Captured by Big Blogger

It's true I have been captured. Thanks to some half-wit nominating me for Big Blogger 2007 I am now stuck in the Big Blogger house. Some of my fellow inmates, I know, some I don't.

The full list goes something like this:-

Invader Stu, Penfold, Cat, Joseph, Tippler, Ariel, Angelalala, Clare, Katy, Bedshaped, Bob and Enidd, Anx, Neil and ME.

So the first thing I did was start to formulate an escape plan, as you do. Part one, Start a Campaign. Right-ho, the first thing I'll be needing then are banners. Can't have a campaign without banners. So, I stole Tipplers bed sheets (didn't figure he'd need them as he will be trying to shag every person with tits, as usual). I ripped them up and created three magnificent "GOTH OUT" banners. Unfortunately, when I nipped to the toilet, Tippler had seen what I had done and made some alterations.

Now, I have 3 completely fucking useless banners "GOTH LOUT", "GOTH POUT" and "GOTH SHOUT". Bastard.

What I need to do then, is sneak a call out to Geldof. A series of concerts should do the trick - get Geldof working on Goth Aid. Maybe even a twatty song to make Christmas number one. I can just see all those ex-pop stars and crappy boy bands holding hands and singing....

#Free the Goth, let him know it's freedom time, Free the Goth....#

So know all I need is a phone......

*wanders off to look for one*

The Gothic Art of Reading

It's not that complex really - if you're reading this, you can read...hoo fucking ray. Anyway, you read the book first and then decide if you like the story..

I've read so many books, it's frightening, well, it is to the illiteratti, - bar-stewards. All of the best films were books once - and a damn sight better they were too. I had to read a lot of classics to get my degree in English but that didn't make me mad (fookin hell, I was starting from mad). I kept on reading.

Why? - Because it's my life and I can do what I bloody well choose.

I have hundreds of DVD's, videos etc but it's not the same. Not at all.

So, my top 5 books ever read (that I can remember at this time) are:-

(love to K and I told you so)

- To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
- The Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy - Douglas Adams
- The Art of War - Sun Tzu
- The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
- Encylopaedia Brittanicca - various

and yours are???:-.......

Stupid (Polish) Buggers

No, not the shiny-type brigade, just the irrelevant muppets who cause me untold aggravation. So, in Poland, they have outlawed Tinky-Winky from the Teletubbies for being gay. Now, I don't have an issue with being gay - whatever shakes your tree, but don't be doing it in my neck of the woods.

However, the point is, they allow Sir Elton of Johnnies to play there, who's is obvoiusly camper than a tent on acid, but not some children's TV character with no genitalia. Go figure !! No wonder they have such cheap flights there - (probably expensive as fuck to get back out though).

Indians hate gays. Well hoo-fucking-ray, or rayess. I hate India - right back at you, you retard nation. Call center of the world now, as tons or tonnesses of companies have outsourced their phone rip-offs there. What difference does it make? (as Morrissey once sang, although he was poncing about with a daffodil hanging out of his arse).

Let me put this straight up, or down, or sideways even. If you don't have a gay friend, go out and get one now. They are far more intelligent than the wankers who parade up and down the high street trying to prove their masculinity by beating the shit out of anything that moves.

Gay candidates fight for..... oh for fucks sake, who cares? This is the real world, these are real people who are concerned about something other than themselves. Listen to what they have to say, not who they are sleeping with.

NEWSFLASH - I AM A LESBIAN

Well, I think I am. I love women, well one mainly, but I can play tennis. (oooo and I have long hair). Hooray, and I have bollocks so I'm not a Teletubby.

Fuck off Poland - you're shit.....

(got bored of offending the Chinese)

Addicted to Sex

According to this article on the BBC, it is perfectly reasonable to be Addicted to Sex. I suppose that is a reasonable assumption Not that I'm saying that I am - that would be a most foolish brag for a famous virgin like myself. Anyway, it got me thinking about other addictions that one might suffer from, and by this I'm not talking about the obvious ones like chocolate, drugs, alcohol, cigarettes or gambling.

I immediately started thinking of what addiction might be a tad more unusual. So here is my starter list of ten strange addictions and no, they are not in evidence in Goth World. Feel free to suggest your own:-

1) - Wearing a nappy as a grown person
2) - Stroking or licking cows
3) - Taking a piss in swimming pools
4) - Golf
5) - Vegetarianism
6) - Getting spanked
7) - Watching soap operas
8) - Sleeping with your pet
9) - Going to a gym
10) - Bingo

Funny old world isn't it.

Newsflash

I've just pissed myself. Sorry. Couldn't help it. The 100th site to have a link to GOTH WORLD according to that technobollocks thing is..........

THIS IS JAZZ

Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha

Jazz Fucking Sucks

This should be obvious to anyone on the planet, apart from those weirdos who say boring, twatty things like "groovy". It's not fucking groovy, it's shit. What is so 'groovy' about 4 people playing different songs at the same time? Fuck all.

I know this because I had to listen to the shite yesterday. I got a call from the lovely Zoe and her Twat asking where I was - oops, I'd forgotten to meet them on the Grand Place and so I hurredly jumped on the Metro to get there. Hooray - got there in time to be surrounded by weirdos in sandals and socks grooving to fucking jazz.

Apparently, there's a 3 day festival on jazz. It's free obviously. They couldn't charge for this shit. Who would pay to listen to this appalling wall of sound? Wankers in Brazil shirts it seems. There was also this cunt dressed like a sidekick from Hawaii 5-O who had mislaid his surfboard somewhere.

