Monthly Archives: April 2009

is et fryday?

This Swine flu business is a storm in a fucking teacup. As far as I’m concerned it’s another good reason to kick business in the nuts and it’s already having an effect on mine. I’ve nothing to do with tourism but shit I do involves them, if the tourists stay away then I indirectly get whacked. Up until now this recession lark hasn’t really affected tourism, or rather, not the bit that involves me by proxy but mention ‘pandemic’ and people react with shit-dribbling hysteria.

I’ll accept, there is a good chance there’ll be a pandemic, but the worst-case scenario only puts the death toll (in the UK) at 50,000. That’s about the number of people that are killed every year from farting, and we all love those.

In the meantime, we just need to forget all about this recession/pandemic business and get out there, spend money, have fun, you’ve earned it, every last man jack of you… that’s you mum -btw can’t you go out and get some fish fingers you lazy cow? I’m sick of boiled fucking eggs. Don’t forget to turn the heating on at 4; I want a bath when I get in.

The Friday chart is early today because I’m not about tomorrow for reasons cited yesterday. So, have good weekends, enjoy the begrudgingly given bank holiday and I’ll see you next week, hopefully.


Enjoy the vid, it’s a beauty.

30 The Enemy No Time For Tears 20 6
29 Lily Allen Not Fair NE 1
28 The Kills Black Balloon 21 5
27 Green Day Know Your Enemy 30 2
26 The Maccabees Love You Better NE 1
25 The View Temptation Dice 25 3
24 U2 Magnificent 22 3
23 White Lies Farewell To The Fairground 16 10
22 Madina Lake Never Take Us Alive 29 2
21 Fleet Foxes White Winter Hymnal 17 5
20 Death Cab For Cutie The Open Door 13 5
19 Doves Kingdom Of Rust 19 10
18 P J Harvey and John Parish Black Hearted Love 15 5
17 Kasabian Fire NE 1
16 Sparks Lighten Up Morrissey 10 7
15 Marmaduke Duke Rubber Lover 27 2
14 AC/DC Anything Goes 9 5
13 Middle Class Rut I Guess You Could Say 18 2
12 The Prodigy Warriors Dance 23 2
11 Hollywood Undead Undead 12 3
10 Yeah Yeah Yeahs Zero 5 6
9 Maximo Park The Kids Are Sick Again 14 3
8 Papa Roach Hollywood Whore 11 5
7 Fightstar Mercury Summer 4 7
6 Eagles Of Death Metal Anything ‘Cept The Truth 6 5
5 Pink Please Don’t Leave Me 7 4
4 Twisted Wheel We Are Us 8 4
3 Five Finger Death Punch The Bleeding 3 6
2 Depeche Mode Wrong 1 7
1 Gallows The Vulture (Act 2) 2 3

the list is bak

Woo, alright. How’s it going? Hey, I cycled my ass in here in record time. Just feeling the burn right now at my desk. Guess what? Strawberries, right here. Fresh as. Eat that, hey! Not my berries, man! Get your own! You cunt.

I’m in a dead strange mood, crushed half to death by my situation in this fucking office though strangely elated by life in general. I say ‘strangely,’ I’m a half empty sort, actually I’m a beer all over my lap with shards of glass sticking out of my neck going ‘aarrghh’ with blood pissing all over the bar, but not today.

This may have something to do with the weather, time of year and a flurry of short trips over the next few weeks, Madrid this weekend, Italy in a fortnight.

Anyway, due to my workload and cynical drive for more hits and cheap laughs, I’ve decided to resurrect the Friday list, but on Wednesday. Sadly its had to be heavily edited due to the vast quantity of cyber perverts but I’ll let the odd nasty slip through for the sake of a warped giggle.

