Irony,Theft and Comfort in an Uncaring World
Mood:  irritated
Now Playing: Grease Monkey- Racine
Topic: Skint



Good Evening,

It has been a day tinged with joy and sorrow. Lets get the sorrow out the road so I can send you on your way with a spring in your step.

For the third time in six months my bank have misplaced my salary cheque. I contacted them via secure messaging and got a cheeky reply from a prick called Ben. Would it surprise you to learn my reply resembled one of my more unhinged posts? They haven't replied. I am currently plotting one of my campaigns to defeat the Co-operative bank once and for all. I'll keep you posted.

I spent the evening snoozing, but woke up in time to see the fantastic Footballers Wives. A joy! There will be heads on poles over the final scene with the baby and the dog though! Even I was shocked. And very,very amused.

Watching Question Time later I was again very, very amused to see Margaret Hodge stating with a straight face that George Galloway had incited Iraqi troops to attack British Forces. Personally I would have thought the arrival of British troops on Iraqi soil with the intention of starting a war was something of an incitement to attack. Or have I missed something?

On the subject of Question Time you will be delighted to hear that I once, in my only TV appearance thus far, appeared on Question Time. No doubt my remarkable and innovative contribution to the nations political debate will be discussed in the TV history books of the future. It is, after all the only time I can recall where the words 'David Blunkett' left my mouth without me losing my temper.

Those of you who feel alone in a godless and uncaring world should give thanks to avid reader and gifted comedian Mr Doyle for drawing our attention to this truly remarkable Japanese innovation.

Blog pet Danny has put you all to shame and sent me a gift through the post. It is a copy of his fanzine. I shall read it shortly and if it's any good, I'll let you know.

Oh and finally this weeks Popbitch advises that there is further tabloid scandal to come out about that damning indictment of the British education system David Beckham. Apparently Victoria is so traumatised she has lost weight. The woman is already a sinister pouting skull on a stick, how the fuck can she lose more weight? Remove a kidney? The mind boggles.



Cheerio

She's Free! Sian's Back! But for How Long?
Mood:  party time!
Now Playing: Song2-Blur
Topic: She's Not A Mental.
NEWSFLASH!!!!! LATEST NEWS!!!!

Sian 'the peoples peasant' is back.

She's safe and well and I'm pleased to reveal only suffering from minor injuries after falling down a flight of stairs. There is no mention of how the stairs are bearing up.

But I must confess I am puzzled by something on her blog.She says she has quit the world of 'pr' for good and is not coming back! I didn't even know she was in P.R. I just assumed she worked in a chippy or something. Maybe they used to make her hand out leaflets. Although worryingly she then goes on to say her work is and will continue to be busy. Does she mean pr as in public relations? Does she consider her blog 'pr'? Is pr text speak for something?

I don't think I could carry on if Sian left us.

She is also worried about her 'great mate Rob'. Does Mark know? There will be chair flinging on morning TV before the year is out. You read it here first!

I confess I once worked in P.R. It all happened quite by accident and involved walking about in a short skirt, whilst carrying leaflets and being glared at by women and laughed at by men. I thought it was great but was sacked for being 'boisterous'which wasn't the 'right image' for the club apparently. And yes I was offered cocaine.

Can Rattling Nazis.
Mood:  not sure
Now Playing: I Predict A Riot-The Kaiser Cheifs
Topic: Tsunami Appeal.


I am relieved to hear that a calamity on the scale of the Boxing Day disaster has not occurred again in South-East Asia following last nights earthquake.

I have to say I was very pleasantly surprised by the public reaction to the Tsunami appeal. Not once did I hear the dread phrase 'Aye well we've goat tae look after oor ain kind first'-as if the rest of the world is populated by saucepans and bits of wool.

I first became aware of the above phrase of horror and the hours of xenophobic, racist drivel that invariably follow, when I foolishly volunteered to fill a vacancy on the charity committee of a call centre I was incarcerated in for several years. I merely suggested we donate to Save the Children because I'd read that they spend the least on admin and the most on aid out of all UK charities.

Imagine my horror when instead of a sensible discussion everyone started banging about how they didn't want 'oor money' going abroad because 'we need 'tae look after oor ain kind first'. When I enquired that, if that was the case why they'd all donated so enthusiastically to the September 11th appeal, they said 'that's different'. It took over twenty minutes to establish that 'oor ain kind' is apparently white English speaking people and not some race of mean spirited, vinegar faced old trouts with single figure IQ's. Oh and it doesn't include the English because they don't like them either. Or people with AIDS.

