What a bunch of cunts!

Well, where to start with this one? I've got lots to get off my chest today about the cuntishness of the world and it's populace of zombified, automatous herd animals known as 'the general public' and their unthinking, uncaring and narrow minded behaviour.

I'm going to start with the idiots that drive around on public roads thinking that it's okay to be in their own little world whilst supposedly being in control of a potentially lethal machine, and then not giving a fuck when it all goes horribly wrong. The other day I got knocked off my bike by one of these incompetent morons and it's only through the keen eyed reactions of someone who was paying attention that I'm not dead. Now I know that riding motorbikes is one of those things that comes with a massive amount of risk and that, no matter how good you are, you can't always prevent accidents from happening, but I do believe that with appropriate training and a sensible head you can minimise the risks and hopefully avoid the serious stuff that many bikers find themselves neck deep in through poor riding. Most of the time. Sometimes, shit just happens and you get unlucky.

The other day, a friend and I set out for a ride to a local place for a brew and a flapjack and we hit traffic fairly quickly so began filtering. Now, many people think that filtering is illegal and will actively try to stop you from doing so (often with disastrous results), so if you are one of the people who thinks this, let me just say that filtering is actually perfectly legal, and although there are times when it might not be sensible and although there are rules dictating the use of filtering, it isn't your job to stop someone doing something that is legal just because you don't want them getting in front of you. It is stupid beyond reason and potentially lethal to pull out on a filtering motorcyclist. I'm a firm believer in 'Safety first, fun second', so I tend to stick to the rules when riding and especially when filtering through traffic.

We pulled out from behind a long queue of stationary and very slow moving traffic and started to pass by only a few miles per hour faster than the slow movers, giving ourselves plenty of room by using the area of diagonal white stripes bordered by broken white lines (again, perfectly legal and safe if used correctly). The purpose of the said road markings are to protect traffic turning right, and just ahead of us, we could see one of the right turns they were protecting. Knowing this and knowing that the afore mentioned turn is in fact a very busy one, my friend and I (me leading) kept our speed low and continued to scan the traffic to our left for signs of people pulling out from the flow of traffic at the last minute. Before continuing with my train of thought here, let me just point out that the correct procedure to turn right here is to check your mirrors, signal, another check of the mirrors including your blind spot then pull across ONTO the white markings, effectively positioning yourself correctly for the turn. When there is a gap in oncoming traffic, you repeat the process again before making the turn. This means that if you are turning into the junction we were approaching, you should be positioned in the white markings in plenty of time before the turn. There were no cars in the white markings, no drivers signalling their intention to turn right, nobody checking mirrors and none of the vehicles wheels were angled for making a turn. Basically, no signs of impending doom. Then it all went tits up. As I passed the rear panel of the silver car I was filtering past, the driver suddenly decided that he needed to make the turn. He pulled out from the flow of traffic, putting his indicators on as he did so whilst I was passing. He wasn't attempting to move into the white area, but was in fact making the turn without checking mirrors, blind spot or anything else. Because I was already in the process of passing him when he made his decision, it resulted in him driving straight into me.

As soon as his car touched my bike, the front went from under me and I went down. It still took him a second or so after this for him to apply his brakes, meaning that I was pushed completely onto the wrong side of the road and into the path of oncoming traffic whilst being trapped underneath my bike. Luckily, the oncoming driver was paying attention and stopped in good time. I was later informed that the previous day, exactly the same thing happened to another biker in exactly the same spot, but the cement mixer coming the other way didn't manage to stop, resulting in a dead and horribly squished man. (R.I.P unknown biker). Think about that for a minute because everybody is guilty of not checking before turning at some point in their lives. The lack of effort on the car drivers part because he was in a bit of a rush, resulted in the tragic and quite horrific loss of another human beings life. That is forever. That man may have had a wife and kids at home and he will never, ever take another breath again for the rest of eternity. He's dead. Because of an unthinking moment.

