Tuesday, 5 November 2013

Friends, Romans, Berks

They say it never blows a gale on the costa, but I know otherwise...

Here! This is a notion and suggesting it pisses off the TUV so that's double the reason to throw it out there.
Just to infuriate your average hog wanker, to solve all this bullshit in the Norn of Iron, instead they set up a United Ireland. Purely because it hasen't been done before.

Now, before y'all run to your loudspeakers to bitch, read your history. Everybody goes on about that non-existent shit all the time so why not fucking read it for once!
Ireland was never a single political unit in neolithic, celtic or gaelic christian times. Even when the Norman angles came in, it was still a patchwork of kingdoms, each trying to rule the other. Politcal union only really occured in times of war, viking invasions and that and even then wasn't quite the real deal.

Ireland was effectively united when English and later British kings/queens stopped ruling their countries and instead resorted to jerking off while staring into the mirror. That's when they got shifted of surplus Prods, all the born again pains in the arse who later went on to such great things in Norn Iron and Alabama with all those similar clubs and societies of theirs; the LOL and the KKK and etc.
Ireland united under British rule doesn't count. The Republic becomes independant, but six counties stay and you know the rest of the bollocks.

We've tried everything else; direct rule, local assembly. Nothing works, so go for a united Ireland. If it's 'The Answer' (copyright, tm, patent pending) as all nationalists have believed all these years then the sun will shine and we will be the only people on earth where everything is great and all that. If it fucks up then, well, at least we tried and in any case we'll still be pretty much in the same pile of shit we've always been in. Weird eh? Fleg or no fleg, we're still in the shite. I'm starting to think a bit of cloth has no bearing on reality here...

Speaking of Alabamy, if you're home from a hard day masturbating pigs and your better half and two quarters wants to watch a film, here's a chance to get the moral high ground. Well, not all boar wankers can claim the high ground. I can think of one exception/exclusion, but he's a right cunt, so it doesn't matter
(That shot was for you Junax).

Anyway, here's guessing what she will want to watch: Gone With The Wind. Never has such a jaw-breaking bore been committed to celluloid. There are other God-awful, boring films, true. But this one is four loooong hours! You could have had a good sleep in that time, never mind wasting it watching such a dopey movie. 
Plus if you say you don't want to watch it, she may pull some weapons out of the guilt arsenal. For example:

'But I really like this film'
'I wanted to watch it with you'
'This means so much to me'
'I want to watch this romantic film as a couple'
'Do my feelings not matter to you?'
And so on and so on, ad infinitum.

Sounds familiar. It's weird, you can't take classes in emotional blackmail, you just have a knack for it. Plus if it worked on your dad, then it'll work on any bloke. So you can't fight lightning, but here's what you can do, with a greater awareness of this film that first imagined. When your lady friend suggests watching it, then you say something along the lines of:

'Gee darling, I would love to watch this film, but its a four hour celebration of white supremacy and slavery'

It is! The title is 'Gone with the wind', mourning the loss of the rich, slave-owing society of the pre-civil war south. And all the African Americans in that film. They are slaves! Where are the whip scars on their backs? Where are the scenes of them doing back-breaking labour for 12 hours to make their masters rich? Where are the scenes of when their children were sold as slaves to make more money. They aren't in the film. But it's happening, all the time. In the background. What sort of horrible shit is your girlfriend expecting you to watch here?!

The characters. All the white women are self-absorbed pains in the ass who have to take siestas in the afternoon when the weather gets a bit hot. Aww! Er, have you looked out in the fucking plantation fields recently?! You wanna talk about suffering? All they think about is Ashley bleeding Wilkes. How do you think he got to be so rich? Rhett Butler looks like he hasn't done a days work in his life. He disapproves of slavery? Oh well, that's ok then, that's that problem solved! If you're cheering when the Union troops burn Atlanta, you know you're watching the wrong film for you.
Four hours of KKK propaganda? Not tonight darling, sorry. How did you get into this shit anyway? Now I think of it, how much your mum loves white bedsheets.

To avoid tilting at the windmills of Godwin's Law here, we shall conclude. Remember to stick by your pool and just chill out.


Monday, 28 October 2013

Implicit In The Charitable Bad Karma

Ah now.

It's an outcast's life for me, more by choice. Plus I get the jacuzzi thrown in.
As I recline here on the loophole between crime and legality, in the fresh sunshine of costa wherever, I admit my only crime is laziness more than anything else.

I used to proudly use this page as my own personal garbage dump; leaving all the shit here and having a jolly time with the rest of my day. It was great! But then they had recycling, you gotta separate the crap from the turds and that and not put them into landfill, etc. Plus coming up with mean-spirited spite just wasn't part of my day anymore. It took effort, ya know? Who's got time for that when you can sit in a swimming pool for hours on end in costa del when they catch you? Not me, I'm happy lazy!! I taught Kate Nash all she knows about lyrics. On purpose too! Hehe, told you I was a bastard.

But I'm sitting here thinking there must be some dollops of hate you can still occasionally hurl at the world, you know just so I can keep my hand in, prove I'm still a pro and for a laff anyway. Well I went through all the papers and found a letter from once poster here, Junax.

Junax and the hairdresser; what a load of boring whining that was! Still bangs on about it that's why posting privileges were withdrawn from that numbnuts. However, I was amused to read in his latest missive that the hairdresser is still with David Drabs (that's the name I think), who is soft of like an anus-chinned pig breeder who votes TUV. Pairing with him is a foul union which now condemns rest of her life to a living purgatory, and she has become the size of a boar to boot! What was all that gubbage about being on a diet?! You may well ask Junax my boy. I think "bollocks" is the correct term to describe it though "bullshit" works just as well.

As much as the fate of these meaningless sods moved me to hilarity (as did Junax's moping over it), I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to educate y'all on a few rules of love and throw a bit of hateful shit around at the same time. You guys are all giving out bad vibes for the yankee festival of Halloween so why not? It's no worse than all the negative stuff you're celebrating! Are sitting with discomfort? Then we'll begin...

Girls are just as inconsistent as men are! They say one thing and renage on it the next. Pay it no serious heed. If you are in a relationship with a girl just listen politely and go along with the about face when it comes. It's horseshit anyway so don't give it any of your serious attention, save that for paying the bills. It's also horseshit when they bitch about you being inconsistent. Don't let it get to you, it takes one to know one...

Women are beautiful. It's true! Even Bisson has lost himself to doe-eyed dribbling, imagined himself in love. However, beautiful minds and personalities are a bit thin on the ground in lady-land...This is nothing to do with intelligence BTW!! Women are smarter and more capable than men. Look at all the dumb shit men have done over the centuries for goodness sake and women always have to put things right after. No, we are talking about BEAUTY not INTELLIGENCE!! A beautiful mind is existent where someone shares and understands the many things that you find beautiful in this life and the love of a personality that comforts you
to your soul.

Contrary to what we are fed from year dot, getting a good match in mind and personality is impossible in this life. That is to say non-existent. Therefore as a man you embue a woman you are attracted to with qualities and charm she never had in the first place. This only makes the plummet more painful. The real person betrays the ideal created and that hurts. For example, Junax as a painter is done over by the hairdresser for a pig breeder. Painting takes talent, that is unique; pig breeding takes education and physically wanking off pigs. That can be learnt or in this case, a hobby. Why would you want an artificial creation of over the genuine article?

It's simple. Junax gave the hairdresser qualities she never had as he quite fancied her. Painting is of no interest to her. She's been styling pigs from word go. Junax created a faux hairdresser, took a liking to her and then was betrayed when the real personality came through. This is why second dates are such a major fuck-up. To be fair to women though, they have been fantasising princes out of frogs a lot longer than we have, hence the much older tradition of "men, they're all bastards." As the disappointed, we are relative newcomers.

Consider the frog. Many women do indeed. They see that little green fart sitting there day after day going "ribbit" and they see the consistency that has so far eluded them. This is why women end up with the male equivalent of a dollop of tapioca sitting on the sofa. He has nothing of interest about him; he is as boring and as unexceptionable as the universe is old. But and it's a massive but, which he has also, he is dependable! He will always be sitting there, watching the football in a small cloud of steam. He lacks the imagination to be anything but boring and predictable. Just the kind of stable guy you can have your children with.

Even 50 Shades of Grey settles down?! HAHAHAHA! As if! That's the biggest work of fiction in that whole book right there! A billionare with butt-plug fixations becoming reliable?! Dream on ladies! Let's say that pussy-whipped (in a figurative sense now) he may become but he always has one eye on that little escape route for the day. That's the best you can ever hope for and even achieveing that will put years on you...and the pounds.

The tapioca men are nothing like that. They're dull! They're boring! They're perfect to raise the kids and that is the truth about love. Girls! Get yourself a boring arse today! If the hairdresser can do it, you too can live the dream. Now true, this will make self-maintenance redundant; I mean, who are you ever going to impress? You will put weight on with the boredom and the constant pregnancies, unless you start an affair. But that's a small price to pay for a consistent husband and a good father. This is why all women end up with boring fuckwit men no matter what. Fact. Of. Life.

Ah yes, always good to tune in the uninitiated. If only Junax would get it, poor deluded romantic sod, ah well. It's true though; the alpha-males get to be presentable after a lot of work and even then they're always looking for a way out. Artists? Pah! Just end up on their own. Picasso was only able to dick around the way he did because he was successful; most end up in their isolated little garret, staring at that unfinished canvas, lonely as fuck but don't have the money to buy the pills or the noose. The tapioca, boring man will be laughing all the way to the bank from day one. He's ready to find love. Well, he won't be laughing that's too exciting and love is a bit too interesting for him. Emotions aren't his thing, maybe watching football. But he will be there, consistent and reliable just sitting on the sofa; the shit stain you can never scrub away.

So what of Bisson in all this? Well, love is a foreign country and children are terrorists from that land, seeking to impose dictatorship. I reckon I'll just say single and child-free and try and make myself happy rather than relying on somebody else to do it for me. There's a notion! Wow, it could work! Us artists eh? Always with the wacky ideas. Enjoy your negative vibe fest this week, not my thing really.