In the end they opted for 'Cash for Kids' obviously reassured by the Radio Clyde seal of approval.

When I jokingly asked what steps would be taken to ensure our money was only being used to help the racially pure, I swear they looked tempted for a moment.

Is it any wonder I considered suicide on a daily basis in that job?

Which dead loon are you?

Finally, I'm a bit worried about Sian. Her last post mentions her mothers plot to section her- then silence. Where can she be?


Cheerio

My Empire of Dirt.
Mood:  down
Now Playing: Hurt-Johnny Cash
Topic: My Bank Holiday


It's been a funny sort of day and I feel quite melancholy for some reason. No-one put their arms around me and said they loved me and only me, but no-one put me in a car and drove me to a woollen mill, so I can't really complain.

I took a walk along to the St Mungo Museum on Castle St and spent an hour swishing about in there. My favourite exhibit is the statue of the Hindu deity Shiva dancing on the demon of ignorance (similar version pictured). Every time I see it (I have a miniature version in my hall) I am seized by the urge to shout 'dance harder Shiva'.

I then strolled along to Tesco for some shopping. The reduced bit was very disappointing all they had reduced was chicken which I don't eat and 'Orange Sensations'. I gave the Orange Sensations a miss as I don't really want to eat something that sounds like a hardline protestant cabaret band.

I then took a walk over to the newly refitted Top Shop. Oh. My. God. I was greeted by the sight of a sinister female hybrid of Trinny and Susannah and Nathan Barley holding three blushing teenage girls dressed like loons hostage in the middle of the shop. As I continued to stare in horror and disbelief it became apparent that the sinister Barley / Trinny and Susannah creature was a 'fashion expert' and had given the teenage victims a makeover. As ever I asked myself why everyone was acting like this was normal? I, as ever failed to come up with an answer. When the frankly mental 'fashion expert' described one of the girls as 'really rockin the safari look yeah'I took the cowards way out and fled.

Somewhere in Glasgow three shell-shocked teenage girls are wandering around muttering 'bright lights' 'crazy woman' 'took our clothes' 'Guantanamo Bay'and 'only looking' . Let's hope they pull through.

So todays lesson is that there is a significant and important difference between a style expert and a fashion expert. Only one will make you rock the safari look.

Other than that little to report, so until there is-cheerio.

GAIL PORTER IS ALIVE!
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: Na Na Na Na Naa-The Kaiser Chiefs
Topic: I feel quite giddy.


There is no real point to this post. I'm just into the discipline of regular posting. Take note Sian and Danny.

Excuse me whilst I fight back the tears of empathy I am currently shedding over Gail Porter's bid for attention/suicide attempt.

I have been of the opinion she was a complete halfwit since she said she cried when FHM projected a picture of her arse on to The Houses of Parliament.

What's her problem? I would love my arse projected onto any public building. In fact I feel another of my campaigns coming on. I demand that you all write to Tony Blair and order him to commission a nightly projection of my arse on to The Houses of Parliament. The Project Clairwils Arse Campaign can, I feel only help the Olympic bid. And my mum would be so proud.

Strolling back to the point-Gail Porter. When I heard the news of her cheap publicity stunt/suicide bid, my reaction was- who gives a fuck? Well OK I might have smirked a bit. But lets compare the above with one of her fans whose comment I have kidnapped from a rival website.

Jase Mar 27th, 2005 - 12:37:46 PM
Thank goodness the Dr saved her in time. Depression is an illness that *can* be cured.
Hope she recovers soon, she's very tasty.

Well thats bound to her the world of good eh? Just as well she hadn't lost her looks or Jase would be out with his sawn-off shotgun to finnish the job. Surely he can't be that short of birds to wank over.

Anyway on to more important topics-me. I spent yesterday pottering about the town and bought some pants and a bra.

This is more difficult than you may imagine. The first problem was that all the shops have decided to stock 'pretty and feminine' underwear. Like most Glaswegian women I'm built like a fucking tank, therefore 'pretty and feminine' is, apart from being shit and twee, somewhat unrealistic. So making a virtue of necessity I realised some years ago that the nearest I was getting to sexy was to aim for the 'hoor' look.

After tearing through all the pastel coloured bras and drawers my fellow carthorses were deluding themselves into purchasing I finally located something matching in red and black and reasonably transparent.