Needless to say, I thanked my lucky stars that I lived and at the time, felt completely uninjured. I kicked myself out from underneath the bike, then with the help of a massive and instant dose of adrenaline, I managed to pick it up and my friend and I wheeled it out of the way whilst we sorted everything out. A dispute (not exactly an argument) then took place where the knob who hit me tried to tell me it wasn't his fault because he was turning right. Ummm... and? He still drove his car into my motorbike, not the other way round. When I told him (as well as others telling him the same thing) that he needs to start checking his mirrors and blind spot because motorcyclist are extremely vulnerable, he said, and I quote 'Even if I had checked my mirrors, you were already passing me so I wouldn't have seen you anyway, would I'. It was at this point that if I had been in possession of a machete, the world would have been home to yet another dismembered corpse. The audacity of it stunned me. Blatantly admitting that you didn't check your mirrors before manoeuvring, then blaming the person you hit for you hitting them? What the fuck is that about? Anyway, it's all going through the insurance and it looks like my bike is going to be written off. All I have to say to the guy, and all of the idiot drivers out there that are like him, is, you are all cunts! CUNTS! CUNTS! CUNTS!

A few days later and with me feeling very sore (after the adrenaline wore off I felt like I had been hit by a train) it came time to attend another friends wedding (yes, I have more than one friend! Unbelievable aint it?). These things get me wound up at the best of times because I don't see the point in spending literally a fortune on one day, when said day is actually pretty meaningless. It's your married life that is important, not the celebration of the day you get married. I just don't see the point in getting into massive debt so that you can pay for every fucker else to eat and drink for one fucking day?! My wedding day cost £175, that's the actual wedding and the meal afterwards. And we didn't even pay for the meal, so it cost us £75 and was one of the most enjoyable weddings I have ever been to.

Anyway, this wedding the other day was worse than all the rest, because I was the best man, which for a misanthropic, antisocial wanker like me, means a lot of stress. The wedding actually went very well and I have to congratulate the Bride and Groom on their commitment to a new life as Husband and Wife. I even managed to get through my speech okay despite having had a few drinks. Needless to say, coming from me, it wasn't the usual run of the mill best mans speech filled with cheap jokes and meaningless one liners, but instead contained a moral story that resulted in a number of women actually crying. I don't just mean wet eyes here, but actually sobbing. Result! The men thought it wasn't upto much but that's because they are all heartless bastards who were expecting wise cracks. But it wasn't written for them, it was written for the groom and he seemed to genuinely like it and be moved by it. If I find out that he was lying later on, I can always break his legs :)

Anyhoo, onto the whinging. It is simply unbelievable what gluttonous lengths people go to (me included) at weddings. Eating and drinking to the point of being ill and making themselves look like complete arseholes. A wedding is supposed to be a celebration of two people being joined in holy (or legal) matrimony and is not an excuse for self indulgent behaviour that shows the worst of human nature at every given opportunity. Whilst I was sat outside I had a number of conversations. Some of them quite amusing and others just insulting. Diversity doesn't just mean being accepting of other peoples religious views or ethnicity. It means being accepting of other people, full stop. I don't care if you don't like how I think. I accept that everyone else in the world is different than I am, and I appreciate that it's a good thing. I don't particularly appreciate being told that I'm a cunt because I'm different to you. Yes, I am a cunt, and yes, I am different to you, but I am not a cunt BECAUSE I am different. I am a cunt because I do and say cuntish things. So to almost everyone who spoke to me in the courtyard, and to the world in general, You are all cunts! There are a lot of other cunts in the world but I'll get around to them in good time.

World, go fuck yourself!

Also:

Life and Death – A Bit of a Fucker

Being in the position of losing my dad in his early fifties whilst I was in my late twenties has had quite a large effect on my life and the way that I view the world. I know that I'm not alone in this situation and there are countless others who have had it worse, but they are not me and they don't have my thought processes and therefore are not writing this blog. But I am.

I've never been a happy sort of chap, firmly believing (and having pointed out to me by my BFF) that happiness is just total bollocks. It's an entirely emotional state which means it's next to impossible to be happy all the time, and those that are, are quite clearly bonkers. The best we should hope for is contentment. I wish I was lucky enough to even feel that once in a while. My life is barely disguised darkness and depths of emptiness, hopelessness and nausea with sporadic and fleeting glimpses of dull light from afar. Then my dad died. And my Granny, one of my Uncles, a Cousin and a few pets all within the space of a couple of months. What a cunt.

