Sitting on an Angry Chair

"Sitting on an angry chair, angry walls that still declare" - Alice in Chains. Unfortunately, a feeling I know all too well. I do my best to suppress my anger but, again it surfaces, triggered by some inane comment. Looking on the bright side, Rage Against the Machine are reforming, the "You brain dead, you want a mother fucking bullet in the head" gang are back in town.

However, in order to try and cheer myself up, gradually, I created a list of some of my favourite lyrics (feel free to suggest your own faves). it's a strangely therapeutic process, thinking about the list, like counting backwards from fucking ten to awww, look a baby one - usually works for me, but, that's 'musos' for you........ In theory, this train (of thought) should depart from anger (at whatever time it fucking wants - grrrr), stopping briefly at misery, angst, self-loathing, loneliness, sadness, bettersville, middle of nowhere, lunacy, pleasure, rock pleasure and other pleasure before terminating in Love.

*holds hand out* - "Tickets perlease !".

anger - "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me" - Rage Against the Machine
misery - "I give, you take, this life that I forsake" - Metallica
angst - "this what you want, what you need, always feel me strapped to you.." - Moist
self-loathing - "I feel stupid and contagious, turn the lights off it's less dangerous" - Nirvana
loneliness - "All the teachers used to look right through me, look right through me" - Gary Jules (Tears For Fears)
sadness - "Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven?" - Eric Clapton *tears flow - always reminds me of MG's*
bettersville - "Well they're never gonna get me, like a bullet through a flock of doves" - My Chemical Romance
middle of nowhere - "I'm on a road to nowhere, come on the ride" - Talking Heads
lunacy - "Fat bottoms, fat bottoms, talk about bum cheeks, my girls got 'em" - Spinal Tap
pleasure - "Touching you-eeee-ooooio, touching me-eee-eeiiooo" - The Darkness
rock pleasure - "She told me to come but I was already there" - AC/DC
other pleasure - "Then I'm gonna love you completely and then I'll fucking fuck you discretely" - Tenacious D
Love - "I'll save every day 'til eternity passes away just to spend them with you" - Jim Croce

OK - back to relative normality now. Not quite sure how you could measure it - they don't actually sell 'normality meters' in the shops. What I mean is I no longer want to stamp on someone's head until it looks like a beef patty. Which is good, right??

So now, bloggers, I need your help. I have finally persuaded the Wicked Witch of the East (WWotE) to allow MG's (mini-goths) to go to Euro Disney. This is not the Big Issue - not after your money (already got that boring shite covered) - I need you to pray for no-rain. Second week of April - I need a heatwave in Marne-la-Vallee. Remember that there were seven wonders of the world, well there are two in Goth world and I don't want them to have a crap time.

Contrary to the bullshit of the 'bitches of eastwick' (otherwise known as the pontificating, lying witches purporting to be friends to ex-G but in reality, fuckwits job-sharing one brain between them all) I do want a holiday for my kids. The MG's can go - and I'm even paying for WWotE also - and, in the best hotel I might add. But, as a Goth I am not allowed to trifle in the tinkerings of shite like the weather etc - so, help......pls.

a luego,
S

ps just to conclude with my favourite lyrics (from my hero, Andrew Eldritch) - "I was quite impressed until I hit the floor, but isn't that what friends are for" - "In a bar that's always closing, in a world where people shout, I don't want to talk it over, I don't want to work it out" .

pps taking his head out of his own arse long enough to think about other peeps - big hugs to Special K - besos chica xxx

Not Alone

This is for a new friend of mine who is having a hard time (to prove that she is not alone, I too have these feelings) *hugs* to K

alone, I can say that I cried
in my soul, in my heart, I have died
not one

heart once giving life
taking all from my
soul

my tears, run away
forgotten but not lost
hears

the truth, yet cursed
obey the rules but
my

aching and mournful
failing tears
voice

muted, unwanted
unable to
cry

drifting, so helpless
can't find a way
out

I search without knowing
if there's a way
in

a path I could follow
a hand reaching for
the

lost, lonely child I have become
alone and bereft in the
night

PM - Project Mis-management

Oh, the bullshit we have to endure at times. Marching into the Boss's office I announced "Look Boss, I can see this project going 'tits-up' faster than a mermaid falling backwards off her rock, if we're not careful". In quasi-Yoda-speak Boss responded "Young Jedi, you have learned fast; But project fail, we must not". I paused, contemplated this wisdom and added "Well, when it does disappear up it's own arsehole, I am not taking the chuffing blame for it".

I know it may not be the most subtle way to talk to the person who writes your pay-cheque but I have a 'disaster detection' gene. Boss suitably informed, I turned on my heel and left.

Now it was time to move into ACT (Arse Covering Technique) mode. This involves leaving a paper trail so obvious that even Stevie Wonder could see it. Then, when 'shit-for-brains' - also known as Project Manager, or one of their cronies, asks for some invariably idiotic request, the response is "you'll be putting that in writing then?". "Can't you just do it? It would only take you 5 minutes". DUH - Five of your minutes in your lunatic world to fuck the system up, and me about a day to back it out again. No thanks - I'll be 'butt-fucked' when I feel like it, which currently is 2057 years the other side of NEVER !!!

An example from 'Idiot Watch Diary' was the PM, (Project Manager - more aptly named Prickless Muppet) requested a change to the system that even a dead monkey could see was mental. Straight to the Boss's office, without PM (Paralyzed Maggot) in tow. "There is no fucking way I am doing what that gobshite has asked for" I declared. "Go on" said the boss in a tone of resigned acceptance, "Now what does wonder boy want?". I explained it in very simple but precise detail and it was fairly clear from Boss's increasingly alarmed expressions that my point was becoming understood. Unfortunately, PM (Poison Monkey) had decided to by-pass us and before our conversation was completed, the BIG Boss had phoned to say that we had tow the line and go-live with said lunacy. The end-customer (no pun intended, but usually true) was complaining and they wanted it live, on site, by Friday.

Terrific!! I trudged off to make an escape plan.

A few simple rules of thumb to bear in mind if you know things are about to fuck up:-

a = do not be there in the first place
b = if a) is not possible, get the fuck out, fast
c = for both, ensure that you can't be held accountable in any way, shape or form

So, firstly, I ensured that the only time I could install the abomination was late Friday afternoon. Secondly, that the first time PM (Pretentious Moron) could fire it up was when I was at least 200 miles away. Lastly, I checked that my paper-trail was flawless and my alibi, unshakeable.

This achieved, I sat down with a whisky and waited for the shit to hit the fan - which, with an unswerving predictability, it did in spectacular stlyle. I was in the supermarket the following morning when the mobile phone rang. I listened to the PM's (Pathetic Motherfucker) rant, "The whole system across Europe has gone down" followed by the usual "Wotcha gonna do about it?!" - Like I was going to fix his fuck-up?! I calmly replied "I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone who actually gives a fuck".

Abuse, ranting, 'have your head' type bullshit followed - HA HA, like I care what you think PM (Premature Mutation)!!. Oh the joy to be had in a Monday morning board meeting. Sorry my arse is covered PM (Pitiful Management) wanker - bet that wasn't in YOUR project plan!! *speaks like the Emperor in Star Wars*Everything is going exactly as I predicted. Bwahahahaha

Moral to the story - Don't Feed the Goths - They May Bite !!!!!

a luego,
S

My Grandfather Was a Wizard

Well, ok, that's a bit of a lie (which he would have dis-approved of) but, he was really old and said really wise things, in a wizard sort of way. Granted, he never turned me into a frog but he did speak to Gothess and she's French *ponders awhile* so that's kind of wizardy. Anyway, I worshipped him, right up to the point where he fucked up on the immortality bit. Yup, he fucked up and got himself deaded.

Before he did the dead thing, he did loads of brilliant things like, oh I dunno, The Times Crossword in 30 seconds (and not by just colouring it in), shoved his hand up a cows arse on a regular basis (something to do with them having small cows), and smoked a pipe (HA, see - definitely a wizard then!!). He did loads of interesting things like, not getting killed by Germans in 1940, not getting killed by Japanese in 1944 and not getting killed by his wife for fucking off for 5 years to fight someone who he didn't want to.

I was angry that he insisted that I was not allowed in to see him in the hours before he went 'disco dancing in the clouds' as I had just risked my arse flying in a big metal tube from Spain to the UK. But, as usual, he had a wizardy reason for this - he didn't want me to see him wired and tripping. At the time, I was pissed off but in retrospect I understand - my image of the Wizard of Goth as a hero remains.

The Wizard of Goth would remain aloof, and at times distant, sitting in his armchair with his eyes closed but accutely aware of any conversations and commenting only when he saw fit - I assumed, at the time, casting spells but in reality, a deeply sad person for being put in such a position to have to fight and kill a fellow man. He did tell me once what happened, but......

The Wizard had an encyclopeadic knowledge, especially of the bible which was very entertaining when the god squad used to pay a visit. To see these parasites squirm as he corrected them on chapter and verse was so funny. After the leeches had left, suitably chastised, he would pull another tale from his history to entertain us.

I'm happy to say that I surprised him when I offered to take him and his beloved out for lunch. I already had my plan but couldn't say anything to spoil the surprise. Lunch was the bait, the Zoo was the surprise. When I got the Wizard and his wife there, they lost 40 years at least. "When was the last time you went to a zoo?" I asked, after I managed to interupt the "Tigers first", "No, Elephants", "Tigers", "Elephants". They stopped arguing and after consulting each other they blew my mind with the answer. "53 years ago"

The Wizard was also a stickler for standards and had a right pop at me when I entertained my teenage fuzzy days, trying to grow a moustache. "I managed to shave with a year old razor in the jungles of Burma every day so I don't see why you can't manage to when you're in your situation". Which message, obviously, flew right over my head as I was feeling suitably smug that the Wizard had called me a 'man'. I don't think I dissappointed him as, although never one for praise directly, as I found out at his funeral, the mourners seemed to know more about my life and achievements than I did. Apparently the Wizard had been at work. I can't say I was surprised in the slightest when Mrs Wizard followed to take her place in the sky less than 6 months later. I think they had been together for 64 years so to lose someone that close would kind of tip your balance I suppose - sort of like holding onto someone when you're pissed and then they disappear. TILT - hit the floor time.