And then a woman stole them! I'd rested my bra and pants on a display to look at some reduced tarts drawers and a big fat bird thieved them! She was twice my size at least and had a faint suspicion of a moustache! What did she want with my underwear? I thought about apprehending her but I didn't fancy the idea of cutting about in scanties she'd had her mitts on.

Fortunately I was able to find a suitable alternative. But yuck! What can it all mean? Is it some sort of lesbian mating ritual? If so, all I can say is that the moustachioed witch has got ideas well above her station.

I spent the evening with my sparring partner watching a Cheaters DVD. The majesty of that show cannot be overstated. To the unfamiliar the format is simple. Every week astonishingly stupid and unattractive Americans summon Tommy Grand and the team to spy on their partner, who they suspect of shagging around.

Tommy then shows them the videotaped evidence of their partners deceit whilst giving off a faint air of inner gloating. The man simply oozes insincerity as he 'comforts' some minging bloater with words like 'so how do you feel as you think of spending the rest of your life alone?'. I strongly suspect that Tommy Grand has been trained by the CIA to break people.

Then, armed with the evidence the cheatee chases the cheater and co-cheater round a car park shouting JUST DON'T TOUCH ME! as Tommy oozes around uttering his catchphrase 'How could you do this to this woman/man/other?' You really have to see him gesturing towards the eighty stone intellectual Chernobyl of a cheatee in question as he says this to get the full comedy effect.

My favourite on the DVD episodes was the fat dull woman, who for some reason refused to have sex with her fiance.

I think I see where the problem was.

Lord knows, I'm not the most attractive person ever to have drawn breath, but if I looked like her I'd be lying in the middle of the road with diversion signs pointing up my fanny, shouting triple penetration please! I'd fuck animals, close relatives,Daniel and Natasha Beddingfield, the entire shadow cabinet, anything. Beggars cannot be choosers.

Please visit the Cheaters website. It truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Oh my god! listen to Tommy Grand/Habeeb's home page!

The lovely picture of my favoutite fallen idol Mike Tyson is there merely because I fancy him. I have no comment to make on Iron Mike on this post.

Cheerio.

Farewell Twenties
Mood:  celebratory
Now Playing: Teenage Whore-Hole
Topic: It's My Birthday!


Yes readers today I am thirty years old. Happy Birthday to all the people listed below, especially Steve Tyler and apart from Diana Ross or cunt as I tend to call her.

On 26th Mar 1975 ...

The Number 1 single was:
The Bay City Rollers - "Bye Bye Baby"


The Number 1 album was:
Tom Jones - "20 Greatest Hits"


Born on 26th Mar:
1917 - Rufus Thomas
1944 - Diana Ross ( real name Diane Earle; vocalist, solo and with The Supremes )
1948 - Steven Tyler ( vocalist, Aerosmith )
1950 - Teddy Pendergrass

All the above info is courtesy of the lovely people at Everyhit

Still bored? Click here.

The BBC biting scandal e-mail

My Trip to The Country.
Mood:  special
Now Playing: Hardly Wait-PJ Harvey
Topic: The Bein Inn



Those of you paying attention will note that I was being whisked off to a secret rural location for lunch by my parents today. As ever the reality was somewhat different and rather than being whisked we inched through heavy traffic to The Bein Inn in Glenfarg.

Prior to arriving we were almost killed by a pair of suicidal pensioners driving like unpredictable maniacs. Their registration was OIL 3929.If you see this car run it off the road, slash it's tyres or blow it up. Just stop these menaces now. My dad was all for hopping out the car and creating a road rage incident and for a moment I nearly had a family and a blog to rival Sian's.

Anyway how can I describe The Bein Inn? Apparently all sorts of famous people have lunched, slept and performed there. The fact that Pentangle were playing tomorrow and The Strawbs next week undermined this assertion somewhat for me.

On entering the bar I was instantly overwhelmed by the overpowering stench of polish which seemed to be coming from a single barmaid. I am unsure how that happened and can only assume she put on furniture polish instead of deodorant that morning.

The weirdness continued when we were then advised that we couldn't get lunch as they don't serve food before five o'clock. In our bewilderment we ordered a round of drinks and planned our next move. My auntie got a bit misty eyed wondering if we were sitting on chairs once occupied by Bob Dylan or Eric Clapton. Knowing my fucking luck I was probably sat on Mark Knophler's chair (another alleged former resident of the deeply odd inn).

The carpeted toilets were the final straw and we fled to Stirling and had a very nice dinner at Pancho Villas.

