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.
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.
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