Paris Hilton Gets Fucked

Yes - THE Paris Hilton and no, it's not a charity event, although I think she might be needing it - the event thing rather than the other.

She has to raise funds somehow.

The 'queen of spending money' has just discovered that Grandpa Hilton - provider of funds for all her ludicrous activities and imbecilic behaviour, has donated all his money to charity.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

This rather hinders her credit card payments and ability to be frivolous beyond belief. In fact, the billions she was expecting have been given instead to worthy causes.

It's not very Gothic but, ok, I did allow myself a somewhat dignified, but essentially satisfying chortle.

Welcome to the real world, my myopic bimbo.

Now, you will actually have to do stuff for a change. This should be interesting in a fashion that you have never achieved in your 'well-earned' rise to stardom, money and 'pissing it all away' behaviour.

Just think of the career openings with such an illustrious and compelling CV - tsk, tsk *berates himself* I read 'did fuck all' when it should have said...'.

However, always the heroic Goth, I have some suggestions for new movies that she could take a starring role in (apart from the obvious pornographic material - released on the Internet, accidentally on purpose):-

• The Good, The Bad and the Plain Fucking Stupid


• "Ooops, There Goes My Inheritance Vicar"


• Ready, Steady, Fucked


• Gone In 60 Seconds


• Nightmare On Cash Point

However, being a nice Goth, I feel compelled to help her (well, I don't really, I'm just trying to be a better person) - what other movies could she shamelessly star in to furnish her lavish lifestyle??

The Little Book Of Calmer

Oh yes. I have found the 'little book of preposterous nonsense' again and I feel it only right that I share this complete and utter bullshit with you.

I don't know who wrote this, but I do know that if he, or she, muttered any of these meandering delusions in my prescence, he, or she would get soundly beaten to a pulp.

Unfortunately, according to the burble on the cover of this dissection of the human spirit, there are over 2 million idiots who have purchased this drivel and are wandering around the world in a delusional fashion.

A few select morsels for your entertainment and derision....

"The fewer things you must do in life, the fewer things you own, manage or are responsibile for, the fewer are the stresses that accompany them" - yeah, and I bet your partner was over the moon when you came out with that crock of shit - oh wait, you're single.... I wonder why that might be.

"Have you ever noticed how relaxed you feel the moment you remove your watch? Remove yours from time to time, and remove yourself from time pressures" - but how would you know when it was time to remove the bloody thing - you trippy hippy.

"The clothes you wear have a distinct influence on the way you feel. Loose garments, natural fabrics and light colours all lead to calm. This is why yogis wear white" - enough you idiot. Firstly, Yogi wore a tie, and a hat - neither of which were white. Secondly, the Klu Klux Clan wore white garments as per your instructions and I distinctly recall them not being calm, or rational - in fact, they were a bunch of neaderthal shitheads.

"If you substitute a herbal tea such as peppermint for more stimulating drinks such as coffee and tea, your ability to be calm will be enhanced many times" - so should I take coffee instead of herbal tea you muppet? - and, I don't see any mention of Wodka in that list, or Jack Daniels.

"Gardeners are among the most calm and relaxed people (while they're gardening) you'll find" - hmm, ok. But the rest of the time they're completely stressed about the fucking moles digging up their plants?!

Right. Enough of this bullshit. I am now going to set fire to the book and instantly feel calmer about myself. Ha ha, the book works you see - given enough petrol and a lighter - and a handy bottle of JD.

Calmer now :-)

Reflections Of An Ass

So, I was meandering along my way, quite happily I might add, when I got accosted. I don't mean busted for drugs, as I wasn't carrying any this time, I mean that I got stopped and asked to carry a heavily pregnant woman and a variety of pots and pans.

Normally, that wouldn't bother me - I can't really complain as it is in the job description of being 'An Ass For Hire' but, this muppet kept complaining that he hadn't got his wife pregnant at all - it was the 'Hand of God' or some lame excuse.

Now, I'm not human but even my furry butt understands that you don't get laden with youngsters without getting a bit frisky - trying to foist the blame onto a non-specific entity is the oldest trick in the book.

Anyway, we arrived at some love-shack where my customer decided that we should spend the night. I wasn't overly fussed as it was getting a bit chilly and to be fair, the driver had got some carrots hidden in the towel on his head, which was bloody handy as I was feeling a bit peckish.

I was feeling rather tired and let slip the fact that I do actually speak. It wasn't really my fault but the woman was moaning so much that an expletive escaped from my tongue....

"Jesus Fucking Christ"

I muttered and, to my dismay, the woman said "That's a nice name - I think I might go with that". To be honest, I nearly choked on my carrot but, discretion being the better part of valour, I held my tongue and tried not to regurgitate the carrots.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the barn door, and three hippies appeared talking nonsense about 'following a light' or something. To be honest, I couldn't understand what they were harping on about - the smell that they were exuding was so bloody atrocious.

"We have presents for the Son Of God" said one of the hippies.
"Yeah - we've totally brought some..... dude, what did we bring?"
"We have brought things - important things.... that are worth lots of money because..."
"Yes - we've brought some stuff, that you totally won't use but smells nice in the bath, I think....."

The rest of the conversation is a bit hazy because I was desperate to go to the toilet and to be honest, the services in the hostelry were a bit shit and I didn't fancy the look of them at all. Thus, I farted and pretended I was going somewhere interesting.

I was going to return but there was so much fawning over the sprog, that I didn't feel that I belonged. Anyway, I already had my saddle-bags packed for my trip to Peru. I have to go and see Diana The Llama - she has the nicest girly-lumps you have ever seen.

Christmas Spirit

Not the ghosty one, rattling chains and reminding you of all the shit things you've done in your life. I'm talking about the purely alcoholic one. Anyway who says that drinking is not big and not clever can fuck right off my planet.

Drinking is great and clever. Logically, if all of those miserable bastards who start wars and talk religious bollocks got pissed more often, the world would be a far better place.

International conferences should be held in bars. Just think how much would be achieved. Well, probably not an awful lot but, it would be jolly good fun.

One of my favourite places to visit was a Gothic nightclub. There was never, ever, a fight in there because everyone was so off their faces that they couldn't be arsed to fight. If a drink was spilt there was no macho posturing and threats of violence. The conversation was more like:-

"You just spilt my drink you pissed twat"
"Sorry, I fucked up - let me buy you another one".

The Middle East conflict could have been solved so quickly with enough alcohol, and maybe a kebab afterwards.

So to all visitors to Goth World - I raise a glass and wish you a prosperous new year with lashings of ginger beer - laced with whisky obviously.

All Saints

It's a very French thing but apparently every day of the year has it's own Saint. In some respects, I find that slightly amusing as I was actually named after The Saint - which was very annoying to me as a child as I wanted to be called Steve like the Six Million Dollar Man. It also meant that my initials were exactly the same as Sanitary Towel - always handy if you need beating up in school.

Back to the days and Saints thing. Obviously, having to come up with 365 Saints names necessitates scraping the bottom of the barrel. Today, for example, is Saint Pierre Canisius day. That's not too bad I suppose but here are a few others of interest:-

February 12 - Saint Felix (patron saint of cats I believe)

March 2 - Saint Charles Le Bon (founder member of Duran Duran)

March 20 - Saint Herbert (inventor of yellow powder that fizzes on your tongue)

May 12 - Saint Achille (proud wearer of go-faster sandals)

May 18 - Saint Eric (the half a bee)

June 5 - Saint Igor (the first Saint to live in a spooky castle)

July 20 - Saint Marina (patron Saint of yachts)

July 28 - Saint Samson (no, I'm not making this shit up - it exists!!)

September 22 - Saint Maurice (some people call him the Space Cowboy - woo hoo)

September 25 - Saint Hermann (the original Munster)

October 30 - Saint Bienvenu (the first Saint to work as a doorman at the Pearly Gates)

December 29 - Saint David (which is unusual as March 1st is St Davids day in Wales)

So, I think it's time for a Saint Goth day. I can't remember exactly what you have to do to be a Saint - I think it has something to do with 2 miracles or something. I can do that. All I have to do is eat a McDonalds burger without blowing chunks and then watch Paris Hilton on TV without shouting "KILL, KILL, KILL".

Siempre.

Then I get my own day. Of course, I dare say you have some better suggestions for miracle type shite I could do?......

Golf. It's Contagious.

Goth would ask you to guess what he likes about golf but, it's a pretty short list. In fact, the list doesn't exist at all.

I mean, what the fuck is there to like about people twatting a ball with a stick, in the hope that ball goes into some squirrel nest?!?

If you can't twat the ball into the hole, dig a bigger fucking hole !! It's not rocket science, just the law of averages.

I grew up next to a golf course, and it was just a procession of sad cunts, dressed like pimps looking for where they had misplaced their balls. The bastards couldn't get laid, in a brothel, with fifty quid hanging out of their arse pockets.

Unfortunately, this disease, known as golf, is contagious. I know because I nearly caught it once. My 'ickle' brother, who isn't 'ickle' at all, persuaded me to try out this idiotic sport.

I had to think carefully before I acquiesced.

"Hmmmmm - my brother, the policeman, with a gun, and his Police warrant card, and a very short temper with metal sticks encountering stuck-up, pompous twats, whining about 'playing through'". Now That's Entertainment!!!!!

"Oh go on then" I said, instantly feeling better about myself.

Granted, I was hoping that PC Bro would 'kick off' and insert a golf club, at high velocity, where the sun doesn't shine.

Boo hiss - didn't happen.

We just had a long walk - punctuated with "Oh for fucks sake"!!!! - 'hmmm, that'll be the water then"

I'd love to say that I got birdies, and eagles and other flying stuff, but I didn't. I'm 'shit-hot' at the game on the Playstation, but, in reality, I'm like Stevie Wonder on a zebra crossing - fucking clueless.

