First and foremost it's important to find someone who is/isn't up for it (sex). This could be just about anyone; your wife / boyfriend / slut / dog / neighbour's dog.

Approach your target (try not to refer to them as a 'target'). Strike up conversation but be sure to keep it erotic. Tell her/him/it that he/she/it looks 'fuckable' (use the word 'fuckable' as often as possible).  Make some more crude remarks. Smile. If it feels appropriate then do that little hand gesture where you make a circle with two fingers and then poke at it with an extended digit.

Once you're certain that this person doesn't work for the Metropolitan Police then it's time to drag them back to your luxury hotel room / caravan / disgusting corner.

Set the mood. Mince around the place lighting candles and laughing. Remember this is supposed to be fun. 

Ask your lover if they'd like to put some music on. If they didn't bring any music then shout at them. Force them to sing. Make them dance. Create an uncomfortable atmosphere before apologising profusely for your dreadful behaviour. 

CHAMPAGNE! (apologise for not having any Champagne)

Ask / force your lover to wash. (If you're also covered in soilthen it might be a good idea to join them in the shower). This can be a great opportunity to try out a bit of 'foreplay'. Kiss his/her neck. Fondle their ears. Stick your fingers up his/her bum.

Return to the bedroom. If your partner seems frightened / disorientated then help them to remove all of their clothes. They'll be all wet now after that shower. Perhaps your partner is in the early stages of hypothermia. That would explain the far away look in their eyes. Keep talking to them. Say things like "I can't wait to see your penis" or "I'm still well up for a bit of slap 'n' tickle if you are". Stroke their hair.

Climb into the bed / nest / bin and let the sex commence. Go absolutely mental. Do whatever comes into your head. Shout, scream, applaud, laugh, spit and fire jets of milk out of your nose. Act like you've been possessed by some kind of bonkers sex demon. 

Have a little sleep

Repeat this process as many times as you like until your knob or fanny hurts / the authorities arrive.

Apologise to your lover for a) Making them cry, and b) Giving them aids.

Kick them out into the cold

Enjoy the rest of the afternoon and give yourself a big pat on the back. 

I wake up and take the PH balance of my own urine and log it on a spreadsheet.
I then write down my dreams onto the side of a Chinese lantern in Sanskrit and release it out of my window so that my ora can re-engage with nature. I watch from my balcony as it floats over Hyde Park raining invisible orbs of my own cosmic resonance onto the city I love.

I make a goji berry Nespresso in a tagine made from Himalayan rock salt that I bought in the kasbahs of Marraskesh and spend 5 minutes imaging where I'd like to be in five years' time.
I then make a small nest in my wardrobe out of lemongrass and turmeric, inside which I practice 10 to 15 minutes of 'Ashwanzi Horse Yoga'. The darkness brings down my potassium levels and the turmeric stains the carpet.

I spend 10 minutes every morning enjoying a bit of 'Owl Time'. This involves strapping on a beak that I've carved out of mango wood and then perching on the edge of my bath, squawking and defecating. Owls are my spirit animal and sharing an owl experience with the universe on a daily basis allows me to connect with the cosmos. The process also allows me to sweat out surplus amounts of phosphorus and mitochondria. I imagine that I'm choking up owl pellets which contain the mummified faces of everyone who's been mean to me over the last few weeks.

I shower using natural products as the chemicals found in shampoo and shower gels can be toxic. Also, as tap water contains fluorides and toxic metal salts, I don't even use that. I stand naked in the shower washing myself with air and simulating a shower experience which gets my head in the game. 

I remove my I-phone and MacBook Air from a lead-lined sarcophagus that I keep under my bed to protect me from 'Electromagnetic Horseflies'.
I send an email to myself telling me how good I am at everything and sign off by inviting myself to a party which I reply to by saying I'm too busy, which actually helps the social side of my brain grow. I call it my Social Brain Gym'
I drink a mug of honey and throw it straight back up into the kitchen sink, choking as the sticky, amber, columns block my airways. Vomitting up honey is sort of like being sick in slow motion and makes you think that you're going to actually die. I find that a near death experience every morning grounds me and helps me realise how precious life can be.

Breakfast. A spoonful of coconut oil, some chaga mushroom powder - great for the immune system - a little bit of frog spawn, colostrum, arsenic and collagen. I drink dog's milk because it's low in myxotoxins and then I have a spoonful of Calpol so that I can connect through time with my infant self and tell him that he doesn't need to be scared of Grandad for much longer.
I introduce the tip of a banana to my anus and allow it to soak in some of the vitamins and potassiums  and then I bury the rest of the banana in a pot on my balcony which contains a bonsai tree and avocado plant. The balcony has absolutely fab views of Marble Arch. 

