Demanding Dame Elton John (12)

Who the fuck does the demented old Queen think that he is ?…”Demanding” meetings with the P.M. to,no doubt,scweam and scweam because nobody gives a fuck about some Aids-defying botty-bashing,irrelevant old Cunt and his selfish demands.

I couldn’t give a tupenny fuck if I never had to hear another of his dirges or look at his special-needs bus face again.

Fuck Off, you old Cunt…and take yer shite-stained gerbils with ya.

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Nominated by: Dick Foxchaser-Fiddler

Eating in Spain

I´m used to Latin culture and have spent half my life in South America but eating times in Spain – where I am just now – are a mystery to me.

Breakfast starts about 9 (and that´s early), lunch any time between 2 and 5 o´clock and dinner from nine to midnight.

The service is equally eccentric in terms of time. Sit down, wait half an hour for the waiter to see you (if you´re lucky), take an hour to bring the menu then return an hour later for your order then bring the first course an hour later.

Time has a different dimension here. Was Einstein a Spaniard and is relativity a Spanish concept?

Yet it´s not like this in Argentina, Mexico, Chile or Brazil, which I know best.
The shops and banks are the same and seem to be closed more often than they are open. I thought all this had changed when Spain joined the European Union and had become modern.

I know that as a visitor you have go with the flow but for fuck´s sake get a move on Manuel. Rapido!

Nominated by: Mr Polly

Rubbish Song Lyrics & Rap

Looking back, I realise that I’ve cunted songs and performers in various guises; done-to-death songs, boring songs, nauseating songs… I trust that another pop will not go amiss, this time aimed specifically at rubbish lyrics, by which I mean the self-indulgent, pompous, vacuous, or just plain cringeworthy.

This was kicked off yesterday when the wife put on Dylan’s ‘Bringing It All Back Home’. I was able to tolerate his nasal whine for so long, but then came ‘of war and peace the truth just twists, its curfew gull it glides, upon four-legged forest clouds, the cowboy angel rides’.

Now I’m sure that arty-farty types have droned on about the ironic imagery and visionary poetic lyricism of the words (or something), but honestly, I reckon that this song’s lyrics are a pile of pretentious wank.

Not for the first time, this took the missus and I on a trip to pick some of our favourite ludicrous lyrics. She chimed in inevitably with ‘no 9, no 9, no 9…’, and then picked Lennon’s ‘imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can’, from the Rolls Royce radical himself.

Okay dear. I’ll see you and raise you a ‘you consider me the young apprentice, caught between the Scylla and Caribdes’. A perfect couple of lines from that poseur Sting, to which I added a bit of twat cod-philosophy from Neil Diamond, to wit; ‘I am I said, to no one there, and no one heard at all, not even the chair’. Deep stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree.

How about ‘we are stardust, we are golden, and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden’, said the missus. Mmm, the ‘Woodstock’ generation of Mitchell and CSNY types could take itself a bit seriously at times. I’d include Paul Simon here, for the likes of ‘I have my books and my poetry to protect me’, not to mention ‘what a dream I had, pressed in organdy, clothed in crinoline of smoky burgundy’. Struth.

Then there are those words which initially sound very meaningful, but become less so the more you listen to them. Like ‘Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids, in fact it’s cold as hell, and there’s no one there to raise them if you did…’. Taupin torpor at its best.

Of course I could go on and on, I’ve got a million of ’em. Don’t get me started on the likes of Muse and Lady Gaga, or that infuriating little twit Katy Perry (‘I wanna see your peacock-cock-cock…are you brave enough to let me see your peacock?’).

But I’m limited for space, so I’ll close on the cringeworthy. What could be worse than ‘one day when I was not at home and she was left there all alone, the angels came… and Honey I miss you, and I’m being good’?

Christ on a bike. What a load of old pony.

Nominated by: Ron Knee

And on the subject of shit lyrics, try some Rap, from Miles Plastic


Well I’ve been ‘down with the kids’ recently. Too long to explain. But all about Rap and a very long video of Ed Sheeran and Stormzy performing together. Fuck know what it was called but how very long it was. And it was on a loop. Exorbitant is the word.

I suppose these two are leaders of their generation musically speaking. The actual sound is a feel good ambient sound which doesn’t vary. And the repetitive beat ad nauseam.

You can actually record your own Rap on your phone. A rap app I suppose you’d call it. So the task was to make your own rap recording. I was struck how seriously the ‘the kids’ took it. (More 18 to 20 year olds).

It was very comical. ‘Shhh… I’m recording….’. One fella– ‘Sheff town Sheff town I’ve been down’. He must have been to Sheffield recently. But that as well-they all did it with a black accent. They were all white.

‘I have my destiny in my pocket’ wasn’t a bad line I thought. Intense confessional stuff about ‘ma girlfriend’. But the beat just the same. No variation.

I thought when I was their age I was into Yes. I know pretentious and overlong but certainly it was all about creativity. And it was all about variation and true experimentation.

Came back home and decided to indulge myself in Yes. The first two videos of like vloggers appreciating them. I listened to ‘Awaken’ and ‘The Gates of Delerium’. The hosts of both vlogs two black dudes with dark glasses.

“Manic” Street Preachers (3)

Street Preachers are cunts, aren’t they.

It’s bad enough that deodorant-dodging buskers and tax-dodging Romanians flogging the Big Issue clog the High Street pavements. Now we’ve got these loonies.

There they stand, blasting your ears telling us that some god “loves you”, somebody “died for your sins” the only way is their “god”, and spewing all this diarrhoea through a megaphone.

It’s not just the rug-riders outside Brixton Tube station wearing dresses and spitting venom, there was a swivel-eyed Satan-server in my town today, all fire and brimstone, huffing and puffing about his particular magic sky goblin. Get out the way, St.Fuckwit, I’m trying to buy a burrito.

Aren’t these wild-eyed, wacky wingnuts violating the Public Order Act, which bans people from causing “intentional harassment, alarm, or distress.” It sounds like these unhinged cunts are going to go postal any minute.

I like burritos. I like burritos more than god. Burritos are delicious.
Also, burritos are real.

Nominated by: Captain Magnanimous

Blue Plaque Scheme

Oh for fuck sake!!

It’s never ending, just watched look north from Leeds, yet another load of shite on the diversity bandwagon.

This time it’s the Blue Plaque Scheme, commemorative blue plaques for deserving people, so what is the issue.

In Leeds there are 181 blue plaques but only two are from the BAMES, the first black head teacher and Albert Johannesen, Leeds footballer.

Now the woke will be running around Chapeltown trying find some dark type who hasn’t been selling drugs or stabbing his bro in the wrong postcode.

What a load of piss boiling crap!

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Nominated by: Sick of it