Muppet's diary

Danie Rossouw's World Cup Diary

2011-12-30T13:43:00.000Z

During September and October 2011, Danie Rossouw's World Cup diaries were posted:

1 September 2011:

To help me remember all my memories, my captain and our water carrier, John Smit, did suggested that I wrote a diary of all my activities during the World Cup. He also tolded me that I should write in English, because it would help me, because he says I sometimes come across as a bit fick and English would make me look klever. Kak!

Anyways, today are the big day. We are leafing South Africa and on our ways to the Wold Cup. John says it's in New Zealand this year, which is where I toured earlier in the Drie Nations while many of our best players were in hospital at the beaches.

This is my furd world cup which means I am respected the mostest by so many off the younger laaitjies. They is so intimidated by me, that they don't evens want to sit next to me on the plane, which is a pity, cos I can teach them how to keep their brains occupied during long flights. I like to punch the player next to me. Juslike! It's so funny. I hope Bakkies doesn't sit next to me again, because he doesn't seem to understand the rules properly.

I had a one-on-one session wiff the coach yesterday. Well it was supposed to be one-on-one, but Victor came wiff us to translate what that funny little guy kept saying. I don't know what he says, but it's so funny when he talks. I can't stop laughing. Anyway, Victor says that I need to work on my handling skills, which is stupid because I has two hands, just like everybody else. I showed him by lifting them in the air, but they knocked the fan on the ceiling off it's bracket and was about to fall on the coach, but I finked quickly and tried to catch it before it hit him in the face. The coach looks very angry now wiff the eight stitches in his head and he has a broken toe where I did standed on him, before I tripped and headbutted Victor by mistake. Bakkies heard the noise and came in and unleashed some of "God's fury" as he calls it. Victor had to hold Bakkies back and stroke his head softly until Bakkies had his shot.

Pierre, is very excited about going to the world cup because he could not go last time because apparently there was a mistake at the piss testing place last time. He said they gaved him a really cheap glass to piss in and it melted before he could hand it to the doctors. To stop the glass from melting, Pierre now has to go to the toilets wiff the nice physio lady. More good news for Pierre. The doctor says he are pregnant.

Bryan is also in a happy mood, because he says he only really plays his bestest rugby during world cups. He says after the last world cup he tried out some new tactics by pretending to run slower and not being able to do much on the rugby field. He said he did looked to me for that inspiration. It's nice that I can be the guy's hero.

I don't know where the coach will be playing in me in this world cup, because I can play anywhere in the backrow. I overheard him saying to John that I would be lucky to be on the bench. So looks like I'm starting.

Morne tolded me that of all the fings I need to catch, I must make sure that I catch the plane to New Zealand. He's so funny, the plane only leaves... OH KAK!

4 September 2011:

I are arrived!

After catching the wrong plane, then knocking a few others on, I finally gotted a plane to New Zealand.

It's strange to think that I was here only a month ago with at least two other guys in this squad, in an attempt to show the world the Springboks strength in depth. Unfortunately we was robbed in that game by the referee and the All Blacks, who kept scoring tries and refusing to let us score tries. It's just not cricket.

The New Zealand peoples has gone world cup crazy! Everywhere I go all the talk is about the world cup. So far I has been to our hotel and the rugby ground and the rugby training place and the gym and press conferences. Jusus people! Don't you have anything else to talk about?

Press conferences take much longer in New Zealand because all the New Zealand reporters do a Haka before they ask a question. John says that we has to respect their culture and wait patiently until they are finished, before telling them how kak the All Blacks are without Carter.

But it is not just the reporters. We are respecting culture everywhere. Passport control - Haka - then checks passport. Luggage handler - Haka - then carries bag. Bus driver - Haka - then drives bus. Hotel check in clerk - Haka - then checks us in. Waitress at restaurant - Haka - then takes our order. I don't means to complains but if I see one more Haka I fink I'm going to fucking lose it. Tomorrow we is going to the Maori cultural museum.

Found out that there's a problem wiff our kit for the tournament. Our kit manager, Francois Louw, says that we has enough Springbok tops for the entire tournament, but we only have enough armbands for four matches! John says that we will have to act like men and not complain too much, however we will of course be wearing them against Wales after what what their coach said about our team. What a poes!

I did make a joke about the Wales coach's name. I asked John what his name are and John said it is "Katlund" and I said, "Ja nee, more like Gatland". Jusus I laughed! I don't fink John understooded my funny joke.

Another problem wiff the armbands! As the armbands are black, we are not allowed to wear them because to wear black on the rugby field is to disrespect rugby culture. Bakkies did suggested that we wear armbands about not being able to wear armbands, but then we will be wearing more black and that's just going to make more trouble and we've upset the England camp enough by suggesting that they play a limited form of rugby by playing wiff a kicking flyhalf and expecting their big forwards to bash it up. Stupid England rugby tactics make I laugh.

Totsiens

Danie

6 September 2011

Bad news. Looks like I are starting at lock on Sunday against Whales. My dynamic running and handling skills is better used playing as a loose forward, but I are a team player and will sacrifice my talent for the good of the team. Looks like Bakkies is too scared and the Boks need a real man to take the heat.

Must check with John if Bakkies does knows how to read the internet before I are publishing this entry.

There are some good news however. The Maori people (the cleaners and gardeners of New Zealand, if you know what I means) will be supporting the Boks after we did attended a Maori ceremony and John did say very respectful fings and I fink he gave their chief a bottle of Klippies because they were very happy when we left and did not try to steal our hubcaps.

The coach are still being very funny. This time he are saying that John is the best hooker in the world at a press conference. We did all try to keep a straight face after he said that, but I could see some okes were giggling. Luckily I still don't understand what the coach are saying when he talks and had to ask Victor afterwards what the joke was. It was so funny man. I almost kakked myself.

I has single handedly solved the armbands problem. After we were told that we can't wear black on the rugby field because it will upset England, we didn't know what to do about the armbands. But I did fink very hard about the problem. I did fink and I did fink until there was nothing I aint funk. I was breathing in the stink until finally I stunk, because I like to fink while I have a kak and then it camed to me. The solution was so simple man. I gotted all the armbands together and I did painted them green. Juslike, you should have seen John's face when I did show him my good work the next morning. Who's the stupid one now?

Totsiens

Danie

9 September 2011

It are started! It have taken four years, but finally... I are chosen on merit ahead of Bakkies.

Bakkies are pretending that he are injured, but he knowses that after by brilliant form in the Drie Nations, the coach could not leave me out. Even John admitted that he has not seen ball carrying skills like mine since Dewet Barry. I fink he is hinting that I are to be playing in the centres soon, like Sonny Bill Nonu.

We know one thing about Sunday, it are not going to be easy. World Cup fever means that many fans will be wanting my "X" before and after the match but I keep forgetting to spell it. We will also be playing Wales on Sunday.

We are experiencing a bit of a "Suzie" in the camp. "Suzie" is a code word used for meaning that rugby players are poisoned. I don't knows who came up wiff it. Anyway, according to what is called the "Januarie contract" (I guess that was when it was signed) the entire camp is supplied wiff one hundred pies a day and now we has a few thousand pies waiting to be ated before they go vrot. It might have becomed a serious medical issue, but I has founded new respect for our skipper and Frans as they said that they will take care of the problems. I don't know where they chucked them, but all the pies are now gone.

The guys did try to play a joke on me about the match on Sunday. At first, the guys tolded that it was a night match, but when I did phoned home, my ma said it was a morning match. I fink the okes are trying to catch me out. I are not stupid.

I don't know how many more diary entries I can write on this stupid laptop, because I does keep dropping it and it are starting to make a funny sound. Whoever invented gravity is a doos!

Totsiens

Danie

After beating Wales in the Springboks opening match:

12 September 2011:

Jus man, that were close. After all the talk and after all the build up, we managed to do what many peoples did not fink we was capable off doing, we won wiff John on the field for most of the match.

I guess this proves the coach right about John being the best hooker in the world. Maybe there just is not any competition, because I did watch the England game on Saturday and I did see their number two kiss the other number two and I was always taughted that real hookers don't kiss.

But my hats does goes off to Whales too. They did play very well, because some of the times I did run wiff the ball, they did manage to make me knock the ball on, which is very unusual for me. Their captain did play with an unfair advantage, because he has the word "war" in his names. If we had a player in our team named after a fighting event or a warring machine, I is sure we would to betters. Must check with Victor if "Chilli" can be dangerous to other players, to give us an advantage.

Speaking off Victor, he are getting too old and cannot play a full game anymore. I are usually a "super-sub", but the coach did needed me for the full eighty minutes. I are very fit, but as fit as I are, Pierre are amazing. He are so fit, that after the game he did do one thousand push-ups and one thousand sit-ups in the changing rooms. I don't know how we do it. It almost like he did not do anyfing in the match.

After the match, many of the media peoples were complaining about one of the kicks, which they did say was a kick, but then the others did say it was not a kick. I don't know if a knee to the head counts as a kick, but I are glad that I are not that poor Argentinian oke.

Next up are Fiji and they did look very dangerous in their first match, so the coach might play his strongest team instead of the B team that did played on Sunday. Wiff Jean out for ten days, it be most likely that are to play at centre.

Totsiens

Danie

16 September 2011:

Tomorrow we are to playing against the Fiji, who haves a proud history of eating people.

I know this because I did do my research before the game. Victor usually does the research but because he are at rehabiliation at a nice hotel resort (outside of New Zealand off course), the coach did asked me to do the research on the opposition.

Victor's research are only about when to do jumpings in the line-out, which are boring and many of his line-out calls are numbers more than ten, so I don't really understand. He did however work on a special call for just me called "spring poes", which are code for the ball are coming to Danie.

But my research is much betters. I did go onto the internet and founded out good research. At the team gathering I did present my feedbacks as follows:

"Fiji are in the south Pacific, this means that they are in a big peace of water, but at the bottoms of that waters, not the top.

The whole Fiji team are black people (not that I does have a problem with that), this means that their gentlemen's agreement about affirmative action is working very well and the entire team does comes from previously disadvantaged areas. So make sure you leave your wallets in the bus before you go to the change rooms.

Fiji people are liking to be cannonballs. This does not mean that they does smoke dagga. This does means that they eat other peoples, so try not to spill barbeque sauce on yourself before the game.

Because the whole team is black (not that I does have a problem with that), it means that they will all be very fast. At the olympics there was one guy called Bolt who are also black (not that I does have a problem with that) and he I runs faster than anybody else, even other black (not that I does have a problem with that) guys. I did watch the movie Bolt to understand how his mind does work and I can confirm, he are a very lucky doggy.

So the tactic is that we should tackle the black (not that I does have a problem with that) guys before they have a chance to run fast. Akona, don't worry, because at your pace I don't think you will be mistaken for a black (not that I does have a problem with that) guy."

I fink my presentation did go well because only Akona did give me feedback, saying that he are not Akona, he are Odwa. How the poes am I supposed to know that? I don't want to be sounding like a racialist, but he looks just like the other wing who did play for us. I wonder where Lwazi are now.

Totsiens

Danie

20 September 2011:

Bokke! I are so hungry for some decent South African meat here in New Zealand. I are sick of fuckings sheep!

Anyways, the game on Saturday were a awesome game. We played out off our socks. Not literally. We all did kept our socks on. It are a saying like you can’t judge a book by its cover and Australia are kak.

After the Whales game, we really needed to be pulling up our socks. Again this are just a saying like don’t judge a tiger by its spots or Australia are very kak. But every man did give one hundred and thousand percent against the Fiji. Our backline were awesome! Our flanks is awesome. Even Pierre, who were criticised after the Whales game for being too Reuben Thorne were awesome. Me and Bakkies was awesome. Gurthro and Jannie was awesome. And John were... making good interviews after the game.

I off course are beings modestly awesome again, because I are awesomely modest. My man of the match award were well deserved. I maded Fiji look like a tier two rugby nations. I did take command off the lineout. My codes “Spring poes”, “Spring asseblief meneer” and “Spring slapgat nommer agt” were unbreakable. Our special code of “Passop, John word kakker en kakker elke dag en niemand weet waar die vokken bal gaan gaan” were the only code that were broken by the opposition.

Next up are Nam. I did do some good research on them agains and don’t expect much problems from them because the internets did tell me that the only team that they have beaten are the United States and that were only in the 1970s, so I don’t expect them to be any trouble for the mighty Kudu!

Vok! Ek moet eet.

Totsiens

Danie

29 September 2011:

I could tried to tell you what did happened in the Nam game, but you wasn't there man. You wasn't there. Unless you was there. Then you did see us poesklap them.

We did score ten tries! And then we did score two tries! Nobody really knows how many in total that comes to, but it's poes baie.

A big congratulations are to be going to out to Bryan, who did score a try against Nam and his first of the tournament, which are half the amount off tries that are I scored in the tournament so fars. Well done Bryan.

Despite what the scoreboard are said, we did not have fings all our ways, especially in the line-outs. Wiff Victor still at the golf recovery hospital resort centre, I was in charge off all the line-out calls again and even though my calls were unbreakable, they did seem to know where the ball are goings. So I did cleverly suggest that I would change the codes to the numbers on the jumpers backs, but are to be saying them in Afrikaans, so that they could not understands. Believe it or not they still seemed to be knowing where the ball did go. I guess it did not help that John can only speak English and Kwazulu Natal.

But anyways, we arse top off our table wiff only one game left, but it are not going to be a easy game. It are against Samoa, which is the factory country that makes Lomus. The latest batch are also having working livers.

I remember back in the 1995 Rugby World Cup tournament, when I was still in my early twenties, the Boks did play "Western Somoa" back then. So now that North, East and South Samoa are joining them, they are going to be much stronger. Imagines how strong South Africa would be if we allowed South West Africa and Zimbabwe players to play for us. I did suggested this to the Beast (not his real name) and he did say that home affairs might not like that idea. What the fuck has my Liefie and my boetie gotted to do wiff foreign players?

Victor are recovered from his holiday injuries and are captain, while John are to be rested until the next media interviews. I don't know if the coach will be calling Victor the best hooker in the world after this game, but it are looking like Bakkies are Victor will be fightings for the second lock spot for the rest of the tournaments.

Totsiens

Danie

2 October 2011:

And then there was eight. The remaining teams is the Bokke, the All Blacks B team, the team that lost to Ireland, the reserve team for next year's Drie Nations, the team that lost to a holiday resort island, Jonny Wilkinson, the Whales, the team that plays in green that are looking so impressive and the Ireland.

I did counted us twice because we is so good.

I could mention another team if I wanted to, because I still have a finger left, but I are not here to brag about my counting skills.

So anyways, Friday was like a war man. We pushed hard all the way. I didn't fink we was going to hold on, but in the end we did hold on until the end and we managed to get through the press conference without John as the captain telling the reporters the answers.

The match against Somoa was also very hard. High tackles, off the ball tackles, punching and eye gouging, or Schalk as he are also are known said that it were one of the toughest matches he did ever plays in.

Off course, when you is playing such a physical matches, there is always consequences and the injury clouds has struck the Bok camp. I are picked up a cut on my ear and did needed a plaster by the doctor during the match, but I are tough and will be ready to play in the next matches. And Frans are going home, which are a big loss to the camp, because if France are making the final against us, we are needing a translator and the only other option is Hougaard, but he are more of a Francois, so I don't think he are understanding the language properly.

Wiff Bismarck and John switching places from the opening games, it were John's turn to show what he can do as a "impact player" and I are to be takings my hat off to John as he probably had his best match off the tournament so fars. Very little bad throws in the line-out. Very little missed tackles. Very few errors in the dying minutes off the game. I are starting to see why he are rated so highly.

The media buzz about my awesome form continues and there are rumours that I are to get a legendary iconic rugby move to be named after me for the future generations to enjoy. Just like Campese is knowning for making the "Goose step" there are suggestions that I are becoming a legend wiff my powerful runs. I don't know the full story, but apparently when one team is awarded a scrum, it are because the opposition did run at them wiff lots of space and then made a "Danie". I fink this are meaning that they are showing majestic skills.

Totsiens

Danie

7 October 2011:

As I are had great success wiff my studies off the teams so fars, I are decided to help the coach wiff my own analysis off the line-ups for Sunday.

Here are Danie’s head-on-head analysis per position:

15 Kurtley Beale vs Pat Lambie

There are no denying that Kurtley are a very talented rugby player. He are probably the best fullback in the world at the moment. His running from the back reminds me of Christian Cullen when used to play for Munster. Pat are getting better and better in every match. He can evens tackle players without even holding onto them (according to the refs).

Adv Austria

14 James O'Connor vs Bryan Habana

I are not saying that James are pretty, but if I was a girl, I would be wishing I was a gay man. He are a good wing however, but his kicking at posts are like Jonny Wilkinson wiff an old ball. Bryan are getting better and better. We was kak, now he are a bit of a fart.

Evens

13 Adam Ashley-Cooper vs Jaque Fourie

Adam are moving back to centre from the wing. I are a firm believer that you can’t keep playing a quality player in different positions. Only kak players can’t hold onto their preferred position, like Bakkies. Jaque are had a good start against Whales, but are quiet recently, despite three backline moves in the last two games.

Adv Bokke

12 Pat McCabe vs Jean de Villiers

Pat are a name for touch rugby and foreplay. What hope do he have against the best inside centre at the rugby world cup? Unfortunately Frans are injured and Jean are filling his place. But Jean are still a very good player and will no doubt be in the Austria backline attempting to catch the ball instead of tackling players.

Adv Bokke

11 Digby Ioane vs JP Pietersen

Digby are have some great moves. After he are scoring a try. JP are playing wiff a broken knee.

Evens

10 Quade Cooper vs Morné Steyn

What can be said about Quade that are not been said yet? Poesklap pielletjie are a possibility. But he are hated so much because he are so dangerous. Especially if you are leaving DVD players lying around. Morné are the leading point scoring at the world cup, which are proof that centres don’t need a ball.

Evens

9 Will Genia vs Fourie du Preez

Will are such a good scrumhalf that if was South African, would be considered for a touring squad to go to the Northern Hemisphere for the autumn internationals. Four years ago, Fourie are the best scrumhalf in the world. I are presuming nothing have changed.

Adv Bokke

8 Radike Samo vs Pierre Spies

The other day Victor and I are laughing that Radike are still playing rugby at his age. I guess Austria’s youngsters aren’t good enough to step up to the plates and have to rely on players well past their prime. Pierre are so quick that even if you watch matches in slow motion, you still can’t see him hitting the rucks.

Adv Bokke

7 David Pocock vs Heinrich Brüssow

The Australian media keep going on how David dominates Heinrich in previous head to heads. How stupid are they? Statistics of previous encounters are meaningless and head to heads are stupid because it are a team sport. Heinrich has always been in the winning teams when playing against McCaw, who was the world player off the year last year.

Evens

6 Rocky Elsom vs Schalk Burger

Rocky were once the most feared player in club rugby in Ireland. Since then his form are not so great. I don’t know what have changed. Schalk are looking back to his best before his injuries and citing committees.

Adv Bokke

5 James Horwill vs Victor Matfield

James are captain off Austria and therefore must be respected like Gregan used to be respected. He are up against Victor who are considered as the second best lock in this year’s world cup.

Adv Bokke

4 Dan Vickerman vs Danie Rossouw

Ag please man. Don’t make I laugh.

Adv Bokke

3 Ben Alexander vs Gurthrö Steenkamp

Ben are known for being one off the fastest props in world rugby. And this are not just backwards in the scrum. Gurthro are getting the nod ahead of the Beast because he are… um…

Adv Bokke

2 Stephen Moore vs John Smit

Stephen are a bit off a joke as an international hooker. He cannot throw in the line-out. He cannot tackle. He cannot run or make the hard yards wiff the ball in hand. He are basically a waste off space at international level.

Adv Austria

1 Sekope Kepu vs Jannie du Plessis

Kepu are stuck wiff the image of being an Australian prop, despite spending much of his time between the locks. Danie are make joke! Jannie are like a fatter, older version of Bismarck, which are the best hooker on the bench in world rugby.

Adv Bokke

Bokke - 14

Austria - 2

Evens - 2

Totsiens

Danie

12 October 2011:

WTP?

It are now three days after the Australia match and I are still not knowing how we did loose that match. We did DOMINATE (trademark pending) them for almost all of the match, but in the end the calculator boffins did tell us that Australia did score more points against us than we did score against them.

I has been asked a lot since the match about that last penalty kick to Australia. I still don't know what happened. It were a Australia line-out inside our half and the linesman did say I did grab the Australian jumper. That are kak! I did not even jump! Victor was the one to push Samoan in the air. All I did was punch the Australian prop next to me and Schalk were busy gouging the other prop's eyes. I think it are a referee and linesman conspiracy against the Bokke to knock us out of the world cup. But I don't think it will work. Not on my watch!

We were all very sad in the change-room after the game. It were deathly quiet, except for Pierre who were doing lunges and power squats. We could hear the celebrations coming from the change-room opposite ours, which had laughter and high fives. There were also a lot of cheers coming from the Australia change-room.

I don't know if I will play for the Bokke again, because the Bokke now needs to build for the futures. So I will gracelessly step aside for the future and hand over the ball to the next up and coming Danie. I hope he can catch.

Totsiens

Danie

Gather round children

2011-12-24T21:17:00.000Z

I know that many children follow my blog and as it's now Christmas Eve, I thought I'd share a special secret with you.

Your parents lied to you. There is no Santa Claus. There is no Father Christmas. They don't really love you. You are adopted.

Merry Christmas.

Secret Satan

2011-12-16T19:09:00.000Z

This week we did secret Santa at work. I was given a Mensa puzzle. I showed my wife. She said, "Whoever got you that, doesn't know you very well."

I wittily replied, "Go fuck yourself."

And added, "What the fuck is Mensa anyway?"

And then, "Boobs!"

Followed by, "Where's my dinner?"

My wife is a bit slow and didn't reply to any of my thought provoking questions.

My Mensa gift makes an awesome ball-scratcher.

A bright idea

2011-11-30T19:25:00.003Z

This year I have solved Christmas.

By that I don't mean that I have any evidence to prove that receiving is better than giving (it is), but I mean that I solved one of the biggest agonies that comes hand-in-hand with the day we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, whose life brought death to millions over the centuries.

Some of the big problems we face over the Christmas period is:
- Christmas music in every fucking shop.
- Visiting relatives we wouldn't normally visit because we want inheritance.
- Christmas shopping in packed shops crammed with idiots (while listening to Christmas music).
- Sending and receiving Christmas cards to people we don't like.
- Hiding the corpses of the dead hookers.
- Untangling fairy lights for the stupid fucking Christmas tree.

This year I've decided to tackle the last point.

To those of you who don't celebrate fairy lights for Christmas trees because you're a terrorist or you don't have a wife, let me tell you about the joys of fairy lights. When you first buy them, they come neatly packed in a little cardboard box. Once you remove them from this cardboard box they will never again go back into that cardboard box. It's just one of those laws of physics things. Not only will they never go back into a small container again, they will also never be without knots again. The more you try to untangle fairy light knots, the more knots will be created. Fairy lights are also quite fragile and once one breaks then none of them will work, because they all run on one circuit.

So this year, the wife and I (the wife) decided that we're going to have a Christmas tree with all the decorations. She was in charge of buying the tree (plastic). Putting the tree together (funny to watch). And decorating it with girly shit like flowers, crystals and tampons. I was in charge of the fairy lights.

So I headed off to the most upmarket store in London and bought the most expensive fairy lights known to man, came home and:

Once Christmas is over, all I have to do is shove the plug back into the box and pack it up for next year.

I am a genius!

Marital blisters

2011-10-31T13:33:00.000Z

Somebody recently asked me if marriage was as advertised. Now that I've been married for over half a year, I think I can speak with authority about marriage.

Thinking back to when I was single, I remember when I would wake up alone. I'd have the whole bed to myself and I could fart as much as I wanted to.

Now when I wake up, it's usually because of a cold feeling I get. This cold feeling is usually derived from the evil entity in the room that has stolen all the duvet and is currently wrapped in a duvet cocoon, like a caterpillar waiting to burst out into a horrible tantrum. I try pull a little bit of the duvet back towards my quarter of the bed, but I fear waking the creature within.

It's not just the cold that wakes me. Sometimes I wake up feeling a sharp pain in my leg. I turn in bed and see evil red eyes staring at me, followed by the sound of an unworldly voice, "Move your leg!" I try to go back to sleep, but the the fear and snoring keeps me awake for hours. As I finally drift off to sleep the entity punches my nose. I hear the devil's voice again, "Move your face!"

So I'd have to say that marriage is as advertised. The advert however is Paranormal Activity.

