Someone has shit in my inbox…

My routine in the morning basically starts with a shit load of coffee, a scratch of the jewels, switching on the laptop, opening me yahoo account and checking the Emails. Now normally I have around 300 sometimes more waiting for me, around 30 are from readers of this site but the rest are total bullshit. Mostly its either animal porn, some daft teenage forehead getting eight cocks stuffed in her ass or some sort of email telling me my dick is too small and that I need help satisfying women… how do they know my cock is tiny? Someone has obviously been talking to these people and if I find out who she is I’ll shit in her pillow case.

A couple of them are normally from India saying I have a long distant dead relative that has left me four million squillion dollars and that my bank details are needed for a wire transfer.

Dear Friend, (Not a good start... don't even know the mother fucker!)

I am Mr. Saidi Ahmed, a banker in one of the reputable bank in burkina faso. (where?) i have decided to contact you on a business proposal of us$10.5m (I think the proper use of English is U.S$...asshole) (ten million five hundred thousand united states dollar). the depositor of the said fund died with his entire family during the Iraq war in 2006. the deceased customer used his wife as the next of kin but unfortunately, the wife died along side with him leaving nobody for the claim. (then it automatically goes to the state.... nice try though!) according to our banking law, if the fund remain unclaimed for three (3) years then, the fund will be transfer into the reserve bank of burkina as unclaimed bill. i don't want the fund to go into the bank treasury and as such, let us claim the fund now of which I shall present you as his cousin or business partner so that the bank will transfer the fund into your bank account for us to share, your percentage shall be 50% while 50% will be for me. (right okay... I'm convinced!) as an insider in this bank, i assure you that, this transaction is 100% risk free. if you are willing for the deal, contact me for more details but if you are not capable, please notify me also. the transaction will take us only 14 banking days. nobody knows about the fund and as such, you must keep the secret within you ok. (ah yes... don't tell anyone coz I'm gonna rip you off and you'll be ashamed for being a twat!) you must keep this deal as secret for the security of the fund. do not disclose this deal to anybody because i want the secret to be between us only and I shall send the text of the application as to fill and send to the bank for the release of the fund into your bank account on the receipt of your message and again I shall be monitoring the whole situation here in the bank until you confirm the money in your bank account and ask me to come down to your country for subsequent sharing of the fund according to percentage indicated above. (fantastic... where do I sign?)

Now I’m not actually sure what’s more offensive… the fact that they think I’m daft enough to send these jug balancing pirates my bank details or the fact that they claim my family is of Indian descendant… the jury is still out on that one.

I’d say around a hundred of them are pharmacy related trying to flog me either Viagra, steroids, or something called Calais… what the hell is Calais anyway? The only bloody drugs that interest me are poxy head ache pills after I’ve sifted through a million emails.

Another cracker are the ones that are trying to sell fake Rolex’s… now I aint an advertising expert in the slightest and call me a fat belligerent walrus if you like but surly if your gonna flog something then promoting it as fake aint the best idea in the world, yet bizarrely they are already spitting in the eye of trading standards so if they are gonna bullshit they may as well go the whole hog.

Oh well I guess that’s it from trawling the shit in my inbox for today, perhaps Yahoo should create some sort of program that can root through the junk for me… if they can create a program to keep tabs on where we all are then surly it aint too much to ask.

Ross’s crap jokes…

My mate Ross sends me a ton of crap jokes every day by sms… here are two corkers that had me in stitches…

A woman wakes up after a vaginal tuck to find three bunches of flowers next to her by the bed. The first bunch was from her Surgeon with a card saying “All went well… get well soon!”… The second one was from her husband saying “Get well soon and I love you!” She picks up the third and it reads “Hi I’m tommy from the burns unit… cheers for my new ears!”

The London met Police are looking for a racist attacker. I rang them but apparently it’s not a police recruitment drive.

Diary… Fucking bastard thieves…

Whilst round the woman’s today we decided to do our bit for the family, basically Sarah’s aunt visited the Dentists to have some building work done after pulling her own tooth after a fight with a Curley Whirly. So off we trot to help by taking the dogs for a walk and get some much needed exercise when we see her auntie bombing it out off the house in some sort of crazed fit.

It was kinda surreal because for a start it was the first time I had encounted such rage in a person since leaving the hospital, but oddly the rage is normally flying head long in my direction so to see it from witness’s percpective was quite refreshing.