So charge your glasses and raise a toast, to my sadly missed, "Wizard of Goth"
*smiles and winks at a star*

a luego,
S

La Langue a Dit

For you people, that don't speak French or Spanish - "The tongue said" - todays Guest Blogger......ruminates on what she has been reading over the past week.

A friend of mine , wearing a brand new pair of kinky boots was going to a dinner party. Smartly dressed but with this edge of sexiness sufficient to draw interest of any available man in the vicinity.She enters the elevator with an elegant young man. Polite greetings. She then looks at the tip of her glorious boots waiting for the elevator to stop at destination. Suddenly, the man is on his knees licking her boots passionately. Before she can start screaming to escape the psychopath, the doors open and she is left with the visiting card handed to her with words : "I will pay to do it again". Horrified and in shock at the close escape she reads the card left by .... a lawyer !!

So Drama Queen (whose boyfriend prohibits her wearing her boots except in the bedroom) :

a) your boyfriend is afraid of becoming a lawyer OR
b) he is afraid of not being able to resist the temptation of licking boots in the outside world OR
c) he is afraid of you getting in elevators with said boots OR
d) all the above

Options :
a) leave sad boyfriend with boots and get a life
b) start a new and very profitable business
c) start a collection of kinky boots and take adavantage of any elevator available to pepper up of sexual life
(safest option one might think... up untill boyfriend suggests swapping outfits)


*Goth cuts the power* Fucking hell...and I thought I was weird - who would think that kinky boots could keep you awake all night?!!

hasta manana,
S

Brussels Bans Hearing

Following their hugely successful and as usual, perfectly implemented, decision to ban smoking - the powers that 'want to be' have decided to ban hearing. Using the same logic, pattern and ineptitude as the smoking ban, the European Parliament ratted (sorry, ratified) this law which comes into effect on the 29th February 2007.

European spokesperson - Tony Mc Moaney announced in wibbilly English "Och, well the shite goes something like this......... " at which point our correspondent applied the new law and stopped listening.

To summarize the 6089 page, tree-killing document that was issued by the Mussels in Brussels - I have taken the liberty of simplyfying it for you.

A Brief Outline

Firstly, a policy of selective hearing will be applied (which, when announced was given a standing ovation by the male members of parliament as they realised that it wouldn't change their lives at all). It will be illegal to hear in public places where people are talking shite. Homeless people must be ignored, no address - no existence. A partial ban will apply to questions - if a ratio of 69% of the question is deemed stupid, it can be ignored. It will be against the law to listen to people attempting to speak another language in a silly accent. Likewise, any references to shopping in busy shops will be against the law.

Secondly, statements like 'your round mate' will be against the law as will 'your turn to change green slime filled nappy'. Religion remains largely unaffected, as no-one was actually listening to start with. However, pop concerts will be affected as a large gathering of people listening to Take Twat could be arrested and thrown into Git Bay.

Thirdly, jazz is completely fucked (if you don't know, it's simply 4, usually excellent musicians, playing 4 different songs at the same time while bozos nod and say things like "groovy"). Of course, deaf people are exempt from this act but maybe, just maybe, they will now be treated as equal citizens.

Finally, the ban may not be as effective in other European countries as an inside source informed us that there were ructions within the language booths as cat-fights had not been completed between interpreters over who could look at the documentation (two documents issued, three people) "Mine" "But I need to look at it as I'm going live" *snatches documents and turns into Gollum* "NO!!!, my precious, we wants them, we needs them" "Just for a minute?""But I needs them and I wants them"."oh, putain!".

America laughed, well Condescending Rice did, as she said "oh you Europeans, always playing Ketchup aren't you?!".

The aftermath of this was summed up quite eloquently by the barman in the nearest pub when the pontificating Euro-twats went for drinks to celebrate. He applied the new law and none of the fuckers got served.

a luego,
S

ps no need to comment - la la la not listening *grins smuggly and gets squashed by a horn blaring bus*

Thank Fuzz Its Friday (Again)

I love Fridays, it's such a Fuzzy day. Fuzzy and cute because another week of having to get up early is over and the weekend will soon be upon me like a big Fuzzy blanket of love. Fuzzy and comfortable as I don't have to wear a shirt and tie any more - I can put my Marilyn Manson shirt on (actually, I don't have to wear a tie during the week - I wear the tie because it's a reminder to me that I am actually going somewhere i.e. to work, and must not stop at the pub on the way).

Fuzzy is how my eyesight will be later as the only limit to how much I can drink tonight will be when the laws of gravity outweigh the laws of brevity and whisky. Don't care - where have I got to be tomorrow? Ha - nowhere. Fuzzy tongue/breath as I can eat as much garlic as I want tonight and not worry that my cow-workers will be blinded by the light (well, smell actually) tomorrow 'as me no work' and as Fuzzy Gothess will be eating the same food I don't have to worry about that either.

In fact, all I will have to worry about is a great big Fat Fuzzy Fuck (or should that be Fuck all ? - naw, probably right the first time).

So what are the plans for Fuzzy Friday Night in Goth World? Nada - don't do plans at the weekend - I leave that to the grown-ups. Not to make plans for me I mean, but if they want to plan their existence.......go ahead. *Warning - do not be tempted to wave one of your non-Fuzzy lists or itineraries at me - I will eat it and after nature has took it's course deliver it back to you via catapult (oh yes, The Sling of Shit) - *

Godzilla used to pull that crap on me. "Let's take the mini-Goths (MG's) to the beach tomorrow, they'll love it". Yes they will, but not when you try and route-march the terrified MG's out of the house at 6am to "miss the traffic" - very un-Fuzzy behaviour. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. I will be up when I'm up, and if that means leaving after lunch, then so be it. And if we decide to set off back after dark at 10pm then we bloody well will. MG's will sleep all the way back and they won't have had the shit scared out of them by a control freak. "oooh, but my poor doggy might get lonely" - so, strap it to the roof of the car using tape (safer than sticking it's head out of the window).

Thinking about it, there is one incarnation of Fuzzy I don't like....Fuzzy women. I don't mean gently Fuzzy women - I'm talking about the Chewbacca in a dress type. Jeez - that's why Goth invented razors - use the bastard things. I'm not big on beards, but on a woman -> sorry, definite no-go area. Even thinking about it gives me the creeps - "yeah I know I asked for a blow job for Christmas but not from Father Fucking Christmas"!!!!

So, at the end of all things, as I have been a good Goth, I'm going to .....ha, ha, wait for it.... (expecting get pissed, there - wrong answer) invent a new creature. So, those of you sufficiently bored on a Fuzzy-day, frustrated or just plain stupid, you can help to create the ideal new creature for Goth World. In order to create, you need a plan - well, you don't actually. Bollocks, if nature can come up with a Duck-Billed Platypus with the plan known as DNA I can do what I want.

So, I guess we need to decide on a number of arms, legs, tits etc - whether new creation has super-powers etc and a funky name. Yikes, just thought - did Batman come before Catwoman...probably. So in order to create we need a 'recipe of blogation' (sort of blog+creation but I dropped a few letters in a Postman Twat fashion). Don't let me down Blog-Cadets as I need your help.

Signing off as I know the beer is ordered, oh and assuming my fave pub has not been incinerated by aliens - wait until after closing time you green/purple blobs from Mars or some other planet named after a chocolate bar.

Bueno fin de semana y Gothic besos a todos,
S

ps if it all goes freaky iin here next week - not my fucking fault.........blame it on anyone other than me. I didn't create the shit; I just burbled and it came out as poo.

The Subtle Art of Lying

Far be it from me to shrink from my role as a gifted educational icon, so if we are sitting comfortably I will commence today's lesson - the topic being The Subtle Art of Lying. It's a complex subject and one that can be partially influenced by gender. First of all we have to examine whether one should lie at all. It takes a very clever person to not lie at all. Results can be quite profound and sometimes dangerous.

Consider the male response to the female question "Does my bum look big in these jeans?". Telling the truth is not a wise option - a response of "Fuck me, where did the sun go!" or "Wow, two hippos trapped in a duvet" will generally be taken in a negative way. Lying and responding "Of course not, you look simply divine" is likely to be treated with scepticism at the very least. One can use the avoidance technique of pretending you didn't hear the question at all and thinking about 'Prison Break' or another alternative is not to put yourself in such a blatantly stupid position by simply refusing to go shopping and leg it to the pub when she's not looking.

There are lies that are female specific:-

= Wow, I've never seen one that big before
= Of course I came darling
= Gosh you are so good in bed
= Of course I'm not angry that you forgot my birthday

and ones that are Male specific:-

= That is quite a lovely pair of pert breasts you have dear
= Of course I wouldn't sleep with your best friend
= No blow job for me dear, I wouldn't want to put you out
= Darling, I'd far rather spend time with you than watch the football

A skilled practitioner in the art knows precisely what size lie to use (yes they do come in all sizes) from the slight step up from being economical with the truth, to the fucking whopper with cheese. The true skill is remembering which one you used, to whom and when. This can create all sorts of problems if you are using the 'spread the shit' method to cover a faux pas on a grand scale. Alcohol and lying are not good bedfellows as the more one drinks, the more ones tangible grasp on reality and common sense dissipates. Again this can lead to disastrous results from a simple "Not me occifer, I haven't had a drink all night" to a morning-after very rude awakening with the words "Oh my fucking god - what/who the fuck have I done this time" hurtling round your head like a washing machine on the spin cycle.

There is also the 'time and place' to factor into the 'what size fib do I need to get out of this one?'. Telling that attractive person you just clocked that you intend to give them the seeing to of their life, while your current partner is standing right behind you, can be fixed with a small white lie "It's ok darling, I was only joking" to a full on bullshit about anything to try and extricate oneself. One has to bear in mind how psychopathic your previously trusting partner may become.

