Thursday, 28 February 2008

government



HOW DO YOU DO…
government



Fancy been caricatured and criticised mercilessly?
Love those benches they got?
Never made a good decision in your life?
Get yourself a suit, cos your going to Westminster





Hello Mrs?
As politicians you’ll spend ages trudging round housing estates getting consistently; laughed at, pelted with and shouted down while campaigning for your party, in fairness, yourself. Take in a long-suffering breath to relentlessly talk to demographics that don’t vote or like you or your party or anything you have or ever will have to say. And now they kinda think that you think that they smell because you’re holding your breath and turning a funny colour of puce.



There is also another type of politician. These pay money to influential people offering their skills as liars to get people into power like Meet and Leek Campbell and Randy Mandelson. If you’re that minted you can buy power It doesn’t matter which party you plum for. So Jehovah's Witness or Jehovah's card details?




Shtick
Everyone’s got a shtick. If you want to be all working class and appeal to the fifty kid mothers of those scall’s who tag n key your car, then get that batter patter down. Talk in some rastastani way, innit. Set up a dealership at your party HQ. Comment on everything other politicians say in the papers with "Bwoy that’s proper rank yeah, weeez beat your pale ass down, Jenga-ed."



If your background is more middle class, ask quite ridiculous questions, ride a Sinclair C5, have stupid hair, say misguided things about immigrants and people from northern industrial towns. Get photographed a bit pissed or doing your secretary so they think you have some spunk.




Dress
Forget individual style you must now till your death appear to be selling Central heating at all times. OOooow he’s so shiny. Well, greased.




Babies
Kissing babies is very important and if you’re a paedophile, very rewarding. The practicality is that hopefully the babies you kiss on the way up will be the carers that nurse you on the way down. So slip em the tongue or they’ll slip you an extra large suppository.




Won
After buying voters off with your unimaginable amount of unbelievable and undoable policies you get voted in. Only just in front of the BNP party who in fairness you copied half your manifesto from. With that racist seat and some furrowed brow questioning in parliament people start to take notice, think that you must be some sort of latter-day Enoch Powell with balls bigger than Stephen Hawking's.



After been sat in the seat for what seems to be eternity you ponder just what the hell’s anyone actually is doing here. Resorting to paraphrasing Terry Wogan’s Eurovision commentary whenever the E.U. is mentioned. You eventually even stop that, get bitter and find the most abusive way you can attack fellow members of the opposition baring in mind that you have to call them ‘the right honourable gentleman’ before every thusly contradictory statement. The now stagnant party likes your absurd idiocy and when the current prime minister suddenly unquestioningly dies, they put you forward for leader.



And holy moley you win.




Gestures
Winston Churchill had his Victory V, Blair had his conversation hands, Ted Rodgers had his 321 and Gordon Brown has, well, the office on DVD. You need an intrinsic personality trait that people can identify and poke fun at. Some suggestions are: A blood soaked hand puppet called Benaseer. Maybe at intrinsic moments in international discussions point up at the ceiling with a pale crazed fear shouting “Independence Day!” Start every speech with “Word up suity booties…” and end with “…someone dropped a snizzle I’m outa this faggot forrest”. Always referring to the United Kingdom as “oh that shit hole.” Trying it on with every Head of State, Minister, Secretary and Royal with the explanation “I’m just trying to make peace and love with my piece and you luv.” Paying for things openly in rupees refusing to use the pound “cos it aint got my face on, yet. ”





Lie?
You have probably noticed Politicians never really lie so to speak. (pause to collect your thoughts). They just don’t tell the truth. If you listen closely their statements are never answers to questions posed. More whimsical narrations of theoretical situations and events happening in a parallel universe to our own. When these “lies” are exposed a politician has to be ready to gratuatiously adjust all previous statements, intents and actions to sound, well believable to them and Murdoch and generally more unbelievable to the general public.



Remember to not tell the truth when the press are heading for your head. Affairs, blowjobs, corruption, invisible weapons of mass destruction, terrorist threats, wasteful public spending, having relations with human rights abusers, being a human rights abuser, murdering and a dictator like disposition can all be side stepped with a smile and a whole heap of blame, on someone else.





Religion
This is so pop at the mo. Try and use whatever God your country is lumped with a say with a straight face that whatever your proposing is for God. God wanted this war, we are fighting for good, good God, we’re fighting for God and we will conquer, oops give them democracy.




The papers
Pretty much assume these two things. There are papers that support you but make you look a fool. Then there are papers that hate you and make you look a fool.



