A tribute to the face bruise…
The Rear-Ended Bruise
The Tripped Nan Bruise
The Cricket-Ball Bruise
The Hit by a Drunk Driver Bruise
The Bike Accident Bruise
The Cute Kid Runs Into Chair Bruise
The Token Boob Bruise
Some of you reading this may be wondering why I hate the Tories so much and why I’m so angry that people are voting for them - I’ll give you one reason:
Nobody knows where they stand.
David ’smary-cunt-of-the-century’ Cameron has successfully managed to speak enough hot air to shroud the Conservatives in some sort of mirage of reputability. He hasn’t, however, effectively communicated exactly why the fuck we should give a shit about them.
At best, they’re still the same-old elitist, xenophobic, nationalistic bastards we know and fear still desperately trying to drag England back to a mythical ‘golden age’ which only existed in the depths of their privilege-addled minds. At worst, they have discarded their deplorable principles in the soul interest of obtaining power - by hook or by crook. Why is this the worst option? Because why the hell are they chasing power when they’re not even sure what they’re going to do with it!?
Now, anyone who’s read between the lines of this blog will be aware that I don’t really KNOW anything - I just strongly believe in a lot of things (although anyone who takes enough of an interest in human behaviour would probably suggest they both mean the same). One thing that I do believe is that the national consciousness is tied into whoever runs the show more than we like to think. Before too long, we’ll begin to notice the (often subtle) progressive changes introduced by Labour. Casual racism will meet a resurgence with all its crudity, bile and bitterness; Britain’s vibrant cultural scene will stagnate; Tolerance and acceptance will be replaced by the arrogant English superior sneer; Europe will become more distant and the world will be seen as a place simply of foreigners - not of opportunities.
I’m not saying that everything’s perfect now, only that there was a distinct flavour in the English breeze that I liked the taste of - and I’ve felt it turn sour over the past months as the Tory Cult of Ignorance grew in confidence.
You could be a penguin being raped by a seal.
I almost don’t know what to think about the journalist who wrote that.
I’m sat here on the sofa watching two cross-dressers, high-kicking their way to the approval of the judges on ITV2’s ironically-titled Britain’s Got Talent. I mention this to not only symbolise the depths of despair and self-punishment to which I’ve sunk, but also to use this particularly atrocious example of ‘entertainment’ as a microcosm of our nation as a whole.
As an eight-year old ginger kid twats his way to three ‘yes’ votes, the truly offensive examples of British talent on offer proves beyond all reasonable doubt that my fellow English-folk are as deluded, hopeless and ignorant as their voting habits suggest. In fact, the most exciting performances seen were from a pair of Eastern European women dressed a giant slinkies, and two men of Asian origin offering a surprising and imaginative dance routine - seriously, it was better than it sounds. Revealingly, the “stand-out” English contestants (in that whenever they took to the stage I was forced to step up and stand out of the room) seemed to be entrenched in the…well, I would arbitrarily insert a decade in here, but I’m not sure if there ever was a period in which such acts were genuinely considered something special.
What we have are kids being considered talented surely by dint of the fact that their parents have yet to call them out for being arrogant cunts, comedians reeling off jokes you would kick your uncle in the groin for saying at the Christmas table, impressionists of Cilla fucking Black and (to cut a long rant short) people of such an obvious lack of creativity and imagination that their individual contribution to society is of less value than the blue cat’s eyes showing a slip-road on the M40.
And these fuckers are allowed to vote.
No, that’s not right - not very democratic of me. For shame. Of course, these clueless spunkwits are permitted their votes the same way that I am. So who’s to blame for the rape of sensibility which has resulted in such careless squandering of our most basic of democratic privileges? Is it television (back to Britain’s Got Talent) endlessly promoting the celebrity culture which has turned even the most serious of contests into some Big Brother-esque spectacle? Is it the newspapers, who unashamedly promote their political agenda with hardly a nod towards respectability and integrity? Is it the leaders who bow to the pressures of the above at the cost of what they believe in, meaning that (on the surface at least) an important choice hardly seems like a choice at all?
The fact is that, on the whole and despite my wishes to the contrary, television vomits forth whatever crap will be eagerly swallowed by the viewers; people don’t buy newspapers to be challenged or informed, they buy whatever piece of propaganda supports their own self-focused belief (this applies to you arrogantly superior Guardian and Independent readers too); and our so-called leaders are the sheep that shamefully pander to populist bullshit while shamefully hiding any individual stance or beliefs aside from the usual soundbytes.