Poor old Q (the Twat) was getting most perturbed. "If they play this song again...." he announced really loudly - so the fuckers did, and again, and again, and again - in different keys like that made it a new song.

I don't like guns, at all, ever, but boy, did I wish I had one.

Every so often, I applauded hoping they would go away. Shit didn't work. I even cheered when the police went on stage - they have guns. Oh no, they were just leaving a message in a bottle - bastards.

Eventually, we escaped. Shocked by the cacophony of idiots, we were forced to drink beer.....lots of beer. I tried to get a free T-shirt to prove I had been there, or rather to ensure I didn't have to return but the wankers turned me down on that too.

So, if you like jazz - I hate you. AND, if you turned up on my site via Google on some pissy search about jazz. Good - hope you feel as miserable now as I did yesterday. No jazz here so fuck off and do something more interesting like die.

*wanders off to listen to proper music*

Once Upon A Goth

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was a happy little child. This child was SO happy, that even rain looked beautiful. And so, the happy little child played and laughed and was generally really, really happy until the parents (harbingers of doom) said "Ah, but you must go to school my love" and thus, the happy little child, trusting in an innocent way, did just that.

Innocence was raped, idiocy ruled and the rain didn't look so pretty anymore. What do you think the happy little child did? Exactly, the happy little child wasn't happy anymore. Where once there was love for everything, hatred took it's place. The innocent little child turned to the dark side.

But, the child was a very fast learner and so understood the rules, however silly those rules might be. The not-so innocent child anymore, understood that cuddly pussies weren't that safe after all. That vampires ruled as they could do clever things like turning into bats without even the need for a fairy princess and her pretty wand. So, despite the best efforts of the parents, who were busy beavering away to pay the evil government the nasty taxes, the child turned the page.

And what was on that page?..........

Oh What a Surprise.....NOT

Prompted by the luscious Shimmering Thoughts, I had a go at this silly little Tarot Card test.

1) I did not cheat
2) I answered things truthfully
3) Bwahahahahahahahahahaha

You are The Devil

Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession

The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.

Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Or don't, I really don't give a shit

Every Position Thinkable

No matter what position I try in bed at the moment, it's just not working - I can't do it. This is very unusual for me and not something I like at all.

This from a person, who not so long ago, could do it anywhere - and did. In bed, on the sofa, in the bath, on the beach, on a train - bloody hell, you name it and I probably did it there. I wasn't embarrased. Why should I be? My body, I'll do what I bloody well like with it.

But, it's coming to the crunch (and I don't like crunchy things) I may have to go to the doctor and get some of those little pills. This is going to be such a twatty day. Me, the supposed Goth of Rock having to go and beg for pills from a doctor because I can't do it. It's just not bloody rock n roll.

Then he'll probably tell me to eat healthily. Yeah right, that's going to happen. This for a person that if he receives a plate with some side salad on it, says to the waiter "Well you can take that green shit off there to start with".

I don't think I have a choice though, I want to do it, I NEED to do it.

Buggery bollocks with tassles on

No choice though, I'll have to go to the doctor with my head bowed and mutter that I'm not capable of it anymore.

The really sad thing is I know the reason. It's not some phsiological problem, it's purely mental.....

I'm just not used to sleeping alone. She's not here, and I can't do it - get to sleep that is.

Je Suis Un Rock Star

I'm not really, although you wouldn't know that by looking at me today. I look like I just played an all night session with Steven Tyler and Joe Perry (Aerosmith) back in the days when they were called the Toxic Twins. This is thanks directly to a couple of drinks with Joliet Jake last night which became more than a couple as we discussed the 'good old days' when we were in a band.

Obviously, we decided to form a new supergroup and so, be warned. Middle-aged metal may soon be raining down on your MP3.

Back to the reminiscing. We both had sordid tales to tell of our past lives as would be rock stars. Apparently, his bass player had a passing resemblance to Jabba the Hut in tight pants, my bass player was convinced he was Steve Harris (the bassist from Iron Maiden). Attempting to recreate Harris's posturing, one foot on the monitor whilst 'machine-gunning' the crowd with your bass guitar might work at Wembley Stadium. It does not fucking work in some dingy pub in Leicester when all you can put your foot on is a small bar stool.

JJ's drummer was naturally, for a drummer, utterly thick, whereas mine suffered from epilepsy. Yup, a drummer with epilepsy. How fucking rock n roll is that? How do you know if he's having a fit or just attempting a solo?

My lead guitarist was loved by all the women but painfully shy when he didn't have a guitar slung over his shoulders. So shy, he couldn't even ask a girl for a date - I had to do it for him. When we went into the studio I even wrote an acoustic love song which we recorded. He still didn't get the girl although her sister did become very erm, friendly, with me.

The conclusion was that my band took considerably more drugs than his. This was entirely due to my other guitarist, who I eventually sacked. I am neither pro or anti drugs but when you are trying to play a heavy rock gig to a few hundred people and the guitarist is burbling on about strawberries and floating elephants, it isn't going to work.

As the beer flowed, so did our determination to be in a band again. I know I can't recreate the days of yesteryear when, as the lead singer I received more offers of sex than you can imagine. However, I do miss the adrenaline rush just before the first song. We've sound-checked so we know how loud it's going to be but to see those expressions of fear appear on people's faces as we launch into the first song, followed by the change to bouncing, head-banging joy is something you don't get in many other walks of life.

