Hotrocks

2007-02-10T14:14:00.000+08:00

The question for me is this: how do I live with historical fact, the nightmare I have been born into? A product of Wilsonian idealism and the Monroe Doctrine. A witness, too slow, to the ultra-nationalist crimes of successive American presidents, particularly the incumbent. Why have I, so far, been spared? Because I have never been a part of a truly progressive social movement that strives for a just society free from corporate control - something that for the last seventy years the US 'government' has done a very good job of quashing. Historical fact will fuck you up. The US government has supported every motherfucking motherfucker in the world, always right up to the point that they were to be exposed to the West as cunts. Hussein. Gaddafi. And that Rumanian cunt whose name I can never spell. The litany of foul duplicity is real, and fuck me if the realization that democracy has never existed won't fuck you.

Fuck America. Usually I would qualify that by saying, "the government of America". No longer. Fuck the people of America. You fucking fat, ignorant slothful cunts. Fucking do something now or leave the fucking country and stop coming on with lame excuses as to why your still fucking there. Can't you see what's happening? Read some history books you fucking CUNTS.

Fuck all this shit

2007-01-17T13:55:00.000+08:00

It's without pity that I view this world, and you.
Poor blinkered machine made of meat,
Squirting and dripping and stumbling foolish
through this quicksilver.
Scorn pour on this fucking life,
tilted from a time-worn ewer of jade.

It's without love that I view myself, this world, and you.
This trinity bound by disgust,
Lamenting and hoping and flaying pathless
Again to nothing.
Scorn pour on this life.

It's without reverence that I view all we have reaped.
I stammer and my chest heaves so,
Something has been taken from me from us
And until I know
Scorn pour on this life.

Fuck ya laters.
Over and out.

Run for the hills my pretties!

2006-12-08T04:22:00.000+08:00

'Hirsute'. Fuck 'hirsute'. Why can't you just say 'hairy'?

After watching the base hypocrisy of the talking-heads blathering on about the conclusions of the Iraq Study Group I ran into the bathroom and puked violently. Truly a total pack of lying fucking cunts. How the fuck am I supposed to reconcile myself to the amorality of Government, Inc.? My sadness and melancholy of five years ago is curdling into anger. And not good anger. A kind of blind rage, a stupid little puppy who's eyes have not yet opened. Fucking hell, shall I write a poem?

Why do cunts like Pinochet always die before they can be quietly abused by their guards for years in prison? How long is a piece of string, and why is water wet?

In the latest National Geographic there are the most recent photos of Saturn and her rings. Pure mentalism.

Which reminds me, while in Tipperary a few months ago with a friend we were cracking up when we realised our depth of expression on encountering beauty:

(Upon walking out the cottage door at midnight to a sky blanketed with stars): "Fuck me!" "Christ". "Fucking wicked!"

(Upon cresting a hill on a sunny afternoon to see the plains of Tipperary spread below us): "Fucking gorgeous". "Kill me now". "Look at that fucker".

Another area in which I'm patently deficient at the moment is social interaction. For the most part I've been spending my days for the past few months alone in this house in the bush. (Jumps as he hears a noise, looks around feverishly). So I've become a bit of a spastic. Three lads came around the other day to, ahem, drop something off. I was like a little girl with friends around for the first time, such was the novelty. I don't even know the cunts!

Did you see the mugshots of Rip Torn, the man with the greatest name ever, after he was arrested for DUI? Go on my son! Proud. PROUD? Proud.

Go and have a Jin Shin Do massage. It will fucking freak you out. Jedi mind-games, know what I mean?

Sirrah!

"If you've ever seen an ivory-billed woodpecker I will eat my own head". Me.

A title is beyond me. How about 'inane shite'.

2006-10-25T05:33:00.000+08:00

There's a pair of bald eagles nesting in the bay just down from my house. Two friends spent the weekend. We did mushrooms one afternoon and they went for a walk, where they saw the eagles dive-bombing a young duck, eventually tiring it enough so they could snag it up. I had stayed at home because when I went into the back yard the trees were fucking having a riot. Safer indoors.

The Japanese maple in the front yard is a rich ruby-red, the like of which I have never seen. God that fucking tree makes me happy. Canada in the autumn? Ablaze I tell you, ablaze with colour.

And now to technology: You peeped the new Lexus? The fucking thing will parallel park for you! I kid you the fuck not! The future is now! Keep your eye on bio-tech. Shit is wrong.

I had a dream the other night in which my mother's boyfriend, who I had to live with for years and hated intensely, was killing a baby seal by swinging it against a wall. What the fuck is our subconscious mind at? Fucking cheeky weird fucker. The twat is accountable to noone and should be reined in this instant. Book 'im Danno.

You don't know what my favourite time of day is, do you? I will fucking tell you. It is dusk. The gloaming. The house all quiet, apart from the sound of me throwing booze down my throat and sucking deeply on a spliff. And gently exclaiming "bollocks" and "fuck" every few minutes cuz I'm battered and don't know what the fuck I'm doing. What?

Did you see that Kenyan marathon winner who slipped under the winning tape and cracked his dome on the floor? What a fucking cunt!

Sirrah!

"Proud? PROUD. Proud". Rip Torn.

Everybody must get stoned

2006-10-11T02:56:00.000+08:00

Yeah so anyways if you've ever received a large inheritance after the death of a loved one you know how fucking bittersweet it is. Yeah you can throw down mad cheddar on the big ass LCD TV, the xbox 360, furniture etc. You can go into the grocery store and just buy up all that shit. You can live for a few years not having to think about cash at all. It's all fresher than what's in a ziplock. But all shadowed of course by the absence of the departed. In death she supports me. Turn the clock back, take back this money and all this fucking stuff, and be in your kitchen pouring me a glass of red and talking drunken Irish shit. Jesus Christ grief can just fuck off.

This blog is exactly one year old in five days. A year?! Fuck me will someone turn off the fast-forward?

Here's something that will brighten your day - geoduck farming. Hold that thought.

As part of my sociological curiosity I've been watching N.American cable TV, eating Cheetos and caning beers while shouting "Fuck all y'all" at regular intervals to noone in particular. I bought a recliner by the way, which I can state with absolute confidence is the best chair in the world. Feet up, literally enfolded in the softness, ocean and mountains out the window to the left, 360 loaded up with Saints Row, big spliff, come on.

I haven't shaved in three months! Call the cops!

My bank balance is so weird. Never in my life have I had savings, or earnt any significant amounts. Now I see commercials for things and I'm like 'fuck me I could buy that'. It's all abstract though since I'm about as materialistic as a sadhu. And about as stoned.

What in fuck can I harp on about now. I know. Why is Jameson's my favourite whiskey and yet the most adept at transforming me into the most argumentative cocksucker that ever drew breath? (After a few shots) ....

You: I had a really busy day at work today.
Me: No you fucking well did not.
You: Pardon?
Me: Did you fuck!
You: What the fuck are you talking about?
Me: Busy my arse.
You: It was well hectic I'm telling you.
Me: You are fucking wrong.

Fucking hell I just had three cups of a fresh ground coffee called 'Kick Ass', the last one of which I 'enhanced' with a few gulps of said whiskey. As a consequence I feel I must run around the back yard roaring at the sky.

Not, that is, until I improve your life with this: Seahorses. Seahorses fucking rule.

Sirrah!

"Fuck the Panopticon". Me.

No sign of drizzle.

2006-09-10T01:53:00.000+08:00

I hereby announce that a bit of wake and bake at 10.30am will fuck you up. Which, I hasten to remind you, is good. Very good. I raise an inquisitive eyebrow in your general direction.

One of the few things that blows my gauges is fucked-up product packaging. I noticed just before I left England that drinks' manufacturers were introducing those bottles with a tubed cap, so you have to hold it away from your mouth and squeeze the bottle to get anything out. Just like pro athletes do on the pitch, filling their mouths and then spitting violently, and then even spraying some over their heads. Fucking drama queen cunts. Did you see Beckham in England's last game of the world cup? What a fucking muppet. Anyway, those bottles are fucking shit, and the marketing dillon who started it needs a slap.

(Walking down the street, sees a friend). "Hey man, hizzle bizzle?"
"Oh it's good, yo, I'm making a lizzle of mizzle".
"Excellent. I've gotta go so I'll sizzle you lizzle".
"Bye".

It'a damn shame that Snoop Dogg's '-izzle-speak' fell out of favour so quickly. I like simplistic stupidity. It was originally a gang thing in LA I think. Someone probably told him to tell everybody to stop using it or he'd get shot in the face.

Talking of being shot in the face, have you seen the state of Mickey Rourke? What the Christ has he done to himself?

Okay, let's get to the meat of this thing: Steve Irwin was a bit of a knob, really, wasn't he? His death is very sad, don't get me wrong. I read somewhere someone saying they would have liked to go drinking with him. Fuck me, you're welcome to each other and you can leave me the fuck out of it. Drinking with him would have been fucking awful. And he supported John Howard. As I say though, very sad.

It is an incredible morning here, sunshine and a clear freshness in the air. I am not a cunt, therefore instead of sitting here typing like a complete one, I am off out to revel in it. I have spoken.

Sirrah!

"I wouldn't know a snowy egret if I was pissing on one". Jack Nicholson

Breakfast and a pint and everyting's aariight

2006-09-02T07:32:00.000+08:00

I must say that mass circulation newspapers the world over, those myth-dealing witless fucks, are fucking cunts. How the fuck do you see life as a staffer at Fox News, the Sun newspaper, at the bbc? Those letters don't deserve capitalisation these days. You fucking lab rat you. Fuck cnn. Amanpour should fuck off with her diplomat or whatever the high-ranking fuck he is husband and then fuck off some more. Wolf Blitzer? Situation Room? Come near me and I will fucking do you harm my son. It's like screaming, "STOP IT!!" at a dirty raging storm while standing on a high vicious bluff above the crushing rage of waves....

...and trying to piss into it and make a difference.

I've just got the new landline installed, and bought a new phone. I fucking love the phone because the cunts' screen is golden lumescent brown like a gadget from 'The Empire Strikes Back'. 'Avin' it.

Jenny Agutter in 'Logan's Run'. Fucking hell.

Fuck that. 'Walkabout'.

Oh yes aye.

Yeah so anyway my girl is doing yoga in the meditation room, my dog is sleeping under the wisteria just outside the back door, the sun is shining, I be hitting the Stella and just getting mashed up on the bud, the petroglyphs I can go see whenever the fuck I want at low tide, and the world rules the world. I hugged a tree yesterday that was a sapling when Marco Polo was fucking shit up. And if you deride me using the term 'tree-hugging cunt' I will concur just before I relieve you of your life by jabbing you in the throat or something.

Absolutely fuck all. Don't you just love the way I tend to preface each paragraph with a bold statement of it's subject?

Couple of lines even, for those cunts paying attention.

'The War on Terror'. 'Islamic Fascism'. 'Terrorist'. You peddle these terms you stupid fucking cunt and I anticipate with pleasure the bitter inescapable anguish that will consume you as you approach death, agonized and twitching with shame. If I could I'd pay to watch, uneducated death-merchant fuck. Christ Almighty the mass media fucks me off.

West coast eggs benedict. Fucking lush.

Getting some funny reactions sometimes to my English accent here in Canadia. Some woman sang a song with a band in the pub, and as they finished we were just leaving. The song was great, so as I passed her I shouted, "FUCKING WICKED!" She shat herself.

A pox on all SUV drivers! Fuck me this country's full of 'em. I'd get some of those stickers that say 'You SUV-driving cunt you' and slap them on but it would be a round the clock vocation, so fuckit. Honestly, the size of the fucking things. What the fuck?

Yesterday afternoon I sat in the back garden and sucked on a cone and listened as my Navajo neighbour had a pow-wow or did a rain dance or something. His strange chanting in the distance had induced in me a calm spirituality. He was probably intoning something like, "Why don't you all fuck off you bunch of white cunts and leave me be".

I notice Tony Blair is suggesting that mothers and young families should be monitored so that the state can intervene if the youngsters start getting out of line. What in the sweet name of Jesus is that fucking cunt on about? Punch me in the face fuck's sake.

Sirrah!

"Little kids need Ritalin hit me with a full tin of gin and I'm a kid again". MC Doom.

Canada? Big? 'You taking the piss?

2006-08-26T06:57:00.000+08:00

I should know, I've just driven across the cunt. Not me, strictly speaking, since I don't have a license, but my girlfriend. I just sat next to her getting shitfaced every day and saying things like, "Fuck me, look at that", and "What's this cunt playing at?". Ollie, our husky, is now known as 'The Dude'. As long as he's with both myself and my girlfriend nothing phases the cunt. Nicely.

Oh yes hoopleheads, an epic journey indeed. I'll tell you this for nothing: don't try and drive across Manitoba and Saskatchewan in the middle of a baking summer. Never-ending prairie land with huge skies will fuck you up and no mistake. I almost wept with joy when we hit the Rockies nabdammit.

Since this is my first time in N.America, I am allowed to be a total spastic and go mental at seeing things I've grown up with on tv and movie screens. Fire hydrants! Huge cars! People saying 'go figure'! Diners with those pour-in sugar things and bottomless cups of coffee! Gutted however that smoking is banned in most places. I wanted to do a Pulp Fiction/Reservoir Dogs and eat steak and eggs, drink coffee and smoke all at the same time while arguing about Madonna songs.

Haven't got my cock out yet in a bar, always a good sign.

