Monthly Archives: July 2008

a weak

A rum deal, that’s what it was, a fucking waste of money, and I was taken for a cunt, as they say in films made by that homophobic prick-dribble, Guy Ritchie -who’s clearly a latent homosexual (like all homophobes, all of them) because he’s essentially married to a bloke with tits.

I arrived for my dental appointment dead on time and was ushered to the chair by an anonymous assistant. The dentist was already waiting for me like some local despot expecting gifts or sexual favours. I lay in the chair and awaited the usual bollocking, then I remembered that I was soon to be middle-aged, I sat up on my shoulders, before he’d a chance to draw breath I said, ‘Before you ask, I’ve not been here for years, I smoke loads and favour red wine. I’m not cutting back on either.’ And I lay back down.

The dentist cocked his head, put on his mask and proceeded to prod, after 2 mins (£15, right there) I was told, curtly, that I brushed my teeth too ‘vehemently’. I’d never heard anything more absurd in my life; it was like being angrily informed by the traffic police that I rode my bike with care and skill.

I was led to the hygienist who was an enormous Serb with teeth whiter than diamonds. I was shoved into a chair that manipulated my spine like a retards teddy prior to being throttled with a baby blue bib and leapt upon. Her tits were huge and unwelcome. They pressed against my skull like an ill fitting crash helmet and she dug away at the years of hedonism in my drooling mouth, the dribble dropped over the side of my gaping maw and tricked uncomfortably down the sides of my face and pooled at the nape of my neck, this monster couldn’t give a shit. She was worse than Karadzic.

After 20 minutes she stopped and told me that I’d have to book another appointment ‘to clean the top set’. After being given a lecture on flossing I left and paid. I didn’t realise I’d have to pay another £50 or quid for her to fuck about with ‘the top set’ until later. The cunts! Last time I saw (the previous) hygienist she did the fucking lot in 40 mins and charged me once. They should take this bitch to The Hague.

Right, that’s me for a while, catch you next Thursday, I’m off to the south coast with IC for lashings of rain after getting lost, again.

Be good.


It’s another of those dreadful days, though hopefully this is the last one like this for a while. The contract is going out this afternoon, after that it’s wait and see time…

But before all that, I’ve an appointment with the gob-doctor in an hour or two. It gets better and better doesn’t it.

I’ve not been to the dentist in well over a year and because I’m partial to a drop or two of the good stuff and the odd cigarette my teeth look like I’ve been masticating with pigshit.

This discolouration isn’t too noticeable from the front, if one were to ignore the ruination between my ivories, it’s the back of the teeth that I look particularly impoverished. They’re browner than gay wood and attached to my teeth as the proverbial of the same tone does to a blanket.

I called them up last week and was informed I’d have to have a check up before the hygienist was let loose on my face. I could hear the accusing ‘it’s been over a year, Mr. Piqued’ in her voice before I nipped that one in the bud with a passive aggressive ‘so what?’ I’m already prepared to have a fucking row with the dentist by the way.

I’ve a double whammy, dentist for a ‘check up’ (i.e., a license to print money when he ‘discovers’ I need a new fucking tongue or something) and then the severely unpleasant scraping with the hygienist, which ironically, sets ones teeth on edge…

I may be able to give you the gory details tomorrow but this isn’t confirmed. If I don’t post tomoz it’ll be a week before you hear anything from me as I’m popping down to the coast for a few days to stave off a coronary and premature loss of life.

Oh, don’t watch The Wire, you’ll never leave the house until you’ve done the fucking lot…


I’ve not had much sleep. I’ve been having nightmares. I’m nearly 40.

This isn’t why I’ve been having nightmares -though I can’t say I relish the thought of heading towards the middle phase of my life but there isn’t much I can do about it save a few wines and smile through the inevitable- know, it’s because SH recommended a zombie flick and last night I indulged on my own.

