Twenty Eleven


Hello. This is a new year. From here, it looks grey, cold, dead, boring and ugly.
A couple of hours ago, I became obsessed with listening to this song, and could not rest until I heard it:

It is perhaps the best song in the world and all others pale into insignificance when it plays. I suddenly want to become glittery and homoerotic when I hear it. It is about beauty and sex and decadence and the end of the fucking world.

Lady Gaga kept us all hanging on for her ‘big’ Twitter announcement on the stroke of midnight.

"Keys, purse, Fisherman's Friends? Check. Trousers? Oh..."

I will have gone off her by then.

 

And something else bugs me: In the press conference for JOANNA YEATES somebody said “She bought a pizza before she went home. Did she eat the pizza?”

Amazingly banal, and the police brushed it off, but I REALLY WANT TO KNOW.

 

It’s just really annoying that people think they can go around killing people, isn’t it? Who gave them the right. Goddammit. Nasty murdering types, got no morals or sense of decency.

 

You see, as a species, we are naturally anti-social schmucks. We want to go around murdering, raping and being general rotters to other people. Law and government has to try to put a cap on that. We have to suppress our APE traits and accentuate the CIVILISED, SMARMY TRAITS  that make us different from other animals. But the messy animal behaviour is constantly on the verge of spilling over.

 

But, to end in a more positive note, DNA tests have just proved that Richard Gere is a guinea pig.

Happy Boring and Ugly- Xmas Special


Xmas Day:



Today’s Agenda: Sweet FA watching The Time Machine and TOTP. And a banquet.

What actually happened: lots of pain.

Today feels like my first adult Christmas. I feel like shit, and I can’t eat anything (especially not chocolate), and I am not excited about presents in the slightest. Instead, I’m bored and uncomfortable and goddamn tetchy.
All I can do is lay like a limp roast parsnip and watch TV while everyone (Lisa, Dom, Devo, Goldie, Esther and their parents) bustles around me in stress/hysteria. Even my old favourite movie won’t cheer me up:

The Time Machine.

A Victorian explorer travels into the way distant future (the cozy year 800,000) and finds a load of blonde haired blue eyed babes living like big kids. Turns out that humanity was all for nothing though, because they are merely jail-bait for the ugly mofos who live underground and do all the grafting.

Best Quote (thanks IMDB):

What have you done? Thousands of years of building and rebuilding, creating and recreating so you can let it crumble to dust. A million years of sensitive men dying for their dreams… FOR WHAT? So you can swim and dance and play.”

If the future is for a race of beautiful young people who have no worries and no conscience, it sounds like a fair pay-off to me. Surely the whole purpose of knowledge is to somehow find a way to return to our innocent childlike state of imagination and freedom? What finer gift could there be for culture than to produce the opposite of culture (no, not ‘popular culture’)- pure unmediated being: Giggling and frolicking like sexy lambs.
But oh no, Mr Victorian Neo-Liberal doesn’t want that. He wants us to suffer with knowledge, to aspire to greater and greater things. But this is what has made us grow weary by the late 2oth century. H.G.Wells failed to predict that progress would go out of fashion that we would become bored with the future and jaded by the pressure to constantly better ourselves.

Ah. Top of the Pops. I watch it religiously every year, knowing full well that out of the 20 songs played, I can stomach only 5 and out of those I will like only 2. What were they this year?
(1) Tinie Tempah- Pass out

And…Hmm do I really want to admit this one…yes fuck it, they’ve basically all seen my cock, and this is no more embarrassing:
(2) Take That-the Flood


Like everyone, I crave a bit of homoerotic sportsmanship of a cold winter’s day. Warms you up in all the right places. Like this, my all-time favourite movie scene:

Talking of gayness, I was going to watch The Queen’s Speech for it’s archaic, kitsch value (not coz I’m like a royalist, that would ruin my street cred. litrally). But I didn’t. It’s too hard to live your life ironically.
Apparently it emphasised the unifying powers of sport. Fucking crock of shit. The royals use croquet and polo to separate the chaff from the wheat, not bring us together. Take That’s vid is proof that ONLY people who get their hands dirty in life can achieve a life worth living. Sweaty=Happy. At least, that’s how I justify my pungent BO.

Instead, I caught N-Dubz Dappy’s alt. message on E4.

His best line: “Forgive me if I have painted a somewhat gloomy picture, but I am just real innit”
This may have to be adopted as the tagline for my blog…
Brilliant. I never thought a boy who looks like an upside-down acorn could dispense sense, but there we have it. And who knew he was a royalist?

