The random observations & irrelevant rubbish thread.

I'm getting funny looks at work...fuckinglooools

What a diabolical liberty, I've just opened a bag of Pork scratchings to augment my sensorial pleasures with a bottle of sagres Lager and the fuckers are stale!.



I haven't felt this disappointed since my bespoke esoteric artworks birthed in the medium of being cunted out of my fucking tree on san miguel, of emily Thornberry working the length and girth of a rudimentary phallus, failed to get shortlisted for the turner prize.

Cheers Jamie. When the time comes All i ask for is a decent burial to the beloveds 'sun Rising'  and my Harmonica in my top pocket that my old man East Ham Dave,  nicked off dave dee, dozy, beaky, mick and titch  at the east ham granada 1965.  ;-)

just got out of my pit with a bastard hangover that Brian Connolly of the sweet would be proud of after a piss up with Micky Finn and Gram Parsons at the Rockpalast festival 1975. A fucking Good giggle on here last night.

Anyway hold your horses, first thing i cast my ready eye on this afternoon on the box is this pin headed sloshpot , Paloma Faith, going on and on about how  she has a black boyfriend. So fucking what love?, your've got a black boyfriend, its hardly reinventing the fibonacci sequence. Coming From ilford In the 80's and 90's i chowed down on the dark fillet mignon in great abundance and fucking loved it. I was  married to a Hindu babs windsor cockney princess for 8 years, it doesn't make me a seeker of righteous justice,  just a bloke that hankered for black quim and all its sensorial fruits.  

Yet another Virtue signalling hag who thinks she should get the nobel peace prize for hunkering down on engorged Somalian phallus to shock her parents.

Indeed , Bringing home a 7ft Rasta drum and bass DJ To meet the parents and then fellate on the front lawn in full view of the Neighbours, displays ones PC minerals more than the black glove of Tommie Smith ever could.

Having showcased her Credentials by taking black meatus up every orifice , she could then settle down to marry a white middle aged venture capitalist and hold dinner parties with their friends in their dockside apartment snorting mid quality chang listening to John cougar Mellencamp on vh1

fucking ponces.

Monday Morning anecdote.

When I used to patron That Private member's club in leman street aldgate called 'Bar Bed' knocking me pipe out at lloyds in the wilderness years, For some reason ,( probably out of my nut on the fruits of the coca plant while playing jocular mein host and holding court like the sorry clown jester fuck i had truly become at this stage ), I was telling The Bloke that ran the gaff , Charlie richardsons brother in law, about my women troubles.

After he digested my problems running it around his palate,  he paused for thought and nodding his head as if savouring a fine wine, He told me to 'work to her body never the face as this leaves tell tale marks'.

This has always stood me in good stead throughout the following years. Thank You.

 I love it when some cunt trots out that old line about having Stephen Fry as one of their ideal dinner party guests ..A fat hulking sweating mountain of blubber humping away every night till he blurts his stunted Herbs de Provence load up the rectum of his young concubine, no doubt with the kelly hoppen crushed velvet curtain pelmets tied round the young blokes neck turning his gas off to achieve sexual hypoxia. Scatology the fucking lot.



Look at the resignation in the kids dulled opiate eyes..resigned to a life of a cherub cocked man of high academia pumping his kippax while reciting AE Houseman poems as he shunts his muck over the otterman until someone beats the guinness book of world records of toxteth o'grady for having the worlds biggest bogey. i.e for the rest of his fucking  life the poor wee cunt.


It's all mapped out for him.. living high on the hog until his youthful looks give out due to the booze, tackle and rough sex while Fry scouts out the next young bit of fresh chicken. No Doubt  he'll  overdose on ghb at a gay chem sex party when his bloated body will be dumped in the river by some lackey to cover it all up, probably rufus hound, with fry sunk to the nuts up some minor on the run from abusive parents up north too busy to notice or care.

Still rather have fry as a guest than James Obrien though.    

Awesome. I call it west coast shuffle, but the real name is crip-walk.