Back to the swimming pool.


Sunday, 11 August 2013

Yet another portrait of you!


It's such a difficult living in a villa with it's own pool, jacuzzi and private beach for three months, but, fuck it.

I find myself stirred in the last couple of days teaching my poor, weepy friend, Kelly Brook, what assholes rugby players actually are. It's like politicians, it takes a special type of shit to devote themselves so entirely to a profession. Actually all hunks are shits, Kelly my dear, avoid them like the plague as you will never be happy with them. Why not try a half-mad poet instead? I know a bloke who is right up your street. No looker but the guy has some talent.

You see wisdom is something that I impart but may not practice, but impartiality is a good thing.

I am fed up to read in 'El Fartknocker', the discerning periodical, that protests are back in Norn Iron. Wha?! Come on guys, you've been down this boring road a thousand times. I told you, Northern Ireland is not Hawaii! There is no sun, beautiful seas or lovely people. Stop wasting your fucking lives over somewhere that exists just to stop the cowpats from getting wet. Ninety miles of dry cowpats is a good thing but not something to waste your life protesting over. I know tons of better things to do.

What is it this time anyway. So a band can walk back up a road eh? Sheeit whatever helps you sleep at night. A lack of enthusiasm for muff-diving is more upsetting, for example. Having said that loyalist protests are probably not a great place to pick up girls. Trying to get the conversation to change from 'No surrender' to 'you wanna come back to mine?' sounds a challenge in itself.

I think I saw the fleg once and did not get what the fuss was about. I thought that looks like a bit of cloth on a pole, will that create jobs and reignite the economy? No...yet to hear of bits of cloth that bring jobs back to the country. Investors tend to be into something else, like maybe a place where the people aren't violent nutcases is where they dig putting their money. Cos non-violent nutcases are very good at making more money plus the original investment. So it doesn't make money this fleg, you can't eat it and it looks rubbish at keeping you warm so what's all the fucking shitstorm about?!

Get annoyed about something that matters like you can only get blowjobs on designated days of the year. That would REALLY fuck me off, never mind all this fleg shit. Your right to suck the nipples of a large pair of tits has been re-routed to someone else...FUCK YOU!! I'm gonna get violent over that. Y'know perspective folks remember that? Can't march back the way you came on a lovely summers day? Shit wan. I am bereft...have to do all the ten million things I wanted to do instead like bring sexual pleasure to women and such.

Fuck it, you've been at it 300 years. Whatever floats your boat and helps you sleep at night, go for it. Just don't interrupt my liberties doing it. Of course, NOT being in Northern Ireland helps a great deal in doing that!

Now Kelly, poets, I tell you, you'll never look back. Hunks will be yesterdays chip papers and at last you will know satisfaction...


Saturday, 13 April 2013

Not My Problem!!

Being considered intelligent is about as much good as being praised for having a large bladder. No matter the amount of space, you're still full of piss.

I don't know what Justin Beiber's new haircut is like and it's killing me. Well no, more a pity its not killing him. Assad is really going to have to pull the big guns out if war in Syria is to compete with that hot bit of news.

Things not to do on my holidays...well, talk about them for one. Having to recall what you did for your holidays is such a jaw-breaking yawn. Anyway I still am on holiday, unless something comes to mind.
Nothing has, but you gotta be interested enough for that to happen. Bored, bored, bored at the minute.

What not to do on your holidays...Go to Blarney Castle? Actually that's a good one. Go there, stand in the pissing weather to kiss a bit of stone that will give you the gift of the gab. Do you see the queues linining up at this place? That's a lot of people with the gift of the gab, I don't think they've thought about how fucking noisy that will be. Anyway there is something which can make you talk a lot of constant shit. It's called cocaine and it's not recommended so why is this?

So you go there, pay your money, stand in a queue in the rain and then are lowered over a sheer drop to kiss a stone window lintel. Not the expected at all. Why's it over a sheer drop? What are they saying here? The ones who just plummet to the ground keep the talking numbers down? In what twisted way did this become a guarantee that you'll become a noisy asshole? Of course, not the stupidest idea in human history...

The stone itself has a big wet patch where all the kissing happens. So you kiss the stone and you get the gift of the...facial herpies. Went to the Blarney Stone, kissed it and now genital warts are springing up on my face. Don't know how that happened and the swellings make it difficult to speak. Not as bad as when you get them on the back of the throat of course, but not sure what sort of gift that is really.

Y'know, let's cut through the crap and say right here, that being a chatty sort is way overrated. Ok, you're able to make small polite talk, yeah yeah, and so you're a more attractive person and all that. But then if you are so quick to chat then you transmit your thoughts the minute you think them. They never are given the deeper thought and consideration they require by internal perusing. You are far more the interesting person if you give great thought to it. I can say that as it bigs me up loads. I tell you, you are more a person of consequence if you talk less, think more.

Kind of like eat less, shit more, but for the modern age. Back to the jacuzzi.


Monday, 1 April 2013

The feeling that you're being fucked and it isn't even nice?


Trying to have a holiday here! As predicted there is something that pissed me off enough to have to come back! Now look I wanna relax, then I start bitching again, that was the plan.

But guess what?! The cocksuckers of the Secret Rulers of the World have decided to announce some fresh stroke to make life even more worse for all and sundry. Especially when it doesn't need to be.

Benefit reform...

Yeah, seriously that is the great idea! Now this shower of useless bastards couldn't even hit a barn door with a double bass but are in charge of finding the money that their mates lost for us five years ago and now we, for some reason, have to pay back even though WE DIDN'T FUCKING LOSE IT. Oh and there's more! Haven't a clue who we're actually paying back now. Usually you have a good idea of your debtors when they turn up at the door with baseball bats and a rottweiler. But we owe all our money to...goodness knows who! Don't imagine that the Coalition knows either. Especially as NO FUCKER VOTED FOR THEM.
Yes, this collection of well off, middle class morons are now the judge and jury of who gets what money where. Not that they're any good at the jobs they do, far too incompetent for that.

You get to be minister of work and pensions because you followed the Prime Minster into the toilets and wanked him off in such a way that the gobule of congealed semen in his knob was finally evacuated, hitting the ceiling with a satisfying plop. Do it again next year and you might be made Health secretary.

So a rich elite employ these scumbags to make the poor even more worse off...welcome to the wonderful world of human values.

Still old Iain Duncan Smith says that he could live on 53 pounds a week. The cunt won't though. And he wouldn't have the first fucking clue how to anyway, though his butler might have a vague notion. He used to be party leader...you can see how well that went...

Now they did say that this will encourage people back into work. Oh, there's jobs then are there? No, but it will get people off their books and it'll look better at the end of the year. Well, if it's going to get people back into work then the job I want is work and pensions secretary. No, make that Prime Minster. I have some great ideas where to get money. Asset-stripping Eton College would just be the start of it. If I fuck up, they're all doing that and getting huge pay-packets for it, so who'd notice?

Of course we should be realistic here. The world is no better than it was centuries ago, just the Elite are more likely to hide what they're doing now as they stop their unending quest to do us all to miserable deaths.
Does anyone care? Prime example of whether they do or not is if a facist is elected manager of a football team and surrounding humanity will then respond along the lines of:
"Aye, well I dunt mind if he's persecuting them fellas, just as long as we stay 8 points up in the championship...". Give 'em a big hand folks or a straight arm salute.

Urh. Gonna get back to hols now. Some folks said I don't have a patriotic bone in my body. Not so, I remember I went to a tropical island some time ago and was sitting on the beach, having a few cocktails when the local ladies volleyball team started practicing nearby. I can't remember what that island was called but I would have given my life for those girls, for those three hours or so. How patriotic can you get?


Thursday, 28 March 2013

Not so much a turd, as a way of life

You think it's easy being Bisson? You think it's easy to sit here and write this unreasonable shit that you never bother your arse to read? Can you even conceive the amount of bad karma each word gets me here. No ya don't and you don't give a shit. Neither does the rest of the planet...but who are the heartless bastards then? Easy, you lot without a shadow of a doubt. I, at least, care.

As a dedicated follower of my own entrails as most a poet is wont to google...
Not really. I wouldn't even google an aflame nose snotter to find out where it is, to piss on it to put it out. Nah, tell you what it is, Ol' Bish is going to treat himself to a bit of quiet peaceful time over Easter to let his senses breathe again and find harmony. Don't worry, I'm sure you useless shower of heartless bastards will piss me off into writing again. It's the only thing you have a gift for.

Bit o'housekeeping before I take to my swimming pool...

I saw in the Daily Record some outrage about a female teacher having sex with a 17 year old male pupil. It was considered a scandal and it is a scandal! Not the shagging, but the bullshit moral outrage surrounding it. How dare the human race puff it's chest up and declare this to be wrong. Sex between two consenting adults? Yeah, shit one there.

Let me tell you this; if you morons continue to run about squawking about female teachers having sex with their male students then female teachers are LESS LIKELY to have sex with their male students. Fuck you! You are so bloody apathetic and let wars and economic collapse happen, but you'll only rouse yourselves for this kind of bollocks. Have you any idea how many hot female teachers there were at school and how ol' Bisson could have shown them a good time, which I have a talent for. I HATE seeing talent wasted. Yeah, because of you self-righteous fucks, they wanted to savour my talents but were too scared of being caught by the Daily Record. Bisson was a talented 17 year old pupil and very much wanted to fuck the hot female teachers in his school. But NOOOO, war is good, sex between teacher and consenting pupil 'baaad'.
Baaaaaa, why don't you fuck off you useless sheep and stop bleating pointlessly. Stop wasting talent with your bollocks. Stop your moralising crap, I'm trying to get laid here. Hot female teachers need a good seeing to!

