When I visit my local hostelry, I invariably sit on the same stool at the end of the bar. There are a number of reasons for this, mainly that I can lean on the counter and do my crossword, or read a book or talk to the bar staff - all of whom I know.
This means that I have my back to the majority of the pub but that's ok. Occassionally I will wear the T-shirt that I scammed out of the manager, exactly the same as the bar staff wear - emblazoned with the pub name etc. On a regular basis, a very similar conversation occurs.
*Some Eurotwit having waited to be served marches over and proceeds to talk to my back*
"Excuse me, is there any chance of being served at all today?"
to which I reply, without turning around "Don't know, have you tried asking like polite people do?"
"I don't care for your attitude young man"
me turning around "Well yours fucking sucks pal"
"Right I want to complain to the manager, right now !!"
"Your choice fuckwit, but you might want to complain about someone who actually works here before you make an even bigger twat of yourself"
"Oh, you're a customer?"
"That's why I'm drinking beer - oh and the fact that I asked politely for it"
*Turns back around thinking - Cheeky Bastards*
martes, julio 31, 2007
lunes, julio 30, 2007
CSI - Bruxelles - Part 2
Two murders have occured in Bruxelles, the first one where someone got stabbed in the eyes with frites, the second connected it seems
*The camera pauses briefly to demonstrate the constant rain that falls in Bruxelles, potentially ruining the crime scene*
Dick Van Dyke, Chief Investigator, listens instensely to the voice on the other end of his phone, before saying rather gruffly "So, there's nothing specific about the Mayonnaise then? That doesn't help any in determining who might have committed these murders".
"I'm going to the second crime scene, make sure ballistics get to look at the frites - there must be something we're missing". By the time Dick arrives at the scene, Jean Claude Van Dammitt, the coroner is there. "What do you have JC?"
"He's forked Dick" says JC
"I know that JC, I mean what is the cause of death?"
"A fork Dick, severed the artery" explains JC "One of those crappy little wooden ones they give away for free - also impossible to trace"
"But can you draw around it?" enquires Dick.
"I'll do my best Dick but I think the string may provide a stronger clue - this isn't just standard string"
"Chief" says one of the forensic team sifting across the scene "We may have something here" unravelling a small scrumpled up piece of paper and handing it to Dick.
It's a flyer for a new Kebab shop that has just opened up nearby. "I think we now have a motive and I am not allowing fast food wars to break out on my territory - call Sergeant Tintin and get him to pick up the owners - I'll see you back at the station".
*Cut to the interview room at headquarters a short time later"
Dick patiently lays out the photographs in front of the suspect. "Come on Sheesh, I know you recognise the pictures - I already have my motive and when I finish arranging the evidence, you're going to fry my friend". Sheesh keeps shaking his head as one by one the photos are placed in front of him.
"They're yours Sheesh - I know you recognise that cut of frite because I've checked the blade on your chipping machine and I can prove from the striation marks that the murder weapons were made in your Kebab shop Sheesh".
*The door opens and a greasy lawyer walks in*
"Don't say another word Sheesh, these pictures are flimsy evidence Van Dyke" and he proceeds to tear up the photographs - "See".
"Ha" says Van Dyke "I've still got the negatives and I will get a positive result"
The lawyer leads his client out of the interview room and Dick takes out his mobile phone. "Go over those crime scenes again Johan, I'm not allowing people to die here unless it's of the usual cause of boredom in Belgium"
*Dick turns his back on the camera as yet another bloody advert break begins*
*The camera pauses briefly to demonstrate the constant rain that falls in Bruxelles, potentially ruining the crime scene*
Dick Van Dyke, Chief Investigator, listens instensely to the voice on the other end of his phone, before saying rather gruffly "So, there's nothing specific about the Mayonnaise then? That doesn't help any in determining who might have committed these murders".
"I'm going to the second crime scene, make sure ballistics get to look at the frites - there must be something we're missing". By the time Dick arrives at the scene, Jean Claude Van Dammitt, the coroner is there. "What do you have JC?"
"He's forked Dick" says JC
"I know that JC, I mean what is the cause of death?"
"A fork Dick, severed the artery" explains JC "One of those crappy little wooden ones they give away for free - also impossible to trace"
"But can you draw around it?" enquires Dick.
"I'll do my best Dick but I think the string may provide a stronger clue - this isn't just standard string"
"Chief" says one of the forensic team sifting across the scene "We may have something here" unravelling a small scrumpled up piece of paper and handing it to Dick.
It's a flyer for a new Kebab shop that has just opened up nearby. "I think we now have a motive and I am not allowing fast food wars to break out on my territory - call Sergeant Tintin and get him to pick up the owners - I'll see you back at the station".
*Cut to the interview room at headquarters a short time later"
Dick patiently lays out the photographs in front of the suspect. "Come on Sheesh, I know you recognise the pictures - I already have my motive and when I finish arranging the evidence, you're going to fry my friend". Sheesh keeps shaking his head as one by one the photos are placed in front of him.
"They're yours Sheesh - I know you recognise that cut of frite because I've checked the blade on your chipping machine and I can prove from the striation marks that the murder weapons were made in your Kebab shop Sheesh".
*The door opens and a greasy lawyer walks in*
"Don't say another word Sheesh, these pictures are flimsy evidence Van Dyke" and he proceeds to tear up the photographs - "See".
"Ha" says Van Dyke "I've still got the negatives and I will get a positive result"
The lawyer leads his client out of the interview room and Dick takes out his mobile phone. "Go over those crime scenes again Johan, I'm not allowing people to die here unless it's of the usual cause of boredom in Belgium"
*Dick turns his back on the camera as yet another bloody advert break begins*
domingo, julio 29, 2007
ThankYou Very Fucking Much
*Apologies if you tuned into Part 2 of 'CSI - Bruxelles' but listen to this message from our sponsors and feel - something*
McDonalds is very good if you want to be a fat bastard.
Goth will be having a bad day - and it's not helped at all by listening to Linkin Park - fucking twats
"It's like a whirlwind inside of my head ..... it's right beneath my skin"
Thanks very much Chester, you bloody freak. I really don't appreciate people getting inside my head.
I'm confused enough already without you singing 'One step closer to the edge' , 'my pride is broken' or 'guilty by assosciation'. They are lyrics I wish that I'd written - words that express how I feel but didn't dare. For fucks sake, it's what I wanted to vocalize but then I would be in trouble.
You short arsed twat.
It's not that I don't appreciate your integrity but, STOP IT. Now I have to think. Gadzooks !! What if I don't want to think anymore?
Can I just not exist without having to pretend to be something I'm not?! Now, I will get castigated for being me. The myopic muppets will reign again. I will get blamed for things I didn't do, again.
People, in the widest sense of the word, wonder why I'm so fucked up. That will be on account of the fact that I think too much. I'm not an idiot - I just behave like one, on occassion.
I like to hope that people care about me, which apparently would be wrong. They don't - they want their own shit fuck ups to be more important than mine. Well - hoo fucking ray.
As Chester says "I tried so hard, but in the end it doesn't even matter"
I would like to say, something, but .... oh, what's the fucking point?
No-one is listening anyway.
McDonalds is very good if you want to be a fat bastard.
Goth will be having a bad day - and it's not helped at all by listening to Linkin Park - fucking twats
"It's like a whirlwind inside of my head ..... it's right beneath my skin"
Thanks very much Chester, you bloody freak. I really don't appreciate people getting inside my head.
I'm confused enough already without you singing 'One step closer to the edge' , 'my pride is broken' or 'guilty by assosciation'. They are lyrics I wish that I'd written - words that express how I feel but didn't dare. For fucks sake, it's what I wanted to vocalize but then I would be in trouble.
You short arsed twat.
It's not that I don't appreciate your integrity but, STOP IT. Now I have to think. Gadzooks !! What if I don't want to think anymore?
Can I just not exist without having to pretend to be something I'm not?! Now, I will get castigated for being me. The myopic muppets will reign again. I will get blamed for things I didn't do, again.
People, in the widest sense of the word, wonder why I'm so fucked up. That will be on account of the fact that I think too much. I'm not an idiot - I just behave like one, on occassion.
I like to hope that people care about me, which apparently would be wrong. They don't - they want their own shit fuck ups to be more important than mine. Well - hoo fucking ray.
As Chester says "I tried so hard, but in the end it doesn't even matter"
I would like to say, something, but .... oh, what's the fucking point?
No-one is listening anyway.
sábado, julio 28, 2007
CSI - Bruxelles
*Background*
Crime Scene Investigation, for those of you uninitiated is a TV programme based on the investigations of the CSI team. A dead body turns up in a bizarre situation and the team use their forensic knowledge to find out what happened, how it happened etc.
All major cities have one, first was CSI Las Vegas, with resident bug expert Grisholm. Then came CSI Miami with Horatio whose expertise is in delivering flippant comments like "Looks like he ran into a dead end" and finally, CSI New York, with Mack, the ex-marine who is an expert with every weapon on the planet. Now it's the turn of the capital of Europe......
*Some funky Who track - My Generation plays in the intro*
A dead body has been found on Place Jourdan, with two french fries pierced through each eye. Cue the CSI-Bruxelles team led by their boss, international crap accent expert, Dick Van Dyke. The lead detective turns to Dick and says "I can't see, Dick, it makes no sense". Dick removes his sunglasses and turns to the camera and says "It looks straight cut to me".
He turns to his team and says, "Let's tag it and bag it people, we've got a murder to solve - and get that mayonnaise to trace, The clock is ticking".
The coroner, Jean Claude Van Dammit, zips up the body in one of those handy black bags that's just the right size for a body. "I'm guessing time of death was when he stopped breathing but I can tell you this Dick, he didn't see what was coming - otherwise he would have ducked."
"Hmm" says Dick, thoughfully, "I hope we're not dealing with Frite-rists, just what we don't need, well not on my watch anyway".
*Cut to post mortem*
"Dick" says JC "He died of acute blunt potato trauma, and that fucking salt didn't help either. But I did find this small packet of ketchup which we may be able to get a fingerprint from. If not, I'll just throw it in the drawer with the others".
*Dicks phone rings*
"Speak" says Dick. He nods sagely and then says to JC "Keep me in the hoop JC"
"That'll be LOOP Dick" JC gently corrects Dick.
"Whatever, keep me in that too - another body has just been found and I think they may be connected"
"But how can you know that Dick?" asks a clearly amazed JC.
"Because I followed this piece of string from the dead man's toe, and there was another body at the end of it"
*Both men look seroiusly into the camera as it cuts to the advert break*
viernes, julio 27, 2007
Memories of Fatherhood
I'm really not sure I want to walk this path but, if I don't....
As far back as I remember, I was scared of you and held my breath if I had to walk in your prescence. You scared the living shit out of me. When Luke got told Darth Vader was his father, it didn't worry me, I was just confused as it meant I had another brother I hadn't been aware of.
You were always too busy, too confused and such a rage of fury waiting to be unleashed that I would never come near you. How could I? I was the awkward child that spilt ketchup on your newly pressed paper, the skinny child that wanted to read books rather than fight. I felt and saw disappointment in your eyes and it buried itself in my soul.
I was the child that didn't want to fight but, even when I did, got 'frog-marched' to the house of my victim to apologise to his parents with my 'parent' not listening to WHY I had knocked his teeth out with one punch.
Everything I did was a failure to you but you never asked why. It's simplistic enough really - take your child on one side and ask 'why are you doing this?'.
Some therapists have questioned why I didn't ask the question myself - 'erm, that will be because I was a child, you idiot'.
I didn't ask why because I didn't want to be chastised again, told I was weak again, shown the power of anger again. I didn't want to feel the strength of a bully, again. Thus, I became strong in the powers of the dark side.
Yes, I can kill stuff for no apparent reason, I can beat the crap out of anyone without asking. I can do a lot of crazy things and avoid all the rules. I am afraid of no-one....ever...
Does all this make me happy? - No, not really.
The saddest part is - the time when you were in anguish and saw life crumbling away, when all the walls of hope came tumbling down, there was one thing that stood tall. One person who stood there next to you, frightened for his very life but, there.
I suppose you choose not to remember this time, which is ok, I guess. It was pretty fucking shitty and I understand, I think.
Like Descartes once said, I think therefore I am.
