My Big Fat Conceptual Consensual Wedding.

As you join me today I'm currently sitting at a table in a coffee shop pouting like a little girl who's been told that her birthday party has been cancelled. What's causing me to whimper like a little bitch, you might ask. Well, I'm just 3 days away from my life as I know and love it, ending. Yes, 3 days from now the Missus and I will be exchanging vows, she will be giving me a ring as a token of her love and fidelity, and I will be giving her a pair of testicle-shaped earrings as a token of my capitulation and submission. We have recently been to see our holy man who will be performing the unholy ritual, and he talked us through what the wedding vows we are about to take actually mean. I'm sure that there was some deep emotional meaning to them, but I heard some very different interpretations than what the preacher man was saying:

"I take you, woman" - I'm being taken by you, woman.
"To have and to hold" - I might occasionally get some, but I won't get my hopes up.
"In sickness and in health" - Me tolerating your periods, and you tolerating my man-flu.
"For richer, for poorer" - You richer, me poorer.
"'Til death do us part." - Or else you'll sue the shit out of me if I have an affair.

I think the overall impression the holy man was giving was that you must be willing to give yourself consensually, freely and with no impediments so there will be no 'shotgun wedding'. Hailing from a small, slightly backwards countrybumpkin town where I'd imagine shotgun weddings were quite common, (and having chosen to return there to get married) I can only guess that for some locals old habits die hard. What the preacher does not know is that the Missus will be holding a pump action shotgun to my genitalia. When it comes time to say my vows I can expect the sound of the Missus racking the shotgun's slide, just in case I have any bright ideas.

And so tonight I go through the practice ceremony with the Preacher, the Missus, my Best Woman and the Missus' Bridesman. Oh that reminds me, my sister just happens to be burdened with being my bestest friend, so when it came to picking a best man there was only one choice - Chuck Norris. But seeing as how it was unlikely that Mr Norris would be able to come, and he'd probably be busy saving the world again on the wedding day I asked my sister instead. The Missus on the other hand deliberately decided to go with the family angle as she (for some inexplicable reason) places great importance on family. So when it came to choosing a bridesmaid, she chose the next person she was close to - and that happens to be a dude. So I have a Best WOman and the Missus has a BridesMAN. How 21st century contemporary non-traditional bohemian hipster of us.

When we first got engaged I wasn't too bothered about the wedding, as it was more of a distant conceptual event which I didn't need to spend too much time thinking about, but now that it's almost upon me it has become depressingly real. Still, I have somehow found my own little safe haven. My life lately has become a hurricane of people buzzing around me, talking, discussing, organising for the wedding. Have you ever seen in the movies, one person sitting still, in real time, whilst everyone else has sped up to a blur around that person? That's me. Imagine me sitting on the sofa playing my Playstation with my cat Marley on my lap, and you have my life. Because luckily I seem to have found the eye of the storm. The one tiny patch of tranquility right at the centre, where all is calm. I'm hoping to sit here until the hurricane that is the wedding day is over, and we all come outside to assess the devastation that is my future hopes and dreams.

The next time we talk I will have a wedding ring, an official Missus, and no testes. But until then, I shall sit and whimper and stroke my genitals tenderly, because being all-but married has made me appreciate how precious some things in life are. Like freedom. Free speech. My own opinion. Being right. My pride, dignity and indeed testicles, because you really don't appreciate some things until they've gone. So wish me luck, and until next time, I bid you adieu.

Kieran x

The Week that Wasn't - UK Edition 15.6.2013

So what's been happening lately then?

Global Domination and Wii Bowling.

Exclusive: The Churchill Dog is a
Bilderberger. Oh Yes!

David Cameron was recently invited to meet with the ultra secretive Bilderbergers. The Bilderbergers are a selection of the world's most powerful and influential people in the spheres of politics, economics, business and society, but who's exact membership is unknown. Naturally, as a result they are the subject of much conspiracy theories, ie they are The Illuminati, they are planning the inevitable One World Order etc. This year they met at the Grove Hotel in Hertfordshire, but considering the sinister theories I'm surprised they don't meet in a hollowed out volcano on some undiscovered island. They meet for a few days every year to shoot the shit, play scrabble and perhaps have a Wii Bowling round robin tournament. They invite a few extremely important politicians as guests, which rumour has it, is a kind of global domination vetting process. Tony Blair, George Dubbya and Bill Clinton have been invitees and now Emperor Cameron is the latest to brush upon his Wii skills. Perhaps the Bilderbergers ARE mapping out how the world markets will be shaped for 2013-2014 but I like to think that they sit in a big room reading the Daily Mail and tutting at poor people. One thing IS true though: The last time Cameron had to kiss so much arse and have his arse fondled improperly, he was at Eton College. Why 'Bilderbergers' you ask? Well, they first met in the Bilderberg Hotel in The Netherlands in 1954 and in the absence of an official name, that name stuck. Just as well they didn't start in recent years in one of the more popular hotels, or we might be referring to them as 'The Travelodgers'. And any group with THAT name would struggle to organise an orgy in a whorehouse.


