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Back in the bosom of Mother Edinburgh.

I've just arrived back from my small jaunt to Dublin.

I'm very tired, as I have only slept about three hours per night over the last five days, and will begin to write the story of my adventure tomorrow so you can all read about it.

Until then I'm off to my bed.

Go east young man.
For there you will find peace.

Or something like that. ....ed if I know.

I'm annoyed now, I'm in dublin airport and this ....king (Swine!) computer won't allow me to write the word "...." There it goes again. Bastard... Aha! I found a word it allows.

As I'm only killing time until the flight arrives I'm going to see what words are acceptable and what ones aren't.

.... (not allowed.) [clue; begins witha "C" and sounds like "Punt."
Shit. (allowed)
Tits. (allowed.
Ass. (allowed.)
Vagina. (allowed.)
Twat. (allowed.)
Bush. (allowed.)

I could go through a lot more filthy words but I think I'd find that it's just the Big Two of .... and .... this really annoys me. How dare the powers that be decide what words I can and cannot use when posting on my website. I've half a mind to.... (No, forget that, I'm not about to go making remarks that could be taken out of context as I'm in an airport my words could be misunderstood and then I really would be ....ed.)


Just a quickie...

I'm in an internet cafe at the moment checking my e-mails and after this I'm about to go for a wander in Dublin. What I'm going to do and where I'm going to go are unknown at this time, but I have a guidebook and a good sense of direction so I'll be fine.


Off on the big birdy.

As I mentioned earlier on this week I shall be in Dublin for the next few days.

I have no idea if I will have access to the internet so this blog may go a bit quiet on the posting side for a while. Please don't panic. Normal service will be resumed as soon as I return.

Until then...

Stay Happy.

Too Much rum & too little sleep...

Makes Ross a Dull boy.
Too Much rum & too little sleep...
Makes Ross a Dull boy.
Too Much rum & too little sleep...
Makes Ross a Dull boy...

I've always said if you are going to do something then you should do it properly. There is no point what-so-ever in going at something half-cocked and wondering at a later point what may have happened if you had ridden the fucker right out to the edge.

At times this can be a wonderful thing to do. Take falling in love for example, if you throw yourself into it with all your conviction and all your heart you will discover that the more you put into it, the more you get out of it.

Sadly this cannot be said for alcohol.

The more alcohol you put into yourself, the more there is to puke up later after you have eaten a 16" pizza because you thought you were in need of food to soak up the booze. Which, coincidentally, was exactly what I did last night after getting back from getting utterly shitfaced.

I remember being so drunk I tried to chat up every member of the female species I set eyes on. No woman was safe. I hit on the female barstaff, wives of friends, daughters of friends and I have a vague recollection of trying to chat up someone who is probably old enough to be my grandmother.

The things I do when drunk would make you shudder if I went into details so I'll stop now and go back to my bed. At least then I'll be the only one shuddering.

Happy Birthday Yvoone.

My friend Yvoone celebrated her 18th birthday tonight and I would like to wish her all the best.

Yvoone pre-jump.

Happy Birthday Yvoone.

There is a certain satisfaction...
In taking the moral highground.

Before tonight I never knew the satisfaction of rising above the petty shite that people throw at you once in a while.

Now, however, I know.

P.......A......R......T.......Y? Because I gotta.

I've just arrived back from the place I used to work before I was so unceremoniously sacked and I'm so drunk that this post may not make much sense, even after spellchecking. But I'm sure you'll forgive me given that I have had at least ten double rum and cokes.

My Dad is crashed out on the sofa, even though there is a fold out bed less than a foot from him, and is snoring loudly. Trust me it's not a pretty sight. He discarded his shirt with an elan that made me proud to say he's my Dad.

I must say that I am immensely proud of the members of the place I used to work at after receiving a lot of support for the stand I took. Many people have sympathized with me with regard to my situation. I would especially like to thank Melanie P, Gary P, Carol-Anne N, Gary N, Alex, Brian, Heather, Stan, Rena, Yvoone, Susan, Eric T, Rab, Mandy and all of the barstaff. All of which supported me in the stand I took.

As one member, who will remain nameless, said, "You may have lost your job but you kept your dignity."

And that, my friends, is a noble thing to do. Fuck the money, take a stand for what you believe to be Right and Good.


Pull on your dancing trousers my boy....
You shall go to the ball....
There will be rum...
Women in short skirts...
And Fuckwits to annoy.

I'm off to a party of sorts tonight.

My friend Yvoone is celebrating her 18th birthday at Bainf... Can I name the place now that I don't work there?... That place I used to work at before they sacked me for having a sense of humour and/or an opinion that I chose to write about in order to make myself laugh.

Going there may not be the wisest idea ever, as it may cause certain people to get all humpty, but fuck 'em... My friend is having a celebration and I'm going come hell or high water.

Whether or not I will be allowed to attend is another thing. I'm sure I'll find out soon enough.

Over the last few days...

I've had a lot of time to give consideration to what I should do next in my life after getting sacked from that place that I used to work at... Ahem, once again, no names, no pack drill...

I have been toying with the idea of doing some kind of writing to make some extra cash and have come to the conclusion that if I want to write properly I really should find a course where I can learn how to do it properly.

So while I'm in Dublin next week I'll be absorbing as much culture as possible with a mind to submitting some articles to tourist magazines and suchlike. This will serve a double purpose...
  1. I'll get some practice at writing for the mass market.
  2. I'll develop a new style of writing.
On a similar note... My Brother, Stuart, very kindly bought me a copy of Writing Comedy by John Byrne and I'll be taking this to Dublin with me to pass whatever time I have to spare.

It's a tough decision...

Should I sell out and join the ranks of Satans' Spawn who advertise products just because I am offered money to do so?

I received an e-mail today from a company that is willing to pay me to advertise on this blog.
I'm not sure if it's a scam or not so I didn't take it too seriously and whipped off an e-mail in reply.

Here's the e-mail I received...
Dear Webmaster

I've tried to contact you about this before but got no response - do you offer any advertising on your CNUT website, and if so, how much do you charge? I have a client who would be willing to pay an annual charge (£40-50 a year depending on position) for a text link from your site.
Please do let me know if you're interested, your site would be very suitable. Apologies if you're not interested.

Yours Henry Elliss.
And here's the one I sent in reply...
Hello Henry,
My costs for advertising are as follows.