I'm not giving up though. I've seen the spastics that attempt to play golf. I'm better - at least I can see where my ball fucked off to.

"Oh look - trees, with big mushrooms hiding my.....""it SO did NOT go in the water/sand/fucking trees.... again"

Santa Does Not Exist

Discuss.

What sort of an exam question is that? Fucking wankers.

Of course he exists you myopic, philosophical twats. How else would children get presents at Christmas? Not everyone can have a Frequent Argos card. Just because rich bastards can buy their children small islands, like Great Britain, does not nullify the existence of a jolly fat man handing out presents to children who actually need them.

Then, the tossers get religious - "Well, it is supposed to be the birth date of Jesus" - according to whom? Even the most spotty scholars in your most insular institution have concurred that the hippy was born in 4AD. So either, the calendars are fucked or, you got your fucking dates wrong you muppets.

Therefore, just because a bunch of anally retentive scholars made a bodge, but can't admit it, we have to deny that some fat, happy, bearded, super-hero is giving gifts to children across the world without any religious affiliation?

So what that he needs to have mastered the art of time travel. Big fucking deal. I've been pissed many a time and thought it was still Monday when it was actually Wednesday. I time-travelled forward, and yes, it made me blow chunks in the process. He didn't, and he captivated all with his cherubic smile whilst quaffing Sherry in substantial volumes.

In conclusion, Santa does exist and anyone who says different should stop poking people up the bottom.

I reckon I failed my exam to get into The Vatican.

Looking on the bright side, I always considered my arse as 'EXIT ONLY' so it's not that big a loss.

Organised Religion?? - Fucking Arse Bandits - the lot of them.

SANTA ROCKS !!!!

Now That's A Target

Very few creatures scare or even worry me. I know people have phobias about, indeed I remember a posting on Phobias where someone said that "Anything with more than 4 legs that isn't a table is unnatural". Me? Dont' care.

Snakes? Not bothered - my brother used to keep them, my uncle still does.
Scorpions? Don't care - I'll just stamp on the little rascals.
Maggots? Used to them from my years as a FisherGoth.
Spiders? Love them - they eat flies.
Wasps? Hours of fun with a badminton racquet.
Sharks? So what, I'm not going in the water anyway.

Anyway, it brings me around to what I was going to talk about. Some Space Cadets in the jungle have discovered a RAT AS BIG AS A CAT.

I'm not afraid of rats - I rather like them as a target. It started when I was young and we lived in the country. We were cleaning out the garage when a rat ran across the floor from one pile of boxes to another. Papa Goth is afraid of rats and so he went running inside to fetch his rifle. This action merely caused me and my little brother to collapse in fits of laughter.

The laughter stopped on my fathers return, rifle in hand, to assassinate the rodent. His 'plan' for want of a better word, was that my brother and I should move boxes until the rat emerged and he would shoot it. Pure logic never works with someone suffering from fear, so explaining that the bullet would ricochet around the concrete garage didn't carry anyway. When the rat emerged, the bullet, as expected, ricocheted around the garage causing us to flee for our lives.

Years later, living in the country, I used to spend my evenings in the kitchen with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a high powered air rifle, potting off rats as they ran across the lawn. I was very accurate.. until the bottle was half consumed, then I wasn't so accurate but, it gave me hours of fun.

So to the new discovery, the CAT/RAT. I think even I could hit it having drunk all the bottle, as for my father? He was last seen carving a trail through the jungle at 100 miles an hour in the opposite direction.

Any other scary creatures I have missed?

Sorely Disappointed

Around the world, there must be a large number of severely disappointed perverts. The reason I know this, is that a lot of these mother fuckers descend on my site hoping for, fuck knows what but IT'S NOT FUCKING HERE.

Regulars to Goth World will know, that there are no pictures on this site. No fucking pictures of Michael Jackson fisting Bubbles, no cum shots - in fact, there are no bloody pictures at all.

Apparently, there are 157 sites that link to this blog - which is fucking cool as I don't think I asked for any. None of which are sex sites, most are intelligent people just 'voicing' their thoughts - check out the links on the left and see what I mean.

In the meantime, there appears to be thousands of freaks turning up here looking for material to masturbate to - BWAHAHAHAHA - how sorely disappointed they must be.

The last ten searches are as follows:-

• women in leather giving blow jobs in leather


• "the perfect male day"


• goth fucked


• good nice pussy


• aunties blow jobs


• learn punjabi swear words


• Rhino penis


• Foreskin blow jobs


• free goth stuff


• sleep shagging

So, my brief Christmas message to all of you asexual freaks is - refine your searches and learn to spell, you illiterate bastards.

For regulars, I want you to vote for my pre-Christmas posting. It will be the nativity scene but you have a choice on whose perspective it will be based upon....

Should it be:-
A = From one of the Wise Men
B = From The Donkey
C = From Joseph

Goth, I love religion - from a distance

Friday And I'm Feeling Lazy

Couldn't be arsed to write a proper post today and so, as most office workers are having their Christmas parties tonight - here's a little Christmas Spirit (apologies if you've already seen it)

A new priest at his first mass was so nervous he could hardly speak.

After mass he asked the monsignor how he had done.

The monsignor replied, “When I am worried about getting nervous On the pulpit, I put a glass of vodka next to the water glass. If I start to get nervous, I take a sip.”

So next Sunday he took the monsignor’s advice. At the beginning of the sermon, he got nervous and took a drink.

He proceeded to talk up a storm.

Upon his return to his office after the mass, he found the following note on the door:
1) Sip the vodka, don’t gulp.
2) There are 10 commandments, not 12.
3) There are 12 disciples, not 10.
4) Jesus was consecrated, not constipated.
5) Jacob wagered his donkey, he did not bet his ass.
6) We do not refer to Jesus Christ as the late J.C.
7) The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Daddy, Junior and the spook.
8) David slew Goliath, he did not kick the shit out of him.
9) When David was hit by a rock and was knocked off his donkey, don’t say he was stoned off his ass.
10) We do not refer to the cross as the “Big T.”
11) When Jesus broke the bread at the last supper he said, “take this and eat it for it is my body.” He did not say “ Eat me” .
12) The Virgin Mary is not called “ Mary with the Cherry,.
13) The recommended grace before a meal is not: Rub-A-Dub-Dub thanks for the grub, Yeah God.


Well, it is fucking Friday.....

Thursday's Trivia

As most people know, Thursday was named after the Germanic God - Thor. And no, before some smart-arse says he was a Norse God, Germanic covers all the Nordic lands - so there !!

Anyway, Thor was the God of THUNDER, and WAR and farming. Quite why he was the God of farming seems a bit of a mystery. I remember growing up in Wales that the 'young farmers' used to come down to the bright lights of the 'discotheque innit' every 2 weeks or so, and there was fighting indeed, but it wasn't really a war, more a pointless scuffle between mindless idiots.

I suppose being the God of farming might explain why his chariot was drawn by two goats - I mean only a farmer could come up with that idea. I remember a farmer friend of mine explaining how his father couldn't afford a guide dog so they gave him a guide rabbit instead.

"Had to take it back in the end though" he explained (in his very Welsh accent)
"Why was that?" I enquired, intrigued
"Cost too much to keep digging him out of the bloody holes"

Back to Thor though. He travelled around with a big hammer, called MJOLLNIR if you're interested, which he used to go around bonking people on the heads with. Apparently, his biggest enemies were the Frost Giants, all of whom he slayed by swinging his big 'un at them in a rather aggresive fashion.

Before he got to the last one though, some of the other Gods tried to help out the Frost Giant by fashioning a large clay giant called Mist Calf. Now personally, I would have assumed that becoming a God required some degree of intelligence. To me, clay versus hammer is only going to have one outcome but for some reason these Gods were too fucking stupid to figure it out. Unsurprisingly, when the clay giant (a huge version of Wallace, from Wallace and Gromit) appeared, Thor dutifully smashed the fuck out of it.

Thor would probably still be scooting around in his goat powered chariot now, were it not for his untrustworthy sidekick Loki. For Thor, his side kick was indeed bad Loki, and the cheeky little Fire God led Thor into a trap.

So, unfortunately, Thor got killed and the calendar was changed so that Thursday was named after him. It's probably a good thing really, as in the original Gregorian calendar, Thursday was initially named after Jupiter. Jupesday doesn't quite have the same ring to it really - especially when you consider what a Jupe is in French......

Well, that's my educational post done for another year ;-)

Wordless Wednesday

And no, it's not one of those bloody lazy posts where I write bugger all and just let people leave comments. Far too boring for Goth World that. Oh no, you're going to have to your imagination and read the rest of the post to someone else using only mime - i.e. in the style of Marcel Marceau.

So, let's start with the easy stuff. You are stuck in a large plastic box, like a giant aquarium. (Don't worry - you only have to do it for a few seconds, not several weeks like that idiot David Blaine. There's something seriously wrong with that bloke.)

Next, pretend you are walking into a very strong wind, so lean forward and walk whilst actually going backwards. Kind of like a Michael Jackson style moonwalk. (If you do opt for the Michael Jackson thing though, you don't have to get sued for sleeping with children or have to shag any passing monkeys).

Now, you are walking down an imaginary flight of stairs, or if you are really clever, going down an escalator - any smartarse that can do a lift/elevator gets points deducted for being too clever.

Driving a car is next. You can choose any nationality to imitate but it should be clear from the mime, which nationality it is. This can be indicated by honking your horn incesantly for Italians, gesticulating wildly for French, and road rage for British. If your chosen nationality don't really drive cars, you can use another form of transport - for example, cramming into a Metro car like a sardine for Japanese, and clinging forlornly to any free space on a train for Indian.