Before this string of mildly hilarious (in the sense that if I don't laugh I'll vomit blood and cry myself to death) events, I was a good Catholic boy. Well, certainly Catholic if not good. I believed the lot. I believed all the stuff about Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil and pretty much all the stories from the Bible with the exception of the Creation stories. I had chosen to take communion in my adulthood and attend confessions and live my life according to the word of God, as put forth in the Good Book. But not in a preachy way. Roll on my life falling apart and, try as I might to not do it, I started to question my faith. And watch a lot of programs about the Universe. Well bugger me if all of a sudden, I didn't believe in God anymore. When you have been a believer and then, all of a sudden you are not, life takes on a different slant as you ponder the apparent lack of purpose now slapped across your face and laid in front of you, and my usual jovial pessimism and depression was shot to bits as I spiralled into an entirely new level of living Hell. Apart from grieving for those loved and lost, my default train of thought became one of contemplating my own mortality and that of those closest to me. Because I no longer believed that when you die, your spirit goes to heaven and that not believing that leaves you with a default of an eternity of nothingness, I sort of became... well... 'Not Well' (proper and actual medical term, honest). I started obsessing over it and it dominated my entire life for a long, long time. I didn't want to speak to anyone about it because, as mentioned before, people are cunts. Another reason for me not spreading my insanity was that it was my Hell, not theirs, and I wanted to keep it for myself. It's an oddly personal thing being in an unfit state of mind and despite their best efforts to understand and sympathise, most therapists can not empathise because they are perfectly sane and not depressed (though they are still cunts).

Over the course of the next couple of years I started to try and work out why I should believe in anything, and that if I did, where I should place my beliefs and why. I was sure that making an effort to be a good person with a strong moral grounding, a good work and life ethic and straight cut attitude should at least be a starting point as I had always tried to be that anyway, and it had served me well over the years when I had managed to successfully maintain it. I had a look into many of the pagan belief systems and whilst some of them are very similar to what I now believe, they are not part of my beliefs due to the background reasoning and other such trivialities. I had a look at some of the Buddhist beliefs and bits and bobs from other religions, but I finally came to the decision that non of them were correct because they are founded on other peoples beliefs rather than facts. I eventually managed to thrash out what I believe and whilst it doesn't actually please me in any way thanks to my previous Catholic convictions and knowing what I COULD believe, it does makes sense.

So, on to what I currently believe (mostly based on fact). The universe is coming up to it's 14 billionth birthday shortly (in about 250 million years) and everything in it was there at the start. Everything you can think of is made from Star Dust that was ejected during the Big Bang including the solid matter that your body is made from. Congratulations, you are 13.75 billion years old (though on a cellular level you are only ten years old). It's also fairly common knowledge that energy can not be destroyed (by any conventional means, possibly by black holes) but is merely transformed into another form. The human mind and body are both full of energy, your mind sending electrical impulses to the body then the body moves bits of it's self about by using energy created through burning calories from your food etc. Your food is physically made of the same 14 billion year old stuff that you are and contains energy that your body can burn with the energy also having originated during the big bang. When the current combination of matter and energy that is you eventually starts to fall apart and you die, the matter and energy will be returned to the Earth (and therefore the Universe) and will eventually be transformed into something new. Probably a Mars Bar or a roll of toilet paper. But on a molecular level, we never truly die. Great news eh? Unless of course you were expecting consciousness after death. Further to this, all the energy that transforms can only do so by using other energy to get the process going (photosynthesis for example), most of which comes from the sun and other stuff in the Cosmos. The sun it's self can only function because of energy from the greater Cosmos. The Universe basically feeds its self and then feeds on the by-products created in a never ending cycle and everything in the Universe depends, in turn, on this. Well, fucking hell. Looking at this as a belief system, it turns out that Im a Pantheist. Of course, I do believe in looking after the planet (something that is not really happing to the necessary degree at the minute) and treating people in a humane manner regardless of colour, creed, sexuality, sex, age and all the rest of it.

To sum up then, although consciousness is lost when we cease to live, we do not actually die. We are here forever, which means no heaven, which in turn can only mean that the only purpose in life is to enjoy ourselves as much as possible and to appreciate everything around us and to try and make the world a nicer place for every other bugger. Enjoyment of course, should not be confused with happiness. Taking pleasure in something can make you happy but it is not in and of it's self, happiness. So, once again, the moral of this story is for us all to stop being cunts. That's right, you are a cunt! Now fucking sort it out!

