What a Cnut.

It is far in the future. Spacetravel has become the norm for humanity. The United States Space Corps monitors the solar system... We are in a spacecraft and there is an alarm sounding. *********************************** A voice comes over the communications console. "You are being held in a tractor beam by the USSC. Our weapons are locked on your craft. Any attempt to arm weapons will be seen as an act of aggression and will be dealt with by the use of deadly force." A figure jumps out of a recessed bunk and runs towards the main console. "Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shitty fucking shit!" It shouts as it runs. A head pops out of the recessed bunk and questions the noise. "Wha?" It says sleepily. "It's the fucking USSC, we have to dump the cargo! If we get caught with all this contraband on board we'll spend the rest of our short lives in the Martian penal colony." Says the person poking buttons on the control panel. The female in the sleeping b...

************************************ He stepped onto the stage and faced the crowd as the sounds of Jimi Hendrix played over the PA system. "Alright, alright, alright, alright." He said, as the music faded. "I just like that song and they got a better stereo than I do, I don't do anything with it, sorry, personal indulgence totally. I got a really shitty stereo, I brought my Dylan tapes down here, you know he sings? I mean this opened up a whole new fucking world, all these years I'm buying his albums, G chord, C chord, G chord, C chord. What kind of genius is this? There's lyrics, some quite profound, I think he has potential." He scanned the small crowd that had come to see the show. The gathered faces had no meaning to him, they were merely faces. A woman in the front row had a book placed on the table in front of her. She was a vision to him. His heart beat faster and he fell in love with her for the rest of his lifetime. He was that kind of person. ...

Due to public pressure there now follows a short story. ***************************** Title undecided. A short story by Ross Douglas. ***************************** The sound of the surf awoke him, as it always did, by lapping at the shore just outside the beach hut. He called it a beach hut even though it was nothing more than an old run down shack that had once been home to twenty chickens and a large family of wharf rats. Some of the wharf rats occasionally popped back to visit him, keeping him awake and alert as he sat armed with a baseball bat and a bottle of rum. It was a fine bat he always thought, and a finer rum. The chickens however, had been removed by the local authority as the hut wasn't fit for them to live in. *************************************** The local authority had always been something of an enigma to him... They took the chickens out of the hut and had them put into better conditions but they refused to do the same thing for him. It seemed to him that his c...

Will probably sigh and bang their heads on their collective desks and wonder why I'm about to stumble into another story that I never finish. And to defend myself, I can say only this... "A big guy did it and ran away, there was a fire, earthquake, flood... Take your pick, just realise that it's not my fault!" I'm not sure if I should get your hopes up by posting it up on here, only to drop it like a shit covered marshmallow in a couple of days time. If you would like to read it then please leave a comment saying "Show us the fucking story you lazy cunt!" (Only this response will merit a yes vote so no poofing out and just writing "Yes, post it." Or anything else for that matter.)

I'm fine. How are you? **************************************** I've never been to Hawaii but I've always wanted to visit there after watching Blue Hawaii . Which, for those not au fait with the canon of Elvis Presley , was a film starring The Big E as an island native (Chad Gates) who returns to the islands after serving in the Army to find that his parents want him to start working in the family pineapple company. Chad has other plans though, surfing, spending time on the beach chasing women being top of the list. As films go it's pretty shit... That's Elvis films for you. Big piles of steaming shit from start to finish... But, the scenery of Hawaii more than makes up for the fact that Elvis couldn't act his way out of a wet paper bag. Whenever I hear Hawaiian sounding music I see lush mountains, perfect waves and happy smiling people in my mind. And this is especially true today as I got my grubby little hands on a copy of Facing Future by Israel "Brudd...

Which is probably why I'm to be sent for physiotherapy to sort it out. ******************************************* Oh well, so it goes sometimes. Occasionally you struggle and win, other times you struggle and The Grand Whazoo kicks you in the ass and fucks your shoulder. The Grand Whazoo does that once in a while just to see how you'll cope. Will I cope? Of course I will. The Grand Whazoo will have to get up very early to get me down.

I'm off to the doctors soon so this post will only be a small one. The reason for the visit to the doc's is that my shoulder is still fuckola'd and I need to have it sorted out. After the doc's I'm meeting up with my friend Yvoone as she has a job interview with my friend Oswald and wants me to go along for moral support. After the doc's and Yvoone have been dealt with I'll be popping along to visit my friend Steff. Smile. Life is good. Especially when you consider the alternative.

