i don't care what you call it, i call it the fucking LUUURRRGGG!!!

yes indeed you fools, stay back! for i am ill...

i have conjunctivitis. basically it means every time i get up in the morning i panic and have Page Street flash backs as my eyes are totally sealed with crusted gunge and i fear Brian has been sleep-wanking again...

fortunately not, it's just eye-pus. lovely. i didn't even know that happened!

long and short of that then is i have procured a few days of work. this may sound good however yesterday i was verging on suicide where anything interesting i could do to pass the time required straining my eyes (TV, computer etc) and hence was a no-no and let's face it, there's only so much masturbation one man can do in a day.

it's a lot but still, it's only so much...

still better than work no doubt you're all thinking except that you forget: i work for cunts. sick pay? I'm sorry... what is this... sick pay you speak of...? that plus the fact that H's car spectacularly failed it's MOT the other day and now Ebs (our gorgeous black Persian kitty) is very poorly so hence requiring honking great bloody vet bills all over the shop.

if it weren't for my astonishing good looks and dazzlingly charismatic personality I'd be having a real bad patch at the moment...

oh right, yeah.

shit.

still listened to lots of Dead Kennedys and Black Flag to make myself feel better so that's something at least.

i mean dude seriously, i don't wanna point out how much more 'core than you i am but i will if you force me to...

oh right, so you're not gonna force me to...? oh, err... well in that case can i just mention how 'core i am in passing then?

no?

oh. oh alright then, i won't (I'm loads more 'core than you are).

go and check out...

...my new blog 'The Pursuit Of Heavyness', accessible from my Blogger profile.

you get all my reviews of live gigs and cds in one place without having to sift through everything on 9Hz or even go anywhere fucking near the Spazz!

winner. i mean seriously, what the fuck else could you want?

what's that...? a prize?!

fuck you, the reviews are the best you're getting you ungrateful cunts...

*glowers*

we don't see you round here much these days.

afternoon peoples...

i lost interest in this rambling on to noone idiocy rather quickly but now feel i should make more of an effort, if only to keep Mr Relf sated. the demands that man can make could break a lesser person. fortunately for all concerned i happen to be particularly strong of heart, spirit and bowell so all is well. except wells themselves of course, they are clearly a well... rather than just... well... er... well.

weeeeeeell...

so anyway, what's been going on then? very little mostly, as normal. i have listened to an inordinate amount of metal, as normal. i have been hating my bag o' shite callcentre job, as normal. i have been stoned at least 60% of the time, as normal. i have done a few inventories and have generally got the business to a state of proper readiness, unlike normal.

there we are, that's the boring bit done. back to the CRACK WHORES!

awesome. CRACK WHORES are the best bit about this blogging lark.

so what can i talk about that may or may not be of interest... well (shit, there it is again!), i've been introduced to some rather novel sexual terminology recently to much general hilarity and worried looks from the girls at work a-plenty. and they were worried when all we talked about was Jews, niggers and queers... the poor be-mammaried fools. personal favourites of the afore mentioned conjugal howitzers have to be 'The Spiderman' and 'The Salty Pirate'.

'The Spiderman' involves having sex with a person from behind and then, at the crucial moment, pulling out and (whilst bazzing your lovefat into your hand) spitting on your partners back. when they turn around to complain that you've just maumaued all over them you then flick the aforemention handheld wazzidue into their unsuspecting face whilst screaming 'GO WEB GO!!!' at the top of your lungs.

'The Salty Pirate', on the other hand, requires your partner to be waiting, jaws akimbo, for the money shot but then at the point of no return you simultaneously adjust your aim to their left eye and kick them as hard as you can in the right shin. the end result of all of which being a person with only one working eye and one working leg hopping up and down going 'Y'ARGH!'.

various other 'interesting' practices have been discussed, however i shall not address them further as they all pretty much get more misogynistic from here on in to the point that 'Windsocking' is, i believe, illegal in over 30 EU countries. and i don't even know if there are 30 countries in this fine European Union of ours.

...well, not ours, more like Belgiums...

...cunts...

i was once king of Belgium for a short time you know. possibly the dullest two weeks of my life and the food was terrible! love of god don't get me started on what they thought tea was supposed to taste like. i mean i wouldn't mind but i don't even drink tea so what the fuck they thought they were getting away with is beyond me.

Johnny Foreigner can often cause serious problems without intending to, however, so i suppose i shouldn't really be that surprised. still, at least we won both times. not that i dislike non-anglos of course, it's just easier to be horrible to a person who doesn't quite understand what you're saying to them.

