Sporadic? Get it deyn yer!

Recent circumstances dictate that for a while this 'Hotrocks'........abomination, will be 'sporadically shite', rather than the usual 'totally shite every two days' affair. As you fucking may have gathered. That is all for now. Back to Raoul in the studio.

Jojoba.

Have a suck on this sticky sweet: The Nepalese believe that their dead reside on the Moon. What a mental bunch of mountainous cunts!

Having come back to the UK from East Asia, and not once having punched a Mormon, is very distressing for me. In my hurried preparations to leave I made sure I had a half-hour free to go Mormon hunting, the white-shirted fucktards that they are, and give a pair of them a good couple of slaps and a push for good measure. No luck though.

To shopkeepers and other robbing cunts I keep saying the Chinese for 'good' which is pronounced 'How' (Hao).

"That's £3.75 please love",

"How",

"Ooogh well, yeh paper is seventy and the....",

"Christ".

"Oooh there's no need to be like that dut".

"There is every need, serf".

So I have not enamoured myself of vendors here quite yet. Which is also distressing, although not as much as TV. Club me the fuck to death.


To the enablers of central heating I say this: You cocksuckers rule the world, and I love you. Down a bit more. Ooh. Yeh. Oooogh yeah just there, harder. I wish your fucking cat would stop staring.

If you don't like Dylan Thomas you have a problem. Add it to the list there fuckhead.

I seem to be avoiding even a semblance of paragraph structure. How very fucking bold of me.

You are not still here? I worry about you sometimes.

Did you know?!!!!! Something researchers have determined!! An enthusiastic use of the exclamation mark when writing is a sign of mental instability!!!! Who the fuck would've thought it!!

And just one more pearled wisdom that informs and also soothes: A bag of chips soaked in salt and vinegar is the fucking business. Official.

Sirrah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"I am going to kill myself". Me, after seeing The Rolling Stones perform at halftime on Super Bowl Sunday. That shit is wrong.

Don't fuck with the Wongs

Well the media's gone fucking well mental what? The Sunday Times is the size of a fucking house and full of such infantile shite it made me puke. Sky TV? Get fucked. Rupert Murdoch needs to get buggered and die, like that chap who was killed by a horses' cock. Jesus imagine it. In fact don't. No really. Stop it.

I hate to admit it but I had a bacon cheeseburger in McShit and it was fucking fantastic. I flayed myself with a barbed stick in contrition, which was also fantastic. Pain is underrated.

I went for a good few pints with a mate, went back to his house to chill, broke the fuck down and had to leave after five minutes. Grief is a bit of a cunt like that. So don't give me any.

And how fucking cold is it? I'll fucking tell you. Fucking very! Do not under any circumstances spend five years in a sub-tropical climate and then come back to England in the winter. I am in a cozy house with perfectly adequate central-heating, yet I sit here with my beanie on and my hoody's hood up, chilled to the bone, eyes hooded. This is one cold 'hood.* I used to do manual labour in the fields and factories of Holland in the dead of winter for fuck's sake. I have become a doughboy, a tenderfoot, a cunt. Take your pick there buddy.

Cunts!! This ejaculation I direct toward English coins. Cunts the lodduvum. How small is that 5p? Are you fucking having a laugh? Fucked right in the head. They disappear well sharpish 'an all. The price of a pint and a pack of smokes? Fuck me, tie me up and beat me until I'm smiling, that shit is bang out of order. Extortionate prices. The notion that high prices lead to less drinking and smoking works the opposite with me. Come on then you cunts. I'll fucking pay whatever it takes. Try me. Fucktards. Let's get down the boozer.

The sheer glut of choice here amazes me, it's almost obscene. Having lived in a faraway land so long I'm not used to this mad heavy-weight excess barrage of choice. It is early days being back, and I can't get my head round it yet. What d'ya make of that fuckface?

Moving quickly on, said the priest to the second urchin, have some of this: Flying be fucked. I will never fly again. I might go down on a tug in an obscure strait somewhere, the height of irony, and since my life is the most ironic shit to ever occur, fitting. Suits you Sir. But I will not fly. The flight back from E. Asia aged me ten years. And if that cunt who plays for Arsenal can do it, so the fuck can I. Not ever flying I mean. Christ.

I, as per usual, have fucking spoken.

Sirrah!

"How's my ikkle diddums? Who's a good boy then. Fetch!" George McCuntyFuck Bush's traditional greeting to Tony Toydog Blair. Pair of right cunts.

*Jesus.