Giving the cold shoulder

2011-10-24T20:40:00.000+01:00

My wife is currently fighting a case of man-flu. While my wife stayed home, I went off to work and we had the following conversation via e-mail:

Wife: *Sniff* Where's my Lemsip?

Sad muppet: In the kitchen. I might be home late tonight, as I have to scour the bars for eligible young ladies to replace you.

Wife: Why would you replace me? I might not die...

Sad muppet: Sounds like you don't have much time left in this world. Oh well, you had a good run.

Wife: I'm feeling a bit *cough* better *sneeze*.

Sad muppet: If you feel like you're not going to make it, do you mind dieing in the shed? It would be awkward for me if I bring a lady friend home tonight and there's a corpse in the house. I'm sure you understand.

Wife: If I do go to the shed to die, what are you going to do with my corpse? How are you going to explain that to your new lady?

Sad muppet: Don't worry. I'll have you buried once she's left the next morning. I'm not insensitive.

Wife: Are you going to lock me in the shed when you get home?

Sad muppet: No. I presume you'll de dead by then. No need to keep you locked up.

Wife: What if a fox eats my decomposing limbs?

Sad muppet: Less of you to bury. Cost saving.

Wife: But I'd rather be buried with ALL my limbs.

Sad muppet: Why? Are you going to need them?

Wife: Well, no, but I thought it would be nice to return to the earth complete.

Sad muppet: And you will. It's just that some of it will be returned via a fox's bum.

Wife: I hope this news doesn't upset you, but I think I'm probably not going to die for another few years.

Sad muppet: We'll see about that.

Wife: If I die in mysterious circumstances, you're going to be well banged up.

Sad muppet: Is a knife in the back while you sleep known as "mysterious circumstances"?

Wife: Not really...

Sad muppet: What if you're in a room by yourself? The room can only be unlocked from the inside and you have no arms or legs.

Wife: Block of ice!

Sad muppet: You watch too much CSI. By the way, I'm expecting a delivery of a large block of ice. Could you please turn the heating off until I get home. Thanks

Wife: What's happening to my arms and legs?

Sad muppet: Fell off due to your cold and a chainsaw incident.

Wife: Would you say that chainsaw + limbs = "fell off"?

Sad muppet: Hmmm... sounds like mysterious circumstances to me.

Wife: I would like to go on record and say I am fundamentally against the whole block of ice and chainsaw idea.

Sad muppet: But I was going to do an ice-sculpture of you.

Wife: Oh. Sorry. Well, OK then. But please keep the chainsaw away from my legs and arms.

Sad muppet: The thing is, ice-sculpting is difficult and it would be easier if my model didn't have limbs. I'm sure you can appreciate this.

Wife: I think I would rather - all things considered - to keep my limbs and sacrifice the ice sculpture.

Sad muppet: Why must you always piss on my ideas? Why can't you just support me for once?

Wife: I'm sorry. You can cut my limbs off.

Sad muppet: Thank you! That means so much to me. You're awesome. Now go to the shed and die.

Taking the Minnie

2011-09-29T14:01:00.000+01:00

I have recently returned from a holiday in Orlando, Florida. As is the custom for Orlando visitors, I was forced to go to Disney World. The main part of Disney World is called the Magic Kingdom. This is where the big gay castle is and where the old school Disney characters like Goofy, Pluto and Donald Duck hang out. There are also a few hundred other characters marauding the streets bursting out into song in order to piss adults off even more than they already are. Kids fucking love it, because kids are stupid.

Now the head of all the Disney characters is Mickey Mouse. He leads the parades. He gets the best lines in the songs. He's always front and centre on the main stage.

Next to him in all the songs is Minnie Mouse.

If you ignore the Hitler salute, do you see a difference between these two characters? Minnie has three eyelashes above each eye. There are no other differences. She doesn't even have tits. It's difficult to tell in two dimensional drawings, but while at the Magic Kingdom I confirmed this.

So Mickey and Minnie are the so called head of the Disney family. The mother and father if you like, but interestingly enough Mickey and Minnie aren't married. This is according to Walt Disney himself. But wait you say, because you talk out loud while reading blogs. If they're not married, why do they have the same surname?

This brings us back to them looking identical to each other except for the fake eyelashes. Yes, those eyelashes are not real! I can prove this by telling you that they're drawings. I rest my case.

So if Mickey and Minnie look identical and they have the same surname, what does this mean? Yes, they're related. Minnie is probably a man. And they're both into animal love. These are the role models of American children.

So if you have young impressionable children, why don't you take them to Disney World and let them worship mutant incestuous gay beastiality loving freaks, who get the police involved when a mild mannered tourist touches Minnie's chest.

It's a sick world!

Beirut v2

2011-08-11T13:12:00.000+01:00

I work in central London and leaving work last night I could feel the sense of dread in the air.

The traffic seemed to be moving slowly as though it was aware that rocks and petrol bombs could have been thrown at any moment. People walked past me in the streets without smiling or greeting me.

I walked past my local Waitrose and the shutters were down on all the windows with signs on them saying "open as usual", but there was nothing usual about a Waitrose with its shutters down at 5:30pm on a weekday afternoon. I wasn't able to look through the windows at the display cases to see what specials were to be had on the day. I walked on by, knowing that the economy was failing as my money would not be spent in Waitrose that afternoon.

I walked past a local pub. It usually teemed with life at this time of the day and it wasn't unusual to see as many as twenty people outside, enjoying their drinks while they smoked. But a quick count told me that the riots were destroying this pub landlord's income as there were only sixteen people outside. I walked on.

I reached my local underground station to find out that the local Costa Coffee was closed. I would have to complete my thirty minute tube ride parched. How many more parched pregnant women and children would there be? The tube itself was chaotic. Commuters who obviously sensed the terrorists gathering outside were bundling themselves into trains that were already full. We were fleeing the city like rats on a sinking ship. I couldn't even get a seat for three stops.

A woman sat opposite me reading the Evening Standard which had the headline "London's Shame". She seemed to be ignoring the lead story and preferred to read the fashion items. She was obviously trying force some normality back into her life, but sensing that life would never be the same again.

Further along the carriage I heard a baby cry. A baby! Why would these rioters make a baby cry? What's wrong with them? What has a baby ever done to them?

I reached my station and started walking home. Outside of the station a man ran past me. He was wearing a sweatband around his forehead, no doubt stolen from a hard working proudly British resident, who had put his life-savings into headbands. The saddest part was that the police weren't even chasing him. He had the streets to himself. Where would he loot next? I walked on.

A couple walked past me with their poodle, obviously too scared to leave their home without the protection of a canine. I walked on.

I reached my home and I locked myself in. I checked that all my windows were locked and I counted my tinned goods. I was safe for one more night.

Charity starts at home

2011-08-09T13:34:00.001+01:00

For three nights in a row there have been riots in London. The riots started after a protest took place over a police shooting, but what was suppose to be a peaceful march, soon turned into looting of stores and burning of property.

The fact of the matter is it just isn't safe in London after the sun goes down as riots are breaking out all over the city. I am in the fortunate position of being able to live outside of London, so I feel safe at night, but many of my work colleagues aren't able to escape the city centre after working hours. This morning I heard many stories of rioting going on outside their homes and flats. Many of them didn't get much sleep, as they didn't feel safe in their own homes.

Unfortunately we don't know how much longer these riots are going to go on for and I wish to extend the hand of charity to my friends and work colleagues, who live in central London to spend the night at my home, away from danger. Even if it's just for one night, I don't think you can really put a price on your own safety and a good night's sleep.

So if you're interested please send me an email and I'll see how many people I can put up for the night. Obviously I don't have enough room for hundreds of people, but I'll do what I can.

P.s. - Men and fat/old chicks need not apply.

Spouse cake

2011-07-10T18:36:00.003+01:00

The wife and I have retired for the evening. We are lying in bed late on a Saturday night (about 10pm), waiting for sleep to take its hold, so that we can get through the weekend as quickly as possible before the sweet relief of Monday morning eases us away from our marital bliss, when...

Wife: You know how those Argentinian rugby players crashed in the Andes years ago and the survivors ate the dead in order to stay alive?

(Awkward silence for about a minute, not knowing where she's going with this but feeling quite strongly that I'm not going to like it.)

Sad muppet: Yes.

W: Well, if we were in a plane crash and you died and I survived, would you mind if I ate your body?

Sm: Are there no other options?

W: Well I guess there will still be plane food, but I don't really like plane food.

Sm: Well in that case, I'm going to have to insist that you don't eat my corpse. Eat the plane food first.

W: But the plane food is designed to last for weeks, but your corpse is going to start rotting straight away. Surely it makes sense to rather eat your corpse first.

Sm: Um... I still don't feel comfortable with you eating me when there's another food source available. How long do you think you'd go without food before you start eating your husband?

W: (Thinks for a while) Probably a couple of hours.

Sm: In that case, no you may definitely not eat my corpse.

W: Why not?

Sm: You should only eat my corpse if it's to save your life.

W: But I'm peckish!

Sm: No!

Silence fills the room again and sleep starts to slowly take hold again.

W: What if you died in bed. Would you object to me eating your corpse?

Sm: Yes! Call an ambulance! Get a doctor over. I might not be dead. I might just be in a coma.

W: What if you were definitely dead?

Sm: How would you know? You're not a trained medical technician.

W: I checked by shooting you twice in the head. You're definitely dead.

Sm: Oh! Okay, so I'm dead. Why do you want to eat my corpse? Don't we have food in the kitchen?

W: Yes, but it's so far to walk and it's so much effort to make food and you're right here, ready to be eaten.

Sm: I'm sorry, but I have to put my foot down. No, you may not eat my corpse!

W: You're so mean.

And so sleep yet again enters the Muppet household and this time manages to take a firm grip on the happily married couple and drags them off to the land of dreams and possible death.

The next morning I'm woken to a sharp pain in my left arm. Oh no! What if I'm having a heart attack! My wife won't call for an ambulance! I must quickly try to get to my phone and call before it's too...

I look down at my left arm and find my wife gnawing on my arm.

She stops briefly, sensing that she's being watched and looks up.

W: Sorry. I thought you were dead.

Drunken seamen everywhere

2011-07-04T13:34:00.004+01:00

When I was a child, I was introduced to the dangers of the world through song.

One of the songs I was taught was that shanty classic, "What shall we do with a drunken sailor".

As an adult you can't just go around telling children to watch out for drunken sailors early in the morning. You have to break the news to them in such a way that doesn't seem too threatening, but nevertheless, they need to be mindful of these things.

A UK government funded charity however is trying to change the lyrics to this classic piece of education to, "What shall we do with a grumpy pirate".

Just how many children actually go yachting off the coast of Somalia that an entire nation needs to be aware that this needs to be considered for life training?

As a child I was prepared to see off the dangers of a drunken sailor by either:
Put him in the long boat till he's sober
or
Put him in bed with the captain's daughter
or
Beat him with a cat 'til his back is bleedin'
or
Shave his balls with a rusty razor

These are essential life skills that the children of today will be missing out on, unless they're attacked by a grumpy pirate and I would not recommend beating a grumpy pirate with a cat. They fucking hate that.

The other problem is that kids today are spoilt. Parents let their kids walk the street with clean, new razors and from my experience and training that's not going to stop a drunken sailor.

Is there a Dawkins?

2011-06-09T19:46:00.008+01:00

I have recently read The God Delusion, which is also known as the atheist's bible.

The God Delusion tries to persuade the reader that there is no God, because some very intelligent scientists from Charles Darwin to Albert Einstein say so. To understand the science behind their theories, one needs to have several degrees in education and big thinkingness. So basically the average person will not really understand the science behind the God Delusion, but must just have faith in the words.

A theory about the universe:

... it postulates a vast and rapidly growing number of universes, existing in parallel and mutually undetectable except through the narrow porthole of quantum-mechanical experiments.

Quoting from Steve Grand:

Think of an experience from your childhood. Something you remember clearly, something you can see, feel, maybe even smell, as if you were really there. After all, you really were there at the time, weren't you? How else would you remember it? But here is the bombshell: you weren't there. Not a single atom that is in your body today was there when that event took place. Matter flows from place to place and momentarily comes together to be you.

Another way in which the reader is persuaded that there is no God is by looking at certain texts from the Bible and Koran, which comes across as ridiculous, but I guess some people just have faith in the words.

Looking at the book of Paul:

Adam, the supposed perpetrator of the original sin, never existed in the first place: an awkward fact - excusably unknown to Paul but presumable known to an omniscient God (and Jesus, if you believe he was God?) - which fundamentally undermines the premise of the whole tortuously nasty theory. Oh, but of course, the story of Adam and Eve was only ever symbolic, wasn't it? Symbolic? So, in order to impress himself, Jesus had himself tortured and executed, in vicarious punishment for a symbolic sin committed by a non-existent individual?

Although the claimed author of the book, Richard Dawkins, does have his own input into the book, most of the book is made up of quotes from famous scientists, philosophers and theologians.

Some of Dawkins' own quotes include:

Eukaryotic Cells

No such thing. There are such things Eucaryotic Cells, but it looks like Dawkins is making up words now.

Memeplexes

A meme is a word made up by Dawkins which is about an idea or behaviour being passed on from person to person within a culture. The plexes bit he just added on, so that he can claim to have thought of another new word.

So now we have proof that he's just making up things in this book.

Doctor Dawkins explains how doctors think:

We doctors call that kind of linkage linkage.

So why should we believe the God Delusion? Who created the God Delusion? Apparently it was somebody called Richard Dawkins. But surely the main question we should be asking is who created Richard Dawkins? Is he real? Have you ever met Richard Dawkins? Do you know of anybody who has met Richard Dawkins? You possibly have a friend who knows somebody who says they know somebody who once went to a lecture of his. Do we just take their word for it? But so many of us have see Richard Dawkins on TV. Yes, but I've also seen Jesus on TV. Who am I to believe?

Who could have come up with all these thoughts, quotes and ideas put them all together and sell them as thought provoking philosophy? Who would be so pissed off with God that they spend most of their life looking at the universe in order to create some kind of doubt about His existence. I think the clue is in the name "Dawkins", whose name is part derived from Charles Darwin and...

Dick.

Don't go near the light

2011-06-08T13:06:00.004+01:00

I recently picked up a cold and as I'm a man, this means I'm near death. The following email conversation took place between myself and my loving wife:

Wife: Are you dying?
Sad Muppet: I’m currently only just hanging on. If I don’t make it, I want you to be brave. I want you to move on with your life. I want you to start dating other men again, no matter how hard it will be for you. I want you to try. Even though none of them will ever measure up to me, I want you to find mild happiness again.
W: Just men? Is that a rule? I need to be sure.
SM: Men, women, goats… whatever brings you mild happiness.
W: What if I like the man/woman/goat more than you and become ecstatically happy?
SM: Can the goat mow the lawn? Can the goat pop to the shop to get you some milk or cheese? Can the goat head-butt young children who annoy you?
W: Hmmm… You have given me a lot to think about. *Goes to goats dating wesite*

Attractive 31-year-old with a GSOH seeks goat with similar for fun, friendship, lawn-mowing and head-butting small children. Nanny goats need not apply.

SM: I’m not dead yet!
W: Doesn’t hurt to be prepared. You wanted me to move on quickly after your death; I can do this most effectively by having a few “back ups” ready to go. Makes sense, doesn’t it?
SM: I didn’t say quickly! You can date again after 6 months.
W: Six months from now or six months from when you snuff it?
SM: From when cross over.
W: Do you have an ETA on that? I am keen to get ahead of the game on this one.
SM: I’m feeling a bit better than I was feeling this morning, so with a bit of luck and the support of my wife by my side, I think I can beat this thing!
W: If it’s easier, you should just give in. Don’t struggle to get better on my behalf.
SM: I’m starting to doubt the support I’m getting from my wife.
W: Does that mean you’re less likely to survive?
SM: Yes!
W: Cool. Oh, by the way, if I die, I don’t want you to be happy and I don’t want you to move on. I want you to create a shrine to me in our bedroom. I would like one entire wall of the bedroom covered in photos of me (good photos, naturally), and a candle kept burning at all times. In every room of the house, I would like a massive picture of me and the words underneath “No-one can replace her. So don’t even think about it”. The Cat must wear black. And never let another girl set foot in the house. Even if she’s just there to read the meter.

She loves me so much, she can't bear the thought of me with another goat. I'm a lucky man.

Box office jobs

2011-05-31T13:36:00.005+01:00

Students studying forensic science has doubled in the last five years in the UK due to the increasing popularity of all the CSI series based in the US.

Unfortunately for these students there just aren't many jobs available for a qualified forensic scientist, so they're basically wasting their time by studying in this field.

Of course it's not likely that many of these students are the brightest bunch to start off with, by basing their future career on American scripts.

University interviewer - What made you want to be a crime scene investigator?
Prospective student - Hot science chicks and cool gadgets.
University interviewer - Damn straight. Welcome to Cambridge.

Of course this isn't a new trend. Back in the 90s there was a rise in people studying medicine due to the popularity of the show "ER". And even more amazing was back in the 80s when people actually considered being lawyers due to the popularity of "LA Law".

School guidance counsellors haven't ever had it so easy.

Little Johnny - I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
Guidance counsellor - What's your favourite TV show.
Little Johnny - Mad Men.
Guidance counsellor - Get a job in advertising.

Little Suzie - I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
Guidance counsellor - What's your favourite TV show.
Little Suzie - Mad Men.
Guidance counsellor - Marry a man in advertising.

Little Peter - I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
Guidance counsellor - What's your favourite TV show.
Little Peter - Glee.
Guidance counsellor - Become a hairdresser.

Little Mary - I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
Guidance counsellor - What's your favourite TV show.
Little Mary - CSI.
Guidance counsellor - Marry a man in forensic science.

Isn't there an opportunity for television companies to do some good in the world? Surely ER helped with that, by making more doctors in the world. Shouldn't there be more shows glamorising professions that benefit mankind.

Maybe they can do a series about how cool it is to clean toilets in public restrooms or maybe show what an enriched life a young wife has, by cooking and cleaning up for her husband while he sleeps with sexy young ladies who don't have STIs, for example.

Of course there's also a down side to glamorising unglamourous careers. Whichever field gets chosen, the market gets flooded by people who want to be like their idols. I work as an accountant and I fear the day when NBC commissions a series about how cool it is to be an accountant.

A place of worship

2011-04-22T11:28:00.003+01:00

The below picture was taken recently at Heathrow Terminal 5.

(click on the pic to enlarge)

I can't decide if this is racist or sexist.

Birds do it...

2011-04-04T21:08:00.008+01:00

It's the morning of my wedding day. My bride to be and I are staying in a five star country lodge over looking a citrus valley.

We wake up to the most beautiful day. There's morning mist in the valley and we watch the sun rise and burn off the mist within minutes.

It's quite simply the perfect start to the day.

Our room is beautiful and it offers the most gorgeous views of the valley from our bath.

You'll notice in the picture above, to the left there's also an outside shower and I simply can't resist the thought of having a shower overlooking a picturesque valley on a warm summer morning. I strip down and head on outside.

I'm a little tentative at first as I'm not used to public nudity while sober, but as there's nothing but nature for miles around, I relax my guard and let the warm water cascade over me and start to build up a lovely lather of soap on my glistening body in the morning sun.

The scent of nature and the scent of my flowery shower gel creates a feeling of extreme relaxation. Besides the sound of running water from my shower the only other thing that can be heard is the birds singing and bees buzzing. It's almost as though Walt Disney himself scripted my public nudity.

In retrospect, it's much easier to see disaster coming. For those of you who enjoy a good detective novel, you probably already picked up the key words:
- Citrus valley
- Public nudity
- Flowery shower gel
and
- Bees buzzing

And of course, being the manly man that I am, I've concentrated most of the flowery shower gel I was using around my armpits and my crotch.

A little known fact I've recently discovered about bees. Bees aren't attracted to flowery shower gel around the human armpit area.

The above fact might not be true because if there was a swarm of bees close to either of my armpits, I sure as fuck didn't notice them. I did however notice about a hundred bees trying to attack my man parts.

I didn't have internet access at the time, but afterwards I did some research on what to do if you find yourself in the middle of a swarm of bees.

Run away in a zig zag pattern or through tall brush.

I'm standing in a shower area which is surrounded by tall brush. The bees are coming from the tall brush.

Cover your head because bees attack the face and neck first. Use your shirt if you have nothing else to cover your head.

I think it's my lucky day because the bees aren't interested in my face or neck. My shirt is inside.

Never swat at the bees.

Okay. This one I might have got wrong. I'm not only swatting at them, I'm also trying kick the fuckers.

Don't jump in water. The bees will wait up to 30 minutes for you to surface and then they'll attack again.

There's no river to jump into, but the water from the shower seems to be impeding their attack I'm not leaving my protective barrier until they're all gone. I don't know if there's enough water to last for 30 minutes.

Seek shelter in an enclosed car or structure.

This is the most obvious solution. My enclosed safety structure is only about three feet away, behind a sliding glass door, but I'm too scared to leave the protective shower barrier. Luckily my bride to be hears my girly manly screams and comes to investigate. She sees the trouble I'm in and I see her running off, undoubtedly on her way to call the police or the army. She returns within seconds without any kind of uniformed squad, holding grenades and machine guns. Instead she's gone and fetched the camera.

I fucking hate that bitch. I hope she has a miserable life.

The essence of man

2011-02-21T13:17:00.003Z

Last week, my lovely fiancee was out of town for a couple of days for work or meeting with friends or intensive therapy. I think she told me. I don't care.

Anyway as she was away, that meant that my home became a bachelor pad again. I was able to regress back to my single days when there were no rules about drinking and every woman at my local pub was a lesbian. But more importantly, with my fiancee's delicate taste buds and sense of smell out of the house and I could make myself a decent man-curry!

Women don't understand man-curry. They don't understand that the only way you can enjoy a curry is if you're in pain. Women are so stupid.

I prepared my chicken, potato and onion and chucked it all in one pot and then I smothered it all with extra hot peri-peri sauce. To this I added a tablespoon of extra hot curry powder. I then added a slight sprinkling of black pepper, a pinch of salt and finally another tablespoon of extra hot curry powder. This was then served on a bed of rice, which had curry powder in it.

While serving up, a drop of sauce dripped on the floor. I reached over for some kitchen paper to wipe up the drop, but when I turned back the drop had been replaced by a small hole in the floor. Odd.

I poured myself a large glass of cold water, just in case small fires broke out in the vicinity of my plate and sat down to dinner.

I could definitely taste the curry in the first bite I took, but you know how you get that momentary delay after being kicked in the balls by a lesbian in a pub, before the real pain hits? Well after about thirty seconds of my first bite it felt like I had a dozen angry lesbians in my mouth. Not literally, because lesbians are generally fat.

Despite not watching my favourite sports team lose in a large sporting event at the time, tears appeared in my eyes. I felt snot starting to run down my face. Ear wax melted and dripped onto my collar. I felt my face go bright pink like a Catholic priest's first day at an orphanage for the blind.

For my second bite I attempted to avoid any contact with my taste buds by thrusting my fork to the back of my throat, like a well trained step-daughter. The fire spread to my throat and I felt the burning go all the way down to my stomach. The only reason why I didn't throw-up was because that would mean that the curry would have to touch my blistered lips again.

I continued to eat the curry, which due to the stream of tears was becoming saltier with every bite. The last time I was in so much pain I was forced to watch Glee with people who thought that it had a storyline.

An intense headache had started at the back of my head and was now starting to throb like a fat man running away from a salad bar. I was no longer able to focus on my fork, as my tears were very quickly dehydrating me. I felt around the plate and made stabbing motions near my mouth, hoping that some of it was going in like a virgin finding a corpse in the forest, but not really sure as I had lost all sense of touch from my neck up.

I eventually finished my meal and attempted to rehydrate myself by drinking water from the shower. I then shat myself.

Luckily I was in the shower at the time and as it definitely appeared to be my lucky day, I was shitting brown water, which went mostly down the plug hole, except for some stuff on the wall.

Finally my body stopped leaking fluids and slowly returned to a bearable temperature. Exhausted, I climbed into bed and fell into a deep sleep, hoping that I would be fully recovered for work the next day.

The next morning I felt drained but strong enough to head off to work. I made it through the morning by sipping on green tea, but by lunch time I knew I would have to attempt to eat something again. I had no appetite but forced myself to have my lunch. After the first bite, I starting to feel hot again. My headache returned with avengeance and my eyes seemed to have had a sprinkler system turned on.

