Red Hot XXX Marriage Action

Is it just me or has the whole world gone sex bonkers? Everyone's either shagging everything abhorrent in sight or trying to stop everyone else shagging anything until they can at least convince someone to please just hold their hand.

Before anyone starts thinking I'm some sort of specialist gimp-mask lunatic, I'd like to point out I don't understand these people, it's just I understand even less the mob that wants to reduce everybody else's enjoyment to watching videos of pious young men asking fathers for their daughters' hand in marriage, just in case anything else causes us tiny-minded people who clearly can't handle sex or violence to go on some sort of scythe-weilding horror movie rampage.

It's ridiculous - if you want to stick a bedpost up your arse, what business is it of the government's? Personally I wouldn't advise you do it, but if the urge really takes you and you can find people willing to pay you fifteen quid a month to see you do it, all power to you. You're just not sitting on my chairs if you come round for dinner. The issue is supposedly about people stumbling across 'rape porn' on the internet (and the BBC article conveniently names a couple of sites for you to satisfy your curiosity - I didn't look and don't want to, but if you're that cracked then by all means take a peek) and going out and stabbing people. It's the other way around, surely? Unless I fancy cracking one off at the wrist over women being sexually assaulted, which I don't, then I'm not going to go looking for this sort of site. It doesn't seem like the sort of stuff you can just wander into from a google search for 'tits'. The only real crime in that search is that Ant & Dec aren't right at the top.

It does open a worrying double standard, with Lord Wallace of Tankerness (which is a brilliant name, by the way) saying " ". I can probably sum it up more succinctly than that, though - if you try to take away my right to crack one off over Major Kira giving someone a good kicking, I riot. I can't be fucked getting too worked up about it, obviously, cos I've already got all the videos, but anything within arms' reach is in some serious danger, let me tell you.

It's all pointless anyway, because surely this fucking maniac is proof that complete sexual insanity can and will occur without the aid of the demon interlink. I wasn't going to comment on this story because there was nothing funny to take out of it, just the extremely sick, but it's just getting weirder and weirder by the minute. My top three revelations so far have to be:

1) His wife didn't know what was going on. Now I'm not the most observant person in the world and can often drift through days pretty much oblivious to my surroundings, but I'm pretty sure I'd notice my significant other sneaking off to the basement multiple times a day. The basement is just the typical place where this sort of insanity occurs, so I'd have been down there like a shot after, I don't know, the tenth year.

2) The fact he built an entire house down there. Most captors, even that Belgian lunatic who I can't find a link to at the moment, largely because I don't really want to google that intently in case these anti-pornography crusaders are watching, didn't build them a fucking house. It would almost be a good holiday destination, if it wasn't for all the rape, and

3) The electronic lock on the door. For most people, a padlocked door to a chamber would do, but no, he built an underground house with lights, running water and an electronically locked door. That's Bond villain stuff there. Except instead of the world domination, he decided to stick to rape. It definately seems to be the rape motif that's the problem, doesn't it?

Still, it's not like Austria has the monopoly on cases that sickly prove the legislation horribly wrong. Someone's finally been arrested on Jersey for the sex party dungeon thing. Only one person, mind you, so presumably there will be more. If there isn't, that bloke had some serious fucking stamina. Another case with about seven underground rooms filled with kids being abused that can surely have nothing to do with the internet, just a very particular kind of crazy.

Bunch of fucking mentalists.

Goodnight.

Spam Sunday: Stop Being a Sniper, Be RAMBO!

Bloody hell I feel rough. I don't know who invented absinthe or why, but no wonder all those French painters went mental. That stuff is lethal. I'm actually pretty impressed with the lucidity of my post yesterday, especially as I couldn't focus on the screen properly as it cavorted worryingly around the room, but I'm hoping this one will make a bit more sense.

Anyway, I promised to do Spam Sunday... months ago, before I got sidetracked. I won't bother going too much into it, the concept is pretty self explanatory, and I'm hung over, so off we go.

This one tickled me because of the genius of the mental images it throws up; Sly Stallone charging through the jungle, shouting and spunking on everything in sight. Brilliant.

This is a classic case of a spammer getting far too verbose for his own good. I'm fairly sure that this is an enlarge your penis spam, but someone somewhere has replaced it with a thesis.

This one is a classic because you just know the poor spammer got the sack from his boss over this. The mail's been opened because I wanted to see if there was any content. There wasn't.

This one, however, scares the shit out of me. It's the fact it's a statement, rather than a sales pitch, that makes it frightening. Second puberty? Am I going to grow more bollocks? Fucking hell.

Maybe they need some of these - it's the only way to go, apparently. No thanks, I don't want any of those specific drugs, I want some of those generic ones that just make your face a bit tingly.

Anyway, as for this last one...

This is the best thing to ever happen to the internet. I was going to click on it to see what was inside, but it could have only have led to disappointment, so I'm not even peeking.

Anyway, I've got to get myself patched up and ready to head off back into the breach tomorrow, so I ought to go and sort myself out. The football's been it's typical generic load of shite and there's nothing happening in the news, so that's it from me today. I'll be back tomorrow, drinking and watching the Arsenal game with a reckless abandon for my mind, liver and footballing ego.

Goodnight.

Fuck Journalistic Integrity, It's 4AM and I'm Drunk off my Arse

Hello internet. It may come as something of a shock to you, but I'm drunk. So drunk, in fact, that I've tried to sit up to write this post four times and I've completely failed, so I'm going to write it lying down. Apologies for any spelling mistakes. To be fair, I started today by falling down the stairs and getting butter on my trousers, so I don't know why I'm in any way shocked at this particular turn of events.

Anyway. News.

After years and years of us all knowing it anyway, Scotland has officially been declared a third world country, as petrol is being shipped into the region to combat the effects of the Grangemouth refinery strike. I'm in no condition to get into the politics of the whole thing, so I'll just point and laugh at the fact the entire country seems to be in absolute fucking chaos because someone's turning off the petrol for two days. There's been panic buying and everything.

Think about it, the strike's only on for two days, and one of those days is a sunday - where the fuck are you going on a sunday that's so vitally important and so excessively far away that anything less than a full tank of petrol isn't going to be good enough to get you there? If you have anywhere you have to be that fucking urgently and that far away, well, you should have moved closer to it instead of waiting for this to happen and then panic buying over the idea that there might not be any fuel for two days.

I thoroughly expect if everybody carried on as normal and only filled up their cars when they needed to, the area would get through this crisis without even noticing, but because the government has got all these cunts running out panic buying full tanks and jerrycans of petrol, of course they're going to fucking run out. There's people supping entire petrol stations dry in case they need to drive their motorhomes to fucking Mars in the next two days.

The Have Your Say mob have gotten hold of the issue, too, but I'm fucked if I can be bothered.

I'd much rather focus on Amy Winehouse, because I'd do her, and I wouldn't fuck an oil pipeline if you paid me. Though if you're weird enough to do that I'm not sure I want you speaking to me at all. This time she's been out headbutting people at taxi ranks, which is a sad reflection of her complete mental breakdown, but hey, at least we're beating America and Britney Spears for national music figure insanity. One more feather in the crack-addled cap for Britain.