It's still a fucker that we have to croak it though, cos life is certainly entertaining.

Unfortunate of the Week

W/E 17 July 2011

Rupert Murdoch

This weeks Unfortunate is Rupert Murdoch. This man has spent decades propagating his lies and filth, corrupting governments, the police force, local councils, dictating peoples actions, spying on celebrities and ordinary folk alike. He has built his evil empire of corruption on the pain and suffering of a nation, amassing a personal wealth of over $6 billion, a network of companies worth over £30 billion and is ranked as the 13^th most influential and powerful person in the world! How the hell is this media tyrant ranked 13th in that list of people, above Monarchs and Ministers, Dictators and Presidents? I'll tell you how. Because just like Bush, Blair and Brown, Rupert Murdoch is the fucking spawn of Satan. This horrible old bastard sold his soul to make a dollar and now the entire western world is suffering for of it.

He is this weeks unfortunate because, despite all the lies and wrangling, haggling and backtracking, the stupid pricks antics are finally coming to light fully in the public eye. One of his papers has already been closed down and Im sure that if he doesn't face both criminal and civil charges, some $2 hood will gun him down in the streets. We can but live in hope eh? As with last weeks Unfortunate though, the biggest atrocity he has unleashed upon us is his disgustingly ugly, sneering, prickly eyed face.

Rupert Murdoch, you Sir, Are a Cunt! Fuck off and die!

An odd day today. Start loving life.

Today started reasonably well. I got out of bed and had a cup of tea before heading out for a run. Not a massively long run by any stretch of the imagination but 4 ½ miles of serious hill work. It's been a long time since I ran Up North and I had forgotten just how big the hills are up here. I managed to keep a good pace the whole way round and thoroughly enjoyed my shower when I got back to the house. The weather was overcast, dismal to a degree but dry, so I decided to head out on my bike. Out of the driveway and heavy on the throttle immediately, the roadside trees rapidly becoming a blur as I head for triple figures on the speedo in a matter of seconds. Better slow it down a little as the Fuzz around here are notorious for raping speeders, so I settle down to a more respectable speed and concentrate on having a smooth ride, gliding between bends on the perfect line. Riding a motorcycle really frees the spirit and always puts a smile on my face.

I decide to head over the 'Tops', a local term to denote going over the hills as opposed to through the valleys, and a wonderful journey on a bike. Plenty of bends mixed with fast straights and stunning, if not slightly bleak views. Yorkshire is a beautiful place, if you manage not to notice the locals, but it does have an air of desolation about it that freaks a lot of people out. Well, that and the countless dry stone walls everywhere you look. But for someone who has grown up there, that simply adds to the romance. Im heading for Keighley (pron. Keithley). A pokey little shit hole of a town that was was built on the confluence of the River Aire and the River Worth and has been around in one form or another since before the Doomsday Book. It was actually mentioned in the book as a settlement so it's existence goes back to pre William the Conquerer. It is now home to around 55,000 of the nations greatest rejects and is cited as the third largest Parish Town in England. That doesn't stop it being an absolute dive though. The route from my Mothers house where Im staying, takes you through Brighouse, Rastrick, Denholme and finally to Keighley. Real Brass Band country and all old villages and towns linked by some of the windiest, bleakest roads in Yorkshire. Perfect for a nice fast ride. I hunker down, shaping my body to the bike, tucking myself behind the tiny screen out of the wind and get busy on the throttle again, overtakes done in a heartbeat as I wind my way through the greying countryside, finally arriving in Keighley around 40 minutes later and heading straight to Brooks's fish shop. They haven't actually been called that for nearly 30 years but that's what it's still known as, being situated directly opposite Brooks DIY, and is one of the best places for fish and chips in the country. Haddock is the standard fare here, dipped in milk before the batter and results in one of the tastiest bits of fish going, slapped in a soft teacake (bread bun or roll to Southerners) with plenty of salt and vinegar.

