So Muslims don’t like satire much, do they? I can see why though. It took me a while to get into it. I wasn’t a fan of either Have I Got News For You or Private Eye until I was well into my teens. Still though. When I didn’t like it I never shot anything up. Maybe because I never owned a gun, maybe because I’m not a fucking nutter. Who knows?! God. God knows. That’s who.
Tag Archives: hell
So there we go. That was Christmas. How was yours? Worth it? Probably not. They never are. I woke up in a cold house on my own and all I got was a convection heater I bought myself, so I guess you can say it might have been one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had. Also, as I wasn’t in my mothers house I didn’t have to listen to a single bit of shit music all day. Christmas is so much better when Adele is out of the equation.
AAAAAAAARGH! That’s how I want to start this. Why? To get your attention, that’s why. With a scream. And a kick? No! Not with a kick. A kick is too much. There’s a guy that lives just by me who I saw kick his dog in the face pretty hard earlier. I’m willing to give him benefit of the doubt before phoning the RSPCA though because in his defence the dog was just standing there and doing nothing wrong. Until he does slip up in front of me again though, his address is 23 Golygfor, Llanelli, Carms, SA15 1PR. Feel free to send him human turds or go round and sneak into his house when he’s asleep, steal all his shoes and cover every bit of his floor in broken glass. But take the dog with you. Or set it free in the woods. Is that right? I dunno. I’m not sure how dogs work. I’m pretty sure they all come from the woods.
There use to be lovely people living in that house when I was younger. I remember the woman having a cleft lip and really thick glasses or something? She lived there with a brother and I have it from a reliable source (my mam) that they were fucking.
I think the best way to describe this town is to imagine Alfred Hitchcock and Tim Burton were sat in a small, dark room together. Hitchcock is sat in the corner on a Chesterfield, slowly smoking on a fat cigar and reading a copy of the Guardian while Burton, dressed in an emo kids dusty wedding suit, is sat at a small table in the centre of the room, slowly sipping 18 year old whiskey (neat, no ice) and looking at photographs of Johnny Depp. Hitchcock takes a long draw of his cigar and looks up at Tim Burton.
“We should do a film together.” He suggests.
Tim Burton stares at a photograph of Johnny Depp for several seconds before he even seems to have acknowledged the statement from arguably one of the greatest film writers of all time, then he looks him in the eye and takes a sip of whiskey then replies, “Make a film together? We should fuck.”
In the blink of an eye they dive into an orgy of passionate love making, biting and scratching at each other like wild animals. Hitchcock is grunting like a dying bore, while Tim Burton is silent and cool like an alligator stalking it’s pray, only violently fucking a dude instead of waiting to eat. It all gets pretty full on when suddenly the door bursts open and who should it be? Salvador Dali. Salvador Dali has turned up with his oils and a canvas and begins to paint the wreck that is this love-making session between one of films greatest attributes and a weird, skinny goth.
Just as he gets in to this painting the earth starts to rattle and shake, like a rattle and a milkshake being made, then, all of a sudden, the floor cracks open and all the evils of hell break out into the room and they start to dry-hump each other. So we have this big pile of pure evil and disgust, dry-humping like a Catholic girl with Hitchcock and Tim Burton on top of the pile, Just fucking like beasts and screaming their own names. Now don’t forget, Salvador Dali is in the corner painting this scene in oils. He finishes before Hitchcock and Tim Burton, because of how into it they are, but he drops the painting before it’s finished drying properly so it kinda smudges just a little bit. Now imagine what that painting might look like. This is Llanelli. The smudged, bastard love-child of psychological horror, a surrealist and an overgrown emo kid on a pile of evil.
And it’s been smeared in shit.