Still, you can sort of understand why she's gone insane this time, seeing as husband Blake Fielder-Civil (there's a name of a cunt if ever I heard one) has been described as 'exchanging sweet nothings' with a blonde something or other while in court on charges of assault and attempting to pervert the course of justice. So if you're single again, Amy, I'm fairly sure that more people know who I am than have a clue who Blake Fielder-Civil is, and you're no more or less mental than most of the women I've dated in the past. You'd have to limit yourself to just the crack, though, because I don't do needles.

I think what amuses me most is the fact that while the BBC has gone out of it's way to find a picture of her looking absolutely horrific, the Daily Express has gone with one where she looks downright gorgeous. Oh well, Daily Express 1, other media outlets twenty six million. They're catching up, people!

More importantly, I suppose, ten people have been injured in a motorbike accident somewhere in Scotland. Now, I don't know quite how you go about managing to injure ten people with one motorbike without at the very least falling off, but the BBC is reporting that 'more than one' person was on the motorbike at the time of the accident. Now I realise that probably means two, but wouldn't it be a great acheivement if all ten were on the motorbike, and the stupid cunts just rode into a wall of their own volition?

Think about it. It would be an achievement to get ten people on an upright motorcycle in the first place, let alone get the whole mess up to a high enough speed to cause any sort of damage. I know it's pretty unlikely but it's funny all the same. A couple of morons knocking eight other people over on a high street is just the stuff of cunts, and not quite up to the sort of comedic injury most people should inflict on themselves for my personal amusement.

Oh, and finally, there's a piece about video games ratings systems. Now right away I'm going to come out and admit I've not read it, as I'm writing this post largely off the cuff while horizontal after the brutal impact of most of a bottle of absinthe upon my mental faculties and I'm actually having quite serious trouble wrestling with the spell checker enough to keep this coherent, so I'm just assuming - quite naturally - that the piece is another rambling soundbyte-ridden piece by some cunt that wants to outlaw any video game that doesn't consist solely of colourful blobs that never lose and are always happy always, and every button you press just makes them smile.

You know, the sort of shit your parents bought you when you were a kid, and you closed every time they pissed off so you could have another go of Death Gore Aliens XIV.

I don't understand this bizarre need that some people have to ban things that are fun. I love shooting digital people, but I wouldn't shoot a real one unless he supported Chelsea, which is a crime beyond forgiveness anyway. It might be a crime, but no jury in the land would convict. There's already restrictions on buying games if you're under 18, and if your mum buys you a copy if Shit Spunk Blood Murder 4, then either you're adjusted enough to deal with it or your mother is a shit. There's no need for some preachy cunt to come along and take my shooty fun away because your stupid self couldn't handle a couple of digital decapitations, or you're eight years old and your mother was stupid enough to buy you a copy of a game with a picture of a disemboweled zombie eating a baby on the front. Piss off, the lot of you.

Anyway, that's about it. The room is spinning at a decidedly unhealthy angle and I'm going to close my eyes and go to sleep now. Right after I have what feels like the largest piss ever undertaken by a human being. I might even be sick a bit, just to complete the evening. We'll wait and see, and if you're lucky enough I might tell you tomorrow.

Goodnight.

Local Man Bludgeoned to Death by Fourteen Disembodied Penises

Is it me or does nobody seem to get murdered in a normal way anymore? Nobody ever gets a bit pissed off with someone and stabs them to death or beats them over the head with a tyre iron or something these days, it's always something mental like they've bitten their face off , drunk their blood and kept their toes and kidneys in a box by the side of their bed. It's like these lunatics are all trying to outdo one another. Alright, murder is always a terrible, terrible thing, but at least we used to have the decency to kill each other in straightforward, normal ways. Now it's all gone a bit CSI. Take the case this week about the poor disabled boy and his mother going missing, and then turning up dead. A young mother and her disabled son turning up dead is a horrible, horrific thing in itself, but that just wasn't enough, was it? No. It had to leak out that the poor bastard had been dead in a suitcase for months on end before anyone found him, and someone had even cancelled the disabled activity bus that picked him up every day.

What kind of sick bollocking cunt would do a thing like that? Doesn't anyone die normally anymore?

I'm all for weird crimes when they're actually funny, though. That Welsh valleys Darth Vader bloke the other day was hilarious in anyone's book, and I'm linking to it again because it deserves to go down as simply the best crime ever to take place. A close second has to go to to the woman who has received a suspended sentence for downloading child pornography and then narrating the the action to her blind husband. Now, say what you want and child pornography is indeed a terrible thing, but that's what you call dedication isn't it? I've had girlfriends who have thrown massive tantrums at me for keeping a sly copy of Loaded lying about the place, and I'll marry the first girl I meet who's not only willing to accept that men can and will wank over pretty much anything that crosses their path during the average day, but is actually willing to narrate the action in the sickest shit I can think of. I wouldn't go that far, obviously, but you've got to admire the loyalty and love that that must take. Then again, you do have to question the sanity of anyone who stands up in court and says that they used to watch child pornography 'for a laugh' - somehow that's even more sick and wrong than watching it to get off.

Anyway, today has been a pretty slow news day as I think every reporter is already massing for the Man United vs. Chelsea game and so ignoring the usual slew of hate and death that makes up half the comedy of this website, so, because this site needs more family-friendly, light-hearted humour, I'll take this oppertunity to go off on a barely-linked tangent about dead people. Why is it never cunts getting killed? Every person that ever dies in a terrible or violent way is never any sort of arsehole, and I simply fail to believe that fate really has it in for that man people who aren't complete bastards. I understand it's largely a sensitivity issue and you can't really be seen to be thinking ill of the dead, but every single person that seems to get murdered always seems to have been some sort of class-topping soul-of-the-party superhuman. That or the 'quiet sort that would never hurt a fly'. Why is it never any of the swarms of mouth-breathing tossers that stalk the streets every friday night looking for a kebab and a fight? Because they're the ones doing the killing probably. It's just interesting that you never see anyone on the news going "Ha! That'll teach the little cunt". Perhaps they just edit them out.

One final thought, do you think that if I tucked my cock in, Sue Perkins would let me lick her fanny?

Time for a gentleman's rest.

Goodnight.

Your Say Thursday Celebrity Special: Jack Teague

Will someone please buy Jack Teague a puppy? The writer of a fortnightly 'blog' on The Daily Express's website (which, comedically, has launched a section of it's site called 'The Crusader', fighting for your white British rights - the Express might want to check the historical etymology of that word before they start bandying it about and expecting people not to get angry) is probably the angriest human being the world has ever seen. Almost anything seems to be capable of driving the miserable cunt into an almost apoplectic rage, from pubs daring to serve more than a couple of ham sandwiches whipped up in the Landlord's kitchen to some forrin making his lunch wrong. All manner of issues that the rest of us might dismiss with a tut and a shrug seem to percolate around Jack's mind like poisonous horse turds.

Even the slowly rising price of chocolate bars isn't trivial enough for Jack - never mind the soaring crime rate, the seething discontent between northern communities and the fact that a Twix is no more than about 10p more expensive than it was when I was ten years old, Jack wants a Lion bar for under eight pence and he wants it NOW!

