George Bush Is A Retard

I was watching a bunch of clips of ex-President George W. Bush the other day, and I can’t restrain myself from commenting on how retarded he really is. It’s not even like he’s naturally retarded. It’s more like he has BEEN retarded…on purpose…BY SOMEONE. In an experiment. But it looks like a comfortable type of retardation, like having two breakfasts, falling asleep in the bath and ending up with brain damage. He really, truly is a new and special breed of super-tard, the likes of which the world has seldom witnessed. He’s the sort of person who would wake up in the morning, put his left leg in his right pant leg, and then try to put his right leg in the same pant leg at the same time in order to correct the problem, only to realize that he hasn’t had a shower yet anyway. I like him.

Clone Cops

THIS SUMMER………..…RAY LIOTTA……………AND………….RAY LIOTTA…………….ARE…………………..CLONE COPS! This rotten action comedy stars Ray Liotta as a cop on the edge who clones himself after losing his partner in a bust gone wrong. Fuelled by sorrow and whiskey, Jack Farmer, Liotta’s character, turns to ex-CIA science maverick Kris Kristofferson, who clones him in a big machine with lots of lights on it. The rest of the film consists of Ray trying to keep his clone out of trouble because it doesn’t know how to speak or feed itself, and just shambles around the police station with its uniform only half on, clattering into suspects and piles of evidence and fiddling around with a loaded gun. The film does, however, set itself up for a good sequel as Farmer finally manages to train the clone to do some basic everyday things. The clone makes its first arrest in the final scene of the film, and then as the credits start to role and the soundtrack play the two Farmers look into the camera grinning, the clone Farmer with a substantial amount of drool collecting on its fat chin.

What Day Is It?

For about two weeks now I’ve been thinking it’s the day after it actually is. Today is Wednesday, but I’ve been thinking it’s Thursday all day. Tomorrow I will probably think it’s Friday all day long. Why the fuck does that happen? And why is it always the day after the day it is that you think it is, rather than the day before it is that you think it is? Eh? Why’s that, then? I think the only way to fix it would be to drink until I pass out for eight days, and then my internal clock will be correct. But if I did that I wouldn’t know what week it was any more, and the problem would be seven times worse. How does it happen in the first place? How do you end up thinking it’s a day after it actually it is? Maybe, when you think about the future, sometimes your brain gets snagged on something interesting and part of it fails to return to the present, like a piece of fluff on some Velcro.

Saving The World

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the world’s problems recently, and have become convinced that I have all the answers. If you just stand in the shower for a couple of minutes and think, you will usually be able to come up with some kind of solution for even the trickiest of conundrums before you even replace the shampoo bottle. The first thing I would like to propose a solution to is the problem of nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons, made with materials that were initially dug out of the ground, are very unpopular at the moment, and the world economy is bad with many people out of work, so why don’t we just pay the unemployed to put it all back? The weapons that have already been made can all be fired into each other in mid-air. We could deal with the environmental fallout from all of that by moving to another planet.

Why Hasn't Nicolas Cage Got Any Money?

I really don’t understand Nicolas Cage’s financial situation. I’m not an accountant, but I would imagine that he would have to have tried pretty hard to end up broke, given the amount of films he’s made. I mean, even if he’d got just one dollar for every piece of shit he ever made he should still be a multi-millionaire. If I was famous I would just hoard about ten million and stop working altogether. You could have a comfortable life living off the interest in some beach house somewhere, and keep yourself to yourself. There must be something deeply hollow for some people about being famous and getting a lot of money, because they go off the rails. It really pisses me off the number of times – and this is my own fault – I have paid hard-earned cash to watch that jug-eared nose on legs in a crappy movie, especially now that I discover that he took that money and pissed it up the wall. I personally must have given him a couple of hundred dollars over the years, and now he doesn’t even know where his next underwear is coming from. So, I guess he’ll have to change his name to Knickerless Cage.

Oh No!

I just found out my kids are adopted.

Fantasmagasmic Idea For A New Game Show!!!

I have a great idea for a new game show!! There are three guys with their dicks out, then a wall with three holes in it, and their mothers bent over on the other side. The contestants then have to answer questions, choosing between answers A, B and C. If they answer a question correctly, they don’t have to do anything, but if they WRONGLY answer A, they have to put their hard wang through hole A. If they wrongly answer B, they have to put it in hole B, and for a wrong answer C, hole C. Therefore, the more mistakes they make, the greater the chance they will eventually end up screwing their own ma. The show will be called STUPID MOTHERFUCKERS.