Get used to been papped. Get used to having your sweat, your teeth, your diet, your sex life and your pubes debated national and internationally. They’ll characature you worse than homeless Italian artists do at the tower of Pisa. Then they’ll make effigies from that characature and parade that right in front of your new matey presidents house. They’ll be even one guy who devotes your entire term of office shouting at you from across the street, you can call him whore.




Cabinet
Roll up, roll up, names in a hat time, not yours. Let’s come on down to play cabinet reeeeshuffllllle.



Most of these people in the hat should be ugly useless MPs so as to never pose a leadership threat. It won’t matter none of them really need to do anything because all offices have secretaries and competent incompetent consultants. All they have to do is answer a few questions in Westminster about frauds, ‘working holidays’ and a total collapse in infrastructure. Just instruct them to say this line “there will be a full independent enquiry conducted by Lord matey boy.”



Now where’s Johnson with my cigar.




Power
“Y'Know what really fucks me off about this country”

“What?”

“Bricks, I hate those pissing blocky red things filling up our streets, taking our jobs, being part of our houses, they don’t help, just sit there, looking”

Ban them. Change all road markings to match the flowers in your window box. Criminalise any form of runny nose, outlaw people in tracksuits that have obviously never used them for sporting activities. Hell close London, naming Barnsley our new capital of commerce, diversity and the 21st centuries technological world heartland.



Crisis
O no, a crisis. Get yourself a special red alert C.O.B.R.A. meeting and review nothing. Watcha bit of TV have a chat, get the MOD and MI5 to bring a few beers round. Ring the U.S. ask em what to say, then release a statement.



If anyone in the news says owt about strong public opinion, do the opposite, and then it’ll look like your being decisive.





Out
Defeat, scandal, and still in office? But oh what do I hear, they’re calling for your resignation for flattening Wigan last week when they beat Man city. And when you shipped the population of Devon to South Africa to black up and run farms the United Nations are dizzily labelling it genocide, I think you need a back door.



How about a multi million pound book deal? I series of motivational lecture tours with ex presidents? A CEO of a pharmaceutical company even? If you really believe in absurdity how about a job in a place you’ve already fuct up once before say, Middle East Ambassador?

Friday, 15 February 2008

perfection


HOW DO YOU DO...
perfection

Yeah, that easy


Target
Your aim is to be that person who you always despised due to their unflinching competency, leaving your top ten attempts at even wiping your arse as a 34 year old, stained and tragically rubbed in. This guide makes you to come back from your smeared, indivisible talentless wreck of an embittered self-esteem and be that unimaginable saint of a half arsed dream.



Definably low
Perfection is the reaching the highest attainable standard. You aren’t this, because your reading this you're aren’t even close you're actually getting further away from ever reaching this by every word on this page. You’re so useless you can’t even heed the advice this page is saying by not stopping reading this, duly lowering your intelligence and abilities every second, every letter, every lack of mindful understanding of your unending search of perfectection has lead you to persist unaware in that you have just completed the first goal, belligerence.

You have to fight, fight to be perfect, because rubbish is for tramps and seagulls, and you don’t shit on pensioners or blow people for kid’s meals, anymore. Listen to your heart unless it’s telling you to blow people then listen to your soul and find everything you need to find without acting like a dickhead or visiting the Samaritans, unless it is to volunteer because you're so god damn selfless and unjudging, even if someone rings up saying they’ve just got aids while working with gorillas.



Scarred by normality
Look at yourself,

go on.

Any lumps bumps, pumps, veins, scars, cysts, warts, fix and fast with the wonder of our modern suppressive age, yes Playdough surgery . Any lazy sack can move their swollen sausage fingers into their equally bulging wallets and get an immoral surgeon to suck, sow, staple, and burn off their imperfects and make you look like you’re caught in a unending wind tunnel. Faaabulous, aparently.



Divinity
Perfect people seem to have a glow about themselves. MFI’S lighting department or Russian reactors are the quick fix versions, even if it’s pitch black your benevolence will reach small fishing boats and large fireflies negotiating the treachery that is water and air.



Look at you
When you walk down the street feeling pretty chuffed about yourself cos you just got your new jacket from eBay and two admittedly scally sluts have just stared you up and down without even a husky snigger.

You turn onto the main road to be greeted with the sharpest, colour wheel coloured, outrageously understated entity of beauty. Your initial decision to fling yourself sacrificially shouting “take me, boy/girl, do anything you so wish until you're finished with me.” Has been subsequently revised to a glance of ‘hey’ and a slight sneer if the glance wasn’t reciprocated which it invariably isn’t which implies that in future you should drop the whole ‘hey‘ and just sneer.