Finally, remember that if you lie in writing, it will come back to twat you in your face. If a lie has to be told, tell it - don't write it. At least then you can use the disclaimer "I bloody did not say that!....ever....I just bloody wouldn't".

Ok class - you are dismissed but don't forget your homework. I want an essay on that wonderous book of fabricated nonsense (lies) - aka the public transport timetable.

And keep practising your lying techniques. Remember the old adage 'how do you know when a politician is lying? He opens his mouth'. Watch them and learn from the prostitutes...I mean professionals (that last part is a definite lie as you can see ;-)

a luego,
S

ps and Gothess does not have a fat arse (true) - I just ramble at times (also true) and I still love her to bits 'cos she's not a gothess, she's MY Gothess :-)

Thanks You Disorganised Twats

I might be Gothic, anarchic and seem a bit off the wall but I could organise a piss-up in a brewery. Fuck, I could organise a piss-up just about anywhere. Generally, they turn out to be spectacular benders where people, drink, smoke, laugh and generally have a good time. Sex? up to you - if that's what you want, fine. I can even probably pair you up with someone of a simillar disposition (if I'm in my Cupid-Goth mood).

What I can't organise is the transport system. On an increasingly regular basis I am left standing on a platform like a nun at an orgy - standing on my own in bemusement, having no fun and tutting *shakes head*. I wouldn't mind if I didn't hold up my end of the bargain - turning up at the supposedly correct time, paying for the priveledge etc but I do. It seems I am doing a sponsored stand around doing fuck all freezing my arse off. Well, I just hope some hungry child in Africa is getting a bowl of beef stew for this.

How fucking hard can it be to get a train from point A to point B on time? Apparently, the answer is impossible. Today we had a Metro car whose doors wouldn't close - so after 10 minutes of futile fiddling about the driver announced we all had to jump off as the train was now out of service. You really shouldn't be using terms like 'jump off' with frustrated passengers dude. I know it's probably not your fault but I don't think that will be the headline in the newspaper. More likely is 'Train driver THROWN off bridge'.

So, when we all 'jumped' on the next piece of shit to arrive on the rails there was a lot of glancing at watches. I didn't bother as I knew I had missed my connection which leaves the horrid and only option of a depressingly expensive taxi - a-fucking-gain. So now, I am still on a train when I should be sat at my desk drinking coffee - bastards.

Funnily enough, only last night I was talking with my favourite Swedish babe, H (the one who regularly gets a 9/10 on the shaggability rating - from both sexes interestingly enough) and she mused that I should have a rant at public transport here in Bell-end-Gium. I was going to resist (the rant, not any advances from her) when the shower of shit managed to fuck it up again. I'd love to see their reliabilty rating. Must rate somewhere between inept and fucking useless. Not that they give a flying fuck obviously.

Why don't you use drive to work then Goth dude? Because my car is in fucking Spain. Now piss off and ask someone else stupid questions.

I suppose I might have won the lottery last night.......then again, probably not.

ala,
S

A Gothic Intro to Philosophy (101)

So, returning to matters of far less importance than yesterdays slap on the wrist for China (get back to the kitchen now) I give you the introduction to Philosophy in Goth World. Kick back, take it in (or don't) - my blog and I can write whatever I jolly well choose.

"Life's a piece of shit, when you think of it" -> Monty Python. Yeah well, Monty must have been married, or tried public transport in Belgium or perhaps even both. Not allowed to see my offspring as I don't pay all ex-goths bills - fook the fact that she burned her way through more of the money I earned faster than a firestarter with a tanker of petrol and a box of matches. On top of that, when I did finally leave (banging my head against a wall was creating severe headaches) I let her keep everything, except my underpants and my guitar. Public transport here in Belgium just sucks. Still better than the yUK though - which isn't exactly hard.

"I think, therefore I am" -> Descartes. Hmm, I drink therefore I am an alcoholic? I eat therefore I am a pig? I have sex and therefore I cum? I smoke therefore I am illegal (oh shit, no, I'm actually on fire) - Sorry, Des and your cartes, I could plead guilty to all and also deny all. I drink and therefore I am drunk - hooray, much simpler.

"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer" -> Sun Tzu. A nice idea in principle but also flawed. I don't have any friends - kind of pisses on that idea then. I suppose I could make some papier-mache friends and have tea parties but then I would have to learn ventriloquism (the art of throwing one's voice). Boring conversations though.... "More tea vicar?" - "ess, id like dat pease, ow and get ur hand out of me bum".

"The shortest way to enlightenment is..." -> Confucious (renamed confusing in modern English). There is a second half to the statement but I got sidetracked by the chopsticks. I collect them, for no other reason than they make you feel big and clever in an oriental restaurant. Apart from the soup dish which takes fooking ages to eat with said chopsticks. Can't catch flies with the barsteward things either. Shit worked in the Karate Kid :-(

"I think the Oedipus complex is very true" -> Ziggy Freud. Freud, this is for you alone weirdo. I love my mum but apparently not in the same way you loved yours. No wonder he kept harping on about the "So" *strokes beard* "tell me about your mother" shite......him, not me I might add. If there's going to be any weird shite in my family I want to know beforehand so I can book vacations to the moon in time. Like the Reverend Bill Bailey warned *sing-a-long Chris de Burgh style* "Cousin in red, is dancing with me - beard to beard". Sorry Ziggy, way off my beaten track but I also recognise the time to run away really fast.

"Be Excellent to Each Other" - Bill S Preston Esquire and Ted Theodore Logan - together, the Wyld Stallions from Bill and Teds Excellent adventure (kind of the same as Give Peace a Chance by John Lennon). If only we could all keep to this mantra - things would be so much simpler. Then again we could all smoke drugs and think that living on a yellow sumarine was a really good idea.

Discuss the relative merits of arachnapobia and thus spraying water everywhere in the shower against climbing a tree in South America and battling poison frogs.

ala,
S

Official - China is mad

It's official, China is mad. Completely off their trolley. Ok - maybe not the whole country but certainly the ones with their sticky little fingers on the trigger. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse with the world's number 1 power being run by an extra from the Muppet Show - yes I'm referring to Bush the Tush - now those little yellow terrors are trying to prove that they are just as insane.

What brings me to say this? - Check out the news. "China confirms satellite downed". As if this in itself si not insane enough, after they hold their hands up and said "ok, we admit, we shot the fucker down" their logic borders on Bushism at it's finest. Yes, we admit we launched a medium range ballistic missile and killed the fuck out of a weather satellite - they follow that with the draw-jopping statement "we remain committed to the peaceful development of outer space".

What the fuck?

When did peace and missiles ever fit in the same sentence? Did they never show Star Wars in China. Probably not I suppose. Take it from me, the good guys win in the end but lots of people die and planets explode etc. If you stopped procreating so much and looked at it from a logical perspective you would get the idea that launching missiles is a really bad idea. Now I suppose Bush wants to launch one, which obviously will have to be a bigger one as he is from Texas, just to prove what an idiot he is.

Trust me George - you don't need to. Popular world opinion is that you are already the biggest wanker in the world.

Rant over. Back to stroking furry animals.

*very angry* Goth

Super Gothic Furry Animals

My, slightly irreverant, outlook on the small furry creatures of the world. Don't take them too seriously - alright, don't take me too seriously - it's just me plunging off the diving board into the pool of insanity again.

• Hamsters
• Monkeys
• Badgers
• Bats
• Rats
• Men
• Bears
• Cats
• Dogs

Hamsters - a sound enough start I think. Desert mice without tails. You can keep them amused for hours just by installing a wheel. Funnily enough, exactly the sort of thing a bus driver needs (and what the mother-fooker that made me miss my flight back to Spain didn't use). In DQ's case, brakes might also be handy (not for her, but for the idiot tram driver that nearly turned her beloved BF into a hamster sandwich). Also, hamsters are nocturnal - hooray, move right past dawn without collecting 200 nuts.

Monkeys - oooo, where to start with this. Apparently a humans closest relative although I have to say that ex-wifelets mother had a more than passing resemblance to a large lizzard that likes to stamp on buildings in Tokyo. Did get arse-kicked by a 50-foot tall monkey in the sequel though. I especially like the way that chimps move around their cage in a zoo - usually to be photographed masturbating in the background of a cute family picture. Rock on hairy dude. Get your rocks off.....

Badgers - apparently the biggest carnivore in the UK - well, they only got that title when ex-ma-in-outlaw went vegetarian. Apparently, badgers can turn really nasty - well, they seem to when you put a firecracker up their.... suppose I would do the same. Fortunately, my arse is 'exit-only' so we'll never find out.

Bats - simplistically, flying mice who can't see. Little chuffers have got around this though - they have sonar installed. If you get the later versions they come with GPS - know about the wall you're about to fly into in advance. There are fruit bats, vampire bats but, this is the funny bit. Apparently, vampire bats get pissed on blood. Then what happens is they start talking about football, fall off their chosen horse and laugh hysterically until the horse steps backwards and SQUISH.

Rats - don't have a lot of time for them - usually about 3 seconds is enough for me to zap one. Thank Goth for laser sights. I know laser sights is a bit overkill but I just wanted the kill bit. Also, madam fox thought she'd found an easy take away - dead rats she could take home to feed her young pups. I was cool with that - no cleaning up dead rats for me - but I wasn't too pleased when she left a note in Foxese "take them to go but less Mayo and can I have a Latte, no cream but sugar please?".

Men - yikes I'm on dangerous ground here. Damned if I do say something and damned if I don't. I'll use some of the monkey thing then - wankers, one and all. Seriously, it's difficult for me to comment - I am supposed to be one after all. Ok - quick resume - furry bum, furry chin but no furry palms........enough said?

