this summer

The sun's finally made an appearance for the first time in about two years which is good because I've started to cultivate a large wad of moss around my undercarriage. Hopefully now there will be a chance to dry out and maybe even have a nice time before we plunge back into the shitty eternity of winter. Obviously it won't last more than a couple of days and then billions of gallons of water will fall out of the sky again until we all either drown or commit suicide, so I suppose we should appreciate it while it lasts.
Here are some things you can do to enjoy the nice weather and spoil it for everyone else.

One of the most popular summer activities is a BBQ in the park with friends and it's really easy to act like a right prick whilst you're doing it. 
You should start the day by drinking Kestrel Super Strength Lager at about 10:30am. At about midday pile into a park that's already teeming with people and find a small patch of dirt. Once you've dropped all your shit then it's time to turn on your music (make sure your choice of music is absolutely abysmal - how about a spot of gabber techno?)
Fire up the BBQ, remove your shirt and start shouting.
Boot a football around making sure that it mainly hits women and children.
Do this for about 10 hours.
By the time the sun goes down you should be bright red. You should look like a skinned pig. The combination of undercooked sausages, shitty beer and sunburn will more than likely have transformed you into an aggressive maniac and everyone within a 100 metre radius will probably think you're a cunt. Good job. 

When the sun comes out it's important to spend as much time as you can driving around in your car, because what's the point in having a car if strangers can't see you driving around in it? The best thing to do is to drive around the local area for absolutely no reason at all. 
Remove your shirt and start shouting.
Wind down the windows and blast terribly average pop music out of them at full volume. You might look like a hard arse but listening to something like JLS or Luther Vandross will ensure that you look like a fucking berk. Make sure that you have an expression of undeserved smugness smeared across your stupid face at all times. People will die of jealously when they see that you've got your very own Renault Clio. 

This should be fairly straight forward. Most high street shops will try their level best to make you look like a right twonk. Wander round. Check them all out. 
My mate Sexy Chris has started wearing sandals and denim shorts. Sandals and denim shorts is a pretty good good look if you're not a tawny owl who lives inside a fuse box in Hoxton. I hate Sexy Chris so much that it makes my eyes bleed.

Every single year there will be a very small heat-wave that crops up on a weekend. Usually the best thing to do is to hop on a train to somewhere like Brighton or Camber Sands with every single other cunt from London and find a beach. Obviously when you get there you'll be bitterly disappointed that the whole experience doesn't re-ignite all your memories of going to Sri Lanka in 2003 like you thought it might. Well we're in a recession so it's the best you can do. No need to try and act like a bell end in this scenario because you've already done it by going in the first place. 
(I once went to the British coast by accident. I got on a train at Charing Cross and it went all the way to Hastings. It's one of the worst places I've ever been. The entire place was governed by seagulls and al the people looked like stone gargoyles that had crawled out of the roof of a cathedral. Dreadful.)

Start sniffing and sneezing and chatting about pollen to everyone every five minutes. That'll be fascinating for everyone. Nobody gives a fuck. I hope it fucking kills you. 


if you have a tail

  • Use is to clean blood off a gypsy
  • You could suck Reggae Reggae sauce out of it
  • Waft it in a slut's face
  • Shove it into Sexy Chris' mouth until he starts to actually die
  • Smash it round a swan's head 
  • Swish away mosquitos on a hot day
  • Dip it in the canal to annoy all the eels / trouts
  • Shove it up Gary Plough's fucking massive arse.
  • Use it to smear garage door paint all over a hen
  • Use it as a sort of puppet to entertain someone with Down's Syndrome
  • Stick it through a cat flap to upset an elderly lady
  • Sweep all the corpses out of your bungalow
  • You can cut it off and post it to Matthew Kelly's PO Box.
  • Shave it and then glue all the hair back on and then shave it again and then glue the hair back on again (repeat this process for the rest of your life) 
  • Use it to cast spells on your enemies (This is only works if your tail has magical powers)
  • Get very self conscious about the fact that it's caked in shit and start crying about it
  • Set it on fire to impress a bunch of ducks.


a description of some recent dreams


It all started in a sort of cave. We were in a cave but it was also raining quite heavily. The whole gang was there (Colin Hong, Keith Rice, James The Haemophiliac Wood Pigeon, etc). The floor of the cave was sort of transparent, as though it was made of glass / crystal. When I looked down I could see all the stars and planets orbiting one another, almost as if we were stood on the edge of the galaxy, looking down over the entire solar system as time moved forwards at millions of light years per second. In the middle of the cave was a tower / church. Everything started to go purple. We went inside the tower and started to climb the stairs which were made of snakes. When we got the top Keith Rice did a shit that looked like Jesus Christ and then I woke up.


