Come an' 'ave a go if you think you're 'ard enough

This afternoon I sat in my friend's garden in Oxfordshire as the first tendrils of Spring laid themselves over the land. I was fucking astounded. Particularly by the birds and their song. Exquisite. Two doves who have chilled in the apple tree every afternoon came and nuzzled each other for a bit as I skinned the fuck up and drank Stella. Gwarn.

What the fuck is up with haiku? I'll tell you. It's fucking shit.

I'm awfully sorry, I'm doing it again, aren't I? Being all random and shit. Three words: Am I bovvered? Easy.

Have you ever heard the expression 'just keepin' me oar in'? Fantastic. Good for you.

I'm going to Tipperary in a couple of days to stay in a friends cottage, the nearest neighbour half a mile away. I plan to get blind drunk and run around roaring a lot, brandishing a scythe or a .22 perhaps. Scare some cows and shit. Fall over. You know the drill. I was going to stay there on my own while my friend goes camping for a week in the mountains, but you know what? That Blair witch movie scared me shitless, so I'm going to fuck off to the safety of Dublin pubs. Spooky fucking houses in the middle of nowhere can most assuredly fuck off.

The British pub is fucked is it not? Village pubs are dying out, and those chain cunts are taking everything over and ruining shit. Gastro-pub? Be fucked!

I would dearly love to extend these short observations into something more substantial but.

I remember years ago doing poppers with two friends of mine who were raging queens. I ended up lying on the floor looking for my girlfriend. In her handbag. Poppers are funny shit. Only do it once though. That way, you have half a brain left.

To compassionately shoot this fucker in the head, have this: a cat you feel great affection for lazily approaches you as you stand in a Spring garden with a Stella and a Camberwell Carrot. As it reaches you, instead of rubbing itself against your shins, it stretches up to place it's paws on your upper thigh, simultaeneously coming on like that cunt in X-Men with the claws. You shriek like a girl and headbutt your own beer can. You feel like a cunt.


"I am a fucking looper" Any BASE-jumper.


Warning: Utter bollocks

Ever read 'The Castle' by Kafka? So have I, as a teenager. Did my fucking head in. How about the Gormenghast trilogy? And why has noone made a movie of that shit? It would be marvellous! Or has someone made a movie of it? Enlighten me you fuckers.

Ever had your life turned upside-down, inside-out, arse-backwards, royally fucked, so that you know not what the fuck to do? It really is fucked-up. Very soon I will have a shitload of money and these choices to make: Where to live. What to do. How to be. Who to be. Why the fuck. Who's your Daddy. Soon I hope to see it as a great, exciting adventure, full of opportunity etc. At the moment I'm simply terrified. I have to concentrate on keeping food down I'm so full of fear.

That wasn't very fucking funny was it Brewski you terrible cunt. Get back in the saddle. See? I've started talking to myself. I think this is a consequence of running out of weed. I'm at a relative's house where I cannot restock. Consequently last night I had the most vivid dreams imaginable. Anyone who smokes that skunky, funky, smelly-green shit will know exactly what I mean. As usual it was the ole falling elevator along with crashing aircraft that my brain decided to project in lurid Cinemascope with full-on surround sound. Jesus Christ, can't I even rely on my brain to not fuck with me? And before you equate me with a hopeless addict, you can be fucked. I am enamoured of both wine and smoke, but also with taking a break regularly. From smoking anyway. Alright then only when I have to. Don't look at me like that.

I suppose my fear of the future is all to do with this: Lives built around human constructs fuck me off. Materialism. Prestige. 'Education'. The exam system as a measure of intellect? I think fucking not. Tele-cunting-vision. The immersion of the corporate mind into our worldviews. Supplicating myself and submitting to shit that others tell me is the truth, is reality? I implore you not to answer that since I'm boring the shit out of myself. You must be comatose.

Don Quixote. Fucking spastic. And Pancho has a lot to answer for also. Were they drinking absinthe I wonder?

Here's a quiz: Which one of these things have I never done?
a) Seen someone get shot in the head.
b) Eaten lobster.
c) Crack.
d) Had sex in a church.