I walk to work chewing grass like a cow which prevents toxic air entering my bloodstream and also helps me develop a second stomach which might come in useful if I were to ever get cancer.
Instead of listening to music on my commute I turn on my MammalPod, a device that looks like an iPod with headphones but instead of playing music it blows spores, moulds and fungus inside my head which gives me super energies and helps me focus at work. Doctors say if I keep using it I could go deaf or even die within the year.

When I arrive at the office I challenge every member of the team - 25 in total- to a knife fight. This asserts dominance and puts my head into 'Jungle Mode'.
I have a Frappuccino and wash it down with 2kgs of Ayahuaska which helps me concentrate on work for 30 minutes before I enter a nightmarish and terrifying fugue-like state in which I experience hallucinogenic visions of tree demons. The team spend the next 2 hours trying to prevent me from jumping out of the 135th floor of The Gherkin until lunch.

I have a 'Light Lunch' which involves sitting at my desk shining a torch into my own mouth for 10 minutes. I bite and nibble at the rays emitting from my LED Maglite which detoxifies by body and contains all the same nutrients found in a crab salad. 
I then blog. My lunchtime blog has almost 17 followers and involves me talking - in a sort of stream of consciousness - about what I think happens when we die.
I spend the rest of lunch flicking frozen peas at the microwave and muttering to myself about Hanuman, the Hindu Monkey God.
I take off my shoes for the rest of the day so that my energy can connect with the planet's core. 

I drink 12 gallons of water just in time to stave off the early stages of dehydration.  I keep all my water in a tank with an electric eel. The electric pulses add crystalline biorhythms to the water which make me invincible to any weapons built on Earth.
I then have a Kit Kat.
I work for the rest of the day redirecting traffic from redundant websites to clickbait articles online.

I usually have a meeting with the boss in which I beg him not to fire me before doing another 30 minutes of yoga in the middle of the office floor to bring down my heart rate and prepare me for the commute home.

On the way home I eat out of date yoghurts which introduce bacteria into my body. I go home and cry and shit blood.

I go to the gym. My local gym is called 'The Gun Factory' and is actually a replica of a 1930's, Sheffield, steel foundry. As I lift red hot gurders on chains I drink isotonic soup drinks and keep my energy up with raw chicken wings marinated in Ezekial Beans and Chia Seeds.

I go back to my flat and drink CBD oil - derived from cannabis but doesn't make you high- and shine infrared lasers into my head whilst I paint the faces of people who have had a big impact on my day onto my toes and thank them all for coming with me on today's journey. 

I lock my phone devices away and do 5 minutes of mental Taekwondo where I picture myself fighting in my mind's eye. 
I drink a shot of semen extracted from a shark and put on the sound of bullfrogs on my 'Bang And Olufsen Surround Sound Music System' which takes me back to the week I spent in the mangroves with Jason.

I put on my 'Lucid Dreaming Device' which flashes a red light into my eyes every time I have a dream about Grandad so that I can wake up and avoid the night terrors, and then it's off to sleep, ready to take on another day as the biggest cunt in the entire world.  


Called 'Camel Girl' because of the way her legs bent backwards apparently. She worked in a circus in Tennessee around about 1886.
I think unless you've got a hump on your back then you shouldn't really be messing about with the word camel. I'd probably have gone with 'Labrador Girl' or 'Crab Legs' or something like that.
She's got a face like a smacked arse but I suppose you would as well if you had to get about on your hands in the late 18 hundreds when everyone was still luzzing buckets of their own tod out onto the pavement.
Imagine her crawling into your window at night. That would be properly shit wouldn't it?

My first thought here is, why's he bothering to comb it? In terms of looking good and impressing the ladies, combing your own nose falls very firmly into the category of pissing in the wind.
His Mum fucked him off when he was baby apparently so he joined the circus in England and New York in the 1890s. Apparently he was a very well educated and gentle man, despite looking like a vision you might have if you inserted an entire sheet of LSD into your own eyeballs and broke into Sesame Street at night with your next door neighbour's dog.

It can't be a coincidence that his given name is 'Wang' can it? I've got to be honest that if I had a kid with a massive erect penis sticking out of his head then I'd probably go with something like that as well for a name. I don't know why they've bothered giving him the 'unicorn' thing as a nickname. Wang does the job just fine.
I showed this picture to Martin Clunes and he said he'd like to rub baby oil over the horn thing and then try to squeeze a lemon over the bell end bit at the top. Honestly don't know what the fuck is wrong with that man.