Big Brother is Watching Your Porn.

"Oh My God, I Just Stood Up For Myself.
Emperor Cameron Won't be Pleased".

NeEmperor  the Country's most illustrious tea boy now, and Nick Clegg appears to have confounded all expert opinion by showing that he may possibly have a backbone afterall. In the wake of Drummer Lee Rigby's brutal murder, knee jerk reactions from moronic politicians have called for the long-abandoned Data Communications Bill to be implemented. The bill would allow for law enforcement agencies to monitor and store records of all UK citizens' internet use, web browsing history etc all without a warrant. Little Nick said that it wasn't proportionate and was over the top. He then had to rush to the toilet to evacuate his bowels, and had a stress-induced asthma attack. With this bill the blunderbus ex-politicians aren't throwing the baby out with the bathwater. They are drowning the baby in it. Then setting the house on fire. Then firing a tactical nuclear missile at the town the baby's house is in. Passing the Data Communications Bill to defeat terrorists is like outlawing skinny jeans to defeat hipsters. I firmly believe that the Government won't be happy until all UK citizens have tracking devices implanted in their spinal chord, have their day's thoughts and memories downloaded onto the Goverment mainframe for inspection, and have a leash shoved up their arse.


The Forthcoming EDL Spleen Shortage.

Know Your Royals!

Bad news for Xenophobes now, as it has been revealed that Prince William will be the first King with Indian Ancestry. This is due to DNA research which has traced his mother Diana's bloodline back to India. The EDL will shit their own spleens with rage at the prospect of having a part foreign monarch. Obviously no one has told them that the royal family are, in fact, German. Their family name is Saxe-Coburg, from the House of Hanover, but that doesn't sound English so enough they changed it to 'Windsor'. I'm sure the more moronic from the band of fuckrags known as the EDL will demand that Harry becomes king instead (Even though he's still Diana's boy). Given how Prince Charles isn't his real dad, God only knows where his DNA comes from. Button Moon probably.


Bravo, The Sun. Bravo.

The Sun website meanwhile has decided to lead with the story of a horny couple being jailed after having sex at Barnsley train station and letting random strangers film it on mobile phones. Bravo, The Sun, top quality investigative journalism. As always, bringing you the stories that matter. As always. Speaking of The Sun's top quality investigative reporting, they successfully tracked down a girl who posted a picture of her boobs online using a stolen mobile phone. The reporter even took the time to inform everyone that the silly girl was 'jobless', thereby demonising her that little bit more. This might be the most significant investigation conducted by a newspaper since the Watergate scandal. As a result, I believe that a special session of Parliament be convened to discuss the case, and the implications of both stolen mobile phones and pictures of boobs on the net, on the general public. Bravo, The Sun. Bravo. I'm sure that you want to see the picture which has caused the storm, well I always endevour to please my readership - so here's a picture of a cat karate kicking a dog:


The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same.

"Should I Buy 1 Ferrari or 2? Hell, I'm at
Man City Now - Let's Make it 10".

In the world of Football, Manchester City have appointed Manuel Pellegrini as manager. People say that thanks to the club owner's impossibly high expectations of new managers the Man City job is a poisoned chalice, but considering the wages involved, it's likely that Pellegrini can now afford to buy several million poisoned chalices. The other good thing about a job like that is that you can plan for the future, because you know you will only last 1-2 seasons before being fired, and with a wage of many gajillions of pounds per year, that's one delicious poison. Speaking of impossibly high expectations, Scottish manager David Moyes has taken the reigns at Manchester United, after Sir Alex Ferguson decided be couldn't be arsed anymore and has gone off to devote himself to his favourite pastimes of stealing Christmas and shouting at horses. It truly is all change in the city of Manchester, because United now have a grumpy angry Scot as manager, and City now have another highly rated European with unreasonable expectations placed upon him. Oh.


Scotland's Sporting Success, and Other Signs of the Apocalypse.

Scotland Won. Now The Fans Know
the End is Nigh.

Also in the world of sport, and Scotland won their World Cup qualifier against Croatia away from home. Yes, Scotland won a competative game of football, I'll just give you a moment to let that sink in......... Croatia, ranked number 4 in the world lost to Scotland who are ranked 74th, just ahead of Jordan and just behind Togo and the Cape Verde Islands (true). Whilst most of Scotland celebrated by getting even drunker than usual, it has unnerved many people, as such sporting successes are not supposed to happen until the end of days. I can only imagine that if Andy Murray wins Wimbledon this year then the Rapture will truly be upon us.

Kieran x.

The Week that Wasn't - UK Edition 4.6.2013

Germany's Next Topless Model.

If Only Suffragette Emily Davison Had
Thought of This Rather Than Going to the Races.

