sábado, marzo 31, 2007

Scary Monsters, Super Creeps....I Think Not

Having read posts about dentists (monsters), suicide (creeps), moving house (not super) and getting told off for obssessing about that stupid book that gets left in hotel rooms by people who think anyone actually reads it, I decided I had two choices, as it's Friday. Have a rant (which I am entitled to do - if I wanted to be treated like a twat, I'd grow a leg on either side and wear knickers on my head) or go crazy. Fuck it - it's Friday so I chose the latter.

I did a post about mythical creatures a while back entitled Goblins and at the time someone asked me to expand on it so here goes. Most of these are movie type monsters and creeps but feel free to suggest any you might know, be they cow-workers, ex-friends or just the receptionist at the dentist.

Ghosts - the apparition of a dead person who comes to haunt you. Oooooeeeooo - I'm so scared.....NOT. If Casper the freak can walk through walls he's hardly going to be able to give you a ruddy good punch on the bottom then is he? Now if I was a ghost, I'd be right on the ethereal phone to Swayze saying "you managed it in the fim Ghost - how did you kick the can?" (as opposed to 'kicking the bucket' which is why you got deaded in the first place). Answer - special effects, nothing more, nothing less.

Werewolves - basically a man-dog, bad breath and probably able to lick their own bollocks I suppose (it's a dog thing). Anyway, just carry a load of bonio dog biscuits in your pocket, like jesus did, and when the werewolf approaches you, throw said biscuits as far and wide as you can. Either the werewolf will fall for it, or the disciples will. Whatever - you get away whilst they get eaten. If you are unlucky enough to get cornered, engage him in a conversation about his personal hygiene, always a bit sensitive about that they are. "Dude, you totally need to use conditioner, your hair is a mess and that breath - woowee, melt things at 20 meters dude".

Witches - if you can get beaten by judy garland, a rat of a dog and three imbeciles without brains, heart and courage why the hell should I be frightened of you? *cackles* "I'll turn you into a frog my boy" - just try it you old harpie. You think your sister had a bad time having a house land on her head? - bollocks. Watch what happens when I ram your broomstick up your arse and use you as an umbrella. Oh sorry, I just stamped on your magic cat and now it's a pussy frisby. "Catch Rover - incoming pussy".

Zombies - "oh no, flesh eating zombies are marching into town and they have no brains and they...." - shut the fuck up. Just get in the biggest truck you can find and go squishing. Do NOT try a Michael Jackson and attempt to dance them to death - they may be stupid but they're quick learners, unlike MJ. Also helps if you don't go to stupid places to start with. Small towns in america where the 'population is...' *sign keeps decreasing every day* should hint at a message and if it's not clear, I'll spell it out R-U-N-A-W-A-Y now. People are either dying or getting the fuck out - your choice, it's a two option menu.

Frankenstein's Monster - often mistakenly called Frankenstein, who was actually the scientist who tried to play god and create life rather than the 8-foot tall muppet with a square head. The monster is known for his bolts in the neck and big boots and walking really slowly, bit like a Pizza Hut waiter-moron. Easy to outrun, and a bit fucked without the lightning bolt up his arse. About as frightening as Pizza Boy but with a little more attitude, and less zits.

So there you go - sorted. Don't need to be afraid of any of the above. If you feel the need to dive under the duvet, make sure it's for the right reason *winks knowingly*

a luego et bon weekend,

viernes, marzo 30, 2007

Congratulations Dutch and Flemish

You are officially the most annoying cnuts in the world - ever. I didn't think that anyone could top the American way, i.e. Cnutsville, Arsey-hona but you fat, oblivious, ignorant twats have managed it - and with style. What the fuck is it with you that makes you think you are so superior to other people? "I spek drey languages" - guess what? I don't fucking care, it doesn't entitle you to treat people like a piece of shit. Fuck off and get a proper country, one with hills and stuff.

Oh no, you will continue to eat mayonnaise like it's running out (probably is, but out of your lard-arse bum), pretending you speak so many languages and pissing the fuck out of everyone that you can't eat with ketchup. You know why you didn't win any wars? - cos nobody gave a fuck about you, you jumped-up ignorant twats. And while I'm at it - you think you're English is so good, two words for you - absolute bollocks. Not just me saying this, this is from professional interpreters working for the European Commission / Parliament who let out a collective groan when you open your smart arsed mouths to speak.

And as for your transport network *bangs head against wall* GAAARRRGGHH

OK - Rant over now - for regulars in Goth World, I will try and post something more Fuzzy Friday later when I've calmed down (or I may just fuck off to the pub early......)


jueves, marzo 29, 2007

666 - The Number of The Beast

According to the bible, and lets face it - it's never wrong, 666 is the number of the beast. In revelations it says - 'Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of the bible but Iron Maiden also said it was so in their song Number of the Beast. Now if Iron Maiden say it then it must be true right? This is after all the most successful Metal band in the world. The first heavy metal band to have a number one single in the UK charts with the delicately titled 'Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter' - ha put that in your pipe and smoke it Avril Poxy Lavigne.

I mean, Iron Maiden sing about serious topics. It's not like they headline the Monsters of Rock Festival, bound onto stage shouting "ALRIGHT DONNIGTON - ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?". A hundred thousand metal-heads get ready to head bang like never before. Power cords and rhythmic drumming get the crowd bouncing as one and then they start singing "All the little flowers are happy, all the little birdies are too tweet, tweet, tweet....". Exactly ! No they bloody do NOT.

So how gutted was I to find out that 666 is not the number of the beast at all. No ring tone, not even a bloody answerphone with a cool message like "Sorry, satans not available right now - he's out busy causing havoc, please leave a message after the scream". Nothing. Nada. Zip. Bastards !!!

I was so looking forward to winding the twat up. You see, in my head, I pictured his place like a huge overcrowded bar and the beast, there like the barman answering the phone and shouting for attention as I rang.

"Hello, can I speak to Mr Hunt please? First name's Mike"
(the beast shouting out) "Has anyone seen Mike Hunt?"
*cue laughter at my end and in the beasts pad*
"You again you snivelling little wretch - when I find you I'll....."


"Mr Jass please, his first name if Hugh"
"Come on everyone, listen up - I'm after a Hugh Jass"
"Why you little.......when I get hold of you"

But no - they lied, they all lied, it's not the number of the beast at all and now I'll have to find another way to entertain myself.

Number of the beast - my arse !!

*wanders off to think of something else*

miércoles, marzo 28, 2007

The Sorry Tale of Jeremiah Non-Goth

Being Gothic is something that is blatantly misunderstood by the majority of society. A couple of viewings of Donnie Darko and people think they have the mentality, the attitude, the ethos and even the dress sense worked out. This is not the case at all and is perfectly illustrated by the sorry tale of Jeremy Non-Goth. Poor Jeremy had no idea but he also had no friends, about as much charisma as a sandwich toaster and musical taste that could only be described as abysmal.

What made Jeremy attempt to reinvent himself as a Goth? Simplistically, on his way to college he witnessed the most beautiful vision he had ever seen. Dawn. I don't mean the softly shimmering sun arising to make diamonds of light sparkle from what were the drops of the early morning dew. I mean Dawn (henceforth called Dawntreader to avoid confusion) - the angel of the night.

Dawntreader was the most visually stunning apparition Jeremy had ever seen. A sumptious and radiating slice of perfection with a silken torrent of jet black hair, contrasting against her perfect, white alabaster skin. The deepest dark brown eyes emphasised by the perfectly applied kohl giving her eyes a cleopatra like appearance and full blood red lips with the slightest hint of a smile or just a knowing look that she was, beauty personified.

Her clothes seemed to allow her to float rather than walk, a stunning full length dress of deepest purple flecked with gold, shimmering as she moved and the long black coat trailing in her wake giving no hint as to what treasures of the flesh were hidden beneath.

Jeremy just longed to be seen by this damsel from a dream but she just kept moving on her way without a glance in his direction. For the rest of the day, Jeremy could not purge his mind or even his soul of the image of Dawntreader passing by, as a blood red sun arose behind her as a backdrop of dreamlike proportions. The remainder of the week, Jeremy waited at the same spot every day, at the very same time just to drink in the beauty of this maiden of the gods. An obsession it became, so bad he couldn't sleep without thinking about her. The image was burned on the inside of his eyes, in his heart and in his soul.