Bears - do not live in Jellystone park and polar bears do not eat penguins. Unless they've learned how to DHfookingHell them. They do bring comfort to small children in the teddy bear way but they also cannot scuba dive. This I know as I had to get my teddy bear rescued from the U-bend by the Chief of Police whilst he was visiting. I was only 4 years old and he had said "if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask". So I did.

Cats - my favourite. Has the attitude of a Goth - do what I want, when I want, stay out all night and, if you're lucky, you get to lick pussy *purrs*. Also have disgusting habits, like killing things and generally toying with their prey. Shit, sounds like being married again. Fook, I was married to a cat?? No wonder I can't tell left from right.

Dogs - oh dear, where to start here. What can you say about a species that is comfortable licking it's own bollocks?! They also have that thing where they leave messages for each other by pissing on trees/lamposts/tyres etc. Then they want to go out for a walk and pick up their 'wee-mail' and, even worse, expect you to be happy when they lick your face afterwards. Fook off, go and watch a porn movie - 'Lassie Comes Everywhere' is on.

And so, there you have the definitive guide to furry stuff in Goth World....well, it will be until tomorrow.

a luego,
S

Goblins

So after a weekend of shite with nothing of interest to talk about (footy team got rogered, I got bollocked for smoking where I shouldn't - again - and a distinct lack of naked ladies dancing around my peripheral vision) I am going to have to draw upon my knowledge of mythical creatures for inspiration.

Goblins - don't know exactly what they do, or why. I'm fairly positive that contrary to what their name suggests, they do not wander around offering oral sex to any passer by. Of course, I could be wrong and if so, I have obviously been taking the wrong mushroom laden path through the forest. Yikes, can you get dental floss in a forest? Must be able to otherwise the life of a goblin must be very unhygienic.

Elves - famous now thanks to Lord of the Ring Pieces. Apparently can live to be a thousand years old and never run out of arrows to shoot at unsuspecting Orcs. Incredibly beautiful but prone to very eighties hairstyles - oh, and they never get dirty - ever. Presumably, they never go to the toilet either - no chance of getting caught short in the forest then.

Wizards - contrary to popular belief, they don't play pinball after all. They are prone to shiny balls which they like to rub and moan wise things. Pointy hats are the fashion, oh and a nice flappy cape type thing. Get my vote though as they like to smoke - even if it is stuff in a pipe (sounds eerily familiar).

Fairies - prance about singing and lifting up their skirts at passers by. King of the Fairies, Sir Elton of John would be better placed to describe their role but he's busy writing a new song - Lightbulb in the Wind to commemorate someone crashing into a tree or something. Usually have high pitched voices but get a lot of seasonal work when it's pantomime season.

Ogres - big dumpy green things as made famous by Wayne Rooney - sorry, Shrek. Not really sure what they do but they can fart Waltzing Matilda without a song sheet. Guess that makes them Australian then - bit like Kylie Minogue (although I've never been to one of her fart recitals). If ogres are Australian they probably enjoy barbies, tins of lager and Skippy burgers oh, and get really arsey if they miss an episode of Neighbours. Like to shag small furry animals - Home or Away.

Unicorns - basically a horse with an ice cream cone on it's head. Quite how it got there is anyone's guess but the Pixies can take their share of the blame. Definitely avoid at pantomime season - when someone shouts 'he's behind you' it's probably too late and you're already a kebab. Ouch, coned where the sun doesn't shine on tv (aha).

Mermaids - ha, must avoid the she smells like fish gag DOH too late. Ok, half chick/half fish. Prone to sitting around on rocks with their baps out. Something to do with making sailors crash their boats. Shit works too. Anytime some gorgeous young lass waps her baps out on me, my forehead meets the nearest tree/lampost THWACK!!!!!

Vampires - the undead which is pretty cool, get to wear the funkiest clothing but can't have sex. That's a bit pointless then. What's the point of being able to hypnotise the young girl with super airbags, she undresses and then WAP - you bite her neck. Fucking moron, there's probably more blood in the love pillows anyway!

So there you have it - the definitive guide according to S World. Some people have to smoke all sorts of shit to get this weird. Works the opposite way on me I guess. Start fooked up, smoke half a pound of black and then start pissing about with debit and credit ledgers and wondering where the nearest Ikea is.

a luego,
S

Speaking Tongues

I'm not really an advocate of speaking in foreign languages - well, that's not true actually. When in Rome, do as the Romans do - build straight roads, invent central heating or, well, cheat, get Roman Lotsofmoneyvich to buy stuff/players that no-one wants. In other words, buy/steal/beg your way out of trouble and if all else fails, revert to monkey-talk and point in the direction of things you want, accompanied with a grunt *points finger* 'Guargh! - Me'

OK - Not entirely true because I can speak several languages, if I choose to, I just chose to be cleverer and get myself a girlfriend who speaks a zillion languages ..... fluently ..... and gets paid to do so. Not only that, but Gothess can hold conversations with 5 different people in 5 different languages - at the same time. Ha ha, can't fix a computer though...Eek, more work for me to do.

Unfortunately, as I deserved, I have been well and truly butt-fooked by yours truly (that will be me then - just want to clarify this). Indeed, I made the announcement (just showing off really but now it is for real) that I would speak Frency fluently by the end of January. DOH. Stupid boy. So now I have the ultimate non-Goth daily timetable ->

Get up before Dawn breaks wind (in French)
Jump onto Metro with smelly twats (in French)
Jump onto train with coffee (in French)
Work like stuff - all in fooking French
Return to Bat Cave (suitably exhausted)

Unfortunately, being a rather gobby (outspoken) Goth - everyone this side of China knows about this promise and thus are engaging me in French conversations. Even my little Greek buddy, A, who I was teaching Welsh to, insists now that I speak to him in French. Thank Goth his 'better-half' has delivered the baby girl (Goth bless her) and he is so knackered that he can't even see straight, let alone, think/talk straight.

'Say it in French and I will correct you' - yeah, fook off and .... oh, you're asleep then. Breast feeding sounds great but in reality, it sucks.

I get pinged every day with mails announcing jobs with shit loads of cash - if you speak French/Flemish/Spanish etc. Sorry muppets, if it's to do with puters, it will be in English or pseudo-English (otherwise known as American).

I'd only just passed my course in Spanish, now I have to return to French - putain!!!

a bientot,
S

First Love

I was a bit worried about doing a post on the topic of First Love but, as it seemed to be very popular with the blogging community this week (granted the more girly contingent) I had to think. However, I am a sensitive Goth and I'm not afraid of a challenge so I figure I might just get away with this after all.

The beautiful blonde girl blew me away at first sight. It was like an angel had appeared before me. All this beauty wrapped up in a picture of draw-dropping beauty. I hadn't got a clue how I was going to get an opportunity to speak with her. Although we lived in the same village it is quite true also to say that we moved in different circles. However, things were taken out of our hands as our respective parents had decided that we suited each other very well and so contrived to introduce us.

I was entranced by her, by her beauty, by the way she moved, the way even I could see the beauty in things around me when she described them to me. Very soon we were spending every moment we could together. We would go for walks, holding hands and just enjoying each other's company. Fortunately for me, C also loved my golden retriever Shandy so there was no need to leave the dog at home when we went out. Shandy would come bounding out and cover C in doggie kisses which would invariably reduce C to a fit of girly giggles. We shared our kisses of love, embraced and felt the electricity spark between us.

We even managed to get over the time when our parents discovered us naked together. It was harmless fun - nothing more than a 'nuddie cuddle' but you know how fathers can be protective with regard to their daughters. I know I am very protective toward my own little Gothess. Anyway, I managed to talk our way out of the situation and with apologies we were able to continue to grow our relationship.

Eventually, the time had come for me to do the decent thing, so I asked her to marry me. To my utter joy, she agreed. I was happier than a baby rabbit in a field of new carrots. Unfortunately, as I was to discover, the path of true love is somewhat winding and there are so many pitfalls in any relationship. Suffice to say, I acted a bit immaturely (to become the mantra throughout my life I'm afraid).

All good things come to an end and unfortunately my first true love and I seperated. It was probably for the best in the long run but it broke my heart at the time. And that is the story of my first love. Ended because of my immaturity - dammit!!!! To be fair though, we were both only three years old at the time...

a luego,
S

Computers

Love them or hate them, you can't really live without them now. I certainly can't but most of the reason for that is that they provide me with an income to do the more interesting things in life such as drinking, eating etc. I can understand why users get very frustrated by them and I have to say this is not helped by a large proportion of my fellow 'techies'. They have a very parochial attitude where they mystify the systems so that only they, the Wizard can save the poor helpless user.

I don't subscribe to this method and it is with great glee that I help users to tear the techie's security blanket into shreds of insecurity. In all the years I have worked in computers I have encountered an inumerable number of prickless 'wonders' who tut, moan and blame the user for everything that goes wrong on the computer system they so "expertly" set-up and configured. Generally, dear user - take heart - it's not you it's the scruffy little geek (you know, the one who couldn't get laid in a brothel with £50 hanging out of his back pocket) that bodged.

The policy of not sharing information is so badly judged. If a user asks how to do something and I know they cannot corrupt the system with this new knowledge - I show them how to do it themselves. That way I don't have the same person coming back to me a week later with the same request. They feel better as they feel they are in control and I feel better as the flow of (to me, very simple) requests slows to a trickle.

It seems I am not alone in sharing with the users. On one of my 'techie' sites I discovered this gem I thought I would share with you - sort of a Friday, best day of the week story. Wish I'd come up with the idea but rest assured, should the dpportunity just follow the legions to the roof :-)

hasta luego y bueno fin de semana,
S

I worked for a high-paced shop that had a staff that was often pretty stressed. Over the years, both prior to and during my tenure, we accumulated quite a few dead AT, XT, 286, 386, monitors, Wyse terminals, printers and the like. This stuff was stored in an unoccupied portion of the building along with other stuff that could reasonably be called trash. Eventually the principals decided to lease out the unoccupied area where all this junk was stored. And since there was computer garbage in the mix, my 2-man IT staff was tasked with getting rid of it. A large roll-off dumpster was scheduled for all the junk, including the computer junk.