It turns out that as she walked in her house there were a couple of scumbag thieves trying to break in her house. Now if there’s one thing I can’t stand and that’s fucking burglers, thieves or people that nick from decent people. To me scag head thieving fucking losers have less right to live than Garry Glitter in a school playground; the thought of what they do just makes my teeth itch.

I aint an angel and I’ve never claimed to be, but I would never dream of stealing from someone else because it’s the lowest form of living and to be honest it’s better to have some self respect and go without. The shocking thing was that this was at around one o’clock… IN THE AFTERNOON! Now call me old fashioned or even bloody stupid, but I always thought that burglars struck at night… late evening at the earliest.

Now what kind of society are we living in now when cock end chavs are stealing from people in broad daylight? Recently in the news we’ve had old ladies being mugged and beaten, hoodies killing middle aged men for trying to break up fights and this week it has been revealed that in Devon a female nursery worker has been abusing and taking nasty grotty pictures of kids… this means that not only are our children not safe in nurseries of all places… but it proves that female pedophiles now exist… our children are no longer safe with anyone… and people wonder why I aint got kids.

The truth is a harsh one, but if I’m finding it hard to live in our crime infested life myself… how can expect my future children to live in it?

One of the coolest things as a webmaster and blog owner is the feedback you get from you the loyal readers, and I do strive to reply to each one personally and I pretty much do. But yesterday my mail doubled and it’s not for the reasons you would think, being that I pride myself in being one of the most abused people on the internet with my views on things, my posts normally get me in a lot of trouble with some readers. But today appears to be different… when I opened my inbox this morning and found no abuse at all I was pleasantly surprised.

Okay so what’s all this fuss about? Now you would have thought that it would be over my post “A fear of flying? They started it!”… what with the recent events in the news and the poor people that went missing recently you would have thought the internet wingers would have spat a sprat. But before you start throwing your dummies out the pram it was solely directed to Airline companies and nothing else, but strangely I never got a single Email over that and I was expecting an instant garrotting.

“Who’s the hot tattooed dark haired slut?” as Kharkiv put it, “Oh wow! Who’s the bitch with the tats?” as said by Derrick Person of London, plus about thirty other Emails from testosterone fuelled, hard up and desperate mechanics from everywhere ranging from here in the UK to Istanbul. My personal favourite was from here in the UK from some guy known only as “G” saying…

“I am from Zimbabwe but I have moved to the England because life is good here. I hate your website as I found all of the references and it’s content questionable and extremely offensive, however I am enquiring about the young lady in your post with the tribal images, does she have a boyfriend or partner… if not can you see it possible to forward my details to her as I am looking for a good looking woman and a partner of good virtue that can be my new wife… many thank you good friend… G”

Now is it me or is this a cry to have some fingers rammed up one’s nostrils violently, the thing is I know a lot of people hate this site but what “G” doesn’t realize is that he’s read every single post BECAUSE he was offended by me.

The good news Mr “G” is that she don’t mind a bit of interracial, in fact she’s pretty damn good at it and trust me… I have about 5 gigs of evidence in a tactfully named folder on my desktop. The bad news is my rude and arrogant friend is that she is a porn star with the “virtue” of a Bosnian prostitute, so I take great pride in destroying your dreams of securing your meal ticket to your “good life here” by telling you with the greatest sympathy that she don’t fucking live here either… she’s American! So I’m afraid it’s back to standing in the corner of jumping Jacks and getting slapped by offended ladies for you my “good friend”

So who is she? Her name is Julia Bond and before you google her do bear in mind the only thing she models are fifteen inch cocks across her forehead, so if your at work I highly recommend you wait until you get home and when your wife is in bed with her teeth in a glass. Here’s a few details about her for those that enjoy pointless facts and bollocks…

Julia is Originally from Long Beach, California, where Bond entered the adult film industry. She has been nicknamed the "Box Cover Queen" in the industry for having appeared on numerous DVD covers during the summer of 2005. In July 2005, Bond attended a gala thrown by the Free Speech Coalition where she revealed that she wanted to have sex with Ron Jeremy. On the May 18, 2005 episode of Jay Walking on The Tonight Show, Bond was interviewed by Jay Leno and asked whether or not she had ever posed nude; as her response Bond displayed an adult magazine for which she had been the centrefold. In 2005 she collaborated with DJ Bijal to release a pornography-enhanced mix tape dubbed Sex Sells. She appeared on The Jerry Springer Show on July 26, 2006, and revealed to her mother that she made "45 to 50" smut movies in one year. In February 2007 through her personal website and MySpace page, Julia Bond recruited fans to appear on the The Jerry Springer Show, where they would have a chance to meet her. She performed her first anal sex scene on the website Frat House Fuck Fest. She also performs ass sex in Elegant Angel's Big Wet Asses 11 and Jules Jordan Video's Buttworx and recently did anal in the "Big Wet Butts" website. She is currently seeing actor Adam Currie.