*rant over - drinks some more whisky and falls off his pulpit*
As far back as I remember, I was scared of you and held my breath if I had to walk in your prescence. You scared the living shit out of me. When Luke got told Darth Vader was his father, it didn't worry me, I was just confused as it meant I had another brother I hadn't been aware of.
You were always too busy, too confused and such a rage of fury waiting to be unleashed that I would never come near you. How could I? I was the awkward child that spilt ketchup on your newly pressed paper, the skinny child that wanted to read books rather than fight. I felt and saw disappointment in your eyes and it buried itself in my soul.
I was the child that didn't want to fight but, even when I did, got 'frog-marched' to the house of my victim to apologise to his parents with my 'parent' not listening to WHY I had knocked his teeth out with one punch.
Everything I did was a failure to you but you never asked why. It's simplistic enough really - take your child on one side and ask 'why are you doing this?'.
Some therapists have questioned why I didn't ask the question myself - 'erm, that will be because I was a child, you idiot'.
I didn't ask why because I didn't want to be chastised again, told I was weak again, shown the power of anger again. I didn't want to feel the strength of a bully, again. Thus, I became strong in the powers of the dark side.
Yes, I can kill stuff for no apparent reason, I can beat the crap out of anyone without asking. I can do a lot of crazy things and avoid all the rules. I am afraid of no-one....ever...
Does all this make me happy? - No, not really.
The saddest part is - the time when you were in anguish and saw life crumbling away, when all the walls of hope came tumbling down, there was one thing that stood tall. One person who stood there next to you, frightened for his very life but, there.
I suppose you choose not to remember this time, which is ok, I guess. It was pretty fucking shitty and I understand, I think.
Like Descartes once said, I think therefore I am.
*rant over - drinks some more whisky and falls off his pulpit*
miércoles, julio 25, 2007
Invasion Of The.....
Well, I haven't actually decided yet. I know it's not Invasion of the Body Snatchers as that's just plain stupid - for a start, they didn't snatch the bodies, they just kind of used them as hosts. Invasion of the Personality Invaders would be a little bit more accurate but hardly likely to cause world-wide panic.
Invasion of The Giant Badgers from Saturn would be more frightening but slightly obvious and as badgers don't have opposable thumbs, they would be unable to use guns or grenades so it would be a very short invasion. It fact, it would be little more than a day trip really. Although, I don't actually think badgers take day trips as they don't have picnic hampers.
Therefore, I believe it's just plain aliens that are taking over planet Earth. I have come to this conclusion because I have noticed sporadic outbreaks of previously sane and logical people coming to absolutely ludicrous conclusions. Some of these outbreaks have occurred in a surreptitious manner and there can therefore only be one explanation -
THE ALIENS ARE HERE
I'm not the first to have postulated on this hypothesis - numerous authors have written books, films have been made, a typical example being Men in Black. In this film, the theory was that extra terrestrials had already been assimilated into the human population (which I concur with).
For example:-
Michael Jackson - I'm black, I'm white, oh shit I've forgotten which colour I'm supposed to be.
George Bush - Enough said really.
Margaret Thatcher - 'What'd do you mean you gave me a womans body?' *laser blast*
Gary Oldman - (The shape shifter) "He was NOT in that film" *titles roll* "Aw fuck, he was".
Jesus Christ - 'My dad is God and you can't kill me - I will live forever Bwahahahahahah'.
Tiger Woods - *Transmit to Tiger* Start playing crap, you're standing out too much *end transmit*
Joan Rivers - 'This skin doesn't fit, staple it at the back again will you?'.
I'm sure there are quite a few others I forgot.....????
Invasion of The Giant Badgers from Saturn would be more frightening but slightly obvious and as badgers don't have opposable thumbs, they would be unable to use guns or grenades so it would be a very short invasion. It fact, it would be little more than a day trip really. Although, I don't actually think badgers take day trips as they don't have picnic hampers.
Therefore, I believe it's just plain aliens that are taking over planet Earth. I have come to this conclusion because I have noticed sporadic outbreaks of previously sane and logical people coming to absolutely ludicrous conclusions. Some of these outbreaks have occurred in a surreptitious manner and there can therefore only be one explanation -
THE ALIENS ARE HERE
I'm not the first to have postulated on this hypothesis - numerous authors have written books, films have been made, a typical example being Men in Black. In this film, the theory was that extra terrestrials had already been assimilated into the human population (which I concur with).
For example:-
Michael Jackson - I'm black, I'm white, oh shit I've forgotten which colour I'm supposed to be.
George Bush - Enough said really.
Margaret Thatcher - 'What'd do you mean you gave me a womans body?' *laser blast*
Gary Oldman - (The shape shifter) "He was NOT in that film" *titles roll* "Aw fuck, he was".
Jesus Christ - 'My dad is God and you can't kill me - I will live forever Bwahahahahahah'.
Tiger Woods - *Transmit to Tiger* Start playing crap, you're standing out too much *end transmit*
Joan Rivers - 'This skin doesn't fit, staple it at the back again will you?'.
I'm sure there are quite a few others I forgot.....????
martes, julio 24, 2007
Cain and Abel - Brothers in Arms
So being really bored as god was, he made two brothers called Cain and Abel. He told Cain to go and plant stuff and Abel to look after the woolly things in the field. But Abel was scared and didn't want to go so god had to explain that sheep weren't really that scary at all. Thus god invented the first recipe book and gave it to Abel who stared in wonder.
"Cool" said Abel "Looking in wonder at the pictures" - "What's that?" he asked god.
"That's called a kebab" , answered god "and they're bloody tasty".
Off Cain and Abel wandered to take up their new roles with the message from god ringing in their ears - Don't forget it is my birthday next week, so I'll be expecting presents.
A week later, Cain presented his presents to god "So, I call that one a turnip and that one a potato" he announced. God just looked at the turnip and the potato and then to Abel.
Abel, had killed the juiciest lamb and uncovered a tray with various dishes on it :- "So", said Abel "That's Lamb korma, those are some of the kebabs you showed me, I call this one Shepherds pie (but don't tell Cain I had to nick some of his potatoes to make it) and these are lamb cutlets with a delicate rosemary dressing".
"Wow" boomed god "Nice work little dude"
"Bastard" muttered Cain under his breath. Except of course, god could hear him so god gave him a bollocking and told him to avoid jealousy.
After they had left god's abode, Cain suggested they go into the fields and look for some even better presents for god. While they were there, Cain attacked and killed Abel but god didn't notice because he was really enjoying the food that Abel had made.
When god had finished his food, he did that appearing out of nowhere thing and stood behind Cain and said "Where is your brother?"
"Er, I think he went that way to shag a sheep or something" replied Cain.
God put on his CSI (Crime Scene Investigation) outfit and made some pithy comment to the biblical camera that was doing a documentary on him.
"You killed your brother" announced god "and for that you will be accursed"
"Oh fuck" said Cain "I don't know what that is but I'm guessing it's not good". Cain's guess was right, it was not good. He had to wander the earth with a mark on his head saying that no-one could kill him and he never appeared in the documentary again.
Meanwhile, god was busy fucking about again and so Eve had another son called Seth, and the documentary followed him instead.
*Moral to the story, don't give turnips to god for presents, he doesn't like them - that's why they taste shit*
"Cool" said Abel "Looking in wonder at the pictures" - "What's that?" he asked god.
"That's called a kebab" , answered god "and they're bloody tasty".
Off Cain and Abel wandered to take up their new roles with the message from god ringing in their ears - Don't forget it is my birthday next week, so I'll be expecting presents.
A week later, Cain presented his presents to god "So, I call that one a turnip and that one a potato" he announced. God just looked at the turnip and the potato and then to Abel.
Abel, had killed the juiciest lamb and uncovered a tray with various dishes on it :- "So", said Abel "That's Lamb korma, those are some of the kebabs you showed me, I call this one Shepherds pie (but don't tell Cain I had to nick some of his potatoes to make it) and these are lamb cutlets with a delicate rosemary dressing".
"Wow" boomed god "Nice work little dude"
"Bastard" muttered Cain under his breath. Except of course, god could hear him so god gave him a bollocking and told him to avoid jealousy.
After they had left god's abode, Cain suggested they go into the fields and look for some even better presents for god. While they were there, Cain attacked and killed Abel but god didn't notice because he was really enjoying the food that Abel had made.
When god had finished his food, he did that appearing out of nowhere thing and stood behind Cain and said "Where is your brother?"
"Er, I think he went that way to shag a sheep or something" replied Cain.
God put on his CSI (Crime Scene Investigation) outfit and made some pithy comment to the biblical camera that was doing a documentary on him.
"You killed your brother" announced god "and for that you will be accursed"
"Oh fuck" said Cain "I don't know what that is but I'm guessing it's not good". Cain's guess was right, it was not good. He had to wander the earth with a mark on his head saying that no-one could kill him and he never appeared in the documentary again.
Meanwhile, god was busy fucking about again and so Eve had another son called Seth, and the documentary followed him instead.
*Moral to the story, don't give turnips to god for presents, he doesn't like them - that's why they taste shit*
domingo, julio 22, 2007
A Problem With Authority
Ooops, Goth fucked up again.
People tell Goth their problems - again. Which is ok, as Goth does that listening thing really well - apart from sounds that Goth does not like. Because Goth is trying to fucking sleep.
Alarms, that Goth didn't set, waking Goth up in the middle of the night are not good - in fact, they're bloody irritating. There are a lot of bad things which shouldn't affect Goth ... but they just do, like ....
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
What the fuck is that?
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
Goth reacts and thus becomes angry. Probably not the wisest move ever - but Goth isn't feeling particularly wise.
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
So as the alarm is going off - Goth tries to ignore it - but Goth can't - Goth has to react, somehow.
It might be someone truly in distress, or anything. Goth can't just sit there - he must become a super... something or other.
Thus, having no guns, Goth picks a 7-iron from the set of Goth Clubs he has never used, ever. He wished he had a gun, again or something but realises that guns are for amateurs.
"Pick up the biggest and hardest thing you can" - says his ego, or ID or brain or macho bullshit. But, the artistic side of Goth says "No, not a driver - show some finesse".
Goth hates golf but Goth likes the hard metal that is a golf club. 'Ha, this shit will work' - he thinks.
Goth walks out into the street with a club intending to smash the windows of whatever car is making the noise or, destroy the nose of whoever is....
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
Except, the situation is not as Goth thought. The police are there, but they have guns - and an iron golf club doesn't really work as a foil or shield against a 9mm Glock.
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
(Laying the golf club on the ground) Goth says - "Sorry, officer, I was just really angry at this shit noise and....." (realising the stupid situation he's in, Goth shuts the fuck up)
"Step away from the club, son"
"But I'm older than you" - says Goth trying to appear big and clever until his phone rings again. Goth reaches for his side holster to answer the phone therein.
"Put it down, Sir" - *pulling out gun*
"No, Dickhead - it's a phone and.... (realising he's in deeper shit than he thought and trying to improvise) she wants to talk to you" - Goth says, passing the mobile phone across to the slightly bewildered police person.
*Confused cop with gun* "Bonsoir? Vous habitez le quartier ?" blah, blah, blah
- all in French
Goth stands there, hands still in the air whilst the policeman finishes his conversation, puts his gun away and hands back the Goth Phone.
Thus, Goth is still alive, has a full set of golf clubs and has not been shot.
Hooray for mobile phones - and Goth still hasen't twatted anyone with these golf clubs.
Stupid bloody things...
People tell Goth their problems - again. Which is ok, as Goth does that listening thing really well - apart from sounds that Goth does not like. Because Goth is trying to fucking sleep.
Alarms, that Goth didn't set, waking Goth up in the middle of the night are not good - in fact, they're bloody irritating. There are a lot of bad things which shouldn't affect Goth ... but they just do, like ....
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
What the fuck is that?
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
Goth reacts and thus becomes angry. Probably not the wisest move ever - but Goth isn't feeling particularly wise.
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
So as the alarm is going off - Goth tries to ignore it - but Goth can't - Goth has to react, somehow.
It might be someone truly in distress, or anything. Goth can't just sit there - he must become a super... something or other.
Thus, having no guns, Goth picks a 7-iron from the set of Goth Clubs he has never used, ever. He wished he had a gun, again or something but realises that guns are for amateurs.
"Pick up the biggest and hardest thing you can" - says his ego, or ID or brain or macho bullshit. But, the artistic side of Goth says "No, not a driver - show some finesse".