In retrospect I probably shouldn't have boxed up the remaining curry from the night before and taken it to work with me for my lunch, but if we did everything retrospectively we'd be living in the past and fucking our ancestors and nobody wants that, except my grandma.

A helping hand

2011-01-17T14:56:00.003Z

Looking back at my life, I see that I've been fortunate. I've been given opportunities and choices that most people only dream of. I wasn't born poor, physically handicapped or with any horrible diseases that would make every day a struggle for me.

Unfortunately there are people out there who were born into such desperate circumstance. Due to no fault of their own, every day is a struggle for them. Some of the simplest tasks that most people take for granted can be physical torture for many of these unfortunate people.

Recently I decided to start giving a little bit back.

I know that's a bit of a cliche, but I don't care. The truth is that I don't just do this to help others, I do this to make me feel better about myself.

A few years ago, if I met somebody who said the above paragraph to me, I would have laughed in their face, but to add to my growing cliches, I guess I've grown.

My growth spurt didn't come in a slow realisation over time, but through the inspiration of one story. It was about a woman who, without any kind of medical training, used to volunteer in hospitals during World War 2. Every day she was faced with unimaginable horror of seeing what bullets and artillery would do to the human body. Young men, some still only teenagers were unable to do the simplest of tasks and that's when she realised that she didn't need to be a doctor to help these injured soldiers. She could help them in her own way.

She spent most of her volunteering hours in the burns unit where men were left for weeks on end wrapped up in bandages like forgotten Egyptian Emperors. The only healing available to them was time and so they would just lie there, as still as possible, because even the slightest movement caused intense pain against their blistered skin.

There were of course nurses who would be there to change bandages and to help them with bedpans, but this Florence Nightingale of her generation was able to recognise that young men who had both arms bandaged needed more than just new bandages and clean bedpans to go on living. There was no Sky Sports available and even newspaper sports sections were limited, due to many of the teams fighting in the war. So she had to entertain them the one way she knew how. She rolled up her sleeves and she wanked them off. A true story of inspiration.

So I have volunteered at a burns unit at a local hospital in order to help in ways I know I can. Of course I know that men won't need my services as Sky Sports is available and most sports teams aren't fighting in any major war at the moment. But women generally don't care for sport or understand war, but they undoubtedly have needs. Needs I will satisfy. I haven't been able to help yet, as many the women who are there at the moment are either fat or have burns on parts of their body other than their arms and hands, which I think is gross.

But I wait, for a good looking model with burns to her hands to come in so that I can selflessly finger her.

Would you rather...

2011-01-04T13:45:00.003Z

A fun way of getting to know your partner better is by playing the "would you rather" game with them. The point of the game is to give the person two options and they must choose one. For instance, would you rather have chocolate mousse or cheesecake? Simple enough, but then a few days ago, I had the following conversation with Mrs Sad Muppet:

Me - Would you rather skydive or bungee jump?

MSM - Bungee jump. Would you rather take a cock in your arse or have a guy shit in your mouth?

Me - WHAT?!

MSM - Would you rather take a cock in your arse or have a guy shit in your mouth?

Me - Neither!

MSM - You have to choose one. That's the rule of the game.

Me - No. You're supposed to entice the person with two possible enjoyable things to do.

MSM - You might enjoy a cock in your arse or shit in your mouth.

Me - I'm confident I won't.

MSM - I'm confident that I won't enjoy either skydiving or bungee jumping, yet you made me choose!

Me - At least they are two family friendly options.

MSM - Fine. Would you rather have your brother fuck you in the arse or have him shit in your mouth?

Me - That's not family friendly!

MSM - Why not? There's family and he's being very friendly with you.

Me - Family friendly as in you could ask the question in front of little children. Like this. Would you rather own a VW Golf or a Toyota Corolla?

MSM - Would you rather have a VW Golf or let your brother shit in your mouth!

Me - No! That's not family friendly!

MSM - You're still complaining? I think it's interesting that you still can't choose between those two options. You're sick!

Me - That's not the point. One option was decent. The other was disgusting.

MSM - What have you got against VW Golfs?

Me - I'll give you another example. Would you rather work for the Queen of England or the President of the USA?

MSM - Queen! Okay, I think I understand it. Would you rather be stuck in a lift for four hours with Andre Agassi or stuck in a traffic jam for four hours with Sylvester Stallone?

Me - That's it! Now you're getting the point. Hmmm... I'll choose Agassi.

MSM - But he's naked and he's got a massive hard-on and he's going to fuck you with it.

Me - What?

MSM - And then he's going to shit in your mouth.

Me - Why?

MSM - It's his thing!

Me - What if I chose Stallone?

MSM - Nothing. You would have just sat in the car, waiting for the traffic jam to clear.

Me - Can I change my mind?

MSM - Too late. You've made your choice. Pervert!

Me - Oh.

I can't believe she's still with me. I'm such a lucky guy.

A Christmas present for you

2010-12-02T13:01:00.005Z

One of my downfalls in life is that I'm possibly too romantic. When I'm dating somebody, I go out of my way to spoil that person, whether it's with compliments about her cooking or being honest about her weight. It's what makes me special and the many women I've dated can appreciate that about me, despite what they may actually say.

But when it comes to Christmas, I step it up to another level. A level so high, that it is higher than the previous level, which is at a lower level to which the level I've stepped it up to is now levelled lower in levelness. Yes, that much.

And this audacious new level is with Christmas presents. I'm not happy until I've found the perfect gift for my partner. Whether it's a new vacuum cleaner or even a fancy new ironing board, I will insist on getting the best for her (at a reasonable price (preferably at Argos)).

I have learnt from the mistakes of my past that what a woman asks for isn't always what they want. I once dated a woman who kept on dropping obvious hints that she wanted a pearl necklace but on Christmas morning, after giving her the ideal gift she had been asking for, she seemed quite upset and after a shower, left without even saying good-bye.

So this year, I'm avoiding the whole "my wheelchair is so old, the brakes keep failing on hills" hints, and I'm blazing a new trail of Christmas shopping.

My first plan of action was to do research as to what women want and it's amazing what internet search engines have to offer. Time and time again it seems that the overwhelming thing that women want is to share their man with another woman in a sexual way. In order to be thorough I literally watched hours and hours of the research.

Now that I knew what my girlfriend wanted, I had to set about making it happen. This was going to be trickier than I thought as our local pizza delivery person is a man and my girlfriend's best friend is fat.

After going back to the research material I also had to eliminate the plumber and the dwarf, who had been given special alien powers, as our local dwarf just sits on street corners and cries a lot.

I finally decided that the best place to get a woman to join my girlfriend and myself in bed would be one of my work colleagues, but as you can imagine, it's difficult to approach the subject tactfully, so I sent a group email to the five best looking candidates at the office.

Dear relatively decent looking work colleagues

For Christmas this year I have decided to give my girlfriend a surprise threesome, but I'm currently one person short. So I'm giving one of you the opportunity to be involved in this lovely gift. Obviously there are five of you and I can only choose one, so in order to increase your chances of being the chosen one, can I ask that you submit some sexy photos, preferably naked, to me by noon tomorrow.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours faithfully
Muppet

PS - Does anybody have the email address of that temp Helen, who worked here a couple of months ago?

PPS - Not the one with the lazy eye.

Amazingly enough, nobody replied to what I requested. Well some did reply, but not in a sexy way at all and even though there was some dirty talk, which scored some points, they forgot to include photos.

So as Christmas gets closer and closer, I still have a vacant position available.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Behind enemy lines

2010-11-15T13:56:00.005Z

At my current work establishment, we have unisex bathrooms. HR explained to me, during my induction, that this does not mean a "wank room". It's like any normal toilet, except both men and women can use it... separately - HR pointed out to me, rather rudely.

But this gives me the unique opportunity to look at what goes on in the amazing world of the "ladies". For years men have wondered why women take ten times longer than men to "pop to the loo" and why women's toilet queues are always so long. What's going on in there? If I'm in the pub with a lady friend and before heading on home, we both decide to go to the toilet, why am I done well before her? Why doesn't she just go in, piss and come out again. In theory she should be done even sooner than myself, as statistically women's bladders are smaller than men's bladders.

One of the main reasons why men are so quick is that when we go to the "Gents", we don't have to drop our trousers to our knees and sit down. We just unzip, whip out Mr Scabby and piss against a wall. Sometimes we piss against a urinal or close to a urinal. Then we simply zip up, go to the mirror, which is above the basin, smooth our hair back, give ourselves a wink and then leave.

So obviously the main reason why women are taking so long is because they have to adjust more clothing and they have to sit down or hover, depending on the cleanliness of the toilet, as it's been explained to me in the past.

The thing is that if you're sitting or hovering above a toilet, you might as well have a shit while you're there. This makes sense, but will obviously add time to her overall toilet experience. So the next time you've been waiting for your Mrs outside a public lavatory for a while, don't shout at her when she finally comes out, just ask her if she had a good dump. She'll appreciate that you're knowledgeable about her womanly ways.

But is this the only secret to women's toilets? I can now confirm that there's more. Women's toilets also have magazines! And it's not even wank mags, as you'd expect. It's things like Cosmopolitan and Vanity Fair. Stuff with lots of pictures of skinny chicks, wearing ridiculous outfits. This makes sense as women are obviously shitting all the time and they don't understand sport, so there's no point in having newspapers in there.

Then there's one final thing that's in a woman's toilet, that isn't in a man's toilet and at first I didn't know what to make of it. My initial thought was that it's some kind of foot operated bin, but there was already a bin in the toilet that didn't need to be foot operated. Why would you need two bins, as this foot operated one is much smaller that the other one? Maybe it's not a bin at all. Maybe it's some kind of make-up storage device. But why would you store your make up right next to the toilet? Why wouldn't you have it by the mirror?

To investigate I pushed down on the pedal with my foot and looked inside, but the pedal only opened a small lid that didn't allow enough light into the unknown storage device to let me see what was inside. So I got down on all fours and pushed the pedal down with my left hand, while my right hand dipped into the bin to have a good rummage around. My fingers explored the lower reaches of womanly secrets and made contact with something squishy. I got a good handful of what was in there and removed it from the device for inspection.

Now I'll admit that I've made mistakes in the past and I've done things that I've later come to regret and quite frankly, since the unisex toilet incident I don't quite remember what they were. All I can say is that if you are in a similar situation as to what I was in, please take my word for it. Women are not secretly hiding strawberry jam sachets next to the toilet.

Pain in the...

2010-10-20T13:27:00.002+01:00

Last weekend I took my fiancee up the Eiffel Tower.

It was something I had wanted to do for quite a while, but never had the opportunity to do it until now. The problem was that films have glamorised it over the years and they suggest that when in the area, everybody does it and I didn't want to be the odd one out.

As I approached it, I was a bit apprehensive, as it was cold and the smell of shit in the air was quite off-putting. I was worried about getting shit on myself and that the smell would linger afterwards.

I was told beforehand that it's not a quick in and out job and that it takes a long time going up there, but I had no idea it would take as long as it did. After about thirty minutes of squeezing and nudging, it seemed like I wasn't getting anywhere at all. After another very patient 30 minutes or so, I eventually was able to pop my head into the bottom of the shaft. Once my head was in, it was quite a smooth ride up, even though I was crammed in the passage against all kinds of foreign objects.

Once up there, there was acres of space, but I didn't stay for long as there were literally hundreds of people waiting to come up after me.

All in all I would say it was an enjoyable experience, but it was tiring. My fiancee hasn't been able to walk properly for the last couple of days due to our little adventure on the weekend and even I'm feeling a bit sensitive down there.

Sad cake

2010-09-30T13:48:00.005+01:00

This week I received an email, addressed to the whole company, about a former colleague who used to work for us.

Dear All

Some of you may already know that Jane Smith passed away on Sunday.

Jane worked here until last year. Her warm nature and positive, happy disposition left an impression on many of her colleagues, who maintained their friendships with her. Jane was only in her 30s and so her fight with cancer was both untimely and very sad.

Her funeral, for close friends and family, will take place on Saturday. She requested that donations go to her Hospice.

I will start the collection and pass a card around so you can send wishes to her family. Please drop me a line and let me know if you would like to make a donation.

Regards

This is sad news. Although I never worked with Jane. The people who did work with her, all have fond memories. I'm sure that the few that don't have fond memories of her, chose to keep quiet about it, even though she probably wouldn't find out about it anyway.

This morning, I received a follow up email addressed to the whole office.

To celebrate the life of the lovely Jane, I have brought cake to the office. Please help yourselves and think about Jane while you eat.

Three points.

One: Since when do we celebrate somebody's death?

Two: I didn't know Jane. Am I allowed to have cake?

Three: Do I have to think about her while I eat the cake? I would prefer to have happy thoughts while eating cake. I worry that if I had to eat the cake while thinking about cancer, it would put me off cake.

After the stampeding hooves of the womenfolk settled down after the email, I headed towards the kitchen to see if anything was left.

There was indeed a few slices of carrot cake left. The chocolate cake had already been surrendered to cancerous celebrations.

So ignoring point two above, I grabbed a slice of carrot cake and OH... MY... GOD! Carrot cake has never tasted this good! It was perfect! I don't know if it was the ghost of Jane who was filling the cake with ghostly goodness, or if the cook who made this knew Jane personally and decided to bake the best fucking cake ever, in her memory, but WOW!

After finishing the slice, I took a wander back to the kitchen, hoping that there might be some slices left, but some other crafty mourners beat me to it. Cunts!

But now I had a craving like a heroin addict, but unlike a heroin addict, I didn't crave heroin, so in other words, I was nothing like a heroin addict.

I could just go to the person who brought the cake in and ask him where he bought the cake, but then he would know that I ate the cake, despite not ever knowing Jane, yet I felt that I already had very fond memories of her.

Plan B - Get the person who brought the cake in to spontaneously tell me where he bought the cake. I started following him around the office and sat at his table during lunch. This was awkward as he has a small office to himself with only one chair in it.

Plan C - And before you start judging me on this, I'm the first one to admit that this was wrong on some level. I did some research on the internet and the started forwarding sunbed vouchers to everybody at work (except the person who brought the cake in). I realise that this is a long-term plan, but I don't want to be fat. That would be gross.

Irresistibly smelly armpits

2010-09-24T13:25:00.007+01:00

Men's armpits have always needed a disguise, as women do not like the natural sweat smell of men. Even after they have a shower women still insist that they put chemicals on their armpits in order to mask the scent of work.

Deodorant and anti-perspirant manufacturers have had variations of scents. The two biggest pit-o-flages are the scents of either spice or musk. Men have accepted this and on most mornings, the average male has sprayed the scent of an old spice or a muskrat on his pits, in order to appease the delicate female nostril.

But back in 2008 Lynx introduced a new deodorant/anti-perspirant called Dark Temptation which was described as, "A chocolate-smelling fragrance because women like chocolate, they will find men who smell of chocolate irresistible." This makes sense. If women like stuff, get men to smell like the stuff they like.

In 2009 they introduced Instinct which is described as, "a spicy scent of leather." In other words, they were trying to capture the smell of a new pair of leather shoes.

So what fabulous products can we expect in the current year? As I have studied the female psyche and boobs, here are a few of my suggestions.

Sink - The sweet smell washing-up liquid and carrot remains.

Iron pride - Women love ironing clothes and the scent of a freshly ironed man's shirt will make her feel at home.

Mow - The scent of a freshly mown lawn always seems to build up a sweat with my woman, while I watch her from a lawn chair, drinking my beer.

Linoleum scrub - Those stubborn stains on a linoleum floor are so hard to remove, but when a woman is down on all fours, scrubbing with all her might as the powerful smell of ammonia engulfs her, she can be intoxicating.

Breezer - Without too much product placement, it's the smell of a fruity alcoholic drink, with just a hint of vomit.

Hypnotise - Women will fall to your feet as the powerful smell of Rohypnol engulfs their sexiness (may need some kind of skin testing on men first).

Interior design time

2010-08-18T13:08:00.013+01:00

I've been living in my new house for almost a year now and my bitch thinks it's time to update our kitchen.

As I'm a man, I don't know much about kitchens except that it's used to make dinner for my bitch when she tells me she wants dinner.

The problem with our current kitchen is that it's quite spacious, but there's very little counter space.

The kitchen roughly looks like this:

(click on the pic to make it bigger)

So my bitch sent the above picture through to me along with the below proposed changes.

That seems like a clever idea, but looking at the picture it seems that a lot of space was going to waste, when in fact we have a table and chairs in that space. So I have added to her picture in order to get a better understanding of the space we have.

That seems like a fair reflection of our kitchen and our eating area.

But it also shows that we still have a bit more space to play with.

As we're already putting an extension in the kitchen, it makes sense to utilise the space appropriately.

Having two bars in a cramped space is a bit depressing if you're just sitting around drinking, so let's add another feature.

Of course having two bars and a beer fridge means that one's bladder is going to fill up quite quickly and you don't want to be too far away from the action when the strippers get into their act.

Of course having a toilet plumbed in and paying for strippers every night isn't going to be cheap, so I'm going to have to start charging my friends. I'm sure they'll understand.

I consider myself a realist and like to prepare for things.

I'd be naive to not have this kind of cupboard.

So I have expanded on my bitch's little womanly thought and I'm left with probably the coolest kitchen in the world ever.

She's lucky woman to have me in her life.

Flat-pack crap attack

2010-08-02T20:15:00.020+01:00

Have you ever tried to assemble flat-pack furniture? Have you ever been able to correctly assemble flat-pack furniture? Have you ever looked at the manual that your flat-pack furniture came with and been able to make any sense of it? Have you ever been able to make your completed unflat-packed furniture look like the picture on the cover of the flat-pack furniture box?

If you answered yes to more than one of the above then you are what is known as a lying cunt.

In my previous flat-pack adventures I have made an ashtray from a table, a spice-rack from a cupboard and a non-combustion engine from a breadboard.

But I am a man and will never admit defeat to mocking furniture, so I have bought more furniture that needs to be assembled, with my manly man hands.

I bought a garden chair that was already put together, but the operational manual had eight pictures to show how to operate the complex device. As you can tell by the very confusing pictures, assembling this unit wasn't going to be easy.

I tried matching each picture in the manual with what was in front of me.

Picture 1:

This looked familiar. I think I have a match.

So far so good.

Picture 2:

Hmmm... let's go with this:

That doesn't look quite right, but it's the closest match I could find.

Picture 3:

What the fuck is happening here? It looks like a fatter version of the previous one, but now it's somehow shooting arrows.

Is this the right one?

No! No! No! That doesn't look right at all! Where's the shooting arrow?

Picture 4:

OH MY GOD! That looks like a chair! How the fuck did that happen?

I've got this:

I try sitting on it. I'm seriously not comfortable and my legs feel cramped. The back support is very limiting.

I head back to the instructions and turn the page.

Picture 5:

This looks a lot like picture 4, but it's shooting an arrow. How is this possible?

Picture 6:

The chair is getting thinner somehow and arrows are attacking one another.

Picture 7:

WHAT? Arrows attacking one another and it's shooting a giant arrow away from itself?

I check the box for arrows. Nothing!

I try to line up my chair to look like the picture above. I think I'm close.

When I sit on it, I can feel the arrows. I must be close.

Picture 8:

What? That looks nothing like a chair! It makes no sense!

I need to stay calm and think this through.

A short history in spanking

2010-07-30T21:56:00.001+01:00

I grew up in the evil old South Africa where all white people were racists and the minority white government treated its citizens like they lived in the 1950s.

Corporal punishment was used in all schools to prevent children from misbehaving, or talking to one another if a teacher was talking, or if we weren't standing in a queue in single file, or if the teacher was having his/her period.

This was just standard procedure back then and I never really thought, "Hey, wait a minute. I'm a ten year old boy, who is currently being caned on my pert buttocks, by an adult, just because I didn't do my homework. I wonder if this is wrong on some sort of level?"

Once I finished school I was no longer subjected to corporal punishment, because as an "adult" I no longer needed physical violence to motivate me to do my homework.

But then in the 1990s something very strange happened. A bunch of hippies got together and said, "Dude, why are adults molesting children in schools?" And the government said "Look at me. I'm a government." Not really but the government abolished corporal punishment in schools anyway.

So now only parents could beat up their own children in the privacy of their own homes or in public.

But soon public child beatings became frowned upon by mister general public, even though it was perfectly legal. Parents started to feel ashamed of beating their children in their local supermarket, even if their children were annoying.

So naughty children were only being beaten up at home and only by blood relatives or an evil step-mother/father.

With the invention of Oprah, spanking children became almost obsolete in western culture. Naughty children were now free of physical violence for not doing their homework or answering back, which is ironic.

But as the children beatings were being diminished, adults spanking became more and more popular. This wasn't the same type of spanking. This was spanking for sexual gratification.

Grown men were paying women to spank them. Sigmund Freud, who was a German sex offender, believed that sexual gratification through spanking was due to an adult trying to relive childhood memories about one's mother.

But then it wasn't just men who wanted to be spanked. As television started to show more and more realty TV shows, there wasn't anything else to do at home, besides read a book or get your partner to blindfold you, tie you up and give you a good spanking.

Spanking wasn't punishment anymore, but a reward for being sexy.

In short, we can see a curve in the timeline.
1980s - Naughty boys ages 6 to 18 - spanked for being naughty.
1990s - Dirty old men ages 30 to 60 - spanked for being dirty.
2000s - Hot young ladies ages 18 to 29 - spanked for being sexy.

So now we've reached 2010 and I'm considered in the wrong for wanting to spank little girls for their own sexual gratification, when we can all see where we're going.

Parents in playgrounds are so closed minded.

Unique Clique

2010-07-26T21:49:00.000+01:00

Hollywood has so often forced teenage stereotypes cliques down our throats that we feel that we ought to belong to a group of people in order to express one's individuality.

The standard groups are:
Jocks
Geeks
Nerds
Punks
Preps
Sluts
Goths

But there are many people out there who don't fit into any of these categories. One of these people is my friend Brian. Brian always felt like an outsider. He could never quite fit in with the stereotypes. He was unique for not be able to express his individuality in a group of friends who were just like him.

Until one day he heard about a new clique that had been born. They didn't fit into any of the above categories, because they were different to everybody else, just like Brian.

Overjoyed that Brian would finally be able to fit in, he did some research on the internet about their style and unique look that they all look like.

He went clothes shopping and the next day at school joined up with his new clique.

Poor Brian didn't know the difference between an ostrich and an emu and looked quite silly.

Hardcore marketing

2010-07-13T21:35:00.000+01:00

Shopping on Amazon is amazing! It tells you what you want without you knowing that you want it.

The other night I was shopping for a cook book to read and when I clicked on the product, Amazon suggested a few other related products that I might be interested in. People who enjoy reading a good cooking book, might also enjoy a Star Wars paperback and three pairs of Aviator sunglasses. Yes! I would like a Star Wars paperback and I would look so cool in Aviator sunglasses!

On the other hand, my yahoo email account seems to be bombarded with poor related market advertising.

I know! Why would Yahoo think I need to improve my golf swing?

Being enraged

2010-07-07T13:26:00.000+01:00

My fiancée deserves the best man leading up to our wedding, so I've done some research on what it means to be engaged.

Engaged:
- Involved in conflict or battle.

So now I have an idea of what I've let myself into. I was living under the illusion that being engaged would mean nice romantic things like flowers and chocolates and alcohol and Rohypnol and love. Good thing I haven't ever bought her any flowers and chocolates.

Further research revealed the following:

So basically being engaged is like going to war, but you're not allowed to have a poo.

That's the worst kind of war.

Why buy the milk, if the cow is free?

2010-06-14T14:00:00.000+01:00

There comes a time in every muppet's life when he or she has to stop having fun and has to settle for whatever slag he or she is currently stuck with.

My time is now.

I've been stuck with my slag for what feels like eternity and as all the women and some men at my work have refused to sleep with me, I decided to make a respectable woman out of my slag.

In order to surprise her with my romantic proposal, I had to cleverly set the scene. Firstly I had to make sure that she wasn't expecting a proposal. I did this by telling her that I hated her. Secondly I had to book a romantic holiday away, with her parents, which her parents paid for. This was more elaborate as I don't like using blackmail. Thirdly I had to buy her the most expensive, the most beautiful, the most desirable engagement ring in the world. I thought that two out of three wasn't too bad, as I headed towards Argos to buy some braai tongs and an engagement ring of about the same value.

For those of you who don't know about the magical land of Argos, I will describe it to you. It's magical! They have everything you could ever think of at the end of a conveyor belt. It's obviously a magical conveyor belt because it supplies limitless amount of magic everyday. Most of my house is Argos. From my broken wardrobe to my broken digital camera. It's all Argos! And the prices are so cheap, you would think that these products are shit and would break easily, but don't think about that. Think about the magic.