Text link - £250 per annum.
Picture link - £500 per annum.
Full page ad with review by me (product must be sent to me FOC so I can review it.) - £1000 per annum.

If these prices suit your customer then they are extremely foolish and should be bled dry.

Smile man. Life is one big cosmic joke.
I wonder if I'll ever hear back from him...


Dublin bound.

On Monday I'm flying out to Dublin to see my cousin Angie.

I'll be taking a note book and my camera to document my small trip and will blog on it all when I return. I may also use some of my notes to write some articles on Dublin and send them to travel magazines in the hope of getting them published.

Richard Hammond out of intensive care.

The BBC has just announced that Richard Hammond is now out of intensive care and has been moved to a high dependency ward. Doctors at the Leeds General Infirmary have stated the Top Gear star is "Making satisfactory progress."

The hunt continues.

I'm still unemployed but I'm not allowing this to dampen my spirits, oh no, the hunt will continue and I shall be victorious.

I applied for three jobs today. One of them is at the post office. If I am successful I'll be asking management if I can give posties classes in how to read numbers.

How very incompetent.

I woke up this morning to find one of those little slips that postmen put through your door if you have been sent a parcel.

"Cool." I thought, "Someone has sent me a parcel. I wonder what it could be." It crossed my mind that maybe it was the kilo of Columbian Cocaine I ordered from so I bent over and picked it up.

It turned out to be that the postman had posted next doors mail through my door. How fucked up is that? Fair enough my door doesn't have a nameplate on it but it does have a large number 6 above it and next door has a large number 5 above it.

It's only right...

That when a fighter dies there should be a suitable ceremony to commemorate the passing...


This morning I awoke with a bruise on my chest and a large bump on the back of my head due to my fight to the death with my arachnid adversary early yesterday morning. I dragged myself out of my bed, walked to the kitchen, opened the deepfreeze and grabbed a bag of frozen chicken nuggets to put on my head in an attempt to reduce any swelling.

I walked through to the livingroom and surveyed the scene before me. My copy of Mein Kampf lay on the floor where it had trapped my nemesis' leg, marbles were strewn across the floor, the deodorant can lay forlorn under the table where it had skidded to a halt, the ironing board lay next to my skateboard like postmodern art, the iron itself lay upside down next to a stain caused by the water from it having poured out and items of detritus that had cascaded out of my flowerpot lay next to the bookshelf.

I knew there was one more thing I had still to look at. The corpse of the brave warrior who had fought so bravely the night before.

I glanced upwards and saw six hairy legs hanging limp and flaccid. It's body, pinned to the ceiling, was merely an empty shell now. The life force that fought with such ferocity and vehemence was gone to fight another battle in a place not known to me.

As a mark of respect to a fallen soldier I walked through to my bedroom and pulled on the closest thing I could find to a military uniform. Minutes later I was back in the livingroom wearing my M*A*S*H 4077th t-shirt, a pair of camouflage shorts and my German Army issue boots. As a final touch I reached up to the top of the bookshelf and pulled down my Kevlar helmet and put it on.

I walked to where I had thrown the stool only a few hours earlier, picked it up and placed it beneath the spiders corpse. Then I walked over to my desk and picked up a small plastic ziplock bag.

Standing on the stool, I reached up and got a hold of the dart that I had used to dispatch the spider and pulled. To my surprise I noticed that the tip of the dart had buried itself into the plaster of the ceiling to a depth of about half an inch. I must have thrown it with quite a lot of force considering I was prone on the floor at the time.

I opened the ziplock bag and placed the body of the spider into it. Then I stepped off the stool and walked over to where the copy of Mein Kampf lay pinning the leg of the spider to the ground. I lifted the book and lifted the hairy leg and placed it inside the ziplock bag with the rest of the spider.

Next on the agenda was to find some kind of receptacle for the spider to be interned in. I looked around the livingroom and spotted a wooden box I had bought while on holiday in Africa, picked it up and placed the spider inside it. I then tidied up the mess from our battle royal.

Having straightened out the mess I stuffed my catapult into my pocket, alongside all the marbles I could find, grabbed my portable stereo and went into the back garden. I walked to the end of the garden and found a suitable spot to bury my noble foe, dropped to my knees and began digging at the earth with my bare hands.

I dug a hole about six inches deep and placed the box into it. I covered the box with earth and stood up to attempt to say a few words in memory of a brave fighter who gave its life. As I stood looking down at the fresh grave I realised that I couldn't speak. Words that should have come so easily failed to materialize so I gave up and merely saluted.

I pulled my catapult out of my pocket and fired a volley of marbles into the air as a mark of respect as Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley played at full volume on the stereo.


It takes a brave man to admit to having emotions but I am not ashamed to say I wept as I thought of the brave fight that the spider had put up. When I thought of the spiders family somewhere wondering why it hadn't returned home I dropped to my knees and screamed at the sky...



It's back...


If you ask any soldier how they do what they do they will, more often than not, tell you that their training kicks in and they automatically know what to do. In a split second their eyes register objects that can be used to their advantage in defending themselves.

To a soldier, or even an accomplished barroom brawler, all things that are not nailed to the floor are viable weapons. If you are attacked by an enemy who is hell bent on damaging you the only option is to attack hard and fast with no mercy. By all means. Be they fair or foul. As the saying goes... All is fair in love and war.


I do my best work in the early hours of the morning, when the roads are quiet, the moon is high and the noise of my stereo is stonewall guaranteed to annoy the living fuck out of everyone who shares a street with me.

While doing some research for an article I'm attempting to write I stood up and found I was feet to face with an old enemy. The spider I wrote about a fortnight ago is back...

There are burn scars upon its back, one of its legs is missing and it has lost two eyes. Despite this it still manages to look like it's well and truly pissed off at me. There is a vicious look in it's six eyes that seems to convey a deep seated desire to run up my leg and sink it's fangs into my scrotal sack.

As soon as eye contact was made both the spider and I knew. Tonight would not be a sizing up exercise. Tonight would be a fight to the death. Blood would be spilled.

My can of deodorant was unreachable and I quickly realised that the spider had very intelligently placed itself between me and my preferred means of attack. “Clever Boy.” I said as I leapt for the arm of the sofa to attempt to make a dash for the deodorant can that sat on the bookshelf at the other side of the room. As soon as my foot made contact with the sofa however, the spider leapt.

