According to my stats, if you’re reading this, you must be a Zoophile.

30 Jan This is probably what you were looking for, and instead you got this article.

WARNING: Do not read if you are adverse to naughty words such as “cock”, “vagina” and “fuck”.

It turns out that my captive audience seem to be a bunch of Zoophiles with a fetish for diseased vaginas.

Yes, if you are reading this, it is because you have most likely searched for the term “gorilla cock”, “gorillas having sex”, “gorilla with big ball sack” (this is one of my favourites), or “blue waffle vagina disease”, to name but a few. You may also be the one person that searched “men eating womens snot”. (Note, it should be “womens’ “, not “womens”, but I imagine that if you’re in the midst of a snot searching session, an apostrophe is the least of your worries.)

I’d like to extend my sympathy to whoever it was that searched “how hard is it to send a reply” (yes, missing a “?”); To this person, I would say “They’re just not that into you; But if it’s any consolation, they’re probably having sex with a gorilla at this moment in time.”

Now, God knows I’m all for being open-minded and liberal. I’ve done some “crazy” things in my time: I’ve run around naked, hugged a tree, been to a fetish party, indulged in things sexually that might be seen as a little “different”. Dammit, I’ve even been as rock and roll as to go into my bank account overdraft. You could never accuse me of being a stiff upper lipped Brit.

But even I am having just a little trouble finding the turn-on in gorilla porn. Or gorilla cock. Or gorilla ball bags. Or gorilla ejaculate. In fact, anything gorilla related. The same can be said for Blue Waffle.

On a brighter and completely unrelated note, I’m now going to shamelessly promote some of my other articles for you to read, so that you can cleanse your mind of bestiality.

There’s something for everyone: If you like (or in this case, hate) Daniel Craig, you can join in the hate-fest here.

Like (or hate) pussies? Here you go.

Want to watch a guy thrusting a long metal pole that is attached to his Y-fronts? (It’s really fucking funny.) Click me.

I’ve written some other shit too. If you really want to read it, go look it up.

One last thought for the day: There are other animals out there aside from gorillas. Mix it up a bit. Just saying.

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My Grandma’s naughty email. And my Dad’s boyfriend schedule update.

17 Jan

My Grandma's naughty email. And my Dad's boyfriend schedule update.

I’ve opened my inbox to find an email from my Grandma with the subject title of “Naughty”. I’ve not yet opened it. I’m too scared that I’m going to find some sort of sex video, dildo order confirmation or S&M magazine subscription that has been accidentally forwarded on to me due to those 85 year old eyes failing her.

What is just as worrying is that above said email, there is another one from my father, with the subject line of “Boyfriend schedule update”. Now, I know time is a-ticking and I’m not getting any younger, and God only knows the extent to which I’ve put myself out there for some unsuspecting member of the male species to ask me to MARRY HIM, desperately so at times.

But I was completely unware that Daddy had some sort of schedule to which I was to stick to, in luring these poor men to fulfil the position of “Boyfriend”. Maybe he’s toying with the notion that, having never had a boyfriend before, his daughter may in fact be a lesbian. (I’m not.)

Unless, of course, the email is actually a long over-due admittance from my father, that he himself is gay, and has decided to find himself a boyfriend? Something that comes along with a mandatory periodical update?

I’m not sure which is worse; It’s all swings and roundabouts I guess. (Urgh, image of grandma on sex swing/ S&M carousel.)

So, the question now is, do I open these emails and confront the kinky Old Aged Pensioner and watch-tapping, possibly gay father?

I may just fail to acknowledge having even received these messages, and just forward them both my daily Penis Enlargement special offers instead. That, or the link to my online sex tape. Awkward much?

Happy fucking new year. I’ve set fire to my hair already.

1 Jan

I’ve been away for a few weeks in the U-S-of-A, and there is far too much to rant about for one post, so I shall come back to that soon. I probably won’t.

In the mean-time, have a happy 2013. It baffles me that the world went schizo over the Mayans predicting the end of the world, yet nobody has yet thrown a hissy fit over the fact that for one whole year, we are going to be all about the big THIRTEEN. Hashtag unlucky.