Search Terms for 7 days ending 2009-04-29

“dr crippen” “roger taylor” 5
utubetits 1
girl by butcher womentits 1
mans wanking carol voderman 1
nude cunt poto galary 1
carol vorderman open leg shot 1
u tube amy winehouse 1
stuart f wilson & co property agent 1
http://www.horsecunts 1
sweet gay feet pics 1
“nude chef pic” 1
“butterfly cunt” 1
long cock u tube 1
piss hunters tube 1
graham hodgson tattoos 1
dogs sucking boobs 1
bouibaise 1
amy matthews nipslip 1
laddies arse holes 1
brazil cunt tube 1
pictures of hairy nipples 1
womens arsehole pics 1 1
fake nude pics of carol vorderman 1
vorderman nip slip 4
amy matthews naked 2 1
naked pics fat white girls tatoos 1
fake carole vorderman porn pics 1
tubenude les picture 1 1
loads of women one cock tube 1
red tub lara croft nude on bus 1
nudestube 1
pendulous tits pic 1
old cunts 1
utub website barbei 1
habitat “my plans for the weekend” 1
nigolla lawson 4
news reader penny smith on u tube saying 1
eskimo fucking big black boobs 1
ragged jeans flip-flop pictures porn 1
pendulous tits pics 1
http://www.carolvordermannippleslips 1
joanna lumley on utube 1
casey stoners wife 1
blackcocktube 1
huge teddy bear fucks naked girls pics 1
cock shave pictures art 1
utube broadcast yourself 1
bruce parry nude photos 1
naked size ten women wanking pictures 1
“irish girls” holidays topless 1
amanda redmond nude 1
sexy photo of indian and big boos nude p 1
vendors in bristol that sell fresh lsd m 1
nigella nude 1
jools oliver spaghetti bolognese 1
esther rantzen topless nude naked nipple 1
penis pics gallery bear 1
my girlfriend’s best glory hole pictures 1
nude pictures of gordon ramsey 1
free photos of last of the summer wine 1
girls milkbig boobs tits nipples 1
utube large pennis 1
nude girl and big pennis 1
“debbie lee” motorcycle helmet 1
the exercise of emily rose utupe 1
“weird tits” photos 1
youtube pierced cock wank 1
blue u tube 1
“stretching tits” picture 1
fucing girles 18-20 1
sylvia saint tube 1
shirley bassey nipple slip 1
jake and dinos chapman 1
how big are nigellas tits 1
big titts pizzas 1 1
yuo tube super bikes pictures 1
tube free fuking bear gay 1
horse cunts 1
french connection nudity picture hairy 1
utube song 3 6 9 the goose drank wine 1


One aspect of my job I’ve never minded too much is the whole meeting-clients-outside-the-office gig. This is, of course, because I get to leave the office, the meeting is an inconvenient necessity. On occasion, the meeting will turn out to be enjoyable, especially if I get on with the client and they pay for a long, fine lunch… sadly, these two elements rarely combine, when lunch does happen it’s more inclined to be some dismal oriental fusion presided over by some have-a-go fatty who is unable to speak without spraying bits of egg-fried ballsack all over my face.

Yesterday’s meeting was lunchless but I was keen to meet the client, a very, very upmarket jeweller, as it was a good chance to re-establish a contract that would help business and keep me solvent until next month.

I arrived dead on time mid afternoon and entered the premises, it was ludicrously opulent, sort of gaff that makes you feel completely worthless despite knowing full well that on all levels that is utterly wrong. I felt my teenage class-war-self screaming pathetically through the window. Is this what I had become? I was about to lick the boots of vanity and greed, I was about to willingly bow down, unfurl my fucking tongue and slurp at the feet of the filthy, dirty rich.

After meeting the client, short, female, heels (shit) and her assistant who didn’t utter a single word from the beginning of the meeting until the end, I was taken through 3 heavy security doors to a large boardroom surrounded by vast oil paintings depicting what I think was 18th century diamond trading. Yuck. The meeting began; I spoke, then questions, answers, so on and so forth, fake smiles, insincere gestures until I was bored sick. I failed to secure any deal making the entire experience as useful as a third armpit and wasting my time in the process. Go me.

But all was not lost, it was 4pm and I was free. I wandered through the West End before deciding to head up to The Proud Gallery in Camden for a photographic exhibition featuring the early days of AC/DC on whose bandwagon every bugger seemed to have boarded of late. I needed something to confront the malaise imposed upon me by the meeting and the fucking job that involves my having to eat shit. Sadly most of Camden is full of pseudo ‘punk’ cunts and by the time I’d dawdled up there it was shut and so I failed to achieve anything save further disappointment. I shot an espresso and, feeling better, went to Old Street to meet IC for a drink in a pub we share an affection. We had dinner in a Hackney, a splendid low-key affair that saw to the ills of the day whilst simultaneously reminding me which was is up, marvellous.


Religious Groups have (doesn’t that phrase inspire a collective sigh of ‘here we go’) condemned an online game in which cartoon holy figures have a fight to the death.

I would’ve thought that if such characters existed in reality as described in various manuals (you know, omnipotent, all seeing/knowing creators of mankind/universe/kebabs) they’d really be able to deal with this matter themselves, if it displeased them, like. But just in case a handful of Pastors, Imams and Buddhist leaders have spoken out and called for a ban to this sort of thing because it denigrates their respective religions.

Few things here, it’s speaking up against such things denigrates their religion for reasons cited, but it’s nice they can all agree on one thing which sort of makes this game unique as it’s achieved something no person or group has managed in 2000 years.