Goth hates golf but Goth likes the hard metal that is a golf club. 'Ha, this shit will work' - he thinks.
Goth walks out into the street with a club intending to smash the windows of whatever car is making the noise or, destroy the nose of whoever is....
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
Except, the situation is not as Goth thought. The police are there, but they have guns - and an iron golf club doesn't really work as a foil or shield against a 9mm Glock.
#WOUT, WOUT, WOUT#
(Laying the golf club on the ground) Goth says - "Sorry, officer, I was just really angry at this shit noise and....." (realising the stupid situation he's in, Goth shuts the fuck up)
"Step away from the club, son"
"But I'm older than you" - says Goth trying to appear big and clever until his phone rings again. Goth reaches for his side holster to answer the phone therein.
"Put it down, Sir" - *pulling out gun*
"No, Dickhead - it's a phone and.... (realising he's in deeper shit than he thought and trying to improvise) she wants to talk to you" - Goth says, passing the mobile phone across to the slightly bewildered police person.
*Confused cop with gun* "Bonsoir? Vous habitez le quartier ?" blah, blah, blah
- all in French
Goth stands there, hands still in the air whilst the policeman finishes his conversation, puts his gun away and hands back the Goth Phone.
Thus, Goth is still alive, has a full set of golf clubs and has not been shot.
Hooray for mobile phones - and Goth still hasen't twatted anyone with these golf clubs.
Stupid bloody things...
sábado, julio 21, 2007
Harry Potter is Dead
Or not, as the case may be. I really don't care. So what if the caped one got 'wizarred' beneath his cape ?! I'm not sure what the fixation is with this bloody character - HE'S NOT FUCKING REAL. Do you get it Potterites, or Potterbots, or Potatoes, or whatever you call yourselves in your sad moments alone.
Pick a real hero, not some fictional character from an over-hyped book:-
Santa - see, now there's a dude that is real and he's cool. He flies around the world in one night distributing presents and not getting pissed on Sherry. Then he goes on holiday for the other 364 (or 365 days). And he's got Reindeer too..... ROCK !!
Jesus Christ - now, obviously I am not a religious person but, anyone who comes up with the theory of chocolate eggs, whilst getting nailed to a tree has got to be cool. He also had a funky hairdo.
Marilyn Manson - about as much musical talent as a satanic smurf - but look how he worked the press. Who'd have thought you could make so much money being christened Brian? Oh, and by wearing tights, and stupid contact lenses - and giving blow jobs to guys, when you're not a woman - ewwwwww.
Clint Eastwood - when does he die? Never. Because death is afraid of him. "Go and collect Eastwood" - "You have got to be shitting me - he's got a 44 Magnum and could blow my head - clean off"
Albert Einstein - anyone that can invent nuclear weapons and then grow a silly moustache to try and hide behind, like it's a big hedge, needs help. However, his Theory of Relativity made a lot more sense than Sigmund Freuds.
And finally, GOD
Jimi Hendrix - Don't know where to even start here. If you know what a guitar is and do not know Hendrix - I pity you. He didn't even make it to 30 before he died.
He didn't have to fuck about with a wand or ride on broomsticks to be big and clever. He admitted himself, he couldn't sing for shit - but, show me someone else who could set fire to a guitar and still play a tune and I'll show you a charred cadaver.
I probably missed someone.... maybe... perhaps...
Suggestions, when you've finished 'reading' the book of Harry Pothead (TM Zoe)???
Pick a real hero, not some fictional character from an over-hyped book:-
Santa - see, now there's a dude that is real and he's cool. He flies around the world in one night distributing presents and not getting pissed on Sherry. Then he goes on holiday for the other 364 (or 365 days). And he's got Reindeer too..... ROCK !!
Jesus Christ - now, obviously I am not a religious person but, anyone who comes up with the theory of chocolate eggs, whilst getting nailed to a tree has got to be cool. He also had a funky hairdo.
Marilyn Manson - about as much musical talent as a satanic smurf - but look how he worked the press. Who'd have thought you could make so much money being christened Brian? Oh, and by wearing tights, and stupid contact lenses - and giving blow jobs to guys, when you're not a woman - ewwwwww.
Clint Eastwood - when does he die? Never. Because death is afraid of him. "Go and collect Eastwood" - "You have got to be shitting me - he's got a 44 Magnum and could blow my head - clean off"
Albert Einstein - anyone that can invent nuclear weapons and then grow a silly moustache to try and hide behind, like it's a big hedge, needs help. However, his Theory of Relativity made a lot more sense than Sigmund Freuds.
And finally, GOD
Jimi Hendrix - Don't know where to even start here. If you know what a guitar is and do not know Hendrix - I pity you. He didn't even make it to 30 before he died.
He didn't have to fuck about with a wand or ride on broomsticks to be big and clever. He admitted himself, he couldn't sing for shit - but, show me someone else who could set fire to a guitar and still play a tune and I'll show you a charred cadaver.
I probably missed someone.... maybe... perhaps...
Suggestions, when you've finished 'reading' the book of Harry Pothead (TM Zoe)???
viernes, julio 20, 2007
Dinner Parties
Two days, two different dinner parties. I know, I shouldn't be complaining - I got invited to the bastard things, but....
Goth doesn't mind pitching up at these events, bottle of wine in hand etc, eating strange food and talking to people he's never met before, for no reason but, my fingers hurt now.
Why? Because if there is a guitar there - guess what happens? No, I don't try and eat the guitar instead of the food - I end up playing it. I don't mind that but, some of the requests are, simplistically, fucking weird. That will be the point where I say "No, but I do know this funky little Metallica number".
As the smoke settles, I can look back and marvel at what has transpired.
Dinner Party number 1 (in Portuguese). "Excuse me but the gas is still on and it's starting to get dangerous in here" - "Oh you're so funny" - "No, the fucking gas is on and it's not cooking anything". Cue, frantic window opening and lots of nervous cigarette lighting.
Conversations about Brasil abound. Music is played on the stereo - except that, the CD keeps jumping. Easy enough to fix - twat the stereo. I'm not sure quite how 'twatting' a stereo is going to make a CD jump less, but it is rather amusing to watch.
"Wine anyone?" - ok, but I'm not drinking that shite - it's off. Thus Goth has to go out and buy some more, well, L paid for it but Goth chose it. Sort of.
Dinner Party number 2 (in Spanish) - sort of. Food on plates - it kind of helps, I think, and mucho vino. And then..... the singing begins, again.
"Do you know Stairway to Heaven?" - oh, for fucks sake.
"No, do that funky 'More Than 'something' ' song".
"No, no.... I want to hear..."
"Do you know..."
But then...... something happened that wasn't supposed to - real talent took centre stage. Whilst Goth was pissing about with a blues riff, the singing started. Except it wasn't just singing - it was 'improv' at it's best.
FUCK ME - this fucking rocks!!!
"Coffee anyone?" announces the stewardess, and it's back to reality, with a very unceremonious bump.
Stiff Little Fingers ? - they bloody are now
Goth doesn't mind pitching up at these events, bottle of wine in hand etc, eating strange food and talking to people he's never met before, for no reason but, my fingers hurt now.
Why? Because if there is a guitar there - guess what happens? No, I don't try and eat the guitar instead of the food - I end up playing it. I don't mind that but, some of the requests are, simplistically, fucking weird. That will be the point where I say "No, but I do know this funky little Metallica number".
As the smoke settles, I can look back and marvel at what has transpired.
Dinner Party number 1 (in Portuguese). "Excuse me but the gas is still on and it's starting to get dangerous in here" - "Oh you're so funny" - "No, the fucking gas is on and it's not cooking anything". Cue, frantic window opening and lots of nervous cigarette lighting.
Conversations about Brasil abound. Music is played on the stereo - except that, the CD keeps jumping. Easy enough to fix - twat the stereo. I'm not sure quite how 'twatting' a stereo is going to make a CD jump less, but it is rather amusing to watch.
"Wine anyone?" - ok, but I'm not drinking that shite - it's off. Thus Goth has to go out and buy some more, well, L paid for it but Goth chose it. Sort of.
Dinner Party number 2 (in Spanish) - sort of. Food on plates - it kind of helps, I think, and mucho vino. And then..... the singing begins, again.
"Do you know Stairway to Heaven?" - oh, for fucks sake.
"No, do that funky 'More Than 'something' ' song".
"No, no.... I want to hear..."
"Do you know..."
But then...... something happened that wasn't supposed to - real talent took centre stage. Whilst Goth was pissing about with a blues riff, the singing started. Except it wasn't just singing - it was 'improv' at it's best.
FUCK ME - this fucking rocks!!!
"Coffee anyone?" announces the stewardess, and it's back to reality, with a very unceremonious bump.
Stiff Little Fingers ? - they bloody are now
jueves, julio 19, 2007
The Final Countdown
Goth waited patiently without allowing any emotion to change his stance. As the light flickered behind him, emboldened by the shimmering reflections from passing insects, no sign of emotion appeared to traverse his countenance. He knew that the time had come - a time for heroes, a moment to stand up and be counted.
It did not seem so long ago that he had stood in that very position, but with a very dismissive attitude. As an immortal, worldly things had not really been a major concern but now, even he, was worried. 'How easily things change' - he thought.
With the sun behind him, Goth watched as his shadow was distorted by the light and his trepidation mounted. The doors opened with a creak that spoke of pleasures past and maybe pleasures to come but, hidden behind the pleasure was pain, lots of pain.
A wind of change caught in Goth's mouth, eneveloping his very being. He knew that the time was now, that the audience was watching his very breathing - looking for a sign of weakness. But, Goth stood strong. He knew that by facing the demon that had tried to take his life was the only way forward - the only way to survive.
The light ricocheted off the dust and through the haze, Goth could see his nemesis. Standing, like nothing had ever transpired, waiting, wanting, expectant.
Goth braced himself and stood tall - with the sun behind his back. The scars were still raw and painful but, Goth wanted to exorcise the demons - to become whole again.
Slowly, as time itself seemed to slow down - Goth started to walk forward. Step by step, he advanced, as the watching women held their breath in awe.
Turning slowly, he acknowledged the women that had come to see his final act of piety. The ultimate sacrifice was within his grasp.
Goth tilted his head to one side, briefly acknowledging the women who had come to support him and then looked toward his tormentor before saying in a very strong voice....
"Alright, you bastard bike - do that shit again and you're a biscuit tin !!!!!"
With an elf-like motion, Goth mounted the twatty bike and rode away into the sunset.
It did not seem so long ago that he had stood in that very position, but with a very dismissive attitude. As an immortal, worldly things had not really been a major concern but now, even he, was worried. 'How easily things change' - he thought.
With the sun behind him, Goth watched as his shadow was distorted by the light and his trepidation mounted. The doors opened with a creak that spoke of pleasures past and maybe pleasures to come but, hidden behind the pleasure was pain, lots of pain.
A wind of change caught in Goth's mouth, eneveloping his very being. He knew that the time was now, that the audience was watching his very breathing - looking for a sign of weakness. But, Goth stood strong. He knew that by facing the demon that had tried to take his life was the only way forward - the only way to survive.
The light ricocheted off the dust and through the haze, Goth could see his nemesis. Standing, like nothing had ever transpired, waiting, wanting, expectant.
Goth braced himself and stood tall - with the sun behind his back. The scars were still raw and painful but, Goth wanted to exorcise the demons - to become whole again.
Slowly, as time itself seemed to slow down - Goth started to walk forward. Step by step, he advanced, as the watching women held their breath in awe.
Turning slowly, he acknowledged the women that had come to see his final act of piety. The ultimate sacrifice was within his grasp.
Goth tilted his head to one side, briefly acknowledging the women who had come to support him and then looked toward his tormentor before saying in a very strong voice....
"Alright, you bastard bike - do that shit again and you're a biscuit tin !!!!!"
With an elf-like motion, Goth mounted the twatty bike and rode away into the sunset.
miércoles, julio 18, 2007
Fuck You - I Won't Do What You Tell Me
When I'm feeling sad, or lonely, or weak in any way, I may be tempted to listen to 'your' superficial bullshit and agree that what you say is correct and that I am wrong. But, the strange thing is, I only put up, or go along with this shit, when I feel weak and controllable myself.
FUCK YOU - I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME
I make mistakes, it's how you learn, for fuck's sake. I could quote loads of relevant bullshit from philosophers throughout time but, what would be the point? You wouldn't listen to the shit anyway. So listen to what I say....