I am a confirmed zombie enthusiast; ever since that Jesus popped back to bite the throats of those that betrayed him I’ve been hooked. Zombies bridge the gap between life and death but in what context we’ve no knowledge, are they the dead walking or is there some sort of unholy life propelling them onwards? Zombies are at once enigmatic, unpredictable and worst of all, familiar, what Freud would call ‘unheimlic’. They are the coolest and most awful thing ever, they are a paradox, they are terrifying yet intriguing, zombies, bring ‘em on I say. But not really…

Anyhoo, Rec has taken the genre to the next level, I refuse to go into details because it’s to be seen. I will say this, the film turns the screw somewhat and there is scene that blew my fucking head off, largely because it’s something I’d not considered for depiction under such circumstances and hey presto, nightmares.

Despite my being exhausted I cycled in today, as I did yesterday. On returning home I discovered some creature had decided to dine on my cheek and I’ve a fucking bump where it filled me with some awful spiss to prevent my blood from coagulating as it drunk itself stupid.

Yesterday was one, if not the, hottest day of the year. It was too much, one thing to be padding round the park offering yourself water, shade and benches on which to loll and another, entirely, to be stung-eyed with sweat, forearms glued to the desk, hair fused to the temple trying to de-code numerical anomalies with baffling business babble with my boss throwing paddies like rioting teenagers do stones.

Mercifully, in the evening, Frank was up for a pint in the local. After an interesting conversation about tattoos I arrived home with some shopping and settled down to eat salad with hummus and vast clumps of bread, it was following this I decided to watch Rec, following that I was forced to stay up and watch whatever shit I could find on TV, anything to take my mind off that if image of…


ruddy hot

Despite my getting up at 7am in the East End and travelling right across London by bus and tube for well over an hour, then walking home and changing I fucking cycled in this morning. The fact I look as if I’ve just had a full submersion baptism is of no consequence here.

The weekend begun with a furnace-cycle back to the flat that required a shower, the first of many over the weekend. In fact, I showered so much this weekend I may have developed a tonsure, which is keeping with my earlier simile my god-fearing friends…

I digress.

The farting-chink of the pub was calling, and after IC arrived we sauntered off into the still evening air as young children enjoyed various childish pursuits; skating, skipping, scooting, heavy petting, before arriving at the mercifully quiet local to meet Harry and make some space in the beer garden -at some point in all this my dad called to casually inform me that the family pile, the place I’d called ‘home’ for over 30 years was on the market- then James arrived, then O, then Frank (whose birthday it was) and his missus for a jolly good old laugh and wotnot. Marvellous. IC and I were on the tube by 10pm heading east, by the time we alighted at Old Street I was choc-full-o-piss and was forced to micturate in a pub populated by skins. We bussed back to Hackney via a shop to attain comestibles and booze and planted ourselves in the flat. It was the weekend.

Breakfast didn’t happen until 1pm in a little café near Dalston, I had a grilled steak sandwich which was right on the bloody money but was aced by IC’s smoked-trout salad, believe it or not (yes, a salad) and we headed back out into the burning city to go about our business and take some time out in a park. Come evening we were obliged to quench the bastard heat with a few pints in a local located in a residential street, which was local… We were joined by SH and his missus and a couple of other pals and remained seated outside until nightfall. We all piled in a car and spent the remainder of the night laughing our skulls out of its skin whilst stuffing our faces with the food purchased that afternoon.

Sunday, again I managed to avoid a hangover, we took a stroll over London Fields to Columbia Road to the flower market and walked up from there to take brunch at a place which I’ve just been informed has just been voted the best wotsit in pahh. IC knows nearly all the staff, I know a few of them too, actually, and to be frank it’s not the sort of place one would regularly attend save an occasion of some description. Both IC and I had the eggs benedict that were by far and away the best fucking breakfast-type thing I’ve ever had. The décor is white, cool and minimalist without being uncomfortable, a grand piano was being tinkled by a punk rock looking fellow and the bloody food, darling, is too die for!! (sorry about that).

