10 Ways You Know You’re An Alcoholic.

1.  You can only tell what time it is by how many drinks you’ve had… Oh, look at that, it’s 3 whiskeys past a vodka.

2. You have no friends.

3. The friends you do have are over 60, unemployed and hate everything, including you.

4. You wake up in bed at 3am, wet yourself, then go back to sleep.

5. You don’t so much go to bed as you do fall into the bed, miss, and smash your face in the floor. You then make no effort to correct this error.

6. Being drenched from head to toe in your own vomit and urine is no longer the ‘faux pas’ it used to be.

7. Your daughter asks you,

“where do unicorns live?” To which you respond,

“You’re why daddy drinks…”

8. Your idea of a romantic night out with your partner is starting a fight with the waitress in your local McDonald’s because she wont let you light a candle on your anniversary (which was actually 3 weeks ago) due to it being a fire hazard and also your drunkenness.

9. Drenching your friends from head to toe in your own vomit and urine is no longer the ‘faux pas’ it used to be.

10. You pass out before reading this far.

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My Blind Date

Hey guys, so yesterday was a fun day for me, a friend set me up on a blind date, usually I can’t be bothered with blind dates as the only women who go on blind dates are boring as fuck, dried up old prunes, who lead lives less interesting than that of my last bowel movement.

My fear of blind dates comes mostly from experience, last year a friend had set me up with a girl he knew, just out of interest I decided to go. Anyway, he gave me her number, I called her, we chatted, and eventually we decided to meet by City Hall. When I got there, I sat on a bench and proceeded to text my blind date, I wrote the words, “I’m here, sitting beside some fat chick, hope to see you soon,” needless to say the phone I just texted belonged to the fat chick… I’ll let you guess what happened next. Incase you can’t guess, here’s a clue: HULK ANGRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

However I owed this friend a favour so I went for him and I have to say, blind dates rock. You can stare at their tits all night long, pour salt on the table and tell them it’s braille and you can have a hell of a lot of fun directing them into the kitchen instead of the bathroom… I did that three times.

The third time all I heard from the kitchen were the words “Oh, for fuck sake! Not again!”

The night went pretty well despite my picking on her, I ended up back at hers, we spent the night together and I left in the morning…

I don’t think she’ll call me back though… Mostly because while she slept I moved her furniture around and put her phone in the kitchen sink…

I wonder how long it will take her to realise?

Bending To The Beats… (This title will be 300% funnier when you finish reading this blog.)

So my friend’s handicapped brother, let’s call him, Jack, decided he can live a normal life just like the rest of us… Making a decision like that as a handicapped person usually is quite a proud and momentous occasion for handicapped people, often it marks the end of being cared for and looked after the beginning of their own attempt or success in the field of self-sufficiency…

Now, call me cruel if you will, but I just thought it was a good excuse to get him wasted off his tits and leave him in the middle of nowhere for the lulz.

So we take him out to this club, Thompsons it’s called, a nice enough club, if you like E-heads rubbing their faces against your 100% cotton jumper for three hours. Cotton jumpers are like E-head magnets, I had like 6 of them rubbing my jumper at one point. I think one of them actually followed me home… Which is slightly worrying.

Anyway, we took our handicapped friend to a club and fed him full of Es…  And I have to tell you ladies and gentlemen… You have not seen funny untill you’ve witnessed the hilarious vision of a man with cystic fibrosis raving and dancing to pounding, pounding techno beats. I dare say it is the funniest imagery I have ever been witness to. Incase you’ve never seen a man with cystic fibrosis, off his tits on Es, dancing to techno, it looks a little like I imagine the Stretch Armstrong toy would look if you melted his arms and legs then threw him down the stairs.