I have been otherwise engaged with modding my new mobile. I've managed to delete all the unwanted ringtones, got rid of all the wallpapers that come as standard, got shot of the text on the screen that spoils the look by writing Orange across the top of the screen and I'm currently trying to find a way to upload new skins. Getting to grips with flashing and flexing are next on my list of things to learn.

Lord, the monkeys are all clamoring to join (RED) . Lord, why do they do this? Lord, can you please send someone to tell them it's merely Bono's attempt have his dick sucked by the collective... ***************************************** Oh shit, That'd be me then eh Lord? Damnit. Why do I always get the job of poking the hole in the dyke? (That's a rhetorical question Lord, don't even think about making a lesbian joke out of it. At this moment in history it wouldn't go down too well...) ***************************************** Does it really seem like such a great idea this (RED) thing? You buy a product and a small part of the money you pay goes to fight AIDS in Africa. On the one hand it's a good idea to have money go to fight AIDS but on the other hand is it really necessary to buy a (RED) product to do so? Lets take a look at one of the (RED) products... Click here . So you buy the (RED) phone and Motorola makes a £10 donation to the (RED) cause. All is...

Was removed from sixlinereviews.com . And I quite like it so I'm posting it on here.

I don't like George W Bush. Anyone who knows me personally will, I'm sure, attest to this. And that's fine... I'm more than happy to tell people I think that George W Bush is a raving madman. I'm overjoyed to let people know I think George W Bush is a... "War-lovin-coke-snorting-drunk-driving illiterate monkey boy." I'm also more than happy to say that I think George W Bush and his war on terrorism is possibly the biggest threat to world peace at this moment in time. Furthermore, I'm delighted to inform people that if someone were to blow a big hole in George W Bush I wouldn't shed a tear. So it is with sympathy I read the story of young Julia Wilson who was questioned by the FBI because of a picture she posted on myspace.com . Julia (14) posted an image of George W Bush on myspace that made a threat towards Bush. Here's the image for those of you who'd like to see it. *Image (c) CBS5 . Despite the fact that this was posted by a 13 ye...

After just under five hours in my bed, with the lights off and a pillow over my head, my headache is gone. Almost. There is still a small lingering pain but it's more of a small tap on a snare drum than the thump of the bass drum that it was earlier. My shoulder is still less than perfect but I've got another appointment with the Doctor on Monday so I'll see about that then. Other than that I'm perfect.

I have the headache to end all headaches. And I wasn't drunk or out my tits on anything last night. If I was stoned or had been out on the razzle last night I wouldn't mind the headache so much. At least then there would be a reason for the pain in my cranium. I'd suffer it with a smile on my face, well, not so much a smile as a grimace but you get the idea. In order to battle the hammering headache I have taken a couple of co-codamol. The worst thing about taking those demonic little pills is that they make me feel awful. It's almost like the feeling that you get when you have had too much to drink and have a wee shot on the roundabout in your local park on the way home. So I have decided that the best thing for me to do is to switch off all the lights and go to my bed. Night night.

Is a salute to The Good Doktor Hunter S Thompson. To grab a copy for yourself do the clicky linky thing.

The title above makes no sense. Not to you anyhoo, but to me it means many things. Whilst wandering the house I am prone to talking to myself. More often than not it's in a made up language of non-sense words that to the casual observer would probably convince them that I was totally off my head and should be locked up. To me however these nonsensical words can mean a lot. A cup of coffee may, one day, be referred to as "Oom kowp af kafee" and the next day the same thing may be referred to as "Shavrinklestad! Imbediatlemundanski!" Is this normal? Probably not. Do I care? Well, not really. I realized a long time ago that all of us are slightly mad in our own way. As Mark Twain once said "Let us consider that we are all partially insane." And he was correct. If you ask me he was right smack bang on the money. Of course you have to remember that he was start staring mad and can't be trusted. Shavrinklestad anyone?

This years fashion must have isn't available to most people. It's not available at your local department store, you'll have problems finding them in Harrods and there is absolutely no chance you'll get one at Harvey Nichols. Why? Well, because this years fashion accessory is an orphan from a third world country.

Of multi-millionaire actresses advertising shampoo. No doubt you'll have seen the ads on TV. They all run along the same basic lines... A perfectly preened actress pops onto the screen and spouts how she uses (insert brand name here) because it makes their hair shiny and manageable and prevents them from looking like they've been dragged through a bush. How about a little bit of honesty for a change? The actress could pop onto the screen and state in a plain and simple manner that the thing that they are advertising doesn't make their hair shiny and manageable (that's done by a hairdresser as the ad is being filmed) and that they don't actually use the product they are hawking, but as the company said it would give them a big stack of money for saying they do, they jumped at the chance. Fuck these whores, everyone of them.