Here’s a link to some of her stuff… but be warned… it aint pretty rough…

One of the many things that women just don’t understand and that’s that us men are doomed from the birth, we have been selfishly born with a second conscience and we share our mortal bodies with another egotistical and more powerful entity… the penis! Despite us being rumored to be able to control the ugly beast from down under, in reality it’s much harder (no pun intended) than it’s commonly claimed by our women.

As soon as we awake in the morning the bloody thing stares up into our nostrils like the spear of destiny until we take him for a piss. It’s the first thing we scratch and it’s the only true friend a guy is garunteed to have by his side through thick and thin. On the flip side however it gets us into heaps of trouble, it doesn’t have complete control over us obviously, but theres definitely some scart leads linking us together somewhere.

Because of my boy I’ve woke up next to hung over walrus’s, slept with chicks that have boyfriends the size dinosaur shits, been caught wanking at work in the toilets and been rumbled by teachers sneaking around the girls dorms on school trips. He is in no better use of the term… TROUBLE! Even now at the grand old age of 33 the fucker lands me in it with the trouble and strife… romantic dinners, night time cuddles and quality time gets gate crashed by the obtuse and ignorant bastard.

He even turns sex into a game of death for the women, completely ruining the job he’s perfectly built for, it’s litterally impossible for the little minger to lose weight. I could diet for months and lose four stone every where except there, he’s like a little plug in pest that won’t fuck off until I get my mid life crisis. All I hear are screams of “it’s too tight” “it hurts my stomach” “it’s uncomfortable” and other clichés of maybe an overly tight woman. I mean for fucks sake the little tyke aint porn star big or nothing, he’s just a fat fucker that obviously far too over zealous. As soon as the women agree to sex he hacks into my mind making me take back seat, sometimes I swear I’ve heard it say “Watch and learn! Watch and fucking learn!”

Another thing about the pocket pest is the fact that he is deliberately awkward, he tries his best to really get on your nerves by trying to embarrass you as much as possible or failing to engage when you really need him to. The classic case is when your sitting on your own or just about to get in the bath and the fucker is all proud, not erect but a good solid size that makes you proud of him… I’m sure you know that feeling guys.

Now why can’t the little fucker do that when we are getting changed in a public changing room or when your date pulls him out for the first time? Oh no, he would rather pull a fat one on when I’m sitting on a bus, or when I’m at the gym or playing squash. Why don’t cock’s work when your drunk? What’s the point? The one bloody time he’s guaranteed to get action with any form of woman, no matter how rough or frightfully rank she may, the little annoyance is permanently out to lunch, if your lucky he’ll pop back for a couple of strokes but it aint long before he’s nobbed off again.

What I don’t understand is that why if they have such a pivotal role is sex, why are they created so damn ugly? They are as attractive as a shrunken pensioner’s leg, an organic foul looking roll on deodorant with attitude. How women stick them down their throat is far beyond me and despite how wonderful it actually is, I would rather have my head sewn to the underside of Alladin’s magic carpet than put a cock in my mouth.

I guess I’m doomed to suffer with my cock to the day I die, it’s one of them cases where you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them. As much as he is a bane on my life life I would certainly be lost without him and if he ever did fall off or stopped working, I would have to take the pills and end it… when the sex is taken out of life all you are left with is work… fuck that!

Up until a year ago I had always wondered what the American dream was all about, everyone goes on about it like it’s one of life’s little awards to be American and all that and I just got curious. One breezy cold summers day me and Sarah, along with a few of her family actually went to Florida which had me more excited than an Essex girl at cock sale because the furthest I’ve ever been was Spain, so jetting to the other side of the world was a new experience and we were determined to enjoy it.

So there we are sitting down waiting for 600 tonnes of metal to magically float into the air with us strapped securely inside, Sarah buzzing off her tits and my sphincter gasping at for air and trying to chew it’s way through my boxers. The captain reassuring us in his own friendly way that we are only going to be in the air for twelve hours, 12 FUCKING HOURS! It takes a second for a nut to fall out or a wire to short itself out and my mind is going overtime. I sat there and worked out my chances of survival before we had even taken off and I was shitting it to say the least, I worked out that we would be in the air 43,200 seconds with each approaching second having the possibility of death tagged to my toe… I was bricking it big time.