The last gig I played was in The Cavern club in Liverpool, made famous by some little known group called the Beatles. So, planning is required. We have a date with Wembley Stadium and this time I am not supporting Oasis - bollocks, they can support us.

Now all we need is a name..... suggestions?

Circus of Freaks

Generally, not a good idea to get on my bad side. Definitely not a good idea to piss me off, on my good side, or any fucking side for that matter. All I am trying to do is ensure my beautiful princess is on time for her train.

So why rant? Because I had to accompany my better half to the train station - Gare du Midi in Bruxelles. Why? Because I wanted to. Not to ensure that she was on the train but, so that she was safe. Did so, tears were wept...and then she started crying too and so I left.....or attempted to.

I wanted to get some cash but...yikes! 300 Algerians were queing up to use the same cash point. OK, some food then. Nope - 300 Bolivians attempting to speak French and failing misearbly to get an egg sandwich or something.

Bastards !!!

Fine - I'll go outside and have a cigarette whilst contemplating my next move. I hadn't even lit the fucker when I was surrounded by marauding zombies asking for free stuff.

Fuck off and leave me alone!

I speak a few languages, not as many or as well as Mariposa (Queen of my Dreams) but enough to get by. 'Fuck off' wasn't working so I left, got back to my more familiar territory in Bruxelles.

Now this is not me being xenophobic, because I'm not but I tell you, these train stations in Bruxelles truly are a Circus of Freaks...

Ticket To Ride

I think I'm gonna be sad, I think it's today....the girl who's driving me mad is going away. Yes, Mariposa is off to foreign shores, on her own, without me. Normally, petty shit like this wouldn't bother me, or perhaps I wouldn't let on that it bothered me. Well, it fucking does - OK?

Why? Because I happen to feel particularly vulnerable at the moment. Yes, the big, frightening Gothic cloud of darkness masks a heart of crystal. Grow up and get over it - I hear you think. Well I would, but then I might become exactly the cold-hearted twat that some people perceive me to be. I'm not. I am very sensitive but just manage to cover it up so that people don't see. They don't see the fragile person who can be broken as easily as a butterflys wings.

However, I will stay strong - I have to. When mi Mariposa is alone at night in a foreign country, without me to come to her aid in the realm of dreams, she needs to know that I will be waiting....and I will, patiently. Her love for me knows no bounds and is reciprocated with interest. When she needs someone to step out of the shadows and lovingly caress her hair - I will step forward. When she needs to know that she is the most precious entity on the planet, I will tell her. When she needs someone to soothe her to sleep after having a bad dream, I will be the one to stroke her brow.

Not very Gothic is it? Wrong, it's very Gothic. I'm about to have a hateful week but, at the end of the week, I will be the one at the airport with the flowers - shit loads of them.

In the meantime, I will just have to count the seconds knowing that heaven awaits me. I know what love is.....and she's going away for a week.

My love, my life, my heart is yours. I will endeavour to stroke you in your dreams and I patiently await your return.

Love is.......

YOU Mariposa

Para mi, eres mi mundo, mi corazon y mi vida

besos

Oh Putain

A phrase taught to me by my little buddy from Marseilles and one that I was very grateful for. We, as a conglomerate of love, had run out of cigarettes. A foolish oversight granted, but snigger over your empty box of All Bran and let's see how funny you find it.

Anyway, I decided to brave the rain and go to the night-shop to purchase more cigarettes. A simple enough task one might think - walk to shop, avoid rain, buy ciggies and back home. I achieved the first bits ok, got to the said night-shop and then WHAM. Not the band - but a pussy of police (that's the plural). Yep, those mother-fuckers with the guns and an attitude problem. Every person in the shop is up against the wall, apart from the police because they have guns and bullets etc.

"OH PUTAIN !!" I exclaimed in my best Gothic whisper (rather loudly).

Every eye in the shop turned to look at me. "Monsieur?" said the assistant quivering. "Trois Marlboro lights si tu pait" I replied, too pissed to examine the evidence before my eyes.

The nearest policeman said nothing but motioned the assistant toward the counter with his gun. "Pas de sac merci" I said paying and heading for the door "Et bon soiree" I added before leaving a tout vitesse.

The person entering as I was leaving was immediately ushered against the wall by the police. I wobbled off dialing mi Mariposa to say "Weird as fuck what just happened and.....erm, I think I'm lost".

Funny old game this 'cops and robbers' thing.........

Good Fucking Friday

This is my blog. If you don't like it - fuck off. I don't care. Staple yourself to the nearest passing train.

A few of the juicier comments I have received...

- "You have a choice" don't like it? well DUH, learn to use a computer shithead.

- "I don't agree with what you say?" Fine, that's what the fucking comment bit is for, not moderated and none of that pissing about having to enter silly letters in a strange order. I may read them, I may not but I sure as fuck will not delete any of them.

- "The content's a bit controversial though?" Kiss my Gothic ass. What appears is what's in my head, don't like it, fine don't like me. I didn't want to be your friend in the first place.

- "Why pick on the church?" because I want to and because I can. One person has stood up to me in this area and gained my respect - you know who you are.

- "There's no tits or gaping...." I didn't put the weird searches into google you freak and whilst we are on topic, it's spelt LESBIAN.

- "Are you the anit-christ?" yeah, I just got bored of my day job and fucked off to make a cup of tea and recite poetry.

- "Where are the pictures?" right where you left them fuckwit. I didn't search on 'penguins diving into Gothic twats', you did. Go fucking find them yourself.