By the end of the week, half demented by his longing for this angel of the morning, he vowed to do whatever he could to make her see him. He went out and bought Gothic magazines, Gothic clothes and died his hair black. Convinced that he had everything in place to be seen, not invisible, he waited in the usual place, at the usual time. Lo and behold, Dawntreader arrived and in a move that felt like a dagger through Jeremys heart, she walked right past him again. He was bereft of hope - his only hopes dashed and he ran home and threw himself onto his bed and wept, for the first time, tears of passion.

After days of angst, tears, depression and frustration he came to the one conclusion he hadn't wanted to - his preconceptions of Goth were incorrect. He had to go to the library and study. No more would sporting prowess prevail, he had to learn. He had to read. He had to study and open his heart.

As time passed, Jeremy realised he had ignored all he had come to adore. Now, he appreciated art, life and death. He came to understand the masters, and their manner of expression. He sat, he learned and he grew.

Eventually, as Goth pervaded his very soul, he wrote the poem he should have given her on the first day and presented Dawntreader with it. She closed her eyes and a tear of infinite sadness rolled down her cheek as she said "if only you could have said this to me, you would have captured my heart in a crystal cage and I would have followed you to the end of the universe".

With a sadness, pervading Jeremys very soul, Dawntreader left and Jeremy wept.

a luego,

ps moral to the story - love is eternal, time is transient....

martes, marzo 27, 2007

Uncovered - New Species

Archaeologists digging holes, as is their want (the little rascals) have uncovered the remains of several new dinosaurs. The skeletal as well as faecal evidence has caused much excitement within the archaeological community - which isn't saying much really, I mean anyone who has an orgasm after finding a bone in a hole isn't really a party animal. Anyway, thanks to modern technology and a few leaps of faith (as per usual) the scientists have been able to piece together the evidence to explain how these creatures lived and more importantly how they died.

The mystery of why so many remains were in one place was solved by Professor Wiggle-Bottoms seven year old grand-daughter. As the scientists arguing was putting her off her game boy adventures she piped up "So it was just like a big Pokemon Battle?" - "Gadzooks" announced the Professor, "I think she's got it !". Thus the scientific paper was issued with the title 'Last Stand of the Pokemon-o-Saurus'.

Following are a few extracts from the paper highlighting some of the more interesting finds.

Craposaurus - a large reptile which a highly evolved anal cavity. Using a primitive form of combustion, propelled by stomach acids mixed in certain quantities, the Craposaurus was able to render unconscious any enemy by fiiring a turd at breathtaking speed at it's adversary. Once unconscious, the Craposaurus could squat over it's enemy and drop a huge skin-dissolving pooh that finished the job.

Botty-Banditosaur - apparently chief enemy of the Craposaurus, the Botty-Banditosaur had a penis which one can only describe as resembling an umbrella. It's main form of attack was to creep up behind unsuspecting creatures, using a deft camouflage and mincing around singing 'Dancing Queen' before jumping it's opponent, mounting it and shouting 'Come on big boy, you know you want it'. By opening the umbrella type shaft it was able to remain inserted while busily humping away and quite literally, bumming it's opponent to death.

Bore-to-deathosaur - an old wrinkly dinosaur with a penchant for queue jumping, forgetting where it was at times and smelling very pungently of 3 week old urine. It would quite literally bore it's opponents to death with tales of how it fought in the Ice Age, cursing without swearing about how scruffy the young whippersnappers were these days. It's one main flaw appears to have been falling asleep mid-sentence allowing it's prey to recover it's sense and run away.

Hopping-Madosaurus - a dinosaur with severe anger management issues. Built somewhat like a kangaroo with scales but with a brain the size of a peanut, this dinosaur spent so much time ranting it was permanently red in the face. Not uncommon to hear an echoey "Oh you bloody think so do you" followed by a rant about the price of fish whilst hopping up and down furiously. Preferred defence against this nutter was to say nothing for 5 minutes and then say "Oh I'm sorry - were you talking to me?". The following apoplectic rage usually raised blood pressure to such a level that it's head would explode. Then you could just shrug and say "Apparently not then".

It is hoped that the dig will be completed by 2009 as that is when the funding by the Indiana Jones Foundation will run out. It has already been scripted and pre-production is under way to turn this exciting event into a new movie - 'Indiana Jones on the Pikachu Trail'.

*Extract courtesy of National Neogothic magazine

a luego,

domingo, marzo 25, 2007

John The Baptist

So apparently, John was a baptist - Yabbidy Doo Dah. I'm so happy for him I could....well, shit or something. I mean, come on, some fucker half-drowns people and thus they are saved? That's easy - you just take your foot off their head when they start spluttering .... "VOILA" - they're saved. How hard is that then? Apparently good enough to get you a mention in the bible - now there's food for thought.

Anyway, back to the beginning, not the very beginning as that would be silly, but the beginning of Johns life. Shazam !!! John is born, in the usual way, with lots of screaming and covered in mucus etc, and he grows up in a typical egyptian type way (i.e. tea towel on his head and wanting to start fights with everyone for no reason). *Note - should have fucked off and built a pyramid or something equally constructive*.

But, John had an epiphany (posh way of saying 'what the fuck am I doing?' - smoked some drugs and decided peace was the way).

Thus John invented baptism, the art of throwing people in a river (who couldn't swim), pullling them back out and saying "You're saved !!". So, he was christened *lol* as 'The Baptist'. Not, John 'The Pissed', (which is rather closer to the truth), or John the 'swimming teacher' 'or even John the 'Thats not fucking funny dude'. Ergo, John and swimming came together, which is nice, if you know what I mean.

*Note - swimming is a very fine art, perfected I think by fish, who can swim, and breathe underwater, and are all called BOB *.

But John just threw these miscreants into the water and said "kickest thy legs" and they replied "gonna kick your arse if you don't get me out of this water" - so he did, and they did, and there was lots of didding in a biblical sort of didding way.

Therefore, his reputation spread and the queues were plentiful, of people wanting to get tossed in the water, and John did a lot of tossing off, the banks, and was even thinking of going on tour when *bam* - he realised the drummer had been underwater for too long and wasn't actually wet, wet, wet - more dead, dead, dead.

Meanwhile, Darth Vader was still sucking air and hissed "You are my son" and John replied "but my name's not Luke" and so Darth Vader cursed and, in a dark way floated off muttering "I'll find the bastard somehow, somewhere, under a rainbow".

Whilst Jon Bon Baptist was on tour, his chick decided she was bored and sold him out. Well, she wanted to be famous and she was a talentless whore so she struck a deal. "You will be famous if you bring me John's head on a silver plate", so she did, and the scribes did some scribing, as is their want, and John had an apple in his mouth because it would look good in the bible pictures.

Then John laughed so hard at his own joke that he fell off the plate and drowned, because he had no arms or legs and couldn't swim. He was last seen sinking and burbling "This is an outrage!!!!"

And thats how baptism began.

a luego,

sábado, marzo 24, 2007

What's it all About Alfie?

**Warning do not read this under the influence of drugs, except tranquilizers **

Another Gothic leap of thought processes - separated by punctuation this time.....

It's not really that complex really. You are born, you live and you die. Hooray - break out the marshmallows and chestnuts as we have another bonfire (sorry, cremation) to to attend. People die, it is their destiny - it's kind of like frogs were destined to limp in France (yup, Frog Aid has arrived, and the french can eat only one leg at any sitting, well, falling over, thingummy jigummy).

No need for DNA, resuscitation or any of those marvellous men (or women) in their medical machines - we are all on a highway to hell. It's downhill, like a ski slope and if you avoid the trees, you last longer. Just don't be dyslexic otherwise you might mistake zigging with zagging and *SPLAT*.

