Could I Ever Love A Fascist? (An Ode To Nick Griffin)
You’ve got a perfect smile but an evil mind,
You’ve got a national front and a cute behind.
I’ve got a nice apartment where we could head down,
You’re so much sexier than Cameron or Brown.
Give up the violence and the race hate and citings,
So you and me could have a romantic night in.
My girlfriends ok but I know you could match her,
Would you be up for a threesome with Thatcher?
I don’t agree with your policies on national immigration,
But I hope I can ignite your man love celebration.
FIN.
Hello you cracked egg shell in the albumen of life. Hows things in less awesome places? How I thought they were. Less awesome. I never want to confuse feeling in a happy mood with being in 'that' kind of happy mood. As soon as I feel any kind of over-joyousness I start to worry it could be a sign of things to come, as a big high is sometimes followed with a big low. I don't want to sound pessimistic, but it's such a big weight on my mind the whole time its hard to put it to one side. The four ways I can sort of judge whether or not I'm feeling happy, or feeling 'happy-happy' are listed below, in details which may or may not be humorous/boring/of such gory detail my close family and friends will not be able to look at me in the same way again.
1. Increased appetite.
I eat much more as normal, this constitutes to either packs of sandwiches on comparably high scale as the amount of Nightmare On Elm Street films, and calorific content that would put Joey Chestnut to shame.
2. Stupid amounts of money lost.
Money is frittered away without a care in the world, 'Ooooh a dog with its face caved in, I'll offer you a tenner, and my lovely shoes', is just one fictional example of the stupid things I'll buy.
3. Increased wants for sexytime/ladies.
Now this is one thing I love about being in this mood, the only two relationships I can say I've had, have come about because of a high mood. I'm scared of asking girls out or saying to them how I feel, but in this mood I just seem to lose my inhibitions and just go for it and ask them. Wants for sexytime go up. Less said about that the better. Move on. MOVE THE FUCK ON.
4. I drink like a motherfucking alcoholic fish.
Water, Cider, turps (not turps), Apple Juice, Smirnoff Ice, Creme de Menthe, turps (not turps), Aftershave (I've drank Aftershave, that was a fucking awesome night at my house, it was Yves Saint Laurent, I mixed it with vodka, half and half and tried to set it alight, it worked for like a split second. I smelt like Peter Stringfellow for a month). My God, I drink lots of fluids. Not that though. MOVE THE FUCK ON.
I'm going to go, I'm reading a Wikipedia article about Holocaust Deniers, not because I agree, I despise the people who do, but I was reading about Justin Fashanu and it seemed to link after a few clicks. I'm not saying the late, great, homosexual footballer Justin Fashanu denies the Holocaust, but 3 clicks on links is all that separates.
Love and AWOOOOOOOGA! (Thats John Fashanu not Justin Fashanu)
Jc
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
Crunchy Nut Boredflakes
Hello non-drunk people.
People should talk more when they're drunk. Not about people they love, people they have loved or people they will love. Just truly about themselves. I try my best to do this, hoping that people will appreciate this. And hopefully go forward and do the same. This seems extraordinarily egotistical of me, but I'm drunk, so what do you expect. I'll try and delete this in the morning, but the egotistical imp at the back of my mind will overrule me, and here it shall stand forever, a testament towards my never-ending drunkenness and big-headedness.
It's always a two way feeling seeing a friend getting so along with someone of the opposite sex. The guy I was out with tonight, a great guy I hope to be friends with a long time after this seems to be a magnet towards vagina. I seem to be the equivalent to cardboard in the magnetic-vagina stakes. I try my darndest, I tell thee, I reall do. But when I dance I seem to look like I'm having some sort of epileptic fit on the dance floor, a look like I'm trying to shift an invisible wardrobe. It's impressive to see I have to say, the speed and accuracy at people seeing to 'pull' women. It seems like it should be showcased on 'The Real Hustle'.
I got started on tonight, some guy mouthing about my moustache, saying it belonged in the 1970's. I just laughed in his face so hard, its always a good tactic, just try and show them that you're genuinely mentally ill. I suppose that tactic works even more when you actually are mentally ill, like myself, but the look on the guys face as you laugh pulling a horrendously happy face in his direction makes the awkwardness worthwhile. I'm satisfied in the knowledge if it did come down to fisticuffs he was so small and puny I'd punch him so far into next month he'd be able to give spoilers for next months Eastenders. The absolute wankshaft. If you're reading this, I'd happily have a fight with you, I'd even give you an advantage of having your fat'ass mum in the ring for me to slap about beforehand.
