To kick off an ongoing series, there can be only one winner. You were shit against us, your wind-ups didn’t work and you showed yourself up as a deluded tool on the Football League Show (“We defended really well for long periods. They never really hurt us, other than the two chances”).

You sir, are a dickhead.

1) Take a percentage of any pay increases they are asked to approve and which they do not agree with (I’m thinking a 10% cut)

2) Punish employees for asking stupid questions. (My son has a phrase “nipple cripple”.  Now I would advocate that for all genders, but you know…..fun as it might be…..)

3) Give lines. (“I must not avoid having difficult conversations, I must not avoid having difficult conversations, I must not….)

4) Challenge payroll to a game of conkers when matters of dispute arise (no stampsies and winner takes all).

5) Play Russian Roulette with a P45 once a month (“You thought it was your pay slip?  We don’t want to give you that, we want to give you this!”)

6) Train arseholes employees on how to look for a job elsewhere rather than hanging around and moaning like a bunch of pre pubescent teens (“This is called a JobCentre”).

7) Fine suppliers that start any pitch with “We have developed a unique and innovative approach…..” (Fixed fee of £500?)

‘8) Make anyone from Accounts where a badge saying “Bean counting dickhead” (Because…..well…ok that one is just for fun).

9) Kissck the arse of the CEO on a regular basis (If we don’t who the hell will?)

10) Start spurious rumours about anyone that has annoyed/irritated/asked for help and see how far you can get them to spread within 24hours.  (HR team building at its best….)

the me this morning

Thinks he's cool (but isn't)

Michael Jordan (not to be mistaken with the father of my close friend, Courtney Jordan) was a pretty good basketball player in his day. His son, Marcus Jordan…well, not so much. However, while MJ was capable of destroying Craig Ehlo by simply snapping his fingers, Marcus has proven just as capable of destroying his entire school’s shoe contract by stubbornly insisting to wear his esteemed father’s Jordan Brand: Adidas pulled its deal with the University of Central Florida after Baby Jordan (again, not to be mistaken with Harold Miner) wore his dad’s kicks in an exhibition game against NCAA power St. Leo’s earlier this week. Oh yeah, he went 0-for-3 and had one point and one assist in the game. Hardly Jordan-esque, if you ask me.

This is stupidity and typical Jordan dickheadedness at its finest. Note to Marcus Jordan: Yes, being the son of the greatest basketball player of all-time is cool and all, but you’re nobody. You wouldn’t even be on a college team if you weren’t MJ’s son, because you’re not that good at basketball. And those goggles look silly. Horace Grant is unimpressed.

The real losers, of course, are Jordan’s college teammates — they lose out on free shoes and jerseys. Some are suggesting Nike will swoop in and pick up the contract, but that’s far from official. If I were a UCF player, I’d give Baby Jordan the preferential treatment he wants via a punch to the face.

So apparently Joel Madden named his son Sparrow because he wanted to make life hard for him. The upside is that now we have an excellent way to measure a father’s dickheadery by adminstering this simple test.

1. Is your dad in Good Charlotte?

If the answer is yes, your dad is a dickhead. Good luck kid.

you blew it.

How to deter dickheads dressed as pirates, criminals and murderers (AKA Trick Or Treaters):

1. Get a car with a large muffler (Such as a Nissan Silvia S13, Like mine)

2. Get some punk rock, really, really loudly.

3. Get a hose and bucket.

4. Clean said car with large muffler for 2 hours.

5. Bring a large, menacing German Shepard to the car cleaning.

6. Shake your head at freaks dressed as Elvis, Santa and the Devil.

7. If shaking your head doesn’t work, turn the car with the large muffler on, Rev the engine if need be.

8. If revving engine does not deter the freaks, Aim a waterpistol at them.

9. Let the German Shepard free on your front garden. I gaurantee that the Haloweeners will cross the street, like mine did.

This is also a rundown of my night tonight. Are you jealous?

What the fuck do I have to give people candy for anyway? Just because theres some half- celebrated AMERICAN (NOT Australian) tradition, does that mean you have to dress like a complete tool, knock on my door and ask for candy? Get the fuck off my lawn.

