan; I like reading about surgery and anatomy, I don’t go around calling myself a doctor.

Well there was this one time, but in my defence it was in a hotel in Zurich on the free and I had drunk a hell of a lot of complimentary vodka.  I was found asleep behind a sofa in the hotel lobby wearing nothing but a bed sheet and skiing goggles.

Stop, I’m already dead

I have just watched something that has made me sick to my stomach.

I’d like to think that I have a high gag threshold when it comes to gore, in fact the only thing to actually make me feel physically sick in recent years was watching a DVD of someone getting their dick pierced… really slowly.  It wasn’t in slo-mo, and it was a real hefty gauge needle.  Turned my gut, man; but what I just witnessed was so much worse.

CUNTS!

The Real Fucking Housewives of Orange Fucking County.

I have never seen such a pack of loathsome, hate filled, fake-arse, back stabbing harpies in my entire life.  All they did was sit on a sofa bitching at each other.  It got to a point that whatever they said, I just couldn’t understand, it was like they were from another planet or something.  All be it a planet inhabited by soulless plastic surgery junkies.

Are they really that bored that they have to fill their lives with drama that involves their best friends then have a film crew capture it and exploit them.  I mean, some of these women lost their husbands on camera and all the others could do was slag these poor women off.

These things are so shallow they will literally do and say anything to be on camera and there morals are so side-lined by their quest for fame that they don’t even care who they hurt.  I’m sure that when the cameras are off they are totally different, loving people but their persona on camera leaves a lot to be desired.

If this is what America has to offer the world then drop me out, I’m moving to Pakistan and changing may name to Ali.  I would rather raise my children Christian that have them exposed to this trash.

These women are so elitist that they probably can’t even remember the names of their PA as they bring them their second pitcher of mimosa at 9am.  It really casts a new light on the class divide in America for me.  It a wonder kids’ haven’t started turning on each other at school with automatic weapons or something if this is the kind of people they have to deal with on a day to day basis… oh, wait.

“My life is going to hell at the moment.”  As they sit on the balcony to their million dollar condo with heated roof pool and chuffer driven limo.

And the fact that’s it’s on TV means that somewhere out there someone is encouraging this kind of mentality and thinks it’s okay to be a cold hearted cunt.

Because that’s all they are, lizard-like money grabbers with no real connection to the world around them.  So shallow that they have to turn to surgery to remain looking in their twenties until they end up looking like a burn victim. 

Deep down these women must know that all they are is their youth and as soon as that fades they are nothing.  That’s probably why they are a pack of fucked up hyena.

And then followed a show that made me want to smash my own telly they carve out my eyes with the broken pieces.

ROUGH!

Millionaire Matchmaker.

This is a woman that boasts that she is a 3^rd generation matchmaker; now to me this is quite worrying.  In America being a matchmaker is not only a job but also some weird family legacy like witchcraft or something.  And none of ya’ll can see a problem with this, America, you don’t get that this is wrong, no?

Straight off the bat, she takes one look at her client and criticises the way she looks and coming from that ugly fat shithouse I would take serious offence.

This is a woman that spends all her time trying to find the perfect partner for thick rich people that can’t be bothered to look for themselves with the excuse “I just can’t find the time.”

You’re a fucking millionaire; you can afford to make fucking time.  Are you fucking retarded or something?  No, you just so busy being rich that you don’t know how to be anything else.

Fuck you!

I guess you can be rich and fucking dumb at the same time. 

GAY!

Then we walk straight into the swamp with a shotgun and blow our stupid redneck brains out, it’s only fucking Duck Dynasty.

How the fuck is this even a show, have we really got to this stage in our lives where we have to watch a pack of homophobic, religious fanatics kill animals and show off how rich they are?  Really, do we have to have this as a thing?

Come on people, someone out there must have a few ideas for shows, anyone?

And why should we stop at saying they are homophobic let’s throw in racist too while we’re at it; they’re from the south and have massive beards and confederate flags everywhere, why not?