Before any of you judge me on my love for Argos, I would like you to see some reviews for the ring I bought:
- "this ring is beautiful very simple but stylish. fits perfectly and looks very nice. Am very glad that i made this purchase"
- "it was easy, and easy to fetch from my argos. they had it in my size. i loved it"

So off we headed towards Turkey, known as the most romantic country in the world, according to some guy with a knife, I met in Turkey.

We stayed a week in Turkey, experiencing their culture, which is apparently discos at midnight and eating their strange foreign food, which appears to be chips and spaghetti. On the day before we were meant to return to the UK, I attempted to book a boat tour for the two of us to go on, which would whisk us off to twelve small deserted islands scattered throughout the Mediterranean Sea. It turns out that this boat tour cost more than £20, so I booked a two island tour instead.

As we set-off, our drunk captain and island tour-guide set the romantic mood by flirting with me and made me touch him. My soon to be fiancee and I giggled to each other as the sun beat down on our bronzed torsos and children threw-up over the edge of the boat into the cascading sea.

Our first and second last stop on the tour was to an island that was so deserted that there was no jetty, so our drunk captain dropped anchor a couple of miles offshore and told us to mind the sharks while swimming to the island.

I romantically clung to my slag's back as she swam towards the idyllic little island. The ring was in my pocket and was creating some kind of chemical reaction with the sea-water which in turn was burning my skin. Thankfully after only about fifteen minutes of jewelery burns, my slag dragged me onto the rocky beach. Although tired from clinging onto her back, I insisted that we go explore the island, in order to find a romantic spot where I could either secretly propose or throw rocks at tourists.

There wasn't much of a beach, and the rest of the island was either swamp or jungle, so after evading the swamp we headed towards the jungle, where I went down on one knee and tied my shoelace. Further into the jungle we stomped until our bronzed torsos were covered with the mosquitoes. That's when I told her that we're getting married.

She cried as I sprayed mosquito repellent into her face. Her screams of joy could be heard from nearly three miles away, as our boat captain fired random shots at the island with his rifle, thinking that we were being eaten by a Turkish Bigfoot.

After a leisurely swim back to the boat, mostly because my fiancee couldn't see where she was swimming, she lifted me back onto the boat. In order to retell my romanticisms to my grandchildren or some other young children one day, I asked our captain/tour-guide what the name of this beautiful little, deserted, swamped, mosquitoes filled island was. He looked at me with his big beautiful blood-shot eyes and said, "Eez Rat Island."

Ah, the rat! One of the world's most romantic rodents.

We then set a course for the last stop on our magical voyage, but never quite made it as our tour guide told us that the other island was shit and then he jumped into the sea.

Scatroulette

2010-05-05T13:51:00.000+01:00

Kids have it so easy nowadays. Everything seems to be handed to them on a plate. (Are these clichèd opening lines for a blog?)

Anyway, while watching South Park recently, a website called chatroulette was mentioned as a place you can go to make new friends. The idea behind this website is that you log-in with a microphone and web-cam and you are randomly assigned to other users who are also logged in. You therefore might end up chatting to a plumber in New Zealand or a king in Nigeria. South Park however made out as though it's mostly made up of dirty old men having a wank.

As I was home that Saturday night, ignoring all the phone calls and texts messages from hot women begging me to come out and play with them, I decided to log-in to chatroulette, to see if I could make a friend.

It turns out that South Park wasn't exaggerating. Cock after wanking cock flopped past my screen as I searched for a friend who didn't just see me as a piece of meat. I almost felt sorry for these losers who had nothing better to do than wank to pictures of random strangers on the Internet. How sad does your life have to be to do this?

Anyway, after about three weeks on chatroullete I finally met somebody who wasn't having a wank. It was a couple of young girls of about thirteen and we chatted pleasantly for a bit.

Sad muppet: Hi
Young girls: Hi
Sm: Where you from?
Yg: Oz. U?
Sm: UK.
Yg: Show us your cock.

WHAT??!! How can two sweet, young, innocent, girls have said such a disgusting thing? How had society become so openly sexual to young girls that they demanded to see cock on demand?

Did I grow up in a different universe? When I was thirteen, I couldn't just switch on a computer and demand to see cock. I had to steal alcohol from my dad's liquor-cabinet. Sneak out of my room late at night. Head towards the crime-ridden part of town. Find a homeless man living in a dark alley and bribe him with the booze before I got to see any cock.

I was so upset I almost didn't show them my cock.

The youth in Asia

2010-03-10T13:23:00.000Z

Assisted suicide is considered illegal in most parts of the world. There are cases where husbands are being sent to jail after increasing their wives' pain medication, which lead to their death, even though they were in the last stages of an irreversible disease.

I am a firm believer of assisted suicide and have often in the past tried to help out where I can.

I guess the difficult part is knowing where to draw the line. Does one weigh up the amount of pain the person is in against the possibility of a cure? Some people might have given up on life, but their close friends and family keep holding on, waiting for a miracle.

I don't want to come across as some do-gooder hero, but I have previously dated women who eventually took their own lives. Many of their friends and family later told me that they wouldn't have been able to do it, if it wasn't for me.

Many people would find it offensive if the person you've just started dating took their own life and the first time it happened I was upset. Not just about the two theatre tickets I bought, but on an emotional level too.

The second time it happens, it's not so much of a shock and you learn to only buy the tickets at the box office on the night of the show.

By the fifth time, you kind of expect it, but it's still off-putting watching a woman stab herself in the face over dinner, knowing that she hasn't paid her half of the meal yet.

Has this put me off looking for romance? The answer to that is a simple no. I believe in love. I believe in romance. So if you're reading this and you're single and you also believe in love, why not drop me a line and we can get together and who knows where things will go.

To be fair, I have an idea, but I might be wrong.

I've been framed!

2010-03-02T13:14:00.000Z

I've recently discovered an easy way to make some alternative income.

In the UK there's a show called You've been Framed, which is one of those funny home video type programs, which shows clips from every day people and pets doing funny things or hurting themselves, usually by sitting on white plastic chairs that always break.

Unlike the American version, which rewards the top three videos with cash prizes, the UK show pays £250 for every clip they use in the show. So all one needs to do is to scan through all of one's home videos, find some funny ones and upload them to their website.

I have done this, but I didn't get a reply or any money. I suspect the reason for this is that my videos of unknown women sleeping at night, isn't very funny. So in order to get some money, I'd have to make some funny videos.

After watching the program a few times, I noticed that the majority of clips are:
- People breaking white garden furniture.
- Stupid animals hurting themselves.
- Small children falling down.

This was a problem for me, as I don't have any garden furniture. I don't have an animal that constantly runs into glass doors and I don't have any small children.

I didn't know where to get white garden furniture or uncoordinated animals, but I knew that small children are likely to fall down a lot in playgrounds. So I grabbed my trench coat and video camera and headed towards my local primary school.

To make sure that the video was as plausible as possible, I also had to make sure that the kids didn't see me and preventing them from playing up to the camera. I therefore hid in some trees, with just my lens popping out between the leaves, to record the children running around and waiting until at least one of them falls down.

I had only been filming for a few minutes when a very rude lady came up to me and asked me what I was doing. I didn't have time to go into all the details, as there was limited time before the kids would go back into the school again, so I just told her that I'm filming the children in order to sell the videos on the internet.

I don't know what she heard or how drunk she was, but all of a sudden she started to scream like a mad thing. She made so much noise that all the children came over to see what the fuss was about. It ruined my filming and I had to leave, which is a pity because when I was about a block away I heard lots of sirens coming from the school, which means I missed filming something very dramatic.

At least I know not to film from the trees again, due to all the crazy people out there. I think next time I'll try to sneak into the boys toilets and film from the window.

True Romance

2010-02-23T13:52:00.000Z

I have recently done a survey, which looked at the differences in how men and women view relationships.

There appears to be five distinct groups of relationships and the different sexes view them differently.

Being Single:
Women - The majority of women, when going out to clubs or pubs, are desperately trying to meet a life partner. Quite often they just end up having a one night stand, but even after he's told her that she's fat and smells and thrown her out of his apartment after sex, a small part of her feels like he was a nice guy and that she could change him for the better.

Men - The majority of men go out to clubs and pubs with their mates to get pissed. If they're able to pick up a slag at the end of the night, all the better.

The short term-relationship
(First date for women. Two years for men.):

Women - Throughout the first date, she will be measuring him up as her life partner.

Men - Throughout the first date, he will be measuring up the size of her breasts.

Women - She will want to connect with him on a spiritual level.

Men - He will want to connect with her while level after too many spirits.

Women - She can't wait to tell her friends that she thinks she's found the one.

Men - He can't wait to tell her friends that he thinks they could have some fun.

Women - Stops looking at other men as potential partners.

Men - Stops looking at other women, while his girlfriend is looking directly at him.

The long-term relationship
(Women - Second date until engagement. Men - A minimum of two year, to life):

Women - They will attempt to sculpt him into the perfect partner. If she feels that he drinks too much and stays out too late with his friends after work, she will attempt to break his spirit with constant reminders of their love.

Men - They will attempt to drink too much and stay out late with his friends after work to escape her constant nagging.

Women - They drop subtle hints about marriage.

Men - They will drop subtle hints about threesomes with her hottest friend.

Women - They only look at other men to compare their inferiority to their beloved.

Men - They only look at other women because they want to fuck them.

Being engaged

Women - Their thoughts about planning for the big day are all consuming. They can't focus on simple tasks like being nice or driving.

Men - They have a license to sleep around before they have to settle down.
Although his fiancee doesn't say it, she expects him to sleep with at least one stripper at his bachelor party.

Being married

Women - Their life ambition has been fulfilled. She can now sit back and get fat and watch soap operas.

Men - Their lives are over.

* The above survey does not apply to all people. Some women are lesbians and some men enjoy romantic comedies.

What is your purpose in life?

2010-02-11T11:58:00.001Z

It's one of the big questions. Why are we here? What is the meaning of life? Am I here to make the world a better place? Should I go to India and feed the starving street children?

I have recently discovered that this is all bollocks.

To discover why you're here, you need to understand your body. A few months ago a cricket ball smacked me in the head and I broke my nose as well as cracking my skull. An ambulance was sent out to ask me how much pain I was in. (The ambulance didn't actually ask the question. One of the medics in the ambulance asked the question. If an ambulance had asked me questions I would have thought that I had broken my head.)

Anyway I told the ambulance, as well as the medic, that out of a rating of ten, my pain factor was a three. So this is the yard stick of measuring one's self worth. My brain box bone was broken and I was in mild pain.

Skip forward to a few months later and I was doing some odd jobs around the house, like cleaning out the loft with my ears and painting the ceiling with a cat's tail. Very odd, now that I think about it. So while I was crawling around the loft in the dark I walked into a beam, testicle first.

If an ambulance and a medic had been dispatched to ask me the pain measurement question, I would have told them that my pain factor out of ten, was ten. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. My eyes were watering. I felt like vomiting.

So on a pain factor, I have discovered that one of my testicles is more than three times more important to my body than my brain.

So I have learnt that if I go to India one day and I happen to meet some starving street children, I shouldn't feed them. I should fuck them.

Designing paint colours

2010-02-02T17:51:00.000Z

My girlfriend and I bought a house together last year and I think it's a nice house. It's very house shaped and has a garden and there are rooms and stuff.

However, when we went out to dinner and talked about the house to friends, my girlfriend kept on telling people that there's still a lot of work that needs to be done to it. More specifically, she said that the rooms weren't really done to our taste. Yes, OUR taste. I don't remember us having this conversation, but I'm sure we had it because she tells people that we are planning on painting soon. Yes, WE will be painting soon.

Anyway "we" decided that we will go to one of these giant paint shops and choose some paint for our bedroom. Our bedroom looks fine to me, but apparently "we" aren't happy with it. So "we" had to change it.

So what colour were we going to choose? Red, blue, green, yellow or black? I think those are all the colours but the paint shop apparently has something like seven hundred different colours to choose from.

As I live in a democracy, the choosing of the paint would be a shared decision between my girlfriend and myself.

This is how a democracy works. My girlfriend ignores all my thoughts on what colour I'd like and then tells me what colour we're going to have. I told her that this wasn't really fair so she said that she will narrow the choice down to three colours and then I can choose any colour out of the three colours she chooses. This doesn't seem like much, but it's better than nothing. So I agreed to these terms.

She then chose three whites. I pointed out to her that she's chosen three whites, but she looked at me as though I'm an idiot and told me that they are three different shades of whites. They even had three stupid names to help distinguish them. The three colours I had to choose from were "Pearl necklace 3", "Fresh corpse 7" and "Incestuous sperm 2".

I was unable to distinguish between the three colours, but felt that it was important that I showed the girlfriend that I was taking my decision seriously. So I put on my serious face. Commented about how each colour would go with the carpet and finally and proudly said, "Pearl necklace 3". She then went to the paint counter and ordered "Fresh corpse 7".

I don't know what she would do without me.

Friendly satisfaction

2010-01-25T17:14:00.000Z

Recently one of my closest friends came to me with a confession.

He told me that something had been weighing him down for a while and said that he needed to confess to me that he had done me wrong.

He told me that he had been having drinks with my girlfriend, a few weeks ago and the conversation inevitably turned to sex and she shyly confessed to him that she had never had an orgasm in her life.

He suggested to her that she should get me to do other things with her, but she tried to change the subject. He said that he then tried to slow things down and said that things can just start off with a sensual kiss and the next thing he knew she was kissing him. Soon clothes came off and and they ended up having sex.

He then smugly confessed that at least she had finally experienced an orgasm.

It was at this point I lost my composure. I had been trying to keep a straight face throughout his confession but I finally lost it. I started laughing and and through the tears explained to him that she had been using that same line for years.

I told him that he shouldn't feel too bad as at least four of my closest friends, my boss, my brother and my grandmother had fallen for the same line.

I almost felt bad for him. Some people are so naive.

Invictus spoiler

2010-01-16T15:27:00.000Z

Clint Eastwood's latest film, Invictus, is a remake of of his very own spaghetti western film, High Plains Drifter which was originally released in 1973.

It's a simple story about good (The Springboks) versus evil (The All Blacks).

High Plains Drifter story is as follows, and with some simple Invictus editing:

The story depicts the efforts of a small mining town (edit - mining country) to defend itself against a group of rogue gunfighters (edit - The All Blacks) with the help of a mysterious outsider (Eastwood) (edit - The Springboks), referred to as the Stranger. The town hire the Stranger to protect them.

The Stranger rides into the fictional mining town of Lago. When he enters the saloon, he is followed by three gun-toting men (edit - Australia, Romania and Canada) who taunt him. When one man swivels him around, he shoots them dead.

When he lies down to sleep, he remembers a scene in which a man is brutally whipped. It is revealed later in the film that Marshal Jim Duncan was whipped to death by gunfighters. Various indications throughout the film suggest that the Stranger is some sort of reincarnation or embodiment of Duncan's spirit (edit - spiritual guardian of the game of rugby).

The next day, Sheriff Shaw (edit - President Nelson Mandela) tells the stranger he will not be charged for killing the three men. Meanwhile, the townsmen discuss Bridges and the Carlin brothers (edit - The All Blacks), who are due to be released from prison that day.

Bridges and the Carlin brothers are released from prison and make their way to Lago. They begin on foot but kill three other men (edit - Ireland, Wales and Japan) on the way.

Lago is painted red (edit - green and gold) and the name changed to Hell (edit - Ellis Park) before the gunfighters return. With the town painted red, and a picnic (edit - made by Suzie) and welcoming banner set up for the gunfighters.

When the gunfighters arrive, they encounter almost no resistance at all (edit - Scotland and England). However, the Stranger kills the gunfighters.

Winter festival present

2009-12-14T12:41:00.001Z

Dear Satan

I have been a good boy this year and therefore I think I deserve lots and lots of presents!

Amongst all the good deeds I did, some of the bestest things I did were the following:
- I saw an old lady unable to get a seat on a packed train.
- I watched a blind man attempt to cross a busy road.
- When girl scouts came to my door selling their cookies for charity, instead of slamming the door in their faces, I invited them in.
- While at a funeral of a close friend, I didn't hit on his wife, until the drugs I put in her drink took effect.
- I did some charity work for tards.
- I visited old people in hospital who were too weak to defend themselves.
- There are a homeless couple who live in a cardboard box at the end of my street and on one particularly cold night, I made a lovely hot curry and thought of them while I ate it.
- I gave unwanted and abandoned a pets a new home and learnt to make interesting new recipes in the kitchen.

I'd like a gun!

Thanks
Muppet

Standing for freaks

2009-12-03T12:58:00.000Z

The London underground is filled with the below picture on the tubes.

How offensive is that! Why would I give my seat up to fat people? People with a dead conjoined twins or people who can do rather simple levitating tricks?

Fat people should not be allowed on the tube, let alone be given a seat.

Dead conjoined twin people are so rare, if I see more than five in a month, it's unusual.

People who do levitating tricks scare me a bit, so I might give them a seat, but not because I want to.

I think the London Underground needs to change its policies. What about old people? What about hot chicks with a low-cut top? Am I the only polite person using the Underground?

Talking Bullocks

2009-11-20T13:45:00.000Z

This is how I rate dinner party fanciness. The three levels are:
- wine from a box: Standard dinner party
- wine from a bottle with a screw-off top: Fancy dinner party
- wine from a bottle with a cork in it: Very fancy dinner party (the queen might attend).

I was recently at a very fancy dinner party. People were drinking corked wine and very few people were wearing jeans. By about the second glass of wine, the women folk, who had finished cooking for the men and therefore were allowed to mingle with the other guests, started talking about female celebrities they'd sleep with.

Some of the women were surprised by the others' choices, but the strange thing was that they all agreed that they'd sleep with Sandra Bullock. This seemed strange, as I'm sure most men would probably like to bang her, she's not really at the top of many of men's lists. So why are women so attracted to Sandra?

The reason, as was explained to me by the women, is that she comes across as nice and she does a lot of work for charity.

Yes this is what women look for in a one night stand, celebrity, lesbian fantasy - a solid history of charity work.

Is this the real reason why celebrities do charity. It's that hope that non-celebrity women will find their charity work arousing. Is this why Angelina Jolie adopts orphans? A few years ago, Angelina would have struggled to pull a fifty year old housekeeper in Middlesex, but thanks to some Aids charity gigs in sub-Sahara Africa, women all around the world are considering adding her to their lists.

Can you imagine a group of men having a similar conversation?
John - Jessica Alba is so hot. I'd love to nail her.
Mike - Yeah! She's fit all right. I wonder how much she gives to charity.
Pete - I hear she's a supporter of PETA.
John - So what. All celebrities say they support PETA, but how many of them really get involved?
Mike - That's a good point. Many celebrities merely show up at charity functions because it increases their PR, but are they actually helping.
Pete - I think that they're bringing awareness to the campaign, by being at such a function.
John - True, but they're not really going out of their way to make the world a better place, are they?
Mike - So it's agreed then. None of us will sleep with Jessica Alba, until she makes a significant contribution to charity.
Pete - So which celebrity can we nail?
John - Well, Oprah gives millions to charity every year and Madonna is always doing great work in Africa.
Mike - Oprah it is then!

On the other hand, Brad Pitt does do a lot for charity along with Anglina. Should I add him to my list?

Dirty lesbians!

2009-11-03T20:39:00.000Z

As was previously posted, I have recently moved from the inner city slums, to the countryside with my prostitute and her giant pussy.

I was previously living in a one bedroomed flat, which my prostitute owned and when we decided to move to the farming town of outer London, she decided to rent the flat to prospective tenants, rather than sell it.

I was at home, resting my broken face during this period, so every now and then I had to put pants on when estate agents brought enquiring tenant wannabes.

The strange thing about all the people that came to view the flat was that the majority of them were lesbians. I wasn't aware that there were so many homeless lesbians in the world, but day after day, week after week, schools (I think that's the collective noun) of lesbians would come lesbianing in out of my flat, pretending that they weren't attracted to me, while they looked at the electrical outlets, plumbing fixtures and other lesbian type things that lesbians stare at.

I don't know why lesbians were drawn to the flat. Perhaps the decor is lesbenian. Perhaps they could tell that a real man had never lived there (good thing none of them brought one of those CSI blue lights with them). Perhaps they were drawn to my prostitute, who I think is actually a lesbian.

So the tenants who finally got the flat were lesbians. They came to view the flat twice and and asked me interesting lesbian questions. I've met many lesbians when in my single days and I can confirm that most lesbians aren't attractive. These two however were HOT! I was however a gentleman and my answers obviously satisfied their lesbian needs and they became lesbian tenants.

Prostitute, giant pussy and I moved out. Hot lesbians moved in.

One month on and hot lesbians call us, telling us that the shower is leaking. This never happened when I lived there, even though I used to shower up to twice a month. Home insurance would save us and prostitute dispatches a plumbing type man to look at the hot lesbians' pipes. Shower is mended and everyone is happy.

One week later and the hot lesbians call again and tell us that the shower is leaking again. Insurance plumber and pizza delivery boy are dispatched again.

So here's the thing. The shower was in fine working order when I lived there, but now that hot lesbians are there, they're doing something to the shower, but I don't know what. How can I find out what they're doing? Isn't the answer obvious? I need to install CCTV in the shower! This is my right as a landlord to keep an eye on those pesky, destructive, hot lesbians!

They don't need to know that I've installed CCTV in their shower. I could do it while they're sleeping. They're both deep sleepers and don't even wake up when I stroke their faces.

Bad in bed? Women love it!

2009-10-28T12:39:00.000Z

A well known fact is that chicks dig bad boys.

If a woman had to decide between going out on a date with a priest who devotes all his spare time teaching choir boys about the evil in the world or choosing a man who doesn't do much charity work, but occasionally drinks alcohol and doesn't mind buying some wine for a woman, even though she's not his wife, the majority of woman would choose the man who drinks. Women are stupid.

So in order to boost my image with the fairer, weaker and dumber sex, I've decided to drop my wholesome good boy image and delve into my dark side.

So in order to impress women, I'm going to push them out of the way, if they're in my way and I might even push them if they're not in my way. This rule will only relate to small women, really old women and girls under thirteen years old.

I'm not going to offer a heavily pregnant women my seat on the train. She needs to understand that I'm a bad boy and even though this will result in her finding me incredibly attractive, I'm not going to have sex with her until she loses some weight.

I'm not always going to eat five fruit and veg a day.

If I see a neighbour murder his wife, cut up the body, have sex with the body parts, drag the remaining body to a quiet forest and bury them in a shallow grave, I'm not going to dig up the body and take photos of me having sex with the parts and then later pretend that the photos were faked, when questioned by the police, unless they buy me a beer shandy first!

I'm not going to do all the ironing, unless there are serious creases in my shirts and socks.

I'm not going to apologise to corpses anymore.

Watch out world, a new muppet is here.

Actually, don't watch out. I don't care if you watch or don't watch. I'm bad.

Actually, I do care if you watch because if girls didn't notice my sexy bad behaviour, they're not going to respect me more than previously.

I'm not even going to spell check this article!

Greased sluts

2009-10-21T12:48:00.000+01:00

More filthy lyrics from Grease - Summer Nights.

[Danny]
Summer lovin' had me a blast

[Sandy]
Summer lovin' happened so fast

[Danny]
I met a girl crazy for me

[Sandy]
Met a boy cute as can be

[Both]
Summer days driftin' away, to uh-oh those summer nights

[Everyone]
Uh Well-a well-a well-a huh

All good so far. Nothing sinister to be seen there.

[Thunderbirds]
Tell me more, tell me more

[Doody]
Did you get very far?

Getting a bit personal here.

[Pink Ladies]
Tell me more, tell me more

[Marty]
Like does he have a car?

Women! The only thing they ever care about is cars.

[Everyone]
Uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh

[Danny]
She swam by me, she got a cramp

On the blob?

[Sandy]
He ran by me, got my suit damp

You're sharing a bit too much, Sandy.

[Danny]
I saved her life, she nearly drowned

[Sandy]
He showed off, splashing around

Bukake?

[Both]
Summer sun, something's begun, but uh-oh those summer nights

[Everyone]
Uh well-a well-a well-a huh

[Pink Ladies]
Tell me more, tell me more

[Frenchy]
Was it love at first sight?

[Thunderbirds]
Tell me more, tell me more

[Kenickie]
Did she put up a fight?

Kenickie is confident that not only did Danny rape Sandy, but he'd also like to know if she can take a punch. Nice.