Reproduction - great idea, very poorly planned I think. Thus we have a proliferation of idiots who don't understand birth control and reproduce like, something that reproduces reallly fast, eg fungus, and a plethora of nice people who couldn't reproduce if their life depended on it (or subsequent generations to be more correct). *Sorry if I made you reach for the dictionary.*

So anyway, I'm having a bit of a rant because.....well, because I can. I could give you a thousand and one reasons for anything, given the time....but the first one would probably be the best. Number 1 is.... (shit, I've forgotten now..had something to do with spiders I'm sure).

Reason? No, well there isn't one really, but, if there was, it would reflect my thought process and scare the shit out of small furry mammals like hamsters, and mice, and doofers (and yes, you can go and check the definition for 'plethora' thankyou).

Regardless of my trepidation, I hold THREE things true:-
  • I Live
  • I Learn
  • I Love
After that, I die.....

Thus, as it is weekend, join in the fun with the top ten Goth songs of all time (available through Goth-Life Music), sing-a-long-a-Goth :-

#White Goth-mass# - Goth Crosby
#Goth save the Queen# - The Goth Pistols
#You're the Goth that I want (oo oo oo)# - Goth Travolta & Olivia Newton Goth
#(I Did it) Goths way# - Goth Sinatra
#Whisky in the Goth# - Goth Lizzy
#Goth This Way# - Gothasmith and Goth DMC
#Goth is all Around me# - Goth, Goth, Goth
#Sweet Goth of Mine# - Goths and Roses
#Paint it Goth# - The Rolling Goths
#Give Goth a Chance# - Goth Lennon & Yoko Gotho

Feel free to suggest your own anthems of Goth for inclusion on the next crap-i-lation "The Best of Goth .. Ever" (since the last one stopped selling)

Rant over.........

viernes, marzo 23, 2007

A Threesome thanks to Drama Queen

So, I got tagged by DQ (which is ok, we have an open relationship) and thus the Threesome goes on

Three Things That Scare Me:
Losing or any harm coming to my children
Women with moustaches
Killer penguins on acid with machine guns

Three People Who Make Me Laugh:
Bill Hicks - sadly deceased
Richard Pryor - also deceased
Small children (mainly mine when they were young)

Three Things I Love:
Waking up or falling asleep in Mariposas arms
Making sad people happy
Beer/whisky/vodka etc

Three Things I Hate:
Regret - "The worst crime of all, is the crime of regret"
Ignorance - of any kind
Abuse of people, animals, power (the list goes on)

Three Things I Don't Understand:
The Flemish/Dutch language when it's spoken (frankly though, I don't want to
Poverty (in this day and age? Come on - can go to the moon but not feed people?)
Anything George Wanker Bush does/says/is/pretends to be

Three Things On My Desk:
A lot of empty cans of orange and coke (until I can be arsed to go to the recycle bin)
Pictures of my mini-goths
A packet of Spanish Marlboro lights (just begging to be smoked)

Three Things I'm Doing Right Now:
Wondering what to suggest for tea
Marvelling at a famous computer company's ineptitude
Typing up this list and trying hard not to be absurd

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
See the Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights)
Make my children proud of me
Cure cancer or aids or something really nasty

Three Things I Can Do:
Write and perform my own songs
Make people laugh or cry depending on my mood/their behaviour
Communicate in 5 languages (6 if you included Pissed-eze)

Three Things I Can't Do:
Put up with idiots, morons, racists etc
Have a baby on my own
Become gay or even touch another mans pecker

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
Homers philosophy - and by that I mean the Simpsons variety ("Beer, the cause and solution of all problems")
John Cooper Clarke's - Chickentown
Your heart - even if it turns out to be a shit idea

Three Things You Should Never Listen To:
Any manufactured pop band like Take Twat
The Knights who say nee
Anyone supposedly in charge of a country - invariably haven't got a clue what they're talking about

Three Things I'd Like To Learn:
To play the piano properly
To talk to the animals (then I could set attack badgers on people I didn't like)
How to completely avoid death and pass it on (to certain people only, obviously)

Three Favourite Foods:
Nutella - depending where it is
Any Vietnamese food

Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:
The 6 Million Dollar Man
Batman (the orinal)
Sesame Street

Three Wonderful People to Inflict My Meme On:
You Sick Bastard - now this should be interesting *sniggers*
Hill Country Gall - bet Bush doesn't come on a 'like' list of hers
Aunty Marianne - cos I don't want her round here begging again ;-)

Hasta luego y buen fin de semana a todos,

jueves, marzo 22, 2007

Don't Move - Mother Fucker

So, the simple solution is, if you live somewhere, don't move, in the world, anywhere, ever. Just stay there, go on holiday a lot, stay in hotels and have someone else do the hard work. The stress factors involved with moving house are just so great that it is not worth it. However, for a variety of reasons, I had to do it. Bit like a salmon jumping up a waterfall - stupid but, the shit had to be done.

Thus, that shit decided, everything was packed and shipped across europe. Welcome to the craziness that is Belgium. First, you find an apartment, which can't be on the ground floor as that would be way too easy. So you end up with an apartment that exists on floor 300 (or so it seems) that you can only access via a lift, which fits 3 slim people in (or one really fat one) but no furniture in it. An external lift must be hired, one which basically hoists your shit up the outside of the building to be taken in through the window.

Simple enough? Is it buggery bollocks. For the lift to access the window, it needs to have the correct position and to ensure that position, you have to pay the police to put signs outside 2 days before saying "Don't park here or else" and funnily enough, no one takes any notice of them. To be fair to the po-lice in Belgium, they don't have anything interesting to do, so stealing cars is a passion.

Arrived at the apartment at 8:00 in the morning, when truck and lift-truck are both due and, cars are parked in the way. Now, if you phoned to complain about an armed robbery, rape, sodomy or gommorah, I doubt the response could have been quicker. The po-lice arrived, prompltly broke into both cars in under 5 seconds and they were towed away. Hooray - didn't pay that fee for nothing then - and it was entertaining for the lads while we were waiting - "fucking scouser couldn't have done it that fast" "naw, bollocks! fuckers left the wheels on".

Lift-Man could then position himself and 'hoick' his ladder track up to the window. All that was needed now was for the weather to hold, i.e. no rain, no snow and for the guys to work together in a team and we're done. So, we wait (for the lorry to arrive), and we wait, and we wait, and we wait. An hour and half later, the truck turns up - fucker got lost - DOH. He'll be getting GPS when I win the lottery then!!!!!!!

Meanwhile, Lift-Man was laughing through his silly moustache as he is paid per hour, so he's getting paid to sit on his arse drinking coffee. Twat (but, not his fault to be fair).

Time to organise, me and E at the top, S and F at the bottom. Twats down there making it awkward by loading stuff toward the back of the plate on the lift, E cursing because he hates heights but has to climb out to pass stuff into me (and no, I'm not going out on the precipice - I'm bloody paying). I must admit though, I felt slightly guilty at the look of terror on E's face when the lift started to move down whilst he was still on it. "Fucking hell - I shit me fucking pants then" pretty well summed up his feelings.

However, what was planned to take 2 hours actually took 63 minutes. Good work guys. Not a single thing was broken, not a single thing was carried upstairs. No thanks to the measuring tape of a certain person who shall remain nameless.

Now, all that has to be done is the unpacking shite - boring!

The moral to the story - don't move, far more stress than it's worth (and too bloody expensive).

a luego,
Stressed S

ps congrats guys - you know who you are S, E and F (and thanks for everything)

pps well done Mariposa - top job on all packing, organisation and love - besos y te quiero XXXX

lunes, marzo 19, 2007

Guest Blogger - Frederic the Fox

Cunning As a Fox

So, as I stealthily weigh up the pros and cons of *looks left and right* approaching the chicks, I've gone a little fuzzy. It's this new 'badger-aroma' shampoo that's playing havoc with my furry bits. It looked ok on the advert on Fox TV, was even endorsed by Sir Michael J of Fox before he went back to the future, past, present - oh, I don't bloody know. He went somewhere with a nutty professor. Anyway, I have to get back to reality and become a little smoother.

Humans are a curious lot *grins in a foxy fashion*. As I spend my time on night patrol, I peer in through the windows and I see the strangest of things. The antics they get up to can at best be described as weird and at worst, well, positively bizarre. They don't seem to have the mating game sorted out at all. Just when you think they're going to get funky, they run away shouting, well panting more, "upstairs - now". I don't know what a stair is but... I mean what's the point of all that nuzzling if they never get round to the best bit? I think they could definitely use some lessons in the finer arts of poking.