I've dropped my short story. Whether I'll ever finish it is unknown at this time. The reason for dropping it is that I had never intended it to be anything more than an exercise in writing.

I'm really getting into Bastard Pop. In fact, I'm sitting here listening to Revolved and watching something on TV about Nunsploitation . Watching nuns being buggered and listening to The Beatles remixed with more modern pop groups may not seem like a very sane way to pass an evening. But it's either that or watching Jonathan Ross weviewing the watest weweases , listening to Johann Sebastian Bach and wondering how long I'll last before I decided to overdose on Co-codamol and Diazepam washed down with bleach. If I'm being honest I have to admit that I have, on occasion, wondered how it would be to make love with a nun. Now before you go getting all incensed and angry about my desires to knob a nun, please, calm the fuck down. I'm only kidding... Or am I? Actually, I'm not. In an ideal world most men would admit to having this kind of fantasy. But we ain't in an ideal world and most men are spineless bastards when it comes to admitting their dark secrets....

I've finally caved in to public pressure and bought a mobile phone. I feel soiled. Pity me...

First off, apologies for the title of this post being a bit to much like a tribute to the band of brummie bampots that is Slade . There really is no excuse for it. It's unforgivable. I'm sorry. Honestly I am. Console yourself with the knowledge that I'll be haunted by it for a long time. (Imagine the length of time it'd take for someone to wear away Mount Everest to sealevel with a beltsander and you'll get the idea of how long I'll be haunted by it...) Secondly, allow me to introduce you to something that hits my buttons in the right order. Mashups , also known as Bastard Pop, are essentially dj mixes of songs that blend one tune into another. To hear some good mashups visit Mashup Town . In other news... My shoulder is still caned. I'll be calling the Dr on Monday to arrange another appointment to see about physio. To be honest with you it's a pain in the ass... Shoulder... You know what I mean, stop being picky.

Normally I'm not very good at being somewhere when I need to be there. This wasn't the case yesterday when I had to be at my job interview. (I was actually one hour and fifteen minutes early.) So instead of walking in and announcing my arrival I sat at a bus stop opposite the hotel and read my book for an hour while I smoked as many cigarettes as humanly possible. After about an hour I plodded over the road and went to reception. I informed the woman on duty that I was here to see Mr *****. She picked up the phone and let the guy know I was here for my interview. I met up with Mr ***** and we took a seat in a quiet corner of the bar and discussed the job, what I thought I could bring to the job in question and then he asked me the reason for my last job coming to an end. As Mr ***** had said to me at least twice that he was a straight to the point type guy I told him I wasn't going to attempt to cover up the truth by lying to him. He looked at my applications form and read ...

So, there I was sitting at my desk watching A Clockwork Orange on DVD when the phone rang. In my usual style I picked it up and said the first thing that popped into my head. "Bonjour, l'hotel grand." I said, in my best French accent. (Which to be honest sounds a bit like Peter Sellars as Inspector Clouseau.) "Hello, can I speak to Ross Douglas." The voice on the other end of the phone said. "Speaking." I said, somewhat warily as I'm still wanted by the police in london. "This is ***** at the ******** ****** hotel. I've just received your application for the position of barman and I was wondering if you could come in for a little chat." The voice continued. "Sure, when would be the best time?" I said. "How about Thursday? Is that Ok with you?" The voice continued. "Thursday's fine with me. What time?" I asked. "How about 5pm?" Said the voice. "Sure, I'll be there." I said and p...

********************************************* The Haunting. A Short Story. Part Eight. ********************************************* No matter how hard Ross tried he couldn't get his legs to co-operate. As the soldiers stood to attention Ross swayed like a flagpole in strong breeze. The sergeant walked over to where Ross was swaying in the wind and asked him to inspect the troops. "Do I have to? I'd much rather inspect a bed while having a nice long lie down." Ross said. ********************************************* Ross walked along the line of troops who were doing their best to look like highly trained killing machines. They failed to look like killing machines as much as Ross failed to look like he wasn't suffering from the biggest hangover of his life. After Ross finished walking along the line of troops the thought occurred to him that he should say something encouraging to them. "Troops!" He began, "It is with immense pride that I look upon ...

