Whose House? The Bank's House! (Part 1)

I'm buying a house, which means I have to deal with that dreaded sub-species of humanity, The Lawyer. I think this one worked out my stance (that I didn't like her and knew that the 20 minute "interview" was a waste of my time, designed purely to justify their ridiculous fees) pretty quickly, given my refusal to say a single word the entire time I was there. Women can be so sensitive sometimes.

It was clearly a pisstake though. Why the fuck do I need to prove my identity to buy a house? Are there people going round buying properties under false names, respraying the garage doors and selling the rest off for parts? I don't fucking think so.

Where do they think these imaginary evil fraudsters are hiding, anyway? You should probably know where they fucking live, since you conveyed them there.

So I stole a pencil. It's the little victories that keep us human. Except for lawyers, who aren't, of course.

Why the fuck do we need lawyers to buy a house anyway? It's a pretty simple transaction, all in all. I give someone a shitload of money and they stop living in the building so that I can move in (unless they're blonde hotties who like to wander around naked and don't mind the smell of marlboro reds and decay, in which case they can stay).

I'm at a loss as to what a lawyer adds to this process. Do they stop me from getting 419ed? I know the house exists, I went to the effort of looking at it. It's not in Kenya, made of cheese, or (currently) on fire, and I'm not going to pay for it via Western Union.

Hello, Mrs Lawyer? You can fuck off, this is none of your business. And your pencils are substandard, too.

I am convinced that the whole house buying process is designed, specifically and exclusively, to piss me off.

First of all you have to been shown around the property by some mindless fucking estate agent.

"...and this is the master bedroom."
"well shit my piles, Tom. I thought it was a dinosaur."

What's with the estate agent in those horrible BT adverts with that old boiler and the guy who used to be the funny one in "My Family" anyway? Is he supposed to talk like a broken robot, or was he drunk that day? I don't get it at all.

"beep...I...thought...that...this...would...make...a...very...nice...nursery...end transmission."
"wait, that's a toilet. Looks like I could do this job better than you...if only I didn't have a soul."

*** Part 2 follows soon ***

Warning: Paris Hilton Is Not "Hot". Yet.

It may come as a surprise, given the plausible reports in the media and the fact that you can spend $39.95 a month subscribing to ParisExposed.com, but it needs to be said. The Paris Hilton hotel is better looking and more interesting to listen to than that melted skeleton thing that somehow keeps getting onto the news and into the internet. And I mean the nasty, run down Arc De Triomphe one, not that shiny new one, too.

Seriously, let's take a look at some pictures...

Desperate Dan square-jaw meets bleached bones in the desert cleavage meet constipated weasel "slutty" eyelids meet Concorde nose meets (hopefully) a 100mph out of control HGV. And eyes are windows to the soul? Those look like one-way glass to me.

Yeah, I don't really need to say anything more. This is just another of those Jade Goody type things that we would be wiser to ignore without comment in future. Either the whole phenomena is one big "you've been framed" style stunt against her, or it's the universe pulling one on all of us. Have a quick check under your bed for Cosmic Jeremy Beadles...Nope, I guess the joke must be her...

Well let's call an end to it before I have to swap her coke for ground up glass and Polonium, or do something I'll regret. Grab that beard in your withered hand and yank it off, fire up the canned laughter and let it slip that her existence was a big joke all along. Ship her back to hell, roll out some worthwhile wank-fodder and let's move on.


I've never wanted to club something so much in my whole life, and I've always been a big fan of clubbing. I'm off to beat the shit out of my lunch, toodles!

The Trees Will Inherit Us All

This carbon neutral fad has me worried for a couple of reasons. If you've managed to avoid this dimwit shitfestivity, then stop reading now. It'll just piss you off to go any further. Skip to the bottom of the last post, there's a nice picture of a cat to enjoy instead.

Basically, the Ecodunces claim that if you drive you should plant trees and thus save the planet from falling to bits or something. Which is more or less science, a big step for those fuckers in itself.

However, look a bit closer. I know, using facts and maths and things like that, that my car puts out around 3kg of carbon per year, fixed into an aesthetically pleasing arrangement something like this:


A happy little CO2 molecule, sworn enemy of the Greens

For reasons I will never grasp this is wrong of me, so I have to buy a tree to gobble up the nasty little CO2 bugs coming out the back of my low-slung kiddy-killer. Or actually, as the boffins who dropped out of Loughborough University to work for Greenpeace tell me, three trees.

My suspicions were first aroused by the fact that a tree is not really accepted as an SI unit of environmental badness. The SI unit of planet carnage is well known to be the Fudgeguess. So this leaves us in an uncertain area. Do I have to buy a weeping willow, because I really hate those arrogant fuckers? Would one 30'000 foot mega-pine do me for life? What if it accidentally gets planted in the rainforest and McDonalds dig it up to feed genetically modified headless cows five seconds later? It makes no sense, no sense at all.

But this is the least of the issues. You see, the Huggers don't want you to know this, but trees are mankind's sworn enemy (along with the CO2s of course. Can you see a vindictive streak yet?).

Just take a look at last week. Here are some pictures that might help...






At every opportunity, they are leaping from their ample roots onto buildings, cars and people. They fall in front of trains and somehow brought London's underground to a complete standstill last Friday. I know, because it took me six fucking hours to get home. I assume there is some sort of cover-up going on with respect to the underground trees, so fuck only knows what they're up to in our sewers*.

In storms they guide electricity down onto our humble heads, tempting us with shelter then frying us like cockroaches. Their roots push up paving slabs and kill grannies who can't see far enough ahead to avoid the cracks. They "catch" on fire, sweep down and kill entire villages. In the dark they look a bit like big skeletons. They shed their leaves for three months of each year and don't die, leaving us to skid into their hefty bases on the carefully made mulch. And we're feeding innocent CO2s to the bastards!