So anyways just landed a superb logwood mansion that we can rent for a year on a wicked island, westsiiide. The house overlooks a sandy bay on the Pacific, with mountains just beyond. Everything is perfect, apart from the fact that the locals are so fucking stoned on B.C bud they can't get their shit together to sell me some. I'm serious. They just keep giving me little bits of their own stash because they can't be fucked to walk round the back of the pub to their caravan and sort it out. It would be funny were it not for the fact that myself and my girlfriend are total demon smokers of the highest order and we're both gagging for a big bag of that shit to take home and get fucking bent. Been on the island for a week for fuck's sake. B.C Bud is the business. I just had a spliff and I think I can feel my beard growing.

Check me out: We drove through a town called 'Buffalo Jump Head Smashed-In'. Google map-it if you don't believe me you cunts.

Anyways, forgive the diary-like gayness of this shit. Just that after the worst seven months of my life I've arrived in the perfect place to recover. Accordingly, I feel like being a bit gay.

How gay was that?

I notice that after months of inactivity there are an average of eight people a day checking at this blog. You sad, sad cunts you.

Sirrah!

"Don't talk about it, be about it." Mos Def

Punching people tends to make them fall down

2006-05-31T23:12:00.000+08:00

It is about time someone did something. The situation as it stands is absolutely intolerable. "To what do you refer?", I hear you say. Why, I refer of course to cunts. There is far too many of them around these days. Everyone babbles on about climate change, the sudden realization of a whole population that knives can be used to stab people, and John Prescott, but what about cunts? We are surrounded by legions of utter ones! Serried ranks of bunches of them! Even my left thumb and wrist have succumbed. I fucked them up trying to fuck my friend up while fucked, and now my thumb is swollen and my wrist is comin' on with mad shooting pains. Surrounded by cunts I tell you.

Moral panics. Fucking ludicrous. The British media has gone mental about knives, and the apparent sudden rise in every fucker getting sliced/cut/shivved. I can't comprehend how anyone over 25 can work in news media. The older you get the more transparent, circus-like and incestuous it becomes. Inane cocksucking diversionary bollocks. And what's with every cunt self-harming these days anyway? The world has fucking left me behind pal.

My friend showed me a clip of a skateboarder trying to grind a rail. I like skating, and I've seen a fair few skate videos in my time, with a lot of slam sections, breaking bones and ting. But this clip was special. The guy gets up on the rail but leaning too far back. He hits the deck with his arm behind him, you only hear the gunshot crack of snap. He sits, and brings his left arm in front of him. His forearm is snapped in the middle, grotesque angle. Nothing special there, seen loads of those. This guy, however, in his shock, decides the best thing to do would be to push that bitch back into position. So he leans it on the floor and tries to do just that. He lets go and it just sort of springs back to that horrible angle. Fucking grim. That's proper self-harm right there, not slicing 'I am a cunt' into your pallid skin, you poncey emo fucks you.

Imagine being a crack-baby. You'd be raging.

I never knew Jon Voight was the father of Angelina Alien-Head Jolie until recently. If you don't like Midnight Cowboy you can fuck right off by the way.

I note with interest that a team of eminent physicists have declared that quantum physics is, and I quote, "fucked in the head. We haven't got the faintest. Fuck it all".

Also of note is the fact that human beings are the only species on the planet that are total cunts. The only other species that comes close is the magpie, and they're only utter wankers.

Ah (sheilds eyes, looks into distance). The caravan cometh. Fill thy skins with water, load up the beasts of such sad burden, and off we fucketh.

Sirrah!

"My poor old bones". Geronimo.

I favour you with my wisdom

2006-05-17T22:56:00.000+08:00

Cider and red wine paired of an eve will give you a terrible bastard behind the eyes. You are thus informed.

After a long, dramatic pause, a roaring drunk Irishman gave me this advice recently, "Brewski. Invest in wigs. They'll never goway". Fucking tool.

A pair of cork-soled, strappy shoes on a woman turns me right on, and I have no idea why. Neither have I any inkling why I should divulge such information to you. Case closed.

Here is another fatuous sentence that means fuck all while I try to think of something that enrages the fuck out of me. As that twat Eminem sings, "I just rhymed a whole song and didn't say shit".

I have it! Guns! Fuck guns. I have a suspicion that if I ever held a loaded gun, I would experience something akin to the inexplicable feeling I get if I am near the edge of a cliff or other high point; namely to take a running jump off the fucking thing. However, holding a loaded gun this feeling would manifest itself in a juicy desire to shoot someone through the back of the knee. Then with slitted eyes deftly unscrew the silencer and flit like a shadow through the billowing bay window curtains. I tell you what, getting kneecapped must fucking suck. And what causes those shattered patellas? That's right: guns. Fuck 'em. And some of those shots took Kennedy out from the FRONT you cunts.

Also: sewing machines. They are rank. With that pedal and shit. They want to hurt you. You can tell from the sound they make when the pedal is operated, the noise is like, "Ah....now.....I'm coursingwithelectricityandmyfuckingneedlegoingimpossiblyfastwill fuckingbiteyoucomeherecomehereyoucuntIwillfuckyouup......". Stephen King should address this in a short story the spooky cunt.

Beck's bottled beer is shithouse. They're too small you stingy German fucks. Let's be 'avin the Grolsch steez, but without those stupid ceramic stoppers. I also have a penchant for thick-stemmed wine glasses, but who gives a flying fuck about that?

And who the fuck thought up the name 'Chichester'. Is that not a fucking ridiculous name for a city? Chichester. Christ.

Having said that, there is a tube station in London called 'Mudchute'. I kid you fucking not.

And with orgasmic crescendo, I give you this: roasted peanuts rock. And pistachios are also triumphant. As is performing cunnilingus on your sexy babe. Go on life, you cheeky cunt you.

Sirrah!

"Why me?" One of Shane Macgowan's teeth.

get real cunts

2006-05-11T07:44:00.000+08:00

Click on that link to the right there smugfuck, 'the real Iraq, fuckers'. Dahr Jamail's website. Then click on 'hard news'. Read the whole of 'All of us participate in the new Iraq'. And weep.

Skate or die, or fuck off or something

2006-05-11T04:47:00.000+08:00

Cocksucking motherfuckers. Fuck all y'all corporo-oligarchical fucks. Is there any difference anymore between government and big business? I have lived abroad for over ten years, and came back to England a few months ago because my mother died. I find that in the midst of my unbearable guilt and grief I am also literally criminalized, marginalized, ostracized and fucked-up-the-assized simply because of my absence. I am literally a non-entity in a Kafkaesque fucking nightmare. I very rarely get angry. Then again, I very rarely feel at such a dislocate from the world around me. Scratching a living because you have a mortgage? Corralled into this job or that job due to age, qualifications, 'experience'. Numbed into celebrity gossip and the god awful shite that is reality TV? Never would I have believed the nightmare around me now in England would have been possible. The darkest prophecies I read growing up were way off the mark. A market town in Oxfordshire, fat fucking louts everywhere, screaming at each other in some guttaral snarl I hardly recognize as English, waddling this way and that, the 'girls' with their low-slung jeans or leggings squeezing their fleshy flesh outward, pushing prams, their shaven-headed partners spitting into mobiles. The only explicit illustration I can think of is those drawings that that cunt did for Hunter S. Thompson, just nightmare. Ralph something. (Steadman, he cleverly inserts, giving the bastard the once over).What, exactly, has fucking happened? What has happened? To the knowledge of history? To quiet appreciation? To self-reflection? To the sanctity, and awareness of that sanctity, of simply being alive? I just spent a stressful two weeks trying to open a bank account for fuck's sake. I couldn't give 'them' proof of address. It took my incredibly handsome friend with a legitimate business to flirt the fuck out of some stupid fucking lemming 'finance planner' bitch before I could open a simple savings account where very shortly I'll be depositing £150,000 for fucks sake. This is horrific, the fruits of industrialisation, just as slaughterhouses have become killing machines, so has human society become a stupid machine, benign and dulled people masticating on their own dull inanity. Fuck this shit. As soon as I'm sorted, I'm off to join my partner in B.C Canada, where she'll go to school and eventually we'll live in a remote commune, growing that sweet bud, and revelling in what this society would call ignorance. No I don't know who won The Apprentice you cunt. And who the fuck would ever call that fuck 'Sir'? What a very unpleasant fucking individual. Skewed as fuck or what, you grasping, inadequate materialistic total fucking cunts.

In other news: I have a rock hard cock. If you're in a long distance relationship right now, I highly recommend exchanging text messages delineating exactly what you'd like to do to your partner sexually. I suggest that because personally not only am I horny as fuck, I am also a tremendous wordsmith. If you fulfill neither of those criteria, don't fucking bother.

As well, have this: There is no pain like hand slap on cold concrete while skateboarding in winter. Official.

Sirrah!

"'Lost' is on in five minutes. Call the chinky." Most of Britain when that utter shit is about to be broadcast.

Addendum: I am not responsible for any of the above, because I am freaked the fuck out, and can't be held to it. Diminished responsibility don't you know. Christ.

For 'tis the one they call - The Montuss.

2006-05-04T20:28:00.000+08:00

I'll tell you this for nothing - I really fucking like steak. Put that into your beautifully inlaid bong and smoke it, ye fucker ye.

Back in England after my 'sojourn' in Ireland, he said very fucking informatively. Adverbs. Cunts.

Anyways here's some shit that went down in the Emerald Asylum:

Trying to breakdance when utterly shitfaced, as usual. Hole in knee, duff shoulder. Fuckwit.

Comin' on with the Monkey Pirates. You don't need to know.

Being on O'Connell Street for Easter weekend 1916 commemorations. Well weird.

Running away scared from trotting cows a lot in the Tipperary fields, looking for standing stones. Those cows are huge. As you can imagine, there was lots of, "Run at it, shouting!". Hilarious at the time by the way.

Steak. The Trucker's Steak in the Tipperary Inn in Toomevara is the size of a giantess's placenta, the finest Irish beef. Golden Vale, I fucking salute you.

Having a Twin Peaks moment in a one-horse town when being led after the pub to the local club. Expecting a pub with a dancefloor I entered a cavernous dance area lined with three balconies, hundreds of cunts givin' it to really shit music. Do my head in.

The hills of Tipperary, as Spring is spranging and the sap is rising and get your knickers off, are fucking beautiful. Particularly so if you are as drunk as a lord, which, thankfully, I constantly was.

The warm peace of sitting in front of the open fire of an evening can be nicely embellished by getting shitfaced on red wine and instigating an argument about Africa with your companion, the nub of which neither of you can remember in the morning. Fucking edifying. I bet I was fucking right an' all.

The first Swallows of Spring givin' it large speed through the air, bo selecta.

What the fuck is up with the traffic in Dublin? The place is a mess I tells yah.

Almost having a seizure climbing to the top of Devil's Bit Mountain, then getting vertigo and going back down almost immediately. Nonce.

The picture above is not of the real One, it cannot be, for only he is the One they call - The Montuss. Our canine companion in Ireland. 'Tis the One.

Let's kneecap this motherfucker right here, right now. Moby is a vegan-fuck hypocritical fucker, and I wanna slap his head with a spoon. A tablespoon. Fuck.

Sirrah!

"The bartender is a cunt." Me, too loudly, in the bar on the ferry. Didn't get served for ten minutes.

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

2006-03-30T00:19:00.000+08:00

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.

Sirrah!

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

Warning: Utter bollocks

2006-03-21T01:18:00.000+08:00

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.

Sirrah!

"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

2006-03-13T22:08:00.000+08:00

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.

Sirrah!

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

Daddy do you like my sausages?

2006-03-09T18:15:00.000+08:00

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.

Sporadic? Get it deyn yer!

2006-02-11T01:02:00.000+08:00

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

2006-02-01T22:35:00.000+08:00

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.

I need a good fucking slap

2006-01-30T02:47:00.000+08:00

The Brewski of old is no more. A life-changing, momentous loss that suspends reality, the world slowed and you drifting through a haze of disbelief, terrified. A chasm opened. I am a small boy again. She was taken by fire, and in these early days I find myself sometimes flinching when I light my cigarette lighter, and I double-check gas ovens.

She used to call me her 'wandering star'. In her more worried moments, she would call me 'a ship without an anchor'. In the latter she was of course mistaken. She, and her wonderful house, was my anchor.

So anyway I thought torturing you with shite would be therapeutic, so on with the wellies you cunts.

I am back in England, where I haven't been longer than two months in the last ten years. Am I freaked out you say? What are you, some sort of cunt? Of course I am! It is colder than a witches teat, and this morning in Tescos people thought my mate was leading a spastic around, such was my beatific, serene smile engendered by the splendour of the foodstuffs on display. I am in cuisine-fucking-heaven my friend. Who knew Tescos could do that to a man?

Here's a bullet point, hit it with a hammer: England is fat as fuck. Fat fat fat fat fat. Fuck. Unbelievable. Of course I've been reading the obesity stats rocketing up in most developed countries, but to come back and see that shit is fucked in the head. Get a grip you .....aaargh there's no other word for it fat fuck!

There's a lot to be said for denying oneself what one considers to be wicked for an extended period of time, since coming back to it rules the world. It also shows you how to be a person of simple pleasures. Give us a kiss.

Honestly you wouldn't believe how abstract everything is. I keep speaking Chinese to shopkeepers. Being shocked when a geezer in the pub holds the door open and says, "yooaalright mate?" I consider the air in the middle of London to be fresh and clean. Noone stares at me. I look feverishly in every direction before crossing a quiet road, expecting a random dopey scooter to come from anywhere. I keep slapping myself thinking I felt a mosquito. And the water goes down the plug-hole the wrong way.

I just wrote a whole two paragraphs with no profanity. Told you I needed a slap.

