my sordid eight-in-a-bed drug romp hell

HIGH TIMES WITH MR NICE

2011-01-07T13:30:00.000-08:00

HOWARD Marks has gone to the pub.
I know this because I’ve arrived at his end-of-terrace childhood home in Kenfig Hill when my phone goes.
The 62-year-old former drug smuggler has left a message: “It’s Howard. I expected you about 40 minutes ago, probably going out now. To a pub. Call me and I’ll tell you where it is.”
Who can blame him? I’m very late. I’ve managed to get appallingly lost in nearby Bridgend – hardly a metropolis – and he’s upped and left. I am an idiot.
Thankfully, The Prince of Wales – the boozer in question – is a doddle to find.
I pull up in my humble work Corsa next to a red open-top Lotus Seven two-seater. Patrick McGoohan drove one in cult ’60s telly show The Prisoner.
It must be Howard’s.
It’s what I’d drive if I was a former international marijuana baron.
I hurry into the pub, only to be called back by a voice thicker than gravel-dappled chocolate.
“I’m over here.”
Of course he’s over there.
There’s a smoking ban in force. As if Howard Marks, a man synonymous with smoking, is going to be sat inside.
He probably doesn’t even trust air you can’t see.
I mutter an apology for being late, citing something about wrong junctions and missed signposts.
Howard, dressed in a creased black jacket, a white shirt and jeans cut off at the bottom, grins good-naturedly. His hair is grey and tousled. His eyes are startlingly blue.
He looks like Keith Richards and sounds like Richard Burton.
He’s cooler than most of the kids too.
His nickname, Mr Nice, comes from one of the 43 aliases he adopted through the 1980s – Donald Nice – but could equally apply to the fact that he is, well, really nice. Really, really nice.
He introduces me to his pals – both called Dave – before they leave to let us talk.
I’ve met Howard once before but he chats like we’re long-lost friends.
But then if I’d spent seven years in the USA’s notorious Terre Haute maximum-security prison side by side with the that nation’s most dangerous I’d have learnt a little respect too.
He got out in 1995 and published his best-selling autobiography, called Mr Nice, in 1996.
If I was worried he might have tired of chatting about drugs I needn’t have been:
“I smoked my first joint at 19,” he drawls. “Someone had been to Morocco and came back with some. I had heard about it and was interested in smoking some.
“The first step toward dealing would’ve been enjoying getting stoned and therefore smoking a lot.
“Also I was massively frustrated with the law against it. It seemed to me very stupid, and there was a climate where we thought we were addressing important issues for the first time – like race and sex equality and the Vietnam War. Smoking marijuana was a part of all that.
“I started to deal because I couldn’t afford to smoke what I wanted. Back then we thought it would be legal soon anyway.
“So I started to deal. Which means having more than you can smoke.
“Everyone who deals starts dealing in that way and gradually circles increase.
“If you keep at it you become a bigger and bigger dealer.
“Then you meet smugglers because they need to know bigger dealers.
“Then you start smuggling.”
This is not strictly true.
I’ve met people who have sold marijuana before.
The last one I knew lived in a small house in Coventry behind a mostly-locked door.
He’d still be there now, had he not been evicted because he was too addled to be bothered to pay the rent. Not a high achiever.
Smoking hash isn’t something one normally associates with motivation.
But Howard Marks was different.
He ended up flying the world under a wealth of different names, armed with dozens of different passports – snapshots from which adorn the cover of the Super Furry Animals’ debut album Fuzzy Logic – making contacts in the CIA, the IRA, MI6 and the Mafia.
Most dope smokers don’t shift 30-ton consignments from Pakistan and Thailand to America and Canada in the gear of touring rock bands.
Most don’t have millions of pounds passing through their hands and homes around the world. Most don’t end up far from home in US prisons.
Fewer come out the other side.
And though he’s not the only career criminal to launch himself into the spotlight, he’s the only one to have done it with such charm, wit and aplomb.
Who, other than wannabe hardmen, really warms to thugs like former Kray associate Frankie Fraser or strongarms like Dave Courtney?
“It seemed an acceptable way of carrying on,” Howard continues.
“It definitely didn’t seem wrong.
“I was smuggling from 1966 to 1988 – 22 years – with a couple of years in prison.
“My family knew I was smoking when I got busted but they didn’t know I was smuggling.
“My father was really disappointed I got caught.”
Howard’s less comfortable chatting about his personal life.
He has a girlfriend but doesn’t want her getting in trouble so won’t reveal her name, only that she’s a teacher with dark hair and that he’s been seeing her for eight years.
I note the overlap between that relationship starting and his marriage break-up in 2003, which culminated in divorce last year.
He, not unreasonably, points out that not many marriages survive long terms of imprisonment.
A dad of “four or five” he reveals he recently met his oldest daughter, named Tina.
“She offered DNA tests but there’s not really much point. She contacted me by e-mail. I was surprised because I didn’t know and wondered why I hadn’t known. I was pleased and we’ve become friends.
“She has definitely been the cheapest kid.
“Her mother finally told me after telling her that her father was someone else.
“This pub’s got a talking wall, do you want to come and see?”
What?
“It’s haunted. Shall we see if the landlord will show us?”
Not exactly a seamless way to change the subject but, hell, let’s hear what the wall has to say.
Howard shuffles towards the bar and landlord Gareth Maund takes us up the stone stairs to a room once used as a courthouse.
Howard is clearly fascinated as Gareth recounts chapter and verse about the bar.
And doubtless he’s happy to be out of his interrogator’s hands.
Then Howard announces he’s going downstairs. He’s giving me the slip!
As soon as I can I follow, but the interview is becoming increasingly difficult. The Daves – who are nice too – have rejoined the table.
We chat for another 20 minutes or so but Howard has to leave.
He wanders toward the red Lotus Seven.
I half-expect him to pull a leather helmet and a pair of goggles from the glove-box before roaring off down the highway onto another ganja-fuelled adventure.
But he gets into the black Volkswagen Golf parked in the next space and drives away.
What a Nice man!