And what do they do for us? What have The Rooters ever done for us? You can print The Daily Mail on one, if you haven't heard of the internet**. You can make a pretty poor fire if you don't have gas central heating. Keanu Reeves' parents were trees. You can make shoes, a fairly good semi-conductor and goat's cheese with a properly prepared tree.

No wait, the list ended a sentence earlier back there. Paper, fire and The Matrix, that's it.

Fuck the trees, I say. Let us worship the noble woodpecker and load up the biological cannon with Dutch Elm Disease. Warm up your chainsaws and reclaim our once great nation, before it's too late.


*When you get a branch jabbed right up your fundamentals whilst you're taking a shit, remember that I warned you of this day.
**As per most Daily Mail readers.

Looking Forward

My new year's resolutions:

1) Search for "my new years resolutions" on Google and kill every single blogger I find.
B) I don't know...uh...be more sarcastic.
$) I'm really struggling now...maybe...electrocute more animals?
4) Nah, fuck it. I'm pretty fucking perfect already.
1) Swear more, especially at children.

In a departure from my normal format, I would like to highlight a few things that I like. It'll be difficult for me, but here goes...

1) Family Guy, Season 5.

Seriously. The funniest thing to come out of America since the civil war. Truly fucking awesome.

11) Cancer

If there's a cheaper or funnier shot, I don't wanna know about it. That picture even looks like a bit like a pair of nuts, for fuck's sake.

K-aa) Knock Airport

Oh fuck. No, I got mixed up. I don't like Knock Airport, I fucking hate it. I was stuck there before Christmas in the fog. Basically, some one-toothed fucking retard built this fucking place with his bare-hands and a spade, right on top of the biggest hill he could find (presumably because planes fly high and he wanted to help out). So it got a little misty, and the place looked more like this:


That place was fucking closed. For a week. In the end they sent me on a four hour coach ride to Belfast, where electricity has been introduced and therefore planes can land using ILS.

Just look at that fucking place. The planes turn round in that big circle, because the bacteria that shat out the fucking runway didn't think to include taxiways in his grand plan. This shouldn't matter of course, because nobody sane would ever land there.

They even charge you a €10 fee to leave the fucking place, presumably because the cunt that put the departures shed up forgot to install any radiators. All the straggly, suicidal looking bushes were frozen solid, and not a single fucking heater in sight. Steer clear, unless you're flying a nuclear bomb, in which case I thank you.

Z,7) Odd Christmas Presents

Whilst I was gearing up to swim the Irish Sea, Mrs O'Phile's dad decided to kark it (see 2). It was certainly a strange christmas present from a loving and omnipotent God, but I hear it's the thought that counts.

Next time someone tries to tell me about their man in the sky bullshit religion, I'm going to tie them to a horse and drag them by their eyelashes for a mile down "Reality Road" (it's actually the A52, don't tell anyone).
Let's see how their invisible friend helps them out in that fucking situation. Cunts, the lot of them.

So yeah, Family Guy season 5. Wooooo!

2006: Just Another Year Of The Rat

Now don't get me wrong, I support the death penalty if applied indiscriminately to a large sample of humanity. There's way too many fucking people here, and a little human(e) slaughtering would go down like a gin and tonic smoothie first thing in the morning.

But at the same time I can recognise a kangaroo court with my head stuffed inside a koala's pouch, and here we have a prime example. So they held their quaint little foreign language pantomime, strung a man up, tormented him and then pulled the plug as he started to pray (to whatever fictional entity doesn't mind attempted genocide, I assume), all "secretly" recorded on a camera-phone for our viewing delight.

Don't worry though, if Uncle Tony tells you someone's a bad guy, you can be damn sure Uncle Tony will get his man swinging. Switch back to Channel 4, Celebrity Big Brother's on in 10. Uncle Tony's busy picking a new big brown bad man for us all to worry about, leave him be for a couple of days.

Justice? Justice was out dogging that day, just like she was when Uncle Tony's plane got hit by lightning but didn't explode and fall to the ground in a thousand swastika-shaped burning pieces.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/vote_2005/frontpage/4490809.stm

And she was taking a shit on a sleeping tramp when Dubya was absent from Dick Cheney's (admirable) shooting rampage. One little twist of fate, such a nicer world to live in. But no. Thanks, Justice.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/4707354.stm

Hey, it doesn't just happen to dictators though. Where was that slack whore when a five-times Nobel Peace Prize nominee was being executed? Seriously, even I take more pride in my job than that lazy cunt. Well, at least as much pride, anyway.

A man imprisoned for life, helping people out? Fuck that, let's burn the fucker. That'll show...well, someone...that this kind of shit ain't on. Quick, before he finishes his next anti-gang book, warm up the generator*!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/4486178.stm

And another fuck up as Little Miss Look-The-Other-Fucking-Way not once, but twice fails to kill the retard man-mountain who could have stepped in and stopped things (some reports claim he was too busy doing chin-ups to give a pardon, whilst others suggest he is morbidly afraid of the written word), Mr. Schwateverthefuckneger himself.

Shit, he face plants off a bike, smashes himself up skiing and gets lowered into molten steel and he's still pointlessly killing people? What the fuck is this guy made of? Headfirst into that tree and we're laughing, but no, she misses again and Captain California gets to live.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/4601822.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/6208095.stm

I give up. I can't do anything about it, so from now on, I will restrict my posts to pictures of cats like everyone else. Check this little fucker out!

Anyway, what I'm really trying to say here is...happy new year, whatever the fuck that means.

*Yeah, I know that in reality, he wasn't fried. Fuck you.