After quitting time the night before the roll-off was delivered we moved all the dead computer stuff to the roof, 4-stories high. The next morning we invited the staff to the roof where they found a pile of gear and all were given the opportunity to huck the stuff off the roof and see if they could hit the dumpster. No one missed! And everyone loved it. They got to take out their frustrations on those &*$%^# computers by smashing them, and morale improved, at least for a few days.

Why Goth hates Politics

What a bunch of self-opiniated tossers politicians are. I don't want to get drawn into this bizarre world of butt-fooking weirdos but I will mention it once - just to get it over and done with. I loathe this sub-human class of peeps - must go out and kill people/animals, take some drugs, have sex with prostitutes of the same gender. Oh shit, politicians do that already. So much for my supposed newsflash.

I would probably care more if I took one iotas notice of what they do (fook all) or said (fookwits). My new buddy G, has loads of shite to whinge about as she lives in America. How would you like your Presicunt to be called bush (another euphemism for the female furry area)?? Can he not just die - useless twat?! Shit, yawl managed to 'off' JFK who seemed ok (he got to bonk Marilyn - ha, ha - only a Gothic thought but surely it would be simple to get the bush-twit together with the other Marilyn - Manson).

Easy enough to cover the tracks of indiscretion - just call in the CIA, looking on the grassy knoll they found no casings from a rifle. In the UK, they would have found used condoms, syringes, empty wodka bottles at least.

Muhammed Ali (Happy Birthday dude) got it quite correct when he said, after getting busted for refusing to fight in Vietnam "I got nothing against no Viet Cong. No Vietnamese ever called me a nigger". It's sad that within a few days there is mourning for MLK (top dude) and then, MA (best fighter ever....well, until Jet Li appeared) has to shuffle about on his 65th birthday. Meanwhile, Condescending Rice is buggering off doing more shopping - yeah, we all hope Imelda Marcos is dead, when it was mentioned about 'filling her shoes' you didn't have to buy the whole fooking collection.

POLITICS - SO FOOKING BORING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I do have to say one thing though - leave off picking on Tone (Blair I mean). The boy knows how to diffuse a situation. Years ago on a non-Gothic day (i.e. a watching football day) I was sitting, merrily drinking my way, with fellow United supporters, toward impropriety on Wembley Way (the road leading to what used to be Wembley Stadium) when TB walked up the Way holding the hand of his then quite young son Euan. "Fuck me, it's Tony Blair!!" shouted the gorilla in the gang. "Alright Tony, congrats on the fucking election fucking victory" he shouted. Without breaking stride (and without a single minder in sight I might add), TB replied "Hello lads, hope you enjoy the game today - good luck".

Gorilla boy had no answer to this, the rest of us just looked at each other in stupidity before giving TB a 'thumbs-up' salute. Situation diffused. King Eric (Monsieur Cantona) scored the winner and we all went home happy. If only it was this easy all the time.

- Israeli "Wow, nice headscarf, it really goes with your eyes"
- Palestinian "Do you think so? Thanks. Fancy a beer"
- Israeli "I'd love one - reckon we go to the beach and check out the babes"
- Palestinian "Nice call dude - I'll grab some take-outs so we can chill"
- Israeli "Excellent, dude"

BE EXCELLENT TO EACH OTHER

hasta luego,
S

Argument for Breakfast

Yup. No better way to start the day than an argument as soon as you wake up. All my fault of course - willing to take the rap for this one....while I'm at it, Vietnam - my fault, World War 2 - my fault - fook it, even World War 1 was my fault (if only I hadn't messed with Archie and his ostrich). Actually, I can think of at least 10 better ways to start the day.

So, in suitably Gothic fashion I foresee an incredibly miserable day in front of me. It started bad and thus, contrary to popular belief and all that 'the only way is up' shite, it will continue in a similar fashion. Unfortunately, as I am not employed as an alcoholic, I cannot drink beer, wodka or Jack Daniels until tonight.....like I said - miserable day.

So as I sit on the FreakMobile looking across at the woman who is 'pushing maximum density' with a bag of food that would be classed as a suitcase by airport security I weep inside. Time to change the setting on the Muppet3 from random to evil.

Come on Mazza - give me the Antichrist Superstar doofer!!!!!!!!!!

I suppose I could cheer myself up by throwing fat lass's bag of food out of the window whilst she talks bollocks on the phone. Unfortunately, I'm not strong enough to even lift her bag up let alone throw it - and anyway, she'd probably sit on me and squash me like a bug if I did. And, why do fat peeps have such small feet? Surely, by the laws of physics they should fall over. I wonder, if you have continental sizes - what is the equivalent to the UK size - fat bastard/bitch? Probably something really polite like 'pour me in si vous plait'.

Ha ha - French. That's probably where it all started today. I promised I would speak French by the end of January and now everyone is bugging me - 14 days to go yap, yap, yap. Oy shit-for-brains, I didn't say which year!

Oh chuff it....

Ok, juste pour être clair je vais faire cette remarque. Ca ne deviendra pas une habitude - autrement je vais devoir changer nom et m'appeler SpanishGoth -> FrenchGoth, on n'est pas fin Janvier, encore, et donc à l'attention des soupçonneux tout le monde : je pleure et je ris à la même fois.

Satisfied? Now piss off and leave me alone to be miserable in the corner.

*sits down and pulls knees up under his chin*

a luego,
Miserable S

(What should have been today's post.......)

For a Goth, I'm rather partial to food - well, if it actually looks like food. Mi mariposa, like a lot of women (I don't count strange ones like models who prefer to put stuff up their nose rather than move up a dress size from twiglet to stick insect) likes food a lot. At first, I assumed it was because I was doing all the cooking - easy to like food if you don't have to do anything and it just appears. But, I was wrong - now I don't have time to fry a chip, she is beavering away in the kitchen like, well, a beaver (except that beavers don't have cookers, fridges or Del Haize).

Point being, when I return to my nest after a hard day's stuff, there is a meal on the table and as her confidence increases the more she cooks, so does my waistline. I will be able to Sumo wrestle with the T-Meister in no time. In 'no time' because I will say "you wrestle yourself and I'll get the beers in" - fair deal I think.

Now I just have to carry through on part one of my promise - to speak French by the end of January. Granted, I never actually said which year but I suppose I must make an effort. On the not-so-bright side, I already understand French but I have to prove it in public. I hate doing stuff in public - I am not a natural porn-star and this is exactly why I never open my mouth - and in this case, speak French. When I do open my mouth, people stare and I feel like a hamster in a cage - nowhere to go except that stupid fooking wheel and no chance of getting a drink at the bar as I am short, furry and cannot reach the bar without a trampoline.....jump now!!!!!

<..ping>
"Can I get a "
<..ping>
"drink pl.."
<..ping>
"ease Mister"
<..ping>
*feeling all fuzzy now*
"Jack Dan.."
<..ping>
"iels please Sir"

ZAP - went left when I should have gone right :-( No Jack Daniels for me.

Looking on the bright side, I get to dine out on small peanuts, on the bad side, I can't reach the cigarette machine either.

A bientot,
El Goth Espagnol

ps Whatever I do is never enough. Couldn't win an argument in an empty room. Oh, the joys of being Gothic. I would go back to the Bat Cave but some chuffer would probably shit on my head - lying upside down mother-fookers.

pss Don't read this if you are american - you voted in Big Bush instead of Big Bird - did you learn nothing from Sesame Street?!!

Thank Goth for Music

I am eternally grateful to music and always have been. Music holds a very important place in my heart - most of the best times in life I can tie to a particular song or some musical event. From getting my first record player (I know, giving my age away a bit there) to being lead singer of a rock band. Don't believe half of what you read about sex, drugs and rock n roll - the truth is far more absorbing and debauched than that. So now, as we steam through the darkness upon the Freak Train I don't have to talk to anyone as Sir Michael of Jagger and the human skeletons blast Sympathy for the Devil into my barely awake ears.

As I said, every good time in my life can be tied to music in some way. From the very smoky recording studios where we recorded and laughed until 3 or 4 in the morning to a variety of concerts. Most of the interesting times I have shared with the fairer sex can be linked to a song, from my first Gothic encounter with a truly beautiful Gothess (Sisters of Mercy - Temple of Love) to meeting mariposa as she returned a CD I had left behind by accident. Learning to play guitar because I heard for the first time GOD i.e. the true one, Mr Hendrix. Changing how I wrote poetry after actually listening to Jim Morrison, to almost forsaking Goth getting caught up in the grunge period (which, for me started with Kyuss - not Nirvana).

This train journey could be so boring were it not for the friends in my head - well ears to be more precise. Wonderful little toys these MP3 players. It was very handy that I already had over 6,000 tracks in digital format on the computer - the transfer only took a couple of minutes. Granted I'm a little spoilt for choice but rather that than back to the older days of the Sony Walkman and a pocket full of tapes which usually managed to lop off the final track or two of an album!!

How bizarre. As my MP3 is set to random, the strangest thing just happened. The Rolling Stones Sympathy for the Devil has just been followed by ..... Sympathy for the Devil by Guns n Roses. Cover versions of songs is a tricky area - they range from the sublime - think Hendrix's cover of the Bob Dylan song All Along the Watchtower to the absolutely dire, should be shot on sight, such as All Saints butchering of the Chilli Peppers - Under the Bridge. I don't have an issue with someone covering a song if they bring something new to it but to make a good song sound shite is not a good reason to cover a song. Goth - I even liked Rolf Harris's version of Stairway to Heaven - quirky but that's Rolf for you.