Who knew a Have Your Say'er could rise this high? It could only be in the Daily Express, the first paper since 1956 to have the phrase 'Living in Sin' printed in perfect seriousness on their front page. Obviously I can't let this lie, partially because I'm a shouty bastard as well and I simply refuse to be outdone by someone who looks like an overgrown child who's had his Transformers nicked, and partially because it's just such complete drivel that it sums up the mentality of the Daily Express and the people who lap up it's constant onslaught of sensationalist psuedo-alternative sloth piss. So in the spirit of being a spoilsport cunt, I'm forsaking the usual Your Say Thursday format to laugh in his face because, lets face it, he's a Have Your Say resident that has somehow managed to blunder into a real job. You know he posts there.

Why Are Some People So Rude?
In this edition of his blog, Jack has forsaken every other pressing issue bubbling around his mind to bring us news of the most shocking indictment of the state of the country as we know it - the fact that, sometimes, people push in front of him while he's waiting for a train. Yes, unbelievably, sometimes, people simply aren't willing to give Jack the five minutes' bowing in reverence he's come to expect from us mere mortals, and simply - if you can believe it - get on the train before him. Sometimes all of us horrific indictments of British society have even taken up all the seats, so he has to stand all the way to work. It's a sign of the times, apparently. I'd say it's a sign of being in a bit of a rush, but that wouldn't really elevate it to the level of momentous importance that Jack likes to drape over everything that dribbles out of his tiny brain, so you can see why he does it really.

Idiots On Mobile Phones Really Wind Me Up
Here Jack unveils a new twist on 'saying things that are either monumentally stupid or so patently obvious that we all knew about it already' by hitting us, over and over again, with the shocking revalation that people talking on their moble phones in our vacinity can get on our nerves. Obviously that wouldn't nearly be mental enough for our Jack, so his number one complaint about it seems to be the fact that other people's conversations aren't interesting enough for him to listen in on. He goes into great and intricate detail about the nature of the conversation held by a woman on the bus - public transport really seems to set Jack's rage glands pumping - taking up a good two thirds of his 'blog', only to then point out that he doesn't care. If you don't care, Jack, why have you remembered every single thing they said? I keep having to click back to your blog to remember what you're banging on about, and I don't care if you choke on your own tongue.

It's Not Racist to Expect Good Manners
Oh dear, someone's gone and made Jack a bad sarnie. To make matters worse, they were a forrin, and that's really driven Jack round the twist. A shop worker misheard his sandwich order and put the wrong ingredients in, and this clearly means to Jack that she's an ignorant sponger unwilling to learn proper English. I once tried to buy some Beechams over in Birkenhead while stuffed up to the eyeballs with the 'flu, and I might as well have been speaking Cantonese for all the poor shop assistants knew. Lets send the ignorant Scousers back to Africa, shall we, you torturous whinging cretin?

Still, I think what amuses me most about this article is the racism issue seems to entirely exist inside Jack's head. Nothing in the post or his relation of the conversation implies any racism on either side and yet, out of nowhere, Jack is under the impression that... I don't even know what he's under the impression of, I can only assume that he thinks all foreign workers should have to take a crash course in English pastries before being allowed in. Is that a Cornish pasty? No, it's a flan, get the fuck out of our country.

How Are We Supposed to Make a Living in Brown's Britain?
I think this article has to be my favourite though, just because, from the title, it looks like Jack might have something at least of national relevance to talk about, even if he is likely to be completely face-poundingly uninformed, but by the second line in he's rubbed runny orange shit all over his good work by turning the whole thing into a bit of a cry about chocolate. The thing is, I know Gordon Brown is a smug slack-faced cunt, I know that in terms of the economy he's showing all the sense of a drunken squaddie trying to wank in boxing gloves, but the price of a Twirl bar is not particularly useful political yardstick, especially when the things have gone up by about 5p in the last ten years. I'd have been impressed with Jack if he'd broken down the situation and made some serious political points, but he fucks it all in after about nine words, and while even I concede that Gordon Brown has completely shat all over the economy through a combination of malice and sheer bloody-minded incompetence, I just can't find anything noteworthy about it to take out of a piece by a grown man having a fist-pounding tantrum over the price of a chocolate bar.

And finally...

Gastropubs? Are You Bleedin' Mad?
Hmm. I know I said the previous one was my favourite, but this has to be a close second, simply because it sums up the inherent selfishness present in every single one of his articles, and the very selfishness he rails against when other it's inflicted on him by other people. Jack, in his infinite wisdom, hates everyone in his pub who isn't him. Throw in potshots at the evils of immigrants, unworking mothers and the smoking ban, and you've got the sort of unfocussed rage I've come to expect from Daily Express readers. There is nowhere in this country where there are no pubs that don't serve you a quickly knocked together ham sarnie within staggering distance, unless you live in the very heart of London's posh dangly bits, in which case you have no right to be complaining about anything, and could probably afford a taxi to and from my local, which still has every bit of football anyone could possibly want to watch, and will happily sell you a cheese roll for a couple of quid and even scatter a bit of sawdust on the floor for you if you're that much of a bloody traditionalist.

You're not welcome, though, because you're a cunt.

Goodnight.

Slavering Demons Blamed for Mild Sense of Unease

Cunt Chelsea cunt Chelsea cunt Chelsea cunt. That diving cunt Drogba and that own goaling cunt Riise now mean that, probably, Manchester United are the only ones capable of stopping the Zombie's relentless charge towards buying up the Champion's League. If it comes to a Man U/Chelsea final in Moscow I think the only way the rest of us will come out on top is if the whole pack of cunts freeze to death and shatter each other in the tackle, because I really don't think having to watch Ronaldo and Rooney smug around the Premiership next season is only slightly preferrable to having to watch those insufferable tossers Terry and Lampard do it. Mug around, that is, not get a bit friendly in the showers. What a terrible image that is.

Still, after all that bollocks yesterday, I needed something to cheer me up, and usually when I need something obscenely silly to give me a smile when I need it most, I can always rely on the Welsh to do something so completely barmy that all my troubles seem to melt away into the image of a drunken Darth Vader battering some poor sod with a crutch. You really couldn't make it up. Honestly, I've mocked major world events, poked fun at Presidential candidates and raged against erm... regional strife, but for my favourite story of all time you really can't beat two mad taffies playing Star Wars. The bin-liner clad Sith Lord's defence was that he couldn't remember the incident as he had been drunk, and that "alcohol was ruining his life" - mate, if you live the sort of existence where you're jumping over fences in a bin-liner and a Darth Vader mask twatting Jedis, you've got a better, more exciting life than most people probably hope to have at 27, an age by which time most people are marooned in offices 7 hours a day, 5 days a week and spend their evenings rooted to the box watching Norweigan twats fuck up at the football. Even the judge got in on the act - ""I hope the force will soon be with him." said District Judge Andrew Shaw, while issuing an arrest warrant. Classic. And people wonder why I love the Welsh?

Our English maniacs are a far more dull and scary breed, unlike the fun-loving Welsh nutters. Take for example this story - Satan was driving my Astra? Please. That's just not trying. Now I'm not up on my Christian demonology, but I'm pretty sure that the infernal Lord of Darkness and Ruler of All Hell has slightly more important issues to be attending to than driving some daffy tart's hatchback into some children, however an honourable cause that might be. Admittedly 41-year-old women on their way to the shops aren't the usual sort of people to be caught speeding at 70 miles an hour through residential red lights, but I reckon it's more likely to be some sort of mechanical failure or just a bad day with the kids rather than the attentions of the dastardly Red Horned One.