FUCK YOU - I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME
If I want to fuck up, I will do so. Don't patronise me with your sanctimonious crap. Don't pour your demons into my drink. If you want to feel shit, fine, fuck off and do it in your space.
For so many years, I have felt guilty because I wasn't doing the 'right' things. 'Right' by whose definition? If you don't like what I do, get the fuck off my planet. Your idea of life sucks shit anyway.
I'm a very nice person as I take all my rage, my anger, my insecurities and hopelessness on myself, and crucify myself accordingly - not some innocent by-stander. I don't drop it onto another person without warning.
You want to be a wanker? Excellent idea - the gene pool needs you about as much as toast needs soap.
So, to borrow a phrase from Rage Against The Machine....
FUCK YOU - I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME
And if you don't like it, not my fucking problem. Get a life, that doesn't involve me - it's not that bloody complex.
Am I angry? Not even fucking close - you really don't want to see me when I'm angry. This is me being thoughtful - something you couldn't do if your worthless life depended on it.
*picks up his bottle of JD and wanders off to pick on - NO ONE*
(and, if you've read as far as this, I will share my drink with you - when I've calmed down a bit)
FUCK YOU - I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME
I make mistakes, it's how you learn, for fuck's sake. I could quote loads of relevant bullshit from philosophers throughout time but, what would be the point? You wouldn't listen to the shit anyway. So listen to what I say....
FUCK YOU - I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME
If I want to fuck up, I will do so. Don't patronise me with your sanctimonious crap. Don't pour your demons into my drink. If you want to feel shit, fine, fuck off and do it in your space.
For so many years, I have felt guilty because I wasn't doing the 'right' things. 'Right' by whose definition? If you don't like what I do, get the fuck off my planet. Your idea of life sucks shit anyway.
I'm a very nice person as I take all my rage, my anger, my insecurities and hopelessness on myself, and crucify myself accordingly - not some innocent by-stander. I don't drop it onto another person without warning.
You want to be a wanker? Excellent idea - the gene pool needs you about as much as toast needs soap.
So, to borrow a phrase from Rage Against The Machine....
FUCK YOU - I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME
And if you don't like it, not my fucking problem. Get a life, that doesn't involve me - it's not that bloody complex.
Am I angry? Not even fucking close - you really don't want to see me when I'm angry. This is me being thoughtful - something you couldn't do if your worthless life depended on it.
*picks up his bottle of JD and wanders off to pick on - NO ONE*
(and, if you've read as far as this, I will share my drink with you - when I've calmed down a bit)
martes, julio 17, 2007
What a Stunt, Goth
Simplistically, my task was rather straightforward. Mariposa wanted a bicycle for her birthday, so I went and I bought one for her.
Siempre - Done..
No issue - I just buy the bike and then Mariposa has a 'Happy Birthday' and everything is fine. But, Mariposa has to complicate matters - Goth has to get a bike too. Who will she ride with otherwise ?
Shit - I didn't realise this was turning into 'Smokey and the Bandit'.
Hence, we end up with two bikes (neither of which have engines) - far too much un-like 'Goth in 60 Seconds'. We could have stolen Ferraris or Aston Martins or anything but, no, it has to be bikes.
So, now Goth has 2 bikes - with pedals, to feel free like the wind, when you're going downhill, and get taxis back uphill or the Metro, or anything that doesn't involve effort.
Except, Mariposa wants to play with her new toy.
But, she cannot stay in a straight line, or turn, or signal or ride.
Shit, I know I can't swim so, I don't go near water.
However, I perservere, as one does with people they love.
*"FUCKING HELL"* ------- CRASH -
(That will be Goth going over the handlebars)
Hmmm, that will be Goth proving he can't fly for shit then (but saving Mariposa from looking like a raspberry that's been twatted with a hammer).
And then the blood flows. But that's ok, I have at least 8 pints before I run out.
I tried the judo roll, but the shit happened too fast.
So now Goth is reduced to C3PO status - walking like a spastic and muttering "I am fluent in 6 million dialects master (which all involve alcohol) - R U Pissed 2? is that you?"
Space cadets, Goth can provide you with the proof - Bloggers you have heard of have seen and stared at these wounds.
It fucking hurt.... a lot.
*wanders off looking for the rest of his elbows*
Siempre - Done..
No issue - I just buy the bike and then Mariposa has a 'Happy Birthday' and everything is fine. But, Mariposa has to complicate matters - Goth has to get a bike too. Who will she ride with otherwise ?
Shit - I didn't realise this was turning into 'Smokey and the Bandit'.
Hence, we end up with two bikes (neither of which have engines) - far too much un-like 'Goth in 60 Seconds'. We could have stolen Ferraris or Aston Martins or anything but, no, it has to be bikes.
So, now Goth has 2 bikes - with pedals, to feel free like the wind, when you're going downhill, and get taxis back uphill or the Metro, or anything that doesn't involve effort.
Except, Mariposa wants to play with her new toy.
But, she cannot stay in a straight line, or turn, or signal or ride.
Shit, I know I can't swim so, I don't go near water.
However, I perservere, as one does with people they love.
*"FUCKING HELL"* ------- CRASH -
(That will be Goth going over the handlebars)
Hmmm, that will be Goth proving he can't fly for shit then (but saving Mariposa from looking like a raspberry that's been twatted with a hammer).
And then the blood flows. But that's ok, I have at least 8 pints before I run out.
I tried the judo roll, but the shit happened too fast.
So now Goth is reduced to C3PO status - walking like a spastic and muttering "I am fluent in 6 million dialects master (which all involve alcohol) - R U Pissed 2? is that you?"
Space cadets, Goth can provide you with the proof - Bloggers you have heard of have seen and stared at these wounds.
It fucking hurt.... a lot.
*wanders off looking for the rest of his elbows*
lunes, julio 16, 2007
Sodom All and Go Tomorrow
So, there was this city called Sodom, where nobody cared what they did. They just kind of did what they wanted and if anyone questioned it the people said "Sod Off" or "Sodom all". Sometimes, they even said "Up your arse mate" which was unfortunate as the poeple weren't very educated and took it literally, which is where the word sodomy comes from. I know this because Genesis told me, back when Peter Gabriel the Arch Angel was still in charge.
Anyhoot, this city was by Jordan, which makes sense because she's a stupid tart also. And, there were a lot of people who lived there and one of them was called Lot - which is a bit of a silly name beacause if someone shouted "Oy you lot, over here" and a crowd ran over, he would think loads of people had the same name. But he'd be wrong see, because there is or was only one Lot and he had a number, 42 - that was his lot number.
While Lot was busy inventing new games like the Lot-terry, god was busy cursing the fact that the city was so rancid and not as he'd designed it at all. People were having sex and everything and that wasn't part of god's plan at all - I mean he'd given people reproductive organs to have sex and now they couldn't even find the right hole. In fact, they even invented the Sodomite sandwich, which really annoyed god as he hadn't invented Marmite yet.
Thus god decided to do something about it and he got his best angels, Chas and Dave, to go and find 50 decent people in the city. So, the angels disguised themselves as a pair of cockney twits with matching hats and beards and arrived in the city with a piano, as you do. Unfortunately, as no one knew what the fuck they were talking about, no one came to their gig, apart from Lot, who was working behind the bar that night so he had to be there.
Chas and Dave returned and god asked if they'd found 50 decent people and they said "No, but we know a song about a man who was a dustman".
God slapped his head and said "For fucks sake, go back and find 40 then". So off went Chas and Dave again but when they returned all they could say was that they now knew a song about rabbits.
Backwards and forwards this went on until god was getting really bored and decided to destroy the city. Chas and Dave scampered off to find Lot and tell him to "run away, run away" - a bit like teletubbies (which god had invented but he didn't think anyone would understand yet). The angels liked Lot as it was easy to rhyme things with Lot and they weren't very good songwriters at all. It also helped that he gave them free beer.
"Just don't look back" said the angels "as god's planning on using one of those nuclear bombs he just invented, and although the mushroom looks really fabtastic, without 7 million factor suncream and some shit hot sunglasses - you're toast mate".
Lot thought about this, well he appeared to be thinking about it but he was actually translating it into an intelligeable language. The run away bit sounded interesting though as he was fed up with being touched up in the street, so he found the only camel that hadn't been bummed and made a swift escape.
The angels, Chas and Dave looked as the dust cloud disappeared over the horizon and were happy and so made up a new song...
"Our Lot's done a runner, he's on a camels back,
He is so really lucky, his bum will stay intact,
Lots bot is a safe one, we made sure of that,
We traded is his tea towel and now he's got a hat......"
At which point god sent a thunderbolt of lightning and turned them into cockney toast.
Anyhoot, this city was by Jordan, which makes sense because she's a stupid tart also. And, there were a lot of people who lived there and one of them was called Lot - which is a bit of a silly name beacause if someone shouted "Oy you lot, over here" and a crowd ran over, he would think loads of people had the same name. But he'd be wrong see, because there is or was only one Lot and he had a number, 42 - that was his lot number.
While Lot was busy inventing new games like the Lot-terry, god was busy cursing the fact that the city was so rancid and not as he'd designed it at all. People were having sex and everything and that wasn't part of god's plan at all - I mean he'd given people reproductive organs to have sex and now they couldn't even find the right hole. In fact, they even invented the Sodomite sandwich, which really annoyed god as he hadn't invented Marmite yet.
Thus god decided to do something about it and he got his best angels, Chas and Dave, to go and find 50 decent people in the city. So, the angels disguised themselves as a pair of cockney twits with matching hats and beards and arrived in the city with a piano, as you do. Unfortunately, as no one knew what the fuck they were talking about, no one came to their gig, apart from Lot, who was working behind the bar that night so he had to be there.
Chas and Dave returned and god asked if they'd found 50 decent people and they said "No, but we know a song about a man who was a dustman".
God slapped his head and said "For fucks sake, go back and find 40 then". So off went Chas and Dave again but when they returned all they could say was that they now knew a song about rabbits.
Backwards and forwards this went on until god was getting really bored and decided to destroy the city. Chas and Dave scampered off to find Lot and tell him to "run away, run away" - a bit like teletubbies (which god had invented but he didn't think anyone would understand yet). The angels liked Lot as it was easy to rhyme things with Lot and they weren't very good songwriters at all. It also helped that he gave them free beer.
"Just don't look back" said the angels "as god's planning on using one of those nuclear bombs he just invented, and although the mushroom looks really fabtastic, without 7 million factor suncream and some shit hot sunglasses - you're toast mate".
Lot thought about this, well he appeared to be thinking about it but he was actually translating it into an intelligeable language. The run away bit sounded interesting though as he was fed up with being touched up in the street, so he found the only camel that hadn't been bummed and made a swift escape.
The angels, Chas and Dave looked as the dust cloud disappeared over the horizon and were happy and so made up a new song...
"Our Lot's done a runner, he's on a camels back,
He is so really lucky, his bum will stay intact,
Lots bot is a safe one, we made sure of that,
We traded is his tea towel and now he's got a hat......"
At which point god sent a thunderbolt of lightning and turned them into cockney toast.
domingo, julio 15, 2007
Weird Shit, Again
No, not antics on the toilet. More to do with what happens when I check who is linking to, or visiting Goth World.
FIRSTLY:
1) I have never prostituted or put adverts on my site
2) There are no pictures of naked monkeys shagging nuns anywhere here
3) I have never asked for a link from anyone elses site
4) China, fuck off, you're shit - and Korea, North Korea and South Korea
So, checking to see which freaks, sorry, lovely weirdos, are linking to Goth World (thanks to that Technorati doofer) I find out that:-
I have been entered for Post of the Week - I don't even know what this shit is. Post of whose week?
(This is exactly how I ended up in that dumb-arse Big Blogger House.)
I got awarded a Thinking Blog Award which is complete bullshit, hence why I had to create the Thinking Goth Award, of which I'm particulary proud. I really like the entry from Princess from ... who wants to have sex (with me) - ROCK.
Don't fucking care that she didn't read the rules properly, anyone offering free sex gets to pass GO and collect $200 (except they don't get the money otherwise it wouldn't be free - see).
When I took the piss out of Jazz, on account of it being shit, I made the headlines of This is Jazz - laughed? I had to sellotape my guts in - NICE.
