If anyone's ring deserves to be smashed, it's a paedophile's.
Obviously this is a not-in-any-way-funny news story about those God damn paedos who, like the contents of Frankie Cocozza’s scrotum, seem to get everywhere nowadays. But can I just say how much I love that the back-drop to this breaking news story looks like an old James Bond super-villain map, usually found on the wall of an underground hideout with satellite links to news stations around the world and a countdown to our imminent death. If the BBC’s coverage is anything to go by, it appears that this paedophile ring had a real-life evil lair in a New Mexican desert-cave…and this is exactly what it looked like:
Celebrity Paedophile Headquarters (C.P.H.Q.) - Guest Speaker: Josef Fritzl
N.B. As a result of making the above picture myself (with a couple of cheeky Google Image thefts), my browsing history now looks dodgy as fuck. Let’s just hope that my hard drive is never seized, I’m not sure I could explain having ’catholic rapist priests’ in my search bar without using the term “research” – and we all know no one falls for that old chestnut.
Do you ever get the feeling that your journey to work just isn’t quite testicley enough? Lisa doesn’t.
If this isn't an invitation to play Cock-or-Ball then I don't know what is. Shotgun ball!
- This guy knows exactly what he is doing. He has even moved his tie ever so slightly to the side to ensure that Lisa gets a clear, uninterrupted view of his glory globes*.
- The rapist glasses are not helping him. I wouldn’t say that they are particularly harming him either but I could take them or leave them to be honest.
- He appears to be sitting in a seat in which pregnant and disabled people get priority. No one who is capable of opening their legs that wide qualifies as disabled therefore he must be pregnant. Maybe that isn’t his scrote-sack after all and it is actually the elbow of a baby he is in the middle of giving birth to. Not sure I would be capable of doing a Sudoku while birthing though. I think this one is going to have to remain a mystery.
N.B. That is NOT Lisa’s shoe in the corner of the photo, anyone in my family that chose to wear that shoe would be instantly disowned. That is the shoe of either an Italian tourist or a very shit British person with an even shitter hobby: Rambling, climbing (not the super-sexy, shirtless kind), orienteering, rowing, archery, drinking ale and laughing far too loudly whilst discussing the latest rugby scores and the heart-wrenching human deprivation they witnessed out of the window of their uncle’s chauffeur driven Mercedes on their “gap-year” to “one of our third world countries”. I am not a fan of that shoe.
*I’m pretty sure I just invented the term ‘Glory Globes’ and, although not ground-breakingly amusing, I would appreciate credit when and if you choose to use it. Thanks.
Also – I’ve made a facebook page for this blog, all you need to do is click the link under my picture and we will be friends for life. I would love that! We could maybe go fishing together sometime? I’ll make sandwiches?
Lisa phoned a bar/restaurant to book a table for dinner. When she got there, this is what she found on her table:
Lisa Gingwa? I thought I was supposed to be the Chinese one.
Does Gingwa sound anything like Dingwall? I really dont think it does. It sounds more like the name of a spray to keep gingers away:
“Too many gingers in your vicinity? Try ‘Gingwa’ – the new environmentally friendly ginger repellant from Johnson & Johnson.”
I’ve been called Mr. Bingwall by Sky Customer Services before but I have never had anyone mishear it this badly.
Also, I’m not sure how happy I am about the management inviting complete strangers to use their arses to keep my seat warm. I would prefer a cold, stranger-arse free seat I think.
I hate swans. Really, really hate swans. I got attacked by a swan on a golf course in Florida in 1993. Had to kick it in the face.
Another incident occured at a beach party one night in the Bridge of Don a couple of years ago. A swan decided to start flying around in the pitch dark right next to me but I couldn’t see anything so when I heard the sound of its freakishly large wings hitting the water I thought we were being attacked by terrorists with sawn-off shotguns. I tried to throw bits of bonfire at it but it didn’t care, they aren’t scared of anything.
It is with some disgust, therefore, that I am posting the latest of Lisa’s pictures sent to me on purpose from a park of some description:
I can see Lisa’s boyfriend Dan’s foot in the corner! He’s far too close. They don’t want your bread Dan, they want your soul. Kick them in the face!!
If you still think that you like swans, here are some swany facts that may make you change your mind:
photo courtesy of richardhellergallery.com
-They can fly as fast as 50 to 60 miles per hour.
-Some have a wing span of 10 feet.
-Adult males have been known to use a blow from the “knucklebone” of their wing to defend their family.
-This blow is said to be strong enough to break a man’s arm.
-The adult male is the only known bird to have a penis.
So, not only are they fast, large and violent beasts capable of breaking bones with their feathery knucklebone-uppercuts, they are also potential rapists. I fucking knew it!
God, imagine getting raped by a swan…
There would be a lot of blinking.
Following the success of ‘Shakespeare – This Time it’s Personal’ I have decided to make my sister Lisa’s collection of ridiculously random pictures a permanent feature of my blog. It will be entitled ‘Lisa’s Pieces’ and will document her life in London through a series of thought-provoking (not really) iPhone photos. This week it is the wonderful Mr Bison Sandwich Man.
This is what sat across from Lisa on the tube one severely hungover morning:
Just before this was taken he approached Lisa with a walking stick and said in a posh, quietly high-pitched voice "Don't be frightened". Haha! Yeah okay!!!
I have a few observations to make here.
-His face. Not very nice. Pale, suspiciously smooth and waxy.
-His jacket. I don’t care where you are in the world, it is never cold enough to wear an entire bison. The sheer size of the coat suggests that he may be using it as a wank-jacket. You could do anything under there – give birth, get a blowy from a dwarf – no one would notice. As we speak, he is taking a dump into that bag-4-life between his legs.
-His sandwich. It is quite large, some would say too large to have been bought at a shop. Also, why is it not in a packet? Why is he just walking around dressed as a bison with two huge sandwiches in one hand? Did he make them at home then carry them bareback all the way onto the tube? Does that not make him more strange? It is completely inexplicable!
Based on my above observations I have come to a fair conclusion about this man. He is a serial killer. Of bison. He goes to the zoo, kills loads of bison, skins them, dances around in front of a mirror with the skin draped over his naked body à la Silence of the Lambs then cuts up the meat to put in his freakishly large sandwiches. He then walks around London wrapped in bison fur with the sandwich in his hand because the thought of people not knowing what he just did gives him a boner.
Oh those big city folks!