Finally, you have to pretend to be Neo from The Matrix - which involves bending over backwards in slow motion whilst dodging bullets and the obligatory jumping in the air to do a karate kick and pausing in mid-air whilst the whole room revolves around you (nice trick if you can do it).

See, now wasn't that far more interesting than me just writing fuck all for a Wordless Wednesday???

Mission Not Bloody Likely

#Do do do do, diddle do, diddle do - dah da#

"Your mission, should you decide to accept it Goth, is to go shopping with a woman and enjoy it...."
"You have got to be taking the piss"
"No, I'm not taking the piss - and more than that, you are not allowed to get angry, storm off or go to the pub. Additionally, you will have to travel on public transport and go into the city centre - no cheating using the internet. This message will self destruct in 30 seconds"
"It's going to destruct a lot quicker when I twat it with a hammer"
(Sometime later)


Goth is on the Metro heading into the city with his woman to face his nemesis, shopping. Ensuring he has the correct tools is vital to completing the mission - 40 Marlboro and 2 lighters, in case one fails and a large unbrella for poking old people out of the way.

First stop, as always, is the shoe shop. I cannot understand why women need so many shoes. Two feet = 1 pair of shoes. Why therefore would one person need 40 pairs of shoes? I can only assume that because they spend so much time walking between shops that they wear them out quicker.

By the time the second shop has been reached, it is time to remain outside and smoke a cigarette. Time to contemplate just why it is so bloody complex shopping. For me, you know what you want, where to buy it - and so you go directly to that shop, buy it and then go home. Simple enough.

Next is the clothes shop and the obligatory 'take 8 garments into the changing room, try them all on, and like none of them'. One hour of sheer boredom later, and without a single shopping bag, it's onto the next shop.

After fuck knows how many shops later, we return to the first shop to buy the ideal shoes she had seen and could not find any cheaper anywhere else. Guess what? They've sold the bastards and they have none left.

However, I did not get angry, concentrated on my Zen and refrained from impaling any little old gits with my umbrella.

Did I enjoy it though?

Not bloody likely.....

The Power Of Language

Once upon, all people spoke the same language - they all said "Ug" and other grunty type words. But it couldn't last, and according to the bible (that handy reference book of nonsense):-

'The people decided to build a tower to the heavens'

(which they had to do properly as Lego wasn't invented then). And then comes the good bit:-

'The Lord came down to see the city and it's tower'

(now, excuse me, but if god is omnipresent, why does he feel the need to travel anywhere - he's already bloody there by definition)

Anyway, god got pissed off because it wasn't part of his plan at all. So he made them speak different languages and so they called the city Babel, because they couldn't agree on the spelling of 'babble'.

Thus all the people moved around the world, but not in a balloon as they hadn't been invented either. But the people were cunning and decided to name their languages after their countries and so the French spoke French, because their country was called France etc.

The next bit of the bible probably got relagated to The Apocrypha but I'm fairly sure that the bearded one said "Right, I need some religious wars to teach these bastards that I'm the clever one"

Finally, one person decided to invent a universal language, which he called Esperanto. God was mightily pissed off about this and thus shot him up the arse with a lightning bolt and he died.

In the end, god just moped on his thrown muttering to his angels "I gave them Hebrew, what more do they bloody want"

When an angel replied "well, they might like Latin for naming flowers and stuff"

At which point, god stormed off in a huff - before realising that he couldn't as he was ominpresent.....

It's Christmas Time

And there's no need to be afraid. Or so sang the Band Aid before they got plastered.

Well, I'm sorry, but it is a time to be afraid. My parents could never understand why I was scared but, in retrospect, if you explain it in similar terms, it becomes very much the Santa Witch Project.

"If you go to sleep, Santa will come"
"But if I'm asleep, how will he get in?"
"He'll come down the chimney"
"But, if there's a fire - he'll burn his bottom"
"It's ok, as he's magic and can walk through fire"
"Why does he want to come here though?"
"So he can leave you presents"
"Like a 'reverse burglar'?"
"No, he's just a jolly person who wants to reward all the good children in the world"
"But...... how does he know which children are good?"
"Because he watches them all through the year and if they're good...."
"How does he judge if they're good?"
"Erm, because he does.... as that's what he does"
"Ok - but how can he visit every child in the world in one night?"
"Well, he has a magic sleigh pulled by reindeer and.."
"Flying reindeer"
"Yes, flying reindeer..."
"Who can time travel"
"Pardon? - why would they want to time-travel?"
"Logically, he can't get all around the world in one night unless...."
"Fine - he can time travel"
"And walk through fire"
"Yes, he can walk through fire"
"And he sees everything in the world like Zeus?"
"He sees who's been good and who's been bad"
"I suppose you want me to go to sleep now?"
"Well, that would be nice dear"
"But, if I go to sleep, the magic man who can walk through fire, and time travel, and has flying reindeer, and who sees what everyone does throughout the year might come here - but he can also move like Samurai and I wouldn't hear him, but he might have a sword and chop my arms off"

"Honey - it's your turn to try and get him to sleep and where's that bloody sherry?!"

Oh, the joys of parenting.

Postscript - BUT Santa does exist, so there!!

You Have To Fight

(For the right - to party) according to the Beastie Boys.

Personally, I've moved from anger to silent resignation and acceptance which apparently appears to anger people even more.

"I'm fucking talking to you, are you even taking notice??????"

"Not really"

*shrugs and wanders off*

However, I did hear a funny story whilst I was recently in the United Kingdom of Stupidity. Apparently, a group of Eco-friendly Vegans (or whatever) were protesting outside a London branch of KFC (the shite fast-food place) as they were indignant about how the chickens are treated before they are massacred and deep-fried.

In itself, no issue so far. I'm not overly keen on people telling me what I can or cannot eat but, they felt the need to protest - which is fine.

So after 10 minutes of marching round in circles with placards and banners, chanting about the chickens rights to do whatever, the manager of KFC comes out and says....

"Excuse me, would you go away please - you're putting customers off"

Hmmm, that'll be why it's called a PROTEST then.

The Vegans would have argued back but they were too weak to move ;-)

Un-Happy Birthday

So, apparently, Goths can have children.

It's a reproductive, rather than Gothic process. It has rather more to do with the SEX thing as opposed to the lipstick, although the 'make-up' can help in certain circumstances.

However, it is 14 years since mini-Goth appeared on this planet, and thus 15 years since virginity jumped out of the plane without a parachute.

I had hoped that the anniversary was going to be a spectacular event. Goth was not disappointed by the fireworks....

"I hate you", he announced, with subtle undertones.

"That's what birthdays are for" I replied, in a melancholic, but slightly despondent way.

Then I woke up, and I was on the plane....

Gifts had been purchased, flights organised, hotels booked - etc.

Like Britney and her Spears said - 'Ooops I fucked up again', in a rehabilitation, losing the plot and losing your hair type way.

The conception of it seemed so simple really......

Fuck it - rain-check.....

A: Travel to the United Kingdom of Stupidity
B: See Mini-Goth and say Happy Birthday
C: See Mini-Gothess and say hello
D: See Mrs Ex-Goth and say nothing
E: xplain why I cannot ever walk backwards and why.

Except, it didn't quite work that way. In fact, it couldn't have gone more 'pear-shaped' if I'd had a market stall tossing pork at the muslims, yelling "Catch !! Hotdog" - in a vegan way.

Consequently, I fucked up Mini-Goths birthday.

It wasn't intentional but, I will take all the blame for it being shit, in a "My dad fucked it up" sort of way.

The worst part is, it's not so much what I did, but what I didn't do.

A Bear Called Mohammed

So, a British teacher has been arrested in Khartoum for allowing her school children to call a teddy bear Mohammed. Apparently, if convicted, she will receive 40 lashes or six months in jail.

Well done, you religious fascists !!!

I'm rather doubtful that "The Prophet" mentioned anything about kicking the crap out of anyone who named a small cuddly toy after him. But then again, he was a prophet, so perhaps he knew that this was going to happen. He was the Bruce Forsyth of the future.

I mean, can you imagine the Catholic church pursuing and impaling anyone who uttered "Oh god, I'm coming"?? - half the human race would have been wiped out just for having a bit of rumpy-pumpy.

Oh shit, they did do that.

But if they didn't... and Muslims thought with their brains, and Islam was just a Metro stop away from...

And then people wonder why I hate organised religion

Well fucking DUH.....

My Boyfriend Is A Twat

Regulars to Goth World will know I'm not one for advertising or any of that commercial shite. 'How much is your blog worth?' - fuck off and find some idiot to publicise your crap products elsewhere.

"Put a Google Ad on your blog and make money" - piss off you corporate cunts!!

BUT, my friend - who is a girl, and a better blogger than me, Zoe, has released a book based on her blog My Boyfriend Is A Twat and fuck me backwards with a pitchfork but, it's fucking good.

I'm not saying that because I get commission, just because I think so.

Yesterday, was the book launch in Bruxelles - which I was invited to. So I thought - 'eek - I must wear Dolce and Gob anna' etc.

Not so. The scruffy terrorists appeared, and I was one of them.

Laughed? - I nearly pissed myself. Me, with European twits and the Twat in a suit. It could almost be a sketch from Monty Python.

However, a large number of bloggers, from various countries turned up to support 'mi chica' and purchase her book. We even had one of those posh European politicians doing the introduction - and small biscuits with prawns on top - as you do.

After the posh stuff, the majority were moving on to another drinking establishment. I had to go home for pussy.

Fuska, as that is the cats name, doesn't like to be alone for too long.

Anyway, buy the book MY BOYFRIEND IS A TWAT

otherwise, I'll do......nothing probably

Renewable Energy

Scientists around the world have been looking for the Holy Grail of energy production, a renewable energy source. Instead of using fossil fuels or nuclear energy, they have been exploring solar power (fat lot of fucking use in Belgium), wind turbines and even wave machines. Well, Professor Goth is here to offer the advice that they've been looking in the wrong direction.