Made a University Degree Course subject. Yup, go figure. According to the University of Lincoln , this is a fine example of blogging.... bollocks. It's just me tripping.
Critique My Blog - why? I never asked you to but thanks anyway.
And thus, onto the latest fucking freaks to land in Goth World coutesy of Google (you really need to check your algorithms you work shy fops):-
(This is where the real freaks land from.....)
People searching for:-
The last link might freak you out a little, as it was entered in Chinese - pervy little twats. See, Goth knows Chinese (well, he can read the bloody menu).
Anyhow, the point is -
THERE ARE NO PICTURES ON THIS FUCKING SITE
I know I should put the disclaimer at the top, but just think how many innocent people I have saved from these freaks by distracting them long enough that they get bored.
Hooray for Goth World -
Saviour of women, children and small furry animals.
FIRSTLY:
1) I have never prostituted or put adverts on my site
2) There are no pictures of naked monkeys shagging nuns anywhere here
3) I have never asked for a link from anyone elses site
4) China, fuck off, you're shit - and Korea, North Korea and South Korea
So, checking to see which freaks, sorry, lovely weirdos, are linking to Goth World (thanks to that Technorati doofer) I find out that:-
I have been entered for Post of the Week - I don't even know what this shit is. Post of whose week?
(This is exactly how I ended up in that dumb-arse Big Blogger House.)
I got awarded a Thinking Blog Award which is complete bullshit, hence why I had to create the Thinking Goth Award, of which I'm particulary proud. I really like the entry from Princess from ... who wants to have sex (with me) - ROCK.
Don't fucking care that she didn't read the rules properly, anyone offering free sex gets to pass GO and collect $200 (except they don't get the money otherwise it wouldn't be free - see).
When I took the piss out of Jazz, on account of it being shit, I made the headlines of This is Jazz - laughed? I had to sellotape my guts in - NICE.
Made a University Degree Course subject. Yup, go figure. According to the University of Lincoln , this is a fine example of blogging.... bollocks. It's just me tripping.
Critique My Blog - why? I never asked you to but thanks anyway.
And thus, onto the latest fucking freaks to land in Goth World coutesy of Google (you really need to check your algorithms you work shy fops):-
(This is where the real freaks land from.....)
People searching for:-
The last link might freak you out a little, as it was entered in Chinese - pervy little twats. See, Goth knows Chinese (well, he can read the bloody menu).
Anyhow, the point is -
THERE ARE NO PICTURES ON THIS FUCKING SITE
I know I should put the disclaimer at the top, but just think how many innocent people I have saved from these freaks by distracting them long enough that they get bored.
Hooray for Goth World -
Saviour of women, children and small furry animals.
sábado, julio 14, 2007
Be Cool - Like Mariposa
Following on from yesterdays post about idiotic women, someone asked to see the list of women I admire. This is quite easy to do today, as it is number 1's burthday today.
Yes, Mariposa has finally turned 21 (again) and so, as she sits on the sofa getting her breath back (you may recall the birthday present was/is a new bike) which she has been playing with and consequently, worn herself out. A list of women I admire - starting with Cuteness Personified - the birthday girl.
Happy Birthday my love XXX
Other women I admire and why:-
Rosa Parks - almost single handedly ending oppression of the blacks in America by refusing to give up her seat in the 'white'section. She said something far smarter than "Fuck off, I got here first", unfortunately but, RESPECT.
Mother Theresa - for a shrivelled old prune, and a nun to boot, she did more for sick children than anyone I know of, and without using the media like a certain dead princess.
Cleopatra - fucked the Roman Empire using only her ass, ooops, sorry, asps. Of course the fact that she was beautiful and really good in bed probably helped too.
Boudica - Queen of the Celts and another one who kicked the Romans arse. Not that I have anything against Italians and their puffy straight roads but if we'd have listened to them, we never would have had the RAC Rally.
Halle Berry - not because of the obvious that she is entirely fucking gorgeous with a stunning body, but because she was the first female African American to win an oscar for best actress - oh alright, and she's got gorgeous tits.
Marie Curie - for being dead clever out of us. 2 Nobel prizes in different fields, her own foundation, been on bank notes, stamps and has elements named after her. She wasn't very pretty, but with a brain like that you don't need to be.
*Update* Added to the list (again, read the comments for details) are: Emily Pankhurst, Hayley Mills(just for Cream), Peach, Bettie Page and Girl With a One Track Mind
I know I've missed a lot but I have to leave you all something to do, i.e. who did I leave off ??
Yes, Mariposa has finally turned 21 (again) and so, as she sits on the sofa getting her breath back (you may recall the birthday present was/is a new bike) which she has been playing with and consequently, worn herself out. A list of women I admire - starting with Cuteness Personified - the birthday girl.
Happy Birthday my love XXX
Other women I admire and why:-
Rosa Parks - almost single handedly ending oppression of the blacks in America by refusing to give up her seat in the 'white'section. She said something far smarter than "Fuck off, I got here first", unfortunately but, RESPECT.
Mother Theresa - for a shrivelled old prune, and a nun to boot, she did more for sick children than anyone I know of, and without using the media like a certain dead princess.
Cleopatra - fucked the Roman Empire using only her ass, ooops, sorry, asps. Of course the fact that she was beautiful and really good in bed probably helped too.
Boudica - Queen of the Celts and another one who kicked the Romans arse. Not that I have anything against Italians and their puffy straight roads but if we'd have listened to them, we never would have had the RAC Rally.
Halle Berry - not because of the obvious that she is entirely fucking gorgeous with a stunning body, but because she was the first female African American to win an oscar for best actress - oh alright, and she's got gorgeous tits.
Marie Curie - for being dead clever out of us. 2 Nobel prizes in different fields, her own foundation, been on bank notes, stamps and has elements named after her. She wasn't very pretty, but with a brain like that you don't need to be.
*Update* Added to the list (again, read the comments for details) are: Emily Pankhurst, Hayley Mills(just for Cream), Peach, Bettie Page and Girl With a One Track Mind
I know I've missed a lot but I have to leave you all something to do, i.e. who did I leave off ??
viernes, julio 13, 2007
Fuck It Like Beckham
Now, bizarrely enough, I have met the little scoundrel although, fortunately enough, not his twiglet of a wife. Unless she was hiding in a bowl of pretzels before she decided Old Trafford wasn't big enough for her ego.
He was genuinely nice and at that time, a bloody good football player. Even mini-Goth had the pleasure to see him play.
Then, the media took over - again. Becks to start for LA Galaxy, maybe, Posh goes shopping in Beverly Hills - oh, and in other news, 300 people died in Iraq.
Therefore, I have decided to dedicate this Friday the 13th, to stupid women in the news (ie, there for no fucking reason) - bearing in mind that tomorrow I will be focussing on an important woman as it's her birthday.
Posh Spice - I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want - it's for you to shut the fuck up, eat some food and learn Spanish you docile stick insect.
Paris Hilton - don't even know where to start with this lame-arse excuse for a person. Coming out of jail, she said "I want to help other people" - yeah, right, nothing to do with getting rogered with a carrot in the exclusive section whilst in prison then - but let's have a million dollar party later whilst people die in Africa.
Britney Spears - ok, starts with the Disney club - wearing Mickey Mouse ears - moving to "I'll be shaving my head" for no good reason. I hate to say that Justin Timberlake is intelligent, but getting the fuck away from Britney seems clever enough to me.
Madonna - 'Get into the Groove...' - no, get into the crosshairs bitch and stop wriggling about, it makes you harder to hit. Fucking about, shaking your tits and pretending to shoot foxes and stuff. Give the foxes guns and then let's see how bloody clever you are.
Oprah Winfrey - handing out advice to women on how to lose weight, whilst scoffing the weight of Senegal in chocolate. "This week, I'll be fat" and then getting thin in 2 weeks, thanks to surgery that no-one else can afford. Look, fat, thin, fat, thin etc.
Pamela Anderson - yes, she'll be the talentless bitch with inflatable tits most famous for Baywatch and giving blowjobs that were broadcast on the Internet. If you didn't want the shit broadcast, why film yourself doing it? DUH
So, who else should be on the list?
*Update - July 14th* - the list below have been added to the Whores Of Shame but you'll have to bugger off and read the comments to see the reasons
Heather Mills, Royal Ségolène, Jade Goody, 'Doctor' Gillian McKeith, Nicole Ritchie, Danielle Lloyd, Anna Nicole Smith, Bush twins - Jenna and Not-Jenna, Naomi Campbell, Tara Palmer Tomkinson, Jackie Collins, Jackie Stallone, Katie Price, Tamara Beckwith
(ps I admire lots of women, just not these useless waste of human resources)
He was genuinely nice and at that time, a bloody good football player. Even mini-Goth had the pleasure to see him play.
Then, the media took over - again. Becks to start for LA Galaxy, maybe, Posh goes shopping in Beverly Hills - oh, and in other news, 300 people died in Iraq.
Therefore, I have decided to dedicate this Friday the 13th, to stupid women in the news (ie, there for no fucking reason) - bearing in mind that tomorrow I will be focussing on an important woman as it's her birthday.
Posh Spice - I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want - it's for you to shut the fuck up, eat some food and learn Spanish you docile stick insect.
Paris Hilton - don't even know where to start with this lame-arse excuse for a person. Coming out of jail, she said "I want to help other people" - yeah, right, nothing to do with getting rogered with a carrot in the exclusive section whilst in prison then - but let's have a million dollar party later whilst people die in Africa.
Britney Spears - ok, starts with the Disney club - wearing Mickey Mouse ears - moving to "I'll be shaving my head" for no good reason. I hate to say that Justin Timberlake is intelligent, but getting the fuck away from Britney seems clever enough to me.
Madonna - 'Get into the Groove...' - no, get into the crosshairs bitch and stop wriggling about, it makes you harder to hit. Fucking about, shaking your tits and pretending to shoot foxes and stuff. Give the foxes guns and then let's see how bloody clever you are.
Oprah Winfrey - handing out advice to women on how to lose weight, whilst scoffing the weight of Senegal in chocolate. "This week, I'll be fat" and then getting thin in 2 weeks, thanks to surgery that no-one else can afford. Look, fat, thin, fat, thin etc.
Pamela Anderson - yes, she'll be the talentless bitch with inflatable tits most famous for Baywatch and giving blowjobs that were broadcast on the Internet. If you didn't want the shit broadcast, why film yourself doing it? DUH
So, who else should be on the list?
*Update - July 14th* - the list below have been added to the Whores Of Shame but you'll have to bugger off and read the comments to see the reasons
Heather Mills, Royal Ségolène, Jade Goody, 'Doctor' Gillian McKeith, Nicole Ritchie, Danielle Lloyd, Anna Nicole Smith, Bush twins - Jenna and Not-Jenna, Naomi Campbell, Tara Palmer Tomkinson, Jackie Collins, Jackie Stallone, Katie Price, Tamara Beckwith
(ps I admire lots of women, just not these useless waste of human resources)
jueves, julio 12, 2007
A Thinking Goth Award?
What a fucking stupid idea but apparently, I got nominated by Calamity Jane for the Thinking Blogger Award. No wonder she took the name Calamity, it explains a lot - it's plain silly, I mean who the fuck expects me to think?
Except I do and so I looked it up (the Finky Bugger thing) and it was created on February 11th - now, unless I hit my head really fucking hard, it's not February anymore. In fact, it's not even fucking close.
Anyway, people don't visit Goth World for thoughtful insights, they come for a brand of lunacy which people normally have to take drugs to attain. I don't think, generally - it makes my head hurt....or was that falling off my 'Goth Bike'??
Anyway, the quote was :-
"Goth - No-one could accuse our lad of posting any old tat on his blog. It's definitely a blog for thinkers, why I often sit and think, 'Goth, what the hell are you smoking?' :-)"
Which actually makes an awful lot of sense really - except, it wasn't me smoking the shit.
However, as I fell off my Goth Bike and hit my head, I am going to follow the rules of Thinking Bollocks - apart from the one about putting silly stickers on your blog. I like the one about passing this shite onto 5 other people/weirdos though and thus, I nominate the following, for the Thinking Goth Award, which will expire in about 2 days or when I get bored shitless of the concept.
