Rotten Bastards

It's a blog. It's a way of life. It's many things in between.

Wednesday, 27 June 2007

"Hurry up you slow arsed bastard"

Everybody is in a fucking rush.

"Can you do this?" ... 5 minutes... "have you done it yet?

"Are you coming round?" ... 5 minutes... "When are you coming round?"... 2 minutes... "Coming yet?"

I really don't understand it, everyone is in such a fucking rush to get their pointless shit done and for what? To do more pointless fucking shit that doesn't matter. If they would actually bother to take their time they might just begin to appreciate things instead of constantly pushing for the next 5 minutes of interest.

It won't be long before us premature ejaculators will be the hottest commodity because nobody is gonna have time to fuck properly. We'll just be wanking in a corner and summoned over when it looks like we're about to cum so we can deposit our meagre load in some whore's cum bucket so she can get pregnant and farm out her kids to the test tube company who'll then grow it to the age of 16 for her and fill it full of 'knowledge' to help it work better. We don't have time to raise kids anymore y'see. Better they get stuff implanted in their brain than neglect them so they turn into junkies.

Even stoners are in a rush these days. "Skin up maaaaann.... you take aaaages maaaaaan" Fuck's sake, you're meant to be fucking stoned, chill out you prick.

What makes it worse is people don't even know why they're rushing. Nobody wants to work for a living yet they'll work so hard and fast that they're just gonna be given more work to do, they'll talk about wanting to retire early when the average person gets bored out of his fucking brain just sat about on a weekend and has to fill it with hangovers and shopping trips with the missus.

Not a single cunt in the world has a clue what they're doing, why they're doing and where its taking them but they know its gotta be done fast so they can do more stuff.

Good Press

As many of you may already be aware... Chris Benoit of the WWF, WWE fame died over the weekend. I understand the topic at the moment is "things that really piss you off" so i'm going to run with this one.

Not that I’m pissed off that he's dead, far from it. One less meathead steroid junkie running around can't be a bad thing. I know loads of people think he's a great guy and did a lot for the "sport" (the same way Desperate Housewives is considered a sport), but I really couldn't give two short fucks. Now the story we are being force fed on the issue at the moment is that he basically went a bit fucking OJ and suffocated his kid with a garbage bag, choked his wife with a telephone cord and then hung himself with his rowing machine or something. To me these seem to be the actions of a complete prick. Don't get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against complete pricks. God knows a lot of my friends are complete pricks. I also know that if any of my complete prick friends did something like this they would be instantly vilified in the media as murdering cowards... so where the fuck are the headlines "Chris Benoit - Murdering Coward" ?

Not that I agree this is true, I’m just looking for a little consistency here, I know it hasn't been formally proven that he killed them and blah blah evidence etc... But you know he fucking did it! Too many steroids, bad day at the office, kid won't shut the fuck up about his day at school... for anyone who knows any meathead steroid freaks, you know full well it doesn't take a massive amount of poking and prodding, to push them into a full blown fit of muscle-bound rage. You should try it some time; it's funny to watch, kinda like watching a blind man with his arm on fire trying to find the extinguisher.

I've completely lost my point... as anyone who's read anything I’ve ever written knows I’m extremely prone to. I'm sure I’ll be proved completely wrong as the story develops and it actually turns out 3 murderers, completely oblivious of each other, and by a complete stroke of chance, broke into his house on the same weekend and killed him and his family in utterly separate events. But in the grand scheme of things... who fucking cares... it's not even a real sport.


Friday, 22 June 2007


I hate you.

I hate you and I hope you fucking die.

If I believed in a god I would pray for him to smite you. Smite you so hard they'd have to use tweezers to collect your body parts.

Every time I see your face it's all I can do to stop myself jamming your nose up into your cranium.

Maybe you don't really deserve it, objectively speaking, but I honestly don't care. The negation of your existence would be a semi-nirvana for my soul...

... and then the moment passes and I can breath. I can accept your continued existence for another day.

I still can't stand you. But the flame dims and your idiocy is forgotten for the day. I have other things to think about and your death is not exactly a priority.

I hate you, this much is true. But what I really despise is the hate you bring out of me and the way it makes me feel.

You make me feel less than human, and for that I will always hate you.