Many hours later when he’d had his fill of being the only man on the dance floor, very much like a dancing version of the elephant man, he decided he wanted to go home. He was pretty off it, so we put him in a taxi and sent the taxi to Dublin…

We haven’t heard from him since… Hope he doesn’t have to walk home, I can’t imagine he’ll get too far with his legs, probably be better off walking home on his hands…

I wonder if he still thinks he can lead a normal life… I don’t think witnessing a man with cystic fibrosis walking over 60 miles on his hands is normal… Then again if he does it we may well have accidentally created the ultimate endurance sport…

…All jokes aside, if you do see a man with cystic fibrosis walking towards Belfast from Dublin do be a nice chap and pick him up, as we may or may not have sent him down there with no money… Or clothes.

Published in: on 26/11/2009 at 4:38 pm  Comments (1)  
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I fucked an amputee…

Last weekend was wilder than a jaguar on crack with its cock into a toaster.
A friend of mine, James, was holding a little B.B.Q. house-warming type shin-dig and invited me along (I very much think he regrets that decision now). I’m not entirely sure why he invited me because we don’t know each other that well, and anybody who does know me, knows it’s better not to invite me to these occasions, regardless he invited me.

I was meant to be there at around 5pm. I showed up at 11.30 in police custody.

I was meant to bring a house warming gift. I threw up in his shoes and punched his friend.

I was meant to help him get into some girl he likes. I fucked her to prove I could then fucked her amputee sister to win £50.

Let me explain. You see I was planning on showing up and being civil as I so often do… However circumstance prevented it. I just so happens that an old ex-girlfriend was in town, so I decided to go meet her, I don’t really know why I did, but I guess I don’t really have to since my cock made that decision for me, as it does with most decision which relate to vaginas.

Anyway, I went out to meet her and all went well, and we’re meeting again next week. I wasn’t entirely drunk when she left and it was only 7.30 and I don’t arrive at parties at 7.30 as far as I’m concerned if a party ends before 4a.m. it’s not a fucking party, so I had a few drinks on my own…

Untill I met some Americans. Now, the Americans fucking love us Irish and it’s pretty much mandatory that we leach the fucking shit out of this one way relationship. And so, like a 13 year old Japanese school girl taking advantage of elderly perverts through the medium of used underpants and up-skirt videos I pounced. They bought me so much fucking drink I went fucking blind. Who would have known that watching Irish people drink is like a fucking Olympic sport to Americans? I was not fucking complaining.

I don’t quite remember how this next part happened, but the bar got shut down… I’m sure I and a rather rowdy crowd of Americans were responsible somehow but I really can’t remember how.

And so, we took to the streets and like freshly liberated Guantanamo inmates breathing fresh air for the first time we threw up, en mass, all over the street, and then all over a police car, then all inside the police car, and a more beautiful sight I haven’t seen since.

The police dropped the Americans off at their hotel. They were actually quite nice about the incident, although, I “should have known better” according to P.C. Jim Davies, or whatever the fuck his name was, who decided to drop me home, needless to say, I lied about where my home was, and told him the address of my friends house.

When we got there, the B.B.Q. had expanded and there were a few smokers standing outside the front door and you could see some people round the side drinking.

“Are you sure this is your house?” He asked, to which I replied,

“Why yes fine sir, I am most sure that this establishment is my home, you may drop me off here sir and I shall trouble neither yourself nor these streets any more with my jovial antics, and here is a tuppence tip for your fine services this eve!” Which translates roughly to “Course, thus is..my?….. house… I KNOW WHERE I LIBE!!!!” (I was still quite drunk, and a little drowsy.)

After a brief conversation at the door between James and the nice policeman I was allowed in on the condition that James wouldn’t let me out of his sight. This is no small task, but neither James nor the policeman though this would be an issue, as both of them thought I’d be passed out in an hour… How wrong they were…

When the policeman had left James escorted me through the hall and up the stairs as quickly as he could to prevent me being seen by his lovely presentable friends, to which I took great offence, I believe my exact words were,

“James! No! James! Look at me! James! FUCK YOU! What? What is it? Am I not fancy enough to be around your friends!? I can be fancy James! Want me to be fancy?! I’ll wear a fucking doily and drink tea and talk about the establishment and lick bums James! Is that what you want James!!!!”