At least the toffee nosed twits in the UK have been banned from hunting me now, which is only right - #TA DAAA# *runs for cover out of habit*

*peering round corner whispering* "Is it safe to come out yet?" - eek! must sound like George Michael in a public toilet. Ok, it's safe now. So the point is, I have this cunning behaviour label to live up to. Friends say to me "You're as cunning as a fox" to which I can only reply, "Well, thanks but I am actually a fox". It's difficult to imagine being foxy if you're human I suppose but to me it's first nature. Even the one true human god, El Hendrix did a number called 'Foxy Lady'.

I've taken quite an interest in sports - although I don't really know what the different ones are but, I should announce my affiliation to a team whose name involves foxes or cubs?, that's the correct way? *licks paws while thinking*. That could be any of those teams where they play fetch with the ball instead of the stick - where one human throws a ball, another twats it with a stick and the remaining humans run around in circles. I guess I'll support any suitable team like redskins, cubs, bears, foxes. Do they have Fox Beckham playing for them? I used to get a lot of nice scraps round their place. I miss that little rascal. Don't miss his wife - the twiglet, you can keep - all that Spice Grrrrls salad NO thank you. Do I look like a rabbit? No I bloody well don't, but I do like to eat them. And all that yapping about going to make it big in hollywood, hollywood is just so shallow they just might fall for it.

I used to watch TV whilst dining on those buckets of chicken they used to throw out. There was a lot of the X-Files on, which was nice as there was the ultimate fox, Fox Mulder. Not only did he get to bonk Scully and make her pregnant, he went on to get kidnapped by aliens - got away, taken by death - got away, couldn't act - got away with it. Jeez, the boy was Teflon Man (Non-stick in a greasy world). Oops, perhaps I've blown his cover now. The truth is out there - #widdly widdly woo - da da da da dee da#

Well, logically if Mulder can do it, it must be my turn at the trough of love?!!! It would be nice to have a fox-lette to curl up next to. To share a nice chicken dinner, poach a few eggs, take the piss out of a farmer and run off into the night. Spread a little love and maybe even make a few baby foxes with - hell, I've got a few years left to practice so I'm not getting hitched just yet. *cowers down*

"It's ok dude - only me" *Frederic rises again* "thanks for stopping by and sharing". "No problem Gothic One, it was Horace that wee-mailed me to say what you were doing and I had to participate". "Thankyou kindly young sir, and have a nice day". *Pats his new friend and leaves the room*

domingo, marzo 18, 2007

Who The Fuck Do You Think You Are?

Congratulations. If you set out to piss me off, to annoy me, to make me feel like a piece of shit - congratulations. You have achieved your aim. I hope you are happy with the result because I know 100% that I am fucking not.

I have such a seething ball of anger and rage within my very soul that I am having to expend every piece of my soul-power to contain it, otherwise, I know what will happen. I dont like it when I become nasty because it surpasses nasty and becomes pure evil. The downside to being so intelligent is that I know exactly how to destroy. I spend a lot of time destroying myself but I consider this a better option than venting my fury and my vengeance on someone else or something else.

Hypocrites and bastards - indeed. Respect? Fuck off and earn it. I don't ask for respect, I don't crave affection, I don't desire attention - fucking hell, I ask for nothing except the chance to be heard. I don't give a flying fuck if you agree or not with what I say but, if you don't want to hear what I say, get the fuck off my planet and don't ask me for anything.


Small word with big intention.

Whatever I do is never enough. Sad but true. So fucking what?!!! Once again I will be emotionally raped, left forlorn and telling myself that I probably deserved it, even asked for it. What a crock of shit. I AM a good person, I AM NOT some toy you can play with and dispose of when you choose. Don't like me? fine. Like I should give a fucking shit. Fuck off and take your misery somewhere else - misery loves company.

If this causes a tear to be shed, you have felt this way also. If not, this is a red dawn, a day where blood will be shed. I don't believe in religion but I would recommend praying because if I don't seperate myself from this anguish, hell and fury will be unleashed.

Silent screams - no more. Tears of blood will flow.

Have a nice fucking day......

sábado, marzo 17, 2007

Oh My Goth

How bizarre - people suddenly woke up and observed clearly, as in they saw the real me. It's okay, DON'T PANIC because I think they will all sober up this morning and see the light - i.e. forget what they said but...... If this doesn't make a lot of sense, welcome to my world.............

I was involved in a pre-emptive St Patricks Day swipe at pissedness, which involved having copious amounts of drinks on the night before, continuing drinking until the wee hours and thus welcoming Paddys Day in the true fashion - pissed as a rat and having the T-shirt to prove it.

So, rewind a bit viewer - I had a fucker of a week, everything I hate all rolled into one and served up as a shit sandwich. god likes taking the piss, it's what he exists for (fat, bearded twat). My idea was to have one or two pints on Friday night.....ha ha *hick* - buggered that up then. It turned into a royal session, but I din't start it - honest, my love.

So, the mitigating circus-stances are:

I have Mini-goth wee-mailing me (which is cool beyond belief) - bearing in mind he wasn't talking to me, ever, in the world, ever

Fucking useless corporation apologising because they fucked up (I know this, but the fact that they said it is bizarre)

Women asking for my opinion because it matters - apparently

Peeps telling me that what I say is gospel (bollocks, because, well, it is just what I say/think/feel at any given time)

Different peeps forming an orderly queue to chat with me outside of the pub to ask my opinion - not sure what that's about (trust me, it's crazier in real life than it is on paper/screen)

Peeps telling me "Originally, we thought you were a cnut, but now we see you're a beautiful and wise person"

*closes the door*

Look, I'm busy trying to build a little nest of love, trying to have access to the two heart-throbs in my world, trying to be a better person. I couldn't give a rats arse if my opinion matters or not - I just try to emancipate myself *snorts coffee through his nose* - that rhymes with masturbate *falls off emu laughing* - stupid fucking bird*

hasta luego,

viernes, marzo 16, 2007

Guest Blogger - Seymour Squirrel

Eek - Been Caught Squirrelling

Horace the Hedgehog, my buddy and I might add, Best-Mammal at my wedding, wee-mailed me to say that the Gothic one was hosting guest blogs. At first, I thought I mis-sniffed it and so wee-mailed him back asking what in the trees was a log? When I smelt his reply I thought I would give it a go and try and explain a squirrels point of view.

My main activity is to stash things until the day that I may actually use them. Mrs S actually gets rather pissed off with this behaviour. It's not so much that she minds piles of useless crap littering up the place, more that when she wants to tidy the drey up she says "It's ok if I give this away to the RSPCS (Rural Society for the Prevention of Cluttering Squirrels)?". I get indignant and thus my slightly whingeing reply "But I might need that" - that's what really makes her fur stand on end.

This is quite clearly a most ridiculous statement as my chances of using said item in the near future are right up there in likelihood with my chances of arse-kicking a doberman and living to tell the tale. I'm not even sure where half the stuff I stashed is. I put it in such a safe place, so secure that no one could ever take it away that even I can't find it now - DOH *slaps tiny paw against head*.

Today was another busy day at the orifice, searching for acorns - yes, I know it's a squirrels life but I wish there could be a Squirrelsbury acornmarket and I could nip in and pick up what I needed. It would be quicker but, instead I have to spend my days hopping around, hoping to hit the jackpot.

When I have a surplus, I like to take time off and go 'badger-baiting'. I like 'badger baiting' - it's great fun. If you've never done it, I'll explain the rules. Find a suitable vantage point (trees are best really), ensure you have a sufficient supply of acorns and wait. When a badger appears, take aim and POP - right in the back of the head.

Suddenly confused badger (they're not the most intelligent of creatures) will turn around snarling to find no-one there. Thinking it was their imagination they will continue to forage when POP "Yes - another direct hit". Grrrrrr, still no-one there. Now for the twat-trick. On the third direct hit and the inevitable Grrrr you have to adopt a really deep voice and boom down from the tree "This is the voice of your conscience speaking". At this point the Grrrr should turn into a terrified whimper. "You are an evil badger, the faces of your ancestors will haunt you until you make reparation".