Topless members of Ukraine-based feminist group 'Femen' recently stormed the stage of the final of 'Germany's Next Top Model'. As these unexpected guest judges were taken away by security, celebrity judge Heidi Klum was quoted to having said "I've just seen boobies in front of me!". It's understandable that Klum was shocked, considering how skinny most of the models on the show are, it's highly likely that the protestors' boobies were the only boobies to be shown on the whole series. Femen are well known for demonstrating at events they see as sexist, which includes sporting events and religious locations. Personally I'm an avid supporter of equality of the sexes and of feminism in general, however any Google image search of Femen leaves you with the impression that despite all their good intentions, they just seems like a bunch of girls looking to get their tits out in public at any opportunity. I'm sure plenty of people will disagree with their assessment of the 'Next Top Model' format, namely the show's producers, sponsers and the army of men tearfully wanking into a sock at home. They will say that the show promotes the power and individuality of women. Sure, in the same way desperate, abused, drug-addled prostitutes are simply exercising their own sexual empowerment.


Poor Little Black Sheep.

"Why Mr Evra, that is a fine crop of African hair
my handsome fellow ethnic friend".

Poor wee lamb Luis Suarez has this week threatened to quit Liverpool because he believes that he has been persecuted. Suarez has become the black sheep of English football, which has offended him on two levels. The Uruguayan playmaker, practicing racist and keen human flesh enthusiast obviously feels hard done by. He has a point. Afterall, everyone was queuing up to condemn him after biting another player, however they didn't sympathise when he had to ask for his teeth back after the match, because they were still embedded in the footballer's arm. And everyone was lambasting him for being a racist, however he was merely questioning Patrice Evra's parentage, whilst factually confirming Evra's skin colour. *This load of bullshit was brought to you in association with the British National Party. The BNP - bringing you society's shameful past, direct from the 19th century.

Throat Cancer and Other Sexually Transmitted Diseases.

"Kiss goodbye to me ever kissing that saggy
cobwebbed scrotum ever again, you old fart". 

Cinematic leg-end and shrivelled testicle lookalike Michael Douglas has blamed the throat cancer he was diagnosed with 3 years ago not on years of smoking and drinking, but on oral sex. That's right, according to Big Mick if you're a generous lover you may just get throat cancer, like he did. Mick is infamous for coming out as a sex addict in the past, and going into rehab for it. Obviously someone forgot to tell him that most men could be described as a sex addict and if they had to spend a month in rehab the world would grind to a halt. It seems that you can be addicted to anything these days, and the definition of "addicted" has been watered down so much that it is used to describe as little as a moderate interest in something. So I'd like to take this opportunity to admit that I am an addict *waits for a sympathetic applause*. I'm addicted to sex, cynicism, comedy, and generally being a miserable bastard. Oh and Bakewell tarts. What, no applause? Oh go fuck yourselves then. What Catherine Zeta-Jones thinks of Michael's latest well thought out admission is anyone's guess, but I suspect that Big Mick won't be given another chance to develop throat cancer again any time soon, and Catherine won't ever develop throat cancer now.


Scoop: Drugs Mule is Oxygen Thief Shocker!

X-Factor judge and chavtastic oxygen thief Tulisa has been a bit of a tit lately. She was recently caught in a sting by those exemplars of yellow journalism The Sun, bragging about her days as a drug dealer. She then arranged for one of her drug dealer pals London rapper MC Fuckstick to sell the undercover journo some cocaine. The Sun are now having a massive celebratory wank by reporting that Tulisa could be arrested by the cops. She was talking about how she used to transport drugs and then take her cut of the profits. So in other words, she was a low rent drugs mule. Hardly something to brag about. It's like boasting that you once worked in the porn industry, then admit that you were just the male porn star's fluffer. It's now very possible that Tulisa's prime time TV career is over. Still, there's always a place for her as an MP's coke mule. As with most subjects in this blog I like to include a picture, but I'd rather not give the oxygen thief any more publicity. So here is a picture of a plate:


Yet Another Tory Sex Scandal.

Shame. IDS and Pickles Would Have Made Such
Beautiful Sexy Time.

The Conservative party have been rocked by yet another sex scandal. With the Tories it's now got to the point that sexual deviance has become the most popular hobby for their MPs, just behind fucking rent boys and fucking the poor and disabled. One can only surmise that the ultimate turn-on for a Tory MP is fucking a poor, disabled rent boy. The latest rumoured scandal is said to be between 2 middle aged persons who are no longer in the cabinet. This automatically negates my initial guess of Eric Pickles and Iain Duncan Smith. My long-shot guess of Boris Johnson and Ann Widdecombe is still a distinct possibility though. Not long ago it came out that former Tory Prime Minister John Major had a prolonged affair with Edwina Curry. The very thought of this is possibly the most nauseating political union since David Mellor went around  shagging anything with a pulse in the 1990's. If Cameron is worried about his and Nick Clegg's torrid sex affair becoming public knowledge, it might be a little late. It's been an absolute shocker of a week for Emperor Cameron, after a fourth alleged victim of Nigel Evans went to the Police. The Tory MP and deputy speaker was arrested by the police for alleged rape and sexual assault of 3 other victims, from 2009 to 2013. Add to that Tory whip Patrick Mercer's resignation for lobbying questions in return for thousands of pounds without declaring it. All Cameron needs now is for Harry the Downing Street cat to be arrested for possession and distribution of catnip with the street value of £10k to Tulisa, for her to brag about to The Sun.