Next year, I shall have to film my own message to the nation.

Boring and Ugly 10


Dec 17th

Esther spies the letter to Marina over my shoulder. “That’s shit” she scowls. She’s just jealous. At least my letter isn’t to Bob Mortimer like hers would be. She used to think she’d bump into him on the street when she lived in London, and they would fall instantly in love.

"Ooh look, there's a big issue in there"

We get to Lisa’a and find a Big Issue on the table. “You two can’t afford to buy the Big Issue can you?” I say incredulously. However, the latest issue of Look or ID often finds its way here. Priorities you see.
“It’s not ours, we don’t know where it came from”. Says Lisa with confusion. “It’s like god thinks we need it or something”.

Esther and Lisa were shopping in Rotherham Tesco for their grandma.

Esther has to go to the loo, and as she sits down in the cubicle, she hears two women talking rapidly in Urdu (or something).
Suddenly an angry Rotherham woman’s voice came from the other cubicle “Speak English for God’s sake!”

The women outside fall silent.
“I’m just talking to my sister, I can speak in any language I want, thank you!” The braver sister replies.
“Come on, let’s go…” says her sister diplomatically.
“No. I want to see who said that” she snaps, settling down for a wait.
Esther started to panic. They’re gonna think it was me! Shit, I’m going to get it when I step out, shit shit!. Her cheeks got redder and redder as she braces herself to face their wrath. She opens the door, and peeked out.
“It wasn’t me…” she quivers at the two equally red (with anger) faces.
“I know love, just go” says the angry sister.
Outside, Lisa was waiting. “Let’s just get the hell out of here” Esther said and they scurry away.

"Can I come out yet?"

Dec 20th

“Isn’t it nice to be sat in from the cold, with a cup of tea and a biscuit” says Lisa wistfully.

“So, life’s alright then?” queries Esther.

“No, I wouldn’t got that far”.

“Life’s shitty shit” shouts Dom.

“At least no-one’s watching” says Lisa. “We can relax. For now at least.”

Apparently, last night Dom returned home from a gig at 5am. “I’ve got a present for you” he slurs at Lisa. “What?” she says excited. Lisa loves gifts.
“A prostitute’s lipstick” he says, brandishing a tarty pink tube. “I picked it up just before I got in the cab”.
“Isn’t that what every girl wants?” he adds “to look like a prozzy?”
Lisa acts disgusted, but the next day she comes downstairs: “Do you like my lips” she asks coyly “I’ve put that lipstick on”. I swallow some bile.
“Can you catch AIDS from lipstick?” she asks, realizing what might have come free with the present. Let’s see; Herpes, gonorrhea, syphilis, crabs…a whole menagerie of alien bodies.

Coming Soon: Boring and Ugly- The Xmas Special

BORING ‘N’ UGLY 8


OMG is that a clitoris?

Dec 7th

Esther brought up the small cock debate on the dog walk with Lisa today. “I was just being an evil bitch” says Lisa, “But Dom’s still got a big ‘un”.
Before I new that there were showers and growers (about 6 months ago to be precise) I had kind of resigned my self to having a smaller than average willy. 3 inches soft, 6 inches hard. A very mediocre improvement. Still it seemed to do the job (but it’s mostly unemployed).
As a virgin, I had avidly read the problem pages of FHM while I waited at the barbers.

“I was the only bloke in a college of 300 women” the hairdresser would boast as he chopped the hideouls marine cut I wanted at the time. He never said what that meant- so he learned how to apply fake tan like a pro?

‘Look at you now, the only manicured metrosexual in the village’ I should have said. Is 15 years too long for a comeback?

The French call it L’esprit d’escalier (the inspiration on the stairs, it comes to you after you’ve left like). With me it’s usually ‘the spirit of halfway along the trans-siberian express’.
“My boyfriend’s penis is so small that I can’t feel it inside me” one reader said. “He just sits at home and cries about it all the time” she concluded. Oh God, I thought, what if that’s my fate? A sad man growing old with his light permanently obscured by his bush(el)?
It reminds me of that joke “My wife’s so fat…she killed herself last week”.
My party trick, around 6am usually, is to strip off and walk around showing everyone who’s still awake everything I’ve got to show. (Not much according to Lisa). So whether they like it or not, pretty much all of my friends have seen my willy. So whether I am small or not should be a moot point by now.

