What a Cnut.

It's been just over a month since the smoking ban came into force here in Scotland. Pubs no longer smell of smoke and ash. Instead the only things you can smell in the pubs in this fair city are those of cheap perfume, body odour and the occasional dog shit that someone has inadvertently stepped in. I never thought I'd say this but there is a good side to the smoking ban... The camaraderie of the determined few that are refusing to bow to their overlords and are still smoking. As you wander out of whatever pub you're in to set fire to another five minutes of your life you know that there are friends waiting for you. Sure, they're unknown friends but they're friends none the less. (I've taken to shouting into the air "The cancer sticks are on me!" in a rallying cry for those who don't want to stand out in the cold on their own as I wander out of wherever I am to light up. I've also started relentlessly cajoling non-smokers with shouts of "C...

But today I was an hour early to meet my parents for lunch. So while I waited I took a walk up to the Starbucks on the corner of Lothian Road. I'm sure I'm still barred from starbucks, after losing my mind at a customer a couple of years back, but I know the manager of the Starbucks in question and therefore can safely enter. I was greeted with a smile by Andy, an old friend from back in my youth that I used to get terribly drunk with and asked him for a large latte. "Do you want an extra shot in there mate?" He asked. "No way man, I want an extra three shots in it." I said. "It's already got two shots in it. So do you want an extra shot to make it three?" He questioned. "Nope, I want an extra three shots in it to make five. I just got out my bed an hour ago. My heart needs a jump-start." I said. The assistant, a rather pleasant looking girl with a nice smile, commented that I'd never sleep again and I smiled and said I'd slee...

I'm having to turn my whole body to look to either side due to my neck being totally fucked. (Please note; Totally fucked is a recognized medical term. Honest, I once overheard heard a psychoanalyst say one of their patients was "Totally fucked.") It's not the sharp stabs of pain that bother me the most, it's the fact that I keep forgetting my neck is screwed and I move my head or arm. I'm then gently reminded by my brain and I utter a curse word such as "Fuck" or "Shit" or "Buggeration." Which I'm sure isn't even a word, never mind a curse word. But, when you're in pain, you never bother about these kinds of things. (I've came up with some brilliant curse words in the past whenever I've been in pain. The best one being a bastardisation of the, also made-up, word supercalifragalisticexpialidocious, which was "Super-cali-fuck-me-backwards-that-was-fucking-painful.") What also bothers me is the fact th...

So, there I am standing in Oswalds garden watching him creosote his new fence. Playing in the back garden are his son Cameron and one of the neighbor's kids, Mason, playing tennis with those plastic racquet sets you got when you were a kid. In an attempt to goad an adult (Not me you understand...) into some kind of action Mason said... "I'm going to put the ball through a window." Oswald, having heard Mason make the remark, chimes in... "I'll put your head through the window in a minute." I thought for a second and gave my opinion... "Both of which will pretty much have the same effect. So who's wrong here?"

Is there such a thing? Before you all simultaneously hit the home button on your browser and run away from your PC as if you had accidentally downloaded a movie clip of your parents in a full-on BDSM orgy, don't worry. I'm not about to introduce you to the world of the Necrophile. (I may be a fan of porn in most of its forms but I'm pretty sure that even in one of my lust enraged moments I couldn't blow a load while watching some cum-slut play hide the salami with a corpse. However, should I, at any point become so degenerated that I give it a try I'll let you know the results.) So, Anyhoo... I was wondering, during a particularly quiet moment, if there are many niche sites dedicated, or should I say Deadicated, to people who would like to jack off to pictures and/or movies of people getting hot and heavy while they are attending a funeral. (I'm not so curious that I'm about to search for Funeral Porn on google but if you feel like it please use the link I...

I'm pretty sure I've trapped a nerve as during the last three days my neck has been giving me small stabs of pain. This morning I woke up and attempted to sit up by getting my right arm underneath myself and using it to lever myself up. A bolt of pain shot along my arm and up my neck. I let out a scream and dropped back onto the mattress. Cue; More pain. After spending a few minutes lying still so as not to cause anymore of the painful feelings I tried again. Once more; Cue pain. "Something isn't right here." I thought to myself. I gently rolled over onto my left-hand-side and sat up. I lifted my left arm above my head and quickly received a flash of pain shooting down my spinal chord for trying to do so. I attempted to raise my right arm and got a shock of pain along my arm, up my neck and down my spine. I let out a yell which probably sounded like a wounded dog to anyone who heard it and slowly put my arm at my side. I realised that I had somehow injured my shou...