 (Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

Well, let’s just suffice it to say that I had to spray a lot of perfume on this morning. There was no time to shower, much less mascara my eyelashes. This game was just too dang early…

 I’m not happy to admit this, and so I am not formally admitting this… but my husband informs me that I may not be a “morning person.”

Huh?

What does he know?

He is off riding the mountainsides in Utah right now.

He may or may not be right. I don’t have the freaking patience to find out at this early hour, but I did have a hard time waking up this morning.

Go figure.

My only incentives being:

A. To see my son play

B. To see my son play well

C. To see my son play well against ”dickhead.”

Now, I am not one to hold any grudges.

Like, I have almost forgiven that little bitch in high school… almost.

I don’t use the voodoo doll on her anymore… well, only semi-annually.

Heck, I have other things to do than live in the past.

And, that neighbor that I used to have living near me, emphasis on used to (and no, nothing mysterious happened to her… much to my regret. She just moved… how common, right?)

Let’s just say that when the book came out, The Devil Wears Prada, I thought it was about my neighbor.

Bee-atch, with a small ass and rock-hard boobs.

Yikes. I remember the first time she hugged me. I was bruised for a week from her plastic surgery stone tits.

Well, I am still in therapy over all of that neighborhood nonsense stuff. 

No one here misses her dropping her garbage into other people’s cans.

Yeah baby, you can keep your dirty diapers to yourself.

Schtinky.

My dog misses them though. Evidently, there is something attractive with the scent of toddler diarrhea rolled in a Pampers disposables…

Eeeeeeuuuuw.

So, like I said I’m not one to keep grudges. So the fact that we are facing up dickhead and his team this morning is double-edged.

First off, I had to drive all the way back to my house because I forgot my chair.

I knew this was not going to be a good sign.

My sweet little sugar-coated ass would melt on the beauty of the morning dew if I were to sit on the ground. We can’t be having any of that wet dew sinking into my “down there” now can we?

Right.

So, I drove back to get my chair.

Gosh.

Secondly, I can’t help it that I express myself verbally.

Calling a kid dickhead seemed and still seems appropriate, and if the conditions arise again… and I feel the need to express myself in these and other matters, then I am bound by the “Mother Bear” Codes of Conduct to protect my little cub.

Regardless.

And… I am going to disregard the coaches messages left on my cell phone informing me of various muzzle supply shops.

A muzzle?

For who?

Dickhead?

That might be a little extreme for a 15-year-old, but I picked one up for him just in case.

I do understand the mouths of these babes, because I live with two teenagers and I could see how it could come in handy.

Like… everyday.

So, I bought him an extra-large.

Because he has an extra-large dickhead.

Du-u-uh.

I learned that from my kids… that “duh” thing.

Doesn’t it just make you feel good all over?

….

Well, right now… we are knee-deep in the second half and the score is one-to-one.

The kids are dripping with sweated competitiveness. Licking their teenaged chops for this victory that is due them. The tension hovers over the parents around me.

And me… well, I am in a catatonic stare… they are all navy colored enemies against our white shirted boys, and now those 15-year-old little penile wannabes threaten our good Saturday.

They have kicked two of our guys in the balls.

Hard.

One of their players received a red card.

And if that is not enough, they have tackled my son to the point where he was lying on the ground for literally two minutes.

Just lying there.

Unmoving.

And, I was not allowed to go on the field.

Mama bear does not like this part.

And, I’m going to tell you that two minutes is a very long time when your son is in pain, on the ground and not moving.

….

I would like to say that we won the game, but we did not.

We played a hard fight, but a clean one.

I left my comments until after the three tweets of the whistles were heard, signaling the end of the game.

Then I let a few “explicatives” fly…

A tough loss for all…

For us…

For other dickheads across the world…

And… for the world…

I don’t think that I am over exaggerating here, when I say that this IS a tough loss for the entire world…

Tragic.

And then of course, we all went to CoCo’s for breakfast.

Hug, hug, kiss, kiss, Y’all — Even you with hard boobies — Still love ya! xoxo

The is the final to: 

If you don’t know who dickhead is … ***** Then Click Here *****  

A must read story.

