A Bear Called Mohammed

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

Well done, you religious fascists !!!

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

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

Oh shit, they did do that.

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

And then people wonder why I hate organised religion

Well fucking DUH.....

My Boyfriend Is A Twat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, buy the book MY BOYFRIEND IS A TWAT

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

Renewable Energy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Idiots Guide To

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

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

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

THE IDIOTS GUIDE TO:

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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

In Flight Food

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

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

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

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

"All of them" I replied

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sixty Years On

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If You Have To Leave

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

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

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

It reminds me of everything I walked away from.

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

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

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

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

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

So, what song really makes you cry?

I Don't Want To Ride My Bicycle

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suggestions on a handlebar to:-

Two Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walk Away

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

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

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

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

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

Polish on, polish off - catch flies with chopsticks etc

Returning to school became rather amusing.....

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

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

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

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

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

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

Creature Comforts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is it playtime yet?"

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

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

However, he does make me smile.

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

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

"Oh for fucks sake"

He then attempted to push the evidence under the tray.

Goth loves a tryer.....

Dr Gothlittle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Beautiful People

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

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

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

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

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

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

Foreskin The Issue

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

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

*WHAM*

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

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

FORESKINS !!!!

Jesus fucking christ!! Go and get a life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thus, I twatted it with my hand, HARD.

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

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

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

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

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

Bwahahahahhahahahahahahah

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

You Complete Twat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, my last comment to each was

YOU COMPLETE TWAT

Nice Pussy

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

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

Not good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suggestions please.....

Belgian Bureacracy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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