First published, er, I forget when.

DESPERATELY SEEKING SWAMPY

2011-01-07T13:21:00.000-08:00

TEN years ago, dreadlocked protesters made national headlines when they buried themselves underground to stop a motorway being built.
They failed and the multi-million pound Newbury bypass went ahead.
The TV cameras and press photographers left long ago, but the message these eco-warriors were sending has finally reached the mainstream political agenda.
These protesters, once considered radicals, forced green politics to the surface. And one man was responsible for giving the movement a human face – Daniel Hooper, a middle class Buckinghamshire boy better known as Swampy.
Now 32 and a dad of three, he was the last man to emerge from the tunnels in Fairmile, South Devon.
While sections of the press adored him, in 1996 others considered him an eco-terrorist. Some dismissed him as a hippy, as people were spotted sporting ‘Sod off, Swampy’ t-shirts.
In March 1997 Conservative ministerJohn Watts was more vicious, declaring he would quite like to see him “buried in concrete” because of the damage he was doing to the party’s transport policy.
It’s a different story now.
Swampy’s politics have been harnessed – some say hijacked – by all the mainstream parties.
New Labour was this week praised by former US president Bill Clinton for putting the environment on the worldwide agenda.
Tory leader David Cameron famously cycles to work (even if he is followed by a man in a Lexus holding his briefcase).
And Cameron’s party has changed its logo to a scribbled tree.
Supermarkets sell organic food and local authorities want their taxpayers to recycle anything and everything.
Some have even bugged bins to see how much people are sending to landfill.
The posh papers have turned writing about saving the planet into an industry and even The Sun has produced a guide to greener living.
Stars have jumped on the bandwagon too. U2 singer Bono has set up an ethical clothing line while Cameron Diaz has gone one step further, making her whole home green by running it entirely off solar panels and wind generators.
It seems barely a day goes by without terrifying tales of the planet’s imminent destruction being revealed.
But Swampy has disappeared from public view.
Once he was happy to write a column for the Sunday Mirror and make appearances on panel shows like Have I Got News for You.
Asked by the press in 1996 why he stayed in a tunnel for a week because of a road, he answered: “If I’d written a letter to my MP, would you all be here now? I think not.”
Now the campaigner has gone underground again – though not literally this time.
Wales on Sunday heard he was living in a little known spot called Tipi Valley, near Cwmdu, Carmarthenshire.
Located miles from the nearest town, the scruffy camp can only be found by car and a large helping of persistence. The route is a maze of narrow lanes boundaried by six and seven-foot hedges. Passing cars can be tricky so, as I reverse to let a blue Volkswagen Passat by, I wind down the window to ask directions.
The other car door opens and a smiling face tells me I am just metres from Tipi Valley. The man asks who I’m looking for.
“Daniel Hooper,” I say.
Looking slightly less smiley, the man, who has a child with him, asks who I am.
I tell him. He doesn’t think Daniel will talk, he’s had trouble with the media.
Well, if you will bury yourself in a tunnel for a week people are going to notice.
I thought that was the point.
I say I’ll try my luck anyway and have a chat to whoever is about. He says goodbye and I drive around the corner through a rusty old gate bearing a handpainted ‘shut gate’ sign.
Abandoned looking cars are scattered amongst the woodland of the site.
Chickens peck at the floor. Washing hangs to dry near polythene covered structures.
I park on an empty patch of ground and check my phone for messages. No signal.
A man knocks on my window and asks if I can move my car a bit further down because I’m in the only spot where he can turn his van.
I do and we begin chatting.
Veni – it’s just Veni – is a 33-year-old from Holland who has lived on the site for three years with his wife Syamala, 30, and their children Ceshi, six, Muddy, four, and Dharma, three.
There are about 125 people on the 160-acre site, 50 of them children.
“We have not got electricity but some people have a solar panel to run a light or a radio,” he says.
“It is all possible if you want it, but if you don’t you can keep it simple.
“We collect wood for fires to keep ourselves warm – which I suppose is like our TV – but we still have to go to town for some supplies.
“There is lots of space and land here for the children to run around without cars to run them down. It’s just magic really.”
As for the ideas of their community being stolen by politicians? Veni finds it “hard to be interested in politics”.
Brig Oubridge, 55, has been on the site for 27 years. He runs Europe’s biggest eco festival, the Big Green Gathering, in Cheddar every year.
As a member of the Green Party for the last 30 years, he is adamant the big parties were doing nowhere near enough to save the planet.
He said: “It is a bit late for the mainstream parties to have suddenly woken up to it.
“And what they are proposing is too little too late.
“They are starting to talk about putting taxes on fossil fuels.
“We have to reduce our consumption and take radical measures to do that. That could mean people having to restrict the amount they use their cars.
“It would be a start if we told people they could not have more than £10 of fuel a week.”
When I enquire of Swampy’s whereabouts, others on the site are less happy to chat. Journalists are the enemy.
One man, who didn’t want to be named, said Swampy just wants to “live life and grow his veg”.
Another politely assures me it’s nothing personal but asks if I will leave.
Sensing the disapproval of his friends, Veni is starting to look like he wishes he hadn’t spoken to me.
He suggests there is no point writing a story as he walks me back up the hill towards the gate.
As we chat I spot the man from the Passat who told me the way to Tipi Village.
He’s running down the hill, pushing a wheelbarrow and carrying a child on his back.
Before I can venture a “Hello”, Veni says: “Dan, this man is here to see you.”
“Not interested,” he yells tearing past me.
It clicks.
Add a few years. Cut a few dreadlocks.
It’s Swampy.
And like that he was gone.