Firstly, energy comes in a number of forms, amongst others, Potential energy but most importantly, Kinetic energy (which effectively harnesses motion). So how can we harness this energy - well, here are the answers.

In China, there are over 1 billion people, which obviously means there is an awful lot of shagging going on. Thus we fit little motion generators to their little Chinese arses and every time they get jiggy with each other, electricity is created.

In France, it is not possible for people to talk without waving their hands and arms about, thus we fit little generators to their wrists and every time they say anything and do that waving around thing, electricity is generated.

In Italy, it is not possible to drive a car without constantly jumping up and down on their horns. Thus by replacing horns that use energy with those little hooters like they have on a clowns car, but hide a little electricity pump inside, they too could generate elctricity.

In the UK, by fitting little motion generators to all forms of alcohol, specifically alco-pops, then the binge drinking would actually turn into a large fuel producing club - it might also help to fit vertical detectors to people so when they fall over, being pissed as farts, the motion could also generate energy.

In the US, judging by the Super-Size me generation, we change all elevators and escalators to utilise the forces of gravity. Thus a couple of fat bastards get into an elevator on the 50th floor and by the time it has reached the ground floor, it has generated enough electricity to supply a trailer park.

*Note* - There are probably quite a few more I have missed - please feel free to contribute.

The Idiots Guide To

Following on from the best selling 'Dummies Guide to' series, purchased by millions of idiots around the world, I have decided (in a cold and calculating way) to add Gothic impetus to the movement.

Unfortunately, the cynical side of my nature appears to be blocking the process somewhat. Therefore I have decided it is in the best interests of humanity (and my bank balance) to throw the issue open to cyber-world in the hope that you come up with some better ideas that I can shamelessly steal and fuck off to the Caribbean with.

And before you start any of that premature cogitation stuff, these are the ideas I have already made my Gothic Cat eat:-

THE IDIOTS GUIDE TO:

• Carpentry - "Don't nail him to a tree - he could be famous or anything"


• Computers - "Try turning the bastard thing on you...."


• Cookery - Food, Microwave, PING (and silver foil, whilst funny as fuck, is not a good option in the microwave)


• Christmas - Just buy loads of shit that no-one wants (but keep the receipt)


• Chess - Fucking boring, so don't do it. Just Say NO

Now as you may have noticed, I have only used the letter C - and I skillfully avoided the word 'Cunts', nearly.

Anyway, your suggestions for my new series of books would be appreciated and, if all goes to plan, I will buy the suggester of the most suggestive suggestion, a castle in Scotland (or somewhere equally shit that no-one wants to live).

HA - put that in your Potter-Pipe and smoke it Rowling.....

In Flight Food

What a crock of shit - and the bastards are cheeky enough to charge for it now too. Five quid for some cheese flavoured cardboard - you're having a laugh aren't you ?!

In flight food started with Mrs Wright, when she gave her sons Orville and Wilbur a pack up lunch box to take on their little adventure. Unfortunately for them, the flight was so short that by the time they'd got the wrapper off, they'd landed again. This enigma of the wrapping is something that airlines maintain to this very day.

I used to fly Business Class a lot, not because I'm a rich bastard but because the company could never agree on which city I was needed most in. Poor Ingrid in the company travel agent got very perturbed the first time I asked for a flight to Munich, Prague and Bruxelles all on the same day.

"But which one do you actually need?" she asked in a confused state

"All of them" I replied

"So where are you going then?" her questioning continued

"Fucked if I know" was my measured response "But it will be one of them"

Thus poor Ingrid had to book them all Business Class as she could change dates, flights etc at no charge.

Once on board, every meal was the same - Smoked fucking salmon ! I don't bloody like smoked salmon but, that's what you're expected to eat at the front.

When on normal flights, but not with a budget airline, you end up with the same pre-cooked shite, heated up in a microwave or something. Tasteless garbage.

But then the budget airlines - don't get me started on those bastards. Stuff that I wouldn't give to a dog and then the twats expect you to pay for it !!!!

Come on, share the joys of your airline food experience.....

Sixty Years On

So apparently, the Queen and Prince Phillip have been married for 60 years, blah, blah, blah - boring. Who cares? Not me. All of the coverage on TV was boring as well.

What I was interested in was all the moments where the Queen had to say "Oh for fucks sake Phillip, put a sock in it" (in a regal type fashion). I mean, 60 years of Phillip spouting off would have been far more interesting. Here are just a few examples:-

To a driving instructor he met during a stroll in Oban, Scotland:
"How do you keep the natives off the booze long enough to get them past the test?"

Comments to the World Wildlife Fund, on Chinese eating habits:
"If it has four legs and it's not a chair, if it has two wings and it flies but it's not an airplane, and if it swims and it's not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it."

When talking to some british students in China:
"you shouldn't stay here too long, or you'll turn slitty-eyed"

Comment when someone suggested in 1967 that a trip to Russia might improve diplomatic relations between Great Britain and the Soviets:
"The bastards murdered half my family."

Said during a severe recession in 1981:
"Everybody was saying we must have more leisure. Now they're complaining they're unemployed."

To grieving residents of Lockerbie, Scotland, during a 1993 visit after a plane exploded and crashed into the town:
"People usually say that after a fire it's the water damage that's the worst. We're STILL trying to dry out Windsor castle."

Whilst on a tour of a factory in Edinburgh, Scotland, Prince Philip pointed out a fuse box that looked quite old:
"It looks like it was made by an Indian!"

On French Canadians during a visit to Toronto:
"I can't understand a word they say. They slur all their words."

On Fergie, the Duchess of York:
"Her behavior was a bit odd. I don't see her because I do not see much point."

On being introduced to the chairman of Britain's channel 4 television network:
"So YOU'RE responsible for the kind of crap channel 4 produces."

Goth bless him, as the Queen sadly shakes her head and kicks a corgi in frustration.

If You Have To Leave

I'm haunted by the words of Evanescence and their song - My Immortal.

To quote but a few lines, "I'm so tired of being here, suppressed by all my childish fears...." - that's the part I start to weep. Yes, right at the beginning of a song.

Not very macho I know, but welcome to Goth World.

It reminds me of everything I walked away from.

I will not go into it on a blog - why I did what I did, but, STOP PLAYING IT AT THE FUCKING AIRPORT.. EVERY bastard airport, in the world, ever!!

It's a very nice song, and Amy is rather cute (in a Gothic, want to protect her, sort of way) - but enough already !!

"These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real..." - will you fucking stop it ??!! *searches desperately for Kleenex type tissues*

Jesus fucking christ, I thought I was fucked up enough by Eric and Tears In Heaven.....

"And I know, they're be no more tears in heaven" - wrong. I cry every day about the mini Goths.

So, what song really makes you cry?

I Don't Want To Ride My Bicycle

I never was a huge fan of Queen, I mean, the old dear with the corgis is ok as she keeps out of my way but the other Queen - the band !!!

Who wants to hear their music forever? Not bloody me - I hated it, as I was busy trying to recite poetry whilst walking backwards in the dark. Meanwhile, some loud twats are chanting "We will, we will rock you" to which I could only reply, "Yeah, and I will fuck you - and I have the petrol and the matches !!".

Anyway, at some point, they started warbling on about 'Riding my bicycle' - well, fuck off. If I can't ride my bicycle without problems, (see Stunt Goth for an explanation) - then why the fuck should you ?! I don't care if you have an army of fat bottomed girls on the horizon, I have a harpoon.

Thus, imagine my Gothic smug grin when I read the news story about the man caught shagging his bike. How the fuck do you shag a bike?

Wouldn't get that in Zanzibar would you ?!! Or maybe you would....

I guess the idiot mis-heard and thought someone said 'Mounting Bike' or did he???

Suggestions on a handlebar to:-

Two Down

I'm a bit of a crossword person, but not the 'baby' ones. I want the 'impossible to complete' type. Hell, it's no fun at all if you can complete it. For fucks sake, I could have coloured the bastard thing in and held my hand up saying "Miss, Miss - I've finished".

No, I need deeply ironic clues, that mean nothing to people outside of 'The Club'. And yes, there are 'clubs' - they stick to the same newspaper every day and try to complete the cryptic crossword each day.

Somewhere, probably behind prison walls, are a deeply sardonic and sadistic set of people who set these clues.

Why are these people behind bars? Because it's the only place that they are safe when people like me are left with one answer missing and the clue makes no sense at all.

YES, I will be dreaming about the question. Thankyou, you bastard !! And at 'silly o clock' I will wake up with the answer.

Except, it's not the answer at all, but then I can't go back to sleep.

Two days later, I will see the answers and shout silently "That's not a fucking word you twat" but wander off to check the dictionary. And then....
I feel impressed that I was wrong. Bizarre, I know, but I do actually like to learn.

At least it's educational unlike Sudoku - I mean, if you fuck up with a choice
of only the numbers 1-9, that has to be somewhat sad.

Grandpa, The Wizard (as some readers of this blog might know him), could complete The Times crossword with his eyes shut.

Bollocks - I can't even do it with my eyes wide open.

Walk Away

I'm not an advocate of violence as I think it is counter-productive. Being a skinny twat doesn't help either - although it is kind of helpful in the dodging punches scenario.

Having been bullied, by fat useless retard wankers, at school - I took up martial arts.

No, I'm not a Teenage Mutant Ninja Goth but, I can do the black outfit thing quite well.

I had no choice - the bullies had decided I was easy prey and my living life would become HELL.

Thus, one summer I went to see Mr Migothi....

Polish on, polish off - catch flies with chopsticks etc

Returning to school became rather amusing.....

"Let's jump on the little skinny twat and... fuck, why are my bollocks on my head???"

