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Parting is such sweet sorrow

 

When 26 went tits up I seeked solace in the warm cuddly bosom of 27.

However i feel bad for I am moving on. I feel that I have used 27, used her shamelessly for my own sordid pleasures and now I am discardign her in the road like unwated carrion. I feel as though I am a cad and a bounder, a malicious taker and not a giver, a selfish lover and an inhuman monster.

I just hope in years to come 27 can look back and these days and laugh at the memories we have shared.

But for now dear readers (all one or maybe 2 of you), I am moving on.

I can be found here: http://thesonofbingo.vox.com/ , until we meet again etc etc

This is how I will be spending Valentines Night

 

My Valentines joke:

Man: What's better then a rose on a piano?

Woman: I don't know?

Man: Tulips (sounding like two lips), on my organ (organ meaning cock)

 

where did my skin go

It's always puzzled me.

I was circumcised years ago for reasons I can't even remember, probably somehting to do with my penis being to large.

However I was standing at the urinal today, and I looked at my memeber and it dawned on me I have no idea what they did with the skin they removed.

My mother told me that they made a nice lampshade from it and my father told me that due to the size it was used by the burns unit to cover someones entire torso.

I like to think they buried in the hospital grounds there now grows a penis tree, with little cocks hanging from the branches.

However, for all I know they could of thrown my unwanted knob skin away, discarded it like it was unwanted trash. However if they did this some made scinetist could have obtained my skin, extracted my DNA and could have an army of me cloned, ready and waiting to take over the world.

 

boring

My life isn't the most amazing or fascinating and hence I'm not one of these people who can write blogs about their own life because ou simply simply  be bored reading about my trip to work, my crazy days in the world of finance in London town, my journey home (same as my journey in but I'm jsut more tired and I probably actually get a seat), me bathing the children, reading them a book (maybe Dr Suess, may Meg and Mog maybe an enthralling episode of Thomas and his Friends) me doing the washing up and me unsuccessfully pesterign the wife for sex.

 All this may be split up with a trip to the pub or a light bit of masturbation once the kids are in bed and the wife isn;t looking

So the highlight for this week include, Prison Break tonight and my all day Wednesday meeting about the city, stocks, shares, bull trading, stop gaps etc etc.

I know, your jealous but it's a dirty job but someones got to do it.

eternal struggle

Am I the only one, who after having a massive poo, one where you sweat and clench hold of the toilet roll holder in order for you to strain that little bit harder, a poo so massive that you have to take a 5 minute tea break to get your breath and re-foucs, a poo where you strain so much your sight fades to black for a moment and you swear you can see a blinding white light beckoning you, a poo that becomes like a eternal struggle, a battle of wills, like the great battles in history: Ahab and the whale, communism and fascism,  Holmes and Moriarty, the Fowlers and the Mitchells, am I the only one who after such a marathon session of waste disposal, turns around , stares at his poo spits on it and triumphantly shouts, " I WON, YOU DIDN'T  YOUR'LL NEVER DEFEAT ME, I'M THE MAN, I'M THE FUCKING MAN".

In the clouds there are words, written invisible

The clouds sat in the air,

like empty cartoon speech bubbles in a well thumbed comic book,

left there by God,

as clues for the doubters

or maybe terrestrial TV weathermen,

clues pointing to something much bigger and so incomprehensible, it's best not to think about it,

so go put the kettle on and have a cup of tea

The clouds opened and when it rained, it rained commas,

and everything seemed to stop or at least

slow down,

just for the while

and so, it was the animals that sensed it first,

P's cat tore up a sofa

while R's cat looked for cover

a parrot stammered a sentence

squeaking and swearing like

a bar room drunk locked in cell

Dogs attacked postmen, who retreated and dropped

elastic bands

, that lay scattered on the crazy paving,

Sandwiched twixt overgrown lawns,

amongst the detritus of chewing gum,

sweet wrappers and empty milk

bottles.

 

Scalpel routine

 

He had always had routines. Routines?, I guess you'd call them more like superstitions. The comfortable feeling of the familiar. You know like those overpriced sports stats who always put their right sock on first, or those stoners who always throw away the first Rivla in the packet, or those fools who turn one cigarette upside down I nthe packet.

He was a surgeon, he was dextrous of hand. He thought in lacerations, scalpel cuts, eviscerations.

Ever since he left medical school he followed the same routines. If he operated on someone's hand he would go home and do something artistic with his hand. Likewise, if he operated on someone's foot he would go for a pedicure and a long walk.

Whatever part of the human anatomy he touched with his blade he went home and made use of his equivalent body part, just to remind him how fortunate he was.

When ever he operated on someone's colon he would get either his wife or a prostitute to rub his perineum vigorously and after that he would ask them in a stern voice to insert one of their fingers inside his anal cavity and probe away until they touched his prostate gland and he ejaculate like a steaming geyser.

He would then always retreat to the toilet for a good shit and a read of the Lancet

sleep

In trashy novels and Vaselined lensed films you often get couples who are mind bendingly in love, and they spend 99% of the time staring into each others eyes, muttering sentiments and sonnets, expressing their devotion and more often then not, their mentioning the loves effect upon their pumping hears in respect that  it is either beating faster, when the object of desire is near or it just STOPS when they are away.  (no indication is given as to what away means, whether it refers to the love object popping out for a poo, or them travelling to the other side of the world for a business meeting).