Maybe it’s ok to have a small cock so long as you’re not afraid to show it?
In my head, that last line was spoken in the voice of Carrie from Sex and the City:
This is what I always heard when she spoke: “After all, aren’t we all just a bunch of privileged cunts wearing couture angst?” [meaningful silence]. Cut to credits.

Dec 9th
No lecture today- my tutor is protesting in London. The big kid. The only reason anyone goes to these protests is to take their anger out on Tescos and get their photo in the Independent. Did your dad cut your allowance? Go and join the demo. Did your girlf/boyf go off with a sexy activist? Go and smash a policeman’s face in and win them back. Don’t like politics or fashion? Join the Young Socialists. That’s the only reason I went to the Stop the War demo in 2003- for a party and something to do. Boredom not ideology drives our generation. Nothing better to do? Pretend to give a damn.

Who gives a shit- so what if the fees go up, it’s not like anyone will ever be earning £21K any time soon so it’ll never get paid back. You aren’t really expecting a good job as a result of your shitty paper certificate? Don’t be an idiot- it justs means you can afford a chip on your shoulder in the inevitable call centre where you end up, and have a higher class of daydream than the other school-leavers. “I could have been someone” moans Shane McGowan in Fairytale of New York, “Well so could anyone” comes Kirsty MacColl’s withering reply.

What’s in my head today: The Power by Snap: The Jim Carrey version: 


Just read this week’s Heat, my favourite magazine like ever. Thoughts: So Cheryl Cole is ‘torn’ between an ugly white man and an ugly black one. Maybe she only goes out with people who make her look better. And who won’t cheat. Why does Audrina Partridge look like her face is undergoing a landslide? In fact her whole body does too. Why are the best outfits always on the ‘What Were They Thinking‘ page?

Watching News 24. I wish the students would stop throwing things at police horses. It’s the people on top that they’re out to get. Imagine having a doughnut-filled bully boy on top of you, tensing his thigh muscles in anger as scrawny middle class dropouts get all hot headed and try to knock you over.
One student is interviewed “I paid £44 to get here today [have you never heard of a Student Railcard?], don’t get me wrong” he shouts at the top of his voice, “Clegg, you need to man up. You have 3 options, grow some balls and oppose it, abstain and you’re no man, or support it and be a dick” he bellows.
“YES!” shouts a neighbouring chav. Like he is ever going into Higher Education.

So Nick, did you get that; you can either have balls, or a dick or nothing; what do you choose?

"I want my balls back"

 

Dec 13th

“If I had turned out the way I should have, I would be making little cakes by now” says Lisa wistfully. “Instead I’m sleeping in and chain smoking”.
What did I want to be? What should I have become? I’m just glad I’m still here, what with my predisposition for falling over, indecision, and sudden fits of recklessness, I could have been a quadraplegic by now. The spine is so fragile I think, what a stupid design. Sometimes when I sit with my arm round Esther, I think ‘a quick twist and she’s dead’, and I have to sit on my hands for a while.

My mother once revisited her youthland and found an old woman staring at her like she’d seen a ghost. She approached her quizzically. “I’m sorry dear”, said the crone, “but I remember you, and I never thought you’d survive into adulthood”. No further explanation was offered, and the woman drifted back to her shopping.

The benefits of a healthcare system are that evolution is frozen- the weak and the frail get to live out their lives in an artificially safe environment. Instead of the old dying and making way for the young, they hang around- it’s not unusual to have the choice of grandparents or great-grandparents for babysitters.

It must come as a shock when you suddenly stop being young and realise that you’re ONE OF THEM- a fogey, a biddy, a dirty old man. I can feel it, coming in the air tonight…

I have the sudden desire for an enema in time for Christmas.

Dec 5th: Clumsy Seduction #2.


"I kneed you to need me"

Esther admitted last night that she felt like going off with someone else again. She was on a nympho tip. It sent me a bit crazy in an inelegant way.

Life imitates blogland. After a bottle of wine and some shots, it occurred to me that I wanted to kiss one of our friends because she liked my blog.

While Esther and Lisa piled into Spar, we wait in the taxi. She is talking to me but I’m not listening, so I cut her off. “I find you attractive” I intone in a strangely serious voice. Rita blinks. “I…find you attractive…too?” she says, following the Psycho Code of going along with whatever a nutter says until you can enlist the help of others. The girls come back with more booze and she breathes again.
I sit with Esther and Lisa in Rita’s room. It seems only logical to say “let’s have a foursome”. “What’s in it for us?” says Esther “there’s only one of you”.
Dammit. Who does this ever work for?? Calum Best and a case of rohypnol?

