The Week that Wasn't - Scotland Edition - 1.7.2013

Well now that the wedding day is over, Hurricane Matrimony has passed and I have assessed the desolation that was my dreams, it's now time to get back to the drudgery of talking complete and utter bullshit. There has been lots of Scottish news recently which has caught my eye so let me enlighten you all.

Pssst.... You Wanna Buy Some Death Sticks? Or Some Carrier Bags?

A Man Prepares for the 5p Levy
By Taking His Argos Shopping Home.

The latest plan to sexually molest our wallets comes not from the UK government as usual, but from Hollyrood instead. This schemes involves introducing a 5p levy on carrier bags you normally get for free. It is thanks to environment secretary Richard Lochhead, who states that we are all a bunch of wasteful bastards who take 10 shopping bags to carry a loaf of bread then discard 9 of the bags in the street. How observant of him. In the interests of fairness however the Scottish Government has been at pains to stress that this levy is not a tax and the government will not make any money from this scheme. The money raised (possibly up to £5million) will go directly to good causes. I'm sure they have a utopian vision of a Scotland where people have 1 carrier bag which lasts them all their lives and peoples' houses are powered by bottled methane from the flatulence produced by the inhabitants who live there, but I fear the reality may be somewhat different. I think people rather than giving 5ps to charity shall instead just cram more shopping into less bags. One should therefore expect to see an increased number of ripped carrier bags on the street with 6 broken eggshells and lightbulbs in them instead. And organised criminals ever the opportunists, sensing money to be made will ship carrier bags from the continent and sell them off at greatly reduced prices. The government had enough trouble on their hands with people selling loose tobacco on the black markets, now they will need to combat both Golden Virginia AND 2p carrier bags. Scotland will become a land strewn with torn carrier bags and broken dreams, with no eggs and no hope. And Scotland will descend into Dante's 7th circle of Hell. Probably.


Penguins Make Glasgow.

"People Make Glasgow Addicted".

News from Glasgow now, in the run up to the Commonwealth Games Glasgow has decided to rebrand itself. Moving on from the ridiculous and thoroughly misleading "Glasgow Smiles Better" travesty, they have moved on to "People Make Glasgow...". Whilst this is technically accurate in so much as it is unlikely that Polar Bears or Seagulls designed and constructed the houses and shipyards. So kudos for pedantic accuracy there. To be more specific, there will be a number of different slogans ie. "People Make Glasgow Home", "People Make Glasgow Creative" etc. I think there may be other options which although less appealing will be more realistic and frankly, honest. For example, "People Make Glasgow Alcoholic", "People Make Glasgow Ignorant", "People Make Glasgow Illiterate", "People Make Glasgow Gomorrah" etc.


Happy Shiny People Holding Handbags.

David Longmuir (L) & Neil Doncaster (R) Discuss
Who Should Receive the First Blow Job.

Football now, and after months of bitter fighting, name calling, bitching, and handbag skirmishes, the 2 great (?) organisations the SPL and SFL have agreed to merge into one great supergroup of football. There has been a great deal of resentment when the top teams in the country broke away to become the SPL in the pursuit of money, leaving The SFL with the cheque and a sense of bitterness. After 15 years the land of plenty which was the SPL turned out to be just the same as the SFL, but with a sillier badge on the football tops. Now after the debacle that was the death of Rangers Football Club (you probably hate me now, but just face it and move on) and the subsequent rise of another Rangers, the feelings of bitterness returned when Scottish football collectively shat itself at the thought of a global giant going the way of the dodo. So now all is well in Scottish football, everyone has agreed to put their handbags down and kiss and make up in the interest of money. And all the bitterness and resentment of the past is a distant memory, with everyone seeing each other as brothers and friends. Erm, yeah...... sure......


One Small Step for Shrek, One Giant Leap for Womankind.

Shrek Only Golfs at Places Which Allow
Princess Fiona to be a Member.