Tuesday, 19 June 2007


I hate this stupid fucking industry, Everyone is thinking the same fucking thoughts. It would be easier to drown yourself in a used tampon then come up with something thats original. You create something for weeks, throwing it at your friends for reactions then molding it again then you tell someone with that vital bit of information, that information being that some guy does that joke of fucking foxtel. FUCKITY FUCK FUCK. The whole making people laugh but actually being a pile of bitchy shit under the surface is so fucking fucked!

The three merry dead chicks, or the aftermath of a Shakespearian tragedy. Of sorts.

Part 1: By Heather Lawson.

"Oh my god I am so pissed off" a voice cried melodramatically bouncing merrily across abandoned walls. The voice was far more impressive then its surroundings a chipped and neglected theater which still bore the signs of its previous engagement. Elegant shoes made of sky blue velvet and silver stepped over the chip packets that had been left abandoned in the aisles. They made a faint squelching sound as they moved and muddy water oozed from the seams before they stopped right in front of a half melted ice cream.
"People have no respect what so ever for the story! chips being munched away during my demise and iced sweets being left to melt like a lackluster corpse in the melancholy light of a dying night" the voice continued this time ending in a self pitying wail.
"Desist with the angst darling Ophelia it was a high school performance what do you expect?" another voice this time some what coy and seductive flirted from the stage. A young woman was sitting on the edge her legs swinging to and throw and she was smiling down at Ophelia with the air of someone who could never be called a maiden again. Her hair fell in messy brown almost black curls to her torso and she was wearing nothing more the the simple shift of a white night gown already slipping down on one side revealing the hint of a bare shoulder and the promise of full adult breasts.
This was a woman who knew things Ophelia reflected, this was a woman who had actually been married.
Only the welting bruises around her throat ruined the affect Ophelia noted they were a hideous shade of black and yellow and if you were clever you could see the finger marks.
"Come to see me triumph Desdemona? after all hardly anyone watches you die these days" Ophelia snapped irritably and Desdemona merely crossed her ankles cocking her head to one side.
There was something almost feline in the way she moved and the way her eyes crinkled.
Then again felines were well known for being adulterous Ophelia reflected.
"My death was added to the end of a recent period movie actually, Claire Danes played me" she said airily then she coughed once before taking in a deep gasping breath.
"I prefer the immortality of the screen its far more relaxing, poor Ophelia you must be so exhausted having to attend so many performances of Hamlet" she sighed with sympathy and Ophelia shrugged her shoulders making a non committal noise.
Ophelia had seen them all ranging from grand performances in London to dramatic readings that tended to get a little carried away in high school English classes. No one ever noticed the young woman skulking about in the back her white blond hair wer and straggling down the back with the damp patches on what had once been a beautiful silver wedding dress.
"I'm the one that should be exhausted" a third voice this time in a strong Italian accent screeched dramatically as another dead girl emerged from behind the wings.
"Oh not her again, I wish you wouldn't encourage her" snorted Ophelia.
"Encourage me? I am forced to spend all of eternity without my darling Cara mio and listen to one drowned fish and one slut every single day" the voice screeched dramatically again.
And then there was Juliet.
Most people when they thought of Juliet tended to conjure up images of a wispy nymph like girl with pale skin and long limbs. They tended to forget that Romeo was a seventeenth century Italian and his idea of an angelic woman would verge on pornography. Juliet was no older then thirteen but she was one of those thirteen year olds who well developed early. Her figure exploded from the top of her restoration period gold and orange satin gown and her hair pinned to her skull in a series of ringlets and pearls was a deep midnight black with an extra shine of gloss.
It was her face however that was unusual, it was painted powdered white and her lips were stained faintly green black with the poison from Romeo's lips.
Along one side under her left breast a wound would always seep drops of blood leaving an old brownish trail down her bodice.
"Slut? at least I wasn't so stupid I killed myself over a boy who was in love with another girl two hours before he met me" Desdemona snorted.
"And I didn't drown on purpose! I slipped!" Ophelia shot back and Juliet merely smirked.
"I really did!" she insisted and the two other merry dead women shared amused glances before Juliet chortled with mirth.
"At least when I killed myself I was a married woman and my husband loved me" she finally sighed putting a hand over her wound for dramatic effect.
"That is true dear, our husbands loved us and what were you?" Desdemona asked innocently and Ophelia glanced at her feet.
"We were engaged" she protested.
"For political reasons" laughed Juliet cruelly.
Ophelia knew she was friends with Desdemona because of a technicality when it came to the rules of the living and the dead. They had all met during the restoration period when the theaters were finally reopened and after years of nothing they finally had something to do.
"I'm rather relieved about this women on the stage thing" Desdemona said when they finally met during a duel performance in the court of King Charles the Second. Before then during the early days of sweat and blood Ophelia had always been alone . She was dead after all and those were the words written across parchment in home made ink. The living could not see the dead and the same went for theatrical characters, well unless it was written into the plot. After the first performance and the first time she drowned Hamlet stopped seeing her. At first after the play he'd look for her his face faintly puzzled but soon he forgot. Ophelia trailed behind the others from performance to performance, from actor to actor always in the form of a speckled skinny boy.
Never seen.
Never heard from.
It was quite a shock when Desdemona spoke to her, a slutty common woman amongst all the nobles wearing her night dress.
"You're the Ophelia aren't you?"she asked snatching a drink from a serving boys tray, the serving boy didn't seem to notice the practically naked woman and continued on his way.
Ophelia just made a faint spluttering sound.
"Oh don't look so surprised, we've just seen a duel performance of Othello and Hamlet and in the middle of the room I find a dripping wet girl dressed like a princess of course you're the Ophelia" Desdemona said gulping down a heavy mouthful of wine.
"I'm Desdemona, the Desdemona" she said with a regal wave of her hand and that was the first time Ophelia noticed the bruises.
"The Desdemona? ..I'm sorry that your husband well" she began and Desdemona gulped the wine again.
"His sorry as well I'm sure, when was the last time you ate princess?" Desdemona asked and Ophelia shrugged.
"I've never eaten" she admitted and Desdemona clucked her tongue.
"You are a dead character not a dead person princess you can eat whenever you wish! let us enjoy the banquet and then there is some one you really must meet!" Desdemona smiled.
"It wasn't for political reasons" Ophelia continued her voice completely devoid of any real emotion, that had burned away centuries ago. Juliet just walked across the stage in a shimmy of hips and fabric before standing next to Desdemona.
"For she is the east and Juliet is the sun" Juliet finally said and Desdemona almost smiled.
"Tell me darling Ophelia, beautiful tragic Ophelia has any man ever called you the sun?" Juliet asked and Ophelia trembled.
"Has any man ever touched your bare skin while he shuddered inside you spilling his seed? did your Hamlet ever cling onto you knowing fully well that soon oh so very soon he would have to tear himself away? did you wish for him to hold you so very tight that you would stop breathing? because to be dead would be better then having him let go?" Juliet asked placing a hand on Desdemona's shoulder. Desdemona's normally playful expression hardened and she shrugged off the hand her skin growing ash gray.
"Stop it" she whispered but Juliet just wrapped her arms around Desdemona's rigid neck her cheek pressed against the top of that messy hair.
"Poor sad little Ophelia, tell me did Hamlet ever love you at all? even for the tiniest fraction of moments?" she asked and a tear trickled down Ophelia's cheek betraying herself.
Ophelia irritably wiped it away and Juliet smiled.
"No I didn't think so" she said simply.
Desdemona pushed her aside and fled the stage her form disappearing before it even reached the wings.