Still, it's one of those great excuses we've gotten used to over the last few months. Do something heinous for no good explainable reason? Come up with some completely bonkers story to explain it all away and you'll probably get away with it. Stabbed someone fifty-seven times in the face? Did it to themselves, m'lud. Found defiling a corpse in your driveway at four in the morning? She were just there, guv. Caught speeding on the M4 while yakking on your mobile and slapping your children? The wicked work of Beelzebub. I only embezzled that fortune because it came to me in a dream, now give me my ASBO and I'll be on my way. To a padded cell, admittedly, but on my way nonetheless, and I bet they've got better nosh than the Scrubs.

Not sure I'd like the electrodes, though.

Still, maybe these guys could benefit from a nice convenient psychosis. Is it just me that's sick and tired of every single detail of this case being announced in the media? Yes they're all very guilty, yes they're very bad people, but we honestly don't need to know the time, colour and consistency any time any of them goes for a shit. It's getting beyond a joke. This story seems to revolve around some footage of the suspects standing around outside a kebab shop, and while I expect that is the least important piece of evidence anyone has seen in their entire fucking lives, the BBC - and, surprise surprise, the Daily Express - have been reporting it like it's the most important development in the field of criminal justice since fingerprinting. Bunch of twentysomething blokes standing about outside a kebab shop, sounds like me on a friday night, except I'm usually inside the kebab shop getting Asad to make me one of his delicious doner meat pizzas with extra chillis. Yum. If those new restaurant immigration laws coming into force take Asad and his delicious Italian-via-Turkish-Cypriot cuisine away, I'm going to riot. Just a word of warning. The good news is I tire pretty quickly without my hit of heart-attack dead goat in cheese, so it probably wouldn't go on longer than an afternoon.

Oh, and some German bloke who flew sorties over Britain during World War 2 has apologised for bombing Bath, and so he bloody should - have you seen the state of it recently? Anyway, it's Your Say Thursday tomorrow, which promises to be it's usual bout of tragic comedy. Hope you lot like the new layout, it took fucking ages, not least because I'm shit at editing that whole HTML... thing and repeatedly buggered up my own template. It wasn't my fault though, Satan was controlling my hands, making me thrash them against the keys in a torrent of gibberish that was almost, but not completely unlike the special kind of gibberish that makes the internet work.

And Chelsea are still cunts.

Goodnight.

Because I Couldn't be Fucked Posting Today...

I've made you lot a picture instead.

Click for bigger.

For those who are interested, that's not a picture of the underside of my bed in the picture, I just googled for 'under the bed' on the assumption that some sad cunt somewhere has taken a picture of everything you could ever imagine.

I was right.

'Night.
.

Blandford v. Calzaghe at the Millennium Stadium?

Bloody hell, I've left this a bit late havent I? Whoops. Oh well, I'm a bit worse for wear so I'll keep it short to avoid embarrassing myself. To start off with, I'd like to throw my hat into the ring to be the bloke Joe Calzaghe faces in his last fight before retirement, just like every other bastard who's ever thrown a punch has since early sunday morning. I've watched his bouts, I've seen his style and I reckon I could leg it around the ring fast enough to keep away from him for 12 rounds and only lose by unanimous decision, which is more than most people have managed. People in my local would fear and respect me as the bloke who went twelve rounds with Joe Calzaghe. Unless any of them had seen me peg it around the ring for the previous eleven before slipping over on a puddle of my own terrified piss and mashing my face into a turnbuckle. Maybe I should try pro wrestling instead - at least there the great hulking bastards can't properly hit me.

Actually, bollocks to all of it. I wouldn't stay up until three in the morning just to get my head punched in for American TV, so I think I'll just sit here and wail on the internet. Speaking of three in the morning, do you know what that is in Mecca time? No, it's not speed bingo, it's the Saudis, insisting that Mecca is the center of the earth and that time should be measured from the location of Mecca rather than GMT. Now don't run away just yet, I'm not going to go into a tantrum and call them every name under the sun like I usually do, I'm just going to point out that they don't have to use GMT, and in fact it would be pretty stupid of them to do so, because it would mean them all getting up in the middle of the night to go to work. Does anyone use GMT instead of their local time zone? Really? It's a non issue as far as I'm concerned. It's not like when I go abroad I stick to Greenwich Mean Time, or I'd end up on the beach at four in the morning wondering when I was going to get the sun tan I'd been promised.

Anyway, one question I've always wanted answered is this: why do paedophiles always wear glasses? That's not to say all people who wear glasses are paedophiles, although it would explain why, being a bit old for that sort of thing, I don't get a great deal of attention from sexy emo chicks, but it does seem to be something of a trend. Also, is it me or are paedophiles getting younger? We've got that Downs-looking bloke with child porn in the Shannon case who's 22, and now this bloke is 17 and has been sent down for interfering with a toddler. What sort of thing messes you up that badly, that early? It used to be the case that you only had to be frightened of squinty old men in dirty overcoats, so you could always tell who was a kiddie-fiddler and who wasn't. Now, you just can't tell, although this bloke does have the typical piggie leer. And a 22-month old? For fuck's sake. I'm not defending 'lesser' paedophilia but when you see 15-year-old girls sleeping around with guys in their 20s or 30s with expensive cars, you can see why they might do it - 15-year-old girls, for better or worse, generally cannot be discerned from 18 or 19 anymore, so hormonally I can see the attraction, but 22 fucking months? I hope you fucking burn.

Oh, and the government of the Palestinian areas of Israel, Hamas, have said they still refuse to accept the existence of it's parent state. That is a fucking surprise.

Goodnight.

Edit: Bollocks, I really need to learn to proofread.

'No Logo' is Still a Logo, Whether You Like it or Not

Cock and balls. After being roused out of my comfy bed what seemed like mere seconds after I went to sleep after the Calzaghe fight last night to deal with a typical sunday morning family crisis, and after watching the fight again on Youtube in the cold light of, well, mid-afternoon, before the copyright police come and get me, I can safely say that the BBC was talking bollocks. Five Live spent bloody ages telling me Calzaghe was getting his arse kicked from pillar to post last night and the minute I tune in and watch the fight properly, it's plainly obvious that other than a couple of cheap knockdowns, Hopkins was bricking it and legging it around the ring for 11 rounds out of the 12 and Big Joe never looked like losing. Another case of the Alan Greens, I think, as in Five Live saying an awful lot but talking complete shit. Honestly, if I have to hear Al Green having one more knee-trembler over the very idea of Wayne Rooney kicking a football, I'm going to do something terrible to my radio, but that's an issue for another day. Probably next sunday, when some poor unfortunate has a stint in casualty having bits of my radio removed from their face. Still, it looks like it's Roy Jones Jr. for Calzaghe next, which should be an even bigger test. We'll wait and see.

