Sup! Sup! Sup! Sup motherrrrrr.... no, there will be no profanity in this blog. I shall not allow it. It is wrong - just like capitalism but I must demonstrate how I've grown within myself and indeed, spiritually, in this long moralistic absence from the humble home of punky porn.
Wank! Spunk! Boobs! Tits! Bollocks! Feck! And balls!
Tssssch, and so it starts.
Sup! Sup! Sup! Sup motherfu..... no, still can't do it. If you want this particular greeting you're just going to have to go see Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (like me but I saw it at the London Film Festival, a riot. Way better than those lesbians that sat in front of me and Mr Anderson at Cirque de Freak. I almost choked on my Haagen Daas. Or was it Ben and Jerry's. Whatever it was it was bloody expensive. Thankfully Mr Anderson paid. I should have repaid the debt by hooking us up with those lesbians. One will be straight again someday, mark my words. Instead I kept my yap shut, enjoyed the film and shunned them on the way out because I wanted to see Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans more than having an orgy with small lesbians and HAIL MR HERZOG it was the right thing to do. I like seeing old women threatened by Nic Cage and iguanas I do).
Jesus, that was a serious tangent.
Some kind soul took money out their account, wafted it at the victims of disasters through the world and bought me a three month subscription to here so I can pump out the above doggerel (seriously, the above is poetry. Question the grandkids to the Nth power. Me and Wilfred Owen are like that but the difference is he wound up in a trench and I ran into a trench, flashbanged some dude squatting behind a riot shield and stabbed the fecker to WIN in COD:MW2 and he died. Booooooyah! Dulce Et Decorum Est or something my tallywhacker, EH Wilf?!)
Christ, and again. Right, this calls for desperate measures.
[serioushat]
To the anonymous chap or lady or ladychap that chucked money to see me pump out more of this guff, I solemnly thank you. Is an honour. I hope you'll somehow get your money's worth.
[/serioushat]
According to that thing to my right it's been over 2 years since I blogged. Seriously. I wrote the first draft of a book I'm not going to redraft. I made a short film with me buddies and saw it on the big screen (or the Garrison's screen. Stop snickering. We're getting a new cinema soon. It's called the Mareel. Stop snickering.) In fact I'll insert it below.
Right, let's see if I can screw this up:
The proof comes when I press submit and lose the entry and get angry and call the site a 'shitbag'. In fact, I'll back this up the now. There we go. I feel relieved somewhat. Had the old fear come back there, the sense when you pump out something for the world to cock a snook or shake their head at and it can be lost into space at the click of the button. One eejit's mind poured into a blog lost like that. It's a bummer. Might be retroactively dignity saving. Who knows?
Right, suppose I should list my accomplishments in these life-altering 2 years!
1) Went to Wembley. Twice. Saw NFL. Food... sorry, slop overpriced. Travelled by boat. Boat sucks. Also saw many cool things in London including prostitutes and lesbians and the police laying down the law in Leicester Square (an overrated place I think). Saw many monkeys. Some had babies. None were being dirty. I put that down to the sun. Saw parrots that crapped on command. A talon brushed against my 5mm hair. Saw Kevin Spacey at the Old Vic. Almost got hit by a car outside the Old Vic (totally my fault, I rock).
2) Hmmmmmm... mentioned the writing and film. Bought Egg nunchucks. Bugger prefers his baseball bat. The nunchucks were bought to help his hand-eye coordination. The master in the book I got him said so. And he shuns them. WHY, EGG, WHY!!!!
3) Bought a 360. Blown up on me once already. Absolute C-Nut of a thing. And a new TV. And a new phone. And a new monitor. And loads (3) new Bears jerseys. And got a Facebook account (you can't blog right on there you know. Waaaaay too formal. Nifty place though.) And books. Heap of books. Most unread. So it goes. Reading one about Thomas Cromwell, a right dick. Oh yes, while I remember, George Osbourne is not a c*nt. He is many things but not that. He was in a dream of mine a a party conference. We drew cock over the projector. A good time was had by all. So because of that nobody is to refer to George Osbourne as a c*nt in my presence. You can call him a shit-eating Friedmanite goat-raper if you wish. But not a c*nt. No.
4) The Hindu Cow had a baby! Well, not him, his wife did. This is worth mentioning. As is the IRC. I'm stunned that I hadn't discovered that before. Such a tremendous support system. they were there when Marcus Hamilton screwed up against Atlanta allowing them to kick a FG in the last second to beat the Bears in 2008 (bastards!) A man Iranian got mad at me for not denouncing a racist and threatened to chop my legs off. Hours of fun. So is Omegle. Haven't got the stones for Chatroulette though.
5) Christ, now I'm clutching for something to validate my semi-fortunate situation in life over the last two years. Erm, some hardy soul paid good money to have me blog here again. That's life validating. In fact that justifies life itself. Bringing joy or something to someone and have them gift their hard-earned cash so I can write tosh and look at boobies.
Sweet Jews for Jesus there's a Suicidegirl called Rambo. This I must see. Feck me, look at the hour.
Lovely to be back. Sincerest thanks to the gifter who made this all possible. Reveal thyself, damn you! I must write an even more sincerer thanks and discuss SG Management's theories on why you rather spend money on me than feed a Haitian. I am sure the discussion will be nourishing. Tee-hee, I made a funny.
Okey dokey, let's wrap this rollercoaster of verbs and failure up. Take it away... the HEADS!