First published in 2006.

LOVE STORY.

2010-11-14T12:32:00.000-08:00

Vicious bag of battling bones,
Chattering, chiding, rattling moans,
Demented mind of belittling means,
Skinny arse, in skinny jeans.

Kindly eyes, cold and dead,
Gentle heart, made of lead,
Soft smile, spitting bile.
Lovely girl. A little vile.

‘Love you!’ Loved a drink.
Laughing, joking, kicking up stink.
Taxi home, suck and fuck,
Oh, Virginia! Lady Muck.

IT'S AN OLD AND DATED TELLY REVIEW!

2010-11-14T12:31:00.001-08:00

THE camera pans over London, THAT music plays and Surralun starts guffing on about tough economic times and that.
It’s The Apprentice (9pm, Wednesday, BBC1).
Woop-woop!
It’s that time of week where the usual pageant of wide boys and wannabe WAGS pitch for a job on a shopping channel.
I mean in the high-flying world of business working with self-made millionaire, sandpaper face and Nookie Bear lookalike, Alan Sugar.
This week 22 year old idiot Laura Moore thought she was was the best woman to lead her team, Apollo.
Despite having no actual experience at the task in hand - designing a brand new beach product.
This didn’t stop her bleating that she “needs to know that everybody thinks I’m the best person with my skill set.”
Ah yes, neediness. The character trait of every great leader.
If Hitler had been a little more needy we might have avoided the entire Second World War.
Not that I’m saying Hitler was a great leader. Clearly he was a Very Bad Man.
But he knew how to make a decision.
Laura can’t even get Apollo to listen to her.
“As project manager I should have the right of speech,” she whined like a spoilt capitalist baby about to throw its toy money from it’s pram.
Well you did, dumbo!
It’s just that everyone else employed their right to ignore you.
Frankly your lucky they didn’t kick you to death just to make the bleating stop.
I’ve not even touched on the products yet.
The boys, unironically called Synergy, invented a towel.
But one you could wrap drinks in to keep them cold.
They decided they would name their fridge-towel the Cüüli.
Being morons they didn’t realise you could just put your towel in a cool bag. Rather than putting your cool drinks in a towel.
Neither did they realise coolie - how the name of their towel was pronounced - is racist slang for an Asian person.
And when I last looked Asia had a population of almost four billion. Quite a big marketplace.
“You’ve got a take a risk!” said the tit who came up with the name, as he unwittingly risked the wrath of half the planet.
Meanwhile the bimbos on the other side could come up with nothing better than a book holder.
You know to hold a book.
On a beach.
A bit bit like a hand would.
But not as good as a hand.
Though constructing a hand with all those fiddly bones would probably be simpler than putting together a Book-eeze.
I could have convinced Bambi to take up deer hunting in the time it took Apollo to put the thing - little more than a mismatched bag of tent poles - up.
Obviously it didn’t work.
And they sold... none. NONE!
Hahahaaaa! Pathetic.
It was all I could do not to make my thumb and forefinger into an L shape, hold it to my forehead and shout Looooooooooossssssseeeeeeeeerrrrrrr!
Smallpox played a more positive role in society than this bunch of f***wits.
I’m amazed their eyes weren’t sucked into their skulls by the very vacuum behind them.
I can’t wait ‘til next week!