A follow-up story with pictures is ***** Here*****

Be well,

Belle

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

and i found this little gem. enjoi

i love this video. heres the lyrics:

“On your mark, get set!
We’re riding on the internet!
Cyberspace, set free, hello virtual reality!
Interactive appetite! Searchin’ for a website!
A window to the world, got to get online!
Take a spin, now you’re in with the techno-set!
You’re goin’ surfin’ on the internet!”

 (Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .   

My darling son has advanced into tournament playoffs…

Of course… He is after all — fabulous!

And, guess who he is playing…

That’s right…

Dickhead.

Bright and early (holy crap, I hope I’m able to take a shower this time!) Saturday morning.

If you don’t know who dickhead is … ***** Then Click Here *****  

A must read story.

A follow-up story with pictures is ***** Here*****

I might have to put my picture in again of me croaking out… although I will probably have another picture by then… with a new heart attack on the horizon.

Be well,

Belle

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

 (Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

So, I’m sitting at the game. The soccer game. The sport that my son loves, and is “uber” talented at.

What a fricking irritating word that is… “uber?”

Since I’m not from Europe I don’t feel like I have the right to use it.

Uber. Uber. Uber.

Screw it. I’m feeling more European already. I have the unshaved legs to prove it.

Furthermore, my husband is sitting next to me…  He reminds me that I neglected to shower today.

Dingleberry.

But, I love this dingleberry, but he still a little bit of a Doo-Doo… for reminding me.

What can I say?

He’s right.

This is the second day in a row that we’ve had to wake up so early in the morning after a Friday night and Saturday night of partying, but I just didn’t have it in me to wake up early enough to take a shower this morning.

Yeah.

So… I’m a little shtinky.

I want to make a formal apology to everybody that had to sit near me.

So here it is…

….

Did you hear it?

The apology?

It was faint, I know.

But, it was there. I assure you. I swear on a stack of Victoria’s Secret catalogs that I apologized… for being “gamey” at the game.

Will you forgive me?

I just want you all to know that I put on extra deodorant…

And,  a lot of strong perfume spraying was going on in my bathroom before we left.

Only the strongest perfume, I might add.

And, only the best.

When I stink, I smell good doing it, at least.

And, I wore a hat, so that the strands of my hair would be tethered down instead of full flare in the bright of the morning sun.

No hair flaring, right?

I’ve got it covered, y’all.

I’m not going to embarrass anybody here.

People tend not to sit next to me anyway because I’m the loudest one on the field.

IS THIS A FRICKING SURPRISE HERE?

People from the other side of the field are still talking about some of my comments…

NORMALLY ….  I am the person cheering the loudest for BOTH sides of the team. When someone makes an excellent play — I cheer for it, despite which side they are on. I am the token parent that is always yelling “Go! Team! Go!” Ever present for every move that they make on the field. I don’t care if they make a bad play, I just keep yelling, “Keep on kicking! Keep up the pressure! You guys are great!”

I can’t help it… it’s in my blood.

I was a cheerleader in Junior High, High School, and at the University of Arizona — Baby, it is in my blood!

However, today… something happened…

Babies…

Well, I tried to be polite by giving that kid from the other team the ball when it almost hit me, but when he found out that it was ”our” throw in, he kicked it away from our boys and me…

I can’t help that I happen to call him a “dickhead.”

Just like he can’t help being one, I suppose…

But, that was just a rude thing to do…

Here I was being kind, and all… to the other team, I want to remind you… and here, the little “dickhead” kicked the ball away from everybody when “nanny-nanny-boo-boo” he found out that it wasn’t “their” throw in…

Meanie.

They are in high school and old enough to know better…

My husband is still trying to convince me (in front of my son) and I didn’t actually mean to call him a “dickhead.”

And, I keep telling my husband, also in front of my son, that I DID intend to call him a “dickhead”… It’s just that I DIDN’T intend for the other side to hear it…

Including the parents across the field…

Evidently, they heard it, too.

Eeeeek!

Hmmm…

My son was laughing when he heard it, and shot the opposing procreators “a look” when they gasped at my social faux pas.

Pardon me… but my subconscious seems to have belched…

Oops.