I like it when they do the fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh stuff. They want to say 'fuck' but they don't. They're so classy.
Wank! Spunk! Boobs! Tits! Bollocks! Feck! And balls!
Tssssch, and so it starts.
Sup! Sup! Sup! Sup motherfu..... no, still can't do it. If you want this particular greeting you're just going to have to go see Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (like me but I saw it at the London Film Festival, a riot. Way better than those lesbians that sat in front of me and Mr Anderson at Cirque de Freak. I almost choked on my Haagen Daas. Or was it Ben and Jerry's. Whatever it was it was bloody expensive. Thankfully Mr Anderson paid. I should have repaid the debt by hooking us up with those lesbians. One will be straight again someday, mark my words. Instead I kept my yap shut, enjoyed the film and shunned them on the way out because I wanted to see Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans more than having an orgy with small lesbians and HAIL MR HERZOG it was the right thing to do. I like seeing old women threatened by Nic Cage and iguanas I do).
Jesus, that was a serious tangent.
Some kind soul took money out their account, wafted it at the victims of disasters through the world and bought me a three month subscription to here so I can pump out the above doggerel (seriously, the above is poetry. Question the grandkids to the Nth power. Me and Wilfred Owen are like that but the difference is he wound up in a trench and I ran into a trench, flashbanged some dude squatting behind a riot shield and stabbed the fecker to WIN in COD:MW2 and he died. Booooooyah! Dulce Et Decorum Est or something my tallywhacker, EH Wilf?!)
Christ, and again. Right, this calls for desperate measures.
[serioushat]
To the anonymous chap or lady or ladychap that chucked money to see me pump out more of this guff, I solemnly thank you. Is an honour. I hope you'll somehow get your money's worth.
[/serioushat]
According to that thing to my right it's been over 2 years since I blogged. Seriously. I wrote the first draft of a book I'm not going to redraft. I made a short film with me buddies and saw it on the big screen (or the Garrison's screen. Stop snickering. We're getting a new cinema soon. It's called the Mareel. Stop snickering.) In fact I'll insert it below.
Right, let's see if I can screw this up:
The proof comes when I press submit and lose the entry and get angry and call the site a 'shitbag'. In fact, I'll back this up the now. There we go. I feel relieved somewhat. Had the old fear come back there, the sense when you pump out something for the world to cock a snook or shake their head at and it can be lost into space at the click of the button. One eejit's mind poured into a blog lost like that. It's a bummer. Might be retroactively dignity saving. Who knows?
Right, suppose I should list my accomplishments in these life-altering 2 years!
1) Went to Wembley. Twice. Saw NFL. Food... sorry, slop overpriced. Travelled by boat. Boat sucks. Also saw many cool things in London including prostitutes and lesbians and the police laying down the law in Leicester Square (an overrated place I think). Saw many monkeys. Some had babies. None were being dirty. I put that down to the sun. Saw parrots that crapped on command. A talon brushed against my 5mm hair. Saw Kevin Spacey at the Old Vic. Almost got hit by a car outside the Old Vic (totally my fault, I rock).
2) Hmmmmmm... mentioned the writing and film. Bought Egg nunchucks. Bugger prefers his baseball bat. The nunchucks were bought to help his hand-eye coordination. The master in the book I got him said so. And he shuns them. WHY, EGG, WHY!!!!
3) Bought a 360. Blown up on me once already. Absolute C-Nut of a thing. And a new TV. And a new phone. And a new monitor. And loads (3) new Bears jerseys. And got a Facebook account (you can't blog right on there you know. Waaaaay too formal. Nifty place though.) And books. Heap of books. Most unread. So it goes. Reading one about Thomas Cromwell, a right dick. Oh yes, while I remember, George Osbourne is not a c*nt. He is many things but not that. He was in a dream of mine a a party conference. We drew cock over the projector. A good time was had by all. So because of that nobody is to refer to George Osbourne as a c*nt in my presence. You can call him a shit-eating Friedmanite goat-raper if you wish. But not a c*nt. No.
4) The Hindu Cow had a baby! Well, not him, his wife did. This is worth mentioning. As is the IRC. I'm stunned that I hadn't discovered that before. Such a tremendous support system. they were there when Marcus Hamilton screwed up against Atlanta allowing them to kick a FG in the last second to beat the Bears in 2008 (bastards!) A man Iranian got mad at me for not denouncing a racist and threatened to chop my legs off. Hours of fun. So is Omegle. Haven't got the stones for Chatroulette though.
5) Christ, now I'm clutching for something to validate my semi-fortunate situation in life over the last two years. Erm, some hardy soul paid good money to have me blog here again. That's life validating. In fact that justifies life itself. Bringing joy or something to someone and have them gift their hard-earned cash so I can write tosh and look at boobies.
Sweet Jews for Jesus there's a Suicidegirl called Rambo. This I must see. Feck me, look at the hour.
Lovely to be back. Sincerest thanks to the gifter who made this all possible. Reveal thyself, damn you! I must write an even more sincerer thanks and discuss SG Management's theories on why you rather spend money on me than feed a Haitian. I am sure the discussion will be nourishing. Tee-hee, I made a funny.
Okey dokey, let's wrap this rollercoaster of verbs and failure up. Take it away... the HEADS!
I like it when they do the fuh-fuh-fuh-fuh stuff. They want to say 'fuck' but they don't. They're so classy.
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