Fucking hell. Look at this bong-eyed bombshell. She's got it all going on. Brave topping it all off with 90's curtains as well. She looks like what might happen if you poured a pint of hot piss into one of those crime, photo-fit, computers and it spazzed out and came up with this. 
I know you've got to be careful these days about gender issues but there's absolutely no fucking way this is a woman.


Absorbed her twin in the womb and ended up with two little legs sticking out of her bits. From the twin's point of view it doesn't get much worse than that. Anyway, she joined a circus and made an absolute killing. The only thing you really need to know about her other than the fact she's got fanny legs is that she had 5 kids. 5 fucking kids. Her husband must have been absolutely insane. As soon as you display any interest in having sex with a pair of withered legs that are sticking out of someone's vagina I reckon you need to be locked up ASAP in my book.


Unlike the others on the list Juan didn't want to join a circus which properly pissed them all off because they'd have been dining out for fucking years on the mental shit that was going on with his downstairs mixup.
So he had two wangers sitting there and three ball bags and then God thought "actually I might stick another little leg down there as well" as if  it wasn't all bonkers enough. 
He's basically a batshit crazy, sex machine man, and he knew it. His extra knacker sacks meant he could just keep going and apparently he once had it off with a French sideshow entertainer called Blanche Dumas who also had an extra leg and shit loads of  cock sockets. If anyone had filmed that shit it'd make David Cronenberg look like fucking Beatrix Potter


Born in Milton Kenyes in 1833, over 100 years before Milton Keynes even existed, the second son of Ernie and Philomena Posnet, Edward  was born a perfectly normal little boy apart from the fact that he had a fish tail, the face of a demon and a massive, pendulous pair of tits. By the age of 6, he spent much of  his life swimming around the local waterways and feasting on coots, mallards and kingfishers, which he would catch using a Supersoaker 5000 that he'd modified to fire poisoned darts. He stopped going to school at the age of about 10 because he would lick the other children with his leathery tongue and whisper predictions of their impending deaths into their ears when the teacher wasn't looking. He was never wrong and many of the children did indeed take their own lives almost exactly to the moment that Edward had predicted. Edward was also a star striker on the school football team although details about this are sketchy and presumably not at all true.
Edward eventually joined a circus where he was killed, pickled and displayed in an oak display case. He can still be seen on display in the Milton Keynes Central Station branch of Pizza Express and rumour has it that if you touch his nipple and make a wish then you'll disappear for a few seconds before reappearing as a screaming old man and bursting into a cloud of dust. In 2010 this was proved to be true and Pizza Express have since promised to keep a closer eye on their customers interfering with the wall-mounted, fossilised, abomination to God.


Obviously we've got Victoria Beckham these days so this isn't that amazing, but back in 1841 this was quite something. Apparently normal until twelve then all his fat muscles just fucked off. A real kick in the teeth for anyone who doesn't want to have to live in a Victorian Circus and then die. Most people I'd have thought.


She doesn't really look like a mule. I honestly don't know if you can be more offensive than that to a horse. Me and my mate Simon Famish (a badger) once saw a horse that looked a bit like this I suppose, but that was because Simon had just booted a wasp's nest into the cunt's face because the horse had kept saying that badgers all had fat arses because they let farmers bum them in exchange for biscuits. In Simon's case this was in fact true but the horse should have known when to leave it.
Anyway, Grace had kids as well which is mad. I don't want to be out of order so I'm going to give her a compliment sandwich.
a)I like how her mouth looks like a hamburger
b) She's going to give me the sort of nightmares where I wake up crying blood tonight I reckon
c) That's a nice dress


 Edward was born with a face on the back of head. The face couldn't eat or speak and they thought it might be blind, but it would sneer and scowl when Edward was happy and would laugh and smile when Edward was sad. Edward asked the doctors to cut the cunt off  because it used to whisper things to him at night that "one would only speak about in hell" but the doctors said they thought it was funny so they wouldn't do it. It would probably be quite annoying having someone strapped to the back of your skull if you liked them, but Edward thought this guy was an absolute fuck lord so he must have found it well annoying. 
If you look at the picture you can see that he gave him a little haircut though and he obviously hasn't ever heard of a hat. I'd have grown my hair like Lil Wayne and bought a beanie made out of lead, but perhaps when you have a demon living just behind your own ears, it's best to just meet him halfway for a quiet life. 
Anyway Edward begged for them to smash this wanker's face in "lest it whisper to me in the grave" but everyone had become accustomed to the demon now and used to enjoy giving it snouts and flicking monkey nuts into its eyes when Edward was down 'Spoons.
Edward did himself in at the age of 23. The face went on to become Secretery Of State For Education, Michael Gove.