CAROL Jackson looked even sourer on EastEnders (BBC1, most of the time) than usual, but at least now she had a decent reason.
Her son was dead.
Planet soap was left reeling after Billie Jackson carked it in his sleep after a birthday night on the pop.
He made a remarkably tidy corpse. None of the traditional blood or vomit one might associate with the tragedy of drink related death.
Instead he was rather neat in blue polo shirt and jeans. The worst you could say was he made the sofa look untidy.
I look more like death for at least the first four hours I’m in the office on any given day of the week.
“I just want to blow up the whole world!” a mourning Carol confided to Max.
Easy CJ. Careless talk costs lives.
You’ll have the BBC’s drama terror squad after you.
Before you know it you’ll be the Jean Charles de Menezes of Albert Square, wrongly gunned down in a hail of bullets inside Walford East Station.
All this anger was before poor Carol found the video of her beloved boy revealing he wanted her to “do us a big favour - fall over and die.”
Billie’s half sister Bian-caaaaa was in a bad way too.
On the surface it just looked like she was on form as she threatened to kill Ric-kaaaaay with a spanner.
Britain’s fave ginger had heard he’d snogged saucy Kim Fox, see.
Or as she dubbed her, “the gobby bird with false knockers and the wandering eye.”
She was hurting, obviously.
After all it was her who’d found her bruv stiff on the couch.
“Bil-leeeee,” she cooed before twigging he’d read his last lines.
Not that I’m entirely ruling out a Lazarus style return to the show.
I would have played dead if I’d had Bianca leaning over me purring my name.
Though unlike Billie I probably would have been sick.
But this paled into insignificance next to Kim Fox’s bonkers earring.
A gold heart so blingtastically massive it could only have been put there to stop her huge lopsided bob toppling her head and fatally snapping her neck.
An EastEnders’ double death would have been a perilous thing.
The producers dared not risk it in a Britain still coming to terms with the awfulness of having a*** faced David Cameron as Prime Minister.
It could just have sent the nation into a tailspin of depression normally reserved for the parents of X Factor contestants.

IN THE MIND OF A CAT CHUCKER!

2010-09-06T10:55:00.000-07:00

It's a week late but fuck it. This one goes out to cat bin lady.

I’m going to bin my cat.
The little thing’s a little twat.
She shits in the house
And I want to kick her.
But I’ll make her shit in the fucking litter.

SISTERS IN EQUINE GAG ROW!

2010-05-23T07:20:00.000-07:00

A HORSE walked into a restaurant. The barman showed him to his stable.

SISTERS IN FUCKING LOVES SHELLAC HORROR!

2010-05-09T10:32:00.000-07:00

BITTER TWEET SYPMPHONY.

2010-05-07T13:22:00.001-07:00

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

5,4,3,2,1... BLAST OFF!

2010-05-07T13:01:00.000-07:00

Apollo 11 Saturn V Launch (HD) Camera E-8 from Mark Gray on Vimeo.

2010-05-02T13:55:00.000-07:00

Kanye West - Street Lights (Final Version) (HD) (720p) from YeezyDude on Vimeo.

Ja-to-the-motherfucking-pan homeboy.

JOY DIVISION VS SPIKE JONZE

2010-05-02T13:44:00.000-07:00

Joy Division Vs Spike Jonze from Inkedpig on Vimeo.

Joy Division. Making skateboarding depressing.

LOONY HILL BOMBING VID

2010-05-02T13:17:00.000-07:00

Adam Kimmel presents: Claremont HD from adam kimmel on Vimeo.

I imagine shooting adrenaline into one's eyes would have a similar effect to bombing these hills.

2010-05-02T13:09:00.001-07:00

Underground Vibes from 13thWitness™ on Vimeo.

GOODNIGHT JOHN.

2010-03-25T13:01:00.000-07:00

Sleep well John,
Rest your tired head.
It's been a busy day,
Now's time for bed.

2010-02-09T15:27:00.001-08:00

2010-02-05T12:06:00.000-08:00

I AIN'T SAYING NUFFINK GUV.

2010-02-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

Like I said.
I'm not saying anything.
Gov.

masks in venice

2010-02-02T13:57:00.001-08:00

DSC06145, originally uploaded by jaymack666.

I'm wearing one of these and watching shoppers.