We eventually crawled into Philadelphia as promised twelve hours later and I was a tad confused. I was always shit at geography but even I knew Philadelphia sounds nothing like Florida, so I asked the missus and she cheerfully told me that we had to get on another plane from Philadelphia to Florida… ANOTHER FOUR HOURS!

So there we are walking around Philadelphia while we waited for the next flight in an Airport that looked exactly the same as the one we left twelve hours ago, so we decided to pop outside for a smoke. We found the exit and stepped into a whole new world and fuck me the heat hit us like brick wall. Now this is going to sound incredibly stupid but the thing that shocked us the most is that how “American” the place is, yes I know it’s America but I wasn’t actually expecting it to be exactly how it is on TV for some bizarre reason.

Me and Sarah just gazed around us in a sweltering heat that had no sun, yet strangely the sky was littered with thick black thunder clouds. It looked like a winter in England but felt like one of our hottest summers. We chugged away at our fags as yellow cabs sped past, movie sounding police sirens echoed in the distance and armed police nodded at us as they walked past. It was a totally surreal experience and it was definitely a whole new world, but inevitably it was time to jump back on the wings of death for another four hours of total shit your pants flying and I weren’t looking forward to it in the slightest.

14,400 more seconds of potential death awaited me and I was pissed big time, not only that but nobody told me that the flying bucket of bolts had a light on the bottom… as we started to fly through the fucking Florida storm complete lightning bolts cracking off left right and center, the lights on plane lit up the clouds we were flying through and thought we were on fire.

"It's okay, it's Florida's Monsoon season" I heard someone say cheerfully, how the hell was that supposed to cheer me up. If by some chance of a miracle we did survive we will then have to spend the next two weeks dodging hurricanes, flying cows and ending up under a house in Oz.

Eventually we landed and after fighting our way through the barricade of questions and eight foot tall armed police guarding customs we ventured on to the streets of Florida… at 3am in the morning!

Things from this moment on just got stranger... I'll continue this post very soon...

I am the proud father of a little boy called Rocky; he's loving and docile, pretty fucking lazy yet always eager to play with all the other boys and girls. Yet bizarrely all we get is dirty looks, people running away from him and snidely sneering at him as we walk proudly with our baby.

Okay so you've probably worked out by the title that our baby boy is a dog, but that's exactly how we see him, as our baby. When the missus originally picked him from the pet shop we had already decided to let the dog pick us, I don't agree that a dog should be picked based on merit and breed. A dog should always choose his own owners in order for the all important bond to be formed.

As we walked through the Perspex animal prison we saw many many sad wet nosed faces, every one of them deserving a better form of life and needing a future of love and loyalty. If we had the space and money we would have bought them all without question, well Sarah would have anyway.

As I stood exchanging pleasantries with a Grey Parrot that had a better grasp of the queens English than my alcoholic brother, the choice was made. I looked round and there stood Sarah, up against the clear plastic wall with a little black fur ball up on the Perspex wooing his new mum. Our new baby had chosen his mum while all the others slept, played and dismissed her as just another face like the many others they had seen before.

Sarah was now in love with the "baby boy" that would change our lives for the better, yet at the same time tip our routines on their head in spectacular puppy fashion. I walked over to the crude plastic container that imprisoned our boy wondering what breed it was, determined that it didn't really matter as long as Sarah was happy... Poodle? Pomeranian? Cocker Spaniel? Chow Chow? Chihuahua? All very common choices amongst the girls and suddenly I began to get nervous at the idea of having to walk a dog in pink bows and glittery bling collars.

As I saw the little black fur ball it dawned on me in true Sarah fashion that she was about to blow my expectations clean out of the water... and I saw our boy for the first time up close... and I nearly shit in my boxers.

It was a damn Rottweiler! I knew from that moment I was gonna be in big trouble, it was a puppy now but these things grow up big, fucking nasty and with more teeth than the entire Osmond family. I was more scared of Sarah's mum than anything else, I had just single handily been accomplice to the complete devastation of the perfect home that her mum was rightly proud of.

It's been eighteen months now and Rocky has grown into the most loving, loyal and perfect friend that Sarah has ever had. The two of them go absolutely everywhere together and she has not once slacked off from her responsibility as a "mother" and I'm very proud of both Sarah and her mum of the job they have done on bringing up such a potentially lethal killing machine.