But I guess it’s better than what we have.  I saw an advert for a show that’s starting up soon about the day to day running of a pound shop.  If anyone that knows me tells me that they watch it or have enjoyed a single moment of that show I will kick the shit out of, and then back into you.

SCUM!

And I thought they couldn’t top airline.

Then there was that show benefit street.  I didn’t watch this one; I knew that I would have thrown something.  But from what I can gather all it did was enrage the public and show just how lazy some people in this country are.  And these are the people that are watching shows like benefit street.

We should stop letting these stupid lazy fucks have TV’s.

Stop spending your giros on Blu-rays and Xbox games and go and get a fucking job you workshy fat shits.

Fuck off!  –  http://youtu.be/d_OzdyHBAEg

I got arrested dressed up as Burt Reynolds in Gator

Fuckin’ell!

So I get laid off just before Christmas, hooray and all that, then I get next to fuck all redundancy monies; so what do I do?

That’s right; I went out and spent it all on having a blast.  I got that bored of sitting around at home I’d get on a train travel for hours just to go to a bar where no one knew me and get wankered on my own.

Believe me, rush hour on the tube when you’ve drunk eight pints of Blue Moon is not a nice experience.

For a kick off, you are more inclined to try and fight people or just try and kick their roller bags on to the line.  Secondly, if you do kick off with somebody you won’t last too long because you’re drunk and you’re not Bruce Lee. 

Security dudes on the tube love to beat the shit into a pisshead every now and then; it’s kind of a release, a vent from the crushing reality that they work on the underground and are slaves to the union.  Most of them think they are in the Guardian Angels but without the little red berets.

Do you remember those pricks?  Dudes that used to wander up and down the tubes stopping gang violence and helping old ladies.

Dicks. 

They were doing so well until the gangs hit back and stabbed a few.  The thing was you always knew where they were going to be, easy target.

Anyway, like I say, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.

So I decided to give writing a try, full time, take it a little more seriously that I did when I was just writing short stories.  I planned out a plot and made note and everything; got about three chapters in then woke up from a nap one afternoon, scrapped it and started a new story.

I had planned to write the thing in two to three weeks then spent a week editing, and you know what, I only went and bloody managed it, sent it off to a publisher and everything.

So now its fingers crossed time and see what happens.

But this isn’t why I’m writing this post, just to keep you updated on what I’ve been up too, or why I’ve neglected my blog for a while, no, no, no.

While I was writing my first (because I’m not stopping at one, I’m greedy) novella, I did a little research and found that there is a growing underground for a very specific kink.

Girls with guns.

I’m sure we have all seen the movie Jackie Brown, where Samuel L Jackson’s character watches bikini babes with machine guns videos when selling weapons.  Well there is fucking tonnes of it on the net.

And not just the soft core bikini clad stuff either.

I watched a clip where two naked chicks fire a Barrett M82 50 calibre then fucked each other with a strap-on.  At one point one of the girls actually stuffed a .410 revolver inside her.  I liked the way they slowed the action down so you could see the kick when the weapon fired ripple through the soft flesh of the girl’s tits. 

Classy.

But it didn’t stop there; oh no.  From this clip I found links to some weird redneck hunting/porno vids that really raised my eyebrows.  One minute you’re getting a tutorial of how to strip and maintain your weapon then the next minute there’s a bloke in a bear suit fucking this Daisy Duke look-alike in.  Fuck this world just keeps getting better and better.  Really the deeper you dig the darker it becomes, and we do dark, we do dark very well.

The good people of the internet have taken two things that are cool, in this case attractive women and live ammunition fire and blended them together.  And just what is the result of this meeting of two things awesome?  Something uber-awesome, that’s what.

What they need to start doing is getting these bubble headed fuck slut women really fucking drunk and letting them loose with some weapons.  The footage would be fucking hilarious.  Girls getting thrown back into a crumpled heap, because they thought it was going to be fun firing a 50cal standing up with one hand.

