Crudely Doodled Genitals

YUCK! I’ve just fallen victim to Second Hand Book syndrome. Regular library goers will know exactly what I’m talking about. Borrowing a book is not for the faint hearted. Pussies need not apply.

I don’t mind the idiot-proof dust jackets. Or the yellowing pages. I'll even forgive the crudely doodled genitals. After all, wear and tear is a book’s badge of public approval. Scan my book shelf at home and it’s clear from their broken spines and bruised faces which paperbacks I hold dear. My copy of If This Is a Man has all but disintegrated.

Generally speaking, library books are wonderful tomes of enlightenment. But every so often, lurking deep within their papery gills, is a spectacle so foul it’ll make your eyes weep blood. I’m talking of course about the rogue nose-bogie. Some churlish oik, too damn lazy to find a tissue, fishes an emerald nugget from their hooter and smears it across the page. And there it festers, like a tiny green corpse, until it’s unearthed by the next library goer.

Maybe that’s why library attendance has continually dropped since 2005. The general public, forced to play snot roulette with each turn of the page, has finally had enough. To all you clandestine mucus miners: stop picking your nose and save our libraries!

Mog Molesting Mary

Just heard the couple next door rowing. Hardly news worthy material I know. But this wasn’t your bog standard domestic. This was war: a tonsil-shredding, door slamming, dust-up. Thirty minutes of toxic hate and sobbing hysteria. It was terrifying.

Forgive the cliché but it’s always the people you least expect. Just the other day me and my neighbour, let’s call him Fritzel, were having a mundane over-the-fence chat about nothing in particular. You know how it is, the usual crushingly dull small talk. I often see Fritzel and his wife Hindley pottering contentedly in their immaculate garden. Fritzel even pops round every month to mow our lawn, free of charge. Bloody nice chap that Fritzel fella.

But, gah!, no matter how hard I try to block it out, I’ll always hear the hate-fuelled obscenities he spat at his wife. Yes, everyone’s allowed a lapse in sanity now and again. The human race is anything but perfect. In fact, it’s consistently idiotic. But I seem to have this internal barometer that starts to fizz and smoke whenever someone has irrevocably crossed the threshold of decency – a cuntometer if you will.

And it’s not just Fritzel that’s scored a hit on the cuntometer this week. Mary Bale has too. For the uninitiated Mary is the bespectacled fat-arse who enraged all decent human beings when she was caught on CCTV dumping a cat in a wheelie bin. Unfortunately, we’re spoiled for choice when it comes to cunts. We’re overrun with them. Everywhere you look you’re bound to find one. There’s no escape. Unfortunately for Mary she was caught being a cunt. So let’s stick with her.

Mary, a dead ringer for Viz's Millie Tant, was walking down a street in Coventry, minding her own business, when all of a sudden she spies a cat. There’s something horribly disjointed about a woman who affectionately strokes a purring kitty before grabbing it by the neck and lobbing it in a wheelie bin. When asked why she did it Mary said, “I really don’t see what everyone is getting so excited about – it’s just a cat”.

Well, Mary, here’s why everyone’s upset. Aside from being incredibly callous, it’s been proven that a strong link exists between animal cruelty and violent crimes against humans. The thrill Mary experienced from her impromptu act of cruelness is unsettling. Her inability to comprehend the public’s outrage is equally troubling. In summary: steer well clear of mog molesting Mary. Especially if there’s a wheelie bin in sight. They seem to bring out her dark side.

Hateful Cluster of Cunts

Stop press! Groundbreaking news just in! Brace yourself because this is an absolute humdinger. Ready? Okay, here goes...

Life is unfair.

I was struck by this supernova-revelation while reading The Sun. An unlikely source for life changing epiphanies I know, but there you have it. Anyway, there was a photo of a young boy, embarrassed but bursting with pride, standing next to his hero - none other than international super star David Beckham. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Beckham, so famous it must cause him actual physical pain, took the time to pose for a picture with one of his fans. Awww, nice one Becks.

But then my eyes fell upon the second photo on the page. No warm cotton-wool fuzziness on display here. Just tragic nauseating horror. The photo showed the same young lad. But he wasn’t standing in this picture. He was sitting on a bench. Alone. He was sitting because both his legs had been blown off by a Taliban bomb. Private Ryan Hewitt, 18, also lost a finger and fractured his spine, jaw and eye socket after stepping on a booby-trap in Afghanistan.

It happened like this. Beckham had a bit of spare time on his hands after tearing his Achilles tendon and missing out on the World Cup. So being the lovely chap he is Becks flew out to Camp Bastion in Afghanistan - a morale-booster for our boys on the front line. Ryan was lucky enough to get a picture taken with his hero. Fast forward a few weeks and Ryan’s contemplating how hard life will be without the use of his legs. It’s a tragedy that highlights the arse-thudding futility of war. It also makes a complete mockery of the ridiculous notion that a benevolent God watches over us.

Life is unfair. And cruel. Always has been always will be. It’s hard enough simply being a human without our government’s lunatic desire to send children to die in illegal wars. Inevitably, acute feelings of rage and horror fade to impotent resignation. We feel helpless against the overwhelming tide of stupidity and nastiness that blights our everyday lives.

But we can make a difference. We really can. I don’t mean to sound like a brainless utopian fantasist but WE REALLY CAN. How about a humble gesture of kindness now and again? How about treating others how you’d like to be treated? At least it’s a start. Just because our government acts like a hateful cluster of cunts doesn’t mean we have to follow suit.