What a Cnut.

That's right. The Man ... He who maketh our lives a misery by imposing rules we must adhere to and boundaries that we must not cross. He of absolutes and certainties. He who rules with dark and sinister forces. He who watches us via CCTV , records our communications and has us by the balls... He came in the guise of an elderly gentleman in sensible shoes, corduroy trousers, shirt and tie. At once I saw through this cunning attempt to look human. No normal member of society wears shoes, socks and corduroy exactly the same shade of brown. His face, slightly ruddy from a lifetime of tanking booze to kill the pain of being a Judas to The Grand Whazoo, was covered in a grey flecked beard. A sure sign of Evil . "Mr Douglas?" The Beast spake, sulphurous fumes emitting from his cakehole. "Who's asking?" I enquired. "My name is Man, James Man, I'm here from ( Company name removed on advise of lawyer ) and I'm here to pole you." Baal replied, fla...

Would be an understatement never equaled since Noah's wife said it looked like there may be a light shower on the way. Six foot tall in her heels she wore a plain looking vertical striped top and jeans that looked to all intents and purposes like they had been painted onto her slim, lithe legs. Her top halted just below her waist line and her perfectly shaped backside peeked out like a denim covered peach. She was the kind of woman that all other women on the planet hate, purely for the reason that she could make a C&A top and a pair of cheap jeans look better than a Stella McCartney designed outfit that cost thousands. And she was looking directly at me. I took a quick look backwards to see if she was looking at some adonis behind me but there wasn't. I turned back and our eyes locked. She smiled a broad smile and her svelte shoulders rose for a split second as though she was attempting to stifle a small laugh. I did a double take and looked behind myself to be doubly sure...

You do, admit it. You want to know why the blog ain't been updated as much as it usually is. Well, it's like this... Last week I stumbled into one of my deeply introspective moods (More then likely brought on by a massive intake of little-brown-stick-icky) and began questioning my existence. Am I, as an anonymous swine who commented thinks, being a drain on the funds of this nation by not being gainfully employed? Am I indeed a waste of precious bodily fluids and organs that someone else could put to better use; Am I the merely a grindstone for someones axe? Or am I doing what everyone should do and am living by my own set of rules with scant regard to fuckwits who have nothing better to do with their time than to rant anonymously at someone on t'internet. Personally, and after much thought, I think I'm the latter. As far as I know this is the one and only life I shall ever have. Why on earth would I set my bar by the standards of others? Wouldn't you feel aggrieve...

It was late in the morning when I began making my way home. The night was cool and the air crisp as I popped my earphones in and hit the play button on my iPod. A soft tune began playing in my ears. Up ahead a figure lurched from left to right in the familiar way of one who is the worse for wear with drink or drugs, or both. As I drew level with the wobbly wanderer I heard him speak. His accent was heavily tinged with the familiar tones of the Polish. Strangely the word he had uttered was “Asda.” When the figure motioned towards me I pulled one of my earphones out and spoke. “Alright?” I asked. He spoke in very broken English and I realised he wasn’t one of the more fluent members of the Polish community. “Asda… Dancing… You know?” He said. I figured that he was attempting to get to the Corn Exchange, a concert venue adjacent to Asda. “Asda… Dancing… Girls…” He said, his breath smelling of booze. “This way?” He continued pointing towards where he thought Asda was. “No man…” I replied. ...

The despair has struck… Quiet voices in the night… There has been a constant banging headache all day. As there has been for the past three days. Whenever I move my head pounds. Blood surges striking up the pain when I cough and earlier on in the night I was as sick as an inexperienced sailor, adrift on a schooner in the southern seas where the BIG waves are. They roll in the night. Not silent, just deadly. I am currently stuck in some kind of nightmarish loop… The Gods laugh at me daily as my situation stays the same despite the changes wrought upon me by a power crazed fool with one testicle, a love of whiskey and a deep hatred of women… I wrote to stay relatively sane and able to function in the everyday doom that God wreaks upon us lost souls. And what do I get? A one way ticket to the scrapheap. I make resolutions to change but lose interest as the futility of any project becomes clearer. “I shall write a story” I think. I begin to write. My imagination throws out an image and I f...