I’m going to blame it on the fact that I didn’t shower today. That the little stinky part leapt into my brain, and caused me to do wild and unspeakable actions… even though they are irrepressibly true…

I can’t help it that my voice carries…

Dang, I hate that when that happens…

Yeah… Well, I just wanted to tell you all that my son’s team, that really does play a clean game of soccer (seriously folks, I am not making this up) that his team won the 35th Annual Best Sportsmanship Medal for the entire League today…

This is TRUE and they are deserving.

They are THE BEST.

Truly.

Despite my “dickhead” comment…

Now, I am going to leave it open here as to whether you think I am calling myself a ”dickhead” in that last line of relaying this story to you…

Maybe, I’m feeling a little bad here.

Maybe.

Maybe he’s a great kid… depsite me??!!

Waaaa-aaah-ahhhh … aaahh (this is me crying…) Sniff… sniff…

I can’t help that I am only human… a human mom… with feelings… and energies… and a fricking mouth…. Waaaa-aaah-ahhhh … aaahh (this is me STILL crying…) Sniff… sniff…

I am so proud of he and his teammates for rising above the name calling on… sniff, sniff…  (and evidently off) the field…

Love me… in spite of me!… 

My Star Player wearing his 35th Annual Sportsmanship Medal -- Best in entire League!

Our Great Team! "The Boy" Front Row, 2nd from Right

Be well,

Belle

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

Has it ever occurred to anyone that the dead might envy the living? It sure had not for me. Not until I was positioned into a rather unexpected quandary.

I was expected to believe that my own consciousness was the only natural enemy that existed. Every perceived threat came from the familiar, trusted voice in my head. The one that told me to open doors for women, or to relinquish my seat for the elderly. The one that told me to take Aboriginal Awareness Week seriously. Apparently that tiny, insignificant, squeamish little voice was responsible for great catastrophes. I was miffed. Now you might ask me how this relates back to the dead and their hobbies, but you’d be a dickhead.

I’ll tell you anyway. It’s so simple that if you haven’t figured it out by now, get off this blog cause we don’t serve your kind here.

It is an established genre motif that zombies have an ounce of juice left somewhere up in their cannibalistic brains. Romero spoke of the dead returning to the places they saw habitually during life, such as shopping malls, out of some sense of recognition. The Return of the Living Dead series featured talking, walking, hurting, feeling zombies that defied conventions with sheer camp. These zombies were definitively smarter than the average bear, and all they wanted was some brains. The later genre busters were hardly original or inspiring. One, City of the Dead, was so desperate to find a new angle that it featured ghost zombies, appearing from nowhere to devour your sinful hides.

Stay with me here…  There’s a certain logic behind zombie mayhems. They don’t do what they do out of some misguided sense of belief or individuality. They count on necessity. Brains for pain. No questions asked, end of story. The reason humans are so often introduced in zombie flicks as an antagonistic element is because humans are illogical. SPOCK WOULD AGREE, humans are a darker force to be reckoned with. They fight one another while there are bigger immediate problems, they bicker ceaselessly to push  arguments that are unfounded, and they are willing to believe their own egos more than the signs around them. Why are the humans so threatening? Four words: Illusion of No Consequence. We think we are smart enough to get away with it.

Believe it or not, that little voice in your head is out to get you, and it’ll win, because you’ll never believe that it is against you. It will guide your thoughts and your hands until there is nothing left to satiate its sick hunger.

In contrast, the zombies have made peace with this nuisance called ego. The voice says brains, and the zombie goes for brains. It has a difficulty accessing the ego part of its own brain, for instance it cannot assess threat levels, or recognize allies, because it has not foundation of self to rely upon for survival; Only instinct remains. An infected human who dies will rise and kill… the people it kills will rise and kill. They in turn will rise – suffice it to say, we would be alot better off, no? No more pandering to false idols, no more rumour-mongering to eleviate self esteem, no more put-downs for social gratification. Just peace and quiet zombie mayhem.

Few words left and I’m out of ideas here… Whatever you think, the dead don’t like this one bit. They are denied both outcomes and are left hanging on the mortal coil like so much worm food. No zombie mayhem, no human carnage; just daisies and fertilizer. Humans have all the fun in retrospect. They get to pick and choose their targets, unleashing fifteen years of rage in a single coup-de-gras. The alternative is kinda sloppy. On the zombie side though, they have all the determination and grit. They are not subject to the same emotions that make humans so soft and chewy. Pride, fear, lust… the zombies are better off without them.

