Cats, Canaries & Nothing in Particular

Today I saw a cat at Canary Wharf. It was the single most mind-boggling thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a grown, fat, bearded man fuck himself with a strap-on whilst crying because a cunt with a ‘k’ called him a cunt with a ‘c’.

I’m going to Frack My Garden, Your Garden, Everybody’s Garden! or; I’d Frack my Own Face if I Could

Something unusual happened in Bristol yesterday. well, not Bristol as such, but the Bristol Channel. There was a 4.1 magnitude earthquake. Also, in the last fifty days there has been 42 earthquakes in Nottingham but these have been very small, ranging between 0.8 and 2 but a 2 is not half of a 4. The way it works is a 2 is 2,000,000x stronger than a 1, a 3 is 3,000,000x stronger than a 2 and so on and so forth. Apparently, this mental amount of earthquakes has been put down to “mining” but I don’t think that’s quite the case. I think it’s been sugar-coated a bit.

Learning Welsh, Redcoat Bastards & One Hell of a Good-Looking God.

I’m learning welsh and it’s awesome. I literally know every single thing on the “lesson 1” bit of the website. I’m all over this shit. Welsh should be learning me. I did find out that when you’re talking about (or talking too? Ironically I can’t work out the English bits) God you can be informal. He’s such a cool dude, that God. He just doesn’t give a fuck. I wish I was as chilled out as God.

250 Deaths-by-Dick & A Word of Advice to Hollywood.

Murder. Who’d have thought it could be such a thrill? Not real murder. Computer game murder. Real murder is far too messy. Unless you used a piano wire or a hospital pillow I suppose, but most murder is knives. Computer game murder isn’t messy at all though! (apart from I did spill my tea on my bed shooting some guy in the throat) And you don’t have the guilt and moral bankruptcy to deal with either. For example, today I murdered about four-hundred people, but they were all connected to an organ trafficking ring so they deserved to die. I also unlocked an achievement. That achievement was for killing over 250 people with gunshots to the groin. That’s a pretty good achievement in a game but if you shot 250 people in the dick in real life that would just make you a fucking douche.

Getting Nude, Fracking & Reasons You Should Care.

I’ve been locked-out of my WordPress for a little while, probably for being to edgy and insightful, so apologies to those of you who actually enjoy what I have to say.

What I have been doing instead is many things. I went to play a festival on the weekend called Nozstock. That was pretty good. I was naked on stage for a while but don’t remember it.

That poor boy sat on the stage was only 14.

The Worst, And Only, Thing I’ve Done With a Dead Cat.

I just remembered something disgusting, and morally corrupt, I once did with a dead cat. Before we go any further I just want to point out it was nothing sexy. I didn’t get sexy with a dead cat, so stop that thought right now.

The Remarkable Tale of (Spencer) Miles Lloyd & Those Krazy Koreans

I think I’m going to have to go and sort this little North Korea issue out. Why? Because they’re mental. That’s why. It’s all kicking off, eh? Kim Jong Un and his Backwards Band of  Merry Men are going to nuke the world and I’m pretty sure that Mr. Un has no fucking idea what he’s doing.

Tongues, Vowels & Neutral Milk Hotel.

First things first, why aren’t you still drunk and listening to Neutral Milk Hotel? You don’t know who they are? Then stop reading this, delete my Facebook and let me know so I can block you on Twitter. If you do know who they are then we should make out. Hard. Tongues and everything. Unless you’re a dude. Or weird looking. I think what I’m saying is if you’re a hot girl and listen to Neutral Milk Hotel I wanna make out with you. Actually, I don’t even care if you’ve heard of Neutral Milk Hotel. I just want to know what it feels like to make out with someone I find hot for a change.

How to Survive the Apocalypse and Die or; Mild Cheeses

I just put some mild cheddar in my toastie and when I was eating it all I could think was, “What’s the point? What is the point of having a mild cheddar?” It’s just texture, init? That’s all it adds is texture. You can’t taste cheese. No matter how much you put in all it will add to you’re toastie is rubbery goo. I don’t mind mild cheese when it’s like a brie or something but mild cheddar just pisses me off.

Yet I continue to eat it.

Animal Abuse, Incest and I’m Thirsty for Tea.

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.