Piss Off Religious Freaks

Picture the scenario if you will.

One, very tired Goth sits at a bar, chatting to an amiable barman.

It's been a long day for both, for differing reasons, but they agree that puzzles in The Daily Express will suitably vex, and relax them both.

After an hour or so of entertainment - the Goth points out that, in the BIG crossword, the Irish barman should really know the answer to the question:-

9) Old Testament book in which Moses conducts a census of the Israelites (7 letters)

Getting bored, Goth provides the answer.

The barman exclaims "You can't know that"

"Well, I can actually as I've read most religious texts unlike....."

*cue previously un-noticed American to open his mouth*

"It's true - it has been confirmed by my chapter"

*cue - a moment of jaw-dropping silence*

"So you're saying that you looked up an answer, with your coven of religious students, to confirm that I was correct?" asks an incredulous Goth.

"Yes" he replied "We're studying it a chapter at a time"

Being a Zen-like Goth - it was time to walk away.

Didn't want to spoil the ending - that would be in revelations.

Jesus Surfing

If you read the bible (the free book in hotel rooms in case you run out of toilet paper) you will know that jesus lived by the sea.

Living by the sea is very useful if you want to be a fisher of men, or a fisherman or - more importantly, catch some waves.

Dog, (being an anagram) said to his prototype:-

"I have invented the tree, and it's full of wood and stuff"

His son was busy smoking and talking weird, and growing a beard but remembered his training as 'Son of a Carpenter'

Thus, from the mighty tree, jesus did plane and polish to create - The Surfboard.

Although, a mighty fine idea, young master jesus has no idea HOW to surf.

"I have this really good idea" said JC "might work, might not"

As JC walked across the water, the disciples sat on the beach, stroking their beards.

When his dad created a huge wave of love, JC rode on it and proclaimed

"Yay - hanging ten"

at which point, most of the disciples, being wise, ran away.

When he arrived on the beach, he said to those remaining "I will teach you, and the you can teach others".

And thus they practiced - a lot.

Killed a lot of fish in the process too.

Vote NOW America

Because you should

I had to bypass some shit, because I am 'Bob The Plumber' thus...

'Y'all have a decision to make'. It might not seem impotent but it is relevant.

Vote now.

You have THE choice Americans.

I know my opinion but, I'm silly enough to have a brain.

Have the fucking decency to turn up and express your opinion.

If you can't be arsed, fine, but don't ask me to listen to your moaning shit later.....

Rocky Horror Picture Show

I finally got around to buying the DVD of The RHPS and I must say - the water was deep but I swam it, Janet.

It remains the only film I have seen over 100 times. I have also seen the stage show countless times and is the only event that would cause me to wear suspenders and a bra (just like my dear papa).

If you have never experienced it (the show, not the womens underwear thing), the following will make no sense at all.

Why I fell in love with The Rocky Horror Picture Show

In one evening:-

I was asked to go for a date with the most gorgeous Gothic girl but I had to bring a newspaper and some rice (no explanation was given)
I received the most amazing blow job in a public place without warning
I had to run onto the stage and "Do a jump to the left" (which I did as I was still in shock from the oral sex adventure)
I observed lots of strange people being very 'nice' to each other
I crashed the car I had 'borrowed' (not my fault) on the way back home
My life flashed before me (in slow motion) and I wondered why there was rice all over the crash site
I was arrested by the police and charged with various boring legal nonsense
I had to listen to my police-person father lecture me on how I was destroying his career
I told the full story to my mother and she laughed
I had some most excellent dreams

Granted, the next time that I watched the movie, it did not have quite the same effect but, I still grin at "It's just the pelvic thrusts....".

So, the DVD is prepared, the underwear is available, the rice and newspaper ready and the Sword of Damacles is hanging over my head.

*Gothic bliss*

Schools Out Forever (Or Not)

School is a scary time - although, it gets an awful lot worse when puberty kicks in.

As I have never set out to be popular, it wasn't a huge deal for me - avoiding getting the shit kicked out of me seemed more important than how I looked to other people.

Someone might have a trend-setting haircut but admiring it in a hospital bathroom nursing broken limbs seems a somewhat vacuous choice to me. I was far happier if everyone assumed I was weird and just avoided me.

However, when puberty kicked in and I wanted to test my theoretical education on sex, being the weird outsider was somewhat of a hinderance.

So, I did what I had to - got barred from every computer in the complex and then forged a career in the very same thing (after a brief attempt at being a rock star).

I was however, gutted, when a number of years later, I met the one girl who I would have died for. In casual conversation, reminiscing about the 'school days' I mentioned how much love I thought I had for her at the time.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" she asked with a wistful look in her eye

"Sorry to be so obvious" I replied "But you were the one that all the boys wanted, and some of the girls too. There was no way I was going to ask you anything and have my dreams shattered"

"But I would have said 'Yes' immediately - you were the only one I was interested in"

*Oh for fucks sake - now you mention it...*

Why bring this up now? Because that School Reunion thing is looming and people I haven't seen or heard from for many years are connecting.

I had a brief 'conversation' with someone who asked me if I remembered even meeting her 20+ years ago. She was somewhat shocked when I could recall every detail of the meeting, and exactly what transpired.

I have an excellent memory but, I am male so, by definition, I have a selective memory.

Your turn now - share the pain of education with Dr Goth ;-).......

Too Tired To Fight

I know I should fight but, I'm weary.
If I give up, then I am perceived as weak.
If I continue I am seen as aggressive.

To paraphrase The Clash :-

Should I stay (quiet and let shit happen when I know it is wrong)
Or should I go (and create havoc)

It's a quandary - if I stay it involves basic multiplication but if I go it invoves Venn diagrams

Tough decision - but before you answer the pseudo question, it's too late.

I have decided to

Faster Food

As a Goth (and no, I am not the only Goth in the village) - I do not like fast food.

I do not appreciate scary clowns like 'Robert Smith in his pyjamas' trying to force burgers in my face. If I feel the need to eat pulverised - pseudo-meat' with spices between bread, it will not be served by a moron in a costume.

Likewise, I do not appreciate weirdos spitting (on) kebabs or crucifying animals for no reason other than "Their Fat Greeds Welding".

I read a story this week and my initial reaction was 'Fuck off - you cannot be serious'.- but, the story is true and feel free to google it yourself...

A group of 'xxx' decided to create the largest sandwich in the world. To achieve this, they butchered lots of ostriches and tried to create a sandwich 4,900 ft long (approx 1.3 km).

The 'esteemed coucil of idiots' created a new level of pomposity in Tehran, capital of Iran.

The X fuckers were rather surprised when spectators rushed in to devour the food without waiting for the world record to be broken.

Uhhmmm - might be a reason fot that

Mr Gorsky

When Astronaut Neil Armstrong first walked on the moon, he not only gave his famous "One Small step for Man, One Giant Leap for Mankind" statement but followed it by several remarks (the usual comms traffic between him, the other astronauts and Mission Control)

Just before he re-entered the lander, however, he made the enigmatic remark "Good luck, Mr.Gorsky."

Many people at NASA thought it was a casual remark concerning some rival Soviet Cosmonaut. However, upon checking, there was no Gorsky in either the Russian or American space programs.

Over the years many people questioned Armstrong as to what the "Good luck Mr. Gorsky" statement meant, but Armstrong always just smiled.

On July 5, 1995 in Tampa Bay FL, while answering questions following a speech, a reporter brought up the 26 year old question to Armstrong.

This time he finally responded. Mr.Gorsky had finally died and so Neil Armstrong felt he could answer the question.

When he was a kid, he was playing baseball with a friend in the backyard. His friend hit a fly ball which landed in the front of his neighbor's bedroom windows.

His neighbors were Mr. & Mrs.Gorsky.

As he leaned down to pick up the ball, young Armstrong heard Mrs.Gorsky shouting at Mr.Gorsky.

"Oral sex! You want oral sex?! You'll get oral sex when the kid next door walks on the moon!"

Voodoo Child

Before any sanctimonious twats start parading their shaven knowledge, it is not called 'Voodoo Chile' - never was. However, the only God to have walked this earth, in a 'guitar-playing' fashion, once created this masterpiece of blues confusion.

Discussing golf is usually a very short conversation with a Goth but, curiosity is an overpowering thing.

*Meanwhile, back at the bar*

Goth and Joliet Jake are arranging where they should meet for the forthcoming concert of ROCK.

JJ says that he is playing golf with his new toy during the day, but mentions 'Voodoo Golf'
Goth asks, what the fuck is that ???
JJ explains that 'Voodoo Golf' is a gift that he received whereby one can stick pins in your opponents effigy, destroying their 'swing' or something
Goth suggests a swift kick in the bollocks is quicker
JJ says that is not sporting but does join in with the improvised lyrics....

"Well, I stand right next to a bunker,
Fucked up as I went in the sand,
yay,
I picked up my little sand wedge,
And wrapped it round the bastards head,
cause I'm a voodoo child
Goth knows I'm an evil child baby"

Several alcohol laden drinks later, Goth asks who JJ is playing golf with.

After diet coke has stopped shooting out of his nose, Goth implores that JJ employs the "Voodoo Golf".

Well, it was a fucking Friday......

***Breaking news - Joliet Jake is changing his name to Punjabi Hendrix - if life is Purple, and Bacardi makes you hazy ***

Stolen But Funny As Fuck

If the failed 21/7 bombers had just waited three more days, we'd all be calling them the 24/7 bombers. This would imply that they blow things up all day every day and, despite their actual lack of success, make them at least sound like they were good at bombing.

I just saw a van drive by with the company name 'Seafood Solutions'. I must admit, I didn't know seafood was a problem.

It is said that gentlemen prefer blondes. I hope then that lesbians prefer brunettes, otherwise we might have to organise some kind of rota system.