Ophelia met Princess Cordelia during her first meal which was a rather enjoyable experience until she discovered the entire toilet thing a few hours later. Cordelia was sickly sweet despite the fact she was dressed in a leather jerkin and battle armor.
"Put the salt on the meat it ain't nothing without its salt" Cordelia advised her and Ophelia sprinkled a tiny amount on like dust before eating a suspicious mouth full of lamb stew.
"This meat tastes rotten" she finally said diplomatically and she wasn't quite sure how she knew what rotten things tasted like.
Actually she knew what many things tasted like although she knew perfectly well she'd never eaten a mouthful of anything.
Must have been because it had been written or something similar she reflected...
"Course its bloody well rotten this is the seventeenth century girl everything here rots! we've got poor old sods outside rotting from the black death"Cordelia said shoving a piece of black bread into her mouth.
"Cordelia and I met when the same actress Mrs Sedley played both of us during one night, I followed Mrs Medley because I had no other performances to keep up and I ran into Cordelia" Desdemona smiled drinking this time ale.
"Brilliant that was, course I'm better off then you two because nearly every one dies in my play you see" Cordelia explained before crossing herself.
"Everyone?" Ophelia cried with disbelief.
"Almost everyone" Cordelia corrected her.
"Of course that means my family can still see me which means putting up with my darling sisters Gonerill and Reagan, you got any sisters?" Cordelia asked and Ophelia shook her head.
"Only Hamlets family died and well his friends, I used to talk a bit with Rosencratz but then well he fell in love with me and went all pathetic" Ophelia reflected and Cordelia shot her a sympathetic look.
"I'm sorry to hear your separated from your family dear heart, course I only stick around for my dad he couldn't cope without me the old bugger" Cordelia explained using the rest of her bread to mop up the gravy.
"Stick around?" Ophelia asked doubtfully and the two older married women exchanged knowing looks.
"You don't have to trail around London with the other characters anymore Ophelia dear, our stories are being performed in new countries in new languages! why just last week I traveled to France" Cordelia explained an excited smile on her face.
"Ophelia isn't Hamlet love, she doesn't have to be in every performance just the right ones" Desdemona continued to explain.