For those of you loyal readers, big Gothic hugs. Lurkers (those who view without commenting) you are still most welcome. It's not a requirement to comment at all, I ask only one thing (and it's not a fucking link either)....

One thing - Be Excellent to Each Other

Bon weekend - oh and I will add that today's weirdest search on google to wash up on the shore of Goth World is...

big tounges in big twats

ha ha - fucking freak, bet you were well disappointed when there were no pictures to masturbate over

*walks off to crack open another bottle of Jack Daniels*

Rugby and Cricket - Shite

As I was brought up in Wales, there were 2 sporting activities which were compulsory in school. During the winter months, rugby and then when the rain and mud had abated, cricket. I hated (and still do) both equally. My physique is not designed for rugby being far too elfin like in physique - I suppose I could be a corner flag....maybe.

I became the obvious target for the neanderthal kids in my school if I accidentally caught the ball. "Tackle him" the games teacher would yell with gusto. I tried a number of tactics - throwing the ball away (no good) I would just be sent to fetch it and used for tackling practise. Running away didn't seem to work either, odds of 15-1 against me were obviously not in my favour. Opting not to participate didn't work either and so week after pitiful week the torture would continue.

Eventually logic, or rather I, found a way out. In hindsight it is blindingly obvious. Get sent off. Granted I had to wait for an actual game to achieve this but it wasn't long in the coming. Apparently, rugby appears to be a battle in the mud between two packs of animals intent on destroying each other - well, it bloody well is. My first sending off was accidental, I knew you had to stop the player with the ball and although it is perfectly ok to stamp on a player whilst they are on the ground, tripping them up in full flow is not allowed.

"S - Off!" demanded the games teacher and off to the library I was sent. In the peaceful solitude of the library I read up on the rules. Aha, I thought - another fine method to be employed. So the following week with what seemed like a rhinocerous on acid galloping in my direction and cries of "Stop him" ringing in my ears - I did just that. A very neat side step at the last second with my outstretched arm at throat level. "Off" demanded the games teacher "But why" I protested none too innocentally "You said stop him and he's stopped isn't he - you should have been more clear in what you wanted".

The by-now scarlet in the face games teacher was hopping up and down shouting "You'll never play rugby in this school again". Good, I thought, that's the end of that shite then.

Onto summer and the infinitely boring game of cricket. Why anyone would want to stand there whilst someone throws a rock hard ball at you is beyond my comprehension. On top of that, you have the fielding team. The ones that have to go scuttling after the ball like an over anxious puppy if the batsman does manage to twat the ball. Yeah, that's a great game then. Not much chance of getting sent off in this game so the alternative was just to be so incredibly shit that no-one wanted to play with you - ever !!

Fortunately, my games teacher had already figured out that I was very good at running, as my brief rugby career had proven, so he asked me to try cross-country running. Now this was much more my style. No one chasing you trying to stamp on your bollocks and no one throwing things at you for no apparent reason. I liked this and thus stuck with it.

Rugby and cricket - stick it sir, preferably stumps up your arse sir....

Samson and Delilah

No not the Tom Jones song, the space cadets who featured in The Book of Judges. So, Samson was a big strong ox of a man, kind of like an olden day WWF fighter. "Ladies and Gentleman, the big man mountain, can kick your ass with a jawbone - It's.....SAMSON !!!". That one. Apparently, this long haired hippy was kicking ass in the name of god, who was mighty pissed off because his ears were alight.....no, sorry, he was pissed off with the Israelites.

So in a god-like fashion, as is his want, he created Samson to go and kick the Philistines in the bollocks and other such tough stuff. Thus god said to Samsons dad that his son was not allowed to go on the piss, ever, because he knew what trouble that would cause. Samson in a pub and some Philistine says "Come on big guy - come and have a go if you think you're hard enough" - "Piss off" said Samson "I'm waiting for football to be invented" but no, the Philistine had to keep goading Samson and then with a big SWAT all the crowd just went "Fucking hell - he just knocked that guys head clean off".

Thus Samson was not allowed to drink and not allowed to cut his hair either. So Samson spends twenty years or so kicking ass and that's ok, because the Philistines must have been stupid. I mean, 3,000 of you march up to one man and within seconds he has killed the first 200 - I'm sorry, but I would have been the one near the back saying "Which way are you gonna run?" "Why?" - "Oh I just want to know so I don't run over your arse"... Run away, you can laugh about the shit when you get home. It ain't clever to be brave and dead - jeez, there's no fun in that at all.

As Samson's first wife had been burned, presumably for being flammable, he has to go and find another chick. And this is does, a little filly from Philistine called Delilah. Unfortunately for Samson, she's a treacherous little cow who has been pursuaded by her fellow Philistines to find out the secret of Samsons strength. So, the little witch gets his head shaved and thus he no longer has his strength. The Philistines 'put out his eyes' - quite why they do this is a mystery, it's not like seeing anything is going to help him if he has his strength no more but, I suppose they were just the Silly Sect of Philistines.

Then they make Samson grind grain, because you can do that without eyes. I suppose they could have made him do other jobs that don't require eyes, but not much as he'd keep falling down holes and stuff. They did try with an early version of a guide dog, a guide rabbit but then they just had to keep digging him out of the holes the rabbit had dug. So back to the granary it was.