MISS V, CATWALK CONQUERER!

2009-12-14T10:04:00.000-08:00

Feathered daps in the street,
Flutter on mercurial feet.
Miss V spurns this vogue,
A step ahead: the golden brogue!

Wings to left, brogues to right,
The shoe truce has gone to shite!
It’s getting tense, a ruckus brewing,
Fashionistas: jeering, booing.

V squares up, returns to roots:
“Fuck you and your floating boots!”
Coupled with gold sombrero,
Our Miss V’s a superhero.

A battle plan is quickly hatched,
And booty wings are fast despatched.
Feet apart and without fear,
V dominates the couture sphere.

She warns models: “Don’t piss about!”
They cower from her catwalk clout.
Even Campbell, stroppy bint,
Fears lampooning in screen print.

But it’s OK, no need to hate her,
Miss V’s a nice dictator.
Doling out fab fashion tips,
Cat walking, shaking hips.

Riding slow in a velvet roller,
Sipping rum and sniffing cola.
Holding court in leather and zips,
Queen of the style apocalypse!

BAN THIS NASTY GAG HORROR

2009-10-29T03:25:00.000-07:00

From Sisters, in Rolim de Moura, Brazil

'im a gag man." said the comic.
"i whisper 'shut the fuck up,'" said the rapist.

JAY RAYNER IN A NON-SEXUAL WAY

2009-10-25T12:01:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in Para, Brazil.

I heart Jay Rayner,
In a non sexual way.
On a date
He might turn me,
Else make my dinner gay.

I dig the restaurant critic,
But chefs cower in fear.
Gordon Ramsay
Got merry hell,
So Gordon spilt his beer.

Fearnley-Whittingstall is terrified,
Hippy hides behind his hair.
But pig slayer
learnt magic,
To make Jay a pear.

Heston Blumenthal got mad,
It nearly came to blows.
Fat Duck was slagged
For serving
Warm cock nose.

But I heart Jay Rayner,
In a non sexual way.
Though on a date
He might turn me,
Else make my dinner gay.

THE SEALION AND THE ASS

2009-10-25T09:38:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in Santa Cruz, Bolivia

There is a sealion outside the window,
For money it cleans glass,
What an unexpected sealion,
With an unexpected ass.

He charges extra to untie knots,
He learnt that at sea,
What an unexpected sealion,
With an unexpected ass.

But his prices are reasonable,
He doesn’t know much about cash,
What an unexpected sealion,
With an unexpected ass.

His services are excellent,
I’ll use him again,
Then he’ll be expected,
And so will his ass.

TWO BROW OR NOT TWO BROW?

2009-08-07T12:31:00.000-07:00

It's a Just For You
EXCLUSIVE!

from Sisters, in Iquitos, Peru

BARKING valleys penpusher Rachel Tressisszezise has claimed hairy faced women can kill with a single frown.
The daiquiri swilling lush, who thinks apostrophes were made up by flatcapped whippet eating scouser Niall Griffiths, made the mental bonkers outburst midway through glugging from a bottle of nicked rose - that pink plonk.
The 38-year-old slurred: "Women with monobrows are hard as fuck. Don't mess with them. But in men, it just means they love themselves."
Pals warned the blonde bombshell was making shit up as she went along.
But Tresssizzzeeee, 83, insisted:
"Well I was a bit worried about my gorgeous little two year old niece who's got a monobrow. and I was thinking about that girl in Dodgeball."
The wild eyed temptress added, crazily: "hahahahahahah"
Later, in a rare moment of clarity, she said: "38? Come on!"
But within moments she was ranting: "The female monobrow can paralyze you with one stare, and then KO you with her nipples."
After she mumbled something about working on the 'Friday Sabbath.' I don't know either.
But a man being sick at the bar said: "Do you think she'd mind if I called her Tresizzzzeeeeee Rascal?"

THE RACHEL TREZISE ATTACK

2009-07-21T12:10:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in Guayaquil, Ecuador.

'Valium with your wine?,'
The waiter asked Trezise,
'Of course you stupid swine!'
She said
And poked out both his eyes.

DICK CHENEY, STAND UP COMIC

2009-05-21T10:51:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, on Sugarloaf Mountain, Brazil.

OUSTED former US vice president Dick 'Dick' Cheney claims the US used waterboarding but not torture.
"Interrogators had authoritative guidance on the line between interrogation and torture, and they knew to stay on the right side of it," Cheney asserted, seemingly unaware he is so full of shit he could make a fortune dealing manure to MPs.
He went on: "For all that we've lost in this conflict, the United States of America has never lost its moral bearings."
Dick, you are a fucking cunt.
America never did lose its moral bearings though.
It never had any.

SPORTSMAN TALKS CRAP SHOCK

2009-05-16T03:41:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in Caseara, Brazil.