I was speaking to Louis from Lisburn recently who felt my take on guns and gun nuts was unfair. America needs it's guns! You're right, Louis from Lisburn. Though I was just pointing out that without guns, the Yanks would be too bloody lazy to pull off the mass murders they commit every year and in the writing of the constitution, nobody saw the advent of automatic rifles. They proposed the right to bear arms concerning guns that stopped working in damp weather. Plus it wasn't in the original constitution, they had to amend it when they realised they hadn't covered everything first time around.

But that's old news and I agree I need a better argument. For you, dear Louis of Lisburn, here's a new proposal for the gun nutter problem;

Instead of banning guns and assault rifles, what you do instead is stop educating kids in the United States. Now, that sounds a very American solution, but in fact my idea is more complicated than that. What will be done is that ALL children in the United States leave the country and receive an education in other countries like the UK or Australia until the age of 18 when they have the right to return if they so wish. Not being in the U.S will keep them safe from nutcases with easy access to guns. Sure there are lunatics in other countries but they aren't able to get guns as easily; the sale is more restricted and the mentally unstable have a tough time getting their hands on guns outside the U.S. The kids will be taught in a safer environment and will return to the U.S with a fresh, more intelligent and less reactionary attitude. Outside America, this is easily attainable despite appearances.

Of course there will be blubbing. Many kids will be sad at having to go but at the same time are more adaptable to change than intransigent adults and will accept that their elders are too emotionally constipated about guns to raise and teach them properly and thus have forced this situation upon them. Any adults blubbing, well hey, you still have your guns don't you? What are you fucking crying for? Your kids are safe, they are far away from your non-existent gun laws. If you don't want to see your children sent overseas don't bloody have them in the first place! That will reduce the huge human population strain our finite planet is suffering under. When the kids do come back they will have a fresh attitude towards guns and finally some change will happen. Everybody wins.

I'm still not sure what we have guns for. We don't get attacked by other animals unless we go looking for them and to do that is just stupid. Alien invasion? Guns aren't going to be much use against beings who have the ability to travel faster than the speed of light. All I can think of is to protect ourselves from other humans, in which case we're fucked as a species. Of course we're not a species. We're more like a plague.

Anyway, going to let all you dozy cunts carry on this pointless and inevitable fall into nothingness, which is entirely self created. If an asteroid hits, the world will not end, but humans will cause the end of the world.

Time to rest, relax and put the feet up some. Sweet!


Thursday, 14 March 2013


Who loves the sun? Well I don't see it out today, motherfucker.

Belfast has become the bide-a-wee refuge for waifs of a disagreeable manner according to a last Banana of mine. I'll admit I threw my toys out of the pram something proper and howled more like a nappy wearing wee shit when there was no-one there to pick them up. The cure for all hurt and sobbing feelings is to wind your neck in, here in Belfast. Fuck if only Freud had lived here. He could have just told all the emotionally hurt and mentally disturbed persons he tried to heal, to 'wind their necks in' and saved himself hours of work. The last word in caring and compassion. Actually that's only the second last. The real last word here is to 'go fuck yourself.' We care, we really do.

In fact after my howl, one pal who had sought greener fields outside of the city got in touch. Why have we left Bisson he said. Have you checked your deodorant recently? Ah, no I haven't and when I did...oh, fuck me!
That said unpleasant smells have much use in the political and financial sector. With my stench there could be a revolution coming on. Not now though, I wanna shower.

But this ain't why I called you here today, my dear, devoted fuckwits. I'm here to name and shame a vile seam in our pretty Abounding amongst those who live in Ballfast or applied for cityside admission many moons back when is the human form known as the 'Trendy'.

We've covered this before or mentioned it, but I figgered a bit of clarification was needed to properly understand this creature.

What is a trendy?! Well a trendy can be, as said a town or country person. Bah...Who also fancies themselves as a poet, artist, musician, liberal ecologist...Aw fuck! Eurgh, I'd rather have gonorrhea!

Now just the job description is bad enough, but there's more. The trendy finds themselves a stance and poses in a very cool, yet very caring way as they do in all aspects of their life. They bring you love. Except when you don't quite match their standards and then they cold shoulder you and would leave you to die in the outer darkness, if you were dying and they had some outer darkness.

Is this a crime? No it is a way of life for many, many, many people in this six county dump masquerading as a political enigma. Those you will meet are but a few of thousands of trendbots, ready to envelop all existence as we know it, like a new spring range at GAP.

Here's another example of the trendy nature. Firefly...or Serenity...or Serene Firefly or whatever the fuck you call it. Well it was a sci-fi show by Joss Whedon (oh help!) who had done the 'with-it'* and unfunny 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and was now doing the with-it but unfunny and rather quite incomprehensible bollocks show set on the good ship 'Firefly'...or 'Serenity'...or Whateverthefuck...and the people on it were the last hope of something which was hopeless but now had hope in the face of something which didn't exist which is hopeful in itself but really quite hopeless. Anyway the show was cancelled and the lead guy went on to a better pay check in a show that wouldn't get cancelled for being a load of wank.

Ah so fucking wot you say and you're right. But the trendies found this show on whatever late night channel was pimping it out to a late night hospital audience or whatever. They found it and instantly saw the brilliance in it that had escaped everyone else. It became their cult show, the obscure thing that they were clever enough to find. Except that all the trendies had to know about it so it wasn't that obscure anymore. And when it got axed they had something to bemoan the loss of, show how much better their judgement was compared to the TV people and ring their hands in memory of what could have been. A bunch of pretentious fucks flying around space in a load of pretentious gobbledegook? Ohh the possibilities! Maybe the big appeal was they did a lot of recycling onboard and exciting missions where they cancelled Third World Debt on Neptune.

What could be worse? Thanks to trendies, Kings of Leon have an audience and their horrible, shitty music is piped around the place to torment the rest of us. Without trendies there would be no Starbucks. Apple Mac would be an obscure company that operated way back in the 80s. Ashton Kutcher would have no career. Trendies have given so much to make the world a gloomier place and therefore we have much to despise the fucking assholes for. And yet they are the majority, the ones we seek vindication from. When really we shouldn't.

The trendies and all their associated sychophants will no doubt turn their backs to all you who disagree and seek to puncture their egos. But then think about it. Not really that bad a thing...World still turning? Check. Loads of cool wonderful things in life to charm the senses. Check. Yep, sorry trendies, you and your moronic opinions, it turns out, aren't actually needed here. We manage just fine without you. Fuck off then.


* 'With-it'. Def: Attempt to be cool and completely knowing in what your doing, when in fact all you are producing is a load of cunt.

This is Horseshit!

Y' know I want to have a gander at a subject that has been referenced, touched upon, shouted hopelessly at in the dark vastness of night and created much bad vibes and karma and yet has come to have an all important need to be dispelled for the dangers it presents to those who believe in it, the general waste of time it represents and the fact that on all levels it is bollocks.

I of course refer to what a woman wants in a man. As a civilian Leo, my ego permits me not to lie down and accept this state of affairs as it is. The wounded leonine will claw at that which pains it, but knows well enough to strike at the falsehood, not the effect. But enough of this high-falutin' as I never moved beyond miming on the recorder, never mind the flute, well...

What do women want? Well, ignore all the stuff you've been told over the years about women wanting poets, musicians or artists. Nevermind that they want somebody sensitive, that particular load of old stale tripe got shot down decades ago. No, artistic types are all really keen for a while but you wouldn't bet the rest of your life on them. The handsome, cold shoulder types last a bit longer but unless they're prepared to give up on this artistic nonsense, well, where's the security eh?  Where's the love? Love is all around us, you just won't find it in relationships.That is the falsehood there.

Hang on let's shake it up here so we're all sitting a bit more uncomfortably. How about a dose of 100% reality amongst all the fiction and bollocks which I have made up...well, nearly reality. Gives the appearance of reality there...

As much as I complain about women's choices in terms of the male heffalumps they go for...True on many occasions there is the pained cry of "Yikes!! Him????!!!!"

But there are things to be borne in mind. Firstly, we all have this perfect image of ourselves until proven spotty and 'orrible. In civilian life I am no exception. In that case, mine is 10 x 10; ten stone lighter and ten years younger. So it is quite a shock when I look in a mirror...

"Augh!! It's one of those fat bastard slobs who steal all the great women!!"

It is only after I have punched this overweight slob and stare uncomprehendingly at my splintered knuckle that any sort of realisation sets in...

Having a good civilian memory for certain things hurts as well. The slights you remember as if they just happened. So sharp and real, it tends to be:

"Mutter, grumble, unfair..."

Which needs and indeed should be followed by:

"Dude! That was ten fucking years ago!"

"Actually it was 20, leave me alone...Sniff."


Selective civilian memory is where YOU forget the bits where YOU fucked up.

"I did that?! What a dick! I don't remember...ah well."

Then 2 minutes later, the civilian turns and it's:

"How cruel the women are to a sweet guy like me. Fucking...misogynist rant and etc, etc."

Of course it is so cruel to yew, civilian Bisson. You and Pol Pot just never got the breaks eh?
So I'm a cyber dick and a civilian dick. What a catch! Why are the good ones still single?

In my defense, my QC crys: "Ah but he has a bit of zip to him though! Poet, interplanetary dreamer..."

Yeah. Not the sort of guy to go around Tile Market on a Saturday though or raise a kid or converse politely in polite company about polite things. Not really stable, reliable, improving or growing...all the sort of schnizzle women need. That is why they go for the guys with the pronounced eyebrows who moo at the TV.

Dopes then? Yeah but you can RELY on them! 100% guaranteed sperm donor and shopping assistants. The final word in 'lady-nip'.

Raising kids? My idea of that is to tie a kid to a flagpole and raise it to the top where it's out of the way and not bugging me. Child protection and the feminine population would not appreciate this in the slightest, though I might be in with the chance of pulling a fleg protester with that one.

Yes, for the civilian as Frank Zappa so acutely observed; as you try to impress them with your interplanetary dreaming, you will be easily overtaken in the dating stakes by the dope who goes 'Moo'.
Frank put it much better though. Basic lesson is the same as in true.