I'm about to be sick very soon, so I'd best go. Apologies for spelling/grammar mistakes, its too late for me to check so I'm sure the 2 or 3 of you that actually read this will be able to read it regardless.
Love and Shagga's, the worst cocktail name in the world.
Jc
People should talk more when they're drunk. Not about people they love, people they have loved or people they will love. Just truly about themselves. I try my best to do this, hoping that people will appreciate this. And hopefully go forward and do the same. This seems extraordinarily egotistical of me, but I'm drunk, so what do you expect. I'll try and delete this in the morning, but the egotistical imp at the back of my mind will overrule me, and here it shall stand forever, a testament towards my never-ending drunkenness and big-headedness.
It's always a two way feeling seeing a friend getting so along with someone of the opposite sex. The guy I was out with tonight, a great guy I hope to be friends with a long time after this seems to be a magnet towards vagina. I seem to be the equivalent to cardboard in the magnetic-vagina stakes. I try my darndest, I tell thee, I reall do. But when I dance I seem to look like I'm having some sort of epileptic fit on the dance floor, a look like I'm trying to shift an invisible wardrobe. It's impressive to see I have to say, the speed and accuracy at people seeing to 'pull' women. It seems like it should be showcased on 'The Real Hustle'.
I got started on tonight, some guy mouthing about my moustache, saying it belonged in the 1970's. I just laughed in his face so hard, its always a good tactic, just try and show them that you're genuinely mentally ill. I suppose that tactic works even more when you actually are mentally ill, like myself, but the look on the guys face as you laugh pulling a horrendously happy face in his direction makes the awkwardness worthwhile. I'm satisfied in the knowledge if it did come down to fisticuffs he was so small and puny I'd punch him so far into next month he'd be able to give spoilers for next months Eastenders. The absolute wankshaft. If you're reading this, I'd happily have a fight with you, I'd even give you an advantage of having your fat'ass mum in the ring for me to slap about beforehand.
I'm about to be sick very soon, so I'd best go. Apologies for spelling/grammar mistakes, its too late for me to check so I'm sure the 2 or 3 of you that actually read this will be able to read it regardless.
Love and Shagga's, the worst cocktail name in the world.
Jc
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
Hog Lumps and Pig Snacks.
Seeing people jump off the top of the World Trade Centre was appalling, but at least the Weather Girls got their wish.
That joke was brought to you by the year 2001.
Hello you 20mg of Fluoxetine in the life that I call life. I'm finally running out of ideas, well, less that, more that's the first thing that I came up with and its an unwritten rule that I never go back in the blogs except for libellous statements, things I've written my Mum would disown me for and the red squiggly line of death that I've mentioned in the past. I think I've found a sport that I want to play. Less play, more take part in, as I'm pretty sure if I went into a boxing gymnasium and shouted 'LETS PLAY' they'd kick my face so hard I'd be the first human example of a wellington boot. I'd say a forte of mine is dishing out a punch. Taking them, not so much. But I'm sure that can be rectified. I quite like the idea of me being a failed boxer with Parkinsons who beats his wife when he's reached 45. I don't think that's going to happen though. I don't think I'll get married.
I'm too much of a pain to live with, what with my crazy brain and bad toilet habits. I see a bed less of a place for sleep and sex than a place where I can fart without having any of that awkward social stigma. I'm the kind of person who'd feel no shame in eating the last Muller corner or drinking that bottle of Dom Perignon champagne because its the last in the series of House on TV, the bottle of which the wife was saving for when the kids left for Uni.
I wouldn't say I was a tosser I'd just say I had higher priorities, I'd much rather make sure my current family were secure and happy and safe, than bombarding a woman and kid on the current family, of which my Nan wouldn't approve of her because she once flashed a breast on North West tonight when she was 22 and wouldn't approve of the kid because his first word strangely sounded like the expletive 'Wankshaft'.
I'm talking shit. Right I'm off. Off out in a night in Preston tonight, should be awesome, I'm on the sambucas and red wine, I'm going to feel like a Division 1 WAG.
Its only a matter of time until a monkey's going to come out writing the whole works of Shakespeare what with China's birth rate reaching 3,450 children a day.
(I don't know if that's funny, but it made me laugh when I thought of it)
Love and the realisation Dark Chocolate digestives taste better than Milk Chocolate digestives.