There's a saying that I have always wondered about. "Paranoia is reality on a finer scale." Are the truly paranoid really seeing reality on a finer scale than those people who aren't as paranoid? Or are they just too uptight. It's a scunner for sure. I've recently been hit with certain thoughts that could be labeled as "paranoid" and it got me to thinking maybe I'm not as sane as I always thought I was. (What those thoughts are I'm not willing to divulge. So don't ask, Ok.) Suffice to say that there are some people I have put a lot of trust and faith in and I'm beginning to think that there may be reason for me to re-evaluate my standpoint. Sure the thoughts I'm having have very little grounding in reality but you notice when people, you thought you knew quite well, are treating you differently . Perhaps my paranoia has no grounding in reality whatsoever and my fears are merely the creation of a (slightly) deranged mind. If this i...

I was up at 8am and out of the house before the postman had arrived. Mind you, I could lie in my bed until 4pm and still be up before the postman arrives. What is it with the post office these days? When I was a kid you could pretty much guarantee that the post would hit your floor before you had had your first cup of coffee in the morning. Anyhoo, the reason I was up at such an ungodly hour was that I had to go and sign on. Yes that's right, I signed on the dotted line and declared I was still available for work and was more than willing to look for a job. The dude at the dole shouted my name and I stepped into the cubicle and was asked if I had been looking for work. I was tempted to tell him that I had been too busy navel gazing but resisted as he didn't look the type to laugh. I signed my name to the little piece of paper and promptly got the fuck out of there before the oppressive mood of the place sucked my spirit from my soul. It's that kind of place. The dregs of so...

********************************************* The Haunting. A Short Story. Part Seven. ********************************************* Ross saw the crowd of spiders running towards him. What had he done that had so annoyed them that they chose to rush him en-masse? Would this be where he would die? Would he die after being torn to pieces by a baying mob of arachnids? ********************************************* The mob descended upon Ross and, much to his surprise, he was lifted into the air and carried back in the direction of the market. The spiders cheered and whooped as they carried Ross above their shoulders. When they arrived at the market the stallholders were giving away their stock. The spiders who were receiving the stock were asking what was going on and the stallholders explained to them that Ross had bought everything in the market and had instructed him that all of it was to be given away. After the crowd had calmed down Ross made his way to the council chambers. As he wa...

For some reason Mini Me sent me an invite to join Bebo . So I joined and made up a homepage. You can see it by clicking here . Though quite why you'd want to do that is beyond me... It's basically the same as my myspace page.

Do yourself a favour and go and buy a quality t-shirt from the boys at Public Grief Junkie. With such immortal slogans as "Dolphins are gay sharks." "Lighten up Hippy! Tanks are cool." and "Stop the war. My parent are middle class." These guys deserve to become millionaires. To buy one of their shirts do the clicky linky thing here .

I think I may have annoyed my neighbors after seeing Travis Pastrana doing a double back flip at the X games. A few years ago they said it was impossible to backflip a dirtbike. Not only were they proven wrong but now they will eat their words and will never doubt the human spirit to attempt what we are told is impossible. When Travis landed it I jumped out of my chair and yelled loud enough to shake the windows. There's only one thing you can possibly say about this... A-fucking-mazing.

I've just seen BBC Radio 2's advert on BBC2. I'm not sure if you personally have seen it so I'll give you a quick description... Elvis Presley is on stage in a sparkle laden jumpsuit. He introduces his fellow performers. Stevie Wonder is on piano, Keith Moon plays drums, Jimmy Page plays lead guitar, Sheryl Crow plays bass guitar, Noel Gallagher plays rhythm guitar and Marvin Gaye is on backing vocals alongside The Sugababes. Now we all know that in his later years Elvis was what somewhat chemically overendowed but just how fucked on drugs would you have to be to want your backing group to be the Sugababes? There aren't enough drugs on the planet to get you that high. Seriously, you could snort the entire output of every Columbian cocaine cartel and not get that high.

I got an appointment to see the doctor this evening. I have had a sore shoulder for the last week or so and the Doc informed me tonight that I have put my Trapezius muscle into spasm and have trapped a nerve in my c7 vertebrae . To the layperson this may sound quite painful. Allow me to dispel these thoughts and inform you that it is in fact really painful. The Doc gave me a prescription for Diazepam to relax the muscle and Co-Codamol to help with the pain. If I'm still as bad next week I've to go back to be referred to a physiotherapist. Fortunately I have learned to jerk off with my left hand so my sex life is still on the go.