CHELSEA coach Ray Wilkins said: "What people earn is entirely up to them."
Really? In that case I make £5million and I'm off to buy a Bentley.

RUSH, THE BUM SHOW.

2009-05-12T12:56:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in Aparecida de Goiânia, Brazil

YANK twat Rush Limbaugh has claimed Obama is to introduce a tax on sugared drinks to make people feel guilty.
Bollocks, obviously, what with Rush being a total fucking liar.
Ranting Rush also insisted it's time to start talking 'principles.'
It would be hilarious if this right wing hypocritical pisswit didn't have an avid audience of millions across the US.
An audience that thinks Burt Reynolds is one of the bad guys in Deliverance.

O No.

2009-05-09T08:10:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in La Paz, Bolivia.

Bono,
O no.

HAVIN' A LAUGH-ARNE IN THOMAS TOWN

2009-04-06T15:21:00.000-07:00

From Sisters, in Neiva, Colombia

Only in Laugharne can you stand at the bar of the Three Mariners one minute, with Howard Marks and The Clash's Mick Jones, and the next be watching Keith Allen playing keyboard for a Frank Sinatra tribute in a rugby club. Priceless.
Sisters was also chatted up by a four foot grandma in Brown's Hotel - where Dylan Thomas drank - while her husband danced bare chested on a chair wearing my hat.
He was wearing the hat.
Not the chair.
That'd be bonkers.

NO HEADLINE REQUIRED SHOCK!

2009-04-02T15:53:00.001-07:00

from Sisters, in Asuncion, Paraguay

THEY'RE CUNTS AND THEY'RE NOTHING TO DO WITH US!

2009-03-19T15:50:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in Cleto Romero, Paraguay

GREAT news!
Noone on The Apprentice from Wales to shame the nation.
We're not all cunts after all then.

POPEYCOCK!

2009-03-18T16:36:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in Formosa, Argentina

BONKERS Vatican officials defended the Pope after he said wearing condoms caused AIDS.
Official spokesman Federico Lombardi claimed he was just upholding Church doctrine by insisting the disease can be stopped by abstinence or fidelity.
Right.
If you really want to stop the spread of this dreadful killer, Benny boy, stop encouraging the weak of society to believe in superstition, witchcraft and damnation.

2009-03-10T03:42:00.000-07:00

Mr Pugh's kitty-katty,
Was a little feline fatty,
Mr Pugh was overfeeding,
Kit now has internal bleeding.

MANDY'S CUSTARD ATTACK HORROR

2009-03-08T18:39:00.000-07:00

from Sisters, in La Cruz, Chile

DOUBT that was the first time he'd had custard on his face.

FUCK YOU A MONTH AGO YOU CALLED HER A RACIST PIG

2009-03-03T15:20:00.000-08:00

from Sisters, in Santiago, Chile

JACK and Jade: It'll never last.

MONKEY NUTS

2009-02-24T13:25:00.000-08:00

from Sisters, in Montevideo, Uruguay

A fruit mad man beat a baboon,
The guilt drove him nuts as a loon,
He moved to Blorenge,
Rhymed words with orange,
By night he howled at the prune.

BILLY, I JUST WANT A CIGGIE MATE

2009-02-24T11:47:00.000-08:00

from Sisters, in Caxias Do Sul, Brazil

Down Big Pit with Billy Bragg,
Asked Billy for a fag,
Said: "Years ago the mines were dyin.'
Being Billy I should sing a paean."
Gimme a fag, Billy Bragg, ya slag!

POOR MAX IS DEAD

2009-02-24T11:28:00.000-08:00

from Sisters, in Uruguaiana, Brazil

Animal mad was Crazy Max,
He collected pets like knick-knacks,
When his favourite died,
He cried and cried.
They cut off his head with a sharpened axe.

I SAW A MOTHERFUCKING DELOREAN

2009-02-22T13:22:00.000-08:00

from Sisters, in Villa Mercedes, Argentina

SAW a fucking DeLorean today.
McFly as hell.
On the number plate it said: 'Not just for time travel.'
Cliched cunt.
No-one believes I saw it.
It was in the Argentine village of Usk. Like the one in South Wales. Crazy world, huh?
I got accused of being drunk by one pal when I told him of my vision in stainless steel.
Another asked if I was on acid.
Bastards.
But the the woman behind the second question didn't even know what a Delorean was, so... sarcasm dismissed!
Meanwhile, one fan of this blog informed me his sex drive had dipped as a result of reading it.
Another customer fucked.
Or not, as the case may be.

IS ALFIE SLAG VICTIM?