The Philistines by now have got very cocky and decide to have a big ceremony in their temple so they send for Samson to entertain them. Well, not really entertain them, they just want him to do juggling and stuff that require hand/eye co-ordination. Samson asks his guide, who is not a rabbit, to let him lean against the pillars in the middle of the Temple. His hair has grown back but his strength had not returned. Samson puts in an emergency call to god - after the angel has put him on hold for a while, god comes on "Look" said Samson "I know I fucked up but let me have my strength for one thing" - god listens to his plan, gives a god-like giggle and says "OK, but only for once".

Then Samson pushes the pillars over and the Temple crashes down and all the Philistines become Flatistines. Samson also dies, which is sad because he didn't do anything wrong - except to listen to that bloody woman.

Luckily for Samson though, Tom Jones who is over 2,000 years old but has a very good plastic surgeon, saw Delilah through a window, and after finding a knife in his hand, she was no more. Hooray, she won't be lobbing any knickers at Sir Tom of Jones then.....

I Have a Dream

I had a dream, a crazy dream, it seemed so real or so it seemed... I have a dream..

Not in the Martin Luther King variety of world peace and all that shit, nope, mine involves squirrels, on skateboards with machine guns. I don't bloody know why the squirrels have skateboards or how they managed to buy them. I mean, if you're a squirrel it involves running up and down trees in a frantic manner so surely you wouldn't have time to apply for a credit card.

Even if you did, the negotiations would be a little bit weird - "Two acorns a month in interest, you're taking the piss aren't you?". But assuming you, as a squirrel, got your credit card (let's call it Acorn for now), how the fuck would you sign for things? I mean, squirrels are clever and deft little creatures but, they can't write. I suppose they could have a PINE code and just tap it into the machine with their little paws.

Ok, so assuming the squirrel has the Acorn card, and could tap his PINE code into the card reader - where the hell would he go shopping for a skateboard...and why?

Alright, supposing the rodent could handle surfing down the tree, how the fuck would he get it back up again? Anyway, the squirrel is at the shop....buying, his skateboard with his acorn card - he then decides to purchase a machine gun.

Why?

Surely, one's concentration would be focussed on staying on the skateboard, not what you could shoot whilst riding it. But NO, the squirrel in my dream was clearly on a skateboard with a machine gun. So my question is why?

Why have strange dreams?
Why try to interpret them?
What happened in the end? (I woke up before I found out)

Over to you peeps - strange dreams or reality checks?

a luego,
S

ps no drugs were harmed in the formulation of this dream

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I happen to like long hair - no particular reason and I am not discriminating against those more folically challenged (slapheads), I just prefer long hair. Whether this is because of my upbringing or not, well, you would have to ask one of those psycho-people. I wasn't allowed to have long hair as a child, it had to be clipped above collar length otherwise, hmm, what might society think ?!

So, the first chance I got, I let my hair grow. And it grew, and grew. Funnily enough, women loved me, men hated me. Was it because of the hair? Did I exude some masculinity only known to apes? Did I fuck, I was just growing my hair - or rather, not having it cut.

Picture the scenario, by night, I was the lead singer in a rock band - long hair was good. By day, doing boring computer type stuff, wearing a suit, long hair was bad. I never figured out the way to be a hair-wolf, growing hair only when the sun set so I was fucked whichever way I turned. My parents have always criticised whichever way I had my hair - why? it doesn't change who I am - doesn't change the way I behave.

Ah, but it does. I have to have the right shampoo, the correct conditioner, allow time for my hair to air-dry because I don't want it to go frizzy by blow-drying it. Well, bugger me backwards with Nicky Clarke tongs - the hottest a man can get, but I like my hair. It's part of me, roots and all (ooo buggery bollocks, some split ends).

Anyway, I do my best not to infect people with my hair, I ensure that I clean the bath/shower thoroughly to remove any residue hair I might leave. I make sure that I use only my hairbrushes or combs so as not to unleash phantom hair onto people. I tie my hair back in a weird pokemon fashion before I get into bed with a partner so that I do not unwiitingly tickle their nose in the middle of the night.

I actually got asked at an interview once "But would you be willing to have your hair cut to get the job?" - I thought about it and answered, "So this is one of those sex-discrimination cases because you would NEVER ask a woman if she would have a haircut to get the job". The guy, rather rattled, answered, "Oh, sorry, I shouldn't have asked that question really". - No you should not.

And yes, I did get the job.

Why rant about this now? Because my partner has just had their nose tickled by my hair. Waking them up and forcing me to wake up by poking me and saying "Your hair just tickled my nose" - Great, your aggravation just shattered my comfort. They can go to sleep again, I can't.

Hair discrimination.....

The Eurovision Shite Contest

Now I'm sure that there are many of you out there who love the Eurovision Non-Song Contest but I am not one of them. The thought of having to listen and watch, some warbling midget from Elbonia in a basque is just hateful. Tonight, the bastard competition is being held again. Hmmm. Won't be watching that then. Apparently, 120 million people are going to watch this banal shite. Bloody hell - get a life !!

Somebody asked me if I would be watching it - "No, I'd rather slide down a bannister made of razor blades using my bollocks for brakes". "That'll be a no then? - "No that'll be an - ask me such a stupid question again and I'll stab you in the eye with this pencil".

I nipped down to my local pub for a few beers and maybe a chat and gaaarrrgghh not only is the bastard programme on, it's on the huge screens reserved usually for sports. Now, if someone was attempting to assasinate the contestants as they pranced around in stupid outfits, singing bullshit in a multitude of languages - yeah, whack it on the big screen. Unfortunately not, not one single attempt to silence one of them as I hastily drank my pint and retreated to a safer place.