That power is an aphrodisiac but, come on now, is it really this powerful ? That's right folks, John Prescott, has admitted that he's been screwing his secretary. Mr Prescott, known as "Two Jags" as he once made a speech telling the country to use less fuel and then used two gas guzzling Jaguars to travel less distance than the buffet table at the average Labour Party Conference and "Two Jabs" after he whipped out a straight left to the jaw of someone who threw eggs at him during a shake-hands-and-smile walkabout, has stated that he deeply regrets the affair. Now, I'm no genius when it comes to many things but one thing I do know is... If you're a 67 year old lardy-bag who has more chins than a Chinese phone directory you don't ever regret having a 45 year old woman suck your dick and ride you like you were Desert Orchid . But, hey, I could be wrong. Perhaps while Miss Tracy Temple was sucking on Mr Prescott's purple passion pole he was thi...

Scratch an itchy foot with a pair of scissors. Unless you fancy a nice big slash across the sole of your foot. Which is what I currently have, thanks to... Yup, you guessed it, my being stupid enough to scratch my foot with a pair of scissors. This life lesson was brought to you by the word Scissors, and the colour Red.

If this blog will be the only thing of significance that I leave behind when my time comes to shuffle off this mortal coil. Sure, I'll leave behind material possessions but I can't see a large stack of porn mags, the first Valentines card I ever received and some odds and ends becoming a great addition to humanity. Unless, of course, I'm one of those genius types that's only truly appreciated after death and crowds of people want to see what kind of fuckmag I was partial to during my lifetime. For the record; Mostly girl-on-girl action. (The sight of a well hung stud schlonging the shit out of a pornstars cornhole tends to put me off my stroke...) In fact, I'm not even sure that this blog has any significance. I mean, it's not like I'm one of the great political thinkers of this generation and as sure as shit smells I ain't a great writer. But what's to say that being either of those things qualifies you for geniushood. Perhaps future generations wil...

It was the Queens 80th birthday yesterday. It was completely impossible not to know this if you were a resident of the UK, as every newspaper and TV station did it's best to gently remind you of the fact. Well, I say gently, it was more like every newspaper and TV station had become fiercely pro-royalty and had taken it upon themselves to make you feel guilty for not sending her a card or a gift of some sort. I even fell for it for a few nanoseconds. Which was exactly how long it took for my rational mind to kick in. For a brief moment I thought "Isn't that nice that she's managed to stay alive so long." Then sanity returned and I thought, "She didn't get me anything when it was my birthday so why should I give two shits if it's hers." Pictures of Queenie and Prince "looks like it was built by Paki's " Phillip having a walk around Windsor Castle were beamed onto the Satanic Squawk Box. Newsreaders up and down the country smiled and...

It's a gripping week at the BBC. The bowling club that is, not the British Broadcasting Corporation. Though to be fair the first episode of the new Dr Who series did air on Saturday. (And Lo, Whovians around the world did rejoice.) The scene really is maddening for a rational person (See; Non Bowler) such as myself. On the green is a phalanx of loons in grey trousers/skirts and white shirts/blouses playing what is essentially marbles. With the exception of the Juniors who are all dressed in black. Presumably to mourn the loss of their youth and innocence and to herald the approach of the inevitable social death that they will suffer whenever they inform someone that they like to play lawn bowls. Crowded around the surrounds of the green are so many octogenarians that if you added their ages together you would, by pure chance alone, have PI to the one millionth digit. Umpires stand looking as somber and bored as attendants at the funeral of an acquaintances family pet. When calle...

I've just discovered that I no longer need to bother with phoning my local take-away to have something delivered thanks to the Grub2u website. Simply put in your postcode and the site lets you know who in your area takes orders over the net, select what you want and whoosh, away you go. Having placed my order two minutes ago I'm awaiting delivery. Should this work I'll be using the site again. Should it fail I'll hunt down whoever is responsible and gut them like a fish.

I descend... I think I'm becoming a shopper. And that's not a good thing. This morning I went into the town and bought myself a DVD and a book. The DVD is Bill Hicks' Sane Man and the book is The Life and Death of Peter Sellers by Roger Lewis. If it wasn't for the looks of derision I was getting as I chain smoked my way along Princes Street I think I may have enjoyed the experience.