I have satisified most of my immediate longings upon return, just earlier I had roast lamb, roast spuds, gravy etc., after a wait of four years. I have fucking lived my friend. I have discovered 'surf and turf', something of which I had never heard. I'm sure my pleasure is unholy. I am punishing the one they call 'Guinness', Christ Almighty is there nothing better than a pint of the black and a Jameson's. No there isn't, you doubting fuck. Sitting in a familiar 600-year-old pub of an afternoon getting right langered, in my humble opinion, should polish everyone's peanut.

However, notwithstanding, and that's as maybe, no comment, and how's yer father. God give me strength.

Love life my friend, and all the strange turns she takes. If you do not, I will track you down and duff you the fuck up. And it's your round, cocksucker.

Sirrah!

"Oh Jesus. Oh fuck me. No. Fuck. No." Me, every 30 seconds. Fuck.

Bish-bosh where's my dosh

2006-01-09T18:51:00.000+08:00

Money. I can state unequivocably that I am a beatifically smiling fucking retard when it comes to cash. Anyone who knows me personally will attest to this. "Brewski? Money? Not in this life pal. You 'avin a laugh?" Together with my complete inability to plan further ahead than the next hour, my lack of control over my rather emaciated wad makes for a winning combination. When I get paid my wallet sounds like a bank note-counting machine, but instead of flitting the bills extremely quickly into a neat pile it flits them willy-nilly into the pockets of drug-dealers, vendors of alcohol and other sundry cunts. I have tried talking about it to both my wallet and my reason, but since they are both wholly inanimate it did no good whatsoever.

Willy-nilly? Fuck off!

Hey girls, here's something that will flick your clit: I don't give a fuck what you look like or who you are, I want to kiss the baby-spot on your inner ankle. Unless you are Condoleeza Rice. If you have the singular misfortune to be she, you can simply fuck off and die, you fucking monster. (Is that first sentence slightly offensive, a bit close to the bone, a touch taboo? Fuck knows!)

Whooaah. Rein 'em in there boy.

Just so you're a fully informed, after writing that woman's name I had to hurriedly get busy and roll a quite massive cone. I have now neither the faculties nor the inclination to dwell on that shit. Fantastic work. I should get a promotion.

Money? What? What the fuck you talking about? Oh yeah, shit.

So anyway money. Bollocks to it, what? My quite flagrant inability to get my head round it has caused friends, family and I to despair on occasion, and also even non-occasion, such as lunch or a quick pint. Pints. Pints always pints. Never 'pint'. Fuck 'pint'. And 'quick' can fuck off out of it too. My peculiar relationship with money plays out in funny little ways. In the 7-11 I will be in control of my movement and intellect right up to the point when I start to pay the cashier. Then, I will miraculously fumble the shit out of everything and start speaking in tongues. Coins will drop, bills will be origamied together and sometimes thrown in the air, cashiers will think "Fuck me but those foreign cunts have lost it", and I will blush like a young lad caught wanking in a cousins bedroom.

Another expression of my eccen-fucking-tricity with money is bartering. It is beyond me entirely. I sort of turn to jelly inside.
Me: How lick I mean how much?
Vendor: 50.
Me: Alright.

Honestly man I canna do it.

One for the road? Let me rack it up though cuz the last one you chopped was fucking tiny. And give me a beer.

Sirrah!

"I heard that Palestinian Special Forces have crept into Sharon's room and rigged up a screen so that the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Hotrocks. They have a spy-cam in there to record the head explosion. Good lads." Some deluded fuck.

Addendum: That should be 'happily' deluded fuck. End of fucking addendum.

Narcissus had cataracts

2006-01-06T16:20:00.000+08:00

I'll tell you about a terrible ordeal I went through: being a teenager. Oh, it happened to you as well? Who would've thought it? Was it fucking nightmare or what? I wish someone could have done a Mr. T on me and sedated me to fuck so I woke up when I was 20. I was a right fucking div. I still am, but back then I hadn't reconciled myself to the fact. My Mum was worried initially because for a few years all I did was read. I wouldn't go out. I read fucking everything, apart from The Koran and War and Peace. Eventually one evening when my Mum was catching her breath between huge slugs of red wine, she tenderly asked me, "Brewski, are you a gayer?" I looked up from whatever Asian philosophy I wasn't understanding at all and said, "What the fuck did you say?" She said "Are you a little Irish fruit-topping?" I eased her mind, "Fuck off Mum. Course not. I am bang into bitches". Eventually I started going out and my Mum wished that I hadn't, since I went fucking mental getting beaten up, vandalizing shit, and generally comin' on with a-one delinquency. Gwarn! Have that, 'O Mum 'o mine.

Never sniffed glue or hairspray though. What do you think I am, some sort of cunt? Sex at 17, good, wholesome drugs like cannabis at 19. Should be a legal requirement.

If you've never had a laughing fit while fucking mashed on mushrooms you have not fucking lived by the way. It is official.

That's right, continuity has been lost once again. We can expect spells of bullshit for the rest of the post, along with a high chance of random squalls. Tie down your chickens. See?

Time for some vitriolic bile, methinks. Erm....Ha! Aaaargh! Is there nothing more evil than a pack of crisps (chips for fuck's sake, to you silly buggers in N.America) that won't open? Shit on me if that doesn't suck. Especially in public. People are like, "Look at that fucking spaz. The poor cunt must have leukemia". Any plastic packaging that clings stubbornly to it's contents fucking blows my gauges. Few weeks ago it took me half an hour to unwrap a new phonecard. I am now going to hell because God particularly liked the string of invectives I directed toward Him, the fucking wuss. Hasn't he seen Goodfellas? Joe Pesci is fucked when He does.

And something else that bakes my noodle is stainless steel. It is very fucking useful, I will grant you that, but in the form of cutlery, lots of cutlery all banging together, it is heinous. The sound of it tinnily rubbing together is for cunts, and I will not tolerate it. Just so you know.

Ah yes. Yes indeed. Quite. (Takes another cocktail sausage).

Some people say it's a small world. They are so obviously deluded it is breathtaking. The world is fucking massive! When someone says that, ask them if they would like to try and pick it up. "Go on then you cunt, if it's so small, let's have a game of marbles. I'll use the moon shall I?" Then call them 'a right cunt' and turn away dismissively. That'll learn 'em.

Making a joke out of the non-literality of idioms is fucking pathetic really, isn't it? Like a souffle that doesn't rise. Although I have never attempted to cook souffle, so how the fuck would I know?

And here's another question that nibbles at my nibblables: Scrabble. Scrabble? Scrabble. I hate it with a fervent passion. What a fucking awful 'game'. It is the epitome of anality, banality and some other -ality that escapes me. "That's not a word!" "Isn't it? It is now, you cunt". Fucking hell chop my genitals off and pickle them in brine, after cauterizing the wound with a burning panatella. I'll be a traumatized eunuch before I play that fucking 'game' ever again. You ever seen a Scrabble Dictionary? Just abstract bollocks mate. And while we're about it, backgammon. Nothing to do with ham, and fucking shit. I have spoken.

Sirrah!

"What the fuck am I doing what the fuck am I doing what the fuck am I doing...." Someone playing curling.

I'll make it milky for you

2006-01-04T18:24:00.000+08:00

Amateur dramatics in villages across Britain. All you can do is observe and ask yourself, "Who is fucking who?" To amuse yourself, say it like an owl would if they could enunciate. Fucking great word 'enunciate' - to fillet a holy woman.

Hang on a sec, I'm gonna skin-up.

.......

That hit the fucking spot.

Who moevd all het fukcing keys aruwnd on thsi keyobard, goddmamit? And my beer suddenly looks massive.

In other news: Confucious can officially be honoured with the title of 'Spacker'. My students here on Demented Isle have to learn his writings by rote at high school, so they all loathe the cocksucker. A strong thread of Confucianism running through a modern society is also a recipe for cultural schizophrenia. And what the fuck am I, a sociologist? Back to Raoul in the studio. Jojoba. Raoul.

Menacingly, the little blippy thing - wha? Oh yeah, the cursor, blips. Seconds second by. Then some more of the cunts. Quick, tell me what to say.

Oh yeah I notice tonight in the alley outside my house that a flashing red light has been placed at the confluence of another alley. It is a very quiet alley, and I see no need for a fucking flashing light set into the concrete floor. In faith, I believe I have a problem with sensing that it is always there, silent, perpetually pulsing with redness, insistent, never-ending, not ten feet from my front door. Signifying fuck-all. Why won't they leave me alone?

I'm laughing now cuz some people think Tourrette's Syndrome is not funny. Those people sadly are utter cunts, because TS is fucking hilarious! If you could get away with shouting "Fuck off ya big-nosed cunt!" at your high school science teacher you'd be 'avin a right laugh. I wonder what it's like to make love to someone with Tourettes? After building up achingly long to climax, the thrusts becoming more urgent, yer man shouts, "Fuck shit piss on you fuck off!!" Then spits on her. I bet some of you cunts would like that. I think my friends suspect I have a mild case of TS, but it's a voluntary act that makes me laugh. Maybe someone wordily criticizing the works of the local council pauses and you exclaim "cunts!" in agreement. Brings a certain raw honesty to the table.

I am going to write one paragraph without fucki - shit.

I am going to write one paragraph without swearing.

I sometimes moan about fashion trends, but I'll tell you one thing I really like - togas. Roman women were bitchin'. That's not a swear-word. A woman in a toga rules my world. I would do bag-'o-nails-faced Germaine Greer if she were draped in one. That old movie, is it 'Jason and the Argonauts? gives me wood. So if you're a girl, do not go to a costume party I am also attending and wear a toga. I will fall in love with you and will follow you around all night with an obvious erection, panting like a puppy.

Jesus fuck cunt the fucking relief.

As you have magnificently gathered, I am still rather dazed after three weeks of convalescence and having just lungified some rather nice hashish. However, today I returned to my teaching duties, albeit with a feather-weight schedule. And what a farce it was. I forgot how to spell 'where' and couldn't remember - fuck, what was it again?

Sirrah!

"Pick me bitch, me, me, me, pick me, over here, me" Quietly and with gritted teeth, a grape in Napa Valley. Those Californians are gagging for it.

Did you just look at my pint?

2006-01-02T18:02:00.000+08:00

So New Year's Eve and my internet connection goes, "Oi Brewski! "Av this you cunt!" And dies. Two days without the net. Weird, yeah? Exaserbated by my current immobility of course, compounded by me knowing as much about computers as a really thick cunt who knows nothing about computers. And we know what we say here at Hotrocks when we see a sentence like that, don't we? All together now, "Jesus!"

Fucking unreal. I was cold-turkey and no mistake. Due to my slovenly appearance and very delicate frame of mind, I couldn't bear to go to an internet cafe. Here on Demented Isle they are noisy bloody places with rows and rows of teens playing online games. Bollocks to that shit. Until about a year and a half ago I hadn't used the internet much, but since I got my own computer I've been reading fucking shitloads. Iss fackin' grate innit? Anyway, interesting was my reaction to a fucked computer.

Wake up you cunt, I'm talking to you.

In place of smelling salts get your head round this: Machu Picchu. Ever been there? Neither have I, and I don't even know if I've spelled it right. Gnarly, no? Right spooky there, I'd warrant. All big mountains, sheer drops and the ghosts of all those sacrificed cunts. Leave it out, boy. I ain't going there. Too much living-at-altitude shit going on. Fucking freaks!

If you don't know the classic beer-garden game 'Aunt Sally' you should be ashamed of yourself and should consider yourself a muppet. One of the best things to do while hammered is throw shit around. Now your talking.

You are not 'talking' however if you want to mention my fear of heights. Then, you are spitefully reminding me of my pathetic neurosis and I turn my head away, chin raised, slighted. It fucking sucks though. It's at the point where I can't watch a movie if the characters are on high, and they don't even have to be threatened. Which is odd, since if they are simply high, it makes me feel quite comfortable and in the mood to do drugs. Fair play, let's get fucked. I had to leave the room during a movie recently when a young couple were having an innocuous conversation sitting on the roof wall of an apartment building. I've said it before and I'll say it again, with gravitas: gravity will fuck you up.

To reinforce the sense of linear thinking and the clear development of an idea within this post: in a summer garden, the colour of red wine in a beautiful glass, lumescent ruby, fucking rocks. Drinking the fucker is even better though, as is putting yourself on the outside of a good few of his mates. Then we'll see what's what, what? And I bet I can climb the cherry tree faster than you, you cunt.

Because I haven't had the chance yet, I'd like to wish anyone reading this execrable bollocks a Happy New Year. Life, after all, is off-the-charts mental. Spirit of choice, squeeze the juice, get it fucking down you. Come on!!!

Sirrah!

"Fuck it. That's it. I'm setting myself on fire". The Good D.

.'Jojoba' is a fucking great word.

2005-12-28T18:49:00.000+08:00

(Fingers between lips) "Ooohaflabublabflubafluh".
Big fish little fish cardboard box.
Whooh! Wharghooah whoo!
(Poised like a cat) "langer!"

Seriously though, this is not funny anymore. No, no not the blog - oh alright then neither is the blog. Who am I to know? You don't ask a spastic about his thoughts on Descartes either, do you? Yeah, well, next time keep a lid on it, fool.

A Husky incisor accidently knocked against a knuckle while play-fighting fucking hurts by the way. Huskies do not fuck about when they play. Like any decent being. 'Avin it.

So anyway you've already guessed I'm spending another day shuffling around and eventually drinking, disappointing the dog who thinks I'm a total wanker for play-fighting for two minutes with one arm and stooped like a motherfucker. Fuck him anyway, the beautiful cunt.