At this point, the badger should scarper with it's tale between it's legs - it really is jolly good fun.

Anyway, after that it's back home to Mrs S and the little ones for a nice piece of acorn roast. Then it's time to tell the little ones some tales, mostly bushy tails, but effective at putting them to sleep. Papa S's adventures in Citysville is always popular (although I do cheat somewhat on the details about take-away food).

I must confess, whilst I am talking openly, that I still get jolly excited when I see a large bushy tail on some sexy young fox in the woods - although I have a preferance for the more exotic red squirrelettes rather than the more common grey squirelettes.

I believe that the grey family came over from a distant place called Merry-Can. I wouldn't have a clue where that is as I'm not much of a traveller. Having said all this, I wouldn't cheat on Mrs S - she has this lovely little squirrel snore when she's contented and sleeping. It's so peaceful it puts me to sleep and I dream of being in a wood full of oak trees where the sun glints off all the fat acorns lying there waiting to be eaten. Before you can say eek, it's morning.

Then it's time for breakfast and the daily banter we share in the morning "don't talk with your mouthful dear" - "ha ha - just because you've got three acorns in there, no need to show off". Then it's time to pack the little ones pouches and take them to Nutwood Academia before I head off for another day at the orifice.

Thanks Seymour and thanks to Horace for wee-mailing this. Any chance you could pass the request on to Bernard, Pattie and Arthur please?

Kind regards and thankyou for your time - El Goth.

jueves, marzo 15, 2007

Oirish Bars Feckin Rock (to World Peesed)

No matter which country I travel to, I am comforted by the fact that Paddy or his family have got there first. The main reason for this is that Irish bars feckin rock! I find it loathsome that the golden arches of Ronald McWanker and his piss-burgers are everywhere but, seeing the Guiness sign in a foreign country is quite frankly, rather soothing.

I'm not quite as keen on the naming conventions for said hostelries - the bizarre mix between local language and Irish can be, at times, positively comical - take a bow 'Gunther Murphys' (Munich) for example - almost like two pissed language trains crashing head on.

It's a feeling of homeliness that is generated by the staff - if you know the rules of the game. DO NOT ask for an Irish Coffee when the barman is rushed of his feet - this will result in large mutterings of 'feckin twat - feckin thinks he's Bing feckin Crosby'. Do ask for pints, and make it clear which beer you would like "can I have a pint please?" - " a pint of what? - feckin water". There is also a directness which is based on logic but underlined with attitude - "Can I have a small pint of lager please?" - "We only have one size pint fer fecks sake!".

Being Welsh by origin, I have a natural affinity with the Irish and can understand the language quite easily. By this, I don't mean Gaelic, I mean the version of English they use. For example (and I'll spell this as it's spoken) - "So, yer man is a feckin idjut" - yes, I concur, said chappie is jolly silly.

Generally, Irish bars are very good places to watch sports - football, rugby and the other sports. Except, for some reason, in Italy. I assume this is the exception that proves the rule. Cue The Old Stove, (Florence) and the pub that was named after her. Watching an important game of football, an FA Cup tie, the aforementioned fat slapper decided to change the channel 5 minutes before the end of the game. To.......basketball. What the fuck? Not even to a basketball game but to the preliminary bullshit beforehand. Now I'm not an expert but, Italy won the World Cup in football, in basketball they have won precisely fuck all. Why change the channel? Because Rosie O Barrell (roll me in flour and look for the wet patch if you want a shag) had decided it would be so - lard arse!

However, a few pints later and I am back to thinking there is something about the Irish that I love. Happy hour - drinks half price. Cool, what time does it start? "Never feckin finishes - now what d'ya want ya bollucks?". You know it's closing time when either the beer runs out or.....well, that's about it really.

Smoking ban? I believe it's active in Ireland but in Bruxelles, it's kind of inactive. No smoking says the sign - as the barman takes another puff on his cigarette. "Is there a no-smoking area?" asks the toffee nosed Eurocrat "Sure there is" replies the barman "it's outside the feckin door - as much free air as you want - now feck off".

Coming up this weekend is Paddy's Day (officially, St Patricks Day) - simplistically, this entails every Irish person in the world getting pissed simultaeneously. I'm not sure what it does for world peace but it certainly means some of the world pissed. To facillitate the celebrations, the rugby organisers of the six nations have kindly arranged that Scotland will play France in Paris on the day. I don't know exactly what will ensue but I can guarantee that Paris will be one big party on Saturday. I don't really care much about rugby but I will be rooting for the Irish in Italy, drinking with the Irish who couldn't find their way to Italy and I hope Ireland, Scotland and Wales all win (it's a Celtic thing ;-)

So, raise your glasses, of guiness preferably but anything alcoholic will do and Sláinte - another step toward World Peesed.

miércoles, marzo 14, 2007

The Second Instalment of Moses - The Final Countdown

So, Moses had all his mates at the beach, and his tabernacle with the commandments in it and a very clever rod. With his rod he could twat a rock and water would come out, a bit like if you or I twatted a baloon full of water - ooh, miracle, water comes out. And the people rejoiced, to start with, but then someone mentioned it would be much cooler if he twatted the rock and wine or beer came out so Moses got a strop-on and marched up the mountain to speak to god again cos he needed some rechargable batteries for his magic staff (well, mainly for rod).

Meanwhile, some clever twat had decided that they should melt some earrings down and make a calf, cos it looked really cool and then they could worship it. Moses had asked for new batteries and god was just looking round for the light sabre he had made - which he figured Moses would be really impressed with (not only could it cut things but it made noises too), when god noticed what the people had made - the calf !! "For fucks sake" muttered god under his breath "can't those muppets read?" he asked Moses and Moses said "no", because they couldn't and so god made Moses bring the commandments back and he would draw pictures on them so people knew what they were.

When Moses returned he destroyed the calf and pointed to the picture on the commandment "What can you see?" Moses asked and the people replied "that you just fucked Aaron's calf up". "No" replied Moses, "look on the tablet 'though shalt not...' ". "Fuck cattle" shouted somebody excitedly. Moses put his hand on his forehead and shook his head "No" replied Moses, "that thou shalt not worship graven images" and all the people thought about this and whispered amongst themselves. Suddenly, a voice rang out clearly in the crowd "but he didn't make a grave, he made a baby cow" and all the people cheered and Moses just muttered "oh god, this is going to be a long fucking day".

So Moses sloped back up the mountain cursing about being surrounded by idiots and this time god gave him laws about the tabernacle which included light, incense and sacrifice and so Moses went back down the mountain but people were already taking the piss. "How come god only takes to you?" asked one "what's that funny smell?" asked another "bet god gave him, drugs" said another. "Look" said Moses and forgot where he was going and so paused and stroked his beard. "Fraud" shouted Miriam and so god made her a leper for 7 days, which doesn't really make any sense because, if her hands fell off, they wouldn't jump back on again after 7 days, unless god had invented super-dooper-glue, which he might of.

Regardless of this slight inconsistency in the bible, Moses then sent twelve pies to Canaan, and the pies grew legs and came back with grapes. "Marvellous" said Moses, knowing a little bit about fermentation and stuff "Now these rascals, I can turn into wine" and he did, and everyone was happy again, apart from the pies, who protested vigorously that they had been employed as spies, but no-one believed them and ate them anyway. Well they were very tasty, mrs gods own recipe.

The next day, everyone was still dreadfully pissed so they decided to invade Canaan (well, it seemed like a good idea at the time) but it wasn't a good idea at all (they rarely are) so Moses got really annoyed and turned them into plates, because it was the best idea he could come up with at the time. Moses decided the best plan to invade Cannan was to pretend that they were all going to a wedding and that's why they were carrying a really big dinner service (obviously, he magicked some cups and saucers to go with the plates first) and thus Moses won, and so they had afternoon tea and generally remarked about how nice the weather was.