What is it that people enjoy about this crap? It's not music - not by my definition anyway. I'd rather listen to whales mating - at least they stay in tune ! And yet, for some reason, the same shit resurfaces every year like the floating turd that will not flush down the toilet of life.

Last year, the winners were some Klingons from Finland singing.....something, sort of. Of course it all gained credibility because a previously unknown band called Abba won the competition in 1974 with a cheerful ditty about a huge battle, in Belgium of all places. That they went on to sell squillions of records thereby proved the legitamacy of the competition. Righto - that will explain why Fucks Bizz were such a huge success after 1981's victory then.

Still, 120 million people will be watching this dirge tonight, cheering on their country like it makes a difference. Voting will commence and people will get scammed into thinking their telephone vote makes a difference. Meanwhile, lots of political manouvering will ensure that some shite country with something to offer it's 3 or 4 neighbours will win.

Next year I want a change. I want a vote on which shite act should get assasinetd first. Normally, it's nice people who get assasinated, think Martin Luther King, John Lennon, JFK etc. Let's do it democratically - instead of voting for who should be off the show, let's vote for who should be off the planet.

Now there's a thought.........

*wanders off to contemplate his vote*

Twats in The Attic

I hate daytime TV - it's just so bloody boring. Oh look, another programme about buying a house, doing up a house or clearing a house. Todays crappy offering, Cash in the Attic. The theory is sound enough - you're bored of all the shit cluttering up your house so you get some experts round to find things that are worth money and then sell them at auction.

Normally, the people have a good reason to raise the money and so it's entertaining. Not today. Todays couple of wrinklies were both ex-teachers who wanted to raise money so that, wait for it, so that he could go trogging across the moors. I'm not surprised she wanted to help - every instant away from him would be a blessing. I was sat there thinking, fucking hell - you're so boring I'd pay you to piss off.

Mariposa summed it up when the stated "I'd rather be deaf than have to listen to him speak again".

Every item scrutinised and valued was treated with "Oh no, I think it's worth much more than that". So why bother getting the experts in you sanctimonious twats? How are you ever going to learn anything if you know everything already?!

So on and on it went - I know I should have just changed the channel but we were sat their like rabbits in headlights waiting for the inevitable splat. I have nothing against teachers, I even went as far as sleeping with one but, I paid my dues so I shouldn't have to deal with one again.

By the end of the programme I had come up with the solution. I'm going to call the BBC and get them to come round and value my shit. Then when they ask the question "What are you hoping to raise money for?" I can respond - "On bear-traps, lots of them and then I'm going to spread them all over the moors".

"How much do you think you're going to need to raise?" - "Enough to catch me a boring retired teacher in comfortable clothes - now hurry up, it's hunting season".......

I wouldn't want to kill him, that's just evil but, I would lock him in a cage and throw board dusters at him - 'Come on city slicker, squeal like a pig'. How much do you think that's worth? Priceless.......

Death By Chocolate

This is actually the name of a dessert funnily enough - one that consists of chocolate and er, more chocolate. I'm not quite sure where the death part comes in, I assume it consists of some exploding chocolate or perhaps it is simply so nice that you eat so much and Boomshanka ! you explode.

For me, it's not really an option as I'm not overly keen on chocolate or sweet things in general. Also as I'm not fat or greedy there's little chance of it occuring.

Yesterday, I observed a new book Five famous people who died during sex - a more likely alternative.....except I'm not famous. It certainly sounds more interesting than the chocolate version. But, I would assume you would need to reach an arrangement with your partner first. I think it would be quite thoughtless to die on your partner without warning. Agreeing that you could have a synchronised 'coming and going' session would be much fairer.

All in all, it still beats the idiots who make their way onto the Darwin Awards . If you don't know what they are, off you toddle to find out. The link's there and then you can read the antics of the muppets who got nominated - in my opinion, just one large hooray for another dickhead off the planet.

There are times that I marvel at mankinds stupidity and yet every day I get a reminder of it somewhere. Day after day, I encounter a living reminder of those from the shallow end of the gene pool (the ones who dived in head first, at the very shallow end).

Oh well, shit happens.....pass the chocolate please

Don't Fear The Reaper - Or Should You?

Unsurprisingly for a Goth, I am rather partial to graveyards and cemetaries. Not because I particularly enjoy people that I know dying but more because they are beautiful, tranquil places where the living commemorate the memories of those departed.

I would/will, quite happily get married in a graveyard. My ex-goth used to tell her students that we had been married in a graveyard, at midnight, under a full moon. No wonder the pupils were scared shitless of me then.

BUT, I do get incensed by the wankers who desecrate burial places. If you want a fight, bring it to me, someone who can stand up for themself. Not that any of these tossers could read this or hope to understand it.

Thus, it is with great satisfaction that I announce, some meaningless piece of shit in the 'US of fucking A' got well and truly twatted.

This twat, in his meaningless wisdomless, decided to trash a cemetary after one too many beers. One too many breaths I think. Fortunately, Karma stepped in and dropped the 72-stone headstone onto him breaking both his legs and pinning the mother-fucker to the ground for 3 hours.

Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Look on the bright side fuckwit, if I'd have been in control you would have had 16-tons landing on your oh so vacant skull.

Death? You missed this muppet but I feel confident the idiot is on the next reaping list - for this one, I will help you out if you need.......