It was at this point that James’ shoes were to become the victims of an oncoming barrage of Technicolor fluids which would make a great excursion from my stomach to my mouth and inevitably into James’ shoes.

On completing the arduous task of vomiting all over my friends household I decided I had become sober enough to join the party, so I cleaned up and went downstairs to chat, I was talking to the girl James wanted into, and for a good 15 minutes straight some long haired hippy mother fucker who dressed almost entirely in fucking hemp was staring at me, needless to say I initiated a confrontation, only to find out, after punching him, that he had a lazy eye, sounds cliche, but this is my life. I was nice enough, I apologised and helped him clean up his bloodied face and we’re good friends now. In so much that I didn’t do any of that he hates me.

Anyway, James’ supposed woman to be, Jennifer, was quite impressed by my awesome face breaking skills and we fucked in James’ bed, I felt that if I were to betray him I should at least do it with a degree of class.

This is where we get to the fun part of the story. After fucking she introduced me to her sister…

This was awkward for a number of reasons, the first being that I offered her a hand shake, regardless of the fact she had no arms or legs, the second being that 10 minutes later I did the same thing drunkenly thinking she was somebody else. We did not get off to a good start. Inevitably my male friends started joking about how little Nancy No Legs wouldn’t fuck me if I were the last man on the planet. Needless to say I took this as a challenge and a bet was made, all my male friends chipped in raising a total of £50 if I fucked her I got it, if I didn’t I would be left with neither pride nor dignity.

Truth be told after I got talking to her she was actually quite interesting and I kinda wish I’d talked to her sober and not fucked her for money, but alas, this is life. As it turned out, she had climbed various mountains and on one trip she ended up having to be rescued after getting lost or some shit like that and for some reason (I can’t remember what) that had to take her arms and legs off. Anyway I feigned sympathy and interest for a while and told her plenty of men would like her (she had no self-esteem, which I’m guessing should be fairly obvious considering the fact she’s no fucking arms or legs) and the conversation went a bit like this:

“I have no arms or legs lol”

“That’s awesome, does that make rolling down hills more or less fun?”

“MOAR LAWLAWLAWLAWLALWLWL!”

“Your sister’s a good lay”

“I’m ugly”

“You are…. LOL”

“That hurt :(”

“Sorry, you’re not really, want to fuck?”

“OK!”

Obviously the conversation was longer and more complex but I can’t be fucked going into the whole thing, and also, I don’t remember most of it.

Anyway, I don’t know if any of you have ever fucked a girl with no arms or legs but there are certain things about doing it that can be a little… strange.

We’ll work backwards, from the end of the sexual experience to the start.

When you’re finished you have the option of stealing her clothes and moving her wheelchair into the hallway… I thought for a good 5 minutes about this. On the one hand it’s hideously cruel, on the other, it’s horrendously funny and a once in a life time opportunity. I’ll let your imaginations decide which option I went for.

When you’re fucking, you feel so much bigger in proportion, it feels like fucking a 2/3 human size bag of potatoes with a face.

Undressing her kinda takes the spark out of the moment a little (well,  that’s assuming that the lack of arms and legs hadn’t done that already.) It feels like you’re 7 again and taking the clothes off of your sister’s Barbie dolls to see what’s under them, except at the end you don’t bite the head off and spit it out the window…

The worst part about the whole experience?

Before we did it she wanted me to take her to the bathroom… I won’t even go into what that was like…

Which is more fag-tastic? AIDs or Twilight?

Since Twilight is the biggest pile of malignant, steaming, dinosaur diarrhoea I’ve ever had the misfortune of having been bombarded with – by both retarded, illiterate, emo, shit stains (who you’d be forgiven for thinking are little more than a mass of extras from the lesser known B movie: ‘Chernobyl: the aftermath,’) the media, and countless cretins, perpetually masturbating, in orgasmic delight, to whoever decided to cast that potato headed, mongoloid, queer bait, cunt faced, twat browed, fuck basket as the star (I don’t know or care to know his name) – I’ve decided to conduct some research…

Today we’ll be finding out just how fagtastically bum loving Twilight is.

