Nominative determinism at it's funniest

So now, over in the US of States, Congressman Anthony Weiner has gotten himself in a pickle after sending pictures of his wiener to several women over the Twitters. He meant to send them privately of course via a direct message, but instead sent them to the whole world.

He then denied it, he said he could not say "in certitude" that the penis was in fact his and claimed his Twitter account had been hacked. Obviously the media were confused by this. How could he not know for sure if such a picture was indeed his todger?

Does he send so many lurid pictures out on many social networking platforms that he can't say for sure if it was his? Is that what he's saying? Cause that's worse than just admitting it. Or is he simply not able to identify his own junk?

This was of course all nonsense and eventually he was forced to concede these were indeed his boys. Luckily for him he's a Democrat and was therefore not subjected to as much ridicule as a Republican would have been.

One wonders however, how does this happen so often to high profile politicians? With their careers and reputations and marriages at stake how do so many politicians manage to get themselves embroiled in so many sex scandals.

And not scandals which take a grotty tabloid months of surveillance to uncover by rooting about in bins and sewers for spoiled prophylactics that are then analysed for juices not belonging to the spousal naughty bits - more often than not it's this sort of thing. Mucky pictures being sent without due care and attention, or being caught in a lavatory offering up oral sex to all and sundry.

How are these people able to let their guards down, to literally expose themselves in such a casual manner?

For the same reason that when the every day man on the street's wife finds his mucky bongo DVD it's not hidden under the sofa, it's in the actual DVD player. She goes to pop Notting Hill in the player and there in the tray she finds Sluts, fucked by horses and other animals III.

It is all the work of the mischievous Goddess of Nookie. When you're all randied up with eyes glazed over and most of the blood flow is towards the penis you are never able to think straight. Blood flow to the brain is at its absolute minimum just to keep the body functioning. All other resources are allocated to the pleasuring of oneself. Reflexes are subdued, awareness diminished, instincts relaxed and consequences dismissed.

Achieving a glorious ejaculation requires that all other brain functions must cease and this is why we are all at the mercy of the Goddess of Nookie at this time. And when it has been achieved the brain still does not begin to function efficiently again for at least ten minutes, by which time you have gotten dressed, wiped up and completely forgotten about the DVD, or are now panicking like fuck cause of what you just did to a lorry driver at a service station on the way to the Liberal Democrats conference.

Anything can and will happen in this vulnerable condition and we should not be surprised when politicians and high profile types are caught with their pants down. Indeed we should pity them in fact. There but for the grace of the Goddess of Nookie, we go.

Amen.

A freedom of cunts

Nothing a short burst from a machine gun couldn't fix.

We can use the word cunt now as the BBC have decided it's OK. So let's put it to some good use this morning and discuss burglar and arch cunt Wayne Bishop. This chap has been a professional burglar since leaving school and has made the lives of those who live anywhere near him a misery.

He has many many little urchins who are clothed and fed by the tax payer and other people's valuables. He has been released from prison because his human rights afford him the right to a family life. The collective noun for cunts like this in fact now a "freedom."

Now, while I don't know the ins and outs of the case, I'm sure this is bollocks. Listen judicial system, I know you read my blog, the purpose of jail, the initial purpose, is exactly to do just that: to deny criminals their single fundamental right, which is freedom. Which is to say imprison them. It's why it's called prison.

If keeping someone in prison and away from his little sprogs and custard stained tracksuit wearing whore or a wife is a breach of his human rights, then surely prison itself must be done away with as it's the worst kind of human rights contravention?

You can't have it both ways. You either have prison and those that break the law have to accept that when they enter one they can consider themselves "between human rights" until their release. Or we just don't have prisons at all and just call it a day with crime in general and then it's every man for himself, which of course, in reality, is already the case. Just no one has publicly announced it yet. Cunts.

* * *

Now then, since I took the decision some five years ago to spend as much time asleep as possible it of course means the most interesting experiences and occurrences that occur during any given week are my dreams and it's last night's cacophony of nonsense I'd like to discuss now if you'll indulge me.

I'd initially dreamt of something involving Louis from Smallville, but the details are of little consequnce. All you need to know is she wanted it and I nearly gave it to her, but she changed into someone else and then I was suddenly somewhere else anyway and then I woke up as I needed a wee.

Later on I dreamt, instead of boarding a train for some horrible part of London, I'd accidentally boarded the Euro Star train bound for Paris and was heading swiftly towards my doom. This of course is enough to give anyone nightmares (within their nightmares), but it wasn't just the fact that pound for pound the dirtiest most arrogant city in Europe was just an hour away, it was entering the channel tunnel that gave me the willies.

I did not like it. Now then amateur Freudianists, calm down, it's not because I'm scared of nookie or cause vaginas baffle me cause I'm not and they don't - I know that wee comes from a different hole now. And it's not because I can't get an erection either cause I just had one thank you very much. It was not a metaphorical sex dream.

I am simply mildly claustrophobic having once been unable to free myself from a Kagool. And coupled with my Francophobia it became an unbearable incarceration. Even the sort of stewardess girl, who I think was the lovely Anna Sigalevitch from the Piano Teacher, was unable to soothe my concerns.

Where was my yuman rights in that situation eh? Where was the European Judiciary to deliver me from that imprisonement? It can't be right when an honest to goodness law abiding citizen like me can't be rescued from being near France, yet 'orrible burglarising cunt Wayne Bishop is released from prison with an apology and a bag of monies just so he can go home to his rent free four bedroom house to copulate with his grubby misses and add further to the surplus population of the under classes again.

I woke up all sweaty and breathing deeply and is it any wonder? Freedom? I should be so fortunate. Cunts, the lot of them. Gertcha.