"She seems kind" Ophelia said when they left the inn stepping out in the busy night time streets of London.
"I could be nice if I was penned that way " Desdemona said wryly and then she took Ophelia's hand.
"Still it was a nice lesson wasn't it? You don't have to go where the hero goes, you can chose your own performances to inspire" Desdemona grinned spinning Ophelia about. Ophelia giggled as water shook off her dress splashing onto the cobblestones.
"How did she die?" she asked breathlessly and Desdemona shook her head.
"Not like us, she didn't die violently for love she just well stopped living for well no actual reason" Desdemona explained and Ophelia wasn't quite sure what to make of that. It seemed like a bit of an easy way out.
"I cant imagine some one like her giving up on life" Ophelia finally said her voice quiet in the cold night air. Desdemona just squeezed her hand.
" I would have said the same about you" Desdemona replied.

The next morning Ophelia returned to the theater this time dressed in a gown made of deep rose pink velvet her hair dried and brushed but her face still pale. Outside the theater sat the cast, not the cast of actors but the real cast the living moving amongst the dead.
Rosencratz just stared at her with his thick almost featureless face practically blending into his pale washed out doublet.
"Thats not your death dress" he finally said and Ophelia quickly glanced down at the pink velvet that was already gathering wet patches.
"I was getting tired of wearing white and silver Rosencratz" she merely said flipping her wet rats tails over one shoulder. Her hair splattered droplets of water across the coble stones and the living members of Hamlet looked about briefly wondering where the sudden shower of water came from.
"I'm leaving Rosencratz, Othello is being performed as an Opera across the continent and Desdemona has asked me to be her traveling companion" she said a little too firmly and his lips puckered his eyes almost verging on something not unlike annoyance.
"And what of you? you haunt Hamlet" he pointed out.
"There will always be performances of Hamlet with traveling troupes or in taverns I'll find a place to haunt" she said trying to sound brave and she reached into the front of her bodice fishing about for the letter she'd written with Desdemona's assistance. It would have helped if she actually had a proper sort of bodice, the sort that were made to hide notes in the cleavage. Instead she had almost next to nothing and the note had wriggled half way down nestling in the strings of her corset.
Rosencratz was watching her fishing about with intense fascination and when she finally retrieved the note he licked his lips.
Ophelia blushed.
"This is for Hamlet" she said thrusting the piece of paper towards Rosencratz who just eyed it warily.
"I'm dead how exactly am I supposed to give him that" he pointed out and Ophelia rolled her eyes, one dimensional characters were so unimaginative.
"Hide it and then tell Hamlet's father where it's hidden and ask him to tell Hamlet, Hamlet is allowed to see his father" she said and Rosencratz snatched the note before bowing his head.
"Consider it done your highness" he replied with a small weary sigh.