Science Series 2: The Earth's Atmosphere

The Earth’s atmosphere is a kind of massive chill-out zone, designed to support and nurture life. It is made up of 78% nitrogen, 21% oxygen, and 1% farts. Warm air tends to rise, whereas chilled or cold air often goes round and round in circles. The rotation of the Earth’s atmosphere is what spins the Earth itself round and round in space. There are four main layers in the atmosphere, much the same way as there are four layers in a cake that has four layers. These layers are called air piers, and are named The Tropical Zone, Mountain World, Kingdom Of Clouds, and Inner Space. Certain animals live in the air, and these are called birds. These animals are in the air because they are very light indeed, and are thus being slowly spun out into space by the centrifugal force created by our planet. Many people would like to explore the atmosphere, which has led to a recent boom in sales for sky map companies. The Earth is the only known planet with a breathable atmosphere. However, Esquire’s, the nightclub down the road from my house, also has a very nice atmosphere.

Tale Of The Pencils

Once upon a time, there lived some pencils in a little forest glade at the foot of a tall, scary mountain. The pencils lived together peacefully and happily, farming and eating together without conflict or any grudges between them. They lived in wonderful pencil cases propped up in the soft, fertile ground, and grew shorter by the year due to their annual sharpening, which took place at a ceremony. Life was good, except for one ominous shadow, cast over the small community (which didn’t move around because it was stationery) by a castle halfway up the mountain, which belonged to a terrible, mean old wizard who rode around on a fire-breathing dragon. The wizard seldom came down the mountain, but when he did, he burned up all of the pencils’ crops with the dragon’s fiery breath. Pencils don’t eat anything, so it didn’t really matter. It was more the principle of the thing, and the fact that sometimes the fire spread to their tiny abodes, burning them down and destroying all of their property. Once, a pencil had even died in one of these senseless attacks. So, understandably, the pencils were all terrified.
Luckily for the pencils, on the other side of the mountain there lived a certain 1980’s pop group, who, when they heard the wizard launch one of his attacks, would come charging round the foot of the mountain on their motorbikes, the revving of which was the only thing that would scare the dragon away. One day, the wizard decided to launch his most fearsome attack yet, so he mounted the dragon, which had been drinking loads of coffee, and charged down the mountainside with a sword in each flailing hand. However, the 1980’s pop group had been secretly watching the wizard’s preparations for several days, and had spent the time building an electrical pulse canon. When the wizard reached the tiny pencil village, they charged in with the weapon held high and blew the wizard clean over the village, over the dense surrounding forest, over the vast desert beyond, and into the dark cursed lake of Anwalan with a mighty SPLASH! And that’s why pencils have Erasure.

Poem About Digital TV

Two slow silver shining ticks of awe,
The old coal company bores a tunnel,
Through the birthday cake,
Light studiously avoiding every place,
Where the frog landed,
A silent army of concrete tractors,
Half of which sport their elevation,
As proudly as a boy with his new turtle,
Come back to bed! purrs the fiancee,
With the charm of an oily snake,
Wrapped around a tin can,
There’s too much fur to flush it all down the toilet,
And there’s only so much you can take,
She cries a stream of pills back into the bottle,
A young girl takes his arm, and later puts it back with the rest of him,
Beady ears bob like a cat’s on the bough,
A bomb at the fishery,
Disturbs the game at match point,
Policemen screech up with their windows down,
Laughing half-drunk bottles peel their labels off,
And fornicate in the shadows,
A grandmother has her second daughter killed,
And something cold happens to the sky,
No one must ever see my nob!!

I Hate Tom Cruise

I hate Tom Cruise. He’s not just a dickhead, he’s a Moby Dickhead. I don’t know if it’s the preppy, Reaganite vibes that radiate from his every smile, or the way he claps his hands and shouts ‘Wooooh’ when he gets excited in his earlier films. But I hate him. I hate his Scientology, his creepy proclamations of love for his child bride, and, most of all, his obvious belief that he has talent of some kind. He doesn’t. His acting is awful. He hasn’t made a half-decent film in years. He has no charm on screen or off. I remember this one time, in London, someone shot him with a water pistol, and rather than laugh like a normal person, he kept saying ‘Why would you do that? Why would you do that? You’re an asshole.’ He made the guy who shot him apologise, and the spineless fool did. If I had shot Tom Cruise, and he’d asked me why I did it, I would have said ‘Because I assumed you had a sense of humour, you short prick.’

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

On several occasions, someone has recommended that I read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. As a result, I have decided to make a point of not reading it.