My yellow flowery bits are sooo boring.

Alright cunts!
How fucking bored am I?  Bored fucking shitless!  I'll tell you how bored I am, shall I?  I'm this fucking bored......

There's this thing... a fucking cactus or something....and it's got this huge enormous cock of a flower....that is truly fucking enormous.....and it only happens once every bleeding century....but I'll tell you what!  It ain't half fucking boring.  It's been growing and fucking growing for bloody weeks now.  Then it grew these ..arms or fucking twigs or some cunt, I don't know.......  looked some bloody alien; abso-bloody-lutely ridiculous it looks......and then after weeks more of that, without the faintest hint of embarrassment, it went all yellow and flowery.  What's more, it's still fucking yellow and flowery!  Why's it taking so damn long?  What's the problem?  Get on with it ya cunt!  I bin watching you for bloody weeks and months and....you're just so fucking slow!  It's completely boring ya cunt.  I don't know how much more I can take........

Look at these if you don't believe me, ya cunt.

Here's the helmet of the big cocky thing.......

...and here's the arms!  Just fucking weird man!  It's like......"ooooowww!  I'm the bogey-man, cum to get ya!  Whooooaaaa!"  Fucking scary dude!  You got me!

Cunt!

And here's the yellow bits....though they don't really look yellow there, so.....

....I took this one!  It's fucking boring innit?

Fucking months it's been going on like that.  And every cunting day I sit there watching, getting pissed, smoking myself to fucking death, waiting for some-bloody-thing to happen!

And does it?

Does it fuck!  What sort of an attitude is that? 

"Oh, I guess I could...oh maybe, open a fucking flower today!  But then again......let's just think about it for a cunting while!" 

If I carried on like that, ya cunt, I'd never get to open my first beer of the day!  What the fuck are you doing?

Do you know, interested reader, that the cunt only opened 12 of those fucking yellow things yesterday!  Fucking 12, little, tiddly-fucking-widdly yellow bits!  It's fucking 6 meters high and it opened fucking 12.  In a whole day! 

See what I mean?  The very fucking definition of boredom!

Anyway, when I get bored of watching the fucking yellow bits open I press the gas pedal a bit and move onto counting fucking cracks in the floor tiles.  Of which there a fucking load.  When I can be bothered I'll show a picture.  But I always lose count at about fucking 70! 

Why 70? 

I don't know, ya cunt!  If I knew that don't ya think I'd skip 70 or fucking something.  It's about 70, not on 70!  And after I've lost count three or four times I'm pretty fucking knackered, so I take a fucking sleep.

Sweet dreams.  Ya cunt. 


P fucking S.  The bogey-man's coming!  Whoooaaa!  Ya cunt!

Living the high life.......

Alright cunts!
I'm still fucking alive.....more's the fucking pity!  No more life, no more fucking boredom!  And don't get on your fucking high horse and tell me "get orf your arse and do summat and you won't be bored, ya cunt!" because I'll just fucking say, "Do what, ya cunt?"  There's fuck all to do.  Except fucking cleaning and I'm not doing that.  I swept up earlier this year - in April I think, or May - and look at it now!  A fucking tip, that's what!  So what pray tell ya cunt, is the fucking point of cleaning up?  Nothing to say?  Exactly!  Because there fucking isn't a point!  Ya cunt!

Fuck!  I need a beer.  Hang on!  While I'm getting a cold one take a look at these not very interesting pictures.  They're crap!

This first one is my shirt.  I wore it last night!  Oh, and that's my hand.

Look!  Just so you know I'm not a lying cunt, here it is again, that fucking awful shirt!  It's really crap.  I think one of my Grand Ma's knitted it during the War.  It itches like a bastard!  Then....thinking about it...that might be the lice!

Oy!  Ya cunt!  Don't start fucking reading again yet!  I'm still getting me beer, ya cunt!  It's fucking long way to the fridge...so I had to stop and have one while I was there.  And have a chat to the dogs.  Do you know what they said? 

"Fuck, we're bored!"

Fuck we're bored!  The fucking dogs!  Cheeky bastards! 

I'm bored.  They're bored.  Everyone's fucking bored.  It's soooo depressing.  Makes me thirsty, don't know about you.  Here, have a look at this.

This is some food which is now, mostly, in my fridge.  I drank the wine.  Fucking horrible.

Here's one of my mates hungry dogs.

Alright cunts!  I'm back now.  Fuck me, you're slow!  While you've been looking at those fucking crap photos I've drunk 3 tinnies!  Fucking hurry it up!  I haven't got all day to spend on you cunts.  Pull ya finger out!