But Hamlet never read the letter, at least thats what Ophelia told herself.
"His not coming" she whispered to Desdemona as they watched tiny boats cross the river Thames.
"It's not as if he can see you dearest" Desdemona pointed out placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I bet Rosencratz tore the letter up its the sort of spiteful thing he'd do" Ophelia hissed furiously and Desdemona squeezed her shoulder.
"Come sweet girl the curtain will be opening in Brussels within minutes" Desdemona said meaningfully and Ophelia stepped into the river the trail of her pretty new dress instantly sinking in the water and mud.
"I didn't drown on purpose you know" she said quietly and Desdemona knew better then to say anything.
The two figures slowly disappeared in the dying sun as they walked into the river.
Some where else Rosencratz would hide the scrunched up piece of parchment under a loose stone outside the theater and during the next performance Hamlet's father would whisper to him of a letter written to him by his one true love.
Hamlet would just snort and eventually the hidden letter would just rot away eventually returning to the earth.


Ophelia liked to pretend that she'd never penned the letter. It was all maudlin rubbish really although it did have perfect rhyming scheme stolen from the mind of her creator. Juliet was still standing on the stage a positively delighted expression her face, Juliet was the inspiration of one of the worlds greatest love stories but she was also at heart a twelve year old girl which meant she was a well brat. One of her hobbies tended to involve finding new ways to make Ophelia or Desdemona cry and after almost two hundred years she was getting very good.
"Silly Desdemona always taking things far to seriously" she cackled gleefully and Ophelia just snorted.
"She'll be sulking for weeks Juliet I hope your happy" Ophelia pointed out and Juliet merely fanned her expansive bosom.
"I'm ecstatic my darling dear sad little Ophelia now have you finished here? you must come and see me being played two towns over the girls as ugly as sin but she gets my sigh just right" Juliet said and then sighed placing a hand to her forehead demonstrating her obvious sighing talents.
"I'm not in the mood to watch you giggle over your suicide pact" Ophelia replied shaking the water from her skirts. It had been a long and exhausting run at the Newtown performing arts high schools theater. There Ophelia had been brilliant but the rest of the cast was cringe worthy and Ophelia had to stop herself from storming out when Hamlet starting humming the South Park theme when he forgot his lines.
"You're always in the mood for suicide" Juliet screeched with annoyance as Ophelia stormed out of the theater leaving streaking marks all over the carpet.
Outside the air was warm and dry with a hidden dusty smell almost like smoke, so very different from England Ophelia reflected.
Ophelia had been there the first time the play had been performed in this brave new world by criminals rather then actors.
The entire cast of Hamlet had come for the occasion and it had been the last time she'd seen Hamlet, well Rosencratz wasn't there she remembered but she was still furious with him and besides he was hardly important.
There was no such thing as an actor needing to be an inspired Rosencratz.
There was a faint gurgling sound behind the theaters giant metallic bins but Ophelia ignored it the way she ignored most things that didn't concern her. In fact she would have cheerfully walked on into her next performance if a hand didn't reach out from the darkness latching onto her ankle.
No one touched her accept for Desdemona, even Juliet knew better. The hand was bony and pale and its cracked nails dug straight through the velvet of her shoe almost assaulting her fragile skin.
"You can see me" Ophelia whispered and a face emerged from the darkness, eyes wide and dancing blood trailing down from the corner of its mouth.
"Ophelia" a voice harsh and unforgiving whispered before the hand released her falling slack onto the Ophelia stooped down anxiously and saw what appeared to be a dead body.
"Goddammit this is really pissing me off" she muttered.

End Part 1.

(This was written by Heather Lawson, check her out at: (also, if anyone has any idea why we can't add her as a contributor let me know, the blog is being a bastard)

Sunday, 17 June 2007


What pisses me off.


OK, today:

1. When I go to the doctor I don't appreciate being made to wait for an hour before being seen and then being told that they don't know what's wrong and that I should stick it out and see what happens. After 5 days of increasing pain, stick it out and see if it gets worse. Cheers.

2. The noise of the construction workers downstairs fixing the balconies that were supposed to be started on a week ago and that require me to be home all day every day until they decide to grace my balcony with their skills.

3. The fucking dog that will not stop barking/whining/yelping. I swear to God if I knew which house it was in I'd call the damn RSPCA.

All the time?