I'm beginning to think there may be something in this climate change after all. Four months ago it was very cold and now it's quite warm.

A woman whose daughter was hospitalised in a US tornado told ITV News that 'God would make her better.' presumably, that's a different God from the one that almost killed her with a tornado.

'She can dish it out, but she cannot take it', I once heard someone say of me. And it's true - I'm a school dinner lady and I'm allergic to mashed potatoes.

I heard on the news that the January storms had cost this country a billion pounds. What an utter waste of money. If anything, they did more harm than good.

I think Sir Paul McCartney should try to put his current predicament into perspective. In olden days, if you were unfortunate enough to be robbed by an omniped, it would almost certainly be a pirate. At least he's going to come out of this alive.

Yesterday I received an e-mail from a bored housewife looking for some action. Eager to please the young lady I sent her my ironing. That should keep her quiet for a while.

This new police knife amnesty is a bloody nightmare. I dutifully handed all my knives in and now I've got nothing to eat my dinner with.

To the zookeeper in 1978 who replied 'I'll tell you when you're older' when I asked him why one of the monkeys stuck its tongue up another one's arse: I'm 36 now and still waiting for that explanation.

I have just returned from a diplomatic trip to the Congo and I can testify that at no point did I see anyone drinking Um Bongo.

I'm a terrorist, and when ID cards come into force I will probably employ great cunning and not declare that as my job. I'll probably say I'm a grocer or something.


Why don't NHS bosses start hiring obsessive compulsives as nurses? Their attention to hygiene and constant hand washing would see an end to MRSA outbreaks in no time.

'Alton Towers - Where the magic never ends', or so the commercial says. Imagine my disappointment when it closed at 7.30.

Fucking Politics

Being Gothic, one tends to analyse everything to the n'th degree in a somewhat morbid fashion whilst adhering to the concept that the 'new' black is in fact, still black.

'Fucking' in, and of itself, is generally good but if followed by another word can meta morph into something not very good at all.

'Politics' is always bad - like an evil little representation of everything that is corrupt in humanity.

Here follows a train of thought - but - be warned

**you may need drugs to understand this**

Fucking is a word which can describe intense emotions but is usually not associated with grandparents as they didn't have the word fucking and so had to improvise and use the word 'jolly' instead, which doesn't really carry the same gravitas as 'fucking' unless of course you are a jolly weirdo, in which case fucking animals is ok because they can't say no, which only underlines your stupidity as animals can't talk as they don't have the vocal capacity for it, which is why Americans like animals so much, in a somewhat salacious way, and this is good, because the idiots can't read either, as they are too busy trying to figure out how to eat everything they don't understand but that's ok because at least they are not Arab as they would then try to blow the shit up first and then eat it afterwards, which is stupid because if you blew shit up it would make tiny small pieces and then a fork wouldn't work so you would have to use chopsticks, which is Asian and has nothing to do with fucking at all, apart from the Chinese people, who use chopsticks and fuck a lot as there's a squillion of them, but they can't eat soup, ever, as you can't eat soup with chopsticks but you can poke people with the fuck-sticks, and if you're really small, it will hurt bigger people as you will probably poke them in the bollocks which would hurt, unless you 'CHI' kneed them, in which case they would hop around like mental rabbits (Bamboo shoots, but Jackie Chan saves... the day).

Fuck it, I got lost.

So, politics is stuff that isn't really interesting at all, apart from when you are completely mental, in a 'lost the fucking plot' way, where you decide that everyone is evil, apart from the good ones, except that you can't decide who the good ones are, so you just decide that you will fuck everyone up, and then hope that the general populus will vote for you, but if you're in Africa it doesn't really matter because if you have guns and the peasants have nothing but a bag of underpants, which is their house, you can shoot them and pretend that they voted, or America where they also have underpants but they can't count and it doesn't really matter as they have the CIA and they have seen all the James Bondage films and invented everything, ever, apart from noodles, and marmalade, which has bits in it, like a politicians brain, but they're not very nice bits and the bits look nice on TV, which was also invented by Americans after they had seen what a Scottish person had done, but he didn't have a video camera to document how clever he was, but neither do foxes and they had a campaign to ban hunting but, due to a lack of opposable thumbs couldn't make badges, which is really important in politics, or perhaos, they didn't have the mental capacity to reverse a sign, like the Nazis, who reversed a Jewish symbol and then decided that they should burn all the evidennce, in a Hitler-gate sort of way, but they could have discussed stuff in pointless meetings in the Capital Of Europe, like that would have made a difference, and countless people could have struggled to translate bullshit into another language whilst the politicians thought "Coo - I wonder what's for lunch" instead of actually doing something, like Sir Bob Geldof, who saved some people in Africa by saying "Give us your fucking money" but then gave his children stupid names so they could be bullied in school, which is a shit place, school, full of failures of society who strike when stuff is shit, but created the shit world through their ignorance and funnily enough, have a union called NUT which is self-explanatiry I think, but perhaps, I'm not allowed to think, about politics

The Seventh Day

If you believe in God you might want to stop reading about now - you have been warned.

For those of you still reading - I was polite enough to offer the tossers a choice which is fair, I think.

THE SEVENTH DAY

God created the world in seven days apparently - well, six if you bear in mind that God fucked off on holiday for one, leaving Amateur God to create things without divine guidance.

Being omnipotent has it's drawbacks as you can't actually go on holiday as you are already there - by definition. Therefore God had to go into 'standby' mode leaving the less than competent apprentice to create other things which God hadn't cleared from the list.

Predictibly enough one supposes, Amateur God, fucked things up beyond belief and thus the Seventh Day creations remain.

On Gods return from 'standy-mode' on the eighth day, God looked at what at been invented, put her fingers against her temples and took a very deep breath.

'Jesus Fucking Christ' she opined, unfortunately creating religion as a by-product.

When God truly surveyed the damage on the previously perfect creation, God wept.

However, God was tired of 'multi-tasking' all the time and so could not devote enough God-energy to fixing what had been created, and thought - 'Oh bollocks - let the monkeys run with that planet'.

Amateur God, already banished from the kitchen of life, decided to add a little impetus into the situation and so gave Man a semblance of intelligence. Not a particularly wise idea in retrospect, but Amateur God figured that as God wasn't looking, it wouldn't really count.

Thus, Man came forth and ate the monkeys.

Peace - My Arse

Apparently, Sir Paul of McCartney played a gig in Israel 43 years after The Beatles were banned for being too dangerous.

Now, whilst I respect that four scousers in suits generally is not a good thing - what the fuck were the 'Fab Four' going to do? Kidnap everyone in a yellow fucking submarine?

Whilst they were burbling on about only needing love, The Stones were rocking with 'Sympathy For The Devil' - I know whose side I'm on.

However, a Goth should not take sides. The two groups were equally shit, or equally good - although, I don't hear many grannies humming 'Paint It Black' - but let's just put that down to no Gothic Grannies.

So, whilst visiting one of the most divisive places on the planet, Sir P of M decides to sing 'Give Peace A Chance'.

Well DUH - they're not fucking listening - still.

Israelis -> "We have been fans for forty years and we are so proud he has chosen our land to play first"

Palestinians -> "We have been fans for forty years and we are so pissed off those bastards got to hear what we couldn't"

Peace? Yeah - my Gothic arse.

Do Not Use Dude

I cannot believe I got told off for using the term 'dude'.

For fucks sake - I have called people a 'twat' before now and that was not an issue.

However, it appears that from a European perspective, the americans do not like the term 'dude'.

Thus, Mr or Mrs America

Point 4

You invented the 'D' word in the first place

Point 3

I was trying to be polite

Point 2

Grow up mentally

Point 1

Stop reading between the lines - try getting the bigger picture

I am pissed off with your ineptitude, you arrogant bunch of tossers but,
dude
if you want me to fix your fuck-ups again, the helldesk is available on 666.


Of course, that could just be me - but, "feel free to dude what you want, any old time"

American Idiots

I really don't like dealing with American Idiots (AI - also known as arsehole intelligence). Throughout my years on (and off) the planet, I have encountered many strange people but - to paraphrase Clint Eastwood - "A Goth's got to know his limitations".

Goth should not worry about this - he's not qualified (paid enough) to worry - but Goth does care.

Wednesday - communication that we should talk more with americans - ok

Friday - NO communication about what they were supposedly planning

Saturday - communication from Goth at 3am - "I have a really bad feeling about this"

Sunday - NO communication as AI kick into action

Monday - NOTHING works anymore
Monday - Goth is asking what the fuck they have done
Monday - AI are blaming Goth for not communicating
Monday - Goth is explaining the basic principles of communication
Monday - AI try to cover their tracks by deleting log files that Goth has already sent off network
Monday - Goth fixes the important bits and decides that home is a safer place to be
Monday - Conference calls are arranged but Goth has left the building

Tuesday - AI have found the answer, which is spookily the same as Goth suggested the day before
Tuesday - Goth has to explain what went wrong
Tuesday - AI decide they can fix the other bit
Tuesday - Goth goes out for a cigarette
Tuesday - Network crashes in a wholly predicted way taking out all European operations
Tuesday - Goth suggests ice cream and cakes or anything with sugar
Tuesday - More conference calls are suggested - Goth declines
Tuesday - Goth decides that Jack Daniels is a beautiful friend and leaves
Tuesday - AI fix the final part using exactly the same code Goth suggested

Wednesday - now - Goth is planning a conference call with AI (and it will not be polite)

Talk to the BBC

Yeah right. They listen to no-one.

Every morning they blether on about texting us this, or e-mailing us that about what is on the news.

"We'll read it out live on TV" says the smarmy presenter.

They bloody do not !!

