cNutgroist

Can dogs get AIDS?

I need to know
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"ooh, i can hear my voice doubling back on the phone. i don't like it. I can hear every word i say repeated a split second after. It's like someone's mocking me"

so said miss moonray, twice
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Xmas gifts i expect i'd like this year:


an MP4 player:

ok, I don't know what it is or if it exists yet, perhaps it takes into account the fourth dimension which would be nice, though quite draining on the batteries i should think. On second thoughts, i think i'd prefer and MP5 player, just to stay one dimensional reality ahead of the game.


Money

100 pounds from everyone i've ever been nice to would be a fitting tribute to me



A 108-yr old man to abuse Gary Glitter:

Let the punishment fit the crime I say.



Everyone in England to live in Mudhuts:

Please Jim'll, will you fix it for me? Why?
... well why not?


Money:

Actually i'm going to need more. About 2000 more. Expect another recalculation before this is over.



The innocent smile on the desperate face of a little Robin Redbreast:

Wouldn't that just melt your heart? i'd gladly exchange a week's worth of wanks or 2 fucks (that's the rough exchange rate on today's market) to see it.



New Kate Bush Album:

No, not Aerial. Got that. It's fuckin' great. Now i'd like another please. And now, not in 12 years.


Money:

I've just checked my calculations. It seems I'll be needing about 8 or 9000 pounds. Do you know my number and sort code? Thanks.


Meat Vodka:

I'm sorry but you can get alcohol made out of anything these days so I'd like mine made out of New Zealand Lamb. Would go well in a cocktail in with Creme de Menthe, but then again, what wouldn't?


Pus Dispenser:

Give your oily skin and yellow-stained thumbs a rest and get your pus the unnatural way with a creamy sebum pump. I think if they're gonna go for a catchy brand-name, how about 'PUZ'? And before you ask, the answer is Eastern Europe. Listen, i've seen Eastern European teenagers do much worse things for money - this could be the moderately demeaning opportunity the ugly ones have been waiting for.


Sweetcorn Tweezers:

At last, say goodbye to shitty fingers at toilet time
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pray silence to remember the real tragedy of World War One: millions of lives wasted; a generation lost; the invention and use of chemical weapons; the russian revolution; ninety years of repressive pub licensing hours; thousand of miles of whiny poetry - the list really does go on.

But the saddest thing of all, surely, is the end itself. People dying just weeks, days, even hours before they signed away the war for a shaky peace. Why did they have to die in such vain? If only we'd have been allowed to continue the fighting for another year or two, we'd have bashed the bosch good and proper. We had them on the run, as it was. Oh yes, there'd have been no friendly football match on xmas day 1918, unless we'd be using german heads for the balls. Sold out by our useless politicians and the Jews, I still weep for the lost opportunity. Still, the return match was good fun. So come on, everybody, PLAY UP, PLAY UP!
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a nice friday poem, for this most friday of thursdays...

when the sun is high in the moonlit sky
and the wind blows its furious gentle breeze
rain pounds down upon the clouds above
the dry scorched plains of the sinking swamp
that drains this arid, mountainous bog
into the barren sea of salty watery juice
within which lives not fish nor fowl
save but for the scale-finned sea-fish
and all the beaked and feathered ones
on land the saddest sight unseen
birds without wings, four-legged tragedies
fly they no more, gravity-bound by god's known hatred
of the legless snake and the balding frog
once proud birds now fucked out of the air
to satisfy the devil's love for a poo-free hat.
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He's sinking back into the depths of hell from whence he came and even the curly parsley on the left died of asphyxiation, having been unable to take the stench of his shitty lips. They say the flat-leaf parsley stalks on the right, sturdier relatives to the curly, beheaded themselves rather than sniff the hot-shit-and-brimstone hum from within. We still don't know if he'll make it all the way down the blue plastic passageway into satan's hot red intestines before the girlfriend makes me chuck him out.
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Which looks scarier - the picture below when mr cubist-faced pumpkin was channeling Sidragasum or the next day, when he looks like he's indulged in a very heavy scat session?

Which is ironic really, becau... never mind
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RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!
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It was a bizarre halloween - i received some levitating belgian chocolates. If you've ever paid for Neuhaus, you'll know they're not the cheapest chocs in the world. You'd think they'd been fashioned by angels with unicorn horns for the price they charge but i suppose if they're going to defy one of the fundamental laws of gravity (and just what are the others?) then it's only marginally overpriced i'd say.
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i never liked him and i shall boycott his records now
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