A Very Very Fanny Joke, if You Will

"Where did all the lesbians hang out during the first world war?"

'"I don't know! Where?!", I hear you cry.

 NO MAN'S LAND!


Well...okay it's not spectacular. And I'm sure a similar joke has existed along those lines, borrowing that very notion, but I would not know. For I naively tried to google it and received not a bunch of war-related jokes, but was caught unawares by an unbearable listing of porno-based results. Keywords lesbian, no, mans and land did not bode well with Google, even on strict SafeSearch filtering. I perused crossed out the page of results immediately.

 

I am obliged to add that my brother has creative ownership of the joke. He is unbelievably proud of his work. I don't even know why, I mean, it's not great.






Wish I'd thought of it first :(

HOLD IT RIGHT THERE

Not kidding. Life. Get. One. Now.

Please do not mind the insane, death wish-type lettering above! It is just a threatening self-reminder that I, as the unbeatable master of procrastination and idolatry, have things that need to get done. So whenever I casually sign in to my blog with the lazy intention of publishing yet another menial, self-satisfying post, I am reminded of the fatal consequence. 

Indeed. These are the radical means I have had to resort to in a bid to stop the complacency. Life is just a chronological string of deadlines one must meet in order to taste some struggle and live sanely.

In other words, please...

• Get a fucking proper job before uni. One that is not voluntary, unpaid and/or promising "other great benefits!"
• Update your iPod. There is no healthy justification for playing, to this day, the We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank 2004 LP on loop
• Work on your lack of confidence and stop hiding behind laptop screens. What's more, if you must hide behind a laptop screen, at least hide behind one that YOU own

Of course I know that the second first goal is of more immediate importance than the others.

I am shit at being timely. Wait a minute. Surely...this must mean I am timely at being shit.

The Daily Mail Don't Half Beat Around the Facial Bush

The Daily Mail published an article last Tuesday. It's titled:

 Kate Winslet reveals her curves in a sheer dress...but what a shame about the powdery face

Winslet's perfectly-raised hair turned heads at the premier

Above is the photo included to substantiate the oh so powdery visage. That is all. I mean that is the main predicament here isn't it? The powdery face?

The powdery face is a shame. But DM, is there really nothing else you want to address to us? No strand of knowledge you wish to impart? No steadily growing worries in your mind, on regarding the impeccable Kate Winslet?

 

No? Oh very well then. 

Do not get me wrong - I adore Kate Winslet, she is talented and fit as. I also agree that every female lets themself go now and then and, as unfortunate as it is, there will always be the celebrity double standards. What I hate is DM's inability to say what they really want to. You do not put up a mega-zoomed picture of a furry countenance (I just hoped to make it sound as cute and elegant as possible) under the pretence of a 'powdery face'. For the love of God, just mention the pretty fluff! 

Here is another example of DM shunning what needs to be expressed:

Actual title: "Propaganda victory for BNP leader Nick Griffin as he fights off contempt of court case over 'racist' constitution"

Intended title: "Nick Griffin is a 'racist' cockmuncher and turd-eater"

Da Vinci Has Nothing On Me

How scary does this bitch look? I had intended to produce one of my usual exquisite drawings using Microsoft Paint as always, when I realised this particular laptop has the old version of Paint. Thus she decided to come out looking like a knob and my artistic potential could not be showcased in my previous post. Never mind, I will add my intended picture to it once I get on the other laptop.

Purple Hair Dye & Self-Deprecation

Something from the diary of yesteryear...

January 17th 2010, 


I had planned to wake up and do my revision but obviously that did not happen. I dyed my hair a colour I cannot determine. On the box, it is called 'Cyber Purple'. I did the blond first to lighten my hair although I do not think that was so necessary now. 

I must have failed to read "Result: healthy  party-string coloured hair with a hint of shit" on the box.

It's Not Paedophilic if a Girl Says it....Honest

It just sort of happens. There I am watching a film at the cinema or a programme on TV with others. Before I can establish whether my thought will be spoken out loud or just bouncing safely around within the confines of my diminutive brain - and very rarely is it the latter - I remark:

"Damn, he's going to be hot when he grows up!  I CAN TELL"

Poor little Jimmy just wanted to watch the end of Iron Man 2

Thus begins the mild upheaval around me. But it's really not the most ghastly thing one can let slip. I did not say "Damn, I want to rape that boy when he grows up". Merely that he would be a looker among his female peers. Or male peers. We musn't assume.






_______________________________________________________________________________________

 So while we're on the subject, I will kindly share a couple of characters that I saw fit to compliment in a perfectly healthy and non-detrimental manner, and you see if they do not make you blush. Ever so slightly.