Demented Chess Game

In today’s installment of Heave Steve, I must posit this question:

Where the hell was he for the past few days?

The majority of the G-20 leaders from around the globe were having a pow wow at the United Nations headquarters in New York City to discuss a varied slew of issues that are relative to global unity and security  – but where was the Right Honourable Stephen Harper?

Not in New York, I can tell you that right away.

Who was in New York?

Among the major players were Barack Obama (United States Of America), Gordon Brown (the United Kingdom), Nicolas Sarkozy (France), Dmitry Medvedev (Russia)… hell, even the world’s snappiest-dressing/Jew-hating/terrorism-endorsing/nuke-wanting and all-around assclown Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was in attendance.

This was a meeting of the United Nations Security Council – the people who penalize countries when they do bad things (whether it be in the form of military strikes, or the more common strongly worded letter) – a council that Canada really wants to be on so it will have a say in how the world works, or at least the illusion of doing so.

The big topic of this meeting?

Nuclear weapons: who has them, who wants them, and who is not allowed to have them.

Sounds like a good conversation that the Canadian people should have a voice in, doesn’t it?

What makes it a great place to be for world leaders is that you get to step up to the dais on – what is quite literally – the world stage and address the peoples of the entire planet, telling them what your particular country plans to do in the coming months and years and what that means to global peace.

From here, you explain to the world how your country’s actions, programs, policies, and military operations will effect nations and people around the world – either for the better, or for the worse.

The big drama this week?

Ahmadinnerjacket – errr, Ahmadinejad – announced to the world that he had a secret uranium enrichment facility (on top of the one the U.N. Security Council was already aware of) humming away at an undisclosed location in the Iranian desert… which is the type of place where you can turn regular uranium into the type of fuel that either powers a nuclear power plant OR a thermonuclear weapon.

This is somewhat distressing because:

A) Iran is the number one exporter of terrorists in the world.

B) Iran hates Israel and has repeatedly said that it intends to wipe Israel off the map – which is one use for a stockpile of nuclear weapons.

Crazy, eh?

You know… it would have been really great if someone of global import had spoken up on Canada’s behalf during the fallout of that revelation – someone who could step up to the podium and say how outraged we as a Canadian people were at such a unacceptable revelation.

Wouldn’t that have been great?

Yeah, but Stephen Harper – the Canadian Prime Minister who is supposed to be the focused voice of 33,792,000 Canadian citizens – wasn’t anywhere to be found at the United Nations building.

You know what building he WAS found at?

A Tim Horton’s store in Oakville, Ontario – from which he dutifully blasted Iran’s secretive nuclear shenanigans with all the authority he could muster.

At a Tim Horton’s.

I’ll give you a minute to process that information.

Need a bit more info?

He made this declaration after bragging about how Canada was once again the home base for Timmy’s.

Just wrap your mind around it.

You good?

Need another minute?

Two or three?

Okay… I’ll wait.

Got it?

Good.

Some might say that the neighborhood Timmy’s is the best place to make a Canadian statement – and I would agree to a certain extent if it wasn’t a matter of global import where image is everything.

I mean… seriously.

C’mon, man – give your head a shake, Steve!

What the hell were you thinking?!?!

]]> http://wok3.wordpress.com/2009/09/22/iranian-president-ahmadinejad-can-be-a-real-prick-sometimes-ok-most-of-the-time/ Tue, 22 Sep 2009 09:32:29 +0000 wok3 http://wok3.wordpress.com/2009/09/22/iranian-president-ahmadinejad-can-be-a-real-prick-sometimes-ok-most-of-the-time/

First this jack-ass steals the election in his country, and now we have to hear this crap?  Mahmoud Ahmadinejad took a slight break in denying the holocaust to tell foreign powers to piss off, and called Western forces in the region the world’s professional killers.  Not that we don’t kill people, but just WTF is his military for?  And the Basiji, and all the other morons that torture, rape and kill for the government of Iran.

From Tehran Times:

TEHRAN — President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad said here on Monday that it is an honor for Iran that the “world’s professional killers” are angry with the country.