Anyway, from boxing to eating disorders, John Prescott is a bulimic. Now, I know what the smiley happy nanny state has to say about these sort of things, but that basically means he's a lardy cunt that eats too much. I'm sick of everyone having to have their own personal condition that makes them special and not responsible for their actions - bit of a mouthy twat? You must have ADHD then. Can't stop yourself having that extra portion of chips? You poor man, suffering through bulimia without a word. It's fucking rediculous. Whenever I'm around people who think they have their own special disorders, I feel the urge to punch them in the face - can I have my own special disability and a free government grant please? Thanks. "what I did was stuff my face with anything around, any old rubbish, burgers, chocolate, crisps, fish and chips, loads of it, till I felt sick", says the former deputy Prime Minister - that's not bulimia, that's just being a lardy cunt. ""I could sup a whole tin of Carnation condensed milk, just for the taste, stupid things like that.", he said. Well, fucking don't. I could eat a chicken vindaloo with extra bombay potatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but I don't, because I'd end up a 16-stone lardy pissing and moaning in the paper about how it wasn't my fault that my trousers didn't fit.

Still, staying with politics, there's a protest over new EU work restrictions on immigrants from outside of the Union, led by restaurants and takeaways that fear losing a good portion of their staff to the new regulations. Now you can think what you like about immigration and economic migration, but if Sanjeev and Ravi aren't there to serve me my previously-mentioned chicken vindaloo, I'm going to be massively pissed off with someone in government, and regardless of what I've said about lardy cunts and food, a man that gets between me and my spicy delight (chicken vindaloo, not Konnie Huq, though it would be a close run thing) is in some serious fucking danger. I went to an Italian restaurant once that had failed to employ anyone even remotely Italian. It didn't help that the woman I was with was Italian (yeah, I took an Italian girl to an Italian restaurant - I never said I was fucking Casanova did I? Mark me down for lack of imagination and piss off) and we were served by a man with a horrifically put-on Milanese accent, curly ginger hair and freckles. It just wasn't the same. If you look like that the most exotic thing you should be handling is a bag of Nice 'n' Spicy Nik Naks, not Chicken fucking Tortellini. If I'm ever brought my keema nan by some chavved-up tit named Billy, I'm going to move to Bangalore and say fuck off to the lot of you.

Even there I'd still probably get Kevin from Dagenham bringing me my dinner - outsourcing's got to work both ways, hasn't it? - so I'd end up having to order the stuff via the internet and turning my kitchen into some sort of shrine to everything that is holy about British Indian restaurants - lots of purple lights, Hindi pop music and two dickheads in the corner snogging each other's faces off that never seem to leave. There's a certain fatty shame to ordering food over the internet, bashing your sausage-like fingers off the keyboard as you strain for the fourteenth time to type 'pizza hut' into google without your fingers sloshing over onto any adjacent keys, but I wonder if it's comparible to the shame of ordering women via the internet? Online-based brothels? Bookings? I don't know how I wasn't informed. It seems like a great idea in principle, it leads to easily tracked punters, safer girls and more perusal of merchandise than you get under a dim streetlamp at 3 in the morning after nine pints and a kebab. I suppose the downside is if it's anything like other things on the internet, it might end up like eBay, and your girl of choice looks great in her photographs but up close is an older model than expected with a few extra scrapes, and all the important bits don't work.

Then again, that's not much different to MySpace really, so it's hard to see the problem - it's just on MySpace you pay them with Bacardi Breezers, so it's a bit less official.

No less true, though.

Anyway, that's about it for today, unless you're really interested in reading US Democratic Presidential hopeful Barack Obama's attempts to rebrand himself 'Barry' Obama in a bid to seem less like the black power fundamentalist Muslim the likes of Fox news have tried to make him out to be - if the name Barry is anything like it is over here then it's just going to rebrand him into a Stella-swilling shaven-headed thug that probably wants to fight you for looking at a wall near his head, so if that's the case he should probably stick to Barack - if he ever comes to Britain calling himself Barry some tracksuited cunt called Callum is going to batter him for being in the wrong postcode.

Actually, the Secret Service twatting some scally around the head would be pretty good.

Vote Barry.

Goodnight.

Ben Stein is a Rediculous Cunt, and I want to Have Sex with an Alien

Bleurgh. I'm just staggering back and forth between illnesses lately, and this morning I've woken up with a headache, bloodshot eyes, the aches and the shivers. It's like I've been on a 12-pint binge without the night out, which is even more galling seeing as I ended up spending yesterday having a quiet night in watching Deep Space 9, getting an early night so I can be up at 3am to listen to the Calzaghe fight on the radio because the cunts at Setanta have bought up the rights again. On the plus side, that Major Kira is quite a dish, but on the downside, I might have to subscribe to Setanta at this rate, which will be another tenner a month down the drain. I do like a woman that can dish out a good hiding, but I think tonight I'd rather be watching Calzaghe give that mouthy American cunt a good twatting - I'm just not well enough for an intergalactic fumble right now.

Well, maybe just the one. Yes, Major Kira.

Anyway, I'd like to take this oppertunity to take a break from the news for just a moment and call Ben Stein a cretin. Ben Stein, you're a cretin. He's got a new movie out this week in America, entitled 'Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed' which attempts to tie Darwin's theory of evolution to the thinking behind the Holocaust in Nazi Germany. It's difficult to argue with logic like that, because it's so fundamentally stupid that it's difficult to know where to start. As a man who was raised Jewish, Stein should really know than to exploit the memory of Ha-Shoah for his own ends, especially when they are so rediculously partisan as to be little more than a joke comparible to Scientology's attempts to paint psychotherapy as a Nazi plot to talk people out of worshipping their rediculous cult. I'll probably get my name splashed all over the internet now, but I don't care. Now, I'm not one to say what people can and can't believe, and Ben Stein would probably be the first to point out that Judaism doesn't exactly mesh particularly well with Darwin's theory, but that doesn't mean I'm not open to further research - what if God created evolution? You never know - and I'm certainly not going to start calling people Nazis for disagreeing with me. Let's face it, that would lead to a pretty confusing scenario, wouldn't it? Ben Stein disagrees with me, so he's a fucking Nazi, and I'm a Nazi for thinking he's a Nazi. That's a Nazi surprise, isn't it? Hmm.

None of you deserved that pun, and I apologise wholeheartedly.

Still, today seems to be a day when people are getting their religious perspectives in a twist. Taleban militants in Afghanistan have been photographed making demands and putting guns to the head of the captured Pakistani ambassador to the country, seemingly unaware of the massive fucking penalties in Islam for killing fellow Muslims. Now, you'll find people from all sorts of groups who can find quotes saying Muslims want to kill everyone, don't want to kill anyone, or just want to kill the odd Infidel every couple of weeks just to keep up appearances, but the golden rule is, as far as I can see (and I have to admit I haven't read the book) is that you can't kill other Muslims. Not deliberately anyway. There are scholars out there that will say that the Koran can be used to justify Muslims that die as collateral damage, but I'm fairly sure it's not possible to justify openly intending to kill another Muslim for the purposes of getting a few quid off the Pakistani government. The Taleban like to claim that they're fighting to uphold the tenets of Islam, so perhaps for their next trick they'd like to prove their dedication to the tenets of the Islamic faith by rubbing bacon on their cocks.