Thursday - 'Fire in the Channel Tunnel' (in case you didn't know, it's the tunnel under the sea) but the fire is still burning and it's the lead article on

Friday - "The people can't put it out" says silly woman turning to sillier man"No - they can't" replies idiot in a suit "But, here's the weather where you are"

So, I sent them an e-mail - pointless exercise!!

Goth@darness.bat
"Dear BBC, tell fire fighters to drill the ceiling - there's shit loads of water up above them - best regards, Goth"

and then I had to send another one

"Oh btw, tell them to fit a tap - plugging the hole with small Dutch children may not be popular now - lesser regards, Goth'

Response? - Fuck all. So sleep tightly Jean Claude Van Damme - your probing fingers are not required

The Not So Little Book Of Calm

Those of you that have been reading this page since before the hippy got nailed to the tree, may remember the Good Book.

For the newbies, I'm not talking about the bible and it's bullshit ramblings - I'm talking about

The Little Book Of Calm

I happened across the little rascal whilst searching for something I didn't find but, you really should share the wisdom.

So, randomnly, I selected a page or three and - brace yourselves - here goes.....

Train a Calm Place

Apparently, if you practise being calm on a park bench you can simply go there to be calm.
(Everyone else calls this being homeless but, who am I to argue with wisdom?)

Practise Saying No

Only take on what you can do and then politely turn down other requests
(Well, that explains most of the teenage pregnancies in the UK then)

Think Warm

A cold body is seldom calm
(The dead ones don't seem to wriggle that much)

Obviously, the cynical amongst you may think I made this shit up - I didn't (apart from my opinion in brackets) so feel free to check the lunatic ramblings of a mushroom muncher yourselves.

ISBN 0-140-28526-1

And may it bring you as much calm as Jack Daniels did to me.....

Why I Hate Custom People

I say people in the loosest definition of the word, and I say HATE in the strongest definition of the word. It's not really that I hate authority - I just don't like idiots with authority or badges or, especially guns.

My first encounter with Customidiocy was on my return from Germany for a school trip. I had discovered you could buy cigarettes anywhere and so had stuffed numerous packs into my suitcase for my return.

On arrival at Customs exercise, 40 or so of us children walked neatly through the Green Channel (Nothing to Declare).

Rather unsurprisingly, I got stopped and the following conversation ensued.

Custom Offal - "Have you read the sign thoroughly?"
Goth - "What sign?"
CO - "Please go back, read the sign and come through the appropriate channel"
Goth - "OK"

*wanders back as supervising teacher develops a migraine*

CO - "Ah - so you have come back through the Red Channel. What do you have to declare?"
Goth - "That I tried the Green one and you stopped me so I thought I'd try this one"
CO - "Let's open your suitcase then"
Goth - "You can if you want but I know what's in it"

*teacher now approaching organisms"

CO - "Less than 200 cigarettes - that's fine then"
Goth - "I know that, I read the sign this time ;-)"

These days, I wouldn't try that shit though. Taking a teacher through customs is far too stressful....

Gothic Samurai Pt 1

In case you hadn't guessed, I have been on holiday. In order to facillitate actually having a holiday, I have barely touched a computer in 2 whole weeks. I could have but then it wouldn't have been a holiday would it?

To enjoy the feeling of being a person on holiday, I adopted the persona of Katsumoto from The Last Samurai - a rather dignified stance but capable of chopping idiots into small pieces if provoked.

I encountered no issues at airports at all (which is very unusual for a Goth) - even the security people were more than helpful as I stood patiently waiting for the 'muppets with gold coloured shite from Argos' to walk backwards and forwards through security checkpoints.

I remained calm and dignified and presently, the very helpful staff opened another lane and beckoned me forward.

An irate 'bizzy-man' ran in front of me but I stayed where I was until asked to walk forward. As I passed through, without issue, the security guard wished me a good trip and I watched 'bizzy-man' getting escorted into the 'touchy' place behind curtains.

The flight was lovely and we didn't crash into any immovable objects - even gravity was having a day off.

We walked patiently to passport control and proceeded to the luggage carousel. Our bags arrived as we approached.

A smooth trip from the airport to our 'home' for the next two weeks was peaceful and upon arrival we were greeted with genuine affection.

Within minutes of arrival however, a conversation occurred that was to be repeated several times - but that's ok.

Family Member - "My computer is not working"
Goth - "You're probably not using it right then"
FM - "But you can fix it right?"
Goth - "I could, but I'm on holiday"
*walks away and turns briefly to say, in a heavy Japanese accent*
"This was a good conversation"

(Part 1 of 3)

Olympic Bollocks

I know the Olympic Games have been around for a zillion years or something, since some bloke ran a long way to say "There's *puff* a fucking *puff* fight over *puff* there" but it is rather boring. Don't get me wrong - I applaud the efforts of "My name's Mike and I swim like a fish" Phelps but, come on - it's not like it makes a difference.

Every 4 years, finely tuned athletes get together to run faster, jump higher, lift heavier shit or somehing. I'm sure it is really impotent to them but, I'm a Goth and I don't care.

Thus, I have decided to introduce some new events for the next time the finely-tuned specimens get together. Feel free to suggest some events yourself (and, if you feel the need to criticise - fuck off and find a blog where somewhere cares).

The 20 Metre Sarcasm - stand at a distance and observe how totally crap someone is without vocalising it loud enough to get your head bashed in.

Pissing in the Wind - a long distance event where you demonstrate how pointless it is to do anything really.

The Sexathalon - do that funky, 'making-babies' thing, without the obvious consequences of guilt, child support or dubious contagious diseases, whilst pulling strange faces and announcing your arrival to an invisible god.

Synchronised Pie Eating - try and eat everything that moves before fat Americans scoff the lot - but, in tandem with another person and without blowing chunks all over the place.

Trainspotting - stand still in an anorak whilst observing a train pass by on a track that clearly isn't going to move because that would be silly.

Turbo-Preaching - explain why your chosen religion is superior and everyone else is completely shit in under 10 seconds whilst simutaneously doing all the evil shit you denounce.

Crustacean Tennis - twat small shelled creatures with a racquet whilst imbibing far too much alcohol.

So there you go - it's your turn now to suggest some new Olympic bollocks.

Look Boss - The Plane

It's that time again - time to get on a plane and fly somewhere other than here. It's relatively cool in that I have already 'checked-in', selected the seats and have transportation at both ends arranged - (why didn't someone think of the internet before it was invented?).

Unfortunately, I still have to deal with certain aspects that I hate when travelling. Namely, muppets who don't understand where they're going, security staff who only want to body-search 'attractive people' - not the fat fuckers who could easily hide a bomb, and families of retards whose sole intention is to impose their infestation of children on other people.

The good side is that I know the airport inside-out (having worked there) and thus will decamp to the business lounge to steal free peanuts etc. whilst attempting to look 'posh' in a really cheap way.

I'm happy that Mariposa will get to see my homeland (for the first time) but slightly anxious that she might think it's totally shit. That's understandable - it's why I don't live there anymore. However, I would like it to be a magical experience for her and thus I shall make an effort to create a Welshy-Disneyland.

So, suitcases packed, work dealt with, we depart. I apologise if I don't respond to your comments (assuming anyone actually reads this drivel) but I cannot 'auto-respond' to them. I had to create one of those for my work e-mail doofer and it reads like this:-

I'm sorry - I am out of the office from 14th August until 1st September.

I may be visting old relatives who will try to advise me on the best way to knit a teapot. If your query does not involve teapots, please contact **************.

Otherwise, I will respond to your mail on my return.

Live Long and Prosper :)

Enjoy my absence as many people will........

Flower Power

I am not a huge fan of Brussels but, at present, I have to be here. However, I sometimes try and expand my tiny little mind with whatever delicacy they are offering - being the 'Capital of Europe' and all that nonsense.

An annual event that caught my eye, sprung me into action. Unfortunately, it coincided with me being on holiday and thus I couldn't really be arsed to do anything, but, endeavouring to be a nice person, I explained to Her Majesty of Butterflies that I would watch the beginning of the football season and then take her to the flower show.

Here follows the conversation with my friendly Oirish barman which I found somewhat entertaining:-

Goth - "So, I was thinking of taking Mariposa to that huge flower display on the Grand Place"
Barman - "I wouldn't bother if I were you. I went last night and it's rubbish"
Goth - "But I thought it was supposed to be really impressive"
Barman - "Nah - it's just a load of pebbles"
Goth - "So it's not really flowers at all"
Barman - "No - just a load of pebbles on a carpet in a smart design"
Goth - "Did somebody paint these pebbles individually?"
Barman - "No - they just arranged them"
Goth - "So why would they look like flowers?"
Barman - "Because they came off the flowers - you know?!"
Goth - "The pebbles came off the flowers?"
Barman - "Yeah - every flower has pebbles"
*realisation occurs*
Goth - "They're called petals dude"
Barman - "It's still fucking boring"

So, afterwards Mariposa and I visited the pebbles. Well, we are on holiday after all ;-)

Assumption Day

So, today is Assumption Day - the patron saint of ridiculous notions. It means that if you live in a country where the church (house of stupid ideas) is vaguely popular, you don't have to go to work or anything.

Unfortunately, there's fuck all on TV except a variety of monkeys in cassocks celebrating the fact that the virgin mary got received in heaven (although how they know this is a mystery as there was no CNN then - just a load of blokes with beards writing the shit down afterwards in a rather haphazard fashion).

The definition of assumption in my dictionary is 'assuming; thing assumed; arrogance' and some other burbling shit about some chick having a baby 2,000 years ago without sex, pain or stretch marks.

Now this is blatantly an assumption, but - no pain is good, so I assume it's a good assumption. Which naturally rather leads to the principle that you can have bad assumptions - like it's safe to stand behind an elephant after you've given it a laxative.

