The queen is a twit (no, srsly)

The Royal Family, being the hip cool dewds that they are, have decided to get down with the kids.  What haven’t you heard? Charles is rolling with his G’s in the Peckham Boys (word up, boyeeee), his sons are dealing smack and pimping out their bitches (their words, not mine) and Albert is coming out with a rap album next year!

So with the era of change so wonderfully in swing, it’d only seem right that the Queen opened up her own Twitter page, right?  Internet stalking has never been easier!  Of course, the Queen being the Queen, she uses our hard earned tax money to pay someone to update it for her.  Joy.  So what if she actually wrote the updates herself, like any other internet nerd?  Well thanks to the wonders of imagination, you too can find out!

On 21 April, 2008 8.00: Happy birthday to me.  Charles gave me another set of holiday snaps.  Why can’t the little shit spend money on me once (okay, twice) a year?

On 22 April, 2008 15.36: Shit day yesterday.  At the bash, Albert threw up in the maids bra after thinking bottle of toilet duck was whiskey.  Thank fuck I don’t have to clear it up.

On 9th June, 2008 14.12: Royal visit to a hospital.  Was in children’s ward and a young boy coughed on me.  Must remind doctor to give me AIDS jab.

On 16th June, 2008 3.20: @Perez Hilton: LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE!

On 29th June, 2008 16.78 (wait, what?): Too hot.  William said he had an idea that he saw on something called Simpsons.  Pitched a tent in front of refridgerator, opened the door.  Was great until the motor burned out.

On 5th September, 2008 4.12: GIN!

On 9th October, 2008 18.03: Watching Eastenders really puts me in touch with the common people.

On 25th December, 2008 14.44: Just watched my speech on equality in the world.  Had troubles keeping a straight face!  Albert passed out in toilets.

On 1st January, 2009 0.05: Hppy noo yer you band f misrble cnts.

On 1st January, 2009 8.23: Sorry about last update.  Albert’s finally figured out what a computer is.

On 5th February, 2009 2.32: Charles trying to kill me. Call police. Now. Please.

On 6th February, 2009 8.46: APRIL FOOLS!  The day Charles takes over is the day Hell freezes over.

On 6th February, 2009 10.02: Just been informed that April Fools is on April 1st.  Press outside the palace, they thought I was srs.

On 1st April, 2009 8.56 APRIL FOOLS! Oh, wait…

On July 25th, 2009 10.17: Just saw a blog mocking me and my twits.  Forward to Death: FUCK YOU!

Till next time,

J

On the road again…

Ehn.  Life seems to be constantly throwing shit at me at the moment.  Still no internet.  Whoop-de-fucking-doo.  I mean seriously, how hard can it be for them to put it back on?  I paid their money, so why? It means I can’t keep up with current events, keep up with friends.   Fuck human contact, something’s not worth saying if you don’t let everyone know about it on Facebook first!  Fuck whether or not I’m concerned, or whether I deserve to know!

Christ, I need beer.  Good news is, my Italian orals went alright.  And that’s just about the only good news I have.  In the mean time, check out this shiny new piece of fiction I recently wrote.  Ooh, shiny.

—

The twitchy little man opposite me looked as if he was about to explode with fear.  Strange little bugger; balding, portly and sweating profusely.
But where are my manners?  Let me introduce myself.  My name isn’t particularly important, it’s what I do that sets me apart from most.  I’m a come-to man.  People want to spill their guts and I listen to them, for a price of course.  Think of it as the poor man’s confession.  People can’t face talking about all the nasty shit they’ve done to a priest, so they come to me.  My silence is guaranteed; what they tell me doesn’t leave the room or my mouth.  Oh, I’ve met some real bastards before: serial killers, thieves, rapists… Whoever manages to get ahold of me, which is an achievement in itself.
Anyways, back to the story at hand.  The guy was fumbling, wringing his hands and looking around the pub as if he was afraid someone was going to hear him.  In truth; it was complete bollocks: anybody in that pub knows to keep to their own fucking business when I’m about with a client.
The man started to speak.
“Hang on, money first, mate,” I said.  Always best to get down to business first, right?  The client slipped a couple of hundred across the table and I pocketed it.  Business concluded.  I motioned for him to begin.
“I’ve done some… terrible things,” he said.  He was sweating even more now, “Such terrible things… I’ve harmed so many people and I really have to ask myself if I’m going to hell for it all.”  Ah, the religious types.  Gotta love them.  They’re usually the sort who think that getting your dog to crap on your neighbour’s yard instead of your own is going to guarantee you a direct ticket to Hell.  Does God exist?  Fucked if I know, but the fear of God sure as hell wets my pocket.
“Go on, don’t be shy.  Sarah told you the deal, I’ll keep my lips zipped,” I said reassuringly.  He fumbled for a minute longer and started again.
“Well, I don’t know where to begin… The first time I can recall is in the summer of ’85 when I shagged that hooker the week after I got married.  See, I’d always been tempted by that sort of stuff… But when I married Angie… well, things just seemed to be so much better.  She brightened up my whole miserable sodding life, didn’t she?  But the honeymoon was…uneventful.  A quicky and then to bed.  It wasn’t what I wanted, it wasn’t what I needed.  So I went cruising for some action.”