This one started in the sea. I was sat in a boat with Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. He kept shooting wood lice at me through a tube of Smarties and I was getting really fed up. We went over a waterfall but it was sort of upside down so we went up into the sky if you can imagine such a thing. When we got up there Hugh had turned into a puffin. He spent the rest of the dream trying to get me on board with his idea to open a factory that produces ball bearings for industrial machinery. I politely declined and his head burst into flames and then I woke up.


Don't remember much about this one. Don't think I had a very good night's sleep owing to the fact that Martin Clunes kept crawling into my den and slapping me around the face with his penis.

There was something in this dream that I remember actually. There was something about a really poorly horse but I can't remember how it fitted in.


It started down by the canal behind Kwik Fit. I was trying to find something (food? Could have been food I suppose). Suddenly I noticed all my legs were attached to various ropes and pulleys and I couldn't move. A tramp appeared. It was the one that always hangs around this neck of the woods. The one who dresses like a cowboy and spends the day calling all the ducks a bunch of wankers. The tramp started using me as a puppet and I burst into tears. When I opened my eyes I was in an aeroplane. I was strapped to Gary Lineker's chest and we jumped out. Gary opened his parachute and it ripped his arms off and he started laughing. We fell for what felt like ages until we crashed into the water. I tried to swim to the surface but it was no use as I was being held under by some sort of current. I looked down to see my mate Sexy Chris swimming towards me. He had sort of like a mermaid's tail and a pair of human breasts. He popped one of his tits in my mouth which acted like a scuba diving respirator and I swan to the surface to be greeted by the cast of Dragon's Den who'd all chipped in and bought me a cake. 
Then I woke up.


Had the recurring dream I always have about a donkey with gout.


I looked in the mirror and my head was made of wasps. Hundreds and hundreds of the buggers. I yawned and my jaw fell off and grew a set of tiny little wheels before driving off into the sunset.
(That was the start of my dream. I'd just eaten quite a lot of rancid ham that i'd found in the bins behind Co-Op so I only have myself to blame to be honest).
I looked up at the sky and the clouds all sort of coagulated and turned into Judy Finnigan's head. The head started smiling at me but then changed it's mind and started crying. After a few seconds a swan flew out of Judy Finnigan's mouth and started calling me every name under the sun. I started to run away. I ran so fast that I travelled back in time. There was a large explosion. I was sat in a forest dressed like a Beefeater and all the trees were keys. At the end of the dream a frog minced up to me, stuck a key in my eye socket and opened up my head and started filling it with soil. 

I woke up in the corner of my pit sweating and vomiting. Cwis Packham said I had a fever so he took my temperature by putting a thermometer up my bottom. It wasn't a thermometer though, it was a Toffee Crisp. Packham found this about 100 times more amusing than I did. 


Had a dream that me and Vile Clive built a helicopter out of Alpen. We kept bickering because Clive said it wouldn't fly unless it was wearing a wig. It turned out that it didn't fly because it was made of Alpen. At the end of the dream Vile Clive got raped by a dolphin. 


This was a couple of years ago now but I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was green/black/metal coloured . 
There was more rubbish in the front garden than there was inside the actual bin. It was one of those kinds of front gardens if you know what I mean. The owner of the house was obviously some kind of useless gypo or perhaps they were just a bit depressed/retarded. 
The lid didn’t fit properly so it was easy to get into. I remember the smell. Inside it there was a human head covered in ants.

I found this one on bin night. It had three bags inside and they were all full of really old yoghurts.
I opened all the bags and smeared the contents all over some poor cunt’s driveway.
The smell was abysmal. I remember it burning my eyes. I bumped into my mate Dane Tuppence on the way home and he said my eyes were actually bleeding a bit. That’s how bad it smelled. 
Absolutely first class. I still think about that bin sometimes and I get a lump in my throat. Very moving.

It was a black plastic bin (boring). It was behind Budgens. When I climbed inside it it took off like a space rocket and I started to travel back in time and I grew a magnificent set of antlers. I floated through space and had sex with Sir Trevor McDonald in the middle of a meteor shower and then I exploded and woke up under a bench on Hampstead Heath.
My mate Vile Clive reckons that I probably just ate something weird and ended up getting raped in the park but I’m not sure. I like my version better.