So are we all learning anything? Probably. Maybe the lesson we can take today is put neither gender on a pedestal. Men and women are equally fucked up. Heh!


Monday, 11 March 2013

A day in the life of your cock-warmer

Funny, well not really.

Odd then that we get the suggestion to cut taxes and cut welfare spending come from some of the wealthiest politicians. Dr Liam Fox et al, who have never really felt the bite of having to be on benefits, very swiftly being fast footed through palatial surroundings, palatial schools and then a smooth progression into a good job that is already waiting for them, without really having to think about it.

I mean, you don't even have to be good at anything to be a politician. A deep belief in total ideological wank is all you need. Dunno what Dr Liam Fox is good at. Never let the cunt have a look at my appendix anyway. It's sitting in a jar in City Hospital, but he still ain't getting a look at it. Twerp would probably break it. Why does Liam Fox want taxes cut? He earns so much money he's never going to feel taxes bite much. He will suggest spending cuts because, as I say, what reason has he ever had to go on benefits? Also he goes private in health and private educating his fox spawn. Plus his pension is private. Probably Fortnum and Mason pensions. Comes in a polished wooden box with some straw.

This must all happen because they all want to bow to the great false god of capitalism. Capitalism is weird as it's been proven to be just as detrimental, if not more so, as communism, but still they strip themselves naked and dance around playing the harp and the sistrum, waiting to rain its multitude benefits, it's yellow-coloured water of blessing upon them.

"Ohh Capitalism, ohh humm..."

The few, the sneaky and the all-out gutless make money out of it though. But in terms of the backbone of a political system, you may as well put all your faith in Katy Perry's tits. Looking good at the moment...may sag in time as the market changes. Economic aid will come in the form of implants...zzzz.

You can say, 'well you voted for these fuckers'. I didn't, all I ever get is some unionist/nationalist fucker who argue over where to place the cowpats. Or the dissenting cowpats. Or the cowpat abortions. Right now there is a coalition ruining our lives. Usually people in England vote for the party that ruins our lives. Nobody voted for the coalition. So we have a theocracy, where people think they are in power and we do bugger all to stop them as we think they're in power too. Kind of a human constipation and yet we're getting shat on

Looking at capitalism we get advertising, whose great idea now to encourage us all to be individuals, celebrate our individual uniqueness...by buying the crappy products they're trying to sell you. Considering how much advertising has homogenized the world and promoted uniformity in all forms, that's a bit fucking rich. And when we see the newspapers of capitalism, instead of the wars, poverty and suffering caused by regular arms deals to various unstable tinpot regimes, set up by the west anyway about 50 years ago, we get...dah, dah, dah...Justin Bieber fighting with a photographer...

Wow. this is what they invented the printing press for. All those guys burnt at the stake, died for this. Trees felled and ink spilt just so we can keep up with every second Justin Bieber exists on this planet. Now in the past I have had him being gunned to death with 'Dave' Cameron or being shot into space without oxygen. I would advocate a slow, painful death, but I really don't want him on this planet any longer than necessary. Maybe if we revive hanging, drawing and quartering just once for Justin Bieber. Hang him so he can't sing and then burn his torn off genitals in front of his eyes. That'll do and there'll be no more Biebers.

Now the appeal and the hysteria surrounding this little internet whore is baffling. Every front page of the weekend papers had him squeaking at a photographer. He can make menopausal women weep. The only explanation I can come up with is that there are more paedophiles in the world than previously guessed at and they are loathe to let their former crush go, even though he is 19 and proving more often what a fucking cancerous tumour of a human being he really is. That is assuming he's human, which I don't. 9 year old girls aren't buying the Daily Express so why put him on the front page? Is this news? Either the editors are still sexually attracted to him or he is the bacteria of the new world order, the little worm who was released and to distract us as the world is taken over. It has nothing to do with talent or personality as he hasn't got any. 

I'm not bothered by the little sod anymore, but just on all the front pages at the weekend? Like there weren't people getting killed in Syria at the same time. It says we don't care if people are killed, Justin Bieber's mental state is of paramount concern right now. If the Holocaust had happened at the same time as Justin Bieber, it would struggle to get on the front page, that is what you are saying then? Yeah, that's exactly what would happen. You create this world and worst of all, we let you.

I don't think there is anything as bad in Norn Iron. Maybe Marcus Keeley. He's not very well known though. Getting into a blog like this is the most worldwide fame he's enjoyed so far. As a media personality he just wants to be Dylan Moran or Phil Jupitus, in a very trendy, affected manner of course. We shall vomit on the trendies in due course, but affectation is their thing. Nothing real or original, just as Norn Iron has never had anything real or original. So why would the world need some guy doing sort of second-rate, fake Dylan Moran impersonations? We already have a real Dylan Moran. But Mr Keeley may be on to some economic loophole that has escaped the rest of us. Perhaps fake Dylan Moran impersonations are what the future economy will be built on. It's likely, as he is a trendy and money helps the trendy go around in their own capitalist way, though they pretend to be liberal/socialist as that is the right-on, cool thing to do. It's very trendy.

I suppose one more hapless plea to end this fucking awful game now will go ignored. Thought so.


Sunday, 10 March 2013

Today I recieved the most amazing email!

I am quite resolve'd to not go into guitar shops anymore. To not look at these expensive wood, glue, varnish conglomerations, lift em off, strum, chip the wood some when I put them back and not walk out of the shop having not spent money I don't have on a new guitar.
Don't fucking look at me like that, my dear shop assistant. If I fucking break 'em, I pay for 'em. Why is this coming out of your fucking wages? What sort of shit employment situation have you got yourself into?!

"Well I got me a job staring at guitars all day for fucking minimum wage and that will be blown tonight as I meet all my pals in the Metallica t-shirts at the Empire, aaand if any of these not very good guitar playing shits chips any of these guitars I am watching then it will come out of my wages, so I will watch them intently and totally make them feel unwelcome unless they have a thousand quid to spend on one of our crutty instruments. And even then I will sneer at them as they is not as dead good a guitar player as me...Hold that thought, my girlfriend with the coloured blue hair, the chemical-induced alopecia and the inflamed scalp
(no connection) is ringing me on my blackberry. I must stop thinking now...hummmm..."

Listen boi, you keep looking at ol' Bish with your nostrils instead of your eyes and I'll start saying things you don't want to hear. Never mind insults, that is unkindest cut of all.

Ssssample: The old joke.
How many unsuccessful musicians does it take to run a music shop?
Easy, go in and start counting. 

Now be nice and I reciprocate in kind. Maybe.
Having said that, these neck of the woods have been for years infested by these heavy metal bastards. Like there's a fucking breeding pen for metal and goth pains in the arse. The Limelight itself is the city's biggest petri dish for 'em. Then there's the indie bastards as well. I swear somebody left a lab open somewhere and they escaped. There's no way this is a natural gene mutation.

Metal shits are the worst! Lovers of no melody or tune whatsoever. Distortion can cover a million bad songs easily. Yeah! Violent cunts as well in their black apparel. Jump around to the distortion and then pick a fight when you get outside. It's kind of a sad day for someone who actually likes music to be threatened by one of these dickheads, but that's jealousy for you.Yet to hear a Metallica song that isn't just a bunch of chords strung together, but hey they've been at it for long enough, y'know 40 years, so maybe one day...

Guaranteed we have all met a prime fucktard of the metal species. Bunch o' fucking  Fred Gwynne impersonators as a collective mass I tell ya! Hmm...succinct and yet purposefully vague...
Just to get off the metal cunts subject, as I am sick of the bastards anyway, who was the fucking looney tune, who decided that ground tiger bones was the cure for erectile dysfunction? My goodness were things that bad in 5000 BC China?

"Haven't had a stiffy for weeks, so my solution is obvious; I will be going into the forest, catching a tiger before it bites my knob off and then grinding the bones into a powder which will give me a hard-on. Co-incidence will do the rest and the wife will think the skin will look dead good hanging on the wall. Now for that flock of pigs to fly over the blue moon..."

Poor tigers. From then until now having their lives extinguished by a horde of morons with flaccid penises.
It's like the fuck came up with Shark Fin soup. What particular knob-job stood upon the shore, looked at these giant, fast moving fish with two rows of razor-sharp teeth and thought;
"Mmm, looks tasty..."
Probably he had something else in mind when he thought that of course. Ended his life begging people to feed him his shark fin soup with a straw as he had no limbs left. Just rolled around on the jetty asking for more shark fin soup

If it continues into the modern age then what does that say of the world? And what for that matter does heavy metal music say about the world as well?

Well the moral of the story is, we had fucktards then and we still do.


Tuesday, 5 March 2013

Good odds on this burger

Day 47, one thirrty-noine am in a very annoying Sunderland accent.

"Hey Marcus, play up the most annoying aspects of the way you speak. People sure won't want to beat you to death, no way Jose". I differ...
How quickly a social experiment to see how much money TV production companies could make from a brain-dead population turned into a parade of huge, naked tits in the hot tub. Sounds like the only artistic progression that show could hope for and keep the porn industry stocked with fresh cast members.

The only thing that's happening in the house right now...make that the house next door by the sounds of it. Doors slamming sounded like a west-end farce being filmed. Then came the sounds of headboard banging against wall and woman moaning. Listening to people fucking is not a good way to sleep. That's why I'm here, not asleep or fucking. I don't mind the noise at all, it's the incompetence that keeps me awake. You listen to students fucking and you can't help think how rubbish the bloke probably is at it and how'd you do a much better job. Yeah, if it was me I'd give her an education! The fact that I can teach her more in ten minutes than she will ever learn in three years of lectures shows how much education has gone down the pan in this country.

Peruse your way around a woman's body, show her the full sensual force she never knew existed. Suppose it seems rude to interrupt them, you know, saying everything you're doing is wrong. The fact they have now gone quiet means they realised it too. A rare moment of teenage enlightenment, everybody is due one.

I'll put my hands up to say that circumstance forces this post. There's nothing else to do and the world is too cold to be inspired. A nice bonus of nihilism having said that.

