The witch's trappings changed, but her methods remained the same

For those who have been paying attention

Some people just have to spoil it for the rest, don't they?

I'm sure you know the types. The kind who'd mock the chimpanzees into flinging their semen at the bars on a school day out at the zoo; the kind who always, always write rude words backwards in the humidity on the back window of the bus; the kind who pushed my head down the toilets at Chessington world of Adventures. And who gets a choc-ice after that, I ask you?

No-one, ladies and gentlemen, no-one. Mrs Hewson said no-one could have a choc-ice after that.

I, personally love the idea if the Internet: a free play of ideas between the best minds of their generation, neurons fizzing and cavorting in the ether. However, it has come to my attention, that some people wish, and wish only, to spoil it for others. They have taken advantage of my good nature, and pointed out that, if nothing else, I am not good-natured; and pointed that out on this very site .

It has been pointed out that there is something of an irony in my having detailed gory, personal, and quite intimate details of the lives of almost everyone I know, whilst being quite so precious and fey about myself. Indeed, one might suggest that listing the number of children's heads that were torn from an ex-girlfriend's vagina (although they were not mine) (the children, not the heads) might be considered indiscreet, whilst posing my own infidelities as unavoidable mishaps (with Chloe, who, before she became a lesbian, rang to see if I wouldn't reconsider. Or, she thought about it, I'm sure. Maybe she didn't have my number...) is either disingenuous or just shit.

Everyone has a right to an opinion. Except here.

It is therefore with a heavy heart that I must remove all comments not by me, or which do not conform to the following statements:

1)Anyone who writes a blog is not, as one might assume, opening themselves up to ridicule from the whole world, but, instead, is most probably a sensitive and gentle lover with an abstruse but educational taste in music and, quite possibly, a great man.
2) My life's more interesting than yours.
3) Cool people spend all of their time on the Internet, particularly constructing drunken satires about people who do not have the benefit of a right to reply.
4) I like my coffee how I like my women: milky, and injected into my eyeballs just before I wake up.
5) If poetry dost thou lack
To this site, hop'st I, you will come back.
There are very few, or scarcely worse,
Because it all is done in verse.

I hate to have to sound like Joseph Hitler, but something really has to be done. Blogging is an important way for people to communicate their basest thoughts to each other. It is a place for a free interplay of concepts and ideas. Let us not, then, have people abuse that, by freely bringing offensive or odd, ideas into the ether.

Ladies and gentlemen, it saddens me, but the censorship (for your own good) starts now.

G-Baby Killing Self-Aggrandisement (by a Mother-Fucker)

All right, you've had your fun. All of you.

Oh, ha ha! I expose my deepest, most inner, utterly inwards and quite deep thoughts to the world; and just because you know I'm a shallow, deluded twat, you think it's all right ('alright') to make fun of me. Well, whoever you are, let me make one thing clear!!!!

Fuck off!

Yeah, you heard!. Just fuck right off. I have asked my friends on the Internet that they all said each and every one of them, that it was all right to ignore you. And, from here on in, I shall only speak in clerihews.

For those who wished to mock the Cripps,
I should not sail upon your ships,
An iceberg may well come youjr way,
Because u r so fucking gay.

Walking with Maddie

'Twas a brisk, crisp afternoon, when Mark first crossed my transom. I remember I was drinking a can of Special Brew Lite with its lid half-removed, the label peeling in the early spring sunlight. He was a god in human form, an Adonis in tramp form, a...a...a Mark.

Well, what can I say?

Obviously very little. I remember that it was a Tuesday, the week before England trounced Sierra Leone in the international Hula Hoop Championships. I was drinking Baileys from a shoe. He was indestructible.

And the sex was amazing.

Later, having slept on a bed, fully clothed together, we talked. Talked, that is, not ranted, shouted, disputed, or otherwise suggested we might have been the most eloquent couple ever to grace the Oxford scene. We talked.

And we thought, maybe, just maybe...

But no.

Or yes?

But no.

I was drinking a Fosters Ice. He was a young love god in a room painted beige on that Thursday in October 1995. How did this happen? How does anything? It was just one of those things.

Say what you will about Mark. Go on. Say what you will about Mark. He was the first person to break my bed.

Fin.

Bored now...

Huntley "saner than I am" says judge

After hearing evidence from Medical Examiner Col Hubert Tubert, the judge avenging the deaths of Soham's Roses said that Ian Huntley was completely sane.

Justice Anthony Burbage said: "The act of taking two young girls and butchering them horribly without apparent motive is a supremely sensible one. If more people behaved like this there would be fewer teenage pregnancies, and fewer young people smacked out of their tiny crack-pans on cocaine e-balls stealing gloves to feed their insane habits. I entirely commend Mr Huntley on his eminently rational attitude to life.

"It really is a shame, when a great country like ours, ruined and doistered by years of the Nanny State, has to look to people like Mr Huntley for an example. I anticipate withhorror the day on which our English paedophiles, hooligans and vigilantes are treated like common criminals." In the rest of his four-hour rant the judge's comments included: "Why this man's so sane he makes Hitler look a bit mad!" and "Nurse! It's happened again!"

Justice works. Think of the children.

Read more here

I am such a rubbish at this blog malarkey

I've never got the hang of quite how this is meant to be done. Just so I'm straight on a few things: people without real friends sit, calcifying their retinas with each moment they spend gazing into the blank radiation of a computer screen, thinking that their observations, or pain, or poor attempts at humour are something the whole world is lacking? Do these people really imagine that people across the world rush home from work every day in order to discover which other girl they spent half an hour looking at in a coffee shop the other day as she failed to notice, until she was distinctly unimpressed by their "Programmers do it all night long, preferably with a can of Jolt and a huge amount of downloaded pornography" T-shirt?

I don't care. I just don't give even the slightest iota of a scintilla of a shit. Ream me sideways with a screwdriver if I ever think that what I really need to do with my life is find out, in 5000 words, why a teenager in Idaho thinks Korn rule, or who else is going in Carina's Book of People I Really Hate (vol. 7).

Not only is it offensive to my sensibilities, but it's physically embarrassing how shameless these people are. Just the words "I found something out today" bring me out in hives and send my skin scuttling off my back and into the corner. People are meant to have secrets.

You're not that interesting. Your impotence, your failure to relate to people who exist in a world you loathe having to deal with except to get groceries and cream for your bed-sores, your fucking awful, tawdry, banal little lives are not worth sharing.

Your pain isn't special, your jokes are almost invariably borrowed from Eddie Izzard, and the sheer self-obsession you display every time you decide to write another entry in $t@rFairy'$ Diary! makes you an utterly unlovable human bring, and a waste of perfectly good pixels.

Now, fuck off.

Yes, I am well aware of the irony inherent in this rant. You're still not clever.

Art

Little bit of politics, ladies and gennelmen...

Cheating bloody Normans