Organised Slime

Fame and fortune and the price we have to pay for it.

If you are a female, famous and add to the qualifications above average graced with beauty, you have suddenly become the target of the paparazzi. These are the lowlifes of society that have no regard for anyone and would sell their mothers for a used cigarette butt, they waffle about in their cesspool little worlds of septic stench and taint all they come into contact with.

The sad truth is that if these festering boils of humanity had no market for their cowardly invasions of peoples privacy, they would become instinct and would hopefully cease to be and die a painful cold disease infected death.
So are they entirely to blame? No.
The publications that flaunt their wares like prostitutes invading your dining room during Sunday family lunch are as guilty for providing a livelihood for our blood sucking spineless leeches, they in turn are fed by the millions of readers who buy their filth and crave for any semi-disclosed glimpes of a breast or bottom.

We, the general public have created a monster so vile and evil that it will stop at nothing to obtain information be it true or not. They will trample on and destroy lives and families, sell their souls and trade anything for filth they can blackmail to the highest bidder.

The solution? I dont think we have one.
We live in a world were electronic data is processed and distributed quicker than the Kardashians can outswear an entire trrop of marines on leave after 2 years combat.

Once the damage is done, it has very little chance of being removed from the minds of those who believe it as gospel truth.

Nite all

Beer & Books

I have just finished a novel, my first in almost 3 years.

It told the tale of brave men and women, love lost and new love discovered, mad religious tyrants and sewer filled streets. Sound familiar?

It seems not much has changed in the last couple of hundred years.
But wait, this tale of treachery, tyrants and tarts lacks an important ingredient!


Beer!

It is the glue that binds friends together, the soothing agent that allows a man to view his wife in a trance like glimmering halo. It has magical powers and can turn a mans sixpack into a barrel, it can turn flatulence into a team sport and can make the most punctual man imagine that time has stood still.

The combination of books and beer led to one of the most important discoveries of our generation. You see, it was the difficulty of focussing on little words that forced the introduction of the periodical, a thin larger book adorned with pictures, short tales and scantily clad ladies selling everything from cars to fridges. Now I have checked many a fridge in stores and not once has a marvellous maiden stepped out. I have however bumped into portly balding sweating men who wish me to purchase female free fridges.

So I salute books and beer and the joy and comfort they have brought me over the years.

Nite all.

What a Man Wants Part 1

I have notice that the average ratio of magazines for women compared to men is steeply in favour of the ladies.

This isn't because men don't read magazines, but more so because men read specialised magazines aimed specifically at their interests. Men do not generally read articles on feelings, emotions, love and relationships, give them something on sport, hobbies, technology, wheels or beautiful ladies and suddenly they will sit up and take notice.

We are in fact a simple creature and as such there are times when we are doing nothing. Men can sit quite comfortably in silence and not feel the urge to break the peace, I mean silence.

Some drink, some exercise, some smoke, some watch tv and some just keep the peace at home.

We enjoy a bit of space that is our own.

Have you noticed that the home is almost exclusively decorated by the woman, yes I know we have no taste and we often collect junk.

The bedroom, kitchen, bathrooms, lounge and even tv rooms are inevitably the woman's terrain, ladies give your guy a space. Often he will say it isn't important, but grant him somewhere to put his singing fish, that painting or sculpture that would make Liberance turn in his grave or that item of clothing you couldn't convince the beggar to take for fear of expulsion from the Society of Professional Beggars and Politicians.

Don't take him shoe shopping with you, he would rather endure a prostrate examination after a Mexican meal, see it as an opportunity to spend time with a friend and do the most boring deed known to man since having to pick up his underwear.

To be continued . . . .

Nite All