Hi folks here we are at Week 319.
This was one of those weeks I had no idea what I was going to write, but a quick look at the paper with a can of lager and I saw my inspiration. (For all you anal types out there, it was me who was drinking the lager and not the paper – And yes, I know, I should have sorted the sentence which would have stopped me typing this pish!)
Continue reading “Week 319 – Too Much Variety, Diane’s Enthusiastic Observations And A Development That Would Make Satchmo Cry.”
I was going to do something about procrastinating this week but I couldn’t be fucked.
I think I’ll ask Diane to put the read more tag after the next sentence so I can warn ‘The Sensitives’, I was going to call them Fuckwits and in a way, I suppose I have.
WARNING – Blasphemous Material – Do not read on if you are of a religious persuasion and likely to be offended. If you read on and are offended – Well – I told you!!!
Continue reading “Week 318 – A Sensitive No-Go Area, An Itch That Couldn’t Be Scratched And Jesus Body-Popping To ‘My Diane’ (He Nailed It)”
Life has hammered me.
I take another drink and lean over my balcony.
Balcony, that’s a fuckin’ laugh, it’s the breadth of my two feet and the stink from that clatty bastard two doors down makes me gag. They’ve a wee Jack Russell that they allow to shit on the balcony instead of taking him a walk. The wee soul needs to climb up a shit mountain to take another shit. When he’s having a crap I can look him in the fucking eyes.
Continue reading “Maisonette by Hugh Cron – Warning Strong language and Adult content.”
Well here we are at Week 317.
This week is like the old saying about buses. (For all the kids reading this – A bus is not your mum or dad giving you a lift somewhere, it is a big long vehicle that takes loads of you as long as you pay. Paying is when you give your own money to someone in exchange for items or services that you need / want)
I like to teach the youth of today – From a distance that is. I’d hate to do something radical like talk to the wee mutants. To be fair, I don’t think they can hold a conversation without typing it badly. I like to teach the youth of today – From a distance that is. I’d hate to do something radical like talk to the wee mutants. To be fair, I don’t think they can hold a conversation without typing it badly.
Continue reading “Week 317 – ‘Manners Maketh The Man’ Is Just A Saying And Not A Singularity, Opening A Door Is Just Manners And Emily Dinova’s Saturday Special.”
This week some British people have been trying to decide what is fact and what is fiction. That’s a cracker as those who wonder are more than likely to bow and will believe what they’re told, depending on who tells them. Me, I don’t give a cat’s coke.
Continue reading “Week 316 – Subservient Pricks, An Unpleasant Repair And Why Steve Was Screaming.”
…And we trundle on to Week 315!
Honestly guys, fuck knows why this came to me!
Continue reading “Week 315 – Was Aggie’s Disappearance Her Best Mystery, Has Anyone Considered God As Their Wank thought (Except For The Pope) And The Only Multiple YESES E.L. James Should Receive.”
This week I’d like to discuss not giving up. It’s quite apt as we had a writer not so very long ago advise us that they were giving up since this was now their fourth refusal. That is for them to decide but in the whole scheme of things four refusals isn’t that much. But it’s up to the person and how they feel.
Continue reading “Week 314 – Determination, Crushed Testes And An Acceptable Arc Of Urine.”
When I first saw Gordon, it was my second year at Moorebank Asylum. “Your daughter has a cancer of the mind, Mrs Davis,” the doctors had told my mother. “She’s very sick.” They stuck needles in me after tea on the first night, and for the next three months thereafter. Those doctors said it was some new-fangled, Eastern treatment for my conditions—psychosis, lunacy, neurosis . . . the list of ‘ailments’ goes on and on. After they’d stopped with the needles and Doc Taylor made note of my negligible improvements, Mother paid another thousand-or-so dollars so I could stay “just one more month.”
Continue reading “The Thankless Child by Edward Hall”
I don’t know why I was wondering how many words a minute I could type. I decided to test myself. I can do around three hundred which I’m led to believe is quite impressive. I was so proud until I found out they all couldn’t be the same word without any spaces. No one appreciates my three hundred ‘a’s.
Continue reading “Week 313 – Speed, Alex O’Hara Was A Knob-End And Trust Me, ‘Old Shep’ Is Worse!”
We had Valentine’s Day this week.
If it made you feel all fluffy and unnecessary and gave you inspiration to write a romantic romance to warm the heart, you are welcome to send it hopefully to anywhere else bar us.
(Unless of course it has a sneaky and clever twist that will make us go OOOH – dd)
Continue reading “Week 312 – True Romance Is Quentin’s Best Work, Alternative Head Cleaning And A Nod To Lives Gone By.”
