it’s been a while since i spewed out some bilge for my eagerly waiting public and my eager wrists are grown puny and weak and unaccustomed to writing long articles. so instead, you must content yourselves with this fiendishly tricky ‘spot the difference’ puzzle. see if you can spot one major difference between these two pictures of the american president announcing plans to increase the deployment of US troops on foreign soil:

picture 01


picture 02


it’s a real head-scratcher, isn’t it?

my contempt for that large percentage of the female population who would go out wearing a sack of dogshit tied round their waist if some skull-faced bitch in cosmopolitan told them to - and would then ponce round looking down their snotty noses at anyone ‘uncool’ enough not to be similarly attired - knows almost no bounds.  every year there’s some new ‘must have’ look which legions of vacuum-headed girls dutifully adopt because they’ve been told they have to. such fundamental questions as ‘does this actually look nice?’ or  ‘does this look actually suit me?’ are swept aside in the headlong rush towards trendy conformity.

remember that ten minutes when bobs were de rigeur and up and down the land ten million fat round-faced girls hacked off their hair to comply and ended up with their heads looking like a beachball with half a coconut balanced on top?  then there was the tiny glasses mandate;  ‘you know that pair of specs you paid £300 for last year? - well they’re too big, you unfashionable cunt! get yourself some tiny wee rimless ones at once!’ and once more the earth trembled as the willing victims stampeded towards specsavers, waving wads of cash.

of course, those spectacles barely had time to settle upon the wearers’ noses, before a new directive was issued; ‘what the fuck are you wearing those small rimless glasses for, you arseholes?’ thundered the fashion mags ‘get yourselves some square lensed ones with really thick rims this minute!’ - and bank accounts were once more dutifully emptied into the wallets of laughing fashion designers and arbiters of style.

i’m completely convinced that the whole pantomime is a private joke, concocted between the designers and the magazine editors. ‘i bet we could make the dumb bitches paint their legs orange and wear wellingtons!’ one wag will snigger and, before you know it, the air is filled with the acrid stench of steaming feet, rotting in pink spotted rubber boots on a hot summer’s day.

but the world of style moves ever onward. that was then and this is now.  any dozy cow foolish enough to be seen out in a pair of wellingtons this season will rightly be mocked to hell and back by those ‘kewl chicks’ with their finger on the pulse who know that - at least for the next ten minutes - you ain’t nothing unless you’ve wrapped your tootsies in a pair of uggs;  suede fur-lined boots so repulsively frumpy and shapeless that they make you look like you’ve had your legs amputated at the knee and replaced with the ankles and feet of a particularly obese elephant.  seriously, they make those ones with the zip up the front that oul biddies wear seem positively sexy in comparison.

i shouldnae fret tho’ - this time next week ten million pairs of uggs will be lying forgotten in the back of ten million wardrobes while the nation’s females frantically strap themselves into luminous platform soled clown shoes - or whatever the next fashion industry piss-take is!

amongst the usual wheelbarrow loads of spam i’ve been getting in my intray over the past week or three, there’s been several dozen with a subject line consisting of some  variation on the theme “my boyfriends’ <insert slang name for willy> is so big… yadda… yadda…”.

i don’t actually know what the rest of the line is, as it gets cut off by the edge of my email app window and - needless to say - i just delete spam without looking at it, but one thing i did find mildly amusing:  where the <slang name for willy> appears in the subject line, i’ve seen all the usual suspects used;  ‘penis’, ‘cock’, ‘wang’, ‘pecker’, and so on.  however i’ve also noticed quite a few emails proclaiming  “my boyfriend’s peter is so big….” etc.

PETER???!!! - who in the name of anal fuck calls their willy [or their boyfriend’s willy for that matter] a fucking ‘peter’?!

MAN: darling?
WOMAN: what is it?
MAN [sexily]: i want you to do something for me…
WOMAN [also sexily]: anything! - what is it?
MAN: will you suck my peter?
[short pause]
WOMAN:  oh… alright then - but he can’t stay for dinner.  we’ve got nothing in!