I would’ve thought, though, that there are many other things that religious groups would’ve selected to be banned way before some silly bloody game that no one had heard of until they began to moan about it. Images of child abuse spring to mind, but apparently a crap game for the aesthetically challenged is the one that really sticks in the collective craw. What twats, they’ve that in common too.

My weekend was splendid even if punctuated with a couple of food disasters. My attempts at sushi on Friday were disappointing to say the least, the seaweed I used tasted of hemp and I’ve failed to master the actual rolling part. The sushi rice was marvellous though; I can build from there I guess… or just not ever bother again and buy it. On Saturday morning I decided to give Hollandaise sauce a shot and wound up with what resembles baby sick, I could try that again too, or just order it the next time I have breakfast out.

On Saturday IC and I went to Portobello Market for a wander. It was sunny and hot and packed full of tourists who insisted on stopping every few feet to photograph yet another stall selling pocket watches, silver toast racks and bits of printing type. By the time we sat down for a drink at 6-ish my legs were hanging off mainly from tourist circumnavigation.

We got the bus to Covent Garden and arrived at the fish restaurant in the nick of time. It’s not particularly pricey if you avoid the caviar and champagne (in fact, it’s downright cheap of you want it to be) but the place is quite posh which caused a few snotty glances from some of our fellow diners, not that we gave a shit.

We ordered an enormous cooked crab, fisherman’s pie and haddock rarebit to share (the lot for under £30) and bottle of wine (£20) and ate probably the finest meal I’ve had in memory –it was worth it for the leviathan crab alone. We sat round the decadent bar, which lends an air of informality to proceedings, and after 5 minutes IC and I were cracking shells, scooping out chunks of tender flesh and laughing our heads off. 10 minutes later we were up to our elbows in crab flesh and posing with bits of claw driven mental by the childish thrill of eating like fucking animals. The fisherman’s pie was absurdly good and the haddock rarebit was simple perfection. I recommend this place, I recommend it so highly that I point blank refuse to tell you what’s it’s called unless you ask me nicely. I’m that kind if a shit.

Sunday involved a Grand Prix, a Moto GP and a barbeque at friends, but I’m too busy to go into detail, and my mind is now addled with Saturday’s meal making it hard to focus, that and other things.



The week is getting worse in terms of work. The idea of having a job is to accrue monies in lieu of goods and services, it’s not, as far as I can ascertain, to fucking lose more money than one is earning due to the inability of decision makers to remain committed to a project, opting instead to run off and hide in a pack of lies and fear and leaving muggins ‘ere to foot the bill, or rather, return the bill for which he’s already been paid, thus having to pay it back, subsequently, paying to work. EH?! The cunts.

Everything else is tickety boo though.

Saw my bro last night. The handful of readers who read this crap on a regular basis may just about recall my mentioning of an incident involving a behemoth jar of Branston Pickle and my bro’s big toe a fortnight ago… Well, as diagnosed, it’s broken.

This is family trait; serious injury or harm requires denial. I broke my ankle when I was 12 following a motorcycle accident (sure I’ve written about this before) and walked about on it for over 6 weeks until mum wondered why one side of my shoe had worn out. My foot had turned in itself and it required months of agonising physio to straighten it out. Similarly, my bro is going on a Trek through Peru and Colombia next week and didn’t want to admit that he’d done any series harm to himself so as not to jeopardise his trip. Well it seems he may have, but knowing him he’ll go anyway, cos he’s fucking hard, like me. I’m well hard, me.

I’ve a packed weekend coming up. IC has been mentioned on here for almost a year now. This is a good excuse to drink my weight in alcohol and eat mercilessly. Tonight, for example, I’m going to go home via Sainsbury and attempt to make sushi with my bear hands. And drink.

Gerry’s chart, a tune, and an earnest desire you all have wonderful weekends. Bye.