Name: Gnawvax
Team: Partick Thistle
Terror Score: 8
About: Partick Thistle got the idea for their new mascot after their goalie, Ted McCluster, described a vivid dream he had had after taking peyote and bingeing on a Simpson's boxset following the death of his dog. He described the terrifying scenes as the demon crawled out from his TV and dragged him through a portal where he was slowly devoured, atom by atom, by the yellow rascal. 
"After that night all I could see was darkness", said McCluster in 442 Magazine.
The result was Gnawvax, a mascot that can really strike fear into the hearts of Thistle's opponents.
Ted McCluster committed suicide with a banana after a brief spell in an Aberdeen Psychiatric Unit.

Name: Filthy Gary
Team: Scunthorpe United
Terror Score: 4
About: The only mascot in the premiere league to have started his life in the porn industry, Filthy Gary was found in the back of a shop that sold bongo mags and big rubber wangers under a flyover on the outskirts of Scunthorpe
Rumour has it that his whiskers were pulled out by legendary adult film star, Ron Jeremy whilst filming a particularly niche scene in the film 'Big Natural Wank Rabbits 4'. The online chat forums on the Scunthorpe United website constantly feature petitions to replace the mascot with something more sanitary. Though some fans use the chatroom to buy and sell videos from Filthy Gary's saucey back catalogue.

Name: Billy the EDL Goat
Team: Southampton F.C
Terror Score: 7
About: When it comes to gruff, it doesn't get much more so than this intimidating little customer. Jumping on the 'Brexit-Britain' bandwagon, Southampton have come up with the sort of mascot that says "first I'm going to free Tommy Robinson, and then we'll have a lovely game of football"
This militant Billy Goat comes with his own backstory according to Southampton's website. He's spent the last 10 years in the slammer for burning down his local Post Office and now he parades up the Southampton coastline, armed to teeth and protecting the shores of Britain from foreigners.
Some people have criticised Southampton for Billy The EDL Goat, particularly considering that they only have 3 English players in their entire squad. 
Manager, Mark Hughs, has refused to comment

Name: Dr Javier Fetlock, The Magical Satanic Horse
Team: Huddersfield
Terror Score: 8
About: When it comes to innovation, Huddersfield have really broken the mould this year they as they unveil 'Dr Javier Fetlock, The Magical Satanic Horse', not just a mascot, but also a game in his own right. 
Each fixture, the horse is instructed to hunt out a young child, gallop over to him or her and stand directly in front of them at an intimidating proximity that will undoubtedly get right into the child's dreams. 
£10'000 a week and 4 season tickets are up for grabs for any youngster who can successfully ignore the unhallowed equine for the full 90 minutes whilst it whispers diabolical verses about their parents inevitable death into their ears in a terrifying, slow, drawl.
Chairman, Dean Hoyle, has said " I don't expect we'll be giving much money away. Far more likely that the little fucker will lose his composure, wet his pants and then I expect it'll be an awkward drive home from the game for the entire family as Dad loses his rag. It's going  to be wonderful".

Name: Jim Scrote
Team: Burnley F.C
Terror Score: 3
About: Due to a communication mixup between the club, the mascot designer and someone shouting "You're Bollcoks!" out of a van window, Burnley F.C will be starting the season supported by unlikely mascot, Jim Scrote, a pair of knackers that have magically come to life and, as legend has it, live beneath the turf, raping all the ants. Ok Burnley, if you say so.  

Name: Haunted Paul
Team: Macclesfield Town
Terror Score: 7.5
About: Inspired by a story in the early 1800's about a man who got stung in the face by a wasp spider and lived in a barn in the Peak District just outside Macclesfield until being discovered by an unfortunate farmer and going on a 4 day murder bender with a sledgehammer until finally being caught waterboarding an old lady with his own blood near Congelton, the story of Haunted Paul is one regaled to children on Christmas Day every year around the Cheshire and Derbyshire border. This year Macclesfield Town are finally adopting him as their mascot. About time too.

Name: Hugo Tryst
Team: Yeovil Town
Terror Score: 9
About: Terrifying yet true, Yeovil Town's mascot may look like a costume but is, in fact, local retired butcher, Hugo Tryst who, in 2009, underwent a medical procedure that sadly went wrong causing his head to swell up like a pig's underpants. His lips and nose ballooned into a freaky, cartoonish monstrosity that left surgeons around the world stumped. People say that beneath his hat you'll find his old face screaming up into the black void, though this has been strongly denied by several medical professionals. 
Hugo now has to wear special diving boots issued by the local council which prevent him from running away and attacking people.
Every match day he is sedated and 'released' to meet the fans and cheer on the his beloved team from the sidelines, always with at least four M16 sniper rifles aimed at his head from the rafters.