But in actuality I'm quite a nice bloke. For an example I'll tell you what happened at my work on Sunday night... I'm standing behind the bar, minding my own business and thinking to myself just what is it that seemingly rational people see in the game of bowls when I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. I look down and I see a small mouse sniffling around the rubbish bins. I watched as the mouse made its way behind the bins. Picking up a pint glass I lift the front two bins out of the way so I can capture the furry little fucker. As the pint glass descends over the mouse it leaps in shock and I slip a beermat under the glass so that it can't make a break for freedom. Then I carefully walked out the back door and set the mouse free. So, the next time I seem like a complete bastard just remember that I'm not always as I seem.

She. [Part II] She, Visits my dreams to torment me, comes into my reality to beseech me, pleads for knowledge and wisdom that I cannot speak. She, Demands insights into this mortal coil, begs for respite from suffering and toil, infuriates my being, without ever seeing, that real life is beyond words. She, Is Aphrodite untethered from the heavens, Diana released from paradise, A temptress and my torment.

My dear Mother is in some kind of mood with me. It's mostly to do with the fact that I'm not going to go with the family to roll eggs on Sunday. Which, as you may or may not know, is Easter Sunday. Apparently, traipsing to the top of Corstorphine Hill and wasting a dozen perfectly good eggs is supposed to be some kind of reminder that Jesus' resurrection is alleged to have happened a couple of thousand years ago. My side of the argument goes like this. I'm not a Christian. I aint spending a perfectly good Sunday morning going up and down a hill chasing Class A eggs. If it was a case of chasing after Class A drugs maybe this story would be different... But, I digress. If you think about the whole Easter gig itself you begin to realize that it's existence is based upon a whole load of supposition. Take the "Death" of Jesus... Two thousand, and some, years ago Doctors didn't have access to all the technical gadgetry that the medical profession has nowad...

Oh lord, why do you test me so? Why do you give joy and hope with one hand and yet take it away with the other? While I was happily staring at your hand holding the recently rent asunder contract of Gareth Gates, I failed to notice that crappy 70's and 80's stars have been making marks on the pop charts. What the fuck is the deal with that? Can you answer that God? Please? I'll be a good boy, honest. Just let me know what's going on. Leo Sayer, Tom Jones, Stevie Nicks and Elvis have all recently been in the pop charts. This is 2006? Isn't it? Please let me know I'm not losing my marbles completely and I'm not having some kind of real life Life on Mars mental breakdown. The thought, that I'm about to wake up on an abandoned patch of land somewhere in Wester Hailes wearing flares, scares the shit out of me. And not just because of the flares, I genuinely fear the people of Wester Hailes now I've not been a resident of that place for a longer space o...

How do I know? Because Gareth Gates has been dropped by his record company. Isn't that great? Perhaps this is the begining of the end for all those like him. Souless, spiritless, suckers of Satans cock that they are. We can only pray...

Bird Flu has arrived in the UK. They just don't make diseases like they used to... Good old fashioned diseases that really got you panicked, diseases that made you shower daily in Dettol, diseases that turned your internal organs into something resembling a strawberry smoothie, caused your eyeballs to swell to the size of Galia melons and generally make you wish that you had lived during the Plague. Whatever happened to the good old days of Mad Cow, Foot in Mouth and SARS?

If you have kids, and they're young enough to be at the still-stupid-stage, have some fun with them. Fuck with their perceptions, mess with their minds... Whenever you see a particularly rough looking hobo point to the tramp and say to your child, "That's the tooth fairy."

Finding out that your front door can be opened without a key. As I left the house to go to work I pulled the door closed behind me. There was a strange clicking sound and I looked to see that the door wasn't properly closed. I pulled it shut again with slightly more force and lo and behold, it closed and locked. I gave the door a small push. The door swung open. "What the fuck?" I said, (quite loudly for someone who is alone and standing outside their own house.) I pulled the door closed and made sure that I pulled firmly enough to engage the lock. Once again I gave the door a small push. Open Sesame! I pondered just how long my front door has been openable by the smallest amount of force. "Maybe it's been like that since I moved in here... Maybe it's due to the door shrinking due to differences in temperature... Maybe the house across the road from me is being used by CIA undercover operatives to spy on me and they've rigged it so they can gain entry to...