What originally started out as a couple ( Part one . Part Two .) of small stories to make you lot laugh has now officially turned into a lumbering behemoth. Where it's going to end I don't know. But the journey is certainly enjoyable for me and that can't be a bad thing. The only thing that is missing is constructive criticism from you all to let me know if I'm wasting my time or not. I know it's hardly high quality writing but I would value your thoughts on it. Even if it's to tell me to pack it in. The Short story is called The Haunting (Though this will be subject to change.) and you can find it by clicking here for Part one , here for Part two , here for Part three , here for Part four . here for Part five and here for Part six . It is currently running at just over 10,000 words so be prepared for quite a read. (For those of you who intend on reading the whole thing please read the first two parts of the story and then continue on to the ones detailed as pa...

********************************************* The Haunting. A Short Story. Part Six. ********************************************* The Spider council sat waiting. They looked very serious and Ross felt that they were all very powerful spiders in their own right. Ross approached the raised platform. ********************************************* "Hello." Said Ross. "SILENCE!" Shouted a spider who was standing to one side of the platform. It moved towards Ross and grabbed him with two of its legs. "YOU WILL SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO! HUMAN." It continued. The tone of its voice when it said the word human was something like the kind of tone Ross used when addressing an idiot. The disdain in its voice was easily recognized. "I'll give you until the count of three to let go of me." Ross said. "Or what?" Replied the spider who had grabbed Ross. "Or you'll go the same way as General Bitsy." Ross replied with a tone of bravado in h...

********************************************* The Haunting. A Short Story. Part Five. ********************************************* Ross dropped into space and began to fall. The training he had done for a charity parachute jump came to him and he adopted the best position to freefall in. He plummeted towards the ground at terminal velocity. Bob Dylan began singing in his ear. "Oh momma, could this really be the end?" ********************************************* Ross was fast approaching the ground. He watched it as it loomed large in his field of vision and closed his eyes. He was about to smash into the ground and be killed but he certainly didn't want to see it. Suddenly he felt something grab onto him. Eight hairy legs had wrapped themselves around his torso and W shouted in his ear. "I told you to stay away from the edge!" It said. "There's very little point in arguing about it now. We're about to be killed." Ross replied. "No we ar...

********************************************* The Haunting. A Short Story. Part Four. ********************************************* Even though he had his doubts, about what What the spider had said, Ross took a deep breath and stepped into the hall cupboard. What the spider shot a thread of silk out and swung back into the cupboard. "Are you ready Ross?" It asked. "As ready as I'll ever be." Ross replied. ********************************************* Just as Ross was about to step into the cupboard something occurred to him. He was about to walk into the unknown without any means of defending himself. "Hang on W." He said. "I just need to go and grab a few things. I'll be back in a tick." Ross went into the livingroom and rummaged around for something to use as a weapon. In a small container on his mantelpiece he saw a sewing kit that his Mum had given him when he had burst one of the buttons on his shirt. He popped the lid open and gra...

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Other times The Grand Whazoo guides you down a certain path to see how well you cope... Apparently that's what The Grand Whazoo was doing with me when I was recently in Dublin and fell for the sparkle in the eyes of a sweet barmaid named Kate. I received another e-mail from Kate yesterday telling me that she is in a long term relationship. But all is not lost as she would like to remain in touch as friends. So I may have lost a small piece of my heart to her but I have gained a friend. Selah. So it goes.

********************************************* The Haunting. A Short Story. Part Three. ********************************************* He knew deep in his heart that the only hope for the spiders lay with him. He was the one who had taken their greatest hope from them and he knew that if he was ever going to be able to look himself in the mirror again he would have to help them. So, he told the spider he would fight. ********************************************* The spider was overjoyed when he told it that he would fight to save their world from being destroyed and it jumped up and down on his desk singing Itsy Bitsy Spider at the top of its voice. "The brave warrior will fight!" The spider shouted. "We will be victorious! The spider race shall live on and General Bitsy's death will not be for nothing." "Look, if you don't mind I'd rather you didn't keep calling me that. It's embarrassing." He said. "Then what shall I call you brave...

********************************************* The Haunting. A Short Story. Part Two. ********************************************* The spider sat staring at him from his desk. He stared back. Their eyes were deadlocked. Neither he nor the spider dared move for fear of attack. Whatever would happen next... ********************************************* He stared at the spider that was sitting on his desk. "This isn't possible." He thought. "I killed that spider. I know I did. I threw a dart through its belly and nailed it to the ceiling of the livingroom." He risked looking away from the spider and looked upwards to where the spider had hung lifeless. There was a small hole in the roof where the dart had struck. He hadn't imagined it. There had been a fight to the death and the spider had lost. His eyes moved back to where the spider was sitting. "What the hell is going on here?" He said. A voice seemed to whisper in his ear. "You are a brave ...