The Good

• The Man who Sold the World - David Bowie -> Nirvana
• Mad World - Tears for Fears -> Gary Jules
• Tainted Love - Gloria Jones -> Marilyn ?anson
• Solitary Man - Neil Diamond -> HIM
• Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana -> Tori Amos

The Bad ('ish)

• Whisky in the Jar - Thin Lizzy -> Metallica
• Sweet Child of Mine - Guns n Roses -> Sheryl Crow
• Smooth Criminal - Michael Jackson -> Alien Ant Farm
• Born to be Wild - Steppenwolf -> The Cult
• Wonderwall - Oasis -> Mike Flowers Pops

The Damn Right Fookin Ugly
(aka what the Fook were you thinking???!!!)

• Under the Bridge - Chilli Peppers -> twatty All Shites (Saints)
• Mr Tambourine Man - The Byrds -> William Shatner
• If - David Gates -> Telly Savalas
• Satisfaction - The Rolling Stones -> Britney Spears
• Chop Suey - System of a Down -> Avril Lavigne

Feel free to send suggestions on a postcard to somewhere...

a luego,
S

Teenage Gothbag

*sings* "I'm just a teenage Gothbag baby, listen to Iron Maiden maybe"
Indeed, I am just a child at heart. Granted, unlike a teenager I don't need piles of Kleenex tissues for anything other than blowing my nose any more but the petty behaviour and moodiness remain. I also remain as organised as a middle-east tyrants defence team - i.e. not at all. Every time I travel anywhere I skin the times as close as I can (sometimes fooking up in spectacular fashion).

Knowing that I have to catch the train every day does not prompt me to buy a travel card - far too organised. Unfortunately, mi mariposa does not appreciate this behaviour and so yesterday, she insisted on cutting into my drinking time to get one of these travel cards. I know the theory is sound but, boll-ucks, it's so boring, grown-up and organised. (or so she thought ;-) First requirement, a passport photo. Thus, thrust into one of those crappy photo machines I was. Ha ha - what a waste of 4 euros.

Fixng my hair #FLASH# 'oy, I didn't say I was' #FLASH# '....ready' #FLASH# 'you fooking' #FLASH# 'grrr - listen to me you jumped up son of a polaroid camera' #FLASH#. And there we have 4 euros worth of my life in pictures. A complete mess and nothing you could effectively use even on Gothstoppers the TV series. Fortunately, the guy that issues the cards was slightly myopic and thus he decided that one of them was usable. Hooray, I've joined the cardigan brigade and no longer will I have to do the 'dumb english person abroad' trick every day when I get busted for not having a ticket.

I love being english when I want to be stupid - and then I get offended if people call me english because I'm not - I'm WELSH you barstewards (unless I'm watching football because as a nation we are spectacularly crap at that - I mean, who would appoint Vinnie Jones as their captain?!!! Yeah, if we were entering the nut-crunching cup maybe but not football. Then they wonder why the wonderful Ryan Giggs doesn't play that often for Wales. That'll be because he's tired of trying to beat 11 players on is own.......ha ha, saves that trick for when Utd play Arsewhingers in the FA cup). Back to being a teenager again *chuckles to himself*.

Yikes I digressed again.

So now I've taken the plunge and got this marvellous piece of cardboard in a cute little plastic wrapper, I'm not actually sure what benefits I have inherited. Unlike my Frequent Flyer cards, I don't see access to the business lounge with free alcohol, food and comfy armchairs on offer. The only discernable one appears that as owner of a Frequent Freak card - I don't have to join the queue of morons. You know, the ones who join the queue for tickets without actually knowing which ticket they want, when and can thus pay and speed off to catch their trains. No longer will I stand there day dreaming that if I had a 20-pound haddock with me I could swipe Mrs Miggins off her feet and straight into the INFORMATION DESK!! with a resounding *THWACK*. Figure it out first you old freak and stop making the rest of us miss our connections.

I suppose I could get the tippex out and change the 'second' to 'first' class but again, it doesn't appear to make that much of a difference really (except that the train company charge you more). Not at all like Business Class on a plane where you actually get.......well, no, you don't actually get that much benefit at all. Ok, so instead of a crusty chicken sandwich you get smoked salmon but that's not that much of a benefit if you don't like bloody fish anyway (like me). Occassionally, you might get free champagne on boarding but I know from experience, booking Business Class is a complete waste of time on any flight from the Sprout back to blighty on a Friday afternoon. The plane is half full of Business class and they just cram them in exactly the same as the cattle at the back.

Thinking about this clearly, I don't think I do want to be a teenage anything. I seem to remember the whole period of teenage years as being spectacularly hateful. But, I shall leave that subject for another post I think.

*clutches his Frequent Freak card and scuttles to the railway station*,
S

Gothman and Bobbin

So, every successful super hero needs an accomplice. Well, all the balanced ones do. Without balance, ying and yang etc, we all tend to head toward the mental/crazy side of our personalities and thus implode in the sea of impropriety. Thus, to my raging bull of insanity cometh the butterfly of love known as mi mariposa.

Why am I burbling on about this nonsense you might ask? Because I was suitably freaked out by mi mariposas actions yesterday. My intentions were clear enough - get up when I bloody felt like it, go for Chinese together (thus covering the 'eat food' bit without actually cooking) and then Gothman gets to watch football whilst Bobbin goes and strokes small furry animals. Simple....or so it seemed.

Gothman went to drink beer with his fellow superhero - Wordboy (otherwise known as the T-Meister) whilst Bobbin did shopping, and other female related activities (I mean, for stuff she wanted...not bloody food and crap like that). Suffice to say the superhero convention went on slightly longer than intended and thus Gothman got into a spot of trouble that the magic cape could not undo. When I finally descended to the Goth Cave - I was in deep shit.....the sort that needs a Very Long Rope of Apology to get out of. Fortunately, said rascal was lurking on my utility belt. Wordboy got into the act and dangled his VLRoA invitingly before Bobbin via a phone call before realising that he too was in deep shit also and had to a) get his own VLRoA out and b) go running, in superhero style, to the supermarket to buy breakfast items for the following day.

Then came the bombshell - "nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition"!!. 'We were going out - remember?' said Bobbin. Gothman had to do a quick reality check (as well as looking at his Superhero diary) before realising that Bobbin was indeed correct. Thus, an immediate 'SUYT - sober up you twat' pill had to be taken from the Goth utility belt. An hour or so later, we jumped onto the Goth-mobile and headed back into the fight against corruption, sanity and alcohol.

I have to say, I was extremely impressed with Bobbins level of consumption - although I dare say we may not be rescuing anyone today. I tried valiantly to maintain pace with my young apprentice but even I, Gothman, was flabbergasted when Bobbin wanted to go for more when the first two hostelries had closed. Suitably impressed, I was dragged kicking and screaming....ok, that's a blatant lie - I said 'oh, go on then' to the next bar-type place. We laughed, we drank, we did things in slow motion - a true measure of superhero-ness and before the credits started rolling, I phoned Alfred the butler to come and pick us up in the Gothmobile.

Don't know what time Bobbin and I returned except to say that Cat Stevens would have been proud - morning had indeed broken. Today, using my superhero powers of foresight, contains a lot of drinking water (gallons of the boring stuff) to readdress the damage done. I don't like liver but I realise that the little rascal can come in handy.

Moral to this story - Don't drink and drive.....drink like a fish and pay someone else to drive!!!

a luego,
S
(dinner, dinner, dinner, dinner - GOTHMAN!!) <- theme tune ;-)

Gothic Sex

OK - as certain 'bloggers' have concentrated on sex recently I feel it only right that I put my Gothic view on the subject across. It's squidgy, squelchy and involves lots of yelping - *thinks* - oh, no, that was the documentary about sea otters doing 'it' that I watched on TV. Sex - oh yes, I remember *frowns* - I think I have been guilty of that. I suppose my 'Virgin of the Year' prize has just shot (too early) out of the window?!

!! Warning, the following does NOT involve corn, aching jaw muscles, boyfriends, penguins, mars bars or nutellla !!

Firstly, I would like to draw a distinct line between sex and making love. Sorry guys, there is a difference! - ladies, you know this already. Making love is not something I would ever consider discussing in public and even discussing sex is under the dress - eek, I mean under duress. I have spent my entire life not discussing what happens behind closed doors for the very reason that, what happens there is precisely that - behind closed doors. Granted I have been somewhat embarrassed if certain 'leaked' elements of my behaviour patterns have become public but I have never instigated it.

As a Goth, I discovered sex at an early age. 28 if I recall correctly. I know that seems a bit old to be starting on the slippery lust roller-coaster but she was an education and I was only 16 at the time. I rode the passion-train that came and went (reference to the experience, not the peeps) for many years before the first Gothic seed met it's egg match and created Mini-Goth. (Still no mention of any fruit or vegetables you may note).

I love one woman. All women generally. Some more than others, granted. There are some that, when I envisage them naked scare the living crap out of me but in general, the images are good. Then again, I hate men - smelly little rascals complaining about erections they can't get rid of. Not my problem dude - find the shower or the highway.

The way to a womans libido does not lie in re-heated curry, a 'Debbie does Dallas' video and a 'look at the size of this' question/statement. Nor does it lie in the money you can lavish on her (and before you start commenting on this point - yes, money chuffing helps but so does an erection which costs nothing and can last for hours). Of course ladies, feel free to challenge my statements - it is your right. Guys, do the numbers before sticking your bulbous head above the proverbial wall.

Back to sex - what is the obsession with blow-jobs? (especially as, in my experience, it involves no blowing at all)??? Yes, it is an extremely enjoyable experience but, as Monty Python said "life is fine when we're both 69" - give and thou shalt receive. If, (and this is hypocritical, I mean hypothetical) I was to meet a young lady on a date intending to have sex with her - I would be clean, polite, pleasure her first and then maybe receive the rewards of thinking of someone other than myself.

Guess I will just have to revert to the old methods - compliment a lady on her appearance, cook a lovely meal and offer to escort her home with no obligation at all (usually the point I get dragged into bed - complaining like a mute puppy - i.e. soft and cuddly with tongue hanging out and 'tail' in the air). Funny how this scenario repeats itself.

