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[31 Oct 2006|12:09am] |
| Your Unique Costume is Tiny the Clown | 
REALLY does not play well with others. |
Unless you tickle my red nose the right way.
Well, that's it. Thanks to the Cold Freeze Internal Organs for the music, Masturbator Potato for the politics, and the X-Ray Onion for all the words. Tonights show was brought to you by the bitter number nine, and my penis is angry.
Goodnight!
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| Imagine.... |
[31 Oct 2006|12:49am] |
The biggest groin in the universe.
A set of playing cards depicting the most famous mammals of all time.
A ski jump littered with scrotums.
A ham toupe.
Two moths fighting over a slice of bacon.
A donkey in a top hat smoking a cigar.
A cigar in a top hat smoking a donkey.
A lonely mole.
Ten crows out clubbing.
The smallest giant in the world.
An astrology book that proves in seven chapters that Jupiter is a "Big Orange Cunt"
Jupiter's apperance on Saturday night live, responding to the book.
A storm with your name on it
A big furry snake who acts as your sidekick.
Having two pet eels that sleep in your wallet. Or purse.
Living in a massive shoe.
Having sex on one of those wavy slides.
Your mum insisting you eat the pie she baked ten years ago.
A shrew being born.
A moth trying to pass itself off as a man.
A kitten dangling from a colourful balloon over a village fete.
A polar bear in a retirement home.
A grizzly bear at a kid's party.
A black bear in a children's swimming pool.
A child in a bear's swimming pool.
A flock of seagulls tied to the wrist of James Earl Jones
Dan Akroyd punching a fist through the glass in his front door.
Chevy Chase ramming a hosepipe up his arse and the other end into his mouth and seeing what happens.
Brad Pitt falling to his death from a plastic whale's blowhole.
Whitney Houston kicking a fire hydrant repeatedly.
Christian Bale imitating an ant with a massive cock.
Gandalf rolling down a mountain.
Elijah Wood smoking in a bus stop and reading a porn magazine, putting an errant hand down his trousers when there's nobody around.
Somebody headbutting the LOST stand in a local dvd outlet.
The entire cast of LOST actually dropping dead at once.
LOST being encased in a beer keg and kicked into a skip. By me. Then smashed to pieces.
Me opening up both my buttocks and taking a massive and noisy shit all over every single copy of LOST on earth, including the rip off parts one and parts two that the shithead publishers thought it wise to force on the UK buying public. Twats. It doesn't matter anyway, because LOST is SHIT.
The earth as a giant chocolate truffle we can all eat. Until we eat it all and float off into space laughing with smeared chocolate round our dead bloated faces.
A rainbow with all your family's faces on each colour, shouting at you as they shoot back and forth, from one end to another.
Your dad is Jeremy Irons.
Justin Timberlake is in your bin licking the inside of an old sweet wrapper.
Bobby Brown is rapping in your cupboard.
R Kelly has written a song about you, even though he's never met you. It's called "Work up da booty" and features Ludakris, who's never met you either. They both KNOW YOU. And they mention your exact name and everything you've ever done. Even Dre's in on it.
Eminem eating a duck's feet.
Tom Hanks crying in a room filled with seventeen thousand porcelain ears.
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| Phone your mum, you're not coming home. Because i've stolen your handbag. |
[31 Oct 2006|06:49pm] |
Mobile phone snaps from the last couple of weeks.
( Read more... )
Another day to throw up in excitement in. Not really, it's as blank as Oliver Reed's appointment book. I didn't drink last night. Work was quiet. Apart from that, fuck all.
Now get out. I've got a wall to stare at.
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