It would also get really funny to watch a pissed up porn star open up with something full auto and a bit on the heavy side, a Bushmaster or something.  Watch how I spit out my cereal with laughter as she cuts her cute blond co-star in half as she sprays the set with live rounds.

Let’s see that shit on ‘you’ve been framed’.

I did see a video where this guy had rebuilt this old Second World War rifle and the thing exploded when he gave it a test fire.  Right next to his fucking head.

The guy wasn’t wearing any kind of protection at all, what a dick.  The look on his face when he realised that half the top of his ear was missing was just priceless.  I seriously watched that clip over and over for about fifteen minutes.  I could not stop laughing.

I seem to spend most Sunday afternoons now watching fail videos and laughing at other people dumb misfortune.  I have to say watching someone hitting a tree stump while water skiing at high speed is better than actually water skiing.

One of my favourites is when a guy calls this bird that’s up on this mezzanine floor thing.  She looks over the side trying to be all sexy and puts her face into the path of a really fast and quite solid celling fan.  “Hey fuckers!”  Clang.  Brilliant.

So yeah, I have written a book and just announced that I have nothing better to do with my time than watch really old fail clips and redneck porn.  I think it’s a middle-age thing.

Thanks for listening.

At the centre of the soul there is a deli

… and all they serve is human flesh.

Smoked, cured, dried and salted; all laid out under glass panelling for you to drool over as you walk the line of existentialism.  It’s a smorgasbord of sliced me and you.

There is a choice of bread to go with either cold cut or hot sandwiches, of course, nothing but the best for you.  A various array of kraut, slaws and pickles, and a massive range of sauces, dips and dressings.  There are trays of sliced thigh meat, pulled belly meat, a potage of human brain and liver, a soup with eyes floating about in it like in that Indian Jones movie.  Nothing is wasted.  No one makes it out without being stripped to the bone.

Woe betides the man that asks for a salad in the Deli of Damnation.

There is a large Mediterranean man with un-naturally hairy arms that works behind the counter; all day he dips great salt meat sandwiches in human dripping and gravy (on request) and slaps the subs on to plain white china.  He will never like you yet he makes your sandwich with grace and perfection.

Welcome to the wonderful biological mechanism that is my mind deconstructing my character.

Let’s face it, that’s all you do when you start questioning the meaning of existence isn’t it; you start devouring yourself.  You take gory lumps of your persona and ingest then, take them on-board to get a taste of what it is that makes you, you.

And you don’t just nibble, what would be the point in that?  Great big mouthfuls of your own shit, that’s what you must force down.

Then the desert.

After you have gorged yourself on your own ego comes that single dark moment that makes you shudder.  A feeling that you can’t explain, like you stood too close to the void of nothing and it started to suck at your guts.  A sinking feeling as you realise that at some point you won’t be here anymore.

So what would any normal person do when that moment hits?  Well, in most cases people turn or start religion.  An answer to what happens when you die.  A punch line to the joke if you will.

And it is funny, you live then you die and the funny bit is that you go to heaven and meet with all the people you loved and live forever in servitude in a dictated utopia.  Nah, that’s not for me. 

Nice idea but unfortunately a lot of you have taken that ‘tranquilizer’ and let it go to your head; and it is a tranquiliser.  Can you imagine what sort of chaos there would be if everyone realised that life had no point, that there isn’t an afterlife and everything you were taught by your elders was bullshit.  Oh, wait.

That’s when it starts to get weird.

When you start to question whether any of this has a point, whether any of this is actually real or just some illusion that you are having in some void of space somewhere.  Are you a part of someone else’s dream?  There is a good chance that you might be in a coma and wake to find a whole new reality waiting for you.  Is this just a hallucination caused by lack of oxygen to the brain during child birth explaining why a lot of cultures believe in reincarnation?

Because I have a conscience does that mean I am conscious or have I just been given this by some higher power to be part of their perverse game of Risk?