You are on ze wrong train Monsieur, would you like un grape?

The symptoms of doomdom

Future historians will one day regress the origins of a Europe wide war to the weeks of June 2011 when thousands of Spaniards and Greeks took to the streets and squares of their respective capitals out of frustration and anger at the political corruption that had led their countries to the brink of bankruptcy.

Meanwhile during the same period in the UK, possibly because the mainstream media didn't want anyone to know what was actually happening on the continent in case everyone got the same idea here, everyone was focused instead entirely on the finals of Britain's Got Talent.

A talent show in the loosest possible terms where a kid who looks like a puppy in a syrup and was clearly cloned from another spooky Canadian kid was about win the opportunity of a lifetime to be appalling exploited by a sweaty Simon Cowell. The days when the sun never set on the Empire had never quite felt so long ago.

I'm disgusted at us. If millions and millions of people watched these shows out of a sense of irony, fully aware of how utterly offensively vacuous they are, I wouldn't lose quite so much sleep, but no. These shows have become genuinely important to people. People talk about them at work, on twitter, in queues. Everywhere. Seriously.

So while the European Union begins to break up, a monumental notion no less significant than the collapse of the Soviet Union, everyone in this country is distracted by someone juggling orphans and the news that amateur racist Cheryl Cole might be returning to judge the X-Factor.

We're doomed, we've given up then is what we're saying to ourselves. That's the general conclusion we can draw from these specific symptoms of doomdom. We're the national equivalent of a once beautiful but now fat divorcee who wears track suits all the time with custard stains down the front, smokes 100 cigarettes a day and feeds her seven kids crisps for tea before sending them out to make life a misery for anyone living within a five mile radius.

Call me presumptuous but I don't think Socialism has worked.

* * *

Well if the country can ignore the nightmare that is so clearly approaching with all the inexorable velocity of an out of control Fiat Punto skidding sideways down an icy road towards a group of school children while the female behind the wheel applies her lipstick in her rear view mirror in complete ignorance of the terrified faces of the little cherubs she's about to skittle into a mass grave.

I myself will use the Concacaf Gold Cup which starts tomorrow to take my mind off the fact that we're all doomed and it's every man for himself.

Mexico as we all know are current Champions having given the US of States a 5-0 shellacking in the 2009 final. I see no reason why this can't happen again this year. It being held in 'merca will only add to the humiliation of the host nation as they are slaughtered once again.


Mexico play the might of El Salvador tomorrow night at Cowboys Stadium. The result will be a national embarrassment for El Salvador and many members of their team will never quite be the same again.

Elsewhere in the sporting world, my new MotoGP hero while Valentino Rossi sorts out how to ride his Ducati is Marco Simoncelli and his magic Euro hair-do. He looks remarkably like a 1970s Kevin Keegan in fact, only not quite so gay.

I fancy him to win his first MotoGP race tomorrow in the Catalunya GP. He's been threatening to win one of these things all season, but has up to now, preferred instead to fling himself off his machine or fling other people off theirs.

Marco is not the crowd favourite having destroyed poor little Dani Pedrosa's shoulder in the last race in Le Mans with an overtaking manouevre that required the breaking of up to nine laws of physics and as many racing regulations.

Fantastic stuff. Proper racing. None of this nancy boy F1 business where there's no racing allowed, only prancing about in Gucci sunglasses shouting ciao at the locals.

"I tell you what, I will LOVE IT,
love it if I win tomorrow."

Gurken sind nicht Sex-Spielzeug

I'm glad cucumbers are getting some bad press at the moment. It's about time vegetables were given a hard time. It's always meat that's blamed for health scares. Apparently this e.Coli business in Germany has effected more female cucumber consumers than male. Up to a third more in fact. I wonder why this might be?

I use the word consumer as there's obviously more than one to enjoy a cucumber. And of course, while no one's saying so in as many words in the news media, the reason German woman are more at risk of this current outbreak, is because they shove them up their hairy German muschis.

A German woman impaling herself on a cucumber in this way and doesn't wash her hands afterwards is always going to feel a bit queasy in the following days. And there's a lesson in this for us all. Don't abuse nature in this way. If vegetables and fruits were meant to be used in this way they'd be self-lubricating. And also if they were meant to be eaten they'd taste like meat.

Leave vegetables to the rabbits people, you'll feel better for it. You've got teeth, use them. Meat for the win!

How do you solve a problem like Sepp Blatter?

Having been the only nation to oppose Sepp Blatter's re-election (Scotland obviously being a colony) England have now well and truly fucked themselves. They now have even less chance of qualifying for the next world cup than Wales.

The FA are past masters in finding the wrong way to do things and paying over the odds for the privilege so this was all to be expected. The solution is simple, which of course automatically makes it too complicated for the FA, but it's worth explaining it to them anyway as I know they read my blog.

Simply gunning the man down in broad daylight will only treat the symptom as there are many many Sepp Blatters waiting in the wings, the answer of course is to simply withdraw from FIFA.

England then encourages Wales, Scotland and Norn Iron if they can put a squad together to do the same and set up their own "World Cup' in a similar fashion to the American set up where world championships in their main sports consists almost exclusively of American teams.

There would be one qualifying group of four. All of which qualify for the tournament. The tournament consists of one group of four all of which qualify for the semi-finals. England ought to win the World Cup every four years. The law of averages and Murphy's law combined may sometimes mean England don't win the World Cup, but they would always at least make the semi-final stage, something they have only acheived once in some forty five years since 1966.

This is no more surreal and stupid than belonging to FIFA and participating in their life-size game of subbuteo. If England are to avoid being flicked about my Sepp Blatter and his underlings for ever more it's really the only way.