On Christmas Eve I braved the pain, got on my motorbike and headed to a huge book/cd store to get a couple of gifts. I knew I was pretty haggard and had to walk like an octogenarian, but I didn't expect to be laughed at. A group of adult women pointed and shrieked with mirth as I waddled down some stairs, me all bearded up and right dizzy. I was gutted to be quite honest. That I didn't have the strength to glare at them and spit profanities. Fucking bitches. Instead, to my shame, I hung my head in shame, thinking I was the one to blame, but later, in the lane, when Elaine tried to relieve my pain, it was clear that it was they who were lame, the ball in my court with everything to gain.

(Chorus).

Ahem.

Tinsel. Fuck tinsel. Give me a decent bauble anyday. Not only are they shiny, they are usually round. Tinsel is not round. It is long and sometimes furry. Furry fucking tinsel is the worst. Stupid fucking word as well 'tinsel'. Fuck off with your tinsel.

Do you know what I'm looking forward to? Trying DMT! I've resisted it for years, it's been my deferred gratification rather than going to college and getting a decent job. One must have priorities you know.

I want to get the fuck away from Demented Isle. My flying days are over since I developed a very healthy terror of being corralled like cattle and herded onto a metal tube, to be shot into the air to a cruising altitude of 35,000ft. Fuck. That. Shit. So I reckon I might get on a freighter, and take a leisurely three week passage back to Europe. Mainly because I have great success getting off with women while travelling, and I fancy a bit of strange. Old-strange. The oldest woman I've gotten it on with was a 40-ish mad Swedish bint who tried to jack me off in the middle of a bar in Thailand. Fucking hell!

I 'spose you didn't really need to know that, did you. Well it's too late now, cupcake. The die is cast. The bird has flown. The shop is shut. The milk is spilt. The cat is stoked. Jesus.

You've gotta laugh though, what? Like me when I saw a scooter accident the other day. Understand, Demented Isle is scooter-land, and driving here is pure fucking Bedlam. It's mostly bang out of order, but if you've been here long enough you become inured to it, and then go as mental as the natives. Accidents are so common, when you see two scooters smash into each other one tends to see the funny side and ignore the shattered bones etc. So anyway I'm waiting for some sushi at a little restaurant on a busy road. An old boy comes flying out of an alley without checking at all and some young scooter-punk broadsides the silly fucker. They both go flying and the old boy stands up and starts having a right go at the young 'un. Cars stopped, pedestrians paused, everyone laughing fit to burst. It's a cruel world, my friends. Specially if you read Hotrocks. I feel your pain.

If you can remember 'Beat Street' you're alright in my book. You can't, can you? You were into Iron Maiden in 1986, weren't you? Square. Or those 'Welcome to the Jungle' cunts, what the fuck were they called again? Long-haired widdly-widdly guitar solo fucks. I was lugging a piece of lino around doing no-handed windmills, buying Electro albums and getting arrested for vandalism. And now I feel old. Thanks a bunch. Of cunts.

I dare you to make a techno tune by sampling Leonard Cohen's 'Bird on a Wire'. My friend G. would love that shit. It was a trick dare anyway - it can't be done. Unless you want to burn in hell of course. If that's the case, have away at it.

Does this make my bum look big?

Sirrah!

"I knew the internet was doomed". First time reader of Hotrocks.

This just in: Brewski spine declines to retract 'King of Pain' claim. The cunt.

2005-12-26T17:48:00.000+08:00

So it's Boxing Day and because I'm still shuffling about at home I can feel justified in still being festive despite the pain while my peers here go about the regular work week since here on Demented Isle noone gives a fuck. How's that for one ungainly sentence? I would go so far as to say 'homely' in fact.

I can also feel justified being a vapid, random sot since I have reached "two stops beyond Dagenham mate - Barking" levels of insanity. (Swats at imaginary fly. Knocks beer over. Says 'cunt'). Fly, fly fly!

You know what I've never understood? Swedish!

I trained as a boxer when I was a teenager, for about six months. I just wanted to learn how to skip really really fast. I succeeded. I was the fastest fucking skipper in the gym. Never punched anyone though.

The Elgin Marbles? Give 'em back you selfish cunts!

You know when you're in the shallows of a beautiful ocean and the little curious fishies come up and take little sucks on your legs? Is that not bang out of order? Try punching the little cunts. Infuriating.

The spookiest phrase in the world is; 'to hear the pitter-patter of tiny little feet'. Fucking what?

I really am trying to think of something substantive to write.

It's not working.

I spent my formative years growing up on a council estate, unaware of the fact that I was surrounded by drug-dealers and petty crime. Wasted youth or what?

What wasn't wasted however was the early development of my sexual urges. My Mum would be all like, "Been playing with the cushions again Dear?" My proclivity for cushions thankfully didn't last. Kicked the cunts last year.

Clock ticks. Everyone looks down. Fiddle with a hangnail. Squirm.

I once had a girlfriend who couldn't hold newborn babies, as she would be overcome with a strong desire to dig her index knuckle into the 'soft-spot' where the skull plates had not yet fused. She would also want to bite them due to their intrinsic 'juiciness'. She remains free to this day.

Speaking of girlfriends, I like it when they don't wash.

I grew up with a hateful man who was my Mum's boyfriend. He would pull my hair and slap me about when she wasn't around. I snapped my collar-bone once and he came to pick me up from the hospital in his vintage fucking black 1920's gangster car. We were halfway home and I realized his laughter and my yelps of pain were as a result of his purposefully choosing the car due to it's complete lack of suspension, causing the free-floating bones to grate against each other freely. Don't you worry. If I ever see the cunt again I will slap the shit out of him.

Good-naturedly, of course.

And then I will stick the cunt with a shiv.

I'm joking, cunts. An Army-issue survival blade.

To come on with a bit more festiveness: Living, trying to dodge ignorance, is having it. Fair fucks to all of us. HERE'S TO US! And if there is no vodka in that orange juice you're drinking, prepare to die.

'Desist!' you cry. 'Cease!'. Very well. I comply.

Happy Christmas, cunts!

Sirrah!

"The Child-Catcher in Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang can fuck off." Me.

Gwarn! Hic.

2005-12-25T15:32:00.000+08:00

Wha?! Habby Cerissmas to the loddyez. Hic. Fair fuggin' play to ye all. CHEERS!!!! (an rememmer hic. SQUEEZE THE JUICE!!!).

I have fucking lost it

2005-12-22T14:16:00.000+08:00

I have been confined to my house for almost two weeks with a bad back, and I am now officially hatstand. You should see the fucking state of me. 'Bout a week ago I thought I was on the mend, then woke up one morning and someone had shifted my hips two inches to the left again, without the permission of my spine. Counting chickens can fuck right off.

So can Tom Cruise. What a cunt.

And what the fuck is up with tea ceremonies? All that delicate fucking palaver and not a drop of the good stuff? Are you insane? Same with birthday celebrations that consist of cake and coffee. Just plain wrong. If you've ever been to a pub and not had a drink you are a fucking pervert and should be placed on a watch-list.

A friend imparted this delightful nugget the other day: the quack of a duck does not echo. Beware the stealth-ducks. And watch out for sheep as well the dodgy cunts, especially at night. 'The quack of a duck does not echo' is actually an old Chinese proverb meaning, 'There is no evil. Do what the fuck you want'.

My feet are cold, and it's your fucking fault. I demand redress.

Oscar Wilde was a stupid little bitch for counter-suing the Marquis of Queensberry. He could write the shit out of stuff though. Ballad of Reading Gaol? Gwarn you effette William Morris-loving old tart you!

If you have ever studied the philosophy of math, then we have a problem my friend. That is some weird shit right there.

And what the cunt is going on with quantum physics? Quarks? Nano-technology? Buckyballs? Eh? Eh? I also cannot fathom the combustion engine and air brakes, which means what? Correct! They can most assuredly be fucked!

I had a mountain bike in Holland called 'The Cycle of Violence'. I believe it was the basis of Steven King's 'Christine'.

Fucking hell. You still here?

You ever seen someone snort wasabi? Ha! I fucking win. (Again).

I'll bet you any money you haven't read 'War and Peace' and The Koran. The bet is null and void if your name is Philip. I haven't read them either, so don't you worry By God, we're in this thing together.

You ever seen 'The Wickerman' with Edward Woodward? Those young tranced-out women in the spooky village are well sexy, what? Female vampires also turn me right on, for some kinked-out reason.

Ah yes, you posit a legitimate enquiry. 'What the fuck am I on about?' indeed. Food for thought and no mistake. My reply? 'You can go and get bent, you fucking gnat. Can't you see I've gone mental? Have a heart.'

We also have a problem if you own a pair of inline-skates. Fruit-boots are for cunts. Buy a skateboard for fuck's sake. Any chance?

Yeah, yeah I know it's only 3.30pm and I shouldn't be hitting the whiskey, but I figure it's Christmas, my boss's patience is running thin and if I lose my job my life is completely fucked, my back is screaming at me to lie the fuck down, I don't have any clean clothes because I'm unable to go to the launderette, we all die in the end, and dandelions are right crap.

Thought for the day: Bollocks.

Sirrah!

"I could not give two good fucks about apathy". Britain's voting population.

Really? Fucking hell. I did not know that.

2005-12-17T15:49:00.000+08:00

Cats can fuck off. They are too mysterious. There is something voodoo about their sex. And they are always plotting for the perfect HeadGrab ClawCling. If you live with a cat, stay frosty. People who knit stuff fucking enrage me. And you know who else is an insidious bunch of total cunts? Grandmothers. All they do is die and make everyone all fucking sad and shit, and that after knitting a whole lot. And they smell. Fucking bitches.

You can't argue with a jam doughnut though. Until I was about eight I would see 'doughnut' on signs and wonder what the fuck duffnuts were. It follows that since I am not a doughnut, I am perfectly capable of arguing. You fuckin' want some or what?

When was the last time you typed the word 'semolina'? That's right you cunt, never. I fucking win.

Watch out for 'spunk', 'fanny' and 'twat'. The first two can cause confusion with N.American cunts, and the third they can't pronounce. It's twat with an 'a' and a pronounced 't' sound you stupid fucking eejits.

Girls who writhe on the bed, moan deeply and flick their tongue in and out of their mouths a la Linda Blair in the 'Exorcist' as they orgasm can fuck off. Ditto if they can't find humour in me shouting, "Let Jesus fuck you" as they come. Bollocks to that.

A poltergeist once lifted up a whole shelf of big books in my bedroom and slammed the cunts down in the middle of the floor. After an hour of terror under my covers after the big bang woke me, I leaped up and turned on the light. The books were lying exactly as they had been on the shelf, standing on their spines, perfectly aligned. And that was the last of it. It must have fucked off. Fucking pussy.

Pickled eggs. Fucking rank.

I will beat your ass at Subbuteo, even if we have to play five-a-side cuz we got arseholed and stepped the fuck all over the players and broke them the fuck up. And I'm not playing till you iron the pitch. Christ.

Who remembers the drought of '77? Fucking skill!

I have served Eartha Kitt with fresh fruit and vegetables, when I worked as a thieving fucking imp on a market stall in deepest Oxfordshire. How ya like them apples?

I hate most words, but the worst of all is 'normal'. I fucking hate that shit. Not only is it a gormless sound, it does not exist. It limns precisely nothing. Fuck it.

If you can't get into a bit of banghra, you are a bit of a cunt, no?

Ever been down the K-Hole? Magic!

And finally: I love life. You know why? Because it is the business. Squeeze the juice. Remember, pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. Suicide is for cunts. Imagine it. No more morning wood, no stubbing your toe, and no colour of lime. Keep on keeping on, and fucking skin up while you're about it.

Sirrah!

"About that other thing".
"Yeah Boss".
"I say we clip him".
"Maron! Finally! Antipasto! Brewski needs to sleep with the fishes" .
"Bella".
The Grandmother Mafiosi. (Currently vying with the Yakuza over control of most major governments).

My spine is a right nutter

2005-12-15T21:15:00.000+08:00

And sciatica can also fuck off. So too can muscle spasms and nerve tension. Manual labour, skateboarding badly for years and falling drunk off things, or simply, over, I eye darkly. Fucking had a great laugh though!

Additionally, psychologically preparing oneself for minutes on end to sit up long enough to skin-up, take a long gorgeous suck on a barley-pop, and endure the agony is very fucking interesting. So too is the attempt to wipe one's arse.

Further, fascinating is the feral yelp I will ejaculate as I take a 'step' and the bolt of pure furious-nerve pain dislocates reality for a flash. You ever tried to punch someone when you're sneezing? Didn't fucking think so. So where you at then? Think about it.

If I may continue? Much obliged.

Thought provoking is the exhaustion and rigor-mortis stiffness after a 800 metre walk to the beer shop, and the utter inability to go to the wine shop, since for some cunts I must preserve my dignity. Stooped, walking as if I have soiled myself, unshaven, fucking generally haggard, and most of all babbling utter fucking cuntitudes and tweaked embarrassing shit - not done in the wine shop, yo. The lady there is chill, deserves respect, but in that 'tiffin at three' stylee. Fuck that shit.

That's why I do it here, and you like it, you scruffy cunt you.

Sirrah!

"We should put him down". My Doc, as an aside to his intern.

Bein' a One with de Spastic Nation.

2005-12-10T17:03:00.000+08:00

For two years or so I lived in a wicked community in Holland, in a village on the coast. It was a new integrated project in a large loonybin, established back in the day by monks. A large area of flats and houses was designed thus: Large house of group of spazmos, normal cunts. Large house of group of right spazmos, total cunts. And so on. My girlfriend worked as a carer there, and so was privileged with a particularly cool joint for fuck-all. Living there was fucking great. Being surrounded by complete loopers, the friendliest cunts on Earth, was wonderful. Ruud, about 60, would preamble around all day, occasionally expressing his delight with a rising "Whooh!" and would hug you the first time you saw him everyday. Lisa would prolapse about once a week, always good for a laugh. David was always hanging about trying to stop bellowing obscenities while grabbing his crotch, and one of the normal cunts living down the road was a raging queen who was always getting beaten up in the pub with every cunt on E.