[Everyone]
Uh-huh-uh-huh-uh-huh-uh-huh

[Danny]
Took her bowling in the arcade

[Sandy]
We went strolling, drank lemonade

[Danny]
We made out under the dock

[Sandy]
We stayed out 'till ten o'clock

Are we honestly supposed to believe that ten o'clock was the original lyric?

[Both]
Summer fling, don't mean a thing, but uh-oh those summer nights

[Everyone]
Uh well-a well-a well-a huh

[Thunderbirds]
Tell me more, tell me more

[Putzie]
But you don't gotta brag

[Pink Ladies]
Tell me more, tell me more

[Rizzo]
Cos he sounds like a drag

Tranny suspect?

[Everyone]
shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop,shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, YEH

[Sandy]
He got friendly, holding my hand

No interpretation needed here.

[Danny]
While she got friendly down in the sand

Sand in Sandy's sandpit. This won't end well.

[Sandy]
He was sweet, just turned eighteen

[Danny]
Well she was good you know what I mean

No we don't. You've been so subtle.

[Everyone]
Woah!

[Both]
Summer heat, boy and girl meet, but uh-oh those summer nights

[Everyone]
woo, woo, woo

[Pink Ladies]
Tell me more, tell me more

[Jan]
How much dough did he spend?

Hi Jan. Single?

[Thunderbirds]
Tell me more, tell me more

[Sonny]
Could she get me a friend?

Sonny likes threesomes.

[Sandy]
It turned colder - that's where it ends

[Danny]
So I told her we'd still be friends

Sandy. Welcome to Dumpsville. Population, you.

[Sandy]
Then we made our true love vow

[Danny]
Wonder what she's doing now

Probably having a scratch, if she still hasn't got all that sand out yet.

[Both]
Summer dreams ripped at the seams,

Who honestly believes that Sandy was a virgin.

bu-ut oh, those su-ummer nights....

[Everyone]
Tell me more, tell me more!

No! Fuck off.

Friendly neighbours

2009-10-06T12:55:00.000+01:00

I have recently moved from a depressing one bedroom flat in the city to a lovely three bedroomed house in the burbs. The air is cleaner. The noise is less noisy. The people are friendlier.

On the weekend of the move, I was busy supervising my girlfriend, who was carrying heavy boxes from the car to the house, when a little old lady from next door appeared to welcome us to the neighbourhood.

She walked up to my girlfriend and held out her ninety year old wrinkled hand, saying "Hi, I'm Jane. Welcome."

My girlfriend introduced herself while chatting about the lovely street and lovely trees and lovely day and lovely cats, while the handshake continued. This seems strange, but I'm too handsome to comment.

Near the end of the conversation, my girlfriend's voice becomes shaky and she looks like she's about to pass out. I quickly try to locate the camera, because filming her passing out while shaking hands with a little old lady will be fucking funny. Unfortunately I don't know in which box the camera is, as I was watching TV when my girlfriend did all the packing.

But the handshake ends without my girlfriend passing out, which has worked out for the better, as I still had no idea where the camera was. My girlfriend was softly wringing her hand as she heads back to the car to take the next heavy load into the house.

I approach Jane and hold out my hand and introduce myself. She smiles sweetly and grips my hand in what feels like the jaws of life. Her tiny little wrinkled hand, has the power of an angry bulldozer. Mild tempered bulldozers know nothing about handshakes.

She's crushing my hand, while smiling sweetly and telling me about her cat. A mild sweat has broken out on my brow and I try to fight the pain. I attempt to make mild chit-chat about her cat, but can only think about the pain.

Eventually she lets go and I'm able to breathe normally again. She waddles off to her house and I try and regain some blood back into my pulverised hand.

I sit down on the little wall outside our new home, while the girlfriend carries boxes and makes me something to eat and drink. How is it possible that a little old lady can develop so much power in her hand? Is it possibly a disease that makes her hand clamp down so fiercely? When should I ask for a hand-job?

Evolutionary jump

2009-09-21T17:20:00.000+01:00

Rape statistics in South Africa:

It is estimated that a woman born in South Africa has a greater chance of being raped than learning how to read. One in three of the 4,000 women questioned by the Community of Information, Empowerment and Transparency said they had been raped in the past year.

From X-Men:

In every organism on Earth there exists a mutator gene - the X-factor, as it has come to be known. It is the basic building block of evolution - the reason we have evolved from homo habilus to homo erectus, to homo sapiens Neanderthals, and finally, to homo sapiens.

Taking its cues from the climate, terrain, various sources of nourishment, the mutator gene tells the body when it needs to change to adapt to a new environment. The process is subtle, normally taking thousands of years.

Only in the last few thousand years did mankind begin to make clothes for himself, build shelters, use heat and grow food in large quantities. With this man-made environment remaining relatively stable, the X-factor became dormant.

Until now.

The Answer:

NHS nose best

2009-09-16T17:41:00.000+01:00

On 29 August 2009, I was attempting to play cricket and had a cricket ball smash into my face. For those of you who aren't aware of the rules of cricket, this is not what is supposed to happen in cricket.

I was bleeding from the nose and a cut above my left eyebrow. Anyway, an ambulance was called out, they examined me and, because I'm such a brave trooper, I opted to not go to the hospital, but instead drove home, throwing up only once on the way home.

On 31 August my nose started bleeding again and my girlfriend insisted that we head down to A & E, to have it checked out.

After a thirty minute wait, I had a young doctor have a look at my nose and shined a light in my eye. He said that all looks fine and he'll just double check with the senior doctor on duty, if it's okay to send me home.

He returned about thirty minutes later to tell me that the senior would like me to take a precautionary CT scan. Doctors know best, so thirty minutes later I was led to radiology and my head was made radio-active. About thirty minutes later, the young doctor returned with the results of the scan, I had a skull fracture above my left eye and there was internal bleeding. I was then examined by another doctor, who told me that my nose was broken, but as it appeared to not be out of shape, I didn't need to worry about this. The doctor then booked an appointment for me to see a broken skull doctor in three days time.

Two days later and I have another nose bleed, this one is more of a fountain than a leaking tap, so off to A & E again. I'm told to pinch my nose to stop the bleeding. I tell them between gasps that this just redirects the blood flow down my throat. So they get a bucket and put it under my mouth while I lose over a litre of blood in half an hour. There's a junior doctor type person holding the bucket whose job is to look on the bright side of life. He calmly remarks, "Your blood looks a healthy colour." I say "Good to know", spraying blood over his trousers. He stops talking to me.

Eventually another doctor arrives with a device called a "pack" which is designed to stop nose bleeds after it's shoved to the back of the the nose and down my throat. This pack looks like a small tampon, but feels like a tank when it's shoved up a broken, bleeding nose. The doctor who performs this operation isn't happy with his first attempt, so pulls it out again and shoves another one up my burning, bloody nostril again. Even though the right nostril isn't bleeding, he decides to shove a pack up that nostril too. The bleeding stops. Hooray.

I'm then taken to a little room to monitor my vitals. This is a room where I'm ignored and my vitals aren't monitored. It appears to be more of a place to clean the blood off my face, as I was scaring the other people in A & E.

While waiting in this room, I'm informed that I'll have to be seen by an ENT (Ear nose and throat specialist), but they didn't have one at the hospital I went to, so they'll have to transfer me to St Bart's hospital. They've arranged for an ambulance to take me there within the next hour.

Four hours later and after waiting in three different rooms and one corridor, an ambulance driver appears in my new ward calling out my name, as there's no staff available to tell him where I am. I raise my weak hand, to let him know that I'm the patient he needs to rush over to another hospital before I die. He grabs my chart and says, "Follow me." Hooray! Walking!

I'm taken to the outside of his ambulance, where he informs me that he doesn't have the keys and he has to go look for his mate, who probably has the keys. I'm left in the hospital's main reception, in a hospital gown, in front of the main doors, where a lovely breeze in quite rapidly lowering my body temperature. This is probably standard procedure to help stop the bleeding. About thirty minutes later, the keys are found and I'm rushed to the waiting ENT specialist... after he drops a mate off at home first.

I arrive at St Bart's hospital and informed that they didn't know I was coming and I've probably been brought to the wrong ward. I'm asked to stand around until they can find somebody who knows something about anything or anything about something, I forget which.

I'm then informed that I was in fact at the correct ward and that they'll put me in a bed. Hooray! I finally get to lie down again.

Within an hour of being in my new ward, the ENT specialist arrives and tells me that he can't do anything, because the packs have to stay in for 24 hours before they can be removed and he can examine me.

So looks like I'm stuck in hospital until the next day. Wrong! He doesn't work on Thursdays, and does surgery on Friday morning, so he'll only be able to examine me on Friday afternoon.

What can I do? He's the specialist. He knows best. Let's fight through the next 48 hours and get this sorted.

Thursday comes and goes through pain killers and self-pity.

Friday finally arrives and I look forward to having the specialist return and make the world a better for a sad muppet. The specialist of course doesn't show up and Doctor Nick from the Simpson's removes my packs. He's happy that there's no further bleeding and says that I can go home. What? Isn't somebody supposed to examine me and tell me why I'm bleeding so much? Isn't this the reason, I've been kept in this ward for an additional 24 hours?

Dr Nick looks at my chart and sees that I was admitted because my nose was bleeding, but my nose isn't bleeding anymore. This means his job is done. I'm tired and weak and I'm still on pain killers and I want to go home. I go home.

I'm rescheduled to go see the broken skull doctors and an eye doctor back at the original hospital I went to in three days time.

Three days later and I haven't had any nose bleeds and I'm off to see the eye doctor. I arrive at the hospital's main reception and ask where the eye doctor's building is. Reception informs me that they've given me the wrong details and that I have to go to their ENT clinic first. Fine, let's go there. Of course there's nobody at the ENT clinic and a nurse tells me that they're probably on lunch, but will be back shortly. Thirty minutes later, a nurse from ENT tells me that they can't help me because there's no ENT clinic today. I tell him that I was supposed to go to the eye doctor today, but reception sent me to them. ENT informs me that I couldn't go to the eye doctor today, because their clinic isn't open today either. Come back tomorrow.

I go home and have another nose bleed. My girlfriend returns from work to find me bleeding and we head off to A & E for the third time. By the time I finally get seen at A & E, the bleeding has stopped. The A & E doctor says that they don't have an ENT specialist, but he could get me admitted to St Bart's who will probably just pack my nose. I opt to go home.

We decide that it's time to go private, but for the private health care doctor to see me, he'll need to see my CT scan. How difficult could it be to get a copy of my own CT scan? After a few calls to different departments, I'm finally put through to radiology who inform me that I have to go come to their department, fill out a request form, pay £25 and merely wait two weeks for my copy of the CT scan to be done. Private doctor plans are put on hold.

Two days later and I'm off to see the NHS's broken skull doctor. He informs me that my skull will heal by itself, over the next three months, but interestingly he shows me a picture of my nose from my CT scan which shows a bone pointing sharply to the left inside my nose and informs me that this is most probably the reason for my nose bleeds. I tell skull doctor my NHS sob story and the reason why I can't go see a private doctor. Skull doctor apologises on behalf of the NHS and says he'll organise a copy for me that day, which he does! I can now go private! Hooray.

Private:
- Examination.
- Will need surgery, in six weeks time, if bleeding stops.
- That weekend, more bleeding.
- Monday, surgery and private room for recovery.

So looks like I'm over the worst of it. I still have to go see the eye doctor at the NHS, but what's the worst that could possibly happen when I go see them?

Lifeless flashing

2009-08-27T12:37:00.000+01:00

This morning, as I was preparing to go to work, my kitten attacked me and my life flashed before my eyes.

I've heard this term used before, but I've never actually experienced it. It happened in a flash (hence the term), but I made out most of the details. I presume that in times of near certain death, the human mind likes to relive the highlights.

The following events were the highlights of my life:
- Three years old, I rode a tricycle.
- Six years old, I punched a girl for the first time.
- Sixteen years old, my first kiss.
- Twenty three years old, my first kiss with a living person.
- Thirty one years old, Xbox.
- Thirty three years old, coming second in monopoly.

That's it.

I didn't swim with dolphins. I didn't climb Mount Everest. I didn't murder a prostitute. I didn't find a cure for cancer. I didn't build one of the wonders of the world with my bare hands. I didn't push an old lady down some stairs.

At least I've jumped on a kitten's head.

Sale fale

2009-08-25T13:15:00.000+01:00

Sales marketing in the old days wasn't nearly as good as it is today. Just look at this classic (I say classic, I mean shit) nursery rhyme.

Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns!
One a penny two a penny - Hot cross buns

So the deal you're presenting to me is to either buy a hot cross bun for only one penny, which is a good deal and you've perked my interest, but then you tell me that I can choose to have two hot cross buns for the same price... what's the catch?

Is the second option, buy one get one free, or is the entire transaction two for the price of three? Sounds like you're possibly just trying to move old stock.

If you have no daughters, give them to your sons

You sexist fuck! How dare you tell me how I should feed my children? It might be a fact that girls enjoy sugar more than boys, but how do you expect my daughters to find husbands with your fatty sexist products?

One a penny two a penny - Hot cross buns

Your business is never going to make money and your sexist values will lead to law suits.

I'm sorry I'm out.

War is probably wrong

2009-08-18T12:52:00.000+01:00

In order to get my point across I've decided to write a poem about war. I hope it helps to open up your minds to the truth that has been hidden from you for so many years.

It's called:
Hope

When there are two countries who hate each others.
They declare a war and kill babies and mothers.
But is it right to kill these babies?
Especially the ones who don't have rabies.

What have these babies done to deserve this?
They just lie in their cribs and smell like piss.
I'm aware that some babies cry more than others.
But it's still not right to kill sisters and brothers.

I realise that war takes place in many poor places?
But sometimes rich people holiday there and they blow up their faces.
It's not fair that these rich people should have to die.
Their families will be sad and insurance companies will ask why.

But it's not only the rich who suffer in war.
There are hundreds of films made that are quite a bore.
Some of them are really cool with bombs and shit.
But many others are boring and get on my tit.

We forget so quickly that soldiers have family and friends.
Their grief continues after their life ends.
I watched a documentary about a soldier who was killed.
His family were sad, in fact they weren't thrilled.

So at the end of the day, is war right?
Should we invade countries and force them to fight?
Or should we just ask them to give us their money.
Especially if it means saving a baby and its mummy.

Please take a few minutes to think over these words.

Thank you.

It's official - I'm gorgeous

2009-08-14T12:43:00.000+01:00

I've never considered myself to be an incredibly good looking guy. Yes, I know I'm good looking and yes, I know that most women would rather sleep with me rather than be punched in the face, but "incredibly" good looking? Gosh, I guess I'm just too modest to even think about it.

This all changed yesterday, as I was walking home. When I say walk, I obviously mean strut. I'm a strutter. It's part of my handsomeness.

As I approached the block of flats where I live and poo, I noticed two elderly fat ladies sitting on the curb. As I approached, one of them saw me, stumbled to her fat feet and approached me.

Elderly fat lady: Hi. Do you want a massage?

Handsome Muppet: Um, no thanks.

Efl: Want me to be your girlfriend?

HM: Um, no thanks.

Efl: Do you have 50p for me please?

HM: Sorry.

I strut on by.

So I'm officially incredibly good looking. Women are practically throwing themselves at me to be my girlfriend. I don't blame them. Now just imagine how hot I would be if I had 50p to spend on prostitutes!

This must be how Brad Pitt feels.

Losing my virginity

2009-08-06T13:29:00.000+01:00

I was twenty eight years old and on holiday with my parents at a romantic weekend they organised to get "away from it all". I decided to tag along.

She was also on holiday with her parents.

We didn't want to be stuck with the oldies, so we went to go play in the park. She initially came across as very shy, but I could tell that she had a carefree attitude towards life, as she played in the sand-pit. She wanted to go on the swings and I pushed her higher and higher. We fell breathless to the floor laughing. Everybody else seemed to have left the park. Our emotions got the better of us and we kissed. She initially struggled to get away, but after a while she relaxed when she realised I was much stronger than her.

I took her hand and led her to a romantic bunch of bushes. She was nervous and cried a lot. I undressed her in the moonlight, as she pushed her body up against mine, as I held her arm firmly up against her back.

I whispered secrets in her ear about this being our little secret. She was unable to control her ecstasy and screamed out loud that she wanted her mother. I had no idea she was that kinky.

I told her that this was our time and maybe later we can let others join in. She wriggled her body beneath mine, as she tried to experiment with different angles, but I was inexperienced and decided to stay on top.

Her words said "no", but her body said "yes." Tears of joy streamed down her face.

Afterwards we lay together, content. She just stared up at the beautiful night sky, no doubt thinking about our future together. We held each others hand so tight, it almost felt like I was hurting her.

We kissed good-bye and she gathered up her torn clothes and ran as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. She was obviously on a high.

I never heard from her again, but I'll never forget her.

Good morning dragons

2009-08-05T13:07:00.000+01:00

Today I would like to explore the age old question of "Why do fake breasts look so fake?"

The reason that fake breasts look fake is because they are fake. By that I mean they are made from materials other than boob.

Has this stopped dull-chested women from getting fake breasts? No. They continue to have bits of plastic and aluminium (I think) inserted in their chest area, to make their breasts get a promotion, or become a prostitute.

So how does one solve this problem?

The answer is easy. Dead hot girls.

That's right. There are thousands of dead boobs, just rotting away, which could be used to make stupid-breasted women, bearable to men.

I used to work in a morgue so I have plenty of experience in assessing these types of things. A dead boob feels no different to a living boob.

Do organ donor cards limit doctors from taking just the donors livers and hearts? Would it really be so bad to slice off their jubblies and stick them onto an underdeveloped fourteen year old girl, with self esteem issues?

Better boobs make the world a better place. I know this for a fact because I often walk around my office and tell the girls I work with that they have shit boobs and they always seem upset about this.

Obviously you're all thinking that this is a great idea, but why should we just limit this ingenious idea to just boobs. There are also many women out there who have downstairs operations, because their drapes are hanging a bit close to the ground. Instead of getting your doctor to trim away a pound of flesh, why not remove the whole hole and replace it with a brand spanking new lady axe-wound?

In my time working in a morgue I can also confirm that a dead lady's downstairs area feels better than a living prostitutes foo-foo.

There are probably hundreds of women killing themselves due to their broken boobs, which in turn, means that their lady garden has gone untouched, until they died.

Imagine the fantastic choice one could get from a tragic school bus/train accident.

Finally, I'd like to leave you with one last thought. What if your wife or daughter died. Wouldn't you want to have a part of her live on, on your girlfriend or other daughter?

Getting tardy

2009-07-30T12:36:00.000+01:00

Until recently, I haven't given to charities. I've never helped a charity. I've never promoted a charity. I was under the impression that most charities were run by selfish people who don't care about others.

And I was right.

But I'm open minded enough to realise that if I did "do my bit", as they call it, I might be able to make some money for myself.

It's difficult to ignore the charity collections going on around us every day. At every London train station, you see these entrepreneurs collecting for all kinds of things. There are old people collecting for children. There are young people collecting for the aged. There are even wheelchair people collecting for "the disabled", which I think is a term relating the Welsh.

But I've stood behind my principles as these people approached me, asking for my money, and I've never been afraid to punch the old or wheelchair bound and told the younger collectors that I'm not interested.

There are however stupid people out there who give these people their money, despite them not getting anything in return. This got me thinking. Why are people so stupid. I forgot what the answer was that I came to because I walked into a wall while staring at tits.

Anyway, I decided to start collecting for a charity. The only question was, which charity should I collect for?

After doing some research, it appears that I'm not the first person to think of this. There are more that 150,000 charities in the UK. I would obviously need a target market. The following were already taken:
- Cancer
- Aids
- Heart
- Physically challenged
- Mentally challenged
- Deaf
- Blind
- Cats & dogs
- Goat deliveries

The list goes on and on, so I had to find something that they missed. I composed a short list of possibilities:
- The dead
- Ugly chicks
- People with stupid faces
- Fat chicks
- Animals that are annoying
- Lesbians
- Celebrities who need to be cocked

These were all great, but I needed something that most people could identify with. Something that makes people stop, take notice and want to depart with their money. It also had to be simple. That was when I realised who I would collect for.

I took out my charity bucket and wrote, in large capital letters on it's side, "RETARDS", and headed out to a central London tube station.

Now you probably won't believe me, but there are many rude people out there, who don't want to help retards. Most people just stared at me, probably thinking about my selflessness. Unfortunately after 30 minutes of stares, nobody gave me their money. I changed my tactics and started shouting, "Save the Tards!", at people walking by.

A few people stopped and asked me what tards were and I gave some great impressions in order to get my point across, but they still didn't give me money.

The problem is that people are selfish. People don't care about retards. Tomorrow I'll try my new charity. "CUNTS." Everybody like cunts.

The gift of giving love

2009-07-28T12:59:00.000+01:00

Girlfriend: Guess what.

Handsome Muppet: What?

Gf: Guess!

HM: You're fat.

Gf: No silly.

HM: You've found out I'm cheating on you?

Gf: What?

HM: Nothing.

Gf: Guess what I've got you.

HM: It better start with "D" and end with "inner".

Gf: No silly. It's a present.

HM: Dinner can be a present.

Gf: It's a goat!

HM: What?

Gf: I've got you a goat.

HM: Oh... Thanks. How did you know I like goats?

Gf: It's for an African family.

HM: What?

Gf: I've bought a goat from Oxfam, in your name and they're going to deliver it to Africa.

HM: Couldn't you find a better delivery company. I live in the UK.

Gf: No silly, the goat is suppose to go to Africa.

HM: But you said you bought ME a goat.

Gf: Yes the goat is in your name.

HM: So the goat is legally mine?

Gf: Well technically speaking, I suppose so.

HM: So I can choose to not send my goat to Africa?

Gf: That's not how it works.

HM: Oh I'm sorry. When did receiving presents mean I don't get anything.

Gf: You get the gift of knowing that you're helping people less fortunate than yourself.

HM: So you bought me bullshit as a present?

Gf: Sorry?

HM: You walk in here, without my dinner, then tell me that you've got me a goat, then tell me that I will never be able to fuck this goat.

Gf: What?

HM: Well it doesn't seem like a present to me.

Gf: Did you say "fuck the goat"?

HM: Maybe next time, instead of saying that you bought me a gift, you could just say that you're full of shit and you enjoy wasting my time.

Gf: But you're helping people less fortunate than yourself!

HM: Am I really? Do you have their bank statement? Let's see how bad they're suffering.

Gf: They don't have bank statements. They don't have clean water. They don't even have a house to sleep in.

HM: Ah. So what you're saying is that you've sent MY goat to some layabout bums.

Gf: They're not bums, they live in terrible conditions.

HM: It's so awful, yet they're still able to fuck goats.

Gf: What?

HM: Let's face it, the goat isn't probably too happy to be sent there. Why doesn't the goat get a say in the matter.

Gf: But the goat provides food to the family.

HM: What? They're going to eat my goat?

Gf: Well, they might be starving.

HM: Wouldn't it be easier to send them some burgers?

Gf: But it's not just the meat they need. They use the milk too.

HM: Oh it's like that is it. They want posh goat cheese.

Gf: No, they just want the milk to drink.

HM: This seems like an elaborate way of topping off their tea.

Gf: And they can use the goat's skin and hair to make clothes.

HM: They won't be getting much milk from a skinless goat.

Gf: And they'll want to breed the goats.

HM: That's all I wanted to do with it.

Gf: You're making a difference, by helping these people.

HM: These people who skin goats and then try to milk them. Why don't they just buy their own goats if they like goats so much?

Gf: They can't afford goats.

HM: They should talk to their union about a pay increase.

Gf: They don't have jobs.

HM: What?

Gf: They're simple people.

HM: They're retarded?

Gf: No. I mean they don't have any jobs available.

HM: So that makes them retarded?

Gf: I mean that the whole community is suffering because of the extreme poverty.

HM: My mate Dave doesn't have a job, but I'm not delivering goats to his home.

Gf: Dave has clean water and a bed to sleep on.

HM: How come you know so much about Dave's bed?

Gf: Shit! Bust. I'm sorry.

HM: Why does this always happen to me?

Dirty old ladies

2009-07-17T13:11:00.000+01:00

One day, while googling "old ladies, swallowing and horses", I came across this nursery rhyme. I doubt if you've ever heard it, as it's horrific!

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly
I don't know why she swallowed a fly - perhaps she'll die!

Fair enough. This could happen. An old lady is having a nap. Her mouth is open. A fly flies into her mouth. She wakes up gagging on the fly and swallows it. Nothing weird there, except for the threat of death, which seems a bit weird as it was just a fly.