...or to their mother, more importantly. although i was once notably suprised to learn that the average portuguese mouse-handler has enough of a grasp of the English language to comprehend the sentence 'your wife looks like a siphilitic whore in the death throws of an AIDs begatting cum binge, fine sir'. fortunately i had recently encountered a large bouncing five pointed star down a dark alleyway and was hence immortal at the time so his cleverly disguised mouse-elephant gun ('why are you pointing that Vacuum attachment at me?!') had little or no real effect on me beyond the ruination of an otherwise perfectly good pair of shoes. his wifes chlamydia was quite another (and notably more irritating) matter all together, however... well how was i to know i was almost exactly right except for the specific disease in question? i'd only just met the woman! again though, i had a more than fortunate escape as my testicles had just previously been declared a national treasure and hence were not allowed to be damaged. if there's only one thing the portuguese ever got right (and there is only one thing, the lazy currs...) it's STD clinics. faultless service and impeccably decorated throughout!

huzzah! now about this CRACK WHORE of yours...

drinking from the necks of the ones you love...

so me and H toddled off saturday night to have dinner/get bombed with Marianne and Tony, some people we've met and become friendly with through BNI business type stuff.

all in all i had fun and it was a good laugh but both Tony and Marianne are in their mid fifties and it was like a vision into one potential future for me and H. weird...

basically, they have no kids, aren't married, Tony still smokes as if he were my age, Marianne makes H's ability to natter on like a loon seem frankly amateurish but still, i couldn't quite avoid the fact that i was basically getting battered with my parents. but getting battered my way, not my folks way...

oddness abounds in such situations and i couldn't help laughing at some of the blatant idiocy/hypocrisy on display at moments which really wasn't helping with the parental units comparisons.

example: tony has pretentions of hippydom and berates Marianne for driving a whacking great BMW about as it's (quote) "impractical and dirty", Tony himself, however, has a Porche... queue much biting of fists from me so i don't embarrass myself and/or H by pointing and laughing at the fool.

still, if all goes to plan he thinks i'm awesome so will be happy to use my services as in inventory clerk so teeth marks in the fist are, frankly, a small price to play for all the potential gains.

NB: i apologise for the rather direct writing here but attempting to pen abstract diatribes is a lot of effort, especially when you've been battered at the weekend and are actually trying to talk about something rather than nothing.

NB2: also, i don't care what you think so hence i retract the afore stated apology as i actually fully meant every word i said and FUCK YOU anyway.

NB3: i apologise for the previous comment. it was childish and uncalled for, it appears i'm developing some kind of split-bloginality syndrome.

NB4: FUCK OFF! I'M NOT SCHIZO, HE IS!

NB5: i apologise for my other personality and for his appalling use of shit old jokes. it's not his fault, he was touched by bad people in naughty places when he was a small child.

NB6: that wasn't me, that was the nasty one, he think's that it's clever to make paedo jokes. he's right, it is but none the less i still feel the need to distance myself from his actions.

*reins in his multiple personalities*

sorry about that, not entirely sure where i went there but apparently something still isn't balanced out quite right from when i was touched as a child...

NB7: right, i've had enough of this shit. that wasn't me, it was the angry one. i am now going to take the pair of them to task. no computer games for a MONTH you two! do you hear? honestly you try and raise your various psychological entities right to be ethical and intelligent and give them the best possible start in life and this is the sort of thanks you get. i mean really! i don't know why i bother sometimes for all the good it achieves. maybe it'd be different if i wasn't trying to do this by myself but it's not like you can ever trust anyone else to help you. mother always said i shouldn't trust him but why would i listen to her? oh no, i knew better and i'm paying for it now aren't i. well they'll learn their lessons before too long now i expect and when they do it'll be me there to pick up the pieces again, same as always with narry a word of thanks and no chance to gloat over being right all along. honestly who'd be a mother these days in a world that scorns respect and goodness to the point that it's considered abnormal to try and do the right thing, like there has to be an angle behind it. i blame the politicians myself. how are we supposed to live just, christian lives with them as examples, i ask you? all pious and baby kissing for the cameras but once their out of the office it's straight off to find a CRACK WHORE for the weekend. no doubt their wives are in much the same boat as me really, left holding the baby and trying to hold everything together. it just isn't fair that they think they can swan around behind our backs (and sometimes right under our noses), consequence free doing whatever they like but when they get caught out like they always do then you've got to stand there, hand in hand, the strong supportive wife furiously denying it all when you know it's all true and more so whilst the cameras flash and clamour for your response with the kids either trying to escape or hating him almost as much as you do. it sickens me sometimes, it really does.

NB8: jesus man, and the other two think i've got anger management issues... now we've got a bird in here n'all who can't work out if she's a single (possibly teenage) mum or married to a cheating politician!

right, seriously now. i'm calling a stop to this. all these different personalities're making me look like some kind of crazy person.

oh, wait a minute... awww crap... right then, who wants to get me committed to Cefn Coed and get the £40 then?