I could see that the spider was wise to my plan of action and had taken into account the shortest, and most possible, route I would take. I dropped my shoulder to try to convince the spider that I was about to switch tactics and the spider twitched in response. I grabbed my chance and quickly changed direction.

I dived across the living-room table and hit the ground, rolling to absorb the shock from the leap. The spider immediately knew I had tricked it. Fortunately it reacted too late and I had the few seconds I needed to arm myself with my second choice of weapon. I got a hold of the Morphy Richards iron that was sitting on the stool behind the door.

As the spider advanced on me I threw the iron at it and as an added extra I threw the stool at it also. My mindset was that if I could slow it down for long enough I may be able to make it to the deodorant can. Next on the list of things I threw into the spiders path was the ironing board, followed quickly by my skateboard, a dartboard and a copy of Mein Kampf that was sitting on top of the radiator.

The spider dodged all of these items with relative ease with the exception of the copy of Mein Kampf which clipped one of its legs. The book hit the spiders’ leg and trapped it for a few seconds.

At this point the spider sensed it was in trouble and I watched as it did something that gave me such a fright I couldn’t move for a few seconds. The spider bit off the leg that was trapped underneath six hundred and thirty six pages of Hitler's work. I shuddered as I realised that this was no ordinary spider, this was a spider hell-bent on exacting revenge upon me.

A shiver ran up my spine as I watched the spider chew off it’s own leg like a dog caught in a snare. I knew I had to get to the deodorant as soon as possible. My life could depend on it.

I renewed my vigour and made a lunge for the deodorant can. I was about a foot away from it and grabbed wildly at the can. In my haste I knocked the can off of the bookshelf and it clattered to the ground, struck my foot and skidded under the table.

I looked in the direction of the spider and gasped “What the Fuck...” as the spider shot a strand of silk out of it’s abdomen that hit the light shade in the centre of the living-room. The spider swung upwards and flew across the living-room towards the wall opposite the bookshelf where I was standing.

I realised that the spider had changed tactic on me and had decided against a frontal assault. It obviously knew I could keep it at bay by throwing books at it and had come to the conclusion that its advantage was that I could only travel on one surface, whereas it could travel on every surface.

I reached into a stone flower pot that I keep bits and pieces such as foreign coins amassed over the years, spare lighters, my catapult, spare pens, two sets of darts, decks of cards, seashells collected on my travels and my bag of marbles. An idea flashed through my head.

I grabbed the catapult and began firing marbles at the spider that was now making its way up the wall in an attempt to reach the ceiling where it would gain the advantage of being on the high-ground. In my haste to fire as many marbles as possible I spilled about a half a dozen of them onto the floor and I cursed myself for failing to retain my head.

The words of Sean Connery’s character in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen came to my mind. "You have to feel the shot... take your time with it. You have all the time you'll need... all the time in the world." I spoke aloud to myself to steady my nerves and told myself to compose myself.

I steadied my hands and took aim at the beast that was rapidly scuttling up the wall. I repositioned my legs into a shooters stance and stood on the handful of marbles I had so carelessly dropped. I yelped as the marbles caused my left foot to shoot out from beneath me, making me fire the marble wildly and I grabbed wildly at the bookcase in an attempt to prevent myself from falling to the ground.

My left leg shot upwards as I made a grab for the bookshelf. The world turned upside down as I lost my footing and pulled the stone flower pot full of detritus down on top of me. I landed with a thump on my back and the flower pot hit me in the chest, causing me to be winded for a few seconds and spilling it’s contents around me.

As I lay on the floor gasping for breath the spider was making its way across the ceiling at speed. I had given my head a good thump against at least two of the shelves of the bookcase, my vision blurred and I could feel myself losing consciousness. I fought back the desire in my brain to lie still and recover from this injury as the spider was almost directly above me.

I could sense that the spider was positioning itself directly above my head to enable it to drop onto my face and strike the deathblow. My hands fumbled around for something, anything, that I could use to defend myself. My hand alighted on one of the darts that was in the flower pot and I grabbed it.

As the spider dropped from its position on the roof time slowed and I realised that this was possibly the last moment of my life. The spider fell through the air between us, spinning around in an almost feline motion to allow its legs to be the first thing that touched down, I focused my mind and threw the dart.

The dart flew through the air on its way upwards as the spider dropped towards me on its way downward. Then the two objects met. The dart pierced the soft underbelly of the spider, arresting its fall and sending it back towards the roof with a dart through its guts.

Just before I passed out through the exertion of the last few minutes and the trauma of a blow to the head I saw the dart thunk into the ceiling and pin the spider there.

After a few minutes I came round and looked up. The spider hung limp. The battle had ended.


My friend jenny.

Jenny has written something on her blog about me. Aint that nice?

It's especially nice for me as I had no idea that Jenny thought so highly of me. Talk about amazed...

I know Jenny and I have always got on but like many friendships there has always been a barrier between loving the person and actually telling that person just why you love them. Jenny doesn't see that barrier and has just amazed me by posting something so touching that I am astounded.

It takes a lot to make me speechless. Jenny has achieved this.

Love ya babe.

(Don't worry Geoff, [Jenny's other half] I'm not going to try to steal your woman. You're way bigger than I am.)

Buddy can you spare a...


Yesterday I joined the ranks of the great unemployed.

The reasons for my getting... The hoof, sacked, the elbow, binned, given my marching orders, receiving my pink slip, canned, kicked to the curb and enroned are long and complicated so I'll not go into details at the moment. Suffice to say I was sacked for blogging.

So today I'm busy getting my act together and am trying to find a new job. Wish me luck.

Anyone who wishes to offer me a job where I can write whatever takes my fancy, please drop me a line.


Chemical enhancement day...
Not for the faint of mind.
The Day after.

The cold light of early afternoon is now upon me, my body is clear of chemicals, my head is no longer buzzing like an angry bee trapped inside an upturned a pint glass and I'm no longer of the mindset where I want to chase the White Rabbit.

I could try until the end of time to explain why I felt the need, nay, necessity to go out on a blow out, but I doubt very much whether I'd be able to, so I won't attempt to rationalize that which is not rational.

If I said The Grand Whazoo told me to do it would you believe me? I doubt it... I could attempt to say that I was performing an experiment involving the changing of the chemical structure of my brain but doing so would only be pointless. Or I think it would...