30 Green Day Know Your Enemy NE 1
29 Madina Lake Never Take Us Alive NE 1
28 In Case Of Fire The Cleansing 18 8
27 Marmaduke Duke Rubber Lover NE 1
26 Bat For Lashes Daniel 12 5
25 The View Temptation Dice 30 2
24 Just Jack Embers 21 5
23 The Prodigy Warriors Dance NE 1
22 U2 Magnificent 26 2
21 The Kills Black Balloon 17 4
20 The Enemy No Time For Tears 13 5
19 Doves Kingdom Of Rust 14 9
18 Middle Class Rut I Guess You Could Say NE 1
17 Fleet Foxes White Winter Hymnal 19 4
16 White Lies Farewell To The Fairground 10 9
15 P J Harvey and John Parish Black Hearted Love 16 4
14 Maximo Park The Kids Are Sick Again 27 2
13 Death Cab For Cutie The Open Door 11 4
12 Hollywood Undead Undead 22 2
11 Papa Roach Hollywood Whore 23 4
10 Sparks Lighten Up Morrissey 6 6
9 AC/DC Anything Goes 5 4
8 Twisted Wheel We Are Us 15 3
7 Pink Please Don’t Leave Me 9 3
6 Eagles Of Death Metal Anything ‘Cept The Truth 8 4
5 Yeah Yeah Yeahs Zero 4 5
4 Fightstar Mercury Summer 3 6
3 Five Finger Death Punch The Bleeding 2 5
2 Gallows The Vulture (Act 2) 7 2
1 Depeche Mode Wrong 1 6


It’s St. George’s Day today, for what it’s worth.

Celebrating St. Georges Day has become one of those things one can’t really do anymore, as if we did in the first instance. The St. Georges flag is imbued with meaning far beyond just ‘England,’ Unlike St. Patrick’s Day -patron saint of getting horrifically pissed with your face painted green- St. Georges Day has unfortunate connotations with bullnecked skinheads demanding that England be kept free from ‘foreigners,’ which, if you have the vaguest clue of this countries history, is so fucking stupid it actually beggars belief.

Before we’ve even started on this one St. George himself was a Turk who became a Roman Soldier. This spreads his patronage wider than just England, indeed he’s also the patron saint of Germany, not sure how that worked in the two world wars, and many others: Aragon, Catalonia, Georgia, Lithuania, Palestine, Portugal, Greece, Moscow, Istanbul, Genoa and Venice. And the cub Scouts.

Why on earth he’s our patron saint at all is beyond me, but it’s good reason to laugh at racists I suppose, and for that, I thank him.

It was proper hot yesterday, almost sweltering, which intensified the already tense atmosphere in the office. Even the cycle back was a blessed relief. Following a quick brush up I set off for Clerkenwell to meet Harry, Den and Bob and a few ales in the warm sunshine. Bob turned up with a small entourage and soon we were all engaged.

During the evening I discovered that two of the party had qualifications very similar to myself, but not as good, yet were employed by institutions I’d happily work in for fuck all (if I had the time and money.) Somewhere I’ve taken the wrong turn, I’m wasting my life in this place, and am now seriously considering doing something about it when I’ve unloaded the responsibility of my mortgage and straightened out my debts with the sale of my grotty flat.

My more immediate concern, though, is my Black Bitch who I couldn’t resist any longer this morning. She’s got a slow puncture, which is a fucking pain in the arse.

I wonder what shampoo George “Corpsegrinder” Fisher uses

down, down

Hark! I really meant to mention something yesterday but I did forgotted. A new series of Down The Line began on Radio 4 at 6.30 yesterday evening. Don’t fuck about, do a listen again or an i-player or some other hip cool daddio inter-of-the-net move and have a listen. It’s well cunting, guy. Yoosh.


Just cycled in and I though I’d get on this shit whilst the adrenaline was still pumping my arse. Actually, I think I’ll stop and have a coffee and a fag and come back when I’m a bit calmer. I feel deranged.


There, I found it for you, happy now.

I need some sugar; I’ve hit the floor.

I had a pleasant evening following a horrific day. Met up with Rosh in this overpriced, twee little pub populated by drunken suits and lascivious South African receptionists. It’s amusing to watch them bump around each other but ultimately it’s a pity that such a pretty little boozer has been overrun by such vacuous beings. Sadly, it’s the only ‘pub’ option for that area which has gone from being a run down little backwater to the new fucking Kensington in less than two years.

Anyway, a few pints down it was time to head off home. The bus arrived and I was about to board when this short girl next to me missed her footing and just disappeared. One minute there was a whole person, the next, a head was jammed between the foot of the doors and the kerb. I was stood right next to the head, gawping down, in another world entirely. A firework of arms reached out for her, all but mine, I was still staring at her wondering what the fuck she was doing. I decided the best thing to do was laugh (which wasn’t the best thing to do as I think she’d really hurt herself.) Foreign arms pulled her up and to make amends for my outburst I decided to try and help which resulted in me jamming a hand into her armpit when she was already upright and steady. After having made this bold and wholly unnecessary gesture I maintained my position by pulling her onto the bus, forcing her Oyster bearing hand to the reader before walking her horrified personage to the nearest seat and physically dumping her down. I ran upstairs to spend the next 10 minutes cringing myself blue.

I really need some sugar.