As my fave hobbit may recall, I sort of had a conversation circa the time when my nails were painted black. A guy at the bar kept harping on for 20 minutes that I must be gay because I was wearing nail polish. To me, I was more interested in watching Monsieur Baggins waiting for me to react. Eventually, I snapped and asked el saddo 'when was the last time you had sex with a woman?' to which he replied 'about 3 months ago' - I responded 'for me, about 3 hours ago!!!!' holding up my middle finger in a salute, 'Does that answer your stupid fooking question?!'.

After the barman had finished laughing coffee out of his nose and the superficial guy had faded into the background, my fave barman asked me why I had black nails anyway. 'Because I don't know how to take this shite off as I didn't put it on'. It was the day after Halloween and I had gone to a party as the Crow allowing girls to use me as a big doll and dress me up - ok, I got the benefit of being a blow-up doll later but that's not the point. The truth is scary at times.

So there you have it - the Gothic version.....

a luego,
S

My Name Is Goth

So, suitably inspired by my latest favourite television programme, and having in typical 'techie' fashion got the entire series on DVD, I decided to make my list. The theory is quite simple, you make a list of all the bad things in your life you have done and then, after doing something to rectify/offset each misdemeanor / indiscretion, you can cross it off your list. Of course, I would have tried this with my favourite TV programmes in the past but got foiled immediately by the qualification criteria (see below, not in chronological order):-

Series - Reason

• The Dead Zone - I just look like a corpse - I still have a pulse OUT
• The A Team - Don't have any friends who fly helicopters OUT
• Dr Who - never had an assistant and can't time travel either OUT
• HGTTG - Never met a Vogon or Ford Prefect - OUT

Back to my list of bad things I have ever done.

Number 1 - Lied about my age
I guess this started when I was nearly old enough to drink 'of course I'm old enough to drink' I explained to the landlord, 'I'm old enough to pay my own bills aren't I?' and thus I was served with alcohol. Then again, when I explained to the father of the 16 year old I was found in bed with, I told my correct age and was confronted by a shotgun and had to run for my life. Scratch that one off the list - OFF.

Number 1.1 - Did naughty things with computers
I was banned from computers at a very early age. It wasn't really my fault that I figured out how to access the headmasters computer and change all the reports of the
mini-muppets I didn't like. Also wasn't my fault that said reports got sent to the parents of the little brats without anyone checking them. So I got excluded from the technology portion of my curriculum. Pants - I still work in puters and have saved countless lives and money for companies in the process - off the list too - OFF.

Number 1.2 - Slept with a married woman
Going to shortcut this one - OFF (I was married so it doesn't count)

Number 1.3 - Changed my CV to suit a vacancy
Hmm, like everyone doesn't do this. Father Goth has degrees from universities that he couldn't attend if he tried - except to arrest people. Mine just contains a severe lack of all the boring shite that no-one actually wants to read anyway. Every few years I change my hobby section to appear 'windswept and interesting' but it's not really the case. If I was truthful, my hobbies would include wine, women and song with the occassional football game thrown in. Scratch this one off too - I have never misrepresented myself and can always do the job required and thus - OFF.

Number 1.4 - Cheated at Golf
Come on - it's so bloody boring. I can't help it that I can twat a ball in a straight line correctly whilst my playing partner aims at the pin but frightens any tree in the vicinity. So I switch the ball and 'discover' it in a perfect lie before they do. The point being, I let them win - but with such a bad score that they give up killing seagulls with errant golf balls - thus OFF.

Number 1.5 - Annoyed a Neighbour
Being a neighbour is so difficult - it's just like living really close to someone you can love or hate but don't choose. I can put up with most things but excessive noise from above or below is not on the list. Sooner, rather than later, if poked suitably, I will turn to the help of Irreverand Manson. Antichrist Superstar at full volume usually does the trick. Shite - I have done so many good things for neighbours in the past you can also strike this off the list - OFF.

Number 1.6 - Fantasized about someone naked
I've heard that the best way to speak in public is to imagine everyone naked as it will relax you. Tits. I do that anyway, well with women, and it doesn't relax me at all. It either scares the shit out of me or, and this is worse, actually turns me on. Maybe not the best suggestion in the world for someone with a very good imagination. It can turn out to be jolly disappointing when you are confronted by the naked reality of your imaginings. HA HA - can cross this one off too thanks to my funky little bowling buddy V. She imagined me naked first - I hadn't even thought about her naked but must confess that once I did, the image never really never left my mind - OFF.

Oh well, maybe try again tomorrow,
ala,
S

ps Mariposa - I apologise again for being me - an unfeeling, unsympathetic Goth who is arsey at times (especially when ill) - I would kiss your feet in apology but you know my stance on that one. I still love you to pieces and will never cross you off any list.

Cold Weather

I am so unused to all this water falling from the sky. This just doesn't happen in Spain and I can't say that I enjoy it. I may be a Gothic Pisces but I hate water. Example, if I go to the beach and someone asks if I want to go swimming in the sea - yeah, right - why would I want to do that when I can remain perfectly dry enjoying a drink on a terrace overlooking the beach? And if the 'camarero/a' asks if I want water with my whisky I go crazy - perfectly stupid idea.

Anyway, this falling water, known as rain apparently, succeeded in giving me a cold and causing me to feel like 'seven shades of shit in a one shit trumpet'. I don't like feeling like shit - few people do but the male of the species are particularly bad and wimpy about it. 'Oh no' *sniffles* 'I may have a cold and cannot do anything today my dear'. Compared to a female's attitude to pain etc it's a wonder men ever won any wars. But then again, we (males) do seem to start most of them.

Even Joan of Arc didn't start any - she just kicked ass. Which makes me wonder - if she was such a great fighter all the time, she must have been scary as fook when it was her 'time of the month'. Glad I wasn't alive during that period ;-)

So, it's taken over 24 hours to feel half-human again. Which is probably an improvement on where I started in the first place. Unfortunately, when I feel sick my ability to speak any languages fades rapidly - my brain does an emergency braking manoeuvre. I can't ask for help as this usually occurs when no one who speaks my 'mother-tongue' is around for advice and becomes a lunatic cry for help. I have received so many strange things from pharmacies in different countries - from my first shot at explaining in German that I had a headache which came out as 'I am sick in the head' to my latest bodge. No wonder the woman pharmacist wondered what I was talking about when I asked in French to get 'something I could put up my nose that made me feel better'.

At least I didn't get arrested this time. She probably thought I was talking Flemish or something equally impossible for me to achieve with a brain the size of a pickled egg. Nearly all better now as I went to get my favourite remedy for said cold. Whisky (to be mixed with hot water and honey) not drunk straight from the bottle while singing Neil Young songs at a railway station. Hopefully I should save a packet on tissues.

I suppose buying an umbrella would help but, bizarrely enough I have loads of them in Spain. Relics from my previous lifetime in the Sprout. Fat lot of use they are there - except maybe for poking undesirables in the head. Seems a better idea to just stay in bed and leave the warrior queens to deal with the muppets. Then I could just emerge from under the covers, step over the deceased muppets and go to a bar and laugh about it with all the other wimpy males who had the same battle plan ;-)

a luego, *sneezes*
S

Eat Me, Drink Me

So my not so carefully planned mission went pear-shaped (again). It wasn't that complex actually. Return pint glass to the Pub, as I had promised, go to tinternet cafe and post blog and then, watch Liverpool get beaten in the FA cup thus winning the bet I had with the Irish one. Like I said, not that complex....

Did the first bit ok but when I walked into the Pub to deliver glass, peeps from a previous lifetime were present and so the beer flowed. Eventually I made my excuses and left. My revised itinerary became - go to another pub, finish watching the football, collect my money as Liverpool were playing like a bunch of tipsy fairies, get a take-out Chinese and watch a movie.

Great plan very poorly executed. After the 'Pool had lost and I was preparing to leave, Skippy the not so bushy kangaroo phoned. He wanted to come out and play as his mistress had allowed him to. Thus began the second part of the comedy of errors. Beer followed beer and then Jack made his appearance (Daniels of course). We then bumped into Special K who had carefully disguised herself as a barfly in a different pub.

Many drinks later she asked if we had eaten. Yeah, like we'd had time (booger - forgot the Chinois!) to which we replied no. Suddenly we were transported into a nightime tour of the Sprout looking for a suitable restaurant at midnight. We got there - don't ask me where because I have no chuffing idea except that they had waiters and food and stuff.

Granted it was a pain in the arse going outside for a cigarette but the food was jolly scrummy. We ate, drank ridiculous amounts of vin rouge and laughed heartily. Even the waiters joined in with the laughing bit - probably at my miserable French (kind of lopes into Spanish at the most important part of the sentence like a drunken penguin).

Suffice to say, I landed back at chez-moi after 3am again. I dare say Skippy will be in trouble with his domimatrix again but I'm fairly confident I'll get the blame - usually do. Not that I give a flying fook anyway. I am quite used to shouldering the blame for little boys straying from the straight and narrow path of responsibility when they come anywhere near me. Anyone would think I am the devil in disguise. I'm not. I'm a lesbian in disguise - play tennis and love women etc. The difference is that I blame no-one except myself for everything I do. I hold my hands up and say "sorry my love, I fooked up and did this or that".

The good news is that I don't need to eat for a week now - kind of like Ramadan except I'm allowed to drink alcohol. So now I get to watch beloved United play and when they win *crosses fingers* the Irish one owes me twice as much money. Even if they lose, Goth forbid, thanks to the turgid display by Liverpool I cannot lose money. Special thanks also to Brucie's babies for drawing with the Toons as that was the prediction that turned all odds in my favour ;-)

a luego,
S

ps - and I have chosen a location where I can smoke, drink and stuff. Up yours Eurotwits *laughs and coughs at the same time*

Super Goth Me

Apparently, this thing called food, crazy little thing called food, is something we're all after. Oops I britneyed again - not for goths it isn't. I get bored so quickly with the concept of eating that I forget to do it entirely. This can be for days at a time. I know I'm not alone in this because when I sent a text msg to T-Meister to ask if he wanted a beer last evening the answer was 'Sorry S, been to a wine tasting and am completely twatted - see you Sunday for the football'. At least he wasn't watching corn movies ;-)

So back to food. Watching Mayo-TV I happened across 'Super Size Me' again - I was/am still astounded by what 'people' eat....No wonder the fookers are so fat. They eat in one go my intake for a week. Mc. Chuffers - my arse! and take your golden arches with you. And yet, in a sadly gothic way, it's what I need (fodder - not a rogering). A big twat without the horrid green smelly things. Corporate sludge. And if they throw in a free toy to eat the shite - hooray, too busy playing to be counting calories.