Now... and fucking keep up, ya cunt..... I'd better explain why my mates dog is hungry.  My mate invited me round to his for a little soiree!  Very genteel of him I thought.  The cunt.  Everyone turned up with beer and other booze and I brought a fucking tupperware.  Very nice of them I thought.  So I drank the fucking beer - not of all of it, but a fucking good portion, I made sure of that - and ate what I could.  It was fucking lovely.  And when my mate said, "Don't throw anything away, the dogs'll have it," up I popped. 

"Fuck the dogs.  I got me tupperware."

And that, ya fuckers, is how it is done!

Laters cunts!

Oh my giddy Aunt!

Alright cunts!

If there was award for the bloke with the worst luck in birthday parties.....it'd be mine!  Every time!

Yesterday was a day of fucking mayhem that belies belief.  You'd think having a few reprobate mates over for a birthday was a recipe for a good time?  This should be a rhetorical question, but in my case I feel compelled to answer - NO FUCKING WAY!  Instead it's a recipe for complete and utter fuck ups that lead to broken furniture, people who get so shit-faced they won't go home until you literally kick them up the fucking arse and finally for turning what, had in the first instance, been a good time into a debacle of the first fucking order!  So for me...it's not a rhetorical question at all!

Being horribly depressed (about that little thing called life) and the fact that I still seem to keep waking up each day when really all I want to do is fall a-fucking-sleep and stay a-fucking-sleep means that I rarely, if ever, see an 'up' side to anything.  The biggest up side of most days is seeing the bottom of the next can of beer.  That's the kind of 'up' side that I can generally relate to - at least in my waking hours. 

Which brings me onto a short digression - aren't nightmares supposed to happen when you're asleep?  And if there's even a hint of truth in that statement, then why do mine keep happening when I'm awake?  Answers on postcard please to:  Fruitcakes Anonymous, PO Box Up my Nose with a Rubber Hose, Hell on Earth 666

 Here's my feet looking distinctly the worse for wear!

And here's my hand about to guide a cold one into my ever-thirsty gob!  I think I had a fag in the other one!

The party was held at another mates place and was all going well till two of the guys hit that point of no return.....you know what I mean......that place where one minute you can still talk (reasonably) lucidly and stand without help, and the next minute you can't fucking talk, stand, do any-fucking-thing at all without making a complete balls-up of it!  For example, the simple act of sitting down becomes a battle of attrition with your disobedient legs, particularly if you weigh as much as fucking baby elephant and have the co-ordination of a newborn foal on acid with its' head stuck on back-to-front!  The result:  broken fucking furniture.  And what's more it wasn't even my fucking furniture.  Mines all fucked anyway so he could've broken away with impunity, but to start smashing up someone's house when they've been good enough to invite you round for a party is more than tad fucking off, know what I mean?  And then, as if to veneer and varnish the point, you show how 'I was just fucking sitting down' and 'not trying to break things' by doing the exact same fucking stupid-arse thing you've already done with the inevitable consequence of further breakages, and to top it all off, you do it a THIRD time whilst spouting out the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard, 'look, all I did was this....and it fucking broke!  Twice!  Oops!  Three times!'

The cunt!

After all that he took umbrage (such a lovely word) because everyone else was asking him why he was behaving like a cunt and he fucked off leaving pieces and splinters of furniture all over the pissing shop!  What the fuck!

Amazingly....the guy having the biggest fit about all this was shortly to become an even bigger problem than the first guy had ever been.  'He's a fucking animal.  No class!  Doesn't know how to behave!'  Sentiments that by this time everyone else was agreeing with....... so why was it that not half-an-hour later this guy wouldn't fuck off when he was asked to!

One mate ends the party...another wants it to carry on, even after it's all over...and me, all I want to do is drink myself unconscious to avoid the fucking shameful display of my so-called fucking friends and the scornful eyes of my soon-to-be friends no longer who will probably never hold another birthday party in their lives again!

Four hours we tried to kick the fucker out.  Three times he refused lifts saying he would walk home but when walking was, in the end, called for all he could do was fall over the dirty paella dish and fall head first into the ashes.  If only they'd still been hot we could've cremated the cunt there and then and no-one would ever have known!

Here's the paella being cooked.  The bricks and the stones proved to be major obstacles for the horribly pissed amongst us......which might be quite normal under most circumstances.....but to mistake them for a fucking bed is perhaps going one beer too far!

And here's the back of my sexy head! 

Eventually the cunt left.... leaving me to pick up the pieces, literally, and to contemplate the fact that if I'd been bored shitless before, now, following the stupidity of my dumb-ass ex-mates it was probably going to be a whole lot fucking worse and all because I had a fucking birthday party!  Shit!!  I just hope that I don't have to have another one.  Ever!

The problem with friends........

Alright cunts!