1. Tom Riddle of Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince
    Played by Hero Fiennes-Tiffin

Fiennes-Tiffin as Tom Riddle in HP 6

And I mean the very youngest of all the Tom Riddle's seen throughout the Harry Potter films. And just because his uncle is Ralph Fiennes (who plays Lord Voldermort), does not mean he was cast for the role on the basis of pure favour ( at least not expressly). His acting is about as strange as his name, which is perfect for Tom's eerie persona. The young actor certainly puts Michael Gambon's performance of Dumbledore to shame. But we'll save that rant for another time. Grrr, that Gambon sure knows how to cause boilage of blood.



2. Sajid Khan of West Is West
    Played by Aqib Khan

Khan takes on Khan, West Is West

At present, the actor is aged 17 (which is actually not that pervy), and he does just fine in a slim fit suit.

 






  

3. Marcus Brewer of About a Boy

    Played by Nicholas Hoult

Hoult as Marcus Brewer in About a Boy

Until some years ago, I never knew that I needn't feel guilty about liking Marcus the oddball in About a Boy. Maybe I forgot how young I was when I thought it. When the Skins series aired on TV and Hoult's Tony Stonem made me fall off my seat, I realised that all could be forgiven. Nick Hoult is currently aged 21. And in the duration of my barefaced ignorance, had undergone a graceful transformation from this on the right...

Into this

He wants you to shut up

Yep. I know.

4 AM Poetry

Stolen Birds


In the small, restive hours of the night
Those early birds are sonorous, they set the soul right.
Nightly do they chirp to their heart's content
So that wistfully, one night, to my window I went
And opened my window to the inky night and no moon
And alas, no birds in sight to put to that tune.


That was the most solemn sight I ever caught
Or lack thereof, for the picture of birds that I sought
Was missing. Having scanned, I capitulated, foolishly pained
That the cover of night could steal the sight I should have obtained.
From thereon, I covet to drain the night of its ink
And use it to pen these thoughts, and not rest a wink.


How crude to shield the early birds from my eyes
Without them my nightly serenity dies
And the birdsong evokes a gay feeling no more

It is ugly and coarse squawks seeking death, pain and war.

Last night, I could not sleep. What I could do was hear the birds really going for it very loudly, very clearly. It was pretty to hear so you can imagine my frustration when I could not see the little bastards buggers birdies. I felt rather morose about it actually, like something sweet had suddenly been snatched from this earth. Hmm.

More from My Cringeworthy 2010 Diary

Preparing to face more of my redonkulous personal accounts in a moment. However I must severely stress what I forgot to stress when I began writing these snippets and I don't know why I forgot because this a particularly stressworthy issue. Not to mention, gaspworthy. I think. My little brown diary has a string which binds the diary to simply shut it. One can can simply unbind it to open. However, some fucking clever nut, in their uncontrollable zealous eagerness to read the diary contents, was prepared to snap the string out of its hole. Twat. Now it hangs lose like said twat's logic. A violation of my privacy both physically and emotionally. Lo and behold!




Of course it could have just been me who broke it and then forgot.

From 2010 Personal Diary. Boohoo.

I was going through my drawer recently - as in five minutes ago - and found my brown vintage-looking diary of yesteryear, its pages almost 'yellowed with antiquity', you might say. I had promised myself I'd keep it the whole year. It just about scraped the end of January.

Anyway I skimmed through it, somewhat reluctantly. What a miserable, pathetic misanthropist I sound like! Well I probably am. I want to post some bits of diary entry on this blog because honestly, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. So I hope that ridiculing my own 'woes' will help me perceive how absurd I act, all too often. Read on if you want to know what Emily Bronte on Fluoxetine and Vodka sounds like...

---

1st January, 2010

I'll admit I am starting this diary a little early - on the Eve. It is half and hour to the next year but it has been a depressing day and there is little else for me to do. A couple of hours ago, I had stupidly angered myself into a feverish frenzy, crying so hard and for such a time that my eyes were bruised and puffy when I finally ceased. I care little for New Years celebration and this one and the previous one has been lonesome, involving tears and actually worse than any normal day [I don't know what the fuck that means]. If I do anything before I retire to bed though, it is to begin my novel. And I do not mean some self-piteous, nonsensical, self-absorbed lines - I mean to really start a story.
                                                                         *
Just came back up from a shot - well two shots - of Baileys and watching the fireworks on TV. Imagine the millions spent on fireworks. Anyway a depressing year does call for an unbeatably depressing culmination of an end [Oo what exactly had I intended to do, blow up the world?]. Not a single call or text but that isn't a suprise.

Flowers in the Attic by Virginia Andrews

What a great novel. I actually picked it up with the intent of doing some 'light reading', having just finished a critical read of Sons and Lovers by D.H Lawrence. It was relatively easy on the brain, not so much on the emotions. As a novel pubished in 1979, much of the content was controversial to say the least and banned in certain places. Incest and brutal chastisement are some of the primary issues covered.

Anyway, I am entering a tournament with this choice of book. I am going to compose a profile for Flowers in the Attic on this great website - Bookdrum. Thing is, my progress is coming on at a snail-like pace.
As a matter fact, I am going to go and work on it this very moment. That is if I want any hope of winning the tournament.