Perhaps there was no reason behind my decision. Humans do, on occasion, do things without reason. Take the example of Edmund Hillary, he climbed Mount Everest "Because it was there." That to me sounds completely unrational but to him it was as natural a thought as wearing his socks underneath his shoes.

Edmund Hillary is also quoted as saying "It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves." And he is right on the money on that. In climbing the worlds highest mountain, or flying solo across the Atlantic (Charles Lindbergh) or being one of the first people to singlehandedly circumnavigate the globe (Ferdinand Magellan) (1) We do not conquer the thing itself, we conquer our fears and gain valuable insight into who we really are, what we really are capable of and how far we, as humans, are willing to go in search of something.

And that, my friends, is admirable.

To finish I'd like to quote Terrence McKenna;

"What has happened in the twentieth century is that we have found out what the witch doctors are really doing, what the shaman really intends. This information cannot simply be placed in our museums and forgotten: it contains within it a nugget of incontrovertible experience that appears to argue that our vision of reality is sorely lacking."

(1) Though Magellan did not circumnavigate the world he was one of the first individuals to cross all the meridians of the globe. Of the crew members who set out with Magellan to circumnavigate the globe, only 18 managed to return to Spain and thereby complete the circumnavigation. They were led by Spaniard Juan Sebastian Elcano, who took over command of the expedition after Magellan's death.


Chemical enhancement day...
Not for the faint of mind.


Mythbusters is on TV now. Adam is wearing a Gonzo Fisted shirt.

Kari Byron makes me go all gooey... Her art, however, disturbs me. But it's all good.

Chemical enhancement day...
Not for the faint of mind.

Acid, LSD, Trips, call em what you will. I love em.

There are currently 3 acid trips buzzing around in my system, along with a rather nice Mitsubishi (kindly donated by Spongebob...) that I just swallowed about fifteen minutes ago.

Terence McKenna is talking about DMT through the headphones I'm wearing and I can hear the TV in the background. My senses are jangled and jarred as all these differing mediums attempt to cut through the fog. My thoughts, even though totally focused, are somewhat liquid. I'm beginning to sweat as the Mitsubishi kicks in and I can feel pulses of energy passing through me.

Steff (my friend) is watching Worlds Wildest Videos and there is a story about Randy Hicks chasing tornadoes that subsequently decide "fuck you bubba..." and turn on him and his truck and throw them about like socks in a washing machine... The next clip is of Travis Pastrana knocking himself unconscious in Mexico... Followed by a clip of an out of control car, driven by a 74 year old woman who has no license, slamming into a mother and her two kids. Broken legs and scars are all the family suffers and probation is the punishment for grandma.

All these things cause me to want to rage at the TV... "Stop showing these fear filled views of the world you satanic fuck. Show us pictures that give us HOPE!"

I fight the urge, as I don't think me going into a drug fuelled frenzy would be good for Spodge who is tidying her room. I'm dragging deep on my cigarette but this doesn't satiate my nicotine craving. Such is the desire for nicotine NOW! that I can't inhale deep enough.

Jefferson Airplane is now playing and the White Rabbit is called upon. All things are good. With the exception of the screen in front of me which appears to be pulsating... Oops. Have I gone too far this time? I hope not. I'm rather enjoying the feeling. It is, for want of a better word, INTENSE. I feel I am floating on a little fluffy cloud. Rushes pass through me and I am struggling to keep an anchor on my thoughts. "Ground the energy you fucker!" Screams the disembodied voice of Hunter S Thompson in my mind.

The Good Doctor is gone but his spirit remains. Good for him. Skyhighatrists such as myself need his spirit at times like these. A friendly voice is always needed. More so when there are chemicals coursing through your veins and the words you are trying to type are mangled and jangled so it looks like a mouse has ran across the keyboard.

I'm sorely tempted not to correct my typing from here on in, so as to let you see how hard I'm fighting for control, but you wouldn't have a fucking clue what I was trying to say. So, fuck that. It would all be gibberish...

Steff has just handed me a coffee and boy oh boy it tastes good. Really good. Better than coffee should reasonably taste. But reason is well gone now... There is no reason... No reason to go all out and take 3 trips and a small tablet of MDMA but sometimes these things must be done. If only to reset the internal compass that points to where you need to go.

And I'm in need of direction at the moment... DAMN IT! The coffee is finished. The caffeine adds to the rushes and I'm sweating hard now. I feel the urge to go dancing. But I hate dancing. So fuck that. Besides there aren't many clubs open at 5:30pm and those that are will not play the music I want to hear.

I sate my lust for music by kicking Mike Oldfields Tubular Bells II onto the media player seeking out The Bell, turning it up and attempting to absorb the sounds into my subconscious...

I dunno, the fucked up ideas you have when surfing along on a wave of LSD and MDMA. Logic goes out the window in a heartbeat and insanity is welcomed. But not full on insanity, no, that would be plain old fashioned silly. I'm not in search of insanity, I'm in search of truth.

Whatever truth may be.

Is truth merely an illusion? In searching do you find truth, or does reality adapt to prevent you from seeing The Truth. Fucked if I know. Ho ho. But I'll keep searching and chemicals will continue to be my guide.

I'm now considering the potential backlash from my mother about this post. Oh boy, is this going to take some explaining... "I made it up." may not cover this one... But fuck it. It's about time my mother accepted I'm a failed seeker who still hungers for some kind of meaning, some kind of reason, some kind of affirmation that this life is not all for nothing.

Your boy, the one you call Ross, loves you more than you will ever realise. But please remember he needs to do these things to find some kind of rationale for this life...

(Tubular Bells has now reached the track Altered State.)

The words Altered State cause freeassociative thoughts to cascade through my mind but there is no chance of grabbing them all and writing them down, so I let them flow and relish the moment. The passing moment that never ends. This moment is only a dream, this Time is but a phantom...

(I kill Tubular Bells as Surrealistic Pillow has finished downloading and I kick it into life.)

It's been a long time since I heard surrealistic pillow in it's entirety. Long enough for me to have forgotten it almost entirely. Small snippets seem familiar but I'm not sure if this is merely an effect of the acid coursing through me.

Surrealistic Pillow is a superb album to listen to without chemical enhancement. With chemical enhancement it's off the fucking scale. It sweeps and soars like an albatross on the ocean. Waves are the only company for these creatures...