Finishing my brief dinner I decide to head up the road to the little satellite village I grew up in, hoping for a glimpse of the familiar. I'm not disappointed. Nothing has changed in the 16 years I've been away. As I pull into the dingy, run down council estate, everything is pretty much as I remember it. The children's park cluttered with rusty, dilapidated play furniture styled in classic and everlasting 80's hues of turquoise, pinks and yellows. Garden fences collapsed, offering glimpses of smashed green houses and long grass, some of the gardens nothing but mud and dust and others, filled with old rotted chairs. The narrow cul-de-sac littered with broken bottles and empty, crushed Special Brew cans. The memories come flooding back, not all good but in general, all tinted with the rose coloured view that nostalgia tends to bring. Seeing my old house occupied by the interlopers was actually quite a painful experience, as was looking across to number 13 where the neighbourhood bully and his sister lived, and seeing nobody I recognise through the window. Although he was a bully, a lack of other kids in the area resulted in a friendship forged through necessity that actually worked well and resulted in some of my happiest memories, as well as some of my worst.

The clouds start to close in so I head out of the estate, left up the hill and follow the roads around to the private housing estate directly behind my old house. I pull the bike up, not switching off the engine, and gaze at my old back garden. Looking at the old tree and the back door reminds me of happy summers, building tree houses, dens and generally having a carefree life. My gaze extends across the fields that border the garden, cows still chewing the cud just as they did years ago, and lifts to the moorland that is only a stones throw from the front door. My god I miss this place. As I remember my childhood here, I start to feel sick at the thought of never being able to recapture it and I curse the day that real life intruded on my little bubble and burst it. The feeling intensifies and with tears in my eyes and my stomach in knots, I can no longer bare it. I click the bike into first gear and head off, slowly at first as thoughts of a lost childhood race through my mind, gripping me with despair and grief, the homes and streets going unnoticed. As I exit the village I speed up going up the hill towards Harden and at the top, pull in, turn the bike off and roll a cigarette. I inhale deeply as I gaze across the rolling hills, remembering long walks with friends and my (now deceased) father, my stomach cramping with pain as I think about the happy memories. I briefly think of long nights spent poaching rabbits up here and fossil hunting and blueberry picking. We were absolutely poor as paupers when I was growing up but as a result I think I had one of the richest childhoods you could have. It's a bittersweet realisation and as I finish my cigarette and don my helmet and gloves and climb back aboard the bike, I get the overwhelming urge to try and escape.

The bike fires up with it's distinctive, deep V Twin roar and I waste no time getting on the gas. In a matter of seconds I'm redlining third gear, carving my way through the twisty country roads in excess of 120mph, the landscape blitzing past in a surreal blur as the pain Im trying to leave behind follows hot on my tail. Minutes pass by and Im now heading out of Cullingworth, a dying village with it's only export being cheap, stinking dog food and it's only redeeming feature, a series of natural waterfalls that pass through a slim strip of woodland to the rear of the housing estates, all black millstone. Once out of the village and onto the national speed limit roads, I open the bike up again, whizzing past traffic as though it's at a standstill. And then as if my spirits couldn't be dampened further, the heavens open, unleashing a wild storm of ridiculously heavy rain, hailstone and biting winds. Where the hell did this come from? Within seconds my leathers are soaked, the wind chilling me to the bone and mere minutes later, the roads are awash, rivers of dirty water flooding downhill in any direction it can. This brings me round a little. Riding in these conditions is potentially lethal if you concentration is not 100%.

I survive the ride back to my Mums place, let myself in and strip off. As I stand in front of the long mirror drying myself, I start to try and unpick the turbulent mix of emotions I've just been through, and whilst still feeling relatively dark, with a tinge of hopelessness churning away inside, I realise that actually, I had a fantastic time as a kid, went on from there to forge my own path in life and I now have a loving wife who I would die for, a small circle of true friends that I love almost as much as my wife, a good standard of living and a thoroughly grounded set of morals that I live my life by, and that if I died today, I have always lived to get the most out of life and would regret nothing. At the end of the day, isn't that what life is all about?

You might think I'm being a bit of an Emo prick, but to be honest, that doesn't bother me at all so feel free to think it. The one thing I hope even just one of you takes from this, is to cherish your memories, but never let them stop you living your life in the best way you can. And don't worry, I'll be back to my usual misanthropic self in no time, so don't despair if that's what you're missing. Thanks for reading you bunch of cunts. Peace out.

The Human Condition. Or, you are all cunts Part 2.