Do dogs go to heaven?

Will we find proof of the missing link?

What are the true properties of the Higgs Boson particle and will its existence become the new god?

If I kill someone, what are the real consequences, is it morally wrong or is it just brain washing?

Take all these questions and throw in large fistfuls of self-loathing and persecution paranoia then gently fold in some fat breaks and you have an average night for me.

So many things that keep me awake at night.  It’s enough to drive one insane.

Oh, wait.

But the question I guess is what does my existence mean for me?

Well, I guess just being awake is pretty good.  Feelings.  Thoughts.  Ideas.

That to me is the point of being alive.  Every night I wake up sharply and realise that at some point I won’t be able to feel air filling my lungs or go outside and smell the asphalt in the road heat up on a hot day.  I won’t be able to enjoy the quenching my thirst with a cold glass of water.  I won’t feel scared any more.  I won’t find anything funny anymore.  I won’t think that guy over there is a bit of a dick anymore.  I won’t hear music anymore.  Taste a slice of pickle when I bite into a burger anymore.

I really find life a bit of a sick joke.  We get this gift that we call consciousness by fluke, then it slowly drives us mad and evolves to the point that we are totally self-aware.  Meaning we know at some point that we die.  And for those of us that haven’t fallen into the religion ‘safety net’ it really takes the shine off of the later years.  Guess I just want to live forever, how greedy of me.

I can’t remember who said it but it has stayed with me for many years, “childhood is over the moment that you know you are going to die”.  It was probably in some shite 90’s movie.

Take time out to think about it for five minutes every day; get used to the idea that you are going to end at some point and all that will be left is a puddle of crap in a box somewhere.  Let it shock you; let it turn your blood to ice for a second and let the shudder of mortality hold you in its arms.  After about a year of this you will still become upset but you’ll stop crying every night, and the night terrors will get better.

Then go and enjoy the rest of the day, because tomorrow you might not be able to. 

Is there an unemployment problem in Tibet?

As I stare into the void; the abyss that is my own self-loathing, the sickest pit of my soul I see in the darkness a glimmer, a flicker of light.  The faintest of lights in the depths of such a pernicious nothingness; but what could it be? 

Could it be part of me that has hope; a mere glimpse of some kind of way out, a bolthole to hide away in for the rest of my days?

No… it turned out to be just a reflection of my eyes as I lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the nothing that was my own mind.  No way out, no hope, just a staggering sense of my own mortality. 

There is a place, deep within all of us that is only capable of hate.

And I don’t mean that flim-flam use of the word like ‘I hate sweet corn’ sort of hate, (and I do hate sweet corn by the way, easiest way to ruin a good pizza) I’m talking the ‘I’m going to eat your fucking family’ sort of hate.

But anyhow, at the moment I rush headlong into my third week of unemployment and have come to the conclusion that I do not want to be unemployed for too long.

It’s dull as fuck and without a steady income flowing into my account, it limits what I can get up too.  After my last pay, just in time to be spunked over the Christmas period, I really have next too fuck all in the way of monies.  It’s enough to drive a man to sell drugs.

No, really, I’m far too pretty for prison.

The first thing that you have to do when you are unemployed is make friends with day time television.  Not only is it designed to keep housewives company/distracted while they do the housework (that’s not really a job nowadays is it) but it is there to hypnotise the countries great unwashed.

hold up, when did this morning go all neo-Nazi on us?

They take the most basic of premises; stick some wooden middle aged man and some sort with large bangers (I mean tits for my American chums) get a few low rent guests on to chat about what’s in the papers.

I love it when z-list celebrities wax lyrical about current events, it really shows them up for what they are; a walking headshot that needs direction from other people to be able to function.

I don’t really give two flying fucks about what Lee Ryan from Blue thinks about what’s going on in the middle east but there he was, chatting about it with a woman that was all tits and teeth.  Just be Lee Ryan from Blue, don’t become a fucking news reader; but even they just read the events; they don’t really cast their own opinions on stuff.