Jc
That joke was brought to you by the year 2001.
Hello you 20mg of Fluoxetine in the life that I call life. I'm finally running out of ideas, well, less that, more that's the first thing that I came up with and its an unwritten rule that I never go back in the blogs except for libellous statements, things I've written my Mum would disown me for and the red squiggly line of death that I've mentioned in the past. I think I've found a sport that I want to play. Less play, more take part in, as I'm pretty sure if I went into a boxing gymnasium and shouted 'LETS PLAY' they'd kick my face so hard I'd be the first human example of a wellington boot. I'd say a forte of mine is dishing out a punch. Taking them, not so much. But I'm sure that can be rectified. I quite like the idea of me being a failed boxer with Parkinsons who beats his wife when he's reached 45. I don't think that's going to happen though. I don't think I'll get married.
I'm too much of a pain to live with, what with my crazy brain and bad toilet habits. I see a bed less of a place for sleep and sex than a place where I can fart without having any of that awkward social stigma. I'm the kind of person who'd feel no shame in eating the last Muller corner or drinking that bottle of Dom Perignon champagne because its the last in the series of House on TV, the bottle of which the wife was saving for when the kids left for Uni.
I wouldn't say I was a tosser I'd just say I had higher priorities, I'd much rather make sure my current family were secure and happy and safe, than bombarding a woman and kid on the current family, of which my Nan wouldn't approve of her because she once flashed a breast on North West tonight when she was 22 and wouldn't approve of the kid because his first word strangely sounded like the expletive 'Wankshaft'.
I'm talking shit. Right I'm off. Off out in a night in Preston tonight, should be awesome, I'm on the sambucas and red wine, I'm going to feel like a Division 1 WAG.
Its only a matter of time until a monkey's going to come out writing the whole works of Shakespeare what with China's birth rate reaching 3,450 children a day.
(I don't know if that's funny, but it made me laugh when I thought of it)
Love and the realisation Dark Chocolate digestives taste better than Milk Chocolate digestives.
Jc
Monday, 4 October 2010
I'm going to punch you so hard you lose 12 quid.
Whattup you orange flavoured sweets in the Fruit Pastille bag I call life.
Not done much at all, got my 'crazy tablets' today, which means I'll stop going out and killing for a couple of weeks. Sent off my final Student Finance form super-special delivery in the hope of receiving the loan in time for the weekend. If it does come by the weekend I plan to go off to Manchester and see my best mate Luke Z. Woods. He'd better not have changed into some twat. University changes people. I just hope he's still the quiet little tubby guy who gets along with everyone but still feels awkward in social situations that I know and love. Can't wait to see him. Will be nice. Jesus I'm making it sound like I want to fuck him.
I was asked a question by a friend, would you rather have the head of a horse or the arms of a T-Rex. I've been thinking about it and I'd have to say arms of a T-Rex.
1. Because you'd have fucking awesome strength.
2. Because I think contrary to popular belief you'd still be able to get away with a quick hand-shandy.
3. I'd always be in fear of people coming up to me and starting to ride me if I had the head of a horse, if someone started on me with T-Rex arms I could shoryuken that bitch.
4. I don't think I'd be able to fully scratch every area of my horse head with human arms and hands.
That concludes the conclusion.
Will write a bigger post tomorrow, this was just a stop gap I guess because I was bored. I don't even know if that last sentence made sense but as long as the red squiggly line of underlined death comes I'll keep writing and carry on.
Love and the word 'cocksure'
Jc
Not done much at all, got my 'crazy tablets' today, which means I'll stop going out and killing for a couple of weeks. Sent off my final Student Finance form super-special delivery in the hope of receiving the loan in time for the weekend. If it does come by the weekend I plan to go off to Manchester and see my best mate Luke Z. Woods. He'd better not have changed into some twat. University changes people. I just hope he's still the quiet little tubby guy who gets along with everyone but still feels awkward in social situations that I know and love. Can't wait to see him. Will be nice. Jesus I'm making it sound like I want to fuck him.
I was asked a question by a friend, would you rather have the head of a horse or the arms of a T-Rex. I've been thinking about it and I'd have to say arms of a T-Rex.
1. Because you'd have fucking awesome strength.
2. Because I think contrary to popular belief you'd still be able to get away with a quick hand-shandy.
3. I'd always be in fear of people coming up to me and starting to ride me if I had the head of a horse, if someone started on me with T-Rex arms I could shoryuken that bitch.
