P.S. I don't like you.

I've decided to turn over a new leaf: going is the arrogance, going is the mindless racism, and violence, and coming back is the nice boy i once was.
Also: i'm going to cut out my bad habits.
I'm going to stop biting my toenails.
I'm going to stop swearing so much.
I'm going to use a knife and fork proper.
I'm going to stop pissing in my sink.
In short I'm going to become a thoroughly respectable and upstanding citizen.
I could, however, nearly obviate the use of my sink altogether if I didn't use it for water and use it for pissing.

Brainwave!

Why not drink my own piss? That way my sink would become as otiose as a student of drama. Well, nearly.

So I poured myself a perfect pint of piss. Let it cool down. Took a photo.
It's really not very nice. Someone told me it tastes like water. It doesn't. It tastes like piss. I could only manage down to the Manchester bit. Couldn't even make the Beer Fest 05 bit. Pathetic I know.

So bang goes my trying to be decent. I'm gonna resort to being a bum again.

Oh, I say!
What?
"Oh." It was more of a narrative.

Kop a load of this:

FUCKING HELL: WAIT: STOP THE PRESS!!1!!1!!08!!
fascinating, that. One for the anoraks in the pub quiz.

Q. To the nearest integer: what is the highest value of articular finesse, defined Words/(Interesting Points + 1), in journalistic history?
A. 227

Someone got paid to write that...

...it amazes me how custody is porridge...

my momma

I went home this weekend, for the first time in, like, ages. And I went on the train and there were these drunk managers from, erm, Tesco who'd just been, you know, charity fundraising and had just raised like £2m for charity. Anyway they were drunk and they were all like 'how rude!' all the time really loud too. And this lady who looked a lot like my headmistress from primary school offered me some wine from a bottle but i said no. And they were like 'how rude!' and then this camp but (apparently) straight guy told me to put my face in her cunt, but i said no. And they were like 'how rude!'. anyway they were talking to me, explaining how they raised the money and stuff, till i got off the train and they were like 'how rude!' and i'm like this is my stop and they're like 'how rude!'. so i got off the train and my daddy picked me up from the station.

when i got home and gave my mommy a hug i had my dinner that she'd cooked for me. which was nice. a lot nicer than i could cook, obbbbbbviously! but i was still hungry afterwards so i went to the cupboard to get something to eat. what i saw there like literally bowled me over. instead of having, you know skittles and cakes and biscuits or human heads or anything there was a jar of horseradish sauce, a jar of redcurrant jelly, a salt shaker and a pepper mill, and: i kid you not, no fewer than fifty jars of mustard.

so i was all like: "mom, there's never anything to eat in this house!" and she's like "but you've just had your dinner!" and i'm like "but i'm still hungreeeeeee!" and she's like "!" and i was like: "mum, why've you got like fifty jars of mustard?" and she's like "well: there are many different types of mustard and they vary in strength and flavour and it's always useful to have some different types otherwise you risk overwhelming or underwhelming the flavour of your dish..."
"MUM! you don't ever /eat/ mustard!!you say it's too hot and you don't like it and it brings you out in blotches and stuff! now: why've you got /so/ much mustard??"
and she's like: "oh, i don't know, i just seem to accrue it"