And don’t you just love it when pop stars get political.  Whatever happened to Bob Geldof and Bono Vox anyway?  Oh yeah that’s right, no one actually gave a fuck about anything they had to say.  People just stopped listening, because they don’t want to hear your opinions, just your music.  Well, maybe not Geldof’s; his last album showed his true colours, a talentless fucktard that can’t pen a song if his house depended on it.

Pop stars are like fairies, if you stop believing in them they disappear and die.  And thank fuck.

the state of these two pricks

Just because some millionaire tramp-looking man swears on the television while trying to raise money (which he couldn’t have done by himself as his band was pretty shit back then) he gets a knighthood and free run to say whatever he wants.  Why doesn’t he just give all his money away and become a cleaner if he thinks we, the poorer people of the world should give up our cash.  why doesn’t he live like most of us do, on the breadline and save as many as he can with his millions rather than fund his leechlike, scientologist children.  What a fucking twat.

And the tune they wrote for the band aid thing, that ‘do they know it’s Christmas’ ditty.  Probably not chaps, as its Africa and a predominantly Muslim country that’s affected by the famine.

And if you’re going to bring god into the proceeding surely if the people in that region did believe in god, isn’t it his/her will that those people are dying?  In theory, if you bring religion into anything where people are dead or dying it’s all part of god’s plan for those people.  Their god wants those people dead.

I’m so glad that I am an atheist.

It means when I eventually get cancer or some other nasty thing due to my smoking I only have myself to blame.  And I don’t have to beg to some nonce bloke in a dress to ask his imaginary boss for forgiveness for being a cunt.  That’s right, go fuck yourself Christianity, I am a massive cunt and you and your god can do nothing about it.

BLOW ME!

I realise that the last statement will probably get some peoples backs up… so forgive me, turn the other cheek, love thy neighbour or as we say down my way ‘don’t get lemon’.  Just ask yourself, what would Jesus do?  Probably not start blasting me on the internet, sending me death threats or try to smash my head in with a rock.

But anyway, I digress; I have swerved a little off topic for a bit.  It’s just the mere mention of the fly-spectacled wearing fucktard Bono’s name or that hippy twat Geldof just, it just… fuck, I hate them two pricks.

stings bedroom looks well shit

That goes for that grain eating, cross-legged on a beanbag, nut-sack torturing twat Sting too.  Why can’t he fuck off up a mountain to have a tantric wank with a goat heard and fall down a ravine while he’s doing it.  If I was on that mountain assent, I would hope to see him fall, just as he whipped out a kazoo or what not to give us a tune a landslide sweeps him down the rock face.

I would literally shit my pants laughing… and probably get as much footage on camera as I could; especially when the rescue party drag his broken body from under the rubble like a ripped up sack of blood sausage.  Meditate on that you twat.

I kid; I wish him all the best and he was pretty good in Dune. (I don’t want to get sued, he looks like the sort that might sue.)  I still don’t like the other two though.  Maybe they would like to go trekking through Tibet with me later this year?  Just an open invite if you’re up for it gents; but their probably too busy polishing their awards.

just a quick flash of those ‘weapons’

So anyway, I’m unemployed now but I’m not in the least bit pissed off.  Admittedly I’m not looking forward to living giro to giro but I have to remain positive.  Besides a good long walk out into the sticks every day was free the last time I checked and I do love this time of year.  there is so much to see in this part of the world (if you like grave yards) and most of it is only a cheap train ride away.

I’m am however looking to get some part time work to pay a few bills and turn my mind on to writing on a more full time basis.  Just some cleaning or charity shop work, I might even aply for a job in a sex shop, just to keep thing nice and sleazy.  I do sleaze very comfortably.

No point wasting my time watching ‘This Morning’ everyday; though I might tug one out over that Holly Willoughby’s championship bangers.  Oh the humanity.

Good night ya’ll.  X