On the streets below they crawl home, head imbibed and mood crashed depressingly due to alcohol and a failure to secure fucking. The cold dispenses into a night mist that penetrates the bones and causes nothing but pain as they trudge. Home is but another mile, may as well be another city away, it seems. In their despair they find themselves invisible enemies to make their quarry...well, wheelie bins anyway.

Guaranteed at some point a wheelie bin will get kicked over. Probably some conspiracy of which the world is thankfully oblivious, the foiling of which requires wheelie bins to be kicked over. I wouldn't mind but in the world of student versus wheelie bin, the latter usually wins. Do you think any of these fuckers could cream a wheelie bin? If they struggle with the female form, get sozzled on tasteless, piss-like liquor and are of agricultural origins of course a trash receptacle is going to get the better of them!

This bears in mind a fear I have, crystallised when there is snowfall and brought to mind when I saw the result of a bin having beaten up a student, then being burnt down by said student into a rubberized liquid mess on the pavement. What happens is you watch guys in their early twenties run out when the snow has fallen and start snowball fights and they're all students. And you know, you just know, in ten years time you're going to be on an operating table and the surgeon comes in. You squint at the eyes above the mask:

"W-wait. Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"Yeah I did. Ten years ago. You liked in Wally Street, Norn Iron. You started a fucking snowball fight with your culchie housemates!"

"Ahh youthful hi-jinx...I am Dr Gareth Guano MBE, surgeon, now."

"Hi-jinx my ass! If you think I'm letting some fucking dope who threw snowballs at parked cars near me with a scapel, you've got another think coming!"

Yeah, every dipshit student you see chucking snowballs at pedestrians and missing or trying to ninja-kick a dustbin will in ten years try to cure you, farm your cereal and try to teach your kids. You are totally right in telling them to go fuck themselves. Would you let these half-wits near you after seeing that? No fucking way!

Ehh. Twoo-fif-teeen. This post has taken me 36 minutes to write. How about that for pointlessness of existence? 



Sunday, 3 March 2013

Very silly thing to say for a time machine

Who loves the sun? Well I don't see it out today, motherfucker.

Belfast has become the bide-a-wee refuge for waifs of a disagreeable manner according to a last Banana of mine. I'll admit I threw my toys out of the pram something proper and howled more like a nappy wearing wee shit when there was no-one there to pick them up. The cure for all hurt and sobbing feelings is to wind your neck in, here in Belfast. Fuck if only Freud had lived here. He could have just told all the emotionally hurt and mentally disturbed persons he tried to heal, to 'wind their necks in' and saved himself hours of work. The last word in caring and compassion. Actually that's only the second last. The real last word here is to 'go fuck yourself.' We care, we really do.

In fact after my howl, one pal who had sought greener fields outside of the city got in touch. Why have we left Bisson he said. Have you checked your deodorant recently? Ah, no I haven't and when I did...oh, fuck me!
That said unpleasant smells have much use in the political and financial sector. With my stench there could be a revolution coming on. Not now though, I wanna shower.

But this ain't why I called you here today, dear, devoted fuckwits. Abounding amongst those who applied for cityside admission many moons back when was a fellow called Colin Dardis.

What is a Colin Dardis?! Well Colin is a country lad. Meh...Who has religion on his sleeve, rather than in his heart like the rest of us. Bah...Who also fancies himself as a poet. Aw fuck! And has voided himself of hair and yet gets the girls. I am surprised not, but for yuks sake, enlighten me, how doth he do dat? Colin is a trendy. Aw fuck that!! Yep, a trendy poet at that. Eurgh, I'd rather have pubic lice!

Now that's bad enough. The trendy finds themselves a stance and poses in a very cool, yet very caring way as they do in all aspects of their life. They bring you love. Except when you don't quite match their standards and then they cold shoulder you and would leave you to die in the outer darkness, if you were dying and they had some outer darkness.

Is this a crime? No it is a way of life for many, many, many people in this six county dump masquerading as a political enigma. Colin is but one of thousands of trendbots, ready to envelop all existence as we know it, like a new spring range at GAP.

No, the crime for all right thinking persons as opposed to all right-on persons is a rather wooden headed statement our Col made in the wake of Jimmy Savile raping everything that moved under the age of 14 since 1963. Our Col was quick to be appeased on this matter when the BBC put Children in Need and a David Attenborough documentary on at the same time in November 2012. Our Col then stated publicly on the trendy hub that his faith in the BBC was restored. Yeah...that's right Col, 40 years of institutionalised looking the other way and on-premises sexual molestation is excused in this one night by putting those two programmes on at the same time. If only Gary Glitter had thought of that, he'd still be in the charts.

Dopey statements speak for themselves and we should give Colin his youth and trendy thinking...well not really, because where would the world be then? Yeah thinking of it, shut up Colin, you dopey know-nowt.

Colin responded in the way all trendies do when a right thinking person pointed his foolishness out to him. He got tough. He...blocked the person who disagreed with him. Then destroyed that person's work and some more work which did not chime in with world views we must all keep to be right on and liberal and with it. Don't fuck with Colin, he'll get violent. He'll try to erase all traces of your existence...from social networking sites. Oh no, what is to be done. We'll be back to a time before the internet! In fact I remember that, it was called 1993. We managed ok, there were some really good TV shows on then and a lot of good music. Ok Col, do your worst then. Oh shit its 1993 again and the Kings of Leon are not in the charts...I wondered why the world felt so much lighter and happier. The absence of fucking awful music does make a difference, hay!

Colin and his sychophants will no doubt turn their backs to all you who disagree and seek to puncture their egos. Not really that bad a thing...World still turning? Check. Loads of cool wonderful things in life to charm the senses. Check. Yep, sorry Colin you and your trend, moronic opinions and trendy flunkies aren't needed here. We manage just fine without you. Fuck off.


Saturday, 2 March 2013

Dreaming high and wild...

I remember passing a guy outside a pub called 'Cuckoo' and him saying how 'Californication' starring David Duchovny was not a very good show. Now hang on I hear, it's a prime time drama, a gritty representation of a talented writer struggling with personal problems and the creatively empty horizons of Hollywood. Natascha McElhone is in it! Yum, I say yum. And then there's the exposure of titty every fucking episode!

But thinking about it as I did, then again I say, we must take all likelihoods into consideration and the fact of the matter is likelihood did not fit 'Californication' that well. The main character is a writer played by David Duchovny. This writer, once a man of principle on the east coast is now fallen to the vice of pussy and dissipation in Hollywood. That isn't unlikely, however, I mean fuck it if I could get away with writing great and then getting my end away in Los Angeles then I would! What fucker wouldn't?

No, what it is are, if you're a writer and you look like David Duchovny...you wouldn't be a fucking writer in the first place!! Writing is the elephant man of the arts world. If you look like your average looking fat bastard, then you do lock yourself away in a room and write where no-one has to look at you. You're doing the entire world a favour. If you look like David Duchovny then you get off your arse, male model your way to Los Angeles right off the bat and say "Ladies, I look like David Duchovny please form your hot, weeping lady gardens into an orderly queue. That is why it is unrealistic, false and therefore sucks. No writer on the fucking planet gets even a molecule of that amount of sex, if any, that is why they are writers.

I'll tell you something about writing though. Writing, just like many forms of art including acting, painting, stand-up, on and so on, produce a certain amount of fear each time you set down to do it. Fear that you'll be  able to do it each time, fear that it won't be as good as before. This can in many cases stop the writing in the first place.

You read that and say, aw Bish, you should get scared more. Witty? Perhaps more natty but shitty and incorrect as I don't write. I think and then it gets recorded. I am not a writer and that's how I'm able to do it.

Exsssssssssssample: Adele. Very beautiful woman, wonderful singer and a talented lyricist with an ear for a sharp, interesting phrase and good solo songwriter when the inspiration strikes. Now as with all shimmering promise, you come close and you find you just see the mirage and you have been hallucinating. She has got herself, a much as you have expected bloke. Reliable, stodgy stuff, the type they all go for now. He's a bit shop-soiled but guaranteed you can leave him in one corner of the room and 25 years later he will still be there. Sigh, very disappointing. But then, by him, she has had a son called 'Angelo'. A disaster on all counts as the kid WILL be bullied for having a rich mum and in her new sumptuous lifestyle he will acquire none of the street smarts that his mum got from living a real life. He will further have the crap kicked out of him because, simply, his name is Angelo, which means everything to mum as she picked it, he's her little angel, but in the real world will be singled out for sounding weird, lame and quite gay. This is how school works. Plus there will be the inevitable row by teenage years along the lines of:
"Mum! Why the fuck did you name me Angelo? They jumped me again coming home from school! Give me more money. I hate you...!" And so on, and so on, and so on...
Finally 'Angelo' is not a name that lends itself at all well to the cockney dialect which Adele is in possession of. Her surname 'Adkins' already had it's trip up points but 'Angelo' is in another league. It is pronounced by the East London speech pattern as 'An-geel-lahooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo'. This name will take time and clearly lacks efficiency.

Some would call that writing. Many would call that nothing. I call it thinking, how about you try that sometime? No? Well, it is an acquired skill not for everyone...like being able to spell. Hmm.



The only boy left in Belfast...


Shouted he small, quiet and mournfully from the deserted, tarmac hillock he had chosen to rest this while upon. Such was the rush that Louis and now Thom had taken themselves away far to the west to discover more of the inkling they had felt for many years. This left him alone of all those who had once dared to stalk the shattered walls and forlorn entries of the city-scape. He who had not heard the call that had driven the others out to the land. To the land of the agriculture, to the land of the small country town and the much as we expected. Here, true, had never been any sort of place you wanted to be. But dreamt of bigger, of far away, of more wonderful and rich in its abundance. Not smaller, not more deserted, more desolate? This had not been factored in. Now Louis had gone to the small town and when he returned no one knew. Not even mother and mother knew all. Thom was going. Soon to strike out for the west and then one day for the north. What had he seen that he wanted so bad? That he had left in such haste to hold? Did he know? How can you know after such a short time...?"