As there is no definitive black or white, you must therefore also have other types of assumptions - like slightly twisted assumptions, fucking stupid assumptions or slightly misguided but vaguely believable assumptions.

So, there is my challenge for today - assumption day. What is the stupidest assumption you have ever heard?

Apologies to Goth Cadets

Sorry, my little Goth Cadets if you have visited the Goth Cave expecting to find some interesting - or even new stuff.

I have been ultra-busy trying to ensure I can have a holiday and not live in a cardboard box afterwards (as that's soggy and shit). In order to achieve this, I have had to do a semblance of that normality type crap - i.e. actually going to work etc.

Granted, some smart-arsed twats might mention that I don't do anything anyway, so what's different - but they know nothing.

After easing myself back behind my 'bat-computer' at work, I have had a lot of people coming to ask to see my shaving cut. Granted, it's fuck-all compared to Johnny G-Had's injury but it's still good for making people puke and generally run away.

When I have finished pretending to work, I have to visit a Physiotherapist (Kine - here in Belgique) and she attempts to prove that you cannot pull my thumb off. It's a fucking stupid idea as I nearly severed it completely, but I assume it is to prove that the superglue they use in the hospitals here works.

Just when I think it can't get any worse, I discover that the week before I depart on holiday, we are getting audited by:-

(Alan) Price - looking for his dancing bear
Waterhouse - checking why their books don't balance on the bear
and (Lee) Cooper - wondering why the jeans don't fit the bear at all.

Well, fucking hoozah !!

Now, for those of you that haven't met me - I am really lovely and not sarcastic at all. In fact, butterflies land on me all the time.

For those that do actually know me, it was probably not a good day for PWC to come looking for their balancing bear. I can, on Mariposas life, declare it was the fastest interview with an Auditor I have ever been present at (I even had to go back to get the free drinks as I forgot at the time).

Probably a good time for a Gothic holiday then.....

Messages From

Sorry being absent for awhile, I was busy talking to strange people who think that a computer can guess what they think they want it to do.

I got into slight trouble for reacting - no surprise there then.

"You fucked it up you twat, you fix it" is apparently not the thing to say on a helpdesk - or so I learned on my 'back to basics' course.

So, I shut the fuck up and surfed the net, where I found this - (which amused me):-

Decoding Womens Personal Ads

40-ish - 49, and then some
Adventurous - slept with everyone
Athletic - no breasts
Beautiful - Pathological liar
Emotionally secure - on medication
Feminist - Fat
Free Spirit - junkie
Friendship first - former slut
New-age - body hair in wrong places
Old fashioned - no blow jobs
Open-minded - desperate
Outgoing - loud and embarrasing
Professional - bitch
Voluptuous - hugely fat
Wants soul mate - stalker

AHA - In a shit Norwegian band way, I thought - but then I found this....

FOXY LADY: Sexy, fashion-conscious blue-haired beauty, 80's, slim, 5'4" (used to be 5'6"), searching for sharp-looking, sharp-dressing companion. Matching white shoes and belt a plus.

LONG-TERM COMMITMENT: Recent widow who has just buried fourth husband, and am looking for someone to round out a six-unit plot. Dizziness, fainting, shortness of breath not a problem.

SERENITY NOW: I am into solitude, long walks, sunrises, the ocean, yoga and meditation. If you are the silent type, let's get together, take our hearing aids out and enjoy quiet times.

WINNING SMILE: Active grandmother with original teeth seeking a dedicated flosser to share rare steaks, corn on the cob and caramel candy.

BEATLES OR STONES? I still like to rock, still like to cruise in my Camaro on Saturday nights and still like to play the guitar. If you were a groovy chick, or are now a groovy hen, let's get together and listen to my eight-track tapes.

MEMORIES: I can usually remember Monday through Thursday. If you can remember Friday, Saturday and Sunday, let's put our two heads together.

MINT CONDITION: Male, 1932, high mileage, good condition, some hair, many new parts including hip, knee, cornea, valves. Isn't in running condition, but walks well.

And thus, I laughed and thought, 'Hoozah Grandparents Gothica - I miss you both'

*raises a glass of JD in salute*

Racist Bastards

Having had a totally shit week at work - (this wasn't budgie crap on your jacket, it was elephants with diarrhoea - type poo), I decided to go to my local tavern - an Irish Bar - for a drink of whatever would cleanse my soul.

What started as a "I'll be home about 6.30 dear" descended into a "Oh fuck, it's 2 am already" with all the grace of a hippo on skis.

But, it was ok as we were doing that 'male-bonding' thing - where you get as pissed as small animals with no brains and talk complete bollocks for no apparent reason.

In the overall scheme of things, we were happy to have beer and discussed important things like world peace, a piece of the world, World Wrestling, giant pandas etc., and then it started to fall apart.

"Booooo" shouted my Indian brave, when the Irish band had finished another 'song' with no beginning, middle, or end.

"Shut up" I said, to him, not the angry natives gathering around us.

"But it was fucking shit" he announced, quite justifiably.

I assessed the situation and decided that the 'withdrawal method' seemed very appropriate.

Thus, we decamped to a different bar where there was no shit Irish music and the girls had breasts where nature intended them to be. We purchased our drinks and were happy to be merry and other none-Gothic stuff when....

We were joined by someone who couldn't decide which cunt-ry he was from but was determined to impress on us his idea of racial equality.

This was a mistake.

Firstly, I don't care if you are black, white, yellow, green or a slightly obvious shade of orange - if you talk bollocks, you are still a twat.

Secondly, getting into an argument with someone about their colour or ethnicity when you have completely no idea what you're babbling about is not a good plan.

So, I went very quiet - almost silent in fact. The temptation to rip his heart out was almost overpowering but I resisted. My Indian Brother tried valiantly, but unsuccessfully, to explain that this interloper had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

"See - you white people have no idea about repression" announced the 'dead 30 times in my head" person.

I felt the heat rise inside of me, calmed it, and said "It's oppression, moron" and walked away before I did something I would regret.

"Why didn't you react? - he was talking shit" inquired my friend, soon afterwards.

"Because, I can't afford the lawyers that his family can. The only oppression he knows is when his cheque doesn't arrive on time. But anyway, look at the tits on her!!" I said, diverting the conversation long enough for my friends pissed eyes to give up trying to focus.

*Situation suitably diffused, segregated and suitably strange for a Friday*

It's Really, Really Hard

It really is very hard. I'm not sure how people cope with it at all.

In fact, it becomes so hard that you want to physically explode - or make the person/people you are with explode in a blinding light.

One can try to be a gentle person, but the desire to fuck someone's brains out of their tiny little skull is so, so... tempting.

(Oh, Sex freaks - you might as well fuck off and masturbate somewhere else - no pictures here and, I was talking about idiots you have to deal with in a day to day life, not some menagerie-a-twat with monkeys etc).

*So, now that the 'Google-Freaksters' have pissed off on Kleenex.com - I will continue*

When I can be arsed, I work for a company so huge, we have a building with windows - well, a few of them (some that are locked to stop people committing suicide).

Every day, some people do some stuff and things happen - in a groovy 'happening' way.

Generally, I don't give a toss until they fuck up the computers - then I have to put my cigarette out in someone else's coffee and do something. This is where it gets really hard.

The problem is that the nice people make innocent mistakes. This is because they have never been trained but are the first to get blamed by the posh wankers who run the show. Meanwhile, the chinless wonders talking into their 'Shit-Berries' in airports across the world achieve nothing.

Well, in Goth World it is the same as 'techie-world'.

Check why your 'Shit-Berry' is deleting your CV/Resume. Try to blame some poor secretary for your fuck-ups and your hard drive is wasted. Oh dear, did I...

BWAHAHAHAHA

If, as one of the 'small' people, you made a mistake - just tell the truth and we in Goth World will fix it, even if it takes hours (and enact retribution on the fucker who blamed you, as a 'comp-sprt')

As for sex - it's over-rated . . . . . with me ;-)

Usually, too tired.....

*snores**************

You Silly Little Man

OK, in retrospect, this was probably not the best phrase to use in an argument but, as I was drifting off with the fairies due to boredom it just leapt out of my mouth, preceded by "Oh do shut up.."

I think Grandma Goth would be proud that I didn't call him a stupid cunt, which was what I thought, and still think.

I know that this phrase will never rank as the best insult I have ever given anyone ever, but it certainly was one of the most unexpected.

How do I know this? Because when liquids shoot out of peoples noses, it is usually a fair indication you have caught them somewhat unprepared. The fact that it created a rant of suitable idiocy merely reinforced my point.

It's a shame really as I was having a particularly lucid daydream where I was crucifying the little twat using pencils. But, you can't always get what you want.

This is why I am not a politician and I am fairly positive that I am not on the Christmas list for 'mini-Hitler' now - like I should care.

Whats In a Name?

Introducing oneself is always an interesting opening to any conversation - some might even say it was integral. Personally, I don't really give a shit - if people want to know who I am they can ask - I have no intention of wandering around like a lemming looking for a cliff saying "Eh oh, My name is..."

There are two things that triggered this thought process, and thus caused me to have a holiday from my holiday tales.

Firstly, some 'really interesting' person from somewhere I suppose, was being guided by the Vice President of Europe around our building this week. As I strode past on my way out for a cigarette, I was introduced as:-

"And this is....er Goth, and he's erm, scary".

"Yeah, right" I said and continued walking.

I've been introduced as many things before, but I don't recall being called 'scary' before - but I suppose the fact that the VP even knows who I am should mean something?

Secondly, there was an article about people with stupid names. Obviously, there are a lot of fuckwit parents on the planet who like to give their children stupid names to ensure they get the shit kicked out of them at school.