The village itself, not 40 seconds walk away, was a model traditional Dutch affair. The juxtaposition of the two 'worlds' was interesting. The spazmos would occasionally cause mad incidents, a disruption in the 'normal' and 'spaz' realities, a wormhole. My point is this: the Dutch are mental, and the line between sanity and spastication is gossamer thin.

I have a chronic disc problem with my back, and it has decided to attack. Must lie down. Laters.

"Oh Jesus no don't let this happen again". Me, to my back.

Tosspottery of the highest order.

2005-12-08T21:58:00.000+08:00

So the Industrial Revolution has led us to corporate globalization. That's just fucking fantastic. Being woken up by an alarm clock is a traumatizing trauma for our psyches, spending the larger part of the day in an office environment or in a clanking fucking factory is Dante, Kafka and your Mum on PCP combined in your ethereal synapse scene. A zillion people half-adreaming, two weeks paid vacation a year. This all can fuck off. I will not accept it. It is awful abstract, spirit denuding, robbing fucking cuntitude. "Argh what's this cunt on about, what can you do, gotta put food on the table", says you. Fuck off. If you're fucking thick enough to have dependents, you are a cunt and deserve to be yoked to craven fucking servitude or toil. If you are an individual entity, you can sort your fucking head out. Fuck plans, fuck pensions, fuck it all. Life is not a linear march of regimented bollocks. It is dirty, mischevious, cyclical and madly fucked-up. It is everything you don't comprehend until it decides to fuck you in the face with irony, like when you know you're dying and wish that you'd snorted that shit after all. "Jesus Christ," you whisper, "Why was I so afraid?" Yeah, yeah, all you Establishment tube-feeding cocksuckers will refute me with this cunts gonna die lonely in an alley somewhere shit. So? Maybe I fucking will. But I will have been true to myself, and I don't give a fuck about the cold or pain, or loneliness. See? Abstract nouns are bastards. What the fuck is 'loneliness'? It does not exist. Pure, unadulterated bollocks. You need to become your own Thesaurus, bound beautifully and hardbacked. Human societal constructs are flimsy, and weak and teetering, but the sheeple give them succour, and power. And reality is therefore projected onto the screen, we watching eyes pinned-up Clockwork Orange stylee, loving it.

I dropped out of University after a year after going to visit a friend in Holland for what I though might be two weeks. Ended up living there for nigh on six years. (Much to the chagrin of G. Sorry boyzee. I bet when I go home my Mum asks about the fucking Dream-catcher). That summer when I raced to get the Eurolines bus to get to the Land of Cheese, the amusement park installed a monster-gnarly rollercoaster, so I leapt off the fucking carousel and jumped onto the beast. I've been on the cunt ever since. Yesaye.

Sirrah!

"When I awoke from the dream, it was as if I couldn't be sure whether I was a complete cunt, still dreaming of being a total wanker, or a cunting muppet dreaming I was a comprehensive tool. That's why they locked me up". Some Asian chap with a wispy beard and a queue.

As mad as an old woman's shite, and as rough as a Chelsea-smile. Don't bother

2005-12-06T22:01:00.000+08:00

Most people here would wear bin-bags on their heads if Americans or Europeans were doing it. If Johnny Depp started rocking polka-dot waistcoats, Speedos and moonboots with leg-warmers, it would be de rigeur here within months. If Larry King started interviewing cunts with two florettes of broccoli protruding from his nostrils, ernest bankers would follow suit without delay. We all have this emulative gene to some extent, especially as teenagers, after which hopefully most of us get a life. I remember at one point desperately wanting a Greek sailors hat just like that uber-cunt lead singer of 'Curiosity Killed the Cat'. Remember that bunch of total cunts? I eventually got hold of one and wore it for about five minutes, the dippy fucktard that I am.

Anyways, this emulation malarkey would be all well and good if it wasn't for the ball-licking adoration that allows cultural imperialism and consequently brainless consumerism. Acquisitiveness informs all, Mammon frolics. Prestige by filthy lucre are the platters that matter. Mall-rats are all very well, but we've reached the point where my adult students consider meeting their friends in the department store of a Sunday afternoon as a good time. Well slap my thigh and fuck off while you're about it. How skewed is that? This has transpired everywhere, desire created by the myth-spunkers of the corporate brain. I am not fucking joking here cunts. To see fully grown adults reduced to infantile giggle merchants by wealth and spending is truly perturbing.

Everyone chill. I like a good Zoo York hoody and PSP or whatever the fuck as much as the next crap blogger, but cunts need to rein that shit in. Like haunting images in a periodical of people in India, Tibet or maybe Hull, the black and white denoting their desperate struggle to survive, the abject poverty all around. There but for the Grace God go I you think. Well I don't know who you are, or what your thinking is, but you can both be fucked. Those people have had all choice taken from them, and if you are a fat little piglet sucking from the teat of aquisitiveness, it has also been taken from you. Only difference being, you are a lot less likely to die from starvation or cholera, you are a cunt, and you can't batique a linen for shit.

Sirrah!

"You have to deal with reality, or it will deal with you". Julius Lester

Newtonian physics can fuck right off

2005-12-04T15:06:00.000+08:00

Scientific certainty, empiricism, the 'prove it' reality-makers, modern medical science driven by petro-fascism and Massive Pharma. Fuck them all. Unlearning is most important for us all. Turn off your TV. Get it out of your house, now. Naval psyops worked in the studios of MTV in it's early development. Judith Miller sucks Cheney's cock, and that cunt is deep evil. Skull and Bones, Bohemian Grove. Institutionalized occultism, child-abuse. Who is 'they'? They killed Kennedy, and King. They let bin Laden escape from Tora Bora. bin Laden has always vigorously denied having anything to do with 911. Ever seen the 'celebratory tape'? That isn't him. Zarqawi is fucking dead. Has been for ages. Jahr Damail confirms it, click on the 'real Iraq fuckers' link if you haven't already, you heathen ignorant cunt you.

Aren't novelists very prescient cunts? Orwell. Hunter S. Thompson was suicided just as he was about to cap his years of writing on the horror of it all with his first real big boom, and they took him out the cunts. Gibson was correct. Neuromancer will come to pass. Fuck, at least there'll still be Zion Dub.

And another thing: what the fuck is up with 'Take That' re-forming, like an immortal toxic blob? See? We are all fucked!

Noone seems too bothered that the scientific community avers that 70% of the Universe is made up of 'dark matter', and they haven't the slightest idea of what it is. Parapolitics and the paranormal. Remember, 'conspiracy theorists' are the true skeptics. Disinformation be fucked. Get down the rabbit-hole you fuck.

"The Universe is too weird to understand....and there is a narrow range of reality that we judge to be normal." Richard Dawkins

Extra-Terrestrial Cunts

2005-12-02T22:11:00.000+08:00

I saw a UFO once. Must have been 1987, I was 17. 'Bout two in the morning I was walking my dog Felix. This was just before I found my calling in life, so yes, I was sober you cunts. I walked up the street to the top of the hill, where it opens up to a large area bisected by a quiet road. Almost directly in front about 800 meters away was a pub, The Wheatsheaf, on the edge of a council estate, a real shithole. Drank there often. A huge factory was further to the right about 1500 meters away. No cars, no noise. A noise. A deep, slow, whoomph, whoomph, whoomph, like a choppers' rotors slowed down by a thousand times, reverberating deeply, but not loudly, an oscillating 'bass'. Hard to describe. Felix (Great Dane-something smaller cross, the greatest dog to ever live) stopped at the same time as me, and I looked to where he stared. Directly above the pub was a muted white light that throbbed in time with the sound. I couldn't see it's outline. A woman with a carrier bag was to my left, and she had stopped and was staring. Felix couldn't take his eyes off of it. For thirty seconds it remained stationary. And then, in one instant, the object was over the factory. In a split-second, with no change to the sound. Reality changed, because I knew for a fact no human invention was capable of such speed and agility. I looked again at the woman, and she was running away down past the pub. After two minutes or so, the sound stopped, and the throbbing light rose slowly into the cloud cover and disappeared.

Since childhood I've sensed that most of life is an indoctrination, and had always felt that I needed to lift veils. At 17 I was still very much a child, and therefore shocked at how blithely I took it. It's only now as an adult that I've started to run around screaming, "They're here! They're here God help us all!!" Deferred realization on a platter. I suspect it has informed my life ever since, since I tend to piss on anything that smacks of cuntiness, by which I mean all the 'reality dealers' that aspire to control.

What the fuck do you make of that then?

Sirrah!

"We are indeed surrounded by magic my friends. Check that bastard monolith out". The first coherent sentence uttered by homo sapien.

"Fucking hell! Quick! Let's smoke some more of that good shit before I batter you with this bone!". The second.

Addendum: It is Saturday afternoon. I have just shaved my head after letting my hair grow an inch too long, and am currently getting to work on a brace of Tsing Taos. In a short while I will stroll for a minute through the alleys to the wine shop, where I will pick up a couple of bottles of a lovely Spanish they have. They are kind enough also to stock big skins, of which I will avail myself thrice. All is well. End of fucking addendum.

Yes-aye! Having it

2005-11-30T22:11:00.000+08:00

Givin' it large back in the day, there were some very tweaked things that came to pass. When the parties kicked off in our neck of the woods, it all got a bit abstract. And that is good. My flat for a year or so was an open house, known as 'The Nuthouse' or something. Not big and not clever in your eyes you constricted fucking prudes you, but in mine - fucking skill. One friend would fall asleep after giving it some for 72 hours or so in the living-room (understand; it was like shifts - cunts would drop off while others caned it, and would slowly switch as the swirling hours corkscrewed by) with his fucking eyes open. But mull on this cinnammon stick - you could only see the whites of his eyes. Wide-open, but his eyeballs rolled totally up. Spooky fucking shit my friends. Imagine it. I am totally off-tits, sitting directly opposite him not three feet away, the cunt sitting upright in the chair, head un-lolling. He is a close friend who has become the living-dead, apparently vaguely interested in eating my brain.

Line breaks are always a welcome relief, don't you find?

Those parties when it all kicked off. I bless my cotton socks I was there. Mad sound system. Driving soaring sounds. A few hundred people comin' on dirty and sweaty, fuckin' givin' it some and not giving a fuck. Tribal fucking savage happy cunts. Ecstacy indeed. In both of it's explicit meanings we would be fucked without it.

Who remembers Refreshers? Fucking hell!

Sirrah!

"Pithy quotes are for cunts." You. Again. One more and I will lamp you.

The Inner Wisdom of the Learned Teacher

2005-11-28T22:24:00.000+08:00

Here is my lesson plan that I dictated last week to my Guided Writing class, entitled 'The Only Constant is Change'. I know, but fucking cut me some slack. I've been teaching this class for over a year, and the fucking well is running dry. Accompanying it are my ruminations at the same moment. In italics. Babel-fish stylee.

Describe how you think Demented Isle has changed in your lifetime.
"Describe how you think Demented Isle got to be so fucking mental.

What do you find difficult about modern life?
"What do you find difficult about modern life, apart from my Christ-awful teaching?"

What do you think have been positive changes?
"What do you think about clutching at fucking straws?"

How have you changed, do you think?
"How have you changed, or is it quite possible you've always been a muppet?"

If you've changed, has it been a gradual process, or have certain events precipitated change?
"Have you become excruciatingly dull over time, or did you one day suddenly get your head kicked in?"

What changes can you see in Demented Isle's future?
"What changes can you see in Demented Isle's future, seeing as the place is a U.S. bargaining chip, has an utterly dysfunctional government, and as such is fucked?"

Have you ever (idiom) turned over a new leaf?
"Have you ever turned over a new leaf, or do you have an ego the size of New York and consequently cannot fathom your own myriad faults and shortcomings?"

How have your friends and family changed?
"How have your friends and family changed, and how are they faring under the bitter yoke of your acquaintance?"

And finally, do you favour the status quo, or do you embrace change?
"Fucking hell. I wish you would stop looking at me like that. I need a drink. What the fuck time is it?"

Yes Bob. The noun 'mail' is uncountable and cannot be used with the indefinite article 'an'. The countable noun 'message' must be used.
"MMmmm. Think I'll go with the Kirin tonight. Those cheeky pachenko-lovers. Oooh. Smoke. One big skin or two? Two you cunt!"

Ok everyone time's up, you can give your papers to me for correction. Thanks for coming, and I hope I see you next time.
"I'm off home to get right mashed up. Laters".

Sirrah!

"I have just wasted three! minutes of my life". You, a second ago.

You can stick racism right up your arse

2005-11-26T16:46:00.000+08:00

I fucking abhor it. It is the bastard son of that most dangerous thing in the world, ignorance. I pity racist people, for as well as being cunts, they are incomplete as full human beings. I also cannot abide the neglect or abuse of animals. I will punch you in the neck if you like Celine Dion. Gary fucking Glitter. I find Hello Kitty repulsive, indicative of our infantilism and ignorance. I will stick you with a shiv if you are a homophobe, intolerance can fuck off. Tofu is for cunts. Over a quarter of TV viewing is shifty fucks trying to sell you stuff. Turn it off. Most cunts are cunts. If you like rice pudding or gooseberries, you are no friend of mine. Dismissive of alternative medicine? Then you too can fuck off. Who the fuck thought of mosquitos? That's right. God. What a cunt. Draconian drug laws and policy. How can people take this life seriously? What the fuck have we done to the Earth? The food chain has been destroyed in Harbin, no messin' about with a 50-mile long benzine slick. And because no state mouthpiece tells the truth, guaranteed it's ten times worse than I've heard. I had an airplane crashing nightmare last night which has put me in a weird mood for the whole of my only day off. I am now considering going home overland again.