*fumes*

leprosy...? dear god man what did you get up to at the weekend?!

the best things in life are free,
but you keep them for the birds and bees!
i want CRACK WHORES!
that what i want!

y'see the glorious thing about a CRACK WHORE is that you always know exactly where you stand with them. geographically speaking that would of course normally be 'directly behind them with a short, sturdy length of rope' but that's not quite where i was going with this. no, i mean that you always know where you are with a CRACK WHORE as they'll always do whatever they can to get yer money off you, including slitting yer throat if it'll speed the process up at all (it is for this exact reason, in fact, that the government has recently started producing a new brochure for Doctors surgeries and Family Planning clinics entitled "CRACK WHORES: 'Protection' sometimes means more than just a hundred, thousand little reasons") giving them an almost reassuring sense of predictability.

unlike CRACK WHORES, however, so many things in this world are unclear. insubstantuality is a fear of mine, much like the reverse-parking although to a lesser degree, and yet i appear to be damned to vapidness for all my dark days in spite of myself.

one simple, clear action is required. just one.

well alright, there's no doubt an awful lot more than just one that is 'required' in any real sense but as i said so few sentences ago, vagueness is a curse and a means to an end in and of itself. do the ends justify those means, however...? fuck off, like i'd tell you you fucking CRACK WHORE double agent...

again, we appear to be getting nowhere fast.

is there a sure fire way to de-rail this unfortunate course of events? is a man truly in control of his own destiny? is slothenliness nature or nuture?

in other words, can i blame all this on my mother? and if not, why not...!?!

in parting: wear shoes in all instances seen as appropriate and at least 50% of those considered less so and you will almost unerringly avoid stubbing your toe. this is crucial in avoiding groinal strains in later life, though only three doctors in the entire world claim to know why and none of them are making with the answers, the goddamned elitist bastards... Danny? pass me the secerteurs please, i'm gonna have another nice, friendly little 'chat' with my hypocratically-if-much-in-need-of-being-taken-down-a-peg-or-two minded friend here...

p.s: CRACK WHORES are awesome. OMGGZZZ LIK THEYR SOOOOOOO HOT INNIT!!!!!11!!1!!!!1111!!I LUVZ EM I DOS ROFLOLMAOBRBH+KXXXXXXXX11!!!!!!!!1!!111!!!!1

an elaborate rouse...? are you sure that's spelt right...?

elderflowers are not as innocent as they at first seem.

i have decided, in fact, that all flowers are less than trustworthy. i cannot necessarily explain my reasoning for this but none the less, the statement stands true above all else i have learned in my reasonably long and innefficient lifetime.

this almost undoubtedly means i should take more time to interact with the outside world, preferably without the use of a cathode ray tube to aid perception but then, really... does the outside world deserve the effort?

walking to my place of 'gainful' employment this morning i was deluged by various subtle but none the less calculated and spiteful intimations that frankly, as far as the world's concerned, we built our sodding houses and we should bloody well stay in them!

consider the evidence, if you will:

1. it's fucking freezing out there at the moment.
2. no really, it's actually got huge frost on cars and plants and everything!
3. at one point on my journey, brambles have grown up over a fence next to the pavement and hang at perfect face-scarring/eye-gouging level and no matter what the council do they just keep on growing back!
4. there is no plumbing.
5. it often rains.
6. the tea and coffee making facilities leave a lot to be desired...

...i could go on but i feel i've created a bullet-proof arguement. do you really require further convincing, Gentle Reader, that our planet quite clearly despises us and makes no qualms in showing us this antipathy? don't get me wrong, we probably deserve it after the rather unconsiderate way we've behaved but will the planet not conceed that whilst we may have damaged it so severely, is the appliance of science not a worthy cause and should the environment not be willing to pay the price for our rather overly-curious natures? damn it planet this isn't some frivolous time wasting activity like having political opinions or attempting to be a morally virtuous person, THIS IS FUCKING CHEMISTRY TYPE STUFF!

discuss.

you cunts.

the end of abstraction (or: how a call centre killed my imagination)

man seriously, i'm sat here in work, bored to tears. i can actually feel what little intellect i have left after so many years of neglect and abuse slowly ebbing away and my feelings on the matter are much like a coma victims feelings toward his feet; they're still there, more or less, he just can't really do anything with them all that much.

that's right, slowly but surely my mind is becoming null and void and i feel no urge to display anything other than ambivalence toward the fact.

this scares me slightly but at the same time i wonder if this would be some strange kind of release to have my grey matter leak from my head in a horrifying if aesthetically pleasing fashion via any convenient orifice. so wrong and yet feeling so right and involving orifices... sounds like kiddie porn, Mr Glitter... perhaps you'd like to follow us...?

perhaps not, however...

i ask only this of you, gentle Reader: do not judge me as a man but rather as the beast i truly am, languid and sullen here in my telephonic cave. capable of crushing the skull of any rival with my bare hands if only i could somehow find the energy.

i enjoy a short whimsy that customers are like wolves or some other pack hunter, constantly lurking, ready to spring and rip throats and hamstrings and line rental discounts at the slightest show of weakness. then i realise this is farcical as the average wolf would undoubtedly best any of our customers in a battle of wills with barely a strenuous conceptualisation. no doubt the wolf would be in possession of a firmer grasp of the english language than the average customer as well...

indeed, as i understand it, wolves are actually impeccably polite creatures on the whole with an unchallengeable sense of punctuality. they are never mean nor unnecessarily brutish beyond time spent 'on the job' and even then many animals have been heard to comment that their death was handled with compassion and all due diligence. how reliable dead animals are as a source of character judgement is, however, still entirely unproven as of this time.

one day soon i shall return. when i do, duck and cower under your desk you curr... it may just save your worthless hide...