Sunday, 12 February 2012

The Mary Jane......(written on the 12th of February 2012)

I went out on my usual trot early this evening, to check my local shops for reduced food. Good old Co-op landed me some half price minced beef, their meat being free range and scrummy. Apparently the animals involved in their meat production gambol around endless meadows, until they decide to die, under the shade of a leafy tree, happily squinting into the sun, knowing they will make poor people like me a hearty and satisfying meal, and gently shed their mortal coil. Well that's what the gal behind the checkout told me anyway......

Whilst I was on the way from store A to store B, ahead of me on the pavement were four young males, hoods up, and taller than me, and I'm six foot one. In this neighbourhood last weekend an irate car owner got stabbed trying to prevent a thief stealing the catalytic converter from his and several neighbour's cars. I remember seeing a tv show on the SAS about common objects that can be used as lethal weapons, apparently a door key to the temple makes your eyes water, so I fumbled to find Elvis.
As we passed each other on the pavement I got a serious whiff......of really strong Weed. Actually Weed smells rather odd to me nowadays, a bit like sweet coffee grinds. Ironic that many drugs used to be transported in bags with coffee grinds, to prevent sniffer dog detection.

There was a piece in my local paper last week. Some poor Stoner got a visit from the Old Bill, actually at a very reasonable post breakfast hour. There were six cops, and a helicopter......for twelve small plants. Still the OB made the visit worthwhile, simultaniously they nicked some one for riding their bike on the pavement. And they cautioned another for dropping a fag butt in the road. So, all in all, it made the £300,000 pounds of public money spent on the operation jolly good value......

It's like we're living in a bad dream which we can't wake up from. Do the Cops, in all seriousness, think that taking this poor kid out will make a difference to the "War on Drugs"? All they're doing is criminalising some poor bugger. That's aside from the highly expensive resources being used to nick somebody for a few "plants", not guns, not Heroin, not kiddy porn, but wee plants that grow anywhere, and are deemed by our most esteemed scientists as being one of the least harmful of any recreational drugs used in society.

When I was 15, I got turned on to smoking Hashish. Well, it was the last vestiges of a joint, the few mils before the roach, but by goodness it made me feel odd! By the time I was 16 I was a confirmed Pothead. It's difficult to explain why I turned on. Certainly there was a "gosh isn't this naughty and illegal", and "ain't I a rebel/freak smoking this stuff" aspect. But the wonderful feeling of euphoria, and the dreams and whimsy, coupled with the revelation that my imagination could be expanded greatly by the use of this drug, made any legal aspect immaterial to it's consumption, and I became a major fan. And what wonderful Hash was available in the early 70's, Paki Black, Black Moroccan, Red Leb, Kashmir, Afghani Black, and as for Weed, well Thai sticks/Malawi rope twist/Columbian weed/Santa Marta Gold......makes your eyes red just thinking about it! The first time I smoked Colombia Gold(Santa Marta) after a quarter of a joint I simply had to lie down. The feeling of euphoria was overwhelming, and when I closed my eyes I could see landscapes of wonderful colours and sensations. After 3 hours, we could just about get off the floor and sit on the sofa, whereupon our host played us Dub Reggae by the likes of Jah Lion and I-Roy. It was about as close to bliss as you could get without an orgasm. After some 5 hours of stoned rapture, we managed to leave our friends abode......only to be confronted by the horror that our vehicle had a flat tyre!

I really can't believe our government think that the so called "war on drugs" is making any difference to their availability, because certainly there seems to be more drugs in our society than ever before, mostly bogus Cocaine. That is, a white powder that contains 12% or less of Coke, the rest being made up of Lactose powder and some sort of Amphetamine. How sad and how funny, of course people are told they're snorting Coke, and so they attempt to behave like they have. Good little hypnotised robots that they are. Except the Amphetamine aspect of the powder no doubt induces teeth grinding aggression, and pubs that have that element of people are renowned for kicking off. I had a lot of experience of Cocaine when I lived Stateside(and I abhor it), and I've never seen any one want to fight when they've done serious Cocaine, talk and bullshit you to death, yeah, but no actual physical violence.
As far as I can see, despite this "war" drugs are more readily available than they ever have been in my lifetime. So, what is this "war" actually achieving? Well I guess all the people employed in this "war" are getting a good living from it, and quite obviously any legalisation/decriminalisation would leave these people jobless, and they don't want that, do they? And I firmly believe if some bright spark were to look at how many people are employed worldwide, and their actual cost, the math simply wouldn't add up.

