Rambling Diatribe 1

PO'P NOTE: First published at www.ihateyoubecause.com, I'm still a bit undecided as to what this site should be for...

So, as our retarded media warms up the Dianafication bus, ready for the first death in the human lab-rat turned lab-elephant scandal, I wonder why the fuck this is news.

Look at its basic components - drugs test to make sure drug doesn't affect humans, finds drug does affect humans. Hmmmm. Fuck me, that's a shocker.

I do like the way they're being described as volunteers though. Yeah, just like I volunteered to do my job. Paid volunteers...not volunteers, dipshits.

They should really be making the best of it - big swollen headed people that have turned purple? I say wheel them down to the nearest shopping centre and put some kids off Ribena. You'll thank me in two years when your kids have still got fucking teeth.

But it is the ugly spectacle of Dianasteria, all over again. Do you remember that shitty story about the dog that stopped crying, or dancing, or some other dull shit the same day Diana died? I sure as fucking hell do, you couldn't avoid the cunt unless you set fire to your TV (an action I later had to take).

Well, that makes a total of two dogs that never danced after that day. It may seem harsh, but I'm sick of this celebrity fancying crap. Some people have a celebrity scale and a normal people scale for scoring totty (I mean that in the rating stakes, not cutting lines down them. For now.). Now try claiming that this is the bollocks that it so clearly is.

"I don't fancy Diana. She looks a bit mannish to me."
"Hur, hur, you must be gay!"
"Yeah, I don't fancy someone who looks a bit blokey. Gay, you got me."
"Hur, faggot. Queer."
"O.....K....."

Cameron Diaz, Britney Spears. Actually look at them. Christ, I'm the gay one?

Britney or my refrigerator...Britney, fridge...Britney, fridge...Hmmm, looks like my girlfriend can keep my beers cold. Come to Peter, baby.

I think we've got to break it off though, last week I chipped a tooth on her vegetable crisper.

"Yeah, fridgey? It's not you...it's me."

What a fucking stupid thing to say. It's not me? Well, then dump yourself, you stupid cunt! Honestly, you vacuous jizztrap whore. Of course it's me, we've only been talking for thirty seconds and I've already called you a cunt and a vacuous jizztrap whore.

Why not just be honest?
It's me, not you...in that I can't stand to be in the same room as you for more than ten seconds at a time. I know that's long enough for you, but I just need...more.

But lets still be friends, yeah?
Yeah, right. You just told me you didn't like me. If we can still be friends, we can still be friends who fuck, surely? When were we friends, anyway, I only met you yesterday. And when did you learn to speak English?

So let's be honest. Look, I like you, it's just that you look like a big fucking ribena berry and my friends keep laughing at me behind my back. We're going to have to spend some time apart, unless they invent a cure for failed drug tests, Ok? Now get off my fucking porch and stop calling me, or I will bump you back to 200 yards, you're scaring the fucking kids.

Fucking people.