Fucking hell.


"I have balls the size of buildings!" Any astronaut who has been round the dark side of the moon. Fuck me.


Get yer windows out for the lads

I fucking love the mass media. I adore the way they drone on, hysterically, about all the diversionary flotsam that in essence means fuck all, but which engenders prurient allegiances and speculation. I am simply bessotten with the gate-keepers, those shadowy powers who decide what is news. But most of all I love beer. Beer is fucking great.

What's the most perverted thing you've ever done? I went to a Little Chef once. I feel tainted to this day, and the memory will be with me forever. How spooky is that fucking sign?

I love being a bit dense because when I look at a globe or atlas every minute I'll be, "No way", and "Oooh", and of course, "Fuck me!" Naturally I haven't looked at Google Earth because I'd faint with surprise. One must know one's limits.

I've been thinking about something a lot recently, a thorny issue that is very complex: when I remember what it is, I will certainly let you know. In the meantime, consider this: rubharb is fucking rank, the normally quite open-minded Devil himself hates that shit. I heard he's worried, and paces fretfully in his chambers at night, rubbing his goateed chin, trying to figure out who the fuck could be more evil than him, that they created rubharb. "Psst. Satan my old son. It was God wot dunnit". God. What an evil cunt. His son was a bit of a wanker too, by all accounts.

Pursuant to that vibe, rude and inconsiderate cunts should die. I don't care how sad or angry you are, just be nice. You make me feel sad, I punch you in the back of the head. Common decency rules the world, and being rude is infectious, so fucking leave it out.

Opera. Shite.

Being beaten on the arse with a bamboo rod fucking hurts, even after twelve hours of caning vodka. The body is evil, it must be punished. Let it be known.


"I am replete". Hopefully all of us, often.


Daddy do you like my sausages?

You know what I despise about hotel rooms? Fucking Gideon Bibles! Sure, they're great for skinning-up on, but have you ever read the intro to one of those things? Gibbering Gideon dicks. "And He created the water, and He saw that it was good". Did He fuck. They even fucked up the Lord's Prayer. Bunch of cunts. Fuck those Bibles. Inshallah.

I'll tell you what, travelling between friends and family living out of a bag fucking sucks. I know I shouldn't complain since I have neither a terminal illness nor difficulty in finding fresh water and food, but fuck me it's grade-A suckage. And talking about fucking me, I think there's something in the water in England as since I've been back I've been horny as fuck. I reckon there's Viagra in the water supply or something. Down boy.

Deal or no Deal? No fucking deal Noel you cunt. Not unless you count the beating I'd deal you for producing such inane pap. Burn in hell fuckface.

If Noah could live to be 800 years old why the fuck can't I? Not that I'd want to anyway, I'm just saying.

I nearly committed infanticide on the train up to Edinburgh. There was a five-year-old boy on the seat in front of me, with his Aunt, who was holding a baby. The kid would not shut the fuck up the entire time. His Aunt's name was Shelley, "Look Shelley there's a tree Shelley look I'm sitting next to you on the train Shelley Shelley look there's a boat Shelley can I have some crisps Shelley I'm a little cunt Shelley". I got my revenge by pulling frightening faces at the little baby as it looked at me over Shelley's shoulder. I think it was particularly unnerved by my evil rodent performance. Fucking cunts.

You missed me, didn't you? Admit it. Rub some cream on it. Talk to it gently. Don't panic.

In my sister's garden this morning I saw a robin and a goldfinch. Fucking marvellous by the way.

I thought I would buy a men's magazine one afternoon to amuse me as I sank a few in the pub, so I picked up a copy of Maxim. My God what a terrible load of shite. Soft-porn airbrushed crap. I was quite embarrassed as I turned the pages and realized that most of it was horrible women with false breasts wearing horrible 'lingerie'. The few articles in it were vapid and unengaging. Bullshit!

'Golden Brown' by the Stranglers. Now there's a tune.


"Seth you cunt, get in here and help me with this guilt" Adam.