Well it was red and very large. Some people would probably say it was more of a bottle bank and they’d be well within their rights to do so.
I remember all the slugs. Hundreds and hundreds of fucking slugs.
(Monster Munch? Did I see a packet of Monster Munch in there as well?)
There was a tramp who lived inside it. He was naked and shouting something about Peter Beardsley’s gran. He was covered in broken glass.
He put his hand up his own arse and started crying.
That was a good experience. I liked that.

I visited this one with my mate Sexy Chris. It was a public bin. It was black and the local council’s logo was embossed on the side in gold (posh). It was near some canal boats and next to a bench. I’ve never seen anything quite like this before but the bin was full to the brim with human tods. If I had to hazzard a guess why then I’d say that one of the canal boat residents had emptied a septic tank into the bugger. Why? I don’t know why.
I plunged Sexy Chris into the contents as hard as I could. 
He almost drowned and he was extremely unwell for several weeks afterwards.
It was one of the best days of my life. 






Turn up at 2am on Newsnight. He'll be tuckered out on Newsnight. This is usually the best time to strike. 
Put one foot on the bin and hoist yourself up onto the bus shelter. (Make sure there's no one waiting at the bus shelter or you'll be rumbled before you've even fucking started.) 
Keep low. 
From here you should be able to peer into Paxman's living room. If he's still in there wanking over Babestation then hold fire (listen to some music/play Angry Birds). He'll be done soon.
The lights have gone out.
Hop onto the shed and jump down into the compost heap.
Creep up the garden path being careful not to trip over all the toys.
You're at the back door. To your right there should be boot scraper (posh) in the shape of a kangaroo (a gift from Australia? From a friend? Jonathan Dimbleby perhaps). Anyway, under that there are two keys; one for the back door and one for Paxman's full suspension mountain bike. 
Break in.
You're in the kitchen. Unplug all the electricals and stack them by the back door. You can collect them on the way out. The cooker will be very heavy so make sure you drag it across the floor very slowly and quietly.
Go through the corridor and into the front room. On the mantelpiece you'll find a large collection of revolting china animals (mainly tigers). Sling them in your sack. You can flog them at the car boot sale on Sunday.
Help yourself to the coffee table, the cushions, the VCR and the picture of Cindy Crawford sprawled over the bonnet of a Ferrari F40. 
Pull up all the carpets on the stairs. They look expensive. (QUIETLY! for fuck's sake).
His shoes. Nick his bloody shoes.
Creep upstairs and loot the bathroom. DON'T FORGET THE LIGHT BULBS!
Now into the spare room... Wait! What was that? It looks like you've been rumbled. . .You shouldn't have chiseled off all those bathroom tiles. What the fuck were you thinking? HIDE!
Cower under the spare bed. There are blue lights outside. you've really done it this time. 
You're going to get absolutely fucking bollocked if they catch you.
Carry on stealing whatever you find under the spare bed (cassette tapes, Lego etc)
Is that smoke?  Did you do that? WHY'S THE FUCKING HOUSE ON FIRE? You've gone too far this time son.
Right there's someone in the room. You're out of time. Are they police? Fucking hell the house is swarming with fucking police.
Grab as much as you can and dive through the window. NOW RUN!
Nevermind your broken ankle. Head back round the corner to the bus stop immediately and wait for a 141. 


some thoughts

It's no secret that, when it comes to animals, you lot are a right bunch of pricks. Humans have been smashing up animals since records began, and even before that you were probably lobbing rocks at mammoths just for a bit of a laugh.
Now don't get me wrong, often the fucked up stuff you lot come up with sounds brilliant in theory. Cock throwing for instance, also known as cock-shying or throwing at cocks, was a blood sport widely practised in England until the late 18th century. A rooster was tied to a post, and people took turns throwing coksteles (special weighted sticks) at the bird until it died. Brilliant. Me and my mate Double Denim David did a very similar thing just this morning (We used an exhaust pipe from a Kawasaki SFV650 motorbike). The fact that you do all this mental shit isn't really the problem. It's your schizophrenic attitude that makes the entire thing so creepy. It's like you can't make your minds up weather you want to lavish God's creatures with affection or tear their heads off and shit down their necks. You act like a bunch of special needs kids who'll cuddle a cat for hours and hours and then glass it in the face and wander away with a cold, robotic and emotionless stare.

Take horses for instance. Despite the fact that you've been eating them for the past 10 years, you hold them in such high esteem that they've been immortalised in paintings and sculptures all over the world. None of you can afford to get onto the property ladder and you'll make do with living in tiny cramped conditions whilst horses live in a vast, 20 acre fields with their own little wooden house. Just because they look like royalty doesn't necessarily mean they need to be treated as such. 