The return to the sunshine was quite a shock; it was the hottest part of the weekend, too much for me but armed with three papers, two broadsheets and one vacuous tabloid, we spent an hour in London fields basking in the sunny glories of the day. The atmosphere of the East in comparison to the South is palpable, I may have already said this before, I totally fucked up buying where I bought, Tooting, by comparison is dirty, aggressive and without that vibrancy that makes the essential parts of the East so progressive and thoroughly enjoyable. Having that that it’s not everyday one sees an entire bag of offal sat splatted in the middle of the road of an afternoon, such is the rich tapestry of the East mused IC and I as we stopped for a swift half prior to home and movies and food and bit of Cava.

Having a dreadful day here, it’s still kicking off business wise.

Finally, I’m sure you were all glad to know, like me, that the honking dough-boy-faced prick Cameron has his stolen bike back… They even returned his helmet, which surprised him as he reckoned it would be worth a few bob on ebay, the sheer arrogance/ego of the tosser knows no bounds. Still, got me thinking how that would be listed.

‘Unfortunate device designed for saving the brain of a right wing fuck-wit. It stinks of misguided ambition, Just For Men and excretion. Will gladly pay to have shot of it’

Cameron, eat some Lard.


It’s been business hell, utter fucking hell. Don’t get me wrong, it’s far from over, which is just fantastic isn’t it, I mean it’s not as if it’s fucking roasting hot in the office and the air has turned into porridge.

Making things psychotically worse is there is this girl in here who is on a ‘diet’. I don’t know what literature she’s been reading but either she’s got the wrong end of the stick or it was penned by a WWF wrestler. Yesterday she went up to a colleague in order to castigate her for the sugar content of a fucking watermelon before making her 12th trip to the microwave, which seems to involve lots of desperate acetate-pricking and beeping, stinking up the whole fucking office with a ‘weight watchers’ Meat Bastard just as we’ve got over the last low-calorie derived pong, and repeating the process from scratch minutes after the last of the meal plops into her seething guts.

On her desk are a range of dietary-based snacks, essentially, cakes, crisps and biscuits. Forgive me if I’m wrong but if a slice of carrot cake has 2.5 grams of fat eating 7 boxes of them sort of reverses the good you’re doing? Or is it just me.

The office perpetually fucking stinks and if it carries on much longer I’m going to snap. If you see a headline along the lines of ‘MAN SMASHES OVEN INTO CO-WORKERS CUNT’ then it could be yours truly, the bitter, sweating author of this very muck you’re reading. A TESTICLE FOR AIR CON…

But aside from this I’m again in splendid cheer. It’s Friday, I have a splendid weekend ahead lined up with IC and I’m delighted to present both the Friday list and another popular song that Swineshead reminded me of yesterday.

Cheerio all.

“it’ll knock you socks off” partridge 2
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“lara croft feet” 1
nudtube 1
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pictures of gordon ramsey & wife 1
carol +vordaman nude 1
http://www.suking and 2
“nude photos of nigella lawson” 2
sweet 2
utube fucking 1
amy mathews nude 1
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“nigella lawson naked” 1
tits tube 1
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you 1
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“dennis pennis” “jeffrey archer” 1
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amy matthews 1
bigtittube 7
woman fucked by dog 1
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“anita ferrari and dog” 1
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nigella lawson poses naked 1
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blackfucktube 1
amy matthews nude 2
jenny agutter bears all u-tube 1
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http://www.had sex 1
photo dog fucking girl 1
bigtittube 1
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dog fuck tube 1
http://www.carole voderman picture gallery 1
carol vorderman nip slip 1
cunt photo 1
“amy matthews”+nude 1
rachael stevens nude pics 1


For the next few days there won’t be much in ‘ere

Simple fact is that I’m up to my clockweights in work shit, we’re in the process of trying to renew a contract that, if we don’t win, will see me wanking for coins at a station near you soon.

My immense apologies but do click on the link to the right for ‘how the good look naked’. It’s due to be updated today and I’ve been privy to a sneak preview of the complete filth on offer.

In the meantime, if this doesn’t make you want to open your chest and snap off ribs to jam in your eyes, you’re weird…


Despite being in most excellent cheer I have so much work to undertake today I’m not going to be able to fulfil my duties as ‘blog author’.

For this I’m most eternally sorry.

Karadzic: Santa will never be the same again.