But, I don't like fighting. Why fight when you can run away?

Every so often though, I encounter aggression and I walk away.

The 'macho side' of me says "Fight and kick his fucking arse!!"
The 'logical side' of me says "He's too big and maybe his karate is better than yours"

So, I walk away, with my head held high - and still connected to my body.

(It's a lot easier to laugh about it afterwards, if your jaw is not broken)

Creature Comforts

It's been awhile since I last had a pet, it's been years in fact.

It was/is a dog, but one chosen by Mrs Ex-Goth and therefore, inherently stupid. I also think said little pooch was gay - although I can't proove it, but I don't think licking your own testicles is normal.

My little brother, Mini-Goth, had a budgie which was slightly interesting, until he stood on it. After that incident, it didn't move too well. In fact, it didn't move at all on account of being rather dead.

But now, I have a much more Gothic pet - The Cat.

Which is cool, in a slightly understated, but darkly effeminate way.

The result though, is that I have to walk around my home like a Ninja. Going to the toilet in the middle of the night has ceased to be simply walking like a zombie to the toilet, and returning.

As soon as I move, The Cat is immediately around my feet asking questions.

"Where are you going?
Can I come?
Oh, not this room again - can't we go somewhere else?" with a tail like a question mark, he awaits my response.

In the morning, as I attempt to find coffee, I am overwhelmed by the feeling of pussy against my legs, probing for answers....

"YES - it's food time isn't it?" he inquires, in a cat-type voice whilst I endeavour to unglue my eyes.

"Is it playtime yet?"

"No it bloody well is not" is my unmeasured response.

"But I just knew that you were going to your office next - that's why I'm sat by the door with a smug cat-grin" *purr purr*

However, he does make me smile.

Por ejemplo, having decided he needed to go for a crap, he went to the cat toilet.

Unfortunately, having miscalculated his angles, he managed to stand in the litter tray and crapped on the floor. Satisfied he had done the correct thing, he carefully brushed the litter with his paw, looked back and obviously thought....

"Oh for fucks sake"

He then attempted to push the evidence under the tray.

Goth loves a tryer.....

Dr Gothlittle

Talking to animals and birds is quite simple really, I think - but then again, I don't think, I just do... as opposed to Dr Doolittle (the fictional character) who didn't do very much at all - hence his name.

It's a facet of my character that I have had to re-activate recently, on account of the addition of a cat to Goth World. The Cat says 'Miaow' and I have to identify whether it means:-

a) I want food
b) I want to use the cat tray, but you have closed the door and I cannot access it, therefore I will wee on your favourite chair
c) You humans are a genocidal race, prone to self destruction and you have no empathy for other creatures on your planet that sustain the environment
or
d) Stroke me

Somewhere, in the advert breaks on Gothic TV, I have to figure out whether the emphasis was on the MI part of MIAOW, or the OW part - which would not be good. The Cat could be asking to go to the toilet and then having a painful time, or talking Chinese, for a laugh.

But, The Cat is originally from Portugal - what if he doesn't understand English, or French or Spanish?? (I didn't even bother with Flemish as it's shit to start with).

I'm pretty sure I have it figured out. There appears to be a lot of 'purrrrring' so that must me good right?

NO - I'm figuring, if pussy is happy, that's a good thing... generally. Especially in Goth World, if you're a lesbian like me.

Unless, I'm wrong.... (which does happen....) so what now?

The Beautiful People

According to the mother of Yang Erche Namu, the Chinese judge of their version of Pop Idol, 'good sex means good skin'.

In itself, that doesn't make an awful lot of sense, but it gets weirder. Mother went on to explain that the way to avoid zits, was to have loads of sex (to which the daughter rigidly adhered).

Therefore, logically following the argument - the more you have sex, the clearer your skin (and by definition, the more people who want to have sex with you).

I suppose it does explain why there are so many spotty teenagers getting nothing but sore wrists, but surely soap would help on the complexion front - although granted it is not going to be as pleasurable as the alternative.

Funnily enough, I guess it also explains why there are so many fucking Chinese in the first place (literally).

So, the question becomes, what other fantastic reasons for having sex could there be? (apart from putting Clearasil out of business....)

Foreskin The Issue

Having purloined, or rather, acquired a copy of The Sunday Times in Belgium, I was lovingly perusing the publication. You have to give justice to the carefully crafted supplements. So imagine my horror when one magazine caused beer spillage.

YES, I spilt my beer. One minute, I was sitting quite happily at the bar, a pint of amber nectar starting to lubricate my tonsils and I began to read one of the magazines, when....

*WHAM*

I attempted to say "What The Fuck?" but it's not that easy with a mouth full of beer. In fact, it doesn't bloody work at all.

What caused this? Simple. Some fucking idiot had written an entire article about....

FORESKINS !!!!

Jesus fucking christ!! Go and get a life.

But, like a rabbit, stuck in the glare of impending doom, I had to carry on reading it.

So here are a few snippets (ha ha) to whet your appetite:-

• Apparently, Monsieur Kellogg campaigned (in the United States of Idiocy) that circumcision was a cure for masturbation - (No wonder his cereal was wet, but crispy.)
• Men's Health magazine claimed that 'uncircumcised men lasted 4 minutes longer during sex' - (I don't care! Who was the sad un-fucker standing there with a stopwatch?)
• There are groups - gangs of muppets like BUFF - Brothers United for Future Foreskins - (I guess the genius who came up with that acronym is really busy on a Saturday night....on his own)
• 92% of circumcisions are done without anaesthetic - *winces*
• A list of Hollywood celebrities are listed as being pro-foreskin, and have dropped their pants to prove it - (knew there was a reason I didn't want to be famous)

So, what made me gag on my beer? Any of the above? NO.

What made me vomit beer was reading that there is actually a market for the 'off-cuts'. 'Human foreskins are in great demand....'

After mopping my beer up, I actually looked at the article again. 'Fucking hell' - it does say what I thought.

Bet you'll never guess what they are using them for.......

Ouch

So, having a temper is not a good thing. In fact, it's positively painful.

Trying to put new furniture together, whilst having a temper is even worse....apparently.

I'm usually, quite a patient person but, occassionally, I snap - big time !! When I do go 'off on one' the results are not pretty. In fact, the resulting carnage is seldom pretty at all.

Welcome to the jungle of shelving units, baby. Let's have fun and games.

So, it didn't quite go as planned. Actually, to be more accurate, it was a complete fuck-up.

The theory was simple enough. Put the shelving unit together and place it in a position to house books or stuff. Except, being the little rascal that it is, it didn't want to go together the easy way. Or the hard way. Or any fucking way at all.

Ergo, I reached that point where frustration boiled over, and the need to twat something really hard with a hammer kicked in. Big time.

I will not be beaten by a piece of furniture!!!!

Thus, I twatted it with my hand, HARD.

" Ha, ha - Weren't expecting that were you, you piece of shit ?!"

All well and good, until my brain informed me that I appear to be pissing blood all over the place.

And so, after a quick reality check, it would appear that I had managed to pierce my hand, in a crucifixation type fashion. Blood was leaking, well, rather, spurting all over the place, and the furniture was sitting there laughing, in a wooden fashion.

For most people, that would be the end of the story but, Goth has petrol....and matches.

"Not so fucking clever now are you, my little wooden nemesis!!!!!!"

Bwahahahahhahahahahahahah

So, no. The shelves are not finished - although they do look rather fetching in the ash effect. I still have to clean the blood from the floor and I guess Ikea have another customer later...... "Nearly done dear..."

You Complete Twat

There are times when I love computers - mainly when I look at the stuff I have bought on account of working with them, or drinking beer because of the money they have provided me with.

Then, there are the other times..... like last night for example.

I am now the owner of 2 completely fucked laptops, 3 extremely fried hard drives and a severe headache.

I was about to throw one out of the window of Chez Goth, when Mariposa pointed out that the Cat, might think it was a game and follow it a tout vitesse.

Hence the title of this post - it is a phrase that I have used numerous times during the past 16.5 hours. (No fucking thanks to Microsoft I might add, you blood-sucking scum from the bottom of the pond from hell).

Tomorrow, I may feel slightly more relaxed, and apply my Gothic genius to resurrecting the poorly 'puters.

For now though, I am feeling slightly ambivalent and uncharitable toward the little rascals.......

In fact, my last comment to each was

YOU COMPLETE TWAT

Nice Pussy

You can't beat it really - the feeling of a nice pussy between your legs. There is something strangely comforting and somewhat heart-warming in the sensation. Of course, it could be that I am just a lesbian and love pussy for no other reason than, it's a new pussy to me. But, leaving the cynical part aside - the cat is fucking cool.

Travelling on an aeroplane is not a pleasant experience in cat-world and the poor bugger got so freaked out, the claws came out, broke off and became blood.

Not good.

Granted, it will take a few days to comprehend the 'living on the third floor now, so jumping out of the window is not an option thing' - but, shit, I had to learn that lesson too. In the meantime, there's free lodging, food, drink, and I've even created a place to have a crap without anyone watching. It's like a mini Gothic Hilton, without the advertising, because cats can't read, so that would be pointless.

I'm positive that life in Belgium is not as good as it was in Portugal, well the weather is better in Portugal, but in Belgium, the economy is more stable.

Anyway, I have got the 'harness' and the lead and I will take the cat for a walk. That will be 'funny as fuck' in itself. A Goth with a cat on a lead, going for a walk in the park.

I'm looking forward to my first encounter with a miserable Belgian twat walking their dog.

"Ho ho - my dog will eat your cat" (said in a smug and somewhat superficial way)
"HA - fucking think so, do you ?!" (not smug, just 'matter of fact' way)
*SPLAT*
"You just stamped on my dog !!! I will invent some legislation to counteract your complete lack of respect !"

