God Takes Another Shot

PO'P NOTE: This one ain't for the fainthearted. And you know that I don't normally put warnings like that on my stuff...Ok?

I just busted out of hospital. Which sounds cool, except for the fact that I was walking like an old man, half covered in puke and sweating like a child molester let loose in the paediatrics ward of a hospital. And I didn't bust out, they "asked me to leave".

Apparently, it is still possible after all these years of evolution to tear one's duodenum. Thanks for that piece of intelligent design, God. You fucker.

Also apparently, consuming nothing all day but around 20 Aspirin and a bottle of Red Bull will make the problem worse, so that after two nights of shitting out jet black diarrhoea and puking up some of the same, it is clearly time to put oneself at the mercy of The Quacks.

Who promptly put a drip in your arm and then forget all about you, so that the blood they are trying to replace runs back up the tube. Fuckers. They will then follow this up by giving you an endoscopy. Double fuckers.

Now, people will try to tell you that an endoscopy is fun. Hell, it used to be a ride at Alton Towers if I remember rightly. Let me tell you now, they are lying cunts. Every one of them.

Basically, they put you on your side, hold you down and put a mouthpiece in (your mouth). "Fuck, I call that Saturday night", you're probably all thinking. Well next, they get a piece of black tubing about 1cm in diameter and stuff it down your throat like a fucking snake wrestler. As it approaches, it looks like they are slowly jamming a disco ball into you as the coloured optic fibre wobbles about just in front of your eyes.

Then you start retching uncontrollably. Of course, they've forgotten to give you a gown, or you told them you wouldn't wear one because you weren't a faggot, or something like that, so you puke all over your arms and chest, constantly, for about five minutes. I now have a slight amount of respect for women and a very sore throat. I have also used my entire year's allocation of the word "cunt" and will have to borrow some from someone else.

Eventually they gave me some pills and lectures on a variety of topics, pronounced me fit to fight another day and threw me out. But not before I'd made some important observations:

Hospitals Are Pussies
They never once told me to do anything. It was all please Mr. O'Phile, thanks Mr. O'Phile. I was not supposed to eat for six hours before the endoscopy but they said if I demanded food, they would bring me some. They asked permission to put a drip in me. They asked if they could take my blood pressure and would have been fine with my refusal. They even asked for permission to look at my shit, should I decide to take one (sadly I couldn't help them here, much as I wanted to).

If I was feeling better, I would have been pretty contemptuous of their wimpy attitude. They own the fucking shop, they are the experts, they should be calling the shots. My way, or the fucking highway, shitbag. I know that's how I would be in the same situation.

Take The Gown
Ok, your ass will hang of it out for reasons you will never fathom (why do they need emergency ass access?). But, as you will all know, puke and blood both stain clothing irreparably. Not to mention the complaints when you get back to work still wearing the same top. Fucking prudes.

Tarry Shit
Everyone of a certain mindset (probably those still reading) should experience this - once. I even took a photo the first time, it was such an unusual sight (yeah I'm odd, what a fucking surprise). Sadly by the tenth time, the novelty will have worn off and slight concern will be replacing it.

So now I have to take some proton pump inhibitors (which sounds pretty gay), slept for over 16 straight hours yesterday and every muscle in my body is fucked up from fighting the endoscope guy. But I'll recover, then I'll be showing that stomach who's boss. Fucking internal organs thinking they fucking run the shop, going to get what's coming to them. Who's laughing now, small intestines? What's that, you don't like the taste of glass? Fucking wimpy little shits.

Altruism 1 - Getting Some

Have you ever woken up in bed with a big bowl of custard next to you and 12 midgets crammed into a sleeping bag in the corner?

No, me neither. But now I've got your attention, I've noticed that something important needs to be discussed. I've had literally no emails on this subject and now it's time to share my tips for getting your tip...into chicks.

Why? Because it seems to me that the world is full of cunts acting like dicks who need to empty their balls. Time to get the world laid, maybe then I won't want to kill quite so many people. Maybe.

Spread a little happiness, cheer some fucks the fuck up with a little hard fucking. So let's get to the fucking point before my f key breaks, shall we?

NEW MAN / METROSEXUAL / FAGGERY

Nothing tells a woman that you're a heterosexual male on the prowl for loving quite so much as dressing like a homo. Seriously, chicks dig guys who act like women.

Put a little concealer on, wear pink, shave your legs and get a manbag. Ok, you'll only pull lesbians and they're going to be pretty pissed when you get them home and whip out Mr. Winky then slap them round the face with it, but hey, that's their fault for being evil sexist bitches, right?

WORK IT OUT, WORK IT IN

Those hormonal split arses are genetically programmed to go for guys who look like they've eaten a tortoise. It's something to do with providing breast milk, I don't quite get the maths, but it's 100% true.

So work out, work up a sweat and get St. Peter baptised. And if that doesn't work, you'll be stronger than them anyway. Remember, the steroids are grounds for diminished responsibility. I hope.

Also, since sweat is just diluted piss and sweat is what gets the girl, I recommend you piss all over the tracksuit. I fucking hate tracksuits, they are for cunts.

GET RICH, STUPID

Nothing can get a purchase on a woman's love like an 8" thick wallet. Buy the drinks, buy the bar, buy her shiny things. And before you know it, you'll be eating ham sandwiches out of her cleavage. I hear that's what you like anyway, you sick fuck.

Remember this simple rule; pence get piss, pounds get pussy. You won't go far wrong.

FAST CARS

People write this point off as stupid, but there is nothing a fine-ass, high-titted filly likes better than being ridden hard around town in a sporty little number. Cruise along with your doors unlocked and it's guaranteed that some hot, horny piece of whoopdiggery will hop in and be sucking the chrome off your gearstick within minutes. Best to buy a new one sharpish, those things rust. Or maybe you'll just get carjacked, whatever.