Soon, the number of deaths in the "war on drugs" in Mexico will be equal to the number of US casualties in the Vietnam war. That's a fuck off price to pay for a bunch of people keeping their well paid jobs. Will someone wake up please? Rock'n'Roll to the rescue? How awful that a beautiful country like Mexico(and indeed Colombia)is devastated and controlled by organised crime, whilst the Feds are "just doin' their job M'am". That's obscene......

Imagine another scenario. All drugs are decriminalised worldwide at a stroke. Shit says the Mafia, wadda we do now? The harmless Marijuana smokers(yes collective government morons, Weed is 1000% less harmful than all your wonderful legal drugs, like Nicotine and Alcohol)live happy, guilt free, hassle free lives, and get high and love every body. And as was the case with Alcohol being made legal, suddenly there's a huge slump in Cocaine usage, cos it just ain't naughty enough, and hey it's not Speed! If some one is ill enough to want to try Heroin, well at least they'll be assured it won't have brick dust in it that will give them Septicaemia. The Old Bill will breathe a hearty sigh of relief, and get on with their job i.e. nicking crims.
Our government simply won't understand the psychology of prohibition, because obviously it pays them not to......

Thursday, 8 December 2011


My girlfriend tells me I'm obsessed with my arsehole.
Whilst there's been many occasions in the past where I've been called an arsehole by women, or indeed accused by some of them of being "anally retentive" I've never before been accused of being obsessed with my boy pussy.

Again, it's Shiva up to his old tricks, because every time my lady visits at the weekend my bowels decide they need emptying at least three times more than average. Of course, some of that is down to ingesting toxic substances, like green chillis or chilli pickle, and if my arse could speak.......well it can actually, after eating either of the above. You've heard of Rock'n'Roll widows, or darts widows, well my old lady is a toilet widow!

And that's the other thing. I really found it hard to believe that several chaps made a living farting tunes in Victorian times, one such fellow, Le Petomane, even did a show at the Moulin Rouge. I say "found" cos I reckon I could do that! Again, only when my true love is lying in bed, perhaps expectantly, does the great Gas God empower me with enough fart energy to lift off a small space shuttle! My neighbours are starting to get arsey(sorry!)cos they think I've started to play the Tuba, and practise at unreasonable hours!
It's unbelievable, the fart sounds like a lengthy low drone, especially with added porcelain reverb, a bit like a hunting horn. Stags and similar animals gather outside my house excited that there may be some "rut action" to be had. Confused Captains of  small ships knock and enquire as to whether I have a rogue foghorn. It's all getting a bit too much....

Green house gases? Don't make me laugh! It's the gas from my bumhole. I bet there's a huge hole in the ozone layer above my house! I'm a walking environmental disaster, and all the time scientists have been blaming cows and termites. Oh shit.......

Monday, 10 October 2011


Facebook, it has to be said, is fucking sad.
How is it that nice, normal, regular and unassuming people suddenly become mono brained retards in this corner of cyberspace? Intelligent, worldly people abruptly turn Chav, or worse, bigoted. They prattle on endlessly about their favourite "whatever" and expect me to give a fuck, or at least comment. Why should I give a fuck about Elvis, he's fucking dead, poor twat! And as for that wonderful blues rock pub band you love so much, well they're shit, so get over it!
My young relatives constantly embarrass me with their dreadful spelling and pigeon English. Christ anyone would think half the family are fucking "niggas". Again they must be terribly disappointed or surprised when they look in the mirror and realise they're white! Oh and Johnny or Jane, your wonderful partner of a good three and a half weeks has gone and shagged someone else, fuck that's such a shame. Guess you were thinking it was for life this time, huh? Well fucking get over that too, it was a bunk up, ok? not marriage, a mortgage and seven kids. The disposability of your relationship reflects the site on which you met, shallow, vapid and unreal.
People also use FB to witter on about their kids like they are direct descendants of the arch angel Gabriel, and their IQ exceeds 160, and of course they're sooo talented. Well here's the news, they're Skunk smoking ugly little fucks who make Jade Goody look like Einstein. And that's the truth.
Punks reunited? Don't make me fucking puke! Sad old fat fuckers desperately trying to relive their inconsequential youth, ho fucking hum. Charlie Harper is 92 and lives in a care home fer Christ sake!
And of course, it's helped us all to connect with long lost friends that we haven't seen for ages. Yeah right, we connect, we message once or twice then that's it, we disconnect. Who gives a fuck?
I don't want to hear about your chuffing house in bum fuck Egypt, I don't care about your fucking Gerbil dying, I don't care about your ugly fucking baby shitting its self, I don't care about the new game on your fucking Blackberry(shove it up your arse then it'll be black!)and I don't care about your new job as a fucking robot.......just fuck off will ya?!?