In Pie Chart A, as illustrated below, we see, through seconds of painstaking research, that Twilight is vastly more bum loving than AIDs:

Having AIDs, it's considerably less gay than watching or reading Twilight...

Having AIDs; it's considerably less gay than watching Twilight... You read it, it's official.

In the next step in concluding just how much of an ass-ramming-bumathon Twilight is, I compared it to a prostate massage.

See Pie Chart B, below, for the results of my painstaking research:

Prostate Massages; recieving one, or giving one, is less gay than watching Twilight... Getting the picture yet you bum loving sphinctal explorer?

Prostate Massages; receiving one, or giving one, is less gay than watching Twilight... Getting the picture yet you bum loving sphinctal explorer?

When I finished my research, I decided that this isn’t really enough to decide once and for all that Twilight is the most massively, homosexual, steaming pile of horse shit ever…

So, I decided to put Twilight to one final test.

If Clint Eastwood watches Twilight in its entirety, then Twilight is officially not a bum licking festival of rampant rent boy abuse, if however, Clint Eastwood cannot watch Twilight in its entirety, then Twilight is, as I thought before conducting this research, a steaming pile of accidentally spilt bum fudge fueled by Gay Pride, sprinkled with the AIDs infested cum of 607k AIDs suffering bum lovers who perpetually masturbate to prostate massages…

Here are the results of the ‘Clint Eastwood test’ as captured on digital camera:

clinteastwoodwatchingtwilightclinteastwoodonwatchingtwilight
I guess that settles it:

If you watch Twilight, you might as well be watching Brokeback Mountain; watching Twilight is the equivalent of masturbating with a rabid (same sex) badger with a dildo up it’s ass and Twilight itself is to the arts what Nazi Germany was to diversity, multiculturalism and acceptance.

Society; It Just Keeps Winning These Days…

Thank you knife crime!

Thank you knife crime!

Heard of Peter Tyler Juett? No? That’s because he’s an insignificant speck of useless genetic waste that society should be proud to have, all be it, inadvertently, pushed off of the mortal coil.

Just to give you a bit of a back-story, in case you don’t know or like me didn’t really give a flying fuck, here’s the Daily Mail’s take:

The suspected burglar, 17-year-old Tyler Juett, was killed after he was allegedly caught breaking into a house in Old Basford, Nottingham…One visitor [in regards to the website set up in support of the stabber] claimed Juett deserved his fate, adding: ‘This dude is a pretty cool guy. He stabs thug wanna-bes and isn’t afraid of anything.’

First off, I fail to see why we are still calling this ‘suspected burglary’, if there’s foul play involved and they picked the kid off the streets and killed him for the lulz then who the fuck really cares? So let’s just cut to the chase and all agree to call it a burglary. Just look at that kid’s retarded face, how could he be of any use to our society? Let’s face it guys, we’re not losing a Nobel Prize winner her, we’re losing some malignant, shit-munching, scum-dreg who’s biggest achievement in life would have been to father 3 children by the age of 23 (further degrading the value I and you place on life, and ruining society in general.)

I am fed up with you butt-hurt liberals crying like a child who’s been kicked in the cunt every time some fucking idiot gets himself killed.

Secondly:
His mother Michelle, 34, refused to speak to the press but wrote on her Facebook page: ‘Why, why, why, why, why? I want my baby back.’ – Daily Mail, again.

Why? Why, you malignant, shit wrapping, faeces flinging troglodyte? Why? You’re honestly asking why? I’ll tell you why, because 1., You clearly can’t raise a child for shit and 2., because he burgled somebody like a fucking useless tool.

