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.
Sirrah!
"Seth you cunt, get in here and help me with this guilt" Adam.
posted by Brewski @ 6:15 pm
14 comments
14 Comments:
Happy to see this post, Brewski. You're back in form.
You were seen in public reading Maxim and no one glassed you?
"Golden Brown" is indeed quite a tune.
Deal or no Deal? I've only seen it twice and never after a smoke, but even stone cold straight it is fucking mental.
Those oddballs and the boxes and the phone? The contestant's comments don't make sense.
Noel Edmunds, how cuntish is it possible to get?
noel edmonds MUST BE STOPPED
I don't care how
Bit out of order to take revenge on the baby when it was the five-year-old who pissed you off, Brewski. Still, with any luck the sprog will remember you when he's eight and trying to decide whether or not to become a delinquent.
Fuckin' 'ell! Nice to have you back!
Footsie, by scaring the baby Brewski will have set off a chain of events whereby in later years the elder sprog will be repeatedly wound up and given shit by the younger sibling who is fighting repressed memories of ogres on trains... The end justifies the means!
Scarred for life there Binty, scarred for life. MTT and the Good D. have hit the sweet-spot! When Edmonds pretends to talk to the dealer on the phone - the cunts' a total prick and makes me cringe. Never a-fucking-gain. I remember when he had that show on Sat. afternoons where they set people up. A family set the Dad up for a bungee-jump. Misjudged weight. Killed him dead. Live TV. 'Kin 'ell!!
One of Chris Morris's Brasseye programmes had a spoof news flash claiming that Noel Edmonds had shot dead Clive Anderson. Close call, but I'd have preferred it to be the other way round.
Brewski, of course you're horny, you've returned from a country where females have no bums or breasts, tiny little birdlike bones and all look like children, so unless you're a Nabokov or Garry Glitter, a red blooded male is gonna be horny with all that ripe peachy womanhood about.
Sexy B has hit the sweet spot.
Although by implication (and via an inexcusable conflation of authorial with narrative discourse) she confuses Nabokov with Humbert Humbert. Vladimir's wife was no Lolita.
yzrixf: an expression of intense effort, pronounced through the teeth while penetrating and/or enduring Noel Edmonds.
Phillip - no confusion at all - I firmly believe Nabokov was a paedo. Plenty of paedophiles are married to normal women, provides good cover.
Whoah there, SB! That's fighting talk. About Nabokov, I mean; he's a hero of mine.
Does anyone know if using the 'p' word repeatedly on a blog or in its comments section will attract the attention of the FBI or some such agency? I just hope we're not getting Brewski into trouble here.
Footie, I think we're safe, what could they do? Dig him up? I think he was a great writer, but only a guy with real insider knowledge could have written Lolita - trust me, a woman just knows.
Footsie, if Brewski's gonna take shit from the FBI he probably doesn't need to worry about anything we add to his posts.......
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