George Best has died, and for some inexplicable reason that has made me very fucking sad. As you've probably gathered. Cunt that he was, I raise my glass to him.

On a lighter note, Bloody Marys rule the world.

Sirrah!

"Pele called me the greatest footballer in the world. That is the ultimate salute to my life." George Best

Moore's Law. Fucking hell!

2005-11-24T12:27:00.000+08:00

Technology. A right head-doer or what? I'm constantly fucking dumbfounded by it, as I'm quite the innocent in that regard. Dumb as a box of rocks in fact. I like it that way however, since I'm constantly pleasantly surprised by it, like a retard re-learning how to use a spoon everyday. Every morning, after twenty minutes of throwing cereal and milk around the kitchen, he finally directs the spoon to his cake-hole. "Well fuck me!", he thinks to himself. "These spoon things are the business!".

In about 1991 my mate Steve was the first one of my friends to get a cell phone, being, as he was, a wide-boy. He came to my apartment one afternoon and we smoked a chunky cone, resulting in the raging munchies. He went to the local shop to get some chocolate-chip cookies. Mmmm. He left the phone on the living-room floor. It was an early model of course, the size of a brick in a sinister black leather case. While he was gone, fuck me sideways but the fucking thing rang, chirping like an asphyxiated chirping thing. The screen and keypad glowed Blade Runner-green. I jumped, regarding it with wonder and suspicion. I circled it cautiously. "But how?", I thought. "There's no fucking wires or cables or anything. This is sorcery and magic!" I felt like intoning a spell to ward off evil or some shit. Eventually I steeled myself and picked it up. After pushing all the buttons, swearing and giving it a good shake, the chirping stopped. I've loved technology and it's astronomical development ever since, apart from those 'Dance, Dance' machines you find in amusement arcades. Those are for cunts!

Sirrah!

"Jumping Jesus, Holy cow, what's the difference anyhow"? David Gray

That cunt just puked on me

2005-11-23T15:45:00.000+08:00

Typical exchange of an evening in my house:
You skinning up or what?
Alright. Grab us a beer while you're in the kitchen.
No. Get your own fucking beer.
Sigh.
(Skinned up. Beer grabbed).
Look at that. Gross. I don't think you should go down there.
Why, there might be...FUCK! Headgrabbers! HowthefuckdoIgetbackupOhJesusI'm dying....
Do 'im with the chainsaw!
I can't..Whoa! Gnarly. I need a health-pack.
There's one in the infirmary.
Oh yeah. This plasma gun rules.
Look out for that big fat zombie cunt.
Fucker.
Mars is fucked in the head.

Yes. X-Box. Doom 3. What do we make of video games then? I think they are wonderful, and in many respects have come of age. The right games now are immersive and cerebral, challenging on many levels. I piss on cunts who dismiss the whole gaming lark out of hand, and I would urge people to get into it. Doom 3 for example is a huge, terrifying puzzle with a sense of realism that draws you in completely. A game called Half-Life 2 is just incredible, where you are completely inside a bleak Orwellian world, very philosophical and thought-provoking. Shit-scary and violent as fuck as well of course. I am Gordon Freeman, and I am a free man.

I'm not a hardcore gaming cunt, but I really appreciate the depth of that shit now. I'm not surprized that the industry now equals the movie industry in profits. So come on. Get X-Box Live you cunts, and I could soon be blowing your brains out on the battlefield. You know you want to.

Sirrah!

"Jesus God they're flanking Fuck! In the church tower Cunts! Playing 'Brothers in Arms', frightened.

Can Christmas fuck off or what?

2005-11-21T16:02:00.000+08:00

Yes, it most assuredly can. I am a right pagan cunt, and could give a fuck about the Gregorian Calendar along with it's bullshite creation of symbolism and significance of certain days and times, foisted on us all by those Christian Church Elder cunts. For example: witches are fucking wicked! Broomsticks for polishing the peanut and huge fucking orgies all wasted on hallucinogens. Fair fucks to that I say. I think it's incumbent on each of us to know about British fucking paganism before the Church got all pissy and told cunts what's what. You don't tell me fuck-all, you repressed fucking freak. You and your miserable vindictive God should fuck right off out of it. They even fucked up time. The Church turned it into a linear progession, going forward in a straight line. You what cunt? Time is cyclical, as pre-Church peeps knew. Birth and re-birth, women's cycles so closely tied to the moon and oceans. We would all be happier if we were allowed to see time this way, more a part of life's time. Linear, digital time is bollocks.

Which reminds me. It's 4.30. Gotta go teach.

Sirrah!

(Read 'A Sideways Look at Time' by Jay Griffith. Pure brilliance).

Ding ding! "Time please, gentlemen". The most heinous English phrase ever conceived.

You what, cunt? War on what?

2005-11-20T16:24:00.000+08:00

Fuck me if 'The War on Terror' exists. Does it fuck. It is one big cunting myth. It is the result of mis-rule, a forsaking of a culture of life, replaced with fear and death as an instrument of social control. Fear has been manufactured by PNAC and whichever twisted cabal Blair mixes with. It is sickening. Sometimes I can't quite believe I am witnessing it. Like the London bombings, and Blair et al saying it was disgusting to suggest that they were the result of the British Army raping Iraq and Afghanistan. When Blair said that, whoever was standing near him could probably smell the Semtex on his hands, the stupid fucking cunt.

The CIA is the biggest drug dealer in the world.
Google Ptech 911.
David Kelly was fucking murdered. His last email was to Judith Miller, the hateful fuckwit she is, I hate her guts. "There are dark characters playing games" hours before he was killed.
Hunter S. Thompson. Suicide? I don't fucking think so. He was sitting on dynamite, literally. WTC1 and 2 and 7 laced the fuck up with munitions. Kelly and him both, suicided.

Fuck us all anyway, the bunch of stupid cunts that we are.

Sirrah-less.

"Pull it". Owner of Building Seven.

All Hail Bitches!

2005-11-19T14:28:00.000+08:00

Well fuck me but it's a funny old game. I had just turned thirty, and one day came to a profound realization. (Before I flesh out that scintilating opening salvo, let me just remind you I am a right dizzy cunt. I am, in fact, a fucking retard in many respects. The inability to be objective immediately springs to mind, much to the scorn of my scientificasious friends I'm sure).

Christ. Anyway, it struck me. For the last ten years, I had been single for six months. Five relationships. Does that ever happen to you? It's like for a weird moment you can just 'see' yourself. And you go, "Fucking hell, what sort of cunt do I think I am anyway?"

Six months in ten years. "Brewski", I said to myself, "it is time for centering, to come back to yourself, to learn more of who you are as a man alone under the firmanent". 'Bout eighteen months later I fucking did it again. Which would indicate how seriously I take myself.

Born of my lapse however was a deep and lasting friendship, which I wouldn't have missed for naught. It is indeed a rich fucking tapestry, and women rule the world, the delicious hussies.

Sirrah!

"I quite like that Brewski fella. Makes me feel all funny". Your Mum

Blogging. Any fucking chance?

2005-11-18T22:21:00.000+08:00

This blogging malarkey is off it's fucking nut, is it not? I aver this as a rookie, a grommet, as someone who is 'short'. Although I know some people who read this (but who don't post, the fucking useless pricks), I haven't told many, so in all likelihood you are a total stranger to me, which I suppose is as plain as the spliff hanging out of my mouth, Brewski you terrible stating the obvious cunt you. Jesus. My point is that, to me, writing a blog is like conversing with myself while enabling others to 'listen in', and maybe, God fucking forbid, comment. Unless you're one of my friends, in which case you can fuck right off you voyeuristic fucking retard, I know where you live. Be warned.

And that is a very interesting thing, as in recent years I've chosen to spend most of my time alone and apart in far flung climes, which means I know fuck all about fuck all. I've fucking loved it, you should give it a go. I feel refreshed, and will dive back in a better cunt. A fascinating perspective, from here anyway. It must be fucking torture for you though.

So here I am, writing about blogging while blogging. How wanky is that? I am perturbed. Maybe it's just not done. Perhaps I'm commiting a huge blog faux pas. Like that time I inadvertently called a student of mine 'fuckwit' in class. She is now somewhere saying 'fuckwit' every time she errs. She spills her cup of tea, "Oh, fuckwit!" It took some creative explaining and no mistake. (Made possible by electronic dictionaries here not having British filth listed. Sirrah! She is now getting scowled at constantly in Australia). Is there any point to this little scribble? No, there is not!

One thing I must mention is that people (girlfriends especially) have grown to hate me because I'm the sort of cunt who goes through life apologizing for everything. Fuck! Sorry about that.

Sirrah!

"Fuck off." Me, earlier, after a young man apologized for bumping into me on the street. He was a foreigner, of course. (I'm on Demented Isle). Scared the shit out of him. Cunt.

Listen to the thunder, cuntchops.

2005-11-17T22:01:00.000+08:00

Bloody hell. Holy Toledo. Christ on a bike, pedalling furiously. Fuck.

All of us sorry bastards, blessed as we are to have, astoundingly, been born into life, are subject to personal realities that make us mentally recite the above line, or something like it, every little while. Like a rumbling soulful thunder, part dread, part not-knowing. This is only occasional in our mental lives. Dread-notknowing is of course the entirety of our spiritual. Anyway, my mental dread-notknowing for the last while is: very soon I will be meeting my Dad.

After mad violence my Mum ran away from him when I was three. Two or three years ago my oldest sister got in touch with him. He has a room ready for me in his house. It is in Cork, and apparently the cunt drinks as much as me. He does come from Cork after all. He lives quietly weaving baskets, baking bread and revealing cryptic messages in 'The Magic Flute'.

About a year ago I called him. We were both blind drunk, but understood each other perfectly. When he said 'Son', which he did repeatedly, I would choke up. It took a minute or two before I could say 'Dad'.

Can you imagine it? Can you hear the thunder? When I go 'home' we will drink the island dry. The dread-notknowing is the new world of hangovers I am about to enter. New, hostile, territory. We know by now the Spidery, the Head-Cracker and The One whose Name we Do Not Speak. But I am still young. I have so much to learn. I will be OK. Dad will guide me, or will fucking die trying no doubt. Pray for me, you bastards.

Sirrah!

"Admire the world...as you would an opponent, without taking your eyes off him, or walking away". Annie Dillard

Love lost.

2005-11-15T16:58:00.000+08:00

My first post on Hotrocks, and what a load of inane drivel it was, touched on women's pointy fucking shoes. I have a violent reaction when I see them. They fuck me off no end. They are horrible, a fashion aberration. I would laugh if I wasn't so disgusted. On Demented Isle, I thought their huge popularity was particular to this part of the world, until I started seeing them pop-up in Western magazines.

And then, everything shattered and fell away. Since the eighties, one of my favourite women in my fantasies was Diane Lane. I thought she was fucking gorgeous, what with that scar and all. Did you ever see 'Rumblefish'? Great film, and Ms. Lane would thicken my long clean cock. And then, about two years ago, I saw a piece of shite with her and Dick Gere. They are married, and she gets a right good seeing to from a young, handsome book collector. And she wears fucking pointy cunting shoes. That was the end right there, apart from a vague interest when she gets fucked from behind.

I will never forgive her. If I am enjoying a five-knuckle shuffle now, and think of her, my tumescence will start to flag as into my mind comes pointy shoes. The situation is always retrievable though, no fucking worries on that score. I just imagine her in DM's and a full-length floral print summer dress smoking a spliff in an exquisite living-room drenched in the afternoon sunlight. And she is horny.

For a full ten minutes or so, I forgive her. Then I feel such shame. "But Brewski", I say to myself, "she wears pointy shoes. How could you?" And I go abroad in the world tainted and downcast. I bet she fucking has bunions too. Those fucking shoes will do that to a girl, I'll warrant. Bollocks to it.

Diane Lane, you have much to answer for.

Sirrah!

"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional". Susun Weed.

Gaudi is my man.

2005-11-13T17:38:00.000+08:00

Musicians and writers had always been my soul's delight. And then I went to Barcelona. Old Barcino. And I stood in front of La Sagrada de Familia, and wept. I had never been touched in such a way by architecture. Secular cunt that I am, the divine was before me. De Parc de Guell, overlooking the city. Gaudi was an instrument of divinity. His creations seem to grow from the earth, all colour and Nature's wish. See it before you die, cocksuckers.

Also, Old Barcino fucking rocks in and of itself. Beautiful soapy stone for skating, and the Old Quarter is a den of iniquity. And because noone reads this shit anyway, I love my long clean cock.

Sirrah!

"Some old cunt just got hit by a tram!" A Barcelona pedestrian, circa 1901.

Machiavelli. What a cunt.

2005-11-12T15:13:00.000+08:00

This went down the collective memory hole faster than you can say "GladioHk-UltraNorthwoodsProject!" Al Jazeera: [Al Shaykh] "In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate. There have been continuous provocative acts since the day before yesterday by the British forces against the peaceful sons of Basra. There have been indiscriminate arrests, the most recent of which was the arrest of Shaykh Ahmad-al Farqusi and two Basra citizens on the pretext they had carried out terrorist operations to kill U.S. soldiers. This is a baseless claim. This was confirmed to us by [name indistinct] the second secretary of the British Embassy in Baghdad when we met with him a short while ago. He said that there is evidence on this. We say: you should come up with this evidence or forget about this issue. If you really want to look for truth, then we should resort to the Iraqi justice away from the British provocations against the sons of Basra, particularly what happened today when the sons of Basra caught two non-Iraqis, who seem to be Britons and were in a car of the Cressida type. It was a booby-trapped car laden with ammunition and was meant to explode in the centre of the city of Basra in the popular market. However, the sons of the city of Basra arrested them. They [the two non-Iraqis] then fired at the people there and killed some of them. The two arrested persons are now at the Intelligence Department in Basra and they were held by the National Guard force, but the British occupation forces are still surrounding this department in an attempt to absolve themselves of the crime."