Commenting on the large amount of anti-Iran propaganda being disseminated on the eve of his trip to New York, Ahmadinejad stated, “The angrier the evil ones are with Iran, and the angrier they get, the happier we become.”

The late Imam Khomeini taught us that whenever the enemies are angry with Iran and expand their propaganda campaigns against the country, the nation should know that it is heading in the right direction, he added.

Ahmadinejad made the remarks in Tehran at an inauguration ceremony for over 2600 educational projects.

The president is scheduled to travel to New York later today to attend the 64th session of the United Nations General Assembly.

_____________________________________

This jerk is coming over here to give some speech at the U.N., doesn’t he know that we’re almost all infidels here?  Assh*le. 

Additional words from this jerk from Xinhua:

TEHRAN, Sept. 22 (Xinhua) — Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad spoke at a military parade in Tehran on Tuesday that Iran demanded foreign troops to leave the region.

“It is insupportable that those from many kilometers away dispatch troops to this region,” Ahmadinejad said addressing the military parade marking the anniversary of the start of the 1980-1988 Iraq-Iran war, noting that “they occupy lands and make people feel unsafe with slaughter.”

“It is insupportable that those who are selling weapons and shouting slogan of peace accuse others of creating insecurity,” he stressed.

“They want to establish divarication in the region,” he added, continuing that “we advise you to go back to your own land.”

_______________________________________________

His speeches are meant to rally the citizens of Iran (at least the few that actually DID vote for him), and so what he says to them if often very different from what he says to our faces.  Not that he doesn’t say some asinine things to us, but he tones down the part about us being “The Great Satan” quite a bit.

Just keep waiting for that 12th Imam Ahmadinejad, he should show up right after Godot.

I rise in the morning with the horn and unfamiliar surroundings – the bed I am in is occupied by a beautiful but suspect lady. I peer through cloudy eyes and am appalled to see that the three empty bottles of what I thought were quality brut champagne were in fact cheap nasty stuff. I realise I must have been pissed to encompass the interior and exterior of a ladies anatomy under the influence of something less than a vintage preserve. A quick escape finds me soaring through the cotswald countryside in my stylish and very expensive roadster.I drive fast, play fast and love fast. That is right I’m hot. They call me Mr Big. I’m sexy and I’m all man! Women love me. They love my car, my job, my busines, my body, my cock, but what they really love is my arrogance. Yes, I’m arrogant. I’m horny and I inflict this worldly sensational attitude every night for one (sometimes two) lucky ladies.

After washing off the night before, I dress in my freshly ironed uniform delivered to my door. I am a pilot. I fly jets. This lets me walk a foot taller and my cock feel 20 inches bigger. This is a job that has captured the attention and appeal of the ladies. According to most leading women’s magazines, being a pilot is the most attractive job for most of them. And what a man to fill the role. Pulling up at the executive lounges I look down on all the suited and booted exec’s with no style or finesse. The pilots lounge has a jacuzzi, cocaine bar and naked thai masseurs who all can’t wait to get their hands on this body. No time today. I strut arrogantly like Maverick  to my aircraft while the lesser mortals fuel, clean and make ready the golden bird I will be flying today. The corporate schmucks all queue up the cattle tunnel while I examine the most important element of this flight – the Hostess Roster. Better known as “The Menu”. I need to canvas the opinions of the flight crew as there are some newbies. It would seem due to my late arrival the roster had been divvied up and I was taking the alley cat left overs. I would fuck a frog if it stopped hopping for long enough. I fly worldwide not to discover the world but so the world can discover me. Some travel to find themselves, I travel for the ladies to find me. When I arrive I manfully strut down the steps, embracing the local ladies with my body and tongue. They welcome me to their country, to which I reply” . . . welcome to me.”