That‘s what you need to look like. I know, looking at that thing you call a wardrobe only because of the dimensional shape, you instantly conclude you could scarcely construct an outfit without a suspiciously white stain adorning some part of it. There seems less than no hope. Just remember one thing, everyone looked shit at one point in their lives. That perfect specimen of corture had a perm, too much foundation and some cargo pants once.



Resurrected
Everything you now buy should be chosen because it makes you look more like you’ve breezed in from an aftershow at Amy Winehouse’s house than sat cramped round a student flat with damp shoes using your tried and failed technique of non conversational flirtation over the only unattractive slutily dressed dreg of a appalling night in Scumthorpe . Don’t dress because you need a shirt and they're two for one and It kinda looks ok on you even if the size you wanted isn’t in stock and XL is the only one left so you have to tuck the back in like you pitching an army field tent in a Glastonbury festival sized plot of shit-mud.



Complete-
-ly fucking useless. As you're probably blatently aware Perfection, regardless of perceived celebrity fallacy, or self-improvement ideologies is only true in diamond sunsets and on planet out-of-your-fucking-tree. Everything else is joyously imperfect, scared and human. So be glad that everyone in the world hides imperfections because they know, if you found some of them out, before you’ve already slept with them, then you’d guiltlessly, unflinchingly bolt.

Everyone, even your super cool mate with the bow ties has personality flaws that at times makes even their closest friends cringe with “ohhh, geez im not with that.” We love to atone to our self defeating facets that regardless of success, happiness, career-house-family, want to leave everything and move to Botswana, kill wilderbeasts and wear misguided loin cloths. We get bored, we do half arsed work, we still maintain commitment our prime program to hunt a fuck or converse to be fucked (lie as you do, you all think it.) We slack, we lie, we do things that we can’t even tell ourselves, but after all that, we should be glad of it, because that makes us interesting.





Sunday, 3 February 2008

gay


HOW DO YOU DO...
being a gay (boy)

Can’t find even ugly women to fuck?
Then you need to be a gay



Background
Gay’s have been popular ever since those two scousers in Brookside got off with each other. They have been increasing in numbers and pretty soon they’ll dominate the planet turning everyone into camp Ron’s and wipe out the whole population in some apocalyptic dried fanny doomsday.
So this is your chance to be on the winning team.

If not even ugly women will do you and you’ve wanked over every pornographic pic on the super highway. By being a gay you can now fuck women in the arse, well, in a way.


The look
You can forget subtly, you need neon!

Remember, no two gays look alike unless they're serious bumsods. You’re an individual now. Take a stroke through the museum of Christmas tree decorations, or your local boys brigade group for inspiration. Form a blatant blend of catwalk female fashion and 80’s teenage boy, with lights.
Ta dar.


Men
This is where is gets easy. Every man you see are now your sexual targets. Your workmates, your friends, even your dad are now on the fuck meter. Having been used to women you now have to decide a type of man you want. Recommendations include: muscle men, men that over-wear leather, men that can bend 90 degrees. Men called Steve, men who wear dresses, men that talk about pooing a lot, men that say they want to have anal penetrive sex with you and men that play rugby. But no women


Sex
A man’s bum is like a women’s fanny only that it’s tighter, smaller, further round the back and has bits of crusty brown bits and pubic hair matted around it. To prepare you for the shock bend over a mirror and spread ‘em.
Now you remember when women complain about “ohhh when I had a baby it split me open like a melon forced through the eye of a needle, men can never relate” Bum sex is like that. But the beauty is you’ll get a feeling that makes you want more of the melon inside you even though you’ve eaten enough and you're bleeding all over you best mate Steve.


Giver or taker
Sitting on the swings you see a lot of things, teenage girls giving blowjobs, people repeatedly writing their names on walls, men and boys tearing up the rubber lining to pave their play pens - and dogs. Dogs having dog sex.
Dog sex is a lot like gay sex; some dogs even slip it in there. You got to look at yourself and see if you resemble a
Giver or taker, German shepherd or terrier.


Important bi words

Up hill gardener – gay gardeners

Felching – licking mens cream from a mans hole.

Rimming, - licking bums for fun

Frottage – Gay French for rubbing up against another gay when wearing neon lighting units.

Cottaging - where a gay meets a gay to bum and can go for a wee after.



The aftermath
The sting will be more and more bearable and the fact that everytime you cough, you poo will mean you have to wear a cork nappy, but on the upside you're fucking more than you’ve done in your life and you can fall asleep after a joint, with a brown willy and not get in trouble.