He went on and on.  Pretty horrible shit, actually.  We were there for the best part of four hours.  He talked about the women he’d slept with, the kid he’d fondled (he insisted it was only for a minute or two), the money he’d embezzeled.  I was used to it, so I was unfazed.
“I’m going to have to ask you for a surcharge, mate.  That’s four sodding hours we’ve been here.”
“Oh, of course… How much?”
“Couple of hundred more should do it,” he slipped more money across the table.  He wasn’t sweating anymore.  I suppose confession’s good for the soul, innit?  I got up to leave, but he grabbed my sleeve.
“I have a question for you,” he said.
“Sorry, mate.  Doesn’t work that way.”
“Come on.  Indulge me.”  I sighed and sat back down.
“Go on, then.”
“Why do you do this?”
“Can’t say I’ve really thought about it.  Why do I profit from letting little shits like you spill the beans on all the shit they’ve done?  Peace of mind?  No.  Hell, it sure as hell makes you feel better on the inside, but you’re still guilty as fuck, regardless of what you’ve done.  So I’m offering a service which is of no use to you whatsoever, because your actions are going to catch up with you some day.”
“Bollocks.”
“Is it really?  You remember the Walthamstowe Strangler?”  His eyes widened, looking at me.
“Yeah?”
“He came to me, spilled everything.  He walked off thinking he’d been absolved but still got caught in the act strangling a 5 year old kid, didn’t he?  Just because you tell me all your little problems and worries doesn’t mean you’re saved. Maybe that’s the most satisfying thing of all.  Now fuck off and leave me alone.”
He got up and left the pub.  I walked over to the bar and bought another pint.  Sarah brought it to me and I took a long gulp.  The elixyr of mortal men, I tell you.
“He was a talker”, she said.
“Aye, the minor ones always are.”
“Don’t you ever get the urge to report that shite to the police?”
“Heh.  Who says I haven’t?” I grinned, “I’m off, love.  Same time tomorrow.”  I put on my coat and walked out the pub.  The late evening rain felt fresh upon my skin.  Then, suddenly, a rib crushing blow lifted me off my feet and smacked me into the pavement.  The last thing I heard before I blacked out was a man’s voice, vaguely familiar.
“You were right, you know.  Your actions will catch up with you some day,” the voice said.

Does Hell really exist?  Fucked if I know, but I’m about to find out.

Yez muzrfuggn buhsturdfuggrs… (AKA,the day after St. Patrick’s Day)

Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t actually drink as much as I intended to last night.  And I intended to get paralytic.  Don’t be surprised if photos of myself in coitus with a lamppost surface upon teh intarweb.  Although in my defence, the lamppost was begging for it.

>.>

<.<

I spent a rather surreal two hours in literature class yesterday.  The teacher started out by reading some passages from one of Sade’s “novels”.  Can’t say I was too pleased about that because I fucking hate Sade.  The guy was a nut and a dingus.  If I wanted to read about people shitting on each other, I’d read the local newspaper.  Then he went on a long tirade about how if things are banned, people are going to be all the more tempted to try them.  Rhy, could you narrate this for me?

Certainly.  ‘Twas ‘twixt the hours of four and six, and the noble pupils of TL2 were perched upon their wooden chairs in the cold classroom.  The chairs were actually quite comfortable if you could sit just right in that particular position that evenly distributed the weight of your post-

Get on with it.

Eh?  Oh.  Instructor Charbonnel perched on the desk in front of the class.  From time to time, he would leap up into the air like a crazed, coked-up macaque monkey.  He’d also sniff from time to time which suggested that in fact he was a coked up macaque monkey. Shit, we’d best look into that.  Anyway, with a cheeky glint in yonder eye, he spoke.  Ahem, Napoleon?