For years now I have been flying to exotic destinations slowly but steadily working my way through the worlds population of slappers and high class prostitutes. Without fail I have been thrilling the lives of girls with my high yet relatively unsatisfied libido. They know me. They know my arrogance, they know I am available for shagging, no appointment necessary, orgasm guaranteed. Not just any one, there is a price on my pants. When I’m horny I’m long and strong and that costs them. This lifestyle fuels me – a serial womaniser with a cute bum and a pussy obsession. My home life is much the same. A local celebrity I attend the finest parties, drink in the best establishments with the finest people. Not as fine as me though. Not as arrogant as me. Just the other day a friend asked me if I had a spare pound to which I replied “yes, I have thousands of them.” He then told me that I was an arrogant cock. To which I replied “and that is a whole load of horny cock, mate.” My reputation proceed me. It gets me everywhere. This is why arrogance is the best quality a man can have. It is confidence, it is sexual prowess and it is ME. If you think you are going to win then you will. It is method that can be employed to allow you to hear the word ‘yes’ in many situations. From clinching a business deal, entering a club or even anal sex, arrogance is for achievers. Try it. It has made me rich, successful and desirable.

Many shun and mock me. But search deep down and you want to be me.

Or else she might start spontaneously bleeding because you don’t love her.

As you all know, I’m talking about Lady GaGa’s performance of her song, Paparazzi, at the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards.
If you didn’t watch that you better sometime soon, because that was probably one of my favorite VMA’s of all time.
So much drama and freaky shit all in one show.
My dream come true.

I’ll get back to GaGa-nator later, let’s start off with Madonna’s loving and touching speech about her and Michael Jackson’s (may he rest in peace) relationship at the beginning of the show.

I loved her speech. It gave me chills. It wasn’t cliché or corny like  a lot of other speeches I’ve heard prior to Michael Jackson, so I was pleasantly surprised. BUT…
(Of course there’s a but!) At one point I did start to get the wrong idea.

“Later we went back to my house to watch a movie and sat on the couch like two kids, and somewhere in the middle of the movie, his hand snuck over and held mine.”

She said that after talking a little about her and Michael in a car dark at night, how she saw his “vulnerability and charm”, and how they had a dinner date.
I was literally sitting there with my eyes all bugged out, anticipating that she’d be finally come clean about some hot, steamy affair she and Michael had.
… but, she didn’t. She just went on about how he was looking for a friend and said some more amazing things that have increased my self-respect for her.
Lame.

Moving on, to the person that pretty much everyone is talking about, Mr. Dickhead Kanye West.
What pretty much happened is that little miss sunshine, Taylor Swift, won best female video. While she was giving her cute little acceptance speech, Kanye West suddenly popped up on stage, GRABBED the microphone away from Taylor and roared out in a fury:

“Taylor, I’m really happy for you. I’ll let you finish, but Beyonce had one of the best videos of all time! One of the best videos of all time!”

… now, I don’t like Taylor Swift and am not a fan of her, her music, her style, or her face.
But that was fucking rude. What the fuck’s your problem, Kanye?
I don’t know why Taylor just stood there looking at him like a dumbstruck goat. Honey, you’re like a foot taller than him.

YOU COULD HAVE KARATE CHOPPED HIS DAMN SHADES OFF.

I would’ve have cussed him out right there and then. It would’ve went something like…
“Who the hell are you to tell me Beyonce should’ve won? If I’M on stage accepting the award and BEYONCE isn’t, then FUCK, my video was better than hers, and you just have to deal with that. Your teddy bear isn’t even that cool, okay? Piss off, and what the fuck’s on your head?”
(Yes thank you thank you, I’d appreciate it if you held your applause until the end of this blog post.)
And then maybe I would’ve kicked him.
That’s just me, though. Yeah I do have some anger issues, shhh.

Then poor Beyonce, who was totally shocked throughout the whole thing and kept looking around, obviously trying to avoid eye contact with the crazy dude on stage.
I could have totally imagined her breaking out into her ‘Lost Your Mind’ song. That would’ve made my year.

Dear Kanye,
Oh Em Gee. You just lost your MOTHER FREAK UP MIND.

Anyways, now to Lady GaGa… oh that poor woman. Can someone tell me what she’s on?

Now I understand the whole trying to be different, unique, original, and all that crap an artist needs to be.
But GaGa has officially gone too far. Is it Halloween everday in her mind, or something? I’d really like to know.

Let’s not forget her performance. Well actually, scratch that, who CAN forget that?
Retardedly rolling around on the floor, freakishly crawling around, thongs as masks on her back up dancers faces, fake blood spurting from her face and body, staggering around like a zombie, and finally being hanged up in the air.
Need I say any more?