In the meantime, Madame Belgique has a pizza in the shape of a flat dog, and my cat is right behind me purring.

MEEEEOOWW - which translates from Cat-ese into English as "That was so fucking funny - you're my new best friend"

Now, all I have to do is come up with a name, in English, for the cat.

Suggestions please.....

Belgian Bureacracy

For a country that's shit at most things apart from covering chips with mayonnaise, it does seem does have it's finger on the pulse of creating fucking stupid laws and then applying them in a most rigorous fashion.

Por ejemplo, and this is a true story....

I agreed to help someone move some rubbish from a store room to a communal waste disposal site. Easy enough. Get a van, load the crap up, drive it to the dump site, and dispose of loaded crap in appropriate containers.

BUT, to use the site, you need an identity card showing that you live in the 'commune' (admin region within Belgium). Simple enough. Borrow one from some doddering old git who can hardly walk, and hey junko !

Except, that the site will not except the card. The conversation then proceeded thus:-

"It's not you in the picture" exclaimed the nincompoop in charge of waste disposal.
"Of course it's not me, idiot, he's fucking 82 years old and can hardly walk - that's why I'm driving the truck and lifting things"
"But he has to be here"
"Why? He's busy being old and talking to his flowers, reminiscing, repeating himself and old-type stuff"
"But he has to be here"
"So, you're saying that I have to drag the fossil from his flower-bed just to prove he exists?"
"Yes - he has to be here"

Boll-fucking-ucks !!! *but off I drive, throw Grandpa Flintstone into the truck and return*

"See !!! He fucking exists"
"Ok - you have 3 minutes"
"3 minutes to what? Unload this whole fucking truck?"
"Yes, because then it's our lunch-time"
"But you're not helping me to unload it, so what bloody difference does it make?!"
"It's lunch time"
"I got that the first time you fucking retard, but what difference does it make if you're eating cheese and reading the paper whilst I'm doing the hard work?"
"Article 39a...."
"Oh shut the fuck up and put some mayo on your cheese - I'll be done soon enough"

Meanwhile, a little voice can be heard faintly, in the back (ground)
"I'm sure I planted some petunias here"

Occams Razor

So this is why all those gits in the bible kept harping on about god - because they were afraid of getting their beards shaved off. The god thing/he/she doesn't exist according to Friar Bill (sorry, William) of Ockham, the creator of this theory, who was a monk.

Actually, that's not exactly what he said, but we Goths were a bit too busy trying to invent Jack Daniels at the time to explain it to him. And, Gillette, being a lazy bastard hadn't even been born at that time, so he was about as much use as tits on a bull.

Let me explain a little.

Firstly, Occams Razor, which you may or may not of heard of, is a principle which explains that the 'explanation of anything should involve as few assumptions as possible'. Which, in modern language translates roughly to 'it just fucking is, alright !!'. In theory, it's like trying to explain algebra to someone who knows bugger all about it.

Secondly, lots of famous people utilised and argued with this theory including Copernicus, Da Vinci, Newton, Darwin, Einstein and Charlie from 'Num3ers'. Except that no-one took it down to real basics. "Look, a big bang" said Einstein and people thought he was explaining the birth of the universe rather than his theory of the atom bomb.

And so onto religion (HA - and you can stop groaning at the back) - they use it here too. "I can explain why god exists" - "Bet you can't - my argument has less letters and therefore is proof of Occams Razor".

Lovely quote here - "If the concept of God does not help to explain the universe, it is argued, God is irrelevant".

All of this created by a 14th Century Franciscan friar. Bet he got his arse kicked by the other Monk(ey)s later. Just hope he had learned that walking on rice-paper trick.

BTW - Blog Birthday tomorrow - i.e. Halloween - 1 year already..... go figure. Bizarre.... a whole year of weirdness is Goth World

*wanders off to look for a fresh bottle of JD to celebrate*

The Evil Orchestra

Too many times, I have been watching a film trying to figure out what the fuck was going on when #dah dah, dee doo doo# - "O fuck, he/she'll be dead in a minute then" - and there, lurking in the backgroud, is Phil and his harmonic orchestra.

You completely spoiled the scary bit you twats !!

I mean, imagine the scene - a grey misty morning in a Chicago dockyard. The sleek black Cadillac slows to a crawl, as some fat fucker doing an impression of a hamster on drugs, burbles on about people never leaving the family when.......#DA DA DAAAAAH# - Fucking duck ! - he's got a cello, it's not a violin in that case at all!!!" says the only person to get out alive.

In Westerns, it also happens. It's ok to hear the rhythmic tub-thumping of native americans having a tempestuous day, but if it changes to Lalo Schiffren style timponium rocking - it's not a fucking good day to be anything else other than invisible.

Movies in space? - sorry, when you hear the orchestra starting to play #DA DA DEE DA# - leg it !!! That means Dark Vader and his asthma issue is coming, and he's not going to be very happy - he's still pissed off at getting arse-whipped by a muppet.

It's no use trying to escape the fuckers, in horror films either. #Da, dee da da# (in an eerily spooky type B-flat minor fashion) - IT'S BE-FUCKING-HIND YOU - you scream before some mutant vampire octopus starts conducting the orchestra hiding in the woods.

So, top tip - if you hear music - run away..... really fucking fast, as fast as your legs, wheels, or whatever's left will carry you

This has been a pubic information notice from Goth World

Bunch of Fucking Arse

Once again, for what seems like forever, I have been working through the night fixing computers. Puters that I didn't fuck up to start with.

I don't actually mind that much, it is my vocation, and I don't care about the fact that I didn't fuck it up to start with.

That's ok - people fuck-up. I'm happy drinking the entire output of Columbian coffee and keeping Phillip and his Morris dancers in employment, whilst I untangle the spaghetti-overload of someone else's incompetence.

What really fucking annoys me, is when the peeps say something like :-

"Oh that's nice, it works again"

NICE? I'LL GIVE YOU FUCKING NICE - OF COURSE THE BASTARD THING WORKS - AS I SPENT THE ENTIRE NIGHT FIXING YOUR FUCKUPS - I think

"Yes, it works again" I say but, occassionally, a 'thankyou' would be nice.......

A word to the wise.... be nice to 'techies', and watch how fast your system gets fixed - treat them like a piece of shit and look forward to the key phrase

"Aw shit - it broke....."

The Perfect Ringtone

For me, is the silent one. Mmm, let it vibrate in your pocket like, a little hamster on a wheel going mental in a very small place. (It's not really a hamster, I just liked the analogy).

I like Nokia, as a company, they haven't pissed about with the "oooo sorry Sir, you will need a totally different charger for that phone", which is very helpful when you travel a lot - NOT. Your mental process goes from:- 'Oh for fucks sake I forgot my charger and now my phone doesn't work' to 'thankyou barman, or hotel receptionist for supplying just the one I need' ooooo feeling calm now

AND, with Nokia, you have always been able to change the ringtone from the complete dross that they provide to something bizarre - even when you had to program the tone in yourself. Boring, but effective.

I had one of those Shitberry things for a while, and what a bucket of toss that was. It was designed for people with very small fingers, or very accurate nails. The worst thing was, you couldn't change the ring tone to something other than 'ladybirds farting on a mushroom' or something.

That's the whole point of having a mobile phone. Pissing people off with the ring tone.

Yeah, yeah, I know it's not big and it's not clever, but it is funny as fuck at times.

Normally, I take my phone everywhere with me, but when I get a sufficiently annoying ringtone, I will leave it on my desk and phone myself from a landline just to watch people tear their hair out. This was particularly fun, por ejemplo, when I had programmed 'Europe - The Final Countdown' in as a ringtone.

At present, anyone who knows me, in real life, knows that I had 'Queens of The Stone Age - No One Knows' as my last ringtone, and before that 'HIM - Buried Alive By Love'. BUT, I have changed it - to the perfect ringtone.......

So, you can either guess what my new one is, or suggest your own ( and no, there are no fucking prizes)

We Can Be Heroes

Said the Man Who Fell to Earth, but didn't hurt himself, apart from getting different coloured eyes and then moving to Switzerland which is spectacular(ly shit).

Anyway, I've been watching this series, called, funnily enough Heroes. As far as I can figure, it is about a group of people who all have a 'super-power' each, but there's an evil force out to get them. I'm not sure how many evil forces exist in the world but they seem to multiply a lot, without even asking for a reference - bastards.

Back to Heroes, there seem to be lots of people with one 'super-power' and then there is one good one, and one bad one, who can assimilate the powers of others - except you don't know which is which, unless you work on haircuts and general style of clothing which kind of gives it away.

The 'super-powers' range from the ability to:-

• become invisible
• to fly, but like Superman
• become radioactive and blow shit up
• create fire, without matches
• read peoples minds
• walk through solid objects

I lost track as they keep coming up with new 'super-powers' that the peeps can have.

Now, I'm not sure which 'super-power' I would choose, given a choice of any of them. Well, actually, that's a lie, I know exactly which one I would choose.

BUT, which one would you choose, if you could only select ONE SUPER POWER?

Chu Fuck Wits

NOTE * This is actually based on a true story, bizarre as it sounds. *

A Chinese gang (gang of morons from the sound of it) decided to produce some forged UK currency. In itself, an interesting plan until you find out how they decided to do it.

Firstly, they contact the Bank of England (mistake number 1) informing them that they have a number of £1,000 notes that they want to exchange for smaller notes. As the £1,000 note has not been issued in the UK for 60 years (mistake number 2), their research is a little bit lacking. However, as the Bank of England have some of the strictest security in the world, the gang are invited for a meeting, with the police obviously.

Feeling somewhat smug, they then claim to have a number of £500,000 notes (which have never been issued - I'm stopping counting mistakes now as there are too many). Apart from that there are also major discrepencies in the forgeries like incorrect signatures, and were, in the words of the prosecution "slightly resembling bank notes".