2009-02-18T12:28:00.000-08:00

from Sisters, in Rio Gallegos, Argentina:

POCKET size pops Alfie Patten is the victim of a scam to make a killing by screwing the media for cash, it's been claimed.
Allegations are flying the parents of 15-year-old Chantelle Stedman told her to lie about little Alfie being the spunk donor that helped make 'their' teen-mum-of-tomorrow Maisie - despite knowing he mightn't be.
Maybe. It would be depressingly unsurprising.
Biggest kiddie swindle since Shannon Matthews if it's all bollocks.
Stupid mind.
Shafting the tabloids has to up there on the dumb list with scratching your nuts with a meat cleaver.
But if the babyfaced Eastbourne 13-year-old is the father, he's more a victim of 15-year-old Chantelle Stedman.
Have you seen the size of that girl? She's like a side of beef on steroids.
As if she didn't rape the crap outta that boy.
And as for him apparently being 'distraught and devastated' at the claims someone else might Maisie's dad- can't he spot an escape route when he sees one?
Save yourself Alf!

WELSH PLAYERS MANHANDLE ENGLISH BOOBS

2009-02-16T06:44:00.000-08:00

from Sisters in Pampa del Castillo,
Argentina:

ONCE i'd stopped gawping at the brilliant breast-fest in the Screws I was delighted to read this headline in The Observer:

'Jones Kicks England to their slow, painful death.'

The tabloid tits were matched only by England's boobs.

YOUNG FAMOUS BIRD HAS TATS HORROR

2009-02-15T18:58:00.000-08:00

from Sisters in El Trébol,
Argentina:

CAN'T believe the shite Peaches Geldof has been getting for the pictures in the Screws of her tats.
Bitchy critics have been slagging off her bod too.
Some mugs called her fab frame 'fat.'
My arse is it. Fucking lush more like.
I wouldn't Geldof it for hours.

WALES 23, ENGLAND 15. HA DEE FUCKING HA.

2009-02-14T17:02:00.000-08:00

AN ENGLISH dismissed the Welsh as 'egg chasers' for their rugby obsession yesterday.
But it's the Anglos who are egg chasers.
Last I remember we were running away with said egg.
Wales 23, England 15.
Hahahaha.

SONG FOR ELE

2009-02-12T11:50:00.000-08:00

I know a student called Emmy,
A girl with a lovely slim belly,
Some men would squirm,
Drenching a girl in horse sperm,
But I won't even turn off the telly.

RIDING A FUCKING STALLION YOU COCK

2009-02-12T09:46:00.000-08:00

SO, I was riding my horse around the flat like some kind of indoor cowboy.
Playing Skynyrd, see.
My neck gets redder by the minute whenever I stick 'em on the stereo.
I'm on the first floor but they won't mind downstairs.
Dobbin's wearing slippers.

MOTHER'S DAY TRIBUTE IS JIZZ

2009-02-10T11:20:00.000-08:00

LEPRECUNT Ronan Keating has spunked an album of donkey spoof just in time to rinse the Mother's Day suckers.
Louis Walsh's bitch – so bland Jimmy Wales defines beige on Wiktionary with his name – is releasing Songs For My Mother in a shameless bid to reel in every empty numpty nuts who thinks Krapping has 'Celtic soul.'
Really he's the grunting sound of Satan pumping devil dirt from his scarlet anus onto the pigshit thick ranked runts squatting open-mouthed beneath.
Whining Radiohead posh kid Thom Yorke once had the good sense to blank Skroting in a Dublin hotel. Good Kid, A?
Now his own mother will.
Would.
Dead apparently. Sorry 'bout that.
Seriously. I am. That's sad.
But if she weren't...
She'd probably wish she'd thought things through a little better when she was infected with little Ronan's foetus all those years ago.
And nipped over the water to the abortion clinic.

THATCHER IS CRASS BINT SHOCK

2009-02-08T13:47:00.000-08:00

PLUMMY One Show racist Carol Thatcher is 'bemused' by the outrage sparked after she called French tennis player Jo-Wilfried Tsonga 'that froggy golliwog guy.'
What a surprise.
Maggie Thatcher's overprivileged jolly-hockeysticks kid is detached from reality.
Who would have thunk it?
The bug-munching I'm A Celebrity winner can't see the difference between Jeremy Clarkson calling Gordon Brown a 'one-eyed Scottish idiot' and her own vile remark.
Even the Top Gear motormouth conceded he'd gone too far and said sorry. For the 'one-eyed Scottish' bit at least.
Carol though just keeps whingeing she's been left feeling 'deeply hurt' by criticism from One Show host Adrian Chiles about her green room comments.
Aw, diddums.
How do you think the 'froggy golliwog' feels? Tit.