An extract from the new novel entitled 'Why does this itch and will just the Dettol cure it?'...but that aside there ain't much going on here in the town of Belfast. We got a new rubber in the Lagan, it just floated down this morning...err...sausage prices are up? Yeah there is fuck all happening, but I knew that when I moved here.

Having said that, I seem to be one of the few sane ones left. It's a town, Jim, not as we know it and it has fuck all in it, but compared to the rest of Norn Iron it's a fucking metropolis. So staying is the way to go? Not so it seems. There has been an exodus they are pouring out of Belfast into the rest of Norn Iron. No shit! Now the rest of Norn Iron is tiny little towns, a fuckload of land with coos on it and 2 monuments you went to see when you were six.

Hmm...then staying in Belfast, shithole that it is, would seem to be the most interesting option. Yeah and I'm here accordingly. I'm the wrong frame of mind for countryside at the minute and in any case if it ain't Killinchy, it ain't worth dick. Nope, still I am the only one staying here and so as they say in fiction it is the mournful 'allo' of the lone man whilst the gold rush heads to environs unconsidered by the human brain. Lisburn! Ards! The mighty portals of Cookstown, vice and casino capital of the mid-way-point!

It's the thing isn't it? Everybody else has seen the thing and I ain't seen it. I asked a soon-departing pal, why leave. "The thing man! The thing! Ain't you got it yet?!"
Erm, no, not recently, maybe I got a shot for it when I was 11.
What is the thing? Well, it's...the thing ain't it?! That all powerful thing! The thing that will take a man of candour and open up the vast vestiges of the land of the culch before him. New York, Paris or Amsterdam will have no sway over him. He will come to know the empty down square and bespeak it's intimate tongue.
Or so they say.

Maybe it is a zen thing. Zen does rely on nothingness but it's also about enlightenment and you ain't going to get that in the town square of Lurgan unless you're wired into the mains.
 Ok maybe it's the thing I ain't got. But what is all this gubbage then? Ah, the puzzled howl of the only guy left in the city, left to the tumbleweed-ridden avenues whilst the lads all disperse into the thicket of the unknown country.

Lads, why do you head for the haunts of the Sash-Wanker? That arse-chinned fool, his fetid sperm and mindless receptacle and all his ilk are all you will find there! Come back lads, you're making Belfast a city of great things! We can stop this madness now before it's too late!

Sheeit, come to think of it, maybe should have said something before they all left...ah fuck!


Friday, 1 March 2013

Doing it in 140 characters or less

Funny how you pose in photographs, stand stiff and put on a cheesy smile whilst in the midst of doing something horrible. Like slaughtering horses at the end of WWI. Take a picture of a horse abattoir and the guys chopping up the horses are posing and smiling at the camera. Huh?

There's that and there's the fact that many words in Ulster end in the letters 'ag'. But nobody can fucking pronounce them! Fleg, geg, beg, dreg...ad infinitum. This is Northern Ireland and we can't even pronounce that. Norn Iron, I ask you. So we have all these 'ag' words because? What's the fucking point. It's good it's only being flown for 15 days a year, but then again we probably only pronounce the word flag right about half that time. Actually I want that job of raising the flag; working only fifteen days a year? What a sweet fucking skive! Hoi! Stop trying to get it put back all year around you fuckers! Number one, they ain't going to listen to you if you threaten them and two, you could fuck up the sweetest, piss-easy job going.
I think you guys need to get laid more often, but please use johnnys if you do.

What happens when people who like to clean obessively meet their complete opposites? Channel 4 fills another hour in the schedule that's what! What about 16 and up, the story of the woman who can't stop punking out kids. Never mind 'how do they cope?' That's boring and who gives a shit about that story. More interesting would be: 'Why has this woman not been sectioned under the mental health act?' She's obsessed with having fucking children. People have had ECT and been stuck in rubber rooms for less. And 'Is it the same guy with her that spunked in her pussy 16 kids ago?' Man, a guy who wants 16 fucking children and wants to live with a woman who is fixated on filling the world with her spawn. Why hasn't HE been sectioned? Poor fucker, clearly needs the psychiatric care only a caring society can provide. Which is probably why he hasn't got any.

But ol' Bisson's views on kids are well known; They're a fucking pain the arsehole, they are arseholes and ruin many a good looking woman. Pussy spunking is such a pissing up the wall contest. Just leads to mooooooooore Channel 4 freaking documentaries about caterwauling watermelons and how they're filling up the planet. When the aliens come they'll ask why we're living on the Moon. We shall wail back, we can't get on the earth, it's too full of babies!

Just as an aside to a plethora of asides in this posts. I've never been a fan of non-sequiturs, I was not born as Seth McFarlane after all. But do you wanna know how to win a talent contest? More specifically a talent contest in Ryans Bar on the last Tuesday of each month? Ah, say many, that I've yet to do. Tell me more. Ok, this is what you can do if you can be arsed, it takes preparation which is why so few, me included, can be bothered;

(1) Know your judges. Recce for as many last Tuesdays as possible to find out what the three judges dig  and don't dig. A general consensus is the idea, what they all dig collectively or on average. Bear in mind the judges change occasionally so make sure you have this eventuality covered. Don't worry as they all seem to know each other and will therefore like the same sort of trends. If all else fails, announce to them how they are the greatest human beings who have ever existed, how you are not fit to kiss the dust their shoes hath touched and the MC is kind of ok too. Then hope for the best.

(2) No stand-ups mocking the disadvantaged. You will be run out of town on a rail coughing up feathers and tar residue.
 (2a) See 'O Brother Where Art Thou' for what being run out on a rail actually involves or on a sleeper in that case.

(3) Your act will be talked over in a constant drone by the audience. The conversation, given the location of Ryans in the world and the average clientele, will be about fertilizer, how much your doddy has ordered for the farm this month and how another fella's doddy has found a new brand which produces better results. Sometimes the conversation will veer into slurry and new tractors, but the overall drone will remain the same. Make sure then that your act is greater in volume than the audience. Something louder than the auctioneer at a country cattle market say, is the ideal.

(4) Do not tell long stories that involve fishing wire as part of your special effects. This is an idea which lends itself to film-making with a recreation of the event, not live performance. And the judges and audience will not be nice to you accordingly.

(5) And most important, in fact crucial. You have won over the judges, with a sweet loud song or a very funny , loud stand-up, drowned out the audience and looked very talented as a result. You got high marks and are in the final. Make sure you have brought 50,000 people with you to cheer you on after your final performance. 50,000 people cheering is enough to convince the judges you are the most popular act and will award you the prize and that's it. You just have to convince three people you have talent, then do whatever you like in the final and then your 50,000 people will cheer you to certain victory and shatter the windows, causing glass shrapnel to burst forth and injure many patrons, probably including you. But that's all you need, doesn't matter how talented you are, if you have 50,000 people to cheer for you, then you will win, no matter how shit you actually are. You can do invisible magic, flummox the judges, get in the final for sheer unusualness and then have your 50,000 sail you to victory.
Important note: If you are not a trendy, then you will have no sycophants hanging on to your every word and therefore will have to rent a crowd. In this case, tap family members who value the love of relatives more than money.

I think I can safely say that's enough wisdom imparted for the average cranium to deal with. More easily digestible chunks will be posted but that's way more than you can chew on for now. Laters!


Make sure you're wearing your cleanest underwear

I've noticed a slight hole in the push for realism in GTA IV. While trying to shoot one of only 200 pigeons in a recreation of the New York tri-state area, for which you will receive a helicopter with guns, if you stray too far on one side of the rooftop, which is at the airport, where the pigeon sits permanently pecking at non-existent grain, then you will recieve four stars and the police will throw most of their shotgun force at you plus two armed helicopters. Then Niko Bellic says "Shiblodchik" or summat.

I'm not sure if this is standard practice for the NYPD. I mean we'd hear of more cases of people being on the wrong side of a rooftop and pigeon murdering to provide helicopters. Surely the helicopter industry would be making a loss on each one. Even in the US, that amount of economic discrepancy in an industry would lead to the unions getting involved. I can't help but feel that Rockstar Games have dropped the ball very badly on this one.

Meh. That's the trouble with being real, it's impossible. Another thing to note is this is March now, so this shit I've been writing on an irregular basis has made it into a month other than February. Something of a massive achievement in my writing career-ing about. One thing you may note at the start of March is that fucking Ruth Langsford may be difficult to do. I mean, you have the great tits, the MILF-tastic body but she's married to another Northern Irish bloke. Whatever you may think of Eamonn Holmes, fucking the wife of a fellow countryman is just not cool. So that's that out of the window.

You can probably fuck Fiona Bruce still as she's married to some bloke called Nigel...I mean, by sheer virtue of your name, any name being a million times better, she'd bang you rotten. Though she wrote a book about looking sexy but avoiding male attention, so ultimately the idea is completely stuffed. Better not to think of it in the first place. Kate Silverton now, those lips...ah fuck she's banging a special forces bloke. Try asking her out and you'll be kidnapped with a black bag over your head in the middle of the night and your family will never hear from you again. Hmm, don't think it's worth it just for asking a lady if she fancies a Donald.

I've had an idea though for me; no sex until I'm 40. Sounds daft but it gets rid of a major, unnecessary distraction in life. If I'm not focusing on that then I write and get my civilian body into shape for the rest of my 30s. I like it, it has intrigue to it. And life does begin at 40, so why not restart fucking as well then? Of course I will have built it up over the proceeding six years and if it's the same as it was, having hit the sex ceiling long ago in my early 20s, then I might be majorly disappointed. Ah fuck it, worth a go. I can get my civvie body looking good again, so that could be the shit!

I see 'Dave' Cameron still wants work to make us free despite losing a by-election, there's some topical shag for you. Work is no problem, depends on the job. If all he has to offer is crap jobs then a lot of people will just top themselves. Is that your plan 'Dave'? Make the entire nation suicidal and thus ease the economy through population depletion? You heartless, genocidal scumfuck! Get knotted, 'Dave' you are clearly a bad boy.