Monday, 3 October 2011

Getting older.....

Ok, so I'm 54 tomorrow. I feel fine, my brain still works great, as does my cock. I have a full head of hair with only vague signs of grey, I'm approximately 8 pounds over fighting weight, but what the fuck, the pot belly is the new six pack, right?
But I've noticed something about older men, something I keep spotting on the bus. Their ears are fucking huge! They're like Woolly Mammoths for fuck sake, with torrents of hair growing out of them, like trophy hair! What the fuck?! You don't tell me someone doesn't mention the fact they look like some Scally has stuck a Douglas Fir into their ear canal? "Oh yeah shit, that ear hair looks fucking cool, is that a weave or what?" It's just not happening.

And it's not just their ears either. Most of their noses are fucking huge too! And they have more nasal hair than most people have round their ass! Are you telling me you can't shave that shit? Well use a fucking blow torch, I would! What sick puppy decided that, as men got older, not only would they look jowly and wrinkly, not only would their cocks stop responding, not only would they cease to attract women, but their ears and noses would grow huge? Gotta be the same bastard that invented the Prostate......

Tuesday, 28 June 2011


Doctors, who'd have them, ay?
It's hard enough for us males to gather the wherewithal to visit the bastards. And then as if feeling unwell isn't enough, they question you like they're the Gestapo, and make you feel even more under the weather!!
I went to see a Doctor today, simply to get a prescription for Loperamide, I came out of the surgery battered and exhausted. There's me telling him how good I've been, seriously cutting back on my boozing, and the first thing I want to do when I get out of there is have a fucking drink, a large Jack preferably. And all the time he's tippy tapping on his keyboard and muttering incomprehensibly, occasionally raising his eyebrows. Never a good thing.

I do all the hard work(well, me and Mr Google)I do the diagnosis, all they've got to do is write like a drunkard on their official note paper, and hey presto, drug time.(no chance of a bottle of Merck while you're at it Dr T?)
So I figure after all this interrogation, complete with much huffing and puffing he's got another angle on my problem, so what gives Dr T, what do you think?
"I think you should have an Endoscopy, a camera put up your back passage, and a biopsy, to see if we can find a problem". Fucking great Doll face, no disrespect but having someone shove a camera up my ass isn't at the top of my agenda currently, just give me the Imodium, PLEASE!!!

Again, God was being a wag, I being terminally deaf, and the Quack being Italian and barely capable of speaking the Queen's English. Surely it should be a prerequisite that a Doctor who treats Brits should be able to speak English, and for you guys that train the fuckers, if the medical student still wears a bone through his nose, carries a sheild and spear and calls you "M'bungo" that ain't likely. Go figure......

Saturday, 12 February 2011

The English weather......

It's a very English obsession, the weather. Hardly suprising, looking out on this cold and wet February day. I pity the poor souls who have to drag their arses out of bed in the darkness, to attend some dull, unstimulating job in a factory, or somesuch. My worst nightmare, but then as Bridie used to say "we're not 9 to 5 people". I don't want 9 to 5 things, like a car or a house or any other delusional material stuff, it's useless to me.

If you look at the weather like it is, and has to be, it can be beautiful any time. But if you judge it for a reason, that it prevents work, or travel or whatever, then it can really get you down. And hence the English reflect their weather, which can be seen as bleak, grey and bland......

I hated the English Winter so much at one time that when I met the Bitch Goddess and she suggested a move to the Sunshine state I simply couldn't wait to get there.
The Flight was long and arduous in those days, some 12 hours in total. With a stop off in a snowy New York, where the shoe shine chairs at the airport had little tv's built into them, so for a dime you could watch a Soap or some news. I stepped outside of JFK to witness a log jam of Yellow cabs, all angry expletives and honking horns.