GOTHIC RULES
- Nominate 5 sites that only make sense after several drinks or spliffs
- Do NOT send me links to them, I don't care
- Feel free to nominate yourself as many times as you want
- If you nominate yourself less than zero, you are shit at maths
- You have explain why you ended up there, or even read it
- There will be no voting or any of that meaningless crap
- You have to explain why you are Gothimating the site
GOTHIMATIONS
My Thinking Spot - because she makes me cry with her honesty and I cannot pollute her comments with my inane bullshit
Boob Pencil - anyone collecting pencils under her tits must have something really interesting to do.... or not
Mr Farty - anyone that delights in the ignition of their own emissions is always handy in a dark tunnel
This Old Broad - anyone that old who still wants to be a groupie must be SO good in bed
Princess Diaries - anyone that cute who is not getting sex on a regular basis must be, well, missing something
So, in conclusion, you can take no notice of this shit at all. Pass it on if you want to but don't blame me (and do not bloody link back to me either, I'm busy catching spiders)
*lights a cigarette and promptly falls off his bike*
Except I do and so I looked it up (the Finky Bugger thing) and it was created on February 11th - now, unless I hit my head really fucking hard, it's not February anymore. In fact, it's not even fucking close.
Anyway, people don't visit Goth World for thoughtful insights, they come for a brand of lunacy which people normally have to take drugs to attain. I don't think, generally - it makes my head hurt....or was that falling off my 'Goth Bike'??
Anyway, the quote was :-
"Goth - No-one could accuse our lad of posting any old tat on his blog. It's definitely a blog for thinkers, why I often sit and think, 'Goth, what the hell are you smoking?' :-)"
Which actually makes an awful lot of sense really - except, it wasn't me smoking the shit.
However, as I fell off my Goth Bike and hit my head, I am going to follow the rules of Thinking Bollocks - apart from the one about putting silly stickers on your blog. I like the one about passing this shite onto 5 other people/weirdos though and thus, I nominate the following, for the Thinking Goth Award, which will expire in about 2 days or when I get bored shitless of the concept.
GOTHIC RULES
- Nominate 5 sites that only make sense after several drinks or spliffs
- Do NOT send me links to them, I don't care
- Feel free to nominate yourself as many times as you want
- If you nominate yourself less than zero, you are shit at maths
- You have explain why you ended up there, or even read it
- There will be no voting or any of that meaningless crap
- You have to explain why you are Gothimating the site
GOTHIMATIONS
My Thinking Spot - because she makes me cry with her honesty and I cannot pollute her comments with my inane bullshit
Boob Pencil - anyone collecting pencils under her tits must have something really interesting to do.... or not
Mr Farty - anyone that delights in the ignition of their own emissions is always handy in a dark tunnel
This Old Broad - anyone that old who still wants to be a groupie must be SO good in bed
Princess Diaries - anyone that cute who is not getting sex on a regular basis must be, well, missing something
So, in conclusion, you can take no notice of this shit at all. Pass it on if you want to but don't blame me (and do not bloody link back to me either, I'm busy catching spiders)
*lights a cigarette and promptly falls off his bike*
miércoles, julio 11, 2007
Guest Post by Trainee Gothess
Todays Guest Posting, from a friend who I hadn't considered Gothic - until now.
*sits down, lights a cigarette, pours some Jack Daniels and waits to give her a hug afterwards*
I will be Guest Goth. My cheery exterior is covered by a very dark and maudlin human with far too many feelings. Since I told Goth I would one day write something and yesterday was absolutely the gothiest I have to offer as of present, I will tell the tale.
It started out like any other desperate day to get money. I clean my best friend's apartment to make it through the week. Ouch already. My profession is a respected one but consists of never doing what you were trained to to do or have the talent for in the first place but dealing constantly with people who like to blame all their emotional problems on you, paperwork and government jabber and bullshit.
Then I got the phone call.
I have two friends very deep in to the S&M scene. They don't know each other, and I don't tend to talk about it unless they volunteer the information. As I have enough pain inside I don't feel the need to inflict it on my outside and am a bit of a fluffy bunny when it comes to wanting to hurt others, so anyway, I don't get it.
One of these lovely young ladies has been having an affair with some semi-famous highly respected big wig in London. He flies her all over the continent to S&M hot-spots to do, well, to make her submit. She has been doing this for years. She woke up a few months ago (ironically same story with the second friend) and realized that she couldn't have love and S&M (I didn't ask, still don't get it) but had to chose between her chosen lifestyle and her desire to be loved.
She didn't decided soon enough. Yesterday she died during a session. No one's fault, just the risk factor.
Afterwards I go to see Goth in a bar. I down a few pints talk about evil people. I am feeling, very obvious to Goth, a bit edgy (sorry, dear).
My day continues with the love of my life. It is going quite well despite me feeling extremely disappointed in my work, my life, my love history and now in mourning.
See, I had given up not so long ago on love. I just thought I needed too much, or it wasn't in my cards, and I have no little goths to share that kind of love with. Then I met this L.O.M.L.
I still live with my ex. Shit, I know. Horrible for the LOML I know, shitty I know.....strangled by need of cash I am stuck.
Next week was to be a week the LOML and I were to spend together. All week. Every morning. Every day. I was so happy.
Long story short, one of his friends thinks I am shit. I don't really know why. I know what he says, but I really liked him at one point.
Anyway LOML started telling me what this guy had said, feeling totally hurt and like my skin had been taken off with sandpaper he started telling me I was manipulative and this friend of his said their relationship had deteriorated since me. I left. Completely hurt, totally confused and carrying death on my shoulders.
I went home to someone who doesn't love me.
During a text war of sorts I run out of credits. LOML calls to tell me to f%% off and he is deleting my number. Heartbreak.
I go to the corner of my bathroom and curl up in the corner and cry. I mean the can't stop kind. The kind where your face burns and your head aches and it just won't end.
A small spider climbs up on me and in my fury I bat him off and crush his little body on a black tile. Shocked by my own action and out and out speed I examine the situation and feel immediate guilt. The arms are sticking out from the crushed center frail and ghostly transparent. I wished I had eight arms to hold me.
I wished I hadn't killed him. He had been the only one touching me and I punished him.
I scooped up his sculpture of legs on an envelope and took him to my olive tree and buried him in the earth of the pot. I told the remains that there were things in this life you couldn't take back and now have to live with.
I returned to the bathroom wrapped myself in a white towel as I thought I might need it to absorb all my tears. I dreamed of the love of my life, and money and death and awoke the same way I had fallen asleep, in tears.
I got up and pushed at the earth in the pot hoping it might make the nest of tiny arms more comfortable.
*Offers a drink and a shoulder to cry on*
*sits down, lights a cigarette, pours some Jack Daniels and waits to give her a hug afterwards*
I will be Guest Goth. My cheery exterior is covered by a very dark and maudlin human with far too many feelings. Since I told Goth I would one day write something and yesterday was absolutely the gothiest I have to offer as of present, I will tell the tale.
It started out like any other desperate day to get money. I clean my best friend's apartment to make it through the week. Ouch already. My profession is a respected one but consists of never doing what you were trained to to do or have the talent for in the first place but dealing constantly with people who like to blame all their emotional problems on you, paperwork and government jabber and bullshit.
Then I got the phone call.
I have two friends very deep in to the S&M scene. They don't know each other, and I don't tend to talk about it unless they volunteer the information. As I have enough pain inside I don't feel the need to inflict it on my outside and am a bit of a fluffy bunny when it comes to wanting to hurt others, so anyway, I don't get it.
One of these lovely young ladies has been having an affair with some semi-famous highly respected big wig in London. He flies her all over the continent to S&M hot-spots to do, well, to make her submit. She has been doing this for years. She woke up a few months ago (ironically same story with the second friend) and realized that she couldn't have love and S&M (I didn't ask, still don't get it) but had to chose between her chosen lifestyle and her desire to be loved.
She didn't decided soon enough. Yesterday she died during a session. No one's fault, just the risk factor.
Afterwards I go to see Goth in a bar. I down a few pints talk about evil people. I am feeling, very obvious to Goth, a bit edgy (sorry, dear).
My day continues with the love of my life. It is going quite well despite me feeling extremely disappointed in my work, my life, my love history and now in mourning.
See, I had given up not so long ago on love. I just thought I needed too much, or it wasn't in my cards, and I have no little goths to share that kind of love with. Then I met this L.O.M.L.
I still live with my ex. Shit, I know. Horrible for the LOML I know, shitty I know.....strangled by need of cash I am stuck.
Next week was to be a week the LOML and I were to spend together. All week. Every morning. Every day. I was so happy.
Long story short, one of his friends thinks I am shit. I don't really know why. I know what he says, but I really liked him at one point.
Anyway LOML started telling me what this guy had said, feeling totally hurt and like my skin had been taken off with sandpaper he started telling me I was manipulative and this friend of his said their relationship had deteriorated since me. I left. Completely hurt, totally confused and carrying death on my shoulders.
I went home to someone who doesn't love me.
During a text war of sorts I run out of credits. LOML calls to tell me to f%% off and he is deleting my number. Heartbreak.
I go to the corner of my bathroom and curl up in the corner and cry. I mean the can't stop kind. The kind where your face burns and your head aches and it just won't end.
A small spider climbs up on me and in my fury I bat him off and crush his little body on a black tile. Shocked by my own action and out and out speed I examine the situation and feel immediate guilt. The arms are sticking out from the crushed center frail and ghostly transparent. I wished I had eight arms to hold me.
I wished I hadn't killed him. He had been the only one touching me and I punished him.
I scooped up his sculpture of legs on an envelope and took him to my olive tree and buried him in the earth of the pot. I told the remains that there were things in this life you couldn't take back and now have to live with.
I returned to the bathroom wrapped myself in a white towel as I thought I might need it to absorb all my tears. I dreamed of the love of my life, and money and death and awoke the same way I had fallen asleep, in tears.
I got up and pushed at the earth in the pot hoping it might make the nest of tiny arms more comfortable.
*Offers a drink and a shoulder to cry on*
martes, julio 10, 2007
What the Goth is That?
It might seem like a blur. A streamlined butterfly wafting pass in a gush of silence. What can it be? Mmm, that'll be Goth on a bike then.
I know Batman had a funky car, the batmobile, a funky boat - the batboat or something. Superman has stupid knickers that wouldn't fit inside his trousers (although I have a sneaky feeling that all that getting dressed so quickly just made him careless).
Well, being a superhero of sorts, Goth needed some transportation so, Goth got himself a bike. And, not just any bike - it's a fucking girls bike.
Unfortunately, this is what happens when Goth goes shopping. He gets bored and starts doing stupid stuff like saying "Aw fuck it - I'll take that one" just in an attempt to get out of the shop.
"But Sir does realise this is a g...." "Just give me the bastard thing so I can get out of here".
Then, when Goth looks at said bike, in the sanctuary that is home - nursing a bloody mary, he sees that there's no crossbar. That'll be because it's a girls bike.
Well, Goth is not going back to the shop to admit he fucked up. Goth will come up with cunning and devious excuses as to why he needs a girls bike.
He has such big tackle that a crossbar would hurt too much.
Getting on and off with a flowing leather coat is much easier because it's built this way.
A crossbar make Goth's leather pants squeak too much.
What other reasons can there be ??
I know Batman had a funky car, the batmobile, a funky boat - the batboat or something. Superman has stupid knickers that wouldn't fit inside his trousers (although I have a sneaky feeling that all that getting dressed so quickly just made him careless).
Well, being a superhero of sorts, Goth needed some transportation so, Goth got himself a bike. And, not just any bike - it's a fucking girls bike.
Unfortunately, this is what happens when Goth goes shopping. He gets bored and starts doing stupid stuff like saying "Aw fuck it - I'll take that one" just in an attempt to get out of the shop.
"But Sir does realise this is a g...." "Just give me the bastard thing so I can get out of here".
Then, when Goth looks at said bike, in the sanctuary that is home - nursing a bloody mary, he sees that there's no crossbar. That'll be because it's a girls bike.
Well, Goth is not going back to the shop to admit he fucked up. Goth will come up with cunning and devious excuses as to why he needs a girls bike.
He has such big tackle that a crossbar would hurt too much.
Getting on and off with a flowing leather coat is much easier because it's built this way.
A crossbar make Goth's leather pants squeak too much.
What other reasons can there be ??
lunes, julio 09, 2007
From Misery to Happy - in 30 Seconds
I would just like to take a time-out and bow in deference and wonder to my son, the mini Goth. I've always held him in the greatest admiration but probably didn't tell him enough. Goths are a bit silent in that regard - until it's too late.