As waves are the only company for human beings at times. Be they sound waves, light waves or emotional waves. It's all peaks and troughs. Highs and lows. Ups and downs. As the Good Doktor would say, "Buy the ticket, take the ride." What the good Doktor should have added was that the ride is sometimes scary and sometimes enlightening, but never the less the ride must be taken.

But to what point and purpose is The Ride? Is this life a learning curve? Or just the product of random chance... Ask yourself those questions. Try not to think too hard or you may cause yourself to change forever. Change, once done, cannot be undone. You can't take back the ideas you had and revert to who you were before The Incident.

Whatever The Incident was you, having experienced it, are changed. For good or for ill.


More top 5's.

It's become something of a tradition for Lyndsay "With an I" Broon and I to list top fives while we while work. So in order to continue this tradition here are the top five lists we did tonight.

Top 5 songs you wish you had written. (One of which must be an instrumental.)

Mine were as follows.
  1. Thank You - Led Zeppelin.
  2. Bullet in the Head. Rage Against the Machine.
  3. Heart of Gold. Neil Young.
  4. Grace. Jeff Buckley.
  5. Bonzo's Montraux. John Bonham.
And Lyndsays were...
  1. I'll never grow old. The Charnels.
  2. Song 2. Blur.
  3. Another Star. Stevie Wonder.
  4. The Pink Room. Angelo Badalamenti.
  5. U Can't touch this. MC Hammer.
Top 5 songs to do a striptease to.

  1. I was a Paint-stripper on the YTS. (Comedy version of Man to Man meets Man Parrish.)
  2. Shamalamadingdong. Otis Redding.
  3. Golden Vagina. (Lyndsay's version of Govinda by Kula Shaker.)
  4. Tush. ZZ Top.
  5. Wild Thing. Tone Loc.
  1. The Pink Room. Angelo Badalamenti.
  2. Justify My Love. Madonna.
  3. Cream. Prince.
  4. Giving him something he can feel. Aretha Franklin.
  5. Pussy Poppin. Ludacris.
Bands/singers you wish you had seen live.

  1. Jeff Buckley.
  2. Jefferson Airplane.
  3. Nick Drake.
  4. Stone Roses.
  5. The Doors.
  1. Frank Sinatra.
  2. The Beatles.
  3. Biggie Small.
  4. Bob Marley.
  5. Marvin Gaye.
Top 5 places in time to visit.

  1. 60's California.
  2. 40's Chicago.
  3. 3006.
  4. AD 0 - AD 35.
  5. 70's Texas.
  1. 70's New York.
  2. 60's london.
  3. 40's Chicago.
  4. Jurassic Age.
  5. 50's America.
Film characters you wish you were.

  1. Marty McFly. (Back to the Future.)
  2. Brian. (Life of Brian.)
  3. Rupert Pupkin. (King of Comedy.)
  4. Bill Hicks. (Revelations.)
  5. The Lenny Bruce Story.
  1. Pam Grier. (Foxxy Brown.)
  2. Olivia Newton John. (Xanadu.)
  3. Patricia Arquette. (True Romance.)
  4. Uma Thurman. (Kill Bill.)
  5. Cleopatra. (Cleopatra.)
Cartoon characters you would fuck.

  1. Betty Boop.
  2. Betty Rubble & Wilma Flintstone.
  3. The rabbit from the Cadburys Caramel ad.
  4. Judy & Jane Jetson.
  5. Snow White.
  1. Wolverine.
  2. Panthero.
  3. Pepe Le Pew.
  4. Bart Simpson.
  5. Dick Dastardly.
Things that turn you on.

  1. A girl that likes to suck her own tits.
  2. A girl who likes anal.
  3. Older women.
  4. Shaven Havens.
  5. Bisexual women.
  1. Having her feet sucked.
  2. Rough Sex.
  3. Talking Dirty.
  4. Mirror sex.
  5. Retro heavy petting.
And now I'm off to bed. Stay happy.


Papa, don't preach...

I see on the news that the Pope has offended an entire religion by making derogatory remarks about Islam. Well done that man. Way to go your holiness. Why be a religious leader if you can't offend an entire culture once in a while?

Nah, I'm only yanking your chain. Personally I think the comments made by the Pope were plain old fashioned ignorance. But then again when has it ever been the duty of the Pope to be anything but? Pope John Paul wasn't exactly enlightened when he decided that condoms were the work of the Devil and that anyone wishing to avoid eternal damnation should steer clear of them despite AIDS being responsible for 2.8 million deaths last year.


Show me your handcuffs...

There are many laws in our society. Way too many for me to list them all here but one very important law has been overlooked...

The law preventing policewomen from being good looking.

"What's brought this on?" You may wonder. Well, it's like this...

There I was in bed watching Nascar, quietly wondering what possible attraction there could be in watching the most rednecked of sports, when my phone rang. I walked through to the livingroom, wondering if someone had dialed the wrong number and was about to ask me if they could get a taxi, and picked up the phone.

"Hello." I said. Even though the urge to yell "What the fuck are you calling me at this time of night for!" was quite overwhelming.
"Is that Ross Douglas?" The voice on the other end of the line enquired.
"Yes." I answered.
"This is Lothian and Borders Police here." Said the voice.

"Ohh Fuck." I thought to myself... "Have they finally caught up with me? What do they know? Who told them my plans for global domination?" Do they know about the numbered account in Switzerland? Do I have to go to ground and live the life of a fugitive until I can find a company that will provide quality henchmen to do my evil bidding?" Then I remembered that I was Ross Douglas and not Ernst Stavro Blofeld, Max Zorin, Fransisco Scaramanga, Rupert Murdoch or any other evil fucker intent on taking over the world.

"Are you still a keyholder for ********* ******* *** ****** ****?" The voice asked.
"Yes." I replied.
"Are you able to attend an attempted break in callout?" The voice continued.
"Yeah, sure. I'll be over as soon as possible." I said.
"Officers are present. Can I give an ETA?" The voice asked.
"Give me about ten minutes." I said, hanging up and calling for a taxi.

I pulled on a shirt and my trainers and headed downstairs to await the taxi to take me over to *********.

As the taxi pulled in to the carpark I saw a guy standing scanning the building with a powerful torch. I got out the taxi and said hello to the officer. He told me that one of the neighbors had called the cops out as there were some kids attempting to kick in a window.