Cue a fucking tank raid on the prison to save them. They were disguised as soldiers of the al-Sadr Brigade, and they look hard as fuck. SAS, perhaps, or SRR (Special Reconaissence Regiment). A day after, Western media never mentioned this again, content with colourful pictures of soldiers falling out of tanks, on fire.

Red flag operations, the fomenting of unrest. Machiavellian shape-shifting fucking cuntbags.

This one is Sirrah-less.

"The box. You opened it. We came." Hellraiser

Oi! Fuckface! You feeling lucky?

2005-11-11T22:17:00.000+08:00

Great God Almighty when I look back at some of the stupid shit I've done I'm astounded I'm still in one piece. I am a lucky cocksucker and no mistake. Seriously. The litany of near misses is fucking Biblical. This is discounting of course the fully intentional laser guided targeting of my brain matter with the clusterbombs of fine alcohol and all manner of narcotics. Fuck my brain anyway, the stupid cunt. To illustrate the power of my Guardian Angel, get a load of this shit:

'Bout three years ago, a Saturday eve found me getting fucked right up. On Demented Isle there's no fucking licencing laws, one of the main reasons I've been here awhile. I love landlords and landladies, and they adore me, so the joint fucking shuts when you crawl out the door. It was about 8.00am on a beautiful Sunday morning, the tropical sunshine bright gold on the palms, the ancient fruit and vegetable sellers recoiling happily from our small group's utter depravity as we wandered down the road to a large park. At that hour old bastards throng the parks to practice Tai-Chi, walk backwards with arms wildly swinging (I've no clue either) and generally do stupid shit that I suppose invigorates them in readiness for their day of screaming at their families. They also have ball-dancing classes on sandy ground under the massive canopies of 300-year-old banyan trees.

After snogging a girl I barely knew, and really didn't like very much, I noticed one such dancing group. I decided to climb into the tree and spy on them from above. As you do. I duly did so, and reached my objective, obscured in the foliage suspended about fifteen feet directly above them on a thick branch. I am not a clumsy, weaving fucking drunkard. I keep my shit together. I bet I could drink you cunts right under the table. Anyway, somehow, some way I fucking fell off, falling only like a drunk foreign cunt can. Heavily, and with bemusement. Bang into the middle of about fifteen waltzing coffin-dodgers. And I missed them all. Every single one of the cunts. I landed woomph! Took a few seconds to breathe again, and stood up, to find myself facing the old woman instructor. Without the slightest pause, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she assumed the position and said in perfect English, "Let's begin. One two three, one two three...." And we began waltzing. Fucking surreal shit. After a minute or so I muttered something about having to, um, go, and she graciously bowed as I fucked off.

So anyway, I didn't kill anyone by falling from the heavens. What an ignonimous end for a poor old cunt that would be.

Anyway, I'm interested to hear about your luck, because I seem to have a huge surplus of the stuff. And no. You can't fucking have any, you mooching fucking cunt you.
Sirrah!

"Aagh, great hands". Anon. You know it.

If you live with a dog or cat, listen the fuck up

2005-11-09T20:07:00.000+08:00

If you're unlucky enough to have looked at a couple of earlier things I wrote, you'll have noticed that I love animals, and think most humans are cunts. These humans reach this state not under their own volition, but by being lied to by commercialism and it's root; business. I grew up with animals an ignorant fuck. Animals were fed with 'wet food' in a can, and kibble manufactured by right fucking corporate cunts. And I am angry.

DO NOT FEED YOUR ANIMAL FRIENDS KIBBLE AND SHIT. IT IS FUCKING WRONG.
It is the equivalent of feeding your friend McShit every single day.
Start looking into a raw diet.
Raw meat.
Raw fish.
Bones an' all.
Organ meat.

Two years ago, my girlfriend at the time, who I still live with as great friends, 'rescued' a Husky here. Being greatly interested in diet and health generally, she started to research the pet food industry, and found that it is utter bollocks.
We started introducing Ollie to the raw diet. Best thing I've ever done. Look at that fucking picture. That's what your friend needs and wants. If your friend is older, introduce it gradually. Unlearn, cunts, unlearn.

Manufactured pet food is fucking poison. There is nothing like watching your friend digging in to whole chicken or side of pig. I've never seen a healthier cunt than Ollie - the brightest eyes, strongest teeth and lushest coat. No health problems whatsoever. In a sub-tropical climate. And I can just crack a barley-pop, skin-up, throw Ollie a fish, and the National Geographic Channel is right fucking next to me.

Any questions, any doubts? Then you are a victim, as I was, of the corporate-myth machine. Fuck those cunts. Unlearn.

Sirrah!

In Memory of Felix and In Praise of Ollie.

Do my head in, fuckwit!

2005-11-08T16:08:00.000+08:00

Words are vastly fucking over-rated, are they not? Empirical observation? Fair enough. Poetic lyricism that gestures toward our metaphysical life? Fair play to you. Conversations we engage in in our day-to-day lives? Cuntitudeness to the Nth degree. If you are not an intimate of mine and you talk to me, as your mouth moves and sound comes out, the pure revulsion I feel for you emanates from my brain like a biosphere-wrecking ray from DAARPA or some shit. The only reason you can't feel it is because you are as thick as fuck.

Alright, maybe I shall direct my antipathy not toward cunts, but toward what we call 'small talk'. After a lifetime of being a right gregarious geezer, 'shooting the breeze' or whatever you N.American bastards call it, and generally being mildly stimulated by individuals who would express themselves with charm, wit and self-deprecation, I reached the point about two years ago where not even a brace of beers would enamour myself of a small-talking cunt. The kernel of this has been growing in me for years in fact. I remember teaching a bottle of absinthe a good fucking lesson in Portugal about ten years ago with two intimates. I wound up conversing with a nano-talker from New Zealand. One of the intimates who I was particularly close to recognized the danger as my eyes flashed, I sat up straight, and looked confrontationally into the man's mug. He'd had the audacity to say, "It's hot here, isn't it?" Artfully, I was moved from the man's immediate vicinity. He was in my sights the whole fucking night though.

This is why, now, most avenues of life are closed to me. In my early years I worked briefly for a PR company. Jesus Christ Almighty. I thought my head would explode. What an utter waste of life. "This coffee's shit, innit?" "I hear we're getting a new account." "You see that film on Channel 4 last night?" "What d'ya make of (insert some wanker professional footballer here)". Acquaintences would see me walking to and from work, and I would remind them of Michael Douglas in 'Falling Down', but better looking. I was ready to kill, and knew then that I could in no way tolerate people who fill their lives with small-talk shit that meant nothing. "But it's necessary", you crow. "To get on in life, one must bear this festering cacophony of bollocks". Fuck getting on in life. What the fuck does that mean anyway? Having renounced most cunts views of what it is to 'get on in life', I am one happy fucking chappy. Having spent twenty years being tolerant and gregarious, I am now in a position to be wildly happy, unsociable, and free of the infantile bollocks that most cunts spout.

So if I ever see you in a club, and every cunt's on really good E, and I ask you for a sip of your water and a smoke, and we're both gurning, smiling, and rubbing our hands up and down our (own) thighs, and the bass is bassing our innards to fuck, do not turn to me and say, "These E's are really good, yeah?" Because, mashed up as I am, I will do my best to sneer and walk away. But in reality will grimace strangely, stumble backwards, and fall over someone's outstretched, unfeeling limbs. You will appreciate my sentiment though.

Anyway, treat words with respect, is all I'm saying. Know what I mean?

Sirrah!

"Words are leaden shite". Any seer you care to talk to.

You 'avin a laugh or what?

2005-11-03T21:45:00.000+08:00

If you're anything like me, which I hope to Christ you are not, you are in a condition of stupefication. A dulled horror has draped itself over the world in the last few years that has slapped me senseless, that has changed what I thought we were all about. If history still remains in the generations to come, cunts will look back on our time with horror. They will wonder how the elites that controlled the military-industrial complex and the banking system and the pharmaceuticals were ever allowed to get away with it.

The company that the Bush Junta has chosen to rely on to stockpile Tamiflu, to the tune of $1 billion dollars, is called Gilead Sciences. a company once chaired by - Donald fucking Rumsfeld. He resigned upon becoming Defence Secretary, but still holds between $5 million to $25 million in stock, the value of which has shot up in the last six months, earning that cunt a cool $1 million as a conservative estimate, with much more to come.

Halliburton's stock has tripled since the Iraq 'war' began, and the U.S. Junta continues to do business with them, even though it has been found that they have overcharged the American tax-payer by $1billion. Cheney receives a massive yearly retirement from them.

Following Hurricane Katrina, Carnival Cruise Lines recieved a $236 million contract to house the homeless, almost three times the cost of housing them in hotels. Carnival is the No.1 sea transport GOP donor.

D'yuh know what I fucking mean? Words escape me. The blatant hollowing out of what this life of ours is. Anything that was noble and for the general good was rare anyway, but this shit is just taking the piss. Science 'under threat' for God's sake. The world has fucking left me behind mate.

Anyways, cunts, here's my favourite joke of all time. Stop me if you've heard it.

There's a tomato and an egg in a frying pan, sizzling away in hot oil. After a couple of minutes, the tomato says to the egg,"My God but it's hot in here".
The egg exclaims, "Fuck me!! A talking tomato!"

Sirrah!

"I demand that someone whittle me a stick." Me, mashed up, circa 1991

Sloths are fucking wicked

2005-10-30T17:19:00.000+08:00

Animals, man. They rule. Other than drinking and smoking, another fine quality that should be part of everyone's lives is the desire to be around animals. I can't get enough of the cunts.

Few years ago, a girlfriend and I looked after a dog of a friend of hers for a couple of weeks. It was a toy-dog, some kind of little terrier I think, with long, lank greasy hair. I can't remember the breed. I fucking hated yappy little dogs, and was convinced they were all cunts. I was bitten by one on the knee when I was ten. Will I make a joke about that shitty old adage? No, I will not. Anyway, after a few days of me generally sneering and taking the piss out of the little bitch, one evening there was a mad thunderstorm, loud as fuck. I have never seen such a terrified creature in all my life. The dog yelped and shivered, trying to bury herself in the intractable corner of the kitchen, just fucking pulsing with fear. So anyway I took her up and comforted her and shit, and she slept on my bed that night. After that, we were all right. She was quite a laugh, when you got to know her.
Anyway, animals are good for the soul, and that is all.
Sirrah!

"Why are all those human cunts staring at me?" The Happy Sloth

One cunt to rule them all

2005-10-29T17:53:00.000+08:00

It's happening. I've been on Demented Isle so long, my resolve is weakening. That stumpy little twat Frodo was fucked up by that gay ring. I am being fucked up by a powerful force they call 'Me-First'.

I am one polite cocksucker. I smile, I say please, I say sorry if someone steps on my foot, for God's sake. I am one self-effacing and considerate man. 'Me-First' is very powerful here. Oh yes. He creates chaos on the roads, over-bearing pomposity, a political system that is generally ridiculed, and myopic, selfish worldviews. Which applies to most everywhere, I suppose. Anyway, I conducted an experiment. I realised that I've spent my life stepping the fuck out of the way for people as I walk down the street, and couldn't discern if the courtesy was being reciprocated. So for a day I stopped doing it. In one day, I had given a man a dead arm, nearly got into a fight and knocked a halfling over. With countless bumpings of bags and arms. What, am I invisible? Eeaarrghh! Move out of the way, you cunts!!

I have now returned to my gentler ways, apart from when a halfling is in the 7-11, and I can push them over in relative peace. 'Me-First' still has his one good eye on me though. Oh yes.
Sirrah!

"One of the reasons that religion seems irrelevant today is that many of us no longer have the sense that we are surrounded by the unseen." Karen Armstrong

Addendum: Ever read Karen Armstrong's 'The History of God'? That book is beef man. I feel younger already! End of fucking addendum.

Wickedy-wick!

2005-10-28T15:59:00.000+08:00

I am aging like a fine wine. Getting older is the business, and any cunt that whines about it has fulfilled their obligations viz a viz their total cuntitude. I just feel more grounded, which is puzzling since the world around me gets more abstract by the day - Michael Jackson's face for example. Since I am a solitary fucker who has lived halfway round the world from home for the last few years, I am out of the loop. Un-privied. On a disconnect. You're breaking up. Lost signaled. Away with the faeries. The last time I talked to my nephew, he was raving about a PS2 game. PS2 can burn in hell. X-Box is yer man. Anyway, he was like, "The game is beef, man, totally beef". My heart swelled with pride as I experienced juvenile slang I had never heard before - I was officially an old cunt. I bet I could thrash the little prick's ass at Tony Hawk though.

Although I probably won't frolic in this mortal coil for too much longer, since I've fucked my body flatter than hammered shit, and continue to do so, I am relishing the whole shebang more and more. There's a wonderful freeing from the shackles of doubt. I still call myself a cunt fifty times a day, but now it's with an affectionate, doting inflection, because, really, who gives a flying fuck? This is not to say I am subscribing to any post-modernist cack that cannot posit any notion worth dwelling on. Any chance? Piss on that. No, it's that as you shuffle through the years, you grow into yourself, hopefully, and heart-thumping fear subsides, and you can start ordering cunts about, confident in your seniority.

