A Perfectly Terrible World

*Read this incredibly fast. If possible. Drink several cups of coffee beforehand.(Seriously) Otherwise you may not get into the full swing of this.


I can dream...

If people weren't ejaculating joy everywhere. Instead of nightclubs, people went to large coffee houses. Not cafes. Coffee is as cheap as the conversation. Everyone packed into these like sardines. Scalding each other with Child Labours finest blend.
Their collective breath becomes intolerable, and people become intoxicated by lack of oxygen.
Falling on the floor, prey to spillage. Defenseless, they wrap themselves in tea bags. Dreaming of better times.
All the while, the people on the top, holding the mugs or tiny latte cups, are twitching into each other like bees attacking hornets. Warming the weaker of them to the point where they explode.
The remains are tripping over the previously thought prey. Now, ticking time bombs. The spilled caffeine has soaked into their skin. They emerge in a frenzy. The only music they hear is the screams of the others who are all having seizures.
Smashing mugs. Plates.
Dark chocolate biscuits. Filling the air. No-one.

No-one stood a chance!

Isn't that right, Mr.Irish-Tea!
Thinking it was milky coffee. The smell masked by others. Rich tea biscuits and all. Jameson hidden in his left pocket. His right. Tea bags.
The bastard.
He projectile vomits a watery-biscuit-like substance towards the crowd.
The defenseless cafe creatures wail in dismay. No match for the alcohol and tea man, they flee. Out the door. At once. They soon find crammed in the tiny doors. The surrounding shelves breaking. Explosions of leaflets and posters of French movies.

All the de-caf people in the background weeping. Espresso people are dancing on top of the weakened coffee drinkers.

A perfect little world where no-one likes eachother and everyone's really fucked off something. I forgot what I was on about. Fuck it.

You've wasted more time reading this. You'll read my next shit blog too. You pathetic bollocks.

Nature's Bitch

That's you.

You never stood a chance.

You think you can fuck with nature. Building damns, on the side of volcanoes, working in straight lines.
Trees going in all directions, standing taller than all of you. You, perpendicular to the ground. Building sky scrapers 'cause you have a tiny penis.

What does 60 seconds mean to a tree or a mountain?
You panicking to get the bus, out of your own creation. And you missed it.
By 10seconds.

50 million years for the himalayas. And you're worrying about wasting 2seconds to scratch your arse.

People carrying watches, thinking they're in control of time. You can't stop though. BAM!




You can twist the world, but don't forget. Nature has you by the balls.

Rule the skies now? You don't see birds exploding all by themselves.

Where's the black box on them? Engine failure.
The bird got tired. Or shot.

Nature will get you back.

There's only so much a man can write in a day

Luckily, I'm a type of God so there's no need to group me in there. Although I'll accept the title if it's all that's going.

The French worry me. They express love in a way that...is not. For our cynical minds to comprehend, I'll use a metaphor.

Yoghurt. I like it. Although I often see it there, I do not always eat it. I haven't had any in time longer than I can remember.

Doner Kebabs. I crave them. I'll break into sweats just thinking of them. No matter where I am, I soon find the rush of hunger. A craving. I need it, something. Just one more. Even if it's destroying me.

The yoghurt represents someone who you unconditionally love. Maybe a family member or a best friend. Nothing weird. Just a feeling of appreciation.
The kebab is love.

Now. Put the yoghurt into the kebab bread.

I think you'll find that's where the term "Inbred" derives. Thanks France. You've given us much enjoyment. Now let us please continue to be uptight about our sexuality and never get any action.

If this makes sense in the morning, it means I'm drunk.











Your life.

End it.

There's a world outside the home.

The morning. Everyone rises with The Sun, ripening their eyes, bursting the fruit of sight.

Noon. The time of the day where you're nearly awake, still wishing you were back in bed.

Afternoon. You finally except your bed is miles away. With a jump of relief you ejaculate out of the building and search for food.

Evening. The Sun is squinting and is sick of looking at you. The lights turn on, the surroundings never got a chance to darken. People flee indoors. The world disappears and a smaller one forms withing your house. A world with its own food source in a fridge. No need to hunt down berries, bulls or children. You have ham and bread. You are sorted. Tea pots exploding with gallon's of tea.

Night. The world has decided that you are a bollocks. The street lights snare at you as you walk from them to home, if you had not left at evening.

Post Midnight. You are blank minded and can do nothing to stop drooling. Yawns will lash out on you.

The other thing. You're not so great. Eh. I am? Or...Hmm. I was trying to say something. But. Well. Y'know. Have I? Maybe I should go to bed. No-one in existence is awake. Cities die and even Australia and Africa are sleeping. You are on your own and procrastinating. You only realise this after an hour of watching LOLCats. You fool.

Bed. You're there. When did that happen? You're asleep. You never seen it coming. All you know is that you are. Well. Not currently. But you'll know when you awake.

Awake. Birds. Alarm. Asleep.

Awake 2. I'll get up now so.

Awake 3. I didn't know I turned off my alarm.

Dinner/Breakfast. It's very early.

2 minutes later. Night.

I didnt even see The Sun today. Maybe 'cause it's not...
If I wake in the night I tend not to.

The Sun comes. It goes. Lights replace it. You block out your own lights with curtains.
Hello again.

Long story short. You're a prick.

Paki Pigeon Prosecuted

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/18/20100528/tod-pigeon-held-in-india-on-suspicion-of-451ab4f.html
Pigeon held in India on suspicion of spying

This one takes the biscuit. 'Cause that's what pigeons tend to do if you leave them out.
"Officials have directed that no-one should be allowed to visit the pigeon". But he gets one phone call.



http://uk.news.yahoo.com/18/20100603/tod-world-s-ugliest-dog-dies-at17-f62056d.html
World's ugliest dog dies

Poor fucker. Susan Boyle now holds the position of the ugliest dog.

"Come here boys!"


It has occurred to me that in my position of power, having such a large following of readers, exceeding 10 people, I should use my voice(metaphorically) to bring attention to a greater cause, other than to just amuse you.
So I'm bringing further attention to myself.

Hello everybody! It's me! You should amuse me now. If you're attractive(my decision, not yours), please give me your phone number and your underwear. If you're not, but are capable of making me a sandwich, please do so.
(If you meet both of these criteria, it is important that you know that I am currently single)