I guess then, that the answer is that the problem is us. I’m sure others have made the comparison more pithily than I, so I’ll leave it up to you to find out what they’ve said, but there’s definitely something to say about sheep being released from the pen only to mill around for a bit, before running back inside and then biting themselves on the ass.
Rant over.
Check out this fantastic image by BurnComics on the ConceptArt forums…
And how does this compare to the real deal?
So, which one to fuck and which one to chuck? Either way, nice work there Burn Comics.
Out of all the television characters played by Richard Dean Anderson, MacGyver is the only one other than the guy from Stargate SG-1 that I can think of. Both characters are awesome, but while Jack O’Neill could prevent intergalactic war with his dry wit, MacGyver could create a non-lethal explosive device out of skin flakes and wheat.
MacGyver is a true American hero who (let’s face it, tried but failed to) make science cool. The hook was his ability to improvise solutions to any problem using his knowledge of chemistry and physics. He famously only carried a swiss army knife and duct tape with him - making him marginally better equipped than the average British soldier. His first name was Angus and he had big 80s hair.
Anyway, the ever-useful Wikipedia has an page titled, List of Problems Solved by MacGyver. Read this and learn something. Here’s an example of the kind of shit he got up to…
“MacGyver uses an ultrasonic device to crack the eyeglasses of a would-be assailant. He later uses two candlestick holders, a floor mat, and an electrical power cord as a makeshift defibrillator to revive a fallen comrade.”
Day Four - A Girls Aloud Wank
(Yes, I missed a day - went to see Son of Rambow instead)
Life necessitates a Girls Aloud wank every now and again. The rigours of work, the stress of the commute, personal troubles, family feuds… all these factors congruify within you, eventually causing death. While doctors have yet to find a cure for this so-called “ageing”, science-wranglers suggest that the resultant build-up of frustratoroids, caused by stressful situations, naturally gravitate towards the male genitals - where, if ignored, they will increase in size, power and intensity, eventually latching on to your nervous system and effecting your behaviour. Indeed, patients found to suffer from chronic cases of frustratoroids are often, to quote the journal I’m reading this from, “up-tight, anal, neurotic and self-righteous cunts who need to take a good look in the mirror and ask themselves, what the fuck are you doing?”.
It’s not all doom and gloom though, as healthy and frequent masturbation is found to ease frustratoroids and, in general, make you a far happier person. Such up-tight cunts as mentioned above are prescribed a wankification process to cure them of their illness - while those found to have too few frustratoroids entering their system are often led to dewankification clinics to improve their lifestyle. Sometimes dewankification goes to far, however, and a rewankification programme is enabled. I only tell you this, not because I think wankification is funny, but because it might save your life one day.
This is all besides the point, as my original argument is that life necessitates Girls Aloud. Indeed, when times are really tough and you need to let loose, is there any better alternative to this sexy, pop-emitting quintet? Never in the history of mankind have five such-fuckable females been gathered in one position, forced to perform in ludicrously sexy costumes for the benefit of a male audience, and achieved widespread approval and acceptance. There is something for everyone with this lot, from the cheekily slutty Cheryl Tweedy to the overtly slutty Sarah Harding.
Here’s to Girls Aloud; to gather five girls of equivalent hotness and a similar penchant for curvaceous gyratory, you would probably require a cattle prod and a permit.
After that last post I simply couldn’t resist. Let Sir Mixalot teach you that racial stereotypes are almost always true and funny.
There are so many excellent lines in this song, I can’t help but post the lyrics too…
This momentarily lifted my mind from beneath the miasmic clouds of crushing depression in which I tend to wallow these days. That’s why I only dare look at each post for a few seconds at a time. If I want to wallow, I’ll fucking wallow.
GraphJam makes graphs funny. But probably only if you’re a geek who chuckles pretentiously when they get the lyrical reference, privately praying that their work colleagues don’t get it so they can (somehow) end up getting the girl.
Just look at the fucking site. A few examples are below.
Day Three - A Quasi-Bestial Wank
Thanks to Mike Sizemore, there was no trouble whatsoever confirming the subject of this evening’s self-gratificatory manual-pumpification. As a kid, everyone I knew had a thing for Cheetara. Admittedly, kids are stupid and deserve nothing but contempt from their superiors, but some things are hard to let go of.
Perhaps we should stop and consider the unnatural attraction we all feel for a female who is (despite her lithe and supple humanoid body that is screaming to be wrecked by me dressed as Panthro) at the core, a cat. But then again, isn’t she actually an alien from a different galaxy? Is that worse or better? Maybe the scariest thought is that she’s actually just an animated cartoon who isn’t nearly as sexy as we used to think.
Fortunately, the girls below are just tasty and dressed in lycra. Enjoy without mercy.