So I went out last night, as you know, and had a good time despite the fact that I'd have much rather been at home where I could be pissed off with life all on my own!   And now in the cold light of day I can see now that it was a fucking terrible decision.  I should never, ever have gone out because the inevitable happened!  It was like a bad dream........there I was, perfectly fucking happy in the depths of fucking despair, armed with a fridge full of beer and several hundred fags, I was looking forward to drowning my desperation under a tsunami of cheap alcohol.....and then people start organising my life and all of a sudden one night out has turned into a weekend in some fucking place I've never heard of, and that's not even the worst of it!  Apparently I'm driving every cunt there!  Why me?  Just leave me alone, ya cunts!

But they won't, will they?

You see, even a sad git like me has a few unlikely oafs that might loosely be described as 'friends' ....though when they start pulling my sad little life left, right and fucking centre just because 'you're such a cunt spending all your time at that fucking table,' and 'why don't you ever fucking clean up?' and other 'friendly' helpful hints like that!!....I start to take exception!

I don't fucking clean up because there's no fucking point.  You clean up and what's the first thing that happens?  It gets covered in shit again, that's what!  So why bother?  And that's a philosophy that's served me well for many a year!  Fuck you very much and goodnight!

And I like my fucking table!  You've seen it!  It's perfick for sad gits who just want to be miserable, doleful, bored and fucking pissed off most of the time!  That's why I like it!

And you've not even heard the worst of it yet!  Whilst I was busy figuring out how my weekend had taken a fucking dreadful turn for the worse, my nightmare rolled ever onwards and became a full-blown night terror!  Why, o'why, o'why did I ever open my big trap?  More to the point...when, o'when, o'when did I open my big trap?  I don't even remember imparting this particular scrap of data and can only surmise that I blabbed when I was caught unawares......in other words pissed out of my skull......and as a blood-curdling consequence my so-called 'friends' have now roped me into a fucking birthday party as well as the weekend away.  The cunts!  And it's my fucking birthday party!  I don't even remember telling the fuckers I had a birthday, though one or two of the dim-witted bastards might have figured it out sooner or later.  As it is, I blame the bitches....bitches always remember things like birthdays......the bitches!

So my weekend went from a scene of tranquility and total boredom to one of night's out, trips away and fucking parties all in the space of 10 awful fucking minutes.....and I didn't have a choice in any of it!  Every time I opened my gob to say 'no, ya cunts' some bastard stuck another San Miguel in the hole and the words never materialised!  Now I'm lumbered!

I wonder if I can fake a split toenail or something and get out of it all?

Mind you...... friends do have their advantageous side!  Sometimes!  For example....... being a lazy fucker I tend not wash things....clothes that is!  I do wash myself in the shower on days that have a 'N' in it...... why an 'N' I have no fucking clue, but it's there all the fucking same!  I digress..... so when my clothes get dirty I usually just throw the fuckers away or give them to the dogs to shred, so friends come in handy there because they tend to see me as some sort of fucking charity case and are always giving me their old rags....and I'll wear anything, I don't give a fuck!  Thus I can wear, soil, and discard with fucking impunity because there seems to be a never-ending supply of used threads!  But it just about ends there, the usefulness of my friends that is, because if they're not giving me old rags they're trying to cheer me up.  And I don't want to be 'cheered up' ........I'm happy being a miserable cunt!

And there it is!

Now fuck off and don't come back!  Ya cunt!

I'm busy doing nuffink.......

Alright cunts!

I've finally worked up the energy and the electricity on my shitty solar system to be able to write again.  Today the sun is out....it's bloody hot and to be fucking truthful all I really want to do is nothing at all.  Not that I've always been this....ummmm...ineffective....believe or not, I had a job once!  But now I just don't see the point of working...so I don't!  And anyway, I'm fucking good at doing nuffink!  And given anything like a choice on this....I'll do precisely that for every dullard day left in my sad, little, lonely, boring life!  And for those of you shouting 'get a job ya cunt,' I can reply using another well-known English catchphrase, 'On ya bike, ya cunt,' and if that one doesn't work on you then try this one for size....'fuck off!  Job!  Ya cunt!'

Hang on..... just going to the fridge!

I don't know exactly how hot it is, but that beer just disappeared down the hatch before I'd even made it back from the fridge to the seat of boredom at my table!  Oh well....time for another!

I went out yesterday.

As a statement of boring fact...that statement is right up there!  Not only is it wholly truthful...it's also boring as shit.  And that's the way I like it.  I'm not going to tell you where I went because it's none of your fucking business, ya nosy cunts!

I might be going out again tonight.  Hows about that for 'living it up'?  The last time I went out 2 nights in a row Edward Teeth was PM and blogging was just a word that sounded like it had something to do with fucking nose-picking!