I walked around to the main door of *********, unlocked it and entered my alarm code. After I had entered my code into the alarm panel I turned around to see the sweetest looking policewoman I have ever encountered. "Damn, she can arrest me anytime." I thought to myself.

The male officer said he would show me where the attempted break-in took place and I re-entered my alarm code and we exited the building. I chatted with the officer about how bad the security is and how many times ********* has been broken into in the time that I have worked there. He recommended security cameras and I suggested other deterrents such as automatic machine turrets on motion sensors, hidden trapdoors and anti personnel mines buried in strategic places.

After showing me where the attempt had been made he told me that I would have to give his colleague some details. "Niet problemski tovarisch." I said. I walked over to where his good looking colleague sat making notes. She took down some details and we had a bit of a chat as the male officer stood talking into his walkie-talkie.

I, for a change, was totally composed and made a few well chosen jokes and she laughed at them all. When it came to her asking me for my phone number I told her it and said she could get me at anytime she wanted.

I even made the remark "And I do mean anytime."

If there was a law preventing good looking women from becoming police officers I wouldn't have so shamelessly hit upon this woman and she could have went about her duty of protecting the public without having to deal with corny lines like that.


I often wondered...

Why postal workers in the USA are fond of the occasional gun wielding rampage.

Until, that is, I began to give serious consideration to the life of a postal worker. I came to the conclusion that the reason must be that the average postal worker works strange hours and as such is removed from society in general and is shunted off to the fringes...

The Wee Small Hours is a dark and dangerous place to exist; Sunlight becomes a rarely seen thing, interpersonal relationships are restricted to milkmen, gothic types, homeless people, drunks making their way home after a night on the sauce and surly co-workers who also inhabit the part of the day that, over time, slowly rots away your spirit.

Not many people can live on the boundaries and still keep what little sanity they had to begin with. Fortunately I am one of those people. I can sleep all day only to emerge from my internal cocoon when the sun sets and darkness takes over.

I skid and slide on the edges of dusk like a speed-skater who has honed his craft from an early age. Graduating from uneven pond surfaces to billiard table smooth Olympic standard ice rinks that are tended by the finest Zamboni controller can make, or break, a man.

Some postal workers can handle fringe work with a grace and elan rarely seen. Others, however, cannot and lose their minds. They begin to take to the ruinator that is strong drink... Beginning firstly with beer and degenerating, over time, to rum or perhaps even whisky... But due to the off kilter hours they work they are forced to drink at unsocial hours.

They finish in the early hours of the morning and filter out of work to make their way towards dank drinking holes that are populated by the dregs of society. They become acquainted with their fellow night owls... The type of people who fight, fuck and feel dirty, soiled, used and abused. Those people.

Because of this the postal worker is sucked into the tarpit of self hatred. Paranoia abounds and the sotto voce of the internal demon takes over and begins to guide the postal worker onto the hellbound path. Then, one day, they awake and find that they are now one of the dregs. They wander home in the early hours stinking of drink and staggering. They mumble loathful epithets at unknown strangers because the sotto voce demands it.

The final step is taken when the sotto voce begins to whisper how good it would be to rid the world of some of the lesser humans... A gun is sought... A vengeance wreaked... And people are killed...

To finish, I offer you this advice. Should you ever find yourself offered a job delivering the mail I would advise that you steer clear. It's not good for your mental health.


Mongo, moron, spongebrain, waterhead, window-licker, watch-breaker, wrist slapper, dumb, dipshit or daft. All of these words have been used by myself at some time or another to describe someone whom I considered to be really fucking stupid.

And yet, I have never intentionally used any of them to describe someone who has a mental handicap. Well, that's not strictly true... I have used one or more of these words to describe someone who was born with a mental deficiency but in my defense that was before I developed the ability to think for myself and not to blindly accept the rhetoric spouted by the less desirable influences of society.

You, no doubt, have witnessed these people in your life and have also been a mindless victim of their shitstrewn sensibilities and shallowminded subtleties. So it goes... Until you realise that all people are the same regardless of their mental capabilities. (With the obvious exception of the aforementioned arseholes who should be taken out into a field and shot. Ho ho...)

These days I'm more evolved and would never use these, or any other words, to describe someone who was born different. Sure, I'll use them in the heat of the moment to describe a person who is getting on my tits. But, hey, fuck it. I'm only human. And as such we all fly off the handle on occasion and say things we may not necessarily mean.

The difference, as I see it, is in the intent. If I spin around on my heels and call someone a retarded cunt when my blood temperature is at boiling point my intent isn't to insinuate that the person on the receiving end is handicapped. It's merely my way of venting my frustrations.

So, in short, if for some reason I snap and you are on the receiving end of my telling you that "I think you are a moronic fucking imbecile who licks windows" I hope you'll understand it's nothing personal.


The early bird...

Catches the worm.

Or so they say. Who they are I have no idea but for some reason they always tell you things that are just plain old fashioned fucking stupid. An early bird doesn't catch the worm. No siree bob. The early bird flies out of the nest, lands on the grass (in an attempt to catch the worm) and is eaten by a fox because the bird is tired and should have had another hour in its bed.

I was the early bird this morning. At 6am I awoke... From a most enjoyable dream where I was kicking seven shades of shit out of a petty minded fucktard that it's my displeasure to know. Hey; No names, no pack drill... I rolled out of my bed and headed for the shower. I proceeded to attempt to wake myself from my slumber by stepping under the spray of water and switching the heating off on the water.

After about three minutes of the cold water bouncing off my head I was awake enough to scream at the top of my voice, "Holy fuck that water's colder than a hookers heart!" Which I took to be a sign that I was awake enough to handle the day ahead.

I switched off the shower, pulled a towel around myself and headed to the livingroom where I switched on my stereo and kicked out the jams. I dried myself off as I danced along to the sounds that were pumping out of my stereo and pulled on my jeans, my M*A*S*H 4077th T-shirt and my trainers.

About five minutes later I was on the bus headed into town with my MP3 player playing Snow Patrol, The Killers, Gorillaz, Keane, The Flaming Lips, The Kooks, The Fratellis, Kasabian, Bloc Party, The KLF, Muse, Radiohead and Mint Royale.

I got off the bus and headed for Snax cafe on West Register Street where I had a nice fried breakfast consisting of egg, sausage, hash brown, tattie scone, beans and blackpudding. All of which were washed down with a nice cup of tea.