Finally you will note that I have placed a picture of Jesus on my blog today. There are a number of reasons for this the first being, that I feel I have been neglecting my Christian demographic. Let's hope they forgive me. It is Good Friday after all. Secondly I was thinking about the story of Jesus earlier and wondered what Jesus thinks, when he reflects on his pain and suffering on the cross to save all of mankind, and then is confronted with a creature like our blog scapegoat Sian Willets. Surely even he must have doubts. I am confident that once his dad (God) clocks Sian's blog he'll just casually toss down a thunderbolt and destroy us all.And you really couldn't blame him.

Flock like geese to blog pet Danny Boy's fine blog.

The Headmaster is Watching You.
Mood:  surprised
Now Playing: Violet-Hole
Topic: Text Grass Hell


I see the nations schoolchildren are to be deprived of the fun and essential release of truanting. It was called 'dogging it' in my day but in these post- Stan Collymore times I think it best to stick to truanting. I really do not want to get a reputation as a sinister underage dogging site.

Anyway to wander back to the point- truanting. I have been made aware by a popular Scottish broadsheet that schools are going to inform parents via text message that their children have not turned up for school.

Teachers are cunts apart from the tiny minority of good ones. They really bring out the worst in me. I support the rights of any other workforce when they strike or protest to improve their pay and conditions but not those twisted, bullying, child hating, fuckpigs. When I am in charge teachers I deem to be good will be put on a very high salary and enjoy good holidays etc but the majority will be paid a penny an hour an publicly flogged for my personal amusement.

It is barbaric to expect bright, intelligent children to endure these idiots without an escape route. I would have gone mad and gunned down half the school if I hadn't taken the odd illicit day off. All these arguments about truanting teenagers getting into trouble are ridiculous. The only children that applies to are the trainee criminals and halfwits of the future who would still be a menace if they were forced to attend school.

When I used to truant I would go to the park for an hour, then mass at eleven (I'm not a Catholic, I just liked the statues) then off to the McLellan galleries or the Mitchell Library. I also used to walk everywhere. So I basically covered all the interesting bits of the curriculum without having to be made to feel like shit by some bitter, twisted, cunt of a teacher or having to worry about some ned kicking my head in. Other than showing a desire to educate myself I really don't feel I was much of a threat to anyone. In fact my forays to the Mitchell Library made me a more responsible and peaceful person.

Example: Me at thirteen- 'I fully support the Provisional IRA and think most of the people they kill probably deserve it for not liking The Smiths as much as me'

Me at Eighteen- 'I am in favour of ending the British occupation of Ireland but do not think terrorism is the best way to achieve it (apart from the Brighton bombing which was hilarious)

You see! My ideas evolved by reading books and thinking for myself. All I ever learned from teachers whose sole aim was to humiliate children and make them feel like shite was hatred and aggression.

FYI- In assembly one day 'Spam'(the headmaster)told us that anyone not computer literate by 2000 would be unemployable. He then went on to tell us that there were only 20 pupils out of a possible 200 in each year allowed to take computer studies. He didn't feel the need to apologise for this and seemed quite happy that 180 pupils in each year would be unemployable after leaving the school he was in charge of. He then went on to state quite seriously that anyone who had more than one day off sick a year was homosexual. Apparently 72% of my year were homosexual. Even the girls!

To conclude this long and rambling post. If I hadn't truanted I would be a terrorist instead of the entirely harmless charity worker I am today. Hurrah!


No Sian news. The lazy fat bitch is either off preparing for the inevitable appearance on Trisha or lying around eating junk food and whining.

Keep saving Danny.

Save Danny Boy!
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Heat Wave-Marilyn Monroe
Topic: Give This Man a Job.
Evening,

Once again I am adopting a serious face. I have discovered a blog by a fine young fellow who needs our help. Danny Boy lives in Glasgow and is being slowly destroyed by a frankly rubbish job. This situation cannot be allowed to continue. I like his blog (not in a Sian sneerfest type of way). In my book this makes him worthy of saving. So I want everyone to look out for interesting jobs in Glasgow worthy of our Danny and go to his blog and leave the details for him.

Failing that just go and read it beacuse its very good and I'm sure a few extra hits would put a spring in his step.


Latest Sian news. Mark came home last night and didn't cuddle or kiss her for two hours and her mum wants to get her sectioned.

Sian Update
Mood:  incredulous
Now Playing: Reel Around The Fountain-The Smiths
Topic: A Website!
Hurrah Sian has a home page. Feast your eyes.

This is awful. I'm becoming obsessed but Sian genuinely is the funniest thing I've seen in months.