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.