After that, Moses got bored with all the magic and thus apointed Balaam as his spokesperson and let him speak to god and rule and collect god's instruction manuals. And for his final trick, Moses mentioned to god that it might be really funny if he made Balaams ass talk, and god said "but I have already invented farting, and if you squeeze your cheeks correctly, you can even play a tune" but Moses wasn't finished, and he said "no, not farting, the 'donkey quotey' ass - just makes silly comments for no reason" and god smiled and said "alright, and sorry for singeing your beard but I did prefer the 'goatee' look". Thus Balaams ass spoke and Moses buggered off a happy little camper and lived until he was 120 years old, and only performed magic at home.

#here endeth the third lesson - tune in next week for John is baptising, after he's stopped being a little rascal himself#

(sorry it's a little late but I had one of those Sabbath things - Ozzy's back Hooray ;-)

domingo, marzo 11, 2007

Moses - The Transcriber or Magician

So Moses, was a transcriber (i.e. he wrote things down and then they had different meanings) but he made a tremendous prophet and was generally really rich, in a having lots of hair on his chinny, chinny chin way of being rich. Anyway, when he was born, the pharoah (the ruler who didn't measure things but just got covered in gold) decided that all boys should be killed - sort of like a lesbian pharoah, except the pharoah was shit at tennis, which is a pre-requisite for lesbians, but it was ok for Moses as he was in a basket.

So, Moses's mother hid the basket in some reeds, so that the lesbian army didn't find him and they didn't because there were lots of reeds, and the lebians couldn't read cos no-one had taught them to yet, and Noah couldn't teach them to read as he was still stuck on a mountain of shit trying to persuade the elephants to get the fuck off his boat, but they were travel-sick and going nowhere.

Then Moses grew up and walked like an egyptian, which was very popular at the time, and so he was cool right up to the point where, suitably spaced out, he killed an egyptian and then all shit broke loose. So Moses had a teletubbie moment - "run away, runaway" and so he ran away and did not pass Goa and did not collect 200 squid as he didn't like sea fish anyway. Thus he became a shepherd, because that doesn't involve dealing with fish at all and he was having a really nice time until god called and told Moses he had to save the hebrews so Moses put the kettle on.

Ten minutes later, god checked to see what Moses was doing and got really angry "Oy muppet" boomed god "get that fucking tea towel off your head and get them across the red sea, not make them tea !". Thus Moses collected all the slaves and took them to the sea-side and they all had ice cream, a ride on the donkeys (called asses in the bible) and sent postcards to their families.

Then Moses had a book of revelations - i.e. he stopped tripping and decided his sinus was a problem so he went to Mount Sinus. God was still pissed off about the tea party and so he set fire to a bush. "Fucking hell" said Moses "you nearly got me beard then" but god just spoke through the bush (well, he is god and can do pretty much what he bloody wants), and thus god told Moses to do all sorts of weird shit like turning his rod into a serpent and other magic tricks. After god applauded, Moses asked if he could take his show on the road and god agreed. Moses packed his bags and with all his followers, with beards and tea towels on their heads, set off for Wembly Stadium.

However, the bad guy, Not-So-Pharaoh, had other ideas and made his magicians turn Moses into a snake - "very fucking funny" hissed Moses and turned the magicians into a bag of frogs (which caused god to piss himself laughing as he hadn't anticipated that one). By now, Moses was severely pissed off and unleashed ten plagues (shit like gnats and flies and stuff) on the egyptians. Whilst the egyptians were busy cleaning up, Moses and his circus buggered off but Not-So-Pharaoh sent his army of lovers after the circus.

When they arrived at the Red Sea, there was a lot of complaining from the people (typical tourists) so Moses had to do some more magic tricks. The people applauded and then fell asleep because they were tired and so Moses went to check the itinerary with god. Thus god gave Moses a printed out version of 'what to do' called the Ten Commandments and so Moses knew where he was going. Moses found a nice box and put his list in it and called it 'My Taber-nick-it-and-your-fucked' which most people just called Taberknackered as it was shorter. Then they all went to the beach.

#ADVERT BREAK - "Elf Pies - Get your Dozen Here"#

tune in for part two tomorrow.......

jueves, marzo 08, 2007

The Guest Appearance - Drama Queen

So, welcome to my world my innocent *winks* Drama Queen. Here is a posting from my erstwhile lover and quite literally Angel Of Delight *bows and allows her to step forward* (nice butt)

It's always exciting popping round to Goth’s place. It’s so dark and the walls scream with the possibility that anything could (and does) happen. I’ve been here to confess that Boyfriend likes me to wear long black leather pointy boots naked and slithered right back to my Palace with my lipstick and reputation perfectly in tact.

Coming for a quickie is one thing but panic has set in at possibility of staying here all day, hanging around afterwards to check exactly how was it for you, listening to your feedback and promising to satisfy you harder next time. I feel vulnerable, dirty and used.

I kind of like it.

*Strokes her tight rubber cat suit*

So, as you tell, I’ve decided to let my inner Gothess out, sometimes the pastels and the curls can be so restricting. I guess they also lead you up a path of virtuous removed from the little vixen of a Queen who calls her Jesters for a quick servicing.

So #ahem# how does one go about being a Gothess?

My only interaction with Goths lies in the famous Cockburn Street* in Edinburgh. Infested with white faced, purple haired, studded youths, walking each other like dogs on metal chains. Some wear t-shirts referencing Devil worshipping and I do believe they’ve met him since how could they survive in summer with hoodies, tights and floor length leather jackets if they weren’t already familiar with fiery climes.
* not kidding.

As a fully fledged adult these kids scare me, so imagine what it was like being a young indie kid cutting through this street, making my way to the vintage area of town. All conversed out and flared up only to come face to face with a Goth boy clad in steel and leather. Bang into them and you get no apologies, they just stand their ground and grunt (possibly praying for an invisible gutting tool so they can spew your insides on the pavement and eat them).

I guess I just don’t understand them and what I don’t get, I fear. But they really don’t help their cause with all their bat eating and random acts of submissive sex.

*hunts for erotica and instruments of terror*


What’s this?

*Picks up a photo of two little stars*

It's Goth’s kids, smudged with a Gothic tear of longing.

Surely it’s not possible that amongst that ‘I don’t give a fuck, I’m a Goth’ attitude there lies a Father aching to be with his children. He who stores his sanity in a bag with some squirrels and who rewrites The Bible making Noah a pot-head doesn’t need these little people to feel, well, complete.

Nah, when the Devil made Goths he took away their compassion and gave them extra hair foiciles.

I mean seriously look at those children. There they are all smily. And all happy and normal and everthing. And well very, very beautiful.

And so obviously very muched loved by their proud Father.

*DQ sheds a tear for Goth’s longing*

Lesson learnt I guess. Don’t judge a Gothic book by its black leather cover. Don’t come over to Goth’s place and expect tales from the underworld (but some times do). Don’t be surprised to see the Dark One lurking about my Palace simply admiring the prettiness (but sometimes looking up my dress).

Navigate about and stumble into a room where a blonde Queenie is having tea with an appropriately suited Goth. Find another one where is his getting her drunk hoping he'll get laid.

Let the Internet break down your preconceptions because real life doesn't allow much opportunity for it.

Oh, and don’t be scared to wear rubber, it fits quite nicely.

We wuv ooo Goth.

*DQ takes a bow and exists with mariposa's nipple clamps*

If a Tree Falls in a Forest

If a tree falls in a forest and no-one is there - does it make any noise? *pauses for effect* Like who should give a shit. "oooo I'm falling, save me Ivy" *SPLAT* - too late ! and there goes another 'tree-hugger' who couldn't catch. What is the point of these inane questions? Who cares..........seriously, who gives a shit, apart from everyone - otherwise they would explode like a big poo bomb, which would be smelly and umbrellas wouldn't protect you, unless it was squidgy poo or squirty poo and then the umbrella might work, maybe, but it would still smell, unless it smelt of roses ('fell in shit and came out smelling of roses' type poo).

Anyway, I digress. I looked again at 'The Little Book of Calm' available from all good hippy-shops and 'Am-I-stoned.com'. Oh this book is good......for a laugh.

A smile relaxes all the major facial muscles. It also sets off an emotional chain reaction that invariably helps you feel good. Now, replace the word 'smile' with 'fart' and I defy you not to laugh.