It's never easy when your parents seperate but he's coped. Alright, coped isn't really the word - managed I guess.
I read an e-mail from him and went from misery to joy in seconds (yes, like the title)
I was blown away by his intelligence - so much so, that it made me cry (and I have bloody witnesses). I am so proud to even know this person, let alone be related in any way.
If I could be only half the man that he is, I would be happy.
DUDE - YOU FUCKING ROCK
(which isn't Goth at all but is the best I can come up with for now that doesn't involve love, or rabbits or taking the piss out of the bible)
Sorry.... have to bugger off and get some more tissues now
It's never easy when your parents seperate but he's coped. Alright, coped isn't really the word - managed I guess.
I read an e-mail from him and went from misery to joy in seconds (yes, like the title)
I was blown away by his intelligence - so much so, that it made me cry (and I have bloody witnesses). I am so proud to even know this person, let alone be related in any way.
If I could be only half the man that he is, I would be happy.
DUDE - YOU FUCKING ROCK
(which isn't Goth at all but is the best I can come up with for now that doesn't involve love, or rabbits or taking the piss out of the bible)
Sorry.... have to bugger off and get some more tissues now
domingo, julio 08, 2007
I am a Person
Seeing as you seem intelligent enough to understand, let me tell you something. I am a person. One who has feelings and emotions and I am sick to fucking death of being treated as only a provider of money. This may seem like a minor issue but to me it is a major issue. "But, you're not rich" you might say. Indeed, but I have earned over 100 grand a year and what do I have to show for it? Fuck all.
I set out to be a creative, inspiring individual but all people could see was what I could provide them with. Unfortunately, this had nothing to do with comfort of the soul - it was security, financial security. So I worked my arse off doing things I hated doing. I cut my hair short, which I didn't want to. I wore a suit which I hate as I feel like i'm being hung. I slept in my car, which in winter is not fucking fun at all. I travelled to places I didn't want to, on my own - always on my own. I seem to have spent so much time sleeping on my own, in strange places, it's depressing.
Then, when I had got the things that those people wanted, and maybe I could relax and just enjoy being - the shit gets taken away, again. So once more, I have to start from zero. Once more, the hair gets cut off and I have to prostitute myself again.
Every time I invest emotionally in anything, it all comes down to one thing - money. I'm fucking sick of it. I just want to have shit loads of money and give it away to the people who are asking and then I could say "Right, you've got what you wanted - now fuck off and leave me alone, forever".
There are things that I want to say but I never tell people. What's the fucking point, it's not like I matter unless I have money right? "Ooo you're so selfish" people say - why? Because I drink and smoke? Bollocks. If you spent as much time feeling as miserable as I did you'd have to do something.
"But people love you and they care for you", they say. Well, they've got a very selective way of showing it. They love me when I'm buying things or paying for things. They love me when they can go shopping and not worry about it. They never actually ask what I might want. Even if they do, it is fleeting and I can see that it is a rhetorical question. They don't actually want an answer and thus, I never tell them.
I discussed this with the psychotherapist when I went to see her - I opened up briefly and guess what? I fucking spoiled her day. She couldn't rationalise how I felt because I had the answers to every question she could ask. I'd already thought them through but everything looked black.
So what do I do? I listen to everyone elses problems and offer considered advice. I've heard so many stories of abuse, rape, bullying and other such nasty behaviour that it has tainted my very soul. But, all the time I try to be strong and profer the best advice I can at the time. No-one ever asks why I'm sad. Nobody ever asks how I feel, or why I behave the way that I do. They make huge leaps of assumption which are so far away from the mark that it's almost laughable.
Turn to religion some have suggested. Why? So I can listen to more bullshit and then give money at the end. I don't ask for much, in fact I don't ask for anything - a mistake maybe. But what's the point, I wouldn't fucking get shit anyway, unless I paid for it.
Well, at least there will be plenty of money when I'm dead - that's the beauty of life insurance (and I have to pay for that bastard too).
I set out to be a creative, inspiring individual but all people could see was what I could provide them with. Unfortunately, this had nothing to do with comfort of the soul - it was security, financial security. So I worked my arse off doing things I hated doing. I cut my hair short, which I didn't want to. I wore a suit which I hate as I feel like i'm being hung. I slept in my car, which in winter is not fucking fun at all. I travelled to places I didn't want to, on my own - always on my own. I seem to have spent so much time sleeping on my own, in strange places, it's depressing.
Then, when I had got the things that those people wanted, and maybe I could relax and just enjoy being - the shit gets taken away, again. So once more, I have to start from zero. Once more, the hair gets cut off and I have to prostitute myself again.
Every time I invest emotionally in anything, it all comes down to one thing - money. I'm fucking sick of it. I just want to have shit loads of money and give it away to the people who are asking and then I could say "Right, you've got what you wanted - now fuck off and leave me alone, forever".
There are things that I want to say but I never tell people. What's the fucking point, it's not like I matter unless I have money right? "Ooo you're so selfish" people say - why? Because I drink and smoke? Bollocks. If you spent as much time feeling as miserable as I did you'd have to do something.
"But people love you and they care for you", they say. Well, they've got a very selective way of showing it. They love me when I'm buying things or paying for things. They love me when they can go shopping and not worry about it. They never actually ask what I might want. Even if they do, it is fleeting and I can see that it is a rhetorical question. They don't actually want an answer and thus, I never tell them.
I discussed this with the psychotherapist when I went to see her - I opened up briefly and guess what? I fucking spoiled her day. She couldn't rationalise how I felt because I had the answers to every question she could ask. I'd already thought them through but everything looked black.
So what do I do? I listen to everyone elses problems and offer considered advice. I've heard so many stories of abuse, rape, bullying and other such nasty behaviour that it has tainted my very soul. But, all the time I try to be strong and profer the best advice I can at the time. No-one ever asks why I'm sad. Nobody ever asks how I feel, or why I behave the way that I do. They make huge leaps of assumption which are so far away from the mark that it's almost laughable.
Turn to religion some have suggested. Why? So I can listen to more bullshit and then give money at the end. I don't ask for much, in fact I don't ask for anything - a mistake maybe. But what's the point, I wouldn't fucking get shit anyway, unless I paid for it.
Well, at least there will be plenty of money when I'm dead - that's the beauty of life insurance (and I have to pay for that bastard too).
sábado, julio 07, 2007
Lord of the Squares
It's kind of like Lord of the Rings but different in so far as it doesn't involve Elves, hobbits or trees that talk - ooh, and it has nothing to do with rings really.
Goth has a penchant for being awkward - well, damn right bloody stubborn if the truth is told. If the fashion is to have short hair, tough shit - Goth will be having long hair then. The fact that Goth can grow hair is just a testimony to the raging hormones, bubbling like a cauldron beneath the surface. Although, it could also be that Goth can't be arsed to go to a hairdresser.
Goth doesn't like 'popular' music. Who said it was popular? The mother fuckers who wanted to sell the shit, that's who. Music is an expressive art form that transcends boundaries, cultures and other clever stuff. Kylie Minogue fucking about and shaking her arse is not music. When was the last time you saw her play a musical instrument? - exactly!!! Never.
Goth likes to, and knows how to read - and not the pulp fiction that is tossed at him by some wanker who wants to get rid of shit books. Reading is good for the soul and expands the mind - it's also very handy when you're stuck in shitty places like airports, or planes or generally don't want to talk to the person next to you as they are full of shit.
Goth likes art and museums. Not because they're full of 3 million year old dinosaur bones but because they allow one to learn and become erudite (ha, bet you have to go and look that fucker up). Seriously, one can learn an awful lot from venturing into these crusty places inhabited by middle-aged women with no lives - well, they had to get the security from somewhere.
Goth hates marriage. Some pontificating twat decides that they have the divine ability to screw with 2 peoples lives. Boll-fucking-ucks. If you love someone, that should be good enough and if not, find someone else. Marriage is just the states way of defining what you can or can't do. But hey, you get tax breaks if you get married. DOH. I get tea breaks if I work (and it's cheaper).
Goth doesn't do mornings. Not that Goth doesn't like mornings - It's a fine time to go to bed. It's not that Goth can't get up, Goth doesn't want to. Goth likes the darkness - a good thing as people can't see how ugly he can be.
Generally, in the darkness, all the muppets have fucked off to try and get laid in discos or train stations and thus the conversation goes beyond "Whoa, look at the tits on her - I bet she goes" ... Goes where? Is she a taxi driver?
Anyway, mornings are full of boring things like breakfast and coffee and orange juice. Oh, and beer tastes shit in the morning.
So, Goth has decided to become Lord of the Squares - this entails, not being Lord of the Rings, at all, ever. Go and take your sad-arse somewhere else.
What else should Goth condemn???
Goth has a penchant for being awkward - well, damn right bloody stubborn if the truth is told. If the fashion is to have short hair, tough shit - Goth will be having long hair then. The fact that Goth can grow hair is just a testimony to the raging hormones, bubbling like a cauldron beneath the surface. Although, it could also be that Goth can't be arsed to go to a hairdresser.
Goth doesn't like 'popular' music. Who said it was popular? The mother fuckers who wanted to sell the shit, that's who. Music is an expressive art form that transcends boundaries, cultures and other clever stuff. Kylie Minogue fucking about and shaking her arse is not music. When was the last time you saw her play a musical instrument? - exactly!!! Never.
Goth likes to, and knows how to read - and not the pulp fiction that is tossed at him by some wanker who wants to get rid of shit books. Reading is good for the soul and expands the mind - it's also very handy when you're stuck in shitty places like airports, or planes or generally don't want to talk to the person next to you as they are full of shit.
Goth likes art and museums. Not because they're full of 3 million year old dinosaur bones but because they allow one to learn and become erudite (ha, bet you have to go and look that fucker up). Seriously, one can learn an awful lot from venturing into these crusty places inhabited by middle-aged women with no lives - well, they had to get the security from somewhere.
Goth hates marriage. Some pontificating twat decides that they have the divine ability to screw with 2 peoples lives. Boll-fucking-ucks. If you love someone, that should be good enough and if not, find someone else. Marriage is just the states way of defining what you can or can't do. But hey, you get tax breaks if you get married. DOH. I get tea breaks if I work (and it's cheaper).
Goth doesn't do mornings. Not that Goth doesn't like mornings - It's a fine time to go to bed. It's not that Goth can't get up, Goth doesn't want to. Goth likes the darkness - a good thing as people can't see how ugly he can be.
Generally, in the darkness, all the muppets have fucked off to try and get laid in discos or train stations and thus the conversation goes beyond "Whoa, look at the tits on her - I bet she goes" ... Goes where? Is she a taxi driver?
Anyway, mornings are full of boring things like breakfast and coffee and orange juice. Oh, and beer tastes shit in the morning.
So, Goth has decided to become Lord of the Squares - this entails, not being Lord of the Rings, at all, ever. Go and take your sad-arse somewhere else.
What else should Goth condemn???
viernes, julio 06, 2007
To Clarify a Point
As some people seem to be struggling with reality - a tricky task I know, I feel the need to set the record straight.
Drama Queen is NOT my girlfriend.
Granted she has wonderful lungs (a polite way of saying that she has big tits .... oops), is blonde and wonderful in bed (oops again). She is not my girlfriend, well apart from the fact that she is my friend, and she's a girl, which kind of makes her a girlfriend. But not like that, sort of girlfriend thingy, shit, this isn't going at all to plan.
Look, we're just friends right, and she has a boyfriend, and he's cool and Oirish and she loves him and stuff. Well, she does lots of wibbly things to prove how much she loves him - so there.
Meanwhile, I just am. Not that I am, when they're together because that would be silly, or perverted or something.
On the other hand, there is Mariposa, who is my girlfriend. Who's not blonde but rather stunningly beautiful in another way - ha, with prettier eyes. And she's intelligent, and speaks 7 million languages - a bit like C3PO but without the poncy voice, and she's not made of metal, oh, and she doesn't have a small friend who looks like an upside down dustbin following her everywhere.
I know that they're not the same as we went for drinks together and I made them sit on opposite sides of the table so I didn't get confused.
So, when I talk about Mariposa, I am NOT talking about Drama Queen ok.
Yes, it is Mariposas birthday very soon......oh shit, that means I have to go shopping...again.
