Oi

Once upon a * there was a * called *. He was a * , * *. One day his friend, ,*, also known as * had a *. Everyone * for *, *. was so * he * *.
Then I *.

Ten points for anyone who correctly guesses what happened.

Standard Shite

Do you want reactionary shite to read, but don't want to spend the money? Then Standard Lite's for you. I just got one this lunchtime outside Aldgate East station. Front page headline: 'Death of the nativity play'. 12 out of 19 schools aren't having nativities because not everyone's a christian. 'Christmas in our schools is being eroded away' and 'we are celebrating all other world religions but not our own.' are some choice quotes. But our religion isn't really christianity anyway, we were druids and pagans before the semites let us know there's more to spirirtuality than animalism.
Then the front page photo is of 'Carjacked at gunpoint for my 4x4' and a photo of an unhappy woman and her dog. Great fuel for crime paranoia. And then there's the level crossing crash driver 'was told he had HIV'. Which is tragic, when someone's so upset that they take their own life, only in death to have the upsetting news emblazened across the front of a free sheet.

It's just a lot of twisted logic. People getting off the tube, in a very Asian/non-christian area. 1)they don't have a car to jack, 2)they probably don't give a shit about nativity plays.

The whole newspaper continues in this vain, council house bashing, Princess Diana (died years ago), the courts declaring Ken's Fair is Fare campaign illegal (in the mid-80s) and my horoscope says: 'As a sensible Virgo, you don't need anyone to tell you what's worthwhile and what isn't. Still, you're hesitant about taking advantage of revolutionary ideas that are being discussed'. It's the anti-Pravda (I can't read russian).
Why is local press so crap?

IMPROVISE

















































































































































What are you waiting for?

Locking up

I sagged so much I Slept,
And lost another phone,
on my favourite night bus,
on my way to home.

But it was almost 1am,
and I was not alone,
some dirty, cheeky thief,
stole my telephone.

The bastard got my wallet too,
and when I woke up close to 2,
I was alone and in the dark,
in the depot's bus car park.

It's only now I've realised,
what this really means,
it means I lost all my numbers,
In my drunken dreams.

In my drunken dreams, you say,
In your drunken dreams,
Everything goes upside down,
And the volume goes right up.

There we go, another ditty,
cos I'm bored and feeling shitty,
Locking up the office
Is crap and doesn't rhyme.

This poem is based on a true story and was inspired by:
sagging dolls

Word to your mothers. And to Roger McGough and Richard Gaylord Briley
I'm a big fan of his. Word to the Gaylord.
It would be helpful if people could e-mail me their phone numbers and messages of non-sympathy for another night bus incident.

I'd set the alarm on the phone, y'know, to try and wake me up.
Instead I should have got a big neon sign that said 'mug me'.

Also, night bus drivers aren't supposed to go upstairs when they reach the depot, cos it's dark and there are criminals about. Not just victims.

And hyperlinks are brilliant
as is this
this is quite good too
this is crap
woh, that was freaky wasn't it. Like, far out. It was like putting two mirrors in front of each other, and watching eterinity reflecting. Do it again. Go on do it again
Uh oh. I've probably just lost some respect from that link. I just wish I could see the look on your faces when you clicked that. The look of disgust, disgust at yourself for liking it. It's strange to think that friend and 'love rat' Tom Whittaker
is a fellow leeds fan, and therefore an ally of such people
Me