Undetered, the 'fuck wit' gang turn up with £28 billion worth of forged notes. Now I'm pretty sure that most people would have been wise enough not to try and get that amount of money without raising alarm bells. Unfortunately, they've read the wrong fortune cookie or something.

So, in they roll with their forged notes (in a wheelbarrow presumably) and then look somewhat surprised when they get arrested.

What a bunch of idiots. They deserve to be locked up for sheer stupidity and to protect themselves from their brains.

It will be interesting to find out what they wanted to change the money into. I mean, £28 billion of even £100 notes is going to be fucking heavy. Still, I'm sure they will have a few years to figure out what mistakes they made.

The Laws of Rallying (with a caravan)

Another Challenge

Normally, I don't do anything about challenges, like the 'Name 5 favourite names for your pets' type shit but, the concept of tying 5 unconnected words together into a (relatively) coherrent posting - well, that's just fun. Therefore, all you have to do is figure out what the FIVE words are.......

The Laws of Rallying (with a caravan)

Firstly, I'm talking about rallying in the 'drive like a fucking lunatic through a forest' sense, not marching your fellow co-workers to the factory gate just because the assembly lines have munched one of your lazy bastard cow-workers type rally.

Now, in itself, they have almost perfected this art form so it's about time they upped the ante. Let's have the fuckers towing trailers, or even more fun, towing caravans (preferably, with grandma miggins still sat on the loo inside). It seems to me (in my own bizarre way) that it's a perfect evolution of the sport.

Jeremy Clarkson and the guys would love it. It make no sense at all regarding the laws of physics, whether that's metaphysics or geophysics or any of those physics crap that I missed in school as I was either behind the bike shed or in the pub.

Of course, with a relative amount of circumspection, cogitation and general thinking using dead big and clever words, this plan is clearly as mad as a hat full of badgers, but it would be funny as fuck.

I mean, anyone who wants to go anywhere in a caravan doesn't understand the concept of the word HOTEL which is why they all drive so slowly. It's almost as if they are expecting to come over the brow of a hill and go "Fuck - it's a cliff !! I told you this was going to happen Edna".

I'd pay to watch the shit. "3-2-1 go-go-go!!!" and the shitty car and caravan go hurtling down a dirt road into a forest.

Plus, the extra bonus is that those fucking idiots who choose to stand on the outside of a bend would get totally wiped out when Stig loses control of the vehicle and goes 'off-road' as they would not only get broadsided by the Austin Maxi but any of the dweebs who were laughing would get totally twatted by the two-berth with inbuilt portaloo, attached by a towbar following at high speed.

You wouldn't even have to change the acronym WRC - instead of World Rally Championship, it could be World Rallying Caravans.

Fucking hell - it's just so crazy an idea, I might even try it. Or perhaps I'll just forward the idea to the Top Gear guys and then laugh like a banshee when they actually try it.

(And.... if anyone can guess the five words from that - I'll be bloody impressed)

Why Have You Forsaken Me?

This seems to be a question that all religious believers ask, when life fucks up beyond belief. It also happens when people lose a partner or one of their family. My point is, why pose the question to an entity that does not exist? That's just plain fucking stupid.

Occassionally, people question why I don't believe in god. Mmm - that'll be on account of the fact that no 'all-seeing, omnipotent' being could not oversee such misery as exists in this world without sending a few thunderbolts up peoples arses or turning them into hedgehogs or something. What's the point of being a god if you can't do clever stuff like saying 'Shazam - size of a slug'?.

"But it's a test of our faith" whinge the pathetic mother-fuckers that believe in this shit.

Well, it might test your faith, all it does for me is to confirm my belief that there is no god. Even if there was one, he'd be a wanker for putting so many people through such misery.

*Tip from Goth World*

Pretend to be like a 'boy-scout' and always be prepared. Have a small penknife ready to stab any intruding god in the calf and say something clever like "All seeing? Didn't see that coming did you omni-present fucker?!" and then laugh as god hobbles around going "ow, that fucking hurt".

Anyhow, the point is not to ask god "Why have you forsaken me?" - just ask the bastard what he was doing when the shit hit the fan. I bet the tosser comes up with some excuse about trying to fix the fjords in Norway or something.

You may have a better idea why he/she/it was busy???

Strange Supersitions

There are many superstitions that people believe in, some are quite common like black cats crossing your path, walking under a ladder (which makes sense if someone drops a hammer on your head) and having a rabbits foot (although it doesn't seem very lucky for 3-legged Thumper).

However, there are some superstitions which are downright bloody bizarre......

• Eat a raw herring and you will see your future spouse. (seems to me that you would smell like a fish so I don't see how that would work)
• Yellow Underwear is good luck (I supppose it might be if you pissed yourself, then no-one would notice)
• Once leaving a residence it is bad luck to return if something was forgotten. (well, if it was a bomb, maybe, otherwise I can't see how going back would be bad luck)
• Stepping on a crack in the sidewalk is believed to result in one's mother breaking her back (if she was lying down on the crack, maybe)

As I said, there are many superstitions around the world, depending on the culture and even to some extent, the region of a country your are in.

Here are my 'superstitions' which I believe would bring you bad luck.

• Jumping out of a perfectly good aeroplane whilst in flight
• Standing in front of a speeding train
• Stepping on a landmine
• Attempting to catch a bullet with your teeth

Actually, if you are actually stupid enough to try any of the above, go ahead. The human race is not actually in need of your addition to the gene pool.

Feel free to contribute any more strange superstitions - the weirder the better :)

My Deepest Fear

Everyone dreams - it's a part of reality. BUT, once in a while, you dream something so real, so terrifying, that it's scary.

Dreams are something people have to deal with. I spent years dreaming of 'dead people' until I realised, they're not really dead.

I don't worry about dreams where I'm falling without control (learned to deal with them) - fuck it, I'm like Neo in The Matrix - "there is no spoon".

I can manage the 'running but never moving forward' stuff, drowning in a lake under ice, blah, blah, blah.

I can cope with the 'falling forever' thing too, in a 'flying in a blue dream' kind of way (extra points for the guitarist)

I can even make dreams go backwards - in a 'rewind' sort of way.

What I don't like is violence. The reason being, it might manifest itself in reality. I don't like what I can be.

"Make cakes not war!"

Chocolate sponges with raspberry filling would be nice :))

And, your favourite freaky dream is ????

Cross Country Running

Physically, I was designed for cross-country running - the physique is there. Mentally, it makes perfect sense to me - a self-preservation order. It's the only time the teacher made sense...

"Run this way, really fast, but stay between the lines" - er, right, not really going to happen.

"Run any way, really fast, and.... where the fuck did he go?" - yey, now we're talking, or rather, running.

I can fight, if I have to, but it fucking hurts. Why bother if you can

RUNAWAY

My ego will heal a lot faster than a broken arse. So fucking what, that the last thing you saw was my Gothic furry butt disappearing through a hedge?! Better that than coming to my funeral (which will be nice, incidentally - marshmallows for everyone, 'yey, toast them over my burning carcass')

Ergo, mentally, I associate with....

RUNAWAY

The 'Games Master-bator' (P.E. Teacher) used to get very frustrated with me, but I figure that's because he couldn't catch and stroke me.

"Where'd he go?" he would demand of the little fat one

"Dunno Sir, there was a blur and then..."

"So, where the fuck is he?" - AAAAAAAARGH

*little fat one pointing in the direction I'd gone*

"Goddamn it - I can't see him Simpson"

Indeed, that will be because I'm running and hiding, and I don't care if you get your helicopters and shit 'cos I'm running and I'm not stopping 'till you put your pants back on...

RUNAWAY

Fucking Language

And no, for you perverts who have arrived on a wave of Google tissues, this rant is not about SEX - there are NO pictures here in Goth World so fuck off and masturbate behind the bike shed.

The english (grrrr) language, is probably the most eloquent and elegant of all languages on the planet. It is my mothers tongue, not in a lizard type way, more a being born in Manchester way, and thus I have a more than an adept grasp of it - the language, not my mothers tongue.

Anyway, I can read many languages but being a cocky mother-fucker, I decided to learn another.... Punjabi.

I don't know why, I just wanted to.

Except I can't.... because the fucking English doesn't make sense.

Quote: "I believe that learning the Panjabi script in an exiciting intellectual adventure which must not be missed"

How the fuck am I supposed to learn another language if your basis is fucked up to start with?

Looking on the bright side, I did learn the swear-words first....

PEHN DI PHUDDHI

So, there you go, swearing in a language other than English......

*Backs away before scheiss passiert*

But you can suggest swearing in another language if you want, and 'Putain' does not count as I have used it before :-s

More Religious Bullshit

Oh goody - more religious piffle to talk about. I was starting to get concerned that I was being slighty unfair to the bearded ones and their little book of nonsense. Although, to be fair it is a complete crock of shit (in my opinion).

Then, lo and behold, I have discovered more religious meanderings of the mind, in a different religious text.

Now this one, is from a completely different religion, but is also full of the most insane nonsense. In fact, if it is possible, is slightly even more insane. At least with the bible, my biggest criticism, apart from the inaccuracies, is the way that is interpreted. This new (to me) text, doesn't leave you in any doubt as to the fact that the authors are as mad as a bag of squirrels on acid.

So, the question is, to which text am I referring? Firstly, it is not a new text, as in not one of the New Scientology type religions (stick to novels Hubbard !). Should I tell you what it is, or just plough straight in?

Hee, hee - the evil side of me says let them guess.

1 point for the religion
5 points for the title of the text

Bonus 10 points if you get both

(and, it is freely available on the internet)

Guess away...