But for one day of the year you say 'FUCK HORSES!' and you climb onto their backs, thrash them with a stick and force them to run around an obstacle course that's so difficult that at least one of them will actually die. You'll usually justify it by saying that "they they like it" or "it's what they're bred for" and then you'll turn a blind eye every time the 'special fence' comes out and the poor bastard gets shot in the face and sent to the Findus Beef Lasagne factory.

I don't want you thinking for a second that I give a shit about horses and their well being because I don't. I find them tedious and irritating if anything. I used to know a horse called Craig Warren and he was a right fucking prat. He used to spend hours and hours reciting quotes from The Simpsons for absolutely no reason at all and the way that he trotted made him look like a paedophile. I really hated Craig Warren. 
The point is is that I can empathise with anyone who's on the receiving end of man's hypocritical relationship with animals. Every time someone sees a fox they'll usually get excited and take a photo. People will plaster images of foxes on calendars, clothing and adverts one minute and then they'll put on a little red jacket and chase us about with a little trumpet until they can bum us up against a tree (this actually happened to my mate Keith Lister).
Well I think it's about time that the tables were turned which is why I've written this list of 5 sports which are inspired by the exploitation of humans for a change. Let's set a date for it. Let's say on August 15th every year we do these. After thousands of years of your nonsense I think it's only fair. Don't be a bunch of cunts about it.

1 - Squeeze Racing

This would basically consist of animals trying to 'crawl inside' humans against the clock. Deciding which orifice to go for would depend on the 'athlete'. I suppose you could have similar weight categories as boxing. Featherweight - mice, small birds, frogs. Lightweight - eels, swans, chimps and dogs etc. And then Heavyweight would be things like dolphins and livestock. Aesthetically it would be performed under very similar conditions as a game of snooker.

2 - Snaps / Boning
A human is tethered to a tree whilst animals take it in turns to try and snap their bones using whatever they like (legs, jaws, hammers etc). Different bones are worth different points. This is more of a playground style game like conkers. It would mainly be played for fun / by youngsters.

3 - Human Training
Humans have spent years making dogs walk on their hind legs and elephants jump through hoops. More often than not the training of animals has also involved a bear wearing a fez for some reason. Well this is very much a role reversal. Humans are forced to perform tasks that animals find a piece of piss for a change. This might involve building nests, digging warrens and breathing underwater. Every time the human fucks it up they're thrashed within an inch of their life.

4 - Real Bull Fighting
A bit like the your version except in this one you're not allowed loads of fucking swords and you have to dress up like even more of a bell end if such a thing is even possible. 

5 - Japanese Wailing
Don't care what the rules are for this really. It'd basically just consist of the torture and execution of Japanese fishermen in some kind of amphitheatre full of whales and dolphins (and eels?) if such a thing is possible.

Packham Saddle

Cwis Packham's made me a tiny little saddle (with little reins and stirrups and everything). Told him I'm not wearing it. Now he's in tears.

Spoil the inside of your bungalow with these limited edition screen prints signed in blood/muck

that my mate
has told me
  • He used to live inside Anne Robinson's mind
  • He used to own an enormous shire horse called 'Perfect Geoffrey' 
  • If he eats soup then his wings catch fire
  • He divorced Cameron Diaz because she believed in ghosts
  • He invented Magnesium 
  • If you put one of his feathers into a computer disk drive then it will automatically open up Encarta '95
  • Sexy Chris is latin for 'Sky Champion'
  • He played all the piano parts on 'OK Computer' by Radiohead
  • If he tries really hard then he can bring the dead back to life
  • He's seen 'High School Musical 2' over 75 000 times
  • He has a street named after him in Buenos Aires. (And a cafe named after him in Tunisia)
  • He's got cancer in his fucking beak
  • He used to be a human called Gary Fisher but he got drunk and woke up as an owl
  • He taught Bonnie Tyler how to ride a bike (bmx)
  • He used to work in a florists and deliver flowers to MI5
  • He once flew so high that he started to experience zero gravity and he would have floated off into outer space if he didn't have such strong wings
  • He was once shot in the face by Lorraine Kelly
  • 'Saving Private Ryan' is loosely based on his life
  • He wasn't allowed on 'Countdown' because he used to have a swastika tattooed on his hind quarters. 
  • He recently met Jesus behind the 'Bowlplex' in Surrey Keys and they did a shit load of pills.
  • He used to own Anne Boleyn's skull but he lost it when he moved house. 
  • Jackie Chan once invited him to an orgy in Bracknell.

He talks such a load old bollocks. I fucking hate Sexy Chris. I hope he dies soon.