7 random Things About Me

tagged me for a "7 random Things About Me" meme - Goth (coz I think his answers will be excellent)

Not overly keen on the whole 'meme' thing but as it is Shaz who has asked and, as I am feeling magnaminous having received a lucid reply from one of those religious type believers.....here goes.

1).. I hate feet - in a non-specific sort of way. No particular reason, and nobodys specifically - I just think we'd all be better off floating. And as for people who have a fetish about feet - "Oi..... no!! get orf my planet".

2).. I love children - not just my own. There's something about children that makes me become very protective and I have to exercise huge amounts of control to not beat the living shit out of anyone I see being nasty to children, even just telling them off.

3).. I cry during movies - not just any movies, but ones you wouldn't think possible - stupid bloody films like Jerry Maguire, and not at the parts you would think....

4)..I can play Cello - I wanted to play saxophone or even the flute but, because I was too busy pissing about at the back of the class by the time I realised that the music teacher was actually saying something relevant I got stuck with the cello. What a fucking pain in the arse it was taking that monster on the school bus !!

5)..I have a 'photographic memory' - with numbers, but am totally shit with names. Which, was hugely annoying in my youth as I could remember 10 phone numbers of girls but not a single name (which obviously made for great conversations the next day...)

6)..I have a phobia about eyes - not in a general way, I just don't like seeing them touched. I could saw my own arm off, but if I see someone putting a contact lens in - splat, that'll be me on the floor then.

7)..I represented my country in Judo - boring I know, people rolling around in pyjamas. However, in my defence, I did then discover women and spent the rest of my life rolling around without pyjamas.

And thus spoke Goth. Now, as I have answered it is my duty (cackles in an evil way) to tag FIVE peeps. Therefore, I condemn the following 5 to reveal their "7 random Things About Me".........

Joliet jake - teach you not to make THAT curry you twat
Zoe - because her boyfriend is a twat
Kimmy - because she's lovely and anyone who says otherwise is going to get a ruddy good punch on the bottom
Mr X - as I am positive that WE will come up with one bizarre list
Cream - as his views make me curious about going back to the yUK just to eat in his restaurant

Anti-ORGANISED - Religion

"I feel the need, the need for speed". I don't actually, nor do I feel the need for religion in my life but I would like to make a few points as the less cerebrally aware amongst the population seem to have missed the point entirely.

NUMBER ONE - I am not the anti-christ nor have I ever purported to be. I have no desire to terminate all 'mankind' - but, I would maybe kill the sad mother-fuckers who make normal peoples life hell, through their vulgarity, ignorance and intollerance (and in doing so, become one... EEK)

NUMBER TWO - I believe that people can do great things, helping other people, supporting living things and generally saving the planet - which is what jesus tried to do before he got nailed to a tree (didn't see greenpeace there then).

NUMBER THREE - Education is illumination, but if you are taught by wankers, wankers you become. (I think Yoda said that ;-)

NUMBER FOUR -> Free speech is a democratic right. If you don't agree with what I say, fine, voice your argument, there's no need to blow up the bus on the way there.

NUMBER FIVE -> If you think you know better than me, prove it. I will be the first to offer congratulations, if you are correct - in a heartfelt and sincere manner.

NUMBER 666 -> History proves that mankind is it's own worst enemy. Turn the other cheek? Maybe but, just maybe, it would be nice to arrive at a situation where we didn't have to get cheeky. Life is a rollercoaster of emotions that we all must ride. How nice would it be to know that regardless of faith, origin or skin colour we could all hug each other at the end and collectively say.......

Wow - what a trip

*slowly steps down from soapbox and exits*

I'm Not Old, Just Older

They say you are only as old as you feel, well I don't, I say you are only as old as the person you feel. Mainly because then it makes perfect sense to surround yourself with 18 year old beauties - HA perfectly logical. Howver, there are some benefits that come with getting older.

• When you make mistakes you can actually explain why you screwed up
• You don't have to show ID to get what you want, i.e. alcohol etc
• Sex lasts longer than 30 seconds
• Enjoyment comes in many forms from eating with friends, reading a book or curling up in front of the TV.
• It no longer involves trying to get laid as many times as possible in one night
• You can actually put forward sound reasoning to explain why you did something rather than muttering "cos I did"
• You may actually know what you want but you definitely know what you don't want
• Finding long-lost friends actually means people you haven't seen for years

Of course, there is a downside

• Running anywhere seems far too much of a chore
• Springing out of bed is not really an option any more
• Watching your fave TV programme can become "He's dead, she's dead, he's almost dead"
• Shopping for clothes actually becomes more difficult as what is "in" looks dreadful on you
• Attending funerals becomes more frequent
• Spur of the moment ideas actually require planning, where to put the kids, how to pay for it etc

However, on the whole one can't complain - let's face it no-one would hear you if you did.

Philosophy 101

Whilst some might regard the following as cynical, they are the ones blinded by the light. If you fall into any of the categories, tough shit - welcome to life, it's brutal and it hurts but, every so often burns a ray of hope so bright that one cannot fail to follow it. The light at the end of the tunnel, it bewitches, it entrances and you follow....only to find out it was some fucker pissing about with a torch (or is it?).

Marriage - A meeting of minds, love and sacrement until the minds diverge, then all hell breaks loose.

Estate Agents - Born liars trained to improve on their natural skills. There was a reason that Dracula got pissed off and went on a killing spree - fleeced on the purchase of property.

Lawyers - Natural vampires - don't need fairy tales for these, devoid of hearts to start with.

Money - The source of so much evil it beggars belief. Share the wealth and save a life.