Failing this, get a piece of shit car and stick bits of plastic all over it - remember that girls don't know shit about cars.

THE PACK RULE
It's a well known fact that goth chicks only sleep with goths, skaters only sleep with skaters and emos only sleep with emus. It's Actually, I have no idea what an emo is, I just wanted to look hip. And I don't know what hip means either, except that my dad had a plastic one...but I digress. The pack that sleeps together stays together - basic hunter/gatherer psychology.

The best option is to work out a rota of outfits and worldviews, then tweak your look each day. Et voila, 7 days of weirdo pussy, week in, week out:


So by now, you're beating birds off with a shitty stick, or they're beating your shitty stick off. And if not, give up. Either jerk off our just kill yourself.

Everyone is so "taboo" about jerking off and suicide. Hell, even monkeys do it. All of you grow up, grow some balls and get whacking (either yourself or off, it doesn't make a fucking difference to me).

With Love (Hopefully),
Peter.

Birthdays Are For Cunts

Well, after spending last year thinking I was 2x*, I actually am now 2x. And I couldn't care less. Measuring time is a load of bollocks and watching a number click up by one has never been a hobby of mine**.

A second can seem to take an eternity to tick by (and that's a long fucking time if you bother to look it up). Don't believe me? Jump off a fucking building and see. An hour can pass in an instant. Take a nap and tell me otherwise. So fuck birthdays and fuck pretending to give a shit about them, they are for cunts.

However I did do a little checkup on how those seconds are taking their toll on me. All things considered, I'm doing pretty well for someone who has a £20 bet with SB that I won't make it past 30:

• Right wrist that can't lift any real weight after drunken accident.
• Right arm that can't reach behind back after drunken accident.
• Right little toe broken and not quite healed properly.
• Right hip and knee cunted after years of being fallen on, causing "retard's limp" throughout winter..
• 3 "laughter" lines under each eye from years of undersleeping/overdrinking***.
• Chipped left canine after...fuck only knows what.
• 2 Permanent scars on left arm from cigarette burns.

That's not bad at all. I bet plenty of people who have never fallen out of a moving car or tried to drink a flaming sambuca whilst it was still alight in their lives are far worse off than that. Those poor stupid fuckers.

Interesting that it's always my right side that gets raped, something to do with being left handed I guess. Or having deeply repressed homo tendencies whilst simultaneously wanting to nail my mum, or some shit like that, probably.


PS If you don't hear from me ever again, it's because I died at the wheel of the Ferrari 355 I'm going to be driving tomorrow. I have a mild sense of foreboding about the whole thing, given my past record of behaving like a complete lunatic in fast cars. I made a guy who owned a Porsche cry once. Which serves him right for buying kraut shite, really.



* This is not a Roman numeral joke, Ok?
** It is for the same reason that same reason that I believe New Year's Eve to be for cunts, as well as a guaranteed shitty night for drinking.
*** Yes, I own a mirror to notice this. Fuck you.

My Utterly Valid And Not At All Suspect Life Path

Your Life Path Number is 1

Your purpose in life is to lead others. Whether it be off a cliff, into a big vat of boiling water or just the path of a speeding car, you lead like a tiger. A leadership trained tiger with a basic grasp of the English language admittedly, but a tiger none the less. You have great drive and determination, but only when drunk. Nothing is going to stand in your way, unless they dig up your garage and find all those dead hookers. You seek out alcohol and the taste of fresh human flesh with a relentless passion that lesser beings may label as "clinically insane". Status and success are unimportant to you. You demand the best from everyone and everything and are constantly surprised to find the world is populated almost entirely by useless fucktards who would be better used to make rope and various car parts. At least you were surprised, until you made a note of this fact on your right hand ten years ago, which you have not washed since. In love you tend to take a protective role, even going so far as to freeze your "girlfriend" to avoid her ageing. Hopefully in the future, technology will be invented to thaw and revitalise her. As well as reattaching her head and limbs, obviously. You expect others to be like you, and as a result you are often looking over your shoulder and ducking into shop doorways to make sure you aren't being followed. A little selfish and vain, you always put yourself first. Which is actually more than a little selfish and vain, you arrogant little piece of shit. Remember, everyone already knows you're great - you only need to keep reminding them of this until they build that 2000 foot tall gold statue of you on the moon.

What Is Your Life Path Number?

Actually, that was quite uncanny. How the fuck did it know?

Betterplan

Jesus christ. Watching this piece of shit was like fucking a dead goat. You know it's wrong and you don't really like it, but you keep going in the vain hope that there will be a big payoff at the end.

But there isn't and all you are left with is bits of goat stuck to your dick. Fuck knows how they got into the DVD player in the first place, but such is life.

I'm not going to explain the plot or review the film as such. If you trust me, just steer clear. I knew better than to watch it but I did it anyway, I can spot a bad film a mile away and this ticked all the boxes. I took a risk and I paid the price, which was a lot more than the cost of the DVD.

Although I was laughing when that bitch was running around a plane in what can only be described as a "comatose panic" at the thought of losing her kid. Fuck, I'd look more worried than that if I lost my beer in a toilet. And you know it still has to be in there somewhere. I'm not sure "concern" comes into the lives of millionaire actresses too often.

So, I came up with a better plan. I gave it to my little sister as a birthday present.

Yeah, fuck you. She might like it. Chicks dig shit films.

She's a much more tolerant person than me.

I'll get her something good next year.

Or just book into hell early.

My brother once gave me "The Office - Series One" two christmases in a row, so I figure siblings are fair game now anyway. Just because we both came out of the same mamma don't mean they gets a break, right?