How things change?  In those days I was young, carefree and almost married, whereas these days I'm old, stressed and almost divorced legally separated  (makes it sound like we were fucking conjoined twins or something).  There was a time when admitting things (such as being almost legally separated) would have thrown me into a cold sweat and about 2 cases of beer.  But I'm making progress cos now all it does is send me reaching for the beer.  The cold sweat has been replaced by a sort of mild, lukewarm perspiration which I put down the fact that I don't give a shit any more.  Also breaking out in a cold sweat in 40 degree temperatures is something of a fucking impossibility!  Thank fuck I don't move around very much because if I started sweating for real (as a result of something active.....like going food shopping, or having a huge shit) I might confuse that sweat for something completely different from what it is.  Let's face it, my impending death divorce legal separation occupies more of my time than it fucking deserves.  Even in death (she's not really dead...the fucking bitch.....but saying she is makes me feel a whole lot better about things) the fucking bitch still takes up more of my hectic day than is really needed.  I console myself with the thought that if I wasn't spending my time making effigies and sticking pins into them I would have very little to fill my fucking day!  Every cloud...and all that shit!

I was going to show you a couple more photos but I can't be fucked.

My lemon tree is dead.  My friend was right.  You are supposed to water the bastards.   I pissed on it a few times but I guess that wasn't enough.

I had a plum tree last year as well.  That fucking dried up like a prune as well.  I threw in the hole in the ground that used to be my swimming pool hoping there might be some water there to revive the fucker but all I did was succeed in breaking another tile.  That was my last attempt at gardening.  Too much like fucking work and what's more the fridge was way too far away for true comfort.  Nowadays I confine myself to just pissing on anything that looks like it's wilting!  That includes any mates who've had one too many!  The cunts!

I'm outta here...

Get a life, why can't you?

Alright cunts!

I'm fucking bored shitless.  Every fucking awful day is fucking mind-numbingly the same.  Get up.  Drink a beer, have a fag.  Take a shit.  Have another fag.  If the boredom hasn't got me by then and sent me crawling back to my scratcher, I think about eating something.  But I don't always do it.  I like the variety!  I like to surprise myself, you know?  The biggest fucking surprise surprise of all though is when I can actually muster the energy to go get something to eat!!  Now, that is a fucking surprise!

Anyway, after that I generally have another fag whilst thinking about where to sit with the next beer.  It's a fucking tough decision.  Out on the terrace in what might laughably be called my 'conservatory' - although I never call it that because I'm a fucking Red and proud of it and anything that sounds remotely fucking poncey or Tory-fied can fuck right off!  So - on my terrace, or my covered terrace if I'm feeling like I'm going up in the world (which is fucking never) or in my lounge is the big fuck-off decision of the morning!  Of every fucking morning! 

Let's look at the various pluses and minuses of the two locations so you can maybe begin to grasp the fucking banality of my fucking boring life.

1.  The Lounge
The lounge has the advantage - in the summer months anyway - of having electricity.  Well, not all the fucking time, but for at least a reasonable part of the day I have electricity in the lounge............... oh shitbags! and now I'm beginning to see just why I didn't write a fucking blog before..... fucking scabby arseholes!  Now I've gotta explain that little statement about my electric and I really can't be bothered.  So, you can fuck off, ya cunts!  Writing a blog is already too much work and I've only just fucking started.  Bloody hell, what have I let myself in for!?

I'm fucking bored already telling you about my day and I can bet - well, I can't actually bet because I ain't got any money, but I can bet metaphorically - that you're fucking bored too!  So I'm off for a fag and a beer.  I can't tell you when I'll be back because I don't give a shit about you, me or anyone fucking else so just fuck off ya cunts and don't read this again!

Ya cunts!


Here's a couple of pictures to keep you cunts happy till I break in to your life again.

This first one basically sums up my day.  Beer and fags.  Fucking beer and fags.  Then more beer and fags and just occasionally a bit of grub.  The one underneath is my table where I sit Bored Shitless most of the fucking time.

The next one here is some shit that was lying around in one corner of my terrace.

This next one is just fucking weird!  I think that's a bag of cereal sitting on a book sitting on a bucket full of yet more shit in another corner of my terrace.  What the fuck that's doing there I don't know.

For you foot fetishists....here's my sexy feet, you kinky fuckers.

My mate took that picture of my feet and here's his wife .....exfoliating....whatever the fuck that is!

This one below is a table covered in crap from 'who knows where' and 'from who knows when'....and basically, who gives a shit anyway?  It's also in my delightful terrace.

And this last one is my ash tray and beer bucket when I'm inside on my couch.  Fucking organised or what?