Michelle, the mother, or, inconsiderate wombatron, as I’m going to refer to her from now on, is pretty much the reason I believe having children is not a right, it is a privilege and should be treated as such, you should have to take a parenting test, spend months in parenting courses, and be awarded a ‘licence to breed by the state.’ It astounds me that in this fucking country, you need to be 18 to drink, yet only 16 to fuck, what the fuck is going on? Seriously, you fucking idiots prance around as if having kids is some magical miracle and they just fucking raise themselves, you act like you all DESERVE to have children, when quite frankly it’s brutally obvious that a vast majority of the population are useless genetic dregs on the lowest possible stage of the evolutionary ladder, with no right to re-introduce their DNA strands to society by shitting out more womb-waste.

Your child is dead because you were a shit mother.

Paramedics tried to save the teenager – Daily Express.

Why did you bother? Some life isn’t worth saving.

A police spokesman said: “In an effort to establish the circumstances which led up to the death we would ask anyone who was in and around the area at that time on March 13 to cast their minds back to see if they can remember anyone acting suspiciously. – Daily Express.

Again, why bother? It’s a complete waste of tax payer money, give whoever stabbed him a fucking medle and a parade and encourage more people to defend themselves and their homes.

A neighbour is quoted as saying : “They are good people who live in that house. They are very co-operative and nice. “ – Well, I’m glad they managed to co-operate that knife into that little ‘solja’ faggots gut.

What the fuck is a solja anyway? Anybody who calls themselves a fucking solja should be incinerated.

You fucks are lucky I don’t run this nation.

Oh, and Tyler Peter Juett? What a fucking retarded name, if you’re going to fall short on raising your kids the least you can do is not force them to live out what short lives they’re going to have with some french bullshit girly boy hybrid name that just sounds like a really fucking bad economic jet.


A list of 30 things I hate.

1., You,
2., Everything you stand for,
3., Women,
4., Pretty much anybody who’s a Liberal,
5., The poor,
6., Blacks,
7., Homosexuals,
8., Whites,
9., Barry Fucking Manilow,
10., Heterosexuals,
11., Eskimos – who the fuck do they think they are?
12., Metrosexuals,
13., Coldplay’s latest album,
14., Your mum,
15., Australia,
16., Every album Coldplay released previous to their latest album,
17., Anybody who listens to Coldplay,
18., Coldplay,
19., Change,
20., Anybody who watches Sex and City and thinks that it’s ok to act like they’re Carry (or whatever that wind-bag-shit-churning-cum-receptical’s name is) in real life,
21., People who call it “Sex in the City” – not that I really give a shit, since the series is equal in value to my last wank which landed all over the carpet because I didn’t have any tissues ready because I was absolutely dying for a wank because I’d been thinking about my girlfriend the whole car journey home and didn’t have the foresight to think “oh wait I’m going to need tissues,” no rather I just pulled my pants down around my ankles and went for it like a doberman on steroids tearing a baby’s face off,
22., Liberals,
23., Being so desperate for a wank that I don’t bother or remember to have tissues at the ready,
24., Jade Goodie,
25., Liberals,
26., George Lucas – because of what he did to Star Wars,
27., George Lucas – because of what he did to Indiana Jones,
28., Harrison Ford – for being the worst actor on the planet, and also for playing a part in the general shit fest that is the Indiana Jones franchise that my idiot girlfriend won’t ever fucking shut up about,
29., People who quote movies or series they know I don’t watch,
30., People,

Published in: on 16/03/2009 at 12:50 am  Comments (1)  
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Baby Stabbingly Good.

Few things in life can be described as baby stabbingly good. In fact, usually, only one thing can be described as “baby stabbingly good” and that’s stabbing babies.

But occasionally, something tip toes out of the semen drenched caves of the dirgeous wastelands of what man claims to be civilised and punts baby stabbing right off the scale of hilarity into the realms of the inanity.

Today that something is Israel fucking the Gaza strip’s shit up.

Thank you Israel for being really fucking awesome all the fucking time!

Published in: on 04/01/2009 at 1:55 am  Leave a Comment  
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