Mes chers enfants, when you ban somezeeng, you will tempt ze peasant folk to seek it elsewhere.  Zees was ze fateful story of mah beautiful town of Perpignan, corrupted and raped of eets few-tility bah ze accursed General Franco!

He paused for a moment, as if to recall fond memories.  Oh, those were the days!  The times!  The life he had once lived!  Oh, the memories!

You see, mah faithful apprentices, Franco had long oppressed ze people of Spain by banning ze porn film in Spain!  Oh!  Ze cru-el monstrosity de justice!  Wah was la democratie created?!  Oh, mon dieu! Parbleu!  Argh!  Oh-

He continued in this fashion for quite some time, flailing his arms about and creasing his brow, shrieking at the indignity of a country deprived of it’s hardcore pornography.  Finally, he crept into a corner and wept.  After some time he regained his composure.

Eet was ze summer of 1973.  Or was eet 1974? Ze Spanish had crossed ze border into mah belle ville de Perpignan.  Suddenly mah friends and ah noticed ze popping up of… Ze adult theatres.  All around ze city!  Popping up like… well… something zat pops up.  Oh, ze town coffers were built upon ze hardcore pornography zat tempted ze Spaniards so!  Ze dirty bastards!  Ze sex-keraaaaved infidels!  Ze streets were sticky with ze bodily fluids of Spaniards!

And sir, how did you know where all of these adult cinemas were?

Well… Ah… uh… Next question!

What’s the point of this goddamn story?

To show, dear chahld, zat ze human body just needs to… explode from tahm to tahm.  In the Spaniards case, zey needed to explode in a torrent of semen.

And this has something to do with Les Liaisons Dangereuses because…?

Mais sacre bleu!  ‘ave you not understood ze moral of ze story?!  Zat ees how ze libertinage was born!  Through ze interdictions of sexual freedom!  Parbleau!

Aye, Charbonnel was a strange and fascinating creature indeed.  The pupils did not fully understand why he had been sent upon this earth to instruct them in the ways of the world.  Was he a demon?  An angel in disguise?  Or was he simply a drug-addled schizophrenic who had escaped from the local loony-bin to somehow inflict pain and suffering on a group of young adults in the final throes of adolescence?  Only time could tell, but they felt connected to this man, somehow.

No, we don’t feel connected to him.  Intimidated, maybe.  But not connected.  If anything, I’d like to run in the opposite direction as fast as I can. The guy’s a nut.

Oh.  So he’s not like one of these zany, innovative teachers usually played by Robin Williams or Jack Black in the upcoming film adaptation?

No, he’s one of these teachers who makes you want to slit your wrists after spending two hours with him.  He truly is away with the fairies.

Good GOD!  That could be the title of his biopic!  Away with the Fairies: A Charbonnel Story, starring Robin Williams as Mr Charbonnel and Mel Gibson as the pesky administrative employee who can’t handly his zany take on teaching!  Fuck, we could make millions!

Wah cannot I play ze Meester Charbonnel?

Because you’re a figment of James’ imagination and you don’t really exist.

Oh… But ah… Well… Eef…

Sorry, Napoleon. But I don’t think the film is going to go ahead.  It’d just be a rip-off of Dead Poet’s Society.  Just with more swearing… And… yanno… tits.  And dark comedy. Oh, and booze, too.

Sounds like my sort of film.

Yeah, s’not very PC though, is it?

Fuck that.  If Mel Gibson can film three hours of a man resembling Jeebus being tortured to death, why can’t we have our film?  Throw a couple of artsy shots into the editing process and maybe a few subliminal messages about hope and being all that you can be and we’re set!

I’d start writing the script, but I really hve better things to do.

Like?

Goddamn you.  Well, we’d best rap this up.

‘Till next time,

J

To the guy leaving inane comments on this blog…

STOP. You’re spamming, your comments are all in Arabic so nobody can understand them and when I translate them they’re gibberish. STOP.

I peruse the internet and discover the darker abcesses of Craigslist Casual Encounters

So do you wanna tell me what we’re doing again?

We’re perusing the internet, James! Today’s 21st century counter-culture was built upon these gold-lined halls of empirical technology!  Without the internet, we wouldn’t be the people we were today!  This blog wouldn’t exist!  I would never have been conjured up from the recesses of your innermost conscious thoughts!  This is my birthplace, James.

Oh… Okay.  Where’s Napoleon?

Oh, he’s about.  I think he’s trying to convince some über-nerd that he actually IS the guy who played Napoleon Dynamite.  But forget about him!  We’re going on an internet safari.  Look at all the avatars of people we’re passing!  Isn’t it amazing?  Look, let’s go into this open chatroom and see which upstanding citizen we meet!