You have the downright nutty ones like Frank Zappa (kids named Dweezil and Moon Unit), the 'off my chopski' ones like Paula Yates (Peach and Fifi Trixabelle) and the just plain stupid like Dead-Hotel-Bloke Hilton (why call her Paris, when Bangkok is far more apt?).

Then you have people with surnames which are legitimate but the choice of first name is either callous or fucking idiotic.

So, my new competition is for the most idiotic combination of names (that can be found on Google) with first prize being a crucifixtion for the parents of my choosing.

And none of that choosing 'porno names' bullshit like Ben Dover, Cupid Stunt or Clit Eastwood.

Holiday Part 2 - A Celtic Connection

The thing about spending time with my grandmother was that she was also from a Celtic background. She loved nature and spreading her knowledge of it, which my little brother and I lapped up.

Take for example the 'Story of Tiny'.

Tiny was a small lamb who was born prematurely and was destined to die. My grandfather announced, rather gruffly that it was a case of natural selection and he had to concentrate on the lambs that would survive.

"Oh fiddlesticks" announced my grandmother and scooped the helpless lamb up in her frock.

My brother and I followed as she marched back to the cottage and promptly put the lamb in the Aga oven. We burst into tears and declared that we didn't want to eat the lamb - we didn't even like lamb.

"Shush" she said soothingly "Help me prepare the milk"

After a few minutes, she took the miniscule lamb out of the oven, now suitably warm, wrapped it in a blanket and started to feed it with a baby bottle filled with warm milk. After a short while, it fell asleep, as did we on the floor of the scullery.

The next morning, we were allowed to feed the lamb, now called Tiny and he became like a pet sheep. If he did poo in the house, I'm sure grandma cleaned it up and claimed he was house-trained to my grandfather.

Many years later, I was to do exactly the same thing with a small duckling who I called Wayne. Why did I call him Wayne? I have completely no idea but I do know that the love of nature passed onto me, in a Celtic way, stayed with me and remains forever.

Holidays As They Should Be

Holidays, or vacations as the 'other people' like to call them, are not what they used to be.

When I grew up, we were so poor we couldn't have holidays as people class them now. My younger brother and I were fortunate enough to survive a 7-hour journey to spend a week with our grandparents. It wasn't that they lived thousands of miles away, transport was just so shit then, it took 3 hours to travel 100 miles.

We were so agitated on the journey that we spent the entire time repeating "Are we there yet?" until we fell asleep. Not because we were bored but because we were anxious to be there. However, when we finally arrived - we were so excited we couldn't sleep.

After our parents had dumped us there and gone somewhere else to practice making babies or something, we would spend days hunting for other stuff we had never seen.

Grandpa Goth taught us how to make bows and arrows from trees with penknives. He taught us how to hunt things, and afterwards Grandma Goth taught us how to fix the poor animals we had inadvertedly speared but not killed.

It was a holiday because we came back better people than when we went and with a different view on life. We learned things we could never hope to attain where we lived for the other 50 weeks of the year.

If it rained, we got wet. We ate what was given to us and didn't ask for a free gift. We didn't need money as there was nothing we needed to buy.

And, before some smart-arse comments, yes I know how many weeks are in a year - but I haven't explained what occurred during week 2 of the holiday.......

Awards Ceremony

I don't normally accept awards as I am far too busy being Gothic to give a fuck about them. However, as Mr Farty, who is Scottish but likeable none the less, nominated me for the awardy thingy, I thought I would accept.

Rather unsurprisingly, I did not come first - we Goths have some principles we like to uphold.

Although, I usually prefer to come in position 69, I think number 3 was ok on the list. Number 1 was taken by a set of speakers, with an admirable tone. Number 2 was taken by my Prince Of Sarcasm and I followed, pushing the chair.

Apparently, there were another 2 bloggers after us but, as they were 'runners-up' - the Prince (formerly known as squiggle) told me to ignore them.

Here is a picture of me wheeling Prince to pick up his award - I'm the pushy bastard at the back.



Part of this 'Oscar, who lives in a trash can' thing is to nominate 5 other blogs who deserve such an award. I really had to think about this one as I have to say why I read their blogs. I could bullshit and give you some inane crap like a true award speech but, let's be honest... no, really, let's be honest...

1) Honey - Because she scares the shit out of me with her honesty and I know her in real life. She is one of the most beautiful people to have graced the planet and yes, I did think seriously about kicking the living shit out of her erstwhile partner.

2) Lady Daphne - My Matron of the nursing profession. She brought me Jelly Babies on the day after I scraped my arm. For that alone, she deserves an award but, her blog is inventive and invective at the same time.

3) Joilet Jake - for taking over my position of talking more bollocks in one post than any bufoon can. I also want to ensure that his visitor numbers increase so that he posts more often and thus stops listening to shit music, or eating cheese sandwiches in hotels when he could have curry.

4) Big Titticus - aka (.)(.) - because I want her as my bedtime nurse. I'm not sure I would survive a night but, what a way to go. She might be as mad as a bag of squirrels but at least she's honest.

5) My Suicidal American Buddy - I admire him when he writes whilst pissed as a cunt - but I wouldn't want to be within 100 miles. Also, I'd like to teach him how to drink properly - i.e. without the 'blowing chunks' thing. Drinking properly is an acquired art that requires practice.

This completes my list - if you're not on it - tough shit - you're missing nothing. If you're on it, you can adhere to the rules, posted on Mr Farty's nomination or not. Really, I don't give a shit - but they call that Gothipation or something.....

Oh, nearly forgot, I have to include a link to the award site - well, here it is.... find it if you can (easy if you look at the code)

Not Bored Really

So, having returned to work, I found myself ploughing through a zillion e-mails. Whilst my original plan to 'select all' and then delete the bastards, it would be typical that I missed an important one like:-

Dear Goth, congratulations you have won new bionic arms or
Dear Goth, my name is Claudia Schiffer and I would like to sit on your face....

Obviously, I received neither, but as I was scrolling through them, my mind started to wander. I wondered what I would call my band if I was a hedgehog. A few that I came up with were:-

Hedgehog Death Cult
Deep Hedgehog
My Chemical Hedgehog
Hedgehogs Of Mercy
Red Hot Chilli Hedgehogs

Then I went for a cigarette and lost my train of thought. When I sat back down at my computer, one of those annoying American bossy muppets turned up and I inadvertedly blurted out -

"Fuck off pal, we don't have any oil here so go home".

He didn't take my subtle hint so I just ignored him. It was then I remembered something Mr Farty had mentioned in a comment, so I went to look at what he was talking about which was bound to be more interesting.

Well, bugger me backwards with a pitchfork. He has nominated me for some awardy thingy. Normally, I don't give a flying fuck about these sort of things but as it is The Fartmaster himself, I figured I'd do him the courtesy of acknowledging it. More about this tomorrow though......

Oh Shit - It Broke

I used to say that a lot when I was a baby Goth - well, mainly when I had caused some form of destruction to my toys, my brothers toys or later, any mechanical device belonging to my parents.

I think maybe, it's an automatic thing to say when you accidentally destroy something.

Now, when my arm when through the square window, I didn't mention anything at the time - it was an accident and shit happens. But, it happened and I have moaned about the scratch on my arm a little too often. It really doesn't matter - nothing fell off or anything.

Anyway, today was the day when the bandages came off and I could wash my hair again. Once again, I could smell like I had been dunked in a vat of peach wine.

Well, hoozah and hoorah - I could finally say goodbye to the lovely Dr Frankenstein and her Ether washes. She gently removed the final strips with a violent tug and in theory I could return to abnormal life.

"What's wrong with your other hand?" she asked, far too suspiciously for my liking.
"Nothing" I replied "It was just feeling a little lonely, and lumpy from when I sat on it"
"When did you sit on it?" she asked
"Erm.... roughly about the time I fainted, give or take a little gravitational effect and tried to break my fall" I replied honestly

*the conversation speeded up at this point*

"So, why didn't you show me before?"
"Because you were busy dealing with the one that hurt more"
"X-ray now !" she demanded and off I skulked to see Dr Bones and his magical mystery machine

*20 minutes later*

"You do know this is a huge operation now?" she spat, like a woman I had lied to
"It's not" I said, trying to think how little it hurt
"Look at the fucking X-ray - it's completely broken - you're going to be off work for 6 months with this"
"Your English is improving" I said, trying to assess my escape routes
"Anyway, I'm not - cos I'm not getting it fixed" I winced and wandered out with as much dignity as I could muster.

Outside, I lit a cigarette gingerely and it was my turn now to say - oh shit, it broke.....

Vacation 2 - Security

So, having braved the ignomy of the check-in from hell, it is now time to wobble off in the direction of passport control and then security.

Passport control is simplistically a queue for idiots. 'Grockles' - or holidaymakers as they are sometimes known, join the biggest queue. I'm not sure if they think there's some free stuff and therefore, that's why there is a queue, but if they do, all they can expect is a 'long wait'.

Security is quite another kettle of fish. To start with, Mr and Mrs Ugly don't understand the concept of a metal detector. It would probably be better named 'Mental Detector'.

Please remove all metallic objects before attempting to pass through the detector - says the message, in a myriad of languages.

"I can't take this off" says Mr Tattoo, pointing at his watch, whilst looking like a piece of Blu-tac that's fallen into a slot machine.

Rather unsuprisingly, the alarms go off and so piece by piece, he walks backwards and forwards removing one item at a time until he finally passes the metal detector - to be strip searched by a security guard looking to see if he has tried to smuggle one brain cell through.

Meanwhile, the other half of this ludicrous 'double-act' is standing there, like a dumbstruck baboon, marvelling at his stupidity whilst the smaller contingent of the Ape-Tribe from hell are busy shoving pencils up each others noses.