When the doors of the plane opened in Miami, it felt similar to opening a hot oven door, a veritable woosh of heat. And there were plants growing on the airport roof that would die in the English Summer, let alone the Winter. Exotic, sweet smelling, hot......

We picked up a hire car and drove out of the airport on a road twelve lanes wide. Dusk was starting to fall and the lights of the city blazed. There were billboards and neon. I switched on the radio and trawled through the stations. Little Richard sang "Tutti Frutti", and some nameless Evangelist barked praises to the Lord. We were in Miami, in America, and suddenly all of my childhood dreams about visiting the USA had come true, big style.....

Thursday, 23 December 2010


As my regular readers will know, I've had something of an "Annus horriblus" to quote Her Maj. Or as my Chav brothers would say, a "fuck off" year.. Having had all my work dry up, it was inevitable I'd have to sign on, and frankly I was dreading it. There's such a stigma attached to it, thanks to the gutter media(and for me that's all newspapers and tv)and even my closest sensible friends drone on about "dole queue scroungers" and "single Mothers".
Single Mothers......hmmm.....well I've coupled with and known a good number of them, and as far as I know none of them were sleeping on mattresses stuffed full of £20 notes. In fact, to the contrary, most of them live meagre, hand-to-mouth existences.
I consider myself a "genuine" case, if that's appropriate? I've been struggling financially since the Summer, and my earnings have averaged less than £100 a week, so......

I simply couldn't fault the staff at the job centre. They were friendly, polite and very helpful, and unbelievably I would label signing on as a stress free and relatively pleasant experience.
At the end of my time there the chap dealing with my claim said I should ask the front desk for the number to try and obtain a Crisis loan, as I ticked all the eligibility boxes for one.
And that's when a dark shadow fell over proceedings......

I said to my audiologist(whose name is Sister Ray, (whoa! a real life Velvet Underground character, spooky!)the telephone conversation with the Crisis loan people reminded me of the Monty Python sketch, the Spanish Inquisition. "Are you living in a residential home?" "Do you have any savings?" "Do you like Wig Wags or Quavers?" "Blur or Oasis? Discuss." Oh fuck off will ya, I'm skint, please give me a cheque! But no, the fucker droned on for over a half an hour, then put me on hold for 15 minutes, waaah!!! He asked me how I pay my gas and electric, I told him via direct debit, "oh well we can't give you anything unless you pay via a card meter", thanks a fucking bunch, next time I'll remember to swiftly change my utilities to the most expensive tariff to be eligible. "Have you any food in the house?", well thankfully Jeeves had just stocked the larder for Christmas, a brace of pheasants, ducks, a whole deer and a crate of my favourite champers, Chateau Marlmore, '73. A very fine you fuckwit, I'm skint, I've got nowt, ok? "Well, we can offer you £90 for a 14 day period......" how generous(anyone would think they are paying you from their own personal bank account, not from money the government has robbed off the likes of me and you these long years past!)"but you'll have to be really careful with this money, because you may not get any more for some time". Oh really. So now not only are you laying a guilt trip on me, for taking your personal cash from you, but you're suggesting I'm irresponsible with my finances. Careful with it? Of course I'll be careful with it. As soon as I get off the phone I'm straight to the nearest crack house, via the Co-op of course, to buy a crate of Jack Daniels, how's that for fucking careful?

Boys from Brazil? bollocks, they're living in England mate, training people for the Crisis fund call centre. Except these trainers ain't regular SS officers, no, these bastards got thrown out of the Gestapo, for being extra cruel!
God knows this country's in a state, mostly as a result of the criminals who rule our society robbing and stealing from all of us, without discrimination. And then they have the audacity to tell us to be thankful for a tiny sum of money that they give back to us, when they stole it from us in the first place!

Well, I got the £90. I had to go to the PO nearest the Jobcentre......along with all the other junkies, drunkies and assorted Chavs(including a very fat person dressed in a wrong way round baseball cap and neo shell suit, talking like a black person, they must be dreadfully disappointed/and or confused when they look in the mirror)boy was I pleased to get back on the bus that was a mere 20 minutes late. Sadly there were a few others, older people, that didn't make it, as they'd frozen to death in the -3 wind, but hey, at least they died amongst friends!