Fish are relaxing because they move so slowly and breathe slowly - watching them is like gazing on a seascape - yeah well, fuck-wit, explain pirahnas then.

One of the most pleasurable exercises around, uninhibited dancing distracts even the most commited worrier First, most pleasurable exercise involves sex and any biologist can tell you that, second, if your plane is about to crash into a mountain, some fucker doing a jig in the aisle is not really going to distract you. #The hills are alive with the sound of..#

Sea air, salt water and the sound of waves - all contribute to a growing sense of calm - unless, it's the sound of big waves, really fucking big waves and then you abandon calm and run like your arse is on fire. "Oh look Tsunami", "cool, could I have that on rye bread please" DOH

Put aside a certain amount of time each day - at the same time each day - which you devote to sorting through your worries - that's a really long-arsed way to describe work. 'Same day, different shit' is a bit more accurate I think.

Pretend it's Saturday - yeah, top advice there then, for the calming influence on people who work on saturdays, have to pay bills on saturday or have to deal with their ex-partners on saturdays. Oh, I'm so relaxed.......NOT grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Apparently, the Little Book of Calm doesn't do it for me.

Scheiss passiert,

'ps for bible tales, vote now -> Samson & Delilah (A), John the Baptist (B) or Moses (C) '
Currently votes are :-
Samson & Delilah = 3
John the Baptist = 4
Moses = 5

Your vote counts......it's gonna get more notice than voting for real (that's fucking true)

miércoles, marzo 07, 2007

So, a Penguin Walked into a Pub

So, a penguin, an elephant and a walrus walked into a pub and, hilarity ensued. What fucking pub is that then? I'm going to the wrong ones. When I walk into a pub, it's full of idiots who don't know how to order a drink, don't acknowledge the FACT that bar staff are people also, and can't spot 'personal space' until you whack them in the head with a wet haddock.

A pub is a place where you go for a drink - not a fucking coffee, moron - and try to relax. Many years ago, Goth Master was a barman (and a very good one I might add) and thus GM knows the rules. Good bar people are exactly that - good people. They are not there to be your personal servants just because you are buying a drink. If you want a servant, buy a teddy bear, become homosexual and have shit loads of money. In the meantime, fuck off out of space and get a life.

Toffee nosed twats get upset when I get served before them "Oh I say, I was jolly in the queue before you" - "Yeah, and you were a complete twat before I was and your point is what?!!!".

I can go to a pub and have a conversation about existentialism, philosophy, civil war or how big are her tits? and generally this will be with the bar person, not some person I have brought along because I don't have the ability to connect with people or I have no friends, in the world, ever. It's part of the joy really. Not knowing where the conversation might flow. One thing I do know however, is that I will get served before most because I have one thing.....

It's not shit loads of money, it's not the knowledge to talk down to barstaff, it's not the fact that the barstaff want to fuck me, the one thing that I have is .....


So, take a bow 'Angels of Mercy' - you know who you are if you've ever served me or one of my army of kindred spirits. I may not always tip you, on account of finances being tighter than a ducks arse but, if you're on my side of the bar, I will chuck one onto my ever expanding tab for you.

hasta luego,

martes, marzo 06, 2007

Guest Blogger - Horace Hedgehog

All in all, I can't complain about life as a hedgehog. Wandering around, mainly at night as it is far more preferable than during the day, eating out most of the time and sleeping when I feel like it. Granted, if someone tries to poke me, the sharp points come out on display and hopefully, with a pricked ego they piss off like a burst balloon. Although I keep myself in shape with plenty of exercise and trying to eat healthily it's an absolute bugger trying to find something in my size.

The only other thing I can truly complain about is sex. That can be a truly traumatic experience. Pain in the arse doesn't come close - well, that's not entirely true but, when faced with a prickly female, the obvious temptation is to say "bugger this for a game of mammals" and to head off with the lads to have a few 'snifters' instead. I'm not sure exactly what raises females hackles to such an extent but I can be positive about two things. It will be my fault (even if I'm not there - kind of like remote control irritation) and even if, as is sometimes true, it is actually my fault, by the time I realise it, it's too late.

It was so much easier as a youngster rather than the 'full grown pig' I get called now. Back then, us youngters would go out, have fun, roll around in the mud and get chastised when we returned. The main thing to remember was to never give a straight answer - being asked the question, rather obvious I felt anyway, "Oh my nerves - you look like you've gone through a hedge backwards". Silly question really as I was covered in mud and twigs everywhere. No answer was the best answer.

Now in adulthood, getting faced with a similarly silly question like "You've been out all night, where have you been?" cannot be met with a stonewalling silence. Similarly, the older males become very territorial if you are in their prescence with a better head of hair or a better coat. "Piss off out of here you prickless wonder". Amazed, I wonder whether to reply that at least mine is straight but as I quite like the shape of my nose as it is, retreat seems more intelligent. Not as if she was worth it anyway - didn't look like she was up to suckling anyway.

So I carry on my way, checking carefully before attempting to cross the road - as I was brought up. I've seen the dangers that ensue if you don't follow that simple rule. Thanks for the platform Goth Master.

Best Regards,
Guest Hogger

No problemo HH - if you logged in expecting my usual lunacy, I apologise, but I applaud HH's efforts. Normal service will be resumed tomorrow :-)

ps for bible tales, vote now -> Samson & Delilah (A), John the Baptist (B) or Moses (C)

lunes, marzo 05, 2007

Insane Academy

So, you have this 'reality' TV show called Fame Academy where some talentless turds attempt to prove how talented they are - boring. If you, as a TV producer, are going to make a new TV show using untrained monkeys on acid, at least make it entertaining. Hence I suggest, Insane Academy. Oh yes, let's do it like the 'artist formerly known as you short-arsed twat' would say, LETS GO CRAZY.

Thus, in creating such a show you would first require a panel of judges - suitably nuts in their own way and doped up on lithium or something. And, as it's Insane Academy, you would need qualified judges - shit wouldn't work otherwise. Ergo, the list of nominees is:-

George (if you can't spell it, bomb it) Bush
Tony (sorry, my heads so far up Bush's arse I can't hear you) Blair
Mohammed (I will win the war by blowing myself up) Biscuit Tin
Michael (I shag monkeys and don't care cos I've got a glove) Jackson
Victoria (do I look like a twiglet with lipstick) Becham
Ronald (pile of shite in a bap) McDonald
Charlton (lets all have guns and kill, kill, kill) Heston
Prince (I like hugging trees and women who look like horses) Charles

Come on in and vote, simple enough really, just pick a panel of judges who have the IQ of a Pot Noodle and the common sense of a grapefruit - mmm juicy.

Once the panel is selected, the search begins for the real fuck-wits. Then, some time later, after we've honed it down to the real wankers with class (kind of masturbating hippos on rollerskates, with blindfolds) we'll give them a name like, government. Then we all sit back and watch as they show how inept they can really be whilst generally fucking with everyone elses life. On Pay-Per-View, you can also see behind the scenes footage of how they take backhanders, front-benchers and cucumbers up the arse whilst studying the terms to use to pretend that they once had a spliff, and thus are totally cool.

# TV clip #
hippy - "totally wicked skank man"
contestant - "yes, I agree - jolly smelly furry animals aren't they"

hippy - "have a bang on this number man"
contestant - *bops him on the head* "jolly relaxing, bit like fox hunting really"

hippy - *snorts whilst attempting to inhale*
contestant - "thankyou, I too think my mother looks like a pig, but she is jolly good in bed"

And just think, greedy bastard TV people, you can have variations on Insane Academy - 'You're out of Your Tree -amy', 'Fucking Loopy', 'Talking Bollocks' and my personal favourite - 'I'm Sorry, I appear to have eaten my underpants'.

Then again, fuck it, stupid idea, ban it, ban governments - they may seriously damage your health.

*drifts away like a dreamy bar of chocolate on a radiator*

viernes, marzo 02, 2007

My Name is Not Earl

I started this list after watching My Name is Earl which simplistically, involves creating a list of everything bad you have ever done in your life that you feel you ought to correct before Karma takes a big royal shit on your head. The first portion of my list, My Name is Goth contained only 7 entries so I still have about 6......thousand to go.