4. I don't think I'd be able to fully scratch every area of my horse head with human arms and hands.
That concludes the conclusion.
Will write a bigger post tomorrow, this was just a stop gap I guess because I was bored. I don't even know if that last sentence made sense but as long as the red squiggly line of underlined death comes I'll keep writing and carry on.
Love and the word 'cocksure'
Jc
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Weight Wheyt Wayt Wait
Alright. Yeah that's it I can't think of a witty entrance.
I remember when I saw I got accepted for a place at the University of Cumbria, Lancaster campus, I had a look around for an Ice Rink, preferably where there was a Ice Hockey team that were coaching new players. I found a place, looked awesome, the Lancaster Rangers they're called, and they were looking for new players, young and old, from age 12 to 21. Bingo, I was in. I'd go down there and say I wanted to join, being a big fan of the NHL, and a massive fan of the Detroit Red Wings, I wanted to try out and see if I had some sort of natural ability. The excitement I was feeling was awesome, it was the same level of excitement as finding out that I had been accepted by this fine scholastic establishment. I went to the directions to find out where it was, came up with this;
From Philadelphia and the East:
PA Turnpike west to Exit 21 (Reading).
Take Route 222 South to Route 30 West.
30 West to the Fruitville Pike exit.
Go north at the second light (first light is Lititz Pike) onto Fruitville Pike.
Turn left onto Granite Run Drive (Fulton Bank on left).
Pass Secret Sneaker and Play It Again Sports, turn left onto Carerra Drive.
Follow Carerr Drive into the parking lot.
It was based in motherfucking America. West Philadelphia. Born and fucking raised. In a playground where I spent most of my fucking days. Heart sank. No Ice Hockey for me. There was no Ice Rink in Lancaster (UK, Lancashire) at all.
I couldn't see Liverpool losing to Blackpool today. I don't have Sky.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-11409577
Just like her oldest brother..........I'm so sorry.
I need a sport. Thought about going back to rugby but the thought of playing with people I don't know as opposed to the team I grew up with for what must have been 8 years just scared me a little. It seemed like I'd be playing for City when you're a die-hard United fan. I'm going to set up a Pool Team for the Uni, but that's not the most strenuous of activities I'd be the first to admit. I think I'm going to try with American Football or even just Hockey. I need something to make sure I don't end up being able to eat my dinner off a plate balanced on my stomach. I'm losing weight though, I think its just because I haven't had the food around bought by someone else like I did at home, all my money either goes on playing Pool, the pub quiz machine or on red wine. Which I am quite happy with.
Only a short post today, I'm losing my will to live thinking of things to say for no-ones pleasure.
Love and why the fuck have I bought smooth peanut butter.
Jc
I remember when I saw I got accepted for a place at the University of Cumbria, Lancaster campus, I had a look around for an Ice Rink, preferably where there was a Ice Hockey team that were coaching new players. I found a place, looked awesome, the Lancaster Rangers they're called, and they were looking for new players, young and old, from age 12 to 21. Bingo, I was in. I'd go down there and say I wanted to join, being a big fan of the NHL, and a massive fan of the Detroit Red Wings, I wanted to try out and see if I had some sort of natural ability. The excitement I was feeling was awesome, it was the same level of excitement as finding out that I had been accepted by this fine scholastic establishment. I went to the directions to find out where it was, came up with this;
From Philadelphia and the East:
PA Turnpike west to Exit 21 (Reading).
Take Route 222 South to Route 30 West.
30 West to the Fruitville Pike exit.
Go north at the second light (first light is Lititz Pike) onto Fruitville Pike.
Turn left onto Granite Run Drive (Fulton Bank on left).
Pass Secret Sneaker and Play It Again Sports, turn left onto Carerra Drive.
Follow Carerr Drive into the parking lot.
It was based in motherfucking America. West Philadelphia. Born and fucking raised. In a playground where I spent most of my fucking days. Heart sank. No Ice Hockey for me. There was no Ice Rink in Lancaster (UK, Lancashire) at all.
I couldn't see Liverpool losing to Blackpool today. I don't have Sky.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-11409577
Just like her oldest brother..........I'm so sorry.