Having said that, the job I want is Prime Minster. I will work hard at it. What's that 'Dave'? I'm willing to work hard at something and you won't let me. You fucking liar!

Just one more sex thing as it's a new month. You can hire a plane for £5,000 to join the mile high club, instead of fucking in the toilets of a jumbo with mucho surreptitiousness. Dunno tho, this is a grey overcast part of the world, more leaning to perversion than passion. Probably the airplane thing is only going to work if the pilot watches. Dogging at 30,000 feet? If I'm on a plane I want it to be flown by somebody not fucking. And can you imagine how shitty that job will be? Pilots are underpaid and overworked as it is. You'd have to fly a plane with the sound of people fucking behind you all the time. I can't see this as being a safe idea, I think a fucking re-think or a re-think over fucking is needed.

Ryan Giggs many years in football come on and my TV gets glitchy. Co-incidence? Could be a super injunction...not that he is associated with them in any way and sues anyone who suggests so...just could be a passing super injunction or a disruption in the signal, I'm no technical expert...or legal. Actually, you'd think that fucking his sister in law for 8 years would be the thing you'd take a super injunction out on.
Weird, it's like, shit I don't mind hurting my brother deeply, as the most successful family member, Mam and everybody else will support me anyway and tell him if he hadn't married her in the first place, then his brother would never have fucked her. You silly boy Rhodri, it was obvious from the outset!
But fucking a glamour model for about two months, no no, that is the type of shit which must be covered up. I'm a clever 40 year old Welsh dude still playing football.

Of course any women involved, when it is revealed in the press, then they get threatened by the devoted, fundamentalist, Man Utd supporters clubs...This is incase these revelations somehow effect Manchester United's chances in the next season of the FA Cup.
Okay, in all seriousness. Really, really do fuck off this planet you sad, moronic bastards. Affecting the chances...? Of all the pathetic, pointless, empty things to consume your life with! End of seriousness.

That's fresh and decomposing dispatches from the world of the dumb and we've made it into March that is something! See you in February 2015 then...


Thursday, 28 February 2013

Only for me and my crow

I want to be a tree. Ah memories, just like the wee auld doll who wanted to be inconglubberance...There was a strikingly surreal aspect to some of the lifeless yuppie boy ads back then. Except if you were a tree some asshole would come and chop you down for economic advancement. Nah, don't want to be a tree anymore.

The walls of Newquay, hold on to their beauty. Is there much benefit in the past? No, except there was more money in benefits then. We still had right-wing scumfucks in power who encouraged us to spend and spend some more, plus all their mates were in the private banking sector destroying our lives. But you got more value for your benefits then. Not now. Did the system fail people then? Inevitably. It still does and always will.

Whenever 'Dave' Cameron comes on the TV maybe I should listen to him, instead of growling "fuck off you cunt" and switching the channel. I mean there's people who don't think he is a cunt. There's his missus, his children - so far and his biological family. I'm sure he's made friends who also don't think he is a cunt.

The problem is if you don't want your child to be considered a cunt, don't send them to Eton. And don't fucking think of sneaking them into Harrow either! Do you go to Eton for a good education? Not really, there's many schools which give you just as good, if not better an education. So why send them to Eton?! To turn them into cunts? Well, who sends their children to somewhere for expressive cunt-making purposes? That's stupid. Maybe it's a case of somewhere that has a good reputation but is actually just an endless pit of shit. That would be Eton. The Hitler Youth in the 1930s had the same image of zesty enterprise. The fact that its members were being turned into emotionally unstable, genocidal maniacs escaped most parents attention. That's also like Eton.

Anyway 'Dave' and his ilk aren't Nazis...much. They did say recently that work was the best thing you can do. Work makes you free eh? 'Dave', that is showing your ideological roots to the most boi! Work makes you free while we put large sections of the public sector out of work and make no providence for new jobs and still bail out our old school chums in the banking sector and give them bonuses for fucking up. Put Ian Duncan Smith to work stacking shelves as he's a useless piece of shit at the job he's doing. Thank goodness you don't need brains and competence to be a politician for yew guys would be seriously fucked. 

And there's a point. Say you don't vote for these mainstream arseholes. Say we all vote for the Monster Raving Looney Party and their policies for licenses for all fish under two and Westminster to become an owl sanctuary. They get into government and for some reason they also get rid of jobs and take your benefits away from you. What the fuck happens? The MRLP doing this sort of shit as well. All I can imagine is something totally convinces them that the shit way is the best way and then they all go about singing a tuneless song like:

"Oh capitalism, lovely capitalism. Fuck me up the arse with your big, green dildo..."

That seems the most likely. Nothing turns you into a fucktard better than capitalism.

Hey! Here's a concept that doesn't work. If I try and vote for a party that seems semi-cool, then they never get elected. No matter who I vote for it's some unionist/nationalist pain in the arse that gets in. That sucks, but then are they in power? No, it's usually some Tory scumfuck voted into Westminster who makes all the decisions. I didn't vote for them either plus I don't get to vote for them and yet they are my government. There's something about this Union Fleg shit where it's all going wrong. Of course 'Dave' is currently in power and nobody voted for him. Nick Clegg did but that was some sort of mutual rim-jobbing arrangement probably. Teabags!Anyway I have no say who rules me as I can't vote for them and whoever I vote for never gets in anyway and would never be able to get into power outside Ulster. This is a democracy?! You are shitting me, seriously.

Don't even start this shit about having an elected head of state. Funny how the guys who bang on about a republic tend to be right-on/liberal/socialist/communist dudes. Ok, Britain goes to the vote for their first elected head of state. "Hmm" says the voting population "I think the candidate who is pro-capitalism, anti-immigration and privatising everything tae fuck is the most to my liking..." Ohh! Which side of the political spectrum does he come from? It taxes my grey matter greatly. Oh yeah, he'll lower taxes as well, that's right. This isn't the sort of head of state the right-on wanted when they started pushing for an elected head of state. Oh well, shit one. Ah Britain, how fucking predictable.

Really, I should've gone to Eton, become a useless cunt and get paid for fucking up. I would have been great at that! But then I wouldn't have had this blog. Oh decisions, decisions...


Sweet affectations of the loved and the deluded

It may surprise you to learn this. It probably fucking won't though. When in his civvies, ol' Bisson is actually a very shy and insecure person. What?! Shock me some more! Ok, well being this way can lead to a lot of loneliness and then sadness, depression and even more insecurity. Which without the high dose anti-depressants would lead back to thoughts of suicide.Thoughts mind you is not the same as attempts; that's a whole different game. Oh and I am currently a severe civilian lardarse.

Finished? Yeah, it's just nice to express something once in a while and I don't want you thinking this is just two dimensional shit going on here. It is, but I just don't want you thinking that.

Now here's an interesting thing. Do such revelations change your opinion of this blog. What IS your opinion of this blog?! I'm aiming for 'undecided'. Therefore do you view Bisson in an entirely new light because of these private life revelations? Is he less of a personage? Do you even care? Do I care? Questions that none of us ever thought of asking or ever gave a shit about still don't.

My only major complaint in my civvies, apart from my belly which precedes me by ten minutes, is probably that I didn't stay in the country. Moving to town, to go to school was a stupid thing to do. I could have stayed in the country and become a barely-educated farm hand. Become a piece of meat to be used by wild, sexually unsatisfied cougars coming up from the town every weekend. What the fuck has education ever done for me? I could have been fucking MILFs on haystacks! Less sex and more civilian insecurity that's all education has done for me.

Oh the humanity! In civilian life there is what I call the 'vibe'. Women who were not that mad keen to begin with just don't wanna know at all now. But then again I ain't looking. Though gay guys keep coming on to me. Please stop that as your just wasting your own time as I've checked and I'm not gay, so your wasting my time as well and my sense of self worth regarding being attractive to women.

It's weird, you're troubled by it, but then again I just don't give enough of a shit to do anything about it. Relationships just seem a fucking yawn to me and they require a lot of additional shit to maintain them. Couldn't be bothered, so fuck it. That's civilian life for you.

Then again could this all be true? Well, given my determination to make this blog 100% bullshit or fiction, if you like, then it probably isn't. More fool you if you think it was. And anyway that's enough of civilian life, it is quite tiresome. What does Bisson think? Easy, to paraphrase the great Withnail, if my words are not to your liking you can stick them up your arse and fuck off while you're doing it! That's you told.


Monday, 25 February 2013

Swing and the dearth of the American diner

You're going to hang yourself because you feel life is pointless and you can't go on? Get fucking real, that's a stupid reason!

Watch world business report on Beeb news 24 and then you'll lose the will to live. You'll find yourself there at two in the morning, slumped before the dead flickering images as some adenoidal Australian tells you about how the share value in the eurozone due to the recent plywood extravaganza in Lisbon has encouraged the market to expand by growth showing a promising year of fiscal masturbation for all those who observe the stock market while holding their cocks in their hands, their hands glued to it by long dried, mummified jizz.

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuunh. If you're still capable of emitting noise after that mulch, it will be a miracle. Commiting suicide? Fuck, you'll be running into the night looking for Oscar Pistorius and shouting "I'm your girlfriend, I'm your girlfriend!'

(Why are there so many guns in South Africa owed by these guys? What is their standard defence in having them?  "In case the blacks try to break into your house"...Oh, what a wonderful world it is then.
'I'd love to teach the world to sing...but want to sell it brown fizzy drinks instead to rot people's spines...' Advertising meets the Love Generation meets ethnic harmony, how fucking tuneful.)

And now to look at the south east asian markets. Cut to live VT of a market in Shanghai and somebody buying fucking grapes. And now for money news. Cut to human beast rubbing his paws together and salivating;

"Ahhhhha...Money, money, money, lovely moolah, lovely tons of riches...oooh my dreams of avarice."

Outside of basic needs what do you need money for? What are you going to do with a surplus of it? Be happier? Fuck no, it won't happen, guaranteed. Make the world a better place? Well, considering how much it has contributed to the fucking up of the world in the first place that is SOME trend you gotta reverse.