 

However the sentiment or image that really bites my balls is when couples say something along the lines of, " I like to look at you when you sleeping." You know what I'm saying, right? You must of hears some cornball come out with some line like this, under the misguided impression that it sounds romantic.

Well, for all you budding Casanovas out there, it isn't romantic, it's fucking creepy, even bordering on the obsessed. Imagine waking up and someone is in your bed, just staring at you, not making a sound, just staring (possibly with a hand on their cock, stroking in whilst wearing a fur glove). It would be like waking up and finding a clown standing at the end of your bed. Very unsettling.

 

And why do people thing that looking at someone asleep in romantic?. Have you ever seen yourself asleep? It's 12 hours of nocturnal spasms, grunting, farting, shudders, dribbles, twitches, REM's, uncontrollable bodily movements, incoherent waffling and the occasional bodily emission

 

Now, if you saw you partner doing any of these, or a combination of these in the cold light of day, for example walking down the street whilst flailing their arms about and pissing their pants, you would peg them as either mad or someone in the midst of a Grand Mal. Either way your wouldn't view it as sexy or beguiling or erotic (then again, saying that some people would find this attractive - a piss stained woman, but each to their own I say).

 

So what have we learned today? Watching / staring at someone while their asleep, and at their most vulnerable, is not romantic. People, no matter how sexy they are during the day turn into shuddering wrecks during the sleep.

 

If you want to pay your partner a compliment, or if you want to sound romantic, just tell her she has lovely tits.

 

Works every time.

the obvious

I know it's a Great British past time to talk about the weather (and football, and the soaps etc) but if one more person mentions the snow I will murder them in ways most horrific, carry their corpse into the open and cover them in the snow and stick a big fucking carrot in the space where their nose should be. However this scenario is will not happen because with snow in England it lands and either melts within 30seconds or turns overnight into black slush which arsehole drivers spray you with when your walking along the pavement, musing to yourself about that fact it snowed.  So I will just murder them and leave their corpse laying upon the black slushiness that was, for a brief moment, snow

When talking about the weather people tend to always state the obvious, for instance someone said to me today, "Did you see the snow?", now, the fact I was in the office with them, I would of thought answered the question for them, unless of course a) I slept in the office, b) I am blind, c) I travelled to work directly underground via a labyrinth of secret tunnels built by myself and my mole friends.  "Did you see the snow" Of course I fucking did, and that's the end of the conversation because what would they say next?, other then further state the more obvious, "the snow was white", or "the snow was cold".

Once the initial "did you see (insert weather here: rain / snow etc)" question has been asked, they will invariably then mention the transport system and it's inability to cope with the aforementioned weather. As an attachment, they will normally mention that Siberia can cope with snow so why can't we. This is probably due to the fact we have a variety of temperatures and we need to cover all bases where as Siberia is cold most of the time, hence they are good at dealing with the cold/ snow. However I doubt Siberia has a good public transport system. I also doubt that people in Siberia talk about the weather as much as in England do.

So, just for the record, yes is saw the snow, yes I made a snowball and pelted it at a strangers door, no I don't know what the transport system can't handle the snow, nor do I care.

what was I thinking

  

I exited the space ship at a speed that was un-calculatable by any method known to man. The speed was so great that I had returned back to my craft before I had thought about leaving it in the first place.

Due to this fantastic speed I meet my Earth self as I was zooming past, I wanted to stop to say hello but a) I was travelling just so damn quick that if I stopped I would of sent shock waves around the world resulting in  small earthquake Coventry and b) I was in a rush.

The space craft I captained was resembled a number 37 bus. Big and red and slightly smelling of tramp piss. Don't ask.

I moved so fast that I actually arrived before I was even conceived.

Don't ask me how, it's not magic, it's science but you probably wouldn't understand. You're a bit thick whereas I am of superhuman intelligence. I was just born that way. Don't be jealous. I have made four woman cum at the same time. I can't help it, it's something I do. Anyway, I was in my spacecraft and I couldn't remember if I was trying to land or if I had already landed and had returned back to the craft. Bending time is very confusing. Hell, if was confusing me then your brain would melt into a mushy pulp if your tried to comprehend it.

I was thirsty so I got myself a cold cold pint of milk. I went to take a sip of the cold cold beverage but accidentally pressed the button which spat the time machine back in time. We went backwards so quick by the time I had raised my cold cold milk to my lip  found myself to be suckling a big cows udder. We went back so fast the milk was still inside the cow.

I enjoyed sucking the udder.

I don't think the cow appreciated it as much as me.

Anyways I needed to kill the cow as it was hazardous having a 5 foot, half tone bovine grazing in my state of the art space craft. Plus, it was a confined space and think about it, cows have two stomachs which is twice the amount  of shitty gas it can fire out. I couldn't risk my spacecraft becoming a gas chamber so yes, I killed it and ate it.

I landed in Neasden got out and realised I had made a dreadful mistake.

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