I need a sport. Thought about going back to rugby but the thought of playing with people I don't know as opposed to the team I grew up with for what must have been 8 years just scared me a little. It seemed like I'd be playing for City when you're a die-hard United fan. I'm going to set up a Pool Team for the Uni, but that's not the most strenuous of activities I'd be the first to admit. I think I'm going to try with American Football or even just Hockey. I need something to make sure I don't end up being able to eat my dinner off a plate balanced on my stomach. I'm losing weight though, I think its just because I haven't had the food around bought by someone else like I did at home, all my money either goes on playing Pool, the pub quiz machine or on red wine. Which I am quite happy with.
Only a short post today, I'm losing my will to live thinking of things to say for no-ones pleasure.
Love and why the fuck have I bought smooth peanut butter.
Jc
Friday, 1 October 2010
Eat Pray Fail to reignite your career
ALRIGHT YOU COW SHITS IN THE FIELD THAT I CALL MY LIFE I HATE YOU ALL.
I'm back and thoroughly pissed from a good drink and play of FIFA 11 with my mate. I'm drunk on wine and fizzy Vimto and all the rest of the housemates are out, leaving me free to walk around in the nude and crank the decent music to 11. I'm upset at not knowing anyone with my taste of music. Granted they're quite niche genres in this day and age of shit rap and RnB, but come on, you'd think they'd be someone walking around at least dressed in the clothing that you'd associate with psychobilly or punk. Once again, granted I don't dress that way a good 95% of the time, but thats purely due a combination of laziness, being strapped for cash and availability of such clothing. If you're out there and live in Lancaster, just get in fucking contact, I need someone to kick people to in a confined musical space.
Wine is a beautiful drink, my Mum drinks it in healthy amounts regularly, and has constantly offered it me since I've started to casually drink, which was at about the age of 15-16. I always refused, just due to me always feeling embarassed at the prospect of drinking in front of my Mum. I can only remember 3 times where I've sworn in front of my Mum.
1. When I nearly got ran over by a car in the carpark of Morrisons Fleetwood
2. When I was telling her the name of Quentin Tarantinos latest film, 'Inglourious Basterds'
3. When she rang and told me about Student Finance.
Its an odd thing. I'm totally open to my Mum. I told her when I first started having sex, I've told her that I've tried weed and I've told her when I first started to feel so Bi-Polar low that I could quite easily give up my life. But I've always felt embarassed and (this may be a strong word) ashamed when I drink.
I have the total opposite with my Dad. I still have the emotional bond towards my Dad, but when I've been asked to describe my relationship to my Dad, I've always said that he's 'been a shit Dad but my best, best, best friend', its a bond that I've always wished I'd had in the older childhood years of my life, ages 11,12,13. It may sound like a bad thing but alcohol opened him up to me. It was only when I looked old enough to be served in pubs that we've managed to connect, that doesn't mean we have to be royally wankered to have a conversation, but, as I'm sure some people who read this know, a cold glass of cider, (or John Smiths for my Dad) is one hell of an icebreaker.
I have to say I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm extremely lucky.
Love and apologies for lack of funnies.
Jc
I'm back and thoroughly pissed from a good drink and play of FIFA 11 with my mate. I'm drunk on wine and fizzy Vimto and all the rest of the housemates are out, leaving me free to walk around in the nude and crank the decent music to 11. I'm upset at not knowing anyone with my taste of music. Granted they're quite niche genres in this day and age of shit rap and RnB, but come on, you'd think they'd be someone walking around at least dressed in the clothing that you'd associate with psychobilly or punk. Once again, granted I don't dress that way a good 95% of the time, but thats purely due a combination of laziness, being strapped for cash and availability of such clothing. If you're out there and live in Lancaster, just get in fucking contact, I need someone to kick people to in a confined musical space.
Wine is a beautiful drink, my Mum drinks it in healthy amounts regularly, and has constantly offered it me since I've started to casually drink, which was at about the age of 15-16. I always refused, just due to me always feeling embarassed at the prospect of drinking in front of my Mum. I can only remember 3 times where I've sworn in front of my Mum.
1. When I nearly got ran over by a car in the carpark of Morrisons Fleetwood
2. When I was telling her the name of Quentin Tarantinos latest film, 'Inglourious Basterds'
3. When she rang and told me about Student Finance.
Its an odd thing. I'm totally open to my Mum. I told her when I first started having sex, I've told her that I've tried weed and I've told her when I first started to feel so Bi-Polar low that I could quite easily give up my life. But I've always felt embarassed and (this may be a strong word) ashamed when I drink.