No, give me tapas any day. I know I don't need a bugger king.

Have to also give a mention to my fave scouse person P (scouser = person from Liverpool, UK). I went searching for him last night as I needed a favour (and no, it wasn't stealing a car). Anyway, I found him in the expected place, in the expected position, doing the expected thing - in the Pub, at the bar, drinking beer. What I wasn't expecting was that he has a new addition to his life - a girlfriend! And, they seem so affectionate toward each other I nearly threw up.

After that, well, and a few beers, things headed south rapidly. I bumped into loads of people I had known in a previous lifetime in the Sprout and suffice to say that when I wobbled out of the Pub at 3am I was sufficiently intoxicated to use the wrong phone (I have 2, one Spanish and one from Mayo-land to call my buddy M (the taxi driver) to take me home). As usual, he dumped any jobs on his roster and came to pick me up pronto. As I carefully climbed into the car, pint of beer still in hand, he just said 'Hello Mr S - where to?'. I said 'home please dude' (no address required - he knows where I live).

Now I'm waiting for the dishwasher to finish what I can't be bothered to do and then I can return the pint glass, as promised, to the rather large South African dude who was kind enough to let me take it (and more specifically, it's contents) home with me last night. Only fair that I clean it first I think.

Oh, and they have a great rule in this Pub - you can only smoke on one side of the line. It's like a line drawn in the sand - but also, in some ways like a red rag to a bull to my childish nature. Stand on the wrong side but hold your cigarillo on the other and then specifically blow smoke into the forbidden zone. 'Take that you whiny little armadillos!'. HA HA - I laugh in the face of danger!

For some bizarre reason I have more money now than when I left for last evenings session.....oh yeah, I remember now. Tip to the unwise - DO NOT play pool for money unless you know how someone can play and whether they are faking being crap for a reason.

Dishwasher suitably completed it's task and so I must return the glass to whence it came. Only polite that I have a beer while I am there I guess.

a luego,
S

ps special mention to my fave hobbit C (ex-barman of one of my fave pubs) who was predictably shit-faced last night. Smoking's bad for you dude ;-) I have total respect for him though as we had an arrangement. When I turned up in the morning and couldn't pick the glass up he used to serve my first pint of beer with a straw in it. When he was shedded I used to be lookout while he slept on the seat beside the bar and woke only if I coughed (a customer had walked in) or slammed my hand on the counter (the owner had arrived).

Fascist Bureautwits

European law makers - don't you just love them - NOT. Got well and truly dismayed on my return to my usual watering hole in the Sprout on my return from Spain. Walked in, as usual with a cigarette in one hand hoping to get balanced by having a beer in the other hand when BOOM. The friendly barman says "Hello S - keep walking"

"What?" I answered assuming I had misheard. "Keep walking" he repeated. Increduously I enquired what the fook he was talking about. As he started to explain ... the penny dropped. The new No Smoking ban in force from 1st January in Mayo-land. Bloody Eurotwit politicians. Why don't they stop interfering and try masturbation or something equally solitary that by definition cannot impact me.

It's just not right. If I go to a pub it is to drink beer and while I'm drinking beer, I want a cigarette. I don't take my children to the pub, well I wouldn't if I could actually see them. I don't go to a pub to eat either so this ban shouldn't affect me but oh, no - because some people choose to bring their spawn of Satan to an adult watering establishment and to eat in a pub instead of going to a restaurant like normal people, I can't smoke there. Barstewards!!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not advocating you should take up smoking if you don't already but I do. It's not like I'm talking about bopping little old ladies over the head, or rogering squirrels. It's just smoking and I like it.

I suppose it's equally hard as I had just returned from Spain where people have a tendency to smoke where they want, when they want. While changing planes at Madrid's Barajas airport there were quite a few of us who gave up looking for a smoking area and just blazed up where we were.

Before you think I'm selfish about this, I'm not. I don't smoke in other people's houses if they are not already smokes and the same goes for cars. I wouldn't dream of having a cigarette if I could see someone eating. I also would not smoke in a petrol station or during the 'making babies' gymnastics. Or while underwater either for that matter.

Oh well, it's not like I actually vote so that I could get rid of the chinless, spineless, gormless ones passing these inane laws anyway. I'll just have to continue gobbing on every EC building I pass and accidentally on purpose elbowing or generally causing liquid spillage to any that enter my domain - my pub!

a luego,
S

*grabs his packet of cigarettes and departs in a puff of smoke*

Freaksville, Arizona

And so, having been invited to spend the day with a beautiful friend and an ex-colleague of mine (who I have fantasized about - many times, the one that never went away, but... she started this - so no blame on the Gothic one thankyou) I jumped on the Metro in order to catch the train.

Welcome to Freaksville - otherwise known as 'Gaargh Centraal - Bruxelles'. Seriously, you could only collect the same number of freaks in one location if you had a 'stupid-scooper'. I had to go there to catch the train to my chosen destination but, Goth, if I could avoid it!!!! FULL of muppets and weirdos even before I arrived. Having purchased my tickets but, also having 45 minutes to wait, I escaped from Freaksville. Found a jaunty little bar down the road that gave me free cheese (right pocket) and assorted peanuts (left pocket) as well as the beer thing that I had ordered.

Eventually, after jumping on the train with another beer (passport for Goths) I had one of those 'ooooo moments' - what if I'd jumped on the wrong train? Great!! Another tour of a country for all the wrong reasons. But no, when the fascist, sorry, I mean attendant, came to check my ticket it was ok. Cool - I was on the right train and my lovely friend was waiting for me at the station (after she'd figured out that time goes in 1 direction - unless you know different?! V :p).

Having landed at her home and being offered food (which I declined), beer (accepted, obv) I was able to explain a number of things. The main one was that yes, I have fantasized about certain naked gymnastics with her, and a colleague of hers. She started it!!! - fantasizing about me naked and telling all of her female colleagues!! Walking into work the next day, I couldn't figure out why none of the girls could look me in the face. Found out later and it made me smile (very un-Goth like I know) but bizarrely flatterring.

So then, having reminisced and kids DVD'd up (i.e. they finished watching Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe) we went bowling. Go figure?! Funny as fook though. Kids couldn't figure out if I was trying to be new dad or just wanted to 'bonk' mother. Neither, space cadets, just making a shit time seem better for a friend of mine. I get to go bowling, teach people how to bowl, play pool and generally have a fab and groovy time. Also got to prove a point....there was a really annoying Miss Piggy character about 20 feet from the pool table. I asked the kids if I could take the first shot and they laughed heartily when the white ball shot off the table and hit "miss piggy" straight in the stomach - I had miscalculated slightly. I was aiming for her ****. Still, not bad for a 20 foot hit with a cue I hadn't used before ;-)

Then off bowling we doodle-dooed. Goth we were crap but that made it all the more funny. Miss piggy in the adjacent lane was finding it slightly more difficult on account of a) trying to squeeze trotters into wrong sized shoes and b) still being slightly winded by the supposedly errant cue ball ;-)

I especially liked Vodas attempt to correct the path of the ball by waving his hands in the direction he wanted it to go in.

Also got some funky photos from the occassion (and we all laughed and had a good time I think). I suggested to V that miss piggys boyfriend could take a picture of us. "Why not ask her" she asked. "Watch for even 1 minute and dare to ask me the same question" I replied. After a litte reality she let BF take the photos. Can't always get what you want (as Reverend Jagger stated).

Merci V,
S

ps Also got to speak to another lovely ex-colleague which was funny...

V-> "Sorry C. I'm speaking to S"

C-> "You're speaking to S?"

V-> "Oui"

C-> "Which S?"

V-> "THE S"

At which point I had to interfere - "Sorry C, yes it is me."

"OMFG it's you!!!! and you're at V's house" etc.

Bisous C.

Hola also to the other young ladies in the team - you know who you are if you've been visited by the S Express ;-) (Not carnally just cordially) *bows courteously and exits*

New Years Day

What the fook is wrong with people? Why do they want to destroy rather than create?

All I want is for everyone to be happy.....is that so fookin difficult?

Apparently so. Can't even talk to my mini-goths on New Years Eve because their mother is as mad as a bag of snakes. Can't enjoy the fireworks at midnight because it might scare the little birdies. Can't drink too much as I might die. CANTS!!!!!!!!!!!

New Years Resolution - don't give a fook about anyone. I try this one every year but then my heart bleeds and I fail. Looking on the bright side (yeah, yeah, I know there isn't one, I'm repeating myself). Manic depressives are far more likely to commit suicide but I'm not ready to jump off the bridge of sighs just yet.

Think positive.

Think Kama Sutra.

DOH..need a partner for that.

I wouldn't mind so much if I was a bad person - I'm not. I don't/didn't do evil things, well, apart from the picking on weirdos thing but, I undid that by being nice for years. Anyway, the weirdos deserved it. That taught them - fookin teachers!

OK - New Years resolutions:-

Get fit, take up jogging (like when have you ever seen a happy jogger?)
Quit smoking (and join the whingeing mother fookers club?)
Save whales (can't do that as I'm not a goalkeeper)

Boll fookin uks - I don't want any resolutions. I just want to live life. I've only got one chance at it. If you want to be miserable, fook off and do it on your own time. Not interested, don't want to play anymore etc.

Other than that, Feliz Ano Nuevo a todos,
S

ps rant over with now *pants* thankyou world.