Still, if you're going to go looking for religious crazies, you really don't have to go as far as Afghanistan. There's plenty in Texas as well (OK, that's just about as far, but I bet it's easier to get a plane ticket there). The Fundamentalist Mormon sect who's leader, Warren Jeffs, has been an FBI fugitive on more sexual deviancy charges than I can count for as long as I can remember, has had over 400 children taken from them and put into care, and all are being DNA tested because it's impossible to tell who's related to who. That would be, I expect, because they are all related to each other. You don't get over 400 kids out of such a small sect without some serious inbreeding going on there, and I predict more than a few are going to get some horrible shocks when the DNA tests come back. It's always a bit baffling when the same religious sects that teach people that sex is wrong are the same ones being told to go out and multiply, but it's even stranger when it's not as bad when you're just whacking it up your sister. I despair at some people, I really do. Anyway, that's about the last of the insane religious mania stories I can find for you today, as there seemed to be something of a theme going on. Oh, and Gordon Brown has dismissed any chance of reviewing the 10p tax changes. Because he's a shit.

Oh, and finally, mediums and psychics in Britain are kicking up a fuss over a new suggestion of a bill that would leave them open to prosecution if they can't back up their claims. You'd think they'd have seen it coming, really, wouldn't you?

At ease, gentlemen.

Goodnight.

Edit: I don't know what sort of state I'll be in tomorrow, but I'll try to be here. In the mean time, have a punt on Calzaghe. I reckon he's got the beating of Hopkins. It doesn't help that Hopkins is a nasty little cunt either. Hopefully he'll get his face punched off.

Edit Edit: He's only gone and fucking done it, hasn't he? A win for Calzaghe after a fight where I thought Hopkins had the better of him. Shows what I know, and now I can finally go to bed. Until later, then. Well done you Welshers.

Horror as Sex Grenade Detonates in Downtown Boston

You know, it never ceases to amaze me, the amount of dedicated terror that Fox News presenters put in to every single day. Every single story they have seems to contain the line 'authorities have ruled out terrorism', regardless of whether there was any possibility of terrorism being involved in the first place - if a building explodes, a plane's wings fall off mid-flight or you see a turban made of semtex found in a dustbin you might just have cause for concern, but if you assume terror until informed otherwise every time someone crashes a car, a pensioner falls over or it gets a bit nippy outside, you're going to have pissed yourself rigid by lunchtime.

Still, I suppose we're always eager to point the blame at a convenient target, regardless of how irrelevant that target might be - Robert Mugabe is fast becoming a master at it. If I see one more story about him blaming Britain for his own shortcomings I'm going to go over there and stab him with a sharpened chip fork. Yes the scourge of colonialism was a terrible evil and a blight on our history, but it can't possibly be more to blame for your inability to win an election even when you have troops with batons waiting to hit opposition voters in the crotch the minute they come out of the voting booths. Honestly, if you go out to swing and election and still manage to lose, that has to be a surefire sign that you really ought to give up. Or release another speech about the evils of Britain and how we're to blame for everything from the drought currently blighting Zimbabwe to the faintly bitter taste in Mugabe's morning coffee. Sometimes you really ought to look at your speeches and realise that you're making yourself out to be a twat, and do something about it. OK, so I do it too, and I post them anyway, but nothing I say has as yet ended in a violent political demonstration, unless I'm somehow grossly underestimating my own political importance: That 'largest student protest in the UK ever' thing took place in Manchester around about the same time I started this blog, but I slept through it and had no idea what it was about. Thank fuck they never found me, eh?

Still, if you're looking to blame anyone for anything, you might want to pick one of the Matthews family, but I'll warn you, they're running out of people who aren't guilty of at least something, like some strange cross between a really shit Mafia and the sort of hick family you always see in American B-movies chopping up good-looking teens with power tools. This particular one is guilty of posession of child pornography (I don't care if he hasn't gone to trial yet, it's not like you can accidentally stumble into downloading hundreds of images of kiddie porn - the Daily Express also showed it's caveman-like grasp of computer expertise by claiming it was 'hidden behind a reality TV screensaver', but I think I've covered that already so I won't do it again here) and has now been questioned about being involved in the faked disappearance of the Shannonbeast as well, which I must say adds a much more sinister spin on the whole thing. I still think the whole business is absolutely rediculous though, you couldn't make half of it up. A woman with eight kids by five different fathers by the age of 32 conspires with her 22-year-old child pornographer boyfriend and his petty criminal relatives to fake the kidnap of her 9-year-old daughter in order to get money out of the McCanns, a family who have become mega-rich celebrities on the back of a marketing campaign about losing their daughter to a plate of tapas. You couldn't make it up. It's hard to know who to blame really, them for being so pathetically criminal and stupid, or the McCanns for establishing child disappearance as a viable business model.

Sometimes, though, blame does need to be pointed, even if it is with a very tiny hand. That's the last joke on the subject, I promise, as people living with the effects of thalidomide have far too much on their plates already without one more internet numpty pointing and laughing at them, and to be perfectly honest it isn't very funny anyway, merely faintly ludicrous. It does make you wonder what sort of drug trials they had back in the 1950s, and whether you could just bring any old shit to market with a fancy box and a convincing tagline and have people buy it. Hopefully things have improved by now, or I'm going to bring out my Awesomene line of products, made in my garden shed out of piss and Listerene. The most galling part is that the company behind the creation of the product are denying all responsibility and claiming they don't see why they should have to pay out compensation to the victims - honestly, any time you cause anyone to be born without arms, you really should put your hands up and give the poor bastards some money, anything else is just cruel. When you cause 100,000 people to suffer similar fates, you really ought to cough up a bit of cash and a very grovelling apology. Cocks.

Anyway, to conclude, speaking of cocks, Enoch Powell. The BBC is running a story on Powell's 'rivers of blood' legacy which is sure to drive the Have Your Say twonks 'round the twist. The funny thing is, if you actually read the speech and things that Powell came out with surrounding the speech, it's remarkably similar to the rediculous crap the BNP spouts now. It's been 40 years since Powell claimed that within two decades blacks would outnumber and enslave white people in Britain and, after twice as much time as he said it would take, we have the current generation of the racist right claiming the same thing. It's interesting to see how long these folk devils have existed for, and that the basic fearmongering never changes. 20 years ago we were supposed to be overrun by black immigrants from Kenya and elsewhere, whereas now we're 20 years from being supposedly overrun by Muslim extremists from Pakistan and the middle east. Mass immigration has always been to blame, but for all the foreign hordes the far right would have you believe were pouring in from all sides, we don't have much to show for the better part of half a century of 'open floodgates', do we? I suppose if the likes of Powell and the BNP only showed up once every 20 years like a bad Hollywood haunting it'd be alright, but no, they insist on sticking around and bleating that racial subjegation is coming, no really, right around the corner. Just a few more years. You just wait. Drives you up the bloody wall, doesn't it?

Anyway, all this talk of immigrants makes me fancy a curry.

Goodnight.

Your Say Thursday: Are You Happy?

What more can I say about this question? Just thinking about the hysterical hordes of HYS readers pondering the contentedness of their own existences makes me almost fall out of my chair laughing. What with the hordes of Islamic terrorist immigrant rapists wailing and slapping at their windows all night long, it's a wonder any of them even have the strength to type anymore, much less answer this sort of broad, open-ended question that doesn't even try to lead the reader into an angsty tirade against anyone that isn't them or their mate. But they did. They reached deep down deep inside, found the strength and, by God, blessed us with their gloopy pearls of wisdom, all over our waiting faces. Here are a few of the best.

"Happiness is just an illusion. You can be in the same all round position twenty times, a couple of times you will be sad another few happy."
Kevin Humphreys, Liverpool, United Kingdom

I'm pretty sure I could be in the same all-round beer-and-supermodels position twenty times and be pretty made up with myself every time, so I'm pretty sure you're wrong.

