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[27 Oct 2006|12:29am] |
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/teams/b/blackburn_rovers/6089214.stm
Found guilty of racist abuse and is only banned for five matches.
The problem here is what we percieve to be apt punishment for racist abuse. To me, the player guilty should be thrown out of football, and regarded as a fucking dick.
But I don't make the rules. But there's something wrong there, isn't there?
Work was okay, I wasn't in the mood for it, but I did fine. Got a drinking and a talking, and a cigarrette smoking. The weekend will be fierce.
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[27 Oct 2006|12:59am] |
Yes another quiz to take you to the end of this brief night of posts. Quiz my balls!
( Read more... )
And that's it. Thanks to Cough Drop Mercury, the Vagabond Stereotypes, and the Dog Bisket Pincer Movement for the music. Thanks to Jimmy Wonderballs for the politics and the Graceful Pies for the sketches. Tomorrow i'll be smashing plates in the middle of an airfield and wondering just where to hang my bollocks.
Goodnight.
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[27 Oct 2006|04:08pm] |
It's been a killer day so far, and I don't mean that in a good way. Nothing but working, all the way. Work itself has been hell, with thirty two people in for a buffet and thirty eating normal meals. The thirty two didn't get cleared until well after two o'clock.
When I finally got done with that little lot I had to come home and clean the kitchen and the living room before the parents get back.
And the icing on the cake? I have to work tonight as well. And Saturday lunch. And Saturday night.
I'm not eating either. In the last few days i've swallowed nothing but sandwiches. And few of those. My appetite has just disappeared.
So not much cheer around here today. Go and read theonion, or something.
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| Untitled. |
[27 Oct 2006|04:19pm] |
I don't know what you're doing here,
but don't flatter yourself thinking,
that i'll be here too,
my eyes aren't looking,
in the mirror at you..
you're not sitting with me,
and I wouldn't know if you were,
my hair's in front of my eyes
and I can't see for all this dirt,
i'm not in your glass clinking,
or at the bottom of your cup,
in this bar and this life,
our time is up
Copywright Neil Stillwell.
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[27 Oct 2006|04:29pm] |
I'm getting slightly fucking sick of reading myspace pages that look like a paint machine has vomited all over them and slow my computer to a crawl. Poxy little vanity projects with stupid clashing backgrounds and a thousand fucking GIF animations. It actually resembles the buckets of leftovers I used to collect in a bucket for Di when Arnie the pig was alive. Mulched up, paste-like multi-coloured crap.
Me, i've got a single white background and a fucking Limahl video, and that's only there because Gabe made me do it. At the very least it doesn't have him in it.
Now if you'll excuse me, i've got better things to do. Basil Brush is on the telly.
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[27 Oct 2006|04:40pm] |
I love making starters. It gives me the chance to do the sort of thing I can never be bothered to at home. Make something delicate and beautiful with my feeble girl's hands...to skate with disarming grace over lettuce, tomato and prawn to weave a sexy little fuck of a dish.
Last night for instance, avocado! With crab meat and salad. Garlic mushroom mornay, yes! And a few others too, you food sods. And then, I go home, and I feebly slap three slices of a luncheon meat i'll never know the contents of into a couple of slices of bread with drying crusts. That's all i've eaten this week. Fucking sandwiches with that in. I did have a liver and bacon on Sunday, but that was a long time ago, and it took twelve minutes to cook. Twelve minutes! I could be wanking or playing games in that time.
And the thing is, I like cooking. But I can't get foam-mouthed about microwaving a poxy bachelor meal. I tried doing some peas and mash with these things but it's just heating up stuff, isn't it?
Oh give me a meal,
a meal I can feel,
with sliced dirty peaches,
and a slutty little orange peel,
give me a meal worthy of my slag mouth!
Make me croon, make me shout!
Dirty prostitute prawns, get in my gob!
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[27 Oct 2006|04:43pm] |
I don't get this. There appears to be a sort of embedded bestial element to this Basil Brush episode. The chortling fox has the hots for a female fox. And the broad turns up right, all sparkle eyed and done up and Basil's over the moon. The thing is when she asks which one's Basil Brush, all the HUMAN men rush over pretending they're him.
Right, so they want to fuck a felt fox? Do they?
Who wants to fuck a felt fox. Raise your hand. I know men only get this enthusiasic about sex. I am one. But a fox? I don't want to fuck a felt fox. Check the alliteration on that. I'm a word slinging slagging slut, me.
Yep, now they've even POINTED OUT that one of the men is a different speciece. And human. It's like I pointed out to Kate on Sunday. You can't have your cross species cartoon animal cake and eat the cunt, you know..
She wanted a piece of old J.P Gordon out of The Racoons. He's a cartoon crocodile. How's that going to work? He hasn't even got a cock, and the fucking bastard is garneing more fans than I am. Maybe it's his wealth and big hat.
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[27 Oct 2006|04:57pm] |
I don't fucking believe this. It's the third time it's happened. Mixing up cartoon characters. I thought that JP Gordon was the crocodile, and it was in fact the name of a bit part tycoon...a rich dog that Cyril Sneer tries to get MR KNOX (Who is in fact the crocodile) to ask about meeting him for a business deal.
Of course, Knoxy boy, being a big rival of Sneer's won't do it, Sneer begs, and misses his son Cedric's dinner speech almost, but due to a sudden flash of guilt (When Cedric's present to him is a pair of cufflinks with a note saying "To the best dad ever on the occasion of our first Father Son banquet) he fucking gets ON the train, finds Cedric, and decides to leave Jp Gordon for the GOOD OF HIS FUCKING SON.
And the twist? Jp Gordon is only on the bleedin' train, ain't he? EH? EEEEH??? So everything works out in the end.
Rather overlong way of saying I fucked up and the crocodile geezer was Knox, and not Jp Gordon. D'y'understand?
http://youtube.com/watch?v=f5AS-Efp1go
Look at this! Here's the rich green prick. Getting up to something with Cyril. I don't know what they're doing, what am I supposed to glean from two minutes of clip. Do you want a fucking episode guide too? Shall I fucking write a bloody cast list for you, eh? EH? EHHHH?
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[27 Oct 2006|06:24pm] |
Even butterflies have partners, they lilt on flowers, and their wings echo on the grace of the painted lady..even they become lovers, grow in chrysalis, break through the skin and fly into distances together, even butterflies have lovers..even their wings beat in rhythm with their hearts...
sometimes..
my wings never beat in time with my heart, but they still beat.
See you later.
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[27 Oct 2006|06:36pm] |
So I sat by the river's edge. Those lapping little pools turn in on themself and shine..small rocks deflect the sun and the water fills in the space in-between.
In between is the point i'm staring at, where you exist. My eyes settle on you with a pair of hazel pearls, neither in grace or defeat, not blinking and not feeling. I reach down and pick up a sharp stone, take it to my hair..
and I cut, the last three years from my pony tail..
and in the painted reeds I allow myself to hold a tear.
and in the shimmer the sun sees my hairs float gently away..
I latch onto a stone and dig until my nails dig in and my knees graze..I grit my teeth at the sun and hang on until my eyes turn dulled grey, and my screams settle into a breeze. I am floating away.
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