The one thing we didn’t expect would be narrow small mindedness of the public, people literally cross the road to avoid Rocky. To me that’s a blessing in disguise because you all know I can't stand sharing pavement with people I don't know... but Sarah? She takes it very personally and gets upset every time it happens... and it happens alot!

Today for example we were at Canvey Island for the day, soaking up the sun, sand, sea and pollution on a nasty summers day. Rocky was just being himself and being very vocal (he barks at people to say hello believe it or not) and this totally fat fuck that looked like he has had sausage and mash for breakfast everyday since birth took offense. Sarah got upset and walked somewhere else taking Rocky with her. Now Sarah never tells me when someone has started for the reason being I tend to get a bit flustered and say something, which in turn normally turns into DIY tooth extraction... hence the secrecy... but why get offended? It's not our fault he's bitter at that fact that he's never seen his own cock sinse puberty and his missus has a face like slate layers tool bag... fuck off!

Having Rocky has made me realise one thing, to pigeon hole a dog based on breed is in fact just as racially wrong as assuming that a black man will steal your stereo, an Irishman is automatically stupid or that all Welshman shag sheep. Okay so all the French are still selfish stuck up arrogant cunts but lets face it, they always will be. But I for one am proud of our baby boy and couldn’t give a shit in a wind tunnel at who’s scared or who’s offended by him, he’s our baby boy Rottweiler or not. And here’s a message for those ignorant shits that are scared and offended by him… if you see us coming, don’t expect us to move… if you don’t want to come near our boy… then cross the road and look both ways… because we couldn’t really give a shit!

Scott

Back in the days of no internet guys used to have an unwritten bonding ritual that was porn swapping. The idea was that we used to raid our parents bedroom for any suspiciously blank labelled video cassettes in the hope that they were secretly hording a stash of porn, but unluckily for us our Dad was as boring and as righteous as a strip of garden decking.

He bizarrely tried to convince us that porn created rapists and sexual deviants; yet unbeknown to him at the time of his rather grand speech, we already had our own collection that we were swapping with other kids and their parents.

By today’s standards the smut was pathetically pitiable, with cheesy story lines and plots as shallow as a walnuts’ swimming pool. But that was the most appealing thing about it because it meant every now and then someone would always come along with a better one, and once copied we could use it as a bargaining chip to get a whole heap of more smut from everyone else.

One of the things our group could always be proud of was the fact that we used to travel to London specifically to buy our smut; our titles were always up to date with the latest stars and hardest scenes. This always gave us the edge because when a newbie joined our group with their cum stained videos we knew ours were always better. This was ideal for us because we used to run copies off and sell them for fifty quid a throw making us more cash than a drug dealer.

Then the internet came and ruined our rather fruitful business of our smut dealership, and we were a mixture of pleased and pissed at the same time. We were pissed that we lost out on so much money, yet pleased that smut was to go through such a dramatically awesome change for the better. Suddenly all the plots and cheesy soundtracks vanished and all the stars suddenly went from making love to hardcore slap happy bitches.

Now the grot seems to be about MILF’s getting rooted by gargantuan pensioners legs, teen whores that can shove a dick the size of a baby’s fore arm where the sun don’t shine and pretty faces getting a chin omelette from a group of desperate faceless men. The word hardcore doesn’t even fit smut these days, a chick with two kidney crackers in her butt is part of standard run of the mill filth… so what does the future hold for smut? How can it get any better? I don’t know for sure but I for can’t wait to see it.

The thing is with smut these days thats also good is that the production companies that knock it out normally cater for a wide selection of erm ... tastes I do believe the word is. Back when we was knocking the grot out you got a VHS and it was pot luck what you got on it, it weren't deliberate but thats how it was, a kind of blind date with your crap VHS. Most of the companies these days though do tend to hire the usual typical bimbo kinda chick which is okay if they are new to biz and you like that sort of thing, but hows about some fat chicks? Not overly fat but normal like... or is it just me?

Some say the internet was created for smut… but I think very differently… I say the smut was created for us… or more precisely… ME!

As most of you probably learnt in primary school life is all about natural selection, survival of the fittest and more importantly the food chain. For those who don’t know what the food chain is the chances are you can’t use a PC anyway, but if you’ve been lucky enough to stumble upon this site out of button bashing and blind searching then I’ll explain.