"How can people be happy when the better off in society want to take what little poor people have in benefits and give them food coupons to live on.Greedy people make me unhappy, im happy i own my own home have 3 great children and wife and that i have mostly been in employment throughout my life"
james, Chester uk

How can we be happy in a society where the big ebil gubmint come and take all my toys and make me eat drugged gruel made of piss and Frosties, and other grand conspiracy theories?

"No, I am not happy. I am worried. Dead worried. For everyone. Peak Oil is happening, the energy crisis slowly revealing its full extent, bio-fuel production is causing starvation, global warming is destroying the only place we can ever call home, and people are not aware enough or doing enough to help. Not individuals, and certainly not governments.

Perhaps it's true in a way, ignorance is bliss."
Laurence Wells, Bath

FUCKING HELL THE WHOLE WORLD IS EXPLODING!!! QUICK, TELL THE INTERNET!!!

"Just make it a rule that if you're going to whine about something, make sure you've got a sensible alternative. Focus on solutions; not problems. It's quite simple really. If there's nothing you can do about something, you have to learn to live with it. That's why people who get diagnosed with a terminal illness can actually at last find happiness because they've accepted that there are things they can't change"
[sick_of_hys_whingers], Norwich, United Kingdom

Ironic (i-RON-ik)
1. Containing or exemplifying irony: an ironic novel; an ironic remark.
2. Someone called sick_of_hys_whingers, whinging on HYS.
3. You. See also; 'Shitbox'.

"Chuffed to Bits - I live in a part of Devon where we all speak the same language and all are happy to obay the British law and have no terrorist threat and have good home grown food on our door step and our children are polite and free of gun culture influances and have no race or religous problems and have no immigrant or asylum problems and live to a ripe old age - It is a shame most of the rest of this country has gone to the dogs."
chris marchant, Brixham, U K

Bloody hell, Chris, all we get up here is a weekly bowl of gruel from Mars while Tagalog-speaking immigrant children blow our legs off with handguns for obeying British law. As if that wasn't enough, the minute any of us live past 36 they feed us into a big machine that turns us all into special copies of the Koran that tell them to bomb ASDA's until they stop selling British spuds. It's total fucking carnage, let me tell you.

"NO!!! Life in New Labour's United Kingdom is unbearable. This country is the absolute pits and its all down to Blair/Brown. Are you listening New Labour????"
Stephen Ferguson, Girvan, United Kingdom

Listen up, government! My life of privilege is being overshadowed by my overblown sense of entitlement and I demand you fix it immediately!!! Are you listening, anyone???? Anyone at all???? HELLO????

"Aye. "Sometimes wanting is better than having.""

-Spock
Discontented Bob

Yes. "Why don't you come here and snog my ridge-nosed face off?"
- Major Kira.

Wait, that was in a dream I had. Sorry.

They make it too easy really, I should have gone for the one about what should be done to curb the rise of radicalised Islam, but I'm just not in the mood for that level of ignorance today. I'm sure there was once a time when people could be happy with what they have, could enjoy what they have and would make the most of what they have without pissing and moaning about it all fucking day long. Granted this was probably before the internet and MTV and people watching fifty-seven episodes of Cribs in one day and then demanding the gubmint give them a custom diamond plasma vibrating mega-telly, but at least try to cheer up, you miserable cunts.

Goodnight.

Local Elections: 400 Tons of Propaganda, None of it Saying Anything

Bloody hell, isn't anybody sensible anymore? Not people who put leaflets through doors, anyway. There's local elections coming up and I've been getting the usual reams of tat through my letterbox trying to get me to vote this way or that, and not one of them has been even in the least bit sensible. Page after page of sensationalist shite has been dropping through my letterbox like political turds out of a wood-effect arsehole, and if nothing else is going to be giving the binmen a bit of a struggle come next tuesday as they have to haul away six and a half tons of barely legible bollocks. As usual, the BNP have been doing their blackshirt marches up and down the street cramming ludicrous filth through my letterbox telling me to hate anyone with a bit of a suntan, but with this election coming up I've got the other side trying to barrack me into voting their way as well: Stop the Fascist BNP, screams the purple leaflet I've got through my door, apparently from Unite Against Fascism. It's sad that I can't expect people in my street to not vote BNP without the other side resorting to sensationalist tactics and clogging up my bin as well - surely the BNP's literature does a good enough job of undermining any possible expectation anyone could have of them being a sensible political party - 'MUSLIM EXTREMISTS ARE COMING TO YOUR TOWN'? I don't think they are, mate. Are the Klingons coming as well?

Still, it's nice to know we have democracy when we have idiots like this running the country. Gordon Brown says he's 'standing firm' on his economic decisions - well done you rediculous shit. You stand firm and do all your 'strong national leader' posturing while still being too piss scared to call a general election you know you're going to lose, and in the mean time all of us will sit around and not have any fucking money. All of this makes me think that whoever he had as his personal secretary when he was Chancellor must have been bloody terrific, keeping this man's insanely poor grasp of how to keep a country afloat under wraps enough for him to not only maintain his position in the party, but actually become leader of the entire bloody country. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be rooting for David "Call Me Dave" Cameron and his Hug a Hoodie mob to take over, but I'd rather have him beatboxing through the Commons than five more years of Gordon Brown pissing green alien bile all over the country. I'd rather have anyone, in fact - well, except that lardy Bond villain the BNP have in charge. That fat, greasy one-eyed maniac is probably the best advert for British fascism that us normals could possibly wish for, but he could probably still run a country better than Brown if he didn't want to kill fucking everyone.

Still, Brown can take heart from the fact he's not the only moron in government - Home Secretary Jacqui Smith has decided that the best way to promote inter-cultural tolerance and discussion is to recruit 300 new 'terror police' who's job will be, presumably, to kick in people's doors and occasionally shoot a Brazilian. Surely we have enough detectives investigating terrorism already, without getting uniformed officers going around calling themselves the 'terror police' searching anyone caught wilfully wearing a beard? We seem to be doing fairly well at the whole preventing-terror thing without alienating people further by recruiting hundreds of new police officers with special training that amounts to the phrase "Even though you're a muslim, we really hope you don't bomb us" in five or six languages, amusingly none of them Arabic and two of them in different dialects of German. Now I'm not saying that there aren't people in Britain who are plotting terrorist attacks, to say so would be incredibly naive, but this is not the way to go about tackling them. We already have undercover officers infiltrating terror plots before they can come to fruition, and the thing we need to do now is surely to talk to people in the street instead of training up a new uniformed force with a name straight out of a particularly bad comic book. 'Terror Police' indeed. What's next, 'Beard Patrol'? 'Multicultural Police Strike Force'? 'Rediculous Knee-Jerk Decision Sentinels'?