And now on News 24 World Business Report, here is a fine line of watermelons that need to be sold and here are just the men who might do that...Then to look at the far east markets. Cut to shot of people buying shit in a fucking far east market. What is the point?!

Remember folks, this is the system we have chosen. We have capital venture investment. So we can have iphones. It is worth the pain. Come to think of it, I had an iphone once. Fucking useless, annoying, gimmicky piece of shit it was too. Trying to write anything on it was a drain on my will to live. The screen was too fiddly so it didn't work. So I took a hammer to it. It still didn't work but boy, was that satisfying! 

Suicide? Fuck that, get an iphone or wait til world business report is on again.

And now from Singapore...Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!
Oscar boi? That TV is your girlfriend!...BANG! BANG! BANG!...Don't need the cricket bat boi, but if that's your thing. Thanks in Afrikaans and report to your local police, y'hear boi?

Ahh that is better, life is sweet. 


Friday, 22 February 2013

Not so much rotten, but not that fresh either

Children, man, I just don't get it.

I get the feeling I'm being subconsciously over-cautious, perhaps due to dreams concerning cheeses which have caused visions of Irish medium assassins in the thickets, waiting to leap upon my every syllable. But that's not what this is about here - this is freeing, sprouting wings and taking to the air of thought. I gotta remember that.

Anyway, children. I suppose I don't know what they're for really. Never entirely grasped the concept. I mean maybe you have children in case you're short of food and you've popped out these little lumps of meat on legs that are easy to catch and fit on a spit easily. Is that it? But then what are all the fucking pampers adverts about, with the mothers flicking their tongues over the rectums of babies? Is it over-devotion to your next meal or just the simple whoring, baseless nature of money that advertising brings? Or women just subconsciously want to fuck babies - that is a growing 3rd possibility.

In any animal population where the population is in flux or given to high mortality, reproduction is understandable, you know, keep the beanies in stock and all that. But the human race isn't really on the endangered species list. So maybe all this baby shit is just accessorising your existence. But we have designer bags and fucking chihuahuas for that already.

Then again this could be a part of my grim fascination to do with nest-making around these parts. Watching people get into dating and then relationships and then get a house together and then children...like decay in slow motion. Sometimes I railed against it, taking a puzzled (and often hurt ego-driven) attitude towards what women were settling for. The men they are so keen to spend the rest of their lives with have always looked like they've been stitched together from disparate body parts from a previous night's grave robbing and without even a fraction of the mind or personality. At least Boris Karloff's monster had some elan and grace to him; these guys...it's like the end of the fucking world. Somebody had pulled the switch and all there can be is wasteland. Though they are violent bastards, albeit mindless violence, and they can aim well enough to spunk their load into a pussy to make more fucking children. So they have some basic skills and fall easily into the state of matrimony...Which is kind of like 'Full Metal Jacket' except with white dresses.

But then it occurred to me...Perhaps I was colouring these ladies with a personality, sass and attraction they never had in the first place. Perhaps they were just as lifeless as the lumpen arseholes they had chosen to spend (or suspend more likely) their existence with. So...they were idiots too! That's the problem with sexual attraction; you give what you're attracted to more credit than it's due. Any sheep shagger will tell you that I'm sure.

So sez the grand wazoo eh? I dunno, I knew I had the instinct to settle down at some point and procreate and all that baby shit. But there was always something which distracted me or I never engaged in it with any enthusiasm; more with fear and suspicion. As the world turns on there is still something else to do. If there is some Homebase gene to kick in, it's fucking reductive, I tell ye! Probably to me it is just shit and I concern myself more with the blank of the rest.

Fuck. The world is formed enough of this mordant shit. We need the nonsense to return here and quick!


Friday, 15 February 2013

Zod before Neil!!

Sake! Ya wanna see the fucking bite marks around my neck, boi! Here was your humble author picking the lice binding agent out of his burger and gets his bonce near taken off because apparently all this is real.

Real?! Yeah I was just thinking that. I'm thinking as I make this shit up how real it all is. I am a Mantra-ray who buffets his way into photographs living on a lemon juice cloud of continuously tacking vintage bicycle holographs. Now that's real. So I get called in to face accusations of the Existence Perception Committee (in association with Gaeltacht Diet Coke, the only fizzy drink that converses in tongues both ancient and modern).

Well it's a cross border thing and so cross that I was dragged in barely conscious to face accusing from both sides of the religious divide. Oh joy!
Now your humble authoritarian has no political allegiance whatsoever due to his narcolepsy in the face of ANY and ALL political and patriotic ideas so I had to be strapped to an ECT table with the rubber chew toy in me mouth just so I could stand listening to these buggers.

The head honcho was sat on a tractor and spoke Irish in the Ulster dialect, which was nice. To cross the divide he was dressed in a British flag toga. Actually this was the fleg! That's where it had gone! The city council vote had also unexpectedly provided him with clothing. Now only 15 days a year he was naked.

"Senor Bisson...." He uttered in my recall of the Irish tongue which is very rusty.

Bzz..."Ow...fuck you...huh?"

"Tengo los mantiquila y you have been writing real stuff which is quare and confusing."

"Ya what? When?"

"All  these here blogs I been reading I think they're real and yours is the biggest real shit going there. Like my cousin's blog about hiring cars for sexual contact."

Now this was news to me and no mistake. I mean I've just been throwing any old shit I can think off at the virtual wall of my blog and hope it sticks! I have a civilian existence where I don't make crap up but then I sit down put on my work troos and do made up novels and scripts and guitar and shit. Like this. I do write poetry in my civvies, that might be real. It could be, I gave it a poke to see if it moved me. It didn't but felt real enough.

Anyways, I had to nip this crap in the bud and get back to sleep.

"Right ok, this is real, you're right. Now have you heard of the dinosaur park set up by Richard Attenborough on them islands?"

He leapt about five feet off his Massy.


"Yep, that's real. And the school for wizards in a London train station that's totally real and in the news there's that wee girl who is taken to some place with a talking lion and scarecrow, fights off witches and sings the whole fucking way through it."

He was already running out the door.

 "You're right, this is all real. We must save the world, ALL REAL I TELL YOU!"

Pfff. I got home after all that as the honcho went to save the world from the machinations of the Wizard of Oz and many other broadway musicals he thought were real.

He did tell me to stop talking about tits in my blog, which are real. So I'll just talk about boob jobs instead. Happy Herr Commissionaire?! Blimey!


Monday, 11 February 2013

What? Banana?

Banana? Glad you asked because you didn't and you never will. The Long, Slow Fallout of the Banana is and was and could be the notion that all energy could be compressed into one banana skin.Then the humans set it off...

I had an idea for a sketch show which was up its own arse but I dug it. A sketch show that had suffered damaged from the Norman Invasion of 1066 and subsequent harrying by the Norms, to the point that portions of the sketch show could only be recorded as vasta or wasteland in the Domesday Book. These portions would be filmed as such. Up its own arse as I say but there's a challenge in realising that, turning it into physical reality. Plus getting around the pain of it being funny all the time, it was gonna be just silly and nonsense. If it was funny that was a nice accident but nothing else. So now you know you know.

 We're feared it's going to be 1776 again. How? That means we gotta wait for the universe to stop expanding, collapse and reduce itself to all energy compacted, big bang, expand and then wait until the humans decide its 1776 AD again. I'm fucking quaking already.
But Alex Jones, the outspoken radio host in the US, not the Welsh hot stuff on the BBC, says that its gonna be 1776 again if they take our guns. Take the guns, that's some temporal shit I'd like to see.
 Like the guys in Derry* who protest the fleg going part time in Belfast. They can see the fleg-pole from there? I would have said the incredible eyesight of these is a way bigger story than fleg taking.

But they wrote down the right to bear arms in the US constitution. Now at this time most people were running around with muskets and flintlock pistols. Your average US citizen of the time could hope for a pitchfork as his arm bearing right. And if you got pissed off at someone and decided to shoot them as is the US wont, if you miss the first shot, then it's load muzzle, open pan, shorten scouring stick, 'stop running away varlet, I'm near loaded', clear pan of excess powder, return scouring stick, add ball to muzzle...the fucker is halfway into the next county by the time you're ready to shoot him. Oh yeah, he was just going to stand there for five minutes while you went through all this shit, when you were clearly already trying to kill him. Yeah that was going to happen.

Of course when they amended the constitution a second time they clearly had in mind how guns were going to develop. All citizens and non-citizens having access to high velocity rifles with 25 full metal jackets in one clip, telescopic sights, night vision, bullets that explode into shrapnel in the human body, the truism of the Hickster of John Lennon  being shot and Justin Beiber...hit by a plastic bottle. Yeah they could see all that coming;
'Amendment 2; the right to bear arms. Well brethren I can totally see rifled barrels, magnum handguns and laser sights that any fucker can get their hands on. Mine eyesight is better than those twats in Derry*, we shall device this amendment with alacrity.'

Less guns, no guns. Well, you'd think a lot harder about your homicide. With guns you can be a lazy fucker and kill from your porch. With anything else you gotta plan it, leave the house and it might be raining and you gotta get close to the target. You'd then think about it and decide not to do it. Guns are loved because you can murder with ease; they take all that horrible physical exertion and forward planning out of the situation. Physical activity sucks. You're out on the prairie, how do you take down a hombre without a gun? Oh, bow and arrow. They fall off their horse and die of gangrene four days later. Again though your forcing people to leave the house to kill rather than do it from their Laz-e-boy. America says nein to that, boi!

Ah shit it's 1776 again while I was writing. All we're armed with is muskets and pitchforks again. Where's our telescopic sights?! They took our guns that can kill you just by thinking about them and our fleg. Keep me updated if they take owt else. Like bapples, we need 'em!


* Let's say you're a lazy fucker; 'Derry' is quicker and easier to write/spell. You do the maths when you can be bothered and then you see? Piece of piss to write!