OK, all the time:

I was never an angsty teenager. I grew up in the nineties and I loved Nirvana but I never felt alienated. Or misunderstood. I had/have a fantastic relationship with my mother. I was never chipper but I was never the miserable, angry, depressed kid that I could have been. But now? Now it's all caught up with me and everything irritates me. I don't really get it and I don't know how cool it is to have mid-twenties angst but somehow I've subscribed.

Friends and family annoy me. Strangers annoy me. Animals, children and inanimate objects piss me off.

I can't really see a tidy way to tie this up. Frankly, even writing this is pissing me off. The music is too loud on the stereo and there's nothing I want to eat in the fridge. To top it all off, the pain is getting worse. Fucking doctor. Glad I could make her day.

*If you'd like an explanation for the title read The Meaning Of Liff by Douglas Adams.

Friday, 15 June 2007

This was a dream.

“What’s going on?”
“Look we need you to calm down and leave, everything will be ok”
Norm left the operating room, two male nurses dragging him, he only got one last glance at his wife and crowning daughter before being sat in the purple and green waiting room. Less then an hour had past when Dr. Seagle approached him with apologetic eyes. Norm jumped up, he had pins and needles in his left leg it only hit him now how heavily he had been leaning on it.
“I need you to sit down again Mr.Stenthol”
“I’ll sit after I get to see my wife and daughter”
“Please sit Mr. Stenthol, this isn’t going to be easy for either of us” Norm sat down, his gut instantly knew what his brain was desperately trying to keep out.” there were complications with your baby, the cord wrapped around her neck, and while we were trying to fix that your wife went into cardiac arrest, we did all we could, but in the end neither of them pulled though, I’m so sorry, You can go see your wife now if you want. We have a councilor on hand if you need someone to talk to”
All Norm could muster was to wave the doctor away, he waited a few minutes then slowly left the hospital, he should have gone and seen his wife and daughter, but what was the point? He hadn’t met his daughter before, and seeing his wife dead wasn’t going to stop the burning sensation surging through his body. He contemplated walking straight into the peak hour traffic, but he had enough traumas for one day, if it failed to kill him it would be all too much to handle. He walked over to the new station wagon he and his wife had purchased two weeks before, he kicked it till his toes bleed. This car represented the excitement of starting a family, now in just over an hour he was completely alone and supporting the loan of a stupid symbol of family mobility! He got in to the car checked the back window for any obstructions catching the baby seat in the corner of his eye.
“Fuck this; I’m going to a bottle’O”
Norm purchased two bottles of vodka, 4 liters of lemonade and a bottle of raspberry cordial. He wanted to get smashed out of his head and couldn’t help but think doing it with the tastiest mix ever would make it feel a little less stupid as a self medicating grief suppressor.
Sitting in the now trashed nursery Norm was half way through his 2nd bottle of vodka and trying to cut his wrists with a baby monitor.
“Fuck yous you schtoopid FARKING god!, Hows bouth yous try ant be FARKIN HUMAN! Fucking takes my fucking family! Not only do I’ve FARKING noth Bewieab in you I’m FARKING HATE YOU!! Fucking take me you gutless bastard! No even worse be ME! I fucking DARE you!! Yous couldn’th handles eeeeet! Your nofing but a gutless murderous basturd !!!!FARK YOU!!!” Norm shouted fists raised to the mobile over the now shattered cot. “FARK YOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Norm lay over the broken cot past out, supporting a rather large bruise on his wrist from bashing the baby monitor at it for the past 3 hours.
It was then the great almighty took Norms challenge spiriting Norms soul to heaven and securing himself in to the 32 year olds slightly balding but fairly fit body. He would lie and say he was doing it to teach Norm a lesson but in reality he was bored and felt it would be cool to hang out on earth for a while.