On a brighter and more normal note, P!nk’s performance was brilliant.
At first, since she came out in that really strange costume and she was being blindfolded, I thought, “Oh no, not another GaGa.”
But when she started to do those acrobatics AND sing her song, Sober, at the same time, she just blew me away.
Watch it here. Even if you already saw it. It was that good, it deserves double, triple, quadruple viewing.

Of course, Beyonce DID end up winning the best video of the year (whooooooooooooo’s an idiot? KANYE’S AN IDIOT) and was kind enough to let Taylor finish up her acceptance speech.

Cue the awwww'ing.

Those were pretty much the biggest highlights of the show!

Oh and Russel Brand did an incredible job hosting, bless that man and his potty mouth.

We all know by now that Peter Davies, the Elected Mayor of Doncaster, is an incompetent, moronic, bumbling ‘armchair politician’ who woke up one day to find that he had become the most powerful* man in Doncaster Metropolitan Borough Council (DMBC). But just when you think things cannot get any more farcical the goon comes out with the following comments…

Firstly there’s this this little gem about the Taliban…

“They don’t have hundreds of cases of children under threat of abuse from violent parents, as we have in Doncaster. Even a regime as hideous as the Taliban at least appear to have sort of decent sort of family affairs. In fact probably… they have an ordered society.”

The Taliban have recently gassed children and teachers for attending girl’s schools, if gassing isn’t a form of abuse in Mr Davies’ eyes then we’d hate to think what he’s got in store for his despised litter-droppers and potty-mouths! Are we getting a picture of the kind of ‘ordered society’ that Mayor Davies aspires to?

Peter 'Il Duce' Davies

The Daily Quail says…

As aides begged him to stop talking and take his pills, Davies added:

‘We in this country have created mayhem through lax social policies of disregard for marriage and the family and we have created mayhem in society.’

Insiders believe Davies is planning sweeping reforms of Doncaster social policy including corporal punishment for women exposing flesh above the ankle, introduction of the death penalty for adultery and homosexuality, and a ban on all future local elections. Supporters called the plans ‘refreshingly oppressive’.

Since taking office he has slashed his salary from £73,000 to £30,000 (possibly to save up money to invest in torture equipment), scrapped Doncaster’s free local newspaper (to stifle dissent), and vowed to withdraw funding for annual Gay Pride, International Women’s Day, and Black History events (just for fun).

A local man said: ‘He was already half way to becoming a one-man Taliban anyway.’

Davies was described as ‘a breath of fresh air‘ by The Daily Mail last Saturday.

Then, as if aligning himself with the Taliban wasn’t bad enough, our illustrious Mayor decided to set his mighty intelligence against established scientific opinion…

“This council, along with many others across the country, is being asked in its regulatory role of planning authority to decide upon planning applications for construction of wind farms. Clearly, as Mayor, I have no role in the decision making process or influence on the outcome. However, I believe the time is right for me to advise the public of my views. These developments have little or no benefit in terms of contributing to decreased energy consumption, nor do they have any beneficial effect on the planet’s climate in response to the great global warming scam.”

A decade ago Mr Davies may have been able to cite a handful of credible scientists as allies, but nowadays only the lunatic fringe of the scientific community would give him the time of day. But then our Mayor has already shown that he isn’t exactly fussy about who he aligns himself with.

Speaking in The Star, Simon Bowens, regional campaigner for Yorkshire and Humber Friends of the Earth, said…

“There is overwhelming scientific evidence that global warming and climate change is happening and is being driven by man made emission. It is absolutely irresponsible of any politician to make statements which contradict that when we are looking at probably the greatest environmental threat that mankind has ever known.”

Doncaster MP and Government secretary of state for energy and climate change Ed Miliband added…

“I am shocked and appalled that the Mayor of Doncaster is describing global warming as a scam.”

*Luckily in a bureaucratic state he can never have as much power as he thinks he has, but he is more than capable of doing the people of Doncaster some major damage.

Кожата й настръхва от топлата вода. Става на дребни настръхнали пори. На малки изящни кратери. На малки лунни експедиции. На дребни чувствителни фрагменти. Става на теории на конспирацията. И после се изпарява като мъгла.