There was an old lady who swallowed a spider,
That wriggled and wiggled and tiggled inside her;
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly;
I don't know why she swallowed a fly - Perhaps she'll die!

Okay. Starting to get weird. Old lady realises that she's swallowed a fly and instead of possibly having a drink of water, she opts to swallow a spider, which she happens to have handy.

It's true that spiders eat flies, but this seems to be an extreme reaction.

And why is the spider wiggling and tickling her. Surely stomach acids would kill the spider quite quickly. Was the spider inserted in the mouth?

There was an old lady who swallowed a bird;
How absurd to swallow a bird.
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider,

Is it absurd to eat chicken? No, not really. How about if you swallowed a live bird in order to eat a spider that you "swallowed" earlier. Not really absurd, more psychotic.

Of course the use of the word "bird" could be used as slang for her lady friend.

There was an old lady who swallowed a cat;
Fancy that to swallow a cat!
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird,

Staying with the lady friend theme, she's now obviously eating pussy.
Do parents explain this to the kids, when reading the nursery rhyme to them?

There was an old lady that swallowed a dog;
What a hog, to swallow a dog;
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat,

OK, so apparently the lady friend isn't much of a looker, but this seems a bit harsh.

There was an old lady who swallowed a cow,
I don't know how she swallowed a cow;
She swallowed the cow to catch the dog,

Not only is her lady friend fucking ugly, she also obese.

But let's go back a few steps and imagine that we're trying to take this literally again. Spiders eat flies. Birds eat spiders. Cats eat birds. Dogs do NOT eat cats, but might well kill them. But I have never heard of a cow chasing a dog, let alone eating it. Mad cow disease possibly, but she shouldn't be eating that!

There was an old lady who swallowed a horse...

So now she's either sucking off a horse, or she believes that horses eat cows.

If we look at the translation, so far, we have an old lady, who pulled down somebody's fly, shoved a spider up her arse, ate her ugly, fat friend's pussy and then sucked off a horse.

Could this rhyme get any more twisted?

She's dead, of course!

WHAT?

Awesome PI

2009-03-24T20:50:00.000Z

Max Awesome was a private dick. This meant that he was an investigator, who could be hired to investigate private matters and not anything pornographic involving penises.

Max was incredibly handsome, like a full furred goat basting in a low carbon footprint with an ambivalent piece of toast. He had a body that appeared sculpted out of hot college girls’ dreams, but not the type of dream that involved shopping for shoes. Max was also incredibly intelligent like a satellite dish that knew how to program a VCR without a remote control.

He was resting in his office, after translating Tolstoy’s War and Peace into Russian, which he did in his spare time, for orphaned children, when she walked into the room.

She was strikingly beautiful like a drunken teenager lost in a dark park. Her hair bounced with every step she took like an obese seven year old running on a treadmill and flowed down her back like a river of hair, that ended about half way down her back. Her back was like a normal back, but sexier.

She stopped as she reached Max’s solid oak desk, which had been given to him by the Dalai Lama, after Max saved Mr Lama’s life after his bungee cord snapped.

“I want you,” she purred like a cat who could speak English.

“I know,” said Max, handsomely.

“My name is Tatiana Moscowvich. I need your help.” She spoke in a foreign accent. Max suspected that she was Russian.

“Are you Russian?” Max queried, with one raised eyebrow, which hinted at promises of multiple orgasms and free beer.

“How did you know?” She enquired, while her breasts bounced gently like two small puppies killing a kitten with mange.

“I can speak twenty three different languages, Miss Moscowvich. Including Swedish, Switzerland, English and Russian,” Max said with an air of confidence that made him win the Nobel Peace Prize for making women want to have sex with him, despite them not really taking the time to get to know him.

“You’re amazing,” said Tatiana, who was a part time super model, but spent the most of her time working as a scientist on top secret stuff.

Max stood up, stretching his muscular legs and perfect six-pack, which held Tatiana’s eyes briefly, before she stared lustily at his crotch which bulged in his jeans, despite him not having to put socks down there.

To be continued...

The dark alley of dreams

2009-03-09T18:25:00.000Z

Now I’m not gay or anything like that, but on the weekend I dreamt about producing my very own West End Musical.

Is that gay? I don’t think that’s gay. I think it’s a good financial investment. Top musicals are worth millions. Andrew Lloyd Webber isn’t gay and he’s done tons of musicals. So I’m pretty sure it’s not gay. The name of my dream musical is “Knob-rash – The Musical”.

That’s still not gay, is it? I don’t think so. So the dream wasn’t too specific about where the lead actor picked up his knob-rash, but it itched like an angry dragon, which is depicted in the play as actors lying underneath a large piece of green canvas and shaking it vigorously, in the form of an angry dragon.

Urban dictionary’s definition of the angry dragon:

Immediately after you blow your load in a girl's mouth, smack the back of her head and make it come out her nose. When she gets up she'll look like an angry dragon.

I think if you do that to a guy instead of a girl, it might be considered gay, but I don’t think about such things, because I’m probably not gay.

Anyway... we’ve established that I’m not gay even though I dream about West End musicals and sucking off dead pirates.

Kouple Karaoke

2009-03-05T19:46:00.000Z

A nice way of introducing a bit of romance into a relationship is by singing a duet with that special girl in your life. There are some classic hits that are great for duets. So pull up your karaoke machine, plug in the microphone and set the machine to Elton John and Kiki Dee's "Don't go breaking my heart".

Her - Don't go breaking my heart
Him - I don’t really care
Her - Honey if I get restless
Him – I’ll presume it’s that time of the month

Her - Don't go breaking my heart
Him – Yeah I think you’ve already mentioned that
Her - Honey when you knock on my door
Him – I’ll probably want a blow-job

Her - Nobody knows it
Him – I want you to go down
Her - I was your clown
Him – She’s into role-play
Her - Right from the start
Her - I gave you my heart
Him - I spunked on your tits

Her - So don't go breaking my heart
Him – Oh for fuck’s sake! This again!
Her - Don't go breaking my heart

Her - And nobody told us
Him – Why are you still singing?
Her - And now it's up to us babe
Him – Fetch me a beer

Her - So don't misunderstand me
Him – I’m still waiting for my beer
Her - You put the sparks to the flame
Him – I fucked your mum

Valentine's pay

2009-02-13T14:14:00.000Z

A valentine's day present is never easy to buy. Unlike a birthday or Christmas present, it has to be more personal than recycled tampons.

Women can be quite irrational if you give her the wrong thing on what is scientifically the most romantic day of the year.

If you buy her chocolates, she’ll think that you think she’s fat, even though she stuffs kilograms of the stuff in her fat trap every other day of the year. If you buy her a cute, soft toy, she’ll think that you’re a paedophile. If you buy her a vacuum cleaner, she’ll think that you’re going to use it on your cock when she’s out. This is all true, but it doesn’t make buying a present any easier.

This year I’ve gone all out to impress. I’ve killed her boss, whom she hates and left his severed head in the fridge. Then I tracked down her first boyfriend and after some flirting and role play games, extracted a cup of his sperm for her to drink, to make her feel young again.

It’s not easy being romantic, in fact it’s a pain in the arse.

How to pick up chicks - lesson 9

2009-02-06T10:29:00.000Z

Role-play

Every relationship suffers lags from time to time. Even I, the great Sad Muppet, greatest lover in the world, literary genius and other stuff I’m also well at, occasionally needs to ignite the fire of lust in my bitch.

That’s why one needs to mix things up a bit, not only in the bedroom, but also in the kitchen, when cooking. Like when you’re adding spices to a meal or making a salads. You can toss a salad, but mixing it is also allowed, but the lettuce leaves might snap, so be warned. In this case however, I’m only referring to mixing things up in the bedroom.

If a relationship has become long-term (more than two weeks), things may become dull in bed. She might not be interested in sex as much as she used to be and even pretend that the mere prospect makes her physically sick. Sometimes she will literally vomit when you touch her. This might because she’s shy or dying of a deadly disease. In either case, it’s up to you to make her feel better, by having sex with her. I know this will work, because I usually feel better while having sex, except during that bear incident.

A very popular way of igniting the flame of lurve is through role-play. There are different types of role-play one can try. Here are a few suggestions.

- Dress up like a fireman and show up at her place with your hose out ready to save a damsel in distress. Please note: Check to see when she’s having her parents round for dinner before doing this.
- Dress up like a policeman and show up at her place, suggesting that you’ve been tipped off that she’s hiding drugs on her person and she’ll have to be thoroughly examined. Please note: Do not bring a fake police dog with you that attacks under the command word “Hitler”.
- Dress up like Osama Bin Laden and threaten to blow up her flat if she doesn’t do as you say. Please note: If you’re taking public transport to her place, remember to only get changed into the outfit when you arrive.
- Dress up like her father and ask her who her daddy is. Please note: Do not do this if she was molested by her father when she was a child.
- Dress up like Godzilla and threaten to destroy the city if she doesn’t suck you off. Please note: This one can be very expensive and you’ll need at least thirty people to help control the robot.
- Dress up like a school principal, who will cane her for being a bad, bad girl. Please note: Do not do this if she’s still at school at the time or dead.
- Dress up like her ex-boyfriend, who use to beat her up a lot, if she didn’t give him money to support his drug habit. Please note: Do not do this, if her ex-boyfriend is visiting her at the time. Wait until he’s gone.
- Dress up like a catholic school girl, who wants to be naughty. Please note: Do not get horrendously drunk before going over to her place and accidentally end up in a gay bar in Soho instead.
- Dress up like the man of her dreams. Please note: Make sure you distinguish her dreams from her nightmares before buying the costume. Chainsaws can be expensive.
- Dress up like surrealism. Please note: Time is fish.
- Dress up like Batman and show up at her place to protect the innocent from evil doers. Please note: Do not bring a homeless man with you and tell him to rape her, so that you can beat him up, if he’s much stronger than you.

But the favourite role-play that my girlfriend and I like to play is just by going to a pub that we’ve never been to before and pretend that we don’t know one another. I will go up to her and introduce myself while offering to buy her a drink. She will introduce herself to me and accept my offer and then go have sex with somebody else in the toilet.

Please form an orderly queue

2009-01-27T17:16:00.000Z

==================
Male Escort for hire
==================

Ladies! Are you single? Are you lonely? Are you carrying some weight and therefore unable to attract a man? When you go to bed at night do you pray for a man instead of trying to help starving children in Africa?

Wait no more, because Sad Muppet Male Relationship Agency is here to help.

Sad Muppet Male Relationship Agency provides not only an escort, but ALL the extras that come along with being with a man.

The problem with most escort agencies is that their escort will merely escort the client to her company’s yearend function, for example, and leave her with a happy ending. This is unrealistic.

Sad Muppet Male Relationship Agency provides a more realistic escort agency.

I will not only escort you to your yearend function, but I will also get horrendously drunk and embarrass you in front of your boss. When you eventually drag me home, I will pass out in a pool of my own vomit.

Furthermore, part of my realistic duties will be to:
- Get you to cook and clean for me
- Leave the toilet seat up
- Watch sport all day while drinking beer
- Unsatisfying sex
- Burp and fart
- Flirt with your sister
- Keep you awake with my snoring
- Never show appreciation
- Mock your stupid girly ways
- Fuck your grandmother
- Make you watch action films with me
And
- Forget important dates

Book now! First twenty customers get naked photos taken of themselves and the photos shown to all my friends.

Add it up

2009-01-23T13:31:00.000Z

The top ten reasons why basic maths skills are dying out:

7. The age of computers
3. Teenage pregnancy
9. The recession
And finally,
3. Global warming

Happy Stalker's Day

2009-01-22T21:12:00.000Z

There are people in this world who are desperate and lonely. They don’t know how to interact with other people in a social environment. These people are unable to be in a stable relationship and therefore resort to the time honoured tradition of stalking.

Stalking is generally frowned upon by most country’s judicial systems and a few hot girls I know, but does that make it wrong? No. Stalking is just misunderstood, like fat people having feelings or IKEA furniture.

Stalking wouldn’t be such a problem if more people were open minded or enjoyed the attention they’re getting from some handsome/suicidal stranger lurking in the dark. People are sometimes too quick to point their accusatory fingers at a stranger with a telescope on the opposite building’s roof from their bedroom window, who’s wearing nothing but a trench coat and masturbating, for example. Maybe there’s a logical explanation for this person doing this. Why do half naked women immediately think that they’re being stared at when there might be a funny program on the television behind them, that this person might be trying to watch, Felicity!

We live in a society of fear. Mothers think that every middle aged man, in a panel van, parked outside a school, giving away free sweets, is up to something. Whenever a white person walks through a black neighbourhood late at night and they see a group of youths approach him or her, they automatically think that they’re going to play some awful rap music to them. Whenever we see a terrorist climb onto a plane with a bomb, we start having second thoughts about taking the same flight.

The news has made us scared to live in our own homes/flats/battered spouse institutes and why? It’s because fear sells! Valentines day. Mother’s day. Father’s day. Christmas day. Rape a fat chick day. New Year’s day. These are all examples of Big Brother controlling us and making us spend our hard earned cash on junk we don’t need in our lives.

So when the government inevitably introduces “Be aware of stalkers day”, just say no. Ignore the guy following you through the park, late at night. Ignore the man following in the dark alley, whose footsteps are getting closer and closer, but for the love of God, stop ignoring the heavy breathing phone calls. Have some compassion! I have asthma and I’m wanking while imagining you naked, tied up to my bed, with goats’ horns and pigeon feet.

Milking a riddle

2009-01-21T17:47:00.000Z

About three weeks ago, I was running low on milk, so I thought I’d do a quick dash to the corner shop, which is about four minutes walk from my flat and pick up one or two pints of milk. It was quite cold out, so I had to first spend five minutes wrapping myself in about eight layers of clothing. I locked all six locks on my door and descended the ten stairs to the ground floor, before exiting my apartment complex, which is called “nine”. Um... I saw seven elephants while on route to the shop.

Now for the clever part.

If you reread the top paragraph, you’ll notice that I very cleverly hid some words which separate, don’t make much sense, but if you put them together and in the correct order, you’ll be amazed by your discovery.

Have a look.

Got it yet?

Still looking?

Don’t give up!

Scroll down for the answer.

Don’t scroll down if you don’t know the answer.

I presume you now have the answer, because you’re scrolling down.

Unless you’re cheating.

Cheating is wrong.

Unless you really have to cheat, like on an exam or an aids test.

The answer is....

You’ll be amazed!

In the top paragraph the words “milk, elephant, complex, eight and stairs“ are used in no specific order, but if you change the words around to:
Stairs
Complex
Elephant
Milk
Eight
... and you take the first letter from each of these words, you’re left with the word “sceme”, which is my own clever sceme which you all have fallen into! Ha ha! Don’t you all feel foolish for falling into my word trap game thing! Unless you worked out the answer before I gave it to you. Then well done to you, because you’re quite clever, but to the rest, you didn't and therefore aren't as clever.

So there.

Go away.

Whoreding your pride

2009-01-19T16:07:00.000Z

What would you do for £1 million?

Jump off a double story building? Eat a kilogram of cat poo? Wrestle an alligator? Chat to an old person for more than five minutes? These are all crazy ideas that a person wouldn’t normally consider, but if a carrot is dangled in front of their pride, they might be tempted.

We’re all prostitutes at heart, it’s just a matter of how high your asking price is.

I once shagged a slightly chubby girl for a six-pack of beer. Now I’m not proud of this fact, but I needed beer. Some people would have done it for a million pounds, because some people need a million pounds.

In my defence, I was quite drunk when this happened and the girl was already dead, so it wasn’t like she was going to run off and tell people about it.

Another point in my favour is that she had decomposed quite a bit when I got to her, so she wasn't as fat as she use to be.

Six beers though! Score!

Queuing pains

2009-01-12T17:03:00.000Z

Women love shopping, because they're stupid.

I can't think of any other reason why they would enjoy spending time in a place where all staff members are on minimum wage and you have to compete for your purchases against the dreaded general public.

I hate the general public. They’re rude. They smell. They cry to mummy if you touch them there. They’re weak!

Clothes shopping for men is simple. Go into shop look for jeans in your size. Take jeans to cashier. Give cashier money. Walk out of shop. This is what must be done, even if the man is shopping for a new shirt. Jeans are simpler. Deal with it. I own many jeans.

But clothes shops are relatively simple compared to supermarkets. For the love of God, why are so many stupid people drawn to supermarkets?

These aren’t just conventionally stupid people. These are people who meander up and down the aisles staring off into space, ignoring other shoppers. They are fascinated by household detergents. They gawk at vegetables as if they’re recognising a long distant relative, which appears to be a fair reflection on the situation. If you’re standing behind them and waiting for them to move out of the way and softly suggest to them that they either put the fucking carrots in their trolley or move along, they look at you as though you’re the rude one. It’s bizarre.

If this isn’t bad enough, here’s another great idea for mums to do while shopping. Bring the fucking kids! Especially if they’re still toddlers. Hooray. I’m sure they’ll behave. I’m sure they won’t be a nuisance.

There should be a law passed which allows shoppers to kick children in supermarkets if they’re not in a one meter radius of their parent.

To top off one’s shopping experience at the supermarket is the queuing behind brain dead fucks, for thirty minutes to pay for your shopping.

If I’m in a queue with at least three people in it, I can rest assured that one of the people ahead of me will want to discuss the price of certain objects with the cashier before paying. This person will also not pack their bags until all the items have been rung up by the cashier and this person will want to pay by cash. Not just any cash, but the exact fucking amount to the last fucking penny, which the person keeps in a very small purse at the bottom of his/her handbag. This person will also only start looking for this purse after the full amount has been rung up. I fucking hate these people.

My precious life is ticking by because stupid people are fucking stupid.

NO I DIDN’T BRING MY OWN BAGS! GIVE ME SOME FUCKING PLASTIC SO THAT I CAN KILL THIS WORLD WITH ALL ITS STUPID FUCKING PEOPLE IN IT.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2009-01-08T17:58:00.000Z

Fuck off!

What's so fucking happy about it? Do people only say this because it hasn't been as crap as their previous year, yet? Well guess what, I bet this new year is going to be crap again and you'll be wishing for a happy new year next year again.

Cunt!

Rude tube

2008-12-10T20:45:00.000Z

One of the biggest problems about living in London is using the Underground. Overcrowded, smelly and filled with angry London commuters.

The most irritating problem, as I see it, is the lack of basics manners. The English are considered to be an overly polite nation, but as soon as they get on the London tube network, rudeness is dispensed like a new choir boy at a Catholic school.

I was recently on the Central Line, on my way home from work, when a heavily pregnant women, pushed a stroller with a baby onto the carriage I was on. As it was a rush hour, there weren’t any seats available, but everybody who noticed her getting onto the carriage quickly looked down at their books, newspapers or backpacks that they were previously placing batteries into.

I don’t claim to be a knight in shining armour, although I have previously seen horses and have been fascinated by swords since I was a young boy.

I stood up and offered my seat to the damsel in distress, as I was manly enough to stand for the three stops to my station exit. She was clearly thankful for my politeness and I could see the relief on her face as she was able to take all her weight off her feet.

Soon after this, our train was held on a red signal just before entering the next platform. Our tube driver announced that there was a faulty train further along our line and it would be quite some time before we’d be on the move again. There was a collective sigh of irritation amongst the passengers at the lack of London Underground’s efficiency, as I nudged my way back to my seat again.

The pregnant lady, who was occupying my newly relinquished seat, was busy giving a bottle of milk to her baby as I approached. As I came to a standstill next the push-chair facing her she looked up and smiled, recognising me as the gentleman who brought some relief to her tired feet. I gave her a polite smile back and asked, “Do you need help standing or can you do it by yourself?” Always the gentleman.

She seemed a bit confused by the question, but hesitantly replied “I can stand fine by myself, thank you. Why do you ask?”

Oh dear. It seems like she hadn’t heard what the driver had just announced. She was probably distracted by her child or some other woman problem.

I calmly explained to her, “The driver announced that we’ll be stuck here for a while, which I obviously didn’t know was going to happen when I offered my seat to you. So can I have my seat back now please?”

The look on her face appeared confused even though I had explained the situation quite clearly. She stuttered, “But... but I’m pregnant.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I offered you my seat, but pregnant or not the initial seat contract we entered into a few minutes ago has changed.” I calmly noted for a small womanly brain.

Fatty still seemed confused by the carefully explained situation, before defiantly simply saying “No” to me.

How rude! This is typical of the average London commuter. I was nothing but a gentleman during this malarkey and this fat slut has the gall to say “No” to the one gentleman who, if given a chance would have come on her tits or in her arse instead of knocking her up again.

I had to threaten to hit her baby, before she relinquished MY seat! Let’s face it. Some people are just rude.

Little cock of Horrors

2008-09-27T18:03:00.000+01:00

I’ve given you hand-jobs.
I’ve given you sock.
You’ve given me nothin’
But a flaccid small cock!
I’m begging you sweetly.
I’m down on my knees.
Oh please,
Grow for me.

I’ve given you soft porn
And KY for lube
I’ve given a big girl
With one giant boob
Oh God, how I missed you.
Oh God, how they tease.
Now please,
Grow for me.

I’ve given you two girls with one cup
To get you to thrive.
I watched dead goats, like I'm suppose to
You’re barely alive.
I’ve tried all levels of texture
From rough hands to a kiss!
I’ve given you Viagra and mineral supplements.
What do you want from me? Piss?

"Ow! Damn Toilet! Urine everywhere!"

I’ve given you sunlight.
I’ve given you rain.
Looks like you’re not happy
Unless I drain my main vein.
I’ll give you a few drops,
If that’ll appease.
Now please...
Oh, oh, oh, please...
Grow for me!

Time Travesty

2008-08-22T20:11:00.001+01:00

I have experimented with and have discovered that time travel should not be taken lightly.

My theory is relatively simple. While moving at great speed in a static environment, the speed of light should be pushed in the opposite direction of the moving object and bounced off two mirrors, thereby going back and forth in a "static - moving" environment, thereby causing time to reverse on itself.

The closest I could get to testing my theory, was by taking two mirrors and a torch onto a plane. I set up my experiment as we had reached maximum altitude and therefore at maximum speed.With baited breath I aimed my torch towards the rear of the plane, where the first mirror was set up (the second mirror was obviously attached to my forehead).

At first nothing seemed to have happened and I concluded that the theory had failed, but once the plane had landed, I noticed that I had in fact traveled back in time by about thirty years.

The people I met were naive to the future and modern day living. The hair and fashion sense made me cringe, as I remembered how awful fashion was back then. I made sure that I didn't kill anybody important, like Hitler or Gary Glitter, as I knew that this would have repercussions.

I was so afraid that I would change something, I boarded the next plane out of Auckland and reversed the time travel machine, by aiming the torch towards the the front of the plane this time.

I landed safely back in London 2008.

Ooh baby!

2008-04-23T20:05:00.000+01:00

Is it my imagination or is paedophilia on the rise?

When I was a boy, I could go up to any homeless man in the street and put my hand in his pocket, in case he had some sweets in there for me.

Kids aren’t allowed to do that nowadays because they’ll be raped. This hardly ever happened to me.

So what’s made these homeless people so sex craved?

The answer is simple. Pop music.

Listen to any music on the current charts and you’ll notice that it’s filled with very suggestive lyrics.

For example:

Ashanti - Baby
Could have the power to take over mine..cause your
my...
Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby,(baby I love you),
Baby, baby,baby baby,baby,
I love it when I hear ya name,
Got me sayin’ baby, baby, baby, baby, baby(baby I love you)
Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby.

Ramones – All Screwed up
I miss your body, baby, next to mine
Ooooh, baby, yeah we sure felt fine
I miss you baby, oh yeah
Baby, babyBaby, baby, aw ahhh, baby, baby, oh yeah (oh yeah)
Baby, baby, aw ahhh, baby, baby, aw ahhh
Baby, baby, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah

Toni Braxton - You're Makin' Me High
All I want is
Moonlight with you there beside me
All night doin? it again and again
You know I want you so bad
Baby baby baby (baby baby baby baby)

Janet Jackson - Love Scene (Ooh Baby)
Ooh baby ooh baby
Ooh baby ooh baby
Ooh baby ooh baby
Ooh baby ooh baby
When you're holding me
When you're loving me
When you're fucking me

Why can’t Janet be more like her brother?

You’ll notice that all these lyrics are about babies. What’s a homeless man to think, while listening to his Ipod?

I think it’s time that the music industry started lifting their standards. Let’s get some more lyrics out there about prepubescent teens!