Linking the unholy marriage of sport and politics, professional Shrekalike First Minister Alex Salmond struck a blow for women and fairytale characters everywhere this week, when he deliberately refused an invitation to the Open Championship to be held at Muirfield Golf Course. Why you might ask. It seems that the golf bosses at Muirfield still live in the 15th century, as they continue their long standing tradition of refusing to allow females to become members. Yes, it's a regular sausage factory up in Muirfield. Although if you would allow me to play devil's advocate for a moment, it could be argued that they are only staying true to the traditional ideals of golf. Remember, according to urban legend golf isn't a name, it's an acronym which golf was named after: Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden. This is certainly not true, and as a result is instead, a backronym, however the fact that there is such a long running legend only goes to highlight the misogynistic history of the sport. It is scandalous of course that Muirfield continues to ban females from being members, when they are more than happy to allow Pixar cartoon characters to be guest of honour.


Even Pontius Pilate Probably Wasn't This Miserable.

Murray After Being Asked to Consider Which is More
Important - Wimbledon Success or the End of Days.

At time of writing, Andy Murray marches onwards with the persistence of a hard boiled egg with a miserable face drawn on it being rolled down a hill. 2 of the favourites Federer and Nadal have both gone out, leaving the door wide open for uber-talented misery guts Murray to casually stroll through. Murray the world number 2 is truly one of the favourites to go on and be the first Briton to win Wimbledon since Pontius Pilate in 20AD. I like the rest of the nation shall be cheering Andy on, but I can't help feeling increasingly uneasy as he gets closer to the final. It's a well known fact that a Scot winning Wimbledon will herald the arrival of the Rapture, so if I were you I wouldn't start any long books right now. And if at any time you see the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse sitting eating strawberries on Murray Mound then you'll know why. So thanks Andy for threatening to bring all existence to an end with your world class tennis, you selfish bastard. Funny, I always thought it would be the Americans who in some way would bring about the end of the world.


I Find Your Lack of Ruthlessness Disturbing.

"So Let Me Get This Right. Your Disabled Grandmother
DOESN'T Need to Pay Bedroom Tax? Iain, Fix This".

And finally, 3 cheers for Renfrewshire Council for using a legal loophole to protect some of it's most vulnerable residents from the Bedroom Tax. It will reclassify some homes so that any spare bedrooms which need to be used for the care of a disabled tenant will be exempt from the tax. These bedrooms will no longer be considered 'spare', but necessary and so the tenents will not have their benefits reduced. It's nice to see a local council having a heart and actually looking out for their most needy tenants. And somewhere deep in bowels of Westminster Emperor Cameron and Darth Osborne are buggering Work and Pensions Secretary Iain Duncan Smith with a fireplace poker for allowing such irresponsible compassion to be shown to such lowly serfs. And IDS will be sent packing with the Emperor's orders ringing in his ears: "Wipe the loopholes out. All of them".

Kieran x

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.

Irritable Cat Syndrome & Bloody Weddings.

Who Could Have Suspected the Evil
That Lurks Inside?

If I sound quite nasally in your head while you read this it's because I currently have a clothes peg on my nose. It's either that or spend the day being unconscious. Why, you may ask. Well it's thanks to my new pet cat Marley, the newest edition to my household. If you have seen my posts on my Facebook page then you'll know exactly what I'm talking about. Marley has the arse of a Leviathan with the consistency of the atomic clock. I have owned a couple of cats in the past and Marley is without a doubt the most flatulent cat I've ever known. I've even considered tying an odour neutralising air freshener around his tail so it dangles just behind his arse to soak up some of the evil. For those of you who are agnostic, or suffering a crisis of faith and are doubting the existence of God, Satan or any other kind of afterlife let me reassure you. Satan is alive and well, and is currently living in Marley's colon.

This is EXACTLY What's Going to Happen
on Our Wedding Day.

Away from matters feline, the Missus has been ill lately this time with a chest infection which for some reason has given her a license to be even more of a moany bastard than usual. This all culminated in an out of hours trip to the hospital because she couldn't breathe or something, I'm not sure, I really wasn't listening to be honest. You'll no doubt be glad to hear that she is almost all better now and that her lungs have returned to normal. This is handy, seeing as how we are getting married in a few weeks. Yes, I will officially sign over both ownership and custody of my balls to the Missus on June 22. I've been engaged for about 18 months now, which is a weird experience. Basically being engaged is like having ALMOST given up on life, but not quite yet. For 18 months now I have had the pre-marital sword of Damocles hanging over me, only that sword is in the shape of a massive wedding ring and it's positioned precariously over my genitals.