I, for one, have realized I am the most unambitious geezer. I have the aspirations of a mule. I don't want anything. Apart from not to be murdered, which would fucking suck.

Did you know that 70% of the universe is made up of dark matter, and scientists don't have a fucking clue what dark matter is? That, my friends, is what it's all about.
Sirrah!

"Wake up in the morning, I sip my cup, eyes get red, noone to help me". Bob Marley

Morbid Fascination

2005-10-27T22:07:00.000+08:00

Western culture has been rimmed the fuck out, basically, hasn't it? Exemplified by the U.S. I can't look away. The corporate oligarchy has triumphed. The purported energy and vibrancy of that culture is an empty shell. Buy, consume, own things. America's mythic individualism is actually 'herdism', corporatism and technology, externalizing our lives, pissing all over that most precious interior journey and the life of the mind. Intellectualism derided as elitist, Forrest Gump and good ole boy Bush. A people turning to myth and magic as cognitive understanding is exiled. The heartland a methamphetamine-soaked Superfund, enraged, turning on itself like a snared hyena.

Thomas Frank, writing in an essay called 'Dark Age', says:
"The wiring of every individual into the warm embrace of the multinational entertainment oligopoly is ... the crowning triumph of the marketplace over humanity's unruly consciousness ... We will be able to achieve no distance from business culture since we will no longer have a life, a history, a consciousness apart from it ... It is putting itself beyond our power of imagining because it has become our imagination, it has become our power to envision, and describe, and theorize, and resist".

Microsoft and AT&T designing curricula for five year olds. Hollywood pumping out veiny red steaks of physical excitement, dripping with base adrenaline and pumped up on hormones, like milk that brings on puberty at eight years old. A third of the adult population obese, sucking on super-sized shakes, comforted like huge infants by corn-rich slop.

Forty-two percent of American adults cannot locate Japan on a world map. (Garrison Keillor)
15 percent cannot locate America.
40 percent of adults did not know that Germany was America's enemy in WW2. (New York Times)
50 percent of high school seniors were unaware of the Cold War. (DoE)
60 percent had no idea how the U.S came into existence. (DoE)
A survey of adults revealed that 63 percent believed that human beings lived at the same time as the dinosaurs. (National Science Foundation)
Of the 158 countries in the United Nations, the U.S ranked 49th in literacy. Roughly 60 percent of the adult population has never read a book of any kind. (Morris Berman)

Millions of people without power for the foreseeable future in Florida because of Wilma, and Jeb Bush calls them stupid for not stocking up, and it's not FEMA's job to help out. The horror of New Orleans, a people abandoned and worse off than before the civil rights movement.

America as a dual economy, rimmed the fuck out. I don't want to look, and can't look away.

The statistics above are from five years ago.

Learn who you are, and how the world works. Everything else can suck on a warm cock.
Sirrah!

"Sallust's description of Rome in 80 B.C - a government controlled by wealth, a ruling class numb to the repetitions of political scandal, a public diverted by chariot races and gladiatorial shows - in other words, a right sorry bunch of cunts."

Everything has shattered, and fallen away

2005-10-25T22:07:00.000+08:00

"We're an Empire now, and when we act we create our own reality, and while you're studying that reality - judisciously - as you will, we'll act again, creating new realities ... we're history's actors, and you - all of you - will be left to just study what we do".
Unattributed quote from a senior cunt in the Bush Junta to a reporter - think Cheney, Rove or Rice. Andrew Card perhaps.

Have you seen HBO's Deadwood? It's the first DVD set I've ever bought. Ian Mcshane as Al Swearengen is pure genius. In the first scene of the series, a criminals' hanging is abruptly brought forward due to extenuating circumstances. With the noose around his neck, just before he steps off the stool, with spittle flying and total vehemence, he mirrors my reaction to the above quote: "FUCK. YOU."

Eisenhower was shit-scared of the military-industrial complex. One of his last speeches as President warned of it.

In 2002, Project Uncensored's number one under-reported story was the mission statement of The Project for a New American Century ; PNAC. (Now the U.S administration) . Decades before 9/11, the vast imperialist desires of cunts like these was explicit, the de-stabilisation of the Middle East, and control of it's oil, and control of the filthy dollar in which black-gold is traded. (I like Hugo Chavez's move recently of moving his country's cash the fuck out of the States). One thing was needed - "A catastrophic and catalyzing event, like a New Pearl Harbour".

Google Prescott Bush. George McCuntyFucks Grandfather, and his close relationship with the Third Reich.

Noone fucking creates my reality. I am that shitty actor Keanu Reeves in the Matrix all fucked up and slimy falling out of his fucking pod. Christ that guy can't act for shit. Employ rigorous intuition, and mull over the old chestnut of a small elite craving world domination. The Bilderberg meetings. American media in the pocket of the CIA. Stuff like the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff ordering that he be left in his office, undisturbed and alone, for the duration of 9/11. He was obeyed.

Others are queazy when Hitler/McCunty/PNAC comparisons are made. I most certainly am not. Similarities between this moment and late 30's Germany is fucking eerie. No other President in U.S history has ever made speeches in military uniform, ever. Military-industrial poster-boy. Fuck Plamegate. Libby or some cunt will be indicted, and the rest of them will be unindicted co-conspirators, who will be pardoned by Chimpy McCunt a la Iran-Contra. And the whole happy clusterfuck will continue.

Decide who you are, and what your reality is. Because, and be sure of this; at every turn, either by bold-faced audacity, ommission or simple most evil ignorance, you are being lied to.

There are now over 30,000 lobbyists employed in D.C. Up more than half since 1999.

Let's party like it was.
Sirrah!

"What's the fucking point?" A perfect morning salutation. A guy from Bath would greet me with it every morning on paradise isle, as we passed each other going to/from breakfast, with beatific smiles, shocked by the beauty.

George Bush is a nimrod!

2005-10-24T23:09:00.000+08:00

Ha! Fooled you. I was going to write about that sorry sack of shit but you know what? I am not a self-flagallating glutton for punishment, like those cunts in Opus Dei. I am in a 'could not give two good fucks' mood. Also I must have my thoughts in some sort of order to consider Chimpy for any length of time. Dwelling on that particular personage will fuck you up.
Instead, let me say this. TV is fucking poison! Not the most original observation, but it bears reiteration, and I am the one reiterating, you little bitches. Cancel your cunting cable. Give your satellite dish and your set-top box, or whatever it is you obsessed passive-consuming cunts use nowadays, away. Don't sell it. Think I'm asking too much? Well don't think about that, think about what I'm fucking telling you to do. Jesus, is there any chance?

The less people who see TV as a source of information, a nicer place the world would be. Is that fucking twee enough for you? And if TV shapes your understanding of world events, wake up or be fucked.
Sirrah!

"I have a 42" plasma-screen TV with surround sound, and it rules!" You, if you had any money.

Addendum: TV should only ever be used to watch DVD's or play X-Box. End of fucking addendum.

My dog is a fucking stoner!

2005-10-24T15:47:00.000+08:00

His name is Ollie, and he's about two years old. He is a Siberian Husky, and is as soft as shite. I've been in about four full-on fights with local street dogs, trying to protect the bastard. The local cats are plotting against him also.

I try not to smoke cigarettes when he is in the same room as, like all dogs, he hates the smoke. If I have skinned-up however, he will come and lie near me. He will shyly watch that hashish cigarette being passed between myself and my friend. I will ask him if he wants a toke. He will, of course, say fuck-all.

I will get a fucking good lung full and blow it gently around his head. He will turn away slightly like a right haughty cunt, savouring the resinous aroma. He loves it. He will then spend the next couple of hours amusing himself quietly in the living room, throwing a small piece of rawhide bone around pretending it's a fish or something.

There was a few friends around once. Cunts were skinning-up, and Ollie was lying beside me. As I was holding forth with an inspired conversational gem, I absent-mindedly held out the spliff to my left, and carried on talking. When noone took it, I looked to my side scowling. I was offering it to Ollie, who was looking at me questioningly. I know what he was thinking. He was thinking, "You are a dimwitted fool. Now blow some of that shit over this way, you opposable-thumbed cunt you".
Sirrah!

"Eminem has electrified the English language, and I haven't." Seamus Heaney

kill them. kill them all.

2005-10-22T15:54:00.000+08:00

You have a choice. There is a dog and a kid. The man with the rusty saw says one of them gets it, upon your word. The other lives. If you are anything like me, you are leaving with the dog.
Kids. I fucking abhor them. My school has learnt to keep children away from my classroom.

They are snivelling wretches, and I can feel their underlying torment as halflings if they are near me. I fucking hated being a kid. I was painfully aware of my embryonic consciousness at every second. It was like being paraplegic but aware of all around you. It was an urgent, constant voice that said, "Wake up you pea-brained little puke you!"
If you have kids, I pity you. If your kid comes near me, I will not harm it, but be compelled to move away. And if there's one thing I hate, it's being compelled to do anything. Kids will fuck you up.
Sirrah!

"When kids are near: caution. They are devious little fucks" Lao Tzu

I fucking love animals by the way

2005-10-22T12:19:00.000+08:00

Which is a right bastard since here on Demented Isle they treat animals like shit. Either as purely guard-dogs or for prestige. And it breaks my fucking heart. Several dogs in my neighbourhood are in cages 24/7 and are never walked. Humans are cunts. There's a female puppy Beagle in a cage down the street owned by a young couple. They are out most of the day. I have to check each afternoon to make sure she has water - most often she doesn't.

This is one of the main reasons I have to leave the Demented Isle. Thirsty dogs. Christ.

"If you don't love animals, you are a total cunt". Mahatma Ghandi.
Sirrah!

Vignettes of pain and lucky escapes

2005-10-21T11:04:00.000+08:00

Here are some fun facts about me and my life:
I am 35, and I am a lucky bastard.
I managed never to become a junky, unlike a good few of my friends.
I lived in Holland for six years. One Friday night I headed into Amsterdam on my own. When I returned to the house, my friends started to press me on what the fuck I had been doing. I told them it was only Sunday evening. They informed me it was in fact Tuesday evening. To this day I have no idea what the fuck I could have been doing.
I was given a good going over by a couple of gangsters with baseball bats, and escaped with bruised ribs.
I've met Martin Sheen, and kissed Macy Gray (on the cheek).
I once had to talk to a pig outside a rave with 2 E's sizzling on the back of my tongue.
After a flight from Thailand, copious amounts of red wine and 2 valium, I fell down a 25-step marble staircase in my house, splatting the crown of my head at the bottom. I needed only 4 stitches on my pate.
My alcoholic father once threw me, a three year old, into a bed of nettles.
I worked in the best restaurant on a Thai island.
I was skateboarding on a winter's night in a deserted carpark in Holland. Trying to do a 180, I slammed and cracked my head. I don't know how long I was out. I didn't sleep that night to make sure my brain wasn't bleeding. Motto: don't go skate on your own, especially if you are shite.
I got a tattoo in Barcelona from I guy who was drunker than I was.
I cried when I stood in front of La Sagrada de Familia. Gaudi rules.
I have run naked around a monument in the middle of a major roundabout in E.Asia. It was for a bet.
Another head trauma: as an 11 year-old, I ran, full pelt, into a telegraph pole, which had been placed inconveniently in the middle of our footy pitch in the local park. This time I know how long I was out - 15 minutes. After I bounced off the pole, I stood up, said, "Jesus Christ, help me", before promptly collapsing.
Playing rugby at secondary school got tackled by a big bastard called Nigel. His ear was right next to my left collar-bone when it snapped clean in two. He puked.
Having split-up with a woman in Holland, I underestimated Dutch ire. I opened the door after the bell had rung, in an unguarded moment. She instantly booted me in the nuts, bringing me to my knees. She finished me off with a flourish - a meaty wack to the jaw. I was down. She left.
There was period of about a year when the only E's around were called snowballs (early 90's). If you stayed up for 3-4 days caning them, some serious mind-shit would go down. Minutes long conversations believing you were a tv producer, in my case. (I worked on a potato farm at the time). For my friends; recording label executive, professional snooker player, and gardener.
Around the same time, on a Monday afternoon (after kicking off the previous Thursday), a group of about eight people sat in my apartment staring at the TV. It was after about twenty minutes that someone realized it wasn't turned on.
A poem I wrote is on a plaque next to an ancient Welsh burial site.
My gold Claddagh ring once prevented my finger from being severed.
I was famous for being able to make tea for twenty people while utterly mashed up.
Six years in Holland smoking skunk will fuck you up.
One of my favorite phrases is, 'That cunt's a prick'.
Only one person knows I've created this blog. Hope this makes her laugh, or something.
Sirrah!

Oh dear Christ - what have you done, you utter cunt?

2005-10-20T00:10:00.000+08:00

If you landed here, and are reading this, I pity the fuck out of you. Anyway, I suppose you've fucked off by now so I can get on talking to myself, and tell me what I'm in to:

Erudite, but completely profane discourse, so if you're the sort of cunt who dismisses, or objects to, that sort of thing, you can fuck off.
Drinking.
Smoking.
Unlearning.
Fucking politics.
Pretty constantly throughout my 35 year stint I've also found that I have a natural talent for not quite knowing what the fuck I am doing, hence this awful bollocks.
And why, by the way, am I explaining myself to you?
This is my first ever attempt at blogging, and I know fuck all about it; and I'll tell you something else: pointy women's shoes are fucking awful. I hate them with a passion. I've an eye for everything, and that shit is wrong. I've been travelling for five years, and if I go home and find any of my female friends rocking them, I will kill myself.
If you have read this far, you are a complete cunt, and should post a comment.