Dancing with Shakespeare

2008-04-09T20:26:00.000+01:00

A new scourge has hit the streets of London, with the release of the new American dancing film, How she move. Hundreds of graduate BA students have been defacing advertising posters of this film all in the name of “proper English”.

Clementine De Glanville-Stimpson, spokesperson for this rogue group of well-spoken gang of thespians, believes that they’re improving society, by correcting poor English. “When I first saw the title of this cinematic creation, I was abhorrently appalled. Soon after this I felt repugnantly nauseated. Which was later followed by a feeling of indignant insobriety infused with discantatious fintinculation.”

“The fact of the matter is that this film has become a billboard for poor English.” Mz De Glanville-Stimpson continues, “England is already suffering at the hands of pop culture. Many of today’s youth are drinking tea from mugs instead of cups. Where will this madness end?”

Mz De-Glanville-Stimpson is well supported by the hundreds of BA graduates, who don’t have much else to do after finishing university with a degree, which is useless to society and a mockery to their own sense of self worth.

BA students hate people with rhythm.

A helping hand

2008-04-05T18:22:00.000+01:00

So last night, I'm out on the town and this woman says to me, "I want to stay with you tonight."

And I'm like, "I know you do. I'm hot!"

And she's like, "I want you to take me home and climb into your bed."

And I'm like, "Oh yeah! You're dirty aren't you?"

And she's like, "I'm very dirty. I need a bath."

And I'm like, "I bet you do!"

And she's like, "And some food."

And I'm like, "Ooh! You're hungry for me, aren't you?"

And she's like, "I'm starving. I haven't had anything to eat all day.

And I'm like, "Oh I know what I can feed you. Come with me."

And she's like, "Thank you so much! You're so kind."

And then we went home and I like nailed her and stuff.

Homeless people are great!

Beauty is in the eye of the pie holder

2008-04-02T19:55:00.000+01:00

In the news this week:
Chloe Marshall is the teenage beauty queen who broke the mould by becoming the first size 16 beauty queen contender to make it to the finals of the Miss England contest.

And now she reveals her shapely body in the official Miss England bikini – not forgetting her tiara of course – in her first bikini photoshoot since winning the Miss Surrey title.

Posing confidently poolside in the brief white gem-embossed Miss England bikini which she'll wear in the pageant in July, Chloe appears completely lacking in self-consciousness.

Many people will read this story and think, good for her and not think about the fat picture.

The problem is that beauty queens are role models to the young. What will happen if beauty queens start letting themselves go a bit?

What good can come from a world filled with women who aren't self-conscious about their bodies?

I don't want to grow up in a world where thirteen-year-old girls don't feel guilty about not vomiting up their supper.

I don't want to grow up in a world where women are recognised more for their brains than their looks.

I blame twenty first century upgrades. Breasts became very popular during the end of the last century. As we entered the new millennium, J-Lo started making big bums (not homeless people)popular. It was only a matter of time before the ladies started combining the two and then filling in the gaps. Don't they know that that is what the penis is for?

It's a world gone mad!

Thin ladies are happy ladies.

Who the f*ck is Dave?

2008-03-16T21:11:00.000Z

Last night I spent the evening at my girlfriend’s place and because I’m so incredibly handsome and charming and because my girlfriend was quite drunk, I was able to have intimate relations with her and her vagina.

I won’t bore you with all the disgusting foreplay details, but will skip two minutes straight into the sexual climax part.

My girlfriend is usually quite docile in bed. Quite often she pretends to not be enjoying it, but last night she seemed very frisky. More to the point, she was quite vocal.

As we were approaching climax, she seemed more and more excited until I heard the words every man dreads to hear when he’s in bed with his girlfriend.

“Oh God! Yes Dave! Yes!”

Now these are words that probably don’t worry guys called Dave, but for the rest of us, and I happen to be one of these men not called Dave, we can find it quite confusing.

Anyway, once these words were screamed, it put a slight dampener on the proceedings and we both just lay in bed not saying anything to one another.

I guess I should have said something, but two very important questions were going through my mind and I didn’t know how to address the issue.

Firstly, who the fuck is Dave?

Secondly, why am I screaming Dave’s name out loud while I’m having sex with my girlfriend?

NHS’s kinky requests

2008-03-12T23:50:00.000Z

When I first arrived in the UK, I had to register with the NHS, in order to be given horrible diseases, in case I had to go to hospital due to an ingrown toenail.

I was unaware of the process of registering and as I’m a manly man, I did not ask for directions or information about this process, as this might make me appear to be slightly feminine. Anyway I went along to my local doctor’s office, without asking for directions, where a receptionist gave some forms and a plastic cup and told to return at a future date.

Of course my manly manliness again prevented me from saying to the receptionist, “What the fuck am I suppose to do with this plastic cup?” I merely gave her a manly nod of the head and strode home in a manly manner.

The cup was quite small and had a lid, so as my Sherlock Holmes instincts took over, I presumed that I had to fill it with some type of fluid from my body. This left me with five options:
- Piss
- Shit
- Blood
- Vomit
- Semen

Or possibly a dangerous mixture of all of the above.

My Sherlock Holmes instincts continued to take hold of me and logic dictated that the cup was too small for shit and vomit and if they wanted blood, surely they would have given me some kind of pointed stick to help me sever an artery. So I was left with piss and semen, just like a London Underground train.

As the day of the appointment approached I considered what the reactions of the incorrect sample at the doctor’s office would be like. If I whipped out some warm yellow liquid, when they were expecting some throat yoghurt, would they expect me to have a wank in the doctor’s office? What if I couldn’t perform under the pressure of the situation and they’d have to get a sexy nurse or two to join me in the office in order to give me a hand?

I couldn’t even imagine that… at all… two nurses… wanking me off… ewe!

So on the day of the appointment, I decided to take them some of my wee.

Of course I had a back-up plan, in case my fluid was too yellow for their liking. I decided to keep the little plastic cup of wee, with its lid tightly shut, inside my jacket pocket and when the doctor asked me for my urine sample, I would simply remove the cup from my pocket and hand it over. But if the doctor asked me for my semen sample, I would claim to have forgotten my cup at home, but if he’s willing to send three nurses in, I would quickly remedy the situation.

Genius!

I waited in reception, armed with wee and was finally called in to see the doctor. To my surprise I was not greeted by a sixty year old man with a grey beard, but by a very attractive female doctor who was about my age.

Time seemed to slow down as she asked, “So do you have…”

What will she ask for? Urine or semen? URINE OR SEMEN??

The doctor continued, “… a little present for me?”

WHAT? I had not expected this. I needed a clear-cut question. This could go horribly wrong. I replied, “Um…”

I was hoping that she would help me out.

I got nothing but a blank stare from her.

I continued, “Do you mean my…”

I left the sentence hanging, hoping that she’d finish it for me.

Nothing!

I gulped and finished “… urine sample?”

“Yes,” She politely replied.

I exhaled with relief. Whipped out my cup of wee and handed it to her.

Why must women act all coy when they want your wee? Why can’t they just come out and say it?

“Little present?” My ass!

Python vs Chihuahua

2008-02-28T19:30:00.000Z

An interesting story appeared in the papers this week about a python eating a pet Chihuahua.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2008/02/27/wpython127.xml

Which makes me wonder what the conversation between these two animals was before the snake attacked. I imagine it being something like this:

Chihuahua: Hi! I'm a dog. Do you want to be my friend?
Python: Fuck off! Animals can't talk.
C: Then why are you talking?
P: I'm not. Sad muppet is typing this.
C: Who's Sad muppet?
P: The person writing this conversation.
C: I don't understand. Is he writing down what I'm saying?
P: No. You're not real. This is all in his mind.
C: Of course I'm real. There's a newspaper article about me at the top of this blog. You're also in it.
P: I know. The picture makes me look fat.
C: Only because I'm overweight and you ate me.
P: Why do you eat so much?
C: I guess I have low self esteem. It's not easy being one of the smallest breeds of dogs in the world. All the other dogs make fun of me.
P: Your problem is not your breed. Your problem is you. You need to love yourself before you can move on in life.
C: Is that a wanking joke?
P: No. I mean you need to love the person you are, on the inside.
C: Well that's ironic, because you're going to eat me and therefore I'll be inside you.
P: Lol. True.
C: Hey. We're getting along now. Are you still going to eat me?
P: Well I have to. The story is about me eating you.
C: But I thought this was all in Sad muppet's mind.
P: Yes it is and in his mind, I eat you.
C: No. In the article, you eat me. Anything can happen in Sad muppet's mind.
P: Not really. He has a limited intellect.
C: Why do you say that?
P: Look at this pathetic conversation we're having.
C: What do you mean?
P: Well it's not really going anywhere. He's just typing random crap onto his blog where all his loser "friends", will end up making fun of him.
C: Well that doesn't sound like real friends to me.
P: That's why I had "friends" in inverted commas.
C: Oh. I didn't know you did that because we're talking and therefore I can't read what you meant.
P: Well I guess I could have used my hands to use the quote symbol with my fore fingers and index fingers, but I'm a fucking snake and therefore can't do that.
C: Good point.

Sleeping for love

2008-02-18T20:31:00.000Z

Dear Susan

I write this letter to you with teary eyes and a heavy heart.

We’ve been seeing each other for about three months now and although I think we had something very special at first, I feel that our relationship has been quite stagnant of late.

I’m not the type of guy to point the finger of blame at who was in the wrong, as it doesn’t help us in going through the list of why I made an effort and you didn’t.

I guess all relationships go through tough times, but if both partners are willing to work at it, they get over these difficulties and emerge on the other side stronger because of it, however our relationship just continues to sink into a never ending sea of despair.

I remember the day when we first met. How was I to know that working as a janitor, during the night shift at the hospital, would lead to love? Earlier that day you had been in a horrific car accident and as you lay there, so helpless in I.C.U., my heart went out to you. Over the next couple of weeks as you lay in I.C.U. recovering, I always made sure to check up on your condition and by the third week, after your condition was considered stable, you were given your own room in the “coma wing”, as it’s become known by the staff.

Having your own room meant that we were able to get to know each other more intimately and I remember how your heart monitor raced when I first suggested that we explore one another sexually. It’s as though you could really hear me and you were excited by the prospect.

Do you remember the first night your naughty hand slipped into my pants to feel my privates? And then the night you gave me my first blowjob? You looked so sexy as I crouched over your face, trying to concentrate on opening your mouth and also listening to see if anybody was approaching in the corridor. We felt like naughty teenagers, alive with the discovery of one another’s bodies.

And then the night that we became one, was one of the most memorable nights of my life. We had discussed it at length (well I discussed it while you listened), and in the end we decided that it would make our relationship stronger, so the next evening I snuck some champagne and flowers into your room, in order to set the mood. Little did I know at the time that the champagne I poured into your I.V. that night nearly killed you the next morning, but I guess all romances have to overcome great difficulty.

All the other girls I’ve dated have always been so negative. Many of them kept insisting I was some kind of weird stalker and they kept calling the police about me. It’s as though they didn’t really want to be with me, but you were different. The thing I really I liked about us was that you never complained. You never stopped me from living every sexual fantasy I could come up with and you were always there to listen to what I had to say, at the end of the day.

But now those early romantic days seem so far away. Lately it seems that you’re just going through the motions. Last night when we made sweet love, you just seemed to lie there. You seemed so distant. Your heart monitor hardly ever increases in rate lately and now when I tell you about my day, you seem to be not really listening. In fact it seems like you’re in a world of your own. I just wished you made more of an effort.

Well if that’s how you want to be. Fine! I can take it. I won’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt, but I guess I have to be grown-up about it and move on with my life.

And if you’re thinking that this has something to do with the new cute blonde girl who was wheeled into the coma wing last night, you’re wrong. I don’t like her like that. Yes she’s good looking and has firm breasts and a tongue ring, but what we had was something special.

Anyway, I guess this is good-bye and good luck. I hope you come out of your coma soon and you’re able to get over losing the love of your life.

Yours faithfully
Muppet

“Daddy. Where do babies come from?”

2008-02-13T13:05:00.000Z

The question caught me off guard, as I had just finished preparing my six year old for bed and expected him to fall asleep within minutes.

But as I looked down on him, I could tell that there was no sign of tiredness in his eyes and therefore this question had probably been puzzling him for quite some time. I consider myself a modern father and won’t try to shun negative stereotypes from my children’s eyes, but wasn’t sure how to reply to this one.

“Um, why do you ask Johnny?”

Johnny looked up at me with his big innocent eyes and said, “Is it when a man puts his thingy in a woman’s mouth?”

I looked back at him with stunned silence. Johnny had obviously heard some kind of sordid story, probably from older kids and it was up to me to sort things out.

“Well, no. Babies can’t be made like that.”

“So putting a thingy in a woman’s mouth has nothing to do with babies?” he enquired.

If I was going to tell him the truth, I guess I had to be honest. “Well it does sometimes play a roll in making a baby. Sometimes a daddy is tired and doesn’t feel like have special hugs with a mummy, so the mummy encourages a special hug by putting the daddy’s thingy in her mouth.”

“Special hugs?”

I realised that I had to start from the beginning.

“You see, Johnny. When a daddy has had a tough time at the office, he quite often goes to a pub for a few drinks, instead of going home to his fat bitch.”

“Do you mean mummy?”

“Yes I do, but she wasn’t a mummy, back then. She was a lazy, good for nothing bitch who watched soap operas all day and ate junk food.”

“Ewe! No wonder daddy needed some happy drinks.”

“Exactly, but after six or seven pints daddy knew that he had to head on home, but the problem with happy drinks is that it makes mummy look semi-decent, so when daddy got home he felt like having some fun with mummy.”

“What kind of fun? Did you want to play playstation?” Johnny’s eyes lit up, as he imagined mummy and daddy playing playstation against one another.

I chuckled a bit. “Well it’s a special type of playstation with a joystick, but the problem was that when daddy got home, aunty Gloria was visiting mummy which made daddy sad, because he wanted to play playstation with mummy.”

“Why does aunty Gloria shake so much daddy?”

“Well that’s because she’s a crack-whore Johnny.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when a woman will sell her soul for a few lines of powder, which gave daddy an idea. He quickly phoned his friend, uncle Smith, and asked uncle Smith to bring some powder around. Do you remember uncle Smith?”

“Yes. He likes it when I sit on his lap.”

“Yes he does.” I laughed to myself. “So while uncle Smith was on his way over I suggested to mummy and aunty Gloria that they take turns putting daddy’s thingy in their mouths and in return daddy will give aunty Gloria the powder that uncle Smith was bringing over.”

“And is that how mummy had a baby?”

“Well not quite. You see daddy’s happy drinks had made it difficult for daddy to enjoy the fun with mummy and aunty Gloria properly. So daddy had to go take a blue pill, while mummy and aunty Gloria drank from the furry cups.”

“Did mummy not do the washing?”

“Probably, but that was aunty Gloria’s problem at the time. So while the ladies were busy eating fish pie, uncle Smith arrived with the powder and asked if he could join in the fun, thereby not charging daddy anything for the powder. It made good business sense, so daddy allowed uncle Smith to join the fun.”

“Uncle Smith has a very big thingy”, Johnny said behind scared little eyes.

“Yes he does,” I agreed, “but mummy assures me that size doesn’t matter.”

Johnny rolled his eyes.

“By this time, the blue pill was starting to work”, I continued, “and thrust my lovestick into mummy’s mouth, while shoving two fingers into aunty Gloria’s bum.”

“That always hurts” Johnny said.

“Well if aunty Gloria screamed, it was muffled on uncle Smith’s lovebranch. By this time the blue pill was working too well and I pulled my lovestick out of mummy’s mouth and sprayed my love fountain all over mummy’s and aunty Gloria’s faces while uncle Smith held aunty Gloria’s head in place by grabbing the back of her hair.”

“Bitches love that, don’t they daddy?”

“They sure do Johnny.”

“So is that when mummy got the baby?”

“Well not quite, you see because mummy got a whole lot of love fountain spray in her eye, she wiped it away with her fingers and with those same fingers she selfishly tried to have some fun of her own, by playing with her crab cave.”

“Why didn’t daddy stop her?”

“Well daddy was quite sleepy by this stage and after letting aunty Gloria and uncle Smith out, he collapsed into a deep sleep.”

“So mummy got a baby by playing with daddy’s love fountain spray in her crab cave?”

“Yep. That’s about it, now stop asking all these questions and get back to sucking daddy off so that daddy can go to sleep.”

Should fat people be allowed to have sex?

2008-02-05T16:15:00.000Z

Let’s face it, God made them fat in order to stop them from being found attractive, but sometimes thin people drink too much.

So who’s at fault?

Thin people are obviously going to get drunk a lot quicker than a fat person and therefore it’s probably the fat person’s responsibility to refuse the thin person’s advances.

On the other hand, the fat person has never been found attractive before and therefore will find it difficult to resist any kind of advance.

So I propose that all pubs now have BMI restrictions at every door. Anybody over 25 BMI is refused. They can hang out with the smokers and talk about pies and cancer.

Breathtaking sights of New York

2008-01-30T21:30:00.000Z

Last week I went to the United States of America for the first time in my life, or more accurately to New York.

I was accompanied on this trip with my girlfriend, who had been to New York on two previous occasions. This was our first trip to any place together.

I had brought two cameras and my handy guidebook to show me around this amazing city of steel and concrete. During my week I saw, the largest department store in the world, the Empire State Building and it’s jaw-dropping views over Manhattan, Ground Zero, the Statue of Liberty, walked across Brooklyn Bridge, The Met and countless other sights.

I have hundreds of photos of all these places, but I left New York feeling somewhat disappointed, as I was unable to take a photo of the one thing I was most amazed by.

What hurts even more, is that it wasn’t just a once off flash incident where you wish you had a camera with you, like watching an old lady fall down some stairs or watching a baby panda explode. The fact of the matter is that I didn’t take a photo, because I don’t think my girlfriend would have understood.

It happened in our hotel, on the first night we had arrived. I had spent the previous night at her place after a very busy last day at work. We had to leave for the airport quite early as we were flying via a connecting flight in Detroit where we were stuck for ages.

The point is that by the time I had reached our hotel in New York, I had not taken a dump for about 48 hours and I was choking.

As I am a very romantic guy, I had not been informing the chain-and-ball of my turtlehead problem as we admired the beautiful view of a McDonald’s from our hotel room window. The pre-dump sweats had started as I informed the battleaxe that I was “going to freshen up” before bed.

As soon as I slammed the bathroom door behind me, I dropped trou and sat down to the accompaniment of angels singing, or so it seemed. It didn’t last long and I was suspicious of circumstances below me as there was no splash, despite all the rectal orgasming I was going through.

Once I was confident that there weren’t any younger siblings who wanted to join the party, I had a quick look at my escaped prisoners, to make sure that I had at least hit parts of the bowl. At first glance I was left speechless at what was staring back at me. I had given birth to a monster. One solid turd, over a foot long!

At this stage I wouldn’t have been surprised if Godzilla had appeared behind me, peered over my shoulder into the toilet and then said to me, “Dude! What the fuck!”

My first instinct was to run into the bedroom, with my trousers around my ankles to grab my camera and then waddle back to the toilet again, but then thought that this might lead to some strange questions from the hag.

My second thought was to invite the old cum-bucket into the toilet to admire my creation along with me and then we could take photos together. Unfortunately I don’t think we were quite at that stage of our relationship yet. Feces picture sharing is more like a year anniversary thing.

So with tears in my eyes, I said farewell to my child and with a shaking hand I flushed her away. As she swirled around the toilet, she broke into two pieces, much like the Titanic, the other great engineering creation of man, had done before being claimed by the murky waters below.

And so I returned to the bedroom much lighter, but weighed down with the guilt of knowing what mothers go through, having to give up their children for adoption.

Coma of love

2008-01-28T00:47:00.001Z

I'm not one to brag, because I'm so modest and great with the ladies, but I have been known to put a few ladies in a coma while making sweet love to them.

Some might claim that it was from the horrific car accident they were in that put them in the coma, others think it was my sweet luvvin that pushed them over the edge. All I know is that they were semi-conscious when I found them. You do the maths.

How to pick up chicks - lesson 8

2008-01-18T19:18:00.000Z

Get thee to a nunnery

Warning – If you read the following article, you will probably go to hell. In fact, this article is so morally corrupt that you will probably go to hell for just reading this warning. So stop reading this warning. (Ironic, isn’t it?)

There is a common misconception out there that nuns are all old, fat women who fear any kind of intimacy with men. I would like to correct this misconception by stating that most of my ex girlfriends were old, fat bitches that didn’t want me touching them, yet only turned to a life devoted to God after dumping my sexy ass. It’s difficult to find an equal after you’ve been with the muppet. Bless their frigid little hearts.

Yet despite some negative misunderstandings I’ve had with nuns, I still maintain that they are easy prey.

So why would a nun decide to become a nun?

They claim to be spreading the word of God. So what is the word of God about? It’s about lurve! Lurve thy neighbour! Lurve thy neighbour’s ox (kinky bitches). So that’s what the nuns want to share with you.

Their attempts to disguise themselves as frigid zebras is discarded if you look at the facts behind the frock.

The relevant facts to note are:
- They don’t believe in marriage. These women are too wild to settle down.
– They devote themselves to “The Big Guy”.
– They’re kinky drunken bitches! They love a bit of father, son and some good spirit.
– They spend hours on end on their knees. What’s not to like about that?
– They’re very gullible. You could make up one of the most ridiculous stories ever created and they’d believe it.
- They quite often hang out with Catholic priests and we all know that those guys are some of the dirtiest sex-maniacs around.
- They always want to know about your sins. Dirty wenches!
- You hardly ever see a nun by herself. They’re either in two’s or more. A threesome is always on the cards.

And last but not least

- They wear towels on their heads. Curtains are no longer needed to clean your man bits. A bit of a dirty habit, if you ask me.

How to pick up chicks - lesson 7

2008-01-18T19:14:00.000Z

Women’s prisons

Shooting fish in a barrel is a concept that comes to mind when I think about doing some lazy fishing. On the other hand, being inside a woman’s prison is like fishing inside a shark tank, with a big piece of raw steak sewn into your crotch. As you approach the tank, you can smell the fish. As you enter the tank, you can see the fish. While in the tank, you can reach out and touch the fish, but you know that by the end of the day, if you leave, your crotch will not be in one piece.

If you’re ever able to get inside a woman’s prison, your hunting skills must be at its peak. There’s a good chance that you’ll be stripped, slapped about and have a large object shoved up your bum, but if you make it past the guards, there’s a good chance of getting some action.

One’s initial thought about being in a woman’s prison is that you’ll be treated like a piece of candy. Passed along from one hardened criminal to the next, as they use and abuse you, as they see fit. They’ll release their pent up anger and frustrations on you and you’ll probably end up nailed to the “mama bitch’s” wall after having your male anatomy torn from your body by hundreds of sexually frustrated women.

But one must remember that there could be a down side too.

The problem with the female prisoner is that they’re so use their routine. I’ll explain the concept through the clever analogy of food.

The female prisoner was use to having all kinds of food on the outside, but since they’ve been locked up, all they’ve had to eat is… um… let’s say, fish for instance. There’s nothing wrong with fish, but let’s be honest, it’s not steak. One can make do with eating fish day after day, week after week, year after year, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a nice piece of steak, for a change, especially if one use to eat steak regularly on the outside.

Over the years these murderers, thieves, bad cooks and drug dealers have obsessed about meat. This obsession has been built up to such a degree, that they feel that their next piece of meat will be like being in heaven. An ironic concept, seeing that the murderers and bad cooks are deemed to go to hell for eternity.

So there’s a lot to live up to and no matter how good you are at putting a penis in a woman’s mouth, you’re still not going to live up to the woman prisoner’s expectations.

So in the likely chance of being able to get some special alone time with an inmate, I suggest that you keep a high voltage taser handy, without her knowing about it, for once you’re done.

Also remember to concentrate your hunting skills to the “lifers”. You thereby save money by not having to use condoms. A pregnant “lifer”, isn’t your problem.

How to pick up chicks - lesson 6

2008-01-18T19:10:00.000Z

Fuglies

The supreme hunter can usually have his pick of the finest meat in a herd, but sometimes it’s the slow running, back of the herd, beaten with an ugly stick piece of meat that’s easiest to pick off.

In pubs and clubs they are easy to recognize. They usually stand out like a sore thumb. A sore, overweight, badly dressed, uncomfortable, shy looking thumb.

One must understand that the fugly has low self-esteem due to their lack of confidence. They have very little experience with dealing with men and generally keep to themselves. They feel that they aren’t as pretty as the other girls and therefore don’t give themselves much chance of getting a man’s attention in a social scene. All this can be exploited to serve the hunter’s needs.