Later at the house, Rita is talking to Dom, the newest and soberest addition to the party. I become bored. Mid sentence (again) I lean forwards and plug her mouth with mine. She pushes me away. Oops. After a brief stuttering apology from me, she continues with her story.
I shouldn’t bother really should I?

I go to the toilet with Lisa. “Everyone says you’ve got a small penis” she says. “What?” I gulp.

“Dom and lots have people have been talking about how small it is” she says matter-of-factly. I can feel my self-esteem dribbling down my leg.
It sounds like I have missed out on a focus group about my manlihood.
“I’m a grower not a shower” I say, reluctant to expose my cold-affected member just yet.
The good thing about alcohol is that it makes you grow sometimes and I relaise it looks a bit more respectable now.
“Is this small?” I say, letting it dangle before her, pushing it out for the most favourable evaluation.
“Well it’s a lot smaller than Dom’s”
“What, this!?” I say thinking ‘actually this is quite big compared to how it usually looks’. I’m starting to feel very small all over.
“Dom’s balls are much bigger too” she says.
So not only do I have a small cock, but miniscule testicles too? God has been good. Why am I only finding out now?
Lisa gets bored and exits.
I put myself away, and file out of the toilet. Gutted.

A grower

Penis story #1:Full body cast.
Being at art school meant that you never knew what you’d be asked to do. It became known that I liked to get naked, and so Dora asks me one day to be the model for an all over body cast. “Sure” I say.
I arrive at her house and I’m ordered to cover myself in Vaseline. I come downstairs in the tiny dressing gown she gives me, and sit in the armchair. “Right, take it off” she says, as she begins to dip her modrock (NOT a euphemism) in water. As I sit there starkers, thinking “Christ what have I got myself into”, Famke walks in. “Hahahahaha” she sniggers at my glistening body. Famke’s parents are naturists, and she vividly recalls seeing her dad’s morning glory on its regular route to the toilet in the morning, and mysteriously wilted on its return. Europeans eh?
Dora starts on my legs, wrapping me with wet plasters which set gradually. A devious plan hatches in my head, and I somehow get Dora to plaster my arms before my bits. This means that I am simply not capable of doing them myself. Oh no.
Dora starts to lather me up, and despite me straining to stay decent, I become tumescent. She giggles. Not my favourite reaction. As she covers it, it raises up like a zombie from a horny grave, needing more and more plaster to be layered on it to keep it in place. Famke walks in, and laughs again. Never work with animals or penises I think.
After about an hour, I am covered up to my neck, with a small but well proportioned erection sticking out halfway down. I wait for it to dry, and reflect on my life. This only takes a minute, so I move onto the nights TV.
Later, the various bits of me were broken up into sections. Apparently my stiffy was passed around college in amusement for the next few months. I don’t know what happened to it- all that remained was my head when I next came to look in Dora’s studio…

Dec 7th
Esther brought up the small cock debate on the dog walk with Lisa today. “I was just being an evil bitch” says Lisa, “But Dom’s still got a big ‘un”.
Before I new that there were showers and growers (about 6 months ago to be precise) I had kind of resigned my self to having a smaller than average willy. 1-3 inches soft, 6 inches hard. A very mediocre improvement. Still it seemed to do the job (but it’s mostly unemployed).
As a virgin, I had avidly read the problem pages of FHM while I waited at the barbers (“I was the only bloke in a college of 300 women” he would boast. He never said what that meant- so he learned how to apply fake tan like pro? ‘Look at you now, the only manicured metrosexual in the village’ I should have said. Is 15 years too long for a comeback?).
“My boyfriend’s penis is so small that I can’t feel it inside me” one reader said. “He just sits at home and cries about it all the time” she concluded. Oh God, I thought, what if that’s my fate? A sad man growing old with his light permanently obscured by his bush(el)?
It reminds me of that joke “My wife’s so fat…she killed herself last week”.
My party trick, around 6am usually, is to strip off and walk around showing everyone who’s still awake everything I’ve got to show. (Not much according to Lisa). So whether they like it or not, pretty much all of my friends have seen my willy. So whether I am small or not should be a moot point by now.