Geek your PC or Mac up to the max with TV Creams Dalek sounds .

Love comes first. Comedy comes second. All other things aren't worth the bother.

To allow a taxi driver listen to my MP3s while he drives me to an airport. I'm not so sure I wouldn't be detained by the police under anti-terrorism laws as happened to Harraj Mann last week. If Led Zeppelin and The Clash are seen to be terroristic in their composition I can only guess at what the Police would think of some of my current MP3 list. I Predict a Riot. Kaiser Chiefs. Bill Hicks (From just after the Letterman show where Hicks was censored out of the show due to "Standards and practices" ) The Womb . I Disown My Country . Fuck The Police. Public Enemy. Bombing the L. Fun Lovin Criminals. Blow Shit Up. Doug Stanhope .

I took the bold decision not to sleep until 3pm. Instead I wandered into town to peruse the bookshop and grab a small snatch of what would normally be termed "real" life. You no doubt know the kind of thing I'm talking about... Wandering through shops staring with envious eyes at things that you can't afford, and don't really need, while shop assistants regard you with suspicion and have one hand resting on the panic button under the counter. Or maybe that's just me. The first place on my list of browsing was Bargain Books. After much deliberation, just to annoy the security guard, I chose the following four books. Stephen Fry - Moab is my Washpot. Jon Ronson - The Men Who Stare At Goats. The Prince. Machiavelli. Nietzsche. Thus Spake Zarathustra. I sauntered along Princes Street chain smoking like a madman and trying to avoid walking into the back of idiots who stopped suddenly for no reason, people trying to use their mobiles while they walked or teenage ...

I've finally finished watching all seven series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the series of Angel that my brother kindly loaned me. Maybe now I'll be able to get back to doing something more productive, like watching porn and spanking my monkey. Ho ho.

Especially ones who pay you by cheque. I've just been over to my bank to cash my wages cheque. Or I would have if it wasn't for the fact that my work likes to fuck me around by paying me with a cheque that isn't cashable. Now I have to wait five days until the cheque clears. Until then it's beans on toast for yours truly.

Anyone can take before the red mist descends and you lose it. Which is ok. Losing it is a part of being human. Just as long as you don't lose it and start whipping out fists. Personally I'm the kind that loses it and lets loose with the tongue. Just ask the poor swine that I happened to lose it at when I was stuck on a train for four hours a few years back... He was one of those people who are cursed with a winey voice. And, he was a train buff. A combination that was always destined to be on the receiving end of an aural ass kicking. For two and a half hours I listened to him bleat on about rolling stock, locomotives and their differing types, railway gauges used in countries around the world and the joys of trainspotting in general. Then I lost my head. "Hey Casey Jones, will you please shut the fuck up. I've had all I can take of your annoying voice and your encyclopedic knowledge of trains... I'm stuck on the train to hell and you're driving me out of my mi...

I've very nearly dredged my way through all seven series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If it wasn't for the fact that I have to go to work I would have finished them earlier. Aint work a drag? All that getting out of bed at 2pm, showering, shaving and getting dressed eats away at my precious time. Time that could be spent doing the more important things in life, like watching Buffy and wondering if it's immoral to lust after a fictional character. But lets not get into that right now. My sordid fantasies involving Buffy, a double ended dildo and enough Viagra tablets to make an elephants trunk harder than a giant sequoia branch, should be kept to a minimum to prevent you all from having nightmares.

Newspapers always assume that The Devil has a viscous dog? Everytime a Rottweiler or a Pit Bull attacks something and tears it a new arsehole the newspapers all run headlines claiming that a "Devil Dog" is responsible. For all we know The Devil has a Shih Tzu or a Bichon Frise . It could be that Old Nick has a penchant for small fluffy dogs. Perhaps he likes nothing more after a hard days torturing souls than slipping on a pair of Garfield slippers, curling up in front of the TV with a cup of cocoa and rubbing the tummy of his pooch. To assume that Satan sits on a throne of skulls and bones and pats the head of his foaming mouthed helldog is not only narrowminded but it's also libelous. And lets be honest, who wants to get sued by Satan? Apart from Rupert Murdoch, obviously.

She. She thinks it's all drama This life through which she travels She doesn't realize with time It all unwinds, unravels Life is suffering on a loop From advanced beings to primordial soup But It's nothing personal It's merely inconsequential.