Driving Lessons, in Goth World

Mariposa:- OK, so I steer with this?
Goth:- Yes
And this makes it go forward
Yes
And if I want to make it stop?
You press this doofer
Don't patronise me because I'm a woman
I'm not, I'm trying to help you learn to drive
OK, I'm ready
Good, so let's begin - select, first
First what?
Tranquilo, basics first
Merd ! Merd ! it's not...
Calm down, think happy thoughts
I am bloody calm and.... where's the fucking road?
There, just where it always was
But I can't fucking see it
Just look - try the Jedi mind trick - focus your mind
Bullshit, tell me where the road is
It's exactly where it was before....
Ok, I see it now, so I engage gear and then accelerate like this?
Exactly, calm and careful and, oh fucking hell
Oh Merd - I just crashed off a cliff
Did you have a parachute?
PARACHUTE ?! YOU NEVER MENTIONED A BLOODY PARACHUTE
Kidding, sorry
OK, Let's start again !

Welcome to Mariposa entering the Playstation zone...

Biblical King Of The Bees

Yes, there was also, in that book, the bible, a very wise king and his name was King Solomon. He was so very wise that he used to sit on his throne all day doing fuck all really but when someone came in and said "Oh King, something dreadful has happened" and proceeded to explain the disaster, the King would say "Well, I did tell you that was going to happen" and everyone wandered off going, "Bloody hell, he knows everything, he does".

Anyway, one day the Queen of Sheba, came up with a plan to outfox the King, in a cunning and foxlike fashion. She arrived in the King's court with a bunch of flowers in each hand. Standing a fair way from the King, but by the window so he could see properly, she said "O clever and mighty one, one of these bunches are real flowers and one are very cleverly disguised false ones - but which is which?"

The King thought about it and scratched his beard. "Come on then smart-arse" demanded the Queen of Sheba.

"Open the bloody window" demanded the King "It's too stuffy in here and I can't think properly".

The King's courtier did so and moments later, the King announced "The flowers in your right hand are the real ones".

"Wow" said the Queen of Sheba "You are indeed wise and powerful, but how did you know?"

"That's easy" replied the King "They're the ones that are covered in bees"

"Covered in..." started the Queen before looking at her hands. She screamed and ran out of the palace yelping "Fucking hell, I'm covered in bees".

Real Christian Singles in your area

Single? Christian? If you are ready to meet "The One" and want to establish a relationship, then please Visit Real Christian Matching ....

Well, I hate to tell you this 'mailshot' wankers, but I am not really the person you want to be sending this spam shit to. But, I have seen The Matrix, and I know Neo is 'The One' - so save yourself some time and send your lonely people to Keanu Reeves thankyou.

I am used to having to delete the spam mail I get on the various e-mail accounts but normally it is boring shit like:-

'Enlarge Your Penis...' what, by tying a brick on a piece of string to it?
'Get Your Love Life Started With Viagra...' as opposed to trying to have sex with someone attractive?
'I Am Stuck In Africa With A Fortune...' well, if you're that fucking rich, why are you stuck there then?

So, what is the weirdest SPAM mail you have received, and what would your reply be?

Crutching At Straws

So, after meeting my beloved for lunch at a local hostelry, I noticed something slightly untoward.

"Do you sell magic beer?" I asked the barman.

"Well, it's ok but I wouldn't call it magic.... why?" he inquired.

"I can understand when people leave, or forget umbrellas" I started to explain "Newspapers, glasses, hats and all sorts...."

"And your point is?" demanded the now confused barman

"If you look over there" I said, pointing in the direction of said articles "There are crutches. Now I can imagine why you might need them after a night on the piss, but to come in to a pub, drink a few alcoholic beverages and then forget you needed them ?!"

The barman started, what was going to be a phrase like "Fuck off you're taking the..." when he abruptly stopped and said "Bloody hell - you're right".

"It's like the Fugitive" I said "We need to be looking for a one-legged man" (except he was a one-armed man in the film, but the principle is the same, 'ish).

Somewhere in Bruxelles tomorrow, someone is going to jump out of bed and realise that they shouldn't have done that.

So what was the strangest thing you have encountered being left behind (and children don't count)..... ???

Crash, Bam, Thankyou Twat

You really couldn't script this shit.

It's been a busy 48 hours in Goth World but Mariposa wanted the 'nest' re-arranging, which is cool, in a 'not at the fucking moment' way, but I acquiessed, as you do.

"I'd prefer not to put that in the garage as it might get stolen" she says.

"Yeah, bound to fucking happen" I replied, and wandered off to do the shopping.

Heading back to the 'nest', shopping bags in hand and feeling satisfied about an interesting, and somewhat eventful day, I noticed somebody taping up the garage.

Taping up a garage is not normal behaviour, even in Goth World.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I enquired, in French.

"Sorry" came the reply "I crashed through your garage door"

"I can bloody well see that, but how? It's not even a direct line from the road" I countered.

The explanation kind of weedled it's way out eventually, but suffice to say, the garage door is FUBAR.

Looking on the bright side, the twat could have driven off and said nothing (a very Belgian concept), although he might have had to explain to the police why he had portions of a garage door all over his car.

So, should I ask for compensation and what would be appropriate?

Sleep Tagging

OK - I will take the challenge on and discuss 'sleep-tagging' because I'm originally from Wales, and it's amazing what might happen in your valley, if you're not careful.

Mr Clever Pants, JJ, wanted to know what 'sleep-tagging' is and so I feel duty bound to explore this whole side of sexuality. Actually, I don't know fucking anything about it but I know it will piss him off, especially as it is something his therapist told him not to discuss - (the little list of shrinks - bit of a Freudian slip up the bottom).

Anyway, sleep = stuff like being dead, without the ceasing to exist part, because that would be silly, not to mention, pointless, or endless or something - with an annoying inevitability.

Tagging = announcing that something belongs to you, even though you can't actually own it, in a graffitti type way - por ejemplo "I will spray my name on this train, as it is passing, really fast, but everyone will know that my name is Squiggle, but in different colours.".

Thus, if you put the two together, you get..... babies, or a sexually transmitted disease.

Oops, sorry, I was supposed to be explaining 'sheep shagging' or something like that.

Pehn Di Phuddi

I only know 2 phrases in Punjabi, and that is one of them. But I do know how to say Ben Zoma, in Hebrew, which is kind of handy when you're rewriting the Bible.

I tag JJ (but you can join in if you want), to write a story involving:-

Motorhead, drugs, wine, women and song - in French.

Gay Bomb

So, the theory is as follows. Get a bomb, as in explosive device type thing, but instead of killing people, you make them love each other in a homo-erotic way.

Sorry - is this making no fucking sense at all or what ? I didn't make the shit up (yikes, sounds gay already) - it's even got it's own Wiki entry.

"An aphrodisiac could be dropped on enemy troops, ideally one which would also cause "homosexual behavior"

Now, I'm not gay, so forgive me for making assumptions, but, what the fuck is that about?

My understanding is that soldiers like to dress up, run around a lot in make up, and hide in trees. Being gay, is the same thing but means that you like to dress up, etc but with someone of the same sex.

So therefore, a 'gay-bomb' is somewhat superfluous, don't you think??

In Goth World, you can do what the fuck you want, with whomever you want. Well, apart from being nasty - that's not allowed.

However, I would make a brilliant lesbian - well, apart from the fact that I'm not female. But I am really good at tennis and I love women..... well, one woman actually, so I guess that makes me a 'Solo-Lesbian'.

Don't think the drugs are working yet ;-)

Which Way Then ?

I do so love that phrase, when I'm as pissed as a bee falling off a flower.

"Which way should we go?" - like I should fucking know.

"To the place that I live, I think.... ish."

Por ejemplo :- Goth is completely twatted, in a very, too much alcohol and no sleep till Hammersmith way, and thus should go home and sleep and stuff. However, believing he can fly and other weird shite, the Goth One decides to have another beer or two.

"I think we should go now" says the cherubic angel on Goth's shoulder.

"Fucking A" says Goth, staggering to his feet, clutching the flowers he has purloined for his beloved. "Which way is the Metro doofer?".

"It's ok" replies the Dark One "I'll drive you home - it's only 2 minutes from where I live"

*40 minutes later*

"Dude, we are totally lost - I think I should call Mariposa as she will know where we are etc"

Beginning the phone call, the Dark One says "Do you think I should switch this GPS thing on now?"

Well, fucking DUH ......

*auto-voice* "Turn left after 300 meters"

Goth watches patiently before commenting - "Not that left - your OTHER left!!!!!"

Fucking long journey but Goth got home in the end............

Being Welsh

It's not that easy, being Welsh. I know, as that's what I am - for richer or poorer, but always, Wales is in my veins.

First, you have to differentiate between North and South Wales. Makes a big fucking difference does that, you know.

Second, you have to hate the English - bastards introduced central heating, and umbrellas and stuff. Had fuck all to do with the Italians, or Romans as they were called then, wandering past and saying things like "If you build these roads in a straight line, you wouldn't crash into trees so often" - "Fuck off, we're Welsh and we like trees, don't we Dewi ?!!"

Third, you must create a language that is no use to anyone, in the world, ever. Except for Patagonia, but that doesn't count as no-one knows where the fuck it is to start with.

Other things you could do?

• Create your own TV channel (pronounced S Pedwar Eck) to show shit programmes that nobody wants to watch
• Invent an Eisteddfod to showcase your lack of talent
• Create small towns with names that are longer to pronounce than the time it takes to traverse them
• Set fire to holiday cottages for no apparent, sorry, logical, reason
• Enforce the children to play rugby, and hope that when they grow up, they might still like it
• Love sheep, in an unconditional way

Fuckin Gleaming

But, being Welsh, we did give the world Manic Street Preachers - good, Charlotte Church - bad, Ryan Giggs - good, Tom Jones - Gaaarrrgh

*wanders off in the direction of Spain, mutterring to himself*