"What is She Wearing? Terrible, She Looks Like a
Dog's Dinner. Why I Remember the Days When..."

Thankfully the Missus is not a Bridezilla, quite the opposite in fact. She is only getting worked up and excited now, probably looking forward to getting a set of testicle-shaped earrings. The Missus wedding dress is hanging up in the wardrobe and she has made me promise her that I won't go peaking at it before the wedding. She's a traditional girl in that respect. I told her what's also a tradition is for the bride to stand the groom up at the wedding, but she either didn't take, or possibly ignored, the hint. We won't be having a honeymoon though. We had a pre-wedding honeymoon (to Milan which I have blogged about previously), so in other words although we did things backwards, at least we had a lovely holiday BEFORE we feel like stabbing one another in each other's sleep. Ours will not be a traditional wedding though, as my best man is going to be a woman, and the bridesmaid will be a man I can only hope the judgemental old bastard pensioners who gatecrash weddings and sit up the back judging the participants like wrinkly saggy-titted Simon Cowells will get in such a lather over this slightly untraditional wedding that one or more of them might have a heart attack. I will happily proceeed with the ceremony and with a smile on my face, whilst paramedics frantically attempt to resuscitate a pensioner on the back row of the church. Most marriages end in divorce these days, and it's fully possible ours will too, so at least we may as well get things over and done with as soon as possible. That's why on the morning of our wedding I will be filing for divorce, because I know the Missus appreciates thoughtful gestures like that.

But enough about irritable cat syndrome and bloody weddings, how are you? I hope you're keeping well. I've noticed a massive foreign readership of this blog, some of which are from the most surprising countries, a readership which just seems to keep growing. So let me just take this moment to thank you, regardless of where you live, for reading my blog posts, and I hope you find them as funny as I find them cathartic.

Kieran x

The Week that Wasn't - 18th May 2013.

One of the Ladies' Rhinoplasty Surgery Has Gone Awry.

So what's been in the news lately? Well the Daily Mail have been highlighting the old weathly women of New York's Fifth Avenue and how their skin resembles the leather handbags they carry, as they get botox treatments, get their noses hacked into and their colons cleansed. The ladies of luxury enjoy, shopping for Gucci, Prada and Louis Vuitton. It's nice to know that living the high life hasn't affected their looks. With all the surgery done they lose the ability to pull any facial expressions, and their necks still look like a pharaoh's scrotum. Meanwhile tensions between North Korea and the rest of the sane world remain high, and there is alleged evidence of chemical weapons being used in the Syria conflict. All I can say is thank Christ the Mail have their priorities right.

These Receptionists Have Very Impressive CV's.

The Mail also report the latest embarrassment for Britain's next government-elect (that's if Britian finally sinks into the 7th circle of Hell) UKIP. As UKIP search for donors, their latest backer Demetri Marchessini (Yes, a Greek tycoon giving money to UKIP) who gave Nigel Farage's party £100,000 has bathed the party in glory by claiming that businesswomen who wear suits are deliberately making themselves unattractive and a woman not wearing a skirt is tantamount to "hostile behaviour". This comes from the same man who once called Jennifer Lopez a "Mexican Tart". I can only imagine that the board members of his company are all men who attend board meetings at Turkish saunas and massage parlours, and the highest position held by women in his company is receptionist, all of whom are contractually obliged to wear bikinis at work. I'm sure the headquarters of his company is like the Playboy fucking Mansion. What an absolute fucker.

Are You a Commie or an Immigrant,
You Bald Bastard.