I wandered along Prices Street smoking heavily and making my way towards Virgin so I could buy myself some new DVD's. The DVD's I bought were as follows...
  • Pleasantville.
  • Edward Scissorhands.
  • Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
  • The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.
  • Dead Poets Society.
Then I nipped next door to GAME and got myself a couple of new games for the X-Box. After this I toddled off to catch the bus back home. All in all I have had a good day. I hope you have a good day too.

Top five denizens of cool.

Lyndsay "with an I" Broon and I listed our top five denizens of cool on Saturday night. So I thought I'd post them here.

My top five were as follows...
  1. Bill Hicks. (Comedian.)
  2. Lenny Bruce. (Comedian.)
  3. Jimi Hendrix. (Guitarist.)
  4. John Bonham. (Drummer.)
  5. Steve McQueen. (Actor.)
And Lyndsay's were as follows...
  1. Marvin Gaye. (Singer.)
  2. Humprey Bogart. (Actor.)
  3. Prince. (Singer.)
  4. Brett Easton Ellis. (Author.)
  5. Elephant man. (Rapper.)

I feel as if I have lost a friend...

It's always a shock to the system, the loss of something precious. Sure, with time you will adjust to the loss. But from the moment you realise that its gone for good your heart sinks.

I feel this way now though I'm slowly coming to grips with the stark reality that I will never again see my sunglasses. We had some great times together. For more than ten years we were inseparable. Wherever I went they followed... We traveled to South Africa and back... We went to Dublin... Then, one sunny day, we went to St Andrews and we were separated.

Goodbye my friend. Wherever you are.


Jump you fucker.

At 6am I dragged myself from my bed, after only three hours sleep, and hauled my sleepy self into the shower.

The water knocked me into something close to a state of consciousness. I finished my shower, wrapped a towel around myself, headed for the livingroom and lit a cigarette. I switched my stereo on and put some music on while I got dressed.

At about 6:50 my phone rang. My mother was calling to let me know that she'd be there in about ten minutes. I grabbed my stuff and left the house to go to the top of my road to wait for the car arriving. As the car approached I saw my dad at the wheel, my mum in the passenger seat and my friend Yvoone in the back looking like she was still half asleep.

The car stopped and my mum got out to let me into the back of the car and we headed off towards St Andrews.

We arrived at Skydive St Andrews at about 8:20am and Yvoone and I went to manifest to register for our jump. We checked in and were told to go grab a seat in the cafe. I sat with a cup of coffee for about two minutes and went outside for a cigarette. Yvoone and I stood outside having a cigarette and chatting while we waited to be called for our pre-jump training.

At about 9am the call came across the PA system. We walked over to manifest and one of the staff of the jumpcentre told us that as we had already had our training (when we were there the last time) he may come and get us while the training session was underway.

We went into the room where the rest of the tandem jumpers were waiting and sat down on the floor. The instructor went through the equipment we would all be using and gave us all a few laughs as he told us that the alarm that tells him when to pull the chute reaches the limit it says into his ear "Pull, fucker, pull."

The door to the training room opened and Yvoone and I were told to follow him. Yvoone issued a sort of panicked noise and I began laughing as the instructor told us to put on our jumpsuits. We were fitted with our harnesses and we walked out towards the runway.

We boarded the plane and took off. As we gained height the instructor that I was harnessed to pointed out RAF Leuchars and the old course at St Andrews. The view was incredible and I could make out the Bass Rock in the middle distance.

We got up to 10,000 feet and the instructor told me to help him open the door to the plane. It was jump time and there was no going back. I pulled the door open and the instructor told me to shuffle to the edge.

As I hung out of the plane dangling over the void the little voice in my head said "This isn't natural." A split second later I was falling towards the earth at about 130mph. I watched as the earth spun in and out of my field of view.

After what seemed like an eternity I heard the parachute pop open and I was jerked out of freefall. As the noise dropped I shouted to my instructor "That was fucking amazing." I looked up and saw Yvoone's chute floating gently above me. "Holy fuck, she did it." I said in amazement.

We floated towards the ground and the instructor asked me if I wanted to do a few turns. "Damn right I do." I said in reply. He handed me the guide ropes and I began pulling on them and we spun and turned so quickly that I could feel the g force drag my blood into my legs.

As we came in for landing the instructor told me to pull my feet up and get ready to land. We landed and slid to a halt on the dewy grass. I stood up and shook the instructors hand. "Thanks man, that was amazing."

I looked up to see where Yvoone was and saw that she was about to land. I heard her instructor tell her to get her feet up and they landed about fifty feet away. I gathered up my parachute with my instructor and we walked back towards manifest.

I was removed from my harness and took off my jumpsuit while Yvoone was removed from her harness. I hung up my jumpsuit and walked over to where my mum was standing smiling. "How was it?" she asked. I bent over and said "I may never have kids but fuck me that was fun."

I stood next to Yvoone and my mum took our picture. I bolted out of manifest and yelled at my dad. "Where are my ciggys?" He informed me that they were in the car and handed me the keys. I grabbed them and headed for the car to get my cigarettes when I was called back by my dad.

He told me that I had to get my certificate and I bolted for manifest again and was handed my certificate by my instructor. I said thanks again and shook his hand. We all headed back to the car and I finally got a hold of my cigarettes. I lit one up and handed another to Yvoone. She dragged deeply on it and I asked her if she enjoyed it. "It was great," She said, "But I'm never going to do that again.

I however, will be doing it again sometime in the future.


In about seven hours time...

I shall be leaving my house to go to St Andrews to, once again, attempt to leap from a perfectly serviceable aircraft.

For this reason I haven't got time to sit here and write much tonight as I need to grab some sleep. Sorry y'all. Feel free to keep checking back though.

Until next time. Stay happy.

They will never build monuments...

To commemorate fuckwits.

And that's probably just as well. Can you imagine the cost involved? Your council tax would, no doubt about it, shoot up quicker than a junkie who just got a lay-on until giro day.

We'd run out of public space in less than a week. Memorials for half-witted council workers would take up more room than three aircraft carriers that had been stripped down to their individual parts and beaten flat. Shitheel government departments, the kind that spend money on unnecessary and costly projects, would generate enough sculptures to make the National Galleries wonder where they're going to get the money from to annex a small country to store them all in. Rulecrazy ruffians in positions of power would provide enough effigies to cover the Isle of Skye to a depth of about forty feet and owners of marble quarries would become the richest men in the world overnight.