Within hours of it being the new year, I have managed to set light to my hair whilst cooking myself a drunken feast (note: if you have exceedingly long hair, it’s best not to lean over the cooker. In fact, it’s best not to cook whilst drunk. In fact, I should probably go and check that I turned the fire off.)

I also managed to have a run in with the school bully on the way home. How is it, at 25 and a half years of age, Fat Lee still makes me quake in my boots? Actually, probably ’cause he’s Fat Lee – the earth trembles beneath him. Yo mama.

One more gripe – I am so inanely bored of seeing Facebook statuses telling me how many “ups and downs” everyone has had this year, or how they’re going to “kick this year’s arse”. We all know in a year’s time, the people who thought they were going to kick this year’s arse will be complaining over how many ups and downs they’ve had this year. That is life. GET OVER IT. And don’t shit all over my newsfeed.

Bah humbug and a merry fucking new year.

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Belly’s Gonna Get Ya? I think it already has..

30 Nov

For some reason, the “Belly’s gonna geeet yaaa” chant has been playing over and over in my brain. God might be sending me a message to stop stuffing my face with food-crime, but either way, I thought I’d share this with you all so that you can all feel as shit as I do the next time I eat two Toblerone bars in one sitting.

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“Do u still want me to send u a pic of it?” Errr, who are you?

29 Nov

So the other day, I had the absolute displeasure of receiving this text message from some unknown fucktard called “Phil”.

Phil is a pushy bastard – after receiving no reply from me, he sent me another message asking “Wud u like it hard or soft?” before sending me yet another message, telling me (note, not asking me) to send a picture of myself.

Phil – whoever the hell you are – FUCK OFF.

Would it be completely wrong to send him a picture of a Blue Waffle? (Not my own of course. Mine’s pretty, and not at all blue or waffley.)

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Video WTF Of The Week

24 Nov

I watched this. I laughed. I nearly shat myself a little. If you are immature like me, you will enjoy this. A man is thrusting his cock and pulling faces for Pete’s sake, how could you not enjoy it?

“How Cheryl Cole takes her tea?” Who gives a tiny rat’s arse..?

15 Nov

There is officially no hope for planet Earth. Today I had the sheer displeasure of my earholes being polluted by the utter shite that one can hear on the radio – no I’m not talking about Chris Brown or Justin Bieber – I’m talking about the advert I heard whilst in my car, encouraging me to buy a magazine because I could, and I QUOTE: “Find out how Cheryl takes her tea.”

Yes, my friends. I could find out how Cheryl “I’m as talented as dry shit on bog-roll” Cole, (or “Cheryl” as she is now calling herself after her footballer, yes, FOOTBALLER husband cheated on her, I mean who would EVER have thunk it??), prefers her tea. Not only this – I could do so after swapping 250 of our Great British pennies in exchange for said magazine.

Well. WELL. Fuck me sideways and call me Baloo.

I mean, to be honest, I really for the life of me cannot figure out just how I have managed to exist on this planet for 25 and a half years, without this most crucial, most astronomic, most vital and LIFE-CHANGING piece of information.

Pray, do tell, how DOES Cheryl take her tea? What flavour tea does she drink? And what brand? Does she keep the teabag in whilst drinking? Or does she let it brew? And for how long does she let it brew? Does she accompany it with a biscuit? Chocolate bourbons or malted milks? Custard crèmes or jammy dodgers? Does she take it with milk?  Or sugar? Or up the arse?

Because, by great Odin’s raven, until I know this information, I shan’t sleep again. I shan’t be validated as a proper human being until I have been enlightened with this gift of knowledge. I shan’t be able to eat until I know how, just exactly HOW, Cheryl takes her tea.

And once I have found out this information, I shall extend my quest to finding out whether Simon Cowell uses butter or margarine, whether Russell Brand uses ribbed or flavoured condoms, and whether The Queen wipes from back to front or front to back. Because God knows, life is not complete until we are all aware of these nuggets of wisdom.

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