The food chain works on the sole rule that there’s always a bigger fish. The easiest way to think about it is think of it as a ladder, every step of the ladder has a different creature that is food the one above it… For example you have rodents on the bottom, sniffing around minding their own business then WOLLOP, snatched by an Eagle or Buzzard and scoffed, the Eagle and buzzard will be on the next step up. That’s how the food chain works, and that’s how life is. We humans are pretty close to the top as we pretty much butcher and eat anything. Above us are things like sharks, crocodiles, alligators and John Prescott.

Food is an important way of life for me because I’ve been dieting for three weeks and can think of nothing else, I’ve sampled in the last three years delights of many sorts… huge greasy mixed grills, cheese on toast as a daily lunch time ritual accompanied by crisps and chocolate muffins ect. As a result I ballooned to a whopping twenty three stones, and it caused me a whole heap of trouble.

I’ve had sleepless nights of un comfort as every position I laid in I ended up laying on another belly I didn’t even know I had, all my clothes ripping and straining as I tried to squeeze two buses into the ass of a pair of jeans as well as health issues I aint going to mention. But the most important issue that upset me the most was the fact my girlfriend admitted she just didn’t find me attractive anymore and I was devastated.

Knowing this I decided to lose the weight and I succeeded, I lost two stone in three weeks just by cutting back and being a good boy. All is now rosy and my clothes look good again and more importantly the girlfriend now finds me attractive again, more so now than ever and to be honest I’m finding it hard to keep up with her. Don’t get me wrong I’m as happy as a guy that thought a cat that had shit on his pie but it turned out to be an extra large blackberry, but I can’t help feeling that I’ve been cheated in some way.

Why is it that women rule the bedroom? Why do they decide when we have sex? Why do they tell us when we are fat and un attractive? Have any of you guys ever told a girlfriend that they are too fat to find attractive? Trust me, for those of you that haven’t your doing bloody well at making your life simple because I tell you now relationships are all about confusion and double standards.

To tell a girlfriend she is fat or that she could do with losing a couple of stone is like putting your cock in a blender a night before your honeymoon. Luckily for me I love my ladies big with a bit of meat, but I have my limits, my ex was lovely when she was big but inevitably she piled on the pounds and it got to the stage where every time she bent over she had more burger in her knickers than I had sausage so the all day breakfast eventually went sour.

But getting back on subject I was so heart broken at the missus not finding me attractive any more it got me thinking, what gives a woman the right to judge a guy when if the tables were reversed it would be a total crime against humanity as we know it. I told my ex she was too fat, she told me at the start of the relationship that if we didn’t find each other attractive anymore we would be honest and grown up about it… and she was… she denied me sex, went anorexic, lost a shit load of weight and started fucking my mate.

The bottom line is guys is you have to do as you’re told and not do as she does. If she puts weight on you gotta deal with it because insulting a woman’s weight in mental abuse. If you put weight on and she has to sleep with you that’s physical abuse to her. If she goes off you then it’s your fault for eating too many cakes, if you go off her then you’re a man that doesn’t deserve her in the first place. If you cheat on her then you’re a dirty hound dog that needs hanging from the nearest tree, if she cheats on you then it’s your fault for not showing her enough attention. If she don’t find you attractive anymore then its your own fault for letting yourself go and eating sausage and mash for breakfast, if you don’t find her attractive then you’re a shallow waste of space in the middle of a mid life crisis. You can’t win fellas so don’t even try to.

Back to the food chain thing and with a few re adjustments you see our rightful place, we men are under women and that will never change.

Scott

Whilst reading MSN earlier it prompted the Grey matter into a serious deep thought... Where are they now? Basically it's a ponderous wonder at where the icons from the movies in the eighties and nineties vanished to, normally the stars of one hit wonders.

Britain has an especially critical eye on the world of movies due to the fact that after the United States we are next inline for the suckers of a big Hollywood flick, resulting in our opinions mattering when it comes to decapitating the careers of the Hollywood star.

Every now and then I will think of someone and add a post... can't promise you when and to be honest I'm so used to moaning about things, this kind of post is a bit off side to say the least. But true to my word the first fallen star is a hero of mine... not sure why these days, but when I was a kid he was the coolest...

Mark Hamill

This guy is a classic case of what the fuck happened to you, but after a little bit of research you realize that this fella is far from dead. You all know him from the original Starwars, he was the pathetically and socially challenged Luke Skywalker. Now I'm a great fan of the movies themselves and I've done massive back to back runs of the movies with my mates and all kinds. But Mark is still an embarrassment due to the hammy portrayal of his Skywalker. I aint gonna slag him off because at the end of the day I grew up with this guy as my hero, long before I learned that you don't get anywhere in life unless your the bad guy.