25 POINTS

2009-02-08T11:37:00.000-08:00

1. REVENGE is futile.
2. FORGIVENESS too.
3. RELY on no-one else.
4. HEARTBREAK is a killer. Learning you were never loved hurts.
5. NEWS matters.
6. HUMOUR is vital. Nothing can't be laughed at.
7. CELEBRITY is nothing.
8. RELIGION is superstition.
9. ALL right wingers are selfish.
10. YOU shouldn't need to have it explained why 'nigger' is racist.
11. REMAINING calm wins arguments.
12. FOCUS anger.
13. FEAR nothing that need not be.
14. DRESSING well opens doors.
15. SOCIETY is a house of cards.
16. SPEAK with authority.
17. READ books.
18. ART makes life better.
19. SCIENCE also.
20. FIGHT for freedom.
21. CYNICISM is for the ignorant.
22. KNOW yourself.
23. DON'T be a company man.
24. WEAK targets aren't worth aiming at.
25. LOVE.

TRUE STORY. HONEST.

2009-02-07T15:52:00.000-08:00

I HAD a wet dream about an ex-girlfriend the other night.
I dreamt she was was hit by a bus and I pissed myself.

TOP SLUR!

2009-02-07T14:57:00.000-08:00

WHO knew Gordon Brown was blind in one eye?
Well, aside from him.
And motormouth telly presenter Jeremy Clarkson*, who has apologised to Our Great Leader after telling Aussies at a Top Gear roadshow press conference the UK is led by a 'one-eyed Scottish idiot.'
Who would have thought in the cabinet of the blind the one-eyed man is PM?

*OK, and probably thousands of people better informed than me.

HOON BLURTS CUNT REMARK SHOCK

2009-02-07T12:32:00.000-08:00

COCK smoking transport secretary Geoff 'Buff' Hoon has been displaying the common touch the British people adore him for.
“Why has nobody got snow chains and why are you all whingeing about what the Government hasn’t done?” said Hoon.
It seems being loved throughout the UK is not enough.
Now he wants to become King of the Penis People.
“If you live in the Alps you have snow chains in the back of your car. So why have none of you intelligent, capable people got chains?” he added, as bellends across Britain nodded their helmets in agreement.
Aside from the fact it's compulsory to have snow chains on most Alpine roads, here's a clue, fucko.
Because UK motorists fork out billions every year so they can drive on British streets.
Whenever they fancy. No matter which of the year's 365 days it is.
The streets that are now covered in more snow than Amy Winehouse's coffee table on a Saturday night in with Pete Doherty. And why are they that way? Because councils across Britain have no rock salt or grit. Because they ballsed things up.
Despite it having snowed in Britain annually since the year dot.
Since you're transport secretary I'm assuming you're aware of this.
I'm guessing everyone in your office wipes their fat Jaguar-chauffeured arses with £50 notes stolen from our wallets and dumped on the money-mountain out the back of Hoon House.
There's also the fact snow chains cost about £100. Knock it off my car tax Hoon boy, and i might pick some up.
And beat you to death with them. Wanker.

BASTARD LOUD KILLER MONSTER JETS HORROR!

2009-02-07T11:38:00.001-08:00

THE hills are meant to be alive to the Sound of Music.
But you’re more likely to be deafened by the RAF’s Top Guns as they practice in the skies over rural Wales.
The MoD admitted this week to doshing out almost £63,000 in compo for livestock hurt or killed after being shocked by low-flying jets.
It’s like a Viet-farm movie. Apocalypse Cow maybe.
Sorry.

NO FINE FOR FAT TITS

2009-02-07T11:37:00.002-08:00

BUSTY glamour girl Jordan escaped a fine after speeding charges were against her were dropped.
But Brighton JPs dismissed the case because the crown’s evidence wasn’t ready.
I’m surprised prosecutors didn’t stay abreast of the matter.

PISSHEAD RESURRECTION NIGHTMARE

2009-02-07T11:37:00.001-08:00

LONG dead neanderthals could be brought back to life by DNA technology.
Nerdy New Scientist magazine reckons they’re one of the species that could be resurrected with genetic information discovered in Siberia.
Why bother?
Just glance down St Mary Street on a Friday night to see a similar species.

HAHA ROYAL TWAT HAS CAR NICKED

2009-02-07T11:27:00.002-08:00

SCUMBAGS have smashed into my motor a few times so normally I’d offer every sympathy to a fellow victim.
But you’ve got to laugh when it’s some dopey blueblood.
This week royal muppet Princess Beatrice had her flashy BMW (Bea-MW anyone?) pinched after she left the keys in the ignition while she popped into a shop.
Brilliantly, she was with a copper.
Not wanting to take his eyes of the Queen’s ginger granddaughter the hapless plod went into the store to get himself a donut. Probably.
But pity the poor dimwit who sped off in the 20-year-old’s £15,000 black One Series. Because when they catch him the tower’ll be welcoming it’s first inmate in decades.
You might think I’m being to hard on young Bea.
I’m not.
The royals have been stealing off us for years.

MOVE ON, NOTHING TO BE SEEN HERE!

2009-02-07T11:27:00.001-08:00