<cuteygrrl315> Oh hai there

<rhyknow> Hello there!  What a glorious, frabjous day!

<cuteygrrl315> A/S/L?

Rhy, you sure this is a good idea?

She just wants to get to know our cultural background, James!  Maybe if she knows we’re an 18 year old male teenager from France, she’ll start an enriching discussion about the Cathar massacre, or the aftereffects of the French revolution!

No, I think that she is a 35 year old male from Texas.  Dude, I think this guy is a child molester.

Nonsense!

<rhyknow> 18/M/France

<cuteygrrl315> kthxbai

Oh.  Seems she had to go.  Probably got homework to do or something like that.

<hottie367> Hai =]

<rhyknow> Good day!

<hottie367> Do u want to meet up?

<rhyknow> Well, I… um…

<hottie367> R U getting hard?

<rhyknow> Excuse me?  Why would you want to know that?

<hottie367> Bcz I am

<rhyknow> has left the chatroom
Oh shit!  Fuck!  Oh GOD, the sweet humanity of it all!

I told you so, dude.  Open chatrooms are full of weirdos.

Let’s get the fuck outta here! Go! Go! Go!… Shit, we’re safe.  They can’t get to us now.  Where the hell are we?

Patrick Swayze’s Wikipedia article by the look of it.  Hey, there’s someone else here.

Patrick Swayze (born August 18, 1952) is a three-time GAYLORD, fag and child molester BECOS HE WAS IN DONNIE DARKO LULZ???!!!11!!!111????

Indeed.

Sh1t! R U from WIKIPOLICE?

Erm… no.  We’re just a couple of travellers.

Noble Wikipedia contextual veracity knight…. Hey, what the fuck did you just say about Patrick Swayze?

Dude, let it go.  Just ask him how to get back on track.

Oh, right.  Yeah.  Well, we’re lost and we need to know how to get back onto the main Internet road.

Oh, right.  Well, you leave Wikipedia, take a right at Ebaumsworld, a left at rotten.com and keep going ’till you reach the end of that road.  That’s where everyone goes, so I guess it’s main street.

Uh…  Thanks, I guess.

—

15 minutes later

—

I’m gonna kill that little shit for giving us the wrong directions.  Fuck, where are we?

Seems we found our way onto the Porn Site streets.  Hey, the kid was right.   There’s a LOT more people here than any other of the places we visited.

Jesus, there are.  Hey, wait.  Over there!  An exit!  Craigslist… Well, it doesn’t SOUND like a porn site.

Oh, wait… dude, I’ve heard about this place.  It’s a… jesus, what did Obi Wan Kenobi call it?  Oh yeah, a wretched hive of scum and villany.

Well have you got any better ideas?  I told you we should have turned back at Busty Granny Land!

Well, I’m warning you… but okay.

Lesse…  The casual encounter door seems to be open.  What have we got in there?

hung black male horny while stuck at work. i work front desk at a small hotel right off the strip. any ladies wanna cum here and play. you walk in with a sexy skirt and follow me to one of my empty rooms. 5’10, athletic, slim hung very oral. for the ladies who like the bbc. respond before im off at 8!!

What…the…hell?  And people actually expect to find dates with this shit?!

Yeah.  Craigslist is for people who’ve lost all hope, I thought you knew that?  Half of the casual encounters on here either end with a  child molestation lawsuit, a murder mystery or severe disappointment on both ends of the encounter.  In effect, Craigslist is the dumping ground for all of the worst parts of the internet.  I wouldn’t touch it with a five-foot pole.

Well, I’ve learned something today. I-

You have?

Yeah.  I learned that even though the Internet was with noble intentions in mind, it has now become a hive of pornography, racism and bigotry for the most part.  We should all stay away…

Yeah, but we’re all addicted.  Besides, the porn, racism and bigotry is what fuels my hate-filled rants.  So there.  Besides, the network of blogs that  we’re part of aren’t that bad.  Sure, they’re filled with smut, bad taste and questionable content (and that’s just this blog here), but they deliver thought-provoking dialogue and debate!  Bloggers can save the internet, not destroy it!

Hey, looks like we’ve attracted a crowd.

A/S/L?

A/S/L?

A/S/L?

Fuck!  They’re on to us! Run!

Well folks, looks like we’re being chased by a bunch of horny pensioners from Alabama.  Gotta run, I don’t want my internet personality to be molested!  Fuck, watch where you’re poking that thing!

Anyways, if I get out of it alive I’ll see you next time!

James