These days though he plays the voice of the Joker in the Batman Animated series, which blew me sideways because the talent he plays the Joker with simply blows his poor and cringing attempt at the Skywalker thing clean out into space. As my childhood hero though I have to say he still has it, but not as Luke Skywalker... but as the Joker... the joker is much cooler...

oh and he kills people too which is alot more entertaining... hazzar!

Scott

More than half a million Poles have entered the UK since we stupidly joined the EU in 2004. In fact I remember the build up leading up to one of Labour's biggest and monumental cock ups since the Millennium Dome. Now I don't normally do politics, but this topic for me is why half my friends are begging to some nob cheesed socially retarded stuck up cunt every two weeks for a few pennies that they claim is Jobseekers allowance.

I didn't want to join the EU, I don't hide it and never claimed otherwise because the one thing that this country used to be great for and that was it's freedom of speech. But now it's all gone crazy, I can't fart in English now in case it offends a Muslim or insults a Kosovan. In 2002 I got a EU questionnaire which claimed to give me my shout and get this "my say" on whether or not we go into the EU. So I filled the form out basically saying I would rather have my bollocks sewn to a prize winning greyhound ten seconds before a big race, and everyone I knew did the same... and I mean EVERYONE!

A year later it was decided by Tony Cockend Blair that we were going into the EU based on the public wanting us to do so. How was this possible? Everyone I knew was dead against the idea and all my new friends now are still spitting teeth over it... how did they come to the conclusion that it's what we wanted? It's all communist bullshit and I for one don't vote for any fucker on voting day, they can knock on my door door as much as they like with their smarmy smiles and their posh banners. It don't work for the Jehovanobs on Sundays so it won't work for them either.

Basically what the government didn't realise that this once great country's equilibrium was to suddenly get unbalanced to ludicrous proportions. Finding a job was never easy, even before the EU but it was possible, but a month or so on the doll and you had a job. Now there are true Britons on the rock n roll for months on end, some even years. The balance of life is is that your born, you work and you die... the available jobs generally is enough to cater for the work force of an entire country because that's how it is... it's called balance.

What the cock munching politicians have basically done is opened the flood gates letting loads of monkeys in that are willing to work for less than the British, and every company out there sees a profit and thinks that true British people are just too plain expensive to employ. Take Dyson for example, he shifted his whole vacuum empire to a country that eats cats, dogs, sparrows, spending their whole day driving around on second hand mopeds... why? To make even more money! But now companies don't need to do that, they stay in the UK but hire the Polish instead.

My opinion is that we need to get all these blood sucking vampire dumpling eaters out, it's not a racist slur, I have nothing against them in the slightest. But if our country is to survive this depression that we are in because of the recession, it's only fair that some sort balanced is restored. Our country is dying because they are earning the money and sending it home, if their cash is not being spent in this country then its being syphoned out of the system... and the last time I looked that was called money laundering... or am I wrong?

Fight for Britain... get our asses out of the EU before end up the subject of World Wide Appeal, or some half arsed American Liveaid showing videos of our children covered in flies and begging for rice, our women walking the streets with jugs on their heads and the poor Beckhams are forced to live on just two million quid a week... tragic! . You may laugh, but in a hundred years time moving at our present state and we are gonna be quite literally... fucked!

Scott

Daytime TV at the best of times is total shit, but some programs are in a league of their own when it comes to the pants award. Richard and Judy got a gong on my old blog because not only are they as boring as trying to read the daily Telegraph in the dark, but they are seriously ugly to boot. They both remind me of two decaying haystacks in a field in the middle of winter. Their constant bickering and trying to talk over each other in true husband and wife fashion grates my back teeth to the point of severe toothache, which I must add is pretty much more appealing.

Deal or no Deal is another travesty of banal entertainment, where Noel ring piece Edmunds plays a double role of the twat in the jumper I gave to charity and the elusive and fake Bwanker. Why? I had to watch it three times before I could work out the whole concept of the game, leaving me feeling pretty fucking stupid too. Is there anything in the rules of the game that says you can't open your own box at the start? I would, at the end of the day if you only got a quid in your box that's still a profit margin of 100%.