So thank The Grand Whazoo that we haven't built monuments for morons, effigies to inefficiency, statues to shitheads, busts for bastards or sculpt alabaster to arseholes.



I almost slept in...

For work today.

Which may not seem like much of a thing to go telling the world about. Until you consider that I wasn't due into work until 4pm. How bad is that? Should I be ashamed? If so, tough titty Kitty, I'm not ashamed. If anything, I'm proud.

Yes, you read that right... I'm proud... Proud of the fact that I slept half the day away... Proud of the fact that I stayed up all night and played on the X-box... Proud that I was kept awake and buzzing by the two nice big lines of speed I partook of during the Scotland match last night.

If you find this a shocking thing to admit to then you should be ashamed.


My dear mother...

Doesn't have a clue...

Now before you all jump to the conclusion that I think my mother is unintelligent; Please, calm down. I'm not saying that. That isn't the intention of that statement. Your perception however, may have been that that line was a dig at my mother. All that line is is a small introduction to this post. It's just my way of writing. You'll get used to it.

Anyhoo... My Mother doesn't have a clue. About how much I love her.


Until yesterday...

The largest spider I'd ever seen was during my trip to South Africa.

Compared to the average British spider the South African spider was a monster. I kid you not it's legs were as thick as a baby's finger and I could see my reflection in it's eyes. All eight of them. It freaked me for a second or two, looking at this beast of a spider, but I knew it was safe enough as Steve had informed me so.

Yesterday, however, I saw a spider that made it's South African relation look like a money spider.

To say that this spider was big would be an understatement. I kid you not, it was fucking huge. I'd just got up from my chair to go to the toilet to relieve my bladder and I spotted something moving in the hallway. For a second I thought it was a trick of the light or a figment of my imagination. Until I took another step towards it and it twitched.

I stooped over to take a closer look at what had moved. I noticed it was a spider and leaped back like a man who's just spotted a live handgrenade lying at his feet. "WHAT THE FUCK!" I yelled as I shot backwards down my hallway to get to the light switch. I flicked the switch for the light and the bulb popped. This gave me a second fright and I bolted for the livingroom.

I grabbed my lighter and a can of deodorant so I could barbecue the bastard where it sat. I walked back towards the hall and poked my head around the door. The spider was nowhere to be seen. I lit my lighter and sprayed a burst of deodorant through the flame. The resulting flame lit up the hallway for a few seconds and I spotted movement.

The spider was rearing up on it's back legs and was pawing at the air in front of itself. "You're history fuckwit." I thought to myself, and prepared myself for attack mode. I hit the button on top of the deodorant again and lit the spray. The spider was moving towards me. I aimed the flame in it's direction and took a step closer to the spider.

At this point the spider did something I have never seen a native British spider do. It leapt upwards. Directly towards me. My mind reeled for a few seconds and I burned the top of my fingers that were holding the lighter in the optimum position to set the deodorant aflame.

There was no going back now. Time slowed and the spider and I went into bullet time. The spider dropped to the floor. I had caught it with the end of the foot long flame and the spider had obviously felt the heat as it began to make a break for it and headed towards the bottom of the hall cupboard door.

"You're not getting away that easy, fucker." I said, leaping at the spider.

I swear to God I could hear the spiders footsteps as it fled for the safety of its damp and dark cupboard. "If it makes it into there I'll never find the fucker." I thought. I jumped at the spider with the flaming deodorant spray aimed in its direction.

The spider was about two and a half inches, about body length, away from the crack at the bottom of the hall cupboard door. I slid along the hall floor on my stomach and gave the eight legged freak the full force of the flaming deodorant.

I let the flame shoot out of the deodorant can until the last possible second. The plastic top of the deodorant was on fire and I figured that if I kept the button depressed for much longer there was a chance that the gas contained inside the can would ignite and blow my hand off. I released the button and blew out the flaming diffuser.

I checked the surrounding area for "hostiles" and saw none. I realised I was now in a dark hallway and there was one pissed off spider somewhere close by. I leapt up and hit the lightswitch for the toilet. Light shone into the hallway and I looked around again to see if the spider had moved around behind me or was attempting to flank me.

I saw no movement anywhere within striking distance and grabbed the handle to the cupboard door. I pulled the cupboard open and shot a flame of deodorant at the floor just in case the spider was smart and knew that that was when I was most vulnerable to a surprise attack. I let the deodorant flame go out and scanned the cupboard.

I couldn't see the spider anywhere.

So now I'm faced with the possibility that it is lying in wait somewhere nursing it's wounds and plotting its revenge on me... Looks like I'm in for another long night of sentry duty.

Wish me luck.


Small shifts...

In the space time continuum can have larger effects on everyday reality than you can realise...

The chaos theory is usually bubbled down to something along the lines of "If a butterly flaps it's wings in China, there will be a hurricane in the mid-west of America." And that's a load of horse-shit. Anyone with at least a small knowledge on how the world works knows that the USA has an embargo on wind that comes from China. After all, wind from China can turn you into a yellow Commie bastard...

I'm not about to pretend that I understand chaos theory. (Fuck that for a game of soldiers. I'll leave shit like that up to the eggheads of the world who have an inclination to bother with guff like that.) But, what I do know is that everything you do has an effect. If you eat too many cakes; You'll get fat. If you jog on a regular basis; You'll get fitter. If you drink too much; You'll fall over and if you beat the shit out of your wife she'll leave you, divorce you and take half your shit.

Even seemingly small things that you do can have an effect. Take, for example, putting your trust in someone. If that person returns your trust you'll have made a friend. He/She will be there for you in times of worry or stress and you'll do likewise. Cause. Effect. And the opposite goes if He/She betrays your trust and attempts to fuck you over. He/She will cloud your judgment and you'll go all weird and possibly have He/She killed by "Big" Tony and dumped on some wasteground. Cause. Effect.

We all are responsible for shaping the world around us. The slightest variation in timing can make your day... Someone you've never met before smiles at you and you go about your day with the knowledge that you still have it... Or break your day... You're leaving the house & you realise that you haven't picked up something important and you miss your bus... Or really fuck it up... You step out of your house (possibly after having returned for something important) just at the moment that a passing aircraft suffers a failure of some kind and you are killed by a plummeting ball of frozen effluent.

Life is like that.