And now, the positive ;-)

Friends - The very few people you can count on when life goes tits-up faster than a whore in a brothel.

Love - A disease you can catch in an instant and never lose, regardless of how fast you run - don't bother, stay and enjoy.

Sex - Something you can enjoy on your own but together, with a loving partner, a trip of fantasy stimulating every sense..all 6 of them.

Pleasure - Can be anything that makes your heart sing, hard to find, easy to lose.

Thus spoke Goth.

A Friday List of Not to Do's

I'm a fairly lunatic person in some respects and have been known to do some very bizarre things after Jack Daniels and I have had a little get together. However, there are certain things that make it onto my NO - NOT NEVER, NO FOOKIN WAY PAL list:-

The Official Gothic No Fooking Way List

• Have sex with another bloke, and that includes 3-in-a-bed style (my arse is exit only)
• Eat Haggis or Black Pudding (or anything that's obviously made from the shit bits left over)
• Wear sandals ever - (if I wanted to look German I'd visit Poland without permission)
• Eat insects - (I don't fucking care how trendy it is)
• Turn vegetarian and becoming boring as green beans
• Visit Pakistan or any country that treats women that way - (wankers)
• Join a monastery - (at least they let you out of the library)
• Harm a small child - (but I would willingly kick the shit out of anyone that did)
• Chop my own dick off - (may be small but I like my inch and a half of wriggling fury)
• Experiment with drugs - (It looks dumb from the outside, on the inside...insane)
• Jump out of a tenth floor window to prove I could fly - (if I thought I could I'd try a take off from the ground first)
• Listen to anything George Bush says......ever - (the boys obviously insane)
• Go on a submarine - (I'm not keen on boats, so boats that don't have the decency to float.....)
• Go parachuting - (why would I jump out of a perfectly good plane with a large handkerchief ?)

There's more to come but I would be interested to hear your NFWL's. However, I shall refrain from tagging people with this. It's Friday, do what you want with it


a luego y buen fin de semana

La Iglesia de la Mentes Criminales

So, not impressed with the Crusades, the Spanish decided to go one better. None of this invading foreign lands as an excuse for killing people, oh no, why not just kill people who don't believe in said god anyway. I mean, fuck it, we don't even have to go any seek out muslims, the mother fuckers come to us. Thus, thanks to Ferdinand and Isabella (although I'm fairly sure she knew fuck all about it) in 1478 there began the Spanish Inquistion.

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquistion !!!!!

The theory was simple enough thanks to Tomás de Torquemada Inquisidor General of Aragón, either you acknowledged the power of the catholic church or... well, you died. That would have been me fucked then. But, not satisfied with just pure death, the bit where you cease to live at the end of it, they decided to make it more interesting. I mean, what's the point in just throwing people in a pond - float and you're evil, drown and you're ok stuff? Bollocks, if we're going to torture people let's put the fear of god in them.

Thus was invented the garrucha, toca and the potro - bastards couldn't even keep it in Latin. So, the 'garrucha' was pulling peoples arms and their legs, in different directions using pulleys and weight, the 'toca' was stuffing stuff in your mouth and causing gagging (sounds familiar for some reason) and the 'potro' was a rack. All reasonable ways to get you down on your knees and kiss the popes ring.

First, the 'Edict of Grace' would be pronounced in a city. In typical fashion, Grace wasn't actually there to explain why - she'd probably pissed off down to the local Tapas bar. Anyway, the theory was that you said "I'm a sheep shagger and all my mates are too" and you named them all. Those named could not get out of it just by saying "But I don't even know the git" - nope, far too easy.

And, the reasons one could receive these tortures? Having sex without making a baby. Hmm, that'll be blow jobs out of the window then. Homosexuality and beastiality one would assume would also come under this category, which makes you wonder what the catholic priests did - appears through evidence to be part of their job description.

Anyway, all of this was ruled over by a little gang of arse bandits called The Suprema (previously known as the Chicken Suprema). These fuckwits 'met every morning, save for holidays, and for two hours in the afternoon on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays' - oh, so slaughter is only part-time then? Didn't even know they had bingo back then but you can't beat winning a nice pair of fluffy slippers!!

So once again, shit loads of people die because some pontificating twat decides to use the bible to further their own end. I don't remember the bit in the bible where it said killing in the name of jesus was a good thing but then again, I've only read the highly edited version - the one that the catholic church approved. All of which goes to show, you can't beat organized religion - or, if you even try, they will pull you to pieces - literally.

Wonder why I detest it so much?!!!!

A Bunch of Florists

I did a posting Uncovered New Species and within the comments, my buddy Tippler registered this comment ->

I had a pal who was an archaeologist. One day in the pub we decided to think up a collective noun for them - We came up with 'a trample of archaeologists.'
which inevitably got me thinking. There are some weird and wonderful collective names for animals e.g.a prickle of porcupines, a shrewdness of apes, a murder of crows etc but , then I got thinking, what about a collective group who pursue the same occupation...

Here are my conclusions (feel free to suggest your own);-

A Dusting of Archaeologists
A Bunch of Florists
A Herd of Farmers
A School of Driving Instructors
A Coven of Lawyers
A Detention of Teachers
A Shoal of Divers
A Flock of Shepherds
A Pussy of Project Managers

Go on, go off on one - in a flurry of parachutists ;-)

a luego,
S

ps YES, I will get back to attacking Org Rel tomorrow, just trying to fend off the twats in comment section at the mo - back you zealots !!