“Fuck! No wonder humans are so depressed all the time, this feels like hell!, I can hardly see through this headache, my tongue is trying to choke me and my wrist really hurts!” God who was now in Norm’s body struggled to his feet, the whole standing concept took a while to really sink in after falling over several times he managed to take his first steps in his new body. Now for all Gods omnipresent qualities the one thing he hadn’t counted on when he went ahead with this idea was the fact he was now only human, he had the knowledge since time began…but that was it. Fear-Once a foreign concept, now pulsing at his temple, the only way he was getting back was to kill this body, but he couldn’t kill himself or Lucifer would get him. Mental silence fell over him, had he finally fallen for Lucifer’s plan of universal domination!
“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, though its not all bad, hells not as bad as the church makes out, but I so like sleeping on clouds…maybe I could bargain with him? Ok, wait, how about I stop worrying about this and go have some fun…Or a shower and brush my teeth…Fuck humans stink!”
It took god three hours to shower, brush his teeth and get dressed, the delightful feeling of water hitting his body gave god his first orgasm which left him blushing in pleasure he now wished the stupid church hadn’t banned masturbation, he even started wondering why humans left the house at all. The strong minty flavour and the chisha chisha chisha of the brush over his teeth left his gums raw and bleeding as he brushed them through 7 B105 hit songs. He stepped out of the bathroom wearing a towel that had a small amount of Velcro to keep it firmly attached around the waist.
Marco, Norms best friend was beating the door, he had been there for around 10 minutes and was getting scared his mate may have done something really stupid. God opened the door and greeted Marco.
“Hey Marco, Look its god here, Norm dared me to swap with him and I did it, you don’t have to worry about him I’m fairly sure that he is up in heaven getting to know his daughter and hanging out with his wife, not that I would really know since I didn’t realise doing this would take away my omnipresent-ness, which really I should have, but I guess even god is fallible, look how destructive I made your lot.”
Marco didn’t know whether to take his mate to the hospital or see where else this psychotic episode was going to lead. He opted for the later brandishing beers and pushing his way through the door before heading for the couch.
“Look mate, you’ve just had a rough 24 hours I don’t know where this god bullshit is coming from, I didn’t even know You believed in him, how about we have some beers relax and we’ll try and sort things out, Number one thing though, why did you leave the hospital with out calling anyone, the Doctor had to ring Stephs mum, who rang your mum, who rang me, What did you do last night?”
“I really am god, Norm didn’t know what else to do he was in shock he left and started drinking in order to numb the pain, don’t really blame him being human is pretty painful, my head and wrist still hurt!”
“Ok I’ll call you god, whatever, could you at least put some pants on I can see your testicles!”
God blushed instantly feeling a little shameful for his decision to wear a towel as clothing, at the time it felt like the right idea, it was cool and comfortable, he now realised there was more to clothing then comfort. He headed back out to the couch after slipping into some dark green track pants and a bright pink blouse with some beautiful flower designs embroidered over the chest.
“Bah hahahahahahahahahahahha, what are you doing wearing stephs shirt! Ahahahaahahahah”
“What this? I thought it looked nice”
“Ok, “God”, would you like a beer?”
“Yes thanks”
“Ha, got you, God doesn’t drink!”
“How would you know?”
“It says so in the bible”
“Oh for fucks sake, don’t blame me for that pile of dribble, I gave you free will remember don’t blame me for people being stupid enough to believe that shit.”
“its all the prophets faults, I use to try and have philosophical discussions with them, they always took it to far though, trying to rule though my hypothetical laws, it was meant to be light banter not castrating systems!, That’s why I haven’t tried to contact you idiots for so long you take every little thing I say and start torturing each other with it, it really is frightful!”

Wednesday, 13 June 2007

hostility directed at no one or anyone

god damn you fucking piece of shit,
the next time in traffic you cut me off
i hope a finger of yours gets cut off.

oh, so you don't like a band anymore because they are popular?
no longer catering to your eclectic taste in music?

scott ian of anthrax said that as soon as you charge money for your music
people call you sell outs.
but then again, this is from a guy who may be responsible for rap/rock
and fred durst.

i am angry at you
for me not becoming
what i was told to be
by you.

i am angry
that this writing is similiar to what you may see
in a teenagers diary.

Dear Diary,

Karen dumped Tom 2day because she said he was trying to get to third base with her and she wasn't ready cause she could get pregnant by doing it. I would so let Tom do it to me and not cuz i'm a slut but cuz he's soooo dreamy.

Saturday, 9 June 2007

round or a roundhouse.

bastard at the bar.
in the fucking t-shirt.
i don't know you.
you don't know me.
why do i know what gigs you're going to?
why do i know about the new 'project' you're thinking of/have/will start(ing/ed)?
why the fuck do i know you're friends with some fucking guy from some fucking band?
you and your bastard cocking t-shirt.