Neither of the above are as stupid as the couple in my next story - more powerful, so they can cause more damage with the stupidity they have, but not nearly as rediculously backward as to get themselves wiped out by a train because they were too busy having a domestic to realise they were doing it on a main railway line. I know in the heat of the moment you can lose your awareness of where you are and sometimes you might end up screaming at each other in Tescos over which brand of frozen mash medallions to buy while everyone else in the store looks at you like you're completely fucking insane as you pelt each other with packets of Magnums, but if the 13.37 to Liverpool Street was hurtling towards your face at 80 miles an hour, honking it's horn for all it's worth, I think you'd realise and fucking move out of the fucking way. It's a train. It doesn't care about your arguments, it doesn't care how much you never thought he'd lie to you, it doesn't give a shit who he's been calling late at night while you're asleep after a hard day of talking to your friends... it's just a fucking train. Don't get in it's way as it weighs for million tons and if it hits you it will hurt. The argument can wait, even if just for the minute or so it takes to pass by. Bloody hell. Normally I will have some level of sympathy for people who die in tragic ways, but when you take it upon yourself to have a blazing row on a railway line, you really are asking to get hit. It's tragic for the families, certainly, but really, if they really were having a domestic in the way of a six-kajillion ton train, the most we've lost is a hairdresser and a mechanic. Bad if your Fiesta breaks down or your fringe goes all frizzy, otherwise no great loss to the world.

That's about it for tonight. More tomorrow.

Goodnight.

John Loughry is a Sad Lonely Wanker

Fuck me it's cold. The boiler's been broken for three days, I've got the worst case of flu-aches since the last time I had flu and cried about it on the internet, and this morning I woke up to find that, even though it had snowed outside during the night, the frost was on the inside of the window. I'm going to die in this little room, I just know it. I'm soldiering on, though, and just as a little treat I've gotten myself a pint (yes, a pint) of hot tea and more pills than a junkie pharmacist that's just mugged Amy Winehouse.

Still, whenever you're down, depressed and dripping more green goo than a B movie alien, it's always nice to know that somewhere, somehow, there's someone sadder than you out there, struggling to make it through without falling into a woodchipper or any of the other fates befitting a man who turned up at the Diana inquest every day with 'DIANA' scrawled on his face. Is there any reason why we aren't long past caring, now, about a condescending cow that contrived to wrap herself around a retaining pole well over a decade ago, other than the fact she was selfless enough to, in between shagging rugby players, crack a smile near some disabled children every time she thought it might raise her public profile a bit? Not setting the bar particularly high for what some people would call sainthood, is it, having a bit of compassion for some poor bastard that's had his face blown off by a landmine? I'd say anyone that doesn't have at least a tiny bit of sympathy is a bit of a tosser, really, and that compassion and sympathy were pretty much expected. Will there now be six dozen taxpayer-funded inquests into my death when I snuff it? Bollocks there will, there won't even be any paparazzi to take pictures of my still twitching corpse.

Quoth the BBC, 'What now for the man who wrote 'Diana' on his forehead?'. A nail in the eye if there's any sort of justice.

We've got another update on the Scum family from Bradford: Another one's been nicked. Oh well, after a great uncle with an arrest for kidnap, two aunts arrested for perversion of justice and a stepfather binlinered for child porn, I expect the mother's going to one-up everyone and get nicked for buggering ewes with a fence post - the BBC says it's another attempting to pervert the course of justice arrest, but that's just no fun. (For clarification, this statement does not imply that buggering ewes with a fence post is an entertaining or acceptable pastime. Try fisting a ram instead - Ed). With so many arrests, it does make you wonder what they were up to, doesn't it? One theory doing the rounds is that they conspired to pretend to abduct Shannon in order to get a fund going similar to the one set up by the parents of Madeline McCann, which is a bit stupid seeing as every bleeding-heart wallet-grabber charity victim has already had their account drained dry by forking over fistfuls of cash to the Maddy fund and likely lack the resources for funding a search for a girl who, if she had genuinely gone missing and wasn't just indulging in a particularly drawn-out game of hide and seek, could have been drawn out with a bit of goose fat on a string.

Of course, that doesn't explain why the bloke that supposedly kidnapped her tried to top himself the other day, so maybe something did happen. You're not going to top yourself because nobody paid you a million quid to find your kid, are you? That would just be stupid. He's got to suspect he's going to Chez Nonce for a few years of broken glass in his porridge to do something drastic like that. I suppose it will all come out in the end, which admittedly looks likely to be quite a while away as the trial has been set for the second week of November. Presumably it's going to take that long to figure out who did what, as the BBC's 'Shannons Family Tree' page (which I can't find a link to and I'm too unwell to go searching - it's there, I promise) is rapidly starting to look like the character sheet in a box of Cluedo. Oh well, if you're a fan of the Manchester United of child abductions and not this Derby County effort, friends of the McCanns are being interviewed again to see if any of them happen to have found Maddy in their luggage when they finally got it back from Heathrow's cavernous, duty-free eating Terminal 5. Oh well, at least the general furore of it all seems to have died down a little bit, largely because there's been no journalistic tidbits of scandalous evil for a while. Maybe next week it will turn out that Kate McCann spet the night Maddy went missing stuffing toads up her minge and it will all kick off again.

Also, I can't be the only one who think's Terminal 5 would be a great name for some sort of rap collective? Furious Five? We killed them. Because we're terminal, bitches, yeah, like AIDS or Fournier's gangrene. Word, or something.

(You know, it really does test your faith in the benevolence of God when you find out that there's a form of gangrene specifically tasked with rotting your bollocks off - Ed).

Onto the sport - well, sort of; there was running involved anyway - was I the only one that found it extremely funny that a Chinese Olympics protester managed to lose a fight with Konnie Huq over the Olympic Torch yesterday? You really do have to be some sort of spotty vegan weakling to lose in a punch-up to a tiny Bangladeshi woman who has one hand tied up holding a great fuck-off candle. On national television. For reference, Konnie Huq is about the size of my thumb, and that thing she's holding in her hand is a Benson & Hedges someone had dropped on the floor. What made me laugh the most, though, was that she felt obligated to go on the BBC and say that carrying the Olympic torch doesn't mean she supports China's breaches of human rights - I didn't think it did, Konnie. What sort of moron would? Oh wait, the same sort of moron that thinks grabbing the torch from a woman off the telly and getting slapped around by the rozzers is going to somehow make China rethink it's internal policies - "You know all this torture stuff, guys? Well there's a Media Studies student in Britain who thinks we should stop." "There is? Good heavens, call off the waterboarding!". Idiots.

Still, I've been doing my research on her (That sounds a bit academic for 'clicking Google Image Search and wanking' - Ed) and it turns out she seems to do a lot of apologising. On her Wikipedia page she's quoted as describing herself as a 'relaxed Muslim' - surely all Muslims are relaxed sometimes. I've never seen one running around screaming for the death of Western society outside the sensationalist confines of BBC News, and certainly not presenting Blue Peter. Admittedly if she ever turns up on set telling your kids how to make a bomb out of chapati flour and hydrogen peroxide we might have a problem, but I find that highly unlikely and until then it's embarrassing that ordinary people have to describe themselves with these caveats just because saying you're a Muslim now makes your average Briton shit his pants and run screaming into the sea. Let's face it, she doesn't look particularly dangerous, does she? Not unless you've got some sort of terrible muscle affliction whereby your next erection will actually kill you. More importantly, where would she be hiding the bomb?

Anyway, that's enough from me now. I'm going to crawl back into my pit and die a gooey, snotty death, swearing at the blankets and kicking the cat. Hopefully the healing powers of chicken soup will keep me alive long enough to post again tomorrow.

Goodnight.