so, here's something. the Net is crammed with loathsome teenagers, spotty and greasy writing heart wrenching poetry about stupid teenagers and their pointless heart breaks and nights of useless soul searching. Good grief.
And what's this anti-smoking thing all about?
For years we spend milions of pounds and dollars on dropping pure nicotine onto small cat's tongues in large laboritories, helping those little darling beagles to 40 a day and then it all comes to an end. We start giving people huge sums of money for lifetimes of attempted suicide.
How does that work? Inthe last 30 years every government in the world has spent zillions on telling us all the SMOKING KILLS. It's on the fucking cigarette boxes for fucks sake. And then they get to take the fag companies to court and win, win....bollocks, it's just bollocks. So these ash tray smelling, yellow fingered cunts get a fortune after a lifetime of indulging their stinking habit.
Did someone give Fitgerald's missus a bundle of whisky makers cash when he drank himself to death?
<$BlogArchiveName$>

girls are always saying blokes are crap at being sick, well pardon moi but if you're going to be sick do it properly not in some half hearted faggot martyrdom kind of way. Taking a few days off work at the moment, always worries me but fuck it really. My brain is in a funny place, not switched on right, full of shite. Favourite two songs of the moment keep swirling around my head..."I wanna fuck a fucking pirate in the arse...& ...let's hunt him down and put a bullet in his arse..." all very anal.

So Mr Apathy sends me a photo of his newborn baby, Kurt, the latest addition to our family of nazis. And the funny thing is the little chap has a bear growing out of his head....either that or his hair has mysteriously grown in a bear shape...fucking weird.

"Grown men, he told himself in flat contradiction of centuries of accumulated evidence about the way grown men behave, do not behave like this."

well bugger, I've just been presented with what old enemabag refers to as "a cripped idea". As fine a piece of plagarism I have never before seen. My god, this man knows no depths to which he won't go to to avoid good old hard work.
Another email informs me that Mr Apathy's long suffering spouse has burst asunder with another IT kid. He has named it Kurt and expects it to be goose-stepping within the year.
Fucking dog bit me on the nose this morning, that's the gratitude i get for feeding the little fucker. Dogs are just like women, fuck them up and they'll follow you around like a bad fart, be nice to them and they'll fuck you up.

and now crylikeagirl has gone on a blogging holiday, some people will do anything for attention. You'd think he'd be happy just chatting up canadian whores all night really.
Some sad Nellie/Nelly fan has started a site called plastered, I recommend boycotting it immediately. I see Mr Apathy has posted another sad IT joke, tiresome honeychild, tiresome.

Tum tee tum... Enemabag is whinging on about his Coldplay CD, who did give him it we wonder? and why would he choose to play it on the way to work? Odd.
Sitting in the cold light of finger pointing blame, why are people such cunts? Why must they try a pathetic post-mortum on things which can't be dissected? People.... fuck 'em.
On a lighter note it's good to see that Saddam is keeping a few of his missiles after all, it'll make it a bit more interesting when we finally decide he is a bad boy and needs a good kicking.

well bugger me. Everyone is tired and pissed off today, an amusing thing giving plenty of scope for irritating people.
My office is starting to look like the inside of my head, confused and messy with a careless air to it.
I'm haunted by images of Rowan Atkinson prancing about in his Blackadder costume, what on earth is that all about?
I've got post meeting stress disorder, a sort of anxious "what the fuck do we do now" kind of thing. The women at work are escapees from the dog pound, it's as if we hired a seriously ugly senior chick who then hired in her own image below her. The place is full of mental retards and women who resemble a bulldog chewing a wasp.
It's too hot to go outside and Mr Apathy's new haircut, sort of full-metal jacket meets Donny Osmond, has inspired Enemabag to have his own coiffure fucked up.
I know he's only gone to the hairdressers because he wants some breast rubbing therapy from the girl there.
The department are mingling in corridors doing their what do we do now thing. A vacant looking lot at the best of times today there seems more than a hint of desperation in their sad, beer ridden eyes.
I wonder what Elvis would have done in this situation, probably have a burger and fries.... hmmm good idea fat man...