I have the total opposite with my Dad. I still have the emotional bond towards my Dad, but when I've been asked to describe my relationship to my Dad, I've always said that he's 'been a shit Dad but my best, best, best friend', its a bond that I've always wished I'd had in the older childhood years of my life, ages 11,12,13. It may sound like a bad thing but alcohol opened him up to me. It was only when I looked old enough to be served in pubs that we've managed to connect, that doesn't mean we have to be royally wankered to have a conversation, but, as I'm sure some people who read this know, a cold glass of cider, (or John Smiths for my Dad) is one hell of an icebreaker.
I have to say I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm extremely lucky.
Love and apologies for lack of funnies.
Jc
Gringo Bingo
Hello you sticky keys on the young teenage boys laptop that I call life.
Its chucking it down here, but I managed to get to the canteen just when they were labelling the sandwiches half price, so I took full advantage of this and bought six. Along with two caramel shortbreads and a White Chocolate Magnum, calorific isn't the word. Obesity is. I'm eating less here surprisingly though, even with a card with 500 pounds on to spend on food, the thought of canteen food puts me off eating a little, so all I'm buying is sandwiches and diet coke.
One thing I'm surprised about here is the lack of people offering me drugs. I mean we hardly ever got it at Ormskirk, but that was a quiet place, we did know someone who smoked a hilarious amount of weed at Edge Hill, he's a lovely guy and surprisingly clever for someone who smoked so much that Howard Marks would probably tell him to calm the hell down. I don't mind admitting on here, knowing that my family read this, that I have tried it, and it was quite fun I have to say, but just the thought of having to inhale it to get any effect just puts me off from ever trying it once more. I enjoy cigars every so often when I get the chance, just because I love the taste, you don't have to inhale, and if you stick your stomach out and push your chin against your neck and 'two-finger-swear' at someone I manage to look like a young Winston Churchill.
My blind girlfriend broke up with me today. She said she couldn't see us going anywhere.
I do believe everyone needs a vice though, I'd say my vice was outrageous amounts of masturbation. I jest of course...*nervously shifts*
Being serious I do think my vice is gambling, I'd bet on anything, anything except horses, because I'd only bet on things I can actually win on. So be it football, NHL or whether me or Josh Hughes can grow a beard for longer. Talking of that, I'll be starting No Shave November again, nationwide its called Movember, but I came up with it with no knowledge of this, just to celebrate my birthday with everyone sporting patchy facial hair, and therefore getting no poontang, just like me!
Whats hairy and blessed?
Brian
I'm off I got things to do like lie around and eat a Magnum and cry.
Love and celebrating your mother
Jc
Its chucking it down here, but I managed to get to the canteen just when they were labelling the sandwiches half price, so I took full advantage of this and bought six. Along with two caramel shortbreads and a White Chocolate Magnum, calorific isn't the word. Obesity is. I'm eating less here surprisingly though, even with a card with 500 pounds on to spend on food, the thought of canteen food puts me off eating a little, so all I'm buying is sandwiches and diet coke.
One thing I'm surprised about here is the lack of people offering me drugs. I mean we hardly ever got it at Ormskirk, but that was a quiet place, we did know someone who smoked a hilarious amount of weed at Edge Hill, he's a lovely guy and surprisingly clever for someone who smoked so much that Howard Marks would probably tell him to calm the hell down. I don't mind admitting on here, knowing that my family read this, that I have tried it, and it was quite fun I have to say, but just the thought of having to inhale it to get any effect just puts me off from ever trying it once more. I enjoy cigars every so often when I get the chance, just because I love the taste, you don't have to inhale, and if you stick your stomach out and push your chin against your neck and 'two-finger-swear' at someone I manage to look like a young Winston Churchill.
My blind girlfriend broke up with me today. She said she couldn't see us going anywhere.
I do believe everyone needs a vice though, I'd say my vice was outrageous amounts of masturbation. I jest of course...*nervously shifts*
Being serious I do think my vice is gambling, I'd bet on anything, anything except horses, because I'd only bet on things I can actually win on. So be it football, NHL or whether me or Josh Hughes can grow a beard for longer. Talking of that, I'll be starting No Shave November again, nationwide its called Movember, but I came up with it with no knowledge of this, just to celebrate my birthday with everyone sporting patchy facial hair, and therefore getting no poontang, just like me!
Whats hairy and blessed?
Brian
I'm off I got things to do like lie around and eat a Magnum and cry.
Love and celebrating your mother
Jc
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