Right - the reason I’ve not posted for a while (please put away the hanky) is that I’m currently tear arsing across america on the Bull Run. I will blog about it fully if I ever get more then 5 seconds to settle and right something but I shall try and outline some shenanigans in bullet point form…
Startline/keys locked in the boot
Arrested
Arrested
Car Impounded
Gun pulled on me
Stag do on the side of the motorway
vegas wedding
Petrol? What petrol
Fear of death/lambo
Keep that breath baited and I’ll be back in a week.
I used to be a man. A hunting, gathering, providing, head of the tribe man. (that was all true apart form all of it)
Now I’m sat in on a thursday night having just done the washing up while watching the start of Big Brother (is it eight? do I care?) and the only word I seem to be able to mutter is “COCK”, cause that is what they all are. Without exception. I challenge you to watch BB for more than 20 seconds before you utter that most fantastic of describing words at our TV screen.
But then I may mock, and I do, but here I am sat here watching the “COCKS” co in, scream, pretend they like each other and generally act like “COCKS”.
I just spoke to my good mate the Hymenator who is disgusted about me watching this televisual tripe. But the thing is, BB for me is a form of therapy…. I can get all my hate out at the TV screen and then spend the rest of day being kind to strangers and stroking dogs.
So early judgement of whose gonna win? actually no, thats passe and I can guarantee that every other blog will do the same thing. Lets go with who will be the most hated and take the plaque off Charley Uchea, Jo O’Mera and Jade “Jabba’s Palace” Goody to be our most “cherished” celebrity.
I’ve thought of 4 categories….
Most likely to be lynched.
Most likely to get their respective twinkle/sausage out on camera
Most Likely to have a spread in the Daily Star when they get out
Most likely to make a shit load of money
Feel free to let me know your thoughts on those categories if you can be assed, if not then I shall watch tonights proceedings and post later with my guess at the early contenders for OJ’s Subtle Cock Awards 08.
COCKS! (apart from the blind one, he seems alright - watch him be a closet nazi or something now I’ll end this blog witha little reason why we watch this poo……
So Tomorrow I move house. Again. This will be the (approximate guess) 16th time in 10 years that I have moved which is just a big fat cock.
And thats all I’m writing right now as I’m supposed to be packing up and cleaning James’s flat before (I still owe him rent - should I go on the run?) getting the van and doing the slog across London, and I’m looking for any excuse to sack it off.
Right a bit more packing then I will edit and further right upon this blog.
UDPATE
So today is Wednesday and I have not done any updating on the move. Why? Well thats becasue i have moved and did it in SIX hours. Its got to be a new record when you consider that I went and signed for the flat, checked the new flat, hired a van, emptied one flat, drove to my storage locker and emptied that (apart for a rather important part of the bed - oooops) then put all the stuff into the new flat (with the help of my good friend Clark Mancini) and still made it too a meeting for 4pm. I think I deserve a blast of this music…….
Well I was looking for the theme to Record breakers but Youtube doesn’t have t.. scandle I know. BUT….. while looking for that I found this - check it out! (Call me daddy)
Of course I should point out that the good lady was involved in the move as I wasnot acting alone in this endeavor. I worked out that I have moved house 16 times in the last 7 years - which is rediculous really but it has fine tuned the art of humping my gear about.
So this means that Jimmy the Director is no longer my landlord. I sort of miss him (but not his rent charges)
I thought I wasn’t going to be able to blog as I’ve got to wait a month to get my broadband hooked up again (I know, don’t cry) but it seems someone has left their broadband open for me to lig off. Foooooooooool.
SO I shall collect my thoughs now, buy something to put my decks on and be back blogging soon. (ish as the suns out for Pete’s Sake)
Well. I’m incensed by that. I’m not about to go buy Andy Abraham’s album Impossible Dream (2.98 from Amazon - a bargain) but he deserved better than joint last! I mean he put heart, soul, balls, lungs, toe nails and his bin lorry into that. And he was beaten by an ice skating bell end. with a waxed chest (not that I was looking mind) and a song that didn’t really do it for me.
Now the thing that shocked me slightly was that this year you had to qualify for the contest, and My dad (who is Maltese) through a party as the Eurovision is the only chance that Malta usually gets to battle on a (vaguely) level playing field only to find that after buying the nibble, pouring out the drinks and getting the Maltese flag down from the loft, that Malta hadn’t even qualified. Disaster.
On the voting side of things (this is after watching an unfathomably large amount of over made up loves-of-themselves prance about the stage) it was basically a night of camp back rubbing. I got more and more incensed Its a good job we didn’t play the drinking game we were going to play as the tatical voting that went on would have meant that the TV would have exited the house via the window.