The fugly will usually be in the pub or club with a group of friends. Once you’ve zeroed in on the fugly, you should approach her in a confident manner, ignoring the other girls that she’s with in the group and open with an appropriate line like, “Wow, you’re really fat and ugly.”

The fugly usually has such low self esteem that she won’t stick up for herself and one of her friends will stick up for her, but it’s important to shoot the friend down immediately with, “Excuse me, but I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your fat ugly friend. You’re not nearly as repulsive looking as your friend and therefore have a chance of getting another male’s attention, but I’m here to talk to your friend, elephant girl, if you don’t mind.”

As the friend has already shown that she tried to stick up for her fugly friend, she’ll be pleased to drop it as she’s actually embarrassed to be in public with a fugly and is pleased that somebody else is there to talk to her. Nobody likes a fugly, not even their friends.

With the friend gone, you can continue to charm the fugly by pointing out how fugly she actually is. The problem with some fuglies is that they seem to think that they’re not really that bad looking or that they might feel that their fun loving personality might make up for what they lack in looks. It’s best to set them straight. It’s important to note that fuglies have feelings and emotions, almost like real people.

If you’re brave enough, give her a hug when she starts to cry her fugly tears. This takes a lot of will power on the hunter’s side, as normal people might see you hugging a fugly in public. After the tears have slowed, she will thank you for being so truthful with her and that’s when you suggest how she can repay you.

Remember that the true hunter is also a gentleman and should therefore ask the fugly if she wants the paper bag for her head to have holes for her eyes.

How to pick up chicks - lesson 5

2008-01-18T19:07:00.000Z

Communication

At a young age, Albert Einstein was asked by his girlfriend, “Does this skirt make my bum look big?” Albert, being the quick-witted lad that he was, ran away without saying a word and studied physics for years on end. After decades he eventually felt confident enough to return to his girlfriend with an answer.

After eventually tracking her down he paid the girl, now an old lady, a visit. Albert sat the old lady down and recalled the question that she asked him and told her that he now had an answer for her. With confident look in his eye, he declared that space was finite. The old lady glassed him.

The moral of the story is that communication between the sexes has long been one of the most difficult things to do on this planet.

The subtle art of communication has long been an underestimated technique when trying to trap one’s prey.

It’s true that clubbing a woman over the head and dragging her by her hair back to one’s cave has its advantages, but one needs to understand that this isn’t the 1980s anymore. Man has evolved and through this evolution, man has learnt that women have emotions, feelings and other shit like that, that he is able to exploit.

Women are basically simple-minded creatures. Their overwhelming urge to serve men, make babies and collect shoes has blinded them to the true hunter.

The basics of communication with women can be summed up under one heading:
LIE.

Yes, it’s that simple. The secret to communication is never being truthful.

Image a girl asks you the following questions and think if you would be better off by telling her the truth or rather telling her what she wants to hear?

1: “Would you like to buy me a drink?”

2: “Will you still respect me in the morning?”

3: “Are you stalking me?”

4: “Is there Rohypnol in this drink?”

5: “Is that suppose to be THAT small?”

6: “You’re not one of those loser chat forum geeks, are you?”

7: “Do you mind if we cuddle after sex?”

8: “Isn’t sex suppose to last longer than that?”

9: “Why do you have pictures of amputees on your wall?”

10: “Do these jeans make my bum look big?”

How to pick up chicks - lesson 4

2008-01-18T19:03:00.000Z

How to recognize a lesbian.

The supreme hunter is a ruthless killer. Once he has zeroed in on his prey, she will be helpless to escape his charm and powerful aftershave, but even some of the top hunters can be lured in by false bait. This bait usually comes in the form of a lesbian.

Over the years, Hollywood has presented the image of lesbians as beautiful young women who parade around in tiny bikinis who snog other young beautiful lesbians in order to excite men that might be watching. Hollywood doesn’t represent lesbians as women who come in all ages, shapes and sizes and are simply attracted to women rather than men. They don’t represent this version of lesbians, because they don’t exist.

But until the bikini clad young nymph grows out of her “women know where my clit is” stage (usually age 26 when she starts getting ugly, as gravity takes hold), the hunter will struggle to turn a lesbian towards his will.

So how does one recognize a lesbian, in order to save one’s money on cologne and tear-away leopard skin G-strings?

Owing to my many hunting experiences, I am able to share with you certain situations whereby one can recognize a lesbian.

One:
Your mother, who seems to think that you struggle with the laydees, has set you up on a blind date. The young lady you’re picking up is described as very shy and needs to be treated delicately. You take note and stuff your wallet with lubricated condoms. You ring her doorbell and she opens it to find you naked except for a lubricated condom and a paper bag in your hand, as you don’t know how ugly she is yet. She screams and slams the door in your face. Lesbian.

Two:
Your best friend has a business conference out of town for the weekend, so you invite yourself over to his place to “entertain” his wife during his absence. She acts a bit surprised to see you there, but tries to be polite. She invites you in and even opens the 59p bottle of wine you brought over to show her how much she means to you. Things seem to be going well until she comes back from the kitchen to find you naked on her coffee table. She throws you out. Lesbian.

Three:
You’re at your weekly diet supporters group meeting, with your box of chocolates and McDonalds vouchers, to help cheer the fat bitches up, when the rest of the group isn’t looking. You’ve been concentrating on one particular young lady by being supportive by telling her lies like “Fat people have feelings too” and “I wouldn’t mind my friends seeing me in public with you”. It all seems to be going well as she tucks into her third Big Mac, which you treat her to after the group ends for the evening. You have the box of fries she wanted resting on a specific area of your anatomy and when she reaches for it, she finds something else besides fries. She appears to be disgusted and is surprisingly fast for a chubby porker and breaks your nose with a powerful left hook. Lesbian.

Four:
You volunteer on weekends at the local charity, which helps people with physical disabilities because you want to give something back (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). You’re assigned to help a group of wheelchair bound freaks, whereby you must run errands for them on the weekend, as they’re obviously too lazy to do it themselves. One of the better looking R2D2s gives you a short shopping list of medical supplies she needs. You take her money and instead of buying her “medicine to help her through the week” you return to her with four porn DVDs and a bottle of KY jelly. You are unaware that her electric wheelchair has a stun-gun option. Lesbian.

How to pick up chicks - lesson 3

2007-12-30T19:05:00.000Z

Making the first move

As was previously stated, the hunt is always on, whether it’s at work, waiting for the your train or doing some grocery shopping. Always be ready.

There are however certain “hotspots” that make the hunt easier and there are certain times when it’s inappropriate to be hunting.

I will list a few situations in order for you to guess which situation is a good time to be hunting and when to be resting. Your answers will give you a good indication on how well you’ve been doing in your studies.

When should you be hunting?
- Job interview
- Funeral
- Visiting your gran in hospital
- Contesting a restraining order in court
- While having sexual intercourse with your girlfriend/wife

The correct answer to the above question is, all of them except for number four, “Contesting a restraining order in court”. This is one of the few occasions when you have to try and restrain the animal that is your sexual predatory skills.

Even a hot female judge will not find it favourable for you to wink at her and rub your crotch while some misguided young lady accuses you of trying to sneak doughnuts into “fat camp” for her, in exchange for sexual favours… for example.

The other four options are great hotspots for picking up chicks.

The job interview is an obvious choice, as one isn’t trying to sell one’s education or working skills to the prospective employer, but instead selling one’s penis to a prospective mouth. I’m not suggesting that you whip it out during the interview (unless it’s going REALLY well), but instead treat the interview as though it’s a singles bar. A job interview’s can be a nerve-wracking experience and a few drinks before and during the interview won’t hurt anybody. I’ve literally been to hundreds of interviews and I’ve never left an interview sober.

Some eyebrows might be raised at the thought that a funeral is considered a hotspot for hunting, but funerals are actually the new “speed dating” of the new millennium. There’s a lot of emotion that goes on at funerals and many women sometimes need a lap to cry on. A woman’s weeping eyes can also make you look more attractive than you really are. Many men are able get women into bed after the women have just come out of relationships. They are emotionally fragile and susceptible to a sympathetic “ear”. Well a dead husband is the ultimate end of a relationship. How can one miss?

Count your lucky stars if you’ve just found out that your gran has been hospitalised because you’re practically eighty percent of the way into getting some action. Make sure to buy a box of condoms for yourself while getting a box of chocolates for your poor diabetic gran who’s knocking on death’s door, because the hospital is designed for sex! Sympathetic nurses and patients wearing paper towels while heavily medicated makes for easy pickings. Always remember to swing round the maternity ward while visiting, because you KNOW those bitches put out!

Finally another good time to be hunting is while having sex. As most of you probably know, women usually sleep during sex, which is the prefect time to make some phone calls to prospective prey. Your prey will be most impressed that you happen to be thinking of them while you are having intimate relations with your girlfriend/wife/prostitute and will look on you favourably from that moment on.

How to pick up chicks - lesson 2

2007-12-13T22:06:00.000Z

To hunt, one needs to understand how one’s prey thinks.

The female mind is a complex, illogical, unnatural phenomenon. Many men will tell you that women only live to serve men. They think that women are here to cook, clean and make babies for men. This is all true.

If one happens to go out on the town and you see a group of women drinking together in a pub, one might be inclined to think that they’re just out having a bit of fun. This is not true. They are in fact stalking men. The hunter has become the hunted.

The difference between the male hunter and the female hunter is that the male hunter is trying to put his thingy in her mouth, but the female hunter is trying to trap the male into a “relationship” so that she can serve him and make babies.

The relationship is the male hunter’s kryptonite. Once he has been snared by a relationship he will no longer be able to put his thingy in another females’ mouths. Unless he does it behind the female hunter’s back.

So how does one avoid a relationship? Three words. Act dumb!

The female hunter, although desperate to serve men, can be quite fickle at times. She believes in something call “standards”. I’ve done some research into this “standards” word and it apparently has something to do with avoiding dead-beat low-life scum, unless he drives a nice car.

So now you’re ready to make your first move on your prey. You showered four days ago. You’re wearing cologne that can also be used as a weed killer. You’ve stuffed your trousers with rolled up socks and you’re aware that the female species might be hunting you.

Oh yeah it's ladies night! *

* By "ladies night", I refer to the fact that it's not really their night, but they do feature in the evening's entertainment and therefore they should be pleased that even though they're playing a bit part, they should appreciate that a well known song has been dedicated to their pathetic lives.

How to pick up chicks - lesson 1

2007-12-06T20:54:00.000Z

Lesson 1:

Owing to my impressive record with the opposite sex (and occasionally “other”), I am willing to give you guys some tips on how to attract women (mostly).

I prefer to see the art of attracting the opposite sex as a “hunt”. Remember that men are hunters, but women are gathers (mostly fat). It is also important to note that not all women are gathers. Many of them are lesbians. Try to avoid these types. They can be identified by my blood stains on their fists and clothes.

The first rule to understand is that the hunt is ALWAYS on. Many men will try target specific times of the week (Friday or Saturday night) or month end as a good time to go “hunting”. I spit in the face of this theory. <>

The first step in being successful with women with a sense of smell (nearly 87% amazingly enough), is hygiene. Try to have a bath or shower at least once a week. A good way of knowing when it’s time to have a shower is when you’ve stopped sweating on a hot day and your armpits make a screaming sound while you’re walking.

A man’s cologne is his defining signature with the laydees. Many people will tell you that you should buy one of those expensive, marketed, glass-bottled, doesn’t burn your skin type colognes, but I laugh in the face of those people that spend more than one pound on their gallon of cologne. My cologne brings tears of joy to the ladies… well, tears at least (it could be joy).

The second step to attract women is fashion. Women will judge a man by his sense of style. It’s important to catch her eye with your style. Pink platform boots, orange bell-bottom trousers and an open V-neck denim shirt is a sure way of catching your lady friend’s eye.

When getting ready in the morning it is also important to make sure you dress modestly when it comes to selling your package. I prefer to use only one pair of rolled up socks stuffed down the left side of my trousers on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. On Wednesday I stuff it down the right side to keep them guessing. On Friday I use two pairs. One stuffed down each side to keep them wondering. Sundays is God’s day, so I go natural (organic socks).

My gift

2007-11-26T20:40:00.000Z

Everybody has a gift. Everybody can do something a little bit better than everyone else. I have finally figured out what makes me special.

I'm good at being modest.

In fact the term "good" isn't good enough to describe how incredibly modest I am.

I'm probably the most modest person in the world.

It's difficult to imagine anybody else being as modest as I am.

I'm like the God of modesty.

Muppet - God of love

2007-11-13T22:09:00.000Z

Women were attracted to this man, who wasn't afraid to test the conventional standards of fashion. They were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, not knowing that they would get burnt, not caring if they got burnt. They just wanted to be close to this gorgeous, hunk of a man.

It's not possible to describe just how good looking he really is, as the internet would orgasm and have to go to sleep, just for a few minutes, soon after hearing about his handsomeness.

He stood briefly by the door, a light wind followed him making his muscular muscles flap elegantly, like a butterfly dancing on a bowl of jelly.

A beautiful woman by the bar, turned to look at him. As her eyes met his penetrating gaze, like lazer-beam aimed at her heart, except it was her eyes he was gazing at, which is about a foot above her heart, therefore not her heart, even though she was showing quite a lot of cleavage, which is close to her heart, he still opted not to stare at her heart or cleavage.

Her heart, which is very close to her cleavage, increased in beat like a drum being played by a retarded child, but not the kind of child who loses interest in the drums after only a few minutes, but continues banging away at them for hours on end, even though he lacks much rhythm because, let's face it, he's a retard.

He sauntered casually over to her...

Love letter

2007-10-31T12:03:00.000Z

Dear xxxxx

I don’t know how I can tell you how sorry I am for calling you by my ex-girlfriend’s name. I have tried to express my affection for you in the following e-mail. I’m not usually good at expressing my feelings, so please bear with me on this.

I still can’t get over the fact that I called you by her name. For one, she looks nothing like you. You see, my ex-girlfriend was very attractive.

I initially thought about buying you chocolates, but then I remembered that you’re a bit fat. I know you hide it well with your loose clothes and dark colours, but I can tell that you need to slim down a bit. Many of my friends have told me that they think you have a great figure, but you’ll be pleased to know that I stood up for you and corrected them by letting them know that you’re actually a bit of a porker.

I then considered buying you flowers or perfume, but then I remembered that you’re probably not into that whole “nice scent” thing, as I’ve noticed you usually smell of sweat and therefore you probably don’t believe in smelling nice.

I know that women love their make-up, but I didn’t think that would be for you either. If I wanted an attractive girlfriend, I obviously wouldn’t have dated you to start off with.

Buying you clothes was my next option, as I noticed that you’re always spilling food on your clothes. You seem to have mayonnaise stains on almost all your clothes when you get back from work at the “massage centre” where you work. (I still don’t know why you won’t let me visit you at work. I’d love to get a massage from you as I noticed you have a very strong right hand when we held hands the other night). I opted out of the clothes present, because I wasn't sure of your size and the store assistants I spoke to said that there wasn’t a size “quite fat”.

Jewellery wasn’t ever going to be a serious option because I once bought jewellery for my ex (remember her? The attractive one) and it would just remind me of her and it would make me sad whenever you wore your jewellery as I’d be reminded of the great girl I lost.

So in short, I’ve decided to send you this e-mail, to tell you how great you are. I know that you have serious emotional problems ever since you saw your father murder your mother with a chainsaw and I’ve been warned by your friends that I shouldn’t mention it to you, because you might have a relapse, so I won’t. By the way, what was it like being locked in the basement with your mother’s corpse for five days before the police found you? Any further news from the police about finding your father and have they told you about the death threats he’s sent you but they keep hidden from you?

Oh well, I guess I’m just rambling on now. I hope this e-mail has cheered you up and that you’re now willing to forgive me for calling you by my ex-girlfriend’s name (the sexy one).

If you do forgive me, please let me take you out to dinner and a movie tonight. I hear that “Texas chainsaw massacre – the beginning” is showing. Sounds like good fun.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Take care,
Muppet

RWC final - England vs Boks: head to head

2007-10-20T13:03:00.000+01:00

15 Jason Robinson vs Percy Montgomery
Jason has developed from being a fine beer into a fine wine. He’s more expensive than beer and not as gassy.

Percy is like supermodel. Great hair, great legs and has a few restraining orders against me.
Even

14 Paul Sackey vs Bryan Habana
When Paul was first chosen for England, many England supporters were downhearted and felt depressed. It turns out it had nothing to do with Paul. That’s just the way they are.

A lot has been talked about how Bryan races against cheetahs back in SA. What people fail to mention is that Bryan lost 2 out of those 3 races. He’s not so fast after all.
Adv Boks

13 Mathew Tait vs Jaque Fourie
They say that dynamite come in small packages. I for one think that’s disgusting. Why can’t dynamite find some old woman in a coma like normal people do?

Jaque is a very humble young man. His insight into Fijian rugby was an eye-opener. He undoubtedly respects what England have achieved over the last four years.
Even

12 Mike Catt vs Francois Steyn
Mike brings experience to the England backline. Lots of it. Tons in fact. Fuck me, he’s old! But he’s from Port Elizabeth, so he’s probably a great guy.

A lot has been said about Francois’s age. He’s been described as one for the future. But as the saying goes “If you’re good enough, you’re old enough.” Unfortunately, a catholic priest came up with that saying.
Adv England

11 Mark Cueto vs JP Pietersen
Mark’s undoubted talent has been spotted on the training fields and has forced his way back into this powerful England team.

JP has had to live in Habana’s shadow throughout this tournament. That probably sounds racist, so I apologise.
Even

10 Jonny Wilkinson vs Butch James
Jonny has single-handedly turned this England team around from playing boring ten man rugby in their first two pool matches into the dynamic attacking, running fifteen man team it is today.

Butch’s overconfidence might well be his downfall. He thinks he’s so great, he quite often plays without even using his arms.
Adv England

9 Andy Gomarsall vs Fourie du Preez
Matt Dawson has publicly asked for Andy’s passport to be torn up after consistently putting in great performance one after the other. It’s just not English!

Fourie has been one of the Boks stand out players, even though he’s played behind a pack that’s consistently gone backwards and a backline that just aimlessly kicks the ball away. In fact it’s probably difficult for him to not be a stand out player with the shit players around him.
Adv Boks

8 Nick Easter vs Danie Rossouw
Nick has been a revelation since being included in the England team. His sense of sarcasm and digs at the press have been brilliant during interviews.

Danie is a number eight from the old school. What he lacks in pace and flair, he makes up for with bad handling skills and lack of intelligent play.
Adv England

7 Lewis Moody vs Schalk Burger
Almost all English rugby journalists have written about the fact that Lewis isn’t an openside flanker. Lucky for England, Lewis can’t read.

Schalk has been solid since returning from his two match suspension for trying kill the IRB’s sense of smug self-satisfaction.
Adv Boks

6 Martin Corry vs Juan Smith
Martin is one of those players who isn’t in the limelight as much as many of his teammates. He doesn’t have the aerial skills of Moody, or the deft off loading touches of Shaw, but somebody has to the tough jobs, like giving the guys rubdowns and washing the mud off their boots after the game.

Juan has been outstanding. Even when he’s tried to rip opposition players’ heads off, his look of innocence and regret has been first class.
Adv Boks

5 Ben Kay vs Victor Matfield
Ben has been like Martin Johnson during this world cup. He’s given lots of interviews and talked about “the lads” a lot.

Victor took twenty minutes to figure out Argentina’s line-out in the semi-finals. It’s amazing that an Afrikaaner can make the calls “front” or “back” in such a short space of time. A true great of the game.
Adv Boks

4 Simon Shaw vs Bakkies Botha
Simon has lifted his game to new heights. That’s a lock joke. Another lock joke – Ali Williams.

Bakkies continues to play the game on the edge. He’s the brute force that frees up the finesse players like Burger and Roussouw.
Adv England

3 Phil Vickery vs Os du Randt
Phil’s captaincy for the world cup was assured as soon as the Sun figured out that they could use the headline “Phil Victory”. The back-up plan of using “More Tin Corry” seemed too disrespectful for the RWC trophy.

Twelve years ago, Os was considered a poor scrummager. Now in 2007, the Os we knew from twelve years ago has lost quite a bit of hair.
Adv England

2 Mark Regan vs John Smit
Mark is a feisty character who has been inspired by the players around him. I haven’t seen a grown man cry so much since Dallaglio during the national anthems.

John has led his players from the front. Unfortunately that front has been going backwards against the England and Argentinian scrums.
Adv Boks

1 Andrew Sheridan vs CJ van der Linde
Andrew is considered a tough guy on the field but a quiet soft-spoken man off it. Of course his quiet unassuming smile is quite off putting when you see pieces of the Australian front row stuck between his teeth.

A lot of people have criticised CJ for spending too much time between the centres or on the wing. Most of these critics have been the Bok centres and the wings who also don’t want to go scrum against Sheridan.
Adv England

England – 6
Boks – 6
Even – 3

ITV announce All Blacks were merked

2007-10-17T22:53:00.000+01:00

ITV today admitted to organising the New Zealand rugby team, known as the All Blacks, to lose to their French counterparts in the rugby world cup quarterfinals.

The All Blacks went into the tournament as overwhelming favourites. They had won all their pool matches with ease and were expected to go on to crush all other opposition on route to the final.

However ITV, who had bought the broadcasting rights to show the tournaments matches, had a hidden agenda during the tournament. Many of the cameras were not focussed on the game but in fact on many of the coaches and fans in the stands. These cameras were part of a new program ITV will be launching on Saturday evening, right after the rugby world cup final, called “Smile, you’ve been merked.”

This new reality program is the brainchild of Lisa Spreadbury, the marketing director for ITV. ‘The fact of the matter is that viewers enjoy reality TV.’ admitted Spreadbury when confronted about the show. ‘Viewer statistics show that more people watch X Factor and Strictly Come Dancing than any scripted program on television. Reality TV is the future and what better way than combining sport with candid camera?’

The premise of “Smile, you’ve been merked” is a series of elaborate practical jokes that aren’t just aimed at one or two people, but at hundreds or thousands of people, or in the All Blacks case, an entire nation.

Andrew Williams, ITV’s spokesperson, had been hoping to keep the new program a secret until the world cup had ended, but sources from within the All Black camp had managed to get their hands on proof of the practical joke. ‘It’s a shame that they found out before the program was played,’ Mr Williams admitted. ‘We were hoping to film all the players reaction when they found out they had been merked.’

Current All Black captain Richie McCaw, was initially shocked to hear that a joke had been played on them, but admits that it makes perfect sense when he thought about it. ‘Right from the start of the quarter final match against France, I felt that something wasn’t quite right.’ McCaw says. ‘The first sign was that we weren’t leading comfortable by the twenty minute mark. Throughout the match those fifty-fifty decisions seemed to be going against us all the time.’

ITV had combined forces with the IRB to set up this prank. They had hired an actor to play a referee for the match, called Wayne Barnes. Mr Barnes was given very limited time to be seen in the international rugby limelight and many eyebrows were raised when he had been appointed to referee this match.

‘Playing a rugby referee was a great challenge for me’ explained Mr Barnes speaking from his Hollywood loft compartment. ‘I was given just over one year to prepare for this big match and refereed a handful of matches leading up to it. I had to come across as a semi-decent referee before kick-off, but once the match started I could finally have fun.’

“Smile, you’ve been merked” will show interviews with key personnel before and after each match to describe how they plan on pranking their targets.

‘It wasn’t easy to keep a straight face throughout the match’ Mr Barnes admitted, ‘But I knew that my cover would have been blown if I had laughed out loud when I sent Luke McAllister off the field. I really struggled to keep a straight face during that part.’

When asked about the obvious forward passes that led to the French try, Mr Barnes just smiled and said, ‘Yeah, that was a tough one to pretend I didn’t see, but my touch judge, Jonathan Kaplan, told me in my earpiece that the passes were momentum and not forward, so laughing to myself I carried on with play.’

When pressed for more hints of what’s to come, Mr Williams from ITV, also noted with a glint in his eye, ‘Well let’s just say that England have done really well in the rugby recently and we have quite a few cameras in Iraq at the moment.’

Still no work

2007-10-10T16:13:00.001+01:00

I work as a male prostitute. A very expensive male prostitute. So expensive that nobody can afford me. Well so it seems... they've never actually asked me how much I charge. I think they just presume that I'm really expensive and therefore don't bother asking. I don't know why. I don't wear nice clothes. I'm not good looking. I have awful manners. I'm in bad shape. I think it's very presumptious of them to just think that I'm out of their price range. It's a sad reflection of society, if you think about it.