Her smug grin soon disappears when she realises that she too has to take off the 'Terrys All Gold' she bought at the duty-free.

Some time later, it's my turn to pass through and the guards are perturbed by the fact that I have everything metallic in my jacket pocket, my laptop is out and ready for inspection.

"Can you come with me please Sir" asks Hitler Junior.
I comply and then he wants to know why I am wriggling as he attempts to search me.
"Stop fucking tickling me then" I observe.

Many years ago, I took the mini-Goths on holiday which was their first time dealing with airport rules. As I was used to travelling regularly, I had a routine which, my mini-Goths observed and followed.

Everything went onto the conveyor belt to go through the X-ray machine. Dilligently, the minature ones copied what I did and finally, put their bags of 'Pick and Mix' sweets on the belt.

"It's ok son" said the security guard "you can keep hold of this bag"

"Thanks" replied mini-Goth, sweetly "It's ok you know, there's no drugs in this one!"

Vacation Time

Yes, it's that time of the year when 'normal people' go on vacation. At times like this, I am so glad I'm a Goth and not a 'normal person'. Granted the weather here is pretty shit at the moment, but it keeps the idiots off the streets.

I've never really felt the need to go on a NP (normal person) holiday. What the muppets don't seem to understand is that changing the location does not change the person. Wherever, you go on holiday, you always have to take yourself.

So, millions of moronic idiots will take over the airports attempting to prove that their little tribe of bastards can be noisier than those next to them. Suitcases that have been packed to explosive capacity with pointless shit, will squash small children at the airports. Grumpy fathers in day-glo shorts will drink themselves silly whilst their partners will attempt to save money by spending more of it on useless shite from the duty-free shop.

Meanwhile, the people who travel on a regular basis will at last realise what business lounges were invented for. Granted the free drinks and food are nice, but the ability to distance yourself from Mr and Mrs Tattoo and their lard-arse sprogs is pure heaven.

All this, and I have only described the airport so far - tomorrow, will be the flight from hell.

I would apologise to the family from hell, but their reading capabilities are as limited as their capacity to speak any language - even the only one they are supposed to know.

So what are your airport nightmares in this, the silliest of travel season???

Annoying Cow-Workers

Everybody has them - those annoying little twats that can make your working day a misery. Just because they are useless at their job / relationships / general ability to be a nice person doesn't mean they should bring their little cloud of misery over everyone else.

I have discovered that since my enforced abscence, some twit who was always complaining that I did nothing has had to take on some of my responsibilities. Now said twit is fucking whingeing that it is an impossible amount of work to do.

Ha - laughed like a fucking hyena I did. Of course it looks like nothing when I do it you myopic retard - that's because I'm very good at what I do and just make it look easy.

So, I figured I would compile a list of most annoying things cow-workers have done or said to you. Fire away, I'm listening.......

In the meantime, a joke.

A chimp and a hyena are having a chat in the jungle. The hyena is complaining that every single day, at the same time, a lion ambushes him and kicks the crap out of him.

"I can help" says the chimp "I'm a black belt in karate. Today, I'll come with you and when the lion arrives I'll kick his ass".

The hyena is very grateful and so together they walk down the jungle path.

The lion jumps out, starts pummeling the hyena and the chimp just runs up the nearest tree.

When the lion has left, the chimp comes back down the tree and walks over to the bloodied hyena.

"I thought you said you were going to help" exclaims the battered hyena.

"I was" replies the chimp "But you were laughing so much I thought you were winning".

*taps finger whilst waiting for annoying cow-worker quotes / actions*

Through The Square Window

I would imagine, only readers from the yUK and of a certain age will recall the TV programme where that phrase came from. It was a kids show called Play School which was popular with very young children and college students who were drunk and/or copletely off their chops on drugs.

At one point in the show, they would announce that they were going through a window - a bit like a drunken englishman in a pub in Glasgow.

However, as the weather is typically Belgian (i.e. shit, again) today, there are no fat chicks getting arrested, no gorgeous women in skimpy clothes to look at - just a lot of water falling from the sky.

TV is not much better. There's a tennis match where some Amazonian woman is playing against a gorilla in a dress, some cycling doofer where a load of puffs in silly shorts skoot around France trying not to fall off - and that's about it really.

Which brings me back to childrens TV which used to be really good. I remember quite clearly some of the programmes. Some of my favourites included;-

The Magic Roundabout - where a bunch of strange puppets did something or other. I remember Dylan, the permanently 'high' rabbit who used to wander round saying "Groovy" a lot and a hyperactive puppet called Zebedee but I suppose you would get slightly active if someone shoved a giant spring up your arse.

Mary, Mungo and Midge - a bizarre tale of a six year old girl who lived in a high rise block with a talking dog and a equally vociferous mouse. All I can recall is that the mouse had to stand on the dogs nose to press the button for the lift.

Pipkins - a variety of strange animals including Hartley Hare, Octavia the Ostrich and a bizarre monkey called Tossoff the Monkey - I think Michael Jackson saw that one.

It all went downhill when the yUK started importingSesame Street. I mean how are a mouse and dog supposed to compete with a highly strung 8 foot tall yellow bird, a grumpy monster who lives in a trash can or a Cookie Monster? That's even before you got around to the class act that is Bert & Ernie or the Count (who loves to count).

Anyway, what was your favourite kids TV programme?

Oh, and there's a vote on the right. Pick your favourite character from Sesame Street and I will write a post in a Gothic version of the winning selection.

The Goth And The Pea Or Something

Since my somewhat idiotic accident, I have been cursed with only being able to sleep in one position (and no, it's not upside down in a fucking coffin).

Due to my delicate nature, I can only rest whilst lying on my side with my injured Gothic limb, slightly extended. I would imagine, it makes me look like half of a Village Person doing a semaphore version of (YM-ISTS - Y must I sing this shit).

Now I'm not sure if it's the painkillers that are ceasing to work but, for the last 3 days I can only manage 3 hour spurts. That might be impressive if I was a porn star but I'm not and, I was talking about sleep anyway.

For whatever bizarre reason (or punishment) it is my supposed good side that's causing the issue. After a few hours, it starts to feel like I am sleeping on a bed of nails. I have to get up and watch shit TV for an hour or so before I can lie down again.

I recall some fairy tale where they checked the authenticity of a princess by placing a pea under a mattress. Well Mr Birds Eye - guess fucking what? I don't want to be a bloody princess so stop pissing about with your peas or whatever frozen wares it is you are invading my nightmares with.

Being positive, which isn't always that easy for a Goth - shit TV in Belgique really does cater for the mentally retarded. They have this 'programme/advert/pervert fest' which features naked women doing a variety of bizarre things along with numbers you can call to speak to them.

As per the yUK (sic), they have a really small message (in English) at the end explaining how much per minute this wank-fest will cost. However, what they also have, in even smaller letters after that, is another message (in French) proclaiming - 'These characters are all fictitious and you cannot meet them in person'.

Realistically, I don't think that Johnny Kleenex - international wanker, can actually read anyway.

As for me - I'm too busy wondering about who 'pea'd' the bed to care about what Lolita is doing with that banana again.

Educating Reet Duh

Firstly, let me point out that 'reet' is a very Northern UK way of prouncing the word right - as in the phrase 'Yee a reet love?'. I'm not terribly au fait with particular northern dialects although I do understand most of them.

Anyway, as I am stuck in my little crystal cage at the moment, I have to find some entertainment via the windows of the apartment. Tomorrow, this will change as Lena's recommendation, Carnivale has arrived.

Today though, I was tempted to educate the stupid 'women' I observed via the window.

Thus, my suggestions for 'the brain the size of a peanut gang':-

• Point 1 - trying to run away from the police when you are fat is not a clever idea. When was the last time you saw a sofa with legs win an Olympic medal?
• Point 2 - attempting to throw drugs into a hedge doesn't work if you leave them in the packet, moron
• Point 3 - concealing an eight inch screwdriver in your bra does not really transmit a feeling of an innocent bystander looking for a furniture shop
• Point 4 - whilst you may be able to dismantle a wardrobe with your screwdriver, you could have just sat on the bastard thing
• Point 4a - the police have guns which are far more effective at stopping idiotic elephants

Unsurprisingly, 'lard-arse' and her equally inept accomplice were arrested and, once the police were able to find a big enough vehicle, carted off to jail (probably a very big one).

Looking on the bright side, at least I had some entertainment.

Incidentally, before any pompous twat starts criticising, I have nothing against fat people. I just don't like fucking idiots - whatever their size.....

A Shot In The Arse

Oh yes, it's 'horse-pickle' time again. Once again I have to venture back to the place where weirdos patrol the corridors armed with grapes.

Today, Doctor Who-gives-a-fuck will be changing my bandages, cleaning my wounds and generally causing me pain, again. I know it is a requirement, and I know it is her job but, that doesn't make it hurt less.

At some point, I will have to point out that my other hand is slightly fucked too. Previously, I have skillfully been hiding it behind my back hoping they wouldn't notice - shit worked so far.

I know I shouldn't complain but it's my blog and I can write what I fucking want to.

I am grateful to my friends - the ones that took time out of their busy schedules to see me and bring Jelly Babies etc. As for the others, I will be thinking of you when Dr Frank'n'furter jabs me in the arse with a needle.

In other news, I made a few phone calls. I was bored, I was doped up and feeling shit.

Mrs ex-Goth declared that I should not phone her again unless I had won the lottery. OK. I can do that.

"Hi, I'm in Jamaica now and you get fuck all - I've given it all away to 3-legged cats"

*falls off chair laughing*

OUCH

Two Gay Blokes And

The night before my latest accident, I was enjoying a cerveca in my usual hostelry when my two favourite gay people came to talk to me.

For indecencies sake, I will call them George and Michael.