Maybe it’s ok to have a small cock so long as you’re not afraid to show it?
God, that sounds like Carrie’s voiceover on Sex and the City now:
“After all, aren’t we all just privileged cunts with too much money?” [meaningful silence]. Cut to credits.

"*Sigh* one day I can afford a nose job"

BORING AND UGLY 6


Bad Santa

Nov 30th: Santa’s Bleedin’ Grotto

For 8 months, I’ve had to walk round the shitty Sheffield Eye to get to my busstop. It’s not as if there’s anything to see up there, apart from grey stuff drenched in rain. And apparently, we only got it because York (that cultural capital of the mid-North) turned their nose up at it. It’s not even a hand-me-down because at least the first in line uses it first. It’s a NIMBY. But it hardly ever stopped going round. Who paid £6.50 for an elevated view of the chav hordes? Just take the T. K. Maxx lift. Anyway, so they finally dismantled it, presumably to pass it down sibling-style to the next runt in line- Bradford or Skegness or somewhere.


I think; Ah, finally, I can see if there’s a bus waiting at the stop and run to catch it. Nope.

Because now they’ve built a sodding behemoth of a fake Christmas tree there. Santa’s hollow-tree Grotto has a little mock-log cabin ticket office where you fork out £4 frickin’ 50 for the pleasure of perching on some alcoholic’s knee and getting a wrapped-up McDonald’s Happy Meal toy. Out of my fucking way Santa, my need to go home RIGHT NOW is REAL unlike your sad-sack polyester beard.

It’s a Snow Day today. You think I’m happy? I’m terrified of having nothing to do. At least when I’m at work I get swept along in the stress of it all and time kind of bleeds out. Time flies when your mind is numb.

But enforced idleness is petrifying. What the fuck does one do when one isn’t at work?

a) ‘The million and one things that you put off all the time’? I was Uk champion in Procrastination for the Nation last 10 years running, I’ll have you know. I got Aldo to pick up the awards though.

b) ‘Think’? God how therapeutic. Puke. The last time I had a good think, I got so morose that I had to eat 3 mini-magnums to feel better. And sicker.

c) ‘Relax’? Frankie never gave very clear instructions about how to do this. Note to self: Write a letter to the remaining band-members asking for clarification.

Dec 1st

Where’s my fucking advent calendar? It’s snowing today, drifts are about a foot deep outside. Did you know that my shoes are a 12 inches long. My feet are a foot. Facts like this make me feel safe. Something makes sense.

No cars are going anywhere, and the gaggle of annoying kids isn’t flowing past the house as usual. The parents have had to entertain them at home, ha ha ha. I’d love to be a fly on the wall: the bleeding heart liberal mummies and daddies around here have given their kids (Flora and Tyger) ADHD and megalomania by giving them everything they ever wanted!

It’s the worst snow for 17 years. Being snowed-in means that people who have no life don’t stand out for once. Everyone has to sit on their arses chain-drinking tea.

I was pretty bored, so I came up with a list of Apps That Should Exist:

"There'a an App for that?"

1. Flower Identifier- Take a photo of a flower and send it to get the name and family and possible uses. I might be the only person in the world who would use this. But I would.

"Respect the Cock, Tame the Cunt"

2. Life Coach- When you’re feeling down, touch a button and get an instant pep talk: “You’re fantastic, you’ve got friends, you succeed at the things that matter, Christ, you made it this far!”. Like Horoscopes, they would need to perform the trick of being applicable to everyone, while seeming being individually tailored for the recipient (“OMG that’s exactly what I was thinking! I need to eat more chocolate and get a new carpet!”).

"I'm feeling a little hoarse"

3. Pun Generator- Can’t think of the right one-liner? Simply enter the word you’re trying to make ‘punny’, then wait for your options. Card writing has never been so easy. Powered by a universal dad’s database which is updated regularly from snippets culled from BBC’s Have Your Say website.

Dec 2nd: Snow Day 2.

We have a lie in. I decide to write a novel. But I write this instead.

Esther woke me up sobbing last night. We had watched ‘The Killer Inside Me’ where Casey Affleck beats the shit out of lover Jessica Alba. While he smashes her face in, he keeps apologising and saying “Don’t worry honey, it will be over soon”, and she doesn’t scream because she loves him. The look on her face is confusion not fear. After she’s dead, he is gutted.

Esther tells Lisa about it today. Lisa is nonplussed: “It’s good to have a bit of trauma. It adds to your personality”.