Number 8 - Caused someone to stamp in dog shit - hell, it seemed funny at the time. Dark winter evening, bored, as nothing was happening, collect a steaming dog turd in a piece of newspaper. Carefully position on an evil neighbours doorstep, set fire to the newspaper, ring the door bell and retreat, fast, to a suitable viewing point. Laugh hysterically as miserable neighbour appears at the door in slippers and attempts to stamp out the fire.

Number 9 - Took the piss out of foreign people - not big, not clever, but velly funny (at the time). Cue chinese chip-shop assistant asking if I want salt and vinegar on my chips... me -> "Portion of chips please" "No ploblem, you want sore finger?", "I want sore finger?No thanks, my finger hurts already", "So you no want finger", "I want vinegar, but not on my finger, I might need it later", you want finger to tek home? "No, I want vinegar on my chips, does your daughter want finger?", "No, you want finger on your flies?", "I don't want flies, I want chips""So you want sore finger or not?", "No, I don't want sore finger"...etc (meanwhile, in the kitchen the chef is pissing in the wan ton soup smiling and saying "we make special soup for you, velly funny, velly funny".....)

Number 10 - Encouraged a moron to cheat - and fail an exam - so IM kept looking at my paper for the answers during an exam and yes, I was pissed off and so in the multiple choice part I deliberately kept holding my pencil to my mouth before circling, very clearly, the wrong answer to every question knowing shit-for-brains would copy what he could see I was doing. 10 minutes before the end I stood up, as if to leave and moron followed suit "have you finished?" asked the teacher, "Yes", said moron and looked to me for confirmation "ok, you may leave" said the teacher and moron started walking away. "No" said I "just got pins and needles in my legs" and sat back down and then corrected all the answers on my paper.

Number 11 - Electrocuted my brother - frequently. Unfortunately for my little brother, who is and always will be, three years younger than I am, I discovered one of the basic principles of electricity before he did. Namely that a current travels as far as it can before inflicting pain. To test this theory I pretended to change a light bulb, knowing the power was on and asked him to hold my hand to steady me. Lo and behold, when I touched the live circuit, I felt a slight tingle whereas it was his hair that went vertical and with a yelp of pain he ran away. I repeated this trick about 6 times before he learned not to trust me. Probably explains why people being interrogated him now have such a bad time.

Number 12 - Stabbed someone - although in mitigation, said someone was attempting to mug me at the time but maybe a slight over reaction on my part. The muppet held a knife in my face and demanded my money not knowing that a) I studied martial arts for years and b) I was in a very bad mood. A split second later, he was on the ground with the knife stabbed very firmly into his thigh. In retrospect, I didn't need to stab him but then again he didn't need to try and mug me.

Number 13 - Ran my fathers car out of petrol - always. My father begrudgingly admits I have a sixth sense when it comes to how much fuel is left in the tank. So much so that he always has at least two containers of petrol, one in the boot of his car and one, hidden.....now. The reason being I used to borrow his car but never put petrol in it. Didn't seem any point as there was petrol in it already. Bearing in mind that he lived 5 miles from the nearest petrol station this could prove slightly annoying to him. For example, the time when I went on a 200 mile triip, returned the car to him and left. When he decided to go to the shops, he got in the car, started it up and got precisely 4 metres before the car spluttered to a halt, still on his driveway and blatantly out of fuel.

So now all I have to do is figure out how to "undo" these things on my list, well that's what Earl does. Then again, he won the lottery and I haven't so.....maybe I won't, yet.

buen fin de semana y besos a todos,

ps will be quiet (blog wise) this weekend as I am going to see my angel, Mini-Gothess for her birthday. Happy Birthday my beautiful princess. XXX

jueves, marzo 01, 2007

Heads up - You've Been Tagged

As I was generally wandering around Blogsville, peacefully minding my own business, a challenge came in. What's in your handbag? What bloody handbag? I am not a frog and therefore I will NOT be carrying a handbag. If it doesn't fit in my pockets, I don't need it.

Now if I did have a handbag - what would I keep in it? Bottle of vodka, cigarettes, possibly multi-pack condoms (better safe than sorry - never know when you might need to water-bomb someone) and my iPod or Muppet-3 as I term it. This gave me an idea so I created a different TAG.......

Now I can't do the bag-tag that's going around at the moment (contents of my handbag being fuck all) so I'm going to create another TAG - if you have an iPod, you have to switch it to random and list (truthfully) the first ten songs, artists that it throws up and seeing as you cannot tag just one person I tag the following 5:-

Shaz, Drama Queen, Teeny, Tippler, and Cat

Answers on your blogs please and then you have to TAG another 5 peeps - let the fun begin.

(No iPod? not getting out that easy, pretend you have one and let's hear what weird crap you listen to.....)
... and wouldn't you just know it, I got TAGGED right back so here you have TEN random tracks from the Gothic Muppet 3 :-

  • Reise, Reise - Rammstein
  • Dead in Hollywood - Murderdolls
  • What's Going On - Marvin Gaye
  • Evangeline - The Mission
  • Humpty Dumpty - DJ Pogo Presents the Breaks
  • I Don't Like the Drugs (the drugs like me) - Marilyn Manson
  • Jesus Built my Hotrod - The Ministry
  • Walking in My Shoes - Depeche Mode
  • Get Off My Cloud - Rolling Stones
  • Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley

And thus revealed, the FIVE people up above (thanks DQ for pointing out my rather gratingly obvious faux-pas ) *slaps himself in the face with a fish* - goth I need a beer....

a luego,

Digging Up The Dead

Yeah, I know, it's not big and it's not clever but, sometimes it's necessary. How would they make series like Crime Scene *some city in America* without it?. And people like to watch it and find out why a person is dead even though it's fairly obvious because if an elephant landed on your head it would hurt, at first, well microseconds and then you'd be dead. But this gives them the chance to make some pithy remark like "well I guess that was a fatal trunk call".

Then they get 50 minutes to explain why an elephant was able to fall from the sky and use lots of jokes about having heard of it raining cats and dogs but this is taking the piss a bit. Sooner or later, some bizarre reason will come to light about a tornado that ripped through a nearby town and scooped the elephant up and up and up but sooner or later the tornado ran out of power and then gravity took over and thus the elephant hurtled toward the ground like a really big, grey hailstone and Mr Unlucky just happened to be walking to the shop when SPLAT - and that's what happened. And then they can say something equally stupid like "Tusk, tusk - who'd have thought an elephant could fly?" and maybe a couple of direct rip offs from Dumbo like "I've seen a housefly and I've seen a dragonfly, but I've never seen an elephant fly". Cue theme music.

In real life (or real death) it's nowhere near as interesting. Dead people are dead - it's kind of the definition of dead, not alive anymore etc. So they put them in a big freezer, like frozen peas, except they're not peas, they were people, and they had feelings but peas only had roots, and leaves etc.

So, a true story to illustrate why death is not funny. Father Goth was a policeman and one of the first things they do is take you into the mortuary and show you a dead body and try to get you accustomed to the smell of death. One of the officers used to like to get put into the freezer, which is actually just shelves, not compartments as you would imagine. So he would get in alongside the really dead people and when the time came, the coroner would pull out said officer to show the new recruits their first dead person at which point PC Practical Joke would sit up and shout "BOO" which usually had the desired effect of causing people to scream or run away or something else (part of the fight or flight reaction).

Anyway, the first female officer had been recruited and PC PJ wanted to do the same trick. The other officers were extremely doubtful as to how good an idea this was but he insisted. So eventually, PC PJ is put in the freezer and lies their in the sub zero temperature alongside 5 or 6 dead bodies waiting to play his joke. Five minutes elapse and no one comes to open the drawer, then ten minutes and still nothing. PJ is starting to shiver now but another five minutes pass and still no activity. Finally after twenty minutes, the body next to him announces "Fucking hell, it's cold in here isn't it mate!!"

They eventually managed to stop PC Practical Joke from screaming but the effect was enough to put him on sick leave for 6 months.

Moral of the story - leave the dead alone, they probably earned it.

a luego,