Bargain Hunt?! Why is that interesting? There are things in life that nobody should ever admit to, one is that you find David tango Dickinson funny and entertaining and the other is that you shop at boot sales. So Bargain Hunt is pretty much dead on the water in my books, and it being on the water is too good for it when it should be six foot under. It's not a complete loss however, what I would like to see is the interview with the pissed off person that sold them the shit in the first place. Imagine selling someone a piece of tat from your car boot for 50 pence then seeing it fetch 50 quid on TV... fucking priceless!

Loose Women! AAAAAARGH! I remember being slapped by a girl at school because I called her loose, I wern't lying either, it was like fucking a bin liner but these days a being called a loose woman is some sort of compliment. Perhaps one day the term Fat Slag will have girls gushing! One of my main gripes at this poor attempt to entertain single mothers and divorces is the absolute sexism and desperation of the league of witches that present it. It was okay when Kerry Katona was presenting it because I could just stare at her tits, but now the presenters have the combined age of a supermarket trolley collector. I understand that it is aimed at women and I totally agree I shouldn't be watching it in the first place, but sometimes, just sometimes the TV remote in just out of reach and I have no choice but to suffer.

Home and Away and Neighbors... Despite being two separate programs I am going to slate them both at the same time because one, they are Australian, and two because they shamelessly copy each other. I'm not racist in the slightest and to prove it I used to have a black Newfoundland dog and I used to know a bloke from Wales so racist I ain't, but fucking Australians really boil my spuds. They hate us English people and they don't even try and hide it, which is bizarre because the reason they are over there in the first place is because we caught their great great great grandads stealing knickers off some poor English woman's clothesline.

Back to the shows in question... if any of you watch these dire if foolhardy strains on the intelligence you will notice that their plots almost run parallel to each other, and I say plots very loosely... If they were made in this country they would be called Crossroads or Elderado. I have never watched these intentionally and if one thing can lift me from my armchair to change the channel the old fashioned way its these dire travesties of Australian TV!

I could gripe about TV all bloody day but I won't, theres plenty of shite on during the day that I can post about another time. Trisha broom neck Goddard being one of my larger pet hates and she rightly deserves a post of her own. I have however sat down and thought about why day time TV is so crap in the first place, and I have a theory... the government deliberately do it make people get jobs, because lets face it... getting up a chimney and doing a twelve hour shift scraping the brown carpet left on the bottom of a public toilet is a hundred times more prefable to the spirit crushing and mind numbing TV any day.

Scott

Okay so you know my name and all the rest of the nonsense, but if your still lost you can view my profile here. I have an odd habit for seeing all those little niggles that come from being a human on this rather torturous existence we all claw our way through. Some say I'm over pessimistic and others say I'm a right miserable old git, but what people fail to realise is that it takes an extreme sense of humour to spot these bizarre things in the first place.

Me and the missus have this thing, we sit in a car park in a car obviously and make a game out of what we call "wrongun watching". Basically what we look for are people that act naturally, you see they don't know we are watching and they are misguided into thinking they are alone. It may sound like a totally odd version of train spotting, but trust me... it's as funny as hell.

We've seen it all, people scratching their asses then sniffing their finger, picking their noses and eating it, dancing to their iPods crazily and shit loads more. You see people when they are alone are literally the people they really are, and that's what I like... I like people unmasked and unashamed of what they are.

That's why my rather bizarre outlook on life is the way it is, we are constantly hiding behind manners, tidiness and an appearance that's chosen for us by what we are told looks handsome and beautiful by the media.

Take Victoria Beckham for example, we are told she's fit and gorgeous because she wears snazzy clothes, designer labels and hand bags made out of orphaned babies; yet we assume that she is sexy because of where she is in life and that she's on TV and in the media. But in all honesty she looks like a blow dried corpse.

I'm beginning to wonder if she even exists, maybe she's some bizarre wax model that her daft coloring book eating husband, created to accompany him to photo shoots and shit. He dresses it up, sprays her make up on with a water pistol and says to the press "hey guys, take pics of me and me bird!".

I've never seen her in real life, and to be honest I will die happy knowing that I've never shared the same slab of pavement as her. But the reason I think she doesn't exist is the photo evidence that's shoved in our faces every time we open a news paper... every fucking photo of Hound dog Thicktoria Beckham is exactly the same as the thousands before it. What more evidence do you need?!

That my friends is what this blog is about, it's a tool to stop me winging and raving at my missus... an outlet of rage and frustration at that fact that there's far less deserving people out there with more money and better lives... I'm pretty happy with what I got... my woman especially... but she deserves her own post that I will write another time... so until I can be arsed to write another post... I bid you farewell... and as Frasier says "I wish you good mental health"

Scott