But Mariposa has my heart, DQ has my hand - as a friend, who is sort of a girl, but not a girlfriend. I mean, shit, who'd want to live with all those handbags. This isn't Goth in The City.
Drama Queen is NOT my girlfriend.
Granted she has wonderful lungs (a polite way of saying that she has big tits .... oops), is blonde and wonderful in bed (oops again). She is not my girlfriend, well apart from the fact that she is my friend, and she's a girl, which kind of makes her a girlfriend. But not like that, sort of girlfriend thingy, shit, this isn't going at all to plan.
Look, we're just friends right, and she has a boyfriend, and he's cool and Oirish and she loves him and stuff. Well, she does lots of wibbly things to prove how much she loves him - so there.
Meanwhile, I just am. Not that I am, when they're together because that would be silly, or perverted or something.
On the other hand, there is Mariposa, who is my girlfriend. Who's not blonde but rather stunningly beautiful in another way - ha, with prettier eyes. And she's intelligent, and speaks 7 million languages - a bit like C3PO but without the poncy voice, and she's not made of metal, oh, and she doesn't have a small friend who looks like an upside down dustbin following her everywhere.
I know that they're not the same as we went for drinks together and I made them sit on opposite sides of the table so I didn't get confused.
So, when I talk about Mariposa, I am NOT talking about Drama Queen ok.
Yes, it is Mariposas birthday very soon......oh shit, that means I have to go shopping...again.
But Mariposa has my heart, DQ has my hand - as a friend, who is sort of a girl, but not a girlfriend. I mean, shit, who'd want to live with all those handbags. This isn't Goth in The City.
jueves, julio 05, 2007
My Own Worst Enemy
I never worried about bullies - pea-brained numbskulls. I don't mean that I didn't do anything about them, I just out-thought them. Not hard to do really.
I don't worry about going to strange cities or meeting weird people - I can deal with all that shit.
Never really cared for authority in any shape or form - poke me with your self aggrandising bullshit and I'll kick you in the bollocks.
There are things that I do worry about. I worry about friends and family (particularly the mini-Goths) - except when I'm there as I can wrap them in my Gothic cloak and protect them.
The one thing I can't protect against is myself and my self-destructive nature. It's not because I hate myself as I don't although I can cry myself to sleep like anyone. I might appear sure, confident and spiky but that's just a mask.
I would never take out my anger on someone else, it's happened a couple of times and I have never really forgiven myself. Thus I take it out on myself - I just carry on cutting my life into pieces looking for the reason to believe.
Therefore, if it seems like I am spiralling, I probably am.
I know someone so intelligent should have the answers but I don't. It's not because I haven't looked for them - I just can't find them .
Somewhere, in the darkness, hides a small child I think. But he can't come out to play as the Goth is here now and I can't save me from myself.
Like I said - I'm my own worst enemy.
I don't worry about going to strange cities or meeting weird people - I can deal with all that shit.
Never really cared for authority in any shape or form - poke me with your self aggrandising bullshit and I'll kick you in the bollocks.
There are things that I do worry about. I worry about friends and family (particularly the mini-Goths) - except when I'm there as I can wrap them in my Gothic cloak and protect them.
The one thing I can't protect against is myself and my self-destructive nature. It's not because I hate myself as I don't although I can cry myself to sleep like anyone. I might appear sure, confident and spiky but that's just a mask.
I would never take out my anger on someone else, it's happened a couple of times and I have never really forgiven myself. Thus I take it out on myself - I just carry on cutting my life into pieces looking for the reason to believe.
Therefore, if it seems like I am spiralling, I probably am.
I know someone so intelligent should have the answers but I don't. It's not because I haven't looked for them - I just can't find them .
Somewhere, in the darkness, hides a small child I think. But he can't come out to play as the Goth is here now and I can't save me from myself.
Like I said - I'm my own worst enemy.
miércoles, julio 04, 2007
A Farewell From Goth
At last, I have managed to escape from the Big Blogger house. I have been trying to get out since day ONE but never managed to succeed until now.
My departure notice read as follows (for those of you who can't be arsed to go and find it) :-
At fucking last. Correct, I did not pimp myself, nor have I ever done. I never got asked to be invited into this cauldroun of tepid non-reality in the first place. I will stride out with my head held high, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.
I am sure Big Blogger will admit that I have never changed my stance from day 1. I wish the remaining inmates all the best and I am sure you will endeavour to find new and entralling ways to annoy each other.
I have left a crate of alcohol in the bathroom as it is the one place I know Tippler never visits.
Enjoy and BB, sorry about the bat shit. The little rascals can't help it and Pampers don't do Pipistrelle size nappies - sorry.
*bows graciously and exits*
On a completely unrelated note, I noticed Mr Farty had a link to check the censor rating of your blog. Out of curiosity, I went to have a look to see what mine was (the highest I had previously seen was R).
Now bearing in mind, this is not a blog about sex as I am a virgin, and I do not include pictures - so what happened???
Bunch of fucking arse.
My departure notice read as follows (for those of you who can't be arsed to go and find it) :-
At fucking last. Correct, I did not pimp myself, nor have I ever done. I never got asked to be invited into this cauldroun of tepid non-reality in the first place. I will stride out with my head held high, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.
I am sure Big Blogger will admit that I have never changed my stance from day 1. I wish the remaining inmates all the best and I am sure you will endeavour to find new and entralling ways to annoy each other.
I have left a crate of alcohol in the bathroom as it is the one place I know Tippler never visits.
Enjoy and BB, sorry about the bat shit. The little rascals can't help it and Pampers don't do Pipistrelle size nappies - sorry.
*bows graciously and exits*
On a completely unrelated note, I noticed Mr Farty had a link to check the censor rating of your blog. Out of curiosity, I went to have a look to see what mine was (the highest I had previously seen was R).
Now bearing in mind, this is not a blog about sex as I am a virgin, and I do not include pictures - so what happened???
Bunch of fucking arse.
lunes, julio 02, 2007
She Talks to Angels
A very good song by the Black Crowes but something I can relate to. I don't like men as I find them to be self-righteous, egotistical pricks with no sense of decency. It's why I am very insistent that if someone calls me a man, I correct them and say that I am a Goth.
I love women, all women and I think they like my company because I am me - I do not set out to intimidate or proove how big and clever I am. I just listen and learn - and funnily enough, the more I learn, the cleverer I become.
I love Mariposa above all because she understands my quirks - one's that if I am annoyed or cannot vocalise how I feel, I walk away until I can. I would not abandon her somewhere, rather make sure she is safe and move myself away until I had it figured out.
Certain things, I have in common with men - I hate shopping. Well, the female way of shopping that is. Shopping to me is knowing what you want, go to the shop and buy it and then go home. If I don't know where something is, I don't buy it. I don't want to be stuck in a large department store whilst hordes of elephant-like women scrummage around like a rugby team on acid.
Other things, I have more in common with women. I like pretty things, I like flowers and sunsets and walking hand in hand anywhere - although, I do confess I prefer this on a beach with the water lapping against my toes. I love poetry and art and literature.
I know it may song almost gay - I don't care. If someone chooses to make that inference then they would be wrong. I love beauty and I think beauty loves me.
I adore living and loving and being loved. I think I am and for that I feel blessed.
Te quiero Mariposa XXX
I love women, all women and I think they like my company because I am me - I do not set out to intimidate or proove how big and clever I am. I just listen and learn - and funnily enough, the more I learn, the cleverer I become.
I love Mariposa above all because she understands my quirks - one's that if I am annoyed or cannot vocalise how I feel, I walk away until I can. I would not abandon her somewhere, rather make sure she is safe and move myself away until I had it figured out.
Certain things, I have in common with men - I hate shopping. Well, the female way of shopping that is. Shopping to me is knowing what you want, go to the shop and buy it and then go home. If I don't know where something is, I don't buy it. I don't want to be stuck in a large department store whilst hordes of elephant-like women scrummage around like a rugby team on acid.
Other things, I have more in common with women. I like pretty things, I like flowers and sunsets and walking hand in hand anywhere - although, I do confess I prefer this on a beach with the water lapping against my toes. I love poetry and art and literature.
I know it may song almost gay - I don't care. If someone chooses to make that inference then they would be wrong. I love beauty and I think beauty loves me.
I adore living and loving and being loved. I think I am and for that I feel blessed.
Te quiero Mariposa XXX
domingo, julio 01, 2007
The Beginning
In the beginning, everything was black - and Goth loved this as it was cool and dark.
But some clever fucker wanted to have light. So Goth created light and thus, the not-so-clever now person said "Gadzooks" when they saw what they had done - to which Goth replied "Well, you insisted".
Then Goth had to go and invent stuff. Just because some silly twat wanted the lights on. So first, he invented the sea, but couldn't decide if it should be blue or green - Goth knew it shouldn't be yellow. Thus, the seas came, and they had nothing to do with Rye as that would be shit (but Goth hadn't invented shit yet). So the sea was blue, ish, if you squinted, but Goth hadn't invented eyes yet.
Then Goth invented the sky, and it was beautiful and pretty and so he invented clouds, that would piss on anyone's parade - purely because blue sky looked too tempting.
So Goth, in his infinite wisdom, invented land - which was kind of nice as it meant that nothing had to swim, they'd have a choice - unless they could fly. But at least they would have somewhere to land.
"Ah" thought Goth, "but what would have a choice?" - and thus, he had to invent stuff that walked or swam or flew. Basically, he was really busy for days.
And so, on Tuesday and Wednesday, Goth was busy inventing things - like jam, and toasters, and frogs, and armadillos and things that go "OOOO". Which was kind of cool for a while until Goth got bored and started inventing stupid stuff. "Bollocks, just superglue a beak on it"
"Master?" said Mini-Gothess, "How can it poo if it has no bum?" - 'Shit, hadn't thought about that' thought Goth. "And a front bum?" were the last words he heard. So Goth had to go away and think about the whole reproduction process.
'Shit, forgot about monkeys' thought Goth and thus the reproduction thing became a series of ooohs and aaahs and masturbation.
By Friday, Goth was really fed up with inventing things so he improvised a little and invented weekends away. Thus Saturday became the Sabbath - coming from 'Sbth the days Goths off'. (He had been working on tongues before he left).
And therefore it became Sunday too, for the lazy twats who were still pissed on Saturday - 'oo more wine please Mister Goth'.
And that's how it all started (ok, it's the short version but you really don't want the long one)
But some clever fucker wanted to have light. So Goth created light and thus, the not-so-clever now person said "Gadzooks" when they saw what they had done - to which Goth replied "Well, you insisted".
Then Goth had to go and invent stuff. Just because some silly twat wanted the lights on. So first, he invented the sea, but couldn't decide if it should be blue or green - Goth knew it shouldn't be yellow. Thus, the seas came, and they had nothing to do with Rye as that would be shit (but Goth hadn't invented shit yet). So the sea was blue, ish, if you squinted, but Goth hadn't invented eyes yet.
Then Goth invented the sky, and it was beautiful and pretty and so he invented clouds, that would piss on anyone's parade - purely because blue sky looked too tempting.
So Goth, in his infinite wisdom, invented land - which was kind of nice as it meant that nothing had to swim, they'd have a choice - unless they could fly. But at least they would have somewhere to land.
"Ah" thought Goth, "but what would have a choice?" - and thus, he had to invent stuff that walked or swam or flew. Basically, he was really busy for days.
And so, on Tuesday and Wednesday, Goth was busy inventing things - like jam, and toasters, and frogs, and armadillos and things that go "OOOO". Which was kind of cool for a while until Goth got bored and started inventing stupid stuff. "Bollocks, just superglue a beak on it"
"Master?" said Mini-Gothess, "How can it poo if it has no bum?" - 'Shit, hadn't thought about that' thought Goth. "And a front bum?" were the last words he heard. So Goth had to go away and think about the whole reproduction process.
'Shit, forgot about monkeys' thought Goth and thus the reproduction thing became a series of ooohs and aaahs and masturbation.
By Friday, Goth was really fed up with inventing things so he improvised a little and invented weekends away. Thus Saturday became the Sabbath - coming from 'Sbth the days Goths off'. (He had been working on tongues before he left).
And therefore it became Sunday too, for the lazy twats who were still pissed on Saturday - 'oo more wine please Mister Goth'.
And that's how it all started (ok, it's the short version but you really don't want the long one)
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