Saturday 13 April 2013

Not My Problem!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Bisson




Monday 1 April 2013

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

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhh!!!!

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

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

Benefit reform...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Bisson