Worse still is that I have woken up to the story that Wogers may quit. What! He is the single best thing about the event, and has ended up disgusted at the turn of events there. And if Wogan is upset, I am upset.
The only thing to do is to leave this blog with a vid of andy doing his thing and I guess lets give him gordon Browns job as a form of compensation.
Check out the fat, smiling Lawrence Fishburn bass player!
What is that susurrus that I can hear. What is that sound of distant barbarians? Is there someone at the gate to the city?
No.
Manchester Utd just won the Champions League. I even just heard a firework go off. Which surprises my slightly as I live in West London - not that far from the Kings road and Chelsea’s ground. Now this opens up all sort of jokes about surrey based prawn sandwich eating losers from which I will not get drawn into commenting on. What I will comment on is the fact that I have been unbelievably not bothered about the game. I even went to watch a film with my very sexy lady friend and missed the first half. bothered. I then half watched the second half while cooking dinner (I really stretched my culinary abilities with smash ad vege sausages)
But then the extra time happened, and chelsea hit the post and manchester utd had one cleard off the line and like a junkie who has just been released from prison I’m lapping it like a good un. Then its penalties and I can’t type for chewing away at my nails.
So we’ve got to a cresendo, a team is going to win the Cup in the next few seconds… and its…..
then I realize that I really don’t care cause you maybe the best team in europe but you still released this toss
Oh and you can stop shouting outside my window you red top wearing tit.
Before this blog starts I would like to talk about me in the 3rd person to point out that that handsome OJ is a man. A red blooded, hunter gatherer who could, if he wanted to, bring down a wooly mammoth and feed the tribe…. even though he is a vegetarian freestyler.
So having only just moved in with the less hairy love of my life (my girlfriend that is, not a seal. Although they do make me laught those slippery honking bastards) I’m now of the gang that sleeps in a bed that is no longer my own. this isn’t helped by James the Director (who’s flat i rent) only has a queen sized bed. So that when I heat up to my, allegedly, 119C. At night being near me is like being next to a sweating hog.
Last night was no different, made worse due to the fact I staggered in drunk to the complete happyness of the good lady. Problem is that I woke up this morning hugging a teddy bear and I have no idea how. Is this a sign of my manlyness. A sign that I can sleep with a bear and not worry about it? I’m not sure. the worry I have is that I slept very well last night thank you very much. To the point that I may phone home to my ma and see if I can get her to send my childhood best friend, my bear called Milton. Why he has a Jewish name I have no idea.
Do you sleep with a bear. Are you still a man. Help me!
Right, this is ridiculous. Grand Theft Auto 4, possibly one of the most rabidly anticipated games to be created. EVER. Well how in the name of Uri Geller’s tit have they managed to sell out. Every where. I feel like a smack head who can’t get hold of any brown.
Did Rockstar games not think… “hello, we’ve got a game here that everybody wants, lets only make 10 copies of it.”or are we in a lets keep the addicts waiting a bit longer. Well I’m dying here Mr Rockstar. I need my fix so will you get the children in you processing plant to make a few more copies. i’ll pay whatever the cost.
No, my anger doesn’t relate to printers (although I do hate them….. the bastards) It relates to the drivers of 4×4’s in London. Now i’m not going to go into the environmental issues as we all know them and to be honest You’d just get bored if I did my Al Gore impression (although I do agree with him) its to do with the arrogance of the people who drive them.
Just went to the”big shop’ at Waitrose (chose that cause they are the greenest of all of the supermarkets and also support farmers. The shop cost £123! beating my previous record by about £60. In future the farmers and the environment can go fuck them selves and I’ll shop at Aldi) and in going into the car-park I discovered that it was a small, tight (f’narr) area that had limited spaces available. What do I see then while crawling round looking for a spot for my girlfriends very economical little Yaris? A whacking great big BMW X5 parked badly so leaving it unable for someone to get a car in next to them. Worse was to follow as i carried round on my now non peaceful drive…. but a porsche Cayenne parked with out any regard over 2 spaces. I mean feel free to drive a 4×4 if you live in the country side and own horses, pigs or cockle pickers but in the centre of London!
Now I’m not one to leave things lying but as we exited the car and heading into the supermarket I saw the driver of the X5 - a small posh looking blonde lady - bet you couldn’t have guesses - I of course had to state that I didn’t aprreciate her parking methods (swear words might have been used) It was only afterwards that my girlfriend pointed out that a hairy guy like me shouting a lady in a car-park probably doesn’t look the best but hey, maybe she’ll p[ark better net time. The bitch.
Anyway this blog has mearly turned into a Daily M ail style rant so I shall no diffuse my own burgeoning bile with a track which has got me whacking the repeat button more times that teenagers whack off.