Michael came over first to ask how my recent golfing escapade had transpired. I explained how I was attempting to teach Mariposa to play golf without my predeliction to twat the fuck out of the chinless cunts that proliferate that environment.

"I still can't believe that Goths play golf he said
"Oh we do" I replied "But only at night"
"That is so funny" he responded honestly "But I have to go to this cocktail party tonight, and I don't want to go
"So don't" I opined "If I don't want to do something, I don't"
"I wish I could be that strong but I have to go"

I bade him farewell and gave him a piece of Gothic darkness to take with him, as a bullshit shield.

Awhile later, George beckoned me over and insisted that I meet his 'crew' of American de-constructors. They seemed a harmless, if dim-witted bunch of renegades. The men were scary, the women scarier but I assume they were a 'tag-team'.

One in particular, caught my imagination - I'll call him Cleetus for now.

Cleetus spoke in a rapid-fire southern 'drawl' that made me think of Deliverance. The only way I can describe it is ..... well, if you imagine Forrest Gump on Acid, you might be close.

I can understand English, Welsh, German, French, Dutch, Portuguese, Italian, Greek and obviously Spanish. Cleetus was speaking none of these.

I will attempt to recreate part of the conversation, after which it will be somewhat self explanatory.

"So, you're from America I assume?"
"Dang right I am Sir, Ize from the united states of ....
*interruption as someone says 'Hola Goth, que tal?' - 'Muy bien amigo, a luego'*
"Holy cow - you understood what he was ....
"Sorry dude - you were saying?"
"No-one here seems to hear what I'm saying
"Well, if you slowed down your speech and enuciated more"
"My teacher said that but she was just plain stoopid"
"She was if she thought that she could make a difference"
"My grandaddy grew up on a farm and he said there wasn't one damn animal he hadn't tried it with at least once"

*alarm bells*

"Oh gosh, is that the time? I must go and do something"

George then asked if I really had to leave. Funnily enough, I was quite certain that I did.

One Finger Is Enough

Said the actress to the bishop - as opposed to the nuns who prefer Kit Kats.

Thankfully, though, one finger is quite enough at the moment. Granted it has crippled my typing ability and I now sit at a keyboard like ET, tapping away with one finger but I can still type stuff which is nice, as otherwise I would be bored.

One finger is enough to crack the ring pull on a can of beer - although I then have to sit there with a straw like some alcholic Stephen Hawking creating my new book, a Brief History Of Beer.

The mobile phone is also not an issue due to the funky little speaker phone on it which means I can leave the phone on the coffee table and still talk bollocks to anyone I want.

BUT, the most important use for that one finger, is for The Doofer (some call it the remote control).

When I eventually shuffle from the bedroom to the front room, taking care not to glance my still injured limbs on any passing, stationery objects, I can switch on TV. Daytime TV though - and what a crock of shit that is.

First, it's programs about turning your useless crap into money via car boot sales, or auctions or some other inane fashion.

After a soothing bout of shouting "Well don't buy the fucking shit in the first place" the finger does it's work - OFF.

Then I get bored and have to switch TV back on - now it's some morons who want to buy a bigger better house so the lazy twats get some presenters to find them 3 houses. Every one is better than the bloody hovel they live in but, they say

"ooo, the kitchens not very big"
"It's bigger than your whole house you fucking dickweed" - 'finger-time' - OFF.

Roll on this afternoon - then it's MacGyver. Easy watching. He will defeat the entire Russian Army armed only with a penknife. Fucker should join the Swiss Army - he could show them a thing or two.

Are there any good programs on daytime TV???

Spastic Goth

I was busy doing nothing, isn't it just a crime when - oops vicar, I created a small problem.

I say 'small' but apparently, severing an artery is actually quite a big problem. I know this because spurting blood everywhere completely fucks up the decor.

Mariposa sprinted to the bathroom to get a bandage and called an ambulance. When she returned, several seconds later, the floor was already covered in Gothic blood.

I tried to remain calm whilst applyiing a tourniquet but no sooner had I done that when - I hit the floor with a resounding THWACK. I presume that's what the sound of a human skull meeting tiles at reasonable velocity sounds like.

I sort of remember travelling in the ambulance to hospital - but it's all a little fuzzy really. What I do remember is being taken into surgery immediately - which is not a good sign - there were people there already in a queue for fucks sake.

Many injections later, and with some skilled sewing by Dr Bob, I looked like half a Gothic Mummy. At this point, I had lost 2 pints of blood - and a little bit more means you are empty and apparently that's not very good.

For several hours, I sat/lay there like a spastic monkey whilst they ran various tests. Finally I said:-

"Can I go home now?"
"Why?" - was the response
"Because it's so fucking boring and I have to clean the kitchen"
"You won't be doing anything for at least 2 weeks" came the reply
"But I need to go for a poo" I said
"You can go here" said the angel pretending to be a nurse
"I still want to go home afterwards" I said, wobbling toward the toilet.

It's somewhat amazing how difficult the simplest things become when you only have one arm. Ten minutes later, I emerged from the toilet.

"Wow - you really did need to go" said the nurse
"Yes" I replied "But I spent 9 minutes trying to do my bastard pants up"

So, home I eventually went. I didn't manage to clean the kitchen - boo hiss. I had to sit on the sofa like a fucking retard.

Looking on the bright side, if I did have a desire to masturbate, by the time I got my fucking pants off, the desire would have receded.

So, things to with one hand?????

What A Fucking Week

Every time I think I have turned a corner in my life, some sadistic bastard has coated the corner with olive oil or another somewhat slippery substance.

Then people question why I don't believe in a god ?!

I'm guessing that is the assinine percentage of the population - or, perhaps they assume the fat twat is as sarcastic as I can be.

The difference being I would not be such a cunt all the time.

So, my week consisted of:-

• Dealing with morons
• No fucker delivering what they had promised
• People making crap excuses for their behaviour
• Shit weather - i.e. that rain type stuff
• Wanting to rip the throat out of ....
• Shitheads having convienient 'sick days'

Apart from that, it was fucking toss (in a generally wanky way, but I did resist the temptation to kick the crap out of everyone).

It's Karma - Do good things and .......

And no, I haven't forgotten the challenge from my buddy John B Goodshite (and if you haven't read his site - you should).

JG -> I will create a post after I have purchased a Samurai sword - or 3

And, I almost lost my virginity - HOOZAH

I Demand

Never a particularly good starting point for a conversation with a Goth. With me in particular, an opening gambit of "I demand...." is invariably followed by a response of "I demand that you fuck off".

It's a bit like that stupid film Kramer vs Kramer - which I've never seen but I believe involves a couple fighting over their sprog.

Apparently, she says "I demand custody" and so he says "So, I demand custody", thus she kicks him in the bollocks, so she kicks her in the twat, and it continues until everyone is crying and some fucker walks off with poor Oscar - metaphorically of course.

At the moment, I'm feeling particularly vulnerable, which means I am very wary of being truly 'arse-invaded' by americans at any time. They are a particularly good species at that - the 'arse-invading' bit (which they call ass-invading - ASS being actually a form of donkey, ergo bestiality) not the vulnerability.

Por ejemplo - They like to give a small country weapons and then go and kick the shit out of them for having weapons - especially if there is some oil lurking about somewhere (see the Bill Hicks speech for that).

Anyway, currently, I have the power to delete the fuck out of their fat arses. I didn't choose it - they chose to endow me with that power, in their infinite lack of wisdom.

Hoo-fucking-rah !

Well, the thing is, I am NOT going to abuse the power. I don't need to see a therapist - I just have more important things to do.

However, any "I demand"s are shortly followed by a somewhat inexplicable total loss of power for said arsey individual.

Of course, I dare say that if you were in Goths position, you might demand something else.

Assuming you had the ability to demand anything, what would it be?? (and the first fucker to say world peace will get deleted immediately) but, fire away....

Twatting Posh People

I so enjoyed my litle Gothic adventure into the land of 'weirdos with more money than sense' that I intend to go back for some more.

Last time, I tried to be somewhat polite which was a mistake - I think - in retrospect.

I was reprimanded for wearing jeans. It was somewhat negligent of me as I didn't know you had to dress like a cunt.

I was aware that dressing like 'Huggy Bear from Starsky and Hutch' was cool but, I didn't realise they were inter-bred retards with the intelligence of prawns.

I wanted to comment but, being 'nice' and in the company of a beautiful lady, I tastefully swallowed their bullshit and followed the ethos.

HA HA

Today, will be a testament to damage limitation. I will return to 'in-bred fest' wearing jeans, and my somewhat prophetic Marilyn Manson shirt which proclaims

WHEN I'M GOD, EVERYONE DIES

Headline - "Mad Goth with bats - twats lots of stupid people"

Don't you just love golf?

Bye By,Gothy

Giving up

Goth World will be be more

Thanks to everyone

Toodle Bat

Goth Opera

As you may or may not have gathered, I'm not a huge fan of lard-arse twats in stupid outfits singing complete bollocks - i.e. Opera.

My taste in music is erratic, eclectic even, but invariably involves bands that can actually play what they are supposed to.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that one of my favourite bands were playing right here in the 'Costa Miserable'. Not only that but they were intending to play their seminal album (no, I'm not linking to the word - go look it up you lazy bastards).

So having secured two tickets, I eventually arrived at the venue with my bodyguard - he's not a black belt but he has a very good tan - which is always helpful in a 'line-up' for the usual immigrants.

It was rather a good concert - in an understated way. To put it more bluntly - it fucking rocked. It was like opera but better, and after the first song we debated whether the lead singer could keep the quality and intensity of his vocals for 30 minutes. He managed over 3 hours including 3 encores.

It has to rate as one of the best concerts I have seen - visually stunning, musically tremendous and in a venue that did not require twatty little binoculars.