Ok, here's part two of 'You are all cunts'. I think last time I got as far as telling you all that the whole world is full of cunts due to us all being lazy, greedy, gluttonous bastards. Whilst this is certainly true, it's not the limit to the worlds cuntish population. We all know that politicians, bankers, businessmen and you and me are cunts for the reasons heretofore mentioned. I've even posted about all the lazy fat bastards cutting about blaming society for their problems, which of course makes them cunts too. Today I'm going to be banging on about a few other people and the home truths might start to bite. Tough fucking shit. If you weren't all cuntybollocks's , I wouldn't slag you all off now, would I? Egg fucking zactly!

So, lets start today's moaning session with the perpetually unemployed. By this, I don't mean the people who are out of work but looking, nor the unfortunate cripplists or the people looking after them and I don't mean society's rather amusing blatant crazies or the people who are like me (miserable fucks) but suffering to the point wanting to end their miserable fucking existences. No my friends, well not friends... more acquaintances, well, not acquaintances... more, people I tolerate. Well to be honest, not even people I tolerate but people I simply know to exist. Yes that's it. I'll start that bit again. No, my people I simply know to exist, I'm talking about the filthy unwashed masses of dole dossing scumbags who think it's ok to let the State, and by that I mean us, pay for them to sit in their hovels sniffing glue and taking illegal drugs all day with no intention of ever working but with lots of intention of going about causing mischief for all the poor tax paying scumbag cuntybollocks's. These people are going to be the start of today's topic which is the lack of morals and social responsibility that plagues the world we live in today.

Going back to my first blog, Mr and Mr's Hairy had a couple of kids, who in turn had their own and so on and so forth, right down the line to the point where there are that many hairy people (though by this time, significantly less hairy, in fact, some of them so much so that they were almost bodily bald. The freakish little cunts) that they had to form communities and have people running their communities, which obviously means looking after the people who were physically unable to pull their weight within the community due to either age or illness. Whilst there is nothing wrong with that in and of it's self, I do believe that as a species, we are not naturally disposed to live in large groups and then when we do, the shirkers start to show their true colours and the rest get slightly pissed off with them. Going off on a tangent here, sometimes people get so pissed off that they start to discriminate against them and this passes on through generations to the point that the descendants no longer know why they hate these people so much, just that they do and that they must be controlled. If you mix this with the greed for power and control and a touch of megalomania and a hint of all round insanity, you get Hitler. That's right, lazy bastards are what ultimately caused the rise of Hitler. Well, perhaps not, but still perhaps. Anyway, back to the topic at hand. As the communities grew and people saw that those that were unable to contribute were looked after regardless, those with a predisposition to laziness tried to milk the system. Now, back in the good old days, these shirkers were shunned as though they were ginger, and sometimes they were even given a good flogging or hanging and rightly so, but over the course of time this practice very obviously petered out slightly and unfortunately, the retarded offspring of said shirkers saw this and thought 'Well, it must be ok'.

This was the start of a downward spiral that slowly ate away at people's morals. One bad deed begets another and all that and before we know it these people have few morals left. This very obviously led to the destruction of Sodom and Gamorrah as well as the great floods and is probably what inspired God to punish us by inflicting the ginger gene upon the human race. But that's another theory/story/absolute truth altogether.

So, we now have a situation where a small part of the population have utterly lost their morals and are completely unredeemable. Welcome to the first appearance of the 

The above mentioned undesirables spread their seed like the plague and today all of our underfunded areas are infested with them. They are brought up with a complete lack of morals and absolutely zero sense of social responsibility, to the point that if you walk down the street in an area populated by these horrors of unnatural evolution, you are likely to be accosted and have all your possessions forcibly taken from you and perhaps even get deaded in the process. If you live anywhere near them, your home is at risk and will certainly be devalued by their proximity. But then, that doesn't really matter because you only care about that because you are a greedy bastard and you yourself are a parasite on this planet.

Don't be fooled though, these people are not the only ones to have a lack of morals. This is a problem that is endemic in all societies today and can be seen on a daily basis. The unwashed waifs on the streets frequently shoplift, people dodge and swindle each other in business transactions, companies lie to all of us about how good their products are or even what they actually do, people shirk their responsibilities and worst of all, people are down right rude to each other and refuse to help each other. I've seen old dears fall over in the street and people just walk past without even asking if they are okay. What if they had a heart attack? Getting immediate help in that situation massively increases the likelihood of survival but people just walk past. Cunts. All in all, this lack of morals is making the world a positively crap place to live. Cheers for that you dirty bastardy cunting cuntybollocks's! Fuck you!