After a surprising and frankly worrying success in the local elections, UKIP have recently been determined to make a complete arse of themselves ever since. First there was the much publicised embarrassment of UKIP candidate pictured making an alleged Nazi salute. Alex Wood has defended himself by saying that he was only reaching for the camera which is fair enough. That's perfectly logical, just like ex-Italian premier Silvio Berlusconi claiming that in his legendary "Bunga Bunga" parties were just a group meeting of a women's health club who checked one another for breast cancer, and liked to discuss political issues of the day, is perfectly logical. The fact that they were all naked was purely incidental. After the Nazi salute nonsense, Mr Farage was barricaded in a pub in Edinburgh after a crowd heckled him by chanting "Racist Nazi scum" etc. In order to show that they were wrong, big Nige then went on the BBC to berate the Scottish media for "not telling the truth" about Scottish independence, then branded all Scottish nationalists "fascist scum". Is it at all possible he was talking about his own party? Nevermind, big Nige seems to relish the opportunity to show himself as a dickhead at every possible opportunity.

Ball-Achingly Gorgeous. And Brave Too.

News from across that really big pond now, and the story that possibly the world's sexiest women ever Angelina Jolie has had a double mastectomy. This is because she found out that she carried a faulty mutated gene which significantly increased her chances of developing breast cancer. Apparently the chances of her being stricken with the cancer was over 80%. She therefore took the brave decision to have the operation which has reduced her chances to around 5%. Then incredibly she declared to the world media that she had it done. Holywood, the most superficial place on earth where beauty is demanded, and imperfections of celebrities are scrutinised and mocked, was startled. Angelina said that she hopes to raise awareness of the gene and help the plight of fellow women who carry the gene. Hopefully it will inspire others who need to have mastectomies, especially ITV, who will hopefully follow Angelina's example and surgically remove their pair of tits Ant and Dec from Saturday night TV. Perhaps this can lead to a televisual health checkup. Next to be surgically removed from your TV screens can be the festering great bollock that is Jeremy Kyle. And if he disappears from our screens then we will all owe Angelina a great debt.


The Sun has gone with the story of George Michael being involved in a crash on the motorway. Apparently he was the passenger in the vehicle, and no other vehicle was involved. Hopefully all are OK, but given George's track record in vehicles you'd have to be absolutely fucking mad to let him anywhere near your car even though he is already banned from driving. Nevermind the rush hour local traffic bulletins, they should simply inform other drivers of where George is at all times, so fellow drivers can ensure they are never any closer than 10 miles to him at any time.

"Wef, If You Don't Give Us 15 Minutes Injuwy Time
 I'll Punch Fuck Oot Yer Dog, Ya Pwick".

The big sports news this week is the retirement of 2 footballing institutions: Sir Alex Ferguson, famous for chewing gum and throwing a football boot, and David Beckham, famous for silly hairstyles and having the aforementioned boot lodged in his head. Sir Aldo, the ashen-faced, Wrigley's Spearmint bothering, self appointed grumpy old bastard of British football has decided to give up the ghost after being at the helm of Manchester Untied for the last 80 or 90 years. He states that he wants to spend more time shouting at his racehorses after getting a taste for it while Carlos Tevez was at Untied. Silly voiced anti-brainbox David Beckham has decided to call it quits on his football career after a glittering career of winning medals and being in black and white adverts wearing just his knickers. The highlight of his career was right at the end, where he successfully became the highest paid footballer ever, bagging a wage of £500,000 per week at L.A. Galaxy. Unfortunately, Dave is well known for being a feeble-minded simpleton, but what is lesser known is that he was actually a bona fide member of MENSA - right up until Sir Alex brained him with a football boot. After that he began to find Dora the Explorer an intellectually challenging show.

Emperor Cameron Shall Wine & Dine the Google Fatcat.
Then They Shall Play Charades in the Drawing Room.

Google's chief Eric Schmidt will gladhand David Cameron when they meet at the Business Advisory Group at 10 Downing Street next week. Google were recently dragged over the coals by MPs over the amount of tax it pays in the UK. Google's total annual revenue is thought to be £3 billion, however they only paid £6million in tax last year. So Eric will be going to Emperor Cameron's pad with some beer and Doritos. Dave will provide caviar, Pimm's and butlers. They'll play Xbox and Twister, and if the occasion calls for it, a game of trivial pursuit. I think it's pretty safe to say that one thing which won't happen is Eric being made to explain Google's tiny tax percentage. It's more likely that he will be congratulated by Big Dave on playing the system so well and proving conclusively that the system truly works. Especially for multi-billion pound companies.

Kieran x