Thankyou very much Queensryche for a most enjoyable evening.

AND - yes, I did buy the fucking T-Shirt

Golf - My Fucking Arse

I should do this post in the style of my buddy Jonny Gihad, but I'm feeling far too sarcastic for that. Incidentally, you should read his response to the challenge I threw in his face (like a damp floorcloth) ) it's really quite good apart from the fascination about ONE particular actor.

Anyway - back to golf. A stupid game, played by perverts in costumes !!

Apparently, the theory is that you twat a ball with a stick and then talk bollocks whilst attempting to find the ball that you twatted.

Meanwhile, you have the oppprtunity to dress like a cunt. (Huggy from Starsky and Hutch is a role model).

I have the sticks (bag full of the bastard things), but I am not going on Pubic Transport with them - that would be far too hairy.

However, in theory, my Punjabi soul-mate is taking me to a big lawn, puntuated by holes, today.

This however has 3 pre-requisites:

1 - Hindi-boy remembers anything - (which I believe to be unlikely)
2 - His new car has not been stolen by 'scousers' - (I think the Germans are front of the queue)
3 - We have the cojones - (balls I have - they're not 'special' but at least I know where they're going)

I did play golf once before with my little brother (he's not little, he always carries a gun, and he has serious issues with anger management)

Oh we laughed - well I did. It was funny - to see grown men pissing their pants.

She Sucked - Well, No More

Stupid bloody idea anyway. Who in their right mind would want to have anything sucked? That's just plain silly.

However, I got a call today informing me that she was not sucking anymore. Now, in itself that isn't really an issue but, if you are a vacuum cleaner - that's pretty shit as it's the only thing you have to do.

Just buy a new one - I thought, and apparently vocalised said thoughts, but then... It reminded me of a true story several years ago, in the UK.

'Kirby' cleaners were incredibly expensive - i.e. over a thousand squids. The sales-bastards were tenacious little rascals, cultivated from the most desperate areas of society.

Their sales 'pitch' involved sprinkling a small amount of water onto a bed sheet and explaining that everyone perspired whilst they slept. They would then apply the industrial strength suction unit to the sheet, sucking up dirt through the mattress to create a dirty ring on the sheet.

"This is what you sleep in every night" - the salesman would announce to his horrified prospective client.

On one particular occassion, the sales patter didn't work and the salesman announced he would return the following day at 11am to secure the sale/deal.

The following day, walking up the path, he saw the curtains twitch but whilst ringing the doorbell for 5 minutes, he got no response.

He pretended to walk away but, went around the back of the house and seeing a window open, climbed in.

As he carefully padded into the front room, he observed the terrified couple hiding behind the sofa occassionally trying to see if the salesman from hell had departed (not knowing he was behind them).

In a thunderous voice, he announced "Enough with the fucking 'hide and seek' - I found you. Now sign the contract."

The now, nervous wrecks duly did.

*Moral to the story? - Fucked if I know, but the muppet did try his pressure techniques on me and apparently a swift kick in the bollocks appears to work*

(oh, and apparently 'we' have a new vacuum cleaner - but, you won't find my fingerprints on it - I've seen CSI)"

Porn Movies

What's the fucking point? Granted, that is maybe not the best phrased question but somewhat ironic perchance.

I don't understand the appeal of watching two (or more) lubricated bimbos, shagging each other senseless. Why watch what you could be doing? DUH

It's feasible that these films may hold an appeal for those people who fell out of the ugly tree, hitting every branch on the way down but nature generally compensates. Even the utterly stupid must find the plot lines thin, if not anorexic.

*Large blonde/black/Asian - (some fucking idiot) walks into a scene*
"Whoops - there goes my underwear!"
*Cue some other weirdo(s) to start fucking with a relentless inevitability*
*Fade out / fuck off*
This film was sponsored by Kleenex - the tissue you can trust.

Whilst it is admirable that these films aid the masturbation purposes of travelling business people in their remote hotel bedrooms - do the wankers have no imagination?

Personally, I have always found them about as appealing as being slapped around the head with a large haddock. The films are pretty shit too.

Obviously, I'm not really a 'fannie' of this puerile media but feel free to justify yourself - unless you're Pippa Gore.

(I am not advocating banning porn films - anything that keeps the tossers away from me is a good thing)

Charlotte Sometimes

She's new in my life.

She's called Charlotte.

I love her.

Te quiero Mariposa y gracias con el corazón sangriento

*runs off to hug Charlotte again*

A Gothic State

Which is completely different from the United States (a place full of fat people with guns) - a Gothic state is a heightened sense of awareness, whilst imbibing liquids of a dubious nature, marvelling at the beauty of everything - oh, and the black thing.

However, I have entered the Gothic State and I didn't need a passport - apparently, 'they' were expecting me.

Ergo, it would appear that:-

Mini-Goth is a genius (and all the girls love him - probably some of the boys too) and is 'taking' stupid exams years earlier than needed. If the result is not an 'A' - I will be seeking furious vengeance.

Mini-Gothess is experiencing problems because her forthright nature creates problems for the idiots on the planet. But, methinks there is an 'arse-kicking' afoot - and she won't be taking the class, she'll be teaching it.

Mrs Ex-Goth remains as mad as a bag of squirrels - but she's not talking to me anyway - 'Hoozah - and pancakes for breakfast'.

Mariposa has come to terms with the fact that European Commission people are full of shit - 'poo' is the same in most languages but, just take the money and run.

In other Gothic news..

Goth has to do 'conference calls' with American Idiots again - it's a green day thing. Looking on the dark side, they are aware that I think that they are monkeys with keyboards but I'm not refraining from calling them twats.

Aside from that - not much news from the Gothic State - I have been (de)moted from dealing with shit to dealing with big shit (but shit comes in a compact fashion).

It could be worse - I could be Chinese and trying to kick the crap out of anyone trying to get to the Olympic doofers.

My Dick Is Bigger Than Yours

A good enough reason not to attend a school reunion I think. Unfortunately though, the time came to face my least significant enemies in the world.

"Fucking hell Goth - is that really you?" shouted a voice from the past
"A distant possibility" I replied, paraphrasing as best I could
"My Dick Is Bigger Than Yours!!!" he yelled

"Oh good" I said, "Nothing really changed then"
"Remember that we called you 'peanut dick' as you would never join us in the showers"
"I recall most things perfectly well thankyou"
"Thing was - you never came in the showers with us..."
"There was problably a reason for that then"
"Yeah", he said swigging another beer "You prefered to be in the library"
"Stupid eh? Full of books and erudition" and I tried to walk away

*small pause in the pointless conversation*

"But, I can still write your name in the snow" he said with bravado
"Well, I'd love to reciprocate but 'Shithead' isn't that complex"

*shit-for-brains looks around*

"Haven't seen 'Billy Big Balls' have you - been dying to take the piss out of him?"
"Be an impressive trick" I replied. "He committed suicide after your little tosser-gang drove him over the edge"

*Another vacant pause*

"Yes - he is dead - and I was at the funeral - unlike you morons. On the bright side, I was intrigued when 'our' Games Teacher got convicted of child pornography."
"Mr 'X' was what?!?!?!"
"One of those weirdos? afraid so, but looking on the bright side, you did make it onto his video collection apparently"

Apparently, the library is a better place to learn than the showers......

Back To Reality

So, having composed myself, in my perfect place - which was nice, and full of dolphins and vampire bats that only fed on hippies, and sunshine, and tostados con tomatos - I returned to the floating turd of Europe.

Am I a happy little Goth? - No, not really.

Granted, my little Gothic portions have a somewhat tanned appearance and I even went shopping for items that I have no use for at all (and could have stole much faster).

BUT

I discovered that, my little Gothess, is being a victim of mindless thuggery. My initial desire - to go there and rip their fucking hearts out - was countermanded by the fact that Mrs Ex-Goth, in her infinite wisdom-less, has decreed that I will not interfere, ever, even if I could fix things faster.

Mini-Goth (the Brad Pitt of Gothic-ness) had a similar issue several years ago. Back then, I was also not allowed to interject or generally show any emotion.

I was so desperate to bring 'furious vengeance' onto the perpetrators - but, I was told I could not. Apparently, the 'system' will deal with them, and spank their bottoms in a jolly hard fashion.

*Deep Breath*

In the meantime, I will remain the "whacks on, whacks off" person and hug some small trees

Gothic Holiday

Being Gothic, I'm not used to these 'holiday' type things. All of that pissing about with postcards and suncream is not really on a Gothic agenda at all. However, due to the fact that I was wound tighter than an 'E'-string on a mandolin, I acquiesced at the prospect of going back to Spain.

So, having braved the parade of idiots at the airport, the moronic tendencies of hire-car people, and the sun, we arrived at the hotel.

Sun, sea and boat rides to see some dolphins (doing what dolphins do - i.e. swimming in the sea) were advertised.

I couldn't avoid the sun - much as I tried but, fortunately, I didn't turn into a pile of dust. I do now look like a Gothic lollipop with white bits exactly where I left them.

I saw the sea - it was big, and wet, and full of water.

I also went on the boat ride, much as I loathe water with a vengeance, and saw dolphins. Were they wild dolphins? I think not - they seemed mildly perturbed but put on a performance at the front of the boat - in an arranged fashion. I stayed at the back.

Returning to the hotel, I tried to resist the temptation to entice the gorgeous Scandinavian receptionist back to the room.

Why? What man could resist a beautiful girl with pert breasts?

Don't know - don't care because I am no man, I'm a Goth and in my bed lies a woman.

Not just any woman - but, in my Gothic opinion, a slice of heaven and the reason I have gone from 'mandolin' to 'cello', briefly passing a 'harpsicord' on the way for Gothic effect.

Te quiero Mariposa - mi media naranja