For anyone enjoying all this or even enjoying the thought of sticking me like a pig with a rusty shank in the showers for writing it all, don't worry, there is much more to come.

You Sir, are a fat cunt!

I watched Embarrassing Fat Bodies the other and was thoroughly repulsed by the rather nasty sights of filthy bodily infections of the morbidly obese. Now I'm not skinny or even thin, and until fairly recently I was obese. Im now just into the overweight category and very nearly at an actual healthy weight, so I feel reasonable well suited to comment on these fatties. It pisses me off something chronic when these fat fucks moan about not being able to lose weight and blaming their severe bodily inflations on being raped as a child or having an alcoholic parent or being ginger or something. I'm not being funny here, and yes, I know that being ginger and to a lesser extent being raped or being the child of a piss head are terrible afflictions to have to bare for the remainder of your life, but they do not make you fat. Eating 30 ice creams a day or 10 pies a day and not doing any exercise makes you fat. Drinking hot chocolate like water and eating Tangfastics (lush) then sitting on your arse makes you fat. Surprisingly, adding one chocolate biscuit a day to your diet without exercise is enough to add a stone in a year, so that will make you fat. The simple truth is that you don't need to diet or even eat healthily, you certainly don't need diet pills and by no means do you need weight loss surgery to shift that lard. You just need to burn more calories than you consume. It's science and it works. Trust me. What that basically means is that to stop being a fat cunt, go for a run rather than eating your 17th portion of Haddock. If you can't run, go for a walk. If you are so super morbidly obese that you can't even take a step unaided, buy an arm bicycle or a long rubber tube and use that to start exercising.

I heard the other day that childhood obesity is now at thirty 33% of the child population and that adult obesity is up by 400% over the last ten years. Obesity costs the NHS, and by that I mean costs me and you by the means of our tax pounds, £9 billion per year. To put this into context, if you spent £1 every single second, after 32 years you would have only spent £1 billion! A gastric band operation costs on average £10,000. Why the fuck should we pay for that when running is free and eating less would actually save the fat cunt some money? On top of that, after the operation they will probably carry on eating and cheating and just get fatter. In that case these people should just be taken out the back and shot like a diseased cow. Fuck em the fat cunts. They're a drain on the economy and blatant oxygen thieves.

As a former 'proper fat bastard', I can tell you now that losing the weight is an entirely mental battle. Once you change the way you think about food and exercise, it's relatively easy to shed the pounds or stone and no matter what excuses people give about why it isn't working, it's because they are excuses and they are lying to themselves. By all means, eat as much as you like, just do the appropriate amount of exercise to go with it and you will start shrinking. So, to all you fatties out there that are lying to yourselves, I would like to say, You Sir, are a Fat Cunt!

Any of you fatties that are working to get rid of the weight and seeing success, fucking well done. It's a bloody good effort and keep it up. Be the example. Be the shining beacon to lead our overweight nation out of the darkness. To all the former fatties who are now fitties, We Salute You!

Unfortunate of the Week

W/E 3 July 2011

Colonel Muammar Muhammad al-Gaddafi

This week's (yes I know it's the first) Unfortunate of the Week is Gaddafi. Not because nearly all of his assets have been frozen and he won't be able to pay his mercenary army, not because there is now a warrant out for his arrest as well as for his remaining son (go Team America! You cunts) and not even because he is one of the worlds biggest cunts to his own people. No my friends, he is Unfortunate of the week this week because he looks like a melted action man that was styled on a Muslim version of Michael Jackson from the early 80's, then put back in the fire to melt some more! I mean, what the fuck is going on with his face? It literally looks like a bag of squashed frogs. Replies on a postcard girls, how many of you would let this man (I use the term loosely. Very loosely) put his dinkle inside you and start thrusting and sweating on top of you? I suspect not many, even for a big wad of cash. It also turns out that Sir David Frost was hired to give him a PR makeover. That very obviously worked a fucking treat didn't it?

All I can say, and I feel that I speak for the entire world here, is... Mr Gaddafi, you Sir, are a CUNT!