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!
Bisson
Thursday, 28 March 2013
Thursday, 14 March 2013
Ach-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha!
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.
Bisson
* '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.
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.
Bisson
* '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."
Heh.
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!
Bisson
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."
Heh.
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!
Bisson
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.
Bisson
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.
Bisson
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.
Bisson
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.
Bisson
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?
Bisson
"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?
Bisson
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!
Dardis...Tardis...retardis...
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.
Bisson
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!
Dardis...Tardis...retardis...
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.
Bisson
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.
Bisson
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.
Bisson
The only boy left in Belfast...
"Allo...?
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!
Bisson
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!
Bisson
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!
Bisson
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!
Bisson
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...
Bisson
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...
Bisson
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